rps: tom welling/michael rosenbaum
Fandom: Smallville RPS
Title: Maybe it Was the Alcohol
Pairing: Welling/Rosenbaum
Rated: NC-17
Notes: did you know that Microsoft Word has a problem with the word dick? It keeps wanting me to capitolize it.
[ maybe it was the alcohol ]
by kHo
Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that this had been their last day as Lex Luthor and Clark Kent, but there was an edge to Tom tonight and Michael wasn’t born yesterday. Something was happening here.
Tom was just a little too loose, just a little too languid on Michael’s couch, all slouched down and legs hanging wide open. He kept passing Michael beer after beer, and his fingers were lingering on the bottle long after Michael had a grip on it, and he just kept smiling at him. Smiling so wide he could see his canines gleaming at him and there was something in his eyes that made it almost impossible for Michael to look away.
It wasn’t new, it just hadn’t been this bad for a long time, and Michael doesn’t know what to do with it. Since day one there’s been this thing between them, this connection, this electric shock of something that went in a direct line from Tom’s eyes to Michael’s soul. He’d never tried to put a name to it but he knew it was there, broiling under the surface, and the only time he let it out was when he was Lex.
Lex with his too long stares and his habit of looking at Clark like he was the next thing he was gonna fuck if it was the last thing he was gonna do. He hadn’t even realized it had been that blatant until he’d seen the dailies, Tom by his side and laughing, talking about kisses instead of hellos and undressing him with his eyes. Michael had leered at him and asked who wouldn’t undress Tom with their eyes but on the inside he counted the seconds until he knew Tom thought he was joking.
And then it had just faded into this thing that just happened, this thing that was just understood. And there was Clex and there was dialogue to go with it and there was homoerotic undertones that even someone’s grandmother would see, but it was okay. It was fine. Because it was Lex and Clark, not Michael and Tom, and even if it was they didn’t need to put words to it. It just was, and it was better left unnamed.
But tonight marked the end of that. The end of Lex and Clark, and this thing that they’d never named, because Smallville was over. And thank fuck, because that meant hair, and movie roles that he’d been turned down for coming back to him, and that meant freedom in ways he hadn’t even begun to think of. It also meant no more reading the newspaper hanging over Glover’s shoulder, no more hugs for no reason with Annette, no more coffee with Allison, no more flirting with Kristin so blatantly she blushed and stammered. It also meant no more fucking Tom with his eyes under the guise of Lex.
But tonight wasn’t supposed to be about that. Tonight was just gonna be another night in the life. Another night spent too late talking about bullshit and playing Nintendo and drinking too many beers. There were to be no chick flick moments, no professions of friendship, no ‘I’m gonna miss you’, no ‘I can’t believe it’s really over.’ None of that, no how, no way, just him and Tom, being them. Getting drunk and being friends.
But Tom keeps looking at him, and Michael’s fully aware of his ability to have sexual chemistry with a wall on camera, but Tom’s got that in spades just being himself. Just sitting there on Michael’s worn leather couch, slouched down in perfect nonchalance, beer in one hand, joystick in the other, and licking the remnants of barley off his lips. Looking at Michael like he doesn’t even know that every time he does it Michael has to catch his breath, look away and pretend to be enjoying the game when all he can think of is that Lex’s Tynant bottles hold nothing to that beer in Tom’s hand.
So maybe it’s the beer or maybe it’s the fact that there’s a good chance that this friendship really won’t last forever. That maybe no matter what they say, or don’t say, that they will fade apart and become just two people who used to know each other. Maybe they’ll be John Schnieder and Tom Wopat, Paul Michael Glaser and David Soul. Two people who used to be partners on screen and brothers off, and still care a hell of a lot about each other, but don’t really see each other anymore, and it’s never like it used to be, back in the day when they were them.
Because when Tom’s thigh shifts and rubs against his, Michael has to close his eyes and feel that electric current go all through his body. It’s always been there, muted by friendship and things they’ve never said outloud, but it’s always been there and it’s never faded. This click-spark-boom that always happens when they’re together, and it’s never mattered if it’s on camera or off.
