quick note: i feel like i’ve been so absent lately, so i wrote this out. i don’t quite know how i feel about it. michael gets a little naughty - warning. i opened up an ask - so ask me things! and i think i’m going to venture into oneshot territory but we’ll see. lots of love to you beautiful people ***
Sticky to touch, Calum had been waiting outside of your house for nearly an hour under the hot, judgemental sun that burned his skin the same way your dark eyes did when they glared up at him from the end of the sidewalk.
For a boy dressed in all black, you were surprised at how collected Calum looked. He’d sprawled out across the steps to your deck, blocking your first way in, and looked prepared to meet you in a sprint for the backdoor. The smirk of his mouth was mischievous, like the mess of his hair, and the kindest thing he’d done in months was rise to meet you.
“So I’m guessing you heard.” Unmannered and untamed, Calum put his hands in the pockets of his second skin black jeans and raised a casual eyebrow in your direction. You hadn’t moved from the sidewalk. Your arms were now crossed over your chest as if they, too, were mad at Calum. “You’re feeling really distant.” He joked.
“Go fuck yourself.” Your remark was hard and piercing, but Calum hardly faltered. He was prepared for your mediocre arguments as you huffed and puffed from a distance, like the Big Bad Wolf with no balls. You were almost adorable with dirty words coming out of your pretty mouth. “Or better yet, go fuck Bambi again. May her doe eyes and flexibility grant you massive erections for years to come.”
He nearly choked on his laughter. Calum wasn’t sure if you thought you were intimidating in your high-waisted shorts. “Babe.” It came out in an inevitable laugh, causing a physical sigh to escape you. Calum cleared his throat, trying to be serious for you, and repeated, “Babe… babe… okay, I’ll give you that.”
“I don’t want anything you have to give, Calum.” You countered. He’d taken a few steps off your driveway and was looking at you coyly. A few metres still separated your two aggressive stances but you were like opposing magnetic forces. A collision was imminent. “I take that back. I want you to leave. Give me that.”
He placed his clammy palms on the back of his neck, stretching out his shoulders as he exclaimed, “We never said we were exclusive. I was at least eighty percent sure that you were banging Matty Farman for a week before it happened.”
“Matty Farman is a complete douchebag!” You shouted. It wasn’t necessarily true, but seeing Calum channeling the chill vibes of Alex Turner on your front lawn was driving you mad. “Though, now I can see your confusion. Absorbent asshole seems to be my type.”
Calum sighed, long and heavy. There were imaginary patience bars above his head that were threatening a meltdown. He was on the border of losing his shit and you were poking him with a stick. “I can’t… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Shit… can you just come over here please? Can you just stand a little bit closer to me before I freak out?”
“No Calum!” Your arms hit air in exasperation. You were like a six year old throwing a hissy fit in the street, your hair bouncing as much as you were. “For once in your life, keep it in your pants. You can’t just get everything you want. You can’t fuck whatever you want.”
“That’s bullshit.” He was using that raspy, calm voice that you found unsettling. He was like a shrink who knew more about you than you did. Or more like a breakthrough teenage musician with too many girls screaming his name at once. “I get what I want. I fucking get what I want and I fucking want you. So fuck you.”
“No!” You were marching towards him. Somewhere between a sprint and parade pace, you planned on ploughing straight through Calum until he disintegrated into emptiness. “Fuck you, Calum Hood. You ignorant, abrasive piece of shit. Fuck you.” The second he was at an arm’s length you shoved his chest, throwing him back into the railing of your porch. “No, I take that back. It’s on me for ever having wasted any time with you. Fuck me.”
“Fuck you?” he repeated, smirking. You sucked in a breath when he repeated your words, for whatever reason they sounded much better on his lips. He was leaning back, but his height towered over you, and his smirk was making you weak in the knees. You hated to admit it but you were putty in his hands. His broad, bass-playing, dominating hands. The same hands you wanted all over you and everywhere.
“Fuck me.” You repeated, coyly. A tone in your voice that only Calum had an ear for.
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”
It was like the boundless dark of an unlit tunnel; this feeling. It rested like a heavy weight across his shoulders, forcing him over and aching his neck ceaselessly. No matter the extent of his pain, Luke wouldn’t say a thing. He knew his dark was of no comparison to your obscurity and he wanted nothing more than to bear your pain for you.
