i fear i don’t know what body guard book you’re talking about 🧍🏼♀️but i can write it // it's his bodyguards' book Remember The Time: Protecting Michael Jackson In His Final Days. There was a chapter where they mentioned he had two women Friend and Flower who visited him (separately) and he only met them at their hotel at night and would stay there for a few hours before leaving. I think it was more like FWB situation
totally thought you were referencing a bodyguard fanfic— im brain rotted
t/w: angst, 18+ mdni, p in v, oral (f! receiving), secret relationship?, fwb but that never ends well, mature era
statement on ai
part one
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It was always someplace different.
It didn’t matter how far away it was, he’d drive the distance— deciding not to pay it any mind the way Bill was looking at him in the rear view mirror.
It didn’t matter how late it was, he’d be knocking on your hotel room door. Holding his breath as he waited for the seconds to tick by, matching the thrum of his heart before hearing the lock click and then there you were.
The warm light from the hotel room glowing behind you, making you appear ethereal. Your smile gentle, knowing, as you opened the door wider to let him in.
Wearing the blue velvet robe like always.
Your battle armor, he would tease.
Because Michael knew it had to be hell dealing with him. His erratic schedule, the short phone calls, the last minute flights, the way he’d be gone by morning without a word with a cab ready to take you back to the airport.
You never complained, though he could see exhaustion pulling at the threads that held your composure together. He felt guilty about it, really he did.
But you never told him no, so he’d slot an apology into the back of his mind. Letting it marinate so it’d be ready for the day you eventually snapped.
The two of you easily— no, efficiently began the dance.
He’d lock the door behind him, watching as you silently padded through the room towards the counter that already had two glasses of white wine resting on the surface. Then his jacket would drop off his shoulders, finding asylum on a chair somewhere as he followed you through the room, fingers brushing yours as he took the wine.
Your robe would slip off your left shoulder, always always the left. He never knew if you did it on purpose or if it was just the universe signaling what was about to occur.
There were never any questions, you were just there for him in every way he needed when the hour ran late.
He didn’t bother asking you how your day was or the flight, knew there wasn’t any point.
You always gave him the same answer.
It was fine.
When this first started, he thought that the lack of talking would bother him. But as the visits went on, he found a comfort in the notion there were no expectations. No promises to be made, kept and broken.
He could live with that, is what he told himself.
Because he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to have the alternative.
God had gifted him many things in life, but he would never be gifted that.
Michael told himself he made peace with it.
And then you stepped forward, hands dancing up his neck to pull him close, lips meeting his and effectively silencing his mind.
You were the best at that, perhaps that’s why he became so dependent on these moments he had with you.
For just a few hours you helped make the world go quiet.
His arms wrapped around you, nearly desperate like he was a man grasping a lifeline in the middle of the ocean. Dipping low and melting into your touch, tasting like cinnamon as his tongue slipped past yours.
Your bodies caught in a pas de deux as you navigated blindly towards the bedroom. The layout of the hotel still foreign since you’d only been here an hour or so.
Sheets met your back and he lowered you, his mouth dancing down your neck as his fingers played with the string of your robe, the blue fabric unraveling beneath and he was met with your body.
You never wore anything underneath and he loved it.
Your own nails dragged along his shirt, searching for skin until your fingers hooked under the hem and started to lift.
Michael only left you alone for a moment so he could take it off before he drew back towards you. A sinner being reeled in desperately towards an alter.
You were always so warm and wore the perfume he had complimented all those years ago. The scent swirling around him and making his mind slip into a haze as he moved further down your body, hands taking hold of your thighs to push them up and out.
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Michael’s mouth latched onto you and although you had tried not to, really you did, your hips bucked up at the heat of his mouth.
It was dizzying. And a bit embarrassing if you were honest, given the noises that were leaving your mouth— you thought you’d be used to him by now but you should’ve known better, your body felt like it was being scorched as he laughed lightly into your pussy before sinking two fingers in.
You clenched around him, desperate for anything. More. Hands tugging on the sheets and your back arching off the bed.
Michael leaned up on one hand, the other still dragging in and out of you, smiling like a lost saint who had finally set eyes on the pearl gates.
