#mich and rob from a hundred years ago lol

[firethatgrewsolow]

could u maybe write some angst/comfort of robert having a bad day causing him to snap at the reader

I love this idea. 💕 Thanks for the request! Grumpy lion who needs playcating (yes that was on purpose). I’ll definitely delve into this when I get my writing head straight. But - here’s a couple of snippets from two chapters long ago that might tide you over:

Michelle bit the inside of her lip as Robert flung the door shut behind them. The evening had dissolved into an unmitigated disaster, and she was grateful that Bella was in Melody’s suite for the night.  Tugging off his shirt, he refused to look at her, just as he’d done the whole ride back.  He tossed it on the ground as he kicked off his boots, making his way to the bar.  Snatching up the bottle of vodka, he poured a healthy shot.  It was gone in an instant, his gaze finally resting on hers as if to dare her to admonish him.  She stayed silent, not taking the bait.

Robert clenched his jaw at the fiery blaze swirling in his stomach, the warm buzz he’d anticipated morphing into nausea instead.  Steeling himself, he poured another, eyeing the jewel at her throat. If she didn’t want to talk, he’d make her.  “So, what were you and, ah, Jimmy discussing? Wait, let me guess … just the necklace, right?”

Here we go.  Michelle hesitated, quite sure that anything she offered would be the spark the singer needed for an argument.  Which he seemed hell bent on having.  She did her best to keep her tone even.  “Life on the farm.  A lot of nothing, really.  I don’t know … he was sort of teasing me about it I suppose.”

Robert swallowed mightily.  “It looked like a little more than that.”

“For the love of God, Jimmy’s one of your best friends.  You’re kind of being paranoid.”

“Maybe I am.  But maybe I’ve a right to be, yeah?” he added, raising a brow.  “And what about Paul?”

“Paul?” Sighing, she rolled her eyes.  “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he rasped, mocking her.

The little bastard.  “Well, we decided that we’d wait until you were asleep, and then we’d catch a plane to Paris.  Or maybe Saint-Tropez.  We’re keeping it open.”

“Not funny, Michelle.”

“You’re right, it’s not funny.  It’s absurd.  And you’re being ridiculous … and rude.”  She balled up her hands as he reached for the bottle again, stifling the urge to rip it away.  

“I was a bloody laughing stock.  Do you know how fucking humiliating it is for me to tell people that we’re married, um, kind of, oh, wait, no, not exactly … what the fuck, Michelle?”  

“Why do you tell them anything at all?  What does it matter?”

“Christ, you don’t hear the things they say … the way they talk,” he trailed off as the bottle clinked against his glass, spilling some of the spirits onto the floor.  He shoved it on the counter.  “It matters because it matters.”

“That’s illuminating,” she shot back, nudging it away from the edge.  He’s a wreck.

“Then I have to go chase you down because somebody I thought was my mate has his hands all over you … which you don’t even seem to mind.  And then you bloody argue with me about it in front of everyone!  Goddamnit, I can’t fend off every man you come across.”

“Nobody’s asking you to.  Jesus, you’re such a hypocrite.  You run after women all night long and expect me to welcome you with open arms … which I always do… and when someone comes along who just wants to chat, you go completely …”

“Chat,” Robert scoffed with a bitter laugh.  He was starting to slur.  “D’you really think … Paul wanted to bloody chat?  Are you that fucking naive?”

“No, I’m not that fucking naive.”  Michelle snapped, all the self control she’d fought to maintain deserting her in one fell swoop.  Their eyes met as she sidled closer.  “He wanted to fuck me, Robert. So bad,” she drawled, watching his features harden.  “Just like the rest of them.  And you know what?  I should do it.  I should fuck every single one of them, starting with Paul … or, I don’t know, maybe Jimmy.  He was all over me, too, right?”  Her lips turned up as the singer’s nostrils flared.  “I could feel his hard on, you know, it was right against me …”

“You need to stop,” Robert whispered, a warning in his voice.

“No, I don’t think I want to stop.” Her smile twisting, she pulled the glass from his grasp, draining the contents.  “I’m going to tell you exactly what you want to hear.  How I can see him on top of me … oh, wait, the Dark Lord would probably want to get it from behind.  Or maybe use that little thing we found in the …”

“Michelle.”  

The word was a second warning, one that she happily ignored.  “Yeah, I bet it would be so good … the band leader … I wonder what he could do with those fingers.  A lot, I imagine.”

Inhaling deeply, Robert felt his shoulders tense.  “Last chance, love.”

“Last chance for what?” she spat, pushing him back.  “Christ, you’re really something.  This should have been a beautiful night, and here you are … totally fucking it up!  I’m kind of a sure thing, you know.”  She cocked her head.  “Although, you don’t deserve a fuck. You deserve a slap in the face.”

The rise and fall of her chest gave her away, and Robert could make out her taut nipples through the fabric of her dress.  His mouth coiled smugly.  “Would you like to give me one, then?”    

“Maybe so.”  The crack echoed through the room, the air growing electric as his lips extended their wicked curve.  Michelle swallowed as she sensed his arousal, slowly recognizing her own.  All he has to do is look at me.  The thought infuriated her as she studied him, following the line of his jaw and neck, his curls falling over his wide shoulders, his chest so broad.  He was the definition of a man.  And a conceited prick.  “Fuck you.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

* * *

Michelle quietly closed the bathroom door and padded toward the bed.  Robert was still sleeping, heavily by the look of it.  She took in the silhouette of his broad back, pausing on the dark little patch of fuzz dusting the lower part.  She caressed the spot, swiftly withdrawing her hand as the singer shifted.  He stilled, and she carefully slid into the sheets, continuing her tentative exploration.  His hair was fanned across the pillow, and she swept it away from his neck, revealing the tiny golden ringlets at the base of it.  She skimmed the tip of her finger across them, gracing each one with a light kiss.  She wondered how much of the night he would remember.  

The dream dissolved as Robert sensed a feather touch on the nape of his neck.  He recognized the feel of her lips and began to smile.  The smile morphed into a grimace at the riot in his head, and he turned to her, stretching mightily, relieved to find forgiveness in her eyes.  “Good morning.”

“Feeling some pain?” Michelle asked, brushing her hand across the pillow crease along the side of his face.

“I’ve been better,” he replied sheepishly, images of the evening flooding back to him.  Just desserts, probably merits worse than a hangover.  He pressed his palm to her cheek.  “I’m so sorry about last night.  I made a mess of everything.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”  He expelled a breath, rolling onto his side.  “I was a … Christ, it was complete shambles.”

“It wasn’t complete shambles, just maybe, um, partial shambles,” she teased, her mouth curving.

He traced her lower lip with his thumb.  “Oh, honey, I don’t know what’s in my mind. When I see you with other … well, I get a bit territorial, I guess.”

“Just a bit?  I’d say so.”  Michelle combed her fingers through the long tendrils that were tickling her face, marveling at the two sides of him.  A jealous git?  Yes.  But also so gentle and sweet.  And she had to admit there was a piece of her that relished the way he wanted her, the way he needed her.  “It makes you frisky.  I like that part.”

Robert chuckled, nuzzling her ear.  “Frisky?  Is that what you call it?”  He kissed her jaw, trailing his mouth down her neck.  “Then I can be frisky anytime you want.”