Chapter 13 The Meet-Cute
Matty leaned against the wall that supported the grand staircase, shoulders hunched like he might disappear into the wallpaper if he concentrated hard enough.
He wore a black Spider-Man bodysuit under black basketball shorts and a gray-and-red hoodie.
He’d chosen this AU version of Spidey specifically because he could cover the suit enough to not feel completely exposed.
He wasn’t ashamed of his body or anything; he just didn’t know these people.
Sure, he could’ve picked a different costume, but he’d only decided to attend at the last minute.
This was a lot of people for Matty. Not college kids like at school.
Not a bunch of people who didn’t matter.
These were people who’d been hand-picked by his brother-in-law to attend this party, his brother-in-law who was one of the most powerful men alive.
It was such a strange configuration of people.
All ages, all races, all genders, just seamlessly blending together like family.
The whole house already buzzed with noise and laughter, the kind of chaotic energy that made his skin prickle.
Truthfully, Jordan had all but insisted they attend.
He was way more into their new family than Matty was.
That wasn’t to say Matty didn’t like the Mulvaneys, he did.
But he didn’t really know them. It wasn’t like bonding with psychopaths was easy.
They’d invited him and fifty other people to a party that, according to Jordan, was going to devolve into some kind of murder.
He said he’d overheard his brother, Aiden and Aiden’s husband, Thomas discussing it when they were all upstairs getting ready.
His brother. The thought was so weird. His brother was dead.
At least that’s what his father, Marshall Kendrick, had told him anyway.
That Aiden had died in an accident when he was seventeen.
The weird part was that Matty had seen Aiden’s name in the project Watchtower files more than once but had never made any kind of connection.
It wasn’t like Aiden was a rare name. But his brother was alive and now they were there.
In this weird limbo of being family but also strangers.
Aiden was cool. Thomas was cooler. So far, they’d made good on every promise they’d made him.
They’d gotten him into Ellory College with little fanfare.
Jordan, too. While Matty was currently an econ major, Jordan had entered the music program.
Matty had thought for sure Jordan’s music would be “too much” for a stuffy college full of geniuses, but they actually seemed to enjoy Jordan’s rock music.
They’d even clapped for him during orientation week, which Matty still couldn’t entirely process.
There was only one real problem: the cliques.
It hadn’t taken long for people to find out that Matty’s last name might be Kendrick, but he was somehow tied to the Mulvaneys.
After that, they’d started asking him to join group activities—study groups, acapella groups, poker nights, some weird fantasy-themed running club.
The Ivy League was the Ivy League, even when the students were handpicked.
He shook the thought away. He didn’t have to worry about school again until Monday.
Tonight, he just had to survive without dying of boredom or embarrassment.
Jordan, social butterfly that he was, had abandoned him almost immediately upon arrival to flirt with the large, brooding guy with long dark hair dressed as a very believable version of Brandon Lee’s Crow.
Matty didn’t mind. He was already contemplating sneaking off to his assigned room and calling it a night before things got bloody.
He brought his glass to his lips, took a sip of the sickeningly sweet liquor, grimaced, and abandoned it on one of the trays. His tongue felt coated in sugar and fake cherry. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wishing the drink had at least come with a burn.
“Hey.”
Matty turned to find another Spider-Man staring at him.
This one was dressed as Spider-Man 2099, and he filled out the suit in a way Matty never could.
The mask hiding his eyes made it disturbingly easy for Matty to look his fill.
Tall. Broad shouldered. Spandex clinging to muscles in a way that made Matty’s mouth water.
He found himself wondering what his face looked like under there.
What color his eyes were, what shape his mouth was, whether he had the kind of jawline that made Matty make bad decisions.
“Hi,” Matty murmured, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the wall, giving the stranger his full attention. Or as full as he could manage without looking like he was about to chew through his own restraints.
“What’s your name?”
“Miles,” Matty lied smoothly. “Miles Morales.”
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 into his room, 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.
Miguel tugged Matty’s mask out of the way, mirroring him. He didn’t have to see Miguel’s eyes to know he was looking at Matty’s mouth. They were both keeping secrets. Both pretending this was nothing.
Miguel wasn’t super tall, but Matty was small—barely 5’6. He had to come up on his toes to reach him. Matty leaned in, ready, braced, expecting a hard, messy, aggressive kiss like those hookups in the movies. The ones where they were rough and raw and tearing at each other’s clothes like animals.
But before he could connect, Miguel reversed their positions in a blink. Now it was Matty’s back to the cold wood. Miguel’s large hand wrapped loosely around Matty’s neck, not squeezing, just holding, guiding.
Matty gasped, breath catching.
He wanted raw, needy. Desperate. Something sharp enough to match the chaos buzzing under his skin.
But it wasn’t.
When their lips connected, it was soft. Almost chaste.
A slow press. A lingering slide. Their mouths fitting together like they’d done this a hundred times instead of zero.
It was gentle, careful, completely at odds with the way Miguel had manhandled him a second ago.
It made Matty feel a little lost, a little dizzy, a shock of awareness shooting through him, his cock hardening instantly.
Jesus. Relax. It’s just a kiss.
But it wasn’t just a kiss. Not like the ones he was used to. Not sloppy drunken hookups behind frat houses or rushed, numb encounters in dark rooms. This was deliberate. Focused. Sweet in a way that made Matty’s chest ache.