When he opens his eyes Tom is still looking at him and he tries to laugh through the nerves churning in him, because he must be losing his mind. He watches as Tom sets down the joystick to the game and pauses it, all without his eyes leaving Michael’s. He doesn’t even move when Tom reaches for his and tosses it on the floor, takes his beer out of his hand and sets it on the table. The glass clinks and it’s impossibly loud to Michael, but he can’t move because he’s frozen to the spot and he’s got to be imagining things because Tom’s eyes look like sex to him right now.
“You remember when we first met,” Tom’s saying, and Michael has to blink, swallow a few times because he can’t concentrate with Tom’s lips moving like that, all slow and half-curved into a smile. “That day on the riverbank?”
Michael rips his eyes off of Tom’s lips and looks into his eyes. He can practically feel the sparks hitting his skin. “Of course.”
Tom nods and slides a little closer on the couch, leg pressed up against Michael’s from hip to knee. “First time we’ve ever met, and they’ve got me kissing you in the first scene we shoot.”
Michael laughs, and it’s a nervous laugh, a hysterical laugh, but it’s all he can manage. “Sure. Kiss. CPR. Same difference.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Tom shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders, and then his eyes are on Michael’s mouth and Michael can’t breathe. Tom’s hand lands lightly on his thigh and it takes everything in him to not shiver in anticipation of something he’s not even sure is gonna happen. “My lips on yours.”
Michael swallows and nods, refusing to look at Tom because he can’t take this tension. It’s never been this concentrated, not off camera, not without a million people around them to keep Michael from doing what he’s always wanted to do, which is slam Tom up against the nearest hard surface and just fucking take him. “Okay.”
“Do you know how many times I wished we’d had more scenes like that,” Tom asks, and he’s leaning closer, Michael can see it in his peripheral, can feel Tom’s fingers tightening on his thigh, and he’s so hard right now he’s dizzy. “I’ve kissed Allison quite a few times, and I’ve kissed Kristin so many times I can’t even count them, but I only got to feel your lips on mine once.”
Michael’s eyes do close then but he doesn’t even notice it. He’s not even sure he’s breathing anymore. “Tom… what are you doing?”
“Didn’t you ever want to kiss me, Mike,” Tom asks, and he’s even closer, Michael can feel the heat of his body pressed up against his. “Or was that Lex bullshit not just a front?”
Michael swallows as he feels Tom’s hand start to move, inching up h is thigh with slow torturous precision. He has to swallow again before he can speak. “Jesus, Tom, what the hell are you doing?”
“I think it’s fairly obvious,” Tom says, and Michael can sense his smile, he always could. Even when it wasn’t on the outside, Michael always knew when Tom was smiling. “I want you,” he says, and it’s just a whisper against Michael’s ear, and then Tom’s hand is covering his dick, and he’s nearly panting from holding back the urge to just buck into it. “Tell me you want me too.”
Michael finally opens his eyes but he doesn’t turn his head. He can feel Tom’s breath against his ear and he’s near mindless with lust. His fingernails dig into the leather of his couch and he tries to ground himself. “Why now?”
“Because I was married then,” Tom says, and then his fingers move, squeeze Michael through his jeans, and Michael’s fairly sure that noise, that whimper, was him. “And you were my costar. Neither of those things are true now.”
Tom’s fingers squeeze again and Michael breathes out a thousand curse words in one. “So. Nothing to lose now, huh?”
“I have a great deal to lose,” Tom says, and then his teeth are on Michael’s earlobe and his eyes are falling shut again without him telling them to. “But I don’t think I will, cause I think you want me too.”
When Tom grinds his zipper down it’s as loud as a gunshot in Michael’s ears. “Fuck, Tom… this isn’t… I don’t…”
“Shhh,” Tom says, and then he’s gone, just for a second, this terrifying second when Michael can’t feel him there anymore and it’s just air. He opens his eyes when he feels Tom’s fingers on his knees and sees him kneeling before him. “You don’t even have to do anything.”
