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Mickey thinks it may be late but he’s not quite sure. He can’t tell how long it’s been since they started. He’d admit he’s a little out of it, already drenched in sweat and shivering. He may talk a big game when it comes to what he’s capable of taking, but Ian’s chosen activity for the evening is testing his limits and time has sort of lost all meaning. Ian’s got work in the morning, hauling boxes or whatever he does in that warehouse all day, but he doesn’t seem to be in much of a rush to get to sleep so he can get up nice and early and be on his way.
“You can take it.”
“Mm-mm, can’t. Ian, seriously – fuck.”
“Can’t be giving up on me yet. We’re just getting started.”
Mickey’s on his back, pillows and blankets shoved onto the floor, the bed an empty platform for them to freely move around on. Mickey takes Ian at his word, maybe feels like he’s right and it really couldn’t have been long since Ian began by indulgently fingering him open and then moved on to their current piece of equipment, something new. And now he’s trying to find it in himself to relax despite Ian’s persistent ministrations.
Beads of what might be considered an impressive size entered Mickey’s masturbatory repertoire early on when he was still relatively new to sex, so his assumption has often been that any new beads should be a cake walk for him. That assumption is occasionally proven wrong. This particular string of beads finds itself in that category. The nature of its design, the way it’s one long, sculpted piece of silicone, is such that it keeps the beads from bunching up inside him when they’re pushed in. Once they’re all in, they’re going to be deep. There are only four of them, but they’re heavy and big. And they vibrate, controlled by a remote Ian’s keeping beside him. And Ian, sweet sadist that he is, is having a grand time toying with him.
There are two beads inside him, the other two lying on the mattress just outside his body. The sounds of the vibrations are thundering through the bed, loud enough for anyone else to hear it should they be upstairs. Mickey tries to pay that no mind.
Two beads inside him is manageable. Feels fantastic, in fact. The vibrations are perfect, intensity turned up enough to be just on the right side of too much. What’s rendering him a squirming mess is the way Ian will let the beads outside Mickey’s body rest on the mattress for a few moments, and then he’ll take hold of the ring at the end and pull, pull, until the bead just inside him is stretching him open nearly at its widest part, and he holds it there for a second before he pushes it back in. The stretch of it, the focused attention Ian pays to that part of him, the weight and vibration inside him, it all makes him feel like he’s an instant away from going off, if he just shifts his hips just right, just takes hold of his cock for only a moment.
And that would be fine, really, if not for Ian’s clear instructions that he’s not allowed to come until he’s explicitly told to.
This game isn’t unusual for them, but despite its frequency Mickey hasn’t found that it necessarily gets any easier. He’s trying to hang on, knees pulled up to his chest, and Ian’s grabbing the beads again. But this time he’s not pulling. He’s pushing the next one in, in, and Mickey’s whining until it pops inside him and rests heavily. Three beads feels huge, like it’s so much, like he’s not sure how his body is holding together.
“Good?”
“Yeah, so good,” he pants. “Can I come?” He knows how he sounds and he’s trying with everything he has not to whine like a bitch, but he’s unable to keep himself from begging a little bit, seeking an end to the torment.
“Almost. One more.”
But one more seems impossible.
“I can’t do it.” He feels his resolve crumbling, so close to the edge.
“You can. Just one more left, hold on a sec…” and Ian is pushing again, apparently taking mercy on him and quickly skipping to the next step.
Mickey squeezes his eyes shut, tilts his head back at the burn and the stretch, and then he feels the last bead finally come to rest inside him. He pants harshly, feeling the beads vibrate so deep inside he could swear his bones rattle with it.
Ian pets around his rim and hums a little in amusement.
“That’s all of them. You fucking love that, huh?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Fuck,” Mickey hisses, head tilted back and eyes still closed. His knuckles are white where his fingers are digging into his knees as he holds himself open. He could come right now. If he moved just right, just let it happen. If Ian pulled them, popped them out, one after the other. It would be so good. But this feels good too, just like this, this waiting. He likes it, wants to keep it up. He wants to come, but there’s that ever-present desire to be good for Ian.
