It had been a few guys from work that invited him to dinner, for a few drinks and some quality man-time. However that worked. Michael had politely refused, not in the mood for company. Not in the mood for public, really. But they had been persistent and earnest and he didn't have an honest, convincing excuse. Now he found himself handed a double scotch and introduced-
"This is James. James, Michael."
"Nice to meet you," the smaller man extended his hand first, astoundingly blue eyes polite, pale, boyish face aligned in a small, close-lipped smile.
"Pleasure," Michael returned, only the corner of his mouth quirking in a weak return of the smile.
And that was it. Then they drank, they ate a little, they drank more, they talked, the others joking while Michael merely threw in enough witty comments to make them comfortable with his presence, but not enough to become strictly involved. They drank. Michael's pale eyes took in two of the men's girlfriend's unconsciously, noting their curves and their smiles, the swell of their breasts and the movement of their fingers. He briefly eyed the bartender, her thin form and short skirt. He saw the men around him, drinking and laughing, conversing like normal. He saw the young friend, James, laughing more quietly than the others, watching and listening to the conversation rather than partaking. Still, they drank.
Then they were leaving, clapping each other on the back outside the pub, thanking each other for the night out, the good time. They called cabs or the near-sober girlfriends drove their considerably less-sober boyfriends home. It wasn't until Michael lit up a cigarette, thinking he was the last one there, that he noticed James in the corner of his eye. He turned more fully to the smaller man, offering his pack politely. James shook his head. Michael took a drag, taking out the cigarette and letting the relief of smoke seep out the corner of his mouth and nostrils.
"You have a good time?" Michael asked, his deep accent breaking the still air. He shoved his cigarette pack back into his jacket.
"Yeah, it was fun," James returned, and it wasn't until then that Michael detected his accent. "I needed a night out."
Michael stared at the other man for a moment, unaware of the intensity of his gaze. "Scot?"
James flashed a smile, small white teeth and flushed lips. "All the way. Irish, right?" Michael nodded.
"Don't hold it against me."
James laughed a short, innocent sound. "Nah, we're practically the same blood."
Michael just smiled timidly and took another drag. He stared across the empty parking lot. He ignored the unease in his chest.
Quiet. Just Michael's soft, slow puffs on the cigarette, James neither saying nor doing anything. They shifted. Michael wondered briefly what the other man was doing, hanging around. He wondered why it mattered.
"You waiting for someone?" He finally asked, taking one last drag and throwing the burning butt underneath his shoe.
"Ah, no. No. Just...sobering up some more." James gave him a tight smile. "Enjoying the night."
Michael eyed him for a moment, decided he didn't care. "Well I've got to go. It was nice to meet you, James," he smiled politely, pushing a touch of warmth into it, catching an odd light in the young Scot's expression as he did so, ignoring it. "You might want to head home soon. It'll just get colder-"
James stepped forward once, twice, and pushed himself onto his toes to reach Michael's mouth with his own. He grabbed at the Irishman's jacket, clenching it in his fists, holding their chests together as his lips formed against the other man's - just lips, no tongue. Just a kiss, nothing serious. James felt the faint edge of stubble, smelt the strange mix of smoke and, faintly, vanilla, on the man's throat. And he let go, released their mouths, dropped his heels back to Earth, but still held the jacket and stared unyieldingly up into Michael's blue-green eyes. They showed nothing, nothing at all.
James raised himself up on his feet again, his mouth hovering near the taller man's, but Michael didn't encourage it. He didn't do anything. James stared at him for a moment, his cerucelean-blue eyes thinking. "I'll take care of that for you," he finally said quietly, his hand slipping to cup the obvious arousal between Michael's legs. The larger man shifted only slightly at the touch.
"It's not because of you," Michael murmured, and that was the truth - he had feminine curves and hips and breasts and smiles and hair and voices and short skirts and low-cut shirts to blame for his swelling arousal. But James said nothing, just flashed a quick, tight smile. Pressed his palm closer, felt the larger man fidget.
