three's a crowd — blond luke x michael x brunet luke
MDNI—18+
set during the 'take my hand' tour. michael walks into his hotel room to see an older, dark haired version of luke lounging in a chair. he calls his luke to help. they figure things out.
pairing: blond luke x michael x brunet luke
warnings: top!brunet luke. switch!michael. bottom!blond luke. pwp: porn without plot. smut. romance. mentions of/references to internalized homophobia. profanity. threesome. dirty talk. praise kink. degradation kink. selfcest. anal sex. anal fingering. blowjobs. teasing. exhibitionism. cucking. orgasm denial/edging. time travel elements. slightly? manipulative brunet luke. slightly ooc.
wc: 11.1k
authors note: this is my first time writing ANYTHING like this so be nice !! it gets better as the fic goes on trust me . also it's all pwp. set during tmh tour!!! timelines might be a little bit off but bear with me. enjoy <3
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Luke is in Michael’s room.
Well—scratch that. Luke was always in Michael's room. In fact, Luke had just left Michael’s room, along with Ashton and Calum, exhausted and tipsy from drinks after an incredibly successful tour stop.
Then who the fuck is this? Reclined easily in a plush chair in the corner of the hotel room, Not-Luke looks exactly like Michael’s luke: same eyes, same face, same sharp jawline. Only, this luke has dark hair. This luke is dressed in a blazer and jeans. This Luke is looking at Michael with something akin to boredom in his eyes, lined with smudged red-blue eyeshadow and framed by unkempt curls.
What the fuck, Michael thinks.
“What the fuck,” Michael says.
Not-Luke sighs, as though irritated, and a shiver runs down Michael’s spine. In the chill of the room, he’s frozen in place, the low hum of the aircon matching the racing heartbeat in his throat.
“Shit,” Not-Luke mutters under his breath. Michael feels out of his depth. Something warm curls through his gut at the expletive—specifically the sound of the expletive on Not-Luke’s tongue.
He swallows it down. Instead, he says: “Who the fuck are you?”
Not-Luke moves slowly, as though in a dream. He touches the bridge of his nose, ignoring Michael’s question.
“What year is it?” He asks.
On autopilot, Michael responds. “It’s 2023. Who the fuck are you?”
“You’re on tour?”
“Hey, man, I d—”
“Take My Hand Tour, right? How old are you? 28?”
“Alright, whoever the fuck you are, I’m calling security,’ Michael says, finally getting his feet to move, crossing the room to pick up the telephone receiver on the bedside table. “They’ll take care of this m—”
“You look good.”
Michael freezes, hand suspended over the dialpad. What the fuck.
He turns to look at Not-Luke. His mouth is dry, pulse racing, palms growing uncomfortably sweaty.
Not-Luke hasn’t moved from his place, but his eyes are glued on Michael. He looks like his Luke—like some sort of crazily accurate impersonation of him, down to the colour of his lips, the fall of his shoulders, the unrefined grace of his posture, like a doe trapped in a too-large body. He had the same electric blue eyes. Ones that mesmerised Michael. Ones that he couldn’t look at too long without facing the weight inside him he was too afraid to examine.
This Luke isn't clumsy though. Everything about him seems intentional. The light from the dim yellow lamp on the table beside his chair casts a shadow that cuts across his features. Michael’s eyes catch the stubble on his jaw. His fingers itch to touch. And when Not-luke shifts, something clicks.
What the fuck.
“You—you’re Luke,” he manages, words barely above a whisper, loud like a gunshot in the quiet room.
A slow smirk spreads across Luke-Not-Luke’s face. Encouraging. Mocking. Michael can almost hear him purring, the silk of his voice whispering ‘well done’ into Michael’s ear. His tongue goes dry at the thought.
“I am,’’ Not-Luke replies. “Thought I’d dreamt this whole thing up, actually. Didn’t think I’d get to live it again.”
He offers no further explanation. Michael puts the telephone receiver back in place.
‘What–how? How?”
Not-Luke sits up, rolling his shoulders. Michael watches the muscles in his neck shift.
Greedy. He feels greedy.
“Dunno,” Not-Luke says. “Why don’t you call your Luke over ‘n we can all have a chat, eh?”
Oh. Right. Of course.
Michael refuses to dwell too much on how he said ‘your Luke’. Instead, he picks up the receiver and dials the number for Luke’s room.
It rings. Once. Twice.
A soft click as his Luke picks up the call.
“Hello?” A drowsy reply. Luke had probably gone straight to bed after leaving Michael’s room. A fond warmth rises in Michael’s chest.
“Luke? It’s Michael,” he speaks softly, somehow keeping the panic, the urgency out of his voice. “Can you come to my room?”
“Right now?” comes the mournful reply. “I just got to bed.”
Michael’s eyes flit across the room to Not-Luke, who is still watching him, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Along with something else. His legs are spread wide as he lounges on the chair. Michael briefly pictures himself on his knees in the space between those thighs.
Not-Luke stares. All of a sudden, Michael feels like cornered prey. He pointedly looks away.
“Please? It’s important.”
A rustle of bedsheets on the other end as Luke sits up. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Just get here.”
Silence. Then, a soft sigh. “Okay,” says Luke, “give me a few minutes, I’ll be over.”
Click.
“He’s coming?”
The voice comes from much closer than he’d anticipated. Michael flinches, hard. When he turns around, Not-Luke is standing in the middle of the room, hands tucked into his pockets.
Michael’s first thought is, he’s so wide.
His second thought is, fuck, I want him.
“How long has the tour been on?” Not-Luke asks, casually, as though making conversation. There's an underlying tone of something that Michael can’t quite place. Yet.
“Uh…a few months?” Michael scratches at the skin on the back of his neck. A nervous tic. Not-Luke notices.
“Nervous?”
Michael scoffs out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, s’not every day an evil version of your band mate shows up in your hotel room.”
A soft huff of laughter. Not-Luke takes a slow turn on his heel, observing the room. He takes measured steps as he begins walking around, trailing his fingertips over the desk, the pens, Michael's wallet sat upon the mantlepiece. For some reason, Michael can’t look away.
“Don’t worry. I can play nice.”
Michael can feel the heat crawling up his cheeks. Why does this luke have such an effect on him?
“Fuck off, mate.” Deflect, deflect, deflect.
Not-Luke continues his exploration of the room, never making eye-contact. “Oh, I will. Soon. Jus’ got some business to take care of first.”
Michael furrows his eyebrows. Business? What is he talking about?
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The brunet pauses. Looks at Michael with a sly smirk. “You’ll figure it out.”
“You’re being weird.” Michael says instead.
“You don’t know me.”
“You’re Luke, aren't you? I know you like I know myself.”
The smirk grows. “I bet you do, baby.”
Oh. Something sultry and warm curls in Michel’s belly. Baby.
Michael opens his mouth to say something—anything—when the doorknob rattles and his Luke bursts in. His blond hair is dishevelled, and he’s wearing sweatpants and a shirt that Michael is pretty sure belongs to him. Luke’s eyes come first to Michael, then shift to the stranger in his room. Those gorgeous blue eyes widen in something like fear. Then confusion.
“What the fuck,” he says, looking Not-Luke in the face, who seems extremely pleased by this reaction.
“There we go,” he says. “Bit late to the party, aren't you?”
“What the fuck,” Luke replies. He darts towards Michael, grabbing his forearm and tugging. Luke’s touch feels reassuring. Michael looks at him, but Luke is still staring at his doppleganger. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m you,” Not-luke replies easily.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“What the f—”
“Yeah, you’ve said that.”
Michael can't help the huff of laughter that escapes him. He feels a bit dizzy, seeing two Lukes standing in his room. He’s pretty sure he’s had dreams about this situation. One luke behind him, one in front. One bouncing in his lap, the other on his tongue. Both of them, down on their knees, looking up at Michael as they—
“Mikey, snap out of it.” His luke is shaking his arm. Not-Luke is looking at Michael knowingly, like he can read his mind. For a moment, Michael is afraid he really can.
