Chapter 1: i
The summer before your senior year of high school, your life was abruptly separated into two parts: before Michael Langdon, and after Michael Langdon. Up until then, your life had been peaceful- maybe a little boring, mundane, but peaceful all the same. You’d had a painfully average life with painfully average grades and a painfully average social life, but there was nothing to complain about, living in your modest high-ranch with your father in the middle of the suburbs.
And then your father met Miriam Mead Langdon, a slightly eccentric but nice-enough woman who oftentimes frequented the same grocery store he did. You hadn’t had a problem with Miriam; you were pleased to see your father happy after having been single for so long, ever since your mother passed away years before. No, you didn’t have a problem with Miriam- it was her son, Michael, that you couldn’t fucking stand.
Michael Langdon was everything you hated- cocky, rude, a smart-ass, spoiled. Everyone who met him seemed to fall under his spell, charmed by his smooth talking and boyish good looks, and so he always seemed to get whatever he wanted. There was no question of whether he was attractive, with soft waves of blond hair and admittedly beautiful baby blue eyes, paired with plump pink lips that always seemed to be curled into an infuriating smirk. Girls swooned over him, including your own friends (which you’d gagged over), and boys fought for his approval and friendship. It was beyond nauseating.
When your father had announced that he and Miriam were engaged, you’d been forced to swallow your distaste for the boy who, soon enough, would be your stepbrother. In June they were married, and soon afterwards, Miriam and Michael moved into your father’s home. Michael got the once-vacant guest room down the hall from your bedroom, and within a few days it had become an entirely new place; he’d plastered the walls with posters, depicting everything from horror movies to half-naked girls to metal bands. The top of his dresser was strewn with random things he’d thrown there: an empty Jack Daniels bottle, AXE body spray (because of course), an enormous glass-blown bong, a half-empty pack of Marlboro Reds, designer sunglasses. The entire room reeked of weed, sometimes drifting down the hall and into your room, but for some reason your father never mentioned it (which you were sure he would, had it been you who was stinking up the house and not Michael).
That entire summer, you were forced to witness Michael getting away with things you could never dream to: sneaking in girls at all hours of the night (no headphones were good enough to block out the scarring noises that left his room on these occasions), stealing your father’s expensive liquor from the glass-paneled cabinets, leaving the house at 1 am and coming back home after sunrise. It seemed that he was able to talk himself out of anything, and if you didn’t hate him so much, you might have even said you envied him a little.
The only upside was that you were graduating high school this year; the both of you would be off to college in the fall, and then you’d never have to see his stupid, smug face again. Or, at least, almost never.
That thought was the only thing that kept you from losing grip on your sanity; like a prayer, you’d tell yourself: only a few more months.
“Michael, I don’t know why you’re being so difficult. Just take your sister to school.” The even voice of Miriam filled your kitchen as you glared at Michael, who was slumped over a bowl of cereal- your cereal- at the kitchen table.
“My sister?” he repeated through a mouthful of corn flakes. You gagged dramatically, hoping the gesture caught his eye. “You guys got married not even four months ago and now I’m suddenly expected to act like she’s my blood relative?”
You rolled your eyes, frowning when he reached for the cereal box.
“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” you muttered, grabbing the box away before he could take more from it.
“Michael,” said Miriam, her voice tinged with warning, but you knew she wasn’t actually going to do anything. Not to Michael, her precious, perfect baby boy who apparently could do not wrong. “You’re going to the same place. It only makes sense for you to drive her.”
“Whatever,” he griped, standing up to grab his backpack off the counter without bothering to put his dish away. Just as you’d expected, Miriam took his bowl and placed it in the sink without a word. “C’mon.”
You followed him to the front door, watching as he retrieved his ring of keys from the back pocket of his black skinny jeans.
“I don’t understand why you can’t just get a ride with (best friend’s name),” he said irritably.
“Because we’re no longer speaking, that’s why.”
“Is it because of-“ he paused, flashing you a shit-eating grin, cocking one eyebrow at you knowingly. Dickhead.
“What do you think?”
“Aww, come on, you’re still mad about that?” he chuckled, pulling his sunglasses off the front of his shirt and sliding them on.
“Yes.” You trailed behind Michael onto the porch, slamming the door behind you loudly. He dug his thumb into a button on his keys, and on cue his sports car- because of fucking course he had a sports car- let out its usual cheery beep as it unlocked.
“You mind getting in the back?” he asked you, tossing his keys up into the air idly and catching them before opening the driver side door.
You scoffed. “Um, yes, I mind?” You opened the passenger door defiantly to find the leather seat strewn with CDs, food wrappers, a math textbook which you highly doubted he used, and- you wrinkled your nose- was that a box of fucking condoms? Yep, condoms, Magnum XL with added lubrication (you seriously regretted taking the time to read the box).
“Ew, Michael,” you said, snatching up the box before tossing it into the back as though you might contract a deadly disease if you touched it for too long. “Very discreet.”
“What, was that the wittle virgin’s first time seeing condoms in real life?” he teased, slipping into the front seat and turning the key in ignition. You picked up as much of his junk as you could before throwing it haphazardly into the back, earning a wince from Michael.
“Not that I have anything to prove to you, but I’m not a virgin,” you lied.
“Riiiight.” He switched on the radio, screwing up his face indecisively as he flipped through the stations.
“No, seriously,” you said, getting in the passenger’s seat and shutting the car door. You considered putting on your seatbelt, but thought that might be something Michael would tease you about, so you refrained.
Why did you even care what he thought?
“Okay, then, who’d you do it with?” he said, reaching into the glove compartment to retrieve a crushed pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and stuck it between his teeth, rotating his body as he searched the floor of the car for a lighter.
Your lips turned down in disgust. “Can you not do that right now?”
“Uh, it’s my car,” he snapped, and you retreated. He found a lighter, flicking it on and off presumably to test if there was any fluid left, and then he lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke unfurl from his nose, before his face lit up once more with a mischievous grin. “Oh right. Who was it that you had sex with, again?”
You pressed your lips together, annoyed that he’d remembered. “You don’t know him.”
You couldn’t see his eyes due to the fact that they were covered with tinted lenses, but you were sure he’d narrowed them suspiciously in your direction at this. It was so obvious that you were full of shit, and you knew it. “I know pretty much everyone who goes to our school.”
“He doesn’t go to our school.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced, but you were grateful when he didn’t press on further. He rolled down the window, bringing the cigarette to his plump lips as he backed out of the driveway, hardly bothering to glance over his shoulders. You weren’t entirely sure how he hadn’t been in a car accident yet. Probably just dumb luck, which Michael always seemed to have an abundance of.
You stared out the window for a while, arms crossed in front of your chest as you attempted to avoid the smoke that Michael made no effort to shield you from. The morning sun shone through the window and bounced off Michael’s effortless mop of blond waves, just slightly overgrown, which he’d attempted to neaten with the smallest hint of hair gel.
He looked like something from a movie, you decided, with his leather jacket and laid-back stance, reclined against the back of the seat with one hand resting on the wheel. You couldn’t help but notice his sharp, angular jawline, clenching slightly as he craned his neck to look at the road, and for a moment you almost caught yourself… admiring him.
You shuddered. Absolutely fucking not.
You were halfway to school when Michael decided to break the silence. “So you and (b/f/n) are really done being friends?”
“I mean, I very clearly asked her not to fuck my brother and she did anyway, so yes, really.”
You saw the vaguest hint of a smirk play at the corners of his lips, his stump of a cigarette dangling out from between them, and you fought back the urge to backhand him.
“So since you’re no longer friends,” he said, putting his cigarette out on the steering wheel and discarding it outside, “you won’t have a problem with us fucking again, then?”
Of fucking course. You should’ve known better than to believe he actually had any sort of interest in what went on in your life.
“I hate you so fucking much,” you murmured.
“I know,” he said, seeming pretty pleased with himself. Why the fuck did your father have to choose the mother of the worst goddamn person in the world to get married to?
Michael pulled up to the school and into his front-and-center reserved parking space, which he’d allegedly won year-round access to in some kind of charity raffle (though you had a sneaking suspicion it had more to do with the fact that every staff member at the school was practically up his ass and gave him whatever he wanted). Pulling the blinder down and sliding open the attached mirror, he examined his reflection for an unsettlingly long period of time before turning to you.
“Do you mind, like, not speaking to me when we get out of the car?”
You let out a huff as you stormed outside, swinging your backpack over your shoulders with exaggerated motions that you hoped were noticeable. Then, still not entirely satisfied, you flipped him the middle finger. From the driver’s seat, still entirely calm and composed, he laughed.
God, you hated him.
How you’d wound up getting a date with one of Michael’s fuckboy friends was beyond you.
You’d been stranded at school, because of course Michael had ditched you after you’d made him wait all of thirty seconds after the final bell sounded. Next thing you knew, a boy, whom you recognized as one of Michael’s friends, approached you as you wandered aimlessly by the front of the school- you’d exchanged the expected pleasantries (oh, you’re Michael’s sister, right? he’d asked, even though it wasn’t even a question, considering he was at your house almost every weekend) before he’d offered you a ride home, which you’d accepted perhaps against your better judgement.
On the drive home you’d made surprisingly easy conversation, and when he finally pulled up in front of your house, he stopped you before you got out of the car.
“I’d love to take you out sometime,” he’d said sweetly. “How about this weekend?”
Apprehensive as you were, you realized what a prime opportunity this would be to get Michael back. Also, he was pretty damn cute, with prominent dimples and curly brown hair and tanned skin. So you’d accepted the offer, and subsequently arranged for him to pick you up at 8:00 that Friday.
You couldn’t wait for Michael to find out.
“So how was school?” asked Miriam, shoveling a pile of mashed potatoes onto her plate with an unnaturally friendly grin plastered across her face. You always dreaded family dinners- the forced conversation, the fact that you had to pretend to get along with Michael, the awkward periods of silence as everyone quietly chewed on their food. To you, it was a nightmare, but your father insisted on having “quality family time” every night of the week, and so everyone was expected to be around the kitchen table at 6:00 sharp, no exceptions.
Even Michael wasn’t able to get out of the dinners; he’d attempted every excuse in the book, but your father had refused to let up. Tonight Michael had claimed that he had plans to study at the library- an obvious lie, even to your father, who truly thought Michael was some kind of golden boy; you’d reveled in the dejected look on his face as he’d grudgingly sat down across from you, unable to get his way for once in his charmed life.
“Fine,” you and Michael said in unison, responding to Miriam’s question.
“You kids always say that,” said your father. “Did anything interesting happen? Come on, there has to be more than one word to describe how your day went!”
“Well,” you said slowly, glancing up to see if Michael was paying attention; it didn’t appear that he was, his head resting in the palm of his hand, elbow settled on the edge of the table as he twirled and un-twirled his spaghetti on the end of his fork. You decided to proceed anyway. “I actually got asked out on a date.”
Michael’s head shot up to look at you, eyes wide. “No way. By who?”
You scowled at him. “None of your business.”
“It’s one of my friends, isn’t it?” He seemed pissed, perhaps a bit more pissed than you’d expected, and you were curious as to why he even cared so much.
“Maybe,” you said coyly, taking a sip of water. This was even more satisfying than you thought it would be, getting under his skin, and you made a mental note to try and piss him off more often.
“A date?” your father said, eyebrows furrowed in a stern expression. You weren’t exactly the most popular with boys, and so he wasn’t yet used to the prospect of his baby girl being taken out.
“Mhm,” you said, meeting your gaze with Michael’s and flashing him a barely-detectable wink. Goddamn, did it feel good to finally have the upper hand.
“Well, that’s exciting,” said Miriam. “He’s a very lucky guy.”
Michael still appeared to be beside himself. “Which friend was it? Was it Jacob? Matthew? Chris?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“(Y/n), I’m serious,” he said, balling his fists up on either side of his plate so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Okay, what the hell was his problem?
“Oh, so it’s okay for you to run around with my friends as much as you want, but if I wanna have fun and go out with one of your friends, it’s not allowed? Grow up, dickhead.”
“Language,” scolded your father. You ignored him.
Michael’s nostrils flared, and for a fleeting second, you almost thought he looked cute, all riled up and angry like this. The second the thought crossed your mind, you shuddered, willing it away as quickly as it had come.
“This is different,” said Michael, giving you a pointed look that said, you know what I’m talking about but I can’t say it right now because our parents are sitting right here.
Still, you weren’t actually sure you did know what he was talking about.
“No, it’s not. You’re just mad that someone’s finally giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you spat, abruptly jumping to your feet and picking up your half-full plate of food. “I have homework to do,” you said to your father, not giving him a chance to protest as you hurried over to the sink and dropped your plate in.
You’d just gotten settled on your bed when Michael barged into your room, startling you as he burst through the door without warning.
“You know he’s gonna try and fuck you, right?” was the first thing he said, somewhat smug as he leant against the doorframe to look at you.
“You don’t even know who I’m going out with,” you said as dismissively as you could manage, barely looking up from the Youtube video you were watching.
“If it’s one of my friends, he’s gonna try to fuck you, believe me.” He waited for you to react, and when you didn’t, he let out a condescending snort. “Have fun explaining to him that you’re a big fucking virgin.”
This caught your attention, and you averted your eyes up to your stepbrother, his hair just starting to fall from its hold, soft curls clinging to his forehead and neck. He looked so much more innocent like this- sweet, even, dressed in his plaid flannel sleep pants and plain white t-shirt rather than his usual all-black ensemble. He had one toned arm hooked in front of his chest, long fingers wrapped around the bicep of his opposite arm, his muscles rippling slightly with each movement of his upper body. You licked your lips, mouth suddenly going dry.
“What the fuck is your problem?” you asked him sincerely, as if he might decide to drop his act and actually explain to you what was upsetting him.
“I don’t have a problem. You know, excuse me for looking out for my little sister.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pajama bottoms for added emphasis, slumping his shoulders dramatically.
At this, you laughed, full and genuine. What a load of shit.
“First of all, Michael, I’m a month younger than you. And second of all, we both know you don’t give a fuck about me. So cut the shit.”
He sneered. “Whatever. I hope you like getting fucked and dumped.”
With that, he turned on his heels, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway and leaving you alone and, quite frankly, confused.
You were in the midst of straightening your hair on Friday night when someone began pounding urgently on the bathroom door. You didn’t have to see the person on the other side, though, to know exactly who it was.
“What do you want, Michael?” You eased the iron down on a chunk of your hair, taking extra precaution not to accidentally burn yourself.
“You’ve been in there long enough,” he said, voice muffled by the barrier of the door. “I need to shower.”
“You showered this morning, dumbass,” you said, setting down the straightener for a moment to apply some eyeliner along the band of your upper eyelashes. You weren’t exactly well-versed in the art of makeup, but considering tonight was the night of your first real date, you’d decided to do some experimenting with the little makeup you owned.
“I have to pee,” he pressed on. You had been in the bathroom for a long time, enjoying yourself as you got ready and listened to music in only your underwear, but in all honesty you were having fun pissing Michael off.
“Too bad.” You brushed some light pink blush onto your cheeks, leveling your head back and forth in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t too much.
There was a scraping noise as the door swung open- that lock had always been faulty. Your arms flew up to your nearly-exposed chest, and your face bloomed deep red as Michael’s pale eyes dropped downwards towards the smooth expanse of your chest. His mouth fell agape before he shut it again, taking a step back, and you could’ve sworn that he, too, was blushing. Or at least it looked that way. It could be the crappy bathroom lighting, you supposed.
He quickly composed himself, poising an eyebrow at you.
“You own a matching bra and underwear set?” he mused.
You shifted, wishing he would just fuck off already, all at once feeling very insecure in your pale pink set that you’d purchased on sale at Victoria’s Secret a few days before. It was your first ever “nice” set of lingerie, and even though you weren’t necessarily planning for anything sexual to happen on your date, you’d thought that tonight would be the perfect occasion to wear it.
“Uh, yeah?” you said, hoping you came off as nonchalant as possible.
“Did you buy that just for tonight?” he asked you with a mocking twinge to his voice, eyes flashing venomously. Your skin prickled in embarrassment, and you looked away.
“No,” you said, picking up the hair straighter again and clamping it around another section of your hair.
“Aww, is tonight the night? Finally getting rid of that v-card?” You focused on your reflection, knowing that the cocky expression no doubt plastered across his face would only serve in making your blood boil.
“Will you just fuck off?” You shoved his firm chest with your free hand, hardly stirring him at all. He snickered, lips twitching at your attempt at being assertive.
“Have fun tonight,” he said in a singsong tone. “But just don’t expect some kind of amazing romantic experience. He’ll probably never call you again once he blows his load inside you.”
Before you could retaliate, he slammed the door shut, and you could hear him laughing to himself as he retreated to his bedroom down the hall. You could still smell his cologne, lingering in the air, even once he was gone.
All at once, a pit formed in your stomach.
The date was fine, until it wasn’t anymore.
Michael’s friend had arrived at 8:00 on the dot, wasting no time before he began showering you with compliments- he’d remarked that you smelled amazing, making a point to bring his face close to your neck and inhale deeply, which you’d giggled in response to. He’d gushed over how well your maroon sweater flattered your skin tone, eyes just barely ghosting over your cleavage.
First he’d taken you to a diner. Nothing fancy, but you still appreciated the gesture all the same. Over pancakes you’d discussed your plans for after high school, among other things, and you’d been pleased to find how well you both got along.
After dinner was when things had gone downhill. Instead of driving to the local bowling alley, like he’d told you he would, you’d both somehow ended up on the other side of town, parked outside of an abandoned supermarket.
Here we fucking go, you thought to yourself as he shut off the car and stared at you expectantly.
“So,” he said lowly, leaning in towards you while one hand slipped down the side of your seat, pushing down the lever to recline the back. “What do you wanna do now?”
“I thought we were going bowling,” you deadpanned. Perhaps you might have considered doing something sexual with the boy, had he not pulled some shit like this, but now there wasn’t a fucking chance.
“Mmm,” he said, and you cringed at his attempt at sounding sexy as he pressed his lips to the side of your neck. “I think I know a different game we can play.”
You lifted your shoulders up, the suddenness of your motions jerking his head back. “I think you need to take me home.”
He knit his brows, face falling, as he sat upright again. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Very much so,” you retorted, folding your arms in front of you.
“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”
“And you’re a colossal fucking douchebag.”
You hated that Michael had been right about something, and you most certainly weren’t looking forward to explaining what had happened when you arrived home. You felt stupid, naive, but knew you had nobody to blame but yourself. Your heart sank- there was no way Michael would ever let you live this down.
The drive home was completely silent, and the boy didn’t wait for you to get inside before he sped off into the night. Not that you’d expected him to, after he’d revealed himself to be such a complete and utter fuckboy.
It was barely 9:30 when you arrived through the front door, trying your best to make as little noise as possible so as not to alert anyone of your arrival. The second you’d shut the door behind you, the first tear fell- you hadn’t even realized you were on the verge of crying, but now tears were flowing freely down your cheeks. You wiped your eyes with the back of your sleeve, inadvertently staining the fabric with eyeliner, and you let out a second choked sob at the sight.
You reached down to take off your boots, creeping up the stairs with as much stealth as you could muster. The last thing you wanted right now was for Michael to approach you, especially not while you were vulnerable like this.
Sniffling gently, you padded across the wood flooring to your bedroom, gritting your teeth in concentration as you tiptoed past Michael’s room. Your fingers had just barely brushed your doorknob, however, when you heard Michael’s voice behind you.
You nearly had a heart attack right then, crying out when his voice cut brashly through the silence. You whipped around, no longer worried about preserving your pride, tear-filled eyes squinted in frustration.
“Yep, I’m back. And before you ask, yes, you were right. He was a fucking asshole. Go ahead and laugh, I don’t give a shit.”
He seemed surprised, the amused look on his face faltering ever-so-slightly. “Told you so.”
He tilted his head, leaning his weight onto his shoulder which rested against the doorframe. It appeared like he wanted to say something else, and you raised your eyebrows at him.
“You know, uh, you might feel better if you smoked some weed.” He pointed over his shoulder into his room. For a moment, you were speechless. Was he—inviting you to hang out with him? “I have some good shit. If you wanna smoke some with me.”
You blinked in disbelief. Was this some sort of sick joke? Something about the way he looked at you, though, told you that he was being serious. Giving him a weak half-smile, you patted away the remainder of your tears with the edge of your sleeve.
“You know what? I think I will.”
Lying on your back, you watched Michael’s color lamp fade from color to color with bated breath, entranced with the hazy display. The world was so much more beautiful like this, you thought, vision blurred around the edges with a soft glow.
You’d never been high before, but after taking one hit from Michael’s bong (and getting laughed at for coughing so hard), you were gone. Michael was just as stoned as you were, his bloodshot eyes drooping at the corners, lying next to you with his hands folded over his chest.
It was probably the first time the two of you had ever gotten along. You’d talked for what felt like hours- about what, you could hardly remember, but your stomach muscles ached from how hard you’d been laughing all night. Maybe Michael isn’t such a dick, after all, you’d thought in passing.
You turned your head over to Michael, whose porcelain skin was bright pink from the light of the color lamp, and without thinking you reached out and touched his cheek.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a smile, full lips curving upwards on one side, voice raspy and thick.
“Your face is pink.”
You both stared at each other before erupting into hysterics, and then, out of nowhere, Michael’s lips were planted hard against yours. It happened so unexpectedly that it took you a moment to register what had happened, but your lips had already begun to move fluidly against his before the thought processed in your mind.
You whimpered, grasping at the front of his t-shirt and twisting the fabric in your palms, his tongue sliding past your teeth and into your mouth. You could taste his favorite cinnamon gum, the flavor melding seamlessly with that of stale cigarettes, and your breath hitched as he rolled on top of you, propping himself up with his arms on either side of you.
You panted breathlessly beneath him, lifting your hand to the back of his neck and pulling him back down towards you. You craned your neck to meet your lips with his again, your teeth clashing noisily as he deepened the kiss. When he pulled away, a silvery string of spit stretched between your mouths.
What the fuck was happening?
“I knew it,” he mumbled against your jaw, sending vibrations through your body and straight to your cunt.
“Knew what?” You writhed as his torso pushed against yours, feeling the hard protrusion in the front of his flannel pants against your thigh.
“That you’re a virgin. You can’t even kiss properly.”
You gaped at him, heart racing when he brought one hand to wander underneath your sweater, gripping your right breast roughly. You mewled at the possessiveness of his touch, sinking your teeth into your lower lip, and he smirked.
“So sensitive,” he remarked. He pulled down the cups of your bra and tweaked your nipple before massaging it roughly with his thumb, earning him a breathy moan from the back of your throat. “Mm, you like having your big brother touch you, baby?”
You nodded fervently, the ache of your cunt intensifying now, his head moving to the crook of your neck to plant sloppy kisses along your throat. “This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? What you touch yourself thinking about, late at night when you think nobody can hear you.”
Your eyes widened, gasping slightly when he attached his lips to your neck and began sucking a bruise onto the tender stretch of skin. He brought his hand out from under your shirt, running his fingertips along your bottom lip, and obediently you opened up for him.
He slid two of his fingers into your mouth and over your warm tongue, pressing down as he gathered your saliva on the calloused skin. He bit down slightly on your neck before swiping his tongue over the freshly-formed hickey, relieving you of the small bit of pain he’d caused.
“M-michael,” you whined, once he’d pulled his fingers from your mouth. He shifted himself so he was resting on his side beside you, bringing his wet fingers down to your pelvis and undoing the button of your jeans.
“You want your big bro to make you cum on his fingers? Hm?”
The vulgarity of your words sent a fresh wave of arousal between your thighs, and you groaned.
“Hm?” he repeated, moving his hand from the waistband of your jeans to your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“God, yes,” you breathed. At this point, you were too far gone to think about how goddamn wrong this was. You’d never felt this way before, never been so turned on, and there was nothing in the world that could make you want to stop now.
He exhaled sharply in what sounded like a slight chuckle, and he returned his hand to the zipper of your jeans, pulling it down and shoving his hand into your underwear in one swift motion. You melted at the feeling of his damp fingers moving down the smooth layer of hair along your pubic bone, forming small circles over your clit once he reached it.
“Fuck-“ you exclaimed; all his experience with girls must’ve really paid off, because he knew what he was doing- carefully he pulled back your hood, exposing your pulsing clit, and with his middle finger he tapped lazy patterns on the bud.
Your stomach clenched as he dragged his fingers along your slit, spreading the abundant wetness there and sending shivers down your spine. Parting your lips, he pressed one finger to your entrance experimentally, kissing your shoulder almost comfortingly as he eased it inside.
“So fucking tight,” he rasped, sinking his finger further inside you with a lewd squelching sound. It was your first time being penetrated, and it burned as you felt your walls being stretched out, but within seconds the discomfort was overtaken with pleasure. “My little sis is so wet for me.”
He began pumping in and out steadily, your hips rocking against his hand instinctively, and it wasn’t long before he added a second finger; your jaw unhinged at the intrusion, your thighs spreading further to welcome him inside.
“Michael,” you moaned, eyes rolling back when he quickened his pace, repositioning himself so he could thumb your clit with his free hand. He tilted his head up, biting your swollen lower lip and pulling it towards him, toying with your clit so intensely that it was almost too much.
“You wanna cum, baby?” His hot breath warmed your cheek and desperately you bobbed your head up and down.
He slipped his hand out from between your legs, resulting in a disappointed groan passing your lips. Taking hold of the denim material clinging to your hips, he worked down your jeans and tugged them off, leaving you in only the pale pink lacy thong he’d seen you in earlier.
It was crazy, really, how drastically things had changed in a matter of a few hours.
He crawled down the bed and nestled himself between your legs, spreading them once he’d removed the thin scrap of fabric that was your underwear. You were overtaken with goosebumps as the air hit your throbbing core, his lips brushing teasingly over your inner thighs. You bucked your hips up and he snickered, pushing your pelvis back down on the mattress with one hand.
“You’re so cute when you’re needy,” he purred.
You would’ve shot him a look of distaste, had you not been so worked up.
Slowly, he dragged his tongue up your slit, your hand immediately flying down to tightly grasp at his mess of curls. He glanced up at you from underneath his eyelashes, eyes heavy-lidded from both lust and the THC in his system.
“Tastes so fucking good,” he said, swirling his tongue over your sensitive clit. You twitched, tugging at the root of his hair perhaps a bit too hard, grinding your hips up against his face. Latching his lips around your bundle of nerves, he sucked ruthlessly, sliding two fingers past your entrance for a second time and thrusting them deep.
“That’s it, cum for your big brother.” His words reverberated against your cunt and you cried out, threading his soft hair between your fingers.
He applied even more suction to your clit, turning his fingers inside you and curling them expertly to brush against your spongey inner walls.
It didn’t take much more of this for you to cum, the coil in your stomach snapping without warning. You cried out in ecstasy, your narrow walls tightening around his slender fingers, abdomen tightening as your orgasm flooded throughout your trembling body.
He didn’t stop until you fell back limply into his pillows, chest rising and falling and eyelids fluttering. Finally he pulled away, wiping your juices from his mouth with the back of his hand, a devious grin situated across his lips.
“And to think, all this time I thought you hated me.”
All you could do was roll your eyes.
Chapter 2: ii
You blinked twice, lifting your fists to your eyes and rubbing away the last remnants of sleep as you rolled onto your back with a groan. The curtains were drawn, leaving the room reasonably dim, but you could see fragments of warm morning light spilling out from the edges, casting long sunspots along the bed.
Something felt wrong.
You turned your head slightly, directing your eyes towards the wall opposite you; you were met with the vacant stare of curvy brunette model, dressed only in a leather jacket and panties, and all at once you realized where you were.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
The memories from the night before came flooding back to you like a tsunami: Michael’s large hands groping your sensitive flesh, his soft lips on your hot skin, his hooded eyes looking up at you from between your parted thighs.
Holy ever loving mother of christ.
You shot up from beneath the blankets, scrambling from the bed and meeting your bare feet with the carpeted floor. According to the clock on Michael’s bedside table, it was 9:30 am. You saw the bong beside it, blackened chunks of weed still left behind in the metal bowl, reminding you of how you’d even allowed yourself to go through with something so utterly stupid.
This was not good. This was really, really not good. You were granted some relief when you noticed that at some point the night before, you’d dressed yourself again before falling asleep (in your fucking stepbrother’s bed! What if someone had walked in?, you thought with a shake of your head). You left Michael’s room as quickly as you could; as soon as you got into the hallway, your senses were overtaken with the smell of sizzling bacon- your father always made a point to cook breakfast for everyone on the weekends, hoping that would somehow better establish a family dynamic.
You stopped in your room to change into a pair of sweatpants and oversized t-shirt, figuring your parents might be suspicious should you come downstairs in last night’s clothes. Then you headed down to the kitchen, attempting to compose yourself as best you could.
Your father was standing behind the stove, mixing a bowl of pancake batter while Miriam worked the coffee machine; at the table sat Michael, hardly looking up as you entered, distracted by something on his phone. You looked away before he had the chance to make eye contact.
“Look who’s finally decided to join us,” said your father playfully, spooning a ladle full of batter onto the iron pan.
You gave him a weak smile. “‘Morning.”
“How did your date go?” asked Miriam as she poured a stream of black coffee into her favorite mug.
“Uh, it was okay.”
You were far from in the mood to explain what had happened the night before, so you decided instead to play it cool for now and then never mention the boy again.
“What did you two do?” asked your father.
“We went to dinner and then he took me bowling,” you said shortly, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions. You walked over to the counter where your father had laid several strips of bacon out on a paper towel, picking a slice up and biting into it.
“Hey, wait until everything is ready,” he laughed. As he looked at you, you saw his eyes fall to your neck, and instantly his smile faded. “What’s that?”
Your skin went hot, your father walking out from behind the stove to come closer to you.
“Are those hickeys?”
How could you have forgotten about them? You shot a sidelong glance to Michael, who, not to your surprise, was smirking as he watched the scene unfold.
“I wouldn’t have expected this from you, (y/n).” He placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head slowly as he appeared to be pondering what to do with you. It wasn’t like he was used to dealing with this sort of thing. “I, uh, I hope you didn’t, um. I hope you were responsible with whatever you chose to do with that boy.”
This was his way of asking if you’d worn a condom. You cringed, skin crawling at the thought of your father imagining you in that way.
“Dad! Ew! Nothing like that happened!”
You heard Michael laugh quietly to himself as he took a sip of his orange juice. You were going to fucking kill him once you had the chance.
“I’m just saying this as your parent, (y/n). You know, when I was your age, my girlfriend had a pregnancy scare, and-“
“-Please stop,” you pleaded, face twisting up in disgust. Your cheeks were hot, and you were certain you’d never wanted to die more than you did in that moment.
Miriam cleared her throat. “Coffee, (y/n)?”
“No thanks.” You weren’t positive you’d be able to stomach anything after the series of events that had led up to this morning. “You know, I actually don’t feel well.”
You turned around, and your father said nothing, likely because he was too shocked by his discovery to face you right now; you didn’t even want to speculate over what he’d say if he found out who had really given you those hickeys.
Your stomach turned. If you’d thought things were bad before, they were about to get a whole lot worse now.
It was a little past 6:30 when you’d finally gathered enough courage to confront Michael; it had to happen eventually, no matter how much you dreaded it, and you knew there was no way Michael would initiate the conversation first.
So that was why you’d found yourself outside his bedroom door, knuckles making sharp contact with the wood as you absently held your breath.
You heard him shuffling around inside before he opened the door, and inwardly you groaned at how completely delicious he looked, golden hair in disarray from his mid-day nap (which he indulged himself in almost every single day, whether or not he’d actually done anything tiring).
His eyes sparkled as they sized up the hickeys- his hickeys- on your neck, jutting his hip out as he leant against the doorframe.
“Those are some bruises,” he drawled, reaching out to run his rough fingertips over the purpled skin, and you drew back. “No wonder dad is pissed.”
You nearly recoiled in aversion at Michael’s usage of the term “dad” in reference to your father; somehow, it made things seem so much more depraved, so much more perverted.
“Yeah, and I’m sure he’d be even more pissed if he knew that you gave me them,” you snapped.
He cocked an eyebrow at you, taking a few steps back to allow you room to enter; even Michael was sensible enough to know that this was a conversation that had to be had in private. You followed him inside and shut the door behind you, pressing your back up against it and crossing your arms over your chest.
“Michael,” you said sternly, before realizing that you actually had no idea what you’d been planning to say. You paused, eyes darting around the room as you sought to look somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t Michael’s stupidly beautiful face.
“(Y/n),” he said, mimicking your pose in an act you didn’t think was intentional. His voice was low, maybe even seductive, and right then you knew you had to nip this in the bud.
“Michael, what happened last night— it can’t happen again.”
His expression barely changed, and you couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit of disappointment at his apathy.
“How come?” he asked, sounding as blasé as somebody asking what time it was. Did he really not see the issue here?
“How- how come? How come you shouldn’t fuck your stepsister? Are you being serious right now?” It was hard keeping your voice hushed now, but you were trying your best.
“You didn’t really seem to have much of a problem with it when you were cumming all over my tongue.”
The way he looked at you, with that predatory, cocky grin, was enough to make you want to curb stomp his pretty face into the ground.
“Well, I have a problem with it now. So let’s just agree to never mention it again, ‘kay?”
“Fine by me,” he said with a half-hearted shrug. “Now can you leave? I’m trying to play fortnite.” He pointed over to his desk, where his laptop sat open, attached to a pair of enormous gaming headphones.
You rolled your eyes halfway into your skull.
“Really, Michael? That’s all you’re gonna say?” You tried to swallow the frustration that was beginning to build up in the back of your throat, to no avail.
What had you wanted him to say? Wasn’t this better, for him to be compliant with you?
“What else did you want me to say?” he said with the smallest hint of attitude, sitting down at his desk and picking up his headphones. “Did you want me to beg you to change your mind or something? I’ve got plenty of other girls I can fuck besides you, (y/n).”
He punctuated his sentence by slipping his headphones over his ears and turning his back to you.
