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Even if Miguel could get his damn hands out of his own webs, there’d still be no face for him to claw off of The Spot. The bastard was lucky Miguel didn’t have any reinforcements this time; he had arrogantly stormed off into a portal, ranting about how no one could do their job.
Maybe he had been harsh. Lyla would definitely talk to him about it during his forced therapy sessions with her. But that would only happen if he got out of this mess.
The mess being: him shocking up and not paying attention when Spot had slipped a hole under him, causing him to fall into the trap and get webbed up. His red, glowing webs are tight and unyielding as he struggles, good for most situations, very bad for this one.
The fact that one managed to slip over his watch and disable his face mask didn’t help either.
“I have a feeling this was supposed to be for me.” The voice of Spot grates on Miguel’s ears. Spot appears a second later in front of him, looking him up and down. Even without a mouth, he can tell he’s smirking.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to the multiverse, Spot?” Miguel snarls at him, struggling harder now that the object of his anger is here.
“I have a vague idea, but, at the end of the day, it’s not my problem.” Spot shrugs. Miguel huffs at that.
“But, hey! I get to have a break since you’re all… tied up. The famous Spider-Man at The Spot’s mercy!” Spot says like an announcer, strutting around Miguel, the son of a bitch.
Miguel rolls his eyes and looks up to get a better look at his tangled hands.
“Ideas! Ideas are coming to me as I look at you. What should I do, huh?” Spot continues to talk, which Miguel pointedly ignores.
Something suddenly grips his hair and tugs back, making Miguel wince. He twists as best he can to see a white hand sprouting out of a black portal at his head level. Another one pops into existence, a hand poking out and grabbing Miguel’s upper arm, squeezing the muscle.
“You know, you’re a big guy. I mean— I’m sure you know, obviously, but what I’m saying is that you gotta be big everywhere.” Spot’s odd words bring Miguel’s eyebrows together, wondering morbidly if he’s implying what he thinks he’s implying. Turns out he is because in the next moments, the hand is tracing over Miguel’s body.
Miguel hasn’t been touched in a while. Not even in a sexual way—just in general. Goosebumps form under his holographic suit, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end.
Even as Miguel wriggles to get the hands off him, one eventually ends up where he dreads: poking at his crotch. Now, he voices his unease. “The shock do you think you’re doing? Stop touching me—!”
He’s cut off as he winces when the hand harshly presses directly against his dick.
“I should get you back for chasing me all this time. Just— trying to be fair.” Spot’s hands move over his body more rapidly after he says that, as if searching for something.
Miguel legs kick out, at least trying something that’ll end up stopping Spot from continuing, but he’s not close enough to hit.
He knows Spot’s attempting to find the switch for his suit. He’s right—even when he dearly wishes he wasn’t—when a hand brushes over his craned neck and touches the shocking button. Spot makes a surprised and delighted sound as the pixels fizz away to expose bronze skin.
Another shiver goes through Miguel at the sudden touch of cold air over his skin. His cheeks stubbornly burn without him wanting them to. “Spot— get your damn hands off of me!”
“I don’t think I will!” He answers in a sing-song voice, hands grabbing and poking and squeezing parts of Miguel, making him squirm.
“Shock off!”
“Is that your version of fuck off or something?” Spot asks without actually wanting a reply.
A surprisingly-cold hand grabs Miguel’s soft cock and starts roughly stroking him. Miguel winces at the brutal hold and pace Spot’s going at.
The fact is—or it should be a fact—that Miguel is only getting hard because of the stimulation. He’ll tell that to anyone who dares to ask. But… being bound and unable to do anything scratches something in his brain just right—and he absolutely hates that.
After a minute, he’s rock hard and biting his lip to stop any chance of him letting noises out.
Spot hums appreciatively. “How’d I know, huh? You’re, what? A good 8– er, 9 inches?”
He’s never measured before but Miguel doesn’t answer that anyway, focusing on not focusing on the heat building in his abdomen.
“Go s- shock yourself—” Miguel pants, gritting his teeth and kicking again. The webs dig into his muscles, holding him tight when they should really be holding Spot tight. The anger that flares up again is overpowered by the pleasure climbing up his spine.
“Oh, wait, good idea! Well, not for me, I mean, but for you!”
