Chapter Text
Looking back, they probably could have been a little bit more discerning when they decided to participate in that orgy.
Not that they regretted it, necessarily. They were safe, they had fun, they did it together the way that they said they’d do these things, they went home and talked about it and promptly decided that they’d probably never do it like that again.
It was just that they didn’t really like those guys. And it’s sort of like, who cares in the long run, right? It’s just sex. Sex with people they hopefully never have to see again. But something about it left a bad taste in their mouths.
There were the hand jobs at the gym that morning, too, and that was fun. A little more disconnected, a little more impersonal. It was hot, and it felt good. But then there was the orgy.
They’d had a lot of sex with a lot of people that day, and it was a fun and interesting experiment, but it sort of left them wanting. Like they needed to figure out how to properly direct that surge of energy they get when they’re around other people. People they find hot, people they might be into, people who’ll give them attention.
A chance encounter while out one night that started as a mild irritation ended up being a gift deposited gracelessly in their laps, as far as these things go. Mickey was standing alone at the bar for all of forty five seconds before he was being hit on by someone admittedly stupid hot, and then another minute and a half and one threat from an especially scary Ian later, and there were sincere apologies, genuine attempts at conversation-making, and before the night was up they were drinking with Josh and his hot, funny friends and invited to leave the bar and come to a house party they were heading to.
Neither one could tell you what possessed them to go, parties with fancy gay strangers being something they’ve come to be suspicious of, but something about Josh’s vibe was comfortable. His friends were welcoming and raunchy and funny as fuck, and yeah, the fact that they were hot didn’t hurt.
And the party was kind of insane.
The flowing drinks, the pockets of people in every corner, and the low, thumping music were all things to be expected. But the music mixing with the arousing din of the noises coming from unseen rooms was decidedly a surprise.
Josh’s friend Walt - older, gorgeous, worldly, kind of over everything and resigned to a life of indulgence – was throwing the party, and he has a pretty big house. Four bedrooms, with a living space divided into the living and dining room but kept quite open. A couple of bathrooms, a huge chef’s kitchen, a deck the size of a second living space, and a loft. All modern fixtures and décor, with lighting kept extra low for party purposes, and Ian and Mickey were both struck by its imposing beauty. There was a lot about the house and its gracious host to appreciate.
Those noises, though. It was like they were being beckoned.
They’d followed their hearts and their ears down the hallway to where three of the bedrooms are, and found themselves stopped in the doorway of a room where two beautiful men, presumably friends of Walt’s, were shamelessly fucking on the bed. With the door wide open, and with a rather enthusiastic audience.
“Oh, so it is that kind of party,” Ian had noted quietly, eyes enormous and breath quickening.
Before Mickey could ask him what the fuck kind of parties he was talking about, it became very clear that someone was about to cum. And Mickey was there to witness it, so he shut his mouth and paid attention.
It was overwhelming at first, but the free show was undeniably tantalizing.
Not everyone at the party seemed to be there for watching or participating in these activities. There wasn’t any kind of pressure. So they held it together, not wanting to jump into anything with other people this time, and they watched. Jaws slack, mouths dry, hardly able to sip the drinks Walt had supplied them with as soon as they’d entered his home.
It seemed like these activities were localized to specific parts of the house, but it felt like it was everywhere. Definitely in the bedrooms. One of the bathrooms, but that may have been incidental. On their way out, they saw one of Josh’s friends from the bar bent over a lawn chair and getting his ass eaten outside on the fucking deck, so. It was a lot.
They fucked like feral animals when they got home.
And really, Ian can only joke around and insinuate “showing them how it’s done” so many times before Mickey just has to ask if he’s serious, if he’d be into that kind of thing. Because to his own surprise, Mickey could definitely be into that kind of thing.
Numbers had been exchanged. They met up at the bar with Josh’s friend group a couple more times just to hang out. A few weeks later, they were invited to the next party, this time with a heads up. And that meant that there was some preparation to be done. Because yes, they were doing this. Could turn out to be a bad idea, but why not find out for themselves? They just had to try. They had to see.
