[RPF] Running off Instinct (James/Michael) 3/3
Title: Running off Instinct
Author: restlesspuppy
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 7, 278
Warnings: Angst, smut, rpf. You know the drill.
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone mentioned in this story, if I did, things would be a lot different - this is purely a work of fiction.
Summary: James is in love, but really - it’s none of his business. ( part one ) ( part two ) - part three -
-
He’s not needed on set for another three days and there’s a knock at his door at twelve-thirty the next day that he doesn’t answer. He knows it’s not Jen, or Zoe. If it were either of them, they would have persisted long after one knock. He doesn’t answer. If it’s Michael, he’s not ready for a gentle apology, he doesn’t want to listen to a light-hearted rejection. In fact, for the first time in five months - Michael Fassbender is the last person he wants to see.
He goes to the gym at four and orders room service for dinner. There’s another knock at seven, and he doesn’t answer.
The next night, Nick and Lucas liberate his living room because he’s the only one out of the lot of them whom evidently hasn’t wrung his mini bar dry, and they watch re-runs of ‘Friends’ and play Black Jack with Nick’s card set.
Lucas doesn’t say a word about New Years and James wonders exactly what Zoe must have done to him.
-
He’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the hotel manages to keep the paint from flaking when his phone starts to ring. He rolls over, reaches for the bedside table and turns the bright screen towards him.
Michael calling…
He flicks it to silent and flips it over to stifle the light. It’s only eleven at night and he’s wide awake.
He doesn’t sleep until three.
-
He gets a text from Nick at nine the next morning;
‘Michael wants to talk to you. Seems to be under the impression that you’re avoiding him? Will you talk to him so he’ll shut up?
N.’
James re-reads it twice before he moves it to trash. He goes to the gym, orders in room service and gets another text from Jen telling him to come down to the bar for drinks with Zoe and Lucas. He changes and tugs the door open, but falters by the doorway.
Michael is leaning on the wall opposite his door, he looks up as James opens it, and a slight smile touches his lips.
“James.”
“Hey, Michael.” He sounds a lot braver than he feels, and makes a mental note to set Zoe on Jen, too. This is no coincidence.
“I… heard you wanted to talk to me?” He says, nails digging into the wood grain of his door.
“Can I come in?” Michael asks.
James bites his lip, then says, “I’m meant to meet Jen for--”
“Yeah, she’s not down there. Let me in.”
Right. James will need to set Zoe on her. He steps aside for Michael to stride past, and he closes the door after him. His heart is hammering against his ribcage and that irritating lump is wedging itself back into his throat. He turns, and Michael has made his own way into the living room so James follows him, he turns at last and - does he look nervous?
“Why did you kiss me?”
He asks it rather flatly. Eyes trained on James’ face.
He stares back, at first… he has nothing to say. He’s spent hours predicting this situation in his head, how this could possibly play out, all the questions Michael could ask, and what James would answer them with - but in not one of those scenarios had Michael asked that question and in hindsight; it made the most sense.
“Uh…” James wets his lips, “The… the shellfish hadn’t worn off. Still feeling the aftermath.”
“James, seriously. Don’t give me that shit.”
He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? The truth is about as believable as the shellfish.
“You wanted to know what was wrong.” He says, softly. He looks away, down to his scuffed shoes.
Michael says nothing and James would be content with the floor opening up to swallow him whole right about now.
Another set of shoes enter his line of sight, standing an inch from his own and he looks up and Michael is peering down at him.
“Wrong?” He murmurs, and James can’t breathe because it’s Michael who is leaning down this time, closing the space between them and there’s no tense, eerie silence, no boisterous crowd cheering them on to a count, it’s them.
James is too stunned to respond, too astounded to believe this to be anything if not a dream and digs his nails into his palms to feel the twinge of pain that tells him it’s real because Michael’s tongue sweeps over his bottom lip just like it did that first time and James steps into him, curling his arms around Michael’s shoulders, tugging him in close. Pressing their chests together and it’s like ice water on a hot day, like a breath of fresh air after being trapped under bedsheets. It’s too good and it’s real.
Michael breaks the kiss, and there’s a brief silence. Their ragged breaths fill it and James clears his throat.
“I don’t want to pass this shellfish virus on, honestly it’s--”
Michael laughs once and catches him for another kiss. Cutting him off, and James relents entirely. He can feel Michael smiling into him.
He feels like his heart has grown two sizes.
