Author's Note: Look, I never really intend any of this stuff to become ongoing stories, but I get hung on characters and just love writing little slices of their lives. So - here's more Mike and Max because who doesn't love a cocky sub and his quiet, confident dom? I'm trying to get related stories sorted out into Series formats, but all that is stuck in pending, sorry!
This picks up a few months after
Who Would've Thought
. You can read it as a stand alone if you want, but I think the character development is worth starting at the beginning.
Content Warnings with ***Spoilers***: this story includes an off-page car accident and some non graphic mentions of resulting injuries.
Thanks for reading!!
Mike
I was close to closing a sale with this mostly clueless restaurant owner. She had a lot of dreams, but very little understanding of what price points would actually sell in her market. The bar manager had quickly realized that I could make her life much easier and had teamed up with me to talk the owner around to my side.
My phone was buzzing in my pocket. I ignored it. That could be anyone, but I really hoped it wasn't Max. I hated to ignore his calls even though he understood why I had to.
The owner eventually came around and settled on the package that I recommended. The bar manager grinned at me gratefully over the owner's head. That was good. It was always more helpful to have the people who actually poured the drinks on my side once the contract was signed.
Outside, I checked my phone to see a missed call from Max. I started walking back towards my hotel and called him back.
"Hope I d-didn't interrupt anything," Max said as soon as he picked up.
I felt a little rush of warmth just hearing his voice. Max had a quiet confidence to him. I thought he was shy the first time I met him, but I quickly learned he was anything but. Max's stutter meant he was very deliberate with his words. It also meant that you had to really listen and make an effort to give him room to speak. Once I got to know him, I realized that Max just didn't bother working so hard to communicate with people who didn't want to hear him.
"Nope, just walking back to the hotel," I answered. "I'm going to grab a shower and then head to the airport. When will you be at my house tonight?"
"That's why I'm c-calling," Max said. I already heard a sour note in his voice and felt my chest flood with disappointment. "My truck is shot. I've been working on it all day, but I'm n-not really a mechanic. I'll have to get it towed out to a r-real shop this afternoon and who knows h-how long it will be there. Sorry, baby. I can't m-make it tonight."
I felt a hot knot constrict my throat. Max and I were only separated by an hour of country roads between his farm and my house in the small city of Monroe, but that distance proved challenging to schedule around. Between my constant travel for work, the bar I co-owned in town, and Max's responsibilities in running his farm, we had to work hard to see each other regularly. The promised two night visit was the only face to face time we would have for several weeks.
Don't cry, you big fucking baby.
Oof. I cleared my throat and tried to sound normal when I spoke again.
"Maybe I can come out there?" I suggested. My voice was a little too tight to sound casual.
"You h-have an open mic tomorrow," Max reminded me. "You can't stay out here."
"Then I'll come get you tonight after I land?" I tried.
"Mike, baby, it will be ok. I'll s-see you when I can," Max said gently.
"Please?" I resorted to begging. I
needed
Max. He didn't understand. He loved me, but he wasn't a desperate idiot like I was. Max had better control of his emotions.
"I'll come t-tomorrow if I can get the truck fixed," Max said. "Be patient."
I whined at him for a while longer, but Max had annoyingly calm, reasonable responses to all my increasingly frantic suggestions.
"I'll s-see you when I can," Max repeated firmly. He had switched to that confident, no nonsense voice he used to order me around. I stopped arguing and swallowed the rising sob in my chest. "I'm s-sorry. I need to get off the phone now and call a tow truck. Call me when you get home?"
"Ok," I agreed miserably. "I love you."
"Love you, you r-ridiculous man," Max said fondly. "Be safe."
...
Max
Finding a tow truck when you live well outside of anything that might be considered civilization is a nightmare. I called every towing service I could find, but none would come that day. Most wouldn't even go that far out of the closest towns. I prepared to make another call. I had a script written down in front of me so I wouldn't need to search for words as my growing frustration ate away my ability to speak, but even a script wasn't going to help much at that point.
Mike probably thought I was only mildly put out to not see him that night, but he needed to believe I was more in charge than I really was to trust me. Bitter disappointment sat in my stomach, roiling acid up my throat to leave a nauseating heartburn to go with the lonely ache.
I was about to hit send on my phone again, ready to struggle through another embarrassing call, when I heard the unmistakable roar of a motorcycle roll up my driveway to die just outside my house. I stepped out on the porch in confusion. The familiar figure on the bike popped his helmet off and grinned at me. The man on the bike was tall and broad, like a quarterback dressed in motorcycle gear. He had shocking blue eyes that seemed somewhat out of place among his otherwise dark features. His messy dark curls were damp with sweat.
"Hey? What are y-you doing out here?" I asked Mike's friend Teddy. My friend, too, I supposed. Teddy was everyone's friend.
