Back In Black, Tishk Barzanji

A couple of michaels in my notes from today

Marc Jacobs S/S 2016

A BAD NEED

(michael’s so delicious and you can’t take it…) | 1.3k words

WARNINGS: fem!reader , oral (m!receiving) , sexual themes

through the front door to the foyer, you laughed into each other’s necks, holding each other close as if there were still prying eyes to lose. you turned no lights on, your eyes were far more keen on devouring each other. and michael could navigate his fortress with as much ease in the dark, even if he was blinded with his hands tied behind his back, so his lips seek to capture yours, he didn’t have to think twice.

“you’re so bad…” michael snickers as your lips connect, recounting the touches you just shared, as secretly as you could muster, in the back of his car.

“you started it…” you whine, coaxing him by the collar to keep his lips on you.

he practically cradles you as you move up the long staircase, his grip both on his banister and the nape of your neck, your hold so loose and lax around his bending shoulders. your arms lift, up and up. your lips mimick each other like a symphony; some kisses lingering, some deep, and deeper still with his so-wet tongue lacing yours with slow, decadent slips melting into melodic hums. as you gracefully ascend to the top of the landing, the light of the night reaches all around you through his tall, reverent windows. the two of you dance, it seemed, to the hallway where you stop him now. you couldn’t handle another step longer without feeling him.

you can’t tell if it was the liquor or him. you’ve been drinking both up all night, though michael has all the more power per volume than any bottle could keep. than any drink could punish you, you thought, with so much need and lust. what michael gives to you--does to you-- burns your body white hot, melts you hollow in your party dress every single time.

when you stop him, he holds your back with a widened palm to keep you close. you sway until you find each other, hip to hip, warmth pooling through both of your epicenters with love so exquisite, it tingled heartily through the both of you, being this close.

gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, so nicely steamed and silky even after a night of everyone fawning over him, you sigh into yet another riff of his tongue, sounding almost as if you were crying.

“michael,” you moan in between kissing. you can’t believe you're his. you can't fathom the beauty of him, so close and for you to touch. a hand goes to his face and cuts into his long, thick hair as if it would get him any closer. “oh, michael.”

“what?” he echoes back to you, a cocky smile forming, widening as he explores the feeling of his teeth now nudging against your open lips. “what is it, baby?”

your lips don’t answer with the words he wanted, just kissed and kissed him. on his cheek, along his chin, and down lower to suck the sinew of his neck, licking with a bad need along his exposed collar beneath the buttons that you’ve been skillfully undoing in all your desperation.

michael moans in awe of you, letting out a husky breath as he tries to make room for your mouth, his hand still holding you, squeezing your body at the jolt of every touch on his sensitive skin. “what’re you doin’?” he asks, playing at cluelessness.

your open mouth continues all down his body, hands bracing you as you slide down his clothed chest, his rib cage, his stomach. “i-i can’t take it…” your statement comes out in sobs, longing so deep it chokes you.

michael laughs slowly, his eyes staying on you, “i knew it…you’ve had that look in your eye all night…” your face buries into the ridge in the crotch of his dress pants, kissing his groin and legs with your hot, open mouth. michael hears you sniffle, his teeth sinking deeper into his swelling lip. “like you want somethin,’” he adds, sadistically, to his teasing, but you barely hear him over the drunkenness that’s found you.

you cross to his right hand, near shaking as you kiss the back of his fingers, feel his hard knuckles press against the tip of your nose. you love this. worshipping him. his breath, elated, getting louder and louder in your ears, his lust coming over him to whisper his nastiest thoughts to you, watching you, his body unable to do much else but melt and give in... his other hand adjusts himself over his pants quickly, a way to relieve his ache.

his fingertips crawl along your bottom lip, curious. then feel your cheek and hold your parted jaw. following your head as you sit back on your heels, he watches you tilt back and open your mouth. he gives you his thumb with a sly smile.

“you’re—“ he breaks into a fit of giggles when your tongue tickles the underside—“you’re such a bad girl…”

his affirmation finds you in a hum, glittering his voice as you latch around his thumb, then his first finger inches its way inside, then his middle, long and smooth, relieves his thumb so he could focus on adding his ring finger, playing with them on your tongue to remind himself of how you’ll feel on him for real.

your head spins in the bliss, savoring the salty taste between each long ridge that dissolves and flows back down your throat. you rock a little, lifting your dress higher on your legs before taking his fingers out of your mouth. with a bit less grace in the darkness, you start to undo his belt, feeling inside his parted slacks for his underwear, soft fabric pushing toward you, wanting you to feel him.

“baby…” you gasp, awed by his firmness growing long against your palm. you take out your hand, pulling his pants further down on his thighs.

“c’mon, you’re playin’ too much,” he gusts, a childish frustration running over his senses, and you bite back a giggle at his eagerness, a nerve to tease him further, before you reach back inside, concentrating on pulling him out all the way.

then his voice came to you again, he was always so light, so sweet. “look at me,” he coos, softly, “look at me while you’re doin’ it.” and his large hand, so gently calm, moves to encourage you, on the back of your head.

but he’s a gentleman, so he lets go of your head and lifts his arms up, holding his hair back to let him see you better. he’d always told you everything of his was yours.

you just take what’s yours, baby, he’d tell you.

so there was never any hesitation when you look up at him with the dreamy eyes he loves so bad, and slide his dick in your mouth. suckling as it stretches out your lips and you bob a little deeper, eyes blinking closed with a satisfied moan that rumbles in your throat.

“oh, baby…yes,” michael sighs, lifting the hem of his shirt above his belly, fingers splayed out wide and rattling a little with each gust of breath.

soon he can’t help it, his hands hold your head, and he’s dragging his hips back and forth into you, as much as you can take, taking pleasure from the easy slide of your blissful mouth, your warm, raised tongue creating a holy place, a ring of fire in him. a moan accompanies his hands sewing into your hair, gritted teeth follows his head lolling back. he closes his eyes and whines, out of breath, “never felt so good…”

a quiet stomp comes down beside you from his readjusted leg. he’s trembling, heart sprinting, he sees his peak coming soon; faster and faster as it comes down in waves from his shoulder blades, crashing lightning into his belly and pooling finally around his still-moving hips.

michael’s head falls back down to watch you. “look at me, baby,” he says again, his voice hushed and pleading. your eyes slide up, wet now; your eyebrows knitting, so he can watch the precious wrinkle show in your forehead. the one he sees when he knows you’re feeling just as good as him. the thought overwhelms him, and he looks so sweet and helpless to you, his face crinkling now as he lets out a final groan, his orgasm so fast, you grab hold of his thigh to steady him, a pretty little whine curling out of you in reply.

Megan Hundley  //  Ph: Clint Robert

Rooms by Design, 1989

he was so V shaped. Very Shoulders