Chapter Text
The mission had failed in a rather spectacular way; of all things, they’d been caught because of Mike's sex life. Michael had accounted for every contingency he could think of. He'd accounted for alarms alerting to time travel. He’d accounted for when security guards would change shifts. He’d accounted for the goddamn sunset casting shadows. What he hadn’t accounted for was the love that seemingly every iteration of Edgar shared of locking his Mike’s dick up for extended periods of time.
In short, Mike had been wearing a goddamn cock cage, which hit the ground loudly when they all had to duck to hide from a guard. And Mikey had been shot by a guard because of it. Michael had watched Mikey die again.
The biggest issue was that the mission wasn’t exactly Base-sanctioned, which was why he couldn’t just go and tell Mike’s Edgar to not lock him up. If it had been a Base-sanctioned mission, Edgar wouldn’t have locked Mike’s dick in a cage in the first place. He couldn’t take it off, either; Mike was too much of a good boy to take the cage off once it was on, so Edgar would know exactly why Mike had taken it off.
Fortunately, it still wasn't hard to correct; transport to Mike and Edgar’s home before Mike’s last home visit, take the cage and its key from the box in Edgar's bedside table, then put it back a month from the moment he'd taken it, well after the mission was completed.
Mike and Edgar would be out for the evening; the first night of a home visit was always date night. Mike would gush nonstop about it when he came back to the apartment; a movie or a play out (usually Mike’s pick, of course), then dinner at whatever fancy restaurant Edgar had made a reservation at weeks ago. Then, of course, a long evening of fucking, though Mike tended not to mention that so explicitly.
He counted down under his breath, pressed the button on the calculator, and then he was in Mike and Edgar’s bedroom
He’d rarely been in the bedroom Mike shared with his Edgar. Somehow, it always felt too private, too personal. Everything was so achingly familiar; the walls were the same ugly shade of gray that he and his Edgar had always sworn they’d paint over. Movie posters in matching frames hung over Mike’s side of the room.
But there were differences, too. In Mike’s open closet, he could see several swatches of paint; a few shades of pale yellow, a couple of deep blues, and one forest green; something Michael and his own Edgar had never gotten around to. Mike had a novel on his bedside table that Edgar had always tried to convince Michael to read. Reggie’s cat tree sat in the corner. Michael had never adopted a cat with Edgar.
Tearing his eyes from the details of Mike and Edgar’s life, he focused on the correction. With Edgar, he didn’t have to guess where the cage was; as anticipated, it was in the bottom drawer of Edgar’s bedside table, tucked in a small, padded box. Under the cage, he knew, would be the lock and both keys, which he would leave.
Gingerly, he lifted it from its box, feeling the weight in his hand. It was, of course, the same one Michael had owned; silver and sturdy, with a slight curve, and the perfect size for Mike’s cock. He couldn’t help but imagine it on Mike; he was so much better than Michael was, in every way. Where Michael used to bitch and whine and squirm, often to the point of needing to be tied up, he imagined Mike would sit and pout, but ultimately allow it to be slipped on without too much of a fuss. Then h e imagined himself putting the cage on Mike; pinning him down while he complained, then ignoring him all day as he begged to be released... He just knew that Mike wouldn’t behave as well for him as he did for Edgar.
The whine of the front door snapped him out of his daydream. Fuck. They were home early; or maybe they’d left early, and he’d arrived late? Either way, he needed to leave. He tucked the cage into his jacket pocket, hastily shut the box and the drawer, then, as quickly as he could without messing up, he input the coordinates and time of the apartment. As Mike and Edgar’s footsteps began up the stairs, he hit the button, and was instantly back home.
He unlocked the safe under his bed and placed it in; he’d return it once he was sure the correction had worked.
A week after Mike had left, down to the exact minute, Michael heard from the kitchen the light creaking of the floorboards adjusting to someone who hadn’t been there a second prior.
“Mike!” Michael called out, standing from the sofa and into the kitchen to embrace him. “Missed you, partner.”
Mike inhaled sharply but wrapped his arms around Michael anyways. “Missed you, too, Michael.”
“Edgar sends love and pastries,” Mike informed him as he pulled out of the hug, gently shaking the plastic container of various baked goods. “I think one of them might actually have real flour in it? He made me taste test the batter, and he didn’t try it, so I assume that’s why.”
Michael laughed. “Bet he was planning on deep cleaning the kitchen after you left.”
“Yeah- I honestly think he was tired of giving us pastries with his fancy, expensive flour.”
“Probably,” Michael responded, and patted Mike on the back. Again, he winced. “How about you put those up and we watch a movie?”
“Sounds good- something classic, maybe? 80’s?”
“ET alright with you?”
“Hell yeah. The original release, right? Not the special edition?” Mike checked as he took four of the pastries out and put them on a plate.
Michael winked. “You know it, partner.”
With a soft cheer, Mike turned around to put the container on a shelf. As he reached up, his shirt lifted to expose just the barest inch of skin. Michael was immediately grateful that Mike wasn’t looking in his direction, giving him time to shuffle behind the table to conceal his arousal.
Red stripes covered the lowest part of Mike’s back, just barely above his ass. Michael knew the marks with absolute certainty; they came from a thin wooden cane, without a doubt Edgar’s favorite tool for especially harsh punishments. He remembered how awful it felt, and how wonderful that awfulness was, as if the shame was beaten from his body with every strike. He wondered if Mike cried while being punished. He wondered if he came from the slightest touch afterwards.
Michael whistled. "You alright there, pard? Looks like something got you pretty good. Thought you was taking a break, not getting into any more scrapes.”
“Oh!” Mike exclaimed, spinning around and tugging his shirt down to cover the marks. His face was pink. “Yeah, I mean- yeah, I was taking a break, we just-”
“ Relax, Mike,” Michael soothed. “I’m just messin’ with you. I been in your situation plenty of times. The man can get mean when he wants to, can’t he?”
“Right.” Mike stared in any direction but Michael, face growing redder. “Yeah. Do you want to put in the movie, maybe?”
With a tip of his hat, Michael turned. “Sure thing, pard.”
It was wishful thinking, he knew, but he could have sworn he’d seen the slightest tenting of Mike’s shorts. Even if he had seen it, chances were Mike was just thinking about his goddamn fiancé. There was no reason for a conversation with Michael to stir any interest.
He wanted to be in both situations; he wanted to make Mike cry. He wanted to whip him over and over and over until he screamed and sobbed, and then kiss every tear from his face. But, on the other hand, he wanted a firm hand to guide him again. He wanted Edgar to bring a delicate-looking instrument down against his flesh; he wanted to beg for mercy against the sharp, burning pain.
He wanted both of them. He wanted them so badly his chest ached; one person he could never have, and one he’d already lost. It wasn’t an option; he’d have to settle with watching from the outside, alone and wanting more and more with each glimpse.