If the links in the post don’t work try #dre6ming writes elvis / #dre6ming writes austin/ #the I stayed there series/ #the delicate beginning rush
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𐎼my imagination & me𐎿
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Austin Butler
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Series
~completed
You and Austin broke up three years ago and now fate has it that you two meet again, when you move back from college. He’s sorry for how things ended and you were never really able to get over him. So what happens?
I stayed there
<all chapters>
Untitled chapter- coming soon
You are a 19 year old actress, on the way to success after an Oscar nomination and as you plan to take another step in your career by launching yourself into the music industry, you meet HIM, Austin Butler.
The delicate beginning rush
<all chapters >
More in the series:
Introducing the reader
Teaser~ reader’s instagram profile
Fake news article about readers dating life
Headcanons: Austin x reader fight / Austin x reader dealing w/ paparazzi / Austin x reader relationship leaked / Austin x reader at the beach / Austin x reader cooking on live / How Austin and reader kiss
New articles:
- sparkling dating rumors
- Austin x Y/n headlines
- Austin x Y/n top 10 paparazzi stills
Imagines Masterlist - short stories in the universe
Actors on Actors - y/n x Austin interview
Instagram photo dump -instagram story following the series
⋘Playing for keeps⋙
Austin is the next in line for the throne, but he can’t be king if he doesn’t have a wife. In your country tradition says that a selection formed of 35 young women must be formed for the prince to find a wife. You are obligated by circumstances to participate against your will. What are the chances that you might be the next queen? None right? Right?
Stand alones
Just us two, even in a crowded room ♥︎♠︎♣︎
you are invited to the met gala and meet with an old costar, something lights up between the two of you and it starts the rest of your lives.
Have some respect ♥︎♠︎♣︎
you played Priscilla in the Elvis movie, but because you’re socially awkward you rarely interact with Austin and after a very intrusive interviewer asks a inappropriate question you two find comfort with each other.
Our very last kiss (part I) ♥︎♠︎♣︎
you’re a 21 year old actress and you get casted to play Priscilla in the new Elvis biopic. You fall for Austin, but it ends up that he only thought you were going method with him, so when filming ends so does your relationship. For him at least.
I’m a soldier who’s returning half her weight(part II) ♥︎♠︎
life isn’t just pain and unfairness, you just needed someone to show you that.
Starry eyes sparkling up my darkest night ♥︎♠︎
you are over at Austin’s house waiting for him to come home, when the storm outside causes a power outage. Austin helps you through your anxiety of the dark when he gets home
Help him shave -the delicate beginning rush imagine ♥︎♠︎
Austin comes to visit you, while you’re filming in Canada and you have a nice morning waking up next to him.
Out on a snowy night -the delicate beginning rush imagine ♥︎♠︎
You and Austin enjoy a nice walk out in the snow, cracking jokes and laughing, then all of a sudden Austin decides it would be a great idea to throw you in the snow.
Austin paints your nails -tdbr imagine ♥︎♠︎
Austin decides he wants to try and paint your nails, trying his best to do a good job, during this time he actually falls in love with one of your nail polishes and he lets you paint his nails as well
Bubbles & Bubbly ♥︎♠︎♣︎
Both you and Austin had a horrible day and he comes home with a small surprise for you. Then to relax you both enjoy a steamy bubble bath
Unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her- tdbr imagine ♥︎♠︎
Austin’s reaction to your surprise performance at the Cannes Film Festival premiere of Elvis
A thousand flowers- tdbr imagine ♥︎♠︎ ♣︎
Austin is over, visiting you while you’re filming and he takes you out on a walk only for you to return to the perfect ‘at home’ date.
The Oscars- tdbr imagine ♥︎♠︎
After Austin wins his Oscar you go to the bathroom only to bump into his ex girlfriend, how will that talk go?
Kissing in the rain - tdbr imagine ♥︎♠︎ ♣︎
Austin wakes you up in the middle of the night to take you out on a rainy adventure that ends in a steamy way in the car
A ménage a trois - threesome w Olivia ♣︎
On set of dune II ♥︎♠︎ ♣︎
You go visit Austin on set of dune two and he gets a little shy about acting as a villain, but that is all forgotten once you work your magic
Kiss it better ♥︎♠︎
On the set of his new movie the bike riders, something bad happens and Austin gets protective of you
Be mine forever? ♥︎♠︎
How would Austin propose to you?
Wedding plans
Making wedding plans with Austin is so wholesome
Quit smoking
You get into a fight with Austin after he lies about quitting smoking
Little bean
Expecting your first baby with Austin you throw a gender reveal party
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Elvis Presley ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁
Series
-completed-
Stage fright ♥︎♠︎♣︎
Bed fright ♥︎♠︎♣︎
Elvis met you working on his ‘68 comeback show, he feel for you instantly, at a celebratory party for the special he makes a move and you 2 become a thing. Later he shows you the Vegas stage and gives you and unforgettable orgasm to help ease his nerves
Stand alones
Angels like you ♥︎♠︎
you can’t stand to play the colonel’s fantasy and you can’t stand to see it destroy the man you love, so you run away. But years later you’re still caught up in the past, even as you are living a completely new life.
Lullaby ♥︎
no mater how tired you are, your brain won’t shut up and let you go to sleep, so Elvis helps you out
A dream ♣︎
Must listen songs
A well curated collection of Elvis songs that need more attention and recognition
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Timothee Chalamet ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁
Stand alones
I’m a soldier who’s returning half her weight ♥︎♠︎
The year is 1987, Michael is still riding the high of the Thriller album gave him, but he’s stuck, stuck somewhere he doesn’t want to be and all because of the people around him, people who are supposed to have his back, but they don’t. You might just be what he needs, his salvation! But things are never that easy! God no! You, despite being a woman in the ‘80, are a very well respected lawyer and when your boss who has a thing for saving celebrities out of doom sends you to handle Michael Jackson, you rise to the occasion. All your life seems to be in place, but the moment you meet him, he rocks your world so much that you find yourself falling.
Themes: slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, smut
A/n: none of the events related in this story have anything to do with reality so take that with a grain of salt. English is not my first language!!
hi everyone, lennox here. i'm in the midst of writing my 'do you remember' fan fiction and wanted to update everyone in hopes of getting everyone's opinion on a matter i'm struggling with. as you know, i've been working on this for a little while now and i've decided that this story is going to have to be split into multiple parts, so this will be my first series and i'm genuinely extremely excited to post it for all of you.
here is my dilemma. since starting, i have already wrote over 42k words. (yeah, you knew this was coming. if rambling was an olympic sport, i would surely take gold.) seeing as i do write a lot, it might take me some time to complete this entire fic. i'm suspecting it will be over 100k if i keep this up and this is where i would really appreciate your input. please don't be shy.
would you rather i post spontaneously (which means there will be extremely long gaps between each part) or would you prefer for me to complete the entire thing and then i can post a new part every day? (this is what i've been leaning towards, but ultimately would love any advice.)
if anyone is interested, under the cut, you will find the summary along with a 2.3k snippet from the first chapter. please understand the snippet is from mid chapter, so there is a little context missing. there are no warnings as of right now, so please enjoy.
₊ ⊹ SUMMARY
It's 1990 and it's been a year since Michael Jackson concluded his Bad world tour. Giving himself a free outlet to write and record his next studio album, he's had a little more freedom to actually experience things he couldn't before. Deciding to show support of his sister Janet during her Rhythm Nation world tour, but something or rather someone else catches his attention. Heading backstage, he manages to corner his little sister once the show is over and insists she introduce him to one of her dancers. After some back and fourth, Janet (who is completely thrown by her brothers persistentce) finally introduces the two of them. Michael knows there's something familiar about her. After the meeting, through dreams, panic attacks and recurring memories, suddenly, they find themselves transported back to another time, remembering another life where they were very much a tragic tale of forbidden love.
₊ ⊹ PREVIEW
While Michael knew his focus should be zoned in on the magnetic way his baby sister so effortlessly commanded such a large stage, he would be lying if he said that's where his priorities lay.
Initially, of course, he'd been unable to tear his gaze away. A soft melody had escaped his own lips from instinct alone ― unplanned but in perfect harmony, at one with the music, becoming the very rhythm his sister sang against. He couldn't help it. Sometimes it felt like music was marked into his DNA. Such things came to him as simple as the reality of breathing. He didn't have to think for it to happen.
Really, there was no other thought in his mind other than the show.
Well, nothing until she seemingly appeared from the darkness, glowing effortlessly like the brightest star guiding the three wise men towards greatness. As his carefully controlled, obsidian gaze found her form, how could he be expected to resist such a holy sight?
There, to Janet's left, practically glittering beneath the rigid heat of unkind stage lights, his eyes caught a tempting glimpse of a figure that practically knocked the breath from his lungs.
Who needed oxygen anyway? Certainly not Michael. The shape of this women was enough to prove he had already made it to heaven.
It wasn't the beauty that held him captive (though if he were honest with himself, there was a lot to admire), nor was it the precision of every move she made (but again, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't impressed and really, it took a lot to impress the Michael Jackson.)
No, it was something else. Something that went beyond any form of attraction he'd felt before, if attraction was even the correct term. He wasn't fully convinced. While he could admit her physically appearance was pleasing, there was something much more alluring pulling him under the surface.
Cascading down like a wave of nostalgia, her presence hit against him like a ton of bricks.
The lines of her body, so heavily focused on the perfomance, there was no room for error. Every movement held purpose. The slide of her foot, the twist of her hips, even the fierce focus displayed so perfectly on her face. She was a performer, that much could never be taken from her.
So perfectly in tune with every beat, her body moved as though tied to the very rhythm in which she performed. Like a flowing river, each step came with breathtaking fluidity, so at ease with every turn, making it easy to see how she had landed a place on such an in demand tour.
It told him so much, yet nothing at all.
There was a love for her craft, a beautiful cadence in the steps which must have taken time to master, yet came so effortlessly. And he knew, of course he knew, just how much time she would've spent in rehearsals studios or alone in her own home working tirelessly to make this moment serve a purpose beyond perfomance.
Michael found himself watching with such intense desire, barley registering the song fading out as another began. The world around him seemed irrelevant as he noticed the mischievous, exciement gleaming in her eyes.
A couple dancers left the stage. They weren't needed for this particular number.
Still, she remained.
One particular move stopped his heart. Nothing fancy, nothing particularly hard. A simple movement of her arms, the sharp lines of her hands, held outwardly on either side, bent expertly at the wrist, reminding him of vibrant, multi-colored paint etched into the walls of what would now be considered a historical landmark.
If he didn't know any better, he could've convinced himself she had been the inspiration for some of the great hieroglyphics locked behind even greater curses, hidden far within the depths of a foreign land.
For a moment, reality slipped from his grasp. The dark, black military attire and the bright, white lighting faded entirely, replaced with something that he shouldn't recognise.
Golden lamé sudden cascaded down her body, like a metallic stream still flowing, some areas cut with a perfect precision to showcase inches of beautiful, soft skin, just enough to tease, but left far too much to the imagination. Iridescent layered silks and chiffon moved rhythmically with each step and dusted against exposed collarbone sat the softest champagne shimmer.
Lit with a royal hue, her face glowed with the light of a thousand suns, eyes ringed with heavy khol eyeliner and hair sleak and gleaming with beautiful jewelled beads.
An ethereal beauty that shouldn't exist and perhaps it never did, because as soon as he blinked the image disappeared and he was greeted with the all too real sight of her back in her militarian style costume, dancing with a ferocity he rarely saw these days while Janet sang her heart out like siren calling upon a willing audience.
Maybe he was going crazy.
Yes, that made much more sense than whatever nonsense his mind had just conjured up. He must have been tired. He never really did sleep at night, did he? Maybe in he was far more exhausted than he realised.
But even as he tried his hardest to concentrate on the world around him, the gold imagery continued to creep up on his completely rational thoughts, tainting then with a familiarity strong enough to drive him into a temporary state of insanity if he wasn't careful.
Guilt was a funny thing and it always found odd ways to creep up on you.
Michael knew he should have been playing the part of the supportive brother, beaming in pride while Janet proved her place as an entertainer. She was wonderful. He knew that to be true and he so hoped he could be the one to shower her with praise, much like she did with him every time she so graciously attended one of this shows. That's what he'd come here for. That's exactly what he had intended to do.
He loved his sister. Sometimes, when he was younger, he would convince himself that they were an old soul split into two youthful bodies. His other half and he cared for her dearly. Michael was so proud of everything Janet had accomplished and he knew his support was something irreplaceable in her eyes.
But every time he tried to bring his focus back to her, that little red devil on his shoulder whispered words of temptation, telling him he would regret tearing his gaze away from the women who had so effortlessly held his attention span captive with zero effort on her part.
Not so much as a tapping foot or a gentle hum had come from Michael, and that had been the first tip off that something wasn't quiet right.
Usually such a huge fan of his sisters music, especially this particular album cycle, he should have been reacting in someway.
Back at Neverland, he often locked himself in his dance studio where he would play Rhythm Nation at full volume and simply allow his body to move.
Those were precious moments where he would give himself chance to discover new things, different moves, how to curve his foot just right and perfect a dance he had long since convinced himself would be impossible.
Janet's music wasn't simple pop. It had the ability to create a legend. He should have been moving by now.
Yet, there he stood, still as stone with a blank look decorating the delicate contours of his face. A far off gaze settled against his features, no tell tale signs that anything was particular bothering him, no indication that he was how fascinated with a women he had never even so much as caught the name of. But to those that knew him, it wasn't hard to notice Michael how completely out of character his current demeanour was.
"Mister Jackson, is something wrong?"
If anyone knew Michael's mannerisms, that would fall on Bill Bray. Having met a young, twelve year old version of the boy that would later take the world by storm, Bill had been there to see it all.
Initially signing on to become security for the boys, he had stuck around all these years. Going from the Jackson 5 to being a steady, grounding, protective presence in his solo career. Bill was more than a bodyguard.
As a child, after shows, Michael would throw himself carelessly into Bill's arms, trusting the older man, with the innocence only a child could hold, to carry him back to safety.
That safe haven had never been broken. He loved him like a father when his own had failed to allow him to show that affection, so it came as no shock to Michael when he heard the curious assumption of his current state leave the mouth of the very man that ushered him into security when life became overwhelming.
Feeling no need to lie, he stepped back, shoulders brushing those of his trusted friend while curious eyes never once moved from the dancing silhouette he'd been fixated on for almost two entire numbers now.
"She feels extremely familiar to me, Bill." Michael nodded in her general direction for what good it was worth.
The whole stage was a masterclass in perfomance. His sister the top billing order, but she was not the only person giving it her all. There were multiple bodies creating a show worth watching and it was easy to lose a dancer in to the beat if you didn't know what to look for.
"Who?" Squinting his kind eyes, Bill made a strong attempt to pick a face from the performers, but the choreography moved so fast, it was hard to settle on just one. "A dancer or back up singer?"
Shaking his head, Michael failed to understand how she wouldn't stand out to another.
"The women on Janet's left." He huffed, refusing to allow his focus to be broken for even a second while his eyes followed the elegant position she formed with her body.
Bill hummed in understanding, her pretty face suddenly in view once he knew who to look for. "She danced for you before?" The question obvious when the subject of Michael's familiairy to the women came into conversation.
"No."
The answer instantaneous, like Michael didn't even have to think to know.
Of course, he was very tuned into every detail that came along with each project he had ever participated in, from singing, to lyricism, to complex choreography, intricate short films and of course, the people working around him.
Being the kind of man he is, Michael always tried his absolute hardest at remembering names and faces of those that surrounded him. While he wasn't perfect and with time, those memories faded to be replaced with new, exciting moments, he was sure of one thing: he would certainly remember her.
"Are you sure?" Bill asked, eyebrows pinched together, not fully convinced.
"I'd remember a name." Michael insisted sharply, a hint of attitude before his face softened.
Other workers backstage weren't in tune with the conversation, they had no clue what they were speaking of and knew better than to approach him out of the blue when he was otherwise occupied by watching the perfomance. Yet, he could still feel their prying eyes and an insant wash of shame came over him once he realised he might have snapped unfairly, so he made a quick move to apologise.
Bill simply waved him off, telling him not to worry about it, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery women causing his friend so much turmoil.
"Could she be a fan you've met before?"
The question wasn't that peculiar. Michael had met many people through various parts of life. That scenario was entirely plausible, yet something screamed at him that this was not the case.
Not by a long shot.
"No." He answered almoat instantly and then sighed heavily with the weight of her familiar features now burnt into his brain. "Well, I don't know actually. Maybe." Even as he said it, the words felt wrong in his mouth, like chewing cardboard to combat hunger. "But if she was… wouldn't she have approached me while all the dancers were waiting in the wings?"
It was a weak attempt at gaining clarity and he knew it, but that niggling voice in the back of his mind told him there was more to this than a simple fan encounter.
"I don't know, Sir." Bill's attempt at being rational fell on dead ears as the two men curiously watched the dancer give her all to a crowd that would never know her name. "She has a job to uphold and I don't think screaming praise towards the 'king of pop' really cements a look of professionalism in the eyes of his sister." Still running with the fan theory, even if he didn't fully believe in it himself.
Watching on, a flash of gold temporarily clouded his vision prompting a tense jaw and stubborn shake of his head. "No. There's just something about her."
For a moment, the two men fell silent, the sound of a rowdy crowd, Janet's beautiful singing and the boom of a heavy bass being the only sound between them. The with a soft smile, Bill turned his steady gaze towards Michael and sighed.
"Good fish?" He asked.
An overwhelming reminiscence showered him with stubborn determination. There was something about her. He knew her. He knew he knew her.
Somehow, someway. Even if it didn't make sense to him.
There was simply no way to express that without sounding like a deranged man with a terrifying obsession, so instead of voicing his curiosity, Michael allowed himself to nod along and give peace of mind to the situation for the time being.
"Yeah…" he hummed without conviction. "good fish."
You are a lawyer who seems to have it all figured out, but that’s the exterior, the facade everyone sees, because no one has even scratched the surface of you. He’s just the same, a monument of art and feeling misunderstood. You are forced in his orbit by your boss, who thinks what’s happening to young Michael is unfair, so he becomes your project, but he feels like so much more, but you are a professional… right?!
Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader
Wc: 7.5k
Tags: smut 18+ minors dni (not Michael yet ), slow burn, right person wrong time, pining, fluff, abuse, depression
A/n: everything is fiction drawn from reality, but in the end it’s all my imagination, English is not my first language. Not proffered!!
Comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapter
Click click click .....
The cold smooth surface of the lighter in your hand grounds you a little, but the rhythm of your heart stays the same, galopant - fast - unsteady. You don't smoke but everyone in the '80 does, so offering a cigarette is usually a good conversation starter. The clicking noise of the lighter is barely audible over the roar of the crowd and the thunder of music, but the pace of it matches the one of your thoughts. You run over the lines you scripted in your head, finding a better way to say what you wanted each time, cringing at the parts that feel unnatural and forced, in the end it is all about first impressions. The black fitted dress, huggs your frame perfectly, maybe a little to tight, falling just above your knees, the black shiny tights ease the path your foot draws in and out of your shoe. The jacket resting on your shoulders makes you feel way too hot making the hairs on the back of your neck adhere to the skin, the air is stifling, with one hand you try to fan a litte air to alleviate the stress, the gust of wind barely doing anything, but you guess it's still better than nothing.
It is because of your stubborn boss, Gideon Goodwill the owner of Goodwill law, that you find yourself here, backstage at one of the Jackson 5, or is it just the Jackson's now?! Anyway, you can never remember which one it is, Victory tour concerts. Gideon is a lover of fine arts and a damn good lawyer who hates when people use power and the lack of law education to exploit artists, so it's his soul project to find celebrities, actors, singers, writers, doesn't matter the type of art they make, who are being cheated by their management and save them. The latest addition to the Goodwill law clientele was Elvis Presley himself, you were the one sent to deal with him, because apparently you are extremely skilled with people and making them feel comfortable. It took a lot of convincing a sweet talk but you cracked the man and it helped of course that Elvis had had enough of the colonel's lies and manipulation. It wasn't easy getting a 53 year old man to rehab when such things as addiction and depression were still taboo topics, but he had the support of his family and friends.
Anyway your boss's newest obsession is getting Michael Jackson on his roaster. Somehow Gideon caught wind that Michael's manager and lawyer not only cheated him out of a lot of money in the Pepsi ordeal, making him settle the case, but they are currently in a very tight relationship with Joesph, sucking money out of Michael's talent, forcing him to tour with his brothers and keep promoting Pepsi, so he sent you, the saving angel, to sweet talk and plant the seed of truth, so that Michael finally sees part of what is being done to him and comes searching for you to make it right, making him believe it was his idea to leave behind his brothers and old business partners. It's a trick really, a mind game, people feel so much more at ease when they think an idea was theirs to begin with.
"Thank you, yes, thank you..." the hair on your neck prickles and the sweat suddenly feels cold as you hear the raspy voice coming your way. You slide your foot back in your shoe and fix yourself up, hoping the stress can't be read, taking a quick look in the nearby mirror making sure you look presentable enough, but you catch a glimpse of your startled face, wild eyes watching you back from the reflection. Standing in the corner of the dark room, you watch him walk in, a gait noticeable in his step, shoulders slumped forward, head hanging low, sweat adoring his tan skin, dripping from his curly hair. Michael sits down in the chair in front of the vanity, jumping when his brown eyes catch a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. "Can I help you?" His voice is shy and a little shaken, deeper then the one you've heard on TV and in his songs, but still holding that boyish tone. Your red lips stretch across you pearly white teeth and you extend a pack of cigarettes with your left hand while playing with the lighter in your right, click click click the soft noise of the on and off filling the air. His eyes dance between your face and your hands, confusion written all over his brows as he gives a small shake, the beads of sweat glimmering in the soft light. "I don't s-smoke" he says his voice catching a little at the end, like that of a child being offered a forbidden candy, scared of the temptation. "Neither do I" you sigh and throw the lighter and cigarette pack in your purse, to be forgotten for another time you might use this trick. Crossing your hands over your chest and straightening you back you take a good look at him. He looks tired, dark circles adoring his eyes, his lips slightly shaking. You notice a light blotch on the right side of his neck, hidden by the mess of hair and you can't help but wonder what that must be. Micheal sits expecting, eyes drifting to the door, still very much confused about who you are or why you are here. "That was a nice concert." Your soft voice breaks the charged atmosphere, sounding confident enough, or so you hope, because right now your pulse is through the roof and your heart feels one beat away from stopping.
"Only nice?" The corner of his mouth twitches, while he stops a smile from forming, clear that your statement kind of insulted him all the while intriguing him. "I'm not a fan, but I guess I enjoyed just fine" you shrug trying to seem nonchalant, and while it's true, you're not a fan, only an occasional listener, the show was far form just nice. He was phenomenal. "Who are you?" Michael finally gets the courage to ask, standing up and taking a cautious step towards you, but still keeping distance, maybe he thinks you're a crazed fan who snuck through security, his eyes keep drifting to the door. "My name is y/n l/n, I represent Goodwill law, a New York based law firm that represents celebrities all across America, seeing that the best interests of the artists ar in the center of attention, I think I might be just what you need!" You lift a tentative brow, extending a business card his way. He makes the rest of the way to your hand, with unsure steps, taking the rectangular piece of paper from your fingers and toying with it. "Just what I need? And what do I need miss l/n?" Michael says as he paces the room, flipping the card in between his dexterous fingers.
Your name sounds strange out of his mouth, no one has ever made it sound like that, it's indescribable what it makes you feel, but a shiver runs down your spine and it's like a cold plunge. You don't say anything, just open your bag and grab the folder out, handing it to him. Michael tucks the card in the pocket of his black pants and takes the folder from you. Curious eyes flash over the white pages and you can physically see the cascade of feelings- confusion- realization- hurt- anger and last doubt. "What is t-this?"
"It's the non disclosure agreement your lawyer John Branca signed with the executives over at Pepsi to convince you to settle the trial faster and for less money, it says there that if he convinces you to settle and keep promoting the Pepsi brand he gets a sum of money equal to half of what you settled for"
He swallows the lines in his face tense and rigid, you can see his pulse fluttering under his dark skin. "What d-do you mean..." he asks but you can tell he knows, he understands. You sigh and hang your head low, taking a step forward to turn the page in the folder. Your red polish clad finger points to the signatures at the bottom of the page, that of John Branca and Joseph Jackson , his father was in it too. "You could've easily gotten maybe 5 times more than what you actually did, but that would've taken a longer trial, you would've had to do testimony on the stand, they should've brought a statement from your doctors and nurses."
"B-but why? I didn't even keep any of the money, I gave it all away.." he is in complete disbelief, none of it makes sense. "Yes but had you not settled, Branca wouldn't have gotten that much money and your father would've lost the money he made from you promoting Pepsi." You explain, trying to sound as soothing as possible. "Why are you showing me this?" Michael questions, now something else lacing in his tone, but you can't quite tell what, because it's a combination of anger and frustration and something else, something more. "I am here to make you an offer mr Jackson, my law firm wishes to represent you in a new trial, we could reopen the case, get you the amount you're deserving."
"I don't need more money!" He exclaims exasperated, turning around to pace the floor, folder still in hand. "You could donate it all! More money will do a lot more help, there's a lot more burn center units that could use the funds." You offer, trying to make him see reason. He's very distraught by the information you just delivered, processing it all seems to be draining him right now, so you make a conscious decision that it's enough damage done and you need to retreat. "I'm going to go now Mr Jackson, I can tell this is a lot to take in, but when you're ready to talk more about it, the address is on the card I gave you." You put your bag on your shoulder, walking to the door, skipping a second when touching the cold door nub. "It be better if you didn't tell anyone about this, good night!" And with that, your hills click on the floor of the back stage and carry you out of the concert venue, where you struggle for 30 minutes to get a cab.
The next day, the office is quiet when you walk through the door. "Morning Sharon!" You greet your friend, leaning over her desk in the lobby to smile. "There's somebody waiting for you in the office!" She whispers, no real fear written over her features, but a slight shake clear in her brow. "Who? I'm 30 minutes early and I don't have a client until 10?" The schedule is very clear in your mind, you can see it written in your agenda and no memory of early clients shows up, plus you are almost never in the office before 8, but today you had to get an early start on the day, because sitting in bed and staring at the ceiling any longer just wouldn't do. Last night was restless, no sleep found you, tossing and turning in your bed, like something was crawling under your skin making you feel uneasy, every time you closed your eyes, you saw his, expressive and serious, burning a whole in your soul. Thought drifted often back to him, how he looked like a kicked puppy, scared for the next hit, still hurting from the last all the while wiggling his tail with expectation of love.
You don't ask anymore questions seeing the look in Sharon's eyes tells you it's useless and she won't say who it is. You pause a moment at the door, composing yourself, making sure your bag sits straight on your shoulder and your blazer is straight and buttoned up. You walk in and immediately notice not one but three figures , one sitting down and the other two flanking the first. The mess of curly black hair awakens something in you, a flutter in the pit of your stomach. He turns and smiles at you, what a beautiful smile, you think, quickly discarding the fact. He looks you up and down and suddenly you feel ridiculous in your matching dark blue suit, with your flared pants and tailored jacket. "Mr Jackson" you say, voice quivering a bit. "Miss l/n"
"You know people usually make an appointment to see me and they don't really show up outside my work hours." You giggle, prying he catches on to your joking tone. He does. "Well but you are here, outside working hours, we must have had a twin thought!" Michael laughs. What a melody. You make your way to the other side of the desk, sitting down , meeting him at eye level. "How can I help?" Your eyes unintentionally flicker to the men on either side of him. "These are Bill and Sam, my security, hope you don't mind" he explains quickly as the men beside him give you a small nod. "That's Ok, I'm pretty sure I can take them down in a fight if it gets to that!" You joke and he laughs, a full pure laugh, his teeth shining in the morning light coming through the floor to ceiling tall windows. The smile that takes over your face is unstoppable and the beat your heart skips almost takes your breath away, almost. "Well let's hope, for the sake of them, it doesn't get to that" Micheal continues the jokes.
You lean back in your chair, waiting for him to start. "Could you get me off tour?" He asks and the question gives you whiplash, not expecting it. Reading your confusing, he keeps going. "Jospeh kinda forced me into it, I didn't want to do it, Thriller did great, I wanted to do a solo tour, but then he wouldn't let me. I am making a new album and I don't have the time, I'm tired all of the time, I-" his voice cuts of and he coughs trying to hide the fact that it was emotion that took his voice. He fiddles with his hands in his lap, tapping his foot on the floor with precise rhythm. He looks at you and you see HIM, not Michael Jackson the overly talented singer, him, the human. But something else is happening, he's looking at you and he sees YOU, not the sharp cut lawyer, you, the human. It feels strange, like standing naked in front of him, even though you're fully clothed. You take a moment to look him up and down, black tailored pants, shiny black loafers and a jacket closed all the way to the top, looking like that from military uniform, but dusted in sparkling glitter.
"Ok, I understand, anything else you need from me?" When the words leave your mouth the man in his right, Bill, steps forward and puts his hand on Michael's shoulder. Michael takes a deep breath, touching Bills hand, like a child needing his parents support to voice their feelings. "I want you to get me off that stage, I want you to make me untouchable by Jospeh. I also need you to fire Branca for me." His voice is quiet and unsure, but the determination in his eyes is clear. Bill gives his shoulder a squeeze and Micheal scratches the back of his neck with his left hand, his right never leaving Bill's. "You said something about reopening the Pepsi trial, I want that too, more money for the burn centers around the country wouldn't hurt!" Finally Bill lets go and goes back to his place, your eyes stay on Michael and you read him, fully read him.
"Very well, firstly, we never lie to each other, I need us to trust one another, secondly after you sing a contract with Goodwill law we can get you all of that. I can write the contract and have it ready for you to read as early as tomorrow, you are allowed to involve another lawyer to help you read through it and then we can start"
"Who's we?"
"Well we have plenty of lawyers here you can choose one of your liking of course, I was just and opening offer to say so." You explain and can't help the back flip your heart does when you see disappointment flash across his face. "Can't you be my lawyer?" Michael asks, the plea in his voice raising your pulse sky high. "I can, if you want me to, I am one of the lawyers from which you can choose-"
"Well I don't need to choose, I want you!" He doesn't let you finish and you simply nod
"Understood! Does tomorrow 9 o'clock sound good for you Mr Jackson?" Already opening the agenda to write down his name in your 9 am slot. "Y-yes miss l/n that works just fine!"
"Perfect!" You scribble it down on paper and watch him get up and head for the door, Sam opening it for him, but before he goes through it he turns and flashes you a million dollars smile. "No lying to each other ?" He asks. You stand up and grin. "I can put that in writing for you sir, I'm a woman of my word!"
He doesn't say anything more, just a quick goodbye and he's out the door, leaving you ravished and consumed.
You spend the rest of the day typing the contract for Michael, consulting with a colleague over how you should approach the Pepsi trial, then going straight to Gideon to see how you could possibly take Michael off that stage.
"He doesn't have a contract obligating him to stay up there, he just needs to say no. Tomorrow after he signs with us, you fax his father the dismissal and then Michael is free, but we have to built a contract with Michael and his record company, one that defends him from Joseph." You humm taking notes, making mental reminders of how much more serious this is than the Elvis ordeal. At the time that too seemed monumental, because he had been on the road of doom for so long, divorced, abusing drugs, stuck in Vegas doing the same show over and over again, but in the end it was so much easier, because colonel wasn't his family and their initial contract was built before hidden clauses were a thing. "His record company, Sony?" Gideon nods "Do we like them?" You ask trying to get the vibe, again this sort of thing no really your expertise. Gideon claps his hands together, fiddling with his fingers. "That you'll have to ask him, as far as it looks right now, they have given him the platform he needed, so I can't say, other artists working with Sony haven't done numbers like him so ..."
Ok that is on the list of fishy things now, definitely something to consider later. "I have everything I need for now!" You stand up, gathering the splattered pieces of paper from the desk, making a bee line for the door, the time already way over schedule. "Hei kid!" Gideon calls and you turn to look at him from the door. "You did good, you always do!"
You smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Next time can you ask me to built a bridge out of playdough? I'm sure I'd lose way less sleep over that!" You joke and he shakes with laughter. "Sure whatever you say! You'd lose sleep over a grain of rice, but that doesn't make you less of a force of nature, I have a good feeling about this, you'll change his life kid." The conversation is over for you so you just keep on walking, hearing him laugh from behind. He's the closest thing to a mentor you have, he was your teacher in law school, back at Harvard and he picked you from the bunch at the end to do an internship at his law firm, back then it was much smaller and situated in Boston. You stuck around, like a piece of gum on the back of a chair, he used to say and he made you a full time lawyer, then he moved you and his whole office to New York and now he considered you something of a right hand. Your family situation has not been easy and he's known that, he related to you, so the father - daughter relationship solidified instantly.
"You really know how to make a man wait, but you're worth every minute baby!" You dissociated on the way out, so it takes a second for your brain to realize you're in your boyfriend's car. A smile adores your face and you give him a quick peck on the cheek, leaving red lipstick there. "Sorry baby, but hey I have good news!" You exclaim. "You caught the big fish! You got Jackson?!" He screams happy for you, leaning over the gearshift to kiss you fully and passionately, his big hands cradling you head, holding you close, like he could absorb your soul through your mouth. "I got him..." you sigh keeping your forehead against his, breathing in sink with him. "Do you think I'll be able to do this right Andrew ?" Doubt is loud in your speech and he smooths you hair, kissing your forehead, rough finger tips soothing your skin. "You'll do great!" Andrew says, peppering kisses on your neck, making you relax in his hold. "You think so?" "I know so!" He sounds so sure it almost transfers over to you, almost, because doubt and fear always linger at the edges of your neurotic brain.
"Let's get you home and celebrate, I think I know just the think to loosen you up." He smirks, turning the car on and shifting into gear to get going. With your fingers intertwined, staring out the window at the night lights, your thoughts wonder far and a new feeling blooms in the pit of your stomach, something so new and indescribable.
The next morning you wake up with the heavy figure of your boyfriend splattered across you, his scorching hot skin making you sweat. "Mhm, noooo" he mumbles, catching your waist, to hold you in place, already having felt the fact that a grand plan to leave the confines of your bed had been playing in your mind. "I have to wake up, I can't be late!" You giggle, scratching his back with your nails, earning a groan from Andrew. "Just a minute." He yawns, hands fully awake and wondering, stoping at the waist band of your panties and pushing them down, a wondering finger getting a feel of how wet you are. "Shit, baby, I love you!" Andrew moans, already placing his hard on at your entrance, the tip pushing slightly in, making you quiver with pleasure, head thrown back. "Please!" You beg and he slides right in, fitting like two puzzle pieces. "Fuuuuuck!" He holds his weight off of you, taking a moment to breathe you in, kissing up the tender flesh of you neck, teeth grazing hard enough to pull the most obscene noises from your throat. "I love you too!" You suddenly say, remembering you forgot to answer him earlier. His lips are on your now, his tongue exploring your mouth fully, taking control as he starts moving. His hips draw calculated moves, the rhythm is slow and decided, hitting just the right spots. Andrew's hands are everywhere, your neck, lips, breasts and finally your clit, drawing lazy circles on the bundle of nerves, making your velvety walls flutter around him. It feels amazing, just like every time the two of you do this, but for some reason your mind can't seem to relax and a flash of an image shows up behind your closed lids - a gust of dark curly hair and musk. Your orgasm ends the fantasy before it materializes and erases the idea of it instantly.
Andrew comes with a strangled moan at the same time as you, bringing you back to earth, but a fragment of you gets stuck in whatever that flash of something was. "You're amazing!" Andrew says and stays inside you for a minute, soaking in the moment. You smile as you feel him go soft inside you and you take the time to study him, like it's the first time seeing him. You brush a few strands of hair away from his forehead, kissing the tip of his nose. "Thank you!" You say, whining when he kisses you and the lips only to then get up from the bed, leaving you empty and open to the cold morning air. "I'll start the shower!" He announces on his way to the bathroom. Outside the city is just barely getting awake, the rumbling of cars and people walking the street coming in through the window. You feel strange, excited for the early meeting you have in just a few hours, heart fluttering at the reminder of those brow eyes. "You coming?" Andrew's voice pulls you out of your fantasy and your stomach drops when you realize, what you were doing. Blinking the thoughts away, you get up and rush for the bathroom.
It's not long before your heels click-clack against the tile of the office. You walk with confidence, head high and back straight, bag swinging back and forth. Saying "hello" to Sharon, you lean into the door opening it fast, your breath catching when you focus onto the man already waiting for you. "Morning miss l/n, hope you don't mind, I got here early!" He flashes a smile that makes your knees weak and you mentally curse yourself for the way it makes you feel. "Mr Jackson, no I don't mind, I just hope you haven't been waiting long!" You smile back, walking over to your desk, nodding towards the men accompanying him once again.
"No, not long!" Michael assures you, gesturing not to worry. You open one of the drawers in your desk, taking out the folder holding the contract you wrote for him. "Here is the contract, I'll let you read over it and then I'll be back to answer any questions you may have. Can I bring you anything to drink?" You ask politely getting up from the chiar, looking him up and down, you can't help but swoon at his out fit, black leather jacket, velvet red shirt underneath (god he looks good in that crimson shade) and the signature black slacks. His hair is falling around his face like a crown, sweet curls framing his face. "Do you have orange juice?" Michael asks sweetly, almost shy. "Yes, I'll be right back!"
You want to slap yourself back into fetus stage, because why did you just say you had orange juice, when in fact you did not. "Fuuuuck!" You whine, stomping you foot. "Are you Ok? By the way sorry for not saying anything, but he asked me not to and he did bring a signed vinyl since last time he was here I mentioned my mother is a big fan!" Sharon apologizes for blindsiding you, but you don't care about that, actually it hadn't even crossed your mind to be mad at her. "I'm going to the store across the street to buy something, I'll be right back!" You announce and make a bee line for the stars, thinking the elevator might take too long.
Thankfully the line in the store is made of only two people buying small unimportant things, so it moves quickly and you're back in the building before you know it. Taking the elevator upstairs, because your heels are unbelievably uncomfortable, you tab your finger against the juice bottle. What 29 years old drinks orange juice, don't men usually drink heavy liquor or black coffee, or maybe it's just the men you knew. "Orange juice?" Sharon asks a bit confused and you simply shrug, walking back into the office.
"Sorry it took so long, how are we doing so far?" You ask taking a glass from the drink bar, placing it on the desk in front of him and pouring some juice. Your eyes wonder over his shoulder and you're surprised to see, he's actually on the very last page and a quick glance over at the clock tells you it's only been 15 minutes. "Both parties agree to never lie to each other, truth being a nonnegotiable clause of this contract" Michael reads out loud and your cheeks heat up with a blush. Sitting down you bite your lip, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Suddenly you feel small, he looks at you in a peculiar way, his eyes lingering a bit longer than they should on certain parts, your lips, your chest and then your eyes. Chocolate eyes looking back at you, digging deep into your consciousness. "Well I did say I'll out it in writing for you didn't I?" You quirk a brow at him and it's Michael's turn to blush, but the shade of his skin offers him a sort of camouflage you don't have.
"A woman of your word I believe you said!" He throws back, grinning. "Any questions?" You ask trying to ignore the way your heart just did a backflip in your chest.
"How soon can you get me off that stage, miss l/n" your last name sounds so Devine out of his mouth, like a prayer almost, you wonder what your first name would sound like, it absurd that he has this effect on you, he's your client and you have a boyfriend that you love very much. Right? Right!
"Well, I did take the time yesterday to speak with my boss and consult with him about the matter, but I'm taking a spin of my own. I was thinking we could create the Michael Jackson brand, trade mark it and then anyone using it without a signed approval from you is legally liable. I checked the records, you don't have any written agreement with Jospeh" you didn't call him 'his dad' and he notices that, and he appreciates it, because even with all the respect he has for the man, calling him dad or father was too far from what Michael's soul felt. "So it should be pretty straightforward, after the paperwork for that is done, you can simply not show up one day and that's that." You explain and he thinks it over, a sad look crossing his features. "How long?"
"Usually a week, maybe more if I call some favors in... Mr Jackson what's wrong?" The question slips out before you can stop it, just like the move to lean towards him over the desk, almost reaching out for his hand. He jumps into the chair slightly, like your words physically shocked him. "O-Ok do it, I want you to do it!" Michael takes a pen from your pen holder, quickly sings his name on the dotted line and breathes like he just finished a round of heavy lifting.
"I should let you work now, thank you for everything miss l/n" he gets up and almost stumbles out of the chair, walking to the door very quickly. You look over at Bill and Sam, trying to understand, but they seam just as lost as you. "You're welcome!" You drop yourself back in the chair and blow some air out, laughing out loud when you notice the untouched glass of orange juice on your desk.
It's a week later when you're stuck in the office overtime, working on a pro bono case you took on, that the phone on your desk rings. It's unusual, because the working hours are done, but maybe it's Andrew wondering if you want him to pick you up. "Hello?" You ask placing the phone on your ear. "Miss l/n?" The voice immediately send shivers down your spine. "Mr Jackson!" You say his name with surprise. "You're working late, I thought office hours ended at 7 pm"
"And yet here you are calling at 9 pm" you quip, twisting your necklace around your fingers.
"And yet here you are answering" Michael signs, his voice is muffled and somewhat drowned like he'd been crying. "I was slightly hoping you wouldn't pick up" he confesses, feeling so childish all of a sudden, he can't help being honest around you, it's not just the contract, he felt like he could tell you the truth from the second he met you.
"But I did"
"But you did!"
"What's wrong?" You ask , your pulse sounding in your ears as you listen for the silence on the other side of the call.
"Come to my show tomorrow! I'll send you vip tickets with access backstage. I need you there!" He confesses, holding his breath to see how you may respond to this confession. You've gone mute, the weight of the sentence not lost on you. "O-Ok" you mumble.
"I'm scared!" A sob goes past his lips and your heart shatters. Michael wants so bad to tell you what he's got planned, but he's scared that if he does, he won't be able to go through with it. "I get scared sometimes too" you don't ask what he's scared of, because something in you tells you that if he wanted to sham he would have. "How do you deal with it?" He's hoping for a secret magic recipe that he's been denied all his life, but you don't have any. "I don't know, I just keep walking" it's so true and raw this exchange of words, you feel like you're being skinned alive and he feels just the same.
"I'll be there, Mr Jackson, I'll always be there, we're partners in crime now!" You tell him and his heart stops in his chest. Michael doesn't get to feel like this with many people, especially not women, not unless they were Janet, his sister. "Partners in crime!" He repeats, solidifying the idea in his head, a bit of a proud feeling blooming in his heart thinking that she considers him her partner in crime. "Get home safe, it's late!" He says and doesn't wait for her answer, just ends the call, going back to his spiral of despair.
You shake your head awake, like what just happened was a dream, phone still glued to your face. You dial Andrew's number and ask him to come pick you up, work was over, now all you could think about was him, but you shouldn't. The rest of the night passes through you like your a puppet controlled by some unseen force, great full when your head touches the smooth surface of the pillow, but no sleep coming your way.
