Choose Me Instead

by myomantic

Summary:

After the events of the second movie, Michael Afton begins to stalk Mike Schmidt in order to learn more information about his enemy and to develop a new plan for revenge. He ends up seeing more than he expected, and his hatred for Mike transforms into obsessive desire.

Notes:

He was barely in the movie but I'm kind of obsessed with how manic and ridiculous movie Michael is! He's so freaky! And he's gonna get freakier in this fic. ;) Enjoy, you weirdos.

Chapter 1

Michael needed time to lick his wounds.

 

He had fled; ran from the Schmidt house with his proverbial tail between his legs. Weak without the help from Charlotte and the toy animatronics. Ran back to what was once William Afton’s house. 

 

It was Michael’s now, having passed to him after his father’s sudden death and disappearance. Well, technically it had passed to his favorite child. Vanessa. Michael’s sister, who William always favored no matter how hard Michael tried to prove himself. 

 

Vanessa had wanted nothing to do with their childhood home, couldn’t even bear to step inside it again. So Michael gladly took it from her. It was too precious to sell of course. 

 

Because while the house struck fear through Vanessa, it filled her older brother with determination. He was determined not only to carry on his father’s legacy, but to prove himself as better than her. William may not be alive to witness it, but Michael swore on his death that he would not disappoint him anymore. 

 

He had started so well. He came up with a perfect plan, elaborate, and he was patient. Michael drummed up attention for the Fazbear brand and waited; spent so long preparing for the day of Fazfest. He spoke to Charlotte; was able to manipulate her onto his side, made her do what he wanted. He had even successfully fed an entire crew of ghost hunters to her claws. And not a single cop came to the original Fazbear’s location to look for them. 

 

Michael felt like a genius, like a god. 

 

Until the plan all fell apart right before it could get to the good part. All because of Mike.

 

Mike Schmidt. The fool that led to his father’s death also stopped Michael’s attempts at avenging him. And he had somehow gotten Vanessa wrapped around his finger. She had turned on Michael! On their father! Chosen this worthless nobody and his annoying little sister. 

 

What did Vanessa even see in him? What made him worth all of the trouble? Worth getting stabbed to protect?

 

Michael sat in his late father’s workshop and seethed. Just thinking of the loser Mike was making him furious. He wanted revenge. Not just for William, but for himself now, too. 

 

The afton older sibling clenched and unclenched his fist repeatedly, staring daggers into the wall across from him. He sat and thought, trying to conjure a new plan.

 

If he wanted to hurt Mike, and really hurt him, he would need more information. Afterall, he knew where the guy lived, he knew he had a sister that could be a weak point, but beyond that the guy was still a mystery. 

 

So Michael started to stalk Mike. 

 

Over the next two weeks he would follow the other man around, tracking his day to day life and trying to find any other weaknesses to exploit. While also trying to figure out why the hell his sister would choose him over her own brother. 

 

Michael would follow the other man from an inconspicuous distance, usually in his car or standing in the shadows. He kept track of the days Mike went to work and what time, found out what school he took Abby to and from, even noted the stores he frequented on errand runs.

 

As it turns out, Mike’s life was unbearably dull. He only had one friend that Michael saw him with. Jeremiah, the same oaf that had knocked out the Afton son on the night of Fazfest. Safe to say Michael hated that guy almost as much as Mike. 

 

But what surprised, and even pleased Michael was that he didn’t see Vanessa with the other man even once in two weeks. He had placed a tracker on her squad car, that she still hadn’t found out about, so he knew she was still around. But for some reason the two weren’t interacting. 

 

A few times he watched her squad car pass Mike’s house, even slowing to a crawl as if to spy through the windows as she drove by. Never once did she stop to talk to him. Apparently, either she had come to her senses, unlikely given she hadn’t reached out to Michael. Or, more likely, the two had had a falling out since the events of Fazfest. 

 

That second possibility made Michael grin manically to himself in satisfaction. She had given up almost everything for Mike. The idea that he had rejected her after all of it, well it was fantastic. It was what she deserved for turning on family. 

 

It only made Michael more curious about Mike, however. Why did he turn her down after everything? Was it the lies? Was it the danger? Or… maybe he just wasn’t attracted to her? 

 

Michael’s head swam with theories. But it was hard to speculate when he knew so little about the other man’s personality. He needed to know more. He needed to get closer.

 

The Afton son saw his opportunity on a Saturday night. Mike had just returned home to an empty house. He had dropped Abby off at, what Michael had to guess, was a sleep over with some other kids her age. 

 

It was rare that Mike had a night alone and Michael was curious as to what he did when he thought no one was watching. The lanky man crept to the side of the house and knelt amongst the bushes. He was entirely hidden from anyone happening to pass by outside. And from his spot he could just peak into the living room window. 

 

He watched Mike make himself dinner, something undoubtedly processed and out of a box from the pantry. Then he sat in a chair and watched TV while he ate. 

 

Michael was incredibly bored. For almost two hours Mike did nothing of interest. It was a pathetic and depressing way to spend a Saturday night. And no, Michael was not a hypocrite for thinking that. What he was doing wasn’t sad, it was for research. For revenge. It's different. 

 

Finally, after finishing his shows and washing his dishes, Mike moves from the living space to another room down the hall. Michael, excited that finally something was happening, stealthily follows him from outside. He makes his way down the side of the house and settles on his knees under the farthest window.

 

From there he can discretely peak in between the half-opened blinds and see inside what appeared to be Mike’s bedroom. Mike entered the room and seemed to close the door out of habit behind him. He then threw off his jacket onto a pile of laundry against the wall. He began to undo the buttons of his shirt while he walked into another door opposite the bed.

 

Michael could only see a glimpse beyond this door, it appeared to be a master bathroom, before the door swung most of the way closed and blocked his view. Not that Michael wanted to see whatever was going on in there. He may be a stalker but he wasn’t a pervert. 

 

The window was cracked open to let in a breeze, and as a result Michael could hear as the shower faucet turned on in the other room. Left to wait while Mike went through his nightly routine, the Afton allowed himself to study the bedroom.

 

It was not very interesting. The decor was sparse. It was untidy but not notably unclean. Dirty laundry in a pile, a bed still unmade from that morning, various knick knacks strewn about the top of the dresser and desk that Michael couldn’t make out in detail. 

 

And lots of children’s drawings. Tacky pages of printer and construction paper scribbled over with crayon and marker were pinned on almost every wall. It was unquestionably clear who Mike cared about most in the world. 

 

Michael’s knees began to ache from where he was crouching and he shivered a little as the night air got colder. This stakeout was turning out to be a bust. He already knew Mike cared about his sister, already knew he was a boring nobody. He felt a little ridiculous for going through all the trouble with little new information to show for it. 

 

He almost decided to just give up and call it a night when the man heard the running water stop abruptly. Michael resolved to wait just a little longer to see what happens next. 

 

What he wasn’t prepared to see happen was Mike finally leaving the bathroom, with nothing on but a towel hung very loosely around his hips. 

 

Michael immediately froze, heat rushing to his face. He should’ve expected that, the guy just came out of the shower in his own home, of course Mike would be nearly naked. 

 

Michael knew he should look away, but instead he finds his eyes locked on the bare expanse of torso. Mike has a slim but muscular build of someone used to working manual labor. Coupled with the messy, still-wet hair and the relaxed expression, Michael can maybe kindofsortofpossibly see why Vanessa is so into him. 

 

Mike walks languidly to his dresser and digs around for a moment, giving Mike a not unwelcomed view of his back. And where the towel sits just low enough to show off the top curve of his ass. 

 

Michael’s face gets even hotter. He even has a paranoid moment where his head swivels rapidly, looking around himself to make sure no one can see him. Of course there’s no one else outside this late at night, but he can’t help but feel a bit flustered to be caught watching this. 

 

But for some reason Michael can’t bring himself to just go home. 

 

Mike pulls out a pair of boxers and looks as if he’s about to slip then on, when he suddenly pauses. The other man outside of the window ducks down lower, hoping that Mike didn’t freeze because he had caught sight of the spy. Michael holds his breath. 

 

But the man in the house isn’t looking towards the window. He’s staring off in space, eyes unfocused like he just thought of something. He bites his lip. Michael can’t help but to zero in on the tiny movement. 

 

Finally Mike seems to break from his spell, moving again. His head swivels to look at his bedroom door a moment, and when he looks back Michael thinks his expression looks a little guilty, or ashamed. But it doesn’t linger. 

 

Mike then lightly tosses the boxers in his hands onto the back of his desk chair instead of putting them on. From the desk he grabs his laptop next. Then, towel still on, he climbs onto the center of his bed and places the laptop on his lap.

 

The peeping tom watches with rapt curiosity as Mike settles himself. He types away at the keys and scrolls the laptop’s track pad for a few minutes. Michael has a feeling he knows where this is going. He knows that there’s no reason he should keep watching. But his eyes feel glued to the other person beyond the window blinds. He’s stuck in a trance. 

 

Finally Mike seems to settle on something to watch because Michael can just barely hear audio start coming out of the laptop speakers. It's hard to make out at first, just what vaguely sounds like nondescript voices. 

 

Mike takes the laptop from his lap and puts it next to him on the bed, angled so he can still watch whatever video he is playing. With his hands and lap now free, Mike begins to feel himself. 

 

His hands wander, lightly at first, smoothing up and down his chest. Cupping the pecs briefly, thumbs brushing the nipples there, before traveling lower. When his slow exploring fingers finally reach the edge of the towel, he unfolds it from over his lap. 

 

Michael’s breath audibly hitches. He slaps a palm over his mouth in a vain attempt to silence the sound. Thankfully, the man on the bed doesn’t seem to hear it from where he’s laying in the room. Michael can’t believe what he’s watching. Maybe he is a pervert. He bites his own hand at the thought, suppressing a self-depricating whine. 

 

Mike is now fully naked, lying on his bed half propped up by a pillow. He’s only half hard, but clearly whatever he is watching is starting to arouse him. His hands continue their exploration, not touching him where he wants quite yet. 

 

Instead, Mike drags his palms down the outside of his thighs. Then his legs part slightly so he can feather-lightly trace the tips of us fingers up his inner thighs. He lets out a soft, barely audible moan at that. His face scrunching slightly and his lip trapping itself beneath his teeth again. 

 

The man does this a few times. It's obvious the self-teasing is doing something for him because his cock twitches and gets visibly stiffer from where it sits between his legs. 

 

At the sight of it, Michael’s dick twitches too. And he can feel his slacks have already tightened noticeably. He feels embarrassed, no, disgusted by himself. Getting hard over the sight of the man he hates. But at the same time, he feels this sick, guilty pleasure coiling in his gut. Like the knowledge that this is wrong, so very wrong, is only making him like it more. 

 

He keeps one hand still covering his mouth, not trusting himself to keep quiet as his breathing starts to get heavier. The other hand he uses to copy Mike’s movements. Michael trails his fingers up and down his chest and thighs in a mirror of what the other does. If he closes his eyes, and he does for a brief moment, then it almost feels like the hand petting him is not his own.

 

But Michael refuses to keep his eyes shut for more than a second, not wanting to miss the secret show happening in real life. 

 

The sounds coming from the laptop turn from talking to what is unmistakably not talking. Instead, the speakers begin to let out a series of moans, murmurs, and slaps of skin. 

 

Mike seems to take this as his queue to move things along as well. He finally takes his own dick in his right hand, starting at the base and slowly moving up. When he reaches the head he twists his wrist and grazes his thumb against the tip. Mike groans in relief.

 

Michael presses the heel of his hand against his own clothed crotch and has to hold back a whimper as he drags it up slowly. Eyes wide and unmoving from where they are locked on the other, hyperfocused on every little movement and sound. 

