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Investigate Briggs, he'd been told. That's your job. Investigate Briggs. Paul Briggs was a legend among the FBI academy grads, a man to look up to, to emulate, and now that Mike had somehow lucked out enough to meet the guy in person, he found out he was there to gather information. To go undercover on two fronts - not only with the drug dealers and murderers and general scum that populated harbor cities, but also with the people he'd be living with from now on, in a gorgeous beach house known as Graceland. He was supposed to take up three identities (the Mike Warren who hung out with his new roommates, the Mike Warren who became whoever was needed to get the job done, and then himself, the identity that truly mattered and the one he was having the most trouble hanging on to) when it was difficult enough trying to juggle two. It should be an easy enough job, he reasoned. He just had to look after Briggs and when he didn't turn up anything, because he was positive he wouldn't turn up anything, he'd send in his report and he could drop the act once and for all.
Except somehow he kept making things harder on himself.
"You're shit at this, you know that?" Briggs has a hand tangled in Mike's hair, his bare chest slick with sweat in the afternoon heat and his pants (but no underwear; Briggs went commando, apparently, and since Mike had found out two days ago he sometimes caught himself thinking about it and stifling groans at the worst moments) hanging out around his ankles. Mike was positioned between his superior's legs, his mouth just brushing the tip of Briggs' very stiff cock.
"What?"
"Giving blowjobs. You suck." Briggs grins and Mike is distracted by the dimples that appear in his cheeks. "Literally but also qualitatively." The word sounds foreign in Briggs' voice. Mike is used to more laid-back and casual language.
"Uh, well, um." What do you say to something like that? "Sorry? This isn't really something I've done before--"
"Yeah, I noticed."
Mike's cheeks are heating up and he's fighting a hard battle against hiding his face in embarrassment. "I kind of thought you just, you know...put your mouth on it and move your head and that was...it."
"Spoken like a man who's only ever been on the receiving end." Before Mike can reply Briggs has switched their positions, Mike now on his back with his head propped up by two soft pillows and Briggs' fingers on the fly of his jeans. He tilts his hips up almost automatically to create space for Briggs to slide his pants off. His eyes are fluttering shut and his heart is pounding in anticipation when he's snapped back to reality by a sharp laugh.
"Dude, seriously?" Briggs is gesturing at the briefs Mike wears.
Mike's blushing again. "Are you gonna make fun of my underwear now?"
"No, no, of course not." But Briggs is still trying to stop himself from laughing, Mike can tell by the way his face convulses as he peels Mike's briefs away and tosses them on the floor with his jeans and the navy blue t-shirt Briggs had been wearing. Mike prepares some kind of snappy response, something, anything to regain his dignity, but by then Briggs is dragging his tongue up Mike's shaft and gripping Mike's inner thigh and Mike is finding it very difficult to string more than two words together, let alone come up with a good comeback.
He's had blowjobs before, from girls he knew in high school and college, girls who fumbled as they dragged his pants down as quickly as possible, who were often either high or drunk as they put as much of his dick into their mouths as they could manage. There weren't many of them, these girls, but there were enough for him to use as comparison when Briggs lazily pressed the tip of his tongue to the slit in the tip of Mike's dick and wow those girls were nothing compared to what Briggs can do with his mouth. Mike tries to figure out how they got here, how his strange impulse to kiss Briggs on the beach earlier hadn't gone wrong, how instead Briggs had responded with a heat and hunger Mike hadn't expected, how he'd been dragged up to Briggs' room while their housemates were out sunbathing and surfing. How he'd ended up with Briggs basically naked on his back with Mike doing his very best to copy every porn video about blowjobs he'd ever seen. Shockingly enough, porn hadn't steered him right.
But maybe that's a good thing, because Mike certainly isn't complaining about what's happening now. In fact, he's finding the only thing he can do is twist his hands in the sheets and rolls his hips up into Briggs' mouth, his head thrown back against the pillows, teeth digging hard into his lower lip as he fights to bite back the moans that bubble up out of his throat. He doesn't know how much time passes but he feels it's not much longer before he's tensing, muscles bunching under the skin as Briggs swallows hard around him and he's coming undone with a cry he couldn't stifle if his life depended on it.
He's panting when Briggs crawls up and hovers over him, pressing salty, chapped lips to his, and he's pretty sure he can taste himself on Briggs' mouth and while that would normally gross him the fuck out right now he finds it incredibly hot.
How far I have fallen.
"That's how you give a blowjob," Briggs is saying. Mike's brain is telling him to nod but he's so relaxed, his body so much like jelly that he's not sure if his head is actually complying.
"Where'd you learn that?"
"Around." Mike doesn't need to see it to know Briggs is grinning again.
All he wants to do is lie there and bask in the afterglow but like hell is he going to leave Briggs hanging. Mike forces himself to sit up and puts a hand on Briggs' chest, pushing him back down onto the bed as he settles himself back in between those brown, muscled legs.
"Take two," he quips, and Briggs gives a surprised groan when Mike very lightly grazes his teeth over the head of Briggs' dick.
"Do you pick up everything this quick?" Briggs asks, breath hitching on the last word, "Because that's gonna get really fucking annoying." Mike just smiles and takes as much of Briggs into his mouth as he can stand and does an excellent job of proving that, yes, he does pick up everything that quickly, and as he feels Briggs twitch and moan and tense beneath his fingers and lips, Mike does an even better job of avoiding his most pressing question: Am I doing this because I want to, or because it's part of the mission?
Things could have been easy, but boy did Mike like making things hard on himself.