Michael hated to admit it, but the extra pay he had gotten from Crowley really helped him. Not only had he replaced the worn-out socks and underwear for his brothers, he had gone and gotten himself tested. Most of his clients were considerate—or cautious—enough to use protection, especially if Michael specifically asked, but he could not afford to be picky if they refused.

The appointment was bad enough: Michael's cheeks burned as he was asked how many partners he had had. He watched the woman's expression switch between scorn and pity as she tried to read him. He wished people would just mind their own business. What was worse than the appointment, however, was the wait for the results. He continued working during that time, but he thankfully had no issues with clients. When the doctor's office called him three weeks later, he practically pounced on his phone and nearly sobbed with relief at the news. He had not known he was so worried about it until it was over, and he celebrated by buying a tub of ice cream for the four of them to share.

"What's the occasion?" Lucifer asked, though he was certainly not complaining.

"Just some extra tips," Michael lied. "And all of you have more than earned it."

"Thank you," said Raphael, for who manners were the one thing their father had drilled into his head before he left. Michael nodded at him and turned to regard their youngest brother. In all his eleven and a half years, Gabriel had never gone this long without talking. He was not even looking at his brothers as he shovelled ice cream into his mouth, half of it ending up all over his chin and cheeks in any case.

Michael laid a hand on Gabriel's arm. "You are going to make yourself sick!"

"So?" said Lucifer as Gabriel looked up at Michael in shocked sadness. "The kid might never be able to get sick off of ice cream again."

"Fine," Michael conceded. "But I am not cleaning it." He cleared his bowl, leaving the rest of the tub to his brothers; he did not have much of an appetite anyways. Even though he had been on the street the past two nights, he had gotten no clients, nor had anyone contacted him privately. Tonight did not look promising either: Michael had gotten no messages or calls. He checked his phone, preparing to be disappointed, but felt his stomach drop when he saw the text icon. He disappeared into the bathroom to check it and was immediately glad he had.

The number was not saved in his phone, but it did not have to be. Michael stared down at the words burning through his screen: 'Round two? –C'. Finding his mouth suddenly dry, his thumbs fumbled over the keys: 'What time?' He had barely completed the walk down the hall to his bedroom before he felt the next buzz. 'Is nine-thirty acceptable? –C'. Michael texted an affirmative and glanced at the clock. He had two hours, and it took him an hour to get there.

As he did every night, Michael got showered and ready in about half an hour. He told his brothers that he had been called into work early and left, even though he had a little more time to kill. He had learned his lesson about showing up early when he had accidentally interrupted a high-class dinner party. The man hosting had had to make up a clumsily executed lie as to who Michael was, and his pay had taken a significant blow. As such, Michael loitered around the variety store at the end of the bus route for twenty minutes or so, actually managing to make twenty dollars off of a pitifully short blow job. Before he left, Michael bought a pack of condom and a pack of gum, making use of the latter during the walk to eradicate the unpleasant taste the obviously drunk and bladder-deficient man had left on his lips.

A few more lights were on as Michael walked down Crowley's street due to the earliness of the hour. He tried his best to stay out of these, unsure of how much gossip the neighbourhood sported. The knocker was somehow less intimidating this time, as was Crowley when he opened the door.

"Come in." he said quietly, holding the door open as he had the time before. "Did you buy yourself something nice?"

"I bought myself a doctor's appointment," Michael mumbled, not really wanting to go into detail.

Crowley stopped abruptly and turned. "Are you alright?" he asked in genuine concern.

"Better than I thought I would be, actually," Michael replied, surprised at the older man's reaction. "Not disease-ridden anyways."

"You're not a dog," said Crowley in annoyance, again offering Michael a drink that he declined. "Stop talking about yourself like one."

"Am I on the clock?"

"Not yet, though technically that's up to you."

"Then I will not apologize for something for which I feel no remorse."

Crowley sighed. "You're a piece of work."

"Then work me," Michael retorted boldly.

"Not yet. Few things I wanna settle with you. First off—" He removed a folded piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to Michael, who skimmed it quickly. "I happen to be in the same boat you just boarded."

Michael nodded and handed the medical records back. "So I assume you're going to request bareback?"

"Depends. What goes?"