 

The one lying on the bed begins to stroke himself in earnest now. Hand moving up and down rhythmically, slowly at first, then gradually picking up speed. Every few moments a breathy noise escapes him, a moan, a gasp, a whine. And he’s expressive too. Every exact feeling of pleasure is written on his face; from where his eyebrows furrow, to how his eyes flutter and blink dazedly, to how his lips have begun to bruise from the abuse of his own teeth. 

 

The one outside the window has a moment of hesitation. He knows that if he continues to touch himself further he is definitely crossing some sort of line. He doesn’t really care about the ethics of course, but it undoubtedly says something about his character if he continues. That maybe his vengeful obsession over Mike has turned into an unexpected attraction.

 

Michael can’t think straight, though. Not when Mike’s back arches just so, and how he gasps and pants, hips jerking slightly into his own fist. 

 

So, moral consequences be damned, the Afton son practically tears the button and zipper open on his pants and shoves his hand down his underwear, freeing his dick to the cold night atmosphere. He bites hard onto the meat of his palm to silence the rumbling purr of relief he’s desperate to vocalize. 

 

Michael’s hand works fast, far less patient and meticulous than Mike was. He’s more turned on than he can ever remember feeling. There’s a sort of possessive desperation that seems to have spread from his groin to his head, clouding over his rational thoughts.

 

He can only think of how good Mike looks like that, completely naked, still damp from the shower and now also with sweat. And he grows uncharacteristically hungry at the thought that Michael is the only one in the world seeing him like this. Like it's a private show, just for him. 

 

He has no idea how far Vanessa got with Mike, if they got anywhere intimate at all, but he feels that all too familiar sibling competitiveness now. Vanessa may have chosen him, weasled her way into Mike’s life, but she doesn’t get to see Mike like this. Only Michael. 

 

Mike isn’t even watching the video anymore. His eyes alternate from being squeezed shut to opening and rolling back so far almost only the whites are visible. His hand’s movements have also picked up speed and gotten much more erratic. His own precum providing lubricant to allow his grip to glide up and down with maddening slickness. 

 

Michael is in a similar state, although his gaze refuses to falter. His hips begin to buck repeatedly, fucking into his own hand as he neals on his knees in the dirt. His breath is coming out in hot gasps against his other palm where his teeth are still latched onto it. Drool pools at the corners of his mouth, drips down his wrist and onto the ground beneath him. 

 

He feels as wrecked as Mike looks. A sort of buzzing frenzy filling his core as his climax approaches. He’s never been so taken apart without anyone else even touching him before. If he had a mind to think right now he’d curse himself for not thinking of bringing a camera to film this. 

 

And yet, even with the frantic, mind-melting pleasure, Michael is still ravenous for more. It's not enough. He wants, no needs, to touch Mike. His body is so gorgeous like this, muscles taut as a bowstring and writhing in ecstasy. Michael is almost furious that he can’t feel the smooth skin, taste the thin sheen of sweat. 

 

He also wants Mike to touch him. Feel the other’s hands roam his thighs, pull his hair, tug at his cock. And his mouth. That beautiful, pretty boy mouth would feel so good licking past his lips, biting at his neck, sucking and swallowing him deep. The animal-like need is overwhelming. 

 

Michael is almost tempted to blow his own cover. To break in, to fulfill his own fantasies, demand that Mike give him what he so desperately, covetously needs.

 

But not now. Michael doesn’t just want to force the other, he realizes. He wants Mike to choose him. Pick him over Vanessa, over anyone else. Only then would the victory, the pay-off be truly satisfying. To have Mike wrapped around his finger. What better way to get revenge than that?

 

Mike suddenly sucks in a sharp breath, one hand clenches with a death grip on the sheets while the other furiously works his reddened cock from base to tip, squeezing each time he passes the head. His hips jerk uninhibited and his back bows off the mattress. 

 

Michael matches him in speed, he has to remove the hand from his mouth to brace himself on the wall in front of him as he curls inward. Hips bucking frantically, fist tightening slightly over his member. A trail of precum has been leaking from the tip to his fingers before dripping to the floor to mix with the drool and soil. 

 

Mike finally comes with a long shaky groan that peeters off into a high pitched keen. His fist and stomach are splattered in thick, milky white. 

 

Michael’s climax follows only a few seconds after, his vision whiting out and his body curving inward until his forehead presses just below the window sill. His release hitting the wall and floor  in ropes. He has to grit his teeth hard enough to hurt as he comes, but is successful in muting his cries. 

 

For a moment he clenches his eyes shut as his brain resets. Beyond the blood rushing in his ears and his own ragged breathing, he can hear Mike panting as well. 

 

After a moment to get himself together, Michael wipes the come and saliva off his hands onto his underwear before tucking himself back in and zipping up his slacks. Then he looks up between the blinds once more. 

 

He watches as Mike blinks himself back to functionality. He uses the towel that was once around his waist to clean himself up. Then he shuts the laptop, goes to replace it on the desk and pulls on the pair of boxers. 

 

Despite being mentally and physically spent, Michael mourns the sight of his fully naked body. Then Mike climbs into bed with an exhausted huff, flicking off the lamp as he does. 

 

Afton’s eldest sits and waits a little while longer. It's too dark to really make out anything in the room, but if he concentrates he can barely hear the other’s soft breathing. 

 

Finally, after the breathing has evened out and Mike has clearly fallen asleep, the stalker finally gingerly gets up from his spot beneath the window. Knees creaking and legs protesting from nearly falling asleep, and he makes his way to his car to drive back home. 

 

None of this was part of the plan. And really, Michael didn’t learn very much new about Mike. But he did learn about himself. And now he had a new plan.

 

A plan to get revenge on Mike, to prove he’s better than his sister, and to get what he wants all in one. Oh, now this is exciting.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Michael decides it's finally time for Mike to meet him again. Mike's perspective this time.

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who has left supportive comments and kudos! You all really keep me motivated! Enjoy chapter two!

“Come on, Abby, we gotta go!” 

 

Mike rushes his little sister out the door and into his car. The two drive off on their usual morning commute to Abby's school. They're almost always nearly late, neither of them being morning people. 

 

Today, however, is Friday, which is different from most days of the week. Because after dropping his little sister off, Mike doesn't have to make a beeline to his job. His current gig has him off on Fridays and Saturdays. It's a bummer that he has to leave Abby alone on Sundays, but she's old enough to handle herself for the most part now. 

 

And it also means he now has Fridays all to himself for about eight hours until he has to pick her up again. 

 

He's spent most of his days to himself since getting the job running errands and watching TV. Although, since the day of the Fazfest three weeks ago he has spent a lot of his time repairing the house. 

 

The animatronics, in their fight with one another, had caused a significant amount of damage to their furniture, walls, and windows. The house did already need a ton of TLC before the damage, though. Mike was endlessly grateful to his friend Jeremiah for coming over on some of his own weekends to help scrape old wallpaper and repaint rooms.

 

As for the animatronics, Mike hadn’t known what to do about them. Abby desperately wanted to keep them all, but he refused. It’s not like they had room for eight giant animal robots in their tiny two bedroom home. So instead he and Jeremiah were going to drag the metal bodies one by one back to the second Freddy Fazbear location, the one Mike had once worked at. It felt like a proper place for the empty shells to rest.

 

All eight of them had been piled under tarps in Mike’s backyard for a day or two before he and his friend could get around to it. But on the day Jeremiah came to help pick them up, they were all gone. Nothing left but a bare tarp on the grass. 

 

Mike supposes someone, maybe Vanessa or maybe the other afton came and stole them away while Mike was at work or asleep. He's not sure how they pulled that off without him or the neighbors noticing. Or hell, maybe the robots just got up and walked away. Who knows.

 

All Mike knows is that he's glad it's not his problem anymore. He's done. Sick of all this Fazbear nonsense, he just wants to flush it all from his mind. These robots and the evil that created them have caused him a lifetime of stress and grief. 

 

Abby was devastated of course. She had even forced her brother to go with her to both of the run down restaurants to look for the metal shells of her friends. They hadn’t found them. Just two empty, decrepit pizza places rotting away with no signs of life. Or afterlife.

 

On this particular Friday Mike was in a rather decent mood. He got home, put in a new CD he had bought recently, and started to get to work fixing the trim on the windows that were still destroyed in his living room. 

 

He pointedly did not think about who or what broke the windows to begin with. He didn’t think about that night, or the nights before at all. Just hummed to himself while he tried to decide on what he was going to make for himself and his little sister for dinner tonight. 

 

Several hours passed like that uninterrupted. Mike was rather proud of the progress he made on the repair and decided it was about time for a break. Maybe he could make himself some lunch and put on a movie. 

 

Mike turned off his CD player and moved to the hall bathroom to wash the wood glue and spackle off his hands. As he scrubbed his fingers underneath the running faucet, he could have sworn he heard something. It almost sounded like a voice.

 

Confused, Mike turns off the faucet and listens. Nothing.

 

After wringing his wet hands on the hand towel he steps back into the hall. He’s still suspicious that he didn’t just imagine the noise, but is about to give up and move to the kitchen when he hears it again. Much clearer this time. 

 

“Mike.”

 

A voice, a robotic voice, calling his name. Mike whips around at the familiar sound. It’s coming from Abby’s room. 

 

“Mike.” The tinny, artificial voice repeats.

 

Mike crosses the hall with apprehension and into his sister’s bedroom. Sitting on her desk is the Faztalker he had let her keep from the franchise Freddy’s location. It hasn’t made a peep of noise since the Fazfest night, but the sound of its text-to-speech-like voice is unmistakable.

 

“Mike.” It calls again. 

 

As the man approaches the desk he can see the device light up and the text spelling his name scroll across the screen.  

 

Mike feels cold. The only time the Faztalker spoke before was when Charlotte was using it to trick Abby. Neither of them had seen or heard from the dead child’s spirit since they put her to sleep with Henry’s music box. But Mike wasn’t naive enough to think she would be asleep permanently. He had just hoped she would find someone else to target, or that she’d return to the original pizza restaurant to rest. 

 

Speaking of which, Mike was surprised she was asking for him and not Abby. What did she want? Why him?

 

“Mike.”

 

Cautiously, nervously, Mike reached for the device. He held onto the receiver button and spoke, trying to keep the shake out of his voice, “Charlotte. What do you want?”

 

There was a beat of silence. Then it answered, “No.”

 

“No?” Mike responded in confusion, “No, what?” 

 

“Not Charlotte.”

 

The man blinked, no less confused. “Then who are you?”

 

“Come to Freddy’s,” It commanded instead of answering.

 

“Why would I do that?” That is honestly the last thing Mike wanted to do again. 

 

There is another second of silence. “Come to Freddy’s,” It repeats.

 

Mike scoffs. “No.” 

 

“Come to Freddy’s now.”

 

“And what if I don’t?” He feels stupid arguing with a hunk of plastic. 

 

A pause, again. Then the Faztalker simply says, “Or Abby will.”

 

Instantly, the brother’s veins feel frigid. He knows that whatever is waiting for him at Freddy’s is almost definitely a trap. And that Abby should be safe at school for now. But he knows that if he ignores the device, and if Abby then hears from it, she would follow it to the abandoned pizzeria without question.

 

Mike takes a deep breath, stealing himself, “Alright, fine. Which Freddy’s?”

 

“The first,” The green device says in monotone, “Don’t make me wait.”

 

—

 

Mike drives to the original Fazbear’s location. The whole ride there he conjures up every possibility of what might be waiting there. There are too many outcomes to prepare for. He doesn’t have a gun to protect himself, unfortunately, but he did bring a hand held taser that Vannessa had left him. The electricity seemed to stop animatronics as well as it did people so it was of some comfort. 

 

The man’s beater car rolls to a stop in the empty, overgrown parking lot. It’s almost strange to see the abandoned building in daylight. He is glad it isn’t night, though. Mike isn’t scared easily, but he’ll admit he’s had more than one nightmare of what could be lurking in the shadows here.

 

Composing himself mentally as well as he can, Mike steps through the unlocked front door of the pizzeria. 

