A/M: Originally posted on AO3, and a sequel to Dinner Date Disasters.
The smell of burnt food lingers in the air (the remains of what was supposed to be a romantic dinner replaced with a hastily ordered pizza). It persists despite the flames from dwindling candles, windows opened to allow in a soft breeze, and the piping hot food that had been delivered to their doorstep.
Michaela and Asher sit reclined and pressed together on the couch, having abandoned their seats at the dining table (now pushed to the side in favor of an unobstructed view of the television) for the comfort of the cushions. They're watching the closing scenes of a made-for-TV movie. It's a trite film, showcasing a clichéd romance, but they enjoy it, Asher making jokes at the more absurd parts while Michaela laughs at his antics.
She can almost pretend it's a Saturday night, like any other, and that Asher hadn't, yet again, altered the course of their relationship. If her overactive mind would quiet, Michaela could bask in his attention and company without analyzing his every gesture and expression. Instead, she does exactly that, looking for signs of the love Asher so readily professed, not that she's confident she'd even recognize them.
Growing up the way she did hasn't adequately prepared her for this—for sharing her emotions, her life, with another—at least not in what she imagines most would consider a healthy manner. With that memories of her mother and the last of their conversations flood her mind. Maybe Trishelle was right, and Michaela is just as much of a disaster as the rest of the woman's other children. Halting those thoughts in their tracks, Michaela stands from the couch, startling Asher with the haste of her movements.
"Where are you going?" He sits up and looks at her, his head tilted in concern. He must sense her discomfort.
Glancing from him to the television, Michaela notices the rolling credits, and uses them as an excuse. "The movie's over. We should clean the kitchen before we go to bed."
Asher takes her hand, pulling her back to the couch. Michaela is reluctant, but follows. She sees the subtle pout forming on his lips and can't help but smile, waiting for his words of protest.
"I think we should stay right here, and leave that for tomorrow morning." He tucks her under his arm, bringing her to rest on his chest as he sits back.
She relishes in his warmth for a moment, eyes closing as she hears the opening dialogue for the next movie playing on the television. She doesn't stay long, though. Drawing back, she causes his arm to fall from her shoulder.
"Come on. It's easier to just get it done tonight." In exchange for one loss of contact, Michaela creates another, taking his other hand in both hers. Standing, once again, this time she heaves him off the couch with her.
He moves easily, facilitating her efforts. "Fine, make me miss this cinematic masterpiece." He jokes, walking behind her as she leads the way. Poking her sides, he adds, "I thought you said you weren't going to help me."
Stopping to swat at his hands, Michaela replies, "You know what they say about wanting things done right."
The sounds of his chuckles follow her into the kitchen. Taking in the damage, Michaela is surprised, but disappointed, to find there isn't much to be done. Cleaning, studying and organizing have always helped her to clear her thoughts or sort through her emotions—acting as coping mechanisms—but the mess here isn't enough to quiet her mind of the night's revelation.
There are a few splatters of what Michaela assumes is barbecue sauce on the counter tops and stove, and several dishes in the sink. She decides the charred pan, which holds the equally charred chicken, is a lost cause, and sends Asher to dispose of it in the apartment's dumpster, though it pains her to part with it. It's a wonder, better yet a testament to the building's poor system, that the fire alarm wasn't triggered.
In his absence, Michaela starts with the counters. Scrubbing the stains away, she feels herself relax. Her focus narrows to the task before her, and all else becomes silent. When Asher returns, he joins her, starting on the opposite side of the kitchen. In no time they meet at the stove, in the center of the room. She lets him deal with that as she moves onto the dishes.
"I wash. You dry." Michaela requests. She takes up residence in front of the soaking dishes, pleased that he had the foresight to fill the basin with sudsy water.
"Deal," Asher answers. He takes up a dish towel, once the stove has been restored to its pristine state. Humming as he works, Asher dries the plates, mixing bowls, and various other dishes and utensils, placing them back where they are kept. Between the two of them, the chore is quickly completed as well.
Michaela is drying her hands and contemplating the cleanliness of the oven, and the possibility of re-arranging the contents of the cabinets, when Asher declares their job done.
