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Jun 9

Heartbeat City - Micheal Boll x Reader

-12k words (Explicit)

Micheal works in finance, yuppie central. You’re a gallery curator surrounded by pretentious eccentrics. On opposite walks of life, you both find yourselves dissatisfied in the same ways. What happens when the two of you cross paths and end up spending a breezy Saturday night together in the oh so romantic City of Angels?

*+*AU where Micheal is more of an anxious bachelor sick of his cushy life and before Alex can really sink his claws into him, he meets us at a party! I may or may not have softened and nerdified his persona a bit too…what can I say, the man has shyboy potential ! Also fair warning, this is a bit of a slow burn, as there’s a lot of convo/dialogue leading up to the smut as the characters warm up to each other, so patience is key ;) *+*

borders: @pixopix

Tags: no use of y/n, mutual pining, makeouts, oral sex, blowjobs, p in v sex, coming inside

This is a complete waste of time.

The words were spelled out in big, blinking lights nailed onto a giant, obnoxious billboard resident in your brain as you stood amidst incessant chatter and drunken laughter. It’s a beautiful Saturday night and instead of catching some late night film or working on your personal portfolio, you’ve been dragged out of your apartment and into a cocktail dress and stilettos to some avant-garde, champagne drenched, art party in the exquisite back garden of some liberal millionaire.

Being a gallery curator, you’d think that this would be your scene, a lush habitat filled with fresh ideas and creatives ready for consumption. A feast of interesting conversation and flowing faces.

Not really.

As the years flicker and fade, familiarity imbues the senses and you start to realize that the same damn people show up to these things at the same damn places. Sure, there’s bound to be some changes in the mix, but there’s only so many people to meet, talk to, laugh with, kiss, and fuck in the art scene of breezy Los Angeles, California.

Which is why those lenses and sandy slick back caught your eye when they first passed you by.

Talking to some breakout, erotic film director, you’d caught the glance of gold in the corner of your eye — and when you found the chance to slip out of the thrilling conversation that was scoring pornography along the to rhythm of the relentless thrusting and moaning, took a good look at the mystery man.

He stood by the topiary display downing a large flute of Veuve Clicquot and chatting with an inky haired, asshole looking friend of his. You knew that guy. His name was Antonio or Angelo or something — every time a friend of yours gushed over his passionate lovemaking they had given you a different one. One glance at him and you could tell he was no good, the type to claim he gives great head, but instead leaves you unsatisfied and with a hundred dollar bill missing from your pocket book in the early hours of the morning.

His friend however, the blond, you had never seen before. He intrigued you. Something about his demeanor, the way he swallowed and sighed, trying his best to laugh like he felt secure with himself had you staring at him for an unusual amount of time.

He seemed shy.

The thought made you smile.

But then you looked at Mr. Jerkoff standing next to him again and realized that they were probably friends for a reason. Looks aren’t everything, for all you know Blondie could be the exact same wretched flavor as him. Suddenly tapped on the shoulder by a dear photographer friend of yours, you were whisked away into the millionaire’s mansion and Blondie fell away from your sight. For good reason, you thought. He was for sure an asshole in disguise and even if he wasn’t, you weren’t in the mood to find out tonight.

For the next hour or so, you sank down two sparkling flutes yourself and sat through endless conceited conversations about substance and momentum and whether they were present in the works of countless writers, artists, directors, and actors. All you could do was stand there and nod, motionless, like some aluminum droid, mindlessly complimenting mauve bangles and ivory cufflinks.

“What is up with you tonight?” Claire nudged you in the shoulder. She was one of those sickeningly gorgeous European models that seemed to pull off the boyish pixie cut so well. She was also the number that called you three times this afternoon begging you to come out tonight.

“I know I force you to come to these things, but usually you begin to have fun in spite of yourself an hour or so in. Tell me darling, what has got your panties in such a bunch?” she shook her head with a playful look.

You shrugged and played with the pearl earring hanging on your earlobe, “I don’t know…I’m feeling particularly dry tonight. Must be that California sand, gets to you sometimes.”

Claire rolled her eyes, “I have a feeling some parts of you have been drier than others lately.”

“You need to get laid.”

She giggled, putting a hand to your shoulder.

You shrugged her off, offended, “I do not!”

Claire laughed again and sipped her drink, she swallowed and calmly spoke.

“Alright. When was the last time you had sex?”

“Claire! This dame does not kiss and tell,” you wagged your head, putting your hands on your plum slip dress.

“Oh no, so it has been a while—why didn’t you tell me? I have this wonderful guitarist friend who I think you’d like. He’s a wonderful lay,” Clair smiled.

“By all means thank you Claire, but I just don’t feel like getting involved with anyone right now, nevertheless partaking in anyone’s seconds — no offense,” you explained.

“None taken,” Claire gave you a sweet look as she sipped more champagne.

“I just want you to have fun, spend less time shut up in that apartment of yours, you’re either always there or at the gallery. You do know that there are other places on this marvelous planet Earth of ours, do you?” she raised her eyebrows.

“I know, I know, and I am glad you push and shove sometimes, just…tonight is different. The only thing I can think of is my bed — in the most boring, mundane, sleepy way,” you added with a laugh.

“Oh well, I guess we all have those nights…so you’re off then?” Claire cocked her meticulously styled, messy head of hair.

“I think so,” you exhaled with a tense look of sorry…I tried? on your face.

“What a shame. Goodnight dear, get home safe,” Claire gave you a bittersweet look and hugged you. She smelled like sweet dates and decadent dark chocolate.

“Good night Claire. Call me tomorrow, we’ll have coffee,” you broke off from the embrace and waved goodbye.

Heading towards the exit by way of the front doors of the mansion, you realized that the greasy film director from earlier was standing by them, looking like he had more bubbles of champagne than red blood cells in his cardiovascular system. In some strange miscalculation of nature, he had taken a liking to you when you spoke to him and you knew that one look at you and he’d be pulling you into some perverted conversation thinly veiled as “small talk about what I do” that would begin with sticky fingers and end with a red hand print streaked across his stubbly cheek.

You sighed and made your way to the garden, hoping there was some back exit you could sneak out through. When it seemed like you were walled in by bushes and hedges sprinkled with colorful arrangements of wild flowers and half-naked, marble statues, you sat on the ledge of the giant water fountain in the center of the garden’s square and settled on waiting a couple of minutes there before checking if the perv had stumbled somewhere else.

Outside, there was a giant brick wall opposite the mansion thanks to the old town house over that the millionaire probably owned too. The free real estate was used to project films the whole night; the genre varied from event to event, but tonight you gazed at the hazy neon horror that was Argento’s Suspiria. You watched Stefania Casini attempt to claw her way out of a room filled with barbed wire as your lungs took in the fresh nighttime air. Ironically, the clean breeze hit you with the strange craving for a cigarette between your lips. Whole lot of good that’ll do you, you thought. You’d quit three weeks ago and would begin to feel tightly wound whenever the cravings would come over you, feeling like you might spring undone and punch somebody if spoken to the wrong way.

Trying to dispel the little naughty voices in your head telling you how easy it would be to stop by the nearest convenience store and buy a pack on the way home, you realized someone had sat down next to you.

It was Blondie.

He wiped the sweat off the bridge of his nose from beneath his glasses and dipped his hand in the cool water, rubbing the back of his neck with his wet palm.

