👽

 Someone from the side called out, "It's right there, Mike!"

 He looked down, blinking slowly at the massive cake sitting on a table on the stage. His name written across the bottom in sparkling letters.

 He stared at it for a long moment. His head tilted. Then straightened. Then tilted again like he was tryin' to see it from a different angle. "...Oh."

 The crowd erupted. You shook your head, still laughing at him. He was making a fool of himself. He squinted at the cake. "Is that... is that my name?" "Yes Michael!" someone from the crowd shouted.

 He nodded slowly, processing. "Yeah. Yeah, that's my name. I remember." Someone in the crowd howled with laughter. The DJ played a sound effect, a record scratch before cutting it off.

 Michael grinned, pleased with himself, and stumbled across stage toward the cake. He moved with the careful deliberation of someone who knew they were drunk but was determined not to show it. It was actually working surprisingly.

 He stood in front of the cake, studying it. He leaned in close, then straightened, then leaned in again. You’d got the cake personally made for him as a surprise so he hadn’t seen it at all before this. 

 "You okay over there?" you called. He turned to you, eyes glassy and warm. "I'm admirin'." "Admire faster. People wanna eat it, I wanna eat it." He waved a dismissive hand. "They can wait."

 Then without warning, he stuck his finger into the icing. Pulling it out, he examined the white frosting and brought it to his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as he licked it clean.

 "They did good," he mumbled to himself. "Real good."

 Then he noticed you sitting nearby, and a slow drunken grin spread across his face. He lowered his hand, holding his finger out in front of you, still glistening with the remnants of the icing and his spit.

 He looked down at you through fogged, dark eyes, expectant. Waiting. His head swayed slightly as he tried to keep still. The DJ, who'd been providing commentary all night, leaned into his mic. "Ohhh, he wants you to taste it!"

 The crowd hooted. You felt heat creep up your neck, but you didn't look away from him.

 You stood slowly, smoothing your outfit down before stepping toward him. Your hand wrapped around his wrist gently, guiding his hand closer to your face.

 You held his gaze. Then you parted your lips and wrapped them around his finger. Your tongue swirled against the icing, slow and deliberate, licking every bit of sweetness off his skin. 

 His breath hitched. Eyes staying locked on yours hazy and dark, his lips parted slightly. A soft, barely audible sound escaped his throat. You pulled back with a soft pop, still holding his gaze for just a second longer.

 Then you turned toward the crowd, putting both thumbs up and nodding emphatically. "It's good!" The crowd cheered. The DJ laughed, and you swore someone wolf whistled.

 Behind you, Michael stood frozen, his face burned pink. He ducked his head, letting out a breathy little laugh into the mic, and shifted on his feet.

 He adjusted his jeans. Subtly. Or at least, he thought it was subtle. His hand tugged at the waistband, pulling the fabric away from his body, hoping to hide what was becoming very obvious. He glanced down at himself, then quickly looked away, his blush deepening.

 He barely noticed you sneaking up to him. Before anyone could react, you reached forward and grabbed a huge handful of the ice cream cake holding it up. The crowd, sensing what was coming began to chant.

 "Food fight! Food fight! Food fight!" You grinned. And then you smashed it right into Michael's face. He stumbled back, sputtering as the cold cake dripped down his cheeks, his nose, his chin. For a second, he just stood there blinking through the mess.

 Then he laughed. loud and bright, echoing through the venue as he wiped at his face only succeeding in smearing the cake further across his skin. His hands were a mess now, sticky and covered in icing, and he wiped them down his shirt without a second thought.

 "Happy birthday!" you called out, laughing. He was still laughing drunkly at that and still wiping at his face, when you stepped forward again. Before he could react, you cupped his sticky cheeks in your hands and pulled him into a kiss.

 The crowd erupted.

 It was sweet, messy, and tasting of ice cream and icing and him. His hands still sticky found your waist, pulling you closer despite the chaos. He let out a soft, muffled sound against your lips, something between surprise and contentment, and kissed you back like he'd forgotten anyone else was watching.

 When you finally pulled back, you clapped your hands together and smiled bright. "Happy birthday, baby." He stared at you, face covered in cake, eyes soft and dazed and so full of love it made his chest ache.

  He blinked slowly, like he was trying to process what just happened. "...Best birthday kiss ever." He tugged at his jeans again, adjusting himself nd hoping the cake was enough of a distraction.

 It wasn't. But he'd deal with that later. Michael didn't stay long after that. He was a mess of cake and icing, sticky from head to toe, his shirt ruined and his jeans smeared with white frosting. He thanked everyone he passed, shook hands, hugged a few fans who'd gotten close enough, and made sure to blow a kiss toward the crowd before he let you guide him toward the exit.

 "Thank you," he slurred, waving lazily at the people still chanting his name. "Thank you all. Love you. Love you guys."

 You smiled, your arm wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he stumbled toward the waiting limo. The door opened, and you helped him inside, sliding in after him as the door closed and muffled the noise of the party.