“Look at you,” he said quietly, mostly to himself. He was watching you so carefully, cataloging each minute expression in your features as he fucked you with his fingers. His voice dropped into a tone you only ever got to hear on nights like these— “You’re dripping.”
A whine left you involuntarily and he shut his eyes briefly at the sound.
“Fuck,” he muttered, but still he lowered himself, nose dusting along the inside of your thighs. You shivered at both the feeling and sight.
“Please,” you managed to get out, breathless as you watched him.
“I love it when you say that.” And he dove in like a man starved, fingers picking up their pace, another added, his mouth latching onto your clit.
You were shamelessly grinding into your friends face.
Michael was fucking you with his fingers and tongue, making you see stars. That small voice in the back of your head mumbled why do I keep saying yes to this? But it was quickly snuffed out as you came. Hard. All over his face and his name was a shout ripped from your lungs.
He was climbing over you again but the world was still flickering in and out of focus as you came down from your high. His face buried in your neck and you gasped, nails digging crescents into his arms as he sank into you, pushing you that much closer to the edge of oblivion.
You cried out and felt him smile into your neck as he slowly pulled out before slamming into you again. The thrust was brutal and unforgiving. Delicious and painful. Electric.
Too much. He was always too much and you’d never get tired of it.
He leaned back, one hand on your waist to yank you down onto his cock as the other rubbed circles into your clit.
His hips rolled in that languid manner that always entranced you when he was on stage and by God was it something else entirely to experience in bed.
He hit every spot, going too deep and you felt the room spinning as you started to come again, his own thrusts lapsing into something more erratic and borderline violent.
The sound of your name dripping off his tongue on the outskirts of a moan made you completely crash and that was enough to finally send him spiraling. His hips slamming into yours, desperate to hold you there as he came, the muscles in his stomach tightening and his head falling into the crook of your neck, teeth finding purchase in the soft skin that resided there.
After a heated moment, feeling like the first second of eternity had passed, Michael practically melted on top of you. Your heavy breaths matched his own as you tried to get your nerves to calm down.
There were words dancing on the tip of your tongue but you held them back with such desperate conviction you nearly started to cry.
You didn’t want to ruin it, this, this little haven he had found with you in hotels strewn across southern California. Hopelessly trying to hold onto the parts of him he still let you have.
He felt safer that way. Like this. You knew that and you understood, that didn’t mean it didn’t make it any less difficult.
When you woke up to the feeling of soft sunlight kissing your eyelids, you didn’t have to look around the room to know he was already gone.
Sitting up, you rubbed at your eyes in an attempt to wade off the sickly feeling you knew was starting to claw at the edges of your vision. Your heart.
Your eyes slated to the side, catching sight of the flight details Michael had scribbled on some notebook paper.
You stared at his handwriting. At his note. How impersonal it was.
No It was nice seeing you. No thank you. No Get home safely, I’ll call you.
Nothing.
Of course you knew he would call you, eventually at least. When it was nearing sunset and he wanted you in California before he lost his mind.
You never said no even though it hurt.
He needed this. Not you, but this.
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A few weeks went by before he dialed your number, his knee bouncing up and down so hard he started to shake the table.
“Hello?”
“It’s Michael.”
Silence ticked by for a second and he bit into his bottom lip. He always dreaded the day you might tell him no.
You sigh.
He still had you, he couldn’t help but smile.
“Can you be ready to leave by nine?”
He didn’t ask you if you already had plans.
Michael could hear your nails thrumming on the counter.
“Okay.” And you hung up.
He sat back, still holding the phone to his ear for a moment as it hit him. Maybe the fissures were getting too big. Too deep. Maybe you were finally cracking. One more ask from him and that was it.
Clearing his throat, he stood up and found Bill out in the dining room. “Can you make a reservation at the Four Seasons for tonight? And call for a cab to pick her up at her place.”
Bill slowly lowered his book, looking at Michael over the edge of it with a deep set to his brow.
Michael bit the inside of his cheek. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“I know you wanna say something.”
The older man shook his head as he set down his book. “You’re playing with fire.”
Michael laughed lightly, waving him off as he leaned against the doorframe. “Please, I’ve known her for years, she’d never—“
“That’s not what I meant and you know that.”
A breath of silence passed between them.
“Just make the reservation, please.”
