𑣲⋆ bad! era michael jackson x reader ⠀₊⠀ ׁ⠀ word count — 767
summary : in which you cancel your plans last minute to nurse your husband back to health.
includes : fluff, marriage, kissing, sick michael, etc
based on this request
m.list
𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧 before he was shoved back into bed and drowned in a pile of blankets.
you wouldn’t let him.
he sniffled lightly, watching you walk back in the bedroom with a bottle of medicine.
“baby,” he said hoarsely, “m’fine, rea—“
“say ‘aah’” you cut in, holding a spoonful of dark liquid to his mouth which Michael could already assume from looks alone it was going to be terribly bitter.
his eyes looked up at you, a frown breaking across his lips.
he opened his mouth to protest, but you beat him to it.
“your fever is at 102 degrees,” you reminded him, ushering the spoon toward him once again. “drink up.”
he reluctantly closed his eyes and opened his mouth, wincing once he swallowed and the taste registered.
it had truly tasted how it looked— bitter despair.
when he opened his eyes again, you were looking at him, faint traces of a coy smile on your face.
“Nicely done.” you cooed, “that wasn’t so hard, huh?”
Michael only shook his head, laughing softly under his breath.
but then once his laughter subdued, he looked over at you more seriously, watching as you began to put everything away.
you were still in that fitted, short dress that caught light from the room chandelier every time you moved,
your hair that still held lingering scents of hairspray and cascaded down your back in gloss ribbons,
and your makeup— lustrous, wispy lashes with glossed mocha nude lips.
Aside from replacing your Christian Louboutins with your cozy animal house slippers, everything on you served as a reminder that you had casted away your plans for tonight at the last minute because your husband had come down with a fever.
“your friends are probably wondering where you are.” he murmured.
you didn’t respond immediately, nor did you meet his gaze as you stored the medicine in the bedrooms cupboards.
“i can take care of myself.” he added, pushing himself up to rest against the headboard.
“Lay down,” you said simply, walking back over to guide him down with one hand on his shoulder.
Michael exhaled, settling back into the covers as he continued to search for your eyes, his hand weakly reaching for yours that now rested on the bedside.
“I'd hate to be the reason you’re canceling,” he admitted. “Go have fun, I'll be fine.”
finally, your eyes flickered over to him.
“You're a patient, you shouldn’t worry about those kinds of things right now.”
“I'm your husband first and foremost, am I not?” he tugged lightly on your hand. “You work hard enough already, go enjoy yourself.”
“Yes, you’re my husband,” you adjusted the blankets on him once more, tucking him in thoroughly, “but as your wife, I want to make sure you’re okay.”
Michael looked at you silently for a few moments.
as much as your admission tugged at his heartstrings, he couldn’t help but feel bad.
he looked away, his hands resting over his chest.
“You're going to get bored.”
“i’m very much engaged taking care of you.”
his eyes flickered back to you, slightly narrowed.
“you just always have to have the last word, don’t you?”
you smiled, patting his cheek gently before resting your hand on his forehead, “you’re only now realizing?”
it appears you truly hadn’t been upset, that you didn’t secretly resent him for ruining your night.
michaels expression softened slowly, a sheepish smile curling upon his lips because he felt he could enjoy being taken care of by his sweetheart without feeling shameless about it.
he let out a sigh, closing his eyes although a smile lingered on his face.
“i hate being sick.”
“i know.” you hummed, carefully swiping stray curls from his face before you leaned down to give a quick kiss to the side of his face, a faint mark the shape of your lips taking place like a token.
his eyes opened and his arms raised immediately, refusing your acts of affection.
“what are you doing? you’ll get sick!” he exclaimed to which you only laughed.
“what’s wrong?” you asked obliviously, trying to pry his hands away, “maybe i can take your sickness away.”
the absurdity of your words made him give a laugh of his own.
“through a kiss? that isn’t how it works,”
“what’s the harm in trying?”
you managed to get past his arms, pressing your lips against his to which once it landed, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.
when you eventually backed away, looking so notoriously smug, michael could only smile.
beyonce!reader who released the partition music video as her relationship announcement.
suggestive content ahead.
"hey everyone! today we're on the set for partition and i'm super excited." you smiled at the camera michael had focused on you, he wanted his own 'behind the scenes' of this iconic moment in the making. "show us what you're wearing baby." michael instructed and you put your hands on your hips, twirling for the camera. "this is my first outfit. we've got this stunning diamond corset, it's really heavy but it makes me super snatched." you explained, looking down at yourself before looking up at michael behind the camera. "this is the sexiest thing i've ever seen." michael whistled, zooming in on the detailed corset you were wearing, making you laugh and look away.
"how long do you think this shoot will take?" michael asked, panning the camera back up to your face, "well, we've hired everything for three days, so i'm hoping we can finish it within those three days." you winced, "but i have a very specific creative vision for this video so i hope everything can just go smoothly."
"it will baby, i know it will." michael softly said, you smiled at him, covering the camera lens as you got closer to him, going on your tiptoes to kiss him. "you know how i know you're excited?" michael asked as you pulled away, moving your hand away from the lens.
"how?" you cocked your head to the side. "you let me kiss you with your stage makeup on." he chuckled, making you laugh. "well we need to practice for our scenes together." you playfully winked, michael laughed, "i don't think the camera knows yet, but i'm going to do my girl the honour of being in the music video." michael explained as you nodded along.
"basically, this is gonna be the public's first time seeing us together." you summarised, an excited grin on your face. "let's hope it all goes well." michael chuckled, you shrugged, "why wouldn't it?"
"our first time being seen together includes you in lingerie, us making out and touching on each other before you then dancing on a pole for me." michael winced, "it's definitely one way to announce a relationship."
"chill out, it's called art." you sarcastically said, making michael chuckle behind the camera.
it was day two of filming and it was finally time for you and michael to do your scenes together. you stood on set with your red bottom heels, in a black trench coat and almost nothing underneath. "action!" the director called out before partition started playing. you posed infront of the camera as a black car slowly pulled up behind you, its tail lights accentuating your figure.
the car came to a stop and you slowly unbuttoned the coat, revealing a set of black lingerie underneath. the car door opened and out came michael in a black suit. you fought hard to stay in character and fight off the smile that wanted to grow on your face.
the next scene involved both of you in the car. once the director called action again you latched yourself onto michael's neck, his hands ran down your leg before he burst into a fit of giggles and the director called out cut.
"michael, you can't laugh!" you whined, sitting back in your seat the makeup crew rushed over to fix your lipstick and wipe the stains of michael's neck. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry angel, it's just so weird doing this in front of an audience." michael laughed, covering his mouth as the laughter flowed out.
you rolled your eyes at him and once he eventually calmed down everyone got back into their positions. "we ready?" the director asked, but everyone knew the question was mainly directed at michael. "yeah, we're good."
once the cameras started rolling again and your cue came, you draped one of your legs over michael, kissing his cheek then his neck. from the corner of your eye you could see the camera right infront of you and you couldn't help but to giggle, you pulled away from michael, shielding your face in embarrassment and when he saw you laughing, he couldn't help but to burst into his own fit of laughter. "cut!" the director called out again, a small smile on his face as he watched the two of you childishly laugh. yet again, the makeup crew rushed over to fix your lipstick and wipe the lipstick stains of michael's neck.
