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Mike is struggling to get the key into the lock of his flat, partially because he never uses it - it’s only five stories up, it’s easier to pop in through a window - and partially because of the very distracting hands messing with the edges of his shirt.
“ Mikaele ,” Mike snaps, turning his attention away from his door to the man behind him, “Let me open the door first, please, or I’ll-” he cuts himself off, not particularly wanting to explicitly threaten his hook up this early in the evening, that’d be rude. He’s a gracious host, so long as he’s going to be getting off.
Salesa gives him an amused smile. “Or what, you’ll throw me off the building?” He doesn’t sound at all intimidated, and the look in his eyes is just cocky enough that - if it had been anyone else - Mike might have been annoyed enough to send them on a nasty fall. “I’m quaking in my boots,” he murmurs, and Mike does genuinely consider at least making him feel like he’s missed a step on the stairs. But Salesa had whispered nice, filthy promises in his ear when they’d started making out at the bar, and, well, Mike thinks it would be quite a shame if he didn’t let the other man follow through on those. It’s not like the Vast is going anywhere.
Finally he manages to get his key to turn, quickly opening the door and ushering Salesa inside with him. He’s about to take his key out when Salesa grabs him by the waist, pulling him inside. Salesa slams the door shut with his foot and dips down to grab Mike by the thighs and haul him up, chuckling at Mike’s gasp and instinctive clinging. Mike rolls his eyes.
“My keys are still in the lock,” he complains, wiggling in Salesa’s grip, more to test how firm it is than to try and get away.
Salesa shrugs, apparently unbothered. Mike decides that his hold is sure enough and wraps his legs more fully around Salesa’s waist, locking his ankles together behind his back. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble dealing with any intruders that might stumble in,” Salesa says. “Though, honestly, if they’re willing to pop up to the fifth floor to get your shite, you might as well let them have it. They deserve it at that point.”
Mike’s about to say something along the lines of no the fuck they do not when Salesa moves one of his hands from his thighs to Mike’s hair, pulling him forward into a kiss, and he decides to give up on getting his keys back before tomorrow morning. He’s too busy concentrating on the kiss and getting over the fact that Salesa is holding him up with one arm to care too deeply. Besides, Salesa’s right about taking care of a break-in - he’s kicked more than one person out a window in his life. Even if he hadn’t, Salesa definitely has a knife on him somewhere.
Apparently satisfied with having occupied Mike’s mouth, the hand in his hair drifts back down to help hold him up and Salesa starts moving out of his entryway and towards the living room.
Mike breaks away, just barely, mumbling against Salesa’s lips, “Wait a second, let me just-” Salesa stops walking, raising an eyebrow, and Mike tries to take off his coat quickly without shifting their balance too much, tossing it back towards his coat rack without looking, hearing it hit the floor behind him.
“You done?” Salesa asks, chuckling.
“Shut up,” Mike says, then wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him again.
Salesa winds up slamming Mike into the wall separating his kitchen and his living room, rougher than Mike had expected, making him break the kiss to catch his breath. Salesa pins him there, planting his knee against the wall to give Mike something to stabilize himself with beyond the wall and his legs around Salesa. He slides his hands up Mike’s thighs, back towards his shirt, humming against his mouth as his hands finally make it underneath. They’re warm against his skin and, more importantly, large , covering a not insignificant portion of his torso. His palms are calloused and work-rough, dragging pleasantly along his stomach.
Salesa makes another sound against his mouth when he reaches his binder, letting his left hand move up and touch it, fingers brushing across the slight bump. “Oh,” he murmurs.
“What?” Mike asks, leaning back.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Salesa asks.
Mike, momentarily distracted by the way Salesa bites his lower lip, sharp teeth bright against the flushed skin, says, “Tell you what?” and then, as Salesa runs his thumb under the strap and snaps it slightly against his skin, “Wait, what the fuck? You thought I was cis?!”
“You didn’t say anything!” Salesa says, and while Mike is entirely aware he’s bringing this whole encounter to a screeching halt, he’s a bit too stunned to care.
“Me?” he asks. “Seriously? I’m 4’11!”