His luke has a deep furrow between his eyebrows. Michael wants to smooth out the wrinkles there with his thumb, to tell Luke not to worry, that they’ll figure this out. Luke takes a step towards Not-Luke, Michael's arm growing cold as Luke's touch leaves him.
“I’m calling security. I don’t know who the hell you are, but—”
“Oh, shut up, Luke. We’re the same person. Use that pretty little head of yours. How do you think security would react to seeing two of us walk out of here when only one came in?”
Luke narrows his eyes. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
Not-Luke tilts his head, mocking. “C’mon, gorgeous, we both know you like it.”
Michael can’t move. His head is spinning, but he's definitely into this, whatever it is. Luke’s back is to him, but Michael can see the tips of his ears turning red. From shame? Anger?
“You don’t know anything about me.” He says, stepping closer still, standing taller. They’re almost face-to-face. Both of them are the same height, but Not-Luke has an air of arrogant confidence when he tilts his head up and looks down his nose at Luke.
“Oh, I know everything about you,” comes the reply. “I know the lyrics you’re too scared to show anyone. I know those magazines you had hidden under your bed in your teens. I know that little folder you hide on your phone.”
Not-luke leans in, voice low as he speaks into Luke’s ear. Luke, who is paralyzed with something, fingers curled into shaking, barely restrained fists.
“I know the things you think about when you’re all alone,” His eyes flick to Michael. He gestures towards him with a tilt of his head. “About him.”
The ground falls away from beneath Michael’s feet. All the air rushes out of his lungs, like his heart just dropped straight out of his ass. His face is so warm, he’s sure he’s bright red.
Luke’s hands come up, and for a moment Michel worries about having to break up a fight, but Luke just shoves Not-Luke in the chest, hard. The brunet stumbles back, eyes sparkling sharply. His jaw flexes.
“Don’t play dirty.” Not-Luke scowls. “Face up to your shit, asshole.”
Luke is breathing heavily, a red flush bright on his pale cheeks. “I don’t need your advice. I don’t need words of wisdom from some washed up, rip-off version of me.”
Not-Luke’s nostrils flare briefly. “Shut up,” he says through gritted teeth, and Michael’s worries circle back to breaking up a fistfight.
“You think you’re better than me?” Luke mocks, taking a step towards Not-Luke. “We’re the same. What have you done differently? All my secrets are yours. Why don’t you own up to your shit?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Not-luke hisses. He steps closer and fists Luke’s shirt in his hand. The air in the room feels heavy. Michael can't breathe, but he can’t move either. His limbs are frozen in place, pulse racing as his mind tries to decide whether hes terrified or turned the fuck on.
“Say it. Admit that something’s wrong. How you’re different. How much you're hiding. Admit all of it. Admit you’re—”
“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.”
A soft whimper cuts through the commotion, slipped involuntarily from Michael’s lips. Both the Lukes are so close, their noses almost touching, cheeks flushed red with rage. They freeze, and turn to look at him.
Yeah, Michael thinks. He’s terrified and turned on.
Not-Luke is the first to break the silence. A slow smile spreads across his lips. His eyes travel slowly down Michael’s body, then back up. When he makes eye-contact, his eyes are dark, the colour swallowed by his blown pupils.
“Oh, you like this, don’t you, baby?”
Michael goes weak in the knees. Luke looks between the two of them, until realization dawns on his face. His flush deepens.
“Use your words, sweetheart,” Not-luke’s grin grows predatory. Luke struggles in his grip, but his doppleganger holds fast to his shirt.
But Michael’s words are stuck in his throat. His thoughts race. Oh god, he’s definitely dreamt about this before.
“I know everything about you too, Mikey,” the nickname rolls off his tongue like a threat. “Enjoying the view, aren’t you?”
Michael gulps. Not-Luke looks back at his blond counterpart. He leans in just slightly, until his breath ghosts over the other’s lips.
“Bet you’ve thought about this. How badly you’d want to sit in the corner while I bend blondie here over that desk.”
This time it's Luke who responds. A soft exhale of air, fluttering eyelashes, inaudible anywhere else but cutting the tension in the room like a knife. Not-Luke raises his eyebrows.
“Or maybe against the wall?”
Luke’s eyes fall shut as he catches his breath. Not-Luke leans in to stage-whisper to him. “We’d make it so good for Michael, wouldn’t we, Lukey?”
Michael thinks he might faint. Or die. He’s positive his brain isn’t getting enough oxygen, but the positively debauched image before him is taking over all his senses. The world narrows down to just the three of them.
“You want that, Luke? ‘Wanna put on a show for Michael? C’mon, baby—’’
All of a sudden, Luke's eyes are wide open. The dreamy, cloudy look in them is long gone. He tears out of Not-Luke’s grip and steps back shakily.
“Shut up,” He says, voice cracking. Michael can see a thin sheen of frustrated tears lining his lashes.
“Sh-shut up,” he tells Not-Luke. He looks at Michael, eyes wide, pleading for something Michael isn’t sure he could give him.
“I’m not—I’m not gay.”
His voice breaks as he says those words, and Michael’s lungs contract so fast that it sends a stab of pain through his abdomen. The words echo strangely through his bones. Something inside him feels like it's cracking open, exposing something fragile to the world. He feels like he handed something precious to Luke—something Luke never wanted to begin with.
But Not-Luke seems unfazed. He sighs, frustrated. The blazer slides smoothly off his shoulders and he tosses it towards the bed. Michael watches, frozen, as he tugs on the collar of the shirt and undoes the top two buttons. He looks at his counterpart, silent and still, and runs a hand through his hair, tongues his cheek, then seems to decide something.
“Okay,” he says.
Luke blinks. “‘Okay?’”
“Okay. Feel free to walk out then.”
Michael turns to Not-Luke, taking in his posture, loose, but his shoulders tight as though he were trying hard to feign disinterest.
“What?” Michael says, and he has to clear his throat because the words don’t come out right. “What–why?”
“Wait,” Luke cuts in. The colour in his cheeks has begun to fade, but there's sweat at the base of his throat despite the cool of the room. Michael distractedly thinks that he wants to lick it, but the strange pangs of pain in his chest make it difficult to move. “Wait, I’m not leaving without Michael. I’m not leaving him with you.”
Not-Luke exhales, and the tension seems to draw out of him. The suave confidence returns as he backs slowly towards the bed and takes a seat on the edge. He ignores his double, instead looking at Michael through his lashes. He licks his lips. Waiting.
Michael’s jeans are beginning to feel uncomfortably tight, which is really confusing because his chest simultaneously feels cracked open.
He looks between his Luke and the other one. Nobody in the room moves, but Michael knows all the attention is on him. It’s getting warm under his collar. He speaks, then, carefully.
“If I stay…” He starts. “If I stay…what will we do?”
He knows already what they’d do. Deep down, he’s known it the moment he saw this other luke. He was willing it, subconsciously. But Not-Luke continues looking at him, debating something within himself. In the back of his mind, Michael begins to beg.
Please. Please.
Not-luke turns his body squarely in Michael’s direction, spreading his legs in a way that makes it impossible not to follow the line of his body. Down, down, down, Michael’s eyes travel.
His eyes snap back to Not-Luke’s, who flashes him a smile. It isn’t a kind one.
“Whatever you want.” Not-Luke says.
“Anything?”
“Anything at all.”
“Mikey…” a warning, from Luke, still standing frozen a few feet away.
