Michael Drabble: High Fidelity
Just a bit of college student romance :)
The little bell on the handle of the door chimes when you pull it open, the smell of wood and vinyl cleaner instantly flooding your senses. You shake the snow out of your hair and slip your coat off your shoulders, folding it over your arm as you enter the music store. It’s already 8 PM, but the store is packed with parents picking out instruments for their children’s new-found passion, or college students like yourself browsing for new finds.
You’re instantly put at ease when you scan the CD and Vinyl covers of 80s rock bands, a “Deck The Halls” cover by the Red Hot Chili Peppers playing softly throughout the store, making you giggle at the off-key a cappella that was almost a month out of season. You were deciding between AC/DC’s Back in Black or KISS’s Alive!
“Back in Black is definitely the better choice. I’m not even sure why you’re contemplating it.”
You turn your head to the left to see an unnatural red head who looks about the same age as you. His clear green eyes are intense and trained on yours.
“I know,” You say with a smile. “But it’s for my dad’s birthday present. And he was a KISS fan probably before KISS was an official thing.”
He laughs. “Oh, I get it. I went to their concert a couple years ago. I’m a big fan myself. Probably have been since I was born.”
“I can tell,” You gesture to the ripped muscle tank he was wearing, which looked to be a KISS tour shirt from the 90s. The black shirt matched his skinny jeans and converse and complimented his pale skin, the tattoos on his forearm enchanting you.
He sticks his hand out, exposing your eyes to more tattoos on his fingers. “I’m Michael,” He tells you. “Clifford,” He adds, as if it were an afterthought.
“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” You respond, taking his hand and shaking it. His hand is warm, and his touch was firm. It sends a shiver though your body, still cold from the winter chill.
“Pretty name,” He notes with another smile, and now that you actually get a good look at him, he’s pretty attractive.
“Do you go to school here?” You ask him. This music store was on the university campus, so it wasn’t much of a stretch.
Michael nods. “Junior. You?”
“Sophomore,” You answer. “English major.”
He nods again, as if he’s approving. “I’m music theory.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Yikes. I heard that’s insane.”
Michael shrugs a shoulder but steps closer, and you can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest. “At times, yeah. But I want to be a score creator or a songwriter when I graduate. So I guess all the late nights are worth it.”
You laugh, and you can’t help but think this is a weird way of artsy flirting, and you think you’re getting butterflies, but an older man walks buy, shoving a stack of CD’s in Michael’s hands.
“These need to be put back before we close,” The man says, walking back to a middle aged woman checking out drum sets.
You turn back to Michael. “You work here?” And he seems almost embarrassed.
“Gotta pay for school somehow.” He turns and sets the stack of CD’s on a shelf before gesturing for you to follow him. “Come on, I’ll check you out.” He says with a wink.
You giggle at the double meaning of his words as you follow him through the store and crowds of people to the registers. He rings you up and you blush when he grabs a sharpie and writes his number on the bottom of the receipt. You’re just walking out when his voice stops you.
“I know tomorrow is the last day of classes before winter break ends, and you might be busy already, but there’s a party on the south side of campus, and I get off work at eight,” He explains, and the deeper he blushes, the wider your smile grows. “So, if you wanted to, would you like to go with me?”
The butterflies in your stomach are back. You’ve been so engulfed in your studies, you’ve barely had time for friends, let alone boys. “Sure.” You tell him, reaching out to touch his forearm. His skin is warm and welcoming under your touch. “I’ll be here at eight tomorrow.”
You say your infatuated goodbyes, and soon you’re back in your coat and out in the cold.
The next day seems like it takes an eternity to finish, and your creative writing class feels like it’s lasting eight hours instead of the usual two, but you somehow find yourself entering the music store right at 7:55 in a tight top and a pair of skinnies, the chimes going off as you enter.
You see Michael across the empty store lift his head from the music sheet he was working on, and his face breaks into a grin when he sees you.
“You look…” He says, speechless as he looks you up and down as you approach him. “Goddamn.”
“Nice shirt,” You point at his chest, using your other hand to shake the snow out of your hair. It was the Sex Pistols, and you couldn’t help but love his sense of good music.
