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The vodka came out after the lights went out.
But the good humor and swagger had appeared in Miguel hours ago, earlier under the glaring lights when he'd had more clothes on. Nobody in here got to see this, to feel it, up close. Miguel Alvarez, fucking happy, with the current of joy under his skin shining out. His good humor spilling from his mouth, along with his free rough laugh, his body language losing just enough of that tension of his to make his powerful flowing movement even smoother. His fucking real and easy wide smile, which brightened up that grumpy stone face in a way that Ryan honestly hadn't imagined possible. Blinding.
Ryan was the exception, getting to see it, all of it. Had for years, gotten glimpses of that pure warmth Miguel could radiate. Miguel wasn't purely happy that often, fucking obviously, but there were moments. And Ryan was right there for them, because generally? Miguel shared them with him. (Only him.)
Tonight his happiness was a little sharper than usual, due to the cause of it. Had an edge of triumph (and a bit of darkness, joy at the fall of an enemy), but not only that. There was good happiness, too, light in dark eyes that kept finding his while they moved around their pod, spending their time until lights out. Relief, in their victory, closed in together in their little walls.
Shortly after the lights went out, the only thing covering the swivel of hips was his stark white boxers, Miguel's body alive with that joyful rhythm. They shared the first swigs of liberated vodka, arm wound around and locked with Ryan's while they both took a shot. (Ryan had managed two glasses, because working in the kitchen, and with the Italians, had its advantages. Sure, the Oswald cafeteria wasn't supposed to have a couple shot glasses tucked away. But of course it fucking did. Ryan would return them in the morning, but tonight? They were celebrating.)
They tucked the glasses away after that first formal, shared shot. Could just pass the bottle, after all. Celebration at the fall of the annoying Russian thorn in their side, quiet, close, and theirs. Generally, Ryan might've been a bit chilly, standing around their pod in just his briefs, but Miguel was taking care of that even better than the liquor burning down his throat.
"Cabrón should've known better than to mess with us." Miguel's grin, shining even in the dimly glowing dark of Em City. "Look at us, baby -- won the cold war, got us some vodka, and a goddamn cell phone."
They didn't have it in their pod, of course, because they weren't idiots, but yeah. That difficult period had come to a satisfying conclusion, with the help of Miguel. Fucking Stanislofsky had been too like Ryan, matching him at every goddamn turn. But Ryan had an ace up his sleeve that the Russian hadn't -- someone truly on his side, for real, not due to manipulation.
At the moment, that someone was swaying, backing them into the corner against the wall, in the small cramped space tucked behind the end of the bunks. They had a lucky pod -- three whole stone walls, and a sliver of space mostly out of sight of the glass, because the bunks didn't butt right up against the far wall. Was only the width of a person, but that spot still sheltered them quite a bit unless someone peered carefully down the length of Miguel's bunk. And Ryan hanging down his blanket from the end of his own top bunk covered the view through them completely, without being obvious about it. Because it was the far end of the bed, after all -- hey, maybe he was just slovenly with his sheets, letting them hang like that.
Sure, no fucking was an actual, oft-repeated rule and everything, but it was mainly McManus repeating and giving a fuck about it, and his balding ass went home at night. Unless they had a grudge, the Hacks generally didn't give a fuck what Miguel and Ryan got up to together in the semi-dark, as long as they weren't pressed against the glass. Technically they were breaking a rule, sure, but it wasn't like it was fucking rape, which Hacks could really get in trouble for ignoring. (Theoretically, anyway -- the Aryans, and even Adebisi back in the day, had gotten away with that shit plenty, no problem.) But especially when it came to what was going on between Ryan and Miguel -- lazy fucks didn't want to bother with paperwork and hauling them to the Hole over something that wasn't causing them or anybody else problems. As long as they kept in the dark, the Hacks pretended to stay in the dark, too.
Miguel's mouth held some of the intoxicating burn of vodka, maybe, meeting Ryan's as smoothly as the loose rhythm of his body. Slow kisses bleeding together, hand cradling Ryan's skull, fingers threading through his hair. Mostly gentle, with the occasional pleasant tug accompanying Miguel nipping his lips or sucking on his tongue.
Ryan dragged and bumped against Miguel's body the whole way down, more unending closeness and touch, when he crouched to set the bottle on the floor.
"Mm, yeah..." Ryan murmured, speaking to Miguel's triumphant happiness and their good fucking day. Absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip, catching the moisture of the booze or maybe Miguel, Ryan stood back up, back to the wall. "Calls for a celebration."
Miguel leaned forward and didn't really stop, eyes on Ryan in the dimness, hands coming to rest flat on either side of his head on the wall.
That grin, lopsided now, but just as bright. "Want kind you want?"
Stanislofsky hadn't just been a danger to Ryan. That was the thing about them being known -- Miguel was a living, breathing weakness of Ryan's, and everyone knew. Thankfully, they were clever and tough enough, and had proven themselves formidable enough, that it was usually okay. But fucking Nikolai... every day he'd drawn breath with an eye on Ryan, was a day Miguel was more vulnerable. So, yeah. Ryan wanted to celebrate. He also could finally fucking relax and exhale for the first time in months, knowing a possible threat was gone and Miguel was here. With him. That's all he fucking wanted, to feel Miguel, living, breathing and moving with him.
"Not really feeling a preference, beyond more touch and even fewer fucking clothes." Ryan tried not to let the true shake of his pure relief show, though, because it might make Miguel all broody and concerned. He shrugged, with his own smaller grin. "You got one?"
The tightening twitch of Miguel's hands where they'd come to rest on Ryan's hips while he'd spoken, the tongue darting over his lips-- yeah, Miguel wanted something, something more than any touch with you will do.
Miguel's full bottom lip, already damp, tucked into his mouth with his little hum of a response. "Mm-hm."
They were close enough to not hide or hedge anymore, the days of hesitant, careful tiptoeing long past, letting Miguel show his fully focused desire, those eyes glinting in the dimness, the slow nodding tilt of his head, all playful and confident. Because he could be now.
"Care to elaborate?" Ryan's question held quiet laughter with his light sarcasm, his eyebrow raised. He had an idea. And he really was good with anything, with Miguel here with him, their place sure and steady as it could be in here again.
"Honestly?" Miguel answered with his own quirking brow, before slowly leaning in again, dragging his mouth over Ryan's cheek, ending with husky breath over his ear. "Wanna fuck." Punctuated with a tug on Ryan's hips, which Ryan just flowed with.