 

Inside it is completely quiet, except for the sound of his shoes on the mildewed floor. There is enough light flitting through the barred windows that he doesn’t need a flashlight, but not enough to relieve his paranoia. 

 

Mike walks slowly through the entry hall and stops just beyond the entrance to the main room. He looks around, sees nothing but collapsed tables, a moat, and plenty of cobwebs. 

 

“I’m here. Show yourself!” Mike calls out into the empty air. When nothing answers back he takes a few nervous steps forward and tries again, “Who are you and what do you want?”

 

A quiet chuckle breaks the silence. Mike whips around and sees a tall, lanky figure step through one of the side entryways. 

 

Michael Afton. Mike isn’t entirely shocked to see him. He knew Michael was one of the more likely people to call him here, especially in such a cryptic fashion. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved or scared that it’s him rather than someone else. Someone like Vanessa. Or maybe someone who should be dead…

 

“You actually came!” Michael says with a smile as he lazily strolls closer to where the other stands. “Good. I appreciate a dog who comes when he’s called.”

 

Mike immediately bristles at the insult. He barely knows this guy but he is sure he despises him. Michael always has the creepiest expressions, smiles too wide, eyes too piercing. And the way he talks, jilted like someone very unaccustomed with normal conversation. 

 

“Michael. What the fuck do you want from me?” Mike all but growls out. He stands his ground and doesn’t run, but keeps his hand tense, ready to reach for his taser if he needs to. 

 

Afton’s eldest tilts his head to the side and stops a few yards away. His lips quirk and his eyes seem to dance with some sick amusement. “What? Not happy to see me? Eager to cut to the chase?”

 

“I’d be happier if I never had to see your face again,” Mike remarks dryly.

 

Michael tsks, “Well that’s not a very nice thing to say, is it?” His lips press together in a close lipped smile, then he tilts his chin forward in faux concern, “How’s little Abby doing?”

 

Mike knows he should keep his cool, not let Michael see he gets under his skin, but it’s hard to keep composed when he feels violently ill at the sound of Abby’s name on the monster’s tongue, “Shut the fuck up.”

 

The other laughs, having gotten the reaction he was hoping for, “Well that’s good to hear. And how about Vanessa, hmm? You still getting along with my little sis?” There’s a bit of venom lacing his last sentence. 

 

Mike twitches awkwardly, he doesn’t want to talk about her, “No. I haven’t seen her in weeks and I don’t want to.”

 

“Oh?” The afton son crosses his arms behind his back and takes another step, leaning forward inquisitively, “Last I saw you the two of you were so close. Close enough she would run to you over her own flesh and blood. Whatever could you have done to make her turn you away?”

 

The other splutters for a second, suddenly feeling defensive, “Wha- No! She didn’t reject me! I told her I didn't want anything to do with her!”

 

“Interesting. And why would that be? Don’t you like her?” Another step forward. 

 

Mike instinctively takes a step back but stops himself from going any further, not wanting to look intimidated. He can’t help but to gradually raise his voice as emotions take over, “She’s trouble. She fucking lied! She’s like you and your crazy fucking father! I just want her and you to stay the hell away from me! I’m done, you hear? It’s over and I don’t want to have to fucking hear or think about robot bears or missing kids ever again!”

 

He’s left panting slightly after his angry outburst. But despite the volume and rage, Michael seems unphased, Infact, he seems even happier. His smile has twisted into a wide, self-satisfied smirk. Like a cat who finally caught the pet parakeet.

 

“What?!” Mike shouts in frustration.

 

Michael hums happily and begins to slowly walk around the other man, like a shark circling its prey, only with a bouncy spring in his step. “I know something you don’t know!” He sing-songs. 

Mike turns as he does, not wanting to put his back to a predator. Michael isn’t physically well built, and his demeanor and personality is too awkward and snivelish to be perceived as much of a threat. But Mike knows his true danger lies in his fucked up brain. He refuses to let his guard down around an Afton again. 

 

He demands, “Tell me then.”

 

Michael stops walking and taps his chin, exaggeratedly pretending to think for a moment, then, “I could tell you…” He leans in again, this time only a foot or so from Mike’s face, eyes lidded in conniving mirth, “But what’s in it for me?”

 

Mike scoffs again, leaning away. “Why would I give you anything? I don’t even know if you have anything good to say. You could be lying, you Aftons seem to be really good at that.” 

 

The taller man chuckles again, then resumes his leisurely pacing in a circle, “Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t. Perhaps what I have to say could save little Abby’s life. Do you want to take that chance?”

 

The shorter of the two’s eyes narrow, “She’s not in danger anymore.”

 

“Are you so sure? Do you really think it’s over? That all the monsters have gone? What happens if you’re wrong? What happens if there is something still hiding under her bed, hm?”

 

He can’t help it, Mike’s protective instincts fight him. He knows Michael is being vague on purpose. And that the man in front of him is probably the realest threat still chasing them. But he can’t take the chance, not if Abby is the one to pay the price. 

 

“Fine,” Mike concedes reluctantly, “What do you want from me?” he says for the third time this conversation. 

 

Michael stops again. He pretends to examine his nails as if suddenly disinterested in Mike’s concession, “Hmm. That depends. What are you willing to do for me?”

 

Mike is suddenly furious. He’s sick of this back and forth, this pointless conversation. The way that Michael drags his emotions around like a toy to be played with. Like this is somehow fun when the life of the most important person in his life is on the line!

 

Letting the rage take over, Mike suddenly lurches forward. He grabs the taller man by the collar and shoves him hard against the wall behind them. “I’m done playing your games Afton!”

 

Michael’s expression is momentarily one of shock as the air is pushed out of him and his head smacks loudly against the colorful wallpaper. But as soon as he recovers his eyes and his mouth widen with a sort of crazed energy. 

 

He laughs again, louder and more jilted than before, and his lips stretch to show off a wild grin full of teeth, “Oh ho! Now it’s getting good! I knew you had it in you!”

 

This jovial response only angers Mike more; and he can’t stop himself from winding back and landing a punch right onto his enemy’s cheek.

 

Michael yelps, but then continues laughing in between sharp intakes of breath. Mike lets out a groan himself, shaking out his hand at the pain of knuckles colliding with such sharp cheekbones. 

 

He doesn’t let go of Michael yet though. Mike shoves him against the wall again, stopping the annoying laughter. Then the shorter man yells out with frustration and a hint of desperation, “Just. Fucking. Tell me what you want from me, you psychopath!” 

 

The crazed one’s expression becomes snake-like as his eyes become half lidded. He licks his bottom lip once before finally caving a little, “I want. Something exciting. Something even more exciting than this. Entertain me.” His last words are said with a lilt that Mike almost mistakes as flirtatious. But he must be mistaken. 

 

“What does that even mean?” Mike asks with a furrow in his brow, even more confused than before, “What? Do you want me to hit you again?”

 

“Not quite,” Michael practically purrs out, “Not that kind of hit, darling.”

 

“What?” Mike is still lost. 

 

The other rolls his eyes, “Wow, you are slow.”

 

“Hey!” Mike starts to protest but is cut off as Michael does something unexpected.

 

The man, still pinned to the wall, pitches his body forward till his lower half is pressed against the length of the body in front of him.

 

For a second Mike still doesn’t get it, reflexively he goes to pull away from the sudden unwanted contact. But after moving just slightly he again stills. Pressed against his upper pelvis he can feel a hard shape. 

 

He pulls away fully then but can’t help but look down in between them. He can, in fact, confirm that what he felt was the hard bulge currently tenting Michael’s black slacks. 

 

Mike splutters, eyes wide at the bizarre sight, and finally tears his eyes upward to meet the man’s face again. Michael looks ridiculously pleased, half lidded blown-out pupils paired with a relaxed smirk. 

 

“Wh-what the fuck? You’re seriously hard right now?” Mike says stupidly, when words finally form in his flustered brain. 

 

Michael teases, “What can I say, you just get the adrenaline pumping.” It was probably meant to come out smooth, salacious, but with his awkward vocalisms and manic edge it sounds just shy of unhinged. 

 

Mike finally lets go of the guy’s collar and quickly puts a few steps of distance between them. He sounds a little panicked when he says, “Woah! I think you got the wrong idea! I’m not into- I mean I haven’t- This isn’t-” he keeps stopping and starting, unsure what the hell is the right thing to say in this bizarre situation. How the hell did things turn so quickly? And why is this the direction they’ve gone into?!

 

“Relax!” Michael speaks again, leaning himself against the wall mock-casually, “I’m not going to make you do anything.”

 

Mike lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

 

Michael only continues, “But-”

 

A breath of relief too soon. 

 

“If you wanted to hear what I have to say and maybe, I don’t know, save your sister from a horrible fate, I might have a few ideas on how you could make it worth it for me.” His grin is back and even more wicked, the pride and excitement of a plan going well is clear on every inch of his face. 

 

Mike realizes the other man probably wanted this to happen all along. Of course the freak is also a pervert. At first he feels a little sick. Having to do anything sexual with a man he hates is a horrible thought. Or it should be.

 

He lets himself actually consider it. Mike has never done anything with another man before, but he’s not a stranger to his own attraction to them. And Michael is… well he’s actually insane. But physically he isn’t unattractive. Actually, if Mike actually lets himself admit it, Michael pretty much is his type. Tall, thin, twinkish but not overtly feminine. 

 

But this isn’t about attraction. Not really. This is about playing Michael’s twisted game. He imagines what the other is really getting off on is the power of it. Of degrading the man he hates, getting Mike to submit. 

 

Mike has no interest in being an Afton’s bitch. It’s one of the reasons he felt so betrayed by Vanessa’s lying. But. If there really was still trouble, It meant Michael likely wasn’t going to leave his life anytime soon. 

 

It would be better to weaken Michael mentally or emotionally, manipulate him somehow, then to have to keep fighting him physically. Afterall, he might’ve been the one to take the broken animatronics out of Mike’s yard. And if he fixes them and attacks, Mike wouldn’t be strong enough to stop the robots from hurting Abby. 

 

So it could be smarter to make the Afton brother vulnerable. Maybe even use his attraction to Mike against him. 

 

Or, at least that was how Mike was convincing himself this was a good idea. 

 

“Well?” The taller one barked with a raised eyebrow. It seems Mike hesitated a moment too long. 

 

The shorter man didn’t respond vocally, he didn’t think his throat could form the words if he tried. Instead, he wipes his clammy hands against his jeans and steps forward until he is in front of Michael again. Then he slowly drops to his knees. 

 

“Ha! Yes! That’s a good choice, Mike!” Michael chirps in barely contained excitement. His hands flex a few times as if he is just barely constraining himself from putting them on the man before him. 

 

Mike was nauseatingly nervous, but he did his best not to let it show. He was woefully inexperienced with this side of sex, but this performance had to be good if it was going to be effective. He needed to take control of Michael’s thoughts, to turn the tables on their head. 

 

Mike can’t look up at the other’s face, lest his resolve break. Instead he faces the bulge before him with a shaky sense of determination. He places one hand on the outside of Michael’s thigh to ground himself.

 

With the other hand he reaches for the button on his slacks. As soon as the button pops free Michael lets out the tiniest hitch of breath. Feeling encouraged by the small sound, Mike barely hesitates to draw down the zipper next. 

 

With both hands he then grips the waist band of the man’s slacks and pulls them down just enough to have room. He does hesitate then, staring for a beat blankly at Michael’s purple briefs. This is the last chance to turn back before he’s stepped into crazy, can’t-take-it-back territory. 

 

Michael, of course, breaks the moment tastelessly, “Well it’s not going to bite you.”

 

Mike does look up finally then, just to shoot his rival an unimpressed glare. But he ends up glad he did look. 

 

Michael already appears nearly undone. His face is flushed a splotchy pink, pupils so wide his irises are barely visible. One of his hands is tightly fisted into his own hoodie. The other is buried in his hair which has fallen out of its slicked back style and instead frames his face in straight loose strands. 