You stole another glance at him, at his super fancy tux. He seemed to be wearing it like a paper doll would, devoid of any sort of originality and personalization like the other fashion “experts” here. It was very cookie cutter.

He must’ve caught your glance because he turned his head your way and spoke.

“Sorry, I just…needed to cool down with the fountain and this is the best spot to watch the film,” he said softly.

His voice surprised you; it had this sort of quiet precision as he spoke, nothing loud and obnoxious, and more so cool and fluid like the reflection of the fountain’s water splashed across his face. You met his dark eyes and gave him a polite nod, quickly turning your attention to the flickering film, trying to ignore just how handsome he was.

You stayed that way for a good minute or two, feeling awkward sitting next to him, but for some reason not wanting to get up and leave to go check if the exit was free.

Blondie laughed in a sort of scoff at the film and said, “God, pants were so tight back then, left nothing up to the imagination huh?”

You laughed back, “that’s the seventies for you.”

He nodded and reclined a bit, resting his hand on the ledge. You looked down and noticed it was pretty close to yours. His hand was large and a bit veiny, but looked very soft somehow, it was weird, but not as weird as how intently you were staring down at it. So much so that when a voice addressed you, you were startled.

“There you are!” laughed the film director.

“Aw man, I was looking for you everywhere. I really enjoyed our last conversation and was really spiffed when it was cut short,” he put his arms out — of course he had more alcohol in his clutch.

You looked up at him in dreaded shock, “oh! Hi there again.”

“Hey listen, there's so much I’ve got to tell you about my new film. It’s revolutionary. It’s tasteful of course, but also packed with action and just painfully sexy,” he scrunched his brows with thick finesse.

“How about you and me ditch this place and we can come watch it at my place? You'll be the first to see it, a totally exclusive sneak peek just for you gorgeous,” he grinned.

What the fuck!

You nervously grinned.

“Ah I’m so sorry, um—”

“Jackson,” he eagerly interjected.

“I am so sorry Jack, but um, I cannot go out with you tonight, I’ve got to wake up early tomorrow,” you shook your head politely.

“C’mon, I’ll get you out of bed early enough for whatever it is you need to do sweetheart. I know you’re just playing hard to get,” he winked and chugged his drink.

God you needed a fucking cigarette.

“No, I am not playing hard to get. I just don’t want to go back to your house Jackson,” you said a little more bluntly.

“Alright, then where do you want to go? We can ah, hop in my mustang and figure it out from there…who knows, we might not even leave the mustang if you know what I mean — I am open to anything you want baby, you just say the word,” he chuckled, face all flushed.

You glared at him and exhaled, opening your mouth to speak.

“—hey cool it okay? She clearly doesn’t want to be around you bud,” Blondie interrupted.

You turned your head over and saw that his focus was now on Jackson instead of the projection.

“Who the fuck asked you?” Jack scoffed.

“Look man, I don’t want any problems. I’m just trying to watch the film here but it’s pretty damn obvious that you’re making her uncomfortable,” Blondie shrugged.

“Oh yeah, did she tell you that? Are you her goddamn boyfriend or something?” he raised a thick brow.

“No, I can just sense that she may or may not be off put by your proposal to watch fucking pornography together at your bachelor pad, stud,” he mocked with a laugh.

“Yeah you think this is—this is fucking funny? Huh?” Jackson slurred, throwing his glass over his shoulder and letting it shatter across the stone flooring, causing some heads to look over and draw attention to the quickly escalating scene.

Both you and Blondie immediately began speaking, a plethora of “woahs” in unison that urged Mr. Porno Hot Head to calm down.

“No. No, see—this nerd mother fucker here thinks this is funny!” he yelled.

“I really don’t—” began Blondie.

“I’ll give you something to fucking laugh about!” he roared and yanked Blondie up by the collar, punching him square in the face.

You let out a yelp and popped up from your seat, yelling at Jack to stop. As you did so, Blondie unhooked himself from Jackson’s clutch and punched him back, making the man stagger backwards, clutching his eye. Blondie then took the opportunity to grab him by the shoulders and push his drunken ass into the water fountain.

You watched all of this happen in utter disbelief, frozen as you beheld the drenched drunk mess that was Jackson and the bleeding blond staring right at you.

“You should go, once he gets the water out of his nose and ears he’s going to be angry,” he breathed.

“But you? What about your nose?” you said, worried.

“It’s fine,” he replied, but hissed when his hand came up to touch it, lenses crooked and cracked.

“Oh god…here, come with me,” you said resolutely, grabbing him by the wrist.

And so you swiftly led him back inside the mansion and trekked through a labyrinth of people into one of the multitude of fancy bathrooms that wasn’t occupied for coke snorting or oral sex or any kind of sex for that matter.

Closing the door, you snagged a hand towel and ran it under warm water. Blondie took off his broken glasses and inspected them.

“Shit,” he frowned.

As he set them on the counter, you wrung the hand towel and turned around.

“I am so sorry about all this, your glasses especially,” you muttered, bringing the towel to his nose.

“It’s alright really, I don’t—fuck,” he swore at the pressure on his nose.

“Sorry,” you said coyly, lightening your handiwork.

“No, I really am very embarrassed. The whole reason I was sitting at the fountain was because that dumbass was standing by the exit and I was waiting for him to leave…didn’t think he was going to come find me while I was at it,” you scoffed, dabbing the blood away from his upper lip.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. It’s not your fault he’s an asshole,” he shrugged.

“I can’t believe I didn’t even feel him walk up to me,” you muttered.

“I was so…distracted.”

You gazed at his face, it was very close to yours now — in such a quiet, intimate setting too. Your eyes studied the way the cloth caught his lip as you cleaned the blood, the way it would lift up and momentarily expose some of his teeth each time.

Your eyes then met his, they were a grayish blue, a slate color. His eyelashes were unbelievably blond.

“Are you done?” you heard him say curiously.

“Oh,” you realized you had paused the wiping.

“Yeah you’re fine,” you sheepishly replied.

He nodded with a “thanks” and came to look at himself in the bathroom mirror. Now that the blood was clean he just had a red, tender nose. His hair was a little messed up too. Micheal tried to slick it back the way it was, exhaling and sticking a finger in his collar to loosen up his crumpled bow tie.

“Well, we should both probably call it a night now, I’ve got a feeling Jack’s stomping around looking for us leaving tiny puddles of water everywhere he goes,” he proposed, turning around.

“You’re right,” you smiled.

“—thank you by the way, um,” you raised a brow.

“Micheal,” he smiled shyly, leaning against the counter.

There it was again. That flicker of apprehension, the one that made you smile earlier. You gazed at him and crossed your arms, deciding to take a chance.

“You hungry Micheal? Let me buy you something to eat as an apology for your shattered lenses,” you offered, finding yourself holding your breath awaiting his answer.

Micheal met your eyes again and a look of ever so slight fluster came over his system, “um sure…do you like donuts?”

“Oh Micheal, you are speaking my language,” you dropped your arms and gave him a silly look.

Micheal smiled even wider and grabbed his poor glasses, putting them back on.

Dropping the bloody rag in the garbage can, you and Micheal exited the bathroom and practically bolted out the doors of that cursed mansion of horrors.

Unfortunately, you were in the richer part of town where all the late night shops weren’t within walking distance because God forbid Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags live within a mile radius of a Seven-Eleven.

“I’ll hail us a cab, but we’ll have to walk a little farther out,” Micheal said.

