Archive of Our Own

When Mike finally awakes from his sedation, there are a few minutes of shuffling confusion and silent realization. Then he screams for help. 

To Michael, the sound is exquisite. Beautiful. 

He'd been watching Mike for a while now. The word ‘stalking’ was probably a more accurate verb, actually. Observing from a distance, trying to comprehend just who this innocuous guy is. And what makes him so special. 

He has to be special. Why else would Michael's own sister choose to cling to Mike’s side so eagerly instead of returning home to her brother? Special enough to drive his whole family apart. 

Yes, it does enrage Michael that this random prosaic man has taken Vanessa, halted his well crafted plans, and, worst of all, murdered his father. Or, at the very least, he was the one to knock over the dominoes that led to his father’s death. But Michael isn’t just mad, he's also intrigued, excited even.

He's never met anyone else who could hope to be a match for him. And somehow Mike is, in almost every way. They are two foils in their personalities, their goals, their wits, and their morals. As opposing as they are similar. 

The thought that he’s found his rival, his complement, his other half, thrills Michael to no end. It motivates him. Arouses him. It's all he can think about. 

He knows that once Mike meets him again, the man will undoubtedly also realize they're perfect for each other. Perfect enemies. A far better pair of opposites then Mike could ever be with Vanessa. Michael just has to show him.

The screaming that is suffusing throughout the room is also mixed with the sound of metal clinking against metal. Mike's arms are forcibly held above his head, handcuffs locking his wrists to a pipe above where he sits on the cold tile floor. He struggles with it, tugs and shakes and tries to wiggle his wrists free. It is a fruitless endeavor. 

When Michael finally steps out from the shadows and makes his appearance known, a grin across his cheeks, all of the noise abruptly ceases. 

Mike just stares for a moment, pupils widening, mouth stunned and agape, breathing becoming heavier with adrenaline fueled panic. Then he almost whispers, “Michael.”

The eldest Afton sibling has to suppress a shiver. The sound of his own name slipping out of his captive’s mouth, it almost makes him lose his cool. He wants desperately to make Mike say it again, louder, breathier. In due time.

“Mike,” the captor states as he comes to stand before the other man’s outstretched legs, “Nice to see you’re finally awake. I thought you might just sleep forever, and how boring that might’ve been.”

Afton pretends to be impatient, standing placid and poised. In reality, he was actually enjoying watching the other sleep through his chemical sedation. The peaceful look on Mike’s face, the drool pooling from his lips as his head lulled downward. 

Although, Michael liked it even better when Mike finally awoke. The slow, bleary blinking of his eyes, the rolling of his neck and shoulders, stiff from the uncomfortably upright position. And then the panic, starting slow before ramping up to full blown awareness of the situation. The look on his face, it made Michael feel as energized as if caffeine had been injected right into his veins. 

“What is this?” Mike barks out angrily, fearfully, “Where are we? What am I doing here, Afton? What do you want?”

Michael lets his head tilt to the side as if curious, he knows that the pose makes his grin look crooked and sinister and he revels in it, “That’s a lot of questions, Mike. You know what this is. You know where we are.”

Mike’s back is against the far wall of the room, a series of pipes above him disappearing into the dingy wallpapered surface. Surrounding them both are several rows of shelves. It’s mostly dark in the room, the only light a fluorescent fixture suspended from the ceiling. But even in the dim lighting, an assortment of robotic parts are visible, scattered on top of the shelves. Every wall is plastered with faded posters of animatronic animal characters. The tiled floor is checkered black and white.

The captive man swallows. It is obvious where they are. 

And it’s equally obvious how he got there. He was drugged and abducted. 

“What do you want?” he repeats.

Michael’s head snaps back upright and he chuckles darkly. He loves this game already, and it has only just begun. 

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admits, voice silky, “Thinking, it must take an extraordinary man to not only stop my plans, but to stop my father’s as well. Thinking, it must take a very smart man to brainwash my sister, a woman who was once so loyal, and convince her to turn on the only people who have ever truly loved her.”

Michael laces his hands together behind his back and begins to slowly pace back and forth in the cramped space of the storage room. Mike’s eyes follow him as he does, glaring fixated in trepidation and suspense. 

Afton continues, “So I watched you, scrutinized your every move. You know what I discovered? You are not extraordinary. You are no genius. In fact, you are actually quite boring. A dull, average man in almost every way. It was perplexing at first,” he laughs, “I mean, how did someone like you accomplish anything. You’re no mastermind. Then I started to see it… your little secret power. Do you know what it is?”

The man on the ground stays silent, refusing to answer, eyes hardening even more. 

