Nightwing: Red hood was a Robin too. What is so confusing about that?
Wonder Woman: It's just.... A lot of things make so much more sense now.
Nightwing: Like what?
Flash: Well, we did wonder who the first Robin was. But it being Red hood makes so much sense. The anger issues should have given it away really.
Nightwing: Huh?
Wonder Woman: It is quite obvious once you see it. It also explains why Batman gave you the role of Robin. I mean, i can only imagine how painful it must have been to watch your partner turn to a life of crime. So he replaced him with you. And I must say, it was a good choice. You were one of my favourite Robins so far.
Nightwing: Wait, wait, wait! You guys think I was the second Robin?
Flash: Well duh. You've always been this ball of sunshine. Just like the second Robin. And now with the hood being the angry first robin and Red robin being the genius third, we now know what happend to all of you.
Nightwing: I... Oh god, J's gonna fucking lose it if he figures out you guys think he's the oldest.
Wonder Woman: Pardon?
Nightwing: Doesn't matter. What does matter though is that Redhood isn't the first robin. I was!
The unintended side effect of your desk being moved to a central location…more people got to hear what the boys were saying to you.
One morning, Soap gave a particularly loud and proud “hey, sexy!”
…and that’s how you landed here…in HR.
The five of you sat sheepishly in the mismatched chairs (they had to bring in more and squeeze them in for you all to fit) in front of the desk for the head of the HR department.
“Now, sweetie…if these men are making you uncomfortable, you need to let someone know. Help is always available.”
Someone snorted and was quickly shot a nasty glare.
Your face is hot. Even as a kid, you didn’t like getting in trouble. Just being called to the counselors office (it always ended up being for an award or something, never you in trouble) would make you cry, so this situation was highly uncomfortable.
“No…no it’s fine.” You were looking at your folded hands in your lap, but spared a quick glance up. She did not look impressed. You straightened and tried to speak louder, “really! I’m fine…I’m not…uncomfortable…”
Can you just say…if this was truly a situation where you were being made uncomfortable, being in the same room as the perpetrators talking about it would not make you feel better. But what do you know, you’re not HR.
She leans forward on the desk, looking over her eyeglasses to you and stage whispers like the boys somehow can’t hear it, “you’re comfortable…being called sexy.”
You were going to die.
Truly, this had to be your final resting place. You could not think of a more embarrassing situation. Because for all your fussing when they talk to you…it really does make you feel nice. Wanted. Appreciated…not invisible…and they’re quite attractive too.
But now you had to sit here—in front of them!—and admit that you liked when they called you sexy! How humiliating was this!
You purse your lips, “yes.”
Gaz is pulling his cap further down and covering his mouth with his hand, trying to hide how he’s about to burst out laughing. The captain is trying to remain composed as well, seeing as he’s the captain and by all means should be fearing for his job right now! Instead, he’s just smug, crossing his arms and looking at you expectantly. Soap is unabashedly beaming at you (probably in some weird way proud that he was the one that landed the lot of you here). And Simon still has his mask on, but at some point during the meeting he tossed his arm over the back of your chair like some ‘fuck you’ to this HR lady…which for the record is a horrible idea.
She leans back, adjusts her glasses, and picks her pen back up, writing something down on some form. “Well, alright then, hun. I can’t keep askin’, but I can write you all up for some mandatory training.”
That finally mellows them out. “…training?” Price finally asks.
“Mhmmm,” she rips a paper out of her book and slides it to him.
“Harassment in the workplace…” he reads out.
That’s the final straw, your face falls into your hands to hide your embarrassment. “I’m fine!” You mumble out behind them.
“That well may be, sweetheart, but you’ll still be going to this training.”
And that’s how you find yourself here. In a damp room in the basement on a Saturday. Like this is some adult version of detention and you’re all the fucked up Breakfast Club replacements.
The instructor doesn’t look like he wants to be here either as he pulls the projector screen up and down trying to get it to stick in the right position.
On…a different note. This is the first time you’ve seen the boys out of uniform. And as much as you do love the uniform…there’s certainly an appeal to their civvies. Something about Simon Riley in a leather jacket and the captain in a brown Carharrt is invoking images of motorcycles and early mornings on a farm…
“Good morning, sweet’eart,” Price snaps you out of your reverie, placing a to-go cup in front of you.