“Gotta relax,” Ian purrs. “Breathe.” Mickey just whimpers in response, internalizing Ian’s instructions but muscles still locked and tense. He wants to relax but can’t, he doesn’t know how to make his lungs work, how to ease his grip on his knees, how to unclench his jaw, how to move a single inch without coming. “I’m not gonna pull ‘em out until you relax. Gotta relax. Gotta breathe.”
Ian scoots up beside him and cradles his face. “Fuck, you’re tense,” he notes quietly as Mickey finally opens his eyes and finds Ian’s sweet gaze.
Ian inhales deeply. He holds it for a second, exhales. Does it again.
Ian is so, so good. And Mickey wants to try. Wants to breathe deeply, wants to relax and see if he can do it without coming. Still wants to be good for Ian. He just watches him for a moment, watches that hopeful, patient gaze, and fuck, Mickey loves him.
Ian’s encouragement falls over him like a comforting blanket, and he wills himself to carefully unclench his jaw, relax his tongue in his mouth, let his lips part. Fingers peel away from his knees. Ian’s chest continues to rise and fall, and Mickey can feel his breath on his face. Mickey tries to match it. Finally. Finally. In, out.
He closes his eyes again. The beads feel somehow even better now that he’s finally easing his tense muscles around them. He feels more settled against the mattress now, a happy dead weight, just breathing and letting the vibrations and weight inside him keep him anchored.
Mickey’s legs stay pulled up as Ian shifts back into place between them. He takes hold of the pull ring at the end of the beads where it’s sitting just outside of Mickey’s body.
“Wanna come now?” Ian whispers.
“Jesus fuck yes,” Mickey exhales all at once, so pleased with himself that he was able to do it, relax and give Ian what he wanted so Ian can give him what he needs. He’s internally begging Ian to finally let him let go, knowing that he is, he’s going to.
“Okay, do it, you can come,” Ian assures him as he wraps a hand around Mickey’s cock, and Mickey could cry with relief at those words. Ian begins to tug the pull ring, and one bead pops out. At that, it begins, and Mickey feels like he’s drowning.
Something about the buildup of it was just the right length and intensity for that moment when his orgasm begins, that part where he knows it’s starting but it hasn’t quite started yet, to last for what feels like minutes, gasping and waiting for that feeling of being shoved over the edge to end, for him to finally start shooting up his abdomen, the pleasure of it nearly painful as his body contracts and his ears start ringing.
And then he’s finally coming onto his stomach, body clenching repeatedly around the beads, absolutely fucking euphoric, pleasure radiating out into his whole body, fingers frantically grasping at the sheet beneath him. His back bows and he makes rough, desperate noises, noises that Ian skillfully pulled out of him just by slipping one bead out, by gently touching his cock. He’d known exactly how to make it good, how to keep him perfectly balanced on the edge so that this part would feel overwhelming in the best way.
And because Mickey was able to find his breath and relax into the bed, he’s able to just lie there and take it as it washes over him.
Ian steadily lowers the vibrations with the remote in hand, and Mickey begins to come down.
“That was fucking hot,” Ian says in a low voice, clicking the vibrations fully off.
Mickey breathes for a moment before finally opening his eyes and looking back at Ian, who’s kneeling between his legs and hard as stone.
“Good?” Ian asks with genuine concern, undeniably laced with amusement.
“Uh huh,” Mickey confirms, panting. “Good” will have to suffice. He doesn’t think he has it in him to express that he found it closer to being earth-shattering.
Ian strokes over his inner thighs, soothing. Leans forward and kisses his shin, breathes against his skin for a moment. And then he carefully tugs on the pull ring, the next bead popping out easily and Mickey’s groaning with it, at the shock and the stretch.
Ian pauses. “You okay?” he asks without dropping the pull ring. “Just wanna get these out.”
“Yeah. Mmm, fuck, that felt good. Keep going.”
Keep going. He’ll ask himself later that night if this was perhaps the moment that Ian decided to draw it out, if his thoughtless request is what inspired Ian to make it an almost unbearably long affair.
