pollie

chicago summertime, the air was maybe still a little musty and thick, but the wind whipped enough to diminish the smell that usually made your nose scrunch. hot, earthy air with a mix of preteen boys wearing entirely too much salt and pepper body spray was not ideal, but you still stood smiling, urging your brother and his friends to squish together for a picture. you were thankful that the body spray was masking some of the musk from the few teammates who clearly had a hard time remembering their deodorant.

they seemed grown up in their little suits and knock-off baseball chains, each one sporting their number. thirteen hung around your little brother’s neck; most thought it was unlucky, but he made it his own proudly. they didn’t have on mucky cleats or red clay stains in their britches; they were little gentlemen standing on a faux red carpet. of course, their acne-ridden faces, crooked ties, and suit jackets that sat a little too large on their shoulders were a little laughable. no one attending this banquet would deny how happy the team looked together. they were all acting like they were major league players, and no one was going to halt their excitement.

they were halfway through their season, and the coach was exceptionally proud—he had to be proud because he was your dad. maybe even more proud because your little brother, cameron, was showing an overwhelming amount of potential, especially when he would start attending high school the year after next. if your brother continued on this uphill climb, his college would be paid for much like your own. although an athletic scholarship didn't send you to live out of state, you weren't nagging the “free” money from the academic successes you were reaping the benefits from.

in contrast to the team’s peak attire, the family and friends that were in attendance had toned down their appearance. you were in a two-day-old pair of ripped jeans and a “go cubbies” shirt because that was the cleanest laundry out of your overpacked suitcase that was sitting on the floor of your childhood bedroom. you had only been in town for a day, feeling too tired from the packing and traveling to do anything with the mess you had brought home to even attempt to organize it.

the interior of the gymnasium had cheap streamers and a balloon arch to make the banquet seem like more than it really was, but no one seemed to mind because of the hilariously awkward cue cards the local commentator, benny amato, from the sports park was reading that your father and assistant coach had written.

you were brought a plate of food by your mother as you swiped through the group photos you had taken, trying to find at least one “serious” one that all their mothers wanted. your eyes widened seeing the overfilled plate, large meatballs smothered in some well-seasoned pasta sauce, and the noodles seemed to be handmade, none of that overcooked, soggy dining hall food you managed to choke back when attending school. your father was right behind her with bowls of caesar salad that she couldn't manage to carry for you both; even the salad had a healthy slab of garlic bread on top, so buttery and fragrant.

you slid your phone into your pocket as mr. amato was finally getting to the awards portion of the banquet after he had passed his long and draining introductions. people loved a good meal and entertainment to go with it because this wasn't some fancy event; this was high class. this was the dundies from the office, but adding adolescence in a crumby gymnasium and taking away the ability to overdrink in a chili's.

‘eye on the ball’ was the first golden bat trophy to be awarded. it wasn't given to jace kowak for his exquisite ability to catch a multitude of plays, it was for the three black eyes he'd acquired so far this season. and even with this first crumby joke out of the way, you knew you'd be sitting through twelve more while stuffing your face with food that you planned to eat cold while standing in the light of the fridge later tonight.

the dorm room meals you managed to cook in the shared kitchen weren’t anything fancy, but they were tasty. however, you were sitting here thinking you’d receive some subpar food like at every other community event you’ve ever attended, but no, this—this was something remarkable. this wasn't watered-down pasta sauce, gummy noodles, and tough, questionably sourced meatballs—this was so good. you were looking forward to your mother’s cooking after you’d been away, but even her home-cooked meals would be hard to top this.

you looked up from your plate to see another player proudly collecting his golden bat for “true grit.” imagine that—the kid was awarded for getting a mouthful of sand on his latest slide from last week’s game. benny amato’s voice was grating. you were managing to only filter out some of it, and the other half was causing you to stifle any eye roll that was surfacing. you had to remind yourself that you were being a good sister and that you loved your brother.

luckily, your brother was next, walking to the stage with his head held high. he had to anyway. he just was given high honors on the “ball buster” trophy. oh yeah, the week before last he took one right to the sack…and still kept running. you didn't expect to receive that call when you were drunkenly eating sushi beside your roommate as you scrolled on tinder. fortunately, the emergency room cleared him as quickly as he came in.

“never seen cam look so proud,” your mom laughed as she nudged you. you were continuously snapping pictures for her as your dad cheered as if he was oblivious to the fact that his son was getting an award. maybe his yelling was just a little more obnoxious than needed, or maybe it was only obnoxious because of your tiredness.

when your brother returned to his seat, you were slinking out of your chair. “i’m going to the bathroom,” you mumbled, excusing yourself from the table.

you made your way outside for a breath of fresh air. you had barely a moment of peace since returning home. the ride home from the airport was deafening. everyone was crammed into the car, speaking at you rather than to you. each one of them with a new set of questions from last time. your father was prodding about the storage unit you were renting, your mom was wondering why your friend lizzie wasn't in your final day pictures, and cameron was digging through your school bag, questioning every item.

the street lights had not yet turned on. the summer sun was taking its time setting. cars were buzzing along the road carelessly. the ‘l’ added that extra sound that made it home. it was the moment you needed because you did miss chicago, but not enough to stay. this three-month venture would be the longest you've been home since you graduated from high school. last summer, you visited for two weeks because you crashed in your friend’s apartment until you were able to move into a new dormitory. you were stuck at home this year because the leasing arrangement with your new apartment fell through until two months into the new school year. so, you lugged your things into a storage unit and flew back home.

“sorry, didn't know somebody was moping out here.”

you turned your head, straightening your posture. “i'm not moping,” you responded to the caterer, only able to recognize his job by his navy shirt with thick white writing on the pocket—“the bear–berzatto owned.”

“sure as hell looks like moping,” he chuckled, lighting a cigarette. “upset you didn't get a trophy for fighting the ump?” he leaned against the wall next to you. the siding of the gymnasium was warm and oddly comforting. he had his apron thrown over his shoulder. he had tanned italian skin a in similar fashion to lots of locals in the area, broad shoulders, a crooked nose that seemed to have seen a fight or two before, and that smug smile that seemed to draw you in to look for more.

a smile began to flicker against the corner of your mouth, taking more of this man’s appearance in as he took a drag of his cigarette. “no, just annoyed that i’m home,” you shrugged, pausing to look ahead rather than at this stranger that your eyes had been giving far too much attention to. the silver in his dark hair came in streaks, and his beard had those same shiny flecks in them that were definitely not exiting your mind as you looked ahead to the roadway. “i think i'm going to kill my entire family before the summer is over.”

a laugh came from the caterer. “i’m going to act like i didn't hear a premeditation to murder, but what i can do is give you a little peace,” he offered his cigarette to you.

you gave a nod of appreciation, taking the smoke between your fingers and inhaling steadily before handing it back.

“what’s got you so worked up that you're willing to take a life sentence?” the caterer questioned after a lull of silence. you finished exhaling as he began inhaling.

“summer off from college, and i can't stand being here,” you were finally looking at him again. “this is home, but i'm not living here,” you gestured loosely as the older man forked over the cigarette again. he knew you needed it. his arms were tattooed; the line work seemed like it was time for a touch-up. “now i'm dropping all my complaints on you, and i don't even know you.”

“michael berzatto,” he didn't wait to introduce himself because it seemed like he didn’t mind listening.

he said he preferred mikey over michael. when you gave your name, it seemed like he’d never say it because he had a multitude of pet names at his disposal that would be easier.

you shared names and cigarettes. you shared blown smoke and some weird, unspoken mutual decision to silently flirt back with your eyes. both of you thought nothing bad could happen from a little camaraderie.

“i was gone a while too,” mikey confessed, vaguely with very little explanation. “but i’m back now.”

“i feel like i can't breathe here. i don't know how you came back,” you retorted, letting your newfound confidant have the final smoke of his cigarette. it wasn't long after he stamped it out that he lit another one. maybe it was to keep you talking, or maybe it was because he wasn't satisfied after the first one.

mikey wasn’t a polished guy, but you’d be lying if you said you weren't still looking, but the strange part was that he was looking back. not looking past you or even afraid to make eye contact. he had his focus set. he was soft around the middle, a slight wrinkle in his forehead and around his eyes when he made any face other than his resting one, and his hands had seen work—scarring, burns, cuts, all of it.

“still can't breathe, not on some days, but better than where i was,” mikey concluded. the cigarette rested between his fingers for a minute before passing it to you to take the first inhale of the burning tobacco.

he's gentle, and you didn't know how gentle he was in reality, but the version you were receiving right now seemed peaceful and likable. he wasn't agreeing with everything you said or pushing you to speak. words fell out of your mouth because they seemed easy to spill with him. it was silent again between the two of you, but that seemed to be loud enough while the cigarette moved back and forth again.

“you guys did good with the food and all,” you added when it got just a bit too quiet, especially when you found yourself standing a bit too close. you didn't move away when you noticed.

“i think if we woulda brought any more food coach woulda been rolling his players outta here,” mikey chuckled, flicking the ash to the side of him. his last name matched the one on his shirt. you cracked a smile.

“you own it? the restaurant, i mean,” you shook your head when he offered the cigarette back. you had enough to calm your nerves already.

“me and my brother, the short one, not the lunatic who was handing out drinks,” mikey rubbed the underside of his nose with his index knuckle, watching as you tugged up the waistband of your jeans. “we renovated a few years ago, still got the original beef window on the side, but it's nicer on the inside.”

“nothing fancy?”

“hell no, kids are knockin’ their juice over in their pasta, it doesn’t have a dress code, and the kitchen is still good at yellin’ at each other,” he stamped the cigarette out. “but that’s what's good about it.” what mikey meant to say was that it wasn’t a shit hole anymore because he had his head screwed on the right way around.

“glad i got to try it,” you looked back towards the door. you knew you had to return soon to avoid questioning from your mother. “i guess my dad can get on my nerves, but he knows how to pick good food.”

“coach’s daughter? i’'m goin’ to hell,” mikey let out a breathy exhale, no longer leaning on the wall. connecting those dots fully seemed to make his eyes widen.

mikey casually smoked with some little college hottie that just so happened to also be the daughter of the man that was paying him tonight. shit always seemed to follow him, yet there he was still enjoying your presence.

“nah, you’re going to hell because you smoked two cigarettes with a twenty-year-old,” you took a step towards the entrance. “and you liked it,” you put your fingers into a cross and teasingly rubbed “shame” in his direction. you heard a chuckle as you walked back into the gymnasium.

“you sure you don't want me to wait until you come out?” your father pestered again, looking at you about to reenter the empty gymnasium. the banquet was a success. the entire team went home happy and fed. most of them were toting plates of leftover food, including you. you couldn't let it go to waste, especially not after your appetite was curbed from smoking. you handed the plate to your mother as she walked by, knowing your late-night snack would be safe in her hands since they were going straight home.

“dad, i'll be fine. i just forgot my phone,” you assured him as he gave that skeptical glance about not being able to watch you safely leave in the sedan you were borrowing from your mother. “i need to stop by walgreens anyway and get another charger; mine is busted,” you explained, hope that would be enough to allow him to leave.

forgetting your phone may not have been an accident. after being on the cleanup crew with your family, you may have strategically placed the device on the table nearest the catering station.

the car keys were hanging loosely in your hand as your father looked back at his single-cab truck. cameron and your mother were piling inside.

“alright, be safe tonight, baby girl,” he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

as you re-entered the gym, you saw mikey counting the fold-out tables he had stacked against the wall. his final task for the night was to load all the tables and chairs into the restaurant’s van and bring them back. richie, his best friend and drink slinger for the night, had already gone back with carmen, the shorter caterer, to clean all the serving equipment.

“left somethin’?” he asked, pulling your phone out of his pocket when he heard the door close. his head was slightly cocked when he looked at you. as he handed it over a picture of you and your friend from your university semi-formal lit up with the time. he didn’t have a hard time knowing it was yours.

“yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, not understanding why you had now become so nervous. the lights in the open room were buzzing. the commotion of the families caused you not to notice how much the white noise had been drowned out.

you looked around, playing with the phone in your hand, letting it clack against the key ring.

“did you forget somethin’ else?” he asked, reading off a checklist.

“your number,” you blurted out quickly as if you were ripping off a band-aid. the keyring slipped into your back pocket with your phone.

“my number?” mikey’s thick eyebrows furrowed. “you fuckin’ with me?” he asked, his voice lighter as he was about to laugh. he wasn’t taking you seriously at all.

“no,” you assured him, looking around again. that twinge in the back of your mind was pressing, saying ‘what the hell am i doing?’ this was a moment of realization, getting yourself into something that might haunt you for the rest of your nights. potential rejection was scary, but what was more horrifying was the fact that you were asking a man who clearly had the upper hand on your age. “just needed something to get through the summer.”

“they all left,” mikey uttered, knowing you were scoping out the area, but his statement seemed like permission. his lips were slightly parted as if he wanted to say something else, but you didn't give him a chance. your hand was resting on his forearm. his hand flexed, only able to grab the closest thing to him to bring you closer—the hem of your cubs shirt. he preferred the red sox, but the cubbies were bringing home the win tonight.

god, you reminded him of his younger self—desperate, hungry, hard to control, but easy to talk.

it was a split second before your hands scrambled to the back of his neck. mikey leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. you were sharing those cigarettes again—more intimately than before—adding a touch of desperation to them. you could taste the stale menthol, somehow it was surprisingly refreshing, knowing you might have possibly been making the biggest mistake of your life.

this wasn't another bar crawl with your shitty fake id, picking up some asshole from a fraternity; this was older and bolder. you didn't feel nervous outside of illinois in the local college bars as you inspected your potential prospects while sipping a vodka cran, but michael berzatto haphazardly walking backwards with you in an empty gymnasium as you sloppily made out with him was anxiety-inducing.

you gripped the back of his shirt. your fingers grazed the back of his neck. your mouth opened to catch a partial breath, and another clumsy step backward sent both of you knocking into a stack of chairs. your eyes opened. your cheeks were flush, and your heart rate spiked as you pulled yourself into mikey's chest to try and protect your sneaker-cladded feet from the domino effect of the chairs.

mikey licked his right canine tooth. he was just shy of the clear portion of the wall where he meant to back you into, unable to successfully do it moments ago. his attention had been focused on you while deepening the kiss and guiding you blindly backward.

