Chapter Text
So the thing with Michael is—
"Fuck, Luke- oh my God."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Michael is very—
"You’re so– Ah– loud."
The bed under them creaks to the rhythm of their hips colliding.
"You fucking like me loud." He pants out.
Luke leans over his back, attaching their lips as a response.
Micheal—
"Fuck!"
Can't form a thought when Luke is fucking into him so roughly.
"Luke. Close."
Michael feels the younger's lips move on his, the word basically spat into his mouth when he replies, "Good."
Michael is—
So well fucked.
Who fucking cares about the show they have tomorrow, the rehearsal they have to wake up early for. None of that matters right now, not when Michael is flat on his stomach with Luke still breathing into his shoulder and pulsing into him. None of it matters– none of it—
"Good?" Luke murmurs into his skin. Naked and floaty as he is, Michael just hums in agreement. It just causes the other to chuckle.
He gently peels himself off and leans towards the bedside table only to turn the lamp off. Luke always prefers there to be some light when they fuck, fuelled by the view of Michael's body. Michael, on the other hand, doesn’t mind either way, but he indulges him. What else is he to do?
Plunged in complete darkness now, he feels as Luke collapses behind him, snakes a hand around his waist and pulls. Something inside him flips; butterflies, romantics would call it. He just tries to convince himself it's the biological reaction to surprise. The calm, too. The serenity that engulfs him as Luke's arm around him tightens, as he slots a leg between Michael's own, as he traces his shoulder blade with the ghost of his breath. It's all normal. What happens as you come down from an orgasm. That's why they do this after their shows, after all. To drain the adrenaline. That's all.
That's all.
"'Night." Luke whispers.
Michael swallows his words, just like he's used to.
He lays a hand over the one Luke has draped over him, intertwines their fingers and brings them up to his lips. With a soft peck to the skin of the other's thumb, he lets it fall back down, curls in closer when it tenses over his stomach once again. Like Luke can't keep away, like he craves the feeling of their skin sticking together.
He doesn't, Michael knows this.
But as he whispers "Goodnight." right back and feels the long fingers under his squeeze him one last time, he lets himself dream this was different.
Luke's absence from his bed the next day hurts as much any other time. They might have spent many night tangled up together after fucking, but the reminder of how temporary it all is never gets easier to swallow.
*
Knocking wakes Luke up today, like usual. The blinds are drawn, but when he opens his eyes he can see slivers of sunlight coming from under them.
Already late, then. Oh, well.
"Luke! Get your ass up." It's Elliot, their attending manager.
He's been on the job for only about a month now, hired to keep them in check as they get ready to join One Direction on tour in just two weeks. Apparently, opening for the biggest name in the industry comes with assholes dictating pretty much their every move. It's a huge opportunity, and it's not like it's all bad—They've met with the boys a few times already and they're really great lads. It's just annoying when your head is pounding from lack of sleep and strange thirty-year-olds come to drag you out of bed for the sake of the 'image'.
Since he got no reply from the owner of the room, Elliot continues to knock insistently.
"Ugh, shut him up." Comes a grumble from next to Luke on the bed, the last word drawing out into a full-on groan.
Michael is laying by his side, head on Luke's forearm and curled around himself like a cat. A lanky cat, at that, but a cute one nonetheless. Not that Luke can properly see through the mop of snowy hair in his face.
Another knock.
"Oh my god." Michael grunts openly and turns his face fully into his pillow. Luke chuckles from behind him. He momentarily loses himself in the feeling of the other's backside pressing into him as he shifts, covered only in boxers.
Just as he's reaching from Michael's waist to his shoulder with the intention of coaxing his muscles out of sleep softly, he hears another yell from outside.
"Ashton! Have you seen Michael?"
"Shit." Luke mutters, immediately tensing.
"Nope." Ashton's voice can be heard saying next. He pops the 'p' obnoxiously, and that's how Luke knows he's 100% aware of Michael's whereabouts right now.
The thought leaves him with a strange feeling. Knowing that the others' first assumption, or even expectation is that Michael spent the night in his room is odd. The fact that they're right is even weirder. They didn't even have a show last night (their rehearsals and promo officially having started a few days ago) so he's not exactly sure how Michael ended up riding him into the cheap hotel mattress.
Elliot knocks three more times. "Luke!"
"Shut. Him. Up."
"I'm up. Coming."
"Where's Michael?"
Michael snorts and rolls onto his back. Luke meets his eyes with a helpless look. At that, his whole face lights up with mischief and then he begins opening his mouth.
Luke is on him instantly, palm covering his lips fully. While he tries to silently beg him to chill the fuck out, Michael's eyes positively twinkle. Luke can even feel his mouth stretch as if in a grin under his hand.
"I don't know!" Luke shouts over, hoping this will be the end of it.
Elliot sighs but seems to let it go and walk away as the place falls silent after that.
"You're an idiot." says Luke as he slowly lifts his makeshift muzzle off his friend.
"You're no fun." Michael cheekily shoots back.
The other doesn't entertain him with a response, just gets up from the bed in search of his clothes. From the corner of his eye he sees Michael stretch out, his pale skin looking even more white in the midst of the rumpled bedsheets. It's a shame they don't have more time this morning.
Speaking of:
"You should text him that you're awake before he requests a key to your empty room."
"Good idea."
And just like that, the crisis is averted.
Still not having the luxury of time, they dress and prepare quickly until they can deem each other and themselves presentable.
Michael walks towards the door first. Since his room was closer from their meeting area he's probably expected to get there faster. In the end, Luke doesn't wait that long to follow behind him. He gets to the table as Michael is pulling his seat under it.
Calum shoots him a glare before he's even fully settled in his chair. Shifting his eyes to Ashton, he sees the same look reflected on his face. Neither has to say a thing for Luke to catch on to what they're so pissed at. (His room was between the two of theirs…)
Moments pass with no one breaking the sizzling silence. Knowing Michael doesn't at all care for their bandmates' sleep, Luke doesn't even lose his time looking to him for a response.
It's not like he's very bothered by the fact that he kept them up either, to be honest, but it does feel slightly humiliating to look into their eyes and know they were both witnesses to Michael shouting his name as he came last night.
So, he drops his gaze to his plate and mumbles "Sorry."
Michael chokes on the pancake he'd just bit into.
Calum and Ashton continue to stare for a little too long.
"Sure, dude." Ashton ends up saying.
And that's that. They eat their breakfast without another word only for a couple minutes before Ashton starts excitedly retelling a dream he had a week ago and forgot about until right now. Somehow, it's not awkward at all. Luke doesn't know what to do with that.
Really, it's a good thing, right? Their band should be able to be comfortable together, especially now that they're about to be touring together for so long and with 5 other guys. It's a sign of good friendship that they can overlook what happen..s… every time it happens….
But then– is it too good? What does this even say about him and Michael? Why are they so freely letting the others know about what they're doing? Should he talk to him about it?
It's just that he never expected their little getaways to become such a thing, so routine. So much so that not only are the others aware, but also completely– Almost completely unbothered by it.
He guesses it's only natural though. Like, with how close they are and everything. All of them, yes, in regards to Ashton and Calum being so breezy about it, of course. But also just Luke and Michael themselves. From the first time they got each other off, it only made sense that it would happen again. They're unique to each other in that way, so why not just keep going?
It all makes sense.
*
Michael's in his feelings a lot. Overemotional at best, people always call him. He can't really deny that no matter how much he hates being defined by it. But you can't outrun truth. Especially if it comes in the form of your best friend.
Not only that, but your best friend who doesn't really leave your side. Metaphorically and literally.
It's been about two months since he and Luke started hooking up. Even thinking about that first night makes Michael's heart tremble. Neither of them (as far as he knows. Fuck, they've never even talked about it.) know how it happened that night.
They'd been on a mini tour across Australia and New Zealand at the time, playing songs that hadn't even been released on YouTube yet. Every new stage they stepped onto felt like a new oasis. They had no idea what they were doing but suddenly people were turning up to see them perform, sang along to words Michael had written while on the back of the bus home from school. It was unfathomable.
He remembers playing to their biggest crowd yet, he remembers feeling like he was flying while they walked down the backstage stairs. He remembers hugging his friends one by one and screaming in a huddle with his arms outstretched around them. He remembers Calum and Ashton breaking off to get dinner and he remembers the feeling of Luke pulling him in by his belt buckles.
And that's where the lines all blur, because suddenly he flashes to locking the door of the dimly–lit toilet stall in the place with Luke's lips stuck to his neck. The haze doesn't lift from the movements that got them to wrapping their hands around the other's dicks in the almost darkness. It's not any clearer how long they rutted against each other or how deeply Michael sank his nails into Luke's back as they did so.
Because he wasn't thinking, back then. He had no idea how many questions would later be wrapped around every second of that night.
There was so much he had no fucking idea about.
One thing that's set healthy roots in his mind is what it was like to be kissed by Luke for the first time; Soft, tentative, is how it was. Despite having to swim through an ocean of adrenaline, despite their hurry to get off. Luke's mouth found Michael's with uncharacteristic care. He'd then pried him open with his tongue slowly and just didn't stop.
Actually, neither did, until they were all but breathing the same air back and forth. Until their tongues were dancing around choked moans and they shook in each other's hands.
When it was all over, Michael had opened his eyes to find Luke already looking back at him. His blue eyes were blown wide, but it wasn't the same fearless look he got when he was singing in front of 500 people. No, this was something so hollow it made Michael's already unsteady breath, hitch. He'd never seen Luke so scared before.
