Work Text:
Michael needed more information. If he was going to put this admittedly somewhat ridiculous plan he had into action, with the Marionette, and the old location he currently worked at, he wanted to make sure he knew absolutely everything about the situation he was jumping into.
He had some information, sure. He knew his sister was well and alive, and consorting with that…man and his little sister. He knew that the town was buzzing about the Freddy's murders again, ever since some crazy lady had brought it up. Michael was thankful for whoever that woman was. It made his job so much easier - it provided a jump start, a way to fuel the frenzy that would allow him to carry out his plans unimpeded.
And he'd already taken the preliminary steps towards provoking the perfect storm. A few drinks paid for at a bar, with targets chosen carefully, were well worth the price when he was able to whisper his snake magic into the ears of those he bought them for. This Freddy Fazbear craze…it could be so lucrative. Imagine the amount of money someone could amass if they set up something like, oh, hmm, maybe some kind of festival? No, that was stupid, wasn't it? But think about the profits.
It took longer than he would have like for the gears he'd placed in the machine to start turning. While he waited, he began some light surveillance on his sister. Vanessa Shelly, as she called herself now. The last name made Michael's lip curl. She was and would always be an Afton. Running from it didn't make her role in their family less important. But no matter. Once he was able to carry out his plan and show her the power they could wield together, the way they could bring the whole family to greatness once again, she would surely choose the better option, the right option. The Afton option.
But she didn't seem as unhappy with her current life as Michael would have liked. She had a job, as a cop, of all things, and seemed to have befriended a man who was once the local security guard at the second Freddy's location. Because of course she had. Michael wished he had somehow been able to pick up the jobs at both locations to prevent that from happening, though that was obviously impossible.
Sure, he could figure out the gaps in her facade. She was haunted by the specter of their father, and of the duties she'd left behind. Those were good, Michael could work with those.
But what he didn't like was outside influence.
And if that other man wasn't an outside influence, he didn't know what was.
He needed to know so much more. So he went digging. A quick glance through the interloper's mailbox while he was out of the house told Michael his name was Mike Schmidt. He wrinkled his nose, irritated that they shared similar names. That seemed like just another reason to hate him.
He had a little sister. Abby. The two of them seemed to live alone; no matter what time Michael watched, it was only ever the two of them, besides Mike's friend. Jeremiah, he learned.
No matter. Jeremiah didn't really interact with Vanessa; he was irrelevant.
Mike Schmidt was surprisingly elusive for someone who seemed to have absolute no ability to conceal himself or have any subtlety. Mostly, the difficulty came from Mike's seeming ineptitude at holding down a job. It was hard to follow someone at work if they worked somewhere new every week.
Each day that he tried to work the case, Michael left more frustrated. He needed to know the weaknesses that Mike hid, so he could store them in his arsenal in case they ever crossed paths on Michael's quest to retrieve Vanessa from the life she'd wormed her way into.
Eventually, as the posters for the "FazFest" started to go up around town, and the date drew closer, Michael realized with some unease that he was going to have to get up close and personal - his least favorite part of any job.
It wasn't hard to choose where. Mike frequented a bar not too far away from his house on the nights that Abby didn't need him, or was staying over somewhere else. Michael could blend right in in the crush of the crowd. He shuddered at the thought of having to be pressed into one of those spaces, people all around him, unable to get to an exit as quickly as he would like. He also didn't fit in well. With how tall, pale, and awkward he was, though Michael was loath to admit it, he sometimes drew eyes to his activity. It seemed like he looked like the definition of trouble. But it was the best place to meet Mike without any suspicions arising. It wasn't like he could just go up, knock on Mike's front door, and say he was selling Girl Scout Cookies.
So Michael dredged up the bits of his ability to interact that remained, and prepared. He was lucky that Mike had a night off without having to wait too long. Michael watched from his car down the street as Mike pulled out of the driveway and towards his favorite place, completely unaware of the bleak eyes tracking his every movement. It was time.
He wasn't really in any rush. If he arrived right after Mike and then made a beeline to speak with him, it was going to definitely raise the chances of seeming odd. Besides, dressed in his work uniform as he sometimes was, he'd stick out like a sore thumb. So he headed home to try to find some way to blend in. It really wasn't difficult, given that the bar wasn't exactly formal. A plain shirt, sweater, and he was good to go, but he still waited a little bit longer, partially to run through every situation that could occur in his head and partially to delay having to get out there.