“christ, i haven't—” mikey tugged you to the side of the fallen chairs. your head softly thudded on the wall behind you. he was placing quick kisses against your jawline. his scruffy beard was brushing against your cheek. “—done this in a long fuckin’ time,” he finished, resting his hand between your thighs and running his thumb across the light-washed denim.

“i think you're doing fine.” it was possibly the quickest you felt any type of growing arousal, especially as he captured your lips again. this was clumsy and unorganized, but not unlikeable. it was wonderfully awkward, and somehow knowing a stack of chairs crashed down was comforting because it felt natural and carefree. mikey’s confession also helped, settling some of the tension that you felt on your shoulders.

one of your hands trailed to the waistband of his jeans. your fingers were hooked into the top of his cotton boxers. his fingers are gently stroking higher on your inner thigh. the softest touches held the heaviest meaning behind them. this time, it was him pulling away from the kiss.

“wait,” he held your wrist, though your fingers didn’t retract. “you got—y’know a condom or somethin’?” he asked, though you laughed.

“no, i brought my phone and keys that aren’t even mine.” you bit your lip, quickly apologizing for laughing and for your lack of preparation.

he started laughing too. he couldn’t help himself. he didn’t bother looking through his pocket when he knew he didn't have anything useful. “i’m fifty. the most protection i have is a roll of tums to prevent heartburn,” he looked up at the ceiling. his laughter increased only because otherwise he would begin thinking far too much about how risky this situation was.

“i-i’m on the pill,” you cleared your throat, though more giggles were peeking through as he swatted your hand away from his pants.

“jesus,” mikey sighed as he began cracking up again. “bad idea waitin’ to happen.” his hand was still between your thighs. he wasn’t backing off, and neither were you. you were looking up at him. the hand that was on his boxers was now resting on his chest.

“you’re right,” you swallowed hard, but you didn’t move. you didn't want to admit it, but he was right. your eyes darted from his soft eyes to his lips. he wasn’t pressing or rushing. you were staring, and he was too.

his laughter faded, dipping his head again. you met his lips. even after the laughter and moment of cognizance, the excitement was still there. he was focused on tasting the remnants of your chapstick—a flavor he couldn’t quite place—it was cherry, but something deeper than just the fruit. maybe something nutty.

his hand slipped from your thighs and began to unbutton your jeans. he was toying with your zipper. his fingers grazing your panties—the funky floral ones that came in every basic four-pack of underwear—you were wishing you had made a better decision when digging through your suitcase.

“listen to me, i’m too old for that leg lockin’ bullshit,” mikey muttered against your mouth, working down his own pants. trusting within the age-old pull-out method was something mikey hadn't done since he was your age, but in this moment, he needed to believe in something.

“got it,” you mumbled, stepping out of your sneakers to tug down your jeans. you understood where his nervousness was stemming from, much like him, you didn't want a pregnancy scare at the end of this little excursion for pleasure.

mikey’s hands were grasping at your thighs. you were palming the front of his jeans, his semi-hard erection was growing by the second. neither of you wanted to stop. if anything, the touches only grew more hasty and hungry.

with your jeans discarded and your horrendous floral underwear on display. your legs were spread and his fingers were toying with the wet splotch you had created on your panties just from a few simple times of mikey’s fingers grazing you. you were unfastening the button to his jeans.

mikey was kissing your neck, a soft sigh coming from his mouth as he felt your hand move past his boxers. your heart was pounding as his fingers slipped past the seam of the gusset of your panties and applied the slightest bit of pressure. your legs were already trembling.

his thumb grazed past your clit after one affirming touch to signify he was capable. two of his fingers then slipped inside like they were meant to be there. there you were dripping into the palm of his hand with your eyes closed, feeling the outline of his thick cock through his pants.

your underwear was bunched to the inner crease of your right thigh. they were moved over just enough so mikey’s fingers could coat themselves in the sweet arousal you produced.

you had your other hand gripping the dark curls that graced mikey’s neck. with your lips slightly parted, you were pushing against his hand, trying to collect more sensation than he was allowing you to have.

the hollow gymnasium only embraced the sound of the smallest whine you uttered, echoing loudly off all the walls. mikey brought his head up to rest on yours.

you rocked against his middle and ring finger as he thrust them inside of you, falling into him as your jeans gripped the midsection of your thighs. he just had to be sure that you were ready, and a small part of him was enjoying the fact that someone was already falling apart for him.

there was no way he could keep you against that wall without his hip or back making a noise that would be embarrassing and even more telling of his age. he already had on a knee brace under his jeans after he had to single-handedly rearrange the walk-in after having to perform maintenance on one of the cooling fans when fak the handyman wasn't available. he could save himself from another hint of embarrassment because he wasn't walking around with a salonpas patch across his lower back today.

the gym floor it was. if you didn't think about it too hard the scuff marks would be less noticeable and the faint smell of wax would be concealed by the overwhelming sensation of him hovering over you, helping you drag off your bottoms and letting your panties hang around one ankle so they wouldn't be hard to track down when you needed to make your leave.

you gave your jeans a final kick. you looked wide-eyed at your mismatched no-show socks. one was neon pink and the other was a basic white; that was the least of your concerns compared to the full tent in mikey’s jeans.

his apron over his shoulder had been shrugged off into the same pile as your jeans. mikey was wasting no time, mostly because the longer he would wait would mean, the less likely he was to get antsy.

his pants were soon bundled at his knees, cock sprung outward freely instead of being contained by his pants and underwear. he gave his cock a generic stroke using the remainder of your wetness and a palm full of spit to coat his shaft. he gripped the base of his shaft and balls for a little support.

the tops of his meaty thighs were hairy as well as his pubic region. his wiry hair was wild and unkempt—a full bush—but that meant one thing: he was a real locally grown man. he had nothing to be embarrassed by, as seen by your surprised face, but he couldn't help feeling a little vulnerable. you had to feel that way, too; the only easy part about this situation was that you both had no strings attached. even if there would be a repeat a few days from now, you both didn't know each other enough to care.

him entering made you dig your nails into the back of his biceps as your back arched off the ground. your wet pussy was already clenching around him, unable to fully comprehend the amount of his dick you were taking.

you realized you weren't breathing when mikey was lightly patting your cheek with his free hand. “hey, hon,” he mumbled. “y’with me, lil’ thing?” he asked as his eyes raked over your expression.

“y-yeah, fuck, just give me a second,” you swallowed, feeling that stretch from some girthy italian dick wasn't what you were accommodated to. the last guy who got lucky with you was average—that was the nicest way to say it anyway.

mikey was slowly rocking his hips into you as he pulled one of your legs over his shoulder, trying to help you adjust to his size further.

this was like a porno with some clickbait title like: COLLEGE GIRL GETS FUCKED RAW BY OLDER MAN **IT DOESN'T FIT!!**

time was of the essence, mikey had to return to the restaurant, and you still had to do the walk of shame into a chain convenience store to get a new phone charger and a plan b just to be safe before your parents suspected you were gone too long.

he ran one hand under your shirt to rub circles into your waist. every touch he placed was intentional, however, it was somewhat hurried.

mikey was rocking his hips gradually, an uneven exhale left his mouth. his jaw was slack, hearing the soft whines of pleasure slip from your lips. your stomach would tighten and release, only gripping him inside of you further. he had said not to lock your legs, but you were completely out of control with the way your pussy was clenching his shaft.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, tightening his hold on your elevated leg. every time he thrust, your body was rocking back from the sheer amount of force he was exuding. he couldn't stop, not with the pretty little sounds that were so determined to keep him going. he couldn't understand how tightly your pulsing cunt was begging him to keep him inside.

mikey's shirt began to bunch. the mild annoyance was enough to take his hand off your hip and slip just the hem of it into his mouth. his pudgy, wooly stomach was meeting you each time he pushed his throbbing cock into, each time just a bit further than before, his swollen tip just barely kissing your cervix. his balls were slapping against you.

shame was beyond recognition at this moment. it was the two of you having deep, quick, naughty, and highly inappropriate sex. this was somehow the most comfort either of you had experienced for a long time. your peers from college in their five-inch inseam shorts wouldn't ever fuck you like this. even in its quick nature, it didn’t take away from your partner's attention to detail. mikey's last romp was with some crazy-eyed single mom that he totally dodged a bullet with over half a year prior. it was decent sex that got his rocks off, but he had never blocked a number so fast in his goddamn life.

mikey rested his head on your calf as he continued to engulf his rock-hard cock in your needy pussy. his soft grunts and moans were now muffled by the bit of shirt fabric in his mouth. you, on the other hand, only got louder, especially when mikey managed to adjust your hips upward.

he didn't know you, but he knew your body. he was lusting over that sweet squelching noise as he railed you. he was involved in every ounce of you, anchoring his hand firmly into your waist to keep you in place.

right there, where he has you sprawled out on the gym floor, yeah, that was the closest to heaven—maybe it was closer to hell—you had ever been. hitting it just right, opening you up just a bit more, trying to visualize the soaking cunt at his disposal.

your wet folds spread so pretty as his tanned dick slid so easily between your legs. he reached the hand he had over your thigh to your clit.

you tried to moan but were taken aback by the sudden increase in pleasure as mikey circled over your swollen and desperate clit.

what you thought was exceedingly pleasant before was now elevated. which was good for mikey because he didn’t know how much longer he could trust the load he was holding back.

“mikey,” you whined, your nails etching deep half-moon patterns into his forearm as he continued to stimulate the spot you needed most. “m-my god.”

his sweaty temple pressed further into your calf. he could tell you were unwinding, his dick stuffing you so full in some unconventional spot on the gym floor while thumbing at your clit, your echoing moans and pleads bounding off the walls.

“c’mon, pretty thing,” he muttered, letting the shirt between his teeth go. “y’gotta let go. gotta let me see you finish,” he encouraged with a bit of determination behind his voice to finish what he started.

he placed a couple of sloppy kisses on your calf, trying to hold off the ache in his cock. he had you right where he wanted you, writhing against his shaft with a slight flush on your face with your mouth agape, releasing a breathy and sharp gasp.

your head was back for only a moment, picking it back up to watch his thumb flick against your clit. you were leaning on your elbows, closer to him than before, still grasping the hell out of his arm. your breathing was uneven as the teary look in your eyes began.

“uh-uh, there y’go,” mikey praised, watching you unwind in front of him. his rocky thrusts were getting more uneven, feeling your unrelenting pulsing pussy wrapping him so tight.

you were riding that faithful high of satisfaction. mikey was pushing your leg into your chest, getting the final and deepest fuck he could before the heaviness in his balls was too much to bare.

a quick pull out, and he was spilling into his hand and into the apron he gathered from the ground. it was like your body was on fire now, the moment he felt his release, he was letting go and pulling away.

with his hand wiped, he was tugging up his boxers, trying to steady himself while also offering a hand to you, though you declined it. stepping into your panties uneasily, you fished for your jeans.

you were pulling back on your clothes, pushing back your hair, trying to straighten out what little dignity you had left as if you hadn't been obnoxiously moaning for a man who was as old as your dad. the wobble in your legs was noticeable. you'd be taking a couple of extra laps around the store just to sort your bearings out again.

you had snagged his number, which only solidified the fact that this encounter wouldn't be the only one you were destined to have with mikey.

there were a couple of final moments glancing back and forth while mikey tossed his soiled apron in the garbage can. he was still trying to catch his breath and attempting to fix the knee brace under his jeans.

mikey’s night wasn't close to over.

he half-assed cleaned himself before leaving the gym, loaded the rest of the restaurant's equipment in the van, and locked the venue.

he played his music a little too loudly, drumming his fingers against the wheel as he drove, trying to shove down the smile he had creeping onto his face.

stupid. it was really fucking stupid, but god, did it feel good to do something that felt a little wrong.

at the bear, mikey lugged all the rental tables and chairs into the basement, the only non-renovated spot of the entire restaurant.

he and carmen had taken another loan from their late father’s friend, jimmy, to begin redesigning the basement storage space. it wasn’t a bad idea, the dusty and cluttered room needed a revamp, but each time carmen would look into contractors, mikey would become nervous.

the entire restaurant had already changed, and it looked better, ran better, hell, it even smelled better, but the final room was hard to part with. mikey saw too much of himself in his father to completely tear the entire place apart. maybe the basement would be completed another day.

“where the hell you been, man?” richie heard mikey clattering around as he pushed the final table into place.

he pretended like he didn't hear richie, pulling the corner of the table even with the others he had previously stacked against the wall.

“mike,” richie called as his friend tapped the banister to the stairs as he began walking upwards. “where you been?” he questioned again.

mikey couldn't admit that he was balls deep in some college girl because that was stupid. that was immature and maybe a little damning. he'd be open to more criticism than he wanted after a long day, but even thinking back to you sprawled out on the gym floor made him want to laugh. it was eye-opening, heart-stopping sex that made him not feel so old.

he was halfway up the stairs, shrugging off richie’s question. he was looking at his feet as he trekked up the stairs, knowing he wouldn't be able to look at his friend with a straight face.

“had to recount, thought i was missin’ something when i loaded everything.” that was a blatant lie, and richie knew it by the twitch on mikey’s lip when he said it. mikey was trying to push away the smirk he had formed.

“cousin, what the fuck is that look?” richie questioned as mikey made it to the top of the stairs.