"michael! you can't laugh!" you said through laughter, michael covered his face as he tilted his head back, "it's your fault, you were laughing!"
"the camera was right next to me, what was i meant to do?" you giggled and michael shook his head, exasperated. "okay, seriously this time. third times the charm."
you let out a breath, preparing yourself. "just keep your eyes shut." michael pointed at you, you smiled and nodded, getting back into position.
once your cue came again, you leaned over, kissing michael's neck as his hands trailed up your thigh and reached across to grab your ass. the camera grew closer to you and you opened your trench coat further, michael's hands trailed up to grab the underside of your boobs before turning and kissing you fiercely, you two made out for a few seconds before the director yelled out, "cut!"
you hesitantly pulled away from michael, covering your face in embarrassment. "we are definitely making a statement with that one." michael chuckled.
when partition came out - it sent waves throughout the media. everyone was surprised to see you release such a lewd song. since the music video was deemed explicit, mtv and other music stations could only stream the song after nine pm.
but what they were even more surprised to see was michael jackson in the video. it became an argument whether you and michael were acting or if this was a real moment caught on camera.
what the song also helped to do was eliminate any rumours regarding michael as gay or asexual.
"did you see the way he was looking at her? that man ain't gay, he's just very down bad for one woman and one woman only!" one magazine said, they had described partition as a taboo yet ground breaking, iconic moment in pop culture.
and when you were asked about it a week later in an interview to promote your song and upcoming album?
"so, you and michael? can we get an official statement from you regarding your relationship status with him?"
you playfully rolled your eyes, "me and michael are just friends." you jokingly said, laughing when the interviewer raised a sceptical eyebrow at you, "no, i'm just teasing. michael and i are very much in love. sorry ladies." you winked at the camera teasingly.
michael’s personality to the public was this timid, closed off man—until he hit that bedroom of yours. that shyness slowly faded away, when he was able to have you all to himself. you gave michael all the experience he had, and him taking the time to learn your body made the entanglement so much better. he knew you from head to toe, and no matter how much you tried to fight it, you needed him—you needed it. he made you so crazy… so much so, you forgot you were in a relationship.
𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 ➛ cheating (sorry not sorry, lol), deadbeat boyfriend, sexual contents. (unprotected sex, p in v penetration, whining, switch!mike, backshots, masturbation (fem & m receiving), explicit language, breeding kink, panty sniffing (hehe) aftercare.) i do not condone cheating! but hey, who wouldn’t go that extra mile for the king of pop 👀
𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 ➛hello to you beautiful people! i’ve been a silent viewer in this fandom for a while, but i thought to put pen to paper because writing is definitely a passion of mine (as well as michael jackson). i’m hoping you all enjoy my content!
“And in my estimation, the true ‘King of Pop’, rock, and soul… Mr. Michael Jackson!” Elizabeth Taylor announces, the crowd erupts in whoops and screams for the man who influences all. He erupts onto the stage, the black suit he wore embroidered with the tiniest gold accents, a red silk dress shirt underneath to match the hemming on his sleeve, and a sparkling diamond statement piece decorated on his chest. He wore black slacks with shiny metal going down along his legs. He looked good. Great, even.
He was so humble, too. He always made sure to thank those who supported him and his journey, and that’s why so many people fell for him. Why you fell for him. He gave his thanks to Elizabeth, and began the short speech he actually rehearsed with you a couple nights ago.
“Thank you,” he started, that one ringlet curl falling in front of his nose, and the spotlight beaming bright on his face. His face—one of the many things you adored about the man standing a couple seats in front of you. He had the voice of an angel, and the face to back it up, too. You never feed into what the tabloids said about him, how they make fun of his complexion, or how they spew crazy amounts of hate towards a man who would (and most certainly could) pay all of their bills in a heartbeat.
“Thank you very much, Elizabeth Taylor,” Michael continued, bending down at the small microphone presented in front of him. He had to do this very often, for a man standing at five-foot-nine, he was all legs, which gave the illusion that he was much, much taller than he actually was. He kissed Elizabeth on the cheek to show his gratitude, then proceeded to thank Eddie Murphy, who accompanied the two of them on stage as well.
Eddie Murphy was always a tease towards Michael, poking at his stomach and constantly trying to tickle him, causing him to let out a deep chuckle. His laugh sounded like the definition of magic, the sound was the type to bring tears to your eyes. It sounded so pure and real, and he never had to fake it—only times he did were when an interviewer asked him the most awkward questions known to man, and he had to force it for the cameras.
“First, I’d like to thank God, who makes all things possible,” Michael started back up again, the cheers from the crowd growing louder.
“I’d like to thank my mother nd’ father, who I love very much,” Michael pointed, and you glanced over at Katherine and Joseph Jackson, who weren’t sitting too far away from you. Your admiration for Michael ran deep, because despite what Joseph put him through his entire life, he still thanked him. He still showered him with love and appreciation, because that’s how honorable his character was.
“I’d like to thank… Quincy Jones, he’s in the audience… I don’t see him… he was somewhere—oh, he was right there, thank you, Quincy.” Michael scanned the second row for Quincy, and locked eyes with you for a little over two seconds. The missing seat next to you was reserved for Quincy, who was handling something backstage the last you could remember.
Michael ushered out the rest of his thanks, ended it with an “I love you”, per usual, and looked out onto the crowd before him. He blew a kiss to the crowd, and found your eyes again. His doe eyes scanned you as quick as he could, your black floor length gown was glistening under the light, and your shimmery red bottoms were barely peeking out. Your hair was pinned up, your subtle blonde highlights showing in the very delicate and tedious bun sitting atop of your head.
One thing he really loved though, was your eye makeup. Your eyeshadow was natural, but still managed to pop every move you made. And your lips—God, your lips. He couldn’t get enough of them. The brown lip liner, blended into the plush of them, a beautiful nude lipstick giving it all a lovely push.
He stepped back from the microphone, glancing at you once again—smiling, and biting his lip. You prayed nobody could tell that his action was directed towards you. Especially the man next to you, your boyfriend, Reese. His claps were a lot slower than yours, his face showing signs of repulsion while Michael was on stage.
The only reason Reese was here was because you needed a plus-one for the award show. Michael invited you, and only you, but Reese just couldn’t shake the fact that Michael wanted you to come alone. Did it annoy you? Of course. Was his reasoning valid? You wished that it wasn’t. What Reese didn’t know is you were the reason that Michael’s reward winning jitters weren’t being displayed on the stage he stood upon today.
FLASHBACK
A couple nights before, when he offered to give you the tickets, there was a catch. There was always a catch when it came to anything Michael gave to you, just because he thoroughly enjoyed watching your face when you got annoyed, knowing you’d do anything he asked for anyway.
He told you in order to get the tickets from him, especially with Reese tagging along, you had to kiss him. Just once, and he’d be satisfied. You showed up to his hotel, but with all his fame and the crazies willing to track his every move, you had to be specially escorted. It felt wrong to come see him in the moment, but once you saw him, all of that weariness faded. He was getting ready for another event prior, straightening up his silky black tie before opening the door. You stood before him, your casual dark wash Levi’s jeans adorned on your legs, a black blouse tucked into them, and some subtle, yet fancy kitten heels on your feet.