“Yeah? You want me to keep going?”
“Fuck yeah.”
Ian pulls, and Mickey’s hands come to his knees again to keep himself folded in half as he tries to stay completely relaxed around the next bead being pulled out of him. He just came but he’s still keyed up, still a little hard, relishing the feeling of it slipping past his rim.
Ian keeps pulling, and Mickey’s breathing steadily through it. And then they’re out and he’s empty, melting into the sheets, limbs starfishing out.
Ian sets the beads aside and begins to stroke himself, letting Mickey breathe for a moment.
“You like those,” Ian observes.
“They’re fucking big,” Mickey notes, voice rough. And they are. He likes big, but he can’t help but notice just how empty he feels after having those inside.
“That’s why you like ‘em.”
Mickey shoots Ian a dirty smile. “Damn right.”
Ian hums, eyes raking up and down Mickey’s prone body, gaze heavy-lidded and telling. And then, “Wanna fuck you.”
Mickey chuckles a little. He could say no, let Ian jerk off over him or let him fuck his face and give his ass a rest. But Mickey’s so weak and easy for him, and his dick is tempting and hard and leaking a little and Mickey wants it.
“Can I?” Ian asks a little urgently, hand pausing, gripping himself at the base, waiting with bated breath for Mickey’s reply.
“Be my fuckin’ guest, tough guy,” Mickey teases weakly as he pulls his knees to his chest again.
Ian eagerly climbs over him, hands scrabbling around on the bed and then he’s messily pouring lube into his hand and wrapping it around himself. He arranges his body, getting close to Mickey, eyes cast downward and moving a little frantically like he can barely stand to waste even a single moment. He presses his cock against Mickey and pushes in easily, sinking, sinking. Mickey groans and Ian looks down at him with eyes a little wild and starts moving steadily.
“Like that?”
“Yeah, feels good,” Mickey whispers, and it really does, if a little raw.
They share matching filthy grins and Mickey loves that, loves that even when it’s huge and intense and a little overwhelming, it can also still be fucking fun. Even when Ian plants his hands on either side of Mickey’s head and moves a little harder, a little faster, unceremoniously slamming into him, driving Mickey up the mattress inch by inch, they’re having fucking fun.
“Jesus, fuck,” Mickey spits out, and his mouth hangs open, legs wrapping around Ian’s waist. Ian’s got his hips tilted up just right, suddenly nailing his prostate with perfect pressure and it’s incredible, it’s fucking everything. Mickey can’t help but claw at his back as renewed pleasure courses through him, makes him sweat, makes goosebumps break out across his arms and along the back of his neck. The beads were so good but Ian’s cock is still unparalleled, fucking big, fucking perfect.
“God, you feel good,” Ian grits out, hips pounding against Mickey’s ass, the sound of it filling the tiny bedroom.
“Mmph, yeah, you too,” Mickey whines out.
“Tell me,” Ian growls, and Mickey fucking loves that voice, that demanding lilt, completely bereft of his usual softness. It hits Mickey hard, low in his belly, making his muscles clench, and he realizes he’s already there, just there, just there.
He has to tell Ian. “Fuckin’ big, ugh, gonna make me come. Right there…”
“Yeah? Already?” Ian asks, voice wavering with his thrusts.
“God, keep going.” Suddenly it’s like if Ian stops, Mickey may die.
But Ian is so good, keeps his angle as consistent as he can as he speeds his hips up, and Mickey has never been more thankful for Ian’s athleticism and control of his body. He’s relentless, chasing his own pleasure but dragging Mickey along for the ride as the mattress begins to squeak with each thrust.
Mickey’s voice rises, still a little in awe that he’s already there, perhaps not going to ejaculate again but definitely about to shudder through a mind-melting prostate orgasm if Ian keeps pounding against him like this, like he’s forcing it out of him. He’s been known to tolerate a lot of stimulation and have a short refractory period, but he wonders if this could be a record for him. It’s rapidly approaching and there’s nothing he can do, it’s going to happen, fuck, it’s already happening, he can’t do anything but try to hang on.
