misa !

how pure vanilla cookie treats you in the bedroom as a yandere is, in all honesty, not that different to how he’d treat you during sex otherwise. or, well, not very different in any way that you’d be quick to realise unless you have known him for a very long time and know how he acts in the bedroom with a partner he’s not utterly obsessed with, that is

he’s still incredibly gentle with you and your body, reverently so even. touching you so softly that it’s almost like he fears you shattering or crumbling or vanishing from between his fingers as he adores you and commits the shape of your silhouette to memory through gentle caresses alone. kissing a trail from each of your most sensitive spots with lips that spill an endless stream of praise that goes straight to your head and between your legs. patiently worshipping every bare millimetre of your body like you’re everything he’s ever loved, everything that will ever matter, and everything he doesn’t deserve all at once, before lavishing you with pleasure so intense it brings tears to both of your eyes

and he’s still very much so someone who prefers to take his time and to actually make love to you instead of simply just having sex. worshipping through touch, through words, through careful overstimulation and strokes of his cock inside you that are angled just right to make your eyes cross and your vision blur. a steady, delicate climb towards climax as he makes sure you feel and hear and know just how much he loves you for every lingering second before you’re lost to your third or fourth or fifth orgasm of the night

and he still goes above and beyond to ensure that you finish at least a handful of times before he even considers his own needs and wants, no matter how achingly desperate he may be for stimulation and release in the moment. because your sounds, your pleasure, your reactions are worth so so much more than just a fleeting orgasm to pure vanilla cookie so he’ll gladly neglect his needs and turn a blind eye to his own pain in order to make sure you’re as satisfied as you can possibly be

but he is a touch more vocal than before — voice cracking and pitching and breaking and warbling over the praise and pleas and declarations of his love that spill from his trembling lips, each word punctuated by kisses that grow increasingly more frantic and incomprehensible as he inevitably loses himself to his own pleasure and yours

a bit more inclined to proposition you after you spend a little too much time with someone who isn’t him — swallowing back his own insecurities and fears and proving his worth as a lover by lowering himself to his knees and bringing you to blinding orgasm after blinding orgasm with his mouth and hands alone until you’re trembling and fucked out and unable to utter anything other than a slurred attempt at his own name (not the other person’s, which perfectly soothes that sickening emptiness that he’d felt in his chest when you were neglecting him for them)

and noticeably more receptive for your praise and attention in return — not by much, he’s still much more intent on giving and giving and giving until you’re too overwhelmed with pleasure to think, but as a yandere he feels more compelled to give you everything you want. and if you want to shower him in praise, to dominate him, to worship him, to top him, then he’ll give you all of that and more (with only a few token complaints and a very red face as the object of his adoration, his obsession, his love, showers him with all the attention and affection and touch he could possibly ever want)

1x1x1x1, will put up a fight and you'll have to be a very, very tenacious to convince him...

"Please X? Just once, and I'll never ask you again."

"No."

"Please?..."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please with salt, vinegar, and everything sinister on top?"

"...No."

You leaned closer anyway, far from discouraged, infact their stubborness only motivated you to beg harder.

Your brows furrowed, canting your head to look up at them in a innocent puppy-like pout.

He tilted his head at the same angle, lips pulled into a thin, humorless scowl. Red eyes narrowed, unblinking, drilling straight through your performance.

“…Don’t ask me again.” he said flatly.

You slid closer, shoulder brushing his arm. “Look at you, copying me. That’s basically agreement.”

“It is not.”

You clasped your hands together under your chin in mock prayer, upping the theatrics. “Please?”

His eye twitched.

Which... In your eyes, wasn't a no.

He straightened abruptly, forcing you to stumble half a step forward before catching yourself on the edge of the table. 1x folded his arms, looming now, shadow swallowing your hopeful posture.

“No means no.” he said.

Anddd... You spoke to soon. That eye twitch was definitely a no.

You looked up at him from where you’d braced yourself, still pouting. “But what if I ask… artistically, would you like if I serenaded you?”

He leaned down just enough that his glowing gaze filled your vision.

“would you like it, if I painted your blood against these walls as a mural of consequences?” His stare didn’t break. Didn’t blink.

You snorted despite the threat. “So Harsh."

He absolutely pretends he hates the idea. Threatens you for even suggesting it. Still doesn’t actually deny they wouldn't try it.

After days of begging and pleading from you, and a plethora of close calls with both his venomshank and daemonshank respectively, he gives in, begrudgingly. He's so grumpy leading up to it. Growling while peeling their heavy garbs and chains off of themself, slapping your hands away when you reach forward to assist them with all the attitude of a disgruntled cat.

He's stiff as a board, he doesn't care what position he allows you to dick him down in, but that also doesn't mean he's just going to roll over and do as you say. He'd be damned if he didn't make you work for, -at the very least his 'participation'.

He refuses anything complicated.

If a position requires flexibility, trust, or cooperation, you might as well rid it from your mind. Not because he's incapable of meeting the demands- more exotic positions require, but more simply because he doesn't want you to assume you have control in this situation.

He insists on positions where he can still:

1. see you

2. threaten you

3. Look annoyed

All three are non-negotiable.

Missionary is the most likely pick. You'll think it's because it’s intimate, but he really just wants to watch you and make sure you don’t get smug about it. Anything that puts him completely on his back is rare. He hates feeling pinned, powerless. Even when he agreed to this trivial fantasy of yours.

He's so taut and on edge that finally working him open and getting him to relax is harder than most people would bother with. Made even harder because he treats any amount of comfort like an insult, and any forceful push as a threat. He makes it difficult on purpose. Like if it’s inconvenient enough, you’ll give up.

Patience is key, Not because he needs the gentleness, but because he needs time to stop fighting the idea of trusting someone with his body. Every moment you don’t advance is a moment he has to confront the fact that this is happening because he agreed to it. That he trusts you enough to satisfy both your pleasure and his. That he loves you enough to care for your wants, and fantasies.

He gives in slowly, like a cruel sun dipping beneath the horizon. His balled fists go slack against the sheets, splaying out in surrender. Strong, squared shoulders droop, bleeding out all the tension stored taut in his muscles. He arches despite himself at the intrusion at his entrance, a rough sound breaking loose from his throat.

He refuses to close his eyes.

Stares into your gaze like it personally offended him. Like if he looks away, you’ll think you’ve won. Even when you finally sink past that defiant ring of muscle, the skin of your thighs pressed firm against his as you buried your thick strap inside, his parted, panting lips still remained in that stubborn scowl.

Once he finally adjusts to the stretch though? Your little game of buck breaker is over. The stubbornness that fueled him before now becomes sharper, deliberate.

He's refuses to be a pillow princess.

He refuses to give you the satisfaction of knowing you have any modiucrum of control over him. He’s rocking his hips to meet your thrusts every time and don't you dare think of slowing down or saying that you're tired; the second he thinks you look tired, or you’re going too slow, or you challenge him. He's pinning you under him as he rides you hard enough to give you whiplash. If you’re gonna beg to fuck him, then atLeast do a thorough job of it.

He’s on the quiet side during sex. The noise he makes is limited to soft grunts and heavy breathing, but he’ll also growl as a special treat if you fuck him just right.

Although his noise is stifled; when they are close to finishing, you'll know. They'll be incapable of holding it together all but unraveling on your dick. It'd be a pretty sight if he gave you the chance to admire it, viscous drool dribbling down his chin, all but growling through clenched teeth like an angry dog, one hand in your hair violently tugging you with every jerk of your hips meeting theirs and a possessive grip on your throat firm enough to have you gasping ragged shallow breaths that mix with his.

His endurance is unmatched, and it’s safe to say you won’t be going anywhere. You'll be manhandled, grabbed, squeezed, choked, bit, bruised; by the end of it it'll look like you were the one getting fucked.

“Get up. I only came once.”

You groan, trying to form words, but it comes out as something unintelligible- a whine, a sputter, a protest that isn’t quite a sentence.

“Pitiful,” he sneers, tilting his head like your effort is almost amusing, “Robloxian incompetence never ceases to astound me.”

He shuffles closer, looming, red eyes scanning you like a king looking down at his jester who's just made a fool of themself.

