Ripped Tights and Late Nights → Muke

three +;

smut warning for those who are uncomfortable! in future chapters you'll know bc of the +

::

"Fuck, Michael," Luke pants, eyes screwed shut as his faced scrunched up in pleasure. His hear is stuck to his forehead and Michael can relate, though he doubts he looks as good as the golden boy writhing below him.

"Yeah," Michael grunts in time with his thrusts. "You like that?"

Luke nods feverishly, clawing at Michael's back hard enough to make the older man hiss. The dim lighting in the room is barely enough for Michael to make out Luke's features, but it created the mood. Arching his back into Michael's body, Luke lets out a high pitched whine. Michael likes the sounds that Luke makes, he gets off to them in the shower when he knows nobody's home.

"So close, baby. So close," Michael moans into Luke's ear, sloppily sucking on the shell. His mouth moves down, down Luke's jaw and neck, across his clavicles and to his nipples. He lets one of the smaller boy's nipples into his mouth, sucking hard as his hips hit Luke's own over and over.

Luke reaches shaky hands down to Michael's face, grabbing at his cheeks, trying to pull Michael up to his level. Michael complies, leaving the nipple soaked with his saliva. Luke attaches their lips together and Michael appreciates, not for the first time, how Luke completely disregards the 'don't kiss the customers' rule just for him.

His lips are smooth and soft as they slide along his own. They're a ruby red from when he's bitten too hard when overcome by immense pleasure, but they feel like heaven to Michael.

He's inching closer to finishing, he knows it and he knows that Luke knows it, too.

Luke's drawn-out whimper is what does it for Michael, sends him over the edge as he fills up the condom in Luke. He doesn't pull out just yet, though, he knows how much it turns Luke off. His priority now is to make Luke come, and then clean them both up.

"C'mon, Lukey," he encourages, leaving frenzied kisses all over Luke's milky-white skin. "Come for me, yeah?"

"Close," Luke whispers between pants, opening his eyes and staring into Michael's soul. "Please."

Michael will punch himself if he gets hard again. He's too sensitive, so he doubts he will, but Luke's breathy little moans will be the death of him, he swears. He pulls out nearly all the way, pushing in as far as he possibly can as Luke groans, painting the canvas that was his chest.

"Kill me," Luke groans, curling into a ball as Michael pulls out, properly this time, and discards the dirty condom.

"Not gonna happen," Michael half-laughs, still out of breath. He really is too old for this, he thinks.

Michael opens the cupboard of the sink that's hidden discreetly in the corner of the 'sex room', finding a clean cloth and allowing warm water to soak it. Once it's sufficiently wet, he drains it, then walks over to Luke.

"Ready?" He asks.

Luke nods, too tired for words.

Michael wipes off the come and sweat and leaves soft kisses in his wake. Once Luke's clean Michael gets dressed in the clothes he wore to the club; jeans that might be Brittany's as they have the exact same pair, and his outgrown leather jacket.

"You're not leaving just yet, are you?" Luke begs, slightly moving the arm that was flung over his eyes so he can look at Michael clearly.

"Not yet," Michael lies. He was intending on leaving, but he couldn't find himself to deny the pretty blond anything.