#it seems that every time i draw michael you can see sketch lines more prominently sdkfjdhs

[missing-the-early-sunsets]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MICHAEL ♪(´▽｀)

i imagine that in the moment, even if he's looking on very sinisterly, you can hear the balloons bump into him in a comedic way

[venusxxlangdon]

draw me like one of your french boys

warnings: smut, fluff, handjob, oral (female receiving, facesitting), praise kink, sub!Michael, Hawthorne!Michael, shy!Michael, female!reader

 summary: reader is an artist looking for a live model for her new artwork. When she meets Michael, she realizes that the boy, who looks like a Renaissance painting, is exactly who she’s been looking for. They grow found of each other, and one day Michael asks her to draw him. Naked.

word count: 6850

Every artist experiences existential crises at least once in their lifetime, and if they haven’t experienced it yet, it means that they are about to. It’s an inevitable burden that occurs in everyone’s life, especially after they become successful and the dependency of other people’s opinion increases. An artist, who once created for the sake of the process itself, gets trapped in the idea of being liked by their audience. That’s what you were afraid most of all. To become a puppet whose only desire would be to meet somebody else’s expectations.

The sales of your paintings have increased drastically in the past six months and, as your manager kept telling you, it was high time to paint more. You started making new clients and getting offers for a personal exhibition, but it all felt like the weight of the world was forced on your shoulders. You wanted to rebel against it: tell your manager to shut up, and lock yourself in your studio, where you were alone with your thoughts and nobody told you what to do. It had always been your happy place with sketches all over the floor, your very first paintings hanging on the walls, a huge easel right in the center of the room. You loved the smell of fresh oil and ink, and two huge windows that offered a fascinating view of city skyline. How disappointing it was to come over one day and realize that nothing was making you happy anymore, and the main reason for that was right in the corner of the room. A big canvas of your last painting you had been struggling to finish. It was a drawing inspired by the early Renaissance period: a cherub in the rose garden, wrapped in a navy blue silk that was coming down his lean body in waves. The flowers turned out really beautiful, so delicate and precious with the drops of dew on the rosy petals. The problem was with the cherub. For some reason you couldn’t paint his face, and the blank space instead of its place was driving you mad. You wanted it to be special, and you had spent days trying to find a proper live model who could pose for you, but, unfortunately, all these handsome males, you tried to get inspiration from, lacked the innocence of an angel (especially that one guy who posed for you half-naked, when you were painting cherub’s chest, and decided to hit on you. You were quick to explain to him that the job of a live model wasn’t about hooking up with an artist and made sure that he wouldn’t appear in your studio ever again), the lightness and purity. Days went by, your manager started being really annoying, but you kept looking for that very special one, because you felt he was somewhere out there. Your intuition never deceived you.

It was a regular rainy afternoon when you found yourself sitting in a local coffee shop not far from your studio, thinking how bad you didn’t want to go there and face the unfinished painting which was some sort of a reminder of your inability to draw something decent. Another notification popped up on your laptop desktop, and you already new what it was gonna be about. One more email from Mallory.

“Y/N, Mr. Gallant called, and he’s expecting the painting to be done and delivered to his apartment by next Sunday. Get back to work, please”. You sighed disappointedly. Fuck this stupid time-management. You are an artist, a free-spirit and you will be done when YOU decide that it’s time. Having aggressively shut the lid of your laptop down, you stared through the window.

The rain was oblivious of your worries, as each drop bequeathed itself into a cooling air. You felt pathetic and unprofessional. Why everything had to be so complicated? Why did you let your perfectionism take over and prevent you from drawing a face of any model you could pick from a local model agency? It wasn’t even the artwork you’d hang in your apartment, and the man you were painting it for could care less about the face of a cherub as long it was pretty. You knew the answer to all of these questions — because you could never do things halfway — it was either all or nothing, even if it meant sacrificing set deadlines.

You rolled your eyes when your phone started vibrating with an incoming call.