The silence stretches, until finally he lets a small, sharp exhale escape- half exasperation, half amusement.

You managed to crack a lopsided grin at the crisp, gruff sound of his laughter, You can’t help the way it makes your chest tighten, or the poisonous warmth that sneaks under your skin at the sight of them, unraveled.

You tilt your head, grin still crooked, teasing- but careful.

“Yeah? Well, that still didn't stop you from sleeping with one.” you murmur, letting your eyes linger on the flash of amusement that painted his sharp, beautiful features in a deep look of content behind the shadow of a grimace, the tiniest crack in his armor.

it started with a drunken mistake.

your legs thrown over his lap, your hips grinding down with clumsy, wet insistence, the room spinning around your moans and his groans, the alcohol buzzing between your ears and making everything feel far away except the heat between your thighs.

he’d touched you then—just a little. just through your panties. his fingers clumsy and shaking, his breath hot against your cheek while he rutted up into you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

and now he acts like it’s sacred. like that one sloppy night gave him a claim to you, his step sister.

he waits for you to let him have it again, crawling up behind you when the door’s shut and your parents aren’t home, laying you flat and breathing heavy before he even gets his jeans down.

he’s disgusting about it. chest hair slick against your back, his skin warm and tacky from how quick he works himself up. he’s always flushed—cheeks and ears glowing red while he pants into your neck, hips rolling against your ass like it’s instinct. like if he stops he might die.

he mutters things, barely audible under the wet slap of his thrusts and the rustle of sheets as he fists them for leverage.

“fuck… you’re so warm,” he breathes, voice cracking. “you’re perfect, baby, you’re mine. mine—fuck, my girl—my perfect little sister, jesus…”

he sounds like he hates himself for it. like it makes him harder.

you smile into the pillow, lazy and smug.

“still thinking about that night?” you murmur, shifting just enough to press back against him and make his rhythm falter. “you came in your pants in like two minutes. such a good boy.”

he whines—high and broken—and it only makes you softer, sweeter.

“go ahead. hump me like you did then. you’re lucky i let you at all.”

he never gets to fuck you. not really.

all you give him is this—dry humping through layers of cotton until your panties are soaked and his boxers stick to the mess he makes, forehead slick and body twitching while he cums from the friction alone.

he presses his cock to the same spot over and over, using you like a pillow, like a toy, like a blessing.

“don’t need anything else,” he whimpers, rutting harder, “just let me—please, let me, please—fuck, i love you, i love you—”

you sigh like you’re bored.

“you haven’t earned it yet, kurt”

and he does. not out loud, but in the way he lingers—face buried against your spine, breathing you in like he belongs there. like he thinks you’ll let him stay.

he never gets to take your panties off, but he always ends up with them. fingers sneaking under the waistband like he can’t help it, just enough to rub his knuckles along the damp spot he made.

he sniffs them when you leave. you know he does. you find them missing and later feel the way he’s holding your hips tighter than usual, like he’s sorry for taking without asking but he’ll never stop.

you let him rut against you again anyway.

The water was pink with blood. Mike stared at the shower floor through blurry eyes, watching his mother’s blood mix with the grime of the day’s events, both silently running down the drain, melting with the suds of your sweet-smelling body wash. He hadn’t bothered to read the bottle, but it smelled like you. Vanilla, maybe.

He rested his head against the wall of the shower and closed his eyes. Your parent’s house was quiet, save for the sound of water running down his body, just as it had been for the last twenty minutes.

Maybe closing his eyes hadn’t been the best idea.

There, behind his eyes, lay the body of his mother with Nancy by her side, both covered in blood. Karen’s gashes were so deep, Mike could see portions of muscle unveiled by her torn skin. She was heaving, choking on her own blood. He had never been so scared. So helpless. 

The memory shifts to the echo of Nancy’s screams as he ran through the house in search of Holly and his father. Mike found his father in his room, unconscious and bleeding from the abdomen. Even if it weren’t for the current uninhabitability of his home, Mike would never sleep in his room again. He remembers the fear he felt, not at all comparable to the rush of fearful adrenaline upon an incoming attack, no. This fear ran deep. It pulled from the deepest parts of Mike’s soul and consumed his every thought. This fear was debilitating. The fear that his parents were going to die and he was too late.

A quiet knock on the bathroom door pulled him from his memories. A small mercy.

The door creaked open slightly, allowing for some of the room’s dense steam to escape. As he opened his eyes, your voice cut through the silence of the house, “Sorry, I’m not looking- I just found you some clothes. I’ll leave them here.” Hurriedly, you placed your older brother’s sweat set that he’d left before leaving for college on the bathroom counter. You turned on your heels quickly after, eyes downward, avoiding the silhouette of the boy visible through the fogged up shower door.

As you closed the door behind you, Mike mumbled a forgotten “thank you,” and all was quiet again.

Mike knew his time in the steamy bliss of the shower was coming to an end. The water was nowhere near as hot as it was when he first got in and his fingers were pruned. With a sigh, he washed away the rest of the soap and turned off the shower. He stood there for a while, staring at the droplets of water on the door, his body a couple steps behind what his brain was telling him to do. By the time he reached for the towel, his hair had stopped dripping and no longer was he warm from the scalding water.

He worried for his parents, and no amount of reassurance from the doctors at the hospital would make their condition an easier pill to swallow. In part he blamed himself, considering his knowledge of Vecna and the Upside Down preceded this attack tenfold. If only he had said something earlier- convinced them to get out of Hawkins. Maybe then his mother would have functioning vocal cords. Maybe then his sister would still be here. Maybe.

As he ran your towel through his hair, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the foggy mirror. For a second, he almost didn’t recognize himself. His face was hollow and his shoulders were a little wider. He was taller than he’d realized- older. Over the years, he’d spent so much time focused on saving the world, that somewhere between imminent death and science class he’d forgotten that he was no longer a boy.

There would be time to dwell on that later, he supposed. For now, he had to focus on finding Holly. He hung up the towel and dressed himself in the clothes you’d provided him. Your brother was a couple sizes larger than him, but fresh clothes free of his mother’s blood left little to complain about.

He didn’t expect to find you staring at the bathroom door as he stepped out. Awkwardly, he stopped and motioned towards the vacant room, “‘s all yours. Thank you.”

You nodded, getting up from the crisscrossed position on your bed. “I spoke to my parents. They shouldn’t be back until next week, so- um, yeah. Feel free to stay as long as you need. Nance called, too. Your mom’s doing okay. Your dad is still in a coma, though.”

He nodded slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m sorry,” you continued. “I wish I could give you better news.” You wrapped your arms around your pajamas as you stood in front of him, a sad sort of frown marring your face.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “It’s okay. I’m trying not to dwell on it.” He gave you one last glance before heading towards the backpack thrown carelessly on the floor by your bed.

Rummaging through it, he spoke, “We have to streamline our focus. Nance and I were able to get in the room with Mom. Holly had this imaginary friend- Mr. Whatsit. Her teacher caught her talking to him before she went missing. We think Mr. Whatsit is Henry.” Satisfied, he pulled out his walkie-talkie, extending the antenna.

“Henry? As in Creel?” You leaned up against the bathroom doorway, clearly surprised by what you had just learned. Your memory was a little fuzzy at the moment, and you were quickly trying to understand what Henry Creel could possibly want with Holly. 

Mike nodded, pressing the side of the device. “Dustin, Lucas- it’s Mike. Do you copy?” He waited a beat. Nothing.

“Dustin! Lucas! It’s Mike. Do you copy?” He repeated. Nothing again. “Shit,” he sighed, tossing the walkie atop his bag, “they’re supposed to be up. This important, we have to-”

You pushed yourself off the frame, walking into the bathroom and turning the shower on. “Mike, it’s late. We’ve had one of the worst days of our lives,” you called. “Maybe it’s best if you just rest for a bit? The boys are probably exhausted, too. You can’t think right if you’re tired.”

And tired you were. Your bones ached. There was long scrape on your side, mystery bruises at their beginning stages on your extremities. Henry, however his involvement in Holly’s disappearance, could wait until the morning. You needed a hot shower and some hard drugs. Unfortunately, five hours of sleep would have to suffice.

