All Over
WARNINGS: Smut, 18+, MDNI, ice play, voice kink, edging, switch!Michael if you squint with glasses on, sub!reader, creampie, dirty talking (who cheered) mention of J*e once, no use of Y/N, fingering, p in v, use of petnames, both you and Michael get slightly tipsy, slightly bratty reader
SYPNOSIS: Michael's family had a gathering at a fancy restaurant, and you both couldn't wait to get home.
A/N- This is my first time actually publishing the things I write, so I hope this is good for the first time. :) so sorry this is very long, but it's pretty good.
It was a Sunday, and Michael's family decided to have a big reunion at a lavish restaurant— the whole family hadn't seen eachother in God knows how long.
Bill was driving you both, but you both knew you didn't want to be there. As much as Michael loved his family, he was exhausted from all the rehearsals and concerts he was doing. But he had to show up.
Michael was already worked up from the moment you guys were getting ready. You were wearing a gorgeous dark red dress that perfectly suit your figure, and Michael was wearing a maroon suit and white tie to match with you. You could see how Michael was staring at you in the car. You could've turned as red as your dress.
The moment the heavy mahogany doors of the private dining room opened, the formal quiet of the restaurant vanished. Michael’s family swarmed you both immediately. Katherine wrapped you in a tight, perfume-scented hug, while his sisters chimed in with warm, excited greetings, instantly pulling you into the fold. His brothers give you a gentle pat on the back and Joe gives you a nod.
Michael stood there, watching you effortlessly get along with his family. His mother always loved you from the moment Michael introduced you to her, the sweet, charming personality of yours captured her attention. And that meant a lot to Michael.
You and Michael sit down, and the table is full of banter and chatter. Wine glasses chatter, and Michael's brothers manage to get you tipsy by the time the main course arrived, as they topped off your glass three times.
Next to you, Michael barely touched his own glass. He was of course engaging with his family, threw in a joke or two and was having a good time. But you noticed he kept glancing back at you. Small, meek gazes of desire, and something else you couldn't read.
Since you were tipsy, your movements were a bit more jerky, and your were really, really touchy with Michael. When you were laughing, you would give him a light slap on his shoulder, or your hand would drift just inches away from what was in between his legs.
And that was the breaking point for Michael.
Under the heavy tablecloth, Michael reached his large palm to your inner thigh, gripping it so firmly that it made your vision swim.
You bit your lip to stifle a gasp, your hand flying to Michael's knee under the table to push him away— but the tipsy warmth in your body made your grip weak, your fingers helplessly curled into the fabric of his suit.
Above the table, Michael smirked at you as he casually drank a sip of water, a mask of politeness as he nodded at his sister.
But beneath the linen, Michael's hands drew agonizing, slow circles on your inner thigh. His thumb stroke higher, and higher, and a fewww inches away from your core, a low chuckle escaping from his throat as he felt you tremble against his hand.
Michael suddenly removes his hand from your inner thigh, and you exhale a shaky breath the moment the warmth of his palm leaves your skin, a jarring mix of relief and sudden, acute longing.
Although the look on Michael's face tells you that this isn't over yet.
Finally, the family splits the check, signaling it was time to head home. Michael bids everyone goodbye, while you follow suit and exchange farewells. The moment his family turns away, Michael gives a discreet slap on your ass, and slips into the restaurant lobby to use the house phone, calling out to the car to tell Bill to bring it around.
As soon as Bill arrives, Michael moves fast. He guides you out the door and gets the both of you into the back seat, immediately the heavy car drapes shut to block the street lights.
Michael whispers into your ear, his tone of voice low and sultry.
"Oh, mama. You don't know how long I've been waiting to get a piece of you."
The words send a thrill straight down your spine. Shifting your weight, you sit down on his lap, straddling his thighs and rocking your hips forward to press flush against him. Michael lets out a low growl, his hands clamping onto your waist as he locks his gaze onto yours for one breathless second. Then, he pulls you down, pressing your lips together into a fierce, demanding kiss. All the restraint from dinner vanishes as your tongues clash together, desperate and hungry.
You let out a soft moan, desperate to get to the hotel as quickly as you can. Michael's hands touch you all over, your ears, your curves, your hair, your inner thighs, and under your shirt.
Finally, the car comes to a stop at the hotel, and you both pull away from each other.
You both take a moment to catch your breath, chests heaving in sync. Michael looks at you with love in his eyes, and says: "Lets get going darling. Don't wanna waste too much time."
Bill leads you both to the room to where you both were staying, and presses the key card to let the door open. You and Michael gives thanks to him, and he gives you both a knowing smirk.
The suite was fancy, luxurious and dimly lit. The perfect setting to make sweet love all night.
You step forward, slipping your fingers into his open palm, but instead of pulling you in for another fierce kiss, Michael stops you. He grips your wrist firmly, holding your hand flat against his chest so you can feel the heavy, rapid thudding of his heart. A slow, knowing smirk pulls at the corner of his lips."Not so fast, mama," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sends a shiver straight down your spine.
He steps closer, his tall frame completely casting you in shadow as he presses you back against the cool surface of the locked door. His hands don't rush under your clothes this time. Instead, he uses just the very tips of his fingers to trace agonizingly slow paths over your skin—feathering up your neck, mapping the curve of your jaw, and lightly ghosting over your lips without actually kissing you. Every time you lean in, desperate to close the gap, he tilts his head back just an inch out of reach, letting his warm breath fan over your mouth instead.