Perhaps it wasn't his wisest moment, but the only thing he wanted to do was wipe the horror off his friend's face. He'd smiled at first, okay? It's just– Well that didn't work.
So he'd kissed him again. He'd kissed him until Luke's anxiety physically deflated him as it left.
They didn't talk about it before the others came back with food, or the next day at rehearsal, or by the time they had another show four days later.
They didn't talk about it that time either.
Luke didn't act differently with him at all, is the thing. And Michael didn't feel like he had to do so himself anyway. Why fix something that's not broken?
Boy, how fucking bad Michael wanted to believe nothing was broken.
Now here he is, laying awake in a tour-bus bunk bed at 3am. Thinking back on it with the knowledge of things he couldn't even dream of back then. He looks back with the added memories of how Luke looks on his knees with Michael in his mouth, with the taste of Luke's cum on his tongue. It's been two months yet now he knows what Luke's fingers feel like digging into his hips, clawing down his back and pressing into him.
Here he is, his heart beating less and less to keep him alive and more and more so he can get to the next time he'll feel Luke's lips on his.
Touring starts tomorrow.
One Direction's Take me home tour officially kicked off at the O2 Arena a week ago, almost, although with a different opening act. 5 Seconds Of Summer weren't exactly told the details of why they'd be taking over only after debut night, but it didn't really matter. First of all, they're touring with fucking One direction, at the special request of Louis Tomlinson himself. That in itself is the biggest honour any of the four of them could think of. Who cares about technical details? Besides, starting this wild ride off in the O2 Arena, would probably be the most terrifying experience any of them would go through.
From March 1st, One Direction have sold out Cardiff's Motorpoint Arena for two consecutive nights. That means 7500 people are awaiting Michael and his bandmates. Twice. Well, not them specifically, but that's the number of seats they'll get to play their songs to. It's by far the biggest crowd they've ever performed in front of.
If 600 people in a humid Australian pub got Luke to stick his hand down Michael's pants, he wonders what the fuck will happen when they step off stage this time.
*
Their first opener show goes as well as they expected it to. Which is to say: It's an absolute mess in the best way. Their nervous energy somehow perfectly transformed into giddy excitement and bursting energy on the stage. The crowd, despite not being there for them, was loud in all the right places and receptive. A lot of sweat and thanks later, they were done with a performance they couldn't have dreamt of only some months ago.
All four run off stage in a pile, arms around each other and grins that hurt. They really fucking did that! They've never played to this big an audience before and they killed it.
Final bows are done and suddenly something in Michael snaps.
The show is over, his blood is pumping violently in his veins, sweat is stinging his eyes and Luke has not fucking stopped looking at him like he's just a piece of meat the whole time. He catches his gaze over Calum's shoulder, so intense it makes his knees weak.
Moving further in for the crew to take care of their microphones and instruments happens in a daze. Hands begin grabbing at their clothes and voices are congratulating them on the show only seconds later. Michael and Luke hold eye contact while bodies pass between them as if tied by a fragile string to each other. One that is on fire. For sure.
He watches as Jordan reaches under Luke's oversized white shirt from the back to unclip his mic pack. It causes the fabric to cling to his torso deliciously, framing him without showing off the toned creases Michael knows are underneath. Luke himself lifts his arms to take out his earpieces at once. He does so way too slowly, pulling way too high to "unhook" them from his ears and Michael knows he gets caught looking right at his dark blonde happy trail as he does it. When he looks back up, the face that meets him is dangerous. Chin tilted downwards and looking through his eyebrows, Luke looks like he's barely holding himself back.
Michael can very much relate to the struggle. He can already feel himself getting hard in his way too tight black jeans.
"All done, boys." Someone, one of the sound members, surely, confirms.
Luke cocks his head to the side before she's finished the last word, eyes still locked with Michael's.
He does not need to be told twice to follow behind him towards the rooms.
Hands greedily grab at Michael's waist as soon as he's close enough to their (shared (for budget, duh)) dressing room. He gets pulled inside and slammed onto the nearest wall immediately. The door closes with a loud thud that barely even reaches his ears because just then Luke's lips land on his. Foregoing all preamble, their tongues meet wetly, curling against each other. Searching. Swallowing every little breath the other lets out.
They kick their shoes off just like that, steadying each other through it by the mouth.
It doesn't last long before Michael is thoughtlessly tugging at the white top to be torn off Luke's body and he's not surprised when he feels the same happening to his band tee. They break away only for as long as it takes to pull their own shirts over their heads and off.
When they clash again, it's accompanied with a groan from Luke. He returns his hands to the older's back, squeezing all over and slowly pushes with the force of his body to tower over Michael. He's shorter, if only by a mere inch, but he always manages to have Michael folding just enough to feel the opposite.
Meanwhile, Michael focuses on unbuckling his belt, pulling it off in one motion. Just as quickly, he takes care of Luke's and moves on to his zipper.
The first contact with his cock through his underwear has Luke moaning into his mouth. It only spurs Michael on, who pushes on the fabric of the jeans strongly until they fall on the floor. Not even thinking about it, he peels away the tight waistband to fit his palm around the skin of Luke's base.
"Oh, fuck."
Michael doesn't mind it one bit when he loses the other's lips on his just for them to drop to his collar and pant, pant, pant, in time with the movement of his hand along his length. Luke's hot spit falls onto his already clammy skin like molten lava.
They could get off like this, probably. Michael wouldn't mind it if Luke trailed his hand further down his back to prob at his hole with the same callused fingers he'd just been using on stage. They could, they have before, but.
"Wanna– Wanna fuck you." stutters Luke with great difficulty.
And, God, how could Michael say no to that?
So, he removes his hand from his cock without saying a word. Luke catches up fast enough, breaking away only to grasp the sides of Michael's jeans and tug. The drag is rough, made more difficult with the sweat of the night, but the exertion only adds to both of their fury. In a happy accident, his underwear follows the same fate and then he's standing there naked, shoulders pressing into the cold wall and hips tilted towards Luke's that are just too far right now.
In an instant, Luke is plastered on him again, hips aligned to give them both the friction they're desperate for.
"Lube?" Michael breathes, not even able to look away from where they're grinding together.
"Obviously." the smug motherfucker replies, seemingly materialising a sachet from thin air.
Luke spreads the gel on his fingers and grips Michael's hip with the other hand. His grasp is strong, full of intention as he pulls so that he gets their crotches touching. At the same time as he bucks his own hips into Michael's, he pushes the first finger in.
A strong moan comes out of Michael at the feeling. After such a long time of waiting to be touched like this, with all the after-show adrenaline still running wild in him, this feels like heaven. Like a band that's snapped after being pulled at for too long.
The press of the digit is barely close enough to what Luke's cock can do to him but fuck, he's been wanting this the whole day. That, with the consistent press on his front has him seeing stars right now.
"Good?" Luke asks. His eyes are stuck on Michael's face. Really, he can't do anything but look right back at him. He nods shakily, mouth open helplessly. At that response, Luke's lips pull into a deadly smirk, smug as ever for rendering him speechless. Michael wants to smack it off his face. Or kiss it away.
Yeah, the second one. The second one for sure.
And that's exactly what he does just as Luke seems to think he's ready for a second finger. He begins fucking into him rapidly, scissoring his digits to open him up. When Michael inevitably grunts, it's swallowed by Luke right away. He can still feel his stupid smirk, but his mind has better things to focus on. Like the sound of their cocks sliding together, the feeling of Luke's shoulder tensing under his hand with every pulse his fingers make inside him.
By the time Michael is up to three fingers and open enough, Luke is just about rutting against him from the front. He can't have that though, can't be so close only to not feel him deep in him. So he grabs the underside of Luke's arm and pushes until he takes the hint to take his hand away.
Emptiness feels like torture for the 30 seconds it takes for him to slick himself up and finally line his cock up with Michael's ass properly. Dutifully doing his part to help, Michael props his leg up around Luke's waist.
With a final look, he starts pressing in.
Michael is a goner. Both their eyes fall closed and they moan out in unison at the feeling.
"Fu-uck!"
Nothing compares to the first few seconds of Luke sinking into him.
Luke doesn't wait at all before he's snapping his hips out and right back in strongly. The pace matches the rapidness of the earlier fingering quickly and Michael might just actually be in fucking heaven.
"You feel so good."
Luke just groans back. It makes Michael's stomach twist, loving how much he's affecting him. And, God, the way he's looking between their bodies, his head tilted downwards and mouth open. He looks like something straight out of a porno. Michael is obsessed with him.
They don't say anything coherent after that, both caught up in chasing the high they've been driving towards. Only curses fill the air as the slap of their skin meeting picks up more and more.
Luke drops his forehead right on Michael's collarbone, hands gripping the sides of him roughly as he drives in. Michael, in turn, hooks his chin over his head and tangles his fingers in the blonde hair under him. He squeezes along with their pace, moaning louder when it makes the other bite at his chest.
His name from Luke's mouth is the best thing to ever reach his ears, he thinks as the tension in him builds and overflows. Michael comes with his eyes closed, a shout on his lips and the feeling of Luke emptying out in him.
Moments pass with just their breathing filling the space, the air thick with sweat. The pungent smell of sex covers them as they slowly come down. Carefully, Michael drops his leg to the floor. He trails his mouth around Luke's face until he finds his lips, which he claims in a messy kiss.
Once their breathing has evened out and their limbs no longer shake alarmingly, they break apart. Luke pulls out with as much care as he can master in the moment, pecks Michael's pained whimper away. He's also the one who finds a wet wipe for them to use.
"You think we can still catch Harry backstage?"
