Page 77 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

It’s Mike. That’s his voice, and he’s here. He’s here. This is Mike’s home, and Toby is standing on his porch with no fucking clue what he’s going to say. Mike will open the door and find Toby standing there, fish-mouthing like an idiot who’s lost all higher brain function. What was he thinking, coming here without a plan? Because that’s what it is: he’s got no plan at all except ‘find Mike’.

Well, he did. Now what?

The door opens before he locates an answer, and yes, that’s Mike, and he’s wearing swim trunks—only swim trunks. His face is briefly obscured behind a towel as he dries off his hair. “How can I—”

He catches sight of Toby and promptly drops the towel.

“Hi,” Toby says. “I’m looking for Michael Staten?” His voice sounds foreign in his own ears, tinged with an unfamiliar roughness. He lets his gaze travel from the towel at Mike’s feet up, up to find Mike staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.

“Toby?” It’s quiet, barely more than an exhaled breath.

“Uh. Well.” Toby clears his throat and inhales air that tastes like sand and summer. Then he offers his hand and hopes that his grin turns out rather steadier than he feels. “Tobias Millen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Mike blinks. He glances down at Toby’s hand before his expression transforms into one of open, raw desperation.

“Yeah, fuck that,” he grits out. The next thing Toby knows, his hand is knocked aside and Mike takes a rough hold of his shoulder, pulling him in so that their bodies collide. Toby catches himself with a flat hand on Mike’s naked chest, barely registering the sting of pain when his injured pinkie scrapes over Mike’s skin.

“I take it” —relief inflates the space behind Toby’s ribs— “you’re not going to kick me off your property?”

“Shut up,” Mike tells him, and that’s not very nice, but the sunshine paints him in gold and bronze, and when Mike ducks his head to claim Toby’s mouth in a bruising kiss, Toby’s lips are already parted.

This. Just this.

It hurts a little when Toby’s shoulder hits the edge of the doorframe, then he’s all the way inside, and the dizzy moment is enough to remind him that he needs to breathe. He tears his mouth away to inhale, lips skidding over the edge of Mike’s jaw. The wall is hard against Toby’s back, Mike warm and solid against his front and Jesus, just, “What is it with you and pushing me up against walls, seriously? Is it a control thing?”

“Whatever keeps you here.” While Mike’s tone is light, his eyes are serious, uncertainty hiding in the curve of his tentative smile, and that, now that is just wrong. Toby needs to set this right, only he almost forgets there even is an issue when Mike shoves a thigh in between his legs.

“I am here,” Toby manages. It’s an effort to make his voice work when all blood is rushing downwards. “Do I look like I’ve got other plans?”

Mike pushes closer, sucking on a patch of skin just below Toby’s right ear. He pulls back once the spot aches delicately, a clear sign that Toby will find a mark later on. The thought makes him grin.

“Not right now,” Mike says, belated. He waits for Toby to meet his eyes. “But you took a cab from the airport, right? How often did you think about making the driver turn around?”

Touché—Mike sees more than Toby realized.

Strangely, though, it only serves to spark heat along Toby’s spine. He gets a hand around the back of Mike’s neck and strains up to kiss him again, pushing his whole body into it. Mike comes easily, curving over Toby, Toby’s shirt sticking to Mike’s damp skin. The front door is still open next to them. Toby spares a momentary thought for his suitcase, then kicks the door shut anyway—whatever, it’s just clothes.

“I flew ten hours to see you.” He grabs Mike’s shoulders, using the leverage of the wall to shove him back, takes a quick glance around to take in what little he sees of the house: old wood, some living room kind of space further up ahead. Definitely too far. Without giving Mike the courtesy of a warning, he drags both of them down onto the floor. The polished wood is hard under Toby’s knees, but it doesn’t matter—it’s a flat surface that allows him to lay Mike out and drape his own body over him, using his full weight. From just a few inches away, he stares Mike down. “Do you really think I’ve come all this way just to tuck tail and run?”

Mike counters Toby’s stare with the pale ghost of a smile. “You’ve been running since we met.”

The protest gets stuck in Toby’s throat. Sure, Mike is exaggerating, but... not by much. Maybe.

“I’m sorry.” Toby tightens his hold on Mike’s biceps and ducks his head to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “I’m done now, promise.”

“Okay.” Mike’s tone holds a trace of disbelief, and Toby will have to work on that. He suspects that, Toby’s own track record aside, Mike just isn’t used to people staying. The thought sits heavily in Toby’s stomach.

He ignores it in favor of bringing their mouths back together. Slipping his tongue into Mike’s mouth, he releases Mike’s biceps in favor of propping himself up so he can shove Mike’s trunks out of the way—they’re an obstacle, and as such, they need to go. Mike’s hips roll up smoothly, and God, he’s gorgeous, all spread out for Toby to explore, touch, possess. He circles Mike’s cock in a loose grip, and Mike exhales roughly, lashes dark against his cheeks. Toby wants to stay forever, maybe.

“Clothes,” Mike mutters, tugging weakly, blindly, at Toby’s shirt.

With some reluctance, Toby releases Mike’s cock to pull the shirt over his head, while Mike is unzipping Toby’s jeans before pushing them down along with Toby’s boxers. They bunch around his knees, granting just enough access for Mike to wrap his hand around Toby’s erection and oh, Jesus fucking Christ—Mike’s fingers are still cool from the ocean and feel amazing on Toby’s overheated skin, a brilliant contrast that makes him squeeze his eyes shut.

He resists when Mike tries to nudge him over onto his back.

“What?” Mike mutters. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Toby opens his eyes for a bright smile. He traps one of Mike’s hands, lacing their fingers and ignoring the slight edge of pain in his pinky as he throws a leg over Mike’s thighs. “I’ve got you, all right? For once, just lie back and let me handle it.”

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