 

The man on his knees had no idea he could get someone so worked up with this, and he hadn’t even started yet. The power of it… it was kind of addicting. 

 

Without breaking eye contact, Mike grips the waistband of the underwear and pulls them down in a smooth motion. Not even reacting as he feels the fully hard cock bob in freedom. The look on Afton’s face is priceless. 

 

It’s Mike’s turn to smirk then, proud of the reaction. Then he lets his gaze fall back down. He’s never really been this close to another man’s junk before. He’s a little surprised by the smell. Not that it’s unpleasant, just a stronger whiff of that distinctly masculine musk than he’s used to experiencing. Actually, Mike finds it a little mouth watering. 

 

Tentatively, he starts with his hand. Running a curious thumb against the underside of the shaft, a little longer but thinner and more curved than his own. The man above him keens softly at the teasing touch. 

 

Emboldened, Mike goes in for more. He wraps all his fingers around the base and pulls up and down just a few times. The cock twitches at the attention and he can see a bead of precum begin to form at the tip. 

 

Part of Mike knows he should feel grossed out, resistant because of who this is. But he doesn’t even think, just leans in and licks a wide stripe over the head just to know how it tastes. His enemy practically croaks in response. 

 

Eager for more, Schmidt angles the dick with his hand at the base and presses the tip to his lips, sucking and lapping at it. The flavor isn’t awful, salty and not too unlike the taste of women. He glides his mouth down further, hollowing his cheeks a little and covering his teeth to allow the member to slide smoothly on his pillowed lips. 

 

The other keeps alternating between soft moans and breathy exhales, probably far too excited over what little has actually happened yet. He also seems to lose his resolve and finally lets himself touch Mike. One of Michael's hands cards its way into the man’s hair. He doesn’t pull on the strands, just lets his fingers and palm cradle his head. 

 

Mike, now accustomed to the stretch in his jaw and the rhythm of his breathing, begins to suck his dick in full. Bobbing his head up and down at an even pace. Tongue sliding up and down the shaft, occasionally flicking against the tip and curling around the head. He can’t get the whole thing down without discomfort, so he uses his hand to stroke the inch or two of length he can’t reach with his mouth. 

The sounds that begin to permeate throughout the empty pizzeria are obscene. Wet smacking and slurping, heavy gasps and choked groans. Both of the men seem to forget where they are, who they are. Both lost to the pleasure and excitement of it all. 

 

Eventually, the hand in Mike’s hair does tighten. And Michael struggles to get a coherent sentence out, “M-mike. I- f-fuck! Shit! Mike, I’m cl- Oh fuck don’t stop! I’m s-so close!” 

 

Mike considers for a moment pulling back, but he decides he really doesn’t want to have to explain mysterious white stains on his clothes. Instead, he ramps up his efforts, pushing Michael’s dick as deep as he can stand. Tightening his lips and sliding and bobbing at a rapid speed. 

 

Finally, Michael yanks at the strands of hair between his fingers, forcing the other’s face nearly flush with his pelvis as he climaxes and empties down his throat. His moans morph into loud whines of brainless ecstacy. 

 

Mike nearly chokes but forces himself not to gag with his mouth full. After a few drawn out moments Michael lets go of his grip. Mike immediately pulls away, coughing slightly. He’s a little annoyed at being nearly suffocated by dick, but other than that he is rather pleased with how the whole experience turned out. Not as unpleasant as he initially feared. 

 

He’s also not gonna complain at the look on the Afton brother’s face. The creepy, fake looking smile has been wiped away. In its place is an open mouthed, blissed out expression. A beautifully fucked-out face Mike would expect from the porn actors he occasionally watches, but he could never think to imagine from his own attempted murderer. 

 

He looks down at Mike but his eyes are glazed over, like he’s not quite present yet. He’s on some other planet entirely, riding out the aftershocks. 

 

It makes Mike smirk again, feeling his ego bloom at how easily he was able to pull such a strong reaction out of his rival. He decides to risk being smug about it, “Was that entertaining enough? Was it worth it for you?” 

 

Michael blinks a few times and his panting evens out. He takes a second to tuck himself back in and readjust his clothes with sloppy, drunken movements. Afterwards, he refocuses his gaze down at the other’s face and swallows thickly before responding, “It was… good enough I suppose. Not terrible.” He tries and fails to seem unaffected.

 

Schmidt raises a single unimpressed eyebrow, “Uh huh,” Then he suddenly remembers the whole reason he sucked him off to begin with, “Well I did my part of the deal. Now you need to talk.”

 

Mike goes to stand, but before he can Michael stops him by raising his foot. He then lowers it, letting the toe of his shoe rest against Mike’s crotch.

 

It’s only then that Mike becomes fully aware of how hard he is. He’s honestly surprised. Whenever he had been with female partners in the past, he hadn’t been turned off by giving oral, but it had never gotten him this excited either. 

 

“Ah ah!” Michael says, trying for another smirk but landing on a lazy, quirked smile. “I won’t have anyone calling me a selfish lover.”

 

Despite the generous statement, Michael doesn’t actually move, just presses slightly firmer down on Mike’s groin. He can admit the pressure feels good on his neglected cock, but it’s far from enough. 

 

“What?” Mike asks breathily, trying to goad the other into doing something. Anything. Now that he’s been made conscious of his own arousal, he can’t think of anything else but getting his turn.

 

But instead of moving, Michael just replies, “Hump.”

 

“You can’t be serious.” The one still on his knees huffs incredulously. 

 

“Oh but I am.”

 

“I’m not a fucking dog.”

 

“But you’ve been such a good boy so far.”

 

Mike knocks his foot away at that. He’s suddenly less interested in getting off if it means demeaning himself. He much preferred the control he had before, thank you. 

 

Michael sighs at that and mutters, half to himself, “Fine. Would’ve been hot though.” To the other’s surprise, Michael then sinks down to a crouch in front of Mike, putting them both at eye level again. 

 

“I shouldn’t give bad dogs rewards, but I guess I already said I wouldn’t be selfish.” Afton then reaches forward to swiftly undo Mike’s pants this time.

 

He pulls out the engorged cock from the slit in the boxers and smirks hungrily at the sight of it already leaking. Mike watches in a daze. He’s certainly not upset at this turn of events. 

 

Michael skips the foreplay and preamble and goes straight into fast strokes, jerking him off with an overly eager intensity that matches his equally intense character. Mike hisses in pleasure and squeezes his lip between his teeth, instantly absorbed in the physical sensations. 

 

He watches the lankier man’s face as he works him over. Michael’s attention is zeroed in on his own actions, raptly taking in the image as if trying to burn it into his own eyeballs. His hair is still a mess from earlier, his cheeks have calmed down to a pleasant peachy flush, and his tongue sticks out just a little in concentration. 

 

He looks ridiculous. He looks gorgeous. All sharp features to match his sharp personality. Mike can’t help it, he’s enraptured. And stupidly turned on.

 

Mike’s getting close, he can’t help but to lean forward and brace his hand against the other man’s shoulder. It’s only then that Michael finally looks up and meets his eyes. Whatever he sees there causes Michael’s expression to soften just slightly. The emotion is hard to decipher, awe? Affection? Reverence? Mike isn’t sure. 

 

Only a few quick strokes later and Mike is pressing his forehead to the guy’s opposite shoulder; he comes. His spend shooting out onto the dirty carpet floor. For a second it feels like he would also fall to the floor if it weren’t for the other body supporting him; he feels boneless. 

 

There’s multiple seconds of silence following Mike’s final moan. Michael lets go of his dick but doesn’t move, letting the other lean on him as he rides it out. 

 

Eventually Mike does recover and draws away, fixing his own clothes and finally standing up. His knees protest at the movement but it feels good to be back on his feet. Michael joins him in standing, looking a little more twitchy and less full of bravado then he did when he entered the room.

 

Mike puts a few more steps of distance between them, remembering again that this is Michael Afton in front of him. Post-orgasm or not the guy was still dangerous. 

 

Schmidt clears his throat, tries to get back to business, purposefully not acknowledging anything that just transpired, “Well?”

 

Michael nods, his face returning to it’s normal creepy self, if with a little more serious edge to his expression. With his arms crossed, he returns his end of the bargain, “Charlotte’s not here anymore. But her spirit hasn’t gone away either.” 

 

The shorter man blinks, “That’s it? You said you would tell me something I didn’t already know!”

 

Michael’s mouth flattens into a line, “I’m not done. She can’t exist outside of the marionette without another vessel, at least not for long. She has to possess a body. She’s not inside me, and clearly you’re not her. And I’m guessing you’d have noticed if your sister or your best friend have been possessed by a vengeful little girl for the past three weeks.”

 

“Obviously. They’re not possessed,” Mike rolls his eyes, suddenly remembering how annoyed he is with this guy’s snark, “Where are you going with this?”

 

“Well, if you’re paying attention, that leaves only one other person that was there the night Charlotte was released.” 

 

It takes Mike a moment to regather his memories of the night three weeks ago, but he is abruptly slapped with the realization, “Vanessa!”

 

“Now you’re catching on. I’m almost certain Charlotte has gotten her hooks into my sister. And that spirit, she’s dangerous. Even I can’t control her fully. I don’t know what she’s planning but I do know that she does not forgive. Ever. ”

 

Mike, for the third time that day, feels like he’s been plunged into a pool of ice and freezing water. If he had spoken to Vanessa even once since Fazfest maybe he would have noticed. Regardless, Abby isn’t safe with that spirit loose. It had tried to take over her body once, it’s not unlikely that Charlotte would try again. 

 

Wrestling with his emotions, Mike turns to the eldest Afton again, “What do I do about it? How can I stop her?”

 

“I don’t know,” Michael scoffs dismissively, “I said I would tell you something not that I would solve all your problems. Don’t forget that I’m still pissed at you for fucking up my plans. This is your grave, you lie in it.”

 

Mike is about to argue or curse him out, but before he can say anything Michael reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a business card and hands it to Mike. 

 

The yellowed rectangle of cardstock has the Freddy Fazbear’s logo printed on it along with the address for the franchise location Mike is currently standing in. 

 

“What? Why would I need this?”

 

Michael rolls his eyes again and flaps his hand impatiently, “On the back, moron.”

 

Mike turns over the card to find a phone number scrawled in blue pen. 

 

“Look, don’t think just because you call that I’ll answer,” Michael starts slowly walking backwards towards the side door he came in through as he talks, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, “Buuuuuuuut. Maybe if you have something to offer. Something exciting, to make it worth it for me. Then maybe I might have some more help to give. Maybe.”

 

Something stirs in Mike’s gut at the insinuation. Multiple somethings. Arousal, anticipation, and even a little bit of hope. “Well… then maybe I’ll call sometime. Maybe.”

 

Michael’s cat-like smile is back on his face, his chest shakes slightly with a chuckle. “See you around, Schmidt. Don’t you forget who’s your favorite Afton.” 

 

And with that he slips through the doorway and disappears deeper into the building. 

 

Mike doesn’t linger, rushing to the safety and comfort of his car outside. But before he leaves to pick up Abby from school, he stares at the white card in his hands. Thumb running contemplatively over the digits written pen.

Notes:

Ahhhh! This was so much fun to write! I love writing Michael like this! How he tries to have the cunning and bravado his father had, but as soon as Mike does anything he just melts into a pathetic horny weirdo desperate for affection. I have no idea where this story is going, writing plot is definitely the hard part, but stay tuned for another chapter!

Chapter 3

Summary:

Mike makes a phone call.

Notes:

Thanks again to everyone reading and commenting! These chapters are proceedingly getting more and more perverted... Love you all being freaky weirdos with me~

Mike regrets everything.

 

In the musty air and dim lighting of Freddy’s it was easy to lose sense, to forget morals and consequences. But back in his regular life, in the home he shares with his sister, Mike feels shame. 

 

How could he really be intimate with that evil pervert? What was he thinking? He should have fought harder, demanded Afton give up his secrets through force. Or at least called the police and put the monster behind bars.

