HI GUYS HI GUYS HIIII. uh here’s chapter 6. i don’t really have much else to say lol. hope you all are well😃
Anissa
my face had refused to drop the smile that i wielded for the past two days. my cheeks actually started to ache. after the dinner Michael and Bill dropped me off home.
“thank you for everything” the california air had become a little chilly since the sun had gone down for the day.
the lights of the city reflected on Michael’s features as he leaned against the car, wearing a grin that was enough to make the whole world around me seem less important.
“you don’t have to thank me, thank you really” he emphasized, looking at me through his glasses. i could still sense the softness in his eyes.
i pulled him into my embrace, my arms hugging his neck to breathe in his cologne. his head dropped onto my shoulder while he snaked his arms around my waist, holding me like i might float away.
“i’ll see you whenever okay?” i assured him. he nodded and squeezed me harder “i’m holding you to it” he spoke softly.
“Annie if you dream about Michael anymore you might start to drool” i fell from my secret memory and hit the cold hard hospital ground next to Liz, who was teasing me.
“how is this real?!” i exclaimed as we walked through the halls. today i was working in ortho again unfortunately, and at that point cracking bones and popping them back into place wasn’t enough to make me forget about the day i had with Michael.
“i mean one day im practically licking my posters of Michael Jackson, and then boom! he pops out of nowhere and now we’re friends!” i limited my voice to a whisper but the excitement was still there.
“it sucks that you two are only friends” Liz flipped through the pages of her patient’s chart “i was fully expecting you to come back and tell me you jumped his bones.”
heat rushed to my face immediately “he’s not like that! he’s sweet and kind and…. so so sexy” i began to float back off into my secret dream of Michael.
Lizzy scoffed playfully at me “god help your patients, your head is too far up Michael’s ass.” i giggled at her sassy remark before we parted ways.
today the hospital was buzzing. it was saturday, which meant people were off from work and more likely to hurt themselves. i had one patient who broke his leg while attempting to run backwards on a treadmill, and another who decided it would be a good idea to attempt a handstand on concrete and broke his back.
i worked closely with both Conner from ortho and Greg from neurology.
being in the OR and staring at blood and guts for the second half of my day washed the thought of Michael away temporarily.
it also helped that i was being quizzed by both Conner and Gregg as i assisted the repair of the poor guys broken back in the OR.
after a long and successful surgery where Conner even let me close the patient, i got to inform his family that he would make a full recovery with minimal complications or chances of paralysis.
“any chance you’ll come out with us tonight?” Freddy asked. Freddy always reminded me of a girl dad, or maybe a boy that had a lot of sisters. once he bought me a tampon while i was bleeding in one of the stalls, and ever since then i knew i could trust him a lot more then most other guys.
we stood in the lobby. it was 8 pm and today i wasn’t staying behind to clean and instead i had a date with my couch and a bottle of wine.
“no, sorry Freddy i’m really beat” i smiled sadly. he nodded in understanding “we won’t keep taking your excuses forever R55” Brad warned playfully making me roll my eyes.
the drive home was peaceful and warm unlike the cold sterile hospital. on the drive home i smiled like an idiot at the thought of Michael, and how everything transpired. how lucky was i to be able to call such a genuine guy my friend?
i made it to my apartment and showered immediately, my body breaking under the pressure of the hot water. the 12 hour days began to take a toll of my body, and even though i loved nothing more than saving lives, Michael’s words made me think.
how did i know that being a surgeon was my dream if i never had a chance to have any other dreams?
as if on cue while i was drying my curls, the phone began to ring. i wrapped myself in my robe and tucked the end of the towel on my head in so it wouldn’t fall off as i jogged to the phone.
“hello?”
“Anissa? hi how are you?” i’d know that soft voice anywhere.
“Michael! hi i’m well and you?” i replied as sat on my bed.
“i’m actually in a bit of situation and i was hoping you could help me.”
i furrowed my eyebrows in concern “me?”
“yes, can i send Bill to get you?” my heart dropped as i realized id get to see him tonight.
“o-oh, okay, sure” i agreed “let me get dressed… wait how should i get dressed?” i asked next making him laugh softly.
“casual, anyway you want ma” he replied making me blush and smile. “okay i will see you soon then” i giggled.
i quickly got dressed in a pink sweater and some of my best fitting jeans since it was chilly out, and i paired it with boots with a little heel.
i put my hair up in a low effort looking bun, letting some curls fall, even thought it took a ton of effort.
i then grabbed my keys and purse and made my way down to my apartment lobby.
in the car with Bill was calming like always. “do you know why Michael needs me?” i asked, my palms sweating with anxiety.
“Sorry Miss Anissa, the bossman is a little spontaneous, so i truly never know sometimes” Bill explained, his eyes staying on the road.
i hummed in understanding. “how long have you known him” i asked him next.
“since he was a child” Bill replied. i nodded, finding it adorable that Bill and Michael had been together since he was a kid.
we pulled up to some gates that opened only when Bill arrived. we drove up a pretty dramatic drive way where a gorgeous looking house came into view.
“welcome to Hayvenhurst” Bill announced before getting out and opening my door.
i had heard about the place obviously as a Michael Jackson fan, and how fans would gather at the gates every day just to catch glimpses of the Jackson 5.
it was even prettier in person.
“Anissa! you made it!” i turned towards the cheerful voice to see Michael in a sweater and jeans, his curly hair in a ponytail.
act normal Anissa, act normal!
“hi angelface, good to see you” he bit down on his lip with a smile before wrapping his arms around me. lord have mercy.
“good to see you too” he murmured into my shoulder, “now come on i have something to show you!” next thing you know i was being dragged along with Michael towards the sight of the house.
“see ya later Bill!” i waved goodbye. he gave a smile and a nod in return.
Michael’s property was large, with lots of yard and- “is that a Llama?!” i almost broke my damn neck trying to look as he pulled me into the door headed of us.
“yes, his name is Louie, now come, come!” he was clearly very excited for whatever i was about to witness.
he flicked the lights on and revealed that we were standing in a recording studio. there were a shit ton of buttons and a bunch of chairs that signaled that people had been there today, probably working hard on the next project.
“wow” i breathed as i looked around. “is this where the magic happens?” i asked Michael. he laughed softly at the question “yes.”
“to what do i owe the pleasure of being here?” i turned around to face his pretty eyes. they scanned me like always, but the butterflies never went away.
i should be used to him by now, but each time i only got more and more crazy about him. if he and i were going to just be friends, i had to get better at regulating my emotions.
“i uh, i want you to hear something” he walked around the studio aimlessly. “but first i need to know i can trust you, because im not supposed to be doing this” Michael wore a mischievous smile on his handsome face.
i nodded “okay….” i trailed off. “how do i prove that you can trust me?” i played with my fingers nervously.
“you tell me” he challenged, bitting his lip once more.
i pondered for a bit about how to prove that he could trust me as he watched me carefully “well if you keep staring at me i’ll just faint again” i dramatically sighed as he laughed shyly.
then it hit me. “i have an idea! do you have a pin and a notepad?”
he looked a bit confused as he turned and looked on the table behind him, handing me a pin and and yellow notepad. “okay sit” i instructed him. he sat down, still looking at me in confusion.
i sat across from him. “name?” i asked, pin in hand readily.
