Work Text:
Calum has had the worst day of his entire career.
He knew that being a twenty-something biology teacher at a high school wasn’t for the weak, but he hadn’t been anticipating just how bad it could truly get. The rickety old aircon in his classroom had finally given out, and he’d sweat clean though his shirt within an hour of having to deal with irritable, overheated 15-year-olds. His hole-punch had been stolen out of his desk, someone had killed his echeveria succulent by leaving it by the window over the weekend, and to make matters worse, finals were coming up in just over a month, and he was beginning to worry desperately about the state of his class.
Truly, it had felt like he’d been holding his breath for the whole day. Since noon, all he had wanted was to get home, down a cold beer, and head straight to bed.
The elevator doors open into the short hallway leading to his apartment. He drags his feet, slouching dramatically as he approaches his door and unlocks it. His apartment is dark and undecorated. He hadn’t had any time to unpack his things since he’d moved in last week, and frankly, staring into the depressing silence of his two-bedroom flat, he’s seriously contemplating getting a cat.
He dumps his briefcase onto the coffee table and loosens his tie as he swings open the refrigerator door, heading straight for a drink.
It’s empty.
“Fuck,” he grits. Fuck. He’d forgotten to restock.
He lets the door fall shut as he sweeps a glance over the living room. Boxes litter the floors, some half-unpacked, some still duct-taped shut. His kitchen isn’t fully functional yet, either, so he couldn’t cook himself something instead. He briefly considers getting takeout, but he’s too exhausted to look through a menu and choose something cheap and sustainable. Sue him—he’s barely an adult, he doesn’t like making decisions anyway.
So he groans dramatically, letting the sound hang in the air as he strips out of his work clothes and dumps them on the floor of his bedroom. His bedframe hasn’t arrived yet, so he’s been sleeping on a mattress on the floor. He falls face-first into it. His glasses smush against his face, but he couldn’t really give two fucks. He wanted to be asleep. Yesterday.
Then, he hears it.
Through the wall.
“Awh, hell yeah!” A muffled yell, coming from the apartment next door.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Loud clicking on a video game controller. There’s a mechanical crashing sound, followed by victory music—amplified through speakers probably more expensive than Calum’s rent.
It’s been this way every night in the past week. It’s him—always him, screeching and hooting and cheering, yelling at some guy named Ash about ‘backup’ and ‘support’. It goes on for hours at a stretch.
Calum flops over and blindly reaches for a pillow to shove his face into.
It doesn’t stop.
“Oh—shit! Wait, that scared me—’’
He’s streaming on Twitch or Discord or whatever the fuck, at 10 in the night for some godforsaken reason, and he’s loud as all hell. That, paired with the hum of the speakers, the deafening dusty silence of Calum’s bedroom, and the awful day he’s had is just about enough to tip him straight over the edge.
He turns over, stuffing his head nearly inside the pillow. He twists and turns, trying to get comfortable, but the voice is under his skin and picking incessantly at his last nerve.
He stares at the ceiling, defeated. A bug scuttles across it. He frowns.
Through the wall, the man whoops, “That was sick!”
Calum swears his eye twitches. He sits straight up, fingertips buzzing with exhausted rage, grabs the nearest solid thing he can find—a hairbrush of all things—and bangs it harshly against the wall.
There’s silence. The sound of the video-game goes on, but the voice is gone.
Then, muffled, “Sorry!”
A moment later, it's quieter. He must’ve turned the volume down, because Calum can’t hear every single detail of the game quite so clearly anymore. Oh, sweet bliss.
He exhales and falls back into bed. The light of the city glows softly through his window, and if wasn’t so tired, he’d go out and have a smoke in the balcony. But his balcony was adjoining the offending neighbour’s, and he’d rather not deal with that right now.
The sounds behind the wall fade into a pleasant buzz. The world grows blurry around the edges. Calum’s eyes are heavy with sleep, his bones nearly melting into the mattress. His breath evens out, and his eyes fall shut. He breathes out the last of the day’s worries. The cold darkness of a dreamless sleep beckons sweetly to him, and he’s giving in willingly.
“Fuck, I need an assist!”
Calum thinks: I might kill him with just my hands.
He piles his pillows over his head, and struggles into a fitful sleep.
—
It’s becoming a serious problem.
Not like it wasn’t a problem already, but Calum’s barely getting any sleep. It’s been over two weeks of this constant nocturnal hostage situation of Calum’s sleep cycle, and when he nods off during a Faculty Meeting only to be poked awake by a giggling Luke, Calum decides he’s had enough.
On his way home that day, Calum stops in front of his neighbour’s door, and knocks impatiently. He’s tapping his leg, emotions a flurry between anxiety, annoyance, and anger.
Nobody comes to the door.
He looks at his watch—it’s 6:30 in the evening. Any regular office-goer should be home by now.
He knocks again. Waits as a minute passes, then another.
Nothing.
Across the corridor, Mr. and Mrs. Sharma’s door opens. They’re an elderly couple, always nice to Calum. They’d given him freshly baked sweetbread as a housewarming present, and the old Mrs. Sharma always paused to pinch Calum’s cheeks whenever they’d run into each other.
The same lady in question pops her head out of the door. Calum greets her with a warm smile.
Mrs. Sharma waves him over, and he complies, shooting one last look over his shoulder at the unmoving door.
He has to lean in a little when she speaks.
“What is with that boy?” She whispers conspirationally. “He has such odd hours. I can never tell what he’s up to.”
Calum nods his head solemnly. “I see. Do you know when he’ll be home?”
“No, my dear. But come on in, the mister has just put a kettle on.”
Calum smiles. He quite likes them. He follows her in.
-
The next morning, on his way out, Calum scribbles up a note: Please stop being so loud. Some of us really need the sleep.
He drops it into the mailbox for 5B, his neighbour, and heads out. He has a good feeling about this. One would assume if it gets to a point where someone’s writing you notes, you’d take heed of the requests.
Right?
“What’s got you in a good mood?” Luke asks as Calum strides into the teacher’s lounge.
Calum has kept his colleague—and close friend—up to date on the goings-on with his neighbour. Luke spent most of those conversations cackling. Calum usually responds to those by threatening to chop Luke’s prized blond hair off. It doesn’t really do the trick.
“I might actually start getting some sleep,” Calum tells him, pouring out a cup of coffee for himself. Most of the time, he likes it sweet and with lots of milk, but he’s got two block periods today, and he needs to stay awake, so he takes it black.
“You talked to him?” Luke asks, surprised. Calum takes some offense to that.
“No, he wasn’t home. I left a note, though.”
“You left a note? What are you, a teenage girl?”
Calum just gives him a look. Luke doesn’t get it. Once formal messages get involved, people tend to get their act together. Calum sips his coffee—ignores how his glasses fog up from the steam—then leaves Luke alone to laugh at Calum as he walks out of the lounge.
—
The neighbour does not get his act together. It’s the same that night—the yelling, the cussing, the laughter, the “Ash, you piece of shit!”s. Calum thinks if he has to hear another ching! of a resources chest opening he might actually kill himself.
He thinks maybe his neighbour hadn’t opened his mailbox. It’s understandable that a video-game-addict-slash-social-recluse wouldn’t leave the house much. So he checks the mailbox on his way to work the next day.
It was empty. Yeah, the fucker had seen the note, alright. He’d just—intentionally ignored it.
Oh, Luke was going to have a field day.
—
“Dude,” Luke says between gasps of laughter. “Y’got rejected! Ghosted!”
Calum frowns. “I’m not even—shut the fuck up, mate.”
Luke wipes a pretend-tear. “Why don’t you just go over to talk when you know he’s home?”
“Nah,’’ Calum says. “Might punch him.”
“So…what? Invest in noise-cancelling headphones?”
Calum would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it. But, “Can’t afford it.”
Luke sighs. He sinks further into the faded green couch in the teachers’ lounge and stretches out his freakishly long legs.
“This is what I’ve been saying, mate,” Luke tells him. “You gotta get laid. Go out and find a silver fox with the big bucks. Suck his dick for 10K.”
Calum makes a repulsed expression. “What the fuck, man.”
He shoves at Luke’s shoulder, who laughs.
“Alright, grandma—jeez, y’really aren’t getting sleep, huh?”
Calum just rolls his eyes and flips the blond off. He gets up and off the couch, grabs his briefcase and keys, and starts heading out.
“Cranky,” Luke mutters, to his back.
—
Calum’s lying in bed in the dark. The light of the city lets itself into his room through the window. Each time a car passes, he traces the path of the yellow headlights across the walls. The light catches the suspended particles in the air. It’s almost peaceful.
Almost.
“No—no, fuck! I just killed that guy!”
In all honesty, Calum has never really been a religious person, but he’d worship any god that struck down his neighbour right at this moment.
He waits.
No flash of lightning. The earth doesn’t split open underneath him. Only the sounds of synthetic gunshots over bougie speakers.
He sighs. Across the room, he’s got his own bluetooth speakers set up. He’d spent the last hour and a half unpacking and setting them up. He was quite proud of them, honestly, and they helped whenever he hooked up his bass too.
He wasn’t meaning to be this petty. Let the record show he was forced to take these measures.
He unlocks his phone, scrolls through his playlist. Finds the loudest heavy metal song on it. Hits play.
The sound hits his ears like a freight train. It’s loud. He can feel the drums in his chest. He’s sure he might wake the whole building, but his qualms are only with his neighbour. 5B.
He sits up and presses his ear to the wall. The yelling has stopped. The video game is definitely still hooked up, but his neighbour is probably distracted by the music.
“Uh, s-sorry, chat,” the guy says, clearly flustered. “Something’s up with, uh—my neighbourhood.”
Calum feels a grim satisfaction at the sheepishness in his tone as he addresses his audience.
“Might—um, might have to reschedule today’s stream. Sorry. Bye.”
Calum waits until the video-game music turns off. The tell-tale bloop of the live being disconnected rings through the wall. He keeps the music on until he hears a knocking on the wall.
“Message received!” the voice calls. “I get it, mate .”
If Calum was a better person, he’d turn the music down and celebrate his victory with a full night of sleep. But Calum isn’t a better person, and the adrenaline from getting the last word wouldn’t let him sleep for another two hours anyway.
He turns the volume up.
When the banging on his wall comes, fifteen minutes later, he ignores it. He shoves wads of cotton into his ears and shuts his eyes.
—
When Calum wakes up the next day he feels rested and active. The sunrise filters through the window, casting a fresh golden glow over the cartons. His speakers are quiet—they probably died at some point during the night. He selfishly hopes it was late enough so that his neighbour didn't get any sleep.
It's a Saturday, and Calum’s mostly caught up on his grading for the term, so he’s relatively free. The plan for today is to get the last of his shit out of the storage unit he’s renting downtown. He’ll spend this weekend working through his boxes, and then eventually decorate the place. It’s depressing seeing such a lifeless apartment after a long day at work.
He calls Luke over to help, who moans and bitches about being woken at 9 a.m. on a Saturday, but shows up with coffee and donuts anyway. With sprinkles. Calum appreciates it, but he won’t tell Luke that—the bastard would use it as an excuse to get out of all the heavy-lifting Calum needs him for.
They drive down to the storage unit around 10, and manage to get all the boxes in just three trips. Calum’s sweating through his shirt because apparently bad luck follows him everywhere, so the aircon in his car is giving up on him too. Luke’s blissed out because they got frozen yogurt on their last trip around, and the stereo is blasting Blink, and Calum carried all the heavy boxes because the last time Luke hit the gym, they still had acne on their faces.
“Get out of the car, you lazy fuck,” Calum prods Luke, who’s dramatically reclined in the passenger seat. They’re parked in front of Calum’s apartment complex.
“Leave me to die, Cal,” Luke replies. “It’s too fucking hot in this fucking city.”
Calum scoffs at his antics. He gets out of the car, yelling at Luke through the window not to slack off and actually help out. He picks up one of the heavier boxes and starts the endless loop of walks between his car and his apartment. There’s two smaller boxes on top of the larger one he’s carrying, so he can’t really see in front of him, and watches the ground to make sure he steers clear of walls or the lightpoles or whatever the fuck else he could bump into.
He’s just entered the lobby when he walks straight into a solid wall. Except it's not a wall because the wall groans in pain. “Oof—”
“Oh, shit,” Calum says, carefully putting the boxes down. “I’m so sorry, I—”
He stops in his tracks because standing in front of him is probably the hottest man he’s ever seen in his entire life. Pale skin, dyed hair, legs for days…Calum has to physically force himself to shut his mouth. The man is rubbing at his forearm, and Calum nearly pops a boner right there when he spots the armband tattoo. Fuck.
“Y’ walk around with your eyes closed often?” The guy asks. It takes a second for Calum to register he’s being spoken to.
Once he processes the words, he’s about to make a snide comment in reply when he looks Armband Tattoo in the face and spots those green eyes crinkled in amusement.
“Uh…’’ Calum rubs the back of his neck. “Nah, just today. Sorry, man, didn’t see you at all, I swear.”
The man waves him off. “I bear no grudges,” he quips, and Calum’s throat goes dry. Damn.
“Just moving in?” Armband Tattoo asks.
“Um—no, this is just the last of my stuff. Moved in about a week ago. Seventh floor.”
There’s a brief flash of recognition, but it's gone before Calum can place it.
“Welcome to the building, then. I’m Michael.” He extends his hand.
Calum takes it. He notices his hands are significantly larger than Michael’s. Warmth rises to his cheeks.
“I’m—uh, I’m Calum.”
Michael tilts his head and flashes a grin. He’s got a great smile. God, he’s got beautiful teeth, Calum thinks. Wait, is that a weird thing to think?
“Well, Calum,” Michael says, “I’d offer to help out, but I’ve really gotta rush.”
“Oh, yeah,” Calum replies, smiling. “Um, no worries, man. It was nice meeting you.”
Michael walks past him, tipping his head in farewell. Calum can’t look away.
Just before he leaves the entryway, he raises two fingers in mock-salute.
“See you around, four-eyes,” Michael winks. “Come find me if you need someone to show you around the place.”
Calum can’t quite muster a reply. His eyes follow the man as he leaves, until he’s out of sight.
What a gorgeous specimen. Crafted by God himself. Calum would…Calum would totally ask him out.
In fact, why didn't he?
Calum abandons his boxes in the lobby in his rush to call after Michael. He stumbles out on the sidewalk, lips parted to call out his name when he’s distracted by…Luke.
The blond is leaning against a sleek-looking jeep, making eyes at some beefcake (with forearm tattoos of the…phases of the moon?) that's so painfully Luke’s type it makes Calum roll his eyes. The man appears to be very into Luke’s play, because they’re engrossed in what seems to be a riveting conversation. He spots Michael by his hair as he walks up to the couple and greets the other man fondly. They exchange niceties, and Luke laughs at some joke Michael makes. Calum stands there, cringing at Luke as he flirts with Beefcake while Michael kind of stands there patiently, until they’re bidding each other goodbye, and Michael is getting into the jeep with his friend.
It’s only after they’re driving off that Luke catches Calum’s eye and jogs over.
“I think I just met the love of my life,” Luke swoons.
“You just want to suck his dick,” Calum accuses.
“Yeah, but I wanna do it under the table at a fancy candlelit dinner where we’ll have our first date and where he’ll eventually propose to me after we fall in love.”
“Gross.”
“Kinky,” Luke corrects. “And romantic.”
Calum smacks him upside the head. “Just pick up a fucking box, mate.”
—
Come Monday, when the noise starts up past midnight again, Calum decides maybe he’ll take Luke up on his suggestion of talking with the neighbour while he’s actually home. Sure, he might punch the guy, but that’s a sacrifice Calum is willing to make.
He’s already banged on the wall thrice in the span of fifteen minutes when the idea occurs to him. He doesn’t let it simmer, doesn’t over-think it, before he’s pulling on a shirt and leaving his apartment to go knock on his neighbour’s door. Aggressively. He worries for the hinges for a moment. Then decides that if they break, it's really not his problem.
He waits, fuming, while the video-game sounds go on behind the door. He’s clearly been heard, because the obnoxious laughter that preceded his knocking has dissolved into silence.
A minute passes. Nothing.
Oh, for fucks sake.
He power-walks back to his room and digs through his briefcase for a sticky note. He writes:
Shut the fuck up. Please. — 5A
Yeah, it’s impolite. But Calum isn’t a saint, he’s only a high-school teacher.
He walks back to the neighbouring apartment and slams the note on the door none-too-kindly. He also pointedly slams his own door shut when he gets back to his apartment.
There’s the buzzing of speakers, and a prolonged silence. Then, Calum hears the creak of a chair shifting followed by the click of a door unlocking. He prays that his note conveyed his sentiment: I just want to get some sleep.
