Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The red neon lights flickered across the street.

Ian shrank a little, glancing around, still leaning against the driver’s side door of his black Nissan Altima. It wasn’t like someone he knew would just happen to walk by and say hi, but the discomfort still kept him on edge. The name The Cellar, glowing in medium-sized, bold letters on the sign above the plain black double doors, made his stomach twist with anxiety. From where he stood, he couldn’t see what was inside, just the promise of a hallway that looked long and dark, probably leading people into something that actually resembled a basement.

He had researched this place thoroughly, just to be sure it was far and private enough. Ian wanted somewhere that wasn’t too seedy, so he wouldn’t be putting his health at risk, but also not too fancy so he wouldn’t feel like a fish out of water.

And here he was.

Looking down the empty street, only a few cars passing by, even fewer people, he thought about how the narrow road lay tucked away in a hidden neighborhood, far from any busy area. Perfectly designed to give clients with peculiar tastes a sense of privacy, calm and confidence. And yet, Ian still had the nagging feeling that the second he crossed the street toward that door, a patient or an old classmate would suddenly appear, recognize him, and ask: Gallagher, what are you doing here?

Ian sighed, trying to steady himself.

Would he even know what to say? No. Of course not.

There was no way Ian could explain to anyone normal why he was going to a BDSM club. That scenario had played out in his head over and over, and every time he panicked at the thought of having to explain to someone who knew him as the chief resident at a respected hospital in the North Side, a doctor who graduated with honors and was named among the top five in his class, that he was here, all the way down on the South Side of Chicago, more than thirty miles from home, because he was looking for someone who liked to get hit.

Fuck, how was he supposed to explain that?

“No, this was a terrible idea…”, he muttered to himself, turning away from the door across the street, denying the promise that the damned entrance held, and opening his own car door to slide into the driver’s seat. He should leave. Better to give up on this stupid idea before someone saw him there, recognized him, or worse… before he actually decided to go in.

Suddenly, the urge to smoke hit him hard. He needed a cigarette.

Ian didn’t smoke often anymore, he had practically quit when he started college at nineteen. He had traded cigarettes for endless cups of coffee and cans of energy drinks, anything that would keep him awake while working part-time and studying the rest of the day. But the habit came back about a year ago.
After Caleb left.
After everything went wrong.

He could still remember chain-smoking an entire pack while Caleb’s best friend packed up the ex’s belongings and carried them out of their apartment, after Caleb refused to come home. Refused to talk to Ian. Refused to even have a conversation. 

Ian had lost control. That damn control he’d always prided himself on maintaining through their four years together, building a serious, calm, balanced life with Caleb.
Until he couldn’t anymore.

It took three years of their relationship before Ian admitted to himself that he wanted something different. A few conversations with Caleb, a few attempts, until Caleb got irritated, scared, and left. Because apparently Ian had gone too far, and for Caleb, that wasn’t normal.

Ian could still hear him yelling: “This desire for that kind of thing just proves you need help.” Ian had felt like trash, and he decided to let it go. To bury those urges deep in the back of his mind and soul and try to be normal.

To have sex the normal way.

That had been almost a year ago. Almost a year, and he felt like he was losing his mind.

That hunger for something unsatisfied kept twisting inside him, giving him inappropriate thoughts during work hours, and of course, forcing him to jerk off like a pervert to videos he would never admit to liking.

Ties, beatings, screaming. 

God, he had no idea how to make it stop.

Ian scrubbed his face with both hands, pressing his eyes shut tight, letting his head fall back against the seat. He was going to lose it before he managed to convince himself he wasn’t crazy. Before he convinced himself he wasn’t the complete pervert Caleb had said he was.

But fuck, how could something so basic be so hard? Sure, there wasn’t any scientific research proving people went insane from lack of sexual satisfaction, but wasn’t that in Maslow’s hierarchy somewhere? He was pretty sure sexual fulfillment had to be in that famous pyramid of human needs, tucked somewhere between physical safety and social belonging, proof that yes, this was a human necessity.

Sexual satisfaction.

It had to be.

Because nothing else explained that maddening itch under his skin, that constant dissatisfaction, that eternal frustration when he had sex the “normal” way. He hated that word.

Normal.

But it crept into his mind, making him angry at others and at himself.

He had tried.

Two months after Caleb left, Ian had tried doing the usual things; blowjobs in bathrooms, hot Grindr hookups, but they were never good. Not even close. With Caleb, it had been a disaster, and they had at least talked about what they wanted before trying, but Ian didn’t feel confident at all asking some random guy from a bar for the things he had asked of his ex. That could go very wrong.

So he did his research. And that’s how he ended up here.

The Cellar.

A small BDSM club that promised a calm atmosphere, privacy, regular clientele, and prepared rooms for reasonable prices.

So Ian thought it might be a good idea. He wanted this. Wanted it desperately. To go to a place where people knew what they liked, were prepared to do those things, and wouldn’t judge him for it. They wouldn’t ask his name, wouldn’t ask questions, they’d just… make him feel comfortable enough to be himself, even if that meant pretending to be someone else for a few hours.

Nothing of Dr. Gallagher, the polite, polished, charming man. Something closer to his truer self, the one who got hard just imagining spanking someone’s ass raw, fucking their mouth, and choking a partner almost into unconsciousness.

He needed that.

That freedom.

Urgently.

Or he needed a fucking cigarette.

He opened his eyes and started rummaging through the briefcase beside him, his jacket, even the glove compartment. Of course, he was out of cigarettes. With the way he’d been smoking like a chimney lately, thanks to the anxiety clawing at him over what he was about to do, it made sense. Shit, he really couldn’t find any. So, after one last glance at the door that promised to change his life across the street, Ian started the car and prepared to drive away.

He needed cigarettes.

He needed to calm down before he did this. And he would only calm down after buying them.

Or, God forbid, he might lose control all over again.

***

Mickey searched for the Zippo lighter he always carried with him, no luck.

He patted down the pockets of his jeans, his hoodie, and realized he’d left the fuckin’ lighter at Uncle Ronnie’s place, where he’d been handling the family’s books earlier that day. Fuck it, somebody was bound to have a light at The Cellar.

With that in mind, he pulled the cigarette from his lips to hold it between his fingers as he walked down the narrow street toward the gay BDSM club. 

Mickey had found out about the place a few months back, and even though he’d spent his whole closeted life hanging around and having fun at bars and clubs in Boystown, this place was a fucking gem. Far enough from home that he wouldn’t run into someone he knew and have to explain himself, like that one time he bumped into Mandy at Boystown. That had been awkward as hell, trying to explain to his little sister that he liked dick. And yeah, maybe he wasn’t exactly in the closet anymore, but it’s not like he wanted to run into family in a BDSM club, ready to ask dumbass questions about his sex life.

It was his private life, for fuck’s sake.

He’d spent more than half of his twenty-nine years hiding from his dad just to avoid catching a bullet to the head, so now that the bastard was dead, Mickey figured he had the right to live however the fuck he wanted.

So, a BDSM club far from home? Seemed like a solid choice.

Problem was, he still hadn’t really found what he needed. Not exactly, anyway.

Mickey liked specific things, and those things were hard to get when you were some rough South Side guy with fuck u-up tattooed across your knuckles and who walked around looking like he had a gun on his waist. Let’s just say Mickey knew he wasn’t exactly the picture of sympathy, but shit, all he wanted was someone who could handle him.

Dominate him.

Take him the right way.

He sighed, slipping the useless cigarette back into the pack.

When Mickey figured out what he really liked, not the gay part, the violent part, he was almost twenty-seven. Before that, sex had just been stress relief, or something to pass time. Then he met Josh, a blond, muscled, grinning guy at Fairytale. The dude had shown him some fun stuff with ropes, paddles, and vibrators, but as time passed, Mickey realized he wanted more.

More force.

More pressure.

More domination.

But Josh could never give it to him the way Mickey needed. For all the blond’s natural sex appeal, he didn’t know how to break Mickey down. How to bend him or leave him wrecked the way Mickey craved. So he went looking elsewhere.

Fuck it!

He knew exactly what he liked now.

Exactly what he wanted.

What he needed.

He knew, after everything he’d tried, that there were certain things that would make him literally melt in another man’s hands, and even if he didn’t say it out loud to anyone, deep down, he knew.

That’s why The Cellar.

The place promised all that dom and sub shit Mickey had spent weeks researching, but to his surprise, the Doms there all seemed to want subs way too soft. Something Mickey couldn’t pull off. Or maybe he could, but he sure as hell didn’t like it. Not really.

He’d tried once.

Tried to be calm, obedient.

But fuck, even then, the guy had no clue what to do with him.

Too weak, too soft, too controlled.

And the endless chatter before and after didn’t help.

He remembered feeling like he’d been dropped into some shitty half-porn movie for middle-aged women. Only thing missing was a goddamn contract to sign. It pissed him off and left him unsatisfied. He went home feeling like he hadn’t been fucked right and had to jerk off to porn (something he usually avoided, because that shit looked fake as hell to him).

