Back with another update! Sorry it's been so long again; life has been chaotic lately. On the bright side the last chapter of my other story (which, if you haven't read, I obviously recommend) is almost ready and I have a couple different multichapters planned out coming out soon (hopefully) This chapter is a bit of a filler until then, and involves a certain mission involving shoplifting taking a different direction…
"I can get in a car myself," Amanda snapped as she was stuffed into the back of a cop car with all of the gentleness and caution that she'd expected of an LSPD officer that was tasked with dealing with bitchy suburban housewives like her.
The cop glared at her through the tinted windows of the car. Funny how a few years ago something like that would have scared the shit out of her, but now she couldn't find any fucks to give. "You had that opportunity," he said gruffly.
"Stupid bastard…" she mumbled under her breath, shifting uncomfortably in the musty leather seat of the cruiser. It wasn't-admittedly-her first time being in the back of a police car, but the last time she'd been in one had been about 25 years ago. She'd been 18 and had been picked up for public intoxication after partying a little too hard with her friends. Her mother had refused to pick her up from the station until the next morning, she remembered with an irritated sigh.
She zoned out a little bit, looking out of the window and only half-listening to the cop and that stupidly smug store detective talking about her ("I told you: she's a biter!"). Oh, good. Shoplifting and assault. Great job, idiot.
What the hell had she been thinking? Shoplifting...what was she, 15 years old? She hadn't done it in ages, and she'd only done it back then because she'd been too poor to buy anything nice for herself. That and partly because of that adrenaline it had given her.
Maybe the latter had been why she'd swiped those earrings and stuffed them into her purse (In her defense, they had been really cute earrings). The risk of being caught, the feeling of hiding something, the thrill of taking something that wasn't hers...it all made her feel like she was twenty again. Well, it had until the security alarm had gone off and that nosy store detective confronted her…
Glancing anxiously out the window, she bit her lip, knowing that her time was almost up. Where the hell is Michael? she thought angrily. He should've been there by now and, knowing him, wouldn't miss the chance to make fun of her for this. Ugh, he was gonna have a field day with this…
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, she saw him strolling towards the police car with his hands stuffed into his suit pockets and a cocky smirk on his face. God, he may as well have been whistling with how nonchalant he was…
Still, a pang of something ran through her, not quite happiness (she hadn't felt that for him in a long, long time), but not quite the usual overwhelming anger and resentment-though that was definitely there, too. Relief, maybe?
It was almost eery how casual he was when he walked right past the police officer without a second glance and calmly got into the driver's seat as if the cop car was his own. Michael didn't even give her a second glance as he wordlessly put the car into drive.
"Shit! Alright, let's go!" she said in shock, panicking in her seat while Michael looked like he was about to go for a joyride judging by that familiar look in his eyes. She scoffed. Of course he'd be enjoying this; it was probably filling that fucked-up void that she'd never been able to fill. "Let's go, Michael."
"Relax, I'm on top of it," he drawled out lazily, not paying any attention to her as he started to speed away from the police officer and the wannabee security guard. His eyes-bright with more excitement and emotion than she'd seen in years-darted to the rearview mirror and to the scene they were fleeing, momentary concern flashing across them when he saw the cop start to come to his senses. "Duck."
Amanda barely had time to process his warning and get low in the seat before the gunshots started ringing in her ears. The back window shattered as a bullet went through it, only inches from where her head had been, and the futile shots fired at the car while they drove away did nothing but deafen her even more and drive her annoyance.
"Well, hello to you, too, Michael," she said shakily, trying to disguise her fear as frustration. When he didn't respond, all she could do was roll her eyes at his long-standing indifference. "Ugh, you're probably loving this, aren't you?"
His eyes flashed, and a small, sick sense of happiness went through her that she finally got him to care about something, even something as stupid as this. "Oh, yeah. Risking prison. Getting shot at. Love, love, big love," he growled, sarcasm dripping from his voice with each word.
For once, she had no snarky comment to shoot back at him (and was honestly too tired to argue with him right now), so she just sulked in the backseat while the former famous getaway driver did what he loved best: running from the cops. With that cheeky smirk and the adrenaline in his eyes, he looked like he was straight out of an old heist movie. They may as well have been, she noted, with the amount of cop cars that always seemed to be lurking around the corner. Jesus, there was even a helicopter after them...
She, meanwhile, was having a panic attack in the backseat and was being tossed around like a ragdoll thanks to her husband's masculinity-fueled driving and the handcuffs bound tightly around her wrists. "Hello! No seatbelt!" she reminded him not-so-gently after being thrown against the window for the tenth time.
Michael glared at her through the mirror. "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you rather I lose the cops and get both of us outta this car quicker or do you want me to obey traffic laws and get us both shot in the face?" he said angrily, his jaw starting to tick in that way it always did when he was getting really pissed off.
