Chapter Text
“You okay?” Ashton asked, just loud enough to be heard over the music.
“I’m fine.”
“If you needa sit down, just say so. Nobody will bitch about giving you their seat.”
“I said I’m fine,” Luke snapped.
Finally, Ashton backed off. “Just let me know if you need the car unlocked,” he said as he headed outside.
Luke rolled his eyes and took another gulp of whatever the fuck was in his plastic cup, wondering what he’d done to deserve it this time. He wasn’t in much pain yet, certainly not enough for it to show on his face. All he was doing was leaning on the counter like a normal fucking person. Probably a cardinal sin, in his case.
“Luke!”
Luke looked up at Calum, grinning as he approached.
“Glad you made it, it’s been forever!” He looked about to hug Luke, but seemed to think better of it, giving him a friendly pat on the arm instead.
Luke frowned.
“How have you been?”
“Fine.”
Calum didn’t say anything to that, probably worried that saying the wrong thing would give Luke a fucking stroke or some shit.
“Hey, happy birthday,” Luke wished.
“Thanks.”
“How’s work been?” he asked.
Calum nodded, looking relieved that any hopes of conversation weren’t doomed from the start. “It’s been good. Busy, but the money’s good.”
“Luke.”
Luke nearly crushed the cup in his hand.
“Long time no vomiting-at-the-sight-of-you,” resident cunt Michael Clifford greeted.
“What are you doing here?” Luke demanded, straightening up to face him, a little surprised by the bright red hair. He shouldn’t be. It was a different fucking colour every time Luke saw him, though his shabby fashion sense didn’t seem to have changed.
“I live here.”
Luke grit his teeth. “Why are you talking to me?”
“I’m not.” Michael turned to Calum. “I can’t find that tequila.”
“Uh…” Calum frowned. “Pretty sure it’s in your room. In a shopping bag with some of your stuff I didn’t wanna touch.”
“Why is it…” Michael gave him a weird look. “Whatever, I’ll check.”
“Is that a new bald patch?” Luke called as he left.
That got a reaction, at least.
Michael glared at him. “Still the same fucking bitch, then.”
Luke noted with satisfaction that he rubbed his head as he walked away, as if searching for the supposed bald patch. He finished his cup of mystery beverage, still unsure of whether he liked it or not. Maybe he should have another cup.
“Do you need to sit down?” Calum asked, “You should probably rest your legs, there’s a bag of peas in the freezer if you want-”
“Jesus Christ, I’ve been here for ten fucking minutes!”
Luke abandoned his cup on the counter and left the kitchen, wondering where Michael’s room was. He may be the biggest asshole in the world, but at least he wasn’t doing whatever the fuck Luke’s friends were doing. And he had tequila. Tequila made everything better.
Michael’s room turned out easy to find. He’d left the door open when he went in and Luke spotted him searching through a shopping bag on the floor.
“Are those your sex toys?”
Michael glared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Calum’s house. He invited me.”
“Why are you bitching at me?”
“I’m not talking to you,” Luke replied pettily, crossing his arms.
Michael rose slowly. “Get the fuck out.”
Luke kicked the door shut behind him, muffling the music playing in the living room. “Make me.”
Michael strode over and shoved him into the door. Luke stumbled, but stayed standing, surprised by the use of physical force.
“Are you tryna start a fight?” Michael asked, voice dangerously quiet.
Luke stood tall, feeling his heart rate pick up at the idea. “Why? You scared?”
A moment later, he found himself doubling over, Michael stepping back and shaking his hand as if to flick mud off it.
“Get out,” he repeated.
Luke coughed, clutching his stomach. It had been a softer hit than he’d expect from Michael, but it still hurt like a bitch.
“Fuck you. You hit like a pussy.”
Michael balled up his fist and raised it as if to punch him again, but paused. “Are you hard?”
Shit.
“No,” he denied, straightening up.
“I can see your fucking boner.”
Luke didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking, but he could definitely feel it. He still couldn’t get himself into his old black skinny jeans, so tonight he was wearing a pair loose grey dress pants that probably didn’t conceal much.
He shoved at Michael. “What are you gonna do about it?” What are you gonna do about it? Luke was not drunk enough to justify saying that.
Michael gripped his shirt and pushed him back against the door, holding him there. “Do you like this or something?” he sneered.