The vip tickets he promised, sit on your desk the next morning and you confirm with Andrew that he can come with you so you lose the next hours wondering what he needs you there for, what he might be scared of? The paperwork for his trademark brand were approved three days ago and you had faxed him the good news over, receiving back a short written 'thank you'. "You look afoul!" Gideon says, chewing some peanuts very loudly. "Thanks, I aim to please" you sarcastically reply, putting your documents in your map and getting ready to leave, it's only 5 pm but if you want to get to the concert on time, you had to get going. "You know , kinda selfish of you to take Andrew to the show, I'm the one you should be talking" he pouts like a child and you roll your eyes. "Grow up!"
"I'm just saying!" He pops a few more peanuts in his mouth but the smile can be seen on his lips already, he loves to tease you. "Bye boss!" You salute and go out the door, quick to haul a cab to take you home, where you find a very distraught Andrew trying to glue together some circuit part of a camera he's been working on. He does professional video and cyber security, that's how you met, 5 years ago when he was putting his start up on the marker he needed a lawyer to represent the firm and handle legal and since you were just starting out Gideon passed him onto you like an easy task. Five years later he's building cameras on your beautiful Persian carpet. "I'll shower and get dressed" you tell him, but he only acknowledges it by giving you an Ok, going back to melting wires.
His arms stay wrapped around you the whole concert and he sways you back and forth, sometimes one the more romantic songs peppering wet kisses on your sweaty neck. Your white cotton tee sticks to your skin and your jeans rub you in all the wrong places, but at least the tennis shoes are comfortable enough. You were enamored by Michael the whole evening and now it was towards the end of the concert, so far you were still wondering why he needed you here and what he was afraid of. Michael steps forward on stage, still beating the rhythm with his left foot, head turning from left to right, body swaying to the music. "And now I want to thank you all and say that this is our last concert, there will be no more. It's been a long 20 years, and this was our last tour, thank you, we love you!" And then just like that he goes back to singing like he didn't just ent the Jackson's. The roars of the crowd are inhuman, deafening, the ground shaking with them jumping up and down. You can tell from the looks on his brother's faces that they didn't know this was going to happen, except for one on the very right, Randy you thing is his name.
Andrew puts his mouth to your ear. "Did you know he wanted to do this?" You shake your head and before you can answer, Sam comes in your sight, walking to the vip side. You slide out of Andrew's embrace and meet him halfway. "Mr Jackson wants to se you in his dressing room." You ask of you can bring Andrew and after a quick glance his way, Sam nods and you wave Andrew over to follow you.
You are back where this all began two weeks ago, but damn it feels like a lifetime ago already. You hear the door open and then close. No one says anything, neither of you has the courage to break the heavy silence. But then his does. "Not going to offer me a cigarette this time?" Michael jokes and you laugh, god he melts instantly, his skin tingling to come closer to you, to touch you, he kinda wants to put his hand around your neck and make you laugh again just to feel the vibration against his fingertips. "Did you like the show?" It's like that first time meeting him all over again. "It was nice!"
He smirks " Only nice?"
"I'm not a fan" the repeat of the scene eases the tension in the room and he takes a step towards you, still keeping enough distance. "The end though, that really left me speechless." He shakes his head, some sweat raining out of his hair and the sudden need to brush your hands through his damp locks is so strong you almost feel it pull your arm up and towards him. "It's the craziest thing I've ever done in my life, I-" he can't keep going, he can't believe he did it, he can't believe how he walked past his brothers and the screaming Jospeh. "I wouldn't have expected anything less Mr Jackson" Michael wants to ask you to just call him by his first name, his has this idea that it would sound so much better, but maybe it's better you don't use it, because he can't tell how he'd react, he might grab you and kiss you or he might run.
"I'm proud of you!" You say and his eyes lock on the way your hand pets the back of the armchair you chose as your balance point. Michael thinks he died and went to heaven and you feel your face burn hot. "Are you tired?" You've taken over the conversation, he can't seem to be able to say anything. "Um I I yeah, sort of, sure .." he stumbles over the words and you giggle at his shyness. "I should let you rest, thank you for tonight!" You almost make a move for the door and he feels like me might crumble to pieces if you walk away. "You gave me tonight and tomorrow and the day after that. I'm finally going to have time to finish my album and I'll tour in my own, I'm free, thanks to you!"
"You got yourself there, I only did the paperwork" and you mean it, because you only did what he asked for. Another step forward and now he's at arm length. His beautiful face is glistening with sweat, almost glittering. His smell intoxicates you, musky and citrusy at the same time, with something sweet, maybe vanilla and something floral, but that one you can't name. You see his chest rise and fall with each breath and you study him up close, your eyes lingering a second too long on his lips. "I should go!" You whisper, scared of the volume of the words. Michael nods, he can't tell you to go, he simply can't.
You make the first steps for the door, walking past him, careful not to touch him. He sits there lost, looking at the ground, he can't do anything, because you work for him and you only see him as a project, at least that's what he thinks. And then your steps halt and he thinks "maybe" and hope fills him up, making him drunk.
You move your weight from one leg to the other, the cold of the doorknob against your scorching hot skin reminds you of your boyfriend waiting outside and you feel like the most horrible person ever, because you just saw yourself in your head kissing another man and you saw yourself enjoying it more than any other kiss - weird.
"Um if I could just ask-" and Micheal dies on the stop thinking you might just ask for a kiss, or maybe even a hug, he's kill to feel you pressed against him.
"Anything!" And he means it more than she realizes, because he would, in this moment, high on adrenaline, give her everything and anything.
"My boyfriend's sister is coming to the city to tour some colleges and she's a big fan, do you think you could sign something for her? If it's too much to ask-"
And he's dead, you flinch at the way he looked like you slapped him the moment the word boyfriend left your lips, you don't know why you said it, it was true, Jess, Andrew's sister was a fan, but she probably could've done without his autograph.
"S-sure" he wants to cry, his eyes frantically look around the room, finding one of his T-shirts for him to change into after the show and signs it in black marker. "W-who should I make it to?" He sniffs and he hope you can play it off as tiredness, but you don't. "Jess" your voice is shallow. Michael finishes the autograph and hands you the T-shirt, his fingers brushing yours and it's electric. You pull back and gasp, dropping the shirt on the ground. Bending down at the same time to grab it, your lips end up inches away from his and you taste his breath and you crave him, but your stronger than that and you get up, putting on a smile as you say goodnight and walk out the door, leaving a pieces of you with him, while taking a piece of him with you. The door closing behind you like an unbreakable barrier, on your side you meet Andrew and kiss him tenderly, showing him the gift you have for his sister and on Michael's side he's alone, all alone.
What is there to do when one of the biggest stars in the world is being taken advantage of by the people who should have his back? Will you be the one to change his life for the better? Be his salvation? But what about when he falls in love with you, will you fall too? What if the time is never right though…
Pairing: Michael Jackson x reader
Themes: Slow burn, fluff, right person wrong time, smut
Disclaimer: no historically accurate facts, made up people and scenarios. English is not my first language!
Click click click .....
The cold smooth surface of the lighter in your hand grounds you a little, but the rhythm of your heart stays the same, galopant - fast - unsteady. You don't smoke but everyone in the '80 does, so offering a cigarette is usually a good conversation starter. The clicking noise of the lighter is barely audible over the roar of the crowd and the thunder of music, but the pace of it matches the one of your thoughts. You run over the lines you scripted in your head, finding a better way to say what you wanted each time, cringing at the parts that feel unnatural and forced, in the end it is all about first impressions. The black fitted dress, huggs your frame perfectly, maybe a little to tight, falling just above your knees, the black shiny tights ease the path your foot draws in and out of your shoe. The jacket resting on your shoulders makes you feel way too hot making the hairs on the back of your neck adhere to the skin, the air is stifling, with one hand you try to fan a litte air to alleviate the stress, the gust of wind barely doing anything, but you guess it's still better than nothing.
It is because of your stubborn boss, Gideon Goodwill the owner of Goodwill law, that you find yourself here, backstage at one of the Jackson 5, or is it just the Jackson's now?! Anyway, you can never remember which one it is, Victory tour concerts. Gideon is a lover of fine arts and a damn good lawyer who hates when people use power and the lack of law education to exploit artists, so it's his soul project to find celebrities, actors, singers, writers, doesn't matter the type of art they make, who are being cheated by their management and save them. The latest addition to the Goodwill law clientele was Elvis Presley himself, you were the one sent to deal with him, because apparently you are extremely skilled with people and making them feel comfortable. It took a lot of convincing a sweet talk but you cracked the man and it helped of course that Elvis had had enough of the colonel's lies and manipulation. It wasn't easy getting a 53 year old man to rehab when such things as addiction and depression were still taboo topics, but he had the support of his family and friends.
Anyway your boss's newest obsession is getting Michael Jackson on his roaster. Somehow Gideon caught wind that Michael's manager and lawyer not only cheated him out of a lot of money in the Pepsi ordeal, making him settle the case, but they are currently in a very tight relationship with Joesph, sucking money out of Michael's talent, forcing him to tour with his brothers and keep promoting Pepsi, so he sent you, the saving angel, to sweet talk and plant the seed of truth, so that Michael finally sees part of what is being done to him and comes searching for you to make it right, making him believe it was his idea to leave behind his brothers and old business partners. It's a trick really, a mind game, people feel so much more at ease when they think an idea was theirs to begin with.
"Thank you, yes, thank you..." the hair on your neck prickles and the sweat suddenly feels cold as you hear the raspy voice coming your way. You slide your foot back in your shoe and fix yourself up, hoping the stress can't be read, taking a quick look in the nearby mirror making sure you look presentable enough, but you catch a glimpse of your startled face, wild eyes watching you back from the reflection. Standing in the corner of the dark room, you watch him walk in, a gait noticeable in his step, shoulders slumped forward, head hanging low, sweat adoring his tan skin, dripping from his curly hair. Michael sits down in the chair in front of the vanity, jumping when his brown eyes catch a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. "Can I help you?" His voice is shy and a little shaken, deeper then the one you've heard on TV and in his songs, but still holding that boyish tone. Your red lips stretch across you pearly white teeth and you extend a pack of cigarettes with your left hand while playing with the lighter in your right, click click click the soft noise of the on and off filling the air. His eyes dance between your face and your hands, confusion written all over his brows as he gives a small shake, the beads of sweat glimmering in the soft light. "I don't s-smoke" he says his voice catching a little at the end, like that of a child being offered a forbidden candy, scared of the temptation. "Neither do I" you sigh and throw the lighter and cigarette pack in your purse, to be forgotten for another time you might use this trick. Crossing your hands over your chest and straightening you back you take a good look at him. He looks tired, dark circles adoring his eyes, his lips slightly shaking. You notice a light blotch on the right side of his neck, hidden by the mess of hair and you can't help but wonder what that must be. Micheal sits expecting, eyes drifting to the door, still very much confused about who you are or why you are here. "That was a nice concert." Your soft voice breaks the charged atmosphere, sounding confident enough, or so you hope, because right now your pulse is through the roof and your heart feels one beat away from stopping.
"Only nice?" The corner of his mouth twitches, while he stops a smile from forming, clear that your statement kind of insulted him all the while intriguing him. "I'm not a fan, but I guess I enjoyed just fine" you shrug trying to seem nonchalant, and while it's true, you're not a fan, only an occasional listener, the show was far form just nice. He was phenomenal.
DISCLAIMERS: This is not an accurate portrayal of anyone depicted in the story. I do not know these people. It's strictly a work of fiction.
PAIRING: Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader.
GENRES: Angst / Fluff / Smut /
SUMMARY: It's 1987 and with his career reaching heights, Michael Jackson has the world at his feet. His name reads like a mythical legend echoed across the globe, he's at the top of his game and about to embark on his first solo world tour after the release of the Bad album. Everyone tells him he should be celebrating, this is the happiest time of his life, but if that's true, why does he feel so alone? As tabloid gossip runs rampant and press vipers edge closer, he can feel the walls closing in. Stuck between the camera lens, he no longer feels human, just a caricature of a man he no longer recognises. When a blast from the past suddenly reappears in his life (at a funeral of all places), Michael feels a glimmer of hope that not all is lost. Only problem is, she still doesn't trust him after a mistake he made in '84.
WARNINGS: Angst. Mentions of infidelity. Arguments. Strong language. NSFW scenes. Funeral/Death mention (not a major character.) Mentions of racism / the KKK (not super detailed, just mentions as found in a manifesto Michael had actually written for himself before the bad era.) Minors do not interact with this post.
WORD COUNT: 22.2k (yikes. buckle up guys.)
MORE: you can read part one here.
Bereavement has a funny way of uniting people. From families to strangers, gathering in attendance mourn the loss, yet celebrate the life of someone held dear.
Cultures across the globe had their own form of celebration, separate ways of respecting their deceased, but they all had the same result because the losing someone is never easy, regardless of geography.
In The United States, wearing black was seen a common sign of respect ― a way to honor those that passed by downplaying your own appearance to keep the focus on funeral.
This was how she found herself sitting in a unfamiliar church, legs crossed delicately at the ankle, in a obsidian dress that fell to mid calf. Not her typical attire, but well, circumstances dictate and who was she to fight tradition?
The California sun beamed bright through the stained glass window, casting a rainbow hue against the tired, brick floor and commanding the room, right at the front of the service stood a priest ― a short, well mannered man with salt and pepper hair, talking passionately about the creation of man.
Aching cries could be heard, soft with the attempts of thoughtful people desperately resisting falling apart in the midst of pain.
It was beautiful in a way. Not death, but the careful consideration people showed in moment of true sadness.
Not knowing many people here, she found herself sitting in relative isolation, a chair between her own body and the next person, but that was okay. She was here to pay her respects and knew she wouldn't stick around after the service. There was no need.
As a gentle prayer reverberated off the tall, stone walls, she couldn't help but feel an impending sense of concern ― a burning, warning sensation, intuition screaming that she was being watched.
In a desperate attempt to not draw focus, with a subtle shift of her body, her head turned. The change of perspective allowed more access to the room and tired eyes lingered, searching the space of gathered grief.
Each person sorrowful, not knowing what to with their hands. Some cried openly, while others forced themselves into heavy silence. Even in a state of unknowing, children in attendance seemed to understand something irreversible had taken place and she silently wondered why anyone would submit their child to such misery.
After scanning the vicinity and finding nothing suspicious, she was about to turn back to the front.
Whatever that feeling was, she must have imagined it and maybe that was partly her fault. Death made her uneasy and as she grew, she found herself believe more and more in the supernatural.
Shaking the ridiculous thoughts aside, her body began to move, placid and with caution, but just before the priest could regain the full cusp of her attention, her body froze like that of a statue ― unwavering and solid.
In the not too far distance, her eyes caught a glimpse of the person causing such inner conflict. Suddenly, her stomach dropped and she could feel the frantic ache of her heart hammering in her chest.
There, right at the back, desperate to stay hidden, dressed in same dark shade the rest of the attendees donned, yet somehow standing out like a sore thumb ― the way he stood, the curl of his hair, maybe it was the flashy watch or the way his clothes were just a little too embellished for every day society.
But the thing that got her, truly throughly hit like an arrow though the heart, had to be those damn aviator sunglasses, the one's she could recognise a mile off. Despite the shade of darkness covering his eyes, she knew the searing heat of a familiar gaze staring back. Resisting the urge to roll her own, she turned back to the service and tried to give very little thought to the other spectator ― a practice which seemed far easier in theory.
As the funeral continued, she tried to best to focus, but the newfound distraction was persistent, like a mold that festered and refused to go away. The feeling lingered, her face flamed and for the first time that day, she wished that the burial site recently dug for the newly deceased would swallow her up instead.
Once closing prayers were shared, an assemblage of people stood at once. Those that knew one another shook hends and shared polite hugs, comforting the pain with heartfelt gestures of love. What proved to be a sweet sight was also the thing that prompted her to leave on account of not know most of people in the room. Watching their shared grief felt a touch intrusive.
Purse in hand, with a graceful turn on her heel, she followed the steps that would lead her outdoors. The shining beams of lights in the sky almost felt too happy for what she'd witnessed, or maybe it was the universes way of proving that even on the worst days, hope still lingered. Whatever the world was trying to say, all she knew was that she needed to leave.
The desire to get her car had been the driving force propelling her forward, the distinct click of her shoes meeting the sidewalk as she lead the charge, most people opting to stay inside for a little while longer. Peaceful in nature, until the sudden sound of a low, flat heel joined her own.
Of course she knew who it was. How could she not? Those footsteps had been part of the soundtrack of her life for an entire year. She recognised the pace, the echo, the growing crescendo as they drew nearer.
She should've known better by now.
He didn't track, he stalked and so as her feet came to an abrupt halt, so did the echoed movement behind her.
Like the buzz of a humming bird, the beat of her heart increased. The air around them had already changed and she could smell the scent of his cologne without so much as seeing his face.
Bal ã Vaersailles if she wasn't mistsken ― a French fragrance usually targeted to a female audience, but he'd fallen in love with the scent after catching wind of it on Elizabeth Taylor.
With her back to him and her eyes closed painfully, she finally let out a shuddered breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
"If you're trying to keep a low profile, you're doing a terrible job."
The first words she'd uttered in his direction since the disastrous phone call of 1984, the very same one that broke the foundations on which they built their realtionship and she wished more than anything, she'd thought of something wittier to reintroduce herself into his orbit.
Like he hadn't yet registered the sound of her voice, it took a moment, but eventually she heard the familiar sound of him clearing his throat and then that frustratingly gentle tone.
"Well, I must be doing better than you think." He started, tilting his head to look at her from head to toe even if she wasn't facing him. "No one else noticed me."
With no direct line of sight regarding his face, she could still somehow picture the cocky smirk edged against his lips and found herself rolling her eyes at the imagery.
"Maybe that's because you weren't burning a hole into the side of their heads the entire service." She muttered, folding her arms across her chest like a form of protection.
"You don't know that." He laughed.
"Yes I do."
Her stubborn inability to look in his direction caused a flare of irritation to form within and he knew it was entirely irrational.
She had every right to avoid him and if he was really honest, he found himself surprised she's taken it upon herself to start a conversation. That same honey tone he once compared to that of a bird song had felt so pure once.
Now it hurt to hear that voice linger with traces of disdain.
Shuffling awkwardly on his feet, he found himself desperately resisting the urge to tug at her upper arm and turn her himself.
"Will you face me?" He asked and once she failed to meet his request, he muttered a final blow. "Please?"
With a subtle rise of her shoulders, she breathed out a heavy sigh she'd been holding and told herself it didn't mean much. It had been three years since they were this close, since she heard him pleading for her outside the apartment door. It had been long enough that he should no longer have any effect over her and so with her fist cletched, she followed his request.
Slow, but sure, her movements fell in line and soon her feet had made a full half a turn. The painfully familiar coutures of his ridiculously perfectly face came into view and her beath caught in an instant.
The vitiligo now presented itself to a magnitude impossible to ignore, but he was still handsome. He still had that dazzling smile, those sparkling eyes and an air of childhood whimsy etched into the very fabric of his being. The reality of seeing him so close somehow still felt comforting and she hated him for it. Not because of who he was, but because it was difficult to see all the beauty when the act of betrayal still clouded the picture of the man she knew.
Tucked into the collar of a black buttoned shirt, she found the same aviators he had been wearing inside the church and could help but think how ironic it was that he'd worn them inside only to remove them the second he stepped out in the sun.
"What do you want, Michael?" Feeling no need to beat around the bush, she barley flinched at the wide eyed reaction provoked by her words.
"I uh..." Scratching the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hadn't kicked, Michael's gaze fell downwards. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Even as he said it, she knew it to be true.
Why would he have thought he'd see her here? Frankly, she was shocked to see him too. Not because she didn't think he cared enough to attend, God no. One thing about Michael, he felt enough emotion to cover a thousand people, but he was a busy man.
While she didn't keep a close eye on his career these days, it was impossible to ignore with the giant success that came from the Bad album.
"Just because I stopped talking to you doesn't mean I stopped talking to everyone I met through you." She shrugged, unwavering against his pitiful glance. "Oscar was my friend."
"Yeah... I know." And the nod he gave said more than the sorrowful words.
Oscar Roberts had been an elderly man Michael had introduced her to only a couple months into dating. He had been a friendly, happy person, who often got a thrill out of proving his intelligence by beating her in crossword puzzles from the morning papers.
From the moment they had met, a connection bloomed, like suddenly her family had expanded to make room for a grandfather she didn't know she had.
But before all of that, before he had become her friend, he had been a vocal coach who encountered Michael in his youth.
As a young boy fronting one of the most popular pop groups in the world, Michael craved a steady foundation. One his own home life had never provided.
For a while, he latched onto the stability that came from Oscar and then that later transfered to Bill the moment he was hired by his father. Although the dymanics shifted, he never forgot about Oscar and the care he showed to a young child when he needed it the most.
It had been a while since he had last seen his friend, but upon learning of his death, Michael, of course, dropped everything he could to make it to the funeral. One final goodbye to a friend who saw him as a person rather than an image.
He realised quickly, he shouldn't have been surprised to find her here there at all. She must have continued to visit the elderly man long after the demise of their realtionship.
"He was a good guy."
"The best." She agreeded.
A heavy pause fell between them, silence broken only by the distant chatter of a mournful group still stood in the church.
Michael chanced a gaze while she looked past him. Still so pretty, but her eyes were ever so lightly tinged with a red hue that indicated she'd been crying earlier and if it were possible, he felt his heart break for her.
"You look beautiful." He complimented, the words falling from his tongue before he realised what he'd said.
That black dress fell against her body like it had been made for her, precisely crafted to her exact measurements. There was an air of confidence about her, despite the unfortunate set of circumstances surrounding them and his heart skipped a beat every time her eyes found his own.
"Don't." She warned.
"Don't what?" He asked, stepping closer, into in charted territory.
On instinct, she found herself stepping back, keeping the distance that felt safe. "Act like everything is normal between us."
"That's not what I'm doing." Michael spoke, brows arched.
"That's exactly what you're doing and it's bullshit." She scoffed in frustration.
Her reaction provoked one of his own and Michael found himself sighing in debelif, scrubbing a large hand over his face in irritation. "Why are you acting like this?"
"I'm not acting like anything." She insisted, eyes narrowed into slits as the anger swelled. "You followed me out here, for what? So we could have this awkward conversation and you could throw shitty compliments at me."
"That's not what I'm doing." He repeated.
"That's exactly what you're doing."
Bickering with an ex had been the last thing she had wanted to do, especially today of all days.
Like the world mocked her misery, ths sun hid itself rays behind dark clouds, the warm air vanishing and leaving behind a grey chill.
In front of her, he stood as though he could hardly believe this was happening and maybe it wasn't the conversation that had thrown him off at all, maybe it had been her presence.
If that were the case, she felt a twinge of sympathy. She finally found she could relate to him in some manner.
"Can we not do this here?" His voice grew gentle, more akin to that he would use to present a version of himself to the public. "Please. I don't want to argue at a funeral."
At that, the harsh glare of her eyes softened and she felt the exact moment her shoulders dropped, laying her defences down. "Me neither."
"So..." awkwardly shuffling on his feet, Michael bit down on his lower lip and then held out a shaky hand. "truce?"
Time froze as she stared at his peace offering. The same hand she had once held in loving moments of devoted bliss. Where his long fingers had slotted against her own perfectly, like he'd been crafted just for her.
The same hand that had once caressed her body, worshipped her skin or tugged at her hair during particularly passionate nights.
Nauseated with nostalgia, her instincts kicked in. Fight or flight and this time, she spoke before really processing the situation at head.
"I'm have to go."
She stepped back, refusing the hand shake, turning her back and stepping away.
Only she didn't get far when a warm force wrapped around the fragile bones of her wrist, not harsh, but enough to keep her still.
"Wait." His voice a broken plea. "I'm sorry."
With the particular intensity of the situation at hand, neither of them had noticed the figure slowly inching closer nor the desperate look of anxiety clawing at his senses. That was until a secure hand fell on Michael's shoulder and scared the man back into reality.
Allowing her wrist to fall from his grasp, he turned to find his well loved bodyguard and though he cared a for the man a great deal, he couldn't help but silently curse the intrusion.
"Yes Bill?"
"People are starting to leave the church." He acknowledged. "We should go, Mister Jackson."
Mister Jackson. So professional. If only they knew the world knew how close they were when they weren't in a professional setting.
"One moment please." Michael pleading.
Chancing a glance over her shoulder, it wasn't long until her gaze met that of the newcomer, his eyes flickering with a sense of familiairy as a hint of a smile curved against his lips.
"Well, hello again." Bill laughed like he was witnessing the impossible. "I wondered if we'd ever see you again."
"Hi." Finding it impossible to resist, she smiled back. "It's really good to see you, Bill. You're looking well."
"You too kid."
Before further pleasantries could be exchanged, the church doors opened and with that, the face of reality broke through the fragile structure of isolation they'd built moments before.
"I should go." She muttered, not wanting a crowd to form and see them together, even if logic told her no one would notice her when Michael Jackson was around.
Still, she retreated, not so much as rasing a hand to wave goodbye as she returned back to her own vehicle.
Once inside, gathering her emotions in a desperate attempt to calm her racing heart, she couldn't help but curse Oscar Roberts despite his death.
Even from beyond the grave, that old man still found ways to torment her.
Unable to linger on thoughts of a love past, a week later, work began to pile up. When she first started illustrating children's books, it had never occurred to her just how demanding the process would be.
Between reading the books and poems, starting the beginning sketches and getting the green light to go ahead and create the final product, life never felt boring.
As busy as she always found herself to be, she would be lying if she said she didn't love it.
Art was a form of escapism and she understood how fortunate she was to have made a name for herself in a field that was so obscure.
She'd worked hard for it, but that didn't mean she'd grown ignorant to the advantages it provided her. There had been a time straight out of college where she had struggled to find work in her profession and she told herself never to forget just how difficult that had been.
A huge perk to living alone came in the form of the spare room she owned. Most people would have used it as a guest bedroom, but she'd spent days renovating it into a studio so she could focus on her work in peace, separate from the rest of the home where she could escape to when she needed a break from painting.
With tentative brush strokes, the picturesque watercolor scene bloomed to life beneath her hands. Two, mischievous bunnies forging their way through the forest in search for their lost friend.
This particular project had taken a lot to secure. With so much back and fourth between herself, the publishing company and the author. It had been her job to make their tale come to life. After a lot of finessing, they'd finally all agreed on a snippet of concept art and now she had fully immersed herself in the piece.
How much time had passed since she sat down at her desk early morning? She had no clue. Time seemed to slip away whenever she found herself working and the only indication the day had moved without her came from the sunlight peaking through her window.
The sky had darkened a hue, but the sun had yet to set. Blending a particular tricky shade of green, she had been prepared for another couple hours of painting at least, but then a swift bang on her front door broke the creative focus.
Jumping in her seat, she found herself lowering the paint brush into a glass of water and slowly rising to her feet.
Not expecting any visitors, it only made sense to check who stood on the doorstep by looking through the peep hole and when she did so, she really wished she hadn't.
Wearing an entirely too charming smile, hands folded innocently behind his back as he tipped on the balls of his feet and straight back down. There was something so unique to him as a person, qualities she had never found in another.
Michael Jackson.
Of course. Because when had her life ever been normal?
Ripping the door open quick enough, she feared the state of the hinges once they'd settled. Her body crowded the frame, leaning against the wooden panel with her arms crossed.
"What are you doing here?" She demanded, narrowing her eyes on instict.
If he'd been shocked by her cold welcome, he didn't acknowledge it. If anything, the subtle curve sitting at the corners of his lips showed her that he was entirely too thrilled to see her face.
With an innocent shrug, he finally stood still. "I was in the neighborhood."
"You're never 'just in the neighborhood.'" She scoffed in disbelief. "You live forty five minutes away."
Not too far, but far enough to make this journey entirely futile on his part. She didn't know what game he was playing, but she did know it made her nervous.
"So a man can't travel for work?" He asked, as if that explained everything.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she realised fairly quickly, Michael wasn't going to make this easy. "How did you even know I still lived here?"
It had been years since he'd been had access to her personal space, since he saw her and knew for sure she still was still a resident in the same apartment building.
Years since that final night where he had knocked on her door with so much vigor, tearfully apologising for the biggest sin he'd ever committed ― a mistake which had cost him the love of a good women and the companionship of a great friend.
"I didn't, but I hoped." Awkwaedly straightening out the white t-shirt he wrote beneath a black dress shirt, glimpses of the shy man she once knew surfaced, even as he tried to play it off with a soft laugh. "If a stranger answered, I was going to tell them this was all some elaborate competition and they'd won tickets to my first show or something."
And she knew he was telling her truth. Had someone else opened the door, he would have to explain his presence with some ungodly tale. She wouldn't put it past him to sweetest the story with tickets to the tour that was supposed to start later this year.
"You're an idiot."
"So you say―" he spoke with a playful gleam in the depth of his eyes. "but you haven't slammed the door in my face yet."
Like he had just reminded himself that was a possibility, Michael made quick work to barge past, his shoulder hitting against hers, the touch smoldering as he entered the apartment he once knew like the back of his hand.
From her mouth fell a small gasp in reaction not only in reaction the unexpected contact, but also the audacity he held. If he noticed, he didn't seem to care. Instead, Michael walked around like he owned the place and allowed that damn soft, obsidian gaze of his to fall on their surroundings.
Things were different from the last time he'd been inside the safety of these particular four walls. She'd painted to them from the uninviting beige to a pale shade of dusky blue, the trimmings matched in color while the elaborate framed artworks stood out in a bold, golden hue. The vintage carpet sat on top of the hardwood floors looked like it could've been sold at an antique store and the white sofas and decorative chairs made the space feel larger in size than he knew it to be.
Transformed from a small caterpillar to an extravagant butterfly, her tastes had changed. For a moment, he found it jarring, that perhaps he no longer knew this women at all.
Then his eyes locked onto the large bookshelf standing in the far right corner of the room, overspilling with novels of every genre and that alone comforted him with the knowledge that she wasn't that different after all.
"Hope I'm not intruding." He called over his shoulder once he heard her close the door behind him.
"You are." She muttered in annoyance.
Her words either slid right off him or he chose to ignore them. Either way, he practically danced around the space, plucking a decorative cushion between his palms and expecting the strange patterns. "So, what were you doing before I arrived?" He asked absentmindly, as though this was a regular occurrence for the two of them.
"Well, I was painting..." She huffed, gazing over at the gold clock sitting on the faux fireplace she never used, eyes growing large when her eyes followed the hands. "but I didn't realise what the time was. I should probably make dinner."
"Great." He clapped, rubbing his palms together with a trace of a smirk. "What are we having?"
"I have got to be dreaming."
The words left her mouth before she fully registered what she said exactly, but Michael seemed elated. A prance in his step as he moved close towards her.
"Dream of me often, do you?" He cackled.
"Yeah." She spoke sarcastically. "You pop up in my nightmares."
"You're so mean to me." But even as he said it, his tone held a trace of amusement before he carried the conversation along. "Seriously, what are we eating? I'm starving."
"Well, since I was cooking for myself and hadn't expected such a picky guest, I was going to make spaghet-"
The words hadn't even properly left mouth when Michael suddenly screwed up his face in a manner you would usually only see in a child.
"Yuck!"
Rolling her eyes to the back of her skull, she wondered for a second if she'd woken up in a parallel universe where all of this made sense, but the paint splatter staining her jeans and fingertips told another story.
"Where's Bill?" She found herself asking. "Do I have to call him to drag your ass out of here?"
"Oh, Bill's downstairs." Micahel confessed, rather nonchalant, waving her off before opening up kitchen cupboards and rummaging through her belongings with little care. "Waiting in the car under strict orders not to intrupt."
"Of course he is." She sighed.
People from all different walks of life found it incredibly easy to get lost in the enigma that was Michael Jackson. The stories, the false narratives and the ridiculously malicious rumours that the media spread. He was a myth to some, a legend to others.
But as she observed him from her living room, eagel eyed as he made a mess she would be forced to clean up later, she was reminded that this man wasn't even thirty yet. And like all people in their late twenties, he was restless.
Slamming a cupboard shut, he turned with a scowl, a harsh contrast against his delicate features. "Your kitchen is stocked terribly."
"Excuse me?" She scoffed, eyes wide.
The more he spoke, the easier it was to grow frustrated at his presence. As if him intruding like this, storming the place without so much as a 'can i come in?' wasn't bad enough, now he was insulting the state of her living conditions.
The sound of utensils russling, metal on metal broke her from her thoughts and the view of her former lover rustling through a pile of paper takeout menus felt too real. A sense of deja vu washed over once he turned with a cheeky, dimpled grin.
"I knew you kept it." He practically cheered, triumphantly holding a menu in the air like some kind of grand trophy. "Boy, I haven't eaten from here in years."
Michael wasn't the biggest eater and he was generally pretty picky in day to day life. There were a few exceptions here and there. KFC was was big one. During sints of his life where he would dip into vegetarianism, the chicken you could buy from KFC was his one weakness. He was also a sucker for sweet treats like donuts or maple cookies. He'd eat until he felt sick and still ask for another. But amongst all this, the one thing he craved when in need of actual substance usually came in the form of Mexican cuisine.
His favourite being that of a small family owned restaurant only a block away from the apartment building she called home.
They'd found it once while driving back from a gallery opening and Michael had insisted Bill stop there. They hadn't entered themselves, Michael not wanting to be hounded and unwilling to let her leave his side while he had her, but he did place an order via Bill.
The dishes had been a hit and after their first taste, they'd become frequent patrons while they had been dating.
Since they broken up, she hadn't had the heart to go back.
"What do you say? Shall I give them a call?" Despite asking, he hadn't waited for an answer as his feet crossed the floor so he could reach for the landline.
Probably for the best. She never did have the heart to say no when he looked at her with those large doe eyes.
Half an hour later, the two of them sat opposite one another at her kitchen table and she watched in mild concern as he demolished a dish of spicy red chilie enchiladas like he feared the food would be snatched away if he wasn't quick enough. He stopped only to sip from a glass of orange juice, smiled sheepishly at the women across from him and then returned to his meal.
Through a half hearted bite of her burrito, she couldn't stop herself from asking a question she'd been wondering since she found him at her door.
"Why are you here, Michael?"
He paused momentarily, doe eyed gaze turned towards her pretty face while picking up a napkin to wipe the grease from his fingers and mouth. He coughed once and then leaned back against the chair.
"The other day, I realised something with clarity I've been lacking for years." He admitted, fingers tips tapping a catchy tune against grain of the wooden table top.
"Yes?" She encouraged, pushing her plate away to sip at her glass of water.
"I've surrounded myself with a bunch of people that agree with me."
"Okay." She nodded because that was never a secret.
There were two kind of people in Michael's life. Those that wanted something from him, not caring how it would effect him in the long run. They would overwork and demand more from him until he hit a wall of exhaustion. Vipers, sucking the soul from his very essence without so much as flinching.
Then there were the 'yes men.' Those in his inner circle who agreed and encourage every outlandish idea he ever had, in fear of being ostracised from the holy land, even if saying yes caused harm.
She's always hated both types.
"Don't you get it? I could say the grass is red and they'd nod their heads just to keep me happy." He laughed, though it was devoid of any humour.
Leaning across the table, the tapping never once seizing. With great determination, Michael made sure to keep eye contact with the women across from him, even as she tried her best to avoid it.
"Then there's you." His tone softened. "The moment you told me off for calling you beautiful was so surreal... I wasn't used to it."
That took her by surprise and as she stared at the man she once loved, she caught glimpses as to reasons why.
Before the infidelity, he trusted her entirely, enough to bare his soul as she'd bared her own.
Now it seemed he was hoping to do exactly that, only three years later.
"Okay?" She questioned, brows furrowed.
"I liked it." He laughed and this time he was amused. "And I figured if you're comfortable telling me off at a funeral, you're probably comfortable being honest with me about everything."
From the outside looking in, it would be easy to assume Michael Jackson had it all. The star power and the talent behind to back it up. He had money and status, he could physically buy whatever he desired.
Unless that thing he desired required honesty.
A twinge of sympathy bit at her consciousness, crafting tales of abandonment at her hands after their break up. It was nonsense, of course, staying would have harmed her, but seeing him so vulnerable reminded her that he needed people and sometimes, the company he kept only seemed out to harm him.
If she could help him during this tumultuous spout of conflict then she would.
Wasn't that the right thing to do?
"What do you need an honest opinion for right now?" Reaching over, her hand fell flat against his, stopping the rhythmic tapping he'd absentmindly created.
Michael felt the clenching ache of his own heart.
The physical contact was enough to draw a breath, but the fact that she'd been the one to initiate it was the thing that really sent him over the edge.
As she pulled her hand back, Michael felt a heavy need to resist the impossible urge to physically whimper at the loss of warmth that came from her lack of touch and instead focused on the conversation at hand.
"Tour." The words settled on the tip of his tongue.
A vague flicker of confusion sat across her face. "What about tour?"
"Is it a good idea?" Dropping his gaze, Michael could feel a source of vunerality rising.
Taking a moment to contemplate, a comfortable kind of silence fell over the pair. Her eyes flickered down, catching the slight of Michael nervously tapping his feet ― he never could say still. Eventually her gaze returned to his face, watching the crumbling embers of a fire once ignited struggling to stay ablaze.
"I don't know."
The frustrated sigh he let out wasn't directed towards her, but it still echoed through her apartment and struck deep within.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" He questioned, finally meeting her gaze.
"I mean, the last time we were... close..." She awkwardly started, the idea of their realtionship feeling too taboo to speak of out right. "a solo world tour was your dream." Her voice soft as though approaching a wild animal. "You were so pissed at your brothers and Joseph for making you do that Victory tour."
Michael exhaled softly and then a quite chuckle passed his lips. "Yeah."
There had been a time where he'd been desperate for this opportunity. Now as the dates grew nearer, the rising pressure felt like it had the potential to break him.
"But I know it's a lot. Not just the travel, or the energy it's going to use, but the weight of responsibility that will fall on your shoulders." She continued quietly, not trying to scare him, but not wanting to sugarcoat things either. "That's not even factoring in you lupus nor your insomnia."
The words fell heavy in the room because as much as he wanted to be, Michael had never and would never be able to live like a normal guy his age. There was so much to contemplate and big decisions haunted his darkest night.
Michael let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he spoke. "Wow, you really are honest."
"I'm not saying it to be cruel, but you have a lot to consider." She looked at him properly, seeing fear flicker on his face. "I think you're a natural born performer, but I also think you give a lot of yourself to others and barley leave enough pieces to keep yourself sustained."
No one had ever had the balls to say it like that and Michael knew it to be true. Saying 'no' had never felt like an option and maybe that's why he felt so conflicted.
Refusing to break the fragility of their joint gaze, he felt his fingers pull at a loose thread of his shirt while his heart beat a rapid rhythm against his chest.
"Are you saying I shouldn't do it?"
All she wanted was to help, to give him an answer that would actually spare him anymore torment. He'd dealt with more than she could ever possibly understand and she wanted to protect him, truly she did, but he had to want to protect himself too.
Regardless of how their situation ended, she still found herself caring a great deal about Michael. She probably always would and rather than letting that thought scare her away, she felt oddly at peace with the direction of their realtionship.
"Well, that's for you to decide." She spoke with a soft smile. "I think it would help for you to weigh the pros and cons and decide what's right for you." Her words strong as she tried to ensure what she said would get through to him. "All these people whispering in your ear, I know it's hard to hear, but they don't care about Michael the person. They care about Michael Jackson the brand... but you're more than a selling point."
And that was the crux of it.
Regardless of anything else, the fame, the notoriety or any of the music, he was a human above all else.
She saw that.
She always had.
Michael couldn't prevent the awe-struck look he gave her from settling on his features, the subtle movement of his chest rising slowly beneath layers of clothing being the only thing reminding him that he hadn't conjured this whole thing up in his mind.
There was always this internal conflict Michael found himself facing.
While he hated the repercussions that came with fame, he needed the celebrity status. He craved it for so many reasons, but one stood out amongst the others.
He hated that he grew up in a world where such prejudice run rampant.
As a black man in the industry, he'd seen it first hand, how they were always treated like a novelty act, stolen and stripped of their work and inhibitions. It had sparked something in him and the flames grew bigger as he became older and processed information different.
He could remember it vividly. Sitting down and watching a news segment where he witnessed a group of white kids being raised and welcomed into the KKK. It had made him sick to his stomach. Who would allow this for their children? He couldn't imagine, but he didn't have to because he had saw it happening with his own eyes.
What had really been the kicker came to him when he realised all that had happened on Martin Luther King Jr's birthday and that alone felt like a sick, ironic twist of fate - a real kick in the teeth for not just him, but every black person breathing the same air.
How was it possible he lived in a world like that?
Micahel loved all races and in a mission to prove his own deserved to be treated with the same respect his white counter parts were given by simply existing, his ambition clawed it's way to the forefront and never quite let go.
Thriller became the best selling album of all time, not on a whim, but by design. The anger had been the fuel to drive him forward. No black artist had ever been allowed to make it on MTV, so he made an album impossible to ignore with music videos to captive an eager audience. Eventually, they had no choice but to air his work and slowly, he inched the door open for other acts to follow his lead.
If white people hadn't saw black heros before, they certainly would now.
But as the fame festefed, his ambition grew. It wasn't enough. He wanted to be the biggest star on the planet and he wanted to better himself with each album cycle.
Maybe the tour wouldn't be so bad after all.
"I want to prove myself, to be great." He admitted. "I want to do shows and have people leave saying, 'wow, I've never seen anything like that before. He's a real star.'"
The smile she gave in return to his confession beamed brighter than any star he'd ever seen before.
She was proud of him and knew he had it in himself to show the world what a true showman he could be, if that's something he really wanted to do.
"Then do it, but do it for yourself not these creeps using you for God knows what."
And what happened next in the slow moments filled with the sound melodic laughter he gifted her was enough to bloom a whole garden of flowers.
"You think I can do it?"
"Yes." She replied instantly. "I know you can."
It was the way in which she said it, no hesitation, just utter belief in him as a person. A trust of likes he'd always longed for.
Observing her up close, completely still as the beginning navy blues of night began to creep through the windows, he found himself lost in time, where she had once been his and he would never have to worry about distance between them.
As the years passed by, the memories of their time together faded, not completely, but consistent. There had been moments shortly after their break up where Michael would cry himself to sleep, knowing he'd lost someone who loved him without exceptions.
But like they say, time really does heal all wounds.
The tears eventually stopped and as life got busy, he barley thought about the plethora of memories he shared with this women.
Then she just had to attend that funeral, didn't she?
Damn it, Oscar. Why'd you do this to him?
Upon seeing her, a hoard of memories surfaced like a crescendo, impossible to ignore and far too beautiful to pretend he hadn't noticed.
Looking at her now, he was reminded of his betrayal, the pain he'd caused and the cracking ache of her voice over the phone asking him if it was true.
Guilt swarmed.
So much so that he knew needed to say something if there was any chance of keeping her in his life for good this time.
"You know, I've made a bunch of mistakes..." His voice soft as he broke through the silence. "I've made a lot of dumb decisions and put my trust in the wrong kind of people," understatement of the century. "but I have to say, what I did to you haunts me the most."
Eyes growing wide, she very quickly caught on to where this conversation was heading and began to shake her head in a desperate attempt to stop it.
"Mike... let's not do this."
"No, I have to say it." He argued, looking down where his hands sat folded in his lap. "We never really got closure... you never let me talk to you after the phone call."
