This isn't what I thought I'd be writing today.
Random Paul and Michael ficlet. NSFW. *blinks innocently at you*
Michael woke with a grunt and lay blinking stupidly at the darkness, wondering why he was breathless and what that weight was. Teeth in his neck, and his stomach clenched. "Paul?"
The teeth worried at the skin they'd trapped, huffs of damp breath. Paul let go long enough to say, "It's too hot." He then raked the nails of one hand down Michael's bare side, the pressure careful and precise. Perfect.
"Okay," Michael managed. Paul nipped at his earlobe. "Is that why you're biting me?"
"Yes," Paul said. He tugged at the waistband of Michael's pajama pants. "Take these off?"
"Yeah," Michael said. "Are you--"
"Yes," Paul said again. Somebody else might have thought him angry, impatient. Somebody else might have mistaken the tremor in Michael's hands as he moved to strip. Paul hated the bug-infested sauna the summertime world became each year. He stormed through the halls of the university like it was enemy territory, he was short-tempered with the children far more often than he liked, and he became a focussed predator in bed. Somehow his towering annoyance at the heat and sticky-sweaty summer feeling transmuted into an urge to fuck Michael into babbling idiocy.
Michael wore only the pants; Paul wore a brief cotton nightgown, now dangling from the bedside table. He was a pale figure in the gloom, leaning over Michael. Streetlights through the window. His breath still smelled of toothpaste. Michael gulped air when Paul slid one hand down his chest. I love summer!
Paul held the familiar little tube between his teeth, barely visible, unopened. He glanced at Michael's face. "What are you grinning at?"
"Not grinning," Michael managed. He shifted restlessly, arched. His legs moved of their own accord. Paul's hands stilled. "Aww!"
"You are! You're grinning. What's funny?" Paul's tone lowered, warning against any teasing. As if Michael would!
"Tell you after?"
Michael could easily imagine the narrowing of Paul's eyes, the way one eyebrow lowered, the skepticism in the twist of his mouth. Crap! How to get him back on track? Paul started to withdraw his hands and Michael's mouth decided for him. "C'mon Paul, please--"
Hands braced on his chest, Paul a slim looming figure. Smells of toothpaste and conditioner and that cozy sleep smell. Salt just starting to join the mix. Paul said, "I'm hot. Everything is sticking to everything else."
Michael made a little sound of agreement. He wanted to catch Paul around his shoulders and haul him closer, but he was terrified of shaking Paul out of whatever sex-god mindspace he'd fallen into. He hooked one leg around Paul's waist. "Could go for a swim tomorrow."
"Don't want to go for a swim," Paul said. Where had the tube gone? Michael couldn't see. "And we can't afford air-conditioning so don't suggest it." Paul ran his hand down Michael's thigh, hitched closer. "And the fans just push the hot around!"
Michael's eyes had fluttered closed. Slick fingers, there they were, and for all Paul's impatience his hands were slow. "Yeah," Michael managed. "Mm."
Teeth again, just above Micheal's ribs. He jerked. Paul's free hand curved 'round the back of his head, and Michael curled up for a sharp-edged kiss. Paul said, "First you cling all night and keep me hot, then you laugh at me, and now you're not paying attention?"
Michael wasn't sure he'd ever be able to open his eyes. Paul's fingers were like warm yellow light. "I'm. Ah. Attention. Yeah?"
Paul laughed softly. Wet sounds, and his breath hitched. Then he crowded closer. It wasn't familiar enough to be entirely comfortable, but when Paul moved--
"You were talking in your sleep, you know," Paul said. His voice was breathy, his cadence followed the rocking of his hips. "You said we were on the moon. What were you dreaming?"
"You. Want me to talk?" Michael couldn't get enough air. He was clinging to Paul, wanting. Fantastic, perfect, and Paul was making pleased sounds with every breath. Kept his movements steady. Michael thought his body would fill up with the feelings, like everything he touched would feel like sex, like he'd be able to colour a canvas with his clean fingertips. His orgasm was a gathering coil in his belly. He wasn't sure what he'd shouted, or when he'd tangled one hand in Paul's hair. When the crest ebbed enough he heard Paul's breathing hitch, heard a moan that became a gentle, satisfied laugh.
"Mm," Paul said, "Mmm." He tucked his wet face into the crook of Michael's neck. His hair stuck to Michael's face, but that didn't bother him. Some part of him was startled to find the room dark. Moments like this he didn't think anything would annoy him ever again. He managed to ease his hand out of Paul's hair without pulling, and began petting the back of Paul's neck. His nerves tingled, his limbs felt warm and heavy. He drifted.
"Ick," Paul complained eventually, and wriggled. "Hot."
"Thanks," Michael said. Paul nipped his shoulder.
"What, again?" Michael's voice was still hoarse.
"Smartass."
"Mm. Want a shower?"
"Ooh," Paul said, no doubt imagining how lovely the cool water would feel. Or how Michael looked wet and naked; either could have prompted the noise.
"Oh, good. When you come back, bring one for me too."
Paul sat up and swept his hair off of his neck. "Michael," he complained.
"Okay, okay." Michael smothered a jaw-cracking yawn. "I was kidding."
Paul's expression was faintly smug in the yellow light of the bathroom, his eyes were still heavy. "What had you wanted to say earlier?"
"What?" Michael said. He looked at the clock. "Paul! It's not even midnight."
"Well, we get lots more sleep then. You can't have forgotten what you'd wanted to say."
Michael snickered. "I was about to say, how could you possibly expect me to remember?"
A long, flat look. Michael lifted both hands, kissed the corner of Paul's mouth, then took a step back. "Okay, here goes. Can we move to Florida?"