“Yes, Mallory?” You didn’t even have to look at the display to know who was calling, Rubbing the bridge of your nose tiredly, you prepared yourself mentally for another lecture from your manager. “Y/N, you know I would really appreciate if you answered my emails” the voice on the others side was monotonous.

 You sipped your coffee and winced, realizing that the drink had gone cold. Damn.

“I told you I was busy” you answered and looked around the coffee shop, thinking that the way you spend your time could hardly be identified as “busy”. Chewing on your bottom lip, you brought your gaze back to the window.

“Please, tell me that at least you’ve read my last email and you are familiar with the new deadline” you could picture the way Mallory adjusted her glasses, her thin lips pursed, and pale face grimaced with annoyance.

“Yes, I have” you mumbled in response and narrowed your eyes, as you noticed a group of boys crossing the other side of the street. They looked young. Really young. Maybe in their early 20s. Dressed in brown trench coats, they were jumping over puddles briskly, trying not to get their feet wet. Only one of them had an umbrella, so the others were trying to get under it. They were pushing each other with their elbows, playfully fighting for dominance. And then you noticed him. A tall guy who was trying to follow the running boys with his coat unbuttoned, so you could see his black and white uniform. There was a silk ribbon tied neatly around the collar of his crisp white shirt that made him look like he was straight out from some 18th century novel about a private boarding school. His blond hair, wet in the rain, sticked to his chiseled face with sharp, prominent cheekbones and pointy chin.

You literally got glued to the window, admiring him, and forgot that Mallory was still on the line.

“Y/N? Y/N? Can you hear me? The painting should also...”

You cleared your throat and understood that it was either now or never. You didn’t have much time, as the boys took their way down the street away from the coffee shop.

“Mallory” you harshly interrupted her. “I can’t talk right now”, you hanged up on her without even letting her finish the sentence. Her complains were the last thing you worried about when there was a gorgeous boy, who had the face of a cherub you were dying to paint, just several feet away from you. You grabbed your jacket and stormed your way out of the coffee shop. It seemed like your heart was about to beat out of your chest with an overwhelming excitement like a trapped bird. You have found him. You have finally found him.

Faster than the wind you ran after the boys hoping they didn’t go far. You saw the tall guy take a turn around the corner, and without even realizing what you were doing, you shouted at the top of your lungs:

“Excuse me, sir!”

He didn’t pay attention. “Shit” you thought to yourself and speeded up. Raindrops were running down your cheeks, and the wind was blowing right in your face making it extremely uncomfortable to run.

“Heeey!” you almost stumbled and instinctively put your hand out to prevent yourself from falling. Your purse hanged off your shoulder and nearly fell down in the puddle, but you managed to catch it. “Excuse me!”

Right at that moment the guy stopped and slowly turned around. With a slight confusion on his face he watched you slowly approach him, as you were trying to calm your heavy breathing. You imagined that you looked like a wet rat with your hair clanged to you face and smeared mascara — definitely not the most presentable look for the artist whose paintings cost thousands of dollars.

“I’m sorry? May I help you?” the boy asked. His voice was low for an angelic appearance like his. He looked even more handsome up close. The gray sky tinted his blue eyes beautifully, making them brighter. They were piercing at you cautiously, as he was trying to figure out whether he found you familiar. Even though his hair was wet, you still were able to tell that it was curly, as they were sticking to his cheeks in messy waves. You took a deep breath and tucked a piece of your wet hair behind your ear, but it didn’t make any difference to your look.

“Hi!” You smiled brightly. The only thought “it’s him, it’s him!!” was ringing in your head, making you grin like an idiot. Nobody could understand your delight at that moment. It seemed like sleepless nights, when you were eating yourself up for the lack of inspiration, have come to an end. If only this beautiful boy before you agreed to work with you! You would be the happiest person in the world. “I’m sorry for bothering you, sir. But I really need to talk to you...”

“Mikey!! What’s up, dude? Are you coming?” the other boys were calling him. He turned around and raise his right hand in the air.

