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Take It Off, Put It On

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“Jay, it's taking me longer to get off than it took for Boyhood to be made. Are you sure this used to be your job?”

Jay said nothing, only huffing through his nose and gargling wetly around the cock in his mouth. He made an attempt to move off, but Mike just pushed his head down further and ignored the little whine Jay released. The smaller man's mouth was like hot heaven around his dick, and Mike had no intention of letting Jay stop yet.

He wasn't really sure why they were doing this, or why Jay was only wearing his borrowed grey shirt with nothing else but his own pair of black high tops, but stranger things had happened before. It was easier just to go with the flow of the things for the moment and worry about the consequences later.

Draining his beer and throwing the empty bottle unscrupulously into a corner of Mr. Plinkett's trashcan of a home, he sighed with great contentment over the sound of glass shattering noisily, but Mike cared little. He leaned to the side to pick up another beer off the floor while ruffling Jay's perfectly groomed hair with his other hand, ignoring the angry look sent his way.

Really, this was the life. A beer in one hand, a drunken man on his knees slobbering all over his cock, and no work to do. It was nearly perfect - barring one glaring problem.

With his mouth occupied, Jay couldn't talk to him, so they couldn't discuss movies, nor, more to Mike's disdain, he couldn't hear his friend's giggling at his awful, cheesy jokes that no one should've laughed at but Jay always did regardless.

A damn shame.

Sighing again heavily and with an immense amount of mourning, Mike pulled the shorter male off of his length, a satisfying pop resounding in the room as Jay coughed wetly, cheeks tinged an endearing shade of red and what looked like tears gracing the corner of his eyes.

Mike-- fuck,” Jay spluttered while rubbing his jaw, “I don't think I can do it anymore - my throat hurts--”

“What are you saying, Jay? You just need more to drink.” Mike hooked his thumb into the corner of Jay's mouth, noting how puffy and swollen his lips were. He couldn't actually remember how long he had made his co-worker suck him off for - the whole morning, afternoon, evening and part of the night so far had passed in a blur of a drinking, and they had started sometime during the ethanol-induced haze.

A little suck on Mike's thumb drew him out of his thoughts, and he returned to the task at hand. With the pad resting on Jay's tongue, he slowly encouraged the jaw to open up.

When Jay was drunk, he became pliant. Subdued, with his usual snarky edge softened. Not that Mike didn't like the other man's sarcastic bite - but he didn't want it when Jay was staring right at his pudge, depression and alcoholism rounding him out over the years. Didn't want, or need, a scathing comment about how he had ‘let himself go’ from a man that had only gotten more handsome over time rather than withering like he had.

Gulping down the lukewarm beer in his hand and idly stroking his thumb against Jay's tongue with his other, he tried to drown out the creeping thoughts of negativity in the depths of his mind. Jay, his best friend, only growing brighter while he faded out like a dying star. It made him paranoid, knowing that Jay could turn and leave him at any moment--

“Muhike,” slurred Jay, words muffled against the digit in his mouth, “that’s my beer.”

Mike looked at his bottle in confusion, “oh. So that's why it was open already,” he took another sip, and felt Jay's lip quiver, “you want it back?”

Jay nodded, glancing wistfully up at Mike through his eyelashes. With his friend so vulnerable, so trusting, at his feet, his worries ebbed away as he tipped the bottle towards Jay's open mouth.

The first splash missed completely, falling onto the other male's reddened cheek and soaking his groomed beard. Mike didn't bother apologising; instead, he tried to aim better - although, he wasn't that much soberer than the repairman at his feet, so most of his next attempt dribbled in Jay's mouth and down his chin, beads of amber rolling down to his clavicles and disappearing underneath the baggy charcoal hoodie he was wearing.

It was enticing, to watch his friend visibly shudder as the alcohol hit his palate. He gurgled through the amber liquid sitting on the opening of his throat, fighting against Mike's hold against his jaw by wrapping both of his hands around the bigger man's thick forearm. 

Mike relented after a few short moments, and was rewarded with Jay suckling the tip of his thumb as his mouth snapped shut, swallowing the load of booze in one big gulp. A tongue danced along his digit, its texture rough against the delicate swirls of this fingertip as it lapped up every last remaining trace of beer left.

“Want some more?” Mike asked, finding his breathing was strained. He hadn't gone soft at all, in fact, the opposite was true - he was harder than ever at seeing opinionated, sarky Jay acting so submissively.

Jay nodded, again. But that wasn't good enough for him - it had been too long since he had heard Jay's voice.

“No, answer me,” ordered Mike, reluctantly drawing his thumb from the other's mouth. The hands that had settled on his wrist dropped down at the action, landing onto pale thighs that were just barely concealed by fabric. A small stain had appeared near his crotch, and it gave Mike a smug sense of gratification knowing that Jay was getting off to whatever...was happening.

Something deep in Mike's conscience was telling him to step on the breaks, to hold on - they were toeing a line and Mike wasn't sure that if they continued on, if things could ever go back to how it was before. Sure they could blame copious amounts of alcohol and bad decisions, but it would still be awkward if either of them regretted it.

That thought quickly disappeared from Mike's mind as Jay leaned forward, the loose collar of his oversized sweater letting Mike get an eyeful of lightly toned pecs and dusty pink nipples, pert and perfect and temptingly suckable.

Like the lecherous old man he was, Mike continued to peer down his friend's clothing while trying to find the spit to form words in his suddenly dry mouth.

“Answer me,” Mike managed to croak out, “answer me, dammit!”

Jay flinched at the commanding tone, and a part of Mike felt bad - but not bad enough to say sorry, the other part of him enjoying watching Jay squirm, totally at his mercy.

It took a long time for him to finally respond; just as Mike was about to lose his patience, Jay eventually spoke up in a quiet voice, “give me more.”

“Say please.”

The air grew thick, the mouldy smell of Mr. Plinkett's house overcome with something denser, more tangible. Mike swore he could reach out and touch the atmosphere in the room, to shatter it into a thousand pieces with just a feather-light brush of his fingertips.

It turned out that Mike didn't have to be the one to do so; Jay's eyes bored into his, and with a sly lick of his lips he said, “give me more, please.”

The dam of hesitation broke, and Mike acted fast. He sprang up from his chair and grabbed Jay's arm, dragging him to the table pressed up against the wall before slamming him down onto it, half-empty cans and bottles of medication pushed to the side by Jay's flailing hands as his back collided against the cheap, stained wood.

“Shit, Mike,” Jay hissed, trying to prop himself on an elbow to glare angrily, “that hurt, you asshol--”

Mike swiftly cut off Jay's snappy quip by grabbing the man's neck, shoving him back down onto the table. He tried not to relish the unmanly squeak Jay let out, tried not to feel the surge of power coursing through his veins as he pinned down his friend with ease, his hand looking so large against Jay's slender neck.

