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Distance Makes the Hack Grow Fonder

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“So how many times have we seen the world end now?”

Mike isn’t sure how serious this question is until Jay looks over at him with soft eyes, hair hanging in his face, shoulders slumped. Mike feels like the answer is: at least once, probably twice, arguably three times, but it’s hard to put labels on how time works in their world.  

“Doesn’t matter,” Mike says, because that’s the real answer for everything. He tosses an empty beer can into the corner of Plinkett’s living room, enjoying the satisfying sound of chaos as it smacks against the wall then rolls across the floor. “This one’ll blow over soon, anyway. I can feel it.”

“I can’t,” Jay says.

“Yeah, well. You’re not great at feeling things.”

Jay snorts. 

“And you are?” he says.

“Better than you,” Mike mutters, not even sure what he means. He reaches for another beer and cracks it open. “How many of these do we have left?” he asks after taking a sip.

“The fridge is still about half full,” Jay says, meaning almost entirely with beer. “And both of the fridges in the basement are stocked, plus there’s the unrefrigerated supply--”

“So, plenty,” Mike says, cutting him off and shuddering at the mention of Plinkett’s basement. Neither of them likes going down there. Mike is convinced it’s haunted. Jay says he’s an idiot, but Mike has noticed Jay won’t go down to get supplies alone. He always makes some excuse, like he needs Mike to help carry the beers back up or to hold the flashlight while Jay has his arms full. The single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling down there is burned out, and they haven’t been able to find any spares in Plinkett’s closets or drawers.

Jay’s reasons to have Mike join him on basement trips are logical enough, because Jay is good at plausible excuses that conceal whatever scraps of emotion he manages to have. But Mike can tell he gets freaked out down there, too. He practically held onto Mike’s arm last time they ventured down to restock.

They have certain arrangements in place when it comes to sharing the supplies inside Plinkett’s boarded up house until all this blows over. Jay gets the comfortable chair during the day, while Mike’s back aches in the lame one he dragged over from Plinkett’s sad dining room table. The trade off is that Mike gets Plinkett’s bed at night, while Jay sleeps in the green chair. Mike likes the small change of scenery and doesn’t know how Jay can stand to basically live in that chair, though during their long stints of movie watching and discussing during the day he sneers enviously while Jay reclines there, swallowed up in the too-big clothes that they scavenged from Plinkett’s drawers and washed three times in the laundry machines downstairs before wearing, same as the bedsheets Mike now sleeps on. 

Plinkett might be in Mexico but he’s probably dead, which means they’ve de facto inherited this house, unless some hitherto unknown offspring of the old fart turns up to claim it. Mike has considered that the ghost haunting the basement might be Plinkett himself, pissed off that two schlubs who never finished the repair job he’s been paying for since 2011 are now occupying his beloved house, but Mike gets the feeling that whatever is down there is far more malevolent than the bumbling old man ever managed to be. Plinkett fucked with Satan, and all kinds of nasty spiritual powers on the astral plane. There’s no telling what he might have called forth, intentionally or not. 

“You sound like a frothing moron when you talk like this,” Jay says when Mike is pontificating on the subject of the presence in the basement. It’s late at night, ten or so beers into the evening, and Jay is starting to nod off in his much more comfortable chair. 

“Say what you want, Jay. But I know you feel it, too.”

“Feel what?”

Mike doesn’t answer, just stands with a groan and stretches his arms up over his head. His t-shirt pulls up in front when he does, exposing his expanding beer gut. He’d actually been making some progress on getting relatively in shape before this latest round of apocalyptic nonsense trapped them here together, but so much for that. He hasn’t even bothered to shave his face in weeks, fuck exercising. He pulls his t-shirt back down and gives Jay a look, ready to snap that he doesn’t care if Jay finds him gross, that he never has!

Jay is asleep, the green recliner tilted all the way back and the half-empty beer he’s holding tipping precariously toward his lap. Mike approaches the fence that separates Jay’s area of the house from his own, which is possibly pointless, because they both go to the basement together when necessary and both use the same tiny bathroom. Mike made a big deal about the fence early on, mostly for the purpose of hoarding all the hard liquor on his side, and lately he’s been regretting it, also wondering when he should give up the charade and how he can do so without having Jay make fun of him. He leans over the fence with a grunt, stretching his arm so he can just reach the neck of Jay’s beer bottle, and eases it from Jay’s slackening fingers just before it can spill all over the flannel sleep pants Jay has been wearing for days, maybe weeks.

“Mike,” Jay mumbles as he feels the bottle slipping from his hand.

“What?” Mike asks, still leaning over the fence, wobbling on his unsteady, half-drunk legs and pretty close to toppling over. 

Jay makes a soft noise under his breath and rolls onto his side, turning away from Mike and trying to get comfortable on the recliner. The too-big flannel pants slide down in back as he does, revealing the top of his ass crack.

Huh. So Jay has stopped wearing underwear, too. It was between diving into Plinkett’s underthings, which never could have been made clean enough to get anywhere near Mike’s junk, and washing their own daily, or at least every other day. Mike gave up on that shit, too, and is also wearing nothing under his jeans.

He’s also staring at Jay’s ass crack, licking his lips and tottering on his feet, all of which he should probably stop doing.

He stumbles through all the garbage on his side of the fence, nearly braining himself on the dining table when he steps on a stray beer bottle. He makes it to the bedroom, trying not to think about the erection that’s throbbing slowly but steadily to life against the front of his jeans. It’s just been a while since he saw somebody’s bared skin, is all. And Jay’s ass, well. It’s not like he’s never thought about it. And thinking about it can’t hurt. 

He gets into bed and takes off his jeans, throwing them onto the floor once he’s got his legs under the blankets. It’s early May in Milwaukee and still cold at night. The central heating unit that lives in Plinkett’s basement is broken, and neither of them knows how to fix it or wants to spend long enough down there in the dark with the flashlight to figure it out. Mike has provided Jay with a single blanket and has kept all the others for himself on the bed. Jay sleeps in three layers of clothes anyway, including an old jacket that Mike is pretty sure used to be his, something he left here like seven years ago. 

Mike squirms down under the blankets and tries not to think about Jay’s ass crack once he’s got his hand on his dick, but his mind goes right to it. Jay feels like the only person left on Earth. That makes him fair game for Mike’s fantasies, maybe. 

He knows Jay is an excessively clean person, even now, because Mike listens to him take a long, hot shower every single day and feels stupidly lonely while Jay is in there doing his thing, and maybe this is why Mike’s mind goes right to ass eating. It’s not typically his go-to fantasy about anyone. There’s just something about that glimpse of ass crack that’s got him thinking about it, and about how Jay would moan and curse and tell Mike that’s dirty even while pressing his greedy little hips back in Mike’s grip and grinding his spread open ass against Mike’s mouth. 

Jay would try to be quiet at first. Mike is sure of it, and he groans at the back of his throat, eyes closed while he tugs on his cock, spreading precome downward to get a better glide. Jay would want to pretend to be unaffected, the same way he pretends he’s unmoved by everything except for horror movies where the director has his head so far up his own ass that Jay gets a pretentious little boner for it. 

But it wouldn’t last. It would be like when Mike makes Jay laugh against his will at a cheesy or especially gross joke, because Jay just can’t help it. He gets under Mike’s spell a little when Mike gives him that look like: laugh, fucker, that’s right, show me those teeth. 

Jay would be the same way while Mike was eating him out: squirming and trying to hold his noises in, just frustrated little moans and grunts escaping at first, and then he’d start to feel real good, letting Mike lick deeper into him and maybe reaching down to hold himself open wider for the feeling, moaning and getting all surrendered for it. Finally he’d start mumbling out Mike’s name, then shouting it, shaking, clawing at the sheets and writhing, begging--

What would Jay beg for, Mike wonders, his hand moving fast on his cock as his back arches off the mattress a bit, his jaw clenched tight. Maybe Jay would ask for Mike’s fingers, some clever stimulation on his prostate, or maybe he’d rather feel Mike’s thick cock hammering against that good spot, nice and hard, until Mike fills him with the biggest, hottest load of jizz he’s ever taken--

Mike moans when he comes, possibly loud enough to be heard from the living room, but Jay is asleep. Mike readied a come rag before he got started, and he uses the clean side to wipe his stomach, his dick, and the few spots that splattered onto the sheets. He’ll need to wash this rag out tomorrow, but he’s too tired to do anything but toss it onto the floor at the moment.

He rolls over and sighs, satisfied as he tucks his hands under his cheek on Plinkett’s pillow. All throughout the day, while his back is killing him in that awful dining chair, he wonders if it’s even worth it to have the bed later, miserably watching Jay slump comfortably in the good chair. But every night he decides again that it’s the best deal possible. Plinkett’s bed is nothing fancy, but it’s cozy and warm, and being able to jerk off with real privacy is often his favorite part of the day.

And increasingly, even before seeing that ass crack, he’s been jerking off to thoughts of Jay. 

It’s only because Jay feels like his whole goddamn world now. Mike falls asleep frowning slightly, telling himself not to worry about it. 


He wakes up to the feeling of being grabbed by a ghostly presence and throws his arm out hard, smacking wildly at the evil spirit that’s trying to eat him. 


It’s Jay, hopping backward in the dark like an agitated demon when Mike rolls over to glower at him. Mike is still naked from the waist down under the blankets and isn’t sure what the fuck is happening. 

“Mike!” Jay says, whispering for some reason. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? Why are you in my room?”

“Something’s in the basement, like. Moving around.”

“Calm down.” Mike sits up with a groan, pulling at the blankets to make sure his naked hips are properly covered. “It’s probably just rats. God knows this place has ‘em.” 

“It sounded different than rats, like. Strong. Dragging something across the floor.”

Mike frowns and listens. He doesn’t hear anything, just Jay’s quickened breath in the dark room. 

“You were probably dreaming,” Mike says. “I don’t hear shit.”

“Well-- It stopped when I jumped out of the chair! It heard me walking around up here and froze, clearly.”

“Jay.” Mike smirks, still sure this idiot was having a bad dream. “Are you telling me you’re afraid there’s a ghost down there?”

“Fuck no, dumbass! I’m saying it might have been a looter! We have a huge beer supply, Mike. Plenty of food, too. Also guns. Maybe someone broke in while we were sleeping and they’re down there stealing our shit.”

“So what do you want me to do about it, go down with the shotgun and blow ‘em away?”

Jay stands there looking confused in the moonlight through Plinkett’s half-curtained bedroom windows. He almost looks sweet like this, when he’s scared. 

“I guess,” Jay says. “I mean, yeah. Please do that, don’t let them take our beer.”