Michael laughed playfully “what? you know my name.”
“humor me superstar” i rolled my eyes in a playful manner at him.
“Michael Jackson” he finally said.
“height?” i asked next.
“5’10”
“weight?”
“135 pounds.”
next i reached into my purse and pulled my stethoscope out “good thing i carry this around” i smiled awkwardly before walked towards him.
“what are you doing?” he laughed as i checked for his heart beat, putting the stethoscope in my ears. “listening to your heart” i giggled along with him. Michael was so much more beautiful up close.
i could see the shadow of a beard on his face, along with a mustache. i could see how long his eyelashes truly were, along with his arched eyebrows.
he noticed that i was looked at him as his eyes settled on mine. his heart began to beat faster in my ears and his eyes reflected fear almost. and then i realized any sane person would be slightly unnerved being stared at this closely. so i forcefully ripped my eyes away from him.
“your heart sounds healthy Michael” i spoke as i pulled away. “and this is now officially a check up” i told him. “anything you tell me is confidential since i am your doctor and if i tell anyone else it is a HIPPA violation and i could have my medical license revoked” i smiled softly as realization hit him.
“silly girl!” he burst into a fit of laughter. “thats very clever actually” he laughed as he stood up. “thank you for that doc.”
“your welcome honey, now what did you want to show me?” i asked as he stepped closer and closer.
“whose bad” he replied with a smirk that i could only describe as absolutely sexy, making my head turn slightly in absolute interest at the bizarre answer.
“huh?”
“come on” he pulled me into the booth of the studio “sit” he pointed at the stool. i planted myself there as he stood in front of me.
he put the headphones over my head, actually being mindful of my hair. i looked up at his focused expression, wondering what he’d look like if i could do all the things i wanted to do to him. i blushed and bit back my smile “is that comfy?” he asked, knocking me out of my daydream. i nodded, still very perplexed.
he stepped out of the room as i watched him through the glass “can you hear me Annie?” he asked through the microphone near all of those buttons.
“yes i can” i replied anxiously.
“okay” he grinned “are you ready?”
my heart sank “yes?” i replied as he nodded before clicking a button. i jumped at the sudden sounds playing in my ear before a groovy bass line started.
your butt is mine, gon' tell you right, ah
Just show your face in broad daylight, ah
my mouth fell agape as i realized i was listening to an unreleased song. Michael sat with a nervous smile playing on his pink lips.
I'm tellin' you on who I feel, ah
Gonna hurt your mind, don't shoot to kill
Come on, ah, come on
Lay it on me, ah, alright
the sound was so much different then Thriller and Off The Wall. it sounded more dangerous and grown up.
Ah, I'm givin' you on count to three, ah
Just show your stuff or let it be, ah
I'm tellin' you, just watch your mouth, ah
I know your game, what you're about
Well, they say the sky's the limit
And to me that's really true, ah
But, my friend, you have seen nothin'
Just wait 'til I get through
Because I'm bad, I'm bad, come on
You know I'm bad, I'm bad
his reply when i had asked him about what he was showing me finally made perfect sense.
You know it
You know I'm bad, I'm bad
Come on, you know
And the whole world has to answer right now
Just to tell you once again who's bad
somehow the nicest man i had ever met had fully convinced me that he was the baddest in the whole world with his vocals, and boy did it turn me on.
The word is out, you're doin' it wrong,
Gon' lock you up before too long,
Your lyin' eyes gon' tell you right,
So listen up, don't make a fight,
Michael bit his cheek nervously, still smiling at my shocked reaction to the art he made.
Your talk is cheap, you're not a man,
You're throwin' stones to hide your hands
Well, they say the sky's the limit
And to me that's really true, ah
But, my friend, you have seen nothin'
Just wait 'til I get through
Because I'm bad, I'm bad, come on
You know I'm bad, I'm bad
You know it
You know I'm bad, I'm bad
You know it, you know
And the whole world has to answer right now
Just to tell you once again who's bad
an epic organ solo waged through my brain and completely cleared everything off of my mind because it transcended me so far. Michael’s new sound was like nothing i had ever heard.
We can change the world tomorrow
This could be a better place,
If you don't like what I'm sayin'
Then won't you slap my face?
Because I'm bad, I'm bad, come on
You know I'm bad, I'm bad
You know it
You know I'm bad, I'm bad
You know it, you know
And the whole world has to answer right now
Just to tell you once again
You know I'm bad, I'm bad, come on
You know I'm bad, I'm bad
You know it, you know it
You know, you know
You know, come on
And the whole world has to answer right now
Just to tell you once again
You know I'm smooth, I'm bad, you know it
You know I'm bad, I'm bad
You know, you know, you know it, come on
And the whole world has to answer right now
Just to tell you once again
You know I'm bad, I'm bad, you know it
You know I'm bad, you know, woo
You know I'm bad, I'm bad
You know it, you know
And the whole world has to answer right now
Just to tell you once again
who's bad
my mouth was still wide open as i slowly removed the headphones. Michael’s boyish laugh was audible from behind the glass as he got up to step into the booth.
“you just- y-you let me hear an unreleased song” i stammered as i stood up.
he hummed in agreement, smiling ear to ear as if he liked knocking me on my ass. “did you like it?”
“Michael” i looked at him “that was so… dangerous, and new, and… unlike anything you’ve ever done but somehow it’s only something you could’ve done” i raved enthusiastically as i paced the booth.
“really?” he questioned.
i turned to him to see a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. “of course! were you having doubts?”
he sighed ever so softly “a little” he replied. “so much is changing, and i just want it to have the same spark as Thriller” he expressed.
“but Thriller’s already been done before” i rebuttaled, stepping closer to him.
“yes it has but, i feel like i don’t have the same spark as i did when we made Thriller” Michael confessed. i could feel the worry radiating from him. his eyes looked everywhere but mine as he slumped his shoulders.
“why? what do you think has changed?”
“…me.” his voice wavered barely above a whisper. “the tabloids, im sure you’ve seen them… they tare me to absolute shreds.”
“my face, my nose, my skin, so much has changed so fast” it was no secret that Michael’s skin complexion had completely changed since the Victory Tour.
i still thought that he was the most beautiful man i had ever laid eyes on however, and it would take boulders to make that change.
“people change all the time though” i placed my hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. “people get older, people get plastic surgery, people evolve, people get cold, but your soul is the only thing that never changes.”
he finally glanced up at me, his pretty eyes lingering with mine.
“Michael your not like others” i started. “of course because your insanely talented, but mainly because of your soul. i know we haven’t known each other for that long but your the kindest, and most caring person the world has encountered in a long time and that’s what sets you apart from others. your only 28 and you’ve don’t more for the entire world then most people with your power ever will!”
“so sure your face can change, you can gain 200 pounds or lose it but you’ll always be Michael Jackson because your soul is pure” Michael’s dark eyebrows furrowed as he searched my face.