He cries out, voice high and shocked, and then he’s clenching around Ian and he feels like his soul is going to burst out of his body. It’s so good, wave after blissful wave, and Ian is still going, and Mickey has to let out some truly pathetic sounds and paw at Ian’s chest to get him to finally stop moving, finding that words have apparently escaped him.
Ian holds himself over him when he stills, looks down at him in wonder.
“Wow,” Ian says with a smile. Mickey is sweaty, panting, probably beet-red, but Ian is looking at him like he’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Mickey is too weak to say anything at all, muscles still twitching between his legs in delicious, overwhelming aftershocks, and he whines again at the sensation, the lingering pleasure. His eyes slip shut.
Ian pulls out then and something about that surprises Mickey. He remembers, Ian hasn’t come yet, they’d only fucked for a minute or two. Or longer? He’s not sure, realizing again that whatever Ian’s doing to him is just enough to make him lose all sense of time.
Mickey’s legs fall straight on the mattress, bracketing Ian between them. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to gather himself, and opens his eyes back up. Ian is looking him up and down again, that gaze along his body like he’s dragging silk along his fevered skin, always nearly palpable with want. Mickey shivers.
“I wonder what else I can make you do,” Ian says curiously, playfully.
There’s something in his tone and phrasing, the way he touches his fingers to his own cock absently, thoughtlessly, that shifts the atmosphere in their little room. What else he can he make Mickey do. What else can he do to him.
“Wanna keep fucking you,” Ian says, voice low. And it’s not like Ian has never fucked Mickey after he’s already come once or twice, but fuck, Mickey loves when he seeks permission in that silky voice, and hearing him say it makes him shudder. “Wanna keep being inside you. Can I?”
God, yeah, yeah. It’s bound to be too much, but it’s all Mickey wants.
“Please.” Mickey’s shocked at the sound of his own voice, louder and more pleading than he’d intended, but he’s helpless to rein it in.
At that, Ian urgently pushes on his ankles, forcing him to bend his knees and open his legs. At the sight and sensation of Ian taking his cock in hand and pressing it against him again, he’s falling backwards into mindless bliss. He doesn’t care if it’s too much. Too much is all he wants right now.
Ian pushes all the way inside, legs spread wide so he can get his hips low, and Mickey thinks they feel like they’re meant to be like this, perfectly slotted together, not just where they’re joined between their legs but everywhere, their whole bodies, meant to fit like this.
“Fuck, you feel good,” Ian grunts, and Mickey is panting a little bit again but trying to breathe like Ian showed him, keep his muscles lax and let Ian inside easily, give him room to play. He feels split open in the best way, that perfect full feeling, Ian always taking up so much space inside him, around him, all-consuming.
Ian leans forward over him and snags his wrists in his hands. Mickey lets him drag them up, pin them above his head and hold them down in one hand. He’s full and held down, tethered in place by Ian’s strength and his own euphoria, and it’s so perfect, his vision suddenly swimming.
“Want it like this?” Ian asks, squeezing Mickey’s wrists for emphasis, “Or do you want me to let go? And you keep your hands there for me?”
This, he wants it like this.
“Like this,” he manages breathlessly.
“Okay,” Ian says, still looking at him. “Okay.” He keeps one hand planted on the mattress beside Mickey, the other wrapped tight around his wrists, and he moves, and it’s too much, just as Mickey knew it would be, and he loves it.
“Love you like this,” Ian grunts out, and Mickey knows he does, knows Ian loves to see him take so much and make himself open to whatever Ian wants, and it feels so good to hear it. This, this right here, it feels indescribably good, the erotic vulnerability of having his arms stretched up overhead and legs splayed open completely overriding the possibility of him being too overstimulated to enjoy the slick slide of Ian’s cock moving inside him. His nerves are on fire but it’s perfect and he takes it like it’s nothing even though it’s absolutely everything.
