julii

it's hypnotic. it's like malcolm's put you in a trance. you can't stop staring. it's unusual for you to be this static—at most of malcolm's shows, you bounce and dance along with the crowd backstage. he tends to glance back at you and smile. your energy pushes him on.

this time is different. your eyes are locked onto his hands, fingers running up and down the fretboard of his guitar, and you swear you might've been drooling at the way the sweat drips down his forehead in glistening detail in the spotlights.

malcolm notices. he glances back for just a moment during the break after his guitar solo to see you there as usual, but to his surprise, you aren't cheering and spinning on your toes.

quite the opposite, actually.

he can tell what's running through that pretty brain of yours just from one glance. it runs in slow motion. he can see the daze over your eyes and the way your lips are slightly parted in both awe and thirst. he can tell how your heart is beating a thousand times a minute just by the way your eyes lock with his, lashes batting.

if he didn't know any better, he'd think there was something wrong.

but he knew from the look on your face that he was doing everything right.

that one, small glimpse of an interaction flips a switch in malcolm. it makes him wild, a blazing ball of energy on the stage, egging him on to perform like he never has before for the last song of his show. the smirk on his lips is boldly apparent as his fingers continue to work his guitar and his voice, suddenly raspy and strained, echoes loud through his microphone.

a matching, impish smile forms on your lips. at least now he knows what he does to you.

the show ends quickly and messily. as soon as the music stops and malcolm yells out a rather vague, rushed goodbye and thank you, his guitar is tossed haphazardly to the floor and his feet run like lightning to your side.

he doesn't even spare the modesty of his bandmates. the sound team gets to watch a whole, new show as malcolm's lips hungrily crash down onto yours, a clear desperation in his actions as his hands find the backs of your thighs, lifting you up with ease. your legs encircle his waist, ankles locking around his torso, and your hands run up to his hair, pushing back the damp strands as you grip them for support.

"hey, we'll just.. meet you outside," jonah, one of malcolm's bandmates, awkwardly announces in the midst of your heated reunion. "later, mac."

malcolm gives no sign of acknowledgment and if you weren't so caught up in his lips, you'd wonder if he even heard a single thing around him other than you.

panting and breathless as crew members swerve around the two of you like minnows in the sea, your lips begrudgingly separate, a single string of saliva connecting your mouths. god, the indecency.

"mac.." you whisper, licking the mixture of sweat and spit off your lips, and it tastes like salt. your eyes plead for attention, long lashes waving almost seductively up at him.

malcolm is on a mission, wasting no time the second your pretty eyes fold him in two. he makes one swift scan of his surroundings before walking you over to the green room, urgency in his motions as he slams the door shut behind him with his foot.

flipping around, malcolm presses your back flat against the door and jumps in once again, his mouth devouring yours as his tongue laps away at the spaces behind your teeth. you whimper, your stomach beginning to grow hot and fuzzy as he lips leave yours, tracing down the column of your throat to suck dark, reddish-purple marks into your soft skin.

"fuck, baby," malcolm growls, soothing your fresh hickeys with kisses, "y'got no idea what y'did to me out there."

a strained, desperate whine slips past your lips as your hands move down to your boyfriend's shoulders, gripping onto them like you're in pain. he knows you're not.

"please, mac," you choke out, voice syrupy and filled with need. malcolm's lips pull back from your neck and he takes in your expression—wrecked and starving, but still so fucking hot.

"you need me, sweet girl?" malcolm prods, but he isn't teasing. he lifts you from your spot against the wall and places you on the old, dusty sofa, kneeling on the carpeted floor before you.

you nod enthusiastically as he kisses up from your calves to your knees, his big hands finding the waistband of your miniskirt. his eyes look up at yours for approval, and once you smile again, he tugs the fabric down to the floor.

"god, so pretty," malcolm worships you, kissing all the way up your thighs. "drinkin' me in with those eyes. you know what you're doin' t'me," his hands play with the lace of your panties, stopping just before your pussy.

"you were great out there," you mutter in reply, a shudder crossing your body. the way malcolm's eyes darken doesn't go unnoticed by you.

his hands brush up and down the sides of your thighs, leaving a hot trail behind. "oh, yeah?" he croons, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "let me be great in here for you, baby."

his hands slide up your thighs once again, carefully yet eagerly removing the soft, thin cotton from your lower body.

malcolm sucks in a breath. he looks completely fucked-out, pussy drunk and he hasn't even touched you yet. the sight makes your drooling cunt clench around pure air.

"so fuckin' wet," malcolm groans, fingers reaching to collect your arousal and bring it up to your clit. your body shudders in reaction, and a gasp escapes your lips. "all this f'me, baby? all 'cause of a little concert?" he teases, rubbing circles around your clit agonizingly slow.

your head lulls back against the musty, wine red couch cushion, your hands moving to tangle in his hair. "saw the way you were lookin' at my hands, sweetheart. you want 'em bad, don't you?" malcolm continues to tease, a clear glint of amusement in his eyes.

you can't help but whine. he's got you in his grip.

"say you want me, angel. say y'want me and i'm all yours," malcolm hums, slowing the pace of his circles around your clit even more.

you can't take the torture. you need him bad. "i want you," you whimper, "please, baby, need y'—"

"shh," malcolm shushes you, "i got you. jus' sit back and look pretty f'me, okay?"

malcolm braces his hands on your thighs once again, spreading them wide and pulling you to the edge of the couch. he takes one breath before licking a stripe straight up from your entrance to your clit, moaning instantly at the salty taste on his tongue.

a loud gasp escapes your throat, and your thighs nearly clamp around his head. he couldn't really care, actually, too lost in the taste of your pussy to push you away.

his lips kiss your clit, wrapping around it and sucking. his tongue prods out and flicks the sensitive bud, and his actions are rewarded with a moan from your lips.

your noises encourage malcolm to go further. he groans against your cunt as his tongue traces down to your hole, pushing inside and licking against your walls. your head falls back in pleasure, small, incoherent pleas whispering from your mouth.

malcolm's mouth pulls away and his fingers replace his tongue, two long, practiced digits filling you up and curling inside you. "taste so fuckin' good," he groans, licking his lips before going back to suck your clit as his fingers pump in and out of your hole.

"mac," you gasp, "can't—'m gonna—" you choke, voice raw and strained. you feel the pool of heat in your belly tighten and your hands tug tighter at malcolm's hair.

"let go, baby," malcolm almost begs, pulling away and circling your clit with his thumb. "cum f'me, angel. let me see you."

with one last curl of his fingers, your whole body shakes and a lewd, noisy moan erupts from your throat. he continues to pump his fingers, drawing every last bit of your orgasm out, before slowly and carefully removing them once you've come down from your high.

malcolm takes his fingers immediately into his mouth, locking eyes with you as he sucks every last drop of your cum off his digits. he groans at the taste, savoring it.

you smile, clearly pleased, and take malcolm by his wrists to bring him up on the couch with you. he looks at you like you hung the moon for him.

"we should do this more often," you hum, leaning in to kiss your boyfriend on the cheek.

malcolm turns his head, locking his lips with yours instead. they taste salty.

when the kiss breaks, malcolm pulls you into his lap. "say we continue this at the hotel?" he purrs, hands gently cupping your hips.

you giggle amusedly, "definitely."

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