He would be home soon. My Michael. I sat on the counter and waited with anticipation. I had been looking forward to his return since this morning. Let's just say that things got heated. Fast. In a very, very good way. I wasn't happy when he pulled away and hurried out the door, but I had to forgive him at the memory of the words he left me with. He looked at me with his goofy smile and said
"We'll finish this when I get home". I couldn't help it, the thought of his desperate words sent an electric shiver through my body.
I could hear his footsteps, the sound of him fumbling with his keys to open the door. The door swung open and my crazy-haired boyfriend walked in. He closed the door and set his guitar down.
"Hey, baby. I'm home. I think it's time we finish what we started". He walked towards me, biting his pierced lip. His eyes fell on me with an almost predatory quality, a quality that turned. Me. On. He quickly closed the distance between us and kissed me as I sat on the counter top. The kiss was forceful, needy, hot. As he kissed me, he pushed me back and almost against the wall behind me. He put his hands on my sides, running them down my body slowly. His fingers dragged deliciously down my body and I felt my insides heat up.
"Fuck, I want you. So bad", he gasped, "I'll – uh I'll be right back". With that, he pulled away and I couldn't help but notice that his already tight jeans seemed just a little tighter. He walked down the hall and into the bathroom, leaving me all hot and bothered on the kitchen counter. I heard the sound of water. He was starting a bath. Oh god, the thought alone sent sparks all through my body.
I heard him walk back down the hall and I quivered with the anticipation. I saw that he was shirtless. Very shirtless. He kissed me roughly and picked me up from my spot on the counter top. The kiss was getting heated, just like me. He walked, carrying me, down the hall and to the bathroom, our kiss getting sloppier and needier. He stumbled into the bathroom and set me on the counter. He was panting and began to fumble with his belt, removing his pants and boxers. I couldn't help but stare. Oh god, I wanted him. He bit his lip and grinned, lowering himself into the hot, steamy bathtub, which was now full.
With a look that could melt me in a minute, he reached out to me to pull me into the bathtub. He looked like he was about to lose it, just at the sight of me.
"My god, baby, you're beautiful". He supported me as I lowered by body into the hot bath, and onto my very hot Michael. As soon as I hit the water, I felt alive, electric.
I saw Michael's face contort in a blissful look of…pain? Water splashed as his limbs spasmed. His eyes rolled back into his head and he made a retching sound from deep in his throat. I could feel the electric current run through the water and Michael's heartbeat race through his chest. After almost a minute of the violent spasms, he grew still. Very still. I couldn't feel his heartbeat, I sat on his chest submerged in the water. In his fit, he had hit his head on the edge of the bathtub, and it was now leaking blood into the water, staining it red. His mouth was covered in a foamy spittle that must've been from the trauma. My beautiful Michael was dead.
…
Luke was concerned. He hadn't heard from Michael in three days. That wasn't like the guitarist. He'd ignored countless texts and calls, and Luke decided the best idea was to go and check on his friend.
Luke approached the door to Michael's place and grabbed the key he knew the crazy red head kept under the welcome mat. He unlocked the door and walked into the residence.
"Michael? Is anyone home?" no answer.
Luke saw that the bathroom light was on, so he walked down the hall to the room. As he walked in, he was greeted with a terrible stench and an even more vile sight. He saw the guitarist's clothes thrown haphazardly on the ground, his favorite Nirvana shirt crumpled on the floor. But what was worse was what was in the bathtub. He saw Michael's dead bloated body, his dick half in a toaster. The two were sitting in a now cold and blood-filled bath. Luke had never met Michael's girlfriend, and now he knew why, she was a kitchen appliance used to prepare bagels, toast, pop tarts, and other breakfast commodities. The electricity of her hot, aluminum body must've electrocuted the guitarist, killing him.
Luke grabbed his cell phone to call 911.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Hi, this'll sound crazy, but my best friend died fucking a toaster."