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Michael and Lia were currently "on"—and had been for the past week. But Lia, as always, had insisted on keeping it private, and Michael, as always, had agreed. In Lia’s mind, the fewer people who knew, the better. Involving the rest of the house only made things messy, forcing her to have witnesses there to process the complicated emotions every time she and Michael flipped their relationship switch.
So, in the dead of night, no one else knew that Michael was currently pressing Lia back into the soft, black comforter of her bed. Of all the things to invest in, Lia had chosen an amazingly plush mattress and a high-end vanity. She was especially thankful for that decision on nights like this when the sensation of the soft sheets contrasting against the hard planes of Michael's body felt incredible.
Lia let her fingers trail down Michael's torso, relishing the lean muscle she found there. She tugged at the hem of his black compression shirt. Michael, catching the hint, temporarily broke their kiss to let her pull the shirt over his head and toss it onto the floor. He found his rhythm again entirely too soon, his own hands slipping underneath Lia's soft red cotton t-shirt to brush against her bare waist as he deepened the kiss.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A sharp rap resounded from the hallway. Without thinking, Lia abruptly shoved Michael to the right, dumping him right off the bed as she bolted upright.
"Ow!" Michael hissed from the floor, keeping his voice a disciplined whisper.
"Shut up," Lia snapped, though his voice was already quiet enough to escape detection.
"Make me," Michael smirked, looking up at her from his position on the floor.
Lia cast a lingering, appraising look down at him, a little tempted despite the timing. "Later," she brushed him off, swinging her legs out of bed and kicking Michael's discarded shirt underneath the bed in the process. "And hide," she added with a warning glare.
"I know the drill," Michael rolled his eyes, smoothly brushing past the bed curtain that went to the floor and sliding his body under the bed and out of view.
When Lia flung the door open, she hadn't expected to see Cassie. Well, admittedly, she hadn't expected to see anyone at two in the morning. "Yes?" she asked, forcing her tone to sound polite.
Cassie’s red hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she was dressed for bed in striped pajama pants and a oversized red hoodie. She proudly held up a tub of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. "Ice cream and roof?"
Lia's eyes narrowed, automatically profiling her friend's expression. "In the mood for therapy? Is something bothering you?" Granted, they didn't have to be upset to hang out on the roof, but the tradition had started that way.
"No," Cassie chirped. "I'm just here for entertainment purposes."
True.
"Well, in that case, while I'm flattered that I was your first choice for when boredom struck, let's reschedule for tomorrow. I'm too tired for this right now," Lia dismissed. If it wasn't an emergency, she couldn't be bothered.
"Bu—"
Lia shut the door right in her face, turning the lock for emphasis.
She turned back toward the bed, where Michael's messy brunette hair was already poking out from beneath the frame. "I thought she'd never leave," he sighed, though they both knew the interruption had lasted less than a minute.
Lia twirled the end of her ponytail—now tangled from the sheets—around her finger. "Where were we?"
Michael bounded across the room, catching her around the waist and hauling her back into his space. "I believe," he murmured, his eyes dropping to her lips, "we were right here."
Lia snaked her arms around his neck, closing the distance to press her lips against his. Michael moved her seamlessly across the room. Lia wasn't entirely sure of their destination until the back of her thighs hit the wooden edge of her vanity. He hooked his hands under her knees, lifting her effortlessly onto the smooth surface.
Lia let out a soft gasp as he pressed her firmly against the mirror. He trailed his mouth down to her neck, planting slow, deliberate kisses along her jawline. Lia buried her hands in his hair, pulling him closer in quiet invitation.
Suddenly, she felt Michael's movements slow to a halt. She opened her eyes to find him staring at their reflection in the glass with a sharp smirk.
"Watching yourself? You're so vain," Lia scoffed.
"It is called a vain-ity," Michael joked. It made Lia want to smack him. "Besides, I was watching us."
"Yeah? How do we look?"
"Hot," he smirked, his mouth finding hers again before she could formulate a retort.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Another sharp rap hit the wood.
"Ignore it," Michael breathed against her skin, his heated kisses on her neck not being deterred by the interruption.
Lia stared over his shoulder at the door, weighing her options. Who else would be knocking at this hour? It could actually be important. With a heavy sigh, she pushed against his chest. "It could be Dean."
"Even better reason to ignore it," Michael pointed out.
"Just hide."
Opening the door this time, she was only mildly surprised to find she was right. It was Dean, sporting the usual pair of gray joggers and a random forest green college hoodie.
"And what brings you here in the middle of the night, Dean-o?" Lia purred, leaning against the doorway.
"Have you seen Cassie?" he asked.
"The annoying redhead profiler?" Lia tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think I've run into her once or twice."