Muscles underneath Mike's palm convulsed, his co-worker's Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Both their breaths were shallow, constrained, and Mike had to control himself from flipping Jay over right then and there and ramming in his straining cock into the other's presumably tight asshole, hear Jay cry out and moan from underneath him--

Fuck, was he gay? Jay was most definitely gay. Mike knew that he'd had sex with women in the past, he had watched the prostitutes have their way with him with his own two eyes. And, sure, Jay had dated the ghost girl working at the Lightning-Fast VCR repair shop, but that was surely morbid curiosity. Mike argued with himself that he'd fuck a ghost dude once for the experience too.

Himself, though? He'd been handsome and suave once, a hit with the ladies before his man child ways crashed into him like a ten-ton truck. But, shit, none of the women that had ever ended up in his bed made him feel so primal, so depraved, as Jay was making him feel right then and there.

His questioning was enough to make Mike reach for the closest source of alcohol - one of the many opened and promptly forgotten cans on the table - and, without taking his hand from Jay's throat, grabbed it, and took a sip or two, or five, maybe six.

On the seventh, Jay wriggled in his grasp, which made Mike just squeeze that tiny bit harder - he really was being an impatient little bitch, and a slutty one too, if the leaking erection rubbing against the hairs on his stomach was anything to go by. Never would've guessed that his friend was such a filthy masochist - and Mike never would've guessed that he himself had such a sadistic streak either.

They made a good pair.

And on that thought, Mike kept the eighth swig in mouth and leaned down to smash his lips against Jay's.

Kissing Jay was - odd. Not unpleasant or gross, but just weird. This was the dude that Mike had worked with for years in a repair shop that really should've went out of business at least a decade ago, and he was the friend that Mike regularly spent awake all night with, drinking and watching terrible movies until they collapsed in a drunken pile in the early hours of the morning. At times, Jay was his worst enemy, too, when they argued over tuning into reruns of Ghost Adventures or seeing Gremlins 2 for the five-hundredth time. Yet Jay was the only one who could put up with his lengthy, manchild-esque spiels about Star Trek and Mike was the only one who could put up with Jay's pretentious bitching about indie movies no-one really gave a fuck about.

Mike forced the kiss to deepen, a delicate balance of lip movement and trying to keep the beverage in his mouth - and Jay almost immediately complied, a breathy gasp letting Mike take full advantage.

Gently, he let the beer pour from his lips and into Jay's mouth, slowly, so he didn't choke. Jay looked surprised, but Mike couldn't be sure if that was from the kiss itself or from his method of giving the other man the alcohol he had begged to prettily for, he just didn't know.

At that moment, nothing else existed. Only his tongue on Jay's, working the booze down his throat while Jay resisted, the last few scraps of his masculinity fighting a hopeless battle against Mike's insistently probing appendage.

Inevitably, Jay lost, and swallowed whatever of the concoction that had remained in their mouths and had not spilt over the corner of their lips.

The embrace should've stopped there; Jay had gotten what he had asked for - yet Mike's hunger wasn't satiated at all. It was addicting, to taste the smaller man's minty breath, to feel the trimmed beard brush against his stubble and the smell of Jay was nothing short of paradise in the decaying corpse of an old man's home. Further he pushed, licking every inch of the orifice he was defiling while grinding his neglected cock against Jay's thigh, every so often nudging against the wrinkled skin of his balls and taint.

They both groaned into each other's mouths whenever their groins grazed together; even down there, Jay was neatly groomed in contrast to his own dark and wild jungle that was his body hair.

Seeking more of that enticing friction, Mike let his hand drop from around Jay's neck and grabbed his slim waist, manoeuvring him down to properly slot their crotches together. Getting the idea, the rubber on Jay's high tops lightly skimmed Mike's hips as he wrapped his legs around them, ankles locked around the base of the bigger man's spine.

Clearly frustrated, Jay thrusted upwards to grind against Mike's cock, the liberal amounts of pre-cum the both of them were producing providing a smooth glide.

Any semblance of a rhythm didn't seem likely, not with how Jay was greedily seeking out his own pleasure. His tongue dove deep, insistently pushy on Mike's own. Jay's neediness was just adorable, and Mike tried not to feel too smug about how much smaller the other's dick was in comparison to his.

Like his legs, Jay snaked his arms around Mike's neck, intensifying the kiss further. It was to a profound amount of displeasure that Mike actually needed to breathe; suffocating from making-out with his co-worker wasn't something he'd ever thought about before, but it was tempting to just keep on going until his lungs burned with Jay literally sucking the last few chunks of life out of him.

Shaking the fantasy out of his head, Mike craned back to break their embrace. Jay held fast, so he could only scoot as far as a couple of millimetres, hot breaths mingling together as they both drank in the air they apparently both needed desperately.

“Your breath stinks of beer.” Jay murmured against his mouth, the hairs on his upper lip tickling Mike's skin. From the distance they were at, it was easy to see just how wide Jay's pupils had become, tiny slivers of grey (blue? Green? Hazel? Mike had spent so long looking into Jay's eyes but could never discern what colour they actually were) drowned out by great black voids of pure lust.

“So does yours,” Mike retorted, sneaking his hands to hoist up Jay's - his - shirt up, wanting, needing to feel more skin-on-skin contact. “Kinda tastes like dick, too.”

Jay’s face broke out into one of wide smiles, cheeks plumping and teeth showing as he prepared the comeback that Mike just knew was coming--

“Guess you suck it a lot, to know what it tastes like,” Mike felt Jay's entire body begin to shake as he tried to contain his laughter, sucking in his lips while small puffs of air exhaled through his nose. “That's pretty gay of you, Mike.”

Mike raised his eyebrows, “oh?” he began, skating the edges of his nails over Jay's flanks, making his abs quiver at the touch. Creeping up further, he continued, “I mean...I was maybe going to give you a blowjob too Jay, but I don't want to be seen as a homosexual or anything…”

Reaching his mark, Mike flicked his blunt fingertips over the other's pebbled nipples and savoured the shudder that Jay emitted. Even his legs were trembling; Jay was sensitive there, and Mike filed away that information for later use.

“W-wait…there's nothing wrong with that M-Mike, you aren't a homophobe, are you…?” hands that had been idly stroking the short bristles on Mike's nape started to tug, “so you could suck me off…”

“Welllll…” Mike stopped groping at Jay's chest, drifting an inquisitive hand down to encase the leaking length in his fist and leaving just the tip peeking out. “I could, but I'm not going to.”

Jay let out strangled cry as Mike jerked him off, which encouraged him to go faster, rougher, harder, nuzzling his face into the crook of Jay's neck when he threw his head back. Inwardly, Mike was glad that the other was such a horny mess; he had lacked the foresight to spit in his palm for extra lubrication, but Jay had taken care of that issue already, given how much he was oozing all over the place.

A devious plan formed within the synapses of Mike's brain - bullying Jay had always been a favourite pastime of his for reasons he could never explain before now. And, given Jay's reactions to what he had teased so far, he appeared to enjoy it, too. But Mike had never gone too far with it, never made his friend that upset with him…

...Yet Mike had an insatiable desire to do just that, make Jay spill tears out of hot anger or burning humiliation, either would have been totally fine, (more than fine, just the image alone made Mike nearly choke on a groan) and he was intent on making it happen.