Fuuck, yeah, Ryan could--
But Miguel dipped back just as easily, grinning as his grip lightened to skim back up Ryan's sides. (Still holding him close, with that same ease, never backing away even with his playful shifts.) "But we're here, so… plenty of things to do, querido." Didn't sound disappointed, didn't feel it, hands still steady firm warmth on Ryan's body. "Think we finally got the whole sixty-nine thing down now? Could be a fun treat--"
Could be, and yeah, didn't do it too often but they'd finally gotten into the groove with the coordination of that one. But -- nah. That little telling twitch of Miguel's hands on him earlier, the need hiding in his voice when he'd mentioned it -- Ryan wanted to feel that consuming him, rushing through him like that good Russian vodka.
Ryan cut Miguel off with a counterargument of a kiss. We're here. Miguel had only shifted gears because they'd never done that in their pod where there could be prying eyes on the other side of the glass -- the full on, bend over, fucking thing.
When Ryan let his fucking delightful mouth go, Miguel was watching him way more carefully, so he must've gotten his point across.
And what do you know? Miguel's grip had slipped back down to rest on Ryan's hips again, though more lightly than before.
"We did just fucking shower -- plenty clean," Ryan pointed out dryly, like he wasn't invested. But it was meant to be seen through, and Miguel generally saw through him pretty fucking well regardless now.
And yeah, it had been a real fucking thorough shower, and he kept track of certain things these days. Ryan was a planner, for all possibilities (and they were alive, when one of their enemies was not, meaning a celebration was indeed in order). Timing was good to go with that right now.
Another little tug, bumping him into Miguel. Not fully hard yet, but they were definitely enjoying the nearness and each other's mouths.
"Yeah?"
"There's no fucking way we don't have lube in here," Ryan further commented, knowing damn well they did. Didn't fuck in here, no, but Miguel lifted the good stuff from the infirmary so they could do what they wanted when they had the chance. It had other fun uses, after all.
"No condom, though," Miguel noted with a slight warning tone, like he thought that would be a dealbreaker. Those were a little harder to come by, and took a little planning. Plus, wasn't really safe to keep 'em in the pod. Lube? Could claim it was for lonely stroking purposes if you got caught with it during a pod toss. But nobody jerked off with a condom on for extra flavor. Generally, they procured them only on the rare occasion they needed them, and then promptly fucking used them in a tucked away room with four solid walls somewhere.
"You got a wandering confession to make? Because otherwise, we're not passing anything around, it's just us."
Miguel's soft scoff carried into a kiss, brushing over Ryan's mouth. "Was thinking of the mess like always, baby. You know I'm clean -- or only as dirty as you are."
Yeah, he was well aware of Miguel's ability to be truly faithful, and Ryan… well, Ryan didn't stray anymore. (He wasn't looking for anything else.) Ryan vaguely gestured around them with the tilt of his head. "Sink. Towels. Etcetera. Clean up is way easier here than in some fucking storage closet."
More staring, more intense, Miguel not moving away from him, not by even half an inch. "So... bare?" The short word sounded like it had scraped its way out of Miguel's throat, and Ryan would bet anything Miguel was half a second away from licking his lips again.
Didn't blame him, though. Sure, because they definitely weren't fucking around with anyone else, they both always got the joy of rubber-free blowjobs, but that... yeah, that had been a minor inconvenience that a condom helped a bit with up until now. But here they had everything they needed, and were locked down for the night, wouldn't be taking a long walk throughout his day with Miguel fucking leaking out of him.
Christ, when he thought of it that way... Yeah, there were probably a couple reasons Miguel looked eager, with no condom-numbed dick giving him unfettered sensation being only one of them.
"You sure about it, here?" Quickened breath, hoarser words dropped against Ryan's mouth again.
Yeah, everybody fucking knew about them, including how dangerous crossing them was. (Nikolai was the only one lately to test them, and well, look how that had worked out for him.) But they'd still never done that in their pod before out of caution, keeping that particular information -- something that could be used as prag-calling ammo against them by some scumfuck who got stupid and cocky -- under wraps and left to guesses as far as if anyone was actually taking it up the ass, and who.
But frankly, keeping it private and tucked away in their infrequent infirmary private room and storage room moments was fucking expensive and precarious. (And made it rare.) Another restriction on them, couldn't just go with the mood and fuck how they felt like it, when they felt like it. (Was just that to them at this point -- fucking. Just another way to feel something good, together. Ryan had never thought it could be, not with the shit they were surrounded with, that got drilled into their heads behind bars and even outside of them. But yeah. Was another fucking miracle Miguel Alvarez had unknowingly performed in his life, making it... was just them, fucking, and being fucking fantastic together, in a cramped hospital bed or on the hard floor.)
But tonight nobody would clearly see dick (or where it went) in the position they were currently in -- back behind the bunks, in that nice little mostly blindspot.
But Miguel fucking checked, because he was Miguel, even as that rasping breath of his conveyed how very much he wanted it, speeding up at the prospect, his fingers tightening in a brief hard clench on Ryan's body, before he caught himself and eased up.
"Am I shy or something? Do I bring shit up when I'm like, un-fucking-certain?" Ryan asked, still in good humor, even with his tweaking smirk.
It only made Miguel's grin wider. "Nope."
Was all the man needed, apparently, hands suddenly sure on Ryan's body, moving him with smooth strength, fucking spinning him around practically, leaving Ryan facing the fucking wall, but feeling only Miguel curling right against his back. Mostly bare skin to mostly bare skin, all solid warmth.
Fingers in Ryan's hair again, gentle again even, brushing it aside to drop that dirty down low voice of his right against the back of Ryan's neck. "Mm. Besides, if they saw fucking anything, they'd see me on my knees first."
A quick, wet, nip of a kiss raised goosebumps on the back of his neck before his hair fell back over it, before feeling Miguel slip to the floor behind him. Mainly because the teasing fucker did it closely, slowly, making sure he was felt all the way down.
He was only fast when pulling Ryan's briefs down, quick and rough, without a tremor of equally sure fingers, just a yank. Baring Ryan completely as Miguel's knees hit the floor, probably, from what Ryan could tell in his position standing and facing the wall. (Stepping out of them so Miguel could presumably toss them somewhere into the dark was Ryan's only contribution, and he was fine with that.)