Michael's hands prickled against the steering wheel as he pulled into a parking space a couple blocks away from his destination. If he had to get out, fast, he didn't want to get stuck in any of the bar traffic that always seemed to occur at the worst moments. He sat for a moment, blew out a long breath, and told himself firmly that Aftons didn't get nervous. And they didn't back down. He was going to make his father proud, and if this was how he had to do it, then by God he would do it with a smile on his face.
So he looked into the rearview mirror, fixed his hair a bit, tried to practice looking friendly, gave up, and then got out of the car.
The bar was exactly as bad, if not worse, than Michael had expected. He never came out to these types of places if he could avoid it, and he was being reminded of why. Even the alcohol-based persuasion he'd given some influential figures had been quick enough that he didn't have to think about the crush of bodies around him. Though there was seating, the tables were crowded close together and Michael had to weave his way through people standing to get to the bar counter where Mike sat.
His heart jumped into his throat with relief as he saw there was a seat next to Mike that was empty. Maybe some part of this night would work out after all.
Michael slid up to the bar as casually as he was capable of doing, and ordered something vodka-based that he knew he wasn't really going to be drinking tonight. He didn't even look at Mike, though he was half-convinced the other would instantly realize who Michael was, despite never having seen him before.
When his drink was placed in front of him, he took a few sips and then turned his head to pretend to survey the crowd. In reality, he was looking at Mike out of the corner of his eye, who seemed to not have noticed yet. Michael struggled to figure out a way to start the conversation. He'd had a few ideas, but all of it seemed so flimsy and obvious now that he was actually sitting here, with the music and conversation already giving him a headache.
Fortunately for him, Mike Schmidt wasn't the type of man to stay silent for too long, especially on his usual one night a week out.
"Looking for someone?"
Michael jumped ever so slightly as Mike addressed him, trying his best to disguise it by turning back and putting on what he thought might be a friendly smile. Mike's brow creased at the look, and Michael quickly dropped the grin.
"Oh. No, actually. I thought I knew someone who was coming here tonight, but if they're not here by now, they're not going to be up at all."
"Get stood up?"
Michael realized that Mike was definitely already some drinks in. His eyes were still keen, but they'd lost a little bit of luster, and he seemed almost too keen on conversation, too enthusiastic for his usual demeanor. Not drunk, but easily on his way there.
Michael forced out a laugh. "I guess you could put it that way," he lied, shrugging. "More time to drink with myself."
"I haven't seen you around here before." Mike was leaning a little closer, as if he was studying Michael. Michael sat back and raised his chin, asserting his full height over the shorter man.
"I don't really…go drinking often." That one wasn't a lie, at least.
"You look like you could use it," Mike chuckled, taking another drink from his own glass.
Michael smiled tightly. "You're probably right." He floundered, then came up with, "This place has always seemed so interesting to me when I passed by. Have you been going here for a while?" His voice sounded robotic and tense even to himself.
Mike shrugged. "Some years. Ever since I moved."
"Oh, so you've lived here for a minute then. I'm new to the area. Do you have any recommendations for places to go, things to do?" Michael was doing it. He was making small talk! He, Michael Afton, usually so tense he wouldn't open his mouth around a stranger, was actually chatting. His words were a bit stiff, and stilted oddly, sure, but Mike seemed to be just intoxicated enough to either not notice or not care.
Mike hummed thoughtfully, tapping the side of his glass. "I mean, there's a handful of good restaurants around here. A couple other bars. Steer clear of Johnny's, that one's bad news. But most of the place in town aren't too bad if you're just looking for a drink and some company."
"It seems I've already found that here."
Mike tilted his head and smiled. "Fair enough. I didn't catch your name."
"Oh, I'm, uh. I'm Michael." Michael didn't think fast enough to make up a name, but no alarm bells seemed to go off in Mike's head.
"Really?" Mike laughed in surprise. "I'm Mike."
I know, Michael thought with an internal sigh of irritation, but he kept his best expression plastered onto his face. "What are the odds?"
"Slim, I'm sure. Must be fate," Mike teased, and his eyes combed over Michael in an odd manner that the taller man didn't know how to feel about for a moment before darting back up to his face. "So you've only been here a short while. You move here with anyone?"
"No, by myself," Michael replied quickly. "I…don't make friends the easiest." Was he trying to ask if I was single? Surely not. Mike was just making polite conversation.
"Is that why you got stood up?" Mike's tone was light, joking.
