Archive of Our Own

"Hey Sam?" Misa's voice calls from the other side of the dark room, from the other bed pressed up against the opposite corner as Sam's.

He rolls over to face Misa's bed, even though he doubts Michael is looking over at him too or that he'd even be able to see him. "Yeah, Mis?"

"Could I ask you something kinda personal?"

They had both just crawled into their hotel beds after a particularly good win. Sam guesses that the three shots he convinced Mike to down had something to do with his sudden curiosity. But, then again, maybe not. Misa was always curious, always wanting to know more. He thinks it's definitely a good trait to have, just, maybe not when it's past midnight and something "kinda personal."

Still, he presses his fingers into where he knows his head will hurt tomorrow and replies "Sure, Mis, anything."

"Are you, uh, into anything, um, weird? I guess?"

Is he really asking him that right now? Michael Misa, proud prude (despite his insistence that he is not. You're bound to get labeled as one if you never participate in locker room talk, and Misa vehemently ignores locker room talk.), was asking him about his kinks? Seriously?

He scrubs his hand down his face, sighing, before speaking "Michael, are you asking me if I have weird kinks right now?"

"W-well, I mean, yeah. But like, not cuz I actually care or anything, I just, um. I just want to know how weird I am. I don't know what counts as weird."

Now that sure is unexpected. Michael Misa, proud prude, has a weird kink? Sam has to know.

"Jeez, Mike, you coulda just said that," He chuckles a little, "Tell me what it is and I'll tell you if a chick's gonna be grossed out or down with it."

"Oh my god," his face is surely beet red by now, "I'm not just telling you that. Not without you volunteering your own weird kink or swearing to secrecy or something."

"Easy, I get turned on when I make my partners cry and I swear none of this ever leaves this room," honestly, not one of his weirdest, but to likely pretty vanilla Michael that'll probably sound crazier than it is.

Theres a pause so long that Sam thinks he may have fallen asleep, but then in the quietest voice he hears, "I don't even really know what it is. I just wanna be taken care of, but I'm not like a little bottom bitch or something. I'd wanna be taken care of on bottom or top. And being owned. I want to feel owned."

Sam feels like his brain is shortcircuting.

To him, it sounds a lot like "Petplay?"

"What's that?" Micheal's voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough to travel through the room.

"Basically what it sounds like and what you described, kinda. A lot of people are into it way more, with like collars and leashes and shit, but being taken care of and owned is like the main thing," Sam would be lying if he said he hadn't looked into this in his teenage years and then bottled it away under "unachievable." If this is really what Mike is saying he likes, he doesn’t know if he'll ever be able to look him in the eye without thinking about this night and popping a stiffy. His crotch is already uncomfortably hot under his blanket. "If you're the pet it's kinda just like turning your brain off and letting the owner do what's best for you."

"Oh. Okay," Michael pauses again and Sam allows him the silence to think, "Thank you, I guess. Goodnight"

"Hey, wait, you can't just drop a bomb like that on me and then go to sleep," Sam complains, one dramatic blanket toss away from joining Mike in his bed to pester him, "I gotta know more. How'd you learn this?"

"How did you learn what it was? Me doing some self reflecting and thinking is way less suspect than you instantly knowing what I'm talking about."

Sam flushes a deep red and turns his back to Michael again, "Goodnight, Misa."

"Night, Dick." Sam doesn't like the amusement in his tone.

But they don't talk about it again. They still room together, and when they win Sam still convinces Michael to have a drink with him. But they do not talk about it again.

Until Michael gets a hatty, winning the game with his 3rd goal. He's too polite to refuse any of the shots his older teammates hand to him, so by the time they're back in their hotel room and showered, Michael is still half tipsy and filled with energy.

He keeps tossing and turning across the room in his bed, occasionally picking up his phone before silently scrolling for a few minutes and putting it back down. Honestly, he's really not being disruptive to Sam's sleep — he can just feel how wound up Michael is, it's radiating through their hotel room and keeping him up too.

"Mikey. Can you not sleep?" Sam can't help but think back to the last time they had a conversation laying in bed like this.

"Not really," Michael turns to face Sam, "Sorry, am I keeping you up? I can be still."

"No, it's fine, do you maybe want to do something?"

"Uh, sure," He scrunches his eyebrows together before continuing, "What though? It's late, we have curfew and everything's probably closed anyway."

"Well, I thought maybe we could talk about something and maybe try something out?" If this plan works, Sam is a genius.

Michael pauses for a moment, almost so long Sam can see him trying to connect to dots as to what he could be referring to. He's very hesitant when he asks, "What is it?"

