Mikter!
Title: That Look
Author: Becklove
Details: Takes place after Carter’s recent return to the team. PG
Characters: Surge, Morning Star
Pairings: Surge/Morning Star
Summary: Carter can’t get enough of Mik’s looks.
* * * *
Mik was giving that look again. The one that lay somewhere between open annoyance and adoration. It was a look that he seemed to apply indiscriminately when it came to him. Like he could just walk into the room and Mik would be there, with that look, waiting for him. But of course, that wasn’t really true. More often than not he was more interested in a book or the news or another one of their friends or … Well, a whole shit load of things that didn’t involve Carter.
But eventually he’d glance up at Carter and nod and there’d be that look.
Carter could never, would never admit it… but that look really drove him nuts. In a good way.
Cause for just one second he knew that Mik was thinking about him, only him, and that was hot. Hot in a way that was so different from the various reactions he’d felt to the hundreds of other looks or stares or lewd signals he’d gotten over the years. And for a boy who’d been… well professional whore was the nice term, that was saying a lot.
Which brought him back to here. With that look, at that moment, given over a torn copy of “Conversation with the Zombie,” and Carter was only slightly aware of just how uncomfortable his jeans were starting to become. He opened his mouth to speak, to stutter one of his cocky little come-ones, but all he got was a dry raspy… nothing.
Mik either didn’t notice or gave up. The book went back up and Carter barely suppressed the urge to rip it from his hands and start tearing. Into pieces… little tiny pieces. Mik would notice him then. ‘Cept he was pretty sure he’d be receiving a very different look at that point.
So instead he leaned back against the couch cushions, letting out a rush of air as he struggled to calm the fuck down. Cause this wasn’t him. No fucking way should he be acting this way. He was the guy people fell for… not you know, the other way around. And damn these jeans and the stupid boxers and god he needed to just. Shift. Slightly.
And if it were any other time, any other person, he would do it. Right fucking there. But Mik was making him uncomfortable and the whole situation was driving him absolutely insane. Cause this wasn’t normal and he hated it all and DAMN. So hips slowly rose from the cushion. So painfully slow that Carter thought his mind was going to explode from the effort. He dug his back into the cushions and managed to withhold a “dude” when he felt a loose spring begin making an impression into his shoulder. He raised his left leg… slowly… SLOWLY… and attempted to wiggle it a little. At least to get the lil’ guy facing in the right, damn direction under there.
And Carter had no reasonable explanation for the loud sounds springs made when disturbed. He’d always hated the stupid couch anyway.
One leg in the air, his body arched into the couch, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. Mik had put down the book again. It was just something he knew, not saw. Cause there was no way he was going to look over there. Not now. The ceiling really wasn’t that bad anyway… nice little speckling going on there and…
“…. Are you… all right?”
And damn if he hadn’t just fucking tensed up more right there. Maybe he hadn’t gotten any in a bit. A while. And maybe he was just out of practice. Or being in this house did something, brought back all those memories of his first “real home” and the good times and all that stupid shit that he had for so fucking long denied in him.
Or maybe it was Mik. Odd that would be the best and worst possible answer of all.
“I think… I’m just, yeah, ya know. Stuck.” Which wasn’t a fucking lie. Cause no matter what, Carter just couldn’t will it in him to sink back down. Gain some fucking semblance of himself. Be that flirt he’d so perfected into a personality and just pretend this was some stupid yoga trick that Brenden or Harry had taught him.
And then there was more creaking, something being placed down on the soft carpet. He counted the lines on the ceilings, wondered if it was just one big slab or if someone had taken the time to put each of those tiles up separately and then he felt the hands. Soft against his body, gently pushing and, at the same time, taking control. Directing him back down unto the cushions and those fucking springs and Carter felt his body relax.
But the hands didn’t leave. They stayed there: one on his left bicep, the other resting on the little valley of skin that existed where his t and shorts failed to meet. Not only soft, but also so fucking warm, and Carter couldn’t control the sigh that managed to escape his lips.
“Better?”
So he turned away from the ceiling and stared back at Mik, taking him in. That look and that little smile, like “Oh what the hell is this kid doing now” and Carter realized that he would do, say anything just to keep those hands there.
“A little tight.” So fucking low and his mouth was dry again and he wondered if he could zip over and get a drink of water. Cept those hands were moving now, slowly, gently needing.
And. Carter. Stopped. Breathing.
Which Mik didn’t really seem to notice, cause one of his hands was slowly working its way under the t. Fingers playing with the muscles underneath, so gentle, barely there, and yet… in control. Cause Mik was in control. Carter was his fucking puppet and part of his mind screamed that this was so wrong, while the other part couldn’t get past the “fucking” part of the equation.
And he was sighing, not groaning, but sighing and breathing again. Accepting this as reality and wanting it more than anything else he’d ever experienced. “Feels…”
And Mik wasn’t looking at him anymore. He seemed to be concentrating on his hands. On what his hands were doing. One snaking up and down his arm lazily, sending shivers through Carter’s body. The other dancing up past his stomach unto his chest, stopping briefly on his nipples, and Carter took in another deep breath. If Mik kept this up, maybe he wouldn’t pass out after all. At least he was getting oxygen. It started to travel back down again, tracing lines through his abs and then stopping at his belly button. Fingers tracing, and then toying with the little hair that led...
It was so tight and he wanted to urge him on… at least to get those fucking jeans off. But Mik just kept up that slow pace. His head tilted back once more, eyes closing slightly, as he felt himself being lulled into a daze by the sensations.
“Are you still tight?” He was calm and how could he, anyone, be so fucking calm? It was so fucking twisted and a tease and… Fingers slipped slowly under the waistband. Five little points of cold, resting there against the heat of his body, and Carter couldn’t take it anymore.
His right arm was up before Mik could struggle, grasping a collar and pulling the older teen down. Into him. Lips smashing together and then teeth on his lower lip, biting, tugging, producing a whimper from Carter that he would normally regret. But now he was more interested in Mik’s tongue, and his taste, and that hand resting *down there* and fuck it if anyone walked in on them. On this couch, this stupid fucking couch, with the stupid fucking springs and Mik tried to pull back, to catch his breath, and Carter didn’t want to let him.
It was too good. And if Mik stopped and Mik started thinking “Mik thoughts and rationalizations” and if they went upstairs the moment was lost. So no, Carter wasn’t going to let him go and his free hand grabbed Mik’s hair and forced him back down into another kiss.
Posted by beck at 10:54 AM
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