Work Text:
Mike did as Michael had asked during their last encounter - he certainly didn't keep the Afton waiting for long.
It almost felt like the silly games he'd played as a high schooler - if you call a girl too soon after getting her attention, you're desperate and she's never going to want you. If you wait too long, she'll be mad that you took all that time.
Though he supposed it was probably a little different between two grown men who had possibly the most atypical lives of anyone in a 100 mile radius.
Just when Mike thought his life couldn't get any weirder, something always just had to happen. Like suddenly being lust-drunk for the son of his greatest enemy and the brother of his ex…friend? Situationship? Who knew. Maybe not as weird as walking, talking animatronics or ghost children, but it was certainly up there for him.
He was surprised that Michael still made him this anxious just to place a call, but then again, it hadn't been that long since this whole thing had started, really. It just felt like eons had passed in the two times they'd spent tangled up with each other.
Mike tapped his fingers along the wall as he waited for Michael to pick up, mentally rehearsing what he wanted to say.
Click.
"Hello again, Mike."
Mike chuckled. "Still unnerving."
"And who would I be if I wasn't unnerving." Michael sounded better than the last time Mike had called him. Still not friendly, no, but definitely not as frigid as before. Michael didn't really ever sound friendly. He was either the man carrying on his father's legacy, or the man in Mike's bedroom with the mussed hair and ravenous eyes. There was no in between, it seemed. At least, not that he'd shown Mike. Mike had wondered a couple times what it took to get Michael to show an in between - some emotion between the chilly, aloof part and the desperate, lustful part.
Mike made some noise of acknowledgement and then continued on, "I was just, uh, wondering if you were free today?"
"…I have work," Michael replied, with the faintest trace of regret in his voice.
"You work?" Mike tried to imagine Michael working a 9-5, but it simply boggled the imagination. It would have been easier to imagine himself becoming William Afton.
"Yes, Mike, I work. Number one, I need to make money, in case you'd forgotten how an economy worked, and number two, someone has to keep an eye on Freddy's, even now." Michael sounded sarcastic, but lacked the usual bite behind his words, and Mike could feel it.
"Wait, Freddy's? It got demolished."
"The one you worked at did. The first one still stands. The one everyone always forgets about. I still work there. At least until the day when the higher ups discover the missing animatronics. Or they figure out who I really am."
The restaurant the Marionette came from, the one Michael had used to his destructive advantage, Mike thought briefly - another reminder of the dark past that stood between him and Michael. A chasm that they were bridging with toothpicks.
"Oh. Right. Well, maybe another day then." Mike felt discouraged. He didn't think Michael was trying to intentionally deflect, but it was still a setback after Mike had finally properly called and managed an entire conversation.
There was a breath, a sigh, and then Michael said into the phone, "I mean, no one ever comes into Freddy's anymore. It's not like there's really much to my job."
"Okay…?" Mike replied, confused as to why Michael was elaborating.
"Are you dense." It was more a statement than a question.
"What? No!" Mike squawked with indignation.
He could practically feel Michael grinding his teeth together. "No one would notice if I had someone over. Is what I was telling you, Mike."
"Oh," Mike said, embarrassment flooding him. Maybe he was a little dense. "At Freddy's, though?" It wasn't exactly the site of the best memories for either of them.
"Take it or leave it."
Mike chewed on his lip, rolling his eyes. "You're very good at coercing me into bad decisions, did you know that, Michael?"
Michael's smirk was audible. "You know I do my best. Come whenever. I'm there most of the day." And with that the line went dead.
Asshole, doesn't like people hanging up on him so he decides to do it first, Mike grumbled to himself. He couldn't bring himself to be too mad.
As he passed the mirror near the front door, he found himself pausing to straighten the collar of his flannel and run a hand through his hair, trying to push some of the unruly curls into order. It was a losing battle, and Mike scowled at his reflection. Preening like a bird. What had he come to?
It occurred to Mike, as he made his way across the broken asphalt parking lot, that this was only the second time he and Michael were meeting in the daylight, after the brief encounter where Mike had…entered Michael's house for totally legitimate reasons. Even the first time they'd met, that fateful day when everything had almost come crashing down around Mike's feet, it had been during the dusky hours of the day. Mike was almost perplexed to find out that Michael didn't just…hibernate during the day, or something. When did the man find time to sleep?
He felt his mouth growing dry as he approached the front of the building, remembering everything that had occurred here. His heart-stopping time at the computer, trying to fend off the withered prototypes while simultaneously gathering the info to save the people in the town and Abby with them. His slip in the water, with that freaky little boy animatronic following him.