The chair creaks loudly as its inhabitant reoccupies it. Then,
“Sorry, man,” says the voice, presumably to Ash. “Jus’ some stray at the door.”
Calum seethes. What the fuck?
“Yeah, no,” Asshole Neighbour goes on, clearly and loudly, like he knows Calum can hear. Which is true. “No, I’d just invest in some soundproofing instead of fucking around in other peoples’ business.”
It’s a clear jab at Calum. Which is ironic because—his neighbour has been doing exactly the same thing: being loud and messing with Calum’s business. His sleep.
This has to be harassment of some sort. Like, ‘Invasion and Violation of Circadian Rhythm’ or something. Calum can’t think straight. He doesn’t even feel anger anymore, just resignation.
But—if there’s one thing he’s learnt from teaching hormonal, unreasonable teenagers, it’s that he can’t go down without a fight. If his neighbour wants to yell at unholy hours of the night and act like Calum’s the one with the stick up his ass, that's fine. But he isn’t just going to let the man get away with it.
Yeah, Calum thinks. He’s going to get revenge.
—
“Calum!”
Calum is on his way to work, eyes basically falling shut while he walks, when he hears his name called. He turns to see Michael waving at him to wait up.
“Michael, hey,” Calum can’t help the boyish smile.
“Off to work?” Michael asks, approaching him. “How was the move this weekend?”
“It was good,” Calum says. “My mate Luke and I got too hot about three hours into it, so we ended up ditching the boxes for drinks at the local bar.”
“Oh, Luke! That’s the blond guy I saw with my friend the other day, right?”
“Yeah, we work together, but we’ve known each other since middle school.”
Michael smiles, and Calum’s thrown off because did the sun just come out and the birds started singing?
“That’s so cute,” Michael says. “What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m a teacher. Biology. Luke teaches English,” He sighs. “It’s got good days and bad days.”
And it's true. Calum has been worried lately because his class has been struggling. He hasn’t been at the top of his game either, what with the sheer lack of rest he’s working with.
Michael tilts his head, pouting in concern. Calum is struck by just how pink his lips are. He kind of wants to nip at them.
“That must be difficult,” Michael says, voice sweet and empathetic. “I’m sure the students love Professor Calum, though.”
Calum laughs. He’s cute.
“Not a Professor. Just your average high-school teacher.”
“Oh, I’m sure nothing about you is average,” Michael says, and Calum’s heart drops right out of his ass at the suggestiveness in his tone. He could swear he saw Michael’s eyes travel the length of his body. He stands a little taller, even though he’s flustered.
“Anyway, I was meaning to ask for your number,” Michael says, reaching for his phone. Calum watches his fingers as they reach into the pocket of the tight jeans he’s wearing. His mouth is weirdly dry all of a sudden.
He realizes he’s staring when Michael looks at him expectantly. “Uh, sorry. What?”
A glint in those green eyes. “Your number?”
Oh.
Oh—
“To add you to the building group-chat, of course,” Michael continues. He’s grinning.
Oh. Whatever.
Calum’s already in the group-chat. But he’s also not completely stupid. So he gives Michael his number and revels in the image of a pink flush on the man’s cheeks when he sees later that Calum was already in the group. And this way, Michael would have Calum’s number saved.
“Cool,” says the man. “I’ll text you.”
“Um—I should get going,” Calum says, then. He watches those long fingers fly across the phone screen and realizes he needs to leave because his thoughts are shooting blanks right now, and he needs to get away from Michael before he does something stupid like ask to bite his lower lip. Or something.
Michael smiles. Clearly, he’s aware of the effect he had on Calum. “How’s the commute?”
“Um, I’ll just—I take the bus.”
“I’ve got a car,” Michael says. He lets the offer hang in the air. Calum would love to spend more time with the man, but he’s kind of afraid of what he’d do if he was in close confines with Michael.
“It’s alright,” He replies. “Got a pass for the week, already paid ‘n all.”
Michael nods in understanding, lips shaped in a little ‘oh.’
“I’ll see you around then?” Calum says, already heading off. He’s getting a little too warm under the collar.
“Well,” Michael says, walking backwards and away. His lopsided grin is somewhat devilish. “If you ever need a ride…you know where to find me.”
Calum…Calum’s going to have to adjust his trousers a little bit.
—-------
When Calum tells Luke about the note-on-the-door incident, Luke laughs so hard at Calum that he questions whether he’s faking it.
“What’s so fucking funny?” He asks, defensive.
“Nothing—nothing, I promise.” Luke says, but he’s still smiling. “So how are things with that guy, Michael?”
And what the fuck does Luke know about Michael, anyway? Calum huffs like a child and turns away. He’s got a pile of notebooks, forty strong, to correct. Luke can laugh himself to death, for all Calum cares.
“C’monnn,” Luke urges. “Tell meeeeee—-”
“Shut up, Luke.”
“Awh, Cal, don’t be mad, I swear, I just thought it was funny how—”
“Can we talk about something else, please?” Calum snaps. Then he feels bad, because Luke in all his twenty-seven-year-old glory, pulls out the kicked puppy eyes.
He sighs. “Fine. Michael asked for my number.”
Luke gasps so loudly and dramatically that he chokes. Through coughs, he says, “He—he did—huff…he did what?”
“It was only to add me to the building group-chat. But I’m already in it, so.”
“Well?” Luke pokes him. “Did you still give it?”
“Yeah, so he’d have it saved.”
“Oh, you slick motherfucker,” Luke laughs.
“He was being weird, okay? I told him I was an average high-school teacher and he got this look on his face and he said nothing about me was average.”
“He wants you to do him raw.”
“Luke!” Calum smacks him, because he was asking for it. “Shh! We’re at work!”
Luke cackles. Fucker. One of these days, Calum was really going to shave a line straight through the middle of his hair.
“Anyway,” Calum says. “I’ve figured it out with the neighbour.”
Luke looks at him, silently urging him to continue. Calum sighs, and puts down his red pen. He spins on his chair to face the blond.
“I'm going to play his game,” Calum says. “I’ve just got to figure out how.”
Luke groans. “Mate, you’ve got a big boy life and a big boy job. Deal with it like an adult, why don’cha?”
“No,” Calum says. “No, I don’t think I will. I’m going to put his sleep schedule to shit. I just need to figure out how.”
Luke stares at him, then sighs.
“Whatever,” he says, rolling on his chair back to his desk. “Use protection, I guess.”
Calum throws a sharpie at him.
—
That weekend, Calum’s prepared to sort through the last of his boxes and start moving all his furniture into place. Thankfully, Asshole Neighbour hadn’t streamed the night before, so he’d gotten a solid few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
He gets through assembling about fifty percent of his living-room appliances before he starts feeling absolutely parched. He’s already sweating, but he can barely breathe in the closed apartment. He throws open the balcony doors and the windows for some ventilation. He tugs off his T-shirt and switches to a white tank before resuming his work, and before long he’s soaked the tank in sweat as well.
Around noon, he decides to take a break and grab a six-pack from the convenience store down the street. He’s got a good playlist thrumming through his earphones, so he’s really distracted as he walks straight into someone on the way into the store. His glasses nearly get knocked right off his nose.
Instantly, his hands reach out to steady the person he’s walked into. And because the universe is kind and merciful, his hands end up around Michael’s biceps.
“Careful, four-eyes,” Michael says, cheeks crinkling in a smirk. “I might start thinking you’re trying to cop a feel with how often you’re walking into me.”
And Calum, who is definitely copping a feel of Michael’s arms, lets go, clearing his throat. Caught. He reaches up to straighten his glasses, and wipes a bit of sweat from his brow sheepishly. Michael’s eyes travel slowly down his arms, sweaty and slightly sunburned in the tank-top.
Calum subtly flexes them. Y’know, like a loser.
Michael licks his lips. Calum watches the pink of his tongue peek out. Fuck, Michael really knows how to work a pair of skinnies. His ass looks. Delectable. He’s dressed in a muscle-tee that's cut low enough for his ribs to show—what’s the word Luke likes to use? ‘Sideboob’?—and Calum kind of wants to put his face there. Immediately.
Michael clears his throat once they’re both done unashamedly checking each other out. Calum laughs awkwardly, rubs the back of his neck. Watches Michael’s eyes trace the flex of his muscles. Swells with pride.
“Still sorting out your apartment?” Michael asks, tearing his eyes away.
“Just assembling some furniture.”
“All on your own?”
“Yeah,” Calum says. “Luke ditched me.”
There’s sweat trickling down the side of his face for sure. He feels a bit embarrassed, because he looks like a homeless rugrat, while Michael in front of him seems to be glowing. Michael doesn’t seem to mind though. Rather, his eyes are fixed on the front of Calum’s tank, where the sweat has soaked through.
“Oy,” Calum quips gently. “Eyes are up here, y’know.”
Michael meets his eyes and laughs. “Oh, I know.” He bites his lip, and Calum’s heart skips a beat.
Then Calum notices the paper bag he’s carrying, and gestures to it.
“Fancy seeing you here, anyway. What’d’ya get?” He asks.
“Oh, these?” Michael shakes the bag and it sounds like…plastic. “Loading up on snacks. I’m working on my degree, so I have lots of late nights.”
Calum huffs a laugh. “I know a thing or two about late nights.”
Michael narrows his eyes playfully. “I bet y’do,” and he says it with an undertone of…something. It’s driving Calum up a wall because he can’t fully tell if Michael’s flirting or not.
“Shoot me a text if you need company,” Michael offers.
“I’d take you up on that, but I’m spending this weekend in the only tank I own and seven layers of dust.”
“Oh, no,” Michael frowns mockingly. “So you’ll be all sweaty and covered in dust and out of breath?”
Calum feels himself grin at the tone of Michael’s voice. Y’know what, fuck it.
“Hm,” Calum agrees. “And hungry.”
Michael’s grin is kind of predatory now. It sends a shiver up Calum’s spine.
“I mean…I could, uh—”
He’s cut off as his phone rings. He scrambles to get it out of his pocket and fiddles with the screen. It’s cracked, Calum notices. He’s weirdly endeared by that. Once he reads the caller ID, Michael's eyes widen.
“Um—shit, sorry,” He says, sounding stressed. “I need to take this. It’s my—um…someone important. Side hustle, and all—y’know?”
Calum waves him off. Michael’s voice is slightly higher pitched when he speaks like this. Calum finds it cute. “No worries, mate.”
“I’ll…I’ll see you around?” Michael asks, hopeful. Calum smiles reassuringly.
“Yeah, ‘course.”
He tries not to check Michael’s ass out as he walks away.
—
“Luke,” Calum says into his phone, when Luke finally picks up the call on the seventh ring that evening. “I think I want to do him raw.”
Silence. He takes the phone screen away from his ear and looks at it. No, Luke definitely picked up the call.
“Luke?” He ventures.
“Cal,” Luke says, and his voice is weirdly pitchy, like he’s holding back laughter. “I’ve got someone over, mate.”
Cal feels the hot flush of embarrassment rise to his face.
“Fuck,” Calum says to Luke. “Stop picking up the phone on speaker, asshole.”
“Stop saying insane shit, asshole.”
“Don’t tell me what to—”
“Ha! Easy win, bro,” yells the voice from 5B.
Calum needs to take a deep breath in.
On the phone, Luke is silent. There’s a little bit of shuffling, and a low murmur.
“Shit, mate,” Luke says. “My condolences. That’s how loud he is?”
There’s a smack! sound over the line, followed by Luke’s hushed ‘ow…’
“Whatever,” Calum rolls his eyes. “I’m dealing with it.”
“You’re still on that vengeance trip?” Luke snickers. It’s an ugly sound. Like a horse.
“You’re a shit friend. Stop laughing at me. I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait, but—”
Calum disconnects the call and huffs. He looks out over his apartment. Yeah, he’s mostly put together all his furniture. Now he just needs to move them into place. But they’re heavy. So it would take time. Also, they would loudly screech against the floor when he moves them, if you catch Calum’s drift.
So, obviously, as soon as Asshole Neighbour boots up his livestream and starts hooting and hollering for no reason, Calum’s rearranging every bit of his movables. First the couch and chairs. His ottoman. The coffee table with the marble inlays. Then his dining chairs. The storage unit for his minibar. The decorative cabinets.
With every item, Calum makes sure they screech harshly and shrilly against his floor. He’ll probably leave marks on his floors, but it's nothing that sandpaper and a carpet couldn’t fix. He’s more concerned with being as much of an inconvenience as possible.
It works. He’s been arranging and rearranging things for the past half hour when he hears it, just as he’s bent over to shove a kitchen cabinet into place.
“Sorry, chat,” says the voice. “There’s just some…really annoying screeching coming from the room over.”
Calum grins. He’s sweating now, but extremely satisfied by having the upper hand. The sound is beginning to bother him, so he sticks his earbuds in and goes on with his work.
It takes another hour of absolutely bullshit rearrangements for the verdict to come through.
An agitated apology. Something about being too distracted. Then the bloop of a disconnected livestream. A muffled ‘fuck,’ in the silence that follows.
My work here is done, Calum smiles to himself. He strips off his sweaty clothes, and takes the most rejuvenating shower he’s had in weeks.
—
The next morning, Calum finds a note in his mailbox. The handwriting is barely legible. It’s from 5B.
Can’t you do that shit some other time? I have rent to pay. —5B
Calum crumples the note up. Hell no.
And that same evening finds Calum vacuuming his entire house into the late hours of the night.
—
Calum is standing in the cereal aisle of the grocery store, contemplating how much his risk of heart disease would go up if he bought Fruit Loops instead of Cornflakes again, when he meets Michael next. He’s got a box of cereal in each hand, brows furrowed as he struggles to choose, until he decides fuck it and goes to stick the shitty Cornflakes back on the shelf. Only, its rightful place is on the highest shelf, so Calum has to reach up to put it back. His shirt rides up a little in the process, but he thinks nothing of it.
Until a short wolf-whistle echoes down the aisle, and he nearly drops the cereal box square on his nose.
The box lands on the floor at his feet. He looks up, ready to cuss out whoever catcalled him.
It’s Michael.
Leaning against a shelf, wearing a ripped band-tee and a sultry smirk. Calum gulps.
He picks up the box, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he straightens. Michael gives him a look that says he’s itching to call Calum a dork. Or that he’s going to jump his bones. Calum wouldn’t be opposed to either.
“Reloading the snack drawer?” Calum asks Michael.
Michael tips an imaginary hat in his direction.
“Not this time,” he replies, flashing a little plastic pack in his hand. “Just picking up some batteries. Ordered this shitty thing off Amazon, but the fuckin’ batteries were rusted.”
Calum frowns. Michael wanders closer, peeking into Calum’s cart.
“Um,” Calum starts. “Is that—”
“Damn,” Michael says, biting his lip in pity at Calum’s grocery assortment. “D’you always eat like a worm?”
Calum looks between Michael and his grocery cart. Sure, it’s full of greens and protein-heavy grains, but…Calum’s a growing man, right?
“I haven’t had a lot of time to hit the gym lately,” Calum explains. Something in Michael’s eyes shifts. “Trying to at least keep up my diet.”
“Didn’t pin down you to be a gym guy,” Michael says, voice dropping as he tries to sneak a glance down Calum’s frame.
I wanna pin you to my bedroom wall, Calum thinks.
“It helps get the stress out,” Calum says.
Michael grins. “So, what do you bench?”
Calum looks at him for a moment, trying to gauge why Michael would want to know. Michael doesn’t really look like a gym-goer. Respectfully. Calum names his number regardless.
In response, Michael looks away, a slight tinge on his cheeks.
Oh, okay, Calum thinks, smug. Yeah, I get it now.
“The, um,” Michael clears his throat. “The Fruit Loops add to the diet?”
Calum sticks the box in his cart and pushes it along the aisle, Michael falling into step with him.
“Nah,” Calum replies. “The Fruit Loops are so that I don’t kill myself.”
Michael giggles. A lot harder than he should’ve. Calum takes it in stride. He can play this game.
“So you came all the way here for batteries?” Calum asks. Granted, the grocery store is a stone’s throw from the apartment complex, but whatever.
Michael’s face lights up with teasing amusement. “Maybe I just wanted to run into you.”
Calum lets his eyes meet Michael’s. Raises an eyebrow. “Or maybe you’re just following me around.”
Michael shrugs, unsubtly tilting his head back to check out Calum’s ass. “It is a great view.”
Calum chuckles, shaking his head. They stroll through the aisles, making casual conversation as Calum checks off his grocery list, until Michael stops in his tracks and glances at the shelf nearest to him. He looks back at Calum hopefully, eyes sparkling.
“Wanna stop for booze?” he asks, tilting his head towards the liquor bottles and beer-packs lining the rack. “On me?”
Calum considers the offer.