“Just a moment!” he shouted back at them. He adjusted the collar of his coat bringing it up, so the rain wouldn’t get behind his back. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

You realized that you should’ve introduced yourself first, but you were taken aback by the beauty of a real-life angel, so you couldn’t blame yourself for that.

“My name is Y/N. I’m an artist” he furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding how it was connected to him, “and I’m looking for a model” you explained. “I’m working on a painting...”, you paused, “of a cherub for a very famous client, but I can’t finish it because I don’t have a model whose face and I could paint, and you are exactly what I’ve been looking for”, you bubbled excitedly.

You could see the blush bloom on the boy’s cheeks. He parted his finely-carved, scarlet lips, but didn’t say anything. Only somewhat confusingly ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not a model”, he mumbled, lowering his eyes. You couldn’t explain the feeling inside of you as you watched him. He reminded you of Botticelli paintings. There was something ethereal about him: in the detached beauty of his perfectly sculpted face. He looked so fresh, so innocent, so pure, as if he was made of ivory and rosy petals.

“It doesn’t matter”, you hurried to assure him, “you don’t have to be one. It’s just...” you took a deep breath, thinking that you might have die if he didn’t agree. “I’ve been looking for a face like yours for months. It would be an honor to work with you...?” You heard one of the boys calling him “Mikey”, but you wasn’t sure what full name it stood for.

“Michael. Michael Langdon” he said, still smiling shyly. He drew his bottom lip between his perfect white teeth and looked at you through his lashes. “Look, I’m really fluttered. Thank you for your words, but....”

“Michael, we are going now!”, the boys shouted, and he turned his broad back at you one more time. It was pouring by now, and you knew that you couldn’t hold the boy any longer.

“Michael, please, think it over and give me a call, okay?” You took your business card out of your purse and handed it to him. “I’m offering you 50$ per hour. One session usually lasts up to 3-4 hours. Please, do the math and give it a thought”.

His doe-like eyes widened at your words. Not only he was blushing from your compliments, but he was stunned by the boldness of your offer, as if you were asking for something inappropriate.

“I-I-I’m really not sure...” he stuttered. You understood his reaction: how often does one gets stopped by a stranger who offers them to model for a renaissance-inspired painting? But you really, really needed him, and you were running out of time.

“Look, I’m not expecting you to answer immediately”, you said looking him in the eye, and noticed that he instantly looked away, blushing even more, “let me know if you agree by Friday, okay?”

The boys started whistling at Michael. He took your card hesitantly, his fingers were slightly shaking. He looked up at you and nodded slowly, hiding the card in the inside pocket of his coat.

“Alright, thank you”, his voice sounded hoarse, so he cleared his throat and repeated himself, “thank you”.

The corners of your lips twitched, but he didn’t return a smile, being too confused and embarrassed with all this unexpected attention to his persona. You watched him join his friends. They tapped his shoulder, as he approached them, and shoot you a curious look.

You realized that you didn’t even care about the pouring rain anymore. You were completely soaked, but the only thing you were capable of thinking was a gorgeous blue-eyed boy you just met.

xxx

The sound of the ringing phone disturbed the comfortable silence of a Saturday afternoon you were spending in your studio. You were waiting for Michael’s call yesterday, but as the hour and the minute hands of the huge clock on the wall stroke midnight, you understood that he turned down your offer. That’s why you found yourself in your studio on the following day, standing in front of the unfortunate painting and thinking that you needed to start looking through the list of potential models Mallory had sent to you.

“Hello?”, you answered the phone, noticing an unknown number on the display. A familiar raspy voice made your heart drop.

“Hi, is it Y/N?”

“Michael?” you turned away from the painting and sat down on sofa, placing your feet on a small coffee table.

“Yeah, hi”, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. Got really busy with school”. School? How old was he? “But I have been thinking about your offer...”

You hummed.

“Have you?”, you had to admit that you didn’t like the fact that he ignored your request to call you back by Friday, because it meant that he wasn’t the most responsible person, and only God knew how you were gonna arrange the appointments with him since he was incapable of planing his time. But then again, weren’t you the same way? For a second you even sympathized with Mallory who had to deal with your own irresponsibility 24/7 (but only for a second).