“god, you’ve done it again” he laughed in disbelief as tears welled up in his eyes. “you said exactly what i needed to hear.”
i grinned softly, shyly looking at the ground. “it’s because it’s true” i replied, caressing a stray curl out of his face and behind his ear mindlessly. i immediately blushed and looked down i realized the proximity. he was RIGHT in my face.
“why don’t you ever let me good a good look at you?” his voice got even more delicate in that moment, and i wanted to absolutely fall to my knees.
“there’s nothing to see…” i replied, my eyes still glued to my shoes. “you’re the incredibly beautiful and sexy one here.”
i heard his breathy laugh as i refused to look up, but i knew he was probably blushing like a shy kid meeting santa claus.
“do you really mean that?” Michael questioned.
“of course, still dropping drawls left and right Michael” he burst into a laugh that was contagious, one that was loud and genuine. i was just glad that i could make him feel better.
“come on apple head, let’s get you home” he continued to laugh through his words, guiding me out of the booth, his warm hand on my lower back.
synopsis: michael can’t take what you give him and you’re really condescending about it.
warnings: smut, lowkey no plot at all, overstimulation, oral (m!recieving,) handjob, edging, use of good boy, baby, sub!michael, slight praise.
a/n: yeah idk i’m a horny bitch and love ts. that’s all i really gotta say. this is based on this request, i hope you love it.
you straddled michael’s hips, pressing your body against his as you kiss him deeply, your fingers playing with his hair. he moans softly, his hands gripping your waist. the room is dimly lit, the only sound being the soft music playing in the background. michael’s breath hitches as you move from his mouth to his neck, placing gentle kisses and bites. “baby…”
his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt as you work your way down the column of his throat, sucking a dark mark onto his soft skin. michael’s head falls back against the pillows, his breathing growing shallow and ragged. his hips twitch upward instinctively, seeking friction, his usually composed demeanour starting to crack under your attention.
michael’s voice cracks slightly as he tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving. his eyes flutter closed, long lashes casting shadows on his high cheekbones. a small, needy sound escapes him when your lips brush his adam’s apple. his hand leaves your waist to tangle in your hair, gently guiding you lower. “please…”
as you slide down his chest, kissing and licking his body, michael’s voice becomes breathier, more urgent. his fingers tug gently at your hair as you reach his stomach, leaving open mouthed kisses there. his stomach contracts under your touch, a soft whimper escaping him.
michael’s hips jerk upwards when you nip at his stomach, his voice breaking as he whispers your name. his eyes remain closed, his face contorted in a mix of pleasure and vulnerability. he bites his bottom lip, trying to hold back moans as you undo his belt and pull down his pants.
you look up at him, lips brushing against the fabric of his boxers, and smirk. “mm, already so hard for me, baby?”
michael whimpers, his usually meticulous composure completely unraveled. his thighs tremble as he looks down at you through lidded eyes. “i can’t…i can’t help it when you touch me like this.”
you hook your fingers into his boxers, pulling them down slowly, watching his cock spring free. you lean forward, letting your breath ghost over the head before speaking. “such a good boy, getting hard for me. you’re not gonna scream too loud, are? wouldn’t want your brothers hearing, would we?”
michael gasps, his face flushing deep crimson. his hips buck up involuntarily as your hot breath teases his sensitive flesh. he shakes his head frantically, trying to speak but only manages fragmented words. “n-no, i’ll be…quiet…i promise.” his fingers tighten in your hair, a silent plea for you to touch him.
you wrap your hand around his length, stroking slowly while maintaining eye contact, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “promise? you know how loud you get, mikey, when i touch you, you turn into such a needy little thing.”
michael moans softly, his head falling back against the pillow. his eyes are squeezed shut as he tries to maintain some semblance of control. his hips start moving slightly, fucking into your hand. “shut…shut up and suck…please…” he whimpers.
your hand immediately stops moving, gripping him tight enough to make him gasp, denying him any friction. you raise an eyebrow at him, your expression cooling instantly. “did you just tell me to shut up?”
michael freezes, his eyes snapping open, panic mixing with the list swirling in his dark gaze. he realises his mistake instantly, his breath hitching. “no..”
michael’s eyes roll back as you suddenly take him deep, his hand flying to his head in shock. he lets out a loud, unhinged moan that he immediately tries to muffle with his other hand a little too late. “f-fuck…fuck…i’m sorry, i’m sorry.”
your cruel, teasing pace continues, ignoring his apology. michael’s hips stutter up, his entire body tensing as he bites down hard on his fists to keep him from moaning. tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he’s brought to the brink too quickly. “sh-shit..baby..wait.”
you deliberately pause, looking up at him with a smug, knowing smile, knowing exactly the effect you’re having on him. michael’s fist falls from his mouth, panting heavily as he glares at you with tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes. “you’re doing this on purpose..”
you don’t respond, just slow your hand to a lazy, torturous stroke—thing swirling around the tip with each pull. your lips stay just above him, warm breath teasing his sensitive crown. your eyes are hooded, lips swollen, that condescending little smirk playing at the corners of your mouth as you watch his entire body shake.
michael’s face contorts with need and frustration. he watches you touch him, his hips twitching to meet your hand. his voice comes out hoarse and pleading. “please..please baby. dont tease me like this..i’m so close..just a little faster..”
you don’t change your pace at all. just keeping that slow, steady stroke going. your smirk widens, your eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure as you watch your boyfriend squirm. “look at you,” you say mockingly.
you pout your lips, blowing a teasing stream of air over his tip. “such a needy boy tonight. i’m just touching you and you’re begging like a little bitch.” your hand moves slower, almost lazy.
your hand slows down even more, practically stopping, just ghosting your fingers over his throbbing length. “told me to shut up earlier, didn’t you? giving me orders…” you tut softly, shaking your head. “now look at you. falling apart because my hand isn’t moving fast enough.” you grip the base, squeezing hard.
michael whines high in his throat, his hips lifting off the mattress as the pleasure becomes agonising. tears spill over his lashes, tracking down his flushed cheeks. “please..please..i didn’t mean it..” he chokes out, his hips bucking uselessly into your unmoving hand. “i’ll be good..i’ll be so good.”
you finally start moving your hand again, but only just a slow torturous stroke that barely covers an inch. “too late for that,” your murmur, your voice dripping with condescension. “you had your chance to be respectful. now you get what you deserve.”
your hand moves even slower, almost still, your fingers barely curling around his length. “pathetic. begging for my hand like this.” you lean up to his ear, whispering harshly. “you’re so desperate to come, aren’t you? from just my hand?”
michael lets out a small noise, his body trembling violently as you tease him. his hands grip the sheets, knuckles white. he look at you with desperate, pleading eyes, completely undone. “yes..yes, baby, please..i need it..i need you to make me cum..” his voice breaks on the last word, a pathetic whine escaping him. “i’ll do anything..”
your smirk soften just slightly. without warning, your hand suddenly moves faster, wrapping around him properly. “just for being such a good body,” you mutter, your voice losing some of its edge.