You nodded and followed him down the street to the less private areas of the gated community the mansion was located in.

“Don’t you have to let that friend of yours know you’re leaving?” you asked him, gripping your clutch and clacking your heels down the chilly sidewalk.

“Not really, he told me he didn’t want to see me at the end of the night, that my goal was to end up sleeping anywhere but my own bed,” he laughed in disbelief.

“Oh wow,” you replied, feeling validated in your previous asshole diagnostic of the guy.

“I didn’t really take it to heart by the way, that’s not what I’m trying to—hey, how’d you know I was with him tonight?” he questioned suddenly, turning his head over to you.

Pink bloomed across your face, not realizing you had given yourself away like that. Nervous laughter tumbled out of your mouth.

“I guess I had seen you earlier talking with him, jet black hair?” you cocked your head.

“Yup, that’s him. Did you know that he, Alex, practically forced me out here tonight? I was supposed to go this super formal, black tie dinner hosted by my boss for all his colleagues — and the guy fucking crashes the thing posing as my brother to hurriedly tell everyone that I needed to rush to the hospital to say my last words to my dying grandmother.”

“What the fuck, who does that?” you stifled a laugh.

“I know!” he grinned wildly at the pavement and held back a laugh too.

His eyes left the sidewalk and met yours.

You both stopped walking and broke into a fit of laughter, at how absurd the act was for you and at how well it seemed to work for Micheal.

Micheal sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “oh fuck, I can’t even believe it myself.”

“So is he a lifesaver, this Alex? Was the dinner really going to be that bad?” you asked.

Micheal put his hands in his pockets, “I don’t know…it’s all bullshit over there, where I work. I guess he thought I needed a break and brought me here.”

He looked back over to the glowing mansion in the distance, “to this surreal, eclectic, fever dream of a party.”

Micheal flicked his head back over to you, “did you know I saw a woman with a snake wrapped around her neck tonight? Walking around with it like nothing, like she heard boa constructor and decided to just ignore the last part.”

You grinned, “aw man, you mean Susie? She's such a treat.”

“Well I think Susie should exercise a little more caution having fangs so close to her precious pulse points,” Micheal quipped.

You began laughing really hard and paused to take a breath and speak, “shit, sorry you don’t know! Susie’s the name of the snake! The owner’s name is Cassandra!”

You continued to drunkenly laugh, bent over while Micheal simply stood there, smiling at you like an idiot.

“Oh god, fuck…I’m sorry,” you tried to catch your breath.

“You come to these things a lot don’t you?” he said.

“Yeah, I do unfortunately,” you smiled.

Micheal continued walking down the street.

“What do you mean by unfortunately?”

You followed him.

“I don’t know, I just get tired of all the theatrics every now and then. There are a lot of dear friends back there, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I just…”

“Need some divergence?” Micheal said, pushing the bridge of his lenses up and staring down at his dress shoes as he walked.

You gazed at his downturned side profile, “…yeah.”

He smiled at the concrete, “I get the feeling. It’s the same where I work. I’m a financial analyst over on Mid-Wilshire and all my best buds are there but, it’s like all day is just the endless drone of greenback lingo. Like, I get it’s our job but even at the bar after work or at somebody’s house for dinner, the only things these men can seem to talk about is money, money, money!”

Micheal tensed his brow, upset.

“I just feel like there’s more to life than dust busters and fine china and Christmas bonuses and diamond earrings.”

“…it’s just all too suburban,” Micheal sighed.

“I wish my life was a bit more suburban,” you shook your head.

“I come to these parties and see such a spectacular array of minds and hands, brimming with talent, with genuine artistic excellence,” you began.

Micheal eyed you as you spoke.

“And it’s all wonderful you know? I love art. I love consuming and taking in all types of media, talking with these people about the process behind that media and how they express themselves based on their participation in life and it’s beautiful. Everyone is so different.”

You let out a heavy breath.

“But then the fame and the money and the vices get to them and I see this…this deterioration of the soul, like the only things they can think about is being the best lyricist, the best artist, the best and biggest everything, not giving a damn about what tomorrow holds for them as long as they have a cocktail glass in one hand, a bottle of pills in the other, and a warm body in bed next to them through the night.”

You sighed and met his eyes as you both stopped round a corner, the night air so crisp. More and more light came into view as more street shop signs glowed around you, the noise of more and more cars whizzing by coming into ear.

“Looks like you and I are running into the same problems on opposite fields,” he smiled softly.

“Old money or new money, at the end of the day it’s still cold, hard cash,” you breathed a laugh back.

Micheal maintained eye contact with you as a look of something came over him. He suddenly glanced downwards at you and it's like he realized for the first time what exactly you were wearing. He noticed how you rubbed your own bare arms up and down.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Oh um, I’m good, don't worry,” you assured him.

“It’s the middle of October, you must be cold,” he raised a brow.

And suddenly, he was taking off his suit jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders, making a stupid grin plaster itself across your face.

“Thanks,” you replied, trying your best to not be overtaken with fluster at the oh so chivalrous act.

“Alright, now to find a damn cab,” he turned towards the street with a quizzical look and surveyed the rows of cars passing by, trying to catch a flash of yellow.

In the cab, more small talk was made — mostly about your job as a curator, what you were working on right now, if you made art yourself, and so on.

For some reason, tonight it felt like all the taxi cabs had undergone some sort of secret, world-wide renovation to make them ever so smaller, because you were acutely aware of how close you sat next to Micheal. Your knees even touched as you sat. Micheal himself had a hard time focusing with the smell of your perfume filling up the cab, your hand brushing by his on the pleather seats ever so often.

“Do you have a favorite art piece?” he asked.

“That is a loaded question, my friend — how dare you ask me that?” you nudged him, he giggled back.

You stared up at the water stained taxi ceiling, “umm, it changes with time, but tonight I’d say I’m rather fond of Klimt's Judith I.”

Your eyes flicked over to his and saw how he had no idea what you were referring to.

“It’s this painting of Judith from the Bible holding General Holofernes’ severed head after killing him to end his reign of tyranny, and it fascinates me because it has none of the bloody aggression of a Caravaggio depiction, for example. Klimt doesn’t even show the entirety of Holofernes’ head. It’s just Judith, looking straight at the viewer, wearing nothing but mesh fabric. It has a perverse air to it, like the violently erotic confrontation that Holofernes must’ve experienced as he tried to bed Judith, realizing his cruel demise was solely in fault to his own libido.”

Micheal examined you as you spoke, how your pupils bounced around the taxi as you seemingly left the space and entered some sort of other mental sphere, simply passionate over talking about art. The girls he knew never seemed to have that sort of spark in their eyes; they were more accustomed to telling the difference between authentic and knockoff hand bags than the difference between Art Deco and Art Nouveau.

He liked that about you. A lot.

“Hmm—libidos, cruel demises, dangerous women…did Jackson by any chance inspire this work to come to mind?” he teased.

“I don’t know—do you find me dangerous?” you caught his stare, grinning.

“I find you to be painfully passive, actually. God like a deer in head lights as it all happened,” Micheal scrunched his brows with theatrics, shaking his head playfully.

“Well it’s not everyday you witness a man get his exquisitely framed, delicate little lenses cracked plain down the sides right before your very eyes, I mean, has no one respect for such nonabrasive, dainty eyewear these days?” you shot back.

Micheal rolled his eyes, deciding to put an end to this silly tangent.