Michael looks between the two. Somewhere, somehow, this is probably really unethical. But Michael wants Luke so desperately. Michael’s wanted Luke for as long as he can remember— catching his eye across the classroom in school, stifling his moans with his hand down his pants back when they were broke and sharing a bed on tour, drowning out the laughter of all Luke’s girlfriends whom he pretended he didn’t resent. He used to dream of waking up next to Luke, of watching the sunlight catch the flecks of gold in his eyes as they fluttered open. He ached so deeply, for so long, stranded in so much darkness as Luke’s life grew and unfolded around them, while Michael struggled to play catch-up with his secrets.
So when Michael catches his Luke’s eyes—eyes that are pleading, saying something Michael cant—won’t—decipher, he makes a decision. If he can’t have his own luke, he’d take this alternative. This mystical, sharp-edged, dark haired version that seems to know and see and want just as much as Michael does.
It hurt too much to be real. It was all probably a dream, anyway. Michael could indulge. Just one last time.
And Not-luke is looking at Michael with something akin to hunger in his eyes. And he sees Michael make his choice before Michael gets a chance to say anything. And his thighs spread wider, and he leans back on his hands. The look on his face is predatory when he pats his lap.
Michael has crossed the room before he even knows he’s moving. He straddles Not-Luke’s thighs, hovering above him. Strong hands glide slowly up the back of Michael’s thighs, taking the time to savour the tension in his muscles. Michael can’t look away from those eyes.
A sharp inhale, across the room. The moment is broken. Not-Luke looks over Michael’s shoulder towards his blond counterpart, and Michael's cheeks burn. He can’t find it in himself to turn around.
“You’re free to leave,” Not-Luke says.
But Luke stays. Michael’s senses are on fire. Luke stays, unmoving, breath ragged.
“Fuck you,” comes the response.
Michael’s ribs feel like they’ve cracked open and it's hard to breathe. How will he live this down? If Luke leaves the room, he knows their friendship will be damaged forever. He wants to get off Not-Luke’s lap, away from those wandering fingertips. He wants to get on the ground before his luke and grovel, beg for forgiveness, pretend none of this ever happened. He can’t lose Luke. He can’t, he can’t, he—
“I’m staying.”
A low murmur, saturated in shame, barely audible, but enough for Michael’s heart to drop. What?
What?
A moment of stillness. Then, Not-Luke's chest rumbles in laughter. His breath fans Michael’s neck. Goosebumps erupt on his skin. Michael can't look at his luke. Not yet. Maybe never again.
“I’m staying,” Luke says, louder this time, with more conviction.
“I’m not gay,’’ He repeats. “I won't leave you alone with him.”
Michael doesn’t know who he’s addressing. He almost doesn’t want to know. But Not-luke looks at him, something akin to reverence in his eyes, and whispers in his ear low enough for it to stay between them.
“You want him to leave, baby?” There’s a genuine question there, like he'd kick Luke out if Michael asked.
But Michael won’t ask. This…could be all he’d ever get from his Luke. He’d savour every moment.
He shakes his head.
Michael feels Not-Luke’s smirk against his ear.
“Yeah?” he says, “‘Wanna show him what he’s missing?”
Michael can’t reply. He tries to hide his face in Not-Luke’s neck, but a pale hand slides up, up, up from his waist, gliding along his neck, pressing lightly down on his jugular as Not-luke forces Michael to turn his head to the side, to where Luke stands, motionless, staring, flushed down to his neck. Michael wants to find out how far the flush goes, but—
“Look at him,” Not-Luke says to Michael. “Y’like that he’s watching?”
Michael tries to avert his eyes, but Not-luke’s grip is too strong. Michael wants to close his eyes, but he cant—he’s afraid this will all disappear once he opens them again. Instead he avoids looking at Luke’s face, looking anywhere but at the blond standing speechless in his hotel room, eyes dark.
Because is there a tent in his sweats or is Michael imagining it?
Not-Luke licks up Michael's neck, and—yeah, he should’ve known every version of Luke would need all his attention. He kisses slowly along Michael’s jaw and stops at a spot underneath Michael's ear, nipping and sucking until a bruise blooms underneath his lips. When he bites softly on his earlobe, Michael moans something unintelligible.
“Luke…”
Not-Luke’s grin grazes the skin of Michael’s neck, sensitive and painted in purples and blues. Behind Michael, there’s a soft “shit,” followed by the sharp sound of a chair scraping across the floor. Luke has probably found a place to sit, and Michael’s pride glows..
But Not-Luke doesn’t like Michael’s momentary distraction. He runs his hands down the sides of Michael’s legs and slaps his left thigh softly.
“Pay attention,” he warns. Fuck. It draws a soft whine from him.
Not-Luke’s hands brush soothingly up and down Michael’s sides. His touch is warm, possessive. Michael feels small under the weight of his hands.
“Hurts a bit, doesn’t it?” Not-Luke says, low enough for just Michael to hear. Michael knows what he’s talking about. He won’t acknowledge it, not yet. But Not-luke takes his silence as a sign to go on.
“I know you want him,” Not-luke mutters. “He wants you too. Have patience, baby. Let it come to him.”
It stings. “For how long?” He asks, trying and failing to keep the tremor out of his voice.
Not-luke doesn't reply. His hands travel lower down Michael’s back and he palms his ass. Michael gasps lowly, and Not-Luke looks Michael dead in the eye as he says, “Make sure he keeps his eyes on you.”
The warning tone of his voice goes straight to Michael’s dick. He doesn’t have any time to reply before Not-Luke grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in, and then they’re kissing.
It’s immediately rough. Not-Luke doesn’t wait for Michael to catch up, teeth clashing against his as Michael arches closer. Michael gasps into the kiss, and the brunet takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth. His hands are wandering, exploring, seeing what makes Michael tick—Michael, who can’t believe he’s got some-version-of-Luke’s tongue in his mouth. It feels like breathing after being underwater for hours.
Michael sucks on Not-Luke’s tongue, coy, and it draws a deep groan out of the man. He kisses like an animal, Michael thinks, like a starved man–not stopping to breathe, holding Michael and taking what he wants from him.
A stifled curse across the room causes the two of them to break apart, and Michael watches the line of spit connecting his and Not-Luke’s lips glint in the light as he pulls away.
“Like what you see?” Not-Luke asks his lookalike. Michael turns to see Luke sitting stick-straight in the chair that Not-Luke was in earlier. His jaw is clenched, fingers curled into fists pressing down on the armrests. He’s looking straight at Michael. There’s a visible bulge in his pants. He seems intent not to acknowledge it. Michael’s mouth waters.
While Michael looks at Luke, a million X-rated thoughts shooting through his brain, Not-Luke focuses his grip around Michael’s waist. It’s bruisingly tight, and Michael looks back down at him. Not-Luke spreads his legs wider, knees knocking against the back of Michael’s legs, forcing him to spread his legs as well. It burns his thighs. His back straightens on reflex. Not-Luke smirks up at Michael.
Oh, Michael thinks. He’s making sure I’m putting on a show.
Michael doesn’t want to think about what it means. He leans in again, reclaiming Not-Luke’s lips, who meets him where he’s at. He sucks on Michael’s bottom lip, and Michael moans lowly at the feeling. It’s all teeth and tongue again, and Michael can tell they’re both hard from it. From the tension. From being watched.
Luke’s hands tighten around his waist when Michael’s hands come up to tug on the hair at the base of his neck. He hisses softly into the kiss, pulling Michael impossibly closer. The next time Michael groans into the kiss, Not-Luke’s hips buck up. In response, Michael grinds down into him, feeling his arousal through the jeans as they roll their hips in tandem.
Michael feels like he’s on fire. He’s strikingly aware of his Luke, across the room, his eyes following Michael’s every move as he squirms upon his counterpart’s lap. The thrill of it shoots down his spine, the taste of Not-Luke’s lips intoxicating. He wants more.
