(no subject)
Title: This Will Destroy You
Fandom: American Idol Season 7
Pairing: Michael Johns/Carly Smithson
She has no idea how she got here, but she can’t say that she didn’t expect it or that she doesn’t want it. She did expect it. She does want it. She just didn’t expect it to all happen . . . so soon. Somehow between opening the door (before the denial) and now (after the impromptu dancing), he has her down on the lushly carpeted floor.
She tries to explain that she wants this, but she doesn’t want the inevitable consequences; she needs this, aches for this, and has literally dreamed of this, but shouldn’t have it. “Michael,” she begins, but he shakes his head and places his finger against her lips, shushing her.
He doesn’t have her trapped, he isn’t pinning her down; technically, he’s not really touching her. He’s simply sitting on his knees between her parted legs, a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes search her face, drinking in every ounce of trepidation and lust.
To look him in the eyes proves too much for Carly to handle and she turns her head, clenching her fists tightly by her sides, willing herself not to give in though it is clear that she already has.
The sun filters in through the gauzy, expensive cream-colored curtains; it dapples Michael’s arm, the side of his face, Carly’s dark hair, the smooth column of her neck, the swell of her breasts rising above the confines of her slate grey dress.
She feels his warm hands traverse up from her ankles to her bent knees and down her thighs, pushing her dress down to bunch around her waist. She unclenches her fists to still his hands, but he shakes her grip away and leans over her to momentarily pin her wrists above her head. The movement settles him deeper between her thighs, pushes their groins together, and brings them face-to-face at a much closer proximity.
She actually stops breathing as she sees that his dark eyes are flecked with a color she has never noticed before. Perhaps it’s because they’ve never been this close before; she’s never actually looked at him, studied him, sought to memorize him.
His mouth ghosts along her jaw and across her face until it captures hers for the first time. She kisses him before catching herself and turning her head. That particular motion has ‘No’ written all over it, but the fact that she is not fighting against him coupled with the fact that she has just arched herself up to bring her cotton-covered center into closer contact with his denim-clad crotch contradicts it.
He smirks and unpins her wrists, slowly running his fingers down her arms and along her sides as he sits back on his knees once more. She closes her eyes, turns her head, and swallows hard, trying to ignore the wetness between her legs and the fluttering in her stomach as his hands push her dress even further up her waist and then splay themselves across her breasts; the friction his palms cause against her skin as they rub her through the fabric of her dress and bra cause her nipples to harden almost immediately.
Michael roughly pulls away the barriers of cloth to capture one nipple in his mouth as his other hand finds its way between her legs, teasingly rubbing against her. She breathes in sharply at the feel of his tongue rolling around her sensitized nipple and tries to both pull him towards her with one hand and push him away with the other.
He lifts his head as she pushes at the hand between her legs. What a little bundle of contradictions. He blows on her rosy, wet nipple and watches it pucker even more. He hears her try to bite back a moan and wonders exactly what he needs to do to get past this pointless, half-hearted struggle she has decided to put up.
He has already bunched her dress up to right below her breasts and most of her body is now exposed to his eyes. He places a wet kiss on her stomach and blows on it, watching her face the entire time with an impish grin on his face. Her mouth wavers open and for a split second he thinks that she might cry, but she doesn’t. She bites her lower lip and tugs gently at his hair, her eyes never leaving his face. He’s pleased to see that she’s growing stronger.
She trembles as his mouth and fingers run along her midsection, her muscles involuntarily clenching and unclenching against his erotic assault. It is when he kisses her inner thigh and begins to peel her panties away that she finds her voice. “No,” she says, pushing his hands away.
She knows she’ll feel guilty if they do this. How could she kiss her husband again with Michael’s taste on her tongue? How could she look Stacey in the eye with the image of Michael hovering over her burned into her brain?
His hands go right back to her underwear and now they are challenging each other, locked in a staring contest. She has her hands over the top of her panties, right on her hips, and he has his hands over hers. She frowns. He pushes her hands aside in a flippant manner and she scoffs and pushes at his shoulders. There it is; there’s the fire, Michael thinks. He snakes back up Carly’s body, pinning her with his weight as she bucks up against him, trying to throw him off.