He had a million things he wanted to say. He would say them two million times if he knew it would grant you any relief. He could hear your shaky breath as your head rested on your knees and your arms held you in a tight ball. You were curled up in the front seat, your quiet sobs breaking the silence of the road, and Luke was on a breaking point.
“Fuck it.” he muttered, pulling the car off the road to stop. He had to take off his seatbelt for his entire body to face you. “I need you to look at me.” he growled, his voice a low whisper so only you could hear him. He reached over to undo your seatbelt and grabbed your legs from underneath you when you didn’t object. He placed them over his lap, turning your body to his and sighed. The soreness in his chest was tangible when you looked at him. Your eyes red and wet, your face soaked in tears and your small arms wrapped around yourself as if you were your own comfort.
“Please don’t look at me like that.” He almost didn’t hear you. If he hadn’t been hanging off your every word, he might’ve missed it.
People had said things before, you both saw it coming. Luke knew how resilient you were but he’d given you a choice. He never would have asked you to morph your world if he knew how bad it would get. “I can’t stop looking at you. I love looking at you.” He reached for your hands to pull them away from your face. He held them to his chest, wanting you to follow.
It was hard in the beginning. The fans had taken a while to get accustom to you. Things were said and Luke could see that they hurt you, but for every dismissal there had been hundreds of proclamations. After eight months, they loved you together almost as much as Luke did. You had learned to fuse out of the bad comments, as rare as they were. Luke had foolishly assumed the same would happen with the media. He hardly thought he was worth photos when he wasn’t with the boys. Luke Hemmings meant nothing without 5 Seconds of Summer attached.
But the scratches on your arms said otherwise. The screams ringing in your ears like sirens, followed you in silence and seldom left you. The flashes that blurred you, making your whole life seem dizzying, and the millions of pulling hands that tore Luke away from you and thrust you deeper into a world you didn’t understand.
“I hate it.” Your words were poison. As a sparker should, you ignited a wave of concern in the pit of his stomach. “I hate it with my entire being. I hate feeling this way all the time. The way people look at me now and the things they say to me, it’s intolerable. It makes my chest sore.”
The way your voice cracked when you spoke took Luke’s breath away. He inhaled sharply, distracted by how beautiful and vulnerable you looked. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. He put his hand to your chest, feeling the race of your heartbeat against his palms. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve to have to deal with this. You don’t have to deal with this. Tell me what I can do. What would make you feel better?”
Your smile was miserable. As soon as you pulled your hands from his, your answer became clear. You wouldn’t dare say it knowing that it was the last thing Luke wanted hear. Instead, you turned to face the window deciding that if you didn’t look at him, it would be easier. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Luke. Let’s just drop it.”
He hesitated to start the car up. Luke wanted you to know that he was there for you but you had built up a wall around yourself. There were only so many times he could break his way through before you isolated yourself from him forever.
Luke hated being the reason that you were so unhappy but he was too selfish to let you go. Regardless, no part of him wanted to be the thing that held you back. He was sure… if you decided that you wanted to run away from it then he might just let you go.
There was not enough drinks in the world to blind Ashton from the way your hips swayed when you danced. It was almost three in the morning and he’d taken seventeen shots to try to forget what your favourite song was alas, to no avail. Now all he could think of were Oasis lyrics and how nice you looked in a black dress.
“Ash!” You stopped dancing at the flash of his vibrant bandana, which was probably why he hadn’t said hi to you in the last two hours he’d been in attendance. He was quite enjoying the view. Besides, a bonfire wasn’t exactly Ashton’s thing and it had taken an incessant amount of whining before he could drag Calum to your beachside pre-college function. The dark-haired lad had disappeared an hour in however, and Ashton was left stranded to kill time by taking shots with strangers so he could work off a drunken nerve and talk to you. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.”
“Yeah… yeah.” He stuttered out lamely. Hot against his skin, you enveloped him into an immediate hug. The signature wave of linen and lavender had him succumbing to your grip and before he could stop himself, wrapping his arms around your back so you were as close as possible.