"Not like that. I know she was going to ask you to eat ice cream on the roof," Dean clarified, deadpan.
"Yeah, she asked. I told her I was tired and to try again tomorrow unless it was a crisis."
"So she's not here?"
"She's not here," Lia confirmed. "And if that's all, good luck tracking her down."
Dean gave a sharp nod, which Lia took as her cue to slam and lock the door once more.
"I told you you should have ignored it. If it's Redding, you always ignore it," Michael stated unhelpfully, now loungeing casually on her bed.
Lia slinked towards him, mischief no doubt written on her face. "You want me to make it up to you?"
"You can try." Michael's eyes glittered with challenge as Lia climbed onto his lap, straddling his waist. His hands instantly circled around her back, pulling her flush against him.
Lia kissed him with newfound urgency, acting as if they were running out of time—and given the frequency of the interruptions tonight, they very well might be. Michael gripped her waist and flipped her over, pinning her against the pillows and meeting her intensity.
Michael reached up, tugging the hair tie off to release her hair, letting the dark locks cascade down her back. He then slipped the band around his wrist.
Barely a minute later, just as Michael's fingers slipped under the elastic waistband of her shorts, another knock echoed through the room.
This time, they mutually chose to ignore it, neither of them stilling. Michael's fingers did remove themselves to settle at her waist instead, though, just in case. Their lip lock didn't break throughout. If anything, Lia only pulled harshly against his hair to kiss him harder, making Michael moan into her mouth with the action.
The next knock was louder, practically rattling the frame. "Lia, I know you're in there! I just saw Dean leave!" a female voice called out.
Michael groaned, pulling away and burying his face in her neck. "What is wrong with the people in this house? Did everyone simultaneously forget the concept of sleep?"
"I'll ignore it."
"It's Celine," Michael stated as he pushed his face up off her neck to look her in the eye.
"So?" Lia's eyebrow shot up as she propped herself on her elbows.
"So, I'm not kissing you until you answer it," he warned, face inches away from her own.
Lia's lip twitched upward. "Is that a threat, Townsend?"
"Ma—"
"Lia, open up!" Celine yelled, pounding again.
Lia groaned, her head hitting the pillows hard. "I'm coming!" she shouted. She didn't even have to tell Michael to hide; he was already rolling off the mattress and scrambling beneath the bed.
She yanked the door open with extra force. "What?" she demanded through clenched teeth.
"Have you seen Michael?" Celine asked casually. Apparently the concept of time hadn’t applied to her outfit, either, as she hadn’t even bothered to change out of the paint splattered denim jeans from this morning.
"You interrupted my sleep to look for Michael Townsend?" Lia let out a sharp breath. "No, I haven't seen him. Why would you think he'd be in here anyway?"
“Seemed like a safe bet."
"We're off," Lia stated flatly.
"Your relationship status changes like every other week, I can never keep track,” Celine shrugged. Lia's fingers then tightened on the door, unsure if this was some universal sign that getting back together with Michael was a bad decision.
"Why do you want him, anyway?"
Instead of answering, Celine held up a thick sketchpad.
"You want to show him your drawings?" Lia asked, incredulous.
Celine nodded, then promptly brushed past Lia, walking straight into the bedroom.
Lia spun around, ponytail whipping behind her as she forced to keep her voice even. It was still sharp, though. "Don't you know it's rude to barge in uninvited?"
"Do you want to see my sketches instead?" Celine offered, completely unbothered.
"How long is this going to take?"
"Five minutes if you say yes, fifteen if you say no."
True.
Lia rolled her eyes, defeated. "Fine. Make it quick."
Celine hopped onto the very edge of the bed, her legs dangling over the side. Lia sat down beside her. For the first two minutes, Celine talked animatedly about her shading and composition, but Lia tuned her out entirely, the words fading into background noise.
It was only when she felt a tender, deliberate stroke against her ankle that her senses flared.
He's insane, Lia thought. Michael Townsend couldn't do subtle to save his life.
She felt his fingers skirt against her skin, drawing slow, soothing lines up her calf. Trying to remain completely imperceptible, Lia threw a subtle kick in his direction under the bed, keeping her eyes glued to Celine's sketch of Sloane. Honestly, Celine had probably drawn Sloane more times than Michael at this point.
"This one just came to me," Celine ranted, pointing to a sketch of a sleeping Sloane.
Lia nodded blindly. The kick obviously hadn't deterred Michael. If anything, it only seemed to encourage him as his advances after that escalated. Now, his hand was firmly wrapped firmly around her right ankle, anchoring her in place as he pressed a soft kiss to her skin. Lia's breath hitched. He followed it with another kiss, and then another, slowly tracing a path up her lower leg.
