myheadisaprison | {I might be lost, but I'm not a lost cause

Leonard is still buzzing a little too hard off the success of the night to notice Mick's mood completely. Oh, he noticed that the firebug is a little more moody than usual, but he doesn't really connect the dots on the way back to their room for the night.

The door's shut and Leonard's about to ask Mick what he wants to do for dinner, since they sort of skipped that part of the evening for more important things, but he doesn't quite get the chance.

There's something to be said about a moment like this, so utterly reminiscent of the first time they were really like this, back in Chicago. And it's that thought, and the crushing weight of Mick's desperate, frenetic desire that threatens to buckle his knees completely. Fingers of both hands curl into the material of Mick's shirt, like that could keep him upright and he pushes up and into the kiss.

His fingers are tight in the suit jacket as he shoves him against the wall, desperate and hungry as he kisses him again and again, barely stopping for something like air because he needs this even more.

Nobody touches him.
That's the rule, the one Mick has lived by for the last few years as they settled into what they were now. Anyone tries to touch Snart, Mick breaks fingers and hands and sometimes faces.
He is Mick's to touch.
Mick's to love, even from a distance.
Nobody else.

And when he doesn't push away, when he doesn't argue or tell him 'not now', Mick wraps his arms around him until there is absolutely nothing between them.
Mine

Leonard has no idea what's gotten into Mick, or himself, really, but the older man's feverish touch just draws him closer. One hand slides up to cradle the back of his partner's head, tongue colliding with Mick's in a battle for dominance.

Mick may not need to breathe, but eventually, Leonard does, so he pulls back and angles his neck in a silent invitation so this doesn't have to stop. But he can't help the question that rolls curiously out of his mouth, "What was that for?"

He takes that invitation, lips trailing along the column of his neck, not caring that his whiskers might scrape skin as he goes. "Didn't like seein' her touch you like that."

"You're my partner. She don't get to touch like that. Not you." A growl as a hand falls to Leonard's hip. "Mine. Not hers."

"It was just a job," he mumbles, echoing Mick's own earlier mantra, without even knowing it, eyes sliding shut against the electric feeling dancing across his skin that only Mick has ever been able to evoke in him.

Nimble fingers slide down Mick's chest, searching for the hem of his shirt to slide it up, skating across toned muscles once the offending material is out of the way. "I've always been yours, Mick," and he thinks maybe the pyro forgets that sometimes, because things are just the way they are and have been for so long and he sucks at reminding him of things like that sometimes. "Nobody else gets to have me." Nobody else has put up with all of his bullshit the way Mick has, and nobody would, and so nobody else deserved to have him like this.

"Don't mean I gotta like it," he raises his arms long enough for Leonard to push the shirt up and out of the way, dropping it carelessly to the floor. Every reassurance is answered with another searing kiss, Mick pouring out every last bit of devotion and love with each touch.

"Mine Lenny. Nobody else."

"True," he muses, an amused tilt to his voice as the shirt disappears discarded to the floor. His lower lip is tugged between his teeth as he silently appreciates the actual work of art in front of him. Nobody gets abs like that without work, and maybe somehow between all those electric kisses, Mick has passed a little of his own fervor onto Leonard because all he can think about is licking his way down his body and reminding him he's appreciated.

"Always," he mumbles breathlessly against Mick's lips, "I promise." He's laughing against his mouth as Mick's lips claim his again. "If you keep that up, my knees are literally gonna give out." he admits, grinning into the kiss.

And that draws a rumble of a laugh out of Mick, one born of genuine happiness as he reaches down to catch Leonard's leg and hook it around his hip. He's going to wring every delicious sound out of Leonard tonight that he can. It's rare that he's so receptive and Mick isn't one to waste any opportunity.

"I gotcha Lenny. Hook your other leg up."

"Are we teenagers again?" He asks, playfully quizzical. Maybe it's just the fact that he's not used to being the one on the receiving end of possessive behaviors. Maybe it's the entire situation and the static in the air between them, but goddamn, he is so turned on right now, so he doesn't fight that request at all. "'Cause it kinda feels like it," he admits, grinning, running his fingers across the expanse of Mick's chest.

"For tonight, why not?" A smile into the question as he helps Leonard hook his leg behind him, holding him up against the wall with nothing but his weight and his strength. It's a secret kink of Leonard's to be manhandled and damnit if Mick isn't going to indulge every last one of them on a night when he's relaxed and receptive to it.

"No school like the old school, right?"

Leonard likes a lot of things, secretly. And no one knows every last one better than Mick. He'd been the one that helped him discover it all, after all, so he should know every like of Leonard's, inside and out, and be as to rank them from best to weakest response.

He snickers at the remark, but doesn't bother answering him, other than reaching to pull him closer, crashing his lips over Mick's feverishly.

Oh Mick is going to take his time tonight, even if their kisses remain feverish and desperate, pinning Leonard to the wall and keeping him there while he tips his head to ravish the side of his neck, nipping at every point he knows will make his eyes roll back and his breath come a little quicker.

Mine.
Yours.
Leonard is his whole world, his everything. And he's going to take tonight to remind him of that.

He would never give Mick the satisfaction of outright admitting it, but he loves this game of denial that he plays on night like this, taking his time to hit every single hot spot he knows Leonard has. It drives him absolutely insane in the best way, in a way no one else would ever be able to touch.

No one can make Leonard Snart beg for anything the way Mick can.

"God, Mick, come on..." his voice is thick and wavers with the need for release that keeps being denied, still trying desperstely to cling to even an ounce of control he may have left, to not give in and give Mick the begging Leonard knows he's going for. He bites his lip, hard, to keep the errant nearly-spoken 'Please' from actually slipping out.

Leonard doesn't bend or break easily, even when it's something as simple as this. Teeth grazing skin, fingers tracing the curve of a shoulder or the hollow of a hip. Oh he doesn't give easily but Mick is relentless in his onslaught, finding each and every one of his hot spots and working them until he's a damned wreck.

A smug almost-smile pressed into skin.
"Not yet Lenny."

Not until he gives in. Not until he begs.

The rumble of his voice against too-sensitive skin shudders down his spine, a moan escaping from somewhere deep in his throat. "Nngh...I hate you," but it's said through grit teeth and an amused scoff that's far more telling of the lie that it is than making it anything like believable.

He's been living teetering on this edge for what feels like ages, and he can't stand it anymore with Mick doing that thing with his tongue. Blunt nails dig into Mick's shoulder as he finally gives in, "Fuck... Mick, please." He punctuates the point with a bite to that spot on Mick's neck that always gets him good results.

Mick only rumbles out a laugh in response, "Sure you do, Lenny." He's drunk on touch and on every sound he can wring out of his partner tonight and it really doesn't get much better than this.

Then he breaks, he pleads and follows it up with a sharp bite of teeth that send bolts of pleasure right through Mick. He kisses him again, slowly. Easing them both down at least a little bit. "I've got you Lenny."

And he does.
They move together this time, both of them riding that edge for as long as possible until they crash and break into one another. Collapsing in a satisfied and boneless tangle of limbs.

Mick draws him close, lips at his temple as he remembers how to breathe again.
Lenny.
Mine.

Finally, finally being granted the release he's been teased with for so long is a flood of the kind of relief that leaves him trembling and boneless in its aftermath.

He's little more than a useless pile of too-sensitive skin and jello-bones as he curls around Mick, clinging to him just to stay upright. "Jesusfuck, Mick..." He mutters breathlessly.

And then there's a beat.
And a smirk.
And he lifts his head, eyes alive with mischief. "Maybe I should let marks get handsy with me more often."

{I might be lost, but I'm not a lost cause

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