Archive of Our Own ^beta

trans·pose

tranˈspōz/

verb

There's something inherently terrifying about having Calum in his bed when it hasn't stemmed from a matter of convenience. Something about hearing nothing but silence coming from the rest of the house, about having no party downstairs that he could slip off to, and no parents home that he'd have to answer to.

What's slightly more terrifying is that Michael prefers it this way. Prefers not having to worry about the constant interruptions from drunken friends or noise complaints from neighbors that result in the cops showing up to shut the party down when Michael's only just barely gotten his hand down his boyfriend's pants.

Tonight, there's no one in the house besides the two of them, and Michael can feel fear crippling him from where it's buried underneath all the haze and smoke.

Lazily, Michael rolls onto his side, eyes trailing over the lean expanse of Calum's body. They're both naked, mostly for easy access whenever the mood inevitably strikes again, and because they're always naked when they're together, it seems. But that doesn't mean Michael gets any less impressed with the boy's body. The body that's his to touch and kiss and hold and fuck. Some days he can't believe Calum gives it all to him, that Calum lets him have it.

He's not an idiot. Michael knows he doesn't deserve to have it.

Finally, Michael's eyes land on Calum's face, taking in his boy's soft cheekbones, his even softer eyelashes that are pressed against the very tops of his cheeks since his eyes are closed. One arm is lifting a cigarette to his lips, slender fingers holding the stick in place while he inhales. Michael just watches, notes the gentle expansion of Calum's chest in his peripheral vision as the boy sucks the smoke in. Fascinated, Michael lets his gaze lower to Calum's chest, watches as it hitches for a second and then falls while Calum releases the smoke.

On the nightstand to Michael's right, his own abandoned cigarette still burns, halfway used before he'd rested it in a groove of the ashtray so he could watch the cigarette crumble and burn away to nothing. And he wants to take another drag from it, but he's too comfortable to move from where he's laying, so instead Michael reaches out and takes Calum's from him.

Without his cigarette in his hands to focus on, Calum finally looks back at Michael, and the look in his eyes is what makes Michael freeze. Some flecks of ash fall down onto the sheets during the brief pause between them, but neither of them attempt to clean it up or go to knock off the increasing amount that's collecting into an ashtray.

Michael's seen exhaustion before, but never like this. The way that Calum's looking back at him is how Michael imagines a boy destined for doom must appear, or a boy that's been kicked so many times he lacks the energy to get back up. Calum's eyes look far off and distant, like he's spent and sick of the world and blames Michael for the way he feels.

What makes it worse is that Michael's acutely aware of the fact that it's entirely his fault.

Calum was good before they collided all those weeks ago, and Michael wonders how he was able to make such a pure boy look so used. How he was able to suck the life right out of him and leave him as this shell of the shy, quirky person he used to be.

"Give it back." Calum says slowly, and for too many moments Michael's positive that Calum's talking about himself, about the life Michael's been stealing from behind his eyes. It's a few seconds after Calum reaches out to grab the cigarette from Michael's frozen hands that he realizes those words ran much less deep than he'd thought. "The cig, give it back."

It's been a little over a week since that night on the phone, since Calum murmured through the line that Michael was no good and Michael pretended he didn't hear it, even though he knew it was true almost more than he knows the sky is blue.

Besides, he's not the only one that's lying anymore. Calum's been pretending he never said anything. He keeps faking it right alongside Michael, like they have the potential to take this thing further when they both know it'll never last.

Calum's his smart boy, who's going to college next year to achieve the big things he deserves in life. Michael's just the inevitable ex that he'll end up telling all his friends about and warning his children about years down the line, when thoughts of this summer are just occasional memories that only dart through Calum's head on the way to pick his kids up from school, or on his way home from work when he swings by to get pizza for himself and his partner.

And Michael will be long gone, off somewhere far away wondering what could've been between them if he'd just been brave enough to whisper back to Calum that night on the phone that sure, he might not be a good person, but with Calum he likes to think he's getting better at being one.

"Wait," Michael whispers just before Calum can bring the cigarette back to his lips. His voice is raspy and unused after hours of silence, so it barely comes out at all, but its quiet enough in the room that Calum hears him anyway.

Calum shifts his body, more on his side now but still predominantly on his back. Michael forces himself to bring his gaze back to Calum's eyes from where it had fallen down to his soft lips. "For what?" He asks, and it sounds like there's an underlying bite to it, but Michael ignores that even though he knows he deserves it.

Michael shrugs. "Want to kiss you. I can't do that if you're smoking."

Calum scoffs, rolling his eyes before he takes a drag from the cigarette and then smashes it out in the ashtray beside himself. Michael feels himself frowning, and he tries to force himself to cut it out, but it feels like the only thing he's able to do in that moment.

"You only ever want to kiss me if I'm smoking, Michael." Calum says harshly, sitting up. He runs a hand through his hair, messing up his pretty curls, and then uses the same hand to rub at his eyes. Before Michael even has a chance to come up with a response to those words, Calum's declaring, "I'm going to get something to drink. You want anything?"

Dumbfounded, Michael just shakes his head. He stares at the grounded out cigarette butt in the ashtray while Calum climbs out of the bed, watches the soft strings of smoke that are still coming up from it every now and then.

Michael didn't pay much attention to similes and metaphors in school, but he's wise enough to piece together that he and Calum's relationship right now is a lot like that smashed cigarette. Damaged and done, forgotten as soon as one of them so much as looks away.

But still usable, if rescued and reignited. Even if that relight only buys a small addition of time, before it inevitably burns out for good and they both have to find a new one.

"No, sorry," Michael replies too late, shaking his head and reluctantly looking away from the ashtray. "I'm good, thanks."

Calum's stood up now, across the room, pillaging through a pile of clothes before he shrugs and slides on a baggy sweater from Michael's clean laundry basket that barely goes down to the top of his thighs.

"I'll grab us both a soda, in case you change your mind." Calum insists, and then he's slinking out Michael's bedroom door before Michael can say something stupid like how much he loves seeing Calum wear his clothes, or like how much he’s pretty sure he loves Calum.

He just watches Calum go, because that's all he can do.

The thing about Calum is that even when he's clearly angry and upset at Michael, with reasons that are pretty much always valid, he still never drifts too far away.