"Probably. Why?" Michael questions as he wipes himself down.
"We've got a bet going for She's not afraid." Luke replies with literally no actual explanation.
This guy just rearranged his organs and he's thinking about winning a random bet. Fucking idiot.
Whatever, man. If he's got a bet, he's got a bet. Michael can get behind that.
So they dress in new clothes as quickly as possible and practically run out of the room.
Luke lost the bet, Michael finds out in the tour-bus later when he and the others watch him down a horrible mixture of vodka and something that should probably not be consumed. Ashton takes a video of him and Michael can't fucking wait to remind him of how violently he threw it up in a few days' time.
(In the moment, he joins him in the small bus toilet as the blonde spills his guts into the bowl. He rubs his back for encouragement, simply because he knows how much Luke hates the feeling of puking. But he probably won't remember that tomorrow anyway.)
*
Wednesday is their first entirely free day since the tour began two weeks ago. While not having to perform every single night, their time was still taken up with travelling between cities. With the Irish leg of the tour having finished on Monday, the 11th, they were on a plane by the early hours of Tuesday morning. Manchester was under them before the sun was even up, but they were all too exhausted to cease the day in the new city. However today, they have absolutely nothing to do.
Basically, Luke is fucking bored.
He's been up since 10am, a whole 3 hours ago, and has done nothing but go through his Twitter mentions an unnecessary number of times and texted Niall about a guitar model he's looking to buy. Not exactly a productive use of his day off. Not even an entertaining one, is the thing.
"Ugh!"
He picks up his phone once more. Waits a couple seconds for the call to connect and–
"Yo."
"Wassup?"
"Come over?"
Laughter flows through the speaker. It makes Luke smile without realising.
"Fuck you. I'm watching a movie."
"Come watch it in my bed."
"Ew." He replies, but he's smiling, Luke can tell from a mile away.
"Michael." Luke whines.
"Christ, okay!" Michael caves with exasperation. His voice is breathy and cracked, clearly laughing at Luke again.
He hangs up without saying anything else.
Now on his back laying on the bed, Luke lets his device fall to his chest. His muscles there kind of hurt, the aftermath of running around on a stage and off it for a good two plus weeks, probably.
His bandmate is knocking on his door seconds later. When Luke opens up, Michael doesn't even look up from scrolling on his phone as he walks in.
"Hello to you too." Luke laughs, but it doesn't stop the other's fingers from typing away.
"Yeah, yeah." Michael dismisses.
He's in one of his typical dark t-shirts today, having replaced the usual skinny jeans with the more casual option of black sweatpants. He kicks off his beat-up converse without care. Those socks are Calum's, as far as Luke knows, and definitely stolen. What an odd thing to rob someone of, honestly, but somehow not surprising coming from Michael.
Luke turns towards the door to close it, and maybe he's going insane from boredom today but he swears he catches Michael's breath hitch in that very moment.
"Why are you not wearing clothes?" says the boy. Okay, so it seems Luke does not need a psychological evaluation. Not yet, anyway.
"I am wearing clothes." He says, making the waistband of his black boxers snap against his skin.
Michael just rolls his eyes.
"You couldn't even pretend you didn't just booty call me in the middle of the day?" He says, cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head in a way that makes Luke feel like he's being scolded. The recently dyed flame red fringe he's sporting makes the look that much more intimidating.
Unfortunately–
"I didn't call you over to fuck." Luke announces. "Though if you're up for it…"
He simply grunts, "Ugh, shut up." before flopping onto the bed. The mattress bounces under him in a way he doesn't expect. Luke can't help but laugh at the way his eyes widen just slightly. It's how he likes him best; A little stupid, disproportionally grumpy.
Michael doesn't react when Luke kneels on the bed next to him, focused on whoever he's texting again.
Luke stares at him for a minute.
"Wow, you're so entertaining." He deadpans.
Ice-cold green eyes bore into his immediately, Michael's face stone-cold. "I told you I was watching a movie."
"You're texting someone."
"You're fucking annoying."
And just like that, he returns his gaze to the device in his hand.
This guy will kill him one day.
"Michael."
A dramatic sigh, a roll of his eyes, but then he's looking back. Luke suppresses his urge to smile.
"Luke."
"I'm bored as hell, dude, come on."
Another eyeroll. "Okay. What do you wanna do then?" He questions.
To be honest, Luke hadn't thought that far ahead. He just desperately needed something to get the time to pass today. For some reason, the first solution in his mind was Michael. Now that he's here, however, he's not really sure what he expected him to do.
They could just fuck to kill their time, true, but as tempting as that sounds, it's not what Luke wants right now. He was being honest about not inviting Michael over for that reason.
That's what Michael had thought, though, and that sticks to the back of Luke's throat. He's sure he didn't imply anything of the such when he'd called, that would be weird considering he hadn't even thought about it. That can only mean that Michael came up with it himself and not only that, but willingly indulged Luke even when he thought his invitation was just for sex.
God, too many thoughts are flying around in his head now.
Like, is it a good thing that Michael even thought about that? It must be to some degree, right? Luke hasn't really sat to go over how they got in the situation they did over the last few months but the thought of regret has always been whispering in the back of his mind. Not for him, no. He started it that first night and he hasn't doubted that action since. But for Michael. The chance of him regretting this path they've taken in their friendship is very real. Truthfully, Luke wouldn't blame him or be mad at him if he one day just took it all back, they're only casually fucking after all. The thought scares him, though. Maybe it's the unknown, how possible it is that he could lose his best friend over nights of meaningless sex. It's even worse knowing he had taken the first step.
So it must be good. That Michael keeps agreeing to meet with him, to sleep in his bed, to take him in until the bed shakes. A good sign, at least, for as long as it's there.
But then again, is that all he expects with Luke now?
"Psst. Earth to Luke?"
"Oh! Uh, sorry, I just–"
Michael laughs loudly at him. It seems he changed his position while Luke was momentarily spiralling because now he's sitting back on his hunches. When he runs dry of laughter, he looks at Luke through his eyelashes, grinning.
Fuck, man, is it too late to take back that booty call denial?
"I have an idea."
And so, that's how they end up at a tattoo parlour. Apparently, the person Michael was so enthusiastically ignoring Luke to text from inside his bed, was just a friend advertising his new place he opened in Manchester. After some back and forth, Michael convinced him to give them something to do today in exchange for free promo.
He didn't have to tell Luke twice before he was scrambling to put some clothes on.
The place smells like sweet perfume when they first step in, complete with the underlying scent of disinfectant that any respectable tattoo shop carries. Different types of bells ring all at once as they open and close the glass door. The space is admittedly not very big, but the layout makes it look otherwise on the inside. Black and white checkered laminated floors, deep red walls and a high ceiling, all covered with some trinket or the other. Flourishing plants hang from the ceiling, tracing the edges of the walls. A shiny black reception desk sits on the left of the entrance and further down Luke can see the tattooing tables that are partially obstructed from view by a red and white marbled curtain.
"Hey! You came." says the man behind the desk, rounding it to get to Michael. He's shorter than both of them, definitely a few years older. Luke briefly wonders where Michael knows him from, considering he's known him since middle school and has never heard of a Derek, an aspiring tattooist. Not that it matters, obviously. Luke's just intrigued by it. He watches as they hug quickly and pat each other on the back.
"'Course." Michael replies. When he steps back, he reaches for Luke again, settling a hand on his shoulder. "This is Luke."
"Hi." Luke and Derek shake hands in a strong grip.
"Nice to meet you." Derek says.
Luke can't find it in himself to smile as brightly at him, for some reason. He simply nods his head in response.
Neither of the men seem to notice his slight awkwardness, since they just begin to walk towards the back of the shop. This leaves Luke trailing after them, which, okay, whatever.
When they reach the back room, Derek motions for them to sit down. They do so, ending up with their thighs touching on the tattooing table. Something inside Luke jumps at the contact, tugging and tugging him towards something. Direction unknown, all he knows is that his hand burns to wrap around the flesh. He stays looking for a couple seconds, but ultimately talks himself out of it. He's not sure why he's done that, either.
"So," Derek startles him out of his trance. Michael's already looking at the man, Luke finds when he lifts his gaze to him. He's not so eager to do the same, so he doesn't. Derek talks nonetheless. "What are you guys thinking of getting?"
Oh, yeah. There's that. They're at a tattoo shop with the intention of getting a tattoo. Michael is, at least. He spent the entire way here excitedly detailing his ideas to Luke. The latter, on the other hand…
"Luke's not getting tattooed." Michael jumps in to say. Which, to be fair, is the truth, but before Luke can even explain himself and why he's even here– (He doesn't even know why he feels so defensive of his presence in this place–)
"Well, have you got an idea?" Derek continues with his attention now only on Michael. Unconsciously, Luke's eyebrows jump at the blatant disrespect and ignorance from this guy.
Once again, his bandmate doesn't seem one bit bothered by him.
Why would he?
Why are you?!
Thankfully– or not, really– or– fuck it. Michael starts explaining easily.
"So I wanna get the phrase 'to the moon', right," he lowers his gaze to properly roll the sleeve of his shirt up to his shoulder. "here."
"Cool. I like that. What about the font?"
As if cued, Michael finds his phone and desired photo at lightning speed. "Actually, I really like this."
"Oh, nice! You came prepared." Derek compliments, observing the design. The redhead shrugs back at him, coy smile playing on his lips as he looks away.
It may be the first time Michael's smile makes Luke's heart sink. He can't really understand why.
"How big do you want it?"