“Why does the name Klimt sound so familiar to me?” he remarked.

“He painted The Kiss!” you replied happily, eyeing his mouth, then his chin, then that Adam’s apple.

You cleared your throat.

“…if you’ve ever heard of it.”

“Ah yes! The yellow one with the two people,” Micheal smiled.

“I like that painting. I saw it once in a catalog and it seemed so…warm,” he added.

You nodded, understanding perfectly.

“What about you? Any pieces you're fond of?”

Micheal huffed out air.

“I’m less of a fine arts person and more of a film nerd,” he confessed.

“Makes sense, you were quite into that projection back at the party.”

Micheal nodded, remembering fondly of how much he liked seeing all those reds and purples splashed over the brick wall before he got rudely interrupted.

“Movies are cool, what can I say? I just like that for an hour or two, you can simply leave your life and submerge into the complexities of another's, completely unaware of what to expect…like, have you ever seen Psycho?” he cocked his sandy waves over to you excitedly.

“Oh God yes,” you furrowed your brows.

“The fact that the main actress — umm Jane, no, Janet Leigh? The woman who’s been plastered all over the posters and the promotions and everything just dies half way through like that? The initial motive, the driving force of the plot for the movie, the goddamn stack of cash? — simply chucked into a swamp by Bates and never talked about again!” he shrugged wide eyed and grinning.

“And the fourth wall break at the end? Brilliant!” he laughed all tipsy and squinty-eyed.

You laughed with him back. God his laugh was great.

It was so…warm.

Coming to a halt, the cab jolted and you arrived at the donut shop. The place was a cute little number, a mom-and-pop shop you knew stayed open late into the night after countless drunk escapades with friends in the city.

Micheal paid the driver (seeing as you offered to pay for food, never the price of the ride there as he so cleverly mentioned when you resisted the act) and hopped out onto the sidewalk. He took your hand, helping you out of the cab, what with your outrageously pointy heels.

Once inside and under those sobering fluorescent lights, you both stared at the spotty glass display case, at the array of icing doused choices.

“Pick your poison Micheal,” you said, crossing your arms.

“How do they not have chocolate frosted? That’s like, the classic donut flavor,” he muttered, disappointed.

“I feel like that’s strawberry, but you’re right. They must be so popular they ran out.”

“Damn it. Well, what are you going to get?” he asked, finding that he hadn’t really tried many other donuts other than chocolate frosted — with no sprinkles of course.

“Hmm now that I’ve mentioned it, I guess I’ll do strawberry frosted,” you remarked.

“Alright, I’ll do the same,” Micheal replied.

Handing the tired cashier two bucks, you secured the goods and sat in a corner of the empty shop. The place had nice big windows you could see the city out of; at 12:30 am the usual suspects walked the streets, women in scantily clad clothes, men in tight pants, cars and cars driving by, most of them booming loud music that sounded slightly muffled through the thin glass panes.

Taking the donuts out of the paper bag, you and Micheal clinked them and each took a bite.

“So what’s the plan for those glasses?” you asked, muffled.

“I’ll get new ones, it’s not too much of a problem. I’ve got a warranty on these,” Micheal replied, chewing.

“Better safe than sorry, I like it,” you nodded.

“That’s my motto I guess,” he sighed, inspecting his donut.

“Do you not like it? Seems pretty reasonable to me,” you shrugged.

“I like being safe. It’s what makes sense to me. But sometimes I find myself feeling wrapped too deep within myself — know what I mean? I just have this fear that I’m going to miss out on something important because I’m so busy worrying about what might happen,” he put down the donut and looked at you.

“Well, if you’re saying you aren’t spontaneous or courageous I’d have to call you a liar because here you are, punched in the face and eating donuts with a total stranger,” you teased.

The dissatisfaction left Micheal’s face and he smiled, realizing you were completely right. His mind brought him back to Alex, his “goal” for the night. Micheal thought it was completely superficial, giving him a “come on” kind of look, how could he even do that with a person he barely knew? But here he was now, in the blink of an eye, chatting and tasting the strawberry on his tongue as he talked to this mystery girl about the things he liked — that she liked back!

A very pretty girl too.

He couldn’t stop looking at the way his jacket hung on her shoulders, what previously touched his skin was now kissing hers.

Fuck Alex and his machinated “goal.” This was so much better, and he didn’t even really need to try, he just did what he thought was right — scratch that, what he felt was right.

“You have a point,” he replied happily, bringing the donut back up to his face and taking a big old bite.

You had a little bit of a reflection too while you ate. Micheal seemed nothing like an asshole; not judging a book by its cover must’ve backfired on you this time. If only you had gotten to know him earlier in the night like you wanted to, then maybe Micheal would’ve evaded Jackson’s fist.

And it was all because of that wild friend of his.

“By the way, how’d you meet that friend of yours, Alex, if you don’t mind me asking? With that story you told me earlier I can’t imagine you simply befriending him in a normal way,” you inquired, taking another bite.

Micheal let out a soft laugh, “well I don’t think you’ll believe me if I tell you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you smiled, intrigued.

“Because it’s kind of the exact same thing that happened tonight,” he said with a shy laugh, his focus on the chipped, wooden table.

You let out a short, loud “ha!”

“What? Did you also save Prince Charming from an evil Ogre?”

“No! He saved me!” Micheal brought his head up and laughed hard.

“Some tall dope was being rude to his girl at the bar and I was just sitting there — the girl had come in earlier looking upset and I tried to be nice to her, buy her a drink. Anyways, she calls me a drip, the man tells me to take a hike, and fucking slams my head against the bar when I didn’t immediately bolt out the door when he said so,” Micheal explained.

“He might’ve broken my glasses and my nose if Alex hadn’t dramatically shattered a beer bottle against the counter and threatened the guy to back off,” he added.

You swallowed, “wow, now that is a story to tell, film worthy.”

“I know right,” Micheal grinned. This grin was new. It was looser and a little electric.

“I’m surprised you didn’t learn your lesson there, Mike. Seems like chivalry only leads to pain in your experience,” you quipped.

Mike. An hour into meeting the guy and you’d already nicked his name. Figures you realized you’d liked him more than you expected based on said evidence — and the way you kept on staring at those canines bite into the baked flesh of the donut.

“Are you saying you wanted me to do nothing? Leave you with that creep? Jesus Christ, if anything I had to intervene cause his slurred sweet talking was getting in the way of my movie time,” he laughed.

“No I’m only joking,” you smiled, “I’m glad you stood up for me and I’m glad we met each other.”

“You’re a nice person to talk to Mike.”

Micheal smiled as he finished his donut, licking the frosting off his thumb.

“You too. I never thought I’d meet someone I have stuff in common with at that place. I’ve been having a great time with you, really.”

As you finished your donut, an air of awkwardness waved over the table that seemed to whisper, “what now?”

Micheal tapped the table with his finger. He didn’t want to call it a night just yet, but didn’t want to impose himself on you. God, this is exactly what he was talking about. That dormant worry that plagued him from his toes up to his sandy head of hair took hold of him and suddenly, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

You stared at his moving finger and decided to speak before your brain could catch up and yank the words back into your mouth.

“I’d like to go to the Seven-Eleven across the street to buy some cigarettes. Do you want to come with me?”

Micheal’s finger froze.

“Let’s do it.”