Ryan didn't jump when teeth sunk into the flesh of his ass cheek, the bite wide and wet, only briefly sharp. Only wanted to lean back into it, not away, practically feeling the fucking chuckle against his now damp flesh, Miguel flowing from biting into a smacking kiss replacing it.
"You are in a good fucking mood." Ryan knew what he'd see when he craned his neck, looking back and down, but he still had to look -- Miguel's crooked grin turned right up to him, full of soft laughter and dirty promise even in the partial dark.
"Hell yeah. Good fucking day. Safer than we were yesterday. Got you all to myself, in the dark." Saw more of that settled joy, shining up at him in the night, before he turned back to the wall.
Miguel stopped biting, and just sort of --Ryan leaned some of his weight into the wall, one hand coming to rest on it, not looking at anything, only feeling -- softer rub of Miguel's cheek over Ryan's, sensitized from the bite and the slightest burn of Miguel's way past five-o-clock shadow dragging over his skin.
Miguel's touch slipped around his body, still playing. Ryan did shiver that time, from heat instead of chill, wanting to press into Miguel's hand cupping his interested, but not fully hard yet dick.
"You want me to take care of this now? Or you want me to deal with you during?" Miguel let go as he spoke, moving that gently cupping hand to Ryan's balls, catching the aching swing, before turning into the softest tug. Warmth everywhere -- Miguel's hands, through all of Ryan spreading with his touch, stiffening further because of him.
Then the asshole let go, letting him swing into the chill, making his ache sweeter and more needy.
Miguel was merely shifting his attention again, returning with a playful drag of fingers over the sensitive strip of skin leading from front to back that made Ryan want to fucking shiver under Miguel's not firm enough touch.
Fucking Miguel, the fucking tease with the skilled hands, could have him hard, could bring him off, no problem and in no time. But Ryan had good booze on his tongue, his body under Miguel's palms, and a warmth that even being mostly naked next to cold stone couldn't rob him of. The night was early; they had a little bit of time. Ryan wanted more than that, them getting off together (from Miguel inside of him).
If Miguel would just stop doing that-- slipping back up to wrap idly stroking fingers loosely around Ryan's dick, like contemplatively or something. "During's good. If you can stop fucking playing with me long enough."
The hum was against his other ass cheek this time, another buzz of good stubble burn. "Good. Like feeling you come when I'm inside you."
Miguel was fucking cocky tonight, confidence shining in the dark. Sharing it, with Ryan. Happy. He was happy in their triumph, because it meant they could breathe a little safer.
Honestly, it was really working for him.
Ryan may have groaned, half helpless and half playfully judgmental of that cockiness, but-- ohh, Miguel wasn't just bragging. He was full of wanting, the hunger showing in the roughness of his voice underneath it all. Like Miguel needed to feel him, and the playful words were just a game, just joy, over that strong desire deep inside. And Ryan could fucking hear it, familiar now.
Miguel's tease grew a little firmer, more purposeful, hand leaving Ryan's dick again, but those fingers were no longer idle. Stroking softly, from his balls to... tracing the trail again, slipping between his cheeks, circling, just as deftly.
Instead of lube -- started with the long flat drag of his tongue over Ryan's cheek in one last light tease, before slipping to surety just the same, joining the play of his fingers. Miguel was still a teasing bastard, but the tease was purposeful and strong now, hot and wet, tracing circles, darting in...
...making Ryan's head bow, hand slapping the wall in front of him to join the other, spread apart on stone. Didn't even hardly fucking notice how his right arm scraped against the wall, his left bumping the metal bed frame with the movement in such close quarters.
That heat wasn't just coming from stroking, gently probing fingers, and the swirling pressing tongue playing along with them, but shivering under Ryan's skin, inside, spreading fast and sure.
Nah, definitely wasn't half-hard anymore -- straining untouched as Miguel practically fucking huffed laughter right against his skin, making him actually give over to the tremble this time.
"Jesus." Fingernails dug against stone without purchase, but he still didn't really feel anything but Miguel -- hot, slick, and wicked, slipping inside of him and out, flicking and tracing sensitive skin. Miguel could be fucking brilliant with his mouth, however he focused it.
Miguel spent long minutes making Ryan fucking melt with that mouth of his, making him want to open and spread under the feeling, but Ryan felt it when he shifted again, the loss, the dampness cooling in the air. Ryan looked down, still couldn't see Miguel well, him being behind him and all, and not touching Ryan other than a last stroke as hands left him. There was some space between him and the wall, though, and he saw enough peering down, along with the dragging noise, to clue him in -- Miguel was getting into his trunk.
"Just a second, mi Iago," Miguel's calm murmur behind him.
Didn't call Ryan that very much, especially not anymore, but today was probably a special occasion, on account of their plans coming together and solving one of their persistent problems.
Ryan shifted just enough to properly see behind him again, one hand leaving the wall as he twisted, after he heard the scrape of Miguel's trunk being tucked back away. Which for some reason didn't signal the return of Miguel's hands on him. Miguel was on the floor, yeah -- with the vodka, and his fucking grin, as cocky as Ryan's knees were weak. He held it up towards Ryan, with a little offering tilt, but Ryan just shook his head. Miguel took a good swig, savoring and swirling it in his mouth. Ryan did notice the tube next to Miguel on the bottom bunk now, though.
"You having fun?" Miguel's inquiry held more laughter, eyebrows raising with it as he took a smaller swig.
Ryan shrugged. "Eh, it's all right."
His grin made his lie pretty fucking blatant. Had to grab this while they had it, the playful moments between them that made this shithole... not feel shitty. Felt like theirs, their little carved out piece. Years, it had been over a couple years now, and that cocky fucking smile tilted up at him was still for Ryan. Theirs.
Miguel capped and set the bottle back down, glass ringing dully on the stone, and Ryan stopped twisting his fucking torso around to look at him. Even when he couldn't see Miguel, could feel him, at his back. (Always.)
Miguel's wicked tongue didn't return, just his even more wicked fingers. Much slicker now, and not from Miguel's mouth. Still occasionally felt him mouthing wetly, teeth scraping, across the rounded flesh of Ryan's cheeks, though. The warmth spread and honestly, so did Ryan, feet inching further apart as he indeed opened up for Miguel's fingers. Sliding in, adding a little crooking motion when he got to two, finding-- fuck, there -- lightning in the spreading storm of warmth, sparking a sharper more focused pleasure, pulling out his breath in a groaning rush as his forehead fell forward onto cold stone again.