What he wanted was more pressure, more force, more chaos and provocation.

God, just thinking about it made him hard.

He wanted to be marked, drained, fucking devoured. Was that too much to ask? Apparently, yeah. But he kept trying anyway.

Mickey was only a few feet from The Cellar’s door when he saw the flame. Ironic, really, because the red glow cupped in a big hand lit up a freckled face and short orange-red hair.

The redhead standing just steps from his destination had the fire Mickey needed, and something tightened unexpectedly in his gut. He’d seen the guy before. A few nights back, the redhead had stood there way too long before leaving. Mickey remembered spotting him again that same week, and after the third time, Mickey himself had turned around and left before reaching the double doors under the neon sign, figuring the guy’s weird stakeouts made him look like a cop or something.

But tonight, there he was again, staring at The Cellar’s door with what Mickey could only describe as scared-as-fuck eyes. So excuse him for being curious. Who the hell was this guy, and what the fuck was he doing?

Mickey didn’t overthink it. His need for a light and his curiosity won out, and his feet carried him straight toward the pseudo-sentry as he pulled the cigarette out of the pack again.

“Got a light?”, simple question. 

The guy already had a cigarette between his lips, though he wasn’t smoking like a casual habit, it looked more like a lifeline. So it wasn’t a shock when he flinched at Mickey’s voice, jerking his head up. The redhead stared at him wide-eyed, clearly caught off guard, lost in his own head.

“Y-yeah, I…” his voice shook a little as he fumbled through his pockets, like he hadn’t just tucked the lighter away. Mickey gave a short, nasal laugh as the guy shoved the cigarette back between his lips and kept patting himself down with both hands.

“Relax…” Mickey muttered, finally sticking his own cigarette between his teeth and stepping closer. That was enough to make the redhead stop searching and freeze, staring at him.

The guy was tall, a little more than a head over Mickey, but he didn’t look dangerous, so Mickey leaned in and touched the end of his cigarette to the other man’s. The redhead didn’t move, which gave Mickey the perfect chance to take a better look at his face while he drew in a breath.

Freckles everywhere. Big, dark green eyes.

Loose lips that looked like they’d drop the cigarette any second.

Mickey smirked faintly and pulled back, exhaling through his nose before inhaling again and pulling the cigarette free, giving the redhead enough time to collect himself and glance once more at the club’s door.

“You going in?” It wasn’t really his business, but fuck it, he wanted to know. The redhead gave a sheepish laugh, eyes dropping to the ground before he finally took another drag.

“I… honestly don’t know yet.”, Mick shrugged. 

“It’s a cool place. Don’t expect anything fancy, but the drinks are good.”

“Good to know. A place with bad drinks is never even close to satisfying.”, the comment made Mickey grin. The guy sounded way too polite, even in the way he talked, and if the crisp shirt and straight-cut pants didn’t give him away, that sure did. 

West Side. This guy was West Side for sure.

“I’m pretty sure there’s something in there that’ll satisfy you…”, Mickey drawled. He could’ve sworn he caught a flicker in those green eyes, eyes that looked too dark out here. He noticed the quick glance the guy gave his body, and that sparked heat low in Mickey’s gut, made him feel stupid. Not because he wasn’t confident in himself, but fuck, it was ridiculous, teasing some probably-closeted, buttoned-up guy outside a gay club.

He needed someone to fuck him violently.

Fast. 

Because right now he felt like some needy little bitch.

“Thanks for the light.”, Mickey dipped his head in farewell and stepped away.

He needed to get inside and not waste time on the soft, indecisive redhead. That guy definitely didn’t have what Mickey needed. So he’d better look elsewhere.

***

The place was calm.
After the long entrance hallway that literally led downward, at the very back, there was a small reception desk with an attendant hidden behind a dark glass booth. There was only a small opening in the glass to show the entry card, which Ian had bought through the club’s website. He held it up to whoever was inside, and the door beside it opened, revealing a tall man standing like a statue in the entrance.

Okay, that was supposed to be for security, but all Ian felt was anxiety.

Not because of the guard himself, but because of what crossing that door represented.

But what else could he do? 

The dark-haired guy had twisted Ian’s stomach in a hot, fiery way, like he’d dropped a fireball in there and walked away. And Ian was still burning.

Curiosity. Anxiety. Excitement.

Maybe all of it at once.

And because of his complete lack of game in that moment, nervous as hell at the thought of finally stepping into that club, Ian hadn’t even asked the guy’s name. Not that it was the most important question. Honestly, the only thought running through his head was: God, please, let this man be a bottom. Ridiculous, maybe, but that’s where his desperate need to fuck had brought him after all this time.

So Ian stepped into the club.

After four times of coming to the place, staring at the door for hours and giving up, the blue-eyed guy had finally convinced him to walk in. Or rather, provoked him. Ian felt teased, by lack of a better word.

He walked further inside and took everything in calmly. The music wasn’t loud; the first room felt like some kind of welcome area, a circulation space. It was bigger than it looked, with people walking back and forth, not crowded, but busy enough. To the right, booths with cushioned sofas, some occupied by people chatting a little too intimately, but nothing outrageous.

Ian wasn’t exactly sure if he’d been expecting people fucking everywhere, but that wasn’t what he found. Booths, more booths, a stage at the back with abandoned instruments like someone had just finished playing, and finally to his left, a huge half-moon-shaped bar. At least three bartenders were there, all half-naked, and if it weren’t for that, Ian might’ve thought he’d walked into the wrong place. Well, if he ignored the naked art on the walls and the dim red lights.

His eyes scanned each high stool in front of the bar, and it didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. The cigarette guy was there, just a few feet away.

He wasn’t exactly smiling at the bartender leaning in way too close to his face, like they’d known each other for a long time, but his mouth was curved slightly, and his thick, dark brows arched playfully at the half-naked man holding his attention. The bartender seemed far too interested in entertaining that particular client, so Ian figured he must be a regular here. Something stirred inside Ian at the thought, and he bit his tongue, inhaling deeply.

Alright. He’d do this.

Maybe luck was on his side and the guy actually liked to get roughed up, just a little. Shit, who was he kidding, with that ass? Even if it was just a quick fuck, Ian would be more than happy, considering his current streak of failed hookups.

And that guy… fuck, Ian couldn’t explain it, but there was something about him.

Maybe it was the attitude, the blatant boldness of lighting his own cigarette so close, or maybe it was that full mouth, so near Ian’s that he’d nearly gotten hard just from the man’s breath on his face.

Ian didn’t know what it was, but he wanted to find out. Badly. He swallowed down the doubt and tried to act normal, as if he wasn’t about to ask this stranger to let him spank his ass, a perfectly reasonable request in a BDSM club, sure, but Ian didn’t want to come off rude or desperate.

Even though he felt desperate to know what that ass looked like naked, marked by his hands. He shoved the thought away and walked up behind his cigarette guy.

“A vodka and coke, please.”, his voice cut in, interrupting whatever the bartender was saying. Ian smiled politely, and the bartender smiled back, murmuring a sure.

“So you finally decided to step in, huh.”, the dark-haired man turned slightly on the stool, his words more of a statement than a question. A provocation. And Ian felt it again; his stomach muscles tightening. He hadn’t noticed before, but the guy’s voice, his cigarette guy’s voice, was sharp and mocking. He liked that. He shrugged, pretending he’d had no choice.

“Had to try the drinks, they say they’re good.” The guy’s brows arched like yeah, I know, before he glanced around and looked Ian up and down, as if analyzing him, studying him.

Fuck.

“Trust me, Red. There’s plenty to try here. Drinks are fine, tsk, but nowhere near the most interesting part.”, he downed the rest of his glass.

“Yeah, I kinda need someone to show me around…”, Ian hadn’t even finished when the man’s mocking grin hit him, and Ian genuinely thought this man smiling like that, wide, daring, like he was about to bite something, should be illegal. The dark-haired guy turned fully toward him, elbow resting on the bar, blue eyes glinting with doubt, biting his bottom lip like he was weighing Ian’s offer seriously.

“Vodka and coke.”, the bartender returned, and Ian finally tore his gaze away, breaking whatever was happening. He smiled in thanks and took a simple sip of the drink, which was really good.

“I’m not your fuckin’ tour guide, Red. Drink up, and go find someone who cares to help you, huh.”

It was like a bucket of cold water.

Ian’s smile died as he watched his guy walk away, disappearing into one of the side hallways.

Oh no. It’s not happening.

Before he could think, Ian followed, leaving his drink at the bar. He pushed down the same corridor but didn’t spot him right away, the dim red light was too weak, and Ian had no idea where he was going. But after practically running, he caught the exact moment the man’s face turned back in the shadows, checking if Ian was following, and smiled. 

That open, wicked smile. 

Fucking beautiful.

He was teasing, and God, it made Ian harder than he could remember being in his life. 

