#bethsvrse

Honestly, you don’t even know how it happened.

One minute, the three of you were arguing about what the hell you were supposed to do, the next, Mickey 17 was between your legs, his tongue lapping at your cunt while Mickey 18 sat by the bed, rubbing over his clothed cock, eyes dark with jealousy as he watched, his grip on himself tightening and his jaw clenching as he watched 17 work.

His tongue moved like he’d done this a hundred times before because he technically had. Every movement over your clit was muscle memory, honed from how long the two of you had been together. Mickey 18 knew exactly what it felt like to have you writhing beneath him, and the fact that 17 was the one drawing those desperate little sounds from your lips instead of him was driving him insane.

He exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat like he was debating whether to wait his turn or shove 17 out of the way. But 17 wasn’t stopping—not even sparing his double a glance. He was devoted, completely focused on your pleasure, moaning against your cunt like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted (because in his mind, it was).

“Fuck,” 18 muttered, palming himself harder. “That’s my pussy too, y’know.”

Mickey 17 lifted his head slightly, looking up at 18 with wide, hazy eyes, lips slick with your arousal.

“But… it’s my turn,” he said softly, almost pouting.

Mickey 18 let out a sharp breath, like he was barely holding himself together. Then, he moved.

Before you could process it, he was between your legs, shoving 17’s shoulder in an attempt to get him out of the way. “Move.”

17 let out a small noise of protest, hands still gripping your thighs, eyes flickering between 18 and you, unsure, almost as if wanting you to tell 18 to wait his turn.

But 18 wasn’t waiting, and honestly, he wouldn’t even listen to you if he told him too. He pressed his mouth to you, groaning as he finally got his first taste, lapping at your cunt like you were water and he was a man in the desert.

17 whined softly but didn’t pull away. Instead, after a beat, he leaned back in, his tongue darting out to flick over your clit, while 18 groaned against your entrance, working his tongue deeper.

The two of them licked and sucked in tandem, their breath hot, their mouths wet and eager, both of them determined to pull you apart.

17 clung to your thighs, eyes fluttering shut as he focused on the sensitive bundle of nerves, whimpering softly with every little twitch of pleasure you gave while 18 was rougher, more demanding, moaning against your cunt as he pushed his tongue deeper, like he wanted to devour you whole.

Pleasure coursed through you, your body arching between them as their mouths worked in perfect, desperation. It was overwhelming, the contrast of them both.

Your fingers tangled in 17’s hair, gripping tight, and he whimpered into you, the sound vibrating through your core. He was so good for you, so eager to please, to be wanted. 18 groaned at the noise, gripping your hips and pulling you even closer to his mouth, dragging his tongue through your wetness with a satisfied hum, like he was trying to drown himself in you.

It was almost too much. Their mouths, their hands, the sounds they were making—moaning, whining, competing for your pleasure.

Your thighs shook as heat coiled in your stomach. Your back arching as you gasped, choking on a moan, and that was all the encouragement they needed.

17 sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking faster, more determined, and 18 groaned into you, his hands spreading your thighs wider, his mouth moving rougher, needier—both of them working together, completely in sync now.

It hit you like a freight train. Your vision blurred, your breath hitched, and then you broke—pleasure crashing through you in waves, your body shaking as they held you down, licking you through it, moaning against you like they were the ones falling apart.

You barely registered the way 18 groaned in satisfaction, the way 17 let out a little whimper, nuzzling against your thigh, licking up every last drop like he couldn’t stand to waste a single thing.

It was only when the tremors in your body subsided that 18 finally pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking so very smug.

“See?” he murmured, voice thick with pride as he glanced at 17. “That’s how you do it.”

17 just blinked up at him, wide-eyed and still flushed, his lips parted slightly like he was about to argue but then, slowly, a small, almost dazed smile curled at his lips.

“I think we should do it again,” he said softly, voice still breathless.