Michael can’t even think of what to say, just watches as Tom yanks on his jeans, lifts his ass a little for Tom to remove them. He’s almost hyperventilating and two seconds from passing out and he’s either too drunk or not drunk enough for this to be happening. “Tom…”
“I just want to know,” Tom says, his eyes flicking up quickly to meet his before going back down, staring at his dick. He slides his hands up Michael’s thighs and Michael sucks in a breath because nothing has ever been sexier than this. “I just want to see.”
“Know what,” Michael pants, because he’s breathless and he doesn’t think he cares if he can’t ever breathe again. “See what?”
“What you look like,” Tom says, wrapping his fingers around Michael and looking up at him, “when you come.”
“Oh, fuck,” Michael hisses, and then he pitches forward, grabs Tom by the ears and just hauls him up, kisses him with all the wild abandonment he’s always wanted to, tongue in Tom’s mouth almost before their lips even touch, breathing into his mouth and thinking this is the only way he wants to breathe again.
Tom’s hand is pumping up and down, and it’s not practiced, and it’s not even all that smooth, but it feels so fucking right, and Michael could come just from the thought of this, so it’s not like it needs to be perfect.
Tom’s whimpering against his mouth and then he’s mumbling, and Michael’s never been more turned on in his life. “I’ve wanted you forever, Mike, God, forever, so fucking sexy, and you don’t even know it, which is just, God, somehow sexier, and…”
But that just won’t do because Michael wants Tom’s tongue in his mouth again now so he winds his fingers in Tom’s hair and pulls him back till he can see him, looks at him until he shuts up, and then kisses him again, mashing lips and teeth and noses together and it’s maybe the sloppiest kiss he’s ever had but it’s also the best, because it’s Tom, and he’s wanted this for so long he can’t even remember the day he realized it was more than just an idle attraction.
And then he lifts some more until Tom’s standing and then he’s straddling Michael’s legs, and he reaching out and unzipping Tom’s pants, and this would be easier if he could see what he was doing but he can’t stop kissing Tom. It’s like a drug, and he’s becoming addicted way too quickly, and the saying is something like if you don’t give into y our fantasies they become an obsession, but Michael is giving into his fantasies, and he thinks that will become his new obsession.
Tom is big and warm and heavy and Michael’s legs are starting to go tingly and fall asleep but he doesn’t care, because Tom’s not going anywhere. Michael wouldn’t let him move for anything, not if it was life and death. He wraps his fingers around Tom’s dick and it’s just as hard as his is if not harder and Tom starts pumping into his fist, and he can’t decide which is hotter. Michael doesn’t know if it’s Tom’s hand on his or his hand on Tom’s that’s driving him crazy, but something is, and he’s so close he can taste the orgasm in the back of his throat.
And then Tom breaks the kiss and reaches up ad catches Michael’s chin with his free hand, forced him to look up into those eyes of his, and it’s like time ceases to tick. Everything else blurs and fades away, the music in the background is muffled, the red and yellow and blue on the television from the paused game disappears, and it’s just them, just him and Tom, and this. He’s always known that if he let himself he could fall into Tom’s eyes and never get back out again and this proves him right.
He couldn’t tell you who came first, if it was him that pushed Tom over or Tom that pushed him, but they came at the same time and it was more like a beginning than an ending, because he was still so very turned on even when he went flaccid and Tom slumped against him. He wrapped his arms around Tom’s huge bulking frame and h ad to touch every single inch of his back. Five years of denying himself meant he got to have this, he got to touch every stitch of hot warm skin and smell it in, open his mouth and bite Tom’s shoulder just so he could taste it.
“I’ve wanted Smallville to end almost as soon as it began so I could do this,” Tom whispers against his neck, hand sliding up Michael’s chest to his neck, fingers winding around the back of it and pushing up over his scalp. “Well. That, and so you could grow your hair back.”