Being here with Vanessa, trusting her, believing her. That hurt most of all.
Mike almost wanted to turn around, and leave it all behind him. But he'd wished that countless times before when it came to Michael, and he knew that resisting was futile. The bandage wrapped tight around his arm, and the others that littered his torso and shoulder reminded him of that.
When he tried the doors, they were unlocked, so he simply slipped inside, wincing as the hinges creaked loudly. No clambering through storage room windows for him today.
The pizzeria looked exactly as he remembered, a thick layer of dust coating everything, toy boats overturned in what little stagnant water remained.
"Michael?" Mike called out hesitantly. He felt almost loath to disturb the peace of this place, previously home to a slumbering evil. His next step crunched through broken glass and he swore, raising his foot to inspect if it had embedded itself in his shoe and supporting himself against a doorway.
When he looked up again, all he saw was a sudden flash of red towards him and a face that made his brain scream Foxy!
Mike yelped and stumbled backwards, almost falling straight onto the pizzeria floor. A pale hand reached out and caught his wrist, pulling him back upright.
"Careful, Mike, this place plays tricks on your mind," Michael grinned, and Mike was embarrassed to realize that Michael's other hand was holding a Foxy plushie that didn't even look anything like its real counterpart. The taller man tossed the toy away before hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, resting one hand on the flashlight hanging at his hip.
Mike didn't think it was as funny as Michael did. "You are such an asshole."
It seemed Michael wasn't entirely over his ego, because for a moment his nostrils flared, but he seemed to be able to force it down. "Careful there, Mike."
It was Mike's turn to smirk lazily, irritation fading at the chance to gripe at Michael. "Or what, you'll hit me? I can give as good as I get."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode towards the center of the pizzeria. This was his own petty payback for the jumpscare, though whether or not it was a good idea was another issue.
When he turned back, Michael was staring after him, a curious expression on his face.
"Coming?" Mike asked, raising his eyebrows.
Michael recovered quickly. "No, I thought you might want to look around the place all by yourself," he sniped back.
"I'd like to avoid taking the route through the tunnel of doom and trash water, if that's possible," Mike told him as the other came to join him.
"Was that the way Vanessa took you?"
Mike's face twitched at the mention of Vanessa. "Yeah."
"There's a much better way when everything is calm. This way."
He led Mike through the dilapidated ruins, past old tablecloths rotting away on broken-down tables, and debris from various sources everywhere. Mike stepped gingerly, trying to avoid any more broken glass. Michael seemed much more subdued this time around, lacking the frenzied mania that had characterized him in Mike's mind. Maybe it was because he was in his natural habitat.
Michael sighed when he turned back and realized Mike was a few paces behind him, partly due to care and partly due to losing himself in his thoughts. "Don't be a coward. Nothing is going to bite you."
His words spurred Michael into hopping a few steps closer before grabbing Michael's shirt collar, gentle enough to make it clear that it was a joke before he mimicked Michael's best disdainful voice and echoed Michael's own words. "Don't talk to me like that."
Michael didn't respond with the banter Mike had thought he would, instead just staring, frozen, for a brief second, before pulling himself free. "Come on."
Mike frowned at his back. Had he crossed a line? It was so difficult to tell with this man, what was too much and what was not enough. "…I was just messing around, promise."
"I know," Michael said stiffly. Uh oh.
Mike caught up to the other, keeping pace and trying to get a glimpse of what was going on behind Michael's eyes. Before Michael turned his face away slightly, Mike could have sworn he caught the hint of something deep and raw within them.
Michael tilted his head back and gave Mike a smile that was clearly forced. "How are you enjoying your animatronic-free tour of Freddy's?"
"Much better without the machines, that's for sure," Mike replied, glad for the topic change.
"You should have seen it in its prime. Everything was so bright. There were always kids here, and the animatronics…they were the best part." Michael's eyes held a spark as if he'd caught some small glimmer of light from the past. "Nothing like what they are now. Shiny and new, and so interactive it felt like magic. I used to come here all the time, naturally, since this was Father's life." Mike wanted to understand what Michael was thinking right now, to see what made him light up like this. Michael sensed Mike's scrutiny and seemed to catch himself again. "…it was nice."
"I bet I would have liked it as a kid," Mike conceded, looking around and trying to see the room as it would have been when he was younger. He could almost hear the laughter that would have been here and see the light reflecting off of the freshly waxed stage. Grudgingly, he admitted that he would have loved to be here.