“You’re sweaty and you reek of booze.” Teasingly, you held yourself to Ashton a second longer than he’d expected you to. He wondered if you noticed these kinds of things, like an unspoken string of words that linked the two of you together. Things like how you avoided eye contact whenever you wanted to hang out alone because you were too nervous to ask or how Ashton’s skin flared up the second your hands made contact. “So much for my coaxing you to stay with beer and pop rocks.”
“You don’t need to coax me to stay.” It might have been the Smirnoff, but Ashton had started laughing. He pulled the pop rocks from your hand, throwing them into his mouth, and tried to distract himself from how close you were.
Just do it.
“You hate bonfires.” You reminded him, smiling slightly. Ashton figured he wouldn’t hate as long as you were there. You seemed aglow by the flames, and he loved the way it made your skin hot to touch.
“Yeah, but I like you.” It slipped out, but Ashton had been hoping he wouldn’t sound like a complete douche bag when he said it. He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his masculinity. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
You replaced the bottle in Ashton’s hand with your own, looking at him quite blankly. “You’ve clearly had too much to drink. Come… let’s go sit in the sand and try to sober up on salt air. You can watch me dance in the ocean.” He wasn’t sure if you were joking or not. Primarily because you almost never initiated alone time but also because he kind of did want to watch you dance.
Ashton figured this was his only chance. He wanted to be cool about it so when Calum asked him to recount later, he wouldn’t have to omit anything. He continued to hold your hand as you led him further down the beach until you both were out of earshot and the only thing he could hear was his heart racing in his chest.
“I think you should know that Calum disappeared with my roommate to buy graham crackers and marshmallows.”
You were sprawled out in the sand, like a washed up starfish. You kicked your leg over Ashton’s waist unconsciously and he struggled to swallow the tightness in his chest. “Why should I be interested in Calum’s rendezvous?”
“My roommate is pretty fit, and the last time she went to buy graham crackers with a guy I didn’t see her for the next two days. So…” You kicked your second leg over him, “You’re stuck with me. Whether you like it or not.”
Ashton ran his hands through his hair. He hated doing it because it messed up the position of his bandana, but when he didn’t have his drumsticks on hand it was a mechanism to calm his nerves. “I could never be stuck with you. There’s nobody else I’d rather spend my time with.” You were looking up at him from the stand, your eyes visibly confused by his confession. “In fact, I was hoping we could spend more time together. Not as friends. I was thinking we could try something different… something more.”
At some point in his verbal blast he’d started staring out into the ocean. As soon as he looked at you, he felt his stomach drop. “Oh no,” he said, pulling his bandana over his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that. I already told you I like you in the lamest way possible. Feel bad for me.”
“I’m really sorry, Ash.” Your voice was at least two octaves higher, and he could visual you wrinkling your nose like you did when you felt bad. His cheeks were flushed long before your fingers grazed them, lifting the cloth from his eyes so he could face you. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“No,” he objected, dragging out the note jokingly like a seven year old child, “I can’t stop thinking about you. Isn’t that enough?”
He had at least evoked a smile out of you. It was small, and slightly dismal, but it was a smile nonetheless. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in like four months, Ash. It’s hard enough spending that kind of time away from my best friend. I don’t know if I could handle a long distance relationship. Besides, you’re blowing up right now! The months apart will only get longer and as much as we lie to ourselves, Skype dates and texts aren’t going to cut it.”
Ashton sighed. He could see where you were coming from. It was hard enough spending his late nights dreaming about you. He was pretty sure if he ever actually saw you naked, he wouldn’t be able to take his hands off you.
“Are we okay?”
Ashton pressed his lips together and nodded, “I get it.” You looked at him anyway, watching his face for any sort of reaction. He rolled his eyes and pushed you down by your forehead until you were back in the sand. He shook out his hair, moaning in distress as he came to a realization.
“Fuck… Calum is going to have a field day with this one.”
It was the heaviest guitar solo you had ever heard; loud, prominent and blaring past the early morning sun as it overtook chirping birds and giddy morning swimmers. Michael and you jolted up in sync, him falling out of the bed, and your hands flying to your chest and you tried to steady your racing heart.
“Fuck!” Michael shouted from the ground. He began rooting through the stacks of clothes for his stupid, fucking phone. He was mentally cursing himself for choosing Rivers Cuomo guitar solo for his ringtone. He ravaged through the pocket of his jeans before finding the vibrating device. “It’s eight in the morning.”