“Please?” Michael says, the lilt in his voice doing something to Calum’s stomach. “Tonight? We can watch a movie, split a few beers?”
He steps closer, cheeks dusted with pink. “I feel like we’re friends,” he confesses. “But I only ever see you on the sidewalk.”
It takes an enormous amount of self restraint for Calum not to drop to his knees and beg for Michael’s hand in marriage immediately.
Instead, he lets his remorse seep into his words as he says, “It’s a school night. I try to avoid drinking during the week.”
Michael pouts playfully. “Some other time? When are you free next?”
Calum drags his cart to the payment counter and starts unpacking the contents as Michael pulls out his wallet.
“This weekend?” he pauses. “But wait, aren’t you working on your degree?”
Michael blinks at him. He swipes his card over the self-checkout counter and pockets his batteries. “Yeah, I have my finals soon. So?”
The cashier scans Calum’s groceries. Packs them into the bag Calum hands her.
“So shouldn’t you be focusing on that shit?” Calum asks. “Instead of drinking?”
“Aw,” Michael places a hand over his heart. Mockingly. “You really care.”
Calum pays for his groceries and waves a friendly goodbye to the cashier as he and Michael leave the store.
“Shut up,” he mutters. “Y’should get your sleep in.”
“So you're saying we’d be up late if you came over?” Michael asks, grinning mischievously. “Whatever would we do?”
Calum laughs, cheeks flushing.
“Careful,” he warns. His voice takes on a low tone, a little playful, a little dangerous.
It gets to Michael. His Adam's Apple bobs as he gulps, steps faltering.
“Yes, sir,” he murmurs. Something sticky-sweet and warm coils in Calum’s belly. He clears his throat, tugs at his collar.
They’re quiet for a while. They walk back to the Complex in comfortable silence, the chirping of the evening cicadas smothering the air. The sun dips low below the horizon, and the twilight turns Michael’s hair purple under the flickering streetlights.
Calum tries not to stare.
Michael’s humming something under his breath, the back of his hand brushing Calum’s in a way that could definitely be intentional. As they pass the entryway to the building, Calum speaks.
“About those drinks…” he starts. Michael looks up, hopeful. Calum puts down his bags to press the elevator call-button.
“I was thinking, maybe my place…” he says, scratching the back of his neck, nervous. Michael’s eyes flit between him and the elevator. He seems to realize something. A frantic look takes over his expression.
“Uh,” Calum continues. “I could—”
“Wait!” Michael cuts in, hands flying. “I—uh! I just remembered something I need to buy!”
Calum blinks. “What?”
“Um!” Michael says, voice oddly pitchy. “I need to…go get! Something from the store!”
He starts backing towards the exit.
Calum offers, “Do you want me to come with—”
“NO!” Michael’s voice cracks. “I mean—ahem, no. Thank you. I’ll just…get it myself.”
Calum is confused as fuck. The elevator dings open behind him and a middle-aged couple walks out. He flashes them a friendly smile as they pass, then meets Michael’s gaze again.
“I’ll…” Michael says, remorseful. “Calum, I’m so sorry. I’ll see you around?”
Calum shoots him a reassuring smile. He shrugs, even though he’s sure his face betrays his perplexity. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
Michael’s shoulders slump—relieved, grateful. Then he spins on his heel, and he’s gone.
—
The next day, for the first time in a few weeks, Calum gets home from work feeling accomplished and proud. On the elevator ride up to his floor, he hums a sweet tune to himself, thanking every god above that his class is finally on track with the syllabus, and retaining enough to pass the subject. He’d been worried for a while there, but he trusts his students to know when it’s time to focus their attention on what’s important.
He’s thinking about the course plan for the next week when the elevator dings and opens to his floor.
Immediately, he knows something is off.
Mr. and Mrs. Sharma are standing outside his door, looking flustered and ruffled. Mrs. Sharma is talking to her husband in quick, angry whispers, waving her arms around while he nods along, glasses flashing under his humongous eyebrows. As he approaches them, he picks up on her words, catches bits and pieces of her native tongue—not enough to decipher what she’s saying, unfortunately.
She turns as she hears him coming. Her face is flushed a deep, angry red, the wrinkles in her little face accentuated by her disturbed frown.
“Young man,” she starts. And Calum’s back straightens on instinct. Behind her, Mr. Sharma frowns sullenly. He gears himself up for a scolding. Mrs. Sharma wags her finger at him. “Just what is wrong with you?”
Calum’s eyebrows draw together. What?
Before he has a chance to cut in, she continues.
“This…this behaviour is inappropriate!” she exclaims. “So, so, so wrong!”
“Mrs. Sharma, I—”
“Listen here,” the old man interjects. “We don’t care much for what you do in your free time, but this is just—”
“Disgusting!” Mrs. Sharma spits. “Repulsive! Chee, chee, chee…I never expected this from such a sweet boy.”
Calum’s getting more and more puzzled by the moment. What the hell is going on?
“Mrs. Sharma,” he starts, keeping his voice deliberately calm. The kind he uses to break up fights in the middle-school washroom. “Mr. Sharma…I’m sure there’s been some kind of misunderst—”
“Misunderstanding!” Mrs. Sharma explodes. She’s a small lady, quite a bit shorter than Calum, so it’s a bit like being told off by a teddy bear. If only Calum’s heart wasn't in his throat. “Misunderstanding! Look, child, it’s none of my concern, but we would—the whole building would appreciate it if—”
“Just keep it down!” Mr. Sharma says. “We don’t need to know what you’re up to in your flat! It’s none of our concern and we’d like to keep it that way!”
“What—” Calum starts.
“No,” Mrs. Sharma says. Her husband shakes his head in disappointment. “No, no, no. I don’t want to know.”
“My boy, this is not…you have to be considerate!” Mr. Sharma sighs. “People…what will people say? You’re lucky we didn’t bring this to the building supervisors!”
“The supervisors?” Calum asks, incredulous. “But…what did—”
“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know!” Mrs. Sharma says. She tugs on her husband’s sleeve, leading them both back to their own apartment. “I don’t much care! I don’t want to hear your personal businesses! It’s disgusting! Vile!”
Mr. Sharma looks Calum up and down, squinting suspiciously. He shakes his head again, tutting.
“Just…just don’t…!” he says.
Mrs. Sharma frowns at him from her doorway as Mr. Sharma enters their apartment and disappears.
“Just keep it to yourself!” she exclaims. Before Calum can say anything, she slams the door shut.
It echoes through the hallway. Calum turns back to his door. What the fuck?
He reaches for his key. His ears are still ringing from the old couples’ words, and he’s completely thrown off by his confusion. As he brings the key to the lock, he hears it. Unmistakably coming from his apartment.
‘Ahn…there! There! Harder…fuck, more—harder!’
Calum freezes. Heat rises so quickly to his face that he has to blink through it.
Moaning.
Loud, punctuated by the rhythmic bump of a bedframe slamming against the wall, by skin slapping against skin.
What the fuck, Calum thinks. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—
He slams the key home, turning it the wrong way more than once, jiggling the handle like that’ll make his shaking hands work faster.
When he finally gets the door open, his apartment is dark. Empty, just the way he left it. Where are those sounds coming from?
He slams his door shut behind him, heart racing as he glances quickly around his living room.
‘Shit, shit—please—oh, fuck…you’re so deep inside…more!’
Calum can barely breathe.
His brain finally turns back on. His eyes zero in on his balcony. The door is locked, just as he’d left it, but the sounds are definitely coming from there.
He crosses the room in two quick strides, yanks the door open, looks across the balcony.
There, in the corner, a shitty bluetooth speaker tipped to the side, emitting those unholy fucking moans.
He scrambles to pick it up, scans it with shaking fingers for the off button. Presses down hard enough on the little button until his fingertips are sure to carry its imprint.
It takes another five seconds for the thing to turn off. Five seconds that feel like an eternity.
Then, silence.
He sits there, back against the railing, breathing in the warm summer breeze. His heart slams against his ribcage, adrenaline still pumping through his blood, clouding his judgement.
It doesn’t take him too long to figure out what happened.
Because his balcony is adjacent to his neighbour’s.
Because the speaker was lying on the side of his neighbour’s apartment.
Because his balcony is just a simple toss away.
Calum sits there, seething, too shaken up to move. He listens to the sounds of the city, far below, as he zones out into his dark apartment, face still burning. Cradling the fucking speaker to his chest like it’ll start up on its own at any moment.
When he finally gathers the strength to stand, he slumps over his kitchenette and downs three glasses of water. He walks over to their shared wall, which hasn’t let through a peep of noise yet. But Calum knows the guy’s home. Somehow, he knows.
He bangs his fist against the wall, deafeningly loud in the silence of his flat.
“Fuck you!” he yells across.
All he receives in response is a muffled snicker.
That night, Calum hides under his blankets, humiliated. His neighbour livestreams again, but Calum is too flustered to do anything in response.
—
Luke, predictably, laughs at Calum.
“Mate, it’s fuckin’...” Calum grits. “It was fucking embarassing.”
Luke cackles, clutching his belly, doubling over. They’re walking the hallway to Calum’s classroom. It’s nearing the end of lunch break, and Calum needs to set up for his lecture.
When Luke reaches to wipe his tears, Calum shoves him in the shoulder.
“Stop laughing,” Calum hisses.
“I can’t,” Luke gasps. He bites his lip, but his shoulders still shake with mirth.
“I hate him,” Calum groans. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.”
“Just talk to him.”
“Oh, yeah? What’d that conversation look like?” Calum scoffs. “‘Hiya, Neighbour! Mind turning down the porn before you toss your speakers into my flat?’ ‘Oh, no problem, neighbour. Mind if I loudly livestream my combat games twelve nights in a row instead?’”
“Cal—”
“You should’ve seen the look on the Sharmas’ faces. Oh god, they’re never going to invite me to tea again. They’re never going to send me baked goodies—”
“Calum—”
“Luke,” Calum gasps. “The goodies.”
Luke shoots him a look. “How old are you, man?”
Calum rolls his eyes in response, but the phantom taste of Mrs. Sharma’s sweetbread creeps onto his tongue.
They reach Calum’s classroom. He shoves his folder into Luke’s arms to unlock the door and slip in, Luke in tow.
“I just think,” Calum starts again, turning to face Luke as he walks backwards into the class. “Like, porn? Seriously? Who does that?”
Luke smiles at that. Again. Calum’s worried he’s going to start laughing again.
“It’s kind of funny?” Luke offers. “Like, Prank Wars are friendly, right? Maybe it’s a truce.”
Calum frowns. “I don’t usually find it funny when my entire apartment complex thinks I watch hardcore porn with the speakers turned all the way up.”
Luke snorts. “Yeah, he really got you there, mate.”
Calum flails. He’s really starting to re-evaluate why he’s friends with Luke. Yeah, they were childhood friends, but how much is too much? Damn.
“Okay,” Luke says. “You could still just…figure out his timings and go talk to him?”
“Yeah, right. Should I line his balcony with roses and call him beautiful too?”
“It doesn’t have to be an ego thing—”
“It’s not an ego thing.” It is absolutely an ego thing.
Setting Calum’s folder and his own on the teacher’s desk, Luke pinches the bridge of his nose. Calum wipes down the blackboard. Luke leans against the wall, watching.
“It was porn this time,” Luke says. “Could be something else next time.”
“What could possibly be worse than this?”
“Mate.”
“I need to get him back. I need to get him back immediately.”
Luke sighs. Drops his shoulders and raises his hands like he’s giving up. Calum sets the duster down and turns to meet Luke’s eyes. They share a look—Luke’s glare pointed as Calum just bears the heat of his expression.
Eventually, Calum shakes his head. He loiters toward his desk. Luke clears his throat.
“In other news—” Luke clears his throat. As he talks, Calum falls into his chair.
…and immediately jumps back up when his seat makes a sound like a choking buffalo.
He yelps like a teenage girl. Luke clutches his chest, startled.
Calum looks at the seat to find—a fart cushion. He hears high-pitched giggling from the doorway and catches a few of his students, tears in their eyes as they try to muffle their laughter. He puts his hands on his hips.
Luke looks at him, expression a mix between pity and pure, unadulterated joy. “Sorry,” he says, but there’s amusement in his voice.
Can’t catch a fucking break, Calum thinks.
He shoos his student into the class and tells them to take their seats. Luke waves goodbye to the kids and hurries off to his own lecture. Calum is obligated to give them a talk on manners and good behaviour so that they don’t pull this with the other faculty. Miss Amari’s near-retiry heart wouldn’t handle such a scare.
Calum confiscates the fart pillow. Obviously. But as he shoves it into his bottom drawer, he gets an idea.
Yeah, it’s silly. But it should get the message across. Ideally.
—
Calum runs into Michael in the lobby on his way home that evening. Only, he’s clutching the fucking fart cushion to his chest because it wouldn’t fit in his bag, and he looks like an idiot.
Calum spots Michael before Michael sees him, so he tries to hide the cushion behind his back, disguise it under the flap of his briefcase or something. It kind of works, because when Michael finally turns and notices Calum, a gorgeous smile parts his lips.
“Calum,” he breathes, like he’s relieved to be seeing Calum again. Which is weird because…why wouldn’t he? “There’s my favourite schoolteacher.”
It draws a chuckle from Calum. “Hi, Michael.”
“I’m sorry about the other day,” Michael says, biting his lip. “I was just…it was—it’s whatever. I’m really sorry.”
Calum waves him off. “‘S alright. It happens,” he says.
Michael tilts his head, looking at Calum like he knows something Calum doesn't. Calum notices how drained Michael looks. He wears exhaustion on the slope of his shoulders, in the shades of his skin.
“Haven’t been sleeping well?” Calum asks.
Michael’s gaze flits to the floor, suddenly shy. His fingers come up to pat at his cheeks. “It’s that bad, huh?”
Fuck. “Not at all,” Calum tells him. “Y’look gorgeous. Just a little tired.”
Michael’s cheeks glow red. He licks his bottom lip. Calum wants to make a mess out of him.
“Um,” Michael starts. “You look a little out of it too. Bad day at work?”
Suddenly the weight of the fart cushion is stark in Calum’s hand.
“Could call it that,” Calum shrugs. “Mostly just…some trouble with my neighbour.”
Michael’s eyes widen. If possible, his cheeks flush further. There’s a strange look of guilt and apprehension on his face, but Calum can’t figure out why. He looks away from Calum, fiddling with the silver rings on his fingers.
“I guess I know what you mean,” he murmurs, and Calum chuckles. He’s so cute.
“Your degree must really be getting heavy,” Calum ventures.
“Something like that,” Michael agrees. “I think I just need a better outlet. I’ve been so frustrated these days.”
“I know what that’s like.”
Michael looks at Calum through a smile. “Guess we’d do good in each other’s company.”
“Mm,” Calum plays along. “I don’t know. I tend to be mean.”
Michael’s lashes flutter, eyes going dark. “I—I can handle mean.”
Calum lets the words sit in the air until Michael’s fidgeting again, shifting his weight. It makes him feel like he’s got some power over the guy. Like he doesn’t always need to be flustered and fumbling in Michael’s presence.
“You should get some sleep, Mikey,” Calum says. The nickname slips out like it’d always been there. Michael catches it immediately. Calum starts towards the elevator. Presses the call button.
“I will,” Michael says, grinning. “If you promise you’ll let me make it up to you with those beers.”
Calum chuckles. The elevator dings, doors sliding open. Calum steps in. “Maybe if you’re good.”
Michael licks his lips.
“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” he says, voice low. “Sir.”
The doors slide shut, but not before he catches Michael’s gaze flit down to Calum’s lips, and back up to his eyes.
Calum spends the ride up to his floor trying to will away his confusing boner. That fucking word. Sir. The way it spills from Michael’s lips naturally. Calum pictures all the other contexts in which Michael could be saying that to him. Bedroom. Kitchen table. Balcony, if he’s into that—fuck. Calum needs to stop.
The doors open on his floor. Calum slips out, grateful that nobody’s in the hallway.
He sets his briefcase down by his door and reaches for the fart cushion. It's an expensive item. The self-inflating kind. Calum inflates it just enough, then sticks it under his neighbour’s doormat.
The doormat was freakishly thick to begin with. Jute fibres dyed neon green in colour, it reads ‘Did you bring snacks?’. Calum resists the urge to vandalize the thing every morning.
Once he’s satisfied at how well he’s hidden the cushion, he stands and dusts his hands off.
All that’s left to do now is wait.
Calum spends the rest of his evening straining his ears for any sign that his neighbour is home. Every time the elevator dings on his floor, his ears perk up like a dog. He waits, paces his apartment, trying and failing to correct the pile of notebooks he’d brought home to grade.