michael gasps loudly, his his snapping up to meet your hand as you finally give him what he wants. his eyes roll back, his mouth falling open as small whimpers come falling out. his hands fly to your hair, gripping tightly as you stroke him faster. “oh god..oh fuck..baby..” he moans, his voice cracking with desperation. “don’t stop..”
you pick up the pace, your hand sliding smoothly along his length, thumb working his tip in tight circles. michael is a mess beneath you—sweat beading on his forehead, chest heaving, soft cries escaping with every stroke. “that’s it, let it out,” your murmur, watching him come undone. “such a good boy for me..”
as michael catches his breath, you don’t stop touching him. your fingers continue to toy with his sensitive tip, watching him squirm. without warning, you lean down and wrap your lips around him, sucking gently. michael cries out loudly, his hands tightening in your hair. “oh baby..”
your mouth slides further down his length, taking him deeper this time as your hand works what your lips can’t reach. you hollow your cheeks and suck hard, swirling your tongue around his shaft. michael’s entire body jerks, his moans coming out as broken, breathless cries. “so good..you’re so good..” he praises between gasps.
you start bobbing your head faster, one hand reaching to grip his thigh, pulling him deeper into your throat. michael’s thighs tremble next to your head, his fingers tightening painfully in your hair. his voice climbs higher, more desperate. “i’m gonna..fuck..i’m close..” he warns breathlessly, his hips stuttering.
you take him deeper, your throat constricting around him as you suck harder. michael cries out, his hands clutching at your head desperately. “no, no, no—i cant..” he gasps, but his hips betray him, thrusting into your mouth. “i’m gonna cum..fuck—“
your nose presses against his base as you take him as deep as you can go, your throat working around him. michael’s whole body convulses, a loud, broken moan ripping from his throat as he finally explodes inside your mouth. his hands tremble in your hair, pushing and pulling frantically as he comes hard. “fuck…baby..oh god..”
you swallow around him, sucking gently through his orgasm until he’s completely spent and pushing weakly at your forehead. you pull off with a soft pop, giving his sensitive tip a final lick. michael lies there panting, completely destroyed, his cock still twitching occasionally. “oh my god..”
you crawl back up his body, brushing the sweaty curls off his forehead. you press a soft kiss to his damp temple, watching his chest heave. “you done so good, baby,” you whisper, your voice dripping with affection, you stroke his cheek gently.
michael’s eyes flutter closed as your praise, a soft sigh escaping his lips. he turns his face into your touch, nuzzling against your palm like a cat seeking affection. his hand reaches up to cover yours, pressing it more firmly against his cheek.
you lean down to capture his lips in a slow, deep kiss. michael melts into it immediately, his mouth opening eagerly to allow your tongue inside. he kisses you back with equal intensity, his arms wrapping around your neck to pull you closer. “mmph…baby.”
you keep kissing him, drowning out his desperate whimpers as your hand wraps around his oversensitive cock. he’s still twitching from his orgasm, and gentle strokes make him flinch and moan into your mouth. “mmmh—“ he tries to pull away, overwhelmed, but your lips chase his, swallowing every sound.
your hand moves faster, stroking his sensitive length while your mouth works his lips mercilessly. michael is is mess of conflicting sensations—pleasure and overstimulation warring inside him. he tries to whine, but you kiss him deeper, tongue swirling against his as your thumb rubs tight circles around his swollen tip. “baby…” his hands grip your waist.
michael’s body tenses, his hips lifting off the bed as he tries to escape the overwhelming sensations. but you hold him down with your body weight, continuing to kiss him deeply and stroke him gently but firmly. tears prick at the corners of his eyes from the intense overstimulation.
michael gasps into your mouth, his whole body going rigid as another orgasm crashes through him before he’s even recovered. a muffled cry escapes as he comes again, spilling over your knuckles in messy bursts. his thighs shake violently next to you, his fingers digging into your waist tightly. “mmph…fuck!”
you keep stroking through his second orgasm, your mouth never leaving his, swallowing his choked cries. when he finally goes limp beneath you, completely undone and breathing ragged, you pull back slightly. his cock twitches in your hand, oversensitive. you kiss his flushed cheek. “you done so good, baby.” you praise against his lips.
michael is completely spent, his body boneless and his mind fuzzy. he allows you to pull him closer, you curling up against his side under the covers. your head rests on his shoulder, one leg thrown over his hips in a familiar, intimate position.
people are starting to become weird asf about michael’s nephews and i can’t help but think this can’t be the same generation who said they would treat michael better… why tf are we harassing jaafars fiancé and trolling in her messages, why are we placing such high expectations on people who we don’t fucking know and why are we running with narratives based on shit we have zero context on 😭. you guys are insane and you spoil the fun in everything because y’all never know how to fucking act.
through every era, him. 18+ (i got super carried away so enjoy a long one!)
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
150 days.
150 excruciatingly long days without him.
150 days since Michael cut the cord — ending your three year long relationship on a whim.
It came as a shock — something you would’ve never thought in your worst nightmare that would come true.
You had crawled into bed with Michael one night, skin glistening from the expensive floral scented lotion you’d just delicately rubbed into your skin, settling comfortably in the sheets next to him. He was quieter that night — he mumbled at dinner, barely conversing with you, playing with his food. Michael didn’t have a large appetite, so his lack of eating hadn’t phased you as much as it did now. You didn’t expect him to be too chatty that night either, you had already had a heated disagreement a few hours earlier that remained unresolved — something that was becoming more frequent in recent times due to his demanding career.
So, when you nestled against him, his hands rigid at his sides, was when you noticed something was undeniably wrong.
“Is everything okay, baby?” You asked, peering up from his chest to glance at his pokerface.
“I think we should split up.”
The words hit you full-force, panic and shock instantly flooding your emotion — sitting up so frantically it made Michael flinch.
“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Your voice was frantic and distressed, face forced into a scrunch of anxiety.
Michael stayed silent for a few moments, not daring to meet your eyes, just staring blankly at the wall next to him.
“Michael, don’t fucking joke with me. Fucking say something.”
“Stop cursing, please.” He forced out, voice hoarse and low, attempting to keep his dignity.
You scoffed in disbelief, “So, you blurt out that you wanna break-up, but all you care about is a curse? Are you fucking serious?” Anger was the emotion at the forefront of your brain now, utterly disgusted with his coldness towards you mixed with the cruelty of his words.
“Things are complicated right now.” He started, still facing away from you, “I’ve got the album and the tour, and we’re fighting too much already because of it. It’s not good for us especially if I’m away for long periods of time. You deserve someone who can be around for you. Someone better.” He sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t want to let this progress and then end up hurting one another more.”
“‘Let this progress?’ Michael we’ve been together for three years, nearly four. You didn’t think to end things three and half years ago if you didn’t wanna get hurt? Are you serious?”
“I still love you, I just want to protect us both from pain.” He spoke quietly.
“Love? This isn’t love, Michael, this is cruel. This is worse pain. Someone who loved me wouldn’t treat me like this. Why are you doing this to me? To us?”
His heart clenched as your voice cracked, not brave enough to look you in your eyes, now brimming with tears.
“I’m sorry.”