Wow. You gaped at your stepbrother, mentally taking back the thought you’d had the night before that maybe, Michael wasn’t such a dick after all. He most definitely was a dick, and nothing was ever going to change that.
Just as you were beginning to leave, Michael peered at you over his toned shoulder, lifting up one side of his headphones and parting his plump lips to speak. This better be good, you thought, freezing in place as you anticipated whatever it was he was about to say.
“Make sure to shut the door on your way out.”
On Monday you decided to ditch school after fifth period, for no reason in particular. Maybe it was the fact that everyone and everything seemed to make you think of Michael, and it was all starting to nauseate you- you had at least one of Michael’s friends in every single one of your classes, and were constantly running into girls who’d been involved with Michael in some way or another.
You’d caught yourself in the midst of some truly nasty thoughts while in biology class, sitting with your cheek propped against your palm as you glared contemptuously at some blonde girl; Michael had fucked her when you were both juniors, which you knew about only because you’d overheard his friends talking about it.
Apparently, she gave really good head.
Slut, you’d thought, before the wave of guilt crashed over you and you bit your tongue. What the hell was wrong with you lately?
You had an acquaintance give you a ride home, knowing your father and Miriam would be working until much later, and would therefore never find out about your little act of rebellion. You planned to wrap yourself in some blankets, then perhaps watch a few episodes of some shitty tv show, and then take a nap. Maybe at some point you’d even steal some of Michael’s weed, if the mood struck.
“Isn’t that (b/f/n)’s car?” said your acquaintance as she pulled into your driveway.
You turned your head to the curb, where she was looking. Her observation was correct: the car parked there was, in fact, your (ex) best friend’s car, a sage green Honda from the late 90’s, her telltale pine air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror.
Your heart dropped.
“Looks like it,” you said softly. Before your acquaintance could ask any more questions, you opened the door and stepped out onto your driveway, offering a rushed thank-you as you ran up the steps leading to your porch.
You rifled through the front pocket of your backpack to find your keys, unlocking the door with shaky hands. Apprehensively, you went inside, body numb as you prepared for what you already knew was waiting for you; from the upstairs hallway floated a strange, muffled sound, and if you hadn’t already had your suspicions, it probably would have taken you a second to figure out what it was.
You listened for a moment, rage building up inside your belly with each noisy clang of Michael’s headboard banging against the wall.
That. Fucking. Asshole.
You stormed up the stairs and into the hallway, where the sounds became even clearer- you could hear the animalistic grunts of a boy (Michael, obviously) paired with the annoying, high-pitched moans of a back-stabbing bitch.
“Fuck, Michael, harder,” you heard your best friend moan, and that was when your anger bubbled over.
Stalking towards Michael’s bedroom door, you beat your fist against it with such aggression you almost thought the wood might splinter, hoping to scare the shit out of them if nothing else.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Michael?” you yelled. There was no doubt in your mind you were coming across as some sort of rabid, jealous bitch. Maybe you were a rabid, jealous bitch. You didn’t care. You were sick of Michael, sick of his bullshit, sick of the way everybody seemed to fall at his feet but you.
You were a fucking idiot for letting yourself succumb to his seduction, just like every other girl. You were just as stupid as the rest, falling for his bullshit like you had.
There was a girlish squeal and a soft thud, as you assumed your best friend was jumping to her feet and hastily dressing herself. You didn’t hear much from Michael, and you could practically visualize the nonchalant position he likely was in on the other side of the door: reclined amongst his rumpled sheets, smooth torso glazed over in sweat, arms bent behind his head without a care in the world.
The mental image was definitely a beautiful one, you had to admit.
Unexpectedly, Michael’s door swung open, and out rushed your ex best friend, tears in her eyes as she brushed past you, clothing unkempt and wrinkled. She smelled like a rancid mixture of body odor, Michael’s cologne, her own cheap Victoria’s Secret body mist (what is this, middle school? you remembered thinking the first time she’d worn it), and pot.
She was a complete and total mess, which you supposed should give you some sort of consolation.
You had the sudden urge to call after her, say something mean and biting and bitchy, something that would remind her of what a shitty friend she was for choosing dick over her childhood best friend, but you refrained.
The front door slammed shut and you were left standing in front of Michael’s bedroom, backpack still slung over your shoulder. You were seething, splotches of red flashing in your vision, while Michael, of course, was entirely composed.
He wore only a pair of blue boxers, sitting with his back up against the headboard.
“You knew I had this period off,” he said coolly, not bothering to look up from his phone as he scrolled through it, his face illuminated by the blue-tinged light of the screen.
“Well, excuse me for not knowing that you use your off periods to fuck my friends, Michael,” you retorted. Of course you’d chosen the worst possible time to skip school.
“I don’t always fuck your friends on my off periods. Sometimes I fuck other girls.”
“I don’t get it, Michael. If you supposedly have all your little groupies jumping on your dick, why don’t you fuck them? Why do you have to fuck the one person I asked you not to?”
He flashed you a wry half-smile, lifting his hand to run his fingers through his now-stringy blond hair. “Well, for one thing, she’s got big tits.”
He’d definitely only said it to get a rise out of you, but his lewd response pissed you off all the same.
You sneered. “You’re disgusting.”
He snorted, in a tell me something I don’t know sort of way. If there was one thing about Michael you could credit him with, it was that he was self-aware.
You walked across the hall to your bedroom, fists curled at your sides, blood pressure rising. You wished Michael didn’t have such control over your emotions, wished you could match his level of indifference, match the way he never seemed to be affected by anything. But you couldn’t.
When you finally fell asleep in your bed, lulled by the suburban midday white noise coming through your window, you dreamt of him.
Goddamn it, you’d thought, looking into those hooded blue eyes as the blackness of sleep faded slowly into moving images.
I can’t even escape him in my dreams.
Most mornings you were so groggy, you could hardly process your surroundings; this morning was no different, your eyes bleary from sleep, just barely slits as you struggled to keep them open.
You shuffled past the bathroom, mouth contorting into an ugly yawn, when you were forced to do a double-take.
Standing in front of the sink, with only a thin white towel draped around his narrow hips, was Michael. The towel was so low it almost looked like it might slip off if he moved too much, and his lightly tanned skin was dotted with fat beads of water from the shower- your eyes followed a droplet that was traveling downwards, moving past his navel and alongside the trail of soft blond hair beneath it.
You almost tripped over your feet at the sight. Michael, to your dismay, noticed.
“G’morning,” he said through a mouthful of toothpaste, bending over to spit a wad of white foam into the sink. His hair had darkened from the wetness of the shower, forming into curls on his forehead and the nape of his neck. All of the sudden, you felt faint.
Well, at least you didn’t need caffeine to wake you up now.
“What are you looking at?” Michael asked with knit brows, feigning confusion when it was obvious he knew damn well what you were staring at. He’d undoubtedly done this on purpose, waltzing around with his dick nearly out, all along intending for you to see him like that.
If it’d been his goal to get you flustered, it had worked.
You coughed, forcing yourself to look only at Michael’s eyes as you spoke, cheeks prickling hot with discomfort (and, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, arousal). “I was looking at all the puddles you made on the floor. You better wipe them up before I get in there.”
You thought this was a fairly good save, though you were sure Michael could see right through it. Either way, though, he seemed vaguely dissatisfied with your response, clearly having expected a far more entertaining reaction from you. You were pleased with yourself for not giving him one (for once).
You worried, though; when Michael had a plan, he stuck to it. And if that plan was to get under your skin, you could only imagine what sort of things he had planned for you next.
The next week consisted of the same thing over and over: Michael would do something to get a rise out of you, and you would subsequently try your best to ignore him.
He ate all your favorite food from the pantry, even the snacks you knew he didn’t like. He stayed in the shower until all the hot water was used up. He strutted past your room half-naked with the confidence of a male swimsuit model. He’d made it a point to have a different girl over every night, making sure to be loud enough that you couldn’t fall asleep.
The entire time, you stayed mute. The last thing you wanted was to give him the satisfaction of upsetting you, even though you were gradually losing your ability to hide your irritation.
Eventually, you knew, you weren’t going to be able to hold back any longer. Michael was walking on a thin line, and at any moment now, that line was going to snap.
One night, you overheard him talking to his friends about some rager they’d be attending that weekend, and Michael seemed reasonably excited (or, at least, as excited as he could make himself out to be, what with his perpetual indifferent attitude and all).
“I stole my stepdad’s Hennessy and replaced it with iced tea,” Michael had boasted, before loudly cursing due to someone killing him on whatever stupid game he was preoccupied with.
Your father hardly drank, but that didn’t stop him from purchasing expensive liquor to display in his cabinet. It wasn’t the first time you’d known about Michael stealing it, but it was the first time that you were actually contemplating ratting him out.
You weighed the pro’s and con’s.
Pros: Michael would get grounded; this you were 99 percent sure of, and it would feel euphoric to get back at him after all the shit he’d put you through.
Cons: He’d probably make your life a hundred thousand times more miserable once he found out.
Still, you couldn’t shake the picture in your mind of Michael holed up in his room, pouting like a candy-deprived little boy while all his friends were out getting shitfaced.
You were tempted.
Very, very tempted.
Fuck it, you thought, as you made your way downstairs to the living room where Miriam and your father were watching TV. You dragged your sock-covered feet on the ground as you entered, assuming your best concerned expression before walking into their line of sight.
“Hey, (y/n),” said Miriam, as you blocked the TV with your body and folded your hands behind your back like you were about to give some sort of presentation.
“What’s up, kid?” said your father. He’d been acting awkward ever since Saturday morning. In all honesty, you couldn’t really blame him.
“I really hate to be a snitch, but- in school, they taught me that if you’re worried about someone, you should tell a trusted adult,” you said with faux-distress, rocking on your heels. You really had to play this up.
You watched as Miriam and your father exchanged glances, their eyebrows furrowing and lips curving down at the corners. “What’s going on, honey?” said Miriam.
“Well… I’m really worried about Michael, guys,” you said, sucking your lips into your mouth for a moment to stop yourself from laughing. “I heard him on the phone earlier, and he was telling his friends how he stole dad’s Hennessy for some party he’s going to.”
Your father’s eyes widened, and his features contorted into a scowl. “Oh, is that so?”
You nodded, pretending to wipe tears away from your eyes with the corner of your sweater sleeve. “He said he replaced it with iced tea so you wouldn’t notice.”
“Goddamn it, Michael,” muttered Miriam.
“Thank you for letting us know, (y/n),” said your father. He seemed about ready to kick Michael’s ass, and you knew your attempts at getting Michael in trouble had been successful.
“You. Fucking. Bitch.”
Your bedroom door swung open, and in came an incredibly vexed-looking Michael, jaw tight and sharp, the veins in his forearms bulging as he balled his hands into fists.
You looked up from your laptop and gave him a triumphant smirk. For the past hour, you’d been listening to him getting chewed out by Miriam and your father downstairs in the kitchen; the exchange had been so entertaining that you’d almost been compelled to make some popcorn for yourself while you listened.
“What happened, Michael?” you asked, batting your eyes at him innocently, even though it was evident that he knew you were responsible for him getting in trouble.
His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. “Oh, please. Don’t try to act all innocent now.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, deciding to drag this nonsense on for just a little longer, just so you could cause Michael a bit more frustration.
“I really appreciate how concerned you were about me, to the point where you felt the need to rat me out to mom and dad.” His voice was thick with sarcasm, and you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself.
“Oh, c’mon Michael. I was just looking out for my big brother,” you said mockingly, blinking up at him. “Besides, getting grounded every once in a while builds character. And you definitely need it.”
“Is this because I fucked (b/f/n)? Are you really that fucking jealous?”
The word jealous coming from Michael’s mouth made you feel as though you’d been struck, but you refused to let him see that it had bothered you.
“Are you really so much of a narcissist that you think this is because of jealousy?” you said, as if it were the boldest assumption in the world for him to have made. “You’ve been nothing but an asshole to me for the entire time you’ve lived here and I’m fucking sick of it.”
“So you admit it, then?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. He took a few steps forward, coming dangerously close to your bed, and anxiously you swung your legs over the side in preparation to kick him out. “You did this to fuck with me.”
“Well, why the fuck else would I have done it? You really think I give a shit about you stealing my dad’s alcohol?”
“You’re such a fucking bitch,” he sighed, matter-of-fact, and you pushed yourself up off the bed.
“Get out of my room,” you demanded, jabbing a finger towards the open doorway over Michael’s shoulder.
He lingered where he stood for a moment, tongue darting out to wet his lips like he was contemplating something.
“Did you hear me, Michael? Get out of my room,” you repeated, coming closer to him, trying your hardest not to look anywhere but his face, and most certainly not the pale gray sweatpants he was wearing.
He poised an eyebrow. “Or what?”
“Get. The fuck. Out-“ you placed your palms flat against his chest, giving him a hard shove- “Of my r-“
His large hands wrapped around your wrists with ease, and in a matter of seconds you were pressed up against the wall furthest from the door, his face mere inches away from yours. Your breath hitched, wrists twisting under his firm grip, but you weren’t sure you wanted to escape.
Jesus Christ, not again.
“I said, or what?” His breath was hot against your cheek, the sweet, sharp scent of cinnamon gum invading your senses. Your heart began to race, that familiar throb making itself known between your thighs again; it was taking everything inside you right now not to crash your lips hard against his. God, were you disturbed for still wanting him. “What are you gonna do if I don’t leave, huh?”
You grunted, using your last remaining bit of pride to try and wriggle out of his grasp; in turn, he pressed himself against you, trapping you between his upper body and the wall.
“Michael, stop…“ you said weakly, eyes fluttering when he let go of one of your wrists and traced his hand up between your breasts, landing on your throat and squeezing lightly around the hollow of it.
His lips curled up evilly- he knew you were loving every second of this.
“Are you afraid if I don’t leave that you won’t be able to resist me again? That I’ll make you cum like that night in my room, when you were practically begging for me to touch you?”
You whimpered as his lips ghosted your jaw, the hand that still held one of your wrists gripping tight enough to bruise. “Or are you afraid I’ll make more of these on your neck?” he continued, moving his head down to drag his tongue over the hickeys he’d left, which, at this point, weren’t much more than fading splotches of yellow.
“Oh god…” you choked out, and he held onto your throat with an added force. “Michael.”
“Hm?” he said, sinking his teeth into your shoulder through the fabric of your t-shirt, making you jump.
“Fuck- Michael… fuck me.” You were shocked at the audacity of your words, words that you hadn’t even planned to say, but it was too late now to take them back. He snickered against your skin, sending shock waves through your body.
“What was that?” he asked, dropping your wrist to slide his hand up your shirt and take a fist full of your left breast. You sighed, his thumb making circles over your stiffened nipple as he began to suck fresh bruises over the old ones on your neck.
“I hate you,” you murmured, using your now-free hands to grab at the front of his shirt and pull him even closer to you. “I said fuck me.”
“But- I thought you said we couldn’t anymore.” He was kneading your breast now, his touch possessive and rough as he tweaked at your sensitive nipple with his fingertips. After he’d given your left breast some attention, he moved to your right one, giving it the same treatment.
“I know,” you breathed, yelping when he applied an especially painful pinch to your areola. “I changed my- fuck!- mind.”
He moved his hand from your throat to your lips, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth for him, allowing him to slip his finger inside, wrapping your lips around it greedily. He pressed it down firmly on your tongue, and you moaned at the taste of his salty skin on your tastebuds.
“Before I fuck you,” he said lowly, admiring the way your spit-glossed lips looked enclosed around his thumb. “I think you should apologize to me. For getting me grounded.”
“M’sorry,” you managed, the pad of his finger pushing firmly against the back of your tongue, gagging you.
“Not like that.”
He pulled his finger from your mouth and removed his other hand from under your shirt, taking hold of both your shoulders and guiding you down to the floor. He backed away slightly, allowing you room to kneel in front of him, which you did without complaint. You looked behind him towards the open door, and he followed your gaze; when he saw what you were looking at, he caught on, walking across the room and shutting it.
When he returned to you, his hands were already at his crotch, palming himself through the form-fitting gray material. You were ashamed at just how much your mouth was watering at the thought of what was being held inside.
“Open your mouth,” he said, and you did, with embarrassingly little hesitation.
He tugged his sweatpants down, and then his boxers, bringing his cock into full view: it was massive (which almost disappointed you- did everything about Michael have to be so utterly perfect?) and thick, dark pink in color with a leaking tip that was flushed deep red.
It was the first dick you’d ever seen in person, and you supposed you were lucky, because it was very much so easy on the eyes. No wonder so many girls wanted to fuck him.
He took his shaft in hand and guided the head of his cock to rest on your lower lip, smearing the bead of precum as he did so. “Maybe this will teach you not to run your mouth so much.”
He slipped himself inside, hissing at the warm, wet feeling of your mouth around him. He was big, so big that you almost feared that your mouth might split apart at the seams, but you held yourself together, a vulgar choking noise escaping your throat as he brushed the back of it.
“So what do you think? You like the taste of cock?” he teased, positioning his hand at the back of your head as you placed yours on either side of his torso. You started bobbing up and down his length, just like you’d seen in porn, hoping to god that you were doing this right.
From the way he tilted his head up towards the ceiling, eyelids flickering open and shut, you figured you couldn’t be doing too badly.
“Fuck,” he grunted, encouraging you to increase your speed, the tip of his cock reaching further down with each thrust of your head. You sputtered, his length making it impossible for you to gather any oxygen through your mouth, and so carefully you inhaled through your nose. He threaded his fingers through your hair, tugging you forward so that he was buried deep in your throat, saliva beginning to pool in the corners of your mouth and dribble down your chin.
“You like sucking my cock?” he asked you, voice dripping with condescension, and you opened your eyes to look up at him.
“M-mhm,” you tried, fingernails digging into his sides and forming crescent moon-shaped imprints there. He snapped his hips forward once more, making you cry out as he imposed himself on you even deeper, his balls slapping crudely against your chin.
“Thaaat’s it,” he said between pants, yanking at your hair and stinging your scalp. “Show your big brother how sorry you are.”
You blushed at this, tears streaming from the edges of your eyes and traveling down your face. From the way he shoved his cock into your mouth without mercy, it was clear that he didn’t care that it was your first time. You liked it, though, how he handled you so carelessly- it made your cunt throb with such intensity that you were squirming, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the sensation.
He pushed the entirety of his cock into your throat one final time before pulling out, veined length gleaming with saliva and spouting droplets of thick precum. You watched, mesmerized, as a silvery string of spit stretched from your swollen mouth to the head of Michael’s dick, only breaking when he took his shaft into his hand.
“It’s always the virgins who act like the biggest sluts,” he said under his breath, waving his hand to indicate for you to rise.
You complied, rubbing your knees in an attempt to regain feeling in them after they’d been digging into the hard wooden floor. Michael observed you for a moment, a smug expression settling across his face as he reveled in your defilement: the pornographic mixture of spit and tears covering your face; your saliva-slick lips, which had darkened to an angry shade of red; your now-disheveled (h/c) hair.
Then he gave you a stern frown, almost appearing half-drunk from the way his eyes drooped with lust. “Go get on the bed.”
You could hardly stop yourself from biting your lip, fresh arousal pooling itself in the pit of your stomach at this assertion of dominance. Obediently, you crawled onto your bed and over the pale lavender floral bedspread, your entire body practically vibrating with excitement.
You settled yourself on your back, surveying Michael as he finished taking off his sweatpants and boxers. Once he was mostly undressed, he followed suit, the bed dipping slightly as he knelt at your feet; he looked majestic right now, towering above you while he pumped at his massive cock, tousled waves of flaxen hair framing his angelic face. You spread your legs slightly, fingertips tracing along the waistband of your pajama pants, and he took the opportunity to move up the bed so he was between them.
“You’re a bad girl, aren’t you? Giving your virginity away to your stepbrother,” he chided, leaning forward to give you a better view of his perfect face as he scolded you. He grabbed the hem of your oversized shirt and tugged the garment off over your head, tossing it off to the side haphazardly and leaving your upper body exposed.
He groped your tits, aggressive and without finesse; your cheeks prickled in slight humiliation when he shoved them together and then let them go, running his tongue over his teeth as they bounced obscenely before him. You knew you should be offended by his demeaning actions, that you shouldn’t be letting him degrade you like this, that your willpower should have been so much stronger than it was.
You knew all of this, and yet something inside you was preventing you from stopping, just like the first time.
You were confident there’d be a next time, too. And a time after that one, and a time after that one. You couldn’t control yourself around Michael, that was a given.
Hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pants, he took a minute to tease you, easing the cloth material down your hips and just barely revealing the top of your smooth pelvis. You wiggled your lower body, urging him to carry on, which subsequently only made him prolong his torture. When he finally pulled your pants down far enough to show off your panties, he paused to toy idly with the lace before abruptly disrobing you in one swift motion.
“Fuck,” he said, awestruck, manhandling your hips so that he could get a better view of the arousal coating your pussy. “You really liked sucking my cock, huh?”
He pulled apart your outer lips, putting the lush, pink skin inside on display; with his fingertips, he spread around your sticky essence, using it to form slow, deliberate circles over your pulsing clit.
“You should be ashamed,” he growled, easily sinking two fingers past your entrance until they were seated at the knuckle. “Soaking your panties at the thought of being split on your stepbrother’s cock.”
You let out a desperate moan, bucking your hips forward so you could feel more of his long fingers inside you. He added a third finger, which was more than last time, but the burn that this invoked was welcome- you liked the pain, wanted the pain. In fact, you wanted more.
“Michael,” you whimpered, grinding down on Michael’s skillful fingers, chasing the pleasure you knew only he could give you.
“What was it you were asking me to do earlier?” he asked, drumming his fingers on his jaw as if he were contemplating something. “Oh, right, you said, fuck me, Michael, fuck me, please. Right?” He brought his voice up a few octaves to imitate you, a self-satisfied grin crossing his face when you rolled your eyes.
“You’re such an asshole,” you mumbled, whining when he brought his fingers out from you, making a show of licking them clean.
He hoisted your hips up, gripping his thick shaft and running the head of his cock through your folds, making a point to add extra pressure over your clit. You shuddered at the feeling of his warm skin against yours, rolling forward inadvertently, desperate to feel him inside.
He clicked his tongue, lips twitching at the corners. “So fucking needy.”
“Just shut up and fuck me,” you griped, stretching your arm out to run your fingers along Michael’s cock, but he shooed your hand away.
“You want your big brother to fill you up? Fuck you good?” He brought his cock to your entrance, allowing the tip of his cock to settle at your opening, not yet pushing it inside.
“You already know I do.” You were growing impatient, the ache of your cunt becoming almost unbearable. You should’ve known he’d pull this shit with you, the fucking asshole.
With that, he slid inside you, smirking at the way your jaw unhinged in a silent scream as he stretched your tight, virgin walls for the first time. He was huge, so you’d expected for it to be painful, but in an instant the pain faded into mind-blowing pleasure as he filled you to the hilt, balls resting against your round ass.
Your cunt spasmed around him as it tried to adjust to the size, and you let out a pathetic, breathy whine.
“Oh fuck,” he grunted, jerking his hips back a few inches before thrusting all the way inside, causing your eyes to spill over with tears, a weak cry escaping your throat. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, forehead already starting to shine with sweat as he assumed a rhythm to fuck you with, one that was perhaps a bit too intense for your first time, but you weren’t about to complain.
“So- fuck!- fucking tight.” It seemed like he was trying his hardest to keep himself together, and you stifled a giggle, almost feeling cocky from how he was breaking down just from the sensation of your warm, wet cunt around him. “Shit.”
“You like how your little sister’s pussy feels?” you taunted breathlessly, and his fingers dug harder into the padded flesh of your upper thighs as a warning.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he said through grit teeth, one hand flying up to curl tightly around your throat while he continued his assault on your cunt.
He pounded inside you ruthlessly now, fueled by the attitude you’d given him, reducing you to a shaking, writhing mess below him. The sound of slapping skin filled the room, melding seamlessly with the mindless string of profanity passing your lips; your forehead was streaked with sweat, but you were too fucked-out to even garner the energy to wipe it away.
“Oh god- oh fuck- Michael,” you sobbed, and he shifted more weight onto the hand on your neck, using his other hand to brace himself over your shoulder as he impaled you deeper.
“Nothing to say now, huh?” he said between grunts, fucking you for all he was worth, your body nearly going limp as he pushed you to your limits.
You were so wet that his cock slid and out of you without any resistance; it still hurt, just a little, but you wanted more, wanted him to wreck you, wanted him to make you his. You’d never experienced such sheer, unbridled ecstasy in your life, and you were willing to give yourself up to him if it meant you’d be able to feel only a second of it again.
“You gonna cum? Cum all over your big brother’s cock?” He was struggling to speak now, eyes sealed shut, porcelain skin flushed a deep pink. He looked beautiful, god-like, even, and without thinking you caressed his face.
Your cunt clenched around his cock, enveloping him in your walls, and you threw your head back as the coil in your stomach unraveled and unraveled and unraveled and then, finally, snapped.
He followed soon after, releasing his thick load inside you and warming your insides; looking down at you with those pale blue eyes, you saw something unfamiliar flicker behind them as he reached down to move a damp strand of hair away from your face.
“God, what the fuck are we doing?” he laughed, rolling over so he was lying beside you, still out of breath. You shrugged, eyes heavy, unable to come up with a good answer to his question.
You weren’t sure that there was one.
Chapter 3: iii
A month had passed since the… incident with Michael, and since that time, you’d transformed into somebody you hardly recognized.
You and Michael? Well, you and Michael had begun to get along quite well. Gone were the days of pointless arguing- if there was ever a problem, it usually wouldn’t be long before Michael’s dick was somewhere inside of you, and by the time you both were done, neither of you would have the energy to fight anymore. You still bickered, of course, and you both loved nothing more than to get on each other’s nerves, but the initial hatred you’d harbored towards your stepbrother was now, for the most part, gone.
The change was obvious and palpable. Sometimes you were surprised that your parents hadn’t caught on to something going on between you and Michael, but you figured they were just happy you were both coexisting. We’re finally like a family, your father had said, beaming, when you and Michael had shared a blanket during family movie night.
You’d exchanged a look with Michael, uncomfortable giggles passing both of your lips. If only your father had known where Michael’s hand had been placed, right that very minute, underneath the blanket.
You supposed that what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
In the mornings, Michael would drive you to school without complaint. You suspected this was because of the opportunities for quick car… activities: on several occasions, he’d fingered you on the short drive to school, testing himself to see how quickly he could bring you to an orgasm, your hands clamped around his forearm as his fingers moved between your thighs, tinted lens-covered eyes focused on the road.
That boy was always in the mood, you’d come to realize.
On this particular day, Michael seemed to be more in the mood than usual; he’d given your ass a particularly hard slap as you passed him in the hallway that morning, a cocky grin crossing his face when you’d told him, only half-seriously, to fuck off.
God, this was fucking ridiculous. You knew this was ridiculous, that this was wrong, that you should feel unclean, dirty, every time you let him touch you. It made complete sense, logically, for you to cut things off with him.
Besides the glaringly obvious fact that he was your stepbrother, he was also a total douchebag, a fuckboy, a player. He’d been balls deep in at least a quarter of your grade at some point or another. He objectified you- you (admittedly fondly) recalled a time he’d pushed you up against the sink one morning, snaking those big hands up your pajama shirt to grab a fistful of your tits before walking off like nothing had happened.
And, like the fucking idiot you were, you’d been left in a state of absolute, pathetic euphoria, your cheeks flushed and heart pounding, teeth sinking into your lower lip like a pornstar.
Sometimes you really hated yourself.
Scratch that, you hated yourself a lot more than sometimes.
When you’d finally come downstairs for breakfast, dressed in your usual jeans and sweater, you’d noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on the curves of your thighs, prominent through the form-fitting denim material. Had he always checked you out like this?
“You need a ride to school today?” Michael asked, shoveling a spoonful of your favorite cereal into his mouth. You pursed your lips disapprovingly, but decided not to mention it.
Miriam seemed pleased with this exchange, shuffling over to where Michael sat and ruffling his hair affectionately, much to his obvious dismay. “I love seeing you two finally getting along. See, isn’t it so much better being nice to your sister?”
Michael raised an eyebrow at you, hands lifting to adjust his hair back to how it’d been before Miriam touched it. “Yeah, it really is. Right, sis?”
You cut your eyes at him, leaning your elbows on the counter and checking the time on your phone. “We’re gonna be late, bro.”
Michael stood up, again leaving his bowl on the table like the entitled, spoiled brat he was. He looked good, with black jeans and his favorite, faded pair of Doc Martens, paired with a white t-shirt and his beloved leather jacket. Lately he’d been letting his hair grow out, and his soft curls were nearly reaching his shoulders now.
When you noticed the chain that he’d attached to his belt loops, you snorted.
“Nice chain. Good luck on your Hot Topic interview.”
He looked down at the silver appendage, leveling it idly with one hand before looking back to you. “You don’t like it?”
“I’m not saying I don’t like it, I’m just saying you look like you’re about to pull up to a My Chemical Romance concert circa 2008. All you need is some eyeliner.”
He walked past you to the front door, seemingly unaffected by your comment. “Honestly, eyeliner doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”
You followed behind him until both of you were outside. It was almost admirable how little Michael cared of what other people thought of him; his confidence was probably why he was so popular, even though he didn’t necessarily fit in with the frat-boy-to-bes who were usually at the top of the high school food chain.
“So,” he said as you walked side-by-side to his car, giving you that familiar look that you knew so well. You swallowed, knowing fully well how little self-control you had when it came to Michael.
“I was thinking, maybe we should ditch first period today.”
You huffed, pretending to be opposed to this idea, even though you willingly went along with nearly anything Michael suggested no matter what it was. You got in the car, inhaling that telltale mixture of cologne and cigarettes and fast-food grease, getting yourself comfortable before answering.
“Michael, I can’t miss math again. I’ve already missed three times in two weeks.”
“So what’s one more time?” He ran his fingers through his hair before turning the key in ignition, the golden morning sun hitting his angelic features just right. Your mouth watered, and all at once your will dissolved into nothingness.
“I really hate you.”
He looked at you from the corners of his eyes with a smirk, pulling his sunglasses off the front of his shirt and putting them on.
This is why I can’t fucking resist him, you thought, breath slow and heavy as Michael laid kiss after sloppy kiss across your collarbones, hand placed firmly between your thighs.
Michael had put in his favorite Pink Floyd CD once you’d arrived at the abandoned parking lot (the same one that his creepy friend had taken you to- apparently it was a popular place for teenagers to fuck). You’d both sat there for a bit, making small talk and sharing a joint that he’d pre-rolled, knowing fully well what you’d both come there to do.
I kind of wanna stretch my legs out, he’d finally said, voice low, the baby blue of his eyes accentuated by the red tinge surrounding his irises. Why don’t we go in the back?
Leave it to Michael to get straight to the action.
He’d gotten you undressed in a matter of minutes- your jeans and boots were discarded on the already cluttered floor of the car, leaving you in nothing but your sweater, socks, and pale blue underwear. He’d looked unbelievably sexy, lips red and glossed with spit, when he’d drawn back to pull off his jacket, eyes clouded with a voracious, possessive lust.
Part of you wondered how many other girls had seen him in that exact state.
The thought dissipated, however, when he’d pushed aside the thin fabric of your underwear and promptly slipped two long fingers inside you.
“Always so fucking wet for me,” he’d murmured, playing with the hem of your sweater before pulling it off over your head. The warmth of his breath against your neck and the lewdness of his raspy words may as well have made you melt into a puddle right then.
Who’s gonna show this stranger around?
Ooh, I need a dirty woman
Ooh, I need a dirty girl
Michael’s fingers seemed to match the beat of the song playing, thumb flicking at your clit as he sucked a trail of bruises across your heaving chest, marking you, claiming you. You moaned, rolling your hips against his, feeling his hard length pressing into your thigh through the tough material of his jeans; you reached between his legs and squeezed it, making him chuckle against you, and he brought his head up to face you.
“And you’re always so eager,” he said, retreating back onto his knees. Then he slid your underwear off and tossed it amongst the rest of the clothes that had piled up, hands flying to unzip his pants once you’d been disrobed. “My baby sister is such a bad girl for me.”
You considered reminding him that he was only a month older than you, and that you were hardly a baby, but you didn’t have time to correct him before he pulled his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs, allowing his erection to spring forward.
Your legs spread instinctively for him, and he inched towards you, positioning himself on top of you while your back rested partially against the door. He aligned the head of his cock with your opening and you sighed, reaching up his shirt from behind and pressing your fingernails into the smooth skin of his back.
“Fuck,” he grunted, eyelids fluttering as he pushed inside your tight heat, your narrow walls swallowing him up. Wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him in closer, you moaned softly, heart rate increasing when he began to thrust slowly, but with just enough force to make your legs feel weak.
Every time he fucked you was like the first time; he was huge, and you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to the feeling of him stretching you out. You loved the pain, though, loved the way you couldn’t walk right when he was finished with you, even when he went as gently as he could; you liked the bruises, the scratches, the indents of his short fingernails where they’d dug into your skin.
“Michael,” you sighed, bucking your hips up to meet his rhythmic thrusts, both your sounds of pleasure becoming diluted by the drums and guitar and keyboard blaring from the stereo.
He buried his head in the crook of your neck, and you were sure he could taste the salt of your sweat, his tongue darting out to trail along your skin as he fucked into you.
You were stricken with ecstasy, shivering when Michael’s firm torso made friction on your clit, and you brought one hand up to run through his sweat-dampened golden waves.
“H-harder,” you choked out, and he sank his teeth into your shoulder before mumbling a half-hearted response to your plea.
“You want me to fuck you harder, baby? Wanna feel me for the rest of the day?”
“Mhm.” You gave his hair an urgent tug, and again he tilted his head up to look at you, his eyes so dilated they almost appeared entirely black. Placing one hand loosely around your throat, just like he knew you liked, he pulled himself all the way out of you; there was a vulgar slapping noise as he gave a hard, pointed shove of his hips, impaling you to the hilt, and you cried out at the fullness.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” he praised, eyes locked with yours while he pounded you into the leather seat, hard enough to bruise. His grip tightened around your neck as he came closer to his release, forehead slick with perspiration, perfect mouth agape.
