Hozier
••• Movement •••

so move me, baby

shake like the bough of a willow tree

you do it naturally

move me, baby

•••••

Fanart!!

Artist: marjorie

Artist: maddam_simp

Artist: BoyMarcel98

Artist: nico/eli <3

Artist: Blue_Palagirl_

Artist: marjorie

Artist: Yeet_Flan

Artist: BoyMarcel98

Artist: Salix

Artist: CoalBrando

Artist: nico/eli <3

Artist: man man uwu

Tw: okay yeah from here on out we're in sin city babey and it's lawless

y'all have been so so kind and patient and supportive. this is my first time properly writing/posting smut so i'm a bit nervous lmao. i hope it suffices!! <3

This fic is definitely 18+ from now on. Please respect this <3

••• thirteen years ago •••

Michael awkwardly leant on his motorbike, parked outside the accounting firm Y/n worked at.

He fidgeted nervously with the worn sleeves of his aged leather jacket as he watched the sparse flow of workers leaving the building, intent on heading home for the night. He scoured the heads, looking for the familiar face he was there for, hazel eyes shifting over the crowd.

Finally, Michael found success. He pushed himself off of his motorbike and walked forwards with a forced, crooked smile as Caleb, Y/n's workmate and failed date, stopped in his tracks.

"Hey, man," Michael greeted with a subtle wince. Caleb frowned at the brunet who was struggling to swallow his pride. "Can I get you a beer?"

Caleb raised a sandy-blond brow as he shifted his briefcase in his hand. "Depends. Are you going to call me a dickhead again?"

"No! No," Michael promised with a raise of his palms. "I just wanna talk, cross my heart."

Caleb eyed Michael suspiciously before giving a sigh. He turned on his heel and began walking down the footpath with a sure stride and a jutted chin. He looked every bit corporate.

"There's a bar just down the street."

Michael hurried to catch up, shoving his motorbike's keys into his jean's pockets. He gave a glance back over his shoulder just in case he spotted Y/n on her way out, but he found nothing aside from stranger's faces.

The bar Caleb stepped into was a generic hole-in-the-wall, but every bar in Hurricane was a hole-in-the-wall. Caleb placed his briefcase down onto a stool and perched atop the one beside it. Michael slumped on his own, legs lazily crooked as he slouched on the bench.

The insecure part of him was pointing out how clean and put-together Caleb looked - pressed slacks, white button-up, suit and tie. Even his hair was gelled to perfection. His shoes looked as though they'd just come from a waxing. In comparison, Michael's brown leather jacket was almost five years old and looking its age (but Y/n had bought it for his seventeenth birthday and like hell was he getting rid of it). His jeans had grease stains from working on the animatronics in the shed and his chucks had a hole on the toe that he couldn't be bothered to replace. Where Caleb had a crisp office shirt, Michael had a crumpled tank.

Caleb was every bit like Y/n - smart, refined, intent on climbing the corporate ladder and getting success within the business world. What goals did Michael have after the possessed robots? Not many, nothing notable. They suited each other well. Michael... was resigned to accept the fact that he couldn't be more different than Y/n.

  But Y/n loves me, Michael reminded himself, and then he was also forced to remember that despite that, Y/n still went on a date with Caleb - and he understood why. He couldn't imagine what it must've been like for her; being in love with him for six years, being forced to watch from the sidelines as he had a variety of flings and short, serious relationships.

Hell, he'd only realised that he was in love with her for two months and he was already losing his damn mind. Seeing her with Caleb opened a hole in his chest, one that he didn't know was already there, and it ached whenever he thought of Y/n holding someone else's hand, or kissing someone else. It revealed a desperation for her, a desire to be the one getting her flowers and being the reason she smiled in a way that wasn't platonic. He couldn't let his superstar slip away while she was still in love with him. She had to know how he felt.

If only he realised that he loved her before overhearing Matt. He could've saved the both of them years of heartache.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about?" Caleb asked after ordering a beer. He pulled off his jacket and folded it neatly on the bar stool beside him with a refined ease to his movements that Michael knew he couldn't replicate in a million years. Why was he still comparing himself to Caleb?

"I wanted to apologise," Michael began. He leant an arm against the bench and sighed through his nose. Guilt had been eating away at him for the past couple of days; he hadn't liked who he'd became in front of Caleb. "For what I called you and how I acted. It wasn't cool."

Caleb raised his eyebrows as he turned to assess Michael properly. He took a long, slow sip of his beer. Michael's own beer was slid to him and he watched as the fuel-coloured beverage bubble before him.

"Don't worry about it," Caleb said just as Michael began to raise the glass to his lips. "You're in love with her, I get it."

Michael spluttered with a near miss of spitting beer across the bar. His wide eyes found Caleb.

"What?"

"I mean, you were still an asshole," Caleb shrugged. "But I get it."

"No, no, go back-" Michael stammered as he placed his beer down hard enough for it to slosh over the rim and trickle between his fingers. He could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears. "How did you know?"

Caleb sent the man an 'are you kidding me?' look as he took another sip of his drink. Michael hated how Caleb could be so clean and still act composed while Michael himself looked like he was reenacting his bad boy high school days and having a crisis - where was the equality? The humanity? The least he could ask for was a little preservation of his dignity.

"You're obvious," Caleb replied with a furrowed, bemused smile. "Are you kidding me? I thought you were going to rip my head off by the way you were standing between us. I'm surprised Y/n hasn't noticed it yet."

Michael ran a hand through his dark hair with a stressed hiss between his teeth. He didn't realise he was noticeable - so noticeable, in fact, that a guy he'd known for five minutes could pick up on it.

How the hell was Y/n not aware of him, then? Unless she was, and just realised retrospectively that maybe she didn't want to pursue something with him, after all. Panic began to well inside of him, gnawing on his confidence like a gnat, sending his composure scattering like mice.

"You want my advice?" Caleb asked after downing the rest of the beer and grabbing his things. He clapped Michael on the back before turning to leave. "Tell her."

  Tell her.

It was easier said than done; Michael wasn't one to be vulnerable. He had never asked someone out - it was always them who insinuated the relationship and he just rolled with it until one of them got bored. And god forbid if he ever showed any vulnerability at home - William made quick work to remind Michael that weakness wasn't a thing allowed in the Afton household - they had a legacy to uphold, or at least there was a legacy, according to his god-complex of a father.

It wasn't even just that being vulnerable scared him. It was being that kind of vulnerable with Y/n that had him on edge. He'd been vulnerable before with her, of course, she was the only person he allowed himself to be weak around - but it was the very real possibility of putting himself out on the line and getting hurt that had Michael curling in on himself. What if he ruined their friendship? She was all he had, she was even closer with him than the Emily's. He wouldn't just be sad if she turned him down and an awkward strain between them developed. He would be inconsolable.  

It was safer to keep it to himself. That was how William conditioned him to think. That was his reality.

After slowly finishing his beer and returning to his bike, Michael was surprised to find Y/n waiting for him there. His heart stopped upon seeing her sat on his bike, black pencil skirt lying flushed against her legs as she read a battered old paperback of his. Michael's eyes lingered on her thighs as he approached and he had to stop himself from thinking about how they'd feel wrapped around him - how soft she'd be.

She looked like something cut from a centrefold, leaning against his motorbike, wearing her work attire and the compulsory heels she complained about; but he knew she liked the way they made her look - the fresh breath of maturity, the change of pace to look adult before it got old and the hate for them became genuine. She was heart-wrenching in the best of ways, breathtaking, world-stopping. Michael wanted to rip out his heart and hold it out for her. It belonged to Y/n, anyway.

Y/n's head lifted when he stopped in front of her and a blinding smile pulled at her lips. The book was immediately forgotten as her attention wholly shifted. He wanted to preserve that smile. He hoped that she smiled like that for the rest of her life.

