It might as well be porn. His ass aches from the welts, and so does lower legs, but the moment Liam sides and his arms are gently pinned beneath him due to the coat, and none of it matters. what matters is Liam on top of him, not giving him the time of day but his jeans rub up against Mike's cock and he stifles a moan. Shit.

He's trying his best to be good--to wait--and he almost--almost--wishes he has a gag. It's much easier than trying to hold his tongue.

The powder in the hitter, the lighter near it, all sounds and sights Mike desperately craved. Liam had hit it in just the right window of time--he was uncomfortable when he got here from not having any, now it was starting to get agonizing. That, compared with the pain he'd felt already, was rough. This was rough. But Liam had all the answers.

He's practically drooling, even though Liam hasn't done a damn thing. It's those lips that curl around the pipe, the amazing way he inhales--Mike wants to see that far more often. Mike wants to see Liam like this, pleased, even if he's not paying attention to him.

He licks his lips, and he swears he can feel his heart beating in his chest a little faster, swallowing hard and thick.

He has to be good. He has to stay silent.