"Mike said you needed a mechanic," Teddy said. "Or a ride back to Monroe. Whichever comes first, I guess."
"S-so you just hopped on your bike and rode an hour?" I said, laughing in confusion.
"Yes?" Teddy answered like my confusion made no sense. There wasn't a reason in Teddy's world for leaving a friend in need to fend for themselves. "Show me what's going on with your truck."
I decided not to point out that Teddy wasn't that kind of mechanic. He was an industrial mechanic, working to maintain the giant innards of the local factories with his unflappable smile, but he still knew more than me. He thought he identified the issue, though he couldn't fix it with the parts on hand.
"I'll take you back with me to Monroe," he said and wiped grease off on his already grungy jeans. "We can get the part there somewhere before I bring you back so I can try to fix it."
"Ted, you don't h-have to do all that," I argued. "I'll go back to Monroe with you s-since you're already here, but Mike can bring me back and I can f-fix it."
"Eh, we'll figure it out," Teddy said and shrugged with that big, happy grin. I had a feeling he would be the one to fix my truck in a few days.
...
Mike scooped me up in his arms when he found me napping in his living room late that night. I struggled in his embrace, laughing and surprised to be woken up so suddenly, but I had no hope to break free unless Mike wanted to let go.
There was no pretending that I wasn't noticeably short with little to no muscle. Mike, on the other hand, was tall and lithe, with lean, sculpted muscle under every inch of his beautifully tanned skin. His pale brown eyes looked like warm honey and shone happily as he crushed me to his chest.
"Put me down!" I demanded, but I couldn't stop laughing.
"I'm so glad you're here," he said into my hair. "I missed you so much."
"I n-noticed," I said and gave up trying to get away. "How did you convince Teddy to come to my rescue?"
"I just asked," Mike answered. He finally let me go, but he kept a hand on my back. "Smokey doesn't need convincing to help someone. I'm pretty sure he's just on Earth to show the rest of us miscreants what bad people we are. Did he fix your truck?"
"I'll tell you all about it l-later," I told him and reached up to twist my fingers in his dark hair. I tightened that grip until Mike gasped and whined. "Are you too t-tired to be my good boy, baby?"
"No, sir," Mike whimpered. "Please, sir."
"Shower," I ordered him. "Come on."
Mike spent a lot of his time and money on renovating the historic home he bought in downtown Monroe. The gem of that work was the bathroom attached to his big bedroom upstairs. It was all shining marble, gleaming mirrors, and leafy, lush plants. His giant glass capsule of a shower included a soaking tub inside the enclosure and more plants that thrived in the damp.
Mike dropped to his knees on the marble tile the moment I stopped inside the room. He had his head politely down, but I could see the delighted grin tilting his lips and lighting his beautiful face with giddy eagerness. I gripped his chin to tilt his head up.
"Such a good boy," I murmured. "You m-must be desperate."
"Yes, sir. So desperate. I thought about you every night," he said cheekily. I arched an eyebrow at his cocky tone.
"Oh, yeah? And what did you do when you thought about me?" I increased the grip I had on his chin enough to make him whine again.
"I jacked this giant dick, sir," he answered without an ounce of shame. His eyes flicked down to the obvious bulge still trapped in his jeans.
"You know," I said thoughtfully, "One of these days, I'm going to f-forbid that. That's
my
ridiculous cock. You should have to wait for me to use it."
Mike groaned at my tone, looking full of both dread and anticipation.
"How would you make me do that?" Mike asked shakily.
"I can think of a few ways," I said. I raised him back to his feet with that grip under his chin. "Strip. Show me what I've been m-missing."
Mike obeyed immediately. He knew how to dress himself and always wore one of two styles - his professional high class party boy look of exquisitely tailored button ups, always worn with the sleeves rolled up to show off his strong forearms and half tucked artfully into his tight, custom-made jeans or his queer punk uniform of obscure band tees, chewed up expensive jeans, and a black jacket covered in pride patches. He was in a tight Dead Kennedys tee shirt and strategically ragged jeans that night. He flipped the tee shirt off one-handed and yanked his jeans off with a vengeance.
"Commando? On an airplane?" I chuckled. I stepped forward and ran my fingers lightly over that stupidly big dick. Mike shivered. "You s-slut."
"For you," he answered. His voice was a little rougher than it had been before. "I'm always a slut for you."
"Shower," I said and started to remove my own clothes. Mike hesitated to watch me pull off my shirt. He groaned as my hidden tattoos came into view, but obeyed my order to get in the shower. I ignored him watching me through the glass as I took my time undressing. Mike reached for me when I opened the glass door, but I shook my head. He whined and dropped his hands.
"You're so beautiful," Mike whimpered. "Please? Please, Max?"