"Um.." Michael's head tilts to the side. With how closely Luke is observing him, his wild hair gets in his eyes, causing him to flinch backwards just a bit. When the other feels it, he quickly looks up at him, chuckles out "Sorry." and goes back to his contemplating. Like a puppy that's been shown a treat, Luke instantly feels lifted at the attention.
And, um– What?
He doesn't get too long to reflect on that feeling before it's ripped out of his grasp by Derek stepping close to them. "Can I?" he checks with Michael, hands up in front of him. Then he's lifting Michael's arm by himself, positioning it in a straight line. After observing the skin for a bit, he uses his two index fingers to indicate a rough size there.
Isn't he meant to have some kind of instrument to do this? Like a ruler or something? Seems pretty odd to do this manually. But what does Luke know?
He breathes in deep as the two iron out the details of the design. Relatively quickly, they come to an agreement, develop the stencil and apply it on Michael's arm.
For the 20 minutes it takes to imprint the words onto Michael's skin, the two men chat amongst themselves; From how the shop came to be, to how the tour is going, how Derek's cat recently gave birth. Useless conversation that goes nowhere as the needle glides through his pores. Luke sits on the same table to their left and entertains himself with watching Michael's muscles tense with every sore spot. Occasionally, he'll throw Derek a glance. That ends up with him clenching his jaw at the way he's looking at his bandmate one too many times though, so he tries to refrain from it.
When the tattoo is completed, the tattoo artist wraps it and rattles off a few instructions for how to take care of it. Michael nods attentively, although he's looking at the inked patch of skin more than Derek.
"You like it?" He asks, and it takes a moment for Luke to realise he's talking to him.
His green eyes look so happy and his smile only gets brighter when Luke inspects it closely and responds, "Yeah, it's sick!" with genuine enthusiasm.
Admittedly, Luke doesn't realise time has passed until Derek pats him on the back, suddenly right next to him.
"So, Luke. Did you come for the company, or…" He trails off. The blonde immediately decides he doesn't much like his tone.
Nonetheless, he replies. "Actually, I'm not a tattoo person."
"How dare you say that right now." Michael gasps from his right. It makes Luke laugh, some of his nerves leaving into the air with it.
"Um, but I've always liked the idea of piercings? Do you do those?" He asks.
"Yes, of course! Have you decided on one?"
To be honest, no, he hasn't, but he doesn't much have any heavy no's. That might make it worse, actually, not narrowing down his options at all. Helplessly, he searches for Michael, his eyes full of question.
"Anything?"
Luke nods.
"I think you'd look hot as fuck with a lip ring." He answers effortlessly, as if he's put thought into this before.
'Hot as fuck.' Okay.
The process is not too taxing, if only somewhat nerveracking. It honestly doesn't hurt when the needle goes through the left side of his lower lip. On the contrary, it leaves him with a strange tingle, a wave of heat washing over him.
As Derek threads the stud through the brand new hole, Luke looks towards where Michael is standing. It doesn't go past him, the hungry way he's staring at the jewellery as it settles.
Minutes later, they're all done. Luke gets walked through the usual cleaning advice, they (mainly Michael) offer their thanks for the favour. When Derek and him part from their goodbye hug, Luke walks close to him.
He lets their shoulders bump together while they walk down the sidewalk.
"Hot as fuck, huh?"
"Shut the fuck up."
*
There's actually nothing fucking worse than 5 Seconds of Summer not agreeing in the studio. It's insane, actually, how they go from accepting and light hearted best friends to egoistic bitches in the snap of a finger.
Michael has long since this fucking argument started, tuned out the sound of Ashton talking everyone's ears off. He now sits on the leather studio couch, silently cursing the day he ever agreed to be in a band with these idiots.
From the moment the sun rose, really, this day was doomed. All four of them were antsy, some way or the other. It wasn't a particularly early wake up call, but seemingly all of their sleep schedules had seen better days. Usually, even one person being in a bad mood would take the whole team under, their feelings becoming intertwined the more time they spend together. Especially since they're increasingly becoming each other's closest people. Now with every one of them glaring and scowling as a default… things weren't looking good.
Even as they entered the studio set on producing something, pushing their art to get something out because they have to, well. Tension very rarely decreases when you add stress to it.
Luke wasn't really feeling the bass lines, Michael could tell from early on. On the other hand, Ashton seemed perfectly fine with Calum's ideas, instead constantly rejecting Michael's melodies. Calum wasn't saying much on it, but he'd taken over Luke's humming one too many times to be a peaceful counterpart.
"I don't like that." Ashton, once again, cuts Luke off mid-line.
"What's wrong with it?"
"I don't know, just don't." He shrugs. Luke's eyebrows twitch.
Calum nods, "I agree, sounds too… poppy."
"What?" Michael jumps in. This is ridiculous. "You literally ripped that last line off from Katy Perry. It's honestly lazy."
Calum glares at him silently as if wishing to explode him with his mind.
"You're one to talk." Ashton responds.
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
Luke rolls his eyes, which seems to catch Calum's attention, only adding fuel to the fire. "You fuck off."
"The fuck did I do?!"
"Nothing. Kinda the point here?!" He says, opening his arms to sassily call the other clueless.
"I'm not the one that's sat back after a singular proper melody."
"At least I managed one. What have you done?!" He replies, his voice getting louder.
"Well I would've if you and Ashton over there," he turns to the other, "weren't trying so fucking hard to find something wrong."
"We're trying too hard?!" Ashton bursts, at the same time as Calum responds, "Maybe if you two were trying as much as you shouldn't, we wouldn't be scrabbling to cover up your slacking!"
Michael, furious, properly shouts, "Slacking?!"
"You fucking heard me!" Calum doubles down.
"Listen-" Luke tries, he really does, though Michael doubts anything that was about to come out of his mouth would have been helpful. Just the prospect of him having something to say in this moment pisses Michael off, to be honest.
"I don't wanna hear it from you." The oldest snaps.
"We're all tired—"
Calum laughs, loudly and so infuriatingly that Michael wants to punch him. "And whose fucking fault is that?!"
Woah.
"Oh–" Luke gapes. Speechless.
"Yeah, maybe if you cunts weren't so loud last night, how about that?!"
"Oh my God." Michael mumbles, and it unfortunately doesn't go unnoticed.
"'Oh my God'," Calum mocks. "Shut the fuck up so we can work."
"Hey, man, we're sorry but you don't have to be such bitches about it."
It's Ashton who responds again. "Oh, I'm sorry, do you have a problem with us wanting to make a living?!"
And suddenly all of the shame about being in the wrong evaporates, boiled away to anger once again.
"Don't be so fucking dramatic. You lost one night of sleep. So what?"
"Michael– Wait they're kinda–" Luke interjects again. And what did Michael say? That he was trying? Fuck that, too.
His head turns to Luke's neck-breakingly fast.
"Literally shut the fuck up."
"You know–"
"Oh my God I can't do this." comes from the other side of the room, followed by chairs getting knocked over and the painful sound of drum sticks hitting the ground.
Ashton storms out, muttering ineligibly the whole way to the door. Not that Michael cares to know what he's saying anyway. Calum, as fucking always, runs right after him.
When the door slams closed behind them, Luke drops heavily on the revolving chair in front of the console. He sighs loudly enough for it to feel like the air physically reaches Michael on the other side of the room.
"Jesus Christ, dude."
Luke's eyes snap to him at lightning speed, so abruptly that Michael couldn't even see them move.
"Don't even start." He warns. His voice is dark, low in way meant to be intimidating. Unfortunately for him, it only serves to make Michael even more pissed. He rolls his eyes brutally, it even momentarily makes his head hurt. Looking back at Luke feels even more like wood to the fire with how he's glaring as if it's doing anything.
"Oh, I'm not the one that started shit." Michael shoots.
"Shut it."
"Fucking make me."
"You know what?!" He screams, getting up from his seat. He strides over fast, Michael is intimidated. Mostly, something else is tugging in his stomach. He'd die before letting Luke know that right now though.
"What?!" Michael shouts back, rooted in place. When Luke finally gets close enough, he leans over the couch Michael is in, looking straight into his eyes as he cages him in with his arms.
And then, he's crashing their mouths together.
Michael doesn't even have the time to react before it happens, barely registering the feeling of wet lips on his. He doesn't properly kiss back until Luke is fitting his hand behind his head and threading his fingers through his hair. His mouth opens up with a moan as they tug at the strands. That just allows Luke to more easily lick into him, forcefully keeping him slack-jawed.
Just as he's about to wrap his arms around the other's back, Michael is suddenly pushed away. It feels like losing his grasp on reality for a moment, when he can no longer feel the sweet press of his tongue. The cold sensation of Luke's piercing that he's rapidly becoming incredibly obsessed with, abandons him with equal cruelty.
No! He was just catching up. As angry as he is, a feeling closer to fired up desire, the adrenaline and the argument and that scowl the blonde sports is all mixing in his gut. Michael's about to whine his disdain when he realises what Luke is doing:
Pushing Michael away and pulling him forward and down.
His knees hit the hardwood floor with a strong sound, definitely to be bruised tomorrow. The pain rattles his bones, reaches his brain in the form of fuzz, leaving him staring up at Luke pathetically. He can't speak, the image is too much, the sensation is getting him too fucking hot. Luke taking control of him like this, demanding so much of him with just his hands and the lack of space he leaves between them. His blue eyes are dark as night, swallowing Michael's form in them. He feels the breath get lost from him as it happens, as Luke holds him under and takes, takes, takes. Michael would give him anything he wanted.
