familylovehim | Aftersex pancakes? :D?

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Aftersex pancakes? :D?

Michael woke up.. feeling very warm. Which was strange because he was still in New York, wasn't he? Looking around for the offending object that had woken him, he snatched his phone off the table and flipped it open to shut it up. But it wasn't a call. I was like, 8 trillion text messages from his brother GOB. Rolling his eyes, he put the phone on silent, double-checking to make sure George Michael hadn't called.

And that's when everything from the previous night came back to him, all at once. He couldn't help the smile that came over his face as he laid in her bed and stared at the ceiling. He had a conference today but not for a few hours yet. And they weren't even important meetings -- he had come out here in the Michael-version of a vacation, after all.

Upon further inspection, he realized he was alone in bed, and he could hear the shower running. Begrudgingly, he decided to get up and find something useful to do.

He pulled on his slacks and padded off to the kitchen in search of some breakfast. Some investigation yielded a box of pancake mix and some eggs. Shrugging, he set to work.

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"Do I?" he asked, looking down at himself. He had never seen anything special about his appearance or body. He was.. kind of stiflingly normal, at least in presence.

Sighing, he climbed into bed next to her, propping himself up against the headboard. His eyes raked over her body as he found himself thinking about her occupation. He really couldn't judge her for it, despite the fact that part of him wanted to. She looked so comfortable this way, naked and young.. absolutely stunning.

He noted her serious expression, and donned one of his own, thinking... It was already Thursday and he was due back in Newport News on Sunday afternoon.

"Is this the part where we stop being strangers?" he asked helplessly. This thing had grabbed hold of them, so suddenly; without any sort of warning. Michael thought it was love, but how could he be sure? Maybe it was simple lust, trapped away for a year of celibacy.

"Mmmm, you do, you look very good every way I've seen you. You are a handsome man, Michael." Turning her head, she looked up at him, catching that glance, his eyes moving down her body. In a different setting, it would have been normal, just business, but this was intimate, and she felt the need to impress him.

Stretching out, she rolled on to her side, proping herself up with an elbow as she started to kiss up his chest. She could taste the water that clung to him, and smelt her soap on his flesh, and found that she liked it. Grinning she nodded, the tip of her nose brushing over a nipple as she moved.

"Yes, this is where we stop being strangers. I'll answer whatever questions you want me to," just maybe not honestly. There was a certain fear with being familiar with someone, strangers were easy because you didn't know a thing about them. When they walked out, there was never any problem.

He blushed, accepting her praise with a bowed head.

Michael, too, was afraid of this intimacy they shared. He would always carry the knowledge that even if she stayed with him... the rest of the Bluths would probably scare her away. Thanking his lucky stars, Michael sighed. At least George Michael wasn't scary.

He pulled her away from his chest, shuddering lightly as their lips met in a shallow kiss. He couldn't exactly get it up after... and now his son was on his way. He wasn't as young as he used to be; that above all other things was becoming abundantly clear.

"Okay, let's do it this way," he proposed, draping an arm over her shoulder. "You ask me a question and then I'll ask you a question, okay?"

It was ridiculously juvenile, but his heart quickened just a little at the prospect of knowing more about the mysterious and beautiful woman in his arms.

The blushing was cute, lots of things about him were cute, and she was enjoying finding all of them out.

Returning the kiss, she slid her hand down his chest and then to his hip, keeping her touch light, undemanding. His lips were soft, and she was falling in love with kissing him. The question was, if she was actually falling in love with him.

Putting her head on his chest she closed her eyes and then grinned. "Okay, let's do it that way." Silent, she cracked an eyelid and looked up. "I'll start, what's your last name?"

He blinked -- had they really not exchanged last names? He hadn't even thought about it...

"Michael Bluth," he said flatly, inclining his head more towards her. "Yours?"

It was his expression that set her to giggling, it seemed so silly, so completely . . . weird. After all the time they spent together . . .

"It's nice to meet you, Michael Bluth. I'm Alice, Alice Ayres." That set her to giggling again and she stole a quick kiss in order to make up for the inappropriate case of the giggles.

"How long are you going to be in town for?"

Trying not to crack a smile, he shook her hand in greeting.

"Likewise. I'll be in New York until Saturday evening."

He didn't last long, his mirth shining through.

"And what are you laughing about, Alice Ayres?"

"That doesn't count as a question!" She declaired, and shook a finger at him along with a mock disapproving look.

It didn't count, but she answered it anyway. "I'm laughing, because I knew what your cock looked like before I knew your last name. C'mon, now that's funny."

Calming, but still grinning like an idiot, she laid her head back down on his chest.

"Well, you did say you wanted a stranger," he reminded her, waggling his finger right back.

She was right though -- his question hadn't counted.

"Okay.. Where are you from?"

"You are the perfect stranger, Michael." Wrinkling her nose, she growled and snapped at his finger playfully.

"Small town, USA, population fifteen hundred. You know the type, one main road, lots of people getting into your business." Not something, she liked to think about often, she hated going back there even more then talking about it.

"Have you ever worn women's underwear?"

"I don't know about that," he commented, noting she didn't give out the name of the town. He resigned himself to ask her at a more pressing time.

Eyes widening, he gave her a look.

"No, do I look like I have?"

"Well it's not really up to you, is it? Your my stranger and what I say goes." Grrr, layin' down the law, Alice.

"Oh Michael, what does a man who dresses up in woman's clothing LOOK like anyway? Of course not, but I knew a guy who looked totally white bread, and loved wearing woman's panties. He was a real sweetheart."