You pulled on your face in the mirror, trying to bring it back to life, while Mike mumbled angrily from somewhere in your room. “This can’t wait,” he huffed your name, walking towards the bathroom, locking eyes with you in the mirror. “Holly is missing. My parents got hurt, and Vecna is not going to stop there- more people are going to find themselves in the middle of this shit and we have to do something to stop it. Like I told Nancy, I don't want any more regrets. I’m tired of sitting here and doing fucking nothing.”

“You’re not doing nothing, Mike. You’ve done everything you can for today. I agree that this is important, but Vecna, or Henry, or whoever-the-fuck will still be there tomorrow morning, and frankly, I don’t remember the last time we slept for more than thirty minute intervals. We’ll think better if we get some sleep.” Your eyes pleaded with him through the mirror.

He scoffed, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, because it’s so easy for you to sleep right now and ignore everything. Your parents are away. Your brother is safe. Holly is still out there and we don’t know where the fuck she is. How could you even sleep right now knowing what’s at stake?”

He answered his own question. “Right. It’s so easy for you to detach yourself because you don’t have anything at stake.”

Well that was fucking rude. Anger swelled in your chest at his words. You whipped around to face him, digging your finger into his chest. “Fuck you, Michael Wheeler.”

After everything that you had sacrificed in helping the party, you were taken aback by Mike’s blatant disregard for your loyalty to the cause. Tears of frustration welled in your eyes as you annunciated your words with another harsh poke to his chest. “How dare you? I have been your best friend for seven years and with all the absolute shit I have endured because of you, I cannot believe you even have the fucking nerve. No one is forcing me to be here. Last I checked, Hawkins is my home, too. Will is my friend, Holly is like a sister to me, and I know that my level of pain is nowhere close to yours, but I’ve lost people too, Michael.

“So quit being such an ass. I have everything to lose. My home, my friends, everything. I know you want to find Holly and I know it seems like we’re getting nowhere, but you need to sleep. We’re no good to anyone if we get picked off by a Demo-thing because we’re fucking exhausted! Dustin and Lucas have also been working around the clock on this. Let them fucking sleep.” You shoved him out of the doorway and slammed the bathroom door shut.

You let out a shallow breath as you gripped the front of the counter. Your head hurt. You know he didn’t mean it, but Mike could be so mean sometimes. You also know that his outburst was likely a projection of his own feelings for himself unto you, but his words hurt nonetheless.

Mike let out a sigh from behind the door. He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth, but he was nothing if not stubborn, so he let them out anyway. The look on your face while he spoke had left him with this ugly pit of disgust for himself. He didn’t mean it. You were a vital party member, and Mike was a self-deprecating shithead who would have someone else feel the hurt rather than feel it himself.

After a moment of staring at his feet in front of the locked door, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I-,” a beat passed, “I didn’t mean that. I know why you’re doing this and that was horrible of me to say.”

You could barely hear him through the door and the running shower, but you chose to say nothing. 

“I’m scared,” he continued. “I’m so fucking scared of losing everyone. And today was the closest we’ve ever come to that. That’s why I can’t stop going. I feel like the longer we sit around with no answers, the closer we get to not being able to find Vecna and kill him. Not before something happens to one of us. I’m sorry.”

Mike was still angry with his idleness, but there was something about hurting you that made him feel infinitely worse than his worst bout of anger had ever made him feel. He didn’t understand this feeling of guilt that had washed over him. All the times he had said hurtful things to Lucas, Will, or Dustin, which were his closest friends, didn’t amount to even a quarter of the shame he felt in this moment. 

After a while of standing by the door with no response, Mike walked over to your bed and sat on the corner, staring at the bathroom door just as you had minutes prior. 

You showered silently. The pounding in your head was getting stronger, and the hot water was doing nothing to alleviate your condition. You felt so stupid. In your life you have been chased, threatened, and moments away from painful, excruciating deaths more times than you could count on one hand, but nothing had ever made you feel like breaking down the way you did now. 

You had always believed that if you and Mike were in it together, nothing could ever be as terrible as one day losing each other. The way you felt for him, as you often dislike to admit to yourself, was blurring the platonic expectations for your relationship. You were beginning to feel things for him, or maybe you had been for a while; and these feelings made his comments hurt like a motherfucker. 

You thought about him often, secretly, in the quiet of your room when it was hard to sleep. You imagined going out to the movies- not as friends. You imagined him holding your hand as you walked around town. You imagined his arm around you when you all hung out with your friends, quietly reminding you of his presence. You imagined what a kiss on your forehead would feel like after a day like today. You imagined sleeping next to him, feeling his arms enclosing around you to keep the nightmares at bay. You thought worse things, too. Thoughts of his lips on yours,  then on your neck. You thought of yourself in his lap, grinding against him while his hands gripped your waist and the underside of your thigh, inching dangerously close to your ass. 

You imagined what he would feel inside you, foreheads touching as he rocked his cock into your aching cunt.

Except, you didn’t really know what that felt like at all. You knew about sex, obviously, but with yearly near death experiences came little time for romantic encounters. You didn’t know what sex actually felt like, but you knew that you wanted it. The raunchy romance novels that you liked to read explained it well enough, and the influx of hormones as you neared your 20’s made you crave it. You craved it with Mike.

So yes, Mike’s grip on your emotions had long surpassed the point of platonic affection, but you were never going to tell him. The dynamic between the party was delicate, as you were sure Eleven felt some way about him, as well. Never would you do anything to jeopardize your friendship. You’d rather have him as a friend than to not have him at all, and scaring him away with your pining was sure to do just that. 

By the time you turned the shower off, you had come to terms with Mike’s outburst, some of your hurt minimized by the feelings, which urged you to forgive him. 

You stepped out, eyeing Mike’s bloody clothes thrown haphazardly on your bathroom floor. You avoided stepping on them as you made your way over to the mirror, wiping away the dew. The shower had helped a little. The shower didn’t remove your internal impurities, such as the dark circles of exhaustion under your eyes, but no longer were you covered in Karen’s blood.

Unwrapping yourself from the towel, you reached in your medicine cabinet for some disinfectant and bandages. The scrape wasn’t deep, but it was long. It stretched from the side of your right hip to the bottom of your right breast. It would make you feel better if you had gotten it while doing something meaningful, but instead you had tripped over the gate in Mike’s kitchen, falling straight into the Upside Down. Your presence seemed to have stalled the gates closure for a brief moment, but long enough to allow Eleven to slip in, chasing the sound of Holly’s cries.

You shook your head at the sting of the alcohol on your side, gingerly dabbing a cotton ball along the length of the scrape. You decided to forgo bandages all together, not wanting to waste them.

It hurt to move. You could feel the cuts stretching as you turned your body. Somehow, you managed to throw on your pajamas without causing yourself too much pain, but you knew you wouldn’t be sleeping on your side for at least a couple days. After popping some ibuprofen, you rubbed the towel through your wet hair, wincing at your moving torso. Satisfied with the reduction in moisture, you threw the towel on the floor and opened the door.

Mike looked up from position on your bed as soon as he heard the door open, the notebook he was looking through long forgotten and tossed to the side. He shifted to face you, hands at his sides, waiting for you to say something. As he stared at you in the doorway, he realized that he rarely got to see you like this. Your hair was wet and slightly messy, a stark contrast from its usual up-kept appearance. The shirt you were wearing was large enough to fall down your shoulder, and drops of water from your hair raced down the exposed collarbone, soaking themselves into the shirt’s collar. Your cheeks were flushed from the heat of the shower, and your eyes bored into his expectantly, full of emotion.

Mike would be a fool to deny that you were beautiful, but usually, you had a wall around yourself. It was rare that he got to see you so carefree and vulnerable. Now, you looked as if you had been rubbed clean, the rawness of your appearance striking him and engraving itself into his memory.

“I’m scared, too, y’know. Really scared,” you whispered from the doorway, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m not taking this as seriously as I should. It’s just that we’ve been doing this for months. I know we’re closer than ever to ending this, but we’re not super soldiers. We can’t just constantly run on empty and expect not to shut down. I’m exhausted Mike, and I think one night where we don’t have to think about the end of the world would help.”