And it was true.
After that faithful phone call that sealed the breakdown of their relationship, he'd shown up at her door six hours later, but Michael's stubbornness hadn't let him stop there.
He'd called, left letters, had tried to catch her at work. Somehow, she had managed to expertly dodge every attempt.
After a while, he got the message: she didn't want to see him anymore.
Shaking her head, her eyes narrowed in his direction. "That's not fair."
"Hey, I'm not blaming you." He promised, holding his hands out in surrender. "I underatand why you didn't, but... I guess I've always wanted to see you face to face and tell you that, you never deserved it." Honesty laced every word. He needed her to understand. "You were good to me, maybe too good and I didn't appreciate it enough at the time."
If only she knew how much he valued it now.
Bravely lifting his gaze, he found her already looking at him with a somewhat mournful expression. "That's my fault. I never want you to look back at what happened between us and think that you weren't enough for me because truthfully, I think I might not have been enough for you."
"That's not true." She said in an instant, head shaking in disbelief that he would ever consider that as a possibility.
"I'm sorry." Michael spoke with such earnest. He finally had the opportunity to say it in person and he'd be damned if she didn't feel the weight of his regret. "I'm so sorry for the entire thing. You're one of the few people that never wanted anything from me... I think the most you asked for was a stupid postcard while I was touring." Humming with a soft laugh, his brows softened. "You have to know, the time I spent with you was some of the happiest of my life. I was so lucky back then. Hell, I'm lucky now that you're even letting me sit here."
"You kinda gave me no choice." She quirked, the beginnings of a smile cruved against her mouth. "You barged past me."
"Yeah." He laughed, cheeks turning pink. "I guess I did."
With the sound of his laughter trailing off, they were left in a beat of silence, the only sound breaking it being the familiar ticking of a clock.
She could see it now. The sorrow that plagued his eyes ― big, sad and wide.
Back then, part of the reason she hadn't wanted to see him in person to hear him out was due to the unfair upper hand he always had whenever he looked at her.
Just a brief glance and she was putty in his hand.
She cut off contact, not to be cruel, but in a desperate attempt to protect herself and maybe that had been selfish, but she wouldn't apologise for doing what she needed to do in order to survive.
After a minute of silence, she finally found the courage to break it.
"Thank you."
"Huh?" Michael breathed, head tilted.
"For what you said." She hummed innocently, hands wrapping around her water glass. "I appreciate it."
"It's the least I could do."
Taking a generous gulp of water, she watched as Michael did the same with his orange juice and wondered if much like her, he'd only taken a sip to have something to do with his hands.
Letting her glass touch back down on the table, she leaned forward, arms to the wood grain while his eyebrows pulled together.
"For what it's worth, I never thought you were a bad person."
"No?" He spoke shyly, scratching the back of his neck.
"No." She found herself repeating. "Misguided? Definitely, but you care about everything. I think that's why you're so sad."
"I'm not sad." He snapped.
The thing with Michael was, if he felt like he was being called out or attacked, he would immediately enter defence mode. It was the only way he knew to protect himself.
Leaning back against her chair, eyes narrowed, but not unkind, she sighed a heavy sigh and shrugged.
"Yes, you are." She persisted and watched as Michael rolled his eyes back. "And you're lonely. You're so scared of being used or of getting hurt, so you don't let people know the real you."
"You know me." He muttered softly, holding onto the words like a lifeline.
"I think I did..." she nodded. "once."
And it hurt to hear.
"What?" Michael scoffed bitterly. "You think I've changed?"
The very idea made his skin crawl. He didn't want to be different, didn't want to get older. He hated every reminder that he was.
"Everyone changes." She spoke, rising to her feet and making her way into the living room. "That's the nature of being human."
"I'm scared." His voice soft low, he wondered if she heard.
With little thought, he found himself following her actions as he walked across the apartment and sat beside her on the sofa, shoulders brushing in close proximity.
"Scared of what?" Her voice a whisper as she turned her face.
"Everything." He simply confessed. "People around me keep saying that these are the best years of my life."
"You don't think agree?"
"I don't know." Laughing without really meaning it, Michael felt sick with all he carried. "Every day it seems like there's a new story about me. That I want to be white, or that I sleep in some kind of hyperbaric chamber. They say I'm obsessed with Elizabeth Taylor and even that Janet and I are the same person."
"I can attest there's definitely nothing womanly about you." She teased, playfully nudging her elbow into his rib.
"Shut up."
That pretty laugh of his rose, inflicting a giggle of her own. For a moment they were at peace, alone in her apartment where nothing scary could touch either of them.
Childishly, Michael picked up one of the many pillows off the sofa and hit her with it, laughing harder as she gapsed, snatching the cushion from his grasp to whack him back.
"Truce!" He pleaded, hands held out, hoping for mercy.
"Okay, truce." She chuckled, throwing the pillow back down and then atmosphere turned serious once more. "Okay, I'm sorry, you were saying?"
The sudden weight of heavy conversation came rushing back and with a dismissive sigh, Michael threw himself backwards. The view of the white ceiling doing nothing to quell the tention in his shoulders.
"It's just a lot, I guess." Shurgging, he didn't know what else to say.
"I'm never going to fully understand, Mike, but I know you're suffering. Art shouldn't require sacrifice despite what all the greats say." She spoke quietly. "You don't deserve this."
"Sometimes I consider running away." Michael sat up, looking towards her to see her reaction.
"I understand why you would." She spoke like it was simple. "Though, it would be a shame."
"What makes you say that?"
She took a moment, a brief pause to fully evaluate what she would say next. Breathing in deep, she found herself looking at him properly.
So much had changed over the years, but he still felt every bit as real as he always had.
"I don't know. Los Angeles is full of opportunists. Everyone is out for what they can get, not caring who they hurt in the process." She began. "I guess living here doesn't feel so hopeless when I know someone as caring as you lives close. It would be a shame for you to leave, but I understand why you would want to."
"I've never fully thought it trough."
"If you can dream it, you can do it."
His face softened significantly. She hadn't really said much, but what she had said meant something to him. For the first time in years, he could imagine an existence where the media wasn't constantly beating him down, where he could live a relatively normal existence while simultaneously carving a path for himself if he tried hard enough.
Nightfall descended and while it wasn't too late, the pale silver glow from the moonlight flickered across her face, illuminating her soft features so beautifully, for a moment, he found himself wondering if she was actually real or a figment of imaginination his desperate mind had conjured just to keep him sane.
She smiled over to him and he swore, for a minute, his heart had completely stopped. It wasn't just the familiairy of her anymore, he wanted her in ways he couldn't fathom, so he wasn't really thinking as he leaned in.
Inching closer, feeling her breath against his lips and feeling like a man dying of thrist, finally being granted a huge sip of water. Gaze falling to the soft pillows of her lips, he let his eyes flutter close while closing the gap.
Right as his lips were about to meet the sweet, heavenly taste of her, he felt a force pushing him back.
Snapping out of the haze, his eyes flew open and landed on the face of anger, her hands still against his chest where she'd forced him away.
She could hardly believe it.
Was he really going to kiss her just like that?
Frustration grew.
She knew she shouldn't have trusted him. Give a man an inch and he takes a mile. She should've known he was up to no good the moment he charged in uninvited.
"What are you doing?" She hissed, jumping to her feet in an attempt to create as much distance between them as she possibly could. Her heart beating so fast, she could hear her pulse in her ear.
"Nothing." Michael panicked, rising to his feet as he tried to step towards her, face falling when she immediately stepped back. "I'm sorry."
The irony hearing him say this for the second time in such a short time frame shouldn't have amused her the way it did.
"You can't just kiss me and pretend everything is okay."
"Okay, I know. I'm sorry." His eyes wide, pleading for a forgiveness he wasn't sure he deserved.
"You're sorry?" She scoffed.
"I am."
This whole thing was a disaster from beginning to end. He had come here for a conversation and how he'd realised what a mess he'd created and there was no way for him to clean it up.
"What am I to you?" Running shaking fingers haphazardly through her hair, she found it hard to seperate what had just happened to the breakdown of what had been their realtionship. "Am I some sort of temporary distraction you use when the world gets too loud?"
"No-"
He tried, she could give him that. He really had attempted to speak up, but she couldn't hear anymore excuses and cut him off before he could say anything else.
"You should go."
The words were cold.
Final.
Unwilling to let it fade so easily, Michael called her name so soft, she almost caved. He looked so pitiful, devastated at the prospect of leaving and never seeing her again. It was almost enough to make her forgive him.
But she couldn't do this anymore.
"Please, go."
Crestfallen and full of regret, Michael looked around the room, his breathing shaky and knees feeling weak.
He didn't want this, but he also didn't want to upset her more than he already had.
With a final apology falling from his lips, he stepped back and walked straight out her door, down the stairs and back the car where Bill was waiting.
"You were gone a while." His bodyguard joked. "I guess that's a good sign."
Michael didn't so much as smile back.
He simply lifted a pair of black aviators over his eyes and crawled into the back seat.
"Take me home, please."
A couple days passed since the almost kiss and her simmering anger quietly faded into a wall of uncertainty.
Had she have known that was how the night ended, she would've never entertained Michael in the first place. She wasn't totally innocent here. She'd let him in and perhaps old emotions had surfaced.
It was hard to expell a feeling when it never fully disappeared in the first place.
What they had and what they'd shared had been a monumental step in adult life. Her first real taste of an adult realtionship and if she were being honest with herself, it was the one she compared every other relationship she'd to.
Until the whole Diana incident, they'd been happy.
Michael, while not always fully able to physcially be in the same state as her, never failed to smothered her with love and affection. She'd never felt so valued or cared for until he came along to sweep her off her feet.
He'd made it easy to love him and she was all but too happy to fall.
Maybe that's why she hadn't protested when he walked in her apartment.
Whatever inner conflict she had, she'd decided to ignore it. He was gone now and it was probably for the best.
With her legs tucked beneath her, she found herself sitting comfortable on her sofa, book in hand as she felt herself submitting to another world.
In literature, there were no worries. If a book stressed her out too much, she could put it down and pick up another that fit her needs. She liked that, the ease in which she could find peace in the words of an author she's never even met.
Her latest watercolor scenes for the children's bunny novel had been sent for approval and now she had to wait, so she distracted herself with unfamiliar titles and found herself wondering why particular writers failed to gain the notoriety they deserved.
The fantasy genre still called her name and she found herself clinging to every word as a delicate balance of another life formed around her.
She wasn't aware how long she had been reading, but she knew she was close to the end, the climax building, the tensions high and she'd placed her bets on how the story would close once she'd finished the second chapter.
Flicking the page, her eyes carefully scanned the text with an intensity that grew with the promise of a final chapter nearing.
Before she got there, a deverstating knock kicked her out of the enchanted land and back to the mundane apartment she called home.
Frustration came in waves, but deciding not to let it ruin her mood, she placed the book down where she'd sat and moved to the door.
Checking the peep hole, mild confusion settled across her features when the sight of an unfamiliar person greeted her.
A man, standing at 5'9, 5'10 at a push, silm but strong dressed in layers. A white t-shirt peaked out from underneath red flannel shirt and over the top of that sat a dark bomber style jacket. He wore a dark wash of jeans, some beat up sneakers and had a pair of oversized, brown sunglasses covering his eyes.
In terms of face, the glasses did a good job at hiding most of it, but she could see the grown out attempt of a mustache, a set of crooked teeth and a vague idea of an afro tucked beneath a cap with a set of overgrown sideburns spilling out the sides.
An irrational part of her mind told her not to answer, that she could pretend not to be home, she didn't know this man or his intentions.
But a kinder, more polite side of her brain rationalised that this might be a neighbour she hadn't met yet and that thought had been the driving force to make her open the door.
"Hello." She smiled politely, keeping the door open only a slither so she could quickly close it if she felt uncomfortable. "Can I help you?"
Shuffling on his feet, the man easily kept his hands behind his back but offered a toothy grin. "Yes, hi." The voice low and with a hint of an accent she couldn't recognise. "I just moved into the building and was wondering, do you know where the laundry room is?"
"The laundry room?" She questioned, but nodded. "Yeah, it's down on the basement floor. You can take the elevator, but honestly, that old thing is so slow, if you can manage, I would just take the stairs."
"Is that right?"
She nodded, finding this whole conversation to be slightly on the strange side since she was sure this would've been convered when he'd settled his lease, but she was far too polite to close the door in his face.
"I'm from a large family you see." Despite the fact she hadn't asked, he started explaining his background. "Lots of brothers and sisters. It's my first time living alone."
"Oh, right." She replied, not really seeing the relevance, but understanding he might just need a friend. "Well, welcome to the building."
"Thank you very much." He beamed.
"I'll see you around?"
Without answering, he shuffled on his feet and then stopped still. "Just one more question?"
"Okay." Her voice soft as she clung to the edge of her door, peaking out from behind. "Shoot."
"Do they allow pets here?"
"Oh no. I'm sorry, Sir, this building is particularly strict about that." She confessed with a slight pout of her own, the rule having always seemed particularly harsh to her.
"Oh, 'cause you see... I have this uh... this chimpanzee, and well, I can't leave him unattended."
At that her body froze. Suddenly her eyes zoned in, attempting her hardest to bypass the shadow the glasses left, behind the mustache and those ridiculous mutton chops.
A gasp tore through her throat and then she let out a long, shaky breath, whispering as she spoke. "Michael, is that you?"
There was silence for moment.
Then a distinct chuckle, bending slightly at the hip, no longer able to keep his compsure. Looking through the orange hued lenses, he stepped forward and nodded to confirm her suspicions.
"Yeah... it's me." He dropped the accent and his normal voice suddenly returned.
She rolled her eyes back, lips settled into a firm line. "You're so annoying!" She huffed. "Why are you here? Dressed like that, no less."
"Sorry." Spurts of laughter continued to fall. "I got you good, right? I should venture into acting next."
"Yeah, you try that." She huffed, moving to close the door.
"Wait!" He called in desperation, all traces of humour wiped off his unrecognisable face. "I'm sorry. I came to apologise and well, it's hard sneaking out in daylight, so I'm trying out to new disguise."
With the arch of a brow, she looked him over one last time. "You're telling me you came here alone?"
"Lord, no." He replied easily. "Bill's downstairs in case things get dicey."
"Right."
Tention hung between them, uncomfortable but not entirely unbearable.
Clearing his throat, Michael finally brought his hands back in front of him to show a bouquet of beautiful peonies, ranging from bright purples to brilliant pinks, clutched between his fingers.
"I wanted to apologise for the other night. I know I went too far, I got carried away and I'm truly, very sorry about the whole thing." He sounded sincere, nervous almost as he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Do you... uh... accept my apology?"
She contemplated for a only a moment, but it was enough for her to see the inner conflict happening in his mind. With a dramatic sigh, she opened her door wider and reached for the pretty bouquet.
"I guess... just this once." She smiled, leaning in to get a good smell of the sweet florals. "Thank you for the flowers. I love them."
"I knew you would." He smiled and she was taken back by how weird it was to talk to Michael face to face and not have those pearly whites beaming in her direction. Whatever false teeth he wore were extremely convcing.
"You know, it's a pity you live in an apartment. I know how much you enjoy nature. You deserve a huge garden where you could plant whatever flowers you want." He mused outloud, not really thinking before he spoke.
"Now, that would be quite the life, wouldn't it?" She hummed and stepped back. "Do you... want to come in?"
Hesitation formed, a hint of surprise lingered, like he wasn't sure if she'd meant it or not.
Once he realised she hadn't taken it back, he nodded fast and stepped forward. "Uh... yeah, that'd be great."
Stepping back into her space, Michael found himself once again looking at her blue walls, listening carefully to her feet shuffling through the space to find a vase to home her new flowers.
"By the way, you really need to be more cautious about strange men walking up to your door, girl." The thought hit him suddenly and then he couldn't stop himself from talking. "What were you doing, opening up to this?" He indicated to himself, disbelief painting his words.
Filling the vase with water, she looked over her shoulder with a dramatic huff. "Don't judge me. You're the idiot who knocked. I thought you might have needed help."
He paused for a moment, watching her with a flicker of a grin teasing his lips. She'd barley spoke and he already felt lighter.
After a busy day juggling his management drama, tour conflicts and finalising a set list, speaking with someone about something so simple eased the tention from his shoulders.
"Didn't we watch hundreds of horror movies together?" He hummed, eyes following her as she moved across the room. "You know what usually happens to the pretty girl who's foolish enough to open the door."
"Uh-Huh." She laughed, leaning back against her kitchen counter with her legs crossed and arms folded over her chest. "They usually have this really dull monologue or they stare for about five minutes straight before getting the sense to run, but by that point, it's far too late."
"Exactly." He snapped his fingers. "Are you trying to be like one of those girl?"
"Well, no. My monologue would be so enticing, the killer would change his mind and ask me to tell him other worldy tales instead."
A scoff of disbelief passed his lips, eyes narrowed behind his lenses. "You play too much."
"Well, not everything has to be so serious." She shrugged, enjoying the lighthearted nature of the conversation compared to how things ended a few nights before.
Using her hands to push herself forwards, she softly approached the vague figure she knew to be Michael, but recognised to be someone completely different.
No one had prepared her for how trippy it would be to hear his voice and see a complete stranger looking back.
"So, what's with the get up." She nodded towards him and smiled as Michael jokingly twirled, giving her a full 360 view of the generic outfit laying flat against his body.
For someone who usually dressed like he could be called to a runway any moment, it was hard to imagine him picking through this particular set clothes, but then again, she understood that was the point.
Rubbing his hands together, Michael leaned back on the balls of his feet, rocking in exciement. "There's this music store a few blocks over I've been wanted to check out." He spoke happily. "Thought this would stop people from recognising me and well, you didn't, so it much be pretty great."
"Oh, so you're not using this disguise as a poor attempt to seduce me then." She teased, a playful smirk matching the gleam in her eyes.
Michael felt his eyes widen, his mouth fall open and the heat rise against his flesh. The tips of his ears had turned pink and he shyly stuttered through his reply. "W-well... n-no. Of course not." Casting a glance downward, Michael tried to preserve whatever dignity he had left.
If it were possible, the smirk she wore grew wider as she unashamedly stared right at him. Watching in mild amusement as the nervous boy she had once known began surface. Flustered and refusing to meet her gaze, you would never think this to be the man to get up on stages and wow crowds of people with his intoxicating voice and erotic dance moves.
She nodded as though she believed him and felt the small laugh rise out her throat. "Right." She muttered, a casual mocking tone lingered.
"Stop looking at me like that." Micahel muttered, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
She laughed again and the sound was so pretty, he finally chanced a glance up and offered a crooked smile as a fair trade.
"Anyway..." Michael began, cautiously stepping towards her, not wanting to overstep boundaries like he had a couple nights prior. "did you want to, maybe, come with me?"
"To the music store?"
Michael eagerly nodded, assuring her that he walked around in disguise from time to time and no one usually spotted him. They'd be totally safe. Bill would drive them and stay relatively close by on the off chance things got out of hand.
Hands on hips, she analysed the situation.
On one hand, they were playing in uncharted territory. Whatever existed between them still lingered and maybe it wasn't wise to spend so much time with Michael. Still finding it hard to fully place her trust in him despite her emotions clawing at her to relax and let go.
On the other hand, she had always felt at ease in his company. She enjoyed the light hearted conversation, the way he could make her laugh with minimal effort and all the hardships life threw their way would fade as soon as they spent any time together.
She'd made up her mind.
A soft hum passed her lips, eyeing Michael in temporary amusement. "You're not going to try and kiss me again, are you?" She teased.
Michael let out a shy laugh, rubbing his jaw with his long fingers. "I'll try my best to resist."
Despite not saying much, those words said everything.
Not that he didn't want to or promised that he wouldn't, but he'd try and keep himself from doing it. Which lead her to believe, he would very much consider kissing her again if the moment felt right.
With the rapid beating of her heart, she suddenly realised, she didn't know if she should be elated or terrified by that idea.
With the sound of her pulse thudding in her ears, her smile softened into something sweet. "Yeah, well, you better keep those nasty teeth away from me."
As she moved to grab a jacket off the coat stand she kept near the door, Michael's eyes followed her steps, analysing every miniscule movement like a biologist with a microscope.
It wasn't often he was taken back by the motion of another. Being as fluid as he was, it took a lot to impress him. But this wasn't just anyone, this was her and she didn't simply move, she glided like she could take off any moment and fly if she really wanted to.
Eyes lingering, catching faint splotches of browns and reds staining the light wash jeans. He chuckled, mainly because he knew her and this wasn't out of the ordinary.
"Girl, don't you wanna change before you leave?" He hummed in amusement. "You're covered in paint."
With a faux expression of insult, she let out a small scoff. "Oh, I know you did not just say that when you look like you're moments away from selling cattle to a meat market."
Micahel's jaw dropped and soon a euphoric laugh followed, shaking his head as he followed her out the door.
"I'll have you know, that's against my code now." He hummed and he watched her lock the door. "I'm trying the whole vegetarian thing out again."
"Nobel." She muttered, turning the key and then moving to stand in front of Michael, gently pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to cover those distinctive eyes. Too recognisable. Too risky. "Let's see how long that lasts when you realise there's a KFC across the street from this store you want to visit so bad."
She was right of course and he knew it. But rather than giving her the glory of admitting it, Michael stayed quite.
Eyes growing wide as she walked past, he quickly followed down the stairs, vaguely remembering what she'd said about the elevator and how slow it was. For as long as he's known her, she had always opted to take the stairs and up until now, he's never thought much about it.
Once outside, she seemed fairly confident in her footsteps.
Crossing the lot in long strides, she walked straight towards the burgundy, 1985 Mercedes Benz. A flashy car, but she supposed it made sense for the kind of person who played passenger in the back seat despite having his own drivers licence.
"How'd you know it was this one?" Michael found himself asking, absentmindly he reached out to open the back door and nodding as a way to encourage her to get in.
"Are you kidding me?" She laughed, eyeing the other cars surrounding them. "Do you see anyone else in this building driving anything this expensive?' She didn't wait for a reply, instead she ducked her head and slid inside knowing he would immediately follow.
Which he did.
Rolling his eyes, Michael closed the door behind him after sliding into the backseat, finding her already leaning forward to greet his bodyguard with a kind grin.
"Hello again, Bill." She chimed, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from the cold air. "We really have to stop meeting like this. People will start talking."
Bill chuckled, turning his head and showing her a kind grin. "Tell him that, kid." He nodded towards Michael, sitting against the leather seats in that ridiculous disguise. "He'd convince me to drive through hell if he thought you might be there."
"Now that's a scary thought."
"Bill, stop." Michael groaned, hands covering his face, hiding his rosey cheeks from indulgent eyes. "You're embarrassing me."
"Sorry, Mike." Informal now they were in a safe space, like they were close, because they were. Bill chuckled, not sorry at all as he began to pull out of the parking lot. "Still wanna see that music store?"
Michael hummed in acknowledgment, huffing back in his seat when he caught her eye and noticed the spark of mischief he'd always adored.
The drive was smooth despite the LA traffic, filled with mainly idle chatter and the brief pause of conversation when Michael got carried away, humming captivating melodies along to the radio. Unable to sit still, he either tapped a tune against this thigh or moved his foot to the rhythm.
It made a fascinating watch. He'd always been this way inclined. Like music flowed through him. He didn't have to be in the studio to appreciate a hymn and he didn't need to scribble down lyrics to create a session. He simply was all of the above.
The drive passed relatively quick, but in that time she found herself eyeing the man beside her more and more and thought to herself how lucky she was to be trusted enough to see Michael Jackson in such a relaxed state, even if that same Michael Jackson was wearing a fake mustache and a pair of buck teeth.
As the car came to a smooth stop, the three of them opened individual doors and stepped forward. Michael moved towards Bill while straightening out one of his many layers.
"Can you stay back a little please, Bill?" He muttered, not wanting to draw attention.
"Of course, Mister Jackson. You won't even know I'm there."
With a sniff nod, Michael gave the older man a grateful smile and then rounded the car to walk besides the girl currently occupied, reading flyers in the store window.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Bill's company. On the contrary, he adored the man. In a world where his biological father caused so much misery, Bill was the one to fill the void. After all the years they's spent side by side, Bill had never one broke his trust, sold a story or looked at Michael like he was anything more than human. Truthfully, he didn't know what he would do without him.
But like all men, he didn't want a fatherly figure looming over his shoulder while he made a desperate attempt to try and to reconnect with a women who changed his entire world.
"What are you looking at?" He found himself muttering, following her gaze to a small pink advertisement for guitar lessons. "You looking to become the next Van Halen or something?"
"Nah." She laughed. "I thought maybe you could actually learn how to play an instrument or two." She teased, giggling softly when Michael's face turned stoic. In a swift movement, he turned towards her and nudged her shoulder with the a single finger. "I'm kidding." Though the laugh persisted. "The name caught me off guard is all. 'Guitar guru.' How humble."
Michael chuckled and stepped forward, casually offering an elbow, half expecting her to deny the gesture. Instead, she spared him a soft grin and looped her arm through his as he opened the store door and they stepped inside.
The smell of vinyl filled the air, colorful posters and pristine records lined the walls and shelves. To keep the intimate ambience, the store played an old Lionel Richie track and the man working his shift looked towards them once the bell above the door chimed. For a painful moment, she thought the worst when he gaze became more intense.
He must have recognised Michael.
They were seconds way from this trip becoming a whole spectacle and they'd be forced to run as fast as their legs could carry them back to the car.
She held her breath, waiting for the shoe to drop.
Only it never came.
The young man simply nodded in a simple greeting and then went back to counting money in the cash register.
Sighing in relief, she hadn't noticed Michael's amused grin, but she did feel the pull when he directed her through the aisles. Despite never stepping foot in the space before, he seemed to know his away around.
Keeping his promise, Bill flanked the pair from a distance and with the speed of an olympian, Michael b-lined straight towards the stacked 'M' section.
Slender fingers flickered through the albums, stopping only as they found the ones detailing his own name.
"You're such a narcissist." She spoke quietly against his ear with a small scoff, not quite believing this was the reason he dragged her here.
"I'm just checking they're here." Michael hummed, not paying much attention with gaze turned downward, looking down at his own face staring back against a white background.
In fact, he hadn't noticed much of anything until he felt the sudden loss of her warmth from his arm.
Head snapping up, he quickly caught sight of her only a few paces away, fingers pressed against the 'Madonna' section.
"Girl, what are you doing?" He huffed, stepping closer to inspect the album cover. The sepia coloring and intense seductive gaze of Like A Virgin greeted him and Michael fought back an impolite grimace. "What you looking at this for? You should really have more refined taste by now."
"I'm sorry, 'refined taste?'" She laughed, looking over her shoulder with her lips curved into a small grin. "Wasn't she sitting on your lap in '84 after one of the Victory tour shows?" Her voice quite to not draw attention to other shoppers, but Michael heard it well enough.
Behind his glasses, his eyes grew wider and he didn't need to look in a mirror to know he was blushing.
"W-what?" He suttered.
"Yeah." She mused in amusement. "I remember seeing it in all the papers the next day."
At the time, it hadn't been very long since their break up. The image of him with another woman opened a still raw wound and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't regretfully wished ill will on the pop superstar at the time.
In fact, she could vividly remember crumpeling that exact page in the palm of her hands before tossing it in the trash like the photograph had personally offended her.
As irrational as it had been, she was angry. Michael seemed completely fine filling the void she'd left with other, more established women while she'd been at home, trying not to cry every time one of his songs haunted her through the radio.
What had been her own personal hell now came back round, but not to haunt her. Instead it terrorised him and she took great delight in the distraught look the reminder had brought upon his face.
"That was nothing." Michael insisted, his voice dropping an octave as if to get his point across.
"Sure." She gave a less than believable smile and the nodded, fingering the titles of albums she'd never listened to. "Whatever you say."
With a huff, Michael pinched her waist provoking a small gasp, one she tried to hide with her hand as she stepped back from him, her eyes narrowed dangerously like she was warning him she was only seconds away from retaliating.
"I'm being serious." He huffed. "Don't go spreading that around."
"Right, because I'm known for going to the tabloids." She rolled her eyes, words dripping in sarcasm.
In reality, she'd never so much as had her name out there.
Even while she had been dating Michael during the height of Thriller, she'd stayed relatively out of sight. There might have been a photo of two floating around in some trashy, celebrity magazine with her standing close to the enigmatic star the world had fallen in love with, but her name was never mentioned.
Michael had been careful. He wanted keep her safe, his label wanted her to remain a secret for the sake of selling the single image and frankly, she just wanted her privacy.
She had no interest in becoming front page news and she definitely wasn't about to selling someone out for a quick buck.
"No, I know you aren't." Michael stepped closer, hand resting on her shoulder, soft but grounding. "I wasn't insinuating that."
Time stood still, his touch still burnt like it had all those years ago. Not in a way that made her flinch, but in a manner that warmed her from the inside out.
If she was honest, it pissed her off that even after all the time that had passed, he still had some kind of hold over her.
With a sniff nod, she stepped back, but offered a smile as compensation once his hand fell back to his side.
"Lets look for something else." She mused, trying to steer the conversation into a safer direction. "I wonder if they have any Tchaikovsky or Debussy around here."
Michael's love for their compositions were of little surprise to those who knew him and behind the brown shades, his eyes gleamed in acknowledgment. With a stuble grin, he was actually touched that she remembered so much about him.
They might have only dated a year, but it had certainly made an impression on both of then.
With little thought, his feet followed her direction into the classic section and soon she convinced him they should seperate to cover more ground.
He would search for Tchaikovsky while she's scour the section Debussy should be housed. Seperate mission which would ultimately lead the the same goal where they'd meet up to compare what they'd uncovered.
So engrossed in his own search, Michael had been far too distracted to look at his surroundings. For once he felt safe with the knowledge that no one would discover him, elbows deep in vinyl records and it was nice feeling.
With his focus somewhere else, he lost track of the women he's entered the store with. He wasn't worried. He knew she was okay, she wouldn't have wandered too far, but then he heard a familiar laugh that his nerves on end.
Head rising at the speed of lightening, he was quick to evaluate his surroundings and it wasn't long until his eyes found the shape of her body. She looked exactly as she had when she left him, the only difference being the tall, overgrown lummox of a man standing too close, making direct physical contact with a hand pressed against her lower back.
Now Michael tried not to make a habit out of jealousy. It was a terrible, ugly emotion and he hated the way it made him feel.
Living the life he did, most people thought he was exempt from expierencing the green eyed monster, but it couldn't be further from the truth.
As he watched the lingering touch and shared conversation, a pit formed in the depth of his stomach. If he'd eaten anything in the past hour, he was almost certain his body would be regurgitating to rid himself of the toxins that came from witnessing another man invade her personal space.
He couldn't take it.
Michael stepped forward, classic compositions forgotten in the face of envy and as he approached, he only caught the tail end of the conversation.
"... of course. I'm really happy you liked it."
Her smile bright and wide, so deverstatingly beautiful and he absolutely despised not being on the reciving end.
Standing in front of her, a man towered her frame, indulging himself far too much with her company and loving every ounce of attention she gave him.
"Not intruppting anything, am I?" Michael asked, his voice deep in an attempt to conceal his identity.
Turning towards him, wide eyed, but not unwelcome, she flashed Michael a small grin and shook her head. "No, not at all."
Nodding carefully, Michael stood right beside her, leaving barley a hair width space between them. If she had been uncomfortable with his presence, she certainly didn't show it.
"Oh, sorry. I should introduce the two of you." Hitting her head gently with the heel of her palm, the way she presented herself was always so endearing. Turning towards Michael, her eyes shined bright. "This is Rick. He's the author of the children's book I'm currently illustrating."
Rasing a brow, Michael nodded in understanding. Suddenly the familiairy of their conversation made sense, her feeling comfortable in the presence of this man wasn't odd because he wasn't a stranger to her.
Michael had always adored her chosen career path. Not only was she talented, but she used that talent as a way to connect to children, to enrich lives and with her illustrations, a love for the written word was encouraged. He should be happy that she'd been given this opportunity and he was, he really was happy to know she was thriving. Then he looked over at Rick.
And part of him seethed.
Because it wasn't that simple. Illustrating his book meant that they had spent time together before.
"That's... nice." Michael hesitated, but ultimately decided was happy she was doing something she loved. He had always thought she was too talented for her own good.
Besides, the idea of Rick writing children's novels hadn't shadow him in a sense of insecurity. While he was writing cute tales kids would enjoy for a short period of life, Michael had been writing critically acclaimed albums those same kids would remember for decades to come.
They weren't the same.
With a small gasp, she turned to the blonde and Michael suddenly decided no man his age should have hair that bright. They couldn't be trusted.
"Oh, Rick, this is my friend-" her words fell flat, sudden realisation that she couldn't introduce him by his actual name. She stuttered for a moment and from the outside, it might have simply seemed like she's misplaced it, but she soon recovered with a shy kind of smile. "uh, Peter."
At the sound of his favourite characters name falling from her lips, Michael felt a warmth flood through him. To anyone else, it was a simple alias, to him it was a beacon of hope.
"Peter?" Rick questioned, his gaze falling to the figure beside her like he was trying to make sense of something. "It's nice to meet you." He husked, holding out a hand in a friendly greeting.
For a beat too long, Michael simply looked at the man, not moving an inch until suddenly he felt a sharp blow to his ribs. She'd elbowed him and looked over with a sharp glare.
Recovering quick, he cleared his throat and then carelessly shook hands. "Yeah, nice to meet you too... I guess." Eyeing him suspiciously.
Rick's own eyes narrowed in confusion. "Do I know you from somewhere? You look really familiar."
Blood running cold, she immediately tried to close out this conversation. "I brought him to Linda's office once." She lied, sighing in relief as Rick faked recognition. "Sorry, Rick. We have plans for the rest of the day, so we're going to have to go."
"So soon?" He questioned, almost stepping closer like he didn't want to see the back of her.
"Yep." Michael interrupted, circling a possessive arm over her waist. "No time to stay and chat. It was nice to see you. Bye, Dick."
"It's Rick."
Before she could even say goodbye, he found himself pulling her towards the door where Bill stood in wait, suddenly no longer caring for music store he had once been so excited to step into.
Once outside, she ripped herself away from his grasp and pushed against his shoulder. Michael turned to her just as she folded her arms across her chest, seething in disappointment.
"What the hell was that?" She shouted in a whisper, her gaze cold as distant as she turned to face him.
"I don't know what you mean." Michael shrugged, playing innocent while leading the small group of three towards the car. "Who was that schmuck anyway?"
"I told you, I'm working on illustrating his book." She huffed, cheeks pink in humiliation once she realised Bill would be witness to this latest argument.
Sliding into the car, she moved her body as far as she could from Michael and barley registered the vehicle pulling out into the road. Michael didn't even so much as look back at the KFC as they drove past.
"That was so humiliating."
Michael turned towards her, finally removing the stupid hat and glasses, revealing those expressive eyes she suddenly decided she hated, but as he looked at her fully, she knew she was only lying to herself.
"Humiliating?" He scoffed, continuing to remove more and more of his disguise. The wig, the mustache and finally the teeth. "The only thing that was humiliating was the way he threw himself at you."
"He did not!" She seethed, staring out of the window, suddenly feeling far more vulnerable now that Michael was looking like himself.
"Yes he was. He had his hands all over you." He insisted, shaking his head back and fourth. "Tell her, Bill. You saw it, didn't you?"
Snapping her head back to face him, her eyes lit with fire, she snatched the cap he's been toying with from between his palms and tried not to yell. "Don't involve Bill! This is between you and me and the fucking audacity you have. Rick wasn't hitting on me, but even if he was, it's none of your business. I am not your girlfriend!"
There was a finality to her words that hit both of them in different ways.
A heavy silence lingered in the car after that.
The rest of the drive was relatively quiet unless you counted the sound of the tires moving against the road.
Once they reached the familiar path of her apartment building, she waited until the car came to a stop before she thanked Bill, unbuckled her seat belt and rushed inside without so much as looking back.
Sitting in sorrow, Michael looked out the window at her retreating figure and suddenly wished he had the ability to turn back time.
"What are you playing at, Mike?" Though the hazy echo of the door slamming on repeat though his mind, Bill's quiet voice demanded attention.
Blinking once, Michael shuffled forward on his seat, erratically fingers running through his newly exposed curls.
"I don't know." He confessed. "I didn't mean for that to happen... but you saw him, right? He was all up in her personal space."
"Yeah, I saw." Bill confessed with a nod. "But I don't think she thought much of it. Before you came charging on in, she'd been watching you."
Michael's head turned towards him so quick, he feared he had given himself whiplash.
"What did you say?"
"Yeah, that guy appraoched her and she seemed sweet enough, but she kept glancing back over at you. I don't think she even recognised that fella was touching her."
Feeling like the biggest fool, Michael buried his hands in his face and let out a dramatic yell, easing out of his frustrations much to Bill's amusement.
"So, what do I do now?" He asked, sounding entirely too vulnerable much to his own dismay. A lump formed in his throat, but he was much too proud to allow himself to cry with an audience.
This was his fault. He'd driven her away. If only he'd taken a step back and looked at the bigger picture.
He should've known. She was beautiful, yes, even when they had been dating he had known men threw themselves at her, but she had never entertained it.
She valued connection over a cheap thrill. A man approaching her was easy, but she never fell into their trap. Even with Michael himself, it had taken several dates before she fully committed to being his grielfriend. She hadn't simply fallen into his arms that day at the library.
"You need to go up there and apologise." Bill encouraged, hands on the steering wheel.
Michael paused, knowing the older man to be right, but realising an impending sense of deja vu. "That feels like all I do recently." He expressed sadly.
"Well mean it this time!" Bill huffed. "And when she forgives you, which she will, don't screw it up again, kid. She's good people."
'She's good people.'
The simple description played on a loop, encouraging him to get out the car and head straight inside her apartment building.
Bill had the right idea, but he was wrong about one thing: she wasn't good, she was the best humanity had to offer.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Michael no longer cared how much noise he was making or that he was no longer shielded under the covers of a sketchy disguise.
If one of her neighbours were to recognise him, he's not sure he would care all that much so long as it got her to speak to him.
Knocking on her door for the second time that day, Michael counted down the seconds until she opened up, ready to face all that she had, even if all she was willing to give him was anger.
Only, she didn't answer.
Feeling his heart loose rhythm, he tried again, his fist meeting the wood grain with eager precision.
Suddenly it was '84 and he could hear the sound of his own voice calling back out to her, pleading with the women behind the door to let him in.
Last time, he'd given up too easily.
She's slipped from his grasp and he had spent three long years without hearing her voice, seeing her face or watching as she breathed.
He wouldn't be making that mistake again.
With a heavy sigh, he knocked once more with a soft call of her name. "I know you don't want to see me right now, but I'm not leaving until you let me in."
Silence.
"I mean it. I'll say out here all night if that's what it takes." Michael assured, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the doorframe. "I'm sorry. I know I've been saying that a lot recently and you're probably tired of hearing it, but you have to know, I mean it. I know I keep making mistakes and you're finding it hard to know which version of me you should trust. I just- I get so scared of losing you for good, it makes me do all these irrational things."
"That's not your fault. It's mine and I know that. I don't want to make you upset or angry. It's the last thing I want. You mean a lot to me... I think you always will if I'm honest. Losing you was hard. I'll admit, I felt like part of me was left behind with you when things fell apart. Running into you again, it brought that spark back."
Baring his soul, Michael was ready to stay for the long haul and he didn't care if it took days. He would cancel every work related commitment he had if that's what it took. Sure, the logistics would be difficult and his management would hunt him down, but he'd have to be physically carried from her doorstep before he left.
"Do you know what still gets me?" He called through the wood, eyes still closed as he pictured her face. "Through all this, you've remained exactly the same. You told me the other night that everyone changes... but you haven't." He spoke through a humourless chuckle. "You're still the same vibrant, loving, beautiful person I always knew you were and I don't deserve your forgiveness, but God, do I need it. I need you."
When she still didn't answer, as ridiculous as it appeared, Michael began to sing an old Ray Charles song ― obnoxious and purposefully off key. The longer he waited the louder he got until eventually, the sound of the handle turning broke him from the groove.
Inside the apartment, she could hardly believe he'd chosen to do this. Regardless of how purposefully terrible he's opted into singing, if anyone had remotely recognised that voice, a full scale riot would've started on the second floor of her building.
If she hadn't been annoyed at him before, the simmering heat had since grown into a blazing fire.
"What is wrong with you?" She demanded as soon as the door flew open, fist caught in the middle of his layers, practically dragging him into her apartment and rolling her eyes at the sound of his child like laugh.
Slamming the door behind him, she let go of his flannel. With hands on hips, she looked towards him and the laughter fell flat when he noticed how tired she actually looked.
"I'm sorry." Michael spoke softly, stepping forward to plant a firm hand on each of her shoulders. "It was the only way I knew I could convince you to open the door."
"Aren't you tired of saying sorry all the time?" She sighed, heavy with the weight of the day.
"No, not with you." His gaze locked with her own and he gave a warm smile. "I'd say sorry a million times over if that's what it takes."
And she knew he was telling the truth because those eyes never lie.
She asked once, why he wore sunglasses even when he was inside. Michael's response had been a short, but simple one: "I don't want people to see my soul."
At the time, she didn't fully understand, but as she looked at him now, it suddenly all made sense.
"What you did back at the music store was out of line." She spoke carefully, but didn't bother to shake his hands off her shoulders.
"I know." Michael muttered, nodding his head in totally agreement. "I'm an idiot… but I'm working on it."
A brief pause in conversation allowed the heat to die down. The world seemed to fall silent and standing there, just a few inches from her front door, she finally admitted to herself that she was glad he hadn't simply let her walk away.
"It won't happen again." Michael continued in an attempt to get her to understand. "I think seeing another man's hands on you scared me and you're right, you're not my girlfriend, but I think- actually, I know, I want you to be."
Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to talk, but Michael cut her off while he still had the courage to do so.
"Look, I'm going to say it and I don't care how crazy you think it sounds." His eyes found hers, strong and unwavering. "I want to be with you. I made the biggest mistake of my life when I betrayed you like I did and I'm never going to be able to make it up to you, but I will spend the rest of my life trying."
Hand falling to her jaw, Michael's thumb gently traced the familiar structure with a tenderness only he possessed. "You're not ready to be with me right now, I know that." He spoke as a fact. "But one day, I hope maybe you will be… I'm not giving up on that. I'll be here and I don't care how long it takes. I'm not giving up on you."
Butterflies swarmed her stomach, her heart beat rapid in her chest. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. The fact she hadn't forced him out of her apartment said more than simple words ever could.
Instead of responding, she simply asked if he wanted to stay for dinner and Michael eagerly agreed, even going as far as chopping the vegetable to help in the kitchen.
True to his words, Michael stayed a constant presence in her life.
Over the next couple months, when he wasn't rehearsing vigorously for his first solo world tour, or visiting children's hospitals, he found himself at her door. Usually during the evening time, when the sky turned an inky shade of blue, she would hear that familiar knock and be greeted with a charming, dimpled smile once she opened up.
There conversations weren't always that interesting, but each one solidified their bond. They ranged from something as boring as the local weather to more sensationalised gossip.
He's been watching her paint one evening when suddenly, Michael gasped.
"Did I tell you, Jackie's finally getting divorced." He snickered as she dropped her paint brush, faint watercolor splattered against her cheek.
