Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/801718.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      5_Seconds_of_Summer_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Michael_Clifford/Calum_Hood
  Character:
      Michael_Clifford, Calum_Hood, Ashton_Irwin, Luke_Hemmings
  Additional Tags:
      hides_under_a_rock, Hand_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-13 Words: 1287
****** bring your body here ******
by shrdmdnssftw
Summary
     This is the way Michael justifies it:
     When you’re sharing a room with another dude, long term, sharing a
     house with your mates, there’s honestly not much difference between
     jerking it under the covers at night and reaching over to give your
     mate a hand.
Notes
     This is fanfiction, meaning none of it is real, nor do I believe it
     to be real. If you happen to be, or know, the people in this fic,
     please do not read it.
     The characters depicted in this fic are under the age of 18 but over
     the age of consent in their country of origin.
     Originally posted here for loafers.
This is the way Michael justifies it:
When you’re sharing a room with another dude, long term, sharing a house with
your mates, there’s honestly not much difference between jerking it under the
covers at night and reaching over to give your mate a hand.
Of course, maybe Calum sees it differently, what with the way his voice has
gone deeper, letters slipping past his lips in a way that makes Michael wanna-
something, move his hand faster, or jerk himself off at the same time.
“Yeah?” Michael asks, and he shifts a bit closer to Calum, presses him that
little bit more up against the wall and thanks god for the fact that the bed is
(relatively) stable.
He twists his wrist, a smooth, slick slide along Calum’s dick where he’s got
it, tight in his hand, and he can feel the way it makes Calum’s hips jerk up.
“Yes, yeah, c’mon,” says Calum, a bit breathless.
The way they’re pressed up against each other means that Michael can almost
taste the skin of Calum’s collarbones, close enough that he can dip his head
and nuzzle along the line of Calum’s jaw.
All the while, he’s got his hand down Calum’s trackies, keeping a rhythm that’s
not too out of sync with the way his own hips are rutting down onto the
mattress.
It’s sort of new, and sort of familiar, the way that he can tell what Calum
likes. They’ve joked about it enough, what gets them off when they’re turned
on. Luke loves to point out how long Michael spends in the shower after a show,
or in the mornings, and Ashton, well. Ashton just likes to hump anything,
mostly as a joke.
Calum, though, is the one most likely to be caught at it and that’s why it
feels familiar. There’s been too many times that walking into the room has
meant walking in on Calum jerking it, too many come faces awkwardly seen when
Calum forgets to lock the bathroom door and, of course, the countless times
where mooning someone has exposed much more than their asses.
There’s barely any skin exposed right now, if Michael thinks about it - maybe
the strip of Calum’s stomach, exposed where his shirt’s been pushed up, and
pants pushed down, but it’s all fairly MA15+, rather than R rated. 
“Can you just- fuck, Michael,” mutters Calum, and Michael bites down on Calum’s
skin as his dick fucks up into the tight grip of Michael’s hand.
“Can I what?” Michael replies, just to be a dick, and he smirks, all friendly
like.
“Just- fucking, jerk me off, you fucker,” and Michael loves that, the way that
Calum’s s’s slip up and under his tongue, the rest of his words slightly
slurred with the way he keeps panting.
He sighs, put upon, like it’s such a hardship to speed up his pace, couple that
with sucking a hickey into the side of Calum’s neck. For the fun of it, really.
Except that Calum seems to like it more than either of them expect, moaning
when Michael finally lets off, and moving his hands from where they’ve been
holding Michael, and pressing deep into the bruise.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, and then Michael does a thing with his thumb, flicks
over the sensitive head of Calum’s dick, and he’s coming all over Michael’s
fist and his own stomach.
If he had more on his mind, Michael would probably care about how gross it’s
going to be, cleaning up later, but for now, he’s not really thinking beyond
rolling them so that he’s overCalum now.
Pushing his own pants down, Michael’s dick pops out, red and swollen and so
fucking hard from getting Calum off, from the way that he’s still panting, red
faced and open mouthed. He wants to rut down into the dip of Calum’s hip, where
his muscles start to slope down, point towards his dick, and there’s no real
point in asking when Calum’s pulling their hips together, encouraging him to
rut down.
It’s slick from his precome and Calum’s actual come, probably gross, and
getting a bit hot in the single bed, but it’s fucking addictive too, something
that Michael needs to have, hips jerky and thrusting against his mate, trying
not to bite too deep into his own lip.
And that’s fucking something, the way that Calum’s got his lip ring, tucks his
lip underneath his teeth. It’s a fucking sight, enough to make weaker men come
and Michael’s just glad that he’s lasted for this long, not jizzed his pants
while jerking Calum off, so he’s got no real shame in coming, hot and hard, on
the warm skin of Calum’s hips.
“Fuck,” he says as he rolls off of Calum, and there’s a shove to get him
further away, free up some space between them.
Vaguely, he registers Calum saying something, “you got jizz on my shirt, dude,”
but it’s kind of fuzzy in his afterglow. He’ll clean it up, probably, since
he’s usually stuck on laundry duty anyhow but for now he’s going to rest.
Of course, that thought means that a minute passes and Ashton barges him, ready
to tackle hump whoever’s in the room, as usual. It takes him until he’s landed
on the bed, pressed right up against Michael, to realise that, no, they’re not
just lying down, and yeah, there are still dicks out.
“Dudes, what the fuck?” he asks, and somehow it sounds weirded out and fond at
the same time. “Did you guys have sex or something?”
“Or something,” Calum says, pulling his pants up, and shoving them both. “Get
off my bed, guys, you’re gonna fucking break it.”
“I don’t think us sitting here’s gonna break it,” Ashton says. “You two fucking
probably will. Like, when did that even start?”
“We’re not fucking,” Michael says, and he tugs his own pants back up. “Just
lending a hand.”
“Still unexpected, guys,” replies Ashton. “Send out a message next time, yeah?”
“It’s not a fucking show,” says Michael, and he scrubs his (clean) hand through
his hair. He should probably have a shower. Calum looks like he’s thinking the
same thing.
“But it literally is,” Ashton says, cracking a smile, and Michael’s pretty much
heard enough, figures that if he’s winded, Ashton’ll probably shut up.
Of course, tackling has the downside of needing to find somewhere to land, and
that somewhere happens to be right onto Calum, who collapses onto the bed
behind him. Beyond the sounds of their squabbling, there’s a loud crack, and
they pause, hold their breath when the shifting of their weight causes the wood
frame beneath them to groan, then start to give way.
“Fuck,” Michael says, jumping up, and the others follow, crouching to the
ground to see what’s happened.
There’s a crack in the frame of Calum’s bed, enough to let the mattress sag
through, and there’s no way that it’s going to be fixed easily.
“You fuckers broke my bed,” Calum swears, and it would sound angry if it
weren’t so amused.
“Oi, what the fuck’s going on,” comes Luke’s voice, and then he’s in the room
too, guitar slung over his shoulder from where he was rehearsing.
Michael shrugs, brushing past Luke in the doorway. “Idiots broke Calum’s bed,”
he says in passing. “‘sokay though, we’ll figure out somewhere else he can
sleep for a while.”
Behind him, Ashton laughs and Calum makes a noise of- not protest, maybe
embarrassment. Whatever, they both got off. It was fine.
Michael possibly wants to do it again.
“Weirdos,” Luke mutters, and they all follow Michael out of the room, put off
sorting out the bed for another day.
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