“Jay, you were dreaming! Calm the fuck down. I promise you, if I hear anyone dragging our beers away, I will go down there and murder the fuck out of them. But I don’t hear shit, and I’m tired, and cold, and I ain’t getting out of bed for nothing. So just sit tight and let me know if you hear anything while you’re actually awake.”

“I can’t-- I won’t be able to sleep, um. Out there, I don’t think.” 

“So what are you saying, you want to get in bed with me?” 

Mike scoffs as if he hasn’t been waiting for this moment and isn’t ready to say yes immediately. 

“No.” Jay crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “I just-- I’m going to wait in here with you until it’s been a while and I haven’t heard anything. I’ll, uh. I’ll sit on the floor.” 

“Fine by me, just be quiet down there.”

Mike rolls toward the wall, his heart still racing from being awakened so rudely and also from the feeling of being half-naked in bed while Jay is in the room. Jay sits down with a sigh, and Mike pretends to be asleep, listening for any signs of a disturbance in the basement. He talks a big game, but he’d really rather not kill a man before all this is said and done.

He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, then there’s a tiny noise like a mouse tapping morse code. Mike whirls around to check the floor for rodents. He only sees Jay, sitting with his back against the opposite wall and his arms hugged around himself. He left both the blanket and Mike’s old jacket out in the living room, and he’s sitting there just in his hoodie, t-shirt, sleep pants and slippers. 

“Is that your teeth chattering?” Mike snaps. 

“Ah-- y-yeah. I’m not scared! Juh-- Just cold.”

“So go get your blanket.”

“No. If that thing downstairs hears me walking around it’ll know we’re still awake and won’t start making noise again.” 

“Jay, if you really think there’s a goddamn burglar down there, why didn’t you just go down with the flashlight and a gun and take care of it yourself.”

“I can’t hold the flashlight and aim a fucking gun! Plus--” Jay gives Mike a petulant look. Again, something about the moonlight makes him look cute, or maybe it’s that floppy hair hanging over his forehead. “You’re a better shot,” he says, mumbling.

“That’s true. I really do think you were dreaming, though. Unless it was the ghost moving around down there.”

“Whatever,” Jay says, mumbling. He pulls his knees up to his chest and folds his arms over them, buries his head there. His teeth are still chattering, keeping Mike awake. 

Mike lies on his back for a while, listening to Jay’s annoying noise and trying to decide what to do about it. At some point he falls asleep like that. 

When he wakes again it’s still dark, but there’s a hint of oncoming dawn glowing just faintly around the edges of the curtains. He startles when he gets the feeling that he’s not alone, then remembers Jay is in here with him. Jay is curled up in a ball on the floor, shivering, an old newspaper that had been lying on the floor pulled over him, like he’s some homeless man in an alleyway. 

“Jay,” Mike says, whispering, as if the imaginary prowler might hear him. “Jay!”

“No-- please!” Jay says, sitting up with a jerk and batting the newspaper away as if it’s attacking him, which would be hilarious if it didn’t also look so pathetic and sad.

Mike’s average-sized heart is affected, and he scoots toward the wall with a moan. 

“Get up here,” he says when Jay turns his wild, frightened gaze in his direction. “You look like a goddamn vagrant, sleeping under a newspaper.” Mike could also make fun of him for obviously being afraid to sleep alone, but he’s not in the mood. “Up here!” Mike says more forcefully, smacking the mattress. “And take those slippers off, they’re not getting into bed with me.” 

Jay is, though, and Mike is sleepy enough that he doesn’t remember he’s naked under the blankets until it’s too late. Jay slides his legs down beneath the blankets and settles in next to Mike, peeking at him uncertainly as he rests his head on the far edge of the only pillow. 

“Thanks,” Jay says, very softly, when Mike arranges the blankets over his shivery shoulder. 

“I’m just-- Tired of listening to your teeth chattering and your fantasies about men sneaking into the basement. You’d probably like that, huh?” Mike puts his hand on Jay’s shoulder and gives him a friendly little rub, so he’ll know Mike is just teasing. “Were you hoping a big, strong man broke in here to ravish you, Jay?”

“You’re infecting me,” Jay says. He sounds like he’s not fully awake, and his eyelids are getting heavy now that his head’s on the pillow. 

“Maybe,” Mike says, and he takes his hand away. There’s only a foot or so of space between them when Mike backs up all the way to the wall, leaving Jay on the outer edge of the mattress. “But, uh. I drank out of your whiskey bottle yesterday anyway, when you were in the bathroom. So you already have my germs in your disgusting mouth.”

“Great,” Jay says. He shuts his eyes, shifts against the pillow with a little huff, and falls asleep.

At first, Mike thinks he must be faking. He pushes Jay’s shoulder with one finger, testing, then pushes harder. Jay just lies there looking serene, passed out. Mike figures it’s the novelty of finally sleeping in a real bed after weeks in that chair. It’s comfortable enough for sitting, but at night it’s been giving Jay backaches and neck strain, same as the other chair gives Mike when he sits in it during the day.

So maybe they’ve both been pretty stupid, accepting the worst of both worlds. 

Mike stares at Jay, unable to get back to sleep now that he has company in this bed, which suddenly seems tiny. Jay makes soft breathing noises and doesn’t flinch when Mike reaches across the space between them to helpfully push the hair off of Jay’s forehead, so that the little wave on the end of his overgrown fringe won’t tickle Jay’s eyelids while he sleeps. Mike makes a noise without meaning to, because Jay’s hair is so soft. Like, insanely soft. Addictively soft, maybe, because Mike is touching it again, more carefully. And when’s the last time Mike touched anybody’s hair?

Mike pulls his hand back fast when Jay makes a little noise under his breath, Mike’s heart hammering into overdrive when he thinks he’s about to be caught petting Jay in his sleep. But Jay doesn’t wake up, just shifts onto his stomach and sighs, pushing both his arms up under the pillow and taking up more space on the bed, narrowing the gap between them by half.

Mike is wide awake now and can’t stop staring at Jay. Have his eyelashes always looked so delicate? Mike has been attracted to guys before, but it’s pretty rare. Okay, he’s been attracted to Jay before, but he never thought of actually doing anything about it. Jay is some kind of of weirdo about sex, for one. He either never has it at all or has really fucked up, secret sex that happens out of sight from Mike and polite society. He doesn’t bring dates to Mike’s parties or seem to mind when Mike shows up with a girl when they go to movies together. Jay will just act like he enjoys the extra company, and sometimes will even try to flirt with the girl, who always ends up confused and asking Mike, who was that guy and why was he with us on our date? 

After a while, Mike eyelids start to feel heavy, and he thinks he can smell what might be Jay’s skin, or Jay’s sweat, or both. It’s something cedary and pleasant, warm like sunlight on golden hair, and it’s making Mike’s mouth kinda wet. He rolls over with a grunt, annoyed at Jay for putting him in this position, and glowers at the wall for a while, huddled up against it, until he’s drifting off again. 

When he wakes again it’s an overcast morning and his dick is hard, jammed against the mattress because he turned onto his stomach in his sleep at some point. Jay is right up next to him, their shoulders almost touching, and when Mike rolls toward him he startles and curses, because Jay’s eyes are open. 

“I didn’t hear the noise again,” Jay says, blinking sleepily at Mike, like it’s no big deal that they’re about a breath away from cuddling. “Did you?”

“What-- No. I told you, you were dreaming.” 

Jay moves his knee, for some reason, and gasps when it brushes Mike’s erection under the blankets. 

“Is that your cock?” Jay asks, grinning when Mike squirms back against the wall, his face heating. 

“It’s called morning wood, Jay. If you don’t understand, I don’t know what to tell you about the state of your own dick. If you’ve even got one.”

“What the fuck?” Jay rolls onto his back and giggles like this is hilarious. Maybe he’s losing his mind. “I have a dick,” he says, looking down in that direction. “See?”

Mike swallows heavily and dares a glance, unable to resist. Jay is tenting the blankets. By the looks of it, he’s either only a bit hard or not even half as big as Mike, which. Is expected, Mike must admit. Jay has cute little manlet proportions. A monster dick such as Mike’s would look absurd on him. 

“Okay, so you’ve got a dick,” Mike says, still flushed across his cheeks. “Congratulations.” 

“Were you seriously doubting its existence, Mike.”

“No! Well. I dunno. You don’t fuck with women, so far as I can tell.”

“You’re constantly ragging on me for being gay, do you really think I don’t have sex? Just because I don’t date women anymore?”

“Anymore?” Mike says, snorting. 

“Okay, it was just one and it was before you knew me, and it didn’t go well for obvious reasons-- Just. Sue me if I don’t want to expose the guys I’m seeing to your scrutiny.”

“What guys? When? Where??”

Jay laughs again, now at Mike’s obvious consternation. Mike shoves him, and touching Jay’s shoulder while their dicks are hard makes the flush spread from Mike’s face down to his throat. 

“Here’s a better question,” Jay says, still grinning, highly amused with himself at the moment for some reason. “Why is your dick out? It feels like, uh. Are you naked under there?”

“Did you seriously expect me to wear my jeans to bed?”

“There are sweatpants available.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I beat off before I fell asleep like a normal person, and I didn’t want to get dressed after. You’re the one invading my space here! Don’t question my methods.”

“Ewww, am I lying in your dried up jizz?”

Jay makes a face and squirms but doesn’t move to get out of the bed, tellingly.

“You could do worse than lying in my jizz,” Mike says. He’s still all blushy and flustered but maybe he can work with the vibes Jay is putting out here, if he’s not reading them wrong. 

“Mhm, yeah, I suppose I could do worse,” Jay says. “What if the whole Xandu thing hadn’t happened? I’d be lying here with Plinkett!”

“Gross!” Mike shoves him again, infuriated by the thought. “Don’t put that mental image in my head while my dick is hard, god!”

“You’re the one who couldn’t stop speculating about the erotic details when you were planning the wedding.”

“I was just trying to give you a hard time!” 

“Uh-huh. Kinda started to feel like you wanted to give me something else hard, secretly.”


Jay collapses into laughter again, bringing his hands up to cover his face, which has gotten a little pink. Mike can’t help but laugh, too, and it feels good, like it always has, to let himself dissolve into hilarity with Jay. 

“Oh yeah, Jay, everybody wants you,” Mike says, hating that this is kind of true and that apparently Jay has been getting around with men behind Mike’s back. “There could be no other explanation for me busting your balls about Plinkett or having a boner first thing in morning.” 

“You sound defensive, Mike.”

“I do not. You sound, uhhh. Pretty interested in my dick, actually.”