The smile on Michael’s face curls further in amusement. “I’ll give you a hint, your strength is similar to mine,” he stops his pacing to look the other in the eyes when he says, “You are protective. You care too much. You know those stories, where mothers lift whole cars off of their kids to save them? How they get imbued with this sort of inhuman strength and speed when their loved ones are in danger? That’s your power. You are so utterly, stupidly normal until you think someone you care about is in jeopardy. Then you are strong. Then you are smart.”

Mike’s brows furrow in uncertainty, like he’s trying to figure out his captor’s angle. “What are you going on about? That doesn’t answer my question.”

Afton shakes his head, “Well, let me spell it out then. You and I are almost the same, you see? You’re protective, and I’m loyal. You’ll do anything to keep the people important to you safe. I’ll do anything to make mine proud. We’re alike, you and I. It’s so fitting that we also share a name.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Mike scoffs, affronted. 

“Oh, don’t worry. We are also very different. You’re passive, waiting for life to finally give you what you want. While I am active, choosing to take what I want, when I want it. You’re patient, I can hardly wait. You are moral, desperate to be seen as honorable and virtuous, while I am not. I have no morals, no line is too far to cross.”

The words seem to unsettle Mike and he shifts, pulling almost reflexively at the cuffs as his mind screams ‘danger!” He covers up his nerves by commanding gruffly, “Get to the point, Michael.”

“What, you have somewhere to be?” the standing man lids his eyes, expression serpent-like. 

Mike stays silent.

“That’s what I thought,” Michael presses onward, “You see, we are the same yet different. Equals and opposites. Parallels that somehow also intersect, again and again. That kind of thing doesn't just happen, Mike. It’s rare. And that’s why you’re here. I’m not going to let a rivalry like this go to waste.”

As much as Michael loves to monologue, and he really loves to, he’s ready for something else. He’s dying to progress to the next stage.

He sinks to a crouch in front of the other man, their pupils locking together at eye level, “Don’t you agree, Mike?”

The hostage holds the eye contact for a moment, before he finally wills himself to look away. His response is tight, “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You sound insane.”

Michael flashes teeth for a second, then he begins to crawl forward. Braced on his hands and knees he walks himself over Mike’s legs, which are stretched out straight in front of him. When he comes to a stop, his forelegs and hands bracket Mike’s thighs together.

Schmidt looks immediately uncomfortable, back pressing into the wall. His voice wavers, “W-what the fuck? Get off of me.”

“Maybe I don’t mind sounding crazy,” Michael purrs, letting his gaze flick up and down Mike’s restrained body. The way his arms are pinned up makes his chest puff out slightly. His button-up shirt is oversized but Michael can still see the distinctly masculine shape of his torso. It’s quite appetizing.

“You still haven’t answered me. What do you want, Michael?” 

Afton presses his pointer finger against Mike’s lips in a shushing gesture. Then he sits up, letting his weight rest on the man’s lap, straddling his thighs. He immediately loves how strong they feel underneath him.

The handcuffs clang again as Mike tries in vain to put more distance between them. There’s nowhere he can go. 

“You know, being enemies is kind of an intimate relationship, if you think about it,” Afton rumbles, his smile close lipped and sweet.

Mike quirks a dubious eyebrow.

“It’s personal. Us fighting, constantly being the thorn embedded into each other’s plans, impossible to remove without drawing blood. This back and forth, getting to know each other better than anyone else,” Michael takes his pointer finger and drags it from Mike’s mouth, along the curve of his throat, down his sternum, past his chest. He stops just below the navel and turns around, dragging a line back up, “If I act, you’ll be there to try to stop me. I move, you follow.”

Mike’s gaze goes stoney again, “You’re delusional. I don’t follow you. There’s nothing intimate about me stopping you from committing mass murder.”

“You can deny it but that doesn’t make it untrue.”

Michael leans forward then, he braces his hands on his prisoner’s shoulders and hovers his face barely an inch from Mike’s ear. He whispers, “You know, I don’t like when you ruin my plans, but I kind of like that it’s you. I get excited, at the thought of you bursting in at the last minute, you playing the foil.”

Mike doesn’t refute, but he does swallow, throat bobbing with palpable anxiety at their proximity. 

Afton leans down further, tucking his head into the crook of the other man’s neck. He rubs his cheek against the barred throat, nuzzling into the other man’s skin. He feels Mike shiver as Michael’s hot breath tickles the short hairs at his nape. 

“You know, that’s when you look best. When you’re riled up, filled with adrenaline and rage and pure undiluted determination. Like beating me is the most important thing in the world. Like you’ll do anything to win.”

The hands on his shoulders slide down and inward to undo the top two buttons of Mike’s collared shirt. Michael peels the collar back to give himself access to more skin. His mouth presses a hot lingering kiss to the junction between neck and shoulder. Then he bites, just slightly, not more than a grazing of teeth. Mike’s breath catches audibly in the back of his throat.

