Your laws do not apply to me (fluffyllama) wrote in fanfic100,
Your laws do not apply to me

Ultraviolet: General Series

Title: Cutting Out the Middle Man
Fandom: Ultraviolet
Characters: Mike/Jack
Prompt: #21 Friends
Word Count: 4000
Rating: R
Author's Notes: First posted February 2005.

There was a distinct possibility that any moment now Michael Colefield was going to become a murderer.


Jack pulled something out of his pockets and peered at them for a split second before Mike snatched them off him. Passing headlights illuminated Jack's driveway, and Mike took advantage of the light to locate the front door key.

"Look, she was definitely up for it, what-- whatever you say, mate." Jack's hand landed heavily on Michael's shoulder.

"Yeah, you might have mentioned that once or twice." Mike concentrated on getting the front door open, no mean feat considering he had the same drunken colleague apparently trying to pull him into a hug. Again. Jesus, he was like an octopus tonight.

"You're my bestest-- best mate, mate."

Mike fixed a grimace on his face and at long last pushed the door open. He could tell it was going to be a long, long night. When Jack got started, nothing short of unconsciousness could shut him up, and with his painstakingly-acquired tolerance for alcohol that could be a while coming. He stepped into the hallway and flicked the light on, but without his support Jack swayed into the door frame.

"There's whisky in the study."

Mike sighed. Yeah, it was going to be a long night.


It wouldn't have been so bad, Mike decided, if Jack was in one of his maudlin moods, or his 'they're all bastards' moods, or even in his party animal mood, trying to drag Mike back out to some implausibly trendy club until dawn showed up. But no, it had to be the turn of libido-the-size-of-a-planet Jack, didn't it?

"I could be getting it on with that nurse now if you hadn't told her I had--" Jack paused with the JD bottle poised over his glass. "What was it you told her I had?"


"You're a sick bastard, Mike."

"Thank you."

Mike pushed a second glass against Jack's and waited for it to be filled. If he had to deal with Jack in this mood he was damn well going to take what comfort was going. There was precious little of that waiting for him at home, after all.

"I really don't know what you're complaining about, anyway. At least you've had sex in the past six months." Yeah, play the pity card, that was really going to do his ego a favour.

"I've been telling you for at least five of those months to just get back out there. Yes, it was a bad break-up, but it's time to get back on the horse, mate." Jack patted the sofa next to him.

Oh great, Jack was going to give him romantic advice. The king of cheesy chat-up lines, the prince of drunken one night stands was going to tell him how to pull. Was this really how far he had fallen? Apparently it was. He sank down into the squishy leather with a weary groan.

"Can we skip the lecture tonight, Jack? Please?" Mike leaned back heavily, the whisky already making his head throb uncomfortably. Maybe he should just go home now, before he ended up in the spare room again, sleeping off another half-bottle of JD like last weekend, and the weekend before, and...

"No. Not when you even run away when I do the pulling for you."

That was a new one. "What are you talking about?"

Jack's face was too close, close enough that Mike could see the shadows under his eyes. His expression was somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"Haven't you heard what I've been saying? I had a threesome all fixed up with her until you did your Dr Mike the protector of student nurses act."

"What?" Mike couldn't quite believe what Jack was implying. "A threesome involving what... you, me and her? Tell me that's not what you were talking about, Jack."

Jack looked up with a smirk. "What else would it have been? Did you see another bird there?"

Oh, this was too much. "I don't believe you. You--"

"Hey, I just thought I'd do you a favour, no need to get so wound up mate."

"No need to..." Words failed him. Thank god for the whisky. He beat Jack to the bottle and poured.

He could feel Jack's gaze on his face. He wasn't going to look at him.

"Don't tell me you've never thought about it." Jack's voice was sly through the whisky haze.

"To be quite frank, when I've considered a threesome - and I won't lie, like most men I have thought about it - it's been me and a couple of girls in the mental picture, not me sharing one girl with a mate." He couldn't believe Jack wasn't aware of a very real difference in those two scenarios. "I mean, one is every man's dream, while the other... it has potential misinterpretations, you know?"

He looked up at Jack, and all of a sudden it wasn't the only thing at seemed to be open to misinterpretation. Right now they seemed to be uncomfortably close rather than companionably close, at least from where he was sitting. The sofa was huge, and neither of them were bulky, but there seemed to be less room than he remembered. His leg was in an awkward position, but moving it right now would almost certainly brush it against Jack's, and perhaps that wasn't a great idea given the conversation.

"So predictable." Jack shook his head in mock despair. "It's a good thing some of us can think further than having a couple of blonde twins get it on for our entertainment."

"You know me better than that. Brunettes all the way." Mike took another gulp of whisky and stared at his cramped leg.

"Huh. So I get rejected just for my hair colour." Jack laughed, but there was a harsh edge to it.