“Look, right, not my smartest moment,” Salesa says, exasperated. “Why didn’t you say so when I told you I was?”
“I thought you’d clocked me!” Mike exclaims, his voice going mortifyingly high and cracking slightly. “Why else would you tell me you were trans?”
“I don’t assume these things, Jesus!” Salesa says. “Look at me, do you think I have any sense of that? Nobody clocks me! I was telling you so we wouldn’t get here and have you find out when you take my clothes off, because I don’t like it when it’s a thing. Wait. You’re 4’11? I mean, everyone’s short to me, but you seem-,”
“I’m- I wear lifts,” Mike says, a slight pang of embarrassment heating his cheeks. He toes his shoes off behind Salesa’s back. “Tall ones.”
Salesa looks at him for a moment before laughing brightly, pushing Mike back into the wall with the hand on his chest, ducking his nose into the side of Mike’s neck. “Christ, what a mess,” he says, and then bites at Mike’s jugular before grabbing Mike’s jaw with one hand - Lord, his hands are the size of dinner plates - and kissing him breathless, setting them right back on track.
Salesa’s a good kisser, nipping at his lower lip, careful not to clack their teeth or choke Mike on his tongue when he teasingly licks into his mouth. He scrapes his blunt nails across along the exposed skin of his lower back, making Mike shudder as goosebumps break out in their wake. He hitches his leg up a bit, pressing his thigh into Mike’s crotch, and the friction makes him gasp, clutch Salesa’s shoulders. Mike pulls away, glad to see that he’s not the only one slightly out of breath, Salesa looking at him with raised eyebrows and a bit of a grin. “Bedroom,” Mike orders.
“Sure,” Salesa smiles, letting Mike slide gently to the floor. His legs feel just a bit weak and wobbly, though Mike hopes it doesn’t show. “Lead the way,” Salesa says.
Mike brings them up, glad to see that his bed is made when he opens the door. It doesn’t particularly matter in the long run, Mike has no doubt they’re going to mess it right up in the next few minutes, but, still, appearances and all. He’s too rich to go around looking like a uni student who’s “taking a semester off” to “find himself”. Mike has standards. Mike has class.
Salesa slips in behind him and wolf-whistles at - Mike twists to look, hand paused halfway to the lightswitch - the skyline, sprawling out from the curving window that makes up most of his bedroom walls. “Damn,” he says, emphatically, walking over to get a better look. “Now this is properly posh, eh?” Salesa looks at Mike over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow before turning back to the window. “Maybe I should think about getting myself a sugar daddy, if this is what I’d be getting out of it.”
Mike rolls his eyes, flicking on the light, cutting off the view - it’s a bad night for it anyways, too much cloud cover to see the sky. “Don’t bring Simon up,” he says dryly. “Not if you actually want to get laid. Besides, I know as a fact you have the money to get a place like this for yourself.”
“Oh, sure,” Salesa says airily, crossing the room back towards Mike, “Only I’m not in London enough to justify spending this much on something I won’t be in most of the year, ‘cause, see,” he says, leaning down, down to kiss Mike again, “I have a job,” he murmurs it like a secret in between presses of their lips, “That I work. So I can make- mm- a little thing called money.”
“Oh, disgusting,” Mike says with a snort, “Can’t imagine.”
“Truly horrifying,” Salesa agrees. “Christ, you’re too short. I’m not a wild young thing anymore, I’ll put my back out like this.”
Mike growls and shoves Salesa back into his bed - rather ineffectually, granted, but Salesa exhales a bit of a laugh and goes with him easily, sitting down lightly atop his covers. “I might be short,” he says, scowling when he realizes that Salesa, even while sitting, is still taller than him. “But you’re causing most of the problem. You are,” Mike snaps, tugging roughly at Salesa’s flannel, “Entirely too tall. Where the hell does this come from?” he continues, slipping his hands under his tank top to shuck it off. He gets a bit distracted at the feel of Salesa’s hot skin under his palms, and he wanders a little more off task when Salesa pops the button of Mike’s jeans, drags the zipper down, but he can hardly be blamed for that. “Are you certain you’re trans?” he asks bluntly, not because he thinks Salesa could possibly be lying, it’s just, holy shit, 6’7, really? “It seems a little unrealistic.”
