Chapter Text
MJ doesn’t get nervous. She wasn’t nervous when her valedictorian speech got put in the washing machine the day of graduation and she spoke without notes. She wasn’t nervous when she took her driving test with only one lesson under her belt. And she’s never nervous when she’s in a bar. It’s her playground and she loves to win.
Sure, she’s never been here to meet a middle-aged woman with a son before - but she can blame her aunt Anna for that. And now she has to give relationship advice to someone she’s never met - but who knows enough about her love life to ask for her advice on how to get back out there. If she's a little skittish over the fact, she gives herself a pass.
Michelle is sitting in the middle of the bar, scanning the faces of people she might want to pick up later and avoiding the gazes of those she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot barge pole. She’s got a good thirty minutes to kill before May shows up because she's nervous and got here early to drink a cocktail (or two) before her Aunt’s bestie turns up.
She’s not looking for anything to start in the next thirty minutes - knowing it’s not worth the effort of placating some potential hookup while she’s entertaining someone else and hearing about their sad lack of a love life.
That’s when she sees him walk in, shoulders back like he’s forcing himself to be present and not nervous. He stumbles over nothing and curses to himself before leaning against the bar. He’s not obviously looking for someone, so she thinks it’s fair game to ask him if he wants a drink - thirty minutes be damned. She’s not entirely sure what she can do in that time - but this place does have some nice toilets and he has thighs she thinks he could work wonders with.
He catches her gaze as she walks over to him, flipping her curly hair over one shoulder.
“Gwen?”
She cocks her eyebrow at him and he blushes an unfairly pretty colour.
“No - Michelle.”
“Oh. Fuck.”
“What a way to be greeted,” she replies, though she’s already enamoured by the rebellious curl that clearly doesn’t care about the amount of hair gel he’s wearing.
“Sorry! I didn’t - I don’t… I’ve been set up on a blind date -”
“I see,” she replies, counting down the seconds till she can order a drink and go back to her table because clearly she’s not getting fucked against a stall door anytime soon.
“And obviously I don’t know who they are - but I know they’re not called Michelle. Which sucks, because I would very much like for them to have been you. But I’ve never been particularly lucky.”
“Or graceful. I saw your trip earlier,” she smirks. His eyes go wide and then he throws his head back in laughter and she kinda wishes his date was called Michelle as well.
“Ugggh, Michelle. You wound me,” he replies, a smile cutting his face in half. “Would you like a drink?”
“Offering someone a drink while you’re supposed to be on a date with someone else?” she asks, leaning closer to him.
"Should I add rascal to your list?"
"What else is on the list?" he asks, his voice deeper than before.
"I don't know if I'll have time to tell you, aren't you taken tonight?"
“The date hasn’t started yet, and I’m about this close to cancelling anyway,” he says, moving his body closer to hers and bringing his fingers almost to a pinch in front of her face.
“They could be the love of your life,” she replies, her gaze flicking to his lips and back to his eyes. It hasn’t felt this easy with someone in a while - maybe she can get him to go down on her without giving him six pages of notes to get her off.
“Doubtful, if you’re right here.”
“Oh wow, does that work every time?” she asks, though she’s not sure he’s ever picked someone up in the bar on purpose. He probably gets chased because he has nice hands and a very pretty face.
“I don’t know,” he whispers, his thumb running over the back of her hand. “I’ve only ever said it to you.”
His eyes are glistening and his smile gets wider when she laughs at his joke. “Are you this cheesy all the time?” she asks, eyebrow raised.
“Doesn’t seem to be doing me any harm,” he replies, playing with her fingers. And well. He has her there.
“When does your date start?”
“I don’t care,” he replies, eyes dark. “Why, what did you have in mind?”
She’s about to whisper all the dirty things she wants to do to him when they’re interrupted by the bartender, which she thinks is fair because they are standing at the bar. She asks for a pornstar martini and her stomach feels funny when he doesn’t stop playing with her fingers.
“Oh shit,” he says, and she picks her gaze up from their hands to see him looking out the window. “My date is outside.”
“How do you know it’s your date?” she asks because he asked her if it was her earlier and they look nothing alike. MJ with her olive skin and dark hair, and the woman outside - Gwen, presumably - with blonde hair and a cute skirt.
“I know what she looks like,” he mutters under his breath. “But have you seen what you look like?” he asks, eyes wide like she should know he was going to talk to her just because she’s hot. It’s kinda endearing, kinda annoying - depends who's saying it.
