Simmer Down and Pucker Up

It's not like Michael to be hung up on a girl. Let alone a girl whose name he didn't even know.

It's been two days, maybe, since the night at the club in which he'd gotten the best kiss of his life. And then proceeded to dance with the brunette some more till his legs hurt, then he was tugging her along with him whilst he took a seat in an empty booth, pulling her straight down onto his lap to continue their snogging session.

He was worried for the first few minutes about being too direct and acting on impulse (and his horniness) but as she kissed him back with as much fervour and lust, he knew that he was alright. That's all they did, actually, in reference to sexual activities. Just snog. Tongues glazing against each other before they're moving to make love-bites on the other skin, and then they're snogging again.

Michael would've normally been a tad bit disappointed at the prospect of not getting laid that night, but he was surprisingly really okay with that. All he wanted to do with her was kiss and kiss and then kiss some more.

When they stopped snogging (and leaving their marks on each other), they just sat and chatted freely, as though they weren't two strangers who met in the club and were just having an intense snogging session just a few seconds prior. They didn't chat about themselves, they chatted about people around them. People in the club. Making up things that one person was saying to another and then laughing about it, before they're kissing again.

It's like he couldn't control himself – which was kind of understandable since she was sat on his lap and her lips were bruised from the attack of his own lips. The sight was too much for him to handle and the only way he could contain himself was by kissing her again. Which he did. Plenty of times throughout the night.

Then it's like he's caught himself in a modern version of Cinderella, only she actually tells him that she's got to leave because her mates are leaving and she hasn't got a ride. He would've offered to take her home but he hasn't got a ride, either. He was planning on taking the bus. It was twenty to midnight when she said she had to go, anyway. The buses were still operating.

He hadn't even realised that it was almost midnight, if he were to be honest. Between the intense kisses exchanged between the two strangers and the making fun of other people together that they were doing, time seemed to have flown by.

The brunette had given him a last parting kiss on the lips and he savoured it, getting so lost in the taste of her lips that by the time he remembered he hadn't even her name or number, she was gone.

Which leads to why he's pouting at his phone screen while he scrolls through his Twitter timeline, as though hoping that they had some mutual follows and someone would retweet something she'd tweeted. See, now, if he had her name, he could search it up and then filter out his search so much easier. But he didn't even have a bloody name, so there was no way of doing that.

It's not like he just wants a way to contact her again because she was a really good kisser – honestly, A-star on the skills – but it's because he's never felt what he's feeling before with anyone else. He doesn't fancy her per say, it's more of a very, very strong physical attraction. He can't help but be drawn to her, even if he literally doesn't know jack shit about her.

Plus, the fact that whilst they were catching their breaths, they were having a conversation that consisted of them laughing three-fourths of the time – well, that was just unheard of. The one-night-stands he had usually never consisted of any conversation. Maybe a word or two here and there – most of them being moans and groans of pleasure.

There's something about her that makes him want more. Not even in a physical/sexual way. He just wants to properly get to know her.

But he can't anymore, since he hasn't got her name or number or anything that'll allow him to get into contact with the brunette. Makes him a tad bit upset, really, and this is so not like Michael Clifford because he's learned long ago to push his feelings aside. Whatever he's going through right now? It's involving feelings and the only thing he can think of is that he's doomed, doomed, doomed.

+

Michael's pouting his bottom lip and giving his parents the best 'wounded puppy' look he can manage but they're not even blinking. "Please? I just got back from a nine month long tour!" He tries again, pulling the tour-card as he and the boys have officially dubbed it. Got them out of most things, it was probably better than the 'I'm in a famous band' card. Doesn't make them out to be complete douche bags, too.

His mum's shaking her head, "You're going and that's final." She says and there's no room for argument so Michael blows out a dramatic breath between his pink lips.

"Fiiine," he groans out over dramatically, hauling himself out of the very comfortable position that he was in for basically the whole day to trudge up the stairs to his bedroom.

"No ripped jeans and no band shirts!" Karen calls after him and he groans even more dramatically that she's even chuckling. "I'm serious! This is a fancy party thing."

"Which is exactly why I don't want to go," Michael mumbles under his breath before clearing his throat and calling back a "yeah, I know," to his mum.

His parents were invited to an early Christmas party, of sorts. It was a charity event and a Christmas party rolled up into one, hosted by some rich guys whose names Michael forgot a few seconds after his mum told him them. He was hoping that he wouldn't have to tag along but then his parents were asking him to get his arse off the lounge and get changed because he was coming with, no arguments.

