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The Best Kind Of Friends
These press gigs always tired Michael out. He always felt like he was getting sick after all those hands he had to shake, all those people breathing around him. He wondered if he could get away with a surgical mask and rubber gloves.
That probably wouldn't go over very well.
Maybe he could set up a hand cleansing station for all the people in line. It could be in his rider.
That wouldn't work either.
Dammit.
He settled back on the bed and covered his eyes with his arm. If he was lucky, he could get a nap in before it was time for dinner.
He sighed when he heard the door of the room open. It was probably the hotel staff with a pile of the gifts from his fans. He wanted to see what everything was, but he was too tired to do it right then.
"Just put everything over there, and I'll go through it later."
The bed dipped beside him and his eyes flew open until he realized who it was. Then he smiled. A kiss was pressed to his temple and Michael closed his eyes again.
Relaxation was the key. Too much stress was bad. It made him cranky. A cranky Michael was no fun at all.
Hands at the waistband of his pants made short work of the buttons and he groaned as a warm mouth wrapped around his semi-hard cock. Most of the time he was semi-hard. It didn't matter the situation - it was like he was sixteen. A stray wind and he was at half-mast.
A tongue coaxed him to full hardness and then the blowjob began in earnest. Quick, sure strokes, exactly what he needed, exactly how he needed. Michael squeezed his eyes shut and his hands fell to the head between his legs. Smooth bald skin under his fingertips as it bobbed up and down on him.
"God," he groaned and thrust a few times, his orgasm overwhelming him into non-sense words.
He couldn't help the grin as he was tucked away and a kiss was placed on his lips. Michael turned over and snuggled into the warm body next to him.
At least now he knew he'd be able to sleep. And thank God, he'd brought his friend along.
[ main l rps l fps ]
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