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Steve just wanted to be a good person. He was never a ‘good kid’—in the sense that he would sneak away from school and meet up with mates and come home to Mr and Mrs Batt somehow finding out and scolding him, only to find out later that older brother David had ratted him out to escape punishment for his own rendezvous during school hours. Aren’t older people meant to set an example? Or, like, whatever… just leave it. That’s what Steve always told himself anyway. Leave it and get on with things.
At least that was how he managed until this morning.
Catford High is unforgiving—it loves to make a joke of their boys, and turn jesters into village idiots. Juggling balls around hoping to make a life out of nothing. The King wouldn’t be impressed looking at Steve’s report card right now.
Maths: Grade E. 5/150. ‘Pathetic result.’
There were other abysmal grades on the card, but that one just made Steve burst out laughing. “Alright, then,” he chucks the card out of sight—it lands on some table. “Nice range you made there,” Mick exclaims. Steve looks at him, carefully—something’s changed about him.
“Have you dyed your hair?”
“Yeah, I just put a strip of pink through the front. Mum berated me for it but I don’t care. She can dye my hair herself if she cares so much…” Mick gazes at his half portion of chip butty—the other half went to Steve, who’s nibbling at it slightly, trying to embrace the greasy texture. It’s just the two of them today as David’s gone gallivanting with a new date.
“They won’t last two weeks, they never do.” A twinge of jealousy hits Mick, imploring him to make such a comment. He chuckles out of nervousness—Steve follows for emotional support.
“Hey, what happened to those salads you been eating?” Steve was also staring at Mick’s meal for the day, only to stare at his face when Mick pulls his own eyes away to address Steve. “They say I’m the average weight now. I’m stable now, so as long as I don’t binge anymore I have a good chance of staying like this.” Something else has changed about Mick and Steve is trying to get to the bottom of it.
“You’ve definitely done something with your face… oh my God. You’ve shaved your eyebrows!” Steve couldn’t contain his excitement. Mick couldn’t fathom what was so special about getting your brows shaved in this day and age. “I mean, people also tattoo their entire bodies. You seem more excited than I was. Yeah, I was trimming them and accidentally went a bit too far so just… shaved the whole lot off.”
“I just… it really suits you. That’s all.” There’s a pause. They both observe each other. “When did you get them shaved? Last night?”
“Yeah, last night… same time I dyed my hair. Almost ended up having to stay at home.” Mick really tries to laugh it off—he almost crumbles instead.
There’s a pause between them. Then they leave their oil-soaked sandwiches behind for the workers to dispose of, and head to nowhere.
They decide to chill out in a field across from Catford. The sun blinds Steve—when be turns to Mick he sees remnants of the sun, like it was made to worship in his presence. It’s not unknown to Steve that he has feelings for this guy… but he also knows that his brother retains similar emotions. Steve has always been the person to leave it, because that’s the good thing to do.
Until he sees Mick’s nose piercing. The one that he pierced… and almost brought Mick to the hospital as a result. They did the trick every amateur piercer does—ice the nose, get a slice of an apple and stick a needle through it hoping it’ll penetrate the nostril enough to fit a ring inside. Well, that went just as planned, other than Mick passing out from the pain. In a panic, Steve begged Mick’s parents to take him to a doctor or something, only to be met with complete nonchalance. “He does this all the time, he’ll wake up.” That he did, but not before realising what just happened and screaming all his horrors out of his system.
Steve chuckles to himself at the anecdote. “What are you laughing at?” Mick takes out a bag of weed and starts to roll. “Oh, nothing, just… remember your nose piercing?” Mick halts. “Yeah… I remember that…” He reenacts his fainting spell for a moment trying to make Steve laugh. Of course, he succeeds.
As he finishes rolling, he offers it to Steve. “Smoke?” He politely declines. “I’d rather just chill out and look after you.” He can tell Mick appreciates the gesture, with his light smirk causing his face to glow in fragments not recognisable to the naked eye. Steve can locate every little detail that reflects off Mick’s tanned face. It’s something he’s realised over a few weeks.
