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Alex loved this. He lived on it. It was a process, taking Michael apart. It took time and it took patience, but that was something Alex had in spades.
Snark was always Michael’s default and he rode that train until the tracks crumbled beneath him, until it burned away to something needy and desperate and soft. Alex just had to wait.
It would start with sarcasm. “Sure taking your sweet time for someone who wants to get off this century.” He’d raise his eyebrows at where Alex was hard in his jeans, and growl at the way Alex made him gasp around the feeling of light fingers on his cock. Alex would smile, spreading his legs against the mattress to push Michael’s legs apart, opening him up, just the way Alex liked him best.
Next would come the frustration and curse words. “Let’s go, fuck, Alex.” His name would bleed into a snarl, Michael’s nose twisting up, as Alex smoothed his fingers down the twitch of muscle behind Michael’s balls. Michael’s hips would roll into the touch, seeking more, more pressure, more contact, more anything than this gentle tease.
That would always last a while, through the way Alex slipped that first slick finger into Michael and pressed his nose into the crease of Michael’s thigh, breathing in deep, letting his tongue slip out to taste the sweat gathering there. A chorus of “come on” and “dammit, Alex” and “shiiiiit, just-” would tumble out, filled with angry huffs and hitches, demanding and pushy, but never aggressive. Michael wouldn’t dare pull his hands from where Alex left them splayed and grasping above his head; he knew better. He knew this would be good, would be worth it, he had just never been as patient as Alex.
It would start to slide into something less tough, more yielding, when Alex pressed the second finger in, let his other hand wander up Michael’s chest to pinch at his nipples. It would start with little “ah, ahh, ah, ahhhh”s that would be muffled when Michael clacked his teeth together and clenched his jaw against the way it wanted to be open and panting and pleading. It would start when Alex finally let his fingers glance over Michael’s prostate and that first “please” finally slipped its way from Michael’s throat.
He would beg then, raw and shameless. “Please, Alex, I-nnngggg, please, I need more, I can’t. Please.” Alex loved to watch him, all of him, from the way his toes clenched and his knees twitched, to the writhe and arch of his torso and the flutter of his eyelids.
His curls would be a mess by this point, sweat-damp and heavy, tangled up from the way Michael was rolling his head against the pillow as he tried to ride out the sensations flowing through his body from Alex’s touch. Sometimes Alex would lever forward, hovering over Michael close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, so he could press his fingers into those curls, feel the way they wrapped around his fingers, clinging to him just as surely as he clung to them, pulling and squeezing to feel the way it made Michael arch up, lean into the touch, and moan.
It was when he started to stutter, words tripping up on his tongue, too distracted, too wrung out to wrangle it into anything but senseless, desperate need, that Alex would press the third finger in, humming in content as a shiver rolled through Michael's body, low whine reverberating through the room, through Alex. Michael would grip at the sheets above his head, triceps straining as he fought the urge to grab himself, to give himself what he was being denied. Every muscle in his body would tense like a bow string ready to snap, hips pressing up against where Alex held him down, throat bobbing with a ceaseless babble of choked-off cries, and Alex felt like he could get drunk on this feeling, on those noises, on the sight.
It was always just as Alex was beginning to ache, the tightness in his pants becoming just this side of too much with the way Michael shook, whole body vibrating, that Michael would finally let go.
He was so pretty when he crumbled, mouth popping open around words that would no longer come, eyes fighting against the urge to roll back, body just collapsing against the bed, loose and warm. Michael was at his most pliant in these moments, allowing himself to be touched, soaking in the sensations, the chaos in his mind finally calmed.
This is when Alex would pause, no longer teasing and stretching, just letting his fingers rest inside Michael, just letting himself have this moment of observation, of want. Alex could think of only one thing more beautiful than the press of Michael’s teeth against his bottom lip, the shine of tear tracks down the sides of his face, the slopes of splotchy, overworked muscles across his torso, and the twitch of his painfully hard cock, leaking against his stomach.
“Guerin, look at me,” Alex would say, voice low but firm. Michael would hear him, pathetic noise escaping his throat even as his hips twitched against Alex’s hand. Sometimes it would take a moment, while Michael gathered himself, forced himself out of his head, but he would always blink his eyes and open them wide to meet Alex’s.
And there it was, the most beautiful thing Alex ever saw. Michael’s eyes bright and shining, staring at Alex with the kind of laser-focus of a man unabashedly in love. He would do anything Alex asked and Alex would give him anything he wanted.
When he could no longer hold the gaze, when it had burned away the last of Alex’s control, he would surge forward and kiss Michael, tasting him, inhaling him, losing himself just a bit in the way it felt like nothing else, like no one else ever had.
When he had his fill, he would pull his fingers out and strip his clothes quickly off the side of the bed, hurried by the sound of Michael’s helpless mewling, by his own need. Alex would pause only to coat himself when he crawled back over to Michael, weight shifted forward onto his elbows against the mattress on either side of Michael, one hand tangled in his curls. He would reach up with his free hand and grab one of Michael’s, lacing their fingers and drawing it down, pressing a kiss to the knuckles as he watched Michael watching him.
Alex would hold Michael’s eyes so he could watch they way they tilted back as he pressed in. It was intoxicating, the way Michael would gasp, squeezing at Alex’s hand, pressing up into his body like he couldn’t get enough, like it would never be enough. Alex could feel the way Michael wanted to reach for him, reach for himself, grasp and pull at skin, touch anything but the dry sheets above his head. He would always be so good for Alex, no matter what Alex asked of him, no matter how hard it was, no matter how Alex teased and tortured him.
With a roll of his hips, Alex would reward him. It was easier, like this, when Michael wasn’t fighting against the urge to give in, when he wasn’t trying to shift focus away from himself, when he finally let Alex hone in on the things that made Michael whimper and cry and he didn’t try to hold any of it back. It took time to get him here, took patience and every ounce of self control that Alex had, but when given the chance - and the time - he’d never trade this for a quick fuck and an easy orgasm.
It never ceased to amaze him, the way Michael’s jaw would quiver, the way his body shivered through every thrust, the way every exhale brought a whine to his lips. He was fascinated at how utterly Michael was able to sink into every feeling, lose himself wholly to this moment, to them and their bodies and their love.
It never felt like long enough before Alex could feel his release building, before his own pleasure started warring with his need to break Michael down to his barest elements and worship him to his core. The noises coming from Michael would get progressively louder as Alex worked them both toward their climaxes, harder and faster. Alex would wait until he was right there before reaching for Michael, grabbing him and stroking him off, making sure he was able to watch the rapture crash over Michael’s face, hear the way his voice choked out and went breathless, before he was lost to the feeling of Michael, to the heat.
They would just breathe together for a moment, bodies still connected and minds and hearts belonging entirely to the other. If someone asked Alex what love was, he would say it was the space in between those seconds, it was the sight of Michael blissed out and gone, yet still able to catch Alex’s gaze and hold on.
Alex would wipe the mess from Michael’s chest, gentle and slow, before settling at his side and pulling Michael to lay across his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him as he tucked the end of his right leg around Michael’s knee, chin buried in Michael’s curls.
It was there in the quiet, when Michael's voice was worn out and his body spent, that Alex was finally able to find his words, when they didn't get sticky like tack as he pulled them from his throat. It was easier there, in those soft moments, to say those heavy words, to lift them out of his chest and into the world, breathed into Michael’s hair like a prayer.
“I love you, Michael,” Alex would whisper, and Michael’s fingers would curl against his side, bearded cheek rubbing against his chest in a wordless me, too.