You sat down next to him, legs dangling off the side of the bed. You placed your hands on the mattress, and turned your neck to look at Mike while you spoke. He was so close now, your shoulders grazing.

He shook his head when you sat down. “You don’t need to apologize. I was an ass. I’m sorry. You’re an amazing asset to the party, and I-we, don’t know where we would be without you.”

You smiled, looking down at your hand next to his, noticing how his pinky had made its way between your pinky and ring fingers. “Thank you. And you’re an amazing leader, Mike. I feel like we don’t tell you that enough. But even the strongest leaders know when to rest.” You didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the warmth of his body, or maybe both, but you gently laid your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and savoring the moment.

Mike turned his head to look at you, eyes closed and blissful. You looked beautiful, he thought once more. Maybe he thinks it often. He hummed in agreement, slouching to allow your head a more comfortable place to rest. He could feel his heart speed up, not used to having a girl so close. He silently vowed not to move until you did. You could lay upon his shoulder as long as you’d like. He would savor this, too.

You both stayed like that for what felt like forever, when in reality it was only a couple of minutes. In your sleepy state, time was simultaneously blending together and pulling apart. Slowly, you lifted your head from his shoulders, realizing then that his head was lying on top of yours, too.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you let out a small yawn. “Carson should have extra blankets in his room. Let me know if you want me to bring you anything else.” You gave him a sleepy smile, expecting him to sleep in your brother’s room.

Mike got up from your bed, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, okay. Um- yeah, I’ll sleep there.”

He sounded off. You cocked your head to the side, curious as to his hesitation to sleep in the other room.

“Well,” he started, voice wavering. “You know what, forget it. It’s okay. Goodnight,” he said, mumbling your name.

Oh.

Oh.

He didn’t want to sleep alone.

Understanding rushed through your face, “Oh God, no please, sleep here! I’m so sorry Mike, that was so stupid. I didn’t reali-”

“No! No, it’s okay. It’s just been a long day, I just- I don’t know. After what happen- don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned to leave.

You silently chastised yourself. Hours earlier, Mike had bore witness to the brutal assault on his parents. He found his father bleeding out in his own room. You wouldn’t want to sleep alone either.

You bounced up from the bed, wincing at your side, and grabbed his hand before he could leave. Mike turned around, quickly glancing down at your intertwined fingers and then back up to you.

“No Mike, I’m serious. Sleep here. There’s plenty of room.” You urged, pulling him back towards the bed.

Either he had no fight left to give, or he realized that he really was too unnerved to sleep alone tonight. He nodded and allowed you to pull him with you.

You began to make room on the bed, throwing your decorative pillows and stuffed animals onto the floor. Mike stood and watched as you reached for a black stuffed cat at the opposite end of your bed, but mid-reach you stopped, dropping your hand down to brace yourself on the mattress.

“Ow, shit.” You grumbled. You weren’t used to having to control your movements, and your reach had pulled on the scrape, causing it to light up in blinding pain.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Mike rounded the corner to meet you on your side of the bed. He looked you over, searching for the source of the pain.

You nodded, slowly and stiffly flipping yourself over to face him. “Yeah, I just got this scrape on my side. It hurts like a bitch when I move it sometimes.” You let out an awkward laugh.

“Let me see it, maybe it opened.” He demanded.

You shook your head, “No, don’t worry. It’s okay. It’s just a scrape. It’s not deep or anything. It’ll be better in a couple days.”

Mike stared at you with firmness. “Let me see it,” he pressed. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Rolling your eyes with a sigh, you pulled up the side of your shirt to show him the scrape. You stopped midway, realizing that you never put on bottoms over your black panties.

Play it cool, you thought. You pulled the shirt up the rest of the way, showing Mike the remainder of the injury. Luckily, he didn’t notice your lack of inferior modesty, because as soon as he looked at the scrape his eyes shot open in alarm.

“What the fuck? That is not a scrape,” he rushed towards your bathroom, bringing back the bandages and wound supplies you had left there from your shower.

“I’m fine, Mike, really!” You reasoned. He gave you a look of exasperation, signaling you to hold your shirt higher.

He began to unwrap a long, cloth bandage, placing it next to the disinfectant. “You’re actively bleeding and I can see into the hole. Now shut up and let me do this.”

It was entirely possible that you had downplayed the extent of your injury to yourself. In actuality, it was much more than a scrape. There was a wound in the center, about a couple centimeters deep, where a branch had managed to wiggle its way into the soft flesh of your side. The rest of it was very much scrape-like, but that stupid hole was causing you serious amounts of pain.

Mike kneeled down by the side of your bed, now eye-level with your injury. He had, in-fact, noticed that you were not wearing any pants, and he hoped you couldn’t gather as much by the way his hands shook while pouring some rubbing alcohol onto a gauze.

You obviously didn’t do a good job of anything when it came to proper wound care, as the rubbing alcohol burned much stronger than it had a little bit ago. You clearly hadn’t cleaned it correctly. You hissed as Mike continued to dab it. “Sorry, I’m almost done.” He looked up at you through his long eyelashes.

You nodded, blinking back sharp tears of pain that prickled in your eyes. “Almost done.” He mumbled again. His free hand was on your waist, moving his thumb in soothing circles while he worked.

When he finished the sterile assault on your injury, he tossed the dirty gauze in a pile of other used up pieces. There had been a lot more blood than you’d realized.

Delicately, Mike placed the cloth bandage over the worst of the wound, securing it in place with medical tape. It tickled when he touched you, but his cool fingers felt nice against your inflamed skin.

You watched him work, noting how his brows scrunched together with focus. He was so pretty. He had grown-up well, filling in all the awkward spots from his youth. His hair was fluffy and framed his face nicely. His cheekbones had hollowed out, reinforcing the masculine structure of his face. But his hands, oh his hands. His fingers were long, deliciously so, but yet his hands were nimble. You’d watch him over the years, painting tiny figurines for various D&D campaigns. His hands were so careful, and with that same care he worked on you, delicately ensuring the gauze was stuck properly to the most important parts.

“There,” he mused. “Done. You’ll be more careful, yeah?” He chided lightly. You nodded, offering him a quiet ‘thank you’ as he rose to his feet. You let your shirt fall back down, covering yourself under his watchful eye.

The gauze felt nice over the wound. You gave your torso an experimental twist and- ouch, still hurt. Mike was thorough, but he wasn’t a miracle worker. It would take a couple days before it was healed to the point of painlessness.

“Try not to move so much.” He said softly.

You breathed a laugh out of your nose. “Funny. I’ll just ask the monsters very nicely to stop chasing us. That should hold them off.” You looked up at him with a small smile.

“Any other injuries for Dr. Mike?” He joked. Your laugh was music to his ears.

You continued the bit, “Well, Dr. Mike, I have a brutal stab wound right here. Do you think you could make it better?” You pointed to the small cut on your cheek, no bigger than a scratch. An actual scratch.

To your surprise, he leaned forward to get a better look, his face just mere inches from yours.

“Oh wow, that’s killer. My diagnosis says,” he waited a moment, locking his eyes with you before whispering dramatically, “terminal.”

You faked a gasp, a small giggle leaving your throat shortly after. He smiled, but didn’t say anything, his face still so, so close.

The joke dissolved as quickly as it had started, replaced by a palpable tension in the air. It all happened so fast. Mike didn’t move. You didn’t move. You both stayed there, faces almost touching, waiting for something to happen. His eyes left yours so briefly that you would’ve doubted yourself if you hadn’t been paying such diligent attention. He had looked at your lips.

You had never been this close to him, or to anyone for that matter, but it made butterflies swarm in your stomach. Your heart pounded expectantly. Mike was stuck, unable to pull himself away from your gaze. His back hurt from leaning forward, but he had never been so transfixed.

The room was hotter, the tension impossibly thicker. Somehow, your legs had ended up between his, his long body caging you in. Both brains were buzzing, unsure and apprehensive. Finally, your whisper broke through the heavy silence.

