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Jon is confident that there is no one else in the world he hates more than Spider-Man.
He’s always been careful around that word, ‘hate.’ It’s a strong word, everyone always told him. So he never used it.
But then Spider-Man crashed into his life, completely destroying it and leaving only pathetic crumbs behind. He turned him into a monster—ruined his life in a way Jon didn’t know was possible. Suddenly, the word ‘hate’ turned into an understatement, not even close to strong enough when it came to describing his fury.
Spider-Man has managed to crawl into his mind, form his own little spiderweb there. Jon can’t stop thinking about him. And he tries, he really tries, knowing he shouldn’t let his thoughts linger on things that make him so angry—as his therapist used to tell him, back when he could afford one.
But he simply can’t. So he doesn’t stop them—in fact, he starts welcoming the thoughts, formulating plans in his mind about what he’ll do once he gets his hands on Spider-Man.
And then, they meet again.
He’s hauling an ATM machine out of a store—he can’t afford this month’s rent, what else is he supposed to do?—when Spider-Man shows up in all his stupid heroics. Jon actually manages to get the machine into an alleyway before he’s accosted, which isn’t so bad by robbery standards, he thinks.
“Did you seriously think you’d be able to steal an ATM in broad daylight, dude?” Spider-Man asks, almost sounding bored, as he hangs upside down from one of his webs.
Even seeing him makes a rush of pure anger swim through Jon’s body, but he tries to keep it down. “I’m sure the bank wouldn’t mind me borrowing their ATM machine. They’ve got plenty of money to spare.” He opens one of his portals on the ground, tries making it bigger, but it doesn’t open up enough for the machine to fit. He curses under his breath.
“The ‘M’ already stands for machine, you know,” Spider-Man quips. “What’re you supposed to be, anyway? A cow? Dalmatian?”
Jon turns to face him. “This isn’t a costume.” He pulls at the skin of his ribs in demonstration.
“Woah!” Spider-Man exclaims. “That’s weird. So, you’re a slightly-more-interesting villain of the week, cool.” He jumps from his webbing and lands on his feet.
That does it. “I’m the Spot. And you’re going to regret saying that. We’ve met before, Spider-Man. You’re the one who made me—”
A ding interrupts him. “Uh-huh, hold on.” Spider-Man takes out his phone, seemingly looking at a text. “Shit, look, we’re gonna have to wrap this up—”
Jon snatches the phone out of his hand and throws it behind him. It cracks real good against the ground.
“What the hell, man?!” Spider-Man sounds angry now. Good; Jon will not be ignored! “You’re getting it, now.” Spider-Man swings a fist at him, and Jon barely manages to avoid it. When the next one comes at his face, he grabs the shorter man’s wrist and—
He opens his eyes.
A man is looking back at him, fear and regret in his eyes. He’s holding him by the throat, metal digging into his skin, over the edge of a roof. They’re both breathing heavily, quick breaths escaping their lips, and the man grabs at something on his forehead, pulls a mask over his face. He lets go of his throat.
A loud shot rings through the air. The man’s eyes go wide, and so do his own—his heart sinks into his stomach, feeling as if he’s the one who’s gotten shot, instead. A deafening, desperate silence rings through his skull as he reaches out to the man, now lying on the roof. Motionless.
Dead. He knows it, despite wanting to believe there’s a glimmer of hope. But there’s only darkness.
His vision gets cloudy, mind drifts away, and Jon comes to, his own memories and identity becoming clearer in his head as he’s back in the present.
Spider-Man’s eye-holes are staring up at him, wider than he’s ever seen. Both of them don’t move a muscle.
It hits Jon, then. The actual meaning of what just happened. Spider-Man is his soulmate. Spider-Man, the one who ruined his life, is the same person Jon’s been waiting to meet for over thirty years—the one who’s supposed to love and cherish him.
He slowly lets go of Spider-Man’s small wrist, a barrage of unknown, mixed emotions hitting him. Something crawls up his throat—a hysterical laugh, unbelieving of the complete absurdity of the situation. He doubles over, fists tightly clenched over his stomach, letting it all out.
Oh, how fate loves to play tricks on him. Spider-Man is his soulmate. Of course he is. Over thirty years he’s waited.
