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It begins with a scarf. It's a lovely scarf; maroon and soft and dotted with little white flowers. Michael lets the fabric cinch and bunch up around his fingers. One of his staff wordlessly handed him the box he'd pulled it out of, eyes widening at something so simple. It's delicate and Michael can't help the way he brings it up to his cheek to rub it against the side of his face like he's a cat, head butting against the pant leg of its owner. And the way the scent hits him—it's all at once. The cologne is faint, perhaps too faint to even be barely noticeable but the moment Michael recognized it he continued pushing his face into the fabric, eyes now closed, grabbing the fabric tightly and subsequently placing it in the back of one of his many closets once he realized how enthralled he had become.

Then it's a cat—a kitten, actually. Janet is beaming as she gently hands the tiny thing to him, gesturing to the small note carefully folded underneath the collar around its neck. Michael places the kitten down to quickly read it.

A sign of good luck.

Michael picked the kitten back up to examine her. She's a calico, her eyes are a brilliant blue and she squirms in his hold. Michael can only blink in disbelief, immediately knowing who had given her to him. He isn't upset. He could use the company. He names her Patches.

Two weeks later it's a bouquet of flowers and the next month it's a bottle of white wine.

Michael is stunned. To his staff, it's nothing. To them, it's simply fan mail. But to Michael, it's someone from the past. A friend? He likes to think so.

He furrows his eyebrows.

A lover?

His teeth worry into his bottom lip. He hopes not. Michael is stuck between a limbo of lies and the window of truth.

****

He's forgotten about it. But not really. It's stuck there, in the back of his mind. He hugs Janet as he walks on stage; the Grammys are complicated for him, but he doesn't worry about it. He can feel the sparkle of his ivory coat glint in the corner of his eyes, pearls shimmering underneath harsh lighting. Even through the tears, the yells, the hollers of I love you, Michael cannot shake the fact that the world turns its back on him. It's confusing. He thinks of the gifts he received—almost as if he's being courted. How silly, he thinks, the award clutched tightly between his fingers.

He sees Him in the crowd as his speech comes to a close and tries not to make it obvious that he's panicking.

He doesn't have the energy to stay longer but academy voters keep him occupied and Michael is not so discreetly taking flutes of champagne from platters that waiters carry around, drowning out the unnecessary chatter people he wishes to never associate with again bother him with.

Eyes tell a lot. Their eyes only hold malice and judgement and Michael has truly had enough as he feels his body start to sway slightly. He excuses himself with a nod before stumbling off. The venue is huge—too big and Michael blinks and suddenly he's in a hallway. The lights are slightly less harsh but not by much. A gloved hand presses against the wall for balance. Even through the sorrow that he seems to drown in… he giggles.

So silly, it all really is so silly.

Someone passes him by. Michael pays them no mind until they go frigid and for a split second, he sobers up.

"Michael?"

The man's voice is like molasses, like honey dipped in a dream. Michael takes in a breath and then stumbles as he breathes out a giggle. He seems to quickly catch on, cautiously approaching and steadying Michael by his arm.

"What're you doing here?" Michael hums. He's not totally drunk, just tipsy, but everything feels different.

"I could ask you the same thing. But I'm not going to. Come on, your team is probably worried." The man sighs, slowly turning him around, trying to lead him back the other way.

Michael stumbles over his feet, clinging on to Him and laughing out apologies, not understanding why He suddenly freezes at his touch.

There's something intimate about it all. The way He lets him lean against the wall as nausea takes ahold of him or the way he guides his water bottle to his lips to hydrate him. It's soft, it's safe.

Michael can't do this. He's a little more coherent now as he stops and turns to look up at the man with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The man may known him better than anyone, inside and out. And he's unsure. About everything.

He gets on his toes just slightly. The man has always been tall. Michael pecks his cheek. It's small, ephemeral, it's nothing, he tells himself. "I'll see you later." he whispers before walking forward, feeling dread overcome him.

