Work Header

Playing With The Bad Boy

Work Text:

Michael Milton leaned up against the brick wall, hearing the leather jacket brush against the harsh texture, and sighed heavily. He reached into his jacket and pulled a pack of Malboros and a lighter. Removing a cigarette, he stuck it in his mouth and lit it up before returning the pack and lighter to his jacket pocket. He inhaled and removed the filter from his lips, exhaling smoke and watching it drift off into the sky.

He watched the football players throwing a ball in the quad amongst those actually attempting to study with some disinterest. His dark jade eyes seeming to follow only a sandy haired, freckled boy with bowlegs enjoying being in nothing but a pair of black basketball shorts that clung to his ass. Michael let loose a smirk, still smoking his cigarette. His other hand slid into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim black pocket knife. He flicked open and began playing with it idly, making sure that the sharp blade never touched his skin.

The football players began to disperse, and Michael watched the freckled boy open up his gym bag and pull on a black T-Shirt advertising the tour of an 80’s rock band. He waved his good-byes to his teammates before scaling up the hill to where Michael was.

“Stop watching me,” he told the leather clad man.

“Why?” Michael asked lazily. His cigarette finished, he flicked it to the ground and crushed it with his combat boot. “You look hot. Makes me want to pin you to the middle of the quad and fuck you while you’re like this.”

The other boy rolled his eyes, a blush crossing over freckled skin. “People are going to start to talk,” he warned, smiling as he set the gym bag down.

Michael snorted. “People do little else,” he said dismissively, letting the back of the knife carefully roll over his thumb before catching it, holding it up to the eyes of the other boy. “What is Dean Winchester, star athlete, so afraid of by being with me, hmm?”

Dean gave a patented trademark grin and shook his head. “Well you heard ‘em when our brothers started dating,” he shrugged, his emerald eyes on the knife.

“Lucifer’s an actual horror,” Michael chuckled, closing the knife and sliding it back into his jacket pocket and looking at Dean with a smirk. “How he managed to get into the pants of your goody-two-shoes baby brother is beyond me.”

Dean laughed. “Sammy’s into some shit, always has been,” he said, stepping closer into Michael’s space. The older boy allowed it with a smirk, “‘Sides, that’d be like the pot calling the kettle black.”

Michael snorted. “Our brothers get into far worse things than we do,” he murmured.

Dean arched a brow. “Dude, last night you had me pinned to the wall and held your knife to my throat while you fucked me,” he reminded Michael.

Michael shrugged, his smile turning predatory. “And you came so prettily from that. Not to mention, you begged me to do that, fly boy.” His fingers reached out and dipped into the waistband of Dean’s shorts, feeling lace underneath the tips of his fingers. “Just as much as you begged me to let you wear those pretty panties underneath these shorts.”

Dean inhaled and shuddered. “Mike,” he warned softly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you bend over to let me see them,” Michael smirked, “Yet. Also, I held the flat edge. You were in no danger of being cut. Sam, on the other hand-”

“No talking about our brothers in this context,” Dean growled, leaning in for a deep kiss with Michael.

Michael groaned, tasting the tang of sweat and the Gatorade his boyfriend had obviously drank before running up the hill on Dean’s lips and chasing it. He felt Dean’s fists clench into his leather jacket, trying to bring him closer and Michael granted it, grabbing Dean by his hips and turning so that Dean was pinned against the wall. He lifted his knee and gently rubbed it against the rapid swelling he felt.

Dean gasped, still clinging to the front of the leather, and Michael seized the opportunity to bite down gently on the plump lower lip in front of him, giving it a firm suck before pulling away, breathing heavily.

Dean’s eyes were half lidded in bliss and he felt his hold on Michael’s jacket disappear, weak as though he was to when Michael took control like this.

“Do you have much to do for homework after practice?” Michael murmured lowly.

Dean shook his head. “No, Sir,” he murmured back.

“Good,” Michael smirked. “I have my night class tonight. Family law. When I come back-” his hands slid down behind Dean and grabbed his ass, kneading it and making the athlete moan, “-I want you to be ready for me. Laying on our bed, panties on, plug in. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Dean groaned.

“Good,” Michael said. He withdrew from Dean’s presence and picked up the black leather messenger bag he had discarded. He reached into his jacket for his cigarettes again. “Maybe if you’re extra good, we’ll watch a movie during.”

Dean positively whined as Michael casually whipped out another cigarette and lit it. “You know those cause cancer,” he said weakly, trying to distract himself from what was happening underneath the basketball shorts.

“Everything causes cancer, Dean,” Michael said, taking a drag and giving a shrug. “Except for maybe what’ll happen tonight. I’m not concerned. I’ll see you tonight, Dean.”

And with that, Michael was gone, and Dean was cursing the day their senior year of high school when Michael Milton slid up behind him and whispered how much he wanted to fuck him over the hood of the Impala.

Basketball shorts concealed nothing.