Mickey did know what he was he doing. The ifrit knew all about doubt - as a teenager, he had a habit of continually doubting everything, from whom he loved to if he could love, from where to go to college to if he would go to college - but not when it came to this. The rhyme of two bodies, the motion of making love: this was the vocabulary he spoke.
"You're so polite," Mickey groaned, moving against Sorin, grinning when the boy said 'please'. "Like a little... A little..." Mickey didn't know how to finish that sentence. Right now, his brain was a little preoccupied. "Fuck, where did you come from, you... you divine little creature?"
Mickey didn't seem to expect an answer, as he redoubled his efforts, grabbing Sorin's legs and earnestly fucking the other boy now. He felt the nails in his skin, he felt the other boy around him, giving him delicious friction... Fuck. "I'm... Fuck, Sorin, I'm gonn..."