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May has always brought the best weather in Cyprus. There are no thunderstorms, the heat isn’t scorching yet and there’s a lukewarm breeze that’s just the cherry on top.
Mick finds out this morning that Steve isn’t fond of cherries in the slightest. “Jesus, I feel like I’m being set on fire.” Steve is currently being driven from the airport over to Mick’s place to stay over for a couple nights—unless he keeps complaining, that is… “I really haven’t missed this, I mean, the weather—I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. But anyway-”
Mick rolls his eyes. “You know… I thought you’d be happy to see me after what, half a decade? But I guess I should have lowered my expectations by about 90%,” Steve chuckles and takes a glance at the man whacking his arm. He sputters, “Oh, stop! You’d be complaining too if you were still used to English weather.”
“Well, not exactly. See, I’m genetically predisposed to enjoy good sun and quiet beaches. But you guys on the other side aren’t used to such happiness. You can smell the despair from a mile away, honestly!”
It’s not like Steve can disagree. Really, he’s been anticipating the moment he arrived in Cyprus since he got the call—“Please, come over as soon as time allows it.” Lord knows he needed this. Or does he?
Steve had recently split up with Gobi and though he may not admit it to himself, it ripped yet another tear in what is already a tattered soul. Mick pities the poor kid, much to Steve’s own dismay. It’s the opposite of what he wants from him. Then he got an offer—“You can stay over as long as you like.”
It’s not like the opportunity is fully out the window. Yeah, the weather is crude and harsh on his skin, but, hey. sunscreen is always an option… even if its stickiness makes Steve want to itch all his epidermis off…
Living with Mick again, the last time was what, two decades ago? And that was a really torrid time. Maybe this time it could be sweet. The problem is, as bad as it may sound—Mick has a family, and he’s as happy as could be. It just rubs salt in the wound, but Steve can manage.
Until he sees young Metis, a toddler now, and then he thinks of his own Jude. It slowly creeps up on him and hacks his heart into deep scar tissue.
Mick invites Steve over to the office. It’s walled with windows that let the light seep in and give life to the abundance of plants that treasure the place. If Mick actually did any work here it’d be astonishing.
“So, I briefly mentioned it by the phone a couple weeks ago, but I’ve been taking up psychology classes for a while now.” Mick gestures for Steve to sit on the ottoman beside one of the many plants. Steve recognises this type easily—orchid.
“Oh? And how’s that going?” He tries not to sneeze as he’s being bombarded with the smell of nature—seriously, how does Mick stay alive in here?
“Well, I’m starting to come to the realisation that I might not want to burden myself with other people’s problems when I have enough on my plate already to deal with. Steve could only respond with a polite, “Oh,” as he tries not to blow his brains out with how much he’s holding in the urge to have a fit right then and there.
“But there is one thing I’m learning about in this course that has really piqued my interest. Come,” Mick waves a hand over for Steve to move next to him. He unleashes a bout of carbon dioxide that Mick responds to with eyebrows furrowed. “Is the smell bothering you? We can go somewhere else-”
“No, no, it’s alright, I swear.” Getting to step away from the dastardly ottoman was a really pivotal moment in whether Steve ever got to see daylight again. He feels immensely better just being closer to Mick. For reasons unrelated to the killer plants.
“Well, don’t be afraid to say it if something’s bothering you. I’m here so I can look after you,” Mick turns to the opened book and points to the name of the chapter typed up in big font so surely no one could miss it—‘HYPNOSIS’.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Mick, what the fuck are you getting into?” Steve has his hands on his knees, just bent a little so he can take a further look at what bullshit’s written about it. It’s what he expects, as he’s seen hypnotism before in film. That’s because it only works in films. Not real life.
“It’s not as quacky as it seems at first. I’ve looked into it and it just seems like something interesting to try.”
“...On me?” Steve jumps to his height and takes a step back, shocked at the revelation that Mick brought him over across the Mediterranean not to keep him company after such a recent tumultuous experience, but to practice his long-awaited experiments on him. Surely this counts as human trafficking to some degree—like they both would know.
“Well, actually, I’d love it if you could try it on me. But you’d hardly be equipped for it. I’ve been practicing for a couple weeks now.”