"Perhaps," Michael allowed, tilting his head ever so slightly, his expression unchanging.
A smile tugged at the corners of Mike's mouth as he studied Micheal, undiscouraged by Michael's stony expression. "You're a strange one, Michael. I like that. So where'd you move from?"
"Uh, Utah," Michael quickly improvised, thrown off by Mike's first remark. People were odd when they were tipsy.
"Wow, Utah. That's a long way to come, especially on your own."
"I managed." Michael tried to crack another small smile and this one seemed to be better received. "Did you bring anyone with you on your travels?"
"My little sister," Mike replied, seeming to show his first sign of hesitation when Michael tried to poke into the past.
"Oh, how old is she?" Was that a weird question to ask? I hope that didn't sound weird. If I blow my cover, Father would be so disappointed in me.
"Old enough to be in middle school now," Mike sighed. "They grow up so fast."
"I'm sure she's just fine with you as a big brother."
Mike tilted his head, and Michael suddenly realized that with the tone he'd used, his words had sounded more flirtatious than he meant. He quickly backpedaled. "I- I mean, you just seem like a nice guy."
Mike drained the rest of his drink with a smirk. "Don't worry about it."
Michael blinked, trying to push away whatever had just happened. He had to keep on track. "Do you work in the town, or elsewhere?"
Thank God for bars - the first and last time he'd ever think this - giving him the ability to question Mike with next to no reason to set off warning bells.
"In the town, out of the town. I'm kind of…doing odd jobs right now. It means plenty more time to talk to strangers at the bar." And Mike winked at him.
Michael felt his heart thump. Mike was definitely flirting with him. This wasn't how he'd expected this to go at all. And really…Micheal? Surely Mike was desperate if he was stooping as low as this.
Did he want to encourage this? On the one hand, his sensibilities about not getting involved with a target were all blaring red hot. He didn't even know how to…flirt. Any mental image of himself trying sent humiliation running through his body before it even happened. He didn't even know Mike swung this way. Hell, Michael didn't know if he himself was even capable of swinging this way. He'd only ever messed around with girls, and most of his teenage fantasies had involved exclusively women. Most of them.
…but on the other hand, it was a wonderful way to pry out information that Mike wouldn't give to your average stranger. And it wasn't like Mike was unattractive. He had a nice jawline, a strong build, and eyes that seemed deeper than Michael had assumed at first glance. Flirting couldn't be that hard. The people in his TV show did it all the time.
This was all for the family. He needed more info. Time was running out, and this was going to be purely business. Sometimes one had to get their hands a little dirty to plant a garden.
All of that flashed through Michael's head in a second before he rested his elbow on the bar, leaning in a little closer. "Well, I'm glad for that. Spared me from either a night of solo drinking or a humiliating exit." It felt like he was tearing it out of himself to try to appear like he was interested in this like any other normal person was, to admit that he was feeling anything beyond polite friendliness.
"How bad is it to be happy someone got stood up?"
"Depends on how the other person feels."
"And how would the other person feel?"
He was actually doing this. Maybe he was clumsy, but Mike seemed to be on his level with the intoxication addling his senses. "Mm. Maybe he shares the same sentiment, since he got to chat with a charming stranger instead. When one door closes, another opens." Oh God. That was so bad. He needed to melt into the ground and never, ever think about this night again.
But there was no withdrawal from Mike, his eyes running across Michael's face with an expression far different from the disgust Michael expected. "I'm flattered."
"Why's that? I just complimented a fictional stranger."
Mike tilted his head. "Witty, I see."
"I try my best. It helps when I'm not buzzed."
"We could change that," Mike murmured, nodding at the glass Michael still held.
Michael shrugged. "I'm not really a drinker. I mostly ordered this to appease the bartender. Besides, when I'm having a night out," which is never his brain interjected, "I like to be able to devote my full attention to…anything I'm doing."
"You have these nights often?" Mike asked, and Michael did his best not to spring out of his skin as Michael's hand found its way to his knee. Christ. What was he doing? Even if he was leaning into this premise, he was supposed to be doing this sort of thing to Mike instead. Michael Afton certainly did not allow other people to conquer him. For now, he let it slide though.
"No. I…wish I did if it meant I got to have more of this, though."
Mike tilted his head, blinking lazily at the other man. "More of this?"
"You," Michael said simply, hoping this wasn't coming off as too forward. But the tips of Mike's ears just turned red, which he took as a good sign.