That’s how Mickey finds himself sequestered away in a near-stranger’s bathroom tonight, back at Walt’s beautiful home in the midst of another bacchanal-esque gathering with a dizzying number of people, bent over the sink with his pants and boxers around his ankles. He’s just now gotten up to three fingers inside himself, spurred by his excitement and the knowledge that Ian is waiting for him.
It was decided when they talked about it that this is how they’d do it, he’d get himself ready just beforehand. So when they get started, Ian can just get right inside. Nice and easy.
Mickey’s heart pounds. His knees feel weak. The atmosphere of the party has already gotten him in the right sort of headspace for this, low lights and loud music and beautiful people everywhere and his husband looking hot as hell in the middle of it all, but it’s hard not to be nervous, too. Group sex is different from this. Being a part of something with everyone in the room is one thing. Being the center of attention is something entirely different. Something a little scary, as much as the notion entices him.
He blows out a breath, pulsing his fingers inside himself, just trying to loosen up. He lifts his gaze up to the mirror, gearing up for whatever kind of fucked-up pep talk he may need from himself right now, but when he catches his reflection he stills.
He’d styled his hair neatly, but now it’s falling over his forehead in a way that he thinks looks pretty sexy. His eyes are darkened, his pupils blown. His lips are pink and bitten, and he thinks he looks hot. He feels fucking hot.
He watches the movement of his shoulder as he starts pulsing his fingers again, and yeah. He wants to be seen.
That was all the pep talk he needs.
He feels inside himself, really sliding his fingers and twisting them, feeling out how loosened he’s made himself, and he deems himself done with this part.
He washes his hands. He gets his pants back up, ignoring how slippery he feels between his cheeks and how it’s probably getting on his underwear.
Ian’s waiting in the hallway when he opens the door, chatting with someone, and there are a few other guys milling around or walking past.
They catch each other’s eye, and silent communication passes between them that lasts about two seconds. Cocked eyebrows ask you ready? Matching smirks confirm that yes, yes they are ready to show them.
Mickey’s hand in Ian’s, he’s led down the hall to one of the bedrooms.
It’s mostly empty, a seemingly rare occurrence at these parties.
That’s about to change, if this goes the way they want it to.
They glance down the hall towards the living room to make sure that people see them entering, and Mickey catches Josh motioning to a couple of guys he was chatting with to follow him. Ian must’ve clued him in. Good.
The bedroom’s a decent enough size. There are lamps that have the room lit quite brightly without being overbearing. There’s a dark blue comforter on the queen-size bed, and all Mickey can think about is how it’s going to look when all is said and done.
Whatever. He’s not the one who decided to throw these…sex parties, or whatever. The comforter’s not his problem.
They come to stand at the foot of the bed, and Mickey becomes aware of the movement around him. God, there are people in here. He’s about to be naked in front of them. He’s about to have sex with his husband, and they’re all here to see it happen, and he can’t remember the last time his body felt this weak with nerves and excitement about something, palms sweating and knees trembling.
He doesn’t look around the room at them, though. Not yet. It’s all peripheral right now. Right now, he needs to just look at Ian. And Ian looks just as excited as he is. He fucking loves this.
His heart is pounding when Ian reaches for him and pulls his shirt over his head. It’s happening. It’s starting, Ian’s undressing him gently, and now he’s the only bare-chested person in the room, and the thought thrills him.
The air pulses around him with something electric. Music pumps loudly the living room, drifting in down the hall and vibrating the walls. There are shuffling feet around him.
His shirt is dropped on the floor, and in an instant Ian is pushing at his chest and shoving him backwards onto the bed.
He lands with a bounce, and Ian’s undoing his pants before he can even get his bearings. He watches him, head spinning, taking in the determined look on his face, the undeniable hunger there, that I’m going to eat you alive energy radiating off of him and draping itself all the fuck over Mickey and making his belly swoop so fucking hard so quickly, he’s a little dizzy with it.
When Ian yanks his jeans and boxers down he has to pull his shoes off with them, and he does it so swiftly, dropping everything in a pile on the floor beside his feet.