“nothin’, just happy we’re done with that shit so we can go home,” mikey waved him off, flicking the lights off as he walked in the hallway. richie was trailing him.

carmen had heard the two talking, slumping as he walked out of the newly cleaned kitchen. he was leaning against the hallway door frame with his eyebrows furrowed. he had told the rest of the staff to leave for the night when they were halfway done cleaning. he wanted to finish the rest himself anyway.

“what did you do?” carmen wasn't trying to dodge the question that needed to be asked. his brother wasn't exactly being subtle. that shit-eating grin was threatening to spread across his brother’s face and his tone of voice was faltering.

“nothin’. damn, what is it with you two?” mikey played the game of avoidance again, an awkward laugh leaving his mouth as he attempted to push past the two.

“you look like someone fed you and let you finish,” richie chirped back, earning a gag from mikey.

mikey pointed his finger at his friend, now unable to stifle a laugh and smirk that was forming. “you're a fuckin’ animal, man,” he chuckled, itching the back of his neck.

“oh yeah, got laid. i called it. i was right. you see that, carm?” richie pestered, taking mikey by the shoulders and jiggling him a bit. “he didn't deny it!”

“mikey, what the hell?” carmen’s expression fell. he realized richie was right, and knowing his older brother was banging someone at a catering event wasn't exactly endearing.

“stop, i’m just in a good mood,” mikey cracked another grin.

“you bitch about gettin’ those tables up and down the stairs every time we cater, and now you're grinning stupid,” carmen retorted, pressing a little further. he had to hear mikey say it for himself, and not base it off of richie’s factoid—correction—suspicion.

richie dismissed carmen, turning his attention to mikey, looking directly into his eyes. “where? and how hard?” he did a mocking whistle after.

“you're a goddamn dog,” mikey pointed at his friend, being jostled around a bit more.

“don't tell me it was on the tables. we'd have to throw ‘em out and get more,” carmen accused, hoping that mikey had some sense of respect in his questionable decision making.

“not on the tables,” mikey waved off his brother and then turned his head. “not sayin’ it was anywhere else either,” he corrected himself, hearing richie’s laugh grow louder.

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” carmen muttered, holding the bridge of his nose. “let’s go the fuck home.”

mikey’s morning narcotics anonymous meeting went as expected. a refresher, if anything, a reminder that he was sober. a reminder that he was still an addict even after seven years of sobriety. a mental reset to start the day on a fresh note after tossing and turning the entire night thinking about you.

that post-nut-clarity hit differently when he finally realized that sleeping with a client’s daughter probably wasn’t the smartest move. the client’s daughter who was thirty years younger than him, with whom he barely second-guessed dropping to the gym floor with.

he had that little black key ring to remind himself that he was “clean and serene for multiple years of recovery,” but that still didn’t stop him from attending two meetings a week to keep himself in line. it was routine at this point. one at the beginning of the week and one at the end.

he could go without them; he really could, but there was something about sitting with a group of people with the same problems. he didn’t always talk, but on days that he really felt shoddy, he spilled.

mikey had his life put together in a certain way; what used to be unevenly stacked bullshit that always came crumbling down was now a science. he had to rebuild everything. it was like gaining a second life on top of the old one. he was the same person, only now able to make clear and conscious decisions about fixing everything his addiction had once broken. he was still paying money to the irs in back taxes and penalties because he was prepared to leave the world and his mess for someone else to clean up. that wasn't mentioning all of his credit cards, loans separate from jimmy's 300,000 dollars he had stored away, and the endless number of people he said he would pay back. his life was better now, steadier. the income from the restaurant was now worth it. carmen helped him make something safe.

seven years later and he was still wary of taking tylenol or over-the-counter cold and flu medication because he was worried it might trigger him. he didn't drink because his mother, donna, who still hadn't received help for her suspicious drinking habits, made it seem like an easy vice to become hooked on.

he had his head above water, treading carefully but with purpose.

but you. you were new and unexpected, and delightfully terrifying. because why the hell was he staring at a picture of your tits at ten o'clock on a sunday monday morning. he was standing in his office overlooking the invoices natalie, his sister, had finalized when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

you had no shame, not even a little. you were sitting in your childhood bedroom, procrastinating the need to unpack because living out of a suitcase seemed easier than committing to fully being back in chicago. your discarded sleep shirt was sitting in your lap, one hand bundled your cleavage together as you snapped a picture.

10:03 AM

you: think you missed something last night

you: *attached an image*

10:05 AM

mikey: didn't have time

mikey was sitting back in his chair, palms sweating ever so slightly as he looked over the photo again. your sheets lay over your lap, sitting up, not showing your face. imagine breaking in a new contact like that, sending a ridiculously scandalous picture of your breasts to a man who had priorities and real responsibilities.

10:05 AM

mikey: willing to try harder when i see u again

eesh, he knew this would happen. absolutely no shame within himself to so easily send that message.

10:10 AM

you: *attached a video*

you: promise?

not safe for work at all. your hand had dropped, and you were on display on his cellphone when he was supposed to be double-checking that all the invoices were lining up with the monthly budget.

not safe for work at all. your hand had dropped, and you were on display on his cellphone when he was supposed to be double-checking that all the invoices were lining up with the expected income from the client list. his open documents on his office computer had gone dim. his attention was fully on the technology in his hand.

mikey had watched the short clip a couple of times. watching your hand drop so effortlessly to let your breasts fall and then you giving an assist to jiggle them. if his pants weren't tightening before they sure as hell were right now. he pulled the crotch of his jeans down to find more comfort in his sitting position.

10:12 AM

mikey: i know what i’m getting into now

mikey: my place tonight?

10:12 AM

you: lucky for you my schedule is very open

you: but you owe me $51.13 for hitting it raw

you: *sent a payment request for $52*

10:13 AM

mikey: i'm going to be out 87 cents

10:13 AM

you: i know my worth

10:14 AM

mikey: i’ll be showered by midnight

mikey: *shared an address pin*

mikey was bouncing his foot anxiously, though he was dawning that signature smirk that he was wearing the night before as he was heckled by richie and carmen.

10:23 AM

you: see you later

you: buy condoms thx

read at 10:23 AM

mikey was staring blankly at his phone screen, knowing today would seem like the longest day of his life because he had to wait to see you again.

“hey, you good?” carmen knocked on the doorframe of mikey's office. with a single click mikey's messaging screen snapped to black. he cleared his throat, tossing his phone next to the invoices. his hand on his lap quickly, like he had been caught in something.

carmen seemed to be asking more than just how his day was going, but not wanting to fully commit to his questioning, last night was enough. without richie in the room, it seemed harder.

“yeah,” he assured his youngest sibling. “just finishing this up.” he gathered the printed papers in his hand and nudged his computer mouse with his hand so the virtual spreadsheet would reappear.

“alright, you're on beef with ebra today. church down the street did a fundraiser and i jus’ know he's gonna be slammed after service lets out,” carmen explained as his eyes darted around mikey's office.

“good call,” mikey nodded. he was like the floater and didn't mind it. it allowed carmen to keep the level of control he liked, and it allowed mikey to be where he was needed, keeping busy all the time, whether it was front of house, main kitchen, beef window, or maintenance.

“alright,” the shorter nodded, drumming his fingers against the door frame.

“alright,” mikey agreed, the rolling chair underneath him giving a slight squeak as he moved his shoulder blades back.

“yeah,” carmen mumbled, patting the door frame one last time, backing into the hallway.

“carm, ‘m good.” mikey knew his brother was lingering. he couldn't blame him too much. he had every right to question his well-being after putting him through hell for so many years prior.

“thirty-five minutes ‘till we're bustin’ our asses again,” carmen cleared his throat as he called out the final warning on time before service began. he couldn't say much else. he had to take mikey's word for it, and whatever weird impulsive decision he had made last night was nothing to be concerned about.

carmen was always nagging natalie for her incessant ability to ask how people were, and now he always saw himself doing it with mikey because he wasn't around when his brother was struggling the most.

“heard,” mikey gestured loosely, facing his desk again to find his focus again. he had to check just a bit of the documents before he slid himself into the kitchen for the tail end of prep.

it was just past midnight and there you were, standing in your bright blue and orange university sweatshirt and free people shorts, in the middle of mikey's living room, letting him pull you into his chest. he was pushing back your hair, making sure not to let it snag on your earrings. your fabric purse was still hanging off your shoulder.

small talk occurred for less than five minutes, mostly him making sure you had arrived safely. you didn't ask how his day was until he asked about yours.

mikey’s apartment was clean for the most part. he had a laundry pile stacked on a chair that seemed to never be used other than for that purpose. the curtains were a little crooked as well. his shoes were nestled by the door, and keys were thrown on the counter next to his cigarettes and wallet. his clutter was mostly on his coffee table, mail, loose pens, sharpies, and cups that hadn't made it to the sink. his knee brace was also there. he had no use for it right now, although he thought that he might regret not having a little extra support later.

he had many pictures, all of which had some sort of rae dunn frame. you assumed they were gifts, although you didn't know mikey well he didn't seem like the person to pick stark white frames saying things like “live, laugh, love,” or “family,” in that signature thin, black capitalized font.

he had one hand on your cheek, caressing his thumb against it. he had the opportunity to actually take his time with you now. he was appreciated every bit of you. this didn't have to be quick tonight seeing as you were both safely in the confines of his own home.

he smelled clean, his outgrown hair was still a little damp. he seemed like he had at least taken the time to trim his beard before you came, lining up more evenly with sharper angles.

mikey didn't know where to begin because his hand was still resting on your cheek, trying to gauge your expression. you weren't trying to hurry him, but you were certainly not waiting. you were on his turf, but claiming just a bit of it for yourself by leaning in to kiss him.

it felt right to live in this moment, feeling him take the subtle kiss you started and turn it into a more developed moment. your bottom lip quivered against his, drinking in the desire he had for you in one simple motion. he parted your mouth, edging his tongue inside of your mouth. his thumb was still resting against your cheek.

he guided your waist closer with his other hand, two of his fingers were hooked inside the thick band of your athletic shorts. you were flush against him, angling your head more to allow his tongue to inch further.

you were running your hands underneath his shirt, feeling chill bumps appear as you touched him.

“y'wanna take this somewhere more comfortable?” he mumbled, kissing your cheek. he had a conventional spot that was far more pleasant than the gymnasium floor.

you agreed, being led back to his bedroom, which was more bare than the den. his closet door was slightly cracked open. there was a clothes hamper in the corner that wasn't overly full. a candle he had never used was sitting on his dresser. the condoms you had told him to buy were unopened on his nightstand. his bed frame was metal, and squeaky. when you sat down you slightly cringed from the noise.

“sorry ‘bout that, i got it second hand a few years ago because my sister told me i couldn't be forty-five with my mattress on the floor,” he was standing in front of you, watching you reach over and put your purse next to the box of condoms.

“she sounds like a smart woman,” you had a faint smile on your face. mikey had his hand resting between your thighs, beginning to crawl over you, replacing his hand with his knee, dividing your legs.

you laid back as he was inching his way on top of you, helping him tug off his shirt. the faint hum of the window unit kicking on could be heard as he helped you out of your collegiate sweater and lacy bralette.

you spent entirely too long pulling apart your suitcase to find that bralette and matching panties and he pulled it off of you without a second thought. it showed how much he truly cared about those floral panties and mismatched socks from last night.

his knee was firmly placed at your crotch, feeling that small bit of pressure was enough to send you spiraling. his lips were dragging across your chest, the tip of his crooked nose was nudging the side of your breast. a bulge in his gym shorts was as things were only escalating by the second.

he was nipping at your skin, adding another layer to this entire experience, littering your skin with twinges of pleasurable pain. he always stopped right before your erect nipples, only ever giving them enough stimulation from his breath and nothing more.

you were biting into your bottom lip as if it would save you from his teasing. his knee only further pressing into you. you were pushing yourself into him, both your clothed bottom half and your exposed top half arching ever so slightly off the bed.

mikey pushed your chest down, holding one finger to your sternum once you were lying flat on the bed. “lil’ thing, you gotta let me enjoy you for a bit.”

a whine left your mouth as his lips grazed past again. his top lip rested on your skin and his bottom lip was on the band of your shorts.

“couldn't get enough'a you last night,” he mumbled into your stomach, giving it one final kiss. “and right now you're tryin’ to rush me when i'm tryin’ to take my time.” he picked up his head, a loose silver curl falling from his bangs.

“you're not being nice about it,” your fingers were running through his full chest of hair, still grinding against his kneecap until he grabbed your thigh.

mikey chuckled, watching you grab his wrist in protest. “i’m not tryin’ to be nice, i’m tryin’ to enjoy myself before i start thinkin’ with my dick.” he took your hand off his wrist, kissing it gently, smirking against your skin for a split second before dropping it on the bed and giving some much-needed attention to your nipples.

you couldn’t expect him not to do it after your teasing video from this morning. he was partially distracted the entire day, having to switch with ebraheim to wrap and bag rather than talk to customers.

he was lightly thumbing at your right nipple as used his tongue to toy with your left. you were arching upwards again. mikey was finding it amusing with how easily you could fall apart, continuing to suckle on your protruding bud.

you were holding his head in place, aching for more as his tongue curled around more. he wasn’t letting up because the moment he switched to your other breast you were in the midst of expressing a breathy gasp.

there wasn’t a good reason for mikey to make you like this. hormones coursing through you knowing if you had any ounce of self-control you probably wouldn’t be reacting like you were.

then came the soft bites at the sides of your breasts and sides, burying further into your skin, purposely now forcing his knee further between your legs.

you sighed with relief shimming down further to meet his leg. mikey’s large hands had a tight hold on your upper body, letting both of his thumbs rub the curve of your breast.

he was staring, really staring. he was watching your eyes close instinctively as you found the right spot on his knee to grind your clit against.

it was a short fleeting feeling. your shorts and underwear were digging into you adding just a bit too much padding to keep generating the correct balance for your pleasure.

you ran your hands up to his face. the moment you opened your eyes was the moment mikey stopped looking, staring at your chest instead.

