“Mm.” Mickey imagined Roger bustling around a tiny kitchen with his mother, and that’s when he realized why he was so angry. It was because Pops should be here with them, and he wasn’t.
He was dead.
Pops was supposed to be the one teaching Mickey how to do this, not Roger.
His heart ached, and he didn’t know how to process this kind of pain. He didn’t usually experience such intense emotions, and he quickly drank the rest of his wine.
Ever perceptive, Roger asked, “Hey, are you okay?”
“What?”
“You look sad.” Roger grabbed the bottle to refill Mickey’s glass. “Wanna talk? I know this is probably kinda weird—”
“Take off your clothes.”
“Huh?” Roger took a few seconds to process the order, and he bit his lip. His eyes were getting that soft, glassy look, and his neck was pinking up. “You mean right now? With Valdemar right over there?”
“Yeah, I do.” Mickey raised his glass and drank deeply to drown out the stubborn ache in his chest. “Take off your clothes.”
“But Mickey—”
“Now.”
“Yes, sir.” Roger scrambled for the edge of his shirt.
Mickey loved how obedient Roger could be. The immediate response to his commands was mesmerizing and made him feel so powerful. He didn’t want this to end too quickly. “Stop. Not like that. Slowly.”
“Yes, sir.” Roger took his time as requested, slipping his shirt up inch by inch before pulling it over his head.
Mickey stared at his sculpted stomach, the dim light of the kitchen casting shadows along every perfect ab, and he had the craziest urge to reach out and lick each one. He watched Roger’s shirt drop to the ground, and his eyes cut back to admire the broad lines of Roger’s bare chest and shoulders.
Fuck, he really was stunning.
He felt a particularly strong surge of pride when he saw the bruise he’d left on Roger’s neck. He considered leaving a few more somewhere on that perfect body.
Even if he does stray, whoever he’s with will know he belongs to someone else. He belongs to me.
As Roger began to unbutton his pants, he said, “Need to turn down the heat on the sauce, sir.”
“Stop.” Mickey moved to adjust the stove dial before turning back to Roger. He didn’t want to miss a second of this. “Go on.”
Roger shimmied his pants down, toeing off his shoes as he kicked them off along with his pants. He was actually wearing underwear for once, tight black briefs that hugged his half-hard cock. He thumbed the waistband hesitantly, his face flushed.
“What?”
“All the way, sir?”
“Yes.” Mickey set his glass down, his blood heating up as he watched Roger pull his briefs down to reveal his cock. The very sight made his mouth water.
Even his dick was fuckin’ pretty, right down to his neatly trimmed hair and the blushing tip.
“Come here.” Mickey beckoned him over with a finger, and he grabbed Roger’s chin when he was close enough. He turned his face this way and that, looking him over like the gorgeous piece of meat he was.
Roger hummed softly, and he was totally compliant.
Mickey slid a finger down Roger’s throat, tracing the lines of his chest and stomach. He stopped when he reached his cock, murmuring, “Mmm, you’re getting so hard for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Roger closed his eyes, and his dick twitched. “You turn me on… so fuckin’ much.”
