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Michael Pierson
Everybody Ought to Have a Maid
Fri Aug 25, 2006 18:41

Alright, so the footsie idea had been a bad one.

The first brush really had been an accident, he’d slid off one of his loafers to work out stress across his toes; something he could completely blame Devon for. After scaring the shit out of him on the back porch –and stealing his cigarettes in the process—the sod had the temerity to look absolutely gorgeous in his gray-on-black ensemble. Michael had quietly rammed a foot against the outside wall just to remind himself that he wasn’t falling for a guy and then joined everyone else inside.

Though, really, being placed at a corner angle from the walking ‘male model’ was the slim beginnings of torture hadn’t helped either. With the heavily crowded table, the actor had, after the initial blunder, amused himself with repeating the little game, Devon’s faintly suspicious gazes around the table only adding to his mirth. Well, until he noticed Sean was paying attention, an answering smirk on his face. Bugger. Michael simply narrowed his eyes briefly, an acknowledgment that his action had not gone completely unnoticed and subsided from doing anything further.

It made the rest of the evening unaccountably dull, aside from his father’s marvelous culinary efforts. Little James, Jr made quite a spectacle towards the end of dinner, however, by managing to get a hold of the gravy boat and flinging some around. Had it been any place other than the Holmes domain (which had taken on a more sinister aspect since Devon’s earlier revelation), Michael would have joined in and perhaps engineered a food fight.

But all things must come to an end, prompting each guest to perform the time-old ritual of finding their jacket and head out. He was almost home free, destined for a long, frigid shower in his father’s flat, when Devon offered one of those smiles that made Michael want to break out into a cold sweat and start babbling. So dazed by the warmth was he that a monumental mistake was created. He should have shrugged off the invitation, gone home and suffered.

Instead, Michael found himself filching his cigarettes back and agreeing. It didn’t help when Sean and John passed by, the blond again offering one of those knowing smirks. A fist was barely restrained from plowing into the bastard’s nose. Cafferty was walking on thin ice, in Michael’s estimation. Someone would get a comeuppance if he didn’t stop insinuating …things.

The ride to Devon’s was spent mostly in silence, it was easier to ignore the driver by staring up at the roof of the car and fighting off a nicotine fit. Stress did that to him, made indulging in cigarettes and alcohol that much easier – not that he’d ever been a prude in the first place. Angling long legs out of the vehicle when they reached the new pad, Michael took a moment to admire the recently planted flowers along the walkway, wondering what female had talked Devon into it. Nice touch.

“So, you mentioned a liquor cabinet? Dare I hope it’s been filled?”

But he took the time out to walk through the house he’d carried furniture and boxes into just a fortnight prior and found the changes completely in Devon’s taste, if not his own. The recliner in the living room had him cracking up – not only did it not match the lighter décor, the leather paneling on the bottom was starting to unravel.

Not that he had any complaint with the massive center it faced, complete with a titanic sized telly and wide range of dvds, granted though most were of the action variety. Allowing Devon to play host and find something suitable from his new liquor collection, Michael found himself a comfortable spot sprawled across the sofa, already in control of the remote and flipping through channels like a kid in a candy shop. Hugh and Ben didn’t exactly believe in cable, and were avid PBS fans.

He’d rather not watch a fictionalized tale of his lo—Devon’s grandfather, thank you very much.

Luck held out a beckoning hand, in the form of a bottle of Jack Daniels and some laughably-bad historical epic, complete with Mel Gibson. Well, actually, some of the supporting cast weren’t too bad, but if you knew anything about the real life of William Wallace … he was a lot taller than Mel, for one. Devon joined him a few minutes later, cradling a bottle whose label was currently obscured and the two men fell silent for a long time.

Eventually the bottle emptied itself into Michael’s stomach, creating a lovely fuzzy sensation. And turned his legs a bit wonky, which he found when attempting to rise from the couch and find something else to drink. His host looked to be in much the same situation, so he took it on himself to fetch another few bottles from the cabinet –once he found it—and stumbled back to the living room, giving Devon a fifth of tequila before managing to miss the couch entirely and end up in a tangle of limbs on the floor.

It worked.

Michael twisted the top off his vodka viciously, only now having noticed the state of his pants. Shit. Somehow the warm fuzzies had combined with his growing attraction for the federal agent, an event he’d never believed himself capable of. There had never been any secret trips to the local store for a gay rag, he’d never stared overly long at men outside of a survival instinct. But now, after having spent just over a month in his sister’s ex-lover’s presence (wouldn’t Freud have a field day with that!), he was sporting an arousal after watching a stupid, bloody Scots movie …

…. Shit.

“Devon, it’s been a smashing evening, but I think it’s time for me to leave.”

