Milo/Mal NSFW (Patreon)

A/N This is NSFW. There was a prompt on Tumblr that got away from me so I decided to post it here. :) Enjoy!

The tap came lightly against Malcolm’s hip, but it was just enough to shift Malcolm to the side and make him spill the tea he was pouring. He turned his head slowly towards Milo, leveling him with one of the patented looks that was meant as a warning. One of those ‘you’re on thin ice’ looks. The problem with that was Milo enjoyed being on thin ice. Relished in the feeling, in fact.

“What?” Milo asked innocently as he batted his eyes. The dramatics were out today. 

“You made me spill my tea,” Malcolm said calmly.

Milo only gasped, clutching his chest as if he wore a set of pearls and fanning himself with his other hand. “Whatever are you going to do? There’s a mess in your kitchen. The world might be ending.”

“I like clean things.”

Milo hopped up on the counter, scooting his ass across the spilled tea and soaking his jeans. For the most part, Malcolm kept his counters fairly clean, not wanting to over crowd them. There was only a salt and pepper shaker nearby. That didn’t stop Milo from embodying a cat, however, and knocking the salt shaker onto its side.

Malcolm sighed. “Are you serious right now?”

“My mistake.” It was said with that shit eating grin that said if Malcolm didn’t put a stop to this, he was going to do it again. And again. And again.

Sure enough, the pepper followed the salts demise.

Malcolm watched the little flecks of black scatter across his counter, swirling with a few drops of hot water and the spilled salt. It wasn’t a big mess. He would be able to clean it with one wipe. Milo had this way about him though. Like never closing the cabinets in the kitchen. Not putting the sponge back where it belonged on the edge of the sink. Leaving his coffee mugs in the sink itself instead of washing them. He wouldn’t say Milo was a slob but… no, he actually thought Milo was kind of a slob.

A slob that was for some reason attention seeking. The comparison to a cat was not far off.

Wiping his hands on a tea towel, Malcolm kept his movements even. He set aside the rag, made sure the stove was off beneath the abandoned kettle, and then, he hauled Milo off the counter and practically slung him over his shoulder. Milo yelped at the sudden change in scenery, laughing as he wriggled out of Malcolm’s grasp. He bounced back a few steps as his feet hit the ground, looking at Mal with that feral little grin, squatting at the knees.

“You gonna fight me, Albright?”

Malcolm easily fell into stance. “If you want to lose, sure.”

“Ha! Like you could. You got the drop on me because I wasn’t expecting–” A loud ‘oof’ escaped him as Malcolm barreled forward, shouldering him in his center of gravity. Milo went down quick and Malcolm made sure to reach out and cup the back of his head to break his fall. It was this move, unfortunately, that gave Milo the chance to roll the two of them, grabbing at Malcolm’s hands to pin them above his head while his hips ground down against the lower portion of Malcolm’s stomach.

“And he’s down,” Milo called out, as if he was some sort of sports announcer. “It’s clear this season that Malcolm Albright has been working his upper body strength but it is no match for the perfect adonis that is Milo Next.”

“Adonis?”

“It’s what the people think.” Positioning so Malcolm’s wrists were pinned beneath one of his hands, Milo began trailing his other hand down Malcolm’s arms. His sides. Suddenly his hips were rocking in an entirely different way.

“Is this fighting or foreplay?” 

Milo tipped his head a little. “Both?”

“Aw. Then I’m doing this wrong.” He flipped them quickly, the two of them rolling across the room, elbows and knees hitting areas where neither particularly wanted to be hit. Milo was laughing beneath him though as Malcolm was able to situate Milo’s legs beneath the couch while Malcolm sat on his stomach. Milo’s hands came to grasp Malcolm’s hips, thumbs dipping into the deep v that appeared as the artist's sweats drooped low on his waist.

“Call mercy,” Malcolm told him.

“Never.”

Malcolm stretched his back, arching it just so as he pulled his shirt off. He could feel the twitch of Milo’s cock beneath his ass and he watched as the man's pupils dilated. Milo had a thing for Malcolm’s scars. Always had. He was pretty sure the man hadn’t even looked twice at him when he had boobs.

“That’s playing dirty,” Milo muttered.

“Is it?” Malcolm began rolling his hips, feeling the flex of Milo’s fingers against him. “You could get up at any time,” he pointed out. “I’m not holding you down, really.”