“Yes”, you could tell by his voice that he was nervous. You smiled at the memory of him blushing in the rain. “Well, I-I-I think I’m ready to try...” you swear you could ready to explode brighter than the fireworks on the 4th of July, but you managed to keep it cool.

“That’s really nice of you. Thank you, Michael. Do you have a pen to write down the details?”

You two agreed that he would come on Tuesday for 2 hours, so you could look at him properly and decide what exactly needed to be added to the painting. Then he could come 2 time a week for 3 hour session. You didn’t plan for the entire process to take too long, 3 weeks maximum. Thank God you had managed to persuade Gallant to give you more time. Actually it didn’t even take a lot of effort: last week, after you discovered Michael, he came came to your studio and got so stunned by the painting that he let you take as much time as you needed. If only all clients were this way.

On Tuesday Michael knocked on your door in time. Dressed in a loose cotton shirt and linen pants, hair clipped in a messy bun, you went to greet him. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. Just like you thought, his hair was curly indeed. Crisp, golden locks were styled messily, covering a part of his forehead. He was wearing the same coat and holding a big leather bag in his hand. You stepped aside, inviting him in.

“Hi”, he said, blushing, and you curiously wondered if it was an uncontrollable habit of his.

“Hello, Michael”, you took his bag from his hands and carefully placed it on a table by the hangers. “I’m glad you came”.

He nodded. His long fingers started undoing the buttons of his trench coat. He carefully hanged it, and you noticed how elegant his movements were. He pulled the sleeves of his black sweater a bit up, exposing his delicate wrists. You definitely were staring, but not in a romantic way. You were observing him like a picture in a museum and wondering how you got so lucky to meet this precious boy. He was looking around cautiously, as he followed you into the studio, scanning the unknown environment with his eyes. You made your way to the center of the room, took one of the chairs and pulled it closer to the window, not far from the easel.

“Please, make yourself at home” you smiled at Michael. He looked amused, as he studied a huge painting that was almost of the size of the wall for one of your old clients who ordered it about eight months ago. You created your own version of the Miracle of the Bread and Fish, and really like the result. For some reason, biblical scenes always were your favorite to work on. “Would you like some coffee or tea, maybe?”

Michael looked at you and shook his head.

“No, thank you, I’m good”, his eyes were searching for a place were he could sit, and you pointed at the chair. He took his seat and folded his hands neatly, lacing his fingers together, so you wouldn’t notice them tremble. You watched him amusingly with your head tilted to the side. He was absolutely adorable.

“Do you live here?”, he noticed your gaze and smiled shyly, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

You shook your head and turned away to take the painting of the cherub and carefully place it on the easel.

“No, I rent this studio for work purposes”, you nodded at the painting. “So what do you think?”

Michael was in awe. His ocean eyes were glistening with excitement, the tip of his pink tongue ran along his bottom lips nervously, as he said under his breath:

“Oh my God, this is magnificent”.

For a moment it seemed like he stopped being nervous and expressed his opinion sincerely. That’s what you adored art for: it made people feel different spectrums of emotions, all at once. It lifted the armor and left one bare, vulnerable, and unguarded. “I’m not sure if...”, Michael covered his mouth with one hand and than placed it back on his thigh, “if I’m good enough for posing for such a masterpiece”.

You couldn’t believe that such a stunning human being could doubt his looks. Michael’s appearance was worth being painted by the best artists all over the world. How come nobody told him that?“

“I think you will be just perfect for that”, you didn’t admit it, but making Michael blush was your new favorite activity. “But it maybe a bit tiresome to sit still for such a long time”, you instructed him, “you’ll get used to it”.

It was quite a disaster, you had to admit to yourself after some time. Michael just couldn’t keep still. He was constantly shifting in his chair, playing with his fingers, and always felt the need to scratch his jaw or toy with the collar of his sweater. During your first session your were doing sketches of his face, and by the moment your time was up you were practically begging him to relax and stop frowning. He couldn’t let go of his pressure and shyness.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N”, he pleaded, as he was putting on his coat. You smiled at him, washing your hands and watching him get dressed from the kitchen.