Sighing, Michael listed his stipulations. Usually, clients only asked for the list when they were going to try to convince him to do something he said he would not. "No scat, nothing that will result in serious injuries. Other than that, anything goes. Just do not ask me to call you 'Daddy.'" A despicable whale by the name of Zachariah had forever scarred him against that kink.

Crowley made a face. "I say it in jest, but I would never practice it."

Michael remained silent.

"Alright, so that's what you won't do," Crowley continued. "But what makes you uncomfortable?"

"What?"

"You know, you'll do it but you despise it."

Michael looked cautiously at him. "Why?"

"So I know what not to do to you, obviously." Crowley gave him an odd look as has said this, but Michael ignored it. He did not particularly want to answer the question, but he had a feeling he would not be left alone. "Cross-dressing, fisting, rape play, three-ways, and foot stuff."

"Those are all perfectly reasonable," Crowley agreed. "And last but not least…safeword?"

"Safeword?" Michael repeated in surprise. Crowley only looked at him expectantly. "Is 'stop' not enough?"

"If that's what you want it to be, then 'stop' it is," said Crowley nonchalantly.

Michael began to get an odd feeling in his gut. He had actually been very eager to have been hired by Crowley again, mainly because it had been handsome pay for a rather run-of-the-mill job. But now, when asked about a safeword, Michael began to think he had been mistaken. "Why? What did you have in mind?"

Crowley appeared offended. "And ruin the surprise?" he scoffed. "I think not."

"Oh," said Michael in a small voice.

"Come along," said the older man, heading down to the bedroom. After removing his shoes and socks, he left Michael on the rug as he made his way to the closet. "Hang on," he said, and then added casually: "I want you in your pants when I turn around."

The command took a moment to register, but Michael had plenty of time to comply, since Crowley had disappeared into the closet. Michael could hear some faint rustling.

"So I figured I'd make it up to you," Crowley's voice floated out of the closet, "for not getting you off last time."

"I told you, I do not—" Michael began.

"Hush." Crowley emerged from the closet with his hands behind his back, kicking the door shut behind him. "Down on all fours, since you seem to think yourself a dog."

Michael dropped. "That was not what I meant."

"Oh, wasn't it?" There was a warm hand on Michael's shoulder suddenly, and he felt something cool encircle his neck. It took him by surprise, so he let out a little gasp. The collar was a simple thing: black leather with silver studs and a ring on the front.

"Look at me," Crowley commanded, pressing a hand under Michael's chin to meet his eyes. "Yes, perfect." He straightened up, two fingers hooking into the ring at Michael's throat to drag him to his feet. "You," he said, "are exquisite." Moving suddenly, he pulled Michael forward to kiss him, then turned and pushed him forcefully onto the bed. "And you're mine."

Michael barely felt the mattress hit his back before Crowley was on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head. He gasped again, mere moments before he felt the other man's lips on his. Crowley's tongue slid deftly into his mouth, and Michael was helpless but to part his lips for him. His head was spinning from the suddenness of it all, and a quiet moan left the back of his throat as Crowley palmed him through his briefs.

Crowley's hands left Michael's wrists to travel down his body, tracing light circles over his pecs. He nipped at the younger man's lower lip, tugging slightly. Michael's hands came down to Crowley's shoulders, but they had barely alighted there before Crowley pulled up, frowning down at him.

"That's not where I put them," he growled, and Michael immediately let go, blinking up at Crowley dazedly. The latter's hand disappeared into his jacket, and a flash of silver accompanied it when retracted. Michael's wrists were caught in Crowley's other hand once more, and a rattle and click sounded with the press of cold metal against them.

"Better," Crowley decided, and then bent down to kiss at Michael's collarbone, as well as the soft hollow beneath it. The area was just as sensitive as his neck, and Michael jerked as Crowley sucked at the skin. The chain running through the headboard pulled the handcuffs tight against his wrists and prevented him from grabbing onto the other man.

Crowley sat up again to remove his suit jacket and tie, tossing them off the bed. He undid the top button of his shirt as leaned down to leave a trail of kisses from Michael's shoulder down his chest. His tongue circled the other's nipple before his lips latched on around it, causing Michael to issue a high-pitched moan.

Michael was not entirely sure when his apprehension for the situation had dissipated, but it had long been replaced with pleasure. He pressed his chest up into Crowley's mouth, sliding his feet up the mattress so his knees were bent on either side of the older man's waist. One hand still gripped his wrists lightly, despite the handcuffs, and the other travelled down to run teasingly along his waistband.

