hiii I love the manager mike fics they absolutely kill menekekdijweb
I have a request if that’s okay !! maybe something from reader’s perspective where she’s just admiring michael, specifically for his age. ik he’s mentioned a lot not liking the gap between them, but the reader is just in love with michael yes but also the fact that he’s older b/c he’s established, knows how to treat a woman, secure, etc. maybe she shows him how grateful she is by sucking him off or riding him hehehehe thanks for considering <3
ꫂ❁ writes: first time writing from the reader’s perspective. even though i’ve been writing from 2nd pov for ye many years, it feels a little foreign lmao. i love writing from michael’s perspective, though, i think it’s so interesting to read his inner thoughts. oh well.
for context, this is set in 2014-ish. michael is turning 56, and you are in your late 20s-early 30s.
tw: older man/younger woman, low self-confidence, oral sex (m. receiving), riding, praise kink, dirty talk, cowgirl position, unprotected sex, creampie for dessert ofc!
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝
you knew he hated aging. it was something he had mentioned many times over interviews, his songs, private conversations…there was a deep longing to reconnect and heal his inner child, to live longer and experience all the wonders of innocence and goodness that he had yet to fully cover.
the worst of it came around when his 56th birthday crept up.
“i just don’t understand why you wouldn’t wanna celebrate it,” you mused, leaning on your forearms over the piano. “birthdays are super fun, and it doesn’t have to be a big bash, you know.”
michael peers up at you for a moment before settling his gaze down at the piano. he shakes his head a little, sadness pouring through his voice. “you know i don’t really do birthdays like that.”
you blinked. “you’re an ex-jehovah’s witness, though. and you’ve celebrated before.”
he shrugs, fingers idly hitting notes on the keyboard. “still. i always feel like i’m doin’ something wrong. i just celebrate with the kids now. that’s it.”
your fingers laced together tightly. “so i’m not invited, then?” it was meant as a joke, but michael’s head snapped up, wide-eyed as he shook his head.
“no, no, of course,” he replied quickly. he raised a hand to your face in surrender, and you laughed lightly as you unwound your fingers to lace them with his. he seemed tense, more so than usual.
“i’m just teasing, babe.” you smile reassuringly at him, teeth poking from under your lips. you give his hand a few squeezes before wrapping your other hand around it, warming his cold fingers. he let you.
“we don’t have to do anything crazy, like i said,” you try to steer the conversation to make him more comfortable, and his head drops to stare at the keyboard again. he’s avoiding your gaze. “just tell me what you wanna do for your 56th.”
his nose scrunches in slight disgust, and you catch the curve of his upper lip sneering at the thought. he pulls his hand away from you, back into his lap with a sigh. you feel a pang of rejection hit your heart, and you stiffen.
“nothing.” his smooth hair is covering his eyes as he shakes his head a little. “nothing.”
you let out a huff of slight exasperation through your nose, though you try to still the force of it. “why not?”
michael’s long index finger lifts up to drop down onto a deep note, reverberating his feelings. “i don’t wanna think about it.”
the note continues to echo throughout the room, the baritone of his soul. “think about what?”
he tilts his head away from you, and you catch his eye twitching a little. he shudders, actually shudders, at the thought of something, and you’re starting to think it’s you. you knew he was hesitant about the context of the relationship, how young you were compared to him, how the media might blow up once they caught wind of it (hadn’t happened yet, but you were both counting the days), and you were treading lightly with the romance.
if you could call it that.
michael jackson was still your manager, after all. and he wasn’t the first to get involved with a singer client.
“it’s stupid, just forget it, okay?” his voice is deep and sad.
you lift yourself off the piano a little, and you know he can see you out of the periphery of his eye, but he doesn’t move to look at you. your face is serious, and you try not to bite your lip as you study him. he’s not moving, frozen on the keyboard, as if he’s waiting for your reaction.
“can you be honest with me?” you ask quietly. the room is heavy with tension, and it’s bearing down on your head like humidity.
“hm?” he asks through clamped lips, and he is anything but nonchalant.
your nails absentmindedly pick at your cuticles while you peer downwards. it’s hard to talk to him when he’s like this, reserved, reclusive, hermited.
you take in a steadying breath. “is it me? is it my age?”
that’s when he finally snaps his gaze to stare deep into your eyes, and you see confusion. “what?”
his voice is suddenly loud, ringing throughout the room. it’s the first time he’s spoken up since you met at his house that afternoon.
it’s your turn to blink back at him. “what?”