“Quite sure,” Salesa says, sounding amused. He lifts his arms for Mike to haul the shirt the rest of the way off of him. Mike has to marvel for a second at the black hair crawling up his stomach and over his chest, the planes of muscle shifting under his skin, the twin scars that trace across his chest. Mike’s mouth goes a little dry. “My sister’s 6’5,” Salesa says conspiratorially, spreading his legs for Mike to step up in between. “Runs in the family, y’see.”
“Now that’s just excessive. I mean, in what universe could you possibly need to be th- ah,” Mike cuts himself off with a gasp as Salesa yanks him closer by the hip with one hand, the other slipping into his jeans to cup him through his briefs, the pressure making Mike bite his lip and breathe deep as he stabilizes himself from the near-stumble with a hand on Salesa’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” Salesa says, not sounding it. “Were you saying something?” He shifts his hand so that his thumb presses up alongside Mike’s cock, dragging his other fingers forward across his entrance, torturously slow and the touch far too light through the fabric. “Didn’t quite catch that.” His hands are huge, the one on his hip wrapping around to touch Mike’s lower back, warm through the fabric of his shirt.
“No,” Mike says. “I wasn’t -,” Mike inhales sharply as Salesa rubs his thumb back and forth over the base of his cock - once, twice, stops. “Tease,” he growls, pulling Salesa into a harsh kiss, biting down on his lower lip when the other man laughs against his mouth.
“That’s what I thought,” Salesa says when he pulls back, looking entirely too smug for Mike’s liking, the expression unfortunately attractive on him: a lopsided little grin, one thick eyebrow slightly raised. He pulls his hand out of Mike’s trousers, smiling wider when his hips twitch to follow. “Let’s get this all off of you then, lovely,” Salesa says, tugging at the collar of Mike’s button-up before leaning back on his hands. “Let me see what exactly I’m working with here, yeah?”
Salesa moves back up onto Mike’s bed as Mike works his shirt open and takes off his jeans and boxers in what he hopes is at least a mildly attractive way. Removing his binder is a lost cause - there’s no way to make that sexy - although he does his best to keep his wiggling down to a minimum. Salesa has settled back against Mike’s headboard when he looks back at him, having removed the rest of his clothing in the interim. He’s got a hand between his spread legs, his cock held loosely in the V of his fingers, flushed and hard. A muscle in Salesa’s thigh jumps as he strokes himself gently, chewing at the inside of his cheek. His fingers shine a little in the low yellow light, wet with his own slick. Mike wants to put his mouth on him.
“I want your cock,” Salesa says bluntly, running his free hand through his thick dark hair, head tipping back, the line of his throat a tempting thing. “Get your strap. We’ll both get pissy if you have to get up and put it on in- mm,” he hums as he changes the angle to slip a finger inside of himself, rubbing over the hood of his dick with his thumb. “In the middle of things.”
It takes Mike a minute to nab his strap from the closet and put it on, the buckles take a bit of fiddling. It’s a gorgeous piece - butter soft leather a deep enough red to be almost brown, bright brass accents, comfortable to wear - and he’s glad to have it, but sometimes (such as right now, listening to Salesa as he hums and sighs on his bed) he wishes he’d chosen something a bit less complicated to get on.
“Gorgeous,” Salesa murmurs when Mike’s done, and Mike refuses to acknowledge the way the praise adds to the red flush heating his face, crawling down his chest. “Is that real leather?” he asks as Mike climbs onto the bed and walks on his knees over to him.
“Is it real leather,” Mike scoffs, mildly offended. “Do I look like I’d spend my money on plastic shite?” he asks, hands on his hips as he kneels between Salesa’s legs. Now that he’s here he doesn’t quite know where he’d like to start. It’s also rather plesant to be here, his skin prickling under Salesa’s heavy gaze as his dark eyes sweep over Mike’s body, appreciative. Mike knows he cuts a striking figure like this, the angles of his body sharp, his scar lancing down his chest, curling over his jawbone, the oxblood harness stark against his pale skin where it wraps around his waist and his thighs. The dildo he chose is pretty as well, pearlescent, nearly rosy - he’s never cared for the flesh colored ones - and gently ribbed. It’s too big for him to take comfortably, but he has a feeling Salesa will like it just fine.