“What are we doing, Mike?”

He started back at you, matching your whisper. “Anything we want.” You both were still staring, still waiting.

“And what is it we want?” Another whisper from you.

Mike was unsure as to where his confidence was stemming from. Mentally, he felt like a calf learning to walk. He had no idea what to do, or where to touch, or what to say. He had no idea how to move forward. But his actions were a different story. He didn’t think about what he was saying, he just said what felt right. For now, it seemed like he was saying the right things.

He brought his hand up to cradle your face, hesitantly. Your eyes widened just a touch. “Is this okay? Is this what you want?” He asked. You nodded slowly into his palm. 

And then he kissed you. Mike Wheeler actually kissed you. Your brain was swirling. You had no idea how you had even gotten here, but now Mike Wheeler was kissing you, and you had to manually tell yourself to start kissing him back. 

At first he had lightly placed his lips on yours, testing. That was fine, you could do that. Calm. Easy. However, nothing could have prepared you for when his lips started moving. You were reeling, unsure of how to even approach a kiss with any sort of sexual appeal. You panicked, pulling back. 

“I’m sorry- God, this is so embarrassing. I’ve just never had-I’ve never been,” your panic made you animated, talking quickly with shaky hands. “I’ve never done this before.” 

Mike had taken a step back, initially shocked by the perceived rejection. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t either. I’m not necessarily a chick magnet.” He scratched the back of his head. 

Shocked at the revelation, all you could say was “oh.”

“How about we forget this ever happened and go to sleep, yeah? I’ll go to Carson’s room.” He turned to walk out of your room for the second time that night. 

“No, wait! I want to, it’s just,” you sighed. “I don’t want to mess anything up, okay? Like, I don’t  even know how to kiss correctly, let alone any of the other stuff.” You let out a dry laugh, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was true, you really did want to. Kissing Mike was a dream come true, but you didn’t know the first thing about any of it. By the grace of all that was evil, you seemed to have forgotten everything you’d learned from those damn romance novels the moment his lips touched yours. 

Mike’s heart skipped a beat about the possibility of continuing to kiss you. “We can take it slow. We’ll learn together, yeah?” 

Mike had never given you even the slightest inclination that this was something that could even be possible between the two of you. You were caught off guard by Mike’s desire to kiss you, searching within yourself the best way for move forward.

Ultimately, you conceded. “Okay, yeah,” you nodded, making some space for him on the bed.

When he was fully sat in front of you, knees touching yours, Mike stopped, hand caressing your face similarly to before. To your disappointment, he didn’t kiss you again.

“Hi.” you giggled, trying to fill the silence.

“Hi.” he repeated. Mike was stuck at a crossroads. Could it really be that you felt the same? He didn’t know exactly what would come of this and how you would play a part in his life once this was over. You were his best friend and you would always be, but he didn’t know if there was space for anything more when your lives revolved around saving the world, the risk of danger lurking in every corner. He did know, however, that he felt strongly for you.

He was thinking too much.

“I’m gonna kiss you again, okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he moved his head closer, his warm lips breathing life into you once more.

At first no one moved, allowing your lips to accustom to the sensation of one another. Slyly, your tongue dipped out, lining his bottom lip and inviting yourself in- tempting him. He accepted the intrusion with eagerness.

Your mouths began to move slowly, softly exploring one another. There was still a lingering hesitation around your actions as you both tried to not overpower the other. It was nice. Slow and expirimental.

But soon you became restless. Poor Mike had one hand on your face and one on his own thigh, nervous to make any unreciprocated movements. With a surge of confidence, you grabbed his hand and placed it on your good side, your hands then rooting themselves on the back of his head.

You voiced your need through actions, kissing Mike with a touch more force. Your tongue played with his, occasionally sucking the tip into your mouth during a slow roll of your lips. His lips molded with yours perfectly, the tempo becoming increasingly feverish as you grew more comfortable with each other.

Your hands tangled in his hair, giving it an experimental tug- oh my God. He'd let out the most beautiful noise into your mouth, almost like a broken whimper, the sound going straight to your core. Mike deepened the kiss, moving his hand to the back of your head, gripping at your hairs, as well.

Mike was fervent. He needed you closer. He pulled at you by the waist, moving your body forward. As gracefully as you could without breaking the heated kiss, you uncrossed your legs and moved yourself onto his lap.

Oh, he was warm. His left hand migrated to rest on the curve of your thigh and ass, gently kneading the flesh below the start of your injury. His right hand splayed on the center of your back, holding you in place as you inadvertently rocked yourself against him.

You drank up his groans like water. His length was impossibly hard under you, hitting your clit deliciously with every roll of your hips.

"'S that good?" You broke the kiss briefly, worried that you may be putting too much pressure on his lower extremities.

He nodded vigorously. "Yeah, s'good, don't stop."

Ignited by his newfound praise, you kissed him again, frenzied. In the wildness, your teeth clunked together lightly, his hands gripping you harder. If he had any complaints, he didn't voice them.

Your hips were moving at a maddening pace atop him, chasing that building feeling in your core. Mike began to guide your hips, pushing and pulling you against him until the both of you fell into a broken rhythm. His grip tightened, catching on your scrape. The pain surfaced just as your clit rubbed on the head of his clothed cock, causing you to drop your head down onto his shoulder and grit a moan through your teeth.

Mike had never been so turned on. His hips shot up to meet yours, turning his head to look at you buried in his shoulder, letting out tight little breaths of pleasure. He held his breath as your hand trailed from the back of his neck, slowly making its way down, down, down to the waistband of your brother's sweatpants.

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him. "Can I touch you?" you murmured, fingers toying with the strings at the front of his pants.

Mike looked at you as if you had hung the moon. His best friend, his beautiful, smart, brave, perfect best friend, was asking to touch his cock in the most selfish way. He would never expect you to, nor did he think it would get to this, but no- you wanted to. You looked at him through pretty lashes, damp hair framing your face as you coyly asked to touch him. He felt himself throb at the thought. Jesus, he was such a virgin.

"Sure, y-yeah, go ahead." He choked out, watching your hand leave the waistband of his pants to fully palm his clothed cock. He was hard under your hand, not very thick, but long. You ran your fingers over the light wet spot at his tip, causing Mike to hiss out a breathy, "fuck."

He watched you through a cloud of desire. You were taking your time with him, feeling his length through the pants, giving an experimental squeeze here and there, smiling lightly when you felt him twitch under you.

You honestly didn't know what you were doing. You did know, however, that you wanted to take your time feeling him, learning him, discovering what he liked. You gripped him through his pants again, mouth watering at the way his eyes closed and his breath hitched.

He had started to squirm again, hips rolling up to put more pressure between your hand and his cock. His needfulness had you deciding against anymore significant teasing, so you worked your fingers back up to his waistband, dipping your pointer finger inside to run against the seam.

"Can you take them off?" you asked, pulling your finger away, the band snapping back against his waist.

Mike could not believe what he was hearing.

"Only if that's okay," you added quickly after noticing his hesitation.

Instead of the rejection you assumed was forthcoming, he grabbed your face and kissed you softly, pushing your body off his. Once he had room, he stood by the edge of your bed, pulling his pants down to the floor.

As soon as they dropped, it's like you couldn't look at anything else. Mike's cock sprang free, all red and leaking. You were transfixed, mouth watering. It was so pretty, you thought, as you confirmed your prior theories. It was long and slender, and so perfectly Mike. You licked your lips, looking away to meet Mike's eyes.

"It's pretty," you said softly, waiting for him to sit down again.

Mike's faced flushed with pink, letting out a small laugh. "I've never thought to describe my dick as pretty, but I'm glad you think that." He bounced back on the bed, his light demeanor clearing some of the stuffiness from the room.

While he situated himself, you stood up, placing yourself at the side of the bed where he'd stood just moments before.

"Where are you go-" he started. Before he could finish, you pulled at his arm, guiding him to sit in front of you with his legs off the bed. Once he was where you wanted him, you dropped to your knees, hitting the fuzzy carpet on the floor.

"Hey, no it's okay. You don't have to- um," His eyes widened when he realized what you were plotting.