“your age?” he questions with a squint of his eyes. “what does that—no…no, no, no, it has nothing to do with that.”
you crane your neck forward, hands outspread as you try to curb your upcoming attitude lodged in your throat. “so? what’s the problem?”
“it’s me.” michael jabs a finger into the center of his chest repeatedly, and he’s growing angry now. but not at you. “don’t you see? it’s me, it’s this–”
he glances down at his body for a moment and actively curls away, like he can’t crawl out of his own skin. he throws his head back and lets out a frustrated sigh, eyes locked onto the ceiling. they’re glossy with tears, tears he looks like he is trying to will away into thin air.
“i can’t stand it. i’m sorry.” he apologizes softly, swallowing away a visible lump in his throat. “it’s just that you…you’re so young, and beautiful, and so full of life. all these birthdays…every year. just….”
he can hardly speak, pausing every few words to blink slowly, his lashes wetting with tears, and he tries to take a few shaky breaths.
you wait for him to finish his thought, patiently standing by his side. he continues, “and god, don’t get me wrong, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time. a very long time. i just can’t help but not want to celebrate how…old i’m getting. i don’t feel like my age.”
you smile, huffing a small laugh. “don’t look it, neither.” it’s meant as a compliment, but he closes his eyes slowly and clamps his rosy lips shut.
“don’t patronize me, fox.” he sighs, then sniffs once, heavily. “i know what i look like.”
your brows furrow. “and what do you think you look like?”
he opens his eyes to roll them to the side. “trust me, it’s not a ‘think’. it's an ‘i know’ situation.”
you bark out a laugh, startling him. “then, pardon my french, but you don’t know shit.”
he turns to you questioningly, sadness in his eyes, before you reach out and pull at his arms to tug him up. he rises with you, looking lost and broken, the biggest star in the world, feeling frail in your hands as you lead him away from the piano.
“i’m curious,” you cut him off with a cheeky side glance. “if you’ve ever had your eyes checked.”
you can feel his heels dig a little into the ground as he skirts to a stop to your motions. you twist around and laugh as you bend in half to tug him closer to you. he looks hurt that you mentioned his obvious vision problem. “fox,” he starts.
“don’t insult me, michael,” you bite down on your bottom lip with a teasing look in your eye. “i think those reading glasses are the sexiest thing you’ve put on.”
michael loosens a little as he processes the information, letting you pull him towards the corner of the room again. “what?”
you smirk at him, tantalizingly swaying your hips as you go. “besides those golden pants, of course.”
he huffs out a hint of a laugh, shaking his head. “what are you on about, girl?”
you finally reach the corner of the room and square your shoulders, plopping michael in front of the large-scale mirror, leaning on a leg against the wall. he stares at himself; you can see his big eyes widen with curiosity as they meet yours in the reflection, still glossy with sadness.
“i want you to look at yourself,” you said softly, peeking from behind his broad shoulders. “and i want you to watch me. i want you to see yourself through my eyes.”
he shifts uncomfortably under your palms, and you can tell that he wants to fidget away from the mirror. his eyes trail from your reflection to the border of the mirror, looking away from anything that involves him. you squeeze his shoulders encouragingly.
“no,” you admonish him with a curl of your fingers digging into his skin. “look at yourself.”
he gives a small sigh, as if he’s done this before. he might recognize it as a self-love exercise, something he often preaches to you. but he has no idea what you have in store for him. he reluctantly meets your gaze in the reflection for a moment, waits for your slow nod, and he meets himself in the mirror. you can tell he’s struggling to study himself, and the critiques are showing in his eyes. every small wrinkle, curve, blemish, anything he felt was out of place.
you smooth your hands over his shoulders, warming him. “look at these shoulders. so resilient, so broad. they hold a lot of your pain, but also carry great strength, yes?”
when you plant a soft kiss on the corner of his trapezius, you feel he has no choice but to breathe out a complicit “yes” in response. you continue, your hands snaking around his midsection. your fingers graze a few ribs over the thin cloth, tickling him there to feel his shudder, and splaying wide hands over his torso.