He liked it. 

He liked the blatant, shameless provocation.

His steps quickened, turning left where he saw his guy disappear, leading into an empty hallway lit with faint purple ceiling lights, like another part of the club. Ian kept going, and when he reached the end, he saw the moment the man slipped into a room, closing the door behind him slowly.

Ian grinned, cock throbbing painfully against his zipper.

Fuck, he couldn’t remember the last time his body shook with anticipation like this. Maybe it was the energy of the place, the lights, his own anxiety, maybe all of it together. It didn’t matter. Ian was loving it.

He didn’t hesitate, went straight to the door, turned the knob, and pushed it open.

It was fast.

Before Ian could take in the room, a hot mouth crashed into his, and he swore he tasted blood from the force of lips and teeth colliding.

The guy’s lips were as soft and obscene as they looked, full and biteable. Ian didn’t even have time to think; his hand shot up, grabbing the man’s head, feeling the buzzed sides prickling his fingers as a tongue tasting of smoke and beer forced its way into his mouth, demanding.

His tongue was hot and fast, desperate and reckless against Ian’s, sending all of Ian’s blood straight to one place between his legs, like everything about this man screamed to be tamed, calmed, dominated to death. Ian felt dizzy, like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen to stay sane.

And it felt good, God, it felt fucking good.

Both of Ian’s hands cupped his face, pushing him back just enough, and only then did Ian notice the quick fingers tugging at his belt.

“Hold on, killer,” Ian rasped, his voice barely a growl, because he wasn’t breathing or thinking enough to string together more than five words.

“No talking, Red. Just take this shit-off.”, It wasn’t polite, it wasn’t a request. It was a rough, urgent order. And something flared inside Ian, wild. The part of himself he worked so hard to keep calm, controlled, stirred awake the second those words hit his ears. And he gave in.

As fast as the man had attacked him, Ian flipped their positions, slamming his guy’s face into the door with a thud, gripping the shorter man’s neck firmly and lowering his mouth to a delicate ear.

“Okay… so that’s how it’s gonna be,” Ian murmured, fingers tightening around the pale neck, a familiar pleasure crawling up his insides when the man let out a strangled fuck. “I don’t take orders. I give them. Got it?”, his lips brushed that curved ear before he pulled back slightly to look at the face now flushed red against the smooth door.

“Fuck, Red, you’re…”, the man didn’t finish, just smiled and dragged his tongue across his lips in a way that made Ian tremble with need.

Then he let go of the brunette’s neck and pressed himself against his back, attacking that mouth once again, feeling their bodies fit together in delicious anticipation of how it would be when Ian tore every piece of clothing off the smaller body crushed between him and the solid door. He felt the other man’s moan against his mouth, the brunette’s eager tongue pushing forward and spreading hot saliva wherever his mouth could reach, along with the vengeful bites he left on Ian’s lips.

He ground himself against Ian, that round, perfect ass brushing deliciously against his cock, teasing and teasing, and the redhead was sure he wouldn’t last long at that pace. It would be shameful, but Ian knew the second the brunette’s desperate hand grabbed the side of his thigh and pulled him forward, at the same time that he ground that perky ass back, that if he kept going at that rhythm, he’d come like a teenager. 

So he pulled away to try to control himself, but the brunette didn’t seem to understand that Ian needed a minute, and as soon as Ian took a step back, he turned and attacked Ian’s mouth again, pulling him closer, his eager fingers going straight to his cock over his pants, while the other hand lifted his shirt and caressed his side. Ian almost fainted, given the shudder that ran through his body, his racing heart, and his almost complete inability to think.

His brain wasn’t working, and shit, Ian had the feeling he was going to melt into a puddle if he didn’t get a minute to breathe.

As an attempt to pull himself together inside his own body, he shoved the small, sturdy man hard against the door, bringing his hand up to his own lips where he still felt them burning.

“You’re in a hurry, but we need to set a few rules before we start…”, he tried to say, because Ian knew from experience that the kind of thing he liked was dangerous, and he needed, desperately to do this the right way, or else he’d die from the built-up lust and would never be able to live in peace again.

“Fuck you, stop being such a pussy and…”

The slap was so sudden Ian could hardly believe he’d done it, only registering the brunette’s face whipping sharply to the side and the red mark blooming on his cheek, which had been pale before the blow. Ian throbbed at the sound of his own hand against that gorgeous face, the longer strands of hair on his forehead flying with the movement. Ian grabbed that face again and leaned close until the blue eyes were locked on him.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me…”, the redhead murmured close enough to the other man’s face, his hand holding the brunette’s jaw tightly, fingers digging into the soft skin as he took in that face up close, with the bluest eyes Ian had ever seen in his life. He heard the mocking smile before actually catching sight of the tongue dancing over the red, plump lips again.

“Fuck, Red, I’m gonna come without you even fuckin’ me if you keep doing that…” Ian gave a tense smile and pressed his forehead to his. That guy… fuck, that guy was a gift, and Ian couldn’t put together a coherent, responsible thought to have rough sex in a safe way if he kept talking and provoking him like that.

“Tell me your word,” Ian demanded, locking onto the blue eyes again. The dark brows furrowed on the round face before the brunette tried to kiss him again. Ian shoved him once more against the door. “Say your fucking safe word.” The guy sighed and rolled his eyes in boredom, which made Ian slightly irritated.

“I don’t have one, so…”, he started to lean in again when Ian shoved his head back against the door, still holding his jaw between his fingers.

“We need one, otherwise…”

“I’m not good with words, Red, but trust me, I’m not gonna ask you to stop.”

“I doubt that,” Ian let him go, taking a deep breath. “I want a word. Now.” It was a calm order, calmer than Ian thought he could give, as he stepped back from the body in front of him. The insistent tongue showed itself again on the brunette’s lips, now swollen and desperate-looking, and Ian was sure it was a nervous tic for when he was deciding something. The guy sighed impatiently before speaking again.

“I prefer numbers. Zero to ten. Zero to stop and ten to keep going.” He sounded annoyed, and that was strangely attractive to Ian, who smiled, agreeing and stepping back closer, soaking in the irritation in the air and enjoying that energy.

“See? Wasn’t that hard,” Ian teased.

“Fuck y…”, the redhead didn’t let him finish, just crashed his mouth back onto his and sucked hard on his lower lip. He tasted so good Ian almost cried from lust. The sharp tongue attacked his mouth again, while the bold hands went straight for his belt, and Ian didn’t stop him this time, feeling his belt being tugged off and flung somewhere in the room Ian had no idea about, but where he noticed there was a bed only after taking a few steps back with the brunette glued to his body.

Ian fell backward, but didn’t have time to react, feeling the brunette straddle him the next second, helping him out of his shirt and revealing his soft, smooth chest, pale with pink nipples. His mouth wasted no time, busying itself on the neck now displaying little welts from his fingers, and just the sight of it made Ian salivate. He bit and licked the hot, abused skin, hearing the brunette in his lap writhing and moaning on top of his cock, trapped tight under his pants.

Ian flipped them over and threw the small, soft body onto the mattress, only getting up enough to rip his own shirt off in a rush, swearing he heard a few buttons pop under the desperation of his fingers, while the hot hands of the man beneath him pulled, scratched, and grabbed with something that wavered between anger and lust.

And Ian loved it.

That feeling of desperation.

Of voracity.

Of losing control.

That chaotic, raw state of sex that made him delirious and unable to think of anything other than fucking someone with force beyond reason.

And he was going to do it.

Ian stood up, feeling the brunette’s body try to follow, but he shoved him back on the bed and watched him smile, those blue eyes shining as they roamed over Ian’s chest and then the rest of his body as he stripped out of his pants. It would be a lie if the redhead said he didn’t feel a petty arrogance when the brunette swallowed hard, biting down on his bottom lip again as he stared. 

Stared at his cock.

Every throbbing, hard, creamy inch of it.

Ian stared back, serious, bringing his hand to himself and stroking lightly, showing off like the cocky bastard he was when he was naked, with his dick aching from need, his balls heavy from days of pent-up lust, and his chest heaving. He knew he was hot, wasn’t modest in admitting that his whole solid, six-foot redheaded body with a cock like his could easily be considered the eighth wonder of the world. He gave the brunette a smug grin.

“A number?”, his guy smirked, tossing his head back playfully before locking eyes with Ian again.
“Ten, definitely ten, Red.”
“It’s nine inches, actually,” Ian teased with a shrug of fake modesty, moving closer and yanking the smaller body toward him, only to flip him roughly onto his stomach and rip his jeans down, underwear and all, in one violent tug.

“Shit…”, the muffled voice against the mattress made Ian chuckle lightly as he finished pulling the denim off, leaving the man naked in front of him and fuck, that ass was even better than he’d imagined. “You just gonna stare or…” The slap came hard. “Fuck!” the surprised cry went straight to Ian’s slick cock, which he had gone back to stroking, smearing the insistent pre-cum all over the sensitive head. God help him, he needed to take it slow or he’d come without even fucking that glorious, round, soft ass.

