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Small Breaks

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“Stop it, you know I have to study. You have to study,” Peem bats Mike’s hands away from where they’re creeping under the hem of his shirt. 

Mike twists his mouth briefly before smoothing out his expression into something more intent than the teasing of before.

He tips in close, bracing himself with a hand next to Peem’s hip. They’re both sitting cross-legged on Mike’s bed, notes scattered around them, laptops balanced precariously. 

Peem can’t help his sharp inhale when Mike gets close, gaze sharp and searching as he meets Peem’s eyes and then deliberately goes half lidded to look at Peem’s mouth. Peem bites his lip automatically in response to the attention and Mike’s mouth quirks. He shuts his laptop and sets it aside.

“Mike...” Peem breathes warningly, and Mike lets out a huff of laughter.

“I haven’t done anything,” he says, even as he pulls Peem’s laptop away. “Just a small break, babe.”

It won’t be a small break, Peem knows how this goes. He leans back on his elbows, and were it anyone else, they would probably take it as a final sign of disinterest, but Mike takes it as an invitation, shifting onto his knees to cage Peem in against the sheets, nosing at his jaw. 

“That’s it,” Mike whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner and then dragging his mouth up to capture Peem’s.

The position is going to leave Peem with a stiff neck, but it’s hard to care when Mike is pushing deep, slow kisses against his lips, coaxing Peem’s mouth open with a brush of his tongue and the lightest of nips. Peem groans softly, and Mike hums in response, sounding almost smug as he pushes Peem further into the sheets until Peem gives up on propping himself up and wraps his arms around Mike instead.

Dropping down to an elbow, Mike drags his other hand up Peem’s side, bunching up his shirt as he lets his nails lightly scratch over the delicate skin of Peem’s ribs so he shivers. He leans back to help Peem pull off his shirt before pulling of his own, dropping them both atop the notes next to them with a soft crinkle. 

Peem almost breaks off the kiss to make sure none of their notes have gotten crumpled, but Mike anticipates it, taking the moment of hesitation to deepen the kiss further, nudging his knee up between Peem’s legs.

They’re both hard, Peem can feel the heat of Mike against his thigh, and the additional pressure has him bucking a little underneath Mike.

Mike presses him back down with an easy hand on his hip, and his fingers tuck underneath Peem’s waistband for the briefest of moments just like they always do, telegraphing that Mike is about to reach for the fly on Peem’s jeans.

But before he can, there’s a knock on the door, and they both freeze. Neither of them are particularly loud, and the walls aren’t too thin, but—

“Mike?” It’s Pear, and at the sound of her voice, Mike is scrambling off Peem, grabbing his shirt and tugging it over his head.

“One second, tirak,”  Mike calls, pitching his voice so it can be heard over the muffle of cotton. He finally pokes his head through and grabs his phone, swearing when he sees the missed texts and the calendar notification. “I forgot we were studying together, I’ll meet you in the living room.”

There’s a pause on the other side, Pear likely displeased that Mike forgot their plans, and then a chipper, “Alright! Don’t forget your charger.”

Peem watches the entire exchange, oddly detached and physically cold without the warmth of Mike above him. It isn’t until Mike is shuffling through the papers on the bed, grabbing his notes from under Peem’s shirt and throwing said shirt into Peem’s lap, that Peem feels himself unfreeze a bit, stiffly dragging the tee over his head.

Mike is muttering to himself as he shuffles around the room, throwing items in his book bag.

“You stay here until we leave,” Mike says, turning to Peem as he slides his laptop off the bed. “I’ll text you.”

Peem nods wordlessly, watching as Mike zips up his bag and takes a step towards the door.

“Wait,” he says and Mike freezes, an inscrutable expression flashing across his face. Peem ignores it for the moment, leaning over the edge of the bed to fish up a tangle of wires. “Your charger,” he says holding it out to Mike, and Mike takes it with a mumbled ‘thank you,’ before tugging open the door with his other hand.

He gives Peem one last pointed look that Peem doesn’t return, even though he can feel the weight of the gaze as he gathers his own notes off the sheets, and then Mike is pulling the door shit behind him, leaving Peem sitting on his bed, in his room, with a swollen mouth and mussed up sheets.

It’s fine, Peem tells himself as he picks up his laptop.

Peem’s phone buzzes with a text where it’s fallen between the pillows, and Peem digs it out, the screen illuminated with a single notification.

Mike:

you can leave now

It’s fine, Peem repeats to himself, and he slings his bag over his shoulder and lets himself out.