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Heated Interlude 1: Fucked
Michael knew he wasn’t supposed to ask.
He knew that asking only led to silences and awkwardness.
But he had to know. He couldn’t help himself.
“What about Jamie?”
It was the look of death.
“I asked you not to mention her,” Tom said quietly.
Quiet was worse. A lot worse than shouting.
“But…Tom. I’m sorry. But you never say anything. We used to be friends, before.”
“Before. Yes. Before we were fucking.” His voice got a little louder and Michael hoped that no one could hear them.
“I was just asking…”
“Before. When I wasn’t cheating on my wife for you. Before, when I wasn’t risking *everything* just to be with you.”
Michael was starting to get pissed now. He had only asked about Jamie because Tom had offered to let Michael come over on a Thursday night. That never happened. Maybe Tuesday if the cast was getting together to watch the show, or on a Saturday if Jamie was out of town… but never on a Thursday, and mostly Michael was just curious as to why.
“Listen, Tom. I just wanted to know because it’s Thursday. And if you think you’re the only one risking things, you’re fucking crazy!”
“Really, Mike, what are you risking? A few orgasms? A few lonely nights? Maybe a Saturday night in which you find some tramp to take to some cheap motel?”
Short, meaningful breaths. He couldn’t just start shouting. They were still on the set. “My career. My current job. My family. My entire fucking *life*! Are you seriously that fucking self-absorbed and just plain stupid to think that I’m not risking anything?”
Tom laughed bitterly. “Right. Your family wouldn’t care, Mike. Al and Miles would probably just nod and fire me, and your fans love you because they *think* you’re gay.”
Michael was so pissed he could barely think. He hardly even heard what Tom had said. “What part of that made any sense at all?” Neither of them were really making any sense.
“The part where it’s my entire *life* I’m risking for you Mike, and you won’t do one little tiny thing I ask. Just don’t bring up my wife.”
Michael shook his head. “You’re not even making any sense. I just asked…”
Tom cut him off. “I *know*. I know what you ‘just asked’.” It sounded like mocking. He got up, and turned to leave. “And I ‘just asked’ you not to.” He left Michael’s dressing room and closed the door carefully behind him.
It would be so much easier to fight with Tom if he would shout and throw things, and slam doors.
They didn’t speak for three days.
Friday at work had been horrid. They didn’t say good morning to each other, or eat lunch together. They didn’t practice lines, or sneak into the other one’s dressing room just to grab an ass cheek or steal a kiss. They didn’t say anything at all to each other except their lines. And even those were just plain horrible.
The director had yelled at them both repeatedly and even *Kristin* had commented on how awful they both were. She hadn’t spoken to Michael at all after he’d snapped at her. She refused to even look at him unless the scene called for it.
The weekend hadn’t been any better. He’d spent it alone, and cold, and miserable.
He didn’t go out to a bar, didn’t go out and drink himself into oblivion or hit a strip club. He had no idea if they had broken up, or just had a fight or what. He’d never been in anything close to this kind of a relationship before.
And he couldn’t leave the phone, what if Tom called? He realized Monday morning how stupid that thought had been. He had call forwarding on his cell. Of course, that would have meant leaving the house.
God, he felt like a girl.
~+~
Monday morning was gloomy and dark. Just like most other Vancouver mornings, but it reflected Michael’s mood so well, he couldn’t help but think of it as a sign.
A sign of what? He didn’t know. Probably that the rest of his days as ‘Lex Luthor’ were going to be tortuous and strained.
He knew fucking co-stars was a bad idea.
His time in hair and make-up seemed extra long. With no promise of Tom waiting for him or making jokes as Natalie worked, the shaving and spray-make-up seemed stupid and pointless. The scenes with Tom were going to suck and he was just going to snap at everyone else.
The day resembled a complete clusterfuck. The director yelled at him three times for missing his cue. Kristin still wasn’t speaking to him outside of her lines, and Allison was giving him looks that just made it all worse.
Tom still wasn’t speaking to him either and no one could suggest that Clark and Lex even liked each other anymore, let alone anything else.
At the final cut, Michael practically ran to his dressing room and sank onto his couch. The couch where he had gotten to fuck Tom just a few days ago. If he tried really hard, he could almost smell them still on the cushions, even though he’d used fabric softener and Febreeze on all of the upholstery.
He hung his head and held it in his hands. Jesus. This was just fucking hideous. He couldn’t remember any of his lines; he couldn’t remember any of his marks. He hadn’t smiled in days and all he wanted to just crawl into his bed and sleep for three more days, but he couldn’t because he could still imagine Tom stretched out next to him whenever he tried.
And his couch wasn’t comfortable at all.
He hadn’t bothered to shut his door, and barely noticed when he heard it click shut. The weight next to him took him by surprise, though.
“Hey,” Tom said softly.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” He looked up, staring into deep green eyes.
“I said, ‘I’m sorry’. I…I shouldn’t have gone ballistic like that. I didn’t mean…”
“Shut up. Just shut up.”
He lunged at Tom, sealing their lips together, thrusting his tongue deep inside Tom’s mouth.
God, he’d missed this. Missed the taste, the smell, and the fucking sounds that Tom made when he was being kissed. The sounds had been the only thing from his nightmares that he could remember.
