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Mike couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing; a big, squawking thing that left his stomach aching. His vision swam with tears and he tried to tip his head back to look at something else because if he looked at Peter he would bust up all over again.
Peter stood, wobbly, on the bed, head thrown back dramatically, one hand clutching a microphone made of air as he mimed to the song playing in their turntable. Everyone knows the one, it goes ‘stay ahhhh… just a little bit longer…’ At the moment, Mike’s weed addled brain couldn’t remember the title for the life of him (it is, in fact: Stay). Sometimes, Mike could get into those hokey tunes, even he said they made him cringe. Peter was now on his hands and knees, pretending to sing seductively like a burlesque performer. The only thing keeping Mike from lunging forward and trapping Peter in a fierce kiss was that at the falsetto parts, he sang along, making Mike scream in laughter at how awful it sounded (Awful is subjective, Mike will never let anyone know but he adores Peter’s voice)
Peter crawled on the bed toward Mike, his pupils wide with what Mike took as lust, not simply pot.
He sang out the words as he came closer, and it shouldn’t have drawn Mike in. He should’ve laughed at this too, this joke Peter was putting on. It was funny, a stupid song that Mike didn’t even care for, with stupid lyrics that didn’t do a thing for him. Even with Peter singing them a touch lower than they ought to have been. Instead, Mike felt his entire stomach heat up in a way that brought a burn all the way to his cheeks.
“If your daddy don’t mind, and your momma don’t mind.”
Peter had now reached Mike, and had effectively straddled him. Their lips pressed together, on fire and Mike’s brain melted away in the heat. He was as good as gone now, Peter had him right where he wanted him and god help Mike if he was going to do a thing about it. This would end the way it always did, with Mike giving up every shred of self preservation he had for Peter to do something to him that awakened a mad little spark deep somewhere Mike couldn’t reach.
He couldn’t put his finger on what it was that caused him to lay his whole soul bare every time Peter asked him to. It was as though Peter knew him better than he knew himself, knew the combination to the lock that opened him up and had no problem going inside. He had no problem at all rifling around and helping himself to every little feeling Mike had locked away to keep for himself. Everything delicate was now cold, naked and shivering in the open with Peter’s careful, steady gaze on them, measuring and examining.
Peter never drank him in, never inhaled him like sweet summer air the way Mike did. He was never lost, always sure footed and calculating when they made two into one. Peter knew exactly where he was, exactly who he was, and exactly how he was going to unravel Michael bit by bit.
And Michael was going to let him. Until the day Peter decided he had found whatever it was he was looking inside of Mike’s heart and pocketed it for himself.