David’s phone buzzes just as he’s shifting around, trying to find a new and more interesting position from which to stare at the dark ceiling of his hotel room.
Are you as jetlagged as I am?
He has to laugh at that, because yes, of course he is. It’s three in the bloody morning and his body thinks he is taking laziness significantly too far by still being in bed. He’s been staring blankly at the ceiling for an hour.
At least, he types, then changes his mind and hits call instead.
It doesn’t even finish a whole ring before Michael picks up. “I take it that’s a yes?”
“Very yes,” David agrees. “I may be ever so slightly losing my mind. I was starting to wonder if I could slip outside and just wander the streets unnoticed.”
Michael laughs. “It’s always worst on the second night, isn’t it? How long have you been awake?”
Forever, it feels like. There’s nothing to make you lose your sense of time like lying in bed wide awake and willing sleep to come. “A few hours.”
Michael hums sympathetically. They are both going to be wrecks come evening. “Do anything interesting, at least?”
“Well, I took a shower.” He’d been too tired to do it last night; had just barely managed to stay awake long enough to brush his teeth. And sometimes the warm water relaxes him enough to slip back into a half-doze at least.
“The fun kind?” Michael asks, with enough exaggerated salaciousness that David can practically hear his eyebrows waggling.
He likes that. The way Michael will always flirt. Not with intent, and never too seriously, but with just enough sincerity behind it that it’s… very nice.
“Unfortunately, no,” he says, because it happens to be true. “But I did discover that the robes here are very plush. They make me feel very decadent.”
Michael laughs. “God, yes, that never stops being amazing, does it? It’s the kind of luxury you dreamed of as a kid. That you only got to see in the movies, when people went to fancy hotels and had grand romances in a totally different world than yours. And now that is our world.”
“It still doesn’t feel properly real, though,” David admits. “I still feel like… like I’m getting a glimpse of something that rightfully belongs to someone else, probably.”
“I know what you mean. But that’s probably better, I think? Imagine taking something like this for granted, just… being completely blasé about it. Then what’s left for you to enjoy? It’s a lot more fun this way.”
“Mmm. Very true.“ David wiggles his toes against the ridiculously smooth sheets and sighs happily.
“Still enjoying the robe?” Michael asks.
“I’ve moved on to the sheets now,” David says honestly. “I have to admit that I very blasé-ly kicked off the robe a while ago. But only to help me luxuriate more in the bed.” He stretches languorously, to prove the point.
“You know,” Michael hums, “if you don’t want me to picture you naked, you should probably say so now.”
David has to laugh at that, delightfully scandalized. And also… well. He wiggles his toes again. He should make a joke. He shouldn’t be thinking oh, please do. “Mm,” he says, teasingly, drawing it out. “Will you make me look good?”
It’s Michael’s turn to laugh, and oh, he likes that, too. Just a bit too much, in the best way.
“Always.” Michael chuckles just a bit, clearly at himself.
It shouldn’t flip David’s stomach upside down the way it does, but it does, anyway. Time to reach for a safer topic, probably.
“What’ve you been doing? Upsetting your internal clock by looking at your phone?”
“A bit,” Michael admits. “And taking in the view. There’s nothing quite like New York at night.”
That’s very true, and doesn’t sound like a bad idea. It might ground him a bit more in this time and place, being able to see the reality of it.
He slips out of bed and pads over to the window. The curtain shifts easily, and oh yes, it’s quite a view from up here. A sea of lights spreading out and rising up through the darkness all over, and always movement and activity, restless, even at this hour.
“Doing something?” Michael asks, having heard, of course.
“Went to the window. I’m looking at the view. You’re right, it’s very… it’s really quite something.”
“Just for the sake of my mental image,” Michael all but drawls, giving David a fairly good idea of where this is going, “are you still naked?”
He is, and he suddenly very much feels it.
He should laugh, of course. Brush him off. Be a little bit coy and a lot self-deprecating and deliver it with a smile. It’s how this goes. He gives just enough for Michael to keep flirting, and not enough to make a fool of himself, or both of them. It’s how they do it.