"I'm sorry, what?" With wide eyes, she turned to face Michael, the painting suddenly forgotten. "Enid finally had enough, huh?"
Michael shrugged, throwing a fist full of popcorn into his mouth. "Guess so. They've been rocky for years."
Their realtionship had been at a breaking point for so long now, Michael could barley remember if they'd ever actually been happy. Between his brothers constantly infidelity and Enid's persistent jealousy, they were better apart than they ever were together.
"I just feel bad for the kids, you know?" His voice dropped into a whisper, sorrow etched into each letter.
"Yeah." She nodded, and reached over to give his hand a comforting squeeze. "But sometimes it's better for families to live apart to provide a stable environment. They'll be okay, Mike."
Other days he'd come over in hopes of leaving the stress of his career behind for an hour or two. It was during these particular visit, they'd leave all the seriousness of life at the door and play games all night.
Tetris, Super Mario Bros, Trivial Putsuit, Pictionary ― the latter particular got pretty competitive with both of them yelling insults when they failed to convey the prompt. Despite both of them being able to draw, this game truly tested their limited.
"Man, you're lucky you can sing because there's no way you think that looks like a fire hydrant." She remembered speaking once, throwing herself down on the sofa in frustration.
"I don't want to hear from you." Michael scoffed. "Your mouse looked like some mutant alien."
"It did not!"
"Yes, it did." He huffed. "I didn't know if I should find a new home for it or run from it."
The nights usually ended in a lot of laughter, but her personal favourite game came in the form of something as simple as Guess Who.
"Could your person beat a goose in a fight?" She asked, looking at the board and then Michael with mild interest.
"Hmm..." Michael tilted his head, eyeing the cartoon depictions like he was trying to solve the world's most difficult puzzle. "My person would definitely give it a good try, but ultimately, that goose would peck their eyes out."
"Interesting." She acknowledged, starting to flick names down. "It's obviously not Tom. I don't think he even knows what a goose is."
Michael chuckled, leaning forward to ask a question of his own. "If your person owned a dog, would they dress them up."
"Oh, absolutely."
Quickly making his way through the board, Michael removed faces and then turned with a stuble smirk. "I know who it is."
"No you don't." She narrowed her eyes, calling his bluff.
"Yes, I do." Michael practically giggled. "Is your person Maria?"
"How do you do this every time!"
As she groaned, Michael cheered in victory. There were no prizes for a win, just the gloatful pride of knowing you had was enough for both of them.
Once, Michael arrived at her door carrying a bucket filled with the delicious sent of crispy fried chicken.
"I knew you couldn't last as a vegetarian." She laughed, closing the door behind him and followed as he made his way into the kitchen to grab two plates.
"It's KFC's fault!" He persisted, placing everything down on the kitchen counter. "If it weren't for them, I would be the perfect saint."
A soft laugh fell from her lips, eyebrows arched as she nodded her head. "Sure. I'd believe it." She grinned.
Between bites of chicken, they'd spoke of everything and nothing all at once. It was easy, comfortable and for the first time in a long, she finally felt completely comfortable in his presence.
"I've been meaning to ask," she started with a subtle wide eyed gazed. "how's Bubbles?"
"Oh, Bubbles." Michael practically beamed at the mention of his chimpanzee companion. "He's great. I've been really leaning into learning sign language to communicate with him and he's so smart. You should come over soon. I'm sure he'd remember you."
On days he couldn't see her, he'd call and they'd talk for hours on the phone. He'd recount his day and then ask about hers. In the peaceful moments where they could be completely themselves, she felt something shift.
Suddenly, she wasn't so angry at him.
She'd bravely found the courage to ask one day if he was still in contact with Diana and Michael was honest as he spoke, telling her that he would probably always care for Diana, but they weren't as close as they once were. He barley spoke to her and saw her even less. Whatever had been between them fizzled out and honestly, Michael couldn't really see her without thinking of the pain he'd inflicted three years ago.
He didn't treat her like a fool, he never pushed boundaries and the way he spoke so candidly told her that she could trust him just as he trusted her.
Returning to Hayvenhurst after three years was a surreal expierence. Nothing had really changed, but nothing was the same either. More of Michael's siblings had moved out, so entering was already far quieter than she'd imagined it would be.
Fingers threaded through his, their hands swinging between them as he guided her inside and down the hallway.
The grandeur of the home never failed to leave her speechless. The scale of the property was one thing, but the things housed inside were a complete different kettle of finish. Tall wall and elaborate light fixtures, but somehow, the warm wood tones and bright walls still felt inviting.
Michael had explained on the car ride over that Joseph wasn't around, apparently he was out handling some business in New York. The way he rolled his eyes and clentched his jaw lead her to believe that wasn't the whole truth, but she wasn't about to question him and ruin their fun before it started.
Knowing exactly where he wanted to take her, Michael lead her through the house with ease, humming a familiar tune as he passed through different rooms, he stopped only briefly as the sight of a familiar face standing in the kitchen.
"Hello, Mother." He chimed, unaware of the anxiety building in the girl beside him. Moving through the house, he pressed a gentle kiss to his mom's cheek and then smiled as he turned to reintroduce the pair. "You remember her, don't you?"
"Of course." Katherine Jackson smiled, leaning in barley an inch to bring the young women into a small embrace. "It's great to see you again." She softly spoke, pulling away and eyeing her son still holding her hand. "So this is back on then, is it?"
Unable to form words, she turned to Michael to offer up an explanation only find him vaguely attempting to stutter out a word or two, his cheeks turning pink as his brain finally caught up with the rest of him.
"N-no, Mother. I'm just taking her to see Bubbles again." He muttered, unable to make eye contact with either of them.
"Oh, I see." She laughed the way a knowing mother always does. "Well, you two have fun. I'm heading out with Janet, so you'll have free run of the house. Be sure to behave yourselves."
It didn't matter that Michael was nearering thirty, she still shot him a warning look and he smiled in return.
"Of course, mother." He nodded. "I hope you have fun. I'll see you soon."
Finally finding her voice, she turned her gaze back to Katherine and smiled. "It was nice to see you again, Misses Jackson."
The older women offered her goodbyes and once she was out of sight, Michael began to pull at her hand and tug her further through the house.
He offered explinations for nothing until they finally made it outside and standing there, idly walking by was Bubbles. His soft amber eyes and pristine fur made a sharp contrast against the blue denim of his overalls.
"Oh my God." She gasped, covering her mouth. "I can't believe he's still here."
Michael laughed and carefully brought her closer to the chimp. "Bubbles, hey, come here Buddy."
On hearing his voice, Bubbles turned and immediately began to walk towards them, happy and bright eyed as he approached.
"You remember my friend, don't you?" The chimp rewarded Michael with a small noise, but soon climbed up into his owners arms.
"I don't think it's me he's excited to see." She laughed softly, squeezing his hand and them letting go so he was able to hold on to his friend with both arms. "Can't say I blame him. You always were good with animals."
If it were possible, Bubbles looked at Michael in admiration, arms around his neck like a child being held by their father. Michael beamed a wide grin and shook his head.
"I think animals understand me better than most people sometimes." He admitted.
For the next couple of hours, the two of them entertained not just Bubbles, but various other pets. Muscles the massive boa constrictor had always always been particularly fascinating in her eyes and so when she asked if she could hold him, Michael immediately complied, watching with a fond smile as she bonded with the reptile.
Plenty of people he'd met in life thought him strange for his unwavering love of wild life. It was either seen as too much or like he'd had more money then sense.
In reality, Michael had saved a lot of these animals from various unfortunate circumstances and given them another shot at a good quality of life. His empathy crushed him and he hated the idea of any creature suffering.
These animals had become his friends in isolation and watching her not only tolerate, but actually enjoy the presence of those very same pets filled him with a warmth he couldn't explain.
Sometime later, their hands intertwined once again, Michael walked her back through the house with a specific destination in mind.
"Where are we going?" She huffed, playfully pinching his waist when she earned no reply, only for him to gasp and shove her gently. "Well, answer me."
"Girl, relax! We'll be right there." He laughed, turning a corner that eventually lead them to the faimiliar doorway of his own bedroom.
For a moment, her body froze.
The last time she'd been in his room, they'd been dating and it was a happy time. Things were playful and new, she had felt like she belonged in his space and now she worried that wouldn't be the case.
"Come on." His soft voice spoke against her ear. "I want to show you something."
Gathering the courage, she gave him a small nod and followed as he pushed open the door.
If Michael hadn't been a hoarder before, he certainly was now.
Books piled high, spilling off shelves, paintings hung on walls, but he had so many that some of them were now housed on the floor, there were ranges of records and other musical items she had no idea the names of, but felt so crucial to him.
The lingering smell that was so unique to Michael met her senses the moment she stepped inside and any doubt she felt just seconds ago faded to nothingness.
Seeing him hop over the luxe bed in the center of the room, she resisted the urge to laugh and then before she realised what was going on, Michael was approaching her with a sketch book in his hands.
"What's that?" She asked, closing the space between them.
"This is what I wanted to show you." Michael responded, flicking through the pages until he found the one thing he's been searching for. "Ah, here it is!"
His smile was brighter than any star she had even seen and it took a long minute for her to stop looking at his face and shift her gaze downward to the page he was holding out for her.
What greeted her back took her breath away.
A large scale blue and red sketch, intricate in detail and perfectly symmetrical, not a line out of place and every single pencil mark served a purpose. Some lines curved, but most were straight and there, right at the bottom, like a true artist, Michael had signed his name.
This must have taken him hours.
Sparing a glance in his direction, she offered a kind smile. "This is gorgous, Michael."
She's always known he was a talented artist. It wasn't just music where he excelled, he was creative across the board and more often than not, he always succeeded with whatever he was attempting to convey.
"But, I'm confused." She admitted, gently tracing the intricate patten with the softest touch of her fingertips. "It's a door, right?" Her wide eyed gaze watched as Michael nodded. "Where's does it lead."
"That's the thing..." Michael mused, looking down at his work and then back to her. "it hasn't been built yet."
"It doesn't exist?" She asked, eyebrows pinched in confusion.
"Not yet." He emphasised. "But it will, one day."
"Please elborare. You're making me feel dumb."
His soft laughter reached her ears and warmed her heart.
"I'm moving out." He explained and then quickly fixed his statement. "I mean, probably not this year, but by next year at the latest. I want to buy lots of land and have this amazing house built. This is my idea for the entrance."
Suddenly it all made sense and she found herself grinning back, the idea of Michael getting out from underneath the thumb of his father and finally having a space of his own made more sense than he probably realised.
"I want to call it Neverland." He confessed and then turned to her with the softest look she'd ever seen. "And it's going to be a safe space, you know? For animals, children, myself. I've spent so much time feeling caged in, this could really be my chance to create something that works for me and I know it's going to take time, but I really feel that if I do this, my whole life is going to be so much better. I'll be happier."
"I think it's a great idea, Mike." Her voice so soft, he almost had to strain to hear it.
"Yeah?"
She just nodded in conformation and stepped forward to give him a hug. Michael froze only for a second, as though he hadn't expected it, but fairly quickly he melted against her, his arms falling to her waist as hers lay across his shoulder, her face tucked against his neck so close, he could feel her breath.
"It's going to be amazing." He rambled. "A place so far away from the crazy paparazzi, from the constant barrage of nasty rumours. It'll be a happy place and you'll visit all the time, of course. Peter won't be happy unless he has his Tinkerbell to keep him company."
Lifting her head, she was taken back by just how close their faces were, but made no attempt to back away.
"Tinkerbell? I thought Peter was meant for Wendy." She breathed.
Michael shrugged, keeping her close once he set his sketchbook down. "Maybe in most adaptations, but I don't know, I think he might have been infatuated with Wendy, but she wanted him to change. When you really think about it, Tinkerbell was the only one who accepted him exactly the way he was."
You didn't need to be a genius to catch the meaning of his words.
She had never tried to change Michael, never been cruel or made fun of any of his quirks. As he accepted her for all she was, she'd done the same.
Looking into his eyes, staring back was a depth of brown she had convinced herself had never existed in another human being before. The rich espresso color belonged to Michael and Michael alone.
Unaware of how long they spent breathing each other in, she couldn't deny it anymore. She'd fallen for him again. Maybe she'd never truly gotten over him in the first place. Michael was an enigma, yes, and he'd made mistakes, but he's proved time and time again how much he valued her.
They'd spent months by each others side, laughing, joking and enjoying the simple pleasures that come along with spending quality time with someone you care for. He listened as she complained about work, comforted her when she was upset and even when she was in a bad mood and wanted to shut herself away, he stayed by her side and told her the most ridiculous stories just to see her smile.
Looking at him now, she saw it all and so she didn't need to think as she inched closer and closed the gap between them.
Her lips slotted against his with ease and not only did sparkles fly, the world completely changed from one single kiss.
Shifting out of it, Michael drew his head back though his eyes remained closed, eyelashes falling against his cheeks so delicately, she felt her heart cletch.
"Wait." He whispered, resting his forehead against her own. "Are you sure about this? Because I want to kiss you, God, I want to kiss you, but I can't do it if this is just going to be a temporary thing." Fluttering his eyes open, he could feel her warm breath against his lips. "I don't want a night, I want all of you."
"Then take me. I'm yours."
That was all it took.
In an instant, his lips melded against her own, drawing her in deep and passionate. His hands at her hips squeeze against her flesh and she played carefully with the curls at the back of his neck.
His lips against her own after so long felt like she'd been invited into heaven. The sweet taste of orange juice and something so distinctive to him. There was nothing in the world thst could replicate it.
Teeth tugged against her lower lip and it took zero effort for her to open up, feeling his tongue against her own and still wanting more.
Her hand dragged down against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the erratic beating of his own heart and she hoped he knew how perfectly it mirrored her own.
Time meant nothing as she walked him backwards, her mouth never once letting up until the backs of Michael's knees met the frame of his bed and he fell down on the mattress. For one long moment, she just looked at him. The ragged rising of his chest, the swollen pink of his lips and the way his eyes had hazed over in lust.
Guiding her, his hands at her waist brought her down to his lap, knees straddling his thighs while Michael pressed a series of heated kisses down her jaw and along the column of her throat, nibbling against her soft skin and smoothing the small bites with the wetness of his tongue.
Her breath caught in her throat, only made that much more obvious once his hand slid down and grazed the length of her tight. Slow, seductive, like he had never forgotten the way her body worked.
"You drive me crazy." She uttered, with her hand to his cheek, she guided his face back to hers and pressed their lips together again.
Firm, hungry, but not rushing. Not after all the time they'd spent apart. They needed to cherish this.
So many sleepless nights where they'd only wished the other person had been there to keep them warm. Now, they didn't have to imagine, they could indulge in one another and no outside forces could tell them to stop.
Clothes were slowly removed. Her sweater first, skirt and t-shirt. Michael greedily caressed every piece of flesh available to him, his lips following the path his fingertips made, like he had to worship her or risk losing everything.
"You're so beautiful." He spoke softly, kissing above her collarbone and then shifting so she was laid out on her back. "So fucking perfect." He continued, eyeing her like she was some kind of holy deity blessing him with her presence.
Before she could convey anything, his lips moved lower, down her abdomen, teasing against her tights. Soft breaths and whimpers of excitement only spurred him on.
As carefully as she could, she guided Michael back up and smiled once his face was back in sight. He brushed his lips against hers and then froze for a long beat as she quickly worked the buttons and pushed the blue dress shirt from his shoulder.
Face flushed and shy, he suddenly sat back and looked down, almost like he was embarrassed now.
If only he could turn off the lights.
Michael moved to pick the blue fabric back up, but her hands caught his before he had the chance.
"Don't hide from me." She whispered, resting a hand against his rosey cheek and caressing the supple skin.
Lost in the moment, he didn't know what to say. It was embarrassing. Not only that she was seeing him like this, but how he was acting too.
"I-" Hiz gaze fell down and he took a deep breath before he continued. "I don't look the way you remember." He confessed.
If a heart could physically break, she was sure that in that moment, hers had.
Rising to her knees, she crawled towards Michael and placed a hand against the warmth of his shoulder.
"Mike... you're gorgeous." She confessed, sponging soft kisses to the bare skin of his neck. "You always have been. I know things have changed... that your vitiligo has spread, but that doesn't matter to me." She assured, smiling softly once he moved his head back and let her kiss more of his skin. "You're perfect."
Michael let go then, her hands drifting lower, lingering and caressing parts of his body before pulling down his zipper and riding him of the black pants he'd been sporting all day.
With a soft push, she laid back once again, looking up at him in wanderment, her perfect body on full display and if he hadn't been hard before, he certainly was now.
Within seconds, he was back on her, mouth against hers, finding a rhythm that worked for both of them. Her body grew warm beneath him, and he lost himself the moment her hand began to tug at the waistband of his briefs. Lifting his hips, Michael helped her remove the offending piece item of clothing and didn't miss the way she glance down, awarding herself with the growing sight of him that she'd been denied for years.
A cocky smirk edged against the corners of his mouth at the blown out look that fell across her wild eyes.
He was no better.
As she looked up at him, only a slither of brown could be seen around the dark depth of his wide pupils.
Quickly ridding her of her bra and panties, Michael stopped to appreciate the sight of her bare for a moment or two. Holding himself up, a finger dropped low, sliding through the sticky, sweet wetness he'd been craving for so long now.
"Fuck." He uttered absentmindly, gathering the taste of her on his fingertips and bringing them to his mouth where he sucked her essence away and groaned in delight.
Below him, her mouth fell wide, unable to tear her eyes away from such an erotic sight. As he lowered and claimed her lips once again, she could taste the salty flavour of herself against his tongue and swore she'd never never tasted something so intoxicating.
"Please." She moaned, feeling the hardness of him rutting against her so filthy, but not enough. "Don't tease, baby."
Nodding his head, he tried hard to maintain the messy kiss, but just the idea of being inside her again was too much of a distraction.
Shifting closer, Michael moved at an expert pace to guide his tip against her opening. Synchronised moans filled the room the moment his thick head pressed inside. Lost for words, her vision blurred and as if sensing it, his lips suddenly fell back to hers.
The sensation was more than either of them could have imagined. He filled her so perfectly, it wasn't out of line to consider if they'd been made just for this.
"I'm gonna move, okay?" His words tickled her lips and she nodded almost instantly. "You're so beautiful." He muttered once again, drawing all the way out only to push back in a moment later.
Whining at the feeling, her hips rocked against his, finding a rhythm and working on it as a team. Clawing at his back, her mouth dropped fully as his speed increased, pressing against a sweet spot deep within her to drive her crazy.
"You're so perfect." He confessed, forehead falling against her own. "I missed this, I missed you."
As if to prove a point, Michael rolled through her with such precision, she saw stars. The warm weight of his body pressed to hers protecting her from any outside forces that could threaten to hurt them.
Hand against her thigh, he guided her leg around his slim waist and both of them gasped as the subtle movement had him sinking further into her warmth.
"Please." The word left her mouth as her head fell back against his pillow. "Michael, I need more."
For a moment, he basked in the sight. His lover withering beneath him, begging for more. There had been a time in his life where he thought he'd never have this again, where he'd convinced himself he had lost the best thing to ever happen to him, but here she was and he wasn't about to deny her the pleasure she deserved.
Knowing her like the back of his hand, he reached down and pressed his tumb against her swollen bud, creating perfect circles as his hips snapped against her and rewarded him with the sound of his name falling from her lips.
"Ah- I'm... Mike..." Clenching around him, her breath suttered, so close to falling off the edge as her orgasm built.
Completely at his mercy, she was loud and unbothered, so beautifully her, like she couldn't get enough of him and didn't care if anyone was around to hear it.
"Come on, baby." Michael suttered. "Cum for me, I wanna feel you."
His thrusts gained momentum, thumb pressing perfectly against her clit and with one sharp snap of his hips, she lost it. Crying out in ecstasy, absurd and draw out, she practically chanted his name over and over like a prayer.
Legs spasming beneath him, she somehow impossibly tightened further and Michael lost his focus. The rhythm he'd been holding now sloppy and broken as he worked his way through his own orgasm, loud with the call of her her name on his lips until eventually his sweaty body collapsed against hers.
Their shared, heavy breathing echoed around them for a long time until they eventually calmed. His heat still pouring in his ears, but for all the right reasons.
Pressing a gentle kiss against her neck, Michael liftened himself with one arm once enough time had passed and found himself grinning at the blissed out look of his lover.
"Well, that was something." He slurred, sloppily pressing a kiss to her lips. "You meant what you said, didn't you?" His tone quite, in need of assurance. "You're mine?"
"For as long as you'll have me." She grinned, brushing a curl from his forehead and brushing her nose against his.
The smile he rewarded her with was enough to leave her breathless. She's never met someone so captivating before and seeing him in these small pockets of privacy reminded her how lucky she truly was.
Little did she know, Micahel was thinking the exact same about her.
For the next hour or so, they spent their time frolicking in his sheets, touching, tasting, feeling all that they'd missed out on. They laughed and smiled like nothing else mattered now that they'd fallen back into rhythm and maybe nothing really did.
Eventually, they pulled themselves apart for long enough to clean up and while Michael was busy washing up in his ensuite, she made it her own little mission to look around his room.
Fingers gliding over some of his more endearing possessions: a first edition X-men, a photo of him smiling with Bubbles, a stuffed animal he's brought at Disneyland when he was twenty-one. Tiny details that painted the picture of a man bigger than the sky.
Her curious wandering eventually came to a sudden halt when she found herself standing outside his closet. The temptation too strong to resist and with an innocent shrug of her shoulders, she pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
Michael's closet could've been it's own room. Clothes of varying design went back as far as the eye could see. Sparkling, dazzling spectacles to more subdue items you would find in day to day life. She looked through the items with care, smelling him on each piece of fabric she passed. Fingertips danced over different textures and she hummed in amusement when she realised his hat collection was bigger than her entire wardrobe.
Slinking around, her eyes soon caught sight of his basics and with little room for argument, greedy hands plucked a fresh, white t-shirt off it's hanger and in the next beat, she had tugged it over her head.
No sooner had the hem fallen to her thighs did the closet door open.
Turning her head, she was greeted with the glorious sight of Michael, fresh face, wearing a silk robe of sorts that he kept tucked away near his bed.
"Should've known you'd be in here." He teased, stepping towards her. "You always were a lurker."
"Oh please, like you didn't open every draw and cupboard of my place when you first visited." She laughed as he did and then looked down at the item of clothing she's stolen. "You don't mind, do you?" Insecurities laced in her words.
"Mind?" He muttered, large hands falling to her waist to draw her in close. "Girl, don't be ridiculous. You know I always loved seeing you in my clothes."
It wasn't exactly like the one she had before. It wasn't overly worn and the neckline hadn't been stretched, but it still smelt like him. Warm and new.
If that wasn't a karmic metaphor for their relationship, she didn't know what was.
Weeks later, sitting on the white sofa in her apartment with a book in her lap and her legs resting carelessly across Michael's thighs, she tried to lose herself in the words of her novel.
Really, she did.
But his looming gaze proved to be too much of a distraction for her to keep pace.
She must have reread the same line twelve times before she let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing her book down and turning towards him.
"What's wrong?" She huffed, eyes softening a fraction as he drew delicate lines across her calf with his finger.
"Nothing." He shrugged, but the downturned smile said otherwise.
"There's clearly something." Sitting up, she shifted in her spot, sliding across the sofa and moving her legs from him so she could take his hand in her own, rubbing soothing circles across his knuckles with her thumb. "I can hear you thinking. It's really loud."
That brought a small laugh and eventually he turned his face towards her, eyes dull with thoughts he'd kept to himself.
"Tour starts in two weeks." He whispered.
With a soft laugh, she nodded her head. "Well done, genius. You only just remembered?"
Rolling his eyes, he threw himself backwards and covered his eyes with his arm. His lips sealed shut as if to say he was done with the conversation.
Looking at him for a beat, she eventually pressed her fingers against his ribs and wiggled them. And onslaught of laughter fell from his mouth. Moving his arm, Michael playfully told her to stop before grabbing both hands in his own and holding them hostage. The more she pulled to set them free, the tighter his grasp.
"Come on, Mike." She spoke softly. "What's got you so down? I thought you were excited for this tour."
"I am." He admitted almost instantly.
"It's your time to shine as a solo star now. It's what you always wanted."
"Yes." He nodded.
"And you love performing."
"I do."
Failing to see the problem, she tugged her hands out of his and placed them on her own thighs. "Then what's wrong? Are you worried about all the travelling?"
"No." Michael shook his head.
"You're not happy with the set list?"
"Of course I am." He huffed, almost offended she would suggest that. "The set list is perfect!"
"If it's not any of that then I really don't understand what's bugging you so much." She confessed, eyebrows arched slightly as she analysed the intense look he wore. "I know this is a first for you and you might be scared of that, but I think you'll really enjoy yourself once your there. You'll find your footing quick and you won-"
"Come on tour with me." Michael cut her off, a hopeful gleam swimming in the depth of his eyes.
A pregnant pause descended around them, her eyes wide in shock from his outburst. Not for a second had she expected him to say that.
"You're crazy." She laughed, pulling away out of his grasp.
Before she could get far, Michael tightened his hold on her hands and tugged her towards him so she couldn't hide away. "Am I?" He asked softly.
"Yes." She nodded.
"Am I?" He asked once again.
"Yes!"
"Think about it," he began, reaching up to brush his knuckles against her cheekbone. "you've finished the illustrations for Dick's book."
"Rick." She correct.
Rolling his eyes, he shook the correction away. "That's what I said."
Despite everything, even though it had been months since that day in the music store, he never could bring himself to like that blonde man.
"You've just started the concept art for the Man On The Moon one, right?" He asked, knowing she'd already been picked for another book so soon.
"Yeah."
"So, you show the author and the publishers that by the end of the week. They'll give you the go ahead, because you're a genius and then you can work on the full watercolor pieces while we're on the road." He explained it like it was simple, desperate to have her to agree. "You can paint on the bus and in the hotel rooms, send your work through the mail and talk on the phone when you need to be in meetings. It's full proof."
"Full proof?" She scoffed.
Maybe to him it was. Michael lived in a world where he could make things happen with the drop of a hat.
But she wasn't Michael Jackson. She didn't have that luxury.
It wasn't that she didn't want to be there. Of course she did.
Watching him on stage night after night and being able to sleep beside him would be thrilling, but it seemed impossible.
"Come on... I don't want to travel the globe alone." He confessed rather vunerably. "And I really don't want to spend so much time away from you when I just got you back." Brushing the tip of his nose against hers, he could practically feel the fight leaving her body. "Come on, baby. Say yes."
"I want to." She admitted, feeling his lips brushing against her jaw. "You're being really unfair right now."
"I'm just giving you a preview of what you can look forward to if you agree." He mumbled against her skin and then leaned forward to capture his lips with his, sucking lower top lip and smiling once she leaned into it. "Come on, I'll do anything I can to make it easier for you."
When she didn't deny him straight away, his brain conjured every critical thought it possibly could to sweeten the deal.
"I'll even have someone fly out to send your illustrations over if that's what you're worried about." Michael promised. "And if you need to physically be in a meeting, I'll make sure you're on the first plane there and the first plane back. Anything... just say yes."
Hand on his chest, she nudged him backwards and climbed into his lap, her knees bracketing Michael's thighs as his grasp fell to her waist. "You make a really good case for yourself, Mister Jackson."
"I can do that when I really want something." He confessed, large hands sliding beneath her shirt, greedily caressing her warm skin. "So, is that a yes?"
Humming, she caught his face between her palms and guided his mouth close to her own. "Let's see how well you treat me tonight. If you leave me satisfied, I'll come with you."
Instantly, Michael threw her down on the sofa, climbing on top of her to devour her mouth in a searing kiss.
Safe to say, she would definitely be joining him on tour.
DISCLAIMERS: This is my first ever try at fanfiction and I hope it's okay, but if it's terrible, you know why. This is not an accurate portrayal of anyone depicted in the story. I do not know these people. It's strictly a work of fiction.
PAIRING: Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader.
GENRES: Fluff / Smut / Angst.
SUMMARY: The year is 1984 and she never asked for this, but when you fall in love with Michael Jackson, life becomes loud. For an entire year, they've built this loudy, messy, tender life together. For the first time in a long time, she was happy, believing that despite the whirlwind that came along with the Jackson craze, Michael's love was unwavering. But the road to fame has many victims and she just might be one. Whispers she tries to ignore, nights when he doesn't come home and the gnawing feeling that she's not the only one he gives himself to continue to grow. When a tabloid photo splashes across the morning headlines, proving what she always feared, she has no choice but to call him from a thousand miles away and hears the truth in the silence.
WARNINGS: Angst. Can't lie, this is going to hurt. Infidelity. Arguments. Strong language. Diana Ross. NSFW scenes. Minors do not interact with this post.
WORD COUNT: 13.2k (oops... sorry everyone.)
Sunlight peaked through the crack of the otherwise blackout curtain, spawning a direct beam of light against her face. The warm glow arose a mild irritation as she stirred awake with a gentle huff, the only comfort of the early wake up call being that of a familiar weight of muscle slung across her waist.
It seems that in the night, he'd attempted to fuse himself against her, like he could somehow merge them into one with nothing but stubborn determination and a strong set of arms.
If it weren't so damn restrictive, she'd have found it sweet. Then again, everything Michael Jackson did somehow warmed her heart. The hold (both physically and metaphorically) he had over her wasn't fair, but she never complained. Being with Michael was like orbiting close to the sun. Warm and bright, but if you stepped too close, completely devastating. That was the risk she ran. People had always warned her about the price that came along with his lifestyle, but a year of being considered 'his' had taught her that he was multi-layered. You couldn't put him in a box.
Yes, with fame came harsh consequences, even more so with the jolt in status that had been unleashed with the release of Thriller, but he was so much more than the persona his celebrity had inflicted. Beautiful. Charming. Hilarious. And most unknown to the world that was so quick to slap a label on him, was his heart. The playful consideration, that longing to be wanted. He was so much more than the pop legend they portrayed him to be. Still, the title suited him well and he had no complaints about playing the role. It served a purpose and he relished in the power bestowed on him. After all, he hadn't put all those hours in to come up empty handed.
But the Michael she knew, underneath the bravado made her feel safe and loved. As she turned in the iron clad grip of his arms, she didn't note the stray Spiderman comic book on the bedside table, nor the empty glass of orange juice from the night before. Her focus fell to the man beside her, the mess of dark curls spread across his forehead and the peaceful look splashed over his face as he basked in the much needed sleep he'd been lacking with the pressure his career dictated.
If she tried hard enough, she could pretend this was the way they lived their lives everyday. Comfy, in her apartment, with only the sounds of the birds chirping echoing through the open window, letting a cool sweep of fresh air leak into the once stuffy room. Still, she loved him and embraced all the challenges that came along with being involved with a man of his stature.
With that thought in mind, she knew she had to get up. He was due to attend rehearsals with his brothers soon. The Victory tour was fast approaching and while Michael had begrudgingly had no choice but to agree to be present, he was a professional and wouldn't settle until he completed the thing he set out to do. The sake of his sanity relied on a shower before he left for the day and that thought alone presented itself loud and in charge until she did something about it.
Struggling to free herself from the restrictive hold he had over her waist, a small laugh escaped her lips as she pried his large hands from her hips and managed to successfully plant her feet on solid ground.
The air was cool, goosebumps rising against her soft flesh. So much so, that the chill forced her hand to reach down and throw a white over-sized t-shirt over her bare frame.
It was Michael's. Or to be more precise, it had been Michael's.
Their first night together, after the echoed praise, unholy chants of each others names and the joining of bodies, she'd slid out of bed and stole the shirt from his closet. The soft fabric, the stretched neckline and the scent of him warmed her so much, she never quite had the heart to give it back.
She didn't want to wake him.
Seriously, she didn't. Michael barley slept as it was, quoting himself to be somewhat of a night owl. She knew there was more to it.
Sleepless nights plagued with a mass of over thinking. Insomnia had got the best of him and so those rare nights when he did find himself drifting into a dream filled slumber, like last night, reluctance ached her bones, with a tender need to allow him to stay tucked neatly in her bed, away from the destructive world outside her doorstep.
But like clockwork, it happened again.
The action of it amost instantaneous, the subtle shift of his body against the mattress as the ivory material settled against her thighs, like his body ached with a fear of abandonment when she wasn't around. His head lifted, dark eyes narrowed in a tired squint he didn't try to hide, but his tense form eased once he spotted her just out of reach.
"What's the time?" He grumbled, voice rasped from sleep and much deeper than he had ever allowed the public to hear.
"Seven fifteen." She spoke softly, brushing her hair back from her face.
With a longing whisper of her name, Michael carelessly threw himself back against the pillows. "Come back to bed, please."
Michael was good at that. Tempting her into bad habits. Truthfully, it didn't take much. Just a glance at the coffee tinted hues flickering in her direction and she was an utterly gone.
Mostly.
"I wish I could, but you have rehearsals this morning. And I'm not dealing with Jermaine if you're late." She pouted almost too naturally and then stretched her arms above her head, the hem of his old t-shirt skimming her upper thighs. "You know how irritated he gets."
"Oh boy." As though she'd personally offended him, Michael allowed a frustrated groan to fall from his lips and dragged a heavy hand across his face like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Those wandering eyes of his not once leaving the long expanse of her legs, his jaw clentched while his usually tame thoughts ran wild. "You can't mention my brothers name when you look like that."
"Like what?" She feigned innocent, ignorance despite feeling the burn of his gaze.
"Like you're beggin' for trouble." His voice dropped, almost impossibly low. Giving her no time to react, he was on her, arms snaking around her waist, tossing her back against the mattress with a lazy form of dominance. "An awful distraction." He husked, his weight pressing her into the sheets as he continued to mutter against her ear. "One day, I'm taking this shirt back. You look better without it anyway."
Barley catching her breath, a teasing grin rose against the corners of her mouth. "That's cruel of you. I'm attached to this shirt."
Lips curling into a smirk, his mouth ghosted against her own, voice thick with familiar sense of desire. "Yeah, well... I'm attached to you, baby. A bad habit I can't kick." Then without missing a beat, he kissed her. Slow at first, then rough enough to make her forget about the rehearsals and his brothers entirely.
There was something about each kiss they shared. All that time they'd spent together and she'd never grow tired of it. With his body against her own, Michael's intoxicating warmth crowded her in the most delicious way. This was something far from innocent and the more it transpired, the more she lost herself in the moment. Time began to blend together, so much so, it became blaring obvious that not even a full scale hurricane could draw her away.
With expert ease, his tongue slid into her mouth, brushing against her own. Michael then pushed a knee between her own, a hand beside her head holding him up as the other grasped at the swell of her hip like he could keep them in this moment forever, if he only held her tight enough. It was almost dizzying, the way he hummed in triumph as he sucked on her tongue and got a real taste of her first thing in the morning. Suddenly any exhaustion he felt evaporated and all that remained was his a blazing need for her.
"Well, good morning to you too." She spoke, breathless once the kiss broke, as the heat simmered between them.
Michael smirked, fingers pinching at her delicate waist while not so subtly dragging his eyes over her body. Flushed skin on display covered by nothing other than that distracting shirt. "It's 'bout to be."
Before she could come up with a response, Michael had already brought his head back down to seal their lips together again. The familiar flick of his tongue against hers prompting a pathetic whimper to vibrate against their mouths.
Now, she knew him well enough to know that if she could see him, that cocky smirk wouldn't just be felt, it would be on proud display. The undoing of her by his hands was one of his favourite things.
Michael was always been that way inclined. He didn't want to be good at something, he wanted to be great. The best. The same could be said from a career standpoint or something as simple as winning a game of twister when he finally convinced his family to play. He had a competitive streak and that definitely followed him into the bedroom.
"You know I love it when you make those sounds." He muttered softly, pulling back only slightly so he was able to kiss down her jawline and along her neck.
"You-" She wanted to speak. Really, she did. But the attack against her sensitive skin, the bruising movement of his mouth proved to be a consuming distraction. "Fuck."
"What was that?" Michael paused his movements, breathing heavy as he looked down at her like prey. His already obscenely pink lower lip had deepened in colour, the smug grin still prominent and growing wider by the second. The familiar tone of his eyes darkened, the blown pupils leaving only a small ribbon of brown to surround it. He was gorgeous. He didn't know it all the time, but she certainly did, having fallen victim to that look one too many times in the past.
A moment of clarity seemed to catch up.
"You-" Her breath hitched while her fingers trailed the exposed expanse of his chest. "You have rehearsals. "
"Yeah, well..." Assured hands inched against her thighs, lifting the white fabric higher, exposing more of her to the cold air that had encouraged her to place it on in the first place. "They know I didn't want to agree to this tour." There were layers to his words, a heated frustration he tried to bury deep. Michael wanted more for himself, no longer wanting people to associate him the days he needed a group to keep him relevant.
Ambition clawed at him like a vice, telling him he had more to give and prove to the world that doubted the legacy a black man could hold. He's proved he'd earned his spot at the top billing order with his latest solo project and now he couldn't help but begrudge the fact he was still playing band of brothers with the same group he'd been forced into from the age of five.
Brushing the tip of his nose against her own, his voice dipped into a whisper. "They can wait a little while longer." And like a starved man seeing food for the first time, Michael's eyes gleamed in delight as he finally ripped the offending material over her head. "There she is."
Michael dipped down, his hands cradling her face in an almost possessive hold as he stole a kiss. It was common for him to be gentle, but this time, it didn't last long. Before either of them could gage the change, his mouth descended lower. A mirage of movement. All teeth and lips. The inability to remember her name had suddenly kicked in as he lapped his tongue against her nipple, tugging it almost painfully between his teeth only to sooth it with a lingering lick while a hand busied itself with her neglected breast.
No one could get her off the way he could. He knew her body, the way it worked and the things that she loved. He'd learnt the art of bringing those tempting moans to the surface and that was almost reward enough. Every time they did something like this, it was like they switched roles. With an open mouth, she'd sing him sweet lullabies and he knew exactly what to do to bring those high notes to the surface.
"You like that, don't you?" His voice thick with desire, knee barley pressing against her centre with a clear agenda. The goal was to drive her crazy, he was good at that. His mouth curled into a satisfied grin against her breast, knowing he had her right where he wanted her. There was no coming back from this. No clarity that could break through that incredible mind of hers to remind her to be responsible. Michael loved seeing her like this. How she tried her hardest to be rational, only for that to be utterly ripped from her with every indecent lick gracing her abdomen. It only made him want her more.
Hips rising off the mattress, desperate for some real fiction, she hated herself for how easily she fell for his little games. Her mind begged for her to come to her senses, but fogged over in a lustful haze when she found herself in this state. It was no use. She wanted him. Anything he was willing to give her. His fingers. His mouth. His cock. So long as he was the one touching her this way, she didn't care about anything else that was happening in the world beyond her bedroom. "You're an asshole." She muttered, half breathless, knowing he wasn't going to make this easy for her.
A soft spout of laughter fell from his lips, a hand falling to her hip to pull her closer. "You should be a lot nicer to me." He suggested with a demonic arch of a brow, his face coming up and aligning with her own.
"Why's that?" The muttered whisper kissed his mouth, his dark hues drinking in the sight of her in the early hours of the morning.
"Because..." He started, lips brushing against the soft pillows of her own, a dimpled grin taking over his features. "I have the power to make you feel real good right now." Surging forward, he didn't wait for a response, lips claiming hers in a heated echo of dominance, one that warmed her from the inside out. Long fingers clawed the meat of her thigh, guiding her leg up and around the slim apex of his waist.
Michael was bare under the covers, having fallen asleep that way the night before. If her eyes were open, she would see the smooth skin, the slightly uneven blotchiness he'd grown so insecure about despite her protests of how beautiful he was. The heat from his body trapped her against the mattress, a breathy hitch of a sound falling from her lips.
There were so many divine creatures in this world. Michael had taken the time to appreciate so many from afar, but he swore to himself, the heavens must have taken their time when it came to the craft of the women beneath him.
"You want me to make you feel good?" He pulled back briefly to mutter against her mouth, hand cautiously caressing her ribs, higher and higher until she felt his tumb grazed the underside of her bare breast. She arched instantly, a desperate plea for more and Michael couldn't stop it, the lively groan, low in his throat, casting vibrations where their bare chests met. His lips descended, lower, a leisurely trail of his mouth against her jaw and with an instinctive tilt of her head, she easily allowed him the access he silently asked for. The sharp sting of his teeth against her pluse illicited an addictive gasp, and in the next moment, his tongue flicked out, soothing the redness he'd created.
Michael laughed then nipped against her earlobe. "You're so beautiful like this."
"Stop teasing me." She protested, trailing her nails up the delicate line of his spine.
Again, he laughed, breathing hot air against her skin. "I'm sorry."
He wasn't sorry at all. He got off on this, enjoyed knowing the effect he had over her entirety. With a surge of confidence, she caught his mouth again, relilish in the way he opened up, a messy collide of tongues and teeth, breathless whispers churing into one.
"I want you." She breathed against his lips, pulling back enough to see the blowout, depraved look tainting his usual kind eyes. "What are you waiting for?"
"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" His voice soft for the first time since he woke, large hand sliding to her waist like he was trying to map out her body from touch alone.
A shiver ran down her spine, the effect he had over her wasn't just physical but deeply rooted into the essence of her being. She knew a life without him, but it felt so long ago now.
"No." She breathed out, eyes fluttering at the feel of him so close.
For a long beat, he studied her, his tumb tracing maddening circles against her skin. "By now, you definitely should. Can't you feel it?"
A soft pink glow rose against the apples of her cheeks because yes, she very much could. The hardened length prodding against her hip, ready to take her as she was. He wasn't her first, but he had become her everything and time spent tangled in the sheets together always felt like more like a celestial event than a simple shared moment.
His gaze was searing, but then he leaned in and kissed her again, heavy but slow, as though he didn't have any time restraints when they both knew the truth. "I'm gonna take care of you."
Holding himself up, Michael allowed himself a glance, starring down in unadulterated awe at the sight below him. It didn't matter how many times he's seen her like this, she would always set his heart racing. Sometimes, he still failed to understand how it was possible he got the luxury to see her like this, how she trusted him so intimately. If divinity lived in a person, it would be this women. Michael felt like he could write albums of content with her as his muse, but no words would do her justice. The burning ache for more built up and with an aching sigh, he pulled away only brief enough to reach into her nightstand draw and and take out a familiar, foil wrapper.
Baring his new found possession, his slender fingers handed the item over. "Put it on." He muttered, lips teasing nipping the sensitive flesh of her collarbone. Holding himself up, he watched in wondement, the way she feverishly ripped into the packaging and with a quite kind of precision, rolled the latex onto his hard length. The touch of her hand already setting his body alight. With a heavy sigh, Michael's forehead dropped against her own, a shared smirk settled on both their features.
"Don't get shy now." She teased, but the words lost momentum the second he reached between their bodies, taking the base of his cock in hand to line himself up against the sticky, sweet entrance he's come to adore.
The second his tip pushed into her opening, a gasp was torn from her lungs. Like their brains worked on the same wavelength, their eyes found each other, a burning gaze as he surged forward with his skilled hips and pushed fully into her, stretching her walls with ease, like she was made for this, made for him specifically.