“God, I need to fuck this ass.”, his own voice sounded unrecognizable, and it made him wonder if he could even remember the last time he’d felt this turned on. Ian’s eyes shot to the brunette’s face the moment the mocking laugh against the mattress reached him, pulling his attention from the red handprint blooming across the round, lifted cheek in front of him.

“For fuck’s sake, Red, c’mon…”, another slap, right on the same plump cheek. Ian’s palm stung this time, and he knew that ass had to be burning too.

“Shut up, or I won’t fuck you,” Ian threatened, leaning closer, hearing the irritated sigh before lying down over that body, not actually pushing inside yet, just feeling how he’d fit against him. The brunette moaned the second Ian bit his shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his hair with his right hand. Ian ground against that smaller body beneath his, just teasing, just showing who controlled the pace here, his cock sliding in a slow rub between the smooth, warm cheeks.

They’d go fast when Ian wanted fast.

They’d go slow when Ian wanted slow.

That ass was his now.

And God, he loved it.

Ian kept sucking and biting pale skin, rutting against the heated flesh where he’d left his handprints, until he felt the man beneath him give in, body relaxing just enough to throw him off balance again. One hand stayed tangled in the brunette’s hair, keeping him in place, while the other roamed everywhere it could reach. Sliding down his side, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the near absence of hair.

He was so soft, round, and comforting in all the right places. Firm and solid in all the best ones.

Ian’s left hand took the chance to slip between him and the mattress, searching for the brunette’s cock he knew was trapped and straining against the sheets. The second his fingers found it, the body beneath him twisted violently.

He was thick, heavy, and throbbing, not as big as Ian, but fuck it, that cock was firm and smooth in exactly the way Ian knew he’d love to suck. Just thinking about it burned through all the patience Ian thought he could muster.

He needed more. He needed all of that man, every way. He needed him now.

Ian bit his already marked neck, making the brunette moan and tug his hair, before yanking his body back sharply, grabbing his waist and running his thumb over the red handprint. Finally, that ass was up, just the way Ian wanted. He wasted no time, lowered his mouth, and licked the mark, his wet tongue dragging across before he blew cool air over it and listened to the brunette gasp, then sucked every bit of pale skin he could reach.

He was good, pushing back against Ian’s face, letting him take advantage and spread his cheeks wide, burying himself against that pink, twitching hole.

“Fuck, Red, I need… fuck…”, not full sentences, so Ian ignored them, licking down to the heavy balls, along the perineum, and back up to that needy hole, shoving his tongue inside and feeling the body quake. Ian almost missed it, he only noticed because he’d lifted his head to look around for lube, that while one of the brunette’s hands clutched the sheets, the other had gone to his thick, flushed cock, stroking himself. The punishment was immediate. Another slap, stinging, delicious, loud. The brunette moaned, and Ian laughed.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?”, he scolded, yanking the man’s arm behind his back in a not-so-gentle twist, though not as rough as he could’ve been. The sprawled body below shook with a low chuckle.

“You really are a bossy motherfucker…”, It was taunting, filthy and cocky, the way this guy seemed to master so easily even there, on all fours, ass red and spread high, one arm pinned behind him and his face pressed into the sheets.

Ian wanted a picture of it.

God, he wanted that view every day.

With his free hand, he stroked his own cock and looked around, finally spotting a bottle of lube on the nightstand. Without letting go of the brunette’s arm, he leaned, popped the flip cap, and squeezed. The cold trickle landed on his cock first and then on the abandoned, open, vulnerable hole. The brunette shivered, and Ian tossed the bottle aside after smearing himself, spreading the slick fluid along his length, gripping himself at the base and dragging the tip over the twitching rim that seemed to beg for him. Ian’s breathing was ragged, and it barely crossed his mind that he hadn’t even prepped that tight hole to take him whole.

“Jesus Christ, hurry the fuck up already!”, the voice snapped him out of it, lighting something inside him on fire.

“For a guy who doesn’t like words, you sure talk a lot…”, the brunette didn’t get the chance to answer. Ian shoved in with a mix of punishment and need he couldn’t control. His eyes shut tight as that tight body clamped around him, suffocating and painful in a way that felt good, the man trembling beneath him. He wasn’t even halfway in, just past the head, but fuck, it was already so good. He wanted to move, to slam, but taking that ass raw proved his point. He opened his eyes, finally letting go of the brunette’s arm so he could spread him wider, staring down at his cock buried inside that tight, slick hole.

“Number,” the redhead muttered.

“Ten, ten, just…”

Then he kept going, gripping each side of that ass, pulling out and driving back in. Again and again and again, faster each time, the wet sounds growing louder, skin slapping skin, the brunette’s moans and curses filling the room, and Ian’s world spun.

Nothing else mattered but that slick hole dragging him deeper, swallowing every inch with hunger and desperation. He felt one of the brunette’s hands claw at his thigh, scratching and bruising his skin. He felt the sweat dripping down his back, the strain in his legs, every muscle in his body burning with the thrusts.

He was so good. 

So fucking good. 

And when Ian leaned forward to get a better grip, pressing a hand to his neck again, the brunette moaned high and sharp, mouth open and pressed into the mattress in a way that told Ian he’d hit the exact spot to make him unravel.

“Yeah! Right there, please, Red, please, I…”, Ian pounded harder, nothing in the world could stop him from wrecking that ass, from making this man beg and melt. Ian didn’t even notice if he was touching himself or not; all his focus was on destroying that tight hole, beating that spot, pummeling his prostate. 

And he did, harder, faster, driven by wild lust.

He sweated, groaned, cursed, pounded, a thousand filthy words spilling from the pink, drooling mouth of the man beneath him, until he felt him clench around him, only a few more thrusts before that smaller body convulsed, blue eyes rolling back as he came so hard Ian couldn’t last much longer himself. His core twisted, his abs burned, his legs shook, and his cum exploded inside that hot, perfect hole. 

And it was glorious.

Ian was usually the kind to stay inside after, savoring the last pulses, but he couldn’t. His legs trembled too much; he had to pull out and collapse beside the wrecked, ruined body next to him. Both of them breathed heavy, filling the room with thick air until it slowly settled, the scent of sex clinging everywhere. Ian laughed, satisfied, only to realize the guy was watching him closely.

He gave himself a minute to look back, but he couldn’t place that look, it wasn’t lust, or teasing, or mocking, or irritated like before. Then he smiled and stood, noticing the room for the first time. Small, but neat and clean, except for the mess they’d made with scattered clothes. Ian walked to what he thought was a bathroom door, went in, and stared at himself in the mirror.

His body was red and sweaty, but he didn’t care. He scanned the space, spotting a small towel hanging there, which he grabbed and soaked under cold water. His guy was going to need something for his body, or else it’d burn too much in the morning.

Only when he cleaned himself up and came back into the room did he realize.

The brunette was gone.

Ian hadn’t even heard the door or the sound of him getting dressed.

He swallowed hard, fear taking over his body. Had he hurt him? Scared him? Had he…? Ian sat on the bed and covered his face with the wet towel. Fuck, he’d ruined it. Again.

And he didn’t even know the name of the guy he’d just fucked.

Chapter Text

"Dr. Gallagher?"

Ian jumped slightly, staring into the wide brown eyes of Letty, one of the nurses on his shift. Had she been calling him for a long time?

"Yeah... I..." he sighed, giving up on pretending he understood a single word. "Sorry, Letty. What did you say?" The girl looked at him, smiling softly, empathetically, even though she didn't know what was making him spacey.

Ian thanked God it was Letty with him reviewing discharges that day, or he would have risked hearing jokes about his obvious absent-mindedness throughout their shift together. But as a new nurse, the short, dark-blonde-haired woman was still in that shy mood when newcomers were far more concerned with their own duties than with hospital gossip.

Lucky for him.

In all his years at North Center Hospital, he had never been involved in any gossip. His reputation was impeccable and the envy of anyone, which was both a blessing and a burden, in his opinion. Ian was accustomed to being questioned as too young for his position and constantly feeling the need to prove himself worthy of his position as chief resident, let alone having to deal with hospital gossip about his inability to concentrate, or anything that might make his mentors doubt his abilities. He simply dreaded even thinking about it. And yet, here he was, completely oblivious to what was going on around him, for the first time in his life. 

Shit.

"I just wanted to confirm what to do with the patients being discharged today before I go up..."

"Oh, yes, how many are there?"

"Four. Five if Mrs. Smith's labs come back normal."

"Okay. Just make sure everyone has received their medication instructions and that the patient in room 414 has received their last dose of antibiotics."

 "Yes, Dr. Gallagher. I'll manage it and update it in the system."

"Thank you, Letty," he dismissed her with a grateful nod, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and checking the time. She smiled at finally getting the information she needed and quickly left him. On any other day, Ian would have gone upstairs to take one last look at his patients with her.