“I do?” Jay shrugs and chews on his lip. His eyes are all soft and sparkly. Are they always like this when he first wakes up? “I mean, I’m not gonna lie,” he says. “It feels like you’ve got a baseball bat under there, but. Maybe I’m mistaken. It was just accidental contact.” 

“Accidental contact, huh. Yeah, look at you. Lying there thinking about my baseball bat.”

Jay snickers and rolls away. Mike wants to grab for him and say wait, no, what, we’re not done! He forces himself to just watch as Jay slides out of bed and stands, stretching his arms up overhead and groaning in a way that makes Mike’s cock throb under the blankets. The flannel pants slip down in back, but Jay catches them and pulls them back up before he can again expose his ass crack to Mike. 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Jay says, turning to look at Mike from over his shoulder. “I’ll leave you to do whatever you need to with your equipment.”

“And I guess you’re gonna beat off in the shower,” Mike says. He scoffs. “I knew it. You always take a fuckin’ eternity in there.”

“Yeah, congratulations, Sherlock, you really cracked the case.” 

“Don’t use all the hot water, you fuck!” Mike shouts, feeling almost teary with disappointment as Jay walks out of the room without even giving Mike another glimpse of that cute little tent in his pants. 

Mike waits until he hears the shower come on before reaching for his cock, which is fucking throbbing, so hard that he groans in near pain as he squeezes himself under the blankets. He needs to get off quick, feels like he’s been teased for hours by the proximity of Jay’s warm, nice-scented body in bed, taunting Mike with being almost close enough even while he slept. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of the shower running across the hall, imagining Jay touching himself under the blast of the water and wondering what he’s thinking about. Is he remembering that moment of electric heat when his knee brushed Mike’s dick under the blanket? Jay’s eyes had widened in shock before he started laughing about it like an asshole. Was his dick already hard before he encountered Mike’s, or did that chub pop up in his sleep pants as a direct result of his too-brief introduction to Mike’s enormous cock? 

Thinking about this isn’t getting Mike off. His teeth are grit as he strips his hand over his cock. He’s close but frustrated, stuck on these questions that are going to bother him all day, if not until the end of this goddamned ordeal. He thinks instead about what he’d do if he were confident enough to walk in on Jay while he’s showering. Jay would gasp and tell Mike to get out, naked and pointing his rock hard little dick at Mike, because of course he’d have been playing with himself before Mike burst in. He’d be close, probably, by now, thinking about being ravished by an intruder, or maybe by Mike. He wouldn’t protest a second time when Mike threw the shower curtain out of the way and stepped in with him, because Mike would be nude, and Jay’s eyes would be like saucers at the sight of Mike’s big cock, fully hard and ready for him. Jay would plaster himself to the shower wall and pant while he took in Mike’s imposingly large and hairy nakedness. Then he would spread his short legs for Mike with subconscious need. 

“Breakfast is ready,” Mike says in the fantasy, taking hold of his dick to make sure Jay gets the message, and since it’s taking place in Mike’s daydreams and not reality, Jay sinks to his knees in understanding instead of laughing uproariously at that remark. 

Jay’s mouth-- Oh god, Mike has thought about it, and about how eager he’d be if Mike caught him in the right mood, when Jay is feeling desperate to prove he’s good at everything and that he can handle any rough treatment Mike gives him. He’d let Mike fuck his face-- He’d moan for it. His eyes would sink shut. He’d touch himself while sucking Mike off, trembling for how much he likes being on his knees for Mike at last, and peering up at him with his lashes fluttering against the spray from the shower, letting Mike see the questions in his eyes: 

Is that good? Do you like it? Please tell me I’m good at this, Mike, tell me I’m making your cock feel happy and I’ll come for you, just like that--

Imagining all this in Jay’s voice, though communicated solely in his pleading eyes while he chokes on Mike’s thrusting cock, puts Mike over the edge. He comes with a grunt and realizes he didn’t ready his trusty come rag, so he’s just spilling all over the bedsheets, which will now have to be washed.

Whatever. He lingers on his back in bed, catching his breath and staring up at the ceiling. Jay is still in the shower, probably watching his own come wash down the drain. God, Mike wants him. It’s fucked up, how hard it’s hitting him after one night in this bed together. He’s been denying it for weeks, possibly months, maybe even years. And now they’re stuck here together, sharing a bed and laughing about their boners, and still Jay’s prissy ass goes to jerk off alone in the shower instead of letting Mike show him how good it could be to take care of each other here in the bed. 

By the time Mike gets out of bed and drags himself into Plinkett’s cluttered kitchen for something to eat, Jay is out of the shower, dressed and getting his own breakfast. Mike thinks of his fantasy and imagines what Jay would actually do if Mike took his cock out and presented it by saying ‘breakfast is ready.’ Laughter would be involved, of course, but once Jay had his eyes on Mike’s dick he might respond more favorably, too.

“I’m afraid to ask why you’re looking at me like that,” Jay says, popping two slices of wheat bread into Plinkett’s toaster. 

“Like what,” Mike says. 

“Uhh, like you’re plotting?”

Jay glances up at Mike and meets his eyes. He looks a little nervous, which is new, also interesting. He smells incredible, freshly showered, and his damp hair looks like it could use Mike’s fingers dragging through it. He’s wearing the same black t-shirt and flannel pants he had on in bed last night, which is part of how good he smells: like the bed, the sheets having marinated in Mike’s come and arousal for weeks. 

“I need to wash my bedsheets after I eat something,” Mike says, going to the fridge. “You’ll have to help me, with the flashlight.”

“Uh-huh. Are you sure it’s not ‘cause you don’t want to go down there alone?”

Mike gives Jay an angry glance. Jay just snickers. He’s neatened up his beard a little, Mike notices. The parts that were starting to look overlong are trimmed, and he’s shaved the prickly hairs under his jawline and on his throat. But why? For Mike?

“Just shut up and do as I say,” Mike says. “I’ll have my hands full of the bedsheets, dummy, and I need you to hold the flashlight while I load the washer. Or maybe you’re the one who’s afraid to go down there, considering you ran into my room scared last night?”

Jay’s eyes widen a little with surprise, and Mike can see he’s struck a nerve or crossed some kind of line. Jay hates having it pointed out when he's feeling scared, or feeling anything. 

“I heard something last night,” Jay says, flat-voiced and glaring at Mike. “Believe me or not, but we should probably be careful when we go down there, just in case.” 

“In case what?”

“In case someone broke in through the cellar!”

“Relax,” Mike says, waving his hand at Jay. “I’m here to protect you, aren’t I? Anyone who tries shit on us will regret it.” 

Mike’s neck feels hot when he bends down to look into the fridge again. He’d expected Jay to angrily say he doesn’t need protection, least of all from Mike’s fat ass. When Mike straightens up and looks at Jay again, Jay is just glowering at the toaster like he’s actually mad or something. 

After shoveling some sugary cereal that Jay makes sure to scoff at into his mouth, Mike strips the sheets off the bed and balls them up to properly hide the come stains. He returns to the kitchen to find Jay washing his plate, toast consumed. 

“I’m ready for this mission,” Mike says, hoping to improve Jay’s bad mood. “Navigator, are you prepared to embark?”

“Is this some Star Trek shit?” Jay asks, grumbly and without looking up.

“No,” Mike says, lying. He’s Captain Mike and Jay is his Number One, at least in his own mind. Last time they went down to the basement together Mike was playing Ghost Adventures in his head, but that only made it scarier, so he’s back to Star Trek, picturing Jay in a skin tight TNG uniform, ready to call Mike ‘sir’ and do whatever he commands. 

Jay dutifully follows Mike down to the basement, bad attitude and all, pointing the flashlight ahead so Mike can see where he’s going. Mike’s heart rate picks up as they make their way down the creaky wooden staircase into the dark, the flashlight’s beam providing their only source of light. 

“Wait,” Jay says, whispering, when they reach the landing. 

Mike pauses with a sigh and lets Jay use him as a human shield. Jay stands behind Mike on the landing, close enough that Mike can feel the heat of him, and sweeps the flashlight from one corner of the basement to the other, checking for intruders. 

“There’s a shitload of junk down here,” Mike says. “If anyone was here-- which they aren’t --they could just hide under all the garbage.”

“Gee, thanks,” Jay says, jabbing Mike’s arm. “That makes me feel loads better.”

“Can we just get this over with, please? It stinks down here.”

Jay grunts in agreement and follows Mike across the cold stone floor, to the laundry machines in the back left corner. Part of what Mike hates about the basement is its alarming chilliness, which doesn’t seem natural. There’s also the weird hum of menace that isn’t a literal sound so much as a feeling that clogs the space, pressing in around them like a warning not to linger. Mike pitches the sheets into the washer and adds the laundry soap as quickly as he can. 

“There,” he says, when he’s turned the machine on. “Are you satisfied that there’s nobody down here?” he asks, turning to Jay and blinking his eyes shut when Jay shines the flashlight in his face like an asshole. “Or do we need to go check the lock on the cellar door?”

“Let’s just get the fuck out of here.” 

Mike is ready to agree to this plan even before he feels a strange chill move across the back of his neck, as if a spider web made of ice just brushed over the short hairs there. He yelps and turns but only sees darkness staring back at him. Rather than telling Jay to redirect the flashlight beam at whatever ghostly presence is trying to flirt with Mike before consuming his soul, he grabs Jay’s shoulder and shoves him toward the stairs, prompting him to flee. 

Mike keeps close behind him on the way up the stairs. Jay is moving fast, too, as if he knows that Mike is spooked and doesn’t need to know why to understand it’s legit.

They reach the top of the stairs, both a little breathless and flustered, and Mike has a brilliant idea, maybe brought on by the adrenaline rush. He shuts the basement door behind him and dashes for the green chair that Jay usually occupies during the day. 

“Hey!” Jay says. He clicks the flashlight off and approaches, frowning, as Mike settles into the chair triumphantly, trying not to unleash the shit eating grin that wants to break onto his face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in my chair?” Jay asks, standing over him with adorable indignation. 

“Uh, hello?” Mike says, grabbing both arms of the chair for traction, as if Jay has a hope in hell of prying him out. “You slept in the bed last night. That means I get the chair today.”

“But-- You had the bed, too--”

“Yes, true.” Mike can’t help it: the grin is there, and maybe it’s more sharky and evil than anything, or possibly even seductive. “You can, therefore, sit here with me, if you like.”

“There’s no room!” 

Jay is almost stomping his feet, his cheeks getting pink, and Mike is going to pop a boner if he doesn’t back off, but maybe that wouldn’t be out of order. 

