Kinktober 2024

【 𝐵𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝐵𝑜𝑦 】

〖 𝑇𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒 〗: 𝑁𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑠

〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: You make Mike's 21st birthday a night to remember

〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, alcohol consumption, dubcon, handjob, semi-public sex, reader is a bad influence, college student!reader

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The first time you meet Mike Schmidt, he adamantly refuses your help as he struggles to wrangle the moving boxes and a cranky toddler, who you later learn is his little sister, Abby. You eventually convince him to let you move some boxes while he settles Abby down for her nap. You don't know it then, but that less-than-ideal introduction would lead to you hopping his fence years later.

Your feet hit the plush grass in his backyard. "You could've used the gate like a normal person," he calls.

You wave a hand dismissively, "Where's the fun in that?"

Your backpack clinks as you walk over to him. He's taken up residence on one of the shabby lawn chairs that litter his back porch. It creaks under his weight as he shifts and raises a brow at you. You can't help your mischievous grin as you set your backpack onto his lap. He lets out a small huff as the weight hits him, and you pull up a chair next to him, wincing slightly as the metal legs scrape against the concrete.

"What do you have in here?" he questions incredulously.

You grin, leaning closer to him. "Open it and find out."

His eyes narrow suspiciously for a moment before curiosity overcomes him and he slowly unzips your backpack. A series of emotions cross his face in a matter of seconds: confusion mixed with surprise mixed with amusement.

He holds up a bottle filled with clear liquid, which shines slightly in the dim porch light.

"Liquor?"

You tsk, "I also have some beers in there. I'm not an animal, Michael."

He rolls his eyes. "You brought various alcoholic drinks because..."

"Because," you say, grinning, "you deserve to be a dumb kid for once in your life. Besides, you only turn 21 once."

"You remembered?"

You shove him lightly, "Of course, I remembered." You take your bag back from him and begin rifling through it. "What's your poison, birthday boy?"

He takes a moment to think it over. "Liquor before beer right?" he asks, holding up the bottle of clear liquid from earlier.

You grin, "And you're in the clear."

You set your bag at your feet and watch as he slowly undoes the cap. It clinks softly against the bottle, the sound filling the space between you. He brings the bottle to his lips and cringes as the potent liquid dances across his tongue. He sputters, coughing as he hands the bottle to you.

You eagerly take a swig, wincing as the liquor burns its way down your throat.

Mike sends a look in your direction, "I take it this isn't your first drink."

You laugh, "Is it obvious?"

A comfortable silence lingers between the two of you as you pass the bottle of liquor back and forth. Warmth spreads throughout your chest as the night wears on, and you can't help but admire Mike in the dim moonlight.

"It's good to see you, y'know," he murmurs, turning to face you. You tilt your head, and he continues. "You're always away at school, and I dunno... I guess I miss seeing you sometimes."

His free hand rests on his thigh while the other nurses the almost empty bottle of liquor. Slowly, you reach out and brush your fingers against the back of his hand before tracing against the backs of his fingers. His skin is warm and flushed from the alcohol coursing through his system. He stiffens for a moment before relaxing, turning his hand over to entangle his fingers with yours.

"I miss you too," you whisper, looking over him and squeezing his hand.

For a moment, the world falls silent around you. The dull hum of the AC unit and the symphony of crickets ceased to exist, and it's just you, him, and the steady beating of your heart.

Mike's eyes linger on yours, watching your every move as you lean towards him. He meets you halfway and your lips collide in a tentative, clumsy kiss. It's not long before the kiss deepens, your lips moving in sync. The empty bottle of liquor is tossed to the side with a thud against the lush grass of the backyard, and Mike cups your face. His thumb gently traces your jawline, and you almost lose yourself in the feeling of him.

When you finally pull away, you're breathless, and your mind reels. Your breath mingles with his in the cool night air, and he rests his forehead against yours.

A moment passes before your lips meet his again. The kiss is even clumsier than the last, and your teeth knock together. You pull away for a millisecond before meeting his lips again, more precisely this time. You maneuver out of your chair and sink to your knees in front of Mike as your lips remain on his.

"What're you doing?" he questions between kisses.

You grin against him, "Giving you the rest of your present."

Your hands dance against his thighs, and you're acutely aware of the possibility of the two of you getting caught. Your fingers venture under the hem of his shirt and dance across his ribs. His muscles jump under your touch, and his breath quickens as you drag a finger down his stomach, stopping just above the button of his jeans.

You look up at him through your lashes, "Want me to stop?"

He quickly shakes his head, "Please don't."

You slowly drag your fingertips over the growing tent in his pants, relishing the soft whines that leave him. You undo the button of his jeans, and you tug his zipper down, your fingers shaking with giddiness and nervousness at the same time.

He lets out a groan as you slip your hand past the waistband of his briefs, and you attempt to commit the sound to memory. His grip tightens on the arms of his lawn chair as you languidly stroke him.

You pull his length out of his briefs, revealing what you've been aching for. You pumped your hand a few times before sliding a thumb over the weeping tip of his cock. You used the precum to lubricate your strokes, and his back arches against his chair.

The slick sounds of skin against skin fill the quiet night, and your cheeks flush as you look up at Mike. His eyes are screwed shut and he leans his head back as each breath is punctuated with a needy moan. He looks heavenly in the dim porch light, and you hope to commit the image to memory.

You lean forward and press sloppy kisses against the base of his cock while your hands work on bringing him closer to the edge.

Mike's moan is practically pornographic as he paints the back of your hand with the white ropes of his release. It drips down your fist and across your knuckles, and you lean forward to lap up what you can.

"Holy shit," Mike shudders as he watches you. You lean forward to capture his lips in a kiss.

"Happy birthday, Mike," you whisper.