"Oh, thank god," she grinned up at him. "I thought this bike looked familiar, but the longer you were gone the more I began to think, 'wait, is this actually someone else's?' I don't know if I would've survived the social trauma if it wasn't yours."

Michael snorted at her short ramble. It was what he liked best about her - the way she could just talk given the right circumstances. The way her face would light up. The way her face lights up when she sees him.

"You're a dork," he teased. Yn's arms passed between her knees as she held the book with her fingertips. Michael busied himself with grabbing his helmet to keep from staring.

"What are you doing here?" Y/n asked with a tilt of her head. "Don't you have a shift tonight?"

"I met up with Caleb."

Y/n's smile dropped in surprise. Her back straightened as her look shifted to one of surprise.

"What?"

"Yeah," Michael murmured as he adjusted the helmet's chin strap despite not needing to. Anything to keep from looking at her legs. "To... y'know, apologise with how I lashed out that night. He's a nice guy." He paused. "Little obtuse, but nice."

Y/n stared at him. "You apologised to Caleb?"

"Yes? What?" He watched her, amused. "Why are you acting so surprised? I know when I'm in the wrong, and I was in the wrong, so I said sorry."

"Sorry, I just-" Y/n shook her head to try and shake the bafflement from her. It didn't work. "That's very mature of you."

"Gee, thanks." Michael rolled his eyes before avoiding a playful kick with a laugh. "Hey, watch it! You're wearing heels - they're lethal weapons."

Y/n scoffed as she slid off from the seat. "You're such a dolt, Mike."

He sent her an amused half-smile before pulling his helmet on. "I'll see you at home, superstar. I'm making chicken pot pie."

"Yes!" Y/n loudly cheered as she began making her way down the street towards where her car was parked. Michael chuckled at her enthusiasm and waited until she was safely in her car before kicking from the curb to start his way home.

He was so in love with her. He was so screwed.

⚡️🧸🤖🧸⚡️

I bit my tongue in concentration as I manipulated the bolt halfway through Bonnie's endoskeleton's shoulder. Michael sat behind me, watching my movements with calculated eyes that didn't miss a thing.

The AC was on high as the midday Hurricane heat slithered through the shed. Static-peppered hits played from the busted old radio that sat on one of Michael's work benches, accompanying a half-assembled endoskeleton fit for what was going to be Chica. A rug was laid on the concrete floor beneath us. The wrench in my hand levered carefully as I manoeuvred the metal into its home locations.

"That's it," Michael said quietly as he watched. A stopwatch was in his hand, poised and at the ready. "That's it."

When the bolt clicked into place, I dropped the wrench and raised my hands. "Time!"

Michael clicked the stopwatch. I quickly shuffled around to stare at him with an expectant expression as he read the face. The sunlight bathed the outline of him in gold. The breathtaking, handsome smile he gave when he looked up was in disbelief.

"You're amazing."

"I bet my high score?" I gasped. Michael showed me the stopwatch with a boyish, excited laugh.

"You demolished it, superstar!" His face was the textbook definition of pride, blossoming forth from him and feeding my elation. I eagerly lapped it up as he mussed the top of my hair. "Look at you go, my little padawan. You could work in robotics."

I tilted my head with a pointed smile, still thrumming and riding the buzz of triumph. "I only dismantled and rebuilt Bonnie's arm."

Michael pulled down a rag from the workbench beside him and tossed it to me before leaning back on his arms. I wiped the grease from my hands and discreetly admired my work - I rebuilt Bonnie's arm. That was all me. It certainly wasn't anything near as impressive as Michael building entire miniaturised robots, but it was still impressive for me, and that's what counted.

"I'd hire you," Michael shrugged as he watched me haphazardly throw the rag back onto the bench.

"Out of sympathy because nobody else would," I snickered. I tapped his knee before rising to my feet. "Alright, master Jedi, Matt and Alice are gonna be here any minute. We should get ready."

Michael sighed and sent a forlorn look the offline robot's way. "I can't believe you're ditching Bonnie for your brother. Don't you know he loves you?"

"Oh, my," I gasped and held a hand to my chest. I sent the robot a surprised smile. "Why, Bonnie! I had no idea!"

Michael burst into a handsome snicker at my theatrics. I tossed the rag at his face and his laugh turned into a yelp of indignation. He swiped it away with a look of mock offence, bringing his smooth, brown hair with it until it tumbled prettily over his face.

"Let's go, Afton," I grinned, ignoring the way my heart fluttered. Why did he have to be so pretty? It wasn't fair. He chuckled, and that sounded pretty, too. I felt that familiar ache return and I welcomed it like the old friend it was.

Michael gave a teary farewell to Bonnie with a promise to 'return and console his heartbroken sorrow' before following me to the house to wash up.

After scrubbing the stubborn grease away from my hands and having a quick shower to rid the smell of oil and the dry stench of desert heat and sweat, I changed into an outfit picked out. Michael caught my wrist just as I walked into the kitchen to grab the food we'd cooked that morning in preparation.

"What?" I asked upon being stopped in my tracks. Michael grabbed a hand towel and swiped the kitchen tap on to dampen the corner. My breath caught in my throat when his fingers cupped the line of my jaw. 

"You've still got grease on your face, silly," he said with a doting smile and began to wipe at my cheek. I stared at him owlishly, brain frozen, as he stood so close that one of his socks sat between my feet. I could practically hear his heartbeat from how snug he'd moved into my space. My breath caught.

Michael wiped the grease from my cheek with such patience and care that the ache from before returned with an edge of sparking desire. His warm fingers still held my head steady as he worked, fingertips calloused from the nature of his job, palm soft and scarred. The longer he held me, the higher the chance I was going to faint from how fast the blood was rushing to my head. The higher the chance I was going to make a fool of myself from how loud my brain was screaming at me to fuck him.

Satisfied, Michael pulled the cloth away from my face and carelessly tossed it to the bench. He stared at where he'd thrown it for a beat, before his hazel eyes slowly drifted back to my face. His hand had yet to leave my jaw. I didn't want it to.

I couldn't hear anything aside from the rush in my ears at my thundering, exhilarated heartbeat. It careened wildly as Michael just stood there, stood in my space, right in front of me, right within kissing distance. I could feel his breath.

It could be so easy. So easy. He was already staring at my face, his peach-coloured lips already plump and parted and calling to be kissed. His hand was already cupping my cheek like he didn't want to let go. All I had to do was lift myself on my toes and I could kiss him.

My hands found the front of his shirt. He swallowed when my palms began to rest against his chest. Michael dropped his head just a smidge, just a little tad, and it had the tip of his nose ever-so-gently brush mine.

  Kiss him. Kiss him, dammit, fuck! Kiss him!

The doorbell rang and the blurred confidence that was building within me vanished. Like a coward, I pulled myself from Michael's lovely, warm hand and fled to the entrance. He remained in his spot in the kitchen. I could feel the weight of his gaze watching me go.

"Hi!" I greeted a tad too loudly as I swung open the door to reveal Matt and Alice. They replied with the own bright, happy greetings that went right over my swimming, buzzing head and shuffled inside to kick off their shoes. I held my cheek as I followed Matt and Alice towards the living room.

Light conversation was made, but whatever was said and whatever I answered with was immediately eradicated from my brain when Michael stepped out of the kitchen. His hazel eyes met mine, found the hand on my cheek, before tearing his gaze away to greet Matt and Alice as though nothing had happened.

I watched as Michael served lunch like the generous host I was also supposed to be playing, but was too stuck in my head to achieve such high cognitive function. His dazzling smile didn't look out of place. His face wasn't red (whereas I could feel each of my veins pulse hotter over my cheeks). He looked like it was just any other day, totally refined.

What the hell was going on? Did I just imagine the whole thing? Was Michael gaslighting me without even saying a single word? Or was he just acting composed in front of our guests?