“Please,” the word slips from Michael’s mouth. He doesn’t stop pressing down against Not-Luke’s hardness, chasing his own high as the brunet’s lips find his neck once again. He sucks on the mark he’d left earlier, and the dull sting sends a shiver through his body. “Please, please…L-Luke—”
“Yeah?” Replies the man under him. “Feel good?”
He can’t get an answer out, instead chasing his own high. He feels so good. For a moment, he worries he’s going to spoil his favourite pair of jeans, but he can’t bring himself to care. He continues to rock against the weight underneath him.
Not-Luke’s hands tighten around him, stopping his ministrations. Michael lets out an involuntary whine.
“Don’t get greedy, now, baby,” Not-Luke chides him, teasing.
“Please, Luke—”
“Please, what?”
Michael’s head is reeling. He felt so good, just a moment ago, and now it’s slipping away.
“Please…more. More, I want–I want—” His tongue feels heavy in his mouth.
“Oh, you want?” Not-Luke laughs, mockingly. It sends a stab of hot shame through Michael’s gut. “Getting yourself off shamelessly in my lap like a whore…what about what I want, hm?”
Michael’s cheeks burn, warm and bright, and he looks down. Embarrassment shoots through his body. The patronizing lilt in Not-Luke’s voice makes Michael want to curl up and hide, but it also does something unspeakable for him.
“I’m-I’m sorry…” He says, because he feels he was expected to, and because he really is. He wants to feel good, but he wants to make Not-Luke feel good too. And across the room—he wants to make his luke feel good too.
“Don’t be sorry, Mikey,” Not-luke grins, tapping his chin to make Michael look at him. “You need to learn to ask nicely. You want to be good, don’t you?”
When Michael nods, Luke tsks. “Use your words.”
“Please, Luke, you asshole—touch me.”
Not-Luke laughs, satisfied. “Good job, baby. Well done.”
But he makes no move to act on Michael’s wishes. In fact, he takes his hands off Michael’s body altogether. He leans back on his arms again, looking up at Michael, smiling. Along with his touch, the warmth leaves Michael’s skin too. For a moment, Michael worries he’s done something wrong. He huffs, frustrated.
A moment passes in silence. Then,
“What do you think, blondie?” Not-Luke asks. Tilting his head, he looks over Michael’s flushed skin, then at the boy sitting still in the corner of the room. “Y’think I should give him what he wants?”
Luke looks…frazzled. He barely registers that he’s been addressed. Clearly, he’d been struggling to keep his hands still, for they were now tensely latched onto the armrests. Michael admires his self control.
Luke looks between Michael and Not-Luke, then gulps.
“Wh-what?”
Not-Luke rolls his eyes. He reaches for Michael, and Michael nearly sighs in relief, but he barely brushes his fingertips over the fabric of Michael’s trousers. It isn’t nearly enough.
“Michael,” calls the brunet. “I want you to ask him for permission.”
There are twin sets of sharp inhales as Michael looks at Luke, whose cheeks seem to suddenly flood with a richer crimson colour. Michael searches Luke’s eyes for something—anything, any sign of discomfort, anything that indicates his disgust. But Luke's irises are swallowed by darkness, eyes wide as he takes in Michael’s every move. All three of them are hard as fuck, and Michael’s getting desperate. So he makes a decision.
“Luke,” he starts, careful. “Luke, baby, won’t you let him touch me?”
He hears the hitch in Luke’s breath from all the way over here. He leans forward, glides his palms up Not-Luke’s chest, never looking away from his Luke—so sweet, so beautiful, so desperately aching with want as he tries to stay still in his chair, avoiding eye contact because he's too flustered.
“Look at me, gorgeous,” Michael coos, and Luke does, so obediently it makes Michael’s skin crawl. “Don't you want to see? His hands—your hands on me?”
Luke gulps. Not gay, Michael thinks. Oh, I bet.
Luke’s hands are shaking. Sparkling drops of sweat line his throat.
Not-Luke seems to get impatient. He sighs pointedly, looking at Luke. Luke’s eyes flash towards him briefly, then he glances back at Michael.
It’s almost unnoticeable. Michael wouldn’t have caught it if he weren’t watching every little movement Luke makes, but—there, slowly, hesitantly, a short nod.
In a startling flurry of movement, Not-Luke flips them over so that Michael is lying on the bed, with both the brunet’s palms framing his head as he hovers over Michael. The air gets knocked out of him and Not-Luke begins trailing his index finger down Michael's neck, stopping at his collar.
“Where should I touch?” he wonders aloud. He begins unbuttoning Michael’s shirt, methodically. Infuriatingly slow. Then the shirt is gone. The chill of the room catches up to him. He feels exposed under both Lukes’ rapt attention.
The brunet places a hand over Michael’s neck, pressing lightly. Michael is sure he can feel his pulse racing, as Not-Luke asks, “Here?”
His eyes glint, like he knows something Michael doesn't. He trails his hand down, leaving goosebumps on Michael’s skin in his wake. Once he reaches his chest, he tweaks one of Michael’s nipples. Michael’s back arches from the stimulation, moaning lowly.
“Or here?” Not-Luke asks again. He pauses. When he doesn’t get a reply, he turns to face Luke.
“Answer me,” he says.
Michael looks at Luke as well. When their eyes meet, Michael notices Luke’s cock visibly twitch. Luke parts his lips, exhales, then speaks.
“Lower.”
A sinful grin erupts on Not-Luke’s face as his hand moves south. “Attaboy.”
Michael’s hips jump in anticipation, and Not-luke tsks in response. He eases his index finger under the waistline of Michael’s jeans. “Eager, aren’t you?” he observes, licking his lips.
He grinds his palm into the outline of Michael’s cock. Hard. Like punishment. A loud, broken moan rips from his lips.
“Fuck,” Michael breathes. “Please. L-Luke…”
“Patience, sweetheart,” Luke says, and finally—finally—unbuttons Michael’s jeans. Michael rises on his elbows to help get them off, until he’s just in his boxers. There’s a growing wet patch on the front of them, and the outline of his dick is prominent. His skin grows warm with embarrassment. He’s the only one in the room undressed now.
He’s planning on changing that.
“Luke,” he says, and receives two “yeah?”s in response. He bites his lip to keep from laughing. He looks at Not-Luke, hands braced on the bedsheets between Michael’s knees.
“You’re still dressed.”
Not-Luke blinks. He shakes his head. With a light chuckle, “We’ll fix that problem later, Mikey.”
He reached for Michael’s boxers and palms his erection. Michael’s head drops back as he groans. “M-more. Please. Pl—”
“Take those off.”
The voice startles both the men on the bed. They look towards Luke in the chair, who has a hand slapped to his lips, as though he can't believe he said those words.
Michael’s stunned expression shifts. He cracks a grin. Looking up at Not-luke, he says,“You heard the man.”
Scoffing, Not-Luke curls his fingers into Michael’s waistband and helps get his boxers off. Michael’s length springs free, and he exhales as the cold hair hits his warm skin. He’s so turned on, he feels like he’ll explode. Across the room, a squeak, painfully obvious, barely masking Luke's arousal.
“Luke,” Michael says to the brunet alter. “Touch me before I do it myself.”
Not-luke raises his eyebrows. Amused. “Didn’t know you were calling the shots here.”
Michael narrows his eyes. He takes his left hand off the bed and reaches for his dick—
Not-Luke slaps his hand away.
He taps Michael’s knees—a silent order for him to spread his legs. Feeling giddy and warm, Michael does. He expects Not-Luke to wrap a hand around his cock, but he forgoes it altogether. Michael whines, desperate for any kind of stimulation, and his knees fall closed instinctively.
Luke lets out a soft gasp. Not-Luke forces Michael’s legs open. His hand, featherlight in touch, trails just past the base of Michael’s length, and when Michael feels the pressure of Luke's thumb against his perineum, he nearly blacks out from how badly he wants more.