"I can think of a couple ways you can get more of me." His thumb stroked Michael's knee.
Well, if Michael had been forward, then Mike was blazing a whole new path. Michael wasn't quite sure that he wasn't going to pass out from the chemicals being pumped into his bloodstream by his brain. "Oh, yeah?" he managed to stammer out. Very much not helping his efforts to appear in charge.
Mike tilted his head. "My car's in the parking lot, and my place isn't too far away from here."
Michael swallowed, blinking and trying to piece everything together. Did everyone move this fast? "Uh, you said you had a little sister…?"
"She's not home, don't worry. I have the place alllll to myself tonight." Mike laughed, and in it Michael could hear the inebriation. He had Mike at the perfect place. When would he ever get this opportunity again?
"You can't drive," Michael pointed out grudgingly. He wasn't so eager for intel that he was about to allow a man even slightly under the influence of alcohol to drive him anywhere. His plan did not include ending up in the hospital with a broken spine.
Mike frowned, but then sighed. "You're right." His shoulders slumped.
Before he could think it through, Michael offered, "But I'm not intoxicated, and my car is just a short walk away. We can't go back to mine" - the research he'd been doing into Mike and Vanessa was scattered around his small apartment - "but if you give me directions…?" A small voice in his head screamed, but he quickly ignored it.
"Really?" Mike perked up quickly, eyes shining up at Michael. Michael did his best not to be moved.
"Yeah, of course," Michael said awkwardly. He paid his tab quickly while Mike did the same and then followed the other out in the cooler night air. He blinked, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air. It was nice not to be trapped in that stifling environment anymore.
Then he realized Mike was waiting for him to lead. "Oh. It's just this way. It's a little bit of a walk."
"Couldn't find parking?"
"I could have if I wanted to. I just like walking a bit."
"Fascinating." Mike's tone was teasing, and his shoulder brushed intentionally against Michael's. Michael caught his breath. Remember. This is just business.
The walk went fairly quickly, especially with Mike's warm presence so close to him, and Michael was glad he kept his car spotless as the other climbed into the passenger's seat.
The drive went far slower than Michael would have liked, considering he already knew his way there, and there was one heart-stopping moment where Michael took a turn before Mike even told him to, but it didn't seem to have registered, much to his relief.
When they parked in the driveway, before Michael could do so much as unbuckle his seatbelt, Mike touched his arm softly.
When Michael turned his head, Mike was only inches away from his face, flushed with alcohol and grinning like a fool. His eyes flickered down to Michael's lips and back up, but he didn't move, clearly waiting to see if Michael would initiate. Finally, a chance for Michael to regain control.
Michael felt like he was going to throw up. Or maybe explode. But the horrible part was, he didn't want to do either of those things because he didn't like this. The disgusting, shameful part was that he did. Lust was a weakness. But hadn't his father always said Michael was weak anyway?
So he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Mike's. It was awkward; he hadn't kissed anyone since high school and even then, only once or twice. Hasty make-outs in the back of a girl's car, quick flings or hookups that never meant anything and never carried on to the next day.
But the way Mike kissed him back made him feel like he could combine all of those and it would still pale before this experience. Mike didn't care that Michael was bad at kissing. Mike's whole face radiated heat, the perfect contrast to Michael's chill, and his warm hands rose to cup the sides of Micheal's face. Michael felt faintly disturbed at another demonstration of Mike trying to assert control over him, but it was hard to focus on that.
Mike's tongue tested the waters, and slipped in like it belonged there when Michael opened his mouth ever so slightly. Michael felt like he was almost shaking, not wanting to fuck this up. His own tongue pressed clumsily against Mike's, feeling his way into Mike's mouth, exploring like it was what he'd been born to do. He wasn't about to lose this competition against Mike Schmidt. What he lacked in skill, he tried to make up for with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, trying to ignore the heat that spread through his stomach. This wasn't attractive. He wasn't enjoying this, he couldn't.
Mike drew away, a small line of their saliva connecting the two of them briefly. Michael blinked, wondering if the withdrawal meant he'd done something wrong. Had he just fucked up the whole thing? Was he going to lose this night with Mike?
Mike must have seen the brief anxiety in Michael's eyes before he managed to smooth it over, because the other said, "Don't worry. Just thought we might be more comfortable inside."
"Oh. Of course," Michael managed, trying to resume his usual haughty demeanor. Inside. What were they even going to do inside? He'd never had his hands on another man, like that, before.
