3 and 14 from the kiss types with Michael!! ✨ love your writing ❤️❤️
3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond. 14. A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished.
Thank you for sending this request in! I’m sorry it took me so long to answer.
I don’t know if you had a specific Michael in mind, and I decided to go with Fire&Reign!Michael since I didn’t write him for Halloween. If there is another Michael that you would like, I’d be happy to write it for you, so just let me know! Bonus Sojourn!Michael blurb at the end, because this struck me as perfect for some soft comfort. Let’s say he’s early to mid-20s for these.
Fire&Reign!Michael: Price of Loyalty
Your knees quivered against his hips when he came to stand between your thighs. Michael had you caged in as you sat on the table, one hand pressed flat on either side of you, and he leaned forward until your noses nearly touched. His spearmint breath left his lips and flitted through your nostrils. You couldn’t bring yourself to look into those cobalt eyes. Not when you knew the violently raging storm clouds within them were because of you. The increased heat of his body’s clouding your senses with the taste of embers and chaos and rage was because of you.
“Say that again?” Michael’s voice was low and clipped. His eyes were on you even though you couldn’t manage to drag your gaze from one of the polished double buttons of his coat. You felt his gaze in the way the hair at the base of your neck stood. The fight or flight instinct was screaming for you to take wing and flee from the beautifully enraged man, even when your body remained leaden on the table’s edge.
“Mr. Nutter and Mr. Pfister have been watching you. Everything you do, everything you say. They’re playing you. They have an uplink inside of Ms. Mead.” You swallowed heavily and braced yourself for whatever retribution you would have to face on behalf of the men. They were the brains behind Michael’s grand, apocalyptic plans. You...you were replaceable. Any number of other Kineros employees would clamber over your body to be the Antichrist’s new little mole.
Quiet pops sounded in front of you. He was angry enough to be grinding his immaculate teeth. You were so screwed. The barely repressed rage left him shaking from head to toe, his golden curls shimmering in the harsh fluorescent lighting, and one of his hands balled into a fist that slammed down into the table next to you.
Your startled cry brings Michael’s eyes back to yours. This time you meet him, glance for glance, silently begging him to let you leave. Were you afraid of him, or the way he made your skin feel too tight and too hot around you? The way his anger leached from his body in warm waves your body absorbed and converted to arousal wasn’t right. It wasn’t right to want this man to use you, use his hands on you, his lips on you, to want him inside of you…
The touch of his fingers curling around your chin had your thoughts slamming to a halt. The caress was as soft and warm as a summer breeze; the sensation it brought you suffocated you like a tropical monsoon. Those beautiful ocean eyes you loved and feared roved over your features, and you couldn’t help but fear what he might uncover. You swallowed hard, and the motion of your throat drew his eyes downward to your lips.
“You are so good to me. So loyal.” Michael leaned closer until the tip of his nose brushed your cheekbone. His eyes were hooded, heavy with thought and intention. The hand still on the table moved to hold your hip in place and prevent you from backing away. “I chose well when asking you to be my eyes and ears here.” Like his entire presence, his hand was large--large enough to swallow your visage whole--and he used that to his advantage by palming the side of your face to keep you locked in his gaze. “So good…”
His praise made you whimper, and you bit your lower lip to force down any other sounds that might try to rebel against your composure. The last thing you needed was for him to see a weakness in you, any weakness. Michael’s lips brushed your cheek when he spoke and sent your pulse threading wildly.
“Kiss me,” he breathed against you. Your head turned so quickly to look at him, to look for any sign of jest, that you nearly knocked your forehead against his. “Kiss me,” he repeated more firmly, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.
Instinctively, the tip of your tongue slid along your lips. He couldn’t be serious. The small smirk on his luxurious lips said otherwise. After a moment of searching his sinfully beautiful face, and determining that he was very much serious, you straightened yourself up and took a steadying breath. You couldn’t look away from your new destination. Those lips that spilled promises of greatness and lies of grandeur, spoke poetic justices against humanity, whispered tantalizing ballads of sacrifice and sin. They were suddenly meant to be yours. With more determination than you had expected of yourself, your head tilted and you pressed your lips to that devilish smirk of his.
His arms were around you the second your lips touched. One wrapped possessively around your waist to bring your body flush against his while the other sank into your hair. Buzzing filled his ears as his lips moved along yours with a natural pressure that increased with your joint desires. This was all he needed right now. You were sure he could feel your heartbeat against his chest, or was that his against yours? Your legs wove around him, holding him as tightly to you as possible. If this was all you’d have of him, you were not about to let the moment slip through your fingers. You would sin and sin again if this man asked you to.
Bonus Sojourn!Michael: Enough
“My Ms. Mead is gone.”
Those were the first words Michael had said to you. Soft and sad, and as hollow as his tragically beautiful eyes looked.
