Work Text:
Pete gets bored of Mikey being caged within a week.
It seemed exciting when Mikey first suggested it. Just the thought of, like, woah how does that thing even fit in there and wait, but how do you…and, finally, so what happens when you get—?
There was a fun little while that he spent inspecting Mikey’s cock. Poking at it through the bars, seeing the way Mikey squirmed, and even watching him go through the motions of pissing, which was kinda hot actually.
Except, Pete hadn’t really considered what this would mean for him. He’s not the one with his dick trapped in metal but it still feels that way, ‘cause where Mikey would normally be aching to kick his jeans off, he’s pulling away from heated make out sessions and leaving Pete feeling desperate.
“You know. You could just bend me over and fuck me,” Mikey suggests way too casually, when Pete voices his dilemma. He’s a lot hornier than he should be, for just sitting on the couch watching Godzilla. But that’s what Mikey does to him. Even just the slightest of touches makes Pete want.
E.g.—a long finger creeps its way along the side of Pete’s throat and hooks onto the necklace chain he’s been wearing that holds the key to the cage. Mikey’s not even looking at him, really, just barely glancing out of the corner of his eye, but Pete still feels his face heat up.
Like he doesn’t know what internal crisis Pete is currently having, Mikey goes on, “That’s the point, y’know? You can do whatever you want with me, I just can’t get off.”
Of course, that is what Pete agreed to. He knew full well that he’d be the one in charge of Mikey’s orgasms and everything they did would be with Pete at the helm. So in a roundabout way he guesses this is his fault, for just sitting back and letting it happen. And it’s, like, not an entirely unwelcome thought—the idea of, like, just wildly fucking like animals, doing it all rough—because he’s sure it’d feel good. It would, any guy would be crazy not to like that, but there’s a tiny inkling in Pete’s chest that makes it all feel wrong in a way he can’t quite describe. He should probably get over that if he wants to come in, like, the foreseeable future.
“Oh. I see,” Mikey says to his indecisive silence, finally turning his full attention away from the TV and onto Pete. Pete does his best to not shrink beneath his gaze. “It’s like that, huh?”
“Like what?” For whatever reason, Mikey always seems to know him better than he does himself. Or, maybe his brain’s just not firing on all cylinders right now. Too worked up.
“Hm? Nothing. Just don’t think you’re up to it.”
Pete frowns. “What? Yes I can. I could fuck you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I can. You’re so—you’re so easy, probably could take me right now. I wouldn’t even have to try.”
“Heh. Yeah. Maybe. But I don’t see you doing anything, so…Aren’t you supposed to be the one in charge?” It sounds like a dare. A challenge.
Many problems in Pete’s life stem from his inability to do as he’s told. Or, rather, he doesn’t like being told he can’t do things. This was a major problem in his childhood and apparently continues to be, so he surges up, firmly places his hands on Mikey’s shoulders and pushes back ‘til they land. Mikey laying back against the couch with Pete over top of him.
Mikey lets out an oomph! upon impact, but quickly recovers to say in a low voice, “You’re gonna do it? You’re gonna fuck me? Or, use my throat? You can. You can but you won’t.”
He’s going to snark something back—something about how Mikey’s got a lot of nerve for someone who can’t even get hard. Something about how he’ll just go and jerk off on his own if Mikey’s gonna be useless like always. All that actually ends up coming out is a little growl of frustration that sounds more puppy than wolf. Story of Pete’s life.
Mikey lets out a sudden high, breathy laugh, and with it goes some of the tension. “Jeez. You’re so needy. I didn’t think you were gonna be this needy. Honestly. I didn’t.”
“I’m not needy,” Pete immediately protests, but his body’s clear opposition makes him deflate. “I just—I wanna fuckin’ come, Mikey. I’ve got, like, gallons of cum inside of me.”
He arches a brow. “Gallons?”
“Yes.”
Mikey hums, pausing for a moment as if thinking. “Well if it’s that serious…” and with that, he’s abruptly rolling out from underneath Pete. “C’mon,” he says, holding out a hand, “Since you aren’t gonna fuck me.”
"What?”
“I’m fixing your ‘gallons of cum’ issue” is Mikey’s only explanation, which Pete can’t bring himself to argue with. He lets Mikey pull him up from the couch cushions and over to the bedroom where Pete sits on the edge of the mattress.
