Ficlet : Santa Baby : MP/RL (R)
"Santa Baby"--9 days to Christmas
:: Michael Phelps/Ryan Lochte, US Swimming, R
((...So... excuses... ^_^ An old friend came into town last night and we had to go out. And drink. >.> I mean, we were helping out the economy! *ahem* Sorry this is a day late, heh.))
In the Living Room...
They're playing Madden. When Ryan scores the Jaguar's fifth touchdown against the Raven's defense he whoops and gets up to do a little victory dance-Michael drops back against the sofa with a snort and shoves Ryan's hip with one socked foot. "Penalty, Celebration. Fifteen yards. Third down."
Ryan sticks out his tongue. "Too bad the game doesn't recognize your awesome officiating."
"It is a shame." Michael wiggles his toes against a hip bone.
"For you, loser." Then Ryan leans across the couch and plants his lips on Michael's cheek. It's wet and sloppy and actually makes a smacking noise when mouth parts from skin.
Michael raises an eyebrow as he backhands spit from his cheek. "That's kinda gross."
Ryan points up.
Above the couch there is mistletoe. It's scotch-taped to the ceiling.
In the Kitchen...
Michael grabs a peppermint cookie from the tupperware on the counter and sticks the whole thing in his mouth at once. They're a little burnt around the edges but considering the shakedown last night it could be worse. Honestly, he's surprised that any cookies made it into the oven at all. There were... other things. Being put in... other places.
He's chewing as he turns and Ryan's right there, too close to avoid smacking into. Michael falls back against the counter. "Way to be in my space," he says around a mouthful of peppermint and crumble.
"Su spacos es mi spacos." Ryan slides a grin his way.
Michael swallows. Not like he can really argue with that.
Taking his time, Ryan gets close. One hand on either side of him. Close enough to lick the last of the minty crumbs out from Michael's moustache and the corners of his mouth. "I totally make the best cookies," Ryan murmurs as he steps back and points over Michael's shoulder.
Tied to the cabinet handle behind them is some mistletoe.
In the Closet...
"Have you seen my purple hoodie?" Michael calls over his shoulder. He's pretty sure that it's migrated under a chair, or into the fridge, or onto the pile in the corner behind the dresser, but he still pushes through his hanging clothes hoping that it'll pop up and be clean.
"What hoodie?" Ryan's voice is behind him.
Collared shirts are shoved down the rod. "The purple one. With the black stripes." He'll have to start looking under furniture, which means it should be washed instead of worn, and that sucks. He sighs. Lips press against the back of his neck, warm. Slow. They slide down the few exposed knobs of his spine. Fingers push under his shirt and brush over skin, absently tracing muscles and tattoos.
Michael turns toward Ryan with the intent to pursue but Ryan's standing there in his purple hoodie and Michael has a momentary lapse, forgetting about his half-stack completely. "Hey!"
Ryan smiles. "Warm." But he slides it off and hands it over, leaving the closet with a wink. Michael pulls it on-it smells a little like Ryan, like an over-abundance of sun.
And in the right pocket is a little bit of smushed mistletoe.
In the Home Theater...
"I want a Bat-bike."
They've watched The Dark Knight a few times in the last week but still aren't tired of it.
"You'd kill yourself on the bat-bike."
Even in the darkened room it's easy to feel how Ryan's smiling in the theater seat next to him. The padded armrest between them is pushed up and their knees are resting against each other. "Probably, but dude. What a fun way to go."
Michael snorts and reaches for the huge tin of cheese popcorn; he'd bought a few of them at Costco to keep in here since he's sure that they'll stay good for years or through a nuclear fallout. Ryan passes it over without taking his eyes from the screen. Michael eats a few handfuls and is going for another when fingers wrap around his wrist.
Tugging his hand over, Ryan spreads cheesy fingers out and-starting with the pinky and finishing with the thumb-cleans every one using only his tongue and a vigorous sucking motion. By the light of Harvey Dent burning, Michael can see the orange coating that Ryan licks off his lips as he sits back. But when Michael leans in to follow the line of Ryan's tongue with his own, he's elbowed away. Ryan points to the screen and then shushes him. Michael slouches back and looks at the tin between them.