“Such a pretty cock,” Not-Luke murmurs. Michael doesn’t think it's possible, but his blush deepens further. “If I had my way, I’d have you spread out on this bed for hours, jus’ to look at you.”
“Touch it, then,” Michael says, and he means for it to come out as a demand, but it sounds like a plea instead.
“Not just yet,” Not-luke replies. “Where’s your lube?”
Michael’s lost. He feels on edge, skin damp and sticky with sweat. He barely manages to gesture towards the bedside table. Not-Luke’s touch disappears momentarily, but when he returns, Michael jolts as he feels a slick, cold finger prodding at his hole. He teases the rim for a moment, but chuckles when Michael whines in discontent.
All three of them moan when Not-Luke sinks his finger in. He fingers Michael slowly, and Michael claws at the sheets desperately. “More,” he gasps.
“Gotta go slow, Mikey. Get you stretched out for me.”
But Not-Luke obliges. He adds another finger, scissoring in and out of Michael as he gasps and writhes on the bed. He seems to be searching for something, but Michael can’t pay attention. Not-Luke’s fingers feel so big inside him, reaching so much farther than he himself can. Suddenly, Not-Luke crooks his finger a little, touching a spot deep inside, and a shot of pleasure rushes through him. Michael’s dick twitches, and he thinks maybe he’s died and gone to heaven. His jaw drops open and he moans loudly.
“Luke.”
“There it is.” Not-Luke smiles. Michael can hear the satisfaction dripping from his lips.
He screws his eyes shut. Good—its so good. He can hear Luke’s ragged breath from the chair he’s still in. He wants to hide his face in his shoulder, but he wants to look at Luke so badly. Wants to see the desire in Luke’s eyes. Wants to reach out, to touch those blond curls.
He feels the warm weight of Not-Luke lean over him, his voice in Michael’s ear, his chains tickling Michael's skin. “Eyes open, baby. Gotta look at him. Make sure he’s watching.”
But Not-Luke’s fingers inside him are relentless. Michael forces his eyes open through the haze of pleasure. He turns his head, meets the blond man’s eyes.
Luke looks completely undone. Ruined altogether. As his brunet counterpart adds a third finger, continuing his assault on Michael’s prostate, the sounds spilling from Michael’s lips are downright sinful. He lets out low ah-ah-ahs as Not-Luke’s expert fingers stretch his walls open for him. The pleasure builds in the lower part of his belly.
Luke watches, grip on the armrest so tense that Michael’s sure his hands will cramp over his guitar the next day. His eyes are fixed on where Not-luke’s fingers are working Michael open. The untouched tent in his sweats is no doubt painful, and Michael can make out a wet patch against the grey of the fabric where Luke is leaking. His mouth waters. He wants.
Michael reaches for the blond. “Luke—”
His words are cut off by a broken moan as Not-Luke twists his fingers. Michael sees stars. His back arches off the bed. Without warning, he comes all over his stomach.
He lightly registers Luke's intake of breath, how he whines: “Michael.”
Not-Luke fingers Michael through his post-orgasm haze, and when he pulls his fingers out, Michael feels strangely empty. When he meets the brunet’s eyes, something dark shines behind his lashes. Michael’s stomach drops. Not-Luke rises on his knees, rising above Michael, who feels frozen in place under the man’s piercing gaze. He looks down his nose at Michael as he begins unbuttoning his shirt. Michael’s eyes follow the path of his fingers, down, down, down, until the shirt falls open.
“What,” says Not-Luke, his voice ice-cold and patronizing, “did I say about asking?”
Michael gulps. The low timbre of Not-Luke’s voice, paired with the pinpricks of arousal—of fear—has Michael’s soft cock twitching in interest. Not-Luke crawls over him, careful with his hands, just barely touching Michael as he leans in. Michael closes his eyes, anticipating warm lips over his own, but the feeling never comes. When he opens his eyes, Not-Luke is there, smirking, so close, but not close enough.
Eyes never leaving Michael’s, he calls across the room, “Luke.”
The blond seems to snap out of a daze. “...hm?”
“Come here.”
Michael inhales so sharply he almost chokes. His eyes dart to Luke, still sitting still. He looks as though he can’t quite believe he heard right.
Tilting his head, he voices his confusion, “Wh-what?”
Not-Luke ghosts his breath over the warm skin on Michael’s neck, then turns his head. “Come over here before I change my mind.”
There’s a scraping of wood across the floor as Luke stands up from his seat, the chair nearly tipping over. Not-Luke slides off the mattress, standing up to meet his doppleganger.
Standing there, hard as stone in his pants, Luke seems to get awkward. “Um—what, uh…where?”
Not-Luke extends his hand, silently beckoning his lookalike over. Luke approaches with apprehension—eyes dragging over Michael still catching his breath—as he nears the bed. He raises his hand to put it in the brunet’s but seems to hesitate.
Not-Luke doesn’t have the kind of patience Luke demands. He grasps Luke’s hand and tugs, spinning him around so his back hits the brunet’s chest with a dull thud. Michael’s breath gets trapped in his lungs as he looks up at both the Lukes, now eyeing him with twin looks of unadulterated, unfiltered desire.
The brunet leans into the blond’s space, lips brushing his neck as he murmurs into his ear.
“Look at him,” he breathes, eyes raking up Michael's chest. “He’s pretty, isn’t he?”
Luke stares, blushing violently, curls drooping into his eyes from sweat. When he doesn’t answer in time, Not-luke roughly slides an arm around his waist. Michael watches his chest stutter with a sharp intake of breath as he seems to fall back into his alternate.
“Go on, Lukey,” Not-Luke mocks. “Tell me how he looks. Tell me what you see.”
Michael watches Luke lick his lips as his eyes trace the lines of cum along Michael's abs. “He’s pretty. He-he’s—”
“Good,” says Not-luke, and he presses a kiss underneath Luke’s ear. Michael hears Luke whimper, revels in the sound. “But he’s been selfish today.”
That gets Michael’s attention. He rises on his hands, ready to defend himself. “Wh-what—”
Michael is cut off by a pointed glare. Not-Luke slides his arm low around luke’s waist. The blond’s breath is ragged as Not-Luke dips his fingers under the hem of the shirt and slides up, up, revealing Luke’s flushed pale skin. Michael nearly drools. He’s so turned on from the sight—his biggest wet dream, but instead there’s two of them, and somehow they both want him.
Luke lets out a high-pitched whine and drops his head back on Not-Luke’s shoulder, who kisses his neck again, shushing gently. Michael watches his hand move under luke’s shirt and realizes he’s probably playing with his chest.
Michael pictures Luke’s chest, nipples pinched raw, wet from his own mouth—and he wants to see. He wants to see so badly—so he rises from his place on the bed and reaches for Luke’s shirt but—
“Tsk,” sighs Not-Luke. “Those hands. So greedy, Michael.”
Michael stops in his tracks. He watches as Not-luke slides his hands back down and teasingly fiddles with the ties on Luke’s sweats. He watches Luke’s hips jump in response.
“Please,” Luke says, voice cracking.
Not-Luke chuckles, low, dangerous, threatening.
“‘Not gay’, huh, baby?”
Luke ignores him, squeezes his eyes shut, and whines like a pornstar. “Please…please, I’ll—”
“Tell you what, gorgeous,” Not-luke starts, his hands moving to Luke’s hips to stop him as he grinds unconsciously back against the brunet. “If you sit nice and pretty, and hold Mikey’s hands down for me while I fuck him, I’ll make sure to reward you soon, okay?”
Luke’s eyes flit to Michael’s. Michael snaps out of the horny daze he’s in when he registers the words. “Wait, what?”
Not-luke slides his fingertips down Luke’s arms and intertwines their fingers. He inhales deeply against the side of Luke’s neck, and when he looks at Michael, his eyes are hooded and dark.