“what a body,” you muse with admiration. your hands are traveling everywhere, and you feel his stomach jump under your touch. “dancing away, making people happy.”
his eyes soften watching you with lidded lashes. he doesn’t speak when your fingers trace a sly pattern from the dome of his belly button up the center of his chest. you think you can feel goosebumps rising on his skin, even though it’s the dead of summer.
“you’re just a beast on stage,” you ponder out loud, your voice a whisper.
you feel his breath hitch a little. “was,” he corrects you half-heartedly.
you smirk. “oh, you’re still a beast, my love.”
you watch his face scrunch up a little with baited anticipation as you point your fingers around his chest, nearing where his nipples might be, but not quite touching there. he exhales a sigh, and you can hear his voice crack a little. “i’m–”
you start to round his body, standing by his side rather than behind him as you eye his body with admiration. his posture is stiff and rigid again, and you can tell he feels a little exposed, though you’ve yet to take any clothing off him.
“what a man.” your eyes gleam at the words, and you don't mean to sound so ravenous, but it was disappointing to hear him talk about himself this way. as if he weren’t the most attractive soul in the world. “and you’re mine.”
you shake your head disbelievingly at the thought, and you can tell he is watching you stroke your hands up to his arm to clutch his biceps, massaging them. “my protector.”
michael shivers. you can see the pride slowly start to bloom in his chest as it puffs up a little at your words.
you slide your hands down to caress his wrists, rubbing a thumb over the protruding bone before tracing a nail down a prominent vein in the back of his hands. his large, thick hands. “don’t get me started on these hands. mm, the things they’ve done. created. made. illuminated.”
you trace over his skin adoringly, swiping the pad of your index finger over his knuckles, nails, and the underside of his palms. he’s clammy there, clearly still nervous, but intoxicated by your words. the exercise is working.
“you treat me so well,” you whisper, feeling a little hotter under your thin shirt. your face is now level with his, his eyes completely off the reflection and now piercing into yours. you forgot how intense his gaze could be, especially with those brown eyes dilated with desire.
it pleased you to see life in them. that little spark to grow into a raging flame.
“i try,” michael barely moves his lips as he talks, and if not for the proximity, you wouldn’t catch his words. “i’m a gentleman. you deserve that much. more.”
you know when he talks like this, voice low and raspy, he’s being genuine.
“and then some,” you keep his eyes with yours when your fingers pry open his hands to thread themselves into his hold. “you’re so chivalrous.”
you’re not sure why his eyebrows raising at you knowingly causes your heart to flip a little. “not dead?”
“no,” you laugh, inching closer to his face. “not with me.”
he tries to subtly wet his lips as he whispers “never” over your waiting mouth before placing a chaste kiss there. you inhale deeply, and the sound of his soft groan turns you on. you’re overly energized by his lack of self-love, desperate to show him what he means to you. his insecurities were a bullet hole that could not be slapped over with a band-aid.
he makes a slight noise of surprise when you push up your body into his, nudging him backwards. he breaks the kiss and your intertwined hands to clutch at your shoulders to steady himself, and gawks a little when you greedily grab the lower half of his back, fingers digging into the neck of his pants.
“whoa,” he says more to himself than to you. he blinks long lashes your way, but you’re already grinning like a fox as you continue to sashay both of your bodies towards the bed. “fox–”
“lay down, pretty boy.” you’re overcome with confidence, a lust you’ve yet to address in your relationship.
you can feel his laugh fall in his chest when you bring your hands around to his chest, lightly shoving him backwards onto the bed. his calves hit the mattress, then he’s falling with little grace, landing ass-first into the sheets. he blinks up at you in shock, not used to being manhandled. not for a very long time.
“pretty boy?” he snorts, but he’s obviously nervous.
“tell me i’m wrong,” you challenge. you’re standing between his legs, your knees knocking against his to spread them apart. it’s not meant to emasculate him, but his face collapses.
“you’re…” he stutters when you kick a foot under his heel, and he loses his footing, forced to prop himself on his elbows. “you’re wrong.”
you suck your teeth sharply, and he blinks, astonished at the sound. “god doesn’t like liars. what was that, the fourth commandment?”
michael laughs, actually laughs out loud. “there’s no such commandment, girl, what are you talking about?”
you shrug, a smug expression painted over your face as you kneel between his manspread. the argument dies in his throat as he watches you with widened eyes. “oh, well. i’m not that religious anyway.”
your palm smooths over his stomach, and you delight in the little jolts it gives beneath your touch. you keenly eye his center, and as if sensing your gaze, you spot a slight twitch beneath the material. you hear him try to speak, to form a word, but nothing aside from light groans spills from his lips when your hands trace down to his hips, and you start to unwrap him like a present. it’s all he can do, you know this with certainty as he watches you tug down the waistline of his pants over his hips.
