A/N: Any chapters with "❌" in the title indicate explicit content.

The walk was quiet, all except for the turmoil in Micah's head. The inside of his brain was smeared across that survey—a survey Alistair had read his answers to. It was unnerving to know that Alistair knew so much about him when they'd only talked for maybe ten minutes.

Luckily, Alistair kept his mouth shut during the walk. At the station, they stood side-by-side on the tiled subway floors listening to the haunting echo of a violin being played far, far down the track. Alistair had one hand out, the other rolling up the sleeves on his button-up.

Micah couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the tattoos. Not only was his chest-piece magnificent, but his tattoo sleeve was made all the more enticing by the veins on the undersides of his wrists, the tendons on the back of his hand where ink colored his knuckles. On just one hand, Alistair sported nearly a dozen rings.

The car they entered was mostly empty and yet, where Micah sat, Alistair stood, a hand on the bar overhead. He was reading something on his phone, which Micah knew, because he couldn't stop staring at Alistair.

"We're getting off in two stops," Micah warned.

"Cool," Alistair said. The clatter of the subway wheels as they turned around a bend made Alistair's glossy button-up shimmer. His posture was obnoxiously balanced, feet equidistant, and shoulders squared.

Micah crossed his arms and festered in regret. He'd tried to be gently dismissive of Alistair's advances, but, in hindsight, Micah recognized himself as a goddamn nightmarish brat who didn't get his way. Sometimes, he feared, his brain didn't make sense even to him.

He rubbed a finger up and down the side of his face, irritated. He really wanted to know if Alistair had any naval tattoos. Or tattoos on his hips. His inner thighs. Considering he has them everywhere I can see, Micah thought, salivating a little. He swallowed the temptation back down and scowled the remainder of the trip to their stop.

Once out of the subway, Alistair asked, "You mind if I smoke?"

Micah shook his head, and so Alistair produced a pack from his back pocket and a lighter from his front. He snapped a flame to life and lit the cigarette between his teeth. His hands were large enough to do all this and hold the pack to his palm until the lighter was shut and stowed away. He stuffed the pack back into his pocket.

"How long have you been smoking?"

"On and off since I was fifteen. You ever smoke?"

"Just weed." And then, to fill the silence, Micah admitted, "Not anymore, though. It irritates my eyes too much."

"The smoke?"

"No. It constricts the blood vessels in your eyes. Feels kind of like sandpaper to blink. Ruins the entire reason I used to smoke."

Alistair laughed. "And what reason is that."

"To relax," he said, in lieu of saying, Sometimes sex feels better high. Not all the time, though. Especially when all I can think about is how my eyes feel like they're shriveling up into raisins in my eye sockets and—

"Yeah, I'd classify sandpaper eyes as a buzzkill," Alistair agreed.

The rest of the walk was spent in more amicable silence. Relieved that Alistair didn't appear too insulted, Micah tried desperately to stamp out the intrusive thoughts telling him to take back everything and insist their first course of action be to sleep together.

At the apartment, they stepped into the living space and were forced to contend with Micah's claim that they had a futon stowed away somewhere. Micah sighed, kicked off his shoes, and said, "I'll find the futon. You can use mine and Benny's bathroom."

Benny tended to invite the majority of the people who required a separate bed to sleep on, so Micah snuck into Benny's room with a silent apology for intruding. In his closet, Micah rifled around blankets and comforters, but came up empty on the futon front.

He texted Benny, who replied back seconds later saying, "O sorry! Threw it out remember that period blood incident."

Micah slapped a hand to his forehead, cursing under his breath. Kennedy was convinced Benny was a vampire considering his impressive knack for overlapping hookups with his hookups' menstrual cycles...

He folded the comforters over his arms, bundled them up, and made his way to the door. There, just in view down the hall, was a sliver of Alistair in the bathroom mirror.

Shirtless.

Oh my God. Micah stared into the soul of Alistair's dimple piercings on his lower back.

Anxiety, reason, and logic flew to the wayside along with Benny's extra comforters. He left the room, shut the door, and approached the open bathroom door.

Alistair was just brushing his teeth, his free hand passing along the peach fuzz on the nape of his neck. His fade built up to that soft, shaggy hair that had fallen ever so slightly over his forehead.

Micah wanted to grab a fistful of it. Instead, Micah crossed his arms, leant against the frame, and said, "Apparently the futon's out of commission."