Michael rose unsteadily to his feet, and gazed down at the bare toes blearily, trying to remember when he’d taken his shoes off and, more importantly, where he’d put them. Near the liquor, perhaps? Swaying from leg to leg, he made careful progress back past the recliner and found himself halted by the protrusion of an equally naked foot.

“Lemme g’up ‘n hep.”

Whatever that meant. Michael extended a hand, once he saw Devon was trying to struggle up from a prone position. Every action has an equal, and opposite, reaction. As the agent propelled himself forward, Michael found himself swinging backwards and watched as the floor helpfully levitated upwards to meet him. Unfortunately, Devon had continued onwards and was now toppling with, so that the actor ended up pinned between his friend and the ground.

Both were breathing heavily, though Michael suspected his discomfort had more to do with suddenly raging desire rather than having had the breath knocked out of him. Devon, after a moment or two, opened his mouth to say something inane, and Michael just couldn’t help himself. Lifting his head, he parted his lips just before fitting them against his friend’s and drank deeply of his … essence. His taste.

Devon Holmes tasted like everything you were warned about in Sunday school, wrapped up in satin and dipped in honey. It made Michael fully rigid, his hips pressing up against the larger man’s in an attempt to get closer. Someone groaned, he wasn’t sure who, and fingers found themselves buried in dark, thick hair that would look strangely erotic in a ponytail, should Devon ever grow out his hair.

It was in this instant Michael understood what Sonnet had seen and loved. Oh god. Sonnet. A terrible abyss of guilt welled up – he hadn’t even made a trip back to her gravesite, something any honest, forthright brother would have done. He wanted to crawl away, away from this beautiful man who didn’t even understand what was occurring, away from his father.

“Dev—“ His attempt at disengaging himself was halted with a …kiss. Slow, deep, it drove every purity right out of the man underneath him, made him remember a past that he could never quite escape. Unthinking, Michael returned this kiss with another. And another. It was a long time before he tried rationality; in fact, somewhere during the tentative exploring, they fell asleep.

Thusly, the actor woke up sometime the next morning, sunlight streaming through not-quite-closed blinds, to find himself curled up against the agent’s side, both men’s shirts missing and his pants halfway unbuttoned. Shock had him rolling away instinctively, muscle cording under a deceptively lean frame, as Devon’s eyes opened to find him crouching not a foot away, sleep still blurring green-gold eyes.

  • Dining In and Eating OutDevon Holmes, Fri Aug 25 00:19
    “Y’know, she’s gonna kill you when she finds that handprint on her ass.” “Yeah, but won’t it be great?” Devon had to admit, his youngest sibling’s grin was infectious. And it never hurt to have a... more
    • Everybody Ought to Have a Maid — Michael Pierson, Fri Aug 25 18:41
      • Glass DoorsDevon Holmes, Sun Aug 27 00:54
        “So, you mentioned a liquor cabinet? Dare I hope it’s been filled?” Devon had the temerity to snort at Michael’s idiotic question, motioning towards the very well-stocked liquor cabinet hiding in a... more
        • No Day But TodayMichael Pierson, Sun Aug 27 12:14
          Oh, god. The moment Devon sauntered into the bathroom, Michael slid to the floor, legs too wobbly to reasonably support his weight. Flesh tingled everywhere that Devon had touch—no, he’d caressed.... more
          • Surprising at MarketHolmes at Large, Sun Aug 27 18:35
            Will I Lose My Dignity Will Someone Care Will I Wake Tomorrow From This Nightmare… Devon had to admit it, while being seated in the center section with a fantastic view of the stage, that Michael... more
            • Reviewing the Situation Pt 1Michael Holmes, Mon Aug 28 00:32
              How about our place… If you want? …stay over but I can't… I can't commit like… Hugh eased his head back around the corner, grateful his son and his son’s … friend hadn’t noticed his attempts at... more
              • Reviewing the Situation Pt 2Michael Pierson, Mon Aug 28 00:33
                Grazing. Wound. Conrad had actually shot his father. It didn’t matter that the bullet had only sped past without leaving any lasting damage, it wouldn’t have … Michael blinked, forcing himself to... more
                • AddendumsDevon Holmes, Tue Aug 29 01:00
                  He could do this. No hyperventilating, don’t trip over the curb, and resist the urge to smack Michael on the ass when he walks in front of you like that. Hell, he wasn’t even really staring at the... more
                  • EnlighteningCaleb Holmes, Tue Aug 29 13:30
                    “The only prints they’re going to lift off of that stuff are mine and those tourists,” Caleb grumbled, staring down at the forged cheques that he had managed to buy off of a few southerners the... more
                    • ParadoxHugh / Michael, Tue Aug 29 15:23
                      “He needs a lawyer.” Hugh had entered the residence some minutes behind his furious companion, quiet demeanor a stark contrast to the tall, currently raging man. Gently easing their note away from a... more
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