The words felt faux as they left his lips — silencing encasing the room. You scoffed, standing up swiftly from the bed, rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door harshly behind you. You missed the way Michael flinched once more as the loud sound echoed throughout the quiet room, a single tear falling down his cold cheek — attempting to ignore your wails of despair from behind the door.
He saw you for the last time as you rushed out of the bathroom — bag full of your toiletries in hand as you raced towards the bedroom door, sobbing.
He called your name, but you cut him off, swearing brutally at him, along the lines of ‘Go fuck yourself, Michael’. Your memory of that night wavered thin now — your brain compartmentalising the pain to the back of your mind, pushing it the furthest away from to prevent you from punishing yourself with the hurtful memory.
You were packed and moved out the same night — moving back in with your parents, who comforted you for weeks on end as you experienced the worst heartbreak you’d ever felt in your life. The one person you loved and trusted the most in your life had been the one to hurt you the most, too. It was a strange phenomenon — to still love and yearn for the person causing you agonising misery.
At month one, you spent most days in bed — wallowing in your despair, reading old love-letters, staring at photos taken on your first tropical vacation, your anniversary, his birthday. You were torturing yourself — a bittersweet pain that you struggled to rid yourself of. Ending most nights by sobbing into your hand as you read the newspapers — headlines of your split plastered everywhere. Utterly devastated at how disgusting tabloids portrayed you as a deadweight on Michael’s blossoming career, that you were only dragging him down, that he made a good decision to free himself of you.
By month two, you got back to work. You had managed to find your new routine — working hard on your own music, pouring your damaged heart into each song, passion flowing from your lips with each lyric. You didn’t cry as much — only now and again when Michael would pop up on the television, his new album ‘Bad’ going world platinum again, just as his others did, his success booming. What irked you most was he looked perfectly fine — smiling happily for the cameras, performing on stage on tour with pure, irrevocable talent, adoration and excitement oozing off of him, like he didn’t destroy someone’s life two months ago.
By month three, you acted unaffected. You’d moved out into your own place — gaining some unwanted independence. You began going about your life like you’d never met him — going on a few dates, dancing at clubs with your friends with guys you were a stranger to, late night calls with men you knew deep down would never compare, but indulging in the fun of it nonetheless— heart fuelled by anger and frustration, desperate to get back at him. When you finally moved on sexually, you were irritatingly disappointed — no man on the planet could please you like Michael had. That’s what filled you with pure rage. Faking orgasms and pretending as though their cock’s even made half the stretch that Michael’s did had you furious — often pushing them away mid sex, ordering them to get out of your apartment.
You were now almost at month six and the ice in your heart towards Michael hadn’t let up.
You pretended, to your family and friends, that you were over it — that it didn’t affect you anymore. That you had totally moved on with your life. Wrong. You were still livid deep down — not a single day going by where you didn’t curl your fists up in fury at the thought of him. Fury that you still had an annoyingly large place for him in your heart — that no matter how bitter you tried to convince yourself you were about him, it did nothing to dilute the sickly sweetness that overpowered your heart.
And that lovesick heart of yours was pounding violently in your chest right now.
Sat in the back of a limousine, dolled up to the Gods — hair, makeup and outfit perfected to a T, you looked divine. So divine you were determined to make a statement — one just as bad his.
Ironic.
The man in question who you were dying to shock, self-proclaimed as ‘bad’, connotations to his new album, was someone you believed to be sweet, tender and loving. An album title you always thought was truly ironic as he was quite the opposite.
Not as of recent.
Diana Ross had been a thorn in your side since the day you and Michael met. Her relentless flirtatious energy towards the man you craved was angering — even before you called it official was she persistent with her teasing.
“So, you’re the girl Michael keeps talkin’ so much about.” She drawled, the day you met her, your handshake harsher than usual as you gripped her bony hand in your own, “Not his girl, yet though, right?” She laughed, “Better snatch that handsome thing up before I do.”
You confessed your love to Michael that night.
You did truly have intense feelings for him — but that old cow had given you the push you needed. No way in hell was she going to take him away from you — not on your watch.
So, rightfully so, you were anxious at the thought of her finding out about your split — wondering what her next move would be. You’d spend everyday reading the newspapers in a panic, skimming through a thousand words a second in an attempt to find any news of them being spotted together.
And the day came — a week before The 1988 Soul Train Music Awards. The very award ceremony you were heading to, looking so beautiful.
Michael and Diana were front page — pressed tightly against one another at a famous club. His smile was bright, wide and genuine — something you’d missed seeing in person, now adorning his captivating face because of that witch. She had looped her arm through his, the picture capturing her pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. The title read ‘MICHAEL MOVING ON ALREADY? — OLD FLAME REIGNITED’
Oh, he had really done it this time.
He knew how much you hated her — loathed her, actually. The older woman often getting in the way of your relationship throughout the years you were together — despite having a husband herself, she was betrothed with your man.
So, even if technically he didn’t owe you a thing as you weren’t his anymore, you silently felt fury at him for letting her kiss him for the cameras.
Therefore, your only response was to fight fire with fire — childish? Maybe. But, clever? Absolutely.
“You ready, sweetheart?”
The sound of Prince’s voice next to you in the limo tugged a devilish smirk onto your face as you nodded.
If Michael wanted to play dirty — you would play real dirty.
The car had rolled to a stop — flashes of the paparazzi’s intrusive cameras burnt into your vision as the driver pulled the door open. You stepped out, smoothing your dress, a wide smile on your face, waving sweetly as you waited for your date to exit the vehicle.
If you thought the flash was bright before, you were mistaken. Spots blurred into your vision as Prince stood next to you, instantly taking your hand in his own, confidence oozing from him as always, before smiling down at you. You turned to him — pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, lipstick now smeared across his skin, earning a knowing laugh from his throat.
Cha-ching!
Those pictures, dripping with revenge, were a real moneymaker — something that would put that sloppy, old hag’s attempt to make you jealous to shame.
Everyone knew of the musical feud between Michael and Prince — the two men battling for the title of ‘the biggest star in the world’. You knew that Michael took the cake — but, you also knew that seeing his biggest rival with his ex-girl would shut down any attempt of riling you up.
“Nicely done.” Prince whispered, lips close to your ear as you were ushered inside the building. He was aware of your vengeful plan — and more than willing to help aggravate his arch nemesis.
“You too.” You sent a wink his way, engaging in a childish, unison giggle, knowing exactly what you were doing was going to end messy, “I’ll see you later.”
You parted ways with your exes nemesis, not before letting him press a calculated kiss to your knuckles, peripheral vision burning as more cameras captured your (fake) romantic moment, before being ushered to your assigned seat.
You were fairly near the stage, around three rows in front, next to your favourite female pop-star and close friend, Whitney Houston. A real, genuine smile burst across your face when she seated herself next to you.
“Girl.” She breathed out a laugh, placing her clutch bag gently in her lap.
“What?” You laughed, smiling across at her in confusion.
“Honey, I think you know what.” She shook her head with a grin, “You made quite the entrance back there.”
Perfect.
The corners of your lips tugged up into a deeper smile, “Then my plan is working.”