Amanda (wisely) held her tongue again, resigning herself to the bruises she'd no doubt have later and to the failed attempts at an argument. Only they could argue while being chased by the police…
Even though they were silent in the car, the outside world was anything but. The sirens always seemed to be right on their tail, threatening to swallow them up, and the whirring of the helicopter blades seemed to permanently on top of them despite her husband's best efforts.
She did have to give it to Michael, though: he was as level headed and calm as he could be. He'd always been scarily calm under stress; the complete opposite of her. If anything, that little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and that damn look in his eyes made it seem like he was having a normal drive-aside from the fact that they were going 80 miles an hour and chased by the police, of course. To be honest, it was kind of hot-
No, she told herself before those thoughts could go any farther. Stop it. It'd been ages since she'd thought of him in that way and even longer since she'd acted on it. Besides, he seemed to be interested in something completely different than her…
Somewhere during her haze of stupid thoughts, the chase had led them from their preppy, upper-class neighborhood and into the different world of eastern Los Santos, whose squalor and poverty-stricken streets were all too familiar of her past. The roads, along with her breath, begin to constrict, becoming too narrow for both them and the LSPD.
At least, they had been until Michael, with a swift jerk of the wheel, turned them down a dark alleyway that looked like it belonged on a true-crime show with the syringes and crumpled beer cans littering the ground. He all but grinned in triumph as he sped down the secluded path and turned down another alley, where he soon stopped. Huh. Maybe he knew the streets here better than she thought he had...
Michael quickly turned the car off and collapsed against the seat with a grateful sigh. She soon got the feeling that both of their hearts were pounding in their chests so hard that they could hear it in their ears. "Make a sound and we're both fucked," he muttered before lapsing into the dead silence again.
For the next few minutes, the only noises were her own panicked breathing slowing down, the low tick of the engine cooling off, and the sirens that grew fainter by the second.
Finally, after what were the most stressful minutes of her life, the police sirens stopped. "Holy shit…" she finally said shakily, earning a weak laugh from Michael. For a moment, her heart fluttered in between the pounding. It'd been a long time since she'd heard him laugh in a non-sarcastic way. Admittedly, it was nice, despite the circumstances "So...is that it? Are they gone?"
"Yeah, of course they are. C'mon, who are you talking to?" he said, that mask of bravado and false confidence quickly coming back up. Of course. That rare moment of vulnerability he'd showed couldn't have been more than fleeting.
"Right. I almost forget that this what you love doing the most," she said venomously.
He ignored her, which was probably for the best, and set about finding the key that the cop had miraculously left in the car. "Here, lemme get the keys to those cuffs…" he said, reaching in between the fence that separated her from the front of the car and slipping the key into the lock of the handcuffs, expertly freeing her from the restraints.
Amanda sighed in relief, rubbing at the angry pink marks that had started to form at her wrists. She had just started to open her mouth to thank him when he just had to ruin it all.
"Yeah, you remember those, don't you? From the old days, when you used to do the girl cop routine? Wow," he said, obviously loving the memories of who they used to be.
She stared at him in a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "Really? Now?! You're a pig," she snapped before getting out of the car and slamming the door behind her. It turned out she had been an idiot to think that-just for even a minute-that he could be the guy that she loved and missed every second of every day. They would never be the same and it was about time that she accepted it…
"Amanda!" Michael called out as he got out of the car, jogging to catch up to her. "Hey, what'd I say?"
"What do you think?" she said in a low voice, but just loud enough for her overwhelming anger to seep into her words. "God, I can't believe I thought you maybe weren't a complete selfish ass for a second…"
"Seriously? This is what you're pissed about? The cop comment?" he asked, looking like he was about to burst out laughing at her. "You're really fuckin' ridiculous, you know that?
"It's not just that! It's fucking everything you say and do now! All you do is talk about the life that we tried to escape from for over ten years!" she said, voice raising with each bitter word, making her husband more paranoid by the second. They were out on the sidewalk now, and what little pedestrians were around were starting to stare, but that didn't stop her. "Every time you look at me or the kids, I can just see that you'd rather be anywhere else. And that look in your eyes today...I haven't seen that since we left North Yankton-"
Michael grabbed her still-aching wrist before she escalated into full-on shouting at him. She'd started to tell him to "let me go, you asshole" before he stared at her with steely eyes and harshly said, "Let's go back to the car."
When he saw her roll her eyes, he started tugging her along before she put up another fight. "Fuck's sakes, 'Mand, we don't want the cops called on us again. And don't you worry, you can still yell at me back there," he muttered in annoyance.
"Fine," she conceded, storming back to the beaten-up cop car. "But I'm sitting in the front this time."