….But, wait. This is perfect. Now Spider-Man is stuck with him. Villain of the week? More like villain of a lifetime. Spider-Man has waited years for this, and this is who he gets. What better way to get revenge, than to be his only soulmate? Jon laughs even harder.
When it fizzles out, he looks back at Spider-Man. He’s still standing there, arms limp at his sides, staring at Jon. “I… You’re,” he whispers.
Jon grabs him by the chin, hard, and leans in to whisper in his ear. “You can’t get rid of me, now.”
The phone starts ringing again, its noise echoing throughout the empty alleyway. “Better pick that up,” Jon says with faux cheerfulness and pats Spider-Man’s cheek. He spins the opposite way and walks off, whistling a tune, leaving the shorter man behind. Spider-Man doesn’t follow after him.
When he arrives at his apartment, Jon punches a hole through the drywall.
—
Word on the street is that Spider-Man’s been absent for the past two days. Their last meeting’s little surprise must have really affected him. Of course it has.
On the contrary, Jon has been completely and utterly fine. His life is going normal. He’s spent more than thirty years without a soulmate—he’s practically used to it.
He definitely doesn’t go on a rampage stealing oranges from the local fruit market. Or punching another hole into his poor drywall. Or almost breaking his window with a TV remote.
Fine. He’s fine. All good here.
So, back to the topic that’s been eating at his brain for the last 56 hours. Spider-Man is out somewhere else, so Jon is planning to use that to his advantage. He’s still got rent to pay, after all.
He crawls out of his makeshift nest of blankets and orange peels and makes his way outside. It’s a cold, brisk night. People keep their distance from him, as usual.
Should he rob the bank? No, that’d be too bold. He can’t try another ATM, those things are heavier than he thought, and his holes can be tricky and uncooperative. A cash register wouldn’t make the cut for his rent, he’d have to steal multiple—
“Hey,” a familiar voice greets from behind him.
Jon freezes. Calm down, calm down. He turns around and leans his shoulder against the nearest brick wall, acting cool. “Well, look who decided to come out of his little web.”
Spider-Man keeps his distance. He’s a bit tense, Jon can tell; hesitant. “Out to steal another ATM?”
“Another? I’ve never stolen one, so I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.” Jon shrugs. He wonders, more than before, what’s hidden under that mask. What does his soulmate look like?
“Uh-huh.” Spider-Man stands there with his arms crossed, staring. A tense silence settles between them.
“So—”
“I came here,” Spider-Man interrupts him, looking away, “to talk... Can we talk?”
“So now you want to talk.”
The shorter man sighs. “I know you don’t like me. It’s…understandable. But I think a conversation—”
“Don’t like? I ‘don’t like’ you?” Jon laughs, breathy and sharp, and takes a few steps forward, towering over the short spider. “That’s not even close to what I feel for you, Spider-Man. You ruined me. And here’s a fun little fact, I made you. I’m the one who brought the spider that bit you into this dimension. You would be nothing without me.”
Spider-Man doesn’t say anything.
So Jon continues, steps even closer. “You saw it, didn’t you? You saw my memory through your own eyes. You caused the worst moment I’ve ever experienced. How does that make you feel? That your soulmate hates you?”
“I’m sorry.”
What.
Spider-Man clears his throat. “I’m sorry that happened to you. But…I also don’t regret what I did. That collider was gonna kill everyone. And while I would’ve tried getting people out of the area before destroying it…I was in a hurry. I couldn’t. So. I—I think it’s pretty unfair of you to say all that. If it wasn’t for me, you and everyone else would be dead.”
“…And how would you know that?” Jon asks.
Spider-Man scowls. “Dude, did you not notice all the earthquakes or, you know, reality itself breaking apart? Even…Even people from different dimensions got here by accident. You can’t mess with things like that.” His voice has a hint of sorrow at that last part.
“Well.” Jon doesn’t know what to say. “You got what you wanted.” He turns around and starts walking away. “Have fun being Spider-Man, while your soulmate rots away.”
“Wait,” Spider-Man calls out.
But Jon doesn’t stop, and Spider-Man doesn’t follow him. So that’s that.
—
To his absolute dismay, over the next few days, Jon finds that Spider-Man’s words, ‘don’t like,’ are becoming less of an understatement. Much of his hatred for Spider-Man is being replaced with curiosity and a disgusting speck of hope that’s been left over from all those years of waiting for a soulmate.