But not today.

Today, Ian wasn't in the mood to be friendly and sociable as a way to convince his patients to follow their treatments as best they could when they left the hospital. All he wanted at that moment was to go home, but he would have to endure a little longer until the end of his thirty-six-hour shift, which would take another seven hours of work that day. He sighed heavily, running his hand over his face again, feeling his stiff, aching shoulders. He was exhausted, and it wasn't even from the double shift. It wasn't that, it was the thoughts, uncontrolled and anxious, racing through his head. 

What had he done wrong?

Did he overdo it?

Did he hurt the guy?

Ian couldn't know for sure what had made the perfect brunette he'd fucked three nights ago simply get up, get dressed, and leave. Without saying a word. He couldn't know, but in his neurotic, catastrophic mind, the guy had run out of there because Ian had clearly lost control. He'd probably been treating the bruises Ian had left on him himself, horrified by the redhead's lack of control.

It almost made him vomit with despair and self-consciousness.

Ian walked to one of the break rooms in the hospital ward where he was staying and sat on the first stable surface he could find, running his hands behind his neck and across his shoulders in an attempt to massage his sore muscles. He was tense, and those pessimistic thoughts weren't helping at all.

“Fuck, Red, I’m gonna come without you even fuckin’ me if you keep doing that…”

The redhead threw his head back and took a deep breath, as if the movement could banish the guy's voice from his mind.

“Yeah! Right there, please, Red, please…”

Ian started to get hard at the memory, his voice crushed against the sheets, but so clear in his head now. Fuck, it couldn't have been that bad for the guy. His guy. It just wasn't possible. He had cum, he was moaning like a whore, and even though he was teasing, he was doing exactly what Ian wanted.

The doctor couldn't believe that fuck had only been fantastic for him.

That wasn't possible!

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, weighing his options and filled with a smoldering, irritated indignation that needed explanation. Even if the object of his indignation was completely unaware that Ian had spent the last 72 hours thinking about him and that perfect ass. Ian refused to stay there and go crazy with those thoughts alone.

He had to do something.

Anything.

He would go back to that hell club, find his guy, and demand an explanation. And fuck if the brunette didn't owe him an explanation, disappearing is a terrible way to end a sexual date, simply getting up and leaving, especially when you did what they did. The way they did. If he hadn't been sober, Ian would have thought it was all a figment of his imagination, that he had created the perfect man in a mirage for him to satisfy.

But his guy wasn't a mirage, nor was he just a figment of his imagination. He was real.

As real and intense as a heart attack.

Or a glorious orgasm, in his case.

He wasn't ready to let that guy's existence fade into the background of his mind yet. He wanted to make sure the guy was okay, after all. The redhead wasn't exactly a BDSM expert, but even he knew there was aftercare after you fucked someone to exhaustion. Shit, he was a doctor. At the very least, out of politeness, he should have been allowed to bring a glass of water and a painkiller to the guy he'd slapped and fucked like there was no tomorrow.

That was it, it was decided.

Ian would go back to that club and find his guy.

Then he... well, then he'd think about what to do.

First he'd go after the dark-haired man and find him, even if he had to spend every next night going to that place.

***

Mickey was bored.

He looked around and felt absolutely nothing. No interest, no anticipation, no eagerness to meet someone new, like he'd always felt since he'd been going to The Cellar.

It was the redhead's fault.

The redhead had ruined this place for him.

Fuck.

No matter what people thought they knew about Mickey, one thing he'd already admitted to himself was that he liked to flirt, he liked to tease guys and challenge them. It was like fucking foreplay to him, just like kissing, handjobs, or blowjobs. 

Teasing was his thing.

It was what let him know whether or not a guy could truly handle him.

And now here he was, downing his third beer and feeling absolutely nothing. Looking around with no interest in flirting with the muscular, well-dressed guys, or the ones with the sly smiles and affected voices.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

All he could think was: where the fuck was that redhead?

Where the hell had he gotten himself into when Mickey finally needed to be fucked again like the way he'd shown he knew how? Fuck. It was already the fourth night Mickey had shown up there, and he was wondering why the redhead hadn't just come back to the club.

He didn't understand.

They worked together, didn't they?

The sex had been fuckin’ good.

And sure, he'd left quickly, but that was a habit. He hated the conversation and aftercare. He thought it was too intimate for someone who'd just fucked you. I mean, he didn't even remember his mother taking care of his wounds when he was a fuckin' kid, so why would he let some random guy massage or apply ointment to his bruises? It would be weird, to say the least. He could do that himself, thank you.

And fuck, if he stayed burning for longer than he'd care to admit. He'd made up his mind: he’ll take some stronger painkillers Iggy had gotten him and ointments in the right places helped him cope, leaving only a mild, aching sensation from the bruises.

The pleasant discomfort he hadn't known he liked before.

Mickey avoided thinking about it the first day after his encounter with the redhead, but somehow, he knew that fuckin’ encounter had left a mark, one that had nothing to do with the bluish welts on his neck, or the purple hickeys on the back of his neck. It didn't even have to do with the red marks from that giant hand on his right buttock, which he'd stared at in the bedroom mirror for too long and ended up getting him hard.

It had been a mental mark.

His broken fuckin’ brain spun and spun, raging with lust for that guy in a way that made Mickey think of him and get horny every time one of those bruises hurt or burned.

Especially his hole, which twitched and contracted, sending an electric jolt down his spine, pulsing through his needy cock.

Fuck, Mick closed his eyes and took a deep breath, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp, trying to calm his cock, which felt eager, like it was dying to get the party started every time he thought of the redhead fucking him desperately, spreading his ass and licking his skin with his wet, hot tongue, only to blow and slam it in, making it burn like hell.

A delicious hell.

There was no way the guy could have finished him off like that.

Mickey had always considered himself a person with a normal libido; he liked some hardcore stuff, but so what? It was sex, and people had kinks and fetishes. Fuck it, it was just another thing on everyone's list of tastes.

There were people who ate chicken with sweet sauce, like Mandy. People who couldn't sleep without socks, like Iggy, and people like him, who liked a monstrous cock, splitting him in half and leaving his ass sore for days. And even though something in his mind was more agitated than usual, in a kind of desperate way when he thought about that redhead, he decided to act like he always had with other guys.

It was just sex.

Rough and fuckin’ hot sex.

Sex he desperately wanted to do again.

But that was all it was.

Just sex.

There was no way he wouldn't find another guy to fuck him like that again.

So here he was, half pissed, half unconvinced, half anxious.

Thinking about how the redhead had managed to ruin things and take up all the space in his head, like he was a teenage boy band addict. He didn't care about anyone who wasn't six feet tall, with freckles everywhere, big green eyes, and red hair.

"Can I sit with you?" The question snapped him out of his reverie, and Mickey stared at the tall guy next to him, smiling at him in that way that says if the answer is yes, I know we're going to fuck. Mickey shrugged, not answering. He really didn't care; the damn seat was empty, so... "And buy you a drink?" the guy persisted, and Mickey turned to look at him, really look.

He was tall. Check.

If Mickey tried a little, you could notice the faint freckles above his nose, just like his own. More from walking in the sun than natural, but who cared? They were freckles. Check.

The guy's eyes weren't green, but they were wide and attentive, somewhere between brown and honey. Okay, Mickey could handle that. Check.

But the problem was at the top. 

He wasn't red. Not even close. His very blond hair was clearly dyed, fake-looking, without a strand out of place. The guy was well-dressed and looked put together to impress, like a fuckin' doll. Mickey smiled when he realized the absurd direction of his thoughts, and the blond man in front of him thought the smile was meant for him, and smiled back. The guy was handsome, hot even. He looked lean and toned beneath his flashy, chic clothes.

"Beer. I'll have a beer." The blond man curled his lips as if to disagree, but he ordered the beer from the bartender in a stilted voice, which Mickey ignored, hoping it wasn't the noise the man made while fucking him.

"What's your name, honey?" the question was accompanied by a hand sliding down Mick's vest. What he wore over his long-sleeved shirt, and the movement should have been sexy and provocative, but it only managed to make Mickey uncomfortable.

People didn't touch him.

Never.

Not without his direct permission.

But the blond man seemed oblivious to the don't-touch-me-unless-I-ask-you-for-it aura that Mickey exuded through every pore. He set his jaw and stared at the soft hand rummaging through his clothes, serving no purpose other than to tease.

"That's not important right now," he retorted. "The important thing is for you to know that I only like to be touched when I want," he added, as calmly as possible, and watched the white teeth of a wide smile spread across the blond guy's makeup-covered face.

"Um, bossy, huh?" It was basically a purr. "I like it. Top, am I right?"

"Versatile, actually, but you're clearly looking for someone to fuck you, aren't you?" The blond's smile widened.

"Is that an invitation?" It wasn't, but Mickey weighed his options.

Either he stayed there and fucked someone to try to get the redhead out of his system, or he kept thinking about the redhead and getting more irritated every day the asshole didn't show up at the club to fuck him like crazy again.