Mike led him to the door, fumbling with the keys until he finally found the right one. When he opened the door and the two of them stepped in, Michael couldn't help but stare. He'd never thought he'd get to see this house from the inside. Well, unless he chose to break in. Which had actually been the next thing on his list to do. But here Mike was, just inviting him on in. It was like serendipity.
He was brought back to reality by Mike's hand on his lower back, and he turned, remembering what was expected of him right now. Mike pulled his face down into a kiss again, and Michael was vaguely amused to realize that Mike was leaning forward on his toes to gain some height.
This kiss turned more heated than the ones they'd shared in the car, as Mike's hands gripped Michael's face tightly and he kissed like he was trying to consume some part of the taller man. Michael shivered at the idea, and returned as good as he got.
When they broke apart again, Mike was red-faced and Michael was breathless.
"Fuck, you're hot," Mike grinned.
Michael's eyes widened. He didn't even know how to react to that information. No one had ever said that to him. He knew it was the alcohol talking, pulling the layer of reserve that he knew Mike usually held (though nowhere near on Michael's level, of course) back, and revealing a more bluntly honest man underneath.
Mike saw Michael's face and leaned back, clearly concerned. "Uh…sorry, was that too much?"
"No, no," Michael hurried to reassure Mike. "It's just. I don't know. No one's said that before." He winced at how much he sounded like an angsty teen in his own ears. He was quite literally sitting here, admitting weakness.
Mike's expression morphed into incredulity. "No one has ever told you how attractive you are? You've gotta be pulling my leg."
Michael shrugged awkwardly. "It's not important." He was relieved when Mike allowed him to return to kissing, not wanting to continue down the path he'd accidentally just revealed.
The next question Mike asked was, "Are you…clean?"
"Clean?" Michael asked, confused.
"Yeah, you know. STDs. I know I am."
"Oh." Michael felt stupid. He hated it and a small part of him wanted to walk out the door and away from this situation, but he managed to remain still. "Yeah. I mean, I haven't gotten a test since high school, but…" He hated how he could feel his embarrassment. "Haven't really done much since then."
Mike blinked. "You are…wow. I don't even know how you managed to do that. Did you take a vow?"
"No," Michael muttered, rolling his eyes. "Just never had time for it."
Mike shook his head lightly. "Damn. They missed out."
"You don't have to butter me up, I'm already in your house," Michael said with a sigh. He just wanted to skip this part, the part that made a very tight knot in his stomach curl in even closer with each word.
"I'm not buttering you up, really," Mike said earnestly. Michael hated the honesty in his gaze. He had to close his own eyes for a moment, trying to prevent the usual reaction he reserved for people who talked to him like this - hatred.
"Hey," Mike's voice pulled him back, so disgustingly tinted with concern. "We don't have to talk about it anymore."
Relieved, trying to shove aside anything that might cause him to ruin this, Michael nodded, allowing Mike to take his wrist and lead him to the bedroom.
When they got there, Michael sat on the edge of the bed so Mike's face was closer to his in height and they picked up where they left. Michael was the one who started much fiercer this time, kissing like he wanted to bruise. He didn't like where this was heading, with Mike's hands being so gentle on his body. Well, that wasn't true. He didn't like that he couldn't muster the anger and disgust he should have.
After a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the sounds of their mouths meeting and their breathing getting heavier. Mike murmured against Michael's lips, "How far do you want to go?"
Michael squirmed internally and leaned back a bit. "Uh. How far do you want to go?" He hoped his relative inexperience wouldn't shine through. Maybe he could just be as vague as possible to get through this.
"As far as you're willing to take it. Wouldn't mind getting to be inside you. But no pressure." From what Michael could see of Mike's face, the smile on his flushed face looked half-shameful. At his words, Michael's mind conjured up a whole new host of images. Fuck. He'd never done a single gay thing before now. And yet the pictures in his head, of Mike's body over his, Mike's hands on the bed at either side of Michael's face, Mike's dick buried deep in-
Michael choked out an incoherent sound. "I, uh." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I've never done anything with another guy before." The words were pressed out through gritted teeth.
"Hey, that's okay," Mike murmured, and once again Michael had to fight the wave of anger that concealed something much more raw at Mike's caring tone. "We don't have to."
"We can!" Michael blurted out, the desire burning through his trepidation, and then he carried on to recover. "If you really want to."
