Send me "that’s dirty" and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours.
Fuck. Michael knew he shouldn’t have drunk last night, but he thought he had it under control. Until that one drink, the breaking point. It had officially taken him from ‘drunk’ to ‘black-out plastered’ and now Michael was waking up, naked as the day he was born, a pounding in his head, and … someone in bed beside him.
Holy shit. What?
❝ …What did we do last night? ❞
You’ve been awake just a little while, staring up at the ceiling and trying to stifle any need to vom. Drinking is hard. There’s such a fine line between ‘partyin’ partyin’ yeah’ and 'oh god do I exist’, and you’re not good at the whole limits thing. But you remember bits of it, at least, and you at least know you didn’t full on bang, and you rub your face when Michael pipes up.
“Made out. Puked. I don’t think we lived up to my name, dude. Probably,” you mumble.
Send me 'I want the K' and I'll generate a number (NSFW version)
16: Spooning
“You mention this to anyone,” Michael mumbled dangerously, half-asleep but opening his eyes to peer at the back of Danny’s neck through half-lidded eyes. “And I’ll blow you up myself.” His arms tightened around Danny’s waist, not threateningly, but to pull him closer, and Michael let out a quiet snuffle in the crook of Danny’s shoulder as he let his eyes slip shut again.
You weren’t really expecting to be the little spoon with Michael, considering you’re 6 foot, three inches of bony weirdo, but, y'know. You’ll take it. He grumbles quiet, threatening things, and you just smile, reaching back to hug him a little closer. “Well, guess I won’t tell anyone, huh? Keep it a nice li'l secret,” you whisper, rather kindly.
fornicatioferio