“Gonna come again?” Ian asks, speeding his hips up, and Mickey has no idea. He tries to take a quick inventory of what’s happening in his body and all he knows is that he feels good, is surprisingly hard, and would be hovering off the mattress if Ian’s hold wasn’t so firm.
“Don’t know,” Mickey weakly slurs out, managing to find his voice through the haze of too much too much.
“Want you to,” Ian says through a growl. “Feels so good when you come on my cock,” and then his hips are trying for a different angle and his free hand is grasping Mickey’s jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes. It’s a lot, probably enough, the intensity of everything, and Mickey thinks he could do it again. He wants to, wants to see what it does to Ian, how good it makes him feel.
Mickey doesn’t have to focus on it, just lets himself be in his pleasure and Ian’s movements. Ian will get him there. And he does, he brings him closer, closer. And he’s moving fast again and releasing Mickey’s jaw to plant his hand on the mattress and get leverage, and Mickey’s fucking losing it under him, barely making noise but writhing and trying to bear down and his eyes are rolling back.
He comes hard, body clutching at Ian inside him like it couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t there keeping him full, keeping him whole. His thighs shake, cries finally spilling from him, and it’s like it’s easier than the second one. He knows this feeling, how sometimes when Ian does this to him, when he gets him going and gives him one after the other, they get easier. Too many, though, and it gets difficult and he wants to die and live in that pleasure simultaneously, like once he’s chasing it and he gets close he can’t stop, but when he gets there it’s too much. It almost hurts but it’s so good.
“Christ, Mickey,” Ian breathes, sound almost drowned out by Mickey’s cries. Ian’s hips speed up and Mickey thinks this is it, he’s going to shatter, he just came again and Ian’s still going and he’s so sensitive and it’s so fucking good and Ian’s so big, Mickey doesn’t know how he hasn’t fallen apart from it.
Ian comes explosively and Mickey feels it inside him, Ian’s cock feeling like it gets impossibly bigger, just that little bit, just enough for him to feel it, then jerking while he claws at Mickey’s chest with his free hand and moaning desperately. His hips press against the back of Mickey’s thighs, pushing his cock deep and holding it there.
He releases Mickey’s wrists and eases himself down, elbows bent, forearms on either side of Mickey’s head. He ducks down to nuzzle against Mickey’s neck, breathing heavily, chest expanding against Mickey’s. He stays inside.
Mickey’s arms feel a little unwieldy after being pinned like that, but he manages to carefully bring them down and put his hands on Ian’s shoulder blades. He feels wet. Everywhere. Having Ian still inside and pressed down on him makes the come and the sweat and the lube incredibly apparent, and when Ian pulls back a tiny bit to look down between their bodies and breathe an awed, filthy fuck there’s the sound of their skin moving against each other and separating. Mickey shivers with it.
Ian looks back up to Mickey’s face, meets his eyes. The fire Mickey finds there nearly takes him out.
“You okay?” Ian asks.
Mickey nods. Ian strokes his face with one hand, fingertips on his cheek. It’s tender contact Mickey didn’t know he needed, and he presses a little bit against it.
“Good,” Ian breathes. “Gonna keep going.” And fuck, again Mickey suddenly feels like he’s going to die. “Tell me if I need to stop. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Mickey manages to whisper, and he nods, eyebrows scrunched up, face in a pleasure-pained grimace just at the thought, at the anticipation of what could possibly come next.
Ian draws back and starts to pull out, and Mickey looks down to see, to watch Ian’s hips and see his cock, wet and flushed red and still a little hard. He bites his lip at the sight. He feels himself twitch between his legs, muscles fluttering around nothing, and he doesn’t want to be empty. Wants Ian to fill him up again.
Ian settles on his knees, sitting between Mickey’s spread legs once again, and reaches just behind himself. When he turns back he’s got the beads in hand, and Mickey gasps almost inaudibly. It’s not that drawing their exploits out like this is all that unusual for them, it’s just that Mickey knows this isn’t going to be easy, and that feeling, that feeling like he’s going to die, suddenly feels like a sure thing.
