#badmichael

Finally. Your eyes scan the room. No one was looking at you – your guests strewn about the dance floor, sweating, singing, or clumped together chatting and catching up. For the first time today, you knew you had a moment to sneak away to be completely alone. 

You knew your best friend Sarah had packed the essentials in case of a last minute freak-out, but you found her to confirm. 

“Sarah!” You grabbed her by the elbow and guided her towards the exit. 

“Did you happen to bring any…” You brought two fingers to your lips discretely. 

“Y’know?” You leaned in close. 

“Duh!” Sarah loved to indulge you in your bad habits. In college, the two of you were known for being fun, loud, and pushing the limits of “ladylike” behavior. Since then, you had kicked (most) of your bad habits and presented as a put together, proper young woman. Sarah loved seeing you break free from your adult persona and engage in the wild, girlish activities you had in college. 

The two of you walked swiftly to the Bride’s quarters, a private suite at the opposite end of the ornate Italian castle. Sarah riffled through her bag and found the little red and white box and a gold bic lighter. She handed you the box and you ripped it open and pulled just one little secret out. 

“You want company?” Sarah asked. 

“No, thank you, I think I just need a minute alone. To reset.” You looked at her with a grateful smile, she could see the social exhaustion all over your face. 

“Okay! I’ll be out there, come find me when you’re done!” As she pulled on the doorknob, you caught her attention once last time. 

“Sarah?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m back here” you slouched slightly and grit your teeth, whispering under your breath. 

“For all I know, I don’t know anything!” She slipped out the doorway and softly shut the door behind her.

You began to sneak towards the private balcony, slight guilt creeping in about what you were about to do. Michael hated when you smoked, said you were too pretty for it. He would say “It doesn’t suit you”. You had mostly kicked the habit when you began dating, but the occasional cigarette was sometimes too powerful to resist. On this particular night, your wedding night, you needed the relief, something to stop the jitters. 

The ceremony had gone perfectly, and it wasn’t the reception that made you a nervous mess, it was what came after. 

You climbed out onto the terrace, gathering your silky white gown in your left hand, your little friend & your lighter in your right. You leaned up against the concrete balcony as you lit the cig and took your first drag. It hit the back of your throat and swirled around in your head, almost making you dizzy. It was exquisite. You took in the view as you exhaled, and almost all thoughts left your brain entirely. The night was a perfect 72 degrees, with a slight breeze carrying your train and bits of your bangs along with it. Clear skies and hundreds of tiny, glimmering specs decorated the sky. You finally found the peace you needed so badly. 

Three drags in, and you hear the terrace door creak open. Your heart skipped a beat, knowing you were about to be caught red-handed, hoping it was anyone but Michael. 

“Hey missy”. His voice made your stomach drop and your body freeze. You had a split second to lean in, or abandon your fresh friend in an effort to not disappoint your new husband. You sighed, giving in, twisting just your head towards the door, chin resting on your shoulder. You kept your hands resting on the balcony, trying to hide what sat in between your first two fingers. 

“Hi.” Trying to keep your voice as soft and sweet as you can, hoping your sweetness distracts him from your scandalous behavior. 

“What’re you doing out here?” His brows furrowed, leaning over to see what you may have in front of you. 

“Just… needed some fresh air” 

Too late.

Michael clocked the white smoke floating up and over your blonde up-do, his expression turning from confusion to disappointment, letting out a sigh. 

“Y’know I don’t like you smoking.” He stood up straight and cocked his head back, still standing at the terrace door, now shut. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I just… needed something to… calm me down.” You had slowly begun twisting your body around, your back against the cool concrete, a slight smile creeping across your face. Michael began towards you, with a look on his face that said “you’re about to get a talking to.” He stood in front of you, your right hand still resting on the balcony, the glow of the Marlboro tip illuminating your hand. 

He looked you up and down, his gaze softening when his eyes met yours again. 

“Are you not having fun?” A slightly concerned, babying tone in his voice. 

“I am! Of course I am. I was just feeling… a bit… nervous.” Michael leaned in closer, towering over you now, you kept your eyes on his, the perfect angle to give him your best puppy-dog eyes. You bit your lip ever so slightly, as if asking for forgiveness with just the batting of your eyelashes. 

