MR/TW RPS Fic: Stilletos
Title: Stilettos
Author: herohunter
Genre: RPS, Wellingbaum!
Word Count: 2,133
Rating: Porn! Not Work Safe!
Author's Notes: This is for the fabulously awesome tasabian , who has asked for Michael/Tom, and then totally threw this bunny in the air! I grabbed it like a lifeline! Or maybe it grabbed me! ; )
For this fic's sake, Tom was never married. This is because I don't like my boys cheating on their spouses/partners at all. Even if it's fake. That's just how I roll.
This in no way, shape or form, reflects the relationship between Michael Rosenbaum and Tom Welling, nor is it meant to offend anyone, especially them. Not that they'll read this but, you know. I had to say it.
Also, it didn't happen. At all. ...Unless it did happen in a parallel dimension. Personally, I'm totally going with that! \o/
However, the description of Michael's closet is accurate. : D
Warning: This is Real Person Slash. If it's not your thing, don't read it. Sounds like a pretty big duh!, doesn't it? But you'd be surprised at how many people read stuff they don't like and then complain about it! : P
Summary: They were supposed to go to the game, but then Tom found them.
Stilettos
"Come on," Tom said in a slightly snappy tone. "Ya know, for a skinny guy, you sure weigh a ton!"
"I don't weigh a ton," Michael protested, pointing a finger at tom's chest. "How dare you?"
Tom chuckled. "I know; it's an outrage." He continued helping Michael to cross his bedroom towards the bathroom.
"Ooh, bed!" Michael turned to change course, but Tom wrapped his other arm around him and stopped him from falling face first onto his mattress.
"Oh, no, you don't! You're taking a shower, shaving, and sobering up so we can go to the game!"
"But," complained Michael as he gave Tom a puppy-eyed look. "Bed, Tommy."
Tom shook his head and all but dragged Michael to the bathroom the rest of the way. "No. We agreed to go see this game together months ago; it's not my fault you went out with your friends and played a stupid drinking game in the middle of the afternoon."
"We started in the morning," Michael said with a snort. "I'll never tell you what the game was about, though. Never. Good Lord."
"All right, Michael," Tom said in an uninterested tone. Michael was so telling him. "Don't tell me."
"I'm not."
"Right. Take your shirt off."
"I won't tell ya!"
"You don't have to. Michael, pants."
Michael leaned his back on the tiled wall and started fumbling with his jeans. "You can't make me," he mumbled, and looked up, almost forgetting what they were fighting about. Oh, right! The drinking game! The one where he and his friends had watched the entire season one of Smallville, and had taken a shot every time that Lex and Clark eyefucked each other. Good Lord.
"I don't intend to make you." Tom started the shower water. "Get in."
"Is it cold?" Michael eyed the shower suspiciously.
"It's fine, get in."
"'cause I don't like cold-eep!" Michael held on to Tom's arms as he was lifted up off the floor and placed into the shower stall. "Are you crazy? You could have slipped and broken our necks!"
"I didn't slip and your neck is intact. Now shower. Get sober, or something close to that. I'll get you some clothes."
Michael walked under the warm spray with a grin. "You're gonna go in there and smell my clothes, aren't ya? You know you love me, Tommy!"
"Yes," Tom said firmly as he walked out and headed for Michael's walk-in closet. "Yes," he repeated softly once Michael could no longer hear him. Yes, he did.
…
Michael's walk-in closet was incredibly organized. He had rows and rows of his t-shirts, a couple of wigs he liked wearing for fun to the right of the door, and shirts hung on the left. So many shoes everywhere, neatly put away side by side on shelves.
Tom walked in and eyed the red fire extinguisher hanging on the wooden-paneled wall to his right, then opened the drawer where Michael kept his socks. He wanted to feel special for knowing where everything was in there, but he knew he wasn't the only one who did; Michael was a generous and kind-hearted man, and a welcoming and warm friend, almost to a fault. Tom knew that some of Michael's other friends had the same privileges he enjoyed.
He stepped further in to choose a t-shirt and a sweater for Michael but then something caught his eye, and Tom set the socks in his hand on a shelf and squatted down. He knew about the forever dubbed 'Mariah Carey pumps,' but this was new... He licked his lips and moved his hand to touch.
…
"Do I really have to shave?" Michael asked from the bathroom as he shut off the water and pulled a towel to dry himself. He heard Tom say something in reply, but missed the words, so he walked over to the door while briskly drying his hair. "What?"
"Just shave your legs," Tom said. He lay on his side on Michael's bed, the pair of red stiletto heel shoes he had found, sitting in front of him. "And put these on."
Michael twisted his lips and then casually strode into the room. "You found them, huh?"
"I found them." Tom ran one thick finger down a shiny twelve-inch heel and gave Michael a sly sideways look. "What else you got hiding in there?"
Michael threw his wet towel at Tom. "They're for a short. It's about how in the future, men and women wear the same clothes, so I'm a guy who wears heels. It's just a crazy fun project I'm doing with-"
"Do you have a matching skirt?" Tom asked, watching Michael as he sat on the side of the bed and pulled the shoes closer to put them on.
"Haha, no. How dare you." Shoes on, Michael held his feet up so Tom could see them. "Just these. They were custom made, so I'm keeping them."
"For when you decide to become a hooker?"
Michael flashed a toothy grin at Tom. "Who knows? I already have the wig for it, too! How sexy do you think pigtails are nowadays?"
"On you? Obscenely sexy. Walk around for me."
Michael started laughing, but when he met Tom's eyes, they were intense, and his friend looked nowhere close to a punchline. He sobered up some. "You serious?"
"Deadly," Tom replied, and Michael believed him.
"I don't have a dress," he complained. Not one that matched the shoes, anyway.