Whitney chuckled, “I just know that poor man is beyond ticked off right now.”
“‘Poor man’?” You scoffed, “He is far from poor. You saw the papers, right?”
“Everybody did, sweetie.”
“Number one, not helpful,” You pointed a finger at her, ignoring the way she cackled, “And two, he had it comin’” You paused, “Everyone, including him, knows how much I hate her.”
“Hate who?”
You froze — the infamously familiar voice that once had you smiling like a damn idiot before, now had your face falling as your head lurched behind you.
And there he was.
Michael.
In all his annoying glory — sporting a dashing red button-up, a sleek tie around his neck, paired with a black suit jacket, that hugged the curve of the lean muscles in his arms in a way that your breath hitching in your throat.
It aggravated you that he looked so good.
But, you knew that he knew that you looked better.
Your irritation only blossomed as you glanced at the seat to your right — eyes rolling in annoyance as his name, scribbled onto a flimsy piece of paper on the chair right next to you, hit your vision.
Fuck award show assigned seats.
“Well, shit, girl.” Whitney mumbled, laughing under her breath as she turned away from the tension that was rising as Michael took his seat.
“Hello.” He spoke, voice soft and gentle, just like you remembered.
“That’s all you have to say to me?” Your voice came out harsher than expected, an angered frown visible on your face as a grin bloomed on his.
His mouth went to open, but you cut him off, hand shooing him away, “Actually, don’t even speak to me, please.”
“You look beautiful.”
“What did I just say Michael?”
You hated the way he smirked at your snappy tone, lip coming between his teeth as he obeyed your request, getting comfortable in his chair. You also hated the way your heart did an extremely noticeable flip in your chest at the compliment.
This night was going to be the death of you.
And it only got worse as Michael retreated to the stage, not once, but twice — each time looking more gracious and handsome as the next. He won Best Single and Album of the Year for Bad — the trophies enclosed around his beautiful, slender hands, ones that once gave you blissful satisfaction.
You despised your weak mind for the way you let it run away with itself — eyes trailing over his tall, elegant frame each time he’d take the stage. That infamous smile that had you weak at the knees did nothing to cool the desire that was overpowering your anger, the yearn for him only increasing.
Michael thumped into his seat next to you with a sigh, now two awards richer, running a hand through his long curls that cascaded down his shoulders.
You could sense he was looking at you — his smiling face visible in your side eye-line, but you refused to turn, your eyes fixated on the stage as the next category was revealed.
“Saw your little stunt earlier.” He whispered, “Real classy.”
You scoffed quietly, “That’s rich.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
You knew that tone — that cocky, teasing tone that had you gritting your teeth.
You finally turned to face him, “Oh, right. I’m sure letting that old crow kiss you is a regular thing now, huh?”
“Saw that, did you?” He was testing you, it was evident in the way the knowing smirk on his face never faltered.
You were halfheartedly listening as your name was read for the nomination, not even bothering to care as you held your gaze with the man seated next to you — a brutal lock of eyes that said a thousand words. You were furious, failing to hide it miserably, and he, well, he was enjoying it.
“I did.” You started, “Nice to see a downgrade was my replacement.”
Michael’s smile flickered at your harsh dig at his life-long friend, “I think I could say the same about your date.”
“At least I have one.”
That sure wiped the smirk off his face.
“And definitely not a downgrade in the bedroom.”
You basked in his shock — the smirk he once sported now adorning your face, nearly missing the way your name was called from the stage, the room erupting in applause.
“Excuse me?” Michael’s voice was bitter, cold, mortified at your admission. A false one at that, but he didn’t need to know. Yet.
“Sorry, can’t hear you.” You shrugged him off, rising to your feet with a proud smile — at your award mostly, but also at your triumphant win in the petty disagreement, as loud cheers exploded in your ears.
You took the stage — a new found confidence oozing off of you, a gorgeous smile on your face as you took the award from the announcer’s hands, pulling them into a small hug. You thanked your producer, musical team, family and friends — humbleness evident in every word you spoke.
You looked perfect — utterly radiant under the bright lighting blaring down onto the stage, award glistening in your hands as your pearly white smile twinkled in the spotlight.
Michael, albeit still in an angered daze over your admission, couldn’t help himself but rake his eyes over your frame — breasts pushed perfectly up your corseted dress, the curve of the plush mounds visible to everyone’s eyes from the audience, eyes never leaving those perfect tits he’d once nestle his face into as he flung your legs over his shoulders and filled you to the hilt with his cock.
The thought had him readjusting his slacks — hard-on now painful against the restrictive clothing at the delicious reminiscing of your love-making.
It was your next words that had the sexual memories leaving his head.
“And I wanna thank my wonderful date for tonight— matter of fact, come up here! Prince, where y’at, honey?”
The room erupted into cheers once more — everyone but Michael, who attempted to drown out Whitney’s disbelieving laughter from two seats down from him, watching as you shielded your eyes from the light, searching for the man in the crowd.
Michael stared lethal daggers into Prince’s back as he sauntered up the stairs to the stage — his chest heaving in undeniable envy as he watched Prince pull you into a tight hug. Those gorgeous breasts now pressed up against Prince’s chest.
He was livid. Hands tightening around the material of his trousers, knuckles white as his grip turned taut.
“Not only is he a Pop King,” The room exchanged hushed gasps at the title, one that everyone knew belonged to your furious ex, “But, he’s also a fantastic plus one.” Laughs fizzled out the shock at your insinuation that Prince was only there with you, not for his own musical nominations.
Michael, however, had never felt fury quite like it.
That title was his.
One he worked so hard for — something him and that idiot, in his mind, up on stage with you had fought over for so many years. And you knew that.
He knew you were aggravating him deliberately.
Prince smirked, eyes finding Michael’s in the crowd, expression darkening, “Sorry, Michael.”
And with a smooth arm wrapped around your back, and a swift dip in the air — he kissed you.
Well, not actually.
His lips attached to the corner of your mouth, barely touching, but to the audience, and more importantly, the cameras, it looked as though your ex-boyfriend’s fiercest enemy was kissing the life out of you on stage.
And, boy, did everyone in the room eat it up.
Standing ovations and screams of joy sounded in the room as they clapped — basking in the pure drama of it all.
Prince pulled away from you with a smile, winking at you as you laughed, shaking your head. He took his hand in yours, guiding you backstage, the noise of the crowd dying down as you were ushered away.
“You’re evil.” You chuckled, chest heaving from the adrenaline.
“Well, maybe it’ll give him the push he needs to try get y’back.” Prince admitted, “Either that or to write ‘nother okay album.”
You shoved his arm playfully, “Oh, stop. Y’know it was a good album.”
“Sure, sweetheart, sure.” He teased, sending another smug wink your way, earning another giggle from your lips.
You’d barely made it ten steps backstage before an all familiar frame blocked your way.
You swallowed thickly as Michael’s cold, blank expression met your eyes, his hands curled at his side as he held your gaze — watching as the smile fell from your face.
He didn’t fail to notice how quickly you dropped Prince’s hand, either.