"Fine," he said. Wordlessly, he started the car back up and allowed them to lapse into another awkward silence. They were just about to start driving again when he said, "Shoplifting and you bit a cop, huh? I woulda paid to see that…"
If looks could kill, he would've been dead on the spot. "Stop," she warned him.
He shrugged. "I'm just wonderin' why you did it," he said in a suspiciously innocent voice. "You haven't done it since we were back in Yankton. Wonder if it was for the same reason you do everything now…"
"Oh, yeah? And what would that reason be?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, practically begging for a challenge.
"Because you want attention. Just. Like. A. Little…" he trailed off, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her towards him until she was in his lap. "...kid."
"Umm…" she said in a daze, not able to concentrate between the way his hand trailed up and down her arm and the low voice he was using and fuck it was getting hard to be mad at him. She shook her head, trying to snap herself out of whatever mind game he was trying to use on her. "Ugh, fuck you, Michael!" she managed to snap at him. "I'm not one of your hookers that you can just take to a random alley and charm into getting you laid!"
"Ah, really? 'Cause the more you say 'fuck you' to me, the more I get the feelin' that that's exactly what you want to do…" he smirked, noting the way that she let him pull her into his lap. One of his hands traveled over to her thigh, and the other quickly moved over and started rubbing against the front of her jeans when she didn't protest.
"You-you're such a dick, you know that?" she stuttered, having to bite her lip to keep herself from gasping. It had been a while since he'd touched her like that, especially down there.
"And you love it," he whispered, leaning in so that his lips lightly brushed against hers as he talked.
"No, I don't," she said. She was trying to convince herself more than him, but it obviously wasn't working. Michael had always made her act like a flustered idiot, and now definitely was not an exception.
"Nice try," he chuckled sarcastically. His hand started to wander further down her pants, fingers carelessly brushing past her underwear and rubbing against her skin, eliciting something between a frustrated sigh and a whimper from her. "But you ain't fooling either of us, darling-"
That was all she needed. "Oh, just fuck off and kiss me," she finally said before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing him.
It was rough. Lips grinded against lips, tongues crashed against tongues, hands grabbed at clothes in their hate-fueled kiss that was only interrupted for quick gasps for breath. Much to her annoyance, she could feel him smirking against her lips and knew that she needed to remind her that he didn't have her that easily.
With a smile of her own, she held his lower lip in between her teeth and bit down, not stopping until she could taste the faintest hint of his blood and he pulled away from the kiss. "Ow," he muttered, deadpan as he wiped away the beads of blood forming on his lips.
"Well, you did seem really interested that I bit the cop earlier…" she said in the same put-upon voice that she used to use as a stripper all those years ago, and the effect it had on Michael quickly became apparent. He looked at her with hearts practically in his eyes, and those deep breaths and teasing hands told her everything. I still got it, she thought smugly.
"Fuck...you're really hot when you're pissed off," Michael said, panting. He looked at her hungrily for a long moment, obviously thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her, before saying, "Backseat. Now."
Everything that happened for the first few minutes in the back of the car were a blur to her. Hands wandered, lips wandered, and soon enough they found most of their clothes littered on the floor of the car. All she had left was her bra and underwear; Michael was down to his unbuttoned shirt and boxers.
He was currently kissing at her neck, his teeth grazing at her skin the whole time. Oh, he knew full well that he'd give her a hickey, but he-the stupid alpha male that he was-probably wanted it.
As if reading her mind, he laughed against her skin and muttered, "Have fun hiding this from your little boyfriends."
Amanda rolled her eyes at him. "You are such a damn child…" she sighed in annoyance, but grabbed him by the hair and pulled him closer, anyway. She should have been furious that he was getting what he wanted yet again, but she couldn't help herself. Michael knew exactly how to make her a begging mess, and what he was doing now certainly did not help her fight it.
With her snarky comment, Michael perked up as if getting an idea and managed to pull himself away from her neck. He sat up, much to Amanda's frustration, and started fishing through their pile of clothes, obviously looking for something.
"What the hell are you doing-?" she had started to yell at him before he reappeared with a triumphant smirk on his face and the handcuffs in his hands. It took her all of two seconds to start objecting. "Oh no. Michael, I swear to God-"
Before she could fully cuss him out, it was too late. One handcuff clicked around one of her wrists, and the other quickly followed, leaving her completely at Michael's mercy. That mercy, however, may have been nonexistent judging from his cocky smile and low laugh. "Well…" he chuckled. "You said I was being a child, so I figured I may as well start actin' like one."
Amanda could only glare at him.
"Aw, c'mon, 'Mand, doesn't this take you back?" he asked in a nostalgic tone, toying with the handcuffs bound tightly around her wrists. "Ah, except it's you in these this time and not me…"
And there it was again. That damn annoying longing for things that happened over two decades ago (the peak of their sex life, for example). She would have chewed him out for it like she did earlier, but A) it actually did take her back and B) as much as she hated to admit it, she kind of liked it: the feeling of the handcuffs digging into her skin, her husband's fingers lightly traveling across her wrists, and even that stupid smirk he was giving her. "You know what? Fine. Do your worst, Michael," she spat out.