“It’s okay”, you approached him and gave him the money for his work, “thank you for coming today, Michael. I’ll see you on Thursday”.

Despite his surprised squeak, you pulled him closer for a hug. You needed him to relax for the sake of posing for the painting. The sessions might haven taken longer than you had thought.

xxx

It took him a while to start opening up to you. By your fourth meeting his hands stopped shaking and he no longer seemed to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t feel embarrassed to ask you to make some tea for him, and you learned that he liked it with lemon and one piece of sugar. As he sipped on it, watching you preparer the canvas and oil paints (you were done with pencil sketches by that time), he told you about his studies at Hawthorne school (Michael was twenty, and apparently, hated his birthdays. You found this fact absolutely astonishing, and made a side note to change this horrible omission), his friends, and his family. Turned out that he had a very troubled childhood, so his behavior started to make sense to you. Sympathy towards him grew with every session, and at some point you caught yourself thinking about him all the time. The thought about your meetings coming to an end made you feel extremely frustrated. Even though you kept reminding yourself that the relationship between you two had to stay professional, and it was wrong of you to think about him in a romantic way, but every time his blond mop of soft hair popped in the door frame you couldn’t hold in a radiant smile. It was impossible not to hug him and accidentally brush your fingers against his flushed cheek. He looked so damn cute.

You grew found of this marvelous boy, who turned out be very sensual, with a bright and vivid mind that generated ideas at the supersonic speed. He loved asking you questions about history of art, he was genuinely interested in learning about your favoring painters and why you loved them so much. He never stopped amazing you with his mindset, and his child-like innocence bribed you.

Another Tuesday night was traditionally spent in your studio apartment with Michael at his usual spot in front of your easel. You were working on the cherub’s eyes. Crystal blue and bright just like Michael’s. Your brows were frowned as you were trying to concentrate on the movements of the brush. The smell of oil paint was filling the room. You glanced at Michael to pay very close attention to his long eyelashes framing his eyes. That’s when you noticed a very strange look on his face. You couldn’t understand what was that. Confusion? Doubt?

“Michael, what’s wrong, darling?”, you asked him adding another brush stroke to the canvas. He slowly shook his head, trying not to move too much. From hours of watching him attentively you had learned his body language quite well. Now you could tell that something was definitely up, judging by the fact how he was holding onto the chair. His knuckles turned white. However, you proceed to painting, considering that maybe he was thinking of his problems or whatever there was on his mind.

“Love, please, look up for me”, you asked him after a while, trying to paint the patches of light in the eyes of the cherub. Michal started biting on his lower lip, but obliged your order and lifted his gaze. Suddenly it all felt like you were back to session 1, when he refused to relax. You put the brush aside and whipped the excess of paint off your fingers.

“Michael, please, tell me what’s bothering you?”, his face turned bright red at your question.

“Nothing”, he mumbled in response.

You sighed and took a step towards him. Carefully you took his face in your hands, forcing him to look up at you. You were glad that he didn’t shy away from your touch like he used to at the very beginning.

“Love, I can’t paint you when you look concerned”, you gently stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he instinctively nuzzled against your palm. It was unprofessional of you, you thought to yourself, but whatever. “You know that you can tell me anything”.

His eyes flattered, long eyelashes were casting shadows on his cheekbones in the dim light of the room. He wrapped his fingers around your wrists and carefully put your hands away.

“You’re gonna laugh at me”, he said, looking down at his knees. You frowned. Why was that? All this time you were trying to show him that he could trust you and you were his friend, and his doubts almost felt offensive to you.

“Michael, darling, I would never”, you assured him, watching him closely.

A broken cry escaped from his chest, as he hid his face in his hands. You started really worrying about him, was something hurting him? Maybe he wasn’t feeling well? You petted his head lovingly.