Michael glanced around for a second. "My car's just around the corner," James whispered, catching the look. He smirked and tilted his head to their left. Michael shoved past him, taking long strides in the direction James had indicated. The young Scot tried not to grin, tried to feel dirty about this, but right then, it wasn't working. Instead he hurried after the Irishman, catching up to him to point him in the exact direction, pausing to take advantage and force another quick kiss up against Michael's yielding mouth. Ignoring the cold dismissal. Blaming this on the after-effects of the scotches and couple vodka martinis he'd had. Pulled his keys out of his pocket, hit the button to unlock the dark vehicle, glanced back at Michael. The auburn-haired man waited, letting James clamber with absolutely no sophistication onto the leather seats. Michael slipped in immediately after him, shutting the door with a thud.
Once they were trapped beside each other in the small space, James moved forward as if to try and kiss Michael again. Something like annoyance twisted on the stern man's handsome features, and he kept his head pulled back, making a fist in James's denim jacket instead and literally dragging the small man on to the floor. James fell to his knees clumsily, surprised, but not put off. He remained in the low position, looking up at Michael, seeing need rage like a hurricane in the pale blue-green eyes. God, he was getting so hard just thinking about it.
James stayed on his knees, but raised himself up to fumble and pull at Michael's trousers, the lean man eagerly assisting the Scot, until they had the fabric of his clothes pulled to his knees. James balked for half a second, taken aback and supremely aroused by Michael's size. Something like a soft growl slipped from the Irishman's mouth, and James took that as a sign of impatience, and gladly deprived the other man of waiting anymore.
Michael took a deep breath as the wet heat of James's mouth took the head of his cock, sucking at it, laving his tongue under it. He slid his mouth further down, slowly, his tongue continually stroking and working to tease soft gasps and sighs from the larger man. James pushed himself further, relaxing his throat, desperate for more of the thick, heavy warmth of Michael's dick in his mouth. He edged himself closer, tighter between Michael's legs, adjusting his head so he could slowly bob straight up and down, heat coiling in his groin at each little sound Michael made. James caressed a pale, lean thigh for a moment, then moved his hand to the base of the Irishman's cock, drug his hand through the dark curls, knotted his fingers, pulled a little as he hollowed his cheeks. Michael groaned through his teeth and his hips jumped involuntarily, ramming more of his length into James's mouth. The smaller man gagged for half a second as the head of Michael's swollen dick hit the back of his throat, but quickly regained control, the one sporadic movement making him even more desperate for more, more, more of this.
Michael forced himself to keep his breathing as steady as possible, James's ability with his mouth taking him off guard. He dropped a heavy hand onto James's dark head, his fingers clenching in the thick hair, his hips jerking now and again. James's tongue played him, found all the right places at all the right moments, found all the right ways to throw Michael closer to the brink of all he could handle.
It was Michael's fault when it happened. Through all the pleasure so far, he'd either kept his eyes shut in mock-ecstasy, or stared blankly out the window across from him. James made one of his sounds, a muffled mix between a sigh and a whimper, and Michael glanced down at him. A moment. James's spectacularly blue eyes flitted up, wide and earnest, and Michael threw his head back as he came, hand holding tight to James's head and forcing him to swallow all Michael gave him. James practically drank him down, his mouth still working softly once the member began to go flaccid, as if he was going to clean Michael's dick with his mouth. He did finally pull his mouth completely away, half-breathless, his lips brilliantly red, cheeks flushed, espresso-colored curls ruffled, and those damned eyes brighter than Michael felt was strictly possible. James grinned then, and the moment was done. Michael turned, tugging at his trousers as he shoved open the door beside him. He half-fell to the asphalt, straightened himself - and paused for a moment, glancing once more at James, still flustered and on his knees between the seats, then slammed the door and was gone.
