Fanfic: The Urge (Chalk And Charcoal Series)

[smokingmirror]

Title: The Urge
Series: Chalk And Charcoal
Author: Avarice and Tinkerbell
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mikhael/Tybalt
Spoilers: pre BMB
Summary: Mikhael takes time out of his busy schedule to mock Tybalt's haircare products. April 1995.
Word Count: 3044
Date First Posted: 03-03-2002
Date Revised: 22-05-2011
Beta: Tink.
Awards: -
Notes: The watch was meant to be incidental, but then ended up becoming a plot point for the next chapter. Complete accident. :)
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: LJ

Mikhael held his notebook close to his leg as he strode across the campus lawns. It was a typical early Spring morning -- sun shining beautifully, but still with enough of a nip in the air to require a light jacket.

With a glance down at his watch, Mikhael slowed his pace slightly. They still had plenty of time, but time in this particular scheme of things meant nothing.

He and Tybalt had both chosen to take a lecture on Reformation and Counter-Reformation in 17th century painting for the semester. It was a deeply fascinating class, and they found themselves discussing topics and ideas long after the lecture was over.

There was a three hour lecture every Wednesday starting at 8.30 am sharp. Since Tybalt's dorm was closer to the Humanities block, Mikhael had gotten into the habit of swinging by his boyfriend's room and walking to class with him.

But if there was one thing that Mikhael had learnt, it was that while part of each the day had an allocated quota of sex and/or intimacy, anything else was fair game. Tybalt didn't ascribe to any known routine. He was neither early nor late, but did things precisely when he meant to. The brunet made it a point of arriving at Tybalt's door at 8.10am exactly. Sometimes Tybalt would be sipping on coffee, ready to go. Other times, he wasn't even awake.

Mikhael climbed the stairs in block ‘C’ until he reached the fourth floor. Turning left, he nodded to a few weary-looking students stumbling through the hall, before stopping at the door of room 418. He checked his watch. 8.10am precisely. With a small smile, he rapped on the door. Nothing.

He knocked again, a little louder. Still nothing.

Mikhael's forehead creased with a slight frown as he twisted the knob. It was locked.

"Hn," he grunted, wondering what to do next.

"Hey," a semi-familiar voice interrupted Mikhael's door-frowning sport. The Russian turned to see a young man a few doors down leaving his room. He vaguely recognised him as someone he'd seen Tybalt talk to on a few occasions. Troy? Trent? Something with a 'T'. "You looking for O'Donnel? He's in the showers." With that, Tristan turned and walked swiftly down the corridor.

"Thanks," Mikhael murmured, considering his options.

Waiting in the hall... or...

The brunet slid his notebook under Tybalt's door, turned on his heels and headed for the bathrooms.

Each floor in block ‘C’ had a bathroom at either end, unlike Mikhael's, which had only one per floor. But then, his was a far smaller building. The brunet entered the room to find it was quite similar to his own - off white tiles covered the walls and floor, divided by half a dozen stalls with a flimsy curtain covering each one. Just like any normal bathroom, except someone had drawn silhouettes of curvy women each curtain... Mikhael shook his head, recognising the distinctive flair and warped sense of humour of his boyfriend.

Mikhael frowned. Three of the six showers were in use, and he had no idea which one Tybalt might be in. The thought of yanking back each of the curtains and yelling 'sweetheart!' occurred, but each scenario ended with him getting punched, even if he did it to Tybalt's stall.

Especially if he did it to Tybalt's stall.

The brunet chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, before making a decision.

***

Tybalt shut his eyes and stood under the showerhead, letting the warm water slide over his body in an attempt to awaken. His limbs felt heavy and lethargic, after staying up half the night working on various projects with an array of caffeinated and alcoholic stimulants.

Tybalt massaged shampoo into his scalp. The pressure eased some of the Kahlua in coffee hangover currently hovering at his temples. Washing his hair always made Tybalt feel relaxed.

A sudden rush of cool air hit his wet body as the shower curtain was pulled open. He opened one eye in irritation, then let it slide shut again. A young man with wet ashblond hair plastered to his forehead and a towel clutched around his waist scowled angrily. Behind him, Mikhael stood, a blush staining his cheeks.