“Blondie here ‘s going to make sure you keep your hands to yourself, Mikey,” He says, tone patronizing, speaking slowly as though Michael had trouble understanding him.
“No, but I want—”
“I think I’ve had enough of what you want, actually.”
He steps back from the blond, who breathes out like he’s finally remembered how to. Not-Luke guides him gently by the waist until he gets his bearings enough to find his place at the head of the bed. Michael stares, indignant. He almost wants to cross his arms and stick out his tongue like a child. Not-Luke walks back around to the foot of the bed, looming above Michael with his arms crossed. At some point in time, he must’ve rolled his sleeves up, and the sight of his tense forearms paired with the view of his chest through the unbuttoned shirt has Michael aching to reach out and touch.
So he does.
But Not-Luke grasps his wrist as he reaches out. He leans in, kissing the corner of Michael’s lips.
“I don’t think I’ve been clear enough with you, baby.”
He nips at Michael’s lower lip, and Michael exhales on a moan.
“Or maybe you didn’t hear me right.”
He pulls back, eyes dark.
“But you’re going to keep your hands to yourself, or you won’t come for the rest of the night.”
That does it. Michael gulps, because he wants to come—hell, he’s leaking already. He’s not sure he’d last the whole night.
Not-Luke trails his hand down to Michael’s chest, and gently pushes him back so he’s laying on the bed. He crawls over him, mouth tracing wet kisses down the column of his throat. He takes Michael’s hands from beside him and guides them so they’re resting on the pillows above his head.
“Keep them there,” He warns, and Michael huffs, but he heeds the command. He sits back on his knees, and nudges Michael’s legs open.
Michael feels soft fingers touch his wrist. He meets Luke’s eye, sitting pretty and flushed and perfectly quiet beside Michael’s head. He opens his palm, lets Luke find his place, lets him intertwine their fingers together. A comforting warmth blooms in his chest.
He’s distracted by a soft metallic clinking and looks over to see Not-Luke undoing the zipper on his trousers. The brunet knows he’s being watched by both sets of eyes, so he moves his fingers excruciatingly slow as his boxers come into view. Michael’s mouth floods with saliva and his dick twitches with desire when he finally sees the bulge Not-Luke is sporting.
“L-Luke…” He starts, but the words get lost on his tongue when Not-Luke slides his boxers down far enough for his cock, hard and leaking with pre, to emerge. It’s big, flushed pink and heavy. Michael isn’t surprised to find that Luke’s dick is pretty like the rest of him.
Michael unconsciously spreads his legs wide, and Not-luke finds his place between them. He slides his hands up Michael’s calves as he lines himself up with his hole. He strokes himself once, twice, teases the rim with his tip, and chuckles when Michael whines impatiently.
“Y’gonna be good?” He grins.
Michael opens his mouth to make a snide comment, but cuts himself off with a depraved moan when Not-Luke pushes in.
Inch-by-inch, Michael feels like he’s being split open. His eyes roll back and he briefly registers his Luke’s moan and Not-Luke’s deep groan as the brunet finally bottoms out.
So full, Michael thinks. So—big.
“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Not-Luke responds, and Michael realizes he said that last part aloud. Not-Luke waits for Michael to adjust around him, but when Michael starts squirming, he pulls out a little, and slams back in. Michael’s back arches straight off the bed. He tries to wrap his arms around Not-Luke, pull him closer, but Luke’s sticking well to his orders, and he can’t move his hands.
“F—fuhhh…L-Luke—I wanna—” he gasps, and Luke leans in, teasing.
“Didn’t catch that. Say again?”
“M-more—’’
Not-Luke pulls all the way out, leaving just the head inside, and Michael mewls. He pushes back in, and holds the pace at an infuriatingly slow glide. He grinds and rolls his hips into Michael, whose mouth drops open as he sighs and gasps, gaze completely unfocused. Not-Luke trails his thumb across Michael’s lower lip, then down until he has a hand around his neck—not pressing down, just holding. Anchoring.
“Look at him, Lukey,” Not-luke tells his counterpart through gritted teeth, hissing as Michael clenches around him under the attention. “Doesn’t he look beautiful? All fucked out, drunk on my—on your cock?”
Michael feels the grip around his fingers tighten. He moans.
“S’deep, Luke,” He breathes. “ ‘Can feel you—hah…so deep inside.”
“I bet you’ve dreamt about this, Mikey,” Not-Luke says. He’s fucking Michael slow, yes, but not gentle. Each time their hips come together, it's with a force, a controlled slap sound filling the room. “Tell me what your dreams were like.”
Silence. Just the wet heat, the weight of Not-Luke’s cock, the pleasure building and building. When Michael doesn't respond, Not-luke gives a particularly harsh thrust.
“Ah–!” Michael knows what he’s asking for. So, he parts his lips, and lets everything out—he’s too fucked out to care. He feels too good to worry.
“I used, hah, I used to dream of you…d-down on your knees—backstage, after every show. Your lips around my c-cock, your eyes t-teary…I used to dream of licking—mmh, Luke!---licking the sweat off your neck—an-and bending you over tables in bars wh-when you flirted with anyone that…fuck, with anyone that wasn’t me,” while he talks, he can hear soft whimpers falling from the blonde Luke’s lips. He goes on, “I wanted to tie you up to the bed—t-tease you for hours with just my tongue—ah!---I pictured your face…when you…when you c-come—whether you’d cry, if you’d be l-loud…ah, Luke, more—please!”
But Not-Luke doesn’t change his pace. He pulls out slowly, thrusts in slower. And now that Michael is talking, he doesn’t want to keep his mouth shut.
“I wanted—I wanted to kiss you so badly,” He breathes, and he isn’t sure if the tears in his eyes are from the pleasure or the grief. “When…when we sat in comfortable silence on tour buses. When you—when you looked at me under stage lights and…how beautiful you looked. I wanted you so badly for s-so long—”
“Michael,” the blond whispered, desperate. “Michael. I didn’t understand. I-I didn’t understand. I thought something was…wrong with me. For wanting you—I couldn’t—I thought—”
“Please–” Michael says, through the pleasure. Through the ache, the longing. “Please…kiss me? Please?”
And the blond looks up at Not-Luke, who seems lost in thought, and snaps out of it then. He’s surprised to see his blond counterpart seek permission—from himself, no less. He nods. Of course he does.
Luke rises from his seat and crawls over Michael. He cups the man's face as he leans in. When their lips touch, Michael feels like he can finally breathe. Like he’d been locked out of some universal secret, and he’s finally been let in to it. He feels like he’s floating, the skies at his fingertips.
Luke kisses so sweetly. So unlike his alternate. He’s shy, not yet sure where to put his tongue, so Michael takes control. It starts out slow, saccharine, as Not-Luke continues grinding into him, and he moans into Luke’s mouth in response. Luke takes it as a sign to deepen the kiss—he licks into Michael’s mouth with fervor. It's warm, wet, and before long they’re panting into each other's mouths. When they part for breath, Not-Luke’s voice chimes in.
“Michael,” He says, and the man in question looks at him to notice the mischievous glint in his eye. “Don’t you think you should thank Blondie?”
Michael blinks at him questioningly, until the meaning dawns upon him. His eyes flit downward to Luke’s boner. Yeah, he thinks, I wanna thank him really badly.
“You’ve been so good for us, Lukey,” Not-Luke continues. “You did everything I asked you. Don’t you want your reward, gorgeous?”
Luke blushes deeply. He nods, shy, hesitant, and Michael twists slightly so he can get his hands under Luke’s sweats without Not-Luke pulling out. He briefly thinks of himself as greedy. That’s probably right.