And then a hand, no, fingers wrap themselves around his wrist and Michael yelps as he's turned around, eyes blown wide at the look of desperation and despair in the man's own gaze.

"Michael." He says flatly.

They stand like that, in each others gaze, for what seems like days until the man slowly, slowly sinks down to his knees, arms coming to wrap around his waist. He feels him nuzzle into the fabric of his shirt, lifting it just slightly, exposing his belly button.

Michael starts to tremble. His tongue his lax and his mouth is suddenly a desert.

He keeps blinking. His fists are clenched.

And then the man speaks and his words terrify him.

"You're gorgeous," he sighs. "The prettiest fucking thing ever."

Lips press against his tummy, placing a kiss to the skin. "You're kind, you know? The type of kind you don't really see no more. Your love for children, your need to protect and nurture. God…"

He keeps going and Michael—

"Stop. Stop. Please, stop."

The man looks up at him, terrified, like he's done something wrong.

He hasn't. And that's the problem.

The man's grip loosens for a moment and Michael runs. He feels the sting of tears start to well up. The hallways are like a labyrinth, one turn leads to another hallway. Michael doesn't care he's lost he's just—he can't—he—

"Michael! Please, wait!"

And He's is chasing after him.

Michael is turned to face him once more, their lips a whisper away from one another. The man speaks up. "I'm serious. I just… I can't believe you're real."

And the man is holding him again. Michael squirms, begging, pleading for him to let go to leave him alone, to…

"You're ethereal."

"You don't have to lie to me." Michael says through the tears that finally start to fall. He wishes he had his sunglasses. The way He stares at him. It's too much.

"Why would I lie?" He whispers, their foreheads pressed together.

Michael is back into the wall, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, purely from his gaze and words. The man lifts his chin and Michael takes a leap of faith as he pulls Him down by his collar to connect their lips. A gloved hand comes up to caress his lover's cheek, feeling the man's arm wrap around and push their bodies closer together.

It's slow. "I've got you." his love repeats it like a mantra between the slow kisses he trails down the front of his neck, over his adam's apple and over his collarbones that expose themselves from atop his v-neck. Michael shrugs off the coat, letting it crumble to the floor, uncaring.

They kiss again. Michael lets Him remove his gloves from his hands, fingers tingling as they're exposed to the cool air. He lets his love turn him until his chest his flush against the wall, feeling him kiss over his shoulder, hands feeling him up. He still feels stray tears escape his eyes.

His love kisses his ear lobe, "Is this okay?"

Michael nods, letting him help him out of his jeans and boots. Michael should care. They're in an unknown hallway at the Grammy awards, there could be cameras… but it's lost on him. And it always will be, he decides.

His love's slick fingers circle his rim, his lips remaining by his ear, whispering praises and asking if he's alright. Michael gasps at the first breach of his fingers inside of him. He rolls his hips, feeling his own cock harden between his legs.

"Does that feel good?"

Michael nods.

Michael's breath hitches, eyes closed in ecstasy, just from his fingers alone as they pump in and out and gently scissor him open. His love slowly lifts Michael's leg to get a better angle, humming at the way Michael's back arches, gasping out his name and throwing his head back.

And then the fingers are gone and quickly replaced with the blunt tip of his love's cock. Michael whines at the first breach, only soothed by his soft words in his ear. His lover bottoms out, and then he's moving his hips. Slowly, passionately. It's like dancing.

Michael braces both of his hands against the wall, arching his back at the pleasure that rushes through him. His lover intertwines their fingers. They'll be here for a while. They've got time.

His date for the night is a tall man with glowing skin and eyes sharper than a blade. They were supposed to go to the movies, but given this sudden turn, it seems like they won’t be doing anything at all. They’re stranded in the middle of the road; a forest lies beside them, and Michael gets the feeling that something is about to attack them.

“I thought you said the car had enough gas,” his date notes, without malice. His voice is velvety, the words flowing effortlessly, as if they weren’t effectively lost.