"Do you remember," Sam pauses to let Michael wrack his brain more but he sees absolutely no recognition on his face, "when you told me that you wanted to be taken care of and owned?"

He hears Michael's breath hitch, "Yes? Sam, why are you talking about this?"

"Shh, I'm not gonna judge you Mikey," He sits up before he continues, "I actually knew what you meant because I like that kind of thing too. I wanted to ask if you've ever tried it before?"

Michael sits up too, shaking his head, "You like it too?"

"Yeah, Mis. Do you wanna try it?"

Despite the dark room, Sam can see the crimson Michael's face is. "With you?"

"Yeah, with me. It doesn't have to be anything sexual, since you're not gay or whatever, just let me show you what it can be?" Sam's heart is racing.

Michael takes so long to think that Sam has time to be anxious about it and consider that this was a crazy overstep, but as he was about to apologize and beg for Michael's forgiveness, he squeaks out an "Okay."

"Really?" Sam scoots to the edge of his bed, facing Michael.

"Yeah," His eyes are wide and honestly puppy-like, Sam is honestly shocked he didn't see this coming. "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you just come here to start?"

Michael stands and pads over to Sam, who catches him by the hips right before he sits on the bed. He positions him to stand in front of his open legs, "Can you sit, Mikey?"

He watches the other boy flush from his hairline down to the nape of his neck, but he obeys and tucks his feet under himself, kneeling at Sam's feet. "That's good, Mikey, good job. You're a natural."

With a slightly shaky hand he reaches to cup Michael's face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. He blinks up at him, searching Sam's eyes for any glint of a joke he can't believe Michael is falling for. But there's nothing. He looks back at him with soft eyes, watching the boy beneath with nothing but admiration. Like he can't believe Michael is doing this, but there's no chirp behind his lips for it.

Michael leans into his hand, letting his eyes flutter shut. They stay like this for a few moments before Michael's eyes open again, slightly hazier than they were before.

"Can I have your paw?" Sam asks, letting go of his face to hold his palm out to Michael.

He watches the gears turn in Michael’s head as he raises one hand, not quite giving it to Sam yet. His eyebrows twitch in thought before he curls his fingers towards the palm of his hand and tucks his thumb beneath them, before finally placing his newfound paw in Sam's waiting hand.

Sam can't help the grin that threatens to split his face at that, "Good job Mikey, you're such a smart puppy."

His eyebrows shoot up at the name, face flushing a deep shade of red. But he doesn't take his paw back.

It only makes Sam smile more and bring his free hand to card through his hair, scratching the blunt tips of his nails along his scalp while he does. "This is really doing it for you, huh?"

Michael doesn't respond verbally, but he does bow his head to give him more hair to pet. He scratches gently at the finer hair by the nape of his neck, watching how Michael visibly relaxes and sways into the touch.

"Can I have your other paw, puppy?" Sam guides his head up so they can look each other in the eyes again.

There's no hesitation this time, Michael trades his right paw for the left and blinks up at him, expecting the praise now. His right hand stays closed into a paw even when he places it on the floor between his thighs.

"Thank you, pup, good boy," Sam ruffles Michael's hair, fingers getting caught in a tangle. "Your fur's all matted, you want me to brush it for you?"

Michael blinks stupidly at him for a second before it registers he asked a question and he nods. "Okay puppy, you stay here and I'll brush your fur."

He does as instructed, putting paw down next to the other when Sam lets go of it. Sam doesn't go far, just over to where Michael left his hairbrush on the dresser. He grabs it and sits back down in front of Michael, taking his face in his hand again.

He starts how his mother taught him, brushing out the ends of Michael's hair before brushing from the root. If he was doing this for himself, he wouldn't bother, but a sweet puppy like Mikey deserves special treatment.

Once the brush runs through his hair smoothly, Sam sets it down on the bed and continues the brushing motion with his fingers.

"Feel that now? Your fur is all smooth and silky now. Feel better?" He ruffles his hair just to prove the point.

Michael hums a little. He looks so good like this, Sam thinks. He's relaxed in a way he hasn't seen in a long time, eyes closed and expression so peaceful that if Sam didn't know any better he'd think Michael was asleep. His shoulders aren't tense, for once they sag comfortably where he leans towards Sam.

"Think you could sleep now puppy?" Sam asks, "We've got an early flight back home tomorrow."

He finally cracks open his eyes again to look up at Sam, and he nods. "Alright puppy, get up here then," he pats the bed next to him twice.

And Michael really is a natural, he doesn't try to stand and sit on the bed. He clambers up on his hands and knees, managing to get all six feet and one inch of himself sat how he was on the floor but now next to Sam in bed.