Her hands find the hem of his T-shirt and fiercely rip it over his head. She keeps him trapped in the shirt for a moment as she tilts her head up and runs her tongue along his full bottom lip. He tries to draw her in for a kiss, but she resists and pulls away, attempting to prolong his captivity, but he fights his way through his cotton prison and grips her hair in retaliation, exposing her neck.
“You’re not allowed to mark me,” she declares, reading his mind. She pushes at him to no avail as he nips and sucks savagely at her flesh, drawing a whimper from her throat.
She fights against him and thrashes about, smacking his face when he raises his head to admire his handiwork. He roughly grabs her arms and they wrestle against one another.
“Stop being such a bitch!” Michael laughs, not upset by her struggle in the least little way. In fact, he likes it; he revels in her angry eyes, her flushed skin and flailing limbs.
“Fuck you!” she spits out through clenched teeth. It’s not a bad thought really, especially as she feels the bulge in his jeans pressing against her stomach and his bare upper body moving against her own. He is leanly muscled and she wants to lick every sun-kissed inch of him.
“That’s your problem, isn’t it?” he taunts. “You want to fuck me? You want it so badly you can’t stand it.” His mouth meets hers again and this time the kiss is vicious, bruising as each tongue struggles to dominate the other and teeth clash and bite down on soft lips.
“Bastard,” Carly says breathlessly and still defiant when he pulls away. “I hate you.”
“I know,” Michael leers, as he lets her wrists go to unbuckle his belt and jeans and unzip his fly, finally freeing his cock. “Don’t ever stop.” With that, he pulls her panties aside and thrusts into her so hard that it startles her. She’s wet for him and there is barely any resistance from her body, but he is bigger than she had expected and it still hurts.
Carly’s eyes widen and she gasps as he fully sheaths himself inside of her and then slowly pulls out, repeating the motion several times as he licks into her open mouth. She tangles her hands in his dark locks and presses him to her, deepening the kiss and possessing his tongue. He finds a rhythm and she raises her hips to match it. She pulls at her panties, suddenly annoyed by their existence; they are definitely slowing things down.
She tears her mouth away from Michael’s. “Get these off and fuck me!” she demands.
“Bossy,” he mutters with a lopsided grin, pulling out of her before ripping the thin panties off of her body and tossing them aside.
Before he can touch her again, she pushes him back and gets on her hands and knees. “That was my favorite pair, by the way, asshole.”
He pushes her dress up and enters her from behind. “I’ll buy you a new pair,” he grunts.
Yes, this position is perfect, she decides as he grips her hips and once again finds a rhythm. She can feel every glorious inch of his cock as he enters and retreats from her body, it hits her perfectly every time, and (best of all) she doesn’t have to see his smug face. Currently, though, his pace is tortuously slow.
“Fuck me faster,” she moans over her shoulder.
He increases his pace, loving the way she moans and bites down on her lower lip, the way her brow furrows as she moves her hips back to meet his, their bodies slapping together with the force of it. He pulls at her hair as he leans over her body, driving himself deeper, harder, and faster, and growling deliciously sexy filth in her ear.
His lasciviousness combined with his accent pushes her even closer to the edge; his accent wraps around phrases like: “so fucking good” and “fuck yes”, making them ten times hotter than when anyone else before him has ever used them. The most delicious word falling from his lips, though, is her name. She had no idea that her name could drip with such sweet sin. She almost swears when he begins to slow down and grips her hips to control her movement.
“Do you want this?” he asks.
“Yes!” she cries, frustrated.
“Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
She whimpers as he withdraws completely and rubs the tip of his cock along the folds of her pussy. “I want this.”
“You want what?”
She tries to move against him, but he stills her, mustering all of his self-control.
“I want you; I want you to fuck me.” Carly hates to beg, but is so close to an orgasm that she doesn’t care. “Please, Michael. Fuck me. Make me cum.”
That’s all it takes. He drives into her, using one hand to rub at her clit and she presses against him, desperate to have him as deep as possible, desperate to have as much contact as possible. She places her hand over his and together they rub at the sensitive nub between her legs. His name spills from her lips uncontrollably as the tightly coiled pleasure settled in the pit of her stomach begins to uncoil and shoot through her body.