“Oh, it’s all about the looks, is it? Is that the only thing of value?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest. He blanches for a second, getting off his stool and straightening out his pants.
“And I assume you knew I liked gardening in my spare time when you approached me, and it had nothing to do with the way you watched me as I came in?” he asks, a smirk painted on his face - though he still looks unreasonably cute.
“Nice,” she smirks back.
“I’ll see you around, Michelle,” he says. And he only catches her looking at him three times, but in her defence, it’s because he turned back.
Michelle sits back at the bar waiting for May to arrive. Aunt Anna really did her dirty with this whole setup - convincing her friend that Michelle is so good at picking people up in bars that May should ask her for help on her dwindling love life. Though Michelle supposes it’s her own fault for telling her aunt secrets she wouldn’t dare share with her mum.
When she spots May looking for her at the entrance, she’s not too mad at having to spend the evening with her. If she was into older women, she’d be all over May like a rash.
She holds her hand up slightly, signalling for May to come over. One thing MJ notices right off the bat is that May is attracting a lot of looks with her flowing hair and wide-legged pants. She’s cute - so MJ isn’t entirely sure why she needs the help.
“Hi, sweetheart!” May exclaims, bending down to hug her like she’s known Michelle her entire life. “Thanks for meeting me. Gosh, you’re beautiful.”
“Thanks,” MJ replies, feeling the lingering nerves leave at how open and kind May seems. The bartender brings over shots MJ pre-ordered in case things got awkward, though she doesn’t think that will be an issue. She chooses to get right into it. “So, May, what are you looking for?”
“Looking for?” May asks, seemingly unaware of the glances people keep sending her.
“Yeah,” MJ replies, pulling her straw to her mouth with her tongue. “Do you wanna get fucked, or do you wanna fall in love?”
May’s eyes widen slightly, but she grabs the shot, hits it on the table and throws it back before saying, with no uncertainty, “Both.”
“I can work with that. Though you should know -”
“You don’t fall in love?” May asks, sipping her drink dangerously fast. Maybe she feels bad that Anna clearly can’t be quiet over a pot of tea and some biscuits which is… well it’s a thing.
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. But I definitely could - I’ve just never been bothered with it.” And it’s true. It’s not like someone hurt her when she was young, and her parents are still happily married - love has just never been something she’s fussed about. She likes her friends and she likes to have sex and she likes her own space. Michelle likes romance from afar, and she’ll read love poems and rewatch romcoms weekly because the idea is nice - but that’s it.
But she can totally wingman until May finds someone she wants to pursue - because being in love isn’t hard. It’s work - but it’s work you want to do if the person is right.
“So how can I help?” MJ asks.
“Well, I know this isn’t your job sweetie, and I’m grateful for you because everyone I know my age… is well, married," May says with a shrug and a smile. "Or they have younger children. I like kids as much as the next person, but I can’t bring a seven-year-old to pick up people in a bar.”
“Agreed that we like children… ish, but not in the bar. You don’t like apps?”
“Like appetisers? Do they do those here?” May asks, head spinning so quickly that she nearly whips a passing server with her hair. MJ laughs lightly at her, feeling giddy from the alcohol in her system.
“No, they’re tight here - peanuts and chips only,” she says while May groans. “I mean like dating apps?”
“Oh, that makes much more sense. I dunno, I always feel like someone is going to catfish me, or maybe they’ll think I’m the catfish. What if they see me and go home!”
“I dunno what you’re worried about - you’re hot,” MJ replies with a small shrug.
“Well thank you, MJ,” May laughs lightly. “Sorry, Michelle. I know Anna says only your friends call you MJ.”
“I think if we’re going to be talking sex, you can call me MJ.”
May smiles, getting straight back into the conversation. “I just haven’t tried to pick anyone up in a bar in… God - before Ben, and then I didn’t actually have to do anything, he did all the work.”
"Sounds lovely," MJ smiles, not wanting to start this partnership on a down note. If May ends up comparing everyone to the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, this will never work.
"It is. It was," May replies, a flash of sadness crosses her face but it's gone as quick as it came.
"At least he got to live his life with you," Michelle states, watching as May smiles. "At least there's that."
"Yeah, at least there's that."
They finish their drinks in comfortable silence. Michelle hopes her impromptu attempt at making May feel better hasn't entirely fucked the evening. Well, fucked it worse than when she struck out at the bar earlier.