“Come with me. Now.” His voice was darker than his usual soft, gentle tone — not holding a deeper undertone of something that had a chill running down your spine.
“Oh, he mad now.” Prince spoke up, a soft, breathy laugh leaving his lips, “Don’t be jealous, brother, y’got ‘Ross don’t’cha?”
Michael’s jaw clenched, his gaze turning to Prince, eyes darkening into something icier, “I’d walk away if you know what’s good for you.”
Prince laughed once again, eyes flickering back towards you, “Good luck, girl.” He turned back to Michael, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Be sure to bring her back t’me when you’re done, yeah?”
Michael lunged, flinging his hand off his shoulder in a brutal shove, turning towards him with clear intent. You rushed in between a seething Michael and a laughing Prince, hands steadying the angered man on his chest.
“Enough. Both of you.” You hissed, “Just go.” You signalled to the amused man behind you.
Prince didn’t fight it — just turned to walk away with his hands in the air in surrender, chuckling as he went.
“Michael, what the hell was that for?” You snapped.
Michael didn’t speak — only grabbed your wrist in a firm, not aggressive, more so possessive, grasp, tugging you away, his longer legs moving swiftly with each stride, your own practically in a run as you fought to keep up.
He found a nearby bathroom, pushing the door open with all his strength, ignoring the way you winced at the sound of the handle harshly slammed into the wall. The door was shut and locked quicker than it had opened — before you were pushed against it.
“Me?” He started, answering your prior question, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, pupils blown in distress, “I think I should be asking you that question, sweetheart.”
The pet-name spat from his mouth with a curl of his lips — face contorted into a scowl.
You gained your pride, taking two hands to his shoulders and shoving him, your strength against his own doing as little as moving him a few steps backwards.
“Don’t get it twisted, Michael.” You retorted, “You started this with that bitch.”
Michael scoffed, “Go’head, baby, try and convince yourself I’m in the wrong here.” His tongue poked out from his inner cheek, “You’re insatiable.”
“Don’t you dare call me that.” Your voice seeping with distaste at the familiar pet-name, “You lost that privilege the second you gave up on us like we were nothin’.” You shook your head, “Would’ve let you have it back if you didn’t let that old slut rub up on you like you’re a fuckin’ groupie.” You laughed darkly, looking him up and down, “Not now. Lost every fuckin’ chance with me.”
Michael looked taken aback by your disrespectful words — teeth grinding together as he never took his eyes away from your own.
“I never gave up on us willingly.” He revealed, ignoring the way you scoffed with a laugh, as he took a step closer to you, “And as for her,” He paused, attempting to find the right words.
“See? You can’t even convince yourself there’s nothin’ going on there.” You cut him off, hands flailing in the air as you spoke theatrically.
“Let me finish, woman.” He shot back, “As I was sayin’ — she means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. She’s an old friend. Someone who mentored me as a kid. We have history — but nothin’ more than platonic. Barely even platonic, just professional.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Michael. No ‘professional mentor’ kisses their ‘colleague’ like that.” You air-quoted the words that felt faux with your manicured fingers, shaking your head, “Do you take me for some kind of idiot?”
“Not in that sense, no.” He started, “For actin’ like that with him? Maybe.”
You laughed in disbelief, “You just love it, don’t you? Pretending to yourself that I’m the bad guy, that I went up there and acted like that just to hurt you with no real reason?” You looked him up and down with disgust, “You’re so blind.”
“How many times, girl? There’s nothin’ going on with me and Di.”
He regretted the use of the nickname the second it left his mouth.
“Di? That sounds real professional to me, asshole.” You turned on your heel, clicking the lock back open and twisting the handle, pulling the door open in an attempt to storm out.
Before you could even move, the door was slammed shut once again. The loudness blooming a new found silence in the room, one that failed to occur from the second you walked in there.
Michael’s hand, despite his burning anger, remained gentle as moved your body back to face him, pressing you back into the door.
“Don’t even think about it.” He whispered, “You are not walkin’ away from me.”
“That’s ironic.” You bit back, “If you hadn’t have done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be havin’ this argument.”
“Y’think I wanted to do that? Think I wanted to sit there and watch you panic? Listen to you cry? Hear you cuss me out because of pain and anger I caused? No. That’s where y’dead wrong, girl.” He let out a shaken breath, “I have always, from the moment I met you, till this very day, loved you. Loved you so much I had to give you the life you deserved. I had to let you go. Had to get you away from the pain I was bringin’. No one wants to be with someone who’s never there, and when they are, they’re always fightin’.” Then, he went silent, his eyes now softened as they met your glassy ones, tears threatening to fall as you let him talk.
You both stayed in deathly loud silence, louder than any door slamming or screaming argument — silence that spoke more words than any you’d ever said.
You swallowed thickly, your resolve cracking as his admission settled in your brain, “That wasn’t your decision to make, Michael.” Your voice was quieter now, still with the same stubborn sharpness, but less accusatory, now filled with evident upset.
Michael breathed, his head hanging low, his forehead a mere few inches from your own, “I regret that night every fucking day.” He whispered, a vulnerable string of words that hung heavy in your heart, “Letting you walk out that door was the worst mistake of my life.”
“Why her?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, a stray tear falling down your cheek as you met his gaze.
“It wasn’t a personal attack. She was just at the same club and approached me.” He revealed, “The picture was taken before I even had a chance to say no.”
You shook your head, breaking the eye-contact as you looked at your feet, hiding your rapidly falling tears. Michael’s trembling hand reached for your face, a tentative hand cupping your warm cheek, lifting your face to meet his eyes once more.
“Mama..”
“Stop.” You turned your head, pushing his hand away with your own, “I can’t even look at you.”
“Don’t act so innocent.” Michael’s tone, that had once softened, grew the all too familiar iciness that had been evident the whole evening, “I’m trying to fix things here despite your little ordeal earlier. D’y’know what it’s like to see you kissing him up there? That used to be me if you even remember.”
You let out a low laugh, “He didn’t even kiss me, fool, ‘was all an act. Unlike you and Di.” You barked, “Y’know you actually blow my mind, you’re so—Mmmph!”
Michael connected your lips in a frantic kiss, cutting off your incessant bickering, lips moving against yours quickly.
You shoved him back, gasping for air at the sudden loss of breath, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Puttin’ that bratty fuckin’ mouth to better use.”
He kissed you again — mouth sliding against your own in a feverish lip-locking, a hand now gripping the nape of your neck, the other on the curve of your waist.
And this time — you let him.
You melted into him, hands flying to his face, eyes fluttering shut as you caved, droplets of tears falling onto the tops of your cheeks — falling deeper into his mercy. His tongue slid across the surface of your bottom lip, still awaiting permission despite his frustration. You allowed it, letting his tongue slide into your warm mouth, humming in delight at the taste of his minty breath on the hot muscle, revelling in the way he pushed his body into yours. His hands wondered — now travelling down your body to grab a handful of your ass through your dress, continuing his oral assault on your swollen lips.
“Jump.”
You obeyed, leaving his lips to leap into his arms — his hands cradling your behind as he connected your lips once more, settling you on the sink, slotting himself between your ajar legs.