 

Instead he caved almost immediately. Got on his knees and touched him. Let himself be touched. It was pathetic, and it was wrong. And he was guilty for having to keep it a secret; having to lie when Abby asked why he looked so disheveled when he picked her up after. 

 

She couldn’t know he even met with the monster though, it was too humiliating and revolting of a thought. 

 

He wants to blame his weakness on the fact that he hasn’t exactly gotten laid in a while. Over a year actually. Having a dependent and constantly struggling to afford food on the table didn’t leave much time for dating. There was that one awkward date he went on with Vanessa… but it’s safe to say that whatever was going on there had withered and died once he learned about all the secrets she was keeping. 

 

Regardless of the reason, though, he did what he did. And he hates himself a little more for it. 

 

After that bizarre Friday Mike tried to push away all thoughts of Michael Afton out of his mind. He threw the business card underneath the socks in his dresser and resolved to forget about it entirely. 

 

The first few days it was hard to avoid images of the encounter flashing behind his eyelids whenever he was alone. Especially at night when he was trying to sleep, his imagination kept replaying the way Michael had practically fallen apart. The sounds he made, and that damn expressive face. 

 

But after a while it got easier to return to normal. Even if he was scared to look at any porn that wasn’t straight again. Afraid of what those scenarios could do to his head. 

 

He wasn’t sure what yet to do with the new information the Afton brother had given him either. About Charlotte. After fighting with himself about it for a while, he did finally decide to call Vannessa.

 

Mike didn’t want to get involved with her again. But if she really was harboring the spirit of Charlotte, Mike didn’t feel like he had a choice. Regardless of his feelings, she didn’t answer.

 

Nor did she pick up the phone the next three times he tried to reach her. Mike wasn’t sure if that was good news or not. Probably not. 

 

A full week passed like that, everything going back to normal aside from the new creeping dread that Mike felt. Like Charlotte would just pop up again any moment to ruin everything. 

 

Otherwise, he worked. Abby went to school. They spent Saturday’s having fun together as always. They had evenings together on the couch watching brain-rotting TV while they ate mac and cheese or pizza or whatever cheap food Mike knew how to prepare from the freezer. 

 

That is until one Monday, Mike is sitting in the break room at work snacking on a bag of chips on his lunch and watching the news on the little TV set up there. 

 

The news anchor on screen is remorsely describing a break-in and homicide that occurred the night before. A secretary who had stayed late to finish paperwork at her job was the only one in the building when an intruder apparently broke in. They stabbed her gruesomely with a knife, the victim dying instantly. 

 

The scene of the crime was mostly untouched, except for in the record room where boxes and cabinets were upended, files spilled everywhere. It wasn’t known yet if any of the documents were taken, but it was clear the intruder was looking for something on paper. 

 

What really caught Mike’s attention though was the location itself. It was the same career center that Mike had gone to after his incident in the mall. The same one that he had first met Wiliam Afton. 

 

Immediately, Mike had to assume the worst. It had to be one of the Afton children responsible. Who else would break into a career center? He didn’t know what they could be looking for, but it likely had to do with their father. The connection was just too obvious to be a coincidence. 

 

Mike tried calling Vanessa again. No response. So after work he rushed to her home and banged on the door. No answer. And, peaking into the blinds the house looked empty, the lights were all off and there weren’t any signs of someone really living there.

 

He went to the police station next and asked for her. The other officers told him she was on another requested leave of absence, but they refused to tell him anymore for privacy concerns. He wanted to scream that people’s lives were on the line! But he knew that would only make him look like a crazed ex or something equally threatening. 

 

Mike had hit a wall. He couldn’t find Vanessa, couldn’t contact her. She could be anywhere, plotting anything. If it was really her responsible for the death of that secretary then it was likely she wasn’t done killing. Not if Charlotte was the one in control. 

 

Abby could be next. 

 

The man was panicked and paranoid. And it was getting hard to hide his anxieties from his sister or his friend. 

 

There was another possibility though. Maybe it wasn’t Vanessa that did this, Michael could also have a motivation to find his father’s records. Or, if not, he could have a lead to where Mike could find Vanessa. 

 

The older Schmidt sibling found himself fishing the yellowed business card out of the bottom of his dresser drawer. He didn’t want to. He’d only managed to forget and bury the encounter for just over two weeks. Not nearly long enough. 

 

But what choice did he have?

 

Mike waited until he was extra sure Abby had gone to sleep that night. He sat at the dining table, all the lights off except the one above his head. He stared at the card. Then at the landline phone. Punching in those numbers that were scribbled in blue ink seemed like a monumental task. 

 

Finally, with a deliberate sigh and a roll of his neck, Mike lifted the receiver and dialed the digits. 

 

The phone rang exactly once. Then a voice, “Hello?”

 

“Michael.” Mike stated, feeling tense at the sound of the man he’s already becoming far too familiar with. 

 

“Mike,” Michael draws out the vowel, and Mike can just hear the ridiculous smile in his voice, “Called me so soon? I knew you’d be missing me.”

 

The man at his table has to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “I definitely don’t. I wouldn’t call you at all if this wasn’t serious.”

 

“Oh don’t deny it, sweetheart, I know you’ve been thinking about it. About me,” The one on the line tries to flirt. Poorly. 

 

“Michael!” Mike shouts before remembering he needs to keep his voice down with Abby just down the hall. He lowers his voice, “Can we just have a normal conversation without you making it weird?”

 

“Normal isn’t as fun. Why waste time chit chatting when I can get you barking and begging instead,” he purrs. 

 

“What is with you and the dog thing?”

 

“I just think you’d look better on a leash.”

 

Mike balks and presses his forehead to the table, “Jesus Christ."

 

Michael giggles, actually giggles, at that. But before he can continue with his innuendos Mike speaks first, “Okay just stop. You’re going to listen to me and you’re going to answer my questions. Were you the one to break into the career counselor center?”

 

“Hmmm,” Michael lets out a dissatisfied hum, miffed at his toy not playing along, “No. I didn’t kill that ugly old secretary woman. Wouldn’t have been worth the effort.” 

 

So he does know about the break-in though; Mike hadn’t mentioned the secretary. Mike prods some more, “Okay. Then who did? Was it Vanessa?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The voice on the line grumbles, testy at the unwanted mention of his sister.

 

“Michael. This is serious. I need to know if it’s connected to your father. He used to work there.” 

 

There’s an exaggerated groan through the speakers, “If you’re not going to play with me then why should I share what I know?”

 

Mike leans his elbow onto the dining room table and rests his forehead against his palm, exasperated. He knew Michael was probably going to be difficult like this. He seems to only care when it benefits himself. 

 

“Fine. If I play along, will you tell me what I want to know?” he concedes reluctantly.

 

The grin returns to the other voice, “Sure, baby. Sweet talk me and maybe I’ll talk back.” 

 

Mike wrinkles his nose at another pet name. It only makes Michael sound creepier and he’s not sure if that’s the intent or not. “Okay.”

 

“So?”

 

“Uh. So.” There’s several beats of silence. Mike doesn’t know what to say, his throat feels dry all of a sudden. He hasn’t really tried flirting over the phone since like high school, and somehow that experience doesn’t feel very applicable here. 

 

Michael seems to want him to guide the conversation though, Mike is just going to have to try. 

 

“So. Um. Wh-What are you wearing?”

 

Michael laughs, loud and ugly on the other side of the line. After thirty seconds of nearly choking on his own chortling, he barks out mockingly, “Are you serious?!”

 

Mike is embarrassed despite the fact that he’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t care what this man thinks, “Well I don’t know! I don’t… do this.” 

 

Michael coos in a condescending baby voice, “Don’t tell me puppy is a little phone sex virgin!”

 

“That’s not even a real thing!”

 

“What? A phone sex virgin? Totally is. If you haven’t done it, it is.”

 

“What, like you’re the fucking sex expert? I highly doubt it.”

 

“Oh? You jealous I’ve been fucking around with people who aren’t you? You would be the possessive type.”

 

“I couldn’t care less about who you get freaky with. I just doubt it happens.”

 

Michael scoffs, “Oh, I promise my experience isn’t lacking,” His voice then drops an octave, “Why don’t you come over, hm? I could give you a demonstration?” 

 

He doesn’t want it to affect him, but Mike can’t help the shiver that passes through him. Unwanted anticipation growing in his core at the thought. Still, he doesn’t let it show in his voice, “Not a chance, Afton.”

 

“Well if you can’t get me off over the phone, and you won’t come here where you can touch me, then how do you expect to get your answers?”

 

Michael has backed Mike into a corner. If he wants Michael’s help he’s going to have to play his stupid game. Again.

 

Mike gathers up his courage and determination. If he puts his mind to something, he’s going to do it. Even if that something is as humiliating as it is arousing. 

 

He takes a deep breath then asks, “Are you laying down?”

 

“Oh?” Michael sounds pleased; the game has begun, “I’m in bed yes. You called me awfully late, you know.”

 

“Yeah, I did. Are you comfortable? Relaxed?”

 

“I’m getting there.”

 

Mike tries harder, letting his voice sink a little deeper, get a little scratchier, “Have you thought about it? The last time you saw me?”

 

Michael hesitates a second, “You mean at Freddy’s? That’s not the last time I saw you, but yes. I have thought about it. Maybe once or twice.”

 

“What?” Mike is caught off guard, confused, “When did you see me after that?”

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

“No, tell me! What are you talking about?”

 

The other man huffs in annoyance, “You’re ruining the mood, Mikey.”

 

Mike clenches his teeth. He wants to press, but for the sake of getting this over with he decides to file it away for later. “Fine. So you think about me.”

 

A noncommittal hum through the receiver. 

 

Mike continues, tone sinking again, “What part? Did you like me on my knees?” 

 

That gains him a soft breathy noise, “Oh, yes. I think that’s where you’re meant to be. You look much better down at my feet.”

 

“Yeah? You like how I looked for you? You liked how I roughed you up too, didn’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen someone get so hard from a punch in the face before.”

 

Michael lets out a rumble that almost sounds like a purr, “Mmm, I like the bruise. It stings so nicely when I press it.”

 

Fucking masochistic weirdo, Mike can’t help but think.

 

“Was that the best part? My fist? Or was it my mouth? Did it feel good on you? Hot and wet and slick?” Mike feels his own cheeks heat as he talks and his voice instinctively falls a little quieter. No one else can hear him, but he still feels a little mortified at the explicit adjectives falling so easily from his lips.

 

“Ah!” The man behind the phone gasps lightly, breaths stuttering, “Oh fuck, yes. Th-that was the best.”

 

Mike’s head tilts curiously as he listens, “Are you… touching yourself?”

 

A short, airy laugh, “Yeah. Obviously.”

 

Mike isn’t sure if he’s cringing at the mental image or egged on by it. One half of him wants to slam the receiver back on the landline base and end the call right there. The other half of him wants to shove his hand down his own jeans.

 

He does neither, deciding to focus on the task at hand, “Yeah? Are you going slow for me? Drawing it out? Or are rushing to the good part? You seem like the impatient type.”

 

Michael audibly swallows, “I-I can go slow. F-for you.”

 

It’s Mike’s turn to wear a cheshire grin, Michael is almost too easy. Which gives him a wicked idea.

 

“Good boy.”

 

Afton whines like bitch, keening hard as if Mike was there in the room with him. As if he had taken hold of the other’s cock and squeezed.

 

“Oh? You like being called that?” Mike feels unbelievably smug, “So I guess the dog themed pet names were just you projecting.” 

 

“Shut up,” Michael tries to sound forceful, dominant, but his voice is still too wrecked for it to land. And judging by his breathing he still hasn’t stopped touching himself. “And fuck you.”

 

“Hm. Maybe if you beg for it. But probably not even then.”

 

The lankier man doesn’t respond with words, just another groan pushed through gritted teeth.