"Okay," May says, slamming her glass on the table with a little too much force. "Let's get cocktails and get me laid."
"On it,” MJ says, signalling to the bartender.
“Love just isn’t for me,” Michelle sighs with a shrug, half leaning on the table. She’s never been sad about it - it’s not something that she craves deeply. It's a fleeting idea when she sees a couple at dinner, or a daydream while she is on the subway and catches an old couple's eye. But she usually gets over those moments with someone fiercely attractive between her legs.
“Wait,” MJ starts, her eyebrows high. She swallows the last of her cocktail before signalling for another. “I was totally in love in eighth grade.”
May laughs at her but doesn’t tell her she’s stupid, though May has been laughing at everything for the past forty-five minutes because they decided a round or three of shots was a good idea (they were correct). But she doesn’t tell MJ that it's a little ridiculous that her first love was someone from a different school whose name she can’t remember and whose face she couldn’t pick out of a lineup. She just looks at her like it’s cute. Like she too had a devastating crush in high school.
“What were they like?” May asks, chin in hand, propped up by her elbow on the table.
“I don’t remember much about what he looked like other than I thought he was the cutest thing I’d ever seen,” she replies. MJ is honest to a fault but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll voice those opinions. Though with enough alcohol and a good person to talk to… well.
“My team was facing off against his in an academic decathlon tournament and I almost lost the last point because he looked at me and smiled. And God, May -” she says, taking a sip of her replenished drink. “He was so kind. Just like, the best person I’ve ever met and I was crazy, stupid in love with him.”
“That’s so sweet!” May slurs slightly. “Ohhh, maybe it was my boy! He did that nerdy boring question game too.”
“When we agree that it was!” MJ shouts, holding her drink up for May to toast with her. She’s laughing too much to care that May hits her glass so hard half her cocktail ends up on her arm.
"I never had a wild phase… well I did with Ben, but not by myself. It never really occurred to me. Ben and I met when we were so young and it was just… love. So I've never felt like I missed out - and then we had our boy so we were limited with what we could do. And I don't regret a second of it, but now Pete's a grown-up and Ben's gone it seems like -" she trails off.
"Time for a wild phase?" MJ asks, smirking as she signals for more shots.
"Well as wild as I can go at my age," May laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges but still looking hot as fuck.
Michelle has read classic love stories and watched and rewatched modern tellings of people so hopelessly in love they don't know how to act. And it seems nice - in principle. She's just never been bothered by it, or at least she's never met anyone that makes her want to settle down.
It always seemed like a choice between being wild and free or being comfortable and secure. Realistically, MJ wants both. It probably says more about her and her lack of desire to compromise her entire life for one person. Maybe she's just never met someone that makes her want to meet them halfway. But in fairness, she's actively avoiding looking.
She likes doing whatever she wants and she likes sleeping alone and she likes fucking whoever she likes. The boring monotony of repeating days and living for the weekend is not something she can abide.
"You know we can work on whatever it is you think you need to be on girls gone wild," MJ says with a wink making May's head fall back in laughter. "But it's okay if it's not for you and it's okay if you wanna fuck everyone you see. Or if you want to play the scene and the first person you meet is it for you. There are no rules here."
"Sounds good, MJ," May replies, thanking the waiter for their shots with a smile - majorly unaware that they're fully in love with her already. "But no one’s gone down on me in months so let's fix that too."
Michelle is nursing her last cocktail when May leaves - only after getting Michelle’s number and making sure she texts her when she gets home. It’s sweet, even though May should really be the one texting her because she was a little wobbly getting into her friend’s car.
She’s waiting for the rain to stop because she wasn’t anticipating a torrential downpour when she chose to wear her suede suit. Something shifts as she throws her head back to finish the last of her drink and she sees him coming through the entrance.
She wants to make a joke that he clearly hasn’t had a good night - or maybe a spat about how he looks like a drowned spider - but her breath gets caught in her throat as she watches his wet shirt stick to his shoulders.
He walks straight over to her, water droplets falling down his neck and she thinks he looks devilishly handsome when he’s wet and annoyed. She stands up, her body reacting before her mind can convince her to play it cool, as he reaches her table.
“You still,” he starts, his body close to hers though not touching. “Do you still -”
“Do I still?” she asks, though his intentions are clear. She does want to take him to her place though and she fears his confidence might be failing.