Ian’s pawing at the bed again, looking for something. The little remote. He finds it, places it beside his knee. Mickey takes a deep breath. He feels like time slows down as he watches Ian place the beads down for a second, get lube on his fingers. Pick the beads up again, get them wet. Mickey’s suddenly lightheaded, the room spinning a bit.
“Can’t fuck you again just yet,” Ian mutters, and that’s fair, really, Mickey absently thinks. He’s a goddamn machine, but he’s also only human. “But I wanna…” he trails off, concentrating with his brows furrowed, grabbing the remote and getting the beads vibrating, just on the first setting. Thinks for a moment and turns them up to the second setting. Seems satisfied with that. “Wanna do this. Wanna do something, put something in you.”
Christ. Mickey fights the urge to let his eyes rolls back and tries to stay focused on Ian, watching him watch Mickey, feeling him fit the first bead against him. He feels his hole twitch at the cold, at the vibration, and Ian just smirks and presses.
Mickey is shaking out of his skin the moment he realizes Ian isn’t just trying to push the bead into him, but is truly guiding it with his fingers, getting it inside him and hooking his fingers underneath it.
“Oh my god,” Mickey moans, still trying to watch Ian but his vision is going blurry, eyes watering. “How, how many…ugh, god.” He can’t speak, voice clipped, breaths rough.
“How many fingers?” Ian says, eyes scanning over Mickey’s face, trying to understand what Mickey is searching for.
Mickey nods frantically. Just wants to know, wants to hear Ian tell him what he’s taking.
“Just two,” Ian says, then looks back down, watching his hands. “Just wanna…” he trails off again, then uses his fingers hooked under the bead to press it up so it’s more firmly held right against Mickey’s prostate, and Mickey’s mouth drops open on a soundless cry.
He finally lets his eyes roll back, head fall back, body spasming, fingers clutching the sheet beneath him. Where he’d just felt so loose and open moments ago, he feels himself clamp down on Ian’s fingers and the bead involuntarily. It’s so good he’s dizzy with it and he’s barely here, barely hanging on, doesn’t understand how he hasn’t started weightlessly floating off the mattress. It’s feeling the relentless pressure and vibrations that are drawing him steadily closer to coming again, it’s feeling that Ian’s inside him too, not his cock but a part of him nonetheless, a part of Ian for him to hold inside himself, and it’s making him delirious. Every part of him is trembling. He feels it absolutely everywhere.
“Oh, you look so hot,” Ian groans, and starts pushing his fingers up in tiny pulses, pressing the bead against him, over and over. Mickey nearly sobs with it. “Feel good?”
Mickey couldn’t answer if he tried. It erupts nearly violently inside him and he’s coming already, and it’s in his whole body, being torn out of him, and he chokes on a cry.
“Oh, fuck,” he hears Ian gasp distantly, like he’s the one who’s supposed to be stunned and not Mickey who’s currently shaking through a fourth orgasm with long, thick fingers inside him holding a vibrating toy against his prostate. In his uncontrollable shaking and clenching, his legs start to close involuntarily, knees knocking inward, and he feels Ian roughly push one and then the other back open again, quickly, like he can’t bear to see Mickey any other way than spread completely open for him as his muscles rhythmically contract, over and over.
He finally stops coming, but the aftershocks feel endless and indescribably good, muscles twitching. Ian is still there, deft fingers pressed inside, but the bead is no longer vibrating, something Mickey is grateful for, not sure how much more of that he could take.
“Jesus christ, Mickey,” Ian pants, and he sounds like he’s trying to catch his breath. Mickey wants to look at him, wills himself to open his eyes and gaze at him where he’s sitting between Mickey’s legs, ever patient, cock hard again, god, already? How long has it been? And he looks absolutely ravenous.
Ian pulls the bead out of Mickey, the fingers inside him working to guide it as they slide out along with it, and it slips out like nothing. Mickey feels it and it’s so good, but his body can barely react to suddenly being empty yet again, completely exhausted.
