Michaelishious - Vol. 2018

Dec. 25: Pimp my ride

Author's note:

This imagine is based on the story 'His Personal Assistant', and it's simply too complicated to summarize it all in just a few sentences. So if you haven't read the story, I suggest that you skip this last imagine.

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I heard laughter and noises from down the hall, and Max came running with Michael's wheelchair, and Gracie close behind.

"We made it, mommy! We made it!" Gracie shouted triumphantly.

"I can see that. Great! High five!"

I giggled, while Gracie tried to hit my hand, and Max dumped down in his father's chair, laughing like a goof.

"Is he mad?" I asked, knowing that Michael often had to use a couple of hours, before his muscles had warmed up enough so he could walk by himself. And his stubborn ass refused to use any other helping device than his wheelchair, and even wanted to remove the ceiling lift too. I had to work really hard to convince him that we should keep it there as a memory of his struggle back to his old self, and that nobody really noticed it anyway, since it was so well integrated in the interior. But he didn't really listen, until I mentioned the sexual aspect of it, and even demonstrated it for him, as if we hadn't tried that before...

"MAX!! GET BACK HERE! GIVE ME MY CHAIR BACK!"

Michael yelled from the bedroom, and I could tell that it wasn't a very good start on the day for him. He was definitely mad. But that's the way it had to be today. Because I had plans, and the kids were prepared to help me.

"MAX? GRACIE? DAMN YOU!" he hissed, and all three of us chuckled silently.

"Where's Abigail?" I asked, noticing she wasn't there.

"Already upstairs," Max said, and nodded towards the stairs.

"Are you ready then?"

Gracie couldn't stand still, so my question wasn't really needed.

"You remember what I told you, right? Tinsels around the handles, and the antlers on the back. Okay?"

Max groaned in annoyance, and I knew I had repeated myself too many times already. But whatever.

"Good. I'll go take care of your father now. Do you guys need help to get the chair up the stairs?"

"Mom! Come on. I'm not a kid anymore. I can carry it as easy as Gracie can knock down her bowl of cereal."

"Hey!" Gracie objected, still embarrassed about what happened this morning, and I had to bite my lip to stifle a laugh.

"I know, I know. You're a fine eight year old, young man and I'm very proud of you. Now go on. The faster you get that chair done, the sooner he'll get it back, and get in a better mood."

Max blushed a bit, but got off the chair and pulled it up the stairs without much effort. Good boy. Now, let's go see if my husband can be a good man.

I walked down the hall, hearing Michael mumble angrily to himself, and I prepared for the worst.

"Good morning, baby!" I exclaimed, several levels more enthusiastically than normal, and Michael squinted at me.

"Why didn't you stop them? You know I need that ch..."

"Yeah, yeah. But not today. You're gonna have to settle with me whether you like it or not."

I placed his hands around my neck and helped him stand.

"Yeah, but why?" he muttered, and I gasped loudly, pretending to be offended.