“Would you like me to be?” he asks lightly, instead, and holds his breath.
There’s a silence just a second or two longer than usual, before Michael hums consideringly. Deliberately casually. “Are you offering?”
“I might be.”
It takes a second for David’s brain to catch up to his mouth there, and when it does, he realizes with a start that that’s the absolute truth. He might be. And that…
That is new.
Because Michael has been very careful, so careful, ever since he found out that a wedding ring doesn’t mean – at least in David’s marriage – no one else ever again, to not presume. To not act like he thinks he has a real chance at David, even though he has to know that he very much does. And that was all good and only right when they were working together, comfortably safe in a shared degree of professionalism. You don’t have flings on set. You don’t have anything on set, except friendship. But press tours, on the other hand…
It takes a few more seconds for Michael to respond, during which David does his very best not to panic.
“What,” Michael asks, carefully lightly, “would the deciding factor there be?”
“Well.” He doesn’t actually know. He definitely hasn’t thought this through. But, well… “Is there anything on offer in return?”
“Anything you want,” Michael says immediately, extravagantly seductive. But he also sounds a lot like he means it.
“That… seems a bit unfairly weighted in my favour, don’t you think?” David says, once he’s finally managed to untie his tongue.
“It’s a seller’s market, clearly.”
He really means that, too, David thinks, which is… very wrong. Very, very wrong right at this moment.
“I think you might be underestimating how interested this particular seller is in this transaction,” he says, slowly.
Michael chuckles at that, which wasn’t quite what he was going for. “That kind of night, is it?” And David can hear the suggestive grin in his voice.
It isn’t, not like that, but on the other hand it’s really starting to be, so there doesn’t seem to be much point in arguing. He’d much rather… well. Keep things going. “Yeah,” he says, and goes to sit back down on the bed. “Now it is.”
“Well then, any wishes?” Michael asks, like he’s offering playlist choices.
Far too many, as they flash through his mind in dizzying succession. And he has absolutely no concept of what it would be appropriate to say. What does one say, at three in the morning and hovering somewhere outside reality, to a friend casually offering benefits? He has no idea. Probably not You can have your way with me any way you like and I will thank you for it, though.
“I feel spoilt for choice,” he says, and hopes that hits the right tone.
“Mm,” Michael hums, quite possibly smirking at him, and definitely following what’s actually going on. “Want me to keep talking while you make up your mind?”
“Yeah,” he says, lower than he means to. “Please.” And he stretches himself back out on the bed.
”Well then, how about a massage, to start? I used to give a lot of those, and the… let’s say reviews I got were always rather good. I could start with your shoulders, if you like. Gently, and then just firm enough to work out the tension you carry there. Keep at it they’re good and relaxed, then move down your back until you’re sure you’re melting into the mattress.”
It sounds very lovely. It’s also not quite what David wants right now.
“And then, if you like, I could work my way back up again, nice and slow. Relaxing. Or, if you prefer, I could continue down. Build up a different kind of tension.”
That is definitely what David prefers, and the hitch in his breath betrays that loud and clear.
“Because I am very good at that, too, I’ve been told. But maybe that’s too fast.”
It’s not, and Michael knows it, the smug bastard. David’s hand is on his cock, having gotten there somehow without waiting for permission, and he tries not to moan audibly, or move too quickly.
“Maybe I should start with your calves. Rub them slowly, in small circles, get your circulation going. Move up from there to your knees, and then the back of your thighs. I bet you’re sensitive there. So I’ll go extra slow. Slow, long strokes, from the outside in, but never too high. Never quite close enough to where you want me. Just enough to make you want it more. Until you finally get impatient enough to stop being polite and do something about it.”
Oh, that is just... A hiss escapes David, one that might be half whine.
“Oh yeah,” Michael says, gravelly now, and no longer even, “just like that. Fuck, David, if you want to do me favour, just keep sounding like that.”