Your heart thrummed a little with excitement, wholly ignoring the fact that you’ve given up your clean streak solely for this blond boy. You’d never done anything like that before. They’re usually never worth it.

He seemed different though.

You hoped he was different.

Across the street, the glass doors of the Seven-Eleven slid open. You and Micheal laughed up a storm walking inside.

“I did not say that!” you cackled defensively.

“Oh sure. The best concert you’ve been to is Billy Idol, I wonder why…the man is practically having sex on stage every night!” he laughed, running his hand through his hair again. Every time Micheal did so, his waves slowly lost their neat, gelled look, gaining a new air of tousled confidence.

“What I’m trying to say is he has stage presence.”

“He’s got a presence alright, and it’s dripping in sweat and hormones,” Micheal replied, putting his hands to his neck as he unclipped his pesky bow tie. He put it in his pocket as he broke off for a bit to go take a look at the post card rack.

Rolling your eyes, you walked up to the counter and asked for some Marlboro Lights. As the man behind the counter turned to grab you a pack, your eyes flicked over to the display on the counter top.

Condoms.

You felt Micheal return and stand behind you, which made you more nervous than it should have. A sudden urge to come right home and go right to sleep came over you, feeling very meek and very aware of your every move and breath — of his body right behind you. You paid for the cigarettes and immediately began to paw at the package.

Walking back outside, you opened your clutch and pulled out your old lighter — which you should’ve gotten rid of in the first place in case something like this ever happened. Leaning against the brick of the liquor shop next door, you plucked out a cigarette.

“You smoke?” you glanced his way.

Micheal scratched his neck, “I’ve been trying to quit, actually.”

You scoffed, “Me too. Three weeks right down the drain with this one.”

You wiggled the fresh cigarette in your hand.

“What?” Micheal tensed his brow and leaned away from the wall.

He suddenly grabbed it out of your hand and tossed it away.

“Hey! What was that for?” you whined.

“You’ve been clean three weeks. I’m not letting you lose all that progress on my watch,” he said, passionately.

You gaped at his face, half baffled.

That wave of anxiousness sparked at the store counter fussed within you. You could feel the buzz in your finger tips as you held the shiny carton. The wrapped smoky bliss was right there and you really wanted that hit.

You eyed the carton in your hands and contemplated.

A few seconds passed by and as you kept staring at the package, you heard Mike’s voice again.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I shouldn’t have done…that…”

He trailed off as you began to walk away from him.

Not taking your eyes off the carton, you made your way over to the Liquor store dumpster and chucked the carton in.

Micheal eyed you as you did this and kept his gaze on you as you made your way back.

You turned your focus to his face and words began to spill out of your mouth.

“I’m going to say this right now because I really regret throwing those cigarettes away and now I have all this anxious adrenaline running through me and it’ll help me say all this because I don’t think I would without it but I really like talking to you and I think that we should see each other more after this like maybe go on a date or something if you’d like so we can talk more about art and movies and music and you can show me your new glasses when you get them and afterwards I’ll buy you a chocolate frosted donut,” you rambled, staring at how the yellow streetlight made Micheal’s hair glow like he grew golden thread from his scalp.

Micheal took in your words and when you finished, stared at his jacket on your body again. He missed seeing your bare shoulders. He wanted to see that smooth skin again, the one that made up your arms and hands — but if you wanted to keep the jacket on because of the cold, he supposed that was alright too. What he really did want though, was to spend the entire night with you, just doing whatever you desired to do. All he wanted was simply you, laughing alongside him on a chilly night in L.A. Michael realized his face was growing closer and closer to yours and paused a small distance.

“I’d like that very much,” he said quietly.

You stood simply frozen, overtaken with nerves, wishing you had a cigarette on your lips, wishing you had Micheal on your lips.

Wait. That sounded so much better.

You let out a breath and tugged his shirt collar forward, letting your mouth meet his.

Micheal closed his eyes and felt your face press against his sensitive nose, your lips so soft. That perfume of yours came back around again to fill up his head and just when he was about to slide his hands around your waist, you broke away and let go of his collar.

You wiped your mouth, “sorry.”

He laughed, “what?”

“Don’t be sorry,” he adjusted his lenses.

“But I just can’t help feeling like I shouldn’t have done that,” you replied.

“Why not?” he asked.

Silence.

“I don’t know,” you said.

More silence.

Micheal looked at you and softly laughed once more — and this time, the worry didn’t seem to come to him.

He picked up where he left off and wrapped his arms around your waist. He pulled you close against him, kissing you soft and gentle, like if he squeezed or pressed too hard you’d simply disappear somehow in his arms.

For a moment you forgot where you were. All that was real was his hands running up and down your back and his nose, lips, and chin pressing against yours. Your hands crept to his neck and further upwards to explore his head of hair. It felt softish, still a little stiff from the gel.

You broke away once again, but still remained in his embrace. You spoke to him, cheek to cheek.

“I saw you at the start of the party and really wanted to talk to you, I feel stupid now for not doing so.”

Micheal kissed your cheek.

“I saw you too, sitting on that fountain. Truth is I didn’t have to sit that close to watch the film,” he grinned.

You gazed at the scuffed brick wall and grinned too. Resting your head on his shoulder, you whispered.

“Would you like to see what color bed sheets I own?”

Micheal gazed out onto the street and flicked his eyes upwards towards the sky. The stars glittered bright, littered and scattered across the midnight blue like a shattered piece of glass.

“I don’t think I’ll be focusing much on the bedsheets really,” he murmured in response.

And you stayed that way for a second, simply hugging in the middle of a poorly lit, breezy sidewalk between a Seven-Eleven and a liquor store, the donut shop across the road — and it was so much better than the stuffy extravagance of the millionaire’s back garden.

The time between leaving that liquor store sidewalk and hopping out of the cab at your apartment was simultaneously a blur and the longest fifteen minutes of your life.

Once you finally hailed a cab, you both got in and didn’t speak too much on the ride there. You simply rested your head on Micheal’s shoulder, his hand crept over and cupped your knee. It was soothing, hearing the steady hum of the engine, the wheels turning and turning, rumbling against the road, the radio playing the pop station just barely audible, a certain old synthy track by The Cars.

“Why’d you stop smoking?”

A sigh.

“I used to smoke all the time when I was feeling anxious at the office. I would slip out and smoke Marlboro Reds outside till my head stopped hurting, though it only really made me feel worse. It got to the point where my boss noticed and asked me where I was going all day. I tried to stop for a while after that but couldn't really bring myself to. It wasn't until some end of the quarter party that I was puffing on this big cigar with so many people around me doing the same and…I don’t know, I just realized what I was doing, and where I was and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I had to excuse myself and run to the bathroom to go puke in the trash can. After that, I couldn’t really stomach the smell and taste anymore, I still crave them sometimes though despite it all.”

His hand began stroking your knee ever so softly. Your fingers came down and placed themselves atop his. His hand flipped upwards and intertwined its fingers with yours.

You kissed his shoulder, leaving a small maroon mark on his crisp, white dress shirt.

“Yeah, looks like I’ve been there too…the cigarettes smile, but never seem to help.”

Into the apartment building and to your room, the air of sleepy silence from the cab fizzled away and a slinking tension was built upon slowly, with every step taken, with the push of the elevator button, the turn of the latch and the lock of the door knob.