He took a whiff of your signature scent, one that could pinpoint you in any crowd, ‘Estee Lauder Beautiful Eau De’. One smell, and his grin immediately shined through. You walked past him, letting the air fill with your scent, before sitting down elegantly on his hotel bed. There was a cup of orange juice on the nightstand, half full–and you silently chuckled to yourself.
Michael didn’t say a word to you, just stared at you in awe. He had no shame in looking you up and down, taking in not only your scent, but the outfit you had on. Your blouse was tight-fitting, and the gold cross necklace sat perfectly between your cleavage. Your chest was so shiny, all the firming body oils and lotion you used made your collarbone pop, and your perfume lasted all day and night. Michael blushed, and that happened every time he stared at you for too long. It was times like this, he wished he could have you alone all the time–but he knew that wasn’t possible under your circumstances.
The two of you went over his speech, and you portrayed a big crowd of people to help give him the reality of the ceremony. It was fun, Michael was a goof—so it was never an awkward moment between the two of you. After a while, he started to blatantly stare at you again, fiddling with hands.
“Michael,” you blurted out, snapping your manicured nails at the man before you. He jumped a little bit, blinking a couple times to snap him out of his trance.
“Hmm?” He started, tilting his head while he devoured his bottom lip. His breathing seemed unsteady, and if he was being honest with himself at all, he forgot the reason he invited you. You looked so good, it was silently turning him on.
“The tickets, Michael. Reese is gonna go apeshit if I’m out too long.” You argued, trying to put up a front as if you cared about Reese’s feelings, but in reality, you hated being confronted. Reese had a million questions a minute anytime you went somewhere that wasn’t with him, and he was so, so, insecure. It made you sick–but your parents were under the influence that the two of you were going to make it to marriage. You didn’t think so.
“I wish his name would stop escaping those lips,” Michael chuckled, searching in one of his duffle bags for the tickets he reserved for the two of you. “Shoot, you’re lucky I’m even giving him a ticket.” He grins, handing you two slips of paper marked with the arena’s name on it, as well as your seats.
“I got you in one of the front rows, and you can thank me later.” He winked, sending a chill down your spine. An actual chill, too–your body suddenly twitched, and of course, Michael noticed it. As you were about to head out of his hotel room, he grabbed your forearm and dragged you back inside.
“You forgettin’ about our deal?” He said, his voice dropping an octave deeper, and furrowing those beautiful eyebrows of his.
“Alright, alright. I’ll kiss your cheek, and that’s it, Michael. Nothing more, nothing less.” You demand, grabbing his jaw and turning it to the side. He fights your gesture, and slowly puts your hand back down.
“C’mon, beautiful. A little innocent peck on my lips isn’t gonna hurt nobody.” He pulls you in, and you take a moment to admire his features. You love his smile, his teeth were pearly white and straight as a ruler–it made you melt. And those eyes, they’re to die for—literally. They had the kind of sparkle that would convince you to do whatever he wanted, which is why you were stuck in this situation in the first place.
“Y’know this is wrong, Michael. What if Reese finds out?” You argue, using a little strength to push him back and away from your lips. One thing you know, is that if he gets too close, all hell will break loose. And unfortunately for you, you’re not going to fight it either. He was a sex icon, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t turned on.
“One kiss, and I’ll let you get back to him. I just wanna thank you, y’know.”
You threw your head back, a smile slowly creeping on your face. “S’nothing, Michael, it’s what friends do. Now let’s get this over with, I gotta head back to the house.” You walk towards him, the click of your heels silent while you strutted across the hotel carpet. You looked up at him, and his eyes were filled with hunger. You puckered your lips, and kissed him once. The two of you pulled away, and the expression on his face was showing he wanted more. You needed to get away before things went downhill, but it was like an invisible rope pulling you closer, because before you knew it, you were kissing him, over and over again.
“You can’t leave me, right now.” Michael whispers after pulling away again, slowly backing you towards his hotel bed.
“But, Reese–” You start, but Michael quickly cuts you off.
“Shh…shh. Focus on me, don’t worry about him right now.” Was the last thing Michael muttered to you, before completely stripping you naked and watching you take three of his fingers at once.
To this day, Reese knows nothing about the entanglement the two of you indulged in, and you wanted it to stay that way.
PRESENT TIME
“He’s kind of overrated, in my honest opinion.” Reese starts, his claps stopping. He was the only one in the crowd who wasn’t clapping anymore, and in all honestly, you were embarrassed to be around someone so disrespectful, let alone be in a relationship with them.
“Overrated, how? Reese, this man has well over one hundred rewards, that’s far from overrated.” You argue between claps. The crowd gave him a standing ovation, including yourself, getting up to whoop and clap louder for one of the most brilliant men in the music industry. You straightened your dress to sit back down, and was met with a very annoyed and frustrated Reese.
“Damn, seems like you like him more than me.” Reese argues, rolling his eyes. You didn’t want to start a fight, not here, not right now–but Jesus, was he irritating. It was always something with him, this was never a one time thing. Reese has no shame throwing a fit everywhere the two of you went–whether it was another guy complimenting you, anyone being nice to you for that matter–it was all a threat to him.
“Will you lighten up, Reese? Enjoy the ceremony that you didn’t have to come to.” You scoffed, brushing off his attitude to continuing enjoying the program in front of you. And to your surprise, that wasn’t the only reward Michael won that night–so in a way you were winning, because being able to see that beautiful smile of his made your evening so much brighter.
“Don’t even know how you got tickets, anyway.” Reese mutters under his breath, hoping you didn’t hear the remarks escaping his lips.
You pretended you didn’t hear him, but all you could think about was the night you made the mistake of sleeping with Michael Joseph Jackson. Do you regret the decision you made? Hell no—that man was a damn drug to you. But now you were faced with the dilemma of continuing your affair with this man who wouldn’t escape your mind, or submitting to your boyfriend who treated you like shit.
After another hour or so, the program ended, and everyone was starting to pack their purses and clutches to exit the building. You wanted to get out of there as fast as you could, but once again, you felt that invisible rope constantly pulling you towards him. Reese didn’t even bother hooking arms with you, carrying your clutch, or even holding your hand. It was so bad, you got used to his behavior. No flowers, no dates–the honeymoon phase was over for the two of you. He clearly didn’t care as much as you did, though.
After a minute of trying to get past everyone, all the celebrities were met with paparazzi outside. That’s when you ran into him. All the shiny accents on his pants were a dead giveaway–and those eyes. Those bambi eyes that seemed to take up his whole face, eyes contacts could never recreate. You stopped in your tracks, when you noticed how he was starting to jog to get to you.
You heard Reese mumble something under his breath, but Michael was the only thing on your mind at the moment.
“Hey! I’m so glad you came.” Michael expresses, embracing you for a hug, and you let him in. In front of Reese.
“Wouldn’t miss it, y’know this. I’m really proud of you.” His hug gradually got tighter, and it felt like heaven. Being able to take in his scent again, and just being able to feel on his body gave you more joy than you could’ve imagined. Reese on the other hand–it was like a switch went off in his brain, because not only was trying to actively pull you away from Michael, now he wanted to hold your waist.