“what?” you mumbled, snaking out of his hold partially. the rough texture of his facial hair felt jagged against your palms.

“decidin’ how i wanna fuck that lil’ pussy.” mikey wasn't shy about it, dragging your shorts off only to see the same lace pattern on your underwear that he hadn’t acknowledged on your bra in the first place. he tilted his head, beginning to slide off your panties. he glanced over the side of the bed briefly trying to locate your bra but was unable. “‘cause i think you already got an idea on how y’want this night to go—”

“—‘cause you came prepared,” he teased, stepping off the edge of the bed to finish removing your panties and his gym shorts. he had a kind of patience that drove you crazy, watching his hands drag down your legs with certainty in mind.

“not really,” you fibbed, following his lips that dragged from the tip of your right toe, and up the curve of the inner portion of your leg.

“y’show up to my place in matching lingerie the second time you see me, and you're tellin’ me you're not ready?” he was now nipping at your inner thigh with the same aggressive tenderness that he showed your chest.

“i know y’know what y'want,” he continued trying to coax it out of you. he was right, but you didn't expect him to call you out on it. “y'knew what y'wanted last night pretty fast, lookin’ at me with those fuck me eyes before y'even came back for your phone,” he pressed the conversation, letting his chin rest in the crease of your leg. “so, how’d you expect this to go?”

you raised yourself on your elbows, both of you fully exposed, trying to share another moment together if you’d pull yourself together and answer him.

he was looking up at you awaiting a response, halting even his smallest touches to give you his full attention.

“i wanna ride.”

you didn't want to give an explanation, and luckily he wasn't looking for one because you couldn't admit you enjoyed looking at the way he reacted to being inside of you. you had just about killed him the night before, all sweaty, trying to pace himself because although he was feeling younger he really wasn't.

“there it is,” mikey praised, crawling his way past you to reach the box of condoms on the nightstand. you pulled yourself to your knees, scooching out of the way so he could fit comfortably on the bed.

mikey was rolling on a rubber, you were caressing his chest hair as you swung your leg over him to efficiently straddle him. he had a firm hold under your bottom. his throat was getting tight as you fished for his protected cock, anticipating what was coming next.

you were sinking down, your palms flat against his wooly biceps. he moved one of his hands to grip your wrist as you were letting all of your natural lubrication immerse his manhood.

you could feel him wholly inside of your stomach, nestling yourself onto his center shakily. he was rubbing at the slight hump of your wrist bone, helping you settle into that stretch you had yet to forget.

he was looking at you with that same expression of a mixture between worried and needy with his inherently sad brown eyes that seemed to carry more weight than you knew about.

“y’good?” mikey wanted to clarify as he licked over his bottom lip, not daring to inch into you this time, seeing as you had such a determined glint in your eye.

“mhm,” it was almost like you weren't trying to break concentration as you had now known what to prepare for.

that ache between his legs was being satiated the moment you started to find a rhythm within your bounce, lowering your chest to meet his and spreading your knees a bit further apart to get the full length of his substantial shaft.

there was a soft squelch every few moments from repeatedly sliding up and down. you were so wet, and mikey was loving every second of it, not daring to move your positioning especially since you were moaning directly by his ear. he was cupping the curve of your ass feeling the supple skin as your bouncing turned into more of a twerking motion. the squeaking bed frame only became louder by the second.

the fat of your ass jiggling against his lap and hand as you continued to throw your pussy back. mikey was choking back a slurry of groans, burying his forehead into your shoulder while your breast knocked into him.

your legs began to cramp after the multiple minutes of repetitive fucking, and mikey could sense it. your once-calculated motions were slowing and you began trying to find your pattern again by leaning on one leg more than the other.

mikey brought you closer, both of his hands steadying your thighs to gain even an ounce of control. he pulled you flush against his chest as he leaned back, lifting his hips upwards to get a feel for you in the modified position. of course, it felt fucking good with your pussy still wrapped around his cock. his balls already began slapping against you as his upward thrusts fiend for more of your tight, wet cunt.

you gasped softly, turning our face away from him to not accidentally scream into his ear. your entire body tightened.

“right there.” your tone was halfway praise halfway forceful, not wanting whatever spot mikey had found and taken over to stop.

your sweaty bodies were pressed together in his bed creating sweet, dangerously addicting sex. he gave a low breathy chuckle that was almost helpless in a way, nipping your arm as he pounded upwards trying to give you the satisfaction you had just found.

mikey could feel you tightening around him, only continuing to find that spurts of squirt were now beginning to exit your pussy. his head was dizzy, giving into every bit of unadulterated lust within him. you were a mess with your eyes closed tight and frizzy hair, grasping him for dear life.

you were helpless against him only baring your hips down further to contain yourself as you reached your high, panting hard and whining as it coursed through your entire being.

a second film was added to the franchise: AMATUER COCK RIDE LEADS TO SQUIRTING *!WET & MESSY!*

mikey was unraveling as you were, and a final gush of fluid began coating his thigh with his final upward thrust, trying to reach further than was possible with his cock to release. you were whimpering a string of curses as the control he took over your body only became rougher. he was holding the small of your back essentially using you as a toy to finish his orgasm.

penetration alone causing you to climax was surprising, to say the least, and the pool of liquid you coated his chest and lap in was not unheard of, but very uncommon in their occurrence and mikey had single-handedly done both in the two days he had known you.

he released his hold, settling his body back into the mattress. you unsteadily pulled off of his cock, catching your breath momentarily.

mikey let his head hit the pillow as he felt you crawl off of him. his chest was sweaty and heaving. his eyes were closed until he felt the bed even out from your lack of weight on top of the mattress.

“you leavin’?” he asked breathlessly, raising onto one elbow, now pulling the sheets to his waist. he felt exposed now with your quick exit strategy. last night was different, you were both in public. he didn’t know what he expected from you, but it wasn’t to act like nothing just happened.

he wasn't upset about his soaked sheets or the fact that he would be up for another half an hour to change them before he showered; his ego felt slightly deflated knowing you could so easily gather yourself and head out the door, but even that took time for you to perfect.

“well, yeah,” you stated as though it was obvious. your face was still flushed as you were searching for your discarded sports bra. you quickly scooped up your florida gators sweatshirt hand and guarded your chest—as if it was some private sector—not like the man on the bed didn't just take his time kissing and licking your entire body.

“do y'always leave like that?” mikey rephrased his question, watching you pull your bralette out from under the rickety bed frame.

you shrugged. “i don't sleep in strangers’ beds.”

that made mikey not want to be so much of a stranger.

“y'need me to walk you out?”

“i can open the door, mikey,” it wasn't rude, just true. you said it with a smile like you were old friends.

“no, i know,” he nodded, sitting up a little further. “just be safe, y’know?”

you were tugging on your sneakers, seemingly unfazed by the sex and more concerned about taking your leave. “i’ll lock the bottom.” you purse off the nightstand and then did just as you said you would as you left his apartment.

a month had passed, yet there had barely been a day that mikey wasn't making time for you. he seemed to be committed to making your summer as bearable as possible. you weren't staying the night. you were barely talking in person when you were showing up at his apartment. he was giving you an ungodly amount of unholy sex that his neighbors probably despised him for.

this saturday you were at the ballpark, watching your brother in a quick weekend tournament because he had begged you to watch a couple of his games. you had nothing better to do this summer. other than your nightly rendezvous with mikey the days were open other than the occasional rekindle with your friends from high school.

you were sitting in a camping chair, phone in one cup holder, a sweating diet coke in the other. your father's scorebook notebook was in your lap, filling it in for him as the game continued. you were wearing one of his jerseys that you modified to fit better with a hair tie, the team hat, and a pair of denim shorts with stars embroidered on the pockets. the chicago five points was the team your father coached. white jerseys with yellow writing graffitied across the fabric with the addition of bright stars. there was smudged eye black on your cheek from having cameron attempt to take his number off your cheek. there wasn't a chance in hell that you could let him attend a game without letting him get teased just a little bit by his fellow teammates.

the game was wrapping up and you were adding the final scores to the booklet. there would be about an hour and a half until the next game because your brother's team was advancing. if they won the majority of their games today they would be playing at a park further away next weekend.

you looked up from the booklet to see mikey leaning over the fence, waiting for a lull to grab your father's attention. you sunk back in your chair, dragging the capped pen over the scoresheet. after settling his team and telling them what field to return to, he sighed when he saw mikey, already beginning to explain how sorry he was for his outstanding balance from the banquet.

“damn michael, i'm so sorry,” your father apologized again for what seemed to be the umpteenth time in the conversation.

the entire time you were trying to stay focused on the booklet in your hand, trying to replay the plays the team made in your mind rather than honing in on your summer situation talking to your father.

“hey, it's all good coach reggie,” mikey shrugged, sliding the folded check into his pocket. “i know you aren't trying to skip out on a balance.”

“i really did try and pay online, but it wasn't working the same way from when i did the deposit. i called, hell, i don't remember her name, at the restaurant, and she tried to walk me through it but it still wasn't working,” your dad explained, trying not to seem like a total asshole for withholding money he wasn't meaning to withhold in the first place.

“that was probably my sister nat,” mikey was being casual. “like i said it's not a big deal, but if this check bounces you better be prayin’ that i don't start swingin’ one of these bats on you, coach,” he teased, making your father return his humor with a firm pat on his back.

“thanks so much for stopping to get the check by the way, we're living at the park this weekend,” your father joked.

“ain’t a problem, we're even now,” mikey then bid his goodbye. you were trailing up to the fence right behind where mikey was once standing.

“dad, i'm getting a bite to eat from the concession stand, you want anything?” you called out, mikey's head turned as he walked. he heard you, and suddenly he was hungry too.

“no, baby girl, i'm alright,” your father concluded, watching his players exit the diamond.

you had a boat of nachos, nothing fancy, just that thick neon artificial cheese piled on round, salty tortilla chips. leaning against a post near the covered and crowded picnic area, you had napkins under the red and white boat watching mikey come closer with two drinks in his hand.

“stalking me while i'm with my family?” you quipped, taking a bite of one of the cheese-loaded chips. you were extending the tray to him, and with a quick adjustment of the drinks he took a chip.

“your dad is the one who asked me to come over here and pick up his check, thank you, miss smart ass,” mikey covered his mouth as he swallowed the concession stand food. he knew it was going to be bad. “you can have those, i think i've gotten too old for the artery-clogging fluorescent cheese.” he offered a soda to you, as he twisted the top off.

“and you can keep that because i only drink diet,” you ate another chip from the boat like it was nothing.

“so you'll shove down a tray of fake nachos, but get your panties inna twist over full sugar soda?” mikey laughed, taking a long drink of his soda to rid the aftertaste from his mouth.

“i never said i made any sense,” you acknowledged his truth. you may not have made any sense but you knew what you liked.

“don't worry, i know you don't,” mikey retorted, taking a drink of his soda. “but y’know if y’want some real food you can come get some hot italian beef, right?”

you both paused, staring at each other wondering who was going to break the silence by laughing first. it was you, holding your knuckle to your mouth, trying not to choke on the food you were chewing.

“jesus, do you hear yourself?” you questioned through a laugh, wiping your fingers on the napkin under the food tray.

“no, you made it weird. i just asked if y’wanted a sandwich.” mikey was still chuckling.

it was that refreshing silence again, where you were just enjoying each other.

“i gotta bounce, lil’ thing,” mikey held his gaze a little longer. “brother bear's gonna start textin’ in all caps, and then i'm screwed for the rest of the day,” he kissed the top of your cap which made you tense up. “try not to make too many kids cry.”

“no promises,” you itched the side of your arm while looking at the picked-apart nachos in your hand. “gotta keep them humble somehow.”

it wasn’t long before you helped your dad move all of the equipment to the next diamond. the assistant coach was helping the players warm up. your dad was checking over the roster.

“you know that guy i was talking to?” your father asked, watching you line up the batting bags in the dugout in a neater fashion.

“what guy?” you knew what guy, but you had to play stupid.

“the one i was talking to after the last game? you were sitting right there.”

“oh, the one you paid for the banquet,” you mentioned earning a nod from your father.

“yeah, michael—he turned his life around, not many people get that chance.” your father had unknowingly walked into a minefield. you didn't know where this conversation was going when it first began, but this wasn't what you expected at all. you knew you enjoyed what mikey was providing you with, but you didn't know him. your father was just trying to make conversation.

“i don't know him that well, but i know that he was on drugs pretty bad, his brother had to take over the restaurant while he was recovering,” he continued while sipping on a cup of gatorade that was mixed in the nearby cooler. “we ran in different circles, but he’s always been a nice guy, just got a little unfocused for a bit.”

it all felt a little too personal and too real. you had gathered the score booklet again, wanting to take your seat in the camping chair again to comprehend what your dad was really saying.

“that had to be almost ten years ago, give or take, i don't know if other people still like him, but i respect that. he took initiative to get back where he needed to be.”

that left a sinking feeling in your chest. you were volunteered information and now you didn't know what to do with it.

“sounds like he got it figured out.” those were the only words you could muster as you exited the dugout to begin setting your chair up for the next game.

later that night you were lying on your stomach in bed with aloe vera slathered across your cheeks to minimize the sting from the hot sun. you knew you needed a break from mikey, just until you could figure out if you wanted to continue seeing him.

10:10 PM

you: got to wrap up a few things this week. busy sry

11:50 PM

mikey: lmk when ur free

mikey hadn't expected a full week to pass with no contact. he knew you said you were busy, but it was a little unsettling to know you could so easily brush him aside. he knew it would eventually end, but didn't know it would be so soon. he wanted to text and see what you were doing, but he knew better than to try and chase after someone who didn't want him.

