‘you know i’m bad’ ᝰ🚬
✃ content: 18+, smut, quickie, bad!era, included audio
𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 the thunderous roar of eighty thousand fans still vibrated through the stadium beams. outside the room, roadies rolled heavy trunks across the floor. inside, you sat on the leather sofa staring at the monitor feed. watching michael perform tonight had been pure torture. the monitor caught every sharp movement: his dark curls, his jawline glistening, the silver buckles on his black pants clinking as he popped his hips. every high-pitched belt and possessive grip on his mic stand sent a sudden surge of heat straight between your thighs. by the time "man in the mirror" faded, you were squirming, skin burning with a desperate ache.
the heavy oak door swung open. michael stepped in, surrounded by a faint cloud of stage mist. he had discarded his leather jacket, wearing only a damp black v-neck and his buckle-adorned pants. he looked utterly exhausted, sweat dripping from his chin, curls plastered to his neck. but the moment his deep brown eyes landed on you, his entire face illuminated.
"baby..." he breathed out, his raspy, post-show voice thick and gravelly. he tossed his hand towel aside and opened his arms, hurrying over to sink into you. "oh man, i missed you—"
before he could pull you in, you reached out. your hands hooked firmly into the silver buckles at his waistband, giving a sharp tug that yanked him straight down between your parted knees, chest flush against yours.
michael gasped softly, caught off guard, wide brown eyes searching yours.
"i need you," you whispered, your voice dropping low and sultry. "right here. right now, michael."
a dark, electric heat swept across his face. a low, raspy groan vibrated in his chest as he took in your flushed cheeks and hungry eyes. he didn't hesitate. turning to the vanity counter, michael swept his hand across the glass top, sending jars of stage makeup, wet wipes, and hairsprays clattering onto the floor in one swift motion.
in a flash, his large hands gripped your waist, effortlessly lifting you up and sitting you right onto the edge of the mirror counter.
"you're driving me crazy," michael rasped into your neck, his hot breath fanning against your pulse point as he stepped right in between your parted legs. his long fingers hooked into your underwear, pulling the fabric aside as he slid his hand down to brush against your core. he let out a sharp, breathy gasp as he felt just how completely drenched and warm you already were for him.
"look at you..." michael growled softly, his voice thick with raspy heat as he guided his thumb over your slick center. "you're so wet for me..."
"you were so sexy out there tonight, mike," you whimpered into his ear, hands tangling frantically into his damp curls, pulling his head down as you tilted your head back. "watching you move... watching those hips... you were so bad."
"yeah?" michael murmured, a wicked smirk touching his lips as he unbuckled the front of his pants. "show me how bad i was."
he didn't wait. positioning himself at your slick entrance, michael drove his hips forward in one long, heavy, unrelenting thrust that buried him completely inside you in a single stroke.
a loud, breathless scream tore from your throat as your hands dug frantically into his broad shoulders. the sensation was overwhelming, a sharp, explosive fullness that made your entire core pulse tightly around his length.
"fuck, baby..." michael choked out, head snapping back, jaw clenching tight. his hands clamped around your hips with a possessive grip, holding you pinned flat against the counter.
he set a fast, relentless, frantic pace. because the crew was right outside the door and time was running out, there was no slow buildup—just raw, desperate, urgent friction.
every time his hips slammed forward, the heavy silver buckles on his leather pants clinked loudly against each other—clink, clink, clink—a metallic rhythm that mingled wildly with his heavy, ragged gasps and your breathless moans. the intoxicating scent of his stage sweat, expensive cologne, and warm skin filled your senses, driving you completely wild.
"you like it when i perform for you, huh?" michael rasped, voice gravelly and completely undone as he drove into you, hitting that exact, swollen spot deep inside you with every single punishing stroke. "you like seeing your man up there?"
"yes! oh god, michael, yes!" you sobbed out, legs wrapping tightly around his waist, pulling his body as deep into yours as physically possible. "don't stop... please, mike!"
"i'm not stopping," michael growled, his face burying into the side of your neck, his hot lips pressing feverish, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline as his thrusts turned faster, harder, and relentlessly precise. "you're taking all of it... every bit of it, mama."
the slick, heavy friction between your bodies built up a blinding heat. the sound of the roadies shouting outside in the hallway and the clinking of his belt buckles only heightened the forbidden, desperate rush of the moment.
"michael—i'm close! i'm gonna come!" you whimpered, body shaking uncontrollably under his powerful rhythm.
"come for me, then," michael rasped in your ear, voice tight, desperate, and right on the edge of breaking. "let it go, baby... give it to me!"
with a loud, stifled scream into his shoulder, your body gave in completely. your internal walls clamped down around him in tight, uncontrollable, pulsing spasms of pure ecstasy.
feeling your core clench violently around his length shattered michael's self-control. he let out a deep, guttural growl, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust hard and deep three more desperate times before burying himself as far inside you as he could go. his entire body locked up, a long, raspy gasp spilling from his lips as he poured everything into you, shuddering violently against your chest.
for two minutes, you both stayed locked together on the vanity, chests heaving, breathing frantic in the quiet room.
michael pulled back slowly, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your swollen lips, dark eyes glowing with satisfaction. "how was that for an encore?" he murmured with a boyish grin.
"unbelievable," you giggled breathlessly, smoothing down your clothes as he stepped back to adjust his pants and re-buckle his belt.
within five minutes, the makeup was quickly cleared from the floor, clothes were straightened, and your hair was brushed back into place. by the time a sharp knock came at the dressing room door—a roadie calling out, "five minutes to the motorcade, mr. jackson!"—you were both standing side by side, looking composed, elegant, and completely innocent.
michael turned to you, slipping on his dark sunglasses, offering you a quiet, handsome wink before sliding his warm hand into yours to walk out into the night.