Michael continues to whisper, voice taking on a husky quality, “But the way you look like this, trapped underneath me. Powerless. That’s become my new second favorite.” 

“Fuck you,” Mike breaks from his deer-in-headlights stupor enough to curse. His voice is also not unaffected, but it sounds more perturbed than anything, “Is that what this is? Some sort of weird power trip?”

The man on top drags his mouth against the other’s throat one more time before drawing back to meet Mike’s eyes again. “Well, it certainly feels like a trip,” he smirks. 

Mike’s lips curl back in a snarl, “Whatever you’re doing you’re not going to scare me. You’re just making yourself look desperate.”

Michael laughs, “Oh, but I am desperate,” his hands drag down till each palm is gently cupping the other man’s pecks over his shirt. When his thumbs wander over the nipples there, Mike jolts slightly, rustling the handcuffs. 

“I’m desperate for someone who understands my insanity. The way I obsess. I need someone who needs it as much as I do. Someone who matches my everything.”

“Well you’re not getting that from me. You tied up the wrong guy,” Mike snarks back through clenched teeth. 

The taller man hums, his hands squeeze the muscles under them, “You’re still in denial. Maybe you don’t want to want this. Don’t worry, once I show you just how good this will feel, you won’t be able to refute me.”

The hands travel again, this time wrapping around Mike’s sides, gripping his waist with a firm possessiveness. Michael dives forward, mouth returning to the other’s tempting throat. He’s more aggressive this time. He kisses, bites, sucks. He moves, dragging his teeth, or nose, or cheek from spot to spot along his skin. 

“S-stop! Don’t t-touch me,” Mike chokes out, but is ignored. 

Michael digs his fingers in at the same time he delivers a particularly harsh bite over the meat of his shoulder. Harsh enough to nearly break skin. When he relaxes his jaw, he kisses the spot delicately and rubs his thumbs in soothing circles, as if apologizing. But only a second later he’s back to the animal-like claiming of his rival’s neck. 

The man kisses his Adam's apple and lifts his head to get a view of Mike’s expression. It’s pinched with tension, his irises large and sparking with repulsion. Michael likes it, but he thinks he can do better. He wants to see Mike loose, torn apart, and wants him to give in to the pleasure.

Michael’s mouth captures the mouth of the man beneath him. He doesn’t waste time being gentle. Instead he presses hard with his lips, almost as if he’s intentionally trying to bruise them. His tongue pushes, forces its way into the other’s mouth. 

There’s a blissful moment where his tongue is completely and deliciously surrounded by hot and wet. But a beat later his appendage is darting back out in pain. Mike bit him, hard. 

Afton hisses at the sting, and Schmidt leers at him, satisfied, as if saying don’t try that again. But Michael is not deterred, if anything he’s egged on by the challenge. One hand shoots up to grip punishingly at the man’s jaw, forcing his mouth to open in pain.

The captor dives in again, shoving his tongue deep into the hot cavity. He laves, tasting everywhere and everything. He wants to memorize all of him, and he wants to leave his own flavor over every inch. So that Mike has no choice but to memorize him too. 

Mike’s head jerks as he tries to fight the intrusion, but with the wall behind him and his own arms bracketing around his head, he can barely shift a centimeter. 

When Michael pulls back for air he can’t help but to grin victoriously. Mike’s whole face is flushed, his breathing gone shallow. The corners of his mouth drip with a mixture of both of their saliva. It’s gorgeous. 

The view causes heat to drip from Michael’s chest down into his core. It leaks into his groin and causes the front of his slacks to pull tight. His hips twitch against the thighs trapped beneath him. His breath hitches at the welcome friction. 

He lets one hand encircle Mike’s throat while the other starts exploring. He squeezes the man’s bicep. He pets with wide palms over abdominals and pectorials. His thumbs dip and dig into the gaps of Mike’s collarbones. 

Michael’s mouth resumes its assault at the same time. He brings Mike’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites until Mike hisses. Then he kisses, licks, and nips all over his mouth and jaw, using the grip on his neck to move his head wherever Michael needs for better access. 

It’s like he wants to invade every surface, stain every skin cell, to leave a part of him everywhere until he owns every bit of flesh. 

Once claiming his mouth isn't enough, Michael's fingers find the buttons of Mike's shirt. He's clumsy with it, feeling too eager to be slow. It's hard to take his time when he can see Mike's chest rise and jolt with every gasp and huff of breath. 

When he finally gets the buttons undone he practically throws the shirt open. He can't fully remove the shirt with Mike's arms bound but he gets it out of the way as much as he can, as if its presence offends him. 

Michael’s dark pupils nearly eclipse his light irises, dilating at the sight of the other man's bare chest. He lets his hands touch. The pale skin, lightly dusted with dark brown chest hair, is firm under his fingertips. And so warm, so alive.