“ah, wait–” michael objects weakly.
you hush him with soft lulls as you begin to palm him through his grey briefs. his head falls back with a long groan, soon stifled with a tight clamp of his lips. “fox, wait—”
“michael, look at me, or i’m stopping.” at that, he drags his head back to gaze down at you with cloudy eyes.
you continue to caress his bulge, thinning your fingers to feel the outline of his dick as it grows harder under your soft touches. he’s nearly whimpering in your hands, lower lip completely sucked into his teeth. “just look at you. the experience you have. you’re worried about me leaving or something?”
your reference to his size makes his hips jerk upwards. “for w-what?” he’s confused.
“for a younger man,” you hum. your free hand over his thigh forces his muscles down when they tense at the sentiment, and you smile up at him. “i’m gonna show you why that will never happen.”
with that, you leave no more room for discussion as your fingers deftly slip through the center flap to whip out his cock, already half-hard and leaking from the tip. he lets out a small yell as his upper body gives out, falling backwards onto the mattress as you stroke him fast, lips wrapped over his head. he hisses a little when you flick your tongue repeatedly over his head, dipping experimentally in and around the foreskin.
michael calls out your name, your real name, with a deep rasp in his voice. his large hands snap out to hold your head, and you slobber intentionally over the length. you know he can hear the obscene sounds because he squeaks like a mouse. you spit messily over his head, then hum gently as your glossy lips encompass his length, inch by inch, until his fat head taps the back of your throat and you gag.
you feel his upper body scramble up, and he tugs at your hair to pull you off him, concern stamped into his eyes. “are–”
that’s all he manages to spit out before your mouth magnetizes to his dick again, hands scooping his heavy length back into your mouth and you start to bob your head in earnest. michael whines a long note, pinching his nose and screwing his eyes shut as you start to suck him off. it’s raunchy and nasty and so raw. your nose continuously hits the base of his length, where the curls of his pubic hair tickle you. he’s spitting and stuttering over you, very overcome.
“fox, wait–” he gasps, hips jutting up, once, twice. “i—i’m gonna, i’m—oh, oh!”
you’re suddenly shoved downwards as his heavy hands hold your head there, and he’s spilling into your throat in spurts. he’s jerking his hips fast, so fast the movements are almost small. all you can do is try to breathe through your nose in small bouts of succession as you gag over and over with his thrusts.
when he tugs you off him, you gulp down a few gasps of air. there’s a line of saliva and cum connecting your tongue and his glossy cock. he’s still twitching, his hips sinking into the mattress as he collapses backwards again. he’s breathing hard, and sweat is forming on his collarbone.
he brings a hand to his face. “what…what was that?”
you move quickly, breath laboring as you climb onto the bed to settle into his lap. he whisks his hand away from his face to peer at you incredulously. your baby hairs are askew as you bear a sweet smile down on him. “that was just the beginning.”
he’s still breathing very hard, you can feel his chest rising and falling as you wrap the hem of your shirt over your head and toss it somewhere to the side. no bra, you smile to yourself as his coffee-colored eyes immediately latch onto your breasts, nipples already hardening under his gaze.
“god, you’re so beautiful,” you moan over him, gyrating your clothed pussy over his still-hard cock. you unzip the side of your skirt to shimmy it over your torso and away from the bed. “you don’t even know, baby.”
michael is left writhing and gasping underneath you, sensitive from the aftershock of his orgasm. “baby, wait–”
you reach down to tug your thong to the side, exposing your leaking cunt to the air. your head dips to watch as your fingers scramble behind for his cock, reveling in his whine when you latch onto it. you fiddle with it a little, fitting the wet head in and around the juices of your pussy. the sensation over your clit makes your eyes flutter shut.
michael whines, a high-pitched, short sound that makes you shiver with delight. his hands are fisting at his sides, twisting into the sheets.