And now Mickey’s the only completely undressed person in the room, lying naked on the bed, Ian standing over him like he’s looming, with who knows how many other sets of eyes on him, and it’s possible he’s never been harder in his life.
Ian gets as far as toeing off his shoes and pulling his shirt off before he falls over Mickey, dropping his clothed crotch to Mickey’s bare cock and pushing against him in a little grind.
There’s muttered conversation around them. Mickey can hear them, but he can’t make out what anyone’s saying. What comments they must be making. The rushing in his ears is too loud, the hissing between his teeth drowning it out, losing it in his tunnel vision.
Ian’s jeans are rough on him in a way that’s distracting him, and he wants them off. He manages to get his hands between their bodies, just beginning to unbutton, when Ian pushes his hands away, stopping him.
Mickey sends him an annoyed, questioning look. He’s perfectly happy to let Ian take the lead here, but he’s gotta have some say in how this goes, too. Ian gives him a soft little peck on the lips, like he’s urging him to understand. And then he slowly sits up, kneeling between Mickey’s open legs. He takes a tiny bottle of lube out of his pocket and drops it on the bed. And then he reaches for the button of his jeans.
It’s lame as fuck, but Mickey knows exactly what he’s doing. He gets it, though. People are gonna want to see this.
He lives with that cock, he sees it every day, but it doesn’t matter. He’s enrapt as Ian works his jeans open. Not necessarily slowly, but definitely with intention. Drawing all the attention he can to this.
Finally, he starts sliding his jeans down his hips.
Finally, he reaches into his underwear and pulls his hard cock out.
There are, predictably, some delighted murmurs of appreciation. There’s at least one incredulous “holy shit” muttered from somewhere. Mickey has to huff a laugh at that, and he’s not the only one. And it’s satisfying, everyone here on the same page and enjoying this.
And holy shit is right. Ian finishes getting naked, dropping everything to the floor, and then he’s kneeling between Mickey’s legs, sitting up and looking like the fucking Adonis that he is, huge and strong and ridiculously hung and so, so gorgeous, and Mickey gets to have him inside him and all these suckers can do is watch it happen.
He needs him in his mouth. Unthinking, he sits up and crawls closer, staying on all fours and taking Ian all the way to the back of his throat like he’s dying for it, and he is a little bit.
Holy fuck, this feels good. Immediately, fucking immediately, it all rushes to his head, to his cock, feeling like they’re fucking claiming each other in front of people, marking their territory and showing the fuck off in a way they’ve never gotten to do before, and Mickey can’t help but wonder why they’ve never thought to do something like this before. This feels so fundamentally like them, so very right, the most obnoxious couple in the room more obsessed with each other than anyone else could ever possibly be, and no one fucks like they do, and they’re going to make them see.
As much fun as Mickey’s already having, he needs to know Ian’s into it, too. The way he starts moaning immediately is one thing to measure this by, but meeting his eyes to actually ask him is another. So Mickey sloppily pulls off of him and wraps a hand around him, sitting back a bit to look at him.
Jesus, the heat there in his eyes, like he’s shifted into this mode so easily. It puts Mickey even more at ease, feeling even more like he’s got his husband’s lead to follow should he start losing his way here. It’s such a comfort.
“Why’d you stop, baby?” is what Ian asks with that smirk, and okay. They’re definitely on the same wavelength here.
So Mickey just cocks an eyebrow at him, bends back over and gets him back in his mouth.
This feels like power. That surge of energy, the one that they both feel when they’re around other people, it’s there. He feels it, and it’s being directed differently than it has been before, and fuck, it’s such a good feeling. This is amazing.
Ian’s hands slip up and down his back, warm and soothing, then one to the back of his head, guiding him. Just for another moment, and Mickey indulges in Ian’s low, breathy sounds. And then he’s being gently pushed back.
He takes a deep breath and lays back down, arranged on his back, and he pulls himself open. He gets his hands behind his knees and folds himself as much as he can, showing, enticing. He’s resolutely looking directly at Ian, but this is for everyone’s benefit. He knows how good he looks like this.
Ian’s between his legs again, breathing heavily through his nose and getting his cock slicked up.
“C’mon, tough guy,” Mickey teases quietly. Just for Ian. “Hurry up. C’mere.”