Michael laughs and pulls his head back to look at Tom. “What, you’re saying you don’t like me bald?”
“I don’t give a shit if you’ve got green hair, orange hair, or no hair,” Tom says, like it’s the most important thing in the world for Michael to get that he means that. It just makes Michael laugh and hold him tighter. “But you had really cute hair, and I never got to see if it was as soft as it looked.”
Michael grins and reaches up to thread his fingers in Tom’s hair. “Well yours is,” he says, watching Tom close his eyes as he runs his nails down Tom’s scalp. “When you don’t put that shit product in it.”
“That was never by choice,” Tom protests, opening his eyes and giving Michael a glare that’s two shades too amused to look menacing.
“Good,” Michael says, leaning forward and kissing Tom, this time slowly, taking his time, committing it to memory. The way Tom tasted, how soft his lips were, how he knew just how to take the kiss over so it still felt like Michael was the one in control. “I like it better when it’s natural.”
Tom looks down then and frowns. “I’m crushing you.”
Michael laughs and rests his hands on Tom’s thighs. “It’s okay, my legs have been dead for at least ten minutes now. They’ve stopped complaining.”
Tom looks up at him and swats him with his big paw before standing up and swinging his leg off of Michael, settling down on the couch next to him. “Well next time say something.”
“I honestly didn’t even notice it,” Michael says, turning his head and grinning lazily at him. “What with your hand on my dick and everything.”
“Well next time,” Tom says, grinning back at him, and that smile of his really could take Michael’s breath away, “you sit on my lap.”
Michael waggles his eyebrows. “Next time, huh? Can’t get enough of me can you?”
“Never,” Tom says, leaning forward and kissing Michael again. Michael’s just getting ready to pull Tom on top of him again when Tom pulls away, evil gleam in his eye. “But now. I’m so kicking your ass.”
Michael frowns. “Kicking my ass?”
The joystick is deposited in his lap and Tom grabs his and unpauses the game. “Super Mario Brothers is mine, bitch.”
Title: Maybe it Was the Alcohol
Pairing: Welling/Rosenbaum
Rated: NC-17
Notes: did you know that Microsoft Word has a problem with the word dick? It keeps wanting me to capitolize it.
[ maybe it was the alcohol ]
by kHo
Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that this had been their last day as Lex Luthor and Clark Kent, but there was an edge to Tom tonight and Michael wasn’t born yesterday. Something was happening here.
Tom was just a little too loose, just a little too languid on Michael’s couch, all slouched down and legs hanging wide open. He kept passing Michael beer after beer, and his fingers were lingering on the bottle long after Michael had a grip on it, and he just kept smiling at him. Smiling so wide he could see his canines gleaming at him and there was something in his eyes that made it almost impossible for Michael to look away.
It wasn’t new, it just hadn’t been this bad for a long time, and Michael doesn’t know what to do with it. Since day one there’s been this thing between them, this connection, this electric shock of something that went in a direct line from Tom’s eyes to Michael’s soul. He’d never tried to put a name to it but he knew it was there, broiling under the surface, and the only time he let it out was when he was Lex.
Lex with his too long stares and his habit of looking at Clark like he was the next thing he was gonna fuck if it was the last thing he was gonna do. He hadn’t even realized it had been that blatant until he’d seen the dailies, Tom by his side and laughing, talking about kisses instead of hellos and undressing him with his eyes. Michael had leered at him and asked who wouldn’t undress Tom with their eyes but on the inside he counted the seconds until he knew Tom thought he was joking.
And then it had just faded into this thing that just happened, this thing that was just understood. And there was Clex and there was dialogue to go with it and there was homoerotic undertones that even someone’s grandmother would see, but it was okay. It was fine. Because it was Lex and Clark, not Michael and Tom, and even if it was they didn’t need to put words to it. It just was, and it was better left unnamed.