You gave him a small pout, lightly running your nails over his pale thighs. "Mike, I want to. If you don't we can stop now, but I promise I'm okay."

He felt stupid for folding so quickly, but when a pretty girl shows him she wants to suck his cock, he's not usually going to turn her down. He balled his hands at his sides, nodding to you.

You hummed with delight and inched your hands towards his cock. It was soft, almost velvet like. You took it in your hands, repeating the same experimental squeezes and touches from before.

It dawned on you then. You still had no fucking clue what you were doing. Gazing up at Mike from your position, you noticed him leaning back on his hands, patiently awaiting your next movements.

"Um," you started sheepishly. "I don’t- um, I don't really know what I'm doing at this point. Could you, maybe, guide me?"

Mike ran a hand through his hair. "Well your guess is as good as mine, seeing as I've never sucked dick before," he joked. You gave him a stern look and lightly slapped his thigh.

"No, dipshit, obviously not." You deadpanned. "I more so meant like, y’know, when you touch yourself. What feels good so maybe I can mimic it, I don't know. You do do that, right?"

You gave him an upward stroke, cock still painfully hard as you asked him about his masturbation habits. Why was that so hot to him? You, wanting to know what he did to himself late at night in the quiet of the dark.

"Y-yeah, yeah I do. To be fair, I'm already, like, forty percent there from before, so it really won't take much." He said, referencing your previous grinding. He needed to shut the fuck up. He talks too much when he's nervous.

You waited patiently for him to continue, sitting on your heels, one hand politely in your lap.

He cleared his throat and continued. "The tip is the most sensitive part, so don't squeeze it too tight. No teeth. Oh, and it has to be wet. One time I almost gave myself a fucking rug burn- uh, anyway, the wetter the better." He paused for a minute to think, ignoring his own stupid rambles. "Try to keep a consistent rhythm, and you can squeeze it tighter than you think you can."

You nodded, understanding. Bringing your face closer to his length, you let a glob of spit dribble from your mouth onto his tip. Using your left hand to spread it out, you began moving up and down in slow, firm strokes.

Mike threw his head back and choked out a moan. “Holy fucking sh-shit. Steve was right, it feels way better when you’re not the one doing it.”

You let out a giggle at his sudden wantonness.

Your tongue reached out to leave a tentative lick on his tip, and Mike swore he could’ve died right there and gone to heaven.

You relished in the salty taste, pairing your first lick with a long one from his base to his tip. Humming in approval, you took his tip into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around it. Scared to take too much in at once, your hand pumped what was exposed.

Mike’s moans were music to your ears. You’d never realized how badly you needed to be praised, and his reaction fueled your enthusiasm. Lifting your head, you let another dollop of spit fall on his tip, but this time you dragged your lips up and down, spreading it with your mouth.

“Is it good like that?” You asked, looking up at him again.

“Fuck, yes. Oh,” he groaned. “You can go a bit faster, if y’want.” Mike sounded so broken, like he was lost in a world high above the clouds. You would be lying if it didn’t make you impossibly wet to have him crumbling under you like that.

Your thighs clenched as you sped your hand up, mentally preparing to take more of him. Your cunt throbbed, searching for relief wherever it could. Your mouth found his tip again, suckling sweetly. Slowly, your head starting bobbing, taking more of him into your mouth at every descend.

Once you were satisfied with the rhythm, making sure that your mouth was open wide enough to engulf most of him, you quickened your pace, stroking whatever you couldn't fit with your hand.

Mike's hands immediately tangled into your hair, a whimpered series of so good's falling from his perfect lips. He was hitting the back of your throat at this point, and you were trying to keep your gag reflex at bay for just a couple more seconds.

It happened accidentally, really. You had stopped bobbing your head at the base of his cock, feeling it nestled softly in the back of your throat. So much spit had trickled out of your mouth that you'd decided to try and swallow some of it back down. With Mike's cock down your throat.

Mike had never felt anything so amazing. The sensation traveled all the way down to the tip of his toes. Unknowingly, you had hit the golden buzzer. Your throat constricted around him like a vice, squeezing him dry. Pathetically, you'd barely had your mouth on him for five minutes and Mike was already seconds away from the most earth-shattering orgasm the Sweet Lord had ever graced upon him.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-" Mike's hands yanked you off of him roughly by your hair, breathing rapidly.

Your eyes widened in fear. "I am so sorry, did that hurt? Mike, I had no idea."

If Mike hadn't actively been trying to fight off the World's Most Premature Orgasm, he would focus on how downright fuckable you looked right now. Your lips were puffy and wet with spit, and your eyes were glossy with unshed tears from taking his cock so far down your throat. If he didn't die from embarrassment, he fully believed you would kill him.

"No, fuck sorry, it's just, it was getting too- holy fuck- and I didn't want to come too soon." He panted out, laying down on the mattress.

You slowly got up from the floor, sitting back on the bed, careful not to look as his reddening tip for fear of not being able to control yourself.

Why would he not want to come? Was that not the whole point of this? Back in senior year Sex Ed. you'd remembered Mr. Clarke mentioning something about men having a longer refractory period than women. Well, that wouldn't be an issue unless Mike wanted to have sex- oh.

Mike wanted to have sex.

You looked at him laying with his eyes closed on your bed, breath finally evening out, but still painfully hard.

"Mike," you called for him.

"Hmm," he mumbled in response. His brain was not functioning at the moment.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" You asked him nonchalantly. Desperately, you hoped he said yes. Sucking Mike off had been the hottest experience of your life. You could feel your wetness seeping through your panties and onto your thighs, coating the skin in your juices. If you didn't get fucked in the very foreseeable future, problems would be had.

"Yeah, totally." He mumbled lazily, not fully registering what he was saying. As soon as the words came out, his eyes shot open and his face turned to look at you, awaiting your reaction.

You nodded and got up from the bed, telling Mike to wait where he was. You had an idea.

Your sock-covered feet padded against the wooden floors of your house and across the hallway to your brother's room. "C'mon Carson, I know you have some," you mumbled to yourself, rummaging through his nightstand. Nothing. Shit.

You took yourself to his bathroom, checking the medicine cabinet and under the sink. Your prize was nowhere to be found.

Thinking of the last spot your gold could be, you dropped down to the floor and looked under his bed. Bingo. He had left behind a shoebox. The Forbidden Shoebox.

Reaching for it with an outstretched hand, you pulled the dusty shoebox from under his bed, awaiting to scavenge the treasures inside. Shoving aside cigarettes, a Playboy, and other various paraphernalia, you found what you were looking for- your holy grail in a tiny silver packet.

Jumping to your feet, you kicked the shoebox back under your brother's bed, heading back to your room with a self satisfied-smirk.

Mike was still laying on your bed, arms behind his head. His cock had softened a touch, but not by much, just enough to stop the intense throbbing he had felt after edging himself.

You threw the condom at him, hitting him square in the chest. Before he could react, you made your way onto the bed and swung your leg to sit once more in his lap, careful not to put all your weight completely on his erection.

Mike sat up, confused, grabbing the condom off his chest.

"You said we could do whatever we wanted, right? Well," You whispered, toying with the hem of his sweatshirt. "This is what I want."

The one thing you could not get out of your head was how casual this felt. Sure, you were nervous, even anxious at a point, but not because it was Mike you were doing this with. He'd never given you any reason to feel insecure, and you didn't feel a pressure to perform the way you thought your first time would require. But that was him. He made you feel comfortable, so care free. You were both figuring it out together, what you liked, what you didn't, and that's what made it all feel less daunting.

Mike looked at you with dark eyes, his cock twitching slightly at your words. He looked down to examine the condom in his hands, nodding. "Yeah, okay. Let's do it."

You kissed him, letting out a small hum of excitement. Your hands returned to the back of his neck as he deepened the kiss, his hands lightly playing with the waistband of your panties.

As he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth, you gently grabbed his right hand from its position on your waistband and brought it to cup your pussy. Mike nearly choked, feeling the wetness seeping through the fabric to cover his fingers. Now it was his turn to figure you out.

"Off." He mumbled into your lips, swiping his fingers up your clothed slit.