Earned him another sharp bite to his fucking ass, but that was just… only added to it as Miguel also kept pressing in with more fingers, seeming happy as fuck and continuing to let slip what sounded like quiet, fond laughter. Until it was enough, slipping easily in, and only making him want more.
"You good? You're good, yeah," Miguel answered his own question before Ryan could, still all quietly cocky contemplation back there.
"Unless you're planning on just giving me a fucking prostate massage," Ryan was quietly laughing, too. Feeling good and not giving a fuck.
More of Miguel's laughter, joining his this time. "Nah, definitely want more than that, Ryan. Want you," the laughter slipped away like Miguel's fingers, voice drenched in sex, dirty as gravel now.
Ryan was definitely fucking ready, especially now, stretched, stimulated, but feeling nothing but the lack of… he wanted Miguel back, to feel much more of him. Miguel's hands had been pretty busy with Ryan, though, so his readiness was unknown with Ryan facing away from him and all. "Need a hand getting hard there, boyo? Because I know you didn't have any fucking free and I sure as shit couldn't reach you."
"Mm. Nope." A smack to his ass so light it was practically Miguel petting him joined the word. "I'm good. Got hard just making you tremble and shake for me. From making you beg." Miguel's voice so fucking rough, all confidence and hunger, dragging right over his skin again.
"Don't-- don't remember begging." Ryan had to catch himself, his breath. His whole body wanting Miguel against him, inside of him, moving and giving him more than his current ache.
"Oh, yeah, querido." Miguel stood almost as slowly as he'd gone down, still dragging his body against Ryan's now naked one. Ryan could feel that Miguel still had his boxers on, along with how hard Miguel indeed was, still covered dick digging into Ryan pleasantly as it too drug all the way up his frame. "Not with that mouth of yours -- your body." Those words dropped by his ear now, hushed to a deeper raw scrape of cockiness and need. "I can feel you begging for me."
Jesus fuck, Miguel was in a mood, and it was just rolling right through Ryan like his touch, warm and possessive.
"C'mere for a second--" Ryan's demand felt rough in his throat. Technically, Miguel couldn't get much closer, but Ryan turned around, sensitive with the slightest returning tremble when his cock drug across Miguel. (Unfortunately, across Miguel's boxers, not the flesh he wanted to feel against him.)
Miguel either knew exactly what he had turned to grab, or maybe he just wanted the same thing, both leaning in at the same time to claim each other's mouths.
Miguel tasted like nothing but the burn of booze and hunger, rough sloppy kisses and weak knees didn't matter with Miguel's hard body pressing against his front, steady as the stone now at his back.
But this was enough fucking playing around -- the press of his dick against cloth keeping all of Miguel from him, the chilling feel of lube (of fucking loss) behind him… yeah, time to go.
"Come on," Ryan urged, tugging Miguel's boxers down, when they broke the kiss, leaving them panting across each other's mouths.
Miguel stepped back just enough to finish pulling his boxers off, before leaning back in as he reached for the lube he'd tossed on the top bunk when he'd risen, hard dick nudging damply against Ryan's skin finally with the movement. Ryan snatched the lube from him, wanting to feel more of Miguel's equally happy fucking dick for a moment. "Give me that."
Got him a raised eyebrow, and a polite go ahead gesture from Miguel, as lighthearted as the sudden return of his grin.
Stole that cocky breath right out of Miguel, shocking out a reedy noise with the wrapping of Ryan's hand around his dick. Twitched a little, too, and not in the fun way, but there was a reason for that which didn't have dick to do with Ryan's own skilled hands.
"Cold," Miguel needlessly explained his little dip in enthusiasm.
"Yeah, well, you'll be plenty fucking warm again in a second. Don't be a baby." The quirk of Ryan's mouth, the twist of his wrist, took the sharpness out of his words.
Instead of looking offended, Miguel's expression just turned even fucking filthier, completely losing the previous mild discomfort from the un-warmed lube. "Oh, I know just how hot I'll fucking feel in a minute, baby." Tongue darting out to his goddamn lips again, those eyes pinning Ryan even in the dark, hands slapping against the wall on either side of Ryan's head as he leaned into Ryan coating his cock. (Which was definitely recovering from the bit of initial chill, hard as fucking ever.)
Ryan teased with his hand instead of his words --fine, admittedly because they'd maybe be unsteady at the moment, but his touch wasn't, long slow strokes thoroughly lubing Miguel up and keeping his lips parted with strained breath. (Miguel was really the only person who could make Ryan's words shaky, who could take all his considerable focus and let him lose himself in feeling.)
Was over quick, though -- didn't need that much. Ryan tossed the tube aside, rubbing the excess off his hand with a cupping roll of Miguel's balls. Not useful, or necessary, but Miguel's grin had stayed, even more breathless, so close to Ryan's face, Ryan still loosely caged between his arms. (Much better fucking cage than usual.)
That grin dipped in for a quick firm kiss, before Miguel stood straighter, hands leaving the wall.
Miguel was definitely ready, too… even in the dark, his intensity was so clear it was practically felt (and it was still only for Ryan), the last thing he saw before he turned back to face the wall. (He liked-- facing each other was something when they could manage it, but as strong as Miguel was, that would still be one hell of a gymnastic feat to fucking attempt while standing. Miguel would try, of course, if Ryan mentioned it -- bastard would take it as a challenge. But it'd probably end badly, and this day was going fantastically well, no reason to ruin it.)
Felt the arc of Miguel's indeed very hard dick when he stepped back close. Even more damp and slick now, the idle drag of it over his ass cheek.
Was definitely lube on Miguel's fingers as they slipped easily back inside, not sticking his dick anywhere yet, just painting Ryan's skin with it.
"Good, yeah? M'ready. You?" Question repeated, warm and husky, right by his ear again when Miguel stepped closer, still slickly rubbing over his cheek, the slide of fingers reminding him, pulling his breath out on a sigh of relief. Miguel against his back, free hand sliding over his hip, squeezing firmly in another question.
Ryan was about five fucking seconds from shivering and pushing back against Miguel greedily, so demanding a little with his voice was less fucking embarrassing-- "Let's go."
