Getting Over Jeremy Heere | Expensive Headphones (Michael x Rich)

Fifteen

A/N this isn't very good i just wanted another fluffy chapter before the last chapter :( xoxoxo Abigail (Ps, vote and comment, and tell me what i should do next) 

Rich's POV

The elementary school playground is not really the best spot for a heated makeout session, so Michael takes my hand and leads me to his car.

"I can take you home... if you want. Or you could..." He blushes more, which I didn't even think was possible given how flushed he already was. "You could come to my house maybe?"

"Okay."

"Okay? My house?"

"Yeth." I'm not ready to say goodbye just yet. We just found each other, really found each other, and I want to explore this newfound step in our relationship, this unabashed touching, the desire, the need to be close to the other.

Michael draws patterns on my palm with his thumb the whole way to his house.

"Mama? Mom?" Michael calls into a clearly empty house. And suddenly I'm nervous, more nervous than I was at the playground because I just wanted this so badly and now that I have it, now that I have him I'm afraid to lose him. I can't even dwell on this because after the lack of response from Michael's mom's, he pulls me upstairs gently to his room.

I'm sure it's a nice room. I just can't really focus on any of the decor when suddenly there are hands.

Michael's hands on my arms, tracing each and every tattoo. Michael's hands on my waist, tugging me closer, closer, closer, so that he can put his lips to my forehead. Michael's hands encircling my back and I can barely stand up straight.

It's different than on the playground. That was faster, rougher, there was a need to get everything out in the open, just to feel each other.

This is slower. He's taking his time with each kiss, almost teasing, but I know he's just getting used to it. Figuring out how his body fits with mine. And it fits so well. For a few minutes I'm content to let him trail his lips over my face and neck, his fingers trailing over every curve of my body, mapping it out, memorizing it, but then it's my turn. I want to know every part of Michael Mell.

I push him gently until he's sitting on the bed, and without hesitating, I climb onto his lap, straddling his waist.

"Rich..." He breathes out breathily. And I like this. I like looking at him as we battle with kisses. He has a dimple and I kiss it over and over and over again, because I can't get enough, I can never get enough.

By the time we've learned and memorized every inch of eachother, I've managed to remove Michael's hoodie. My hands are up his thin t-shirt, trailing up and down up and down, as he cuddles me, one hand in my hair, the other massaging my shoulder.

We barely talk at all. We don't need to, or want to, it takes away from having my lips on his, less making out now, just gentle, and sweet, and it's all I've ever wanted from every romance novel I've ever read, except it's different, it's better, because he's Michael, and no one could ever write him well enough to compare to the way he makes me feel, all tangled up in his sheets, and arms and legs. His smell alone, mostly sweet but something in there is spicy, with an undertone of weed, is enough to make me drowsy.

And so I fall asleep in Michael Mell's arms, whispering I love you's back and forth in between kisses.