To his excitement, Ian falls over him. He reaches down and presses himself against Mickey’s hole, and Mickey’s breath catches. His cock twitches, his hole clenches. He wants him inside.
Something so, so hot flickers between them, that energy exchange caught in their gaze, their shared breaths, their faces so close together. Mickey’s face is so slack with the continuously flooding arousal dropping down through his body and setting in so warm between his legs, but Ian’s got this darkened expression, a little devious, and it’s so sexy.
He tastes so good. The kiss is sudden and wet and open, Ian’s cock still held in place and nudging him where he’s slick and prepped, so close to dipping inside, and their lips are barely touching but their tongues can’t stop pressing and slipping, tasting. Mickey’s hands move from behind his knees to Ian’s back, to the back of his neck, urging him on, holding him close with all his limbs, breathing him in.
Ian’s not even in him yet, and this feels, without a doubt, like the sexiest thing that has ever happened to him. He’s so fucking hard it has him lightheaded, just from the exposure, from the kisses, from sucking his dick, from all those eyes on them. It’s an atmosphere he’s never experienced before, kind of debaucherous, like something he’d hear about or just see in porn, like something just for fantasizing about, but fuck, they’re doing it. It’s happening, and they’re at the center of it, and it stuns him that they’ve ended up here. He licks into Ian’s mouth with more fervor, gasping, clutching at him, mind spinning and spinning.
Ian surges inside of him in one long, steady push. All the way in.
Mickey’s head drops back, his eyes roll back, and he moans out an uninhibited, “Ohh!”
If others in the house didn’t know what was happening in this room before, they were certainly aware now.
Immediately, Ian’s fucking him. And immediately, Mickey’s slipping under and overtaken by the headiest, heaviest pleasure swimming through his body and clouding his brain, that familiar feeling, only amplified.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it, baby,” Ian’s saying so low, it’s possible no one else can hear him. His voice is quiet and there’s the music coming thumping through the house, and the sounds of their bodies connecting are already so loud, and Mickey’s own little moans are cutting in and out, anything Ian’s whispering has got to be covered up.
Mickey’s hands drop overhead, suddenly too slackened to do anything but just take it, Ian’s hips pounding against his ass so hard, his cock stretching him out and moving so slick and hot in him, working him open, fucking him up.
He knows there are things being said around him. He can’t quite focus on them, but he’s aware of them. Enthusiastic remarks about each of them, about how good he takes it, about Ian’s prowess, about how hot they are. All it does is fuel how good he feels here in his body and with his husband, somehow working to make him so feel connected to Ian.
There’s a change in angle when Ian shifts up, and Mickey jerks and shakes. Ian pushes on his thighs, trying to lift his hips more, trying to grab a pillow that’s just out of reach.
Someone fucking hands it to him. Amazingly unfazed by this, Ian unceremoniously pulls out and sets in to shove it under Mickey’s hips.
It’s someone being so close to them that gets Mickey to take a quick glance around the room as Ian gets him settled, his hips propped up high and cock pushing back in.
He’s pretty sure there weren’t this many guys in here a minute ago.
He has no idea how many people it is. His eyes are too busy glazing over and watering from the way Ian’s stroking in and out and holding his thighs wide open to be able to focus on what he sees.
But there is a tangible effect on him. Makes that desire to be seen and watched ratchet up so hard. Makes him want to show and he doesn’t know what else he could possibly do to make himself any more exposed.
His hands spread over his ass, and he can’t be any more open but it doesn’t matter, he holds onto himself and watches Ian plunge in and out and directs attention right fucking there with the way he grips himself and strokes over his damp skin and moans at it all, at how good it feels and how fucking spread he is.
His breath catches when Ian’s hand slips up his torso, wrapping around him at his shoulder and his collar bone, not quite at his neck, just enough pressure to make him feel held down. He has to move his hands out of the way when Ian’s deep, even pumps become pounding thrusts into him, pushing sharp, desperate cries out of him.
“Jesus christ, Ian. Fuck. Fuck!” Little words pouring out like he can’t stop them, and Ian’s answering in a low, dirty voice, fucking him up so bad and going straight to his head.