"Squirt, you okay?" Matt asked with a frown from the dining table. Michael glanced at me from behind him and watched, chin down towards the table, hazel through lashes, eyes shadowed by his hair. "You look flushed."

"Uh, yeah! Yeah." I nodded quickly and averted my gaze. I pulled my hand away from my cheek. "... must've just stayed out too long in the sun."

"You alright, honey?" Alice asked as she approached. She held a hand to my forehead. "You're not feeling sick, are you? No headache? I hope you didn't catch heatstroke."

  This is humiliating. I caught Michael's lips quirk in quiet, suppressed amusement as he worked on setting the table. This is the worst day of my life.

I could already imagine the teasing. He probably finally fucking figured it out after years and years of suffering under the weight of how much I loved him - all because my face refused to stop blushing. This was the worst. This was the worst.

"I'm fine, Alice, really," I reassured. I pulled her hand from my forehead and gave her an assuring squeeze. "We should eat before the food gets cold."

Our table only had room for four people, so I was resigned to sit next to Michael while Matt and Alice took the other side. Hazel-eyed Adonis pulled out the chair beside him for me with a lingering gaze. I took it with a quiet 'thank you.'

Lunch was a blur. I was both ravenous and unappetised, eating because I was hungry, pausing when my head got too heavy with the thoughts of Michael holding my cheek and the way he stared at me from under the shadow cast by his hair. I was bewildered and rendered mystified. I glanced at the side of his face when he laughed at something I missed.

Did he like me, too?

Michael's eyes slid down to me as his laughter trailed to an end. He regarded me warmly, but that was normal, he always did. Maybe he was just in a mood? Maybe he'd hit his head. Don't get your hopes up, Y/n. Don't be vulnerable for disappointment.

"We have something exciting to say," Matt said. I forced myself to pay attention as the topic changed and I found his giddy, ecstatic grin smiling at Alice. He looked at her the way I wished Michael would look at me, and a small flicker of jealousy blossomed within the depths of my sternum. I stomped it down with disgust at myself.

Alice, smiling just as joyously, turned to give us a brilliant beam. She held out a her hand for us to see.

"We're getting married!" she exclaimed. Michael spluttered on his drink.

"Oh, my god!" I gasped. I grabbed Alice's hand and admired the ring my brother had bought, watching the way the light caught the small line of diamonds imbedded into the gold band. It was simple but chic, exactly her style. "Oh, guys! I'm so happy for you!"

"That's amazing," Michael congratulated. "When's the wedding?"

The conversation stemmed from there as Matt and Alice spoke about all the ideas they'd had for their wedding already. Nothing was officially planned yet, but they wanted to get married out of state - somewhere with a beach, be it lake or ocean. Alice had always loved the water, and Matt loved Alice, so it was an easy decision for them to settle on.

All throughout it, the sensation of Michael's hand on my cheek and his eyes on me nagged at the back of my head. It was like a fly I couldn't swat away, or a pill I couldn't swallow. It sat there, buzzing, it sat there in my throat, jeering me while I tried to pay attention to the conversation.

The silence that lingered after Matt and Alice left made me want to slink away to hide under my bed as Michael and I washed the dishes. Only the slosh of soapy water and the clink of ceramic could be heard. The cloth that he'd used to wipe my cheek still sat in its same spot on the bench.

"I'm gonna go back out to the shed." Michael's quiet voice almost made me jump after getting accustomed to the silence. He wiped his hands on a towel after placing the last of the plates away. I nodded.

"Okay." My voice was just as hushed, almost inaudible, nothing more than a puff of breath into the void of the kitchen. Michael nodded too, gave another gaze to my cheek, before retreating to his workshop out back.

As soon as I was safe to, I dropped my head to the bench. Pain bloomed along my forehead but I could barely feel it over the all-consuming embarrassment that had swallowed me entirely. Not for the first time, I wished that I could read Michael's mind - just to get an idea about what he was thinking, an accurate understanding so I could stop overthinking for once in my life.

The kitchen was clean. Everything was tidied again. Michael had retreated to his paradise within his robotics and my reprieve resided in the books on my bedside table that had sat neglected - but they were Michael's books; they held his essence within the occasional coffee stain when he got too entranced by the story, of the dog-ear folds to save his spot, of the underlines in pencil when a sentence hit just right. Our lives were full of each other, almost everything we had was shared.

My paradise, it seemed, was just him.

A plan to ignore the absolute travesty that was my emotional state after the scene with Michael in the kitchen was to do some work from home - which failed miserably. I stared at the documents before me and while I knew the corporate jargon that dashed across the sentences along the page, it was like my brain had conveniently decided to forget what they meant. It was a useless attempt right from the beginning.

My eyes glanced up from my desk and found Michael through the window. He was sat on a stool in the shed, back hunched over his recent project. I frowned at him as he worked.

"Why must you be so pretty and stupid," I grumbled. I dropped my pen in frustration, aware that there was no way I was getting any work done. My chin found my palm as I watched him work in his natural habitat. The sun beat down, sliding into his workstation and sculpting against his tanned arms and I watched them mournfully. "It's not fair."

My chin slipped from my palm and I let my head fall into my arms instead. "Why must I be so stupid," I muttered. My eyes closed and I was immediately greeted by Michael's face, eyes dark, nose brushing mine. My face scrunched as I recalled the way I'd all but fled from him. "Stupid."

My eyes found him again. His beauty hurt. The silence of the house was beginning to make me on edge. So, with a resigned sigh, I shoved back my chair.

Michael glanced up when he heard me approach across the lawn. A smile pulled at his lips as he set down his welder and yanked off his gloves with his thumbs. I held a packet of snacks from the kitchen and one of the books that I'd been procrastinating on.

"Are those cookies?" he asked just as I chucked the packet to him. He caught it.

"Chocolate chip."

"My favourite," he hummed in delight. I dropped myself onto my favourite spot on the couch - spread out across the entire thing - and began flicking through the book to find where I'd left off. "You gotten through that much?"

"Nope," I murmured. I stuck my thumb against the spine to hold it steady.

"You need to set more time aside for yourself," Michael suggested through a mouthful of cookie. "Let yourself relax once in a while."

"I spend all my free time with you," I shot back. Michael beamed, unabashed. The book, abandoned already, dropped to my chest. "What are you working on?"

"Mm-" he quickly swallowed the cookie and held up a jumble of wires and metal. "Foot."

"Fetish," I murmured.

"Shut up-" Michael snapped before angrily shoving another cookie inside of his mouth. I giggled at his expression. "You want these guys to walk around on stubs, huh? That's slander, Y/n."

"You're such a nerd," I grinned.

"You're a robot foot bully," Michael argued. He softened with a smile. "Come here, I'll show you how it works."

"Nah," I said. I lifted the book back up. "You can keep your foot fetish to yourself."

He immediately bristled again. "Y/n-"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" I laughed. I tossed the book to the end of the couch and stood, moving to his side. "Show me how the robot foot works, you non-foot fetishiser."

Michael muttered something along the lines of 'insufferable' before proceeding with an explanation about pistons and weight-bearing servos. The cookies slowly disappeared throughout the impromptu lecture. I leant my elbows against the table after he finished his spiel, staring at a detached robot hand in my grasp.

"It's crazy that Matt's getting married," I mumbled as I played with the fingers. "It feels like yesterday he was pulling my hair to get to the tv first. Now he's going to be a husband."

Michael, who was twisting a tiny screw into place, hummed in agreement.

"I remember when he snuck us that beer when we were sixteen," he passively reminisced as he worked. "Your mom was so pissed. Even I got grounded. I'm not even her kid."

I chuckled. "You had to clean the bathroom with a toothbrush with me."

"I distinctly recall doing more work than you," he scoffed lightheartedly before shouldering me. His grin was amused. "You were too busy putting on an in-home ABBA show."

"Hey, my ABBA show was great."