Time wasn't on their side, just outside, they both knew they would find a car waiting. Bill (Michael's trusty bodyguard) would be checking his watch, wondering what was taking them so long, but neither of them seemed to take note.
With little thought and ample need, he barley gave her time to adjust before he found himself moving against her, sliding almost completely out before spearing back in, knocking the air from her lungs with each precise thrust. The sight of Michael lost in pleasure burnt into her brain, something she didn't want to lose sight of, but each movement brought a new surge of pleasure which made it impossible to keep her thoughts straight. Rolling her eyes to the back of her head, he showed no signs of stopping, if anything, his pace grew faster and in an attempt to keep a hold of him, her nails scratched into the brown flesh of his back.
The consuming weight of his body against hers, the force of his thrusts, it was too much and not enough all at once. Her hips moved against his, finding a perfect rhythm in the intimacy of her bed. A large hand encased one of her own, lifting it above her head, fingers intertwined with the sound of his desperate pants echoing down her ear. With their bodies pressed so close together, a beading sweat slicked their skin, her lips pressed to his jaw as he whined her name.
"You're so pretty. So... so pretty." The muttered words barley escaped his lips, like he wasn't aware he was saying them in the first place.
"So are you." She urged, pressing her lips against his protruding collarbone, earning a deep groan from him as Michael moved to nip at her earlobe. With a tentative twinkle in his eye, he stopped his movements, buried deep with the slick warmth of her walls, to his own detriment as much as hers. Impatient for more, her hips attempted a desperate wiggle, but with a fierce determination, Michael pinned her hips, keeping her perfectly still.
It never used to be like this. Their first time, three months into dating, after some coaxing on her part, they finally let go of their inhibitions, but he had been painfully shy. So much so that she had questioned if he's ever done this before or if she had been the unknowing soul to deflower Michael Jackson. Never quite answering her question, he assured her he knew what he was doing, but definitely allowed her to take the lead.
Nowadays, his confidence had improved tenfold and that was only made more apparent by the hungry gleaming gaze those dark optics of his shined with.
"Who's making you feel this good?" He uttered, brushing the bridge of his nose against the delicate arch of her jawline.
"You." She whimpered, body aching and ready to go.
The mocking laugh that he released shouldn't have lured her in the way it did, but arousal pooled, staining the sheets beneath her.
"You gonna be a good girl?" Michael husked, unmoving, relishing in the immediate nod she gave, but it wasn't enough. "I know you can speak, baby. Tell me."
"I'll be good." She whimpered, the ache between her legs growing by the second. "I promise. Please, Mike... I need you."
A hot sigh of relief feel from her swollen lips once his hips began to move again. The movement almost sob inducing as the sound of their bodies pressing together set the soundtrack for the morning, overshadowing the sophisticated bird song just beyond the window.
A strong hand grabbed against the meat of her hip, harsh and bruising, but so deliciously addictive that the uttering of his name soon followed, over and over like a broken record or a sort after prayer. Burning and so fucking delicious.
With the tilt of his head, his mouth devoured her own, pouring every thought and emotion into a hazy kiss. Messy and a little off kilter as his tongue moved against her own, forcing her to move her own head and an angle that ached, but she wouldn't dare correct.
Sweat gathered at his hairline as he pulled her thighs tight around his hips, gasping as the slight movement helped him slide further into her warmth, his tip hitting that designated spot bound to drive her crazy.
"Michael!" She gasped, face flushed and twisted from the overwhelming surge of ecstasy, like she could feel everything all at once and yet, nothing at all.
"Come on, darlin', let go, I wanna feel you." He urged, quickening his pace in a manner she always found impossible.
"Fuck - ah..."
The burn ripped through her, his name the sin on her lips as her orgasm tore through her body, possessing her with the inability to control her limbs as she thrashed and withered beneath him. Her voice hoarse with praise, clinging onto the last waves when suddenly her release triggered his own.
His formally precise movement, the ones that came from a dancers hips, turned sloppy, thusts falling out of a rhythm to a well timed groan as he spilled himself inside the latex and eventually fell against her warm body.
Ragged breaths and rapidly rising chests filled the space around them. When was the last time she's felt so fulfilled?
Sweaty and satisfied, the temptation to forget the world around them was easy enough. If either of them thought they could avoid consequences, maybe they would. In the safety of her bed, Michael felt normal. She's seen versions of himself he'd forever hidden from public viewing and stayed. She valued him not for his status, but for the man that lay beneath it.
A small, soothing hand cradled the back of his neck, careful to avoid the tender flesh that lived a few inches North. She was good that way, knowing what he needed and when was the right time to put those actions into practice.
"Baby, we need to get up." She gently encouraged once she had finally caught her breath, pressing a soft kiss to his hairline, completely unphased by the dampness clinging to his skin after their earlier escapade.
A hard groan could be heard, the sound bouncing off the four walls around them and landing deep in his throat. "Girl, why'd you gave to remind me? I was at peace pretending for a while."
A light giggle passed her lips, his attitude, as bratty as it was, somehow still charmed her. Nudging his shoulder, she watched in amusement as he pulled himself from her and flung his body down on the empty space beside her, honey brown eyes narrowed in mild irritation both of them knew to be a lie.
"I'm sorry, Michael." And she was, he knew that. "If I could keep you here forever, you know I would."
"Yeah..." He nodded, lips quirked into a small grin. "I know."
"But you can come back tonight and you know..." Brows arched, her voice dipped in tone. "my bed will always be waiting for you."
"It had better be." Pouncing forward, Michael trapped her against the mattress, prepping a series of well throughout kisses over every inch of skin he could get to and relishing in the delightful laugh he recieved as a reward.
Eventually, she managed to tear away with a playful push against his shoulder. "Go and shower. You stink."
Sliding out from the warmth they'd created, her gleaming eyes watched as he moved across the room with a gentle, "Stop looking at me." To which she rolled her eyes, but found it hard to follow his order. In fact, her eyes stayed trained on his retreating figure until he hid himself behind the ensuite bathroom door.
With him out of sight, her bare feet touched the cold ground for the second time that morning. Picking the white shirt from where it had been thrown, she pulled the comforting piece of fabric over head and exited the safety of her own room.
In the main space of her apartment, she moved gracefully towards the other bathroom where she cleaned herself up before she started with her day.
Back in the kitchen, busy hands moved to make breakfast. Michael wasn't much of an eater, he never had a big appetite and unless reminded, he could go days at a time forgetting the fuel he needed to keep up with the energy his twenty five year old body held. As much as she tried talking to him about it, the worry of her words never got her anywhere. Pretty quick into their realtionship, she'd taken note that nagging only laid the foundations of his own stubbornness. To get Michael to do something, you had to physically place the thing in front of him and make it seem like it was his idea.
Slicing fruit and filling a bottle of orange juice was the least she could do to ensure his day started as well as she hoped it would continue. Gutting the seeds of a fresh pomegranate plucked from her fruit bowl, her actions were placed on a temporary pause when a knock at the door alerted her to a guest.
It was no surprise as she crossed the room and flung the door open, the face that greeted her back was the harded, worn exterior of an overworked bodyguard.
"Hello, Bill." She spoke politely with a smile.
"Hey, kid." He acknowledge with a stern nod. "Where is he? He's going to make us late." As if to make a point, Bill raised his arm, kind eyes falling to the face of the watch strapped to his wrist.
With a small laugh, she invited him in with a gentle promise that she would go and find him so they could go on their merry way. She knew the pressure he was under. Working for the Jackson's really should have been something that came with a manual, but Bill navigated the challenge well and frankly, she didn't know what Michael would do without him. Having troubles with his own father, Bill had somehow became a surrogate for the life he could've had.
Closing the door behind her as she entered her bedroom, her soft voice called out to her boyfriend as her gaze fell to the door of her ensuite, opened a few centimeters to reveal a small stir of steam developed from the shower he must have taken.
With no sound of running water and with the assumption he must be getting ready, she crossed the floor as quietly as she possibly could, carefully sliding into the room and allowed herself to oggle glorious the sight that greeted her.
The well toned muscles of his bare back, strong and flexed, proof that the body of a dancer would always triumph. His skin smooth and taut, a mouthwatering shade of brown, marbled with a contrasting lightness where the pigment had been stripped, but still looked as perfect as the rest of him was. He hated it. She knew that and as she trained her eyes upwards, the view of him covering the lighter spots on his face with a darker foundation shade in the mirror was made visable.
As if sensing her presence, his gaze met her own stare in the reflection and the beautiful smile he was known for began to curve against his lips, a subtle, but very real flush rising against his cheeks, flashing a peak at those famous dimples she adored so much.
"Hey, stop watching me." He laughed, though she could hear the subtle insecurities lay deep within his tone. "I'm shy."
"After what we just did?" She teased, giggling as the redness of his cheeks flared further.
With the initiative to step towards him, she found herself standing in front her lover, jumping up onto the bathroom counter and sitting with her back pressed to the mirror. As she reached to take the foundation bottle and sponge from his hands, Michael's large, protective grip instantly fell to her waist, further elongating that breathtaking smile. All perfect teeth and lips. She found herself questioning how she got so lucky.
"You're so pretty." She spoke offhandly, not realising she's said it until his forehead came down to rest of her shoulder, hiding his flaming face from view. "None of that, come on, let me help."
Eventually, Michael pulled back and allowed her to pile a light layer of make up on his face, something he used to be deeply insecure about until he realised she loved him exactly as he was. If it were up to her, he wouldn't have to hide away like this, but Michael refused to go outside without it and so she helped when he allowed it.
With a squeeze against her waist, the depth of his dark eyes focused entirely on her, the way she looked and felt, so heavenly and entirely his. She took over all of his senses and Michael didn't mind one bit. "You smell good." He muttered, doe eyed and in love.
"I smell like you." She countered, tilting his chin down so she could cover a small spot beneath his eye. "Look up."
He did as he was told with little argument, but laughed. "I like that you smell of me. Makes me feel like I marked my territory."
"Yeah? I always knew you were an animal." The laugh he gave was reward enough and then she remembered why she was rushed off to find him in the first place. Clearing her throat, her hand rest against the apples of his cheek, thumb carefully brushing the delicate skin beneath his eye. "Bill's in the living room."
"What?" His voice rose in pitch, eyes wide as he took into account the thin white t-shirt barley covering her tempting frame. "And he saw you? Like this?"
Before he could spiral further, the sound of her merry laughter broke through the surface and his eyes softened almost instantly.
"Relax, would you?" Pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, she finally finished with the make up she'd been applying to his face and neck when she jumped down and handed him the long sleeved, Mickey Mouse sweater he'd picked out for the day. "We're grown. I think he knows what goes on between us when he isn't around."
"Yeah, but..." Michael's voice carried low while he shrugged into the magenta material, smoothing the fabric over with large hands once his head poped out the neck of the fabric. "I don't want him to say anything."
"You're over thinking, baby. You know he cares too much to embarrass you on purpose." With a simple peck to his lips, she felt his smile against his own and then playfully nudged him. "Brush your hair. I'll finish cutting your fruit and then you can leave."
So that's what they did. Fifteen minutes later, she found herself standing in her doorway, sending him off with a simple kiss, a soft promise to see him later and a tub of cut up fruit and a bottle of fresh orange juice.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Wasn't that the bullshit phase a Roman poet spewed once up a time and it stuck? Well, she supposed it must true since she had found herself resonating with the saying more and more in recent days.
Since embarking on the Victory Tour, she had barley seen Michael. It wasn't through a lack of longing on either of their part, their situation simply dictated that it wasn't something that could happen easily for the two of them. While he was out, commanding stages night after night, she still had a life of her own, a career she'd grown passionate about and responsibilities she couldn't wiggle out of at the drop of a hat.
Although all of the shows for this tour were hosted in the States or Canada, she couldn't tear herself away from her job in order to follow him around, even if his brothers wives expected her to exactly that, just as they had.
Independence clung to her body, stubborn but admirable. It was one of the many qualities Michael had constantly praised her for. She didn't need him to be her own person, she existed in a reality where she didn't rely on someone else to lead a fulfilling life, but stuck by his side because he elevated every aspect.
Days passed by in a relatively similiar manner. Wake up, get ready, work, come home, dinner and if she was really lucky, Michael could sneak away for an hour or two as she settled down for the night and they would talk until one of them into a peaceful fell asleep, though it was usually her on account on Michael's persistent insomnia keeping him up at all hours.
With a hectic day at work finally drawing to a close and having caught up with all the tedious household chores she had been putting off, all that was left to do was relax. A foreign concept with how busy life had proved to be within the past couple of weeks. It was beginning to feel like the universe had purposely been conspiring against her.
The warm, comforting weight of a checkered blanket sat across her lap as she lost her mind in some other world ― her latest read divulging into a welcome distraction from reality. The words lingered, painting delicate landscapes of a place far away from earth, one she could lose herself in for hours with no repercussions.
Page after page, consumed by captivating dialogue and complex character, then it all came crashing to a halt by a shrill ringing breaking through the quiet. With the beginnings of a smile etched against the corners of her lips, she made quick work to slide her bookmark into the correct page before she darted forward to retrieve the phone up off the hook.
Leaning back against the plump sofa cushions, she brought the landline to her ear while curling a single finger around the curved wire. "991 emergency, how can I assist you today?"
Sharp, melodic laughter broke through the silence and without so much as a word, it would have been impossible to mistake the sound for anyone else. "You're so silly."
"Me?" A dramatic gasp filled the space between them. "Never."
"Yes, girl, you." His delicate hum warmed her from the inside out and with the futtering close of her eyelids, she could imagined him sprawled out on his hotel bed, all sparkling eyes and beaming grin. "I miss you."
"Hmm... me too. You always were my favourite distraction." She found herself admitting, tucking her legs beneath her body.
"Distraction from what?"
"The terrors of the mundane."
He was the total opposite, but perhaps that was what drew her towards him. Opposites attract and his life was so vastly different from her own.
The first day the met, he's been running, running like he was born to do it his whole life. Legs moving with vigor, leaving little room for breath and yet, he hadn't seemed to have broken so much as a sweat. His frantic actions, a mission to hide away from a small crowd that had gathered had him running straight into the first building he could see with a tired head of security flanking him.
It had been there, in the middle of a forgotten library that they first set eyes on each other.
The laboured breathing of his companion had been the first thing to draw her eyes to the new comers. Being one of the few people actually using library at the time, Michael was quick to meet her gaze and offered a shy smile with a quite apology. Did she recognise him? Of course and she knew he knew she had, but she brushed it off and went back to searching the shelves.
It was then that a little voice echoed in his mind, urging him forward and giving him a small burst of confidence to ask what she was searching for. Things escalated quickly from there. She asked why he's entered the library in the first place and he sheepishly had no choice but to admit his car had broken down, leaving him no other option but to get out. Instantly, he was recognised and before he really knew what was happening, he was running from a surge in the crowd.
The library had offered him not only solitude as his head of security made a few important calls to send a new car their way, but companionship that went beyond a simple conversation. What bloomed that day had grown into something that surpassed both of their expectations and had lead to her sitting idly by on a random Tuesday evening, grinning like a fool into the phone as he recounted life on the road.
Jermaine was still driving him crazy, no shock there, but he wasn't much trouble when his wife was around. Tito and Randy bickered a lot and when they weren't too loud, Michael found their little spats pretty amusing. He noted cautiously that he's gotten closer with Jackie since they started back up, how Randy constantly stole everyone's fresh socks and mostly, how he wished Joseph would leave them alone.
The tumultuous relationship he had with his father had become somewhat more contentious as Michael had grown into his adulthood. No longer shackled by his father's control, but somehow still entirely under his thumb. He hated it. Michael was a lover by nature and his family meant the world to him, but had also been his breaking point. The abuse, the taunts, the never ending cycle that brought on the feeling of not being enough.
He wanted more for himself.
Craved it like the air he breathed.
As he spoke, she offered him loving reassurances of how she cared, how she knew he was destined to do more. The Thriller album was really just the beginning for him and how he already had changed the aspects of the world, not just with his talent, but his heart too.
"How is it you always know what to say to make me feel better." He mused and she could practically picture the way in which he was dragging his hand through his curls.
"Comes from a year of loving you." Her voice soft, leaving no room for arguments as she curled up against herself, holding a pillow close as if it could mimic the press of his body against her own. It didn't work, but it didn't hurt either.
"I love you too. I really wish you were here right now." He admitted. "Everything has been so crazy. At least if you were here, I would have something solid to hold onto."
"I wish I was there too." She confessed. "I hate knowing you're so unhappy."
"It's not that I don't love our fans, you know I do. I just thought that by now, with everything I've done, with the success of the last album, I might have been given the opportunity for a solo tour."
He wanted it, more than he wanted anything. A chance to prove himself as not only an artist, but a performer away from his brothers, where he called the shots and had all the creative liberties. He wanted to be hands on, to shine as MJ rather than the child from the Jacksons.
This wasn't something he discussed openly with most people, but with her and the trust they had build, confessing his deepest thoughts had been a relief he'd been craving for years now. She never judged, never cut in, only ever encoruaged his passions and offered comfort he'd been denied for years.
She had her own personal grievances with the Victory tour. While, yes, it has stripped him of the solo projects he had been actively seeking out, it went beyond that. She thought it was too soon to get back on stage after the Pepsi incident, he had yet to full recover and was still expected to perform every night.
If that wasn't bad enough, everything that went wrong suddenly became Michael's fault. The ticketing system, the lack of Jackson music in the shows, the ticket pricing. It seemed he had a target on his back and she was the only one there to comfort him.
"It's going to be your day soon, baby, I know it." She said, innocently, like it was a fact and not an opinion. "How about I fly out and see you soon?"
"Really? Don't play games with me."
The excitement inched in his tone provoked and onslaught of butterflies to form in pit of her stomach. This silly, brilliant man had no idea what he meant to her.
"Yeah, of course. I can clear it with work." She laughed. "I feel bad. Your brothers all have their wives, kids and friends flying out constantly to see them. I hate that you don't have that."
"Well, that's not entirely true." He mused.
"Huh?"
"Didn't I tell you?" Michael breathed a delicate sigh, raising an arm above his head to fluff at the pillow beneath him. "Diana said she'd come out and see a show next month."
"Diana Ross?"
The women Michael had idolised since he was a mere child, far too young to be raised in a world to cruel. He latched onto those around him that brought a form of solace he lacked in his day to day life. Diana had been a source of comfort, someone he not only looked up, but longed for.
She knew of the childhood crush he had on the brilliant pop legend, had witnessed first hand as he got gooey eyed whenever she entered the room. She tried not to make a habit out of jealousy, but it couldn't be helped when your boyfriend looks at another women like she crafted the sun just to make his days burn a little warmer.
Still, she never made a scene. She trusted Michael and so naturally, he never sensed any of the discomfort his relationship with his mentor may had caused.
"Yeah, the very one." He sounded almost giddy, retelling the conversation he'd indulged in only a day ago. "She currently has a break between her Vegas shows and said she would fly out next month to come and watch us. Isn't that great?"
"Yeah, that's wonderful, Michael." She nodded and if he noticed her tone fell flat, he didn't draw attention to it. "I'm really happy for you."
"Me too." He practically beamed. "Maybe you could come the same night? Or the show after? You know I'll be putting on my best perfomance for you."
"You'd better."
Eventually their conversation turned to her, how her job was, if her boss was still a hard-ass and if she hid from her responsibilities by indulging in a new read.
Cuddled up against in her blanket, wrapped tightly in a familiar white shirt, she recounted the vast details of the latest book to capture her attention. Michael hummed with appreciation as she told tales of a world different from the one they lived in, packed with adventure, magic and longing.
Cutting in, he eventually asked if she would read a chapter to him. Instantly, she obliged, picking her book up from the coffee table and skipping straight back to the first page. One chapter became two and eventually, she stopped reading as the sounds of his deep breaths evening out signalled he'd entered the dream state.
Loving Michael had always come with consequences, mostly through no fault of his own. He couldn't control the screaming fans or the intrusive paparazzi. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to keep her name out of headlines and reporters mouths. She wasn't a secret, but she wasn't all that public either. His management thought it would be better that way. Maintain the single image to keep the fans invested. While it certainly made going outside their houses challenging at times, she could handle it.
What she couldn't handle, however, was the tense silence that seemed to build while he was away. The calls hadn't completely came to a devastating end, but they had become few and far between. When he did get the chance to call, it was brief, rushed, like it was more of an obligation than a privilege.
She tried not to take it to heart and told herself he was busy and she knew that was true. The tour was in full swing and Michael was being pulled in all directions, but suddenly, it felt like he was slipping from her grasp and the tighter she tried to hold on, the quicker he fell.
He wasn't cruel, she knew that to be a fact and so maybe somewhat foolishly, she continued to give him the benefit out the doubt. Not wanting to badger him while he was working, she allowed him to take things at his own pace, on his own terms, but even she admit, the lack of communication was growing somewhat tiresome now.
She missed him, probably more than she was supposed to and in a days time, she was set to be flying out to New York to see him. The tickets were booked, a bag was half packed and for a brief period of time, she was excited.
Soon, that exciment turned to dread.
Would he want to see her at all? What if he'd decided he wanted to call it off and was too kind to do it over the phone?
Doubts swarmed her already overcrowded mind and with a dismissive sigh, she forced herself to shake them away.
She loved Michael. Michael loved her and she trusted him enough to be honest with her.
Early morning passed and before she knew it, mid afternoon hit. Taking a break from packing for her trip, she told herself to go out and get some fresh air. Maybe being cooped up all day had been a contributing factor to misery and so she left the warmth of her apartment, telling herself a brief walk around the park would calm her nerves, but she didn't make it that far.
Sat on the floor, just opposite, the apartment right across from her, she saw it. The newspaper her neighbour must have subscribed to and hadn't be home to take it inside their own place yet. And like it was mocking her, she found her eyes drawn to the black and white print, an unmistakable image burnt on the front page.
Now, usually, tabloid gossip was of no interest to her. She really had very little interest in what celebrities were getting upto in their free time. Then she realised she must have been a hypocrite because when the picture showed the undisputable snapshot of her lover, pressed tight against a beautiful goddess, sharing a sly smile she thought he had reserved just for her, she suddenly changed her mind.
People had warned her, men like Michael don't do monogamy. He's too young, too famous, the world was at his feet and settling down would be a disservice. How idiotic had she been to call them cynical, to push aside any doubt and run straight towards him with nothing blind trust?
She remembered asking him about it once and how he replied innocent enough, assuring her that he wasn't like that, that women throwing themselves at him made him uncomfortable. He was too shy, too nervous.
But then again, this was no ordinary women. No, those dark eyes and beautiful curls were brunt into her memory.
'MICHAEL AND DIANA: FROM MENTOR TO LOVER?'
She wanted to throw up.
Every trace of rationality left her body as she watched her hands pluck the paper from her neighbour's welcome mat, stealing the item with very little thought and instsntly turning on her heel to let herself back into her apartment.
Back in the safety of her own home, she gave herself a second or two to calm her nerves, not yet noticing the shaking foundation of her hands or the rapid beating of her heart against her ribcage.
It couldn't be true. He wouldn't do it.
Would he?
For a few minutes, the entirety of her weight leaned carelessly against the door, eyes cletched shut as she willed herself to relax. She couldn't break before she knew the truth, so with a deep breath and a strong thirst for gospel, she forced herself to move, to sit down and read the entire article from beginning to end.
The words hit like lightening against water. Painful and damaging as the writer detailed the events of the night before. How Diana Ross had been spotted at the Jackson's Victory tour, polished and proud for the boys she'd watched grown into stars, how she sang and dance along, then slipped backstage mid-performance and ultimately found herself leading Michael up to her hotel room straight after curtain call.
Flaky witnesses reported seeing them close, all hands and flirty exchanges. Of course, this could be nothing more than a fabrication. After all, the photo didn't show anything outwardly damning, but she knew Michael, she knew that look and it was far from friendly.
Ice filled her veins, a sudden coldness deverstating her from the inside out. Had this been the reason he's been so agonisingly distant with her lately?
He wanted Diana. She's known that and like an idiot, she had allowed fate to make a victim of her. Just like Stephanie Mills had.
Like her, Michael had dated the young Broadway star not too long before he'd been cast in 'The Wiz' alongside Diana. Stephanie (who played the leading role on stage) had been the expected to take the role of Dorothy in the movie production and then suddenly, she was out of the picture, the rug pulled from under her feet. Diana got the part and brought Michael into the picture with the promise of making him the Cowardly Lion.
Shortly after the contracts were drawn, his realtionship with Stephanie fizzled out and the two went their separate ways.
Once, she had asked him if the end of that particular realtionship had anything to do with Diana. At the time, he smiled shyly and denied it, but the recent article had her rethinking every word he had ever spoke to her.
Had he love her at all? Was she just a place holder until the real thing came along?
It hit like a punch to the gut and before she even had time to process when she had just read, she felt a familiar streak of wetness trickle down her cheek. She was crying and she hated herself for not being able to stop.
Despite not yet having lost him, she knew this couldn't last and it hurt. The first man she had ever truly loved and he played her just as easily as he played his favourite song. Was that all she was to him? A temporary distraction?
Time stretched. Crying herself into a heavy migraine, she didn't move an inch. The newspaper still sat on her lap forty five minutes later and with one last lingering glance, she knew what she had to do.
Until now, she hadn't bothered calling Michael. It was a difficult process while he was on the road, but not entirely impossible. Before he had left, he's passed along numbers, given her code words and fake names to bypass any security in case she really did need to talk to him and at this point, she absolutely needed to hear his voice.
Standing on shaky legs, her body stiff from sitting in the same position for too long, she forced her feet forward, the walk across the room feeling more like a marathon than a simple five second journey. Reaching for the landline, her body slid down the wall, knees coming to her chest as she dialled.
The process to speak to Michael on the phone was a lengthy one, and truthfully, she hadn't processed or remembered most of it. Time seemed to drag as slow as possible while simultaneously passing by in a distinctive blur. Whoever had been playing security in the measures of Jackson phone calls eventually let up and told her they would be passing the call forward.
Nerves began to bubble before she fully registered what was about to happen. Her mind a swirl of printed words and painful glimpses of a smile that should have been hers.
The ringing that once whould've provided hope, only brought along dread and for one brief, tempting moment, she seriously contemplated hanging up and dealing with the issue another day. She didn't have to do this now. Before she could even attempt to bring the reciever down, the ringing stopped and for a second, she was greeted with clumsy rustling.
He'd picked up.
"Hello?"
The familiarity of his voice only aided in furthering the devastation she felt, the welling of tears she stubbornly refused to let fall. When he heard no reply, Michael spoke in greeting again. As the silence lingered, he seriously considering hanging up but then he heard the subtle heavy breath and realised, he knew exactly who that was.
A soft call of her name was all it took and suddenly she felt like a scared child during a nightmare, lost, confused and needing to tackle the beast head on.
"Baby, are you there?" To his credit, Michael actually did sound concerned.
And she hated it.
Did he not know? He seemed entirely oblivious to headlines currently making their way into the average American household. Maybe he really hadn't seen it, but she couldn't be sure she trusted anything he said or did anymore.
"Yeah." She spoke for the first time, clearing her throat and resting her chin against her knees. "I'm here."
"Hey." She could hear the smile in his tone. "Are you all packed? I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Bill will meet you at the airport and you ca-"
Unable to listen to his ramblings of a visit she wasn't sure would happen, she found herself cutting him off. "Is it true?"
For a second, there was nothing. He didn't speak or hum in confusion, he stayed so quite. So quite, she could barley hear the small breaths of air pass through his mouth
"Huh?" He eventually spoke, though the word lacked conviction.
"Is it true?" She repeated, eyes screwed shut, voice completely void of emotion.
"Is what true?"
He played the fool well, she would give him that.
"Last night." Her voice wavered. "You and Diana. Is it true?"
He paused and it was heavy. No playful taunts or amused laughter. Just a hefty silence where his voice should have been.
"I mean, she came to the show." Michael eventually confessed and she could hear the distinct sound of his black loafers hit the floor as he paced back and fourth. "I told you she would."
"Yeah." A bitter laugh passed through her lips. "What you didn't tell me was how you would find yourself in her hotel room by the end of the night."
A painful gasp tore through his throat and only further perpetuated the ache in her chest. He knew now and he hadn't denied it, he couldn't. She could picture the way he looked when he was stressed, brows furrowed inwards, begging to be soothed with a gentle touch, but she wasn't there and even if she had been, she no longer felt obligated ease his tension when she could feel the pain of her own heart breaking.
"H-how?" His voice cracked. Quickly clearing his throat, Michael closed his eyes and then found the courage to speak again. "How did- how did you know?"
With an unflattering chuckle, her head hit the wall behind her, eyes snapping open to view the plain, white ceiling above her. "And here I thought you were always so vigilant of the paparazzi."
For a moment, Michael forgot how to breath. They'd seen, she'd seen and he's always promised himself, he would never hurt her. Shuffling on his feet, usually he knew what to do to make tense moment fall into laughter ― it was the way he survived, but right here, right now, he was met with the realisation that there really was nothing funny to laugh about.
"Just tell me ―" The words in her throat broke before she was able to form a full sentence. With an unsteady breath and tears welling against her waterline, she tried again. "Just tell me, did something happen between you two last night?"
What greeted her wasn't a confession. He didn't grovel or admit he was at fault, but the heavy silence that lingered between the phoneline told her everything he refused say with words. He'd done it, been intimate with a women that wasn't her and now he didn't have guts to confess his sins.
Before she could stop it, a tear slipped and anger swelled, ugly and unwelcome. Michael hadn't uttered a word and somehow, that felt worse, like he was running from responsibility or hoping she was too stupid to call him out on it.
"Tell me, you coward!" Her voice seethed, but while the angry was present, there was no mistaking the deverstation that lingered beneath. "Tell me why! Why would you do this to me?"
No matter how hard she tried, she could never imagine a situation where things would have transpired this way. They'd been happy, she knows they had been.
Every time they were together, a beacon of hope suddenly lit the world around them. That gorgous smile of his rarely fell and he trusted her enough to keep his secrets. That must mean something. Michael didn't really trust anyone.
At some point, he must have loved her, for all that was worth.
Eventually, the shock wore off and he found himself able to talk. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" She mocked with an cruel scoff. Picking at the loose thread on her jeans, her gaze fell still. "Why? Tell me."
Like the air had been vacuumed out of the room, she suddenly found it hard to breath. Every inhale burnt, every exhaled required too much effort. Wiping the wetness from her cheek, she felt the weight of the conversation breaking her down.
"I don't have a good answer." Michael breathed out, frozen like stone as he looked out the window of his hotel to a beautiful view of New York. It did nothing for him. How could he admire anything after huring someone he held so dear? "Not one that will make sense."
"I don- I don't care. I d-deserve to know." Suttering and fumbling over her words, she vowed to get an answer out of him one way or another. "Why did you do this? A-all I ever did was love you."
"I don't want to make excuses." His voice had never sounded so fragile before. "For as long as I've known Diana, she..." Like he didn't know how to continue his sentence, the words lost momentum and came to a sudden halt.
"She?"
Releasing a small whimper, Michael closed his eyes. "Please don't make me say this."
"If you don't tell me," she started, her voice hoarse but serious in tone. "I'm hanging up."
"No!" Panic and desperation mixed into a deverstating plea. "No. D-don't hang up."
"Then stop stalling."
"Okay." He found himself nodding, though she couldn't see. Pacing back and fourth once again, Michael finally convinced himself to bare the truth. "Since I've know her... I don't know, it's like she has me under a spell. People thought it was some childhood crush, I tried to tell myself the same, that it would fade with time, but it didn't."
And it had been true.
The harmless crush he had on Diana in his youth had never been a secret. They'd joked about it plenty of times, in the press or on TV. At the time, it seemed sweet, a little boy infatuated with his mentor.
Then seasons passed and he grew older. So had she, but suddenly the age gap didn't seem quite so large. The crush hadn't faded, but certainly felt forbidden, so Michael kept his thoughts and strong emotions to himself, assuming she would never want him.
That was until last night.
"Keep going."
"I don't know what to say." He admitted. "She means something to me."
"You love her." She spoke flat. Not in a questioning tone, but as though it was a straight fact no one could deny.
"I d-don't know." And as Michael said it, he hated himself for it.
Here he had this beautiful, incredible, funny women and she liked him, truly liked him as Michael and not the big star the world had built him into. She comforted when he was upset, held him when he was lonely, she told him stories of other worlds to read him to sleep and loved him more purely than anyone else ever had.
She wanted nothing from him and here he was, breaking her heart.
"You wouldn't have done this if you didn't." He heard the exhaustion in her voice, but nothing could have prepared him for what she asked next. "What happened last night?"
The world tilted on it's axis. Did she want him to relive it?
His heart pouted, hot tears threatening to fall loose as he recounted the night in his mind until the physical need to vomit presented itself.
"You're not serious." He muttered.
"Not the gory details." She assured, wanting to spare herself more than him from that particular aspect. "Just the build up. I want to know why. What lead you to follow her when you knew I was waiting for you?"
Michael uttered her name, delicate and precise. Maybe if he said it soft enough, she would take mercy on him, but he knew he didn't deserve it and that thought alone provoked the first tear to fall.
"I really don't want to talk about this."
He was shy in nature and she knew it. Talking about the intimate details of his late night escapades would've been hell, but she didn't let up. If she did, she provided him an out and that was something she couldn't afford.
"You owe me this much, Michael."
With a quivering sigh, he found himself submitting entirely to her request. To deny her would only cause more heartache and he couldn't stand it. Her pain brought more tears from the both of them as he explained the lead up to the night before.
How Diana appeared before the show and met with him backstage. It was fun and playful. A little flirtation back and fourth was nothing new with the two of them, but this felt different. Her touched lingered, her gaze had darkened. She had been zoning in like a wild animal hunting its prey. When he noticed, Michael excused himself to get ready for the show, shy and awkward with the thought of his lover back home.
While he was getting dressed, she'd taken it upon herself to speak with his brothers, light banter, nothing like it had been with him and then when Michael came back out, she hugged him for good luck and pressed a kiss against the corners of his mouth. Not necessarily any indication she wanted anything more and from a distance, it would have looked innocent enough, but he had noticed the longing gleam in her eyes and knew there was nothing holy about the thoughts she'd been having.
He turned towards her, confused but excited as she promised she would be waiting for him backstage after the show.
The particular perfomance was full of energy. Michael had always been on top form, but there was a very distinct spring in his step that night and once he left the stage, dripping in sweat and desperate for a shower, there she was: waiting for him just as she promise.
One thing lead to another. Excited hands, a first kiss and then the invitation to her hotel. It was like the world had closed off and they were the only two people in the world.
So blinded by a childhood fantasy coming true, Michael forgot all about the paparazzi swarming and the women waiting for him in LA.
Once the deed was done, guilt swarmed and he politely excused himself and later vomited in the bathroom, but he couldn't take it back, no matter how hard he tried.
As he concluded the tale in deveratating detail, a tidal wave of misery washed over both of them. A sob of agony ripped from her lungs and Michael, sitting on his bed with her head hung low, wanted nothing more than to die in that moment.
What had he done?
"Funny thing is, she doesn't even want me." He admitted with a bittersweet laugh as if that would make up for his indiscretions.
"What?" She spoke for the first time in what felt like hours, voice rough from the tears she'd spilt.
"She told me after..." he began, squeezing his eyes tight at the memory. "that i-it meant nothing to her, no one could know, that it was embarrassing she even went there with me."
For reasons even she couldn't comprehend, her heart broke for him despite what he had put her through because on some level, she understood Michael.
He wanted to be loved, craved a life where he was treated as more than a prize horse and was accepted by those around him, not only as an equal but as a human being.
He's been used by the industry from the age of five and treated like nothing more than a shiny trophy for the world to gawp at. Having Diana dangle her love just to snatch it away would have broken him in ways he never thought possible, but if she comforted him, she would have nothing left for herself. For the first time in over a year, she had to be selfish.
The ache in her chest felt worse than it ever had before and with an ugly sniffle, she resisted the urge to tell him things would be okay.
Whiping a neverending stream of tears, she responded with a simple: "Well, I hope it was worth it."
And it was in that moment, he heard it. The lack of emotion now tainting her words. Every ounce of warmth she had ever held for him blown out by the cold truth of his betrayal and Michael felt the air leave his lungs when he realised what that meant.
He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't.
"Please." He spoke in a desperate attemmpt to win her back. "I love you."
"No you don't." Her laugh barley had any bite to it, but still stung from miles away. "You love how I love you. That's not the same."
There had been no real harshness in the words she spoke, but his blood ran cold, like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over his head and he was expected not to shiver.
It wasn't true, he did love her. She had to know.
She had to.
"No, I love you." He furiously protested.
"You wouldn't do this to someone you love."
"It was a careless mistake! I don't want to lose you." Michael rarely raised his voice, but there are exceptions to every rule. "Fly out tonight like we planned. We-we can talk it over. I can- I can make this right." He spoke fast, like if he could get enough words in, she would see reason and he wouldn't face a version of reality where she didn't exist.
"Are you crazy? Listen to yourself." She scoffed. "Why the hell would I fly out? We're done. Don't contact me again."
With a harsh slam, the phonecall ended and with it, so did any hope of the two of them as a couple.
Finally, she let it all go. If she had been sobbing before, it was nothing compared to the barrage of tears now streaming at an alarming rate. Her heart pounded, her throat ached with heavy cries, but nothing could've prepared her for the loneliness that descended over her like a dark cloud.
This wasn't as simple as losing a boyfriend, Michael had been another part of her and now they didn't even have the trust of a friendship to fall back on.
Alone in her apartment, she allowed the sadness to overwhelm her, refusing to move as she cried against the wall with her knees tucked to her chest and her face buried in the stiff denim. Her arms wrapped around herself as if that could protect her from a devastating fate that had already happened, but it was too late. You can't change the past.
An inky black hue stained the sky over Los Angeles, not a single star gleaming in sight, but there was no denial that night time had finally fallen.
In the early hours, the last thing the quite halls of a tired apartment bulding had expected to hear was the deafening sound of frantic, pounding knocks ricocheting from apartment twelve.
No one had the courage to step out into the hallway, but if they had, they would've been greeted with a rather peculiar sight of a desperate Michael Jackson, exhausted from an impulsive six hour flight, calling the name of his girlfriend through the door like a prayer.
He hadn't thought things through properly. The moment she hung up, he had rushed to his feet and ran to find Bill. His bodyguard confused, but unable to refuse the restless pop stars request to go back home.
He had a show that night. His brothers would've been livid and he dreaded to think the repercussions he would face with Joseph's wrath once he returned, but none of it seemed to matter in the large scale when he realised he was about to lose the best thing thst happened to him.
Ten minutes of unanswered knocking and aching calling of her name, Michael didn't know what to do. He couldn't force his way inside, that would only worsen the situation and so instead, he did the one thing that scared him more than anything. He became vulnerable.
"Please." He called out, the palm of his hand settling on the wood grain of her door. "I know you're in there. I saw your car in the lot."
Nothing.
His heart clentched painfully in his chest, fear rooted deep with the knowledge that if he couldn't get her to open the door, he might never see her again.
"Come on, you know me." A string of tears fell beneath the black aviators he wrote depiste the darkness of the night. "I'm not malicious and I would never want to hurt you. You've been so good to me, so good for me. I don't like who I am when you're not around."
His pleas went unanswered, but little did he know, only an inch or two away, she sat against the door in a pair of oversized pyjamas, a hand covering her mouth and nose to muffle the cries that broke lose. She was there, she was listening and he had absolutely no idea.
"Remember when you kissed me for the first time?" He cried, head hanging low while recounting that moment twelve months prior. "I'd been too scared to do it. My brothers had been teasing me for weeks, calling me a chicken and they were right because I was scared... not of you, but what it meant if I were to kiss you and have you reject it. It would've meant I'd lose you... really lose you, not as a partner, but as a friend too and I couldn't risk that."
"But I didn't need to." He continued, lips quivering with each breath he took. "Because you were brave enough for both of us, you took the leap and I remember thinking, 'wow, she's going to change my life.' And you did... from the very first time I saw you in the library, wearing that awful grey sweatshirt. For the first time in a long time, I felt human again."
Still, nothing, just the aching sound of his own stubborn tears refusing to let up and who was he to deny them? He's never felt a sadness so strong and entirely consuming. She was slipping from him, he could feel it and every second felt like a year without her voice.
"Please, just- just open the door." He tried one last time. "We can fix this. I can. I'm so sorry I hurt you. You mean everything to me."
When he was young, Michael had promised himself he would never turn out like his father, he would never purposefully hurt the people he loved. He had been so sure of himself too. In hindsight, looking on at the devestaion inflicted by his actions, maybe he was Joseph's son after all.
With no indication that she was even inside, Michael stepped back, arms around his stomach like he could hold himself together through willpower alone even as the pieces of him crumbled from within.
Until now, Bill had remained quiet, but slowly he inched closer and placed a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulders.
"Come on, kid, let's get you home." He spoke in a kindness only Bill held. "You can try again tomorrow."
And while he knew that to be true, he also realised how low the probability was that she would actually hear him out of she had already refused.
Allowing the safety of a man he regarded as a father to lead him outside, Michael could barley remember stepping into the car nor the exhausting journey back to Hayvenhurst. One second he was standing at her door and the next he was walking into his own home.
What he hadn't expected was to find his oldest sister, Rebbie to be awake at this hour. She turned to face the door, unable to see his eyes behind the glasses but she could sense the cruel pain plaguing her brothers half breathless frame.
"Get some sleep, Mike." She muttered after giving him a brief hug, telling him they could talk about this in the morning once he had caught his bearings.
Michael nodded and began to walk down the hall to find his own room when his sibling called his name once again.
Turning on his heel, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to lock himself away for the rest of eternity, he gave Rebbie a small nod of acknowledgment. "Yeah?"
"You're friends stopped by earlier... gave me a box of your stuff. I put it in your room."
Eyes widening with in inpending terror, Michael took off as fast as his feet would carry him and tore through his bedroom.
Everything looked the same. He hoarded books and albums, his room was never the most organised, but everything had a place that made sense to him. He knew where things were, which is why the cardboard box sitting on his bed felt so out of place.
Heavy legs carried him forward and with a shaking hand, he reached out to inspect the contents.
A stray comic book or two, a sketchbook he would doodle in from time to time, a key chain from his last trip to Disneyland and then he saw something painful enough to knock the breath from his lungs and bring his world crashing down.
He never thought that in the absence of her presence, the thing that would truly cause his heart to break would be what remained.
There it sat, folded neatly at the bottom of the box, stretched neckline and still smelling just like her ― his old white, t-shirt, the same one she stole the first night they shared together. She'd claimed it along with his heart... and now she'd given it back.
It felt wrong, like it no longer belonged to him.
Then he heard it again, those words echoed through hus mind, sure to haunt him for the rest of his life.
"You love how I love you. It's not the same... We're done. don't contact me again."
He's lost her and there was no one to blame but himself.
A/N: got all these imagine ideas and I wanna get them alll outttt!!!!
Warning: Age gap (I don’t mention it tho), smut, Michael fine ass
May 6th, 1995
The silk sheets were cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the furnace of his body beside you. The world outside was a blur of Los Angeles lights, but inside this suite, in this velvet-draped sanctuary, there was only him. Michael. His hand traced a lazy path down your spine, fingertips whispering over the sensitive skin just above your hip. You shivered, but not from the chill. From the heat. From the memory of what had just transpired, what had pushed you both to the very edge of something raw and desperate.