At least he was laughing, even if Mike wasn't entirely sure why. Jack and he never had this sort of conversation. Drinking, girls, work, sport - what more did even best mates need than that, after all?

"Sorry, mate. But not only are you not a brunette, but you're also a long way from the girl of my dreams, unless you've been keeping some very big secrets from me." He grinned and leaned forward. "Have you been keeping secrets from me, Jack?"

"One or two, mate," Jack said quietly. "One or two." He shifted closer, too-new sofa squeaking underneath him, and before Mike had the faintest idea what was going to happen, their lips met.

Just a touch, at first. Just a gentle brush, whisky-tainted and oddly sweet-smelling. In the part of his brain that wasn't panicking, Mike was aware that Jack's hand had moved to his shoulder, but shrugging it off would mean he had recognised what was happening, so he stayed still. A beat, a pause, and the lips were back, pressing harder this time. By the time they pulled away Mike was breathless, Jack's fingers in his hair and a tingle in his stomach.

No, no tingle in his stomach. That only happened when-- no, it didn't happen.

Mike swallowed heavily. "So. What was that all about?"

Jack's face was as innocent as could be. He shrugged. "Felt like it." His eyes were unreadable.

"You felt like it?" Mike had a vague sense of unease that had nothing - or almost nothing - to do with the kiss. "You always do things you feel like, then?"

"Unless you stop me."

"Yeah, silly question, I know." Mike knew he should say something more, but the words didn't seem to be coming out.

"I'd have gone straight for a good old grope, but I thought you'd hit me." Jack didn't seem remotely bothered by the revelation, or by the spluttering that accompanied Mike's realisation of what he'd said.

"Damn right I would."

"All right, all right. Don't make a big deal out of it." Jack was still nonchalant, stretching his legs out and reaching for the TV remote. "There's no harm done, just shut up about it and have another drink."

Jack's answer to everything.

The TV blared into life, spoiling Mike's resolution to leave before it had finished forming. Jack hit the mute button and sat staring into the screen. Mike could feel his own head swivelling into that guiding light too, all urge to move gone. There was just something about late night television with the sound turned down low that paralysed limbs and brain alike, especially if beers had been consumed. Usually he could just stare at the screen, grunting occasionally, laughing with Jack?
At the thought of the name, his eyes flicked sideways. Jack was watching him, not the television. What the hell was wrong with him tonight?

"Jesus, Jack."


"Just? Mike struggled to find the right words. "Why do you always have to do this?"

"If I've done that before I wish you'd mentioned it." The bright light from the TV made Jack's teeth gleam with predatory whiteness.

Mike clenched his fists, trying not to grab the smug bastard by the throat and... what? Just what exactly was it he wanted to do? "You know what I mean. You have to push everything to the limit, don't you? You can't just go for a drink, it has to be getting thrown out of clubs, stirring the shit up and walking out when the fight starts. And now because I dragged you away from that girl you have to start taking it out on me in the worst way."

"Well, it's a good thing you're always here to stop me having too much fun, isn't it?"

"Yes." Mike sagged back again, satisfied momentarily. Not for long, only until the barb hit home. "Hang on, are you calling me boring?"

Jack shrugged. "I think we've proved you're unadventurous, Mike."

"I'm not unadventurous. I'm--" Mike racked his brains, but came up blank. "I've done adventurous things. Frances and I--"

"An adventurous man man would have jumped at the threesome, mate."

"She wasn't offering one. It was all in your tiny little mind, Jack. Comes from watching too much porn." Oh yeah, he had the upper hand now. This was pretty safe territory where Jack was concerned.


Mike reached for the remote and hit play. A flicker and two distinctly masculine pairs of hands could be seen smoothing their way over pale, curvaceous flesh. He dragged his eyes away with some difficulty.

"Well, well, what do you know? The source of the current obsession, by any chance?" He threw the remote at Jack, and it bounced into the depths of the sofa. "I rest my case."

"Lucky guess."

"I just know you, Jack."

There was only a grunt from next to him on the sofa. The light flickered rapidly, Jack's face turning from light to shadow to light with the rhythm of the bodies on screen. Mike gritted his teeth, and tried to find something else to look at. He had a good idea of what was happening on the screen and he didn't want to have his suspicions confirmed. But Jack found the remote and turned the volume up just enough to tempt him to glance over.

Oh, god. They were?one of them, and now the other?he couldn't help it, he could feel himself starting to grow hard. Thank god the lights were low. He looked down all the same. Yeah, it was too dark, wasn't it?

He crossed his legs.

"What if we find a nice brunette who's up for it?" Jack's voice was even, only the slightest touch of teasing in it. "You game then?"

Mike choked on his whisky. "No."

"Only there was a brunette gave me her phone number this afternoon some time." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it flat on his leg. "She might be up for some fun. Looked innocent, but they're always the worst, aren't they?"