"It was mediocre," he teased. I gasped, insulted, and watched as a thoughtful look crossed his face. "I think I'd like to get married one day."

My amusement faded. "... yeah?"

"Yeah," Michael hummed. He placed down the robot foot and leant on his hands, staring out at the lawn. My eyes followed the line of his profile - the straight stroke of his nose, the plump curves of his lips, the strong corner of his jaw - before tearing my gaze away. "You know, settle down. Get a proper job when all this possessed robot crap is over with. Maybe work with Henry building robots for other locations instead of being hunted by them."

"That'd be a nice change," I murmured. I crossed my arms against the table and stared at Chica's endoskeleton. This conversation was doing nothing but stoking the simmering pain in my stomach for a future I wouldn't get to have with him. "You still don't want kids?"

"I don't know," Michael shrugged. "I guess I gotta marry the right person first. I don't want a marriage like my parents."

"Yeah," I said quietly. My fingers played with Chica's thumb. My chest hurt. "Gotta find the right person."

Michael didn't respond, making a quiet interlude of nothing settle between us. I continued to toy with Chica's fingers, curling them absentmindedly. Michael's hands clenched around the lip of the table. He muttered something under his breath.

I glanced up at the frustrated edge to his incoherent words just as his palm found my cheek and he dove down for a kiss. I froze, eyes wide, as Michael - fucking Michael - rested his lips against mine. I swore I felt my heart stop. I swore I died. And then my heart bursting into double-time brought me back to life within my immobile body.

Michael's eyes shot open as a look of unadulterated fear crossed his face. He ripped himself back with a gasp and I remained there, unable to move, staring at him in shock while the pleasant warmth of his lips tingled on my own.

"Oh, fuck- I'm so sorry-" He stumbled backwards and abruptly tripped over a box of spare parts, sending both the contents and himself sprawling dramatically across the floor. His pained grunt as he fell onto his ass shook me back to reality.

"Oh, my god, Mike!" I gasped in a mix of ludicrous amusement and dead-fucking bafflement. He held his red face in his hands. "Are you-" I broke to let slip an incredulous laugh that I couldn't hold back. "Are you okay?"

Michael hid further into his hands as he sat on the floor, surrounded by his wayward tools. I struggled to keep back the snicker of shock - what the fuck just happened? He just kissed me. He just kissed me. I felt so light. He just kissed me. I felt as though I were soaring. My surprise was quickly melting away into ecstatic hope, coiling something bright and happy within me.

"I should've asked first," he mumbled into his palms. I carefully stepped over his tools and knelt before him while the sun itself relocated to my body. My cheeks began to hurt from smiling. "I'm sorry."

"Mikey," I murmured with a smile. "Hey, look at me."

Michael reluctantly let me peel his hands away from his face. My smile softened at the ashamed frown that had curled his mouth, and I rose, guiding him up with me until he was off the dusty, concrete ground. He stood before me, arms limp, eyes staring at the ground while his cheeks betrayed his fluster. He was covered in dust and grit and his hair had gone messy and he looked ruffled beyond composure, but by god, was he the most handsome thing I'd ever laid my lucky eyes upon.

I brushed off some dust from his shoulder before letting my hand slid up to cup his neck. I stood on my toes and, just like how I desperately wanted to back in the kitchen, slid my lips over his.

Michael broke into an inhale as his hand jerked to search for something to settle on and found my hip. He calmed, softened into the kiss, and finally bent down enough so I didn't have to stretch up so far. My body felt lightweight. It felt as though I was about to sift into nothing in the most pleasant of forms - as though just the concept of kissing Michael, of kissing this archangel of a man, was so heavenly that my feeble humanness was melting away into a volley of Michael-loving atoms. A fuzzy desire settled over my head and clouded my thoughts; everything was simply just him.

I pulled back with a smile at Michael's pink face - I could feel my own equally as flushed. His eyes slowly opened, riding the same waves of content pleasure that I was.

"There," I hummed with a stroke of my thumb on his heated, tanned neck. "Now we're even."

Michael stared down at me with a look of wonder, careening through the same emotions he'd rocked me with when he kissed me - shock, bliss, an inherent want for more. Silently, confidently, his hands found my cheeks, and I sunk into his affectionate hold within a swoon. He watched me with a look of absolute endearment and I almost fizzled with relief under the softness of his gaze - how long had I been wanting him to look at me like that?

"You're my right person," Michael whispered while a breathless smile pulled at his lips. I choked on a delighted laugh that sounded strangely close to a sob before leaping into him for another kiss. It was messy and inexperienced and we winced when our teeth clinked but we continued. It was everything I'd wanted and more.

We parted to catch our breaths and I pressed my forehead to his with a quiet giggle. My arms had somehow found their way across his shoulders, sealing me to him, branding my body against his. His blades rolled under my palms with each laboured breath.

"You're my right person, too, Mikey," I replied with a dazed, spellbound smile. I could feel myself getting drunk on the endorphins that his touch called forward.

Michael breathed a relieved exhale before capturing my lips again with wanton urgency, wrapping his arms around the middle of my back and trapping me flushed against his chest so fast that he almost stumbled back again. I gasped from the pull, the sound of it swallowed by him, and my nose tapped his as we lost our senses to each other.

There was something about the way he held so tight, the way this building, bursting torment of desire and want and wishes was finally unlocked like Pandora's Box - six years of yearning unfolding against his lips sparked a state of nirvana and desperation so debilitating that it coursed through my body as though it were the only damn thing keeping me alive anymore. Like the mounting heat settling between my legs and the gasping, needy grip asking for more, more, more was the only thing keeping me grounded.

My breaths came in short bursts between the hungry twist of kisses, and I could feel his, too, heat collapsing against my chin and neck and dragging me deeper into eye-rolling-back, stomach-fluttering heaven. His lips folded against mine in a way that had my synapses melting, neurons fading, and when his mouth opened and then mine and his tongue pushed inside and found home, I felt my entire atomic being shatter within a cataclysmic event.

Michael groaned. His shoulders rolled further down, gathering my nebulous, broken body in his hold. The heat was electric, it was dizzying, it had my brain swimming in its own molten mush and fingertips tingling with energy as they curled through his soft hair. He encouraged me backwards until I hit the workbench and impatiently shoved aside miscellaneous metal objects with an uncaring sweep of his arm.

They careened towards the ground as Michael pulled back from me only to haul my ass onto the edge of the bench. The tools hit the ground with a disastrous, loud clatter. His hands steeled around my waist.

That split second apart welcomed me to the sight of Michael's lust-blown pupils, the glisten of his lips, the red heat of his face. I fell back into him with an impatient tug on the back of his head and he diverted to my neck. A cry shook through me as he made contact, dragging his lips against my skin, leaving a line of magma sizzling upon my flesh. Each kiss was a bullet of bliss.

My thighs tightened around Michael's waist and pulled him in, encircling him into me. A guttural sound from the depths of his throat escaped when his cock pressed against me through his jeans, vibrating through his throat and onto my neck. My back arched into him in response, accompanied by a sharp hiss of his name and a tug of his hair. His teeth sunk into my skin just as he glued his hands to my hips and rolled.

"Mike," I keened, overwhelmed by the godly sensations rocketing through my unholy body. My hands scrambled at the shirt on his back, desperately grabbing for something to hold onto while the friction of his jeans rubbing against my pants had me breathless. Michael's lips left my neck with a smack and his breath tingled chills along the line of hickeys he'd marked me with. His hands squeezed the flesh of my hips with want.

"Can I touch you?" he breathed into the shell of my ear. I was already nodding, curling the back of his shirt into my fists, needing absolutely fucking nothing else other than to be split open around his dick. Michael stuttered through an exhale before feverishly unbuttoning my pants and helping me shimmy the material down my thighs. As soon as they were enough out of the way, his hand impatiently dove for my heat and began to massage the wet folds of my pussy.