 The moment the door shut, he was on you. Not in a rush. His body turned toward yours, his hand finding your thigh almost immediately, his face buried in your neck.

 "You're so pretty." he mumbled against your skin. "So, so pretty. Did I tell you that already?" "A few times tonight, yeah." "I mean it." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "So pretty. Best wife ever. Best birthday ever."

 You laughed, your hands coming up to wipe at the cake still clinging to his cheek. "You're a mess, handsome." "A very happy mess." He caught your wrist, kissing your palm. "'S your fault. You started it."

 "You started it with the finger thing." You played the memory back in your head. He grinned, all teeth and dimples. "Worth it." You shook your head, still laughing and reached for a napkin from the mini bar to try and clean him up. He let you for about two seconds before his hand wrapped around your ankle.

 He tugged. You let out a surprised laugh as he pulled you across the seat, your back sliding against the leather until you were in front of him.  He didn't stop there. He shifted his knees finding the seat cushion as he turned to face you properly, moving until he was on his knees in front of you.

 "Michael, what are you doin’" He didn't answer. He just reached down and pulled your heels off, one by one dropping them onto the floor of the limo without a second glance.

  Then his hands wrapped around your foot, holding it like it was something precious. "Mikey." "Hold on." He pressed a kiss to the top of your foot, sloppy and warm. "Just..hold on."

 You giggled, trying to pull your foot back. "You look ridiculous. Let me clean you up." He shook his head, still holding your foot. "No." "Michael."

 "No." He looked up at you through his lashes, his eyes glassy and dark, and reached for your hand. He guided it down, pressing your palm flat against the obvious bulge in his jeans. "See what you did earlier, pretty? Hm? You gonna take accountability?"

 Your breath caught. "Michael, we're still in public." "So?" "The driver can hear us." He pouted, his lower lip jutting out in that drunk petulant way that made him look younger. "'S my birthday."

 "I know, baby." "You said I could have whatever I wanted." You raised an eyebrow. "I said you could have whatever cake you wanted." He blinked, processing then shook his head. "Same thing."

 "It's not the same thing." He frowned, his hand sliding up your thigh, slow and deliberate. "Would be a good birthday gift."

 "Michael." "I'm not asking for much." His fingers traced circles on your skin. "Just you. Just a little bit of you."

 You glanced out the tinted window. Police motorcycles trailed the limo. You could see the outline of the driver's head through the partition, focused on the road ahead.

 "There are police outside, Mikey." He followed your gaze, then looked back at you, his pout deepenin'. "They can't see through the windows." "That's not the point."

 "It could be." He tilted his head, his hand squeezing your thigh gently. "Please? For my birthday?" You stared at him. Drunk, messy, pouty, beautiful and very convincing and sighed because you were being convinced.

 Michael's whole face lit up when you agreed.

 His eyes went wide his lips spread into a grin, and he let out a little giggle. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess, and there was still a smear of icing on his chin that he hadn't bothered to wipe off.

 "Yeah?" "Yeah, don’t make me take it back." He didn't waste a second. His hands found your ankle, tugging you forward until you were in front of him fully. You could feel the cake beneath you, cold and sticky against your thighs through your outfit, but he didn't seem to care. He just pulled you closer, his face dropping to press a kiss against the top of your foot.

 "Pretty," he murmured against your skin. His lips dragged down slowly from your ankle up to your knee, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses. He paused at your shin, turning his head to press his cheek against your leg, looking up at you with those glassy eyes. "Look at these nails, mama. French tipped? On your toes? 'S so sexy."

 You laughed, trying to pull your foot back. "You're crazy." "Mhm." He nodded, not bothering to deny it. "M’ crazy for you."

 He held your foot in both hands now, his thumbs tracing slow circles over your arch. He brought your toes to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the tips, then another ,then another, working his way across each one like he was memorizing them. His eyes fluttered shut a little hum escaping his throat.

 "Been thinkin' 'bout these all night," he admitted, his voice low and slurred. "When you had 'em out in them open-toed heels. Couldn't concentrate on nothin' else."

 You felt your face warm. "You were lookin' at my feet during your own party?" "Was lookin' at all of you." He pressed another kiss to your ankle, then your calf. "'S not my fault you're beautiful everywhere."

 He wrapped his hand around your waist and pulled you flush against him, your thighs pressing against his hips. His hands settled on your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your outfit as another giggle fell from his lips.

 "'M gonna be quiet," he promised, nodding seriously. "Real quiet. Promise." He said it with such intensity that you almost believed him. He was lying. The second your lips met his, he let out a moan that was definitely not quiet.

  It rumbled from his chest deep and needy, vibrating against your mouth. His tongue slid against yours immediately, messy and warm and tasting faintly of the drink he'd been drinking earlier. His hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer as if he couldn't get enough.

 You could feel him through his jeans, hard and heavy, pressed right against your core. You rolled your hips experimentally, and he whined into your mouth. "Yeah- fuck— yeah, just like that Tinka.."

 His hands found the inside of your thigh, fingers trailing up slowly, searching. When he reached the damp fabric of your panties, he smiled against your lips.