This was everything, everything you thought about, everything you wanted: moments like this, your bodies pressed flush together, moving in perfect time. You caressed Michael’s hair so softly, one might mistake it as a loving touch, your other hand making shallow scratches up and down the expanse of skin beside his spine.
Your cunt clenched around him and you were almost there, his thrusts becoming sloppier with each passing second; there was a moment of silence, amplifying the raw sounds of sex as the song came to an end; that silence was followed by a quiet whirring, and then another song came on, psychedelic chords flooding your senses along with- fuck-
The head of Michael’s cock hit something sensitive deep inside of you, sending your lower body into convulsions, and you were sure your fingernails were drawing blood now, clawing onto Michael for dear life.
-your thoughts weren’t coherent anymore, and then you were crying out, Michael’s cock working you open like your fingers never could, head lolling back and nearly colliding with the window, and-
“Oh god- oh fuck-“
The pads of Michael’s fingers pressed harshly into your throat, his eyes half-open in pure, fucked-out bliss, while yours rolled back into your head. It took only a few more strokes for you to cum, and then Michael was too, and you were glad you’d went on birth control for your period cramps when you were sixteen because holy shit did it feel good when he spilled his hot load inside you.
He pulled out of you, admiring the sight of his cum leaking down your inner thighs; he slid one finger up between your folds, gathering the sticky secretion and rubbing it against your pulsing clit, a self-satisfied expression crossing his face when your body twitched at the sensation.
“Ew, Michael,” you said, wrinkling your nose. He was so fucking smug every time he came inside of you, like he’d just marked his territory.
He just laughed at your reaction, moving back to pull his pants back up and refasten his jeans, reaching into the back pocket to pull out his package of cigarettes once he was finished re-dressing.
“Don’t wanna go back to school,” he grunted, retrieving a cigarette from the pack and sticking it between his teeth.
“How come? All your adoring fans are there,” you said, having found yourself in a sarcastic mood. You put your underwear back on, followed by your sweater; you decided you’d wait until later to put on your jeans, given the limited amount of space you had right now.
“I like you so much better when I’m inside you,” he said, picking up a lighter from the floor of the car and lighting his cigarette. “You’re too busy moaning my name to give me any attitude.”
You narrowed your eyes, but you were too exhausted to come up with a biting response. “Fuck you.”
A trail of pale gray smoke wafted in your direction and you waved it away, coughing dramatically for good measure. “You know you can open the windows, right?”
“You know it’s my car so I can do whatever I want, right?” He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke directly in your face, eating up your resulting look of disgust.
Some things would never change, and no matter how many times you let him fuck you raw, no matter how many times you brought each other to orgasm, you doubted the stepsibling rivalry would ever completely fade.
From the front seat, Michael’s phone vibrated, and he cursed under his breath as he grabbed for it.
“Hey, man,” he said once he’d accepted the call, resting his elbow against the window, flicking ash carelessly onto the floor of the car. The worry that it’d been Miriam calling to inquire about your whereabouts disappeared, and you reclined back against the seat.
“Uh, yeah, I skipped first period.” He shot you a warning look, indicating for you to stay silent, and you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, uh, I’m picking up some shit for tomorrow.”
He sucked at the end of his cigarette, waiting for a response from his friend, while you picked your jeans up and put them on, struggling slightly as you attempted to get them on in a sitting position.
“No, I told you I can’t steal my stepdad’s shit anymore. My dumb fucking stepsister ratted me out and now he has a lock on the cabinet,” he said into the phone, shooting you a contemptuous scowl from the corner of his eye.
You batted your eyelashes innocently as you worked the tight denim up your legs; you were still proud of yourself for that one.
“Yeah, I’m picking up a few cases of beer. I- yeah.” Long pause. He flicked away some more ash, this time onto the seat, and you could see an orange ember still glowing in one of the tiny piles that had landed beside you. You wriggled your hips, finally getting the waistband of your jeans up and securing the silver button in its place. “Fuck no, dude, I’m not buying any of that 4 Loko shit. You remember what happened last time?”
Another pause. You were somewhat intrigued now, and Michael could tell; he held up his hand, dwindling cigarette poised between two fingers, waving you away with an obnoxious flourish.
“Yeah, man. I’ll see you in gym, dude-“ you could hear his friend speaking on the other end of the line, and Michael laughed at whatever he’d said. “Yeah, dude, those gym shorts Zoe Benson wears shouldn’t be allowed. I don’t know how anyone expects us to focus on fuckin’ volleyball with her ass hanging out like that.”
“You’re such an asshole,” you muttered, and Michael held a slender finger up to his lips.
“Yep. Bye, man.” He pressed his thumb into the “end call” button, before putting his cigarette out on the door and turning to you. “C’mon, we gotta go pick some shit up.”
You grabbed your boots from the floor and pulled them on. “For what?”
“None of your business.” He slung his leather jacket over one shoulder and got out of the car, the rubber soles of his combat boots slapping noisily against the asphalt as he walked around to the driver’s side.
You followed suit, hoping Michael couldn’t see how difficult it was for you to walk as you made your way to the passenger’s side and got into the car.
“C’mon, just tell me,” you said with a pout; in all honesty, you were fairly certain of what Michael’s plans were- he did the same thing nearly every single weekend, house party-hopping with his friends until he came home past 2 am, stumbling by your bedroom with absolutely no attempt at discretion.
The difference now, though, was that you kind of sort of wanted him to invite you to come with him for once. You were a senior in high school, after all, and you’d never even once been to a high school party. So sue you for being curious!
“If you must know,” he said, putting the car into drive, “it’s for a party. You don’t go to those.”
“You don’t know that,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Uh, I kinda do. I’ve never once seen you at a party. And I go to a lot of them.”
Wow, Michael, you’re sooo cool, you thought bitterly.
You had to admit, though, he was right.
He noticed the look on your face and snickered, perhaps a bit too condescendingly for your liking. “Aww, what, does my baby sister want her big brother to take her to her first high school party?”
Your skin prickled, and you looked out the window to avoid his piercing stare. You couldn’t believe the number of times you’d allowed this total douchebag to cum inside you. Even worse, you couldn’t believe that you were definitely going to let him do it again. “I wouldn’t be caught dead at a party with you,” you managed through clenched teeth, thoroughly embarrassed.
“Yeah, I know you wouldn’t.”
He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, starting in the direction of the local gas station which was infamous for not carding underaged kids when they went to buy alcohol.
Fuck it. If he wasn’t going to invite you to come, you’d find your own way.
Later that day, you’d asked your slightly-more-social acquaintance for a ride to the party that weekend, since your former best friend was no longer an option. She’d agreed, and you were surprised at how easy it’d been to get an ‘in’ on the high school social scene without Michael’s assistance.
You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when you walked into the party.
You’d searched through your drawers and in your closet for something cute (and also enticing enough to catch Michael’s attention, although you’d never say that outright) to wear; eventually you’d found a little red tank top, which your best friend had always said made your tits look good, and a pair of high-waisted jeans that you’d always thought made your butt look bigger.
Turning around in the mirror, observing your exposed midriff and pronounced chest and round ass, you had to admit you felt positively mouthwatering.
On the night of the party, your acquaintance arranged to pick you up at ten, which was perfect, since Michael had headed out at 9:30. You wanted this to be a surprise, and so a fashionably-late entrance was ideal.
You got yourself ready, straightening your hair and dousing yourself in perfume with hints of cinnamon (Michael’s favorite scent, although you swore to yourself you hadn’t done this on purpose). You smudged black eyeliner under your eyes, hoping this would make you look sexy and not like a raccoon, and put on a red lipstick that you only ever wore on special occasions.
Seeing yourself like this made you wonder why you didn’t dress up more often.
Before your ride came, you found your father’s key to the liquor cabinet (just as you’d expected, he’d hidden it inside one of his steel-toed work boots, which collected dust by the front door all year long while he continued to insist that he needed them for an upcoming ‘project’, whatever that meant) and unlocked it.
With shaking hands, you’d poured yourself a few shots, holding your nose each time you threw one back, throat burning and body shuddering at the awful flavor that you figured was probably what gasoline tasted like.
By the time you got the text from your acquaintance, alerting you that she was outside, you were decently drunk. Your thoughts were clouded with a thick fog and your cheeks were hot, but you liked it, liked the way your insides felt warm and uplifted, the way your mind felt numb; holding your hand against the wall to steady yourself as you walked to the front door, you attempted to mentally prepare yourself for the night to come.
You didn’t think you’d ever been so ready for something in your life.
In less than an hour, the party had gone from decent to good to great.
You knew the girl who was throwing the party, albeit very vaguely; you’d spoken a couple of times to her about school-related things, and she’d been nice enough. From what you’d heard, her parents had gone out of town for the weekend, and she’d taken full advantage of the opportunity.
It reminded you of when Miriam and your father had gone off on their honeymoon in July, and Michael had taken it upon himself to throw 3 consecutive keg parties in your fucking house. Well, technically, your backyard. But still. You’d stayed up in your room those nights, kept awake by the thumping bass coming from outside, ranting to your (ex) best friend over FaceTime about how goddamn much you hated the newest addition to your family.
And, of course, she’d gone and fucked him.
Could you really judge her, though? You were fucking him now, too, and you had infinitely more reasons than she did not to fuck him.
But that was besides the point.
The small group of girls who’d been in the car when you were picked up immediately dispersed upon arrival, leaving you to your own devices; already intoxicated, you’d begun your search for Michael in the crowd of drunken teenagers, keeping an eye out for that impeccable, lush mop of blonde hair.
You didn’t know what you were planning to do once you saw him. You couldn’t approach him, especially not if he was with his friends, but you wanted him to see you in all your glory, wanted him to see that hey, look, I can go to parties too if I want, and I don’t need you.
Michael, however, found you first.
It was much later (though you couldn’t be quite sure how much later), after you’d given up on your search, opting instead to talk to a cute boy who you thought looked very similar to one of Michael’s friends.
Honestly, it probably was one of Michael’s friends- at this point, you were too drunk to tell, having indulged in one or two (okay, more like three or four) more shots during the time you’d spent weaving through the party.
You were in the middle of telling the boy exactly how you knew that Chuck E Cheese recycled their pizza slices when a thick, slurred voice interrupted you.
You turned, eyes heavy-lidded, a stupid, sloppy smile plastered across your made-up face.
That smile only slightly faltered when you saw who had spoken. It was Michael (because who else would it be?), looking stupidly beautiful like he always did, face twisted up into something you couldn’t quite decipher- maybe you were too drunk to tell, or maybe he was too drunk to properly convey his emotions; either way, you were unsure of what he was planning to say to you.
“Who did you come here with?” he asked. He was practically yelling, struggling to be heard over the shouts of teenagers and blasting rap music.
“Wouldn’t you-“ you hiccuped- “like to know?”
His line of sight suddenly dropped down to your chest, and then to your hips, and then back to your eyes, and you were 99.9 percent sure you’d just witnessed his eyes nearly bulging out of his head.
When he realized you’d noticed him looking, he made an attempt to save himself. “Huh. Looks like you actually put effort into looking good for once.”
You probably would’ve been offended at this comment, had you not been multiple shots deep.
“You think I look good?” you purred, rocking back and forth on your heels like a spoiled little girl asking for her father for a pony.
He ignored your question, focusing his attention now on the boy you’d been talking to.
“There you are, dude, we were wondering where you went.” He poised an eyebrow, not bothering to conceal his confusion with the situation at hand, which was, of course, the fact that you were mid-conversation with one of his friends. “So, um… whatcha doing?”
He dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans, a venomous smile stretching across his full lips. He wasn’t happy, that much you could tell.
The boy let out an oblivious chuckle. “Your sister was just telling me about- what was it, (y/n)?”
“Chuck E Cheese,” you said quietly, probably too quietly for Michael to hear. Not that you really believed Michael cared much about what you’d been talking about.
“Right- well, did you know that there’s like, a conspiracy, I guess? That they-“
“-Don’t fuck around with my sister, okay?” Michael interjected, his tone firm and unyielding, and you felt your face bloom with color. “It’s my fucking sister, man. I would back off if I were you.”
All at once, the boy’s smile faded, as did yours. So apparently Michael was an aggressive drunk. Noted.
“Michael, I can talk to whoever I want and there’s nothing-“ you jabbed your finger at Michael’s chest, giggling uncontrollably at the resistance of the muscular surface. “-you can do about it. So suck. My. Dick.”
The muscles in Michael’s face tightened, and you got the smallest urge to run your tongue along the sharp, angular stretch of his clenched jawline. Of course, you refrained.
“I would’ve thought you learned not to run around with my friends after the first time, but I guess I was wrong,” he said with a shrug that you could tell was meant to make him appear indifferent to the matter; it didn’t take a psychologist to tell, though, that he cared far more than you knew he’d ever admit.
“Yeah, I guess you were,” you slurred, spinning around to take hold of your new friend’s hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Without another word to Michael, you walked away, your new friend allowing you to guide him as you searched for somewhere else to go. Swaying your hips with each step, you hoped Michael was getting a good eyeful of your ass in those skintight jeans of yours.
God, it was like a natural high whenever you got under Michael’s skin, and right now, you were over the moon.
You should’ve known that things would end up like this, because your life was one massive cacophony of clichés and this was just the way things played out in every single teen sitcom.
It felt disrespectful, somehow, being pushed up against the wall of a total stranger’s bedroom, your tongue tangling with some kid you hardly knew, the taste of liquor ripe on the back of your throat.
It felt even more disrespectful when you sat him down on the edge of the bed, sinking onto your knees so you were between his jean-clad thighs, and it felt downright indecorous when you unzipped his pants to pull his cock out of his boxers.
You shut your eyes to avoid accidentally making eye contact with any of the pictures adorning the wall, especially the family photo enclosed within a picture frame that had Family Is Everything written across the bottom in hot pink script.
What the fuck were you doing?
Taking the boy’s cock in your hand, you applied a few thoughtless licks to the head of his dick, his sighs audible even over the muffled music that spilled into the room underneath the closed door. You bobbed your head down, taking him into your mouth, his fingers gently lacing with your hair as you dipped further.
With your eyes closed, you could almost pretend that it was Michael’s dick in your mouth, and not one of his not-as-cute friend’s.
“Fuck yeah, baby,” moaned the boy, and you cringed at his dirty talk; still, you took more of him into your mouth, pressing your tongue flat against his shaft, wishing he’d put more pressure on the back of your head with his palm like Michael always did.
Fuck Michael Langdon, fuck the way you wanted him even when he was a total asshole to you, and fuck the fact that he was on your mind, nonstop, even when you had another guy’s dick in your goddamn mouth.
You brought your hand away from the boy’s shaft and instead placed it on his thigh, pushing your head down until you were gagging around him, nose nearly reaching his balls. The boy gasped, inadvertently lifting his hips and shoving himself deeper in your mouth, and you sputtered.
From out in the hallway, you heard someone talking about finding the bathroom, the voice growing louder and louder until the mystery speaker was directly outside the bedroom; it didn’t occur to you to be concerned, or at least not until it was far too late and the door had already swung open, and you heard two startled shouts- one from the boy you’d been sucking off, and one from the person who’d just barged in.
“Michael-“ exclaimed the boy, and it was then that you realized how truly fucked you were.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Michael said, and you felt a hand entangle with your hair to yank you back, painfully, so you were sprawled on your ass.
You looked up at your stepbrother, his nostrils flaring in that way that only happened when he was pissed, and silently you scolded yourself for thinking that he looked hot like this.
“Didn’t I tell you not to fuck with my sister?” he continued, grabbing his friend by the front of his shirt and jerking him to his feet. The boy looked positively terrified, lower lip trembling as Michael whirled him around and sent him catapulting out into the hallway.
“You ever touch her again and I’ll snap your fucking neck,” he yelled after him, sounding so dead serious that you thought it’d be foolish not to believe his threat.
Now it was just the two of you, and honestly, you were pretty fucking scared (though why, oh why, did you also feel something like excitement building up in your belly?). Michael slammed the door shut before coming to tower over you; you scrambled back, moving to stand up, but he stopped you.
“No. You stay down there,” he spat, voice laden with disgust. “Who knew you were such a little slut? If you wanted something to suck on, (y/n), you could’ve just asked me.”
“-Shut the fuck up.” He reached down to take a fistful of your hair in his hand, using it to bring you roughly to your knees.
Why the fuck was this happening? And why the fuck were you so completely turned on?
“If cock in your mouth is what you wanted, then that’s exactly what you’re going to get,” he said, unzipping his pants and retrieving himself from the confines of his boxers; he was already hard, his cock springing forward so suddenly it almost hit you across the face, and you flinched.
“Aww, what’s the matter? I thought you liked having cock in your face,” he taunted, taking his thick shaft in hand and slapping you across the cheek with it. He did this a few more times until the side of your face was stinging, sadistic laughter bubbling past his lips each time you squeezed your eyes shut in utter humiliation and arousal.
When he grew bored of this, he reached down and manually unhinged your jaw, wasting no time before pushing himself into your mouth, brushing the back of your throat with his first thrust.
You gagged, drool already seeping from the corners of your lips, balling your hands into fists at your sides as you allowed your stepbrother to mercilessly use you.
He snapped his hips forward, his cock so deep in your throat that you were now face-to-face with the soft curls surrounding his pelvis.
“I bet he didn’t fuck your face like this,” he said between pants, holding your face against his balls before pulling out and fucking back into your hot mouth. “Bet he didn’t show you who you belong to like I do.”
You moaned around his stiff skin, sending vibrations up the length of his cock, and he cursed loudly; tears streamed down your face, no doubt ruining your makeup, but you were too far gone to care.
Michael pulled out of your swollen mouth, strings of saliva stretching and breaking between your mouth and his glistening cock. You took in a much-needed breath just as he took you by the front of your shirt and forced you to stand, groping your tits as he thrust you backwards onto the bed.
“Did you let him inside you?” he demanded, making quick work of removing your jeans and tossing them off the side of the bed.
“No, Michael, I swear-“
He cupped your pussy, making you squirm when he pressed two fingers against your clit through the thin material of your panties. “I better not find out that you’re lying.”
He pulled your underwear off and discarded it on the floor, leaning down to spit a thick wad of saliva onto your dripping cunt. You whimpered, wiggling slightly against the mattress, and in turn he pinned you down by your hips with a bruising hold.
“I’m gonna be as clear as I can be,” he said, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting you up by your waist so your ass was in the air. He wrapped a strand of your hair around his hand, tugging your head back, and you could feel his hard length pressing against your thigh as he brought his head down to whisper in your ear.
“This pussy?” He landed a painful slap on your cunt, and you jumped. “It belongs to me.”
You bit your lip at his words, ringing in your ears even after they’d left his mouth. He let your hair go, hooking his fingers around your cheek to push them inside your mouth, and obediently you opened up for him.
“And this pretty mouth?” He lined his cock up with your slit, pumping his fingers in and out of your gaping mouth, your eyes watering when he pushed them down on the back of your tongue. “It’s mine too.”
In one swift motion, he pushed all the way into you, not allowing you any time to adjust before he began hammering inside at a ruthless pace; you cried out, overtaken with the seamless blend of pain and pleasure that Michael had gotten you so accustomed to, more tears streaming down your cheeks and dropping onto the sheets below.
He pulled his fingers out from your mouth, using his hand instead to smack the rounded curve of your ass. You buried your face in the pillow, hoping you wouldn’t stain the case too badly with your smeared makeup, arching your back higher so you could feel every inch of Michael’s cock filling you up.
The vulgar, wet sounds of his cock slamming in and out of you were almost too much to bear, a mixture of your arousal and Michael’s spit dripping down your inner thighs in a crude display; Michael gripped your hips for leverage, undoubtedly forming five fingerprint-shaped bruises on your padded skin in the process.
“Oh fuck- Michael, please-“ It hurt, the way he was fucking you, but you would’ve sold your soul right then if it meant always being able to feel this intense, rapturous pleasure.
“Who do you belong to?” Michael barked, voice raspy, but still harsh enough to cut through your consciousness like a knife.
“Y-you, Michael, fuck,” you moaned, twisting the bedsheets in your hands until your knuckles turned white, eyes rolling back into your skull as Michael bottomed out inside you again and again and again.
For a moment, he steadied his thrusting so he could catch his breath, slowly pressing himself all the way inside so his balls rested against your ass.
“You- take me- so- well,” he said between sharp inhales, tracing one hand gingerly down the length of your spine. Your skin erupted with goosebumps at the tenderness of his touch, your hips grinding back to increase the stimulation.
It only took a few moments for Michael to recuperate himself, and once he had, he was back to his animalistic ways; behind you, you could hear him grunting, and you could only imagine how beautiful he looked back there in all his fucked-out bliss.
“I’m- I’m-“ you couldn’t get the words out, your walls clenching around him as you came unexpectedly, your juices dribbling down your inner thighs and all over Michael’s cock.
“Holy shit,” Michael laughed, coating his fingertips until they were slick with your essence and observing them in awe. You went to get up, but he turned you onto your back, kneeling over your shoulders and promptly inserting himself down your throat.
He groaned, releasing his thick, salty load in your mouth; he was so deep in your throat that you didn’t even have to swallow.
“Fuck,” Michael said, falling back to lie beside you. You were a mess, trails of mascara staining your cheeks and red lipstick smudged, and you had no idea how you were going to leave the room without someone wondering what the hell had happened to you.
You got into a cross-legged position; you definitely weren’t in any position to get up or walk anywhere at this point in time. “So were you actually pissed that I sucked your friend’s dick? Or was that just an excuse to throw me around and fuck my face?”
It was an earnest question that you genuinely didn’t know the answer to. Why did Michael care so much anyway? Especially considering the times he’d fucked your (ex) best friend?
“Little bit of both,” he said, hoisting up his hips so he could pull up his boxers and jeans. “Look. I- I may have overreacted just a little bit. I just don’t want my douchebag friends putting their hands on my sister, you know?”
You scoffed. “We both know you don’t consider me your sister.”
“Doesn’t matter. I just- I don’t know. Forget it.” He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rising to his feet. “I’m gonna go see if I can find makeup remover somewhere. You look like a fucking wreck.”
There was something about that statement that made your heart swell in your chest; Michael was actually doing something nice for you?
“Aww, really? Thanks, Michael,” you said with a smile.
He scrunched up his face. “Alright, calm down.”
He opened the door and disappeared into the hallway, leaving you half-naked and alone with your thoughts. You felt conflicted, like you always did after you spent time with Michael, but you couldn’t help but feel that there was something, deep down, inside the hardened, fucked-up heart of your stepbrother, that actually resembled something good.
Or maybe it was just the alcohol talking.
Chapter 4: iv
The weekend following the party (and your interesting encounter with Michael) was entirely uneventful.
You didn’t even know if he remembered what had happened, if he remembered the jealousy and the rage that had overtaken him after seeing you with his friend. It made no sense to you- Michael made no sense to you. Every time you thought you were close to understanding him and his fucked up emotions, he’d do something to throw you for a loop.
You’d been given plenty of time to contemplate the situation; the morning after the party, you’d woken up with your first ever hangover, and upon looking in the mirror, you’d found that you looked like a Tim Burton character: eyes sunken and bloodshot, the deep purple rings beneath your eyes accentuated by the smeared eyeliner that you’d been unable to wash off the night before.
That was when the memories came rushing back to you.
So that’s why it feels like an entire football team ran a train on me, you thought idly, having been unable to walk from your bedroom to the bathroom without wincing in pain.
You’d found it difficult to look Michael in the eyes later that day when your paths finally crossed; he seemed to be experiencing the same dilemma, avoiding your gaze completely without giving you much more than a mumbled hey, (y/n) under his breath.
All that weekend, he ignored you. You weren’t sure if it was because he, too, was struggling to comprehend what was happening between the two of you, or if it was because he wanted you to grow desperate for his attention.
If the latter was his goal, it was working, as ashamed as it made you to admit it. From the corner of your eyes, you’d watch him, hoping he’d catch you off guard with some kind of smart-ass remark, or even give you the faintest trace of an eyebrow quirk to show you that he remembered, how could he not remember, and he knew you did too.
But he didn’t, because of course he didn’t, he was Michael Langdon, and nothing he ever did was expected or predictable. He was an enigma to you, a wild card; you were used to your breath catching in your throat every time you were around him.
On Monday morning you trudged to the bathroom, feeling half-dead as you squeezed some toothpaste onto your toothbrush, eyes too bleary to properly see yourself in the mirror. Lately, the only time that Michael wasn’t on your mind was first thing in the morning, when your brain was still adjusting to consciousness; you reveled in these moments, grateful to have just a few minutes of freedom before that stupid smirk clouded your thoughts again.
Today, though, you weren’t so lucky- a split second had hardly passed before Michael appeared in the doorway, reminding you of exactly what the source of your teen angst had been for the past few months.
“G’morning,” he said, his voice thick and raspy from sleep; you tried not to think about how sexy he sounded.
He stepped behind you and reached around to grab his toothbrush off the counter, firm chest pressing flush against your back. He grunted softly as he extended his arm to reach the bottle of toothpaste, and your eyes widened at the feeling of something long and hard pushing into the padded flesh of your ass.
You weren’t so naive to think that it was an accident.
You leaned forward, spitting a wad of toothpaste into the sink, grinding yourself up against his clothed dick in the process. When you were upright again, you cleared your throat.
“You ignore me all weekend after treating me like total shit, and now you think you can just rub your fucking dick all over my ass without me saying anything about it?”
Damn, you thought, pleasantly surprised at your own boldness.
For a moment, he seemed taken aback; then he chuckled, placing his hands on your hips and resting his chin on your shoulder so you could feel his soft curls tickling your neck. “I was under the impression that you like being treated like shit.”
“I’m not a saint,” you admitted, wiping away the excess toothpaste from your mouth with the back of your hand, “but I do appreciate a little bit of basic human decency every now and then. But apparently even that is too hard for you.”
You thrust your hips back, rubbing your ass hard against Michael’s erection, and you grinned when his breath hitched.
“Aww, did I hurt your feelings?” he said, craning his neck to bite at your earlobe.
“Nah,” you shot back, scoffing, reaching behind you to take hold of Michael’s hips for leverage. Then you circled your ass, making friction against his flannel sleep pants as you bent your knees slightly, making sure he could really feel you there. “I’m just sick and tired of you thinking you can act however you want without there ever being any consequences.”
“But I can act however I want-“ his sentence was interrupted by a low choking noise from the back of his throat, and you licked your lips. You were breaking him down, no matter how much he tried to hide it. “-Can’t I? I mean, my behavior has never stopped you in the past from giving me what I want.”
“Yeah, well, not anymore,” you grunted, eyes closing as you put all your focus into the motions of your hips; you felt his cock twitch helplessly through his pajama bottoms, which only encouraged you to go harder. In the mirror, you could see him part his plump lips to speak, but no words came out, his eyes fluttering shut as you brought him closer to his release.
You both knew what was coming (or who was coming, that is) but there was no way Michael would stop you now- he was defenseless in the palm of your hand, ready (and willing) to be crushed.
“What’s wrong? Got nothing to say?” you taunted, sinking your fingernails into his hips, rubbing your ass up and down along his hard cock, heart racing in your chest as you increased your pace.
“Fuck- right there-“ Michael breathed into your neck, the warmth causing your hair to stand on end. You continued your assault on his cock with your ass, cunt throbbing at the sensation of his massive length resting in between your cheeks, for once eager to give him exactly what he wanted.
Michael’s body convulsed against yours, and you gave your reflection a wicked grin when moisture began seeping through the fabric of his pants.
“Fucking bitch,” he snapped, suddenly shoving you forward so the edge of the sink was digging into your stomach. He threw his hands up, examining the dark, wet spot that had formed around his crotch, almost seeming surprised by what had happened; in the mirror, you could see Michael’s porcelain skin blooming bright with humiliation.
You couldn’t help but mock him just a little more, wanting to bask in this small victory as much as you could. “Aww, did I hurt your ego?”
With that, he had you bent over the counter, large hands making quick work of yanking your pajama shorts and underwear down to your knees. Flinching at the cold marble against your skin, you shivered in anticipation when Michael pressed his hand palm-first onto your back, keeping you still. This hadn’t exactly been what you’d expected (that was Michael for you, always keeping you on your toes), but you certainly weren’t complaining.
“You think that was fucking funny?” he demanded, and you wished that he wasn’t holding you down, so you could lift your head and regard the furious expression that was no doubt plastered across his face.
“I’m gonna be honest with you,” you said, squirming, bare ass erupting with goosebumps from the effects of the cool morning air. “Yes.”
“Well, it wasn’t.” He landed a hard slap on your right ass cheek, and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip at the delicious sting.
“Mm, I’d beg to differ.”
“Yeah? You’d beg? I’ll make you beg, bitch.”
Another slap, this one much harder than the last. You giggled at the way he was speaking through grit teeth, so overwhelmed with embarrassment that he could hardly contain himself.
“Wow, that was really clever, Michael,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm, feigning a yawn that was quickly interrupted by another hard slap, this time to your upper thigh.
You’d let Michael have his little power trip, sure, but you sure as fuck weren’t going to submit to him (not now, at least). Besides, no matter how many times he spanked you, it would never change the fact that you’d gotten him to cum in his pants like a prepubescent middle school boy.
That fact alone was enough to satiate you for the rest of your life.
“Hit me all you want,” you said, jumping as he landed another smack on your ass. The collisions of his palm against your skin were firm and in quick succession, giving you no time to catch your breath between them. “It won’t change the fact that you ca-“
“-Shut up.” He hit you hard enough that the sharp sound rang throughout the entire upstairs area, and you were glad that your father went to work early in the morning so he wasn’t around to hear all the…commotion.
You cleared your throat. “As I was saying, it won’t change the fact that you came in your-“
He took a fistful of your hair in his hand, yanking your head back so he could growl into your ear. You had to admit that you were at least slightly intimidated by him right now, but you weren’t about to let him know that. “Did I not just tell you to shut the fuck up?”
“Awww, you’re really embarrassed, aren’t you?”
He hit you again, not bothering to answer your question. It was fairly obvious to you that you were right, and that your words had successfully gotten to him.
“Poor little Mikey, cumming in his pants like a 12-year-old boy,” you said through sharp inhales, the pain from Michael’s hand on your ass traveling straight down to your cunt. He froze, and you took the opportunity to slip away, pulling up your pants as you did.
“And all because he couldn’t handle his little sister’s ass against his dick,” you cooed, caressing Michael’s angular jaw with a mocking glint in your eye. You knew you were playing with fire, toying with Michael the way you were, but it was impossible to resist.
His nostrils flared, but he said nothing, curling his fingers into his palms. You looked down to his crotch, lips curling up evilly at the sides.
“You should probably go clean yourself up.”
You patted his cheek, and then you were off, heading down the hallway back to your room. You could only imagine how badly it would hurt later on, when you were trying to sit down in class, but you figured you’d cross that bridge once you got to it.
That was how you tackled most of life’s problems these days, anyway.
It was a little past 9 that night when Michael finally spoke to you again. He seemed to have been pretty pissed about the whole bathroom incident that morning, and so for the rest of the day he’d acted like you didn’t exist.
Not that it was exactly hard for him to do, considering the number of times he’d blatantly ignored you over the few months he’d been living at your father’s house.
When you heard three reluctant knocks on the other side of your bedroom door, you weren’t sure what to expect- Miriam and your father had gone out to see a movie, and so the house was empty save for you and Michael.
What could he possibly want?
“What?” you said impatiently, pausing your Spotify playlist and taking out one earbud.
You watched as your door opened slowly, Michael walking into your room with slumped shoulders as if you’d invited him there. You frowned, watching him intently from your spot on the bed.
He wore those pale gray sweatpants that you thought suited him so well, along with a form-fitting white t-shirt that clung to the subtly bulging muscles of his upper arms; how the fuck were you supposed to resist him when he walked around looking like this all the time?
“Hey,” said Michael, rocking back onto his heels. He seemed nervous- or maybe nervous wasn’t the right word- no, uncomfortable. He gave you an awkward little wave, hardly raising his arm past his chest, and for a moment you couldn’t believe how small he looked.
You poised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Yes?”
“I- um. I just wanted to, like, I don’t know, I just felt like maybe I owed you, like-“ he swallowed noisily, lifting his arm so he could rub the back of his neck- “an apology, I guess?”
No. Fucking. Way.
Your lips contorted into a wolfish grin, and you sucked in a grateful breath, as if to absorb the tension that hung low and heavy in the air between the two of you.
There were so many possibilities: was he apologizing for losing his cool at the party? Or was he apologizing for ignoring your existence all weekend after he’d fucked you into submission? Could it be for all the times he’d mocked you, called you a bitch?
You licked your lips, hungry to hear him take responsibility for his actions for once in his life.
“Just, like, I dunno. Just for being an asshole. For embarrassing you in front of that guy at the party. And I guess also for ignoring you.”
He took a step further into your room, and all at once you could smell the skunk-like scent of weed wafting towards you. So maybe he was stoned off his ass; he was still apologizing, and that was all that mattered to you.
“Thanks, Michael,” you said, genuine. It did mean a lot coming from Michael, and although you were sure this wouldn’t be the end of his fuckboy ways, you still appreciated the sentiment. “But, like, what made you say this now?”
“I don’t even really know, to be honest,” he said, shifting his weight onto his opposite leg. “I was just thinking a lot today. And I thought you deserved an apology.”
You almost were convinced that he was fucking with you, that this was some big joke and soon he’d be laughing in your face for ever believing that someone like him would ever care about your feelings, but there was something earnest in his bloodshot eyes that told you he was being serious.
“I guess I should apologize to you too,” you said, smirking. “For making you cum in your pants this morning.”
His mouth dropped open, cheeks flushing at the memory, and your hand flew to your mouth to stifle your laughter. “You know what? Forget I even said anything.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, last time I’ll ever bring that up,” you said, though you were sure it was something you’d mention in the future, should Michael ever act out of line (which you were positive would happen eventually). “Thanks, Michael. I really appreciate it.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, whatever.”