Michael doesn't know if it's hygienic or not, but there's mistletoe sitting on the popcorn.
In the Bathroom...
There is no mistletoe hanging from the shower rod, none on the showerhead. Michael checks. He checks the ceiling and the medicine cabinet and the faucet. It's not like he's disappointed but... well, yeah. A man should not get his fingers sucked and then have to sit through another hour of movie with no other contact. Michael might have a little thing for Aaron Eckhardt but that doesn't even start to cut it.
He strips down in a huff and takes a shower. A cold shower. And he thinks about football, about the game on Saturday that he'll have to bribe Ryan into watching since it's not college teams and Ryan can be unreasonable about sitting through the "professional jerks with the tall socks who have, like, forgotten the love of the game."
He goes totally unmolested in the shower-which is a disappointment, it is-and he's dried and grabbing for clean underwear before Ryan swings into the bathroom like his ass is on fire and bullies Michael back against the wall. They get dropped in the toilet but nobody's paying attention because Ryan is hitting his knees right there on the gray tile.
Michael grabs the towel rack and breathes out as Ryan swallows him without even giving him a chance to get hard first-not that it takes long. So much for the cold shower. Michael closes his eyes, weaves his empty fingers into soft curls, and enjoys the wet warmth of Ryan's mouth. There's sloppy sounds and Ryan's nose hitting just below his belly button and Michael almost comes like an ex-communicated priest with a stripper in his lap.
Except that Ryan pops off him with a slurp and rocks to his feet before he gets the chance.
Michael tries to grab his arm, tries, but he's so fucking turned on that he's cross-eyed and so he misses. "No fair!"
Ryan stops in the doorway and smiles. "Good things come to little boys who wait."
"That makes you sound like a pedophile!" Michael listens to Ryan laugh his way down the hall and flips the empty room the finger. "Fuck," he tells the shower. "Fuck," he tells the sink. Then he huffs a breath and turns to drop the toilet lid in order to sit and wait out the boner.
And there it is. Mistletoe on the top of the toilet lid, hidden the whole time since he never bothers to put the thing down. Goddamnit.
In the Bedroom...
Michael's expecting mistletoe everywhere when they finally head to bed. He expects the room to be covered in the stuff. But the sheets are still white instead of green, the dressers clear, the windows blank. He pulls off his pillowcase just to check and throws it at Ryan's head when he finds nothing.
Ryan looks at him funny and then stuffs the pillowcase down the back of his pants.
"Hey! Not cool." Michael would get a new one but he's not sure that he has any. Not like he's slept here a lot in the past few months. His mom probably gave him some (rightly thinking that he wouldn't see the need for more than one set) but he doesn't know where they'd be. He toes off his socks and tosses his hoodie on the floor and drops back onto his naked pillow with a frown.
Ryan turns off the lights but with Baltimore outside the windows it's not exactly dark in the room. And the bulge in the seat of his jeans looks ridiculous.
Michael watches Ryan climb onto the bed, the down comforter crinkling under his hands and knees. He crawls all the way up to Michael and leans down to lick his earlobe. "Don't you want your pillowcase back?" he murmurs.
"Keep it."
"Come on."
"That's just wrong."
"You lick my ass but you won't lay on it? I kept it above underwear. Come on."
Michael sighs and elbows himself up to a sitting position. Ryan kneels up and turns to waggle the huge, lumpy bulge in his pants back and forth. Not quite the sexiest thing ever. But when Michael goes to shove his hand into Ryan's jeans he gets his hand slapped away.
"Slow," Ryan says, clucking his tongue. "Give a brother a little play." In the dim light Michael can see his nose crinkle with a smile over his shoulder and he waggles his butt again.
Since the options are opening the jeans slowly or committing murder-and murder would be not only bad for his career but messy-Michael reaches around and pops the buttons on Ryan's jeans with an exaggerated slowness while rolling his eyes. One button, two. Three four five and he peels back denim, tugging the waistband down in the back. The white pillowcase is there and Michael snags a corner and pulls it until it comes free. Ryan wiggles his butt and laughs like crazy when Michael grabs for him.