"Tybalt, are you aware that your boyfriend just perved on me in the shower?"

Tybalt chuckled, tossing his head from side to side, flicking water at them. "Well really, Mik, if you were interested in Josh why didn't you just say so?"

Josh just glared and marched off, muttering under his breath. Mikhael took his place at the curtain's opening looking embarrassed and amused all at once.

The redhead shrugged. "Didn't think he was your type, anyway."

"Oh, and who is my type?" Mik queried.

"Me," Tybalt replied simply. The brunet smirked and watched his lover bathe as if there was no one watching, or the curtain wasn't half open. Tybalt sighed into the stream of water, fingers still working the shampoo into his scalp, gradually working through the crimson mass.

"How much time do we have?" he asked presently.

Mik wiped the condensing steam away from the thick glass face of his old watch. "Just under 10 minutes before it starts."

"Hm... I don't know if I'll make it. Maybe you should go ahead without me."

"If you just rinsed your hair, got dressed and we ran, we'd make it."

Tybalt looked at Mikhael as if the Russian's head had spontaneously combusted. "Fuck off! Bad things happen if I don't take the right amount of time to condition."

"Like what?"

"Like my hair becoming dry and brittle, and you becoming boyfriend-less."

Mik subtly raised an eyebrow as Tybalt rinsed the last of the shampoo out of his hair. He watched carefully as the redhead reverently picked up a clear plastic bottle from the small tiled alcove in the shower wall. Before Tybalt could put it to good use, though, Mikhael snatched it out of his grasp.

"Mikh-" Tybalt began in a warning tone of voice.

" 'Hydrate your hair from root to tip with Herbal Essences Intensive Blends Moisturizing Conditioner for Normal Hair'," Mik began reading in an exaggeratedly animated voice. Tybalt's lip curled slightly. " 'This custom-blended conditioner smoothes and moisturizes the hair strand for strong, beautiful hair'."

"Damn right."

" 'For best results, use with Intensive Blends Moisturizing Shampoo for Normal Hair'." Mikhael paused, looking at Tybalt quizzically. "Do you use the Moisturising shampoo as well?"

Tybalt snatched the bottle away and cradled it protectively like a wounded lion with an injured claw. "Of course I fucking well do. This shit is good for my hair."

The brunet nodded sagely. "It is. I really can feel three kinds of softness."

"That's a fabric softener, you prick." Eyes narrowed dangerously, arms folding across his toned chest. "Do not mock intensive blends."

"I'm not mocking them, I'm mocking you because," Mik looked at his watch, "class starts in two minutes."

In the short pause that followed, Tybalt's lips bared his teeth in a snarl for a split second, before he forcibly relaxed and it melted away. It was gone so quickly, Mikhael wondered if he even saw it, and yet somehow knew that he had.

Tybalt sighed dramatically and rubbed his eyes. "Look, either fuck off or hop in and help me then. My hair's not getting moisturised by talking about it." With that, Tybalt faced the showerhead, subtly turning his back on Mikhael.

The brunet stared mutely at the pale expanse of wet skin for all of five seconds before making up his mind.

He stepped inside.

When Tybalt felt the large presence behind him, he couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, my. Does this mean that you might actually ... dare I say it ... not go to class?"

Mikhael scowled. "I'll go. I'll just be a little late, is all."

Tybalt turned and noticed for the first time that Mikhael was still fully clothed. "Doing your laundry at the same time?"

Mik glanced down at his soaked clothes. "Oh. I guess I forgot. I was a little distracted," he sent an uncharacteristic leer with this statement, and Tybalt's lip quirked. It was unlike the Russian to be in such a playful mood, especially when he ran the risk of being late for class.

"So? Take 'em off. Can't have much fun in the shower if one person's covered from head to toe." Tybalt leaned back against the wall and waited.

Mikhael began to disrobe, peeling his wet clothes from his body, and when he stood fully naked, Tybalt eyed the Russian's growing erection. "I think you'll be more than a little late to class. Looks to me like you'll be a lot late."

"Why?"

"Because," Tybalt grinned wickedly, "I can make this go on forever." And with that, he slid to his knees in the cramped shower stall and immediately engulfed Mikhael's cock in his mouth.