“Sure there is,” Mike says, spreading his legs a little. He pats his thigh. “Right here. You’re small. You’ll fit perfect in my lap.”

“Ugh,” Jay says, turning away and lowkey breaking Mike’s heart as he heads for the chair on what’s normally Mike’s side of the fence. “Fine, but-- I get that chair later, because I only shared the bed with you for like three hours.”

“More like five,” Mike says, though he’s really not sure. His heel is bouncing on the ground as he struggles not to feel like a failure. Did he really think Jay was going to get in his lap? 

For a minute there: yes, he did.

“Whatever,” Jay says. “I was on the floor for half the night, you fuck. I’m taking that chair after lunch.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Mike says, groping for the remote. 

In a cruel irony, they did actually repair Mr. Plinkett’s VCR last week during a fit of extreme boredom, and they’ve been watching his Night Court tapes in episodic order since then. They’re about halfway through season 2, and while the show mostly sucks, for some reason they’ve been slavishly watching one episode after another, maybe because they’re both sick of all the available movies, even the ones they can stream. 

“Seriously?” Jay says, barking a laugh when he sees the title card for the episode they’re on:

Nuts About Harry

“Hey, Jay,” Mike says. “It’s your biopic!” 

“It’s funny that you can’t tell I was faking it,” Jay says, keeping his eyes on the TV as the opening credits continue. 

“Uh,” Mike says. “What?”

“Nothing. Just watch the stupid show and enjoy my chair, dickhead.”

Mike stares at the TV but doesn’t process much that’s going on in the episode, except that the humor is dated in varying offensive ways, similar to previous episodes. 

Jay was faking what now? Being attracted to Plinkett? Wanting to marry him? But why?

“Time for lunch beer,” Mike says after they’ve watched four episodes, Mike nearly drifting off in the comfort of the green chair while Jay shifts around on what was previously Mike’s side of the fence, sighing dramatically. “Go fetch our drinks, Jay.”

“Fuck no,” Jay says. “As soon as your ass leaves that chair, I’m taking it. My back is killing me over here.”

“Already? You wimp.”

“I slept on the fucking floor for hours last night!”

“You didn’t have to! I offered you the damn bed before that.” 

Jay’s mouth hangs open stupidly for a moment. He looks pained, over on the other side of the fence, and also seems weirdly far away. More so than yesterday, somehow. 

“You were just making fun of me,” Jay says. “Not really offering.”

“Ha, well. Funny that you couldn’t tell I was faking it.” 

Jay gets up with a sigh and goes to the kitchen. When he comes back he has a single cold beer for himself. He sits in the uncomfortable chair again and glowers at Mike as he cracks the can open and sips from the beer, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“I see how it is,” Mike says, folding his hands over his gut. “You think I can’t go a whole day without beer. That in a couple of hours I’ll decide I’d rather have a beer than not give up this chair.”

“Yup,” Jay says. “Would bet my life on it.”

“Don’t be so hasty with taking your life in your hands, Jay. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Mike reaches under the chair and smirks when Jay’s nose wrinkles as Mike unearths the bottle of whiskey he sipped from the other day, while Jay was in the bathroom.

“That’s mine,” Jay says, sounding deliciously pathetic.

“Now, now. It’s all community property at this point.” 

Mike unscrews the cap and makes a big production of sniffing the whiskey before taking a swig from the bottle.

“You’re gonna get wasted in the afternoon?” Jay says. 

“No, no. Just having a little sip, for now.” Mike puts the cap back on the bottle and winks at Jay, who snarls in response. 

They watch two more episodes of Night Court, and Mike starts to feel sleepy. He’s limiting himself to one drink from the whiskey bottle per episode, wanting to keep his wits about him. Jay has finished three beers and is whining at moments, constantly trying to get comfortable in that chair, which is a losing battle. Mike at least has natural padding to help. Jay has a bony little ass, comparatively. 

Though actually, Mike thinks, looking over at Jay-- It’s kind of round and cute. Jay’s ass. Mike shifts in his seat and flushes when Jay peeks over at him. 

“This is not fair,” Jay says. “My back hurts. It’s been five hours, c’mon. Let me have that chair.”

“Come and get it, you wimp.”

Jay stands, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His hair has dried into a messy swoop, the fringe almost-curling at the end in the way that makes Mike’s throat tighten up a little, lately. Now he knows how soft that hair is, too, and Jay is walking over toward him like he’s ready for a fight. Mike feels almost outmatched, but he keeps his expression stoic, his hands gripped tight around the arms of the chair. 

“I’m a wimp, huh?” Jay says. 

“That’s right,” Mike says. He’s got his legs spread wide as Jay comes to stand almost between them, and he hopes it looks threatening. Or appealing. Both, ideally. 

“I heard that noise you made in the basement,” Jay says, eyes narrowed. His toast breakfast was light and he might be a little drunk after three beers and no lunch, swaying on his feet. 

“What noise,” Mike says, though he remembers well, was afraid Jay had noticed. 

“It was an embarrassing little shriek, almost. What was that about? Did you hear something?” 

“Dunno what you’re talking about, but when I shoved you toward the stairs you sure took off running like you were scared.” 

“And what exactly do you think I’m scared of now? Trying to pull you out of that chair?”

“Uhh,” Mike says, flexing. He shifts his hips up and watches Jay’s eyes sink down to his crotch before snapping back to his face again. Bingo? “You’re not strong enough to pull me out,” Mike says. “Or I’m too heavy-- Ha ha ha. What I meant is you’re afraid to sit here with me.”

“What? Why--” 

“Because we both know what happens next if you sit on my lap.” 

Jay was the one who started this, really. Mike holds his gaze, pretending to be fearless while his heart slams. Jay got into bed with him last night, and said that shit about Mike maybe wanting to do things to him, hard, around the time Jay was engaged to Plinkett. Which isn’t inaccurate, now that Mike thinks about it. 

“Bullshit,” Jay says. “You don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“Show me how wrong I am, Jay.”

The look that flashes into Jay’s eyes actually scares Mike a little, and when Jay lifts his foot and settles the bottom of his slipper between Mike’s legs, just short of pressing it to the soft bulge of Mike’s dick, Mike actually gasps. 

Jay grins: evil, victorious. He presses his foot in just slightly.

“Holy shit,” Mike says, blinking up at him, feeling defeated and getting hard. 

“Get out of that chair,” Jay says.

“Nope,” Mike says, shifting his hips up and swallowing a moan. “You’re gonna squash my dick if I don’t? Is that the message I’m supposed to be getting? Ha. Never.”

“Never, huh?” Jay tilts his foot forward, increasing the pressure. Mike barely suppresses another moan, his eyelids getting heavy as his cock fills so fast that he feels a little dizzy, blood rushing downward. 

“Just--” Mike says, not sure at all how to play this. Jay was right. Mike didn’t expect-- This. Whatever it is. “Just come here,” Mike says. “You whiny little bitch. Sit on me. I’m more comfortable than this chair.” 

Jay’s eyebrows go up, and now it’s his turn to look taken off guard. He lets his gaze sink downward, and his mouth hangs open as he watches Mike’s erection grow to its full potential. 

“Not with that thing poking me in the back you’re not,” Jay says. 

Mike dares a peek at Jay’s flannel pants. If he’s getting hard for this, Mike can’t see it yet. Maybe it’s the beers. 

“I can arrange you so that you’re comfortable,” Mike says. “Believe me.”

“Why would I ever believe anything you say?”

“Because--” Mike starts, but then he can’t come up with a reason. His face falls, and he presses his dick up against the bottom of Jay’s slipper, whining at the back of his throat when the friction feels good. 

“Now you’re just getting off on it,” Jay says, and he takes his foot away. 

“God forbid you get me off, you ungrateful shit.” 


“Would you really want to be here alone? Or back in your sad little apartment, all by yourself? I’m your partner in crime. You should be taking care of my needs.”

Jay just stares at Mike, either admiring the size of his balls or aghast at his nerve. 

“What about my needs,” Jay says. 

“You need to sit your scrawny ass in my lap right now, fucker, so come on and do it.”

Jay shuffles in place adorably, and that’s when Mike spots it: the bump of Jay’s cock rising against the front of those flannels, fucking jackpot. 

“Come on, Jay,” Mike says, making his voice mockingly soft. “Come get what you need.” 

Jay makes a punched sort of noise and gives Mike a startled look, the pink on his cheeks deepening to red. He sighs and glances behind him at the TV, as if Judge Harry is going to give him some guidance via Night Court. 

In the absence of any wise words from the TV, Jay turns his back on Mike fully and drops down hard, landing on Mike’s right leg and scooting backward. 

“There you go,” Mike says, lifting his arms, which are suddenly a little shaky, because oh god it’s happening, Jay is settling back onto his chest, his warm ass pressing against Mike’s cock so firmly that he must feel it throb in response. “God, yeah, that’s better, huh?” Mike puts his hands on Jay’s biceps and rubs his thumbs over the tensed muscles there. Jay is stiff all over, and his nipples are hard under his t-shirt, his cock pressing more insistently against the front of those pants already. “Say thank you,” Mike prompts, murmuring this into Jay’s ear as he begins to relax a little, resting his sore back on Mike’s substantial chub. 

“Fuck off,” Jay says, but it’s so soft it sounds like ‘thank you’ anyway. His eyes have slipped half-shut, and he’s twitching in Mike’s grip, trying to fight his instinct to sink deeper into the feeling of being pressed against the heat of Mike’s body. “That’s, ah. I just need. A second.”

“You can have all day, Jay,” Mike says, again in that soft yet menacing tone that seems to be doing it for Jay, because he’s fidgeting like he wants to stimulate Mike’s cock with his surprisingly muscular ass cheeks, or at least like he doesn’t mind doing so, because he must know how fucking good his squirming feels on the massive erection that he inspired. “In fact,” Mike says, his mouth moving on Jay’s ear as he reaches down to cup his hands around the insides of Jay’s thighs, spreading them wider while Jay closes his eyes and gasps. “Let’s make that the plan. You can sit here like this for the rest of the day, keeping my dick warm. And I’ll return the favor,” he adds, licking Jay’s ear just once as he shifts his hand over to rest his palm against the bulge of Jay’s cock.

“Oh my god,” Jay says, deflating into the touch. His head falls back onto Mike’s shoulder as he gives himself over to this at last, legs parting even wider around the lewd spread of Mike’s. “Jesus, yuh, yeah, Mike--”

“Shh, don’t say my name like that yet. You’ll make me come.” 