Sam smiles at him proudly and lays back down, opening the covers and his arms for Michael. When he lays next to Sam, he's a little too far for his liking, so he wraps both arms around Michael and pulls him flush to his chest. He doesn't miss the way Michael pointedly keeps his hips from touching him. Sam can feel how hot his face is when he lays it on his chest, but he falls asleep moments later and Sam follows.

He's a genius.

Michael's already awake and packing his suitcase back up when Sam wakes up. They don't talk about it. They exchange good mornings before Sam goes to piss, and they don't talk again until after they've gotten off the bus back at the SAP center.

"Do you still want me to take you home?" Sam asks Misa in the parking lot.

"Um, if that's alright," Michael shifts his weight from one foot to the other, "or I can just uber if you don't wanna be in a car with me after last night."

Sam stops in his tracks where he started heading to his car. He turns to face Misa, hoping his expression showed how baffled he felt. "Mikey. Why the hell wouldn't I? I suggested it."

"Well, I know that," Michael chews on his lip for a moment, eyes focused towards his shoes instead of Sam, "I just didn't know if you'd think I was weird for liking it that much."

"Jesus, Misa," Sam pinches his nose bridge, "Just get in the fucking car. I don't think you're any weirder than I did before."

Michael flushes a little, embarrassed, but he does follow Sam to his car and slide into the passenger seat like it was made for him. It very well might be.

Neither of them talk until they're a couple minutes from Misa's apartment complex, he asks in the most shy and pitiful tone Sam has ever heard "Would you think I was weirder if I asked to do that again? Or maybe more?"

Sam must take too long trying to process if what he just heard was actually real or not, because Misa starts rambling, "I mean, I just don't know how else I'd learn this about myself. It's not like I'm no one who could ask a stranger to do this — and you said you like it too, so it's like a mutually—"

"Mikey. Slow down," He reaches one hand over to squeeze Michael's knee, "I don't think you're weird for wanting to explore a kink. Yes, I would be willing to do that again for you. What would 'more' mean?"

He finally parks in the lot attached to Michael's apartment building, allowing him to look at Michael. He's cherry red and staring at his hands, unable to meet Sam's eyes while replying "Well, I know you said last night we could keep it nonsexual because I'm not gay. And you're right, I'm not gay, I'm bi," Michael's voice drops to barely above a whisper, "And a lot of the pet stuff I think about is sexual. I want to try that stuff."

Sam thinks he may pass out. Michael Misa, proud prude, first admits that he might like one of Sam's most repressed kinks. Now, he's implying that he wants Sam to have sex with him? He's going to die.

"Are you asking me to fuck you, Mikey?" His heart is racing.

Michael blinks up at him, "Do you want to come upstairs for a little?"

He's going go explode, "Are you seriously inviting me up to your place so I can fuck you?"

"Come find out," is all Michael says before he slips out of the car and sprints to the stairs.

Sam jumps out and chases after him. What else did you expect him to do?

He almost catches Michael at the base of the stairs, grabbing at him while the other boy yelps dramatically and leaps up three stairs at once. Michael runs up the stairs, giggling the whole way to his floor, with Sam hot on his heels.

When they reach Michael's front door, Sam crowds him against it, pressing his front to Michael's back and squeezing at his hips. "You left all your stuff in my car," he whispers huskily in his ear, "You knew I'd fold?"

A shiver runs up Michael's spine, making his hand shake and making him struggle to unlock his door, "I hoped so."

He stays glued to his back as they step into Michael's apartment, only separating slightly so they can both kick their shoes off. Michael leads them down the hall to his bedroom, and he's trying to keep his nerves at bay.

Sam gives him a little space once they're in his room, sitting a respectable inch or two away from Michael on his bed. Though, one of his hands stretches forward to rest on his knee in a way that's hopefully comforting.

"What do you want to do? Like, do you want to just blow each other or do you want me to actually fuck you?" He brings the hand up to card through Michael's hair, "Whatever you want, tonight's about you Mikey."

His face heats up and he groans, leaning forward to hide it in Sam's neck. "I want you to fuck me," he admits. Those words from Michael's mouth made him dizzy.

"Have you ever bottomed before? Do you have lube and condoms?" He asks, guiding Michael's face from his neck.

It's the cutest shade of red. "Yeah, but it's been a while. I only have lube, though," he gestures to his bedside table, "In there."

The fact his best friend asked him to have sex with him knowing he didn't have any condoms is enough to make his dick rock solid without any touching.

"I don't have one in my wallet, Smitty took it last night," he thinks he might be blushing as much as Michael now too, "Do you want me to go bare?"