Michael knows he doesn't deserve that kind of devotion. That he doesn't deserve a boy who crawls into his arms when all he's done is wrong by him.

But Calum always does it. He always follows Michael, so willingly, and Michael's never strong enough to tell him that he shouldn't. Because the truth is, Michael needs it the same way Calum must.

Calum loves him, for whatever stupid reason he has for doing so. Michael knows that because it's so obvious on the boy's face every time they so much as look at each other.

Calum knows Michael cares about him, too, though. There's no way he couldn’t, not after what happened in Michael's bed that night two weeks ago, when he'd been so lost in his own head that he almost spat out the one thing he swore he'd never say to anyone. He'd played it off so horribly, too, but Calum had just let it go, because for them, pretending it wasn't happening was so much easier than acknowledging that it was.

He hears his bedroom door open, and he rolls over to watch as Calum walks back in and sets their cans of soda down on the nightstand. Bitterly, Michael notes that the cigarette in the ashtray has stopped burning.

Calum climbs up onto the bed, half sitting back on his feet and half kneeling. He looks down at Michael, his eyes soft and sleepy and full of things he clearly wants to say, but that Michael won't want to hear.

Michael still wants to kiss him more than anything, though.

Carefully, he sits up, and Calum squirms closer, kneeling between Michael's spread thighs. Michael wraps one leg around Calum's back, pulling him in, and Calum loses his balance and collapses forward into Michael's chest.

Once he's close enough, Michael grasps the back of Calum's neck with his hand, bringing the boy down with him as he lies back against the mattress. Calum stays near, their bodies touching almost everywhere, their mouths just centimeters apart.

Just as he's leaning up, Calum turns his face, and Michael's lips land on the corner of his mouth. He tries again, but Calum averts him more obviously, and Michael ends up kissing the boy's chin.

Grumbling, Michael whispers, "Baby, please, let me. I need to kiss you."

Calum snorts. "Why? You won't die if you don't."

And that's just it, that's the kicker. Michael's pretty sure that right now, if he doesn't get to feel Calum's mouth against his, he might not survive into tomorrow. He might not even last another second.

"Calum." Michael whimpers, and he won't even deny that he did, in fact, whimper. He'll whine and beg for hours if he has to.

It's not a very compelling argument, but Calum indulges him anyway, leaning in and slotting their lips together. He's basically planting them there, ready to let Michael take the lead because he knows Michael loves having the control.

But Michael doesn't deepen it, simply sighs against him and keeps his tongue out of it, slow and gentle kisses because that's all he thinks he's capable of right now. Calum seems caught off guard by the tenderness of it, if the way he squirms above Michael is any kind of tell.

"My shirt looks good on you." Michael murmurs, and then Calum's smiling so wide his eyes wrinkle.

"Yeah?" Calum asks, sitting up. He readjusts his legs so that he's straddling Michael's waist, and Michael actually finds it difficult to be happy about that sight, since he doesn't have easy access to Calum's lips anymore.

Calum reaches for Michael's hands, wrapping his fingers around Michael's wrists and moving them to his hips. Sighing brokenly, Michael spreads his palms over the boy’s tan skin, running his thumb along the cigarette burn scar marked there. It's not totally healed yet, still scabbed over from when he’d given the mark to Calum two weeks ago, but it makes Calum's breath hitch.

"Yeah." Michael reiterates. "You should let me fuck you in it."

Calum nods, leaning back down to kiss Michael hungrily. "I'll ride you in it, hm? Nice and slow, okay?"

Michael curses under his breath, chewing on his bottom lip. He looks down to Calum's hips, to where his hands are gripping them so tight it's making the boy's skin lighter around the edges of Michael's fingers, but he doesn't loosen his hold. Calum doesn't ask him to, either.

He wants to kiss Calum again. To roll them over and kiss him into the mattress and tell him he never wants to leave and never wants to let Calum go and how he feels so much for him that it keeps him up at night.

But Calum's too busy leaning over to find some lube in the nightstand drawer, and Michael's too busy pretending that the sight of his hands on Calum's waist doesn't make him feel a little more at peace with the world.

***

"Yo!" A female voice—too loud—shouts from behind him, and Michael recognizes it immediately. He's ready for the punch to his shoulder before he can even see Ashley, which is the only reason he doesn't yelp in surprise. "You're late, Michael, what the fuck?"

Michael rolls his eyes, turning his head to look down at her. She's dyed her hair since the last time he saw her a week or so ago. It's now an aqua color, drastically different from the pink she'd had before. There's glitter around her eyes, one of her party essentials, and her lipstick is slightly smeared.

Next to them, someone spills their beer all over the floor, but nobody moves to clean it. The people just laugh louder and try not to slip while they dance.

"I didn't realize I had to clock in for this." Michael spits back, and Ashley's lips twitch like she wants to smile.

She doesn't, though.

"Come on, they're waiting upstairs. Zayn just got here with the stuff." She informs him, waving him towards the stairs and shoving people out of the way to clear a path through the dance floor. Halfway up the flight, she pulls out a carton of Camels and offers him a stick, which he gladly takes. She lights his for him, and then her own, and then she keeps leading him towards whatever bedroom their friends are waiting for them in.

Ashley opens the door once she finds it, and a chorus of her name rings out from the people in the room. Michael follows seconds later, and he gets a similar greeting.

"Lock the door, yeah?" Zayn suggests, and Michael shrugs before he does so, sliding out of his jacket and draping it over the back of the chair Matty's sitting in. There's a joint between his lips, which Michael's finding increasingly appealing, so he holds out his hand, smiling when his friend places it between his fingers. Because he's big on fair trade, Michael gives him his half smoked cigarette in return, and it seems to be good enough for Matty, who just inhales it and blows the smoke out in Michael's direction with a wink.

Ashley's taken to a spot on the floor just beside Matty's legs, her back up against the base of the chair. Seemingly a subconscious action, Matty slides his fingers through her hair, soothing and friendly, and she presses up into it like a kitten being scratched behind the ears.

"Bro, c'mon. Take a seat, yeah?" Christo slurs, clearly high in the sky by this point. The tourniquet still around his arm makes that obvious, if the dilation in his pupils didn't already.