Working his fist as much as he could while ignoring the ache that began to settle in his wrist, Mike lapped at the hollow of Jay's throat, sweeping his tongue over the prominent Adam's apple. It was a little bit sweaty, but, fuck, Jay even sweated attractively if that was even a possibility - small beads collecting all over his body and adding a sexy sheen to his skin.

Not like Mike. He was sweating like a pig, huge damp patches underneath his armpits and large droplets dripping down his nose to splash upon Jay's neck. Mike had even undone his buttons at some point, but even the undershirt had a wet ring around the collar, leading down his chest.

While Mike was self-conscious; Jay certainly wasn't. At some point he had dropped his arms and balled them up into fists against his chest, the long arms of his sweatshirt making it so only the tips of his fingers peeped out. His hips bucked wildly into Mike's grasp, unabashedly chasing out more sensations as he babbled incoherently - mostly. Sometimes Mike would catch his name, or pleas of ‘more’ and the odd curse word thrown in.

Shit - the fucker was even slyly using his pinkie finger to tease his other nipple, Mike noticed. It actually irked him, to think that Jay was suggesting that he needed more than his clumsy technique to get him off.

Irritated, Mike tweaked the nipple he had forgotten he had pinched between his fingertips a little bit too hard, and immediately Jay let out a low, pained noise, his back arching off the chip wood.

Ow!” yelped Jay, his eyes watering and bottom lip wobbling. “What was that for?!”

“'Cause I felt like it.” Mike said, then did it again, and again, until Jay started to sob and the skin around the nipple became red. He didn't stop jerking him off, either, so every small whimper would bleed into a soft grunt, Jay's body simultaneously trying to get away from him and get closer. His body spasmed and twitched, his moans getting more and more desperate as Mike mercilessly worked at getting Jay off.

Swiping his thumb over the tip of Jay's erection, it took several seconds to register in Mike's lust-drunk brain that the warmth wetness on his hand wasn't just pre-cum, and that the repairman underneath him had climaxed at some point.

Mike scooped the release into his palm, the thick seed warm as it coated his fingers. He brought them up to Jay's mouth, who scrunched up his nose and turned away, chest heaving.

“Ew,” Jay panted, “don’t shove that into my face, it's nasty.”

Undeterred, Mike grabbed Jay by his collar to pull him closer to his stained hand, “clean it. I'll - reward you, or something, if you do.”

Jay blinked at him, confused. His eyebrows knitted together, seemingly deliberating over the offer. He chewed at his lips, flipping his stare towards the puddle sitting atop of Mike's palm and his face.

Then the peek of Jay's tongue darted out, taking a miniature kitten lick at a glob of his own cum. His face screwed up in clear disgust, the muscles of his throat contorting as he struggled to choke it down.

“Ugh,” a blob of semen clung to the beard around the corner of Jay's mouth, “it’s slimy.”

“No shit,” Mike said, smearing the stray droplet over Jay's lip with his thumb. “Are you giving up?”

A grimace settled on Jay's features, plainly torn on his curiosity to know exactly what Mike's ‘reward’ was but not wanting to force down his own cum.

Curiosity evidently won; Jay rolled in his lips and sucked away the glossy sheen that had been on them, frowning the whole time as he did so. Mike had expected more bitching, but Jay diligently worked in mostly silence. Only a few huffs of discontentment left him as he swiped his broad tongue against Mike's palm, the texture of his friend's rough taste buds tickling the delicate whorls on his flesh.

Mike had never seen Jay work so hard on anything before that wasn't cataloguing every minute detail about an obscure horror movie that nobody else in the world bar Jay would know about. Yet there was a crease in his forehead as he concentrated, lapping every nook and cranny until only the fingertips remained dirty.

Exhaling shakily, Mike edged one past Jay's lips. His cock throbbed at the sight of the other sucking down on his fingers, thoroughly slicking the digit with saliva before moving onto the next one. Muted sounds of Jay suckling was all kinds of arousing; Mike somewhat regretted not coming down Jay's throat earlier, make him swallow his come instead and then tease him for hours until he could fuck his friend's petite body.

In no time at all, Mike's dirty hand was clean. Jay looked at him expectantly, awaiting his prize.


Mike inspected his fingers closely to make sure, although he knew it was unnecessary - Jay had been meticulous. Nothing but the slight sheen of spit was left. Mike wiped it away on his company shirt.

“Yup. Good job, Jay,” he said, flipping Jay over onto his stomach effortlessly. “I knew you could do it.”

Planting a kiss on the back of Jay's neck, Mike crept downwards, past the rucked up fabric until he met the curvature of Jay's spine.

“Mike…?” Jay quizzed, his voice sounding half-puzzled, half-apprehensive. “What are you doing--?”


Mike's palm struck the tender skin of Jay's rear, an impressively angry red handprint stark against the pale flesh. The force of the blow made even Mike's hand tingle; it was no surprise that Jay cried out, jolting across the table.

Owwww…” whined Jay, “Mike, don't--”

“Shaddup, Jay,” Mike slapped his other asscheek, “just wait.”

He knelt down behind Jay, grabbing two handfuls of the man's cheeks and pulled them apart. Shit - Mike noted that his hands practically covered Jay's entire ass, and that was fucking hot. It made him feel big, powerful. Jay even had to stand on tiptoe to lean over the table, and a thrill ran through Mike as he watched the other's legs tremble in trepidation.

Deciding to put Jay out of his misery, Mike licked a broad stripe starting from the taint, all the way to the tailbone.

Fuck!” Jay cantered backwards against Mike's probing tongue, whimpering when Mike circled the rim of his anus. Mike continued to tease; going back to suck on a spot behind Jay's balls.

The sounds that poured out of Jay's mouth were pure filth, a jumbled mess of half-broken curses and pleas for more.

Humouring Jay, Mike made his way back up, slowly, before worming his tongue past the sphincter of Jay's hole.

“Oh, God, Mike--” Jay's legs buckled, and Mike acted quick, holding his thighs to stop him from falling down. He withdrew his tongue from Jay's ass, a string of spit breaking off of his lips and dripping down the crack.

“Spread yourself for me, I've got ya’.” it took no convincing, with Jay hastily scrambling to give Mike access by pulling apart his cheeks with his hands.

Mike never thought for one moment that uptight, fussy Jay would be so wrecked by his own tongue, his own hands, his own words - privately, Mike thanked whoever the fuck discovered beer, because without it, the entire events of the night probably wouldn't be happening. No way would Jay be so shameless, so needy, sober.

Getting a good eyeful of Jay's flaccid cock and twitching hole, Mike delved back into fucking Jay's asshole open with his tongue. It was - tight, even around the spongy organ, the muscles contracting and squeezing down hard.

Briefly, Mike wondered if his cock was even going to fit at all; preparing Jay had gone from a luxury to a fucking necessity. Making his friend cry was hot, but actually hurting him wasn't something Mike wanted to the moment.

Quelling his sadistic side to one side, Mike felt the muscles begin to unwind and relax like the uncoiling of a tightly wound spring. Jay tasted of soap, sweat and something distinctly musky; unexpectedly piquant in flavour, Mike sought more as he curled his tongue and thrusted it in and out.

