With how busy Michael’s life is, and a image he couldn’t have it be teared, he told you from the very beginning how consequences would be placed for any hiccups in your tasks that most of the time, if not all the time, affected him.

And he wasn’t bluffing.

Your back was pressed up against his chest, trying your hardest to not piss him off from all the squirming you’re doing right on his lap. This wasn’t the first time that you found yourself like this, seated on his thigh with a large hand between your thighs, pulling the most humiliating noises you attempt to bite your tongue on.

Your pants weren’t even fully disregarded, only the button popped off with the zipper down to give Michael enough room to easily slide his hand in past your panties, palming your cunt with enough pressure to make you ache for more. Sharp pulse of arousal shoots through you, trying to shift your focus instead on the paperwork he’s going through in front of him to distract the way your body is screaming to move your hips forward, to chase what he’s refusing to give you.

A slow, steady drag forward of his fingers were applied, then dragged back up, just as devastatingly slow. The coolness of his rings don’t miss your clit, nudging by for a torturous split second. Your bottom lip is sore from your teeth digging in to suppress the whimpers, but then he does it again, another drag of his fingers, painfully slower than the last.

You make the tiniest bit of noise, and you swore you heard a breathy chuckle leave his nose, yet he doesn’t say anything and continue his work splayed across on the desk.

You want to say something, anything, but your brain is static, blank, useless. What could you even say? An apology that never works in your favor?

He doesn’t want to hear your sorries on mixing up two different interviews, having him miss one completely because your memory failed you and told him it wouldn’t be until next week. He doesn’t want to hear your sorries on how you missed making a mandatory call to help advance his upcoming show, having talks of venue and flight arrangements never discussed.

All he wants to hear is how your mind is spiraling from his faint touches, not giving what you’re fighting to ask for, breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

Then, your body instinctively shifts towards his hand. You don’t mean to do it, but he stops his movements entirely, feeling the vibration of his chest against your back when he speaks.

“Don’t.” He scolds close to your ear, the smallest graze of his lips against the shell of it that sends shivers down your spine.

You forced yourself to find your voice, tone shaking with need. “Please, Mr. Jackson, I’m terribly sorry for what happened this past week, I—“ You couldn’t properly finish your sentence, your mind beginning to get dizzy from the heat of his palm against your soaked cunt.

He barely spares you a glance, eyes never leaving the documents he’s working on, yet he still humors you. “Are you?”

“Yes! Yes, I am!” You said almost immediately, having him hear what he wants so he can start back up the strokes of his fingers that made the heat curl deep in your core.

“How sorry are you?”

You felt the very first push of his fingertip against your entrance, just enough to make your body react, muscles tightening in anticipation. Your anger clashes with the barely there pleasure you are receiving, how calmly he focuses on his work like he doesn’t have a trembling assistant on his lap, willing to do anything for a fraction more of his burning touch.

“So, so so sorry…!” Your voice is downright pathetic, but you couldn’t find yourself to care. The tip of his finger keeps easing in, then out, working you up to crave the fullness of his digits he keeps denying.

“So sorry that you’ll take whatever I give you, and won’t dare to whine about it?”

You didn’t know how long he would keep this up, his fingertip sinking in, tricking your walls into thinking he’ll go further each push, but he eases his fingertip back out each time. The thought of him continuing this, attention not even on the way you writhe and whimper, working at his desk like you’re not even there, it couldn’t have you lasting another minute.

And so, you do whine.

You shake your head, barely registering the words you manage to form after a ragged, uneven exhale. “No, no no no, I can’t, I—“

“No?” You hear him hum, voice rich and indulgent. For the first time in ten, agonizing long minutes, he at last has his eyes on you. Yet now, you can’t even bring yours to meet. You let a strand of hair cover half your face, hiding from the way his eyes challenge you to keep talking.

