One shots || Micheal Afton x Reader ➷

Hands

C/W; Suggestive use of words, Smut, eating out?, fingering, unprotected and hard sex
First perspective; F [Name]

🎵 Shades Of Cool - Lana Del Rey

—

There was nothing innocent in the way Micheals hands touched me. Each grope, each grasp from Micheal sent a wave of heat to roll over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The flame, the fire, the heat dipped between my legs and filled my core with a smoldering sensation. His hands had touched every article of my body, hungrily.

His thumb would skim the opening of my thighs, trail over the indent in my hips, trace the curve of my back and torso and smudge my lipstick down to the corner of my lips and I would let him do it. In fact, I would watch him do it. I would watch him do it with wide glossy eyes full of naivety.

There was something in the way he would touch me after those long and stressful night shifts at Freddy's. The way his body fit with mine and how it sunk deep within me, sending waves of ecstasy crashing into me. The way his lips pressed onto mine, it all left me yearning for more, mourning the loss of his hands against my raw and flush flesh at the end of the night.

All I could was watch of the clock. Endless ticking counting down the seconds of yet another day, another day without Micheal and his hands and touch and his body. I would have to wait, but I couldn't. The house was empty without him, I felt antsy, pondering the house myself. The halls seemed as if they went on forever. The house dark and gloom as the rain outside poured. Raindrops clashed against the window.

Days, what seem to be like days, pass until it was dawn when I heard the familiar creak of the front door. A crisp gush of frigid yet humid morning air brushed past my face as a familiar frame would walk in, heaving out an heavy and exhausted breath.

"I'm home." Micheals voice broke the hours worth silence, low and velvety, exhaustion tinged his voice and god, did I miss it.

The floorboards crack and moan beneath the steps of Micheals shoes. I watch him close his umbrella and slide off his jacket and hang them onto the coat rack. His jacket was the one that had his name tag pinned to the front, a dark blue windbreaker that complimented his face, my favorite. He tossed his keys onto a side table that was already filled with miscellaneous items.

". . . I missed you." I managed out, my voice more hoarse than I'd intended.

It was more than miss, I didn't just "miss" him. The feeling was intense, too intense, more intense than I'd care to admit. I wanted him to myself. I should only feel the touch of his hands. I should only kiss his lips. My heavy heart slammed against my chest, pounding against the cage of my ribs it resides in as Micheal glanced over his shoulder at me. My hands clasped onto my thighs.

Dark gray piercing eyes that have stripped me raw, seen me vulnerable and naked, they peered into me, as if he was seeing my very secret, my every thought filled of suggestive exploits.

"I missed you, too, [Name]." Micheals lush lips curled into a crooked smile, a smile that I knew all too well with those dimpled cheeks. His eyes landed on me and my warm face and body that ached and yearned for his touch.

Micheal slowly walked to where I sat on the couch, taking the cushion next to me. A blanket pulled over my lap. The lighting dim and the lamp flickered, buzzing as it did so. The soft whirr of the warm air conditioner blowing. My body hummed with electricity, feeling the near presence of Micheal. I tipped my head downwards.