“Uh, uh! No pet names! We will be covering that!” The instructor briefly looks up from his computer and points a finger at John.
Price shoots him a side-eye before just looking back at you.
You stare at the cup like you’ve never seen one before. “Did…did you bring me coffee?”
“In fact, I did.” Again, his stupid smug mug is back…but still, you are very grateful.
“Thank you.” You say reluctantly.
Despite the size of the table in this presentation room, the boys fill in the seats immediately next to you, which you’re sure concerns the instructor.
Again, Simon’s arm somehow finds its way onto the back of your chair, which earns him a glare.
The instructor goes over the basics of what counts as harassment and where to report it before he gets to an activity portion where you need the brainstorm some examples.
Soap raises his hand and you’re already preparing for the worst. “So…for example…if I was to tell the wee bird that those jeans do wonders for—“
“Yes! Sergeant…that would count.” He cuts him off.
Soap just nods like he deeply understands, “right, yes, that makes sense.”
“And if I were to—hypothetically—ask the sweet thing on a date—“ Kyle joins in on the torture of the instructor.
“Yes! That would be inappropriate!”
Every suggestion you’re sinking further into your seat with your mind sent reeling. Would Kyle actually ask you out? Would any of them?
“Is it safe to assume touching is off the table?” Simon sneaks his arm off your chair and onto your shoulders.
“It is! Remove that arm, young man!”
“Right…so just to clarify…no calling our sweetheart, sweetheart.” John jumps in.
“No! You just did it, captain! Have any of you been paying attention?” He looks on the verge of a heart attack.
“Oh, yes we have. We were just making sure we understood.” John gives him his shit-eating grin and suddenly the boys are all on their best behaviors.
For the rest of the seminar, no complements, no touches, no innuendos. You’re almost inclined to believe you imagined the whole thing.
The instructor wraps up, giving you all the green-light, and seeming very proud of the progress they made.
Finally, he makes his exit.
Immediatley, they’re on you like vultures.
Simon’s arm wraps back around your shoulders while John picks up your cup to throw away. Kyle shoulders your bag and Johnny grabs your coat for you.
Danny: Are you aware Bruce Wayne has a thing for you?
Clark: What? No way he does.
Danny: Yeah, why do you think he's glaring at me right now? He's jealous of how much I've been chatting with you.
Clark: He always looks like that.
Danny: No, he doesn't. Everyone knows Bruce Wayne is the friendliest most prince charming man around! And that, is not the look of Gotham's Prince.
Clark: Oh yeah....I forget people think that about him....
Danny: Pardon?
Clark: Nevermind. Look, Bruce does not have feelings for me.
Danny: *sigh* I guess it's going to be a long difficult road of love for Mr.Wayne.
Meanwhile across the gala hall:
Dick: Sheesh, B. Reel it in. The guy is going to notice.
Bruce: Oh no, was I being obvious?
Tim: Extremely. Literally every time he looked over here, you were staring.
Bruce: Blast!
Jason: If it makes you feel better, only those who know you would know that is the face you make when you have a crush. Everyone else would think you're planning their downfall.
Bruce: What? Really?
Damian: Yes, Father. It's a bad habit. Your face loses all emotions, like the edge of a freshly sharpened blade, whenever you stare at those you are infatuated with. My mother found it attractive, but she was raised to be a killer all her life. That man is likely terrified.
Bruce: What am going to do!? He just makes me so nervous I panic!
Dick: Just, calm down and go talk to Mr. Fenton! Its not like you have no experience- Damian is living proof of that
Bruce: He was an accident!
Damian: Why do you forsaken me, Father?
Bruce: Sorry. I mean, look everyone else I've been with has always been physical only or connected in some way to my night job. Never has it been about feelings and a civilian. Especially Clark's childhood friend.
Steph: Can I offer some advice?
Bruce: Please
Steph: Stop bing a bitch and go talk to him before another fine piece of ass steals him away.
Cass: Well said, well said.
Bruce: I- okay I'll talk to him.
Tim: Looking like that?
Bruce: What's wrong with my outfit?!
Tim: Your clothes are fine. Its your face. B you look like your about to grab brace knuckles and break his face.
Dick: I can hear the fight music
Jason: *waery sigh* We're never getting a step parent. We'll be half orphans for the rest of our lives.