“You think you don’t deserve this? Is that it?” His tone is anything but kind, watching every breath you shudder. You don’t answer, you couldn’t, but you’re guilty for thinking exactly that. You tried your best, you tried being his good little assistant, but he runs a strict program that tests every ounce of your strength. Although at times it seems like Michael is purposefully trying to seek out flaws in your tasks that he normally never cared much about until now, scouting for opportunities to fall easy on his lap to have you be punished, to be turned into a babbling, hot mess with cries of forgiveness.

You feel his soft smirk etching into the next words he speak, pushing his chest more into your back to have you lean forward slightly. “Okay then, I’ll give you what you think you deserve.”

Your body reacted faster than your mind did, body clamping down instinctively at the begrudging push of two fingers in at once, deeper than he’s ever gone since this started. Your hands bunch up the fabric of his jeans, feeling the way your walls clench helplessly, involuntary.

Your mouth opens for a cry, but Michael was faster. He uses his other hand to shove his fingers past your lips, cold rings pressing down firmly on your tongue that chokes up your noises.

His fingers pump deep, quick, relentless. No room for slow, to adjust, only a devastating controlled pace. You feel the rings on those two digits drag along every sensitive inch, somehow adding onto the already overwhelming pleasure flowing through your body.

It’s too much. It happened all too fast for you. The way he’s working you open, to take what he’s giving you, to claim every inch inside. You given yourself enough breath to string out a breathless plea, tongue moving as best as it can under the pads of his fingers still pressed on top.

“Please, wait, oh!” Your muffled voice fails you at the end, moaning at the beautiful curl of his fingers, hitting the spot that brings you into another realm of sensation.

“You don’t want me to wait.” He says so surely, and you hate how he’s right. How well he so soon knows your body, aware of what each twitch and squirm means.

The thrusts get sharper, unrelenting, shifting his wrist to move deeper. Your body jerks at a perfect stroke he gives you, to which he repeats over and over again.

You feel the inevitable coming, the way your thighs clamp tighter around his hand a giveaway. He doesn’t let you slip away from it, fingers working faster, sharper.

After another harder drive of his fingers to that sweet spot, your orgasm crashes into you, dragging you into a helpless cry. He feels your cunt pulse around his fingers, every spasm, basking in your ruin.

A string of saliva follows his fingers as he pulls them out of your mouth, snapping as it finds a new spot on your hips. The fingers inside you start to slowly pull out, the emptiness hitting you hard as you mewl.

Michael tsk’s at his rings coated in your slick, bringing them to your mouth. “Clean them.” He simply tells, watching the way you don’t waste another second and open your mouth to invite his two digits in.

The taste of yourself hits your tongue, swirling every crevice of his fingers, outlining the ridges of his thick rings. You suck on them a bit, not missing the way his breath catches, shifting in his seat.

You feel a tap on your back, signaling to be done, pulling away to set his fingers free. “You are to be dismissed. Go home and get cleaned up, will you?” You aren’t given time to even firstly button back up your pants, his lap jerking up to have you off and on your feet.

As you grasp the doorknob to turn, you hear his voice one more time.

bestfriend!michael who sometimes wonder what he did in his past life to be blessed with a best friend who’s patience and understanding is out of this world, where you never argued when he couldn’t squeeze hanging out with you in his already busy schedule. It’ll at times be weeks since the last time you saw him, but your guys bond is still held strong. His schedule is out of his control, you can’t change that even if you tried. However, on days he can’t visit, he’ll never end the night without hitting up your line to chat about each other’s days before sleep hits the both of you.

bestfriend!michael who’s close friendship he had with you made you hear the same question be asked to you over the years.

“Are you guys anything more?”

You remember the first time hearing something similar, when you guys were only kids. Your older sibling teasing you, asking if that’s your new boyfriend, and you still remember your reaction. You immediately shook your head with a grossed out expression, responding with giggles: “No, never!”

Now? You don’t know if you can say the same answer.

Over time, you felt your eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. Heading into your guys’ early 20s, you started to notice things that undoubtedly left your cheeks flushed. When did his mindless touches to your shoulders, hands on waist to move past you, or ruffling your hair to be an ass leave you holding your breath? When did him sitting next to you during your guys many movie nights at home have you fighting the urge to scoot a little closer, so close your fingertips would graze his resting on the cushions, longing for his touch?