He winks at you, and you blush. “Ready to go?” He asks, reaching behind the counter for his own coat. You nod, and his hand is at the small of your back leading you out of the store to his mustang.
“Your music taste is impeccable,” You say with a smile, momentarily touching his arm as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road. Blink-182 streamed through the speakers, and you swayed to the beat of "First Date". You smiled. How absolutely fitting.
“They’ll love you,” Michael tells you when he turns into a neighborhood on the outskirts of campus. “You’re the breath of fresh air this group needs.”
“Oh, please." You roll your eyes as he pulls over on the street, in front of a house that looks well into the swing of a party, but you can’t help but feel giddy.
He makes you stay in the car long enough so he can walk around and open the door for you, and when you’re out and you stand up, he grabs your hand and leads you inside.
Instantly, he’s bombarded with people you presume to be his friends.
"Clifford, my man!” A tall and tanned boy with blonde streaks in his black hair says loudly, laughing as they slap hands. “Who’s she?”
You smile as Michael introduces the two of you. “Calum, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), meet Calum Hood.”
Calum extends a hand, grinning at you. “The pleasure is all mine, babe.”
You giggle as Michael hits the back of Calum’s head with his hand, sending his friend off laughing, in search for another beer to replace the empty bottle in his hand.
“Sorry,” Michael leans down so you can hear him over the loud music, brushing his lips against your ear. “He’s a bit of a flirt.”
“S’okay,” You say with a smile, squeezing his hand as he leads you further into the house.
As the night goes on, you meet Michael’s other two best friends, Luke and Ashton, along with almost everyone else at the party. And he was right; they did like you. And you liked them. You were charmed that you fit in so perfectly with his group.
“Hello!” You hear a girl, who you later learned is named Emily and grew up with Michael, in the center of the room. Someone turns the music down, attention from Michael’s group of friends on her. “It’s time for a little game.” She says with an eyebrow raise. “Too hot.”
Michael chuckles beside you, and before you can even turn your attention to him. Emily is already explaining the rules.
“Two people play at once. You start out kissing, but with no hands and no touching. The first person who touches the other loses.” She starts to smirk. “And the loser does whatever the winner wants them to do.”
Michael chuckles again as everyone else continues to listen. His arm snakes around your shoulders, and it’s as if his action draws Emily’s attention.
Her eyes zero in on you. “(Y/N), you’re first.”
The group ‘oooh’s as you blush, and suddenly, Michael’s not laughing anymore.
“Em, come on, don’t make her-”
“And what better way to start off the festivities than to have her go up against the all time champ? Michael, what do you say?”
You finally turn to face Michael, and now, he’s blushing like mad. And you put two and two together.
You raise a brow at him. “All time champ?”
“I can explain-,”
Except, he doesn’t have to, because you’re already kissing him.
The room erupts in cheers and hollers, and Michael is smiling as he kisses you back.
He’s so tall he looms over you, and you’re so overwhelmed by his kisses and his warmth, you don’t even think to realize this is your first kiss with him.
His hands are shoved into the front pockets of his jeans as yours grip the sides of your shirt, and all you want to do is touch him. Run your fingers through his hair. Grip his biceps. Anything.
But, you resist the urge, allowing his tongue to part your lips and grant him access.
He tastes of alcohol and mint, but you don’t mind as he clouds every inch of your senses. His lips were soft and he started out gentle, but as time went on, he became more aggressive, causing you to begin to lose your correct judgement.
You knew you were losing when he began to tease you, biting on your bottom lip or kissing you so slowly it almost drove you mad. But still, you kept your hands on your shirt, squeezing so tight your knuckles were white.
“Fuck,” He mumbles almost silently against your lips, his kisses getting more desperate. He’s pressing harder against you and is marking you as his own greedily, and you wonder just how far you can push him.
Slowly, almost so slow he doesn’t even realize, you began to inch back. Every time you kiss him, you pull back slightly, forcing him to chase you.
And eventually, it turns out that your plan works, because when you get just far enough away, he’s stumbling forward, his hands going to your hips to keep your lips in reach. His mouth freezes on yours as the room instantly cheers and laughs.
“And down goes the king!” Ashton cackles, patting Michael on the back as he and the rest of the group begins to disperse.