It was a bold move, one that caught Mikhael completely off guard, and he scrabbled for purchase behind him. For a minute he was afraid that he would fall through the flimsy shower curtain and he and Tybalt would go spilling out onto the bathroom floor for all to see, but then he felt strong hands supporting his thighs and he managed to turn himself to lean upon the wall.

Tybalt's mouth had never left his crotch, Mikhael realized vaguely, and wondered exactly how Tybalt did that. The tile was cold on his back and Mikhael thought the soap dish was probably leaving a nice indentation on his ass, but he couldn't really think much more coherently than that because at the moment, there was a warm, wet mouth on him, doing exactly what he wanted it to do.

Mikhael glanced down at the top of Tybalt's wet head and watched through slitted eyes as the water turned his boyfriend's normally copper hair into a dark, shimmering bronze. Water streamed over Tybalt's forehead and cheeks, making his eyelashes into little points, and Mikhael bit down against the sharp pang of desire that was caused by the sight of Tybalt's tongue lapping at the water on the edge of his shaft.

He was right, Mik realized. Tybalt could make this last forever. Mikhael drew in a panting, shallow breath when Ty scraped his teeth lightly against the pulsing vein before sucking delicately at the soft head. More, he thought to himself, more, more, more moremoremore...

"More," Mikhael groaned, the sound echoing off the tiles and resonating with force.

Tybalt grinned around his cock. He loved to hear Mikhael beg for it, not that he himself hadn't begged a time or two. But he wanted more, did he?

Mikhael could feel his toes curling of their own accord as Tybalt took him entirely into his mouth, reaching up one hand to cup the soft sac beneath, and using the flat of his tongue while he sucked. Damn, but he was good, Mikhael couldn't help thinking, even if he did use that fucking girly shampoo. Tybalt continued his assault, drawing out the pleasure for Mikhael until he wanted to howl with frustration. Mikhael fisted his hands in Tybalt's wet hair and let the redhead bring the pleasure/pain to a peak one last time before gritting out, "Finish it, Ty. God. Please, finish it."

It was what Tybalt had been waiting for; the absolute last moment when he knew Mikhael couldn't take another second. He squeezed Mikhael lightly with the hand that was between the Russian's legs and began a steady rhythm with his mouth, not letting up until he felt Mikhael shudder in his hand and whimper under his breath.

Tybalt got to his feet, wincing at the pain in his knees after spending long minutes on the tile floor. Grinning wickedly at Mikhael's satisfied expression, he said, "Guess we can get our asses to class, if we hurry."

Mikhael looked thoughtful. "Not yet," he told him.

"How come? Oh! You're right! I haven't conditioned," Tybalt looked relieved at having remembered his hair, and reached for the small bottle. He glanced over his shoulder in surprise when Mikhael's hand covered his own.

"Let me," Mik said in a low voice, and something in Tybalt's stomach turned over. Wordlessly, he handed Mikhael the bottle.

Mikhael squeezed out a blob of slippery conditioner and began smoothing it over Tybalt's head, using his fingers to separate the strands and coat all of the hair. Mik smiled as Tybalt leaned into the massage, turning his head this way and that for Mikhael to reach every part of his scalp.

"This stuff smells good," Mikhael noted, inhaling the scent of apples.

"Mm hmm," Tybalt answered drowsily, still luxuriating in the feel of his hair being stroked. "Works good, too. You think it's easy being this beautiful? I need product help."

Mikhael snorted back a laugh. "You need some kind of help, that's for sure."

Tybalt chose to ignore him, instead leaning slightly against Mik's strong chest so that his back was touching Mikhael. "Don't talk. Rub."

A lecherous smile touched the corners of Mikhael's mouth, and he reached for the conditioner again. Squeezing out a small bit, he dropped the bottle and reached around Tybalt's waist, gently encircling the smaller man's semi-hard cock.

If Tybalt could have purred, he would have, Mik thought. Mikhael felt Tybalt sort of melt into the touch, his head lolling back on Mikhael's shoulder and his teeth coming out to bite down on his lower lip. "Yep," Tybalt said. "Definitely don't talk. Rub."

Mikhael complied easily, using the creamy product as lubricant and stroking Tybalt into a full-blown hard on in a matter of seconds. The redhead was much more vocal than Mikhael, gasping and groaning, and Mikhael fervently hoped that they were alone in the bathroom.