He really didn't have any real objection to going to the party but it was just that he was so comfortable and he was halfway through finishing his game so yeah, he felt a little inconvenienced. He wouldn't dare say it aloud to his parents, though. They just wanted him to come because they were missing their 'little boy'. He knew. They were still trying to absorb the fact that 5 Seconds of Summer had gotten as big as they had. Michael coming along with them to the thing would just assure them that they still had their son, even if he knew that there'd never be a day that he didn't need them.

Karen specified 'no ripped jeans and no band shirts' so that basically rules out three-fourths of his wardrobe. He hasn't got anything besides ripped jeans and band shirts. He finds a pair of seemingly new charcoal black skinny jeans after digging around his wardrobe for a couple of minutes and he's staring at it like he's discovered gold in a mine because where the fuck was this pair of jeans when he went on tour and was surviving month after month on one pair of jeans? He picks up a plain white t-shirt, hauling his dog tags over his neck afterwards and then pulling on the only blazer that wasn't a school uniform over the t-shirt.

He figures it's decent enough for a supposedly fancy event. He's got multi-coloured hair. He could show up in a bloody tuxedo and still not be considered fancy because of his hair. It's not like he gives a shit, anyway.

"I'm ready," Michael announces as he makes his way back down the stairs, since his parents were basically waiting on him before they left.

They look up from where they're sat on the lounge, watching the tele, giving him a once-over. "The only thing becoming famous has done to you is a better haircut," his dad mumbles under his breath playfully and Michael gasps in offence.

"I liked the fringe, okay. It was cool," he defends himself though he's close to cringing because really, his fringe was so long and it was a bit ridiculous. But he liked it at the time so.

"Alri', Mikey," the elder grins as he gets to his feet and Michael's chuckling before following them both out the front door.

Twenty-five minutes later, they're pulling up at where the thing is held. It's at an event hall so it's large and air-conditioned (thank God) and Michael can already see the amount of people in there and walking in. They're mostly couples, all dressed like his parents – in nice suits and dresses. Michael's probably really fucking underdressed but he really doesn't give a shit.

He trails in behind his parents, smiling sarcastically at the other snobby attendees who are shooting him disapproving looks because of what he's wearing and/or his hair colour. Fuck them. He doesn't need their approval. Doesn't need anyone's approval.

William and Karen are mingling then and Michael doesn't know what to do so he stands around awkwardly, hands shoved in his pockets as his eyes dart around the room.

Then he sees her. She's right there, leaning against the wall with a champagne glass in hand that was filled with water. Her hair's in that half-updo again and she's in a light blue dress with short sleeves and flowers printed all over it with white heels.

There are so many other beautiful women who are in nice evening gowns (and are probably way too old for him) and she's there, in a casual dress that ends at barely her mid-thigh and she looks like the most gorgeous one there.

Granted, he's probably a little biased because she seems to be the only one his age there but still.

Michael walks away without telling either of his parents where he's going. It's not like they'll care. They'll look around for him first then give him a ring if they can't find him before they leave. He makes his way over to her without a second thought, a giant grin plastered on his face. He's thinking of what to say; something that'll make him memorable to her. Something that'll get her as interested in him as he is in her.

"I don't know your name," he blurts out as soon as he's almost right by her side.

The brunette jumps slightly in shock then she's turning around with wide-eyes, only for her lips to form a small smile as do her eyes go back to their normal size. "Fancy seeing you here," she says instead, tipping the glass over at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Could say the same for you," he shrugs a shoulder, flashing her a smile. "But seriously. What's your name?"

"What does it matter?" She counters with a little grin, and her tone is playful – like this is the most fun she's had the entire time she'd been there. It probably is.

Michael smiles, leaning on his side against the wall, body turned towards her. "I want to know."

"Why?" She asks again, turning so that she's leaning against her side, too, and her body is also facing him.

"Why not?" He smirks. "I'm Michael."

She just looks at him for a moment, small smile still in place even as she brings the glass up to her lips to take a sip. He doesn't say anything, just watches her as she watches him. Then she pulls the glass away from her lips, "Stella."

"Stella," he repeats, eyes drifting as he says it, as though tasting the word on his tongue. He kind of is. Likes the way the name rolls off his tongue. Feels good to say it, to actually know her name. Michael drops his eyes back down to her then, letting them wander all over her face – absorbing every angle and curve and dent. She's still smiling, so her dimple's made an appearance. Her lips – the same ones that he'd kissed and kissed till they were plump and dark – were painted a light pink. Eyes twinkling as she looks up at him. Shiny studs glinting in her ears – though her left ear's got, like, seven piercings and the right's got two.

"It suits you," Michael says finally, smiling at her. "Stella."