He did. Jesus Christ, he liked it so fucking much. Nobody else would dare lay a hand on him, even hug him too tightly for fear that he’d break, yet here this asshole was, using him as a punching bag.
“Fuck you,” Luke spat, wondering if he could push Michael to hit him again, really bruise him.
“You’re so fucking desperate,” Michael mocked, “Or have you been into me this whole time? Being a brat ‘cause you’re hoping I’ll fuck you against a wall to shut you up.” He regarded him with a nasty smile. “Or maybe you’re like this with everyone. Just a slut tryna get any dick he can up his ass.”
Did he really think that? Why did Luke even want this shithead to think that? Whatever, Luke supposed that he was just finally fucking losing it. Michael had gotten right up in his face; he didn’t have to lean far to connect their lips.
The electric thrill was short-lived; Michael pulled away almost immediately and rewarded Luke’s lack of impulse control with a left hook. The pain wasn’t immediate, Luke’s brain focusing on not falling over as his cheek warmed. Michael helped, forcing him upright by his throat.
“Never fucking do that again,” he hissed, his grip on Luke’s jaw deliciously painful. He let go to grab his shirt again, hauling him away from the door and sending him stumbling backwards onto the bed. “Take your clothes off.”
Luke glared at him. “Make me.”
Good move. In a heartbeat, Michael was on top of Luke, forcing him down and wrestling him onto his front. Luke squirmed for the sake of appearances, but getting manhandled like this was sending blood straight to his dick. Michael wormed a hand up under his shirt to grasp a nipple and Luke cried out as he twisted it.
“Take your clothes off.”
Luke nodded quickly and he let go, rolling off to give him room. As he pulled off his shirt, Michael snatched it away and tossed it to the other side of the room. He scoffed when Luke shimmied his pants down, dick springing up eagerly like the snitch it was.
“Fucking desperate,” Michael repeated.
Luke didn’t really register that he was only one undressing until his clothes were scattered around the room and Michael was on him again, pushing him face down into the mattress to keep control of him. If the pink scars on his legs caught Michael’s interest, he didn’t show it.
Luke felt Michael’s clothed dick against an ass cheek and finally started to panic.
“Condom, condom,” he pleaded, anxiously reconsidering all the stupid choices he’d made up until now. Michael was a piece of shit, but he wouldn’t go that far in anger, would he?
“Calm down,” Michael groaned, though he sat up to reach for his bedside table and rummage through the drawer. He pointedly showed Luke the strip of condoms he pulled out, then discarded them on the sheets to grab a healthily well-used bottle of lube.
Pressing a hand between Luke’s shoulder blades to hold him down, Michael straddled a thigh and drizzled lube over his hole. Luke felt him lightly grind his dick against his ass again as he pushed a finger in, the haphazardly applied lube doing the bare minimum to ease its entry.
Groaning, Luke gripped the bedsheets.
“I bet you live for this shit,” Michael sneered, moving his hips in time with his finger as he opened Luke up, “Getting the shit beaten out of you before you get fucked.”
His cheek burned. “Fuck you.”
The finger withdrew and Luke felt Michael smear more lube towards his hole and press it in with two.
“Just a slut after all,” he continued, scissoring them roughly, “You’ll probably spread your legs for anyone who’s rough enough.” He scoffed. “As long as they use a condom.”
Again, the fingers disappeared so Michael could gather more of the spilled lube. He was going way too fast, but Luke couldn’t say he hated the disregard for his comfort.
“Open one,” Michael commanded as he pushed his fingers back in.
Luke ripped a condom from the strip and tore it open. Michael let go of his back to take it, pulling his hips back as he kept absentmindedly fingering Luke. Now that he was somewhat freed, Luke lifted his head to look back at Michael, watching him yank his pants down enough to free his dick.
“I’ll say this for you,” Michael told him as he rolled the condom on, “You do have a nice ass.”
Pulling his fingers out, Michael gave it a hard slap and repositioned, the denim of his jeans electrical against Luke’s inner thighs. He was so exposed, laid out naked on the bed of a man he hated, body on display for that utter cunt.
That was a fun new low.
Michael wasn’t hesitant to push into Luke, to take him and use him. Out of curiosity, Luke twisted to get away from the painful stretch, but Michael grabbed his hair to still him.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” Luke bit.
Michael scoffed, releasing his hair with a shove. “Jesus Christ, you’re easy for this.”