He doesn’t like it one bit. He’s supposed to hate Spider-Man. But as he thinks the man’s words over, rolls them around in his brain, they start making more sense.
Fisk was overbearing, mind too clouded by grief to care about consequences. But Jon still followed his orders—he was genuinely interested in his work with the collider, wanted to contribute to a new scientific breakthrough. Wanted to be important for once. Noticed.
Two different motivations, and yet they had the same outcome. The difference is that Jon is a free man, as opposed to Fisk.
Jon’s never considered himself a good guy. He’s always been normal, blending into the background. Spider-Man is supposed to be a pillar of good, a hero to everyone.
Why would fate pair them together? A balance, of sorts? They created each other, after all.
Maybe there’s something hidden underneath that Jon hasn’t yet figured out. It’s a good thing he’s skilled at solving puzzles.
—
It’s almost two weeks later when they meet once more.
He’s not out stealing, as much as Spider-Man wants him to be. He already paid this month’s rent with his neighbor’s money (turns out that unlocking front doors is a piece of cake with his holes).
He’s simply taking a walk, trying to clear his mind, when he feels a tap on his elbow and turns to see none other than Spider-Man staring up at him.
“Hi.”
Jon restrains the urge to rip that mask off his face. The itch to figure out Spider-Man’s identity has been present in his brain like a stain that won’t wash out. “Well look who it is.”
Spider-Man holds out a styrofoam box. “You want some empanadas?”
Huh. “…Some what?”
Silence. Jon feels judgment radiating from the spider, despite not seeing his expression. “Do you…not know what an empanada is?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Woah. Unbelievable. Uh… They taste good, so. You mind coming with me? Or are you gonna start raging and run away again?”
“I didn’t run away. But, fine. If you’re not going to tie me up and hand me over to the cops, I could use a bite.” Jon’s run out of his supply of oranges, and he’s been craving something else. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to eat anymore, but hunger strikes him anyway, so he’s not planning to stop.
“Really?” Spider-Man sounds surprised at his acceptance. Jon is, too, if he thinks about it. He’s being too pliant.
“What, you think I won’t accept free food?”
“I would’ve done this much sooner if I knew it’d be this easy.” Spider-Man looks around. “Anyway, follow me.”
Jon trails behind as Spider-Man starts walking, high-fiving random passersby and taking pictures with them. It’s aggravating, but he doesn’t say anything.
They arrive at an alleyway. Spider-Man helps him get on a fire escape platform and leaves him there, deciding to climb up the wall instead. Jon would use his holes to get up, but his coordination still isn’t so good and he doesn’t want to fall off a building, thank you very much.
Almost tripping on one of the ladders, he finally makes it up to the roof and finds Spider-Man standing on the edge, looking down at the city as if he owns the place. Jon thinks about pushing him off; the thought doesn’t excite him as much as it used to.
“Now, why did we come here?” Jon asks, out of breath.
Spider-Man sits down, legs swinging over the edge. “I like sitting here sometimes.” He pats the space next to him for Jon to join him.
“I’m fine where I am.”
Spider-Man huffs out a petulant breath, but doesn’t say anything. He opens the box on his thighs and holds out the thing that Jon forgot the name of.
“That isn’t spicy, is it?”
“Nah. Why, you can’t handle spice?” There’s a note of humor in Spider-Man’s voice.
“I can. I’d just prefer not to.” Jon takes the food and eats a bite. It’s good, he enjoys the ham and cheese and lack of oranges.
“How do you eat?” Spider-Man asks, curious. “Do you have a mouth in the hole?”
“It’s rude to talk about someone’s holes without their consent, you know.” Spider-Man snorts and Jon finishes the last bite. “I don’t have the answer to that question. I just eat.”
“…Okay, then.” Spider-Man slips up his mask, just over his mouth, and starts eating. Suddenly, Jon wants to sit next to him. So he does, cautiously, keeping his hands grounded on the roof behind him.
Now, from this angle, he can see Spider-Man’s mouth. Lips move with the rhythm of his jaw as he chews his own food. No sign of facial hair; smooth skin. How old is this Spider-Man?
“Will you ever show me what you look like?” Jon asks.
