Hypocrite
Fast and hard, one and done. Quick shower and get back home. That's how this thing Mickey had going worked. Find some man at a local bar or gym, fuck his brains out, go home and pretend he was straight. Though he wasn't sure who he was fooling, or for that matter, had to fool anymore. At this point, he sometimes wanted to cut and leave Svetlana, take Natalie and move someplace where he could finally just be. Could just fucking be himself. But the world was full of impossibilities and that was by far one of them. So Mickey settled for this. Except he was already screwing this up too.
"This is new," a voice beside him vibrated in his ear. Breath tickling his lobe. "Last time I remember you practically backed out of my house," he continued, "holding up a cross and hissing at me to get thee back."
Mickey laughed and elbowed the man in his ribs. He stretched his legs, cracking his ankle in the process, then rolled onto his stomach. The sheets were sticky but Mickey didn't mind. Folding his arms under his face, he breathed in the scent of sex and Cool Water, wondering what he'd just gotten himself into.
His bed-partner shifted about, sat up with his back against the headboard, squeaking the springs.
One and done meant never seeking out the same man twice. Mickey had been breaking that rule now for going on six times. He'd first met Tyler during the rock climb at the athletic club. Not really Mickey's type of activity if a person didn't know him. And actually, no one did. Mickey loved shit like rock climbing. Just anything active and somewhat risky, really.
"Well if you plan on getting crazy again," Tyler said, smirk to his tone, "do you mind getting dressed first?" He chuckled and thunked his head lightly on the headboard.
Mickey cracked an eye and looked at the fool. Kind of lanky with sandy brown hair cut short and choppy. Narrow features and one hell of a smile. Thin sole patch and mustache. Baby blue eyes that rivaled Mickey's own. He was nice to look at. And not bad in bed.
"Gina next door called the po-leece last time," Tyler piped, mocking his southern neighbor's accent and looking down into Mickey's open eye. His lips pursed even higher up, devious gleam in his eyes. He licked his teeth.
"Because I was fucking naked? Bet she liked it," Mickey said and his voice was scratchy. He cleared it by coughing into his arm a few times.
"Yeah, sorry about that," Tyler said, in reference to the coughing, boastful and he rubbed his knuckles into his chest and then blew on them. "Guess next time we'll give your throat a rest," he said, wiggling his brows and flicking Mickey's Adam's apple.
Fast, Mickey's arm shot out and grabbed Tyler's wrist. He twisted slightly, laughing at the other man's pained groan as he tried freeing himself. Mickey let go and sat up, pressing his own back against the headboard. He rolled his head against the wood and looked at Tyler with a small, soft grin on his face. Sated. He kicked the man's calf lightly, face relaxed.
Tyler blinked down at the action, smiled, and looked around the room. Mickey figured he wasn't staring at anything particular. And didn't mind that Tyler's attention drifted because frankly, Mickey wanted to study this guy's chest. The scars, beneath tufts of blonde hair, were curious.
Too bad Tyler had to go and ruin the moment.
"I like you, Mickey," Tyler suddenly said, licking his lips solemnly, as if he knew what was to come.
Mickey drew up his face, smacking his tongue, upset. He rubbed his face with both hands and growled in exasperation. "I thought I told you what this was," Mickey said. He punched the bed half-hearted and stood quickly. Put on his pants because he didn't locate, didn't want to bother finding, his boxers. As he buckled his belt, he said, "We had an understanding." The bed squeaked and Mickey tuned out Tyler's talking. He interrupted, "Well fuck it! This is fucking done now."
"No, wait," Tyler said, urgent as he reached for Mickey's shoulder while Mickey tugged on his shirt. He sighed when Mickey jerked free, pulled the shirt down, and glared at him. "Forget it," Tyler said, holding up his hands in surrender, eyes wide and pleading. "I didn't mean it like it sounded," he tried to lie. But god damn it was all over his fucking pretty face. That fucking puppy love.
"Don't!" Mickey yelled. He shook his head, spoke with his hands as he always did when he was angry. "You're a really piss poor liar, Tyler," Mickey said, nose wrinkled, brow knitted. He threw up his hands and started for the front door of the very small studio.
"Mick!" Tyler called out and Mickey's hair stood up.
"Don't fucking call me that!" Mickey shouted, whirling back around. His eyes grew crazy. He jabbed a finger in Tyler's direction. "Don't ever fucking call me that!"
"I'm sorry!" Tyler shouted back, his own features skewering up in self defense. He crossed his arms over his bare chest.
Mickey wondered for a split second when he missed the man putting on his briefs. "Shut up," Mickey said sourly. He rolled his eyes. "Just drop it," he said and opened the front door.
Tyler's laughter was sudden and off putting. Mickey heard it as he stepped outside.
"Oh okay!" Tyler yelled, voice growing more distant while Mickey continued down the stairs of the complex. "Yeah, go back to your sham wife, Milkovich! Have fucking fun with that! Call me when you stop being such a pussy!"
Mickey told himself the ball in his throat was a fluke.