The burn of the booze didn't hold a fucking candle to the good burn of Miguel, pushing inside, just as smooth and sure with all the night's desirous confidence. Not a stutter or a pause until he was fully inside, bodies finally pressed close, feeling the rise and fall of Miguel's chest against his naked back with his heavy breaths.
"Fuck." Small, broken, and straining Miguel's voice, coming out on an expended breath.
Ryan wanted to laugh, almost, but he fucking couldn't, with all of Miguel, everywhere. Knew just what to do to still fucking tease him, though -- clenching, around that good full burn. It was maybe too soon, still adjusting to the stretch of him, the feeling right on the edge of too much. (But Ryan had a real hard time backing away from that edge with Miguel.)
Miguel practically fucking shuddered, body bowing around him, groaning against him.
"Yeah, fuck -- that's sort of what you're supposed to be doing right now," Ryan pointed out, too breathless for laughter, but feeling the joy of it just the same. Ryan did make himself relax, though, fucking-- Miguel was all the way in, nothing but that feeling of almost too much, but still wanting more. Wanting him to move, needing to rush into the heat with him, chase the feeling.
Another clench, this one of Miguel's hands skimming just under his rib cage. "If you don't fucking stop that I'm not going to be doing anything but finishing quick, leaving your ass high and dry."
"Yeah, my ass definitely won't be dry--"
Another shake from Miguel, this one of humor, feeling it all through -- fuck, Miguel was inside of him, body all along his, so yeah.
Just fucking move.
Ryan shifted, pressing back into him. Wasn't the same, but it was something, full and feeling Miguel. Even as his own dick stood and swayed unattended.
Miguel made this fucking noise, like a helpless grunt mixed with one of his little pleasurable hums. Like he was lost, but really fucking happy about it, as he fucking finally started to move.
Which yeah, maybe Ryan was making some interesting low, lost noises too, but they were making them together, slipping right into a rhythm that felt familiar. Didn't start fast. Long, slow, the slide of their bodies in sync, the-- Miguel's hand curled around Ryan's hip to bring Ryan with him even as Miguel thrust, fingers still slippery from the lube rubbing slickly over his skin, Miguel's other arm wrapping around Ryan's chest, bracing him, holding him even closer against Miguel's.
Words mixing languages and soft, rasping sounds against the back of his shoulder, Miguel mouthing him and whispering. Ryan understood both, knew Spanish by now, just like he understood all of it, the need pressing into him in that languid rhythm they fell into.
Miguel shifted his thrusts, a quirk to his hips, searching for just the right -- the slow burning stretch turned into a shot of good fucking fire, nerves alive and pulsing with want for more.
Now that noise? The low groan drug out of Ryan himself, draining all his breath, eyes closing tight on the darkness and that sparking feeling until he almost saw fucking stars -- now, Miguel knew that one.
Ryan felt as much as heard his fucking chuckle return against his back, more breathless and shaky this time, with a soft wet kiss. Miguel's thrusts slowed even further, turning shallow, into a good blinding grind right along that spot. Even as his moves stayed slower and steady, Miguel's grip was leaving bruises Ryan definitely wouldn't fucking mind on his hip.
Motherfucker. Ryan braced his arms on the wall in front of him and just… eyes closed, nothing but feeling, fucking giving his body over to liquid heat and Miguel driving him crazy.
Driving them both crazy, maybe, with those targeted grinding thrusts when Miguel-- he knew Miguel, who, once he had Ryan fucking shaking, would be hungry to drive harder, to make them lose themselves in the rush.
Ryan was practically fucking shaking, enveloped in Miguel and somehow still wanting more, so fucking hard he was throbbing, pushing back into Miguel's thrusts, throwing them into faster, deeper, like they both wanted.
Miguel also knew him, finally wrapping a warm slick hand around Ryan's neglected cock, pulling an embarrassingly whimpering groan out of him. Fucking finally, Ryan chased Miguel's strokes a little desperately.
More rough whispering against his head, shaky kisses over the back of his neck through his sweaty-feeling hair, as Miguel gave in, jacking his hips into him, sending them both chasing that intensity.
Stone practically fucking scraping his right shoulder, Ryan reached out with his left -- hand gripping the metal frame of his bunk, tightening around the hard chill. Hanging on, while Miguel fucking clung to him, one arm still steady around his chest. Strength all around him, over him, driving into him with the opposite of violence, pure need. Miguel's, his, together, seamlessly speeding them to a taste of fucking bliss, sweat and soft slapping noises, and--
--Ryan came first, gratefully drowning in the overwhelming rush, under that firm grip, twisting and stroking him just as wickedly as every other touch. His trembling and tightening brought Miguel with him quickly afterwards, erratic and quick hard thrusts, before slowing into burying deep and joining Ryan's shake… had never felt him quite like that before, bare and spilling inside, closer than ever and panting collapsed over his back. Ryan had the fucking walls and metal bed frame to lean on, he could take the weight and hold them both up. Stayed inside for long moments, Ryan feeling something like a soft spasm around him, resting his head on cool stone.
Felt it, when Miguel came back to himself some, losing some of his pure liquid looseness, holding his weight off of Ryan more.
Pulling out with the whisper of a groan that could've been either of them.
A last kiss to his shoulder, the slip of his hands, as they gathered themselves. Turned around to see Miguel's face in the dimness -- happy, but the quiet kind without a smile, somehow still just radiating it, bone deep, snatched for them, just for today. (Still only for Ryan.) Another close-mouthed press of lips, firm and lingering before -- hell, had to clean up. The sated tiredness settled deep too, warm relaxation inside of every fucking inch of his body.
(And yeah, that felt strange -- some of Miguel inside of him still.)
It was downright fucking glamorous, Ryan thought sarcastically, settling on the fucking metal john for a second so… yeah, so Miguel and lube weren't leaking out of him all night.
But it was all weirdly comfortable and normal, watching Miguel moving around naked, and a little sticky probably, crouching and bending -- nice fucking view, strong back in the barely there glow, and that lovely tight curve -- getting them some washcloths out of their trunks.
He loped over, easy, and content looking, dampening one in the sink before passing it to Ryan as he stood and flushed.
Comfortable, yeah, because they knew each other, in tight corners, ugly parts, human parts, and all.
Miguel left his washcloth on the sink rim temporarily, going over to their little corner to grab the lube and put it away.
Ryan heard the return of Miguel's chuckle as he cleaned up his junk and everything. "What?"
"You did some redecorating, baby."