Ian sets the beads on the floor. The remote follows. He grabs the lube, drizzles a bit into his hand and strokes it along his cock. He looks to Mickey and meets his eyes. Mickey almost feels like hiding from the attention, his gaze so intense, but he can’t. So he lets it linger on him, feeling completely exposed.
Ian settles into place and brings his gaze down to where Mickey feels so empty, where he knows Ian is going to push inside. “God, you’re so open,” Ian says in wonderment, touching around Mickey’s rim carefully, and Mickey wonders what he means, wonders what he’s seeing. “Gonna take me so easy.” Mickey wonders, wonders, but he can’t find the words to ask, can’t speak.
“Gonna fuck you,” Ian breathes, lining his cock up and looking back into Mickey’s eyes, and his voice is so, so rough with arousal, Mickey thinks he sounds like he’s been shouting. “That okay?”
Mickey knew he was going to. He’s tired, fucked out, but there’s that emptiness, and Ian’s there and his cock is so hard again and Mickey still wants it, wants too much, and of course the answer is yes. He nods.
“You want it?” Ian asks teasingly, starting to slowly sink inside.
Mickey nods again. God, he fucking wants it. “Uh huh,” he whispers, a little amazed at himself for finding his voice.
“Good,” Ian says, and pushes the rest of the way inside.
Ian fucks him slow, like he’s trying to give Mickey a break and go easy on him, but it’s just making Mickey feel like the pleasure is brand new, like he hasn’t already been dragged through four shaking orgasms, nerves at their limit. Mickey’s covered in goosebumps and sweat, lube and come smeared across his skin, body lax, and he thinks about when they first started. When Ian was trying to get him to relax, to breathe. It feels like it was days ago, and now Ian’s worked him over to such an extent he doesn’t think he could voluntarily flex a muscle if he tried.
Ian looks down to where they’re connected and slowly, slowly pulls out completely. Mickey shivers at the feeling and throws his head back. When he feels Ian just there again, the tip of him just touching at his entrance but not pushing back in just yet, Mickey starts panting, waiting, the anticipation likely to kill him, so lightheaded. He can’t open his eyes because if he does the room will spin. So he just pants, and waits, and Ian nudges him a little bit and Mickey whines.
“God, baby, you are gone, aren’t you?” Ian says sweetly, teasing. “You here with me?” Barely, just barely, Mickey thinks.
Ian pushes back in just as slowly as he pulled out, and the pleasure hits Mickey in his belly, low and tight, radiating through him, and as he’s sinking into it Ian starts drawing back again, and Mickey could cry with it.
Ian pulls out and waits a moment before guiding his cock back inside, pushing in slow, pulling back out, just as slow. The room spins. Too long, they’ve been at it for too long, Mickey shouldn’t be this hard again, but Ian’s teasing him, filling him up and pulling back out and Mickey feels like he’s never come in his life, like this will be the first time and he’s reaching for it uselessly, knowing he has to wait for Ian to give it to him, for Ian to take mercy on him and fuck him like he wants. Mickey knows Ian knows what he needs, trusts him to give it to him just how he needs it.
Ian pulls out, and Mickey feels fingers touching him there, and he opens his eyes, watches Ian look down between them to watch what he’s doing. Two fingers slip inside like they’re there to hold him open, and they press in deeper, deeper. Ian pushes his hips forward, nudges his cock there too, and presses it inside beneath his fingers, groaning with it.
Mickey gasps at the perfect stretch of it, how filthy it feels when Ian shifts his hips, sliding inside Mickey and against his own fingers. His palm faces up, fingertips pressing up into Mickey’s prostate, and they start to move, subtle little circles, and it’s too much, finally too much, and it’s just what Mickey needs, and he feels like he’s breaking.
He keeps watching Ian move, sees the way he’s sitting up a bit to balance, and fuck, he looks so hot and it feels so good, and Mickey moans, voice getting loud. Ian keeps his movements steady, keeps pressing his fingers up, sweet little circles, cock sliding inside him, and it’s absolutely euphoric.
