Prompt: Clothed getting off

"Mike—Mike, what are you doing?!"

Micky breathed heavily as Michael dragged him into the dressing room. They were on set, filming an episode, and Michael didn't miss the way Micky had been flirting with one of the female extras between takes.

"Pants. Off. Now."

Micky barely had enough to get his pants down past his ass before Michael grabbed him and shoved him against the wall so Micky was facing away from him. He pulled Micky's underwear down and spat onto his fingers, before shoving one up Micky's ass.

"Mike!" Micky gasped in surprise. Michael slapped his free hand over the younger man's mouth to stifle his moans and thrust the finger of his other hand in deep, grazing his nail against Micky's highly sensitive skin.

"Miiiike," Micky moaned against his hand. His erection was growing against the wall he was pressed up against and he shamelessly thrust forward, desperately seeking some friction for his aching cock.

Jealousy fueled Mike as he filled Micky up with a second finger, spreading them apart before joining them together again. Micky moaned quietly against his other hand and he smirked, pulling his fingers out. Micky whined at the loss of contact and Michael put his fingers to Micky's lips. Micky sucked them into his mouth without needing a command, knowing that they didn't have enough time during their break to fool around.

Michael took his fingers out of Micky's mouth. He pulled his pants and underwear down and spit in his hand for extra measure before lathering up his dick with his own saliva. He stroked himself to full hardness, moaning softly, before lining himself up at Micky's hole. He pushed in carefully, but quickly, knowing that they had to hurry. The rustling of their clothes against each other felt funny and restrictive, but Michael didn't care. He had to teach the boy a lesson.

Micky moaned as Michael filled him, but was silenced by Michael's hand over his mouth again. Micky whimpered and kissed the palm of Michael's hand as he started a rhythm, thrusting his cock quick and deep into Micky's body.

Michael's cockhead came close to hitting that special spot inside Micky every time, but it never did. Micky soon grew frustrated, whimpering against Michael's hand and shamelessly thrusting himself against the wall.

"You think that's funny?" Michael hissed in Micky's ear. "Flirtin' with that chic like that? Right in front of me?"

Micky's response was muffled by Michael's hand, but it sounded something like 'I'm sorry.' Michael growled and started thrusting harder and deeper, now fucking Micky as hard as he could, pinning the other man to the wall.

"Sorry ain't gonna cut it," he spat.

Micky's body convulsed with pleasure as Michael fucked him hard, seemingly not giving a shit about whether or not he was hurting the other boy. But Micky wasn't hurt at all. Oh no, quite the contrary. He was enjoying it a little too much, like the little slut he was.

And Michael knew it.

"Whore," he hissed. "What kinda pleasure would you bring that chic, huh? You come so easily...you'd fuck her and come within five minutes, leaving 'er pissed 'n' wantin' more."

Micky whimpered.

Michael's gaze lowered to Micky's cock, swollen and pressed up against the wall, and he smirked. "I bet all I have to do is touch you."

Michael kept his rhythm as his free hand snaked around Micky's waist and grabbed his cock, stroking it quickly. Micky yelped against Michael's hand and that was it, he blew his load, coating Michael's hand in warm, sticky fluid.

Michael's smirk grew, he knew he was right, and he brought his fingers to Micky's lips once more.

"Suck," he ordered.

Micky took one come-covered finger into his mouth and Michael groaned as he felt Micky's tongue swirl around his finger, imitating how Micky would suck Michael's cock. With that, along with the image of Micky on his knees in his mind, Michael erupted his load into Micky, thrusting erratically until it was all out.

Micky had moved on to the second finger by the time Michael was finished. He groaned and removed his fingers at the same time he pulled out.

"That's enough Mick," he breathed. He went into the bathroom connected to the dressing room and washed his hands, feeling Micky's eyes on him as he cleaned up.

"Mike?" Micky spoke softly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry for flirting with that girl."

Michael finished washing his hands and turned the faucet off before turning his attention back to Micky. The boy looked a mess—his hair was tangled and strewn everywhere, his spent cock was still hanging out of his pants, and there was come all over his clothes.

"Clean yourself up boy," Michael demanded.

"Mike—"

"We gotta get back to work."