But Michael drew him away before too long, and the walk through the hallways was less interesting, just peeling wallpaper and fallen posters. As they traveled past the few arcade machines, Mike almost felt like his heart was trying to crawl out of his throat with the painful familiarity. The panic he'd been experiencing during his last visit almost felt like it had tainted this place.
Mike shoved it down. He was an adult man, and to be honest, other parts of the whole Freddy's…adventure…had been more terrifying. This night in the office should be a walk in the park in comparison.
"I still hate the bastard who didn't design a door," Mike muttered, squinting at the desk as it came into view like it held the solutions to his issues.
"It wasn't originally meant to be a security office. Used to house a ball pit and some other toys. But parents complained about the lack of safety and surveillance, and so Father did the easiest renovation he could to make this work."
"Makes sense," Michael said automatically, drawing his fingers across the desk, then wiping the dust off onto his shirt. Had it really been that long, that the dust had time to settle?
His eyes flicked around, to the broken vent where the broken Bonnie had tried to crawl through, to the mask laying on the chair, to the desk where the computer was powered up, camera footage flickering across the screen.
Michael made his way over to the computer and flipped through the cameras casually. "There's not really much need to check anything, anymore. The worst we had was a couple of break-ins right before FazFest, but few people even remembered this place, let alone wanted to trespass."
"How many of those people made it out alive?" Mike couldn't help but find himself asking.
Michael smiled enigmatically. "Surely you know better than to ask me that."
Mike's face twisted in a grimace. He was beginning to think it would have been better to stay home, back where there were no panicked memories like these and back where he wasn't reminded that Michael Afton was still the same man he'd always been. It hurt every one of his morals to consort with a killer.
Michael didn't really seem to know what to do now that Mike was here, fidgeting with the edge of his uniform.
Mike hadn't even really noticed the uniform before, despite the fact that the polo shirt was a shade of bright purple, contrasting with the black slacks Michael wore. He drew closer, reaching out a finger to tap on the brass button that was pinned to Michael's chest and shaped like Freddy. It read "SECURITY" in raised letters. "I used to have one of these."
"You got it from the prize counter," Michael sighed.
It wasn't really a question, but Mike nodded. "Why do you have one? Playing dress up?"
Michael shrugged, smiling the eerie grin that Mike was beginning to get used to. "Nostalgia."
"Seems to be a big thing for you."
"Well, when you spend your entire life chasing after a family legacy, yes, it tends to be a big thing, Mike." Mike couldn't tell how Michael's words were intended - frustrated, angry, matter-of-fact?
"Do you want to keep chasing your family legacy?"
That was definitely irritation on Michael's face. "Don't ask stupid questions. Obviously. It's what Father always asked of us. And I will not let him down, no matter whether he's fallen or not."
"Yeah, but that's what your father wanted. Do you want it?"
Michael's eyes slid past him, staring at a spot right over Mike's head, irritation deepening into anger. Mike was walking on a very fragile tightrope, and thought he knew it could snap at any moment, he couldn't stop himself from probing.
"I want what's best for the family. This will bring us to greatness. I just have to be good enough." It sounded like Michael was reciting a script that he'd practiced in front of the bathroom mirror many a time.
Mike gripped Michael's shoulder and Michael flinched, just as Mike had flinched in the past when Michael had held his wounded one. Mike didn't pull back. "Michael. Do you, you, Michael Afton, want to follow this path?"
Michael's lips peeled back in a defensive snarl, startling Mike at the depth of the emotion in his face. Casual anger had given way to a much deeper pit of dark feeling. Not just anger, no, there was a healthy dose of fear in there too. "Of course I do. It's what I was born, raised, trained to do. It's the only way forward." Another parroted phrase, Mike could tell.
"Michael, you don't have to do this. There is the option for a normal life," Mike pressed. Why? He didn't know. He'd never really seen himself as a guiding light, or even really a force for positivity. He wasn't near Michael's level of low, sure, but it wasn't like Mike had his own life together at all. Maybe he liked collecting kicked puppies. But this kicked puppy could turn into a fighting dog in a moment, if he so chose.
"Shut up," Michael hissed, as if to accent Mike's thoughts, and the caged animal look in his eyes was almost overwhelming to even witness. He was reaching a breaking point, but Mike didn't want to stop pushing, no matter what the sensible part of his mind told him. "We don't get to have a normal life. We will always be his."
"Yes, you do get to. You just have to break through what your father's told you."