A favour isn’t at all what he wants to do for, to, with Michael, but if ever there was convincing motivation… He lets out a gasp as his hips snap up, and is rewarded with an indrawn breath from Michael.
“Give me a clue.” Michael pants, low. “What do you like? Slow and gentle? Hard and fast?”
What a question to expect him to think about now. “Either,” David whispers, eyes closed and hips deliberately still. “Both.”
Michael laughs, breathless. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promises. And what a promise that is.
David could come like this. Will come like this, if they keep going, not much doubt about it. And would very much like to, definitely. But that’s one need out of… well, many. And he has a feeling the others might be more important.
“Michael,” he interrupts whatever Michael was starting to say.
“Mm? Thought of something you want?”
“Yes,” David says. “You to come over.”
There’s a silence, punctured only by some harsh breathing. Whose, David isn’t sure.
“Unless you don’t want,” he adds, too late.
“Oh, I want.” And Michael sounds like he does, yes. “Are you sure you do?”
It’s an unfair thing to ask. As if he’s ever actually sure about anything. As if he doesn’t just do and hope for the best.
“Please,” he says, which is also unfair, but the best he can think of.
“Okay,” Michael says. “Yeah. Two minutes.”
Two minutes. David wonders what he should do. He could – would rather like to – spread himself out on the bed, naked, and leave the door unlatched for Michael to come right in. But even at 3 AM you never know who might be in a hotel corridor, and that’s not a picture David wants to end up on the internet. So he pulls on the robe again, and pulls the curtains closed carefully. After some consideration, he switches on the bedside reading lamp to its lowest setting and turns it towards the wall. That’s enough light to avoid accidental injuries, and not enough to banish the comfortable darkness. Then he folds the covers down carefully and sits on the edge of the bed until there’s a quiet knock on the door.
Michael’s wearing a robe, too, over his pyjamas, and the perfect suggestive smile on his face. His eyes, though, meet David’s carefully, and it’s reassuring, David thinks, that he’s feeling this out as he goes, too.
Michael shuts the door firmly behind him, and adds the security chain for good measure. No disturbances.
“You’re wearing more clothes than I was imagining,” he says with a playful leer, when he turns back to David.
“Feel free to change that,” David replies, slightly shocked by his own daring. Horniness brings out that side of him, he thinks. Or maybe Michael does.
Michael flashes a grin full of promise, and quickly hangs up his own robe by the door like it’s a coat, leaving his slippers underneath. His pyjamas are dark grey flannel, and David’s mouth goes a little dry at the way even their loose cut and the low light can’t hide the telltale bulge of… unabated interest on Michael’s part.
He watches, a little hypnotized, as Michael steps closer, puts his hands on David’s hips, and tugs the belt of his robe loose. It slides open, revealing that David, too, is very much hard and ready, and David’s breathing picks up in time with Michael’s. Slowly, carefully, Michael slides his hands along David’s arms, until the robe slides to the floor, and David is left, bare and needy. Until Michael smiles, loops an arm around his waist, and pulls him into a deep and sure kiss. He is, it turns out, very, very good with his tongue, and David gets lost there for a while just trying to keep up, just trying to catch each sensation.
Then Michael tugs him close, his whole body flush up against him, and David goes from dazed to desperate in under a second. Now that there’s friction to be had, every inch of his skin starts clamoring for that, more, now please. He gasps into Michael’s mouth, tries to press closer, and all but writhes against the deliciously unfamiliar texture on offer. Michael shifts a thigh accommodatingly between David’s, and David can’t help the way his hips snap forward, much to Michael’s clear amusement. But he’s got his arms around David’s back and waist, and is tugging him in tightly, giving him better purchase. “You like that?” he murmurs into David’s ear.
“You have excellent taste in pyjamas,” David manages.
He can feel the laugh rumbling through Michael’s chest and oh that’s another thing that will have to go on his list of newfound favorite things.
“Happy to keep them on,” Michael offers, and that vision takes such a direct route to his cock it nearly whites out David’s vision. Himself, naked and hypersensitized, writhing, desperate, and Michael, tucked away in his pyjamas, immune to all of it, calmly taking charge. God, yes, please. He groans wantonly into Michael’s shoulder, and is fairly sure the only reason he stays upright is how tightly Michael’s holding on.