“Michael,” Mike grunts out in protest at the skin-on-skin contact. His wrists pull so hard against the handcuffs they will surely have rings of bruises by tomorrow. 

Afton feels everywhere he can reach with his hands, and when everywhere has been fondled and caressed at least twice over, he leans in and lets his mouth join the frey. Some of his kisses are feather light, delicate, as if Mike is some fragile thing. While others are frenzied, vicious, sucking skin and terrorizing spots with his teeth. The marks Michael left on the other’s neck are not enough, he wants all of Mike to bear his claim. 

The intimacy of everything, the taste, the feel, the sound of Mike’s whines and jagged breathing. It all is rising, becoming intense and sweltering in the most addictive way. Michael feels absolutely flooded with sensation, and he hasn’t even been touched yet.

His hips begin to drag back and forth, rubbing and grinding against Mike’s lap. Desperate, chasing something that’s been building in his core. But as he bucks his groin, he notices something. He halts.

Michael whines and reluctantly pulls his mouth away from where he was licking at Mike’s clavicle. He stills one of his roaming hands and lets the other slide down to where he has yet to invade. 

His palm drags against the front of Mike’s jeans. He even presses down with the heel of it, eliciting a choked off grunt from the man below him. 

Despite all that has occurred, despite the heat Michael feels drowned in and the feverish way he kissed and touched, Mike isn’t hard. His dick is not fully flaccid either, but he’s certainly not willfully aroused. 

Michael feels frozen for a moment. He locks his wide eyes with Mike’s narrowed ones and stares, trying to read the other’s face. His rival looks certainly flustered, blushed a splotchy ruby color from his cheeks down to his chest. His breathing is labored and eyes alert. But he looks more like startled prey than a horny animal. He doesn’t seem to echo the explosive lust that Michael feels. 

Something uncomfortable starts to take shape in the taller man’s gut, an unexpectedly miserable feeling. He’s disappointed or dissatisfied or some similar unwanted emotion. 

Finally, Michael breaks the stillness that has fallen between them, “You’re not into this?”

Mike blinks, “Why the hell would I be into this?” he says with a humorless half laugh, as if surprised by the question. 

“Because….. it’s hot?” Michael shifts awkwardly, brow wrinkled, trying to figure out why this suddenly isn’t going how he thought it would, “Because we’re perfect for each other? I already told you this.”

“And I told you I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You kidnapped me, tied me up, and- and… assaulted me! And now you’re asking why I don’t find it hot?! You are actually insane!”

The man on top struggles to process this. He considers himself a smart man, but feels utterly perplexed as to what isn’t adding up. He pauses, then starts speaking slowly as if working out a problem as he talks, “...I don’t see what you don’t— All of that is sexy! People love kidnap fantasies, they’re everywhere. It’s gotta be like, a quarter of all porn. So, what is the problem— Are you… not into guys?”

“What?! NO! I mean yes! I mean- fuck, yes I am into guys. I’m not into this!” Mike’s voice has gotten high with a sort of delirious disbelief that this conversation is happening. “Also what kind of porn sites are you on?! People have weird fantasies, yes, but they’re just, like, safe pretend stuff. Nobody actually wants to be kidnapped!”

“So… you’re not even a little turned on? What about the handcuffs? The hickies?”

“I’m not turned on because I don’t want to be murdered in the dingy storage room of a decrepit pizza place!”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“And what part of any of this would make me believe you?!” 

Michael didn’t expect this to be a problem. In his head, he thought that the danger of being held captive by his enemy would thrill Mike. Get his blood pumping, just like their earlier fights had thrilled Afton. And then, Michael would get Mike’s blood moving south with some strategic foreplay. He feels as if all the wind has been unceremoniously knocked from his sails all at once. 

Mike’s supposed to like this. They’re perfect compliments for each other, Michael is sure of it. And he’s sure Mike is supposed to be his, in every way. They have the potential to fuck just as good as they fight. So why isn’t this working how it’s supposed to? 

Even without trying, Schmidt has foiled Afton’s plans again. 

At that realization, Michael gets an idea. Maybe it is supposed to be like this. With Mike resisting and pushing back, only so Michael can adapt and change tactics. Like a dance of wit and wills. 

Suddenly, Michael is excited once more. If physical stimulation wasn’t enough to push Mike’s fear into arousal, then maybe his quick tongue can give him a different kind of encouragement. 

Michael lets an easy smile crawl back onto his lips, “...Buuuuuuuut. You are into men?”

“What? That- that doesn’t matter,” Mike sputters.

“Why not?”

“Because even if I am, I’m not into you. And I never will be; you can stop trying.”