Tom cocked his head to the side and his expression became... Hungry? "Just the way you are."
Michael took a deep breath. He wanted to mention that Tom had just quoted a Billy Joel song, but somehow he felt that the joke would fall flat. He took a breath, tilted his head back a little, and nodded. Tom wanted to play, well, then Michael could play. He could outplay.
Pushing himself up, Michael bent down and then slowly arched his back up again to stand on the tall heels, flexing his calf muscles and knowing that his chest and buttocks became more prominent when he wore them. He also knew that the stilettos made his slim legs look longer, and his feet smaller. He had read up on that.
Without another look at Tom, Michael took one step away from the bed and then another and another. He had practiced this, of course, because there was no way he was going to break an ankle over a short movie that he was not even going to get paid to do. No way. He kept his hands at his sides, and even let his shoulders and hips sway a little, almost like he used to when he was Lex. He reached his bedroom door and spun around gracefully. And then the smile on his lips died.
Michael almost tripped, his weight practically solely on the balls of his feet, as his and Tom's eyes met again.
Tom had sat up and he had very obviously been watching Michael's ass as it moved away from him, then his eyes slowly traveled up Michael's body when he turned around. Very slowly. The ends of his mouth curled up and he nodded, barely, in approval. "Come back."
Michael swallowed. He had heard that tone in Tom's voice once and only once before. It had been 2001, and they had gotten drunk in his trailer when a massive lighting malfunction had postponed filming for a whole afternoon, and they been bored, and Michael had been so horny, and... He felt a shiver crawl slowly up his spine. He would never, so long as he lived, forget the feel of Tom's lips on his.
"Come back to me, Michael," Tom repeated, only now, his voice was less sex and more please, and Michael found himself going, walking flawlessly across his own bedroom, eyes locked on Tom's, heart beating wildly inside his chest. Oh, and he was already half-hard, too. All Tom's fault, for looking at him that way.
…
He stopped by the side of the bed and reached his left hand to touch the top of Tom's head. "I never left," he whispered, raking Tom's hair back. Sure, he had left the show and he had left Canada, but Tom... No, he had never left Tom, or the possibility of him. Of them.
Tom raised his hand and touched the side of Michael's thigh, then ran his fingertips up until he was cupping one lean hip, his thumb stroking across the protruding hip bone, back and forth. "I'm tired, Michael," he muttered, and swung his legs over the side of the bed so Michael was standing between them. "Tired of lying, of pretending... So very tired," he said, repeating what Michael had once told him on set. He leaned in and gave Michael's hip a kiss, then looked up at him again. "Tired of missing you."
Michael caught himself releasing the breath he had been holding, and continued caressing Tom's hair as his lips curved into a soft smile. "I miss you, too, Tommy. So much."
The next few seconds passed in a blur.
Tom pulled Michael down at the same time that Michael ducked his head to kiss him. They rolled over, Tom careful not to hurt Michael's back, but slipping one leg between Michael's and grinding down against him almost immediately. He wrapped his right hand around Michael's cock and started kissing down the side of his neck as Michael writhed and moaned under him.
"So fucking hot," Tom practically growled, and if Michael thought that he sounded funny just then, he wasn't laughing. Oh, no, Michael was panting and kissing Tom's temple, and rolling his hips up to fuck Tom's fist as best as he could. Tom tightened his grip as Michael's precum slicked his fingers and the palm of his hand.
"Naked," Michael said feverishly, and was suddenly grabbing and pulling at Tom's shirt. "God, off!"
Tom pulled back long enough to oblige, and returned to Michael the second his clothes were off. Michael still wore the red stilettos, and Tom was not complaining about that. He was kissing Michael again, letting him roll them over, and holding on to Michael's hips as they rocked again, so indecently that it made Tom's cock leak precum as well. He groaned.
"I got you, Tommy," Michael whispered with an honest smile. He placed his right hand on Tom's chest and used his left one to grab their cocks together. Then he began to move again.
Tom did growl this time, louder and louder as Michael resumed his moving, and their cocks slid together, slick and so hard, in Michael's hand. When he could no longer stand it, he sat up, locked their lips together, and covered Michael's left hand with his, speeding up the stroking.
Their sounds filled the room and they rocked the bed, Michael's many bed pillows falling unnoticed to the floor.
"Oh, God!" Michael said, and threw his head back. Realizing that Michael was about to come, Tom closed his lips over the base of his neck and focused on their scent, on the feel of Michael riding him, on the hand grabbing hair on the back of his head. The second he felt Michael's body freezing and the thick cock pulsing against their hands, Tom felt himself following. At that moment, he knew that he would follow Michael anywhere.
…
Tom fell back on the bed and Michael went with him, the two of them hot, sweaty and spent, but also happier than they had felt in years. He closed his eyes and smiled.
Long moments later, Michael raised his head and looked up at Tom. "We're gonna miss the game," he said in a quiet, almost casual tone, not at all sounding like he wanted to get up and hurry out the door right now. But that maybe he would, if Tom wanted him to.
Tom ran a hand up Michael's back and cupped the back of his neck. "We're not gonna miss a thing," he said firmly. "Ever again."
Michael took a deep breath, smiled brightly, and dipped his head to kiss Tom one more time.
Later, much later, after they had showered and spent hours getting sweaty again, and Michael had fallen asleep curled around him, Tom kissed Michael's forehead tenderly and waited for sleep to come to him. He wondered when he was going to show Michael what he had hidden in his own closet, and how they were going to make it all work out, but he was definitely sure of two things in his life right now...
...Michael was going to get a kick out of the story about Tom's size 14 black stilettos, and Tom was never going to let go of Michael again.
~//~
*KISS*
PS: Does anyone know why it always posts with double lines when I copy and paste? I have my texts all set for single space.