“I can’t tell you”, he sobbed, and looked up at you. The expression of his face was unreadable. Eyes glistened with salty tears, as he was desperately trying to hold them in. “It’s so e-emb-b-barrassing. You...”, he sighed, “you’re going to think that I’m weird. I can’t ask you for this...”

By that moment you stopped understanding anything from what he was saying. You wrapped your arms around him and brought him closer to you, resting his head against your stomach.

“Shhhh, baby”, you coed, running the fingers of your one hand though his hair and petting up and down his spine with the other hand. “What do you want, Michael? Please, tell me”.

You felt him tightening his hug and nuzzling into your shirt like a cat. He sighed heavily before he answered:

“I was thinking”, his voice sounded so small and vulnerable, and you started wandering what sort of a dreadful sin Michael was going to confess that made him so insecure. “Maybe you could draw me?”

He lifted his puppy eyes at you, and you looked at him confused.

“Baby, isn’t it what I’m doing?”, you chucked softly. Silly boy.

Michael closed his eyes and nuzzled back into your stomach. You had to listen carefully in order to understand his muffled words:

“I was thinking maybe you could draw me naked?”

Your fingers froze in the air inches away from his curls. At first you thought that you must have misheard him, but as his shoulders started shaking in anticipation, you realized that you had heard him correctly. Your heart started pounding, you could hear the blood ring in your ears. The most terrible thing , in the context of your unprofessionalism, was the fact that his words sent impulses straight to you core making a thin cotton of your panties wet. You cleared your throat, looking for the right words. Michael was terrified. He decided that if you had stopped playing with his hair, you got mad at him, so he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears.

“Michael...”, you started slowly, but he interrupted you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry”, he was talking fast, afraid that you could kick him out for his foolishness.

Multiple thoughts were running through your mind at that particular moment. Could you really draw him naked and manage not to lose control? Of course, it would be a wonderful sketch for your portfolio, but you doubted if it would be okay for you psych. The silence was making Michael feel even more embarrassed, so he started standing up from his chair, but you placed your hands on his shoulders to keep him seated. God, he was so scurrying all the time, it was almost unbearable.

“Alright, Michael”, you finally replied, hoping that he didn’t sense how hesitant you were about this decision, otherwise it would devastate him. A wide smile spread across his cherry lips.

“Oh my God, thank you, Y/N” he whispered giving you that look through his lashes you could never say “no” to.

You nodded and made your way to one of the shelves to get a sketchbook.

“Well,” you turned back to him, “get ready, and I’ll go find the fabric to wrap you in”.

Michael was eager to oblige. You didn’t expect him to want it so bad, but as he quickly stood on his feet and rushed behind the folding screen, you thought otherwise.

Unable to believe what you had just agreed to, you started looking through the rolls of fabric, trying to decide what color would suit Michael. Probably silver. It would look good with his skin tone and the icy blue of his eyes. You grabbed the fabric and approached the changing screen behind which you could see the outline of Michael’s body. You hurried to hang the piece over the screen and shook your head, as if it would help you to get rid of the indecorous thoughts.

“I think silver will look good”, you said to Michael, “just wrap yourself in it when you are ready”, you swore your hands were shaking. What, you and Michael suddenly switched personalities? God, how were you gonna draw him when you were blushing like a teenage girl?

“Damn, Y/N, you’ve worked with so many models. Get your shit together and breath”, you scold yourself.

“Okay, I’m ready”, you turned around when you heard his low voice, and your jaw dropped. Adonis in flesh. You stood there blinking dumbly trying to comprehend the view of his broad shoulders, taut stomach, and his creamy thighs wrapped in silver silk. If the fabric had been navy blue you would have thought that your cherub painting came to life. No less. You opened your mouth and then closed it without saying a word. Michal blushed and awkwardly crossed his arms, waiting for the instructions.

You coughed and turned your gaze away from him.