Finally, at nearly 10 in the evening, when Calum’s just about given up hope, the elevator dings. Calum listens as the footsteps draw closer and closer, stopping at the door beside Calum’s own. He bites his lip in anticipation.
He hears the loud fart noise, followed by a childish, high-pitched screech, and an even louder exclamation, “what the FUCK.”
There’s a short silence, then the door across the hallway clicks open. Someone must stick their head out to shush harshly at the offending man.
Calum laughs into his hand. He hears the jingling of keys, then the slam of a door as his neighbour stumbles into his apartment. Calum can make out he’s muttering something to himself. Hopefully a series of irritated expletives.
He doesn’t stream that night. Calum takes the win.
—
The next morning, Calum steps out of his apartment, onto his own doormat, only for it to make a sickening squelch under his foot. He looks down. The mat is oozing something white and absolutely atrocious-smelling. Like…spoiled milk. Or aged yogurt.
So then he has to rush back in and change his shoes because he’ll be damned if he walks into class wearing shoes that look like he’s walked a mile through the Pillsbury Doughboy’s snail trail. Or something.
Except he can’t find his spare pair, so he slides around the apartment in his socks, cursing the bloodline that birthed his malicious neighbour.
When he finally finds his shoes, they’re dusty and smell like old paper, but he shoves his feet into them anyway. He misses his bus, predictably, and shows up to class fifteen minutes late, breathing like he’d just run a marathon.
Calum’s going to get his neighbour back, obviously.
He takes the school-issued superglue home that day and empties three tubes onto his neighbour’s doorknob.
But then on his way to work the next day, he finds a massive ‘available for rent’ sign in the front-lawn with his apartment number on it. What the fuck.
That evening, Calum tosses nearly an entire loaf’s worth of breadcrumbs into his neighbour’s balcony. Wakes up the next day to find it covered in pigeon shit, just like he’d been hoping.
Except two days later, his entire house smells like manure because his neighbour had tossed three stinkbombs over in retaliation.
So Calum signs his neighbour’s address up for a daily sex-toy advert newsletter.
In return, Calum finds his mailbox painted hot-pink and covered in glitter. With a cheap store-brought rose toy vibe inside.
“Calum,” Luke’s eye twitches as Calum recounts his expeditions to him. “What the fuck?”
Calum looks up from where he’d been googling how legal it is to paintball someone else’s door. “What?”
Luke sighs all-sufferingly. He rubs his eyes like he’s expressing his disappointment at a student. Calum finds that somewhat offensive.
“Just talk to the guy, man,” Luke says. “This fuckin’...prank-wars ordeal is childish.”
“No way,” Calum replies. “That would be like admitting defeat.”
“Admitting de—do you hear yourself?”
“Crystal clear,” Calum says. “By the way, do you know a good lawyer?”
Luke blinks at him.
“Y’know,” Calum says. “Just in case.”
Luke throws his hands up in the air and scoots his chair back to his desk.
—
Calum is struggling to balance a paper-bag full of groceries on his hip as he waits for the elevator up to his floor to arrive. He could just as easily set the bag down till the doors open, but he’s just far too stubborn to let a paper bag get the best of him.
“Need a hand?”
Calum turns at the unfamiliar voice. It’s Michael’s friend. The one Luke was flirting with. Calum had called him Beefcake.
“Yeah, thanks,” Calum says, wincing in embarrassment, and the other guy takes the bag from Calum’s arms. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
Beefcake flashes him a friendly smile. “Oh, yeah! You’re Luke’s friend, aren’t you?”
Calum nods, smiling back. “Yeah,” Calum says. “I didn’t get a chance to say hi the other day. You’re visiting Michael?”
The guy shrugs. Really, Calum thinks, his arms are enormous.
“Yeah, he’s my best mate,” Beefcake replies.
“Got plans for tonight?”
The other guy smiles. “Jus’ hanging out. We usually just play a few rounds, split a few drinks, stuff like that.”
Calum’s eyebrows rise. He didn’t know Michael was the gaming type. Although, in retrospect, it makes sense.
“How do you guys know eachother?” Calum asks.
Beefcake chuckles like it’s a fond memory. “We were in our high-school band together,” he says. “First day of rehearsal, he tripped over his amp and trashed my drum kit. Been attached at the hip since.”
Calum laughs at that. It’s very in character for Michael, somehow. And even though Calum’s only just starting to know the guy, he somehow feels like he’s seen Michael in every phase of life.
“I didn’t know Michael was a musician,” Calum wonders aloud.
“Oh, he’s a man of many talents,” Beefcake rolls his eyes. “Bit of a headache to keep up with all his hobbies, honestly.”
“Ah,” Calum says. “Are you getting your degree too?”
The guy shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I keep Michael company while he studies sometimes, but I clocked out with my Bachelor’s.”
The elevator dings. Beefcake gestures at Calum to enter first when the doors open.
Calum sets his briefcase down in the elevator and takes the groceries from the other man so he can press the button for his floor first. Calum’s about to ask him to get the fifth floor for him, but Beefcake beats him to it. It seems they're headed to the same floor.
Wait.
What?
As far as Calum knows, the fourth apartment on his floor is empty. He’s about to ask if Beefcake is sure he got the right floor, but the guy turns to Calum and continues the conversation like nothing’s wrong.
“His finals are on, so he forgets to feed himself,” Beefcake tells Calum, unaware of the confusion on Calum’s face. “So I just come over and cook for him sometimes.”
“I see,” Calum manages to get out. His head is a bit of a mess. “Um, you—”
“Your name is Calum, right?” Beefcake asks, shooting him a knowing smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Michael.”
At that, Calum’s cheeks grow warm. He wonders, for a moment, what Michael has told him.
“I didn’t—um, I didn’t catch your name, though,” Calum gets out.
“Ah,” the other guy says. “It’s Ashton.”
“Nice to meet you, Ashton.”
Ashton wrinkles his nose. “That’s a bit formal, mate,” he jokes. “M’friends call me Ash.”
The elevator dings open on the fifth floor. Ashton steps out. Looks back at Calum expectantly.
Ash. Ash…where has Calum heard that name before?
There’s a growing sense of unease and anxiety in Calum’s belly as he leaves the elevator.
“Michael’s mentioned you a lot,” Ashton tells Calum casually as he reaches for a set of keys in his back pocket. They walk into the hallway together. Calum’s heart is in his throat.
“All good things though, don’t worry,” Ashton eyes him, smiling.
Calum’s fingers are tingling. Ashton is—
Ashton is heading for 5B. Calum’s neighbour’s door.
“I keep telling him to watch his sleep schedule,” Ashton goes on, oblivious to the fact that Calum is stuck in place, frozen still in the middle of the hallway. “What with the shit he pulls every other night.”
Ashton fiddles with the lock on the door. Sticks the key in the keyhole.
“Like, you’d think a grad student would want to get some sleep, right?” Ashton says. He looks back at Calum as the door opens. There’s a faint whoop from inside, and Calum’s blood runs cold. He recognizes the voice.
“But nah,” Ash scoffs. “This guy wants to livestream his fuckin’ combat games.”
He laughs like he’s made a joke. Calum can’t breathe.
“Anyway,” Ashton continues, stepping through the doorway. “T’was nice meeting you, Calum. See you around?”
Calum just stares. Ashton clears his throat awkwardly.
Calum snaps out of it. “Yeah,” he manages, voice hoarse. “Yeah, see you around.”
Ash raises two fingers in mock salute. He shuts the door.
Calum’s knees give out immediately.
—
Calum, obviously, doesn’t sleep. In fact, he enters his apartment, shoves his groceries in their rightful place, then paces up and down the length of their shared wall, biting his nails to the quick.
Ash is Michael’s friend. Ash is visiting Michael. Ash went into 5B. Ergo, 5B is Michael.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Calum spends the next three hours burning a path through his carpet, listening to the sounds of Ashton and Michael as they order food and play games and get drunk or whatever the fuck. The hours pass like seconds. He listens as their conversation grows quieter, more muffled, until eventually Ashton calls a loud goodbye to Michael, and the door clicks shut behind him, marking his departure.
He thinks about all those times he ran into Michael downstairs.
Calum should be angry. He should be livid.
He’d been running into Michael like normal, all while they fucked with each other in a way that was borderline property-damage. He’d spent countless sleepless nights trying to get a rise out of his neighbour, only to then complain to Michael himself about loudmouth neighbours.
At the same time, he feels terrible. He thinks about the exhaustion on Michael’s face the other day, like something bone-deep and heavy. About how he’d technically just been trying to make some money to keep himself afloat. How he’d been so nice to Calum, when Calum barely knew anyone else in the building. Always friendly. Always wearing a smile.
Fuck. How was he going to face Michael after this? Should he confront the man? How should he do it? How would Michael react? How—
“Ah.”
Calum freezes.
The sound cuts through the silence like a knife. So soft, Calum’s almost sure he made it up.
He turns to face the wall, as though it would give him an answer.
When the silence persists, he resumes his pacing.
“F—fuh…”
Calum’s heart drops straight out of his ass.
It’s unmistakable.
Through the thin wall, as the moonlight shines into Calum’s apartment: a moan.
A furious blush rises to Calum’s cheeks. He stumbles, finds support on one of his armchairs, and collapses into it.
He stares at the wall, heartbeat pounding in his chest.
Michael…Michael is—
“Sh-shit, ah—”
Michael is fucking jerking off.
“Oh, fuck—p-please—”
And Calum can hear it.
Calum tries desperately to zone out. He knows he should get up and walk away, steer clear of this fucking paper-thin wall until Michael was done. It is the right, respectable thing to do.
But he can’t move. He’s frozen in place, face burning, ears straining desperately for any sounds Michael makes. He sits in the darkness of his living room, absolutely motionless, holding his breath so he can hear clearly.
He feels—he feels gross. Guilt pools hot and ugly in his stomach, seeping outwards, willing him to move, but he just. He can’t.
Michael moans again, low and desperate.
Calum pictures how Michael must look. Reclined on his gaming chair, trousers low on his thighs as he strokes himself. Does he have lube? Does he lick his palm? Calum wonders if Michael bites his lip to keep from being too loud. Does he shut his eyes? Does he like to watch his hips buck up into his hands?
“Ahn—ah—”
Does Michael beg? Does he make little noises? Calum pictures him throwing his head back when it feels a little too good, the line of his neck exposed. He licks his lips.
Does Michael ask for it sweetly, green eyes blown wide as he looks up at Calum from down on his knees?
Does he like to be told what to do?
“Hnng, m-more…”
Calum is hard in his trousers.
God, he feels like a pervert. His erection strains against the fabric of his pants. Calum squints at it accusatorily. He refuses to touch himself. He won’t do this. He can’t do this. This—this is Michael. Michael with the green eyes. With the cool band tees. With the pretty pink lips.
Lips that Calum sees stretched wide around his cock. Slick with spit. Red from use.
Shit. No.
But the image burns into his mind. Calum blinks, trying to get rid of the idea, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He could get up and walk away. He could leave now, put on his earphones, pretend none of this ever happened.
But he won’t. He’s waiting.
“Mmmn…fuck, a–ah—”
Michael is close.
Calum’s skin feels sticky with sweat. He notices how hard he’s been gripping the armrests. To hold himself back. To keep from touching himself to the fucking sinful noises Michael makes. Maybe to keep himself from marching over and fucking Michael against the very same wall that separates them.
Calum’s head feels heavy. His thighs are cramping from the awkward, tense angle he’s sitting in. Michael’s moans and whines and whimpers grow louder, frantic as he chases his release. Calum’s so hard it hurts.
“Ah—please, please p-please—”
Calum exhales heavily through his nose. He stares at the wall. Listens. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears, so loud that he’s concerned it’ll give him away. That Michael will hear him through the walls and hate him forever for being a disgusting, repulsive perv—
“Hah—’s so good…mmn…”
The wall extends between them, stark and yet barely a divide. Calum wants to see Michael so desperately. Wants to watch him come apart under his own touch. Across the wall, Michael whines, deep in his chest. He’s close. Calum can tell.
“Shit, sh—!”
How is he supposed to face Michael, knowing he was listening when Michael was at his most vulnerable? How is he supposed to meet his eyes, knowing he pictures them rolling back into his own head? He feels sick. He needs to get up and leave. He needs to do something else. He needs to go.
Calum wills himself to move. It’s maybe the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He pushes himself off the chair, ignores the sweet little whimpers that cross the wall, reaching out for him like a siren’s call.
He’ll just…he’ll put in his earphones and play the loudest music he can find. He’ll take an hour-long cold shower, heat up the leftovers from yesterday, and—
Calum’s just trying to figure out how he’s going to get functioning for the rest of the night when he hears it. So soft, yet it etches itself into the crevices of his mind permanently. His heart stops. All the air leaves his lungs as though he’s taken a punch to the diaphragm.
From across the wall, a breathy sigh, breaking off into a moan—
“Calum.”
—
Oh, fuck.
—
Everything goes to shit immediately.
Calum obviously doesn’t sleep that night. He stays up, taking the longest cold shower in history, after which he paces up and down again, freaking the fuck out. He thinks a few times maybe he hears something from Michael’s apartment, but it’s really just the building settling or something.
He thinks of calling Luke and spilling his guts, but when he reaches for his phone, it's out of charge. He plugs it in, and half an hour later, when he checks it, he learns its half-past one in the morning. And then when he sits with the thought for a while he realizes he can’t fucking 8tell Luke what he heard without having to also tell him that Calum was perving on his neighbour. And Calum would never live something like that down.
So instead he eats half a loaf of bread—the only thing in his fridge that won’t come right back out again—and decides to finish correcting the essays he’s collecting from his students. He gets about halfway through before he starts nodding off.
The earliest morning birds are chirping by the time Calum sets his pen down and drops his head into his arms. The sun isn’t up yet, so Calum tries to get at least a few hours of rest before he has to be up for work.
Except the second his head hits the pillow, he’s hearing Michael’s voice. Seeing Michael, spread out on his bedsheets, whining and moaning into his hand as he pumps two fingers in and out of himself. Calling Calum‘s name.
The image shocks him so bad, he sits straight up in bed. He’s chubbing up again, but he refuses to acknowledge it. It’s an uncomfortable walk to the washroom, where he splashes cold water on his face and forces himself to discard the memory of Michael’s voice as he comes apart. How he’d said Calum’s name so sweetly.
Fuck.
The rest of Calum’s day predictably trash. He feels like a walking corpse, going through his routines numbly, because all he can think about is his name on Michael’s tongue. During his lectures, he’s so completely out of it that he puts on a documentary film for the class and zones out over a book. Which he realized later he’d been holding upside-down.
At lunch, Calum trips over nothing in the teacher’s lounge. Luke looks at him like he’s insane—which Calum might as well be, because even seated across the most unappealing, boring pile of messy notebooks that demand his immediate attention, Calum’s thinking of Michael.
All he wants to do is go home and sleep. He thinks maybe if he sleeps well enough, he’ll wake up tomorrow to learn that all this had just been a terrible dream. His evil neighbour would turn out to be an ugly, disdainful old man with bunions. He never heard Michael call his name as he came all over himself. All of it was just a nightmare.
But nothing ever goes Calum’s way.
He speed-walks the way from the bus stop to the building, jams his finger repeatedly into the elevator call-button like it’d make the lift come any faster, and nearly sprints through the hallway into his apartment. He was desperate to get some sleep, but worse than that, he was terrified to run into Michael.
He falls into bed comfortably that evening. There was not a peep from the other apartment. Calum knows Michael’s home because he heard him come in, following which he shoved balls of cotton into his ears and retired to the corner of his apartment furthest away from the shared wall.
But Calum can’t sleep. No, he stares at his ceiling, listens to the hum of the aircon. His heart is in his throat. It was around this time yesterday that he’d heard Michael, and somehow his brain registered the event as a high-threat situation, because the adrenaline pumping through his blood has his fingertips thrumming with energy. The cotton balls in his ears only amplify the silence on his head, the sound of the blood pumping through his veins. He tugs them out.
Big mistake.
Calum hears it then.
Michael—across the wall. Touching himself. Doing god-knows-what to draw those sickly sweet, wicked moans from his lips.
Again, he gasps like the first time. He whines, moans, whimpers through gritted teeth. Calum can almost see his lips, bitten raw, abused. He wants to replace Michael’s teeth with his own bites. He wants it to be his own hands, rather than Michael’s, that are making him feel so good. He wants to see Michael writhe and cry as he takes Calum’s cock—
Calum’s hard again.
He sighs. Goddammit. He should've expected this.
—
It’s torture.
Almost every night. Every fucking night. Of the whole week.
Michael must be pent up as all hell, because there’s really no other way to explain it. And it’s driving Calum up the wall because—it’s giving him blue balls. Calum listens, ashamed and yet shameless, as Michael plays with himself every night, and every time he gasps Calum’s name, it’s another hard-on in Calum’s trousers.