Jesus Christ - he could eat out Jay's ass for days, Mike thought. The wrinkled rim that puckered whenever he sucked around it, or the way Jay would rock backwards whenever he withdrew to circle around the hole provocatively with the tip of his tongue nearly had him groaning too.

Trusting Jay's balance, Mike released his grip on one of his legs and reached around to fondle the repairman's cock. Half-hard and gushing pre-cum; Mike snorted at such a blatant display of unabashed shamelessness.

“You fucking slut, Jay,” Mike taunted, blowing cold air against the fluttering hole in front of him, “greedy, dirty, slut.”

Mike stopped groping at the other’s crotch to spit on his fingers, grazing the edge of Jay's anus with a feather-like touch and making the sphincter clench at the new sensation.

“Please, please, please,” chanted Jay, bucking against his finger. “Give it to me.”

Adhering to his friend's whims, Mike pressed in his middle finger, stretching Jay open as he sunk in his appendage knuckle by knuckle.

Jay let out a long, strangled groan. His hips ground down onto Mike's hand, fucking himself fervently on the digit as Mike explored inside Jay's wet, hot heat, marvelling at just how resisting the space was.

Fuck, fuck. His cock was probably going to get strangled; but that was a risk he was very willing to take. The pulsating, desperate need to put his dick somewhere was getting almost too painful to bear, so Mike slid in a second finger to hurry up the preparation process.

Jay was a man, just like him - a little bit of roughness wouldn't kill him…hopefully.

The knuckles on Jay's hands were turning white with how hard his hold on his own asscheeks was, his grip slipping every now and then from what Mike assumed was from sweaty palms.

He really was...cute, down from the stamping of his feet as Mike scissored his fingers inside of him, to the way he whimpered obscenities at Mike's persistent teasing, it was cute, cute.

Secretly, Mike had always known Jay was the only one on the same level as himself. His unbridled enthusiasm about movies, their shared tastes and opinions, even their differing ones, made every moment with Jay amazing. He only hoped Jay felt the same about his company, too.

Best friends. Maybe something more - not that Mike cared to put a name to whatever their relationship was. Nothing had changed in all the years they had known each other - not when Mike had been slimmer, happier, and when Jay had been an awkward (but still adorable) dork. They had a connection, one that wouldn't be broken, ever.

As Mike drank in every sight of Jay's lithe form twitching and spasming under his careful ministrations, he prodded at the walls of Jay's rectum, trying to find that particular spot.

He finally found it after an extensive amount of exploration in Jay's ass; a smooth, hard lump that he very nearly missed. Only the corner of his finger grazed the mass, but immediately Jay froze.

“Ah?” Jay gasped, sounding awed, “t-touch that again.”

“Touch that again, ‘please’.” Mike corrected.

Jay growled, “dammit, Mike - just fucking touch it, please.”

Mike paused, thinking. Making his closest friend come undone by his fingers alone had an appeal to it - although screwing the impertinence out of him and forcing Jay to submit underneath him did, too.

Coming to a decision, Mike slid out his fingers. He vaguely heard Jay fretting but cared little; he would soon put an end to his endless complaining, he thought, as he made his way over to Mr. Plinkett's sideboard.

Almost tripping over his own shorts caught around his ankles, Mike kicked them off awkwardly. Jay snickered from behind him - flushing, Mike flipped him the bird and got back to rummaging through the cupboard.

Shifting through an assortment of antiquated porno mags, prescriptions and Medicare checks, (Mike made a mental note to cash those later - in his own bank) he found what he was looking for.

Pushing aside a half-dozen or so of loose razor blades and a torn-up Bible, Mike grabbed the bottle of lubricant. Continuously rifling through the codger's possessions to find things to sell off for the beer fund had finally come in useful, although Mike had cringed the first time he had stumbled upon the bottle. Thinking about Mr. Plinkett jacking off in his green chair had been enough to kill his boner for weeks.

Hastily Mike shoved the image out of his mind. He didn't need Jay laughing at his lack of performance, or whatever. The prick would totally do it too, that wasn't just Mike's paranoia talking. No, Mike wasn't going to give Jay the chance.

Jay stared at him curiously over his shoulder as Mike made his way over again. His eyes narrowed as he read the label, face turning a deeper shade of crimson as he realised what was in the man's hand.

“I--” Jay gulped at the snap of the cap, “--I don't think you're going to get it in--”

Mike liberally dolloped the lube around Jay's ass and his own cock, silencing Jay with the cold gel instead of words. He worked some of it into Jay's stretched hole, pleased that all his hard work had paid off when his fingers easily slipped in.

Unfortunately, he didn't have all day to dedicate to fingering Jay - he wasn't even sure where Mr. Plinkett was, and the smouldering embers of jealousy grew hot at the idea of the old fuck looking at Jay's form in all its wild abandon.

Thank God they had never consummated their marriage - Jay had drunkenly revealed that the furthest he ever got with Mr. Plinkett was a quick hand job in a theatre (which Mike had witnessed, because he had sat behind them, ski mask on and yellow cake in a satchel).

Watching Jay's hand slowly work over a crippled gay's barely functioning micropenis should've made him limp for an eternity, yet he had whacked off to the memory for months, imagining himself there instead of the old fuck.

It was the second-best memory in his wank bank, next to the time he had stood guard as Jay sucked off a random dude in an alleyway for ten bucks. Hearing and seeing him gag around some fat, balding, and oddly familiar stranger's cock had made him disappear into the closest bathroom to relieve his own tension afterwards - after beating the guy up and stealing his wallet. Jay had deserved far more than ten fucking dollars for that performance.

Pathetic, really, that he had to jerk off to Jay getting it on with men other than himself...




“WHAT?!” Mike jumped straight out of his filthy thoughts and straight back into reality. The bottle of lube dropped to the floor, the plastic container making an odd glass-shattering sound as it hit the wooden boards.

“Oh, you're awake. I thought you fell asleep standing up again.” Jay was propped up on his elbows, his head cocked over his shoulder and looking in Mike's direction. A can of beer rested loosely in his grasp, and he took a deep drink from it as he kept eye contact with the other man.

Mike swallowed, and while withdrawing the fingers that he realised were still in Jay's ass, said; “of course I'm awake, you prick. My eyes are open.”

“You've fallen asleep with your eyes open b-before, ah, wait, fuck--” Jay let out a breathy sigh, wiggling his ass as Mike pulled out his fingers. Lube dribbled tantalisingly from his hole and down his sac, testicles drawn tight in arousal.

Wiping his hands on his shirt, Mike guided the blunt, swollen head of his cock to Jay's rear. He wanted nothing more than to shove in to the hilt in one fast motion, make Jay scream so loud that the neighbours would hear and leave him utterly spent across the table - yet the goose bumps on Jay's flesh and suppressed shivers made Mike pause.

Was - was Jay nervous?

“Er...Jay?” Mike began, “are you...alright? We can stop--”

“No! Just hurry up - you're taking forever,” Jay said between gritted teeth, “just go slow - uh, I'm, not used to this, so…”

Feeling like he was doused in ice water, Mike's heart thumped as he processed what Jay just revealed to him.