Fuck, he wasn't going to become celibate.

"Yeah, princess, let's go."

Mickey only turned to grab the drink that was finally placed in front of him. The full, cold bottle of beer, which Mickey didn't hesitate to take a long swig of before heading to the room he always reserved in the purple wing.

But he didn't have enough time to move.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him made him turn, almost as if his body knew before he did what he was going to find there.

"I found you." Mick stared into the glassy green eyes for a few seconds. He knew the redhead was tall, but holy shit, either he didn't remember how tall or the redhead seemed taller from being so close. That fucking hot man was a mountain of pure, solid, attractive muscle. Maybe it was his clothes; he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans today, unlike the starched clothes the other day. Which made him look younger and much, much hotter to Mickey.

“I'm ready, shall we go?" The blond's stilted voice, returning with what appeared to be a small bag and a trench coat, made Mickey realize he'd been quiet for too long. The redhead's eyes darted from him to the blond man and back again in a silent question, which the redhead quickly made a point of expressing.

"Am I disturbing you?" he mocked, followed by a goofy smile on his freckled face, and Mickey wanted to laugh. Did he really want to play the teasing game? With Mickey? Oh fuck, this was going to be fun.

"Yeah red, things were getting interesting here, you know..." the brunette raised his eyebrows, teasing and biting his lip, more in an attempt not to laugh than anything else.

"A guy like you doesn't get in the way, honey." The blond's response made Mick's smile fade, and he stared at the blond, unsure what irritated him more: the blond calling Mickey honey, calling his redhead honey, or that fucking cheeky hand on his guy's shirt, just like it was on his just moments ago. What's the fuck? He didn't like that, but before he could say anything, the taller man decided to speak up for him.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, gently removing the blond's hand from his own chest, completely ignoring the flirting and staring intently at Mickey. "Alone."

Mickey could have just agreed, but then, what would be the point? He was a fucking tease.

"I'm not good at talking, Red, remember? C’mon, it wasn't that long ago," the brunette joked, turning back to the counter to finish the rest of his drink.

"Seriously, man?" It was almost a whisper, and Mick laughed at that. "Okay…" The redhead leaned closer, almost pressing his chest against Mickey's, one arm gripping the counter, almost as if he wanted to trap him there, getting close enough that the brunette's teasing smile wavered nervously for a second, lost in the proximity. "Let's go to that room, I'm going to fuck you until you can't move and when you can't stand, you won't be able to run away. And then we'll talk. Is that okay with you?"

For a full ten seconds, Mickey didn't know what to do.

He tore his attention away from the possessed redhead in front of him, looking around in a feeble attempt to regain control of his own mind, only to notice that, cleverly, the blond had disappeared, leaving them alone in whatever was going on there. But fuck, it wasn't like Mickey wasn't fucking enjoying it.

The brunette smiled, as if he'd only realized at that moment that he'd lost the argument, even if he'd never admit it out loud. He bit his lip in slight irritation, a movement he did out of habit, without realizing it, when he was nervous, and stared at the redhead, who sighed and arched an eyebrow, waiting for his answer, not so patiently. The fucking heat of that immense body practically on top of his made him shiver slightly in anticipation, and his cock throb against his pants in a hell delicious and aching way.

And it was done.

That fucking redhead motherfucker didn't have to do anything else, not even touch him directly, before Mickey started walking towards the room he had booked, feeling the red's big, warm, solid body behind him.

***

Mickey entered the room first, not that it mattered, since the redhead's body was practically glued to his as he passed through the doorframe. As soon as the smooth wood closed, the brunette felt his body pressed angrily against the solid surface.

Unlike the first time, it was the redhead who attacked him, and Jesus Christ, Mickey fucking loved it.

In a way that made his cock throb and his breath hitch.

His mouth was taken, his lips sucked and bitten, and his tongue was nearly ripped from his mouth by the force with which the redhead sucked.

The man in front of him was oppressively tall, his body seemingly everywhere, hands roaming Mickey's neck and hips, his pelvis pressing the brunette against the door, crushing him in a suffocating and delicious way, only to pull his face away, his large fingers digging into his jaw once more, pushing his head back, forcing him to look into those dark, angry green eyes. Mickey smiled, imagining and longing for what was coming next.

"Are you going to hit me?" the low, murmured question was almost a plea, since he wanted to be hit, wanted it so badly he should have been ashamed to be about to beg for more, but fuck, feeling that man's heavy hand battering his body like the last time was a recurring desire in his mind these past few days.

"No," the answer made disappointment dance in his chest for mere seconds, as he felt the redhead's nails making half-moon marks in the skin around his jaw, bruising and marking his pale skin. "You're going to suffer differently today."

Before Mickey could make any further provocations, the mouth returned to his. As voracious as before, sucking, biting, and licking every corner. His lips ached and burned, sensitive, being bitten and sucked, the taste of blood and saliva, hot and delicious, making his insides churn. His hands didn't hesitate to grab the man and bring him closer. He didn't know how, but he needed more.

More of that delicious pressure.

More of that addictive taste.

More and more of that dominating.

Fuck, he desperately needed everything the redhead could give him.

The large hand, previously cupped against his face, quickly descended to his clothes, pushing the vest down from his shoulders, abandoning it on the floor. Soon after, his hands reached down to the hem of the brunette's shirt and pulled it over his head, separating them for a few seconds before the redhead pressed him against the door again. Mick felt that huge cock that had once been inside him, pushing his sanity to the back of his mind, making the only thing he could think about was how much he wanted to feel that cock fucking his ass again.

Violent, fast, raw.

Jesus Christ, he needed this.

He needed that man fucking his body to insanity.

Until he couldn't move.

With that thought in mind, his hands went straight to the prize, his fingers rushing to the button of his pants, only to feel the large hands gripping his wrists and pulling them away from the redhead's body this time, preventing his movements. The taller man pulled back to look Mick in the eye.

"Take yours off," he ordered, taking two steps back, and that made something burn in his belly. Mickey clenched his jaw, feeling the tension in his body rise, and smiled, half irritated and half malicious. His mouth burned, his cock throbbed, and his insides churned in a way that left him confused, burning, and desperately wanting to provoke the redhead back, if nothing else, to torture him too.

But that's not what the brunette did.

He reluctantly accepted the order, licking his lips, taking a deep breath in an attempt to contain himself, and without looking away, he unbuttoned and lowered his pants, pulling each leg out of the fabric immediately after removing his shoe, ripping them off and throwing them somewhere on the bedroom floor. His visibly hard cock pressed against the thin fabric of his simple black briefs. He spread his arms and arched his eyebrows at the other man, who stared at every inch of his pale, scarred, and exposed skin.

"Everything," the redhead declared, waving at the last piece of cloth. Mickey couldn't resist retorting.

"Is it just me who's going to be naked here?"

"Right now? Yes. Now, shut up and do what I tell you." That lit a very short fuse somewhere in his body, and Mickey was sure that at some point that damn thing was going to explode into fire and lava, since so many places on his body seemed to be burning at that moment. He arched his eyebrows at the red in silent challenge. The redhead smiled back. "Have you forgotten what it's like? C’mon, it hasn't been that long." Mickey bit his lip to keep from laughing at his own words in the redhead's mouth and did exactly as he was told, but slowly, obviously to tease, slowly lowering his underwear and watching his cock rise, rigid, throbbing, and glistening with precum, insinuating itself at the tip. Mick knew he wasn't as big as the redhead, but he liked to think his girth made up for it, along with the robust, pink head, which, to him, was attractive enough.

And the redhead agreed.

He fucking agreed, or he wouldn't have stared at Mick's cock for so long, running that fucking tongue over his lips as if he were going to devour it whole in one bite, like a piece of fucking cake.

That look, in those dark green eyes, staring intently at his cock, made the brunette tremble with anticipation, all the way from his toes to the nape of his neck. It made his cock throb and his balls ache, but what made him moan softly, without even realizing it, was his hole contracting as if ready for whatever that look was promising.

The low moan leaving his mouth and the green eyes returning to his face.

It was exactly at that moment that Mickey realized he was lost.

Fuck.

He didn't know how much yet, but he knew he was.

And holy shit, he was fuckin’ loving that feeling.

Tension. Horniness. Hunger.

He swallowed hard as the redhead approached again, slowly, as if he were fucking prey ready to be devoured. And he was, he wanted to be devoured so badly and would beg for more, like a needy slut. His body shivered and yearned for any touch just from having that man, all muscles and promise, right there in front of him, and Mick knew that if he wasn't touched soon, he would wither and die of unquenchable lust.

The redhead's mouth came close to his face at the same time his large hand embraced the brunette's cock, and Mickey fought like death not to close his eyes and surrender to the sensation of the warm, immense hand covering almost all of him, leaving only the needy, glistening glans, aching for its turn.

