Michael Jackson Fanfic • Bad Era • 1988
• ~ mature fanfic • {18+} • part two
Context: it’s been a week since you spent the night in Michael’s hotel room. He took your number, but you didn’t expect anything. Except he calls late one night, asking to see you…
[this is a part two, I suggest reading part one and then this one.]
Enjoy ~ xx
10:39pm. Orange County, California. November.
The tv murmurs quietly as I dive my hand into a packet of dried chocolate covered strawberries. Im lounging on the long couch, not really following the story line of the old, black and white crime show, since it’s late and I’m tired, but it’s on and I’m bored.
The phone rings.
I hum and stand, padding barefoot to the corded phone nearest the kitchen, and flick on the warm coloured lamp bedside it.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” a light voice says. “Is this Lily?”
My heart jumps. “Michael?”
Honestly, I hadn’t expected to hear from him despite him taking my number a week ago. Our night together was amazing, and passionate, but I’m sure he’d had loads of those. It may have been special for me, but for him, perhaps not.
“I’m sorry for not calling sooner,” he says, voice crackly through the receiver, “I’ve been busy.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I say lightly, twisting the cord around my finger. My teeth latch onto my bottom lip. “How are you?” I ask gently.
“Fine, fine,” he replies, “but, uh, are you busy?”
“Right now? No... It’s almost eleven.” I glance down at myself, at my colourful PJ shorts and tank top. In the living room area, the fire’s lit, meaning it’s all warm and toasty. I don’t need to wear much else.
“Where are you?”
“Home,” I say lightly, “it’s a Thursday night.” I chuckle.
“Let me come see you,” he replies. My skin ignites, and I shift where I stand, curling the chord tighter around my finger.
“Right now?” I ask quietly as my pulse begins to pound.
“Right now. Are you alone?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “But the dog’s here.” I add, glancing towards the sleeping Pomeranian on the couch.
Michael chuckles. “What’s your address?” The line crackles, like he’s shifted the receiver. I repeat my address to him, butterflies forming low in my stomach. “I won’t be long, okay?” He says before saying goodbye.
Then I’m rushing, rushing around the living room area, cleaning things away, tidying up. I pop a bottle of white wine into the freezer, then hurry to the downstairs bathroom, pinch my cheeks and run damp fingers through my hair, smoothing my long curls.
I don’t bother to change, mainly because I have a feeling my clothes won’t matter much soon after he gets here.
Within a few minutes I’m outside, slippers on as I walk the short drive to the gate and manually yank it open. The electrics broke some months ago. Just as I’m finished, cool air sweeps over me as I hear the rumble of a car engine nearing. I’m hovering by the gate as a low town car pulls up on the road.
The window lowers, “you didn’t have to wait outside,” Michael says, grin big. I blink at him, despite smiling, because I don’t know why, but I expected him to rock up with his whole team.
“The gate needs to be manually opened,” I explain, tucking a loose curl behind my ear, watching as the cur purrs inside and by me. I set to closing it before Michael’s cut the engine and gotten out.
He looks up at the house, brows raising. “Nice place,” he comments as I walk up the short drive, towards him.
This feels oddly normal, like we’ve done this a hundred times. He’s dressed in a navy sweatshirt and trousers, curls half tied back, with some shorter strands hanging loosely around his face. There is no performer here tonight, just Michael, and somehow that feels more exciting. Like this is our secret.
Which it probably is.
“It’s my parent’s place, actually,” I say, unsure on if I should go over and hug him as I walk to the front door, then wait on the steps. He grabs a duffel bag from the backseat, then approaches, eyes focussed on me, as if waiting for me to continue. “They’re not here.” I quickly add.
“Where are they?”
“Europe,” I explain as I head inside and he follows. “They’re doing a trip around the world for my father’s sixtieth, so they asked me to stay until they come back.”
I’m blabbering now, butterflies bubbling as Michael closes the front door behind him, then locks it with a click. “What do your parents do?” He asks, taking everything in.
The bottom floor of the house is mostly open plan, with the living area in a pit to give it some dimension.
“They own some boutique stores. Have done for like, decades. I work in one now, managing it. Or, we’ll I’m trying to. It’s a learning experience. I just graduated with a business degree, so, they thought I’d be useful.”