“Should I?” he asks, ghosting his fingers over the back of Salesa’s hand, now with two fingers inside himself.
Salsea huffs that half-laugh again, says, “I’ve seen your hands, love. If we want this to happen anytime soon, I’d better take care of it.” Before Mike can open his mouth to argue - sure, he’s got small hands, but he still knows how to use them, it’ll just take more of his fingers than Salesa’s, Jesus Christ - Salesa curls the hand not currently inside himself around the dildo and uses it as a handle to pull Mike forward until he’s straddling Salesa’s hips. “This is very nice,” he says, tracing his knuckles along the top, sliding his hand up Mike’s stomach. Mike had not realized that size was such a thing for him, but the fact that Salesa’s hand covers most of his torso is sweeping a hot, breezing feeling through his gut. He stops below Mike’s chest, his thumb pressed into the hollow just beneath Mike’s sternum. His breath is hot on Mike’s neck. “Can I touch these?” he murmurs, pressing his soft lips just below Mike’s ear.
“Yeah,” Mike tells him, although his usual response would be the opposite. “Go ahead.” Mike doesn’t hook up with other trans people often, but there’s always something different about how they treat his chest, making it something comfortable instead of incongruous, a part of him, not Mike is somehow the best of both worlds. He certainly would never let a cis man touch him like this.
Salesa ghosts his fingertips over Mike’s nipple, pinches softly, rolls it, and Mike sighs at the faintly electric feeling shooting down his spine, arching into the touch. “Damn,” he breathes, and Salesa grins before biting hard at his collarbone, making him jump, a hand flying to Salesa’s hair.
“Don’t pull,” Salesa warns, then ducks his head more to trace his tongue around Mike’s other nipple. Mike moves his hand to the back of Salesa’s neck instead, nails digging into his skin as Salesa grazes his teeth against Mike.
“Jesus,” he bites out, and Salesa laughs.
“That’s not my name,” he replies, grinning, and Mike rolls his eyes, pulling his hand off of Salesa’s neck to cuff him on the back of the head.
“That’s not even remotely funny,” Mike says, reaching his other hand down behind himself to Salesa’s cock, brushing Salesa’s thumb aside - the angle is awkward, but he manages it, being rewarded with Salesa cutting his own follow up quip off with a rough moan as Mike slides his fingers over his cock, slippery with his arousal.
Salesa's hand shifts next to his, slipping another finger inside himself, groaning low in his throat as he does so, before bringing his mouth back to Mike's chest.
Mike does his best to keep his touches light: teasing before pleasing, after all. It’s very easy, given how he keeps getting distracted by Salesa’s mouth, his fingers pausing until Salesa grunts and shifts his hips up as a reminder.
Eventually, Salesa pulls back from a bruise he’s been sucking into Mike’s collarbone, pulling his fingers out of himself. Mike pulls away from him as well, smiling at the slight wounded noise Salesa makes before shifting to sit up.
"Alright," Salesa says, wrapping his slick hand around Mike’s strap, pushing it back against Mike until he inhales at the pressure, sharp. "I think I'm good. How do you want me?"
“I- hm,” Mike says, wriggling as Salesa reaches a hand between Mike’s legs and swipes his fingers against him - Christ, he’s wet. “Stop that,” he says, slapping at Salesa’s wrist. “Can hardly think with you being distracting.” Salesa chuckles, but does go back to lazily stroking Mike’s strap. While Mike would personally love to just plant himself on Salesa’s face for a bit, he does want to at least try to make Salesa scream, for bragging rights if nothing else. He’s got to think about the configuration here, what with their size discrepancy. “On your stomach would work best, I think,” he continues, sliding off of Salesa so he can turn over. “Pillow under your hips for your back, since you’re apparently such a fragile old man.”