Spider-Man stops eating, swallows what’s in his mouth. Jon follows the movement of his throat. “I… I guess I’ll have to, at some point. Just, not yet. We just met.” He licks his lips, hesitant. “That’s why I don’t want us to be enemies. I want us to leave everything in the past and move on.”
“It’s not that simple for me. I’m always going to look like this.” Because of you goes unsaid.
Spider-Man sighs. “I already explained to you, man—”
“I know.”
Silence. Spider-Man finishes his food. “What memory did you see?” he whispers.
Jon hums. “A man getting shot on a roof.”
Spider-Man flinches, as if he’d been expecting that answer. “Yeah… That was my Uncle Aar—”he stops himself. “My uncle. I loved him. He was…He was a good man, even if he did some questionable things. He had a good heart.” His voice trembles. He sounds so young; Jon’s curiosity only keeps getting bigger.
Jon doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s never been much good at comforting others, or even himself. “He looked friendly.”
Spider-Man breathes out a laugh, rubbing at his eyes. “He was. He was the friendliest guy I knew. He could make a whole room laugh with a single word.”
“Ah... And when did he die?”
Spider-Man gulps. “It’s almost been a year and a half, now… Sorry. I just… got too emotional, there.” He shakes his head.
“It’s alright.” Jon wants this tenseness in the air to disappear. “I understand the feeling. Both of my parents are dead.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear…”
They don’t speak for a while, looking at the cars and people passing by under them, the sounds of engines and laughter echoing throughout the city.
Jon breaks the silence. “Can you at least give me your name, for now?”
Spider-Man turns to him, biting his lip in contemplation. An unfamiliar urge overcomes Jon at the sight—he doesn’t know what. “You know what, sure. My name’s Miles.”
“Miles,” Jon tests out the word on his tongue. It fits. “It’d only be fair if I also told you mine. Jon.”
“Jon? Is that a nickname?”
“Short for Jonathan.”
Spider-Man—no, Miles—nods. “Cool. I’ve always liked that name.”
“Me too, but I may be biased.”
Miles laughs. Something rings in Jon’s chest at the sound.
What is going on with him?
That question stays in his mind even after they part ways, Miles saying he has to make it to his parents’ in time (a curfew? Again, how old is he?). Jon felt pure hatred for this same man (boy?), just a few weeks ago. And now…a lot of it is gone. All it took was a soulmate connection.
He understands what people say, now. Fate always finds a way. And that’s what he hates the most, now.
What else can he possibly redirect his anger to? Who can he blame for his disfigurement, save for himself? Who else can he punish for ruining his life?
He hates it all, more than he can put into words.
—
Miles, Miles, Miles.
He searches everywhere for that name. Using the public Wi-Fi of the nearest Burger Queen, he looks through every public database he can find. And yet, nothing pops up.
‘That was my Uncle Aar…’
His uncle. Jon knows he died ‘almost a year and a half ago.’ Name begins with ‘Aar’… Could be variants of the names Eric, Arin, Erwin, Ariel… Shot dead on a roof, a unique way to die.
He keeps searching. And, finally, he finds it: a news article from 2018 about the death of an Aaron Davis, brother of police officer Jefferson Morales. There was a tribute to the man; Jon sees his picture and it’s the same man he saw in the soulmate memory. This would make Jefferson Morales the father of Miles… Miles Morales.
Bingo.
He types the name into Gooble and scours around. There’s an old picture of a middle school sports team, Miles’s name in the list, but Jon doesn’t know which boy he is. Jon keeps scrolling, trying to find information about the correct Miles Morales. Another website pops up, a page about a high school awards ceremony. Miles Morales is listed in the award recipients list. Brooklyn Visions Academy; that one’s not too far. And the award is fresh. This must be it.
He knew it. Miles is young; only a high schooler. He’s no Spider-Man.
This newfound information only makes the itch in his brain increase. He wants to know more; aches for it.
The school has dormitories. A plan starts brewing in his mind.
—
Loitering in front of a high school is more difficult than he previously thought.
He keeps walking around across the street, keeping an eye on the building’s upper windows for a familiar black and red suit. School’s out, which means that Spider-Man should be coming out any minute now.