18 snorted, shaking his head before turning back to you, dragging his fingers over your thigh. “Yeah? What do you think, sweetheart? Think you can handle another round?”

Your body was still trembling, your breath still ragged but with two Mickeys looking at you like that, both of them ready to do whatever you wanted?

Obsessed!Mickey Barnes jerking off to the thought of you every night. He tries not to. He swears he tries. But the second he’s alone in his bed, his hand is already slipping beneath the covers, stroking himself to the memory of the way you smiled at him that day, the way your fingers brushed against his when you handed him something. He bites his lip to keep from moaning your name, but sometimes he slips. He wants you so badly it hurts.

Obsessed!Mickey Barnes getting hard just from being too close to you. It’s humiliating. You’ll brush past him in the halls, and suddenly he has to think about something else, anything at all before it becomes obvious. He swears he isn’t some pervert, but his body betrays him every single time.

Obsessed!Mickey Barnes stealing little things from you just to feel close. Hair ties, pens, even the smallest scraps of paper with your handwriting on them—if it’s yours, he wants it. He keeps them hidden in his room, a little shrine of stolen pieces of you, pulling them out when he needs to feel closer.

Obsessed!Mickey Barnes dreaming about breaking the rules for you. Kenneth’s no-sex rule? He wants to follow it. Really, he does. But if you ever whispered, “No one has to know,” in that soft, teasing voice of yours, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d break every rule, risk everything, just to have you.

Obsessed!Mickey Barnes hiding in your closet when you come home early from your shift. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He had just come to be close to you, to lie in your bed for a moment, to breathe you in. But when he heard the door open, panic set in. There was no time to escape, so he scrambled into your closet, heart hammering, praying you wouldn’t notice the way the door was slightly ajar.

Obsessed!Mickey Barnes who ends up watching you without meaning to. He swears he didn’t mean to see anything. He should have closed his eyes, should have turned his back away from the gap in the closet. But then you started touching yourself—right there, in your bed, technically in front of him, although completely unaware that he was hidden just feet away. His mouth went dry, his whole body frozen as he watched, mesmerized, unable to look away.

Obsessed!Mickey Barnes who can’t help but touch himself too. He tries to stay still, to stay quiet, but it’s too much. The way you whimper, the way your breath hitches—it’s torture. He palms himself through his pants, biting his lip so hard he almost draws blood. He knows it’s wrong, knows he shouldn’t, but the way you moan has him coming undone, desperate and aching for you in ways he can’t even describe.

Obsessed!Mickey Barnes hating himself for it but knows he’d do it again. When you finally sigh, when you finally relax, he’s still trembling in the dark, spent and ashamed but so, so addicted. He waits until you’re asleep before slipping out, forcing himself to pretend like it never happened. But deep down, he knows—if it ever happened again, if fate ever put him in that position once more—he wouldn’t hesitate to touch himself once more.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

You sighed, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know.” His voice came out rough, like he’d spent hours lying awake, staring at the ceiling, turning over every reason why this was a mistake. Because he did. “I couldn’t sleep.”

For a long moment, you just stared at him, lips pressing together like you were debating slamming the door in his face. And maybe you should’ve. But instead, you exhaled, stepping aside.

“Fine. Get in here before someone sees you.”

He practically stumbled inside, too obvious about how desperate he was just to be near you.

You shut the door behind him and padded over to the tiny kitchen in your quarters, barely looking at him. “Sit down.”

Mickey hesitated for only a second before dropping into the chair by your desk, his hands shoved between his knees like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

You filled a glass with water and set it in front of him, your gaze steady. “What’s keeping you up?”

Mickey stared at the glass but didn’t reach for it. “Just… a lot on my mind.”

You leaned against the counter, arms still crossed. “Like what?”

He hesitated, fingers twitching against his thighs. He couldn’t tell you the truth. He couldn’t tell you that he’d spent the last hour with his hand wrapped around his cock, trying (and failing) to get himself off to the thought of you. That no matter how many times he came, no matter how many filthy scenarios played out in his head, it was never enough. Because it wasn’t you.