“Fuck, you take it so well,” Ian groans, free hand gripping the back of his thigh hard, fingers digging in. “Love how you feel. How you look. Fuck, Mick.” He presses his fingers up hard, circling them, and Mickey is right there again.
He cries out desperately, body jerking at Ian’s movements.
“You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?” Ian says, voice awed. “Fucking do it. Wanna see it, wanna feel it.”
Ian keeps moving, his steady motions making the heat rise and rise in Mickey’s belly, never quite increasing the speed, just the intensity with which his fingers move against his prostate, and Mickey claws at the edge, and it hurts a little, and his muscles ripple around Ian, and he hears Ian hiss fuck and he knows it’s coming, Ian’s gotten him there, just there, and he’s sure he’s floating off the mattress by now, coming untethered, he must be.
He cries out in pleasure, a little pain, everything contracting harshly, body burning through it as he comes, and he doesn’t remember when Ian’s hand found its way to his cock but he’s stroking him gently as he dribbles onto his stomach in little spurts.
“Fuck Mickey, oh my god,” he hears Ian gasp, and his fingers stop moving inside him, just resting there inside, along his cock.
There’s nothing, absolutely nothing but the feeling of Ian inside him and how his body weakly flexes around him, fucking tired, and it feels so good but he knows this is it, he can’t do anymore, every nerve is flayed.
He’s relieved and far beyond sated when Ian pulls out. He can feel himself twitching around nothing again and the emptiness is uncomfortable. The room still spins a little bit around him but he watches Ian, waiting to see his next move.
Ian keeps it brief, almost perfunctory in his apparent desperation, and he grabs his cock and braces himself over Mickey and starts roughly jacking off above him, breathing heavily, exhaling occasional filth, and Mickey just lies there, watching. It’s hot, the way Ian throws his head back a little bit and then looks back down, like just looking at Mickey’s worn-out body is getting him there, and maybe it is.
Ian gasps when he comes and it lands on Mickey’s chest, shoots as far as his neck, and Mickey doesn’t even flinch. Just blinks lazily, trembling a little bit. There's a sense of completion, finally, and Mickey is suddenly eager for Ian to settle down to hold him like he knows he’s inevitably going to do.
He doesn’t have to wait long. Ian grunts as he shifts Mickey’s leg out of the way so he can lie down beside him and plant a kiss on his slack mouth. They’re sure to stick together with everything smeared on them, but Mickey is barely aware of it as Ian coaxes him onto his side and tucks himself up behind him, pressed impossibly close.
Ian holds him tight, like he can’t be touching him enough, breathing against the back of his neck. The warmth and contact is so good. Mickey finds that the room has finally stopped spinning.
Ian clears his throat after a moment. “Five,” he huffs a little laugh. “Fuckin’ five times.”
“Yeah,” Mickey rasps, smirking, eyes slipping shut.
“You came five times. Like, kinda fast, too.” Ian’s voice is a little muffled against the back of Mickey’s neck.
“Sure did.” Kinda fast? It had felt like an eternity.
“How do you feel?”
Mickey thinks for a moment and focuses in on his body, tries to make sense of what he feels going on inside himself.
“Empty,” he states gruffly. “Feels fuckin’ weird.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ian says, genuine concern in his voice. “Did I do too much? Too much, like, in you? Or whatever?”
“No, never,” Mickey says quickly.
“Never?” Ian laughs.
“You know what I mean,” Mickey says, unable to stop himself from smiling. “No, I like it. I’ll be fine. Gonna be raw in the mornin’, though.”
“That okay?” Ian softly asks after a moment.
“Yeah. I said I like it. Meant it.”
“Good. I like it too.” His voice is sweet. Mickey’s smile grows.
Ian’s got work in the morning and should get to sleep, and Mickey doesn’t know how long it’s been since they started. There are already twinges where he knows he’s going to ache in the morning, and he can feel where he’s going to be tender. He’d do it again, though, of course. He could try to get Ian to stay home tomorrow, call in sick or something. He may be a little raw, but he knows himself, and he knows Ian. They’ll both be eager for another five in the morning.