Nonetheless, seeing him claim the lead is fascinating at best. It's not his sort of thing, usually. What Luke wants, Michael knows, and so Michael can give and Luke patiently waits to be granted—That's how it goes between them.
Now, an angry Luke is standing, looming over him. The sight, the feeling itself, is different than what comes from a euphoria-high one. The Luke that chases hedonic release remains curious of where Michael wants to take him, he's content to take the backseat and do whatever Michael tells him to. Sometimes, his actions are even cautious, full of questions Michael is elated to be the answer to.
This Luke, now, is not as patient, not as forgiving. Michael is willing to let him get away with it this time, simply itching to know what will come of it too much to stop him. Besides, it settles in him dangerously to be so wholly wanted. Thinking that Luke's immediate reaction is to get his hands on Michael, to force him down to his knees and have him, whichever way that is, is enthralling.
Which is why he lets it happen when Luke pulls him towards himself in the blink of an eye. The sudden movement makes him lose balance causing him to stumble, sway. And (perhaps that was Luke's plan all along, because–) he can't help it when his hands reach out on instinct, trying to steady him on the very first thing they find.
That, of course, is Luke's fucking waist.
But it doesn't stop there. Because Luke cannot be trusted when he really wants something. He will be insufferable until he gets whatever it is. Right now, that something is getting his dick sucked and his version of being insufferable is burying his fingers in Michael's hair and pushing. He pushes enough for the boy to let go of his waist, for him to instead reach around and grasp onto the back of his thighs. He feels the muscles under him tighten, knows without looking that Luke's eyes fall closed. That he's a sight for sore eyes.
Achieving exactly what he wanted, Luke lands Michael's face on his crotch. What can he do other than touch? When met with such a sight, the feeling of his bulge on his skin, what can Michael do other than press closer?
Fuck, he's intoxicating.
And Luke must know that too—how much Michael gets off to having his mouth on him. His mouth, face, his nose buried in his musk. Like a fiend, chasing after the high before he crashes, he nuzzles into the coarse material of Luke's skinny jeans. With how tight the fit is, there's nothing left to the imagination even when one is standing far away. And Michael is close, so close he feels the heat radiating off the other's skin, can sense the exact line of his cock, his base and where he ends.
Looking into Luke's eyes knocks the air out of his lungs. His anger hasn't faded one bit, still wrapping his expression in stone. He looks properly gone now, stuck between madness and screaming with lust. Michael smirks at him just because he knows it'll add fuel to the fire.
And that, it does. Because the next second Luke has a hand in his hair and he's tugging a moan out of Michael's throat as he pulls him away from his body. He feels like he's set on fire. Luke has that effect on him a lot, actually—Making his whole being feel like it's being licked by flames. Whether it's from roaring want, whether it's the raw need to have him, his hand or his mouth or the heavenly feeling of his cock in him. Whether Michael is set alight with jealousy when interviewers ask his friend about any girls he's talking to (he's not, by the way, as far as Michael knows. Thank God.), or from the excitement of watching Luke laugh, or even—
Basically, Michael's pretty familiar with the feeling. And right now? He's burning.
There's something incredibly attractive about the fucked up mood they're both in, it's swerving all around the air around them, sticking to Michael and making him dizzy. Luke's anger is bringing out a side of him he hasn't had the pleasure of seeing yet. And, oh boy, is he pleased to be having it now.
So he says nothing, but he's not gonna let Luke have it so easy.
Blue eyes stare into his, into him like sizzling electricity. Luke maintains his grip on his hair, so tight it's straining his neck, slightly cutting off his breath. It only makes Michael want his aggression more. Only when his right hand works to unbuckle his belt and free himself, does Michael allow himself to break eye contact.
He stares at Luke's cock and feels nothing but hunger. Pure, animalistic need to wrap his lips around him and draw out the whimpers he knows are hiding behind his current facade. It was pretty easy to figure out how much Luke enjoys a mouth on his cock, and Michael has done nothing but take advantage of the bullseye he'd hit.
So that's exactly what he does.
Having become fully aware of the situation, knowing where he wants Luke, he knows what edge he wants to push him off of. Michael does what will piss him off even more: He shuts his mouth. This is what Luke wanted anyway, wasn't it?
Luke rolls his eyes so hard it must hurt.
Michael fights the smile trying to break him.
One hand squeezes on Michael's shoulder where it previously pressed him downward, seemingly to keep him in place. It hurts, honestly, and that lightly ticks Michael off more than it does anything positive. When Luke's other hand roughly grasps his chin, he jerks away before returning his gaze to him. He looks even more mad than before, if that's possible. The scowl he's sporting is going to find him in his dreams, Michael immediately decides. He might do this more often.
As it is, however, he stares the younger down without showing his dirtied thoughts. Being denied is not what Luke is used to, and it shows in the way he reacts: Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, his grip tightening even more. This time, having come to terms with being rock fucking hard seeing him like this, Michael has to hold back his pleased sigh. He can play this up just a tad more, he's not yet satisfied.
Luke's hold on his face is rough. He's trying to keep Michael looking forward but as the other fights it, he applies more and more force. Ultimately, his thumb and index finger are digging into Michael's cheeks with much more strength than he can win against. His mouth is practically forced open by the other's fingers. It feels dirty, kneeling here and helpless under the other's hand of power.
He fucking loves it.
His jaw falls at the mercy of the other and Michael grunts his disapproval. Luke in response fixes him with a heated glare, but he doesn't say anything. That's when Michael realises why, what the boy is doing. The quick sound of a zipper coming undone confirms his theory and then pristine white boxers are revealed in front of him. Even so, Luke doesn't waste time before lowering that material as well, letting himself fall naked.
Michael feels lightheaded looking at him now, hot and bothered, standing tall over him. His cock hard right in front of his face. His strong hands pushing and pushing at him to get whatever he wants.
Without really meaning to, Michael leans forward, chasing the fantom feeling of Luke stuffing his mouth. He only processes his movement when the fingers dig deeper into him, dragging his jaw lower, making him look even more pathetic. Hungry, probably, is what he looks like. It's not a wrong impression.
By this point he can't (doesn't want to, would never want to) stop his friend's plans. So as Luke takes hold of himself and straightens Michael for him, he lets it happen. When he finally feels the length of him touch his tongue, bathing him in his taste, a moan leaves him. Albeit muted, stopped from coming into the air, he feels it all through him. That alone, is extremely hot.
Luke doesn't wait before plunging his entire cock into him until Michael can feel him in the back of his throat. He's good at blowing him, has deepthroated him before, and Luke knows this, which is why he doesn't pause before doing so. Although red-in-the-face mad, Michael trusts that he wouldn't hurt him. Too much, anyway.
Now, he does exactly that by winding a hand in his deep blue hair and pulling at the roots. The feeling is impeccable, offering Michael a combination of giving and getting that's beyond words. Like this, Luke drags him up and down his shaft as he pleases, changing up the rhythm enough for him to be caught by surprise every few seconds.
If he could, he would scream.
Since he can't, he focuses on being what Luke needs. It's rough and fast, so Michael does his best to keep up. He breathes through his nose and makes sure to swirl his tongue exactly like he knows Luke loves. He relishes in being the reason those heaven-sent sounds are coming out of Luke's mouth.
Not having mastered his gag reflex yet, he chokes involuntarily once or twice. Instead of stopping, Luke drives into him with renewed fervour after every time it happens. His breath hitches and his grip on his hair tightens enough for Michael not to mind.
He looks up through his eyelashes and almost loses it all despite trying so hard. Luke is already looking down at him, at where he's stretching Michael's pink lips. His blue eyes are blown and he's gasping, mouth dropped open. He's so fucking attractive, riddled with nothing but pure pleasure.
It's not long before he can feel Luke shake under him with the signs of his orgasm. His thrusts lose their rhythm in proportion to gaining momentum. It gets harder to accommodate his size but Michael tries, holds on until he's flooded with the sweet and sour taste of cum. From above him, Luke shouts his name repeatedly, panting whines into the air. It's the most beautiful sounds Michael has ever heard.
He swallows without having to be asked.
And wastes no time:
"Get me off now." Michael demands.
"Fuck no."
"Luke."
The roles reverse in seconds. Luke falls to his knees with yet another eye roll, but he lets Michael fuck his mouth until he's satisfied and he swallows despite his attitude.
Then he's back on his feet, wiping his lips with the back of a hand. Michael pats his cheek twice in an appreciative manner. He whispers 'Good boy.' and pretends to not notice the heated colour on Luke's face. Acts like it doesn't satisfy a part of him that begs for more than sexual favours.
*
This is insane. Didn't Michael say it was a good thing they didn't have to play the O2 Arena at the beginning of the tour? He did, right?!
Because now he's standing in the middle of the floor of the goddamn O2 Arena only 8 hours before he's going to be looking at its packed seats from the stage. And he thinks he's going to go insane.
What the fuck.
"What the fuck." Calum exclaims behind him.
"Right?!"
"It looks so much bigger from down here." The other continues.
A glance to his left lets Michael know why Ashton and Luke are dead silent. There's no way to describe them other than mesmerised, blown-wide eyes jumping between the empty seats, the railings, the huge overhead lights that will be pointed at them soon.
Michael isn't any better, however. He's just as restless, his nerves sparking brighter and hotter with every new detail he notices; Seats on the higher sections mend together the more he looks, seeming so small from so far away. Just the thought of them being filled, of twice that many eyes being on him in a few hours, takes a brutal hold on him.