It had been a few guys from work that invited him to dinner, for a few drinks and some quality man-time. However that worked. Michael had politely refused, not in the mood for company. Not in the mood for public, really. But they had been persistent and earnest and he didn't have an honest, convincing excuse. Now he found himself handed a double scotch and introduced-
"This is James. James, Michael."
"Nice to meet you," the smaller man extended his hand first, astoundingly blue eyes polite, pale, boyish face aligned in a small, close-lipped smile.
"Pleasure," Michael returned, only the corner of his mouth quirking in a weak return of the smile.
And that was it. Then they drank, they ate a little, they drank more, they talked, the others joking while Michael merely threw in enough witty comments to make them comfortable with his presence, but not enough to become strictly involved. They drank. Michael's pale eyes took in two of the men's girlfriend's unconsciously, noting their curves and their smiles, the swell of their breasts and the movement of their fingers. He briefly eyed the bartender, her thin form and short skirt. He saw the men around him, drinking and laughing, conversing like normal. He saw the young friend, James, laughing more quietly than the others, watching and listening to the conversation rather than partaking. Still, they drank.
Then they were leaving, clapping each other on the back outside the pub, thanking each other for the night out, the good time. They called cabs or the near-sober girlfriends drove their considerably less-sober boyfriends home. It wasn't until Michael lit up a cigarette, thinking he was the last one there, that he noticed James in the corner of his eye. He turned more fully to the smaller man, offering his pack politely. James shook his head. Michael took a drag, taking out the cigarette and letting the relief of smoke seep out the corner of his mouth and nostrils.
"You have a good time?" Michael asked, his deep accent breaking the still air. He shoved his cigarette pack back into his jacket.
"Yeah, it was fun," James returned, and it wasn't until then that Michael detected his accent. "I needed a night out."
Michael stared at the other man for a moment, unaware of the intensity of his gaze. "Scot?"
James flashed a smile, small white teeth and flushed lips. "All the way. Irish, right?" Michael nodded.
"Don't hold it against me."
James laughed a short, innocent sound. "Nah, we're practically the same blood."
Michael just smiled timidly and took another drag. He stared across the empty parking lot. He ignored the unease in his chest.
Quiet. Just Michael's soft, slow puffs on the cigarette, James neither saying nor doing anything. They shifted. Michael wondered briefly what the other man was doing, hanging around. He wondered why it mattered.
"You waiting for someone?" He finally asked, taking one last drag and throwing the burning butt underneath his shoe.
"Ah, no. No. Just...sobering up some more." James gave him a tight smile. "Enjoying the night."
Michael eyed him for a moment, decided he didn't care. "Well I've got to go. It was nice to meet you, James," he smiled politely, pushing a touch of warmth into it, catching an odd light in the young Scot's expression as he did so, ignoring it. "You might want to head home soon. It'll just get colder-"
James stepped forward once, twice, and pushed himself onto his toes to reach Michael's mouth with his own. He grabbed at the Irishman's jacket, clenching it in his fists, holding their chests together as his lips formed against the other man's - just lips, no tongue. Just a kiss, nothing serious. James felt the faint edge of stubble, smelt the strange mix of smoke and, faintly, vanilla, on the man's throat. And he let go, released their mouths, dropped his heels back to Earth, but still held the jacket and stared unyieldingly up into Michael's blue-green eyes. They showed nothing, nothing at all.
James raised himself up on his feet again, his mouth hovering near the taller man's, but Michael didn't encourage it. He didn't do anything. James stared at him for a moment, his cerucelean-blue eyes thinking. "I'll take care of that for you," he finally said quietly, his hand slipping to cup the obvious arousal between Michael's legs. The larger man shifted only slightly at the touch.
"It's not because of you," Michael murmured, and that was the truth - he had feminine curves and hips and breasts and smiles and hair and voices and short skirts and low-cut shirts to blame for his swelling arousal. But James said nothing, just flashed a quick, tight smile. Pressed his palm closer, felt the larger man fidget.