Ryan stepped closer to their hidden corner, where Miguel was moving slightly out of the way, turning to the side so Ryan could see -- the wall.
The goddamn wall.
With his goddamn jizz on it.
Great.
Then he watched as Miguel ran his damn fingers through it, bringing it up to his mouth to--
"--Jesus, don't be disgusting." Ryan's reflexive complaint was mild.
Miguel licked his fingers around a devilish grin. "What?" He stopped, hand dropping, but smirk staying. "Might want to rethink criticizing me, there. I mean, I'm good with the taste of your come -- is that really something you want to change?"
Ryan snorted softly. "It's not me that's the problem, it's the filthy fucking wall."
Miguel's shrug was smooth, clearly disagreeing, before reaching out for Ryan's used washcloth. "Here. I'll get this."
"Okay, sure -- but clean it, don't eat it."
Miguel shot him a bemused look. "Seriously? Do you never want your dick sucked again? Is that your thing now? Like, you giving it up for Lent?"
Ryan's snort that time quickly became soft laughter. "Definitely not. And fucking Lent?! You hang out with the priest too much. I apologize, okay? My bad. Lick away." He stowed the vodka quickly, happy to find it still upright.
"Dick." But Miguel's insult was full of laughter, too. (And he didn't lick it, he just wiped it up, while Ryan got them clean underwear.)
Ryan moved back in close, after pulling on his briefs, leaning to drop a kiss on the side of Miguel's throat as he finished with the wall. Had to make up for that comment after all, little shit that bordered on insults could build up with Miguel. And it had been a dumb reaction really, again, mainly having to do with the wall -- Miguel licking his come off his fingers? Actually very fucking hot.
"I like tasting you, too." Ryan could also do the husky whispers in the ear thing. It was even true, in its way. Sure, salty and a bit bitter and not fucking delicious or anything, but it was… yeah, kind of hot, especially the look it put in Miguel's eyes.
Miguel forgave him, could tell by the soft shoulder bump as he passed on the way to the sink, the squeeze of Ryan's hip as he maneuvered around him, out of the corner -- could feel the slightest soreness from Miguel's previous grip, the fucking best kind of sore, from them both being lost together.
"Sharing my bed, yeah?" Miguel inquired, showing that was his preference.
Tonight? Definitely.
Ryan just nodded, climbing into Miguel's bottom bunk, shifting against the wall. Miguel preferred that, too, Ryan knew. Liked it better than being trapped against the wall. Ryan wasn't claustrophobic, and he didn't care as long as Miguel was sharing the shitty bed with him.
At the moment, he had a damn good view again. Relaxing in bed, watching Miguel clean himself up at the sink, spent dick swaying softly in the dim light, being wiped down, carefully handled, probably still sensitive.
"Should do laundry tomorrow," Miguel said it like he was pondering, not making a request. They both did the laundry, having long ago stopped giving a fuck whose exactly they were doing, their loads blending together, sometimes both of them passing the time in the laundry room together, too. (Not in anything resembling a sexual way -- way more visible behind that huge glass wall, and right by the fucking Hack station near the gate.)
Sure, they should, especially with most of their washcloths now covered in lube and jizz. But...
"You got the infirmary tomorrow afternoon, and I've got the fucking dinner shift. You really want to spend the morning--" our time, my time actually outside of our fucking cramped pod with you, which will be short tomorrow "--doing damn laundry?"
Miguel kind of grunted, which signaled him dropping it.
Sometimes, of course, they spent the whole fucking time they were allowed outside their pod apart. Sure, he loved Miguel Alvarez, but being locked up in a fishbowl with them for most of the fucking hours of the day could make anyone get on your nerves.
Mostly, though, he didn't mind it. A lot of the time, he loved it. (Was always grateful for it, as much as they could have in here.) Sure, they were cooped up for so long sometimes they wore on each other's nerves, but they were safe and it was marginally private, at least more so than when they weren't shut away. They could actually relax, as much as possible in here. And he wasn't twitching to get away from Miguel at the moment or anything.
Miguel brushed his teeth again --great ass, seriously-- which was probably a good idea, all things considered. Pulled on his boxers and covered up, unfortunately, before coming to bed.
Miguel settled in facing him, pulling the blankets up, both of them getting comfortable, legs drifting over each other's. Slow kisses, quiet and soft, pursuing nothing but a contented hum, with Miguel's fingers threading through his hair, feeling the sharp strong angle of Miguel's shoulder, up the curve of his throat, cradling his stubbled jaw under his palm.
"Glad that shit's done," Miguel murmured in the dark, two people settling just fine into the small bunk, because they'd happily take occasionally uncomfortable cramped closeness over being more physically comfortable alone in the cold.
"The fucking? Didn't seem like a chore to you at the time," Ryan's sarcasm was the last part of him to drift to sleep, maybe.
Felt the gentle tap of annoyance, Miguel's hand on his arm. Stop it, dick, not what I meant, conveyed without words.
"I was-- was worried about you." With the joy of triumph having been indulged in the best fucking way, Miguel turned quiet, serious, words practically a warm whisper reaching towards Ryan like the look in his eyes. "That motherfucker was clever, the downright deadly way you are. Moves like yours, and he almost-- I'm just glad that bastard is gone."
"Not like me, Miguel." Okay, maybe his smart mouth wasn't the last part of him clinging to consciousness, because Ryan's own quietly grave words slipped alongside Miguel's in the dark, tightening his grip, just a little, around Miguel's waist.
"Yeah, yeah. Your moves are better, sure." A confirmation, like Ryan had been correcting him due to a sore ego. But it wasn't that.
"No. Not my fucking moves," Ryan stated firmly, staring Miguel down even in the darkness, shadowed even further in the bottom bunk. They were close enough, adjusted to that dark, that the slight console glow from below was enough. "I have you on my fucking side."
Miguel stared back, still with that serious calm of his, maybe contemplating, maybe just letting Ryan's meaning sink in. "Yeah, you do." Wrapped his arm around Ryan's waist under the covers, mirroring him almost. "And I'm right here." The way he said it… like he meant it with blood and bone (and heart), and needed Ryan to see that.
Ryan did, saw all of Miguel, and the shit he brought to Ryan's life that Ryan had never had. Miguel's eyelids slipped lower, and his watchfulness turned idly relaxed. "Should get some sleep. You got your little watch set or we need to haul our asses up and get it?" His voice, too, low and lazy scratchiness now, ready for that sleep.
