TW: Brief Micah x Lennon
(y'all know the drill)

An emergency meeting was called Monday after work, which Micah was playing hooky for. He'd already called in and didn't mind taking the sick day to work out his frustrations at the gym.

    There was so much about Alistair's life that he regretted not mentioning. The gym, for instance—a staple in Alistair's routine. He likely had a card in his wallet for that, though, and would find it on his own. He wondered if Alistair knew where his office was at his company. He wondered if Alistair was temporarily renting someplace in the city instead of North Carolina.

    He wondered if this Alistair remembered the club.

    Micah shook his head, sweat dripping from his hair. He brushed a hand up over his forehead to clear it. It was during his extensive workout that his phone pinged with the alert in all caps, reading:

    "EMERGENCY DINNER 6PM."

    This was immediately followed by Benny saying, "I work until six!"

    Kennedy edited her notice to say, "EMERGENCY DINNER *7PM."

    Micah made sure to be the absolute last to arrive, lest he have to repeat himself. He was already dreading the discussion when it involved Alistair, no doubt. Or his fight with Conor and Declan.

    Dinner involved sushi down the street from Benny's place. In dim, orange lighting and flanked by velvet curtains, Micah found Kennedy, Benny, and James at the booth just as the waitress delivered drinks.

    Micah joined them, relieved that they'd ordered for them. He took approximately three gulps before steadying himself to speak. They were all staring at him.

    Kennedy reached across the table to brush her thumb under his eye. "Yeesh. It's starting to yellow."

    "Thanks," Micah droned. "Alistair ambushed me last night."

    "At your apartment?" Benny gasped.

    "No, his." With a vague sense of embarrassment, he admitted, "I... wanted to find some polaroid nudes I'd given him a while ago. So he wouldn't see them."

    Kennedy coughed, trying not to laugh. "Did you... find them?"

    "No. I don't know where the fuck he would have put them," Micah cried. "He has a locked drawer on his desk, so maybe there?"

    "Why don't you want him to see them?" Benny said. "What if they jog his memory."

    Micah scowled. "My ass is not jogging anything."

    "No, you know what I think? I think it'd be your horse cock jogging something," said Kennedy.

    "A hard on, maybe," James whispered, eyes wide.

    "You know what? We don't need to discuss this." Micah took another few sips. "It's fine though. I scared him off last night, so I don't think he'll be asking for help from me anymore, even if he finds the polaroids, which I doubt."

    Kennedy snapped her fingers, pointed at him, and said, "Now you see? That's where you're wrong. He got his phone today."

    "How do you know that?" Benny said.

    She waved her phone, triumph in her eye. "Because he's going through texts, and all our texts have to do with relationship advice with Micah."

    "And that... lead him to text you," Micah said, unconvinced. He crossed his arms. "I don't buy that. You didn't see how freaked he was last night when I told him we were in love. He wants nothing to do with me."

    "You what?!" Kennedy and Benny screamed over James breathing, "Whoa..." and sipping his drink through the straw.

    Micah flung his arms up. "Well, it's not true! I fucking lied, all right? I needed to get him off my ass."

    "Thanks to that, he wants to know all about that ass—horse cock, sorry," Kennedy said, swiping open her messages. "And so little of our messages are about Benny, so I'm not surprised he felt safe to message me. Sorry Benny."

    Benny sighed like it wasn't fine at all. "It's fine."

    "I'm sorry, but what business do you still have to be rattling off about me to Alistair?" It occurred to Micah that not only was this pattern strange, but that it was persisting beyond Alistair and him officially into their casually ambiguous commitment.

    "He asked if you two were dating," Kennedy said.

    Micah slapped a hand over his eyes when Kennedy looked everyone at the table in the eye before smiling and saying, "And I said yes."

    "Kennedy... You didn't..." Micah groaned.

    "And then he asked for how long, and I said July."

    Confirming every-fucking-thing I told him.

    "And then he asked if I was with you at that moment, and I said no. And then I sent a video recording of the office because I was at work and clearly nowhere near you. Here, I'll play it for you."

    She played it for them. It was indeed her office, followed by the camera switching to Kennedy at a thumb angle flipping him off with her sharp, manicured nail and rings and saying, "Not here, bitch."

    "So then he called me."

    Micah couldn't watch.

    "No," Benny gasped.

    "Yes," Kennedy sang. "He called me, and we talked for, like, my entire lunch break about Micah. So now he knows Micah, Benny, and I had a threesome and that's how Micah met Benny, and then went on to fuck half of Manhattan's male population. And he was all, 'Fascinating. Tell me more.'"

    "I never want to see him again," Micah declared, mortified. He was sure his face was red—it felt like a fire had broken out across his nose.

    "So anyway, I think we nailed him. And by 'nailed him' I mean, he's completely smitten again, so we don't have to worry about that."

    "That's exactly what I was trying to avoid," Micah hissed.

    "B-By telling him you love him..." James breathed, eyes the size of saucers.

    Kennedy shrugged innocently and sipped her wine. She waved the glass, saying, "Anyway. I asked him for some details about Reyes, but he wouldn't budge. I think Micah could get the information out of him."

    "I'm never speaking to him ever again."

    "Well, tough nuts because I invited him to Wednesday Dinner."

    As they sat in silence, Benny eventually said, "Why would you tell him that? Now he's gonna be a no-show."

