an: i think i'm the first person to ever write for him?
late nights in the studio, waiting and watching your best friend mike as he messed around in programs you didnât fully understand. realistically, there was no reason for you to be there. you had no input on the creative process, you had no idea what he was even doing, but he always saved his best weed for studio sessions and heâd typically get you ihop afterwards.
he was fiddling with a pedal and his guitar, playing the same strings over and over again. it would be dreadfully boring if it wasnât for how sexy he looked right now with his dirty blonde bangs draping over his face and his hoodie riding up to reveal a sliver of his stomach every time he moved.
his eyes drifted over to you, thin lips curling into the smallest smile. âam i that boring?â
you shook your head, a smile matching his. you were never truly bored around him, his presence enough to enchant you for hours. âno. just wondering why you have to play the same melody over and over and over again. it sounded fine the first time.â
mike laughs and shakes his head, as if thereâs an inside joke youâre not on because you donât understand. âit hasnât felt right yet. iâm waiting for it to feel right. and iâm working internally, see?â he gestures to his laptop screen, there were so many buttons and plug-ins, when he tried to teach it to you a few months ago not a single word went through your head.
âwell if it was up to me itâd be perfect the first time.â you respond with a cocky smirk, intentionally trying to get under his skin the way he so frequently did to you.
âha ha. funny.â he gives you a blank expression, hand moving over the guitarâs body. âanyways, it needs to be perfect. you know that Iâm never happy with anything i record unless itâs perfect. and this song is my baby.â
âyour baby?â you giggle at that. it was cute how worked up he got over things like this.
he laughs a bit back, realizing how absurd it sounds. he looks at you again, eyebrow raising, lips smirking. âyou think you can get it perfect?â he asks, extending the guitar out to the couch.
in slight shock you reach out to grab it. of course you had no clue how to play guitar, all you knew was the hours you had spent studying him in the studio or on stage. and mike was guaranteeably an awful teacher, he improvised too much to make sense to a beginner.
you sighed and took the guitar, giving him a cocky smirk before attempting your hand at copying his riff. it was garbage, complete and utter garbage. you had no idea what the chords were supposed to sound like or what string you were supposed to strum, only a general idea of the melody he had chosen.
mikeâs face was obvious, he wanted to laugh, but he wasnât going to. he just nodded and grabbed the forgotten joint from the coffee table, placing it between his lips. âhow are you good at everything, y/nâ
part of you wanted to pretend to be offended, to make him apologize and feel bad, but you just smirked. âi know. im basically a fucking god.â that got a good laugh out of him.
he studies you for a moment longer, smoke escaping his lips as his brain becomes a little fuzzier from the weed. he had always felt⊠something for you. but he never knew what. he could just worship the give no fucks attitude you lived by, you could just be his favorite person to talk to, or maybe it was something more. he never let himself think about it long enough to tell.
âyou know i could teach you the riff?â he suggests after a moment of sitting and watching you, the smirk returning.
a laugh escapes your lips, âno, i doubt it. youâre a shitty teacher mike.â
this time itâs his turn to look offended, shaking his head, âiâve never even tried to teach you. you donât know that.â
âyouâve never taught me. but i have seen you try to teach your band shit and then get mad when nobody knows whatever the hell youâre saying.â you watch as he takes another puff of the joint, not saying anything because he canât exactly prove you wrong. he passes it over to you and you take a hit, the weed filling your lungs and making your resolve drop just enough. âok sure. try to teach me your stupid riff.â
he grins like a little kid, showing off his teeth that you always found annoyingly adorable, and sits down next to you on the couch, shoving the guitar into your lap. he reaches over to point at various spots, âso you put your fingers there, there, there, and there. and pluck the strings in that order.â
you look at him, dumbfounded. yeah, he was a bad teacher. none of this made sense, especially not with the weed in your system. âmike imma be so for real with you right now. none of that made any sense. you suck soooo bad at this.â you draw out the word for emphasis, a whine coming into your voice.
he scoffs before realizing you might be right. that mightâve been complete bullshit. he sighs and shifts closer to you, placing his big hands over yours. his fingers move yours around, placing them over where he had just said (although you never wouldâve even known thatâs where he wanted them.) there was a jolt of electricity, the hairs on your arms raising. either he had never been this close or you had never been this high.