Michael looked down at the image before him, and just simply nodded his head. He looked back at you, your face showing clear signs of awkwardness and discomfort, but he was your boyfriend–you couldn’t make a scene in front of all these people.
“I’ll see you around, m’kay? There’s an afterparty if you’re down to come.” He rested his hand on your bare shoulder, since the sleeves of your dress were designed to cascade a little off your shoulder. His hand was a little chilly, and the touch of his soft fingertips made you twitch once again.
“Nah, we ain’t time for an afterparty.” Reese speaks up, attempting to drop his voice a couple notches to sound more dominating–but in reality it embarrassed you. You sighed and rolled your eyes, kind of disappointed because any moment with Michael was a moment you needed to have.
“I wasn’t talkin’ to you, though.” Michael retorts, looking back at you once again. This act of retaliation turned you on, but if you showed an ounce of that in front of Reese, you’ll never hear the end of it. It’s like his mouth did nothing but argue, while Michael’s did everything you needed it to. The silence grew loud, and Michael wanted to get you out of this situation.
Reese didn’t even know what to say after Michael checked him, but that’s how most were–Michael was good at silencing people, making them shut up before him, and he didn’t even have to be crazy rude about it. He just made people speechless.
“Anyway, don’t be scared to call about that afterparty.” He said, arms out to embrace you again. You melted in his arms, taking a deep breath so his cologne could ignite your body once more. Reese looked like a child too scared to ask for a piece of candy while he stood behind you, watching as another man swooned you, just that easy.
“I’ll see. It’s late, but I’ll let you know.” You reassured, and he gave a simple nod and smile in return. He stuck his hand out to shake Reese’s and surprisingly, Reese shook his hand back.
‘He shook Michael’s hand’. You thought to yourself. That same hand that’s smacked on the fat of your ass, the fingers that have felt the walls of your pussy, those same veins you watched pop as he was thrusting his digits inside of you.
But that was all in the past now, it had to be. You had to put an end to this before something bad happened to the both of you, because Reese wasn’t necessarily an emotionally stable man. He had his moments and his tantrums, where his voice would get louder and louder, until it overall brought you to tears. You hated yelling–you were a reasonable girl, you liked to solve things with simplicity–a nice conversation always did the trick with you. But Reese was raging now, especially after this little moment with Michael.
His blood was boiling.
The two of you didn’t speak in the car—he never took his eyes off the road. His grip on the steering wheel was crazy tight, his knuckles were white. His face seemed to be stuck in this permanent frown, and you didn’t dare utter a word to him while he was like this–but you knew he’d run his mouth all night long until he made you feel bad.
You made it to your apartment, Reese’s movements urgent. He didn’t open the car door for you, (not like he did that anyway), and he stormed to the front door of the apartment you two shared. Your name was on the lease, so really it was your apartment, but you felt bad for the dude. He had nowhere else to go, and unfortunately, he was still your boyfriend. He waited for you to get to the door to unlock it, with his fists bawled up at his sides.
The two of you walked in, you sat your clutch on the couch, looking at the angry man standing in front of you.
“Do you think this is a game?” Reese speaks up, finally. He brings his hands to his sides, profusely shaking his head.
Before you can speak, he blurts out of turn again.
“Y’gonna let some poser take you from me? Is this what this is? Huh?” He’s yelling now, and all you can do is stare at the mess that’s in front of you. Your own boyfriend.
“Poser is crazy, Reese. You don’t know that man from a can of paint.” You retaliated, searching through your bag just to find something to distract you. You did it every time someone annoyed you–you started looking for stuff, you cleaned up, it was the distraction that mattered.
“And you do?! Seems like you’re real close with him, embarrassing me like that tonight.” He tuts, stomping towards the bedroom.
“Embarassing you? You don’t even claim me in public, Reese! You wanna touch on me when you feel threatened. I get sick of that stupid shit.”
This statement alone made Reese see red. He turns around, storms towards you, and gets real close to your face. You could smell his sweat from under his suit, and the remnants of that gross, super woodsy cologne you hated. He stared into your soul, and finally opened his mouth to speak to you once again.
“Y’nothing but a lil’ skank anyway. Sex was good, but you’re nothing to me.”
He didn’t matter to you anymore honestly, but hearing something like that–and hearing someone you’ve given your life to, given your body to–it hurts. Bad. You were crushed at his words, but the last thing you wanted was Reese of all people, to see that he hurt your feelings. It wasn’t in your nature.
“Pack your shit, then.” You demanded, standing ten toes down to the man who thought he’d get into your head, make you believe you needed him. But the only thing you needed right now was Michael, and as soon as Reese got his disreputable self out of your sight, Michael was the first person you were calling.
“And where the fuck am I gonna go, huh?” Reese argues.
You put your hand in his face. “Figure it out. You’re not my problem, Reese. And for the love of God, go get a job.” You added out of frustration. He had basically been living off of your checks, driving your car, and lounging around your house all day. If we’re being honest, you were doing him a huge favor putting him out. He needed to grow up.
Reese could only put on a fake smile and shake his head, dragging his feet towards your bedroom and grabbing whatever duffel back that was in his range of sight. He went through your drawers, stuffing his underwear and clothes into the bag, leaving a mess all over the floor. You didn’t even care at this point–you were just glad he was leaving. He then went to the bathroom, gathered all of his soaps, his toothbrush, his razor. He grabbed his three pairs of shoes, stuffed them into the bag as far as he could, and failed at zipping the duffel.
He took one last look at you before leaving.
“Hope you have a good life without me.” He says, holding his head up high like his words actually meant something to you.
“Trust me, I will.” You replied, shooing him to walk out of your front door. You locked the door behind you, and went to your bedroom window to watch him walk into the darkness of the street, where he had to motion a taxi down to come pick him up. You didn’t care about what happened to Reese at this point–all the memories and problems with him were out of your orbit now. Michael was the planet that surrounded your sun, and the only thing on your mind was calling him at the very moment.
You walked over to your phone, dialing the number he gave to you back at the hotel. You played with the cord, twisting it between your fingers, the anticipation of him answering the phone killing you.
‘That afterparty is probably over by now.’ Was all you thought to yourself, disappointed at the things that could’ve occurred if you were there.
The ringing suddenly came to a halt.
“This is Michael.”
Truly, you missed his voice. You sat in silence for a second, the sound of him speaking to you again leaving you a little stunned.
“Hello?” He asked, chuckling a bit.
“Oh, God. Sorry, Michael, it’s me.” You started, closing your eyes at the embarrassing moment you just presented.
“Hey, you.” It was almost like you could hear his smile.
You cleared your throat and began to speak. “Am I still invited to that afterparty we talked about earlier?”
“What afterparty?” He questioned.
“T-the one you talked about at the award ceremony… Michael–”
“Oh, that? I was lying.” He chuckles on the other line–another sound that was music to your ears.
In your head, you thought you were getting played–messed with. Was this a scheme all along? Did Michael just want to toy with you, and laugh it off after?
“So it was a joke..?” You question, the disappointment laced in your voice.
Michael heard your tone change, and immediately realized how this might’ve been blown out of proportion.
“No, no, not like that, angel. There’s no afterparty because I just wanted to see if you’d call. I wanted you to come over, that’s all–I wasn’t tryna’ play with you, beautiful.” He reassured, his voice automatically getting softer and softer after each word, soothing your heart ever so slightly.