You slid off his lap, kicking your panties off your legs to land somewhere on the floor. Mike removed his sweatshirt and situated himself behind you, cold hands finding your waist as you removed your shirt.

"I want to make you feel good, too." He spoke into your hair, hands inching dangerously close to your bare pussy, rubbing the inside of your thighs. "Tell me how."

You sighed, leaning back against his chest. His hands felt so nice, but you couldn't stop staring at his fingers brushing your lips, not touching where you needed him most.

His hands traveled upwards towards your breasts, stopping just under the curve, hesitating, waiting for you to give him your approval.

"You can touch them," you whispered, tilting your head to look up at him. He had his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze transfixed on your pillowy breasts and pebbled nipples. Slowly, painfully so, Mike moved his hands up the rest of the way, encapsulating your tender breasts with his palms.

His kneads were soft at first, but once small, quiet mewls of pleasure began to leave your mouth, he gathered the courage to squeeze just a touch harder.

"So fucking hot." He spoke, more to himself than anything. Mike was in love with your tits, taking his time to play with them, lightly pinching your nipples as your eyes scrunched in pleasure.

Your poor neglected cunt ached. Once more you tried to squeeze your thighs together, briefly trapping some sort of pleasure between your legs. Mike was in his own world, kneading and groping your tits, his hard cock digging into the small of your back.

"Mike, please." You had enough of his teasing, your voice coming out as a half whine.

His hands stilled. "What's wrong? What do you need?" He spoke in your ear, making you shiver.

"Touch me." Another whine. You sounded bratty, but you were too far gone to care.

"I am touching you." He countered, resuming his assault on your breasts. Smartass.

Your head shook against his chest, your fingers digging into his arms, urging him down to your wet heat.

Truthfully, Mike was stalling. He didn't want to rush this. He may have almost come in five minutes but that didn't mean you had to. The sounds you made were addicting, and it made his brain fuzzy thinking about how you got like this for him.

"There?" He asked as his fingers finally touched your pussy. You spread your legs out, allowing him open access to your heat.

Your breath hitched as his middle finger grazed your clit, involuntarily thrusting your hips up, chasing the ounce of pleasure he'd gifted you. You nodded your head vigorously. "Yeah, r-right there. I usually, um, rub in circles, sort of near the to- ngh."

It seemed he was a quick learner. Mike began to softly rub your clit before you'd even finished talking, pulling a groan from your lips mid-sentence.

You were strung so tight you could've cried when he finally touched you. Mike's left hand continued to tweak at your nipple while his right rubbed slow, tight circles on your clit. He looked so fucking good. His hand flexed while he worked, highlighting the veins on the back of his hand. You felt yourself clench at nothing, pleasure rocking through you.

Your nails dug into his arm, your chest heaving at the building pleasure. In a stroke of genius, Mike reached down to your weeping hole, collecting some of your arousal and smearing it back up on your clit.

"How's that? You're so wet, shit." He asked. Your face filled with heat at his comment, his fingers sliding deliciously over your swollen nub.

"So, so good Mike, please don't fucking stop." He drinking up everything you had to offer. He'd come to the conclusion that he could stay between your legs forever, if you'd let him. He imagined plunging his cock into your warm, wet cunt, you squeezing around him as you buried your head in his shoulder. Fuck, he was getting close just thinking about it.

He kept rubbing you until you started to get restless. Your hips shot up on their own accord, your legs shaking from their outstretched position between his own.

"You can- oh fuck," it was getting hard to think. The pleasure was building up in your core, but you needed more to push you over the edge.

"You can put t-them in-inside." You instructed him, desperate for something to fill you up.

"You sure?" He stilled. "That won't hurt you or anything, right?"

You shook your head. "N-no, I've done it a couple times. Just start with one, I guess. It's been a while."

You chewed on your bottom lip expectantly as his hand traveled south, his pointer finger tapping at your tight entrance. You were so wet that there was practically no resistance, Mike's finger entering you like it had meant to be there the whole time.

"You want me to fuck you with it?" You knew he was asking purely because he didn't know what to do, but his words shot straight to your core, making you clench tightly around his finger.

"Mhm, you can curl it too, ifyouwant." Your sentence ended in a high-pitched rush.

Mike started to pump his finger in and out, curling against your g-spot with every stroke. Soft moans left your lips as he fingered you, your hips rolling in time with his pumps.

His palm rested on your enlarged clit, rubbing together with every roll of your hips. The pleasure was building, finally finding exactly what you needed to pull you over the edge.

"You look so pretty right now," Mike's free hand went back to your breast, playing lightly with your sore nipples. "Could do this all day."

Your brain was fried. His words fueled your delirium, your curses coming louder and quicker. Without warning, he slipped in a second finger, curling it alongside the first.

His fingers sped up, palm rubbing harshly against your nub. You could hear the lewd sounds of your wetness as he fucked you with his fingers, your nails digging into his arms and your head moving uncontrollably from side to side.

It was so good, too good. Better than you'd ever made yourself feel.

"Fuck, Mikey, pleasepleaseplease," you were blabbering at this point, words coming out with no meaning.

The feeling in your core was pulling tight, teetering on the edge of snapping. There was so much going on, so much to feel. You titled your hips up allowing Mike to hit that spongey spot inside you repeatedly, and-

You were coming.

It was fucking devastating. The pleasure slammed over you like a wave, clearing your mind of anything and everything. Your back arched, vision fuzzy as you peaked.

Mike's fingers wouldn't stop, extending your orgasm to the point where you thought the fall would never come. You stayed there, waiting for the crash, clenching your hands into the comforter and poor Mike's arm.

You'd lost control of your body. You heard yourself let out a groaned 'fuck' from somewhere down on Earth. It rolled through you so powerfully, that you didn't know where your orgasm started or finished. Just when you though your abused cunt would catch a break, it dropped.

The back-end of your orgasm hit you harder than the first. It desecrated through you like molten lava, burning your skin and scorching your mind. Your legs snapped together, aiming to provide you relief from the assault. Unfortunately for you, that caused Mike's hand to remain trapped between your legs, working you through the after-shocks.

You had been about thirty seconds into the come-down before you realized Mike had been speaking to you.

“C’mon, there you go.” He spoke softly into the top of your head, fingers rolling to a stop.

Your breathing was erratic as you tried to gain recollection of where you were and what was going on around you.

You were halfway down Mike’s chest at this point, looking up at him easily with just a slight tilt of your head. Slowly he slipped out of you, your legs jerking at the sensation.

“Oh God,” you exhaled, covering your face with your hands.

"How'd I do?" he asked, obviously knowing the answer.

You decided to bite, anyway. "Really good," you sighed dreamily. "Just gimme a second and then we can, y'know," you picked the condom up and threw it at him again.

Observing you in your fucked out state, Mike had almost forgotten that there was more to this for the both of you.

He leaned back on the pillows at the head of your bed, hands crossed at his chest.

"You look hot when you come, by the way," he spoke into the air. You rolled around to face him, careful to not put too much pressure on your injury.

"Michael Wheeler, are you trying to talk dirty to me?" You laughed, looking at him.

He threw the condom back at you, "I've been talking like this for a while, it's not my fault you weren't coherent enough to pay attention."

You faked a gasp, "you're an ass."

"C'mere." He smirked, motioning you over with a twist of his head. Heeding his request, you crawled over to him on all fours, planting yourself in his lap once more.

He uncrossed his harms, bringing them to your hips. Gently, he pulled you closer, kissing you softly.

You took this chance to take him in your hand again, giving him a few pumps to warm him back up. He groaned into the kiss, happy to have your attention back on his cock.

"Put it on," you whispered into his mouth, squeezing the tip slightly.

Mike didn't need to be told twice. He pulled away from you and grabbed the condom off your bed, ripping the packet open with his teeth.

"So, uh, how does this even go on?" He asked, holding it up with two fingers.

"My guess is through the big hole at the bottom." You said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, I gathered that, thanks." He brushed you off, attempting to roll the condom over himself. It took him a couple tries, but soon the condom was on snug over his angry, red cock.

You spit in your hand, giving it a little extra lubrication.