Yep, any minute now…
Jon needs to find Miles’s dormitory. Maybe then he can catch a glimpse of his face (he couldn’t find a photo online). He wants to know more about his soulmate—needs to.
“Hey, you.” Jon pauses when he hears an unfamiliar voice, turning to a man in a food truck and pointing to himself in question. “Yeah, you! You’ve been walking around here for no apparent reason, looking at the school. You waiting on a student?” The bearded man looks suspicious.
Ah, shit. “I am, actually.”
“Well I sure as hell’ve never seen you around here before. And I’d know if I did.” The man looks him up and down.
A sudden idea pops up in his mind. Jon lifts the plastic bag of recently-stolen bananas he’s been carrying with him. “I’m looking to sell these.”
“Huh? Bananas?”
“Yes. I sell bananas to children.” Wait. That came out a bit…wrong.
The man stares at him weird, staying silent. He looks like he’s five seconds away from calling the cops.
“Anyway!” Jon pipes up, “I’ve gotta get to it. There’s rent to pay.” He spins around, only to jump like a startled cat when he sees Spider-Man looking back at him.
“Get to what?” Miles asks with a strange tone.
“Oh! Hey there, friend,” Jon greets, eyeing the guy behind him to make sure he heard that last word. Spider-Man knows him—he’s a good guy.
“Hey.” Miles has his arms crossed, closed off. “I’ll talk to you later, Armando!” he says to the food truck guy, before he grabs Jon’s arm and pulls him down the sidewalk.
Jon has a bad feeling about this.
“You mind telling me what you’ve been doing circling this school for the past hour?” There’s a hint of…something in his voice. Caution? Rage? Fear?
“I’ve escaped a life of crime and embraced a fruit-selling career—”
“Stop. I’m being serious, man. I’ve been watching you, I know you’re lying.”
Great. Jon doesn’t say anything as Miles leads him into yet another alleyway; he sure seems to love those.
“How did you find my school? Did you follow me?”
“I didn’t. How do you expect me to keep up with you as you’re swinging from those webs?” Jon leans against the wall, tries to keep it cool.
“How, then? Was it my name? Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” Miles runs a tired hand over his face.
“Gooble is a powerful resource, you know,” Jon mutters.
“So you did look me up. I didn’t even say my—ugh.”
“What’s the big problem with your own soulmate knowing your identity, anyway? Aren’t we supposed to trust each other?”
“Dude… I just met you a few weeks ago. You were stealing an ATM. You said you hated me. What makes me think you won’t go and tell everyone my secret?”
He’s got a fair point. Jon has valuable information in his hands. And while he could use it to his advantage…he finds that he wants to prove himself to Miles, instead. “I won’t. There’s nothing else you can do but trust me, now.”
A sigh. “I guess that’s true. I’m still angry, though. You should’ve respected my choice.”
“Hey, put yourself in my shoes, here—”
“You don’t wear shoes.”
“—I didn’t know a single thing about my soulmate. I only knew about Spider-Man, and nothing else. I still don’t even know what you look like. I can only get so curious before I start going a little crazy.”
Miles looks away. Jon can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain.
Jon grabs the boy’s chin and turns his face toward him again, Miles tensing under his touch. “And now that I know your identity,” Jon says, “it wouldn’t hurt to show me your face. Right?”
There’s a long pause. “Fine.”
Yes. Yes! “Good. Let’s do it now.”
“Now? Well, I can’t do it here.”
“My place, then.” It’s not much of a question.
A beat. “Okay.“
So Jon takes Miles Morales to his apartment. Plan failed successfully?
“Here we are,” Jon says as he opens the door for Miles, who slowly walks in and looks around, taking it all in.
“Are those…orange peels, on the floor?” Miles asks.
Ah. He forgot to clean. “Well—”
“And why are there holes in the wall?”
“…Don’t worry about it.” He shuts the door behind him. “See, there’s not a single ATM machine here. I’m an innocent man.”
“Sure,” Miles drawls. He’s looking at the small table in the entrance, decorated with a picture of himself and another of his parents. “Is that you?” Miles points to the picture that was used for his Alchemax ID.
“Yes. That was me.” Jon doesn’t like looking at that photo, anymore. Not when he doesn’t see that same face looking back at him in the mirror. He grabs the photo and turns it over.