Michael detached his mouth from own, moving his lips down the curve of your jaw, and down your exposed neck — letting his hips rock into yours involuntarily, while he sucked possessive marks into your skin, at the sound of your breathy moans, head tilted back to allow him better access.
“Michael, please.” You whined, voice a needy plea, hands sliding up into his hair, threading through his tight curls.
“Please, what, angel?” He mumbled against your neck, breath hot against your skin, fresh lovebites forming as he spoke.
“Please—mmhm—Need you, fuck.”
Michael pulled away, hands flying to your dress, pulling down the zipper harshly — before pulling you to your heeled feet, pushing it off your body swiftly, leaving you in just a skimpy bare of lace panties.
Ones you knew were his favourite.
“Oh, sweetheart,” He breathed, eyes raking over your bare frame, glossy doe-eyes peering up at him as he towered above you, “Wore my favourite just for me?”
You nodded, “Just f’you, Mike.”
Michael turned you, with precise smoothness, pressing your stomach against the cold of the sink, your bare back now pressed against his chest.
He slid a tentative hand up your side, toying with the tiny string the thong that clad your bottom half, as he locked eyes with your own in the mirror before you, “How am I supposed to know you didn’t wear them for him, mama?”
You pushed back against him, rolling your hips into the statement of his arousal, “Shut up about him and fuck me.”
A harsh hand connected with your left ass cheek — a half-gasp half-moan ripping from your throat at the sudden contact, “Thought I told you to keep that bratty mouth shut?”
You, testing your luck, ground against him once more, smirking at the way his hand tightened against your hand-printed behind, “Give me what I want then.”
Michael shook his head behind you — one hand working on his belt, pushing his slacks down along with his boxers, his palm wrapping around his achingly hard cock, pumping himself slowly, while the other pulled down your panties, now morphed into the shape of your plush folds from your leaking arousal, to the side, “Be careful what you wish for, doll.”
With one swift, sudden thrust, Michael pushed inside you — bottoming out instantly. A scream erupted from your throat at the instant fullness, your tight cunt struggling to adjust to the sheer size of him as his leaking tip kissed your cervix. Your pussy betrayed you as it clenched around him, drooling around him, coating his cock in your slick.
His hand flew to your mouth, his large palm enclosing around your swollen lips, muffling the whimpers that left you as you struggled around him — eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of him throbbing inside you.
“Keep those eyes open, mama,” He ordered, sliding out of you slowly until the only thing that remained inside your quivering hole was his plump mauve cockend, “Want you to see how pathetically you fall apart on my cock. My cock. No-one else’s.”
He pushed in again with the familiar harshness from before as your eyes shot open — now starting a brutal, animalistic pace that had you clawing at the tense of his hand that enveloped your mouth, hiding the high-pitched squeals and whines of pure, irrevocable lust that took over your mind, body and soul.
Michael groaned into your ear, eyes locked on your own as he fucked into you with such a pace and lack of gentleness that you’d never seen before. During your companionship, Michael took his time with you — worked you open with his mouth and fingers, took his time to get you ready for the thickness and length of him. But, not this time — all the pent up rage brought upon him from the start of the night now being fucked into you with every harsh rock of his hips.
Keeping you flush against his chest, his free hand slid down to where you connected — rubbing tight figure eights against your clit that throbbed for attention. Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes rolling to the back of your head, ignoring any order he gave you to hold his gaze.
“Mmphmh—M-Mich—Michael, please!”
Words failed you as you cried against his hand, drunk on the way his cock dragged in and out of your gummy walls that sucked him in with each thrust — the sound of your feverish moans and your squelching cunt mixing with his breathy groans filling the air of the bathroom that now stunk of Michael’s intoxicating cologne and passionate sex.
“Take it, baby, take this fuckin’ dick.” He grunted into your ear, his words unlike his usual loving coaxes, “Make up for what’cha did.”
Michael hissed as you bit down on the skin of his palm, his hand pulling away from the source of pain as he meet your gaze in the mirror — your own expression now deepening into a scowl, “Fuck you.”
The words spat from your mouth, dripping with venom, at his words of blame, watching as his face scrunched up in frustration.
“Oh, you’ve done it now, ma.”
His pace never let up — if anything, since your oral stunt, it quickened. He forced you down, now completely bent over the sink as he created a new angle — his cock now driving deeper into your sopping cunt, abusing the sweet spot inside you relentlessly.
Now released from his grasp, your loud, incessant cries sounded throughout the small room — so voluminous that any passerby would hear every scream of his name.
His hand collided with your ass cheek again — cursing under his breath as the familiar feeling of a much needed orgasm crept up his abdomen. The lustful spark in your stomach blossoming much the same as he slid a hand into your hair, tugging your head upwards to look directly into the mirror once more. You were a state, completely, and literally, fucked — eyes streaming with tears that coated your hot cheeks, lips swollen and stricken with spit from his frantic kisses, and a small yet equally evident imprint of his fingers around your mouth where he held you harshly.
“‘M gonna cum so fuckin’ deep in this pussy that you can’t fuckin’ walk without flooding your little panties with my seed.” He grunted, never letting his thrusts faltering as you squirmed beneath him, “Who’s needy little cunt is this?”
Words failed you as you continued to cry — only desperate, eager whimpers falling from your lips.
Another spank connected with your ass cheek, coaxing a loud whine out of you, “Answer me when I ask you a fuckin’ question, woman.”
“Yours!—fuck, Michael, it’s all yours.” You panted, tears falling from your eyes faster than you could stop them.
“Say this pussy’s mine.” Michael spat, tugging hard on your locks of hair.
“My pussy’s all yours, baby, fuck—mmph!—Gonna cum!”
Michael hummed, clearly pleased with your response, his hips stuttering as he neared his own release, “Cum with me, beautiful, cum on my cock like a good girl.”
You cried out, loud and despairingly, as you finally broke — red-hot ecstasy taking over your body as you came, the flood gates of your pleasure breaking open to consume you. Michael followed, the tight clenching of your quivering pussy sending him over the edge, spurting his hot seed into your fertile cunt as he groaned lowly — the sensation of his cum filling your fluttering sex only furthering your own orgasm.
You slumped against the countertop — chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. Michael stilled behind you, swallowing thickly as he softened inside you. He leant down, pushing his chest against your back, coated with a sheen of sweat, before pressing a soft, loving kiss to your shoulder.
His kisses trailed up to your neck, beneath your earlobe, your cheek, before using a trembling hand to tilt your head to the side, and pressing his lips against your own. You sobbed into the kiss, more tears, now from overwhelming emotion, falling from your eyes. Michael’s hand cupped your cheek — deepening the kiss, that once held so much irritation, resentment and anger, now filled with undeniable attachment, deep love and compassion.
“I love you.” Michael breathed, disconnecting your lips, resting his forehead against yours — singular curl that stuck to his slick forehead tickling your own, “Please be mine again.” He whispered.
You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his nose, head reeling from the overstimulating rush of emotions.
“But don’t pull that shit again.” He added with a playful smile.
“Yeah,” You sniffled with a breathy laugh, “You too.”