Celine was right there and if she took one look to her left isntead of at her sketchbook, she would no doubt see his face poking out under the sheets. Michael might not have cared but Lia certainly did.
"Celine, I’ve seen your entire sketchbook now, and if you don't leave, I will personally throw you out—and I mean out the window this time, not the door," Lia threatened, her voice tight.
"What's got you so grumpy?" Celine teased, a flicker of amusement dancing across her face. For some reason, Lia had never managed to intimidate the girl despite her best efforts and, trust her, she tried relentlessly.
"I am exhausted, and everyone in this house seems to relish in interrupting my sleep." What she was was sexually frustrated.
"Fine, fine," Celine sighed, closing the pad and pushing herself up. "I was just about done anyway."
Michael finally released Lia's ankle, allowing her to escort Celine out. She snapped the door shut for the umpteenth time and flicked the deadbolt.
"Looks like your room is a popular destination tonight," Michael joked, brushing the dust off his jeans. Lia used the moment to surreptitiously check him out, her eyes tracing the lines of his bare chest before she righted her gaze just as he finished being fixated on his jeans.
"You are incredibly annoying," Lia quipped, glaring at him for the ankle stunts.
Michael cocked his head to the side, a devilish smirk playing on his lips as he took a teasing step forward. "Funny. You don't look annoyed."
Lia didn't waste any more words. She marched straight up to him and shoved him backward onto the bed. Straddling his hips, she reached down to the zipper of his jeans and yanked it down. Lia sat upright, pulling her own shirt off and tossing it to the side of her bed, before sliding down his body to drag his jeans down to his ankles.
"I think I might need that hair tie back, Townsend," Lia teased, looking up at him through heavy lids as her hand brushed against his underwear.
The look in Michael's eyes was pure, unadulterated heat—you didn't need to be an emotion reader to see it. He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her down.
Knock.
This time, the knock was softer. Fully tentative.
"I am going to murder them," Michael seethed, his forehead tipping back onto the pillows in frustration.
"Lia?" a soft, measured voice called out. It was Sloane.
"Or maybe not," Michael mumbled, quickly pulling his jeans back up his hips.
Lia sat back on her knees, staring at the door in disbelief. "Do you think they're doing this on purpose? I refuse to believe every single resident of this house coincidentally needed to visit me within a fifteen-minute window."
”Lia, the statistical probability of you being awake at this time is 68%. You’re awake right? If not, I need to adjust my data,” Sloane said, voice a little muffled from the distance.
Lia wanted to know the statistical probability of all 4 other naturals conveniently needing to talk to her tonight. She was betting it was less than one percent.
"Sloane, I'm really tired and I'm already under the covers," Lia yelled through the wood. "Can we just talk tomorrow?"
"But your light is on," Sloane observed logically.
"I don't care about the electricity bill, Sloane! I was just going to sleep with it on."
"Statistically, you use a nightlight 19.2% of the time and prefer total darkness for the remaining 80.8%. You never sleep with the overhead light on."
"Yeah, well, tonight is an exception!" Lia countered.
A long pause followed. "You don't want to talk to me? I'll make it quick, I promise." Sloane’s voice sounded entirely too dejected.
Lia groaned, throwing her head back toward the ceiling. Michael was already out of sight. "Fine."
She swung herself out of bed, tugging her shirt back on, and marched over to open the door. "What is it, genius?" she asked the blonde.
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"Do you think they know?" Celine whispered, huddled with Cassie and Dean in a dark corner of the hallway. From their vantage point, they watched Sloane engage in a conversation with Lia right in front of her door.
"Probably, but I don't think it matters. They can't exactly call us out on it," Dean responded. He was sitting flat on the floor, tucked safely behind a structural column that kept them hidden in the shadows.
"I don't feel guilty at all," Cassie grinned. "Is it bad that I'm enjoying messing with them this much?"
"No. They do it to the rest of us all the time. Besides, it's their own fault for trying to hide their relationship status again," Celine pointed out, adjusting her sketchpad.
"Michael was entirely too obvious when he snuck into her room tonight anyway," Cassie nodded in agreement. It was Cassie who had spotted him slipping inside an hour ago. She had immediately tipped off Celine, who eagerly concocted the perfect plan to disrupt the secret couple. She had even recruited the rest of the house for the operation, ensuring everyone meticulously rehearsed their cover stories beforehand so as not to tip off the human lie detector.
"Exactly," Celine grinned wickedly. "It was like they were asking us to tease them."
Dean let out a heavy sigh. "Do we really need a play-by-play of when they're on and off?"
"Yes," Celine nodded fiercely. She finally tore her eyes away from Lia's door and grinned at Dean and Cassie. "So... same time tomorrow night?"