Milo knew, however, that Malcolm would stop. Not for the first time did Milo think that Malcolm was some sort of sadist. Masochist? He wasn’t really sure what applied here. But he did know that if Milo dared to move out from under him, if he ‘won’ this little wrestling match they had, Malcolm could hold out for days, keeping Milo hard as nails until he was on his knees practically begging the man to just give him some sort of relief. He knew this because it had happened time and time again. 

But Milo was a fighter and he wasn’t going to go down easily. Or at least that’s what he liked to tell himself. 

“Fine,” Milo said. “You play dirty, I’ll play dirty, too.” He reached up, running his fingers over the scars, his nail scraping over the white lines. He wanted to touch Malcolm. Reach between his legs and make him feel good. But Malcolm was not one that enjoyed being on the receiving end of sex. It took a lot of years for Milo to understand that instead of take offense to it. What Malcolm did like, however, was seeing someone else achieve pleasure.

Slowly, Milo pulled out his dick. It was red and weeping at the tip, asking for the briefest of touches. He saw Malcolm’s eyes tick down, growing darker at the sight of the cock sandwiched between them. When Milo began to stroke himself, he made sure to moan loudly, pulling his legs up a bit so they were braced between the sofa still but bracketing either side of Malcolm.

“Fuck, Mal,” he panted. “So fucking good. I want to be good for you.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Stop with the porn shit.”

Milo only moaned louder though, swirling a thumb over his slit. “Wanna watch me cum?” he asked, lashes fluttering. “Want me to get off right here, all over my hand. My chest.”

“No. Because I’m sick of you making a mess.”

It was the wrong thing to say. “I mean, if you wanted to contain that mess….”

Malcolm wanted to tell him no. Wanted to get off him and tell him to go get off in the shower. Leave Milo whimpering with dissatisfaction because the man had always enjoyed pleasure derived from his partners as opposed to himself. But the other part of Malcolm, the one he didn’t like to acknowledge too often, wanted to win. Which meant, playing at Milo’s own game.

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips over Milo’s, feeling the chapped skin and the rough drag of his five o’clock shadow. “Bet I could make you cum in just under a minute,” he told him.

Milo laughed. “I do have some more years on me now,” he told him. “It’s not that easy anymore.”

Challenge accepted. Malcolm stood, shucking off his sweats. Milo only had a brief second to register what was happening before Malcolm straddled him again and sunk down on his rigid cock. The wet heat enveloped him and a broken whine tore from Milo’s throat as Malcolm began to ride him, not letting either of them get used to the sensation. Milo arched his back, hands scrambling for purchase. 

“Fuck,” he cried out.

They didn’t do this. Not really. Milo couldn’t remember the last time he had been inside Malcolm and the sensation was overwhelming. Malcolm’s walls gripped him to an almost painful degree, clenching at him until his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he was hissing pleasured moans through his clenched teeth. In the end, all he could do was hold on as Malcolm fucked him fast and hard, clenching his walls around Milo until he was screaming in release.

Malcolm bent forward as he felt Milo pulse inside him, feeling the hot spurt of cum coat his thighs. His own orgasm took hold of him but he kept it quiet, not wanting to really give Milo the satisfaction. Not that Milo was able to form a single, coherent sentence at the moment.

Laying on top of him, Malcolm eyed Milo’s sweaty face, hair damp at the temples. He was breathing harshly, blinking up at the ceiling as if he had just seen god. “I win,” Malcolm told him.

Milo blinked. Swallowed a few times. Then nodded. “Uh huh.”

Laughing, Malcolm stood, holding out a hand for his boyfriend. It was with some effort that he pulled him upwards, not wanting to admit that his own legs felt like jelly after that. “We’re going to go shower now,” he said. “Then, you’re cleaning the kitchen after your little tantrum.”

“‘Kay,” Milo muttered.

“Then we are going to bed.”

Milo was leaning against him slightly, head dipping down to rest against Mal’s. “Sexy bed?”

“Normal bed.”

“I hate that idea.”

“Then stop ruining my house and just tell me you want attention instead.”

“It was salt and pepper, Mal. I didn’t ruin your house.” He was yawning around the words, soft and pliant against Malcolm’s side. “Wash my hair?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. Apparently, Milo was still feeling a bit needy. He couldn’t blame the man. He had gone a lot of years without the knowledge of touch without expectation. Or touch that was kind. He felt safe now. He felt like he could ask, in his own, weird little way.  

And Malcolm liked giving.

“Get in the shower,” he told Milo, shoving him forward a bit. “Start the water and get it warm like I like.” Milo nodded, somewhat dreamily. When the door shut, Malcolm just sighed.

He needed to go clean up the salt and pepper before he did anything else.