Damian: Its a shame. I could have gotten that man at the alter weeks ago.
Dick: Oh? How?
Damian: Simple. Watch. *screams* MY LEG. MY LEG. HELP. I ACCIDENTALLY STABBED MYSELF WITH MY STEAK KNIFE.
Danny pushing theough the gathering crowd: I'm a doctor! Let me through!
Damian muttering: When he comes over here to stop my bleeding you invite him to dinner as a thank you, Father. The rest of you, get a form of contact to take him out to dinner for saving your baby brother and then plan encounters in public. We're going to make him want kids.
Tim: You absolute mad lad, this is a great idea.
Bruce: NO!? WHY DID YOU STAB YOURSELF?!
Dick: Now hold on, B. This could work. Thats how Damian helped me and Kori get together.
Bruce: WHAT?!
Damian: They call me Knife Cupid for a reason Father. I'm seven for seven in success rates.
The Justice League is fully convinced Batman was a teenage father.
The first to realize this was—oddly enough—Jordan. Perhaps because he was the one who paid the most attention to the weirdly soft(?) and trusting way Batman treated his Robins, it stood out as an anomaly against the usual grumpy, asshole-ry way he treated just about everyone else (and Jordan in particular).
This, perhaps, made Hal more prone to paying attention whenever Batman and his little bat-clan interacted; eventually, he just sort of… assumed Batman was their father, and assumed everyone else had assumed the same thing as well.
Such assumptions were confirmed when Nightwing, during an extremely critical mission that had nearly gotten all of them killed, shouted “Dad!” at Batman in a moment of panic.
No one had really been concerned with that at the time (they had all been a little too busy not dying), but afterwards everyone had acted strange around the apparently new finding, as if they hadn’t already known that
He was confused on why everyone was being so weird about it, wasn’t it, like, obvious? That confusion lasted right up until Superman, sounding deeply concerned, asked Batman his age (he, naturally, only got a glare in return).
Then it downed on him: it had never really occurred to him prior to that moment to make the mental math… Batman looked, at most, mid to late thirties, while Nightwing was clearly in his mid twenties.
Oh.
Oh.
Well, yeah. Hal definitely isn’t touching that shit with a ten-meter pole.
So, for whatever reason, the Justice League are fighting Phantom, thinking he's evil or suspicious and trying to bring him to the watchtower or whatever, but of course Phantom isn't cooperating, either not trusting the JL/being bitter they didnt show up to help Amity Park/whatever
UNTIL... One of Clockworks' notes show up, and Phantom pauses to read it, before surrendering to the JL, saying he'll follow them.
Now obviously, the JL are confused and suspicious, but eventually come to the (wrong) conclusion that Phantom is just a lackey or something, and that the person who wrote the note is the real mastermind manipulating this poor innocent super-powered teenager.
Danny finds this all either hilarious, or stupid. Probably both.
Dick: Ugh that fight totally screwed up my back. I'm gonna be feeling that for a week.
Tim: Want me to hook you up with Danny? He works miracles, you'll feel better in no time.
Dick, blushing: Thanks but I have no interest in escorts, and its kinda weird if two brothers call the same one.
Damian: Tsk, disgusting Drake.
Tim: Escorts? Wait do you think Danny is an escort?!
Bruce: Is he...not?
Tim: Danny is my massage therapist! He works for the elite because he's professional, and keeps his mouth shut about who he works for. He could be massaging Lex Luthor, or Oliver Queen as we speak and we would never know about it.
Dick, Bruce, and Damian: Oh.
Dick: Our bad.
Tim: Seriously- Wait, is this why, when we started dating, Kon told me he considered calling for escorts and prostitutes cheating? Who all did you tell about Danny being an escort?!
Bruce: Just the Kents, I'll, um, go clear up that misunderstanding.
Tim: You better because if that spreads it could ruin Mine and Danny's reputation! Especially Danny's due to his usual clientele!
Dick: We're sorry~
Timm: Seriously why didn't you just ask me?!
Dick: Because nobody knows how to communicate in this family!
Damian: You've been here long enough to figure that out, Drake.