“Fuck,” Jay says in a breathy whisper, and he turns his face in toward Mike’s neck, nudging his nose against Mike’s skin and sighing with a kind of full-body surrender that makes Mike want to bite him, softly. 

“Good, Jay,” Mike says, moving his fingers in a minute twitch around Jay’s straining dick. Jay gasps and does a full body flex, his hips lifting to chase the pressure that Mike is already denying him. Mike chuckles approvingly, his chest moving against Jay’s trembling back. “Now,” Mike says, reaching for the remote with his free hand and turning up the volume on whatever Night Court nonsense is going on. “Watch the show.” 

Jay whines and lifts his face to blink at the TV. He looks like he doesn’t know where he is. His cock is hot even through the flannel and rock hard in Mike’s loose grip, pulsing against Mike’s palm for every slight adjustment of Mike’s fingers or tiny increase in pressure. Mike gives him a few minutes to sink deeper into the teasing pleasure of this before he lifts his other hand and starts playing with Jay’s peaked nipples through his t-shirt, too. 

“Oh,” Jay says, pressing his chest out like a fucking slut. He’s so cute; Mike can’t help leaning in to chew gently on his earlobe. 

“Careful,” Mike says. “If you wiggle too much, I’ll come in my pants.” 

“Don’t give a shit,” Jay says, rubbing his ass on Mike’s cock until Mike can’t contain a filthy moan. “Just-- Keep, keep doing that, please?”

“This?” Mike says, digging one fat fingertip into Jay’s hard nipple until he hisses. “Or-- Maybe it’s better like this?”

He reaches up under Jay’s shirt, totally unhinged now and also no longer giving a shit if he comes in his pants like a kid for Jay’s squirming. Who cares! It’s the end of the world, again, and Jay is a mess in his lap, groaning in approval when Mike’s fingers find his nipples under his shirt and twist in harsh circles around one hard little bud, then the other.

“Such sweet little tits,” Mike says, whispering this into Jay’s ear like the soft mound of flesh in his grip is their secret. Jay still has relatively firm pecs, at least compared to Mike’s, but he’s just chubby enough in recent weeks for Mike to almost get a handful, Jay’s hard little nipple poking into the center of Mike’s palm as he rubs and squeezes.

“Don’t stop,” Jay says, humping Mike’s other hand, shameless already. “Oh, god--”

“Are you gonna come?” Mike asks, slobbering the question onto Jay’s ear. “Just for having your tits played with and rubbing your little cock on my hand?”

Jay makes a kind of growling noise, like he’s remembering his pride all of a sudden, and he goes still against Mike, panting. He opens his eyes and stares blearily at the TV while Mike brushes his thumb around one nipple, teasing. 

“I can feel how close you are,” Mike says, digging the heel of his palm in against Jay’s cock for just a second, making him shout. “Yeah, you’re throbbing, Jay. So desperate, jesus. Why’d you wait so long?”

“Because you’re an asshole,” Jay says, letting his head fall back onto Mike’s shoulder again, exposing his throat.

Mike guffaws and lightens his grip on Jay’s needy dick. Jay isn’t wrong there. Mike keeps playing with Jay’s nipples in too-soft brushes his fingertips under the pushed-up t-shirt while he stares at the TV, comprehending nothing that’s happening on screen. The Night Court people may as well be speaking an alien language. All Mike can process right now is the way Jay moans at the back of his throat and lets his head loll on Mike’s shoulder, his hips shifting up in needy little twitches that seem involuntary. 

“Mike,” Jay says after a while. He’s been gripping the arms of the chair as if for dear life, and disconnects one hand so he can reach back and slide it up into Mike’s hair, spreading his chest open even wider in the process. “Mike?” 


“Are, ah. Are you close, do you-- What do you want, can I--”

“Can you what, Jay?”

Jay whimpers, almost sobbing, and shakes his head, eyes pinched shut tight. He wrenches them open to attempt an angry glower at Mike, only managing to look pathetic. Mike kisses him on the nose in a sharp little peck. Jay blinks at him, breathing hard. 

“What do you want me to do?” Jay asks, for real sweet or faking it so he can get off. Mike will take either, right now. 

“Just keep my dick warm till the end of this episode,” Mike says, as if he’s not dying to come, too, his balls so full and pulled so tight that they hurt. He nudges his erection up against Jay’s ass. “Then maybe you can do something for me, and if you do it right, I’ll jerk you off.” 

Jay sighs and arches his back before deflating against Mike’s chest again and staring at the TV through half-lidded eyes. His nipples must be sore by now, but he doesn’t protest when Mike goes on pinching and rubbing at them, just whines softly when the pressure gets intense. 

“It does feel better than the chair,” Jay says, arching against Mike’s chest as if he wants to feel more of it. “You’re so squishy.” 

“Fucker,” Mike says, pinching one of his nipples extra hard.

Jay yelps and curls up a little against the pain, then laughs and flops against Mike again, grinning at the TV like he’s enjoying the aftershocks. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Jay says, lifting his hips hopefully. Mike moves his hand back a bit, not giving him any real friction there. “I-- I like it,” Jay says, breathless, like it’s been dragged out of him. “Your-- You. You’re my type, I think.” 

“Your type.” Mike tries not to hate the thought that Jay has ever been with anyone else, let alone other big guys with big cocks.

“Uh-huh,” Jay says, definitely trying to butter Mike up now, so he can get off. “Just-- Look, I’m not proud of it. I don’t have to like the fact that my dick gets hard for cocky assholes who tower over me. But I’m not gonna sit here, ah. On you. And deny it.” 

Mike licks Jay’s throat as a reward for that confession. Jay moans. He’s shaky now, his shoulders trembling against Mike’s pecs. 

“You’re my type, too,” Mike says. 

“Which is-- What?” Jay asks, muttering, like he’s not sure he wants to know.

Mike opens his mouth to describe it, but if he’s honest, there’s no one else like Jay, so he can’t really be a type. Jay isn’t pretty or twinky but he’s all glowy and strangely beautiful in some other way that’s hard to describe and which has little to do with his magical makeover years, though that was when most other people started to notice it. Mike saw it before then. Sometimes he feels like he’s the only one who did, and like he should be rewarded for his foresight.  

“I just like the way you look,” Mike says. “And you feel pretty good, too.” 

“So your type is a warm body who isn’t terribly ugly.”

“No.” Mike squeezes Jay’s cock hard, like a warning. Jay gasps and sort of flails, arching in a way that makes Mike want to sink his teeth into Jay’s pale throat, which smells like old man aftershave in a way that’s somehow extremely appealing right now. “That’s not what I said,” Mike says when Jay has calmed down a little, still breathing harshly. 

“Wh-- What, then--” 

“You-- Ugh, god, Jay, I don’t know! You’re one of a kind. You. That’s my type. Maybe it’s just because we’ve been locked up in here together for too long. Or working together for too long, or. Whatever. I want you. I’m gonna have you. Understand?”

“No?” Jay says, tilting his head to the side so he can meet Mike’s eyes. “What?”

“What are you saying no to?” Mike asks, shifting his hands to the insides of Jay’s thighs and spreading them apart even wider, making his grip tight. “You-- You’re not gonna let me have you? Or you don’t get it about why I want you, or what?”

“I barely know what’s happening right now,” Jay says, in a broken little voice that makes it impossible for Mike to not kiss him on the mouth.

Jay moans into it and grabs Mike’s face, anchoring him in place and opening for his tongue. He tastes like fig jam and beer, so perfect that Mike gives him an answering moan that comes out more like a whimper. 

Then some stupid, self-destructive thing in Mike whispers from the depths of hell like a demon that wants him dead:

What if you love him!

Mike pulls free from Jay’s hungry kissing and observes his eyes, which are near black with lust, pupils fat and pale green pushed out thin. 

“How’s this,” Mike says, petting Jay’s hot cheek and trying to pull himself back from the brink of that bullshit. “You get on your knees and suck my dick, and then I’ll take you to bed and give you what you need.”

“What I-- Need, I--”

“I know you don’t even know what that is, but I’m gonna show you.”

Mike gives Jay a prim kiss on the lips after saying so. Jay tries to chase the kiss, swooning forward and licking at Mike’s bottom lip, but Mike pushes him back. 

“Do as I say,” Mike says, letting his gaze drill into Jay’s until he feels like he’s already inside him. “And if you do me right, I’ll make you come so many times. Until you’re empty. Begging me to stop. Crying your little eyes out for how well I wrung you dry.”

“Jesus,” Jay says. He blinks a few times, slowly. “How are you good at this?”

“It’s called having a huge dick, Jay. Now get down on your knees and put it in your mouth.”

This is the moment of truth. Jay could either laugh at that line or have the core of his universe shaken by it. 

Fortunately, Jay’s dick is so hard that he seems to find this command legitimately hypnotic, and he keeps his wide-eyed gaze locked on Mike’s as he shimmies out of his arms and down between his legs, dropping onto his knees between them. When he’s peering up at Mike like he still needs direction, or permission, Mike groans and pets Jay’s sweet, suddenly trusting face, that love confession demon gnawing at his insides again. 

“Take me out,” Mike says, lifting his hips so Jay can grip the waistband of the sweatpants Mike is wearing. He chose these this morning hoping for the best but nowhere near expecting that something this good might happen. 

Jay gulps and pulls the waistband of the sweatpants down, freeing Mike’s cock. He exhales hotly as it’s unveiled, inch after inch, until the sweatpants slide down over Mike’s balls and then lower, past his thighs and finally his knees. They pool at his ankles, and Jay doesn’t take his eyes off of Mike’s dick the entire time, his eyes filled with fucking stars, basically. 

“Oh my god,” Jay says, sounding startlingly sober. He drags his gaze from Mike’s fat, leaking cockhead to his face, then down again. “Ah-- I can’t fit that in my mouth, Mike. I don’t think.” 

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Jay. Also, uh. I’ve been hard for like an hour. So. You could breathe on that monster and it’ll just go off all over you, probably.” 

“That monster?” Jay says, smirking. 

“It’s staring you right in the face, Jay. Am I exaggerating?”

“Well-- No.” Jay stares at Mike’s cock again, that smug grin draining off his face. He looks amazed, intimidated, excited and maybe a little scared. Like he’s about to get on a roller coaster that he’s not sure he’s actually tall enough to ride, taking his life into his hands just for the thrill of it. “Has anyone ever fit this in their mouth?” he asks, putting his hands on Mike’s knees and pushing them apart a bit wider, tentative. 