“I thought so,” Michael repeats sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I checked it; I don’t know why this happened.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man assures him.

He stares at Michael: he’s fidgeting with his slender fingers in his lap, his big eyes darting in every direction. Being in the middle of nowhere clearly makes him anxious; there isn’t a soul around, it’s dark, and in the distance, faint sounds of an animal running through the trees can be heard, which seems to alarm Michael. He licks his lips.

“Are you scared, Michael?” he asks in a murmur, though no one else can hear.

His lips tremble before he answers. “No… it’s not that,” he lies, offering a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s just… I’m thinking about how we can get out of this.”

His date lets out a low laugh, revealing a flash of white teeth. He doesn’t believe a word of it, but he loves watching Michael try to maintain his composure. He leans a little closer, his fingers reaching out to the denim of the boy’s jeans and gently stroking his thigh.

The caress and his date’s dark gaze make his heart race; the intensity of it leaves him feeling exposed, as if the other man knows exactly what is running through his fearful mind.

“Yeah?” he asks in a tone that makes the hair on Michael’s arms stand up. “And what do you have in mind, hm?”

Before Michael can process the question, a loud, sharp crack echoes from deep within the woods. He jumps in his seat, lets out a stifled gasp, and—purely on instinct—clutches his date’s arm, digging his fingernails into the fabric of the jacket.

His grip is tight, almost painful, but his date doesn’t flinch; instead, a spark of fascination gleams in his eyes. He can feel the uncontrollable trembling and almost hears the wild pounding of his heart in the heavy silence.

“Relax…” he murmurs, taking a trembling hand and cupping it between his own; he brings the knuckles to his lips and plants a soft kiss. “It was surely just a branch, you’re safe with me.”

Michael swallows hard, feeling the warmth of his date’s lips against his skin; the gesture, while comforting, only made his pulse race faster. There’s something about this man’s calmness that feels overwhelming, though he tries to tell himself it’s simply because they are alone in this dreadful place.

“Safe?” Michael repeats, trying to steady his breathing. He glances toward the darkness, where the silhouettes of tree branches seem to take the shape of claws. “We don’t know here, maybe it was a wild wolf or… or something worse.”

A silent laugh catches in his date’s chest; he finds Michael’s paranoia delightful to witness—it’s adorable. He interlaces his fingers with Michael’s and strokes the back of his hand with his thumb.

“What could be worse than a wolf? A generic horror movie monster?” he whispers with amusement, tilting his head. The moonlight accentuates his dark complexion, and his irises seem to sharpen.

Michael falls silent for a moment before frowning slightly. “Stop making fun; I’m serious. This place is really strange, we should’ve left before.”

The man breaks the hand-holding to cradle Michael’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. His thumb slowly traces a defined cheekbone. Michael holds his breath, mesmerized by those deep irises and the heat radiating from the man’s hands, a stark contrast to the freezing night air.

“I’m not making fun of you, angel,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s just… it’s fascinating how your imagination runs wild.”

“It’s not my imagination, it’s—”

“Shh…” the other man hushes him gently, grazing his lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “Just… focus on me, okay, angel?”

Michael freezes; the touch against his lip feels like a small electric shock. He tries to find a hint of mockery in his date’s face but finds only an absolute attentiveness that overwhelms him even more. He watches his gaze drop to his lips, with an expression he can only describe as hunger, before locking back onto his eyes.

“Y-you’re making me nervous,” Michael confesses in a whisper, even as he leans subtly into that warm touch.

“Really?” the other man replies flirtatiously, tracing his lip again. “I thought the forest was the problem…?”

“You’re worse than the forest,” Michael accuses playfully, yet his date’s dark eyes gleam as if he’s hit the mark.

The man simply smiles slyly and brings his face close to Michael’s, never letting go of him.

“Come here,” he whispers.