“Kiss me,” Michael moans huskily in her ear, tugging her head back to cover her mouth with his, swallowing her moans as the velvety warm wetness of her body contracts around him. He comes inside of her soon after with a sharp cry.
As Carly feels him empty himself inside of her, in the back of her mind she curses herself for their carelessness and lack of protection. Not that it matters really. She’ll think about it later. Right now, she feels too good. Her body feels loose and relaxed as her arms give beneath her, her hand still entwined with Michael’s between her legs, his other arm around her waist.
He collapses on top of her, gasping into the back of her neck before he rolls over. She stays on her side for a moment before she rolls onto her back again. They lay on their backs, panting softly until they have both caught their breath. Michael is the first to turn his head, and she follows suit. He props himself up on one elbow and kisses her gently, stroking her dampened hair away from her face. Her eyes are bright, yet dazed.
“I have to. . .” Carly sits up slowly, slips her breast back into her bra, and pulls her dress back onto her shoulder. “I’m having dinner with Todd, so. . .” she lets her sentence hang in the air.
“Oh. Yeah.” Michael sits up as well, finding his shirt and pulling it back over his head.
“Right.” she nods and stands, still looking a little astonished. She grabs up her panties and shakes her dress back down, leaving quickly.
Back in the bathroom of her hotel room, Carly leans on the sink as she uses her soiled, ripped panties to scrub at the stickiness between her legs, her juices mixed with Michael’s. Her reflection catches her eye and she looks up. It’s a good thing that her room is right across from Michael’s because she looks completely ravished and would hate to have had to walk more than a few feet for privacy. A blush colors her usually pale complexion, her dark hair is mussed and beginning to wave slightly, and her make up is smudged, lips are bruised and Michael has succeeded in marking her neck with a dark lovebite.
She has only 15 minutes before she has to meet Todd.
She does the only thing that keeps her from crying; the only thing that makes sense considering the circumstances and the fact that what was done, was done. She laughs.
Fandom: American Idol Season 7
Pairing: Michael Johns/Carly Smithson
She has no idea how she got here, but she can’t say that she didn’t expect it or that she doesn’t want it. She did expect it. She does want it. She just didn’t expect it to all happen . . . so soon. Somehow between opening the door (before the denial) and now (after the impromptu dancing), he has her down on the lushly carpeted floor.
She tries to explain that she wants this, but she doesn’t want the inevitable consequences; she needs this, aches for this, and has literally dreamed of this, but shouldn’t have it. “Michael,” she begins, but he shakes his head and places his finger against her lips, shushing her.
He doesn’t have her trapped, he isn’t pinning her down; technically, he’s not really touching her. He’s simply sitting on his knees between her parted legs, a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes search her face, drinking in every ounce of trepidation and lust.
To look him in the eyes proves too much for Carly to handle and she turns her head, clenching her fists tightly by her sides, willing herself not to give in though it is clear that she already has.
The sun filters in through the gauzy, expensive cream-colored curtains; it dapples Michael’s arm, the side of his face, Carly’s dark hair, the smooth column of her neck, the swell of her breasts rising above the confines of her slate grey dress.
She feels his warm hands traverse up from her ankles to her bent knees and down her thighs, pushing her dress down to bunch around her waist. She unclenches her fists to still his hands, but he shakes her grip away and leans over her to momentarily pin her wrists above her head. The movement settles him deeper between her thighs, pushes their groins together, and brings them face-to-face at a much closer proximity.
She actually stops breathing as she sees that his dark eyes are flecked with a color she has never noticed before. Perhaps it’s because they’ve never been this close before; she’s never actually looked at him, studied him, sought to memorize him.
His mouth ghosts along her jaw and across her face until it captures hers for the first time. She kisses him before catching herself and turning her head. That particular motion has ‘No’ written all over it, but the fact that she is not fighting against him coupled with the fact that she has just arched herself up to bring her cotton-covered center into closer contact with his denim-clad crotch contradicts it.