Michael groans, tucking his face back into Sam's neck. "No," he honestly sounds a little heartbroken, "I know that were both clean, I just don't want to deal with all the clean up."

"You know, I could just pull out and clean you up," Sam points out, "I don't mind. I was planning to clean you up anyway."

He strokes one hand down Michael's spine and back up, squeezing softly at his neck. The boy is quiet for a moment longer before he speaks up, "Okay, yeah. Just pull out and don't be too messy."

"Okay, puppy, I can do that for you," The hand on Michael's neck is quick to slide into his hair. "You want me to take care of you?"

Sam feels the shiver that shoots up Michael's spine at his words. All he does is nod into his neck, but that's not good enough for Sam. He tightens his grip in Michael's hair and pulls him to force their eyes to meet.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you, Mikey," he asks in the same tone that made Michael blush crimson last night.

His eyes stay fixed on the sliver of bedsheet between them while he speaks, "I want you to fuck me like you own me. I want you to get me ready for your dick and then fuck me until I'm a stupid puppy and all I know is how good it feels."

"Jesus christ, Mikey," Sam feels like he might pass out from how hard he is, "Where did you learn to talk like that?"

He finally meets Sam's eyes again, cheeks so red they're probably hot to the touch. "Can you kiss me?"

Sam doesn't think he'll ever be able to have sex with anyone ever again. He thinks Michael's already ruined him for everyone else before he even stuck his dick in him. Of course, he obliged.

He kissed Michael briefly, just a chaste press of lips. "You don't have to ask, puppy," Sam tells him, pressing one more soft kiss to his mouth to prove his point.

"Can I have your paw, puppy?" Sam asks, holding his hand out to Michael.

There's no hesitation when he curls his fingers into a paw and places it in Sam's waiting hand. It makes Sam's chest swell with pride, his puppy learns so quickly. He smiles easily, closing his hand around Michael’s paw.

"That's such a good job, Mikey," Sam ruffles his hair with his free hand. "Such a smart puppy, you learn so fast."

Michael's face has been a steady pink since after Sam kissed him, but at the praise his cheeks heat up. He can read Michael like a book.

Gently, he lets go of Michael's paw and brings his newly freed hand to trace down the length of his chest. His fingertips wander up the hem of his shirt, smoothing his hand against Michael's stomach and around to his hip.

"You're sure you wanna do this, Michael?" he rubs his thumb in tight circles on his hip.

Michael nods before he can fully get the question out but Sam makes no moves to get on with it so he tells him, "I'm sure. I promise, I want to."

At that, Sam leans in and kisses him. One big hand cups his jaw while the other pushes further up his shirt. His tongue swipes at Michael's bottom lip, and when he opens he's rewarded with Sam licking into his mouth like he's trying to memorize every dip and groove. Michael's met with the urge to do the same, but before he can Sam tightens his grip on his jaw and pulls him off. His other hand rucks his shirt all the way up to his collarbone.

"Let's get this off you, pup," He coos, guiding his arms up to pull it off, "Puppies don't need all this clothing."

Once his shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor, Sam's hands are at the waistband of his sweatpants. "These gotta go too. You okay with that, boy?" he squeezes at Michael's thigh reassuringly. Michael nods, to which Sam tches but slips his fingers past the elastic waistband anyway, speaking while he works them off, "Sometimes I forget you're just a puppy and you don't know how to do this. When I ask you something, I want you to speak. Can you speak, Mikey?"

The little yip that Michael offers should embarrass him, but with how Sam instantly smiles he can't bring himself to be embarrassed. Sam scratches through his hair, "That was perfect, puppy, you did so good. Can you do that every time I ask you a question while we play?"

He yips again, this time more sure of the noise. Sam's smile grows, "Good boy, such a quick learner."

Sam guides Michael down onto the bed, spreading his legs before settling between them. Like this, all of him is on display to his best friend. Suddenly he's a little self conscious about being mostly nude and fully hard while Sam remained clothed and just looking at him, but before he can get too in his head about it there's a hand cupping his dick.

"Look at you, puppy," Sam coos, squeezing the bulge, "So eager to get fucked."

It kicked against his palm and Sam couldn't help the little chuckle he let out at that.

He removes his hand and Michael whines at the loss of contact, but he's quickly shut up by the sight of Sam pulling his shirt off. You would think that for how often he sees Sam shirtless in the locker room that he'd be used to it by now, and when they're in the locker room, he is. But here, with Sam's big broad shoulders looming over him and his beautifully defined abs and his massive arms, Michael definitely isn't used to this. The visible difference in the size of their forearms is making his head swim.