Can I request MJ enemies to lovers vibe with tension and misunderstanding beheheheheh
Oh I live for this kind of trope ;)
𝑫𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝑳𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔
Michael Jackson x Famous!Reader
Synopsis: You weren't sure when this rivalry between you and Michael started, all you knew is that you absolutely loathe him. What was even more frustrating was how badly you wanted to take his face in your hands and kiss that smug look off his face.
Content/Warning: Enemies to LOVERS WOOOOO! Swearing, tension, misunderstanding trope, yall both freaky, suggestive content. Non consensual touching (not michael)
W.C. 2.9k
Masterlist:
You didn't know why Michael Jackson hated you, and you didn't know when his hatred festered. Truthfully, you had admired the guy before he was a total dick.
It was at an afterparty for some award show, that you realized he hated you. You were both talking in a small group, two other famous singers separating the two of you as the group stood in a circle. His shades were on, his expression almost unreadable. Almost. You could tell he was listening when the other two celebrities spoke, but whenever you added to the conversation his brows would furrow together and his lips pressed into a thin line. Then he would quickly butt in, interrupting you as he pleased. You could barely get a full sentence in before his silky voice cut you off. It had you fuming silently.
You didn't know what his problem was.
You could feel the grip on your champagne glass threatening to crush the poor crystals. Your eyes narrowed on him after he had interrupted you for what felt like the millionth time, the other two celebrities looked between the two of you nervously. They weren't sure what had caused this kind of tension so quickly, but they wanted out. They politely excused themselves, leaving you and Michael, staring daggers at each other.
You waited patiently for him to say whatever it was that was making him so moody, but you were met with silence. You scoffed lightly and rolled your eyes, "Fix your face, those sunglasses aren't hiding anything." You brushed past him, shoulder bumping into his. It sent a wave of heat through the both of you silently.
You left the party after that, a silent vendetta against the global superstar settling into your chest. The vendetta wasn't the only thing lingering on your heart, unbridled desire mixing dangerously with hatred.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Michael watched you leave the party, his shoulder felt like it was on fire. His jaw was so tight he thought his teeth would be ground down to nothing by the time you left his eye sight.
You were a minxy little thing, and he hated it. He hated that you had so easily tricked the public into thinking you were this sweet little princess when behind closed doors you were really a snobby brat.
He had heard your entire tantrum earlier. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but Diana had come up to him and told him that you had asked to see him before the award ceremony started. Something about needing a pep-talk since it was your first time presenting an award. As he approached the holding room where you and your manager sat, he could hear your hypnotic voice talking angrily.
"God, he's such a flirt, it's ridiculous! I mean you saw the way he got handsy with me, it was disgusting! He really thinks he's the best thing since sliced bread, well he's in for a rude awakening. In a year people won't even remember his name." You spoke fiercely, groaning as you thought about the handsy actor that was presenting the award with you.
Michael thought back to when he had spoken to you just a little earlier, how he had put a hand on the small of your back to gently steer you away from people who weren't looking where they were going. Was he being flirtatious... yes, but he didn't think it was so bad that you were disgusted with him. He bit the inside of his cheek, he was trying to be a gentleman, but maybe he should have just let you get knocked off your feet. Maybe that would have taken your ego down a notch. I mean how self centered you were that you thought that he was desperate for your attention. And how self righteous were you that you thought it was okay to pray on his downfall? He immediately pivoted on his heel, walking away from the room, you clearly didn't need a pep talk from him if that's how you felt.
He took his seat in the awards room, pride raging through his body. He had fallen for the little act you put on around others, but now he knew the truth, and he hated how ugly it was. But what he hated most was that a large part of him had been trying his hardest to get your attention. But that was before he knew what you were really like. It should have made him feel better, made him want you less, but it didn't. His body still longed to be close to yours.
He watched as you presented the award, eyeing the actor standing next to you. He rolled his eyes, clearly you thought every man was just dying to get your attention. What was worse is that the guy clearly was. Oh god that made him even angrier. He hated the idea that you were probably thinking to yourself about how much men wanted you, and he hated that you were right.
His eyes trailed down your body as you left the afterparty, he couldn't help himself, and that only added fuel to the fire in his heart. His eyes found your hips, watching them sway naturally as you walked towards the exit. He couldn't help himself as he watched your hair swish softly behind your shoulder. Almost as if you were mocking him, waving goodbye with nothing but the back of your head.
