(no subject)
Sprawled across the bed, sheets tangled and caught up around his ankles, Merrick let out a low moan as Andy sucked at his neck. Scooting up on his knees, he moved down, mouth trailing over the redhead’s collar and shoulder, pausing to lap at the curve of his breastbone, eliciting another quiet moan and long fingers digging into Andy’s shoulders. Twisting his head to look up at Merrick’s face - eyes half closed, lips parted - before moving further down, sucking and nipping, tangled legs riding together as the other man twitched and rolled up under him. Lower, harder, his tongue in Merrick’s belly-button, kisses and teeth, the redhead’s hands sliding up his shoulders and neck to settle in his hair, tangling in fine strands, and Andy slipped his mouth down around his cock blithely, feeling the redhead’s moan vibrate through his chest and stomach as Andy grabbed at his hips and sucked him in harder.
She’d smacked him - actually smacked him - and glared and huffed angrily about what an irresponsible brat he was, about how could they possibly have run off - into another goddamn world, no less - about driving her and the poor Litches absolutely crazy and what did they have to say for themselves that she’d had to wait for that orange-haired boy to come drag her after them. Andy just stared, cheek stinging a little, while Merrick eyed her cautiously from the hall entryway, both having no idea what the fuck to say until Anarchy came thundering down the stairs, announcing loudly he wanted his damn dinner or some bagel bites and who was that at the door?
Eleanor gave them both another dark look before smiling at the brat and offering to take her grandson out for ice cream.
It’s hard, he decides. It’s hard because they’re so damn alike, and there’s simply no way to let someone go when you’re spending nearly every day in close contact with that person (but not really.) It’s hard because even though he tells himself they’re not the same, he slips up and makes a joke that only the two of them knew. It’s hard because his body can’t tell the difference and still thinks closing those last couple inches would be the best idea in the world. So Jake frowns and pulls away too far, throwing himself into work and reports and Cybermen until he can sort of sort himself out, not really thinking about it until there he is at the door, making a joke that’s so close.
But it’s not entirely, and eventually - somewhere in Asia - Jake starts to really notice, notice the differences that are there, notices and picks at them, pulling apart their images in his mind just slightly until he stops having accidents (choking on the R as it catches in his mouth before he gets it right.) And Mickey isn’t a bad guy on his own, he decides. And then calls the other man over to look at these reports that just came in.