"Plus," she added, as she shifted against his chest, "there's nothing wrong with wearing women's underwear."

"Was he gay?" he asked pointedly, pondering the pros and cons of women's panties. "I suppose that's true; it's just nothing I've ever considered doing."

Shrugging, his fingers found their home in her hair once again.

"Did you ever wear your hair long?"

"Nooooo. . . " Shaking her head wildly, hair flying about her face she pressed her lips to his stomach. "Wearing woman's panties doesn't make you gay. Fucking men tends to do that. You should try it, I like wearing guys underwear." She was teasing him, just a little bit.

"Yeah, when I got back from London I let it grow out. It was a pain fitting it into a wig so I cut it off again." His fingers in her hair felt so good, it almost set her to purring. She nuzzled his skin in order to get more of his fingers.

"Would you like my hair long?"

"I didn't ask if it made him gay, just if he was," he pointed out, easily complying as he massaged her scalp -- probably screwing up her hair beyond recognition. Tracy always used to get mad at him for that. He smiled at the memory.

"I... would," he answered hesitantly, not sure how to play this. If he said 'no' it could be seen as apathy, generally bad for the start of a relationship. But if he said 'yes'... that had all sorts of implications. "And by that I mean, I like your hair now, but would like more of it."

He hoped that would suffice. Now for a particularly large question that had been weighing on his mind...

"Do you want to strip for the rest of your life? Or do you have other plans?" He was always a plan-ahead kind of guy. It was kind of hard to imagine a career that went by-the-night.

"He wasn't gay, he liked women, a lot. A lot of women, all the time, great tipper too. I almost miss him." She hardly ever missed anyone, but he was nice, liked to talk and didn't pull all that: 'I'm macho I have a lot of money' bullshit on her. But that was a long time ago, and right now she was very content with her lover's hand in her hair.

"I'm sure I have pictures, if you want to see more hair. . ." She teased him, and noting on how very politically correct his answer was. To her, it was hair, it grew and it was cut, not a big deal. Except when it came to the petting, the more petting the better.

"Mmmm now that's the twenty million dollar question." Silent, she thought about it herself. She didn't want to go to school, she didn't want to have a nine to five job, but would she, simply because that was required of her?

it suddenly struck her that he ran a company, a whole company, and probably had a certain image to maintain. That image probably didn't involve having a stripper girlfriend. "I don't have any plans," she finally said, but followed it up with a slow addition. "But I wouldn't be opposed to some, I guess."

"Ah, you forgot to ask me a question," he teased, bopping her on the nose.

Instead of waiting for her to think of one, however, he decided to take a chance.

"Because if you did... want plans, I could help arrange that for you."

He had clearly lost his mind. Or at the very least, the small part of it that still functioned.

Instead of coming up with an excuse she bowed her head and blew a raspberry on his stomach. Take that!

Lifting her head cautiously she looked at him for a very long time. Ah, this was where the stranger, now familiar, tried to change her, work her into something socially acceptable.

"What kind of plans?" At least she would hear him out.

He caught the fear in her eyes and frowned. He hadn't really had particular plans in mind... but he supported GOB's dream, albeit unwillingly. He could certainly support another if it was to a better end (he was convinced anything would be).

Waving a hand, Michael tried to articulate what he had meant.

"If you're happy.. doing what you do? Just forget it." He bit his lip, unsure of where to go from here. "I just meant... I don't know, didn't you have a dream as a kid?"

He who had wasted his dreams was asking a young stripper about hers. There was something so wrong about that.

Now that was an interesting look on him, that nervous, deflecting tone he took on, trying so hard not to offend her. Shaking her head she pulled back and ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back into place as she tried to figure out a correct response.

So he didn't have a plan, just wanted to know what she wanted to do. Which was all well and good, if she actually knew what she wanted to do. For fucks sake, you spend twenty-four years on the earth, you should know what you want to do by now. It was frustrating, as she let herself think about it.

Turning back to him, she straddled his lap and slid her hands up his chest slowly. "I don't know what I want to do, and that's the truth. My dream when I was little, was to be a dancer, and now I am." In an attempt to appear apathetic, she shrugged a shoulder.

God, childhood, what a long time ago that was.

"What did you want to be when you were a little kid?"

"I wanted to be a lawyer," he said slowly, distracted yet again by her nakedness. "I even went to law school, but I never took the bar. And I never practiced."

Even that seemed a long time away for him, and he smiled softly, rubbing her arm.

"There's no rush." Nevermind that George Michael would probably be here within 20 minutes. He had meant in life, after all.

"Why didn't you practice law? I bet you would make a really good lawyer." If he was distracted, she didn't notice, or at least pretended not to.

Hands on either side of his head, palms against the head board, she lent forward and kissed him slowly - her mouth moving delicately over his. Of course, they had all the time in the world.

"Well, I did get to defend my father in a mock-trial once," he announced, the pride clear in his voice. "But the family business needed me so I've.. stuck with it." More or less.

He kissed her back easily, hands moving languidly over her shoulders and neck.

"So I've got a question for you... Do you want to meet George Michael or should I go downstairs when he comes?"

"Mmmm I bet you were fantastic, did you get the charges dropped?" It was nice to hear him speak so proudly, to sound happy, and she smiled against his mouth.

Stealing a few more kisses, she shrugged before opening her eyes.

"I have no problem meeting him, do you want to introduce me to him?" Now that would be something.

"Not exactly," he evaded, shrugging. "But it all worked out in the end."

Sure, it had, Michael. Sure, it had.

"Yeah, sure. He'd love to meet you."

Aftersex pancakes? :D?

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