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Michael Holt hates Guy Gardner. There are few constants in the universe, alongside the speed of light, Planck’s constant, and the gravitational constant, but Michael knows this to be one of them with certainty. It’s a simple conclusion that he’s reached after months of observation and hypothesis testing, and it’s undeniable because the list of reasons why keeps getting longer with each day that passes.
First of all, Michael despises the way Guy takes up so much space. He’s loud and obnoxious and makes sure everybody knows when he enters a room. Not to mention, his concept of personal space is nonexistent. They could have an entire room to themselves and Guy will still shimmy right up beside Michael, slapping a heavy hand on his shoulder or waist, his hot breath in Michael’s ear. It makes Michael vibrate with the effort of holding back his anger.
Then there’s Guy’s penchant for touchiness, always slinging a thick arm over Michael’s shoulders, pawing at him with those big, sweaty hands of his. He’s the type of person who will plop down right next to you on a couch when there’s plenty of space elsewhere, thigh pressed up against you, arm over the top of the couch like he’s some douchebag trying to score with a girl he likes.
Michael has a lot of experience with this bullshit. For example, like right now, with Guy’s hands all up on his waist and arms, caging him in up against the wall.
Guy has got one thick thigh pressed between Michael’s, not giving Michael any space to move.
It’s annoyingly hot and sticky like this. Guy is like a walking furnace, yet another thing Michael hates about him. It could be the middle of winter with snow on the ground outside and Guy will come sauntering out with shorts and a t-shirt on like an absolute idiot. Michael just doesn’t get it.
Like this, Michael can feel the heat radiating off of Guy and it makes him feel slightly feverish. His underarms feel damp with sweat and that annoys him, too. He hates sweating. It makes him feel all gross and dirty.
Vaguely, Michael wonders if perhaps he’s spiked a fever after all, because he’s feeling slightly dizzy and his heart is pounding in his chest. He wants to run a diagnostic scan with a T-Sphere but he can’t like this, not when he’s being caged in by Guy.
Guy is apparently oblivious to Michael’s thoughts and completely focused on his task at hand; that being mouthing wet kisses on Michael’s neck. Which brings Michael to his next bullet point on his list of why he hates him: Guy Gardner is a relentless, filthy, shameless pervert.
He has blatantly flirted with Michael for months on end and is utterly impudent in his ogling of Michael’s ass, not even caring to conceal it. He whistles obnoxiously whenever Michael bends over and is always saying sleazy pickup lines as if they’re ever going to work on somebody.
And perhaps worst of all, Michael has somehow found himself an active participant in this unacceptable behavior, which is why they’re here now, with Guy doing his very best to mark up Michael’s throat with bruising kisses. Michael hates the way it fills his belly with lava. His hands are gripping onto Guy’s biceps, half because he’s holding on for support and half because he hopes the scratch of his nails against Guy’s flesh hurts.
“You’re so sexy, I wanna fuck you so bad,” Guy mumbles between kisses. “God, I fuckin’ love how you smell, how you taste.”
That’s the other thing: Guy is a talker. He hasn’t shut his big mouth the entire time, even when he’s been kissing Michael. The sound of his voice, the low rasp of it, his Baltimore accent, the crude language he uses – Michael hates it. He hates how it makes him shudder, unbidden. He hates how it makes him want to drag Guy down and kiss him hard enough to shut him up. He wants to pull on Guy’s stupid hair and shove him down to his knees and fill his mouth with cock to make his awful commentary stop. Michael is very tempted to do it, if not for the fact that he knows Guy will love it, being as perverted as he is.
Instead, Michael lets Guy moan in his ear, grinding up against him like he’s about to come in his pants. Guy is sweating too. Michael can see the shine of it on his throat, dampening his hair at his temples. He smells like the obnoxious, overly-masculine cologne that comes in an aerosol can and the boyish, musky smell of sweat. Michael grips Guy’s biceps even tighter, forcing himself to not drop his head against the crook of Guy’s neck and inhale that smell.
Logically, Michael knows that Guy is barely an inch taller than him. However, it feels as though Guy is taking up every inch of space in the room. All of Michael’s senses are consumed by Guy – his body pressed up against him, his voice in his ear, his scent. It’s ridiculous how small Michael feels, like he’s being covered from head to toe in a weighted blanket. Admittedly, Guy is wider than Michael and much bulkier. His belly presses against him and Michael realizes with a start that he’s hard. He swallows down the urge to stand on his toes, press his hips up to grind his cock against the soft swell of Guy’s stomach. Michael refuses to give Guy the satisfaction of it.
