#afterhours

“please, please, ume kiss me I need it!” you cry, voice crackly and whiney thanks to the screams you’ve let out all night. contrary to the belief of many of the concubines, he does not take you every night. sukuna spent centuries without sex, finding the pleasure of orgasms second to that of eating food. that is, of course, until he met you. being intimate with you gave him a high not even slaughtering entire towns for feasts did. even so, his libido does not match yours. after spending so long without regular inter course, his refractory period was much longer than a humans’. once he came, it could take days until he was ready again.

that meant that every time he was ready, you were at his mercy, subject to every whim and behaving to his exact liking. his occasional nick name for you, doll, was not the endearing term many others use it as. you truly are his little doll, existing to please only him in these moments.

and yet, when he found out about uraumes little crush, he found the idea of bringing them in to watch him play with his doll enthralling. and, as kings do, he got what he wanted.

now here you are drooling, begging to be touched more, to be kissed more, needing more, more, more. since adding uraume to your dynamic, your pleasure has been much more of the focus of these sessions, which, while possibly sounding enticing, has led to your utter ruin. the overstimulation takes over all your senses— muddling thoughts and releasing you of your power over your body. all you can do is be tossed around by your lovers, paying no mind to the numerous marks now littering your body. they serve as small mementos of these sessions during your recovery days following.

and even though all coherent thoughts seem to have escaped you, something in you knows that though you’ll never be able to break your king, uraume is where you’ll find your bidding done.

At first, they had reasons. Michael would call to give her updates on filming, while Camille absolutely had to tell him about her neighbor's ugly Christmas wreath. After enough time, though, they stopped needing reasons. Sometimes they'd talk for hours, and others only long enough to say goodnight.

Yet, between both of their schedules, and multiple "soon"s between both of them, they hadn't seen each other in person since the soundstage.

One night, before another day of Michael's hectic filming schedule, Camille had mentioned an actors' benefit she was attending that Friday. She didn't sound particularly excited until Michael had mentioned Quincy might be there.

"At least I'll know someone there," she laughed over a sip of wine.

The next afternoon, Michael found Quincy in one of the rehearsal offices beside one of the soundstages after filming. He was supposed to look over some new writing for song ideas for Michael's album. He sat behind a cherrywood desk, his dark-brown-framed glasses slipping off his nose as he read through Michael's notebook.

"It's not bad," Quincy said, pulling out a pen to scratch something on the page. "These two lines," Quincy pointed with the tip of his pen, "don't really rhyme. You could fix it up a bit, but it's pretty good for a brainstorm."

Michael was hardly listening, watching him write something in the margin of the page. "Are you going to the benefit on Friday?"

"At the Plaza?"

"Yeah," Michael mumbled, now embarrassed by how far his mind had wandered.

"I'm supposed to," he looked up. "Why?"

"Don't know."

Quincy breathily laughed. "You came here to show me these lyrics, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Then why are you asking about an actor charity event?"

"Just curious," Michael said, barely above a whisper, scanning around the room. "Are you allowed to bring a plus-one?"

"You wanna go?"

Michael shrugged. "Maybe."

"Maybe," Quincy repeated back, laughing at Michael's quick change in demeanor.

"What?" Michael asked, starting to laugh himself.

"Oh nothing... just wondering why you're suddenly interested in benefits."

Michael looked down at his hands. "Camille mentioned she was going."

"Camille Beaumont?"

"Yeah," he answered hesitantly, testing the waters.

"You two still talk?"

"Yeah."

"Well then," Quincy said, adjusting in his chair. "I guess I can bring you as a plus one."

Michael beamed a smile, trying to hide his excitement by clearing his throat. "Okay, sounds good," he started, adjusting back into the lyric sheet. "So it's these two I'll rewrite?"

Quincy smiled, watching Michael pretend he wasn't literally buzzing. "Mhm. Those ones."

Michael smiled to himself. "What are you doing here?" He could practically hear her voice in his head. She'd laugh first, punch his arm. The rest of the world would melt away.

"So?" Quincy asked, snapping him back.

"Sorry... what?"

"What was the next lyric on this one? You stopped writing."

Quincy had pulled up a whole other lyric sheet, pointing at the middle of the page where his handwriting cut out. Quincy was always good at not asking questions, but instead just watching it unfold. He didn't need to ask about him and Camille, because he'd see on Friday.