Mikey gets down on his knees, and he won’t lie that that certainly does something to him. Like, it’s muscle memory. A trained response that occurs when Mikey’s eye-level with his crotch. Except, Mikey seems far more focused on finding whatever he’s looking for underneath the bed than sucking any dick.
Finally, he emerges with a plastic bin that sends a shock down the whole length of Pete’s spine.
“Oh my God,” Pete chokes out as Mikey dumps an array of miscellaneous sex toys out of the bin and onto the bed. “You—You’re a fucking slut.”
Mikey licks his lips. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”
Case in point: Mikey’s sorting through the pile with a kind of familiarity that Pete certainly doesn’t have, tossing whatever toys he’s seemingly deemed unnecessary off to the side. Pete’s own masturbatory escapades extend as far as buying pay-per-view porn at hotels and using flavored lube to slick up his palm, so all this crap is kinda like seeing an alien at the zoo…An alien with its weird, purple dick out, actually. Maybe Pete should’ve just gone ahead and fucked Mikey himself. At least he knows what that entails.
“So,” Mikey says, turning to him. “Dealer’s choice, right?”
It’s not often that other people take the reins and decide things for Pete, not anymore, but he’s humble enough to admit he wouldn’t even know where to begin with all this. He feels like whatever’s the opposite of a kid in a candy shop, the options maybe slightly more intimidating than exciting. Mikey would let him back out if he said the word, although he can’t quite bring himself to, his body’s demands outweighing any concerns.
“Dealer’s choice,” he confirms. “Just…make me come?”
“Obviously,” and so Mikey leans down to capture him into a kiss. By now, the press of Mikey’s lips against his is very much familiar and Pete’s more than happy to accommodate.
He lets himself be eased back onto the mattress and soon he’s got a lapful of Mikey Way. It’s almost instinctual, how Pete’s arms go to wrap around Mikey’s neck, bringing him in closer and it settles some of his impatience, because at least this is something.
Eventually, though, Mikey draws back and for a second Pete’s brain jolts, thinking Mikey’s going to leave him hanging again as he clambers off. Except, Mikey’s pushing at his chest, trying to get him to reorient on the bed so he’s actually laying down properly, and—Oh, okay. Yes. They’re getting somewhere.
He allows Mikey to then yank his pajama pants down, though he still jumps a little when a cold hand settles against his bare ass. There’s a clear implication to Mikey’s touch; he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t at least a bit surprising. Wasn’t exactly on his mind when giving Mikey free pickings.
And the thing is, Mikey has done a finger on him before when sucking him off. Maybe just to see whether he could. Pete doesn’t know. It was whatever, but that aside Pete’s asshole virginity has remained for the most part untouched.
As far as reservations go, Pete’s just not so sure this whole anal thing works for him the same way it does for Mikey. Mikey’s ass opens up like…like he likes it. Like it’s easy. Pete, personally, can’t fathom doing…well, more than Mikey’s lone digit. Pete is not a very big guy. He’s rather little. The vague, hypothetical thought of more, when he’s held Mikey heavy in his hand, always made Pete feel like he’d split in half or something.
Although, on second thought, he guesses this time around Mikey couldn’t really fuck Pete even if he tried. After all, Mikey’s all locked up, his dick far out of range from Pete’s ass. The key rests against Pete’s collarbones. It makes things a little less daunting.
Just to make sure, since foreign objects are seemingly in play here, “You’re not gonna shove some monster cock in me, are you?” Pete eyes one of the larger dildos that Mikey’s got. Bigger than Mikey, even.
Mikey laughs, “You can’t take that, man.” Then, leaning in close to Pete’s ear, in a breathy whisper, “Don't worry. I know exactly how much you can take.”
And though there’s a suggestive lilt in his voice, Pete finds it weirdly reassuring. Mikey knows a lot more about Pete than just how wide his asshole opens up. He gives a nod, to which Mikey meets with a surprisingly wide grin. Well. If Mikey’s into it…
The telltale sounds of gay sex, as Pete’s come to learn—drawer opening, cap popping open, wet squelching—signal that he better start mentally preparing himself. It’s not long before he feels Mikey’s presence hovering ‘round his behind and Pete’s pretty proud to say that, without much fanfare or resistance, his finger sinks right into him, down to the knuckle.
It feels like it always does. Weird, mostly, which Pete figures is about right.
“You’re not gonna—?” His dick is flagging; normally, by now, Mikey’d have already gotten a tongue on him but he seems set on staying away from Pete’s crotch, touch solely confined to the slow sliding of his finger in and out.