“Yeah? Like that? You want it harder?” Still so quiet, his voice is just for Mickey, and he’s smiling like he’s having the best time. He fucking loves this, and goddamn, Mickey’s never been happier.
And yeah, he wants it harder.
“Yeah, fuckin’ give it to me.”
“Fuckin’ take it.” Ian’s hands grip his hips and he sits up to fuck him with all he has, slamming in, sending him up and down the mattress with each slap of their hips, and the bed’s hitting the wall and oh fuck, Ian is nailing his prostate and it’s so, so good and makes him tingle and feel so warm, and his toes are curling so hard and his eyes are rolling back again. The stupid pillow is just in the way now, so Ian tears it out from under him and keeps going, keeps going.
“Holy shit,” Mickey pants. “Oh fuck, holy shit…” He grabs his cock and starts stroking lightly just around the head, and it’s insane to think that he hasn’t touched himself yet. He’s so hard, it shocks him.
“Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ take it. Feels good, right?”
God, yes, of course it does.
“Ian,” he chokes out. “Jesus, fuck, yes…”
He keeps taking it, and keeps taking it, just for a couple of minutes. Because he has to stop stroking his cock. He has to stop letting Ian pound inside him like this. He has to slow down if he doesn’t want to cum yet. And he definitely doesn’t want to cum yet. He’s just getting started.
“Unh…ah! Ian…Ian Ian Ian wait, oh my god…” He starts batting at his hands where he’s still got that iron grip, dropping his legs and trying to scoot away. Because he has an idea. And he thinks it’ll translate real well to that powerful desire he’s got stirring in him, that desire to be seen and appreciated.
Ian enthusiastically lets himself be pushed over, still with that excited, heavy-lidded smile, his cock so hard and so red and twitching in bounces, and Mickey’s far too empty to sit back and admire how hot he looks.
There’s some excited murmuring around them when he climbs on, straddling Ian and reaching back to grip him. It gets his blood pumping faster and harder, gets him sending Ian a matching smile. They spur him on and inspire him to arch his back and pop his ass back. Holding Ian’s slick cock in place. Rubbing up and down on it, along his crack, moving in a dirty grind. Teasing himself, teasing Ian. Fuck, teasing everyone in the fucking room.
Until finally he shoves it back in. Sits all the way down on it, letting it sink in slowly. He drops his head back and lets out a filthy cry at how satisfying it is, Ian reaching so deep in his body, stretching him, filling him all the way the fuck up.
Ian’s fucking growling, gritting out sounds and digging his fingers so hard into Mickey’s hips, tensing up like he wants to fuck up into him but is desperately trying to hold back to let Mickey do his thing. And oh, the effect that has…
Gasping, chest heaving, Mickey rewards that restraint with the way he starts moving, shifting and swiveling his hips, working Ian’s cock expertly and drawing the dirtiest sounds out of him. He braces a hand on Ian’s chest and reaches back with the other hand, holding his cheek and pulling himself spread, showing, showing. He knows how good Ian’s cock looks when it’s stretching him and pumping in and out of him. He knows how good his ass looks when it’s getting fucked. He shows. He loves this.
He rides harder. Both hands on Ian’s chest, eyes shut, mouth dropped open, panting so hard, he fucks himself on Ian’s cock like the world is ending.
It gets him the exact reaction he was hoping for. He feels their eyes on him like a physical touch, and he hears voices, disembodied in the way his tunnel vision has only Ian in his sights, making stunned remarks in hushed tones. They’re getting more and more excited and vocal as they go. So fuckin’ hot and look how he takes it and drawing attention to his ass and finding themselves in states of arousal that apparently need to be addressed.
It charges him up, goes straight to his cock, to his ego, gets him sitting up straight and moving more and more sensually, trying to send it into Ian, wanting him to feel it, how good he feels.
The eye contact between them is a tether. Mooring him to his body and to Ian’s body and what they’re doing, how synced up they are. Something floats between them, some of that silent communication they’re so good at. An increase in temperature. Drifting, drifting. They keep moving. Ian’s eyes darken.