“I won,” You breathe against his lips, not yet touching him, afraid their might be some catch to the game. His hands dig into your hips, one hand slipping into your back pocket, his thumb on the other hand finding its way through a belt loop. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Just keep kissing me,” He mumbles, a hand winding up to the back of your neck, the other tangling fingers in your hair as he presses back into you, and your knees almost give out at how demanding his lips are.
You deem yourself allowed to touch him, so you do. You fist your hands in his muscle tee, yanking on it as you pull him even closer, as if it were possible.
He backs you up to the nearest wall, shielding you from the crowd with his tall frame and broad shoulders. His lips are hungry as they draw quiet whimpers from yours, his body pushing you into the wall.
You swear it’s involuntarily, but you find yourself sliding your foot out just slightly, allowing him to settle between your hips, a hand reaching behind you to grab a handful of your ass.
You giggle at his raunchy behavior, and he releases your lips long enough to chuckle with you.
“Come on,” You say with a half smile, nodding your head towards the stairs. You’ve never been in this house before, but surely there was a bedroom somewhere. His eyes follow your gaze, and when he returns them to your face, he’s cautious with a raised eyebrow.
“You sure?” He asks, although his eyes are sparkling.
You untangle your fingers from his hair to press on his shoulder, pushing him off of you and backwards, towards the stairs. “I won. You do what I tell you.”
“Demanding,” He notes, winking as he follows you to the stairs. “I like it.”
You giggle again as he chases you up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he checks the room, making sure no one was paying attention to where the two of you were going all too closely.
“In here,” He grabs your hand and pulls you into the closest door, which turned out to be what looked like a guest room.
He’s smiling again when he shuts the door with a foot, pulling your body back to his.
“Are you sure you’re sure?” He asks again, and it’s almost cute how concerned he is.
“Mikey,” You say, shortening your name as you back him towards the bed, fluttering your eyelashes at him. He grins. “You really need to stop asking that. I won, remember? You’re mine tonight.”
His knees hit the bed and he sits, allowing you to crawl into his lap, settling your knees on either side of his body as his hands go to your hips.
You kiss him again, but you tease him, slow and sensual as his hands begin to inch up your shirt.
You slap them away. “No touching.”
His eyes widen, a baffled look on his face. You smirk as you push him further onto the bed until he’s fully laying down, your hands resting on his chest.
“Come on,” He says, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. The room was dark, aside from the moonlight pooling on his pale skin, and you could practically feel the bass of whatever rap song was playing in the living room pump through your body, but it only added to your already heightened senses. “Let me touch you.”
His calloused hands run up your calves and grip your knees, and your breath catches as he yanks you slightly upward, and you feel his erection against you as a shudder goes through his body. His hands continue their trek upwards, smoothing over your thighs and squeezing your hips. His fingers are on the button of your jeans when again, you slap them away.
“I said no touching,” You warn him again, and he groans, but drops his hands from your body, retreating them to his sides.
You grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, accidentally-on-purpose trying to be sexy as you toss it somewhere off the bed.
“God damn, please let me touch you,” His eyes are wide, taking in the lacy bra against your skin.
"Not yet,” You smirk, pulling on the bottom of his own shirt, Michael sitting up slightly to allow you to take it off.
His stomach tightens and a shaky breath blows through him as you run a hand down his chest, and you swear he stops breathing altogether when you reach the button of his pants.
He’s still as you contemplate your next move, intentionally teasing him as you tap your fingers on his skin.
“What do you do when you win?” You ask him, your eyes flicking up to his.
He eyes you before letting his head fall against the soft pillows. “I let them fucking touch me, that’s what I do.”
You pretend to pout. “Aw, where’s the fun in that?”
Michael looks back up at you when you remove your hands from his jeans, returning them to your own. He tenses as you remove them, leaving you in your lacy bra just-as-lacy panties.
He groans as you return to his lap, rocking your hips slowly against the denim covering his crotch. He actually even lets out a moan when you slip a finger under the front of his jeans, snapping the waistband of his briefs.
“You are so fucked up,” He breathes as he begins to match the movements of your body, canting his hips in time with yours.