Sam reaches over to rummage in the drawer Michael had said had lube in it earlier, finding a little bottle stuffed at the very back of the drawer, like Michael was embarrassed about it. He discards it on the bed by them, leaning down in favor of kissing Michael again.

One big hand cups his jaw while the other traces down from his neck to the top of his boxers, pausing at his nipple to pinch so hard Mike yelps. His fingertips continue past his underwear, purposefully avoiding his dick, to dig into the pale flesh of his thighs. He pushes them further apart, pressing himself closer until his hips are slotted right against Michael's ass.

He breaks the kiss, lowering his mouth down to Michael's ear. Slowly, painstakingly so, he ruts against the cleft of his ass. "You feel that, Mikey?" He punctuates his words with another little buck of his hips, "Feel what you're doing to me?"

Michael whines, wriggling down onto his dick as if to say "get a move on." But he isn't the one calling the shots here, and Sam makes that obvious when he suddenly grabs Michael's hips so hard there'll probably be fingertip shaped bruises tomorrow and presses him into the mattress. He can't help the moan that slips past his lips at that.

"Needy little puppy," Sam scolds half-heartedly. He fists a hand into his hair, shaking his head gently, "You'll get what you need, baby. Just be a good boy and let me take care of you, be patient."

He honestly doesn’t know how Michael manages to blush as much as he does and still have enough blood to be rock solid. He isn't complaining, though. It's cute.

Sam finally dips beneath the waistband of his boxers, "You ready for these to come off, puppy?"

His response is a whine and lifting his hips. Sam figures that's him begging at this point, so he quickly works them off and lets them join the rest of Michael's clothing on the floor. As soon as his thighs and hips are exposed, his hands are feeling over his soft skin. He could get addicted to the feeling of Michael under his palms.

Before he can let himself get too distracted, he finds the bottle of lube again. "You still sure you wanna do this, Mis?" he asks, bringing one hand up to stroke his cheek.

He nods almost frantically, offering a little bark that makes Sam swoon a little. But that's not what he's looking for right now, "Use your people words for this, Mikey."

"Yes. Yes, Sam, I still want it. Anything. Sam, please—"

Sam cuts him off with a kiss, this one far more aggressive than their previous. He bites Michael's mouth open, digs his tongue into Michael's. The hand on his cheek trails down his throat, down his chest, and past his hips. He just barely ghosts over the head of Michael's cock and the boy reacts like he's never felt sexual pleasure in his life.

His whole body arches into Sam's touch, sighing a moan against his mouth. Jesus. Sam doesn't know how he's going to move on from this. He doesn't know how he's expected to so much as look at another person ever again.

When he pulls back and gets a good look at Michael it's like all the air has been squeezed from his lungs.

He's flushed down to his ribs and a little sweaty already, lips kiss bitten and hair fanned out on the pillow beneath him. His hands are still curled into paws, both resting by his head. And his beautiful, long legs are spread for Sam. His dick is so hard that it's red at the tip and drooling precum, all for Sam. He's never going to recover.

Before he can get too distracted by Michael, he should probably take care of the poor puppy like he promised. He gets both hands under the backs of Michael's knees and guides his legs until both of his feet are planted on the bed.

Sam makes quick work of popping the lube open and squeezing a generous glob onto his fingers, warming it between them. His head dips down to press little kisses to and nip at the expanse of his thighs, his hips, his lower stomach. Anywhere he can get his mouth on, really.

"You're gorgeous, puppy," he feels like a devout monk with their patron god, being blessed for years of servitude here between Michael's thighs. "I can't believe you're letting me have you like this. You're absolutely unreal, baby."

He blinks down at Sam, breath coming out in uneven puffs and cheeks flushed so deep it might be a new shade of pink. Michael brings one paw down from over his head to nudge Sam's face up to his own. He follows easily, letting Michael lead him into a kiss.

Sam's seriously never going to be able to have sex with anyone else ever again. But he's barely even touched Michael and he has decades of masturbation material, so he decides that it's not the worst fate.

This time, it's Michael who pulls away first. He looks up at Sam though his eyelashes and whines, pouting a little.

"Oh really? Does puppy need it that badly?" He can't help the grin on his face.

Michael whines again, nodding along with it. "Alright, alright," he concedes like this isn't the whole reason he's here, "I'll give you what you need, puppy, don't worry."

He makes good on his promise finally, tracing a slick finger around his hole. Michael's breath hitches. He cocks an eyebrow to the other boy, who nods jerkily. And that's all the convincing he needs to gently work the tip of his finger into Michael.