His hips buck up hard, knocking Mickey off his rhythm.
It’s sudden and it’s rough, rough as the sound rending from Mickey’s chest and through the room, bouncing off the walls in a display of the sheer force of his lungs.
He lets Ian take over. He has to. If he tries to rein control back in he won’t get to cum right fucking now the way that he suddenly feels like he’s going to.
Oh fuck, he’s going to cum.
“Oh shit, oh shit,” he hisses, he can’t stop, the way his body is being ragdolled with the force of Ian’s thrusts, his prostate being hit like this in a way that’s almost overstimulating, but it’s going to make him cum without having to touch his cock and it’s going to be fucking powerful. “Please, please, I’m gonna…” Gasping, trying to cling on, fingers digging Ian’s chest. But Ian’s just fucking him like he can’t take it anymore either, like everything happening is too much to just exist within, like he has to take control.
It's plummeted so hard down between Mickey’s legs, all the heat in his body, hotter than he thought imaginable, and it makes him grit his teeth and tense up, makes his ass clench around Ian, and his ears are ringing so loudly so he can’t understand the voices around him steadily growing in volume and amusement.
The voices. The eyes. Other people. Watching them. He’s about to cum so hard and they’re all going to see. Yes. He focuses on that. Focuses on the thought of that, people seeing him like this. People seeing how they are together, how good Ian gets him.
His eyes squeeze shut. He gasps, and gasps, and finally grabs his pulsing cock. Lightning shoots through his nerves, Ian still fucking him with abandon like the machine he so often seems to be, and Mickey’s somehow aware of the slide of every inch in and out of his ass with every thrust, like his pleasure has slowed time down, like the growing heat thudding in him is making him more and more sensitive. Making his orgasm more and more intense. And it hasn’t even happened yet.
It barrels into him with such intensity, he expects it to knock him out. But instead he’s conscious for all of it, forced to feel it all, the insane way it shoots out of him and onto Ian’s chest and neck, the inhuman shout he unleashes, the excited voices around him, the sheer fucking euphoria cranked up inside his body like something’s broken in him. It pulses and pulses in his ass and his cock and his very soul, and Ian keeps fucking him through it. It’s too much.
“Ah! Ah, please, okay, okay…” he huffs, dying, Ian still with that determined furrow of his brow, finally slowing as everything inside of Mickey ebbs away. The lightning flashes of overwhelming pleasure and the pulsing inside of him ease and dim, leaving him worn and dizzy.
Ian hasn’t cum yet. He fucked him like that just to get him there, and it hits Mickey that this isn’t over and all these people are going to see just how much he can handle from his husband. His stomach swoops at the realization, not quite in arousal, but in something like the sensation of freefalling.
Ian senses it like an animal smelling fear, and fuck, the way he visibly latches onto it has Mickey’s heart pounding.
“C’mere,” Ian grits out, and then Mickey’s being rolled over until he’s on his back, Ian huge and hard over him, Mickey’s cum dripping off of his chest. There’s something he does, something in the way he grips Mickey’s wrist and ankle and flips him over almost violently, grabbing his hips and getting him into place, and Mickey doesn’t know how he does it. He’s so fucking strong and all Mickey can do is push his ass back like this is all he knows, all he’s made for. Being like this. Like he didn’t just cum so hard he thought he was going to die.
He’s got his face pressed down. His ass is up and back. And Ian’s getting him wet with lube again, quickly and efficiently, before tapping his cock against his hole. Gripping one of his cheeks and pulling him open. He’s so open. Ian’s gripping so hard. Releasing him and spanking him, just once, but the sound cracks through the room so fucking loudly, and Mickey’s mouth drops open on a shocked gasp. And then Ian’s getting back inside and fucking him hard.
Slamming in and out again. Holding him in place. Groaning out dirty words while Mickey gasps and writhes and pushes back on him, meeting him in the middle and making the wettest sounds. His head is turned with his cheek pressed into the mattress, and he tries to internalize what he’s seeing through teary vision. The people around him. He can only see one side of the room like this, but he’s facing the doorway, and there’s a few people gathered there. Fuck, they saw Ian make him cum. They saw. And now they’re going to see Ian use him to cum.