“Not the whole thing,” Mike says, regretfully. “But, uh. Like I said. You could, just-- Oh god, fuck, yes, like that--”

Mike throws his head back and groans for how good it feels to have Jay even lapping at him in delicate little licks, as if he’s testing the surface temperature of Mike’s cock to determine if it’s safe for his tongue. When Jay’s tongue slides upward and curls around his cockhead, cleaning away the precome that’s pooled there, Mike curses and has to hold his hands over his face, overwhelmed. If he looks down and watches, he’ll come, and he’s not ready for this to end, even after waiting an hour and in some ways all his life. He spreads his fingers and peeks down at Jay, whimpering for the thought that he’s never had this caliber of person put their mouth on his cock before. Jay is next level. Mike isn’t even sure why. He just knows it, feels it down to the base of his spine as his balls tighten and his orgasm crawls up through his bloodstream, making him feel boiling hot and tense all over as he holds it off, barely.

“That’s-- Yeah,” Mike says, groaning the word out when Jay wraps his hand around the base and mouths at the head again, sinking a little lower and opening wide, trying to get as much of Mike into his mouth as physically possible. “Oh god,” Mike says, touching Jay’s hair as he starts to bob his head.

And that’s what’s going to set Mike off, he realizes, too late-- Those soft strands of freshly washed hair threading between his fingers as Jay sucks him, a perfect combination of hot, wet pleasure on his cock and soft, stroking comfort under his palm. 

“Jay,” Mike grinds out, and that’s all the warning Jay gets before Mike is pulsing on his tongue, unloading into his mouth. 

Jay swallows it all, and keeps his lips wrapped around the head even after he’s sucked out the last drops from the oversensitive slit. He looks pleased with himself when Mike finally has to push at his forehead to get him to pull off. Jay’s face is a fucking mess, splotchy red, his mouth wet and swollen, but his eyes are full of smug accomplishment, which kind of makes no sense but doesn’t make Mike love him any less. If anything, everything Jay is doing is making Mike more doomed to admit things he doesn’t want to think about, eventually, maybe. 

“My turn?” Jay says, and it’s the sweet, pleading question in those two words that sends Mike out of the chair entirely. He pulls his pants up and crashes down onto Jay, crushing him to the dirty floor with an even dirtier kiss. 

Jay laughs into the kiss but winds his arms around Mike’s neck and lets it happen. He’s humping himself up against Mike’s gut, legs lifting around his sides, and he seems like to like being crushed, which is good. Mike wants to grind him into a fine powder, even after coming in his mouth. He also wants-- Other things, he finds, letting the kiss go on and on, until Jay is whining into his mouth and humping him less subtly. 

“You want to come right here?” Mike asks when he finally pulls back, pressing himself up onto his arms, which are shaky. “Or should I take you to bed and undo you properly?”

“Undo me?” Somehow this is what makes Jay finally scoff at him. “Mike, I don’t care, just-- Please, please, I need to come, so bad, it hurts--”

Mike is kind of moved by Jay’s confession that he’s in pain, also aroused, his spent cock twitching as he reaches down between Jay’s legs and starts rubbing him through the flannel pants.

Jay arches and moans, humping Mike’s hand wildly. Mike is going to do so many things to him. Everything, all of it-- He’s going to invent things to do to Jay and Jay is going to love it, he can tell, but right now he’s in need and Mike isn’t going to make him wait any longer. He sticks his hand inside the flannel pants and takes hold of Jay’s bare cock, giving him a long, squeezing pump.

“Fuck!” Jay screams, head thrown back and eyes leaking as he fucks Mike’s fist. “Mike!”

“I’m here-- God, you’re loud.”

Mike hopes Jay hears the approval in this. He suspects Jay doesn’t even know his own name right now, though. He’s spitting curses and flinging his hips up in wild thrusts, and when he finally starts to come he goes still with a long, low moan that makes the tension in him start to drain, slowly, while Mike pumps him through it, letting Jay’s cute little prick soak his hand with come.

Though on second thought, Mike is only assuming it’s cute, thus far. He releases Jay’s dick and tugs his flannel pants down, lifting Jay’s ass so they’ll slide down to his hips. Mike moans, his suspicions confirmed: Jay’s cock is on the thick side but barely long enough to peek out of Mike’s hand when it’s wrapped around him, drooling out the last of his orgasm onto his belly while Jay lolls on the floor, boneless, and lets Mike look at him. He has dark blond hair around his dick, neatly trimmed. Mike leans in to mouth at the insides of Jay’s perfectly thick little thighs while Jay whimpers, recovering. He tastes amazing, warm and clean but just dirtied up enough by what Mike’s done to him, and he smells even better. 

“Mike,” Jay says, beckoning him upward. 

“Hmm?” Mike abandons the soft skin inside Jay’s thighs, fully intending to do more to it later. He leans up over Jay and brings his face in close, rubbing his nose against Jay’s. “You okay?” he asks, not sure what to do with the lost, searching look on Jay’s face. 

“I don’t know.” Jay sniffles and tilts his chin up so he can observe a laugh track moment on Night Court from upside down on the floor. “I still feel, mph. It’s been a while, Mike.”

“A while since what.”

“Since, uhh. I spent all day getting my brains fucked out.”

“Oh.” Mike grins and pushes Jay’s shirt up, finds a nipple and twists gently. Jay makes a soft noise and stares up at him, lashes fluttering, face still red. “Is that what we’re doing today?”

“Yes, god. Anything but more Night Court, please. Turn that shit off and take me to bed, you fuck.”

Mike wants to kiss him again, but he resists the temptation, because he wants to pick Jay up off the floor like a ragdoll even more. He pulls Jay’s pants back up and puts his hands under Jay’s arms, gathering him in close to his chest and coming into a squat before lifting him off the floor entirely, glad Jay is clinging to him in a way that means he can’t see Mike wince at the surprisingly significant weight of him. Or maybe Mike is just out of shape, but he manages to carry Jay into the bedroom without groaning or anything, at least.

“Oh shit,” Mike says when they get there and he sees the bare mattress and comforter, the sheets still down in the laundry machine. 

“Hmm?” Jay is still all sleepy and pliant, turning to look at the bed while Mike holds him, his hands clamped under Jay’s encircling legs. “Oh, right.” Jay wraps his arms around Mike’s neck a little tighter. “Guess we have to go back down, um. And put that stuff in the dryer.”

“No, I’ll go,” Mike says, wanting to continue feeling like a big man, even as his arms start to shake and tire. “Here,” he says, shifting one hand under Jay’s ass and reaching down to spread the comforter over Plinkett’s gross mattress. Once it’s covered, he sets Jay down upon it. “Be right back,” he says, ignoring the stab of pain in the small of his back when he straightens up again. He puffs out his chest and tries to look as impressive as possible while Jay gazes up at him with something like wonder. 

“Really?” Jay says, shuffling on the comforter. “You don’t need me to hold the flashlight?”

“Nah, it’s not like I’ll have all the bedsheets in my arms. I just have to transfer them to the dryer. Don’t worry, Jay. The ghost down there likes me.” He touches the back of his neck, thinking of that cold cobweb feeling from before and shivering a little for the memory. 

“Okay,” Jay says, looking nervous, like he’s not sure Mike can handle himself down there alone. “Don’t be long,” he adds, stretching out on his side and rubbing the empty place on the comforter beside him. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” Mike says, blurting this without meaning to, as if someone kicked him from behind and it fell out of his mouth against his will. 

Jay snorts. Mike blushes and hurries out of the room. 

Mike is so flustered and out of sorts that he almost forgets the goddamn flashlight, but one look down into the lightless abyss that is Plinkett’s basement sends him turning back to get it. His heart is beating fast as soon as the stairs creak under his weight, and the flashlight beam shakes a little as he illuminates the path ahead. This shakiness is not entirely due to fear of the unknown or venturing into it without Jay and his sarcastic remarks at his side. He’s more freaked out by what’s happening upstairs than by what might be waiting for him down here, suddenly. 

He tells himself to stop overthinking it and makes his way quickly across the basement, setting the flashlight on top of the dryer as he pulls the damp sheets out of the washer. He stuffs everything into the dryer and starts it up, and he’s not sure if his mind is playing tricks on him, but as soon as the dryer clangs nosily to life he swears he can feels something pass swiftly behind him in the darkness, silent and close enough for him to feel the cool air displaced against the back of his neck, sending goosebumps racing down his arms as he wheels around to flick the flashlight’s beam about haphazardly, his hand shaking hard now. 

“Someone there?” he asks, though he knows you shouldn’t talk to ghosts if you don’t want to risk them getting attached to you once they know they have your attention. 

There’s no response, but something dark and damp closes around Mike as he tries to break for the stairs, making the basement seem to stretch around him like a nightmare, and he starts to hear voices at the back of his mind. 

He’s a heartbreaker and a loner and you can’t have him the way you want.

He’d never lower himself to getting off like this if you weren’t the last man on Earth.

When things go back to normal he’ll pretend this never happened.

He’ll laugh about it with his friends.

You’re a joke!

Mike grits his teeth and shakes his head hard, banishing the bad spirits and telling them without speaking that he doesn’t care about their bullshit. 

But he does care, a little, because evil echoes of those voices follow him all the way up the stairs, and even slamming the door against them doesn’t erase what they said. 

He looks down at the flashlight in his hand and clicks the beam off, blinking around at Plinkett’s trashed living room. It’s about four o’clock in the afternoon, somehow, the light outside not quite dimming toward sundown but duller than it was earlier. Maybe there will be a thunderstorm or something. Maybe they’ll lose power. Mike goes over to the green chair and takes two big gulps from the whiskey bottle before heading to the bedroom to face Jay.

Maybe the ghosts down there have a point. He’s got to be cooler about this, just in case. He can’t go off saying Jay is cute or kissing him too much. 

Maybe just a little kissing. A strategic amount. 

As soon as he steps toward the doorway he knows his new plan is fucked. Jay is lying on his side with a worried look on his face. He’s stripped off the come-crusted flannel pants and is wearing only the oversized black t-shirt that just barely covers his dick. His thighs spill open when he rolls onto his back upon Mike’s entrance, coming up onto his elbows, hair still messed up from Mike stroking it during that blow job. 

“Everything okay?” Jay asks, and something in his voice, nervous and sweet, like he really cares, makes it so. 

“Yep,” Mike says. “I have to show you something.”

“You do? Okay.”

Mike goes over to the bedside drawer and pulls it open, revealing what he found a few days ago. 

“Plinkett’s lube?” Jay says, recoiling in horror. “Ew, don’t-- Put that down! God knows where it’s been.”

“We know where it’s been, Jay. But here’s the thing. If you want me to fuck you, I’m gonna have to use this. I’m not using spit or some other nasty thing in this place that’s oily and has therefore probably also been involved in sex with Plinkett at some point. So what do you think. Are you willing to get nasty with me?”

