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Michael has never been a religious type of man, but the metaphor of sin and temptation comes so easily to mind, now.
William is a devil of lust and seduction, and the look in his eyes says that he knows it, and the sinking feeling in Michael’s chest says that he’s already fallen, and there’s no escaping for him. Not when William crosses his legs like that, drawing skin against smooth skin, reclining back in the silk sheets of Michael's bed like they were his own, and somehow, like he is the one intruding, instead of his son. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to sire someone so at ease and sophisticated, but it must be more of a punishment than a blessing.
It must be a punishment, because while Michael knows that he shouldn’t close the door behind him, he is too weak to resist. It is a test that he has always been bound to fail. He has been set up to fall short, from the very beginning of William’s existence.
He is a weak, weak man. And William knows that, too.
“Are you going to just stand there?” he asks, voice silky and smooth. Somehow, he managed to skip right over the coarse, awkward voice cracks of puberty. He is only just freshly a man, but has sounded like one for far, far too long. “It is cold over here, you know.”
“William…” Michael breathes, reluctant and resigned all at once. Both of them know that they shouldn’t do this, not again, but where Michael is conflicted and unsure, William has always known what he wanted.
“We’re going to play this song and dance again?” William asks, sounding vaguely amused. “I don’t really feel like playing therapist again tonight. We both know how this is going.” It stings, because he’s right. Michael is nothing like his son; he is weak, pathetic, and a pushover. William smiles, like that’s what he loves best about Michael, and calls out to him again. “Come here.”
Like a dog, he follows the order, stumbling towards the bed. William’s right; he knows there’s no point in resisting or arguing. His son will always get what he wants, always. Michael has never been able to tell him no. He’s not even sure that he truly wants to.
William merely reaches his hands out when Michael finally joins him on the bed, taking the older man’s face in his hands and smiling when Michael melts into the touch. It is not a kind smile. William is beautiful like ice is; so, so pretty to look at, yet cold to the touch, and the longer you spend in its embrace, the more heat it robs from you. William’s hands are even cold to match, and each delicate trace of his finger over the curve of Michaels’ cheek steals his warmth, replacing it with an icy chilliness.
William’s breath smells faintly of mint and something like nicotine when he leans their foreheads together, lips so close that they could almost be touching if either one of them moved just a hairsbreadth forward. Electricity crackles; William closes his eyes, and breathes in, smile widening.
“Kiss me,” is all that he says.
And Michael does. William’s lips are soft, immaculately so, and his kiss is practiced and elegant where Michael’s is stuttered, and unrefined. He has kissed more people than he can possibly count, yet all of that experience seems to flee in the wake of William’s eagerness. Michael surges forward and kisses him again, trying to make up for it, and William hums appreciatively in response. It encourages Michael enough to finally use his hands for something, snaking around William’s neck to cradle the back of his head as he pushes his son back into the sheets; delicately, gently, like William might fall apart in his hands if he moves too fast.
William wraps his legs around Michael’s waist, dragging him forward until the seat of his jeans are drawn up against the bare skin of his ass. He gives a little sigh into Michael’s mouth at that, grinding down against Michael’s clothed yet quickly hardening cock. He runs his hands up under Michael’s shirt to trace up the expanse of his back, digging his nails into Michael’s skin as he draws them back down. William has never once left him without a mark of some kind. The rule is nothing above a shirt collar, but William has broken that rule before, and likely will do so again.
He takes what he wants, and this time is no exception. He tightens his thighs around Michael’s hips, guiding him into a slow, rhythmic grind against him. He kisses Michael slowly, nips at his lips and soothes away the ache with more kisses. Michael’s hands tremble as he touches William’s chest, running down his stomach, feeling how soft his son’s skin was beneath his calloused palms.
If there truly were a god, he must be a cruel one for making someone as terrible as William so ethereal. How could he ever have resisted? He never even had the ability to. It was cruel, so cruel.
William breaks their kiss and Michael trails after him, lost and dazed. William grins at him. “Touch me,” he says, and it’s another order, no matter how pretty or gentle.
Michael obeys.
He leans down to kiss at William’s neck, feather light and soft, as his hands move down to grip his son’s waist. He kisses his way down William’s chest, feeling the boy thread fingers through his hair as he dots every inch of him with lips and teeth and tongue. It feels almost wrong to mar his skin with marks, to ruin that perfect skin of his. Michael loves it how it is; he’d much rather William be perfect forever than to bear something like Michael’s bites and bruises. No, he kisses gently, and tries to warm William’s skin up with his hands as he traces the crease of his hips with tongue.
William doesn’t have to tell him what to do next. Michael does it himself, and leans over to take William’s cock in hand, kissing up his length as his son sighs and moans above him. William’s hands tighten in his hair as he licks a long, thick line up the head of his cock before taking it into his mouth. His chest curls with contentment when that makes William give a happy groan. He sucks William’s cock down, down, until his nose hits the soft curls of his son’s groin, and the fingers in his hair tighten enough to pull strands out.
“Oh!” William gasps, writhing beneath Michael’s hands. “Mmh, daddy…”
Michael’s stomach seizes up with a bolt of arousal, as horrible as it is. He presses his legs together in a useless attempt to fight down his eager cock, but the way that (evil, evil) William sighs and moans his name has him grinding pathetically into the sheets, just to get some sort of friction. William’s nails scratch and scrape against his scalp as he bobs his head, covering every inch of his son’s cock with his mouth and tongue. The saltiness of pre-cum fills his mouth as William bucks up into his mouth, meeting the rhythm of Michael’s sucking with every thrust of his hips.