Ryan almost rolled his eyes at Miguel's fucking continued insistence on calling it Ryan's little watch the way he did, like it was cute and silly. Was a perfectly normal, black digital, which Ryan never wore. He'd acquired it because you could actually set an 'alarm' for it, though its beeps were pretty tiny. It had one purpose -- being tucked under the edge of Miguel's pillow when they shared the bottom bunk, to hear those tiny beeps, and wake their asses up before the lights came on. Sure, the Hacks cut them plenty of slack, but being seen all fucking cuddly in one bunk in the light of day was fucking pushing it.
"Nah, already set." Ryan had set it and tucked it in Miguel's bed earlier. Because he'd had a pretty good idea this is where they'd end up tonight.
Miguel's smallest, laziest grin, right across the pillow from him. "Knew we'd end up here, huh?"
Ryan smirked, keeping his arm around Miguel's warm bare skin, all that defined, fucking sleepy strength under his touch, his palm resting on Miguel's back (okay, and just a little bit on the top curve of his ass).
For all his talk of sleep, though, Miguel stayed chilling, eyes still mostly open, his hand not entirely still, fingertips tracing soft patterns on the small of Ryan's back. Maybe should've tickled, but it really fucking didn't, just stoking a soothing continuance of his lingering buzz. Ryan was fucking tired, feeling the tug of sleep, but he was warm in the quiet moment, from way more than vodka and victory, and he'd keep his eyes open until Miguel's closed.
"Would be fine, you know. Good, even," Miguel murmured, soft and idle as the stroke of his fingers.
"What?" Ryan asked tiredly, but companionably
"Tomorrow. With our shifts lining up shitty, giving us only the morning together -- it'd be a decent ass day anyway, if we weren't locked up."
"What?" Ryan didn't get thrown a whole hell of a lot, but Miguel did manage it more than most. Something inside of him suddenly hurt, like a squeezing clench or something that hopefully wasn't a sign of an impending heart attack-- together, if they weren't locked up in here-- "Any day not in this shithole would be decent, yeah, but I'm still not following." Didn't let that feeling crushing his chest be heard in his voice. Stayed casual, tired.
"Well, obviously it would be." Miguel's tone somehow made the statement sound like an eye roll, even though he wasn't doing that -- he was watching Ryan, eyes comfortably half-mast in the dark. "But nah, meant what I said -- would be a good day all on its own, not comparing it to being trapped here. Sure, if we were working all staggered, we'd be just missing each other all day -- but the morning, we'd have that together. Could sleep in a little, be fucking lazy in bed together. Would be a nice ass morning. Can't get that in here." Tightened his arm around Ryan for just a second, like in demonstration.
Ryan couldn't speak, letting out nothing beyond a scoff that had no strength in it, because his voice would fucking crack or something. It was-- Miguel was dreaming up bullshit, full of booze and afterglow. Getting carried away like he did sometimes in his rare moments of light where he tried on a hope that had never quite fit him right. (Miguel got a little manic with it, when he finally tasted hope like that.)
This little musing about their life outside wasn't real. Not for Miguel. Ryan didn't have any illusions about that. Miguel was loyal, faithful, and he damn well was in love, but he wasn't a saint and Ryan hadn't suddenly grown fucking tits, tit cancer or not. Miguel was also coming up for parole real fucking soon, by their measure of time. More than six months, but less than a year. No, couldn't let that fucking fantasy take hold, that Miguel would-- no illusions. They wouldn't exist together outside of here for Miguel, not like this. Miguel would accept his phone calls from Oswald Penitentiary, and keep in contact however he could. He wouldn't ever leave Ryan high and dry in fucking hell knowing what that was like himself, but he wouldn't stay like-- might not mention her anymore, but Maritza probably wasn't dead or anything. And all the women on the planet hadn't been wiped out either. Once he had access to them again… Miguel was fucking loyal, sure, but him and Ryan, once Miguel was free out in the world, for Miguel they'd turn into fucking-- friends? (Seemed ridiculous, calling them that.) ... Family? Either way, not anyone who spent lazy days in bed together, fucking slowly. When Miguel went straight with his life, out of Oz, he'd go straight.
"Don't." Miguel was quieter than ever, eyes opening back up completely to keep Ryan's gaze on his. But Miguel didn't stop there. "Don't even try to deny and play straight all of a sudden. I know you. Not that our asses are ever getting out of here -- this place won't let me go --" yeah, Miguel wasn't paying attention to his parole eligibility approaching because hope was ill-fitting and hard to find sometimes for Miguel, and he didn't generally truly entertain the thought of having a chance unless he was convinced to "-- but if we were free? Don't act like you'd patch shit up with your ex-wife or find an old girlfriend. In here or fucking out -- you'd still be in my bed."
Fuck.
Ryan definitely hadn't been trying to play straight -- he knew exactly how fucked he was when it came to Miguel, how he'd never want anyone else, and he wouldn't let fucking go even if he had to play along with Miguel going straight and only take what he could get. He'd been trying to be realistic, trying to plan to avoid being fucking destroyed when Miguel got out. Ryan didn't choke out loud like a pussy or anything, but that stupid fucking-- crushing his ribcage, stealing his air, making the corners of his eyes prickle. The way Miguel said it, like he wasn't just spinning out fake daydreams, like he meant it. Like that's what he wanted, too, and he wasn't prepared to let go without a fight.
Ryan cleared his throat and manned the fuck up, managing to sound-- it was fine, wasn't that bad. Almost sounded steady in the dark. Mostly because he needed to get something through Miguel's head so he didn't fuck up his chances for parole by not taking it seriously. "You can get out, if you just fucking try."
Ryan didn't want to have the walls and fences separating them, hell no, but even he couldn't root for Miguel to get stuck in a place that was hell for him, that had swallowed half his family. Cyril was outside, paying a different price for Ryan's admitted selfishness, and Ryan didn't want to fuck up again and watch that light in Miguel (which Ryan had helped rekindle) fucking die again, right in front of his face, inevitably crushed by a lifetime in Oz. Miguel would look after Cyril, Ryan knew he fucking would (they'd gotten close over time, too, some of Miguel's calls routinely going to Ryan's brother), and yeah… even free, Miguel would write letters and answer every phone call Ryan made.