“Not right now,” Mikey says cryptically and Pete groans, resigning himself to whatever Mikey’s planning and doing his best to adjust.
Pete could stand it before, when he had a distraction. Being buried in Mikey’s throat makes it hard to focus on the strange sensations of a foreign finger poking around in his butt. He didn’t think it was even doing that much for him, not compared to the main event, except this time it’s the only thing he’s got and Pete’s feeling left to flounder.
“Dude, just relax,” soothes Mikey and Pete snorts. Relaxing isn’t really in his skill set. That’s why he has an anxiety disorder.
“I can't help it!”
“Yeah, I know, it’s pretty fucking weird. Come on, trust me?” He lays an accompanying smooch over top of Pete’s knee. “Let me help you this time.”
Big dicks aside, Mikey’s about as harmless as a lanky baby deer and his main priorities in life are, like, bidding on retro toys—of the nonsexual variety—so Pete forces his eyes to slip shut, maybe it’ll make things easier. He lets himself be kissed and be probed, or whatever it is Mikey’s getting up to down there. He can try out whatever he wants, if he wants play at being the fucker and not the fuckee this time around.
That’s the other thing: fingers-in-ass generally (mostly, ninety-nine percent of the time) happen as a means to an end. The end being fitting a dick in there. Mikey’s always quick with it when he does it on himself, moving from one to two to three for that stretch that he needs to get properly fucked.
This, what he’s doing now to Pete, is none of that. It’s all slow movements of Mikey’s finger, just kind of twitching inside of him, like he’s simply feeling along Pete’s walls. Not insistent, not even deep, really. No apparent end goal in sight…Because Mikey’s caged, Pete reminds himself. That’s why it’s different, even if he doesn’t fully get it.
The lack of any real direction is slightly confusing yet manageable and despite the weirdness, Pete finds himself settling under Mikey’s hand. Releases the last of the tight worry he’s been holding onto, relaxes his body against the sheets.
He’s mildly surprised how easily a second finger slips into him, honestly barely registers it at all. And once they’re in there, they don’t spread or scissor. Don’t try to force his inner walls apart to accommodate something bigger. Like before, Mikey’s fingers only move in little, controlled motions. Almost as though he’s petting Pete, stroking at his insides.
It’s actually kind of nice. Like, ignoring the anal situation, nice in the way that it’s nice to just be around Mikey and to have him nearby. Pete’s always been trying to get close to him, even before they met for real, when Mikey was just his latest obsession. He likes getting to watch Mikey do his thing, observes him like the big cats at the zoo, a thing of nature that Pete’s lucky to be in the presence of. Even more so, he’s lucky to touch. He likes how Mikey’s body feels pressed against his. How his long arms seem to be able to wrap around Pete twice over. And, he likes that Mikey likes him enough to let Pete be this close. It’s not often that people do that; Pete’s not the kind of guy you keep around for long.
Mikey, though, buries his fingers in Pete as if he has no intentions of ever leaving him. If this—the aimless probing of Pete’s ass—is really what Mikey wants to spend his time doing, even when there’s a million other better things out there than Pete, then he’s content to let him do that.
He doesn’t know how much time passes, how long it’s been since Mikey first opened him up, drifting until, with a sudden realization of the pressure building in his crotch, “Shit, Mikey. I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking pee, man.”
“That’s fine,” Mikey just replies, totally unbothered, continuing his prodding like he doesn’t care that he’s poking at Pete’s bladder…or that’s what it feels like.
Pete opens his eyes and lifts his head—because, seriously, Mikey—but when he looks, there’s already a bit of wetness pooled on his belly underneath the head of his cock that he hadn’t even noticed or felt happen. Further down, between his legs, Mikey is gazing up at him with a slight bit of a smirk.
“What the fuck?” he mumbles as Mikey runs his thumb through the shiny, clear droplets, trailing it along his skin, before sticking it into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. Pete’s mouth drops open into a silent oh.
Not quite piss but there’s still a vague sense of the same relief, when you’ve been holding it in, finally able to release the pressure and unclench. Only, he definitely didn’t come either, that’s for sure. At least not for real. His cock’s gone totally soft now.
“What’d you fuckin’ do to me?” asks Pete, watching another drip fall from his tip. It’s weird. Kind of freaky. Pre-cum is one thing, but he’s never been so…leaky. Not when his dick isn’t even hard. It’s almost like Mikey’s forcing it out of him, a slow, steady flow. So this is what ‘dealer’s choice’ means.
