━━ strawberries. ᥫ᭡ wc: 2.6k ⸝⸝
❝ you try to give bad!michael some strawberry cake but give him something else instead. ❞
a cardboard bakery box sat open on the low wooden coffee table, releasing the delectable scent of vanilla bean, tart berries, and whipped heavy cream. you secured a massive triangle of strawberry chiffon from the chinese bakery three blocks down—the kind with three distinct tiers of sponge cake separated by layers of cut strawberries and cloudlike cream.
you sat cross-legged on the faded floral upholstery, balancing a small china saucer on your knees while working your way through a second bite. next to you, michael was curled into the far corner of the cushions, a spiral notebook resting on his thigh, a yellow pencil balanced between his long fingers. his dark, damp curls clung slightly to his temples, his brows pulled together as he studied a row of handwritten musical bars.
when he was locked into album production mode, his body seemed to treat food like an unnecessary distraction. he survived almost exclusively on water, gum, and tea, ignoring every attempt you made to feed him anything substantial. you offered him a portion when you brought the box through the door, but he merely gave you a tired smile, murmured a refusal, and returned to his manuscript.
"michael," you said, shifting your hip against the fabric to face him.
he didn't lift his head from the paper. his pencil made a tiny scratch against the page as he erased a note.
"mikey pooh," you tried again in a singsong tone, nudging his knee with your foot.
"at least taste the cream. it’s so light like marshmallows or something."
a faint, soft sound left his chest as he shook his head without looking up.
"my stomach feels tight today. studio jitters. i’m okay."
"just one small bite," you insisted, lifting the small silver fork with a generous heap of cake, strawberry glaze, and white topping.
"open your mouth, please."
"no, y/n, stop—" he began, turning his head to ward off the utensil.
your hand moved a second too fast, misjudging the distance between the fork and his face. as his head turned, the broad tip of his nose buried itself directly into the mound of cream.
a bright blob of cream clung instantly to his skin.
michael froze, his eyes widening in startled confusion as he attempted to look down at his own face, squinting slightly.
a sudden laugh escaped your lips before you could suppress it.
"hey!" he protested softly, a short giggle bubbling out of him as a quick, hot pink flush crept across his cheekbones. "what are ya doing?"
he raised his left hand to brush your wrist away, intending to knock the utensil back toward the plate. but his fingers caught the rim of the china saucer instead. the dish tilted sharply toward his lap.
the heavy slice of cake lost its balance, sliding straight off the slick surface of the saucer and landing face-down directly onto the front of his dark pants.
you gasped, dropping the plate onto the seat as you reached forward, hastily lifting the solid wedge of cake back onto the dish. but the damage was already done. a wide, sticky smear of white cream and strawberry syrup pressed flat against his fly.
"you dummy," you said playfully, your voice high with quick laughter as you leaned down, grabbing a handful of spare paper napkins off the coffee table.
"look what you did! you pushed the plate!"
"i didn't mean to push it!" he giggled in defense, leaning his head back against the cushion, his arms held wide in the air as if he were afraid to touch the mess.
"you shoved the fork right at my face!"
"hold still," you instructed, folding the wad of paper napkins in half.
you leaned directly over his lap, bringing your face inches from his shirt. you pressed the napkins down against the dark fabric and began rubbing the stain in quick, heavy circles to absorb the moisture before the sugar could soak through the fabric.
in your head, you were simply cleaning up a spill. your mind was occupied with getting the berry syrup out of the cotton. you didn’t know how much his pants cost, but you didn’t want to ruin them. you applied pressure, sliding the thick paper back and forth, dragging it directly across the central seam of his trousers.
up and down. across the metal zipper. over his groin.
you were so focused on the spot that you remained completely oblivious to the place of where your palm was pressing. you didn't notice the warmth rising through the heavy material. you didn't notice the exact location of your knuckles.
then his hips bucked upward in a short, violent jerk.
a low strangled sound came from his throat. his knees locked together, his arms dropping to grip the wooden frame of the couch so hard his fingers strained.
the air in the room seemed to freeze into a solid block. the television played quietly in the background, but the space between the two of you turned painfully quiet.
you looked down. your right hand, holding a wad of cream-soaked paper, was resting flat and firm directly over his groin. in those seven seconds of helpful scrubbing, you were firmly massaging his trousers. but his trousers weren’t the only thing being scrubbed.
every drop of blood seemed to drain from your face, only to rush back into your skull.
a terrifying realization swept over your now racing thoughts. you slowly dragged your eyes upward from his lap, past the black buttons of his shirt, up to his face.
michael’s chin was pointed toward the ceiling. his mouth was slightly open, his chest rising and falling in quick hitches. the skin of his neck, his jaw, and his ears turned a deep shade of rose—the darkest you had ever seen on him. his dark eyes were wide, fixed on the plaster above, filled with shock.
you yanked your hand back as if you touched a red hot comb, tumbling backward until your spine hit the far armrest of the couch.
