fic: he's a bandit and a heartbreaker (michael fassbender/james mcavoy, nc-17, 2657 words)
fill for a prompt on 1stclass-kink which I can't find anymore. RPS. never happened, etc. oh my god what did I even write. QUESTIONABLE PORN AHEAD, WEWT. for raphmike. four times fassy was not tender and one time he surprisingly was. (IDEK) au-ish.
1.
The first time is two weeks into filming, in James’ flat up in Crouch End. They haven’t even moved past pleasantries yet but here they are, completely sober, James with his hand around Michael’s cock as Michael crowds him against the door.
James doesn’t usually do this, and he knows fucking a co-star will do more harm than good, but Michael’s breath his hot against his cheek and he’s got one hand up James’ shirt, his thumb brushing James’ nipple, running down his ribs.
James shivers as Michael pulls away.
“Suck me off,” Michael says, completely stone-faced.
James wants to laugh at how slitted Michael’s eyes are, his breath gravely and lowered as he pumps his hips forward into James’ loose fist.
“Come on,” Michael pleads, nosing him in the neck. His stubble is rough against James’ cheek. James tips his head to the side, pretending to think for a moment, and grins when Michael rolls his eyes, shoving him impatiently.
“Please,” he says.
James kneels in front of him, pulling Michael’s pants and underwear down to his ankles. He looks up at Michael, one eyebrow raised, checking for a reaction. They’re here because James invited him over to take a look at his flat, have some drinks, nothing else. There’d been some flirting on the cab ride, awkward and tense, and then, Michael pinning him to the wall as soon as the door closed, hand flat and smooth against the small of James’ back.
James wraps his hand around the base of Michael’s cock, giving the head an experimental lick. Michael’s hand is in his hair, urging him forwards, his fingers twisted in the sweaty strands as he pulls hard enough to hurt.
“I wanna fuck your pretty little mouth, James,” Michael says, “Will you let me?”
James smiles, slow and teasing, batting his eyes for effect. Michael doesn’t laugh because sex is, apparently, not a time joke around with him. He takes this as an invitation, easing his cock between James’ lips in slow, steady thrusts. Michael groans, collapsing against the wall behind James, bracing himself there, his knees shaking, and James nearly gags a few times as Michael surges forward.
They find a manageable rhythm and James palms himself in time with it, rutting against his own hand.
Michael glances down at him and smiles crookedly from time to time. He pulls out right before he comes - a split second later - and then spurts all over James’ forehead with a surprised grunt. When he’s lucid enough, panting to regain himself, Michael has enough grace to look sheepish.
“Jesus,” James mutters, and wipes his face against the back of sleeve. “Could you not come in my hair next time?”
James isn’t angry, but. He’s still hard, and he’s got come in his hair which will be weird to wash off. Damnit, he thinks, shaking his head. But Michael is pulling him up to his feet, his pants, which are still rolled down to his ankles, limiting his movement, so he’s maybe sort of waddling a little. He pushes James against the door and kisses him, quick and ruthless, rubbing James’ cock through his jeans and grinning wickedly when James lets out a startled whimper.
“What was that you were saying?” Michael asks, cool as ice.
“Jesus,” James says again, head banging against the door.
2.
They don’t talk about it afterwards, or even during, so the second time lacks even more finesse. It’s Michael’s hotel room this time, cluttered with clothes and trays of half-eaten food on the bed, which James pushes off to the floor as Michael leans over him and slips his hands up his shirt. Michael hikes it high over James’ ribs, kisses with teeth, nipping at James’ stomach and licking a path up his chest, coasting back down to his belly button where his breath skims like the pull of a tide.
Earlier during filming, James had watched by the pier as Michael dove into the water in a skin tight suit. His body, then, moved like dark liquid. He was nothing like James who often felt pale as a fish, pasty white no matter how long he stood under the sun, attempting to bake.
Michael turns him over and it begins. He tugs at James’ pants, lowering them to the curve of his ass, fingers him open until he writhes and begs, trembling with need. “Fuck,” he moans into the pillow, burying half of his face into it. “Jesus Christ, Michael. Just fuck me already with your cock, goddamnit.”
Michael laughs, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he lines himself up against James’ entrance, hands tight against James’ hips. It hurts a little at first, but then it always does, and Michael pushes against the stubborn ring of resistance and something just gives inside James and unravels completely. He hears the rapid slap of their skin, vicious and desperate as Michael fucks into him in erratic halfhearted jerks, like all he really wants is to get off.