That...couldn't be true. Impossible.

“That's horseshit,” Mike blurted out before he could stop himself. “You’ve definitely had things in your ass before, I saw you! You got raped by that robot, we both did--”

“--the robot didn't have a dick! You know that!”

“You - you turned tricks--”

“--I only offered blowjobs, I wasn't that desperate--”

“--you have a Grindr profile--”

“--yeah, you made me it as a prank when we got drunk that one time, dunno why you made one too thou--”

“--UH, um, err, yeah, ha, look,” Mike suddenly felt very hot, “you said you were pregnant that one time--”

“I'm a man...just about…” Jay gave him a weird look. “Mike, what's up?”

He said it before his brain even had a chance to catch up; “my dick, that's what.”

Jay deadpanned at him, but Mike saw the corner of his mouth twitch. His lips pursed at the terrible joke, and he dropped his head into his arms as his body shook with giggles.

Mike couldn't help it - Jay's laugh was infectious. He chuckled, leaning over to plop his head onto the repairman's shoulder. The sound of his amusement was muffled in the fabric of his own hoodie, so beautifully worn by his bestest friend. It looked better on him, than it ever did on himself.

Their conjoined chorus soon died down, only for Mike to realise really, really badly that he needed to put his dick somewhere or he was going to fucking explode.

Well, he was going to explode, inevitably, but Mike would rather do it inside of Jay and not down his leg in an embarrassing fashion.

Wiping away a stray tear with the cuff of his sleeve, Jay got back up on his elbows. Mike saw him sneak a glance out of the corner of his eye, nibbling at his lip.

“So…weirdness aside,” Jay started, rolling his ass back against the length of Mike's cock, “you gonna fuck me or what?”

Mike didn't have to be asked twice. Grabbing his almost purple erection, he eased the tip into the tiny entrance.

Their groaning was immediate, and in unison - Jay's insides were so narrow, and Mike's cock was far too fat to fit comfortably. Still, Mike surged forward, inch by inch, his hands settling around Jay's slim waist while he whispered nonsense into his ear in some vain attempting to be comforting.

However, the muscles of Jay's back still felt rigid against the hairy pudge of his stomach, neatly trimmed nails scraping along the table. Mike could only see his friend's profile from the position they were in, but even he couldn't miss the tears tumbling down his rose-tinted cheeks, teeth clenched and drool escaping past his plumped lips.

Poor Jay appeared to be at his limit already.

So, it was unfortunate that Mike was just barely halfway in.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Jay chattered, “please tell me there's not more.”

“Uh…do you want the bad news, or the bad news?”

Fuck me--”

“I'm trying.”

“Damn it, Mike,” Jay let out a half-groan, half-giggle, “really not the time for jokes when you're splitting my asshole in two.”

It really wasn't, but they both needed the distraction. It was taking every ounce of Mike's strength to hold back, either from coming or ramming into Jay without a care, fuck him so hard and make him shed more of those pretty little tears. Perverse was Mike's desires, sadistic and cruel, yet he couldn't deny that Jay's anguish was doing sinful things to him.

Temptation growing stronger, Mike inched a little deeper--

Jay's nails scrambled against the lacquered surface of the kitchen table, an asphyxiated breath leaving him in great, heaving sobs. His eyes bulged, brow knotted together in a grimace of pain.

A sight to behold; Mike wished he had a camera to capture Jay's suffering for an eternity.

Fuck. He really was fucked up. Somehow, all the murders, attempted murders, mindless acts of violence and bleeding an old man for several years of his life savings didn't seem quite as sickening as getting off on watching Jay's hurt.

Nausea rolled over him, the final dregs of humanity he locked away in chains within the confines of his conscience slipping through the gaps.

As if to indemnify for his disturbed thoughts, Mike reached around to touch Jay's cock which should've surely been limp from the pain--


Now that was unexpected.

“What's this?” Mike said, scarcely able to believe what he was feeling, “you're still hard…rock-hard, even. Are you getting off on the pain?”

Jay shook his head, but the blush that crept onto the tips of his ears told Mike a very different story.

“No?” Mike let the word purr in his throat, rumbling in his larynx as he pressed his lips to dance on Jay's neck, softly caressing the bruises that encircled the skin.  

He had choked Jay a bit too hard, yet the marks on his pale neck was the most beautiful thing to grace the man's throat in Mike's eyes.

If only they were darker, more visible.

And permanent.

The cry Jay released was nothing short of delicious when Mike sucked hard on one of the bruises, teeth dangerously skating close to the sore spot as he slowly, torturously grinded into Jay, until he was all the way inside of him.

“I'm, I'm - I'm gonna die,” croaked Jay, sweat pouring down his face, “t-this is the worst thing we've ever done--”

Mike swiftly put an end to Jay's grumbling by toying with the tip of his leaking cock, rubbing pre-cum all around the crown and down the shaft.

“‘Plinkett’.” said Mike, standing up to his full height to study his handiwork in all its glory from a distance. A lovely deep purple was already blooming where Mike had been sucking, a hickey that would hopefully last. 

“Wha'?” Jay asked, confused.

“Safe word.”

“Why do we need one of those--?”

Mike slid out about halfway, then pushed back in.

Jay went still in his hands, a tiny, muted whine the only sign that he hadn't fucking died. Shakily, he reached out for the beer, guzzling a whole can in mere seconds.

Beverage finished, Jay crumpled the can and threw it off the table. He ducked his head, hands balled into fists.

“Okay. Okay. ‘Plinkett’. Got it.” Jay grit out, his bowed head providing Mike a nice view of the damp patch of wispy hair around his nape.

“Good - remember to scream it if you wanna stop, Jay.” Mike told him, giving a testing thrust as he gave the other's erection a quick, hopefully soothing, stroke.

Only a little whimpering - pleased, Mike stopped molesting Jay's groin to support his ass in his hands instead. Being so deep inside him was a sight; crimson-slapped cheeks pushed flush against his own pelvis, only the wiry, coarse black curls of his pubic hair peeking out from where they were joined.

Being so far inside Jay was nothing short of amazing. The muscles were like the most luxurious velvet wrapped around his cock, more and more constricting the harder he pushed.

Unable to control himself, Mike increased his speed, hips snapping so powerfully against Jay's rear that his elbows buckled, the shorter man collapsing against the table. His palms flattened out, sweaty handprints glossing the wood.

“M-M-M-Muh.” was all Jay managed to stutter out before giving up, his voice trailing off into a pained squeak as Mike went in a bit further than was necessary.

“Shh, Jay,” Mike used his thumb to rub circles on Jay's jutting hip bone, “you're doing good.”

Jay shuddered, vexed noises of woe and pleasurable gasps intermingling with each other over the sound of Mike's flesh smacking against the meat of Jay's ass.

Noises that Mike himself wanted to make, because Jay's tightness both a blessing and a curse. Damn - it felt really, really good, almost too good, he was dangerously close to coming too early.