"Do you want to?"
Stupid fucking Mike and his stupid fucking questions.
"…yes."
"I'll be gentle."
"You don't have to be." Michael almost wanted it that way. He wanted Mike to hurt him. He didn't want this to feel good. He didn't want to get to feel good. He was bad, and he wasn't supposed to get this sort of thing.
Mike didn't respond to that, just hummed and leaned over to his bedside table, pulling out a condom and a small bottle.
"You don't have to use the condom." What was he doing. He couldn't repeat those words to himself enough.
Mike's eyebrows rose.
"I'm clean, like I said" Michael sighed. "Promise."
Mike still hesitated for a moment before shrugging and putting it back.
Michael knew that he wanted to feel Mike inside of him if he was going to do this. He was really going to get this up close and personal with a guy he was supposed to observe from the shadows. If he was going to go all the way, he was going all the way.
"You wanna get further onto the bed for me?" Mike's tone was light.
"Yeah, yeah," Michael griped, trying to cover that he'd been spacing out, thinking about Mike fucking him raw.
Mike followed him, leaning between Michael's legs to gently kiss him one more time, followed by the press of his mouth against Michael's neck. Michael laid his legs over the top of Mike's thighs, nestling into a position that Michael assumed he would become very familiar with soon.
Mike was gentle in this too, feather light, too much and not enough. Michael groaned before he could stop himself and snapped his mouth shut halfway through, cutting himself off.
"No, come on," Mike murmured as he slipped one of his hands under Michael's shirt, and it felt like the sun rising over the cold skin underneath. "It's more fun if you let me hear you."
More fun for which of us? Michael thought, but it didn't contain his usual bite.
Mike continued down to Michael's collarbone, tugging down the neck of Michael's shirt to get better access. After he'd had his fill of that, he pulled the shirt off all together with some help from Michael.
Mike's breath caught audibly as he stared down at the body in front of him. Michael blushed, frowned, and crossed his arms across his chest. He knew he was skinny, though he preferred to describe it as "lean", and bony in a way that he assumed most people wouldn't find attractive.
But Mike didn't seem to think Michael was unattractive, from the way Michael realized he was feeling something poke into his ass. Mike noticed that Michael had felt it and his face twisted into an faintly apologetic grimace. "You look good. I can't believe I got this lucky tonight."
Again with the praise. And again Michael hated it, but it was doing something to him. The knot in his stomach wasn't loosening, but it was like it was being coated in a thin layer of honey, covered in something warm and tight that muffled that sharp edges for the time being. "Turnabout's fair play," he said meaningfully to distract, tugging at the edge of Mike's shirt. Mike grinned and leaned back, pulling his own shirt off of his body.
Michael watched Mike's muscles flex as he raised and then lowered his arms, entranced by the way they moved underneath his skin and how the light caught Mike's skin just right. He wished he could get his mouth on Mike, taste the salt and natural scent that Mike carried. Turnabout was fair play indeed.
"Talk about looking good," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Mike to hear. For the information, of course, it wouldn't harm to stroke the man's ego. For the information. A small voice asked exactly what information he thought he was going to get shirtless in this man's bed, but he ignored it with a vengeance. Mike smirked, leaning forward and pushing himself against Michael, letting the man underneath him know exactly how he felt.
Michael felt like he should be the one smirking, leaning over Mike, but he couldn't bring himself to even suggest swapping places. He licked his lips and lowered his gaze to where their bodies met, embarrassed by how clear his own arousal was through his pants.
Mike's thumbs stroked over the V of Mike's hipbones, tracing all the way to where it disappeared into his pants, and then one hand dipped in, gently groping Michael's bulge through his boxers. He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow in question, and Michael nodded, breath hitching. Yes, yes, yes. No one had touched him like this in forever, and certainly not with the care Mike was using.
Michael made a sound that wasn't a whine, of course, since Aftons didn't whine, and chased Mike's hand once Mike decided to remove it.
"You're okay," Mike murmured. "Let's get those pants off of you."
Being talked down to. Another thing he should hate. And another thing that just made his chest feel tight.
The remainder of their clothes were removed without much issue, Mike's soft fingers making the experience tantalizing and teasing and oh so delicious.
When they were both naked, Mike leaned forward again to bury his face in the crook of Michael's neck, rocking his hips so his cock slid against Michael's and moaning briefly.
"It's so difficult not to tell you just how good you are," he whispered against Michael's skin. "You're doing so well for your first time with this."