Because the mistletoe is there, safety-pinned to the back of grey boxer-briefs.
:: Michael Phelps/Ryan Lochte, US Swimming, R
((...So... excuses... ^_^ An old friend came into town last night and we had to go out. And drink. >.> I mean, we were helping out the economy! *ahem* Sorry this is a day late, heh.))
In the Living Room...
They're playing Madden. When Ryan scores the Jaguar's fifth touchdown against the Raven's defense he whoops and gets up to do a little victory dance-Michael drops back against the sofa with a snort and shoves Ryan's hip with one socked foot. "Penalty, Celebration. Fifteen yards. Third down."
Ryan sticks out his tongue. "Too bad the game doesn't recognize your awesome officiating."
"It is a shame." Michael wiggles his toes against a hip bone.
"For you, loser." Then Ryan leans across the couch and plants his lips on Michael's cheek. It's wet and sloppy and actually makes a smacking noise when mouth parts from skin.
Michael raises an eyebrow as he backhands spit from his cheek. "That's kinda gross."
Ryan points up.
Above the couch there is mistletoe. It's scotch-taped to the ceiling.
In the Kitchen...
Michael grabs a peppermint cookie from the tupperware on the counter and sticks the whole thing in his mouth at once. They're a little burnt around the edges but considering the shakedown last night it could be worse. Honestly, he's surprised that any cookies made it into the oven at all. There were... other things. Being put in... other places.
He's chewing as he turns and Ryan's right there, too close to avoid smacking into. Michael falls back against the counter. "Way to be in my space," he says around a mouthful of peppermint and crumble.
"Su spacos es mi spacos." Ryan slides a grin his way.
Michael swallows. Not like he can really argue with that.
Taking his time, Ryan gets close. One hand on either side of him. Close enough to lick the last of the minty crumbs out from Michael's moustache and the corners of his mouth. "I totally make the best cookies," Ryan murmurs as he steps back and points over Michael's shoulder.
Tied to the cabinet handle behind them is some mistletoe.
In the Closet...
"Have you seen my purple hoodie?" Michael calls over his shoulder. He's pretty sure that it's migrated under a chair, or into the fridge, or onto the pile in the corner behind the dresser, but he still pushes through his hanging clothes hoping that it'll pop up and be clean.
"What hoodie?" Ryan's voice is behind him.
Collared shirts are shoved down the rod. "The purple one. With the black stripes." He'll have to start looking under furniture, which means it should be washed instead of worn, and that sucks. He sighs. Lips press against the back of his neck, warm. Slow. They slide down the few exposed knobs of his spine. Fingers push under his shirt and brush over skin, absently tracing muscles and tattoos.
Michael turns toward Ryan with the intent to pursue but Ryan's standing there in his purple hoodie and Michael has a momentary lapse, forgetting about his half-stack completely. "Hey!"
Ryan smiles. "Warm." But he slides it off and hands it over, leaving the closet with a wink. Michael pulls it on-it smells a little like Ryan, like an over-abundance of sun.
And in the right pocket is a little bit of smushed mistletoe.
In the Home Theater...
"I want a Bat-bike."
They've watched The Dark Knight a few times in the last week but still aren't tired of it.
"You'd kill yourself on the bat-bike."
Even in the darkened room it's easy to feel how Ryan's smiling in the theater seat next to him. The padded armrest between them is pushed up and their knees are resting against each other. "Probably, but dude. What a fun way to go."
Michael snorts and reaches for the huge tin of cheese popcorn; he'd bought a few of them at Costco to keep in here since he's sure that they'll stay good for years or through a nuclear fallout. Ryan passes it over without taking his eyes from the screen. Michael eats a few handfuls and is going for another when fingers wrap around his wrist.
Tugging his hand over, Ryan spreads cheesy fingers out and-starting with the pinky and finishing with the thumb-cleans every one using only his tongue and a vigorous sucking motion. By the light of Harvey Dent burning, Michael can see the orange coating that Ryan licks off his lips as he sits back. But when Michael leans in to follow the line of Ryan's tongue with his own, he's elbowed away. Ryan points to the screen and then shushes him. Michael slouches back and looks at the tin between them.
