what do we do now? [muke af]

eighteen

eighteen

trigger warning \\ gore

Michael carefully slid from bed, leaving the bare boy on the right side of the bed. He looked at Luke's body, so clear and pale. He watched Luke roll over—somewhere in his deep slumber sensing that Mike was leaving. Even in his sleep, Luke look worried. Luke always look worried.

Mike slid on a pair of grey briefs, tight jeans next. He threw on a battered up white tee shirt, cuffing the sleeves. He stood in the mirror, fluffing up his hair and changing his eyebrow piercing.

He left their house without a look back.

He arrived at the familiar warehouse, Ashton greeting him at the gates. The two walked through the gates, Ash's voice dark. Usually voices could be described as happy or sad, low or high. But Ashton was different. Ashton was dark. Ashton was a sociopathic liar and Michael knew it.

Michael almost tripped down the cement stairs to the basement. Rust and mold covered the walls, that was the way they liked it.

Ashton led him to a side room. Two men were tied up. One was unconscious, blood dripping from his left eye. He had crimson dried blood all over his face which told Michael that they've been there a while. The other stared at Mike with large eyes, that man has seen hell.

"We're gonna kill them," Ashton said. He said it like it was normal—it was normal to them. He had no guilt building up inside him, he felt no pain.

"Okay, what do you need me to do?" Michael stayed still, knowing anything he did would be shown as weak.

"Watch."

Ashton looked at his old business partner, knowing Mike wouldn't be able to get through the morning. He knew Mike couldn't stand blood, he almost passed out at his own child's birth. He knew knives and broken bones made Michael's body ache and his mind cringe.

"Do it, Boys!" Ashton called to the hit-men. He sat down on a beat up violet couch, patting the spot next to him.

Michael sat down, looking straight forward. His eyes witnessed hammers being brought down to already broken bones. He watched faces contour in pain as they knew they were almost dead.

He could see Ash from his peripheral version. The golden-eyed boy was watching Michael's every mood, waiting for a reaction.

Michael had none.

Mike stared ahead of him, phasing out his eyes in order to not see it. He didn't want to see it. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to feel it.

Ashton patted him on his knee. "Did you miss it?"

"Yeah," Mike lied, "I missed it."

"We're like a drug, aren't we?"

Michael stayed silent, biting harsher on his own teeth as the one conscious man in front of him groaned out in agony. Mike hated this, he really hated this. He wanted to go upstairs, go into their computer room. He wanted it to be like it was a decade ago.

Ashton moved around on the couch, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. "How'd you sneak out from Blondie?"

"He was asleep."

Ashton held a single cigarette in his hand, holding up a lighter and watching it burn the ends. He tossed the lighter and pack to Michael, letting him take his own. "I remember when you used to come here and practically cry about leaving him."

"Well, he was pregnant." Michael held the toxic stick in his hand, almost burning his cold fingers as he lit it.

"Whatever."

Michael leant back on the couch, spreading his legs and getting comfortable. "I thought you were friends with him. Luke sure thinks you are."

"Luke also things I'm an insurance agent," Ash pointed out. He blew smoke up into the beams of the basement.

Michael couldn't understand why any of this started to feel normal. The groans of pure agony didn't interrupt their conversation anymore. It was just background noise to them. "He's not too bad."

"He's just a good shag, you've said so yourself."

Michael didn't want to admit he lied. Luke met the world to him, he loved Luke. He knew Ashton's partner was simply a sugar baby to Ashton, but Luke was much more. Luke was so much more.

"Am I wrong?"

"No," Michael quickly responded, "You're never wrong."

Ashton stood up on his knees, climbing over a confused looking Michael. He leant back, holding his cigarette high to stop it from burning either of them. "I missed you when you were away."

Michael didn't like the way he said away. He wasn't away, he was in prison. It wasn't a little vacation or a change in location. It was a full sentence.

"Ashton, I'm not comfortable with you being—."

Ash put his hands on top of Michael's shoulder. The dirty blonde boy could feel the heat from the burning material in Ashton's hand. "What's that?"

Michael looked up at him with fear. Mike didn't want to the next guy in those murder chairs. "Nothing."

Ashton leant in, letting their lips lock. He let this lips lock as if there weren't two people seconds away from getting a bullet shot through their skull. He let their lips lock as if Michael wasn't in love. As if Ashton didn't have a kid. As if Michael didn't have a kid.

Michael let him, he tilted his head and let Ashton grind down upon him.

"Forget about your fucktoy," Ashton whispered, he leant down, leaving bruises on Michael's jaw, "You're home now."