"Mmm." Another thoughtful noise exhaled against his face. Ryan was used to those, collecting them against his skin in the dark spaces with Miguel. "So can you. If you put that mind of yours to it." For once, Miguel didn't blow him off, sounding just as serious in return, but annoyingly less shaky than Ryan.
This scoff came out easier, quick and thoughtless. Less than a year had a lot of distance from almost six. "Sure. In about six years. I'll start marking the days now, thanks for the tip."
"You don't need to mark fucking days, got all that shit in your scary ass brain." Another squeeze of the strong arm around him. "Not that long, really. Already done over four in here already, right?"
Miguel didn't hope much, no, unless he flung himself into it recklessly, and he tried not to do that anymore after his kid, Ryan knew this, as well.
But this didn't sound like Miguel getting carried away. Sounded steady. Like a glimmer of hope that was real -- a weed poking up stubbornly through a sidewalk crack, treating getting pissed on by dogs like being watered.
And it cracked Ryan a little.
Because yeah, it still sounded like Miguel wanted it, too. "You might say that now, but I know better."
"Say what? You know if your wily ass tries-- if I can manage somehow to make parole, so can--"
"Not that. I know that. Every single fucking thing I do--" did, before you came along and made me adjust, take extra risks, take on extra danger, and not regret it for a fucking second "--is to survive and keep our hands clean enough in here to make parole."
"Okay, so, what is your contrary ass disagreeing with then?" Miguel's long sigh managed to ruffle the hair curling over Ryan's ear. "Hurry up, I'm tired."
Closed his eyes briefly. Another stupid risk, admitting this out loud. More danger he was putting himself in -- of being seen, vulnerable. But, well, Miguel fucking saw all of him these days, and yet stayed right there, breathing with him, wrapped up close. "You. I'm the one who's good at spinning tales, boyo, not you. Cold hard truth in the light of day, beyond these damn gates? Stop pretending I'm the first pick to warm your be--"
"Don't." Word as steely as that arm tightening around him more than ever, almost to the point of pain before easing up but staying, holding onto him. "I fucking meant it. Wouldn't have said it if I didn't. Not that."
And that sounded real, too. Much more deeply rooted than some weed. Sounded angry, almost, at being doubted, could even see it in his shadowed eyes. Because Miguel's word meant something to him, and no, he wouldn't have spun that pretty tale without-- Miguel knew what it meant, that kind of fantasy, that kind of hope, in here. He wouldn't play with it. Ryan had known that, really, but… part of him had needed to hear it out loud to believe it. To grip that hope for himself, for real.
"Six years, Miguel," breathed out, eyes closing for a long blink. Not a denial, because Miguel had all but given his word that he would wait, that even in the sun they'd have this together, just with what he'd said and the way he'd stared Ryan down while saying it. Just… feeling the long lonely stretch of it ahead of them. Fucking phone calls and letters. Maybe visits, eventually. (Miguel would bring Cyril more than his cousin did, most likely.)
"So? I'm not getting out of here that easy--" still wouldn't let that weed grow "--but some miracle happens? Doesn't matter. Still with you, even if I'm not in here."
Yeah, Miguel was a bunch of fucking little miracles, and he didn't even see it. He never had. But Ryan did. Ryan's grip left Miguel's waist only to cradle his jaw, to bring him across the pillow, into his mouth.
That sigh, tired relief and all, was against Miguel's lips before they settled back.
"Never supposed to believe somebody when they're fucking drunk," Ryan pointed out, but he couldn't help the soft curl of his mouth in a tired smile, and he'd given up fighting.
Miguel snorted that time, with a little smack to Ryan's ass. Again. "I'm not drunk."
Ryan didn't smack, just stroking his fingers over… okay, a little bit under the waistband of Miguel's boxers, where his hand had returned to rest on Miguel's back, arm lightly around him again. "I know." Quiet, and holding more than that. He knew now. Miguel would… Jesus, Miguel would wait for six fucking years. Or at least try, fighting tooth and nail.
"We won the cold war, baby. The two of us? We can pull off fucking anything," Miguel surmised, a little bit of playful confidence returning, even with him sounding ready for sleep. "Even waking up in the sun --for real, not this tiny stone squares bullshit-- together one day," Miguel said it like he believed it, not manic, but like a weed strong enough to break the fucking pavement and fuck up the sidewalk. "Besides, it'll be fucking hilarious watching your fifty-something year old ass trying to climb the steps of Machu Picchu without passing out. Don't want to miss that. Something to aim for." His grin was back, hint of teeth and all, catching the glow.
"Six years, Miguel," Ryan said it real different that time, like it wasn't that long at all. "Why am I suddenly fucking geriatric in this fantasy of yours?"
"Eh. Be on probation for a while, won't be able to leave the state easily." Felt Miguel's shrug more than he saw it. "Besides, we'll need time to save up backpacking money."
That was actually pretty practical. "Have you been planning--"
"Not really. Just thought of it. The rest of it-- not the bed thing. That, I've fucking known for awhile," Miguel assured him, fingers stroking his back in small mindless patterns again. "My bed, Ryan. Nobody fucking else's." Miguel lost the playfulness entirely, making himself clear, sounding just as firm and immovable as the arm still around Ryan. "This piece of shit mattress, or the nicer one I'm definitely getting if I ever get out of here." He paused for a breath, loosening even further under Ryan's arm with the exhale. "Now turn your damn brain off and go to sleep, or I'll have to wear us out more and I'm already tired. Need your rest, gotta make me dinner tomorrow, after all."
"I'm not your Suzy Homemaker, pendejo." Ryan was still almost grinning when he said it, though, even through his fake indignation.
More of Miguel's laughter, close and quiet as everything else. "Calm your touchy ass down, man. I know." Another quiet hum for Ryan, sharing his pillow. "You are mine, though, but that goes both ways." Yeah, it definitely fucking did, apparently. "'Night." Miguel shifted again, for a kiss on his temple, arm finally moving so he could lightly smack Ryan's. "Go the fuck to sleep, O'Reily." Dipping in for another close-mouthed kiss-- "Ryan." Hoarse and so hushed it was barely heard, with one last brush of his mouth-- "Mi corazon."
Ryan could do quiet, too, just fine. "Love you. ... Asshole."
Not a kiss, but a soft huff of laughter joining Miguel's again as he tucked his head against the pillow weighed down by Miguel as well.
Ryan went the fuck to sleep, his chest was aching, but not being crushed anymore.
It was good.
They'd be good.
Wherever they were.
***
End