“Practicing on who?”
“...The mirror.” Both get a chuckle out of that. “I don’t think there’s any harm in it. And if I wanted to be hypnotised by anyone, I’d rather it be someone I’ve known all my life. I wouldn’t want you to go and do it with a stranger and come out not knowing who you are.”
“...Is that a possibility?” Steve hugs his arms, stuttering his words slightly.
“With the wrong person, maybe. Someone who would take advantage of you.” Mick crosses his legs and stares at Steve, trying to gague how he’s reacting to the prospect of being put under a spell.
“...Okay, tell you what. I won’t scare you anymore, but after this evening when we’re all settled, if you’re up for it, let me know. I’ll explain how it all works.” Mick puts on a warm smile, disarming Steve as his smile usually does. Dammit.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine by me actually.” It seems Steve may already be spellbound.
The day passes yet by dinnertime the sun still crawls on Steve like something, or someone, venomous and disfigured who wishes to prey on his blood. He shivers. Mick worries that he’s made him uncomfortable, reassuring him ever so often, “If you ever want to talk…” but it’s quite the contrary. Perhaps hypnotism is what he needs… what he’s desired for so long. To be able to release.
Steve has always been in control. Whenever Mick was in one of his near-fatal predicaments, he was his saviour in waiting. He’s saved his life too many times to count at this point. Perhaps, just for tonight, he doesn’t want to be the knight in shining armour anymore. Maybe this time Mick can save him… even control him.
Dinner feels like home, a place he hasn’t been in years—decades, even. Steve has grown so accustomed to the despair that indeed, he’s forgotten just how much love tastes like when it’s cooked by those who care. Mick turns food into a sort of memory, really. Steve wants to remember all of this. He wants every moment to count.
He’s sitting by the table, staring off into the sunset and doing his utmost not to look at sweet Metis next to him playing with his food. He feels awful, the kid’s done nothing wrong—but, he reminds him of Jude so much. He tried earlier to distract himself by offering to help out with dinner, but of course, being a guest, that’s entirely prohibited—“No, no, sit down!” Kyoko insisted, ruining Steve’s plans. Oh, aren’t they such a happy couple. Get a grip, Steve.
Plates of food ornate the table and Steve’s nostrils are much less assaulted compared to a couple hours ago. Mick made sure not to go too off beat this evening—they just prepared the most perfect bowl of pasta that nearly brought tears to Steve’s eyes. He’s almost cried about six times in the past few hours that he’s arrived at Mick and Kyoko’s house, but he’s managed to keep it down.
“I hope you enjoy it. If anything’s wrong, tell me,” Mick takes his seat, “But you won’t have to.” He smirks to himself at his own flattery, then immediately grimaces as he rejects the concept of self-praise. It coaxes a giggle out of Steve though, and that’s all that matters to Mick.
The meal, as expected, is succulent. The sun sets after long conversations concerning milestones the reconciled pair have missed together and milestones they hope to achieve together. Then an incident with Metis occurs, involving food and a lot of tears, which results in an early retreat to the cot.
“She’s so good to him, Kyoko is… I hope I can be a fraction as good of a father. And husband…” Mick says the last part in a quieter tone which Steve easily catches. He doesn’t want to figure out how he feels about that, so he hums and gets up from his seat, picking up dishes to go to the sink for washing. Of course. Mick butts in and takes over the ordeal of washing up.
“Mick, would you just let me do it-”
“Here, dry them then.” Mick hands Steve a cloth, who takes it begrudgingly.
“...You know, Mick.” He perks up to the sound of his name.
“I was thinking about that hypnosis thing, and… I’m up for it. Really.”
Mick almost drops his plate. “Oh, are you sure? You’re really willing?”
“The more I think about my life, what I’ve been through, what I had to do to get to where I am now in this current stage of life… I think- I think it could help me a little bit.”
Mick studies him carefully. “And also,” Steve returns the exchange, “You owe me. For all these years.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Mick states. He looks off toward the sink, then back to Steve. “Once we finish up, we’ll head over to the office.” And that was that.
The dishes were sorted into separate categories in the cabinets. Everything was in order and going according to plan. Therefore, to see Mick so solemn back in the office was unprecedented. “You seem more worried than I am.” Steve wonders if he’s doing something wrong by being so calm and collected… at least, compared to six hours ago.