"Oh, uhm," Michael said, grabbing his pen and leaning over the counter. "It was supposed to be," he continued, writing the lyric out before announcing it, "if I'm always out of sight."

By Friday evening, Michael had changed his shirt three times. The first one was too plain, the second didn't match his jacket, and he finally landed on a cream-colored button-up, one that was still slightly wrinkled around the collar.

Michael had continued to talk to Camille each day, but made it a priority not to reveal to her that he was attending the benefit. When she asked what his plan was for the weekend, he deliberately told her his schedule was jam-packed. He wanted it to be a surprise.

He hadn't noticed his sister La Toya standing in the doorway, watching him smooth out the collar with his fingertips while breathing a little too heavily.

"Where are you going?" she asked, leaning on the frame.

"To a benefit," Michael said, finally watching her in the mirror.

"What benefit?"

"The Actors Fund."

La Toya walked over and sank onto the edge of his bed. "Since when do you go to acting benefits?"

Michael shrugged, throwing half his tie over his shoulder. "Quincy invited me."

"Is Camille going?"

Michael shot around to meet her eyes. He had first mentioned Camille to her several weeks back. La Toya had asked about his day, and he, very hesitantly, revealed that he had become friends with Camille Beaumont. La Toya wasn't new to her or her movies, and had been begging him to introduce them. This was after Richard's party, though, and Michael wasn't sure if she even wanted to see him again.

"I think so," Michael mumbled.

"She is!" La Toya shot up. "Can I come?"

"I already asked Quincy to bring me as a plus-one. I think a plus-two might be pushing it."

"Awww," La Toya said, sinking back into the mattress.

Michael shot an apologetic smile back, lightly running his fingers through the stubborn section of his afro, finally sighing and looking at La Toya.

"Do I look okay?"

La Toya stood, smoothing out the fabric over his shoulders, meeting his eyes again. "You look handsome."

"Really?"

"She'll think so." La Toya brought her hand up to move a stray piece of hair.

In perfect timing, a knock sounded at the front door, Bill ready to take him and Quincy to the event.

"Well," Michael sighed. "Sounds like Quincy's ready." He took one last look in the mirror before slipping into his shoes.

"Have fun," La Toya called out, watching him scramble out of the door.

Michael called out one last goodbye before meeting Bill beyond the door. The lock of the door clicked behind him, suddenly making the hallway feel much quieter than before.

"Ready, Joker?"

"We'll see," Michael smiled.

Downstairs, the doorman greeted the two of them before letting the door swing open, the sharp December air stinging at Michael's skin.

Michael had never celebrated Christmas, but only two days from the holiday, New York had never looked more alive. Each store had its own decorations; department stores glowing under yellow string lights, plastic reindeer and Santa decor in the displays of shops, and wreaths hanging on metal lampposts. Each store looked like it was trying to outdo the ones next to it.

Pedestrians crowded each sidewalk, bundled beneath wool scarves, walking hand in hand with their significant other over their fabric mittens. A propped-open door of a shop down the street played old Brenda Lee and even the old Jackson 5 Christmas album.

Michael smiled to himself, hearing the song before it got lost in the noise of NYC. Despite how freezing it was, it had never looked so warm. He always loved seeing the city change during the holidays, even if he could only admire from afar.

Bill opened the backseat door of the car, Michael slipping in beside Quincy. The leather seat was cool behind Michael's hands as Bill started it up and pulled off the curb.

"There he is," Quincy smiled, bringing a hand up to brush imaginary dust off his shoulder.

Michael scanned Quincy, dressed nicely in a full suit, obviously carefully pressed beforehand. "Sorry, La Toya was helping me with my hair."

Quincy sucked through his teeth, eyeing up at Michael's hair with a look of fake dissatisfaction.

"What?" Michael asked, quickly bringing his hand up to fix it. "Does it look bad?"

"Nah, I'm just teasing," Quincy rumbled, nudging him with his elbow. "You look fine..." he paused for a moment. "You're really nervous, huh?"

Michael laughed under his breath, fiddling with his sleeve. "A little."

"A little?" Quincy laughed. "Jeez, man. You're making me anxious over here."

Michael smiled, finally leaning his arm on the door to look out the window. The car stopped at a red light beside a mall, a large sign pointing to Santa and his elves inside for kids to sit on his lap.

"So, what's the plan?"

Michael looked back at Quincy. "For what?"