“Good idea, then?” Michael asks, smiling.
Yes, definitely. Very. But on the other hand, David still has the word favour ringing in his ears, and also a few well-founded guesses as to how Michael feels about his body.
“Gorgeous idea,” David admits. “But some other time.” And he runs his hands up under the hem of Michael’s pyjamas, reminding his selfish cock just how delicious skin on skin can feel. It doesn’t take long. “Right now, I want you naked.”
“Sure?” Michael asks, and the fact that he thinks he needs confirmation there is something David will really need to do something about at some point.
“Very.” And just to be clear, he heroically pulls away far enough to start undoing the top buttons.
Michael catches his hands before he can get very far, and David is about to complain, but Michael just relocates them to his hips, leans in for a kiss, and undoes his own buttons with a lot more efficiency. David uses the time to slip his fingers under the elastic of Michael’s pyjama bottoms and has the pleasure of feeling Michael shiver against him. He circles his fingers lazily, teasingly, over the soft skin until Michael drops his top to the floor, and David gets to run his hands up his torso instead.
Michael’s got a lot more chest hair than David, curly and springy and very lovely, and he gasps into David’s mouth when David’s fingers catch on some. Good to know, David thinks, and does it again, deliberately, until Michael breaks the kiss. “Bed?” Michael asks, like that’s somehow still a question.
David nods. “Trousers first,” he says, and Michael shoves them down and kicks them off. He’s still wearing boxers, but he takes David by the hips and maneuvers him backwards towards the bed before David can say anything about that. His calves hit the side of the mattress a moment later and he sinks down, doing his best to pull Michael with him. It takes a bit of shuffling, and a lot of determination – at least on David’s part – to not just abandon finesse in favour of some excellent mindless rutting, and then they’re reasonably well settled, and David can finally get his hands on Michael’s boxers.
“Up,” he says, and Michael lifts his hips to let him push them down before leaning down for another kiss, effectively distracting David once again. Somehow, the boxers disappear, and Michael is finally naked, half on top of David, and there’s probably a word for the amazing satisfaction and simultaneous desperate craving of that situation, but there is no chance at all he’ll think of it any time soon.
Closer to the bedside light, Michael’s skin glows almost golden in the darkness, and further away, he’s running a slow finger up the inside of David’s thigh while he sucks a kiss into his clavicle. David tries not to buck, and shudders instead. He runs his hands over Michael’s waist, his sides, his back, chasing the exciting feeling of warm, bare skin and moving muscles. It’s almost all he needs, he thinks. A bit of a shift sideway, just a little bit more friction for his cock and he’d be set. He tries for it, grabs Michael’s hips to move under him, and yes, Michael’s panting, shuddering like that’s a very real option for him, too.
But then Michael pulls away, up and off of David except for one warm hand still on his chest, and David shivers from the sudden cold. “What–“
“Let me,” Michael says huskily, and yes, of course David does.
Michael smiles, somewhere between pleased and wolfish, removes his hand, and presses a kiss to the hollow of David’s throat. His lips are warm and his beard tickles, and the fact that he’s not touching David anywhere else makes his skin twitch and his eyes close. He suspects he’s in for a long and slightly torturous night.
He’s not wrong. Michael moves slowly, in a steady line down his chest, sucking increasingly heated kisses into his skin, and David thinks he must be very close to going out of his mind. There’s a time and a place for foreplay, and it isn’t, in his opinion, when he’s been desperately, painfully hard for half an hour or more. The sheer amount of effort it is taking him to not try to speed things along is bound to snap something in his body soon. But he digs his hands into the sheets and strains his legs to keep them still and doesn’t say anything, except “Jesus, Michael.”
Michael grins at that, the nefarious bastard, and sucks a hot kiss somewhere below his navel. Sucks and keeps sucking, until David can feel the itchy sting that predicts a bruise, and can’t for the life of him stop the half moan, half whimper that escapes his throat.