"Crowley…" Michael groaned, dragging out the last syllable. The addressed looked up and smirked, tongue flicking out over his lips. "Touch me…" Michael breathed.

"You're going to have to beg for it," Crowley informed him, hooking a finger from both hands into the younger man's waistband and sliding them down agonizingly slowly.

Michael was most certainly not above begging. "Please," he whimpered. "Please touch me…" He let out a shaky breath as his cock was allowed to spring free. "Oh, God…please, sir."

Crowley let out a chuckle, slipping Michael's briefs all the way off his legs and running his hands back up them. Michael shivered at the warm roughness that seemed to touch every nerve at once. Through half-closed eyelids, he spied Crowley smiling down at him approvingly, as if admiring a piece of art—or a particularly tender piece of meat. Michael twisted his hips to try to brush his cock against Crowley's hand, but that only prompted a reproachful noise from the other.

"You get what I give you," Crowley scolded him. His shirt joined the pile of clothes on the floor before he kicked off his belt, folding it in two. He pushed back on Michael's knees to bare the backs of his thighs before delivering a sharp strike. Michael cried out, pressing his head back. He could feel his cock pulsing, but could not reach down to relieve it. Crowley brought the leather against his flesh once more. "Are we clear?"

"Y-yessir." Michael nodded frantically, trying to look down his own body at Crowley's hands, and was only half-relieved when he heard the belt hit the floor a few seconds later. The sting had momentarily distracted him from the pressure in his groin, which seemed even more urgent now that the former was fading. "Please," he gasped again, and nearly sobbed gratefully as Crowley bowed his head. His relief was short-lived, however, as he felt a mark being sucked into his hip. His cock twitched as his feet fell weakly back to the bed. Crowley's hands were still on his knees and he pressed gently, spreading Michael's legs. His hands travelled down his thighs as he did this and he ran his thumb lightly over Michael's entrance.

Michael let out a breathy whimper. "No please, please touch me." He would have been lying if he claimed he would not enjoy Crowley's fingers inside of him, but his cock ached for just one touch.

Crowley ignored the request, instead pressing two fingers to Michael's lips. "Get 'em wet," he ordered, and the younger man took his fingers in, sucking and licking at them.

"Good boy," Crowley praised, sliding his fingers from Michael's mouth and grinning impishly at the flushed expression he wore. He ran his fingers over Michael's entrance a few times before pushing the middle digit in.

A sharp moan burst from Michael and his wrists strained against the cuffs. He adjusted to the width of one finger quickly and only grunted when a second was added. Crowley's gruff voice pierced his consciousness.

"Hm, that just won't do at all, will it?" Michael whined as he was suddenly empty again and found himself disagreeing with Crowley's words. The hands travelled from his thighs to his ass, spreading his cheeks. He registered dimly the noises of the mattress creaking and a fly being undone before Crowley's lips were against his entrance. Michael cried out, curling his toes in the sheets.

Crowley issued a low moan and the vibration travelled all the way up Michael's body, only increasing the burning in his cock; he imagined the older man was stroking himself at the same time. Crowley's tongue slipped past the tight ring of muscles and he twisted it inside, effectively loosening Michael up.

Michael made a few strained noises pushing out another plea. After a mere few seconds—agonizing though they were—Crowley pulled up and finally took Michael in hand. The younger man did let out a sob then, a shaky desperate thing. "Oh, Crowley…oh!"
Crowley wasted no time in beginning to stroke Michael, working himself at the same pce. Because he had so long been denied it, it did not take long for Michael to climax, coming apart with a cry when Crowley's thumb rubbed over his head, but the older man did not release his grip. Guiding Michael through his orgasm, Crowley reached into his trousers pocket to remove the key needed to unlock the handcuffs.

When Michael's thoughts surfaced again, he was aware of Crowley kicking off the rest of his clothes and felt a gentle slap on his side.

"Turn over, love," Crowley purred, and knelt as Michael shakily rolled over. Crowley adjusted the collar around hi neck so that the ring was at the back, then gave it a sharp tug to bring Michael up to his hands and knees. The fingers on his other hand toyed around Michael's entrance, ensuring he was still loose. Crowley knelt between Michael's calves and replaced his fingers with his cock, which provoked a whimper from Michael and a groan from himself. He anchored Michael's hips with one hand and pulled on the collar's ring with the fingers on his other.