Michael whimpered, and his face tightened. He wanted this. He didn't want this. He wanted to go home and he wanted to stay here forever. It all felt so jumbled in his head, but everything was simplified by the warmth of Mike's skin, and his hands pressed down on Michael's hips.
Mike reached between their bodies, taking Michael's dick into his hand, and began pumping him, not fast enough to really take Michael anywhere, but not so slow that it was driving Michael crazy. "Okay to go onto the next step?"
Michael swallowed audibly. "Yeah- yes. Yes."
Mike pressed one more kiss to the side of Michael's neck, then withdrew to grab the bottle again, popping the cap with his teeth and pouring a generous amount on one hand. The unlubed one went back to Michael's dick, while the one that was now slick slid down between Michael's thighs, down until it rubbed at his entrance.
Michael squirmed, and Mike told him soothingly, "Relax, it'll help."
So he did his best to take a deep breath, which cut off in an unclassifiable sound as Mike pressed one finger inside him, slow, slow, slow. Michael gritted his teeth against the burn of the muscle stretching, but it felt…nice, combined with the attention he was receiving from Mike's other hand. He liked it, the pain and the stretch. He wanted more. He wanted Mike to hurt him, just like this.
Far too slowly for his taste, a second finger joined the first, easing their way in. Michael gripped at whatever part of Mike he could reach.
"Good?" Mike asked, eyes searching Michael's face.
Michael nodded. "More," he managed.
"I don't know if that's a great idea, just yet. I don't want to hurt you-" Mike started, but a challenge blazed in Michael's eyes.
"More. Hurt me. I can take it."
Mike's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Why am I not surprised?" It was rhetorical, and anyway Michael didn't have the energy to answer as Mike slowly scissored his fingers apart, making the other man's body squirm underneath him. Mike's fingers worked deeper in, probing, until suddenly they found a spot that made Michael's body jerk, a pulse of pleasure that radiated out of Mike's touch, jolted up his spine and straight into his brain.
"Fuh-uck," Michael stammered out. This was what he'd been missing out on all this time?
"So good, so, so good," Mike whispered under his breath, so focused Michael didn't even think Mike realized he was saying it. But it was working on him, as evidenced by the fact that he was leaking precum onto his stomach, as much as Michael wished he could believe it was just the stimulation to his prostate.
Mike removed his fingers and Michael made a noise of protest, but Mike just positioned himself closer. "Ready for the real thing?"
Michael nodded. "Yes. Please. Fuck." He shouldn't beg. What happened to the aloof, poised exterior he held so high? It had crumbled under Mike's ministrations, leaving him aching for more, something to fill the hole left behind.
Mike gave himself a few quick strokes before pressing against Michael, sinking in slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he hissed, feeling Michael beginning to fit around him.
"Harder," Michael gasped, and Mike increased the speed of his entrance just slightly, making Michael dig his nails into Mike's back and groan.
The stretch felt like it was taking him apart and putting him back together at the same time, strangling him in such a good way.
Mike's breath tickled his ear, erratic and heavy, and he was muttering, "Fuck, Michael, you're doing so good. So good at this, you feel perfect, oh God," in a half-audible stream-of-consciousness ramble. Michael pressed his teeth into his lip until he broke skin.
Finally, Mike bottomed out, his hips sitting flush with Michael's ass. Michael felt so full, surrounded by Mike inside and out.
Michael fidgeted, but Mike just panted into Michael's neck, "H-hang on." His fingertips dug into Michael's hips and provoked a moan.
Finally, after what was surely eons, Mike's hips began to move, slowly at first, but picking up speed at Michael's urging. Before long, Mike had found his rhythm, and then he angled himself just right and hit the spot that made Michael's head spin and his cock leak. The pace Mike kept up dragged his dick across Michael's prostate each time, punching a breathy groan out of him with every pass.
The bed creaked with their movements, accompanied by the sound of Mike's thighs each time they connected with Michael's ass, whining from Michael, and grunts from Mike. It was perfect, it was nothing like Michael had ever felt before, from a blowjob, from pussy, from his own hand in the dark of the night. Mike knew exactly how to press his buttons.