“You’re actually so boring,” Mick says. He also mouths, ‘Thank you,’ which Steve will take to his grave. He takes a puff of his joint, sucking it in so rough and ready that Steve can hardly believe himself, but he would die to be that joint right now. He wants Mick. He wants all of him and yet he has to be a good person. So, he makes excuses. Yeah, he knows that if he tries to pursue Mick in any way that it’ll hurt David, and—
“Steveeee…”
“Huh? Oh, there’s no fucking way you’re already greened out.” How much weed did Mick put in the damn joint…? Well, he can’t do anything now. Mick’s practically incapacitated and any attempt to get intimate with him would be considered morally defunct—
Mick rolls closer to Steve’s side, blonde hair caressing his arm causing goosebumps to raise. How is his hair so soft…
He shouldn’t.
But, like… he should. It’s what Mick would want. Good excuse.
He slides his hand through Mick’s hair, taking in every inch of it. “How do you get your hair so smooth, it’s ridiculous…”
He mumbles some hair product, but Steve honestly doesn’t care, as long as he can just keep having Mick’s hair to himself. It feels like, so wrong, but he’d love to bring his head down and sniff it, the shampoo has to be super high-end and wouldn’t assault his senses… but, before he can even think about it, Mick crawls ever so slowly onto Steve’s lap.
“Steve… please… kiss me.” He heard that correctly, didn’t he.
Fuck.
“Mick, y-you know I ca-” Mick’s hands start to massage Steve’s neck, shutting him up quick. It’s when he presses a knee ever so gently, and slowly rubs his groin to life, that Steve shuts up for good. Good.
“Good...” Mick croons into Steve’s chest, who still keeps trying to resist the temptation of a beloved friend finally giving himself up. It’s hard. “If you have a fucking joint will you be happy?” Mick pulls some makeshift prototype of a blunt from his pocket. He’s done such an awful job at it that Steve has to stop himself from blowing up in laughter, so he groans instead. Mick soaks himself in it. He passes the joint and lighter over to Steve. “Come on… I can’t… light this…”
Steve snatches the lighter. “You melt,” he huffs as he lights up the desperate excuse for a joint… but it’ll be perfect for Steve. Almost like Mick was planning this. He probably was because he’s a freak, Steve thinks as he manages to take a pull from the stupid cylindrical attempt.
A few minutes pass and Steve is gone. He’s boring his eyes into Mick’s soul like it’s made of all the gold in the world and he’s a miner who’s just achieved his dream. Mick tucks Steve’s bang out of frame—“I wanna see… your eyes… they’re so… blue.” They giggle to themselves and the… predicament they’re in.
Steve likes this—the feeling of being light. Out of touch from this world… a sense of freedom from corporal punishment and knowing he’s pathetic. Because he is. He’s so emotionally charged, it determines a lot of his actions. Like this one.
Maybe he isn’t a good person… but he can make Mick feel good. He would love to make Mick feel good.
So, he clasps his hand onto Mick’s crotch, eliciting a moan that opens the gateway to his desires… Steve’s tongue.
“Oh my God…” Mick is in a trance, a state of mind that can’t be left at will—who would want to leave? As their tongues glide against each other tectonic plates shift and rupture the earth beneath them. Mick slips a palm under Steve’s t-shirt, pulling it up with him until his chest is fully exposed to be bathed in the sun-rays. Mick forces himself to exit Steve’s mouth and dive into his chest, peppering kisses from one nipple to another, making sure he doesn’t leave without pinching it ever so slightly with bared teeth. He makes sure to soften the blow as he laps it up with his acidic tongue. Steve grips onto Mick’s head in absolute terror of losing his sanity whole. He’s not used to such intensity. He wants more. They both sing in moan as they ravage each other.
Mick carries on his journey of taking Steve completely apart, continuing to trail his kisses down to his abdomen. He perks his head up at Steve at snail’s pace. “Can I?” Steve somehow knows what he’s referring to in such a medicated state. “Yeah… please.”
Mick unbuttons Steve’s jeans and carefully peels down the zipper, pulling them down so he has better access to his boxers. Mick’s almost drooling—most likely from the weed and nothing else surely. He dips his hand in—the touch sends a chill all the way down Steve’s bones. The fleeting touches are breaking him down to mush. He is nothing if not putty for Mick to play around with.