When did your eyes had a mind of its own as it traveled down to his soft lips as he spoke to you, thinking of what it would feel like if you closed the distance between his and yours?

And when are you going to start to realize he’s been having those same thoughts about you as well?

bestfriend!michael who for the past few weeks has been driving you crazier than you would like to admit. There’s been a shift in your guys’ dynamic, starting to pick up hidden intentions in Michael’s actions and words.

A swipe of his thumb to get rid of a crumb sticking too close to your lip when you guys grabbed lunch, ignoring the fact that there are plenty of napkins to instead offer on the table.

Catching his eyes on you through the living room mirror you’re using to fix up your appearance, not missing the way they check every curve on your body as quick as he thinks he’s being.

Being Invited to join him during an event, a fun first time experience for you that he’ll happily make happen. You missed the way his breath caught in his throat when you came down the steps after an hour of getting ready, your gussied up appearance a sight he’s never seen before until now. You caught yourself at a nearby mirror and overthinking thoughts started to flood your mind, asking out loud to yourself if you should change something up about your hair or wear a completely different dress.

“You look gorgeous.”

You slowly peered over your shoulder, how naturally the compliment rolled off his tongue like he’s been meaning to say it for the past few minutes. He’s quick to play it off after how you reacted, rolling his eyes. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Now c’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

He’s testing that best friend label you guys have, and he isn’t careful anymore about it. Now he’s just waiting when you’ll join in.

bestfriend!michael who sits at his desk, writing lyrics for his new album the second it comes to him and crumbling up any that doesn’t sit right with him anymore. Doesn’t matter he just got back from the studio almost an hour ago, back to working in his room as his mind is still racing with ideas that could or could not work. He isn’t alone, you sitting on the bed as his company for the night. You insisted on coming over, not caring to hear how he’ll still be working and it would be boring to stick around, to visit another time.

Michael places a few papers onto the bed without ever looking. “Tell me your thoughts on those.” You go to pick them up, reading each line with a small smile on your face. It was your favorite how much Michael values your opinion on things he does in his life, being the first he comes to for advice. One of them being his lyricism, knowing you won’t hold back on your thoughts if they rhyme or if they’re too cheesy.

One line made you giggle quietly, but he heard it nonetheless. He looks over, eyebrows knit together. “What?”

You shake your head, having your hand cover your smile that threatens to grow. “Nothing, nothing, just— ‘girl I can thrill you more than any ghoul would ever dare try?’”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Find it hard to believe, is all.” It wasn’t uncommon for you two to mess with one another, it comes with being best friends with anyone. That’s how you would’ve excused your response, but it was a clear attempt to start something. Something that goes beyond being playful with one another.

He raises an eyebrow, standing up to snatch the papers out of your hand with a scoff. “Oh yeah?” First butterfly to flutter in your stomach. “It’s okay, wasn’t expecting you to, anyways.” He finishes saying with his back towards you again, stacking his papers all neatly.

“Oh good, because we’d be here all day.”

You saw him stop stacking, perking his head up. He not only faced you again, but walked over till his knees bumped the edge of the bed.

You saw a glint in his eyes that made the butterfly in your stomach to flutter a second time.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re wanting me to prove you wrong.”

Oh, was it that obvious?

Your mouth went dry, staring up where Michael stands who doesn’t even look like the best friend you’ve grown up with. Someone who looks like they’ve been holding back their desires that’s been getting too loud inside of them the second your guys’ closeness took a shift. Someone who’s been clinging onto strength that gets thinner each passing day they set their eyes on you.

Someone who’s been waiting for the other to grant them permission this entire time.

“I’d say prove me wrong, Mike.”

bestfriend!michael who for the past three minutes has his lips travel all across your skin besides where you want it to land the most, feeling his smile due to every squirm and whine you can’t hold back.