He feels so fucked out. It hurts, Ian moving in him so hard and rough like this, too much in that way that he loves. In that way that he knows, he knows in the right conditions could get him there again right fucking away. He doesn’t know if these are the right conditions, but he lets himself be here, in these feelings flowing through him and giving him goosebumps across his sweaty skin, Ian loving on him with his cock and his quiet words and his big hands on his back and now one in his hair, fingers wrapped and keeping Mickey nice and still for him.
Ian’s going to cum, he can feel it. Finally. His movements are getting stuttery, his voice is getting rougher. He sounds more and more desperate.
“Bein’ so fucking good, fuck,” Ian gasps out. “Feels so good. Like this, huh? All the attention? Who knew you’d be such an attention whore… Oh, shit…fuck.”
He absolutely pounds against Mickey’s ass, stills, and then leaves him empty when he pulls out. Mickey pushes back, moaning, knowing what’s happening, that he’s playing this up and giving them a show instead of staying inside and pumping Mickey full like he loves. He knows he’s about to feel Ian’s warm cum land on his heated skin as Ian finally reaches his peak.
He does, it happens, Ian groaning through gritted teeth, his cum flowing down Mickey’s cheeks and along his inner thighs when it hits him. He lets out his own soft sound at how gloriously filthy it feels, eyes drifting shut, listening to Ian breathe, breathe, so heavy. Listening to the voices around him express their own enjoyment of this.
Ian helps him collapse onto his side, and Mickey takes a deep breath as he starts to try to find himself.
But he doesn’t get far. Ian pushes his knee and his shoulder, and Mickey flops onto his back in confusion.
And how Ian could still look so ravenous after finishing so intensely, Mickey will never, ever understand or fathom. His machine of a husband.
He thought they were done. They were wrapping it up, they were going to get their applause or whatever the fuck and have a couple drinks and start fucking recovering. But the fingers pushing into him clue him into the fact that something else is apparently going to happen, and he’s a big part of it. The main event, even.
Head tossed back, shouting so loud at the overstimulation, he takes it as Ian rubs inside him, his other hand loosely holding Mickey’s cock.
He’s sort of hard, but he doesn’t think he could ejaculate again. There’s too much happening to his nerves, his prostate being massaged surprisingly delicately for all of Ian’s ferocious enthusiasm. His rim feels raw with how stretched he is. Even his cheeks sting from Ian’s hips slapping against him so much.
But shit, it does feel good. Ian in him always feels good. He always knows how to do it. Paying such intense attention to his reactions, his sounds, his muscles fluttering inside, his open thighs twitching. Fuck, his husband is so good to him.
Mickey feels it so deep, the growing pleasure, the warmth making him see sparks, his eyes scrunched shut. When he opens them, everything is washed out and bluish-white, like someone’s turned the contrast down on his vision. His cheeks are positively flaming. And he glances around. At everyone. Watching his husband fuck him so good with his fingers. Paying such close attention to him.
It’s so hot, so fucking, fucking hot, and Mickey is so far beyond gone yet again. He shudders and hisses. He brings his arms overhead. He lifts his legs a little bit, so spread open. And Ian’s there between his legs saying, “Take it. Yeah. Show ‘em, Mick. Show ‘em how you can do it. Come on.” His voice is a little louder than before, nearly at full volume. So they can all hear him coaxing, gentle, fucking feral. Guiding Mickey through it while they take it in.
He lies there for all of them, moaning continuously, whimpering, feeling it come over him. Building and building. Taking it. Ian’s fingers drawing gentle circles inside him, just the way he likes. Exact pressure.
He spasms. Again. Again.
“Oh…oh, fuck.” His voice cracks. Feels himself breaking.
It keeps building.
“Come on. So close, I can feel it. Come on.” Ian’s sweet voice. And others encouraging. A growing chorus.
It hits him. Sucks him under. It’s obliterating, the way it makes his body shake, the way it makes his knees fall inward. The way it feels like it’s never-ending, the way he can hear everyone losing their damn minds over his orgasm, the way he chokes on his own voice and cums silently for a fucking eternity.