“Don’t tell me you’re not liking it?” You feign concern, abruptly stopping your motions. A frustrated groan slips through his pressed lips.
“Never said that, babe,” His voice is husky, his fingers practically squeezing the inanimate sheets to death as he abides your rules. “I love it.”
You decide that you’ve teased him enough, so your fingers work diligently at removing his jeans, allowing him to kick them off at the end of the bed.
You lean down, pressing your chest into his as you move to kiss him. He allows you eagerly, his fingers twitching as yours trace the pattern of one of his tattoos.
The kiss is too short and he’s groaning again when you sit back up, but you smile. “You can touch me now.”
Almost simultaneously, he shoots up, his hands flying to your waist as he rolls you over, onto your back. You squeak as he presses you into the bed, his hands overwhelming you, one working the clasp on your bra, the other tugging on your panties.
“I thought I was the one who picked what we did,” You murmur breathlessly as he flings your bra across the room, his lips sucking on your neck as he moves to work your panties down your legs.
“Fuck the rules,” He snips as he renders you naked, instantly slipping a hand between your thighs. You whimper as you involuntarily arch into him, your nails digging into his back.
“Fuck, Michael,” You let out into his shoulder, a thin layer of sweat forming on both of your bodies as he pumps his fingers.
“God damn, I have to fuck you,” He’s almost panting, and he reaches over to the side table. You gaze at his elongated arm stretched out as he rummages around, pulling out a condom. You raise an eyebrow.
“Is this your room?”
He shrugs as you wiggle his boxers off of him. “No. But I do know who’s it is and where he keeps his condoms.” He wriggles his eyebrows at you, and even though your one touch away from unraveling, you giggle.
He slips the condom on and pushed into you, and you see stars. “Shit,” You whimper as you tug on his red hair, eliciting a moan from the back of his throat.
He grabs one of your knees and hitches it over his hip, beginning to pick up his pace as you match his thrusts with cants of your own.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” He praises, dipping down to bury his head in the crook of your neck. Your nails dig into his back and leave bright red lines in their wake as he renders you completely speechless, allowing you to only communicate in moans or praises of your own.
His fingers are bruising your hips but the pain turns to pleasure by the time it reaches your nerve endings, sparking the fuse in your core.
You’re practically begging him for release, allowing him to have his way with you. His hands are everywhere - pulling on your hair, groping your breasts, gripping your thighs, cupping your ass. He’s everywhere all at once, consuming you completely.
“Mikey, I’m gonna-”
A sharp shake of his head silences you, a hand coming up to grip your jaw, making you look at him. He was rough; you liked it. “Not yet.”
“Are you close?” You ask when his thrusts become more urgent and erratic, becoming less careful with what he does with your body.
You’re suddenly unraveling around him, and you figure that’s enough to push him over the edge as well, because he’s groaning as he stills in you, holding you to him as he rides out his high.
When you’re spent, he pulls out as you whine, tying off the condom and tossing it in the bin next to the bed.
You push his shoulder until he’s lying on his back, swinging a leg over his hip, straddling him again.
He groans. “Your libido is driving me fucking insane.”
You smile, but instead of wanting to turn him on all over again, you dip your head, resting it on his shoulder. His arms encircle you, pressing your chest to his.
“You know,” You start, his thumbs tracing small circles on your bare back. “I never did get to make you do whatever I wanted.”
He chuckles, and you smile as you feel it in his chest. “I’m not very good at losing. Next time I’ll follow rules a bit more carefully.”
You hide your smile in your shoulder, delighted that there will be a ‘next time’.
"Let me take you out,” He says, rubbing your back. “On a real date, not some party. Maybe dinner next Friday at the pizza place just off campus?” You can tell he’s smiling, so you nod.
“I’d like that.” You say, kissing his chest. He sighs, bringing a hand up to your head, brushing through your hair with his fingers.
“I promise we won’t end up in someone’s bed.” He chuckles.
You pick lift your head and sit up, a fake pout on your face as he gazes up at you. “What if I want to end up in someone’s bed? Particularly your bed.”
He raises a brow as he smirks, hooking a hand around your knee, rolling you over again. “Next time. We’re still not done with this one.”