“fak, wait,” mikey grumbled, setting down his end of the shelving that needed to be moved so they could put in new wall anchors.

“why am i waiting? you have to actually try to pick it up,” the handyman said defensively, adjusting his backward cap.

“i am pickin’ it up, but you're not turnin’” mikey groaned, knocking his hand against the metal with an eye roll.

fak held his hands up, attempting to offer peace, giving a tilt with his head. “on three?” he offered to try to defuse the situation, knowing his employer was more than a little agitated.

that didn't seem to work at all because the shelf went crashing down, causing mikey to throw the towel he had off of his shoulder. it was hot enough in the kitchen without something going wrong.

“watch it,” carmen spouted from his station, hearing the loud bang against the floor. mikey shot him a glare.

“thank you baby bear for addin’ that wonderful insight to this shitty situation,” mikey was holding his temples as richie stepped in to help them pick the shelving up to the standing position. “the fuckin’ floor is goddamn cracked,” he added, bending down to look at the tile.

carmen didn’t look up, only shooting brother the middle finger.

“cousin, bring it down about half an inch from dick to slightly less of an asshole,” richie suggested, walking backward as he and fak efficiently moved the shelf out of the way.

“don't worry about him, he's only mad because his summer situation benched him,” richie’s snarky comment made mikey throw his hands up. “she probably got sick of his ugly mug and traded up.”

“shut up, rich,” mikey warned, collecting his stud finder and measuring tape to begin the process of installing the l-brackets.

“bro, that's an easy fix,” fak claimed, his face lighting up as he had learned of the new information.

“we are not talkin’ about this,” mikey grunted, not looking away from his handy work on the wall, ensuring both sides were even.

“you gotta schmooze her,” fak claimed.

carmen, although at his station, was muttering a jesus christ, under his breath because the last person anyone would want dating advice from was fak. that burly tattooed maintenance man had ideas, but so did every other living soul on the planet—it didn't mean you took them.

“get her one of those edible arrangements. bitches love fruit,” fak pointed his finger certainly before he got another idea. “or–oh! what about you get her one of those big stuffed animals? all cuddly and shit, yeah she’d want that.”

mikey let fak go on his tangent, half-mindedly paying attention while he got out the drill.

“and boom! romance! works every time,” fak insisted as if he had just solved a world crisis.

monday night—technically tuesday tuesday according to the time—full nine days since you last talked to mikey.

you hadn't warned him that you were coming. you just showed, giving a soft knock on his door and waiting patiently. you didn't even expect him to open the door, but he did, shirtless and in a pair of sweats.

he let you in without much hesitation. he was happy to know you were okay.

“this is weird and i’m sorry,” you apologized, setting your keys on his coffee table. “i should’ve texted you first.”

“it’s okay,” he assured you.

his half-made peanut butter and jelly was waiting on the counter. he wasn’t very concerned with it right now, knowing you were standing in front of him.

“am i screwing with your sobriety?” you asked abruptly.

“next time start with foreplay,” he suggested with a laugh.

“mikey,” you mumbled. “really?”

“first off, i’m a grown man you don’t needa start worryin’ about where my head is. second, i know what i’m doin’ with you.” he was more serious this time, walking back into the kitchen as he spoke.

he put the bread in the toaster and then casually popped the lid off the jam jar.

“i don’t want to be the reason that pulls you back down.” you were standing on the opposite side of the counter watching him.

“i have made worse decisions than you, pretty thing, and plenty of ‘em,” he took the toasted bread out of the toaster and laid it on the paper plate in front of him. his knife was pointed at you before it dipped into the opened peanut butter. “but you and whatever the hell we have goin’ isn’t gonna screw with my sobriety.”

after smearing in the jelly, he cut the sandwich into two triangles taking his side off the plate and then sliding the other half to you. “you know what you’re doin’ though? fuckin’ with my sleep schedule. hard.”

you smirked, looking down at the freshly made sandwich. he was leaning on his hand as he took a bite.

“i’ll blame you forever for that,” he teased.

that night was calm for once. you didn’t end up in his bedroom or even naked for that matter. you sat on the couch with him enjoying the half a sandwich he had made.

you were leaning into his chest watching some low-budget movie on amazon prime. you weren’t fleeting away at any little touch; you were accepting all of them.

you had eaten and your arms were folded over on your chest and your knees were curled up. you were comfortable. you looked at him, really looked at him. the screen would occasionally brighten and you could see that worn tired expression that he wore so well. the wrinkles by his eyes that made him squint just a little when he smiled.

“i’m sorry about earlier.”

mikey shrugged, leaning down to kiss your temple. “don’t apologize for askin’ questions you didn’t know the answer to.” he knew you only asked because it was coming from a good place. you had him in mind and you barely knew him.

“i don’t want to be the reason i mess up what’s working because you have it figured out, and i’m all impulsive and junk…” you trailed off awkwardly.

“pretty girl, you’re supposed to be like that. you’re twenty,” he reminded you, meeting your gaze.

“yeah, but i just don’t want to be somebody’s relapse,” you mumbled, letting the tension soak in the air for just a moment.

“eesh, way to kill the mood,” mikey did a faux shiver, bringing you closer. his back dug into the couch, knowing your words had weight to them. he knew he had to shed a little light on the situation.

“i’m seven years into this, and like you said, i know what works for me and i know what doesn’t. if i knew you were screwin’ me up i’d say something,” mikey admitted, watching your eyes go wide with surprise.

“i mean it—i’ve made enough mistakes to get where i’m at right now.” he held your chin gently. “you’re not even close to ruinin’ me, hon.”

it was oddly comforting to know that you weren’t ruining mikey’s chances at a better life. he had real issues, the kind that had some grit to them. it wasn’t scaring you off knowing he had them.

“but now, it’s my turn to ask questions,” he turned your face to the side to place a kiss right under your ear lobe. it was like he was trying to butter you up to get the answer he wanted. “what makes you hate bein’ home' so bad?”

you hummed slightly in thought, closing your eyes. “i feel like i’m wasting time… like i'm forced to stall my life,” you were now staring at his ceiling watching the fan spin with the occasional sound of the wobble from the blades. you didn't know how to pull your thoughts together fully. “i left because i wanted some freedom,” you cleared your throat, now realizing that you were fidgeting with your hands. “it's cliche, i know, but i needed to find myself and not be smothered.”

mikey was nodding slowly, taking your hand apart from each other, rubbing his thumb over the top of your hand instead. “so since you've been gone have y’found anything worthwhile?”

you nodded though not fully convinced of yourself. “a few things, but i'm still getting where i need to be.”

those words said enough. you weren't fully settled in your new life although you had been living there because your current moment was just a stepping stone for something larger and more important that you wished to achieve. although coming home felt like regression mikey had been doing a great job to keep you from dwelling on that feeling.

you stayed the night. a sexless night of him waking up slumped over on the sofa with you. the entire night he had his arm draped over your side. you weren't use to sleeping in anyone else's home, much less the man you had been religiously letting plow you, but somehow it felt right to spend extra time with him.

the next morning you both woke up to his alarm blaring in the next room over.

your mom was at the kitchen sink, sipping her coffee while she read the back of a boxed cake mix, trying to take an early jump on the pineapple upside-down cake she was bringing to a work potluck the next day. your father had already left for the day for his job in building inspection, coaching was a side gig.

“you didn't come last night,” she commented, glancing at your tired appearance. “daddy said you've been going out late almost every night.”

it was a little unnerving to know that your parents had been paying that much attention to your whereabouts. you thought that you were being quiet, going in and out of the house at odd hours. neither of them had said anything to you. they didn’t want to rock the boat because you were finally home, but they were observant of your actions—for the most part.

cameron was smirking at you from his bowl of cereal, knowing you were in a bit of trouble.

“just out with friends,” you shrugged, taking a drink of your own coffee. you had spent the entire night tossing and turning on mikey's sofa because there wasn't much room for the both of you.

“you could've texted,” she mentioned, taking out a mixing bowl.

“i will next time,” you nodded slowly, avoiding the gaze she brought as she began dumping the contents of the mix into the glass bowl. “just lost track of time.”

“alright,” she squinted her eyes slightly, just enough to make sure you knew she was aware that she knew something was different.

a heartthrob walking up to the beef window wasn't uncommon and it wasn't overlooked, and you were no exception. wearing some little ribbed low-cut baby tee with a dewy face, sunglasses pushing your hair back, and the summer sun was sticking to your skin like you were a walking advertisement for hot girls near you.

richie has his head halfway out the window, looking down at you. he was hitting his pen against his receipt pad. ebraheim was glancing out the window, wrapping a few to-go orders that were about to be picked up. he like richie knew there was nothing good to come out of anyone that was carrying themselves the way you were. you seemed determined in a way like it wasn't only lunch you needed.

“and what can i get for the smoke show?” richie asked, unknowing of who you were and where you came from. all he knew was that you looked good and had that look of trouble glinting in your eyes.

you gave him a playful smile, leaning in a little closer, your hands resting on the bar of the window. “mikey promised me a sandwich when he wasn't busy.” it was sweet and innocent, but it had such a loaded meaning.

ebra was glancing at richie with a look that said did you just hear her. and yes, erba, richie did, loud and clear because now he was putting together the pieces of this very suspicious puzzle.

“did he now?” richie asked, backing into the window a bit.

“mhm, said i could swing by whenever,” you confirmed.

“hold on sweetheart,” richie smiled, dropping his pen onto the counter. “lemme go get your daddy for you.” his voice was laced with a thick veil of sarcasm.

richie disappeared into the kitchen, not able to wipe the look of surprise off of his face.

“hey, cousin,” he was close to mikey’s station, watching him wipe away vegetable scraps into a clear container to be used as broth for later on. “someone is here for you,” he cleared his throat, earning a shrug from mikey. plenty of people came by needing to see him and in this moment he was doing something.

“i'm almost done with this, just gimme a second,” mikey was wiping the edge of his knife on a clean kitchen towel.

“she asked for you by name and is practically flashing’ the entirety of river north.”

mikey set his knife down, elbowing richie as he began progressing towards the beef window. “coulda started with that you, jackass.”

“that's the girl? mikey, the fuck?” richie groaned. he was looking too, but actually knowing his friend was engaging with the trouble on two feet was worrisome.

mikey was shushing him as he entered the beef area. he glanced out the window, seeing that you seated yourself at a table under an umbrella. he was too far gone the moment he saw you. he wasn't paying any mind to richie now that he knew you had taken his offer for a sandwich seriously.

mikey had slid past ebra, wrapping a quick sandwich, tray and all lined with parchment, an addition of extra napkins and he wasn’t forgetting the drink. the soda that dribbled down the side of the cup was wiped up like it really mattered—it didn't but it needed to look nice for you.

ebra although he was occupied with his work was still watching through the window covered in decal stickers at you. it was silent judging, but not towards you or your outfit—towards mikey.

“ebra, shut it,” mikey warned when he was halfway out the door.

“i did not say anything, michael.” ebra paused before opening the sandwich window to give out the to-go orders in brown paper bags.

“you didn’t have to with that face.”

ebraheim shut the window, a kind of helpless glance towards richie who was standing towards the back of the beef kitchen.

mikey walked the completed tray out to you, and your face lit up when you saw him.

“didn't know you were comin’ today,” mikey carefully set the tray down, letting you excitedly unwrap the parchment on your sandwich.

“i was hungry and in the neighborhood,” you shrugged, taking a bite, a content expression washed over you.

“well eat, lil’ thing,” mikey set the napkins under your cup so they wouldn't fly away. “diet coke this time—’cause i remember shit,” he bragged on himself a little.

“look at you being a gentleman,” you teased, leaning in to take a sip of your drink.

“the one and only,” he plucked his work shirt like he was a big shot.

“i should’ve texted,” you admitted after taking another bite of the hot sandwich, having a hint of embarrassment scratching at your brain. “i think your cashier was a little surprised to meet me.”

“i woulda been too if someone so fine asked for him,” mikey jested from his seat, resting his hands on his knuckles to look at you with his full attention.

meanwhile, richie had disturbed carmen because he needed to know what his brother was doing; that was their duty after mikey's rehab in which they would both be responsible for him. it had been a while since they had to call on each other, but there they were staring out the beef window watching you make mikey laugh, which was somehow more disturbing than if it were him trying to make you laugh.

“do you see why this is more important than the fuckin’ sausage and peppers?” richie asked, gesturing loosely out the window. carmen had handed his station over to sydney for the time being. “i mean do you really fuckin’ see it.”

“jesus, okay, i get it,” carmen was still looking out the window.

“he wiped her drink,” ebra chimed in, earning a slow head tilt from carmen. ebra held his hands up in defense. “in my country we called that expensive.”

“that's not helpin’,” carmen slightly shivered. “it’s already bad ‘nough without all the extra.”

“we gotta talk some sense into him,” richie groaned, peering out the window to see mikey holding the soda straw to your lips so you wouldn’t have to pick it up while you held your sandwich.

the moment you left carmen and richie practically picked mikey up by the scruff of his neck to drag him into the alleyway. richie brought out a pack of cigarettes and carmen scooted three crates next to each other with his foot.

“alright,” richie clasped his hands together. “what the fuck are you doing?”

“startin’ with a subtle approach i see,” mikey took a cigarette from his friend and a seat in the middle.

“mikey, you didn't say that she’s younger than me,” carmen was popping a couple of pieces of nicorette gum, itching at the scar on his hand. your youth had been the first thing that anyone would notice, especially when placed next to mikey.

“i didn't say anything,” mikey reminded them, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “are we really having an intervention in the middle of lunch?”

richie had his foot placed on top of his crate, looking down on mikey. he didn't find it very funny, so unfunny that he was staring at his lit lighter, unable to even light his cigarette.