Salesa cackles but does as he’s told, pulling a pillow from near the headboard. Once he's comfortable, head leaning on his crossed arms, peering over his shoulder to watch Mike from the corner of his eye, Mike grabs Salesa's thighs and pushes them apart until he can properly settle between them, then strokes his hands down Salesa’s legs for a moment, feeling the shifting muscle beneath the skin. His thighs are easily bigger than Mike's head - he's also very wet, his cock poking neatly between his folds, nestled amongst short, wiry black curls. Mike feels his mouth go a little dry at the sight.
He spreads Salesa with two fingers to marvel at him, the dark, slick folds, the lovely rose of his cockhead. “You’re gorgeous,” he says, then, “Can I-,”
“If you don’t do something I’m gonna- oh,” Salesa inhales, sharp, as Mike licks a broad stripe over his entrance, uninterested in threats he wouldn’t be able to make good on. Mike draws the very point of his tongue up his hood, and there’s a whisper of a noise as Salesa fists his hands in the bedsheets.
He’s gentle with it, rubbing the flat of his tongue across Salesa’s cock, tucking his fingers inside him, reaching until Salesa gasps, pressing down there. He builds it up as slowly as he can take it, until Salesa is making raw, open noises into his sheets, the sound of it setting heat throbbing between his legs. He wraps his lips around Salesa’s cock and sucks gently, in short pulls that make Salesa gasp and then push back against him sharply, coming with a strangled curse, his cock twitching in Mike’s mouth.
Mike grins, pulling away and wiping his slick mouth on the back of his hand, settling back onto his heels. “Was that good for you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Salesa slurs into the bed. His face is flushed, voice hoarse and strained in a way that makes Mike’s smug smile widen. “Mike,” he says, looking back at him, “fuck me already.”
“That’s not very polite,” Mike tells him archly. Salesa groans, dropping his head against the bed, then groans in a very different manner as Mike straightens, rubbing the blunt head of his strap against Salesa’s entrance but not putting enough pressure to slip inside. “I mean, one should always be grateful to their host, hm?”
Salesa looks back at him again, eyebrows raised. “What, do you want me to beg?” he asks, an incredulous laugh in his voice. “Oh, please, Mike,” he pouts, overblown and dramatic, putting on what might be one of the worst RP accents Mike’s ever heard. “I need your cock so badly, I’ll just die without it!”
“Dick,” Mike snorts, smacking him across the ass with one hand. Salesa bucks his hips forward with a cackle, and his spine locks up beautifully as Mike pulls him back, lines himself up, and thrusts in.
He gives Salesa time to adjust, stroking a hand down his lower back as he watches Salesa take a few deep breaths. He rolls his hips, searching for an angle that’s good for Salesa, hoping he isn’t too obviously out of practice. He’s not used his strap in a while, and certainly not on someone he cared so deeply about showing a good time. The pressure of the base of the strap against his cock is delicious as he thrusts in, dropping his head to press a kiss between Salesa’s shoulder blades. He shifts again, lifting himself a little higher on his knees, enjoying the way Salesa’s face forms a wordless oh as his thighs tense and his hands pull harder at the sheets near his head. Mike smiles against his back, reaches under him to slide his fingers over Salesa’s cock.
Salesa rocks his hips back against him, inhaling sharp. “Fuck.”
“You like that?” Mike asks, teasing Salesa's cock with a light touch, in time with his much harsher thrusts.
Salesa laughs, the sound strained. He’s looking back at Mike, eyes hazy, wisps of hair starting to stick to his brow. “You think?” he gasps out, and his eyes roll shut on Mike’s next thrust, a bright little moan falling from his lips.
Mike doesn’t answer, feeling Salesa’s cock twitch underneath his fingers, close once again. He pulls his hand back and stills his hips, leaving them flush against Salesa.
Salesa groans, hips bucking downward, trying fruitlessly to chase Mike’s hand. “ Mike .”