He’s mortified. But Calum’s gone over a week now, popping boners every night without so much as daring to even adjust himself in his pants. He’s afraid to touch himself. That would be—wrong. It would be an invasion of Michael’s privacy. It would be morally irredeemable. Calum wouldn’t do that to Michael.
Michael doesn’t seem to have any reservations, though. He whines Calum’s name unabashedly, uncaring that the sound might carry through the wall. Calum might be making it up, but it’s like he gets louder, more desperate, more pornographic with each passing day. Calum’s having a hard time blocking it out.
It’s almost funny. First it was the livestreaming. Now it’s Calum’s own personal hell.
Those fucking sounds are taking over his mind. He’s thinking of Michael constantly. He goes through his days on autopilot, simultaneously dreading and anticipating getting home, because Michael will be there, across the wall, singing Calum’s name on the edge of a gasp, a moan, a whimper.
The next day at work, during a free lecture, he slouches to the teachers’ lounge, dragging his feet miserably as he collapses into the seat beside Luke. He drops his head so hard on the desk that the sound startles Luke, and the old Miss Amari across the room.
“Mate,” Luke says, poking Calum with a pencil. He doesn’t react. “What’s wrong with you?”
Calum groans in response. It sounds like wind whistling through a corpse. Luke tells him so.
“Jus’ kill me,” Calum murmurs. His nose is painfully smushed against the table, but he doesn’t have the energy to move. “Just do it. I’m ready. It’s my time.”
Luke shoots him a look akin to one he’d give a slug as it creepy-crawled over his best shoes.
“Calum.” he prods Calum in the rib. It usually works, because Calum’s freakishly ticklish. But Calum barely feels it this time. He just sighs through his mouth. He’s miserable, and he knows he looks pathetic, but he can’t bring himself to care.
“Calum,” Luke says. “You look like you swallowed someone’s grandma’s ashes.”
Calum lifts his head a little, only to drop it against the desk again. “I might as well,” Calum gets out. “I might swallow poison while I’m at it.”
“Tragic,” Luke tuts. “I’ll write out your obituary.”
“Don’t make fun. I’ll take you down with me.”
He tries to disappear into the desk. If he squishes up against it hard enough, maybe he’ll melt into it.
Luke looks on. He keeps shooting Calum these pitiful looks. Eventually, he puts away the attendance register he was working on and scoots his chair over to Calum. He nudges him in the ankle.
“Hey,” Luke says. “I don’t know what the fuck’s up with you, but you can tell me over drinks tonight.”
Calum sits up, frowning. He does desperately need a drink, but—
“It’s a school night.”
“Oh my god,” Luke rolls his eyes. “You’ll live.”
Calum goes to drop his head back on the desk but Luke catches the back of his collar. Scruffs him like a cat.
“Besides,” he says, voice lower now, like he’s sharing a secret. “I want you to meet someone.”
His cheeks have a slight pink tinge. Calum’s eyes widen in recognition.
“Oh,” Calum says. “Oh.”
Luke turns away. “Don’t fuckin—”
“Luke Hemmings, you secretive whore,” Calum accuses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Luke blinks at him. “Because,” he enunciates. Calum feels patronized. “Every time I tried, you’d bring up your fucking neighbour again.”
Oh, right.
Calum’s neighbour.
The occurrences of the past week flash through Calum’s mind. Like a migraine. He groans dramatically and drops onto the desk.
“There, there,” Luke pats his back placatingly as he gets back to his work. “I’ll text you the address.”
—-
When Calum walks into the place Luke asked to meet, the first thing he spots is the massive bar counter. He’s headed for it, straight through the dancefloor like a buffoon, when someone steps in his way, and he walks face-first into the guy’s back.
He lets out an oof! involuntarily. The guy turns around, and Calum’s ready to get into his first bar-fight of the evening when—
“Calum!”
Calum blinks.
It’s Ashton.
“Ashton!” Calum breathes. “I mean—Ash. What are you doing here?”
Ashton tilts his head at Calum, perplexed. He kind of looks like an overgrown, super beefy puppy. “Luke didn’t tell you?”
“Luke didn’t tell me wh—oh,” the realization comes to him in the silence between two songs over the club stereo. Ashton is the guy Luke wants Calum to meet.
An arm lands around Calum’s shoulders and he looks to see Luke. Blond, grinning, tipsy Luke, who’s already making heart-eyes at Ashton.
“You’ve met!” he yells, directly into Calum’s ear. Calum winces at the decibel of his voice.
Calum looks between Luke hanging off of him, and Ashton, who smiles fondly at his boyfriend, and thinks:
This is going to be a long night.
“I need a drink,” Calum mutters. Ashton picks up on it.
“I’m on it!” he says, over the buzz of the crowd. Meanwhile, Luke’s already tugging at Calum’s sleeve.
“We’re going to talk,” Luke tells him. “About whatever’s got you so down in the dumps.”
“I’m not down in th—”
“You’ve looked constipated for the entire week,” Luke replies. “Either we leave here with seven cocktails in your system, or a laxative. Which is it?”
Calum rolls his eyes. He lets Luke weave him through the crowd. It’s a surprisingly busy bar, especially for a week night, but Luke seems to know his way around. He leads them into a little circular table on one end of the club.
“So,” Luke says, resting his chin in his palm. “What’s bothering you?”
Calum sighs. He considers telling Luke everything, but first he has a few questions of his own.
“When did…you and Ashton?” he asks.
Luke’s face breaks into a dreamy smile.
“I took his number that first day,” Luke says. “We texted a bit back and forth and then a week later he asked me out.”
Calum smiles. He’s happy for Luke. The guy deserves someone who’ll love him for the way he is. God knows Luke’s had terrible experiences in the past. “I’m happy for you,” Calum tells him.
“I really like him…” Luke trails off. Then, as though coming back to his senses, he snaps upright. “Don’t change the subject. What’s the matter with you?”
Calum wants to tell him. He really, really does, but he’s afraid Luke’s going to make fun of him. If the roles were reversed, Calum would do the same. Plus, it’s not an easy story to narrate out loud. Calum’s so deathly ashamed of himself, and so terribly pent up that he’s afraid he’d word-vomit all his feelings towards Michael right there, and Luke would be left reeling.
And yet…this is Luke. His Luke. His best friend. They’d seen the best and worst of each other. Maybe…maybe Luke would get it. After all, this can’t be the worst thing that’s ever happened in their entire friendship, can it?
So Calum takes a deep breath, and spills his fucking guts.
He tells Luke about the elevator ride with Ashton, their conversation about Michael. How Calum watched Ashton unlock Michael’s door and step in. How he freaked out and spiralled until Ashton eventually left. The ensuing silence. And then…Michael. How he listened in even though he shouldn’t have. How he sat there, picturing it all. How Michael called out Calum’s name.
How it’s been this way for a week, and it’s getting to a point where Calum can’t close his eyes anymore without seeing Michael, without hearing him.
And when Calum is all done talking, he looks at Luke, waiting for him to say something. Anything at all. Maybe for Luke to say he understands. Hopefully not that Luke thinks Calum is a disgusting pervert.
But Luke blinks at Calum slowly, like a cat. Then, he throws his head back, and cackles.
What the fuck.
Calum furrows his brows. “What’s so funny?”
But Luke just continues laughing, like Calum’s made the world’s most hilarious joke. There’s genuine tears in his eyes as he holds a finger up, gesturing for Calum to ‘wait a minute’. He gasps and chokes on his own heaving laughter, all while Calum sits frozen across from him, arms crossed defensively. Of all the reactions Calum had predicted, this certainly wasn’t in his cards.
“Luke,” Calum grits. “Stop laughing.”
Luke clutches his belly, wheezing. He sounds a bit like a dying cat.
“What’s so fucking funny?”
And when Calum sits in silence for another whole minute, Luke still giggling and snorting into his hands, drawing the attention of people around, Calum flushes down to his chest.
“I’m—I’m leaving,” he mutters. This is—this was a bad idea. Calum knows it now. Calum also knows never to trust Luke with a secret again.
As Calum rises from his seat, Luke waves desperately at him, like he’s asking Calum to wait, but he can barely speak through his gasping snickers. Calum turns to grab his wallet off the table when Ashton returns, slamming three beers down on the table and turning to grin at him.
Luke finally catches his breath. “I’m—I’m laughing because this whole thing is funny,” he says, wiping the tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks.
Ashton hands Calum a bottle as he slips into his seat beside Luke. Calum just stands there, numb. The condensation from the bottle drips down over his fingers.
“Calum,” Ashton calls, and Calum meets his eyes. Ash smiles like he knows something Calum doesn’t. That look is beginning to piss Calum off, but then Ashton continues. “Michael’s known this whole time that you were his neighbour.”
And suddenly it's like the world drops out from under his feet.
He falls back into his place on the couch. “What.”
Ashton nods. “He saw you move in,” he says. “Your very first day in. He freaked the fuck out about having a hot neighbour.”
Calum thinks maybe he needs to chug all three bottles of alcohol on the table. Effective immediately.
“But—” he starts, then stops. There’s so many things flitting around in his head. So many pieces coming together. “But the—the livestreaming. All those fucking pranks. The…this past week…”
Ashton laughs. Luke looks absolutely ecstatic. A nearby table goes quiet, as though they’re listening in.
“He did that shit knowing it was you,” Ash says, matter-of-factly. “He’s a stubborn fuck. You know this, don’t you?”
And Calum does know. His heart is beating loudly in his ears. He can barely think.
“Why?” Calum asks. He has so many questions. So many things he needs to sort out.
“He’s…” Ashton seems to struggle to find the words. Under the table, Calum is tapping his foot impatiently. Luke only smiles knowingly, taking a swig from his bottle. “Michael doesn’t like making the first move. He likes getting what he wants, but on his own terms. He was hoping all those pranks would make you go talk to him, instead of him having to come ask you out.”
Calum considers this. Lets Ashton’s words sink in.
Michael knew Calum was his neighbour all along.
All those silly pranks. The notes. Michael, looking exhausted over his ‘side hustle’. Michael, telling Calum he was buying batteries for a cheap amazon order. Michael, avoiding getting into the elevator with Calum. Michael, who fucked with Calum knowing who was on the other side of the wall.
Michael, calling out Calum’s name with his hand around his cock, knowing Calum would hear.
Oh, okay, Calum thinks.
He stands up suddenly. “I think I’m going to go figure some things out.”
Luke raises his bottle in cheers. “Have fun, loverboy.”
Calum flips him off. He downs his bottle. He disappears into the crowd.
In the taxi ride home, Calum thinks about everything he’s just learned. He feels a bit angry at first. Michael basically fucked with Calum’s head for no reason. But then the hot anger simmers into something else. Something warmer, smoother. Just under the surface.
For so long, Calum was playing with only half the cards. Now that he’s got the whole set, he’s planning on raising the stakes. Michael’s not the only one with tricks up his sleeve.
Two can play that game.
—
Three days down the line, Calum’s hit with an incredible stroke of luck. He walks into his building lobby just in time to see a flash of dyed hair enter the elevator, and the doors begin to fall shut.
He strides across the floor, calls out a firm, “Hold the lift, please.”
And Michael does, if only because he didn’t know it was Calum asking.
As soon as Calum steps into the lift, his eyes find Michael’s. Michael’s face grows red, in recognition, in guilt. In shame. Maybe, in arousal.
Calum backs into the corner of the elevator and leans against the railing lazily. Michael, meanwhile, stands stock still, refusing to move. His back straightens. He looks pointedly straight ahead, and he doesn’t say anything to Calum. So Calum stands back, relaxes against the elevator wall, and lets his eyes drag up the length of Michael’s body. He knows Michael can feel his eyes on him. In the silence, he can hear Michael’s breath as it stutters from his lungs.
Calum clears his throat conversationally.
“Been sleeping well lately?” he asks, voice dripping in innocent curiosity. With morbid satisfaction, Calum watches Michael stiffen.
The elevator doors fall shut. Trapping them both together, in the suffocating tension.
“Yes,” Michael replies, still facing away, then coughs a little when his voice comes out raspy. “Yes, I have.”
“Hm,” Calum shrugs to himself. Crosses his arms. “Can’t say the same, really.”
Calum lets the words linger uncomfortably, until Michael takes the bait and replies. “Why…why’s that?”
Calum grins. He watches Michael’s lashes flutter.
“Trouble with the neighbour again,” Calum replies. His voice is low, husky. It folds into the air in the lift. Gets under Michael’s skin.
Michael’s gaze falls. He fiddles with the rings on his fingers, but doesn’t respond. Calum audibly hears him gulp.
Calum straightens up, and Michael watches his movements from the corner of his eye.
“He’s just so loud,” Calum tells him, the lilt of his voice dripping with suggestion. “Especially late at night.”
The air is thick. Saturated. Michael stays still, forces himself not to move as Calum takes a step closer to him.
“Walls are thin, y’know?” Calum breathes.
Michael’s eyes squeeze shut. Tension lines his shoulders. His hands shake slightly, with the effort of holding back, of keeping his breath steady. Calum’s grin grows cruel.
The elevator signals they’ve arrived on their floor. Calum steps further into Michael’s space, until his breath is fanning the hair at the base of his neck. He watches goosebumps arise on Michael’s skin.
“Relax, Mikey,” Calum whispers to him. “You sound pretty when you cry f’me.”
The doors open, and Calum steps back. He watches Michael let out a relieved breath.
Calum steps past him and out into the hallway. As he goes, he lets his fingertips graze Michael’s waist. He looks over his shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, he licks his lips upon a devilish smirk, meeting Michael’s gaze.
The doors close on Michael’s flustered face. Calum chuckles.
That’s 1-0.
Calum sleeps well and smug that night, because the apartment next door is quiet for once.
—
Calum’s distracted at work the next day, buzzing with energy and anticipation at his plans for later tonight. He goes through his lectures in a daze, eyes flitting to the clock every five minutes, counting down the seconds in his head. If his students take note of his dizzy agitation, they don’t mention it to him. Luke keeps shooting him these smug looks, but Calum ignores him. He’s got better things to worry about.
He has to leave later that day because of a mishap between two of his seniors, but ultimately it all ends well, and Calum’s off the clock by six p.m. Boarding his bus, he's nearly vibrating in his seat, fingers tapping away anxiously at the plastic armrest, which has a few people shooting him odd looks. He doesn’t care.
He basically power-walks up to his apartment. Doesn’t run into anyone on the way there, which is good because he’s so anxious he might snap at them.
Once he’s inside, he forces himself to relax. For about half an hour, he sits at his kitchen table, meditating, getting all his excited energy out with each exhale. He puts on his favourite playlist and turns it up while he settles into a warm shower, letting the tension flow out of his muscles. His heart flutters in his chest at the thought of Michael, who should be getting home soon.
When he gets out, he dresses in a comfortable pair of sweatpants. He forgoes his shirt. For what he’s got planned—if it works—he won’t need his shirt at all.
Like clockwork, Calum’s ears perk up at the telltale click of Michael’s key sliding into place, the door opening and shutting behind him. Everything is going according to plan.
Calum waits. Bides his time until the clatter of Michael going about his chores has died down.
He settles into the plush cushions of his couch, where he knows the sound carries.
Slowly, he slips his hand under his sweats. He squeezes himself, just testing the feel of himself under his palm. He drops his head back against the headrest and hisses through his teeth.
After over a week of cockblocking himself, Callum feels like he deserves to savour this. He pushes his pants lower, just enough to get his hardening cock out. He licks his palm, wraps a hand around his base and strokes once along the length of his shaft.
The stimulation is delicious. He allows himself to moan, a low sound under his breath.
In the dim light of the doom, Calum coaxes himself until he’s fully erect, worrying his bottom lip as he tries not to give in and chase a quick release. He gathers the precome leaking from his tip and smears it down his cock, his eyes falling shut at the feeling.
He lets his imagination have free reign. Pictures Michael sitting between his thighs, stroking him teasingly slow, licking his lips in anticipation. At last, his mouth falls open, and he moans loudly.
There’s a muffled crash from across the wall, and Calum knows Michael has heard.
He smiles to himself, twisting his wrist just the way he likes, fist curled tightly around himself.
“Yeah, just like that, baby,” he murmurs, just loud enough. Pointedly picturing Michael’s hands in place of his own.
“Fuck,” comes Michael’s voice, soft like he’d been trying to stay quiet. Like it slipped out against his will.
Empowered, Calum continues. He imagines going over to the other’s apartment. Imagines slamming Michael against the closed door, taking him against every surface in the fucking room. He groans, a deep rumble from within his chest.
“Shit,” he breathes. “Shit, you're so fuckin’ good f’me.”