He learned in, holding himself up by planting his palms on the balcony, one on either side of you, arms straight, his eyeline meeting yours perfectly. 

“What’s there to be nervous about baby?” His voice soft, and so, so sweet. 

“Y’know..later..later tonight.” Your head dropped and eyes focused on his shoes. You brought the still lit cig to your lips and sucked hard. You looked up and to the right to not exhale directly into him. As the last bits of smoke left your lips, he brought his hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb from side to side. Your eyes locked again. Michael slowly slipped his first two fingers over yours and swiped your sweet, sweet relief from you. Your mind jumps to the next logical step, he’s about to drop it & stomp it. 

Instead, he pulls your cig to his lips, his eyes slightly squinting as his cheeks inverted. His lips pop as he pulls it away, inhaling even deeper, and shooting you a wink. The sight makes your knees buckle, and your own breath hitches. 

Michael famously was so not a smoker. He believed it would ruin his voice, and “was a bad look” for him. He wanted nothing to do with it. That being said, he had indulged before, but these were extenuating circumstances, he explained. He would tell me “he had no choice” with a cheeky smile running across his face. The first time, he was young, and with his brothers. He had been a bit overserved and was sucking the butt end of a menthol before he realized what was even happening. He said it was delicious, but never again. That is, until the stress of mixing Bad reached a fever pitch and his temptations got the best of him. He had swiped one of Bill’s from his jacket pocket, slipped out a side door, and practically made love to the cigarette in the studio parking lot. 

Your shock was all over your face, jaw ajar, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. What you could never say out loud, was that he looked fucking sexy. 

His hand dropped from your face to your waist, pulling your hips in to meet his. Your hands wrapping loosely around his waist. 

“I’m a bit nervous too.” Hence the cigarette, you gather. He smiles shyly, Your eyes are locked, he leans in and presses his lips gently against yours. The smell of the cig on his breath and the taste of the sweet champagne on his lips consumes you, making your stomach flip and cheeks turn red hot. The wild college girl inside of you practically jumping up and out of your throat to capture every bit of “bad boy” energy Michael was giving you. It was intoxicating. A small, quiet moan vibrated out of your mouth. You wanted more, needed more. 

Michael pulled away slowly, his eyes now locked on your lips. 

“Those are too pretty for this.” He raised the cig and flicked it, like he had been a pack-a-day smoker for years. This man was so smooth, he made any and everything look easy, natural, sexy. That sight was all the relief you needed. You instantly felt calm, just the two of you on the terrace, now in silence. 

Michael’s right hand slipped behind you once again, this time at the small of your back, slipping down further than before. His left grabbed your cheek, thumb hooked around your chin. 

“Fuck. You look so pretty, baby.” He leaves no time for you to respond before he firmly plants his lips against yours. Your hips rock into one another and his tongue slips into you. You feel your pulse in your core, begging to be touched. Michael’s hand slips down your back, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him even harder. The thin barrier of your silk gown allowed you to feel the bulge attempting to escape his slacks. 

“I love you.” He softly exhales into your open mouth. 

Your eyes flutter open as your head falls back, exposing your neck. Your weakness, and absolutely toxic to him. He knew he had to stop when you threw your head back, otherwise you may never peel yourselves off each other. His jaw clenched as he pulled back, sucking air between his teeth in agony. You both had waited, not intentionally, but waited until you had found the perfect person. You both knew each was the perfect person, but the waiting had made it that much better.

The desperate way you both yearned to be touched and held, it made each kiss, every touch send a chill down the spine of the other. You had both become addicted to the small brushes you exchanged throughout the day, waiting for the perfect moment to taste one another in private like teenagers.

The reception would continue for hours, and you felt guilty for not entertaining your guests. You looked at Michael and saw the same guilt in his eyes, tainted by his desperate yearning to taste you. He bit his bottom lip, exhaling slowly, trying to compose himself. His bulge still pressed up against you, your heart still racing. Michael took a step back, turned towards the door, and held his hand out for you to latch onto.