The praise fell from Mike's lips like it was meant just for Michael. He told Michael he was a good boy, that he was taking Mike so well, that he felt just right, that he loved the way Michael looked underneath him. Michael could feel that painful knot inside him fighting against the way each word made him feel, but it was losing the battle to the spread of heat, to the addictive feeling of being wanted. Michael hadn't felt this in God knows how long. Maybe ever. It was intoxicating beyond any drink he could have bought at the bar. Even if it was all a lie, and Mike would hate him if he knew who Michael really was. He wanted it now, he wanted every single word that he could be given. He wanted Mike just as badly as Mike said he wanted Michael. With each phrase, his nails bit down, like it was the only way he knew how to respond besides Mike's name falling from his mouth in a tone usually reserved for worship.
Michael lasted longer than he honestly thought he would, what with the attention and this being the first time in a while he'd seen any sexual pleasure not provided by himself. But it wasn't long before the way Mike snapped his hips forward was pulling a string taught inside of him, and he knew what was going to happen when that snapped.
"Mike," he whimpered, a new pleading tone entering his voice, and Mike picked up on it.
"Yeah? You, fuck, you close? Gonna cum for me?" That would have sounded so ridiculous to Michael any other time, if he was still the same man he'd been before walking into that bar, but right now it sounded just right.
Michael babbled out some incoherent response, and Mike gripped his dick, working him up the point of no return far faster than Michael thought was possible.
With one final push against his prostate, Michael's eyes fluttered and his dick pulsed in Mike's hand, the best orgasm he'd had in his entire life, wiping away every other sensation besides Mike's cock and Mike's fist, working him all the way through it, milking him dry. Michael's fingernails tore down Mike's back, definitely breaking skin, but the other man didn't even seem fazed.
Mike's hips were still thrusting shallowly as Michael's vision cleared, though it was clear he was trying to restrain himself. "Think. Mm. Think you can handle just a little bit more? I'm close, promise, so, so close."
Michael nodded, dazed, and Mike tucked himself against Michael once more, humping him fast and hard, something primal in the way his body worked against Michael. Michael shook slightly with the overstimulation, but he wanted to feel Mike cum inside of him, and it was the smallest price to pay.
Mike was mumbling Michael's name against his neck, no more words besides just "Michael", broken and desperate.
Michael felt the muscles in Mike's back tense the moment he came, still with Michael's name in his mouth, heat flooding Michael's insides, just like the same heat that radiated from the rest of Mike's body. He found himself gripping Mike tightly, holding the other man close as he panted, still twitching against Michael.
Mike didn't sit up at first after recovering, leaning back enough to allow his dick to slide out, and just collapsing back on Michael again, who, for maybe the first time in his life, didn't mind being in contact with someone like this. A lot of firsts tonight, he thought wryly.
Eventually, Mike raised himself back up, shaking his head as if to clear it. He locked eyes with Michael, searching the other's gaze.
"S'alright? You okay?" He asked.
Michael nodded. "Perfect." He rarely gave that word out. Ever. But Mike had no way of knowing it, so Michael held the knowledge just as closely to his chest as he had Mike.
"So good," Mike mumbled one last time before he moved back, with a brief, "I'll be right back, stay there".
It was barely a few heartbeats before Mike returned with a washcloth, cleaning off Michael and then himself, making sure to erase every last mark of cum and lube from Michael's skin. Another strange, unfamiliar demonstration of just how much Mike cared. It was weak. It was pathetic. Michael knew that, but right now, he just didn't care.
When Michael swung his legs over the bed, Mike caught his arm briefly, not gripping hard, just catching Michael's attention.
"Stay?" Mike asked.
Mike Schmidt, still so full of surprises. Another first. Michael hesitated, and Mike must have seen the skittishness, because he added, "Please."
What was one more sin in his ledger?
Michael nodded silently, reaching for his t-shirt and slipping it on, pulling on his boxers afterwards. Mike had put on softer pants, but no shirt, and the warm contact as he pulled Michael towards him that night was exactly what the taller man needed.
When Mike woke, Michael was gone, leaving Mike with so many questions that he'd never gotten to ask. Over the next couple of weeks, he kept an eye out each time he went to the bar for the strange man who had appeared so quickly, shared such an intimate moment, and then completely disappeared out of his life.
Michael had his own questions he'd never gotten to ask. There was little to no information gathered that night, nothing of note besides the fact that now he knew what color Mike's sheets were and the noise Mike made when he came. But Michael just couldn't bring himself to regret it, no matter how hard he tried.
It was going to hurt to face Mike as an enemy. But now, in the daylight, Michael was his father's son, through and through. He would not hesitate.