He scatters the gentlest kisses down your neck, starting from a sensitive spot he discovered behind your ear, leaving nips in between then soothes it with his tongue. You had your neck craned to the side, giving him as much room as you could allow to paint your skin in hickeys like a blank canvas, hickeys you won’t find yourself worrying to conceal until the very next morning.

Until you squirmed again, lolling your head back forward to catch his lips with yours in another desperate attempt. He once again denies, a soft chuckle at your face screwing up in frustration.

“Please, Mikey..” His nickname that you’ve claimed for him since you were kids leaves your lips, and he couldn’t help but to fully pull back with a more audible laugh, rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

He goes to lean in, having you believe he’ll finally kiss you, but his lips just stops short from yours with a smile. “I hear ya, girl.”

Michael has the kisses go lower, and lower, immediately making you forget being mad at him again for denying your lips to meet. It travels down the valley of your chest, one of his hands bunching up the fabric of your shirt so it can smoothly continue down to your stomach. He revels in every shiver he pulls out of you, every squirm, every soft moan you try so hard to resist to but fail miserably. You didn’t want to prove his point this quickly, too stubborn for your own good sometimes. And he knows this, so he’ll spare you the embarrassment and won’t comment on your little noises until much later.

You feel a gentle tug at the waistband of your pants, but it was to only grab your attention. You pick your head up to meet his eyes, who’re silently asking for permission. You nod, a little too eager, and he hooks his thumbs underneath to slide them all the way down.

You feel the cool air hit your damp panties, tinted pink rising to your cheeks at the realization settling in on how wet you’ve been since this started, especially just from him kissing all over you. You see him bite the bottom of his lip, holding back a tease, starting to slowly disregard the cloth that loosely stands between him and your cunt.

You caught from your half-lidded eyes him pocketing the material, but you don’t get a chance to comment as he lets his breath fan against your cunt, causing your hips to jerk up. He holds your legs open, fingers digging into your skin unapologetically.

He covers the inside of your thighs with bite marks, aiming to have you jump each time his teeth caught skin, then soothing the slight pain with his tongue. You truly couldn’t wrap your head around in the situation you’re in right now, how this all unfolded with innocent banter. Or so you’d like to excuse it as being and nothing more…

You were barely given any time to grab a fistful of his hair the second he stopped the bites and pressed his mouth to your soaked cunt, grip on your thighs now bruising. A broad, heavy stripe is licked up the length of your cunt before he takes your clit into his mouth and rolls it hard between his lips.

There’s nothing slow in the way he devours you, a complete contrast to his kisses earlier before. It’s seeping with hunger he’s been carrying for days, longtime yearning, and need. Every sound he makes against your cunt is shameless, has you tugging and gasping but he never relents for a second.

His tongue fucks into you, and you tried to chase for more, hips going to grind up into his mouth. However, he responds by tightening his hold, thumbs digging harder into your thighs to hold you down. Never giving you an inch of space to breathe, having you take every tight swirl of his tongue on your pearl, every deep suck that pulls cries from your throat you never thought you could make until now.

In the midst of his tongue working rough, precise strokes, his nose starts to nudge juust right against your clit that has your hand slip from his hair to now twist into the sheets. His eyes fluttered open to look at the way you let out a choked moan, legs trembling on either side of his head, and he knew what it did to you.

“Fuck, you’re—“ but the words barely formed as you get lost into another breathless gasp, Michael nudging his nose more firmly up against your clit with purpose this time.

The pleasure starts to blur into something more sharper, every muscle in your body seizing tight as the world narrows to the heat of his mouth, taking you to what you think will be the rush of your orgasm.

But it abruptly stopped. The heat of his mouth no longer swarming your cunt, instead met back with the coolness of the air. You snap your eyes open, hips still chasing for a feeling that’s been long snatched away. You have yourself be propped up lazily with your elbows, greeted with a shit-eating grin you so badly wanted to slap right off of him.

“W-What is wrong with you?” You spatted, every nerve on your body feeling like it’s on fire from the intense edge you just had to endure.

Michael wipes your slick clean off from his mouth with the back of his hand, the calmness written all over his face in regards to your frustrated one almost laughable if anyone else were in the room.