michael misa, with big fat wet tears collecting in his lashes, little wobbly lip and scrunched up nose because he’s trying not to cry even if it’s so obvious. he’s not a crier, not even really a complainer, he’s just had a really really bad day and sam was pissing him off and said the wrong thing in too condescending of a tone and now misa is fighting off tears on the toffoli living room couch.
sam thinks he might be going into shock. misa is going to cry, sam has prayed for times like these because now the score will be even. except sam made him cry, not on purpose he will insist when this gets brought to trial or something. but also… oh. misa looks really fucking good crying. cheeks wet, sort of snotty, pitiful sounding, dark dark eyes made wet and shiny. sam is a fucking freak and he has never chubbed up this fast before in his life.
misa’s pink in the face and trying to hide behind his hands because this whole thing is so embarrassing and yet he lets sam pry his fingers away just to hold him still and stare at him which is objectively strange. what’s stranger is the first thing out of sam’s mouth is, holy shit, you’re so hot. it’s definitely not the right thing to say but sam says it anyway and then slides misa into his arms, to comfort him, he again will insist if he ever sees the light of day after this. misa goes so easy because of course he does, when has he ever not let sam move him around.
sam keeps his hands his hands on misa’s shoulders, not his waist because again, the fucking optics and the reality of this is so so bad. what’s wrong? and misa just sniffles miserably and completely ignores the question to ask, why did you call me hot? sam digs his hands into his shoulders, no, i didn’t. yes, you did. no, mis, i didn’t. you definitely did. they’re getting no where but misa’s stopped crying at least. sam thinks they can probably put this behind them and then misa squirms around in his arms where sam fucking put him like an idiot. it takes misa one aborted movement to go, you’re hard. and sam wants to bash his own head in.
they’ve hooked up before, a few times in total, but that’s really really different than sam getting hard at the sight of misa crying. he wants it on the damn record that he’s not normally like this, he’s been so normal about hooking up with misa so far, has kept a lid on all the weird shit he wants to say when he has misa’s dick in his hand. sam’s not sure who’s the one who makes the next move, who’s he kidding it’s definitely him, but they’re making out pressed against each other on the couch and then sam has a thigh between misa’s leg.
sam thinks he can come from just watching misa, still snotty and teary eyed and whiney, grinding against him. he’s not even certain what exactly he’s saying to him, something like fuck, you look so good, mis, or way more embarrassing like, it feel good? i wanna make you feel good. he is never going to be able to look at this couch the same way ever again