Suddenly, William grips his hair and shoves his head down, holding him into place as he fucks up into Michael’s throat. He hears something like a stuttered gasp, and then William cums down his throat, forcing him to swallow all of it or choke. When his son finally lets him go, Michael pulls away with a thick strand of saliva that connects him to William’s cock.
His son smiles at him, eyes dazed and cheeks flushed. “Clean up your mess.”
Michael wordlessly obeys, kissing and licking his son’s softened cock until it’s spotless once more. William reaches down to press fingers to his lips, worming them into his mouth, pressing them down against Michael’s tongue as if checking to see that he really had swallowed it all.
“Good job,” William praises, and Michael, wretched Michael, finds himself preening under the attention. “You want a reward?”
“Please,” Michael breathes, voice hoarse and dry.
William grins. “Touch yourself.”
It’s mortifying, how fast Michael’s hands fly down to rip his belt off, fumbling his way through his button and zipper to get his hands into his briefs. William, who must feel like being kind today, sits up to help him pull his pants down enough to get his cock out, before reclining back into the pillows.
“Don’t cum,” he says, making himself comfortable. “Not yet. If you’re good…”
He trails off, leaving the air heavy with unspoken promises tempting enough to make Michael whimper. He really can’t hold on; the second his hand wraps around his cock, he’s close to cumming, but whatever William is promising- he wants it. He wants it so bad that it hurts, and so he forces himself to touch himself slowly, just enough to appease his son yet not enough to get off too soon. It’s a thin, thin line that he’s teetering on.
“I prepped myself earlier, you know,” William says, almost conversationally. It’s almost innocent, the way he looks as he traces the side of his foot up Michael’s hip. “Right here, right in your bed… I thought about you, and your fingers. I bet you would’ve liked to do it yourself, huh?”
Michael watches, wide-eyed and breathless, as William parts his legs again, tracing his hand down his own stomach and between his thighs. He exposes himself, tracing a finger around his hole and down into it. Michael groans helplessly, held in place by William’s unspoken order as his son fingers himself ever so slowly.
“Touch me like this…” William continues, grinning. “You can imagine it, can’t you? Fingering me like this.” For a moment, Michael falters, and his eyes slip shut as he tries to stave off the sudden surge of arousal that threatens to push him over the edge. “Look at me,” William orders, voice sharp.
Michael does, of course, and sees that William has two fingers inside of himself now. They slip in and out easily, slick and wet, and Michael has to stop his hand as his stomach gives a violent twist.
“Good,” William coos, his voice making a complete 180 turn into adoring and gentle. “You’re doing so good. Do you want to cum?”
“Yes!” Michael gasps, digging his fingers into his palms just to ground himself. “Please, I can’t hold on an-”
“You can,” William interjects, lips curling upwards. “And you will.”
He ignores Michael’s distressed groan in favor of sitting up again, grinning as he reaches a hand out to take Michael’s cock in hand. Michael hisses, hips jerking, as William squeezes and pulls at his length. His son leans up to kiss him, grinning against his lips.
“Tell me when you’re close,” William murmurs.
Michael’s at his very limit, but he nods anyway, because he can’t ever say no to William. Not even when he has to bite into his lip just to keep the arousal at bay, trying to think about anything but his son’s lips against his own, his hand around his cock, teasing and squeezing and pumping. He’s so close, so so close, and he really can’t hold on any longer, but he tries to anyway.
He manages only a few more moments before he has to grab William’s hand, choking out a, “Stop-” only just before he feels like he’s about to cum all over himself. The denial is torturous, enough that he could almost cry. William kisses him again, up his cheek and over his eyelids, a smile on the curve of his lips.
“So good,” he whispers, kissing Michael’s temple. “You earned it. Do you want your prize, now?”
He doesn’t even have the strength to nod anymore. When William hooks a leg around his waist and pulls him close again, drawing the flushed head of Michael’s cock against his hole, he nearly cries- in fact, he probably does, if the snicker that William lets out is anything to go by.
“Go on,” William urges him. “No tricks, no caveats.”
What’s left of Michael’s patience vanishes. In one swift motion, he surges forward to kiss William again, throwing him back onto the bed and wrestling his legs up to thrust himself home. William gasps and laughs, legs wrapping tight around him as Michael fucks him, hard and fast and desperate. It’s too fast and yet not fast enough. William is so, so tight around him, warm and wet and squeezing him teasingly. Their kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, messy, interrupted by the quick rhythm of Michael’s thrusts.
“C’mon, daddy,” William taunts, cupping his cheeks and pressing their heads together. His eyes are bright. “Cum for me. I’ll even let you cum inside.”
Michael chokes on a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut as the coil in his stomach draws tighter and hotter. He’s so close, but what really pushes him over is the way that William leans in, brushing a kiss over Michael’s neck before digging his teeth in hard enough to draw blood. Michael cries out, and then he’s losing it, hips stuttering into William’s heat as he finally cums.
His vision must have whited out, because when he’s able to see again, William is leaned back against the pillows, smiling and satiated. There’s blood on his lips that he licks away, grinning.
“Good boy,” he praises, stretching himself out like a cat as he props one of his legs up on Michael’s shoulder.
“Now, be a good dog and clean up after yourself.”