Michael Langdon was a strange specimen.
You’d given up on trying to understand him early on. It was far easier dumbing his character down to a stereotype: a run-of-the-mill Juul-ripping teenage asshole, only instead of sagging basketball shorts he wore black skinny jeans.
You didn’t know why he did the things he did, or why he said the things he said. You didn’t know why some days he’d treat you so kindly you almost could swear he liked you, while other days you seemed to be worth nothing more to him than dog shit on the bottom of his expensive leather combat boots.
You didn’t know why his touch had seemed to grow gentler and gentler each time he fucked you, or why his lips would ghost over your vulnerable throat, taking deep whiffs of your favorite body spray mixed into the salt of your sweat. You didn’t know why half of his sweatshirts now seemed to be in your possession, or why they were the only clothes you could sleep in anymore.
You almost wanted it to stop, wanted it to go back to how it’d been at the beginning, his pretty lips forming ugly words like slut and bitch and whore, hips thrusting against yours with an aggression that only pure hatred could ignite. Things would be so much less complicated if they just went back to the way they were.
You pinpointed the shift to the night after his apology.
In public he acted exactly as you’d expect him to, aloof and uncaring and sarcastic, but in private, he was like a different person altogether.
You told yourself that his change in behavior meant nothing, that he was only trying to placate you so you wouldn’t stop fucking him, though you were fairly certain he knew you’d fall at his feet no matter how poorly he treated you. You’d remind yourself daily that he didn’t care about you, that he’d never care about you, that he knew how to manipulate people better than anyone you’d ever met, so why would you be different from any of the others?
And yet, still, you noticed things.
Small things, things that were meaningless, things that only stupid, naive girls like you would pick up on (or at least that’s what you told yourself).
You noticed how the late-night visits from girls seemed to stop entirely, and how he’d spend those hazy early-morning hours with you instead. Of course he’d fuck you those nights, but the rough sessions that you’d once been so accustomed to were now rare occurrences.
(That’s the only thing he wants me for, you’d repeat in your mind like a prayer, over and over and over til you had no choice but to believe it.)
You noticed how his eyes would linger on yours for a split second longer than usual after both of you had reached your orgasms, something like affection flashing behind them as he’d reach down and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
This can’t happen, you thought, one night when he’d spent nearly an hour buried between your thighs, his warm tongue writing out unending stories over your aching heat.
“Michael,” you croaked, reaching down between your legs and coaxing him to look at you. His face was pink from the light of his color lamp, and fleetingly you thought of that first night, the night that had changed everything. You almost smiled.
“How come you don’t fuck me like you used to?” you asked, watching Michael’s face contort in confusion as he propped himself up on his elbows.
“What do you mean?” He cocked his head to one side, face scrunching up as he considered your words, mouth slick with your juices and hair in disarray.
Did he really not know what you were talking about? For a second you worried you’d been imagining things.
“Like, you know. When you’d throw me around, leave me covered in bruises. Stuff like that.”
His tongue darted out to clean his lips of your wetness, a mischievous gleam now apparent in his hooded eyes. “I thought you didn’t want that anymore.”
“No!” you said with perhaps a bit too much conviction, and then your cheeks were burning when Michael laughed at your eagerness. He brought himself into a sitting position, eyes traveling up and down your mostly-exposed body. “I just- no, I liked it. It was your attitude when you weren’t fucking me that was bothering me.”
He shot you a look so stern that it almost frightened you, and immediately, as if on cue, you felt your cunt ache. “So you want to be treated like a whore, is that it? Here I am trying to be nice to you, and you’re complaining like a greedy little slut?”
You gasped in excitement; he crawled up his bed so that he was next to you, taking your face in one hand so hard that you felt your teeth cut into your cheeks. “You want your big brother to make you his bitch, huh?”
You just stared at him, wide-eyed.
He landed a light slap to your cheek. “Answer the fucking question.”
“Y-yes,” you whispered, and you felt another stab of arousal between your legs, still spread wide from when he’d been eating you out.
“Yes, what?” He got onto his knees, slipping down his sweatpants and boxers to reveal his massive hard-on, which he began pumping up and down in his fist.
You sighed, your last shred of pride still clinging onto you for dear life. “Yes, I want you to make me your bitch. Happy?”
He grinned at this; you could tell he’d missed these moments of dominance, and only then did you realize how much of an effort he’d been putting into treating you nicely.
“Take your shirt off,” he ordered, repositioning himself so he was kneeling over your stomach, cock still in hand. You did as you were told, yanking the oversize sweatshirt (that just so happened to belong to Michael) off over your head and tossing it onto the floor, rendering you fully naked beneath him.
“I don’t think you deserve to have your pussy stretched by my cock,” he continued, dropping his erection to take your tits in his hands, squeezing the soft peaks until tears sprung to your eyes. “Considering how incredibly ungrateful you’ve been.”
He tweaked your nipple between two fingers before spitting crudely into his palm, stroking the wad of saliva up and down his length until it was glistening.
“But I don’t think your mouth deserves me either. I know how much sucking cock turns you on, little slut.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. What could he be planning? He drummed his fingers on his jaw, other hand still working at his cock as he pretended to contemplate.
“So I’ll just have to fuck you somewhere else.” He smirked, letting go of himself so he could play with your tits some more, watching in lust-filled awe as he made them bounce obscenely before him. “Push your tits together.”
It all came together then, like pieces of a puzzle, and obediently you followed his command.
Looking down upon you with that familiar cocky expression, he lined the head of his cock up with the cleavage that had formed, your hands clamped together to keep your tits in place for him. “You’ve always had such nice tits. I’m glad you’re finally making use of them.”
You moaned, and his hand shot forward to wrap tightly around your throat as he eased himself between your tits. He hissed at the sensation, which was no doubt intensified by the layer of saliva coating his shaft; your mouth watered shamelessly at the sight of his full, perfect lips dropping open in pleasure as he slid his cock all the way to the hilt.
“What a fucking whore,” he remarked, pulling his hips back before shoving himself back in the tight space between your breasts. “Letting your brother fuck your perfect tits because you know your pussy isn’t good enough.”
You doubted he really meant anything he was saying, but you supposed it didn’t matter now. It was amazing to you how quickly he’d switched- from tender and loving and gentle, to this: a brutal, confident caricature of himself that you very much liked indeed.
“Let go of them and I’ll make sure you regret it,” he grunted, struggling to fuck your tits as quickly as he wanted due to just how tightly compacted they were between your hands.
This went on for some time, Michael’s hips snapping back and forth as he made use of the crevice you’d made for him. Mouth pressed into a thin line, he leaned forward to rest his hand against the headboard while he fucked you, jostling your body with each upwards motion.
His cock appeared on the other side after a particularly ruthless thrust, and, tilting your head down, you ran your tongue along the flushed, leaking head. His eyes snapped open at the unexpected feeling, a low groan passing his lips, and he pressed his fingers more forcefully into your throat.
“Did I say you could do that?” he barked, and you batted your eyes innocently up at him, lips wrapping around the swollen tip before he jerked himself back. “Of course you couldn’t keep your filthy little mouth off my cock. Fucking typical.”
He administered another thrust, and again you met his cock with your hot, pointed tongue, desperate to taste the bead of precum there. He didn’t protest this time, allowing you a few moments to mouth at his cock before he continued fucking your chest.
You knew he was close when his breathing became staggered, a thin stream of sweat making its way down the side of his shining forehead. Without being asked, you opened your mouth wide, and he brought his cock to your lips, angling it so he could shoot his load onto the back of your tongue.
He gave his cock three long strokes to push himself over the edge and, with a low moan, he was gone; he took a bruising grip of your jaw as he came, letting the bitter, salty taste of his cum invade your senses.
“Swallow it,” he said, and you did, pressing your eyes shut as you ushered his sticky load down your throat. “Show me.”
Again you did as you were told, unhinging your jaw so he could inspect the inside of your mouth and make sure every last drop of his load was gone.
“That’s a good little slut.”
He got up off of you, pants still pulled halfway down his legs as he reached for his bong off the bedside table. You laid there for a moment before twisting your upper body to grab Michael’s sweatshirt off the floor, scooting into a cross legged position as you pulled it over your head.
“You have got to be the kinkiest girl I’ve ever fucked,” he mumbled, flicking on his black lighter and bringing the flame down to the half-burnt bowl of weed. “Straight out of a fucking porn or something.”
He set the weed ablaze, and you both sat in silence as the water inside the bong began bubbling noisily.
You shrugged, observing Michael as he craned his neck forward to meet his mouth at the opening of the bong. How could you begin to explain to him that everything was so much less confusing when he was mean to you? That every time he held you close to him, you’d become increasingly aware of how completely fucked up this all was? It was so much simpler to leave feelings out of the equation, you decided.
In one smooth motion he pulled the bowl from its holster, inhaling all of the thick, milky smoke that had built up within the glass in one go.
“You know I don’t mean any of that shit I say, right?” he said finally. He exhaled slowly, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose as he met your gaze.
“What, like my pussy not being good enough for you?” you laughed.
He smiled. “Yeah, like that.”
“I’ve just kind of been beating myself up recently. For how I’ve treated you. I don’t know why I’m so mean sometimes, but I just hope you know you don’t deserve any of it.”
You squinted, accepting the bong when he passed it to you. Honestly, you needed to be high to deal with Michael and his ever-changing moods. You said nothing, making sure not to burn your hair as you flicked on the lighter (which you’d done one too many times in the privacy of Michael’s bedroom, much to his amusement).
He sucked in a breath. “Alright, I’m about to say something kind of gay.”
You raised your eyebrows. “What, that you like cock up your ass?”
“Huh? No. Gay, like, lame. Or cheesy.”
“Okay?” What the fuck had Michael been smoking recently? You brought your mouth to the top of the bong, cringing at the harsh smoke that flowed to the back of your throat the instant you lifted the bowl from its holster. Your eyes overflowed with tears as you started to cough uncontrollably, but for once, Michael didn’t make fun of you for it.
“Like, okay. I don’t really know how to explain this. But it’s just so weird. With other girls, I wanna be alone as soon as I’m done fucking them. But, like, with you, I actually want to hang out? And talk?”
You blinked. What the actual, literal, genuine fuck? Was this Michael’s own fucked up way of confessing his feelings to you? And if so, why were you the smallest, tiniest bit into it?
“You’re so fucking weird, Michael.” You handed him his bong, deciding that one rip was more than enough.
“Like, it feels like you’re my girlfriend or some shit. Only you’re my stepsister.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered, the high hitting you all at once. You drew your knees to your chest, resting your chin between them, trying your hardest to will away the sudden lightheadedness that was threatening to consume you.
This wasn’t an option. There was no way. Even if he wasn’t your stepbrother, the prospect of Michael fucking Langdon being your boyfriend seemed like a task far too big for someone like you to take on.
“I know it’s crazy. But, like. Maybe I could take you out on a date? Isn’t that what you do if you like a girl?”
“Holy shit, Michael.” He sounded like a middle school boy experiencing a crush for the first time, and you wondered if he’d been emotionally stunted at some point in his life. “You wanna take your stepsister on a date?”
He brought his shoulders up to his ears and heaved them back down, an exaggerated display of indifference. “No one has to know.”
Why was he being so goddamn nonchalant about this? Why was he so goddamn nonchalant about everything in his life? You wanted to take him by those broad shoulders of his and shake some sense into him, wanted to look him straight in the face, at those dreamy, heavy-lidded blue eyes that resembled rippling tides and those lush, plump, lips and—
—wait, what were you talking about again?
Oh, for the love of god.
“Fine. One date. And no one can know about it.”
He smiled in that way you knew so well, the smile that said I just got my way again, the smile that you usually wanted to smack right off his stupidly flawless face.
God damn it.
Would you ever not let Michael win?
You slammed the door of Michael’s sports car behind you as you stepped out onto the pavement, staring in disbelief at the neon sign above the restaurant he’d decided to take you to that following Friday.
Or, more accurately, APLEBE’S, given that two of the lights on the sign had apparently gone out.
“Your idea of a first date is going to Applebee’s?”
Why were you even surprised?
Michael looked at you as though you’d just asked him the most ridiculous question in the world. You had to admit, he looked handsome, despite not having bothered to get dressed up in any way. Then again, when did Michael not look good?
You, on the other hand, actually had to put in effort to look presentable, which only pissed you off more, seeing that you’d wasted a perfectly nice dress and an hour and a half on hair and makeup for a fucking Applebee’s date.
“Why not? They have half-off appetizers after nine.”
You rolled your eyes back into your skull. So that was why he’d insisted upon waiting until later to go out.
“What, did you think I was gonna take you to a fuckin’ 5-star restaurant or some shit?” he said, walking around to the other side of the car so he could stand beside you.
“No, I just-“ you held your tongue, sucking your lips into your mouth as you considered your words carefully. “Never mind. It’s fine. This just wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“Jeez, who knew you were so high maintenance?” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
The two of you walked side-by-side to the front doors of the restaurant, all while you pondered how you’d even gotten yourself into this situation. Why had you agreed to this? There was absolutely nothing good that would ever come of this, you knew. And yet here you were, in your favorite floral dress, walking through an Applebee’s parking lot on the way to your first date with your actual, literal stepbrother.
When you reached the door, he made a show of opening it for you. “Look at me, being all chivalrous and shit,” he snickered as you stepped past him into the restaurant.
The waitress who seated you was a pretty, young blonde that you recognized; she’d graduated from your high school a year or two before, and Michael seemed pretty friendly with her- maybe too friendly for your liking, but who were you to get jealous over who your stepbrother chose to flirt with?
Michael settled across from you in the booth you’d been seated at, lacing his fingers in front of him on the marble surface.
“Can I start you guys off with some drinks?” asked the waitress, jutting out her hip as she waved her little pad in the air, eyes fixated directly on Michael. You had the sudden urge to smack her in the face, which, of course, you ignored.
“Yeah. She’ll have a water,” said Michael before you even had the chance to open your mouth. “And I’ll have a coke.”
“Sure thing,” said the waitress, jotting something down onto her notepad before bouncing away.
“What if I didn’t want a water?” you said flatly, once she was out of earshot.
“If I recall, I’m the one paying, which means I get to decide what you drink.”
You slumped in your seat. You were already starting to regret this.
“Please remind me why you even asked me out on this so-called date if you were just planning to act like an asshole the entire time,” you said, leaning onto your elbows and settling your chin in your palms.
Michael knit his eyebrows, and you had the feeling that maybe he really was so stupid that he didn’t know how to properly treat someone on a date. After all, he hadn’t ever been in a serious relationship, as far as you knew at least. “What do you mean? How am I being an asshole?”
“This is so dumb,” you said. “I don’t know why I even agreed to this.”
Michael’s lips curved down at the corners. “You know, the more you complain, the more I wonder why I even asked you out.”
“Well, why did you ask me out, Michael?”
“I dunno. I just thought maybe you could be the girl who finally sets me straight, you know?” he said, thoughtfully looking off into space. You knew, of course, that this was his way of avoiding eye contact with you. “You know, you’re just so different from all the other girls I’ve talked to.”
Huh. You hadn’t actually expected him to give you a real answer.
“Honestly, Michael? The only person who can set you straight is yourself.” You felt your heart sink a little in your chest; Michael didn’t like you, not really. He liked the idea of you, liked the thought that maybe you could transform him into a better person. It was so damn obvious to you now. “I can’t be your fucking mom, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“You think I want you to be my mom?” He chuckled to himself, widening his eyes at you as he leaned over the table. “That’s kinda kinky, mommy.”
You let out a frustrated huff. “Can you be serious for five fucking seconds?”
“What are you thinking of getting?” he said flippantly, as if you hadn’t just been in the middle of a somewhat important conversation, opening his menu and turning to the front. “Remember, you’re only allowed to get one appetizer.”
Did he ever hear himself when he spoke? You crossed your arms over your chest, pressing your back firmly against the padded booth as an exasperated sigh passed your lips. “I’m not even hungry.”
“Oh, that’s perfect, then! I only have a ten dollar bill anyway.”
Okay, this had to be a joke. There was no way this boy, clever in so many other ways, was actually this shamelessly clueless. “Jesus, Michael, if money was such a problem to you, you shouldn’t have offered to pay.”
Just then, the waitress reappeared with your drinks, just as cheery as she’d been five minutes earlier. “You guys ready to order?”
“Yeah. I’ll have the mozzarella sticks. And she’s not getting anything. Right, (y/n)?” said Michael, widening his eyes at you.
You said nothing, taking instead to staring at the swirling splotches of black and white and beige on the marble tabletop. What was this hollow, sinking feeling deep in your belly? Why did the backs of your eyes burn, as if you might start crying at any given moment? And why, oh why, had you expected anything different from Michael motherfucking Langdon?
He was never going to change; he could try his hardest, but he’d never truly see the error of his ways- this, to you, was a fact. He’d keep disappointing you, and you’d keep giving him chance after chance, your idiotic, idealistic teenage brain perpetually plagued with wishful thinking.
Fucking idiot, you thought bitterly, although you weren’t quite sure if this was directed towards yourself or towards Michael. Maybe both.
When the waitress was gone, you looked at Michael pointedly. He looked so much like a little boy right now, with his round, clean-shaven cheeks and slight open-mouthed smile, and for the first time you saw him as he truly was:
An eighteen-year-old child.
It dawned on you then that maybe Michael Langdon himself couldn’t explain the things that he did; maybe Michael Langdon was still in the process of figuring out Michael Langdon, just in the same way you were.
And maybe, maybe he wasn’t as untouchable as you’d originally thought.
Your head jerked up in the direction of the voice that had called out to you, so recognizable it was nauseating, your stomach pooling with dread as you discovered who’d spoken. It was Miriam, your father in tow, the unnaturally large smile on her face contrasting sharply with your current mood.
You shot Michael an urgent look, and quickly he twisted around to see who was there.
“H-hey, guys,” you said as calmly as you could manage.
“Wow, what a coincidence! Your father and I decided to pop into Applebee’s for their half-off appetizers after our movie was over!” said Miriam excitedly, gesturing to the waitress who was obscured behind your father. “You mind seating us over here? Turns out our kids are here too!”
You and Michael exchanged glances, and he eased himself out of the booth, nudging you with his forearm to urge you to scoot over.
Your father’s eyes flashed between you and Michael several times, and then, just before you could worry that he’d caught on to just what was going on between his stepson and daughter, he beamed.
“That’s really amazing! Just a couple months ago the two of you were at each other’s throats, and now you’re actually hanging out with each other! On purpose!” he said, to which Miriam nodded her wholehearted agreement. You moved down the seat, giving Michael room to slide in next to you as your parents occupied the opposite side.
“Yep, amazing,” you and Michael said in perfect unison.
As it turned out, you’d have to put your little Michael-related epiphany on hold for the time being.
“So, what are you kids up to?” asked your father as he scanned the menu he’d been given.
“Just getting some food before we go out with friends,” you said.
Of fucking course this would happen to you. Why wouldn’t it happen to you? Your parents, out of all seven billion people on this god forsaken earth, intruding upon your date (if you could even call it that) with the one person who was off-limits to you. In all honesty, you should’ve seen it coming.
Michael’s lips twitched, blue eyes sparkling as he glanced over in your direction. You shifted nervously- you knew that look, and it meant nothing but trouble.
He wasn’t going to…? Was he?
Under the table, Michael placed one veined hand on your mid-thigh, so casually you probably wouldn’t have even noticed, had you not been anticipating it.
Yes. Yes, he was.
You pressed your knees together as Michael turned to face your parents, his touch ever-so-slightly creeping upwards until he’d reached the hem of your skirt. Subtly bringing your hand from the table to your lap, you made an (albeit halfhearted) attempt to swat him away, to no avail.
His lips twisted into a wicked half-smile, and you nearly lost your breath right then when his fingers made feather-light contact with your clothed pussy.
This was such a Michael thing to do, and yet somehow, you were still caught off guard. You took a small sip of water, engaging Miriam in her friendly chatter, but when Michael began massaging slow circles over your clit, you damn near did a spit-take.
“I think I’m gonna get the mozzarella sticks,” said your father, completely unaware of the total debauchery that was currently occurring mere feet away from him.
“That’s what I got,” said Michael coolly, pushing aside the thin fabric of your panties to drag his finger up your slit. You coughed.
“What did you order, (y/n)?” asked Miriam.
“I, uh-“ you shut your eyes to try and regain your concentration, just as Michael began pushing one long finger inside you. “I wasn’t really hungry.”
It was embarrassing, really, how Michael’s finger entered you with absolutely no resistance, your slick folds eagerly welcoming him inside. Your breath caught in your throat as he decided upon a steady rhythm to fuck you with, nothing too intense (thank god) but impossible to ignore all the same.
It was times like these that had you convinced that Michael Langdon was the spawn of Satan. Why else would he pull this kind of fuckery? From the way Michael’s lips were situated into an idle close-mouthed grin, it was infuriatingly obvious that he was doing this as a means of entertaining himself, the fucking sadist.
“What movie did you guys see?” said Michael, plunging a second finger into your tight heat while his free hand worked to stir his straw around in his drink; you bit your tongue hard enough to draw blood.
“Some stupid foreign film,” said your father, finally shutting his menu and pushing it off to the side. You pretended to pick a ball of lint off your sweater, refusing to look your father in the eyes while Michael’s fingers were inside you.
Miriam’s mouth fell agape. “What do you mean, stupid?”
“It didn’t make any sense to me! And the subtitles went by too fast! How am I supposed to watch the movie and read the dialogue at the same time?” your father argued.
Michael took your parents’ momentary distraction as an opportunity to fuck you faster, adjusting his hand between your thighs so he could simultaneously thumb at your clit. You cried out, instantly garnering attention from both Miriam and your father, and you felt yourself flush.
“I just spilled some-“ you swallowed loudly as Michael gave an aggressive flick to your bundle of nerves- “water on myself. Silly me.”
You offered them a weak smile. Michael snorted.
“Silly you,” he repeated, low enough that only you could hear, fingers scissoring apart to stretch your narrow walls.
“Stop it,” you hissed, but there was no real urgency behind the demand.
He only hummed in response.
“This is what you get for being all whiny tonight,” he whispered, your parents’ lighthearted bickering loud enough to drown out his voice. He pressed against your clit firmly with his the pad of his thumb, proceeding to form relentless circles against it until you were white-knuckling the edge of the table with both hands, your breathing ragged and heavy.
You grabbed his thigh, partially to give yourself some support while Michael worked you open, and partially to dig your fingernails into his skin as a warning. He winced at the pain but didn’t let up, curling his fingers inside you as he slipped them deeper.
“Michael…” you said hoarsely, narrowing your eyes as your lower body began to shake.
He tilted his head to one side, stilling his fingers inside you. “Yes?”
“I’m gonna kick your ass as soon as we get out of here.” You weren’t kidding, either.
“I’d love to see you try.”
“Hey, be nice,” your father teased, observing you and Michael proudly; then he placed his hand over Miriam’s on the table, patting it affectionately before gesturing towards you. “Aren’t our kids great?”
“The best,” agreed Miriam.
“Oh, we know,” drawled Michael. “Don’t we, (y/n)?”
Over your pulsing bud, he traced a shape that felt vaguely like an M, and you gulped. “M-mhm.”
It was then that he noticed the waitress approaching, and at last he pulled his fingers from your cunt, dragging them down your thigh and smearing your abundant juices over the exposed skin.
You breathed a sigh of relief, despite the distracting throb of your cunt that practically screamed for Michael’s fingers back. You weren’t sure you’d be able to handle having an orgasm in public without anybody noticing, and you didn’t exactly want to try and find out while in the presence of your father.
Michael gave you a look that said this isn’t over, not by a long shot, but he turned from you when the waitress placed his food down in front of him.
You’d never been so grateful to see a plate of mozzarella sticks in your life.
Chapter 5: v
The car ride back from Applebee’s was a silent one.
After your father and Miriam had departed, heading off to continue their date at a local bar, you’d retreated to Michael’s car without another word. Throughout the car ride, he continued to throw sidelong glances at you, mouth quirking up at the corners at the way you scowled, arms crossed protectively over your chest. You could tell it was taking everything in him not to say something stupid.
Mentally, you scolded yourself for expecting anything more from a boy like Michael Langdon. You could hardly even feel sorry for yourself; this was your fault for being so naive.
You couldn’t help it, though. There was something inside you that made it impossible to hate Michael like you knew you should, something that compelled you to give him his way, even when you knew he didn’t deserve it. For christ’s sake, you’d even allowed him to finger you under the table while your parents were sitting right there!
What the hell was wrong with you?
You’d been asking yourself that question nonstop ever since things had gotten complicated between the two of you. At one point in your life, you’d had a good head on your shoulders. Now, thanks to Michael, you were nothing more than a mess of poor decisions and teen angst.
Michael pulled into the driveway and you got out of the car, slamming the door with an unintentionally large amount of force.
“Hey, don’t slam the door,” said Michael as he stepped out, and you scoffed.
“I’ll slam the door all I fucking want,” you shot back, storming up the porch steps and tapping your foot impatiently as you waited for Michael to catch up with you and unlock the door.
“Jeez, what’s your problem?” he said, heading onto the porch once he’d locked the car. You felt a surge of anger bubble up from your stomach, and you swallowed the compulsion to start screaming at him right there in public.
Instead you shut your eyes and let out a shaky sigh, digging your fingernails into your palms hard enough to draw blood.
He opened the door and you pushed past him to go inside, grateful to no longer worry about the prospect of being labeled a crazy bitch by some eavesdropping spectator. You were alone with Michael now, and you were free to do as you pleased.
Michael shut the door behind him, but you were quick to block the stairway, cocking your head to one side and planting your hands on your hips. You hadn’t even realized how upset you were until right now; your body was trembling, and your throat narrowed slightly as angry tears stung your eyes. “You wanna know what my problem is?”
Michael gave you a puzzled look, clearly caught off guard by this. And of course he was caught off guard- you were sure that in his mind, he’d done absolutely nothing wrong.
You decided not to wait any longer for him to respond. “My problem, Michael, is that you keep making me believe that you’re going to change, but you never do. You claim that you like me, that you want to spend time with me, that I’m so different from all the other girls you’ve fucked, but you’ve done nothing but treat me like shit. And then when I get upset about it, you act like you don’t even know what I’m fucking talking about.”
You’d let it all out in one breath, and by the time you were finished, you were winded. There was a pregnant pause as Michael gathered his bearings, and you stared at him expectantly.
“Look, (y/n), I don’t know what you want from me. I was high when I said those things. Sure, you’re fun and everything, but-“ he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away from yours to look at the floor.
“-But what? So you were just making it all up? You just asked me on a date for- for what, Michael? Shits and giggles? So you could shove your fingers inside me in public? What, did you just ask me out because you were bored or some shit? Help me understand, Michael.”
Whatever you do, do NOT fucking cry, you told yourself. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t fucking cry.
You took in a shaky breath, averting your gaze up to the ceiling. You knew if you looked at Michael for too long, at those beautiful blue eyes that you’d found yourself getting lost in too many times to count, you wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears anymore.
To your dismay, you heard him chuckle. “You didn’t really seem to mind me shoving my fingers inside you when it was happening.”
There he went again, taking absolutely nothing seriously and intentionally ignoring your main point. You groaned in frustration, looking back to Michael, who’d taken to leaning up against the front door.
“That isn’t the fucking point, asshole,” you snapped. “The point is that you keep fucking with my head and I can’t take it anymore.”
Michael blinked. Would you ever be able to get anything through his head? Was it even worth the effort?
“If you wanted to get swept off your feet like every other fucking teenage girl, you came to the wrong person,” he said. “But I thought you were smarter than expecting that shit from me.”
You narrowed your eyes, pulse quickening as something like rage began to build up in your throat. How dare he try to frame you as some sort of stupid, desperate girl, pining for romance from an uncaring boy? How dare he try to make you feel crazy?
“Really, Michael? That’s the game you’re gonna play? You’re the one who asked me out on a date. You’re the one who said all that stupid lovey-dovey shit to me.” You’d drawn in closer to him now, your mind clouded and dizzy, senses numbed. He didn’t move, looking down at you with raised eyebrows, infuriatingly calm as always. “But of course you’re pinning it all on me. Because you’re perfect little Michael Langdon who never takes any responsibility for his actions.”
He smirked, and you nearly lost your cool right then.
“I’m so sick of your selfish, egotistical bullshit. I wish my dad never met Miriam. You’re the worst thing to ever fucking happen to me. I hate you, Michael. Don’t come near me ever again.”
In that moment, every word out of your mouth was pure, unyielding fact. You did wish that your father hadn’t ever met Miriam, and Michael was the worst thing to ever happen to you. So how come you felt almost guilty saying such things out loud?
“Oh, believe me. I’ll have no problem staying away from you. You’re the one who always ends up crawling back.” He leaned in, face mere inches away from yours, and you could smell that god forsaken cinnamon gum on his breath. “‘Cause let’s face it, (y/n). You just can’t resist being split on my cock.”
For a moment, you only stared at him. And then, without thinking, you slapped him across the face with as much force as you could muster.
You both stood there in stunned silence for a moment, and it was only when he lifted his hand to wrap firmly around your wrist that you realized how much of a mistake you’d made. His eyes were dark, lips no longer curved mischievously upwards; he looked utterly unpredictable, which was what frightened you the most.
“So that’s how you wanna do this, huh?” His voice was low, face still dangerously close to yours. Your breath hitched as you anticipated his next move, lips curling nervously into your mouth.
He whirled you around before you could finish, pushing you up against the front door and trapping you there with his chest. You whimpered as his hand made its way up your inner thigh and ghosted over your clothed core, your hips bucking forward inadvertently as he did so.
You really fucking hated yourself right now.
“You hate me, huh?” His silky waves tickled your cheek as he moved his head to whisper in your ear, dragging his fingertips along the length of your lace-covered slit.
“Yeah, I do fucking hate you.”
You were hit with a sudden intoxicating mixture of lust and fury, and hungrily, impulsively, you pulled his head back by his hair and kissed him.
His teeth clashed noisily against yours as your lips moved together, his tongue wasting no time before entering your mouth and roughly kneading against yours. Between your parted thighs, he continued rubbing your pussy, already dripping from his touch, and you whined against his mouth; when you felt him laugh, you bit his lower lip, hard, hoping that you’d jolt him with the unexpected pain.
“If you hate me that much, why are you so wet?” he breathed before pressing his lips back against yours, swiftly moving aside the thin fabric of your panties to slip a finger inside you. You moaned, loud and unadulterated, grasping at the front of Michael’s shirt as he began thrusting into you, hard and fast.
“Just because I like fucking you doesn’t mean I can’t- fuck- think you’re a narcissistic, entitled piece of sh-shit!”
He sank a second finger inside, fucking you with such intensity that you weren’t sure you’d be able to walk right tomorrow, your head falling back to rest against the door. “Huh. Then it’s pretty pathetic of you to let someone you think is an entitled narcissist finger fuck you against the wall, don’t you think?”
“J-just shut the fuck up, Michael.” You reached down between his legs, palming at the massive protrusion in the front of his jeans before working down the zipper, eager to get this shit over with.
“I have half a mind to put you on your knees and shut you up, you little bitch,” he spat; he sounded so genuine that it startled you.
“You try that shit and I’ll bite your fucking dick off.” Truthfully, you wouldn’t exactly mind having his cock in your mouth (when did you ever?) but you certainly didn’t think he deserved it after tonight.
He slammed his fingers inside you again so deep that you saw stars, your jaw unhinging as he continued to work you open, your shaking hands making quick work of freeing his cock from its confines. Once you pulled it out, you ran your thumb over the leaking slit, spreading the bead of precum across his flushed head.
“I’m gonna fucking wreck your little cunt,” he mumbled, breath hot on your neck, removing his fingers from your heat and wiping your wetness across your inner thighs. Lifting your skirt up further, he yanked your panties down to your knees before moving his hand up to wrap around your neck; you took the momentary lapse to align the head of his cock with your slick entrance.
“Yeah? I’d love to see you try. None of that pussy shit you usually give me,” you retorted breathlessly. Of course, you weren’t being honest; oftentimes, you could still feel him for days after he fucked you. You were speaking out of anger, though, intentionally riling him up.
At this, his grip tightened on your throat, and he pushed inside you, all the way to the hilt, without warning.
“Oh fuck,” you cried out, your moans growing louder and more frantic as he quickened his pace, the door nearly rattling in its hinges as he railed you against it.
“Is this enough for you, bitch? Or is this still too pussy for you?” His hips slammed against yours hard enough to bruise, causing tears to spring to your eyes, but you refused to let him win.
“Y-you’re pra-practically putting me to- oh fuck- sleep.”
You doubted he believed you, what with all the noise you were making and the way you could hardly keep yourself together, but Michael Langdon was never one to turn down a challenge.
“Oh yeah? I’m putting you to sleep?” He grabbed your leg and pulled it up so you could hook it around his waist, letting his cock make sharp contact with your cervix as he slammed into you even harder and deeper than before; you snaked your arms around his hips to dig your nails into the sensitive skin of his ass, intending to leave half-moon imprints there, marking him like he’d marked you so many times before.
“You falling asleep now? Huh? Is this enough for you, you greedy fucking slut?”
He actually sounded pissed.
As much as you wanted to come back with a biting response, you couldn’t; the wind was knocked out of you with each ruthless thrust of his cock into your heat, and you gasped for air as your eyes rolled back into your head.
“Oh my god, oh fuck-“
His torso, still covered by the black t-shirt he hadn’t bothered to take off, made friction against your clit as he moved his body in time with yours, the sensation bringing you dangerously close to the edge. The gravelly whines leaving your throat were so weak that you were sure only Michael could hear them, his own animalistic groans prominent in your ear.
You could kill him right now, you really could. You despised him, despised every last beautiful fiber of his being, despised the way that he’d broken you down and made you so goddamn weak.
Worst of all, you despised the fact that even now, as hatred and hurt and anger coursed like hot adrenaline through your veins, there was still a tiny part of you that cared about him, more than you’d ever cared for anyone else in your life.