“No, it’s just…” Mick motions for them both to sit down, “I’ve never done this before so of course I’m gonna be nervous—and I don’t want anything to go wrong in any way.” He glares at the lino floor, ringing his hands around as he drops his notebook onto his lap. This just makes Steve squirm.
“I mean if you think something’s gonna go wrong, why didn’t you say that before?” The tension is consuming him, so he barks at Mick despite himself.
“...Yeah alright, okay then.” Mick relaxes his shoulders and smiles at Steve in that same reassuring way. “I need you to be aware of how the process of hypnosis works—it will start with me bringing you to a meditative state, to calm any nerves and help you focus. Then, when you enter that state of deep consciousness, I will start to, say… suggest certain things that should make you come out feeling better about yourself. You’ll be in control the whole time, don’t worry about anything.”
Steve wanted to argue about the necessity of being fully in control during the whole process but decided against it for Mick’s sake. “Are you okay with being a subject in this?” Mick asks.
“Of course.”
“Then, I think it’s time. Sit back for me.” The sudden shift compels Steve to follow his every word—he hasn’t even been put under hypnosis yet but truthfully… he’s content to let Mick take over his limbs at any stage. That’s a thought for another time, however.
“I want you to close your eyes, firstly.” Steve’s left eye closes before his right.
“Take a couple breaths for me. Breathe in…”
Inhale. One… two…
“And breathe out…”
Exhale. One… two…
The pattern slowly morphs into muscle memory. Mick isn’t ordering Steve around anymore; he’s simply in his own world where all that matters to him is whatever Mick tells him to do. He observes his behaviour. It seems he really wants this. I could make him do anything. He grimaces at the idea—but—it’s an experiment, and the research must take priority.
“And now, ease the tension in your shoulders… let go of any fears of worries that you hold… any traumas you may have endured—let it all go.” Steve’s shoulders smooth out and placate themselves, grabbing onto every piece of Mick’s commands like Bible. He witnesses his actions, noting them in his book.
“Relax every muscle in your body—starting with your arms.” Steve visibly loosens his arms. “Spread your palms flat on your thighs.” They mimic each other, their movements synchronous as if they are forming a type of telekinetic choreography. “Focus on relieving the tension in your arms… then your fingers… keep breathing in and out…”
The meditation continues until they reach Steve’s toes, in which by then he’s under complete subduction. Was it really that easy this whole time? He can hardly believe that to be the case. Nevertheless, he persists with his experiment. The notebook is filled with pages of studies, along with a quick drawing labeled ‘Fig. 01—Stage 2: Deepening.’
“Now, I want you to think about a pool. The deep end of it. Imagine you’re standing at the edge, and as you slowly descend the stairs, you submerge yourself into the water. It’s warm and inviting… it envelopes you like a liquid blanket. You stay still in the pool, letting the water take you.” Mick repeats himself for such a while, “Let the water take you… let the water take you… take you… take you…”
Those two words drill a hole into Steve’s ears, the sound that pours from Mick’s lips abrasive until it deconstructs his mind to a clean slate. All doubts and worries have chipped off the cliff. All Steve can concentrate on is the taking. How the water takes it all. He submerges into the pool of his deepest desires—he wants the water that surrounds him to be filled with Mick’s touch.
“At the snap of my fingers, your state of mind will be temporarily altered. Your focus should improve—and should intend to better your wellbeing.” He counts down from three to one, and then with a click something hungry forms within Steve. Mick begins his ritual.
“I want you to focus more on the water and how soothing it is.” The water calls Steve back to his mother, a figure of harsh light in the abyss that terrorises Lewisham. His childhood was frightening and the present is too—yet, perhaps there can be safety. A beacon in a lighthouse.
As of this moment in time, Mick and Steve are gathered in an office, but it could also be considered as a beach. Steve’s psychological state shifts from the pool to the ocean in search for a grander view on life. The lighthouse appears before him, standing tall on its rocky platform. Steve dips a foot into the ocean—he carefully climbs further down until the sand completely vanishes from sight and all there is to witness is the different shades of blue—royal azure, ultramarine.