The gate in Michael that had been holding back his ferocity clearly broke in that moment. Michael's eyes shifted, betraying his next movement, and though he tried to strike fast, pushing Mike back, Mike struck faster, both hands fisted in the taller man's shirt now. The momentum knocked them both onto the ground and dust flew away from the point of impact.
"Traitor," Michael hissed, trying to strike out against Mike's grip, but though Michael was strong when Mike was bleeding and weak, Mike would always be stronger when they were both healthy. Even the height different wouldn't make a big impact when they were on the ground like this.
So Michael tried a different tactic, spitting out, "Fuck you. You're just like everyone else. I'm not going to turn into some- some stupid, castrated dog that licks his food out of your hand. I'm always going to be better than you, and your whole idiot family. You'll never understand my Father's genius. It's beyond you."
"Are you capable of even thinking beyond what you've had repeated into your ear?" Mike asked over Michael's vitriol, his tone a mixture of exasperation and desperation. He wanted to believe Michael was better than this, some part of him deep down. Michael was capable of caring. He had let Mike go that day in Michael's room. He'd wrapped up Mike's wounds. He hadn't killed Mike despite the dozens of chance he'd now had. There was still someone worth saving in Michael, and Mike was going to tear it out of him until it killed one of them.
And Freddy's was probably the best place for it, though Mike hated to be here. Both of their lives had experienced crucial points, vital twists and turns in these places. It was heavy with unspoken thoughts and failed actions. Maybe that's why Mike had felt the urge to confront Michael once they were here. Or maybe he'd just gotten fed up with Michael's hard-guy exterior.
Whatever it was, he had to figure out where to go from here, with Michael pinned against the dingy floor tiles. Michael's eyes were dilated in panic, flicking from side to side as he struggled against Mike's grip.
Michael continued to bite verbally at Mike, a slurry of hatred and insults that seemed regurgitated as another gift from his father. Mike caught phrases in there that didn't seem to belong - "dumb brat" when Michael referenced himself, random, disconnected pieces of praise of Fazbear Entertainment, his father, the animatronics, his sister all thrown in.
"Michael. Michael!" Mike tried to interject over the noise, but there was no way he was getting through whatever was going through the Afton brother's head. So he did the only thing he could think of to get Michael shocked back into reality, since he felt like slapping the man would only make it worse.
He kissed Michael.
Almost instantly, Michael's teeth sank into Mike's lower lip, drawing blood. Mike snarled at the pain, unsurprised at the reaction. But when he ripped free, some primal urge threw him back forward, and he bit right back at Michael's mouth, feeling the copper taste of blood that wasn't his own well up around his teeth, digging his fingers into Michael's shirt hard enough to bruise the skin beneath, some bitter part of him wanting to tear through the flesh.
Michael went still. Mike bit a little harder, trying to test if the other was faking. And then Michael moaned, muffled by the contact they shared.
Mike pulled back instantly. That was about the last reaction he could have expected. Maybe Michael had moaned in pain? The two emotions and the noises that accompanied them were very similar, as Mike had good reason to know.
But one look at Michael told him otherwise. The switch that had happened was just as baffling as Michael's swaps from murderous rage to tender care. Michael's eyes were still wide, but they seemed just shocked as opposed to angry, like he couldn't quite believe the noise he'd made either. There was a vulnerability that hadn't been there before, and Mike's hands loosened, feeling like if he pressed too hard now, Michael would just shatter like porcelain. But Michael didn't attempt to tear away.
Mike didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say, what would ruin this balance they were holding. So he kissed Michael again, probing, running his tongue over the bleeding mark in Michael's lip like an apology. Michael was still limp for a moment, unresponsive, but just as Mike was about to retreat, he reacted, huffing a breath out of his nose that tickled Mike's face. Michael's mouth opened slightly further, like he was inviting Mike in. Mike felt a rush of relief that he was being invited back in, that he wasn't crossing the worst line possible.
After a moment, however, Michael pushed Mike away, face working like it couldn't decide what emotion it wanted to express. Mike watched him warily.
Michael again surprised him with a seeming non sequitur.
"Hit me," Michael muttered under his breath, voice low and husky.
"What?" What was it with Michael and asking the most random bullshit of all time in the most inconvenient times?
"Hit me, please." A desperation Mike had never heard before. Maybe it would help?
But when Mike's hand came into contact with Michael's face, it only made a small noise that ricocheted around the room. There was little force behind the strike.
"Harder," Michael whispered.
Mike tried to hit him a little harder. He managed slightly more power, but Michael still wasn't satisfied.