He works up a steady rhythm, using his precome as lube, biting his lip. Would Michael use his spit? Would he lick along the veins on Calum’s cock? Ask politely for a taste, look at him through tears because he wants it so bad?
“I know you’d beg for it,” Calum says, because he knows Michael’s listening. “Ah—take me so nice.”
He tightens his grip, squeezing his head at every upward stroke. He gasps, moans, putting on a show for Michael, the way Michael had been doing for the past week.
“F-fucking—think about you all the time,” Calum moans. “On y’knees. Sitting pretty for me. Taking whatever I give you like a good girl.”
His hips buck up into his fist. He can almost feel it: the phantom touch of Michael’s lips, the scratch of his nails against Calum’s thighs as he opens wide for him, takes him down his throat like he’s made for it.
“Mmmn, fuck, you’d be so easy, wouldn’t you? I’d make it so good for you, sweetheart.”
Calum flicks his wrist, stroking himself faster, savouring the pressure, the vision of Michael in his head—
“F-fuck, Michael—”
A door slams open and shut across the wall. Calum startles so hard, heart jumping to his throat. And then there’s a sudden pounding at his front door, and Calum’s laughing to himself because this is exactly what he’d expected.
He tucks himself into his sweats, still hard. He takes his own sweet time, wiping his hands and pushing his glasses up his nose.
Michael’s still banging on his front door when he tugs it open. Calum smirks at the violent blush lighting his cheeks. He leans against the doorframe, letting Michael take a moment to look down the length of his body. Michael’s eyes trail down his chest, where a bit of sweat gathers in the valley between his pecs…down his abs…down to his hips , where his dick tents his sweats, straining against the fabric.
Michael’s eyes snap back up. He points accusingly at Calum. “Y-you…”
“Michael?” Calum asks innocently. “Is there anything you need at this late hour?”
Michael bites his lip, trying and failing to meet Calum’s eyes. “You…you’re…this isn’t fair.”
Calum crosses his arms, brow quirked in amusement. “What’s not fair?”
Michael squints at him. The colour travels further down his neck, dipping under his shirt. Calum licks his lips.
“I know what you’re doing,” Michael takes a shaky breath. “I kn-know what you’re doing, and—”
“And?”
Michael gulps. God, he looks fucking pathetic. Standing at Calum’s doorstep, fidgety and stuttering, skin glowing a bright shade of red. Calum almost gives in.
“And…” Michael trails off. He takes a little step back as Calum leans into his space. Calum derives a sick satisfaction from it.
“Did you need anything, Michael?” he asks, and there’s a touch of authority in his tone. Calum’s in charge now, and it’s about time Michael gets that into his head.
Michael looks away. “Um,” he breathes. “N-no.”
“No?”
“Y—no, I don’t need anything.”
Calum pulls back. Tilts his head and smiles patronizingly at Michael. “Good.”
Michael turns away to return to his apartment. Then, seemingly rethinking it, turns back to Calum. He clears his throat, but his voice sounds small.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, cheeks burning.
“You’re sorry?” Calum prompts. Michael inhales, meets his eyes.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Ah, he’s learning.
Calum smiles, satisfied.
“Good,” he says. “Now go on off to bed, Mikey.”
—-
The next week is uneventful. Calum works very hard to keep it that way.
The next time Calum meets Michael in the lobby, he’s friendly, but keeps his distance. Michael can barely make eye-contact.
It’s good. It’s easy. It puts Michael on edge. Michael will be expecting something from Calum now, and Calum won’t give it to him until Michael’s fucking begging for it.
“Have—have a good day at work,” Michael says to him, the playful, teasing glint gone from his eyes. A genuine warmth replaces it now, and an underlying ache of desire.
“Thank you, Mikey,” Calum replies, because he knows the nickname would trigger the memories from that night. It works, because then Michael’s flushing up to his roots.
This is their routine. In the mornings, if they meet, Michael wishes Calum a good day. In the evenings, if Michael streams, he keeps the volume down. He’s ashamed, now. He knows his place, now.
Calum’s not a monster. He doesn’t touch himself every night. In fact, Calum doesn’t touch himself at all. On occasion, though, he’ll squeeze himself or palm himself, and let his eyes fall shut, his mouth fall open to the pleasure. Michael’s apartment is always very quiet afterwards.
Calum becomes increasingly conservative with the attention he gives Michael. Over the week, their formal greetings go from a few sparse words to Calum brushing past Michael with a hand on his waist, or even just a friendly wave. The disappointed, flustered rage on Michael’s face keeps Calum going for the whole day.
But then Finals start at school, and Calum is flooded with work.
He has students staying back hours after class to clear doubts and ask questions, which means he doesn’t get time to finish up his own workload. He stays up late at night, loses track of time as he pours over textbooks and looks over his students’ study notes, busy setting and rechecking paper and correction patterns.
He walks around like a ghost, drained of any social and emotional capacity. All he can spare for Michael is an occasional tired smile. He sees Michael’s concern etched into his cheeks as he smiles back, always almost-reaching out to talk, to comfort Calum. Maybe just to spend their silences together. To share space. Coexist. And Calum finds that he wants that with Michael, more and more with each passing day.
There’s just so much work. Calum’s days begin to blur into just school, his desk at home, and his bed. In all the grey, the only colour he sometimes finds is in Michael—in the dye of his hair, in the pink of his lips, the glint of his jewellery, the green of his eyes.
Except Calum is exhausted. Too exhausted to reach out and talk to the man. All he does is scribble away, and check and recheck notes, and sink into the dull throb of pain as his neck and back protest in response to all those hours spent hunched over.
He knows, in two weeks, once all the examinations are over, the papers will be sent out for grading, and then he’ll be free. Next week, while his students are away on their school-issued study break, Calum will take advantage of all the free time he gets.
It’s late at night on a Thursday that Calum finally caves and decides to have a smoke. If for nothing else, then to have a few minutes of silence.
He’s out on his balcony, leaning against the railing, cigarette pinched between two fingers. There’s a pleasant breeze, and the sounds of the city are almost melodic in their thrum. The lights seem so far away, stretching out for miles ahead of him until they disappear into the smog of the horizon. It’s serene. Peaceful.
Calum brings the cig to his lips.
“Hey, handsome,” comes a playful voice, somewhere to his left. Calum turns to find Michael stepping out into his own balcony, wearing a fond smile. “Fancy seeing you out here.”
Calum exhales the smoke before smiling back.
“Hi, pretty,” he says, then almost backpedals because the nickname wasn’t meant to slip out. Except it brings a warm glow to Michael’s cheeks as his eyes flit over their view. He comes over to lean against the railing of his own balcony.
The wind carries the faint scent of Michael’s cologne over to Calum. In the darkness, under the faint moonlight, Michael’s skin seems to glow. The image before him is just like Calum had wanted—to share silences with Michael. To share space, comfortably.
“You’ve been busy,” Michael observes. His eyes follow a couple, far below, as they stroll along a street, before turning a corner and disappearing.
Calum takes another drag before replying. “Work has been crazy,” he sighs.
Michael looks at him. “Tired?”
Calum lets his head drop. “Exhausted.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael says, and his voice is so sweet, so genuine. “I wish I could help.”
Calum shakes his head, meets Michael’s gaze and smiles. “You’re helping right now.”
It draws a melodic laugh from the man.
They fall into a comfortable silence. The breeze whistles, rattling the glass doors of their balconies gently. Far below, flower petals from a tree catch the wind and drag across the sidewalk. The moon dims and glows as the clouds pass before her, and Calum sips deeply from his cigarette, eyes closed to the world.
“I’m…” Michael starts. “I’m sorry. About everything.”
Calum opens his eyes. He raises a brow, turning to the other man. Michael fidgets with the sleeves of his shirt.
“I shouldn’t have done…all of that,” he goes on. “I know the sound bothered you, and I kept it up still. The…um, the pranks too. Some of them—some of them weren’t okay.”
Michael flushes. Calum knows they’re both thinking of ‘The Speaker Incident.’
Michael clears his throat. “They were all stupid,” he says, shaking his head. “I just…I guess I just wanted you to talk to me, and I was childish about it. I’m sorry.”
Michael takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to get out the words that are stuck in his chest.
“I should’ve been braver,” he says, cheeks burning. He can’t bring his eyes to meet Calum’s. “I should’ve done something else, but I was stupid because—because I really, really like you, and I still want something with you.”
Michael looks at Calum, a worried frown marring his beautiful features. “If you’ll have me,” he adds, self-conscious.
Calum breathes in the night air. He puts out his cigarette, tosses it to the side.
“I’m sorry, too,” Calum says. “I shouldn’t have…acted the way I did.”
Michael smiles. Understanding. Warm.
“It’s okay,” he breathes. “I guess we were both stupid.”
He tilts his head, like they’re sharing some kind of secret, and chuckles under his breath. Calum’s chest aches at the sound. His heart flutters.
Oh, he thinks. I’m absolutely fucked for this guy.
Michael looks out at the city again, and the breeze ruffles his hair a little.
“I should…probably get back inside,” he says. “It’s getting late.”
“Yeah,” Calum says, even though he really wants to say no stay please lets talk forever let me make you laugh again stay stay stay—
“Goodnight, Calum,” Michael says. He slides his balcony door open and steps in.
“Michael,” Calum says, because really, he’s waited long enough. He’s fucked around long enough. And now that they’ve finally had this conversation, told each other the truth, what more is left to do?
Michael pauses. Meets Calum’s gaze.
Calum looks at him, at the hopeful shine of his eyes, the way his fingers tighten around the doorframe.
“I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow,” Calum tells him. “Dress nice.”
Michael’s face splits into the most beautiful smile.
“Okay,” he says, unable to hide his relief, his excitement. He closes the balcony door, but pauses to look back at Calum before he disappears into his apartment.
Calum thinks, I might be in love.
—
Calum knocks on Michael’s door at seven o'clock on the dot. Michael swings the door open with the biggest smile on his face, and Calum has to resist the urge to pounce on him right then and there. But he doesn’t. No, he’s got a plan.
The date goes wonderfully. Calum takes Michael to a place with warm lights and fantastic liquor. They talk for hours, forgetting the food on their plates, laughing and smiling and flirting like they’d been this way for years. Calum wants to stay there forever, watching the light catch Michael’s eyes, the whisper of mirth on his lips, the way their fingers intertwine as though coming home.
They go out for ice-cream after. Michael picks something exotic and tangy. Calum wants to lick it from his tongue.
On the walk home, Michael’s hand finds Calum’s, and the memory etches itself into place. Under streetlights, under stars, Calum’s shoulder brushes Michael’s, and he feels like he can finally breathe.
When they get home, Michael leans against his door, biting his lip shyly. They’re standing far too close together, and Calum’s fingers are buzzing with anticipation.
Michael’s hand finds Calum’s collar and he pulls him in. Calum goes willingly. All alone in that hallway, Calum kisses Michael, sweet and lingering. He breathes Michael in, tastes the tip of his tongue, memorizes the way his body curves into Calum’s. Michael moans, licks into Calum’s mouth, deepening the kiss, desperate, wanting—
With an enormous effort, Calum pulls away. He stays close, nearly speaking into Michael’s lips.
“It’s late,” he says.
“Mm,” Michael responds, distracted as he chases Calum’s lips. Calum stops him with a hand on his hip.
“I have to be up early tomorrow,” he smiles. It’s a lie. It’s Saturday tomorrow.
But the disappointment on Michael’s face is immediately evident. It makes Calum’s knees weak, the way he pouts up at him.
Calum steps back from Michael, and all the warmth leaves him immediately. God, it’s an effort not to take Michael right there in the hallway with the way he’s looking at him so invitingly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, pretty,” he tells Michael. He moves to unlock his door.
Michael gulps. “Oh,” he says, voice small. Almost hurt. “Okay.”
He watches as Calum opens the door to his apartment and pockets the keys. Calum smiles tenderly at Michael, even as he shuts the door in his face.
Calum waits by his door, listening intently as Michael stands there for a moment, then unlocks his own door and steps in.
It’s funny. Calum steps back from his door, grinning to himself. He unbuttons his shirt, smiling like an idiot, because he’s teased Michael for so long now. Let Michael have a little taste through that kiss, then took it all away.
Michael must be—frustrated. Pissed off, even, and rightfully so because to him, it probably looks like Calum led him on only to leave him high and dry. Calum expects Michael to crack any moment now. Either he’d stand there, pressed against his door, getting himself off with his shirt held up between his teeth, or—
There’s an impatient pounding at Calum’s door.
Ah, there it is.
Shirt still half-undone, Calum waits a few moments, just to torture Michael a little. He swings open his door.
Michael stands there, cheeks flushed, brows furrowed because he’s upset. It’s a cute look on him, as he looks Calum over, then lunges at him.
His hands go around Calum’s shoulders immediately, pulling him in, and Calum catches him by his waist. The door shuts loudly as Calum presses him back into it, and Michael captures his lips.
“You—fuckin’ tease,” Michael accuses, as he nips at Calum’s bottom lip. He’s insatiable. The kiss is hungry—violent, almost, in how messily Michael sucks at Calum’s tongue, moans into him, grinds his hips against the other man’s.
Calum laughs into the kiss. Michael draws him impossibly closer, one leg coming up to wrap around Calum’s thigh, to press him further into himself. His hand goes down Calum’s chest, fingers exploring the bare skin.
Calum’s painting small, biting kisses down Michael’s neck, and Michael turns his head to give him better access. His teeth scrape dangerously along Michael’s jugular, and the man lets out a high-pitched whine.
“Fff—Calum,” he gasps, nails digging into Calum’s shoulder. Calum only chuckles into his skin. “Calum—”
“Yeah?” Calum calls, busy tracing a path down to his collarbones with his lips. When Michael tugs at his sleeve, Calum knows he’s asking for his attention. He pauses.
Michael looks down at him, uncertainty bleeding into confidence in his eyes. “You…” he licks his lips. “You’re going to let me suck your cock.”
Calum’s belly swoops, his heart skipping like ten beats in a row. Fuck. He really wants that, but…not yet.
Calum tilts his head, grinning up at Michael. “I am?”
Calum’s hands creep up to find purchase on Michael's hips as the other man fumbles. “Y-yes,” Michael breathes, clearly struggling to pay attention. “You are.”
“Hm,” Calum tilts his head. He comes up to press a quick kiss to Michael’s lips before using his grip on his waist to spin him around. Michael gasps, hands coming up to find support against the door. Calum crowds him into the wall, licking along the line of his shoulder and nibbling at a spot under his ear. Michael whines.
“I think,” Calum starts, drunk on the taste of Michael’s skin. “I ought to teach you a thing or two about manners, hm?”
Michael bites his lip, trying and failing to keep his little noises hidden. When he doesn’t reply, Calum trails a hand up from Michael’s bellow, up his throat, and settles his hand there, squeezing just enough to get Michael’s attention Michael’s eyes flutter shut and his head falls back on Calum’s shoulder.
“What do you say, Michael?” Calum breathes, lips brushing his ear.
“Y-es, sir,” Michael gasps. His fingers curl into fists, scrabbling for something to hold on to against the door. Calum presses one last kiss to Michael’s neck, then steps back altogether. Michael’s knees nearly give out, but he catches himself. Supporting his weight, he turns to meet Calum’s eyes.
He looks—he looks fucking ruined already. Skin flushed and warm, pupils blown wide, lips bitten and raw. He takes Calum in. Calum, who stands tall, arms crossed, looking down his nose at Michael. He exhales through his mouth. He can’t wait to take Michael apart, piece by piece.
Calum gestures towards the corridor leading further into his apartment.
“Go find my room,” he says. “I want you naked on my bed when I get there.”
Michael hesitates for just a moment, before a sly smile parts his lips and he pads confidently towards Calum’s room, tugging his shirt up and over his head as he goes. He looks over his shoulder, gauging Calum’s reaction as the skin of his torso comes into view. Calum entertains him, letting his eyes trail appreciatively down his back.
Michael finds Calum’s room, pushes past the door and disappears out of view. Calum gives him a few minutes, generously. The apartment is so quiet, but Calum can hear his heartbeat as it pounds against his ribcage. His skin is crawling, blood thrumming as he tries not to fidget with excitement, anticipation. He knows Michael’s stripping just one wall over. Michael’s stripping for him.
It sends a zip of energy up his spine. He’s going to break Michael down until he’s fucking sobbing, until he’s begging for Calum’s cock—and then some. It’s a little sadistic, sure. But Calum never claimed to be nice.
The minutes stretch out into eternity. Calum knows he’s waited much longer than it would take for Michael to get his clothes off. But he revels in the wait, in the desperate itch of impatience in his bones. Michael will be squirming, belly turning as he tries to piece together what happens next.
Calum gives in.