You perked up, regaining your smile again.
“Can Bill come get me in thirty?” You asked him, and of course he said yes with speed. All he wanted was to see your beautiful face again, feel on you, and most of all–talk to you.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER
“Thanks, Bill.” You nodded, giving the older, burly man your gratitude for picking you up at such a late hour. He gave you a head nod and a smile, and closed the Rolls Royce door behind you. You’ve never been in a car this fancy, the red leather interior, that new car smell, it was all so much to take in.
You watched out of the window, as the neighborhoods gradually started to look more and more expensive. Around fifteen minutes passed by, and you arrived at Michael’s hotel. When Bill opened the door for you, it felt like the wind breezing through the night sky hit you extra hard. Your stomach was in knots, and you hadn’t even seen him yet. You walked up to the hotel door, Bill not too far behind you. You made it up the elevator–and there was his room.
Bill walked to his own room right across from Michael’s, and nodded at you once more.
“Goodnight.” He said. His voice was stern, but somehow loving at the same time.
“Goodnight, Bill. And thanks, again.” He disappeared into his hotel room, and now you were all alone, standing in front of Michael’s door.
You took a deep breath, and knocked softly three times.
You could hear the top lock being unhooked, and then the next one, and then the next one. The doorknob twisted, and you were met with that smile. Michael stood before you, and he looked so casual for once in his life. He had on just a plain white tee, with a pair of plaid pajama pants that left too much for your imagination.
“You made it,” He smiles, pulling your arm to come inside of his hotel. He closes the door behind you, but sees the smile on your face slowly start to fade.
“What happened, angel? Where’d that smile go?” He taunts, lifting your chin to look at him.
“Me and Reese are over, Michael.” You tell him, your voice confusing him.
“And this is a bad thing?” Michael laughs, but clearly there was more upsetting you. Sometimes Michael was oblivious to reading a room, better yet reading emotions–but it was something he promised himself he’d work on.
“It’s not that I care about, the sleaze called me a skank–said I meant nothin’ to him anyway. It’s my fault, really–I should’ve ended that a long time ago.” The tone in your voice signaled that you were in the slightest bit heartbroken–not because of the breakup, but by the hateful comments being made about you.
Michael knew that all too well–the hate, the rude remarks. That’s why he didn’t hesitate to embrace you, and he left a soft kiss on your temple.
“You’re a beautiful, bright, young woman. He’s not a man, anyway. He didn’t know how to take care of you. Not like I can.” Michael snuck in that last part, hoping to God you’d catch it.
“Not like you can, hm? Elaborate, Michael.”
He got all shy, hiding his face in his hands, and he turned the slightest bit red. “Yeah, not like I can. I know you haven’t forgotten about it.”
“‘Cus I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“It” was what went down a couple nights ago, and he was right, it was like a ticking time bomb in your mind, ready to go off if you didn’t have him again. You stared up at him, never breaking eye contact between you two. His lips parted slightly, and your gaze slowly aroused him. He loved looking into your eyes, he thought they were just as beautiful as your mind, body, and soul. So when you cupped his jaw and reeled him back in for a kiss–he was going.
He melted into it, the sort of whininess that you heard with each moan in your mouth was leaving your lace thong soaked. You were glad this was all happening again, because of how passionate you knew this was bound to be. Michael learned your body so quickly, just from a few nights ago–and despite what they say about him in the paper, calling him a virgin and inexperienced–he knew exactly how to please a woman.
“I’m glad I–mm… get you all to myself now.” Michael admits between kisses, grabbing at your hips to straddle him. He places you on his lap with ease, his grip on your ass becoming more firm and intense.
He pulls away from you for just a second, and gets really close to your ear.
“I need you, y’know that?”
That was enough for you. You swiftly brought his lips to yours again, your hands pulling lightly at his curls. His hands were exploring your body once more, feeling the plush of your ass through the material of your Nike sweatpants you received as a gift from your sister last Christmas.
“I want…mm–I want it all off, angel.” He muttered, “Can you do that for me?”
You nodded profusely, having absolutely no hesitation when he asked you to do something. But that wasn’t enough for Michael. He wanted to hear that sweet voice of yours, he wanted to hear you submit to him. He wanted that permission from you, he needed that verbal approval to do whatever he wanted to you.
“Don’t just nod at me, honey. Tell me what you want from me.” He whispered, toying with the hem of your sweatpants. “I won’t touch y’ til’ you give me permission, angel.”
He was messing with you, his cold fingertips already taking a dip into your sweats. He wouldn’t touch you all the way until you spoke.
“Fuck, Michael. Fuckin’ touch me, baby.”
And that was his green light.
He pushed his fingers past your panties, and rubbed circles along the delicacy of your clit. You pulled his hair just a little bit harder, making sure not to actually hurt him. “Shit–mhm, rub it like that, Mikey.” You moaned out the nickname, and it only encouraged him to rub faster.
You kissed him with so much passion, and you felt so grounded. He wanted to please you.
You pulled back out of your kiss, the wet sound echoing through the hotel room. You stared at him, his eyes already drinking you up.
“Lay back,” you breathed out, pushing him onto the bed, his sheets already coming undone. He obliged, ready to risk it all for the woman atop of him.
You grinded against his bulge, feeling how girthy it was even under his pajama pants. The last time you two were in this predicament, it all seemed to happen kind of fast. Now you could really study his body, learn all about what he liked, just as he did with you.
“Yeah, mama. You feel it, don’t you?” He teased. “It’s aching for you, baby—ah—it needs you.”
You were at a loss for words. You needed more. You needed him inside your body, stretching you out.
You placed your hand on his bulge, lightly stroking him through his pants. His face scrunched up, and you found it to be the cutest thing.
“Angel…mm, don’t—nngh, tease me like that. Mmph—fuck. C’mon, take it out and do it right, baby. Please?” Michael begged. Something about how he could come undone with your touch drove you crazy.
You stood before him, sliding his pajama pants off of his body slowly. His v-line was something serious, and very overlooked. His body was absolutely gorgeous from head-to-toe, and his happy trail made you excited. And to your surprise, Michael wasn’t wearing any boxers.
You slid the remains of his pajama pants down, his dick popping back up once they fell. His dick was huge. Like, really big. It was beautiful, too. His shaft was long and girthy—and kind of intimidating. It was nothing you couldn’t handle though, because you wanted to handle Michael, so damn bad.
You took your hand, your slim and feminine fingers toying with his cock, stroking all of his length and watching him squirm at your touch. You kissed his lips while you continued your handjob, and he stuck his tongue right down your throat.
“You keep…nngh—touchin’ on me like this—mm—I might cum, baby.” He warned you.
Michael wanted to cum so bad. He wanted all of his sperm to leak all over that delicate hand of yours.
“No cummin’ yet, handsome. Need you inside to do that.” You teased, bringing your stroking to a sudden halt.
“Angel… baby, why’d you stop?” He whined, trying to hold your hands to convince you to start back up.
“I need you inside, Mikey. Please…?” You begged, sitting on your knees, giving Michael competition when it came to your puppy dog eyes.
He was convinced, and instructed you to get on all fours. He snatched your sweatpants off from this angle, your thong submerged completely with the fat of your ass, the entire fabric soaking wet.