He presses his lips against Michael’s and begins to move them slowly. Michael lets out a low moan at the temperature; his date’s lips feel peculiarly hot, not warm, but hot—in an unnatural way, especially considering they’ve been exposed to the cold air for so long. His mind tries to process this thermal anomaly, but the demanding nature of the kiss sweeps away his thoughts.

A searing heat spreads through his mouth, melting away the tension in his body; his hands, previously rigid, move timidly upward, long fingers tracing the texture of his date’s jacket before tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, seeking something tangible to cling to, a distraction from the cloud of panic that had been gathering in his mind since they arrived.

His date lets out a low growl that vibrates directly against Michael’s mouth, sending a shiver through him; it isn’t an entirely human sound—it reminds him of David Kessler’s growls in An American Werewolf in London, stirring a fresh wave of unease. Before he can pull away, one of the man’s firm hands shifts to his dark curls and squeezes with immense force, the grip feeling heavy against his head.

Michael stifles a gasp of pain and surprise. The kiss turns ravenous, teetering on the edge between desire and subtle aggression; the taste of danger floods his senses, mingling with the stifling heat that seems to radiate directly from the other man’s chest.

The separation is languid. A thin thread of saliva connects them before snapping. Michael is breathless, his chest heaving; his wide, startled eyes, shining with the intensity of the moment, search for his date’s face in the darkness. His lips are swollen and his head is spinning.

“Y-you…” Michael rasps, his fingers still loosely tangled in the other’s neck. “You kiss really roughly… it hurt a bit.”

The man licks his lips with feline slowness, savoring the trace Michael had left on them. His pupils appear strangely dilated in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he murmurs, though his tone lacks any real remorse. His hand slides down from Michael’s curls to his neck, where the carotid pulse is hammering frantically against the skin. A shiver runs down Michael’s spine; his date’s fingers aren’t just warm, they burn with an almost feverish heat. “You’re racing so fast, Michael… I’m starting to think you’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” Michael says abruptly, though his voice cracks. He starts to pull his hands away from the man’s neck. “It’s just… you’re acting really strange. You have a fever.”

His date’s smile widens, an expression that was once seductive now twisting into something predatory.

“A fever?” he repeats, the word sounding like a taunt. “It’s not a fever, angel. It’s hunger.”

Michael’s eyes widen in horror, and a scream tears through the air.

The man stuffs a handful of buttery popcorn into his mouth and chews. What a bore; there are suspense movies scarier than this. He glances at Michael, the boy is utterly engrossed, eating his own snack with enthusiasm. He knows Michael loves horror movies, but this one doesn’t have a shred of it.

“Are you actually enjoying this?” he whispers into his ear. “Cujo is in the other room, we should’ve picked that one, it’s a re-release.”

Michael stops chewing for a moment and looks at him with a hint of annoyance. “Stop being such a killjoy. You just don’t have an eye for horror like I do.”

He stifles a laugh, stretching his long legs out into the narrow space between the seats. “Oh, please, Michael, that monster looks so fake; it looks like plastic. Besides, nobody runs out of gas so conveniently.”

“Stop complaining,” Michael scolds in an indignant whisper. He settles more comfortably into his seat and leans closer to his date’s shoulder. “Anyway, admit it, you got scared during the forest scene.”

“The only thing that scared me was the price of the popcorn,” he replies mischievously. “But if you like suspense so much… I can give you a better demonstration once we leave.”

Michael arches a slender eyebrow, his hand pausing halfway into the bucket. “Oh, really? You’re going to scare me in the parking lot?”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, moving close enough for his breath to brush against the other’s cheek. “I could bite your neck like the guy in the screen, only your ending would be a little different…”

A pink flush tints Michael’s cheeks, he shifts slightly away and gives the other man a playful shove on the shoulder.

“You’re terrible,” he whispers with a soft chuckle, turning his gaze back to the screen just as the music swells. He slides his free hand along the armrest until his long fingers find his date’s, shyly interlacing them. “Hush now, the best part is coming up.”

The man smirks, tightening his grip on their joined hands. Once again, the theater fills with piercing screams.