“The water will help you swim through all your darkest moments. You tread through these waters with ease, overcoming all obstacles that may ruin your path. You will get to the other side with the courage you’ve always had, Steve.”
Mick floats beside him. Together they trail deeper through the ocean current. Neither of them needs to say a word. This is enough. Night approaches and the crescent raise the stars with it. Steve has never seen a sky unpolluted from the disturbance of unnatural lights. This is his mother calling. He senses her touch, or is it… no. This is the touch of a man; one he recognises with simplicity.
The muscles in his back blow off steam as calloused hands massage them with every intention to fully recover Steve from any pain withheld over these last few weeks. Steve is trying to keep the engine running, but this is his last stop before he crashes. Mick helps to slow the train of thoughts down to stall.
“You are going to transcend into an even greater person as you swim, from one end to the next, whether deep or shallow, you will transcend… mmh…” Mick contemplates as he caresses Steve’s shoulders, I shouldn’t be doing this, fuck. Yet, he persists in what is already ‘too far’—it’s not like Steve can’t feel this happening to him… that’s the point, really.
So, Mick takes it one step further and spreads a palm out toward Steve’s chest. It’s a vast and barren desert of skin that Mick latches on to with a perverse delight. He might as well further the immersion in Steve’s altered state.
The waves become choppy but the bashing and pounding is therapeutic to a damaged boy. Steve feels liberated from all his fears, knowing wholeheartedly Mick would never hurt him. His throat tightens under Mick’s touch and Steve wishes he could collapse under his weight and become completely useless if not to be Mick’s boy. To be his boy—that sounds nice.
The cotton shirt Steve had worn becomes one with the sea, drifting away into the horizon. It’s not a massive concern—the feel of Mick’s chest lightly grinding his shoulders chills his spine from Heaven to Earth. Steve could fly over the moon and come back safely ashore, as Mick carries him over to lay on the sand and take in the serenity of Nocturne.
At this point, Mick doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to—however, he also simply can’t. He has shocked himself with the overwhelming power of the boy who lays below him, fit to be torn apart. Mick’s already torn off his shirt—both their shirts. Admittedly, this wasn’t part of the experiment… unless it was, in his subconscience, which would require another notebook, one that hasn’t just been thrown wherever.
Oh, what’s the fucking use. “Steve, open your eyes.” So, he does, with those languid and lustful green eyes that beg Mick to finally just take him and rip him into a whole being once again—and what he asks, he shall receive.
“Kiss me.”
Steve brings his head up to connect his lips with Mick’s—the perfect puzzle piece. They’re soft and so, so inviting. Mick grips onto the edge of the chair with all his might to try and keep them stuck together. If the chair falls, so do they.
The sand coats their half-nude bodies as Steve peppers kisses all over Mick’s face like it’ll be their last encounter, until the stars shine as fluorescent again. This way he can call back the taste of his cheeks. The subtle breeze cools the heat they share as Steve comes back to service Mick’s plush lips—he pries them open with the tip of his tongue, asking Mick for some connection. Of course he returns the favour, as Mick’s tongue curves and swirls upon Steve’s and they moan each other’s serenade.
Steve is a siren to Mick—his voice could always lead him astray. He listens to every sound intently.
“Hng… Mick…” Steve can hardly contain himself, “I… tell me what to do. I’ll do anything, I swear,” in which he does. The poor boy has dreamed of this moment since he set foot upon Cyprus. It’s the least Mick could do to offer Steve peace of mind, as was the point of this session. This is still an experiment, after all. Supposedly.
Mick thinks of Kyoko and Metis. His family. The times they spent together at the beach early in the morning, where nobody was about so they could steal the view all for themselves. Or all the dinners they’ve cooked together, that Mick had to salvage before the entirety of it burnt to a crisp because the oven is like a century old and it’s impossible to work out how long it must take before smoke starts to escape, staining the roof in soot.
Then he thinks of how he’s practically on top of Steve, bare chested, legs spread, lips parted revealing his pearly whites. Unstained.
“Y’know, I love your teeth. They- they’re my favourite part of your face.” Mick admits shyly, staring at the floor again like before this session where everything has changed now. He knows he can’t go back. He has to look at God straight in the eyes and tell him, ‘This is what came of us. So what harm? I love this.’