-
He doesn’t set Zoe on Jen because - despite the potential ramifications of her ‘master plan’, things had worked out in James’ favour. It’s been close to four weeks, they’re due to wrap in a week’s time and James’ room has become ground zero for Michael as well. As James has discovered, Michael is a serial cuddler at night. He wakes up each morning tangled in limbs and blankets that prevent him from moving very far at all. Which is perhaps a good thing - Michael isn’t a morning person, either. Not even slightly.
But this particular night; James is restless. The bed feels too lumpy and the sheets, too rough. He’s tossing and turning back and forth and Michael catches him when he rolls onto his side. An arm snakes around his torso and James smiles slightly, reaches down to thread his fingers through Michael’s.
“S’wrong?” Michael murmurs, lips ticking James’ neck.
“I can’t sleep.” He mutters.
“Stop thinking.”
James chuckles once, “Easier said than done.” He shifts slightly, “Did I wake you?”
“Yeah. S’ok. I was having a dream, though.”
“What about?” James’ eyes trail up the white curtains by the balcony, following the line of moonlight peeking in under the thin fabric, to where it spills over the carpet.
Michael doesn’t answer, shifts, presses his hips into James’ backside, and that action alone answers James’ searching question.
“Oh.” he says, and he feels idiotic, so he continues on, “You can still tell me. If you like.”
He feels Michael smile.
“Have I ever mentioned how much I like your lips?” Michael shifts again, his hand shifts up from James’ abdomen to his chin, nudging his face around to catch his lips in a messy, wet kiss.
“Mmhm.” He breaks the kiss, “Many times.”
“Well.” Michael’s hand shifts away, glides back down the length of James’ torso, and he draws in a shuddering breath, “You made very, very,” His fingers play along the waistband of James’ boxers and he presses his hips back into Michael’s. “creative use of them.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm.” Michael’s fingers dip below the waistline, and James is already half-hard from his touch alone and he shudders nimbly at Michael’s rough touch.
“Like… like what?”
Michael chuckles again, presses idle kisses along the firm line of muscle along James’ throat, skimming his teeth along pale skin.
“Hmm…” he’s keen to take his time, and James wants to kick him, his hips roll into James’, and he sucks in a deep breath. Reaching back to catch Michael’s hip, thumb pressing in to the hollow of his hipbone, urging him on blindly, Michael pushes his boxers down, evidently wanting them gone as much as James does - and he wriggles out of them, kicks them to the bottom of the bed where they’ll only get lost and forgotten.
“Spread your legs.” Michael whispers, and he barely even has the chance to comprehend those words before he’s curling a knee behind Michael’s legs, and that rough hand strays around his hip, cuffs his backside. His heart skips a beat.
They’ve done this, they’ve touched. They’ve kissed. They’ve come close once - but Nick had knocked on their door demanding his cards back before they’d had the chance.
That hand strays back up his side, hooked under his arm, until Michael’s fingers press at his lips and James sucks them into his mouth eagerly. He feels Michael’s lips leave his shoulder, feels his breath ghosting over James’ cheek as he watches pink lips and tongue laving over wet fingers, and Michael’s hips roll forwards again merely at the sight. They press deeper until James almost chokes, before retreating, before hurrying back beneath the sheets and between James’ thighs. He digs his fingers into his pillow as he feels them skate once over that ring of muscle. It’s been a while - he bites down on his lower lip.
Michael’s index finger presses into him, and it doesn’t hurt. Not yet. James’ hand reaches back for Michael’s hip again, as another finger joins with the first, a dull twinge accompanying it. His teeth sink deeper into his bottom lip and Michael’s lips return to his neck, he licks a wet line up to James’ ear.
“Want to fuck you.” He whispers, other arm worming beneath James’ torso to wind about his chest, blunt fingernails skimming over a pert nipple, “Jesus, James--”
A third finger joins the rest, sinking into James knuckle-deep. Pressing in and out gently, crooking, searching, until James jerks and goes rigid in his arms. He hums a gentle approval at the soft whine James barely stifles in the sheets and withdraws his fingers, he leans away briefly to tug open the bedside table on his side, and rummages momentarily, only to return swiftly. Evidently far too impatient to wait much longer.
Michael props up a knee, with James’ leg draped over his, keeping him spread open, and James is quietly immensely glad for those white curtains obscuring the balcony. His heart is hammering away at his chest again and he’s blindly hoping he doesn’t suffer from another round of successive strokes as he hears Michael tearing open the condom foil and sliding it on. There’s an awful squelch of lube, and then a cold touch brushes between his cheeks.
“Tell me if it hurts.” he whispers, and his hands are back, curling under James’ side to press over his chest as Michael carefully lines himself up, and presses inside. James bites down on the pillow, closes his eyes tight and clenches his jaw until it aches as Michael pushes into him.