“It’s eleven in the morning.” Luke corrected, sounding too smart-alecky for Michael’s preference. “You were supposed to be downstairs an hour ago. We’re doing a signing, remember? Believe it or not, actual people are here. Fans, to be specific. Many of which are wondering where the fuck is the green-haired one?”
“Tell me them I’m quitting the band. The hardcore lifestyle was too much for me.” Michael replied, stretching out on the hotel room floor. He glanced at the bed to give you an apologetic look. You were bundled up in the sheets, hiding your body from him even though he’d seen it a thousand times before.
“Calum said he saw you leave last night with [Y/N]. Is she still there?” Michael hesitated. It was unusual that you two had sleepovers. More often than not, after a long night of shots and chasers, you ended up in the same bed. Nothing ever happened (you weren’t those kind of friends) but the boys would tease Michael relentlessly about the lack of pursuance on his end for something more. He could make out the shuffling on the phone, “She is, isn’t she?” It was Calum now, talking giddily into the speaker. “Did you sleep with her? Tell me you did.”
“Bye Calum!” Michael answered quickly, throwing the phone to the ground before Calum could get out another word. He moaned into his hands, glancing up at you apologetically.
“I know, I know.” You said it before he could, “You have an interview/recording session/livestream/concert. Or all of the above. I’ll just shower and then I’ll get out of your hair.”
This was the not fun part. Michael’s eyes were trained to follow your body as you slipped out from the comforter in your bra and underwear, and you grew hot under his heavy gaze. The biggest step you both had made was getting to a point where you could sleep in your underwear and even then, you still felt the need to hide yourself from him.
The second you were out of the room, Michael moaned. With your name on the edge of his lips, he felt the slight twinge in his boxers at the thought of you. Fucking Calum had put the idea back in his head, as if he didn’t have trouble erasing it already. The problem was that Michael wasn’t sure if you were even interested in a relationship. And he wasn’t sure how he could ask to see your boobs platonically.
He figured he had at least six or eight minutes while you were in the shower. He lay back down on the bed, reaching into his shorts, and closed his eyes trying to picture the way your hips curved when you walked. “Fuck.” He whispered, arching his back to change his grip. He quickly spit on his hand, and brought it back down, pumping fast and quick before he lost his momentum.
“Michael, can you not hear me? I said the—oh fuck.”
He jumped at the sound of your voice but you had lamely slapped your hands over your eyes. “Fuck. I’m sorry. The shower wasn’t working and I didn’t know you were—shit—I’m so sorry.” You were hovering in your underwear, with a towel in your hand and Michael couldn’t help but groan at the sight of your mile long legs.
“You’re killing me here.” he moaned. He pulled the comforter over his face, embarrassed at having been caught, and sighed. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
You let out a small laugh, peeking through your fingers to see Michael hidden in the blankets. “I’m not mad at you.” He made a small moan. “Michael, come on, look at me.” When he didn’t move, you crawled back onto the bed, tugging the sheets down from his eyes so he had no choice but to look at you. “Do you… um… do you want me to help you?”
Michael’s stomach clenched, “What?”
“Do you want me to help you?” You were looking right at him, but Michael had to wonder if you were joking.
“Uh… sure.” He answered slowly. He was worried you’d suddenly start laughing and tell him you were only kidding. It was bad enough that you’d caught him mid-masturbation but he wasn’t sure he could handle a rejected blow job story over his head to.
His breath hitched as your hands touched the waistband of his boxers. “Michael, calm down.” You muttered, backing onto your knees. You pumped him twice before bringing your lips down his tip, kissing him lightly to make him squirm. Michael moaned and entangled his hands in your hair to thrust himself further into your mouth, enjoying the feeling of your tongue grazing his length. “Wait, wait, wait.” You muttered, pulling yourself off of him. “I think this will help.” Your hands reached behind your back as you looked up from Michael smirking. He forced his eyes to watch you unhook your bra and throw to the side. You sat back to bare your entire chest to him, finding satisfaction in his moan.
“Fuck me.” Michael growled, his hands now reaching for your chest. You rocked yourself forward, allowing him to better his grip on you. He grew harder underneath you, if that had been at all possible, and you lightly brought his hands from your chest back to your hair so you could take him back into your mouth.
“I lied before,” Michael muttered, “I’m not sorry at all.”