Miguel is let go of, his straining cock red at the tip, and he can finally comprehend what Spot meant by that. His face scrunches in confusion before a hole appears in front of him and a hand comes out to shove three fingers in his mouth.
Miguel chokes, growls, then bites down on them. His fangs didn’t get into the flesh, but the reaction is all the same, Spot’s yelp of pain accompanying the quick withdrawal of the fingers.
“Hey! I was trying to do you a favor!” Spot huffs indignantly.
“What the hell do you mean—?” Miguel knows what he means in the next second when cold, slick fingers slide between his ass cheeks. He jerks away, a gasp coming from him as the hand moves with him, a finger shoving into his tense hole.
Spot mutters to himself even though Miguel can still hear him. “Like I said, I was trying to do you a favor, but if big meanie doesn’t want my help, then so be it.”
Miguel’s about to respond, then another cold finger maneuvers its way into his ass, scissoring him open and drawing a pained grunt from him instead. “Shocking— stop!”
Spot clicks his tongue. “You brought this upon yourself, Spider-Man. You’ve been chasing me around since forever and you don’t think that it’s been stressful for me either? Sticking your nose in other people’s business. Well, now you can stick something else somewhere.” Spot chuckles at himself, taking out his fingers from Miguel’s ass.
A tingling sensation around Miguel’s still-hard dick makes him look down at it, and a black hole has swallowed up the tip. It’s freaky—seeing his cock basically cut in half—almost enough to turn him off, but then a hot, hard thing is rubbing his ass. At the same time, he feels his dick rub against firm muscle, and Miguel’s eyes widen.
He’s really going to shock—fuck—himself.
“Stop, stop, Spot, don’t do this!” Miguel all but yells, wondering if he can make out the slight pleading in his voice.
There’s no answer except the press of his dick against his own ass, and he still tries to jerk away. He’s almost scared despite what he tried to tell himself.
He looks down to see there’s one black hole covering his dick and one right behind him, just out of his field of view.
The head of his cock presses to his twitching entrance, then presses a bit more, breaching the muscles.
Miguel watches Spot concentrate on moving the holes to be aligned, the portal around his cock sliding down more in sync with his ass being penetrated.
He gasps, grunting in pain as he stretches himself out—is this what it felt like to Peter when they fucked? That thought only makes his cock twitch, which he feels inside his ass.
Miguel pants, huffing, gritting his teeth to keep down more noises. “Spot— hah… oh, shock…”
He feels himself bottom out and the slight curve of his dick hits that button inside of him, making him groan in his throat.
With barely anymore preparation, Spot starts to move the portal up and down Miguel’s dick, making him thrust in and out of his own body. Miguel gasps again, unable to keep the sounds back.
Miguel’s body doesn’t know whether to thrust forward or move back, the double stimulation making his head foggy. He can feel the tight heat and stretch around his dick in time with the punch to his guts.
Spot isn’t messing around, that’s for sure, as the thrusts turn hard and deep. Miguel is panting and moaning, eyebrows pinched together, jaw dropping as his prostate is nailed. Pleasure rakes over his body, centralizing in his abdomen and lower spine.
Did he always get this close, this quick? Maybe it was the mixture of being bound and the fact that he was getting railed by his own dick. New kink shocking discovered.
“Stop, s- ah… hnng— p- por favor, Spot, stop,” Miguel begs, chest heaving as his body tenses further, feeling his climax build.
“You did this to yourself, Spider-Man. Figuratively and literally.” Spot chuckles to himself again, and Miguel would be disgusted if he had the chance to think about anything else except the slick entrance wrapped around him and the hard, hot cock spearing open his ass.
Miguel’s voice rises, noises spilling out more frantically as the pressure in his balls tightens and his back arches suddenly, his eyes rolling back. Hot ropes of cum spill into his tight hole, still plugged by the thick organ, going into the deepest depths it can possibly go.
He comes back from seeing stars with a whine and a wince, his sensitive and going-soft dick still stuffed inside him. His sore asshole also protests with a twitch.
“You know, I could make a living outta torturing people.” Spot says jovially as if nothing just happened.
Torture. Spot had thought this had been torture. Maybe Miguel should try catching Spot by himself more often.