He’d been different tonight. Not the careful, almost shy lover you’d known in the months of discreet hotel meetings, the sweet secret you kept from the prying world. No. Tonight had been a conquest. A claiming. From the moment you’d stepped into the room, smelling of his favorite perfume, he’d looked at you with a hunger that stripped away all pretense. His voice, usually so soft and melodic, had been a low, commanding rasp. “Come here.”
And you had. You always did.
The foreplay hadn’t been gentle. It had been a frantic dance of teeth and tongues, of his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave faint marks, of your nails digging into the broad shoulders hidden beneath his simple black shirt. He’d pushed you against the panoramic window, the city sprawling beneath you, and kissed you until your lips felt bruised and swollen. He’d whispered things you’d never heard him say. “You drive me crazy. I need to feel you. All of you.”
It had been a frenzy. A delicious, terrifying blur of sensation.
Now, in the calm aftermath, your body was a map of every touch. Your muscles were liquid. Your mind was hazy, floating in a sea of endorphins and sheer, unadulterated need. But beneath that haze, a sharper, clearer emotion was crystallizing. It had been growing for weeks, fed by every stolen glance, every secret laugh, every time he’d held you just a little longer than necessary. Love. Not just the grateful affection of a sugarbaby for her generous daddy. Not the thrill of being with a legend. This was something deeper, more terrifying, more real.
Your heart was pounding again, but not from desire. From fear.
His fingers still moved on your back, a gentle, rhythmic pattern that felt like a heartbeat. You turned to face him. The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp casting a golden halo over the bed. He looked… serene. His famous features were softened in repose, the sharp jawline relaxed, the wide, expressive eyes half-closed. He was beautiful. Not the icon, but the man.
You took a breath that felt like shattering glass in your lungs.
“Michael?”
His eyes opened fully, the dark pools focusing on you. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was back to its normal, gentle tone. The beast had retreated, leaving the gentle soul you adored.
“Nothing’s wrong,” you said, your voice trembling. “Everything’s… perfect.”
He smiled, a small, private smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”
The words were a catalyst. The dam broke.
“I need to tell you something,” you whispered, the words rushing out before you could cage them. “And it’s scary. And it might… change things.”
His smile faded, replaced by a look of cautious concern. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. The sheet slid from his chest, revealing the smooth, toned skin you’d worshiped with your mouth just an hour before. “You can tell me anything. Nothing you say could ever make me send you away.”
It wasn’t about being sent away. It was about being kept.
You swallowed, gathering the scattered pieces of your courage. “This… what we do… it started as something else. You know that. I know that. It was fun. It was exciting. It was… convenient.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, to dive into those deep, knowing eyes. “But it’s not that anymore. For me. It’s not about the gifts, or the trips, or the secrecy. It’s about you. Just you. Being with you. Talking to you. Listening to you laugh. Seeing you get excited about a new song idea.” Your voice cracked. “I love you, Michael. Not like a fan. Not like a sugarbaby. I love you like… like I want to wake up next to you every day. Like I want to argue with you about what to eat for breakfast. Like I want to hold your hand when things get hard out there in the world.”
The silence that followed was thick, heavy, suffocating. He didn’t move. His expression didn’t change. He just stared, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for a trapdoor, a joke, a lie.
Your stomach twisted into a cold knot. You’ve ruined it. You’ve broken the spell. The beautiful, freaky, perfect spell.
Then, slowly, a tear welled in the corner of his right eye. It glimmered in the lamplight, a single, liquid diamond. It traced a path down his cheekbone, and he didn’t wipe it away.
“Oh, baby,” he breathed, the sound raw and full of wonder. “You really feel that?”
“Yes,” you said, the word a solid truth. “I really do.”
He blinked, and another tear followed the first. He cupped your face with both hands, his palms warm and slightly rough against your skin. “You have no idea,” he whispered, his voice shaking now. “No idea what it means to hear that. To have someone look at me… see me… and say that.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, a gesture of such intimate connection it made your chest ache. “I live in a world of mirrors. People see a reflection. They see the dance, the voice, the clothes. They don’t see the man inside. They don’t want to see him. It’s too messy. Too real.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you again. “But you… you look right through the mirror. You’ve always looked right at me.”
A hope, fragile and blazing, began to ignite in your core. “So… you…”
He didn’t let you finish. He kissed you. Not the frantic, possessive kiss of earlier, but a deep, slow, soul-searing kiss. It was a kiss of confirmation. Of acceptance. Of answer. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that threatened to dissolve you. When he finally broke away, his eyes were glistening, but a smile was breaking through like sunrise.
“I love you too,” he said, the words simple, clear, and devastatingly sincere. “I’ve been so scared to say it. Scared it would scare you. Scared it would break the… the arrangement. But I do. I love your mind. I love your spirit. I love the way you make me feel like I’m just a man, not a monument.”
The knot in your stomach unraveled, replaced by a soaring, dizzying euphoria. You laughed, a sound that was half-sob, half-triumph. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down onto you, holding him with all the strength your exhausted body could muster. He buried his face in your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin.
“So what happens now?” you asked, your voice muffled against his shoulder.
He lifted his head. The smile was now full, bright, real. “What happens now is we stop hiding. Not from the world—we’ll still have to be careful, for a while. But from each other.” He traced your lips with his thumb. “We date. Like real people. You’re my girlfriend. I’m your boyfriend. The sugarbaby thing is over. This… this is real.”
The words were a key turning in a long-locked door. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. Simple words. Mundane words. But for you, in this context, they were magic.
The emotion, the confession, the new, stunning reality—it all stirred something else deep inside you. The physical hunger, momentarily subdued by the emotional tsunami, began to reawaken. It pulsed in your veins, a low, throbbing beat that synced with the rapid rhythm of your heart.
You saw the same recognition flare in his eyes. The tenderness melted, just a fraction, into that earlier hunger. The beast wasn’t gone. It was just… transformed. Now it was a beast that loved you. A beast that you loved.
Your hand, which had been stroking his back, slid lower. Over the curve of his hip. To the firm, hot muscle of his thigh. You squeezed, feeling the power there. He gasped softly, his eyes darkening.
“You’re still here,” you murmured, a new boldness infusing your voice. “The you that took me against the window. The you that made me scream into the pillow. I want that you again. I want to feel you again… now that I know.”
A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. It was a look you’d never seen before—playful, possessive, and utterly yours. “You want to celebrate?” he asked, his voice dropping back to that commanding rasp.
“Yes,” you said, pushing him gently so he rolled onto his back. You straddled him, looking down at his glorious body laid out beneath you. The evidence of his desire was already rising, thick and eager against his stomach. “I want to celebrate us.”
He reached up and grabbed your hips, his grip firm and guiding. “Then celebrate,” he said. “Take what you want.”
You didn’t hesitate. You leaned down, your mouth finding his. The kiss quickly deepened, turned hungry. Your tongue plunged into his mouth, tasting him, claiming him. He groaned, his hands sliding from your hips to your ass, kneading the soft flesh there. You broke the kiss and trailed your lips down his neck, to his collarbone, to the hard plane of his chest. You took one of his flat, brown nipples into your mouth, sucking and teasing it with your tongue until he arched beneath you, a sharp cry escaping his lips.
“God,” he muttered, his fingers tightening on your ass.
You continued your journey south, your hair trailing over his skin. You kissed the tight ridges of his abdomen, the faint trail of hair leading downward. You nuzzled the hot, velvet-skinned flesh of his inner thighs, feeling him tremble. Then, finally, you took him into your mouth.
He was already fully erect, thick and heavy on your tongue. You moaned around him, the sensation of his taste, his heat, his size flooding your senses. You started slow, worshiping him with long, deep strokes of your mouth, your hands braced on his thighs. His hips began to move in tiny, involuntary thrusts, pushing him deeper into your throat. You relaxed, letting him in, taking him all until the head pressed against the back of your mouth.
“Oh, baby… yes… just like that,” he choked out, his hands now fisted in the sheets beside him.
You built a rhythm, sucking hard, swirling your tongue around the sensitive crown, then plunging deep again. You could feel his tension building, the muscles of his stomach tightening, his breath becoming ragged gasps. You wanted him to lose control. You wanted to feel him shatter in your mouth, to taste his release as a testament to this new beginning.
But he stopped you. With a sudden, gentle firmness, he pulled your head up. “No,” he breathed, his eyes blazing. “Not yet. I want to be inside you when it happens. I want to feel you come with me.”
He guided you back up his body, until you were kneeling over him again. His hands went to your waist, then lower, his fingers finding your wet, aching center. You were dripping for him, swollen and ready. He stroked you, his touch expert and relentless, making you buck and cry out.
“You’re so ready for me,” he murmured, a note of awe in his voice. “So perfect.”
Then he positioned you. He held your hips and guided you down, slowly, until the broad tip of his cock pressed against your entrance. You looked down, watching the moment of connection. Then you sank onto him.
The feeling was blinding. It was fullness, heat, a stretching pleasure that bordered on pain. You took him inch by inch, your body opening, accepting, welcoming him. When he was fully seated inside you, buried to the root, you both paused, panting, locked together in a perfect, breathless union.
He looked up at you, his face a mask of pure ecstasy. “You feel that?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper. “You feel how we fit? It’s like we were made for this.”
You could only nod, your vision swimming.
Then he moved. He thrust upward, a deep, powerful surge that lifted you on the bed. You cried out, the sound torn from your throat. He set a rhythm, not frantic like before, but deep and deliberate. Each stroke was a claiming. Each withdrawal was a promise of return. His hands gripped your hips, helping you move, grinding you against him on every downstroke so his pelvis rubbed against your clit with delicious, friction-filled precision.
The pleasure built in a steady, rising wave. It started in your core, where he filled you so completely, and radiated outwards, heating your skin, tightening your muscles, shortening your breath. You rode him, your own muscles working, your hips rolling in a counter-rhythm to his thrusts. The room filled with the sounds of your union: the slap of skin, the wet, slick sounds of penetration, his low groans, your high, keening moans.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his eyes locking onto yours.
You obeyed. You looked down into his face, into the eyes of the man you loved, as he moved inside you. The intimacy was devastating. It was more than sex. It was a communion. A vow.
The wave peaked. Your orgasm approached not as a surprise, but as a certainty. You felt it gathering, a tight, hot coil in your belly, ready to snap. Your moans became continuous, a stream of soundless pleasure. Your thighs began to shake.
“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, the words barely coherent.
“Come with me,” he growled, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more urgent. “Let it go. Give it to me.”
And you did. The coil snapped. A white-hot explosion of sensation detonated in your core, radiating out in pulsing waves of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your body convulsed around him, your inner muscles clamping down on his cock in rhythmic, milking spasms. You screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound of release.
The feeling of your climax triggered his own. With a final, driving thrust, he buried himself deep and held there. His body stiffened beneath you. A harsh, guttural cry ripped from his throat. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and urgent, flooding you with his release. The sensation of his cum, jetting deep into your clutching channel, sent another, smaller aftershock of pleasure rippling through you.
You collapsed forward, falling onto his chest, your body spent, your mind blank. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight as you both trembled in the aftermath. His skin was slick with sweat, his heart hammered against your ear.
For long minutes, you just lay there, fused together, breathing in the scent of sex and skin and him. The world had narrowed to this bed, this embrace, this moment.
Finally, he shifted, pulling out of you gently. He didn’t let you go. He kept you tucked against his side, your head on his shoulder. His hand stroked your hair.
“My girlfriend,” he said softly, the words a satisfied sigh.
“My boyfriend,” you whispered back, nuzzling into his neck.
The future stretched out before you, unknown, fraught with the difficulties of his world. But in this moment, it didn’t matter. You had him. He had you. The secret was no longer a transaction. It was a love story.
And it was just beginning.
The scent of him still clung to your skin—that mix of clean sweat, musk, and the faint, expensive cologne he wore. It was a perfume of possession, of the night’s raw, passionate claiming. You lay tangled in his arms, the silk sheets cool against your heated limbs, your mind drifting in a hazy, satisfied fog. His girlfriend. The word played in your head like a sweet melody. It changed everything. It changed nothing. The world outside was still the same, but inside this room, inside your heart, a new reality had bloomed.
Michael’s breathing was slow and deep, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. You traced a finger over the smooth skin, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He stirred, his arm tightening around you.
“You’re thinking,” he murmured, his voice sleep-rough and intimate.
“Just… savoring,” you whispered back.
He smiled, a lazy, contented curve of his lips. “Savoring what?”
“This. You. The words you said.”
His hand slid down your back, a languid, possessive stroke. “They’re real words. They’re true.” He kissed your forehead, a gentle press. “And now, I want to savor you. All of you. Slowly. Completely.”
He shifted, rolling away from you and sitting up. The lamplight caught the elegant lines of his back, the graceful taper of his waist. He stood, a vision of lean, masculine power, and turned to look at you. His eyes were dark, intent, but softer than the fierce hunger of before. This was a different kind of desire—one of exploration, of worship.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice a low invitation.
You sat up, the sheet falling away. “Where?”
A playful, secretive smile touched his lips. “The shower. I want to wash you. I want to touch you where the water touches you. I want to make you feel clean and new… like our beginning.”
The idea sent a fresh, electric thrill through your exhausted body. You nodded, rising from the bed. Your legs were shaky, muscles still weak from the earlier climax, but you followed him. He led you through the luxurious suite, past the panoramic window now reflecting the first hints of dawn, to the sprawling marble bathroom.
It was a palace of steam and tile. A massive, glass-walled shower stood in the center, with multiple heads positioned at different heights. He walked in first, turning on the water. A cascade began from the ceiling—a gentle, warm rain. Then he activated another, a wall-mounted head that created a soft, horizontal spray. The room began to fill with steam, the air turning humid and fragrant with the scent of his expensive, citrus-and-sandalwood shower gel.
He stepped back, beckoning you. You entered the glass enclosure, the warm water instantly soaking your hair, running down your shoulders. It felt like a baptism. He stood before you, water sluicing over his body, highlighting every contour, every muscle. He looked at you with an intensity that was both tender and deeply carnal.
“Stand here,” he instructed gently, positioning you under the rain shower.
You obeyed, letting the water run over your face, your breasts, your stomach. He moved closer, his body not touching yours yet, but his presence enveloping you. His hands came up, but he didn’t grab. He began.
His fingertips started at your temples. They traced the line of your hair, pushing the wet strands back from your face. The touch was so light, so deliberate, it felt like a meditation. He moved down, tracing the arch of your eyebrows, the curve of your cheekbones. His thumbs brushed over your closed eyelids, making you shiver.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, the steam making his voice seem closer, more intimate. “Every part of you.”
His hands slid down your neck, following the column of your throat. He used both hands, his palms open, gliding over your skin with the water as a lubricant, a silky barrier that heightened sensation. He reached your shoulders, his fingers kneading the tense muscles there, a slow, therapeutic pressure that made you sigh and lean into his touch.
Then he moved to your breasts.
He didn’t grab them. He adored them. His hands cupped them from below, lifting them gently, feeling their weight as water streamed over his wrists. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, circling them slowly, making them tighten into hard, sensitive peaks under the warm spray. He bent his head, his mouth following his hands. He kissed one nipple, not sucking, just a soft, lingering press of his lips. Then he did the same to the other. The sensation was exquisite—the warm water from above, the heat of his mouth, the gentle friction of his tongue as it flicked lazily across the tip.
You moaned, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders for balance.
He looked up, water dripping from his lashes. “Just feel,” he said. “Don’t think. Just feel my hands on you.”
His journey continued. His palms slid down your ribcage, tracing each bone with a slow, worshipful attention. He reached your waist, his hands spanning your hips, holding you as if measuring you. Then he moved to your stomach. His fingertips danced over the soft plane, tracing invisible patterns, dipping into the shallow hollow of your navel. He leaned in again, kissing your stomach, his lips warm and firm against your wet skin.
The water rained down. The steam thickened. The world was this glass box, this liquid heat, this man whose touch was rewriting your very nervous system.
His hands moved lower, over the curve of your pelvis. He knelt before you in the shower, the water cascading over his back and shoulders. From this position, he looked up at you, his eyes reverent and hungry. His hands settled on your outer thighs, stroking them, from your hips all the way down to your knees. His touch was thorough, complete. He explored every inch, every curve, the strength of your muscles, the softness of your inner flesh.
Then he turned his attention to the center of you.
His fingers brushed through the wet curls between your legs, parting them gently. He didn’t plunge inside. He teased. He traced the outer lips, following their shape with a fingertip so light it was almost a ghost-touch. You gasped, your hips jerking slightly.
“Easy,” he murmured, his voice a calming vibration. “I’m just looking. Just learning.”
He used both hands now, spreading you open with a tender, deliberate pressure. The water ran directly over your exposed flesh, a new, intense sensation of warmth and wetness. He watched, his eyes fixed on the intimate view. Seeing him look at you with such focused, unabashed desire made your core clench with a fresh, aching need.
Then he touched you properly.
One finger, slick from water and your own arousal, stroked up your slit. It was a slow, dragging motion from bottom to top, ending with a gentle press against your clit. You cried out, the sound echoing in the marble space. He did it again. And again. Each stroke was agonizingly slow, building a pressure that was entirely different from the frantic fucking of before. This was a slow-burn, a deep-building itch that demanded relief.
“You’re so swollen,” he observed, his voice husky with awe. “So ready. Even after everything.”
He increased the pressure. His finger circled your clit, not fast, but with a relentless, clockwise precision. The water hitting it created a strange, double sensation—the direct touch of his finger, and the indirect, pulsing massage of the warm spray. Your thighs began to tremble. Your breath came in short, sharp pants.
He saw it. He smiled, a knowing, sensual smile. Then he leaned forward.
He didn’t use his mouth aggressively. He nuzzled. He pressed his face against your inner thigh, kissing the soft skin there, inhaling your scent mixed with steam and soap. Then he moved inward. His lips found your center. He kissed you there, a soft, closed-mouth kiss that was somehow more intimate than any deep thrust of his tongue. You felt his breath, hot and damp, against your sensitive flesh.
Then he opened his mouth.
His tongue emerged, flat and warm. He licked you, a long, slow, sweeping stroke from the very base of your opening all the way up to your clit. It was a tasting. A savoring. He did it again, changing the angle, exploring the texture of you. He found your entrance and dipped his tongue inside, just the tip, a shallow, probing intrusion that made you arch and cry out.
“Michael…” you pleaded, your hands gripping his wet hair.
He ignored your plea for more. He was in control. This was his exploration. He continued his slow, oral worship. His tongue flicked against your clit, light and rapid, then returned to long, languid strokes. He alternated, building a rhythm that was unpredictable, maddening, perfect. He used his lips too, sucking gently on the outer lips, then on your clit itself, creating a soft, pulsing pressure that bordered on pain.
The pleasure was a deep, coiling spring inside you, winding tighter with every second of his attention. It wasn’t the sharp, sprinting climb to orgasm you’d experienced earlier. This was a marathon. A slow, exquisite ascent. Your body was on a plateau of continuous, high-level arousal, each touch pushing you a little higher, but never letting you peak.
He finally pulled back, his face glistening with water and your essence. He stood up, his body towering over you again. His own need was evident, his cock standing thick and proud against his stomach, water streaming over its length.
“Turn around,” he said softly.
You turned, facing the glass wall. He stepped close behind you, his body not touching yours yet. His hands returned to your shoulders, his fingers massaging the knots there. Then he began to move them down your back. He traced your spine, each vertebra, with a slow, loving attention. He reached the small of your back, his palms spreading to cover the dimples there. He kneaded the flesh, his thumbs pressing into the muscles beside your spine.
His hands slid over your hips, to your ass. He took his time here. He cupped your cheeks, feeling their fullness, their softness under the slick water. He massaged them, his fingers digging in with a firm, pleasurable pressure. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth finding the side of your neck. He kissed you there, his lips hot against your wet skin. His teeth grazed you lightly, a hint of the previous night’s dominance returning.
One hand left your ass and trailed down the back of your thigh, to your knee, to your calf. He lifted your foot gently, washing it with his hand, massaging your arch. He did the same with the other foot. You felt utterly cared for, utterly serviced.
Then his hands returned to your hips. He pulled you back, just an inch, so your body pressed fully against his. You felt his cock, hard and urgent, nestle against the cleft of your ass. He didn’t push for entry. He just held you there, letting you feel his need, his heat.
His mouth was at your ear. “I want to be inside you again,” he whispered, the steam making his breath a hot cloud against your skin. “But not like before. Slow. So slow you feel every millimeter.”
You nodded, desperate for him, for any kind of connection. “Please.”
He guided you forward, until your hands were pressed against the cool glass wall for support. The rain shower beat down on your back and his. The horizontal spray hit your legs. He positioned himself behind you, one hand on your hip, the other guiding his cock.
He didn’t thrust. He eased.
The broad, wet tip pressed against your entrance, which was slick from water and your own relentless arousal. He pushed forward, an inch, then stopped. The feeling of that partial penetration, that teasing fullness, was agonizing. You whimpered, pushing back against him slightly, trying to take more.
“No,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Wait.”
He held still, letting you feel just that inch of him inside you. The water ran over your joined bodies. He leaned forward, kissing your shoulder blade. Then he pushed another inch.
It was a deliberate, maddening progression. He moved in incremental advances, each one a tiny, exquisite invasion. You felt every fraction of his length entering you, the stretch, the heat, the ownership. He took a full minute to fill you completely, his body pressed tight against yours, his chest against your back, his arms wrapped around your waist.
When he was finally fully seated, buried deep, you both paused, panting. The sensation was overwhelming. The slow penetration had sensitized every nerve, making the final fullness feel like a profound, complete consumption.
“Feel me?” he breathed into your ear.
“Yes,” you gasped. “All of you.”
He began to move.
His thrusts were not quick, not deep pumps. They were slow-motion withdrawals and returns. He pulled out almost completely, until just the tip remained inside, teasing your entrance. Then he pushed back in, that same slow, inch-by-inch re-entry. Each withdrawal was a heartbreaking loss. Each return was a soul-deep relief.
The pace was relentless in its slowness. It gave you time to feel everything. The texture of him inside you. The way your inner muscles clenched around him, trying to keep him in. The friction, amplified by the water acting as a slippery, sensual lubricant. The angle—his cock hitting a deep, internal spot that the previous position hadn’t reached, sending bright sparks of pleasure up your spine.
His hands roamed your body as he moved. One hand stayed on your hip, guiding the slow rhythm. The other hand explored. It stroked your back. It reached around and found your breast, cupping it, thumbing your nipple. It slid down your stomach, to the junction of your bodies, his fingers finding your clit again.
He rubbed you there, his touch matching the slow, deliberate pace of his thrusts. The dual stimulation was unbearably good. The deep, full penetration combined with the precise, circling pressure on your clit created a feedback loop of pleasure that built and built with each slow, measured stroke.
Your moans became constant, a low, steady stream of sound that echoed in the shower. Your legs shook. Your fingers splayed against the glass, leaving wet prints. You were losing yourself in the rhythm, in the sensation, in the sheer attention he was giving you.
“You’re so tight around me,” he groaned, his own control starting to fray. “So perfect. Taking me so slow… so good.”
His thrusts began to deepen slightly, though the pace remained slow. He pushed harder on the inward stroke, hitting that deep spot with more force. The change sent a shockwave through you. Your inner muscles spasmed, a prelude to the coming climax.
He felt it. His finger on your clit pressed harder, moved faster. The rhythm there escalated, a counterpoint to the still-slow thrusting. The mismatch was exquisite—the deep, steady penetration and the frantic, focused stimulation on your clit.
The coil inside you, wound so tight from his prolonged teasing, finally reached its breaking point.
It didn’t snap violently. It unraveled in a long, luxurious, slow-motion burst.
The orgasm began as a deep, internal pulse, a clenching wave that started where he was buried deepest and radiated outward. It was a full-body experience, a warm, flooding sensation that seemed to flow from your core to your fingertips, to the roots of your hair. You didn’t scream. You sighed, a long, trembling release of breath as the pleasure washed over you in slow, undulating waves.
Your body milked him, your inner muscles contracting and releasing in a rhythmic, slow pulse that matched the pace of his thrusts. You shuddered against the glass, your vision blurring from the steam and the ecstasy.
Your climax triggered his own. He had been holding back, maintaining that torturous, slow rhythm, but the feeling of your body pulsing around him broke his control.
With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust forward one final time, burying himself to the root and holding there. His body stiffened against yours. You felt him pulse inside you, his release hot and urgent, jetting deep into your clutching channel. The sensation of his cum, filling you in the warm, watery environment, sent another ripple of pleasure through your already-peaking body.
He held you there, both of you trembling, connected, as the water rained down on your spent forms. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in the wet hair at the nape of your neck. His breath was ragged against your skin.
For a long time, you just stood there, leaning against the glass, him inside you, the water washing over you both. It felt like a purification. A renewal.
Slowly, gently, he pulled out. You felt the loss, a hollow ache where he had been. He turned you around, his hands on your face. He looked into your eyes, his own eyes soft, satisfied, deeply connected.
He didn’t speak. He just kissed you, a slow, tender kiss that sealed the moment.
Then he reached for a bottle of shower gel, pouring a generous amount into his hands. He began to wash you, truly wash you now. His hands smoothed the slick gel over your shoulders, your back, your breasts, your stomach. He was cleansing you, but his touch was still sensual, still loving. He paid special attention to between your legs, washing you there with a gentle, caring intimacy that felt like a benediction.
He washed himself too, and then you helped wash him, your hands sliding over his sleek muscles, tracing the contours you’d come to worship.
Finally, he turned off the water. The sudden silence was stark, broken only by the drip of residual water and the sound of your breathing. He stepped out of the shower, grabbing a large, plush towel. He dried you first, patting your skin with a soft, attentive care, starting with your face and working down your body. When he was done, he dried himself quickly.
He led you back to the bed, not to the messy, passion-strewn sheets of before, but to a clean, dry part. He pulled you down beside him, wrapping you in his arms. Your skin was clean, warm, slightly damp. His scent was fresh now, mixed with the clean smell of soap.
You lay there, curled together, the dawn light beginning to filter through the windows, painting the room in soft, gold-and-gray tones.
“That was…” you began, but words failed you.
“A beginning,” he finished for you, his voice quiet and sure. “The first morning of us.” He kissed your temple. “My girlfriend.”
You smiled, nestling closer. “My boyfriend.”
The words felt even more real now, cemented by the slow, worshipful joining in the shower. It was a new chapter, written in water and steam and slow, deliberate touch.
— tags : grammys84!michael, established relationship, nsfw, dry humping, riding, smut (ofc), mike is hungryyyyy asf and kinda sub ?
— disclaimer : you know i never get tired of opening tumblr whilst listening to music, because i come up with masterpieces like this… thanks beyonce for feeding my delulu ahh ! i love this mj so bad he looked a lil too hot that night
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ even after winning every prize at the grammys awards, michael can’t help but focus on his real prize of the evening, especially when she’s looking a little too fine…
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the night is a blur of strobe lights and golden statuettes, a dizzying whirlwind of success that should have been the only thing on his mind. but as the 1984 grammy awards draw to a close, michael finds his focus narrowing until the rest of the room is nothing but a distant hum. his heart is thumping against his ribs, not from the adrenaline of the wins, but from the simple, agonizing sight of her standing across the velvet-draped suite.
she is breathtaking—a masterpiece of lace and skin that makes his throat feel tight. he moves through the sea of tuxedoed men and glittering gowns with practiced grace, shaking hands and offering soft-spoken thanks, yet his dark eyes are constantly drifting back to her. he watches the way the light catches the curve of her shoulder, the way her laughter vibrates through the air, and the way her dress clings to her every movement like a second skin.
he’s trying to keep it together, to play the role of the humble victor, but the mask is slipping. as they finally make their way toward the exit, the cool night air hitting them as they move past the final line of security, he can’t resist any longer.
under the dim, amber glow of the hallway, just before they reach the waiting limousine, he steps closer, his movements fluid and feline. he doesn't touch her yet, but the heat radiating from his body is enough to make her breath hitch. he leans down, his lips ghosting over the sensitive shell of her ear, his voice dropping to a low, velvet rasp that sends a shiver straight down her spine.
"i've been watching you all night," he breathes, the words barely a whisper, yet heavy with a hunger he’s been forced to hide for hours. "and i think it’s time we leave the crowd behind."
his hand finally finds her, his fingers splaying across the small of her back with a sudden, firm pressure that leaves no room for misunderstanding. he isn't the shy boy on the stage anymore; the weight of the night has shifted, and as he leads her toward the dark sanctuary of the car, the only thing he’s interested in winning is her.
the heavy door of the limousine clicks shut, sealing out the muffled screams of fans and the persistent flicker of flashbulbs. inside, the world is reduced to the scent of expensive leather, cool air conditioning, and her. the transition from the chaotic brilliance of the shrine auditorium to the dim, hushed intimacy of the car is instant.
michael sinks into the deep plush seat, but he doesn't stay on his side for long. he slides closer, his movements graceful and intentional, until his thigh is pressed firmly against hers. the golden trophies are forgotten on the floor of the car; he has no interest in them now.
"you have no idea," he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, rich with a soft, aching sincerity. he reaches out, his gloved fingers tracing the delicate line of her jaw with the lightness of a feather. "i couldn't breathe tonight. every time i looked over at you, i forgot my own name. you were the most beautiful thing in that entire building. no... in the world."
he leans in, his dark eyes searching hers, filled with a raw, shimmering adoration. "i’m so proud of everything we did tonight, but i was just counting the seconds until i could have you all to myself. you look so perfect, it almost hurts to look at you."
his gaze drops to her lips, and the atmosphere in the car shifts. the sweet, romantic praise begins to melt into something much thicker, much more concentrated. his hand moves from her face, sliding down the column of her throat to rest right where her pulse is leaping against her skin. his thumb strokes the hollow of her neck, rhythmic and slow.
"this dress," he mutters, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, grainy rasp. "i’ve been thinking about the way it feels under my hands since the moment you put it on. it’s been driving me out of my mind, sitting there, having to be polite when all i wanted to do was this..."
he leans forward, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. he doesn't just kiss her; he lingers, his lips pressing firm, warm circles into her skin, his breath hot and ragged against her ear. his other hand finds her waist, pulling her flush against him until there isn't a whisper of space left between them. the "innocent" superstar is gone, replaced by a man who is very aware of the privacy the tinted windows afford them.
"don't move," he groans softly against her skin, his grip tightening just a fraction, possessive and sure. "just let me feel you for a minute. we're not home yet, but i don't know if i can wait that long."
the air inside the limousine is already charged, a heavy static of unspoken desire building between them. she feels his gaze—dark, molten, and focused entirely on her—and she knows exactly what he’s waiting for.
with a slow, deliberate grace, she reaches forward and taps the intercom. she doesn't take her eyes off him as she speaks, her voice dropping into a tone that is smooth, authoritative, and laced with a quiet, honeyed heat.
"sir, close the partition, please. and take the long way home."
the mechanical whir of the glass divider sliding upward is the only sound in the car. as the translucent pane seals them into their own private universe, turning the driver into nothing more than a blurred shadow, michael’s breath catches in his throat.
he absolutely loves it.
a small, wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyes widening slightly with a mix of surprise and intense heat. he finds it incredibly intoxicating—the way she just took charge, the way she claimed this space for them without a hint of hesitation. it’s a side of her that sets his blood on fire.
"i like when you do that," he whispers, his voice trembling with a new, sharper edge of hunger.
he doesn't wait another second. he lunges forward, not with his usual shyness, but with a sudden, breathtaking hunger. his hands slide up her thighs, gathering the silk of her dress in his palms, his touch firm and demanding. he moves over her, his chest pressing against hers, pinning her back into the soft leather of the seat.
"you want to be alone with me that badly?" he murmurs against her lips, his breathing shallow and quick. "because now that it's just us... i don't plan on letting you go for a very long time."
he buries his hands in her hair, tilting her head back just enough to expose the long, elegant line of her throat. he begins to trail hot, lingering kisses downward, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that makes her toes curl. the velvet interior of the car feels smaller now, hotter, as he focuses entirely on the task of showing her exactly how much he appreciated her command.
the mechanical click of the partition locking into place acts like a starting gun. the silence that follows is heavy, thick with the scent of his cologne and the frantic beat of two hearts out of sync with the world outside.
michael lets out a low, shaky exhale, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. he’s hovering just inches away, his dark curls shadowing his face, but the heat radiating from him is overwhelming.
"the way you said that..." he rasps, his voice sounding like velvet dragged over gravel. "so bold. so certain."
his hands, still clad in those iconic sequins, begin to wander with a new, frantic purpose. he moves one hand to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, while the other slides down to the hem of her dress. he’s not being gentle anymore; there’s a desperate, starved energy in the way he bunches the silk upward, his palms finding the smooth, warm skin of her thighs.
"you have no idea what you do to me," he mutters, his lips brushing against her jawline as he speaks, each word a warm puff of air that makes her skin tingle. "all night, standing on that stage... people screaming my name... and all i could think about was the way you’d look in the dark. the way you’d feel when no one was watching."
he shifts, moving his weight so he’s practically hovering over her, trapping her between his body and the soft leather of the seat. he begins to trail his lips down her neck, finding that one sensitive spot just below her ear and lingering there. he doesn't just kiss her; he breathes her in, his teeth grazing her skin in a sharp, playful nip that pulls a soft gasp from her throat.
"tell me again," he whispers, his voice dropping into that deep, melodic register that vibrates right through her chest. "tell me what you want me to do now that the world can't see us. don't be shy. not after that."
he pulls back just enough to look her in the eye, his gaze dark and dilated, shimmering with a mix of adoration and pure, unadulterated hunger. he reaches down, his fingers tracing the lace of her undergarments with a slow, torturous precision, his touch firm and knowing.
"i'm all yours," he breathes, a small, possessive smirk playing on his lips. "every bit of me. and i think it’s time i show you exactly what that means."
the interior of the car is sweltering now, the windows beginning to fog as the outside world disappears into a blur of city lights. michael's composure has completely disintegrated, replaced by a raw, focused intensity that is both startling and intoxicating.
he doesn't wait for her to answer with words. his hand slides further, his fingers slipping beneath the edge of the gathered silk, finding the heat he’s been dreaming of all evening. when he feels the slight tremor in her legs, he lets out a jagged, triumphant sound—half-laugh, half-groan—and leans his weight fully into her, pinning her hips against the seat.
"you’re so warm," he breathes, his voice cracking with a desperate sort of hunger. "god, you’re so ready for me, aren't you?"
he begins to move his hand with a slow, rhythmic pressure that is devastatingly precise. he knows exactly how to touch her, his fingers dancing over her skin with the same legendary grace he uses on stage, but here, it’s private, heavy, and drenched in intent. every time a soft sound escapes her lips, he catches it with his own, swallowing her moans and turning them into his own fuel.
his other hand remains locked in her hair, guiding her head back so he can feast on the sight of her. he watches her eyes flutter shut, her head tossing back against the leather, and the sight sends a fresh jolt of electricity through him. he’s never felt more powerful, or more powerless, than he does in this moment.
"look at me," he commands softly, his voice dropping into that commanding, velvet rasp. "open your eyes. i want to see you when i do this."
as she obeys, he quickens the pace, his touch becoming more demanding, more insistent. he’s exploring every curve, every sensitive inch, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles that make her entire body arch toward him. he’s humming now, a low, wordless vibration deep in his throat that echoes the rhythm of his hand.
"we’re almost there," he mutters against the pulse point of her neck, his breath coming in short, ragged hitches. "but i don't think i can make it to the front door. i want to feel you right here, in the dark, while the city drives by."
he shifts his position, his hand moving to the fastening of his own trousers, his gaze never leaving hers. the sweet, shy boy from the television screen is miles away; in the back of this limousine, he is a man possessed, consumed by a love that has turned into something fierce, beautiful, and utterly uncontrollable.
the leather creaks under the weight of his movements as he shifts, his breathing now a series of ragged, uneven hitches that fill the small, darkened space. he doesn't stop his hands for a second; they are everywhere, mapping out her body with a feverish desperation. he slides his palms up her ribs, his thumbs grazing the undersides of her breasts through the thin fabric, feeling the frantic skip of her heart against his skin.
"i've been imagining this since the first standing ovation," he gasps, his voice a strained, beautiful wreck of its former self. "every time they clapped, i just wanted it to be the sound of your skin against mine."
he reaches down, his grip firm and sure as he hooks his hands under her thighs. with a sudden, powerful surge of strength, he lifts her, guiding her until she’s straddling his lap. the sequins of his jacket scratch pleasantly against her skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his chest. she sinks down onto him, the friction of their bodies meeting through the layers of expensive clothing making him let out a long, broken moan that vibrates through her entire frame.
he buries his face in her chest, his hands sliding down to her hips to anchor her to him, his fingers digging into her skin with a possessive force. he’s looking up at her now, his eyes wide and dark, shimmering with an intensity that is almost overwhelming. he looks like he’s worshipping her, his head tilted back as she begins to move against him, the rhythmic swaying of the limousine adding to the dizzying sensation of the moment.
"yes, right there," he whispers, a low, guttural sound that seems to come from the very depths of him. "don't stop. just like that."
he reaches up, his gloved hand coming to rest on her cheek, his thumb dragging across her lower lip to pull it down slightly. he’s watching her reaction to him, his gaze fixed on the way her expression softens and breaks as she finds her rhythm on top of him. his other hand is busy, sliding back down to find that perfect, aching spot, his fingers working with a frantic, expert precision that makes her world tilt on its axis.
"you're mine," he breathes, the words a fierce, velvet promise against the quiet hum of the tires on the pavement. "completely mine. and i'm never letting you go back to how it was before tonight."
the limousine takes a sharp turn, but neither of them notices the sway of the vehicle. they are locked in their own private orbit, a feverish heat radiating between them that threatens to melt the very air.
now that she’s seated firmly on his lap, the friction is unbearable in the best way possible. michael’s hands are like iron on her hips, his fingers digging into the silk of her dress to hold her exactly where he wants her. he isn't just letting her move; he’s meeting her, arching his hips upward with a slow, grinding rhythm that makes his own breath hitch in a jagged, desperate sob.
"god, you feel so good," he groans, his eyes fluttering shut as he focuses entirely on the sensation of her weight pressing down against him.
through the layers of his tuxedo trousers and her delicate lingerie, the contact is electric. it’s a heavy, rhythmic pressure—a slow, agonizing grind that is perfectly in sync with the low hum of the engine. he begins to move with more urgency now, his lower body pulsing against hers in a steady, demanding pace. the dry friction of the fabric creates a heat so intense it feels like they’re both going to catch fire.
he throws his head back against the leather headrest, his throat exposed, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back a louder cry. his hands slide from her hips to her lower back, pulling her even tighter, leaving absolutely no space for the air to circulate between them.
"just like that... stay right there," he pants, his voice dropping into a desperate, grainy whisper.
every time she moves, every time she grinds her weight down against the hard line of him, he lets out a low, melodic vibration from deep in his chest—a sound that is half-song, half-surrender. his sequins are cold against her skin, but his body is a furnace. he begins to pick up the tempo, his movements becoming more fluid, more frantic, his hips snapping upward to meet her every descent with a raw, unyielding hunger.
"i can't... i can't take it," he mutters, his hands wandering up to her shoulders, his grip tightening as he pulls her down to meet his lips again. "you’re ruining me, you know that? right here in the back of this car... you’re absolutely ruining me."
he’s completely lost to the rhythm now, his eyes glazed with a mixture of love and pure, unfiltered need, his body acting on an instinct that no amount of fame or awards could ever satisfy. turn after turn, light after light, they remain lost in the friction, the heavy, rhythmic thud of their bodies the only music that matters.
michael is past the point of no return. the rhythmic, agonizing friction of her body against his has pushed him to the edge of his sanity. his breathing is no longer just shallow—it’s a series of desperate, broken gasps that hitch in his throat every time she moves. he’s burning up, his skin damp under the layers of his stage outfit, and the silk of her dress feels like a fever against his palms.
his hands slide from her back down to her thighs, his grip tightening until his knuckles are white, his fingers digging into her skin with a raw, primal urgency. he stops his own movement for a split second, his chest heaving as he looks up at her through his messy, sweat-dampened curls. his eyes are dark, dilated, and absolutely starving.
"i can't... i can't do this anymore," he rasps, his voice breaking, sounding completely undone. "the clothes, the fabric... it’s too much. i need to feel you. really feel you."
he doesn't wait for a response. with a sudden, fluid motion, he reaches for the hem of her dress, his hands trembling with a frantic energy. he’s desperate now, his movements devoid of his usual careful grace, driven by a hunger that has been building since the moment she stepped into the light at the auditorium. he bunches the expensive fabric up in his fists, his breath hot and ragged against the skin of her stomach.
"i’ve been a good boy all night," he whispers, a low, wicked growl vibrating in his chest as he presses his face against the soft curve of her belly, his teeth grazing her skin through the thin lace of her lingerie. "i smiled for the cameras, i shook the hands... but i'm done being patient."
he shifts beneath her, his hips bucking upward with a sudden, forceful pressure that makes a sharp, needy sound escape her lips. he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her silks, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. there’s a fire in his eyes that burns away the shy superstar, leaving only a man who is tired of boundaries and ready to take exactly what he’s been craving.
"now," he breathes, his voice a commanding, velvet command that leaves no room for argument. "i want everything. right now."
the air in the limousine is suffocatingly hot, thick with the scent of his skin and the electric tension that has finally snapped. michael’s hands are no longer just wandering; they are frantic, moving with a feverish desperation as he works to bridge the final gap between them. he’s done with the teasing, done with the fabric, done with the polite distance of the last few hours.
he reaches for the fastenings of his own clothes, his fingers moving with a surprising, practiced speed despite the slight tremble of his adrenaline-soaked muscles. he doesn't take his eyes off her for a second, his gaze burning into hers with a raw, dark hunger that seems to consume the very little light left in the car.
"i've wanted this since the moment i saw you tonight," he pants, his voice a low, melodic wreck. "i wanted to tear this suit off just to get to you."
he guides her hips back down, but this time there is nothing but the heat of skin meeting skin. the sensation is so intense, so immediate, that he lets out a sharp, choked-off cry, his head snapping back against the seat as his eyes roll behind his lids. it’s a pure, unadulterated release, the culmination of hours of repressed desire finally exploding in the dim sanctuary of the moving car.
he grips her waist with a strength that is startling, his fingers splaying across her skin as he begins to move with a deep, rhythmic intensity. every thrust is a silent prayer, a desperate attempt to get even closer, to lose himself entirely in the softness of her. he’s humming again, but it’s different now—a low, guttural vibration that matches the frantic pace of his heart.
"you’re so perfect," he gasps against her lips, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts. "so tight... so warm... i never want to leave this car."
he pulls her chest flush against his, his sequins forgotten, his only focus the way she feels wrapped around him. he’s pouring every ounce of the love he feels, every bit of the passion that fuels his soul, into every movement. the city lights continue to blur past the tinted windows, a world away from the beautiful, chaotic, and utterly private masterpiece they are creating together in the dark.
the rhythm of the limousine’s movement is now entirely eclipsed by the frantic, heavy pace they’ve set for themselves. michael is completely submerged in the sensation, his body moving with a fluid, rhythmic power that feels like a dance only they know. every time their eyes meet in the shadows, she sees a man who has traded his crown for something far more precious—this moment, this connection.
his hands are everywhere, never still for a second. he slides them up to her back, pulling her down so he can bury his face in the crook of her neck, his breath coming in hot, desperate hitches that vibrate against her skin. he’s not just moving with her; he’s trying to merge with her, his grip on her hips firm and possessive, guiding her every descent with a low, appreciative groan.