  Fuck, the way his fingers slowly stroked had my nails digging through his shirt. I sobbed his name and curled my head into the crook of his neck, revelling in each slow, searching press. Michael explored with a languid, unhurried pace, cheek pressed against my hair, and it was making me lose my damn mind.

"You're so wet," Michael breathed. His voice tapered into a content sigh. "You feel so good, superstar."

"You feel good," I exhaled into his shoulder with a clench of my eyes. "I've wanted- fuck, I've wanted this for years. Wanted you."

"I know, sweetheart," Michael murmured. He slowly sunk a finger inside and swallowed my cry with his mouth over mine before turning to leave kisses along my cheek. He continued his slow pace as he pumped his hand, taking his absolute merry pleasure in watching my sanity unravel before him on this crowded workbench of the shed in our backyard.

A budding warmth began to swell with each slide of his finger against my soft walls, dragging pleasure forth amongst each panting breath I gave in tandem with his slow, discovering rhythm. He kissed my temple with each push, feeling me slicken and loosen around him. Guttural, quiet hums pierced from the depths of his throat.

"Good girl," he lowly praised. I shivered.

My head was thrown back with a moan when Michael tentatively pressed a second finger inside. His breath hitched as they sunk in, caressing my fluttering walls with an obscene, wet sound and curling deliciously in a spot that had white sparking across the back of my eyelids. My grip tightened.

"D- don't stop," I whined. Something concentrated and hot and debilitating had taken hold at my core, and the building tension of it had my spine arching, stiffening, desperately rolling my hips as much as I could with each push of his hand. Michael clicked onto the spot and curled his fingers against it again, sending a burst of a wildfire flooding up to my stomach.

"Not fucking likely," Michael muttered under his breath. My eyelids fluttered when he pressed the flat of his burning tongue along the curve of the throat before dotting bitten kisses along my jawline. His rhythm was stable and uninterrupted, edging this hot ball of energy closer and closer to the precipice. "You close, baby?"

"Yeah," I whispered. He watched as I unlatched his hand from my hip and moved his thumb against my clit in circles, guiding the tough, calloused pad of him against my soft, pliant flesh and making me keen along his neck through gritted teeth. He hummed, catching my lidded, needy gaze before returning his prismatic eyes to where my hand moved his.

The building, boiling sensation was reaching a tipping point and the fuzziness in my head was all but overwhelming me with incoherency. My breath caught and shuddered, yanking my fingers through his hair.

"Mi- Mikey, I'm-"

"Let go, superstar," he murmured into my ear. His lips brushed against my lobe with another circle of my clit. "Cum for me, pretty girl."

That ball of energy fucking eviscerated within me, shooting an explosion of bliss careening through my body so fast that I couldn't hear my own loud gasp. Michael stroked me through it, leaving lazy kiss after lazy kiss on my temple while I shook before him. His mere fingers pulled forth a orgasm better than my old boyfriend's own dick did.

A state of relaxation hit fast, sweeping me under as soon as my orgasm trickled to a stop. I slumped forward against him, boneless, while trying to catch my breath. Michael wiped his hand on the rag and helped pull my pants back up before brushing his fingers through my hair, hitting that spot on the back of my head that made me further limp into him. He pressed his lips to my hairline. And just... lingered there, scratching the back of my head while I rode out the waves of post-nut nirvana.

"... are you okay?" Michael asked quietly. I nodded with a satisfied croon. He swallowed, suddenly tense. "I- I meant it - you being my right person. I... don't want you to think this didn't mean anything."

My lashes fluttered as I listened. A different kind of swelling heat filled me - this one softer, but more... important? More... something. Something that no words within my vocabulary could describe. His fingers continued to scratch through my hair.

"I love you," Michael whispered. My eyes shot open. "I love you so fucking much, Y/n. I don't know what to do with myself."

I lifted my gaze to his in disbelief. He watched me worriedly, totally exposed, while I cycled what he said through my post-orgasmic-haze of a brain. His hazel eyes searched mine, brow puckered.

"I love you," I breathed. His expression shifted as a flash of relief crossed over his face. The words lifted so much fucking weight from my shoulders - I almost couldn't believe that I was saying them to him, out loud, after spending so many years only allowing myself to say it to him in my head. I have to say it again. "I love you. I love you I love you I love you-"

Michael laughed in solace before soaking my rambling, repeated words in with a kiss. I returned it feverishly, grabbing his hair with a tight grip that made him groan. He pulled back with a gasp and glanced at the late-afternoon sun.

"Ah- shit, superstar." Michael dropped his forehead onto mine and stroked my cheek. "I have to- I have to go work tonight-"

"Don't go," I murmured against his lips.

"I can't just not go," Michael breathlessly laughed.

"Call in sick." I pulled away to send him a desperate look. His grin immediately dropped. "Please, Mikey. I need you. Stay with me tonight."

"Fuck," he groaned. His lips dropped to slide kisses along my jaw. Relief careened through me. "You're going to ruin me, sweetheart."

"I like the sound of that," I sighed through a smile.

"I have to call in now."

"Mmkay."

"You're gonna have to let go of my hair," Michael snickered. I pouted but did as told, uncurling his locks from my fingers. He caught my hands instead and assisted me down from the bench. I staggered a little on wobbly knees. He grabbed my waist to steady me with an amused, pleased smirk. "You alright there?"

"You really going to be smug after just falling on your ass because you scared yourself from kissing me?" I asked with a raise of my brow. Michael blushed at the reminder and tightened his hand over mine.

"Let's go," he mumbled, beginning to drag me from the shed. I giggled and bounded up to his side, delighted in the simple, mundane pleasure of holding his hand in both of mine while we walked. I gazed at his flushed face with a content smile and pressed my cheek into his shoulder.

"You're so cute," I hummed. His pink cheeks darkened with a scoff.

"You're the cute one, here," Michael corrected before holding open the door for me. The look he sent me was downright sinful, with his bedroom eyes and tousled hair. My hands slid from his. "Now get your ass inside. I have a call to make."

I licked my bottom lip as I passed by. "Yes, sir."

Michael cursed under his breath as he closed the back door behind us. He followed to the living room where the landline was kept and pulled it from its holder to dial up Freddy's. I leant against the wall beside him and watched as his thumb, the one that had just personally seen me to the gates of heaven, typed in the number.

Michael met my gaze as he held the phone to his ear. I could hear the dial tone ringing as his hazel eyes stared me down. The stillness was electrifying.

He watched as I grabbed the side of his shirt and drew him into me. Michael planted a knee on either side of my thigh and ran his free hand through my hair and down my cheek with an affectionate smile. It quickly parted into a quiet inhale when my fingers began unpopping the buttons of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"I think I'm taking off your shirt," I replied with a tease of a grin. His hand grabbed both of my wrists in a swoop and a disapproving, flustered glare. My mouth popped open in surprise.

"Stop," Michael pled. "What if they answer-?"

He stopped to contort his face into a pained grimace when, with my wrists caught and his shirt only a few buttons undone, I began to rub myself along his thigh instead. My pants didn't allow for much friction, but it was enough to pass the time. Michael released a sharp curse through a desperate exhale.

"Mikey-" I whispered his name before squeaking when he dropped my wrists to quickly cup his hand over my mouth instead. The warning, agitated glare Michael was piercing me with made me giggle behind his palm.

"Hey, Frank," Michael panted as he spoke to the phone. I grinned stupidly as Michael, my wonderful, beautiful, wanton, needy Michael tried to portray an act of nonchalance while I rocked my hips against his thigh. My hands, now free, resumed their mission of undoing his shirt, opening more of his tanned skin to me, abs heaving with each quiet, deep breath. "I don't- I don't think I'll be able to make it to work tonight. It's an emergency. My- uh, my dog is sick."