"i—" your voice cracked into an embarrassing squeak. "i'm—michael—"
i just stroked his dick with a napkin. my close friend.
"i'm so sorry!" you stammered, your face burning as if hit by an oil lamp.
"i wasn't thinking—i was just trying to get the cream out of your pants! i swear to god I wasn't trying to—i just saw the spot—"
michael slowly turned his head, refusing to make eye contact. his eyes fixed on a small scratch on the wooden side table. he let out a nervous, breathless little laugh, reaching up with his right hand to scratch at the back of his reddened neck.
"it's... it's okay," he rasped, clearing his throat hastily.
"it's fine, y/n. really. you were... you were just trying to clean it up. it's okay."
except it wasn't fine. because directly beneath his folded hand, a distinct, prominent shape formed behind the metal zipper of his dark pants, growing firmer by the second.
his body responded completely on instinct, leaving him ashamed. michael quickly lifted his left leg, crossing it tightly over his right knee to block his lap from your view. the sudden movement made his face flush an even deeper shade of pink. he cleared his throat again, a dry, loud sound, picked up his yellow pencil, and stared at the far wall with an intensity that suggested his life depended on it.
"what... what time does that movie start tonight?" he mumbled, his white-socked foot tapping rapidly against the carpet.
i need to get the hell out of here. i need to jump off a bridge!
"i'm gonna throw this away," you squeaked, scrambling off the cushions like a frightened animal.
you snatched the ruined plate, the crushed cake, and the paper napkins, clutching them out in front of your chest as if they were toxic.
"okay," michael whispered, his eyes locked onto the screen. "okay, y/n."
you rushed into the kitchen, ducking behind the tall plaster wall that separated the counter from the living area. you tossed the cardboard box and the napkins into the trash, set the saucer in the sink, and gripped the edge of the cold porcelain until your arms shook.
you dropped your head, squeezed your eyes shut, and began shaking your head violently side to side.
"stupid, stupid, stupid," you muttered under your breath, your voice a harsh, frustrated whisper.
you took three long, steady breaths, letting the air cool your lungs.
calm down. it was an accident. he knows it was an accident. he said it was okay. just walk back in there, sit down, act completely normal.
you exhaled, straightened your shoulders, and walked back into the living room, trying to project a calm, unbothered demeanor.
michael was sitting in the exact same spot, his leg still tightly crossed over his knee, his shoulders stiff.
you stepped around the coffee table and sank back onto the cushions, leaving a deliberate gap of two feet between your hips and his.
"sorry about the cake," you offered, attempting a light tone as you looked toward the television.
"it's fine," he murmured softly, forcing a nervous smile.
you focused on the screen, trying to let the quiet wash away the tension.
but after thirty seconds, a prickling feeling crept along the side of your neck—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
without turning your neck, you flicked your gaze to the left.
michael was staring directly at the side of your face.
his head was tilted, his dark eyes wide and fixed on your profile. his lips were slightly parted, the tip of his tongue resting against his lower lip as if he had forgotten where he was. he looked completely thrown off balance.
the instant your head began to turn toward him, he snapped his gaze away, staring up at the light fixture on the ceiling as if he noticed the collecting dust bunnies up there.
you blinked, turning back to the screen.
the feeling returned, stronger this time.
you kept your face still, watching out of the corner of your eye.
michael turned his head again. his gaze moved slowly down the line of your jaw, over your collarbone, resting for a long beat on the curve of your lap before sliding down your knees. his chest expanded as he drew in a quiet, long breath.
there was an intensity in his eyes that you had never seen before—something that had nothing to do with his usual shyness and reservation.
you turned your head sharply to catch him.
he instantly threw his head to the left, studying the blank corner of the room. he cleared his throat again, shifting his weight on the cushion, pulling his notebook higher onto his chest.
oh god, you realized, your pulse quickening.
why is he looking at me like that?
the room seemed to grow unnaturally quiet. from the faint sound of his shirt moving against his shoulder, the shallow pattern of his breath, to the light movement of his socks—everything sounded magnified in the quiet space.
you sat without moving, your thoughts spinning.
you looked over at him directly.
michael sat with his hands wrapped around his knee, his knuckles tight. his curls shadowed his forehead, but you could see the rapid pulse beating against the skin of his neck. he looked small, burdened by embarrassment, and terrified that he made the situation uncomfortable or ruined the quiet ease between you.
