Mickey worked him through it and gave his ass another firm smack, praising, “Good boy. Fuck, you’re hot when you come.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re not talking.” Mickey smirked and licked his hand clean, making a face. He didn’t care for the taste, but he didn’t have anything to clean it up with. There was still the rest of the mess to deal with, and he had an idea. “Come here.”
“Mmm, what?” Roger rolled off of Mickey, his legs splayed briefly as he righted himself to face him.
“Lick it up,” Mickey ordered, nodding to the cum from Roger’s load.
Roger’s eyes widened and then closed to lusty slits, and he groaned. “Oh, fuck yeah, master.” He was on Mickey in a second, running his tongue up his stomach and eagerly swallowing his own cum.
Mickey shouldn’t have been surprised by such an enthusiastic response, and he liked watching Roger’s tongue roaming over his skin. That immediate response was thrilling as well, and he petted Roger’s hair. “Mmm, good boy. Just love all that cum, don’t you? Like a little slut?”
“Yes.” Roger sighed, smiling as his tongue slid up Mickey’s chest to finish his task. He looked like he was in heaven, his eyes closed as he moaned softly around the last lick. He looked up at Mickey and smiled. “All done, master.”
That smile made the entire world vanish, if but for a single moment, because Mickey knew it was just for him.
Mickey dragged Roger up to kiss him, not even caring how wet Roger’s lips were with spit and cum. The slick slide made Mickey’s chest light, and he dragged a hand through Roger’s hair, holding him close as the kiss deepened.
Roger pressed into Mickey’s embrace, and he seemed calmer now. He felt relaxed, his arms lazily curling around Mickey’s neck. Even when they broke the kiss, they stayed close enough to trade breath, and Roger suddenly laughed.
“What is it?” Mickey murmured, enjoying the hypnotic spell.
“You seriously need to brush your teeth.”
“Thanks, cum-breath.”
“Hey, you were just literally eating my ass. Easy on the name calling.” Roger smirked and slid out of bed to grab his jumpsuit from the job last night.
Mickey rolled his eyes and stretched, groaning as a few joints popped and clicked. He couldn’t have thought of a better way to start the morning, though the sore throb in his injured arm was a nasty reminder that the last few days had been far from perfect.
After he got dressed, he quickly checked his phone. He was hoping for a message or a call from Duncan. There was nothing, and he began to fear the worst was true.
“So, we still on for dinner?”
“What?” Mickey looked up, having been distracted by his phone.
“Me, you, promises of lasagna and sex.”
“Right. Yeah.” Mickey hated how awkward this felt. It was easy when they were fucking, and he didn’t have to think.
“Just say when, and I’ll be there with bells on.” Roger winked. “Or nothing at all.”
“Later.”
Mickey promptly headed downstairs with Roger in tow, finding a small crowd in the dining room sitting around the kitchen table.
Alistair and Cold were both dressed in sharp suits, Jules definitely looked like he’d slept in his car, and Jerry was bustling back and forth to the kitchen making sure everyone had coffee and a full plate of food. There was no immediate sign of Pym.
Rowena was sitting down between Cold and Alistair, and her stuffed shark was peeking out from her lap. She waved at Mickey and Roger as they walked in. “Morning!”
“Rowena, this is Roger and Mickey,” Cold said. “They’re friends of mine.”
“Good morning.” Mickey tried to offer a friendly smile.
Judging by the grimace Rowena gave him, it wasn’t a welcome sight.
His appearance could be daunting, and people had a habit of staring at him in public. There was always something not quite right about his face that they couldn’t figure out until they finally realized he didn’t have any eyebrows.
