The other Spidey snorted, clearly recognizing the alter-ego of AU Spider-Man. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?”
At least he knew his comic books. He had to have some taste.
Matty shrugged. “Why do you need to know my name?”
“Just making conversation?” he said, like he found Matty’s defensiveness amusing.
Matty rolled his eyes. “Conversation’s overrated.”
“What would you rather do?” the other Spidey asked, voice flirty and low enough that it vibrated under the mask.
“Wanna go upstairs?” Matty blurted.
The other Spider-Man froze. “I’m assuming you’re of age under there?”
This time it was Matty who snorted. “I’m legal, I promise.”
“Oh, well.If you promise,” he said sarcastically.
“You think Thomas would invite a minor to participate in some kind of murder party?”
“Murder party?” the other Spidey asked, pausing mid-shift of his weight. “What murder?”
Matty shrugged, casual even though his heart was thudding from too much noise, too many people, too much…everything. “I don’t know. I overheard them talking about it earlier. I don’t think anyone else knows.”
Once more, he gave him that headtilt. The one that was more Deadpool than Spider-Man. “You seem awfully close to them. How do you know them?”
Matty mirrored his posture. “You’re kind of nosy.”
“Not nosy—curious.”
“I’m curious, too,” Matty said, tone flirty and absolutely unbothered by shame. “I’m curious what you look like under that costume.”
“You’re not much on subtlety, huh?”
Matty shrugged. “If you’re not interested, just say so.”
“Oh, I’m interested, Miles. Don’t get pouty,” the other man said.
Matty rolled his eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m not pouting, I’m horny.”
The other Spidey laughed—low, warm, muffled by the mask—and something hot fluttered under Matty’s ribs. He hated that.
“What do I call you?” Matty asked.
“Tonight?” the guy said. “Tonight, I guess you call me Miguel.”
The name landed warm in Matty’s stomach. Miguel O’Hara. The alter-ego of Spider-Man 2099’s character. So they would both be hiding under aliases tonight. Fine by him. It wasn’t any of his new family members. That was all that really mattered. According to Thomas, many of these people had flown in just for the party. There was a good chance, he’d never see him again.
“Want to go upstairs with me, Miguel?” Matty asked.
Miguel seemed to study him behind Spider-Man’s hollow white lenses. Matty hated how exposed he felt, like Miguel could see right through the fabric hiding his face. After a long moment, he said, “Lead the way, Miles.”
So Matty did. He grabbed his hand—warm, big—and dragged him up the stairs. He led Miguel intohisroom, the one they insisted he could use anytime he wanted, even though he shared a small apartment with Jordan less than twenty minutes away.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Matty shoved him against it. Miguel hit the wood with a solid thud, exhaling in surprise, before laughing softly.
Matty reached for his mask. He didn’t remove the whole thing, just rolled it up until Miguel’s lips were exposed. They were stupidly pretty, full, and soft-looking. A sharp jawline framed them, a bare hint of light stubble shadowing his cheeks. He was older than Matty. Maybe by a lot. That did nothing to quell the heat pooling in his core like melted honey.