“Is something wrong?” Mike asks innocently. He can’t quite keep himself still, grinding in against Salesa, chasing the spark of heat the pressure gives him. “I wasn’t sure if you were actually enjoying this or not, since you didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes,” Salesa says, frustration obviously growing in his voice, hips still occasionally twitching forwards for contact that isn’t there. Unimpressed, Mike rakes his nails down Salesa’s back. “Christ, do you want me to actually beg?” Salesa asks.
Mike shrugs. “It might make me just a tad nicer.” Mike can see Salesa hesitate, biting his lip and squirming underneath him some more. Feeling generous, Mike brings his hand back to Salesa’s cock, stroking it once firmly. Salesa tenses beautifully underneath him, whining.
“Bit different when I ask you to be real with it, hm?” Mike says, taking his hand away again, and Salesa drops his head against the bed. “Bit more embarrassing when you’re not allowed to take the piss. C’mon,” he says, and the next grind of his hips makes Salesa slap a hand down on the bed in frustration. “Say please.”
“ Please, Mike ,” the words come out strangled, barely above a whisper.
Mike clicks his tongue, splays his fingers around Salesa’s cock, careful not to touch. “What was that?” he asks, and the shiver of power that creeps down his spine is electric. “I didn’t quite hear that.”
“Jesus,” Salesa snarls out, and Mike cackles.
“That’s not my name,” he mocks, grinning, and Salesa bucks his hips back against him with something that is a little too desperate to be a laugh.
“Oh you- you motherfucker,” Salesa snaps, squeezing his eyes shut, face flushing dark. “Please,” he bursts out.
“Please what?” Mike asks. He traces the pad of his finger along the slick length of Salesa’s dick, feather light.
“Please let me come on your cock,” Salesa whines. “Please.”
“Good,” Mike tells him, kissing the small of his back. Salesa almost sobs as he pulls back
Salesa doesn’t last much longer after that, coming with a punched-out moan, his shaking thighs going out from under him slow enough that Mike has time to follow, grinding into him - he’s close enough he can taste it, his own slick coating the inside of his thighs, cock throbbing against the soft leather, but Salesa’s whines become pained after a few moments, overstimulated, so he pulls out with a frustrated sigh.
“You want to go again?” Mike asks after giving Salesa a few moments to recover, because if he doesn’t come soon, one of them is going to die.
Salesa waves a hand weakly at him. “Gimme a sec,” he mumbles into the sheets. “M’dizzy.”
Mike very quickly checks if he could be the cause of that in a rather unsexy manner, and is both unsurprised and a little embarrassed at how much his control had slipped. He reigns it in slowly, so that Salesa won’t notice it wasn’t the most natural thing in the world.
After a minute, Salesa flips himself over, looking up at Mike. “What did you say?”
“Do you want to go again?” Mike asks.
Salesa looks him up and down, dragging his eyes over the strap and up his chest. “I'd love to,” he says, licking his lips, “But I don't think I could stay awake after, and I don't see leaving you hanging ending very well for me.”
Mike laughs, a little hysterical. “I don’t think it would, no.” He wouldn't kill Salesa if he passed out before being able to make Mike come - probably - but he would throw him out into the Vast for a while. Teach him a little lesson about being a good guest and respecting his oh-so-gracious host.
Salesa gives himself a few more seconds to catch his breath, finally bringing it back to something regular, before shaking his head as if to clear it. “Alright,” he says, pushing himself up on one elbow and tugging at one of the buckles of Mike’s strap with his free hand. “How hard is it for you to take that thing off?”
“Uh.” Mike starts tugging at one of the buckles. “Not hard at all, just give me a second.” He quickly undoes the other buckle on his right side and starts trying to wiggle the left side down and off his thigh. It’s an easy, if ungainly process, and he’s too desperate to try and be graceful about it - the quicker it’s off, the quicker it’s out of the way.
He throws the harness to the other side of the bed without looking, his attention immediately shifting back to Salesa who has fully sat up and is, once again, towering over Mike. Salesa pushes Mike down with one hand, using the other to pull him closer by one leg as he falls back into the bed, giving Mike a few seconds of delightful disorientation as he arranges Mike how he wants him, legs spread with Salesa knelt between them, bent over until they’re face to face and Salesa can kiss him, rough and desperate. He slips a finger inside of Mike, and he chokes on his own breath, hips snapping down to try and take him deeper. Mike whines low in his throat as Salesa thumbs roughly over his cock, and Salesa chuckles, scraping his teeth along Mike’s jawline, over the edges of his scar. “Someone’s gagging for it, ah?” he rumbles against Mike’s flushed, overheated skin, and Mike groans.