Then, Jay squeezed--

“Fuck!” Mike shouted out in surprise, yanking out of Jay harsher than he intended to. He ignored Jay's stream of curse words directed at him, hand flying to clutch at the base of his cock in order to stop himself from coming.

Mike panted, trying to calm himself down and bring himself back from the edge he had nearly hurtled over.

That had been way too close. The fun couldn't stop, not now.

Jay rolled over onto his back, leaning onto his arms to stare at Mike angrily.

“You fuckin’ douchebag,” Jay spat out, bending his leg and propping his foot on the edge of the table, slim fingers tenderly feeling around his entrance, “doesn't seem like I tore…no thanks to you, asshole.”

“S-sorry,” Mike said weakly, trying not think how sexy and inviting Jay looked in that position, fingering his own lubed-up hole. “’Nearly came.”

The corners of Jay's mouth twitched, and Mike couldn't discern if it was pity or mirth. Knowing the condescending bastard, he was most likely mocking him either way.

An abrupt, intense fury took hold of Mike - he was going to fuck that smugness out of him, show him who was the bigger man (metaphorically, and literally) and tear down the ego Jay had with his own bare hands, his mouth, his cock, whatever it took to make Jay a blubbering mess.

Mike growled as he lunged, grabbing Jay by the shoulders and slamming him onto his back. Pushing his mouth to Jay's, he swallowed down the surprised yelp and kissed him forcibly, urging his tongue into the warm, wet, resisting orifice.

Fists thumped at his chest, trying to push him away - which only increased the lusty haze Mike had fallen prey to, consuming Jay's almost pathetic attempts of protest eagerly.

With a twist of his head, Jay managed to break their embrace, his face screwed up in revulsion.

“Ugh,” Jay groaned, his lips shiny with spit, “don't kiss me - I don't wanna taste my own ass, yuck.”

“I’m not giving you a choice Jay.” Mike sneered, before getting a hold of Jay's wrists and pinning them to the table in a bruising grip.

He kissed him, again, crushing all his weight on Jay's tiny body to keep him still as he devoured the man underneath him. At the same time, he lined himself (rather awkwardly, without the use of his hands) to Jay's hole, sinking his dick as far as he could with a well-aimed thrust of his hips.

Jay's moans vibrated down Mike's core, rumbling in his own chest. He watched every single micro expression flash across his friend's face as he stretched him wide, impaling him down onto his cock - pain, pleasure, and something in-between danced in Jay's eyes; an intoxicating mixture of emotions that made Mike dizzy to witness.

This position was way better, Mike decided.

Although - it could be better still.

Mike loosened his hold on Jay's wrists to instead grab behind his knees, hooking each skinny leg over his shoulders. He tested how far he could bend Jay's legs back; delighted to find that he was pretty damn flexible, Mike shifted, angling himself better.

“Mike...--” Jay warned hesitantly, “--this might be a bit too much for me--”

Saying nothing, Mike placed his hands on Jay's hips, pushing down as he himself shoved forward, making sure to aim more upwards--

Jay went wild, slapping his hands to his mouth to muffle his throaty scream as he squirmed, his cute cock rubbing against Mike's chubby, hairy stomach.

Not one for mercy, Mike fucked him hard and fast, the table creaking and rattling underneath their combined weight. Mike was sure the rocking, banging motion was adding a few more dents into the wall; but the house was pigsty anyway. Mr. Plinkett wouldn't even notice. Bottles of medicine and alcohol rolled off and crashed, scattering onto the floor.

Shit - even though he had tried to calm himself down, Mike could still feel the knot of his impending orgasm coming closer and closer. He could only hope that Jay wasn't too far behind.

He slowed down, taking to grinding the head of his cock in the deepest recesses of Jay's ass. The muscles in the man's thighs quivered, his whole body turning into putty within Mike's grip.

“You g-good, Jay?” Mike wheezed out, voice guttural and rough.

Dropping his hands, Jay nodded. He placed them on his stomach, pushing his borrowed hoodie up and massaged at his own bare skin in curious wonder.

“Yeah,” Jay breathed, “yeah, I think - Mike, fuck - you're so deep, so big, I…it's like you're fucking into my stomach, or something, I dunno…’s weird, good...but weird.”

Mike's mouth went dry as Jay prodded at his abdomen, just under the belly button, showing Mike exactly where it felt like his cock was currently resting.

The pointing was exaggerated, yet still hot as sin. Perhaps it was the all the drink, or maybe the pheromones in the air, but Jay's inhibitions were falling away in front of Mike's very eyes.

“...’s good,” reiterated Jay, eyes dark with desire and fire, “ fuck me, Mike, fuck me like your life depends on it, you fucking hack.”

What a sassy, bold little bitch.

All pretence of caring, gentle Mike got thrown to the wind as he switched to a brutal pace that seemed to shake the entire foundations of the house.

Lube clung stickily to his balls as he pounded it in and out of Jay, wet squishing replacing the previous noises of flesh slapping together.

Jay thrashed underneath him, hands clawing at anything - the table, his hoodie, Mike's forearms, before settling on the ass of the man that was screwing him, nails biting down as he forced Mike to pummel into him more intensely than he currently was.

Over the sound of blood pumping in his ears, Mike could barely hear Jay and the array of noises he was making, making because of him, his cock, his big fat cock that made the majority of women recoil in fear but Jay, Jay, his best friend took it all like a champ.

Maybe they were made for each other. It certainly felt that way, with every twist and squeeze of Jay's rectum making the friction on his dick turn into something heavenly.

Mike prayed to Xandu his thanks, because, damn it, something that felt so divine couldn't be by mere chance. Jay must have been created by a higher power, sculpted to be his perfectly built cockslut that he could ruin over and over. He wouldn't, couldn't, get bored of Jay - how could he, when something hot and sticky was coating the hairs of his stomach, Jay's eyes going cross-eyed as he got fucked silly.

Faster, harder - he wasn't sure how long he could keep up the frantic pace, with his leg muscles burning and his back beginning to ache, but he wasn't going to stop. It would have been uncool to admit to Jay that his age, his alcoholism, his weight was catching up to him.

Almost pornographically, Jay arched up, erratically moving his hips to grind against Mike's chub. His choker of bruises around his neck were proudly on display, a collar that claimed him as Mike's.

Hands on his ass pressed down hard, nails sharp. Jay stilled, muscles jerking at random intervals as he grunted, semen splattering thickly onto Mike's stomach, dripping into his belly button.

“You laughed at me, yet you came first…” Mike snickered, shaking his head, “fuckin’ slut, tell me - do you want me to fill you up, or do you want me to shoot on your face instead?”

Jay was clearly far too gone to answer, whole body gone limp in Mike's arms. His head lolled on the table, a puddle of drool forming where he panted, and the only noises he was capable of making were a series of gurgled whimpers.

So endearing, so perfect. Mike had turned him into a wobbly mess of sweat, tears and spit.

Yet even that didn't feel like enough.

Mike rammed into him, taking perverse pleasure in Jay's shocked scream.

“Stop - stop! I'm too sensitive, please, my face, come on my face, in my mouth, whatever, please.” Jay pleaded, attempting to push him away.