“Alright, get comfortable on the sofa”, you figured that a chair wasn’t suitable anymore. The boy laid down on a green velvet sofa you had bought for an extremely expensive price at one of the auctions, and at that moment you were glad that you had, because Michael’s pale skin looked even more fragile, tinted by the emerald color of velvet upholstery. He bent his long legs, carefully put them on the soft material, and leaned back on the pillows with his hands behind his head. For a second you forgot how to breath.

But as soon as you started sketching you felt relaxed. You let the pencil wonder around the clean sheet of paper, drawing the outlines of Michael’s body. He couldn’t stop smiling and looked genuinely happy that you’d let him pose for you. The skin of his cheeks and neck was in delicate pink hue, and he was biting his lips again. You wish you could bite them, too. Fuck.

Your brows frowned when you noticed that the silver fabric slipped off a little and didn’t look as good as you wanted it to be, so you put your pencil aside and stood up to fix it. Michael thought there was something wrong with him.

“Did you do something wrong?”, he asked worriedly. You wondered why he always felt the need to blame himself for everything.

“No, I just need to adjust the fabric”, you explained, without meeting his gaze. You tried not to touch his skin, as your fingers cautiously folded the silky piece, draping it in wavy folds. But the skin of his stomach looked so soft, and couldn’t help yourself and brushed it with just the tips of your digits. The muscles in his tummy tensed immediately, and you heard his breath hitch, so you hurried to take you hand away. Then he did something that sent the remains of your self-control straight to hell. Michael wrapped his fingers around your wrist and put your hand back on his stomach. Feeling enchanted, you slowly moved it to his abdomen and stopped right above the happy trail of blond hairs that went under the fabric. When you glanced at Michael, he was watching you in awe, his lips parted and his eyes wide open. It felt like his skin was burning under your touch.

“You like this, don’t you?”, the tone of your own voice was so low, you didn’t even recognize it. Michael gulped and nodded. His lids fluttered, as you move your hand to his chest.

“Please”, he murmured, licking his scarlet lips. He looked so soft, so innocent, and you wondered how beautiful he would look all wrecked and fucked out. You felt the adrenaline rush through your veins and the familiar heat between your legs. The last thought that came across your mind was “Fuck it”, as you leaned forward and pressed your lips against Michael’s parted ones. He let out a surprised mewl, but eagerly kissed you back. You felt his hands sliding down your waist to pull you closer against his bare chest. The fabric couldn’t cover the outline of his arousal: you could see the contour of his erect cock in the crease of his thigh. The tip of your tongue ran across Michael’s swollen lips, and he gasped into the kiss.

“You’re so pretty”, you said, as you broke the kiss, pressing your forehead against his. The look in his big eyes was completely dazed. You smiled and cupped his face in your hands. “Babe, are you with me?”

Michael nodded and pulled you for another kiss. You yanked his head by his locks and moved your lips to his jawline. Numbing on the thin skin, you decided to test the waters and slowly snaked your hand down to his cock. He moaned brokenly when you stroked it through the fabric. There was already a wet spot of his precum. You moved the sheer material aside and took a look at the long shaft with flushed head glistening with the pearls of his arousal. He squeezed his eyes shut, when you wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock and slowly stroke it.

“Y/N”, he pledged. He sounded so needy, so desperate. You formed a fist and started making circular motions with it around the head of his cock. Michael opened his mouth, but couldn’t say a word, lost in the sensation. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He looked like a painting with his boyish features, soft curls, and ripe, sinful lips he kept licking. You started stroking him faster, thrilled to take him apart and find out what his angelic face looked like when he was cumming.

“Shhhh”, you soothed him, lacing the fingers of your free hand into the strands of his hair and gently scratching at the nape of his neck. “My pretty boy”, you kissed his forehead.

Michael whimpered and pressed his head against your breasts nuzzling into them through your linen shirt. Holding tight to you, he carefully cupped your right breast and squeezed it slightly, making you moan and throw your head back. He was pleased with your reaction, as it got him braver, and he started unbuttoning your shirt, exposing more of your skin. You kept pressing feather light kisses to his closed lids, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose and his lips. His face must have been carved by angels from the finest marble. He wrapped his lips around your nipple and delicately sucked on it, drawing broken moans from your throat.