“Shut up,” he snaps, and he means to find something wittier to fire back with, but Salesa pushes another finger inside him and the thought dies immediately as he slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his moan, hips shifting. It’s a luxurious stretch - Salesa’s fingers are so much larger than his own, filling him up perfectly.
Salesa rolls his thumb over Mike's cock, crooking his fingers, and Mike wriggles at the stimulation lighting firecrackers up his spine, hips indecisive about which sensation to rock against.
“You know, squirming actually makes this more difficult,” Salesa says, spreading his free hand across Mike’s chest and pushing down as Mike’s back arches, his hips shoving against his other hand. “Christ, do I need to hold you down?"
Mike clamps down on Salesa’s fingers at just the suggestion, his embarrassing moan completely unmuffled by his hand.
Salesa smiles down at him, puts more weight onto his chest, grinning wider when Mike bucks his hips up. “Oh, is that a yes then?”
“Fuck,” Mike grunts, squirming some more when Salesa rubs the heel of his palm against the base of his cock. “You don’t need to get revenge just because I teased you a little, you can just- ah!” he yelps as Salesa bites at his neck, his collarbone, his chest. “Fuck! God! Please!”
Salesa gathers both of his wrists in one huge hand, hauling them upwards and pulling them to the mattress above his head in a grip like iron. Mike tries to move them, testing his hold, putting actual strength behind the motion, but there's no give. Salesa doesn't seem to even notice his struggling.
“Is that good enough for you?" Salesa asks, knocking one of Mike’s legs to the side with his knee, pinning it to the bed with his shin.
“Y-yes,” Mike answers, and he gasps as Salesa moves the hand inside him again, thumbing over his cock. He’s been so close for long enough that it doesn’t take him long to get back to that precipice, struggling fruitlessly against Salesa’s weight.
“It’s incredibly sexy,” Salesa rasps, pulling his teeth back from the bruise he’s making on Mike’s neck, over his scar. “That you could kill me at any time, yeah? Without so much as lifting a finger.” He presses his thumb into Mike's cock, hard, and Mike shudders, stomach tensing as he tries to roll his hips, his moan halfway to a sob. “But instead you’re letting me do this to you. Letting me hold you down.”
“I don’t haa-have to let you- fuck!” Mike throws his head back against the bed as Salesa pushes the pads of his fingers up against something sensitive inside him, gasping openly.
“Mm, no, I think you do,” Salesa tells him. “I think you’re going to let me, because even though it’d be so easy for you to kill me you won’t, will you now?” Salesa says, smug, then tightens his grip on Mike’s wrists further and stops moving his other hand, grinning down at him when Mike sobs out nonono. “Say you won’t,” he orders.
“I won’t!” Mike gasps, “I won’t, please , not with you, I won’t-,”
“No, no you won’t,” Salesa tells him, kissing his forehead almost tenderly at Mike’s sob of relief when he picks up the pace again, crooking his fingers up inside Mike. “Beautiful,” he whispers, barely audible over the overwhelmed, breathy ah-ah-ah’s spilling from Mike’s mouth, uncontrollable. “Think it would be fun if I could put my strap in you, huh? You’d be so much fun with a cock in you, and I’d have two hands to keep you pinned, make sure there’s nothing for you to do but take it,” he says, and Mike’s thighs begin to tremble, his eyes rolling shut. “And you’d like it,” he says, an audible grin in his voice. “I’d make you like it.” He laughs quietly as Mike hauls in a sobbing breath and comes with a high whine in the back of his throat, grinding his hips into Salesa’s hand.
He opens his eyes when it’s over, and Salesa pulls his hands away, wiping the slick one on Mike’s sheets - which, okay , rude, he has tissues right there on his nightstand, but whatever, he has to wash these sheets anyways. Salesa lies down next to him with a sigh.