The stage hasn't fully been set up yet but Michael knows it won't take up a lot more space than it is now. And he knows, since the show is sold out, that the length of the remaining floor will be full of people. It's intimidating, at best.
They go through the motions of any typical show for the remainder of the afternoon. Soundcheck goes well, if just a bit shaky, and so does the general rehearsal. Since they've written a few things since the beginning of the tour, their manager has suggested they play a new song tonight. Huge crowd, big venue, it simply equals massive reach and opportunity. That, also, turns out to sound pretty good.
And then it's 7:22pm, and 5 Seconds of Summer are up to go on in 8 minutes. And Michael is losing his fucking mind. Yes, again.
He's pacing behind the tall, black curtains in a tempo that makes him feel like he's floating. His feet are tingling, whole body vibrating with nerves that he can't shake off. His mind races faster than he can catch up with and yet he feels frozen all at once.
The others seem to be handling this all just a bit better than Michael is. At least, that's what it looks like from afar as he sees Calum and Ashton look into the crowd with wonder, laughing amongst themselves. He can see Luke talking to Harry a little further back, but that doesn't seem like too serious of a conversation either. They look casual, chill. How are they so chill?
Can't they see all those people out there? Can't they hear the overwhelming chatter, all their voices blending together to something unintelligible? Is the sound not attacking them? Ringing in their ears? Is only Michael's breathing affected? Only his heart that beats uncomfortably fast?
One voice reaches him louder than the rest, a simple "Hey, man." and then a hand rests on his shoulder. When he turns towards the sound, Zayn stares back at him. His expression breaks into a frown immediately upon their eyes meeting. Michael can't comprehend what that means– What– Did he–
"Luke! Come over one second." Zayn calls.
Luke. Yeah, Luke could help. Luke knows him, he's good with him. Luke might know what the fuck is wrong right now.
"What's–" That's him now. He stops in his tracks as soon as he sees Michael. His mouth hangs agape for just a second and then his hands are on the other's shoulders.
"Hey." Michael forces out. He hasn't spoken in a while. It's harder than he remembers it being.
"Hey, Mike… What's wrong?" Luke asks, his voice low, tender. His eyes are searching for something in Michael, but he doesn't know how to give it to him right now. What does he want? What else does he want from him?
"Nothing– I-" He sighs. "I don't know." Luke nods. Somehow that's enough for his thoughts to straighten out a bit. "There's so many… people."
"Too many?"
"A lot."
"Okay…"
Okay?! No, no Michael is not okay. He shakes his head quickly. It rattles his brain but still doesn't snap him out of it.
He doesn't even know what's wrong. It's not like with all their gigs they haven't already played to this many people before, of course they have. But not all at once. Not in a venue so big you could feel like you're drowning in it, not with so much attention on them. They're playing before One Direction for fuck's sake! Quite literally all eyes are on them. This is historic. The O2 is so important to the industry, it means something that they get to do this right now.
What if they're not good enough? What if Michael isn't good enough? What if he messes up and everyone realises he's not meant for big stages and success and– What if brings his bandmates down with him? What if–
"Michael."
He's being shaken by the shoulders, that's when he realises Luke hasn't let go of him yet.
Michael steals a glance at his worried eyes tentatively. That doesn't help either, nor does the put-on smile the boy forces for his sake.
Only seconds later, seeing as Michael isn't responding to him quite like he'd want him to, Luke breaks eye contact with a big sigh. His head whips around, frantically scanning the place for something Michael can't take a guess at. When he apparently finds what he was looking for, he grabs Michael's hand and tugs him along without even looking at his face again.
They half-run to a section further back behind the stage. It's basically deserted, a small corner where very little light reaches from the rest of the place. No workers are roaming around, none of the boys from either band are anywhere close. Despite the crammed space, Michael feels less suffocated here than before.
"Look at me."
He does without considering it. Luke's brows are furrowed this time, but his smile looks more genuine than before.
"You can do this." He says strictly, making sure their eyes don't lose each other as he does so.
When Michael's first instinct takes over and he begins to shake his head, Luke jumps into action immediately. His hands fly to Michael's head, cradling his neck and face on either side so he can steady him. So he can look into his eyes again and nod and say "Yes, you can." And so he can pull him in until their foreheads are aligned and touching.
Michael's heart only speeds up at the contact, but the feeling is certainly different. Anxiety is mixing with confusion and the slightly pleasant hint of safety that comes whenever Luke is so close. It doesn't drown everything else, his breathing is still erratic, his hands still shake, but it's different.
"What if I can't?" Michael admits quietly, his eyes closing around the shame of the confession.
"That's what the rest of us are there for."
"But–"
"No buts." Luke interjects quietly. That softness is back, and with the sensation of his breath fanning over Michael's mouth as he speaks, it manages to pacify him a bit.
"I don't want to fuck this up for us."
"You won't." He insists. He pulls back just slightly after that, just enough to look somewhere into the distance fast enough to think Michael won't notice.
They're running out of time, he can tell. It's been minutes of this insane turmoil with the two of them fighting back and forth against Michael's insecurities. There can't be more than 2 minutes left before they're supposed to go on stage. Still, it hasn't got better.
He's not ready. Realising how fast the time has passed, how little he's got left before the bright lights blind him under the gaze of the hungry crowd only makes it worse. He feels his heart literally drop and his chest rise and fall faster and faster and suddenly he can barely breathe again.
"No, no, hey– Mike."
Luke must be talking to him, he can fadedly register his thumbs running along his cheekbones. It's just too far away to hold onto.
"Breathe."
Easier said than done.
"Come on. Breathe."
It doesn't feel real, none of his senses are working, he can't– He might black out this very second. He's not sure what's going on around him anymore. His lungs aren't working properly. What's happening? Why can't he breathe?!
Lips crash into his fast.
Luke's kissing him. He's kissing him. Those are his lips on Michael's and he's– He–
Michael's eyes fly wide open with a gasp only to find the other's closed. Is this what it feels like for your heart to stop beating? Because he's pretty sure that's exactly what happened, his heartbeat gave out. Except it's back now. With it comes his breathing, the secure feeling of Luke's lips pressed on him.
He doesn't pull away, only letting himself sink into the sensation even more. It covers him completely. The shock washes over him and takes away the fuzziness, the fear and panic. Suddenly Luke's touch isn't far away, his brain is no longer grainy and dark at the edges.
When Luke moves back, just a little bit, Michael's cloudy mind has cleared. All he can think to say is–
"Why'd you do that?"
"You were having a panic attack. I, um, I read once that holding your breath can stop it."
"So–"
"When I kissed you, you held your breath." Luke explains. He's whispering, and that only feels appropriate despite there not being a need for it.
Michael finds it impossible to come up with any sort of response to that. Luke is looking at him wide-eyed, nervousness spilling off of him uncontrollably. He just nods, and lets his own gaze fall away before dropping his head on Luke's shoulder. Arms wrap around him instantly and he feels Luke's own head rest on him for a moment.
Whatever he was thinking about before has effectively been erased by the time they're called back into the group huddle. As they walk towards the side entrance to the stage, the two share a smile. Somehow, it has the same calming effect as the kiss, if only less sudden and overwhelming.
With a thousand questions bouncing around the walls of his mind, Michael steps in front of the crowd sporting a big smile. He might not get his answers right now, but can sure as hell enjoy killing it on stage.
*
Making the others leave Michael's room as soon as possible was a struggle, but they made it. And so he'd stood up, turning around to look at Luke with a smirk on his lips. The hint of intention. Following him as always, Luke went to get up, plaster himself on Michael like he craves. But he didn't let that happen.
Instead, Michael had pushed him, right in the middle of his chest, until he'd fallen roughly onto the couch again. A small smile was on his lips, loving this.
His skinny jeans were off in seconds, but he wasn't doing anything but staring ahead.
"What are you looking at?" Michael snaps. His voice is more teasing than he intends it to be, not snarky enough.
Luke just smiles, crooked and cocky, but his eyes aren't on Michael's. His hand reaches for his face as he responds, and the other can only let it happen when Luke toys with his top lip with his thumb. "That pretty mouth of yours."
Pretty, pretty, pretty, fuck, he just called him pretty, he–
Looking up feels less like a choice and more like Michael's eyes are pulled to Luke's like opposing magnets. When he finds the familiar darkness of sex in them, there's no stopping him.
He takes Luke's thumb in his mouth immediately, looking down at the hand for a quick moment, just to tease, just because he knows Luke likes his eyes too much. The other whines (exactly how Michael thought he would) and then he's pushing at the roof of Michael's mouth, urging him to look up. Helpless to the pressure, he does exactly that.
Soon enough, they're in that now familiar position they usually find themselves in: Luke on his back, writhing under the wet feeling of Michael bouncing on him. They don't have to think about it anymore, fitting themselves into those roles through a practiced push and pull. Michael loves getting what he wants, Luke loves letting him.
Their breathing is more sound than not, their bodies meeting in rapid, harsh slams. Michael's getting tired but the feeling of fullness overrides it enough. Luke's hands on him help. His tight hold and encouragement to keep moving, they help. As a thank you, Micheal does the other thing he's best at: He talks.
"So hot, Luke. Fuck."
"Mhm. Yeah-"
"Yes, god.." He moans loudly, "You're so good."
That earns him a hard thrust from the younger one, his nails digging into skin. He throws his head back with his eyes closed and doesn't stop fucking up into Michael after that. It's his undoing, suddenly taking the pace into his control, chasing the feeling of Michael clenching around him all by himself. Too close to release, Michael just lets it happen. He goes lax and bathes in the feeling of Luke cupping his ass to keep him in place, the strong pumps all inside him.