 

So Mike keeps going, “I bet you’re imagining it though. Me fucking you. Bet you wish it was my hand on you right now. Bet I could touch you even better than you do. Tell me how much you wish it was me”

 

“Fuck. You’re such a snark and a tease,” Michael sucks in air sharply, then lets it out shakily. 

 

“This would be boring to you if I wasn’t,” The man sitting in his kitchen fidgets in his chair. The erotic audio coming from the phone is starting to get to him. He has a feeling he could call a phone sex line and wouldn’t be even half as aroused listening. And Michael was barely even talking. “I thought you said you liked a game?”

 

The voice starts to pant, “I do. But I like it when I’m in charge. I like it when you’re the one begging.”

 

Mike chuckles, “No, I don’t think that’s true. I think you’ve been waiting for someone to tell you what to do. To tell you you’ve done a good job. Have you? Have you been going slow? Have you been a good boy?”

 

There’s another whine, this one high pitched and sharp, like he hadn’t expected it and tried to cut it off. 

 

Mike’s free hand clenches and unclenches. His pants have steadily grown tighter and tighter throughout the conversation. Unlike last time, he is very aware of the problem. He’s fighting his resolve desperately trying to ignore it. Even though he is alone, he could do something about it, but somehow touching himself now feels like defeat. Like giving in.

 

Meanwhile, Michael loses all sense of dignity, “I have! I’ve been so good! I’m going so slow- Fuck! I-I want- It’s too slow. I need to go faster!”

 

“Hmm. I don’t know. I didn’t say you could.”

 

“Mike!”

 

“Well… maybe you could. If! If you ask nicely.” He doesn’t know why he’s drawing it out. Mike’s done what the man asked, all he has to do is let Michael finish and then the information is his. But… he’s high on the control again. Something about making his enemy fall apart, so desperate for him, for a second time, is really doing things to Mike’s own common sense.

 

“Fuck you. I’m not begging,” Michael grits out petulantly; it’s clear by the waver in his voice that he’s aching.

 

“Ah ah. I said nicely. That’s a bad dog. You’ll have to go even slower now.”

 

The next words sound anguished, “What?! Noooo. Miiiiike! I-I can’t! I need it faster! I Can’t- Ah!”

 

There’s nothing actually making Michael slow down, or stopping him from speeding up for that matter. And Mike is very acutely aware of the fact that the man obeys him anyway. Mike has to squeeze his thighs together. 

 

“You need it do you? Well, you know there’s only one way to get what you want.”

 

Michael hisses in very audible sexual frustration, then he finally snaps, “Fine! Fine, Mike! Please! Please! Please please please let me go faster if I don’t come I’m going to go fucking insane!”

 

“I think you’re already there, sweetheart.” The other whimpers at the pet name and Mike can’t help but smile. He feels like he’s winning something. “Alright. Since you said please, you can speed up now.”

 

The other sounds on the line begin to pick up intensity. The panting becomes harder, shallower. The moans, huffs, and other vocalizations are more frequent, louder. And now the slick audio of skin sliding against wet skin can be heard through the tinny speaker. 

 

Schmidt has to sink his teeth into the meat of his lip to stop his own needy sounds from slipping out. The obscenely clear sounds of masturbation bring his memory back to the day Michael had jerked him off with such rapture. The moment where their eyes met is burned into the back of his eyelids once more.

 

Mike can’t help it, he gives in just a little, letting his hand press against the hardness trapped in his jeans. He doesn’t let himself do more than that, though. 

 

“God you sound just pornographic,” he admits without really meaning to.

 

“I-I’m not usually th-this loud. You’re j-just fucking good at p-pushing my buttons.” Michael stutters out, his tone is floaty as if he’s not fully aware of what he’s saying, attention elsewhere. 

 

The man sitting alone blinks. He wasn’t actually expecting a sort-of compliment from his rival. An admission that no one else gets the eldest Afton falling apart quite like Mike does.

 

“Well I’m not done pushing them.” He feels the man on the phone must be getting close. Time to ramp it up even more, “I want you to keep your eyes closed. Listen to my voice. I’m there with you now. Leaning over you. My hand on your dick, pulling so fast. Grip just on the edge of too tight. Gliding so smooth, so good, cause you’re just leaking for me. Getting my hand so wet. Can you feel it, Michael?”

 

Afton moans, and chokes on it, spluttering and keening, “Yes! Yes Mike! Fuck! You feel so good. Your hand is so warm… so tight… god don’t you stop…”

 

“I’m not stopping. God you’re so good, so hot for me. Falling apart for me so perfectly. You look best like that, just a fucking mess. All because of me. Are you going to come for me?”

 

“Yes! I’m so close! Ah… ah! I’m right there! I’m gonna-” 

 

“Good boy. Let go for me, Michael.”

 

And he does. His chorus of noises rising to a literal climax as he cries out so loud Mike has to pull the phone away from his ear for a moment. 

 

After the peak, Mike gives him time to recover. Listening to the heavy breathing slowly return to normal. All the while Mike is simply dying where he sits; achingly hard and still unwilling to do anything about it. 

 

When the person on the other end of the line finally no longer sounds like he’s drowning, Mike breaks the silence, putting his serious voice back on again, “Okay, I did what you asked. Again. A deal's a deal.”

 

“Oh,” Michael rasps, sounding slightly surprised and very out of it, “Right. Uh. What… were we talking about again?”

 

“Vanessa. And the break in, the murder of that secretary. Remember?” Mike feels more impatient than usual, and that totally has nothing to do with the burning need he feels to relieve himself. 

 

There’s a pause, then, “Right. That. Uh, let me think,” a second pause, “Yeah. Um. Can we- Can we talk about this later?”

 

“What?” Mike is incredulous.

 

“Look, I will tell you, I said I would. It’s just, I don’t think it’s something to say over the phone.”

 

His temper rises, “You’re just trying to weasel your way out of it! That or you don’t actually know shit!”

 

“No! I’m not lying! Not this time- fuck. Hold on,” There’s rustling on Michael’s end, “Okay, look. It was Vanessa. She did it but… it’s like a whole thing and- ugh. It’s late and I’m- I can’t think right now. Just come over another day and I’ll tell you all of it. Okay?”

 

Instinctively, Mike doesn’t want to believe him. He also doesn’t want to get anywhere near where Michael lives. He says as much, “I’m not going to your house.”

 

“What, then? You want me to come to yours?”

 

“No!” Mike nearly shouts, then he tries again quieter, “You are never coming back here. Stay the fuck away.”

 

“That’s what I thought. So. You ready for my address?” Mike can hear the self satisfied smirk has returned. 

 

“And when exactly do you expect me to do that? I’m busy, I have work and I have a sister to take care of. We should just do it over the phone. But, like, actually talk next time. None of this… other stuff.”

 

Michael chuffs, amused. Mike just spent the last hour saying the filthiest words but now he can’t even bring himself to say ‘sex’ out loud. “You don’t work on Fridays. Come over then.”

 

Mike is not amused, “Huh? How the hell do you know that? Are you- wait. Are you fucking stalking me?”

 

“I like to know what my enemies are up to,” the Afton doesn’t sound ashamed in the slightest. 

 

“Of course you do, you creepy bastard.”

 

Mike does give up though. He’s too tired and too riled up to argue anymore. His rival recites his address, Mike records it on a scrap of paper, and then the call is ended shortly after that. With plans to meet again in person in only a few days' time. 

 

Schmidt returns the phone to the hook and stands, pushing his chair in quietly. He feels somewhat robotic in the echoing silence that follows everything. He moves as if in a trance, desperately trying not to think about all the implications of the call and his own words. Tries not to think about how it made him feel, about the future consequences. And especially not about whatever will happen Friday. 

 

Instead he keeps his mind as blank as possible as he goes through the motions. Closing the doors behind him as he enters his room, sheds his clothes, and steps under the hot downpour from his showerhead. 

 

He stares blankly forward at the wall as his hand wraps around himself and begins to move. Normally, when he gets himself off he prefers to take his time. To draw it out with slow strokes all over his sensitive body before he works his dick with deliberate, gradual intensity. 

 

This time, however, he can’t even think to be patient. He pumps with a vivocity he didn’t know he had. Quickly his robotic composure crumbles, his lips curl back to reveal a snarl of white enamel. His head pitches forward till it’s pressed against the shower wall, face tilted down and away from the spray. His arm moves in such a way that he can see the outline of his own muscles underneath skin, his veins visible as he tenses his whole body. The other hand bracing himself against the tile in a closed fist. 

 

He miraculously keeps mostly quiet. Reducing his noise to only soft grunts and huffs of hot air. 

 

All the while Mike desperately tries to keep his mind as blank and as white as the shower walls. He’s able to suppress his visual imagination, only slipping up occasionally to a flash of grey-blue eyes or dark hair. 

 

His auditory fantasy is much harder to fight. The salacious sounds, every gasp and groan is still so fresh in his mind. They echo in his ears like they’re haunting him. He’s overtaken by it. 

 

Mike’s eyes clench shut, his knees shake. Drool pools behind his teeth and drips down from his head angled downward. He doesn’t even care. The water from the running faucet washes it away.

 

Just as it washes away the stream of come as he reaches and falls over his peak. His only sound a strangled exhale of steaming breath. His muscles ache from the tension and he has to force them to relax one by one. 

 

Mike cleans himself and finishes his shower quickly and without allowing another thought. He’s exhausted now, both mentally and physically. He dries and throws himself in bed, knowing there’s only a handful of hours left before his alarm will force him back up again. 

 

The man falls asleep within minutes. He’s not sure if he is grateful or disappointed that he does not dream.

Notes:

This was another chapter from Mike's perspective, but if you're missing Michael's POV then don't worry! The next chapter will certainly scratch that itch ;)

Chapter 4

Summary:

In case anyone forgot, Michael is unhinged.

Notes:

Warning: There are some non-con/dub-con elements in this chapter. Nothing crazy or graphic, but read with caution if you are sensitive to that kind of thing. Michael Afton is not a good guy. But I promise this is leading to somewhere sweeter! Stay with me!

Friday could not come soon enough. 

 

Michael was ecstatic. His plans to get Mike hooked on him were going so well! Better than planned, actually.

 

He had called Mike to the original Freddy’s location weeks ago with the intention of simply flirting and teasing him a bit. Getting the other guy flustered so he would have no choice but to spend time thinking about the better Afton sibling. 

 

But, oh, Michael couldn’t have predicted the other man would actually get on his knees and blow him. God, just thinking of how good he looked like that, how pliant he was, was enough to get Michael worked up again. And think about it he did, constantly, nearly every night for two weeks straight. 

 

And then the phone call. The fucking phone call. He hadn’t known Schmidt could sound so delicious and taunting at the same time. It was like a challenge; tussling with words and egging each other on like a lascivious verbal competition. 

 

Michael had acted a little more submissive than he would’ve liked, he wanted to dominate, to win afterall. And he sort of compromised himself in his own excitement; let the parts of himself he would normally suppress slip out. But he rationalized that letting Mike have a little victory would be good in the long run. A little positive association was a good motivator when teaching dogs to behave. 

 

So despite the slip up, Michael maintains that he has everything in his control. So in control he was able to convince his enemy to agree to actually come to his home. To have him here, all alone, with all of his toys. It was almost too good to be true. 

 

Everything had to be perfect though. He couldn’t let his obsessive nature cloud his mind this time. He had to be cunning and charismatic and cruel, like his father taught him to be, if he was going to lure Mike in with a false sense of security. And then break him.

 

Michael didn’t have as much time as he would like to finish setting everything up for his plan on the day of. He unfortunately had a business meeting in the morning to sort out some of his late father’s other assets. And then Mike would arrive in the late afternoon.

 

The Afton son was smart about it though. Initially Mike had requested they meet earlier, in between the times that his little sibling would be at school. Afterall, Mike only expected this to be a quick visit.