I show him around the lower floor, though I’m just biding my time— giving myself enough of it so I can calm down a little. We return to the living area and I pad to the kitchen to retrieve the wine from the freezer. It’s chilled perfectly. So I grab two glasses and hurry back.
Michael’s settled himself on the couch, eyes on the TV as the show continues on, murmuring and quiet. I pour him a glass of wine and pass it to him.
“Thanks.”
I greedily take him in, scanning him from head to toe. He looks delicious in his slightly baggier clothes. “How was your week?” I ask, pouring my own drink and taking a sip. The cool liquid slides down my throat.
“Busy,” he groans, licking his lips after sipping the wine. “Long.” He looks to me, “stressful.” He adds with a murmur.
“Why?” I ask as he looks at my lips, hunger darkening his eyes.
“Oh, you know,” he leans forward putting the wine glass down, then stretches, “everyone needs something. The show’s are a lot.” He rubs the back is his neck. He looks so tired, and it suddenly makes me yearn to make him feel better. I put my own glass down, and hum for him to turn. He glances from me to my hands then back, before he understands.
I massage his shoulders over his sweatshirt, digging my thumbs in where he guides. “You work so hard,” I say softly, “you deserve some time off.”
“The tour isn’t finished,” he mumbles, “I need…” he trails off as I squeeze his shoulders. When he exhales, they slump slightly more. “Keep going, please.”
I giggle softly, but keep massaging him, desire curling deep in abdomen. “You’re all tense,” I say quietly. He hums, tilting his head to the side, leaning into my touch. “Poor baby,” I’m surprised at the sound of my own voice, how seductive and gentle it sounds.
Michael groans quietly. “I missed you,” he murmurs, that rasped masculine voice slipping out. “I thought about you all week.”
“Mm?” I hum, “you did?” I press my thumbs into the meaty part between his neck and shoulder and he groans again.
“I needed you like crazy,” he all but whispers. “Couldn’t concentrate.” He shifts his hips, and my body reacts instinctively. Molten heat courses through me as I slide my hands down his shoulders, to his arms. He turns, dark eyes intense, searching my face.
I lean forward to kiss him, holding his cheeks with my palms. Our mouths lock together, the kiss slow, sweet, completely intoxicating. He turns fully, leaning his back into the couch again, and guides me on top of him.
He’s already hard, thick bulge resting against my sex as we kiss and he holds my hips, then grips my ass, bunching my PJ shorts in his hands. I’m dizzy, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my covered breasts into his chest, heart racing, as he tugs me closer.
I want him. I want him so bad I can barely think. The effect he has on me, just with his lips, feels almost sinful.
I break the kiss and nuzzle his neck, kissing his skin, gently sucking as I grind my hips over his crotch. He groans, “that’s it, baby,” sliding his hands down my back to my ass again, guiding me back and forth eagerly. I suck gently on that sweet spot tucked just under his jaw, greedily listening to his soft moans.
I pull back, wanting to feel him in my mouth and receive that praise, and ease off his lap. He watches me closely, chest rising and falling, dark eyes so focussed I feel like a spotlight is on me.
I kneel between his thighs, graze my palms over them, mouth watering as I bite my lip. Michael licks his, leaving them glistening as he undoes the button in his pants, slides down the zipper, reaches into his boxers and pulls himself free—
I mewl needily, clutching his thighs before I reach for him, squeezing my own together to get some friction. He smoothes hair out of my face as I take his length in my hand, slowly pumping. Our gazes meet, and his heavy lidded gaze burns me right to my core. I’m practically dripping as I ease his cock into my mouth and suck, massaging him with my lips.
“Jesus,” he hisses quietly, watching me so closely, brows knitting together as pleasure flushes his cheeks. A low moan follows as I do my best, bobbing my head up and down. He runs his fingers through my hair, winding my curls around his fingers, and gently pulling. “God, baby,” he groans, tipping his head back as I go a little faster.
I pop him out of my mouth, and use my hand to keep up the pace. He looks back down at me, traces his fingers over my cheek as I rest his length against my lips, kissing him.
“I need you,” he murmurs, breathing slow and deep, “I need you,” he then whispers so softly a chill skitters down my spine. I place one last kiss on his tip before I rise up, and climb back over him, placing my knees either side of his hips.
My heart pounds against my ribs, and I can’t wait even a second longer to have him inside me, completely raw, again.