He smirks and unpins her wrists, slowly running his fingers down her arms and along her sides as he sits back on his knees once more. She closes her eyes, turns her head, and swallows hard, trying to ignore the wetness between her legs and the fluttering in her stomach as his hands push her dress even further up her waist and then splay themselves across her breasts; the friction his palms cause against her skin as they rub her through the fabric of her dress and bra cause her nipples to harden almost immediately.
Michael roughly pulls away the barriers of cloth to capture one nipple in his mouth as his other hand finds its way between her legs, teasingly rubbing against her. She breathes in sharply at the feel of his tongue rolling around her sensitized nipple and tries to both pull him towards her with one hand and push him away with the other.
He lifts his head as she pushes at the hand between her legs. What a little bundle of contradictions. He blows on her rosy, wet nipple and watches it pucker even more. He hears her try to bite back a moan and wonders exactly what he needs to do to get past this pointless, half-hearted struggle she has decided to put up.
He has already bunched her dress up to right below her breasts and most of her body is now exposed to his eyes. He places a wet kiss on her stomach and blows on it, watching her face the entire time with an impish grin on his face. Her mouth wavers open and for a split second he thinks that she might cry, but she doesn’t. She bites her lower lip and tugs gently at his hair, her eyes never leaving his face. He’s pleased to see that she’s growing stronger.
She trembles as his mouth and fingers run along her midsection, her muscles involuntarily clenching and unclenching against his erotic assault. It is when he kisses her inner thigh and begins to peel her panties away that she finds her voice. “No,” she says, pushing his hands away.
She knows she’ll feel guilty if they do this. How could she kiss her husband again with Michael’s taste on her tongue? How could she look Stacey in the eye with the image of Michael hovering over her burned into her brain?
His hands go right back to her underwear and now they are challenging each other, locked in a staring contest. She has her hands over the top of her panties, right on her hips, and he has his hands over hers. She frowns. He pushes her hands aside in a flippant manner and she scoffs and pushes at his shoulders. There it is; there’s the fire, Michael thinks. He snakes back up Carly’s body, pinning her with his weight as she bucks up against him, trying to throw him off.
Her hands find the hem of his T-shirt and fiercely rip it over his head. She keeps him trapped in the shirt for a moment as she tilts her head up and runs her tongue along his full bottom lip. He tries to draw her in for a kiss, but she resists and pulls away, attempting to prolong his captivity, but he fights his way through his cotton prison and grips her hair in retaliation, exposing her neck.
“You’re not allowed to mark me,” she declares, reading his mind. She pushes at him to no avail as he nips and sucks savagely at her flesh, drawing a whimper from her throat.
She fights against him and thrashes about, smacking his face when he raises his head to admire his handiwork. He roughly grabs her arms and they wrestle against one another.
“Stop being such a bitch!” Michael laughs, not upset by her struggle in the least little way. In fact, he likes it; he revels in her angry eyes, her flushed skin and flailing limbs.
“Fuck you!” she spits out through clenched teeth. It’s not a bad thought really, especially as she feels the bulge in his jeans pressing against her stomach and his bare upper body moving against her own. He is leanly muscled and she wants to lick every sun-kissed inch of him.
“That’s your problem, isn’t it?” he taunts. “You want to fuck me? You want it so badly you can’t stand it.” His mouth meets hers again and this time the kiss is vicious, bruising as each tongue struggles to dominate the other and teeth clash and bite down on soft lips.
“Bastard,” Carly says breathlessly and still defiant when he pulls away. “I hate you.”
“I know,” Michael leers, as he lets her wrists go to unbuckle his belt and jeans and unzip his fly, finally freeing his cock. “Don’t ever stop.” With that, he pulls her panties aside and thrusts into her so hard that it startles her. She’s wet for him and there is barely any resistance from her body, but he is bigger than she had expected and it still hurts.
Carly’s eyes widen and she gasps as he fully sheaths himself inside of her and then slowly pulls out, repeating the motion several times as he licks into her open mouth. She tangles her hands in his dark locks and presses him to her, deepening the kiss and possessing his tongue. He finds a rhythm and she raises her hips to match it. She pulls at her panties, suddenly annoyed by their existence; they are definitely slowing things down.
