[OTA] I'm sure I used to be so free.

[i_machiavellian]

Jack of Spades. That's going to take some getting used to. Maybe it was slightly less demeaning than being called a number, even though he's had plenty of time to get used to that. But he has a feeling that they'll change his name from Michael to Jack whether he likes it or not

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[expluribus]

Fizzy juice wasn't Lasse's favourite drink but sometimes, just sometimes he could appreciate it, the way it tingled in his mouth and how it sat fresh and sparkling in his stomach. Getting drunk on champagne was different. It didn't make you feel drunk, only happy and bold, fearless, like everything was possible if you just rolled up your sleeves and tackled it properly.

He'd felt a little boldness wouldn't hurt him which was why he'd brought it. Well, that and because he knew Michael couldn't stand it.

And now he hated himself for being so petty, for overreacting, for getting so worked up that he'd marched into this pit of vipers to make a point that rested on hurt feel- vanity, wasting an excellent bottle of champagne that would have made another couple very happy. On their anniversary perhaps.

"Just... shut up." Cupping the back of Michael's head, he brought their mouths together again, leaning into him.

I'm not angry, I'm just being childish, stupid and selfish.

Hand squeezing Michael's thigh, he couldn't resist one last jab.

"If you make King, my love," he muttered, lips brushing against the Jack's jawline, nipping lightly, "I'll build you a throne, a fucking monster you can lounge on while I suck your royal cock."

[i_machiavellian]

If there was anyone who could make Michael giggle, it'd be Lasse. As appealing as the idea was - the throne not so much, but lounging around and trading sexual favours at least - it'd not be nearly as subtle as their relationship had been.

"How did I ever fall for a dirty old man like you?" he asked, except it wasn't really a question that needed answering.

He pulled back just enough so that their lips met again, and his hands slipped underneath Lasse's shirt, roaming skin warmed by body heat and champagne. The unused settee behind them was a little dusty, so they'd just have to stay here.

Jack of Spades and moving back into the Spades' Castle couldn't be all that bad if they could still steal moments like these.

His hands slowly went for the button and zip at Lasse's pants, as if they didn't want to be noticed until they made that sound of the zip coming undone.