Mike takes a step toward him. Sean looks up, eyes wide. He tells himself to just do it now, just take him here, but he’s got plans. He’s got plans for tonight, and he needs this to go a certain way. The way he intended. It’s control, and he needs that right now. Everything else is spiraling, but this? This is his.
This is real.
“You’re staying with me,” he says quietly. “In my bed. Tonight, and probably many nights from here on out if I have any say in it. Take what you need for tonight. For tomorrow. You’ll come home Sunday. If that’s what you want.”
Sean nods, a quick snap of his head. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I want. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m not usually so nervous. You don’t make me nervous. Okay, you do, but it’s a good—”
Mike kisses him. He cups Sean’s face in his hands and kisses him, swallowing down whatever other words were going to fall from his mouth. He’s insistent now, more so than he’s been before with Sean. Sean sags against him, and his tongue is against Mike’s, and it’s wet and warm. Their teeth clack together because they’re going too far, and Mike lets it happen for one and two and three, but then he’s the one that pulls away, the one that puts a stop it. Sean leans in after him, groaning when Mike pushes a big hand against his chest, saying, “Pack.”
“You’re a tease, Mike Frazier,” he says with a scowl.
“Not trying to be,” Mike says. “And if you hurry up, I’ll show you as soon as we get home.”
Sean doesn’t even bat an eye at that last word. Home. Like he’s okay with it, like he’s already thinking it. Mike didn’t mean to say it like that, but now that it’s out, he won’t take it back. He likes the way it sounds, like they live together, like maybe he’ll get to wake up with Sean every day, curled around him in the winter to keep away the cold, lying side by side in the summer, their hands joined under the thin sheet resting on their bare stomachs.
(He feels it, the pulling, the slipping, like it’s trying to take this moment away from him. He keeps his expression calm, but inside he’s saying, No, no, no, you can’t have this, you won’t take this from me, this is real, this is real, and I won’t let—)
Sean’s moving quickly, he’s at his closet, throwing the doors open. They bang against the walls and he chuckles nervously. He reaches up to the shelf above and pulls down an old duffel bag, army green and well used. Mike wants to ask where it came from, if it was his dad’s, if his dad had been in the Great War, either of them, but he knows that the moment he does, Sean’s eyes will glaze over and he’ll start to shudder and shake. Mike won’t have that. He won’t let that happen again. Sean’s migraines have begun to hurt worse each time than they ever have before, and he won’t do that to him or anyone else. Even if he’s the only one who knows the things he doesn’t quite know. It’s better this way. That’s what he tells himself.
Mike’s leaning against the doorframe again, watching Sean move. Sean’s not talking, but he’s going back and forth between the closet and the old Chesterfield set of drawers. He’s got underpants and socks and sleep pants. He’s got black dress trousers and a red dress shirt. Mike’s not surprised when he sees him pull out black suspenders, and he wonders if it’s Mrs. Richardson’s doing. He thinks it probably is. Sean puts this all in his duffel bag, and he turns to Mike.
“I, uh,” he says. “I need my toiletries. From the bathroom.”
Mike says, “Okay.” And doesn’t move. He knows the bathroom is behind him across the hall and he knows he’s blocking most of the door, but he wants to see what Sean will do. Wants to see how he’ll react.
Sean narrows his eyes, like he knows what Mike’s thinking. And maybe he does. That nervous little boy is gone and when Sean moves next, he’s slinking toward Mike like he’s stalking prey. Mike thinks, I’m going to fuck you so goddamn hard, and even he’s shocked by the crudeness of it. That’s not how he is. Not normally.
But Sean’s walking like he is, like he’s the cock-of-the-walk, and Mike likes it. He likes that Sean can go from the bumbling kid to this beautiful man in front of him like it’s nothing. He’s nervous still, Mike can see it in the set of his shoulders, but he’s not taking Mike’s shit, and even more, he’s playing with him.
Mike doesn’t move.
Sean presses up against him far more than necessary, even with the small amount of space in the doorway Mike has left him. He moves slowly around Mike, hands trailing along Mike’s arms. Their groins brush together, and Mike has to grind his teeth together in order to not pin Sean against the door. It takes minutes and hours and days for Sean to move by, but he does and then he’s behind Mike, hurrying down the hall like he’s a kid again, like he’s packing for a trip and he’s too excited to keep still.
Mike takes a breath and lets it out slowly.
MIKE’S CARRYING the bag as they walk in the dark toward his house. There’s a chill in the air, and the houses are lit up around them as people settle in for the evening. There are only a few people on the streets, and they’re all hurrying home. There are lights on at the park down the road behind them, and undoubtedly Mrs. Richardson is there still, ordering her minions around, making sure everything is the way she wants it.
That’s fine. That’s for tomorrow.
Mike’s hand is in Sean’s and they’re moving with purpose toward something inevitable. It’s taken this long for them to get where they are, and these last few minutes feel like they’re being drawn out. It’s almost unbearable, and Mike gives very serious thought to throwing Sean over his shoulder and running the rest of the way.
“We’re almost there,” Sean says, reading Mike’s mind yet again. It’s just what he does.
Mike has to say it. He has to, because he loves Sean too much to not. “We don’t have to do anything. If you don’t want to, or if you’re not ready. We can just go home and have some supper and sleep. That’s all we have to do.”
“I know, big guy.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sean says, and he’s making fun of Mike. Mike knows that now. “I know. Is that what you want?”
Mike’s honest to a fault. Always has been. “No. But it’s not about just what I want. It’s about what you want too.”
“Good,” Sean says. “Because I know what I want.” He reaches down between them, and before Mike can stop him, there’s a sharp pinch to his rear. Mike makes what is undoubtedly an unflattering noise, and Sean’s laughing, laughing, laughing.
And then he’s running, shouting over his shoulder for Mike to catch him if he can.
Mike chases him all the way home.