Ripped Tights and Late Nights → Muke

fourteen;

Sorry for the short chapter ^.^ it's short but it's important

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The next night, Michael's eyes glance over the bartenders but he can't see Luke among them. He turns his gaze towards the dancers onstage, thinking that maybe that's where Luke's hiding but no, Luke's nights are Thursdays through to Sunday. It's Tuesday, where could he be?

"Excuse me," Michael waves down one of the bartenders, giving her his most charming smile. The same smile that got him Leah, and then later, Luke. The bartender falls for it, predictably, and giggles. Michael rolls his eyes as she hides a strand of straight blond hair behind her heavily pierced ear. Maybe he picked up the eye-rolling habit from his kids, or more likely, Luke. "Where's Luke?"

"He's a little um... busy," the girl giggles again, sending him a look that tells him exactly what she means by busy. There's no way this girl has been working here long; her subtlety is worse than her boob job. Not that there's anything wrong with her boob job, or that he was even looking there just- she's not very subtle. And he wants Luke.

"Tell him Mr Clifford is here to see him." Michael sets his jaw, his charming demeanour failing. He's trying to sound more important than he is. It doesn't work.

"I'm sorry, Mr Clifford, I can't. He's a little... preoccupied."

"Yeah, I know what he's doing, Tiffany." Michael doesn't even know if her name's actually Tiffany and he's too pissed at her to take a look at her name tag. She looks like a Tiffany. No offence to Tiffany, he's just pissed. Tiffany is a lovely name, just not when she's standing between Michael and his boy. "I need to see him."

"You're going to have to wait until he's finished, sir."

Michael waits. He endures the pain of knowing that Luke is off with someone else, someone who is most definitely not him. He's sitting at a booth, waiting for Luke with four shot glasses lined up on the table in front of him. Two of them are empty.

"I heard that you want to see me," Luke says, straightening his tie and straddling Michael. Michael's hands instinctively move to grasp Luke's hips, landing in the same place they always do.

It's almost as if Luke's hips were shaped to be held by Michael's hands.

It's almost as if Luke's entire body was made with Michael in mind, like God knew how Michael's hand was supposed to fit with Luke's. Like God knew how Michael's hips were supposed to line up with Luke's own.

It's almost as if Luke was made to be Michael's.

And yet, Michael's still pissed that Luke slept with somebody that wasn't him. He stops Luke's incoming neck kisses with a hand.

"Look, we need to talk."

Luke shifts uncomfortably on Michael's lap. "What is there to talk about?"

"What were you doing ten minutes ago?"

"Um, my job?"

Michael rolls his eyes. "I thought you said that I'd be the only one fucking you from now on."

Luke pulls away from Michael, leans his back against the solidity of the table, his thighs bracketing Michael's. "I said I'd try, Mike. Like I said, this is my job, this is what I'm paid to do. I need the money, Michael. And if this is how I get it, then so be it."

Michael's on the brink of exploding, he knows it. He can feel it. He doesn't want to lash out at Luke. Doesn't want to hurt the blond, no matter how angry he may be. "You don't need to do this Luke-"

"No, you don't get it, Michael. I do. The only way I'm ever going to become a professional dancer is if I go to New York, and I need money for that Michael."

Luke stares into Michael's eyes, trying to convey what he's attempting to say without words. Michael gets it, he understands. He always did.

"But why now? Why do I never see you sleep with anyone else?"

"I do," Luke coos, wiping Michael's eyes before he even realised he was crying. "I have. You never see. You always come at the perfect time, usually when I'm at the bar or on stage."

Michael sniffles and throws his head back against the soft padding of the booth. With his hands he pulls Luke closer and wraps his arms around Luke's frail frame.

"I'll do it," Michael says. "I'll pay for your plane ticket to New York, accommodation, everything."

Luke giggles slightly, letting his arms slip around Michael's back as he buries his head in the man's chest. "With what money?"

"I have the money, that's not a problem."

"And you think your wife won't notice?"

Michael sits in silence for a second, stroking Luke's back slowly and absentmindedly. He feels smug satisfaction at the way Luke purrs at the movements.

"I'll divorce her."

"You're implying that she'd get the kids in this situation, correct? I've seen the way you interact with them, both of them. You couldn't be without them. No matter what you do, Michael, you don't really win."

"Do I have you?"

"What do you mean?" Luke asks, lifting a hand to move Michael's teenage-emo fringe out of his eyes.

"As long as I have you, then I've definitely won."

Luke giggles yet again and Michael's contemplating making it his ringtone.

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this chapter was written before i even started this story #funfact