michael has stopped paying attention to the movie about an hour ago. i mean, how can he watch another stupid action movie with unnecessary amounts of violence, explosions and gun shots when you are sitting so pretty next to him?

this is what he always does- crawls into your personal space. too close, too warm, hands wandering places they shouldn't. especially because he's your best friend, and friends don't do stuff like that. but you're gullible. michael's goody two shoes friend, always getting teased, always being protected with naivety. that doesn't mean you're dumb. you can already feel michael's long fingers slide around your hipbones, digging into the plush of your skin with their usual possessiveness. you already know what's coming.

then: "y'wanna sit on my lap, angel?" michael poses it like a question. but it really isn't.

"wha- why, mikey?" you turn your head toward him.

he flashes you a lazy, filthy grin. "just comfy, sweets, " he tells you. "nothin' wrong with that, right?”

that's true. most of your movie nights end up with you strewn across your best friend's lap, body extended like you're a lazy cat while the two of you watch the television, revelling in the feeling of michael's big hands carressing your thighs, your sides, with slow strokes. you don't really answer. that guilty, sinking feeling in your eyes says enough. instead, your body obeys like it doesn't have a choice.

you're crawling over to him without a word. like clockwork, michael spreads his thighs wider to accommodate your heart-shaped ass right to his crotch. he leans back against the sofa, the feeling of your head tucked safely under his chin as his fingers splay over your abdomen to keep you exactly there.

"y'r a good girl, you," he presses a light, friendly kiss to the crown of your head, and you have to do your best not to squirm from how fluttery and floaty michael's making you feel. "that's better, isn't it, baby?"

the scenes of the movie playing blur into meaningless dots of colour. you're totally out of it, but you agree wholeheartedly.

"yes, mikey."

the longer you stay here-slotted against your best friend's chest, your butt pressing into his half-hard crotch, feeling the steady rise and fall of michael's chest-the more aware you become of how his balmy hands dig into the soft of your stomach, how his legs widened. how his hips bucked up to keep himself comfortable underneath you.