Your tank top was slowly falling off, and to your luck, you weren’t wearing a bra. Your tits pooled onto the mattress, and you arched your back for the man behind you.
He slowly hooked his lengthy fingers through the sides of your panties, pulling them down only to see the string of cum that decorated them. Before you knew it, he held them up to his nose and sniffed them with pride.
He was enjoying this.
“Got you this wet, huh, baby? You been thinkin’ about me?” Michael egged on. He loved validation, especially when it came from you. He didn’t even want to admit that when you said you were proud of him after the ceremony, he was hard for twenty minutes.
But now he had you right where he wanted you—ass up and ready for all of him.
You shook your ass in front of him to tease, and he slapped it one good time. You yelled out in pleasure, his hand print slowly fading on your skin.
Michael puts the bottom of his shirt into his mouth, because he wants to watch. He wanted to watch his cock stretch you wide—and he wanted to watch all of him leak out of all you.
He lines his dick up with your entrance, letting you feel his tip tease your pussy. The head of his dick was already huge, and you had to mentally prepare yourself for the rest of it. He slides in, going inch by inch, watching how your body reacts just to make sure he’s not hurting you.
“Mikey…oh, fuck, baby…” You moaned out, gripping his arm from behind you.
“Just wait til’ it’s all inside, mama. Want you screamin’.” He muttered, sliding the rest of his length inside your pussy. “Shit, pretty mama…” He stroked, feeling your walls slowly open up for him. God, you were so wet—it was driving him insane. It was like your pussy was talking to him, it was doing nothing but squelching beneath him.
His teeth grips his shirt tighter, and he grabs your hips. At first, his strokes are steady—slower. But once he gets a feel for your insides, he can’t help but speed up. He was obsessed with the smacking sound your ass made once it hit his hips, this was his motivation.
“Awwgnh, shit! Mikey—mmm, fuck! Givin’ it to me good, baby. Right there…” You cried out, both of your hands gripping at the hotel bed sheets. In your head you looked disheveled, but Michael thought you were the most gorgeous thing under him right now.
“Right there, huh, angel? M’ fuckin’ you good…mmm.. I know, baby. I know.” Michael grunted, his eyebrows furrowed. He was concentrating—the only thing on his mind right now was making you cum on his cock, marking that you were now his.
“You still want me t’ cum inside, sweet face?” Michael asks, leaning on your back to whisper in your ear. “It’s wherever you want it, angel.”
“Y-yes…nngh—inside, Mikey.”
He sped his strokes up, your ass clapping against him more aggressively now.
“Rub your clit f’ me, beautiful. Need you t’ let it out.” He demanded, his grip on your hips leaving tiny moons from his short fingernails digging into the flesh of your ass.
You rubbed circles on your throbbing clit, aching for your release.
“Wish I could get you—nghh… pregnant. Just to… mm, make em’ mad.” He chuckled, a moan escaping at the same time.
“Cum inside and see what…fuck—happens.” You teased, as you began to fuck yourself on his shaft. He let go of your hips and let you do your thing, his legs starting to shake at the incoming feeling.
Michael was about to cum under your touch, and so were you.
“About to cum, aren’t you, handsome?” You giggled. Your voice was shaking while trying to tease him, and both of your moans started to get more and more aggressive.
You grabbed his arm, and looked back at him, his eyes locked on your glistening pussy.
“Cum with me, Mikey. Mmm… Show me how a real man does it.”
He grabbed your hips, and slammed you against his dick. You cried out, burying your nails into his arm—your grip so tight he was damn near bleeding.
“Gonna give you my kids, sweetheart. Fuck—finna plant this real man seed inside you, honey.”
With a couple more strokes, the both of you came. It felt like bliss—a high that took forever to come down from. You became obsessed.
He collapsed on top of you, and all you felt was his cum spewing inside of you, filling you up. You felt complete—felt whole again.
A couple minutes went by, and the two of you were laying in his bed, limbs tangled together. He caressed your body, and rubbed your back, and planted butterfly kisses on your face.
“What would happen if I did get you pregnant?” Michael asks, half-jokingly.
“I guess we’d have to find out.” You shrug, nestling your face into his chest. He started talking your ear off about his tour, and when he noticed how sleepy you were, he sang sweet songs to you.
He was a man. A real man—who gave you more in one night than you ever had in your entire life.
content: written with thrad era in mind but pick your poison, forced proximity, strangers, first kiss into messy makeout, dry humping if you squint, michael is pent up
a/n: man idk what came over me, this is not my usual style. enjoy, i know i did.
Michael was lost in his own head, humming the same four notes over and over, putting emphasis on a different beat each time. He didn’t even see Quincy and the rest of the team leave the studio as he paced back and forth in front of the soundboard, staring at his shoes. He’d heard a smattering of restaurant names and types of food and vaguely remembered nodding his head at one suggestion, then the door slammed. He hadn’t the foggiest idea what he’d agreed to eat for dinner. After humming the melody for the hundredth time, Michael sighed and walked into the soundproof booth. He closed the heavy velvet curtains in front of the large pane of glass separating him from where his team would surely soon return and began to sing to himself, pacing across the colorful layered rugs.
She’d seen the large group of men leave the studio from her spot at the front desk of Westlake Studios. She spent 80% of her job behind that desk, greeting superstars and their entourages, escorting them to their studios, and bidding them farewell when they left. This group hadn’t even turned around when she said good night, but it didn’t bother her. She was used to being invisible, as studio assistants are apt to be. She was also used to working late, but it was damn near 2:30 in the morning, and she wanted to go home. She checked her handwritten schedule and sighed, annoyed, upon reading that the Jackson group was meant to have left the studio around midnight. Stars, she thought with annoyance. But since they’d finally left, she began her closing duties, beginning with the garbage.
She dropped the handful of full garbage bags in the hallway outside the last studio at the end of the hall. Looking around the dimly lit room, she noticed a few scraps of paper and cigarette butts littering the many surfaces and began separating the important documents from the garbage. All documents that seemed useful were to be stored in the client’s file, locked in the front desk, and handed back upon their return; she was not to look at those documents under any circumstances. She had a handful of unreadable chicken scratch when thunder boomed right on top of her, causing her to jump a foot into the air. When she opened her eyes, she was met with complete darkness. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Though she knew her opinion would always fall on deaf ears in the studio, she’d mentioned more than once the need for backup generators at the studio of the star’s choice in Los Angeles, a city prone to extreme weather. A summer thunderstorm, though, was less common. Still, it didn’t mean it was impossible. As evidenced by the situation she now faced. Annoyed, she huffed her anxiety away and went to leave the studio room and find a flashlight. But even after applying her entire body weight, the door would not budge. That’s when she remembered.
The studio executives had installed these fancy automatic locks on all of the studio and exterior doors after a break-in a few months ago. It’d made sense at the time, but now, she wished she’d called in sick to work. “Oh, damn it,” she said aloud to herself, kicking the door lightly. Behind her, she heard a voice.
“Hello?”
She screamed and jumped out of her skin for a second time in five minutes. The voice screamed back at her, equally startled. Then, the voice started laughing. “I’m sorry,” it said, gasping for breath, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She recognized the voice, but couldn’t place it. “What happened?”