Jay sighs and drops down onto his back, moving his hands to the hem of the t-shirt to tug it down a little, fruitlessly. He’s getting hard again, his growing erection pulling the shirt up to expose his balls and the sweet insides of his thighs, where Mike wants to leave teeth marks.

“I guess if it’s the end of the world,” Jay says. “What’s left to lose? Yeah, fuck me with Plinkett’s lube. I’ll survive.” 

“Wait,” Mike says, feeling those voices from the basement rising up through the floorboards. “I, uh. Are you saying you’re only letting me fuck you ‘cause the world’s ending? ‘Cause it’s not really ending, Jay. You know it’s going to reset, like always. And we’ll both still be here, and at the shop. So if you-- You shouldn’t do this, if you won’t be able to live with yourself when it’s over.” 

“Mike. I was talking about that lube having been involved in sex acts featuring Plinkett. And now featuring us. That’s all.”

“That’s all, huh.” 

“Yes!” Jay squirms and whines a little bit, digging his heels into the comforter. “Mike, please? No take backs, you can’t-- Say what you said and then not give it to me. That’s evil.”

Mike feels the grin on his face forming without his permission. He can’t suppress it, though. He sets the lube on the bedside table and pushes his sweatpants down, stepping out of them along with his slippers. 

“You want this?” Mike asks, reaching for his cock as it starts to harden. He pushes his t-shirt out of the way and lets Jay stare. 

“Yeah,” Jay says. He reaches down to touch himself in the same idle way that Mike is stroking his shaft, showing off as it fills again. “God, just. How big are you? Is that ten inches?”

“I’ve never measured it,” Mike says, a lie. It’s more like eight and three quarters. The uncommon thickness goes a long way toward making people’s eyes bulge out and, in some cases, mouths water. 

“Lemme have it,” Jay says, giving Mike a meek look and moving toward the wall to make room for him in the bed. “And everything else, too.”

“Everything else?”

“Take your shirt off.”

“You first,” Mike says, but he’s already obeying.

“I don’t like being naked,” Jay says. 

“Oh, but you expect me to be?”

Mike sheds his shirt and tosses it aside, blushing. He’s-- He has a certain physique. He’s gotten good feedback on it in the past, from people who go for his type. But Jay is all weird about this shit. He has hang-ups about his own body, clearly. For a couple of years there Mike thought he’d lost Jay to calorie counting and four beers a month forever.

“Here,” Mike says, climbing into the bed and scooting over toward Jay, feeling hot all over and overly squishy. “If you don’t like being naked, I’ll cover you. You can wear me like armor.”

“Who else is going to see my nudity but you?” Jay asks. His brow is pinched but he’s grinning a little, too. “The ghosts?”

“Why in the fuck would you worry about what I think of you?” 

“Uhh,” Jay says. “It’s not that simple.” 

“Fine, just. Roll onto your stomach and let me eat your ass, in that case.”

“Oh my god!” Jay snickers like a nervous kid, his face turning red. “Really?” he adds, blinking rapidly.

“Uh, yeah, really. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“About eating ass? My ass?”

Mike snorts and Jay laughs hard, covering his face with his hands. 

But then he rolls onto his belly and peeks back over his shoulder at Mike like: yes, please.

Mike knows it’s weird to have assumed someone’s ass would taste good, but in Jay’s case he did, and it does. It’s just clean skin and sweat, but it’s Jay’s most secret skin and Jay’s sacred ass crack sweat, so Mike is in heaven, on his belly between Jay’s twitching legs, holding Jay’s ass cheeks apart and lapping at him, licking into him, driving him crazy. Jay is cursing and squirming, rolling his hips to rub his cock against the mattress. Mike was wrong about one thing: Jay is not quiet, and never really tried to be. 

“God, Plinkett would be so jealous,” Mike says at one point, to keep himself from coming, because he’s been fucking the mattress, too, and has been at it with Jay’s ass for a while. “If he saw what I was doing now, to you, in his bed-- Jesus! He’d bring the wrath of Xandu down on me, hard.”

“Can you bring the, the wrath of your cock down on me now please?” Jay says, turning his cheek on the mattress, breathless. “Hard?”

“Yes, sir, I can,” Mike says, rolling Jay onto his back. “You’re gonna do something for me first, though.”

“Oh-- Fine,” Jay says, and he yanks his t-shirt off. He tosses it aside and reclines underneath Mike, staring up at him with an expression that’s petulant at first, then more like shy. 

Mike wasn’t going to ask for that but is incredibly touched. He skims his hand down over Jay’s pale, soft chest and belly, moaning. Jay has more chest hair than Mike expected, but it’s kind of patchy, dark blond, and somehow makes him look more vulnerable than a bare chest would, Mike thinks, sitting back to admire him. 

“You’re supposed to cover me like armor,” Jay says, bright-cheeked.

“I could,” Mike says, lowering himself onto Jay without depositing his full weight. “But what I was going to ask, actually, is for you to show me how you open yourself up. I, um. I’m not an anal sex expert, Jay. And you’re small. And I’m-- Not.”

Jay wrinkles his nose and reaches for the lube. 

“Move, then,” he says, nudging Mike’s side with his knee. “I’ll do it, you-- You can watch.”

“You can put your shirt back on,” Mike says, feeling bad. “If you want?”

“Jesus, I’m not that insecure. Sit at the end of the bed. No touching me until I say you can.” 

Mike moans under his breath, his cock leaking out some pre-come for those instructions alone. He secretly loves being bossed around in bed. Jay will figure this out soon. 

Jay turns onto all fours, pointing his ass in Mike’s direction and looking back over his shoulder to check Mike’s location before squirting some lube onto his fingers. His face is blazing. Mike’s dick is so hard. He can’t touch himself, either, while enjoying the show, or he’ll risk going off too soon. He wants to last so long, once he’s in Jay. He wants to fucking live inside him, now that he’s had a taste of that sweet little hole, and this is doubly true as he watches Jay pressing one finger into himself with a grunt, his head lowered to the mattress. Mike hears himself whine.

“God,” Mike says. “Fuck yeah. Get that ass ready for me, Jay, yeahh. Like that, that’s so-- Take your time. Jesus, you’re so tiny.” 

“I can’t decide if I want you to shut up or not,” Jay says, and he laughs under his breath, then moans when he pushes another finger inside, his hole clenching up around both as they sink in deep. 

“I don’t think I can shut up,” Mike says, feeling like he might cry for how hot this is. His dick is weeping, anyway, fat globs of pre-come beading along the slit and dripping down his shaft. “Jesus, fuck, Jay. Do you like that? Do you do this to yourself, ah. In the shower?”

“Sometimes,” Jay says, his voice muffled. He must have found a good spot, because his shoulders jerk a little, his thighs start shivering, and he moans. “Oh fuck,” he says, whispering this under his breath like he hopes to hide how good he’s feeling from Mike, for now. 

“Yeah?” Mike says, his hands clutching at the comforter so he won’t grab his dick, or Jay’s hips. “Feeling good? You like that?”

“Nngh, Mike. I-- I can’t decide if, ah. If you’re good at dirty talk, or, like, the worst.” 

“Can’t it be both? Shouldn’t it be both? When you really think about it?”

Jay snickers and fucks his fingers in faster, moans again.  

“Let’s put it this way,” Mike says. “Have you ever been with someone who was better at dirty talk than me?”

Jay sighs. 

“No,” he admits. “Not really. Not even close, ah--”

“Not even Plinkett?”

“Eugh, no, I was never with him, like, in bed--” 

“Why’d you fake it? For me? To make me run after you and call my own bluff?”

“I’m not answering that while you watch me finger myself, suh-- so.” 

Mike takes that as a yes and clamps his lips shut, smiling.

“I want to touch you,” Mike says, watching Jay start to really give it to himself with two fingers, a third rubbing around his rim like he’s considering it but not ready to pause the friction he’s already got going, his hips starting to rock back into it as his breathing gets choppy. 

“You,” Jay says, stopping there as if he’s considering it. “You can’t. Not yet, nnh. Muh, Mike?”


“Can I tell you something?” 

“Yes, god, tell me everything. At once!”

Jay laughs, high pitched and kind of crazy, and lifts his head off the mattress to peek around his arm, at Mike. 

“I haven’t, hah. Had a lot of people, um. Like this.”

“Like-- This?”

“Like, up my ass! Suh, so. Um, just. Watch, like. This is the most I’ve been, stretched in, in a while--”

Jay grunts and extracts his fingers with a groan, only to add more lube and then slide two back in, struggling to wiggle a third in alongside them. He manages it after a few tries, with a hiss that makes Mike jerk toward him as if he needs to be rescued from this, or something. 

“Oh fuck,” Jay says, differently from before, his hips going still as he sinks the third finger in deeper. His rim is dark pink now, stretched and puffy, and Mike swallows a whimper for the thought of what it would look like after a real pounding from his cock, which is about the thickness of four of Jay’s fingers. Maybe four and a half.

“You okay?” Mike asks. “Need to stop?”

“Nuh, no-- I mean, ah. I’m okay. I want, want to stop, my arm’s tired, but. I want you, I-- Want you, instead, okay? Please?”

“Okay. Can I touch you now?”

“Yes, fuck, please, just-- Take over.” Jay extracts his fingers with a groan and flops over onto his side. He’s all sweaty, his temples glistening and his back slick. “I’m so tired of doing this myself,” he says. 

“Sorry,” Mike says, crawling up to stretch out alongside him. 

“It’s not your fault.” Jay grins at him and grunts, moving his face away when Mike tries for a kiss on the lips. “None of that, now,” he says, pushing Mike’s face back with his hand. “You ate my ass, sir.” 

“Oh, right.”

They both dissolve into sputtering, nervous laughter that goes on for a while. Mike strokes Jay’s sweaty side and Jay rubs his hand through Mike’s chest hair like he’s mesmerized by it. 

“So,” Mike says. “I don’t think you’re ready for my dick, honestly.”

“Make me ready, then,” Jay says, scooting closer. He moans and presses his face between Mike’s pecs, rubbing it there like he’s in heaven. His beard is not as soft as the hair on his head, but it’s not as scratchy as Mike had assumed either. “Do it, please?” Jay says, rolling half onto his belly and angling his ass up a little. “Your fingers will, um. Be better, I think.”

“I mean,” Mike says, reaching down to grip one of Jay’s ass cheeks, squeezing. “I can try, but. We may have to work up to this over a period of days.”

“Fuck that,” Jay says, lifting his face and giving Mike a legitimately angry look. “I want it now.”