"I guess you've learned you can't touch yourself if I don't let you, haven't you?" The mockery made Mick chuckle, not even noticing he was naked. At no point, even though he was dying for it, did he try to ease the tension in his own cock. "Good boy."

"Fuck you," he replied, without any conviction, his mind clouded and too occupied with feeling the sensation of hand on him and yearning for the movement he'd denied until that moment.

"I'd rather fuck you.”

And there was the redhead's mouth on his again, devouring and thirsty. Mickey was feeling dizzy, whether from the three beers, the unbearable heat in his stomach, or the suffocating proximity of the man nearly six feet tall in front of him, he couldn't say. But the moment the red pulled away from his mouth and leaned down slightly, only to spit a good dose of saliva directly onto the head of his cock, Mickey lost himself in the sensations of his own body, gripping the arms of the man in front of him, feeling himself vibrate with desperate arousal.

The warm saliva dripped gently down the glistening pink head, while the redhead's sure thumb glided over the sensitive skin, spreading and mixing spit and precum, circling and teasing that small hole at the tip, a silent promise.

The green eyes flickered intently between Mickey's face and his cock, delighting in the sight of both flushed, wet, and willing, eager to be abused and driven to exhaustion. 

The redhead spat again and began moving his entire hand up and down his length, in a perfect friction that made Mick moan and moan like a cheap whore. He closed his eyes, throwing his head back, feeling the pressure of the fingers intensify, and the back-and-forth motion, caressing the sensitive rim, every inch, circling and circling.

"Open your eyes," the voice sounded far away, but Mick obeyed as soon as the redhead stopped moving, clearly dictating the rhythm of that fucking, and this made Mickey moan softly in complaint, irritated. His bleary eyes opened, staring into the green ones that analyzed him, observing every feature of his face, while the soft hand moved up and down, gently stroking his length in a calm exploration again. "Eyes on me, you got it?" All the brunette could do was rock his hips, urging for more movement and nodding in agreement, before seeing the nearly seven-foot-tall man kneel in front of him and take his entire cock into his mouth.

"Jesus Christ," Mick gasped for air, his eyes closing instinctively, reveling in the sensation. Hot, wet, with a tongue teasing the slit of his cockhead, sucking and applying maddening pressure in all the right places, a second before the pleasure left him without warning.

"I said eyes on me." The fucking order made Mick open his eyes and stare at the face so close to his cock, and he throbbed so hard he felt his stomach lurch, but he didn't look away again, keeping his gaze fixed on those calm eyes as the redhead's left hand brought him back to that mouth and his right hand rose to pinch his nipple.

Fuck, that felt fucking so good.

The combination of the tongue sliding and sucking his cock, circling the head with precise pressure, while a hand continued to pinch his nipples, scratching his waist, or caressing his balls between its fingers. If it weren't for Mick's cock shoved into the redhead's mouth, he would have sworn there was a smile there, hidden between the orange lips, knowing Mickey was surrendered, even though he wasn't on his knees.

The back-and-forth motion of his cock quickened slightly, causing saliva to leak in thick streams through the redhead's lips, dripping down his chin in a messy way, and it stirred something inside him. That sheen, leaking, dripping, and smearing his cock, that sticky liquid at the junction of his arousal and the redhead's mouth, driving him wild. It was the most delicious torture Mickey could imagine.

"Fuck, Red... That... I don't... Fuck," the redhead laughed smugly, the inside of his mouth pressing against Mickey's sensitive cock. The brunette wanted to slap him, to fuck that mouth with rage, and as if he could hear his thoughts, one of the redhead's hands grabbed his and guided it to the back of his neck, while Mickey's other hand remained clenched into a fist, trying to maintain a control he knew he would soon lose.

The redhead opened his mouth even wider, until his lips reached the brunette's sparsely haired pelvis, making his cock hit his throat in such a good way that Mickey moaned loudly, unable to wait any longer. He needed that, he needed it so fucking much.

And the redhead agreed, because his movements accelerated rapidly, sucking, moving back and forth over the thirsty cock, and all Mickey could do was grab the back of his neck and push himself deeper and deeper into that hot, wet throat, his lips loose, leaving saliva and precum spreading everywhere in an arousing mess.

It took only a few back-and-forth movements before Mickey felt his legs begin to weaken, but the second the redhead's hand reached his face, smearing his fingers in the clear liquid on his chin, then moving his fingers to infiltrate his buttocks, Mick had to concentrate not to collapse onto the floor.

The brunette knew at that exact moment he couldn't hold out, not for much longer, not with those fingers sliding under the wrinkled, needy rim, wet and forcing themselves inside, making the brunette instinctively spread his legs wider, just to give more access to the welcome invasion, sliding them all the way inside, one after the other, then curling to press just the right spot.

Pressing, squeezing, digging inside him.

Mickey couldn't hold back any longer.

Not with his cock thrust into that warm mouth, the leaking, swollen lips, and the long fingers fucking his hole in that delicious, provocative, and precise way, pressing against his prostate again and again and again.

He felt everything and nothing.

His hands, previously unsure of what they were doing, unsure of how to continue, lost in the red hair, his face flushed and wet. His legs turned to jelly as the redhead forced himself against him, sucking, moaning, sinking into him. The heat rising from his cock, spreading through his belly, convulsing his body before exploding into that demanding, greedy mouth. Mickey felt his body weaken, and his knees only kept from giving way because one of the Red's hands held him in place as he spilled himself, filling his freckled cheeks with cum.

A few seconds, which to the brunette seemed like an eternity, between spilling himself and holding onto the doorknob nearby to keep from falling to the floor, watching the other man finally pull away, abandoning his cock and ass, which were still throbbing, one spilling small, pearly jets, the other contracting from the desolate emptiness.

Mickey just wanted to lie down.

He needed to.

Just for a minute.

Still, he couldn't move. Something in his mind warned him that if he tried to even take a step forward, he'd end up sprawled on the floor, his legs no longer steady. Mickey was still trying to control his body when looked at the redhead and his stomach twisted, in anticipation or residual orgasm, he couldn't tell. But seeing the redhead's mouth spit his cum onto his own enormous cock, which hung out of his pants with the zipper open, smearing his freckled flesh with his orgasm, did something to Mickey's body he hadn't known was possible before.

His body shook in a frenzy.

Lightly.

All over.

His muscles contracted, his skin crawled, his body rocked on its axis, dizzy and lost, realizing for the first time in his life that wet, dirty, spit-and-cum-covered fuck was so fucking hot and stirred something in him like never before.

Mick didn't have enough time to process the new discovery, because right after the redhead stood up, quickly ripping off his own shirt with his pants low on his waist just enough to let that hard, throbbing cock out, caressing the creamy, freckled flesh with one hand, while the other passed against his mouth and chin, recovering the rest of the cum.

He smiled, and Mick knew.

It was that man.

That fuckin' redhead was his kink now.

Mickey suspected that whatever that ginger motherfucker did would make him moan and cum within minutes like a horny teenager.

Because that's how he felt.

So fucking horny just looking at that freckled face.

"My turn," and the red attacked him again, his mouth pressing hungrily against the brunette's, as if he'd been deprived of his fill for centuries. Biting, sucking, and licking. His hands quickly gripped that orange hair, his neck, his shoulders, touching, scratching, and trying to stay sane against his body's every attempt to simply melt.

The redhead pressed down, and before Mick could do anything, he lifted him off the ground, each hand on a side of his body, bringing him up, then quickly shifting his position, slipping his arms under his thick thighs and thrusting into that tight little ass all at once.

No warning, no calm.

Just horny and desperation.

"Fuck…" would have been a scream if Mickey hadn't felt like a rag doll, his senses reeling, too busy focusing on the main points.

His cock pressed against the redhead's hard belly.

His lips being sucked violently.

His ass being ravaged by that cock thrusting in and out of him rapidly.

No calm, no waiting, just hunger and lust, body slamming against body, with wet, filthy sounds, his freshly released cum making that delicious cock slide inside him, opening him wider with each thrust, hot and delicious, deep and relentless against his sensitive, exhausted prostate.

Jesus, he was going to die.

If dying of pleasure were a possibility, Mickey knew he would, deep in his mind.

But he would die happy, satisfied, and hot, feeling the pressure building inside his already weak body, which still desperately wanted more of that sensation. Fuck, he wanted everything, everything the redhead could give him.

Breathing heavily, he felt the heat build and spread from his core until it heated and contracted every muscle in his body, driving him to the climax once more, not just out of pleasure, but out of need, out of demand, that huge man squeezing him in all the right places, taking him voraciously, fucking him in a mix of gift and punishment, finally taking him where he didn't even know he was capable of, convulsing just before he heard the redhead moan hoarsely against his open mouth, his breathing heavy until his movements ceased and they lay there, breathing each other's breath.

Mick closed his eyes and threw his head against the door, feeling his mind drift away from whatever he'd achieved there. Trying to breathe properly as his back burned against the cold wood and his ass grazed against the zipper of the redhead's pants, throbbing.