"For when you see her."

Michael blinked. "I don't have a plan," he scoffed.

"No?"

"No, I was... just gonna say hi."

"That's the plan?" Quincy laughed.

Michael shrugged. "I didn't think about it that much."

"Mhm..." Quincy smiled, watching the city pass by beyond the window. "Just remember to breathe."

Michael laughed, shaking his head. "I am breathing."

"Barely."

The car rounded one more corner before finally pulling up to the valet section of the hotel. A bright yellow bulb shined at the top of the awning, celebrities stepping out of the black SUVs in front of them, and an entire entourage of paparazzi stationed beside the hotel doors.

Bill eased to a stop, stepping out of the driver's side to walk around and open their door.

"Ready?" Quincy asked.

Michael looked at the routine of camera flashes and people slipping beyond the doors. He thought about the twelve days, the soundstage, that first night. He smiled to himself. She had no idea he was beyond these doors.

"...Yeah."

The inside of the hotel ballroom was warmer than Michael expected. Not just because of the actual temperature, but because everything inside seemed to glow under the iridescent lights. The ballroom was equally as decorated as the rest of New York, but instead everything was carefully put together, in shades of gold, with intricate crystal glasses and metal platters.

The overlapping conversations immediately swallowed them both. People walked through these kinds of events like they were busier and more important than they actually were.

Michael smiled when people came up to greet him, and an older producer he vaguely remembered grabbed Quincy.

"I'll catch up with you," Quincy told him, already following the man somewhere else.

Michael nodded back. "Yeah."

And just like that, he was alone in an event he was not directly invited to, surrounded by actors he barely recognized.

He chose to enjoy himself regardless, even though he found himself scanning around the room for her. He found himself next to the bar, ordering some kind of mixed drink, something just so he could hold it. He didn't even really drink.

He took one cautious sip before deciding it was too bitter. He left the glass by the bar, moving deeper into the crowd.

He heard her before he saw her. Someone across the room called out. "Camille!"

His eyes followed quickly, peering over heads to find her tucked in a corner beside other people.

She looked absolutely beautiful; a red velvet dress falling just below her mid-thighs, accentuating the soft curve of her hips. Her hair was styled into a careful curve that framed her jawline. Her smile shined as she waved at the other person, ushering them over.

But the smile never met her eyes. Michael made sure to note that. She looked exactly like the version of Camille everyone knew, but even from across the room, Michael could see it was a performance.

He couldn't believe people liked this version of her better. The version that had to hold her breath just to zip up the tiny dress, that had to sit in a chair to get ready for hours, the version that had probably been practicing that very smile all day.

Michael liked her best without all of it. How she would get groggy after 10 pm, how she would slip into big, soft t-shirts after these kinds of events, how she would tell him over the phone about her opinions, complaints, and things she loved.

Everyone loved Camille when she was quiet and smiling. Michael knew she was actually a very opinionated woman under it all.

Michael barely had time to look away before her eyes swept around the room, directly landing on him. She froze, like she was trying to figure out if it was actually him. Then, her smile changed. It became softer as she excused herself from the group, now walking over to him.

Michael couldn't stop himself from smiling either.

Camille weaved through the crowd before finally standing in front of him.

"Hi," Michael giggled.

"Michael?" Camille asked, brushing his arm like she was trying to see if she was hallucinating. "What are you doing here?"

Michael smiled to himself. Just as I imagined, he thought. He shrugged, trying to look more casual than he was acting. "I told you I had plans."

Camille slapped his arm, laughing. "You liar!"

"Hey! I didn't lie. I told you I was super busy this weekend."

"Uh-huh. Busy stalking me at my own events."

"I wouldn't say stalking, just going off what you told me."

Camille smiled back as a silence settled between them. Not awkward, just easy.

"You honestly did save me back there."

"Yeah?"

"I thought seeing you was me hallucinating an escape route. I can't believe Evelyn forced me to come here."

"I don't think that's a great thing to say about a charity event," Michael sarcastically laughed.

"Most of these people don't even care about what the Fund is actually fundraising for anyway. It's all bullshit."

Michael laughed, looking around to make sure no one had overheard. "You're gonna get us in trouble saying things like that so loud."

"Whatever. Most of them are too busy talking about themselves to notice."

He scanned around, finally landing on a man who had been talking for five minutes already without a stop in sight. "You're probably right."

"I know I am."