Alistair hummed, mouthful of foam. He spat it out into the sink. Micah watched the definition of Alistair's back muscles warp the tattoos. Stretch them to their limits.

"That's fine, I could just—"

"Share my bed?" Micah offered. Alistair lifted his eyes from the sink. They stared at one another, and Micah didn't budge. "If you're interested. Otherwise you can take Benny's bed—I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Got it," Alistair said, eyes never wavering. He blindly rinsed his toothbrush off before looking away to pack it again.

Micah walked off. He crossed the living room to his room where he fetched the remote from his nightstand. His deep aversion for ceiling lights led him to depend on ambient lighting—a soft backlit glow behind his headboard. And, as Erika always accused, "Do not tell me your ceiling mirrors are to just reflect the light." They absolutely were not.

He changed out of his clothes from the party that day and into sweats and a t-shirt. In the kitchen, he chugged a glass of water while he waited for Alistair to finish in the bathroom. Only then did Micah pass him to brush his teeth and wash his face.

And when he emerged, the living room was empty. Alistair wasn't in the kitchen.

Micah didn't hesitate. In fact, his pace quickened to his room where, waiting for him on the bed, was Alistair wearing nothing at all.

A wave of heat swept over Micah at the sight of Alistair smoothing a heavily-inked hand across Micah's sheets and saying, "So you do make your bed."

"Shut up," was all he could say when he was too busy shedding his shirt and flinging it across the room. He kicked the door shut behind him and stepped out of his sweats in quick succession.

Alistair's jawline glowed gold in the backlighting, a glint in his eye as he watched Micah's gaze rove over all of him. Alistair's body was sensory overload where Micah's was bare and defined by a gym membership he wanted to get his money's worth on. It was money he didn't otherwise spend on tattoos, as Alistair seemed to do.

"You must cost a fortune," Micah breathed. His lungs had ceased functioning somewhere between the doorway and the mattress where his knee sunk in to the sheets.

Alistair propped a knee up, leaning into one elbow with a scoff. "Are you offering money for sex?"

Micah shut his eyes, shaking the faux pas from his head. "I just mean your tattoos. That has to be a dozen grand—"

"More. Definitely more." It wasn't reassuring to hear. Micah was in possession of a priceless item and he intended to ravage it anyway.

Micah's hands found their home first on Alistair's thighs. Gently, he dragged his thumb over foliage and thorny vines. Then, he dug. He worked his thumbs into sculpted muscle and buried them deep, pulling Alistair's knee further away to trace bare, pale skin on his inner thighs.

He ducked down to color it with his teeth. Biting, sucking, and relishing in the soft sigh Alistair released as Micah's tongue traveled higher. Within seconds, he was utterly relaxed and languid in Micah's sheets, arms splayed up around Micah's pillows.

From there, Alistair could watch Micah from the ceiling. How Micah climbed up him, the valleys and peaks of his firm muscle rising to cover Alistair's view of himself.

Effortlessly, Micah slotted himself between Alistair's legs and reached for his nightstand. As he did, he pressed his boxers flush to Alistair's hips and pushed hard. "Is this okay?"

He wanted to bite Alistair's smug grin off his lips. "Yes."

Bottle in one hand, Micah took a fistful of Alistair's hair with the other to push his head back into the pillows. He discovered swiftly that Alistair's hair was, indeed, as soft as it looked.

Alistair's lips parted to a sneer that Micah captured with his mouth.

Internally, Micah was swearing up a storm. He was sucking Alistair's tongue into his mouth and toying it with his own. He licked between Alistair's lips as they parted to breathe and, sloppily, they collided again. Alistair's mouth had a bite of spearmint and teeth that couldn't get enough of Micah's bottom lip.

Alistair's wrists wound around the spokes of Micah's headboard, fingers curling around the posts. Subconsciously, and rather spiritually, Micah's hips moved on their own, rocking diligently against Alistair where he could feel the length his cock aligning with his own hipbone.

He dragged one hand down from Alistair's waist to grab the meat of his thigh and hold him steady. Their hips ground together as they madeout for the time it took Micah's lips to go numb and the friction to become an almost painful reminder of what he wanted.