"don't stop," he whispers, his voice cracking, a beautiful, broken sound that makes her heart race even faster than the engine. "please... just like that. i’ve never felt anything like this. you're everything."
the friction is a slow burn that has turned into a wildfire. he arches his back, his muscles taut and glistening under the faint amber glow of the interior lights, his head falling back as a long, melodic sound escapes his throat—a high, silver note of pure surrender. he’s giving her everything he is, every ounce of the passion that the world usually only sees from a distance, now focused entirely on the woman in his arms.
as the car takes a slow turn toward the private gates of his estate, he realizes the world is about to intrude again soon, and it only makes him more urgent. he quickens the pace, his movements becoming more shallow and intense, his hands tangling in her hair to bring her lips back to his for a deep, searing kiss that tastes like salt and moonlight.
"i love you," he breathes into the kiss, the words heavy and sweet, a contrast to the raw, physical hunger of his body. "i love you so much it's driving me crazy."
he feels the familiar tension building, that final crest of the wave, and he holds onto her like she’s the only thing keeping him grounded. the windows are completely opaque now, a private cocoon of heat and velvet, as they finally reach the peak together, the silence of the night outside shattered by the quiet, beautiful chaos happening behind the partition.
the silence in the limousine is slowly filled with the sound of catching breath and the soft rustle of silk, until suddenly, a tiny, muffled sound breaks through—a shy, breathless giggle from michael.
he pulls back just enough to look at her, his iconic curls completely disheveled and his dark eyes sparkling with a mix of exhaustion and pure, radiant mischief. he looks down at his rumpled sequins, then at her dress—which is definitely not in the same condition it was when they left the red carpet—and he starts to laugh properly, that high-pitched, melodic sound that always feels so genuine.
"oh my god," he whispers, hiding his face in his hands for a second before looking back at her with a wide, toothy grin. "look at us. we are a complete mess. i’m supposed to be the man of the hour, and i look like i’ve been through a beautiful, beautiful whirlwind."
he pulls her back into his arms, but this time it’s all warmth and sweetness. he starts peppered her face with tiny, butterfly kisses—on her nose, her forehead, her chin—making her laugh even harder. he’s glowing, not from the stage lights, but from a deep, giddy happiness that only she can spark in him.
"i promise you," he chuckles, his voice soft and bubbly, "the driver is probably sitting up there wondering if we've forgotten how to get out of the car. he’s going to open that door and see me looking like this, and he’s going to know *exactly* why i’m smiling like an idiot."
he takes her hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tight, his gaze softening into something so tender it could melt. "i don't care about the trophies on the floor. i don't care about the speeches. this... being here with you, laughing like this... this is the real win. i’m so incredibly in love with you, it’s actually kind of crazy."
they stay there for a few more moments, tangled together and giggling like two teenagers who just got away with the biggest secret in the world. as the car finally comes to a complete stop at the front of the house, they share one last, silly look, the most famous man in the world and his favorite person, completely lost in their own perfect, messy, private universe.
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wallahi i was shaking while writing this omg 😭 can’t even imagine how this would feel in real life bruh ?????? ANYWAYS hope y’all liked it xoxo
First I wanna say your fics are delicious and i love your work. Second I wanna ask if you are considering doing a new series for Austin? I am sending you all the good writing juju 💖
Hi, so I haven’t written anything in so long I don’t think I ever will again, I’m just very busy with school and with life in general.
I would love to revisit that hobby tho cause I still have so much left so say, but I can’t promise anything.
dr. robby x f!reader
masterlist
content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, swearing, alcohol, age gap, established mohabbot, other character cameos, robby has tattoos based on this quote from noah, um idk u guys this one is pretty light for once nothing too scary i don't think!! summer romance baby
words: 18.6K
synopsis: (based on these two prompts: one, two) reader and samira have been best friends since they did their undergrad together nearly ten years ago and have been in constant contact since graduation. which is why you already knew plenty about her grumpy senior attending even before you met him. but you're surprised to find when you do actually meet him that he's a lot softer than anyone has given him credit for. and hotter. so when samira invites you to a week long getaway to the poconos a year later, you can't stop yourself from asking if robby will be there. little do you know, robby's asked jack the same question about you.
a/n: thank you to @dancingtruffle for the prompt! and another thank you to @gemmahale (ah sry, tag isn't working!) for suggesting the poconos as our vacation spot <3. is it realistic that this many doctors can get this amount of time off at the same time? probably not but we are doing it anyway because it’s Fun. similarly, do not ask me what year it is that's literally none of my business. alright um anyway... i am asking the age old question... is this anything?? i hope u like it but if u hate it don't tell me i am rejection sensitive ok bye <3 syd
Robby still remembered the smell of your cherry perfume, the way it settled heavy in his nose with the humid August air. Whenever he was in a crowded place afterwards, he thought he’d catch a whiff and his head would follow after, but it was never you.
It was pathetic, really, the way he still thought about you when nothing special had even happened that night. Just a single conversation over beer on a porch swing before it got to be too much. Before he started noticing how your tongue darted out between your lips when you were thinking or the way you avoided eye contact when you were embarrassed. And noticing too many of these things was going to get him in a lot of fucking trouble.
Which was why he disengaged from the conversation and went home without asking for your number. There were a few moments he thought about asking Samira for it, but he knew he’d never hear the end of that. Then, he thought about asking Jack to ask Samira and by the time that thought popped into his head he realized he was being insane.
You had been sitting on the porch swing by yourself, beer in hand and the blue glow of your phone lighting up your face. He had told himself he would only come for a single beer, mostly because Jack had asked him to.
Samira was having—not a party, exactly—but she had invited anyone who was available for a few drinks and pizza at the house she was renting. He guessed it was more of a way for her to spend time with Jack without having to ask him directly. They were both still dancing around whatever thing was going on between them, pretending it was more casual than it was.
And you were sitting alone on the porch swing, the only face Robby didn’t recognize from the Pitt. Thinking maybe you were a new hire he had missed, he made his way over to you, “This seat taken?” He asked, gesturing to the empty spot on the swing next to you.
Slowly, you raised your eyes from your phone to look up at him, and then you peered around him, as if you were wondering if it were possible he was speaking to someone else.
Finally, you shrugged, “Nope.”
A smirk tugged at his lips, “I don’t want to bother you, I can sit somewhere else if you want to be alone—“
“No, sorry—“ You sighed and shook your head, “Sit, please. I should really stop being an unapproachable loner.”
He huffed a laugh as he sat down, “This is going to sound terrible, probably, but, uh… Are you… Did you start recently? At the Pitt? I don’t recognize you, so—“
“Oh—No,” You laughed, “No, I don’t work at the hospital. Samira and I did our undergrad together, we used to be roommates. I’m just visiting.”
“Ah,” He said and hung his head, “Well, that would explain it. Where are you visiting from?”
“Los Angeles.”
He let out a low whistle, “You from there?”
“Born and raised.”
“And you went to undergrad here?”
You nodded, “Yeah,” You looked up at the moon, “I miss the east coast.”
“Why’d you go back to California?”
You sighed, “Um, things just didn’t pan out here. The pandemic. Ran out of money. Had to go back to live with my parents.”
He nodded, “I’m sure you’ll end up back here. If it’s what you really want.”
He felt your eyes on him, the way they paved a path down his face to his hands, that were lazily tearing at the label on his beer bottle, “You must be Robby.”
He raised his eyebrows as he looked back up at you, “How’d you figure that out?”
You gave him a lopsided smirk and took a sip from your beer, “Samira talks about you a lot. It’s not hard to put the pieces together.”
He looked back down at his beer bottle. Fighting the disappointment that coursed through him, he rubbed at his beard, “Well, I imagine your perception of me isn’t all that favorable, then.”
You hummed, “She really looks up to you, you know?” You leaned a bit closer to him, close enough that he could smell the beer on your breath as it tangled with your cherry perfume in a way that made him dizzy. You whispered conspiratorily, “But as her friend, you think you could ease up on her?”
He turned his head to look at you and found that you looked almost surprised at how close your faces were, although it was you that had closed the distance. You bit your lip and in the moonlight he saw the way your pupils dilated as you looked at him. And then quickly, your eyes darted away from his and he knew he was fucked.
He cleared his throat, “I’m hard on her because she’s so good. I want her to be the best.”
“You ever hear of this thing called positive reinforcement?”
He chuckled, “Yeah, okay, if it’s that important to you, I’ll try to be nicer to her.”
You raised your eyebrows, “Damn, it was that easy?” You shook your head, “She didn’t say you were such a softie.”
Robby sighed, “I’m not, normally.” He turned his head to look at you, “You must bring it out of me.”
You blinked a few times and then quickly broke eye contact, looking down at your hands. The movement got him a whiff of your shampoo and fuck if he wasn’t like a moth to a goddamn flame. It took all of his self control not to lean into you, not to push his knee against yours, just to see what you would do.
But you were Samira’s friend. And you were far, far, too young for him. It would create mess and he hated mess. So he cleared his throat and stood, “Thank you for the conversation, I should be going.”
You opened your mouth as if to say something else, but he was already gone, disappeared into the house, leaving you dumbfounded.
“‘Thank you for the conversation…?’” You repeated and then laughed to yourself.
Later that night as you were relaying the interaction to Samira, she informed you that he had been flirting.
You raised your eyebrows and scoffed, “Right, yeah. He didn’t even ask for my name.”
Jack came up behind Samira and twined an arm around her waist and you watched as she flushed. It was sweet, seeing her like this. In the ten years you had been friends, you had never seen a man so casually fluster her.
“He was flirting.” Jack confirmed as he scooped Cheez Itz out of the plastic bowl between you, “He’s just a little rusty.”
Samira shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, you’re going back to LA soon anyway. But, it would have been nice to get Robby laid.” She sighed mournfully, “I bet he’s much nicer after a good fuck.”
Jack began to choke on a Cheez It and you chuckled as Samira banged on his back until it came back up, “Please… don’t talk about him like that in front of me, alright?” He said, rubbing at his throat.
Samira gave him a half hearted apology and then turned back to you, smirking once he had left, “He’s not really your type anyway, is he?”
He wasn’t. Not the usual guy you went for. You were into older, but usually not that much older. You were also into unstable and mean and heavily tattooed, which Robby appeared to be none of the above. But there had been a moment, fleeting, where you had wanted to kiss him. Where you had thought he wanted to kiss you.
“Nope,” You sighed, “Not my type.”
Samira scrutinized you for a few moments and then sighed, “A shame. So I can’t give him your number if he asks?”
You laughed, “He won’t ask, but sure, you can give it to him.”
You were right. He didn’t ask. But not because he didn’t want to, because he didn’t think he should. He did, at least, manage to get your name from Samira. It ran laps around his brain for weeks after, and then it slowed, only reappearing every so often. And even though he knew you had gone back to LA, he found himself looking for you occasionally throughout the next year.
Until Jack told him you were back in Pittsburgh as a way to convince him to go to the Poconos getaway Samira was planning.
“She’s going?” Robby asked, eyebrows raised. They were on the roof, genuinely just getting some air. Robby hadn’t found Jack on the wrong side of the railing since he had started seeing Samira. The shifts were still hard, but he had someone to go home to after. And that seemed to make the difference.
Jack turned to him and smirked, “Oh, so now you wanna come, huh?”
Robby shook his head, “I didn’t say that.”
Almost all of his residents and Jack were going to the Poconos in August at Mohan’s invitation and Robby felt he had no business there. Jack was only going because of Samira. What excuse did he have? He would just make them all uncomfortable by being there. Who wanted their boss on their vacation?
“Samira said she asked if you were coming.”
Robby turned his head at that and then scoffed, “Don’t fuck with me.”
“I’m not.” Jack said, but had a self satisfied smirk on his face, “Honest to God.”
“And she lives here now.”
Jack nodded, “Started a new job here a month ago.”
Robby leaned over the railing on his forearms. He still wondered about you, still thought about whatever magnetism that existed between you that night. If it was just alcohol induced or if it really was something. And yes, you were way too fucking young for him. But Samira and Jack seemed to be happy. Maybe… Maybe he could at least try. You had asked after him, that had to mean something. That you still thought of him, too.
And so that was how Robby ended up pulling into the driveway of the house on the edge of the lake a few weeks later.
After Samira had informed him of what room was his and he had set all his things down, he followed her and Jack out to the patio overlooking the lake, “Is she here yet?”
Samira smirked and looked down at her phone, “Should be pulling up any minute according to her location.” Just then, the distant roar of a car in distress grew louder and louder and Samira’s grin widened, “Yeah, that’s her.”
Robby raised his eyebrows, “Does she drive a fucking Ferrari?”
Samira frowned, “I don’t know what that means to you, but no, she drives a Yaris.”
He laughed, “A Yaris? Making all that racket? Jesus Christ.” And with that, he was heading to the driveway.
Sure enough, a bright red, ancient looking Yaris was idling in the driveway. You pushed your sunglasses onto the top of your head as you turned your car off and then looked up to see Robby standing a few feet away from your car. Frowning, you opened the door and stepped out, “...Hi.”
“Are you aware that your car sounds like the engine is about to explode?”
Your frown deepened, “I don’t know, sounds fine to me.”
Robby circled your car, looking for other sources of the noise, until he got to the back of your car. Bending down, he saw your muffler was badly corroded, and was that… Chicken wire securing it to your car? He laughed softly to himself and stood again, “Do you know your muffler’s completely rusted out?”
You stared at him for a moment, pulling your bags out of the backseat of the car, “Uhh, no? Is that bad?”
He scratched the back of his head, “Someone wrapped some wire around it to try to keep it on, but it mostly fell off.”
“Oh,” You said slowly, “Yeah, I think my roommate did that for me.”
“You think?” Finally, he approached you to help with your bags, slinging one of your duffels over his shoulder.
You shrugged, “I don’t know, I know he said something was wrong with the car and that he fixed it temporarily. I can’t afford a mechanic right now. It’s okay to drive, though?”
“Well, yes.” They began walking towards the house, “It’ll just be… loud.”
“Okay,” You smiled at him, “I can handle loud.”
He held the door of the house open awkwardly with one arm, which you ducked under to get in.
“I could, um,” He sighed, “I could fix it for you. Order you a new muffler and attach it when we’re back in Pittsburgh.”
“Oh, I—That’s really nice, but I couldn’t pay you—“
“For free, I meant.”
You paused in the entryway and took off your backpack, “Why would you do that?”
He shrugged and lowered your duffel to the floor, “Why not?”
You stared at him a moment longer, perplexed, before you turned to see Samira in the entryway, smirking.
Within seconds, you were both squealing and your arms were wrapped tightly around each other, “This place is insane,” You said to her, “How did you afford this?”
Samira opened and closed her mouth and then blushed, “Um… Jack and Robby split it, actually.”
When you spun to look at Robby, he smiled in confirmation, a hand on the back of his neck, “Oh. Cool. Thanks.” You turned back to Samira, “Where should I put my things…?”
“Yeah, about that, so… I ran into Trevor last week…”
You tilted your head to the side in question. Trevor, your ex roommate from when you and Samira were in undergrad, Trevor? Your years-long situationship, Trevor? The same Trevor whom you had ghosted once you moved back to LA?
“And…” You could read the fear on Samira’s face as she continued, “Jack may have, not knowing the situation, invited Trevor to come?”
“Mira,” You whined, “Seriously?”
“I know, I know,” She said quickly, “And unfortunately, Jack also invited him without considering that we were already out of rooms… So…”
She allowed you to fill in the blanks and your brain was beginning to short circuit, “Okay,” You laughed, “This is a joke, right? Are you saying I’m sharing a bed with him?”
“No, no. Separate beds, same room.”
You covered your face with your hands, “I think…” You sighed, “I think I might just drive home.”
“What? No, come on. It’ll be fine, I thought you and Trevor were good? You don’t even have to be in the room that much, just to sleep–”
“You could stay in my room.” You both started at Robby’s voice behind you, having forgotten he was still there. He cleared his throat, “I could stay in the room with… Trevor, is it?”
You sighed, “That’s… sweet of you, but Trevor snores. And besides, you paid for this place, I’m not going to kick you out of your own room–”
“Really, I don’t mind. Besides, it’ll be dark soon anyway and it’s a long drive back to Pittsburgh.”
He was looking at you almost a little desperately and you started to wonder if the only reason he had come in the first place was to see you. But that was insane, right? You didn’t even know each other.
And yeah, maybe the only reason you had come was because Samira assured you Robby would be here. Maybe that one interaction had played on a loop in your mind for the whole year until you started wondering if he had really looked at you with lust and awe that night or if it was just a trick of the light.
You bit your lip and then turned back to Samira, “I’m mad at you.” You said as you bent to pick up your backpack.
“But… You’re staying?”
Samira knew you could never stay mad at her. And she had never been able to stay mad at you, either. The few times you had had disagreements you had always been able to resolve them peacefully. It was part of the reason you adored being her friend, there was never any drama and always a shoulder to cry on if you needed it.
So you bit your lip and gave her a knowing look, “Yes, under duress.”
Robby slung your duffel back over his shoulder, “C’mon, I’ll show you the room.”
You trailed after him and up the stairs, still a bit apprehensive about this whole set up. He led you to a room with a king sized bed. The room was large with big windows on one wall and a long, brown leather couch that took up almost the entire wall opposite the bed.
You stood in the threshold of the door, stunned, but Robby didn’t seem to notice. He placed your duffel on the floor and moved his bags from where he had put them on the bed.
“There’s an en suite bathroom over there,” He gestured to the door next to the couch, “So you don’t need to share with anyone.”
“Robby,” You said breathlessly and then started shaking your head, “This is too much. You paid for this and it’s your vacation too, you shouldn’t have to share a room with Trevor—“
“What’s your deal with this guy? Trevor?”
You smirked and tilted your head a bit. Was that jealousy? “I don’t know if that’s your business.”
He shrugged, “Well, I just thought, since you’re feeling so guilty about taking my room this could be my payment.” He said lightly, the corners of his lips beginning to tug up into a grin.
“Ah,” You laughed, “Well, if you must know, he was mine and Samira’s roommate for about three years and then we slept together on and off for a few years afterward. Until I moved back to Los Angeles.”
He stared at you for a few moments, “Okay, so you occasionally slept together, but he’s not an ex boyfriend or anything?”
You shook your head, “Nope. But not for lack of trying on his end.”
He raised his eyebrows, “Oh? So you were the heartbreaker then?”
You smirked, “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure he was just fine.”
“Why wasn’t he good enough for you?” Oh, so it was jealousy.
Good. You liked playing. Maybe this vacation wouldn’t be a total wash. “You worried you might make the same mistakes?”
His grin widened, and then he shook his head, “That wasn’t an answer.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, “I think I’ve answered enough of your questions for today.” You picked up his duffel from where it sat in front of him and pushed it into his arms.
“Are you kicking me out of my room?” He asked, still with that teasing lilt in his voice.
You moved close enough to him that he finally caught a whiff of your perfume. Still cherries. He thought his knees might buckle. “I thought it wasn’t your room anymore?” You said softly.
You pushed gently on his chest until he was out of the doorway and closed the door.
Robby stood out in the hallway for a moment, staring at the door with a stupid grin on his face. He had just given up his room to share one with some loser kid who had made the catastrophic mistake of fumbling you, and he had the toothiest smile on his face.
Maybe he’d end this vacation sleeping in that king sized bed with you.
***
Robby was trying very hard not to seem too desperate, but Trevor had arrived hours ago and you were still in your room.
The rest of his residents wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, most of them having had to work a shift today, so it would just be you, Trevor, him, Mohan, and Abbot.
He had sized Trevor up immediately when he got here and, well, Robby was confused to say the least. The kid was scrawny, almost every inch of skin tatted up, and was a tattoo artist. He had long and dark hair that curled around his ears. He had a nose ring and a mustache.
It was mind boggling. If this is what you were into, why had you been flirting with him? You had been flirting with him, right? There’s no way that was your fucking baseline.
Samira was across the patio with Trevor and Robby sat with Abbot in front of the fire pit. One of Robby’s hands stroked his beard absently while he watched Trevor.
“Why’re you looking at that guy like you wish he’d give you a reason?”
Robby dragged his gaze away from Trevor and back to Jack who was fucking smirking, “This is your fault.”
He shrugged, “I didn’t know they had history, okay? Samira never mentioned.”
Before, Robby had been confident he’d win you over by the end of this week. Now, there was a roughly 5’10 problem that you were avoiding so diligently you were spending your first night of vacation hiding away.
“I’m gonna go talk to her.” He said finally, standing.
And that’s how he ended up back at your bedroom door, knuckles rapping gently against the wood.
A moment or two passed and then he heard the sound of feet padding across the floor. Then the door began to crack open, “Mira, I told you already, I don’t feel like seeing him ton–” You froze when you saw Robby standing there, “Oh. You’re not Mira.”
Robby’s mouth was slightly agape and he was, unfortunately staring at your bare legs and then back up to the skimpy sleep set you were wearing. A flowy pastel flowered camisole that fluttered just above your belly button and matching shorts that were so tiny, they may as well have been panties.
By some miracle between him and God himself, he managed to tear his eyes back up to yours. And you looked very smug right about now. He felt a flush begin to work his way up his neck and he cleared his throat, as if to push it back down, “Is it me you’re avoiding or Trevor?”
You hummed, “Why would I be avoiding you?”
He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, “My irresistible charm and rogueish good looks?”
You choked out a laugh, “No, no, it’s Trevor I’m avoiding.”
“That’s a shame,” He sighed, “It’s really beautiful outside.”
You crossed your arms and smirked, “It’s the first night and you’re already trying to guilt me into having a drink with you?”
He scoffed, affronted, “I’m doing no such thing–”
“Fine, fine,” You said dramatically, “Twist my arm, why don’t you? Just let me change into something more… appropriate.”
A tragedy, really. He could stare at you for hours in that sleep set and never get tired of the view. Luckily, you closed the door before he said something stupid.
Five minutes later you were following him out onto the patio, a spiked seltzer in your hand.
Trevor immediately stood and made a big show of greeting you. Robby watched with some apprehension as his arms slid lower and lower down your back as he hugged you— Until you slapped his hands away, scowling at him.
Robby ran a hand over his mouth and beard to cover his smirk.
“What?” Trevor asked, laughing, “I can’t touch you now, either? I can’t text or call you? Had to find out from Mira’s boyfriend that you were back in town. Are we even friends anymore?”
“Trevor,” Samira inserted herself between you both, “You said you wouldn’t do this.”
“We were never friends,” You sneered, “You were always just biding your time until you could fuck me.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jack muttered softly from next to Robby.
“Really? And who led on who in the end?”
“That’s enough!” Samira said sharply, looking back and forth between her friends, “Look,” She said, softer now, “We’re all adults here, okay? We used to have fun, the three of us. Can’t we just… put all that shit aside for one week so we can have fun? Like old times?”
You sighed heavily and looked at Trevor, “I have no problem with you as long as you keep it platonic.”
He huffed a laugh and ran a hand over his jaw, “Don’t worry, message was received loud and clear when you ghosted me when you left.”
“Guys…” Samira said lowly in warning, still between them.
But you couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that burst from your throat, “You waited until I flew across the country to text me—text! Not even call!—that you were in love with me and you think that warranted a response?”
Robby and Jack shared a look, attempted to hide their faces behind their respective drinks, and Samira grimaced before turning to Trevor, “Seriously? That’s kinda embarrassing.” She said softly.
You shook your head and started to walk over to sit near Robby.
“You don’t exactly make it easy for people to tell you what they’re feeling.” Trevor said, flushed.
“Yeah,” You took a sip from your drink as you settled next to Robby, “Or maybe you’re just a pussy.”
Samira sighed and looked at you, “Really?”
But you only shrugged your shoulders.
“Whatever, I don’t have to listen to this,” Trevor grumbled, “I’m going to bed.”
He muttered a goodnight to Samira and you waited for him to close the sliding door behind him before you gestured after him, “See? Pussy behavior.”
Jack and Robby were both fighting grins, but Samira frowned at you, “Can’t you try to be nicer?”
“That was me being nice. And he’s the one who started it, trying to fucking grab my ass like it hasn’t been, like, three years since we last spoke.”
Samira raised her eyebrows, “He tried to grab you?”
“He did,” Robby affirmed, “I saw it.”
“Well that’s not acceptable,” Samira looked towards the door that Trevor had disappeared into, “I’m gonna ask him to leave—“
“No,” You said immediately, “No, it’ll just create more of a mess. It’s fine.”
Samira stared at you for a moment longer, “Are you sure? Look, I’m sorry we invited him I didn’t realize— You’ll always come first for me. I will kick him out.”
The smile you gave Samira was adoring and tender. “I know,” You said softly, “It’s alright, I promise.”
Finally, she nodded, and went to sit next to Jack, sighing as she did.
“The two of you ever fight like that?” Jack nodded to you and Samira.
You met Samira’s eyes over your drink and you both broke out into smiles, “No,” You said, “I think our biggest fight was when she took the last spot in the orgo class we were both trying to take sophomore year.”
Samira grinned at you, “Yeah and to make it up to you, you made me give you all my study materials the next semester, so I think it worked out for you.”
“What about you two,” You nodded towards Jack and Robby, “You guys seem like you’ve been friends for a long time. Any brawls?”
Robby chuckled, “No, definitely not.”
“Yeah, because he knows he’d lose.” Jack teased.
“Yeah, right,” Robby said and shook his head as he tossed back the rest of his beer, “Love you brother, but I don’t think so.”
“Oh, really?” Jack chuckled and turned to Samira, “What d’you think? Who’d win?”
Samira looked affronted, “I resent the fact that you think I’m incapable of being objective just because we’re together.”
Robby raised his eyebrows, “Alright then, what’s the verdict?”
Samira’s eyes traveled back and forth between Jack’s wide pleading ones and Robby’s expecting ones until she sighed, “Jack. But only because he was in the military.”
“He was a medic.” Robby complained as Jack kissed on Samira’s neck in victory, causing her to squeal.
“Still went through basic training, brother.” Jack managed, adoring eyes still on Samira.
“And what about you?” Robby asked, turning to you.
“What about me?”
“Who do you think would win, me or Jack?”
“Oh,” You laughed, “I don’t want to get in the middle of whatever weird hypermasculine competition you’ve got going on here.”
“That’s code for she doesn’t wanna hurt your feelings, Robby.” Jack said.
You scoffed, “That is not true,” Your eyes darted to Robby’s, “I have no problem hurting his feelings.”
A lie. You looked at the crinkles by his eyes, the flush in his cheeks when he smiled at you, and those big brown eyes that looked as warm as tree bark that had baked in the summer heat all day and your immediate thought was you’d rather drown yourself in this lake than hurt his feelings.
Alternatively, you’d also rather drown in this lake than admit that that was true.
So where did that leave you?
You swallowed and looked at Samira, “I think Jack would win.”
Jack laughed loudly and Robby eyed you with disappointment as he shook his head.
It was teasing disappointment, but you were surprised by how much it bothered you. You were realizing quickly how desperately you wanted him to like you.
“What?” You said to Robby, “He was in the military and he carries around a knife for fun. What’re you gonna do, hm? Blink your pretty doe eyes up at him and hope it distracts him long enough for you to run away?”
Slowly, a smile stretched across Robby’s face and he nudged his knee playfully against yours as he leaned his face down close to you. Your breath hitched in your throat at his closeness and he casually reached out to push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.
When he spoke, lowly enough for just you to hear, his voice was husky and it sent chills across your arms, “You think my eyes are pretty?”
The laugh that escaped you was breathless and nervous and you quickly tore your eyes from his and looked down at your hands, trying not to think about the way his fingers, cold and wet from his beer bottle, felt against the shell of your ear or the way they dragged against the sensitive skin of your neck before he pulled away.
What the fuck was this guy doing to you? A man had never made you a giggly mess like this. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
“As if you didn’t know.” You said finally, as casually as you could manage, avoiding looking at him.
“You’re pretty hard to read, actually.”
Normally, that would be true. But with him, it felt different. It felt like you were shouting it at him with every lilt of your voice, every smile, every laugh. Every time he looked at you, you felt your skin heat.
You looked over at Samira and Jack for a moment, thought about your friendship with Samira. Everything seemed to tumble forward, all the moments you were so painfully proud of her, but also envious. How you had both wanted the same things, once. She had gotten everything and you had tripped four hundred meters out from the finish line. She was incredible, intelligent, beautiful, ambitious. The whole package. It was no wonder Jack was so obsessed with her.
Your eyes flitted back to Robby, who was no longer looking at you, but silently staring ahead. His knee was still touching yours. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d wanted someone this badly. Someone smart and capable, someone who seemed like he could take care of you if the conversation about your dumb muffler was any indicator, someone who would be good for you.
He deserved better than you, though, he deserved someone like Samira. And even if you just slept with him, you had the faintest inclination that he might ruin you for other men for good.
You cleared your throat, “I, um, I should go to bed.”
When you stood, he followed, “Are you okay?” He asked softly, blocking your exit with his broad chest.
Christ, you were going to fold so quickly if he kept this up, “I’m fine,” You forced a smile, “Just tired.”
You stepped around him, but still he followed, steps soft and careful as he traced your path up the stairs, “Did I say something wrong?” He asked once you were at the bedroom door.
“No,” You said and almost laughed as you turned to him, “No, it’s not you.”
“Then what?” His eyes carefully searched your face, “Because I can be patient if you’re just not ready, but–”
You shook your head, “I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”
He scoffed, “You see what I mean about being hard to read?” He tilted his head as he narrowed his eyes at you, “Is it… because I’m old?”
You smiled and bit your lip, “No, I think I actually really like that bit.”
He shook his head, “Can you just tell me what it is that’s bothering you? I’m pretty good at problem solving.”
You laughed again, “I don’t think I’m a problem that’s solvable, unfortunately.”
He watched you for a while longer before sighing heavily, “Okay, just to be clear, we’re not done with this conversation. But I’ll let you get some sleep. Goodnight.” He said softly and began to walk away, down the hall to where you assumed Trevor was.
You watched after him, fought an internal battle with yourself, and then sighed, “Robby, wait.”
He froze and turned back towards you. The look of hope on his face absolutely wrecked you, “I wasn’t kidding about Trevor,” You said, “He really does snore. Very loudly. You should stay in here. I’ll sleep on the couch,” You added quickly.
He shook his head, “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”
You threw up your hands in exasperation, “Fine. You sleep on the couch, then. You’ll get more sleep than sleeping in the same room as Trevor.”
And so that’s how the two of you ended up awkwardly dancing around each other as you got ready for bed.
You were unable to tear your eyes away as he pulled his shirt over his head and you were granted a full view of his chest. Your mouth dried out as you stared. He was so large, but everything about him was soft, the tufts of hair that grew on his chest and by his belly button, the gentle curve of his stomach. All of this turned your yearning from a gentle smolder to a raging inferno.
But what your eyes snagged on were the two tattoos over the planes of his chest. On the right side of his chest read MEMENTO MORI and on the left side AMORI FATI.
When your eyes traveled back up, Robby was looking at you with a smug look on his face.
You cleared your throat and looked away, conscious of the way heat burned in your cheeks, “Your tattoos,” You gestured to your own chest, “You’re a fan of Stoicism?”
A slow smile stretched across his face, “You know what they mean?”
You nodded, “Memento mori: remember that you will die and amor fati: love thy fate.” You were a bit ashamed by how pleased with yourself you were when an impressed smile flitted across his face, “I took a few philosophy classes in undergrad.”
“And what did you think?”
You shrugged, embarrassed now and not wanting to seem like you were showing off, “I liked them. Once, I took an ancient Greek literature class at the same time and they tended to overlap a lot.” You nodded towards his tattoos, “Memento mori and amori fati always reminded me of my favorite line from the Iliad.”
“Which is?”
You hesitated, and then, shyly, you lifted your shirt just slightly so he could see the tattoo that decorated the side of your ribcage.
An intricate tracing of Icarus and his infamous fall, a hand still stretching out towards the sun. On either side of his falling form, in delicate scrawl read:
Everything is more beautiful
because we are doomed
Robby was close to you now, so he could better see your ink, and when he reached out his fingers and ghosted them over the skin of your ribcage. Your breath stuttered as goosebumps rose across your flesh.
Noting the way your breathing faltered he looked up at you and pulled his hand away, straightening. He cleared his throat, “It’s beautiful.”
You dropped your shirt, covering up the tattoo again, “Thank you.”
“What was your major in college anyway?”
“Biology.”
He frowned at that, “And you took classes for philosophy and ancient Greek lit?”
You dug through your duffel, looking for your toiletry bag, “At first, they were just electives, but then I took enough of them to grab a minor. My counselor said it would diversify me for med school or whatever,” You sighed, “Fat load of good that did me.”
Finally locating your toiletry bag, you pulled it out and turned back around to see Robby eyeing you curiously, “What?”
“I—“ He scratched the back of his head, “Samira didn’t mention you went to med school.”
You hummed, “That’s because I didn’t.” You dug your toothbrush out of the bag, “I didn’t get in.”
When you looked up at him again, he was still staring at you, frowning. You could almost hear the glass breaking in his head. Whatever shiny impression he had of you shattering on impact. You weren’t good enough for med school, why would you be good enough for him?
“Well—“
“I’d really rather not talk about this right now, or ever, if you don’t mind.” You said softly and brushed past him to get into the bathroom.
Or, you meant to just brush past him. But he tried to brush past you at the same time, you assumed to allow you space to get into the bathroom. You both tried to shimmy sideways through the bathroom doorway and ended up chest to chest, stuck for a moment too long.
He had, in the time you had been talking, put a shirt back on. Still, as your breasts slid across his chest, you felt your nipples peak in response.
Through the thin fabric of your shirt, it wasn’t hard to notice, even if he hadn’t already been hardwired to notice everything about you since he first saw you alone on that porch swing a year ago. You let out a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a moan as you desperately tried to sidle past him.
Used to this sort of thing happening at work, he instinctually settled a firm hand on your hip to try to help you get by, but this only seemed to panic you further. In your rush to move away from him, you inadvertently pushed yourself harder against him, your other hip gliding over his crotch and causing him to hiss.
“Sorry, fuck–” You cursed and finally slid by him, breathing hard as if you had been running for miles instead of having just moved through a doorway.
The moment passed. You were at the sink, putting toothpaste on your toothbrush with the focus of a surgeon. If you weren't desperately avoiding eye contact and trying to level your breathing, he might have assumed you weren’t affected at all.
And fuck him if his brain wasn’t immediately rushing to calculate all the ways he could get your body to react like that again. He thought of your pupils dilating in the moonlight the first time you met, the way you shivered whenever his fingers brushed across your skin earlier, the way you got flustered sometimes just when he looked at you intently enough, and now this. He wondered what sort of touches would make you writhe beneath him, cry out his name, rake your nails across his skin, beg him to go faster, harder.
Oh, he had been thinking for too long if the aching sensation in his pants was any indication. He cleared his throat and with a hand on the back of his neck he left the bathroom.
***
Robby was tracing the tattoo on your ribcage again, this time with his tongue. Your back arched up off the mattress and you were moaning his name. He kissed up until he reached your breasts, first taking a sensitive nipple between his fingers and pinching lightly until you gasped. He took it in his mouth, then, swirling the bud around his tongue.
His hard cock was pressed to your slick folds, sliding back and forth against you, his tip nudging your entrance, but never fully sinking in. You were begging now, a single tear escaped from your eye as you looked up at him. The only reason he was able to stop himself from fully sinking inside you was because he loved the sight of you like this, absolutely drenched and fucking ruined, at his mercy. No more coy looks, no more avoiding his gaze so you could pretend not to want him, no more pulling away from his touch in fear it would give you away.
No, you were completely, fully, his now and he needed to make sure you knew it. You would only cum if he decided you could. If you asked nicely, if you did what he asked, if you were the good girl he told you to be.
He slipped his fingers between your thighs and sank two of his digits into your hole, watched as you bit down on your lip to stop the moan from crawling out. Just as quickly as he started, he pulled out his fingers and ignored your whine at their absence, sliding his cock against you again.
He brought his fingers, now drenched in your juices, up to your face and gently pressed his thumb to your chin, “Open.” He commanded. You hesitated for just a moment before obeying, taking his fingers into your mouth. You looked up at him as you sucked the way he imagined you’d take his cock. He hadn’t even had you fully yet, but he thought he might cum just like this, with you humming against his fingers. He rutted his hips faster, barely registering it when you reached a hand between you to hold your folds tighter around him, creating more friction and Jesus fucking Christ he was going to cum–
Robby awoke to the sound of the box fan in the window. The sun hadn’t yet fully risen and he could hear your soft snores from the bed, less than ten feet away from him. As consciousness returned to him and he shifted on the couch, he registered the sticky dampness between his legs and his eyes flew open.
No fucking way. There was no fucking way he had– He pulled the blanket he had been using off and was confronted with an absolute mess in his boxers. He ran a hand down his face in frustration. What sort of fucking grown man came in their pants like that and over a woman sleeping not ten feet away that was at least two decades younger than him?
He tried to quietly get up from the couch and escape to the bathroom, but the couch was leather and creaked loudly with his movement. He froze and waited, eyes closed, and sure enough, you stirred.
“Robby?” Your voice was heavy and rough with sleep and he tried to ignore how much he liked the sound of it, “S’that you?”
“Just going to the bathroom,” He said softly, “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
The endearment slipped from him without his permission and he hung his head when his brain caught up with his mouth. But you hadn’t seemed to register it, or perhaps didn’t mind, as you silently settled back against your pillow. He sighed quietly in relief and then headed to the bathroom to clean up.
If this was how it was going to be, if just seeing an inch of your skin and brushing up against you on the way to the bathroom was going to prompt wet dreams that had him coming in his pants, he had no idea how he was going to make it through this week without convincing you to let him in your bed.
And now his residents would be getting here today, would be witnessing him desperately trying to get laid by a girl who they’d played beer pong with once. Humiliating.
But as he stood in the bathroom and rolled that dream over in his head again, he thought it’d probably be worth it. If he could have you even once, just a taste, maybe it would satiate him long enough to move on when they got back to Pittsburgh. Maybe.
Or maybe it would never be enough. Maybe there was something about you that would keep him coming back, keep trying to find new ways to make you laugh so you’d let him in, like a stray at the door looking for scraps.
There was only one way to find out.
***
“You slept with Robby last night?” Samira’s voice had you turning your head from the paperback in your hand.
The two of you were laying on the dock, sunbathing, along with Trevor. You and Trevor had called a truce that morning and so far, he had been abiding by the conditions. Of which, there was really only one: not to touch you in a way that wasn’t strictly platonic.
Jack had gotten a new prosthetic extension that allowed him to swim properly (thoroughly researched and recommended by Samira) and was in the lake with Robby.
Trinity, Dennis, Victoria, and Parker had all arrived a couple of hours ago. Parker had set up a volleyball net nearby and the four of them were attempting to play a match.
“No,” You scoffed, “He slept on the couch because I knew this one would keep him up with all his snoring.” You playfully shoved Trevor’s shoulder next to you.
“Ow,” Trevor murmured, rubbing at his shoulder. Then he turned on his side to face you, “Mira, are you trying to set her up with your boss?”
Samira scoffed, “Didn’t have to try, they’ve been obsessed with each other since they met, but neither of them will admit it.”
You felt your cheeks heat up again and attempted to cover your face with your paperback, “I am not obsessed with him, I just think that… he’s kinda cool… and we… vibe.”
Samira and Trevor both looked at you blankly, “You are hearing yourself, right?” Samira said eventually.
You groaned, “Whatever! I’m not gonna sleep with him, it’s a bad idea.”
“And, pray tell, why is that?”
“I–” You quickly looked to see if anyone else was around, but Jack and Robby were still in the water and the other residents still preoccupied, “Because I’m not good with relationships, Trevor can attest.”
Trevor pursed his lips, “This feels like a trap,” He looked at Samira, “No comment.”
“Look, you don’t even know if he wants a relationship. At least sleep with him, just once. I know you’re dying to.” You rolled your eyes and didn’t respond. But you were dying to, especially after accidentally rubbing up against him like that last night and seeing him shirtless. “I don’t know what you said to him that first night you met him, but he was so nice to me, for like, weeks after. And you spoke to him for what? Five minutes? If you won’t do it for yourself, think of me! Do you know how nice he would be if he got to actually sleep with you?”
You sighed, “I will… consider it.”
Samira smiled, “Excellent.”
Just then, Jack swam up to the dock, to Samira, and rested his arms on the edge as he floated, “Samira, come swim with me.”
Samira wrinkled her nose as she considered, “It’s cold in there.”
“I’ll keep you warm,” He said lowly, leaning up to kiss her. Samira smiled against his mouth, laughed when he wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her down into the water with him. They continued kissing, Samira’s legs wrapped around Jack’s waist.
You sighed and turned back to your book, “Gross.” You muttered to Trevor.
“You know, we could make out in the lake.” He said in a voice you knew to mean he was trying to be seductive. It used to work on you, but now it only grossed you out, “Give your new boyfriend something to worry about.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” You said, voice bored, “And I’m not interested.”
You heard splashes coming from the ladder and looked up in time to see Robby pulling himself out of the water and onto the dock. Your stomach flipped again, seeing him shirtless. The water had weighed down his bathing suit so that it hung dangerously low on his hips. You were shocked when the first thought that came into your mind was that you longed to bite his hips and you cleared your throat as if it would cleanse your impure thoughts. You turned back to your book.
A moment later, a giant shadow in the shape of a man was blocking your sun and you felt the cold lake water dripping all over your body, “You’re getting my book wet.” You said, trying to sound bored as you looked up at him.
He had a boyish grin on his face as he ran a hand through his hair, shaking it like a wet dog and causing more droplets to splatter all over you, “Sorry,” He said, sounding anything but.
It was such a childish thing to do, but he looked stupid handsome as he smirked at you and you wondered if this was the type of thing he used to pull when he was your age. How many girls had he gotten into bed with that gorgeous smile and big brown eyes?
“You can swim, right?”
You watched him for a moment before looking back down at your book, “Of course I can swim, I grew up in Los Angeles.”
“Come in the water with me.” He said, still blocking your sun.
“No thanks,” You turned the page of your book, “It’s too cold.”
“Oh, come on,” He whined, “It’s not so bad once you’re in. It’s not the Pacific Ocean, I’ll give you, that, but it’s still nice. Have some fun.”
It was certainly not the Pacific Ocean, but you were more so worried about being able to keep your hands to yourself once you were in the water with him. Once no one would be able to see your hands on his waist, or better yet, in his shorts–
You were determined to keep your eyes on your book, “No thank you.”
He let the silence hang there for a moment, then finally he sighed, “Fine. Could you hand me my towel, then?”
You placed your book down on your towel and leaned over Samira’s now empty one to grab one of the dry towels meant for Robby and Jack.
In retrospect, you probably should’ve realized what he was about to do. It was the oldest trick in the book. But you also hadn’t been a teenager in many years and so hadn’t had to worry about boys pulling goofy shit to flirt with a girl.