Michael plops down on the bedroom floor, right across from their dealer. Zayn's looking at him with careful eyes, as if his supposed tardiness is actually going to be a deal breaker of some kind. "What?" Michael blurts, annoyed.

Ashley kicks him, making a face which clearly aims to make him apologize for his smarminess. He just rolls his eyes at her, twisting the joint in between his fingers. It doesn't feel right. Heavy, suddenly. He didn't used to be such a hard ass about things like this.

(He immediately shoves down the thought he has that maybe Calum's turning him into more of an actual human being.)

"No, it's alright." Zayn reassures them, as if Michael was actually worried he might’ve been offensive.

Off to the side, Christo tries to stand up and falls down so hard the needles in the case in front of Michael jiggle a bit. Michael can't believe he actually considers the guy one of his best friends.

"Oi," Matty says suddenly. "You still fucking 'round with that boy from Irwin's party?"

The thing is, it's not a question that should irk him. In previous months leading up to the night Michael met Calum, he wouldn't have even cared about a question like that, which is probably why Matty has no problem with asking it, and why Christo has no issue with adding, "Gotta cut that shit out before we make the big move, Mikey."

The nickname crawls under Michael's skin, making him squirm in discomfort. It sounds too much like something Calum might say, all high and whiny in the back of his throat when Michael's jerking him off. He wants to tell Christo to fuck right off, but he can't, because then they'd ask questions, and Michael isn't sure he has any real answers.

Which is a lie, of course, and he knows it. Michael has all the answers; they're just not the answers he wants to admit.

"Yeah, so what?" Michael shrugs, taking a pull from the joint.

He notes Christo rolling over so he can look at all his friends, but it's Ashley who speaks. "He knows you're not sticking around, right?"

Michael sighs, pressing the heel of his hand into one of his eyes. "Fuck, lay off. He knows, alright? I told him weeks ago."

Christo makes a surprised noise, and Michael looks over to see him fumbling with the tourniquet, trying to take it off now that he no longer needs it. "He knows, and he's still staying with you? Is he coming with or something?"

Michael's chest tightens, and for a moment he feels like he couldn't breathe even if he tried. They've never had a serious conversation about Michael leaving, aside from that night after they had sex for the first time and that argument they'd had after Calum confessed he was going to Melbourne for Uni. But Michael can't help wondering if Calum actually would join him, if he only asked.

"Wait, what? No, he can't come, Michael." Matty chuckles, flicking away some ash from the cigarette. It blows into Ashley's hair, and she makes a horrified noise as she tries to shake it out. "The apartment's only so big, and we agreed it was just the five of us. Even that’s stretching it, mate."

Michael wants to argue that, to snap and say it wouldn't matter because Calum would be sharing a bed with him anyways. But then he realizes how obviously gone for the guy that would make him seem, and he chews his tongue so hard he thinks he might draw blood.

His phone chimes from his pocket, and he knows it's Calum without even checking.

His friends look at him expectantly, like they're giving him permission to answer it, but Michael just shakes his head, holding out his arm and reaching for Christo's discarded tourniquet so he can take his turn, because in this moment, shooting up is an easier reality.

***

Calum's house is dark when Michael pulls up. The lights are all off, like he suspected they might be, as are all of the other buildings on the street. He parks a couple of houses down, turning his car off and startling himself with the sudden eerie silence.

He gets out of the car, stumbling a bit, and then shuts the door quietly. As he starts walking towards Calum's house, he takes out his phone, dialing the boy's number without even checking the time.

Calum doesn't answer the first time Michael calls, so he tries again as he stands on the sidewalk leading up to Calum's porch.

"Michael?" Comes Calum's sleepy voice, whispered through the phone. He sounds nervous more than anything else, and Michael swallows back the idea that he only sounds that way because he's scared Michael is some ridiculous variation of impaired at this hour. He curses himself out for feeling guilty about the fact Calum has to feel like he's skating on thin ice around Michael.

"Come open your door." Michael says in lieu of a greeting. He starts climbing the steps until he's standing on Calum's porch, leaning up against the wooden railing while he waits. "And make it quick, I'm not getting any younger."

There's some shuffling, and then Calum's murmuring, "Yeah, okay. I'll be right down."

Michael ends the call, shoving his phone in his jacket pocket. While he waits, he eyes his car, making sure it's parked legally enough that he won't get a ticket during the undisclosed amount of time he'll be inside. It seems good enough, so he focuses his attention back on the door once he hears some movement behind it.

The door opens just a crack, and Michael chuckles before he leans in close, crowding Calum's limited line of sight. The boy scoffs, opening the door more fully, and Michael's mouth waters the second he sees him.

Calum's leaned up against the oak, clad in only some low hanging sweats. His hair's messy from sleep, his eyes puffy and tired. As if right on cue, he yawns, and Michael bites back a groan.

“It’s four in the morning,” Calum grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Michael just stares him down, watching as the realization that time’s never been a deciding factor for anything they do washes over the boy in front of him. As soon as it does, Calum adds: “My parents are sleeping.”

Michael just shrugs. “I wanted to see you.” And God, the worst part of confessing that to Calum is that it’s true.

Michael wants Calum more than he’s ever wanted anything in this world, and that’s what’s killing him faster than the drugs are.

Calum frowns. "I sent you that text six hours ago, Michael." Regardless of his words and how they sound an awful lot like rejection, Calum steps to the side, making space for Michael to walk inside. "My invitation didn't extend to whenever you fucking felt like finally coming over."

Choosing to ignore the bite in those words, Michael reaches out, moving a piece of Calum's hair back into position from where it'd frizzed out of place. And despite his obvious irritation, Calum doesn't flinch away, just lets Michael touch him.

"Okay, sure." Michael says, smirking. "But look me in the eye and tell me you don't still want me here."

Calum does look Michael right in the eye, and that's the only reason Michael can see the boy fighting back those exact words. He doesn’t want Michael there, but the worst part about that fact is he's not going to say anything about it. He's just going to let Michael stay because that's how they are, that's how they work.

Deep inside, Michael screams for Calum to kick him out, for Calum to demand what he deserves. But Michael knows he never will. When—not if—this relationship comes to an end, it's going to be at Michael's hands, and that's something they've both accepted.