Guy paws at Michael’s shirt, getting one sweaty hand up underneath to rub and squeeze Michael’s chest. It’s completely undignified to stand here and have his pecs felt up like he’s a girl, but Michael still jolts with a hot streak of arousal in his gut when Guy pinches a nipple.
“Oh fuck, I wanna suck your tits so bad, baby,” Guy groans and then ducks his head to do just that, shoving Michael’s shirt up so that it’s bunched up under his arms.
Michael should shove him away. He should slap him. Instead, his hands fly to Guy’s hideous haircut and grips it tightly as Guy’s awful, wet mouth suckles on a nipple. Vaguely, Michael wonders who is making those terrible, loud groaning and panting sounds and then realizes with horror that it’s him. Humiliation washes over him hotly and he feels sweat trickle down his back. Oh god, Michael just wants to curl up and die somewhere. He wants to come so bad. He wants Guy to stop teasing like this for god’s sake.
Because the universe seems dedicated towards making Michael even more embarrassed, Guy apparently takes notice of Michael's issue at hand and palms his straining cock with a big hand. The friction is less than satisfying through the thick leather of their uniform, but Michael still can’t stop the way his hips buck forward into the touch. The leather creaks too-loudly with every movement of Guy’s hand.
“Yeah, that’s it. Christ, you’re set on a trigger today. Bet you could come just like this for me.” Guy says, thumb pressing against the head of Michael’s cock in a way that makes him grit his teeth.
Michael hates that it’s true. If Guy keeps rubbing him in this frustratingly unsatisfying, maddening way, Michael is going to come. His underwear is damp with precome right now and it rubs slickly against his cock.
“Shut the fuck up,” Michael grits out.
Guy laughs, big and boisterous and obnoxious.
For a second, Michael thinks that Guy isn’t going to let up. An electric sensation of fear rockets through Michael’s gut when Guy bites down around his nipple and jacks Michael’s cock through his pants and he thinks oh god, I’m going to come. Michael’s eyes tear up at the sheer overstimulation of it being too much yet not enough at the same time and then suddenly Guy is pulling away and Michael is left gasping and trembling, right at the edge.
“You have no idea how fuckin’ hot you look right now,” Guy says, like he didn’t just tear Michael away from the edge of an earth-shattering orgasm.
Michael uses all of his willpower to not jump him. He’s not sure if he would punch him or grab that filthy mouth of his and order him to suck Michael off. He feels like he’s going crazy. Christ.
Oblivious to Michael’s crisis, Guy grabs at his own cock through his pants and Michael can’t help but stare, eyebrows raised slightly. Guy is big. Even through the shapeless fabric of the pants, he can see the thickness of Guy’s cock, the bulge of the head.
He knew Guy was a large person in general, but he had assumed most of his locker room talk was just Guy’s ego. To Michael’s dismay, Guy’s cockiness is entirely justified.
“You like what you see?” Guy smirks. He squeezes his dick and angles his hips towards Michael like he’s showing off.
Michael wants to slap the shit out of him. He settles for shoving Guy’s hands out of the way and unbuckling his belt, pulling his cock out. Without being restricted to the confines of his clothing, Guy’s dick is even more ridiculous, shiny and flushed red with a thick vein down the side. Even his balls are fat, sitting heavy over the waistband of his boxers. Really, it wasn’t fair that such an annoying man was in possession of such a large dick.
Swallowing thickly, Michael realizes that his mouth has filled with saliva.
“I showed you mine, you show me yours?” Guy grins widely. His gold tooth flashes under the too-bright lighting in the room. Michael wishes he could shut the lights off so he didn’t have to see Guy’s smug face and so that Guy couldn’t see the sweat that had gathered on his forehead and the hot flush he feels creeping up his neck.
Nonetheless, Michael unceremoniously shoves his pants down, kicking them aside,
“Goddamn, baby, you are soaking wet,” Guy whistles.
To Michael’s horror, his sensible white briefs do nothing to hide how much precome he’s been leaking, which means Guy knows exactly how turned on he is and he can’t even deny it. Even more embarrassingly, his cock twitches at the thought. Michael prays that he gets struck by lightning and is killed on the spot.
Guy seems delighted by this discovery, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of Michael’s briefs and pulling them down until his cock pops free, bobbing between them. Next to Guy’s stupid pornstar cock, Michael feels shamefully small even though he’s always considered himself above average. Guy doesn’t seem to care though, nudging the head of his cock up against Michael’s, pressing forward to trap both of them between their bellies. Compared to the barely-enough friction through his pants, this is overwhelmingly good. Michael hisses as Guy grinds their cocks together, his hands squeezing at Michael’s thighs and ass.