So for half a second, when you reached out the towel to him and his hand clamped around your wrist rather than the towel, you were just confused. But then in the next moment, he had pulled the towel from your hand, and dropped it back down to the dock and it was then that you realized how you had fucked up.
You tried to wrench your wrist back, “Robby–”
Smirking, he pulled you by the wrist and with a bend of his knees, had thrown you over his shoulder and began walking.
You squealed, “Put me down.”
He stopped walking, “Okay,” You heard the smirk in his voice, and again realized your fatal error too late.
“Don’t you dare–”
You were suspended in the air for a moment, before you hit the water, cold and unforgiving. Your head plunged beneath the surface for a second before you got your bearings and broke the surface again. The water was shallow enough that you could stand and while you gasped for air, you saw that Robby had jumped back in and was wading over to you, smirk still on his face.
“See? Not so bad.” He said smugly.
You scowled at him, “I’m very upset with you.”
Even as you said it, you had to fight a smile. Jesus fucking Christ, it was pathetic the levels of infatuated you had achieved because if this were any other man, if it was, say, Trevor who had pulled this shit, you wouldn’t have spoken to him for the rest of the night. Maybe not even for the rest of the vacation.
But Robby had thrown you in the lake and with just a smile, you were on the verge of giggling again. Oh, you were so fucked.
“Really?” He was close to you now, close enough to touch, “You don’t seem that upset.”
“Yeah, well, I’m furious.” You said mildly. It was dangerous to be this close, so you moved to take a step back, but your foot landed on a particularly slimy rock and you slipped—
“Woah—“ Robby secured an arm around your waist before you could slip under the water and pulled you flush to his chest, “Careful, it’s slippery right there.” He said, teasing.
You huffed and looked up at him, conscious of every place your bodies touched. He had draped your arms around his neck and was now looking at you innocently, like he hadn’t fully manufactured this.
Your tongue darted between your lips and you ran your hands through his wet hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, “You can let me go, now,” You said softly, “I won’t slip again.”
His eyes were heady with desire, “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.” He lowered his hands until they gripped the back of your thighs and then hiked you up until you were straddling his waist, ankles tangled behind his back. Like this, your face was level with his, and his jaw was clenched as he watched you. As if he was restraining himself from something. From you.
“What’re you doing?”
He smirked and nudged his nose into yours, your breaths intertwined in the minimal space between you. Even drenched in lake water, you still smelled faintly of cherries.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He whispered.
He leaned towards you, mouth searching for yours, and you pulled back slightly, “C’mon sweetheart,” He said softly, “Enough of the games. Let me in.”
It wasn’t a game, not to you. And that’s what was so scary. Because it had always been a game to you. There had never been anyone you had wanted more seriously than that. With Trevor he only wanted something more when he realized you didn’t want him like that. He didn’t really love you and you had never loved him. But now you were staring at Robby, shivering in the frigid water and you thought maybe you could love him.
Nearly thirty, you had started to wonder if maybe you just weren’t capable of feeling that deeply for someone else. And still, you didn’t know if you were. But Robby was the first man that made you curious to find out.
“You might not like what you find.” Your voice wavered.
He tilted his head slightly, “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”
Let me worry about that. You thought about his offer yesterday to fix your car. Thought about his willingness to swap beds with you so you could be comfortable. Let me worry about that. What would it be like to have someone else to help take care of things? To lighten the load, even just a little?
So when he leaned in to kiss you again, this time you didn’t stop him. It felt like relief, with his mouth finally on yours. When you sighed into him, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth and your nails dug into his shoulders in response.
You felt his hands tighten their grip on your legs under the water. He seemed torn between keeping you wrapped around his waist like this or dropping you so his hands could wander.
Before he could make a decision, a wolf whistle split the air and the both of you froze. Robby broke his mouth away from yours, turning his head to follow the sound and saw Jack smirking at the two of you, Samira also looking smug from behind him with her arms draped over his shoulders. A moment later, there was whooping coming from the rest of the residents who were playing volleyball near the shore.
Feeling your cheeks heat, you buried your face in Robby’s shoulder.
“Ignore them,” Robby said softly, “Do you want to go inside?”
You pulled your head back from his shoulder so you could see his face. He looked like he was seconds away from devouring you here, in the lake, with everyone watching. Seemingly so desperate for you, he didn’t mind all of his coworkers and subordinates watching.
“Is that what you want?”
He gave you a knowing look, “I want you in whatever capacity you’ll allow. So, do you want to go inside?”
He had to know that now, having tasted him, you wouldn’t be able to deny yourself any longer. The dam you had built between you had sprung a leak. Several, in fact. It was only a matter of time before it was completely eviscerated.
“Yes.” You said eventually.
A giddy smile transformed Robby’s face and he leaned in to give you another quick kiss, “Get on my back.” He murmured against your mouth.
You laughed, “What?”
Rather than explain further, he shifted your weight, spinning you until you understood he wanted you on piggyback.
“You know,” You laughed, pressing kisses up the side of his neck, “I told you I can swim.”
“I know,” He said as he began wading to the shore, “But isn’t this more fun?”
It was a bit embarrassing, if you were honest, drawing more stares and attention from the others. Once close enough to the shore, Robby seemed to give the residents a look you couldn’t see, but must have been scathing as they all abruptly returned their attention back to their volleyball game.
Robby let you off his back and grabbed a dry towel for you, wrapping it around your shoulders and rubbing his hands over it to help dry you before grabbing his own towel.
“You kids be safe now,” Jack was leaning on the edge of the dock, Samira doing the same next to him, both of them smirking at you, “Wrap it before you tap it and all that.”
Robby sighed heavily, “She’s gonna change her mind if you don’t be quiet.”
“No she won’t.” Samira said, “I’ve never seen her this obsessed with anyone. Not even Trevor, whom she slept with for years.”
“Mira!” You hissed indignantly.
“Heard that,” Trevor called, “Hurtful and unnecessary.”
“Let’s go,” Robby draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and beginning to walk towards the house, “You’re obsessed with me, huh?” He said quietly.
You rolled your eyes, “Whatever. As if you’re not obsessed with me.”
“Of course I am,” He opened the back door of the house for you, waited for you to walk inside before following, “But I’m not ashamed of it.”
He blew past you as his words stopped you in your tracks. For the first time, it struck you what it all must’ve looked like to him. How you had been flirting with him, but then pushing him away, over and over.
You trailed after him up the stairs, “I’m not—I’m not ashamed.”
At the top of the stairs, he turned to face you, “I don’t particularly want to have this conversation right now, when I’m finally about to have you naked in my bed—“
“My bed,” You teased, smirking, “Remember?”
He huffed a short laugh and shook his head, “You’re impossible.”
You pressed your lips together firmly, your eyes transfixed by his mouth, “Do you think you’ll still want me?” You asked quietly, your voice small, “After you’ve had me?”
He narrowed his eyes at you, “Is that what this is about? You’re worried I won’t like you after?”
It hadn’t been something you had thought about before, with other partners, because usually you didn’t care enough. You liked being desired, of course, who didn’t? But more often than not if partners disappeared afterwards, you shrugged it off and moved on to the next one.
But with Robby… You had only really known each other for a day or so, but there was something that seemed to pull you to him. The chemistry was easy, effortless as it seemingly flowed back and forth, infinite. With him, you also had a desire to impress, to prove yourself. Like with the tattoos last night. You wanted him to think you were more than just someone to fuck. Another new feeling, one you weren’t used to. You wondered how badly it would hurt if he carelessly let you slip through his fingers and crash back to earth.
He was looking at you now with the patience of a saint, never mind the fact that he had finally convinced you to let him touch you and you were making him wait again. It made you feel stupid, so you quickly shook your head.
“Nothing, forget it. Forget I said anything. Kiss me, please.”
For a second, you thought he might refuse, might make you talk to him, but then he was kissing you again, hard and sloppy as he pushed you through the doorway of your shared room. Never taking his mouth off yours, he half carried, half pushed you towards the bathroom.
With his tongue in your mouth, you were desperate to feel him, to see how needy he was so you ran your hands down his chest and past his waist. When you palmed him over his bathing suit, he groaned and took your lip between his teeth, biting hard enough that you thought maybe he had drawn blood. He was big in your hand. You had thought he was probably packing just from the size of him, but he was bigger than you had imagined.
You swallowed hard as he reached behind you to turn on the shower with one hand and pulled your other hand off his cock, “You can’t be touching me like that yet,” He said, voice gravelly.
You smirked, “Worried you might… ejaculate prematurely?” You teased.
He stared at the warm spray from the shower as he temperature checked it with one hand, “Yeah, actually. And I plan to make you come at least twice before I even consider fucking you properly. I want you crying and begging me to stop because you’re too sensitive before I fill you up.” His eyes slowly looked back at yours, “Is that what you want? Because if not, you should probably tell me now. So we can stop.”
Your breathing faltered hearing him talk like that. Your stomach flipped and you felt yourself beginning to drip into your bathing suit. You swallowed and then nodded, “That’s what I want.”
He offered you a slow smile and then his gaze travelled down your body. He was just looking at you, but it felt filthy. Like he was already thinking about all the compromising positions he could put you in.
You started to take off your bikini, but he stopped you, “Wait.” He said, and his voice dipped, “Haven’t gotten a proper look at you in it yet. Seems like a waste.”
You smirked, “You want me to do a quick spin for you?”
You had mostly been teasing, but he nodded, and so you obliged. Once your back was facing him, his hands came up to touch you. Warm and calloused, they ran down your waist to your ass, which he squeezed appreciatively before giving it a firm smack.
It didn’t hurt, but you gasped and he ran a soothing hand over the skin, “Sorry, I should’ve asked first. S’that okay?”
“Yes,” You said breathlessly.
He brushed the hair off the back of your neck and you automatically tilted your head to allow him access to kiss and suck on it, letting out a soft moan at the scratch of his beard against your skin. As he kissed you, he untied the top of your bathing suit and you felt him sigh as he peered over your shoulder at your bare tits.
“Fuck,” He cursed so softly, you didn’t know if it was even meant for you to hear. He brought his hands up to feel them, his rough palms immediately causing your nipples to harden. He pinched and pulled at them lightly and you moaned in earnest, pushing yourself further into his body behind you.
Your skin felt like it was on fire. Every touch and every kiss had you wondering what you wouldn’t do to keep his attention on you like this. To keep this burning low in your belly. He was so attentive, soft and rough at the same time, watching your reactions to everything so carefully. Just having his eyes on you alone felt like you were a supernova, on the edge of self destruction. You thought you would likely damn yourself to Hell if it meant he would keep touching you like this.
He guided you into the shower and you stepped out of your bottoms. It was a large walk in shower and easily fit the two of you without much effort. Immediately, he got on his knees in front of you. He gripped the backs of your thighs and kissed your stomach, and then made a path down. The way your hips pushed up into him was an involuntary reaction, really, but then he suddenly pulled his mouth away and you pouted.
When you looked down at him, he was grinning, “What’s this?”
He ran a finger over a small tattoo on your upper hip that you tended to forget about a lot. It was almost always completely covered by panties or, in today’s case, a bathing suit.
In messy, loopy cursive, it read bon appétit.
You sighed, embarrassed, “It’s stupid, I got it when I was, like, twenty.”
He looked down at it again, ran his thumb over it, “Did… Did Trevor give you this?”
It felt like the wrong time to talk about this, which was why you hadn’t mentioned, but now that he was asking… “Yeah. He was practicing,” You gulped, “Do you hate it?”
“Hm?” He looked back up at you and then frowned, “Oh, no. No, of course not. I was just…” He sighed, “The juvenile answer is just that I hate that he’s seen you like this.”
You ran a hand over his hair, “If it makes you feel any better, the irony of him giving me this tattoo is that he never really liked eating me out anyway. I almost always had to ask for it, and even then he’d get frustrated if I didn’t come within a couple of minutes.”
He gave a short laugh, “Makes it worse, actually. That you slept with someone like that for years. You didn’t think you deserved better than that?”
You were shocked when you felt the beginning pinpricks of tears at the backs of your eyes. No, you didn’t, actually. It was why the more time you spent with Robby you realized it was him who was out of your league and not the other way around. Why you suspected he’d probably bolt after he slept with you. You thought you probably didn’t deserve someone better than Trevor and so you had resigned yourself to being alone instead.
You swallowed, “Can we stop talking about Trevor, please?”
He must’ve heard the tears in your voice because he looked up and immediately rose back up to standing, “Hey,” He cradled your face in his hands, tenderly kissed your cheeks and forehead, before pressing a long kiss to your mouth, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He kept kissing you, deepened it again until you couldn’t think about anything other than the man in front of you, drunk on the taste of him. He kissed his way down your body until he was on his knees again, kissing and biting at your hips.
He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and kissed your inner thigh, up until you felt him lapping at your folds. He was being so gentle and slow, avoiding your throbbing clit where you wanted him most, teasing on purpose you suspected. Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you grabbed at his hair and rutted your hips into him. He groaned into you and his nose rubbed against your clit exactly where you needed, but he was pulling away, securing his arms around your thighs to keep you still.
“Be good for me,” He said, looking up at you, “Let me take my time, taste you properly first, hm? Can you do that for me, baby?”
It didn’t seem like much of a choice, but you nodded eagerly anyway. He didn’t waste time beginning his assault on you again. It felt like minutes were passing and still, he purposely seemed to neglect the one place you were most needy for him. Tears were collecting at the corners of your eyes, “Please, Robby.” You whined, “Please, please, I’ve been so good, please.”
He took his mouth off you for a moment and looked up at you. When he saw the tears beginning to fall from your eyes, the smugness emanated from him in waves. “What do you want, sweetheart? You wanna cum on my tongue?”
You nodded desperately, “Please.” It was the only word you seemed capable of saying.
He turned his attention back to your pussy, pushed a finger inside you and curled it upwards, slowly stroking that spongy spot that had your knees going weak. You thought your legs may have given out if it wasn’t for Robby holding you up. He added a finger and you were dizzy, the muscles tightening in your abdomen. Finally, he began swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud until you cried out, grinded yourself against him, let the sensation of his beard and mouth push you through your orgasm.
He left his fingers inside you as he rose to standing again, slowly pushing them in and out of you even as you came down. “You taste even better than I thought you would.” He said in your ear as his fingers kept slowly fucking you, pushing you into the wall behind you.
“Robby, I don’t,” You paused, wetting your lips. The slow movement of his fingers inside you was stirring that sensation inside you again, coiling like a spring, “I’m gonna cum again,” You said, shocked you were still able to string full sentences together, “If you keep going I’m gonna–”
He pressed a thumb to your clit and kissed up your neck to your earlobe, which he lightly took between his teeth. All coherent thought ceased, there was just the feeling of his mouth on your skin, his fingers inside you, his rough voice asking you to cum, “Go on then, cum all over my fingers like a good girl, you can do it.” The whine you let out sounded pathetic to your own ears as he moved his hand marginally faster until you were coming apart in his arms again, tears streaming down your cheeks in earnest now, “There you go,” He cooed, bringing his face back so he could see your tearstained cheeks.
Still, his fingers kept moving inside you and you whimpered, using your hands to push at his wrist uselessly. He stayed anchored inside you. You were so sensitive now, the pleasure was almost painful. “Oh, come on, baby,” He said, “You can give me one more, can’t you? You said this is what you wanted. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?”
You hiccupped and shook your head, no. He brought his other hand up to play with your nipples and the broken moan you let out sounded like a sob as you again felt yourself being pushed incrementally towards the edge of a cliff. “Kiss me,” You sighed desperately, “Kiss me, please.”
He hesitated for a moment before he kissed you and you wondered idly if maybe he knew you better, if this wasn’t the first time you were together like this, if he would’ve denied the request. If he was enjoying being a little mean and denying you what you wanted. The thought had you longing for more. You couldn’t take it now, you didn’t think, but the idea of doing this again with him was enough to get you to the precipice again. Your walls tightened around his fingers and he moaned into your mouth, “Go on, sweetheart. Can feel you’re there, give me one more.”
You thought you might black out when your orgasm ripped through you again. You shook in his arms, nails digging deep into the skin of his arms in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself. He murmured praises in your ear as you came down, gently pulled his fingers out of you and wiped away your tears.
He turned the shower off, dried you off, and in your fucked out haze he had to guide you to the bed.
“You okay?” He asked gently, crawling over you, “We can stop.”
You shook your head slowly, a silent command, don’t stop. You looked down to see him putting a condom on himself as he watched you.
He swallowed, “You’re sure?” You nodded, and he chuckled, “Think you can use your words for me?”
You slid your tongue over your lips, “Yes,” You said slowly, “I’m sure.”
He lined up his tip with your soaked entrance and pushed in just an inch, “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” He asked.
“Robby,” You laughed, “Are you gonna fuck me, or what?”
He fought a smirk and nodded before slowly easing himself inside you. You both sighed in relief when he filled you, “Jesus fucking Christ,” He moaned.
At first he was slow, gentle. He watched you carefully, as if he thought you were in danger of breaking. It would’ve made you laugh if it wasn’t so fucking sweet. When it was clear you were okay, were enjoying yourself even, he seemed to lose a bit of the careful restraint he’d been showing.
He brought one of your legs up to his shoulder, pressed a kiss to your ankle before pressing into you again. His pace became relentless as he gripped your hips and he was so, so deep, you could feel him everywhere. Obscene, wet slapping sounds filled the space along with his pants and moans.
“Harder,” You breathed and his eyes snapped to yours, surprised, “Please, I won’t break.”
“Oh, fuck,” He groaned and let your ankle fall back down, opting to fold himself over you instead to be closer. He kissed you sloppily, sucking your tongue into his mouth as he pounded into you, sucking up your moans like water. “Gonna cum,” He panted into your mouth.
You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into skin. He was beautiful like this, you thought, on the verge of coming apart. If he hadn’t absolutely ruined you earlier, you would’ve liked to ride him yourself or make him come with your mouth. But this was a dream, more than you could have asked for, being able to see him like this. It felt like a gift, being allowed this peek into who he was when he was vulnerable.
He buried his face in your neck when he came, groaning and breathless. His hips moved sporadically as his orgasm stuttered through him. You stroked a hand down the back of his head and kissed his cheek.
Still out of breath, he pulled his face back enough to kiss you again and you sighed contentedly into his mouth.
“Still okay?” He asked.
You nodded, “Never better. You?”
He nodded and swallowed, “Yeah.”
After a moment, he pulled out of you and stood to rid himself of the condom. When he came back, he rolled back into bed and pulled you to him, pressing kisses on whatever bare skin he could reach.
He pressed a finger lightly into your cheek furthest from him to turn your head back to him. His eyes searched yours for just a moment before he kissed you on the mouth, long and slow. It made your toes curl.
“I was thinking,” He said, “That we could shower again and then go watch the sunset on the shore. Share a bottle of wine. How does that sound?”
You smiled sleepily, “That sounds lovely.”
***
A little while later, you were sitting between Robby’s legs, your back pressed to his chest. It had cooled considerably since you had last been out here and Robby let you use one of his hoodies.
You were still sleepy from the sex and the wine only made your limbs feel more languid and heavy as you passed the bottle back and forth.
“I’m going to ask you something,” Robby said eventually, “And I don’t want you to get mad when I do.”
You frowned, “Okay…?”
“You were premed? In undergrad?”
You sighed, “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you go to med school?”
You could feel yourself growing prickly and defensive, jaw clenching, “I applied twice within a couple of years. I didn’t get in. The pandemic hit, I lost my job, I ran out of money, I moved back home with my parents.” You shrugged, “I don’t know, I just… I didn’t see the point in trying again.”
It was more than that. The second time you didn’t get in, the failure had felt so visceral, you didn’t tell anyone for weeks. When you were forced into moving back to Los Angeles in the middle of the pandemic, the next year or so had felt unbearable with your failure seeming to loom above you, inescapable. Thinking back on it, you felt it was a wonder you had survived it at all.
“Do you still want to be a doctor?”
You shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. It doesn’t matter though, it’s too late.”
“Too late?” You felt Robby’s chest rumble with a laugh behind you, “How old are you? Twenty seven? Twenty eight?”
“Twenty nine.”
He laughed again, “You’re a baby. It’s not too late for anything.”
Annoyed, you pushed off his chest and rose on your knees to face him, “I’m not doing it again, okay? So just drop it.”
He shook his head, “Why? Because you’re scared? I didn’t take you for a coward.”
You nodded and rubbed at your eyes, tried not to feel the punch to the gut his words were, “Yeah, well, you don’t really know me, do you?”
For a moment, there’s just his breathing and the gentle lap of the lake on the shore.
“I feel like I do.” He said softly, “And the girl who tattooed an Iliad quote on her body about how life is both beautiful and fragile strikes me as brave.”
Your eyes wandered back up to his and he had a tender look in his eyes as he met your gaze.
You didn’t believe in love at first sight. You didn’t believe in love at first fuck, either. Whatever this was, whatever was causing your pulse to thrum erratically under your skin when he looked at you like that had to just be simple infatuation. It would pass. And Robby should have known better because he was in his damn fifties. You tore your gaze from his and stared at the tree line stubbornly.
“I think,” Robby said after a few moments of silence, “That it’s never too late to do anything. And the worst that could happen is you try again and it doesn’t work out. You’re no worse off than when you started. What’s the harm?”
Your ego, for one. Not to mention the couple of thousands of dollars it would cost to retake the MCATs, order your transcripts, pay for each school’s application fee. Money you didn’t have.
You shook your head slightly and crawled back over to him, placing a hand on the back of his neck to pull his face to yours. You kissed him hungrily and the surprised moan he let out sent chills down your spine.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” You murmured and slipped your free hand underneath the waist band of his shorts.
You watched as his eyes rolled back into his head when you touched him, felt him begin to swell against your palm, “You can’t–” He let out a pained groan, “There’s only so many times… I’ll let you fuck me to get out of a difficult conversation…”
You hummed, “What I’m hearing,” You said, leaning close to his ear, “is that it’s working.”
He cursed and slipped a hand behind your back before deftly flipping you so that you laid flat on the blanket you had been sitting on just moments earlier.
“I’ll fuck you as many times as you need,” He said roughly, “But we will be finishing this conversation later.”
You were smirking up at him smugly and you could tell it was pissing him off with the way his jaw clenched and he tilted his head above you.
“Now, open your mouth,” He said, and pressed his thumb to your chin.
***
It went like that for a couple of days. Robby would try discussing med school, where did you apply, where would you want to go now, did you have a specialty in mind, you should volunteer at the Pitt, he could write you a letter of recommendation, he could help you study for the MCATS, and on and on and on.
Every time you would get increasingly more agitated and your attempts to distract him with sex were becoming less and less effective which only served to piss you off more.
You had spent the day on a boat outing, drinking in the sun, Robby’s hands all over you whenever he thought nobody was looking. Filthy mouth in your ear whispering all the things he was going to do to you once you got back to the house.
He had fulfilled those promises and now you were fucked out and tired from being in the sun all day. Also you were a little grumpy that the group had planned to go out for drinks that night at a local bar. All you really wanted was to curl back up into Robby in bed and listen to the lull of the AC and Robby’s voice as he read aloud from the novel he had brought with him.
But you were here to be with friends, not just Robby. And you really enjoyed the company of the others as well, having met them a couple of times after moving back to Pittsburgh. They were always so sweet and welcoming to you, never making you feel like an outsider, even when the envy seemed to overtake you when they began telling stories about med school rotations or their latest shift.
So now you and Robby were in the shower, about to begin the task of getting ready for a night out when he brought it up again.
“You know, I know one of the professors at UPitt, I could get you an introduction, maybe a coffee even–”
“Robby,” You said sharply, “I don’t know how many fucking times I have to tell you, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going to apply to med school again. I’ve moved on.”
“Yeah, to some dead end job at a biotech company that some giant corporation will probably buy out in a couple of years.” He said it offhandedly, like he genuinely didn’t think it would hurt you. He didn’t even look up as he said it, just continued lathering his legs up with soap.
“Wow,” You scoffed, “Didn’t realize you thought I was such a loser. Thanks for clearing that up.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, you thought perhaps realizing his mistake too late, “That’s not what I meant–”
“Well what the fuck did you mean, then, hm?” You stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself, desperate to create space and distance, “Why don’t you just fucking admit it?”
He stared at you through the glass, perplexed, “Admit what?”
“That you won’t fucking want me when we get back to Pittsburgh and I continue to be some loser who works at a ‘dead end’ job?”
He shook his head, “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t care what you do, what I care about is that you feel happy and fulfilled and I’ve seen enough doctors in my life to recognize the… hunger, the drive. The need to be needed, the desire to fix and heal. And I see it in you and you’re fucking wasting it.”
You scoffed and turned away, “You’re still talking like you know me, but we only really met a few days ago.”
“Okay, so, fuck, the last few days count for nothing then? I’ve spent nearly every goddamn minute with you since we got here. You think I don’t know you because you won’t talk to me, but you don’t have to say anything. I see the way you look at Samira. You love her, but there’s a sadness behind it, like you’re mourning something. I see the way you deflate around my residents when they talk shop in front of you, like a fucking kid left out at the lunch table. You’re not that fucking difficult to understand.”
You braced your hands on the bathroom sink, “It seems like all you’ve found out is that I’m insecure, not exactly the discovery of the century.”
You heard him scoff, “No, what I found out is that you’re so fucking scared of maybe being a little uncomfortable that you’d rather be miserable your whole life than try.”
“I’m not scared.”
The shower turned off and you heard him get out, wrap a towel around his waist, “You are, kid, and it’s making a coward out of you.”
You shook your head and started throwing your products back into your makeup bag, “Fuck you.” You said quietly and stormed out of the bathroom.
“And now you’re acting like a child,” he said, following you into the bedroom, “instead of having an adult conversation.”
“You’re not trying to have a conversation, you’re just being a condescending asshole.” You grabbed the outfit you planned on wearing tonight and all your makeup, “I’m going to get ready elsewhere.”
He ran a hand over the back of his head in frustration, “Yeah, keep running from it,” He murmured, “I’m sure that’ll solve it.”
You bit the inside of your cheek and walked out of the room, towel wrapped around you and all your makeup and clothes clutched to your chest.
When you knocked on Samira’s door, Jack answered, frowning down at you, “Are you… okay?”
“Who is it, Jack?”
Jack let the door open fully and you saw Samira sitting on the ground in front of a floor to ceiling mirror, makeup brush in hand, “Oh. Hi.”
You took a deep breath, “Can I get ready in here?”
Samira smiled and scooted to the side to make room for you in front of the mirror and you brushed past Jack to sit with her.
“What happened?” Samira asked as you got settled next to her.
You frowned, “Nothing, I just wanted to get ready with you. Like we used to.” You inhaled sharply and clapped your hands together, “You know, maybe we should do shots.”
She was still smiling at you, but watching you carefully, “Come on, I know you.” She said softly, “It’s always been easy to see when you’re upset.”
You swallowed and glanced at her out of the corner of your eye, starting to dot your tinted moisturizer onto your face with fingers.
“Robby and I had a fight.” You said finally.
Samira nodded, “About?”
Slowly, you both turned to look at Jack who was seated at the edge of the bed on his phone, pretending not to eavesdrop.
He looked up when he felt you both staring at him, “What?” You both raised your eyebrows and he sighed, standing, “Fine, I’ll go, but I’m hurt that you don’t consider me one of the girls.”
Samira smirked, “If Robby wasn’t your best friend, I’d let you stay.”
Jack shook his head as he left the room, “That guy’s always ruining things for me.”
You and Samira both turned back to the mirror, “Continue.” Samira said.
You sighed as you blended out the moisturizer with your beauty blender, “He kept pushing and pushing about med school and I told him I wasn’t going to apply again and he basically implied that I was a loser at a dead end job and wasting my life.”
Samira frowned, “Surely he didn’t say it like that?”
You blinked and watched her face in the mirror, “Does it matter how he said it?”
She didn’t say anything for a few moments and you scoffed, “Oh my God,” You said slowly, “You agree with him.”
Samira shook her head, “No, it’s not—“ She sighed, “I definitely don’t think that you’re a loser. And I don’t think that you’re wasting your life… If you’re happy, but you’re not. I know you’re not.”
You didn’t say anything, picked up your concealer and did your best to blink away the burning in your eyes. It was annoying and hurtful to hear from Robby, but from Samira, your best friend of almost ten years, it made you nauseous.
“I just, I remember how badly you wanted it once. It was all we talked about. And now it’s like you’ve convinced yourself you never actually wanted it because you don’t want to get hurt again.” Samira said gently, “But you could still do it. You can do anything.”
She sounded so earnest, you wanted to believe her.
You sniffled and blended out your concealer, “I’m really proud of you, you know. I know sometimes I seem jealous, but—“
“I know that,” Samira said quickly, smiling at you in the mirror, “If the roles were reversed I’d be the same way. It doesn’t make you a bad friend.”
You gave her a watery smile, “You’re a really great friend for putting up with me all these years.”
Samira laughed and gently tugged at her waterline to apply eyeliner, “Please, I wouldn’t have survived med school without you.” She stopped smudging the eyeliner and met your eyes, “And when you get into med school, I’ll do the same for you.”
You inhaled slowly and purposefully, “When,” You murmured softly.
And for the first time in a long time, you allowed the hope to bloom in your chest.
***
The bar was crowded and loud. The back of your hand was sticky from the lime and salt you had put there when you, Samira, Parker, and Trinity had done tequila shots. Javadi and Whitaker had had to drive back to Pittsburgh the day before, not able to get as many days off as the rest of you. Trevor had also headed out once you got back from the boating trip. He said he had work, but Samira had suspected he was just tired of watching you make out with Robby, which had gratified you a little bit.
“Another round?” Trinity asked, eyebrows raised.
“Slow your roll, Santos,” Parker put a hand on her shoulder, “I think we could do with a little break.”
“Robby’s been staring at you for the last twenty minutes.” Samira said, smirking. Robby was across the room behind you, you knew. Samira stood in front of you and could see him over your shoulder, “Why don’t you go talk to him?”
You had done about three or four tequila shots since arriving (you’d already lost count) and to say you were feeling it would be putting it mildly. You were starting to feel mildly apologetic for how you’d been handling your conversations with Robby the last couple of days, especially after talking to Samira earlier. But you weren’t ready to admit that yet. And, besides, you were having fun hanging out with the girls.
You shrugged your shoulders, “I’m having fun over here.”
Just then, the opening chords of Earth, Wind & Fire’s September started blaring through the speakers and you and Samira locked eyes.
“No way.” Samira giggled, shaking her head.
This song was very intrinsic to your friendship. It had played at a freshman orientation mixer and the two of you had been the only ones to sing along, embarrassingly loud and off key. It had bonded you. And from then on, it had become a siren song of sorts. Whenever you had been bickering (it was only natural after years of living together) one of you would play the song over the house speakers when you were ready to apologize. You had both been very studious in undergrad, but every so often after you turned twenty one, you could both be convinced to go out dancing and September was always requested of the DJ. So many of your happiest moments with Samira could be traced back to this song.
So you grabbed her hand, “Let’s go,” and dragged her to the dance floor.
Laughing, hands on each other’s shoulders, you danced badly and sang the lyrics loudly and ignored everyone else. You were often happiest when you were with Samira and the last couple of years back in California, you had forgotten that. She was your person, your lighthouse, the sister you never had, but always wanted.
When the song was over, breathlessly and arms wrapped around each other still, you walked back over to Trinity and Parker. In your absence, Jack had joined them, sipping a whiskey and looked at both you and Samira with amusement on his face.
Samira detached from you as you got closer and slid into Jack’s arms instead. You watched as he pressed his mouth to her ear, whispering something only she could hear and the smile on her face widened.
With Jack here, you couldn’t help but wonder what Robby was up to now and turned your head towards the direction you last saw him. He was still there, leaning against the bar and sipping a drink–
But there was a woman next to him, now, smiling at him with her hand on his forearm. You were drunk, and so there was a part of your brain that registered whatever you were feeling watching another woman touching him was overblown. But it didn’t soothe the twisting feeling you felt in your chest when you saw him laugh at something she had said. And he hadn’t removed his arm from her touch.
She was older than you, you could see that much. Probably around forty or so, someone more acceptable for him. Someone people wouldn’t look at and wonder if he was her father or not. She was gorgeous in a red dress that hugged her curves tightly and curly hair that fell past her shoulders. It was likely she had her life together, knew what she wanted to do with it and didn’t let childish insecurities get in the way. She probably knew how to be vulnerable with someone else without feeling like they were attacking her.
You couldn’t say how long you were staring before you heard Jack call your name. When you turned, he had a sympathetic look on his face, “Don’t let that get to you, alright?” He said, eyes following your gaze, “If you just go talk to him, he’s yours, I promise.”
Samira was still in his arms, her brow furrowed with worry as she watched you.
You looked back at Robby and the older woman and saw he had covered her hand on his forearm with his own, thumb stroking back and forth over her skin.
There was a roaring in your ears when you turned back to the table, “Mira, I think I’m gonna throw up.” You said as you braced your hands on the high top table you were all gathered around.
Immediately, you felt her hand on your back and she lowered her head until she met your gaze, “Do you want some ice?” You shook your head, no.
“You know what I would do if I were you?” Trinity said, tossing the ice from her now empty drink into her mouth.
“She’s about to give the most unhinged advice you’ve ever heard.” Samira said, sighing.
Trinity seemed unfazed by Samira’s criticism and barrelled ahead anyway, “I would go in the bathroom, take an awesome picture of my tits, and text it to him. He goes to check his phone: boom, breasts. Instant boner.” She shrugged, “It works on sapphic women, anyway.”
Parker nodded behind her, “Yeah, that would work on me.”
You blinked blankly at them and looked at Samira, who, frighteningly, was not shooting down the idea.
Jack sighed, “If you just talk to him instead of playing these games–”
“Girls,” You said, standing up straight, “Let’s take a trip to the bathroom.”
***
Robby was trying to make you jealous. He realized the immaturity of it, that he was resorting to tactics he suspected you would employ yourself, but he couldn’t help it. Something about you made him feel like a college kid again, pining after the prettiest sorority girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day.
He just wanted to talk to you. He had pushed too hard, like he tended to do. Giving tough love for a situation that maybe required gentler hands and a more receptive headspace. He didn’t think what he said had been wrong, exactly, but maybe it had been a bit harsher than he intended. And he would apologize for that. Once you admitted he was right.
But in the meantime, he couldn’t stand by any longer watching you dance around drunk in a too short dress that cupped your breasts just right and left your bare back exposed to the humid August air.
The fact that the woman was older, more age appropriate perhaps, truly hadn’t even crossed his mind. He hadn't intended to hurt you when he indulged her flirting, just maybe make you a little territorial so that you’d finally stop pretending like he wasn’t in the same room as you.
When he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out, he honestly thought it was probably someone at the Pitt, asking some obscure admin related question.
It was a number outside of his contacts and he frowned at that before swiping it open–
And being absolutely blown away by the sight of your tits on his screen. It looked like you had taken it in the bathroom, the straps from your dress pushed down your shoulders so the fabric pooled at your waist. Your nipples were hardened, likely from the cold air of the AC in the bathroom.
Underneath the picture you had typed: do you wanna lick them? also open to some light nibbling if ur in the mood
He barked out a laugh and locked his phone, cracking his neck from side to side as he turned his attention back to the woman in front of him, apologizing for the interruption. He would not be won over so easily, despite the way he felt the blood rushing south and between his legs at the thought of your tits in his mouth.
He was tired of you using sex to avoid deep conversation. He hadn’t been sure what he wanted from you when he got here, but he had decided since that it was more than just fucking. He wouldn’t settle for just easing the ache between your legs whenever you felt like it.
A few moments later, his phone buzzed again. Robby wanted to ignore it. If you wanted him, you could come over here and say so. But in the end, you won, and he picked up his phone again.
I’m not wearing any panties.
He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed deeply as he locked his phone.
“Is everything alright?”
He opened his eyes and looked at the woman in front of him, “Yeah, sorry, I, uh–” He lifted his phone, “I just have to take care of something, would you excuse me?”
Robby was already walking towards where he last saw you before the woman could reply. You were still there, looking smug as you bit on the straw of a long empty drink and stared at him. When he got to you, he wordlessly took the drink from your hand, dropped it on the table, and then secured a hand around your wrist before he began walking again, you trailing behind.
Once outside the bar, he checked for people before backing you against the wall, relishing in your little gasp when your back hit the brick. He kissed you hard and with all the annoyance he felt, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and biting down until you yelped. He began to pull away, to see if he had actually hurt you, but before he could get more than a few centimeters away, you crashed your mouth back into his.
He palmed your breast through the fabric of your dress and sighed when he felt the peak of your nipple. He needed to know if you had been serious about not wearing panties. The dress was fairly short, and it was loose and flowy from your waist down, so it would have been quite the risk.
Robby spread your legs with his knee before reaching one of his hands between your thighs and up your dress. You were soaked and there was not a scrap of fabric to be found. He groaned into your mouth as he ran a finger down your folds, sucking your whimpers into his mouth like oxygen.
He was so enamored, he nearly forgot that he was absolutely under no circumstances supposed to be doing this until the two of you could have a real conversation–
It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. That’s right, he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.
He pulled away from you so abruptly, that when your mouth moved to chase his, you leaned over so far you lost your balance and he had to steady you.
“Too much to drink?” He asked, hands on your arms to keep you upright.
“What the fuck?” You whined.
When he thought there was no longer any danger of you falling over, he leaned away and shoved his hands in his pockets, “I told you, there are only so many times I’ll allow you to use sex to avoid having an actual conversation.”
You pouted, “Then why did you come out here?”
He shrugged, “Temporary breach of sanity,” His eyes wandered down to your chest and he swallowed, “Provoked by a perfect pair of tits.”
You poked your tongue out between your teeth, “You think they’re perfect?”
He shook his head and rolled his eyes, “Is this all you want from me? Because if it is, I need to know now.”
You frowned, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Is this just fucking to you?” He gestured to the space between you, “Is that all I am, just a good fuck?”
You felt your cheeks heat, “I–I don’t know, isn’t that what you want?”
“No,” He shook his head, “No, I–” He ran a hand over the back of his head, “I think I want more than that. I want–I want you. All of you. Not just a piece.”
You crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head slightly, “What about that woman at the bar?”
“I was just trying to make you jealous.”
You worried your lower lip between your teeth, “But she’s older and probably better at this whole thing and won’t send you a picture of her tits instead of apologizing.”
You said it all in a rush and he gave you a small smile, “There are worse ways to apologize.”
“It’s not funny, Robby, I’m not good at this,” You threw up your hands in exasperation, “You’re right, I avoid anything that’s difficult, anything I’m worried I’ll fail at and–” You blinked rapidly, your eyes glinting wet with unshed tears, “And I’m terrified of disappointing you.”
He tilted his head and took a step to you, reaching a hand out to gently cradle your cheek in his palm, “Sweetheart, as long as you’re actually trying, you’re never going to disappoint me.”
Your breathing wavered slightly and you turned your head to kiss his palm, “I want to go to med school.” You said softly. It was a small concession, not quite an apology, but close enough.
“I know.” He pulled you to his chest and kissed the top of your head. His hands slid to either side of your neck and he tilted your head up so he could kiss you properly, the taste of tequila still on your tongue, “You ready to go back inside?”
You nodded and let him lead you back by the hand, smiling to yourself when his thumb stroked reassuring circles on the back of your hand. He kept a hand on you, whether it was on your hand, arm, hip, or thigh, for the rest of the night. The woman at the bar looked a bit miffed when she finally left, but Robby didn’t notice. He was too busy watching you.
***
The humidity was suffocating as you packed your bags in the back of your Yaris. You were dripping with sweat just from the walk from the house to the car. It was likely even hotter in Pittsburgh, a thought that had you second guessing why you had left Los Angeles in the first place. It may have been a desert, but at least it didn’t feel like you were drowning when you were outside.
“You got everything?” Robby came up behind you as you were closing your trunk, hands settling on your hips.
“Yep,” You spun in his arms once the trunk was shut. His face was red from the heat as well, skin damp with sweat, “You?”
“Think I’m just missing my… What do the kids call it? Passenger princess?” He leaned into you and pressed kisses to the side of your neck, making you giggle and push him away when he playfully bit the sensitive skin there.
“I told you,” You laughed, “I’m driving my own car.”
“Baby, it’s gonna be so loud with that useless muffler. You’re gonna hate it. Just let me call someone to tow it–”
“No,” You shook your head adamantly, “Thank you for offering, but no thank you.”
He sighed, “What if I said I just don’t want to drive back to Pittsburgh by myself?”
You smiled and kissed him. You didn’t think you’d ever tire of the taste of him, the feel of his beard against your skin, “We have plans to see each other two days from now. Aren’t you sick of me?”
He shook his head, “Not even close.” He kissed your forehead, “But, fine. Enjoy your drive, don’t come crying to me for an ENT referral when you rupture your eardrums.”
You laughed as he turned away from you, “That’s a bit dramatic, I think.”
He only shrugged as he headed to his own car and you headed to your driver’s side. Sliding into the hot seat, you put your key in the ignition and turned– There was a whine from the car, but no turnover. Frowning, you tried again. And again. And–
“Oh no,” Robby opened your driver’s side, “Looks like your car won’t start.”
You turned to scowl at him, “Did you do this?”
He laughed, “Of course not. But I can’t say I’m not a little pleased.”
You leaned your head against the steering wheel, “I can’t afford this.” You murmured. And it was true. Even after working at the new job for a while, you were still regaining your footing from all the moving costs.
“It’s probably just a dead battery or bad alternator. I’ll fix it when we get back.”
You looked up at him, “That’s too much.”
But he was already shaking his head, “I like doing it. Both working with cars and helping you. Now get in my car, please, so we can go home.”
It was strange, this feeling you got now when looking at him. When he was kind and generous with you, but had no ulterior motive. You had never met anyone like him. It had only been a week, and you had never been in love before, but you thought this must be what it felt like. When you were just on the precipice of it.
You got out of your car and rose on your toes to kiss him, “Thank you,” You whispered in his mouth.
“Get a room,” Jack teased as he walked outside, Samira in tow.
When you saw her you broke from Robby and went to wrap her up in a hug instead, “Thank you for inviting me, Mira.” You said into her shoulder.
Her arms tightened around you, “I’m just glad to have you back on the east coast.” She looked over your shoulder towards Robby, “And I’m glad that I’m such a good matchmaker.”
You laughed, “Yeah, if he’s ever mean to you again, you let me know.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” She pulled away, “You’re on speed dial.”
Robby kept a hand on your thigh for most of the ride back to Pittsburgh, stroking a soothing pattern with his thumb until you were half asleep. The subtle smell of cherries was in his nose the entire drive back and when he occasionally looked back over at you, asleep in his passenger seat, he thought he finally understood what Jack had said to him when he started dating Samira.
It’s like I’ve been asleep at the wheel and she took it from my hands. I don’t wonder why I keep going anymore, I know it’s because she’s keeping me from veering off the road.
He certainly was no expert at relationships, but you made him want to try if it meant it would extend this feeling in his chest when he looked at you. Like everything would be okay as long as you were happy and breathing next to him.
He wasn’t sure if he loved you yet, but he was sure that he desperately wanted to find out.
This is me trying @dre6ming - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