It hurts, he feels like he’s being split in half, and Michael doesn’t stop. He releases the pillow with a wet cry, and whispers, “Wait.” breathlessly.
“James - I’m sorry, I can-… we can stop, I--”
“You fucking stop and you’ll never see me again.”
Michael laughs, “Alright, alright.” He reaches around James’ hip, finds his still somewhat interested cock, and curls his fingers loosely around that warmth, strokes him until James whispers;
“Al-… alright.”
He presses in until Michael’s hips are pressed flush to his backside and he’s panting wetly into the curve of James’ neck, laving wet and open-mouthed kisses down to his shoulder.
“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.” His voice is ragged, his self restraint is palpable. He’s going to owe James for this. He keeps palming him, murmuring encouragement while James breathes in deep and shuddering breaths, peppering his pale skin with kisses.
“Move.” He whispers, at last.
“Hm?” Michael lifts his head from James’ skin.
“I said move.” He whispers.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me, Michael - Jesus.”
There’s another dry chuckle, and Michael presses a kiss to his cheek, his hips rear back, and press forwards, in a slow shove. James’ fingers curl around the edge of the mattress, and he turns in for a kiss. Hand darting back to grip Michael’s hip as he steadily gains a rhythm. He’s big. He’s thick and hot inside James and he feels good and full once the pain begins to ebb away.
Their kiss is broken by James with a choked sob, that Michael chases, sinks his teeth into James’ neck when he turns his face away, keening wetly into his pillow, pitch wavering with the beat of Michael’s thrusts, fingers twisting in the sheets as Michael’s hand curls tighter around his hip, tugs him back to meet with each press and their pace is nothing short of brutal, and Michael is brushing over that sweet, sweet place inside of him, and the bed is creaking, rocking back to slam into the bedside table - and James understands why the need to bolt the lamps down in place is so necessary.
“Shhh.” Michael whispers, “Thin… thin walls.” His hand sneaks up, curls around James’ mouth to quiet him. “Jennifer wont forgive you for this one, will she?” He murmurs, and James can hear the grin in his voice, he would be irritated by that alone if he had the piece of mind to spare.
Michael’s thin fingers creep over his hip, back down to James’ cock, curved and flushed pretty-pink into his stomach, and he’s wet and leaking and hot, and his tongue swipes over Michael’s palm once, so he lets his hand fall away.
“Have to - can I - please..”
Michael’s breath catches, James is asking him for permission to come and he bites down on that shoulder again, hips bucking upward.
“Come for me.” He hisses, and James does. Arches back into him, twists his hands into fists in the sheets, tugging the fabric out from under the mattress, tipping his head back over Michael’s shoulder as he comes thick and hot and fast, over Michael’s hand, over his stomach and onto the sheets. He clenches and tightens around Michael, muscles fluttering deliciously so that the older man can’t hold on. Can’t hold out.
His hand slips back, curving back around James’ hip, fingernails biting into skin, leaving crescent welts in their wake as he tugs him back those last few jerky thrusts, and it’s his turn. His hold on James’ chest tightens, keeping him in place as he presses up, rides out his orgasm with a whispered mantra of “Mine, mine, mine.”
He drops his brow to settle upon James’ shoulder blade, breath ragged, heavy. They’re both panting. Both coming down from their high, together. He smoothes his hands out, strokes palms over James’ skin and smiles slightly when the younger man shudders gently in response. Every inch of James feels weightless. Like he’s about to drift up and float to the ceiling. His hips ache, he can feel where each of Michael’s bites will bruise, already tingling.
Michael leans back, he slips from James, and makes quick work of the condom, tying it off and tossing it aside carelessly. Leaving it to deal with in the morning. James has barely disengaged his legs before Michael is catching him, bundling him back into his arms, tugging the sheets back over the pair of them. They lapse into silence, their breaths falling steady and soft, and Michael still smells of musk and smoke.
“Michael?” James murmurs.
“Mmm?”
“You owe me.”
Michael laughs. Presses a kiss into James’ hair and his chest feels like it’s expanding again. So he says it, because he can’t think of a reason not to, and it’s been eating his mind away in a manner that might really send him insane. He needs to say it. He’s needed to hear it for himself just as much. He draws in a wavering breath.
“...and I love you.”
Michael’s arms tighten around him.
“I know.”
James blinks.
“What?”
“You’re not exactly tactful.”
James chuckles once, “I know.”
“...and I love you.” Michael shifts, tugging the pillow back in place, “Now do you think you can sleep?”
“Probably.”
And he does.