by; ElfyDwarf
Summary:
Mickey eats a granola bar and thinks there's some kind of aphrodisiac quality in hazelnuts - in other words, he becomes so insanely horny, he needs to fuck, now, and he can't work out why.
Filth. That's all it is.
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Mickey frowned and re-read the ingredients of his granola bar for the fifth time – it did not, in any way, contain anything that would be even mildly considered an aphrodisiac. He shifted on the dining chair again and spread his knees further apart, bracing his elbows while he re-read it, if only to focus on something other than the throbbing ache between his legs that had sprung to life for no apparent reason.
"Ah-ha, fuck, hmm," Mickey hissed, bouncing his knees and blinking to really stare at the percentage of hazelnuts in what he just ate because God, did he ache. Were hazelnuts aphrodisiacs? "Gotta be somethin' in that thing," he whispered. There had to be, surely, because though he was still prone to the odd impromptu boner, he was at an age where they were winding down to maybe one every month or so and they never, ever throbbed and pulsed like this. Never. His heart was racing and his pants were tight and he just wanted to hump against something, jerk off until he exploded. He'd tried Viagra once and even then it wasn't as consuming, this need to fuck something encasing him and making it hard for him to think about anything other than sex, sex, sex. So what had caused this sudden desire to be bent over, knees spread as far he can push them, ass up, face down, fucked until he can't breathe, like some damn animal?
Mickey kept shifting and fidgeting until he couldn't keep still for more than two seconds, shoving out of his seat to pace the kitchen while staring through the wrapper in his hand, barely even having the ability to focus on any of the information on it any more. His brain was fogging out and all that he could think, hear and want was sex. He put his hand down and dropped the wrapper idly and sought out his dick instead, squeezing it through the denim of his usually-loose jeans. Goddamn, he was hard and his balls were tight and he'd not done a fucking thing. Groaning as he squeezed hard enough to feel a pinch of pain, so completely lost in his need and wondering if wanking in the kitchen was remotely acceptable, he failed to hear the door open and lock shut.
"Take a kick in the balls again?" Ian asked, wandering in with a dopey smile to place a bag on the counter, immediately putting a bottle of juice in the fridge and a can of coffee next to the kettle. "Who managed to get one in then, hm?"
"Ahh ha, nobody," Mickey said thickly, his throat cloying and his voice barely there. Ian huffed a laugh and turned to lean on the counter, arms folded and that fucking grin on his face. It didn't take him very long to work out that Mickey wasn't in pain, he wasn't hurt, but that he was in discomfort and the smirk slowly dropped into an open-mouthed state of mild shock the longer he watched Mickey periodically squeezing himself through his jeans, shaking with the feeling it gave him, struggling to swallow.
"Where'd did this come from?" Ian said quietly, moving to take off his coat and kick his shoes somewhere.
Mickey coughed and shook his head, "From the great fuckin' beyond. Just... hit me, 'bout five minutes ago."
Ian's brow flashed up a little as he started peeling off his shirt, rubbing down his chest with it absently, "No reason?"
"No reason," Mickey conceded, drinking in the sight of Ian bare chested and stalking him, slowly walking across the kitchen to get into Mickey's personal space. "Aches, Ian, it really aches. Throbbin' like a punch to the face man, but so fuckin' good."
Ian licked his lips and Mickey watched his chest begin to heave with his heavy panting as seeing Mickey so turned on and heavy with it was obviously effecting the ginger beast in the one way Mickey needed right now. "Jesus, Mick, your eyes are so blown out, your lips are bright red and your neck and cheeks are pink too... Sure you didn't take anythin'?"