Michael screws his eyes shut, face hot. He isn’t quite sure how he got here in the first place, his mind fuzzy with arousal. Something about arguing with Guy in the Hall of Justice after work and then finding himself getting backed up against the hallway wall, Guy all up in his space. A few messy kisses later and Michael’s pants are around his ankles and he doesn’t even remember what they were arguing about in the first place. Probably something stupid, like an arrogant comment Guy made or maybe about Guy always showing up late to work. It didn’t matter what they argued about, only that it made Michael go hot with rage every time, something simmering in his belly that made him stomp off in a fury and take a cold shower to calm himself down. He really, really hates that Guy makes him react like this, hates that he makes him lose control.
Unfortunately, Michael’s dick doesn’t seem to be on the same page as his brain. Even these mindless, frustrated thoughts make his cock throb.
Angrily, Michael shoves at Guy’s shirt, yanking the hem up. It’s not fair that he’s nearly naked while Guy is still wearing his shirt and pants. For a moment, Guy pulls away to take his shirt off and Michael shivers at the loss of heat between them. The cool air feels good against his sweaty skin. Maybe he can use this time to compose himself.
Guy throws his shirt haphazardly over his shoulder and Michael feels a muscle in his jaw twitch. He suppresses the urge to tell Guy to stop being a slob, knowing that would just egg him on even more. Anyways. They are the ones having sex against the wall in the Hall of Justice so Michael supposes he’s not one to talk.
When Guy moves back into Michael’s space, he can’t help the way his hands fly out to grab at Guy’s waist, fingers sinking into the flesh there. Like this, Guy’s bulk is even more apparent. He’s got a beer belly and his pecs are soft and thick where Michael’s are corded muscle. Perhaps the biggest surprise is just how hairy Guy is underneath his uniform, his chest covered with coppery curls that trail down his belly and thicken above his cock. Even his forearms are hairy. The freckles on his shoulders and biceps are no surprise though, given the matching ones that scatter his cheeks and nose and neck. Michael frowns, realizing that he’s staring dumbly.
Before he has time to scoff, Guy suddenly leans down and kisses him deeply. It’s not like the other kisses; this one is slow and sensual, Guy’s mouth sliding over Michael’s in a way that could nearly be described as romantic. He’s kissing him like he wants to devour Michael whole. There’s a strange fluttery feeling in Michael’s belly, not unlike the feeling of standing somewhere high up and peering over the edge of a very long way down. Michael knows he should pull away from the edge, but he finds himself kissing Guy back, head tilting to the side and hands sliding around the back of his neck. Guy sighs so sweetly into Michael’s kisses that it’s hard to believe it’s the same mouth that spews all sorts of stupid crap.
When Guy pulls back, he has a dopey expression on his face, eyes half-lidded. There’s a smear of black lipstick on the corner of his mouth.
“What?” Michael frowns.
“You drive me crazy, baby, y’know that?” Guy says.
Their definitions of that phrase may vary, Michael thinks. Nonetheless, he’s in agreement.
To shut Guy up from saying any other sappy bullshit, Michael kisses him hard and pushes him backwards towards one of the ugly couches in the lobby. Absently, Michael thinks that he’ll never be able to look at these couches the same. Hell, he’s not gonna be able to walk past this hallway ever again. They should really go somewhere else, but it’s late at night and the doors are locked and Michael feels like he’s going to go insane if he doesn’t get off sometime soon.
So, he shoves Guy down onto the overstuffed orange couch and straddles him, knees on either side of his thighs. Guy immediately pulls Michael against him, two wide hands on his asscheeks. His fingers knead the muscles there and Michael swallows down a moan at the sensation. Guy’s fingers are thicker than Michael’s and for a second he imagines Guy pressing one into his hole. The thought makes him shiver and he bears his hips down against Guy to distract himself from thinking about it any further.
Guy runs his teeth along Michael’s chin and jaw, panting hot against his skin as Michael rubs himself off against Guy’s cock. He’s so fucking loud it echoes in the open space and Michael wants to beg him to shut up but it’s not like anyone can hear them anyways.
Instead, he presses a hand to Guy’s chest and shoves him down until he’s laying flat on the couch. Guy grins up at him, mouth swollen and red, cheeks flushed. His ridiculous gold tooth glints in the awful fluorescent overhead lighting. Nothing about this situation should be remotely sexy, but Michael has never been so turned on in his life.
Readjusting himself, Michael settles both palms over Guy’s chest, squeezing at the soft flesh there. His hips are canted so that their cocks rub up against each other as he rolls his hips. With each shift forward, Michael lets his ass drag against Guy’s cock, feeling the heat of it pressing against his perineum and his hole.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Guy groans, fingers digging into Michael’s spread thighs. “I wanna see you come like this, rub yourself off against me.”