The boy's thighs are already shaking a little by the time he's up to the first knuckle, little breathy whines falling from his lips occasionally. His cock jumps when Sam presses it the rest of the way in, and there's a shiny spot on his stomach from how steadily it's been leaking. But he takes it easily, so Sam is quick to add another once he's comfortable.

"Look at you, baby," he strokes one hand up and down his thigh, "made to just lay back and take it, huh puppy?"

Michael whines above him.

"Oh, but that's not what you want, is it Mikey?" he doesn't let up with his fingers, if anything he's trying harder now, "I know what you want, puppy. You want someone to have their way with you. You wanna be somebody's cockdumb little puppy, right?"

He gets no response (unless you count his whimpers and pants as a response) and when he looks up at Michael, he feels like he's been hit with a 90mph slapshot straight to the chest. His face is still unbelievably red with a sheen of sweat over it, hair sticking up in every which direction as well as glued to his forehead. His lips are a little swollen and incredibly red, his pupils dilated so wide that they look like full moons. And, fuck, Sam did that to him. He feels more accomplished than when his name was called at the draft.

Unable to help himself, he surges forward to Michael's neck, planting kisses everywhere he can reach. He sucks a very light hickey right on his adams apple, and then another on the side of his neck, then just one more on the other side, and okay who is he kidding? He covers Michael's neck in faint marks, just dark enough that there's evidence of this night but still light enough that they'll be gone by the next game.

He dots a couple along his chest too, following a pattern he'd traced with his eyes more times than he should admit. Michael is shaking underneath him, one paw pressing into Sam's waist in what he thinks is an attempt to hold him. He's been fairly quiet so far for how much this seems to be affecting him, which is impressive but Sam just can't let that happen.

Sam catches one nipple between his teeth at the same time as he curls his fingers upwards, finally finding the spot that makes Mike's back arch and cry out. That's more like it.

He rubs the pads of his fingers over Michael's prostate just to hear him moan again before he slowly withdraws the two and replaces them with three. Michael's thighs are shaking and his head is thrown back against the pillows, hickey-covered neck on display. But when he presses against his prostate again, Michael's head snaps up with wide eyes, and before Sam can stop or ask what's wrong Michael is cumming all over his stomach with his mouth hung open in a silent moan. Some of it even lands near his collarbone.

"Oh my god," he whispers in awe, "that was that good, puppy? Shit, you really are made to be fucked. I didn't even touch your dick."

Carefully, he removes his fingers. He leans in to press a few soft kisses to Mikey's slack mouth. "You did so good, puppy. That was amazing," is what he says because asking Michael to never have sex with anyone ever again isn't appropriate when it's their first time, "That was seriously one of the hottest things I've ever seen. Do you wanna keep going?"

The words take a moment to register, but when they do he's nodding and pawing at his back, trying to pull him closer. He ruffs at him, too. Sam could never say no to a puppy as cute as his.

So, he yanks his sweatpants and underwear off in one go, finding the bottle of lube as soon as his cock is free. He coats his dick in it and rubs a little move over Michael's entrance for good measure. He wastes no time, lining up his cock as soon as it's freed. Before he can ask Michael, the boy is pressing both paws into his lower back like he can force it in himself. How could he say no to that? His puppy is so good about telling him what he wants, the least he can do it give it to him. Slowly, as gently as he can, he inches in. The moan it draws out of Michael sounds better than any song he's ever heard and watching himself disappear between his thighs is a sight better than all the art he's ever seen. His face easily is the number one most gorgeous thing he's ever seen, though.

He gives Michael a few moments to adjust, petting up and down his side. With a shaky hand he brushes the hair from Michael's eyes, leaning down after to press a kiss where his eyebrows are creased and drawn tight. He kisses from there, down his nose, until he reaches his lips and places one final peck there.

Michael's paws have stayed at Sam's back, curled into proper paws, but when Sam's hips meet his own all ten of his nails are suddenly digging into the small of his back. He groans as they dimple his skin and send little pricks of pain up his spine, using all his willpower to keep his hips still.

When the crease in his brow smooths out again and his nails aren't close to breaking skin, Sam asks, "Can I move? Can I fuck you, puppy?"

His hands squeeze at Sam's back, whining a little before he barks in confirmation. Sam listens, of course, but presses further into him instead of properly thrusting. The head of his dick fits snugly against his prostate, filling him like he was custom made to serve Mikey. His thighs shake almost violently, crying out with his head thrown back and his nails dug into Sam's back again. That noise is going to live in his mind forever and replay every time he sees Michael from now on. Fuck. Sam is never going to have sex with anyone other than Michael ever again even if that means he has to live a life of abstinence after this.