His red face twisted at his own excuse and I let out a silent, exasperated laugh from underneath his hand. The look he shot me was withering but his pupils were blown so wide with lust that I didn't pay it any mind. The rolling of my heat along his muscled thigh was beginning to stoke a dull flame within my gut.

He could easily step back and stop this. He didn't.

"Yeah! Yeah, I have a dog," Michael said quickly. "Well, it's, uh, it's my girlfriend's dog."

I stilled when he said the word girlfriend, fingers pausing on the last button of his shirt. Our eyes met and he melted into a simper so sweet and cute that I felt tears prick at my eyes. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. It repeated in my head, something I was so sure I would never get to be to him. Michael's hand shifted to tenderly cradle my chin.

"Jesus," he grumbled almost inaudibly. "No, Frank, she can't take it. She's out of town."

I popped the last button and watched Michael's face subtly contort when I began to run my hands along the curves and ridges of his chest. His heat was intoxicating, the feel of him was, and I took my time mapping out every dip of skin and muscle he had, every old knick and scar from his job. His thumb brushed along my jaw.

"I have to go," Michael finally said. He raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. "I'm taking a sick day, Frank, for fuck's sake. It's in my contract and everything."

'Scody,' I mouthed with a raise of my brows. Michael sighed.

"Bye, Frank," he said before hanging up the phone. He allowed himself one pissed exhale before turning his dark gaze to me, pinned against the wall by my own design.

"I didn't realise we have a dog," I said in surprise while my hands followed the distinct curve of his V-line. "What breed is it? Did I get to pick it out?"

"You're a real comedian," Michael said dryly. The hand under my chin lifted me up for a delicate kiss. My eyelids fluttered, palms falling slack against his stomach. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Your room," I breathed. His response was nothing more than a hum of acknowledgment as his hands dragged down my arms to curl his fingers through mine. He tugged me down the hallway towards his room and with each step my anticipation grew until it was trembling within my stomach, making my entire body shiver. We breached his room. Michael stopped me in front of him and shrugged off his unbuttoned shirt.

"When was the last time you..?" he asked as he bunched the hem of my shirt in his hands. His breathing was growing stunted and shuttering, a testament to his self-control. I shook my head in thought.

"Couple of years," I confessed. He nodded while the backs of his fingers brushed against the skin of my hips.

"I'll- I'll go slow," Michael murmured. The shirt was slowly pulled up and over my head. It joined his on the floor.

"I mean... you don't have to," I said quietly. "You don't have to go slow."

Michael's eyes found mine, pupils blown and flickering as he watched my face while he computed my offer. I watched him back, waiting on the edge of my toes, hyperaware of his hands on my bare waist.

"Thank god," he breathed before abandoning all sense of stability and bringing me into a hurried, frenzied kiss. He walked me backwards until my legs hit the bed and I dropped, falling into the mattress with Michael on top of me. He kissed me with reverence. I could feel his half-hard cock through his jeans as he rutted against me, making my stomach twist with impatience.

Michael kissed down my neck and sternum, pressing his lips along the soft convex of my breasts. My hands threaded through his hair and my back arched as he worked his hands under me to release my bra's clasp. He did it with ease that fed the flame in my belly, pausing just a second to greedily stare after he pulled the straps down my arms and carelessly tossed the garment to the side.

His hot mouth latched over one of my nipples, pushing his tongue over my nub while his hands dipped further down my front. I gasped for breath while his ministrations kicked the air right from my lungs, finding my hands in his hair again. Michael unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down without leaving my breast before stroking my thighs with a certain tenderness that had the flame a raging inferno.

He stood back, leaving my nipple to harden from the sudden exposure to the air of his room. Michael fumbled with his belt, fingers clawing desperately to release him. I watched hungrily from my spot on his bed as he stripped, kicking his jeans aside before pulling open a drawer from his bedside table.

I stared at him, entranced, gaze zeroing in on his dick that stood half-mast. It was pretty - or as pretty as a dick could be, and a size that made my thighs clench with premonition that tomorrow I'd have trouble walking. Pre had already began to bead at his tip when he rose with a foil square and a bottle of lube.

"Always prepared," I murmured with an amused, wanting smile.

"Never know when you're gonna be able to fuck your best friend," Michael joked breathlessly as he ripped open the foil before hurriedly pushing it over his cock. He hissed between his teeth when he began to rub lube over his shaft, hand curling around the tip with a gut-twisting, slick sound. Michael raised his face to the ceiling with a wretched look.

"Dang," I hummed as I shuffled back until I hit the pillows and watched the show. My entire body was shivering with anticipation as I watched his erotic movements. I clenched with each swipe of his hand until it stopped and left his dick, fully hardened. Michael crawled onto the bed after me, face red and flushed as he kissed along my hip and up my waist. My hands found his shoulders. "You just declared your love and I'm already back in the friend zone?"

"What are you talking about?" he breathed as he pressed a line of kisses along the curves of my ribs. "We can be in a relationship and still be best friends. You'll always be my best friend."

"... oh." I hadn't thought of it that way. He was right, though - no matter how serious we take this relationship, even if we get... married, we'd always still be best friends. And that was probably the best relationship for us to have. I didn't want to lose him as a best friend just because he became my boyfriend, so why couldn't he be both?

Michael kissed the bottom of my chin, drawing me back to the reality that he was about to fuck my brains out. His lidded eyes found mine, hands tightening their grip over my thighs.

"You okay?" he murmured as he stared down at me.

"Yeah," I replied softly. His prismatic, hazel eyes drowned me with his sincere affection. "You?"

Michael sealed his lips against mine in a short kiss. "Yeah. Ready?"

At my nod, Michael brought a hand down and lined the tip of his cock against me. He watched my face as he eased himself in, breaching past my tight opening. He stopped when I winced at the dull, aching sting that had quickly grown in size at his intrusion.

"Are you-?"

"Keep going," I whispered. My hands flexed against his bare shoulder blades. Michael resumed pushing in, dragging himself against my tight, spongy walls. His mouth gaped with a heavy breath, jaw trembling. My nails dug into his flesh.

"You're doing so good," Michael praised in a breathy whimper. A shaking hand brushed a tear from my cheek. "So fucking good. Look at you, my beautiful girl, t- taking me so well."

"Fuck," I whined as I dug my head into his pillow. "You're so- I love you-"

"'Love you," he slurred. My cunt clenched around him when his tip hit my cervix and a groan ripped from his vocal cords. His thighs were trembling. "Love you so fuckin- god."

I forced my eyes open to find Michael's face as he hovered above me, perched as still as he could. His expression was twisting through various forms of frustration and impatience and fucking need, but he still held himself back while waiting. I caressed the back of my fingers along his cheek. His eyes peeled open, lidded and debauched.

"Move." My voice was nothing more than a exhale, almost inaudible, but Michael took the order with an eagerness that had me squeezing around him again. His fingers tightened to a bruising capacity as he eased himself backwards before slowly ramming back in, picking up an easy, rhythmic pace that knocked me for a ten with each perfect thrust.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," Michael gasped between breaths, crowning each move of his hips. I whimpered beneath him, feeling the sharp teeth of pain slowly edge away as I continued to grow accustomed to his length. "Good girl- good girl-"

Michael cut off his ramble to kiss me instead, drawing my head up to match his energy eagerly. It was sloppy, messy, full of nothing but love and sin while he continued to rock me into oblivion. Small cries escaped me with each thrust, sending a bliss spiralling deeper and deeper inside of me. It built together a feralised edge to my desire, a desperation for release. I needed more.

"Faster, faster, Mikey, please," I begged. Michael groaned, hitching my leg around his waist and grabbing the headboard with one hand before proceeding to fucking ram into me like a fucking train. I gave shrill moan while my spine arched, scratching my nails down his back while he bit his lip with a whine. His grip dug into my thigh, growing sharper with each mind-numbing crash of his hips. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

Fuck, this was worth the six years. If this - Michael fucking me through his mattress after confessing his love - was what I got, then it was worth the heartache. It was worth every night spent awake, imagining a future, imagining how it felt to kiss him, imagining the domestic adoration of being in a relationship with him. My impossible future was becoming more and more of a reality with each breathless confession.