A server passed by them, holding a silver platter that reflected almost blue under the golden chandeliers. Camille immediately reached for one of the hors d'oeuvres: a small bread bite with different spreads and appetizers on top.

"My mom used to have these at her little cocktail parties at our house when I was younger," Camille said through a bite.

"What even is it?"

"It's a crostini— a little bread, and you can change what you put on top," she said, examining the top. "This one only has cream cheese and jam. It's a Christmas one."

"Can I try?" Michael asked reluctantly.

"Yeah," Camille said, handing it out to him. "It's just bread."

Michael took a bite of the other side, covering his mouth and nodding in approval. "Fancy bread."

Camille laughed. "Sure. Fancy bread."

Michael took another bite, officially claiming it as his. Camille started to move through the room, Michael following beside her without much thought behind it.

For the next hour, Camille was dedicated to giving a tour of each person in the room to Michael. Not introducing them, though— giving her full opinions on everyone.

"See him?" Camille pointed with her chin.

"Yeah?"

"Literally never let him tell you a story unless you have half an hour to spare."

"Really? How do you know?"

Camille looked back at Michael, unamused. "I made the mistake once. It was something about his son genuinely believing he was a pirate."

Michael laughed a little harder than he anticipated. "That's a very normal kid thing!"

"Trust me, that's what I thought. So why it had to become a 45-minute conversation, no one knows."

Then, an older actor passed by their table, smiling with open arms. "Michael!"

Michael stood, shining a smile back, falling into the familiar routine of these conversations. He answered about filming, his family, and living in New York.

Camille remained seated beside him, sipping from her glass, before finally rising and excusing herself to the bathroom.

When she got back, the person had left, and he could smell the cigarette on her clothes.

"Do you always smoke?" Michael asked, not rudely, just curious.

"Only at these kinds of things," Camille answered honestly. "It's an excuse for me to just breathe."

She took another sip of her drink, looking around the room before looking at him again. "I don't do it as much when you're here, though."

Michael stopped and looked at her for a second longer than needed.

"Why?"

"I guess I just don't need as many reasons to leave."

Michael smiled softly. "That's good."

Camille broke the moment, leaning back in the velvet booth. "Don't get so ahead of yourself."

"I'm trying not to," Michael laughed.

Quincy appeared sometime later, holding a full drink and walking beside someone neither of them recognized.

"Michael, Camille," he said, looking between the two of them.

"Quincy!" Camille smiled, standing to hug him.

"I've been looking all over for your friend here," Quincy said, looking past her at Michael, smirking.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know he has not moved an inch in about an hour," Camille laughed.

Michael smiled back, giving Quincy that look he knew all too well. Don't ruin this, man.

Quincy nodded to Michael, understanding, but not listening. "Just abandoning the person who invited you, huh?" he said jokingly.

Camille looked between the two of them, finally landing on Michael. "You weren't directly invited?"

"No, I was. Quincy's just had too much to drink," he laughed, standing and bringing a hand up to Quincy's shoulder. "He was just going, right?"

Quincy laughed, shaking his head. "Yup, just passing by," he shot Michael another look. I'm just teasing, have fun. "I'll see you two later."

Michael waited till he was safely out of earshot before sinking back into the booth.

Camille was staring at him, trying to hide a smirk.

"What?"

"You asked him to bring you."

"Camille—"

"You did!" she laughed, leaning forward. "You actually went out of your way to come here?"

Michael looked down at the table, messing with the cracking finish on the wood. "I wanted to see you."

Camille softened her teasing into a smile. "That's... really sweet."

Michael squirmed. "Oh please, it was practically open invite... Don't make it weird."

"Mhm," Camille nodded, unconvinced.

Another half hour passed by, both of them still sitting and talking, until Camille finally noticed people grabbing their coats and servers collecting empty glasses off tables.

Both of them noticed it was ending, but still chose not to move towards the coat check.

Camille rested her hand against her chin. "So," she said, scanning around the room. "What are you doing after this?"

Michael laughed. "I was just about to ask you the same thing."

Camille smiled at him. "Good."

"Good?"

"Now I don't need an excuse."

"You usually need an excuse to hang out with me?"

"Well, not anymore," she said, finally standing and making her way over to the exit.

Michael smiled. "You hungry?" he said, following behind her.

"I could eat," Camille said, peering over her shoulder, already expecting him to follow.

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