 

Instead, Michael lied and said he wouldn’t be available till later, right about the time Abby would need to get picked up from school. Mike reluctantly agreed then that he would ask his friend to pick her up in his stead, and would lie to both of them about accepting an evening shift at work at the last minute. Which was perfect, because now Michael could have the Schmidt brother all to himself all night long without anyone raising concern.

 

With all the preparations ready, Michael took his place and waited. The heady anticipation nearly strangled him.

 

When the sun had begun to sink, casting long shadows through the windows of the Afton residence, the doorbell finally rang.

 

Mike fidgeted on the doorstep of the house he’d never seen before. He waited, head checking over his shoulder nervously. The neighborhood was actually a fairly nice and affluent one, but that did nothing to calm his anxieties about being here. When no one answered he tried knocking instead. When his fist hits the wood he realizes the door isn’t actually fully shut. 

 

It swings open slowly on its own with a creak and nobody behind it. 

 

“Great. Like a fucking horror movie,” Mike mutters to himself, his hackles raising even more at the creepy circumstances. 

 

Beyond the threshold he could see into the house. It wasn’t dark, but the lights were off and the golden hour glow wasn’t making it any less suspicious. 

 

“Hello? Michael, are you even home?” the man calls into the house. No response.

 

He was getting a bad feeling that something might have happened here. So, against his better judgement, he decides to step forward through the doorway to investigate.

 

Mike tries again, “Anybody in here? Michael?”

 

He gazes down the hall, then at the living room before him, then he turns his head more and-

 

“AHHH! FUCK!” Mike screams and falls back onto the floor of the entryway, slamming right onto his tailbone.

 

Towering over him stands an animatronic, it’s Foxy! It’s gonna kill him, it’s- wait.

 

“MICHAEL! What the actual fuck!”

 

When Mike really looks, he sees only Michael Afton standing there wearing a rather convincing Foxy mask; not an actual robot. The masked man doubles over laughing.

 

“AHH HAHA he Ahahhahaaaa!” he practically wails, shaking and clutching his chest like it’s the funniest shit he’s ever seen. “I can’t believe you fell for that! Oh my god!”

 

Mike is not amused. “You fucker! Why?!” He pulls himself off the ground with a grimace and fixes his host with a hateful scowl. 

 

“Uh, cause it’s fucking hilarious.” Michael grins and slips off the mask as he finally recovers from his laughing fit. The look on Mike’s face is so worth it. It’s been a long while since he’s scared someone with that trick, but it never disappoints. 

 

“What are you? Fucking twelve? Grow up!”

 

“Oh you’re just mad that I got you,” he says while Mike appears like he’s debating on punching him again. “Awe, don’t pout, baby.”

 

Mike looks to the still open door like he’s regretting ever stepping through it, “Don’t call me that. I will fucking leave if you don’t take this seriously. No more kiddie bullshit, Afton.”

 

Michael can’t have that. He shuts the front door, flicking on the lights as he does, and tuts, “Everything’s always serious with you. No wonder you only have one friend, you’re such a bore.”

 

“I have friends!”

 

“Right. Sure, whatever you say, puppy.”

 

Mike crosses his arms and wrinkles his nose with unhidden disgust at the pet name, “Whatever, I don’t even care. I’m here like you asked. You are going to tell me about the career center incident, now. No excuses this time.”

 

Michael sighs dramatically and begins to walk towards the hall, “Fiiiiiine. But first, we’re having a drink.”

 

“What? I just said no excuses!” Mike throws his hands up in exasperated annoyance. 

 

The taller man shoots him a smirk, “I’m not making any, I just need a little liquid for my throat. You know, since we’re going to be doing all this talking.” Then he slips out of view.

 

Mike huffs. He shoots one last longing gaze at the front door before he has no choice but to follow the other deeper into the house. He turns the corner to find a clean, updated kitchen. Michael is there opening up the fridge and riffling through it. 

 

The shorter man approaches the bar and leans forward against it, elbows resting on the countertop. The silence is a little awkward so he tries to break it, “Uh. Nice place you got here.”

 

Michael turns back around with a closed smile, holding up two bottles of beer. He passes one to his rival then leans back against the refrigerator as he twists open and takes a sip of his own. 

 

“Thanks. It was my dad’s place. Before he, well, you know what.” His smile betrays him slightly with a twitch, but otherwise he keeps his demeanor neutral, upbeat even.

 

Mike eyes the bottle in front of him but doesn’t reach for it. Instead speaking, “Heh. Right. I should’ve guessed you didn’t earn something this nice on your own.”

 

Afton’s face pinches slightly, “Hey! I work! I make more than you do, I bet!” He then gestures down at the tie and purple button up he’s currently still wearing from his meeting earlier as if that’s adequate proof. 

 

The other takes that as permission to rake his eyes over Michael’s appearance, appraising. There’s nothing directly sexual in the look, but the taller of the two can’t help but swallow as the subtle motion causes a little heat to hit his cheeks. 

 

“And here I thought you had dressed up just for little old me,” Mike teases in a flat tone. 

 

Michael’s smile hooks into a crooked one, eyes lidding slightly in flirtation, “Oh? You like me dressed nice? You should see me in a suit.”

 

But Mike immediately kills the spark of sexual tension, straightening up and closing off his body language. Buzz kill. “Where do you work exactly?”

 

Afton rolls his eyes, disappointed but not dissuaded. He deflects the question, “Drink your beer, Mikey.”

 

That causes the other to eye the drink again offendedly. 

 

“What? Don’t like beer? Should I have broken out the good wine?” Michael jokes deadpanned. 

 

Mike shakes his head, “No. You could’ve done something to it. I don’t trust you, that should be obvious.”

 

Michael has to resist the manic grin that threatens to break out at those words. Mike says he doesn’t trust him, but he sure did walk right into the lion’s den with almost no hesitation. 

 

Instead, the man keeps cool, unphased, “The bottle is unopened. Try it, I guarantee you’ll hear the seal.”

 

His guest looks skeptical, but after a short beat he reaches for the drink anyway. As soon as he turns the cap there is the unmistakable crack and hiss of a seal breaking and fermented gas escaping. 

 

“Fine,” Mike shrugs and lets himself take a drink. 

 

Michael is pleased, high on the way it feels to watch his prey get comfortable in his presence. He decides to test it a little more by taking two steps forward till he’s in front of the bar, leaning his hip against it. Mike just a short distance away standing on the other side of it. 

 

Schmidt doesn’t react, other than his eyes flicking up and down quickly as he raises the bottle for another sip. 

 

“Alright. You’ve stalled enough. Talk.” he insists, voice falling to that sort of husky ‘I mean business’ tone he sometimes uses. Michael is starting to really like the sound of it. It’s distinctly masculine in a way that absolutely lights up his imagination.

 

“Okay, I suppose. Since you like the sound of my voice so much,” Michael drawls with a wink.

 

His enemy merely rolls his eyes and stands there impatiently. 

 

Across the counter the lanky man starts lightly tracing the lip of his beer bottle while he recalls what he knows, “So, Charlotte has the animatronics. The newer ones at least. I went to fetch them from your place myself but by the time I got there she had already loaded them up in a van. Then she drove off. That’s how I know for sure Vanessa’s possessed; she’s trying to pretend to be my sister but I can tell the difference.”

 

Mike’s face scrunches slightly in thought, “What about the other ones? The, what did she call them… the prototypes?”

 

“That’s not really important,” the older Afton sibling sidesteps the question, not interested in giving up more information than he has to, “The point is she doesn’t know quite how to fix them by memory. I mean, my sister knows a lot of it. Our father taught us how they work. But he had some secrets that even I don’t know fully.

 

But he left records. Notebooks, sketches, blueprints you name it. I have access to most of it, Vanessa didn’t want anything to do with his estate after the fact. So I'm the executor. And Charlotte knows I won’t let her touch it. 

 

Anything he left at his old job though, I don’t have control of that. So I think Charlotte broke in to recover some of his schematics or plans he might have left behind there. Maybe he even hid stuff there to keep it safe, I don’t know. The secretary that died was just a loose end, wrong place wrong time. Sucks to be her or whatever.”

 

By the end of Michael’s info dump monologue, Mike is fully lost in thought. Hand lifted and occasionally tapping the top of the bottle to his lips, opposite arm braced on the counter, brows furrowed low. As he processes the words, his rival takes a moment to drag his eyes down his body this time. 

 

Mike looks as he usually does, dressed in another wrinkled button up and pair of dark jeans. Hair slightly disheveled and stubble smattering over his jaw. Michael wonders if he would look good in a suit too. 

 

He’s broken out of his silent revelry when Mike is ready to respond, “Okay. Yeah, that all seems to make sense. I think. But what is on those documents? Are they just instructions on how to fix them or is she planning to do something else with the robots?”

 

“How should I know? I haven’t seen what was in that office. But my guess is that she’s not going to try the same plan twice. So whatever is written on those papers is probably more than just ‘how to get them walking around again,’” speaks Michael lazily, he’s finished his beer and he’s started to get bored of this conversation. 

 

He also is growing more annoyed the more Mike talks about Vanessa. 

 

“Shit. So she is planning something? We have to put a stop to it before she can build something dangerous! Do you know wh-” Mike cuts off suddenly, blinking in confusion, vision swimming, and swaying slightly on his feet. He places the bottle back on the counter and his hand shakes slightly as he does.

 

Michael straightens up to attention. 

 

“I. Uh, do… do y-you know-” And Mike falls. Afton rushes around the bar and catches him before he can crack his head on the counter. 

 

“About time,” he mutters. Mike can’t hear him, he’s passed out cold. 

 

Michael laughs down at the unconscious man in his arms, suddenly gleeful again. Now the good part can resume!

 

—

 

When Mike awakes again, eyelids flicking away the haze, he finds himself tied to a chair. Schmidt immediately panics. Both arms and both legs are tied down with secure rope. He can’t move anything but his neck and he can shift his torso slightly. Mercifully, his mouth is uncovered.

 

The man whips his head around surveying the scene he’s trapped in. He appears to be in some sort of basement, judging by the storage shelves, workshop benches, and the musty below-ground taste of the air. 

 

Leaning causally against one of the benches is the man he hates, Afton, looking far too pleased with himself. 

 

Noticing his prisoner has awoken, Michael cackles and leisurely pushes off the table to step closer to his prey. “And I thought you looked good on your knees. Darling, like this you’re just plain edible.”

 

Michael watches with joy as Mike’s face flushes with anger. His hands clench into fists but there’s not much else he can do with them tied down like this.

 

“Michael! You bastard!” he growls out, “How the fuck did you even-? When?”

 

The man towering over him tsks twice with a smirk, “Uh, the beer, duh. Honestly, you gotta be more careful with who you trust with your drinks. A girl could get roofied out there.”

 

Mike doesn’t seem to appreciate the insinuation, yanking at his restraints, “How? It was sealed?” 

 

“What? You don’t think I know my way around a pressure pot? I’m smarter than you give me credit for.”

 

“I don’t even know what that is.”

 

“Of course you don’t.”

 

Mike becomes impatient, flighty like an animal that knows it's been cornered, “What do you want? What’s the fucking point of this?”

 

Michael bows at the waste, leaning into the other’s personal space, “I want what I always want when it comes to you. You know I haven’t met someone this fun to play with in years.”

 

The man tries to lean away but can’t do much wrapped in the restraints. He spits out, “No. No and I mean it this time. I’m not playing your game if you’re gonna play dirty like this.”

 

“Dirty?” coos Michael, reaching to grip his prisoner's chin between two fingers and forcing him to stare directly into his eyes, “Oh I can show you dirty.”

 

Mike is unable to hide the spark of fear in his irises, and Michael feels high off it. He wants to draw out more. 

 

The taller man then hitches up a leg and places his knee in between where Mike’s thighs have been involuntarily spread thanks to his position in the chair. He doesn’t add pressure yet, just rests the knee there as if building the anticipation for more. 