"My parents are sleeping." Calum reiterates, motioning towards the stairs. "They're literally home right now."

Michael rolls his eyes, shutting the door that Calum's left wide open. Calum watch as he does so, his eyes seemingly glued to Michael’s hand, like that’s easier to look at right now than Michael's face. He gets it, though. Michael finds it a lot easier on his heart to not look at Calum directly. He's way too bright for all of Michael's dark.

"Then we'll be extra quiet, yeah?" Michael whispers, and he smiles when he sees Calum shiver. "C'mon. Upstairs, you little minx."

Calum laughs out loud, and Michael smothers the sound with his hand, raising his eyebrows in amusement. The boy nips at his fingers teasingly, and Michael chuckles.

"Okay, alright. Just be quiet." Calum warns, starting for the stairs. Michael follows him up, careful with his footing so that he makes as little noise as possible.

Calum's room is a couple doors down on the second floor, easy enough to find. He doesn't know which room belongs to Calum's parents, which makes him feel like the shittiest boyfriend on the planet, but he brushes that off because he's determined not to be brought down tonight.

Calum's on him the second he shuts and locks his bedroom door behind them, pinning Michael against the wall and gripping tightly to the collar of his jacket. Michael hums, pleasantly surprised, before he cups the back of Calum's neck possessively. It's always been a thing for him, holding Calum in a place so intimate, because he loves knowing Calum’s never let anyone else touch him that way.

He shrugs out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and the zipper scratches too noisily along the wall as it goes. Calum gasps, pulling Michael away from the wall, then glares at him. "I said keep it down. If my parents wake up I'm dead. And you're twice as dead for sneaking in."

Michael smirks. "You let me in, babe. No sneaking involved."

Calum rolls his eyes, but he's smiling widely. "You called me while loitering in my own front yard. That's pretty sneaky of you."

While they're on the topic of being stealthy, Michael decides to slide his hands over Calum's hips, then down, until they're cupping his ass through his sweats. Calum's breath hitches, and then shudders out all at once, his eyes sliding shut as he presses back against the touch.

"Sneaky. Didn't even see that coming, huh?" Michael says, nipping at Calum's jaw, and Calum giggles so hard it makes a similar sound bubble out of Michael's chest before he can even stop it.

"You're such an idiot, oh my god." Calum jokes fondly, grasping Michael's cheeks before he presses a hard closed-mouth kiss to his lips. Michael smiles against him, joyful and easy. "Take your shirt off."

Just like that, it's back to business, and Michael tries not to let his heart feel like its crumbling. Instead, he lets Calum walk away, heading towards his bed. It's smaller than Michael's, but he’s found that they don't need much room to make it work.

Michael pulls his shirt over his head as quick as he can, dropping it in the middle of the room before he scrambles to join Calum. He kicks off his shoes haphazardly, wincing when he hears them thump on the carpet, and Calum throws his hands up in exasperation. Quiet isn't something they're very good at, clearly.

"Get over here before you fucking break something." Calum laughs, and Michael shrugs before he clambers onto the bed. Calum scoots further up it, spreading his legs subconsciously, and Michael settles between them while he chases Calum's lips.

He flutters his fingers over Calum's cheek gently, and he feels Calum sigh underneath him. Seconds later, there's a hand falling over his, lining their fingers up, and Michael dives in to kiss Calum harder than he thinks he's ever kissed anyone in his entire life.

Calum shudders underneath him, wrapping his legs around Michael's waist like it’s muscle memory. He's digging his heels into the small of Michael's back, trying to get him closer, but Michael refrains, keeping their hips apart so they can make this last as long as possible.

"I was dreaming about you." Calum whispers suddenly, hot and heavy against his skin, and Michael stops breathing. "Before you called me, I mean. Was having a dream about you here with me."

He has to take a couple of seconds to calm himself down, closing his eyes and breathing slow, but he would argue his recovery time is pretty good, considering. "Hm, yeah? What about?"

Calum bites on his bottom lip, looking sheepish, so Michael uses his thumb to coax the flesh free from Calum's teeth. Leaning down, Michael kisses his swollen lip, listening to the way Calum hisses.

"Just." Calum starts, using his hands to pull Michael's hips flush against his. They both moan softly, and it's only now that Michael can feel just how hard Calum is for him, can feel it even through the thick denim of Michael's jeans. He can't believe he didn't see it earlier, since it's clear Calum didn't get like this just from a few minutes of kissing.

"Baby," Michael sighs, rocking down, and Calum whines. "Tell me, fuck. What got you like this, huh?" He buries his face in Calum's neck, teeth tugging at the skin just above his carotid, feeling his pulse hammering away as he starts sucking a mark there.

Calum arches up, tilting his neck so Michael has a larger palette to work with. He hums in approval, licking over the skin, and Calum shivers.

"It was—we haven't, um. We haven't done it, yet." Calum admits, obviously embarrassed.

Michael reluctantly pulls back, but not before he places a quick kiss to his masterpiece, like it's his signature. "Oh, really?" Chastely, he rubs his lips along Calum's jaw, before puckering them to kiss Calum on the corner of his mouth. "How'd it feel? Must've been pretty good, to make you so hard. What was I doing to you, huh?"

One of his hands trails down Calum's torso, gripping roughly at his hip, and the boy whimpers, trying to rock up only to be pressed back against the mattress. Pinned.

"You were, um. You had me face down, while you—shit," Calum cuts himself off, tossing his head back with an aborted moan. "Mikey, can you touch me? Just once, c'mon."

Michael chuckles, shaking his head slowly. "Face down while I what, baby?" He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of Calum's sweats, tugging teasingly, and the boy grunts in frustration. "Face down while I fucked you?"

Calum gasps, arching his back like the words have somehow made it impossible for him to sit still.

Then, Calum clarifies, "With your tongue."

Michael freezes, his body going rigid in surprise, before he collapses into Calum, burying his face against the boy's chest so he can moan as loud as he wants. It doesn't muffle the sound enough by any means, and Michael's about to apologize for his volume, but Calum doesn't even seem angry about it.

"God, Cal. I want that so bad." He doesn't even realize how true those words are until he speaks them out loud. "Will you let me have it? I want to do that for you."