He clenched his jaw, the silence stretching too long.

You noticed, but you didn’t press. Instead, you exhaled and walked over to your bed, sitting down with a quiet sigh. You patted the spot next to you. “Come sit.”

Once again, he scrambled to move, crossing the space between you with a little too much urgency. But he made sure to leave a little space between you, unsure if you wanted him close.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was heavy, but not in a bad way. it was comfortable. Like how it used to be between you two, back on Earth.

And Mickey must’ve been thinking about that, too.

Because suddenly, he said, “Do you still drink black coffee?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Black coffee,” he repeated, shifting slightly to face you. “You used to drink it all the time. More than water. I tried it once, and it was awful, so you started adding sugar just to shut me up.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You were annoying about it.”

“It was awful,” he said, grinning now.

“Maybe you just have bad taste.”

He scoffed, but there was a warmth in his expression.

Mickey leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “And you hated waking up early, but somehow, you’d always be the first one up whenever we had somewhere to be.” He tilted his head. “And oh do you still fall asleep during movies?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I do not.”

Mickey barked out a laugh. “You do. You always did. We’d start it and then ten minutes later, you’d be out cold.

Your mouth opened, then closed. Because… okay, maybe that was true.

“At least I never made us start a movie, then twenty minutes in decided I didn’t want to watch it anymore,” you shot back.

Mickey groaned. “Okay, that’s fair.”

His smile faded, his gaze dropping.

“I, uh… I miss that.”

Your fingers tightened slightly against your arms. You didn’t say anything, but he saw the way your expression shifted, the way you exhaled a little slower.

And before you could respond, he kept going, caught up in the memory.

“Do you remember when we went to your parents’ house that one time?” He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “And we-“

His words cut off.

Because suddenly, he remembered how that sentence ended.

We had sex, and breakfast the next morning was so fucking awkward.

Fuck.

Your face had gone carefully blank.

Mickey’s stomach dropped. “Shit- I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean…” He groaned, running a hand over his face. “I wasn’t trying to make it weird, I just-”

You still didn’t say anything.

He scrambled to backtrack, to fix it. “I swear I wasn’t- fuck, I just-”

And then you kissed him.

And Mickey froze, his brain short-circuiting.

And then he melted.

A pathetic little sound slipped from his throat as his lips moved against yours, his hands gripping the edge of the bed like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you.

When you pulled back, his breath was shaky, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You tilted your head, voice softer now. “Do you still overthink everything?”

Mickey let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah.”

It was quiet for a moment. He was still breathing heavily, his hands flexing at his sides like he was holding himself back, like he was waiting for you to stop him.

You didn’t.

Instead, you reached for him, fingers curling around the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. “Mickey.”

That was all it took.

He exhaled sharply, then kissed you again, much hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands finally moved, sliding up your waist, gripping you like he was afraid you’d slip away, like you’d disappear again. His lips moved against yours with a kind of recklessness, because he’d been starving for this, for you, ever since he saw you again on the ship.

You let him press you back against the mattress, let him rut against your leg like a man starved. Which, to be fair, he was. He hadn’t been with anyone since you. He couldn’t. Every time he let Timo set him up on a date, every time he even tried to kiss someone else, it felt wrong. Like he was betraying you. Like you still had some unseen claim on him that he couldn’t shake.

He broke the kiss (although he would’ve loved to kiss you forever) and trailed his lips down your neck, his body trembling slightly, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening.

His hands pushed at your tank top, slipping beneath the fabric, fingers skimming over bare skin before he lifted it up and over your head. His breath hitched when your breasts were finally exposed to him. His memories had been fading, the image of you getting hazier the longer you’d been apart, but now he had had you again and he will burn you into his brain.

His hand skimmed over your ribs, then moved up to cup one of your breasts, squeezing gently. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the soft skin.