Michael gave the smallest of coughs as the leather bit into his airway, and he kept his head up straight to relieve the pressure. He moaned as Crowley's cock rubbed against his prostate. The older man's hand tightened on his hip, and Michael knew bruises would accompany the hickey that was already there. He let out quiet cries as Crowley slammed into him repeatedly, but they were lost beneath the former's moans.

If Michael had had less self-control, he would have allowed himself to get hard again despite his recent climax: the pressure on his prostate was never released, as Crowley's size ensured he was pressed snugly against it even as he thrust.

Gradually over a matter of minutes, the hand on Michael's hip shifted up until it gripped his ribcage right below the arm. Crowley was bent over Michael at this point, though he still kept backwards pressure on the collar so Michael could not drop his head. His hot breath rushed over Michael's already flushed skin, and his hand travelled farther up his body to grip his shoulder from beneath. His fingers dug into the skin once more and he tugged on the collar sharply as he released, hissing in air.

With Crowley's seed filling him, Michael's moan was cut off by the closing of his throat and he choked. The pressure was relieved a few moments later; as soon as Crowley had worked through his climax and let go of him, Michael's shaky limbs gave out and he dropped to his stomach.

"Good boy," said Crowley almost absently, trying to catch his own breath. He sat laboriously against the pillows beside Michael, running a hand possessively through his hair.

Michael made no reply, but he turned his head to the side so he could breathe around the pillow. His body felt limp, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. He drifted off momentarily when Crowley got up, sleep clouding his brain against his will. He woke up to a cool wetness on his legs and was surprised to see a fully dressed Crowley gently cleaning him up.

"What are you doing?" Michael mumbled fuzzily, propping himself up on his elbows to look back at the other man.

"What's it look like?" came the reply. Crowley paused in his ministrations to take a small box from the nightstand drawer and place it by Michael's hand. "I have a proposition."

"Hm?" Michael acknowledged, inviting him to continue as he opened the box.

"I want you to wear that," said Crowley, "until you see me tomorrow night." He unfastened the collar from Michael's neck.

Michael frowned at the plug inside the box. "What happens if someone else wants to make use of me between then and now?" He closed his eyes tiredly as the cool cloth soothed his skin once more.

"You won't let them," said Crowley. "Because I'll pay you double for both nights."

"Have you nothing better to do with your money," Michael challenged, placing the box down by his hip, "than to waste it on prostitutes?"

"Just the one," Crowley replied smoothly. He gently eased Michael's thighs apart. "If it makes you feel better, you can pretend I'm paying you for twenty-four hours straight. Although," he added thoughtfully, "there are plenty of other ways you can work yourself."

"Fine," Michael agreed with a yawn. He had taken worse deals. "Does that mean you want the same time tomorrow?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Crowley confirmed. He slid the plug in, but Michael barely felt it. "I'm sorry I've ruined the prospect of the rest of your evening."

"S'alright," Michael heard himself mumbling. He was almost asleep again when a strong hand helped him stand up. He leaned against Crowley for a moment before he became aware of what he was doing, and shuffled over to get dressed.

"I suggest you get a good night's sleep," said Crowley, taking note of Michael's sluggishness.

"Probably," Michael muttered, heading for the door. Crowley's voice once again stopped him.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What, do you want a kiss goodbye?' Michael did not usually resort to sarcasm, but he just wanted to sleep.

"No," Crowley laughed. "But I'm certain you'd like to get paid."

"Oh." Michael blinked to wake himself up a little. "Right." Even half asleep, he could still count quickly the bills that were placed in his hand. "Seven hundred? But that would mean—"

"Three-fifty, doubled," said Crowley. "I think tonight was worth more than last time, don't you?"

"I guess that's up to you." Michael shrugged.

"You know you're supposed to set your own rates, right?"

"You have already exceeded them."

"No less than you deserved," said Crowley conversationally. "Would you like a ride home?"

Even though Michael was dead on his feet, the 'No thank you' had escaped his lips before he could stop it.

Crowley nodded. "See you tomorrow, then."

Michael fell asleep on the bus on the way home and nearly missed his stop. He ignored Lucifer's surprised questions as to why he was home so early and went straight to bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.