I have no idea who these characters are but I like their fics 😋
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Summary
Ian just wants Mickey to come to a work picnic. He wants to prove his mysterious boyfriend actually exists. Is that so much to ask?
Mickey just wants to stay in on his day off, so there may need to be some persuading.
Series
- Part 7 of The Halfway House
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Summary
"Don't like it," Shane insisted shakily. "M'not a dog."
The hand gripping his waist flexed. Ilya tugged the collar again and Shane keened, high and reedy. He took his bottom lip between his teeth to quiet himself. It did nothing to stop him from gasping needily when Ilya's hand shifted to cup him through his jeans.
"Mm, no, you are not. But you like when I say it, yes?" Ilya pressed, voice low and condescending. It washed over Shane like a drug.
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Shane gets looped into wearing a dog collar for Halloween. Ilya takes advantage of the situation.
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Mickey's starting to wonder if there are any such things as lines anymore around Ian because Mickey can’t seem to find them lately. He says that they’re there but then he only finds doors. Like right now it's the middle of the damn day but Ian’s got that look on his face, the one that always tells Mickey that Mickey’s about to be down on his knees with his pants around his ankles in about two minutes, either sucking Ian off and jerking himself or with Ian’s big cock in his ass, getting good and fucked.
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“Whoa there.” Lance chuckles. “Hey, buddy.” Keith hums, tucking his face into the crook of Lance’s neck. Lance. God, he’s so warm, his hands are so big and they feel so nice on his skin. Keith is buzzing, hyper-aware of Lance’s touch, of the calluses on his palm and trigger finger, of his scent filling Keith’s nose.
“You alright? Goin’ a lil’ nonverbal on me, there.” Lance asks, words rolling together a bit, and Keith can tell he’s had just as much as he has. He feels all floaty and nice, just the right amount of tipsy, and all of the sudden he has the best idea of what would make this night perfect.
He curls a hand in Lance’s shirt collar, drags him down and tilts his head up lazily to murmur right in his ear: “Want your cock in my mouth.”
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“You wanna sit on my face.” Mickey freezes, one hand braced on the floor by Ian’s head. Then he scowls.
“The fuck did you just say?” He growls, immediately losing his playful edge. Ian rolls his eyes, because the signs have all been there but of course Mickey’s going to be a repressed asshole about this.