Right now, though, all you could focus on was the mind-blowing ecstasy taking over your body, blending seamlessly with the pain of his brutal thrusting.
Pressing his chest flush against yours, he began impaling you with sharp upwards motions, his cock reaching the deepest parts of you that your own fingers never could. Your jaw unhinged as his firm stomach rubbed ruthlessly against your clit, almost to the point where it was too much, and with a sort of vengeance you craned your neck forward and sank your teeth into his shoulder.
“Fuck- I’m-“ you choked out, just as the coil in your stomach abruptly snapped. You came, perhaps harder than you’d ever cum before, swollen lips parted wide despite no noise coming out. You fell forward limply, laying your cheek against the sweat-soaked fabric covering his shoulder, barely breathing as he continued fucking into you with little mercy.
The pads of his fingers clutched your throat with added pressure and you felt his cock twitch; with a grunt, he came, spilling his hot, sticky load deep inside.
“It must feel pathetic knowing that the one person who can make you cum the hardest is the one person you hate the most,” he said as he pulled out, stepping back to see the way his cum dribbled crudely down your inner thighs.
He dipped his fingertips into the cum, smearing it around to the front of your leg, lips twitching mockingly as he further defiled you. Pussy aching as you fought to catch your breath, you watched him with sunken, empty eyes.
“Just so we’re clear,” he sneered, lifting his unforgiving eyes to meet yours. “This is all you ever meant to me.”
His words felt like a punch to your gut, but there was no way you could let him see the way they’d affected you. You bent down to pick up your underwear before pushing Michael to the side, walking around his towering frame to start up the stairs. Then, as if his words were a mere afterthought to you, you paused mid-step, turning over your shoulder in a manner that you hoped seemed nonchalant.
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
It was the first time you and Michael had managed to avoid each other for an extended period of time, and although you missed the feel of his hot lips on your skin, missed his low voice in your ear as he whispered vulgar words that made you blush, missed his large, calloused hands wandering over your body like it was his very own territory to explore and conquer, you certainly didn’t miss all the other baggage that came with it.
During the obligatory family dinners, you and Michael would pretend that nothing had changed between the two of you, but the shift was impossible to ignore. Michael had ceased his usual playful teasing as he sat across from you, and his preferred means of communicating with you, if he absolutely had to, became grunting at varying octaves.
Your parents had definitely noticed, their concerned expressions far from discreet, but they were wise enough not to mention it to either of you.
You supposed things were better off this way. It was unrealistic to go through life fucking around (and going out on shitty Applebee’s dates) with your stepbrother. There was no way that it could have ever worked out anyway.
It’s better off this way, you’d think to yourself, sitting in your bedroom and staring the ceiling as you’d listen, against your better judgment, to Michael giggling with random girls across the hall.
It never would’ve worked, you’d reminded yourself sternly as you returned Michael’s sweet-smelling sweatshirts to his bedroom when he was out one night.
It never meant anything anyway, you’d tell yourself, headphones flooding with the psychedelic chords of Pink Floyd, molars working at a wad of cinnamon gum. I was nothing to him. He said it himself.
But Michael Langdon said a lot of things.
You tried your best to move on with your Michael-less life, and soon enough, as surprising as it was to you, you wound up finding yourself a boyfriend- a cute jock who sat behind you in your math class. The best part was that he wasn’t friends with Michael, despite his modest popularity; Michael had always been vocal about his hatred towards jocks (Fucking circle-jerking dickheads, he’d call them), and so he’d never bothered to associate with his crowd.
Michael had been less than welcoming to him the first night you’d brought him home to meet your family, shooting him an unfriendly, thin-lipped smile from across the dinner table.
“So you play football?” Miriam had asked conversationally over a forkful of baked potato.
“Yep! Receiver,” he said. You nodded encouragingly, even though you had no idea what that meant.
“So you like playing with balls?” said Michael suddenly, eyes widened as a cruel smirk stretched across his lips.
Your father nearly choked on his water.
“Michael,” you hissed. Your boyfriend let out a nervous laugh, clearing his throat as he lifted his glass of water to his mouth. Michael blinked at you innocently, moving his food around on his plate with his fork as he leaned forward to rest his elbow on the table.
This was probably the most eye contact you’d had with him all month.
Later that night, after your boyfriend left, Michael made an appearance in your doorway for the first time since his awkward post-party apology. You couldn’t believe how long ago it all felt, even though it’d only been a couple of months. Things were just so different now.
“Hey, (y/n),” he said with a bit too much nonchalance for somebody who’d been ignoring your existence up until that very moment.
“Congrats on getting a boyfriend and everything. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day,” he mused, leaning his broad shoulder against the doorway and jutting out his hip. Now that you were in a relationship, it was imperative that you didn’t check out other guys (especially when ‘other guys’ referred to your stepbrother), so you tried your hardest not to look anywhere but Michael’s glinting blue eyes.
You cocked an eyebrow. “So… you’re here to make fun of me? Is that it?”
“No. I’m actually being serious. I mean, the dude’s a fucking dork, but if my little sis is happy, I’m happy.” He shrugged casually, flashing his teeth in a cool half-smile.
What the fuck was going on right now? What were you even supposed to say to that?
“Okay?” you said undecidedly after a brief pause.
He cleared his throat, and you could tell there was something else he wanted to say lingering at the back of his tongue. Maybe he hadn’t come here merely to poke fun at you, after all.
“So. Um…why are you here?” You leaned forward, drumming your fingers on your bent knees, the bedsprings squeaking beneath you as you shifted.
“Well, I just thought- I mean, I don’t know,” he said, his tone no longer mocking, but rather low and earnest. “I just want you to know that you deserve a lot better than me. So I just hope this guy makes you happy, even though he’s a circle-jerking jock.”
You blinked, waiting for the punchline, before you realized that there was none. He was being serious. He was being fucking serious.
As much as you knew that Michael had a track record of saying nice things before immediately reverting back to his asshole tendencies, the sentiment made your heart swell.
Michael was looking at the floor now, chewing the inside of his cheek anxiously, his body fidgeting slightly as he awaited your response. Part of you wanted to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone, knowing that this probably all was bullshit, that there was no way he really meant any of this. Michael had made it pretty fucking clear that he’d never given a shit about you, and that he never would.
The other part of you- the naive, stupid, foolish part that always managed to ignore all logic- said otherwise. Somewhere, deep down inside, you were still hanging onto the feeble thread of hope that maybe he really did care about you, and that maybe he always had.
Maybe, in some twisted way, he’d been trying, by treating you poorly, to protect himself.
You looked at your hands. It was probably all just wishful thinking.
“Thanks, Michael. I appreciate it,” you said, attempting to keep your voice as steady as possible.
You were hit with a sudden wave of melancholy, and all at once you wanted nothing more than to fall into Michael’s arms, feel yourself get swallowed up in his warmth. God, if only things had been different. If only he’d been different.
“I don’t really expect you to believe me or anything, but I thought I should tell you anyway.” He met your gaze, an unreadable expression fixed on his perfect face, and as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. “Anyway… g’night, (y/n).”
You took in a shuddery breath.
“Good night, Michael.”
It only took a couple more weeks to find out that your boyfriend had been cheating on you for the entirety of your short-lived relationship, and it was safe to say that you were not pleased.
You felt completely humiliated; at least with Michael, he’d never made any attempt to disguise his fuckboy ways. Your (now ex) boyfriend, though, had gone out of his way to make you believe that he was a nice guy.
And stupidly, you’d allowed him to fool you.
The relationship hadn’t been anything special, but you’d gotten along fine, and you’d liked him enough. Maybe that’d been the problem in the first place: sure, you liked him, in noncommittal half-shrug sort of way, but there hadn’t been any intensity there, no passion.
It’d come to the surface early on that neither of you had much in common, either, and he wasn’t exactly the most interesting person to talk to. Still, you’d stayed, thinking that maybe this was just what all high school relationships were like, and that at least he wasn’t as much of an asshole as Michael.
Well, at least Michael hadn’t lied to your face, making empty commitments before fucking some other girl’s brains out behind your back.
It wasn’t even the relationship you were mourning the loss of; it was your dignity.
You recalled all the times he’d roll off of you after a ten-minute-long session of halfhearted missionary sex, turning onto his side to check his phone with his back to you. Had he been texting other girls then? While you laid there naked and unsatisfied, but loyal, withholding yourself from other boys because you’d been under the impression that the two of you were exclusive?
You felt pathetic, you felt stupid, you felt used. You supposed that maybe you should’ve felt the same way with Michael, but somehow, in your mind, the situations just didn’t compare.
And god, you didn’t even want to think about Michael. He’d never let you hear the end of this, you were sure.
After the peculiar encounter with him weeks earlier, things had become quite amicable between the two of you: there was undoubtedly a great deal of tension there, but it was obvious that Michael was putting in an effort to be nice, or at least civil to you.
Still, he had his moments. He was not very good at hiding his distaste for your boyfriend, cracking the occasional joke (usually football-related: your boyfriend really likes being tackled by other men, huh? was one of his favorites) whenever his name was brought up.
That hadn’t really bothered you much, though. You were just glad that things weren’t quite as bad as they had been before, and it wasn’t long before your anger from the night of the Applebee’s date had begun to fade away.
You knew damn well, though, that he was going to be delighted at the news that you’d broken up; you could already hear his inevitable mocking ringing in the back of your mind.
And perhaps you deserved to be mocked. Sometimes you were astounded by your own foolishness and naivety.
You’d be okay- this was a part of life, a growing experience. But goddamn did it suck, being fucked over; you were damn near close to swearing off all men for good.
Well, maybe not all men…you found yourself thinking, as images of a certain blue-eyed fuckboy danced in your vision.
NO. Shut up, (y/n), you absolute fucking idiot, was your following thought.
Jesus fucking Christ- you’d said it a hundred million times before, and you’d say it again: what the fuck was wrong with you?
You were starting to think you’d never learn.
The unexpected shout startled your lunch table, sending everyone’s attention to the source of the noise across the cafeteria. It had been precisely forty-eight hours since your breakup, and you were already starting to feel somewhat better about it.
You craned your neck as commotion began to stir somewhere in the enormous fluorescent-lit room, curious to see what exactly was going on; when you saw who had spoken, however, your heart almost stopped dead in your chest.
“Isn’t that your brother, (y/n)?” said one of your friends without looking over to you.
And indeed it was; a small crowd had formed around him as he approached your ex-boyfriend, who was holding a lunch tray in front of him, face laced with confusion and slight fear. Michael’s stance was imposing, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists, and you could tell that things were not about to turn out well for your ex.
Holy fucking shit.
“And isn’t that-“ said another one of your friends, clearly invested with the scene that was currently unfolding. Just from a quick glance around the room, it was evident that the rest of the crowded cafeteria was pretty interested, too.
“Oh my god…” you muttered, lifting your hand to your mouth in disbelief.
You hadn’t expected this from Michael. When you’d finally, reluctantly, broken the news to him about your breakup, he’d almost seemed unaffected, offering you a weak-at-best consolation consisting of an awkward pat on your back.
Apparently, he wasn’t as apathetic to the situation as he’d let on.
“You think you can fuck with my little sister?” Michael demanded, lunging forward to grip onto the front of your ex’s shirt. The entire room had gone mostly silent at this point, amplifying Michael’s voice, and you felt your face grow warm with embarrassment.
On one hand, you knew the appropriate response was to jump to your feet and insert yourself between them, insisting that violence wouldn’t solve anything- that’s what would happen if this was a teen movie, at least.
On the other hand, though… the thought of Michael pummeling your scumbag ex in front of the whole school wasn’t exactly a bad one.
“W-what are you talking about, man?” stuttered your ex-boyfriend, his face going bright red as Michael leaned in to get up in his face. Michael had several inches on the boy, and he looked absolutely, dangerously livid, so you couldn’t blame him for being intimidated.
“You know what the fuck I’m talking about, dipshit.” Michael pulled forcibly at the fabric in his fist, jerking the shorter boy upwards and almost causing him to drop his tray.
“Woah, woah, take it easy, man-“
“-Shut the fuck up.” He let go of the boy’s shirt, dropping his hands so they were positioned under his tray. Then, without warning, he thrust the tray upwards, coating the front of your ex’s shirt in school-lunch spaghetti and steaming hot soup. There was an eruption of laughter from a group of boys you recognized as Michael’s friends, and he smirked.
“You ever come near her again and I’ll make your life a living hell, you understand me?”
Holy fuck, was Michael scary when he wanted to be. Your ex was practically trembling, his shirt ruined. “Y-yes, I understand you.”
“Good. Now get the fuck out of my face.” He gave your ex-boyfriend a hard shove for good measure, sending him stumbling backwards, before returning to his friends and walking off as if nothing had happened.
Once your friends were sure that the show was over, they turned back to you. “Oh my god. You didn’t tell us he was the protective type,” said one.
“I didn’t think he was,” you said softly, still dumbfounded by what you’d just witnessed.
“That was like…kind of hot,” another one of your friends said, to which the group nodded in unanimous agreement. “Has anyone ever told you that your brother is, like, really hot?”
“Step brother,” you corrected.
It was a little past 8:30 that night when you made your way across the hall to Michael’s room, preparing to thank him for doing what he’d done earlier in the day. It was only appropriate, you thought.
You had no idea why he’d done it, but then again, when did you ever know why Michael did the things he did? By now, you’d simply have to accept that Michael Langdon was one big walking mystery, and that you’d never truly understand him.
Knocking on the door timidly, you waited for the faint come in before you went in, your eyes instantly bombarded by the ever-changing colors of his lamp. Michael sat at his desk, laptop opened in front of him as he sat fixated on some computer game (you assumed it was fortnite, though you honestly couldn’t tell the difference between any of the games he played), enormous headphones pulled over his ears. He didn’t turn as you approached, your eyes darting throughout the room as you considered what you were going to say.
“Hey, Michael,” you said shyly. Why the hell were you so nervous?
He still didn’t move, eyes locked on the bright screen of his laptop, fingers jabbing erratically at his keyboard. “What’s up?”
“Could you, like, pause that or whatever? Just for a second?” you said, tone pitching in annoyance at his lack of interest. You’d come close enough that you could see the side of his face, illuminated by his game, and he rolled his eyes.
“You can’t just pause a fortnite game, (y/n),” he said irritably, as if this were the most well-known fact in the world. “But I just died anyway, so. Go ahead.”
He pulled his headphones down so they could rest around his neck, twisting around in his seat to look at you. He looked unbelievably handsome right now, even in the dim light, and you couldn’t help but take a moment to admire him.
“You know, uh, you didn’t have to do all that today,” you started, rocking back onto your heels. “But thank you.”
Your words were met with a blank stare. “Do what?”
Oh, for the love of god. He couldn’t be serious, could he?
“Like, confront my ex and everything. I mean, I really couldn’t believe it. But I thought it was really sweet of you.”
His expression hardly shifted, but you noticed his lips curling up ever-so-slightly at one corner. “Oh, that? I mean, it wasn’t really a big deal or anything. He sort of had it coming anyway. Fuckin’ circle-jerker.”
You laughed. That response was so typically Michael, and you loved it.
“I’ve really been feeling like shit about the breakup, and that honestly made me feel a lot better.”
“Aw, c’mon. Don’t sit around feeling bad about that dork,” said Michael with a grin. You saw something in his eyes sparkle, and then he was leaning forward, a familiar, mischievous look crossing his face.
Oh, how you’d missed that look.
“You wanna c’mere and talk about it with your big bro?” he said, patting his knees. You bit your lip, unsure of what exactly he was planning, but more than eager to find out. You came closer, watching him push his desk chair a few inches back so there was more room for you, and slowly, you settled yourself down on his lap.
The instant you made contact with his warm body, you were flooded with arousal, which was only intensified when he positioned his veined hands on your hips. He pulled you back so your ass was directly on top of his crotch, spine up against his firm chest, and you shivered at the feeling of his erection pressing into you through his sweatpants.
“Mm,” he hummed, wrapping his strong arms around your torso, loose waves softly caressing your neck when he settled his chin on your shoulder. “My baby sis is so pretty.”
He pressed his lips against your neck, fingertips trailing up your inner thighs, bare under the skirt you wore. You whimpered softly when he reached your clothed cunt, rubbing soft circles over your clit as he continued to plant kisses up and down the side of your neck.
“Let me help you forget allll about him,” he breathed, and you could smell the cigarettes and cinnamon gum on his breath, just like always. You rolled your hips back against his cock, one of his large hands lifting to grope your breast through your shirt. “I bet he didn’t touch you like I do.”
“H-he didn’t,” you murmured, eyes fluttering blissfully as his large hands wandered aimlessly over your body, claiming you. You jumped slightly when he administered a particularly hard squeeze to your breast, making him chuckle lowly against your skin.
“Take these off,” he said, pulling the waistband of your underwear back and letting it snap against your pelvis.
You raised your eyebrows but complied, standing momentarily so you could work your panties down your legs and kick them haphazardly to the side.
As you did this, Michael reached down to pull his hard cock from his sweatpants, applying a few strokes to the thick length as he waited for you to return. Your mouth watered at the sight of him; you’d almost forgotten how big he was, and after consistently fucking a boy who was significantly smaller for the past few months, you feared that being penetrated by Michael again would be painful.
“You miss this, baby?” asked Michael, rubbing his thumb over his leaking slit. You nodded quickly, hurrying back over to Michael’s lap. He took hold of his headphones, and you furrowed your brows inquisitively as he secured them back over his ears.
“What are you-“
“-Shhh, baby. Just c’mere.” Taking your wrist, he guided you back into your previous position, and you parted your thighs to straddle his lap. Grabbing onto your hips lightly, he eased you back so that the head of his cock nestled just barely against your slick opening, your heart rate increasing at the sensation. “Just want you to sit here with me while I play my game. Do you think you can do that for me, hm?”
In that moment, you probably would’ve agreed to do anything for him.
Michael pulled you down, impaling you slowly with his thick length, your mouth falling open as you felt his cock stretching out your tight walls. A throaty moan spilled from your throat as he glided deeper into your wet heat, continuing until he was seated all the way inside; you wiggled in slight discomfort, but you were calmed down when Michael placed his chin on your shoulder.
“It’s okay, baby. I know you haven’t been stretched like this in a while. But I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cooed into your ear, his disposition so much more tender than you were used to. He kissed your neck again, scooting the chair closer to the computer screen, in turn stirring you and making you whine.
“Just stay still, okay, baby? Can you do that for me?”
“M-mhm,” you rasped, your chest rising and falling as you tried to get yourself situated.
Your cunt clenched instinctively at this praise, earning a barely-audible hiss from Michael; he reached around your body to get to his keyboard, starting a new game and subtly rocking his hips from side to side in anticipation as he waited for it to load. At this, your hand flew to your mouth to stifle your gasp.
Shutting your eyes, you focused on doing as Michael had instructed. It wasn’t easy, your cunt spasming around his thick length, clit throbbing, desperate for relief that he wasn’t yet granting you.
Of course he knew exactly what he was doing. Even as he played his game, tongue poking out from the corner of his plump lips in concentration, you could hear low growls from the back of his throat, just from the feeling of your tight walls wrapped snugly around him.
To Michael, it was too easy to simply give you what you wanted, even when he wanted it just as much as you did. He lived to see you desperate, to see you willing to be entirely at his mercy.
He leaned forward, his chest warm against your back, blond curls caressing your cheek. He chewed on his lower lip, the game reflecting in his shining eyes, so entranced that it almost seemed like he’d forgotten about you altogether.
“Fuck,” he exclaimed as a pixelated character began shooting at him, his hips jerking upwards as his fingers worked tirelessly at his keyboard, “fucking asshole.”
You whimpered, biting the inside of your cheek to silence yourself, but Michael had already noticed; instead of scolding you, like you’d half expected, he kissed your neck softly, eyes never leaving his screen. “Shh, shh. It’s okay.”
Your muscles relaxed almost embarrassingly quickly at the soothing sound of Michael’s voice, eyes falling closed as he placed another open-mouthed kiss right by your jugular.
“Such a good girl. So obedient for me. You’ll do anything to make your big brother happy, hm?”
The almost condescending nature of his words aroused you far more than you cared to admit, and you squirmed again, aching for something- anything more.
“Hm?” he repeated, pushing his hips up under you with enough force to make you squeal.
“Y-yes, Michael,” you whispered, wrapping your fingers around Michael’s forearm, which was extended to his laptop. This was getting to be too much. “Please.”
“I know, baby. Just hang on a little longer. I know it’s a lot. Just stay still and try to keep quiet for me, ‘kay? You’re doing so good.” His voice was deep and intoxicatingly sweet, vibrating against your skin from his close proximity.
You bobbed your head up and down, sure that at this point you must be leaking all over Michael’s cock, but he didn’t seem to care. His chin still on your shoulder, the fresh scent of his shampoo invading your senses, he continued to play his game with squinted eyes; you sighed, wishing that some other player would just come and kill him already so he could revert his attention back to you.
This kept on for several minutes, your desperation increasing until it was almost unbearable, tears stinging the backs of your eyes with each small movement of Michael’s body.
God, his cock was so deep inside you, filling you up completely; there wasn’t even an inch of space between the two of you, and yet still you wanted more, wanted him to consume you. You were going insane right now, unable to think of anything but how badly you needed to be pounded, fucked into a state of mindless bliss, and it was all thanks to the gorgeous blond-haired boy beneath you.
Fucking dick, you thought affectionately, rolling your hips back with a lengthy moan.
“Stop moving,” he warned, tilting his head to tug at your earlobe with his teeth.
He scoffed at the nickname, but you could tell he was slowly losing his control, his own lust starting to sway him. You inhaled sharply, the muscles of your core contracting to squeeze even tighter around Michael’s length; from the corner of your eye, you saw his jaw clench. Ever-so-slightly, you lifted up your hips, before sliding all the way back down with ease.
“Did I not just tell you to stay still?” he demanded hoarsely. He was losing his patience now, along with his self-control, and you couldn’t help but smirk.
“I didn’t move,” you said.
“Yes, you fucking did,” he said through grit teeth, abandoning his previous, kinder attitude. This was more of the Michael you were used to, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t enjoyed his praise from earlier.
“I’m sorry, Mikey. I just can’t resist getting split on your cock.”
Where this had come from, you had no idea; you’d simply been trying to provoke him, catch his attention. And, from the way he turned his head sharply to look at you, mouth pulled taut into a thin line, you could see that referencing his words from months earlier had done the job.
It was obvious, then, that he no longer gave a shit about his game.
Lunging forward, his cock still buried inside you, he slammed his laptop shut before jerking you to your feet, pulling himself from you in the process. He pushed you forward, bending you over his desk with such aggression that several objects were knocked over with a loud clatter, and excitedly you propped yourself up on your elbows.
Holding up your skirt with one hand, he lined the head of his cock up with your dripping entrance with haste; mewling softly, you bucked your hips impatiently towards him, eager to finally, finally get what you’d been craving.
“Fucking brat,” he mumbled, pushing into your heat until his balls slapped against your thighs. “I bet this was all you could think about every time you let him put his dick inside you.”
He pulled his hips back before forcefully slamming back into your wet cunt, fingers clutching your hips with a bruising, vice-like hold. He decided upon an intense, ruthless rhythm to fuck you with, the vulgar sound of slapping skin obscured only by your broken cries.
“Oh god— fuck—please…more.”
Your arousal was dripping down your inner thighs, so abundant that Michael was able to pound in and out of you with stunning ease, your stomach cutting into the blunt edge of the desk with each thrust.
“Always take my cock so fucking well,” he grunted, fucking you for all he was worth, hips sloppily snapping back and forth as he worked your pussy open. You weren’t going to last long- he’d already gotten you worked up, and now you were merely chasing your release; by the gruff, fucked-out noises passing Michael’s spit-glossed lips, it was clear that he wasn’t going to last long, either. “God, I fucking missed you.”
Had you not been halfway to an orgasm, you probably would’ve perked up at his words; he’d missed you? Michael Langdon was admitting that he’d missed you?
The words had come out all at once, like he’d blurted them without thought in the midst of his mind-numbing pleasure; you were sure he was kicking himself for having allowed himself to say something so vulnerable to you, but it was too late- he couldn’t swallow his words back up, as much as you were sure he wanted to.
You smiled a heavy-lidded, lust-drunk smile. Michael Langdon had missed you.
Hooking his arm underneath you, he began forming tight circles over your swollen bud with his fingertips, and within seconds you were nearing your climax. Only Michael could touch you like this, make you euphoric like this. Only Michael could make you give yourself over, body and mind and soul, over and over again until the end of time.
“Oh fuck, Michael, please—“ you panted, and his fingers sped up against your clit, forming shapes over the bundle of nerves until your legs grew weak.
He gave one final thrust into your heat, slamming against your cervix and making contact with your sensitive inner walls, and then you were cumming, hard, his thick load spilling inside you at the same time, making you his.
His. You were his.
“Did you really miss me, Michael?” you asked between ragged breaths, voice small, not worrying whether or not you sounded needy or pathetic.
He leaned down, his upper body flat against your back, brushing your (h/c) hair away from your shoulder and pressing his lips against your jaw. “Yeah. I really did.”
“Good, because I missed you too,” you said, giggling weakly. He turned you around, allowing you to partially lie back on his desk as he met his bitten-red lips with yours, the salt of his sweat ripe on your tastebuds. The kiss was short-lived, but passionate, and you found yourself pouting when he pulled away, a silvery string of saliva stretching crudely between your flushed faces.
You swore you could see stars in his eyes as he surveyed your face, twinkling brightly in the pink lighting of his bedroom.
“I’m never gonna let you slip away from me again,” he said. “I promise.”
Chapter 6: vi
Michael’s bedroom had become, to you, a world all of its own. Whenever you were there, lying amidst the plaid-printed comforter and inhaling the distinct scent of Michael that clung to his pillowcase, you’d feel as though the outside world had, for the time being, ceased to exist altogether.
You were certain you spent more time in Michael’s room than your own nowadays; there was just something so comforting about his room, even despite the cringe-worthy posters of half-naked girls that never failed to make you roll your eyes. There was something comforting about Michael.
Most nights you’d hang out there, even when Michael scoffed at your presence, insisting that he was busy (but smiling with a knowing look in his eyes all the same). Sometimes you’d watch him play his computer games, other times you’d lie with your head on his chest and watch South Park reruns (god, was Michael immature, you’d come to realize, after witnessing him laugh at one too many dick jokes), and oftentimes you’d do nothing but have constant, urgent sex.
Urgent- recently things had seemed that way, like not a single second in one another’s company could be put to waste. As the weather grew warmer and the months passed by at a startlingly rapid pace, it became increasingly apparent that there wasn’t much time left.
Both of you had finished sending in your college applications, and soon enough, you’d both be graduating high school- a thought that filled you with dread.
You’d grown so fond of having Michael at an arm’s length at all times, being able to creep into his room whenever you felt particularly bored or or lonely or horny. What would you do once you were away at college? Thinking about living Michael-less again filled you with thousands of emotions, all pooled up in the pit of your belly, that you intended to ignore and deal with later.
This couldn’t keep on, you knew. It was inevitable that things would eventually have to end between the two of you. But when?
You found yourself lost in thought as you laid next to Michael one night; he wore only his boxers, one arm lifted so he could scroll through his phone while he idly wrapped the other around you. Lifting your head slightly, you looked at his flawless profile, a sound of vague discontent coming up from the back of your throat as you debated saying something.
He turned to you, quirking an eyebrow and setting his phone down on his chest. “What?”
“I dunno,” you said. You turned onto your side so you were pressed closer up against his warm body, splaying your palm flat on his soft tummy. He smelled good, you noticed, gratefully inhaling the boyish, woodsy scent of his deodorant as you nuzzled your nose against his skin. “I was just thinking.”
“About?” He was tracing a pattern on your back with his fingertips, something you were sure he was doing absentmindedly.
“Graduation,” you said. This, of course, wasn’t the full truth, but you weren’t about to make yourself seem unnecessarily needy by mentioning that you were also thinking about the fact that in a matter of months, you and Michael could no longer continue…whatever the hell this was.
You doubted Michael had even thought about it. In fact, you doubted he even cared. Once he got to college, he’d have a fresh slew of girls eager to jump on his dick, and he would probably forget all about you.
“I can’t fucking wait,” he said, and you frowned, lifting your head so you could meet his gaze. “The graduation parties are gonna be fucking insane. I’ll have to teach you how to play beer pong before so you don’t embarrass yourself.”
“Aren’t you, like, scared to graduate?” Aren’t you scared of losing me? is what you really wanted to ask, but of course you held your tongue.
He squinted his eyes like you’d just said the most incomprehensible thing he’d ever heard. “Fuck no. I’ve been done with high school since freshman year. Plus, college is gonna be fucking lit.”
You rolled your eyes at his usage of the word lit, heart sinking ever-so-slightly at his nonchalance. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be really lit, having a new set of groupies lined up at your disposal.”
His expression shifted, a cocky smirk crossing his plump lips at the obvious bitterness behind your words. Fuck. You definitely shouldn’t have said that. “Aw, is someone jealous?”
“No,” you said defensively, cheeks burning up as Michael’s lips continued to curl upwards at the corners, hooded eyes flashing mischievously.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice suddenly dropping several octaves, craning his neck so that he could speak into your ear. “Your pussy will always be my favorite.”
Your eyelids flickered at the unexpected vulgarity of his words, and it took everything inside you not to bite your lip. You couldn’t keep doing this with him- you had to talk about this, like mature soon-to-be adults, instead of having sex in an attempt to avoid the topic.
“But— Michael,” you said, tone pitched almost to the point of whining. “Don’t you ever think about what’s gonna happen between us once we leave for college?”
Aaand— there it was. Fuck it. If you sounded needy, so be it.
His grin faltered for a moment, an emotion that you couldn’t quite decipher crossing his face for a mere fragment of a second. Then he shifted, returning to his previous demeanor and promptly rolling on top of you. “Let’s just have fun, baby. We don’t have to think about that yet.”
His lips grazed your neck, and he began trailing kisses from your jugular over to the front of your throat, and then to your jaw. Your breath hitched, stomach dipping as you were instantly overcome with arousal- it was just that easy, apparently.
“Michael,” you breathed, squirming beneath the weight of his lean frame. “Michael, can we please talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?” he said coolly. He moved his head down so that he was planting kisses down the valley between your breasts, which was covered by the oversize sleep shirt you wore (which you’d “borrowed” from Michael). “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
He continued moving down until he was resting between your parted thighs, wasting no time before working your lace panties down your legs and discarding them off the side of the bed. He spread your legs, hoisting one up to rest over his toned shoulder as he eyed your bare, wet cunt, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Mine,” he mumbled, placing an open-mouthed kiss to your soft inner thigh. His.
Maybe he was right. Maybe it would be better if you didn’t think about it, didn’t take things so seriously.
Or maybe you’d simply fallen under his spell for the umpteenth time, seduced by his sweet talking and expert touch and sparkling blue eyes. This prospect seemed far more likely.
“You don’t have to worry about anything, baby. Just relax…” His soft blond waves grazed against your inner thighs and you shivered, rolling your hips forward impatiently and eliciting a low chuckle from his full, parted lips. “So needy. Does my baby sis want me to make her cum all over my tongue? Hm?”
Without thinking, you took a handful of his silky hair in one hand, pushing your pelvis up towards him until you could feel his mouth against your core. Much to your disappointment, however, he pulled back, looking up at you from between your legs with glinting eyes.
“Say it,” he said, tone velvety and seductive as his large, veined hands slid underneath your shirt to grope your tits. “Tell your big brother what you want him to do to you.”
On one hand, you wanted to smack him- could he stop with all that step-sibling talk already? God, it just made things so weird.
…But on the other hand…
“Want you to make me cum, Mikey…” You batted your eyes down at him, making sure to speak with as much syrupy sweetness as you could manage; you saw his jaw just barely clench at your words, and inwardly you smiled. “Please. Wanna feel your mouth all over me.”
“My bad girl,” he cooed, dragging his tongue up between your folds and circling the pointed edge around your clit. “So glad I was the first one to claim this perfect little cunt.”
He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it into his hot mouth and pressing his tongue harshly against it; you sighed, tugging at his hair as your head fell back into the pillows, his hands roughly kneading your tits until they stung.
“That feel good, baby?” he breathed, although the question was entirely unnecessary- if anyone gave good head, it was Michael Langdon, and he knew it.
He pulled one hand from underneath your shirt so he could form circles over your clit with his thumb, his tongue moving to lap at your opening before easing inside.
“Fuck, Michael,” you sighed, twisting your fist perhaps a bit too hard, because he drew his head back from your aching heat to shoot you a glare.
“Can you not rip my hair out of my head, please?” he said irritably, his mouth and chin glistening with your arousal.
“Not like you haven’t done it to me a million times,” you mumbled.
“What was that?” he asked gruffly, yanking you closer to him by your thigh, which was still draped over his shoulder. “You wanna be a bitch? ‘Cause I can treat you like a bitch if that’s what you want.”
You lifted your head to give him a pointed look through narrowed eyes. “Just shut up and eat my pussy, dumbass.”
“Not with that attitude,” he said, crawling up your body and wrapping his fingers loosely around your throat. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, pale eyes boring into yours, but you could tell he was trying his hardest not to laugh. “I thought you wanted to be a good girl?”
You smirked, suddenly having found yourself in a bratty mood. “Nah, not today.”
Apparently you were looking to get destroyed. You saw something shift in Michael’s features, licking his lips hungrily as he slowly looked you up and down.
“Okay, if that’s how you wanna play.” In an instant, he had you flipped over so you were lying flat on your stomach, your insides buzzing with anticipation over what was to come; he slowly trailed his fingertips down from the base of your neck and along the expanse of your spine, stopping when he reached the small of your back. There was a brief stall in his motions, and then a loud crack as he landed a firm slap on your ass.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to try,” he said, taking his other hand to spread your ass cheeks before him. “Since you wanna be a bad girl tonight, I think you’ll like it.”
You wiggled nervously, bringing your arms under your chin as Michael leaned over off the side of his bed to grab something from his bedside table drawer. As much as you were apprehensive to find out what he was planning, you trusted Michael- you usually liked anything he introduced you to.