As a result, their faces press together, sweat mingling into one. Michael finds solace in suckling on Luke's jaw and then feels the other's open mouth trailing from his chin to his cheek up to his ear. Luke leaves spit in his hot breath's wake, wetting Michael's skin deliciously.
"I couldn't– couldn't stop thinking," He sucks in a sharp breath. "about you. All day."
"Fuck, Luke, you–" Michael just gasps.
He's feeling so much suddenly, too much of his mind mixing with the words Luke is offering him like a blessing, the sensation of his sweaty hands holding onto him tightly. Why did he say that? Why? How is Michael meant to act fucking normal when Luke admits to thinking about him while his cock is pumping into him, while he's claiming Michael's body as if its his own to hold? What is he supposed to do after this, after Luke reaches the climax he's searching and his mind rushes back to its normal state: the one that doesn't long for Michael like he does for him?
For the time being, he lets it take over him. He lets the statement wash over his skin like it's catharsis, its waterfall of feelings raining over him softly but surely. It feels like more than it should, like he's reading into it too much, even in his fucked-out orgasm-hungry brain. Alas, he can't stop the thoughts from intruding. Even worse, he can't stop them from overwhelming him, screaming higher and higher until he himself is screaming inside.
And–
"Luke!"
"Ah, fuck. Yes!" Luke shouts when Michael clenches hard around him as he comes. "You feel so good."
Being flooded with Luke's cum is a sensation that Michael never wants to give up. It's messy and slightly uncomfortable, but leaves him aching and sensitive in a way he cherishes.
When he comes down from an orgasm, Luke always gets softer around the edges that make Michael go insane. In the afterglow of sex, he turns quieter, sluggishly moving about whatever surface they fucked on. Usually, if bed was their choice of the night, and if the time allows it, he makes sure to not detach from Michael's body more than he needs to. Usually, Michael tries to not look him in the eye.
It's too much, too raw—Michael is, truthfully.
So when Luke manoeuvres them to be on their sides and facing each other, God, he can't help it when his breathing stops. He doesn't move to pull out and Michael doesn't ask him to.
He can't stop his stomach from getting tight with the feeling of being close to Luke. Michael feels split open, right in the middle of his being, tender in all the places Luke's fingertips laid and probed. Branded, almost. Like he belongs to the man who's arms he's laying in, who's cock still sits nestled inside him, the blue eyes he has no choice but to look into. Fuck, how he… loves those eyes.
Oh, how he loves Luke.
It hurts, how deeply Michael feels that stupid word for him. It's but a pit in his chest that keeps lowering, becoming deeper and deeper and darker and darker and with it goes vacuumed out his focus, his drive. He feels hollow a lot, empty except for the screaming longing he has for his best friend.
If only it was just his eyes, something avoidable, even in moments like these. But it's not— It's the softness of his fingertips and the tone of his voice. It's his long legs draped over Michael on any couch they occupy. It's the dip of his waist and the junction of his shoulder, broad and gorgeous. It's the feeling of being wrapped up in him and around him, hot and malleable like candle wax.
It's his smile. His cute bunny teeth that shine as if fake when he's happy, when his lips set in the picture-perfect line that means he's enjoying himself. Ever since getting that piercing, even more of Michael's attention is taken up by the image of Luke's mouth. Those pink lips becoming adorned with a sparkling jewel was Michael' downfall. Now, all he can think about is fitting his own lips on the diamond, softly tracing its frame with his tongue. He does so—he's lucky to have done it multiple times since—It just never feels like it's enough.
No matter how much of Luke he has, it never feels like enough. The void is never filled, his thoughts never stop racing towards his body, his gaze, the pressure of his touch. When nights get too dark, as they often do for Michael, the opposite becomes true, a nightmare come to life. During those nights, the void that normally resides in him instead swallows him whole, overtakes him cataclysmically. During those nights, his hands shaking as he fists sheets Luke has drained him of sweat and tears on, his eyes screwed shut, he feels nothing.
Yet he feels everything. Everything that has to do with Luke Hemmings, everything that makes him who he is, that makes him loveable and makes Michael love him. Everything that makes Luke not his.
Like his saccharine words, and the way he lights up when Michael praises his singing. Or his obsession with cats, how he's convinced he'd be the best owner but doesn't want to put any kitten through their horrendous schedule. How his eyes sparkled under the Italian sun when they'd sneaked away from the airport during a layover. How he'd tackled Michael to the ground to prove a point but had then dusted sand away from his forehead with timid fingers. How he looks when he's eyeing Michael up, the sequence in which he views him from head to toe, then lips and finally into his eyes, full of flame—Full of lust.
How it feels to be the subject of Luke's lust; Euphoric and cursed. Because whatever he does, however much he tries, Michael can't keep away from him when he begs, even when he doesn't. Simply giving into Luke's hints is easier than holding himself back from having everything he wants. And in those moments, when he's being held down by Luke's body weight, when he can barely breathe, can barely think and has to do nothing but succumb to the wetness of his kisses and force of his thrusts, Michael feels like he's on top of the world. Because, for even only those brief moments, he gets what he craves most: To be his.
But he's not; Michael is not his. And Luke is not his either.
Like insistent wind, Michael has to fight the knowledge of loving Luke without truly having him every single day. More strongly than anything, what often pushes at him is living with this love all alone. Without Luke knowing of the hunger he's satisfying with every lick of his fire he allows to reach Michael's skin, the pain grows. Because Luke has no idea of just how much love Michael has for him.
And nothing hurts more than that.
Nothing hurts more than the comedown, the cleanup and the nothingness that creeps in after living in the middle of the strongest feeling he's ever known. Nothing hurts more than the reminder that they don't belong to each other, that they don't have what he wishes they did.
Sometimes he thinks when they lay like this, that their hearts sync up, beat together as if they're one. It's probably just his own, traitorously following after Luke's drums, hopelessly believing it'll mean something. Like one day, they'll touch and Michael's chest won't have to do all the work.
And then Luke looks at him with the dullness that he does everyone else. No longer lit up with arousal, his sky-blue eyes seem as dark as midnight. Having nothing to guide him anymore, Michael falls– Always falls, always deeper than he was before.
More in love with someone he can't have, more hopeless than the night before, more empty than ever.
*
The last Wednesday of April is as bright as spring can get in jolly ol' England. See: It's not. For 4 men used to Australian summers, the everlasting moodiness and broodiness of English skies is a challenge to navigate. Despite the weather becoming slightly warmer in the last few days, stubborn clouds hold the sun away anyway.
The result is cluttering jaws and frozen fingers during every outing. Liam and Louis have laughed at them too many times to go unnoticed by now but it seems the damage has been done. Because unfortunately—
A loud sneeze rings through the room, and Luke doesn't have to look to know Michael is pathetically sniffling away next to him. Nose red, eyes teary and lethargic, his agony is written all over his face. When he does turn towards him, the other just looks at him with a tired expression before flopping his head back on the couch. He grunts, no doubt having made himself dizzy.
All 4 guys huddled up in the living room of the shared AirBnb since waking up (which for them, was after midday), prepared to let the day pass them by. Michael's illness set roots a couple days ago, steadily draining his energy more and more. Without any plans for the day, it was an easy decision to keep him company while he rests once Ashton had suggested it.
They'd sat the man of the day down with stern looks as they set to make the room as comfortable for him as possible. Blankets, throw pillows, curtains drawn, low lights, tissues. Everything they could find around the space that seemed at all helpful simply surrounded Michael as soon as possible. And the couch. And the floor.
While on a very low volume as to not disturb their sick friend, they decided to put something up on the TV. Some 90s movie on a random channel held their attention for long enough.
Conversation comes and fizzles out in intervals, overall not holding any substance. The room is quiet most of the time, save for the occasional outburst of sickness from Michael. That is, when he's awake enough to make any sound.
Luke sits next to him, probably too close to be health-sensible, but he really can't care. Truthfully, he's been watching Michael more than he has the TV. His sharp features are puffed out, swollen cutely. He exudes exhaustion by simply laying there, sniffling just for long enough to draw a breath in. Seeing him drift in and out of consciousness paints Luke's mind with worry as much as it does calm.
He's adorable, it's just a fact.
The thought leaves Luke's mouth dry, an aftertaste of sweetness just slightly coming through. He looks over at Michael one more time and feels it flare when their eyes meet.
"What?" Michael croaks out. Clears his throat after the fact.
"Nothing." Luke whispers, barely audible.
Luckily, Michael is too tired to sass him for that non-response. When he leans over to rest his head on Luke's shoulder, he only ignores the flutter in his chest. Drowns it in the syrupy sound of Michael's sigh.
He should push him off, make sure Michael is far enough that he won't get him sick too. Perhaps even joke about how he's jeopardising their careers by being clingy. Somehow though, Luke can't bring himself to do such a thing. Detaching the two of them seems cruel, especially with the way Michael curls more and more into his side. In the end, he chooses to wrap an arm around him. He's not sure how his hand finds a resting point in the dip of Michael's waist right where his shirt rides up enough, but he doesn't stop touching when he feels hot skin on his palm.
All sound has disappeared, Luke realises just a second later. Tearing his eyes away from Michael's shut ones, he finds the TV turned off. Much to his dismay, he also finds Ashton and Calum locked in on the two of them. He can't and doesn't even try to suppress his eye roll.
"So." Ashton starts quietly.
"So?" Luke retorts. His voice drips sarcasm, somewhat defensive without intending to be.
Just when Ashton is about to keep talking, Calum pipes up to cut him off. "Who wants dinner?"