Michael doesn't know if it's hygienic or not, but there's mistletoe sitting on the popcorn.
In the Bathroom...
There is no mistletoe hanging from the shower rod, none on the showerhead. Michael checks. He checks the ceiling and the medicine cabinet and the faucet. It's not like he's disappointed but... well, yeah. A man should not get his fingers sucked and then have to sit through another hour of movie with no other contact. Michael might have a little thing for Aaron Eckhardt but that doesn't even start to cut it.
He strips down in a huff and takes a shower. A cold shower. And he thinks about football, about the game on Saturday that he'll have to bribe Ryan into watching since it's not college teams and Ryan can be unreasonable about sitting through the "professional jerks with the tall socks who have, like, forgotten the love of the game."
He goes totally unmolested in the shower-which is a disappointment, it is-and he's dried and grabbing for clean underwear before Ryan swings into the bathroom like his ass is on fire and bullies Michael back against the wall. They get dropped in the toilet but nobody's paying attention because Ryan is hitting his knees right there on the gray tile.
Michael grabs the towel rack and breathes out as Ryan swallows him without even giving him a chance to get hard first-not that it takes long. So much for the cold shower. Michael closes his eyes, weaves his empty fingers into soft curls, and enjoys the wet warmth of Ryan's mouth. There's sloppy sounds and Ryan's nose hitting just below his belly button and Michael almost comes like an ex-communicated priest with a stripper in his lap.
Except that Ryan pops off him with a slurp and rocks to his feet before he gets the chance.
Michael tries to grab his arm, tries, but he's so fucking turned on that he's cross-eyed and so he misses. "No fair!"
Ryan stops in the doorway and smiles. "Good things come to little boys who wait."
"That makes you sound like a pedophile!" Michael listens to Ryan laugh his way down the hall and flips the empty room the finger. "Fuck," he tells the shower. "Fuck," he tells the sink. Then he huffs a breath and turns to drop the toilet lid in order to sit and wait out the boner.
And there it is. Mistletoe on the top of the toilet lid, hidden the whole time since he never bothers to put the thing down. Goddamnit.
In the Bedroom...
Michael's expecting mistletoe everywhere when they finally head to bed. He expects the room to be covered in the stuff. But the sheets are still white instead of green, the dressers clear, the windows blank. He pulls off his pillowcase just to check and throws it at Ryan's head when he finds nothing.
Ryan looks at him funny and then stuffs the pillowcase down the back of his pants.
"Hey! Not cool." Michael would get a new one but he's not sure that he has any. Not like he's slept here a lot in the past few months. His mom probably gave him some (rightly thinking that he wouldn't see the need for more than one set) but he doesn't know where they'd be. He toes off his socks and tosses his hoodie on the floor and drops back onto his naked pillow with a frown.
Ryan turns off the lights but with Baltimore outside the windows it's not exactly dark in the room. And the bulge in the seat of his jeans looks ridiculous.
Michael watches Ryan climb onto the bed, the down comforter crinkling under his hands and knees. He crawls all the way up to Michael and leans down to lick his earlobe. "Don't you want your pillowcase back?" he murmurs.
"Keep it."
"Come on."
"That's just wrong."
"You lick my ass but you won't lay on it? I kept it above underwear. Come on."
Michael sighs and elbows himself up to a sitting position. Ryan kneels up and turns to waggle the huge, lumpy bulge in his pants back and forth. Not quite the sexiest thing ever. But when Michael goes to shove his hand into Ryan's jeans he gets his hand slapped away.
"Slow," Ryan says, clucking his tongue. "Give a brother a little play." In the dim light Michael can see his nose crinkle with a smile over his shoulder and he waggles his butt again.
Since the options are opening the jeans slowly or committing murder-and murder would be not only bad for his career but messy-Michael reaches around and pops the buttons on Ryan's jeans with an exaggerated slowness while rolling his eyes. One button, two. Three four five and he peels back denim, tugging the waistband down in the back. The white pillowcase is there and Michael snags a corner and pulls it until it comes free. Ryan wiggles his butt and laughs like crazy when Michael grabs for him.
Because the mistletoe is there, safety-pinned to the back of grey boxer-briefs.