He popped the cap on the lube he'd been thoroughly warming between them, clasped in his hand. He released Alistair's leg to lather his fingers. Sight wasn't necessary to find Alistair's entrance, so he kept his eyes on Alistair's face for signs of discomfort.

And it wasn't rocket science, finding Alistair's prostate. He rubbed it purposefully with precision and intent that left Alistair's mouth open for Micah's taking. Shoulders angled down to reach further, two fingertips rubbing a sweet rhythm against Alistair's soft insides, Micah's lips caught on Alistair's chin as he whispered, "Good?"

"Ever heard of taking your time?" Alistair said, breathless.

"Yes," Micah said through a grin, "and I plan on doing so with you. If that's all right?"

"Then you might want to—ah!—ease the fuck up—"

Micah did the exact opposite. With his free hand, he grabbed the base of Alistair and squeezed. One of Alistair's hands nearly slackened from the headboard to seize Micah's arm. He resisted the temptation to writhe out of Micah's suffocating grip as ecstasy threatened to climb up his throat in a cry.

Alistair swallowed it down. He tipped his head back against the pillows and focused on Micah's voice as he asked, "Can I leave a hickey on your neck?"

Alistair raised one finger off the post. "I'll allow you one. So make it count," he said, and so Micah indulged once more in the flavor of Alistair's skin.

Beneath his cologne and the smokey residue, Alistair's skin was heady with salt and sweat from a long day of travel. Micah sucked a patch of Alistair's skin between his teeth, bit it, and laved the patch with his tongue before releasing to suction his lips to it. As he kissed and tortured Alistair's neck, his fingers worked Alistair to a dry orgasm.

Lax, Alistair's grip slackened on the posts with a curse. Micah wasn't done with his hickey, but his hand was now busy lathering himself. He released Alistair's cock to bury his fingers into Alistair's thigh once more.

Micah unlatched himself from Alistair's neck to study him. Alistair's eyes met his, softened and squinted by a slow, easy grin. Just that one look was enough for Micah to solidify his plans and said, "Two more."

"What?"

"I won't stop until you come two more times," Micah said.

Alistair rolled his eyes, laughing. "This isn't a fucking race, alright, I—ah! Fuck! Warn a gu—" Alistair threw his head back in a groan, expression tightened by the pressure of Micah filling him up in a slow, steady rise of his hips.

Silky and smooth, Alistair felt and looked like a dream. He watched with delight as Alistair appraised the scene from above, his eyes focused even as Micah leaned in for a kiss.

"You're blocking the view," Alistair said, tipping his head to the side as if Micah had somehow tilted the entire bed.

Micah snickered, thinking to himself, I'll give you a fucking view, and with their hips fused together, he leant back. He hooked Alistair's leg around his waist, and with Micah on his knees, he gave Alistair a full picture of just how miraculous Micah's cock looked sinking inside thrust-after-thrust.

Pleasure coiled in Micah's gut as Alistair rocked his hips in tandem with Micah's. Skin tingling with desire, Micah freed his hand from Alistair's leg knowing that, once he did, Alistair's grip around Micah's waist tightened. He held Micah to him, locking them in a quick and steady roll of their hips. Micah kept his shoulders back to ensure Alistair's view remain uninterrupted, so he could watch in fascination as Micah stroked him until cum painted his chest.

Micah slowed his ministrations, hips steadying, until he ceased activity altogether. He pulled out, gritting his teeth, abdomen clenching to hold himself together. He was on the brink, but he needed to keep going.

He'd give Alistair a minute, though.

"You didn't come," Alistair commented.

"Waiting," Micah breathed, and collapsed onto his back beside Alistair.

He wriggled a little, feeling his pulse against his leg where his erection still hung. It was a discomfort he could endure, though he wanted desperately to rub one out right then and there. He hooked an arm behind his head and glanced over at Alistair, and then up at Alistair's arms that were now completely folded together behind his headboard, hands crossed on his forearms.

And then, Micah settled in to meet Alistair's gaze through the grid of mirrors overhead. Micah swallowed, eyes singling out the red bruise blotting the left side of Alistair's neck.

Alistair tipped his head in a vague gesture forward and said, "I should get those when I move."

"Get what?"

Alistair pursed his lips, knees flopping open. His erection had calmed down and gone flaccid between his legs. "Mirrors," he said, almost in a pout. He tipped his head to genuinely look at Micah and say, "Did you buy them online?"