Mikey’s saying, in a soft voice like he’s actually cooing at Pete, “It’s okay. Just let it. Does it feel good?”
Pete’s limp dick sure thinks it feels good and Pete…Pete can’t really disagree in full confidence. He’s now acutely aware of the warmth building down below and it’s not really orgasmic pleasure in the traditional sense, no big finish that every guy's well accustomed to. But all his limbs feel heavy and loose. His brain’s maybe a little fogged up. He pants, trying to take in more air, make up for all the blood beginning to race around inside of him. His body’s reacting like it’s good.
In the back of his mind, he’d been holding out on nothing happening at all. Like, he’d just be laying here bored out of his mind with some fucking fingers in his ass and they’d have to give it up eventually. But this for sure isn’t nothing, and there’s a brief, kinda weird moment where he has the urge to kick Mikey away. To make him stop, so he can run off. Lock himself in the bathroom, jerk himself off the normal way. The way he’s supposed to get off, because something about this feels stupidly shameful.
Which is dumb and Pete’s an idiot since he’s practically already slightly more than half gay. He’s had lots of sex with Mikey by now. That line’s been crossed, he already had his freak out, and sexuality crises are so last year. Perhaps this is just the last seal to be broken. Still. He’s all fucking wet from just having a couple fingers in his ass. Even Mikey pumps his own dick to get off when he’s getting fucked, and Mikey’s all light and airy and pretty like a bird. Mikey’s the one who’s supposed to like this kind of shit.
He parts his lips, no words come out, Mikey gets it all the same. Or at least the part that matters.
Again, “It’s okay. It’s okay. It does feel good, huh? You just—Look how fucking wet you are. Fuck, Pete, you’re so—” he cuts himself off with a groan, pausing to collect himself before asking, “Do you want more?”
He leans up over Pete as he asks, letting him see his face in clearer detail. Mikey’s pupils are blown, his cheeks ruddy, and his lips all wet from Pete. Just as obscene-looking as when he sucks him off normally. Mikey looks like he wants more.
Pete lets out a shaky exhale. “Yeah.” His voice sounds raw coming out. He doesn’t even know what more is, but desperation eventually wins out. Not just his, but Mikey’s too. He wants it, if only to watch Mikey lap it up again with kitten licks of his tongue. Fucking cum slut. Of course ‘gallons of cum’ would’ve been what did it.
The fingers in him disappear, to which Pete is left feeling weirdly gaping. As if his body had reformed in the shape of Mikey. He didn’t know it could do that.
Mikey reaches to grab some toy out of his collection and holds it out for Pete to see.
Pete’s gotta squint to focus his bleary eyes in on the object before him and finds it to be some wand-looking stick thing with an angled bulb at one end. It’s thin enough, honestly probably smaller than the width of Mikey’s two fingers, that Pete’s not quite intimidated by it. It wouldn’t be that different or hard. But any foreign object is still weird, and Pete doesn’t know this thing like he knows Mikey.
He swallows the lump in his throat. “What’s it do?”
The toy comes to life in response, Mikey pushing some button and bringing the vibrating silicone head to lightly press against Pete’s cheek with a teasing smile. Right, he should’ve guessed. His question was a little dumb.
And this—this is definitely more.
As soon as the toy enters, the vibrations seem to rattle through Pete’s entire body, definitely stimulating in ways that Mikey’s fingers can’t. It’s an incessant attack to his nervous system and Pete gets the feeling there were maybe one or two steps missing in between the fingers and now, like he’s suddenly been thrown into the deep end of the pool whereas before was just the kiddie splash pad.
It’s not bad, he doesn’t quite drown. More like a wave washes over him, takes him with it, sweeping him up and up until reaching a peak. There, all his muscles seem to clench up and he gets that same ‘need to pee!’ feeling though much more insistent than the last. He lets out a moan without meaning to, his body jerking at the sensations, before all the intensity dips back down into an equilibrium, waiting for the next wave.
Down below, Mikey’s mouth has dropped open as he holds the toy firmly inside of him. His eyes flicker up, catching Pete’s own, and Pete nods while Mikey doubles down.
Now that he knows what he’s in for, it’s easier to let himself be carried through the cycles of ups and downs, each progressively more toe-curling than the last. He won’t look but he’s sure his cock’s leaking a steady stream.