I love this.
“Kiss me again.”
This time Steve almost jumps out of his seat to clash his mouth with his. He grabs onto Mick’s torso and crushes them as tight as humanely possible. His focus is on Mick. Mick is how he’ll transcend past his separation, his loss of self. He’ll find himself again through Mick’s salvation.
“Mick… Mick… Please, I need you,” Steve begs for anything he can hold onto as long as it involves Mick. He captivates him, every corner of his mind flooded with thoughts of Mick. He’s broken and born anew. Tears well up from how fresh he feels—like it’s his first time back on Earth after years of living from a far, far distance.
The way Steve looks up at Mick like he’s birthed him sends him into a spiral. It’s intoxicating, yet… This was not the outcome he expected from tonight’s session at all. “Oh God, Steve, what have I done? I’ve ruined you-”
“No, no, you’ve saved me, Mick. Really, I appreciate it. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to take care of me.” Steve’s wet eyes move their gaze over to Mick’s crotch, where a tent has set up right where his cock is. Steve almost drools. Mick would be ashamed if this wasn’t what they both truly wanted after all. Can you still call it an experiment?
Then Mick realises—Steve won’t take any action unless assigned to by Mick. The consequences of hypnotising someone to follow any suggestion you make.
“...Unzip.” A smirk plasters Steve’s face as he grabs the zipper of his jeans and pulls it down excruciatingly slowly. He gives a playful look to Mick who’s currently working on the urge not to punch his arm. He holds his breath to hide any groan that may end up waking the rest of the house.
At last, the zipper is open and Steve doesn’t hesitate to yank down Mick’s underwear. His cock bounces up and whacks his stomach hard, eliciting a moan from Mick. Precum spills from his tip and Steve can’t resist the slip of tongue that escapes his lips. He dives in, grabbing the base of Mick’s cock and licks up every last drop that leaks from his tip.
The scene occurring below Mick is debauched. He can never look Kyoko in the eye ever again. He’ll have to become a deadbeat father, leave it all behind—but this… this moment is worth it in every single way. Mick tries not to cry at the conflict his brain is producing. He needs to hold onto something, so he purses his fingers through Steve’s hair. It’s so long, and soft… Steve could be a woman. No, he couldn’t. He’s Steve. God.
Steve’s ambition to coat Mick’s cock in his spit for lubricant as he pumps with his hand coaxes out every moan that he could possibly have. He could never say it aloud, but this is the best head he’s ever received in his life.
After a couple more minutes of pumping and sucking and licking and worshipping, Mick comes with spurts decorating his tanned stomach. Of course, because Steve is so good, he laps it up like spilled milk on his plate. He claws onto Mick’s stomach and practically purrs at his own decadence.
Then he beams at Mick like he is made of those stars from the beach and asks the question.
“Are you proud of me?”
Mick doesn’t know how to answer this. He feels like a father, or more likely a mother. He wants to give him praise, but whatever he says will determine the rest of this session, if not their entire relationship. He just wanted Steve to get better.
He takes the easy way out and shoves his mouth into Steve’s to shut him up for a while. The taste of his own cum is… interesting.
He presses a knee onto Steve’s crotch, forcing out a flurry of quiet moans. He sounds so soft it could send Mick to sleep. For a moment he thinks of the times they spent holed up together in a hotel room, Mick trying to fall asleep while the other fended off curtains. That… was also their first time.
Maybe they can have another time like that tonight.
With some effort, Mick flips them over so he can sit down and look at his angel above him.
Mick isn’t a religious person by far.
However, when the moonlight bleeds through the window curtains to illuminate Steve in all his glory, how could he not look like he was sent from the skies?
Steve gives him one of those sultry smiles and Mick immediately gets to work. Half of the job is done already, he just needs to undress Steve, which he does so without any poise, almost pulling the zip off in desperation. He tries to push Steve’s jeans down, but he protests—“Just let me do it,” and so gets off the chair. He oh-so-delicately pulls down his jeans, allowing them to pool around his ankles. Then, he stands there, hands behind his back. Waiting.