Quincy eyed the man whose breathing had turned ragged as you disappeared out the doors of the venue. He nudged Michael, "Mike... Mickey.... Michael!" He snapped his fingers in front of Michael's face.
Michael blinked and looked at Q, "What?" He demanded harsher than he meant to.
"You look like you're a lion stalking its prey, man. If you like her just go talk to her, don't ogle at her."
"I do not like her, and I was not ogling." He said it too quickly, even he didn't believe himself.
"Right, and I guess next you're gonna say Jermaine is your favorite brother?"
Michael glared at Q, angry that he had been caught.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Michael couldn't get you out of his head after that. Each time he saw your name on a magazine, heard your name on the news, heard your voice on the radio, he felt the hatred grow more and more. It had lit a fire in his chest. But people always say where there is desire there's gotta be a flame. So as that fire grew hotter, so did his want, no, his need for you.
It was a vicious cycle, more hate led to more need, which only made him hate you more, and round and round it went. He couldn't do anything without feeling bombarded by your essence, it was suffocating yet he wanted more.
What drove him crazy was the idea that you had this effect on him and probably hadn't given him a single thought.
Boy, was he wrong.
The more you saw of him the more your confused resentment built up. Each award show, each party, each time someone muttered his name, it was like a hole opened up and swallowed everything that wasn't him. It was driving you crazy, but you couldn't get enough. You secretly loved the thrill. You loved seeing him tense up whenever you stepped in a room, you loved seeing his jaw muscles flex as you walked by. You absolutely delighted in the fact that his hands would ball into tight fists when you talked to other guys, especially guys his age. You couldn't help yourself from letting visions of his big hands on you plague your mind. You wanted him to come up behind you and grab you by the waist, the wrist, the arm, hell even the back of your neck, and lead you away from whichever sad guy you were talking to. But what you loved most of all, is how you could feel him watching you. His sunglasses did nothing to hide his piercing gaze, and you could feel everywhere it went.
Despite the fun you felt, you also felt like you were being tormented. You still had no idea why he was acting like this. You couldn't help but think maybe you had done something? Maybe that small interaction you had completely turned him away from you, or the idea of you. It stung more than you had liked to admit. It was ridiculous, you had only ever had one real conversation with the guy, and yet your mind was reeling over every detail of it, searching for the key to his hatred. It made you feel silly, it made you feel desperate (which you were).
This little game of toying with each other had been going on for over a year. Everything was building up, the hate, the resentment, the confusion, the anger, the sadness, the want, the need. And then it all came crashing down.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
It was like fate had planned the whole thing, because here you were at another after party for the same award show exactly a year ago. Luckily you got to enjoy this one, no stress of presenting, no handsy co-presenter... or so you thought.
You stood with a group of other singers, you could feel Michael watching you from just across the room. Diana Ross was standing next to him, clinging onto him like he was the fountain of youth. She was talking his ear off, and it was evident he wasn't paying a lick of attention.
You had grown tired of this little game between you two. You had started to think it was less of a game and more like he actually hated you so much that it made him viscerally upset at the mere sight of you.
You did your best to ignore his stares, trying to focus on anything that wasn't him. In the process of doing that you felt a hand slide around your waist like a snake. You looked up to find yourself staring up at the same guy who you presented with last year, the handsy one, Rob. You tried stepping away, giving him a polite smile.
His grip tightened around you, and he pulled you closer, his head leaning down to your ear. You could smell the whisky on his breath, it made you sick to your stomach.
"Rob, please let go of my waist." You placed a hand on his chest, trying to keep as much distance as possible between you and the drunkard.
He laughed, and it made your stomach tighten with unease. "Why would I let go when I just found myself the prettiest little piece of ass in here?" His hand moved lower.
You shoved at him as best you could, pushing him backwards. The motion sent his drink spilling down his chest. He looked at you angrily. "You little bit-"
You slapped him hard across the face. "Don't you ever touch me like that again. I put up with your grab hands last year, but I sweat to god Rob if you try anything like that ever again with me or another woman I will end your shitty career."
Michael was halfway to you when you slapped the man. He halted in his stride, watching with everyone else as you yelled at the guy. Put up with him last year?
Michael's heart sank in realization. You weren't talking about him, you had never been talking about him.