Disregarding the judgy looks thrown his way, Luke turns to Michael once again. He nudges him just slightly with his shoulder and soothes the shock by squeezing his waist. Green eyes reach him sluggishly. He smiles back instinctively.
"Food?" Luke offers softly. Too softly, to his ears and the others' probably. He's scared to startle Michael too much though, that's all.
Michael, decidedly startled enough to whine and hide his pained face in Luke's neck, grumbles "No." with enough complaint to offend any cook.
"You need to eat something." Luke insists.
He gets a shake of the head back back, but doesn't pay the other any mind. He turns to Calum, who initially asked the question, to confirm. "Maybe some soup?"
"Easy."
"You gonna help or–" Ashton tries to speak.
Michael mewls loudly, infinitely obvious in his disagreement. Luke can't do anything but look down at him again, can't even consider standing up from his seat. He doesn't get the chance to say 'no' before Calum is doing it for him by walking away.
"Alright, dude." He mutters as he goes. Ashton smiles full of taunt before trailing behind him.
Once their feet have walked far enough into the kitchen to not be heard and the room is plunged in silence again, Luke feels Michael shift so that he's pressed closer to him. His leg rises a little, brushing the side of Luke's own. He doesn't even think about it before he's fitting a hand under Michael's thigh and guiding the limb so it's laying full over his own right leg. An affirmative hum comes from the other, and so Luke simply takes the win of helping him get more comfortable.
"You're warm." Michael murmurs.
"I think that's you." Luke replies absentmindedly, occupied with sending a quick text to Calum. He gets no response, but the message shows 'read' immediately so he hopes his request won't be ignored.
"Hm, okay."
And that's that.
"Are you gonna eat when the soup is done?" pries Luke.
"Don't know."
"Michael."
"Luke." He somehow replies in the same tone.
"You need food."
"Too much work." Michael argues.
A puff of air comes out of Luke's mouth immediately, framed by a smile. He can't believe the lazy arse he's dealing with.
"My god, I'll feed you if it's that hard."
He said it before processing, before he realised how it would sound. It rings oddly in his ears. Whereas not a particularly serious offer, there's sentiment there that even Luke can recognise. He's not sure he's ever fed anyone before. Except a couple kids he's babysat, though that hardly seems like an appropriate comparison considering they were babies and Michael is—
What is Michael?
A grown adult. He might be sick but he's perfectly capable of feeding himself. He's just lazy.
But he's also sick and tired and cuddly beyond what Luke has ever seen from him.
And he's Luke's… friend.
Anyway, Luke doesn't even get to come to a conclusion before he feels the piercing stare of the other's eyes on him. They're wide as hell when he looks into them, brighter than he's seen them the whole day despite there being a slight furrow between Michael's brows. He lifts his head just minutely, but Luke's skin seeks out the warmth he stole instantly.
In just a second though, his expression is schooled back from that temporary confusion or intrigue or whatever he was thinking. Instead he releases an airy chuckle, mildly slapping Luke's chest as he does so. His voice is uncharacteristically (given his current state) loud when he jokes, "Alright, I'm not a child."
Right. That's what Luke thought too. Exactly.
So why does he feel weighted with disappointment now?
"Thank god." Luke matches his tone. For some reason, the words taste sour on his tongue. "Thought you'd actually make me do it."
"Right. No I–" Michael chuckles again, though it doesn't sound too real.
"Yeah."
"Soup coming!" Calum shouts as he and Ashton enter the room, both holding one bowl in each hand. He stops dead in his tracks when his gaze falls on Luke and Michael. It's honestly comical, only made worse when he, not at all subtly, leans towards Ashton to ask: "They weren't sitting that close before we left, were they?"
"Fuck off, Cal." Michael berates.
If he wasn't holding steaming hot liquid at the moment, Luke would have thrown a pillow at him. Nonetheless, Michael's response suffices to shut any further comments down. The cold Luke feels when the other sits upright to reach out for a plate is striking. He's glad to have the hot food as a replacement.
And if he looks over at Michael a few too many times to check he's doing okay, no one notices. If they do, they thankfully don't point it out. Luke's not sure what he would come up with to say to that. Considering he's not even sure why feels such concern to begin with, he doesn't think it would be too great of an explanation.
An uncomfortable amount of broth and too many near-burns of the tongue later, they're all finished with their share. Ashton had left some in his plate, which Luke immediately offered to get rid of for him. Hence, he feels stuffed full by the time they dispose of their dishes in the kitchen to be dealt with later.
"Good?" Calum asks their patient.
"Mhm."
"Convincing." He snorts.
"Head hurts." Michael moans.
"Oh, should be time for your meds?" Luke asks. Michael only hums, and it sounds like a 'no', but it's answer enough.
Luke swiftly gets up on his feet in search for said medication. It takes too long to find them since they're both stuffed in the gap between the mattress and the headboard of Michael's bed, for whatever reason. Regardless, Luke picks them up and walks back to the living room (only after pushing the mattress so it's flush against the wood).
"Alright, found them." he announces.
Michael's fully slumped down on the couch seat when Luke comes back in. He turns his head dramatically so that blonde hair is all that's visible to the other boys, hiding his surely appalled face away.
Luke is already fed up. He doesn't know why he's smiling as he makes his way over to the couch.
He sits down just inches above Michael's head, nonetheless careful to not trap hair under his weight. "Don't be a baby."
As a response, Michael lays his face flat into the bottom of the cushion.
"You're gonna suffocate, dumbass."
What can only be "Fuck you." is hummed back at him. As unintelligible as the situation makes Michael's words, it doesn't make him any less predictable.
From the floor comes a call of "Let him." from Ashton, already done with his stubbornness.
Moments pass with no movement. It honestly makes Luke nervous how long Michael has his already stuffed nose and mouth covered by rough fabric. Fearing he might actually cause himself to pass out just to prove a point and get out of swallowing a couple pills and some syrup, Luke pokes him insistently on the shoulder.
Just like he expected, nagging Michael works wonders. He lifts his head with a deadpan look merely 6 pokes in. It's a shame, really, Luke could've done this all night.
"What." Michael has the guts to question.
"Meds." Luke says as sternly as he can.
"No. I hate the taste of that shit."
"Bet you'll hate being bedridden for the next week even more."
"I'm not putting that in my mouth."
"Oh my god, just open up." Luke finally demands.
Set in his ways as he is, Michael does just that. And only that. He leaves it up to Luke to pour the nearly black liquid into the medicinal spoon. Their eyes lock when he guides the medicine towards him and for some goddamn reason, neither looks away.
The boy honest to god shivers at the taste, instantly gagging dramatically. He even shakes his head vigorously, almost like a dog, as if that will get rid of the aftermath faster.
"Disgusting."
Luke isn't good at biting his tongue.
"Not the worst thing you've swallowed."
Um–
"Oh god, spare us please." Calum instantly yells, taking both their attention away from each other for a moment. It's a welcomed break, a clean cut through whatever thoughts Luke's mind was galloping unnecessarily to.
It's too real. Too casual. Since when can they joke about that with other people in the room?
Luke clears his throat just as the fake blonde does the same. It makes the scene even more awkward than it already felt, given their horrible timing.
Popping the two pills out of their packet and on Michael's tongue is miles easier and decidedly less dramatic.
As it often happens, no one mentions it. They're back to watching TV and having mindless chats easily. Months have passed yet Luke still doesn't know what to do with that.
Time ticks away and so does their energy. Slowly but surely they all end up laying horizontally on whatever surface they occupy. Michael, once again, has bent over Luke's frame, entrusting his weight and comfort on the other. With his head on the armrest, Luke can see Michael's cheek cutely being squished as he snoozes away on his chest.
It's not long later when Ashton leaves to his room, followed by Calum shortly after. Truthfully, the latter didn’t look any more tired than Luke is or must seem. But he doesn't have a giant man-baby hogging his own body.
Luke watches Michael's back lift and fall steadily and can't find it in himself to complain.
However, the position isn't too comfortable and he knows Michael is only able to fall asleep because of his general exhaustion and the medication making him droopy. He'll be cursing Luke for hours tomorrow if he lets him sleep the night away on this couch. Unfortunately, so will Luke's neck and shoulders.
Reluctantly, he props an elbow under himself and gently lifts his body off the cushions. Michael barely stirs with how slowly Luke moves and although he's about to wake him up, he's glad he doesn't shock him out of sleep. With a gentle pat on the back and a couple 'Michael's he manages to wake him peacefully.
"Mm…"
"We should get to bed." Luke says.
Forcing Michael out of his slumber is already a hard task. Forcing an ill Michael out of it is torture for both people involved.
He opens his eyes only a fraction of the way, clearly distraught at being moved. He groans something Luke can't even make out but nevertheless doesn't put up much of a fight when Luke pries his arms away and gingerly urges him to get up.
Both stumble once on their feet, Luke carrying most of Michael's weight with an arm around his waist. Delirious as he is, the older tries his best to keep up with his steps. They make it to the first available bedroom (which happens to be Michael's) safe and sound.
Laying the man's body down is not much of a struggle. What does, however, prove difficult, is getting him away from Luke.
Having made sure Michael is far enough into the bed to not fall off and tucked in under the blanket neatly, Luke tries to pull away. The arms around his neck pull back.
"Luke..." Michael whines.
"Shh, baby, it's alright."
"Stay."
Even if he wanted to go, Luke doesn't really have a choice.
At least that's what he tells himself as he raises the covers just enough to slip underneath.
Sleep comes as easily as the pet name left his tongue.