“Stop saying that shit.” Michael says, unsure if he’s referring to Guy’s dirty talk or his incessant use of pet names. His heartbeat is thundering in his chest. He feels dizzy with want. Both their cocks are smearing precome against Guy’s belly, shiny and wet, and it incites a fire in his bloodstream.
“Look at you, so gorgeous for me,” Guy babbles, unheeding of Michael’s request. “Your body is fuckin’ tight. Next time I’ll fuck you properly, fill you up with my cock. Would y’want that? Be stretched out and filled with my come?”
He slides a hand to Michael’s lower belly, pressing there, and Michael gasps at the pressure and the sudden mental imagery of Guy stretching him open with that fat cock of his.
“Fuck,” Michael moans and his thighs burn so good as he grinds up against Guy. Sweat gathers on his brow and he blinks it out of his eyes.
Guy reaches between them and takes both their cocks in his hand. Michael’s eyelids flutter as his brain seems to give him an error-code, everything blanking out except for the feeling of Guy’s hand and his cock against Michael. He ruts against Guy, suddenly desperate to come. Guy’s hand barely fits around the two of them, but it’s still good enough that it makes Michael’s teeth grind. He can feel the callouses on Guy’s palm and fingers, and the throb of his cock as he pushes down against him.
Embarrassingly, Michael is still leaking precome like a faucet, but it slicks the way for him and makes the friction between them even better.
Guy seems to like it, anyhow. “Fuck, all this for me? You’re a dream, baby. C’mon, come for me.”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Michael pants, rocking against Guy’s belly gracelessly. Everything that comes out of Guy’s mouth makes his cheeks feel hot and the buzzing sound in his brain intensify.
“I wanna see you come all over my cock,” Guy says and he rubs his thumb over the head of Michael’s cock and that’s all it takes.
With a moan, Michael comes so hard that his vision blurs. He feels himself jerk pathetically against Guy, chasing the sensation, Guy guiding him with one hand on his cock and the other gripping his ass. Guy continues to talk through it, no doubt saying something filthy. Michael can’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears.
When Michael regains control of all of his senses once more, his thighs are like jelly and his whole body feels all fuzzy around the edges.
“Fuck, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Guy groans, gathering up the come that splattered across his belly, using it to slick his cock.
Michael shudders, his cock throbbing in a traitorous, feeble attempt to get hard again. He wonders if Guy’s perversions are contagious.
Still, he watches raptly as Guy jacks himself off with Michael’s come. His eyes are squeezed shut and his jaw is slack, groaning loudly and still mumbling ridiculous things like how fuckin’ sexy Michael is and how much he wants to paint him with come.
Michael feels like he’s going to explode if he has to hear one more second of it, so he covers Guy’s mouth with his own and crawls higher up Guy’s body so that his ass is rocking down on his slick cock. Michael’s now-soft cock is trapped between his thigh and Guy’s torso and the overstimulation makes him gasp into Guy’s mouth.
Guy seems to get the memo and he wastes no time in sliding his cock between Michael’s cheeks, grabbing Michael’s ass in both hands.
For a delirious second, Michael can feel how big Guy is against his hole and thinks about Guy pressing his cock into him. He could ignore the overstimulation of it all and ride Guy, knees rubbed red from the rough fabric of the couch, Guy’s head thrown back, bangs sweaty against his forehead.
And then Guy’s hips stutter and he’s groaning into Michael’s mouth and Michael is swallowing all those loud, careless noises as Guy comes.
Sighing, Guy runs his hands up and down Michael’s back, petting along his spine and down his flank. Michael drops his head against Guy’s neck, breathing heavily. There’s a slickness between his ass and thighs from Guy’s come and his whole body feels exhausted, but for once in his life since Michael met Guy, he doesn’t feel pissed off anymore. It’s like his brain has finally gone quiet, all the stress and frustration well and truly fucked out of him.
Begrudgingly, Michael considers that perhaps he should have done this a lot sooner.
“You good, T?” Guy brings a hand up to the back of Michael’s neck and squeezes there gently.
“Mph.” Michael grunts into the junction of Guy’s neck. He wants to sleep for a million years. Guy is warm beneath him. There’s only the sticky grossness of come and sweat between them that makes Michael reluctantly shift back to look at Guy.
Guy is smiling stupidly. His hair is all mussed up, which actually makes his bowl cut look more like a normal haircut for once.
“Shower at my place?” Guy offers. “I’ve got frozen pizza and beers. Maybe round two afterwards.” He winks obnoxiously but Michael is so relaxed right now that he doesn’t even feel a twinge of annoyance.
“Yeah, alright,” Michael says. “That’d be nice.”