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Will’s voice was tight, a thin wire of frayed patience. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me. Claude is… he’s stable. He’s kind.”
“Stable?” Mike barked a laugh, sharp and derisive. He took a step forward, crowding into Will’s space in the dim clutter of his own bedroom. The air smelled of old weed and boy-sweat. “Stable is what you call a table, Will. Not a boyfriend. Kind? He’s boring. You’re bored. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at him—like you’re reading the same sentence over and over again.”
“Stop it,” Will whispered, but his breath hitched. Mike saw it, the tiny crack. He always did.
“No, I won’t stop. You’re gonna stand here and listen. You think I don’t know you? You think I haven’t watched you for years? That teal bullshit—your favorite color is the deep green of the woods after the rain, the one you used to try and mix with every cheap paint set you had. He doesn’t know that. I do.” Mike’s hand came up, not to strike, but to gesture, slicing the air between them. “He doesn’t know that you make this little humming sound when you’re concentrating, or that you hate the texture of cooked peas, or that you’re terrified of silence, so you always have some shitty radio playing. He doesn’t know *you*. And he sure as hell doesn’t know what to do with this.”
Mike’s gaze dropped, deliberate and scorching, to the front of Will’s jeans. Will flinched as if struck, his hands flying down instinctively, a futile shield. Humiliation, hot and prickling, spread across his chest and up his neck.
“Don’t,” Will choked out.
“Don’t what? Don’t say it?” Mike leaned in, his voice dropping to a predatory murmur. His breath was warm against Will’s ear. “Don’t talk about that fuck up between your legs you’re hiding? The one Claude probably fumbles with like he’s trying to solve a Rubik’s cube in the dark?”
“Fuck you, Mike!” The anger erupted, white-hot and cleansing. Will shoved him, both palms slamming hard into Mike’s chest.
Mike staggered back a step, a flash of surprise in his dark eyes, but it was instantly swallowed by something darker, more intense. A grin touched his lips, dangerous and thrilled. “There she is.”
Enraged, Will went to shove him again, but Mike was ready. He caught Will’s wrists in a grip like iron, spinning him around and driving him back until the small of Will’s back hit the edge of the cluttered desk, pencils and notebooks scattering to the floor with a clatter.
“Let me go!” Will thrashed, the fight in him pure, undiluted adrenaline. He got a hand free and swung, his open palm connecting with Mike’s cheek with a sharp, stinging *crack*.
The sound hung in the air. Mike’s head turned slightly with the force, a red bloom appearing on his pale skin. The grin never faded. It widened. His eyes glinted with a feral light. Slowly, he brought his free hand up to touch his cheek, his gaze locked on Will’s heaving chest.
“You wanna fight, baby?” Mike whispered, the endearment a velvet-wrapped threat. “Okay. Let’s fight.”
He moved fast. Using his weight and leverage, he manhandled Will around, bending him forward over the desk. Will’s stomach pressed against the cold wood, his arms splayed out. He kicked back, but Mike was already on him, his solid body pressing Will down, immobilizing him. One hand tangled in Will’s brown curls, pulling just enough to arch his back. The other went to the button of his jeans.
“No—Mike, don’t—” Will’s protests were ragged, but the struggle was leaching out of him, replaced by a terrifying, dizzying current of arousal.
The denim was wrenched down over Will’s hips in one rough tug, followed by his briefs, baring him to the cool air of the room. He shuddered, exposed and vulnerable, his face burning against the wood grain.
Mike went utterly still for a moment, just looking. Will could feel the heat of his gaze on his skin like a brand.
“God, look at you,” Mike breathed, his voice thick. “All that fire, and here you are, laid out for me. Pretty little girl, all flushed and waiting.” He brought his hand down, not in a slap, but in a firm, possessive cupping of Will’s ass. “Spread yourself, mama. Let me see what I’m getting.”
Tears of fury and shame pricked Will’s eyes, but a traitorous part of him, a deep, aching part, obeyed. He shifted his knees apart on the rough carpet, a silent, shameful surrender.
A low, appreciative groan rumbled from Mike’s chest. “Good. So fucking good for me already.”
Then Mike was on his knees. There was no preamble, no soft kisses. He buried his face between Will’s thighs with a hungry, open-mouthed intensity that made Will cry out, a sharp, broken sound. Mike’s tongue was relentless, a broad, wet stroke from bottom to top, licking into him with a vulgar, sucking noise that echoed in the quiet room. *Schlllp.*
“Oh, god—!”