“Jonathan Ohnn,” Miles reads from the back.
“That’s my name. So. Are you finally gonna take that thing off?”
Miles puffs out a breath. “You’re really impatient, huh?”
“You would be doing the same if you were in my place.”
“Alright, alright,” Miles says, but doesn’t move.
“…Well?”
“Look… I just. You already know I’m in high school, and…well, I’m 15. Just so you know what to expect.”
That’s even younger than Jon thought. And yet, he’s not put off. He chalks it up to the fact that they’re soulmates and promptly shoves the thought out of his mind.
“Okay. I’m waiting.”
Miles nods, then slowly slides the mask off. All the air leaves Jon’s body when he sees his face. Those brown eyes stare up at him with hesitance, a small crease between his brows. The boy is adorable. He entices a part of Jon that’s been tucked away for years.
“Uh, so…” Miles mutters, shy. “Wh—”
Jon cups the boy’s cheeks in his hands, turns his face this way and that, burning every angle of it to his memory. “Oh, you’re so cute! I could just eat you up.”
“What the—you sound like my mom!” Miles pulls at his wrists, embarrassed.
Jon laughs, lowering his hands and running them over the boy’s neck and shoulders, squeezing at the muscle. Miles’s breath hitches at the touch, lips parting. Jon doesn’t linger, not wanting to take things too far just yet. He turns away and opens the plastic bag he dropped near the front door. “Want some fresh bananas?”
“Weren’t you just gonna sell those?” Miles asks, not actually being serious.
“You want to pay for them? I’ll take the money.” Jon peels a banana and starts eating it.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Your loss.” Jon grabs the bag and places it on his kitchen counter.
“Where’d you get those, anyway? You didn’t steal them, did you?”
“…Me? Steal fruits?” Jon laughs. “Even I have enough money for that.” He doesn’t. He’s saving it up for rent, and it’s easy enough to steal from the market owned by an old woman who goes to the bathroom every thirty minutes.
“Right…” Miles crosses his arms, biting his lip. “So. Just out of curiosity, how old are you?”
“34.” Jon takes another bite of his banana. “Too old for you?”
Miles shakes his head. “…I’m fine with that. But my parents wouldn’t be.”
“Then it’s a good thing I won’t be meeting them.” Jon throws away the banana peel.
“Yet. We’ll have to wait a few years before we tell them the truth, at least. And until you learn what an empanada is.” He snorts.
“You sure aren’t forgetting that anytime soon, huh?”
“Nope.”
Jon leans against the counter as they stare at each other. Miles opens his mouth to say something, but a ring interrupts him. “Hold on.” He takes out his phone—still cracked from when Jon threw it, whoops—and answers the call.
Jon picks up all the orange peels on his floor as Miles talks to his mother about school and uninteresting things.
“I’ll go, I’ll go, okay. Bye, love you.” Miles hangs up and sighs. “I, uh. Gotta head home, so.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Miles stands around, hesitant, as if he doesn’t know how to part ways with him. Jon would intervene, but he enjoys seeing the boy squirm. “Well. Okay. I’ll go, then. Bye.” Miles settles on a wave and walks to the front door, struggles with the doorknob.
“You’ve got to turn it to the right, really hard. Don’t break it, or you pay for it yourself.”
Miles laughs. “Got it.” He finally gets it right and leaves.
Jon’s back to being alone.
—
To Jon’s surprise, Miles starts visiting him almost every day before he begins his patrols.
And every single time, he brings food with him. Miles gives him fast food, snacks, baked goods—even his mother’s cooking. Jon feels like a charity case, but his stomach sure isn’t complaining.
With every visit, they grow a little closer. And Jon grows more restless. He has dreams of touching the boy, making him squirm and writhe under him. The urge gets even stronger when Miles stands right in front of him, wearing that tight suit with a cute frown on his face.
Jon may look like a monster, but he’s still a man. And a man can only resist temptation for so long.
They’re returning from a walk outside. It’s a Saturday, so Miles finished his spider-duties earlier in the day, giving them more time together. He wanted Jon to get some fresh air after being cooped up with his computer in his apartment for days. Jon went along with it.
“And then Ganke said the guy slipped on a banana peel,” Miles says, laughing. “That sounds like something that would happen to you, not gonna lie.”