But tonight marked the end of that. The end of Lex and Clark, and this thing that they’d never named, because Smallville was over. And thank fuck, because that meant hair, and movie roles that he’d been turned down for coming back to him, and that meant freedom in ways he hadn’t even begun to think of. It also meant no more reading the newspaper hanging over Glover’s shoulder, no more hugs for no reason with Annette, no more coffee with Allison, no more flirting with Kristin so blatantly she blushed and stammered. It also meant no more fucking Tom with his eyes under the guise of Lex.
But tonight wasn’t supposed to be about that. Tonight was just gonna be another night in the life. Another night spent too late talking about bullshit and playing Nintendo and drinking too many beers. There were to be no chick flick moments, no professions of friendship, no ‘I’m gonna miss you’, no ‘I can’t believe it’s really over.’ None of that, no how, no way, just him and Tom, being them. Getting drunk and being friends.
But Tom keeps looking at him, and Michael’s fully aware of his ability to have sexual chemistry with a wall on camera, but Tom’s got that in spades just being himself. Just sitting there on Michael’s worn leather couch, slouched down in perfect nonchalance, beer in one hand, joystick in the other, and licking the remnants of barley off his lips. Looking at Michael like he doesn’t even know that every time he does it Michael has to catch his breath, look away and pretend to be enjoying the game when all he can think of is that Lex’s Tynant bottles hold nothing to that beer in Tom’s hand.
So maybe it’s the beer or maybe it’s the fact that there’s a good chance that this friendship really won’t last forever. That maybe no matter what they say, or don’t say, that they will fade apart and become just two people who used to know each other. Maybe they’ll be John Schnieder and Tom Wopat, Paul Michael Glaser and David Soul. Two people who used to be partners on screen and brothers off, and still care a hell of a lot about each other, but don’t really see each other anymore, and it’s never like it used to be, back in the day when they were them.
Because when Tom’s thigh shifts and rubs against his, Michael has to close his eyes and feel that electric current go all through his body. It’s always been there, muted by friendship and things they’ve never said outloud, but it’s always been there and it’s never faded. This click-spark-boom that always happens when they’re together, and it’s never mattered if it’s on camera or off.
When he opens his eyes Tom is still looking at him and he tries to laugh through the nerves churning in him, because he must be losing his mind. He watches as Tom sets down the joystick to the game and pauses it, all without his eyes leaving Michael’s. He doesn’t even move when Tom reaches for his and tosses it on the floor, takes his beer out of his hand and sets it on the table. The glass clinks and it’s impossibly loud to Michael, but he can’t move because he’s frozen to the spot and he’s got to be imagining things because Tom’s eyes look like sex to him right now.
“You remember when we first met,” Tom’s saying, and Michael has to blink, swallow a few times because he can’t concentrate with Tom’s lips moving like that, all slow and half-curved into a smile. “That day on the riverbank?”
Michael rips his eyes off of Tom’s lips and looks into his eyes. He can practically feel the sparks hitting his skin. “Of course.”
Tom nods and slides a little closer on the couch, leg pressed up against Michael’s from hip to knee. “First time we’ve ever met, and they’ve got me kissing you in the first scene we shoot.”
Michael laughs, and it’s a nervous laugh, a hysterical laugh, but it’s all he can manage. “Sure. Kiss. CPR. Same difference.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Tom shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders, and then his eyes are on Michael’s mouth and Michael can’t breathe. Tom’s hand lands lightly on his thigh and it takes everything in him to not shiver in anticipation of something he’s not even sure is gonna happen. “My lips on yours.”
Michael swallows and nods, refusing to look at Tom because he can’t take this tension. It’s never been this concentrated, not off camera, not without a million people around them to keep Michael from doing what he’s always wanted to do, which is slam Tom up against the nearest hard surface and just fucking take him. “Okay.”
“Do you know how many times I wished we’d had more scenes like that,” Tom asks, and he’s leaning closer, Michael can see it in his peripheral, can feel Tom’s fingers tightening on his thigh, and he’s so hard right now he’s dizzy. “I’ve kissed Allison quite a few times, and I’ve kissed Kristin so many times I can’t even count them, but I only got to feel your lips on mine once.”