“You know,” Mike says in the ensuing quiet, after he’s gotten his breath back, “I do usually throw my hookups out when I’m done.”
“You really…” Salesa starts, half a question in his voice, and Mike can feel the bed shift as he turns to look over at him.
“Yes,” Mike says, not quite embarrassed. “People usually leave by, ah, the window.” There’s silence for a moment, and then an abrupt laugh from Salesa, a deep, lovely sound that Mike can feel through the mattress. It makes him crack a smile up at the ceiling and laugh as well, rolling to face Salesa, who’s in the middle of running a hand down his face, his smile bright, wide enough to crinkle the fine lines around his eyes.
“Tell you what,” he says, still grinning, “I’d hate to try getting back to mine at this hour, so if you let me stay the night without murdering me or showing off some unsightly terror, I’ll suck your cock in the morning. Sound alright to you?”
Mike was definitely not intending to murder Salesa - it’d be quite a waste, and terribly rude besides. The man is the best lay he’s had in years, if not ever. Mike had meant it as more a statement of his usual mode of operation more than anything else, a ‘ just so you know, here’s how special you are.’ He is, however, not insane enough to turn down getting sucked off. “I’d be amenable to that, yeah.”
“Good man,” Salesa says, pleased, then pulls him down the bed to kiss him.
Salesa keeps his end of the bargain, and the next morning finds Mike with two of Salesa’s fingers inside him, Salesa’s mouth achingly gentle around his cock as his free hand presses down on Mike’s stomach, pinning him to the bed, elbow forcing one of Mike’s thighs down as well. Mike has both hands gripping the bedsheets in an effort not to pull Salesa’s hair, his hips making aborted jerks towards his mouth. Salesa kisses at him messily, fingers scissoring, then sucks his cock between his lips again, Mike’s back arches as much as it can as he hauls in a gasping breath-
Salesa pulls back yet again, turning his head to bite his inner thigh, hard, and Mike slaps both hands down onto the bed in frustration, shoving himself up onto his elbows. “Mikaele,” he snaps. “Do that one more time -,”
“Do what?” Salesa says, all but batting his eyelashes as he pulls away from another bruise of many he’s left on Mike’s thighs, rubbing his stubble over them and grinning when Mike twitches, clenching around his fingers. His chin is wet with Mike’s slick, lips shining. “You’re cranky, huh? Are you not a morning person?”
“I’m really going to throw you out the wind-oh fuck!” Mike gasps as Salesa presses his fingers up into him, tongue flicking over his cock, heat and pressure building again in his gut as Salesa cuts him off by going back to edging him to within an inch of his life, blithely ignoring Mike’s threats.
He doesn’t let up until all that happens when he pulls away is Mike whining desperately into his palms, and then leans in close to fuck him with his tongue and fingers, suckling at his cock until Mike’s vision greys out as he comes with a moan that’s almost a sob. He can barely hear Salesa chuckling over the ringing in his ears as the thigh he hasn’t pinned to the bed snaps up and whacks him in the face. He gentles Mike through the aftershocks, but gets up before Mike manages to get his wits together.
His kitchen tap runs for a minute, shuts off, and Mike listens to Salesa cheerily whistle his way out of the apartment, the jaunty sound finally cutting off once the door to the stairwell closes, which is probably smart of him. Mike has been known to send people on elevator rides to nowhere.
… Not that he was going to kill Salesa. Mike rubs a hand down his face and exhales slowly, still feeling a bit like his bones are made of rubber. He would have happily reciprocated had Salesa stuck around - although he does tend to run out of patience with people without warning. Perhaps… yes, it was probably best that he left.
Mike would like to go back to sleep for a few more hours, but he stumbles out of bed on shaking legs anyways, intending to get his key from the door before getting himself cleaned up. The key is sitting on his kitchen table when he walks in, which is… shockingly considerate. Next to it sits a napkin, upon which is scribbled a number and a note:
If you’re willing to not murder me for a little while longer, give me a call. I’m certain we can have a little more fun together.
- Mikaele