You heard shuffling behind you as Michael presumably undressed himself, immediately followed by a squirting sound— lube.
“Only good girls get it in their pussy,” Michael said, a slick-sounding noise coming from behind you as Michael pumped the lube up and down his cock. “Bad girls? They get it in the ass.”
“M-Michael-“ you started, voice trailing off when he began rubbing a cool substance against the opening of your ass, massaging the puckered skin with steady circles before dipping the tip of his finger inside. “Fuck!”
He sank his finger deeper, the lube assisting in this action; it still hurt, though, your tight, untouched hole being stretched for the first time- and he expected you to take his dick!?
As much as the idea frightened you, you couldn’t deny that there was something exciting about Michael claiming all of you, every last part.
“Just relax, baby,” he murmured, pumping his finger in and out of you until he felt you were sufficiently stretched out. He added a second finger, a low groan passing your lips as he quickened his pace, the intrusion encompassing you with a combination of pleasure and discomfort. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
“Yeah, no shit,” you retorted, trying to catch your breath. “It’s my asshole, idiot.”
“I was trying to talk dirty,” he snapped, thrusting his fingers in you deeper and brushing against something that made you see stars.
“How about just focus on doing what you’re doing instead of talking so much,” you said, arching your back to give him better access to you. Of course he’d been right about you liking this, you thought almost bitterly- he always knew what you were going to like.
“You really wanna be a brat tonight, huh?” he said, scissoring his fingers apart inside you to stretch your narrow walls even further. You gasped, head falling to the mattress as a jolt of pain shot throughout your body. “Must not want me to go easy on you.”
You said nothing (not that you’d be able to speak if you wanted to, seeing that your breath was caught in your throat). He continued fucking you with his fingers until he could slide them in and out with ease, pulling them out and aligning the head of his cock with your entrance instead.
“Such a little slut for me,” he said, shifting his weight so he was kneeling between your legs. He lifted you up at the hips, just barely pressing his cock into your now-stretched hole. “Now all your holes are mine.”
“How do you know I didn’t let my ex fuck me in the ass?” you teased, moving your hips from side to side as he began pushing himself deeper.
A hand landed on the back of your neck, pushing you down so your face was buried in the pillow; seconds later, your ass was met with a sharp smack.
“Yeah, right. Like you’d let anyone besides me be the first,” he said, pausing for a moment before continuing. “…You wouldn’t, right?”
You stifled a laugh- you were sure there was nothing Michael feared more than finding out you’d given away your anal virginity to someone else- and a “circle jerking jock”, no less. You supposed that maybe it wasn’t the wisest choice to intentionally piss Michael off right as he was about to fuck you in the ass, but you were having too much fun to stop.
“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, the pads of Michael’s fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “I mean, he fucked me better than you anyway.”
The last part was a blatant lie meant to rile Michael up, and you knew Michael knew it; still, he brought one hand from your hips to the back of your head, wrapping a strand of your hair around his palm and forcefully pulling it back.
“Really? He fucked you better I do?” In one sharp forward motion, he entered you almost fully, earning him a weak cry from your parted mouth. “Made you cum better than I do?”-he paused to scoff- “I bet he couldn’t even make you cum.”
Goddamn it. There was another thing Michael was right about, not that you were about to let him know that.
“He didn’t know about that spot inside you that makes you cum so hard you cry, or how to tease you until you’re all needy and desperate, begging to be filled up like the whore you are,” he continued, and you could practically hear the cocky grin on his face as he spoke, his hips still as he waited for you to adjust to the feeling of a dick being in your ass. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
You kept silent, knowing better than to challenge him again.
He laughed, your lower body trembling in arousal and agony as he gingerly slid inside the rest of the way. “Of course I’m right. So keep your mouth shut unless it’s to take my cock.”
With that, he began fucking you- hard and steady, his hips rocking back ever-so-slightly before jutting forward again, the sensation so intense that your eyes rolled back into your skull. Taking fistfuls of Michael’s sheets in each hand, you let out a raspy whine, tears darkening the pillowcase under your head with large wet spots.
“Fuck, you really are a bad girl, aren’t you?” he snickered, upon hearing your soft moans that had been muffled by his pillows.
You nodded mindlessly, pushing your hips back weakly with every thrust Michael administered, vision going blurry at the corners each time he seated himself all the way inside you. You’d never felt anything like it before- you were so full that it felt you might fall apart at any moment, completely at Michael’s mercy.
“You like that? Like it when I stretch you out?” he grunted, and you could tell that he was already close, your tight hole clenching with every burst of pain he inflicted with his cock. Leaning forward, he hooked one toned arm around your thigh so he could mercilessly rub your clit, hissing lowly as he pounded inside you fully again.
You groaned, gritting your teeth as he formed fast shapes over your sensitive bud, white spots forming in front of your eyes as he gradually increased his speed.
Fuck, it hurt, but both you and Michael knew by now that you liked pain, liked the way it matched together so perfectly with pleasure.
“You doing okay, baby?” Michael whispered as he pushed a few moist strands of hair away from your face, his sweat-covered chest pressing firmly against your back.
A gravelly “m’fine,” was all you could manage.
“Good girl,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear before he brought himself back to a standing position, fingers still working at your clit. “Taking me so well, like always.”
You found yourself smiling weakly at his praise, cheek flush against Michael’s now-tearstained pillows; your stomach dropped, Michael’s fingers still massaging your clit with precision until you were panting, abdomen tightening as you neared your climax.
It wasn’t long before you were cumming, still listening to him breathing heavily as he chased his own impending orgasm behind you. When you felt both hands return to your hips, his fingers gripping your tender skin until you whimpered, you knew he was close to the edge.
“You want your ass filled with my cum?” he said breathlessly, and you could tell it was taking everything inside him to properly get the words out. He slapped your ass, the sound crisp and loud, and you inhaled sharply. “Answer me.”
“Y-yes, Michael, I want it…” you said, half-dazed, voice so low you weren’t sure he’d even heard you. “Want your cum in my ass. Please…”
“Fuck.” Hurriedly, he impaled you until his balls slapped crudely against your ass; then, with a string of incoherent expletives, he shot his warm load deep inside you.
He stayed seated inside for a moment, placing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.
“Fuck. You’re my good girl, aren’t you, (y/n)?” He pulled out of you slowly, running his fingers through the cum that was now leaking out of your hole and down your thighs. “So fucking good for me.”
He turned your limp body over so you were on your back, falling to lie beside you. Through half-open eyes, you surveyed him, boyishly handsome with damp curls clinging to his glowing forehead, flat torso rising and falling as he laced his fingers over his chest. God fucking damn it, was he beautiful.
“I can’t believe you actually let me fuck you in the ass,” he said, spit-glossed lips curving upwards at the corners as he flashed his perfect top row of teeth.
“I can’t believe it either,” you muttered, feigning slight irritation, although truthfully, you could believe it- you’d do anything for Michael.
He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, moving to pull you up against his chest. “You’re what my friends would call a keeper.”
Outwardly, you laughed, but his words made your heart sink for a reason you couldn’t explain.
A keeper. If only he really believed that.
For a while, things kept on like this- neither of you wanted to talk about the future, and so whenever it was mentioned, you’d wind up having sex to avoid the conversation you both were avoiding.
And then, one day, you brought in the mail to find that you’d received a letter from your top college— you’d been accepted.
That night, your parents had something of a makeshift celebration- your father insisted upon going out to dinner despite your protests, which was how you found yourself in a cramped Cheesecake Factory booth, thigh pressed up against Michael’s as your father and Miriam bickered across from you. You couldn’t help but notice that the entire situation felt vaguely familiar.
“Is it just me, or have the prices here gone up?” your father said, squinting his eyes to better read the small menu lettering.
“I told you we didn’t have to come here,” you mumbled, elbows leant on the marble surface of the table.
“Don’t be silly, sweetie,” Miriam said. “We have to celebrate.”
“God, these prices are ridiculous, though. Why don’t we just leave and go to Applebee’s instead?” your father continued, loud enough that you were sure any passing waiter might be able to hear; in unison, you and Michael groaned.
“(Your dad’s name)!” said Miriam, eyes widened in disbelief as she turned back to you with a forced smile. “Don’t mind your cheapskate of a father, (y/n). You totally deserve to celebrate. You must be so excited!”
“Yep,” you said.
And you were excited- for the most part, at least. It just seemed like time had passed by so quickly: you’d been so wrapped up in all the meaningless teenage drama and angst of your senior year that it hadn’t even occurred to you how soon it would all be ending. And now you were faced with a whole new problem altogether; something that, at one point, had seemed like more of a blessing than a curse.
Your impending life without Michael.
You’d been attempting to avoid the thought, but as time went on, you found yourself becoming less and less able to tuck it away to the back of your mind. You’d be committing to college soon, as would Michael (once he heard back from one of the few colleges he’d applied to) and then that was it.
Of course there would be the breaks between semesters and during holidays; there was no question of whether you and Michael would see each other again. You probably wouldn’t have even been worried at all, had the two of you been strictly stepsiblings-with-benefits, but you were fairly certain that both you and Michael knew that wasn’t exactly the case here.
Maybe you were being delusional for thinking so. Anyone with common sense knew that Michael Langdon was a fuckboy, an asshole who knew how to charm girls into sucking his dick and nothing more. To think that there was anything deeper beyond your relationship (if you could even call it that) was probably foolish. And yet…
God, he had you whipped. It was nauseating, really. Only a few months ago, you’d been desperate for the school year to end so you’d never (or, at least, almost never) have to see Michael’s stupidly beautiful face again. Now, the mere thought of no longer being around him, no longer hearing his smart-ass comments and borderline-objectifying remarks made you feel queasy.
Of course the one boy you’d ever been hung up on like this had to be your fuckboy stepbrother, of all people. It was just your luck to wind up in a situation as convoluted and ridiculous as this one.
“What kinds of things are you thinking of doing in college?” asked Miriam, obviously aiming to fulfill her supportive stepparent quota for the evening. “Are you planning to join a sorority?”
Michael snorted. “You really think (y/n) would be able to get into a sorority?”
You scowled, making sure your arm was completely hidden underneath the table before pinching Michael’s thigh. “If I wanted to join a sorority- which I don’t, by the way- I would definitely be able to get in. So shut up.”
“Right. Keep telling yourself that,” he said, smirking in that stupid, insufferable way that made you want to punch him right in his perfect face. Asshole.
Miriam shook her head in a way that said oh, these darned kids as your father continued to ignore everyone, still immersed in the contents of his menu. “Be nice, Michael.”
“What are you gonna do once you get to college, huh, (y/n)?” said Michael through a thin-lipped smile. You recognized that look- it was the face he made whenever he was intentionally trying to upset you. Of fucking course he’d choose today, of all days, to be an asshole. “I’m sure all the douchey frat guys will be allll over you. If you actually go to parties, that is.”
“You’re gonna be a douchey frat guy, Michael. So I really wouldn’t be talking if I were you.” You crossed your arms defensively over your chest, leaning back to rest your back against the padded booth.
“You really think I’d join a frat?” Michael asked, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not sticking a pinecone up my ass for anyone, especially not a bunch of circle jerkers.”
“Huh? What about pinecones?” your father said suddenly, putting down his menu to more directly focus on the conversation going on across from him.
You rubbed your temples, letting out a slow, exasperated exhale.
“(Y/n) was just telling me how excited she is to meet all the frat boys at college,” said Michael, flashing you a shit-eating grin.
“I was not!”
Just then, the waitress came over- a woman in her mid-sixties with bleach blond hair (you certainly wouldn’t admit this, but you were almost grateful to find that the waitress wasn’t a cute, younger girl, just so you wouldn’t be forced to watch Michael flirting with someone else in front of you).
As everyone ordered their food, you reached out and wrapped your fingers around Michael’s wrist, pulling his hand over to your bare thigh and squeezing it; he peered over at you, cocking an eyebrow inquisitively- usually he was the one pursuing you in public, so you didn’t doubt that this had caught him off guard.
You gave Michael a pout, widening your eyes faux-innocently as you traced your fingers along the veins in his hands.
To your disappointment, Michael shooed you away, hardly looking at you as he brought his attention back to the waitress. Huh. Definitely not typical Michael behavior. Once the waitress had headed off, you decided to take to a different approach: delicately, you placed your hand on Michael’s crotch, mouth watering as you grasped the large bulge that protruded from the front of his jeans.
At this, his body stiffened, but still he ignored your advances, pushing your hand off his lap and shooting you an indecipherable look from the corner of his eye.
God, what the hell was his problem tonight?
Just one more try, you thought, returning your hand to where it’d been seconds before and palming the outline of his cock. His breath hitched, hands flying to wrap around the edge of the table as you ran your thumb up and down his clothed length.
“I gotta take a piss,” Michael muttered, removing your hand from his lap as he abruptly stood up.
“Michael!” scolded Miriam, but he was already gone.
“I have to go to the bathroom too, actually,” you said suddenly, not bothering to worry about how suspicious it might look that you were following Michael. If your parents had gone this long without noticing anything weird between you and Michael, you doubted they ever would.
You weaved your way through the tables, heading to the dimly lit hallway that led to the bathroom; you could see Michael about to open the door to the men’s bathroom, walking so slowly he was practically sauntering. His shoulders were slumped, hands deep in the pockets of his skinny jeans, and for a second you wondered why the hell he looked so goddamn sad.
“Why were you acting like a little bitch back there?” you called after him, leaning one shoulder against the wall.
He stopped in his tracks, sighing deeply as he turned around to look at you. The playful expression you were so used to seeing on his face was nowhere to be found, and in all honesty, his seriousness unsettled you. “(Y/n)… we are literally out in public.”
“Not like that’s ever made a difference to you before.”
“Well, now that we’re adults, I think we should stop doing stupid shit like that.” He was talking out of his ass, clearly- you could tell there was something else he wanted to say.
“What, are you mad at me or something?” Oh god. Stop acting like a needy girlfriend, (y/n), you thought to yourself. Stop it right the fuck now.
“Why would I be mad at you?” His back was resting against the door to the bathroom now, obviously no longer worried about having to take a piss, as he’d claimed. You admired him for a second- the way his short-sleeved button-up hugged the barely bulging muscles in his arms, the way he had perhaps one too many top buttons undone. Fuck, he looked good. But then again, when didn’t he? “What would even make you think that?”
“‘Cause you were being an asshole at the table, talking about frat guys and shit.” You swallowed, bouncing anxiously on the balls of your feet as you considered what to say next. There was more, the words lingering on the back of your tongue, but you didn’t know how to go about phrasing them. “And honestly, Michael? It seems like you aren’t even happy for me.”
He raised his eyebrows, plump pink lips curving upwards at one corner. “What did you want me to do? Eat your fucking ass?”
Well, yeah, that’d be nice…you thought idly, before mentally kicking yourself for being so goddamn thirsty all the time.
“No, but you know this is a big deal to me, and you haven’t even said congratulations,” you said.
“Okay, then, congrats,” he said, his tone suddenly turning ice cold. “I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun three hours away with all your new frat boy friends.”
And, with that, he turned on his heel and went into the bathroom, letting the door slam shut and rattle noisily in its hinges behind him.
So that’s why he’s upset. Your lips twitched, and then you were smiling, big and stupid.
You knew the situation shouldn’t have made you happy- in fact, happiness was the last emotion you’d ever expect to feel after one of Michael’s little bitch fits- but there was something so satisfying about knowing that Michael was worried about you meeting other guys, knowing that he didn’t want you three hours away from him, knowing that maybe he felt the same way about you that you did about him.
Or maybe you were putting too much thought into things, like always. Whatever— you’d take what you could get.
Michael had made it a point, after your confrontation, to avoid you. By now you were used to him doing things like this; you’d come to realize that these cold-shoulder periods were simply his way of recuperating his emotions.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Michael was accepted into his own top choice (god, was he lucky that he had the entire high schools’ staff wrapped around his finger, because lord knew he hadn’t exerted a single bit of effort to get good grades)- a school that was far closer to home than the one you’d committed to. You’d both ordered your cap and gown, and then, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, graduation day finally rolled around.
You could hardly believe that the day had come. You could still remember your very first day of high school, years before when you were still naive and innocent- things had been so simple back then.
Now, as you stood before the mirror in the girl’s bathroom, dressed in your deep blue graduation gown with the matching cap tucked under your arm, you could hardly wrap your head around how much your life had changed, how much you’d changed.
In about a half an hour, the entire senior class was due to meet outside at the football field, where hundreds of cheap fold-out chairs had been set up in front of the podium your principal would be standing behind. You were dreading the ceremony, groaning internally when you thought of the unforgiving June heat, and the fact that you’d have to walk up there, a sweaty mess, to retrieve your diploma in front of everyone.
Once it was over, though, you’d be free. And god, what a frightening thought that was.
You didn’t have much of an idea of what your future held, but you supposed you’d figure that out later. Popping the top back onto your tube of lipstick and tossing it into your purse, you examined yourself thoughtfully before positioning the cap on your head and fiddling with the tassel so it fell just right.
You imagined Michael doing the same thing in the boy’s bathroom, spending far too much time adjusting his hair in the mirror, making poses at himself and practicing the way he’d smile when it was his turn to get his diploma. The thought was so silly, so endearing, that it made your heart hurt a little.
Michael won’t ignore you forever, you told yourself. He just needs to sort things out with himself.
You left the bathroom, pulling your bag over your shoulder and walking down the hall towards the front entrance of the school. People had already begun clearing out, and although you could hear laughter echoing throughout the hallways, there weren’t many fellow seniors in sight.
The pale yellow hallways looked dismal (or more dismal than usual, at least), stripped of their colorful posters for the summer. You dragged your fingertips along a freshly-bare wall as you strolled leisurely, hoping to waste as much time as possible before you were obligated to go outside.
As you walked past an empty classroom, you heard shuffling coming from an adjacent hallway; in an instant, you were pressed up against the door, a large hand clamped tightly over your mouth. It took a split second for you to process the all-too-familiar scent of Michael, your heart rate immediately slowing once you figured out what was going on.
“Michael, what the hell are you doing?” you demanded, once you’d utilized an obscene amount of strength to tear his hand away from your mouth.
He was half-smiling, working a wad of pink-tinted cinnamon gum in his mouth, pale eyes shimmering with fondness as he looked down at you. You were lost in his gaze for all of a few seconds, his chest pinning you back against the door, when you remembered that you were both in public, and not just in public- in school.
“Michael, are you fucking cra-“
Your words were promptly cut off as Michael pulled you back, opening the classroom door with one hand while he used the other to hold onto your wrist. Then he tugged you inside, checking halfheartedly over his shoulder to make sure that nobody had seen.
“I’ve been thinking a lot, and I think I finally figured things out,” he said, pushing you back onto the teacher’s desk and wedging himself between your parted thighs, taking a moment to hike up your graduation gown so your legs were exposed. “Any second that I’m not fucking you is a second wasted.”
He didn’t give you the chance to respond (or mock him for his corniness), pressing his lips fervently to yours with such intensity that you fell back onto the desk, your graduation cap falling off and toppling to the ground. Instinctively, you kissed him back, fingernails pressing into his back (which bore the same deep blue fabric as you) as you attempted to match the urgency of his kiss.
This was a bad idea. No, this was an awful idea. So why, oh why, didn’t you want to stop?
“We can’t do this here,” you said breathlessly, during one interval when Michael had broken away to catch his breath, a strand of saliva stretching between your faces.
“Sure we can,” he said, reaching up the short floral dress you wore under your gown and fumbling with your underwear. “We just have to be quick.”
“W-what if someone walks in?” you pressed, allowing Michael to work your panties down your legs and discard them on a desk. He shrugged, bunching up the fabric of his own gown so he could unbutton his jeans and retrieve his cock from its confines.
“Who cares? It’s not like we can get suspended,” he said, stunning you, as usual, with his nonchalance. He took his shaft in one hand, already semi-erect, rubbing his leaking head against your inner thigh. You wanted so desperately to argue, to push him away, but fuck— this hold Michael had on you had to be supernatural, because all you could bring yourself to do was pull him closer.
“Michael, we’re stepsiblings. People are gonna lose their fucking minds if they find out—”
“—So then they won’t find out.” He ran his cock through your slick folds, evoking a soft mewl from the back of your throat. “Like I said, we just have to be quick.”
You pressed your lips shut, squeaking quietly when he penetrated you in one slow thrust.
“Fuck,” he groaned, clutching your upper thighs with a bruising hold, balls slapping noisily against your skin as he bottomed out inside you. “Such a bad girl for me.”
“M-Michael…” you whined, rolling your hips in melodic time with Michael’s, his pelvis gradually slamming against yours harder and harder until he’d adopted an almost ruthless pace to fuck you with. He peppered your jawline and throat with kisses as he continued to fuck into you, your legs raising to wrap around his torso, broken moans leaving you as the blunt edge of the desk dug into your lower back.
“You’ll do anything for your big brother, won’t you?” he growled against your throat, cock brushing against something spongey and sensitive inside you and sending your lower body into convulsions. “Spreading your legs and letting me split your little cunt whenever I feel like it…”
Your pussy clenched at these words, cheeks burning in shame at the truth behind them—it was almost embarrassing how perpetually willing you were to let him have his way with you. He hissed, inserting one hand between your warm bodies to work at your clit, the other extending up to your face so he could clasp his hand over your mouth.
“Such a fucking slut for me,” he said between sharp inhales, and you could taste the salt of sweat on his palm; his eyes were droopy with lust, pupils dilated so that the baby blue was almost entirely eclipsed— he was so beautiful, and you couldn’t help but admire him as he pumped into you. “You’re fucking dripping. I bet you wanna get caught.”
Realistically, you did not want to get caught, but the idea was still an interesting one, to say the least. You sank your fingernails deeper into Michael’s shoulders, hard enough that you’d probably leave half-moon shaped imprints in his skin, even through the tough material of his graduation gown.
“What would everyone think of you, hm? Knowing that you’re a little slut who loves being split on her stepbrother’s big cock?” he was speaking into your ear so low that he was barely whispering, chills erupting down your spine at the sheer lewdness of his words.
“I’ll bet all the guys would be lining up to get a taste of your slutty cunt if they knew how much of a whore you are,” he continued, impaling you with such aggression that your eyes rolled back into your skull. “Too bad that this pussy belongs to me.”
You couldn’t do much more than whimper, your teeth pressing against the inside of your mouth from the force of Michael’s hand against it.
From out in the hallway came a series of voices, and Michael stopped his thrusting, his cock still deep inside you. Your pussy twitched- your body’s natural attempt to resume the friction that had ceased and left you aching for more; both of you waited with bated breath for the group outside to pass the classroom, chests heaving in soundless unison.
“Fuck,” Michael grunted once the voices faded away, relocating his hand from your mouth to the desk, bracing himself with his palm flat against the faux-wooden surface as he returned to fucking you.
“Michael, please…” you moaned, rocking your hips underneath him impatiently. The prospect of being caught in such a compromising position was beginning to scare you, and as much as you never wanted to stop feeling the immense pleasure that only Michael could provide, you thought it’d be best to wrap things up for now.
“Shhhh.” He thumbed at your swollen bud roughly, your muscles tensing as you felt your orgasm start to build up in the pit of your belly. “Be a good girl for me and keep that pretty mouth shut.”
You did as you were told, closing your mouth and letting your head fall back as he slid in and out of your heat, making harsh contact with your cervix every time.
“Such a good girl,” he praised, cinnamon-scented breath hot on your neck as he nestled his face in your shoulder, biting down on the smooth skin beside your jugular. “Taking my cock so well.”
His thrusts grew sloppier with each passing second, and you tightened your legs around Michael’s waist, not wanting there to be even an inch of space between your bodies.
“Oh god…” you sighed, despite Michael’s demands, but at this point he was too far gone to scold you.
The sensation of Michael stretching you out, paired with his fingers against your most sensitive point, was far too much for you to bear- it didn’t take much more for the coil inside you to snap, sending you into an intense orgasm that had you seeing brilliantly colored fireworks amidst the boring gray-beige walls.
“Shit,” Michael grunted, your cunt squeezing around his length as he fucked you for all he was worth. You ground your hips up against him, crying out as he drove his cock so deep inside you that you swore you could feel it in your stomach.
A low, almost animalistic noise came from the depths of Michael’s throat as he came, his hot load filling you up and warming your insides. You laid there motionless, watching from underneath half-closed lids as he slowly pulled out and tucked himself back into his jeans. Your cheeks were flushed, hair matted to your damp forehead, lips swollen and glossy with spit; the cherry on top to complete your debauched look, though, was the thick cum dribbling down your inner thigh.
Michael’s eyes fell down to where his essence was spilling from you, a self-satisfied smirk crossing his lips as he reached forward and drew his fingertips through it.
“Open up,” he ordered, and you complied, granting him access to your mouth as he pressed his cum-coated fingers against your flattened tongue.
You wrapped your lips around him and sucked, eyes fluttering at his slightly bitter taste. Once he was sufficiently cleaned off, he withdrew his hand from your mouth with a loud, wet pop.
“That’s a good girl.”
You got up off the desk, recovering your purse from the ground where it had been abandoned before slipping your underwear back on underneath your dress. You probably would’ve preferred having some extra time to clean up, especially since Michael had came inside you, but that was out of the question for now.
You could only imagine Michael’s internal smugness at the thought that you’d be graduating high school with his cum leaking out of you.
“Fuck, we gotta go,” Michael said, checking his cell phone. “We have like five minutes.”
You slung your purse over your shoulder and hurried out into the hallway, ignoring the dull pain between your legs from how hard Michael had fucked you. Michael followed hot on your heels, and together you made your way through the vacant halls of your soon-to-be former high school, not bothering once to look back.
Chapter 7: vii
this is the final chapter of the story!!!! there will be an epilogue coming soon though!
Also yes, I thought Myrtle beach was in florida, not South Carolina. OOPS. LMFAOO
“Goddamn it, how hard is it for you to follow simple GPS directions?” Miriam’s voice was pitched in annoyance as she scolded your father, whose knuckles were near white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel.
“You know what? Why don’t I just pull over, and you drive instead?” your father snapped. You and Michael exchanged a glance in the back seat for what seemed like the thousandth time since you’d all loaded into the car several hours before.
In celebration of summer vacation, and you and Michael’s recent graduation from high school, your father and Miriam had decided to arrange something of an impromptu vacation. Your father was far too cheap to travel anywhere of any significant distance, so he’d decided that the next best option was to take a road trip down to Myrtle Beach, Florida.
“Oh my god, yes,” Michael had said to you after your parents had broken the news to you both. “Do you know how many half-naked sluts we’re gonna see there? Myrtle Beach is like, white trash central.”
That comment had been the fuel for one of the many arguments you and Michael had engaged in following graduation; there was tension in the air, hanging thick and heavy over your heads as the days crept along, and the mindless bickering between you and Michael was at an all time high.
Not that it stopped either of you from having sex. Quite the contrary, in fact— you and Michael had been having so much sex that it was maybe even getting a little ridiculous.
“Seriously, Michael?” you’d said after his crude comment, your tone far whinier than originally intended. “Go fuck one of those half-naked white trash sluts instead of me, then.”
It’d taken him several minutes to convince you that he’d been joking (even though you were still fairly certain that he’d been dead serious) followed by some admittedly top-quality make up sex, which proved to be enough to convince you to move on.
Maybe something was in the water, you thought. Even Miriam and your father had seemed to be fighting constantly as of late, and the stressful atmosphere of the household made you feel constantly on edge; it almost felt like there was an impending disaster coming, one that was impossible to prevent. You only hoped that whatever disaster might be on its way would avoid you and Michael.
Right now, Michael was leaning with his forehead resting against the window, a bored look on his face as he skipped through the music playing on his phone. He only had one earbud in, the other draped over his shoulder (presumably so he could eavesdrop on your parents’ ridiculous arguments), dressed casually in light gray sweatpants and a faded Jimi Hendrix shirt.
Fuck, he looked good. He was jostled slightly with each slight motion of the car as it moved forward, the muscles in his arms subtly flexing as he reached up to run his fingers through his soft, tousled blond hair. For a second, your mind was clouded with images of a beach-bound Michael, his tanned, water-speckled torso lean but still toned, swimming trunks clinging to the lowest point of his narrow hips and leaving almost nothing up to the imagination. Your mouth watered.
“You know, if I’d driven, we would’ve actually arrived at the hotel by the time the GPS said,” Miriam said.
“So why didn’t you!?” your father exclaimed.
You locked eyes with Michael yet again, whose pale eyes glimmered with slight amusement at the nonstop back-and-forth between your parents.
“Because you insisted on driving.”
“Insisted? All I did was offer to drive out of the kindness of my— oh fuck, I think we just passed the hotel.”
“We did,” offered Michael flatly from the backseat, the soft glow of the neon hotel sign reflecting in his pupils as he craned his neck to follow the building.
“Goddamn it,” your father muttered, scanning the road for somewhere to make a U-turn.
“Nice going,” Miriam muttered under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.
You were jerked forward as your father abruptly turned the car around in an act that you were ninety-nine percent sure was illegal; in a matter of seconds, the car was parked in the hotel parking lot, officially marking the end of the several-hour-long trek. Everyone seemed to let out a unanimous sigh of relief.
“Fucking finally,” said Michael, opening the door and swinging his legs outside so his ratty Converse sneakers made contact with the asphalt. You followed suit, making your way around to the trunk, which you popped open to retrieve your colorful travel bag.
The sound of crickets chirping through the mild Florida night was soothing despite its incessantness, and you found yourself smiling idly, a warm breeze gently caressing your face. So maybe you weren’t in the goddamn Dominican Republic, but you were still prepared to enjoy your time here.
Once everyone had taken their respective belongings from the trunk, your father led the way to the front entrance of the hotel.
The hotel lobby was nice, but certainly nothing special; it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the sole reason your father had chosen this place above all others was because it was the cheapest. Your father, weighed down with his overstuffed black bag, trudged over to the front desk with a pained look on his face.
“Imagine this place is infested with roaches,” said Michael lowly, flashing you a shit-eating grin when your face paled at this terrifying prospect.
“Shut up. My dad isn’t that much of a cheapskate.”
“Or what if it’s haunted?” he said, furrowing his brows to mimic a deadly serious expression.
“It’ll be haunted by your ghost in about five seconds if you don’t shut your mouth.”
“I saw this thing online about a girl who went missing, and then they found her in the water tower of the hotel,” he continued, and you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t at all surprising that he was trying to scare you. “And like, all the people staying there were showering and stuff, but little did they know they were washing themselves in dead body water.”
“Can you shut up, please?”
His plump lips contorted into a devious smile. “What, am I scaring you?”
“No, you’re just being really fucking annoying.”
“Aww, don’t worry, (y/n). I’ll protect you from any ghosts or cockroaches that might be here.” He pulled you into a side hug, squeezing you against him with an iron grip as he nuzzled the top of your head with his chin. You pulled away, exerting minimal strength but still managing to evade his grasp.
“Are you going to be this obnoxious the entire trip?” you said, watching as your father appeared to be looking for something in his pockets. After patting himself down for several seconds, he said something to the man behind the front desk; whatever it was that he’d said resulted in Miriam’s face contorting into a look that could easily kill anyone three times over.
“Here we go,” Michael whispered, mouth twitching at the corners as he averted his attention away from you and onto your parents instead.
“You’re an idiot,” Miriam was saying, practically seething as she spoke. “A goddamn idiot. How the hell did you manage to forget the credit card?!”
Your father’s mouth opened and closed as he attempted to come up with a response good enough to satiate his fuming wife, but of course there was none.
“How did he forget the credit card?” Michael said.
Miriam huffed loudly as she began to dig through her purse, shooting your father a contemptuous glare when her hand emerged, leather wallet in tow. You watched as she pulled out her credit card, handing it over the front desk to the visibly uncomfortable man standing there.
You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the muscles in your arms starting to burn from the weight of your travel bag.
Michael, having apparently lost interest in your parents’ altercation, suddenly turned back to face you. “You think I’ll be able to pass for over 21 at the hotel bar?”
Before you could respond, your father was making his way over to you, brandishing two key cards in either hand. “We decided it’d be best for all of us if you and Michael had your own room. You guys don’t mind, do you?”
He handed you a card, and as you looked it over, you tried your hardest not to pay any attention to Michael.
It was truly astounding how clueless everyone seemed to be in regards to your relationship (if you could call it that) with your stepbrother, but you definitely weren’t complaining. Just the thought of having a room all to yourselves was enough to make your heart race.
“Of course we don’t mind,” you said with a smile.
“Just— y’know. Miriam and I have some things we need to work out, and, well, I don’t want you guys swept up in any of the drama,” said your father.
“Totally understandable, dad,” said Michael, beaming as he snaked his free arm around your shoulders. “I’m sure we’ll be able to manage. What do you think, (y/n)?”
Michael widened his eyes at you, the contorted features of his porcelain face dripping with faux-innocence.
“Yeah, I think so,” you said, tone cheerful and sweet.
In unison, you and Michael looked away from one another and back to your father. His eyes were shadowed with deep rings, and he looked more like he was about to head off to a 9-to-5 shift at a dead-end job rather than a vacation with his family. “You kids be good, all right?”
“Don’t worry,” you said, ripples of electricity making their way up your spine as Michael lightly stroked your shoulder with his calloused fingertips. “We will.”
“Room number 69, huh?” Michael said with a quirk of his eyebrow, licking his lips as he plucked the key card from your hand and slid it into its designated slot by the door. “It’s like they knew we were gonna be staying here.”
“You are eighteen years old,” you said in a monotone, though secretly Michael’s immature sense of humor and silliness were qualities that never failed in making your heart swell.
There was a subtle beep as the light next to the slot flickered green, and Michael pushed open the door with one shoulder, the other occupied with his bag. “How fucking awesome is this?”
You followed him into the modestly-sized room, discarding your bag at the end of one of the two pristinely made beds. Michael did the same, and without even giving you time to settle into your new surroundings, he pushed you firmly up against the nearest empty wall.