Michael’s eyes do close then but he doesn’t even notice it. He’s not even sure he’s breathing anymore. “Tom… what are you doing?”
“Didn’t you ever want to kiss me, Mike,” Tom asks, and he’s even closer, Michael can feel the heat of his body pressed up against his. “Or was that Lex bullshit not just a front?”
Michael swallows as he feels Tom’s hand start to move, inching up h is thigh with slow torturous precision. He has to swallow again before he can speak. “Jesus, Tom, what the hell are you doing?”
“I think it’s fairly obvious,” Tom says, and Michael can sense his smile, he always could. Even when it wasn’t on the outside, Michael always knew when Tom was smiling. “I want you,” he says, and it’s just a whisper against Michael’s ear, and then Tom’s hand is covering his dick, and he’s nearly panting from holding back the urge to just buck into it. “Tell me you want me too.”
Michael finally opens his eyes but he doesn’t turn his head. He can feel Tom’s breath against his ear and he’s near mindless with lust. His fingernails dig into the leather of his couch and he tries to ground himself. “Why now?”
“Because I was married then,” Tom says, and then his fingers move, squeeze Michael through his jeans, and Michael’s fairly sure that noise, that whimper, was him. “And you were my costar. Neither of those things are true now.”
Tom’s fingers squeeze again and Michael breathes out a thousand curse words in one. “So. Nothing to lose now, huh?”
“I have a great deal to lose,” Tom says, and then his teeth are on Michael’s earlobe and his eyes are falling shut again without him telling them to. “But I don’t think I will, cause I think you want me too.”
When Tom grinds his zipper down it’s as loud as a gunshot in Michael’s ears. “Fuck, Tom… this isn’t… I don’t…”
“Shhh,” Tom says, and then he’s gone, just for a second, this terrifying second when Michael can’t feel him there anymore and it’s just air. He opens his eyes when he feels Tom’s fingers on his knees and sees him kneeling before him. “You don’t even have to do anything.”
Michael can’t even think of what to say, just watches as Tom yanks on his jeans, lifts his ass a little for Tom to remove them. He’s almost hyperventilating and two seconds from passing out and he’s either too drunk or not drunk enough for this to be happening. “Tom…”
“I just want to know,” Tom says, his eyes flicking up quickly to meet his before going back down, staring at his dick. He slides his hands up Michael’s thighs and Michael sucks in a breath because nothing has ever been sexier than this. “I just want to see.”
“Know what,” Michael pants, because he’s breathless and he doesn’t think he cares if he can’t ever breathe again. “See what?”
“What you look like,” Tom says, wrapping his fingers around Michael and looking up at him, “when you come.”
“Oh, fuck,” Michael hisses, and then he pitches forward, grabs Tom by the ears and just hauls him up, kisses him with all the wild abandonment he’s always wanted to, tongue in Tom’s mouth almost before their lips even touch, breathing into his mouth and thinking this is the only way he wants to breathe again.
Tom’s hand is pumping up and down, and it’s not practiced, and it’s not even all that smooth, but it feels so fucking right, and Michael could come just from the thought of this, so it’s not like it needs to be perfect.
Tom’s whimpering against his mouth and then he’s mumbling, and Michael’s never been more turned on in his life. “I’ve wanted you forever, Mike, God, forever, so fucking sexy, and you don’t even know it, which is just, God, somehow sexier, and…”
But that just won’t do because Michael wants Tom’s tongue in his mouth again now so he winds his fingers in Tom’s hair and pulls him back till he can see him, looks at him until he shuts up, and then kisses him again, mashing lips and teeth and noses together and it’s maybe the sloppiest kiss he’s ever had but it’s also the best, because it’s Tom, and he’s wanted this for so long he can’t even remember the day he realized it was more than just an idle attraction.
