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

"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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