“What if it hurts!”

“Ah, I dunno, I’ll deal with it. We’ll go slow.”

“You want me in you that bad?” Mike says, genuinely astonished. 

Jay’s face somehow gets redder. He presses his lips together and huffs through his nose, then grabs Mike’s wrist and pushes Mike’s hand in between his ass cheeks. Mike moans when his fingertips brush against Jay’s worked open hole. He feels soft there, too, raw and sensitive. 

“Mike,” Jay says, his jaw tight. “You rubbed your cock against my ass crack for like an hour out there in the living room, and ate me out for-- God, I don’t even know how long, and now I’m just-- Gonna fuckin’ die if I can’t get you inside me soon, like, literally I will explode and it will be your fault.”

“Kay,” Mike says, and he sinks one fingertip into Jay, watching the way Jay’s face changes for the feeling, the angry determination in his eyes draining away to satisfaction.

“Yeah,” Jay says, tucking his head in under Mike’s chin, his whole body relaxing into the feeling as Mike’s finger presses in deeper. “Oh, fuck, yeah, don’t stop--”

Mike doesn’t stop, but he takes it slow. Jay’s body is like a furnace, inside and out, his sweaty skin plastered to Mike as he rolls his hips back and squeezes up around Mike’s fingers, drooling all over his collarbone. Mike is blissed as fuck and could do this forever, though his cock is also starting to hurt from needing some kind of release. He’s still not sure if he feels okay with the idea of putting it inside Jay, who feels so tight, even after Mike has been working two fat fingers in and out of him for a while, picking up speed as Jay loses it and starts really fucking himself back against them.

“I’m ready,” Jay says, clawing at Mike’s shoulder, his eyes so lust-blown that Mike isn’t sure he even remembers that he’s never had a cock as big as Mike’s. He looks like a hungry, heedless demon, and he kisses Mike on the mouth, gnawing on his bottom lip and apparently forgetting, or no longer caring, where Mike’s mouth has been. “Do it,” Jay says, reaching back to grab Mike’s wrist and still his fingers before easing them out. “Your dick,” he adds, as if Mike doesn’t know what he’s asking for. “Please, Mike, please--”

“Okay, okay.” Mike rolls Jay onto his back, handling him gently even as his dick stands up like a fucking battering ram, heavy and harder than he’s maybe ever been, feeling kind of weapon-ish as he looms over Jay, who pulls his legs up against his chest like he’s never given less of a fuck about being naked and fully exposed. The flush on Jay’s face has spread all the way down his throat, and his nipples are bright red, rubbed raw against the bed and Mike’s skin while he writhed around on Mike’s mouth, then on his fingers. 

Mike coats his cock in lube, no longer giving half a shit about its history with Plinkett. Jay whines and arches his back, panting like Mike is killing him by not fucking him. 

It’s slow going even getting the head of Mike’s cock to pop inside, and Mike can see on Jay’s face that he’s trying not to show Mike how much it hurts, or at least how it intense it feels.

“I can--” Mike starts to say, frozen, and Jay kind of growls, grabbing Mike’s arms and digging his fingernails in. 

“You can,” Jay says, nodding, his mouth all wet and bitten. “Fuck, you’d better-- Just-- Deeper, please.”

“You’re so weird,” Mike says, whispering, and then he feels bad for this comment. 

Jay doesn’t seem to have noticed, anyway. His eyes are closed and his mouth is pressed shut, harsh breaths coming in puffs through his nose. He’s still holding Mike’s arms, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

Mike is so focused on Jay’s reactions that he’s halfway in before he feels a moan building at the base of his gut and traveling up roughly, leaving his lips in a thunderous volume that he’s afraid will frighten Jay, who just laughs in a sniff before wincing again. 

Mike uses shallow, barely thrusting motions to work himself all the way in, and he groans when he gets there, dipping his head down to Jay’s chest. He feels Jay hiccup, against his forehead and around his cock, his whole body jumping with it. Mike lifts his head.

“Something weird is going to happen now,” Jay says, his eyes closed, voice very tight. “Just, juh, just let me--”

He sobs then and pulls his fists up to his eyes, chewing his lips to try to stop crying.

“Oh shit,” Mike says, starting to pull out.

“No!” Jay says in a broken voice, throwing his head back and forth on the pillow. “It’s-- S’okay, ah god, it’s okay.” He’s still sobbing between words, and Mike is horrified, feeling like he’s done something wrong and also because that sobbing makes Jay’s ass squeeze up in a way that feels incredible on his dick, which is evil. “This, this always happens,” Jay says, sniffling and blinking up at him. “It’s not, like, related to anything, ah, not even how, how big you are-- It happens with everyone, even. The girl, ugh. So. Sorry.”

“What--” Mike says, feeling like he might start crying himself as Jay’s subsides, a few more tears sliding from the corners of Jay’s eyes and down toward his ears as Mike pets his face. “I don’t understand--”

“Neither do I.” Jay groans and sniffles again, letting Mike wipe his tears for him. He blinks up at Mike, looking fully wrecked but calm, too, somehow. “I sh, should have warned you. I dunno. Doesn’t matter if I’m the one on, ah, on top, or bottom, just. It’s why I never, like. Do this, hardly. I don’t know. It’s a lot. Being like this, with someone, wh-- With you, ah. I wasn’t sure it would happen, with you.”

“‘Cause I’m just a fuck buddy?” Mike says, still stroking Jay’s face. 

“No, god.” Jay moans and clenches up around Mike’s cock, gasps. His eyes sink shut and his eyebrows go up a bit, as if he just heard some fascinating bit of horror film history, like he’s surprised and a little delighted. He blinks his eyes open again and sighs when Mike leans in to nuzzle his cheek. “With you-- Ah. I wasn’t sure it would happen with you, ‘cause I always thought it was about me getting freaked out, um. Because it’s a trust thing. And I’ve never done this with anyone I trust as much as you.”

“You-- What?”

“I know it makes no sense!” Jay sniffles and punches Mike’s shoulders, weakly. “And I know what I said earlier about not believing anything you say, but. I dunno. You’re my main person, whatever we are. And that’s been true for a long time, so. I’m sorry I’m so weird.” 

“I love that you’re weird, but. Am I hurting you right now?”

“It’s intense, but it’s not pain, exactly. Just. C’mere, for a sec.”

Jay puts his arms around Mike’s neck and holds him close, taking big, shuddering breaths underneath him while he gets used to the feeling of Mike inside him. Mike is fine with this plan, his face pressed to the place on Jay’s throat where his pulse is hammering. Jay’s skin tastes salty when Mike gives him a tiny lick. Mike is still freaked out by that crying jag, but if it really happens every time Jay fucks someone, it explains why he’s so reluctant to show anyone that side of himself.

By the time they’re both ready for some shallow, gentle thrusting, there’s no hope of either of them lasting long. They’ve teased each other close to orgasm without meaning to, Mike by crushing Jay under the enormous pressure he’s apparently into and Jay by being insanely tight around Mike’s cock, his ass twitching in little pulses that were getting Mike close even before he was moving. 

“That actually feels so good,” Jay says after Mike’s first easy, gliding thrust, as if Mike couldn’t tell he’d liked that from the way he moaned for it. 

“God, yes,” Mike says, nipping at Jay’s jaw. “Want to make you feel good, just--”

“Do that-- Again, yeah, oh-- Like that-- Ahhhh, yeah, there!”

And then there’s maybe thirty seconds of frantic fucking, their teeth clicking together when Mike attempts to make it a kissing thing, too. Mike comes when Jay throws his head back, groaning from what sounds like the depths of his soul, and starts slamming his hips up to meet Mike’s increasingly unhinged thrusts, trying to get more of Mike right there, hard, in that good spot. 

“Oh fuck,” Jay says when Mike is returning to himself, the aftershocks of his orgasm still racing from his shoulders and down along both sides of his spine in twin jolts, finally throbbing right into his balls as he pumps his hips weakly, emptying the last drops into Jay.

“Shit, sorry,” Mike says, not even sure what he’s apologizing for as he comes up onto his elbows, shaky, to nose at Jay’s cheek. He feels Jay’s erection poking into his gut and realizes that’s he’s saying he’s sorry for coming first, though there was probably no way Jay was going to come while Mike was inside him for the first time. “Gonna suck your dick now,” Mike says, whispering this against Jay’s panting mouth. “Kay?”

“Yes, please,” Jay says, in a tiny voice that makes Mike’s heart ache. 

Mike pulls out with extra care and slides down Jay’s sweat soaked body, licking at him here and there on the way. He takes Jay’s straining dick into his mouth and almost laughs around it when Jay shouts and pulls Mike’s hair hard, coming as soon as he’s got Mike’s lips closed around the base of his shaft. He fits in, all the way, and Mike might be losing his mind, but he thinks Jay’s come tastes kind of like beer, which is just another thing that makes him a miracle. 

They slump together, breathing the same air in the tiny space between their faces, peering at each other occasionally but mostly lying there with their eyes closed. Mike feels like the room is spinning, but he isn’t drunk. He’s very hot, and in love, so pretending the latter isn’t happening is over. Jay cries spontaneously during sex? What the fuck? He’s amazing. 

When he’s slightly less overheated, Mike curls his arm around Jay’s shoulders and pulls him closer. Jay cuddles up to Mike’s chest like he’d been waiting for permission, hooking his leg around Mike’s side. It’s a possessive gesture, Mike thinks, and he smiles into Jay’s hair.

“Before you ask,” Jay says, mumbling and sounding sleepy. “Because everyone does-- I don’t have some secret trauma. It just happens.”

“Can I say something weird?” Mike asks. 

“Oh god. What.”

“I loved it, Jay.”

“Of course you did! Asshole.” Jay pulls back to kiss Mike’s chin. “I knew you’d love seeing me make a fool of myself.”

“A fool-- No. It’s like all your suppressed emotional shit comes out, finally--”

“Ah, here we go.”

“--Because you can’t deny you’re close to someone when it’s physical, or something.”

“No. Stop. You will not psychoanalyze me after we fuck, ever. I forbid it.”

“Mhmm, okay, sorry.” 

Mike strokes his hand through Jay’s hair and drifts off to sleep for a while. When he wakes up it’s dark out and he’s starving. Jay is asleep with his fist curled over his mouth, his lips parted slightly against his knuckles.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Mike says again, whispering it this time. 

Jay makes a little mph noise in his sleep, as if he needs to subconsciously protest this classification once again. Mike kisses his forehead and scoots out of bed to put on clothes and fetch the sheets from the basement dryer, no longer afraid of whatever’s hiding in the dark down there.