Michael glanced around for a second. "My car's just around the corner," James whispered, catching the look. He smirked and tilted his head to their left. Michael shoved past him, taking long strides in the direction James had indicated. The young Scot tried not to grin, tried to feel dirty about this, but right then, it wasn't working. Instead he hurried after the Irishman, catching up to him to point him in the exact direction, pausing to take advantage and force another quick kiss up against Michael's yielding mouth. Ignoring the cold dismissal. Blaming this on the after-effects of the scotches and couple vodka martinis he'd had. Pulled his keys out of his pocket, hit the button to unlock the dark vehicle, glanced back at Michael. The auburn-haired man waited, letting James clamber with absolutely no sophistication onto the leather seats. Michael slipped in immediately after him, shutting the door with a thud.
Once they were trapped beside each other in the small space, James moved forward as if to try and kiss Michael again. Something like annoyance twisted on the stern man's handsome features, and he kept his head pulled back, making a fist in James's denim jacket instead and literally dragging the small man on to the floor. James fell to his knees clumsily, surprised, but not put off. He remained in the low position, looking up at Michael, seeing need rage like a hurricane in the pale blue-green eyes. God, he was getting so hard just thinking about it.
James stayed on his knees, but raised himself up to fumble and pull at Michael's trousers, the lean man eagerly assisting the Scot, until they had the fabric of his clothes pulled to his knees. James balked for half a second, taken aback and supremely aroused by Michael's size. Something like a soft growl slipped from the Irishman's mouth, and James took that as a sign of impatience, and gladly deprived the other man of waiting anymore.
Michael took a deep breath as the wet heat of James's mouth took the head of his cock, sucking at it, laving his tongue under it. He slid his mouth further down, slowly, his tongue continually stroking and working to tease soft gasps and sighs from the larger man. James pushed himself further, relaxing his throat, desperate for more of the thick, heavy warmth of Michael's dick in his mouth. He edged himself closer, tighter between Michael's legs, adjusting his head so he could slowly bob straight up and down, heat coiling in his groin at each little sound Michael made. James caressed a pale, lean thigh for a moment, then moved his hand to the base of the Irishman's cock, drug his hand through the dark curls, knotted his fingers, pulled a little as he hollowed his cheeks. Michael groaned through his teeth and his hips jumped involuntarily, ramming more of his length into James's mouth. The smaller man gagged for half a second as the head of Michael's swollen dick hit the back of his throat, but quickly regained control, the one sporadic movement making him even more desperate for more, more, more of this.
Michael forced himself to keep his breathing as steady as possible, James's ability with his mouth taking him off guard. He dropped a heavy hand onto James's dark head, his fingers clenching in the thick hair, his hips jerking now and again. James's tongue played him, found all the right places at all the right moments, found all the right ways to throw Michael closer to the brink of all he could handle.
It was Michael's fault when it happened. Through all the pleasure so far, he'd either kept his eyes shut in mock-ecstasy, or stared blankly out the window across from him. James made one of his sounds, a muffled mix between a sigh and a whimper, and Michael glanced down at him. A moment. James's spectacularly blue eyes flitted up, wide and earnest, and Michael threw his head back as he came, hand holding tight to James's head and forcing him to swallow all Michael gave him. James practically drank him down, his mouth still working softly once the member began to go flaccid, as if he was going to clean Michael's dick with his mouth. He did finally pull his mouth completely away, half-breathless, his lips brilliantly red, cheeks flushed, espresso-colored curls ruffled, and those damned eyes brighter than Michael felt was strictly possible. James grinned then, and the moment was done. Michael turned, tugging at his trousers as he shoved open the door beside him. He half-fell to the asphalt, straightened himself - and paused for a moment, glancing once more at James, still flustered and on his knees between the seats, then slammed the door and was gone.
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