Feather

Eight

Peyton's giggles echoed through Michael's flat as he chased her. His laughed rang out as he nearly slipped due to his damp feet from the shower he just had, which is what gave him this idea in the first place, and was he so glad for it. He was having so much fun, though some people wouldn't think having a water fight inside as the smartest thing, he honestly didn't care.

"You're cheating, I don't have any weapons." Peyton called out as she ran into the living room. Her tshirt was soaked, her naked legs cold from the water, and her loose hair sticking to her neck and face.

Michael aimed his water gun at her, getting her in the back, "maybe I just like hearing you beg for me?" He grinned.

Peyton halted slightly, and crouched down behind the couch. Michael really should learn to stay quiet sometimes, for his own good more than anything else. She smirked as she sat down slowly, closing her eyes, and slowing her breathing. Faintly, she could make out Michael's light footsteps in the water spilled across his wooden floors.

"Michael?" She said softly, placing her feet flat on the floor, spreading her legs slightly, "baby... this game isn't fun anymore," she pouted, running her fingertips tenderly down her thighs, "I'd rather you make me wet in another way... please, baby." Peyton whined.

All of a sudden there was a loud crash, followed by a pained groan, "fuck!" Michael swore. Peyton winced at the sound, looking over the couch, and seeing Michael laying on his back on the floor.

She quickly crawled over to him, desperately trying not to laugh as she comforted him, "oh, Michael, what have you done to yourself?" She smiled sweetly.

"I fell," he frowned, and Peyton couldn't help it as she laughed into her left hand, her other resting against Michael's neck, "don't laugh, it's your fault."

"Me? What did I do?" She asked with an innocent look.

"You, with your whining, and saying 'please', you know how much I like it when you do that." He pouted.

"Aw, baby," Peyton imitated his pout, "I'm sorry." She kissed him quickly.

"You're making fun of me aren't you?" Michael raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"Maybe a little." She smiled, kissing him again.

"Just a little?" He laughed lightly, mumbling against her lips before kissing her back. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down on top of him.

They kissed slowly for a while, it became deeper as their tongues ran against each other's, a sensation so sweet that they had grown so fond of these months together. Even if doing nothing else, there wasn't anything Michael and Peyton enjoyed more than just kissing. It allowed them to feel how hot they made each other while at the same time Michael could still touch everywhere he wanted, and Peyton would let him.

This felt different somehow though, not at all like the other times before. It wasn't hot, well, it was hot but not in a sexy way, a lot more care was taken. The touches lighter, the noises more of contentment than arousal, and Peyton didn't know why but she began to hesitate, opening her eyes as her lips slowly stopped moving, and she pulled back.

"What's wrong?" Michael questioned, pushing her hair back, and behind her ear so he could see her eyes, which he thought were beautiful.

"We should clean up this water." She said, her tone unsure.

Michael got up onto his elbows, watching in confusion as Peyton stood up, leaving the living room. He wondered if he did or said something wrong. She seemed different, tense, like something was bothering her. He kept his eye on the door as she walked in wearing a pair of his sweatpants, and one of his oversized sweatshirts, her damp hair in a bun.

"Do you have a mop?" Peyton asked.

"Cupboard." He pointed to the hallway behind her.

Peyton didn't say anything else, going to get what she needed to get rid of the water. He got up slowly, feeling self conscious, and covering himself, as he was naked, so he could walk past her. Once in the bedroom, he closed the door with a deep sigh. Michael dried his body with a towel, and put on fresh boxers and sweatpants before sitting on the edge of the bed.

He waited a while, trying to compose himself, his thoughts, and when Michael didn't hear anything coming from the living room, he stood and went to ask her once again what was wrong. When he got there his chest tightened, the mop was on the floor, and Peyton was sat on the couch, her knees to her chest, and he could see the tears on her cheeks as she silently cried.

He made his way over slowly, and Peyton quickly wiped her tears when noticing him, "I really hate cleaning." She laughed sadly as he sat down.

"Peyton, please tell me what's wrong." He reached his hand out to her, and she flinched. She didn't mean to but she did, and it made him frown, retreating his hand.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," she told him in a panic when realising what she'd done, "please smile, I'm okay. I just needed a cry, you know? Like because I'm a girl and stuff," Peyton quickly held his hand entwining their fingers, "I'm good, okay?"

"You're lying to me," Michael stated sadly, "I can tell by your eyes."

"Michael, please..." she turns, looking away from him.

"No, don't, don't do that," he cut her off, letting go of her hand, and placing his hands on her cheeks, turning her back to face him, "don't turn away from me." He looked deeply into her eyes.

"Mich..." Peyton tried but once again he cut her off, only this time he did it with a kiss, and she felt her body melt as she couldn't stop herself from kissing him back. It was slow, and deep, and beautiful. Michael pulled back when feeling a tear wet his cheek.

"Why are you crying?" Michael asked her, he hated seeing her like this.

"I... I just really, really like you." Peyton sighed, a small smile on her lips as she leaned into his touch, placing her hands over his.

That was the moment Michael knew, he knew it in himself, and he knew it was happening for her too. Peyton didn't need to say anything else, he could see it in her eyes. Those eyes that he liked so much. So he smiled, and told her, "I really, really like you too."