The smile widens, “Well, now it’s my turn not to believe you.”

A bit of irritation flashes in Mike’s eyes, “Hello? Do you have a two second memory? We just established how I’m not turned on by you. You even felt the proof.”

“Oh? You see, I think we established that you’re not turned on by abduction and imminent death. That has nothing to do with me,” Michael winks, “Well, almost nothing.”

Mike grits his teeth, “I’m not attracted to you.”

“Even a little bit?” the taller man flutters his eyelids dramatically. 

“No. Not even a tiny, microscopic bit.”

Michael still doesn’t believe him. But even if he did, he loves a challenge. 

The taller man cards his fingers through his own hair, shaking out the locks from where they’ve been gelled back. His fringe hangs slightly in his face, disheveled in a deliberately haughty way. Intentionally mimicking the kind of staged sex-ruffled hair you might see in a Calvin Klein ad. He lets his eyes lid flirtatiously, and he smirks. 

“How about now?”

Mike scoffs, “What? No, still no. That barely changed anything.”

Undeterred, Michael slides the hoodie off his shoulders in a smooth motion and throws it aside, revealing the purple polo shirt underneath. He slowly, dramatically pops open the top two buttons at the collar.

“How about now?”

There’s a twitch in Mike’s face. Not of arousal, but like he’s trying to decide whether or not to laugh, like he doesn’t know if Michael is being serious or not. “No. You look the same, with or without a hoodie on.”

Michael’s shirt comes off next. And he almost shivers as the cool air rushes to his skin. He studies Mike’s face raptly as he flicks his wrist in an arc and tosses the garment behind him. Mike appears like he’s trying hard not to look, to keep his eyes on the other’s face. But with Michael on his lap, it’s hard not to see what’s right in front of him.

As Mike’s irises flick down his enemy’s body, his lips seem to part involuntarily. Michael knows he looks good. He’s thin, but not too skinny. Toned, but not bulky with muscle. And his height means his torso is long and lean in all the right ways. He’s maybe a bit too pale, but his creamy skin is smooth with the exception of the handful of scars littering his frame. 

Michael smiles even harder at the hidden appetite in Mike’s gaze. The part of his ego that had wilted earlier at Mike’s lack of arousal was now beaming again at the attention. 

He raises one eyebrow, “And how about now? Still going to deny it?”

Schmidt swallows. He meets the other’s face again, “I–I’m not— I don’t— Look. Just because you’re conventionally attractive doesn’t mean I’m attracted to you. It–it’s not the same thing.”

The man on top of him puffs out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, “Aw. What do I gotta do, Mikey? Why aren’t you hot for me?” he mocks. 

The irritation returns to Mike’s face, “Because you’re an asshole. And a murderer. You’re insane and all you want to do is hurt people.”

“True,” Michael taps his lip with one fingertip, “Does that… scare you?”

Another scoff, “No! I’m not afraid of you. I just hate you.”

The taller man allows the words to sit in the air for a few silent seconds. Then he pounces. 

He surges forward, both hands going for Mike’s neck. He squeezes those fingers as their bare chests are instantly pressed flush together. Mike chokes, eyes flying open wide. Panic overwhelms his features as Michael snarls back, all toothy sneer and blood thirsty intention. 

Afton stares him down with icy pupils and constricts his rival’s throat for about thirty long seconds. Then he releases his grip and leans back again on the other man’s lap. His facial expression flips easily back to a casual, self assured smile. Mike gasps to catch his breath, shuddering against the handcuffs, body gone stiff with alarm.

“Are you sure you aren’t even a little scared?” Michael purrs. 

Mike pants, “You’re just proving my point, asshole.” 

“How about this,” the man on top leans his weight back on his hands, letting his long back arch, “I’m not going to kill you. Not tonight, at least. Not when there’s more fun to be wrung out of you. Does that make you feel better?”

The other eyes him with a scowl, “No. There’s nothing you can do to make me trust you.”

Michael shrugs indifferently, “Suit yourself.”

There’s a pause while Afton ponders what to do next. His old plan is out the window, he’ll have to get a little more creative if he wants Mike to actually want to have sex with him tonight.

“I have a new idea!” he unexpectedly stands, “Be a good boy and stay right there! I’ll be right back.”

“As if I have a choice…” Mike grumbles back.

Michael then strolls to the far end of the room, obscured from view behind several rows of shelves. There’s the sound of shuffling and clanging as the man digs through various boxes and buckets looking for something. 

“Aha!” 

Afton whips back around the corner holding up his arm in triumph, “Recognize this?” he exclaims.

The man on the floor raises one concerned eyebrow, “Uh. Yeah. What the fuck is that for?”