You flicked on the lights and there your apartment was, quiet and serene. It was one of those warmly decorated studio flats with more plants than there were places to sit down. The high rise ceilings gave way for many things to be hung on the walls — photographs, prints, paintings, sconces etc. The place was picturesque late eighties artsy, with all of the playful spark of a Patrick Nagel but none of the sleazy slickness accompanied.

“This is really nice,” Micheal remarked, looking around.

“Thanks, would you like anything? A drink? I think I have some red wine,” you replied, speaking a little quickly. It’s been awhile since you had someone over of this sort.

Micheal nodded, simply standing there, not sure what to do with himself. Once you urged him to, he sat on your brown leather sofa and exhaled, closing his eyes for a bit, running his fingers through his hair and taking off his stupidly expensive cuff links, letting them clatter on your coffee table.

When he opened his lids you were handing him a fancy looking glass of wine. You placed your glass on said heavy, golden coffee table and took off Micheal’s suit jacket, laying it neatly on the couch’s arm. You grabbed your glass back and settled next to him on the leather.

“It’s the cheap stuff I have to admit,” you smiled.

“Oh good,” he flashed his whites back.

As soon as you slipped the blazer off, Micheal took in the shine of your skin and hair in the dim lighting of the room, the cut of your dress, how the silk wrapped and hung on your skin. You looked radiant. He suddenly felt really, really warm in this room and incredibly grateful Alex barged into his work event like a madman, hysterical and devastated.

“Can I tell you something?” Micheal said after taking a sip.

You nodded, tasting the sweet bite of the wine yourself.

“I feel like we’ve been talking to each other all night and it’s the most fun I’ve had in ages. I thought that just talking to you till morning is something I’d be happy to do, but I’ve realized now that I would be lying because I don’t really feel like talking anymore…especially since you look beautiful in that dress and it’s making me pretty nervous,” he said quietly, putting the wine glass down on the coffee table.

“Oh…” you said, barely audible, lost in his gaze.

He gently pulled the wine glass from your hand and also set it on the table. Then he closed in on your body and kissed you. Micheal put his hands on your head and met your mouth again and again, seemingly never wanting to stop, Christ, he could just melt into you if he could.

You did have to momentarily pause though, in order to pluck his splintered glasses off his head, God forbid a piece of glass pops out.

“Sorry,” you softly laughed, setting them on the table between the wine glasses.

Micheal only smiled back with those squinty eyes of his and pressed himself against you harder when he resumed his kisses, laying you down on the couch. His mouth wandered past yours, trailing his lips to your jaw downwards. You closed your eyes and felt your breathing pick up, his tongue so warm on your neck.

As Micheal licked and kissed there, your hands explored his body like his did yours. Timid finger tips across his starched cotton back up to the nape of his neck into his hair. Michael's hands ran down your ribcage into the dip of your waist, past the curve of your hips — you could tell he really wanted to touch you all over, but held back a bit in doing so.

Micheal’s mouth returned to your lips as you hugged his body closer to yours, wanting as little space between you as possible. His kisses turned a bit more desperate as you rolled your hips up into his, creating a sort of friction that felt incredibly pleasurable. Micheal’s pulse ran hot, the way your body moved against his, rubbing him in just the right ways.

His breaths thickened, letting a moan or two slip out and he joined in, starting to grind down into you, quickly losing all sense of hesitation in where his hands wanted to go. You felt the palm of his hand cup the weight of your breast, pulling the fabric there downwards and exposing your nipple.

Micheal took it into his mouth, making your breath hitch as he kissed and sucked your sensitive flesh — the act was so sweet in the most erotic of ways.

You pulled his blond head back up and smeared your lips against his, eager hands quick to begin unbuttoning his shirt. Once you finished, you quickly spread the fabric and pulled it out of the tuck in his pants, slipping your hands underneath the shirt, up to his smooth shoulder blades.

Micheal’s hand crept down your thigh and hiked up your dress, giving him the clearance he needed to slip a hand between your legs and caress you through your underwear.

You moaned into his mouth, shifting your hips with pleasure against his touch. God his strong hand felt amazing, you broke off his mouth to quickly speak.

“Micheal—” you breathed.

“Yes?” he responded, equally breathless.

“Do you want to take this to the, um bedroom?” you asked.

“Yes—um yeah,” he said quickly, huffing out a laugh.

You smiled.

“Sorry, awkward question I know.”

“And here I was thinking I was about to have couch sex for the first time,” he teased back.

“It’s not too bad really, though a bit restrictive with positioning, and the clean up isn’t very fun.”

“I see, bedroom it is then.”

You gave him a quick peck and he let himself up off you, allowing for you to lead him by the hand to your bedroom.

Now at the side of your cozy bed, laid fresh with black satin sheets, Mike pulled your body back into a passionate kiss. His hands fumbled around your back, till he found the zipper of your dress and pulled it downwards. One thing led to another and there he was, meeting your mouth sweetly as you lay beneath him on the mattress, his hands all over your newly exposed skin, just in your underwear and heels.

Micheal found that he couldn’t really think about anything else other than you right now. The way your hands dug in his hair, your mouth meeting him so good, the small sounds of want you let out as he touched you all over. He longed for more of you, this handsy makeout wasn’t enough by a long shot, and he felt himself begin to act on this growing desire as he shoved his sleeves up frantically, kissing you like he wouldn't wake up tomorrow.

Micheal brought your calves up on the bed so your heels made contact with the sheets and your bent legs caged his body, his mouth beginning a hopeless trail down your figure, each kiss sparking something dangerous within him, giving him more and more confidence as he dedicated himself to giving you everything he had within. It was like that worry that wrapped him up tight, unraveled in your presence, simply melted away when your breath mixed with his.

You felt that wet path of his down your neck to your cleavage, further past to your abdomen, then, to just an ever so slow, tantalizing lick and kiss to your pussy, still in your lacy, thin panties.

You eyed him and let out gasps and moans as he teased you, incredibly turned on. You watched as his golden head of hair cocked to the side and kissed your inner right thigh, trailing small presses of his lips up your leg as he lifted it upwards. He then unbuckled your strap and removed your heel, discarding it to the carpet by the bed — and he would never admit this, but in a perfect world, Micheal maybe wouldn’t have minded if the heels had stayed on…

“This is so sexy…” you said, fascinated.

Micheal smiled and kissed your ankle, “you like it?”

You nodded, lost in his face, “God, you are so handsome.”

Blushing and a tiny bit embarrassed at what you said, Micheal only made the red on your face deepen as he took off your other heel and replied with a silly, “thank you baby, I try.”

Now barefoot and your left leg in the air, Micheal resumed his incessant kissing down your calf and thigh. It seemed harder and harder to breathe as he got closer and closer to your center, your clit just aching to have contact with that perfect mouth of his.

His lips jumped from your thigh to your abdomen as he hooked his fingers on your panties’ waistband and slid them off your body, raising himself upwards to fully slip them off your legs.

And there was something about that very image, the one of Micheal—shirt completely unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up and blond waves a mess from making out with you—spreading your thighs apart and eyeing your sex, your flushed, wet pussy with such a lewd hunger, that made your heart fucking race like it never had before.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, throwing your head back on your sheets as he brought his head down and began to eat you out.

Micheal licked and sucked you between the legs in such a viscous, seductive manner that it was almost like he was making out with your pussy. The way his nose brushed your clit as he dipped his tongue into you, lapping at you endlessly like a canine in desperate need of water, coming to suck on your clit so good it had you loudly expressing your approval up at the ceiling.