She didn’t respond and instead began walking slowly toward the curtain-covered glass. Subconsciously, she knew the curtains were controlled by the artist, on the other side of the glass, but she thought that if she could get close enough, maybe she would know who was yelling at her from inside a soundproof booth. As she stared at the glass, the corner of the curtain began to lift, and the most recognizable face in the world stared back at her. Well, second most recognizable, next to Princess Di.
The girl staring back at him looked to be about his age and completely shaken, at least, as far as he could tell in the darkness. Michael smiled at her, trying to seem friendly, but her hand flew to her mouth anyway, and she began backing away from the glass, disappearing into the shadows. He laughed; he didn’t know what he expected. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. I thought you’d all left,” she was flustered. Michael had grown used to that reaction. Actually, it was kind of cute on her. In her own thoughts, she didn’t know why she’d reacted so viscerally to him. She’d met stars; it was part of her job description. But she’d never been trapped with one.
“It’s alright,” he replied. “I’m not supposed to be in here anyway. Did the storm knock the power out?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. They installed this new security system, and all the doors are locked. And we don’t have generators.”
Michael sighed, sympathetic to her and frustrated with the situation. “So am I locked in here?”
She turned back to him with a thoughtful look. “I actually don’t know.”
It made sense to her that every door in the place locked tightly at the same time, especially given the amount of expensive equipment housed in the recording booth itself. But with the security system being so expensive and relatively new technology, usually reserved for banks, perhaps only the hallway doors had been outfitted. She took a few steps to the door that trapped Michael, hoping, guiltily, that it would be locked. It was less awkward to be trapped with the world’s biggest star behind a pane of glass than it would be to share air with him in the middle of the night, in a blackout. She swore she’d read a fantasy article about this exact scenario. Breathing quietly, she gripped the doorknob and gave it a hard pull. Nothing. She returned to the window, where he had dropped the curtain. She hesitated, shook her head, and knocked lightly. Why didn’t he just open the damn curtains? Now I look crazy, knocking on a window.
To her right, she heard the studio doorknob rattling, and the door swung open dramatically. Suddenly, there he stood, though she could only see his eyes and his smile in the darkness. No more pane of glass to act as a buffer.
“I guess I locked it from the inside,” he seemed embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I can’t think straight when I’m nervous. I don’t like feeling stuck.”
“I can’t imagine anyone enjoys that feeling,” she said, smiling politely.
He extended his hand to her, “I’m Michael.”
“I know,” she gripped his hand only for a moment, a practiced customer service professional. This made him laugh anxiously as he looked around the room.
“You’re sure it’s locked?” He motioned to the main door, and she nodded.
“Be my guest to try. Maybe you have a way with doors.”
He pushed hard on the door, and it didn’t even creak in the frame. He turned back to her, “Guess I lost my special touch.”
He’d managed to get a laugh out of her, finally, but she was still avoiding eye contact. She began to walk around the room, pulling candles and a box of matches out of a cabinet in the corner.
“I’m so sorry about this, Mr. Jackson. We don’t make a habit out of holding superstars hostage,” she apologized as she moved about the room, placing candles in various corners and lighting them.
Michael sat in one of the plush office chairs and watched her. She moved quickly but gracefully. She’d yet to face him again, but he couldn’t say that was the worst thing in the world. He can’t help but notice the romantic lighting the candles brought to the room and laughed to himself. Being trapped in a recording studio with a beautiful stranger is something that would only happen to him. “I told you my name is Michael,” he brought himself back to reality.
“I’m sorry, Michael,” she still doesn’t look at him. Instead, she sits in the furthest seat on the couch in the corner and stares straight ahead, checking her watch periodically, the candlelight casting warm shadows on her face. The rain was coming down in sheets outside, a ten-year rain for this region, filling the room with steady, loud background noise. After a while, Michael couldn’t take the silence anymore and spun his chair dramatically in her direction.
“Where are you from?”
“Nowhere, really,” she continued to stare dead ahead. “Spent some time in New York, Detroit, Seattle, Houston. I got here as quickly as I could, though.”
He asked what brought her to California. Her face dropped quickly, and she began to pick at her cuticles.
“There was a storm in Houston,” she sighed heavily. “Three years ago. I stayed during the worst of it, going around and rescuing animals, but my place was destroyed. So I evacuated to my aunt’s house in Sherman Oaks. Found a job and stayed. It worked out; I’d always wanted to live here.” She spoke matter-of-factly, but Michael could hear the hurt in her voice; she’d gone through a terrible ordeal and come out on the other side. She’d kept pushing. Michael admired her resilience. He heard her whisper quietly, “California is home now.”
Michael studied his hands and found himself admitting, “I never felt at home in Indiana. I guess that’s because I never really got to have a life there.”
She looked up at him, finally, with a sympathetic look in her eye. “I’ve read about your childhood,” she said quietly, and Michael fought the instinct to flinch. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
They fell into a contemplative silence, both lost in their own thoughts about home. Another crack of thunder boomed overhead, shaking the building, and she jumped lightly. Michael thought about comforting her but thought better of it, staying firmly planted in his chair, spinning slowly from side to side. Suddenly, his stomach growled loudly.
“Sorry, the guys went out to pick up dinner. They were going to bring it back,” he smiled sheepishly. She jumped off the couch and unlocked a different cabinet.
“Here, I always keep snacks stocked in the studios,” she placed a grocery bag on the table between them. “Nothing special, just some chips and candy, but you’re welcome to take anything you want.”
Michael smiled a thank you and selected a candy bar while she returned to her spot on the couch with a small bag of peanuts, like the ones you’d find on an airplane. “So,” he started, “you like animals?”
She smiled and seemed to be relaxing, even if only a little. “My grandfather had a farm when I was growing up,” she explained, “Cows, horses, goats, geese, llamas, pigs, you name it, he had it. And they all had names. Macy the goat was my favorite,” she smiled wistfully. Michael leaned back in his chair and admired her eyes while she spoke about growing up surrounded by the love of animals. Michael knew, better than anyone, how pure that love could be. Animals aren’t capable of judgment; that’s why he chose to spend his time with them whenever possible. Realizing she’d been doing a lot of the talking, she hung her head and fidgeted with her hands. “I feel like I should be asking you more questions.”
Michael leaned his head back and laughed. “People ask me questions every single day. I’m happy to be on the other side of it,” he held back I want to get to know you.
“Oh,” she grinned, “well, I had one question, but I’ll keep it to myself.”
He lifted his head and stared at her, worried he’d accidentally hurt her feelings, but she was smiling at him. She was teasing him. He sat up straight, leaned forward, and focused all of his attention on her. “No, please,” he waved a hand, encouraging her to go on.
“Are we going to sit here and talk all night, or are we going to do something?” He wasn’t sure if she’d meant to sound so suggestive, but his chest lurched at the question. He captured his bottom lip in his teeth and allowed himself to search her body with his eyes.
“What do you want to do?”
She leaned an elbow on her knee, resting her chin in her hand, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you have a favorite game to play as a child?”
Michael fought the bark of laughter and folded his hands in his lap. He shook his head slightly at himself; he was truly too pent up these days, hoping a stranger had just propositioned him.