"So- so pretty," Michael panted as I tried my inexperienced best to match his powerful rolls. A mind-numbing ecstasy was beginning to swell within my core and I tried to grab at it, but it was just out of reach. "So- gah- so good. Wanna marry you."

"What the fuck?" I gasped. Blistering, infatuated shock smoothed the edge of my impending orgasm just a smidge. His thrusts slowed to something swaying and deep and sweet when I gently smacked the side of his head. "Dude, you can't just-"

"Sorry," Michael breathed through a blissed-out smile that made my heart throb. "Sorry."

"Take me on a date first, fuck," I panted. He giddily chuckled, watching intently when he readjusted his position and I gasped as his cock hit a spot that had my entire body submerged in prickling pleasure.

"Deal," he murmured with a kiss to the corner of my mouth before picking up the pace again, aiming directly for that one spot while our skin slapped. Michael's hand on my thigh dipped between my legs, circling his same thumb over my clit and explosions burst behind my eyes at the extra stimulation. The hot ball of energy pulled up tight, choking me through with heated yearning, making me whimper.

"Th- this what you wanted, hm?" Michael hummed hurriedly into my neck. I whimpered as his teeth grazed the curve of my jaw. "Wanted me to fuck you in the kitchen, sweetheart? Take- take you right there?"

"Yes," I shrilled while my gut convulsed, tightening as he rubbed me feverishly. Everything was so hot and sticky and fucking wet; I could hear how much I soaked him with each relentless ram of his cock, each circle of my clit. It was sick, it was vile, fucking sinful - and I was loving every second of it. "Fuck- fuck me anywhere you want."

"Anywhere?" Michael echoed. His speed increased, filling the room with the blamblamblams of his hips slamming into mine. Tears burst from under my clenched lashes with a cry. "You'd let me fuck you in front of the window? Where everyone can see?"

"Shit- yes- yes, fuck, yes," I slurred. He groaned as my nails pierced down his shoulder blades. "M' yours- I'm yours-"

"Fuck yeah, you are," rumbled from his throat before his teeth sunk into my neck.

My end came crashing down upon me swifter than I could cry a warning, a ground zero of a bomb of nothing but white-hot heaven and unholy pleasure. My pussy tightened around his cock with vice grip while I gushed and gasped words that didn't exist, making Michael stutter through a gritted, spat curse and falter in his pace.

Michael leant back, kneeling on the bed and bringing my hips up with him before kicking up the speed to chase his own release. His hands kept my hips pinned into place against him and I saw stars with each rough, obscenely wet thrust he made. Overstimulation made me want to squeeze my eyes shut, but the sight of Michael just on the precipice of nirvana was too good to miss.

Heavy breathes escaped his parted mouth as he used me, hickory hair curled through with sweat and covering his face as he watched his dick slide between my folds. He was shaking, violently trembling while his rhythm grew more sloppy as he came closer and closer to his end. The only sounds in the room was the slickslickslick of his cock pushing through my juices and our combined, breathless moans.

My cunt sucked around him, tight still, as Michael gave a few last rough thrusts before stiffening with a beautiful, erotic groan of my name as he came. He rode out his orgasm with struggled rolls, loose fingers, delirious from his release, before finally ceding to a spent, puffing stop.

Michael caught his breath, eyes closed, surfing the waves of the remnants of his mind-blown bliss while I dropped my arm over my eyes. Exhaustion settled heavily over my body while my ass dropped back to the bed as Michael, equally as spent, slumped, trying to catch his breath.

A breath hissed through my teeth when Michael's softening cock slipped out. It was soon followed by a grimace when I felt my release leak from between my lips, dampening the duvet beneath me. Michael's thumbs briefly stroked the inside of my thighs before pulling away. I listened to him shuffle about his room.

A piece of material began carefully wiping at my weeping hole. I peeked out from under my arm to see Michael, deep in concentration and condom discarded, cleaning me with a piece of dark material. My brows furrowed. That was one of his shirts. Why the hell was he using a shirt?

"Are you okay?" Michael hummed with a slide of his hazel eyes up to my half-covered face. The image of him perched between my thighs with his face flushed caused a few burning embers to spark back to life. I was slowly just becoming aware of a deep-set, satisfying ache making its way through my body.

"Yeah," I said quietly with a content smile. "You were perfect."

Michael's lips turned up at the corners. He tossed the dirtied shirt to the hamper in the corner of his room before pressing a kiss to the top of my thigh. He slowly worked his way up, leaving a line of affection all the way up my stomach, between my breasts, and up my neck before finally finding home on my lips.

I kissed him back, and it was soft. It was gentle and loving and the feeling of his plump lips moulding against mine, shifting against mine, the way his teeth caught my bottom lip with a playful little tug, it had me almost in tears. It had me wanting to pinch myself to make sure that I wasn't dreaming - because surely this was just too good to be true. Surely, if I cradled his cheek and kissed back, he'd disappear, nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

But he wasn't. He was there, real, kissing me with energy reserves I didn't know he had. He kissed me like he was a man dying of thirst and my lips held the only water left. I returned the affection, more than happy to provide.

"I'm gonna put on some clothes," Michael murmured against my cheek.

"Damn shame," I whispered. He chuckled and pecked under my eye.

"Do you want a shirt?"

"I don't trust your shirts," I said warily. He paused before lifting his head to send me a confused look.

"Why?"

"Because you just cleaned me with one," I said with a scrunch of my nose. "I don't want to know what you've done with the others."

"Jesus, Y/n, I'm not that much of a whore," he scoffed before standing from the bed and sending a displeased frown down at me, sprawled over his bed. An amused smile pulled at my lips when his gaze roamed. His eyes snapped back to me with a blush. "Do you want one or not?"

"Fine," I reluctantly sighed, even though I really did want one. He knew I did, anyway. "If you insist."

Michael swiped his fingers over my cheek with a pleased smile before bringing out his drawer and rifling through his clothes. I sat up to watch him, eyes roving over his naked, handsome body, watching as his muscles shifted and contracted under his skin. My attention latched onto the angry, red scratches striking down his back. A shirt was thrown at my face.

"Oi," I huffed as I pulled it from my head.  

"You're staring," Michael defended with a smug raise of his brow. I pulled on his old band shirt and felt myself fall into a trap of rapture as it drooped over my thighs. It was way too big and smelt like him. I was never giving it back.

"I'm allowed to stare," I murmured. My eyes lifted to watch Michael pull his own shirt over himself, fitting a little too well over his broad chest. "You're my boyfriend."

I watched as his cheeks flooded red while pulling on some briefs and I found it amazing - how someone could be so batshit horny, dominating me to blissful tears, to then turn around and act so bashful. He was so fucking cute. I wanted to kiss him again.

"C'mere," I said softly as I held my hands out to him and made grabby fingers. Michael, still blushing, slid his hands into mine and allowed me to pull him back onto the bed. I sunk into the pillow I'd lost my mind on, watching contently as Michael stole the spot beside me. He settled, kicking the duvet down with his feet before gasping when I abruptly launched atop his chest.

"Jesus, Y/n, some warning," he wheezed before wrapping his arms around me. I shuffled into a comfortable position alongside him and dropped my chin atop his pec with a playful smile. His gaze on me was softer than soft, like velvet. Warmth blossomed within my chest.

"No," I said, and he rolled his eyes with a grin. My arm reached up to twist my fingers through the locks of his hair. Michael kissed my wrist. "We're gonna have to wash the duvet."

"Tomorrow," Michael sighed. I turned on my side and snuggled into his hold, all but hiding my face into his shirt. "We can do that tomorrow."