“no, we aren't doin’ this not now, not later,” mikey leaned back some, his back hitting the concrete wall of the restaurant.

“yeah we are,” carmen interjected. “because richie’s picked you up too many times for you to walk out right now.”

richie gave an appreciative nod towards the younger brother. “dude, you got past the rocky shit and you think bangin’ some chick is the right answer?” he asked, playing with the igniter wheel.

“i feel like you guys are comin’ on a little strong.” mikey was playing the game of avoidance again, not wanting to reveal too much about anything.

“you’re too involved—”

“y’can’t tell me how involved i am when you don't know how it is,” mikey had his elbows on his knees looking at the mural on the building across the street through the chain link fence.

“i think we saw how it was,” carmen rolled his eyes, a slight scoff leaving his mouth.

“bear, don't start that passive-aggressive bullshit with me when you—”

“me? we aren't talkin’ about me right now—we're talkin’ about you bein’ balls deep in some chick actin’ like your bullshit has gone away.”

mikey whipped his head around to look at his younger brother. “oh-ho, look at carmy gettin’ pissy again about shit that doesn’t pertain to him.”

carmen inhaled sharply, only nodding his head. “you wanna be like that, right now? because i didn’t have to leave new york when your psychotic ass was going through withdrawals. i didn’t want to keep findin’ pills in your desk when i was cleanin’ this shithole up. i didn’t have to keep watchin’ you fall apart a thousand times before you finally pulled it together. so yeah, it's not my shit but i keep steppin’ in it because you put yourself in it.” carmen's tone was low and snappy. it was lethal in a way, making both mikey and richie shift uncomfortably.

“and as for richie he’s dealt with your shit a fuck ton longer than i have and i'm your own goddamn brother. so let him fuckin’ talk,” carmen concluded, chewing his gum with a little extra agitation.

richie took a moment before speaking. carmen had just unloaded enough. “we're not tryin’ to judge,” he uncomfortably took a seat. “it's just that we know you worked hard to get where you are now.”

mikey flicked his cigarette to the center of the pavement then ran his hands over his face. it felt like he was having the same version of the conversation he had with you, although the difference was that richie and carmen knew all of his struggles and not just the vague understanding of his past with drugs.

“it's some stupid summer bullshit. she’s goin’ back out of state soon anyway. that's all this is; that’s it,” mikey was still in his spot, not willing to look at either of them now.

“what happens when she’s gone?” richie pressed, looking at the smoking cigarette on the ground.

“i show up. i do my work. i go to meetings,” mikey recited quickly like he had done it many times before. that was his normal routine, though his current routine was to show up, do work, go to meetings, and enjoy you he knew he'd be at a loss without you.

carmen wiped his sweating palms on his knees. he was still annoyed. “don't let this get outta hand or i'm tellin’ sug,” the younger brother warned.

mikey grumbled under his breath as he watched carmen stand. “low blow, carm.”

natalie, sugar, was the last line of defense because carmen knew mikey couldn’t be the reason for getting her wound up with those sad puppy-dog eyes she wore so well. he couldn't cause her any more pain. she had enough to worry about without starting to worry about him again.

she had given mikey more help than anyone, more than he would like to admit.

2:10 PM

mikey: r u busy?

2:15 PM

you: not for you

2:15 PM

mikey: slip in my office and help me out?

2:16 PM

you: please?

2:17 PM

mikey: u don’t have to beg

2:17 PM

you: *eye roll emoji* *middle finger emoji*

you: be there in a few

planning for an impromptu fourth of july barbeque to be held in the parking lot of the bear was one of the biggest headaches that mikey had encountered in a long time. between that and a lunch rush from hell, he needed a pick-me-up before dinner prep because the stale coffee wasn't working anymore.

it wasn't long before you arrived, nestled secretly under his desk after a couple of playful kisses.

mikey was sitting back in his office chair, his fingers curled around the armrests while he watched you wrangle his erect cock.

you were slurping on the curvature of his cock with glossy eyes, a bit of salvia falling out of your mouth. your cheeks were hollow, following part of his shaft down as you used your tongue to attempt to reach a little further.

one of your hands was cradling his balls; it occasionally slipped up to stroke the base of his manhood that you were unable to fit in your mouth.

you began to brush back your hair although mikey took notice of this, taking the liberty of holding it back for you. there you were, working up and down his girth like you owned it, choking lightly when you went too far.

spit was dribbling out of your mouth and onto the office chair where he was manspread. your swollen lips taking the liberty of working at his tip; his salty precum flooding your oral senses.

with his fingers intertwined securely in your hair he took his free hand to caress your cheek, a small bit of praise for your much-appreciated work. you were very expecting of this, trying to force your throat a little further each time even if it meant your eyes only got more watery.

mikey was gentle. he wasn't pushing your head and making you take every inch of his well-endowed tool. he was letting you enjoy yourself and in turn, was enjoying himself.

you knew you had him wrapped around your finger when his stomach would cave ever so slightly. your eyes were meeting his.

you began to bob your head a little faster, watching him exhale shakily as the combination of your strokes and mouth seemed to make his erection extra stiff, especially when you pointed your tongue to place extra pressure on the prominent vein of his cock.

that's when the door rattled, making mikey jump. you couldn't pull your head back fast enough, and even with mikey fishing for his pants, it was too late. the door certainly wasn't locked. this could've been avoided.

“michael—” jimmy, as in the jimmy that had given him and his brother hundreds of thousands of dollars, as in the jimmy kalinowski that had long been a family friend with the berzattos had entered. his eyes were darting around the room frantically, like a bad car wreck he was unable to look away from.

and in this rendition of the pornos, it is titled: HOT CHICK SUCKS THICK OLDER COCK UNDER DESK **CAUGHT**

“mother of fuck!” jimmy roared as he stumbled out of the room and down the hallway.

mikey was trying to get his bearings together while also checking on you, which wasn't great because his heart was pounding out of his chest.

“i am so fucked,” mikey groaned, tugging up his pants the rest of the way with part of his shirt stuck in the waistband. “jimmy—fuckin’ a’, man,” he was talking to himself in a panicked manner.

“hey, hey,” you tried to calm him, adjusting your shirt and wiping the corners of your mouth.

“you gotta go,” mikey was rushing. he was right. you really did need to leave. he was dragging you by the wrist, down the hallway. you were also appreciative of mikey's quickness to get you to the door.

the kitchen doors were rushed open. it was like jimmy was on a war path.

“somebody put a leash on michael before he catches a fuckin’ statutory!” jimmy barked, suddenly the entire kitchen fell silent. no pots were clattering, no talk of their day, no squeak of the required non-slip shoes. everything stopped.

“yo, what the fuck?” richie was the first one to speak up.

jimmy’s announcement wasn't exactly subtle. it was painful and embarrassing and gross.

“your friend’s stripped down to his skivvies in his damn office getting a mid-day treat from some floosie, rick.” jimmy threw his hands up angrily.

oh fuck—nothing about jimmy's outburst was beneficial to busy kitchen.

carmen didn't leave his station; he was urging everyone to keep working as an uproar of comments were being made. he had too much to do other than entertain the chaos. he and richie knew exactly what this was about based on jimmy’s comment even before he had to explain himself.

the rest of the kitchen was stunned, immediately blabbering back and forth before richie struck two skillets together urging them to be quiet.

jimmy then saw mikey leading you out, pausing his kitchen outburst to catch the imbecile who had started this whole saga.

“what the fuck are you doin’?” jimmy confronted mikey harshly. he then looked at you with his head tilted. his glasses a little crooked. “and sweetheart what the fuck are you doin’ with him?”

you swallowed hard. jimmy’s tone had changed drastically when he had spoken to you. “do i need to call him a lawyer?” he pressed a little further.

“no, what? no, i’m twenty. i go to school. i have a license,” you rambled though none of it provided any solid proof unless you were to pull out your cardholder you were nervous. your hands were shaking and mikey was still edging you to the door.

“alright, wonderful, so you have a fuckin’ brain then why are you using it to be with him?” jimmy prodded. your shoulders were still tense, staring at him wide-eyed.

“unc, let her go,” mikey sighed, looking at the exit sign above the door. jimmy was practically blocking the hallway. “then you can keep yellin’ but don't let her be mixed up in it.”

“i spend all this goddamn money for you go have a co-ed under your desk? be like your fuckin’ brother for god’s sake and throw a goddamn knife or scream in the fuckin’ walk-in,” jimmy spat one last time before scooting out the the way.

“i’ll take that note,” mikey grumbled, ushering you out the back door.

walking into the kitchen seemed like the right thing to do at the moment, but immediately regretted it once he was in there. he had heard jimmy’s outburst and already knew the staff was talking.

it was silent when mikey came in, all the conversation halted immediately. if that wasn't a sure sign that people were conversing about the sudden drama then he didn't know what else was. there was never a dull day at the bear.

“this has really gotten outta hand,” mikey announced from the hand washing station, lathering his hands and forearms up. “and i didn't mean for it to get this far, but it did,” he groaned trying to phrase his words correctly.

“baby, you can't be doin’ that,” tina responded. “like some shit you just don't do.”

“unprofessional,” sydney added softly, her round eyes darting around. “really inappropriate—and like—gross, right? we’re a whole restaurant.” she gestured loosely.

mikey was drying his hands, staring at the blinding lights on the ceiling. “alright, i fucked up, we got that, thank you,” he was leaning against the wall, knowing if he even began kitchen duty his head would be too jumbled to achieve anything.

“told you it was a bad idea,” richie coughed, having to add the ‘i told you so at the worst moment.’

“you knew? and you let him keep doing it?” sydney pressed further, unable to look at anyone other than tina who was also shaking her head.

“he wouldn't have stopped anyway…college chick has initiative,” richie shrugged. it earned a couple of groans of disapproval. everyone was rightfully awkward and wary of the situation.

“sis looks like she’s committed her thesis study to daddy issues,” marcus tried to lighten the situation, and a couple of chuckles were heard.

“no, no, she's pledged to tri delta and her philanthropy mission is to support recovering addicts,” sweeps butted in, carrying a basket of unfolded napkins.

mikey stood with his arms crossed trying not to laugh. he deserved the heckling. not everyone found it amusing, but it was definitely helping mikey recover from the initial shock and surprise of being walked in on.

“mystery baby was just trying to use the last points on her campus dining plan, cut her some slack,” marcus hit a witty rebuttal.

“mystery baby is her new name, fuckin’ brand that shit,” richie called out.

“okay okay, have we had enough fun?” mikey asked with a fading chuckle. “maybe we should get the hell back to work before carmen blows a gasket,” he offered, knowing their slow hands wouldn't be helpful by the time service started.

“yeah, probably for the best because i texted sugar,” carmen didn't even look up.

“motherfucker.”

natalie had been at the hardware store attempting to pick up a list of supplies from their morning meeting about the barbeque carmen had proposed. though the moment carmen’s 911 mikey text came through she dropped everything.

they were sitting in her office. pictures of her daughter and husband littered her desk, and it was more organized than mikey’s office by far. color-coded tabs and coordinating pens to highlighters along with an actual color scheme. carmen had briefed her on the entire situation before she even sat down with her oldest brother.

mikey was tapping his foot anxiously. he didn't know where she was going to start. with the fact that she had plucked mikey off the state street bridge night so many years ago when he was half conscious and at rock bottom, maybe the night she bailed him out of jail for petty theft, or when she had given him a place to stay after he couldn't stay at their mother's house in the early stages of recovery, or even maybe the fact that she had helped him find the meetings he so regularly attended. he could go on and on about what his sister had done for him.

“bear, what’s goin’ on with you?” she asked softly. worry filled her eyes.

“nothin’,” mikey shrugged. he felt like he was in the damn principal’s office.

“do you think carmy texted because it was nothing?” she had a point, but he didn't expect their youngest sibling to actually go through with his threat.

“no, jeez, sug, i'm grown. i have my head on straight now. i participate in my meetings. i’m clean—”

“mikey,” natalie stopped him. “i know you're good. you’ve been good. i’m proud of you, but i’m not proud of this girl.”

that stung. mikey furrowed his brows as his arms crossed over his chest. sugar had a million things she could've brought up and she chose the one that mattered.

“i know you’re grown, but she isn't. she’s still somebody’s kid,” natalie was taking this in a different perspective, different than what carmen had to say and everyone else. she wasn't touching on his sobriety, not now at least. mikey was expecting her to want to kill him.

“she’s two and a half times younger than you. when we were twenty our family didn't care, but her’s might.” she was thinking about it like it was her own daughter years into the future.

“no one was supposed to find out and then—”

“then you started thinking with your dick, bear,” natalie sighed, wrapping her brother in a hug that he didn't reciprocate. “that was reckless and really fucking stupid, and now i want to hit your head against the wall.” she had such a serious tone that mikey couldn't help but chuckle. he patted his sister’s back.

“i probably deserve it,” mikey agreed. this was more gentle than he thought it would go. natalie wasn't crying or making those big guilt tripping eyes. but what else could she do other than say something? she wasn't tracking anyone down and giving them a lesson. mikey was responsible for his own doings...even if they were ridiculous.

“no probably about it,” natalie flicked his forehead before pulling away.

jimmy was sitting in the furthest booth from the door, mindlessly eating his lunch with no complaints to be had, seeing as he was sitting by himself. he was occasionally looking up at the door in between bites, just a little peace to separate himself from the chaotic week.

“hell, is that jimmy k?” your father asked, a tray of food in his hand from the deli, but had yet to set it down at a seating arrangement.

“oh shit, that's reggie,” jimmy perked up a bit, a welcoming smile gracing his face. “you wanna take a seat?” he offered the opposite side of the booth to reggie.

years back jimmy had given reggie extra work when he needed it. they had rarely kept up with each other besides the occasional run in, but they always seemed to chat like old friends that had never forgotten where they once left off from previously.