Michael pulls away at that, to look up at David, and he looks so absolutely fucking ecstatic that David immediately forgets the entire concept of dignity. He accompanies Michael’s kisses with a string of bitten-off whining until finally, finally there isn’t anywhere left for Michael’s mouth to go except where David frantically wants it.
There is a very brief pause, during which Michael meets his eyes just long enough for David’s heart to clench, and then there’s nothing but a blinding wave of pure sensation that only slowly, piece by piece, decodes itself in David’s brain. It’s Michael’s firm hand on the base of his cock, his mouth hot and wet engulfing him, it’s his other hand cupping his balls just right, and his weight braced on David’s hips to keep him from thrusting.
It’s wild perfection blazing along every single nerve, and David is gone with it, completely lost, thrashing and gasping curses, and almost immediately so, so close. He tries to get his muscles coordinated to say something, or at least tap Michael’s shoulder in warning, but Michael chooses that moment to increase the suction, friction, heat, pressure, and David chokes on his words as he comes, head snapped back and muscles convulsing, emptying himself into Michael’s mouth in wave upon wave of electricity.
When David comes back to himself, however many minutes later, Michael is lying on his side next to him, drinking him in. David tries for a moment to find some kind of appropriate words to say, and gives it up pretty quickly. Instead he runs a hand down Michael’s flank and takes him in in return.
Michael looks a good bit pleased with himself, which David supposed he has every right to, but he’s also breathing rather heavily and clearly pretty far gone himself. David shifts a bit to see, and oh, yes, Michael is at least as desperately hard as David felt a few minutes ago, his cock so thick and flushed and wet with pre-come that David’s, satiated as it is, twitches in sympathy. He goes to move down, to give it some of the attention it badly needs, but Michael catches him by the elbow.
“Stay up here?” he asks, as if somehow he thinks David might say no.
“Yeah,” David whispers, “of course,” and leans into Michael’s kiss.
It’s sloppier than before, less coordinated now with David wrung out and Michael panting, and David thinks he might like this version even more. He pushes Michael gently onto his back without breaking the kiss, and slides a hand down to get a grasp on Michael’s cock. It’s as hard and hot as it looked, and slick enough to glide easily when Michael groans and bucks up into his hand.
Michael’s mouth gets less and less coordinated as he thrusts, with David doing his best to move his hand in counterpoint, until he pulls away to crush his face into David’s neck instead. His hips buck hard, then stutter, and David just hangs on, lets Michael hang on as he gasps and jerks and comes all over David’s hand. He strokes Michael through aftershocks, as gently as he can, then shifts aside to give him room to breathe.
Michael’s chest is still heaving, his eyes closed, and David takes a moment to enjoy the sight before he thinks about what comes next.
Whatever it is, he decides, it is not allowed to involve Michael pulling on that smile, thanking him, and slipping back to his own room. So.
He feels around for something to wipe his hand on, and comes up with Michael’s boxers, which will do. Pragmatic issue taken care of, he tosses them over the side of the bed, and tugs at the covers pooled at the foot of the bed until he can pull them at least waist-high over both of them.
“Hm?” Michael blinks at him, slowly coming back into reality.
“Hey,” David smiles, and kisses him softly. “How was that for a bit of grand romance in a fancy hotel?”
It’s a bit much to ask of Michael, maybe, before his brain is fully returned. But that’s the time to catch him. David runs a hand slowly across Michael’s chest to counteract the frown lines forming on his face.
“Would you call it a romance?” Michael asks quietly. Not ready yet to play a game or fake a laugh, and just what David wanted.
“Yeah,” he says, careful to meet Michael’s eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”
In answer, Michael kisses him, warm and steady and charmingly bristly, and David thinks he knows what he wants to do for the rest of the night.
“I’d like to,” Michael murmurs, somewhere in between, apropos of everything. And whatever unlikely world they’ve ended up in here, David thinks, it’s quite a nice one. Maybe they can stay.