Though at the same time, it’s a bittersweet turn of events and he finds himself vaguely missing the impossible closeness of Mikey’s fingers inside of him.
In an attempt to bring some of that skin-to-skin back, Pete blurts out, “Take off your shirt,” and Mikey scrambles to obey, yanking the fabric over his head and tossing it aside to be lost on the messy floor so that Pete gets to see his favorite sight. He’s all beautiful skin and long, elegant limbs, no matter how dorkily he carries them.
“C’mere,” Pete mumbles and he’s quick to paw at the newly exposed skin. Reaching down so his fingers can run down bare shoulders that’ve become slick with sweat, then skate through the wiry hairs across Mikey’s chest, before wrapping ‘round back and digging nails into skin. Mikey gasps at the sharp pinpricks, Pete clawing to bring him closer ‘til Mikey’s mouth latches onto the skin of Pete’s jaw.
“Good, good,” Mikey whispers, hot breaths against Pete’s skin. “I’m gonna—gonna fucking milk you.”
True to his word, Pete feels himself getting wetter and Mikey reaches a hand down to collect more of his prize, this time bringing two fingers up to his mouth. He sucks at them sloppily, showing off, before crashing his mouth against Pete’s and he feels Mikey’s spit get pushed onto his tongue. No doubt some of Pete’s wetness in there too, which is maybe the point.
“So sweet. So fucking sweet,” he’s muttering whilst he pulls back. Pete can’t parse out whether Mikey means the taste or Pete himself. Both? It makes Pete’s stomach feel like it’s flipping ten times over. “I don’t know why I even—I should’ve fuckin’ known. You didn’t wanna—You’re not mean, you’re sweet. You’re sweet. You just wanted me to help you, huh? You needed me to—Tell me what you want.”
“Mikey,” is all Pete can say, body spasming again, “Mikey, Mikey.”
“Pete,” Mikey says back. It’s a whole conversation on its own, and this time, when Mikey reaches his hand down again, he brushes his fingers down the length of his cock, just barely.
His cock, left sorely out of the proceedings thus far, stiffens up in practically the blink of an eye, like it’d been waiting anxiously for this very moment. Pete hadn’t paid it much mind until now—couldn’t, really, too distracted by everything going on downstairs—but he’s suddenly overwhelmed by the need for more.
Mikey seems to understand this too, and he’s reaching over to his pile of toys and pulling out a clear, ridged sleeve that he quickly coats with lube and gets onto Pete’s dick, forcing a moan out of his throat.
It’s practically instinct the way his hips begin to jerk, desperately seeking more at the slightest hint of pleasure. His body twists in an attempt to get more leverage and he buries his face into the pillows as he begins to thrust into the toy. But even with the new position, he can’t quite get what he needs, running into a wall. The toy’s too big, too loose around his dick, the ridges lining the inside only just barely grazing his skin. Not enough to make himself come. Pete nearly cries in frustration.
“Mikey,” he tries, because he knows Mikey can fix it. Mikey will make it better, he likes Mikey, Mikey’s good. “It’s not—I need—” And in a split second, the toy on his cock is replaced by Mikey’s fist, fingers wrapped so tightly that Pete can feel every bump and groove of his knuckles against slick, sensitive skin. He lets out a gasp at the increased pressure and begins to fuck into the makeshift hole in earnest.
“Fuck, yeah, you need me to—to be your toy?” Mikey grunts through gritted teeth. “C’mon, fuck me, baby. Like I’m your toy. It’s okay, lemme help you, I can do it. Let me make you come. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Pete.”
It’s all too much—the sensations in his ass, Mikey’s hand on his cock, the smell of Mikey’s sweat in his lungs, Mikey’s encouragement, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey—and Pete’s mind is overtaken by the static that’s been building in his ears. It erupts through him as a sudden, intense full-body shock that whites out all his other senses, makes it so all he can do is just feel. It’s only when the waves finally settle down, after what seems like forever, that he can begin to make sense of the world again.
Coming to, before he’s even able to feel his own body again, the first thing he sees is Mikey’s moved to now sit up against the headboard where he gazes back down at Pete with a heavy, lidded gaze. His pretty mouth’s open and panting, and Pete spends a little while transfixed by the sight, watching the steady up-and-down motion of Mikey’s shoulders as he tries to catch his breath. He follows the smooth line of his arms down until landing on his hands; one’s still sticky, covered in ropes and ropes of Pete’s cum across his fingers, along his forearm, while the other clutches at his own crotch through the denim.