“long time no see, man,” reggie greeted, unwrapping his sandwich. “same old, same old?” he questioned, breaking into conversation easily.

“little of everything, you know me,” jimmy mentioned casually.

it was all normal until the conversation shifted from family to work. reggie was mentioning he was still married, one kid about to start high school, the other in college, and was still coaching. jimmy mentioned his son and some other odds and ends, but then he turned to money. jimmy seemed a little annoyed to be mentioning how much money he loaned his “nephews” to redo their sandwich shop into an actual restaurant, and how even after all their renovations, they were still fucking up.

“you're talking about the bear, right?” reggie was now placing all the pieces together, remembering how jimmy was friends with michael and carmen’s father. “they catered my kid’s banquet a few months ago.”

“yeah, yeah, the fuckin’ bear,” jimmy groaned. “let me pick your ear about somethin’ okay, reg?” he wasn't really asking. he was going to talk anyway. “mikey is the most lovable fuck up, but right now i could kill him. how would you feel knowing you spent a bunch of goddamn money and then walk in his office and catch him with some college kid?”

“what?” reggie repeated, the conversation having shifted heavily. he put down his sandwich. those words seemed to hit a little too close to home because his twenty-year-old daughter hadn’t been present practically the whole summer, coming home late every night, and being oddly secretive.

“not kiddin’ you, walked into his office about a week ago and he had some twenty-year-old gettin’ down on her knees in the middle of the work day,” jimmy repeated, not noticing how still reggie had become.

jimmy was just blabbing because he was annoyed, not knowing that he was inciting a panic in his old employee.

“you know anything else?” reggie swallowed hard. his hands were shaking under the table. his dad sense was screaming at him that it was his daughter making some stupid mistake.

“no—oh, reg, no—” jimmy finally caught on to reggie’s face that had seemingly lost a little color.

“hey, you know, i gotta get back to work, but i’ll see you around,” reggie cleared his throat. he had barely eaten on his lunch break. he was going to sit in his truck and use the rest of his time to call his daughter.

the staff alternated days off. this week it was mikey’s monday off, and there was no place better to spend it than with you, grasping the meat of your thighs. his elbows help to keep you spread wide, absorbing himself in his own world between your legs. even after the scare with jimmy the two of you had an inability to keep your hands off of each other. it was like you both knew that the summer was soon going to end in just three short weeks.

he had no other care in the world than to be with you. he was lapping at your cunt. his flattened tongue easily maneuvering over your folds. he had a certain technique that you thought would never be able to be replicated by anyone else.

your hands were laced in his loose curls while you crossed your toes from the sheer pleasure you were on the receiving end of. you gasped as his mouth opened a bit more, sucking your outer layers and the dripping arousal that fell from your pussy.

he was looking up at you, knowing good and well what he was doing as he spread your folds further apart with his oversized fingers. he had a direct contact with your clit in moments, beginning with a soft suckle which transpired into a greedy moment of his beard being buried into your soaking pussy and his aquiline nose brushing against your pubes all while staring at you.

his elbows dug into you although it was worth it because of the instinctual want to close your legs as the stimulation began to become more overwhelming. you might have been tugging at his hair too harshly, but he didn't say anything, only continuing to show your cunt the utmost respect as he ravaged it with his mouth.

soon his fingers dipped inside of you, fully and easily being coated with everything you had produced. you gave an unsuspecting whimper looking down at mikey still directing his oral attention to your clit and his digits curled upwards to satisfy you even more.

he had to breathe. his forehead was sweaty and he was a bit breathless as his fingers worked in and out of you.

his jaw was aching ever so slightly which caused his determination for his fingers to become more direct with their targeted movements. his other hand was toying with his dick trying to coax his erection to stay up fully. he had been concentrating fully causing his once rock hard erection to soften just a bit.

“need ya to turn over, lil’ thing,” he directed, the wet splotches on his beard were noticeable as the light filtered through his thin bedroom curtains. mikey has taken his fingers out, licking the reminits of your sweet slick off of them.

you began shifting to get on your knees, mikey helped rotate your hips. he grabbed your ankle to situate your positioning, giving his cock final a hearty stroke as he did. he gave your pussy one final long, dragged out lick from your hole your ass, which caused a shiver to run down your spine.

his balls were hanging heavily as he reached over you to grab a condom wrapper.

you felt his covered tip prod at your entrance. mikey held apart one of your asscheeks to oversee the full entry. it was the perfect fit, he was absolutely drowning in that blissful feeling. his eyes rolled back a little as you shimmied your ass back ever so slightly.

the smutty saga continued with: SALT N’ PEPPER MAN EATS PUSSY AND FUCKS PRETTY BABE *HOT* *YOUNG*

instead of mikey's hair your fingers were now pawing at his sheets trying to find a good grip. the bedframe would never not be squeaky, but it had upgraded slightly, with a pillow between the headboard and the wall.

“y'feel so good,” he praised, gradually increasing the pace of his rocking hips.

“so do you,” you murmured halfway between talking and moaning.

“don't think y'get what i’m sayin'” he mentioned, taking his hand off of your ass and the other off your hip to bring his tattooed arms under your armpits. he hooked his hands to the front of your chest, leaning over you to feel closer. his pudgy stomach brushed against the small of your back. “you're drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy today.”

you released a small grunt only for it to be suppressed by an increase in moans as his humps increased in effort, rocking into you with vigor and need.

you brought your head back some, feeling his wiry beard hair brush against your ear. his palms were sweaty, having to adjust his grip on you to keep you against him. he was pressing soft kisses to your hair that smelled of dry shampoo and his downy detergent after being so comfortable in his bed.

“i’m serious…y’gotta hold on me today,” mikey rasped, his knees buckling slightly as he felt your pussy pulsing. he nipped at the shell of your ear, his breath lingering. “fuckin’ hell,” he sighed, feeling another twinge from your lethal grip.

“i-i can't help it when you’re talking to me like that,” you stuttered, hanging your head low into the bed, though he followed you, resting his cheek on the back of your head gently. his thrusts were unsteady and deep.

he had already tortured you by eating you out, overly prepared to take his cock, and you were still on the receiving end of pleasure—overstimulated was the most simple way to put it. you and mikey were both belting sounds of pleasure.

you had your eyes shut tightly unable to speak or give any warning that you were close to climax. he was pressed against your back engulfing your body in warmth and ecstasy as his rigid thrusts only became more heightened. your cunt was doing a quick squeeze and release. he knew he had you close in more ways than one.

“oh—” you dug your fingers tightly into the sheet. you were uncoiling while he was still so deep inside. he was edging against your cervix over and over.

“pretty girl,” his voice was husky in your ear. he pressed his body into you further muffling your moans and pleads into the bed. “this pussy gonna make me cum?”

“y-yeah, y-yeah,” you sounded a little dumb and a little whiny but you could barely think straight, especially with his ridiculously mind-boggling movements. he was chasing those final moments.

“pussy is unreal,” he huffed, though seconds later his jaw went slack. that same hazy feeling you were experiencing. if it was humanly possible he would've been closer as he fucked out his peak, only able to continue his final few thrusts with the rest of his energy briefly.

he laid on you for a while, conscious enough not to squish you, but still not letting you go anywhere, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

you were then showered and redressed, and currently, happily perched on mikey’s kitchen countertop. you were watching him prepare thinly fried zucchini battered in an italian breadcrumb which was going to be served with parmesan cheese sprinkled over the top.

mikey was whisking his egg and milk together, already having his separate dish of breadcrumbs prepared. the oil in the skillet was heating up, the convection fan was already circulating.

and your job? that was to sit and look pretty or so he said. you gave yourself an extra task which was occasionally stealing some of the freshly grated cheese out of the bowl.

watching mikey cook was sexy. he knew what he was doing, knew how he wanted it to come out, and knew that it was going to be delicious.

he was standing at the stove watching the breaded zucchini in the bubbling oil, tongs in his hand ready to take them off the heat when the shallow fry had completed its task at getting them crispy and golden brown.

“alright, hopefully, you’re not full on cheese so you can actually eat,” he offered one of the almost paper-thin spears to your lips.

you nodded as you chewed. perfection, all of it. every single crunchy bite. “holy shit,” you mumbled, a sort of warmness spreading through your chest.

“good, huh?” he was back at the stove pulling the last few pieces of zucchini out of the oil and placing them on a paper towel.

“yeah, almost like you’re a chef or something.”

mikey laughed, setting the tray next to you on the counter, offering you another piece. one hand was on your thighs, looking into your eyes as he let you have another bite.

your phone started ringing, making you snap out of the trance you were in caused by mikey and his delicious food. mikey saw the contact name, as soon as you did. he scooted to the side some. you hopped off the counter and answered in one swift motion.

“hey dad.”

“hey, baby girl.” he didn’t sound happy although you didn’t expect a call mid day to be any good. he was supposed to be at work. “you busy?”

“um, a little,” you replied, glancing at mikey in the kitchen, trying to put a little space between you and him as you talked to your father. “what’s up?”

reggie didn’t know how to answer that. he still hadn’t fully decided on what to say. he just knew he needed to call you.

“i ran into someone i used to work with, been a few years since i’ve seen him,” he explained. your gaze never left mikey, who was cleaning up the kitchen.

you had every reason to be nervous because your father was never the man that would call in the middle of a work day.

“how was that?” you questioned, knowing that your dad was taking longer to get to his point than normal.

“i don’t know,” your father sighed. “but he told me something—something you might know about.”

you were fidgeting with the end of your shirt, phone pressed against your ear and shoulder.

“he said he’s sorta family to the owners of a restaurant,” your dad was stalling which was only making you squirm more. you swallowed, the sides of your throat burning a little.

“when he was there last week he said there was a college girl under the owner’s desk.” it made reggie sick to say that outloud. having to say those exact words to his daughter should’ve been punishment enough.

“dad—”

“he didn’t know your name. he didn’t even say it was you, not like he picked you out of a lineup or something, but jesus—kid, you’re acting like you did it without me even having to ask…”

mikey is now staring because you look ill, standing in the middle of his living room looking so guilty. he knew what this is about without having to eavesdrop.

“what are you doing, baby girl?” he sounded exhausted. it sounded like he had just had too much. “what did you decide to get yourself into?”

you felt meek. “it’s not like that.”

“don’t tell me that because it is exactly like that.”

you wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again. the lull of silence was too much right now. that once tasty platter of zucchini now looked inedible.

“you think you’re grown up, but you’re not. you’re twenty and you’re going after some guy like you don’t think is going to ruin your life, but he will.”

you couldn’t say anything because if you did you’d be breaking down.

“baby girl, come on. you’re so much smarter than that,” he pressed a little further, digging that knife a little deeper.

“i’m worried about you,” he finally expressed.

“okay,” that’s all you could manage.

“okay?” he asked, wondering if that’s all you had to say.

“i’ll be home later,” you choked out. your thumb nail was digging into your leg. you hung up.

mikey put down the cloth he was using to wipe the counter. he joined you in the den, hoping he didn’t have to be the first one to say anything but he was.

“…he knows?”

“mhm,” you mumbled. “knows jimmy, used to work with him…isn’t that something?”

mikey was walking slowly as if any sudden movements would send you running. he stopped at the coffee table, taking a seat to look at you. he tried to grab your hand but you wouldn’t let him.

“that tracks,” mikey coughed a bit, trying to pull his words together. he was speaking very gently. “look—if I would’ve known they knew each other i wouldn’t have—”

“—wouldn’t have let me suck you off at work?” you completed his sentence earning a sigh from him.

“no, come on, if it wouldn’t have gotten back to your dad then—”

“the only thing that matters right now is who we got caught by?” you wouldn’t let him get a word in not right now. “not that we got caught at all?”

“i shoulda known better,” mikey was uncomfortably running his hand through his hair. “i didn’t mean to screw this up.”

“do you think you’re screwing me up?”

“that’s not what i said,” mikey said pointedly.

“that’s what my dad said,” you retorted, though your voice wasn’t very loud. it was painful and quiet. “that you’re gonna ruin my life.”

mikey tilted his head. his hand fell in his lap.

“are you going to ruin my life?” you tried to coax out an answer from mikey. you didn’t want to believe he could, but unfortunately this illicit secret was out and spirling out of control.

he didn’t really like that question.

“i don’t wanna…” mikey was searching for more words. “but i worry about it because i’m older than you—you have your entire life ahead of you. you can probably screw up three good times from now until you're my age and be better off than me. but me? i‘ve fucked up enough. i’m outta chances, pretty girl,” he was resting his head in his hands. he wasn’t going to give you a minute to respond now, so he continued. “i don’t regret a single thing, i really don’t—but i can’t be the reason your life is screwed up. i like you a helluva lot, and if i knew i was the reason i screwed you up i don’t think i could forgive myself.”

you looked like he had punched you in the gut, breathless, not making a noise as you cried. just silent tears falling, looking at each other trying to convince each other that any feeling you had was fake.

“you gotta say something,” mikey urged.

you didn’t, not right away. your mouth was closed in a tight line, trying to hold your crying self together. you grabbed your purse next to where mikey was sitting. he knew you’d be gone in an instant. your mind was already somewhere else. you weren’t mentally still in mikey’s apartment.

“hey, please don’t go, not just yet,” mikey swallowed, standing as you started walking for the door.

“i really need to go.”

“i can walk you out,” he stood up, going to follow you, but you stopped him.