No, no, a thousand times no." Mike snatched the paper and threw it on the table. Or towards the table at least. He squinted. Maybe his judgement was a bit out, he thought, as it sailed over the table and onto the floor.

"But doesn't that look incredible?" Jack's eyes were wide to the soundtrack of slip and slide, pant and groan. "Hey, do you reckon he can feel the other bloke when they do that?"

"I'm not sure I want to think about it." But Mike was finding it hard to look away, and even harder to avoid thinking of that now.

Jack reached forward to refill their glasses and remained, staring hard at the pulsing and pumping flesh on the wide screen. "I think he must be able to."

Mike found himself watching the nearest man's screwed-up face, sweating with the effort of balancing and measuring his thrusts against another man's.

Please Jack, just shut up.

"Yeah, look at his face when the bloke underneath her moves - now either that's good acting or he's getting a hell of a lot of extra friction or something going there."

Please, he prayed.

"See, if you hadn't dragged me away we could have been finding out now," Jack said in a disappointed voice. He sounded so very put out that Mike couldn't help laughing. For a blessed minute it was just like normal - laughing at a shared joke, work antics, some smutty film. It was as if the last half hour and Jack's strange conversational detour had never happened at all.

Then a moment later it wasn't funny at all. The men on screen moved, easing themselves free of their female partner, and two admittedly attractive male bodies grappled and wrestled together, rolling on the bed with tongues everywhere.

It wasn't so much the naked writhing, at least at first, as it was those tongues. The mouths meeting, the teeth grazing, the masculine lips, the stubble rubbing. He could feel it, had felt it, just a little, however briefly. Mike held his breath, the smell of Jack's breath clogging his mouth and nose once more, even from arm's length on the sofa. He should never, ever have found out what Jack's mouth tasted like.

Next to him Jack was silent. At least that was something to be grateful for. Perhaps that was it, he thought later. The shock of Jack shutting up, not saying the difficult, the confrontational thing. Maybe he was just filling a gap.

The camera panned down. Down, and a little further to where one man was pressing his fingers inside the other.

Then he had to open his big mouth. "Did you have that in mind as well, or hadn't you got that far?"

And silence. Even the on-screen entertainment seemed to hold its breath. Then a patter of rain hit the window and the world swung back to normal speed. A car passed, headlights filtering through the half-closed blinds.

God, that mouth was going to get him into big trouble one day. Maybe even tonight.

"I thought I'd made that fairly clear already." Jack examined his fingernails.

"Right." Mike could feel the conversation slipping out of his control again. It wasn't supposed to happen that way; Jack was supposed to laugh it all off as some big joke, wasn't he? Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the resumed pants from the TV. "I mean?what do you mean?"

"Of course, that bit's easy enough to try out any time."

"Any time?"

Jack turned away from the TV at long last.

"Yeah. Cut out the middle man. Woman. Whatever."

Mike said nothing. He wondered, somewhere distant, just how many interpretations he could think of for Jack's words. He got stuck after the first one.

Jack's hand moved slowly, yet too fast still for Mike to have time to process where it was going before it arrived. Convenient, that. His hand squeezed down, and Mike groaned at the pressure on his already aroused cock.

"Going to hit me now?" Jack quirked an eyebrow.

Mike opened his mouth and wondered why he wasn't running away. "I-- I don't know..." he said, truthfully.

Jack twisted in his seat to get a better angle, and stroked more firmly against the hardness trying to push its way out of Mike's jeans. "I'd say not, judging by this."

Mike pulled himself together long enough to snort. "I'm drunk and there's porn on, what do you expect?"

Jack's hand kept stroking, and Mike didn't push it away. "And I'm the same. So why not just experiment a bit, no harm done, no strings. It's what mates are for, isn't it?"

It was getting harder to form sentences. In fact, words were starting to become a mystery to Mike. "It's what mates are for when you're twelve years old and hiding behind the bikesheds, Jack."

"I'm making up for not knowing you then."

Fingers fumbled for his zip. Suddenly Jack seemed more alert, his eyes boring into Mike's and rendering him incapable of doing anything but looking straight back at him. He seemed less drunk than he had been... or perhaps Mike was just getting as bad as him.

"I'm not sure--"

But Jack was, and when his zip hit the bottom and Jack's hand was right there, burrowing its way into his underwear, it seemed easier to shut up and let Jack be sure for both of them. It was just a mate thing, nothing to worry about. It was just like him and Billy Ambrose behind the bikesheds in their third year at St. Stephen's, except that he wasn't in the third year now and curiosity was a pretty thin excuse after all this time.