ânow, your turn.â he says, looking at you with cloudy dark eyes. your breath hitched, unable to find words or even move. âmikeâŠâ
âwhat? need me to show you again?â he starts to move his long fingers on yours again, but before he can place them you smash your lips against his, without even thinking. Heâs shocked at first but leans into it immediately, wanting nothing more than to kiss your soft pink lips. You pull away, realizing what you just did. âfuck. mike. iâm sorry i didnât mean to be weird-â
he presses his lips against yours again. he wanted this so bad, wanted you so bad. his lips become hotter, wetter. A hand reached out to wrap around your waist. âyou donât know how long iâve wanted this. wanted you.â he says between wet kisses.
he breaks the kiss just enough to gasp for air, trailing his lips down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. âfuck youâre so beautiful,â he murmurs, his voice rough with need. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your heart pounding as you nod, words failing you, giving him permission for something or another.
his hand slides down your side, slipping under the hem of your loose tank top. he pushes the fabric up, exposing your bare breastsâno bra. His thumb brushes over one nipple, making it harden instantly, and you arch into his touch. Heâs making a mess of your neck as he fondles your tits, cradling them reverently. âpretty fucking tits. as pretty as the rest of you.â
he places a few wet kisses on them through the fabric of your tank top, your breath hitching loudly. his warm eyes look up to meet yours, âyou know my hands are good for something other than guitar?â charged, his fingers venture lower, hooking into the waistband of your sweatpants. with a swift tug, he yanks them down along with your panties, leaving your lower half exposed to the cool studio air.
your let out a deep breath as he kneels slightly, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip before dipping between your thighs. you're already wet, your pussy slick with arousal, and he groans at the discovery. 'fuck, you're soaked. is that for me baby?â he asks, his middle finger sliding along your folds, parting them to circle your clit. You buck against his hand, a whimper escaping your lips in answer.
he presses one finger inside you, feeling your walls clench around him. he pumps slowly at first, adding a second finger to stretch you, his thumb continuing to rub firm circles on your clit. your hips rock in rhythm, your hands gripping the edge of the mixing desk for support. 'fuckâ mike,' you pant, your voice breaking as pleasure builds. he curls his fingers, hitting that spot deep inside.
he works at it for a bit longer, lips returning to mouth at your neck and leaving an abundance of marks along the skin. âmike. mike. Iâm close.â you start to whimper and pant when you feel the coil build in your stomach.â
âthatâs it. atta girl.â mike says gruffly as he works you through your orgasm. he curls his fingers again and you cry out, your body trembling as an orgasm rips through you, juices coating his hand.
âshitââ you curse, taking a moment to steady your breathing as he licks his fingers clean. your eyes trail down to his hard cock, bulging against his chinos. âcan i suck you off?â you ask practically nonchalantly.
he laughs, not expecting that, but it does make him even harder (if that was possible). âyeah. of course you can baby.â you unzip him quickly and shift on the couch, freeing his thick cock, already leaking pre-cum from the pink tip. he was big, but not so big that you were intimidated. positioning yourself on the couch and wrapping your hand around the base, you lean in, your tongue flicking out to lap at the head, tasting the salty essence. he hisses, his fingers threading through your hair as you take him into your mouth, sucking like its your last meal.
you bob your head, taking him deeper with each pass, your lips stretching around his girth. your tongue swirls along the underside, tracing the protruding vein, while your hand strokes what you can't fit. his hips jerk involuntarily, fucking your mouth gently as you hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction. âgod, your mouth feels incredible y/n,â he growls, watching you through hooded eyes. you hum around him, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure up his spine, and soon he is pulling back, not wanting to finish too soon.
you watch the stream of saliva between your lips and his dick, pouting slightly as you lose the taste of him. he groans and moves his hand down your body, stopping to feel the flesh of your ass. âcan i fuck you pretty girl?â he asks, eyes still soft but also lustful.
âplease mike.â you mewl, feeling your cunt throb at the prospect. he grabs your hand to help stand you up, he spins you around, bending you over the desk. mike kicks your legs apart, positioning himself at your entrance. with one hand on your hip and the other guiding his cock, he thrusts in deep, burying himself to the hilt in your tight heat. You gasp, pushing back to meet him, your pussy gripping him like a vice.
he sets a steady pace, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the sound of skin slapping filling the studio. you brace yourself on your elbows, moaning loudly as he reaches around to rub your clit again. âharder, please mike,â you beg, and he obliges, pounding into you relentlessly, his balls slapping against you with each thrust.
âsanât tell you how long iâve wanted you princess â youâre so fucking tight â so fucking beautiful.â he says to you like a mantra between thrusts, cock pushing deeper and deeper. sweat slicks your bodies as the intensity builds. his free hand grips your ass, spreading your cheeks as he drives deeper, angling to hit your g-spot.
you shatter first, your walls fluttering around him in another climax, milking his cock. âfuckkkkkâ you moan loudly, grateful for the studio being mostly empty. he continues to fuck you, setting a brutal pace even though he was reaching his own peak.
he finally reaches it, chest falling against your back as he buries himself deep and comes, filling you with hot spurts of cum. you collapse together against the desk, breathing heavily, the studio silent except for your ragged gasps. he kisses your shoulder, a soft smile on his lips. he doesnât pull out yet, just sitting there.
âsooo⊠ihop? he breaks the silence with a smile, still slightly breathless.
âihop,â you agree with a nod, âand then youâre buying my plan b.â