Calum nods eagerly, pushing at Michael's shoulders. Michael obliges, scooting back so that Calum has room to roll over onto his stomach. He whines a bit once he's situated, rocking his hips forward, grinding onto the mattress. Michael's tempted to let him keep doing so, to watch as he gets himself off, but the thought of his face buried in his boyfriend's ass is much more enticing.

He yanks Calum's hips up so that he can pull the boy's pants off, and he chuckles when he finds he's gone without underwear tonight before he tosses the pants onto the floor a bit aggressively and pins Calum back down against the bed. Calum spreads his legs, making room for Michael to lay down between them, and the bed isn't very long, so Michael's legs are hanging off the end a bit, but he doesn't really mind. Can't be bothered to, what with the view he's got right now.

Leaning forward, Michael sucks a kiss to one of Calum's ass cheeks, reveling in the way the boy stills his entire body. It's like he's hyperaware of the sensation, so Michael gets a little ballsy and throws in a gentle bite to the flesh.

It earns him a soft moan and a "Please, Mikey," that goes straight to Michael's dick. The tightness of his jeans is increasingly becoming a problem, but he pushes his own need onto the back burner for now, much preferring the way Calum looks when he's about to have an orgasm at the hands of Michael.

Since he knows they don't have hours to kill—it's nearly half past four already and he has no idea how early Calum's parents like to wake up during the week—Michael doesn't waste any time teasing like he easily could, and usually does. Calum loves it when he does, has explicitly told Michael as much, but he seems to sense the twinge of urgency in the room, too.

Spreading Calum's cheeks apart, Michael hums, licking flatly over the boy's exposed hole. Calum makes a wounded noise, like he's been punched, and then it's muffled by Calum burying his face in the duvet.

That's a reaction Michael can work with, so he dives back in with more purpose, circling the tip of his tongue around the rim, threatening to dip in every now and again. Calum vibrates underneath him, his legs shaking, so Michael uses one hand to caress the back of the boy's knee comfortingly.

"You're so dirty, Cal," Michael murmurs, kissing hole once, just a ghost of a touch. "You know you can have my cock whenever you want it, and still you dream about me."

Calum sobs, muted slightly by the fabric, and Michael takes that as his cue to slide his tongue past the rings of muscle completely. It pulls a choked sound from Calum, and then he's grinding back against Michael's face, trying to get his tongue deeper.

Michael just lets him.

"F-feels so good, Michael," Calum whispers, and it sounds like he's holding his breath while he speaks, which sends a swarm of butterflies throughout Michael's stomach.

Michael pulls away, ignoring the protests of the boy underneath him. "Hand me your lube."

Calum nods, reaching over and grabbing the tub from underneath his pillow, right where Michael knew it would be. Too many times they've done this over the phone, Michael calling him at ungodly hours of the night and being only mildly surprised at how quickly Calum's able to get his fingers buried inside himself, Michael's name rolling off of his tongue like a prayer when he's not even in the same room.

He tosses the lube back towards Michael, who catches it with surprising dexterity. Michael makes quick work of uncapping it, squeezing some of the liquid onto his fingers and rubbing it around to warm it up. It's not flavored, so it won't be the best tasting experience Michael's ever had, but he's more in this for the reactions he knows it's going to pull out of Calum than for the amount of enjoyment he’ll get.

Suavely, Michael leans back in for another taste, unable to help himself now that he's been allowed to have it. This isn't something they've tried before, which blows Michael's mind, because Calum's the kind of guy that deserves to have his ass eaten every second of every day.

Basically, Calum just deserves a lot better than Michael.

With more purpose, like he's got something to prove, Michael brings a slicked up finger to prod at Calum's hole while he licks him, and the surprised noise Calum makes is entirely worth the unpleasant taste of lube in his mouth. It only increases in volume when Michael pushes the finger in all the way to the second knuckle, twisting for the angle he's learned so well. He could probably find Calum's prostate in his sleep, after how many times they've done this.

He pulls back, sitting up more on his knees so that he has a better range for his arm to move. Calum doesn't even seem disappointed at the loss of Michael's tongue; he's just squirming against the mattress and fucking down onto Michael's finger like that's all he needs to get himself off.

"Scoot your hips up for me," Michael breathes, and Calum nods into the pillows, keeping his chest and face against the bed while he lifts his hips and adjusts his legs so that he's on his knees. Michael hums happily, using his free hand to caress down Calum's back before it settles at the base of his spine.

Utilizing the leverage the new angle gives him, Michael pulls his finger out, smearing the excess lube from it onto a second, and then he's thrusting back into Calum with two. Calum shakes underneath him, whispering out soft curses that are mostly indecipherable since the boy's mouth is pressed against the mattress.

The best thing about having regular sex with Calum is that the amount of time he has to spend on opening him up goes down just a bit every time. So when Calum murmurs, "Hurry up and fuck me, my parents have work today, they'll be up soon," Michael doesn't have to worry that Calum's not going to be ready, or that he's rushing himself.

"So impatient." Michael chuckles, but he still obliges, turning his fingers over and pulling them out, because he does get the time constraint in this situation. This time around, they don't have the hours and hours that they usually do.

With his fingers no longer filling him up, Michael watches Calum clench around nothing, and it's so fucking hot, Michael bends down and kisses his hole, just because he can. That's just something he's allowed to do, and he's still wrapping his head around that.

"Do you have anything? Or do you want me to go bare?" Michael asks softly, because even though they've gone raw a couple times, he knows that doesn't mean he's entitled to take Calum any way he wants. While he waits for an answer, he trails his kisses up, up, up, over Calum's spine until he reaches the boy's neck, his chest pressed along Calum's back.

Calum sighs, lifting his body up a bit as he searches around under his pillow. "I don't think I've got anything. Don't wanna get up to look, though, just go without."

Michael nods, nibbling gently at the juncture between Calum's neck and shoulder before he closes his lips around the skin and sucks a mark there. He wonders if there's enough time left before their impending breakup for him to spend an entire night marking up every inch of Calum's body. He's almost entirely positive Calum wouldn't say no to a suggestion like that.

"Okay then," Michael says, unbuttoning his jeans so he can slide them off. He has to fight them a little when they get caught around his ankle, and he promptly tells Calum to shut up when the boy giggles at him, but even he can hear the fondness in his voice.