Billy Ambrose's hand had never felt like this though, the one time they'd tried touching each other. Jack wasn't hurrying, he wasn't grabbing and pulling, or looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was going to catch a glimpse of them on their way back from lunch. Instead he was pulling Mike's jeans open and down just enough, smiling that smile that Mike knew meant trouble. It was the you-know-I'm-right smile; it was the just-one-more-drink-and-we'll-go, the let's-dump-the-paperwork-on-the-night-lads smile that meant 'you'll do this because I want it, and you're my best mate'. He wondered if it was too late to be best mates with someone who didn't have a smile like that, but considering that Jack's hand was currently pulling his cock free of his boxer shorts he thought it may be.

"Feels good, yeah?" whispered Jack, and of course it did. In his aroused state anyone running their hand firmly over the head of his cock would have felt incredible,
wouldn't it? He was only human, and dear god but that felt fantastic. He wriggled on the sofa, accidentally pushing himself further into Jack's hand.

Jack just laughed under his breath. "Yeah, it feels good all right."

"Shut up and get on with it if you're going to," Mike muttered, but Jack tutted at him.

"Impatient all of a sudden, aren't we?" But he stroked more firmly, squeezing down harder as his fingers worked their way up and down the shaft.

Mike closed his eyes to block out the writhing bodies on screen. They were doing things that he didn't even want to think about while Jack's hand was on his cock. This was okay, this was not much more than he'd done at school, it didn't mean anything. That... that had nothing to do with him.


He jumped at the touch of a hand on his, and watched through half-closed eyelids Jack manoeuvre his uncooperative hand over towards his... oh god, towards where his own jeans were lying open. Mike wasn't sure he wanted to focus on what else might be there, but he wasn't surprised when Jack's hand guided him towards something hard and warm and altogether too familiar for him to plead ignorance of what to do.

He took a deep breath and closed his fingers around it. Oh, hell.It might have seemed familiar from the other end of the sofa, but from close up it was an entirely different beast. His hand moved, and he could feel Jack's move just a fraction later, but the actions weren't the same, and sensations weren't quite what he expected each time. He was losing this, his rhythm, and it was going to be awful--

"Sorry," he gasped out. "I've never..."

"And you think I have?" Jack smirked at him, but it was a little less confident than before.

Well that made a difference, didn't it? Mike squeezed his eyes shut and dredged up every memory of his childhood experimentation. Something that felt good... yeah.

"I've got an idea," he said, and Jack obligingly let go of him long enough for him to manoeuvre them horizontal on the sofa. He pushed himself onto his knees and shoved his jeans down further.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him, but did the same, and stretched out languidly on his back. Mike shuffled so he had a knee between Jacks legs, and lowered himself carefully. Warm, damp skin came into contact, and they both reached to grip the other tightly. Jack's fingers dug into his hip and back, while he held on tightly to Jack's shoulder, balancing himself right so he could just slide over and rub.

There was a gasp from underneath him and Mike allowed himself a smug smile. He repeated the wriggle of his hips, and Jack got the hang of things quickly, increasing the pace and pressure until Mike was oblivious of anything but the sound of his breathing, the feel of Jack's bare skin under his, the slip and slide of their bodies and the increasing tension in his balls; tension that couldn't last long with the drink, the circumstances and the complete and utter weirdness of the situation. He groaned, feeling Jack jerk more roughly against him and relax, and followed him into a welcome release.


Any minute now, Michael Colefield was going to die.

He'd had a few near misses, but if ever a hangover was going to finish him off it was this one, he could tell that even before he opened his eyes. He crawled carefully off the sofa, handicapped slightly by his half-removed clothing. Early sunday morning light filtered reluctantly through the blinds and the TV flickered its blank screen endlessly.

The room was spinning. This wasn't an unusual sunday morning occurrence, but it was the most normal thing Mike had to cling onto. He surveyed the wreckage of the previous evening: one JD bottle, empty; one table full of empty glasses and a tipped-over ashtray; one half-naked and sticky Jack sleeping peacefully on the sofa, body bent around the space where he himself had been just a moment before.

It was weird. Not altogether unpleasant, just... yeah, weird.

Seven a.m. Jack was going to be out cold for hours yet. Mike wasn't going to wait around for the jokes and the 'so, how did you know what to do' cracks, he was going to sneak off home like any other real heterosexual man would do after getting off with his best mate after a few drinks. Jack would understand why.

He searched for his shoes and something crumpled under his foot. The piece of paper he'd thrown away last night - the brunette of Jack's who might... his eyes flicked involuntarily to where the TV screen still hummed blankly. He paused, and rather than throw the paper into the bin as he'd planned, he smoothed it flat. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. More than likely she'd tell Jack to get lost anyway, but at least the subject would be open between them. Then he and Jack could possibly cut out the middle man... woman... whatever - again?

He'd just leave the paper on the table, right out in the open. he glanced at it.

Kirsty - 315 6709

Yeah. Jack would get the message.
Tags: ultraviolet: general series

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