Even despite the fact that he’d been sitting in a hot car for several hours (unsurprisingly, your father was very stingy with the air conditioning), Michael still managed to smell good; the intoxicating mixture of his shampoo, paired alongside his boyish deodorant and woodsy cologne, was dizzying from such a close proximity.
“You didn’t waste any time,” you chuckled, cheeks flushing as he began to pepper kisses along your neck and behind your ear, lifting one hand to brush your hair over your shoulder.
“Why would I?” he said, his voice low and seductive. He took a moment to playfully nip at your earlobe, and you squealed, wrapping your arms around him so you could pull his firm torso closer to yours. “What else are you supposed to do when you’re left all alone with such a pretty girl?”
As much as you weren’t willing to admit it, your heart soared at this validation- Michael thought you were a pretty girl. Those words, coming from that perfect mouth, made you feel a childish sense of giddiness, gave you butterflies in the pit of your stomach like an innocent playground crush.
Michael wandered one hand up over the curve of your hip and onto your waist, lips still moving open-mouthed against your jugular and around to the front of your throat. Reaching up to the back of Michael’s head, you took a fistful of butterscotch-colored hair at the root, using it to guide him back towards your face. Then you kissed him, hard and passionate, your fingers threading easily through his waves as his tongue slipped past yours and into your mouth.
You assumed Michael’s phone had just gone off, but neither of you paid it any mind, your breath hitching as Michael slid one veined hand up under your tank top to grope your left breast.
“My pretty baby sis,” Michael breathed, swollen mouth slick with saliva. Panting softly, he continued to ignore his phone, tugging his t-shirt over his head and tossing it behind him haphazardly.
With his upper body exposed to you now, you took the opportunity to trace your fingers down the length of his subtly defined abs, stopping just beneath his navel. Just below that, after the cute trail of fuzzy blond hair that paved the way to his v-line, was the low-hanging waistband of his gray sweatpants; you hooked your fingers there, just barely pulling the fabric down as you eyed the mouthwatering bulge prominent in the front of his pants.
You couldn’t help yourself- biting your lower lip, you brought your hand between Michael’s legs and grasped his semi-erect length through the soft material of his pants.
Michael hissed, but he seemed to be somewhat distracted now; you knit your eyebrows as he twisted around to face the source of the interruption- his phone, which he’d left on one of the beds.
“What is that?” you asked, frowning. It wasn’t often that Michael tolerated anything getting in the way of his hookups, so you found it mildly concerning when he broke away from you entirely to go and grab his phone.
His tongue poked out of the corner of his lips as he looked at his screen, and you could tell that he was stifling a smirk. “Oh. Uh, it’s nothing.”
You moved from your place against the wall, approaching Michael with your arms crossed in front of your chest. Sure, maybe it was none of your business, seeing that you weren’t Michael’s girlfriend or anything, but he’d piqued your curiosity.
Ding! Ding! Michael fumbled with the phone for a second before turning it on silent.
You cocked your head to one side. “No really, what is that?”
Michael had hidden his phone behind his back now, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.
“I told you, it’s nothing.”
Okay, now you had to know.
“C’mon, lemme see,” you said, trying your hardest not to sound upset. Why were you upset, anyway? You reached around Michael to take his phone from his hand, which, surprisingly, he allowed you to do without much protest.
You looked down at his phone, jaw dropping as you began reading over the several notifications stretching down the length of his screen.
NEW MATCH! With Sofi
NEW MATCH! With Katherine
NEW MATCH! With Kristen
NEW MATCH! With Mallory
NEW MATCH! With Caitlin
NEW MATCH! With Anna
Your eyes flickered up to Michael’s face, down to the phone screen, and then back again, unsure of how exactly you were supposed to react to such a discovery. Michael just offered you a sheepish shrug, somehow only pissing you off further, and angrily you shoved his phone back into his hands.
“Are you fucking kidding? We’ve been here for less than an hour and you’re already trying to find hoes on Tinder?”
“Well, I mean, that’s one way to put it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to see what kind of girls live around here, I swear. I wasn’t actually gonna-“
“-Whatever,” you mumbled, bending over to unzip your travel bag. It wasn’t like you had any sort of right to be pissed- Michael could do what he wanted, and if what he wanted was to hook up with random Tinder girls, then so be it. Still, though, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.
You rifled around in your bag until you came upon the neat ziploc bag full of travel-sized shower essentials, which you tucked under your arm. “I’m gonna go take a shower. I feel gross.”
“Wait, (y/n). Are you mad at me?” You weren’t sure if he actually cared about hurting your feelings, or if he was worried that you wouldn’t want to fuck him anymore; either way, you didn’t think right now was the best of times to be honest about your feelings.
“Why would I be mad at you?” Your voice sounded dangerously close to breaking, and you knew it (and so did Michael, most likely).
“Well… I dunno. You seemed pretty pissed just now.”
“No, no. Do whatever you want. Fuck as many Tinder girls as your heart desires. It’s not like we’re exclusive.” You continued to search through your bag, pulling out your pajamas and hair towel and tucking them alongside your shower supplies.
“Someone sounds bitter,” Michael mused, causing you to narrow your eyes at him in a focused, pointed glare.
“I thought it was sort of established already that this-“ he motioned at himself, and then to you- “isn’t gonna go anywhere. So I don’t really see the harm in looking around.”
Instantly, you felt a lump form in the back of your throat.
He was right. You’d even said it yourself, that nothing good would ever become of this thing you had with Michael; as much as you wanted it to, it was impossible. So why did it hurt so bad to hear it coming from him?
“Which is why I’m not mad,” you said, swallowing thickly. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”
But, like the cliché you were, you did care. Thinking of Michael with anyone else made you feel sick to your stomach. But what were you supposed to do about it? You were his stepsister.
God, if only things had been different. If only the universe hadn’t brought you together in the most inconvenient and unconventional of ways.
You turned on your heels, leaving Michael behind as you made your way to the bathroom without another word.
Once you’d started the shower and adjusted the temperature, you stripped down, catching a glimpse in the mirror of the many marks adorning your body that Michael had left behind at some point or another- hickeys (some bright lilac and navy blue, while others were fading shades of yellow and pink, all speckled down your chest and over your breasts), fingerprint-shaped bruises, shallow scratches.
And those were just the physical ways that Michael had marked you; you were sure that if you turned yourself inside out, there would be thousands more markings to be found.
You thought maybe this was exactly what you needed right now: a long, hot shower to clear your head. Maybe, if the mood struck, you’d even cry a little bit, just to get your emotions in order.
You stepped into the shower, flinching at the intensity of the stream as it cascaded relentlessly over your body. Shutting your eyes, you ran your palms over your face, skin prickling at the pleasant warmth of the water. After you’d allowed your hair to get sufficiently soaked, you reached for your travel-sized bottle of shampoo, squirting some of the coconut-scented gel into your hand and working up a lather.
You were halfway through your usual hair-washing routine when you heard the bathroom door open; you opened one eye, hardly wider than a squint, to see a tall, blond-haired figure through the steamy glass shower door entering the bathroom. Though the thick layer of steam on the door heavily obscured the intruder, you were still able to see that whoever had entered was butt fucking naked.
There was a metallic squeak as the shower door slid open, revealing an image to you that must’ve been hand-delivered by an angel. There, in all his naked glory, stood Michael, one hand positioned by his side and the other gripping his impressively hard cock.
It was a miracle you didn’t slip and crack your skull open right then.
“Hey,” said Michael coolly, a smug smirk appearing on his lips when he noticed you staring at his length.
“Michael, what are you doing?” you asked, attempting to sound just a little less eager than you were feeling. You tilted your head back, quickly washing away the excess shampoo in your hair, and as you did this, Michael joined you in the shower.
“Saving water,” Michael replied, pulling the door shut and enclosing the two of you within the stream.
“How environmentally friendly of you.”
“Aww, are you still mad at me?” You tensed as he grabbed your hips and brought you closer to him, the head of his cock brushing your stomach and sending chills throughout your body.
“I was never mad at you,” you said flatly. You kept rinsing your hair, refusing to give Michael the attention he clearly was so desperately seeking (not yet, at least).
“You were a little jealous though, weren’t you?” he teased, squeezing your tits without warning and making you jump. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve already told you before that your pussy is my favorite.”
“I was never worried,” you snapped, but you couldn’t deny the arousal that immediately resulted from Michael’s words.
“Whatever you say, baby,” said Michael, spinning you around so that your back was pressed against his bare chest. You shivered at the feeling of his big cock on your ass, and all at once, whatever snarky comeback you’d been formulating disintegrated into nothingness.
Your eyes fell shut as Michael’s hands traveled over your body, his touch gentle but still possessive; he stopped at your tits, kneading the smooth peaks in both hands until they stung, kissing your shoulder when you squirmed at the slight discomfort. “Just relax and let your big brother take care of you.”
He retrieved your body wash off the ledge in the shower, gathering some in his palms and returning his attention to your tits. You leaned back, resting the back of your head on his broad shoulder as he began rubbing the body wash all over you (mainly focusing on your breasts, because what else would you expect from Michael Langdon?).
His slippery hands felt like heaven on your tits, pinching and toying with your nipples just the way you liked. It wasn’t until his hand began dipping lower, though, that your breath caught in your throat.
His fingers trailed past your stomach and down to cup your cunt, goosebumps erupting across your skin as he hummed in your ear. Your entire body reacted to his touch, muscles tightening and thighs trembling, hips rolling back so you could better feel his deliciously thick cock against your back.
“You like that? Like how I touch you?” he murmured, his words reverberating against your throat and igniting a fresh wave of arousal between your legs.
With one hand, he used his fingers to splay apart your outer lips, gathering some of your wetness by stroking up and down your slit while his other hand worked at your tits. A familiar heat began to spread from behind your navel, and paired with the near-scalding warmth and great pressure of the shower stream, you felt your head start to spin.
You laid your head back on Michael’s shoulder, trusting him to keep you balanced as you reclined limply against him. His fingers moved upwards again, using the sticky arousal on the tips of his fingers to massage slow, lazy circles over your aching bud; you let out a gravelly moan just as Michael administered a sharp pinch to your hardened nipple.
“Fuck, Michael… feels so good.”
You were well past the point of preserving your pride, bucking your hips against Michael’s hand while trying to squeeze your thighs shut around it, keeping him close to you.
“Hm? Is that right? You like when I touch your pussy?” His voice was husky, rich and warm like a roll of tropical thunder; swallowing noisily, you bobbed your head up and down in agreement.
Garnering what little energy you had left, you extended your arm behind you, spreading your fingers in search of Michael’s erection; tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips at the feeling of his stiff, smooth skin, you followed the slightly jutting vein that wound up the side of his length, stopping at the head of his cock and running your thumb over his leaking slit.
He groaned at the sensation, encouraging you on. You returned your hand to the base of his cock, grazing your fingers along his sensitive balls before taking a firm hold of his shaft, pumping your fist up and down his length with as much vigor as you could manage.
“Fuck,” he grunted, and although he now had the added task of awaiting his own impending orgasm alongside bringing you to yours, his fingers did not falter between your legs. Every throaty groan passing his lips seemed to drive his fingers into more of a frenzy, forming fast, sloppy shapes on your aching bud until you were crying out.
“That’s a good- fuck- girl. Keep jerking your big brother’s cock, just like that. Feels so fucking good,” he breathed against your skin, making you shiver even despite the heavy, humid warmth of the bathroom. You could no longer see anything through the glass door, which had become entirely overtaken with thick fog; for a moment you felt like this was the only place on earth that existed- a closed-off world of steam and water and porcelain made just for you and Michael.
With your eyes shut tight as the coil in your belly prepared to snap, all you could do was listen to the melodic blend of sounds enveloping the small space and attempt to move your body in time with the makeshift rhythm. Not one sound fell upon deaf ears- you were hyper-aware of every vulgar, human noise; every breath and every moan; every squeak of wet feet on the slick white floor.
This might be the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard, you thought.
“Fuck, Michael— more.” Stretching your other arm back to desperately grab at Michael’s damp mop of waves, you allowed yourself to come undone, arching your back so your erect nipples were pointed up towards the ceiling.
Michael brought his free hand away from your breasts, instead using it to brace himself against the shower door, creating a hand-shaped imprint in the steam that immediately began to drip with condensation.
Without thinking, you let go of Michael’s hair to join his hand on the glass; lacing your fingers through his, you worked at his cock with your opposite hand until his breaths grew ragged and choppy- a sure-fire sign that he was about to cum.
“Fuck, (y/n), keep going,” he moaned breathlessly, pressing his thumb harshly against your clit and nearly causing your knees to buckle underneath you. “Gonna- fuck.”
His cock twitched in your hand, and with that, he was cumming, shooting his thick load all over your ass and lower back. Miraculously, even as he recovered from his orgasm, he still continued to touch you; his fingers were like magic on your clit, and within a matter of seconds, you, too, were being sent over the edge.
“Oh god, Michael—“
Even during an earth-shattering orgasm like the one you were experiencing, you still were able to notice the way that Michael had switched spots on the glass with you, his large hand enclosing around yours and squeezing.
He didn’t remove his hand from between your thighs until you were twitching and overstimulated, and once he did, he pulled you into a hug, his strong arms cradling you against his chest.
Your eyes fluttered open and shut again, like a person caught between life and death, when he planted a tender kiss to the top of your head.
“I’m never gonna find anyone else like you,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper. You weren’t sure whether it was a reassurance to you, or a solemn statement of distress.
Either way, you swore you could hear something like sadness behind his words.
Since Miriam and your father were too preoccupied with their arguing to arrange any family excursions, you and Michael were left to your own devices.
Those next few days in Florida, your life was about as close to a teen romance movie as it could get. You and Michael spent the days exploring the nearby towns, trying out restaurants (it’d taken a startlingly long while for you to convince Michael to try out one of the local cafés for breakfast instead of McDonald’s, which had been his original idea) and going shopping; on one occasion, you shared a joint with Michael before dragging him to the local aquarium, which he’d pretended to be entirely disinterested in (even though you could see the wonder and fear in his eyes whilst staring at the shark exhibit- what would happen if the glass broke? he’d asked, nervously drumming his fingers on the paneling as a particularly large shark swam by).
You shared ice cream with him on the boardwalk, licking the chocolate soft serve that had melted off the cone and onto Michael’s hand off his fingers; you rubbed sunscreen on each other at the beach (although Michael wasn’t nearly as thorough as you were, and most of the time you’d wind up with a nasty sunburn thanks to his negligence); you bought 99-cent popsicles from a vendor, making out with cherry-stained lips while the sun went down.
At night, you’d sit on the beach, sometimes stoned, talking and laughing as the waves rolled in and out on the shore.
It was 3 am on your last night in Florida, and you and Michael had snuck out of the hotel room and walked down to the beach, large checkered blanket and a bottle of red wine in tow (Michael had charmed the woman behind the counter in a sketchy liquor store in order to obtain this). You were sitting side-by-side, thoughts clouded from the effects of the alcohol with your knees drawn to your chest, when a sudden realization washed upon you like one of the rumbling waves breaking against the shore.
You were in love with Michael Langdon.
This was an unwavering, undeniable fact; you were in love with him. You loved him, even the parts of him that, at one point, you had hated. The realization was both peaceful and upsetting.
“Michael,” you said, huddling closer to yourself as a cool breeze cut through the night. What were you going to say to him? You couldn’t very well tell him about the epiphany you’d just had- he’d been on Tinder just a few days ago, for god’s sake. But, still, you felt compelled to say something.
“Hmm?” He stretched out his legs, running his palms up and down his sand-covered calves. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the features of his face, save for the sparkling reflection in his eyes as he looked out towards the ocean.
You licked your lips, taking a swig from the half-empty bottle of wine that had been positioned upright in the sand. You winced at the bittersweet taste washing over your tongue, the blood-colored liquid sloshing noisily against its glass confines as you brought it back down to your side.
“I don’t know,” you said, suddenly feeling stupid. “It’s just- I don’t want this all to be over.”
“Me either,” he said, putting his arm around you and drawing you closer to him. You inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent of wine and stale cigarettes and salt water like it was oxygen and you’d just been saved from drowning. “I didn’t think I would, but I had a really great time this week.”
You shook your head. “I’m not just talking about this week. I just mean in general. I feel like it’s all ending so soon.”
“Oh.” He took in a breath, an especially large wave hitting the shore with a startling crash. “God, this fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Michael, I-“ I love you. The remaining words settled on the back of your tongue, refusing to roll off, but perhaps it was for the better. “-I think in another life, we could’ve worked out. Could’ve been something more than what we are. You know?”
If only, if only, if fucking only.
“Lucky us, being born in the universe where we’re fucking step siblings,” Michael laughed, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you’d never heard before. “But, (y/n). Even though shit isn’t working out the way we wanted it to, and even though it’s gonna hurt when we both go away to college, I’m still so glad that I met you.”
“I’m glad I met you, too.”
There was only silence for a long moment as Michael reached for the wine bottle and took an indulgent sip. “There’s so much shit I wish could’ve been different,” he said finally, angling his head up towards the velvet blackness of the night sky. “I wish I’d treated you differently. I wish I hadn’t been so fucking scared of feeling something.”
You ran your fingers through the soft sand, forming meaningless patterns there as you listened to Michael open up for what felt like the first time since you’d met him.
“I used to lie awake at night and think of how fucking unfair this all is. That the one girl I’ve ever really wanted is the one girl I can’t have. I used to think if maybe I pushed you away, treated you like shit, that everything would hurt less. But it just hurt me more, seeing you in pain from the shit I put you through. And now I realize that it’s all gonna hurt the same either way. ‘Cause I’ll never have you the way I want.”
You felt a well-known pinching behind your eyes, and you blinked, silently willing away the tears that were threatening to escape. You kept your eyes on the drawings you’d made in the ground, knowing that if you were to look into Michael’s eyes, you’d probably break.
“What’s gonna happen to us, Michael? We can’t just wait for each other while we’re away at college and miss out on life. But god, I wanna be with you,” you said, voice quivering.
“I don’t know,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I say we just…live our lives. And if it’s meant to be, it will be. One day.”
You nodded, dragging your fingers through the sand and destroying the mindless spirals and swirls you’d formed. “One day.”
“But enough with all that sad shit,” said Michael, taking your chin in hand and moving it so you were looking at him. “What’s important is that we have each other right now. So let’s make the most of that, hm?”
The look in Michael’s eyes told you right away what he meant by making the most of your time together; your cheeks were hot, prickling from the red wine, fingertips burning to touch something. So you did- you grabbed the front of Michael’s shirt, yanking him towards you and placing a haphazard, open-mouthed kiss on his lips.
The kiss was aggressive and feverish; it didn’t take long for Michael to lay you down on the checkered blanket, his hands wandering your body like it belonged to him (and, in a way, it did).
When Michael broke away to catch his breath, panting, you decided to try something new: with all the strength you could muster, you pushed Michael off of you and promptly rolled on top of him instead, straddling him with your knees on either side of his torso.
In the faint glow of the silvery moonlight, you could see an indistinct smirk playing at his lips; it wasn’t often that you were the one to take control, but it was obvious, from the growing protrusion in the front of his pants, that he liked the change.
You leaned down to reattach your lips to his, hips rocking back and forth over his bulge until the friction sent shock waves up your spine. With you bent forward, Michael was easily able to slide his veined hands up the back of your short skirt, taking two greedy fistfuls of your ass.
Almost frantically, you tore your shirt off over your head, not bothering to worry about where it landed. Now, the only thing separating your breasts from the nighttime air was a thin lace bralette, which Michael took to palming you through.
“Fuck, (y/n),” murmured Michael, rolling one of your hardened nipples between two fingers. “You have seriously got the best tits.”
“Yeah? You think so?” you said, a twinge of playful mocking to your voice; you wrapped your fingers around Michael’s wrists, maneuvering them so that both his hands were fondling your breasts.
“Fuck yeah, I think so,” he said, and you only wished there was just a bit more light so you could properly admire him in his disheveled, lustful state.
“Even better than those girls on Tinder you matched with?” you taunted, grinding your hips down hard against Michael’s erection. “I wonder what they’d think about all the times you’ve been balls deep in your stepsister.”
At this, he tightened his grip on your tits, twisting them almost painfully before hoisting up the thin fabric of your bralette so your nipples were exposed. You helped him in removing the garment, pulling it off and throwing it alongside your shirt, never once ceasing the motion of your hips against his clothed, twitching cock.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Michael said, running his thumbs over your nipples. “Otherwise I’d take you over my lap and spank your ass raw for being such a little bitch.”
“And you’re lucky you have a big dick,” you shot back, words catching in your throat when he tugged hard on one of your nipples. “Otherwise I never would’ve given your fuckboy ass the time of day.”
This was a lie, of course, but your lighthearted tone of voice was enough to let him know that you were only messing around.
Michael scoffed. “No, I think you’re the one who’s lucky that I have a big dick, considering that you’re a total fucking cock-hungry slut.”
You stifled a laugh. Well, he’s not wrong.
“Is that a complaint?” you said, lips quirking as you scooted your body slightly downward, giving yourself room to pull Michael’s now-fully hard cock out. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you took the pulsing length in hand, moving your thin panties to the side and repositioning yourself so that the head of Michael’s cock was nestled just barely against your entrance.
Michael shook his head rapidly, a throaty grunt passing his lips. “Obviously- fuck- not.”
It was almost amusing to you, the way you and Michael had gone from having a heartfelt conversation to teasing each other relentlessly, but you supposed that was what you loved about your dynamic anyway. Unable to hold off any longer, you guided Michael’s cock inside you, gliding down easily on his length until he was fully seated inside. Your mouth fell open, and as you began to properly ride him, he brought his hands to grip your hips with a tight, bruising hold.
“Fuck, Michael,” you sighed, tits bouncing as you rolled your hips forward, increasing your momentum. Michael slid one hand from your hip to your inner thigh, pinching the tender skin before bringing his thumb to your clit and rubbing firm circles over it.
A pleasant, salt water-scented breeze passed by as you rode Michael, further disheveling your hair, which you ran your fingers through; the lewd noises of your body connecting with Michael’s were overtaken by the unmistakable sounds of the tide.
“Good girl, riding my cock so fucking good,” Michael breathed, lifting up his free hand so he could push two fingers into your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered at the salt of his skin, lips instinctively wrapping around his calloused digits and sucking.
Swirling your tongue over Michael’s fingers, you continued riding him, swaying your hips in figure-eight motions; the thick girth of his cock stretched your tight walls, and from this angle, you could practically feel him in your stomach.
The pad of Michael’s thumb pressed against your clit again, and as electric pleasure rippled up your spine, it took everything inside you not to cum right then and there. Your pussy was clenching tight around him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go—you didn’t want to be apart from him. Not yet.
For a second, you could see every contoured feature of Michael’s face illuminated in the pale light of the moon, the exaggerated shadows and highlights coming together to form an image that was almost otherworldly. His eyes were droopy-lidded, so much so that you might’ve thought his eyes were shut if it weren’t for the glint of his pupils; he’d sucked his full lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on the rosy pink flesh as he admired your curved, supple figure on top of him.
I love him, you thought, matter-of-fact, as he pulled his spit-soaked fingers from your mouth and dragged them down between your tits, leaving a shiny trail of saliva in their wake.
I love him, you thought, bowing your body forward to kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as you hurried your pace on his cock.
I love him.
Why the fuck did you have to love him? It wasn’t fair. Your insides churned with jealousy at the thought of all the other teenage girls who were currently experiencing their first love; you thought of the constant Instagram posts of girls in new, happy relationships, the public displays of affection against lockers between classes. Those things, so seemingly insignificant, would never become a part of your reality (or at least not any reality involving Michael).
In another life you’d have Michael over for dinner to meet your father, holding his hand under the table when you’d notice his thigh jiggling anxiously. You’d kiss him freely without the underlying fear, swirling deep in the pit of your belly, that someone might catch you. You’d be his prom date, match your gown to his bow tie and take awkward pictures with him, his strong arms holding you from behind.
In another life, things would be normal. In another life, you and Michael would be happy together.
“(Y/n),” groaned Michael; the sound of his raspy voice calling your name was enough to send you over the edge, bracing your tense body with one hand next to his head as you rode out your orgasm.
You were able to move even faster now, both of his hands holding your ass as you leaned far enough forward that you could bury your head in his neck. The feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you was almost too much now that you’d orgasmed, but you didn’t stop, eager to witness Michael drift into his own realm of bliss.
“Fuck—“ was all that could leave Michael’s lips before he came, using your ass to hold you in place as he spilled his warm load inside of you. You didn’t move, keeping your face by his neck so you could listen to him catch his breath.
When you finally picked yourself up, Michael looked down to his shoulder and furrowed his eyebrows. “Were you just crying?”
Fuck. Yes, yes you were. Tears had apparently leaked from the corners of your eyes without you realizing, wetting his neck and the cotton fabric of his t-shirt. You said nothing, pulling off him to retrieve the clothing articles that you’d discarded in the sand earlier.
“Just a little,” you said, embarrassed, shaking the sand off your bralette and putting it on. “Red wine makes me angsty.”
“Oh.” There was a pregnant pause as Michael cleared his throat. “C’mon, (y/n), it’s not so bad.”
There was wavering uncertainty veiled beneath the confidence of his words, and you could tell he was trying to convince himself of this sentiment just as much as he was trying to convince you. Your back was to him as you slipped your shirt over your head, willing yourself not to start crying again.
His hand was on your back, the tips of his fingers circling lightly over the fabric of your shirt. You turned to face him, slowly. “Yes?”
“I…” He halted for a moment, contemplating something. “I really, really like you. More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.”
“I really, really like you too.” Somewhere, a chorus of crickets were unknowingly performing a custom symphony for your own teen romance movie moment. Michael took your hand in his, lacing his long fingers through yours, and you swallowed.
He looked down at your joined hands, an almost solemn look on his face. “Just. I don’t want you to forget, all right? No matter what happens.”
No matter what happens. You didn’t want to think of what he could mean by that.
“Don’t worry,” you whispered, as if to shield your words from the ocean’s prying ears. “I won’t forget.”
And that, you knew, was an irrefutable fact.
Late August hit you like a truck, coming by so unexpectedly that you thought surely you’d been caught in some kind of time slip. Your college move-in date was a week before Michael’s, and so Michael had spent the days leading up to your departure helping you pack (he’d also, of course, made plenty of time for “breaks” throughout the process, one of which consisted of you being fucked on the floor amidst the vast array of brown moving boxes).
Your bedroom was now a shell of what it’d once been- the comfortable teenage clutter you’d been so accustomed to was now gone, and you’d finally gotten around to throwing out the pictures and stickers you’d had on your wall since freshman year. It was depressing, hollow.
On the morning of your move-in date, your father helped you bring your belongings to the car and load the trunk. The car ride was going to be fairly long, and you were dreading it, especially since Michael wasn’t coming along. He had his own matters to attend to, what with his own move-in date creeping near, and the car would be far too crowded with all your things there anyway.
You were scheduled to leave at 9, and downstairs you could hear your father and Miriam shuffling around as they prepared for the trip. You sat at the edge of your bed, surrounded by the pale purple sheets you’d had for as long as you could remember, idly scraping the toe of your sneaker back and forth along the wooden floor.
You weren’t ready to say goodbye to all of this, but when had you ever been ready for anything life had thrown your way? You hadn’t been ready to fall in love with your stepbrother, and yet that had happened all the same.
From across the hall, Michael’s bedroom door cracked open, and out he came in his flannel sleep pants and plain white t-shirt (which now perfectly complemented the slight summertime hue of bronze to his skin), blond hair in beautiful disarray. Your heart ached- you were going to miss seeing him in the morning, all sleepy and soft, voice pitched lower than usual from sleep.
You recalled all the times you’d passed him as he stood at the counter in the bathroom, brushing his teeth; he’d look at you with a lazy half-smile, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his elbows resting on the edge of the sink. He always looked so handsome even when he wasn’t trying, a quality you almost envied him for.
He noticed you watching him from the corner of your bed as he approached the doorway, waving at you as he balanced his shoulder against the frame.
“‘Morning,” he said, his bleary-eyed gaze meeting yours. He looked tired, dark rings prevalent beneath his crystal blue eyes, and you briefly wondered if he’d gotten much sleep the night before. “You should be grateful that I got up at the ass crack of dawn to say goodbye to you.”
“The ass crack of dawn? Michael, it’s 8:45,” you said, and if you really tried, you could almost pretend that this was a regular conversation between the two of you, and not the very last time you’d be interacting face-to-face until November.
“Yeah, well, 8:45 is the ass crack of dawn to me,” he said, and you stood up, meeting him halfway in the middle of your barren room. He flashed you a grin, but there wasn’t much happiness behind it, and you could see that he was… uncomfortable? Sad? Angry?— you couldn’t quite tell— from the way he’d folded his arms in front of his stomach. “So yeah. I, uh, wanted to say goodbye. And also remind you not to fuck too many frat guys. You could, like, catch something.”
“I’ll try not to, but I can’t promise anything,” you joked, following the sentence with a forced-sounding chuckle. “Bye, Michael.”
You stepped forward, winding your arms around Michael’s waist and placing your head against his chest; you could just barely hear his heart beating, the warmth of his skin touching your cheek even through the fabric of his t-shirt.
“I’m gonna miss you,” he murmured, his chin resting on the top of your head, strong arms holding you to him in an unyielding embrace. “So much.”
There were too many things you wanted to say, racing through your mind so quickly that it’d be impossible to articulate them aloud. Instead, you let out a shaky sigh, eyes falling shut as you tried your hardest to immerse yourself completely in Michael’s touch. Sometimes, there didn’t need to be any words for you to understand each other.
“Don’t be sad about this, (y/n). When you’re at college, you’re gonna meet so many guys who are so much better than I am. And you’re gonna wonder why you ever were hung up on a dumbass like me.” His tone was lighthearted, but you knew better than to really believe that he was unbothered. “But I don’t think I’ll ever find someone better than you. I’m so fucking lucky that you gave me as many chances as you did. I didn’t deserve them.”
“You’re wrong,” you said, pulling away so you could look pointedly into Michael’s eyes. God, his eyes were beautiful, and you drank in the moment, knowing this was your last chance to really look into them face-to-face. “I gave you those chances because even though you acted like a total fucking asshole, I still knew there was good in you. I could just… feel it.”
He cocked an eyebrow skepticall y. “No, you gave me all those second chances because I give good head and have a big dick.”
You rolled your eyes. “Okay, maybe those were contributing factors, but they weren’t the only reasons I stuck around.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he said, licking his lips and settling his hands on your hips. “For the record, your pussy really is my favorite. Like, I wasn’t just saying that.”
The interaction was cut short by the sound of your father calling you from downstairs, indicating that it was time to leave, and your heart sank deep into your stomach. Standing up on the tips of your toes, you planted a chaste kiss on his lips before hurrying out into the hall, waving over your shoulder as you went.
“Bye, (y/n),” Michael said, not moving from where he stood in your bedroom. He’d dug his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, shoulders slumped forward as he watched you go. For a moment, you wished you’d hugged him for longer. “See you in November.”
“See you,” you called back, imitating nonchalance to the best of your ability, only averting your gaze when you felt tears wobbling along your waterline, threatening to overflow and spill down your cheeks.
In that last moment before you turned, you could almost swear that he had tears in his eyes, too.
When you finally made your way up those familiar porch steps again, the November air chilling you slightly even despite the thick sweater you wore, you felt like an entirely different person.
Those first few months of college had been a blur; your life was far more interesting than it’d ever been while you were in high school (if you didn’t count the whole ‘fucking your stepbrother’ thing), with a surplus of boys at your disposal at all times. You’d gotten perhaps a bit carried away with the dating and partying and hookups, but you figured you were simply making up for all the experiences you’d missed out on in high school.
Michael was a thought that you trained yourself to keep tucked away. During those first few weeks, you’d spent several nights crying yourself to sleep, the stiff dorm room bed so uninviting compared to the way Michael’s arms had always felt around you. At parties, you’d scan the crowds for boys with blond hair and blue eyes, hoping that one of them could temporarily stand in for Michael during your time away from him. None of them fulfilled the requirements, of course- you’d come to realize early on that nobody was quite as good as Michael Langdon. It took a while for you to stop searching for Michael in every boy you became acquainted with, but with practice, you became rather skilled in the art of forgetting.
You and Michael kept in contact, albeit only sometimes. His messages to you were comprised mainly of memes he’d found on Instagram that he thought you’d appreciate, along with the occasional drunk text late at night (‘Cna you send me a pci of your tits/??? Lmfao’ was one of your favorite messages from him that you’d received thus far). It made you feel special to know that he was thinking of you, even despite being surrounded by girls like you assumed he probably was.
You tried not to think of him too much, though- you knew you’d drive yourself crazy if you did.
When Thanksgiving time rolled around, you were confronted with the fact that you’d be seeing Michael again for the first time in months, a prospect that ignited your nerves far more than you were willing to admit. As excited as you were to see him, you also couldn’t help but worry: what if he announced that he’d found a girlfriend? What if he wasn’t attracted to you anymore? What if you weren’t attracted to him anymore?
It probably would be easier for the both of you if things played out that way, but you didn’t want things to be easy. It was unrealistic, but part of you was praying that things would be exactly as they were before you’d gone away.
Your hand trembled a bit as you raised it to the doorbell, and you braced yourself before jamming your finger into the button. From inside the house, you heard the muffled, off-key tone as it resounded throughout the upstairs area, followed by bounding footsteps down the stairs that you pinpointed as belonging to your father.
The front swung open and there was your father, a wide smile stretched across his face as he ushered you inside, taking it upon himself to bring in your travel bag for you. “(Y/n)! Finally! How was the train ride?”
“Not bad,” you said as he pulled you into a hug. As soon as you were apart, you started up the stairs, your pulse quickening as you came closer and closer to the moment you’d been anticipating for months. “Did Michael get back already?”
“Yeah, about an hour ago.”
Your heart skipped at this revelation; your legs couldn’t bring you to the top of the stairs fast enough, and, sensing your heightened enthusiasm, your father chuckled from behind you. “Hey, hold on a second. I haven’t seen you in months.”