Covering Michael’s hand is a metal socket attached to a tarnished steel pirate’s hook. Specifically, it’s a spare hook for the Foxy animatronic. The thing is quite large, disproportionate to a human’s hand, and the pointed end of it gleams menacingly under the yellowed fluorescent lighting. 

Michael bites his lip and grins, giddy, “Foxy was always my favorite… And I might have an affinity for sharp objects in the bedroom.” He winks.

“We’re not in a bedroom.” Mike deadpans. 

The other tsks, “Semantics, Mikey. Now, since me feeling you up wasn’t doing it for you, why don’t we start with a show instead?”

Michael stands across from Mike, locking eyes. He raises the hook to his lips and presses a soft, teasing kiss to its curved end. 

Then he makes a performance of sliding the metal down his cheek and trails it over his body, sensually slow. He traces all the dips and bends of his torso. He circles a nipple and flicks it with the sharp tip, releasing a tiny gasp as he does. 

The show goes one for some time, all the while he keeps his sultry eyes on Mike, biting his lip, tugging at his hair with his free hand. 

The hook dips lower, tracing the waistband of his slacks a few times tauntingly before going farther still. Michael drags the curved side of the hook over the tent in his slacks. He moans, hips bucking slightly at the sweet friction. It looks obscene, cupping his bulge through the fabric as if showing off just how hard he is.

The whole scene is sensual and debaucherous. And Mike is not immune. 

The man on the floor rocks on his ass, shifting uncomfortably. His face has gone from unamused to overtly worked up. He still tries to suppress the signs, but the gaping look on his face, the twitch of his fingers, and the squeeze of his thighs betray his growing interest.

Michael uses the tool to hook the loop and pull open the button on his slacks in a movement that shouldn’t be sexy but is, the zipper following suit. Then, he’s using the pirate’s hook and one finger to tug the belt loops on either side of him, languidly pulling down his pants one agonizing inch at a time. He kicks the article aside.

Then Michael is standing there in nothing but a pair of dark grey briefs. They hug his hips just tightly enough to leave little to the imagination. 

Again, the man brings the hook to the outline of his cock. He traces the hardened length of his shaft up and down, whining and sticking his tongue out slightly at the sensation. With only the hook this time, Afton snags the waistband of his underwear and tugs, slipping the last garment off his body. His cock bobs slightly as if excited to finally be freed. 

Mike doesn’t even try not to stare this time. And Michael can’t blame him, he’s well aware his dick is a pretty sight. Not the thickest, but it’s a more than a decent length, tapered and blushing red at the tip, curved just slightly to the left. 

The captive man blushes red enough to match it. 

Michael smirks a little and continues his performance. He lifts the metal curve to his plush lips and sucks it between them. At the same time, he grips the base of his member with the other hand. The moan that follows is muffled around the hook.

His tongue slips out to lap at the irony taste as he draws out a slow pull down his shaft. He does this a few times, sliding from base to tip tortuously slow. A bead of saliva slides down and hangs off the sharp point of the hook. 

Then, as his cockhead begins to bead with juicy precum, Afton stops. 

He smiles smugly as he takes in the sight sitting before him. Mike’s breathing is elevated, face flushed and expression conflictedly turned on, a clear stiff outline forming behind the front of his jeans. 

“Still not attracted to me?” teases Michael.

Mike flips him off with both of his hands trapped above his head.

The naked man laughs and stands relaxed, completely unashamed of his own nudity. He cocks a hand on one hip and coos, “You’re looking a little uncomfortable there, darling. You want me to help you with that?”

Mike glares petulantly but the effect is ruined by his excited state. For a few moments he fidgets and looks away, deliberating his options. If he says no, Michael might just leave him there erect and unable to get himself off. But if he says yes… well, then Michael’s the one who would be touching him.

Eventually, the captive man abandons the rest of his weakened resolve. “Fine. But if you cut me with that thing I’m going to knee you in the dick.” he grumbles reluctantly. 

“Aw. You’re no fun, that’s one of the best parts,” Michael pouts, “But fine. Let’s help you out of those clothes, shall we?”

Afton makes much quicker work of removing Mike’s pants, his patience wearing thinner the more turned on he gets. And then the shorter man is left nearly nude as well, except for the open button-up, which they can’t do much about while he’s restrained. 

The other man’s cock is attractive too, Michael notes. Thicker and darker than his own, nestled within a neatly trimmed patch of light brown pubic hair. Michael feels himself salivate. 

From his current crouched position, the taller man pulls himself forward and lays his body over Mike’s outstretched legs. This keeps him off the ground and brings his face in close with the man’s crotch and he wastes no time taking his member in hand and guiding it to his eager tongue. 

Schmidt groans as his length is licked in long wet stripes, hand squeezing at the base. Michael bounces the dick on his glistening lips a few times before finally popping the head into his mouth.