James’ cock pulses and he shoves back, harder, wincing at the momentary twitch of pain, but it gets better, eventually, and Michael rolls his hips until James turns boneless and incoherent, stroking his cock and biting the inside of his cheek.
And then: “Fuck,” James gasps, clenching his eyes. “Fuck. Son of a-”
And then he’s coming, his vision white for a second as Michael presses their bodies together, flush, before pulling out as he climaxes.
Michael rolls off him, afterwards, rubbing at his eyes, tugging the condom off his cock and tying the other end.
James looks at him, cheek pressed against a scratchy pillow, wondering what to say next, (Cheers, mate) but Michael’s already dozing off, his eyelashes fluttering closed, his breath, once tremulous, evening out to a steady cadence, so James gets up, showers, watches stuff for awhile on Michael’s TV and leaves.
He wants to leave a note but decides against it right at the last second. They’re going to see each other later anyway, he thinks, and he’s not some girl Michael’s just banged.
James steals Michael’s cigarettes from the bedside table and turns the lamp off.
3.
Third time’s the charm, they say, but James doesn’t think it applies to everything else. Four months into filming and they still haven’t talked about this whole fooling around business.
Michael’s funny and intelligent and weird, but in a good way, and he smells nice, like perfume, which is always a plus, or sometimes, when he hasn’t showered, he smells like a sweater a you forget to wash after a week but decide to wear anyway, a little musty, ashy, even, because Michael smokes like, half a pack a day.
James likes him honest-to-fucking god but he hates being the guy Michael comes to when he needs sex.
It feels cheap and James hates how he just caves in the end, without fail. It’s hard to resist Michael when he’s laughing against James’ ear, running his hands up the plane of James’ back and pressing a wet kiss to the side of his neck. They’ve kissed a few times off-set, sure, drunk off their asses and spraying alcohol everywhere. For laughs mostly, playing up their bromance, a word James still has a difficult time trying to wrap his mind around.
He’s never felt this randy before, never felt this good, the hard, smooth lines of Michael’s body rubbing against his own, better than any girl’s.
Michael hooks his thumbs into James’ belt loops and yanks him forward with a sharp jerk. “Oops,” he snickers as James stumbles against him a little, their teeth clinking painfully when they kiss, dirty and full of tongue. James kneads Michael with his knee, smirking when Michael grunts and pulls him closer, tightening his grip reflexively.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to feel me inside you for weeks,” he promises, breath low and gravely in James’ ear.
James closes his eyes, shivering, thinking about this, thinking yes. He says, “About damned time, man,” and tugs Michael in for a quick kiss, keeping his hand framed agains Michael’s cheek so he couldn’t turn away.
Michael rolls on the condom and James scrabbles onto his hands and knees on the carpet, his pants hastily slid down to his shins. Rug burn, James thinks with a lazy laugh, already looking forward to the uncomfortable itch in his knees. Michael does little prepping, stretching him out with slick fingers that rub deep enough for it to feel uncomfortable if it didn’t feel so good.
And then he’s sliding inside, curling a hand around James’ cock, fucking him against the floor fast and deep, pistoning his hips until they groan simultaneously, coming now, James yelping, crumpling forward on his elbows and forehead and glancing down at the wet spot of come on the floor. His come.
James feels sheepish. Michael gets up quickly, throwing away the condom, and he’s about to say something, mouth opening, when his mobile rings on the desk, cutting him off.
“We’ll talk later,” James tells him, waving a hand, rolling onto his back, his knees unsteady.
Michael stares at him for a second, blinking, then nods, then goes to pick up the phonecall in the hall.
James lies there on the floor for a little while, twiddling his thumbs, before deciding to put some pants on and wash his face in the sink.
4.
“I can’t do this,” James says, mouth pressed to Michael’s shoulder as he straddles his thigh. He climbs further up, rubbing against him, humming deep in his throat as the friction begins to settle deliciously between his legs.
“What do you mean?” Michael says, pressing a hand to James’ chest. His other hand he wraps around James’ hip, halting his movements.
“Well, you always leave me to fend off for myself,” James tells him, shaking his head like he’s fed up. “The sex is brilliant, don’t get me wrong, but the morning after? Not so much.”
Michael raises an eyebrow. His face is so damn unreadable, James thinks. James wishes he wasn‘t so frustratingly charming.