One of Michael's legs wraps around Sam's hip once he can move it on his own accord again, hooking his calf around Sam's thigh and effectively trapping him there. Like he would leave even if he could. He presses the other up with a hand under his knee until his thigh is pressed against his chest, crowding into the space over Michael. The position forces Sam impossibly deeper and it draws a moan out of his throat, a whimper following like he can't keep the noises from spilling.

He, finally, pulls out not even a full half inch and fucks back in. Michael reacts beautifully, of course, letting out a whine that makes Sam hope he doesn’t know his neighbors. This time, he presses about half of his dick in and Michael's nails claw into his back again, moaning like he's in a fucking porno. He decides that's his favorite reaction thus far, so that's the pace he sticks with. His puppy's claws scratch down his back a little before he seemingly realizes what he's doing and tucks his claws back into a paw, opting to press that into his back instead. Fuck.

His hips work on their own at this point, pistoning like his body is a machine built to make Mikey shake and writhe and cry out in pleasure. If his body is a machine, his mouth would be the motor. "Does it feel good, puppy? Is this what you needed?" he asks, knowing the answer but still feeling pleased when he whines and nods, "I know, puppy, I can tell. Fuck. You're so perfect like this. You were made to be a little cock-drunk bitch, huh?"

Tears well up on Mikey's lashline and Sam's hips stutter when he sees them, his brain rebooting and when it comes back online the only thing he can think is make them fall. He snaps his hips faster and harder than before, forcing a moan out so loud that he's worried their parents heard back in Canada.

One spills and rolls down his cheek, staining his gorgeous face with evidence of his pleasure. Sam tracks the drop as it falls, nearly missing how his other eye overflows a moment later. Fuck. There's no way he's going to be able to last much longer.

But he never falters. He's going to give his puppy what he needs until he's satisfied. Michael brings his other paw to the back of his neck, clumsily pulling him down to kiss him. Sam goes willingly, letting Michael lick into his mouth until his jaw goes slack and all he can do is moan into Sam's mouth. One of his hands finds its way to Michael's jaw, bringing him in closer and forcing him to focus a little more on kissing. When he finally is kissing him properly enough, the hand on his jaw drifts down to rest on his neck. He doesn't squeeze, not yet at least, but he didn't miss the way Michael's breath hitched.

This time, when he pulls away, Mikey looks wrecked. He's flushed from hairline to nipples, a light sheen of sweat coating his body and his hair sticking up in every which direction. There's tears, some drying and some fresh, streaking down his beautiful face and his first load is still covering his chest. God. Sam tightens his fingers around his neck just barely. Michael's mouth falls open in a loud moan, his dick twitching between them.

"Should get you a collar," Sam comments, trying his best to keep his composure, "you'd love it. But for now, this'll have to do." He squeezes a little, just to make sure Michael knows what he means, like Michael could think about anything other than the hand around his throat and the cock in his guts.

Mikey whimpers, "Would you like that, pup? You want everyone to see you in your collar, so they can know you're owned?" Sam teases, keeping his hand just tight enough that there's pressure but not enough to hurt, "Of course, you'd love that. I bet you'd let me collar you and show the whole team how you like to be taken care of. You'd let me fuck you in the locker room so they'd all know to keep their hands off my puppy."

He whines sharply, nodding his head rapidly. Of course he would. Sam had him all figured out since Mikey had sat at his feet with his eyes wide and curious and his face flushed a deep pink. He never actually would risk having sex with anyone in the locker room, not even the showers, especially not another teammate. Of course, but Mikey's reaction was more than enough to make him consider it.

Sam crowds into his space to mouth down his neck, to his chest, sucking a few marks just dark enough that Mikey will be able to see them later, but not so dark they'll be obvious when he changes into his gear tomorrow. He nips at his pec, biting over his nipple. At that, both of Mikey's paws shoot up to desperately cling at Sam's neck. His thighs squeeze around Sam's hips, and like this Sam can feel exactly how they tremble every time his dick even nears his prostate. He sucks one final hickey, darker than the others but still not in your face, where his pec meets his ribs.

And that does it for Michael. He manages to get out the tiniest warning yip before he's painting his stomach again (and Sam's, this time.) He fucks him through it, but when he draws back from his chest, he has to scramble back because he almost cums at the sight of Mikey. As if the noises he was making weren't just as nut-inducing. He's still as beautifully disheveled as earlier, just a little moreso now, with tens of fresh tear tracks on his cheeks and his second load pools with the first on his built chest. All he needs is two quick pumps and his cum is joining Michael's.