And then he lifts some more until Tom’s standing and then he’s straddling Michael’s legs, and he reaching out and unzipping Tom’s pants, and this would be easier if he could see what he was doing but he can’t stop kissing Tom. It’s like a drug, and he’s becoming addicted way too quickly, and the saying is something like if you don’t give into y our fantasies they become an obsession, but Michael is giving into his fantasies, and he thinks that will become his new obsession.
Tom is big and warm and heavy and Michael’s legs are starting to go tingly and fall asleep but he doesn’t care, because Tom’s not going anywhere. Michael wouldn’t let him move for anything, not if it was life and death. He wraps his fingers around Tom’s dick and it’s just as hard as his is if not harder and Tom starts pumping into his fist, and he can’t decide which is hotter. Michael doesn’t know if it’s Tom’s hand on his or his hand on Tom’s that’s driving him crazy, but something is, and he’s so close he can taste the orgasm in the back of his throat.
And then Tom breaks the kiss and reaches up ad catches Michael’s chin with his free hand, forced him to look up into those eyes of his, and it’s like time ceases to tick. Everything else blurs and fades away, the music in the background is muffled, the red and yellow and blue on the television from the paused game disappears, and it’s just them, just him and Tom, and this. He’s always known that if he let himself he could fall into Tom’s eyes and never get back out again and this proves him right.
He couldn’t tell you who came first, if it was him that pushed Tom over or Tom that pushed him, but they came at the same time and it was more like a beginning than an ending, because he was still so very turned on even when he went flaccid and Tom slumped against him. He wrapped his arms around Tom’s huge bulking frame and h ad to touch every single inch of his back. Five years of denying himself meant he got to have this, he got to touch every stitch of hot warm skin and smell it in, open his mouth and bite Tom’s shoulder just so he could taste it.
“I’ve wanted Smallville to end almost as soon as it began so I could do this,” Tom whispers against his neck, hand sliding up Michael’s chest to his neck, fingers winding around the back of it and pushing up over his scalp. “Well. That, and so you could grow your hair back.”
Michael laughs and pulls his head back to look at Tom. “What, you’re saying you don’t like me bald?”
“I don’t give a shit if you’ve got green hair, orange hair, or no hair,” Tom says, like it’s the most important thing in the world for Michael to get that he means that. It just makes Michael laugh and hold him tighter. “But you had really cute hair, and I never got to see if it was as soft as it looked.”
Michael grins and reaches up to thread his fingers in Tom’s hair. “Well yours is,” he says, watching Tom close his eyes as he runs his nails down Tom’s scalp. “When you don’t put that shit product in it.”
“That was never by choice,” Tom protests, opening his eyes and giving Michael a glare that’s two shades too amused to look menacing.
“Good,” Michael says, leaning forward and kissing Tom, this time slowly, taking his time, committing it to memory. The way Tom tasted, how soft his lips were, how he knew just how to take the kiss over so it still felt like Michael was the one in control. “I like it better when it’s natural.”
Tom looks down then and frowns. “I’m crushing you.”
Michael laughs and rests his hands on Tom’s thighs. “It’s okay, my legs have been dead for at least ten minutes now. They’ve stopped complaining.”
Tom looks up at him and swats him with his big paw before standing up and swinging his leg off of Michael, settling down on the couch next to him. “Well next time say something.”
“I honestly didn’t even notice it,” Michael says, turning his head and grinning lazily at him. “What with your hand on my dick and everything.”
“Well next time,” Tom says, grinning back at him, and that smile of his really could take Michael’s breath away, “you sit on my lap.”
Michael waggles his eyebrows. “Next time, huh? Can’t get enough of me can you?”
“Never,” Tom says, leaning forward and kissing Michael again. Michael’s just getting ready to pull Tom on top of him again when Tom pulls away, evil gleam in his eye. “But now. I’m so kicking your ass.”
Michael frowns. “Kicking my ass?”
The joystick is deposited in his lap and Tom grabs his and unpauses the game. “Super Mario Brothers is mine, bitch.”