“You want me to stay,” Michael says slowly, like he’s only just realized it. “Or,” he continues, grinning, his teeth showing. “You could be one of those types, you know? The cuddlers. You are one, aren’t you, James? You want me to cuddle you afterwards? Spoon you a little bit?”
He squeezes James a little and runs a hand up James’ spine. “Actually, you know what,” James says, giving it some thought, “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”
Michael laughs. James is only joking of course, but it’d be nice if Michael actually stayed the night and they fucked again in the morning. Or had breakfast. Or just hung out and talked about whatever the hell it was they were doing together. James was stupidly old fashioned that way. He was raised to believe, until a certain point in his life, that sex was meant to be enjoyed with people you trusted. People you’re sure would call you in the morning and then take you out again for a night around town.
Michael might or might not be one of those people.
“Hey,” James says, lifting his chin from Michael’s chest. “Do you mind if I just suck you off for now? I’m really not feeling it.”
He makes a face, vying for Michael’s sympathy with his lower lip jutting out. But Michael doesn’t laugh and instead reaches out, cups the stem of James’ neck, running the ridge of his thumbnail against the back of James’ ear. Contemplative, which James knows is always a bad sign.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Michael says to him, soft.
James shrugs. It feels weird if he doesn’t, but he doesn’t say that, knowing that the atmosphere is awkward enough as it is. He dips his head, pulling Michael’s zipper down easily.
The skin of Michael’s stomach is silky with hair, flat and smooth. James kisses it and noses his navel.
“James,” Michael protests, but his breath is speeding up and his hips push forward into James’ face.
James bends down and Michael stops talking, his head making a soft thump against the pillows as James closes his mouth around his cock.
Michael tugs at the ends of James’ hair, his grip firm.
Always a good sign, James thinks.
5.
The fifth time they have sex is during the last day of filming.
For old time’s sake, even though James thinks it’s a flimsy excuse to get laid. They do it on the sofa, in Michael’s hotel room, James riding him, his arms enclosing Michael’s shoulders as Michael swept his hands up and down his hips. It’s quick, and by the time they finish, James feels like absolute shit. His shirt is sticking to his ribs, sweaty in patches, and he has a belly full of his own come to wash off.
Afterwards, James sits on the bed, in a little bit of a mood. Michael’s hotel room is all smooth marble floors and shining glass windows overlooking all of London.
Michael watches him, saying nothing, splayed across the bedding, completely starkers.
“So, my flight leaves tomorrow evening,” he says. “I was thinking you should stay the night.”
James looks at him, blinking. Not quite sure what he’s playing at. Michael sits up slowly, dragging his entire weight. He pulls James to him and James goes willingly, confused.
Michael slides his hands under James’ shirt, tucking them into the waistband of his boxers. His hands are warm, broad, and his thumbs rub against James’ hipbones. He presses his lips together for a minute and then says, “Sorry I’ve been kind of an arsehole.”
James almost laughs. “Yep,” he says, nodding, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.
“Sorry I’ve been, I don’t know, not whatever you wanted me to be.” Michael sounds just as sheepish, too.
“Yep,” James says again. Michael turns his face to the side, pressing his chin to James’ temple. His hair makes James’ eyelids itch, his nose twitching in a faint sneeze. James can sort of feel his skin rising up in gooseflesh as Michael bites him gently on the shoulder.
“Stay the night,” Michael says, patting him on the ass. “I’ve got a hundred or so channels on my TV and we can order room service.”
He raises his eyes.
James scrubs his face and laughs. Shakes his head. “Sure,” he says, rolling his eyes skywards. “If you must insist.”
“I do,” Michael says magnanimously.
Later at three in the morning while Michael is asleep, James lights up one of his cigarettes and pulls out his mobile phone. He takes a picture of Michael sleeping - his slack mouth open, his hair scraggly and peaking up in tufts. Then he laughs at himself, shoulders shaking as he lurches forward, the movement making Michael stir and look up at him groggily.
“Hey,” Michael says, voice hoarse as his eyes blink, sifting through the light. “Come back here.”
James stubs his cigarette on the bedside table and smirks, slipping under the covers. It’s dark without the light on, Michael’s body a pale shadow under the sheets. James curls himself against his embrace, shivering as Michael’s arms come up around him, his skin cool with dried sweat, his breath hot, a passing whisper that makes the hair on James’ neck stand on end.