“Good choice,” Mike said, sliding himself out of Jay that was perhaps a tiny bit slower than he needed to; and he absolutely didn't drag his cock against Jay's prostate on purpose. No way. Jay shuddered, and Mike sighed at him, “this is what you get for not answering me, prick.”

Jay made a mini noise of understanding, glancing at him underneath his lashes almost in apology.

Once out, Mike stood up straight, giving Jay's stretched, gaping hole a quick once-over. The ring of muscles clenched and unclenched, beads of lube falling down his crack and plopping onto the table, dribbling over onto the table and off the edge until it rained onto the floor.

Hauling Jay off the table and onto the ground with a strength that Mike didn't even know he had left in him, he forced the smaller male to his knees. He didn't even give Jay a chance to complain at his rough treatment - no, Mike wrenched open Jay's jaw while stroking his cock, feeling a tightness start in his gut.

“Stick your tongue out.” Mike ordered, breathing heavily through his nose. Sweat prickled on his skin as his orgasm neared, working the leftover lube over his shaft. His knees felt weak, barely able to hold as he bucked his hips into his fist.

It was coming, coming--

The moment when Jay darted out his tongue and let it rest on his chin was when Mike tipped over the edge; the pulsating beat in both his cock and thudding heart overwhelming as his balls tightened, thick, ropey strings of cum landing on the rough surface of Jay's tongue, his beard, even on the bridge of his nose.

Mike let out a lengthy tirade of expletives as he rode out the best damn orgasm of his entire life; he continued to stroke his erection as it began to wilt, the final few droplets of semen clinging to Jay's beard.

Coming down from his high, Mike wasn't sure what to do next. Would things be awkward between them now? Would Jay regret it? Did he--?

Jay made a low noise in the back of his throat, the cum on tongue starting to fall off the tip and trickle down his chin.

Taking a risk, Mike tapped Jay's jaw in a hint.

“Swallow it Jay,” he ordered, voice more commanding than Mike intended, “swallow it like a good bitch.”

A few moments passed, Jay giving him a long, hard look. Mike couldn't read his expression; maybe Jay didn't want to keep on playing whatever game they were currently caught up in. Perhaps their wicked dance was over, a curtain call signalling the end of their performance.

Doubt flew from Mike's mind as, eventually, Jay slowly closed his mouth. So slow, and without breaking eye contact - Jay was fucking teasing him.

Jay gulped, the sound almost comically loud. His Adam's apple bounced as he choked down Mike's seed, a little flash of grimace on his face once more. He obviously didn't like the taste or the texture, yet he still did it for him, so obligingly, so submissively.

Something in Mike's chest swelled; the heart he didn't know he even had pounding hard against his ribcage.


Pushing the unfamiliar feeling away, he dragged a finger through the mess on his stomach and coated the tip of it with Jay's release, inspecting the pearly fluid before popping it into his mouth.

The bitter, salty taste and jelly-like texture nearly made him gag, but the grossed-out look on Jay's features was too good to pass up. So instead, he dived for seconds and licked away the semen in exaggerated swirling motions of his tongue, finding that the more he ate, the more the unpleasant shock of what he was consuming ebbed away until he was actually enjoying Jay's cum slide down his throat.

Would've been better from the source - but that could come (Mike stifled a chuckle from such a lame pun) later, he didn't have to rush.

Peeling apart Jay's veneer and getting down to what really made him tick had already been done, the hardest part done and dusted with; all that remained was bending him, moulding him into something that was truly his, crafted and honed by his own alcoholic and work-shy hands.

Mike hated work, but if it was anything to do with Jay, he was willing to do overtime and not take a single holiday - not even for Hanukkah.

Soon nothing remained but the traces on his lips. Mike licked them away, removing his hand from Jay's jawline to play with his mussed-up hair. He pushed away a damp lock that fell over Jay's sweaty forehead, relishing that he had been the one to debauch the man so thoroughly.

A distant ticking of a clock counted down the seconds as Mike bent down. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but it felt right. He cupped Jay's face in his hands, and pressed a gentle, tender kiss to the repairman's forehead.

He knew he had made the right decision when Jay placed his hands over his, giving them a quick squeeze.

“What was that for?” Jay laughed, eyes warm and smile bright, so bright it was damn near painful to stare at.

“Dunno,” Mike lied, his cheeks beginning to flush, “just felt like doing it.”

“Weirdo,” Jay had said, before reaching up to plant a peck to Mike's lips. Immediately, Mike reddened, and Jay grinned at him wolfishly. “Should we get something to eat?”

More than okay with the divergence in topic, Mike nodded. Time in Mr. Plinkett's house never appeared to stop or start; days often felt like they stretched into weeks, months or, conversely, disappeared as quick as an episode of Star Trek seemed to. It was usually hard to tell what day it was whenever they stepped over the threshold of the door and back into normalcy (well, as normal as their lives could get as VCR repairmen in Milwaukee) - the old coot's house was a living time relic, encapsulating all the history that had happened, and continued to happen, within all four paper-thin walls.

It was nostalgic, in a way. Kind of like...a home. But it did make it incredibly hard to track when to actually eat meals on a regular, timely basis.

“Yeah. Should we order a pizza?” Mike asked.

Jay shook his head, “Nah, we had that yesterday. Or last week, maybe?” he got to his feet, using Mike's arms to steady himself.


“They won't deliver, not after you shot their last remaining driver dead. Nobody else wants to work there now.” Jay flopped against Mike's wide body, out of affection or tiredness was anybody's guess. Privately, Mike hoped it was the former.

“They're always so fucking slow, that's why!” Mike said hotly, feeling wrongly accused. Nobody ever made him wait for food. Ever.

Mike didn't see it, but he heard the eye-roll in Jay's voice, “maybe if you stopped killing all their employees, then they wouldn't be so slow in the first place.”

“ least I didn't shoot a man dead just because he was bad at reviewing movies.”

“True,” conceded Jay, his head resting above Mike's heart. “...But he was terrible. Nobody could ever replace you.”

Hopefully Jay didn't hear the sudden increase in his heart rate. Luckily with his head buried in Mike's chest, he couldn't see the dopey, smug smile Mike couldn't stop his face from splitting into.

A few beats passed before anyone spoke up. Mike was pretty content where he was; he wasn't sure when he had snaked his arms around Jay's waist to hold him closer, but he had. The embrace was warm, too warm - yet Mike wouldn't have it any other way.

Jay was the first one to speak. He cleared his throat and piped up; “how about Chunky's Chicken?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Mike sighed, inhaling Jay's scent one last time before he would have to inevitably let go.


Most of their time afterwards was spent ordering food, slipping on their underwear and finding some alcohol that hadn't somehow been drunk during their marathon drinking session.

They worked in relative silence, a touch of awkwardness permeating the air.

When Jay had found a slightly musty-smelling, but clean, tartan blanket and threw it on the floor, the tension melted away.

“We having a picnic or something?” Mike commented.

“I'm not eating where we fucked.” explained Jay, and Mike had to agree. Dining where he had reamed Jay was going to be distracting - and so was the inevitable boner.

“I’m alright with that, it's romantic. Should I get the candles out?”