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It was News Years Eve, the wind in Chicago brutal but you welcomed the needle-like sensation tearing into your cheeks as you stood on the balcony with a cigarette in hand.
Michael hadn't called in a while. He usually did less during the holidays.
You both hated and loved the clarity time away from him provided. Seeing what your life had become for what it was. Appreciative that you got to have those small moments with him and forever feeling the greed worthy of the fourth circle of Hell for wanting more— all of him.
He’d never give that to you and you knew it. Honest to God, you did.
He had tried the relationship thing in the past and each time it went up in flames no matter how hard he tried to keep the embers going. The world letting him have everything but that.
And God, he had been inconsolable after his divorce.
You two had been friends for years, meeting at one of his nephews birthday parties. Hitting it off in such a natural way that easily blended into companionship. Simple. Elementary.
Friends.
Then he called you on a random afternoon saying his wife had filed for divorce and you had wondered why he had come to you— only not really, because you had also gone through a divorce.
Only you were the one who left.
He wanted insight on why, you supposed.
You knew you were no help. Absolutely abhorrent at comforting people. Anything you tried to say to him to make it better just made it that much worse.
Then he asked you to come to California the very first time, though for very different reasons.
That first time, you had been dropped off directly at the front door of his house and when you knocked, Bill answered. His smile solemn as he let you inside, telling you Michael had been glued to the couch all night watching old Charlie Chaplin movies.
You stood in the doorway, watching him just be for a moment. A blank look in his eyes as he tried and failed to distract himself.
“Hey, Michael.”
He turned, smiled, clearly exhausted. “You made it.”
And then he was standing, crossing the room— hugging you.
You stood there perplexed, blinking at the movie over his shoulder before eventually hugging him back.
“What do you need from me?” You asked, because you knew asking him if he was okay was pointless.
“Your company.” He pulled back, eyes a little red.
Your brows furrowed as you looked at him. “Why me?”
“Because I knew you’d be the only one who wouldn’t look at me like I’m a wounded animal.”
Then he grabbed your hand and led you to the couch, watching movies till your head rolled off into slumber and you woke up the next morning with your head in his lap, his own resting against the back of the couch as he slept, one hand lightly tangled in your hair.
You flicked the ash into the tray, telling yourself the wetness in your eyes was from the cold.
The whole situation felt so juvenile yet light years beyond what anyone should have to experience. A level of heartache you thought only possible in movies.
But every time that phone rang your heart rotted with dread and anticipation. That small voice that spoke on behalf of your soul saying maybe it’ll be different this time.
It never was.
The role you had decided to play when he first asked you to fly out for a warmer kind of company, sealed your fate.
You were exactly what he needed. The right amount of available and the perfect amount of detached. Never asking him for a thing because about a million other people were.
When you genuinely started to feel numb, you finally stepped back inside. Eyeing the bottle of champagne that was about to be opened in the next half hour.
It was almost midnight.
You felt no need to celebrate the passage of time.
It was just another year marked by you feeling hollowed out inside just to give some grace to the man you had stupidly fallen in love with.
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Michael watched you as you slept.
He tried not to, knowing it would only make him want to stay but there was something in the air that rooted him to the spot as he sat there in the sheets next to you.
Your chest fell and rose softly and it was in moments like these where he felt he was actually getting to see you. The real you. The one you kept hidden away so he wouldn’t feel the weight of what he was asking of you.
You looked sad.
He knew better every time he dialed your number. But he was a selfish man, something he didn’t care to admit but when the hour was late like this, he couldn’t run away from his shadow anymore.
Gently moving some hair away from your face, he sighed. Part of you had to hate him. If he were in your shoes he would’ve gone insane by now.
But he just didn’t have the time.
It would be more cruel to promise you more when he knew those red eye flights were all he could sufficiently offer.
Breaking one of his rules, he leaned down to kiss your shoulder before standing up. He picked up your robe of blue velvet and folded it neatly, placing it on the edge of the bed before then picking up his own clothes as he went.
When the car door shut and engine started, he could feel Bill looking at him.
“I know what you’re gonna say.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“We’re just a casual thing, there’s no need to look heartbroken on my behalf.”
Bill shook his head as he peeled away from the curb. “Nothing about the two of you is casual.”
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