When he's finally naked, he gets back into position, kneeling behind Calum as the boy sticks his ass out for him. It's sinful, the way he sways his hips like he probably isn't even consciously aware of it, and Michael has to bite his tongue to avoid saying something he can't take back.

He uses one hand grip Calum's waist and hold him still, then uses the other to slick himself up. It's the first contact his dick has received all night, and he's a little jumpy, fucking into his own fist before he even really realizes he's doing it. He moans without meaning to, and at first he's a bit embarrassed about how desperate he sounds, but then Calum's turning his head to pout at him and say, "Don't keep it all to yourself."

Michael feels himself leak then, which is the worst, really, but he can't fucking help it. Calum's looking at him with eyes so dark they're almost black, cheeks all flushed, and he's frowning because Michael's got his dick in his own hand instead of in Calum's ass. Of all the things he could be mad at Michael for, that’s what he chooses to focus on.

"Turn around." Michael instructs, and Calum obeys without a question. He shifts himself onto his elbows the way Michael taught him to a couple weeks back, keeping his ass up in the air. And he looks so submissive like that, is the thing, and Michael can't help but moan softly as he guides his cock into the boy.

Calum mewls, pressing back to take Michael in faster than Michael's giving it to him, and for several seconds he just allows Calum to fuck back onto his cock, lets him use it to get himself off while Michael just holds still and tries to adjust to the hot, velvety squeeze of Calum around him. Entranced, Michael touches him all over, watching as his pale hand grazes over tanned, sweaty skin.

God, they're opposites in almost every possible way they could be. But like this, in moments like these, they know each other so well, and Michael finds himself wondering how something that feels as good as this could be so bad for the both of them.

"I need you to fuck me harder," Calum breathes, just a mess of pants that Michael can barely understand. "M'not gonna last long enough to go slow."

Michael gasps, but he only needs a second to register Calum's words before he's obliging, hands squeezing his boy's hips tight enough to bruise, but he knows Calum loves it like that.

He starts really fucking him, then, slamming forward and pulling Calum's hips back to meet him every time. The sound of skin on skin in the otherwise silent room is obscene and obvious, and Michael knows it's loud enough to be heard by someone if they were to walk down the hall right now. But he doesn't have it in him to go slower or gentler, and if Calum's sobs are anything to go by, he's pretty sure Calum doesn't want him to lighten up, either.

"God," Calum whines, one hand reaching out to grip the headboard tightly, and Michael finds himself watching that rather than his cock disappearing inside his boy. And really, Calum's ass should be the only thing he can dream of watching right now, but the longer he stares at Calum's fingers clenching and unclenching around the wood of the headboard, the more overwhelmed he becomes with an urge he doesn't think he's ever had before.

Collapsing forward, Michael plasters his chest to Calum's back, one hand leaving the boy's hips in order to slide up over his back, shoulder, and then up his arm, until it's settling right over Calum's, and then they're holding hands. Holding hands while Michael keeps fucking into him and keeps panting into his ear and Calum keeps moaning into the sheets.

But Calum just flexes out his fingers, making room for Michael to slide his own between them, and then it's a proper hold.

"Michael," Calum whispers, turning his head to the side. All Michael can see is his profile, but it's enough, and he lunges forward to kiss his cheek, temple, corner of his mouth. Whatever he can reach.

"Squeezing me so tight, Cal, fuck," Michael grunts against his skin, eyebrows knitting high on his forehead. There's no way he's going to last much longer, either, but he knows Calum's closer than he is, and nobody's even touched his cock yet.

Michael pulls back again, glancing down at their joined hands for several seconds before he looks back at Calum's face, all fucked out and blissful and it's beautiful, of course it is, but it's not enough. Michael can't see enough of him.

He slows down his thrusts until they're nothing but a subtle grind, and Calum's tensing up like he's about to rip Michael a new one for stopping. So before he can, Michael says, "I need you to ride me."

One of the things Michael adores most about Calum is that when it comes to things like sex, he doesn't even question Michael. It's like in the bedroom, his word is law, or something, and he's not sure if that's because Michael technically has more experience with sex out of the two of them, or if it's just in Calum's nature to give himself over like this. More than likely it's a bit of both, but Michael refuses to acknowledge the very likely reality that someone else might get to see Calum like this someday.

So, like he's just hardwired to do it, Calum nods, already starting to roll over before Michael's even pulled all the way out of him. He sits up then, flipping them, and he pushes Michael back against the pillows Calum had been moaning into before.

He straddles Michael like it's second nature, like it's his fucking job, and Michael doesn't think there's ever going to be a sight in this world that he finds hotter than this one.

Calum practically stumbles over himself to get Michael's cock back inside, fumbling forward and barely registering in time to stick out a hand to catch himself before he would've collapsed entirely. Michael laughs fondly and rubs Calum's thigh encouragingly, watching as the boy rubs the head of Michael's dick against his hole and then slowly—so fucking slowly—sinks down onto it.

He takes it like a pro—has ever since they did it like this for the first time a couple weeks ago. Now, Michael can tell it's become one of Calum's favorite positions. He's always suggesting it, offering to be on top like it's some sort of burden he's taking off Michael's hands.

Truthfully, Michael just likes seeing Calum have the control.

"How're you feeling?" Michael asks, because Calum hasn't said anything yet, but Calum's nodding before the question's even finished.

"Fuckin' amazing, Mikey. Love fucking you like this." He sighs dreamily, lost in his own world, and Michael frowns.

He doesn't want to be in separate worlds—not tonight. Tonight, he wants to look into Calum's eyes and know they're right there together, because someday soon, they won’t be. And he doesn't know if they'll ever get the chance to be again.

Reaching up, Michael grabs the boy's cheek, stroking his thumb along whatever skin it can reach. The gesture coaxes Calum's eyes open, and they're glazed over like he's still in a daze, but at least now they can see each other.

And then, as if the sweet touch has relit a fire inside him, Calum smirks. It's devilish and sexy, his little half smile, and Michael knows by the look alone that he's done for, even before Calum starts grinding back and forth.