He leaned down, the buttons and studs of his stupid denim jacket icy on Luke’s bare back, grabbing his wrists and pulling them down behind his back as he fucked into him. Holding them with one hand, he snaked the other under Luke’s body to pinch a nipple.
“You know, that door isn’t locked,” Michael told him, breath ghosting over his aching cheek as he kneaded the nipple between his thumb and knuckle, “Anyone could come in here looking for me and find you hanging off my dick. You’d probably like that, though. Everyone knowing this is how you take it.”
Luke scowled into the sheets. The worst part was that, in that moment, he did want everyone to see, to know that he could take this without shattering like a teacup. Every time Michael twisted or pulled at his nipple, Luke growled and squirmed, but he seemed to have found a favourite way to torture him, just as Luke had apparently found a favourite way to be tortured. Not that there wasn’t plenty to focus on in other parts of his body. Michael’s dick using him like a toy, the burn of the denim on his inner thighs, the metal notions of Michael’s clothes jabbing into him, his dick getting shoved into the sheets with every thrust as if to reward him for his pathetic submission. Nobody else dared to treat him like this, like he was a piece of meat only good for getting off inside of, but goddamn did he want more.
Michael released his tender nipple to brace himself against the mattress for a better angle, fucking him harder and, probably unknowingly, slipping against Luke’s sweet spot. It didn’t take much to undo Luke, white noise washing over him as he came.
Grunting, Michael soon followed him. It would have been kind of romantic if Luke didn’t despise everything about him.
As Michael got off of him, Luke rolled onto his side, panting.
“You came on my fucking bed?” Michael snapped, “You’re disgusting.”
“You’ll live,” Luke mumbled. He moved to sit up, but grunted at the pain that shot through his suddenly glaringly fragile legs. He hadn’t noticed how much pressure he’d been putting on them.
Ignoring him, Michael grabbed the tequila bottle he’d come here for, wrenched the door open and strode out, party music blaring in Luke’s ears as he watched him go without closing it. Anyone passing by would see Luke, naked and breakable, on Michael’s bed.
Fuck that.
Biting his tongue, Luke rolled off the bed and hit the floor hard, ignoring the pain and scrambling to the door to slam it shut. He sat against it and breathed through the flaring agony in his legs, waiting it out until it was bearable enough that he could crawl to the nearest piece of clothing. Luke wondered if Michael had suspected, hoped, even, that gathering up his scattered clothes would be this much of an ordeal. He’d asked those who knew not to talk about last year, but rumours had gotten out and Luke wouldn’t be surprised if Calum’s housemate was one of the prying pairs of ears to have caught wind of it.
That being said, there was a slight sense of relief to be stamped down at the idea that Michael knew and was still just as shitty to Luke as he’d always been. It would be a stretch to call this pity sex. Shame he didn’t get any of that tequila before he left, though.
can you help me get back to the car? Luke texted Ashton when he was dressed.
where are you?
Luke stared at the Green Day poster on the wall opposite him for a moment before deciding to play dumb. someones room. had to lie down
omw
Luke crawled to the bed and frowned at the obvious cumstain. Shit. He wrenched the sheet to the floor, pushing it out of sight and climbing onto the bed just in time to pretend he’d been lying there the whole time when Ashton came in.
“You okay?” He froze, staring at Luke. “What happened to your face?”
Fuck.
“I, uh, met Michael on the way here,” he lied. Well. It wasn’t a complete lie.
“Michael did that?”
Luke shrugged. “He’s a prick, what would you expect?”
Ashton frowned deeply, but didn’t press him for more information. “Do you need your crutches?”
“No, just help me...” He held his arms out to him.
Ashton slid an arm around him and helped him off the bed. Luke’s legs bitched at him for making them stand, but he took a few unsteady steps towards the door with Ashton, deciding that they could cope.
“Where’s Michael?” he tried to ask casually, peering into the living room as they approached it.
All these people seeing him like this fucking sucked, but he couldn’t let Michael win by allowing him to see as well.
“He’s not gonna touch you,” Ashton assured him.
“No, just…”
Luke separated himself from Ashton as they walked in. He couldn’t see Michael anywhere, which was a relief because even without Ashton holding him up he just knew that everyone could see how awkward his steps towards the front door were. All those fucking voyeurs would be talking about it the moment he was out of the house, as if any of it was any of their business. As if last year was just a fun piece of gossip to them.
Because it was.