He flops onto bed next to him once his dick stops pulsing, tucking one arm under Michael's waist to pull him a little closer. Sweetly, he presses his lips all over the cheek closest to him, smothering him with the kisses until he turns his head to him and puckers his lips up. Sam chuckles a little and pecks him, reaching up to brush some hair from his eyes. He keeps his hand by Michael's head.

"Jesus," Mikey speaks up for the first time since they started actually having sex, "You killed me. I'm dead now."

Sam laughs, "I hope not, there's still a lot more you gotta try."

Michael's face heats up, craning his neck to press it against Sam's hand with a whine. He deliberately does not move anything below his neck, clearly trying to save the sheets from needing to be changed even though they're already too far gone. Unless Michael wants to sleep on buckets of sweat and a little lube.

"I'm gonna get you some water and something to wipe you down with, then I'll change the sheets and we can do whatever you want," Sam tells him, moving to sit up but he's stopped with Michael's hand on his chest.

When he looks back he's almost mad that his dick can't get hard again to fuck him again. He's still gorgeously wrecked, looking up at him with his best puppy eyes. "Stay for a little longer?"

How could he ever say no to that? He lays back down, closer to Mikey than before and arm back around his waist, "Okay, puppy. Just for a little, though. You're sticky."

He laughs a little, almost dazed, "Feels gross, but I feel too good to care. Just want you to hold me for a little."

His heart is melting into a little puddle of goop all for Mikey. "'Course, pup, whatever you want," he brings his other hand to rest at his hip, far enough from any cum but still cradling Michael in his arms.

It only takes a couple more moments for Michael to get grossed out and nudge him up. He stands and pulls his underwear on, leaving quickly to gather a glass of water and a damp wash cloth. He even finds the spare sheets in the hallway closet, which admittedly doesn't have very much in it apart from the sheets, some towels, and a few cleaning products. Mikey is in the exact same spot he left him when Sam enters the room again.

Carefully, he starts wiping down his puppy. He's gentle with it, especially when he reaches his dick. Michael whines a little when he dabs over the head, but he doesn't protest further even when he brings the cloth further down to clean any excess lube off. He stands again, this time finding Michael's underwear and his own shirt. Michael's was, admittedly, the first shirt he picked up, but the caveman part of his brain wants to see him in his clothing too bad. He figures Mikey might like it, too, that it might feel like a claim of ownership. He hopes it actually is.

"Can you stand for me for a sec, pup?" He asks, handing Michael his clothing, "Just so I can change these sheets."

Michael does, taking the clothes from him as he does. He doesn't comment on the shirt, but Sam notices the little flush when he realizes that it's not his own. He changes the sheets faster than he thinks he's ever changed sheets in his life, and Michael plops back down on the bed almost instantly. Mikey doesn't immediately lay down, so Sam takes the opportunity to bring the water up to his lips. He gulps down a few sips before pulling his head away, and Sam sets it back down on the nightstand like this is a routine they do every night that he has memorized. He hopes, maybe one day, it will be.

He all but throws himself back onto the bed, snuggling up towards the pillows. Sam smiles fondly, laying behind him and pulling him closer. "Did you have fun?" Sam asks, petting at his sides, "Did you learn more about yourself?"

Mikey hums, "Yes to both."

After a few seconds, he adds "Thank you. For, I don't know, being cool about this. I'm still surprised you want to do this with me. I thought when we talked about it, that'd be it, and I'd just figure still out through porn."

He presses a kiss to his shoulder, "Anytime, pup. And I thought that'd be the end of it too, but this is much better."

Mikey turns around to face him, "Are you really going to get me a collar?"

It's Sam's turn to hum in agreement, "If you want one, sure, we can go shopping for one together?"

He nods, "I'd like that. I don't want anyone on the team to know about this, though, even if you fucking me on in the locker room where they can all see sounds exciting."

Sam laughs, so loud and hard it almost has Mikey worried he said something wrong. "Oh, puppy," he coos, "I just said that 'cus I thought you'd think it sounds hot. I would never fuck in the locker room, that's like the most sexless place ever. I don't even think I'd fuck in the showers."

His face heats up, groaning and tucking it into Sam's neck. "Whatever," he grumbles.

Sam laughs again, this time more controlled and less mildly manic. His hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, petting through his hair. They stay like that for a while until Sam feels his breath even out on his neck and Michael's arms are slack around his waist. He presses a kiss to the top of his head, but he's not far behind. Tomorrow, they'll talk about everything and whatever it means. Then maybe they'll go buy a collar for Mikey. But, tonight, Sam hopes his dreams are full of nothing but his sweet little puppy.