It’s a bit awkward in the position he’s lying in, and he feels fuzzy because this new angle has Not-Luke pressing against something inside him that feels mindblowingly good. He struggles with untying the string of the pants for a moment, then with tugging them down Luke's thighs. He huffs at Luke’s abject refusal to help whatsoever, and turns back over to snap at the blond—
Oh.
Not-Luke’s got a hand cupped around Luke’s jaw as they make out with each other. Michael’s stomach swoops. He can see the wetness upon their lips, the stubble along Not-Luke’s jaw, how it scratches Luke’s pale skin. He sees the spit they exchange between them, the flash of writhing tongues. How Luke moans and sighs into the kiss. How Not-Luke smirks as his blond alter begs wordlessly for more. The scrunch in Luke’s eyebrows as his want, his greed grows.
When they part, they’re breathing heavily. Luke leans in to go again, but the brunet stops him with a soft tug on his hair. Luke whimpers in response. Michael makes a mental note of that reaction. He’ll be jerking off to this image for months.
“Fuck, baby,” Not-Luke says, breathless still, laughing lightly. “Slow down.”
The sound of his voice, the vision of the two of them together, its what finally does it for Michael. He whines, low, and nearly comes on the spot.
He’s stopped by a hand around the base of his dick. He protests loudly, but Not-Luke clicks his tongue pointedly at him.
“Be nice, Mikey,” he warns. “Get Lukey off first and behave if you want to come that badly.”
And Michael does. He does want to come that badly, but more importantly he wants to get Luke off. He twists to meet Luke again, who rises on the bed to get his sweats off and shifts to kneel at an angle more comfortable for Michael. His cock bobs in Michael’s face, and he licks his lips at the sight. He looks up to meet Luke’s eye. The blond is biting his lip, abs tense as though restraining himself.
“So pretty, Luke,” Michael tells him. He thrives in the soft gasp it draws from the man. “What a fuckin’ view.”
Before Luke can respond, Michael wraps a hand around him, an licks a wet stripe along the underside of his cock. Luke drops his head back, eyes falling shut. Michael is just about to take Luke into his mouth when a harsh thrust from Not-Luke has his eyes widening. He looks back accusatorily.
The man in question grins, “Oh, don’t mind me.’’
Michael tries to respond, but he’s cut off by a moan as Not-Luke pulls out and aims his next thrust directly on Michael’s prostate. It’s distracting.
“Mikey, sweetheart,” Not-Luke mocks, “Y’won’t come until blondie here does, so I’d suggest you put that pretty mouth to use.”
Michael moans as the brunet punctuates that statement with a particularly cruel roll of his hips.
He turns back to Luke and spreads the precome from the head all over his cock. He savours the little sounds Luke makes and he wants to tease him for hours just with little kitten licks, but since his climax is dependent on Luke’s, he gets down to business.
Michael takes Luke into his mouth in one go. He bobs his head slowly, swirling his tongue along the veins on the underside. He wraps his hand around the base that won’t fit in his mouth.
Not-Luke puts his hands around Michael’s waist and fucks into him—hard. He takes on a brutal pace. The bedframe shakes slightly, and Michael is pushed further down on Luke’s cock. It triggers his gag reflex, and tears spring from his eyes as Luke above him whines from his chest.
“Michae—aaaah—”
He pulls off slowly to rub his tongue against Luke's tip, gasping as Not-Luke angles his thrusts so that Michael can barely breathe through how good he feels. He takes luke into his mouth again. His hips jerk as his cock hits the back of Michael’s throat, and michael groans. Luke responds to the vibrations as they shoot up his length and swears loudly.
“Mm, shit—you take it so good, baby,” Not-Luke says, and Michael glows under the praise. He hums in response, and Luke, above him, fists his hands in his own hair. Michael pulls off him and reaches for those hands, guides them to Michael’s head. He blinks up at Luke through teary eyes as his brunet counterpart continues slamming into him below.
“Luke, you ca—hngh!---you can fuck my mouth, if-if you want.”
Luke inhales sharply. Michael tries to smile encouragingly at him, and licks at the bit of spit and precome on his lip.
“It’s okay,” he says. He drops his mouth open for Luke.
Luke moans softly. He cards through Michael’s hair gently, and Michael holds his gaze as Luke enters his mouth.
At first, Luke is hesitant, clearly afraid to do something wrong. Michael sucks softly as he waits, taking Not-Luke’s cock, feeling the coil of pleasure grow tighter and tighter. All of a sudden, Luke grips his hair and thrusts deeper into Michael’s mouth. He takes it pliantly, moaning and swallowing around Luke’s cock, reveling in the sounds he makes.
“Mikey…ah, ah—y-your mouth…you’re so—please—”
Sloppily, Luke tugs Michael up and down on his dick, gasping even as his hips buck into Michael, as he savours the wet heat of Michael's throat. Michael exhales through his nose, tries to loosen his jaw, slides his tongue along Luke’s length—he wants it to be good for Luke. His lashes are wet with tears as he looks up at the blond. He lets Luke fuck his throat. Lets the drool and precome slide down his chin. And he feels ecstatic.
Luke’s hips stutter as he moves, his whines and moans growing louder. Abruptly, he pauses his thrusting, tries to pull out as he gasps, “Michael, I’m going to—where do you want me?”
But Michael chases the movement of his hips, hollows his cheeks. He bobs his head a little, drawing a sweet hiss from Luke as he blinks up at him through hooded eyes. Luke comes with Michael’s name on his lips, chanting it like a prayer. Michael swallows it all, winces slightly at the bitter taste when Luke pulls out, and smirks up at him as the remainder of the blond’s cum spills from the corner of his mouth.
Luke falls back on the bed, curling around a pillow as he smiles at Michael, a dreamy look on his face. What a dork, Michael thinks fondly.
But then there’s a hand brushing over his cock, and the thrusts that had slowed down earlier as he sucked Luke’s cock are back, and Not-Luke is leaning over him to claim his mouth roughly. “Didn’t forget about me, did you, Mikey?”
Michael gasps as Not-Luke finds his prostate again. The brunet takes that as his sign to continue plowing into him—the same spot, over and over, until there’s tears in Michael’s eyes. He keeps the angle, giving it to Michael like he’s starved for it, thriving in the sounds Michael makes as he gasps and sighs and moans and sobs Luke’s name.
“Fuck, you were made for this, baby,” Luke gasps.
The hot coil in Michael’s belly is growing tighter and tighter as Not-Luke keeps up the unforgiving pace, greedy and glad to have all Michael’s attention back to himself again. Not-Luke brushes the hair from his forehead and trails his hand down to teasingly glide over Michael’s cock, weeping with desperation. His movements grow sloppier, and he moans lowly in Michael’s ear. Michael feels the tenseness in his muscles, knows he’s close, and just for the sake of it, he nips at Luke’s ear, licks up his neck and whines like a whore.
“Hhhh—got a mouth on you, don’cha?” Not-Luke chuckles. He clenches at the gravelly sound of his voice, and Not-Luke groans in response. “Shit, Michael—”
Michael feels the muscles in Not-Luke’s back tighten, and he quickly pulls out, both of them moaning as he does. He pumps himself once, then comes with a spurt over Michael’s stomach.
“Fuck, you’re a vision, baby.” Not-Luke breathes. Michael laughs in response, skin sticky and wet with cum and sweat. He’s acutely aware of the fact that he hasn’t come yet. His dick is painfully hard against his abdomen. He can feel eyes on him, but he wants to come so desperately, and—
“Mikey,” Luke says, tentatively. “You haven’t come yet…”
There’s something in his voice that Michael can’t quite decipher. Something like awe, like desire, like an unsaid question. Regardless, Michael can’t stop the movement of his hand as it wraps around his hard cock, hoping to jerk himself off, feel some relief, and soon.
A hand around his own on his cock stops him from going through with it. He whines, impatient, bordering on sorrowful. Not-Luke guides Michael’s hand away from his length, and Michael watches the brunet as he licks his lips, looking beyond Michael, at the blond seated on the bed behind him.