He almost made it to the doorway before Paul caught him. Neither of them wound up getting much sleep.
--End--
Michael woke with a grunt and lay blinking stupidly at the darkness, wondering why he was breathless and what that weight was. Teeth in his neck, and his stomach clenched. "Paul?"
The teeth worried at the skin they'd trapped, huffs of damp breath. Paul let go long enough to say, "It's too hot." He then raked the nails of one hand down Michael's bare side, the pressure careful and precise. Perfect.
"Okay," Michael managed. Paul nipped at his earlobe. "Is that why you're biting me?"
"Yes," Paul said. He tugged at the waistband of Michael's pajama pants. "Take these off?"
"Yeah," Michael said. "Are you--"
"Yes," Paul said again. Somebody else might have thought him angry, impatient. Somebody else might have mistaken the tremor in Michael's hands as he moved to strip. Paul hated the bug-infested sauna the summertime world became each year. He stormed through the halls of the university like it was enemy territory, he was short-tempered with the children far more often than he liked, and he became a focussed predator in bed. Somehow his towering annoyance at the heat and sticky-sweaty summer feeling transmuted into an urge to fuck Michael into babbling idiocy.
Michael wore only the pants; Paul wore a brief cotton nightgown, now dangling from the bedside table. He was a pale figure in the gloom, leaning over Michael. Streetlights through the window. His breath still smelled of toothpaste. Michael gulped air when Paul slid one hand down his chest. I love summer!
Paul held the familiar little tube between his teeth, barely visible, unopened. He glanced at Michael's face. "What are you grinning at?"
"Not grinning," Michael managed. He shifted restlessly, arched. His legs moved of their own accord. Paul's hands stilled. "Aww!"
"You are! You're grinning. What's funny?" Paul's tone lowered, warning against any teasing. As if Michael would!
"Tell you after?"
Michael could easily imagine the narrowing of Paul's eyes, the way one eyebrow lowered, the skepticism in the twist of his mouth. Crap! How to get him back on track? Paul started to withdraw his hands and Michael's mouth decided for him. "C'mon Paul, please--"
Hands braced on his chest, Paul a slim looming figure. Smells of toothpaste and conditioner and that cozy sleep smell. Salt just starting to join the mix. Paul said, "I'm hot. Everything is sticking to everything else."
Michael made a little sound of agreement. He wanted to catch Paul around his shoulders and haul him closer, but he was terrified of shaking Paul out of whatever sex-god mindspace he'd fallen into. He hooked one leg around Paul's waist. "Could go for a swim tomorrow."
"Don't want to go for a swim," Paul said. Where had the tube gone? Michael couldn't see. "And we can't afford air-conditioning so don't suggest it." Paul ran his hand down Michael's thigh, hitched closer. "And the fans just push the hot around!"
Michael's eyes had fluttered closed. Slick fingers, there they were, and for all Paul's impatience his hands were slow. "Yeah," Michael managed. "Mm."
Teeth again, just above Micheal's ribs. He jerked. Paul's free hand curved 'round the back of his head, and Michael curled up for a sharp-edged kiss. Paul said, "First you cling all night and keep me hot, then you laugh at me, and now you're not paying attention?"
Michael wasn't sure he'd ever be able to open his eyes. Paul's fingers were like warm yellow light. "I'm. Ah. Attention. Yeah?"
Paul laughed softly. Wet sounds, and his breath hitched. Then he crowded closer. It wasn't familiar enough to be entirely comfortable, but when Paul moved--
"You were talking in your sleep, you know," Paul said. His voice was breathy, his cadence followed the rocking of his hips. "You said we were on the moon. What were you dreaming?"
"You. Want me to talk?" Michael couldn't get enough air. He was clinging to Paul, wanting. Fantastic, perfect, and Paul was making pleased sounds with every breath. Kept his movements steady. Michael thought his body would fill up with the feelings, like everything he touched would feel like sex, like he'd be able to colour a canvas with his clean fingertips. His orgasm was a gathering coil in his belly. He wasn't sure what he'd shouted, or when he'd tangled one hand in Paul's hair. When the crest ebbed enough he heard Paul's breathing hitch, heard a moan that became a gentle, satisfied laugh.
"Mm," Paul said, "Mmm." He tucked his wet face into the crook of Michael's neck. His hair stuck to Michael's face, but that didn't bother him. Some part of him was startled to find the room dark. Moments like this he didn't think anything would annoy him ever again. He managed to ease his hand out of Paul's hair without pulling, and began petting the back of Paul's neck. His nerves tingled, his limbs felt warm and heavy. He drifted.
"Ick," Paul complained eventually, and wriggled. "Hot."
"Thanks," Michael said. Paul nipped his shoulder.
"What, again?" Michael's voice was still hoarse.
"Smartass."
"Mm. Want a shower?"
"Ooh," Paul said, no doubt imagining how lovely the cool water would feel. Or how Michael looked wet and naked; either could have prompted the noise.
"Oh, good. When you come back, bring one for me too."
Paul sat up and swept his hair off of his neck. "Michael," he complained.
"Okay, okay." Michael smothered a jaw-cracking yawn. "I was kidding."
Paul's expression was faintly smug in the yellow light of the bathroom, his eyes were still heavy. "What had you wanted to say earlier?"
"What?" Michael said. He looked at the clock. "Paul! It's not even midnight."
"Well, we get lots more sleep then. You can't have forgotten what you'd wanted to say."
Michael snickered. "I was about to say, how could you possibly expect me to remember?"
A long, flat look. Michael lifted both hands, kissed the corner of Paul's mouth, then took a step back. "Okay, here goes. Can we move to Florida?"
He almost made it to the doorway before Paul caught him. Neither of them wound up getting much sleep.
--End--