"Woah, that feels weird," Mike looked down at your hand over his condom-covered erection, perplexed.

"Like bad weird or good weird?" You asked curiously, still stroking him.

"Good weird, I think." He concluded.

Taking that as an invitation to continue, you got up on your knees, lining yourself up with him. You took in a shallow breath, preparing for the rather large intrusion, and slowly began to sink down onto him.

You scrunched your eyes in discomfort as he entered you, burying your head into the crook of shoulder with a quiet groan.

"Hey, oh fuck, you okay?" Mike asked through a pained breath.

"Ngh, hmmyeah, just really, ugh- tight?" You couldn't focus. It didn't hurt. Mike had made sure of that when he finger fucked you to oblivion, stretching you out. You were just so not used to being stretched out like this.

"Look at me, hey," he placed his hand on the back of your head, urging you to turn.

You stilled, getting used to the stretch. Lifting your head from his shoulder, you looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "Fuck," you whispered. "How much more?" You asked, not wanting to look.

"Just a little bit, shi-you're okay. Jus' keep your eyes on me, if it helps." He smoothed your hair down, touching your forehead with his.

"O-okay," you nodded. You felt comfortable enough to start moving again, keeping your eyes locked with Mike's as you continued.

You felt so full. The stretch was never-ending as you slowly worked him in, wondering if he had grown in length since when you'd started. "Mike," you mewled, a small pout on your face.

"Almost there, fuck you're tight." He wouldn't let you look away from him. His eyes bored into yours, one hand still cradling the back of your head, one on your hip for stability.

Mike was trying increasingly hard to keep himself together for you, but his resolve was quickly crumbling as your tight heat engulfed him. He tried in earnest to keep his eyes on yours, but he would fail at his own command, occasionally looking down to where you were joined to watch your slick pussy suck him in.

"Fuck, you're so- look at me, there you go." He was rambling again. You looked a dream, with your jaw slack and your eyes trying their best to stay on his.

When you finally bottomed out, you were past the point of full- you felt like you were about to burst. You clenched around him, causing Mike to throw his head back in pleasure.

The feeling was so intense it had you wondering how you would even bring yourself to move, let alone move quickly.

You remembered sneaking into the back of Family Video once with Max and El, Robin and Steve occupied at the front with the boys.

On the trailer screens they were showing a raunchy video, one of a girl dressed up as a nurse getting fucked roughly by a man dressed in a white coat. She looked to be having a great time, letting out "happy screams," as Max called them.

What you couldn't imagine in your current state, was getting pounded into that aggressively and it somehow not feeling like trying to squeeze your foot into a boot that was two sizes too small.

"You doin' okay?" Mike asked tightly. He looked like he was about to combust at any moment. Did it maybe feel the same for him?

You gave him a curt nod, wiggling your lower half to accustom yourself to the stretch. His breath hitched as you moved, gripping your hips a touch harder than he would've liked under different circumstances.

"Oh god, fuck hol' on." He practically begged, voice cracking.

"Does it hurt?" You wondered.

He threw his head back again when you clenched once more, involuntarily. "No, its good, really good, uhh, jus' a lot at once."

You took a beat to let him acclimate. The tightness had subsided substantially and you felt much less uncomfortable.

"I think I'm okay to move again," you offered.

Mike gave you a confirming grunt, and you slowly lifted yourself off him, stopping at his tip, and descending back down again. You were able to repeat the movement a couple times before Mike completely broke down, that thin resolve finally snapping.

"Fuck-you're," he moaned gorgeously, the hand on the back of your head gripping your hair tightly. "So warm, oh shit, fuckin' wet, fuckfuckfuck." He was drowning in your pussy, unable to come up for air, and once again so fucking close.

Your movements sped up slightly and sounds of pleasure began to leave your mouth. To your surprise, the stretch had almost completely dissipated, replaced instead by the feeling of Mike's cock stroking your g-spot with an increased precision.

You moaned his name, head once again dropping to his shoulder. You could understand the porno girl just a little bit better now. You're taking him so fucking deep, the feeling so much more intense than that of his fingers.

This was starting to feel really fucking good. You braced your hands on the headboard in front of you, now truly bouncing on him.

"Ngh, oh God, Mike pleasefuck, umm," you hiccup, your movements getting erratic. His cock was hitting places inside you that you didn't even know existed. His hard head never missed your spongey spot at this angle, each bounce hitting you like the most delicious, mouthwatering, punch to the gut.

Mike'd rambles grew louder, and he needed to ground himself. He began to place sporadic, open-mouthed kisses on your arms, his hips thrusting up to meet your bounces.

On a particularly hard thrust, your eyes crossed, head thrown back in ecstasy, releasing the most seductive moan Mike had ever heard. It came from deep within you, a product of the pleasure running through you.

His thrusts were getting harder, so you stilled your hips and let him fuck up into you, chasing his own pleasure. You wrapped your arm around the back of his neck, crying into his shoulder, your hand coming up to slap on the wall in front of you. Your body was betraying you, trying to find stability in the intense throes of pleasure consuming it.

You could hear Mike's breathing become ragged, his thrusts inconsistent. The closer he got to his peak, the harder he slammed his hips into yours.

"Holy fucking shit," you grit out, biting into Mike's shoulder. The bite catches him off guard, mixing with the hot pleasure forming in his tightening balls.

He comes. He chokes out something incoherent, pumping his cum into the condom. He can feel it down to his toes, his whole body floating. He keeps chasing it, thrusting into you, and fuck you, he just keeps coming. His hand is pulling insanely tight on your hair, forcing you to throw your head back and look at him. If he thought you were beautiful when you came, then he was something else entirely. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open. He looked utterly fucked. He looked like he was made especially for you. The whole world full of people but no, you got to witness Mike Wheeler come undone under you.

Mike soon stilled, releasing his grip on your hair. You both fell into each other like jelly, chests heaving together from exertion. You felt unreal. There was static humming throughout you, buzzing lightly in your ears.

"Fuck me," Mike was the first to speak.

"Think I just did that, actually," you hummed into his neck. Slowly you lifted yourself off of him, ignoring Mike's hiss of sensitivity, flopping on the bed next to him.

"Well that was..." you trailed off, still fuzzy.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "It was."

You turned to look at him, wiping away some of the hair stuck to your forehead. He, too, was covered in sweat, red splotches on his cheeks and chest. The room felt hotter, and it reeked of sex.

"I'm gonna go toss this," he motioned to the full condom still attached to him. You nodded silently, and watched him get up to throw it out. Your eyes fell on the alarm clock on the nightstand. Shit, it was almost four in the morning.

Exhaustion rolled over you like a freight train, returning more intensely than you'd felt it after your shower. The post-sex bliss had made you sleepy, so you managed to haul yourself up, heading towards the bathroom to clean up.

Mike was wiping himself off with some toilet paper when you arrived, condom long disposed of in the bin. You gripped the sink, looking at yourself. You didn't look any different, sure maybe a bit sweaty and a lot more tired, but you still looked like you. You felt different, though. No longer a virgin, for one. But you felt different as to your relationship with Mike.

What happened now? Now that you had known each other as intimately as you did? Do you move forward like nothing happened? Do you keep this a secret, meeting in the middle of the night when you need each other?

That's a lot of fucking questions. And you were too tired to answer any of them.

Mike came up behind you, interrupting your deep thought. He wrapped his arms around your chest and you grabbed onto his arms, leaning back into him.

"So what now?" he whispered, in-tune with your thoughts.

"Now we sleep. Finally. We have to be at The Squawk at nine. Gives us about 4 hours, give or take." You closed your eyes, feeling him behind you.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He countered, giving your shoulders a light squeeze.

"I know. We'll talk about it later, when this all blows over. I don't think we need another thing." You tried to reason with him.

"It's not a thing if we don't make it thing. I don't want this to be awkward in the morning." His hair was tickling your face.

"I won't make it awkward, will you?" You opened your eyes to look at him in the mirror.

"No, never." He said, matter-of-factly.

You pressed a quick kiss to his arms. "Then there, it's settled. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Mike looked at you one last time through the mirror before shutting the bathroom light off.

"Okay, cool. Tomorrow."