“Beg for it, Lukey,” He says, and it clicks in Michael’s mind. Luke wants—
“Michael,” Luke breathes into his ear, and it startles the man so badly, the blood rushes straight to his head. He flushes deeply as Not-Luke laughs at his reaction. But the blond continues.
“Michael,” he says. “L-let me suck you off.”
“Aw,” Not-Luke tuts, “You can do better than that, can’t you?”
And Michael has half a mind to tell the brunet to fuck off because all he wants right now is to cum. He’s so painfully turned on, he can barely breathe.
“Michael, please,” Luke purrs. “Please, let me s-suck your cock—please, I’ll be so good. I want you in my m—”
“Yes!” Michael says, voice cracking, because he might be crying. “Yes—please, just—” Luke and his counterpart quickly switch places, manhandling Michael so that his back is against Not-Luke’s chest, the brunet’s breath warm on his shoulder as he nudges Michael’s legs open so Luke can get a hand around Michael’s cock. Michael nearly cums on the spot when Luke licks shyly at his tip. His head falls back on Not-Luke’s shoulder.
“Y’know how to?” the brunet asks Luke, who gulps.
He smiles shyly. “How hard could it be?”
Not-Luck chuckles, and the sound goes straight to Michael's dick.
“Oh, he’s got jokes,” says the brunet. Michael groans.
Luke takes a breath.
“Its okay. Go slow,” Not-luke smiles. “We’ve got all night.”
This is beginning to piss Michael off, and he voices it.
But then Luke licks up the slide of his cock, and the complaint dies on his tongue.
“Good,” says Not-Luke. “Take it easy, baby.”
Michael lifts his head from the brunet’s shoulder just in time to see Luke take Michael’s head into his mouth. The wet heat hits him like a freight train. He thinks he might explode. Luke swirls his tongue, and licks at the ridge of his head.
“Stop teasing—” Michael grits out.
“Ignore him. Use your hand around what you can’t fit in your mouth, gorgeous.”
There’s a determined look in Luke’s eyes as he takes Michael deeper, head bobbing gently. He makes eye contact with Michael, tears slipping from his eyes. Oh lord—Michael isn’t going to last for long. The obscene sounds of slick spit and soft gagging fill the room as Luke takes him. He’s so warm, so wet, so willing.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and Luke hums.
“Made for this—for sucking cock,” Not-Luke says.
Michael can’t resist the jab: “What does that make you?”
In response, Not-Luke nips at his neck and pinches Michael’s nipples. He yelps.
Luke’s tongue is magic. Michael feels like his soul is being sucked out of his body when Luke swallows around his cock. Luke pulls off him, stroking him as he dips lower to lick at Michael’s balls.
“Fuck—Luke—” Michael gasps, and that’s all the warning Luke gets before Michael’s spurting hot ropes of cum across Luke’s hand and mouth. He whimpers at the feeling, at Luke as he strokes him through the aftershocks, at how Luke looks at him after, as he licks the cum off his fingers.
“Y’did good, Mikey,” Not-Luke says, kissing down Michael’s neck and Luke wipes his hand on the bedsheets. “You look so good like this, covered in us.”
Michael thinks he could blush from that, but he’s too spent and sleepy. He feels Not-Luke shift from behind him and falls back into the pillows. He vaguely hears the sound of a soft kiss, followed by a murmur and a melodic giggle.
Not-Luke rises from the bed and pulls on his shirt while Luke crawls up to Michael and curls into his side, who wraps a noodly arm around him. The brunet simply looks at them for a moment, until Michael gets annoyed and blindly throws a pillow at him.
“Get back in here, asshole,” Michael grunts, eyes falling shut already.
Not-Luke laughs, a deep and genuine tune that reaches underneath Michael’s ribs and nestles somewhere warm.
“Gotta get you both cleaned up,” he says, but he doesn’t move. He looks on, quietly, as his blond alternate smiles at him, reaches for his hand and tugs. He lets himself be pulled down, lands heavily on top of the two prone men.
“Oof, you’re heavy,” grunts Luke.
“I’m you,” comes the reply.
“Yeah, yeah,” Michael snaps. “Go kiss about it or something. I’m trying to sleep.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mikey?”
Michael furrows his brows, but he knows the pink of his cheeks would betray him. Not-Luke laughs heartily, almost exactly in tune with his doppleganger.
“Ugh,” Michael says, opening one eye to squint accusingly at the two men. “Creepy.”
“Y’love it,” Blondie smiles.
“Alright, sleeping beauty,” Not-Luke says, gesturing towards the attached washroom in the room. “Let me get something to clean you up before you’re snoring into tomorrow.’’
“I do not snore,” Michael says.
“Kiss before you go?” Luke pouts.
The brunet complies. He lifts Luke’s chin with a finger, and Michael expects him to leave just a short peck on the blond’s lips, but instead it's something longer, sweeter. Something lingering, like he was savouring it, committing it to memory. When he pulls back, Luke’s eyes stay shut for a moment, and when his eyes reopen, there’s a silence shared between the two that Michael can’t quite place. A shared understanding. An unknowable secret.
When Not-Luke turns to Michael, his eyes are glistening, shining with something unsaid. Michael doesn’t understand. Not-Luke kisses him like he’s breathing him in, holding Michael in his palms, like he’s trying to tell him something he can’t put into words. It’s just the two of them alone in a bubble, glowing with warmth. It’s a slow kiss. Michael doesn’t want it to end. But before he knows it, Not-Luke’s pulling away. Michael chases him, but he’s already out of reach.
Both the men on the bed watch the brunet as he straightens up. He avoids looking at them as he buttons his belt. It strangely feels like he’s saying goodbye, like he’s leaving, even though he said he’d be right back.
“Join us when you’re back?” Luke asks, an odd sobriety in his tone.
Not-Luke smiles. He begins taking small steps towards the washroom, deliberately moving slowly, looking over them as though he’s painting a mental picture.
“You guys look good together,” he tells them. “I’ll see you in a few.”
Saying so, he turns on his heel and walks through the doorway, and his footsteps echo until he’s out of sight. Then, silence.
Neither of them move, gaze fixed upon the washroom door. There’s a wait. An anticipation for him to come back, to make a flirty comment, a snide joke.
Nothing.
“He isn’t coming back,’’ Luke says finally.
“I—” Michael feels a weird sense of loss. “I liked him.”
Luke wraps his arm around Michael’s waist, stroking softly. The feeling is comforting. Michael wants to melt into Luke. Stay in bed with him forever, legs entangled with the sheets, bodies sparkling with sweat, basking in the afterglow.
Michael looks away from the door when Luke lays his head on Michael’s chest. He’s sure the blond can hear Michael's racing heartbeat. He exhales through his mouth.
“Where do we go from here?” he asks.
Luke is quiet for a moment.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “I want you, like this and in every other way. I didn't understand for a long time. I still…I still don’t. ”
Michael has an arm around Luke. The room is bathed in warmth. They’re sticky with the taste of each other.
“We don’t…we don’t need to have all the answers right now, do we?” Michael whispers. He wishes for a moment that he had Not-Luke to rudely guide him through all this. But the thought fades quickly. He wants this for himself. He wants to do it himself.
“We can talk about it tomorrow?” Luke asks, and he looks up at Michael. His eyelashes glow golden in the lamplight. Michael is briefly reminded of a dream he’d had, once.
He leans down and presses his lips to Luke’s forehead.
“Yeah,” he says. “I promise.”
They settle into comforting silence. Michael’s breath evens out, Luke sighing contentedly as he draws little patterns into the skin of his hips. He’s drifting off to sleep when Luke speaks again.
“Mikey?”
“Hm?”
“Can I ride you next time?”
-