"michael?" you whispered softly.
he flinched slightly, his shoulders drawing inward.
"yeah?" he asked, his voice thin.
"i'm fine," he said quickly, the words rushing out.
"i'm good, y/n. I was just... thinking about the song. the second verse."
that was a bold-faced lie. his pencil hadn't touched the paper since the cake fell.
you shifted on the fabric, sliding across the cushions until the gap between you vanished. michael's body went taut as you closed the distance. you reached out and placed your hand gently over his tight fist resting on his knee. his skin was warm to the touch.
"michael," you said gently. "look at me."
he hesitated, his jaw working silently. then, slowly, he turned his face toward yours.
his lower lip was caught between his teeth, his cheeks still flushed a faint rose. he looked stripped of every defense, leaving only the sensitive, quiet man sitting beside you.
"i'm sorry," he blurted out, his voice trembling slightly.
"i'm... I'm embarrassed, y/n. I didn't mean to... react like that. or to stare at you. please don't be upset with me."
a soft smile touched your lips despite the lingering heat in your own chest.
"michael, listen," you said softly, squeezing his fingers.
"i am not upset with you. I'm the one who should be apologizing. i was the clumsy one rubbing your lap like a dummy."
a small, timid twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth, a tiny dimple showing in his cheek.
"you... you really didn't mean to?" he whispered, his eyes searching your face.
"of course I didn't mean to!" you let out a short laugh, feeling your face warm up again.
"i was just trying to save your pants! i wasn't paying attention. i would never try to make you uncomfortable."
michael held your gaze for a long moment, the tightness in his shoulders slowly softening with each passing second. he let out a long, quiet breath—a sound of immense relief—and turned his palm over so his fingers wrapped around yours.
"i wasn't uncomfortable," he murmured, his voice dropping into a soft, steady cadence.
you blinked. "you weren't?"
he looked down at your joined hands, his thumb moving in a slow, gentle stroke across your knuckles. his skin was warm, his touch light and careful.
"no," he whispered, looking up through his lashes with a lingering stare. "not at all. jus’... caught off guard."
you noticed how the side of his upper lip tugged when he spoke and how his voice softened and dragged. if you were crazy, you would’ve thought he sounded almost seductive.
he uncrossed his legs, resting his back against the sofa cushions. he didn't release your hand. instead, he drew your fingers toward his thigh, resting them against his pants—an inch away from where the damp stain is, but close enough that you could feel the steady warmth radiating through the fabric.
"y’know," he whispered, a tiny, teasing spark touching his eyes, "the cake was actually good."
you stared at him, surprised, before a sudden laugh escaped you.
"you didn't even taste it!"
"i got a little on my nose," he pointed out, his soft giggle returning to fill the room, dispelling the last traces of tension.
"it was sweet. but... I think you owe me a new pair of pants."
"a new pair of pants?!" you gasped softly, joining in as your heart settled into a steady beat.
"you're the one who knocked the saucer!"
"did not," he protested gently, pulling your hand a little closer against his thigh, his thumb continuing its slow, soothing motion against your skin.
"you came at me with a fork like a madman. you attacked me."
"boy please. i just wanted you to eat!" you insisted, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the firm, steady rhythm of his breathing beneath his shirt.
michael let out a quiet, contented sound, his long arm sliding over your shoulders to gather you against his side. he rested his cheek lightly against the top of your head, his curls brushing your temple as the two of you settled back and watched whatever was playing on the staticky screen now.
the cake was gone and the stain was mostly forgotten, but as you rested against his hard chest while listening to the rapid beating of his heart, you knew one thing for sure:
you were going to stick to chocolate from now on.
when she touch yo WeeWee 😳😳
tag: @justalocallesbian @michaelsgirlie @ryubyy <3