It’s a lazy stroll, unhurried and aimless, down to his room. He walks through the doorframe, and lets his eyes just barely flit over Michael.
His breath catches in his lungs.
The moonlight dances across Michael’s skin in the dark room. He sits at the edge of the bed, thighs spread, already half-hard. Michael’s cock is, like the rest of him, predictably pretty. Flushed pink, it sits untouched between his legs, even as his shoulders shake in restraint. He wants to be good, Calum can tell—because Michael’s hands are fisted tight beside him. He’s looking straight down, cheeks on fire, but he’s aware of Calum when he walks in.
Intentionally, Calum doesn’t look too long, hides the arousal in his eyes. He walks across the room, to his dresser. Basically ignoring the fucking incarnation of Venus sitting on his bedsheets.
“You know the colour system, Michael?” Calum asks, back turned as he looks through the top drawer. He finds what he’s looking for and pockets it. Then crouches to open his bottom drawer.
Michael nods—then, realizing Calum can’t see him, clears his throat. “Yes.”
“Good,” Calum says. “I have a few rules for you before we start. Is that okay?”
Michael is quiet this time. He stays silent, until Calum locates the item he’s seeking in his drawer and hides it in his palm. He turns and meets Michael’s gaze expectantly.
“We speak when spoken to, Mikey,” Calum tells him. Michael’s eyes fall away, and he flushes.
“Yes,” he murmurs. Then, catching himself, “Yes, sir.”
Calum lets him sit there, silent and uncomfortable once he notices just how undressed he is compared to the fully-clothed Calum. How exposed he is. How much Calum can see. Softly, he mutters, “I don’t like rules.”
Calum chuckles. The sound clearly gets under Michael’s skin, for he shifts a little on his thighs. Tries to draw his legs closed. Calum crosses the room again, not looking at Michael, not giving him the attention he needs.
“You’ll need them tonight if you want me to fuck you, pretty,” Calum replies. He hears Michael’s sharp intake of breath.
Calum drags the chair from his desk to the centre of the room. Sets it so that it’s facing Michael on the bed.
“Now,” Calum says. He looks at Michael fully, checking him out as Michael’s skin heats under his gaze. It settles the man, though. He needs the attention. “I want you to use your words tonight.”
Calum approaches Michael. As he stands over him, Michael’s gaze moves up to meet his eyes. Calum cups his cheek gently.
“If you want something from me,” Calum tells him, voice gentle, coaxing. “You’re going to ask for permission. You’re going to say ‘please’.”
Michael’s eyes flutter.
“I won’t give you what you want unless you ask real nice, okay?” he continues.
Michael nods. Calum lets this one slide because Michael’s still learning. He’ll catch up. Calum will make sure of it.
“I don’t like to be disappointed, Michael,” Calum says, thumb tracing Michael’s lower lip. “You know that, don’t you?”
Michael meets his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“And if you disappoint me, what do you say?”
Michael bites his lip. He pauses, considering—but that’s okay. Calum can wait. He wants Michael to figure it out for himself.
“That…” Michael ventures. “That I’m sorry.”
Calum smiles. “Very good.”
Michael exhales through his nose, relieved at Calum’s approval. Calum’s hand finds its place around Michael’s neck again. Just feeling him out, never applying pressure. He feels Michael’s adams apple bob as he swallows deeply.
“And when you feel good,” Calum tells him, voice low, barely above a whisper. “I want you to thank me.”
Michael makes a noise low in his throat. Calum leans in, breath fanning Michael’s cheek. The other man chases Calum’s lips, but Calum holds him in place.
“I need you to understand something,” Calum murmurs, eyes fixed on Michael’s lips because he can’t look away.
Michael hums.
“You’ve gotta understand none of this is for you, baby,” Calum says, and Michael’s eyes snap open to meet Calum’s. They’re dilated, green devoured entirely by the black of his pupils. He licks his lips as Calum continues. “Everything that happens tonight is for my pleasure. ”
Michael’s eyebrows quiver. He moulds into Calum’s touch, but then Calum is pulling away. He lays out the things he’d recovered from his dresser onto the bed.
“Am I understood?” he says, voice firm now.
Michael nods, quick and desperate. “Yes,” he gasps. “God, yes.”
Calum presses one last kiss to his lips, just barely brushing, before he steps back and falls into the chair he’d pulled out earlier. Michael’s eyes fall onto the items laid out beside him.
A bottle of lube. And a bullet vibe.
His face flushes. He turns to Calum, who stretches out his legs lazily. Michael’s eyes catch the bulge in his trousers before they come up to his face.
“You’re not going to—?”
“Me?” Calum laughs, loud and mocking. “Oh, no, baby.”
Calum rests his knuckles against his temple, supporting himself with an elbow along his armrest. He looks at Michael through a smirk.
“After all your teasing?” Calum goes on. Michael’ eyes widen, fist tightening around the little bottle. “Fucking yourself while I could hear, whining my name like a whore…I don’t think you’ve earned my touch just yet, sweetheart.”
Michael folds into himself, thighs pulling shut. He falls back onto the bed, looking between Calum and the bottle in his hands. Calum leans forward, resting his hands on his knees.
“Michael,” he calls softly, and Michael looks at him immediately. So obedient. It brings a smile to Calum’s lips. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”
Michael bites his lip. “I do.”
“Then touch yourself, pretty,” Calum says. “Show me what you did across that wall.”
“But I want—”
“I don’t care what you want,” Calum says, sitting back. “You’re gonna work for it, aren’t you? Not gonna touch you until you cry nice and pretty f’me.”
Michael still looks like he wants to disagree. He unbuttons his shirt all the way, watching as Michael wets his lips, following the movement of Calum’s fingers. He goes as far as undoing the button of his trousers, but that’s all he’ll let Michael have at the moment. Sitting shirtless there, he rolls his shoulders.
“Lean back for me, baby,” he murmurs. He watches as the command in his voice sinks into Michael’s skin. Michael slides further up and leans back against the headboard of the bed. He slides his legs open, looking to the side as he does, cheeks stained red. The blush travels further down his chest.
Calum’s mouth goes dry.
“I…I’m—” Michael can’t seem to get the words out, stuttering as he struggles to relax, to adjust to how vulnerable he is, how he’s at Calum’s mercy right now.
It makes Calum’s chest grow warm, arousal gathering low in his belly. Good.
“I know,” he shushes, condescending. “Embarassing, isn’t it? All spread out like this, for me to look at?”
Michael nods.
“Words, Michael,” Calum says, sharper now. “Tell me how you feel.”
“I feel—” Michael cuts himself off. “I feel…open.”
“Y’like being looked at?”
“Yes, sir.”
Calum hums. “Go on,” he prompts. “Put on a show for me.”
Michael pauses, hesitant. Then, he uncaps the bottle in his hand. Slicks up his fingers.
“Can I?” he pleads, and his voice is so sweet.
“Go ahead,” Calum consents.
Michael sinks his index finger knuckle deep, all in one go. He drops his head back against the headboard, eyes falling shut. A reverberating moan slips from his lips. Calum’s eyes are locked on his slick hole, how he slowly pumps his finger in and out.
“What do we say?” Calum prompts, even as his voice is low, heavy with desire.
Michael clearly struggles to register Calum’s words, but when he does, he fumbles through the words. “Th-thank you, sir, ah—”
“Tell me what you thought about,” Calum breathes. “Across the wall, all those days.”
Michael bites his lip upon a moan. “Ah-ah,” Calum tuts. “Commit to it, baby. Let me hear you.”
Michael’s so fucking obedient, he lets his lips drop open and whines obscenely.
“I thought about you,” he gasps. “Your—your hands’ around m’waist. Thought about sucking you off in that fuckin’ grocery store.”
Calum’s pants suddenly grow extremely uncomfortable at the image of Michael, taking him down to the base in one of the aisles of the grocery store. Michael gasps as he curls his finger, drawing Calum back.
“I thought of…sitting on your cock while y’worked,” Michael breathes, eyes fluttering open. “Would you bend me over your desk? Fuck me…ah—against that wall between us?”
“Anything you want, gorgeous,” Calum replies, transfixed. The world disappears, everything coming down to just him and Michael and the distance separating them. He can see how the resistance disappears while Michael fucks himself. “Add another finger.”
“Shit,” Michael pants, pushing another finger inside himself.
“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
His fingers stutter clumsily inside himself, pace unstable as he loses himself to pleasure. Calum commits it all to memory, biting his tongue as he takes in how Michael writhes against the headboard. Michael’s fingers thrust in and out of himself, hips jumping as he grinds down onto himself.
“How do you feel, princess?” Calum asks. He wants to know. He wants Michael to feel his absence, not just be aware of it. Wants Michael to know it could be Calum’s fingers instead, but it won’t be until Michael gives in completely.
“So good,” Michael whines. “So full, but—y-your hands—sir—”
“Yeah? Want me to come over there, stretch y’out on my fingers?
“Yes…fuck—”
“Y’fingers just don’t reach, do they? Need someone to open you out nice and wide, fuck up against that spot inside?”
“P-please—”
“There we go,” Calum grins. “Now you’re getting it, baby.”
Michael’s back arches, his whines growing more and more desperate as he increases his pace. Calum stretches out to pick up the forgotten vibe from the foot of the bed. He tosses it gently, so that it lands where it’d get Michael’s attention. Michael pauses his movements, eyes flitting between the toy and Calum, perplexed.
Calum tilts his head, mocking Michael’s confusion. “Use that pretty head, Mikey,” Calum smiles. “Turn it on. I want you to hold it against your cock.”
Michael’s knees draw in, as though withdrawing from the viberator. “N-no, sir…I—”
“No?” Calum pouts mockingly. “Maybe I should use it f’myself then. Get myself off right here and leave you all fucked out on my bed. What do you think?”
Michael’s brows draw together. He’s so pink and perfectly flushed, sweat glittering along his milky skin as it catches the light. “I’m sorry,” Michael whispers, upset, ashamed.
Calum tsks. “Prove it to me,” he says. “Turn it on. Use it.”
Michael complies. Calum nods his approval when Michael sets it to the lowest setting and presses it to his shaft. He shudders, the muscles in his abdomen tightening. Slowly, almost fearfully, he begins pumping his fingers again.
“Ah…”
His toes curl into the bedsheets. Sweat lines his collarbone, the low hum of the vibrator fills the room, paired with the slick sound of Michael’s fingers inside himself. The muscles in his whole body are tense. He looks like a fucking dream.
“Shit, baby, look at you,” Calum breathes. He sees rather than hears Michael react to his words, in the way his spine curves, the way his eyes flutter, the way his pace stumbles as he opens himself up. “So fuckin’ pretty. So perfect for me. What a vision.”
Michael bites the inside of his cheek, eyes shut as he shudders through the stimulation.
“Gonna fuck you so good, Mikey,” Calum tells him, and it elicits a melodic whimper from the other man. “Shit, you’d take it so good for me, won’t you? Soak my cock like you were made for it.”
Michael curls his fingers inside himself. “Hng—sir…I—”
“Turn it all the way up, pretty girl,” Calum says. He catches the way Michael’s lashes flutter at his words, both in shock and in shame for how much he likes it.
“I can’t,” Michael gasps.
“Turn it up, Mikey,” Calum repeats. Michael frowns, sweat gathering on his brows. His hands shake as he pulls the toy away, turning it to the highest setting. Nervously, he looks at Calum. Calum leans further back in his seat, folding his arms. He spreads his thighs, intentionally guiding Michael’s gaze down his body. Michael’s lower lip parts in a shaky sigh.
He presses the vibrator down on himself. Immediately, his hips buck up. He chokes on a moan. “Calum.”
Calum’s cock twitches in his trousers. He adjusts himself unsubtly. The vibrator is loud—almost louder than the moans and curses spilling from Michael’s lips. His fingers still inside himself.
“Keep fucking yourself, princess,” Calum tells Michael, but he’s gone completely. Tears gather along his lashes.
“I can’t,” Michael gasps. “I can’t…ah—it hurts, it hurts, please—”
“You can handle it, baby, can’t you?” Calum urges. “For me?”
Michael mewls, a high-pitched, wet sound. His grip tightens around the vibe as he slowly starts moving his fingers again, almost slipping out multiple times. His back arches clean off the bed, hips jumping erratically. Calum knows he’s getting overwhelmed by his own touch. He opens his eyes. His gaze is unfocused and his lashes are wet.
“Add another finger,” Calum orders, authority heavy in his voice.
Michael cries out, frustrated, on the verge of tears. Both his hands shake, unsteady as his hips grind up into the vibe, as his fingers twist inside himself. Painfully slow, he adds a third finger. The stretch makes him hiss, and his face scrunches up in pleasure, in discomfort.
He thrusts his fingers in a slow, deliberate, prolonged drag. Nearly immobile with pleasure, Calum watches as the precome dribbles down his flushed cock.
It’s barely a few minutes until he’s clenching down around his fingers, shoulders shaking in pleasure as he whines and mewls and whimpers, lips slick with spit, eyes red with unshed tears. Calum smiles sweetly.
“Gonna cum?” he asks.
Michael gasps, breathing shallow and uneven as he haltingly pumps his fingers. “Yes.”
“Yeah?” Calum presses. “Gonna make a mess? Fall apart for me?”
Michael’s nearly sobbing now, tears slipping freely down his red cheeks.
“Yes,” he whines. “Yes, yes, please, fuck—”
“Stop.”
Michael’s eyes fly open. He meets Calum’s gaze, steady in contrast to the way Michael shudders in pleasure. He’s so fucking close. He’s nearly there, he just…“N-no, pl—”
“Stop now, Michael,” Calum says, his voice dangerous, like a warning. The command is there. Michael is supposed to obey. Those were the rules. It’s all for Calum.
Michael makes a frustrated sound, somewhere between a groan and a sob. His fingers curl deeply inside of him, the toy buzzing loudly against his shaft. He whines, eyes falling shut as he squirms, the pleasure overwhelming him. His thighs shake, and he gasps Calum’s name over and over. And then he’s coming, streaking his belly in ropes of white, the room filling with the broken sounds of his orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave.
He collapses back against the pillows, sapped of energy. He catches his breath for a moment, before he notices the silence. Before he notices that Calum gave him an order, and he disobeyed it.
“Feel good?” comes Calum’s voice. Michael sits up on shaking limbs to meet his eyes. Calum reclines lazily against his chair, like he didn’t just watch the hottest fucking scene unfold before him. He schools his expression, looks Michael over with languid disinterest.
He knows his gaze will sting. It’s meant to.
“I—” Michael starts.
“I should just leave you here,” Calum says.
“N-no, I…”
“What?” Calum mocks, sitting up. “I was so nice to you, wasn’t I? Letting you touch yourself when I could’ve just used you to get myself off and left you hard and wanting.”
Michael shifts uncomfortably. He knows he’s disappointed Calum. “‘M sorry, sir.”
“Yeah? You’re sorry?” Calum pouts, condescending. “That’s not gonna cut it, sweetheart.”
Michael looks away. “‘M sorry for…coming without permission.”
“Yeah?”
“For…for not listening. For being bad.”
Calum tilts his head, catches the glint of tears along Michael’s lashes. “Aw,” he nearly fucking laughs. “Gonna cry f’me?”
Michael sniffs. He shakes his head.
“No?” Calum says. He sighs dramatically. “I’m almost insulted y’don’t trust me to get you off. Don’t think I can get you there, baby?”
Michael meets his eyes.
“Could’ve bent you over that balcony out there, have the whole city hear just how good I can give it to you…if you’d just waited,” Calum continues. He hears Michael’s breath catch.
“No, that doesn’t sound right,” Calum shakes his head. “Maybe I could’ve let you ride my face…make a mess all over those pretty thighs?”
Michael whimpers. The sound cuts through the air, goes straight to Calum’s cock.
“How do you think I should punish you, Michael?” Calum asks. It’s a trick question. He wants to see if Michael’s been paying attention.
Michael’s hands fist the sheets. He bites his lip, cheeks flaming. “That’s not…f’me to decide, sir.”
Calum smiles, pleased. “Good.”
The tension ebbs out of Michael’s frame, just from that simple word of approval. God, he’s so fucking desperate for it. Even though he’s ashamed, Calum can see him chubbing up between his thighs. Calum’s going to fucking destroy him.
“Crawl to me, Michael,” Calum says.
Michael’s head jerks up. “What?”
Calum sighs through his nose, irritated. “I won’t say it again.”
Michael hesitates for barely a split second, before he’s sliding off the bed and onto the ground. It’s humiliating, and that’s exactly what Calum wants from him. His cheeks are burning, the flush travelling down his neck as he grovels on his hands and knees, across the room, to come sit between Calum’s thighs.
He looks up at him through wet lashes, lips pink, mouth watering already. Calum cups Michael’s face, and the man leans into his touch. Calum knows now that Michael wears mascara, because it smudges across his cheek. Fuck.