But then he raises his hand slowly, reaching to cup the back of her head. Yes, his intentions are laid bare and she wants nothing more than to roll around in them. She lets her nose graze his before she pulls him closer to her by his shirt.
It’s all tongues and teeth in a way that makes her clench her thighs together. He slips his tongue into her mouth the second she gives him the chance and she hardly remembers they’re surrounded by people - not that she cares. Her hands weave into his hair at the back of his neck and she feels the rainwater trickle down her forearms.
“Do you still think I’m hot?” he asks between the heavy breaths she still feels against her mouth because he's barely moved an inch away.
“I never said that,” she replies, hands resting at the side of his throat. She catches his smile just before he leans forwards to kiss her hard on the mouth.
“Want me to take you home anyway, Michelle?”
“Yes.”
She takes him back to her place - naturally. And on the cab ride back he seems to have lost some of the confidence he had back at the bar.
“So, sex. We’re going to have sex,” he says, finger drumming along her kitchen countertops.
“We don’t have to,” she smirks. “We can talk about our days and then go to sleep.” She doesn’t mention that she’ll have to kick him out. Well, she’ll kick him out either way.
“No! I want - I want you. I just, you don’t even know my name,” he says, a frown appearing on his face like maybe he’s insulted she didn’t ask.
“What’s your name?” She asks, turning in her armchair to rest her legs over one arm and lay her head on the other.
“You’re not even trying!”
She laughs at him because he’s cute, standing there still wet and pouting like a puppy.
“Will you please tell me your name?”
“No,” he says, arms crossed over his chest and the way his biceps are bulging is of great interest to her.
“If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine.”
“What - your name isn’t Michelle?”
She smirks, leaning her head back slightly and biting her lower lip. “It is, but my friends call me something else.”
“What is it?” he asks, eyebrows high.
“You’re adorable,” she jokes, though she’s deadly serious. His face is making her feel a flurry of emotions she hasn’t had in a hot minute.
“Er, what?” he asks, hand against his heart in mock annoyance. “I’m sexy.”
“Oh yeah,” she says with a smirk. “I know that.”
“Michelle!”
“What!” she laughs, enjoying the way his frown morphs into a pout. “I agreed with you.”
“Say it,” he says, hand running through his hair.
“Say what?”
“Say, Peter , you are R rated sexy,” he replies, somehow able to keep himself from laughing though she can see the strain in his lips and how his eyes are threatening to crease under the pressure.
“Take it off - the top,” she says with a wink. “And I’ll say it.”
“You know, you could just say you want to see me naked, Michelle,” he replies, smug as anything.
“I’m not the one that stormed through the bar like a damp puppy who got kicked to the curb,” she states, hoping he doesn’t remember she definitely tried picking him up first. But that’s neither here nor there - she was bone dry the entire time.
He sticks his tongue out at her but unbuttons his shirt anyway. MJ watches as it happens in slow motion - each of his muscles moving in a hypnotising way and she’s pretty sure she’s never wanted anyone to -
“ Fuck ,” she groans, head thrown back against the arm of the chair. Is he kidding? Standing there with chiselled abs and his eyebrow all out whack like he has no idea he looks like that. The only reason she has yet to pounce on him is that surely he’s all kinds of fucked up from the steroids he must be taking.
“They’re just for show, right?”
“What?” Peter asks, looking at the floor like he’s dropped something.
“Those -” she says, pointing to his muscles. He smirks, but she can see the blush spreading down his chest. “It’s like you’re photoshopped!”
“No,” he laughs. “Not for show - they’re for something specific.”
“Uh-huh,” she replies, swinging her legs back to the floor. He tracks the movement, eyes training on her when she leans back against the chair and widens her legs. “And what’s that?” She asks, eyebrow raised.
“Come here, and I’ll show you.”
“Are you planning on pinning me against the wall?”
“Wh - no… unless you want that? Then I can,” he says with a swallow so visible she’s surprised it didn’t hurt. “I can do that if you want. And with your explicit consent.”
“Let’s explore that later,” she replies, keeping her eyes on him. “So I have to walk all the way -”
“No, you have to run!” he says, eyes wide and arms open.
“You want me to run into your arms? Are we in a rom-com, Peter?”
She hears him mumble something about if she wants to be but something else gets her attention.
“Dirty Dancing?” she asks, realising what he wants.
“Yeah, I can do the lift!”
