(( **POSSIBLE SPOILERS for Across the Spider-Verse in the writing below; DON'T READ FURTHER if you haven't seen it yet and are avoiding all spoilers** ))




“LET. ME. OUT.” Miguel O’Hara, currently in the humiliating position of finding himself completely trapped inside the carnivorous stomach of Peter B. Parker, struggled furiously against the tight, slick walls that contained him. His words vibrated with rage; it was the first time he had asked – or rather, demanded – to be let free in the nearly twenty minutes since the other Spider-Man had taken him by surprise and managed to force him down his throat whole.

He had assumed, after the initial shock of what his former ally had done had passed, that he would be able to extricate himself from this embarrassing predicament rather easily. With his strength, not to mention his sharp claws and even his venomous fangs, if it came to it, Miguel was far from unarmed and helpless. But the walls were too constricting and tight for him to make any full movements, so he could not manage a punch or kick with his full strength behind it; he was not even sure how well he would have been able to breathe without the protective layer of his mask. Worse still, the sharp tips of his clawed fingers could find no purchase against the eager flesh that surrounded him, rubbery and thickly coated in viscous, sticky digestive mucus as it was. He even tried pulling up the bottom of his mask and biting with his fangs, but his teeth met the same implacable resistance as his claws – and, worse, the flecks of digestive juices that touched his lips and tongue in the ill-fated attempt itched and stung.
He felt increasing rage at the failure of these attempts, rather than panic, though the latter was creeping into the back of his mind. Peter even had the audacity to tell Miguel that the onslaught of his claws and teeth had tickled. It also, evidently, gave him a case of the hiccups, which made Miguel’s prison shudder and clench around him in brief, disorienting spasms, though these resolved quickly, trailing off into an enormous, self-satisfied belch.

Hearing – and feeling, through the movements and pressure from outside that he could only assume were Peter rubbing and patting his distended belly – how smug Peter was about this was perhaps this worst part. The way he moaned and sighed in satisfaction as though Miguel was nothing but an indulgent meal. The way he belched, deep and shameless. Miguel had known that this version of Spider-Man, who had gained a strong predatory appetite along with the more typical powers of the radioactive spider-bite, had dispatched numerous villains and criminals in his own world by means of devouring them. But Miguel had never thought he was in danger of meeting this fate. How long had Peter been planning to do this? How long had he been sizing up his alternate reality counterpart as mere food? “Let me out,” he repeated, trembling with indignation.

Peter’s tone was maddeningly relaxed, and even a little slurred, as though he was drunk on the amount of food – of Miguel – currently stretching his stomach. “I already told ya, though I guess you were too busy squirming around to hear it the first time. I’m not letting you out – unless you leave Miles alone.”

So that was what this was about? Miguel knew Peter cared for Miles and considered him his protege, but he’d thought Peter understood the situation. In frustration, Miguel renewed his attempts to kick and squirm before he ground out a response. “You know I can’t do that! The fate of the multi-verse –”

“Yeah, yeah, the fate of the multi-verse, I remember,” Peter interrupted him lazily, shifting Miguel’s prison abruptly by leaning back against something, drumming his fingers against the fabric of his suit stretched over his quivering belly.

“Don’t you care about that? If not for any of us or for yourself, at least for your little girl?”

For the first time, Miguel felt Peter’s body stiffen around him, the mention of his daughter the only thing that seemed to give the cannibalistic Spider-Man pause. In the ensuing quiet, all Miguel could hear was the increasingly loud gurgling sound of digestive fluids moving through the stomach and organs around him, and, more faintly, the beat of the other man’s heart not far from his head. But Peter’s reverie seemed to pass in only a few moments. “I don’t think this is gonna play out how you think it will. She’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine. There’s always some time to save the day in the end. Have a little faith.”

“I had faith in you, and this is how you repay it.” Miguel snarled the words.

Peter didn’t reply. The gurgling and groaning of the stomach around Miguel was growing ever louder. Despite the protective layer of his suit covering his body from head to toe, he was beginning to feel a slight tingling in his skin, and he felt as though his limbs were becoming stickier, their attempts at movement more sluggish, as the digestive juices thickened and worked around their prey. “You can’t digest me,” he said, more of a question in his voice than he intended there to be.

“I think you’ll find that I can. Your suit’s still kind of on the fritz after that shock Miles gave you, isn’t it? Even if it wasn’t, my stomach would win out eventually. It’s very persistent. But like I said, I’m willing to let you out… even though, to be honest, I really needed this.” Another grateful pat to his engorged belly, another richly drawn-out burp. “I’ve been so busy taking care of Mayday, I haven’t had time to eat nearly enough… mm, I was starving.”

The humiliation of being treated as nothing more than a satisfying lunch was more than Miguel could stand. He considered lying. If he could convince the other Spider-Man that he had changed his stance, that he would stand aside or even work with Miles Morales to save his doomed father at the cost of the integrity of the threads that held the dimensions delicately balanced together, he could get out of this brutal, unyielding organic prison. And once he was out, he could get revenge.

But his pride would not allow it. He could not bring himself to lie, and even if he did, he doubted Peter would believe him. Still, he wouldn’t go out without a fight. He butted his head as hard as he could against the wall of Peter’s stomach that he believed was closest to his heart; even if Peter’s stomach seemed nigh-invincible from the inside, perhaps his other organs were not so resilient. But all his effort produced was an even longer, louder belch out of his captor than those that had come before.

Quite certain now that Miguel had made his choice, Peter made himself comfortable in the isolated corner of one of the futuristic hallways of the Spider Society, massaging his gorged middle as his meal’s futile struggles continued. Strong as Miguel was, it was likely to be a while before they slowed, but that was all right with Peter; his stomach relished the fight it was sure to win. He’d rest here for a while, provided he could stay out of sight from any other spider-people – though he was certain he wasn’t the only one who had come to take issue with Miguel’s leadership in the wake of the chase, he didn’t want to take any chances – and then he’d go home again. Home, where he’d left Mayday, exhausted from what was just another fun-filled day for her, sleeping under the watchful eye of his wife, who would give him a belly rub when he got back, if he was lucky. He’d done what he could for now, and what happened next would be in Miles’ hands. Nestling into the fuzzy pink bathrobe he was still wearing, he closed his eyes, the sounds of Miguel’s angry protestations increasingly drowned out by the rich churning and groaning of Peter’s gluttonous stomach, and drifted off into an untroubled slumber.

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