"Harder, please," and the tone was unmistakeably begging.
"I can't, Michael," Mike admitted. It hurt him deeper than any knife or bite wound to do this to Michael. He wanted Michael to hurt, yes, he'd had all those fantasies about giving the same treatment Michael gave him right back, but in those, Michael wasn't the man he was right now. This Michael was something else entirely, a new species, one that seemed like it was fighting to remain whole.
"Please."
"I can't, I can't do it. Why? Why do you want it so badly?"
"I deserve it." The words were barely audible.
"No."
"Please, I know I do. You have to hit me. It's…the only way I'll learn."
"No, Michael."
Michael seemed barely able to keep himself whole. "I have to learn my lesson." The words were once again stilted and spoken with the cadence of whoever had said them first. Mike could take a pretty good guess at who that was.
"What lesson?"
"To…to not talk back. To listen better. To be more like Vanessa."
Mike shook his head. "None of that is true."
"I know it is."
"You don't have to be anything of those things. I wouldn't be here if you weren't already beyond those."
Michael's stare was bleak. "I'm a disappointment, and a bad replacement for Father. He always said so. But now I'm the only one left."
Mike tried to figure out how to pull Michael from this hell he seemed to be trapped in. "Your father isn't here anymore, Michael."
"I know," Michael whispered, then corrected himself. "I don't- I don't know." His eyes were shut tight. "It's all so confusing. It's simple when I'm just…the good son."
Mike could feel the pain that ached in Michael's core seeping into his own bones. "I know."
"Then why won't you hurt me?"
Mike didn't answer. They were just chasing their own tails, pointlessly, and he didn't want to test Michael's patience in this fragile moment. Instead, he just tilted his head and looked at Michael, thumbs rubbing small circles against the other's shoulders.
Michael's gaze searched him. There seemed to be a hundred things in the look. Anger flickered through, replaced by fear, then sadness, hunger, hope, pain, a hundred other feelings Mike didn't even have the vocabulary to name.
He wished he could tell Michael he was loved. But Mike didn't love him, and he wasn't going to lie. Mike cared, a lot. Maybe if things were different, if Michael was different, Mike could have loved him. But as it stood, he wasn't going to give Michael a hope that wasn't sustainable.
"What if I want you to hurt me because…I want it the same way you want it?" Michael's voice was shaky, but his gaze held steady.
"Is that actually true?" Mike asked skeptically.
Michael nodded, fast. "Please." He took Mike's hand and guided it to his throat.
Mike pressed, gently, trying to copy what Michael had done to him not so long ago. It was hard to inflict this right now, but the way Michael seemed to go limp, in a good way this time, made it near worth it.
"Ha-," Michael started, but Mike constricted his grip enough to cut that word off in a cough.
"If I'm going to do this, if this is going to help you, we're doing this on my terms, too, Michael." He never even thought he'd say those words. Michael was always so cocksure, so in control. Mike wouldn't have been able to imagine this when he was walking into the building.
Michael nodded and choked out, "Yes, sir," almost automatically, it seemed, without even thinking about it. Mike loosened his hold in surprise, allowing Michael to draw a deep, shuddering breath.
He was shocked not just to hear the words come out of Michael's mouth, but how right they sounded, nestled deep in Mike's chest. To have this intense, independent, skittish man submit to him, fully. He never knew how much he wanted this, but now that he had it, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get enough. He wanted to take these words that reflexively fell out of Michael's mouth and show Michael how much they meant, how much he cared. How good these things could be, if he just let himself feel them.
Mike's thumb pressed against Michael's pulse, and he felt the heartbeat jump in response. But he didn't press too hard, just watching how Michael's eyes flickered, hovering in a space between giving in and staying where he was now.
"You look perfect," Mike's rough voice broke the air. He wasn't the best at giving praise. It made his hackles rise. Probably something he needed to work through on his own time. But here, now, it felt appropriate. And from the way Michael let out a ragged, pained noise, it was the right thing to say. "You're…so pretty, Michael. And even if you can't see it, I'm glad I can see it for you." He kept the pressure on, preventing the man beneath him from replying with any self-deprecation or denial.
Michael squirmed, but Mike didn't budge. "You are. And I want to keep you just like this so you listen to me."
"You're a good thing, Michael."
Michael shook his head.
"You are," Mike insisted, cutting Michael's next protest off with a kiss, this one much softer. His tongue flexed against the bitten and bloody part of Michael's mouth, knowing it would hurt, but he didn't work to make it real, blazing pain.