“You use your muscles to do the Dirty Dancing lift?” she asks, but she stands up anyway - her head spinning slightly though she hasn’t had a drink in a while. She suddenly feels like being this much taller than him in her heels is going to end up with her head cracked open, so she toes off her shoes.
“Michelle -”
“And is this something you use with everyone you take home? Or am I special?” She jokes, completely unphased if this is his big trick.
“You’re special… like wow. Er, but well, I also tested it on Ned, he’s my best friend - and he’s bigger than you and I’m like… really strong, so you’ll be fine!”
“Peter -”
“I won’t drop you!”
“Pete -”
“Michelle, would you just run at me!”
“You don’t want the music?” she jokes, rolling her neck like she’s about to take down a tiger or some equally difficult physical activity.
“Oh, erm - yes. I do want that.”
She grabs her phone and finds the song, and her eyes lock onto his when it starts playing through her surround sound. He licks his lips as she waits for the chorus to start and she wonders if this is a good idea at all. Her trousers are going to get soaked and that’s only if he catches her and doesn’t launch her into the kitchen island.
“I got you,” he mouths at her and his eyes are so earnest that she thinks fuck it and runs as the chorus starts.
She’s not actually flying - she can’t even be higher than usual because he’s definitely shorter than her - but life from this angle is very appealing when his hands are holding her hips.
His arms feel tight against her body as she sinks down to wrap her legs around his waist - and they’re dangerously close. It’s not like she didn’t think they’d end up having sex - he’s entirely too cute and he has a dump truck booty - so it was always in the cards. But now she’s here - closer than she’s been to anyone while still wearing clothes in far too long.
“Okay,” she breathes, gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips and back again. “You can call me, MJ.”
His eyes shine like she's offered him the world and not just a nickname when he leans in. His nose touches hers and when their mouths meet she knows she’ll end up tasting him on the tip of her tongue for the rest of the week.
The second her feet touch the ground her hands fly to unbuckle his belt - it’s a difficult task no matter how many times she’s done it before because Peter’s pulling her lower lip between his teeth and his hands buried in her hair. She’s not entirely mad that the task is taking longer than it should with the way his tongue traces the roof of her mouth and she momentarily thinks about how she wishes everyone kissed like this.
“Pretty,” he breathes down her throat. “God, you’re so fucking pretty, MJ.”
“Get your pants off,” she replies, moving her hands from his waistband to tug at his hair. Her lips are never far from him - every gasp of breath feeling like it's shared. She thinks he has good balance because he manages not to trip when he pulls his trousers off his feet - despite the fact that she’s clinging to his shoulders.
He does stumble backwards when she palms him through his boxer briefs and she smirks against his mouth.
“Michelle,” he groans. “If you keep doing that I’m going to fuck you right here.”
“Works for me,” she replies, slipping her tongue in his mouth and her hand down his boxers. If she moans down his throat at how thick and heavy he feels in her hand he doesn’t call her out on it.
She feels herself spinning but she’s too into this kiss to open her eyes and figure out what’s going on - but then she feels her back hit a wall and she realises she doesn’t care where they are as long as he keeps pulling on her lip.
“ Fuck , fuck, MJ you gotta -”
“Gotta what?” she asks, stilling her hand but leaving it against his dick - feeling him twitch against her.
He pants against her neck and she finds she doesn’t mind the feeling of his breath on her skin.
“Why are you still wearing all your clothes?” he asks, eyes intent on her and ignoring her question, but she takes it for what it is - a breather.
“You didn’t ask me to take them off,” she shrugs, moving her arms to rest on his shoulders to take some of the weight off his hands though he doesn’t appear to be struggling.
“What if I want to do it?” he asks, palms squeezing her arse and she doesn’t really care who takes them off as long as she’s naked in the next thirty seconds. When she voices this, he has her back against the wall in nothing but her stockings in a blink of an eye. Somehow he took his own underwear off and she thinks maybe that’s his superpower.
She’d call him out on it if she weren’t desperate to know what he feels like inside her, and she doesn’t think she'll have to wait long when he starts rubbing himself along her cunt and making her gasp every time he hits her clit.
His hands are firm and steady, letting her writhe against him without the fear of falling, and the way his body cages her against the wall has her thinking about the other positions they could try. She’s not sure how many rounds he can go - obviously, she’s not going to see him again and they only have a couple of hours before she kicks him out. But she can't help asking him why he isn’t fucking her yet.