A hand of yours crept up to caress his head as he got you off, your brows tense as your eyes came back to watch him. An intrusive thought of him doing the very same act crossed your mind, but one of him with his glasses still on, fogging up the lenses as he moaned into you, kissing you hopelessly between the legs.

It was so goddamn attractive, you genuinely considered somehow sneaking back into the living room to go steal them back.

Micheal felt himself strain hard against his pants, your moans and whines filling up his ears, your taste so wet on his tongue, dripping down his chin, his hands around your thighs, your flesh so soft in his fingers — God, he was so hard from it all he almost started grinding on your bed sheets to find some relief.

He pulled his mouth away and slipped two fingers in you, easily sliding them in with the mess of slick and saliva that covered your pulsing cunt.

“Fuck. Mmmmicheal, oh my—” you moaned desperately, absolutely enthralled by the way he fucked you with his two digits, caressing up into that sweet spot every time.

“That feel good?” he asked as if it were nothing, pecking a kiss to your thigh.

“—holy shit,” you squeaked, coming to grip his glinting, watched wrist as he fingered you, making you soak the bedsheets with graphic, scandalous noises.

Micheal didn’t stop however, he continued to finger you and simply brought his head back down, figuring he might as well take you all the way — despite a desperate need of his to sink himself deep inside you. The man wasn’t selfish though, he could wait just a little bit more.

Your nails clawed at your bed sheets, your breathing feverish and your moans ceaseless. Edging closer and closer, your jaw tilted up higher and higher.

“Mike please don’t stop I’m going to—,” you squeezed your eyes shut and your whole body tensed as you orgasmed. You felt your hips automatically roll upwards, a loud moan escaping your lips as bliss spread through your body in pulsing waves. Micheal kept himself on your pussy as you rode it out, not stopping till your body grew weak and fell limp.

As you caught your breath, you felt Micheal pull away from you and stand up at the bedside. He licked his two fingers clean and wiped his mouth, proceeding to slip off his shirt, swiftly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. Kicking his shoes off, he knelt back on the bed and caged your entire body with his.

He gazed down at you, you gazed up at him.

“I love the way you moan,” he whispered.

“I love the way you look between my legs,” you breathed back.

“Let me taste you,” you added, slipping a hand downwards to palm him through his tight, grey boxers.

His brows tensed and he let out a soft, pleasured exhale of a moan.

“Fuck, I might not last if you do,” he grinned.

“I mean, we have all night…” you smiled.

“So you don’t have to wake up early tomorrow?” he raised a sexy, teasing brow.

“Are you seriously bringing that asshole up in the middle of sex?” you laughed.

“Sorry, sorry, mood killer I know,” he scoffed with a grin and brought his head down to nuzzle and kiss your neck.

“Let’s get back to that oral offer of yours, I’m very interested you know,” he muttered, smiling against your skin.

“Well then I’d suggest laying that pretty head of yours down on my pillows,” you replied, staring up at the ceiling with utter contentment. God Clair was completely right, you thanked her endlessly right now for making you come out tonight. She deserved a new, impractical handbag and the best of gossip sessions with an exquisite, steaming cortado, free of charge, tomorrow.

Some shifting of sorts happened and now Micheal lay on your glossy sheets, in nothing but his fitted boxers, his dick print very visible through the fabric.

And judging from the looks of said anatomical print, the good Lord in the heavens above blessed him well.

You kissed his lips, breaking off for a beat to lick your hand and slip it downwards into his boxers. Stroking him slowly, you felt how Micheal groaned into your mouth, running a loving hand through your hair, nimble fingers quickly unhooking your bra. You raised yourself and discarded the garment, aiming your oral focus down Michael’s abdomen, but not before a lick or two of his nipples, which made him blush terribly — he’s never had a girl do that to him before, he’s not sure he can ever go back.

Pressing kisses to his golden happy trail, you took off his boxers, adding them to the pile of clothes on the carpet, clearly not necessary for the occasion.

You licked a stripe on his thigh and Micheal’s cock twitched, just begging for attention. Hands on his hips, your tongue gently trailed up his length, finishing with a tiny kiss at the tip. Micheal let out a stifled moan at this unbearable teasing — something small, impatient, and incredibly horny.

You put a hand around the base of his dick and brought him within your mouth. As you sucked him off, you could hear Micheal’s mouth loosen, like he no longer cared if he sounded pathetic, your hot, wet mouth feeling too good for him to continue giving a fuck.

“Shit—mmfuckbaby, oh fuck,” he groaned, his chest rising and falling fast as he received the incredible pleasure that was your tongue dragging across the slit of his tip.

You moaned alongside him, his cock so big in your mouth. You broke off from him and pressed a thick, wet kiss to his flushed tip, stroking him up and down as you caught your breath.

Micheal was utterly enamored. The way you looked between his legs, smudged lipstick and darkened, sex drunk eyes as you slobbered on his cock made him genuinely incapable of waiting any longer.

“Please let me fuck you,” he breathed in a way that lacked way too much dignity, brows tense.

You smiled at this oh so romantic request and brought your body upwards into his embrace, him eyeing your lips, all kiss swollen and damp. Micheal yanked your face and crashed his mouth against yours, kind of turned on at the fact that they were just sucking him off, is that weird?

Breaking off his lips, you spoke, “mind wearing a condom?”

A grin so electric it could shock you dead flashed across his face, “not in the slightest.”

With a reach of your hand into your nightstand drawer and a tear of the teeth by Micheal, he was wrapped up and ready to go.

“How do you want me?” you said, a little meek.

“What do you prefer?” he asked, honest to God not giving a fuck just as long as he could see that pretty face of yours as he slipped himself inside.

“I guess I like missionary,” you replied, that familiar sensation of fluster coming to take hold of you again, feeling boring all of a sudden.

Micheal wrapped his hands around your waist, “not a fucking problem, sweetheart.”

He laughed at that stupid response and so did you, giggling harder as he manhandled you into said preferable position.

And so now you lay beneath him once again, head propped up by a pillow of yours as your silky sheets hugged your naked body, letting out lewd moans as he kissed and sucked on your bare breasts.

“Mmm—Micheal I’d really…really like to see you again after this,” you breathed out.

He brought his head up and kissed your cheek, “I’d really, really like to see you again too.”

“Good,” you giggled.

Micheal pressed his forehead against yours, grinning, “good.”

He brought a hand down to help bring himself within you. As he pushed himself inside, you both closed your eyes, sighing at the pleasure of being so deliciously close together.

Micheal closed the gap between your mouths as he brought himself in and out slowly, sinking deep in your pussy. You gripped him by the shoulders, feeling the desperate moans that would fall out his mouth into yours as he thrusted gently within you, easing you into taking his cock.

Your hands slid up the curve of his neck to his head, caressing his sandy hair, tousled and wild from those manicured hands of yours. He broke off your mouth ever so slightly and sped up a bit, fucking you in a way that had your hopeless moans teasing his lips with your breath.

“Feel good baby?” he breathed,

You nodded, “mm yeah—fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

Micheal brought his head down to passionately kiss your neck, breath hot with arousal.

You couldn’t stop moaning, the way his dick kept hitting you in just the right spot had you utterly enthralled, lovesick to the finest, filthiest degree.

Wrapping your arms around his back you whispered, “harder baby.”

And boy did Micheal oblige.