Then he leans over his prey and begins to pop the buttons of his shirt, one by one. Slowly baring more and more of Mike’s firm chest. Michael had seen a glimpse of the pale skin from outside the Schmidts’ window, but now he gets the real thing up close. 

 

Afton forces himself to take his time, savor it in a way he usually doesn’t have the patience for. He wants this to last. 

 

“Michael stop,” Mike commands, trying to sound forceful. 

 

“Shh shhhh,” the other man shushes him, tapping his knee a few times against the guy’s crotch. Mike isn’t even a little hard but Michael only takes it as a challenge. “Don’t worry, puppy. You’ll like what I have planned. Just relax and let me show you a good time.”

 

Once the shirt has been fully unbuttoned Michael takes a second to enjoy the view. Oh, it’s far nicer than he thought from a distance. His captive’s chest is peppered with just the right amount of hair to make heat sink through the other’s gut and down to the groin. 

 

Michael then removes his knee and decides to fully sit on Mike’s lap, straddling him the best he can while in the chair. Mike yelps in surprise and presses his back as far as he can away from the other. Michael is a little too tall for this, he has to bow his back to look at his prey properly, and the man under him has to crane his neck back to meet his face.

 

“Dude- Get off of me! What are you doing?” Schmidt complains, pupils betraying his rising unease. 

 

Afton rolls his eyes as he places his hands on the other’s shoulders, rubbing a few small circles with his thumbs, “You ask too many questions you know. Sometimes doing is better than explaining.”

 

He then lets himself touch the skin he’s been craving for weeks. Michael starts by cupping his hand around Mike’s neck. Not to squeeze, just to see how it looks on him. The answer is gorgeous. 

 

Then he begins to explore, fingers trailing down to the collar bones, tracing the dip there. Next he uses both hands to pet over his pectorials, thumbs ghosting over the nipples teasingly. 

 

Mike’s breath hitches at the sensation. His captor looks up and meets his eyes, mouth a snake-like curve, “Sensative?”

 

Schmidt doesn’t answer, instead he presses his lips together and looks pointedly off to the side, not giving the satisfaction of a response. 

 

Michael merely hums and continues. Hands going lower. Mike’s abs are only barely visible, but when the other man brushes against his stomach he can feel the ridges of muscle under the skin. Michael’s mouth waters. 

 

Next, his finger tips reach the waistband of his rival’s jeans. He wants to open them, to dive in and claim his prize even though he told himself he would take it slow. But he’s disappointed to see that even with Michael actually sitting on his lap, Mike still isn’t hard. 

 

That just won’t do. 

 

Michael’s hands leave the waist band. He swears he hears Mike release a tiny exhale of relief. Afton doesn’t like that, he wants his toy to be eager, but not eager for him to stop. To be squirming underneath him and begging to be touched instead of leaning away from his hands. 

 

He decides to try a different tactic. Michael presses one palm to Mike's chest, the other he raises to cup his head right behind the ear, curling his digits into the short locks there. 

 

He meets the other’s eyes again and attempts to soften his smile into something less wicked, more alluring, “Has anyone ever told you you’re quite the pretty thing?”

 

Mike can’t really move his head like this but he keeps darting his eyes to look elsewhere and not at the man on top of him. His voice is tight when he speaks, “Yeah. Probably.”

 

“Hmm.” Michael wets his lips and keeps trying, “I can see why my sister was into you. You’re far more attractive than any other boy she ever fawned over. You’re way out of her league, she shouldn’t have even tried.”

 

That gets Mike to meet his eyes for a brief beat, before they dart away again, “What? And I’m not out of yours?”

 

“Ha! That’s cute,” he sneers back, before schooling his voice back into something more enticing, “Last time we spoke I didn’t hear any complaints. What was it you said? You like the way I look when I fall apart?”

 

Mike can’t help but to drag his pupils back to his captor’s face. He swallows, but he doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. It’s not like he can deny it. 

 

“Well I think it’s my turn to see you crumble and collapse. I want to make a fucking mess out of you. I want you to be so consumed by me you forget that stupid bitch’s name. I’m the only Afton you need!” hisses Afton.

 

Without giving Mike the chance to react, Michael shoves their mouths together. It’s not quite right at first, Mike not expecting it. But after a beat Michael slides their mouths into a proper firm kiss. 

 

The captive doesn’t move with him at first, refusing to cooperate. Michael continues anyway, shifting the pressure and parting slightly to let his hot breath ghost over the other’s face. This is the first time they’ve actually kissed, and Michael will be damned if Mike ruins it by being difficult.

 

He tries a few different things, first adjusting the grip he has in Mike’s hair to angle their faces better together. Then he uses his tongue, just the tip to lap lightly at the crease between the other’s sealed lips, teasing him. 

 

With his other hand he begins to stroke Schdmit’s chest in the same way he’d seen him do to himself back when he had watched him through the window. Rolling a nipple under his thumb. Mike’s chest raises sharply at that, and his shoulders seem to tense just a bit. But Michael’s not satisfied yet.

 

It isn’t until Afton uses his teeth that he gets the reaction he’s been hoping for. He nips at the man’s bottom lip, right where he knows there’s a bruise from Mike always biting it. The shorter man gasps, mouth opening wide enough for Michael to slip his tongue through.

 

Mike moans at the intrusion. And then it’s like a spell has been broken, Mike returns the kiss in earnest. Wrestling with the other’s tongue, licking and biting in turn. Michael groans as well, finally getting what he wanted. It tastes even better than he had hoped. The faint flavor of beer still lingering on both of their tongues.

 

This goes on for a while, the two swapping spit with a somewhat aggressive energy. As if they’re both pouring the hate and attraction they have for one another into the heated kiss. Hawty breaths and lewd whines occasionally slipping out from either of them.

 

Michael starts getting excited, he can’t help it. When Mike is involved he becomes so reactive and he isn’t even sure why he has that effect. His slacks are starting to become uncomfortable. 

 

His hips twitch, then buck in full, grinding unintentionally against the lap beneath him. They both separate their mouths to keen at the same time. Michael blinks then lets his gaze drop. The hand he has on Mike’s chest moves down to lightly pet against his crotch, testing. 

 

His prisoner in the chair isn’t fully hard yet, he’s really only just barely firm. But it’s progress. Afton feels his cat-like grin return. 

 

Mike picks up on the other’s ego glowing and he scoffs in response, “Fuck off.”

 

Michael tilts his head and taps his chin a couple times, pretending to ponder. Then he chirps happily, “Okay!”

 

He abruptly stands, leaving the man’s lap cold.

 

“What?” Mike looks bewildered, like he hadn’t expected the other man to actually listen to him.

 

The taller of the two keeps grinning, letting his stare rake over the evidence of their heated make-out session. Mike looks positively disheveled. His cheeks are flushed, hair slightly mused from where it had been gripped, and his shirt hanging open to show off how heavy his breathing has gotten. Michael takes it all in with pride.

 

“That was certainly fun,” he says coolly as he straightens out his own clothes and pulls down a little on his tie, loosening it. “But I have a better idea of what we can do next.” He proceeds to unhurriedly roll up the sleeves of his purple button-up. 

 

Schmidt shifts himself in his chair, likely feeling uncomfortable having been stuck in the same position for so long, especially with his pants becoming tighter. “What else are you planning?”

 

Michael hums, “Well I know how much dogs like their toys, so I picked out a special one just for you!” 

 

Mike pales. “Uh. What,” he sounds genuinely nervous all of a sudden, “What toys? Michael. You cannot… put anything in me. Th-that’s absolutely not happening.”

 

“Oh, Mike,” the man standing giggles out, “While that does sound enticing. That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

 

With a cheeky wink, Afton turns away and ventures deeper into the basement behind Mike. The man in the chair can’t see what he’s doing, only hear. And he flinches sharply with the sound of a loud metal scrape. 

 

Michael was only pushing a metal chair out of the way, and he feels very amused by the dramatic reaction if pulled out of his victim. Just to fuck with him, Michael takes his time. Occasionally poking and shifting things on the shelves just so that the noise can make Mike jump. 

 

After a minute or two of that, Afton finally grabs what he was after off the desk in the back and returns. He steps in front of the restrained man holding the object behind his back. 

 

“Ready for a new kind of game?” Michael says with a slightly sinister lilt to his voice.

 

“What are you, Jigsaw?” jokes Mike, trying to play down his own unease, “If I say no will you let me go?”

 

“Nope!” Afton shows off his teeth in a wide smile, one that reminds Mike a little too much of William. Actually, the resemblance feels eerily similar to him when he’s this helpless and on edge.

 

Then Micheal reveals the thing from behind his back, holding it out like a trophy. It’s a black metal stick about the length of his forearm. “Tada!” he states anticlimatically. 

 

The other man stares at it for a second, then shakes his head, “No, I’ve got nothing. Am I supposed to know what that is?”

 

“It’s a cattle prod,” Michael says very casually. 

 

To which Mike pales again, looking quite shaken, “Excuse me? A what? Why the fuck do you have that?”

 

The man standing shrugs. He’s trying to bury his excitement with nonchalance, enjoying how unnerved it makes his captive. “It was my father’s, like most of the stuff in here. You never know when a misbehaving animatronic might need a little controlled shock!”

 

To illustrate his point, Michael flicks off the safety and holds down the ‘on’ button. Instantly, a blue stream of sparks jumps and dances between the two prongs at the end of the staff. It whirs and crackles with a noise of obvious danger. 

 

The look on Mike’s face is worth framing. He’s so blatantly, uninhibitedly terrified now. Michael feels a thrill race down his spine and straight to his cock, making him shudder.

 

“No no no no! Michael, keep that fucking thing far away from me! Whatever this is, I am not doing it. You can’t do this to me!” the prisoner cries out, straining against the ties that hold him to the chair. 

 

“Oh but I can,” purrs Michael, stepping a little closer, “Or did you forget? We’re not friends. We’re not partners. We’re enemies! We were enemies the moment you took that fucking security guard job and that hasn’t changed just cause you sucked my dick!” he ends with a vicious snarl, suddenly feeling much more heated in more ways than one.

 

Mike struggles against his bonds harder, “Please, Michael. Don’t do this. You don’t have to be like him. Let’s just talk it out first! Please! Listen to me!”

 

Michael does feel a little conflicted all of a sudden. He thought that what he really wanted was for Mike to beg. To plead for his life, to plead for Michael’s mercy. Michael’s attention. But for some unknown reason the sound was actually grating on his ears. 

 

No matter, there were still other sounds he could pull out of Mike. 

 

He spoke his next words sharply, cutting off Mike’s appeals to his humanity, “Okay! Like I said, we are gonna play a little game!” As he talks he begins to walk in a circle around his victim, just like he did the second time they met. Except this time Mike had no choice but to have his back to a predator at least half of the time. 

 

“How it works is I’m going to ask some questions. If you answer honestly, nothing will happen. But if you lie to me, you get the shock.” Afton presses the button again for emphasis, causing the other to flinch once more at the burst of blue light and buzzing hum. 

 

Secretly, while walking behind the chair, the captor sets the cattle prod to the lowest possible setting. He didn’t actually want to fry his new favorite plaything, not that he would reveal that to Mike. And Michael knew the prod at this level hurt, but only just enough to scare. He had actually survived it at much higher levels before, having been on the receiving end of the thing multiple times when William would lose his temper. 

 

Mike was unaware of any of that. “What? That’s not fair! How will you even know if I’m lying or not?”

 

The taller figure shrugs again, finally halting his pacing once he’s standing in front of the other once more. He looms over Mike like this, for once looking actually menacing instead of awkward, “Well I guess you’ll just have to be convincing if you don’t want to get hurt.”

Notes:

I took some inspiration from you lovely commentors on this one! Sorry for the cliff hanger, I just wrote so much for this scene I had to cut it into two chapters so I could post on time! But I promise you it'll be worth the wait, we're going to get a little kinky~

Notes:

I'm probably gonna add a chapter or two to this so if you liked this so far feel free to subscribe to the fic and you'll be notified when I post next!