We don’t bother to undress this time, at least not properly. He pulls my shorts and underwear to the side, guiding me down into him. I gasp out a moan as he slips inside, my body giving way so easily that it’s almost embarrassing at how ready I am.
He holds me still once he’s all the way inside, wanting to give me time to adjust, savour the moment, but I can’t— I need him. I need him undone.
My hips rock. I clutch his shoulders, steadying myself before I’m riding him, moans pouring out of my mouth. Michael’s breathless moans follow mine, his hands needy, grasping at my breasts then my hips and ass, like he can’t decide which one he wants to hold more.
My hair tumbles about my shoulders, the shorter curls falling in my face. Michael’s eyes graze over me, drinking me in, igniting me. I lift up my tank top, exposing my breasts to his greedy gaze. His teeth latch onto his lower lip, expression morphing into one so heated I turn molten on top of him. I’m too wet now, sliding up and down him, I want more friction— more grabbing. More kisses. More. More. More.
“So needy,” he murmurs, pulling me closer before he stands, holds me to him. “Stairs.”
“Over there,” I breathe, my voice unrecognisable as I clamp my mouth over his, kissing him, then his cheeks, nose, then his lips again. He carries me upstairs, and once again I’m liquid in his arms, so impressed by his strength that an orgasm threatens to crest. He’s still inside me, still hard, still ready—
“Which one.” He demands.
“Down the hall,” I can’t say more than that, I can barely think as he walks us down the hall and manages to find my room as I all but writhe on his cock in his arms. He pauses on the threshold, chuckles, then kicks my bedroom door shut and is over to the bed in a second.
Then I’m on my back, and he’s thrusting into me, hard and fast and strong. The pleasure is so dizzying I can only flop backwards, arms lazily resting over my head, eyes barely open.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, bringing his head down to my breasts, sucking, licking. Giving each one delicious attention.
“Michael,” I mewl his name, wrapping my legs around his hips. He pulls away, and I flutter my eyes open to take him all in as he remains standing by the side of the bed, leaning over me, bracing his arms either side of my waist as he pumps into me, over and over.
Our eyes meet, and I can’t believe he’s in front of me again. That he’s inside me, enjoying this, enjoying my body, and allowing me to enjoy his too. I trace my fingertips over his chest, “you’re so handsome,” I purr, holding his gaze, “you’re a king,” I moan, touching his face gently.
He groans, almost whimpers, as his brows knit together. His thrusts speed up, and he doesn’t look away, doesn’t even blink.
“So handsome, baby, I’m so into you,” I purr again, “I need you.”
His eyes flare, cheeks flush even deeper in gorgeous colour. “God, you’re perfect,” He hisses, thrusting hard, hips thumping against mine again and again. Tingles grow from my toes, spreading up and up until an orgasms bursts inside of me. I gasp, clutching his shoulders, arching my back. “You’re perfect,” he moans again, voice cracking from the pleasure, burying his head into my throat and thrusting harder— faster—
He cries out into my neck, and only just manages to pull out and cum on my abdomen. We still, both of us panting, still mostly clothed and dewed with sweat. I glance down, and stifle a giggle as I realise he’s finished on my shorts.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, kissing my throat before leaning up. “God, that was crazy,” he sighs, wiping his brow, and looks at it, almost surprised he was sweating. He has that voice again, the one I can’t quite get used to. Rasped and boyish, a deeper version of his public one. “What the hell are you doing to me, huh?”
I grin, feeling almost high. “Would you like to stay over?” I ask as Michael stands up, tucks himself back into his boxers, then does up his trousers. When he reaches for me, I bask in it. Watching as he slides my underwear and shorts down.
“I’d like to, if that’s okay,” He says softly. I smile, nodding, watching him toss my clothes into the nearby hamper that already has a t-shirt half hanging out of it. A different kind of warmth moves through me as he takes a look around my room. “I like that,” he grins, nodding to a spot on the wall near me.
I tip my chin up, then flush as I see the poster of him pinned up on my wall, over my bed. “Oh, god. Don’t look at that!” My hands cover my face as the sound of him laughing sinks into me, igniting that different warmth again…
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End notes:
Thank you for reading guys! I’m having so much fun with this fanfic, haha. He’s so delicious in this. I have a rough plan for a multi-part story now, so yeah, let me know in the comments if you’d like a part three!!
>>>> Part three <<<<