“It absolutely would not.” It would. In fact, it already has. Twice. The last time was a few months ago, back when his banana supply was about to end. But he’s not going to say that.
“…Hey, would you mind if I told Ganke about you?” Miles starts walking slower.
“About me? Or about you finding your soulmate?” Jon steps to the side, just barely avoiding a man running at full speed in a suit.
“About you, I mean. I trust Ganke; if he hasn’t told anyone about me being…you know, then he won’t tell about us.”
“Well, if you want to admit that your soulmate is a white creature with holes on his body, be my guest.”
Miles frowns. “Hey… I like your holes.” A woman walking by them gasps, scandalized, and covers her child’s ears. “That’s not how I meant—“ Miles begins loudly, but the woman only increases her speed. “Oh, God,” he groans in embarrassment.
Jon laughs. “I learned the hard way not to talk about my holes so loudly.” They arrive at Jon’s apartment building and start climbing the stairs.
“I meant what I said, you know. I’m not ashamed of you or anything. I like you. And I—I’m. I find you attractive. Face or no face.” Jon pauses, making Miles bump into his back. “Wh—”
“Do you mean that?” Jon asks. He takes a deep breath, tries to contain himself, and turns around.
Miles looks timid at his admission, yet determined, fists clenched. “Of course. And whether you believe me or not, that’s not changing.”
Jon can’t help it. He grips the front of Miles’s shirt and pushes him against the wall, still standing on the staircase, looming over him. Miles’s breath stutters; he stares up at him with dilated pupils, licks his soft-looking lips.
And that serves as a confirmation in itself. Miles is telling the truth, he can see it in the boy’s eyes.
“Oh, Miles…” Jon whispers. “You don’t know what you do to me. Listen, this visit won’t be like the others, if you know what I mean. I won’t be able to contain myself. You can choose to leave, or you can follow me.” Jon lets go of his shirt. “I won’t mind, whatever you pick.”
Miles gulps and nods slowly. Jon continues climbing up the stairs, smiles when he hears footsteps following behind him.
It happens almost instantly, once the door is shut behind them. Jon grabs Miles by the arm and drags him to the couch, pushes him onto it. Miles gasps under him when Jon licks a trail up his neck to his earlobe with his dark tongue.
The boy wraps his arms around Jon’s neck, pulls him up so they’re face-to-hole. “Is—Is it possible to kiss you?”
“Let’s find out,” Jon says, and leans in. That same dark essence he uses to savor his food almost forms a solid shape, sliding over Miles’s soft lips—he can feel them. Miles seems a bit lost, not knowing how to move his mouth, and Jon sure doesn’t blame him.
He slithers his tongue into Miles’s mouth, licks around and tastes every crevice. He’s delicious; Jon craves more. He runs his hands over the boy’s trembling body as he whimpers, squeezes his thighs and ass like he’s been fantasizing about for the past months.
Jon parts from the kiss—if it can even be called one—and lets Miles breathe. Miles is already hard, and so is Jon. His slippery, tentacle-like cock is rising out of his body, desperate for friction. Jon gives it a stroke and hisses.
Miles gasps when he sees it. “Woah.” He reaches out without touching it. “Can I…?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Miles grabs his cock—and oh, it feels unreal, just how perfectly his soulmate’s hand fits around him. Jon thrusts into the boy’s fist a few times, groaning out his name, but pulls the hand off before he can get lost in the feeling.
“I want to touch you.” Jon pulls at his pants, signaling for Miles to take them off. He looks so flustered; Jon can’t wait to eat him up.
When he takes off his shoes and pants, Jon almost cums at the sight before him. Miles’s leaking cock, fully hard, looking as if it was made for him. Jon immediately leans down to shove it in his mouth, wrapping his long tongue around it. Miles writhes underneath him, moaning loudly, and holds onto Jon’s head.
“Jon! Fuck, it’s too g—oh!” Miles’s head snaps back when Jon slides his tongue over the head. He calls out his name so beautifully, Jon needs to hear it more.
Miles is panting and sweating when Jon slides his mouth off his cock, lifts the boy’s legs onto his shoulders and spreads his ass. Perfect; his hole is just begging to be tasted. Before Miles can even have time to process what’s about to occur, Jon is sliding his wet, slimy tongue inside his tight entrance, wriggling it around.