"Yeah."

"Send me the link."

Micah grinned. He knew an ask for a phone number when he heard one. "That would require giving you my phone number."

"And?"

"There's plenty of mirrors out there. You don't need these exact ones."

Alistair sighed. "I'll just steal yours then. Shouldn't be difficult."

"No, you certainly will not be stealing my mirrors."

"And why shouldn't I? I've been fucked in front of them."

"That doesn't mean you claim them. I own them."

"What if I spit on them? Or piss on them?"

"Good fucking luck! They're on the fucking ceiling!"

Alistair started hucking a fat loogie in the back of his throat that had Micah shrieking obscenities for Alistair to call off his dogs or else! He slapped his hand over Alistair's mouth before he could spit, but did so a second too late.

The second a wad of saliva splattered across Micah's cheek and eye, he knew for a fact Alistair hadn't meant to seriously spit in his face. There was enough force behind the loogie that the impact stung for a split second.

Yeah, that definitely would've reached the mirrors, Micah concluded, face twisted into a wince.

Alistair's jaw fell open against Micah's hand, eyes wide, and then all at once barked out a laugh.

A fire built in Micah's chest as he took one hand and flicked Alistair's spit from his right eye. That petty rage urged him to grab Alistair by the hair again and wrench his head back. Alistair's laughter broke into a startled yet giddy, "No—Don't you fucking dare—Don't—!"

Micah gurgled an equally thick wad of saliva at the back of his throat. He gathered it on his tongue, swished it in his mouth, as Alistair thwacked both funny-bones on the posts trying to escape.

He spat into his palm. Alistair relaxed. And then screamed bloody-murder just before Micah slapped his saliva-soaked hand over Alistair's mouth to shut him up.

Fingers clamped tight on Alistair's cheek, Micah leant close, beaming ear-to-ear, and said, "Swallow."

Alistair's eyes were, to Micah, livid. After a moment of quiet and furious breathing, Alistair's tongue crept out to lick the moisture from his lips and gather it in his mouth to do as Micah said. Just as Micah suspected he'd swallow, Alistair's legs tightened their grip around Micah's waist and wrenched him to the side.

He hit the mattress on his side and, in one swift motion, Alistair had him pinned on his back. In an attempt to bicker, Micah was silenced by Alistair crushing their lips together and smothering any and all argument in a fast and desperate make-out session.

Having Alistair on top did a number on Micah's only moderately-controlled erection. He was still tender and sensitive to friction, and with an extra helping of lube, Alistair had worked Micah into complete an utter incoherence.

Alistair reached behind himself to guide Micah to his entrance. From there, it was bliss all over again, and Micah was helpless to the sensation of Alistair's core working around him. Alistair rocked, hard and fast, with his hands gripping the headboard above Micah's head.

"You're—blocking the view—" Micah teased, teeth gritted.

"Yeah, well, those mirrors belong to me so you shouldn't get to see them," Alistair chided, winded.

Micah braced his feet on the mattress to buck his hips up to meet Alistair partway. The resounding slap! hit harder than intended and elicited a grunt from them both. It was music to Micah's ears, so he continued, and Alistair didn't ease up to soften the collisions.

His gut was tightening all over again, tension fraying Micah's nerves. He gripped Alistair by the waist harder, nails biting in. An aborted warning fell from Micah's lips, and rather than continue, Alistair eased up.

The breeze from the aircon pebbled Micah's skin as Alistair lifted off of Micah. His cock bobbed, head bright red, as he leaned back against Micah's knees. The tacky sweat on his legs was sweltering on Micah's legs, but he loved the sensation of Alistair's skin easing around him. His thighs, no longer tensed, were warm. The muscles trembled from working on top of Micah.

"You good?" Alistair asked.

"Why'd you stop?" Micah said.

Alistair brushed a hand through his hair. His cheeks were pink, like a sunburn. "I was gonna come, and you said only two more times."

Micah blinked. "Oh." And then, with a devilish grin. "Well, if we keep this up, we'll go all night."

Alistair shot him a knowing look. "And?"

"Don't you need to, I don't know, walk tomorrow?"

Alistair smothered his laughter against a scoff, leaning to the side as if to tip onto the mattress. And then, just as Micah's defenses were down, Alistair swiped a pillow off the bed and whacked it hard across Micah's face.