His mouth kept moving downward, slowly, trying to take his time to savour this moment, because in the back of his mind, he was still worried you’d wake up tomorrow and regret all of it. That you’d say it was a mistake. That this was a one-time thing.

So he needed to drag it out as long as possible.

His fingers curled around the waistband of your underwear, and when you didn’t stop him, he pulled them down your legs, tossing them somewhere across the room.

Then he was on his knees, gripping your thighs, spreading them apart. He looked up at you, eyes dark, burning with something raw. Something overwhelming.

“Let me,” he murmured. “Please.”

The way he said it, like he was asking for permission, like this was something he needed rather than just wanted, made your stomach twist in the best way.

You nodded, breath catching. “Go ahead.”

Mickey didn’t waste another second.

He kissed the inside of your thigh first, inhaling deeply. He wanted to take his time. He really did. But the second he pressed his lips to your cunt, all his self-control shattered. He groaned at the first taste of you, his grip on your thighs tightening.

It was desperate. He was clearly making up for lost time, trying to worship you with his mouth alone. His hands held you in place, keeping you still even as your body arched beneath him.

He moaned against your skin every time you gasped, every time your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged. His name fell from your lips in a breathless whisper, and he just kept going, chasing every sound.

He shifted his grip, pressing his thumb against your clit, rolling it in slow circles. He felt the way your thighs started to shake, the way your stomach tensed, the way your breath stuttered right before your orgasm crashed over you, and Mickey didn’t let up, not until you were tugging him up to kiss you, his chin and lips slick with your release.

He looked at you like you were something holy.

“Fuck,” he panted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, like he couldn’t even find the words. “That was awesome.”

You let out a breathy laugh and pulled him back down for another kiss, shivering slightly at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Then you shifted, rolling him onto his back, straddling him. His hands immediately found your hips, squeezing tight, eyes dark as he looked up at you.

“You okay with this?” you asked, your voice softer now.

“Yeah. God, yeah, I’m so okay. I want you,” he rambled, nodding quickly.

You leaned down, lips brushing against his. “Then shut up and let me take care of you.”

His breath hitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

A loud moan ripped from his throat as you sank down onto his cock, your warm heat engulfing him, making his head spin.

He never wanted to leave. He wanted to stay here forever, looking up at you, watching your tits bounce in his face until the end of time.

He leaned up slightly from the pillows, his lips latching onto one of your nipples, moaning softly against your skin as you rocked against him, grinding rather than bouncing.

“Good boy,” you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair. He whimpered at the praise, his hips stuttering beneath you.

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” you asked, your tone teasing.

He nodded, his eyes glassy, pupils blown wide.

“Tell me, Mickey,” you pressed, your nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “Have you been with anyone else? Or did you just miss my cunt? Did I wreck every women for you?”

His breath caught. He pulled away from your breast just enough to meet your gaze. “I…” His voice was wrecked. “I never- I couldn’t. I tried, but-“ He swallowed thickly. “No one else ever felt right.”

Your stomach clenched at that, something warm curling around your ribs.

“You gonna cum?” you asked, and he nodded desperately.

“Can I? Please?” he begged.

“Yeah, of course you can,” you murmured. “My good boy.”

You lifted off him just in time, wrapping a hand around his cock, stroking him through it. His release painted your stomach, his loud, wrecked moan filling the room.

You let him catch his breath before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, then sliding off the bed.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, okay?” you whispered.

Mickey hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes already half-lidded.

You cleaned yourself up, went to the toilet, then grabbed a warm rag before heading back to the bed. You wiped him down gently, pressing soft kisses to his skin as you did.

“You did so good,” you whispered, Mickey already half-asleep.

You turned off the lights before crawling into bed beside him. He immediately wrapped himself around you, resting his head against your bare chest, arms encircling your waist.

“What does this mean for us?” he murmured sleepily, glancing up at you.

“It means Kenneth is gonna be really mad when he finds out we’ve been having sex every day,” you teased.

Mickey grinned, pressing his face against your skin. “Good.”