Michael's breath hitches, and he chews roughly on his lip to keep the louder sounds he wants to make buried deep inside. Calum's less cautious, sighing heavily and gasping every now and then, his thighs twitching with pleasure whenever Michael must brush up against his prostate.

He looks magnificent like this, his back arched and skin taut as he works himself on Michael's cock. He looks so in tune with his body and what it wants, and that alone is hot enough to make Michael weak in the knees, enough to make him collapse, were he not already lying down.

"Jesus, Cal," Michael whispers, hands trailing absentmindedly over Calum's thighs. As an afterthought, he scratches his fingernails down them lightly, loving the way Calum throws his head back and curses as a result. "Your ass feels so perfect. S'like you were made to fuck me."

Calum falters, then, his body falling into Michael's as he buries his face in the crook of the older boy's neck. He's glistening with sweat, which Michael can see more clearly now, since the sun is starting to come up a bit. It's peeking through the blinds on Calum's window, creating stripes of light across the mattress and their skin, and somehow that just adds to the view. Michael almost wishes he'd filmed this, or taken pictures. He doesn't know what Calum would say to something like that, but he files it away for potential use later.

"You feel so big, Mikey," Calum pants against him, lifting his hips slightly only to shudder as he moves them back down. He keeps up the slow rhythm, sucking the breath right out of Michael's lungs every time. It's like he can feel every inch of Calum this way. Can feel as he slides almost all the way out, only to have Calum sink back down on him until he's buried in the tight heat once again, over and over again.

"Yeah?" Michael chuckles, but it sounds more desperate than it does cocky. "Am I filling you up good?"

Calum whimpers, nodding. "Feels so good, feels like—fuck, right there—"

Michael turns his head to kiss Calum's hair as he grinds up into the boy, meeting him halfway so that Calum isn't doing all the work by himself. It makes Calum bite down on Michael's collarbone to stifle his moan, so Michael keeps it up, planting his feet on the bed for better leverage as he fucks up into him.

"Show me how good my cock makes you feel, Cal," Michael says softly. He nuzzles Calum's temple, and with his mouth now closer to the boy's ear, he hisses, "I want you to fuck yourself on it. Make yourself come, baby. Fuck me to make yourself come."

No amount of biting could silence Calum's moan this time, and for a horrifying moment, Michael's almost positive it will have woken up the whole street. Michael laughs in shock, kissing Calum to cut the sound off before he murmurs against him, "Holy shit, shut up."

Calum chuckles, too, seemingly embarrassed. "Shit, sorry." His cheeks are flushed, but Michael knows that's got a lot more to do with getting fucked than it does with all the noises that he keeps making.

Calum pushes back up, rotating his hips before he stills, having found the best angle. He whimpers, fluttering his eyes shut for a moment, before he opens them again, and when he does, it's so he can find Michael's hands.

He pins Michael's wrists beside his head, pushing down on them for emphasis. Don’t move, it means, and Michael nods to show he gets it. He doesn't think he could move right now, anyway, even if the entire bedroom was on fire.

Then, so gently it almost doesn't seem real, Calum laces their fingers together.

"Calum," Michael whimpers, but this time, it's not because of how good he feels.

It's because Calum's looking right into his eyes, panting out his name while he starts grinding down again, riding him into the mattress. The worst part is his eyes aren't even challenging, like they often are when they have sex together. There's no hostility between them or any elephants in the room—at least, not right now. Tomorrow all of it might come back, and one day, it'll probably rip them apart.

But right now, in this moment, nothing else exists. There's nothing but Calum on top of him and Calum's hands in his.

Michael almost tells him he loves him.

He must say it with his eyes, though, because suddenly Calum's crowding his face, kissing him all over and Michael's just scrambling to give it all back to him. Calum's still grinding on him, slow but steady, and all at once Michael can feel himself hit the point of no return. Like going from not enough to way too much, suddenly.

"Calum, Calum," Michael chants, his head falling back against the pillows. He writhes underneath his boy, thrusting up a couple times to warn him, but Calum doesn't seem to get it. Not until Michael cries out, "I'm gonna come for you, baby. Fuck, I'm coming for you, I'm gonna—"

He feels his orgasm as it builds, starting in his toes before it just overtakes him entirely. It feels like an explosion, like every nerve in his body is on fire, burning him up, and he's pretty sure that for the first time in his life, he doesn't even make a single sound as he comes.

"Oh my god," Calum squeaks, sounding small, and when Michael forces himself to open his eyes that he hadn't even realized squeezed shut, he sees Calum squirming like he always does post-orgasm, but when Michael glances down, he can see Calum's dick is still hard and dark and shiny with precome. Which means he's teetering on the edge himself, but he can't quite get there.

Calum doesn't stop moving on him, and even though Michael's becoming increasingly oversensitive, he doesn't make him stop. Instead, he just frees one of his hands from Calum's death grip, wrapping it around Calum's cock to jerk him twice as fast as his hips are moving.

It's the push Calum seems to need, since he comes over Michael's fist and stomach only seconds later, panting Michael's name out like it's the only thing he knows. In this moment, maybe it is.

"Come here." Michael says before he can stop himself, his arm sliding around Calum's shoulders and pulling him closer. Calum just goes, falling into him so that they're chest to chest while he shakes through aftershocks. Off to the side, their hands are still entwined, but to his surprise, neither of them makes a point of letting go.

"Gross." Calum says a minute or so later, once Michael's pulled out and their breathing has slowed back to normal rates, and Michael frowns, offended. He makes a noise of protest, and Calum just giggles, shaking his head. "Not you, dork. Just, like—I can feel it in there, still?"

It takes Michael a moment to comprehend just what the hell Calum's talking about, but once Calum squirms his hips a bit, he realizes, and he feels his cheeks heating up.

"Oh. Oh, yuck, I'm sorry. We'll make sure to use a condom next time, yeah?" Michael suggests, rolling them over so that Calum's lying on his back. The boy keeps his hips angled up, so that the spunk doesn't drip out of him and onto his sheets, and Michael literally wants to die.

Calum's quick to shake his head, though, shooting down Michael's idea. "No, I like going without. But maybe you can pull out next time." He smirks, nudging Michael with his foot before he adds, "Besides, you know how much I love it when you come on me instead."