“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you said breathlessly, the rubber soles of your sneakers making noisy contact with the wooden upstairs floor. You supposed that maybe you should’ve spent more time greeting your father, but you could no longer contain yourself- you needed to see Michael.
Leaving your bag at the top of the stairs, you hurried to the hallway where your bedrooms were located, unable to stifle your eagerness. You felt like a starved animal, finally being presented with food by a pair of benevolent hands, and you were ready to devour.
You didn’t bother knocking on Michael’s door when you approached it, bursting in with such force that you stumbled over your feet. The room was dim, what with the blinds being open so only a few rays of late-afternoon sunlight could peek through; seated in front of his once-cluttered empty desk, now occupied only by a laptop, was Michael, massive headphones positioned over his ears as he fixated on whatever stupid game he was currently playing (does he still play fortnite? you wondered).
The sound of your intrusion was loud enough to catch his attention, and as his head turned from his computer screen to your face, something shifted in his eyes. Immediately, he tore off his headphones, jumping to his feet so abruptly that they clattered to the ground. “Holy fuck, (y/n).”
It was evident, from the way you fell easily into his arms, that the attraction hadn’t faded. If anything, the distance apart seemed to have only made the magnetic connection between you grow even stronger.
Your lips clashed together feverishly (you had no idea who had been the one to initiate this— it seemed that you’d both moved in perfect unison into one another), hands wandering freely over each other’s bodies and teeth bumping against teeth. When you broke away, a string of saliva stretching and breaking between your faces, Michael beamed down at you.
The slight layer of baby fat that had once rounded out Michael’s cheeks appeared to have dissipated, his cheekbones even more pronounced than you remembered them being. His sharp jaw was shadowed with the smallest touch of brown stubble, (which you assumed was there because he’d been too lazy to shave), but you thought the more mature look suited him well.
“Jesus, (y/n), I missed you.” His voice was like smooth velvet; you’d inject it into your bloodstream if you could. “You’re even more fucking beautiful than I remembered.”
“Oh, good. I was worried you’d be grossed out by my freshman fifteen,” you laughed.
“Fuck no. The fatter the ass, the better,” he said with a devious smirk, running his long fingers through his overgrown mop of blond hair. He smelled just like you remembered, a mixture of cinnamon gum and cigarettes and cologne (and the faintest hint of marijuana, of course), and you wished you could bottle up his scent and take it with you.
“So you’re still a fuckboy, I see,” you teased, twisting the front of Michael’s t-shirt in your hands and pulling him towards you. “Some things just never change, I guess.”
“Guess not.” He was speaking lowly now, assuming the smooth tone he always used when he was attempting to seduce you, and as if on cue came a dull, throbbing ache between your legs. “I wonder if your pussy is as good as I remember?”
His fingers found their way to the bottom of your sweater, fumbling with the chunky fabric and swiftly maneuvering it off over your head. You mirrored his actions, pulling off his shirt and exposing his torso, pressing your lips back against his with urgency once his upper half had been disrobed.
“Fuck…” you breathed against his parted mouth, palming the growing erection in the front of his pale gray sweatpants (your favorite pair of pants that he owned). “Need you to fuck me, Mikey…”
“Is that right?” He tilted his head to one side, kissing you deeply as he bent his knees, using his own weight as leverage to lift you up. You intertwined your ankles behind Michael’s back, securing your place in his toned arms as he carried you over to his bed; the vulgar, wet sound of your tongues melding together filled the room as he laid you down on his checkered comforter, your legs still wrapped snugly around him. “Did my baby sis miss having her pussy split on her big bro’s cock?”
“Mhm,” you purred; there truly was no man in existence better at dirty talking than Michael. You tensed in excitement when he began fumbling with the top button of your jeans, proceeding to deftly work the form-fitting denim material down your thighs once he’d freed it from its hold. “Can’t wait to feel you inside me.”
Impatiently, you reached between your bodies, your fingers coming upon the thick outline of his bulge as he peppered your throat with sloppy kisses. You moved your hand up to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging the elastic as far back as you could; this resulted in him chuckling against your flesh, your body erupting in goosebumps at the sensation.
“So needy,” he mumbled, the vibrations of his plump lips traveling straight down to your cunt. “Did you touch yourself when you were away at school, thinking of me? Thinking of how good I touch you, how hard I make you cum?”
“M-Michael,” you whimpered, rolling your hips in melodic time with his, his clothed cock making friction against your thinly veiled pussy. “C’mon, just fuck me already. Please.”
“I like it when you beg,” he said, smug, standing so he could pull down his sweatpants and boxers, putting his long, weighted cock on display for you. You lifted your knees up for him, and in one swift motion he stripped you of your flimsy black thong. “Beg me again.”
You squirmed, sliding your flat palm down your stomach so you could touch yourself between your parted thighs; slowly, you coated your fingers with your own sticky essence, looking up at Michael from under a canopy of thick lashes. “Fuck me, Michael. I need you.”
“Ask nicely,” he chided, hoisting your thigh up to drape around his waist, eyes darkening as he observed your fingers spreading your slick wetness around your folds.
“Pleeaaaaseeee, Mikey,” you pleaded, syllables so drawn out that it almost sounded like you were singing. “It’s been so long.”
“Fuck.” He brought his lower lip into his mouth, sucking for a moment as he lined the flushed head of his cock up with your dripping entrance. When he released it, it was several shades darker than it’d been before, completely swollen and glossy with spit. “I’ve been thinking about this since the last time I saw you.”
Taking a firm grip of your thighs, he slid effortlessly into your tight heat, your jaw unhinging at the intrusion; you’d definitely be feeling him for the next few days, his thick shaft stretching out your narrow walls to the point where it was almost painful. You liked it, though, liked the delicious burn that only he could create, reminding you of who you belonged to.
“Shit,” he hissed, pausing momentarily to compose himself before assuming a deep, hard rhythm to fuck you with. “You’re so fucking tight. Must not’ve fucked anyone as big as me while you were away.”
All you could manage was a broken moan, your head lolling back towards the ceiling. He bottomed out inside you, bringing himself down to press his chest against yours, indulging in the feel of your warm, wet cunt as it spasmed around his massive length. When you started whining for more, he retracted his hips back until only the head of his cock was inside you, slamming back inside so hard that you were sent halfway up the bed.
“Oh god, Michael…” Your fingernails scraped aimlessly along the warm skin of his back, eyelids flickering open and shut in a fucked-out daze. You’d slept with a handful of guys at college, but none of them even came close to fucking you the way Michael did. He was just… special.
Fuck, I love him.
The thought startled you; you’d almost been able to forget about the little epiphany you’d had, that night in Florida when you and Michael sat side-by-side by the ocean. But now that you were with him— under him, taking every last agonizing inch of his cock, it became obvious that those feelings had remained stagnant.
After all the boys you’d been through at college, you still loved him.
God, were you fucked.
“Missed my baby girl so much,” Michael murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear and peering down at you. His forehead was glowing, the sides of his face framed with cute, damp curls of blond hair; he was so beautiful, you thought. How had you survived so long without him?
He impaled you again with a sharp upwards thrust, a string of expletives passing your lips and mixing with the lewd sounds of sex swimming through the air. “I missed you— fuck!— too.”
“Yeah, I could tell,” he said, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and running his tongue along the salty skin. “Your pussy is fucking dripping for me.”
“Keep going,” you panted, wetting your chapped lips; with each brutal thrust of Michael’s cock, you bucked your hips forward to meet him halfway, desperate for all that he had to offer. “Feels so fucking good.”
“Yeah? You like that? Like how I split you open?” His hips pounded against yours with a bruising intensity, his chest pinning you down as you writhed beneath his lean frame. His voice was becoming hoarse, breaths short and choppy, letting you know that he was close.
“Yes, yes, yes, please, more…” Your affirmations were like a prayer, encouraging Michael to fuck you even deeper, his torso making electric contact with your clit as he moved his body in time with yours. “Make me cum, Mikey, please..”
The wind was knocked from your lungs each time he pumped his length into you, and by the time the coil in your stomach was unwinding, you were struggling to catch your breath. You ran your hands through Michael’s sweat-soaked hair, letting the strands stretch around your fingers as you tugged at the root; Your toes curled when Michael administered a particularly hard thrust inside you, your lips falling open in a silent scream; there was a burst of brilliant colors behind your eyelids as you finally reached your climax, your thighs shaking as they clasped firmly around Michael’s waist.
Like a perfect teen-movie cliché, Michael came just as you did; the feeling of his hot load as it spilled deep inside your cunt was a welcomed one, and your spongey inner walls instinctively clamped down, milking his cock for all it was worth.
With a throaty grunt, Michael pulled out of you, his cum dribbling crudely down your inner thigh and onto his bedspread, which he didn’t appear to pay any attention to. Lying down beside you, he sighed, bare chest shining with slick perspiration.
“I missed doing that,” Michael rasped, eyes focused up towards the ceiling rather than on you.
“So did I,” you said, tracing idle patterns along the expanse of Michael’s torso, watching his stomach rise and fall with each breath he took. “I can’t wait to have you all Christmas break.”
Michael’s lips turned downwards at the corners, his eyebrows knitting together in a pained display. “Oh. Yeah.”
It seemed as though he’d wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips shut into a thin line, Adam’s apple bobbing. What the hell? All at once you felt nauseous- there was something about the way he’d said those two words that made you very, very uneasy.
You sat up, your mind already starting to overflow with horrid possibilities. “What, Michael?”
“I, um. I have to tell you something.” Michael’s eyes darted throughout the room before settling on his palms. You frowned, mouth going dry at his apparent reluctance to talk to you, thoughts racing in all directions to try and pinpoint what exactly he might say.
“So. Um.” He was stalling, extending his arms up so his palms were flat on his forehead, still refusing to look at you as he contemplated his words. “So you remember over the summer when I spilled Red Bull on my laptop?”
You raised an eyebrow. Where exactly was he going with this? “Yeah?”
“And remember how I would borrow my mom’s laptop to play video games while I was waiting for it to get repaired?”
“Yes, I remember. Can you just get to the point?” You were growing impatient, the anxiety increasing with each additional second that Michael continued to leave you in the dark.
“Okay, well…” He inhaled sharply. “I was borrowing her laptop one night and ended up looking at the search history because, well… you can probably guess why. Anyway. I ended up seeing all these searches for, like, new apartments and divorce lawyers.”
Oh shit. Divorce lawyers? Was he about to say what you were thinking he was about to say? “You mean…?”
Michael held up a hand as if to say let me finish, and you held your tongue. “So like, I asked her about it. And she told me that her and your dad are, like, splitting up or whatever. But she told me not to mention anything about it in case they ended up working shit out.”
You didn’t understand— wasn’t this good news? If your parents divorced, wouldn’t you finally be able to be with Michael the way you wanted? You forced down the giddiness that started to bubble up from your stomach and into your throat, knowing that there had to be a catch if Michael was acting so serious.
“So our parents are getting a divorce?”
“Well… there’s more.” He licked his lips, finally gathering the courage to look at you, the expression on his face so grim that it scared you a little. “She found an apartment in California. And she’s moving us there next month.”
No, this couldn’t be happening. How could this be happening? This was perhaps even worse than the predicament you were already in. If Michael moved to California, it was pretty fucking likely that you’d never see him again.
“I… what? And you’ve known all this for how long!?” Your voice was pitched several octaves higher now, eyes watering uncontrollably, and you felt as though you were on the brink of having a total fucking meltdown.
“I always thought there was a chance they’d get things worked out, or that my mom would change her mind about moving so far away. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I already knew you were sad about us going away to college, so I just thought-”
“-Answer the question, Michael! How long have you known this for?” Hot, angry tears were falling down your face and onto your bare chest, your entire body shaking with an overwhelming mixture of rage and despair.
He sighed. “Since August.”
Your mouth fell open in disbelief. How could he have hidden this from you for so long? “And you never thought to tell me? So I could at least come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never see you again once you move?”
“I didn’t wanna ruin the rest of our time together,” he said softly, eyes glossy with tears that were still yet to fall. “I fucked up, okay? I should’ve told you as soon as I found out. But I kept thinking that maybe something would change, and…I don’t know. I’m sorry, (y/n).”
“Fuck,” you mumbled. Your limbs felt numb and heavy, your heart hollow. “Why did your mom have to choose fucking California, of all places?”
“I dunno. I think it has to do with this weird religion thing she’s into,” he said. “Look, (y/n), if I had any choice, I’d stay here. But you know I can’t afford my own place right now.”
“I know. It’s just-“ you collapsed backwards, your back making contact with the bed below with a soft thud. “This is so fucking unfair. We’re finally able to be together- like, really be together. But of course there has to be a catch.”
“Remember what I said, (y/n)? How if things are meant to be, they will be?” It sounded to you like Michael was attempting to make sense of a senseless situation, but you let him speak, somewhat comforted by his words. “I only have to stay in California until I can afford my own place. And I’ll still be going to the same college, so we won’t be too far from each other during the school year.”
Your college was a five hour drive away from Michael’s. Would he really be willing to make such a long trip up to see you? Would you be willing to take a trip to see him, with the new knowledge looming on your conscience that he would no longer be an arm’s length away once the school year was up? You wanted to be optimistic, but how could you be? A fresh wave of tears escaped your eyes, blurring your vision, but your cries faded to soft whimpers when Michael pulled you up against his chest.
You tried not to remind yourself of the fact that this would likely be one of the last times you’d be able to feel him there against you, one of the last times you’d absorb the heat from his skin, his distinct scent overtaking you like a natural aphrodisiac, intoxicating you.
You tried to reason with reality: if the universe had tried so hard to keep you apart all this time, maybe you and Michael being together had simply not been written in the stars (or at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself— how could a connection so strong not be meant to be?, you asked yourself dejectedly). The way you felt for Michael was special, unlike anything else you’d ever experienced before. He was a natural high, a gust of fresh springtime air, a golden ray of good in a gray-black world of bad.
But, as the saying went, all good things must come to an end. Don’t they?
Perhaps you’d always known, in the very back of your mind, that things would never work out. Perhaps you’d always known that your heart would wind up broken (no, not broken— incinerated). The cards had never been in your favor, and there had been a hundred million warning signs that you’d blatantly ignored time and time again.
But it hurt.
And you doubted it would ever stop hurting. The pain of losing Michael might one day fade from a stabbing agony to a dull ache, but that initial wound would likely never heal completely.
The only thing left to do now was stay entangled in Michael’s warmth for as long as possible, and make weary peace with the tragic ending your time with Michael had come to.
“If we survived being stepsiblings, we can survive this,” Michael said, his lips against your knotted hair, firm arms holding your naked body with a delicate tenderness that you weren’t used to. “You know that when I want something, I make sure that I get it. And what I want, (y/n), is you.”
You nodded, curling into Michael, your bodies fitting together like two perfectly-cut puzzle pieces.
“And I’m gonna have you.” You felt his hand smooth your hair out, and then he placed a kiss on your forehead, as if to imprint his words into your brain. “One day.”
Your eyes fluttered open, and all at once you were lost in a rushing sea of crystal blue, like the one that had lapped against the shore that night you’d fallen in love. As you reached up to caress Michael’s porcelain cheek, thumb grazing the rough stubble that had gathered along his jaw, you couldn’t help but believe him.
Chapter 8: epilogue
HELLO ALL!!! here is the long-awaited epilogue to finally finish the is it wrong series. i sincerely hope y’all enjoy this, and i am SO sorry for taking forever to write this!! i had some kind of mental block stopping me, but i finally forced myself to sit down and JUST DO IT. i wanna thank every last one of you who’ve supported this series of filth, especially the ones who’ve been here since the beginning. when i published that first chapter, i never realized just how much joy this fucked up little story would bring into my life. y’all are the best.
You looked out the window and onto the rain-slick city streets, captivated by the way the rows of glowing neon signs reflected in the puddles, and you smiled.
Everything was as it should be.
Sandwiched between your two best friends in the back of the Uber, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride at the thought that you’d made it. You’d graduated college, managed to land your dream job, and, most recently, you’d finally been able to get yourself a spacious apartment in the city you loved most. It was the first time in your life that you’d ever felt truly in control of things.
Tonight was a celebration of those accomplishments; you and your friends had arranged to go to the bars by your new apartment that night and get shitfaced like you were college freshmen again, just enjoying each other’s company. You could already feel the warmth of the shots of Fireball you’d pregamed with earlier that night, cheeks flushed and rosy. Life was good.
The Uber screeched to a halt in front of the bar, your friends’ resulting drunken squeals drowning out the rap song that drifted loudly through the speakers. You grinned, waving a quick goodbye to the bored-looking driver before dispensing onto the street with your group, one by one.
Through the glass windows, you saw a lively scene; it seemed as though you’d chosen the perfect night to go out. The bar was dim, lit with overhead lights that shifted from color to color, a band stationed at the stage in full action. People danced, drank, sang; you could see couples making out sloppily in booths. This was going to be a fun night.
Outside the bar stood two skinny boys, dressed casually in ripped jeans and band t-shirts, who you were nearly certain were underage. They chatted as they smoked cigarettes, seemingly unfazed by the chilly breeze and light drizzle coming down over their mops of overgrown hair. One of them, the lighter-haired one of the pair, almost reminded you of…
“Hey ladies,” said one, blowing cigarette smoke from the corner of his mouth with a smirk. You could feel his alcohol-glossed eyes travel up and down your body, drinking in your fishnet-clad legs and prominent curves, accentuated in a maroon leather miniskirt. “You trying to have some fun?”
At this, you and your friends erupted into giggles, long fingernails gripping at each other’s forearms as you fought to balance yourselves.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” your friend said, resulting in a fresh wave of laughter.
Ignoring the boys’ scowls, you continued inside, sighing in relief at the warmth, which was only reinstated by the slew of sweaty bodies flowing throughout the building. The music was loud- perhaps not the most accurate in terms of pitch, but it was certainly good enough to dance to, and, luckily, you were in a dancing mood.
“You shoulda gave them your number,” your friend joked as you made your way to the bar, her voice raised so you could hear her above the noise. “When’s the last time you’ve gotten laid?”
You rolled your eyes. Ever since you’d broken up with your ex a year before, your friends had been nagging you to engage in causal hookups to help you get over him- they’d tried setting you up with any single man they could get their hands on, and had even gone as far as creating a Tinder page in your name. In all honesty, you had no interest in men at the moment; you were far more focused on your career, which was your top priority for now. Sure, you got horny sometimes, but wasn’t that what vibrators were made for? You were twenty-two. You had your whole life ahead of you to find some good dick.
Besides, most men you’d been with in the past could hardly satisfy you, so it seemed almost better to do things on your own. The only man you’d ever actually enjoyed being with was…
You flinched, pained by your second reminder of a certain blond-haired fuckboy that night. Even now, nearly five years since the last time you’d seen him, it hurt to think of his name.
“Three Sex on the Beaches, please,” your friend said to the bartender, before turning back to look at you. “Sounds like something you’re in need of.”
“Shut up,” you mumbled, drumming your fingers on the wooden surface as you turned to watch the band, which seemed to be some kind of punk-pop-rock hybrid, the members decked in leather and chains.
“You know I’m right,” your friend shouted, running her manicured fingernails through her hair as she craned her neck to look at the bartender over her shoulder. “Hey, the bartender’s pretty cute. And he even kind of seems like your type.”
You glanced back disinterestedly, hardly breaking your attention from the band to look at the man in question. Right now his back was to you, and he appeared to be talking to some drunk girls as he fixed your drinks; his blond hair was slightly outgrown, fraying out in unkempt curls at the base of his neck, toned bicep flexing under the thin shield of his form-fitting white t-shirt as he reached for a bottle of peach schnapps.
From what you could see, he did seem like your type- almost too much so, it almost starting to creep you out how similar this guy looked to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You looked away.
“Oh yeah, he is cute,” your other friend said, leaning her elbows back on the bar. “(Y/n), you should pull some moves on him.”
You groaned. “Why are you guys so obsessed with getting me fucked?”
“Because, (y/n). You’re gonna get cobwebs down there if you don’t get your shit clapped soon. Eventually you’re just gonna forget how to fuck altogether,” your friend said, her voice earnest.
“Yeah,” agreed your other friend. “Your vag is gonna close up like a pierced ear when you forget to put in earrings for too long.”
“Three sex on the beaches?” came an amused-sounding voice from behind you, and within the first few syllables of the man’s sentence, you could feel your throat start to close up. You knew that voice anywhere, raspy and rich and warm, even five years since you’d last heard it. But… how? Michael was in California. It had to be some kind of doppleganger working behind the bar. But damn, that was uncanny…
You were almost afraid to turn around, doing so reluctantly, too nervous to care about the fact that you were gnawing all your vampy lipstick off your bottom lip.
“Yeah, that’s ours,” said your friend brightly, accepting her glass, and you decided to rip the band-aid off, forcing your body to turn all the way around.
“So you ladies like sex on the be- (Y/N)?”
Holy ever loving mother of christ. It was him. It was actually. Fucking. Him.
There behind the bar, with plump lips agape and saucer-wide baby-blue eyes, was Michael Langdon, looking almost exactly the same as you remembered. Now, though, most of the baby fat had gone from his face, with one silver earring dangling from his left ear and stubble shadowing his even-more-defined (if that was even possible) jawline. Your mouth went dry, opening and closing as you racked your brain for something to say, heart racing so quickly in your chest you thought you might drop dead at any moment.
“You guys know each other?” your friend asked after several seconds of silence, stretching past you to exchange a glance with your other friend, an immaculately-drawn eyebrow poised in concern.
“Uh- yeah. We, um. Michael, why are you here?” The words didn’t come out exactly the way you’d planned for them to, but his presence had you tongue-tied. In a matter of seconds, you felt like you were eighteen again, broken-hearted and in love and overflowing with red-hot hormones all at once.
“I- (y/n), why are you here?” You could tell that Michael’s lips were beginning to creep into a smirk, and your stomach dipped.
“I just moved to the city,” you said, gripping the edge of the bar and breathing slowly to try and calm yourself. You’d fantasized about finding yourself in this very situation so many sleepless nights before (not that you’d ever admit it), but never had you really expected for something like this to happen. This had to be some sort of profound universe-aligning moment of fate or something, because this was all way too fucking weird to be a coincidence. “I got a job near here. I thought you were in California?”
Michael shook his head with a shrug, sliding your drink across the bar towards you as your friends watched on with quiet fascination. “Haven’t lived there since- damn, has it been three years now? Yeah, I kind of dropped out of college.”
Not really surprising, you thought, relaxing a bit as you lifted your drink to your lips. Michael never had really struck you as a college type.
“So how’d you end up here?” you asked through a wince. The taste of vodka was strong on your tongue even despite the compensating ingredients of your drink, and you still hadn’t managed to get used to the taste of hard liquor even after four years of college.
“Well, I ended up meeting this girl at a party and we became like, boyfriend and girlfriend or whatever,” he said with a half eye-roll, as if he was too cool to admit to something as sensitive as being in a relationship. “But she was in college and I was like, in a band, which didn’t really end up working out, and then she graduated and got a job offer here in the city.”
You licked your lips, picturing Michael as the front man of a rock band, pushing sweaty strands of blond hair back from his forehead as he gripped a microphone with one calloused hand. If only he’d had the talent to match with the look.
“So I was still living with my mom and I needed an excuse to move out, so… I moved with her.” He gave a nonchalant shrug, shirt pulling up slightly at the hem and exposing a sliver of his smooth, firm torso; you were almost ashamed that your mouth began to water.
You tried to ignore the inkling of- jealousy, was it? No, not jealousy, that word was far too harsh for what you were feeling- surrounding the idea that Michael had moved here for a girl, and you went to wash it away with another sip of alcohol. It’d been years. You needed to get over yourself.
“So you live with her now?” you asked coolly, or as coolly as you could manage, looking down into the muddy-organgey abyss of your Sex on the Beach. Your friends, having apparently picked up on the fact that you were in the middle of a very important conversation with a very important person, had taken it upon themselves to join the small crowd surrounding the stage, leaving the two of you alone.
“Fuck no. She ended up fucking my best friend. But I already had this job and I liked the scenery so I stuck around. Wasn’t like there was anything better waiting for me in California.”
You quirked an eyebrow. “Now you know how I felt when you fucked (b/f/n).”
“Oh come on, give me a break. I was eighteen. And she had great tits.” He was leaning forward on his elbow now, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and grinning at you. “Admit it. You were just mad ‘cause you wanted to be the one to get the pipe.”
You snorted, trying not to think too deep into the warm, fuzzy feeling that was starting to flourish in the pit of your stomach and travel up towards your fluttering heart. “Oh, please. I used to fucking hate you.”
“Yeah, but you definitely didn’t hate fucking me,” he said with a wink, pink tongue darting out to wet his full bottom lip. “Though I definitely don’t blame you. I was a huge fuckboy.”
“Was?” you joked, taking another sip. Your eyes fell to a small tattoo on his inner forearm- a simple four-leafed clover, which you secretly thought looked sexy on him.
“Still got that smart mouth, I see,” Michael said, pale eyes glinting with a familiar mischievousness that you hadn’t realized you’d missed until right then. “There must be a lucky guy on the receiving end of all that attitude.”
“Nope,” you said flatly, flipping your hair over your shoulder and leaning forward, perhaps subconsciously hoping for your cleavage to become a bit more pronounced. “Men bore me these days.”
“Men? Or just all men who aren’t me?” He flashed you a devious sideways grin, and your mouth fell open at his boldness. “You’re looking pretty good tonight, baby sis.”
“Hmm. I don’t think that title is quite accurate anymore,” you retorted, hoping he couldn’t tell how flustered his usage of the old pet name had gotten you- apparently he still had that particular talent intact. “But you don’t look so bad yourself.”
“Yeah?” He glanced down at his shirt, which you only just now noticed was stained with some kind of brown liquor. “Not exactly the kind of thing you’d want to be wearing when running into your first love.”
Your heart stirred in your chest, and you could see Michael’s cool smile fade into a panicked wince. First love. You were Michael’s first love.
“First love, huh?” you said softly, tilting your head to one side to regard all of Michael’s handsome features at once. There’d always been some semblance of hope, deep in your belly, that Michael’s feelings for you all those years ago had surpassed simple lust and teenage hormones, but you’d of course had your doubts.
“Well, I mean. Not love, but like. You know.” Michael lifted one hand to scratch the back of his neck, and you could almost swear you saw a dusting of pink cross his porcelain cheeks. “Actually, I mean, yeah. You kind of were my first love. Kinda fucked up that my first love was my stepsister, but…”
“Well, you were my first love too. Unfortunately. You put me through hell, you know that?” You were only half-joking, idly twirling a strand of (h/c) hair around your finger, shifting your weight onto one leg to jut out your hip.
“God, yeah. I know. I suck.” He shook his head, loose waves falling to obscure his hooded eyes, and quickly he tucked it back behind his ears. “I really am sorry, you know.”
You shrugged. “We were just stupid, horny teenagers. It’s all good.”
“Yeah, I mean, but I never really stopped feeling guilty about the way I treated you. You gave me so many chances that I never deserved,” he said, leaning in close so he didn’t have to scream for you to hear him. “You were the perfect girl for me and I took you for granted.”
“Well, like I said…” you paused to take a swig of your drink, nursing your light intoxication, which had affected you to the point where the flavor of alcohol no longer made you cringe. “We were stupid teenagers. And I was very stupid to keep taking you back. Especially after that god awful Applebee’s date.”
He laughed, and your insides warmed at the sound, a light giggle that you only ever reserved for crushes unintentionally passing your lips. Why did this all feel so right?
“Look, I was broke, okay?” He moved in a little closer, crystal blue eyes locked with yours, and for a fleeting moment you thought- or, rather, hoped- that maybe he’d kiss you. Of course, you knew that such a prospect was only wishful thinking, but still you felt a sting of disappointment when he didn’t. “But I can promise you that if I took you out now, it wouldn’t be to Applebee’s.”
You took a second to respond, your clouded mind trying to figure whether or not that’d just been a proposition of sorts. Fuck it. “You might just have to prove that to me.”
“Oh yeah?” He smiled, this time a little softer than his usual devilish smirk. “A girl like you really wants some loser bartender to take her out?”
You cocked your head. “A girl like me?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, look at you.” He sighed, dragging his gaze up and down your body, which you had to admit looked pretty bangin’ in the outfit you’d chosen for tonight. “I mean, it goes without saying that you’re a fuckin’ ten. But you’re also smart. And successful.”
“How do you know I’m successful?” There was a tiny part of you that was eating this up, having the once-big-and-bad Michael Langdon practically crawl at your feet. “I never even told you what I do for a living.”
“I just assumed, since you said you just moved here, and we both know this city ain’t cheap. But I always knew you’d be successful. I mean, you’ve always known how to go after what you want.” he said. “Plus that outfit looks expensive as hell.”
At this, you struck a dramatic pose, having drank enough that you didn’t really care about making yourself look stupid. “Well, I wouldn’t say it was expensive as hell, but it definitely was worth a few paychecks.”
Michael clicked his tongue but chuckled, a longing expression apparent on his sculpted face. “You’re out of my league.”
You scoffed, slurping up the last of your drink. “I don’t believe in leagues. I mean, I pulled you when we were in high school, didn’t I?”
“You were out of my league then, too.”
“Oh, please.” Such a statement was enough to make you laugh out loud, perhaps a bit too loudly, but you thought that might’ve been propelled by the fact that you were pretty damn drunk now. You shoved the now-empty glass towards Michael, settling your hands on your hips. “You were like, the hottest guy in school.”
He raised a brow, a cocky half-smile stretching across his lips. “Oh yeah?”
You hiccuped (you always had been a lightweight). “Duh.”
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, picking up your glass and bringing it off to the side to be cleaned. When he returned, he was brandishing a bottle of Windex and a stained washcloth, which was draped effortlessly over one broad shoulder. For a reason that could not, for the life of you, be explained, this view of Michael compelled you to squeeze your thighs together.
“You know,” said Michael slowly, spraying the wooden surface of the bar with chemical blue, “it’s kind of creeping me out how weird this all is. Like, us both ending up here. After five years.”
“I know, right?” Your eyes fell onto Michael’s veined hand, gripping the cloth that was now being used to rub down the bar, and you fought back the sudden urge to run your fingers over it. “I mean, it’s like, everything is aligning so perfectly. It has to mean something, doesn’t it?”
“Didn’t we say that to each other? That night on the beach right before our parents split? That if things were meant to work out, they would one day.” He sucked his lips into his mouth, taking in a sharp inhale and letting his head fall back towards the ceiling.
“It’s like everything’s finally fallen into place.” You breathed, allowing the amalgamated scent of liquor and cigarettes and cleaning chemicals to consume you, hips swaying back and forth to the mellow cover song the band was playing, imperfect but beautiful. “We’d be stupid not to try things again.”
“We would, wouldn’t we?” Michael said, tossing the rag off to the side once he’d finished his cleaning, the surface of the bar now so shiny you could practically see your reflection in it. “I promise this time, if you really want to give me a second chance, I won’t fuck things up. I’ll treat you how you should’ve always been treated.”
There was something about the look in his eyes that made you believe him.
From the crowd by the stage came a chorus of voices, most off-key, as they began to sing along to the band’s cover song, which you were certain you’d heard before, but couldn’t quite place when.
And all that is now
“Hey, I love this song,” Michael said suddenly, as if it hadn’t just been playing for the last several minutes, “fuck, this brings me back to high school.”
You wondered if he still chewed cinnamon gum, remembering the sweet spicy scent of his hot breath on your throat, late at night in the back of his cluttered sports car, the dashboard lights illuminating your half-dressed bodies. You wondered if he still played video games with those ridiculous oversize headphones, if he still liked to take midday naps, if he still fell asleep to South Park reruns.
Most of all, though, you wondered about the things you’d never witnessed, all the things you’d missed over the past five years.
And all that is gone
“Do you still chew cinnamon gum?” you asked abruptly, too drunk to worry about whether or not such a question was weird to ask.
He wiggled his eyebrows, reaching into the back pocket of his torn black skinny jeans (god, he’d always looked so good in those) to retrieve a crushed pack of gum, CINNAMON printed in red lettering across the front.
“Hell yeah,” he said, pulling out a piece and tossing it to you. “That shit beats mint by far.”
You unwrapped the gum and popped it in your mouth, immediately flooded with memories the moment you began working into it with your back teeth.
And all that’s to come
He reached out to flip the foil wrapper over, smoothing out its creases before grabbing a black pen from next to the register. You watched through your dreamlike haze as he jotted down a series of numbers in crooked, loopy handwriting, his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth in concentration. Underneath the phone number he wrote something else, in bold capitals, turning the paper around and sliding it towards you with a wry grin.
LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN
You took the paper, folding it up and shoving it deep into your skirt pocket, inadvertently sinking your teeth into your lower lip. “Maybe I’ll call you sometime, big bro.”
For a fraction of a second, he landed a glance on your chest, lips twitching upwards just slightly at the corners. “Oh, I’ll be posted up until you do.”
“How about another Sex on the Beach?” you said, even though you were drunk enough on Michael’s presence as it was; it felt like you were floating in the blackness of outer space all while rolling with the soft, turning waves of the ocean, and you couldn’t help but want to feel this way forever.
And everything under the sun is in tune
“Coming right up, ma’am,” came Michael’s teasing reply, making you squirm; your eyes fell shut as you allowed the band’s blaring drum and bass to swallow you whole, swaying aimlessly to the rhythm, your head lolling back and forth.
The music was loud enough to drown out your thoughts, and the sound only increased as the song came to its powerful end, your teeth chattering with adrenaline as an electric chill made its way up your spine.
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon
When you opened your eyes, Michael was back in front of you, and all but the colorful overhead lights had dimmed; the entire bar was potent with color, Michael’s angular features appearing so much softer now, cast with bright purple, then blue, then a shade of pink so vivid it looked almost otherworldly.
Your eyes connected with his for what must’ve been the thousandth time in all the months you’d known him, but you felt, deep in your bones, that this was really only the first.
You had a good feeling about this.