With his thumb, Calum wipes away a stray tear.
“What’s this?” he smiles. “Thought you said you could handle mean?”
Michael frowns. “I can.”
“Michael, sweetheart,” Calum laughs. “Y’couldn’t even handle a bullet vibe.”
Michael flushes, looking away, blinking fast.
“I should fuck your face for the way you acted tonight,” Calum tells him, and Michael inhales sharply, eyes snapping to the outline of Calum’s cock. His pupils dilate in anticipation. Eager.
“But I have a feeling you’d enjoy that, won’t you?” Calum continues. His thumb traces Michael’s bottom lip, pressing down slightly. Michael takes him into his mouth, licking the tip of his thumb.
“Asked you a question, baby,” Calum reminds him. Michael lets him go with a wet pop.
“Please,” he says. His voice is deep, sultry with arousal.
“Hm,” Calum feigns consideration. Then, “Beg for it.”
Michael rises to the task immediately. He brings his hands to slide along Calum’s thighs. Looks up at him sweetly, licks his lips. Fuckin’ slut, Calum wants to say. Tempress. You know what you do to me, don’t you?
“Please let me suck your cock,” Michael breathes, voice dripping in seduction. “Please, sir?”
It’s an effort to keep the bored look on his face, to keep his posture relaxed, to keep his muscles from tensing under Michael’s touch.
“I’ll make it so good for you,” Michael stresses. “I’ll take you so deep, make a mess—just the way you like.”
He leans in, mouths wetly at the outline of Calum’s dick in his trousers. Calum has to force himself not to move, not to buck up against him.
“Don’t you want to know?” Michael goes on, eyes hooded. “What it’s like? Want me to choke on it? Take you down to the base, memorize the taste of you?”
Calum holds his breath without realizing it. Michael nips at the zipper of his trousers.
“Please, sir? Wanna taste you. Wanna feel you in my mouth.”
“Shit,” Calum gasps. “Fuck, go on, baby.”
Michael’s fingers shake as he tugs Calum’s zip down. Calum lifts his hips so that Michael can pull his trousers down, just enough to reach for Calum’s cock, to pull him out, exposing his hard-on to the low chill of the room.
Michael sits back on his haunches as Calum’s cock bounces against his abdomen. He’s painfully hard—has been since the first moan Michael let spill from his lips, nearly half an hour ago.
“Shit,” Michael says, staring unabashedly. “This…y’won’t fit.”
It goes straight to Calum’s ego. He smirks, unashamed. “We’ll make it fit, won’t we, princess?”
Michael gulps. He reaches for Calum, goes to wrap his hands around the base but Calum stops him with a click of his tongue.
“Put your hands behind your back,” Calum tells Michael. “Gonna fuck that pretty mouth. Shut y’up for once.”
Michael complies. Calum’s sweet with him with how pliantly he goes. Calum tucks stray strands of Michael’s hair behind his ear, even as Michael’s lips part, how he loosens his jaw and sticks his tongue out, trying to hide the excited glint in his eyes. Tease.
“Tap my thigh twice if you want out,” Calum tells him. He presses the tip of his cock to Michael’s mouth, spreading the precome over his lips, before he feeds himself into Michael’s mouth completely.
Michael takes him like a champ. He chokes quietly when Calum hits the back of throat, eyes falling shut. Calum strokes his cheek to get his attention.
“Look at me,” Calum instructs. “You take your eyes off me, I’ll stop.”
Michael moans around him, and the vibrations are delicious. Calum threads his hand into Michael’s hair and tightens his grip. Slowly, he rolls his hips in and out, watching the tears gather in Michael’s eyes as he struggles to take him. The spit as it dribbles past Michael’s lips, slips down his chin.
“Shit, made for this, weren’t you?” Calum groans.
Michael tries to nod, but his breath hitches, throat closing. The wet heat draws Calum in further. He uses his hold on Michael’s hair to tug him up and down on his cock, hissing every time Michael groans. His mouth feels like heaven.
“That’s my good fucking girl,” Calum breathes, as Michael swirls his tongue, hollowing his cheeks as he tries to take more of Calum. Tears slip down his face. Calum’s pace steadily increases. He moves his hand from Michael’s hair to his throat, feels it bulge as Calum fucks his mouth. He presses down lightly, if only to feel Michael panic, the way his eyes go wide, his throat constricting.
It draws a laugh from Calum. “Look perfect on your knees,” Calum tells Michael, as the man struggles to keep his eyes open. “Should keep you under my desk all day, cock buried down these pretty lips.”
Michael licks slyly around the ridge of Calum’s cockhead. A string of curses spill from Calum’s lips as the movement of his hips grow rougher, faster, more desperate. The wet sounds of Michael as he chokes around him fill the room, tears streaming freely down his cheeks.
Calum feels the hot coil of pleasure tighten in his belly. Without warning, he pulls off from Michael. The other man gasps, heaving as he catches his breath. He coughs as Calum strokes his cheek. “So good for me, baby,” Calum praises. “Can’t wait t’be inside you.”
Michael keens. “Please, sir.”
His voice is deliciously hoarse, wrecked completely as he begs so pretty on his knees for Calum to fuck him.
Calum guides him up from his knees, meets him halfway with a kiss so gentle, it clearly takes the other man by surprise. Michael responds in fervour, hands travelling mindlessly over Calum’s skin as Calum grips him by the hips, walks him back till they hit the edge of the bed. Calum nips at Michael’s lip, pushing gently so Michael falls back onto the bed.
Michael rises on his elbows, licking his lips as Calum rids himself of his trousers and boxers. Calum wraps a hand around himself, pumping himself lazily as he looks down at Michael, waiting to split him open, to devour him.
“Want me to fuck you?” Calum mocks, watching Michael spread his legs, arch his back invitingly. “Stretch you out, see how this pretty hole takes me?”
Michael whimpers. “Please,” he breathes. “Shit, I need it. I need it.”
He slides further up the bed as Calum gets his knee on the edge of the bed. He wraps his palm around Michael’s ankle, traces a teasing palm up, up, up to high inner thigh. Calum crawls over him, kissing where his hand has stopped, then further along Michael’s chest, taking one of his nipples into his mouth and sucking gently.
Michael’s hand drags up Calum’s back, into his hair. He fists his hand into the hair at the base of Calum’s neck and Calum hisses at the string. Michael drags him up, claiming Calum’s lips for his own.
Calum finds the line of Michael’s jaw as they make out lazily. He sets his hand there as he pulls away, coaxes Michael to look at him.
“Open your mouth,” he breathes into the space between them. Michael does, brows furrowing in confusion.
Unashamed, Calum spits on Michael’s tongue, guides his lips shut. “Swallow.”
Michael’s eyes flutter. It makes Calum laugh as he draws back to sit on his knees.
“Look at you,” Calum says. “Laid out like a whore, just begging f’me to fuck you.”
“C-Calum,” Michael gasps.
“I know, baby,” Calum says, teasing at Michael’s hole, abused but still loose. He slides two fingers in, curls them up just so, and Michael’s eyes are rolling back into his head. “But I think I’ll take my time, no? And you’ve waited so long. Hold on for a bit, Mikey.”
Michael bucks up into his hand. Calum pulls out, lubes his fingers up before thrusting them back in. He’s just…trying to make sure Michael’s open enough for him, but the way Michael writhes at his mercy is an enormous pro.
Calum brings his other hand to play with Michael’s chest. Michael immediately arches into his touch as Calum pinches and twists and teases his nipples. He’s so fucking responsive, it’s driving Calum insane.
He fucks with Michael for a bit longer, easing another two fingers in, enjoying the way Michael shudders and gasps. When he’s had enough, Calum slips on a condom and lines himself up. Just at the touch of his tip to Michael’s entrance, the man is whimpering, already grinding down.
Calum holds Michael still by a firm grip on his waist. Michael opens up so easily for him. The tight, wet heat is almost too much for Calum, and he digs his nails into Michael’s skin. In response, Michael clenches down, whining.
When he bottoms out, it's with a barely-there gasp. Michael groans, eyes falling shut, fingers grappling for purchase on the bedsheets. They hold still for a moment, waiting to adjust and it’s so fucking good, Calum knows he won’t last long. They’ve both been on edge for far too long, and Calum’s just waiting to give Michael what he’s been asking for.
Eventually, Michael starts squirming, and Calum takes it as his sign to move.
It’s a slow drag as he pulls all the way out, allowing Michael to feel the emptiness where Calum's supposed to be, until he’s whimpering. Calum slams his hips back, burning himself to the hilt, and he moans at the feeling. It’s so fucking—hot and tight and slick.
“S-sir,” Michael gasps, as Calum does the whole ordeal again. He goes slow—as slow as he can without bucking his hips forward into Michael, with the way his hole flutters around him, wanting, waiting, aching.
He picks up the pace, and the sound of their skin slapping fills the room. Calum thrusts into Michael at a brutal pace, hard and fast, and Michael just takes it, slipping further up the bedsheet with each time Calum’s hips meet his ass. There’s sweat gathering along Michael’s bare chest. Calum slides his right hand up, all the way from Michael’s belly, up, up, until he’s got Michael’s throat underneath his palm.
He squeezes, careful, just enough for Michael’s breath to stutter. He gasps, something raw and wanting, and his hand flies to Calum’s wrist.
“Gripping me so fucking tight,” Calum grits, the pleasure overwhelming. “Gonna milk my cock, yeah? Show me what you’re really good for?”
Michael’s eyes roll back again, and he bites his lip. The hand that’s not locked around Calum’s wrist moves, slowly and unsubtly towards his own leaking cock, abandoned between them. Calum watches, lets him get close enough to his aching shaft, then grabs his wrist harshly, pinning it instead to the mattress above Michael’s head.
Michael’s eyes squeeze shut, and he openly sobs, turning his head to the side. Calum leans over him, nosing at the line of his jaw, nipping gently as he slows the movement of his hips to a tortuous, slow grind.
“I know you weren’t going to touch yourself, were you, baby?” Calum breathes into Michael’s skin. Michael mewls, shaking his head.
“Good,” Calum says. “You’re gonna come on just my cock today, or not at all.”
Michael’s eyes fly open. “Sir, I—”
“What?” Calum pouts, kissing the corner of Michael’s lip. “Don’t think you can do it? C’mon, sweetheart, work these fuckin’ hips. Let’s play.”
Michael responds almost immediately. It warms Calum’s skin, just how compliant, how eager, how obedient Michael is. He lifts his hips, meeting Calum’s thrusts with a slow roll of his own.
Calum leans over him, bringing his hands around Michael’s thighs to press them wide, to fold him in half. The new angle has him fucking into Michael harsher, deeper.
Suddenly, Michael’s eyes go wide. He gasps, broken, wet, urgent, his hands flying to scratch down Calum’s back as Calum touches something inside him. He tightens around Calum, deliciously, coaxing Calum to slam into him.
“There!” Michael sobs. “There, there—please!”
His eyes are fixed to the feeling, glazed with tears and unfocused. Calum knows what he’s hit, and he keeps the angle, taking an unforgiving pace as he gives it to Michael hard, taking in the gasps and broken-off moans he lets out, the way his nails dig into Calum’s shoulders. Michael squeezes him like he doesn’t want to ever let go. Calum hisses, tightening his hold on Michael’s thighs, painting bruises into his skin that are sure to show up tomorrow.
“Feel so good, princess,” Calum presses down on Michael’s belly, feels the shape of himself as he pistons in and out. Michael chokes at the feeling. “Can feel myself right here. Gonna fuck you into the shape of my cock.”
“Sir, I—I can’t—I’m going t—”
“Hold it f’me, pretty,” Calum tells him. His pace is unrelenting, Michael gasping little ah! ah! ah!s of pleasure every time Calum fucks into him.
Michael brings his hand to his lips, bites at his knuckles.
“Y-you’re so big,” he gasps. “It’s—sir, I w-won’t make it.”
“Thirty seconds,” Calum tells him. “Then I want you to come when I tell you.”
Michael shakes with the effort, his noises more punctuated as he struggles now. Calum’s close too, nearing the edge, sweat dripping from his hair onto Michael’s flushed skin. Michael’s clenching down on him just right, stealing the breath from his lungs. His movements grow harsher, more desperate and fractured.
“Shit, Mikey,” he gasps. “Keep doing that, I’m—”
Michael whines. It echoes through the room, punctuated by the sound of their skin meeting, the way he reaches blindly for Calum, pulls him in, wants him closer.
“Now, baby,” Calum says. “Give it to me. Let go, c’mon.”
On command, Michael makes a high keening sound, clenching down hard, He moans, shaking so violently, Calum has to press hand palm to Michael’s sternum to hold him down as he thrusts a few more times. Michael sobs, crying as his cock spurts ropes of cum across his chest.
“Fuck,” Calum gasps, and then his vision goes white, Michael’s scent, his touch the only thing grounding him as he presses in deep and spills into the condom. Michael shudders, groans weakly at the feeling.
It takes Calum a minute to catch his breath, and then he’s pulling out, tying off the condom and collapsing beside Michael on the bed. Michael seeks him out immediately, curling into him even as he winces at the movement. He presses a kiss to Calum's shoulder, and Calum throws an arm around him, even as he pants.
He hadn’t expected to lose himself so quickly. But Michael just…seems to have that effect on him. He feels wrecked, ruined altogether for anyone else.
He strokes the skin of Michael’s hips, sliding up to trace the ridges of his ribs. Michael shivers at the feeling.
“How do you feel, baby?”
“Mmm,” Michael hums, eyes falling shut. “Floaty.”
Calum presses a kiss to his temple.
“I was good?” Michael asks.
“So good,” Calum murmurs back. “So pretty, so obedient.”
Michael smiles to himself. Calum stays there with him, whispering praises and memorizing the feel of his skin until Michael dozes off. Then, carefully, he extracts himself and draws out a warm bath. He cleans Michael up with a wet cloth, and it rouses him. He blinks blearily at Calum.
Calum only chuckles. “Wanna join me in the bath?” Calum asks, and he knows Michael will say yes.
Michael pouts, refusing to move, even though he wants in on the bath. Calum just hooks his arms under Michael and lifts him up, carries him to the bathroom while Michael giggles, hides his face in Calum's chest.
They stay in the bath, Michael sitting between Calum’s legs, talking and laughing until Michael comes back down.
The water’s cooling around them as Michael leans into Calum and fiddles with his fingers.
“What are we, now?” he asks, hesitant, almost afraid. He doesn’t turn to meet Calum’s eyes, so Calum kisses his shoulder tenderly.
“I want you in every way you’ll have me,” he replies.
And Michael smiles. And Calum’s gone.
—
Of course, the first thing Luke says to Calum when he finds out is a loud screech: “I fucking told you so!”
They’re sitting across from each other in a pseudo-luxury restaurant somewhere downtown, because they’re all on measly salaries. Michael cackles, leaning into Calum as Calum resists the urge to lunge across the table and throttle Luke. Ashton, beside him, is snickering into his hand.
“I hate all of you,” Calum frowns. But he squeezes Michael’s hand under the table.
Ashton reaches across the table for the menu. “Sorry we were late,” he says, because it’s half past noon and they were supposed to meet nearly forty-five minutes ago, outside Luke’s house. But Luke had texted last minute that they’d meet Michael and Calum directly at the restaurant.
Michael squints suspiciously at them. “You were fucking, weren’t you?”
The menu slips from Ashton’s hand, but Luke’s grin widens. “Oh, I like you.”
Michael winks cheekily at him. Calum pinches him. “Hey—ow!”
“Don’t fall for his tricks,” Calum tells Michael. “He’ll lure you in with promises of friendship and fuck you over when it comes down to it. Also, he’ll drink all your tequila.”
“So that was one time—”
“It was the expensive shit, Luke!”
“Your mom’s the expens—”
“Hey!”
Michael and Ashton are cackling. Their table is getting odd looks from the other guests. Across the room, the bartender’s eye twitches.
“Oh,” Michael wonders aloud. He turns to Calum. “I never…asked you how you found out. That I was your neighbour.”
Calum looks at Michael, and wonders why he’d ever waited so long to do something about how he felt for the man. Neighbour or not, he should’ve asked Michael out long ago. And—
“Oh, I told him,” Ashton chimes in.
Michael’s neck nearly cracks with how suddenly he jerks to glare at Ashton. Luke is laughing in the background, and it’s beginning to annoy Calum how much enjoyment he’s deriving from all this. Michael stares at Ashton. “You what.”
Ashton shrugs. “I mean, it was really j—”
This time, Michael really does lunge across the table.
Yeah, Calum thinks. That’s my fucking boyfriend.
And the rest is history.
Like, literally. Michael and Ashton make it into the local newspaper.
—