He’d never even think about Tom’s wife again. Let alone mention her name.
Tom grunted and pushed at his shoulders. “Not here. Not in these clothes,” he whispered.
Michael pulled back in a daze. He was still in Lex’s clothes. “Fuck. You’re right.” Tom was still wearing flannel.
“Meet me in five minutes at your van.”
Michael nodded and quickly stood up, yanking his shirt over his head and searching for his own. Probably in a pile somewhere on the floor.
“See you in a few minutes. First one there gets to decide top or bottom.”
Michael could hear the grin in his voice. That sounded like an excellent idea.
He raced around his dressing room. A quick trip to the bathroom to wash off most of his make-up. Back out to shrug off his ‘Lex-pants’ and find his own comfortable jeans. Back into the bathroom to find his boxers. Out again to search for his wallet. He was never going to get to decide who was where.
It was a good thing it didn’t matter.
He was grinning as he left the room. Ignoring the looks he got from various crew members, he was practically whistling as he left the building and headed for his van.
Slouching against the side of his van, Tom was gorgeous. Michael thumbed the alarm and Tom was even in the van before he got there.
“I want you to fuck me,” Tom said as Michael climbed inside.
“My place is closer.”
Tom nodded and reached over, squeezing Mike’s thigh. He left his hand there the entire trip to Michael’s.
Michael broke every speed law that he could. And stop signs were only suggestions, right? He needed to get home. Needed to feel Tom against him. Needed to be inside him.
“Slow down, Mike. It’s okay. I promise.”
Grinning, Michael looked over at Tom and shook his head. He flicked his eyes back to the road just in time to make a right turn and then skid to a stop in his graveled driveway.
“We’re here.”
Tom was laughing at this point. “I noticed.”
“Good. Now get inside.”
Scrambling to get out and into the house, Michael was on Tom the moment that the door was shut.
Hard, pressing kisses. He ground against Tom, needing to just feel him.
“Bedroom, Mike. Come on. I won. I get to pick.”
Nodding, grinning, Michael let himself be pushed back into the bedroom and onto the bed. It didn’t even matter if Tom changed his mind. He wanted Tom to make him come, and he didn’t care how.
He tripped over yesterday’s clothes and fell onto the bed. It wasn’t made. He didn’t care.
Tom’s shirt had to come off. Too much clothing separated them. He tugged at it, and then his own, like he couldn’t decide which was more important to come off first. He couldn’t.
Laughing, Mike twisted them and straddled Tom’s thighs. He pulled off his own shirt and tossed it away carelessly. He attacked the buttons on Tom’s chest with renewed vigor. “Off, off, off,” he chanted.
Finally, Tom was bare before him and Michael started in on the buttons of Tom’s pants. His fingers felt clumsy and thick. He could feel Tom straining just a few layers away. Hard and insistent against him, Michael ground down, just to see what would happen.
Tom growled and threw his leg over him unexpectedly. Michael yelped as he crashed to the mattress. Tom grinned and shucked his jeans and boxers before settling on top of him.
Michael strained up and kissed Tom again. God, he wanted to fuck him. He struggled up, pushing Tom to the side and stood. He pushed his own jeans down and bent to his nightstand to find the lube.
He hadn’t expected to be tackled.
The yelping was completely undignified.
Tom stretched out next to him and leaned in for a kiss. Long, slow deep kissing that left Michael dizzy. He couldn’t even remember what he was supposed to be doing with his hands. Tom always did this to him.
He loved it when he could barely remember his own name. When he lost all thought except that of Tom and what he would be doing next.
Slick, heavy cock sliding against his own. A groan, echoing his own, sounded in the room.
“Mike, now. Fuck me.”
Nodding, Michael gathered his knees under him and groped for the lube. He’d dropped it when Tom had tackled him. He opened it quickly and squeezed too much on his fingers.
He didn’t even care. He only cared about getting inside Tom. Making him feel good and making everything okay again.
Tom groaned when Michael pushed his fingers inside. Panting and breathless gasps met his none-too-careful preparation. “Mike, that’s enough. Just. Come on. I need you inside me.”
How was he supposed to resist that? Tom rolled onto his side and Michael pressed against him. He barely remembered to slick his cock before he pushed inside.
His groan was loud in the otherwise-quiet room. So right, so fucking wonderful. Heat surrounded him, Tom pushing back onto him, begging for more and Michael was happy to give it to him.
Quick, short strokes, shoving himself inside as Tom met each one. He could feel Tom jacking his own cock. His elbow bent at an angle, moaning as he neared his own climax.
Michael shouted as Tom clamped down around him. Muscles working to squeeze everything out of him, and he hoped Tom was coming too, because he couldn’t do anything but hold on and whimper.
He finally caught his breath and opened his eyes. Tom’s harsh breaths matched his own.
Michael smiled and opened his mouth.
He covered his mouth with his hand when he realized what he’d almost said.
~+~
Thinking about it later, as they ate dinner and smiled at each other over Chinese take out boxes, Michael realized it was true. He did love Tom. Was in love with him. All the moping over the weekend, all the stupid angst and stupid moods he’d gone through the past few days.
It was love.
And he was so fucked.
[ main l rps l fps ]
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