She tears her mouth away from Michael’s. “Get these off and fuck me!” she demands.
“Bossy,” he mutters with a lopsided grin, pulling out of her before ripping the thin panties off of her body and tossing them aside.
Before he can touch her again, she pushes him back and gets on her hands and knees. “That was my favorite pair, by the way, asshole.”
He pushes her dress up and enters her from behind. “I’ll buy you a new pair,” he grunts.
Yes, this position is perfect, she decides as he grips her hips and once again finds a rhythm. She can feel every glorious inch of his cock as he enters and retreats from her body, it hits her perfectly every time, and (best of all) she doesn’t have to see his smug face. Currently, though, his pace is tortuously slow.
“Fuck me faster,” she moans over her shoulder.
He increases his pace, loving the way she moans and bites down on her lower lip, the way her brow furrows as she moves her hips back to meet his, their bodies slapping together with the force of it. He pulls at her hair as he leans over her body, driving himself deeper, harder, and faster, and growling deliciously sexy filth in her ear.
His lasciviousness combined with his accent pushes her even closer to the edge; his accent wraps around phrases like: “so fucking good” and “fuck yes”, making them ten times hotter than when anyone else before him has ever used them. The most delicious word falling from his lips, though, is her name. She had no idea that her name could drip with such sweet sin. She almost swears when he begins to slow down and grips her hips to control her movement.
“Do you want this?” he asks.
“Yes!” she cries, frustrated.
“Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
She whimpers as he withdraws completely and rubs the tip of his cock along the folds of her pussy. “I want this.”
“You want what?”
She tries to move against him, but he stills her, mustering all of his self-control.
“I want you; I want you to fuck me.” Carly hates to beg, but is so close to an orgasm that she doesn’t care. “Please, Michael. Fuck me. Make me cum.”
That’s all it takes. He drives into her, using one hand to rub at her clit and she presses against him, desperate to have him as deep as possible, desperate to have as much contact as possible. She places her hand over his and together they rub at the sensitive nub between her legs. His name spills from her lips uncontrollably as the tightly coiled pleasure settled in the pit of her stomach begins to uncoil and shoot through her body.
“Kiss me,” Michael moans huskily in her ear, tugging her head back to cover her mouth with his, swallowing her moans as the velvety warm wetness of her body contracts around him. He comes inside of her soon after with a sharp cry.
As Carly feels him empty himself inside of her, in the back of her mind she curses herself for their carelessness and lack of protection. Not that it matters really. She’ll think about it later. Right now, she feels too good. Her body feels loose and relaxed as her arms give beneath her, her hand still entwined with Michael’s between her legs, his other arm around her waist.
He collapses on top of her, gasping into the back of her neck before he rolls over. She stays on her side for a moment before she rolls onto her back again. They lay on their backs, panting softly until they have both caught their breath. Michael is the first to turn his head, and she follows suit. He props himself up on one elbow and kisses her gently, stroking her dampened hair away from her face. Her eyes are bright, yet dazed.
“I have to. . .” Carly sits up slowly, slips her breast back into her bra, and pulls her dress back onto her shoulder. “I’m having dinner with Todd, so. . .” she lets her sentence hang in the air.
“Oh. Yeah.” Michael sits up as well, finding his shirt and pulling it back over his head.
“Right.” she nods and stands, still looking a little astonished. She grabs up her panties and shakes her dress back down, leaving quickly.
Back in the bathroom of her hotel room, Carly leans on the sink as she uses her soiled, ripped panties to scrub at the stickiness between her legs, her juices mixed with Michael’s. Her reflection catches her eye and she looks up. It’s a good thing that her room is right across from Michael’s because she looks completely ravished and would hate to have had to walk more than a few feet for privacy. A blush colors her usually pale complexion, her dark hair is mussed and beginning to wave slightly, and her make up is smudged, lips are bruised and Michael has succeeded in marking her neck with a dark lovebite.
She has only 15 minutes before she has to meet Todd.
She does the only thing that keeps her from crying; the only thing that makes sense considering the circumstances and the fact that what was done, was done. She laughs.