Mick can’t stand this any longer. He wonders if this is really the hypnotism or Steve is just playing tricks with him. Yet he complies.
“Strip.”
Steve, tantalizingly, removes his boxers, pressing down on his swollen cock the whole time, moaning at every touch. The show perks the interest of Mick’s own cock, a little rubbing slowly bringing it back to hardness.
Eventually, the boxers fall, but Steve’s cock pops up ready to be ravaged. Precum leaks from his tip, a droplet painting the floor. Mick will have to clean that later, but not now. They’re almost there.
Steve strolls over and gets down on his knees, hands laid flat on his thighs. This time, Mick knows what he has to do. He grabs his cock and sits forward, feeding it to Steve. “Suck.”
Steve follows his command with pleasure. His tongue is pliant as it wraps around Mick’s weeping cock once again, electricity pulsating through Mick as Steve’s saliva soaks every part of him. He pumps rougher than ever, and, as a treat, he fondles his balls which almost sends Mick to overdrive. “Steve, I’m gonna-” Then with a pop his mouth comes off, a bit of drool spilling out. The denial frustrates Mick, so close to redemption, but he understands the reason.
It’s not a substitute for lube, but saliva will have to do. There is definitely no backing away from this now—but who would?
Steve picks himself from the floor and tries to balance himself on the chair. It’s awkward and janky but then again when are they ever not? Steve grabs onto Mick’s shoulders for balance, then Mick licks his fingers ravenously. He wants to make it easy for Steve—for them. He puts one finger in his hole to try it out. He can tell Steve isn’t used to the sensation, so slowly edges it further in. “Okay?” Mick asks. With a nod Mick goes for a second finger, same process, digging them in, curling the tips and manoeuvring about until he has made space. Without intention he ends up hitting the prostate—Steve’s groan is guttural and desperate.
Mick can’t wait anymore. He sets up his cock right below Steve’s rim. They both look at each other like they’re teens again. Mick just has to say the magic words, and they’ll be transported to that time again.
“Take it.”
Steve takes his time sliding down on Mick’s cock. The breach is painful, causing him to hold his breath for a minute. Mick starts to worry that he’s already hurt him, that he’s made an awful mistake. Of course he has. However, that mistake does not dare concern them. In fact, the wait makes it all that much more horribly beautiful.
The feel of Mick’s cock entering is smoother than expected. The friction is perfect. Eventually Steve bottoms out and both let out an obvious groan at the sting. Yet, soon they remember everything—how the pain soothes into divine pleasure. Steve starts to bounce up and down in rhythmic patterns and Mick guides him to bliss as he searches for his prostate. The smack is getting to Mick’s head a little bit. Was sex always this good?
“C’mon, Mick, don’t be ridiculous- ough…” Finally, Mick finds his spot. He was destined to, really—they’re a puzzle for a reason. Mick giggles at his sudden intrusion of Steve’s complaint but not before moaning at Steve giving his nipples a twist. In an act of sweet revenge, he nibbles at one of Steve’s. The sensitivity brings Steve to whimper. Mick wasn’t expecting that. He’d like to hear more of that. “Oh, Mick, stop…” He whimpered as often as Mick bit and licked each of Steve’s nipples with great attention, his chest soon red-raw and soaked in spit.
At this point, it doesn’t matter who is watching, all that matters is that they’re here, in the office, or in the beach, finding each other again.
Steve becomes ambitious, shifting up to Mick’s tip and sliding straight back down his base. He doesn’t last long, already hard and aching beforehand. “Steve, I’m close, wait-”
He halts to give Mick a minute, in the meantime stroking his own cock for release. “You’re about to cum- hng- twice already and I haven’t even started? A bit- ough- unfair if you ask me.” Mick is too gone to even construct a proper sentence, staring at Steve’s cock, red and leaking precum all over the chair. What a sight. “Oh my God…” Mick’s cock twitches inside of Steve, the movement enough to bring him to release, spilling onto his stomach. Mick hits his prostate for two more rounds before finishing, Steve’s anus warm with Mick’s spurts. Just like old times.
They both collapse into each other, fatigued from sex they haven’t had in years. This might be a turnaround. With a last burst of energy, Mick snaps his fingers. The click does nothing.