"Sounds good," I murmured. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Michael pressed his lips to the top of my head. "I love you, too," he mumbled into my hair. I smiled dopily into his shirt. "You gonna sleep?"

"Probably," I confessed just as I closed my eyes. The bodily bliss and Michael's warmth was enough to make me more than drowsy. "You took all my energy, energy stealer."

Michael chuckled softly. It reverberated sweetly through his chest. "My apologies."

"You're forgiven," I hummed, as my body relaxed further and further into the pull of slumber.

⚡️🧸🤖🧸⚡️

I woke the next morning before Michael did. I woke to the sound of cicadas and the warm, Hurricane sun slipping through his window and draping over our bare legs. I woke to the pleasant heat of Michael's body and the soft rhythm of his breaths. I woke to the sound of his heartbeat.

I woke with my head tucked snugly in the dip where his arm joined his shoulder, safely curled in his slumbering embrace. Everything smelt of him - I smelt of him - all leather and grease and desert dust and the faint undertone of man.

My eyes fluttered open, bleary with morning. I stared at my loose, relaxed hand that rested over Michael's chest, rising with each intake of breath. My thumb stroked the cotton of his shirt while I recalled the night before.

I hid my face into his shirt as I began to furiously blush - god, the things I said, I did. The things he said. Everything was so raw and vulnerable and vulgar. It was so... perfect.

My chin turned up so my eyes could take in Michael's slumbering face. His hair was an absolute handsome travesty of a mess and the faint freckles blanketing his nose and cheeks had darkened under the heat of the sun throughout the summer months. His lashes brushed his cheek. His peach lips were parted with breath.

I stared at his lips. His perfect, beautiful lips. His beautiful lips that pressed kiss after kiss, spat erotic words, murmured his sweet confessions. The lips I'd wanted on mine for so, so long. He was so beautiful, so perfect, so loveable, and he was finally, finally mine.

I wanted to stay curled up against him, cherishing his peaceful slumber, soaking in the heat from his hold for the rest of eternity, but Mother Nature had other plans. I needed to pee. I needed to eat. My face grimaced when my empty stomach grumbled - we didn't even have dinner last night, too consumed by the sleepy aftermath of sex.

I carefully slipped out of Michael's hold with a disappointed sigh (how dare my bodily, human needs take me away from his angelic presence) and stole a quick kiss, trying not to wake him. A hiss escaped me when I stood and found that the ache from the night before had magnified, spreading a certain kind of agony across my pelvis and down my thighs. My face twisted as I limped my way out of his room.

Oh, but it was such a lovely pain. It was a kind of hurt that I found myself adoring. I paused at the door to get one last glimpse and my heart fluttered upon seeing him at total, sleepy ease. I wanted to wake up like this, with him, for the rest of my life.

It was early, I deduced, after doing my business, admiring the hickeys on my neck in the mirror, and then near-on-hobbling my way to the kitchen. Maybe five in the morning, or possibly six. If it was my choice, I'd sleep in until late with Michael, but alas, food. And coffee- god, I could do with some coffee. Part of me said painkillers, too, but I wanted to feel the blissful ache he left.

I opened the fridge and poked my head inside with a sigh. What breakfast foods did I feel like? I could do with some eggs. Maybe scrambled. Michael liked scrambled eggs... or maybe a benedict? Did we have any english muffins?

We didn't, I'd found with deep despondency, so I resorted to scrambled. I watched the sun slowly rise over the distant mountain line through the window while absentmindedly cooking the eggs, still enraptured by the events of the night before. How his hand gripped with such ferocity that it left a mark. How he left plenty of marks on my shoulder and neck. How he felt, fucking me so thoroughly that I forgot my own name.

"Snuck off, did we?"

I jumped when arms looped around my waist and lips pressed a kiss to my temple. The spatula dropped to the bench in surprise. I didn't even hear him enter the kitchen.

"I wanted to wake up with you," Michael complained childishly into my cheek. His arms tightened around me and I was swamped in his hold, sinking into his chest. I smiled giddily.

"Next time," I promised. "But I'm hungry."

"Me, too," Michael hummed before kissing over the marks he left on my neck. I shivered at the tinge the bruises made upon contact, lashes fluttering.

"Hungry for food, pervert," I said with a grin.

"I know."

"I'm not food, Mike," I snorted.

"But, baby, you're a whole feast," he mumbled into my neck. I snorted a laugh - god, that was awful - and turned in his hold. My arms swung up around his shoulders and I beamed up at him, content as anything.

"You're lucky you're cute, 'cause your flirting skills are atrocious," I snickered with a poke to his chest. Michael's hands slid up my bare hips and under the shirt of his, frowning with faux disappointment and a puppy-like tilt of his head.

"Ah, well, at least you think I'm cute," he sighed.

"The cutest," I smiled. He laughed shortly before sweeping me into a kiss. The fireworks returned, because holy shit, they really did feel like fireworks sparkling under my skin and bursting me with giddy peace. I was hopelessly, hopelessly devoted.

Michael pulled away with a twisted expression. "Is something burning?"

"No, the eggs!" I gasped and whipped around to turn off the stove. It was too late - the eggs had blackened, burnt through, filling the kitchen with a gross-smelling smog. I stared at them with a disappointed frown. My stomach gave a restless grumble.

"I feel like that was my fault," Michael said meekly. He dropped his chin onto my shoulder. "Sorry, superstar."

"It's okay," I reassured. "We can eat around it?"

"We could get McDonald's?" Michael suggested. My stomach growled at the thought of greasy, tasty-only-when-you're-hungry fast food. I pulled the pan from the stove.

"I like that," I agreed, scraping the burnt eggs into the bin. "Let's go."

After pulling on some pants, making my hair look at least manageable, and Michael kicking his car under the steering wheel, we began the drive to the local fast food joint. It was too early for the morning commute to work, which made the travel even easier. We ordered through the drive-thru and, while I munched on some fries I got on impulse and listened to the radio, Michael took the car to the lookout.

"Is this a first date?" I asked as I sat cross-legged on the hood beside him, leaning against his vehicle. The little city of Hurricane stretched out before us, slowly waking up for the day. Michael paused mid-bite of his hash brown.

"Do you want it to be?" he asked with a genuine furrow of his brows. "Because I can do better than McDonald's, trust me."

I smiled sincerely. "I don't care what we do, I just wanna spend time together."

"We can make Fridays in-home date nights," Michael offered as he finished off his hash brown.

"You mean the nights The Immortal and The Restless airs?" I corrected with a smug grin. I began to unwrap my breakfast bagel. "You're not slick, buddy. I see your play."

"Ah, shoot," he said dramatically. He eyed me from the corner of his gaze. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes," I giggled. "It's a yes."

Michael pumped the air in triumph before starting in his second hash brown. An idea popped into my head as I admired him.

"Angel."

Michael glanced at me. "What was that?"

"Angel," I decided. "Your pet name. Because your name is Michael. And because you're my guardian angel, and you look like an angel, and you act like one, and sound like one, and it probably hurt when you fell from heaven."

Michael stared at me before beginning to blush so hard that I feared he'd pass out. He dropped his hand to his palm and groaned. My grin grew.

"And you say my flirting's bad," he mumbled.

"Ah, but you're blushing," I pointed out with a snicker. "We should get going. I have to get ready for work."

"Don't go," Michael pled as his head immediately lifted to send me a pout. "Call in sick."

We've had this conversation before. I cracked a smile.

"Okay," I hummed with a tilt of my head. "I'll call in sick. Say our dog's not feeling well."

"Shut up," Michael grumbled as he pitifully dropped his cheek onto my leg. I chuckled, kissing his hair, before continuing to eat our fast food breakfast in the carpark of a scenic lookout over Hurricane.

And for six years, everything was our little version of perfect.