His hand slides down, his palm smoothing over your hip and stopping right at the edge of your inner thigh. You shift, your hips instinctively rocking forward to meet him, but Michael clamps his hand down firmly, pinning you in place. He leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin right below your ear as he lets out a quiet chuckle.
"You've been begging for it since dinner," he whispers, his thumb tracing a brutal, agonizingly slow circle against your skin, holding you right on the edge. "But tonight, we’re going to take our time. You move when I say you can."
"Is that a promise, Michael?" You challenge, your voice, a playful, low tease. "Cause back in the car, you seemed pretty worked up in there. Lets see how long you can hold that out for."
To prove your point, you slide your hand up his shirt, laying your hand flat against his chest. But instead of pulling him closer, you drag your finger in a slow, torturous line down the center of his chest, all the way down to his waistband. You tug on it, and give his bulge a slight squeeze. Michael jerks slightly, letting out a slight whimper.
Then, Michael's eyes land on the bucket of ice on top of the suite's table.
"Oh, you wanna see how long you can hold out?"
His lips tugging into a smirk, a playful gleam in his eyes.
"Then let's test it out, mama."
He doesn't waste another second. He grips your waist firmly, guiding you across the plush carpet of the suite toward the wet bar in the corner of the room. The silver ice bucket sits on the counter, condensation already slicking the metal. Michael reaches in, his fingers dipping into the frost. When he turns back to you, he is holding a single, solid cube of ice between his bare fingers.
A sharp, ragged gasp catches in your throat as the ice glides lower, bypassing your ribs until the freezing edge glides directly over your bare stomach, circling slowly right around your waistline. The temperature shock makes your stomach muscles instantly ripple and contract, tightening in a desperate attempt to move away from the cold.But Michael doesn’t let you pull away. His free hand remains anchored at the small of your back, his heavy palm anchoring you firmly against his scorching frame.
"Don't squirm, darl'. Thought you could handle this."
He moves the ice lower, leaving a shimmering, cool trail of water against your skin. Michael follows the path of the melting cube, leaning down to catch the droplets before they can run further.
The physical contrast is sharp and immediate. The lingering chill from the frost is met by the warmth of his proximity, creating a sensory shift that is both sudden and focused. He moves slowly, his attention entirely on the path the ice has taken, observing how the water reacts to the heat of the room.As he finishes the movement, he pauses, looking at the contrast between the cold water and the warmth of the surroundings. The intensity in the room remains heavy as he sets the ice aside, his gaze steady.
"Not so tough now are ya? Cat got your tongue?"
"Not funny, Michael."
"Just say the word, mama. Ill give it to you if you admit it."
"Never."
Michael grabs another ice cube, slowly lowering it down-
"Fine! Michael, please— j-just give it to me. I swear I'll be good, oh ill be sooo good for you."
"Thats not enough. Beg for it, baby. Let me know why I should give it to you." He says, nipping at your neck.
"O-oh Michael! Because- I-Im such a good girl for you, and- oh please Michael! Just fuck me already!"
Michael pulls your clothes off, then his, throwing it into a pile near by.
"You got it."
He drags two fingers into your aching core, your arousal evident.
"So wet for me, mama."
"Y-yes, baby all for you"
He pumps his fingers in and out, hitting that sweet spot over and over. Sometimes you don't know how he does it. Even you don't know where it is.
"O-oh! Michael- f-fuck!"
"Oh yes, angel, let out those sweet sounds.."
Michael definitely had a voice kink. Once, he came from just your voice. But right now, all you could focus on was the sensation of Michael's fingers fucking you senseless.
"Oh fuck Mikey-! G-gonna cum!"
At those words, Michael swiped his fingers out.
You whined, the frustration of not reaching the sweet relief of an orgasm sickening.
"Michael, what the fuck?"
"Patience, baby. You'll get it."
Michael lined his tip at your entrance and slid into you with one swift thrust. The stretch was intoxicating— it hurt so good.
Your head fell back on the pillow, a devastating gasp coming out from your throat.
"Michael! Oh my-god. It's too big!"
"Shh, I know, mama. You can take it, can't you?" Michael cooed.
Michael slowly moved his hips in and out, making sure every single inch of his cock was driven into your hole. The tease was unbearable.
You were a mess of incoherent moans and whines, desperately trying to adjust to the sheer size of him. Then finally, Michael started moving faster. Each thrust, he was hitting your g spot. You swore you could cum right then and there.
"A-ah.. Michael! Oh yes baby, right there.. Keep going.."
Michael moved faster and faster, one of your hands rubbing your clit and the other digging into his back.
"Oh fuck, baby. You like this don't you? You like being my dirty little slut."
You meekly nodded, not being able to answer, only a small whimper coming out of your throat.
"Use your words. You like being my slut, don't you?"
"Y-yes Michael, I love being y-your dirty whore!"
"Damn right."
With that, you felt your orgasm coming. The pressure buildup was insane, one of the best you've felt during sex.
"Oh Mikey! Shit, I'm gonna cum!"
"Give it to me, baby."
The words barely registered before the pressure snapped. Your hips jerked upward involuntarily as the first wave hit—a sharp, white-hot spasm that rippled through your core. Your walls clamped tightly around his cock, pulsing in rhythmic, helpless contractions. A ragged cry tore from your throat, your fingers clawing into his back as your vision blurred, entirely consumed by the blinding rush of liquid heat pooling between your thighs.
With one last thrust, Michael came as well. The tension in his muscles faded, adrenaline still surging in his veins, his vision slightly blurry.
You both were exhausted, but felt so good. Michael pressed his body against you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.
"You're so beautiful, baby. I love you."
"I love you more, Michael."