It puts some of the wind back in Pete’s sails. “Lemme see,” Pete whispers in a hoarse voice, his hand twitching against the mattress to gesture towards Mikey’s bulge.
Mikey hisses as he undoes the front of his jeans to give Pete a look at his cock, straining against the bars, all red and swollen. Clearly trying to harden, push its way out, only to be locked firmly in place. The metal glistens at the tip, Mikey’s dick leaking a few helpless drops.
“Hurts,” Pete comments, dumb. Of course it hurts.
“Uh-huh, yeah,” Mikey responds breathily, just bordering on a whine, his voice pitching up higher than it already is.
Pete can practically feel the desperation coming off him and he realizes—if Pete was needy before, Mikey must be feeling ten times worse, not even able to get hard. And while Pete got totally drained, like a bajillion orgasms worth, Mikey’s been given absolutely nothing. Not even a little touch. Pete’s gut sinks a tiny bit at that realization and he suddenly feels hollow inside, because if Mikey’s not getting anything out of this, then—
“You should just fuck me,” Pete chokes out, making a split second decision. “I’m already fuckin’ open, right?”
He reaches up, fumbling for the key around his neck to be able to free Mikey from his penis prison. Only, he can’t quite get his shaky hands to cooperate with his wishy-washy post-orgasm brain signals enough to successfully undo the latch on the chain.
“Fuck,” Pete curses when his fingers slip up again. “Mikey, Mikey, you have to get the key—“
Mikey’s hand wraps over Pete’s, but he doesn’t go for the clasp. “No, no, I think you’re done.”
Pete frowns, confused. “What?”
“You already—you’re done. For tonight.”
“I’m not done, you still haven’t—“
“No, Pete.”
The protests on Pete’s tongue die suddenly. They look at each other for a moment, quiet, save for their still-heavy breathing.
Finally, “…You don’t wanna fuck me?” Pete asks sadly. He can’t help it. He feels kinda fucking rejected. He doesn’t even—but Mikey should.
Mikey stammers out, “I…if you want to, I do. But I just don’t think you—” he cuts himself off, lets out an exhale, and then says in a strained voice, “I like it. I like it when—when you make me—when you just take and get me worked up and I can’t do anything and it hurts. I want it to hurt, Pete.”
It occurs to Pete, then, that the times before. When Mikey would leave him hot and bothered, when he said Pete should just fuck him, that make he was trying to goat Pete into doing just that. Bending him over, taking and leaving and hurting. Except Pete’s just so…if there’s anything Mikey’s fingers showed him today, Pete’s not so tough. He’s all mush. And he was wrong before—this isn’t what Mikey wanted. Not really. “You wanted—”
“I did, yeah, I did. I thought—but this works. This is what I want, too. Look at me, Pete, look how much—how much it hurts. It’s hurts so fucking bad. Seeing you, I wanted you so much. I want you, I want you to—” He fumbles for Pete’s hand and brings it down to rest against his throbbing cock. Cum still sticky on his skin, smearing against Pete’s fingers, against the cage. “See? You can do whatever you want with me, I want you to. I’m just—yours.”
“Mine?”
“Yeah. You get it? I’m yours. I want to be.”
Having just Mikey’s hand on his suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. Pete has to gather all his loose limbs together to push himself up, clambering over into Mikey’s lap to take what’s his. The hard metal lock of the cage presses against Pete’s sensitive ass. Mikey lets out a hiss of his own, but he keeps on talking.
“Next time. Next time, I’ll fuck you. I will. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll make you feel good. I’ll go slow, I’ll make you come.”
Pete imagines what it’d feel like to have Mikey inside of him—after having had his brain milked out of his dick and seeing Mikey now, looking all flushed, rambling, practically begging—it sounds like less of a bad idea than it did before. Mikey took care of him. He buries his face into Mikey’s neck and nods, rubbing against the sweat trickling down his throat.
“And—and you’ll have to put a ring on me, or I’ll just come as soon as I—I’d be so fucking desperate it’d hurt, but I can’t even—I’d wanna come so bad, I—”
“But you can’t.”
Mikey shakes his head, lets out a whine. “No. You have to let me.”
“‘Cause you're mine.”
“Mhm. Yeah. I’m yours.”