Miles’s hips buck as he keens, his whole body trembling as he holds onto the couch for dear life. He’s going to rip it, but Jon doesn’t care about that right now, instead focusing on the way Miles pulses and twitches around his tongue as he moves it inside the boy, brushing it right against his prostate and dragging those wonderful noises out of his throat.
“I’m, I’m gonna,” Miles moans and shudders as he cums, spilling onto his own stomach. Jon pulls off and licks all the semen off Miles’s body. He can’t get enough of him.
He moves back up, licks Miles’s neck again and whispers in his ear, “I’m not done with you, just yet.”
Jon lines himself up, slowly starts sliding his cock inside of Miles. The boy whines, sensitive, his nails digging into Jon’s shoulders. It feels so incredibly tight, Jon’s gonna go crazy.
Then, he’s fully in. Jon groans and takes a few deep breaths. He can’t cum yet—he can’t! He’s not done here. After adjusting a little more, he begins thrusting gently, cock slipping in and out easily.
As he goes faster, Miles’s eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open in complete bliss. Little noises escape him every time Jon hits that sweet spot. He starts going even faster.
A sudden idea pops into his mind when he looks down at Miles’s neglected cock. Jon lifts himself up and opens a hole on his palm, leading to another in front of his face. He covers Miles’s crotch with his hand and his cock materializes out of the hole near his face. Jon shoves it into his mouth again, wrapping his tongue around it and bobbing his head.
Miles yelps, squirming on the couch, eyes clenched shut. “Holy shit,” a moan, “I, I can’t, Jon—oh my god!” Miles’s spine curves upwards as he cums once more, this time into Jon’s mouth. Jon swallows down every last drop.
Jon’s close, too. Very close. He only has to thrust into that tightness three more times before he spills inside of Miles. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, tightly grabbing onto the boy’s hips. He pulls out and his dark fluid oozes out of the boy’s hole (he’ll have to steal a fabric cleaner for the couch). Jon lies on top of him, careful not to crush him too much. His cock shrinks back into his body as he catches his breath.
They finally crossed the line. Jon’s been waiting, and it was worth it. Very much so.
“Was that your first time?” Jon asks, the question only now occurring to him.
“…Yeah.” A pause. “It was, uh, my first kiss, too,” he whispers.
Jon giggles, a little delirious. “My condolences. That was nothing like a normal kiss.”
Miles wiggles out from underneath him a bit. “Well, it’s normal for us. That’s all that matters.”
“Mhmmm.”
There’s only the sound of their breaths and the car engines outside.
“I liked it,” Miles says. “It was good. And that ability of yours, with the holes… Damn.” He laughs.
“I’ve always thought about using them for this.” Jon runs a hand over the boy’s body, lightly wraps it around his neck, taking note of how large it is in comparison. Miles is so small.
“What’re you doing,” Miles mumbles.
Jon moves down, grabs Miles’s hand to hold it against his own. The tip of his middle finger barely reaches Jon’s fingers’ middle joints.
“It’s big,” Miles notes and intertwines their fingers.
It’s been a long time since Jon has experienced these touches. Something almost breaks in him, but his soulmate’s presence serves to keep him in one piece.
They lie there, too lazy to get up (in Jon’s case, at least) and not wanting this moment to end just yet.
“Hey,” Miles starts, hesitant. “You… know about the multiverse, right?”
“Well, yes. I helped build the collider.”
“And, uh. Do you think there’s a safe way to travel between dimensions?” Miles bites his lip.
Jon hums. “There has to be. There’s always a way.” That’s one thing Jon has learned over the years. “Why?”
The boy sighs. “I’d just… like to see my friends again, at some point. They’re in their own worlds now, but I miss them. I miss them a lot.”
“And you think I can help you reunite with them,” Jon finishes.
“Yeah. I don’t think we could build something without any materials, but we could at least try to form theories. And… you don’t have to help me—”
Jon shushes him. “I’ll help you, Miles.”
Miles smiles, bright, and Jon knows right then that he made the right choice.
“Thanks.”
Silence. Jon stares down at one of his holes. The ability to go from point A to point B instantly. An important element of interdimensional travel. He wonders…
“Actually,” Jon says, “I might already have an idea.”