He watched you quickly walk past, eyes slightly glossy, as you made your way to the door. He gently grabbed your arm. "Hey are you-"
You pulled yourself free, "Stop it, Michael. I can't deal with this right now." You continued to the door.
Michael looked torn, on one hand his physical body wanted nothing more than to knock a few teeth out of the slimy guy, but his heart was practically begging him to follow you.
He turned on his heels and followed you out of the grand room, rushing to catch up with you. "Wait, Y/n, slow down!" He jogged up to you.
"Go away, Michael." You kept walking, refusing to look at him.
He took hold of your arms, stopping the two of you in the dim hallway. "Just wait a minute!" He pleaded slightly. "Just- are you okay?"
"Stop it! Stop doing this to me!" You pulled away from him.
"Doing what to you!?"
"Stop the double act, okay?? It's confusing! Just hate me with your full chest! Don't try playing with my emotions anymore, I'm over it." You breathed heavily.
His breath caught slightly, watching you, holding you steady in his hands. "I don't hate you." His voice was raw.
You looked up at him, his scent easing your stance. "What? Then why do you glare at me, why do you tense up when I walk by, why do you act like I'm this evil person?"
"Because I wanted you to be." He confessed. "I wanted you to be horrible so that all these suffocating things I feel for you would go away. I wanted a reason to hate you so I could get over you. But I can't. You are impossibly addictive."
His face was inches from yours. You stared up into his eyes and into his heart. You found that same flame you had been carrying for him buried deep in his chest. You saw all of that desire you had thought was one sided rushing forward like a flood. And then you saw yourself in his eyes, you saw yourself the way he saw you, you saw desire embodied.
You grabbed the collar of his shirt, crashing your lips onto his. He immediately met you with the same intensity, everything he had been holding back rushing out all at once. He pulled your body against his, leaving no space for any hesitation. He gripped your waist like if he let go you would slip right through his hands.
Your hands grabbed at him everywhere, trying to find the best place to anchor yourself. He walked you backwards, your back hitting the wall hard. The force knocked the air out of your lungs, your mouth gasping for air. Michael didn't waste the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You grabbed at his hair, tugging it. He let out a groan in response, which only prompted you to pull more.
You stayed there for a while, panting into each other's mouths, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, and desire washing away any anger or resentment that lingered.
You were the first to pull back, Michael trying to chase your lips. "Michael." You breathed out his name, catching his attention.
He looked at you, his big brown eyes hazy. "Yeah?"
"Tell me this is real. I don't want this to be a one time thing. I don't want this to be out of pent up anger. I want it to be more than that. It feels like more than that. Tell me you feel it too." You met his gaze.
He saw the scared look in your eye, he saw how vulnerable you had made yourself to him in that moment. "I feel it too, I feel every bit of it and maybe even more." He assured you, gently. His voice takes on a softer tone.
You nodded and pulled yourself into his chest, hugging him. "Why did you pretend to hate me?"
"Because I thought I had heard you talking about me... and it made me upset that you could say such hurtful things and still have my heart captured." He hugged you to his chest.
You placed your chin on his bicep, looking up at him, "You thought I was talking bad about you? When?"
"It was actually last year exactly. It was this award show, and Diana told me you had asked to speak to me before presenting. And when I came by I heard you talking about some guy who had been flirting with you, and I thought it was me."
The realization dawned on you. That's why he had been so different at the afterparty. "I wasn't talking about you! I was talking about that di-"
"Rob, yeah... I kind of just put that together." He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I also didn't ask Diana to bring you to me." You frowned.
Michael nodded again, "Yeah, I figured that too... Diana she can be... controlling, manipulative, she's a lot."
"She's old." You stated simply. It made Michael laugh loudly, the smile staying on his face as he looked at you.
"I'm sorry I hurt and confused you. I just, I honestly thought I was the only one feeling so strongly about it."
"No, I did too. You're incredibly attractive when you're trying to pretend you hate me." You smiled, watching him blush.
"And you're incredibly hard to hate when you look like that all the time." He pressed a kiss to your lips.
"Well now you don't have to pretend to hate me, and I don't have to pretend I don't want your hands all over me." Your hand slid back into his curls.
Michael smirked, his hands starting to move, "That can easily be arranged."
You smiled and let him lead you out of the forgotten party.