“MJ, you’re so bossy,” he says with a pout. But he’s not particularly good at hiding his emotions, it seems because a smile dances across his face as he stretches his leg in an inhuman way to pull his pants closer - and he better be grabbing a condom or she might break her no glove no love rule.
"What if I just know what I want?" she whispers, leaning her mouth closer to his and watching the way his eyes are locked on her. He gulps as she lifts herself up on her forearms, moving to hover above him.
"And what do you want?" he asks, moving his hand to pump himself and she feels the head of his dick rubbing against her clit.
"You."
He guides her down onto him and the lack of foreplay makes the stretch just on the good side of tight - though she needs a second to acclimate. Peter kisses her slowly as she adjusts, and she spends the time tracing his mouth with her tongue as she imagines all the things they could do if they had a little more time.
"Is this okay?" he asks, and she slowly rolls her hips along his dick in answer.
"So good," she whispers, somewhat sad she's so close to the edge already and silently wishing they had longer to figure each other out. Though Peter seems to have things worked out all on his own as he bends his head to lick her nipple into his mouth.
"Say something," she gasps, his hands heavy on her hips as he helps guide her up and down his length.
"What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?" he gasps and she can't help the bubble of laughter that escapes her throat.
"What?" he asks, laughing against her neck.
"I meant about how good I make you feel, not how I want my eggs in the morning," she replies through gasps of laughter and or pleasure.
"You didn't specify," he mumbles, holding her up with one hand as his other moves to guide her hand between her legs.
"Not bossy enough for you?"
"You're the worst," he grunts, fucking her into the wall as her fingers slip around her clit.
"Peter, fuck, right there-"
"God, MJ. You're perfect," he replies, capturing her lips in a sensual kiss as she feels herself riding the edge. He tilts her slightly and her orgasm hits so hard she snaps her head back and only semi regrets it when she hits the wall.
She hears Peter moan along with her as he struggles to ask if she's okay. She's too blissed out and couldn't give a shit about a tap to the head to figure out he's moved her through her apartment and laid her on the bed.
"MJ, hey," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead and she thinks that's a pretty quick exit and even though she said she didn't want him to stay she probably could have been swayed.
"Are you okay?"
"It was a solid orgasm if that's what you're asking," she replies with a wink and he seems to accept that she's fine. He brushes a kiss to her lips that she chases as he moves back. She tells him to borrow some sweats because his clothes are soaking and she'll feel bad about making him squeeze those trousers back on and then walk home. And that's the only reason she lets him borrow some.
It's also the only reason she lets him pass her a top and a pair of underwear as he slips onto the mattress next to her.
He runs his fingers along the back of her thigh and she wants to put her head on his chest and fall asleep but that seems a step too close to intimacy for her. So she lets her fingers follow the taught lines of his muscles instead.
“I can’t believe you thought I’d drop you,” he says, sleepy as anything. She tries to avoid his gaze because she already feels a little too soft for him, and adding in his dazed eyes won’t help when she has to kick him out in ten minutes.
“Well I don’t know anything about you, Peter. How was I to know you had muscles that you could actually use?”
“You’re so rude to me,” he whispers. “You can ask me anything.”
And she doesn’t know what to ask when she’s put on the spot. She can flirt with people all she likes, but being intimate is new to her - and not something she ever thought she’d want to do. She can’t think of what she wants to know past, well, everything.
“We could fuck instead,” she replies, though a yawn cuts her off so she’s not sure how alluring that prospect is.
“Not a talker, huh?” he replies, fingers twisting around one of her curls. He looks unfairly attractive in her sweatpants and she figures lending him those because his clothes were wet probably seemed like an invitation to stay. It wasn’t. Though she finds it hard to kick him out when her eyes are feeling heavy and his body is so warm next to hers.
She mumbles something unintelligible as her hand comes to a stop on his waist.
If she wakes up after a short period of having her eyes closed to find him snoring lightly next to her - well. She can’t kick him out now, it’s late and dark and he’ll probably be attacked because he’s just a baby so she can’t make him leave and let her conscience be intact.
So she pulls the duvet from the edge of the bed and covers him with it - that seems like the correct protocol when someone sleeps over. Not that she’d know as she usually kicks people out at four am regardless. If she rests her head on his chest when she puts the duvet over them - not her fault.
She feels his arm go around her waist when she leans down and she’s annoyed at how comfy he is when his body is clearly 98% muscle. But it’s okay, she won’t see him again - he’ll probably sneak out in the morning if she’s lucky, and if not, he did say something about eggs...