He licks and sucks and bobs his head, elated to finally get to taste this part of his rival. He wants all of Mike, and this might be the most delicious part of him. All the while, his enemy pants and moans at all the stimulation, eyes squeezed shut and head hitting the wall behind him with a thunk. 

Then Michael swaps out his hand for the metal tool, coiling it around the shaft. He begins to slide it up and down in time with the bobbing of his head. Mike keens loudly at the mix of sensations, cold smooth metal alongside hot dripping mouth.

The salacious act continues for a while, inducing both men to feel steamier and more restless by the second. Eventually, Michael pulls away; thin, shiny stings of saliva stretching from his lips to the other’s dick until they break and disappear. 

Mike looks momentarily affronted that the other would dare stop, but Michael smiles placatingly, “Don’t worry, we’re not done yet.”

Afton gets off of Schmidt and crawls on his knees to grab his discarded pair of pants. From the pockets he produces a packet of lube and a condom, showing them off like a pair of aces pinched between two fingers. 

“Look, I came prepared. It’s almost like I knew I’d be getting laid tonight,” he boasts smugly.

Mike rolls his eyes as the other man rejoins him, Michael’s slim figure perches on top of his thick thighs. 

“Watch that smart mouth or I’ll call this off,” he gripes. Then Schmidt’s face scrunches contemplatively, “Uh, it’s gonna be kind of hard for me to fuck you when I’m pinned to a wall like this… Maybe you could ride my lap? It’d still be awkward with the angle…”

Michael raises both eyebrows, “Who said you were going to be the one doing the fucking? Presumptuous much?”

Mike freezes, white sclera flashing wide. “Wait. What— No! I’m not a bottom!” he nearly squeaks.

“Have you ever tried it before?”

“No! I just don’t like someone sticking anything up my ass!”

“Well how do you know if you haven’t tried?”

The shorter man looks like he’s started to sweat, “Because— Because this isn’t like I’m some kid who won’t eat their broccoli! Butt stuff is kind of something you know you like or you don’t!”

Michael rolls his eyes, bemused but also growing impatient, “Or, you just have some ingrained masculinity issues that prevent you from letting yourself enjoy your own damn body. Look, you don’t even have to do anything, just be a good pillow princess and let me blow your mind,” then, he adds as an after thought, “And if you really hate it after trying it we’ll do something else.”

“I– I don’t know if… I guess– Wait—” Mike flounders.

But his rival is eager to continue. Michael gets off his lap and nudges his thigh, “Come on, turn over. It’ll feel better that way, trust me.”

Very reluctantly, Mike does as he is told. It’s a little awkward, but eventually he’s able to twist the cuffs and arrange himself on his knees, arms outstretched to the wall and ass facing the other man. 

“Hmm, now that’s a pretty sight,” Michael rumbles as he takes a moment to admire the perfectly sculpted view. 

Mike shifts his weight from knee to knee self-consciously, “Would you hurry up already before I change my mind?”

“Mm I should have known you’d be the bratty kind of bottom.”

The packet of lube is split open between Michael’s teeth and then he’s warming the viscous fluid between his fingers. With the rounded side of the hook, he pets Mike’s back in what are supposed to be soothing motions to calm his nerves.

“Ah cold!” he winces, “Wait, you’re still holding that thing?”

Michael grins, “I think it fits the ambiance.”

“You’re fucking weird.”

“Ha! What gave you that idea?”

Mike is about to snark back, but the words are forgotten as two wet fingers start to trace gentle circles around his rim. 

“Relax,” his captor reassures. And for some reason, Mike does. He breathes in deeply, steeling himself. 

Michael would love to gloat and point out that Mike does trust him afterall, at least a little. But he doesn’t want to push his luck and ruin a good thing, so he keeps quiet.

The curve of the hook is used to spread open Mike’s cheeks as Michael sinks the first finger past the ring of muscle. From there he makes gentle but efficient work of prepping the other man. Truth be told, Michael usually is a bottom. But Mike is still his rival, their whole relationship a competition. The thought of getting Mike to be the first to submit was too tantalizing to miss. 

And then, Schmidt is slick and ready. Afton is also condomed and unable to wait any longer, it’s time for the main act. 

Michael leans over the other’s back, draping his warmth over him, and places a delicate kiss between his clothed shoulder blades. When he finally presses the head of his cock through the gripping entrance of Mike’s slick hole, Mike grunts and whines. His fingers wrap around the chains of the cuffs and he holds on for dear life.

The sweet, smooth glide and the unceasing, all encompassing pressure brings sparks to the back of Michael’s eyelids. “Fuck. Mike.” he huffs out. All rationality evanesces from both their minds as the taller man begins to rock in earnest.

Dragging back and forth, building a rhythm to harmonize with the beat of their elevated breathing. All of the earlier build up makes the payoff so much more saccharine. 