“i got it,” you choked out.

and like that, you were gone and mikey was alone.

this was the last weekend before you returned to school. keeping your distance from mikey was so difficult, but your father wasn't exactly thrilled to learn of your summer affair. you were trying to lay low so that embarrassment would stop eating at you, but in all actuality you could barely stand to make eye contact with either of your parents.

you were trying to be on your best behavior because after all your parents did let you stay with them all summer, paid for your gas, and flights to and from school, among countless other things.

that was the hardest part for them, knowing you were grown, having to see you leave, and now watching you make one of the stupidest decisions of your life while still trying to remain proud of you because your success in school wasn't nothing.

the disappointment was rough because you had proved over and over again that they could trust you to be a responsible adult away from home, but your lustful tailspin had them questioning where they went wrong as parents.

they never yelled at you. not once. the moment your dad called he wanted to vomit because he had that inkling that you were doing something—someone—that you weren’t supposed to. they knew you knew better. you knew you knew better.

you kept trying to downplay how bad it was, but every time you thought about mikey it only got worse. you wanted something to keep you occupied, and it did, but at what cost?

your childhood friends knew your final moments in chicago were coming to an end. they wanted to see you and you thought it would be a good way to take your mind off of the clusterfuck you had helped create. they suggested a party, an end of the summer rager at someone’s parents' lakeside rental property.

it was loud, the house was so hot from the movement of people combined with the door from outside being constantly opened and closed. even outside you couldn't escape the heat, but it was probably your burning face from the drinks you had so easily thrown back.

you were chatting—more like drunkenly rambling—with one of your old girlfriends about the courses you decided to register for at the edge of the lake. only your feet were resting in the water because you already pulled your shorts back over your damp bathing suit bottoms. you had your jacket half zipped over your top, unsure of where the shirt you originally had over your bikini went.

you began to feel too dizzy for your own good, peering uncomfortably into the solo cup of a badly mixed drink. you excused yourself from your friend after she was unable to answer what time the designated driver was bringing you all back to your corresponding homes.

“when are we leaving?” seemed to be the question of the night that no one could give you a straight answer to. you felt like garbage. you wanted to leave. you had your sneakers in one hand, walking around aimlessly trying to get a direct answer from your final friend in your group after ditching your solo cup on a random counter.

you were regretting coming at all when all of your drunk friends and even the singular sober one were unable to coordinate a time to leave. you were sitting on the steps of the porch the faint sound of another megan thee stallion song blaring even through the closed door. your stomach was churning and you had a pained expression on your face while you stared at the lawn.

you couldn't call your parents. you had already screwed up too much to make them unhappy for another moment this summer. you only had one more option. it was approaching half past one in the morning and there you were calling mikey, ruining his sleep schedule yet again.

it didn’t ring for long.

“hello?” he murmured, almost shocking you to your core to hear his voice again, especially all groggy from sleep.

“hey,” you paused, shutting your eyes for a brief second as if you were working up the courage to ask him a favor. “can you come pick me up?” you slurred, holding your temples trying to keep your focus.

“you okay?” you could hear some rustling coming from his end, knowing he was already attempting to pull himself together to rescue you.

“yeah, uh, my friends invited me out but i really wanna leave, and i couldn't call my dad,” you were plucking at the grass on the bottom of the steps.

“i'm comin’, hon,” mikey assured you like it was nothing out of the ordinary. “just text me the address.”

you felt small. you had so easily left him, ran out, and avoided conflict and now he was helping you without a second thought. “thanks, mikey.”

within the hour you were seated in mikey's car, pulling your knees into your chest. you had dropped your sneakers to the ground. you were leaning your head against your seatbelt.

“you answered,” you noted, staring at the radio in mikey’s car—more specifically the time.

mikey didn't look much different than normal, other than that he had let his beard become a little more unruly than normal. he always looked a little tired and a little sad.

“of course, i did,” he didn't look at you, but he meant what he said.

“i'm sorry for waking you up.” you sounded like a child who didn't want to be scolded, trying to soften the blow by buttering up their guardian.

“i'm glad y’did.”

you were staring out the windshield unsure if you should thank him again or not.

“y’made the safe choice,” he added, flicking on his blinker that seemed louder in the dark of the late night.

“i missed you.”

mikey was unsure of what to say. you were drunk and clearly spaced out all while still being conscious. he drummed his fingers against the wheel. “missed you too, pretty girl.”

you looked up for a brief second and then back at the road, time seemed to be moving a little too slowly.

“can we talk?”

“we're talkin’ right now.” he held the wheel a little tighter, unsure of what your drunken state was trying to express.

“you're not looking at me.” it was true, not once since you had gotten in his car had he even glanced at you.

“i'm drivin’,” he reminded you, though it wasn't very fast and it didn't seem like he was rushing to get you home.

“you can pull over,” you suggested, so he did.

mikey had taken his time to turn his head, knowing if he saw you he would be able to forgive you leaving within a second, and he did. his gaze was softened as one hand rested on the shifter.

“you're like what i needed,” you unbuckled your seatbelt, stretching out in the front seat. you were picking up the hair from the back of your neck and tossing it just to get a breeze of air. you were leaning into the air vents soaking in the chill. “like you're just so hot and you like really got me, you know?”

mikey didn't know—well—he did to an extent. he was silently staring at you, watching you unzip your jacket to let the air con hit your chest.

“and like i really missed you,” you were now sitting to face mikey.

“yeah.”

“you didn’t miss me?” you were offended. you were resting your hands on the center console.

“you walked out,” he reminded you. “you left.”

“now, i’m back,” you mumbled uncomfortably.

“who picked you up, lil’ thing?” mikey questioned, clearing his throat. “who’s takin’ y’back home?”

“you.”

“uh-huh, i answered. i gave you space. i’m the one tryin’ not to lose you when i know i’m gonna lose you anyway.”

you leaned a little closer, bridging the gap between you and mikey. your palms laying against his silver-specked beard, letting the hair scrape your soft skin. he didn’t react much, only watching. your forehead rested against his, stunning him for a moment.

your dizzy head was stabilized for a moment, pressing your lips against his. it wasn’t nearly as sweet as you’d thought it would be when you noticed he wasn’t reciprocating.

he was gently pulling your hands off his face, and moving his head back. it was one of the hardest things he had to do after not seeing you. you were practically halfway over the center console.

“no, you’re drunk and we’re not doin’ that,” mikey said firmly, kissing the tips of your fingers instead. he helped you get situated in your seat again.

“i know what i want,” you mumbled defensively, looking down at your lap.

“pretty girl,” mikey began, clearing his throat. “i’m not gonna be that guy.”

you were mildly sulking and on the verge of tears. the alcohol was really settling in and all of your thoughts that had come with it.

“y’don’t think i don’t want to? i haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left.” mikey was trying to be consoling but it didn’t help when you were left defeated. “i’m not makin’ this worse between us.”

“i fucked it all up…you wouldn’t be able to make it any worse,” you confessed guilty.

“this wasn’t ever goin’ to work,” mikey stated with his chest tightening. he held his index knuckle to his lips.

“you said you were okay with this.”

the entire situation was conflicting.

“i know what i said, but it doesn’t mean it was gonna work,” mikey cleared his throat harshly. you could’ve sworn you saw a tear drip down his face. “i gotta stay and y’gotta go back to school.”

mikey had pulled off of the street, continuing down the road. he had to get you home before he was past a solitary tear.

you were fidgeting with your fingers with an uncomfortable churning in your stomach. you didn’t know how you were managing to keep yourself together; maybe it was because you had already embarrassed yourself around him enough.

you were practically gagging yourself to keep your tears down, knowing you’d never be able to listen to “the scientist” by coldplay again without thinking of this very moment when the silence was trying to take over but chris martin’s voice over the late night radio was peeking through like daggers in ballistic gel.

“this was supposed to be fun,” your voice wavered uncomfortably. you were finally starting to realize how far everything had come. it all came around, all at once, completing the circle with a deathly kill.

“it was,” mikey’s knuckles were white because of the sheer force he was using to grip the wheel. “but this is the part that wasn’t ever goin’ to be fun.” his jaw twitched slightly.

“i didn’t think i’d like you so much,” you confessed, watching as your street came into view. you were rubbing your thumb over your right temple to soothe your impending headache. your other sleeve was wiping your tears as they spilled, hoping mikey wasn’t paying too much attention.

mikey felt like a bullet had ripped through his chest, trying to convince himself that you were drunk enough that you didn’t know what you were saying, but even that didn’t help. it just hurt.

he parked in your driveway, watching your gather your shoes. he was taking initiative this time, not letting another time when he could have chased you be wasted. he was walking you to the door. one of his large hands at the small of your back guiding your drunken self to the door.

“i’m always gonna be around.” he shouldn’t have said that but he did. you only gave a shaky nod.

he could see your empty eyes and puffy face in the motion-activated light of the doorway. he gave your head one final kiss and returned to his car. he watched the door to your house shut.

it never got cold in florida, not like the illinois cold anyway. exams were coming close before the sweet relief of winter break would start. you were studying or trying to at least.

it had gotten lonely and that was probably due to the fact that since starting another undergraduate year at uf you had distanced yourself from practically everyone.

lizzie, who was your closest friend at university, had tried everything in her power to pull you out of this weird lull you were trapped in. she knew something was wrong based on your demeanor and the sad girl playlist you had put on repeat. you kept in touch while you had gone home for the summer, but you hadn’t said anything about mikey. that would be far too hard to explain. when you returned you said you regretted the summer, but that simply wasn't true. you regretted being too young, too naive, and too involved with someone you knew you shouldn't have been. you were impulsive and dumb and it was hard to admit that to anyone other than yourself.

you had gotten in far too deep with mikey and that was a fact. you wouldn't have been thinking about him so much if you hadn't gotten attached.

the final title to the erotic summer films would be: FEELINGS FUCKED HARD *SHE CRIES* LEFT WITH GAPING HOLE

you moved into your new apartment when you returned from chicago, having lizzie and a few others from your study groups help pile everything from your storage unit into the space. all your decor that was once in your dorm room was hardly enough to cover all the blank walls. it was too sterile. so when your stipend from your scholarship hit your bank account, you spent far too much money trying to clutter the walls and console your aching heart.

you felt like your social life was in the gutter. the last party you attended before school had to do with your embarrassingly drunk confession to mikey. mixers, frat ragers, and the post-karaoke bar crawls would land you feeling even worse than you initially went out. it didn't feel right receiving drinks from other guys, much less drinking at all.

halloween had been one of your most favorite times of the year, especially when attending college, but this year's activities were basically halted. you were dolled up like the sluttiest cowgirl to match with lizzie. you had only gone out for an hour. you interacted with your lyft driver more than anyone in the bar and immediately had to tell him that you were sorry for crying.

your social media which was once buzzing with photos from everything had also taken a turn for the worst. everything from the end of may to the beginning of august was just reminders of mikey, although he was in none of the photos. lounging by the pool? yeah, that was the swimsuit he had liked the most. pictures at the ballpark with your brother? it only made you think about mikey having heartburn from concession station nachos. that dumb picture you had taken of your half-eaten beef sandwich? that one hurt the most because mikey had made it. you tried to cover those posts in your feed with updated ones of your apartment decor, your work on the school communications page, and your paid internship with a local news station, but it never felt like enough.

your family visited for the weekend before thanksgiving to see the apartment. your father was being himself, picking at every little thing about how awful college apartments could be. he had walked through the entire place, asking if you had seen the cracking on the molding or the uneven flooring in the bathroom. you didn't care because anything was better than the dorms. your mother brought a set of embroidered dish towels and a carry-on suitcase full of cleaning supplies. your brother had weaseled his way into staying one night in your apartment rather than at the hotel, which was fine because you stayed up late watching a rented movie and eating an overpriced doordash delivery. it was refreshing to have some sense of normality because no one dared to mention the summer; not like they would speak of it anyway. you had taken enough pain and embarrassment away from it for them to discuss it with you present.

so no, the end of august to mid-december had not been going entirely “well” for you. the only thing you could think to do was return home so you wouldn't be alone for the holidays. you knew your family wouldn't turn you away even if you wanted to turn them away most days. when you called your mom and told her that you wanted to be home, she was ecstatic. within the next hour, she called you back explaining that she had booked your flight for three days after your exams were completed.

in your current studying session, you had been picking up your phone in between making flash cards. your hand was cramping and you were unable to stay completely focused. you leaned back in your desk chair glancing between your computer screen, notebooks, and the index cards sprawled on your desk. you rubbed your cramping hand uncomfortably, massaging your inner palm.

it wouldn't be long until you'd be back in chicago, but right now you are stuck in your apartment with upcoming deadlines and tests to prepare for. you couldn't explain why you were reaching for your phone again. you had just checked a random notification from a video lizzie had sent to you on your social media. you paused the music that was playing, staring blankly at your phone screen before inching your fingers to your messages.

11:11 PM

you: i'll be home for christmas if you're still around

your heart was racing, thinking that unsending it might have been easier, but it was too late. the deed was done. you were hastily putting your phone down with the screen facing the wood of your desk.

you stood from your desk, hitting your palm against your forehead with a groan. your leg began to bounce anxiously, trying to rationalize the decision you had just made. the bear didn't close until ten, mikey always said it took at least an hour or an hour and a half to get everyone out and everything cleaned, so no, he wasn’t going to respond right away. he had priorities. he had a business to run. he was fifty with a goddamn life, probably doing a lot better than you were right now—he wasn't. he wasn't doing any better because if he was he wouldn't have responded.

11:51 PM

⸝⸝⸝

Of course, Frank's gonna forget ignore your little request so,

"...Frank," Peter cocks his head, leaning against the doorframe. "Your... uh, she texted me."

Frank's pretending to maintain his gear as if Peter isn't there and this conversation has nothing to do with him.

"She said, and I quote, make him do the 🤏 thing."

He doesn't even need to look up to see Peter's demonstration. He already knows. And he hates it.

"Ignore her, kid."

"She also sent me three crying emojis."

"..."

"..."

And Frank Castle, the big bad Punisher, boogeyman to criminals, lets out a sigh that's more miserable than anything a fight has ever pulled out of him.

But!! He's doing the hand thing don't mean he's gonna smile. Okay, maybe he smiles a little. Either way, those are going on the fridge <3