He dug his face in the crook of your neck and began to slam into you, muffling his loud moans into the satin. Your whines lost all their precision with this delicious sensation, the one of his dick driving into your cervix so damn good every time — now you sounded desperate, a new layer of ferocity in your voice, gripping onto him and squeezing your eyes shut in pleasure as they fought rolling upwards.

Your nails raked his bare back, loudly begging in his ear not to stop.

Micheal lifted his head up and swiftly met your lips once more, mumbling an “oh baby” on the way there.

He was fully atop you now, a strong grip on your body, skin to skin, as he fucked you senseless — and it was like the man was in his element now, a complete one eighty from timid Blondie earlier in the night. It’s not like you didn’t expect him to be good, but fuck was he great in bed. Micheal would slow down and slip a hand to your clit as he stretched you out. He’d meet your lips in a messy, nasty way and murmur things in your ear amidst your devastating moans like:

“You like it when I touch you like this?”

“God louder baby, fuck—give it to me.”

“Mmyeah that pussy’s so wet for me, honey.”

Then he’d put that slippery hand on your thigh and prop it up higher, resting his sweaty nose on your cheek and pounding into you like a rabid animal in heat. Here he’d become less verbal but not quieter in the slightest, grunts and moans filled your bedroom instead, along with the sounds of your pleading and the bed creaking of course — your very own private, perverse symphony.

When it seemed clear you were about to cum for the second time, you tilted your features to the side, trying to bury your face somehow in your pillow because it felt too good and you didn’t know what else to do.

A hand came up and coaxed it back center.

“Look at me baby, I want to see you.”

You met his loving, slate eyes.

“I’m going to cum again, Micheal,” you sobbed, turned to a whiny, shaking mess in his arms.

“That’s okay, pretty girl — c’mon, cum for me,” he panted.

“…okay,” you gasped, brain completely fogged over with that gorgeous cock of his inside you.

He kept on, fucking you good and with a hand back down on your clit till you were crying out and arching your back again. Micheal felt you tense up around his dick and let out a dirty “fuck,” not stopping despite your shifting body, euphoria flooding you in all your fleshly facets.

Micheal was very close himself too, his heart raced with a disgusting sort of want that only comes around moments when one is about to cum; God he could just devour you at this very second, kiss you and fuck you till there was nothing left. He put an arm around your neck, and the other under the knee joint on your leg, pinning you wide open so he could penetrate you faster and faster till he finished.

You tried to swallow, maybe catch your breath while you dug your nails into Micheal’s bicep and shoulder caging your head, but nothing could really remedy the pure bliss that was this wholly hedonistic act of love. Still coming down from your orgasm, you pushed out fierce sounds of pleasure, letting your verbal gratification mix with Micheal’s — who fully let go five thrusts ago, moaning like a whore into your neck, nothing really mattering to him but your gushing, warm pussy around his throbbing, stiff cock.

He came with a few more devastating thrusts and an even more devastating moan, slowing down gradually till he didn’t have it in him to push himself inside any longer. Mike gently let go of your leg as he caught his breath, closing his eyes and resting himself in the crook of your neck, his arm still around it. You gazed lazily up at the ceiling and brought a hand up to stroke his sandy head. He let out a small sigh at the act, kissing your skin as a thank you. You both stayed that way for a restful minute, plain breathing filling up the once lust ridden atmosphere.

Michael brought his head up and gazed at you.

He said nothing, just stayed looking at you and something came over his face, made him glow.

“What?” you smiled.

Micheal huffed out a laugh and kissed you, meeting your lips light and sweet, like a chocolate frosted donut.

He broke away and said something low and sincere.

“I feel like that painting right now.”

“Which one?”

“The Kiss.”

You grinned so hard it hurt.

“Really?”

“Yes. I feel warm and yellow and hopelessly enamored with the girl in my clutch.”

“Shut up,” you giggled.

“No I will not, I am but a poet speaking from the heart — let me speak!” he proclaimed.

“You work in finance, Micheal. Now, please stop flustering me! You’re reaching the point of serious medical intervention,” you laughed.

“Alright, alright wouldn't want you to faint on me,” he flicked his eyebrows up

Cleaned up and laying next to Micheal under the sheets, nothing but underwear on for both parties, you both gazed up at the ceiling.

“You know what I wish I had right now?” you spoke out.

“A cigarette,” you both said in unison.

Micheal sighed, “me too.”

“Well you did it Micheal,” you professed, turning to face him.

“Did what?” he inquired, meeting your gaze.

“You met your goal, here you are in a bed that isn’t yours for the night. Alex would be proud.”

Micheal laughed in disbelief, “ah fuck him. He’s kind of an asshole.”

“Really?” you said, all sarcasm.

“But I am glad I’m here, in your bed at one in the morning,” he added with a yawn.

You smiled, shifting an arm to caress his hair.

“You know I almost didn’t come to that party tonight, thought it’d be a waste of time.”

Micheal played with your pearl earring, “that’s funny.”

“It’s like fate dragged us out of the house, from opposite corners of the city.”

“Serendipitous,” you agreed.

Micheal nodded, understanding perfectly. He let go of your earring, “listen…I have another dinner I’m invited to next week by a colleague of mine…and I’d really like for you to come with me maybe. I feel like I might get politely complimented to death and it’d be nice to have someone to actually talk to…”

He met your eyes with caution, a bit of worry slipping back into his face.

“Oh babe I’d love to go — but only if I get to pick out what you’ll be wearing, add some life to that horribly stiff suit you sport.”

“What? I thought the suit was what sold me!” he replied, feigning offense.

“No. What sold you was your passionate feminist attitude, taking hits in the face for the female counterpart Mike — and those cute little glasses too,” you lightly tapped his nose, wishing they were actually there so you could steal them away and he could let out a boyish laugh, trying to snatch them back.

“Ah I see…you’re very welcome by the way. I’ll take a punch for you any day — hey, that rhymed! I’m telling you I am a verbal artist of the very finest — goddamn it I did it again!” he laughed uncontrollably.

Good God you needed this man as far away from you as possible; you rolled your eyes.

“You free tomorrow?”

“I’ve got a thing with my brother, but in the evening yeah.”

“Do you want to stay locked in my apartment the whole night and catch a movie? I’ve just rented Wild at Heart and am dying to watch it.”

“I can’t think of anything else that I’d rather do,” Micheal smiled squintily.

“Although, let’s watch it at my place. I’ve got a fantastic sound system,” he said because of course he did.

“Sounds great,” you closed your eyes and lazily smiled, “we can order something, you’ll pay of course, then we’ll watch another lynchian masterpiece, have a drink or two to end the night...”

Micheal shifted closer, grinning, he spoke slow and smitten, laying an arm around your bare back.

“You’ll sit next to me, maybe hold my hand, then I'll kiss your neck and put my other hand somewhere else and then we’ll have to pause the movie and—”

“Go to sleep before you give yourself another hard-on Micheal,” you laughed, eyes still closed.

Micheal ceased his smooth talking, giving you a peck on the lips and an “all right.”

“Night,” he said, shifting to sleep behind you as you turned your body outwards to face your artisanal night stand.

“Good night,” you replied.

You clicked your metallic table lamp off.

“By the way, I know you’d be way too invested in the film to do that mid way through watching. I think you’d fuck me as soon as the credits roll.”

A laugh.

“Where have you been all my life and what took you so long?”

#micheal boll #bad influence 1990 #bad influence #james spader #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #x reader

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