“Tastes like you’ve been thinking about this,” Mike growled against his skin, his words muffled, his stubble scratching the sensitive inner flesh of Will’s thighs. “Tastes like you wanted a fight.” He dove back in, his tongue circling and thrusting, his nose pressed tight against him. He ate with a aggressive, starved fervor, sucking on his clit until Will’s legs shook, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the empty desk. *Mmhph, schlck, ahh.*
Will’s head dropped, a sob wrenching free. It was too much—the anger, the humiliation, the shocking, brutal pleasure that was coiling tight and white-hot in his gut. Mike’s dirty talk was a constant, filthy stream against his skin.
“You gonna come on my tongue like this? Huh? Gonna drip all over this desk thinking about how much better I am than him?” *Lick, suck.* “Yeah, you are. This sweet pussy is *mine*. It’s always been mine. You just let him borrow it.”
The orgasm ripped through Will without warning, a violent, shuddering wave that tore a guttural scream from his throat. His back arched violently, his vision spotting. Mike rode it out, drinking him down, until Will was a trembling, oversensitive mess, reduced to weak, hiccuping breaths.
Before the last tremor had even faded, Mike was up, fumbling with his own jeans. Will heard the tear of a foil packet, the slick sound of him rolling a condom on. He was too boneless to move, too raw to protest.
Mike’s hands gripped his hips, his thumbs digging into the dimples of Will’s back. The blunt, thick head of his cock pressed against him, not asking, just *there.*
“You’re mine Will, You've always been.” Mike snarled, his voice dripping with possession and triumph. And he pushed in.
It was a brutal, claiming stroke, no gentleness, no easing. Will gasped, the stretch a burning, perfect ache. He was still fluttering from his climax, impossibly tight, and Mike filled him to the hilt in one deep, devastating thrust.
“*Fuck!*” Mike shouted, his composure shattering for a second. He held himself deep, buried, letting them both feel the full, shocking reality of it. Then he pulled back and slammed home again.
The desk creaked in protest with every pounding drive. Mike set a punishing, rhythmic pace, his hips pistoning, his body slapping against Will’s ass with wet, sharp sounds. *Smack. Smack. Smack.*
“This—ah!—this what you needed?” Mike grunted, each word punctuated by a thrust. “This what that polite, stable boyfriend of yours can’t give you? Huh? Tell me!”
Will could only moan, a continuous, broken sound. The pleasure was a live wire, intertwined with the residual anger, creating something dangerously addictive.
“Tell me I’m better,” Mike demanded, his hand snaking around Will’s hip, his fingers finding his clit again, rubbing rough, tight circles. “Say it.”
“Mike—!”
“Say it, Will. Or I stop.” He didn’t stop. He fucked him harder, deeper, angling his hips to hit a spot that made Will see stars.
“You’re—you’re better!” Will sobbed, the confession torn from him. “God, you’re better!”
“Damn right I am.” Mike’s voice was a dark, satisfied purr. He shifted his grip, pulling Will up so his back was against Mike’s chest. One arm banded across Will’s chest, holding him close, the other still working between his legs. Mike’s mouth was at his ear. “Now bounce that ass on my dick, baby. Show me how much you love it. Show daddy you know who you belong to.”
The command, the crude, possessive endearment, sent a fresh jolt of submission through Will. Weakly, he tried, meeting Mike’s upward drives with small, desperate drops of his own hips. It was clumsy, but it drove Mike wild.
“Yeah, just like that. Take it. All of it. My good boy. My perfect, filthy cunt boy.”
Mike’s rhythm became frantic, erratic. His breathing was a harsh rasp in Will’s ear. The hand on Will’s clit was relentless, and Will felt another climax building, not a wave this time but a tsunami, drawn from the depths of the conflict, the rough hands, the degrading, worshipful words.
“I’m gonna fill you up,” Mike panted. “Gonna mark you from the inside. You’re gonna feel me for days, and every time you do, you’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna remember who fucks you right.”
Will came with a silent, shuddering scream, his body seizing, clamping down on Mike so hard it wrenched a roar from him. Mike drove in three more times, deep, grinding pulses, and followed him over with a guttural cry, his whole body tensing like a bowstring before collapsing heavily against Will’s back.
For long minutes, the only sounds were their ragged, heaving breaths and the faint buzz of the neglected desk lamp. The room smelled of sex and sweat and salt. Mike softened inside him, but didn’t pull out, his weight a heavy, warm anchor.
Finally, he nuzzled into the sweaty junction of Will’s neck and shoulder, his voice a low, post-coital rumble. “Break up with him tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question.
Will, shattered and empty, his mind a static hum, stared at the blank wall ahead. The ghost of Claude’s kind, predictable smile flickered in his mind and was extinguished by the memory of Mike’s hand on his cheek, the sting, and the searing pleasure that followed. He didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. He just gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod against the desk.
Mike kissed his shoulder, a shockingly tender gesture amid the wreckage. “Good.”