Thinking back, he remembered all the time he and his brothers spent cramped in his father’s VW van, traveling from show to show and city to city. When Michael was the youngest, he mostly read or slept on those long drives. He would listen to his brothers make dirty jokes and play games, and he wished he were allowed to participate. But as he got older, his brothers started to include him in some of their activities, including a game in which the objective was to slap your opponent’s hands. What a way to break the tension. “I was actually a Slapsies champion,” he laughed.
She cocked her head and furrowed her brows. Michael pushed down how cute she looked. “What is that?”
“It’d be easier to show you,” he spun the chair next to him around and invited her to sit in it. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, he held his hands out flat and stared at her, raising an eyebrow. She stared back, still confused, eyes moving between his outstretched palms and his face. “Lay your hands on top of mine,” he said softly.
She does, and the light touch makes Michael’s fingers tingle. Her skin is warm and soft against his rough palms. He maintained eye contact with her, knowing she was waiting for further instructions. Instead of explaining, he quickly but lightly slapped the back of her hands, causing her to yelp and pull her hands back. “One point for me,” he smiled.
She stared at him in bewilderment for a moment before bursting into maniacal laughter. She shifted to sit on the edge of her seat, suddenly getting competitive. “Okay, I got it. First to five?”
Michael agreed and laid his hands on top of hers. She couldn’t help but note how large his hands were compared to hers, fingers reaching past her palms, but she shook it off. They were playing a children’s game, after all. She fought to continue staring into his eyes, trying to play mind games the way he had, but his gaze was penetrating, making her whole body feel hot. She moved her hands quickly to slap his, but he was even quicker.
“I told you I was good,” his voice became raspy.
As they continued the game, Michael was allowed to forget everything that had been worrying him. He felt comfortable, like he’d known this girl his whole life. Being treated normally, like a human, was rare for him these days. Even more so than ever before. He’d launched himself to the top of the world with Thriller, not thinking of the repercussions he’d have to deal with. He couldn’t go anywhere or talk to anyone for that matter, and that only catapulted his loneliness to an all-time high. For the first time in years, he thought he’d made a friend. She had every right to freak out upon learning she was trapped in a confined space with him, but she didn’t. He respected her for that, for treating him how he’d always longed to be treated by fans. He adored her childlike joy while playing this kid’s game, laughing and being overly competitive. At one point, she even yelled “ref” over her shoulder to the darkness.
“You like sports?” He asked.
“My family are huge college football fans,” she replied, never taking her eyes off their hands.
“You’re full of secrets.”
“You have no idea,” she caught him off guard and tied the game, exclaiming loudly.
Michael couldn’t help but notice that as the game had gone on, they’d both gotten more comfortable. They rested their hands more heavily against each other and slapped harder. As she flinched above him, he grabbed her wrists and laughed wildly, “you can’t be scared!”
He didn’t let go after their laughter died down, too focused on her pulse racing under his thumb. She was smiling at him, the warm candlelight creating a halo around her face, and he swore he saw her glance at his lips, only for a moment. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking the same thing since seeing her on the other side of the glass at the beginning of their ordeal.
He heard the rain still pouring outside and knew they were still hours from sunrise. Hours from any electrical company to arrive and fix the power situation. Neither of them had noticed, but they’d leaned within inches of each other during the game. Carefully, and excruciatingly slowly, he took her hands in his. He heard her inhale sharply and hold her breath, and his heart raced at her cold rings on his skin. As the candles flickered around them, Michael whispered, “Can I?”
She leaned in quickly and kissed him gently. Her lips were soft and tasted like coconut, her grip on his hands tight. He heard her breathing quickly as she pulled away, a surprised look on her face. He saw her eyes change; she was about to apologize, and he couldn’t let that happen.
Then, all hell broke loose, and all restraint disappeared.
He pulled her back roughly, kissing her so hard their teeth knocked. Her hands flew to his neck; he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling them both to their feet. They both gasped as they parted; she could taste the chocolate on his breath as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall to the ground and pulled her shirt from where it was tucked into her skirt, his hands finding the bare skin of her waist, grabbing wildly. She smelled like vanilla and sunshine, the beach with a hint of dessert. He groaned, feeling her nails gently scratch his throat, needing to taste more.
“Come here,” he growled between kisses, walking them over to the couch without breaking contact. She nipped lightly at his lip as he fell backward, pulling her onto his lap. With one knee on either side of his body, he pushed her short denim skirt up around her waist, leaving her bottom half exposed to his touch. Forcing himself to slow down, he moved his hands back under her shirt, gripping her skin tightly.
She moved lower and left a trail of sloppy kisses on his jaw before latching onto his neck, teeth scratching and sucking lightly. He moved his hands to her hair and gave a slight tug, tilting her head back so he could return the favor. She moaned quietly as he kissed the soft spot behind her ear, quickly nipped at the skin and kissed again, a perfect balance of hunger and worship. He repeated the move on the sides of her neck, her earlobes, and chest, turning her into a whimpering mess. He was sure he would leave marks, but he simply didn’t care. It made him feel powerful, the way she held the back of his head, pressing his face into her soft skin. He hadn’t breathed in minutes, but it didn’t matter.
He kissed his way back up to her lips and slowed for only a moment, caressing her face. He examined her tousled hair, swollen lips, and glassy eyes and whispered, “You are so beautiful, getting messy for me.”
“Please don’t stop,” she breathed, grabbing his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it behind them.
Her hands ran all over his body as she rocked her hips against his. Feeling himself about to lose control, he dug his fingers into her thighs, pulling her impossibly close. Every frustration he’d been dealing with for the last few months, even years, was being released on her body. He gently picked her up and moved her to lie on her back, hovering over her, still kissing and pulling her lip between his teeth. He paused for a moment, tasting her breath, “Do you want to?”
“Yes, please,” she whispered into his mouth, their noses colliding messily.
He kissed down her body again, pulling her shirt over her chest with one hand; the other hand on his belt. Just as the buckle gave way, he heard a low hum and every light in the room flickered on, blinding him.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he gasped, collapsing on top of her, his head landing on her stomach. She laughed loudly, her hand gently playing with his hair. They lay like that for a few seconds, catching their breath, his hands resting loosely on her hips while her nails gently scratched his scalp.
They heard the door's locking mechanism release with a clunk. Michael sat up and took her hand, pulling her up with him. He carefully fixed her clothes and smoothed her hair while she fastened his belt, both of their hands lingering. She kissed him gently and stood. He refused to remove his hand from her thigh until she was out of reach. She returned with his shirt in hand, draping his jacket neatly over the arm of the couch. He reached out to take the shirt from her, frowning, but she snatched it back. He watched her, amused, as she placed one knee between his legs and kissed him one last time, her lips warm and sweet, her hand cupping his jaw.
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he said, hands wrapped around her legs again, holding her in place.
“Me too,” she smiled and broke from his grasp, heading for the door.
As she walked through the door, Michael noticed finger-shaped bruises forming just under the hem of her skirt. He looked down and smiled to himself, teeth digging into his bottom lip, and tasted remnants of her lip gloss.
He hears her greet his team politely, saying, “You can stay as long as you need. Sorry about the power interruption.”
Quincy and company entered the studio to find Michael staring at his hands in his lap, and tossed a take-out bag in his direction. Quincy examined Michael’s face, confused. “Why are you smiling like that?”