    "Don't tell her that," Micah said. "Now she'll just come up with a sneakier plan."

    "Fine, I'll uninvite him to Wednesday Dinner," Kennedy said.

    Micah jabbed a finger at them both. "See? This is what I fucking mean."

    Kennedy tapped her nail on the glass and said, "And we have that meeting with Cassian's lawyer on Thursday. I put it in your calendar."

    It was so diabolical that Micah wanted to scream. She'd sent the lawyer's meeting at nearly the same time as this emergency meeting. "You wouldn't pretend to schedule a meeting with the lawyer and trick me into seeing Alistair, would you?"

    Kennedy grinned. "Would I?"

    "Then I'm not attending either."

    "Fine. Waste the lawyer's time."

    "There is no lawyer," Micah seethed, but it was no use. Kennedy wouldn't budge, and so Micah was left to debate the likelihood that Kennedy had indeed scheduled a dinner with the lawyer.

    He couldn't miss meeting the lawyer, but he also didn't want to risk seeing Alistair. And he wouldn't know for certain if the lawyer was real unless he attended Wednesday Dinner and confirmed that Alistair was indeed there.

    He glared at Kennedy and iterated, "God, I hate you."

    She was on her high-horse, though, and beyond pleased with her decision to ruin Micah's sanity.

    That evening as they parted from the table, Micah lingered with Benny and James at Kennedy's car until Kennedy drove off. Micah tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and knew what was to come. The "date" plans Benny had set out for the following evening.

    "Since things are pretty crazy right now, I was thinking takeout? And we could bring it to your place," Benny suggested.

    Horrible, terrible, awful idea, Micah thought, because the last time he'd had Benny and James at his place, they'd fucked.

    His mind was reeling, though. Perhaps because of a minor concussion. He wanted nothing more than to forget everything—forget Conor, Declan, Reyes, and most of all, Alistair. "Okay," he said, and so his fate was sealed.

    Benny smiled. "Cool. We'll see you tomorrow then!" He left with a wave, taking James by the hand and dragging him off.

    Micah's walk home required a key survivalist technique to stave off his thoughts: checking his notifications. Lennon had texted him earlier that day asking how he was, and now Micah was forced to contend with it because talking to Lennon sounded like a far better that sitting alone with his thoughts.

    Lennon's responses came in promptly. He imagined Lennon up in his Central Park penthouse sipping merlot and smiling at Micah's texts. God. He wondered if he'd sound pathetic now admitting that he wanted to come over and screw the living daylights out of that man.

L: Let me know if you need anything, even just to lend an ear

M: I need my dick in you so badly

    Micah wanted to scream. Why did I say that?! And on a Monday night as well—! He was going insane, despite the sentiment being true anyway.

M: Sorry. Talking to you always makes me a little unexpectedly horny

L: I'm flattered

L: Should we schedule the raincheck for tonight? I'd love to see you, and this bottle isn't going to finish itself

    I shouldn't, Micah thought, but he was already confirming and rerouting to the subway to take the next train to Lennon's place.

    Micah had been to Lennon's condo once before—an experience he'd literally never forget, no matter how many times he tried. Standing outside a Central Park-view condo left Micah feeling underdressed and once again intimidated by the security at the door.

    At the front desk, Micah gave his name and was given access to the elevator. The entire journey skyward was spent completely, wholly, and successfully distracted by the idea of being in Lennon's bed—and he wasn't even in the condo yet.

    There were two doors on Lennon's floor. When his knock was answered, Micah wasted no time pulling Lennon into his arms to kiss the wine off his lips. They stumbled over the threshold, Lennon smiling against him with his stubble under Micah's fingers.

    "Eager?" Lennon breathed, nearly laughing. He grabbed the door to shut it behind them.

    "Very," Micah confirmed.

    Micah didn't try the wine until after taking Lennon to bed and discovering Lennon was a man who liked his silks. The glossy sheets felt divine on his skin as he crawled over Lennon to reach for the spare glass that was set out just for him.

    "Let me pour it for you," Lennon said, attempting to rise.

    Micah put his hand on the man's chest and held him down. "I got it. I can pour a bottle of wine."

    His comment just spurred Lennon into insulting the way Micah poured wine. He sat back on the bed, listening to Lennon detail the origin of the bottle—a gift from a client. All the while, Micah coveted the lazy way Lennon reclined, one knee pushed up against Micah's legs.

    Micah curved his hand over Lennon's inner thigh and held it there. He caught Lennon's eye and held it.

    "The bruises are looking better," Lennon said.

    Micah scoffed, took a sip, and said, "Thanks, I know they look terrible."

    "A black eye always looks worse a couple days in."

    Micah shrugged, brow furrowing. He kind of liked how it felt—the tension blistering in the bridge of his nose. He could do it on command just by scowling, feel his heartbeat at the forefront of his face.

    He looked and saw that Lennon was watching him scrunch and un-scrunch his bruises. And then, Lennon covered his eyes and laughed.

    Micah squeezed his thigh hard enough that Lennon doubled over, still laughing. Micah put the wine to his lips even as he tried to tickle Lennon. The short-lived fight ended with Lennon on top, saying, "I'd like to go again, if you don't mind."

    Micah's grin was downright villainous behind his glass. He crossed one arm over his chest, arched his brows, and said, "Go on."