Michael whimpered. He wanted more, Mike could feel it. But Mike wasn't going to cross that line into the territory that would allow Michael to turn the pain into a shield, something to protect him against all the things that had brought him here. So he stayed here, stifling the barriers that stood in between the two of them.
Maybe this was all he could give Michael - the ability Mike had to be slow and soft. He had begged for Michael, things could be turned around.
His mouth left Michael's and he tugged up the bottom of Michael's shirt, following the same trails Michael had on him with his mouth and teeth. Down the chest, over the stomach, so much lighter on the delicate skin there, harder on the hips. His bite pressed hard, hard enough to sting, and to bruise, and Mike sucked dark marks into the skin that he was able to reach, but he didn't draw blood.
Michael didn't even seem to know what to do in response, whining at a pitch usually reserved for dog whistles, deep in the back of his throat.
Mike's hands ran over Michael's hips, over his thighs, down over his knees, like every single piece of Michael was precious. He wanted Michael to see himself the way he was seen by Mike. Like something deserving of care and compassion.
"Will you let me show you how I want to treat you?" he murmured.
Michael grimaced. His shoulders tightened. Mike was half-convinced Michael would refuse him, and Mike would have no choice but to accept that. But Michael sighed and whispered out another, "Yes, sir."
Despite the rush that title gave him, Mike took his time with what he did. The past two times they'd fucked, it had been eager, rushed, everything needing to happen all at once. Here, in a place that felt like it had been frozen in time, Mike had as long as he wanted. He didn't undress Michael quickly. He kept his fingers moving, touching lightly, tracing the ridges of Michael's bones where they pushed against his skin. The intense, suspenseful silence was only punctuated by Mike's absent-minded reassurances, whispered low, and the small noises Michael made in acknowledgement. Mike wished he could make Michael louder, but this was what he was given, and he didn't want to push too hard too fast.
He played with the button on Michael's pants, undid it, returned back to his work elsewhere. With each step taken, zipper pulled down, slacks off, shirt gone, he returned to the rest of Michael, giving everything just as much attention, so that no part went unnoticed. He took off his flannel and laid it beneath them, so the floor wasn't so cold or dirty to either of them, especially as Michael lost more of his clothes.
Michael twisted against his touch, like he was shying away, but it didn't hold the same energy as before. Mike held the other firm, not allowing him to escape.
By the time he reached the point of running his hands over the front of Michael's boxers, Michael was already past halfway hard just from the attention and the quiet praise. As Mike teased, lightly, gently grinding his hand down against the bulge, Michael folded one of his arms over his eyes. Mike withdrew his hand and stopped altogether, until Michael muttered something questioningly and raised his head so he could look at Mike. Once Mike could see his gaze again, he went right back, but as soon as Michael laid back and covered his face, he stopped again. Michael seemed confused, then caught on. He scowled, but his arm fell away.
"Good," Mike told him, "you listen so well."
Michael looked like he was going to cry, or be sick. Maybe both. He didn't seem to be able to accept it, at all, and it was like the words triggered an allergic reaction.
"You are good," Mike reassured him as he removed the last of Michael's clothing. "I wouldn't do this if you weren't."
"Liar," Michael whispered, but his heart wasn't in it.
Mike just shook his head, fingertips skimming over the delicate skins of Michael's inner thigh. Michael shivered, breath hitching.
"Perfect," Mike went on, and Michael's breath grew heavier.
Mike's hand surrounded Michael's dick, but he still moved slowly. Michael seemed like he was somewhere else. His eyes were fixed on Mike's face, but a little bit glazed over. It didn't seem bad; it didn't seem like Michael was trying to escape or ignore. It seemed like Michael was finally attempting, if only a little bit, to accept.
Mike's other hand crept up to Michael's mouth, pushed it open, placed his fingers on Mike's tongue.
"Suck," he told Michael, and Michael complied, tongue darting across the skin just as softly as Mike had touched him. There were no teeth in evidence right now. Mike pressed down on Michael's tongue, making the light in the eyes of the man beneath him dim, in a good way. He looked stupid. Not the hyper-aware, constantly scheming, always-had-to-be-on-top attitude anymore. Mike had broken him, and it made his chest tight with pleasure. The hand not in Michael's mouth moved to splay across his stomach, trying to cover as much surface as it could.
Mike's spit-covered fingers withdrew from Michael with a tinge of regret, but he made sure to replace that sensation with the one of the digits running down far lower.
Michael squeaked. There was no other way to describe the sound he'd made. Mike hummed with approval to combat the shame that glimmered briefly through Michael's haze. He paused, though, to make sure he hadn't misinterpreted.