On second thought, who gave a damn if they were alone in the bathroom? Tybalt obviously didn't, and Mikhael decided that he didn't either. It was much more interesting (and arousing) that way, and Mikhael had another miniscule glimpse into Tybalt's character. Tybalt lived life like no one was watching, and it seemed so much more pleasurable like that. Mikhael thought that he might ponder this more later, when he didn't have his boyfriend wet and panting under his touch.

"Harder," Tybalt ground out, and Mikhael began using the fast, slick strokes he knew Tybalt preferred. It was only a matter of seconds before he felt Tybalt buck under him, and with one, two, three more strokes, he was coming with short spurts and a muffled groan against his own arm.

They stood together in companionable silence under the cooling spray for many minutes, until Tybalt said, "Are we too late to sneak into the lecture?"

Mikhael peeled an arm from Tybalt's waist and peered at his watch. "Aw, fuck."

"S'matter?"

"My goddamned watch. I forgot to take it off. It's not waterproof."

"So, chuck it," Tybalt shrugged. The concept of time was less than important to him.

Mikhael sighed. He hated getting rid of old things. Tybalt eased himself out of Mik's embrace to rinse the conditioner out of his hair, before turning the taps off with a flick of the wrist and pulling open the curtain.

Suddenly naked and uncomfortable, Mik watched Tybalt wring his hair out before quickly drying off. The redhead beckoned Mikhael out of the cubicle and wrapped the towel around his waist, with a soft kiss on the lips.

"I feel a repeat, but infinitely more detailed performance is called for," he grinned.

"But the lecture..." Mikhael protested weakly has he held the towel to his hips, struggling to pick up sopping wet clothes and Tybalt's keys at the same time. Damn his spontaneity. The brunet didn't want to admit in the light of their shower, his enthusiasm in attending class had waned significantly.

As usual, Tybalt demonstrated the uncanny ability to pick up on Mikhael's unspoken feelings. "We're already thirty minutes late," he said casually. "You know they'll all look at us when we walk in."

Mikhael shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah," he admitted, "especially that asshole who sits in the front row and asks all the questions."

Tybalt pressed his cheek against Mikhael's chest, hands traveling down to skim the skin just covered by the edge of the towel. "It's just one class... and we've been so good all term..." he ran his tongue over the soft hollow in Mikhael's throat. "It's about time we were bad."

Mikhael snorted. "You? Good? You make being bad an art form."

Tybalt smiled slyly. "Well then. Let me practice my art."

With that remark, Tybalt plucked the keys out of Mik's hand and sauntered casually out of the bathroom. Mikhael stared after him, wondering if Tybalt realised he was stark naked.

Was he kidding? Of course he realised.

Mikhael stomped out of the bathroom and into the hallway. "Hey," he called loudly. Tybalt looked innocently over his shoulder.

"Come on," he said to Mik, ignoring the frown on his face, "it's cold out here."

"You're ... you're naked," Mikhael whispered furiously, afraid of attracting attention.

Tybalt glanced down. "Heh. So I am. That's 'cause you've got my towel, Precious." Mikhael frowned automatically as he glanced around, annoyed at the thought everyone on the floor could see his boyfriend naked.

If they hadn't already...

Tybalt smiled faintly, reading Mikhael's face easily. "If you don't want everyone getting a free gander at my assets, I suggest you haul ass and cover mine."

It was sufficient motivation for Mikhael. He stomped down the hall and shielded Tybalt with his body while the smaller man fiddled with the keys. "Hurry up," Mikhael groused.

"Hmm, someone's in a rush to get back to bed," Tybalt grinned, as he finally opened the door.

"Just get your bare ass in there," Mik growled, glancing behind him at the thankfully empty hall.

Mikhael nearly toppled Tybalt in his rush to get in the door and slam it behind them. Tybalt, naturally, found this very amusing.

"You are in a hurry," he smirked, snatching the towel from Mik's waist.

"Fuck you," Mikhael replied easily, pushing Ty toward the bed. "I'm not in a hurry." He glanced at his waterlogged watch and took it off, dropping it into the nearby trashcan. "We've got all day."

~finis