He laughed, making her regret saying that almost immediately. "Oh, don't you worry about that, darlin'," he said before leaning down to her again. Michael started to kiss her again, but his lips wandered away from her mouth this time. Downwards, to her jaw, to her neck, to her collarbone, and finally settling over the top of her bra, making her sigh in pleasure underneath him.
"Hmm…" he murmured against her chest. "You've been a bad girl today, Mandy. And I think you deserve a little punishm-"
She rolled her eyes at his god awful attempt to "set the mood" or whatever he was trying to do. "Really?" she asked. "Stop it."
"Stop what? This?" His mouth was between her breasts now. "Or this?" he said before reaching down and tugging her soaked underwear from her legs in one swift motion.
That shut her up. "Uhh, n-nothing," she stuttered, trying her best not to struggle too hard against the handcuffs. She so wished that she could grab him by the hair and do it at her own pace, but she had a feeling that he was-as always-enjoying teasing her. "Just kiss me."
Michael happily obliged and moved his lips back to hers. One of his hands, meanwhile, moved back down to where it was earlier, except now there was no underwear for him to play with. He lazily traced a few circles around her bare skin at first, but it wasn't long before a couple of his fingers slipped inside of her.
Not even his lips against hers could stifle her initial moan when he started pumping those fingers in and out. Her breath was coming out in short gasps as she writhed against his teasing hands in pleasure, and she had to bite her tongue to keep the needy whimpers at bay.
It took all she had to not try and get the whole thing over with quickly, but Michael was already doing that for her. He easily set the pace: quick enough to turn her into a sweating, begging mess in desperate need for release, but slow enough to deny her the pleasure. Oh, he full well knew what he was doing, judging by the smile she could feel against her lips, and was probably loving every second of it.
"You know what to say," he whispered, voice raspy in her ear.
By now, the climax that was building up was too big for her to ignore. Amanda couldn't even manage to find the energy to glare at him when she moaned out, "Michael, p-please…"
With that one word, he finally sped up a little, and just enough to send her over the edge. Even the handcuffs clanging against the car door from her struggling weren't loud enough to drown out her sounds of pleasure as she finished.
Tremors ran down through her entire body for a good few minutes afterwards; every single inch of her was taut and tight from pure ecstasy. Her body was limp under Michael's, who patiently peppered her skin with kisses as he waited for her to come down from the high.
The second she regained her energy was an entirely different story. The force she used to move against the handcuffs probably would've broken them if they weren't real, police-issued ones. The red marks she'd have after this would be awful, she knew, but she didn't care anymore. She didn't say anything, but Michael easily seemed to grasp what she wanted.
"Already, huh?" he panted, obviously still worked up, too. Still, his hand moved down to the opening of his boxers, and before they knew it, he was moving himself inside of her.
Slowly, they built up to their familiar rhythm: him kissing her neck, her hips grinding against his, him bucking up against her. All words were lost in their satisfaction-no more snarky comments or insults thrown as they became lost into the sensation and each other's bodies.
It was different than usual; a lot less choreographed and dull than what little sex they'd had lately was like. For once, they weren't the superficial robots that they'd turned into during their time in Los Santos. There was a little bit of messiness, and a lot of passion. Hatred or love; neither of them could quite tell, but it didn't make a difference as they fucked in the backseat of the car like they were twenty again.
"Fuckin' A, Mandy..." he finally muttered, breaking their silence. "You are still so goddamn amazing…"
I know, she so wanted to tell him, but all that came out between her pathetic attempts of words were incoherent moans. "Fuck, Michael," she whined. "I…"
Smiling weakly, he leaned down and let his lips graze against her ear. "Come for me, baby…"
That was all she needed. A couple more seconds and her eyes rolled in the back of her head as she moaned out his name and went over the edge. Seconds of mutual silence followed before she could feel him let out a groan and do the same, too.
Moments later, he collapsed back against the seat, catching his breath and laughing weakly. "Holy shit," he muttered before glancing over to her, who was still laying down with her hands cuffed above her head. For the second time within the hour, he fished out the key and uncuffed her, letting the handcuffs fall against the floor.
"Thanks," she murmured, managing to sit up and rest her head against her shoulder. "So...what a day, huh?"
He chuckled at the massive understatement. From running to the cops to having sex in the backseat of the police car, neither of them couldn't have expected it in their wildest dreams. "Yeah, hell of a day," he said, eyes flickering back to hers and the adrenaline and want that still lingered in them. "You thinking about round 2, too?"
She immediately perked up and held up the handcuffs with a smirk. "Only if you wear them this time."