"Keep going," Michael muttered after a moment, then added, "please, sir." Mike would do just about anything to hear him say that again.
Mike was easy with his movements. The hand not down between Michael's legs roamed freely, grasping, smoothing, teasing, feeling as the other gently worked its way into Michael's body, so slow that it didn't even seem to fully register for a moment.
Michael whined faintly at the touches, and then more intensely as Mike pushed further inside. Once he was satisfied with the work he'd done with one, Mike gently pulled a bit out, added a second finger.
Michael's body was tense, drawn tight, and Mike tried to combat it. "Mm, Michael, you're doing so good."
A shudder.
"You're a good boy. You're such a good boy."
That seemed to have the best effect so far, as a heavy groan dragged itself out of Michael's body, like he'd been waiting to hear that for so long. He probably had been.
"So, so well."
"Fff…Mike…sir..." Michael didn't seem to want to decide what word he was going for.
It felt like an eternity prepping Michael, in the best way. Mike was eager, sure. He wished he could be there already, but this wasn't for him. It was for Michael, and it was equally pleasing to have the other fall apart.
It took a minute for him to find the bundle of nerves located deep within, but once he did, it was so worth it. If Michael had been putty in his hands before, it he was positively a liquid.
As he brushed against that perfect spot, Michael inhaled, thighs tensing around Mike's waist. Mike's eyes devoured Michael's expression, the dopey way he stared back up at Mike, the way he looked fucked out before any fucking had properly started. This was how he could bring Michael some fraction of the understanding he wanted to communicate.
Michael tested with a third finger. Michael bucked, but when he relaxed afterwards, it allowed Mike easier access.
"Good boy, perfect," Mike told him as Michael whimpered with the stretch. He pretended not to notice the tangible way Michael's body reacted to the words, but it made the pressure in his own body all the tighter. He wanted to do this again, some other day, fast, and hard. He wanted to break Michael through pure force, do things the absolute opposite. Painful and difficult and fierce until the taller man had no choice but to bend before him.
Today was not that day.
Still, there was a point where he couldn't wait anymore, and he slid his fingers out as gently as they had entered, unbuttoning and unzipping his own pants, not bothering to take them all the way off.
He pressed himself against Michael and the other made a questioning noise as he paused.
"Still with me, Michael?"
"Ye-es." His hands reached out and gripped Mike's arms where they bracketed his body, trying to pull Mike up. "C'mon, Mike, you can't do this now, I'm, I've been…"
Good. Mike wanted to hear him say it back, so badly, but Michael's mouth shut decisively.
"You have been good," Mike conceded, and began the evilly slow entrance that made his own body tremble. So, so close to getting to feel all of Michael's warmth, and yet so far. It felt like he'd never be there, but still, he crept forward slowly.
"More," Michael pleaded, but Mike shook his head, as much as he wanted to just give in.
"You're worth taking my time."
Michael looked hurt, almost. More hurt than if Mike had struck him. He shook his head again, but Mike nodded back just as hard.
"Let this happen, Michael, listen. You are more than this place." He gestured to Freddy's around them. "You are more than your father, and more than your…legacy, or destiny, or whatever you think you owe everyone. You're just Michael. And that's all I want from you. You. I don't care about whatever freakshow shit you think you have to pull off. I wouldn't have you here, in this position, doing this, taking my time, if I didn't know you were good."
At some point during that speech, he'd bottomed out, but he only realized after his mouth shut. Michael's eyes were wet, and he looked like he wanted to kill Mike. Mike assumed that was as close as he got to crying.
"Will you please, just, start moving." Michael sounded broken, defeated, like Mike had scooped out his insides and replaced them with something unfamiliar.
Mike studied him, but Michael's cold hands against his skin tightened, and so he nodded, slowly rocking against Michael.
Mike drew out, bit by bit, pushed back in, tantalizingly slowly. His own shoulders shook with effort to remain this slow.
"Mike." Michael didn't want to beg, but he was.
"What do you want, hm?"
Michael's jaw worked. "More. Fuck me, Jesus, please, sir."
Michael was driving Mike crazy with that and he didn't even know it. Mike tried to keep himself on track. "Say you're good and I will."
Michael's body stilled entirely, stiff.
Mike slowed even further and Michael choked out a noise that seemed to be half-sob, half-growl.
"Please, Mike."
"Say it."
"I don't want to." Michael's tone was defiant, but he didn't seem to want Mike to quit altogether.