“Michael. Michael. Damn.” his rival pants. 

The noises are the best part. Whining, gasping, muttering lewd nonsense. Mike is not especially loud, but the sounds are numerous and continuous, a full chorus. Hearing his perfect complement finally relinquishing his pride and giving in to the pleasure is the best earned victory. It’s even more pleasing to Michael’s ears than Mike’s screams for help were earlier. 

Michael can’t help but to drone in tandem, adding his own voice to the composition of lascivious music, “Oh, fuck… See? I told you you’d like it. I told you we were made to match each other…” 

Mike whimpers. Michael rewards him with a sharp jerk of his hips, angling up to hit his prostate head on. Mike practically sings.

They feel like animals, rutting against each other in the musty back room. Body curved over body, slapping together obscenely. Michael only wishes he could see Mike’s face; from behind he can catch only glimpses of how wrecked and dismantled his pinched and sweaty face appears. 

To get a better view, Michael hooks the metal tool he’s still clutching around the curve of Mike’s throat, pulling a bit and forcing Mike to tilt his head and arch his back. He mewls submissively at the cold steel and doesn’t even attempt to fight back.

They continue to fuck like that, gradually becoming more and more feral and debauched. The pace of Michael’s hips slam faster and off beat as he gets closer to his peak.

“I gave you all those marks… those love bites… And now I’m the first to do this to you— fuck! Mike, I’m going to own you… I’m going to make you mine. My arch rival. My other half. Mine.”

Michael leans forward again, till they’re pressed flush back to back, and pulls with the hook until Mike’s throat meets his starving mouth. He sinks his teeth into the flesh of it, right over a bruise he left before. 

When Michael finally comes, he comes spectacularly. With his jaw clamped down possessively and Mike crying out in torment and ecstasy. As he fills the condom inside of Mike with his spend, he doesn’t stop the the rabid grind of his hips despite the over sensitivity. 

Instead, he releases his bite and yanks the hook until Mike can barely breathe. The man chokes at the pressure of hard steel, hands jerking and unable to stop it. At the same time, Michael grabs for the pulsing member hanging between Mike’s trembling thighs.

Afton jerks him rapidly, ruthlessly. Despite his lack of air, Mike moans and yelps uncontrollably. The intense pleasure overshadows his panic, leaving him leaning into the hook as if begging tighter.

Before either of them can even feel it coming, Schmidt is spilling his own seed all over the floor below him. 

It is only then that Michael allows himself to stop thrusting. He eases the hook away and strokes out the aftershocks with his other hand. Both of their chests heave, Mike especially swallowing large gulps of air like a drowned man, their knees and thighs shake. Mike goes boneless and hangs from his wrists in a way that can’t be comfortable. He doesn’t seem to care. 

Eventually, the man on top resets his brain enough to pull out, toss the wet condom aside, and collapse against the wall. His head spins and melts simultaneously. Like a heat gun to a vinyl on a record player. 

Shakey and stiff from kneeling on the hard tile, Mike flips himself back around and falls against the wall beside him. For a while they simply sit there together, limp and brainless. Sweat cooling off their naked skin. Michael wishes he had a cigarette, and he doesn’t even smoke. 

“So…” Michael is the first to speak again, murmuring with a fucked-out, breathless tone, “That was fucking hot.”

“...I guess.”

Afton snorts, “There you go, being stubborn again. Why can’t you admit you can see what’s right in front of you? I know you felt it, what I was talking about. Or are you going to keep pretending you don’t get it?”

Mike closes his eyes and takes his time before replying, “You’re definitely still just crazy… I still don’t get why you’re so obsessed with me. There’s so many other people you could spend your time tormenting… Why me?”

There’s a chuckle in response. Michael raises the Foxy hook and loops it around one of Mike’s suspended wrists, shaking it playfully. 

“Guess I’m just hooked on you, baby.” A theatrical wink.

His rival visibly cringes, “Oh no, Michael. That’s– That’s fucking awful. Don’t make any more horrible puns. Just– No.”

Michael cackles in response, and Mike can’t help it, the laughing is contagious. Before they know it they’re both doubled over, leaning shoulder to shoulder and bellowing like a pair of idiots. 

Later, when the afterglow has long since faded, Michael unlocks the cuffs and lets his captive escape. Not because he’s suddenly gone soft on the guy, of course not. 

But as amazing and gratifying as this little victory has felt, Afton isn’t done playing with him yet. The game must continue. Mike needs to be out there so that he can be the one to try and stop whatever plans he enacts next. The yang to his yin, the shield to his sword. 

Michael will lie in wait, plotting his next move, and when he strikes again, he has no doubts Mike will be there. 

Oh, the fun has only just begun.