His hips were rutting against the crumpled fabric, meeting the thrusts of your hand. You stopped only for a second just to lick your palm, and wrap it around him again to resume pumping your fist.

“Y/N...”, he whined hopelessly, “I’m close”.

You knew that he wouldn’t last long. He was so young, you were surprised he hadn’t cum right after you kissed him.

“C’mon, darling”, you encouraged him, teasing the slit of his tip, “cum for me, angel. My personal cherub...”

You adored the way his lips twitched, forming a perfect “o”, the tense muscles of his stomach that spasmed in a convulsing pleasure, as he came all over your palm in white ribbons. You wished you could paint him this way. The picture of him cumming undone was forever imprinted in your mind. You smiled fondly when he looked up at you, feeling the warmth coil in the pit of your stomach.

“Thank you”, he whispered, and you chuckled at his boldness. His hands traveled up to your unbuttoned shirt and slid it off your shoulders, reliving your exposed chest to him. He caressed the nipples and leaned forward to suck on them again, swirling his wicked tongue around the hardening buds. “I think I owe you an orgasm now”.

You looked at him in surprise. He didn’t have to. You just wanted to make him feel good, but Michael seemed pretty determined.

“Could you, please, sit on my face?”, he blushed at his own words, but managed not to turn his eyes away from you. Such a polite boy.

You hissed through gritted teeth, and before straddling his chest you involved him in another passionate kiss. He shifted on the pillows, sliding down the sofa to let you straddle his chest in a kneeling position. You scooted forward until your thighs were on either side of his head. The gold curls were disheveled. Lowering your body, as your pussy made contact with his face, you moaned loudly. Michael placed his hands on your thighs and calves for your leverage. As soon as his tongue licked a wide stripe across your wet folds, you cried out, thinking you were in heaven. The feeling of dominance was alluring to you, and in no time you started drawing figure eights with your hips, rubbing yourself against his tongue. You were probably suffocating himself a bit, but judging by Michael’s muffled moans he was enjoying it. He used his fingers to help himself and spread you open, wrapping his lips around your clit. The gently sucking was alternated with him lapping on your folds.

“Good boy”, you praised him, and his whimpers sent delicious sensation to your throbbing core. You reached for your hair clip and took it off, letting your hair down in loose waves. “Just like that, baby, just like that”.

You thought that you lost yourself when his started fucking you with his tongue, stretching your tight walls with each thrust of it. Your legs started shaking not only from your attempts to keep steady, but from the mind-blowing pleasure the boy between your legs was causing you. He was devouring you, as if you were his last meal. You looked down at him and moaned at the sight of him all soft and flushed beneath you. The fact you were sitting on the face of the boy, who looked like a real-life angel, made your insides quiver. A really warm fuzzy feeling spilled inside you, making you scream out Michael’s name, as your orgasm pierced through every cell of your body. It was so good, to the extent of being extricating. Everything seemed unreal. Michael had let go of your thighs, and you bent over to kiss his mouth covered in your wetness.

You were laying on top of Michael, skin on skin, legs entwined, as you two were kissing lazily on the sofa.

“What are you going to do with all the sketches of my face after you sell your painting?” he asked, stroking your bare thigh.

You folded your hands on his chest and rested your head on them.

“I was thinking of using them for my personal exhibition”.

Michael’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

“You never told me about the exhibition! Y/N, that’s awesome!”

You petted his cheek, smiling at his reaction. Thanks to him you started to remember what it felt like to be grateful for every little thing in you life. Somehow, despite all the difficulties, Michael managed to keep his inner child safe and happy.

“Am I invited?” he wondered shyly.

“Of course you are, love” you rolled your eyes at his silly question. “You are my muse, after all”

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People who might like it: @lvngdvns @icylangdon @ritualmichael @langdonsoceaneyes @ccodyfern @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @sojournmichael @wroteclassicaly 

Amazing art by @theghostoflangdon