Michael Langdon seemed beyond broken when they dragged him to your apartment above the Church. Why? You had no clue. You weren’t a doctor or a nurse. Sure, you were certified in CPR, but the most medical care you’d ever provided was cleaning up a neighbor kid’s sidewalk scrape when he fell. There was no way that you could provide what Michael needed, as much as it broke your heart to admit it.
You looked up at Madelyn when Michael spoke from your sofa, his arms wrapped around his chest and tears dripping down his dirty cheeks. What did they expect you to do?! They’d barely even told you what had happened, and now you had the Antichrist sat on your hand-me-down couch. He smelled of dirt and salt and defeat. She wanted you to “make him presentable” for their next Black Mass...in three hours.
He didn’t look healthy at all, nor did he look like he wanted to be alive much less healthy. His hair was dry and greasy, his face unshaven and unwashed. His clothes looked like he had been caught up in a tornado and spit out into a swamp. With a heavy sigh, you sat down with a cup of tea and offered it to Michael. Madelyn loudly shut the door behind her when she showed herself out.
“I’m sorry.” What else was there to say? Gently, you cupped his cheek and brushed away the tears streaking through the dirt on his face. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes flickered for a moment up to yours.
“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. And now I’m all alone…” The way his face slowly disintegrated from sadness to pure grief brought tears to your eyes. His whole world was collapsing around him, and you could feel it taking his breath away. You could see it in the way his chest hitched with each uneven breath. A bubbling urge rose upside of you. The need to stay with him, to comfort him.
“You’re not alone, Michael. I promise. Madelyn will give you a place to stay, she's going to get you something to eat right now, and you’re welcome here any time.” You pulled him into a tight hug, your hand rubbing soothing circles into his leanly muscled back. Tight fists clenched into the back of your shirt. His face remained buried in your shoulder and you let him cry, whispering soft words into his ears. Whispers of better times and companionship.
For the next two weeks, Michael stopped over for a couple hours every few days. Each time he visited, he brought a light and a warmth to your home that you didn’t know had been missing. Like a fireplace without the cozy warmth of flames. Sometimes his mood was improved. Sometimes, he just needed to feel safe and to be held.
Today was one of the latter.
He sat on the same sofa, with the same body language, as the first night he’d been brought here. There were no tears this time, and that provided a spark of relief. Once again, you handed him a cup of tea and settled next to him on the sofa. Your arm hugged his close as you cuddled against his side, and your head dropped to his shoulder while you softly hummed whatever song had gotten stuck in your head that day. His head tilted until it rested atop yours.
“The Church wants me to start the Apocalypse.” Your humming quieted at the revelation. “But I don’t know what they want me to do. I-” He cut himself off and looked down at you. “I feel so lost and so alone. Ms. Mead would have known what to do,” he sighed. You smiled softly and ran your hand through his revitalized and healthy, yet currently unkempt curls.
You had learned over the time you’d spent together just how much Ms. Mead had done for Michael and how much he had loved her. She’d cared for him like no one else ever had. Your soft smile made Michael frown, and you chuckled.
“Well then, let’s think about what Ms. Mead would say. How would she make you feel better right now?” Michael ran a hand over his face and simply shook his head. He was declining again; you could tell from the shadow of stubble coating his cheeks and jaw.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to feel anything right now. I can’t feel anything.” He was afraid to. All the feeling he’d had only ever led to hurt. Your teeth worried at your lower lip when he turned away from you. He’d never turned away before. The silence between the two of you grew heavy. Maybe...you were no longer enough.
"Michael…" He only seemed interested in looking outside the window where the moon was glowing brightly, his eyes locked on the silver orb.
"Everything just feels...numb." Slowly, he turned back to you, tears glistening on his lashes. "Help me feel something. Anything besides this pain. Please?" His voice broke you, and you cupped his sculpted cheeks in your hands.
"Will you-" You swallowed down the question and decided to make it a request; you would be strong for him. A brief cough cleared the quiver from your throat. The words came out in a quiet, rushed breath when you spoke.
"Kiss me." Your eyes pleaded with him. Please, let me be enough.
Lustrous curls fell into his eyes from the speed with which he turned himself to face you. The lack of hesitation surprised you. There was only a moment until his hands seemed magnetized to your face, and then he was pulling you into him. Suddenly, he had you in his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist like he thought you might try to leave him. You'd already given your promise. You would never leave him alone again.
With as much strength as you could muster, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Breathing was no longer something you required. You had ascended with his kiss on your lips and been claimed by a higher power. Your lips moved together in a perfect rhythm, as if this was the 100th time you’d sought sanctuary in each other’s arms. He crushed your chest to his and gently tickled your lips with the tip of his tongue in search for more--a gesture that told you all you needed to know. You were enough and he would never have enough of you.