“michael, i need you,” you whimper, and you open your eyes to look into his. he’s enamored by the sight of you over him, the sun shining behind your body. “i need you to take me. like you always do. only you can do it, baby, please.”
he swallows when his hand reaches for his cock, bumping his knuckles into your fingertips when you both slide his cock into your heat. the warmth of the room amplifies when you lean forward to bump your forehead into his, moaning into his mouth when he returns your groans.
“oh, gooood,” he screws his eyes shut.
you start to rotate your hips over his, fingers tapping at his still-clothed stomach. “michael!”
his eyes fly open at his name. you crook two fingers into your eyes. “on me, baby. on me.”
he gapes at you, beads of sweat forming on the side of his temple. your hips gyrate smoothly, lower back recoiling at the jitter of your lower hairs tickling your clit. you nearly throw your head back as you start to bounce on him in earnest, tits jumping with you. his eyes are locked in, wasted at the sight of you.
his hands unravel from the sheets to clap over your hips, fingers digging into the fat of them. he’s holding onto you for support as you throw yourself up and down over his thick length. you can feel his thighs slowly coming up behind you as you fuck him into the sheets, and you muster the strength to speak again.
“c’mon, baby,” you groan out, grabbing at your breasts and squealing when you pinch the hardened peak. “fuck me, pump those pretty hips into me. just—aagh–please—”
the first warning you got was the sound of two pats on the bed behind you, the sound of his feet planting themselves firmly into the mattress before he squares his brows in concentration and slaps his hands over the small of your waist before it starts. you’re jolted forward, hands falling from your breasts to slam down on either side of his head when michael starts to fuck you in earnest.
your tits are jiggling in his face, and you can barely spot his tongue attempting to dart out to catch your nipple in his mouth as his hips patter up into yours. he’s fucking you like a young man, something you were spending all afternoon trying to show him. the gusto and spirit you wanted have now unleashed itself into a hungry beast, ready to ravage your body in the best way. and all you can do is bend over and take the consequence.
michael grits his teeth, gnashing them before snaking his full arms around your waist to haul you into his chest, angling your body into a more open position before he spreads his own thighs. he temporarily removes a hand from your side to lift and plop a stray breast into his waiting mouth, before bucking his hips back up into your cunt.
“aagh, unnghh!” you cry out. “michael, yes!”
it’s fueling him, you can tell from his clouded thinking, and his moan vibrates against your skin as he suckles your teat, lavishing his tongue around it and kissing when he can. his heavy balls are slapping against your ass as his hips make rapid pap, pap, pap sounds. you’re close, so close, as the sensation of your orgasm spreads over your body like an electrical current.
“yes, michael,” you sputter once he finally releases your breast and pants up at you. “god, you’re so good, such a—a man—, you’re mine, all mine—h-haagh!”
“yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s rambling through whines and gritted teeth. “i’m–”
he shouts with you, stilling his hips into your core and you cum hard, clit throbbing. you shudder in his embrace, and he squeezes you tighter into his chest, hugging you as he whines out into the room. all you can feel is an overabundance of cum leaking out of you, and he’s still pumping his hips into yours, though more slowly.
you’re overstimulated, and so is he, but all either of you can do is stare into each other's eyes, and everything feels like it’s on fire. every nerve is screaming, and you can’t seem to look away.
he looks beyond beautiful, and for once, you can see the sentiment shared back. about both of you. there’s no disgust or doubt anymore.
he’s spent, and so are you when you fall into his arms, both of you breathing hard. your sweat drops onto his shirt, which is damp with perspiration and the stench of sex. his hair is now curling at the sides of his face, twisting into nonsensical letters. everything is wet, the bed, the clothes, your bodies, especially your connected nethers. no one moves for a bit, just heated faces and the sound of labored breathing in the room.
your head moves with the tandem of his breathing, and you feel the vibration of his voice in his chest when he says, “i haven’t…i haven’t fucked like that since…who knows.”
you bend an elbow to pinch his shirt, dabbing it into your face, where the sweat slowly stings your eyes. “eh, who cares.”
you hear him sniff. “clearly you do.”
your peals of laughter sound throughout the room, and you feel his arms start to unwind from your middle, though not letting you go completely. “only in the best ways.”
ꫂ❁ thoughts from saff: sorry if this was a little sad in the beginning, but i like my rpf to be realistic in some way. otherwise, michael becomes a character and he was very real, very human.
also wtf sorry this took so long, im #failing in class and life now i think ao3 writing curse is coming my way