“Jesus, Steve… how are you so…” Steve could fill in the gaps for Mick, a bit mortified at himself for it. He just wanted him to get on with it and- oh…
Mick’s hand is floating all over Steve’s appendage, mapping out every sector in awe. The friction has Steve writhing, kicking his legs in the pleasure of all. Neither of them seem to recall the fact that they’re in a field, out in the open, giving anyone around a chance to watch them eat each other. Steve doesn’t forget to address the grass though, fisting it as he braces for dear life.
Mick tries with all his half-conscious might to go faster, rougher, anything that’ll evoke a reaction out of Steve. It works, to an extent, as he coaxes out every moan he can, the pain reflecting in the way Steve scrunches his eyes locked shut, as if opening them would reveal all his deepest, darkest, secrets—but that’s already happening, isn’t it?
Steve’s cock is hard thanks to Mick’s generous efforts, tent forming in his boxers. Mick barely pulls them down, revealing his bulge in all its curves and edges. He notices his tip red and aching—he’ll have to fix that. He brings Steve’s cock over to his mouth, taking in as much as he can. Of course, he’s not used to giving head, so be immediately gags at the force and tilts his head back.
“Are… you okay…?” Steve peeks over at Mick, trying to keep his breath still.
Mick can’t bear to look at Steve, convinced he’s just ruined everything as usual… then Steve holds onto Mick’s head, carrying him back over. “Come on… please, Mick…”
When Mick gathers the courage to look at Steve, he sees those bright eyes pleading to be cherished. Oh, how can he refuse?
He brings his mouth back to the tip, making it his mission to bring Steve to God. His tongue laps around the skin, blood pumping as Steve is set on fire. The heat of the sun bakes him into something edible. Mick is eating every part of him. He gives a loose bite to keep Steve on his toes—“Argh, prick!”—Immediately to be soothed by Mick sinking further down his cock. Steve fears he may have enjoyed the aching surge. He won’t ask for it. He won’t—
“Can you… do that again?”
“What, bite you?”
Steve reluctantly nods. “Shut up…”
“Well, as you wish…” And so a routine plays out with Mick continuing to bring his lips up and down Steve’s cock as he grips onto his base, forcing Steve to hold his release. “F-fuck...”
Mick is oh so gentle with his bites, almost afraid to break the fragile skin. “I’m not… frail… go harder…” Mick huffs at himself. God, can he not do anything right? So he grips harder and drags his hand in a rhythmic motion as he laps up every last drop of precum. Steve convulses under Mick—he hasn’t got long left.
“Mick, please... I swear… I need to cum…” He tries to force Mick’s hand off but he won’t budge, until his lips come off with a *pop*, now shiny, and stares at Steve, unbeknownst as to what’s about to happen. “I’ll let go now…”
The release takes forever, electric shocks stabbing Steve for days on end. Yet, when it’s all over, he can admit that he has never felt such bliss. He glides across waters that carry him to shore. He’s sensitive to the touch, but allows Mick to lick off the cum that coats his stomach. It’s such an obscene sight. He’s so enamoured.
It’s not long until Mick asks for his fair share—he sheds off his t-shirt, shoving his tongue into Steve allowing him to taste himself. It should faze him, yet, it’s fine? It feels almost natural. The skin to skin contact sends waves of lightning strikes from head to toe. It’s so drowsy in here. “Here… your hand… put it down…” Mick grasps onto Steve’s wrist guiding it down his trousers. The slight friction is more than enough to arouse him. He’s been hard for way too long at this point.
Steve hardly knows what he’s doing, so he copies Mick—he unbuttons the jeans and pulls the zipper down to take out his cock and does the work needed to get him off. He can’t use his mouth as it’s occupied with Mick’s so he makes do with his hand. He doesn’t play rough, it’s not nice, and he wants to be nice to Mick—he can’t think of another way to treat him.
Moments pass and Mick is already spent after fighting off his own release for so long. Sweetheart. That’s what Steve calls him. “Sweetheart.”
“…Huh?” Mick is beginning to fall asleep, collapsed on top of Steve.
“…Never mind. It’s stupid-”
“No… it’s nice. I like it, honestly…”
“Oh… okay…” So Steve keeps whispering the term of endearment into his ear, hoping they’ll soon doze off as they burn under the weight of the sun’s warmth, and forget this ever happened of course.