Michael rolls his eyes, but it's only to cover up the way his heartbeat skips and his dick twitches a bit at Calum's words. Calum used to be so shy and reserved about sex things—hadn’t even had another person's hands on his dick before they got together—and now he's whispering to Michael about how he's into comeplay. Amazing. Michael’s living the life.

In order to distract himself (and also to save whatever dignity or reputation he has left after tonight), Michael slides off the bed to go in search of something to clean them up. He notes sourly that he can't leave the bedroom to hunt down a washcloth, since Calum's parents might find him, so he grabs one of Calum's shirts from his dresser before giving the boy an apologetic frown.

Calum seems to get his reasoning, though, since he just shrugs and opens his legs so Michael can sit between them again. He manages to make something as potentially degrading as getting cleaned look like no big deal, which Michael finds pretty amazing. When Michael's done, he wipes off his own stomach, and then wrinkles his nose as he tosses the shirt to the floor.

"That shirt should be a pleasant surprise for your mum to find." Michael jokes, and Calum makes a show of gagging.

"You're so gross, why do I even hang out with you?" Calum laughs, pulling Michael down so they can lie side by side, facing one another.

It's quiet in the room, nothing but the sound of the ceiling fan whirring above them and the occasional car driving past on the street down below. Every now and then, a bird will chirp from somewhere in Calum's backyard, and it reminds Michael that the morning is officially approaching. That it's almost time for him to head out, even if he doesn't really want to leave.

"You know what you should do?" Calum whispers, just loud enough for Michael to hear him. His breath is warm on Michael's face, they're so close, but it still makes him shiver.

"Hm?"

"You should dye your hair." He suggests, eyes bright and wide. With one hand, he reaches out, trailing his fingers through the black fringe over Michael's forehead. "Something lighter. Maybe blond. You'd be a pretty blond."

Calum blushes after he says it, like maybe he started second guessing himself halfway through, and Michael has to swallow the lump that's building in his throat. It feels dry, suddenly, like he's choking, and he glances over Calum's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the numbers on the digital clock that's sitting on the boy's nightstand. Just past five in the morning.

He must be less subtle about it than he thought he was, because instantly, Calum's frowning. And instead of an angry frown, like it often is, this time it just looks hurt.

"You can stay, you know." Calum tells him, his voice cracking, and Michael feels his heart shatter.

"Your parents would kill me if they found me here. And then you, probably." Michael says back, and he knows it's the furthest thing from what Calum was hinting at. But that's why he says it.

Calum shakes his head, humoring Michael by pretending, even though they both know he doesn't give a shit about what his parents would say if they got caught. "Who cares?"

And then, with a heavy heart and a swollen throat, Michael chokes out, "I care."

It stuns Calum into silence, hearing those words come out of Michael's mouth. It's probably the most honest he's ever been with the younger boy, with himself, even, and that's what makes him look away from those beautiful brown eyes.

Calum doesn't fight him as he sits up, or as he climbs out of the bed. Doesn't say a damn thing as Michael slides back into his jeans and fixes his hair in the full length mirror Calum has beside his dresser before pulling his shirt on. He just lies there, watching, quiet as a mouse while Michael pretends he doesn't feel like a complete piece of shit.

It's only when Michael bends down to pick up his jacket that Calum sits up, one leg off the bed like he wants to run, and the other tucked under his body so he doesn't do anything stupid, like follow him.

"Please, stay." Calum begs.

And when Michael looks over at him, their eyes locking, he feels his exterior crumbling to pieces. He's all out of excuses, doesn't have a single card left in his deck, and Calum knows it.

But even though Calum whispers again, "Just stay," they both know Michael never will. Regardless of his lack of excuses.

So Michael just sighs, rubbing at his eyelids before he walks over to where Calum's sitting on his bed. Gently, he cups the boy's jaw, looking down into those pleading eyes that for a moment look almost hopeful.

He kisses him, soft and slow, so light it almost doesn't feel like anything. And it's not enough, not by any means, but it's all he can allow himself right now. If he stays here any longer, he'll only say something he'll regret, or make a promise he knows he can't keep.

So he just drapes his jacket around Calum's bare shoulders, and without hesitation, Calum slides his arms through the sleeves. It's slightly baggier on Calum, since he's more toned than Michael, but he still looks fantastic in Michael's clothes.

Then, after he kisses Calum's hair and listens to the boy ask him to stay once more, Michael says, "No."

When Michael walks over to the window, Calum doesn't move from his spot. He just watches from the bed with eyes so glassy with tears that Michael can see them from across the room. And deep inside, it destroys him to know he’s made the boy like this, but it's not enough to make him stay.

Nothing ever is.

Sighing, Michael pulls the blinds open, and he's met with a dim sky. The sun's peeking up over the horizon, just barely, but all Michael feels is darkness.

He slides the window up, sparing one more glance over to Calum before he sighs again and steps through it and out onto the roof. They'd smoked out here once, which is the only reason he knows there's a flower covered arch that serves as the perfect ladder for Michael to descend on. The last time he'd done this, he'd just told Calum there was no way he'd ever be able to fall in love with the boy. It had seemed logical then, but if only he'd known.

When his feet hit the grass, he looks back up at the second story window he'd come out of, only to find Calum slamming it closed. It makes him wince, the pointed way in which Calum shuts it, like he's declaring Michael has lost his opportunity. Calum gave him three chances to change his mind and stay, but now the window's closed. Michael's all out of chances.

He does his best not to look back as he walks over to his car, but it's hard not to when he can feel the heavy weight of Calum's gaze on him. It feels accusatory, and with every step Michael takes, the guilt just builds.

He unlocks the Shelby once he's reached it, yanking on the handle and opening the door. When he's got one foot inside, he caves, and he looks back at the boy he's trying so hard to feel nothing for.

Truthfully, the worst part of all of this is that he used to be able to pretend. He used to be able to tell himself it wasn't real love if he only felt it in dark rooms with drugs in his system and a beautiful boy underneath him moaning his name.

But now, he's standing outside in the Australian sunshine, looking up at Calum's bedroom window where the boy's staring back down at him, watching to see him off, and Michael's still in love with him.

And instead of running back over to the arch to crawl back through Calum's window to promise him forever like his gut is telling him to do, Michael just gets in his car, and he drives away.