"Fuck, Red…" an exhausted murmur.

"Ian," the low, husky voice made him open his eyes, staring into the calm, heavy green orbs watching him closely. "My name is Ian."

"Mickey," he replied without much thought, his eyes fixed on that flushed face covered in freckles and sweat. The redhead smiled, and Mickey bit his lip, thinking he was screwed, in every sense of the word.

That fucking hot man had become his new fetish.

And he was fuckin' delicious.

***

Ian pushed his body away from the door and slid down, feeling the smaller man's legs tremble slightly as his hands left him.

"You okay?" he asked worriedly, and dark-hair rolled his eyes as his feet hit the floor.

"Yeah, yeah, get out of my way." It was supposed to be an order, and that irritated Ian a little. The smaller man, Mickey, tried to push him away, but Ian didn't let him, pressing his body against his again, a clear warning of not going to happen, and Mickey seemed to understand. "What? I'm... fine." He shrugged, and Ian really wanted to laugh, knowing that ten seconds ago he wouldn't have been able to stand on his own. "Now, can you give me some space, huh?"

No please was added to the sentence, and Ian laughed more out of disbelief than anything else, pulling away just enough to see the man walk unsteadily to the bed, mumbling something, before throwing himself onto the mattress, on his back, covering his face with one arm, his breathing still a little ragged.

He was shining.

Cum, sweat, spit.

All of it, and a good dose of red marks on his round ass, broad back, and thick legs, with old bruises on the back of his neck.

God, he was fucking gorgeous.

And equally stubborn, since his body clearly hadn't returned to normal yet, but apparently, they were supposed to pretend he wasn't just crushed and thrown onto the bed after Ian had destroyed his resistance.

The redhead felt proud of himself and was certain that at least this time the brunette wouldn't run away. Although he wanted to do the same and throw himself onto the bed with the body stretched out there, his arm over his eyes, Ian began to gather the brunette's clothes from the floor, taking everything with him to the bathroom, with his clothes balled up under his arm.

He didn't want to take the risk.

Unconcerned with the mess on his own body, Ian tucked his cock back into his pants without even cleaning himself, more concerned with the man sprawled on the bed in the next room. He grabbed a towel, wetting the cloth he'd used to help the brunette, and filled a glass with water. He opened the small cabinet and rummaged through the bottles, finding, besides a few toiletries, only a few naproxen tablets, a mild painkiller, but one that would have to do for now. He grabbed what he needed and returned to the bedroom, finding the brunette sitting, leaning back on the bed, with a bored look on his face, the sheet draped over his waist.

"Seriously? My clothes?" It wasn't exactly a question, so Ian didn't answer. He just tossed the clothes on a table across the room and walked over to him with the glass, the pills, and the towel. 

"Here, it'll help with the pain, but you might need something stronger later," he informed him, handing it to the brunette, the towel draped over his forearm, the medicine resting in one hand and the glass in the other.

The blue eyes stared at him before glancing at his hands, then back at him.

"Are you a fuckin’ nurse?" he complained, but he still grabbed the medicine and poured it into his mouth, then drank the water.

"I'm a doctor, actually." The answer made him pause for a moment and stare at Ian as if he had a different mind. This made the redhead feel slightly embarrassed, which was ridiculous, considering he was disheveled, covered in cum everywhere, and his profession should be the least embarrassing thing in this situation.

"Okay, doctor..." the irony dancing on the brunette's tongue didn't go unnoticed. Ian almost laughed, but he didn't want to give him the explanation. "So, are you going to give me my clothes back or…?"

"As soon as we talk," Ian said, grabbing the first chair he saw to sit next to the bed, looking straight at Mickey, watching his chest, previously pale and now red from exertion, rise and fall with a defeated sigh, then shrug.

"What do you want to talk about?" His eyebrows arched. Ian swallowed hard, before crossing his arms over his shirtless chest, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them, his calf over the other.

"I want to see you again," directly, of course.

Ian had thought about it before returning to the club. A lot of time thinking about the man in front and everything he would do with him if he had the opportunity.

And now, the certainty that he had found something, someone, he didn't want to let go. Not yet. Not without exploring the things he wanted to try and had never had the chance to.

So it was simple.

He wanted to see the brunette more often.

Mickey.

"No problem, I come to the club whenever..."

"No," he interrupted, seeing Mickey's eyes lock with his, concern shining in them. "Not here."

"What the fuck are you trying to say? Because, man, I don't know what you're looking for, but I don't date. That's not my thing." 

Ian felt his face heat up and tighten, but he ignored the sensation and focused on what he wanted.

"I don't want to date you. I want to have sex with you. I'm talking about casual sex, basically." He shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I've never done that. I mean, I've had casual sex, but not as a practitioner of, you know... that whole thing, but I know that..." Ian sighed; he needed to get his act together. He was losing himself in his own anxiety, again. "We work well at this, and I want to do some things, and you seem..." He trailed off for a second, realizing the brunette was looking at him with a mix of amusement and curiosity. Ian ran a hand over his face, feeling himself growing exasperated. "Look, what I..."

"I'm in." The quick response shocked him. No resistance, no argument, no provocation. Simple. And Ian felt his brows furrow in surprise, which was clear to the dark-haired man. "But it's going to be my way," Mickey declared, and Ian laughed, nasal and mocking, trying to imagine what was coming.

"And how it is your way?" he asked curiously, and saw him shrug. "Because if it's without safe words, no fucking way."

Mickey rolled his eyes at him, bored.

"I already agreed to this shit, didn't I? You have your numbers. Use them whenever you want, Red."

Ian shook his head in amusement. This guy was... well, he was something. Ian just couldn't put his finger on it yet.

"If we're not meeting here, then what will it be?”

“At my house.”

“Why? Do you have a room ready or something?” It was a joke, and although Ian felt a little self-conscious, he ignored it.

“No, like I said, I’m kind of new to this, I just… I just want a place where I feel comfortable.”

“Huh.” Mickey stared at him, weighing his options. “I have a gun if you’re planning to kidnap me or something. I swear to God I’ll blow your brains out if you’re a psychopath,” Ian laughed.

“I promise I’ll only tie you up if you want me to.” And there it was. One sentence, and the angry, blazing blue eyes seemed to melt, warm and inviting in contrast to the simplistic shrug, accompanied by the averted gaze that Ian would only admit later, held him captive without explanation.

“As long as you understand we’re not going to watch movies and chit-chat.”

“What’s do you mean whit chit-chat?” Ian retorted, a little confused.

“I don't give a shit about what your job is, or what your favorite color is, or if you have a dog at home…"

"But if you're going to my house, don't you think it would be polite of me to tell you about it? I don't know, maybe you have allergies or…"

"Fuck this shit, Red. You understand me, fuck shit off. No talk. I'm not interested in your life, and I'm not going to talk about mine. Got it?"

Something in Ian's mind wanted to argue. It really did, but he gave in.

"Okay, that's it?"

"And without this bullshit about aftercare of…"

"No." The answer was so blunt that Mickey didn't even try to continue. He sighed heavily, still staring at the redhead's serious face, and Ian could almost see the gears in his mind turning as he thought of how to convince Ian to give up, but it wasn't going to happen. “Why can I fuck you until you almost pass out, but I can’t take care of the bruises I gave you?”, the question was left in the air for a few seconds, until Ian raised his inquiring eyebrows. Mickey didn’t answer so Ian ended the discussion, getting up from the chair. “Where’s your phone?”, he asked looking around while Mickey was still biting his lip, possibly thinking about something that bothered him, as Ian had noticed he did when he was about to retort something, punishing his full lips.

"Pants," the brunette finally replied. Ian went back to the clothes he'd thrown on the table in the opposite corner, rummaging through the pockets and finding his phone. He pressed the screen and was a little shocked that there was no password, but didn't comment, just looking in his address book to dial his own number and call himself, to save your contact on Mickey's phone and his on your. He then tossed the phone on the bed next to Mickey.

"There. Now we can plan something outside of here." Mickey smiled irritably, and Ian stared at him, thinking about what he was about to do, letting a stranger infiltrate his life just because he was so fucking hot.

But it was either that or go back to fucking boring people.

No. Ian would rather fuck Mickey.

Absolutely.

"Anything else?" Mickey's question was clearly a provocation, and Ian looked at him with a smile, abandoning the towel he'd planned to use, but now thinking of something else he'd rather do. He held out his hand to the brunette, seeing his blue gaze scan his fingers suspiciously.

"Come on. I'll give you a bath." The brunette smiled even wider, but without any sympathy, more like the fangs of a cornered animal about to bite, his sharp tongue licking the corner of his mouth. His tattooed hands rubbed his eyes with their fingers in irritation before staring at the redhead intently. Ian tried, but failed, to keep from smiling as the brunette got up from the bed, slapping his hand away and heading toward the bathroom, followed closely by the redhead, ready to devote himself to his beloved aftercare.