"Okay, we're finished here. It's time for you to bed me now."
Michaela barks out a laugh, startled from her thoughts. Ready to dismiss his statement as a joke, she turns back to the oven, settling on that as her next area to tackle. She's stopped by Asher's hand on her shoulder.
"Nope, come with me to the boudoir." He wiggles his eyebrows, comically, but his gaze is heated when he looks her over. It's a contradiction she has come to expect from him. Nerves clenching in her stomach, Michaela's lips part as his fingertips caress the sensitive skin on the back of her arm, his hand trailing to hers. Taking a hold he leads her away from the kitchen.
The short journey to her bedroom made, Asher sits at the corner of the bed. He draws her into the space between his legs, and encircles her waist to bring her closer. His gaze is soft and hooded when his eyes meet hers.
"Asher…" Michaela whispers his name, unsure if it's a plea or objection. She cups his face as she feels his palms move from her waist to the back of her thighs, touching the skin hidden beneath her skirt.
Kissing her neck, Asher fingers the edge of her panties before pulling back to gauge her reaction.
"I didn't mean to freak you out with what I said earlier."
Michaela sighs, "I'm not ready to talk about it." Toying with the hairs at the nap of his neck, she smirks and pushes nearer to his body. "And I'd much rather spend the night bedding you."
Asher mirrors her expression then dips his eyes to her lips. Closing the distance between them, he kisses her, and wastes no time in taking down the underwear he'd previously been touching. Michaela complies with his actions by stepping out of them then returning to his smoldering embrace. Asher finds his prize, fingering her core as his free hand lowers the zipper of her skirt. His lips stifle her moans as she tugs at his belt, too distracted by her body's pleasure to adequately complete the task.
Their movements are fevered as they work to undress one another. Asher reluctantly leaves her moist warmth to aid her in removing his belt. Michaela's skirt pools at her bare feet, and she unbuttons her shirt eventually tossing it over her shoulder. Asher stops her from removing her bra, clearly taking delight in doing it himself, his lips falling apart when her nipples come into view. He takes one into his mouth, gently sucking as he discards her lingerie on the floor. He's gotten rid of his own shirt, and his pants lie open, belt successfully undone.
Relinquishing her breast, in favor of another kiss, Asher stands to disrobe himself of his final items of clothing. That done, he lifts Michaela, and turns to place her on the bed. She bounces from the impact, arms lifting to wrap around him as he settles on top of her. They resume kissing, Asher's hands pinching her nipples as Michaela blindly searches her nightstand for a condom. Breaking the kiss, she turns her head, more frantically searching. Asher continues undeterred, lips moving to her neck to lick and suck at the delicate flesh. Faltering, she moans, melting against the bed sheets.
Visibly pleased, Asher lowers a hand to the junction of her thighs, rubbing between her folds. His free arm reaches over hers, easily finding a condom in the top drawer. He uses his teeth to rip open the package, and to Michaela's joy his fingers never stop in their movements, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.
Asher pushes the condom into her grasp as he stills his fingers for a moment so she concentrates on his request.
"Put it on," is spoken into Michaela's ear as he returns to her neck, teeth grazing her skin. Asher's voice has deepened with arousal, and Michaela feels her muscles clench, turned on beyond belief at the effect.
She takes a deep breath then rolls the condom down his shaft before eagerly guiding him to her entrance. Her head tilts back, groaning as he enters her body. Asher moves slowly, allowing them both to relish the hold she has on him.
Their lovemaking moves at a leisurely pace, only increasing in urgency as they both near completion. Michaela's fingernails dig into Asher's back, and her words, broken up by pants and screams of pleasure, signal her nearing orgasm. Asher echoes her, groans muffled by the space between her neck and shoulder as he keeps her close—his hand grips her hip as he pistons inside of her. They come at the same time, Michaela tightening around him as his hips jerk, his body emptying its load.
Once the haze as cleared and the stars have left their eyes, Asher rolls off of her. He discards the condom in a nearby wastebasket then falls back into bed to gather her in his arms. Relaxing against his chest, Michaela's fingers play in the hairs there, and her eyes close as the decelerating beats of his heart lull her to sleep.