"Should I stop then?"
"No!" The word was quick, forceful.
"Mm." The noise was meaningful. Michael knew what he had to do.
Michael's mouth opened and closed without a sound escaping. He managed a sound, stopped, and glared with helpless fury.
Mike thrusted shallowly, once, reminding Michael of what he could have, and it splintered the defensiveness.
"I'm good," Michael whispered. Mike increased a little more, faster, harder.
"You're a good boy?" Maybe it was cheesy. But he was trying to make a point.
"I'm a good boy, sir." Like every word was painful, like he was being sick. But he was rewarded, and it seemed to wash away some of the humiliation.
"You deserve this, right?"
Michael hesitated again; Mike paused for a fraction of a second.
"Fuck! Yes, yes, I deserve this, please, just don't stop."
"Keep talking."
Michael drew in a shuddering breath, was silent, and Mike slowly to a horribly torturous pace once again. "Mike, I don't know if I can, please, please, please."
"Yes, you can."
A long, long pause. Mike hoped Michael couldn't feel the way he was shaking, the way his pulse was no longer just evident in his pulse points. He didn't need Michael to know how equally desperate for this he was.
"I'm good." It started very small, almost inaudible. Right back to where they'd left off.
Michael's gaze searched Mike's face. "I…deserve this. I'm good and this is what I deserve and- fffuh-" His eyes rolled briefly as Mike couldn't help himself, increasing his pace by a larger jump.
"Good, perfect, Michael," Mike encouraged.
"I'm good, and I get to feel good because, mm, because I deserve it and I'm…enough and-" Michael's body felt divine around Mike as he pushed deeper, now intentionally pressing against the place he knew would drive Michael crazy.
Michael's words were less coherent, but they continued. "…and I'm a good boy and I-" a brief moment of panting, "I get to feel like this, because, because, because, I…can do a good job."
Mike was honestly amazed that Michael was still going with it and hadn't hit another block of stubbornness. He wasn't complaining though, not when Michael was tightening around him with each thrust and getting more and more unraveled, beyond what he'd seen before.
"I can do it, mm, need this, I'm, hahh, enough." Each word was punched out in rhythm.
Mike kept himself raised above Michael, though his arms trembled, loving the way Michael lost himself. It felt poetic, laying there, surrounded by the wreckage of Michael's entire previous life, this shitty broken pizzeria. The only things left at these places were bad memories and painful stories. Michael was the only precious thing here, and he was twenty times more than what tied him down to this sinkhole of a business, of a family.
Michael's hazy eyes connected with Mike's, pleading. "'m good? I'm good, I'm good, good enough?"
"Yeah," Mike reassured him through his breaths. "So good, perfect. More than enough, Michael, you're everything, promise."
Michael shuddered. "I'm…good boy."
Well, it appeared Michael had no problem with a slightly overused phrase. "Very good boy. So obedient, so good at listening to me-" a white lie never hurt anyone "-wish I could see this, every day, forever." That one wasn't a lie.
Michael was definitely teetering on the edge and Mike was incredibly grateful for it, because he was about two good thrusts away from his own orgasm.
"Good, good, good, I'm- Mike, fuck, good, yes, sir, right th-"
And Mike gasped at the same time as the man below him as Michael tensed. It felt like Michael was trying to milk Mike as he came largely untouched, painting his own skin.
Mike almost wished he could have said something more first, but firstly he wasn't sure words would reach his tongue, and secondly the way Michael felt had him already there. He buried himself deep in Michael, tilting his head back as he filled up the leaner man, an electric thrill traveling through every ounce of his body, leaving each part of him feeling melted and limp in its wake.
They laid there far longer than they probably should have. Mike felt his breathing match Michael's and align so it almost seemed like they breathed as one.
Michael broke the silence first - some things never changed.
"I hate you, Mike Schmidt," he said weakly.
"Good," Mike grinned, unbothered. "You don't have to alter that part. It wouldn't be as fun without that."
"I'm…going to beat your ass for this."
"Oh no, that would be so horrible," he replied sarcastically.
Maybe none of what happened today would stick. It felt like one of these things that surely wouldn't lead to anything. If each time they did something like this it involved so much…feeling, then inevitably it would fall apart. They weren't made for each other. Some of their broken edges grated against each other rather than meshed together. Mike could never love Michael, and he wasn't sure Michael could love anyone at all. But that didn't mean that everything they did together was for nothing. It meant exactly as much as they made of it in the moment. And when Mike was here, he wanted to get every last bit of Michael that he could.