“Fuck off.” Jay said, throwing a plastic cup at Mike's head. But he was laughing; and the unease in Mike's gut began to ease away.

Mike was the one to answer the door when the food came, opening the door in just his unbuttoned VCR repair shirt, undershirt and boxers. He got the reaction he wanted when the poor, lanky, bald, glasses-wearing delivery man stumbled over his words and tried hard not to stare at Mike in all his half-naked glory.

The man's eyes bulged when he spotted Jay in a similar state of undress milling about in the living room behind Mike, putting the finishing touches to their makeshift dining area. The cogs of the guy's brain were whirring almost audibly as he put two and two together, and with copious amounts of smugness, Mike forked over the bills to the stunned driver.

No tip, naturally - Mike wasn't willing to part with his fraudulently hard-earned money so easily.

“Mike, hurry up! The beer is getting warm.”

Jay's voice broke Mike out of his arrogant, dominating ‘look-at-me-I-just-had-sex’ stupor. He pried away the takeaway bag from the delivery man's fingers and went to shut the door.

“Hey, wait, I'm three dollars short--” the man called out, rousing back into his own lucid state.

“Fuck off!” Mike shouted back in answer, slamming the door in his face, “prick.”

Jay just gave him an odd look, to which Mike shrugged off. Lack of food made him temperamental. And the dude clearly had an attitude problem. Prick.

Sitting with their backs to the wall and the bucket nestled between them, they ate. Their chatter was amicable; mundane discussions about movies and work (or the lack thereof) in-between bites of crispy chicken and fluffy, salty fries.

But Mike could feel their talking begin to peter out, Jay's answers becoming more and more monosyllabic as the conversation dragged out.

Silenced hushed over them.

Not knowing what to do in the interim, Mike reached out for another piece of chicken - only for Jay to do so as the same, their fingers brushing together at the bottom of a Chunky's tub.

The reaction he got wasn't what Mike expected; not Jay whipping his hand back like he'd just touched an electric fence by accident.

“Sorry.” Jay murmured, avoiding eye contact.

Confused, Mike's forehead creased. “What for?” he asked, lost. They'd fucked, kissed, hugged, held hands - and Jay was apologising for accidentally touching him once?

That couldn't be it.

“I…” Jay closed his eyes, and gulped. Now Mike was really freaked out--

“...I ate the last drumstick--”


“Yeah, sorry--”

“No, I mean--” Mike's body sagged in relief, “--that's it? I thought - fuck, I dunno, you regretted what we did or maybe you don't want to date or--”

“Us, date? Aren't we already married, technically?”

Now Mike was confused, again.

Taking note of Mike's befuddled expression, Jay reached for some napkins to clean his hands as he continued; “I mean...we work together, live together, go out to see movies together, spend holidays together, we're both hitting forty and don't have anyone but each other in our lives so…”

Mike wiped his own greasy hands on his shirt as he shoved the carton of chicken to one side (maybe Mr. Plinkett's ever-elusive cat would finally make an appearance and eat the scraps, but Mike didn't hold out hope) before pulling out a cigarette and lighter from his shirt pocket.

He didn't smoke often, but it felt like one of those times where Mike needed to inhale as much cancer-inducing chemicals as he could while he pondered.

Fuck - Jay was right. They essentially were married. Partners in work, partners in crime, and now, just - partners he supposed.

Jay got closer to him, gingerly as if not to disturb him from his thoughts. He crept to silently, so cautiously, that it dawned on Mike that perhaps Jay himself was having some trepidations about their relationship.

Automatically he pulled Jay closer, his one hand resting on his hip while his other flicked cigarette ash into an empty beer can.

Cuddling was foreign to Mike; most of the women in his life never stayed long enough to get to the more loving stage of a relationship - usually they'd be gone by the morning, Mike's cereal boxes a little lighter and a scrappy note containing the words ‘call me’ left on the fridge.

He never called. Never felt the need to have someone else in his life - not when…

...Not when he had Jay.

 Damn it. He - they - should've brought up the idea of fucking earlier rather than waste so much time pining.

Dragging on his cigarette, he squeezed Jay's hip as he exhaled out. Jay himself was teasing the hem of Mike's undershirt up to show the swell of his stomach, embarrassingly full after such a good meal.

Mike wasn't sure what Jay was up to yet he couldn't bring himself to stop him, either. Not when the repairman appeared to be so enthralled at his body hair; thick and wiry, Mike had given up and just let it grow like an unkempt garden.

That didn't seem to put off Jay, who's creeping hands wandered up to Mike's equally as hairy chest.

Two could play at that game; Mike dropped his hand on Jay’s waist to palm at his ass through his briefs, taking pride at the shuddering intake of breath he caused.

“What should we do now,” Mike whispered into Jay's ear, making sure to make his voice was as low and as gravelly as he could make it, “talk about movies?”

“We could...or,” Jay stared at him with dark eyes, “we could do something better.”

“Oh...? Are you implying that there's something better than movies, Jay?”

“Yes,” sliding down his hand through the carpet of Mike's body hair, Jay's fingers lazily grazed against the stirring erection in Mike's underwear, “something much, much, better.”

And when Jay began to palm at his bulge, Mike thought, fondly, that he would have to combine two of his passions in life one day by making love to Jay in the back row seats of a movie theatre.




Really, Mr. Plinkett didn't know what he ever did to deserve the terrible hand of cards he had been dealt from the proverbial deck that was called life.

Sure he was a war criminal, a depraved pervert, a useless husband and father, and, overall, just a horrible, disgusting human being - but still. It wasn't fair.

He'd only made a jab at the two hack frauds that had spent far too long fixing his VCR that maybe, just maybe if they stopped sucking each other dicks for five minutes and actually did some work, maybe he would be able to watch his Night Court tape sometime this century. Then he had left to use the bathroom, yesterday's burritos making their fiery presence known within the bowels of his, well, bowels.

What Mr. Plinkett didn't expect to come back to was his ex-fiancé on his knees with the cock of the man who had crashed their wedding in his mouth.

He wasn't sure how the two dipshits had somehow used their one brain cell between them to induce that he had meant for them to start blowing each other, because surely it had been his implication that made them engage in homosexual activity and not the vast sea of glass bottles and metal cans that he tripped and crashed into several times before he made it back to his favourite green chair.

And there he had sat. For three days straight, watching the sweet, tiny prince he had once loved getting railed on every surface in his house and moaning the name of another man.

It was times like these that Mr. Plinkett cursed his immortality. Especially when his bearded, handsome ex-lover was gripping onto his Zimmer frame for dear life while fatso pounded into him behind.

“Stop, Mike, this is the third time I've come today, I can't do it anymore - fuck, f-fuck! Stop, wait, ‘P-Plinkett!’, ‘Plinkett!’, stop, I said the safe word--”

Mr. Plinkett closed his eyes and felt himself start to drift off to the astral plane.

Maybe one day the two frauds would realise he had been there the whole time.

Maybe one day they would fix his fucking VCR.

Maybe, maybe, one day he would finally get to watch his beloved Night Court tape.

But not today.