Eventually, finally, he exhales his completion, rough and loud and dropping his legs down dramatically, making Ian pull away.
His chest heaves with his panting breaths. A sated smile spreads across his face.
He’s out of his fucking mind with the hormone rush, but he still laughs when he hears a couple guys actually clap in astonishment. Ian’s laughing too while he rubs Mickey’s legs and murmurs to him sweetly.
“That was so hot, Mick! Holy shit, I love you. Did so good. You okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, still smiling, wiping his hands up and down his face. He’s never been better. “I’m okay.” He blows out a breath, chuckling. “Jesus christ.”
There’s still a bunch of people around. He’s not sure what to do with this part. He’s very much done being looked at, but they’re still here.
He sits up and looks around blearily. He doesn’t count how many men there are, some of them shuffling out and some kind of milling around now, not exactly paying attention to him. But he still wants everybody out. So he supposes he should just say so.
“Alright, party’s over,” he barks. “Out. Yes, thank you, thank you, alright, get out. Bye.” He points to the doorway as the remaining few make their way out respectfully, giving them their privacy.
Once they’re alone, Ian gets up and closes the door.
There’s a lot Mickey could say right now, but what he goes with is, “Feel fuckin’ disgusting, man,” He looks down at himself. He’s pretty sticky. Ian isn’t doing much better, Mickey’s cum still all over his chest.
“Good thing there’s this,” Ian says, making his way over to the desk. Whoever was standing over there before was blocking their view of the toiletry basket neatly arranged there, complete with towels, wipes, hand sanitizer, and other sanitary accoutrements. Man, Walt is the best.
“No shit?” Mickey says, reaching out for it. “Bring it over.”
They check in as they tidy up and get dressed.
“What’d you think? You like it?” Ian asks while stepping into his pants. He grabs their tiny, now slightly slimy lube bottle off the bed and pockets it.
Mickey scoffs. “Understatement.”
“Really?”
“What, ya couldn’t tell?” Mickey pulls his shirt on, still sitting on the bed, and leans over to grab his pants.
“Hm, guess it was pretty obvious,” Ian says. “You were like, wild for it. It was pretty hot.”
He likes hearing that. He smiles to himself as he lays down on the bed and lifts his hips to pulls his pants all the way up his hips. He’s still feeling it too much to stand up.
“Seemed to be pretty into it yourself.”
“I was,” Ian admits eagerly. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Would you?”
“Yeah,” Mickey says thoughtfully after a moment, shrugging. He sits up, comes to the edge of the bed and sits with his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, that shit was hot.” The thought of doing it again gets his heart racing all over again.
Ian comes over and stands in front of him. He takes his chin between his thumb and forefinger, and Mickey looks up at him.
He’s gazing at him with the exact kind of warmth and affection he needs right now.
Ian bends down and lightly kisses him, just a soft little press. Almost chaste, after everything they’ve just done.
“Love you,” he whispers, smiling.
“Mm, love you, too,” Mickey replies, voice so soft.
“Wanna get back out there now?”
“Don’t wanna stand up yet,” Mickey admits. “Gave it to me too good, tough guy.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Ian teases. He runs his fingers through Mickey’s hair, standing all the way up again before him.
“Mhm, you fuckin’ animal. Give me a minute.”
Ian does. He plays with Mickey’s hair, scratching his scalp soothingly, and Mickey shuts his eyes, basking in the affection.
He feels so good here. Here in his body, recovering after this, connected to Ian. Powerful and in love and sexy, and god, if Mickey ten years ago could see Mickey now. Married to his crush and doing what he wants and having sex so adventurous he probably couldn’t have conceived of it then. Unimaginable growth.
He wonders if anyone noticed their rings. He wonders if anyone saw the tattoo on his chest and heard him saying Ian’s name, if they made the connection. He hopes they know. He wants it to be obvious. He thinks it might be, but he hopes.
When eventually he feels like his knees aren’t going to collapse under him, he stands up.
He wants a drink. He wants to have more fun with his husband.
He takes Ian’s hand, and together they rejoin the party.