 "Someone's excited," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His fingers pressed lightly against the wet spot, rubbing slow circles through the fabric. "That for me, mama? All that juice f'me?"

 Your hips stuttered but you didn't stop moving against him. The friction of his belt against your panties sent little sparks through your core, and you rolled your hips harder chasing the sensation.

 "Keep goin'," he breathed, his head falling back against the seat. His eyes fluttered open, looking up at you through heavy lids. "Don't stop. 'S my birthday, 'n I want you to ride me."

 "Your outfit's getting ruined." You noted, the outfit was worth quite a lot. It was quite literally sparkling. He let out a breathy laugh, his chest rising and falling. "Don't care. 'S worth it. Got money f'more outfits but I only got one of you."

 You kept moving grinding down against his belt and the bulge beneath it. His hand slid down to palm your ass, squeezing once before patting it gently. "That's it. Use me, mama. 'S your fault f'being so pretty."

 He reached up, his hand sliding behind your neck and guiding your lips back to his, swallowing the moan that escaped you as he bit down gently on your bottom lip. You ground down harder, chasing that friction, and he groaned into your mouth.

 "'M not gonna last long," he warned, his voice breaking. "You feel too good." "Then don't hold back." you whispered against his lips.

 His hips bucked up to meet yours, and you both moaned. Michael pulled you closer as if he wanted to consume you all at once. 

 He lifted his head, gazing up at you with those lidded eyes. A smile spread across his lips, slow and drunk and full of love. "'S my best birthday yet."

 Michael was close. You could feel it in the way his hips stuttered, in the way his breath came in shorter, hotter pants against your mouth.

 "So close, tinka," he whimpered, his forehead pressing against yours. His hands were griping your hips, fingers diggin' into your outfit like he was trying to hold on. "Not gonna last with 'y on my lap. It’s too good."

 You hummed against his lips, slowing your movements just slightly. He whined in protest, his hips chasin' yours. "Don't stop! Please —"

 You stopped anyway. He blinked, his glassy eyes focusing on your face with slow, confused realization.

  His bottom lip jutted out, pushin' forward in a pout that made him look like a hurt deer. "That was mean," he mumbled, his voice slurred and wounded. "Why'd you stop? 'M your husband. It’s my birthday. You're bein' mean."

 You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'm bein' mean?" "Yes." He nodded emphatically, his pout deepening. "Very mean. Meanest wife ever."

 You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Stay right there." Before he could protest again, you slipped off his lap and sank to your knees on the floor of the limo. The carpet was soft beneath you. 

 He looked down at you, his brows furrowed for a second before you reached for the zipper of his pants. He got it immediately. His legs fell open, manspreading to make room for you between his thighs.

  He watched with heavy-lidded eyes as you pulled his cock out, already hard and leaking, the tip slick with precum. He let out a shuddering breath as your fingers wrapped around him. "Manicured nails." he breathed, watching your french tips wrap around his length. "Look so pretty wrapped 'round me. 'S not fair."

 You smiled up at him, then opened your mouth and took him in. His head fell back against the seat, a loud moan tearing from his throat. His hand flew to your hair, tugging slightly. "Fuck— Tinka…"

 He was already close, his hips twitching as you moved your head, taking him deeper. His breath came in ragged pants, his chest heaving, his grip tightened in your hair.

 "Please," he whimpered. "Please— m'close—'m gonna—“ You pulled off just enough to look up at him, your lips still brushing his tip, your hand still stroking him slowly. "Then let go," you said softly. "Don't hold back, handsome. You've been so good all night."

 His eyes fluttered, his lip catching between his teeth. "Let me see you fall apart, pretty boy." That did it. He came with a broken moan, his hips bucking forward as he spilled into your mouth.

  His hand tightened in your hair, his body shuddering his breath came in short, uneven gasps. He was whispering your name over and over like a prayer, half-coherent and completely gone.

 When he finally stilled he looked down at you with dazed, watery eyes. A lazy, satisfied grin spread across his face. "...Love you," he mumbled. "Mean it. Even if you're mean."

 You laughed softly, wiping the corner of your mouth as you climbed back up to sit beside him. He immediately slumped against you, his head finding your shoulder. "Best birthday ever," he murmured. You pressed a kiss to his hair. "Happy birthday."

 Michael was quiet for a moment after he came down.

 Still slumped against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, his hand lazily tracing patterns on your thigh. You thought he'd fallen asleep, his breathing evening out. 

 But then he shifted. Lifted his head. Blinked at you slowly those dark eyes glassy but focused, like he was forcing himself to stay present. "You didn't come."

 You opened your mouth to brush it off to tell him it was fine, that you were okay, but he was already shaking his head, his brow furrowing with genuine concern.

 "No. I felt it. You were close when I…" He gestured vaguely downward, a loose wave of his hand. "Then you stopped. That's not fair to you."

 "It's okay, baby. We're almost at the hotel." It was fine, honestly seeing him come was enough for you. He pouted but he nodded. "Fine. But I'm not forgetting. Soon as we get inside, I'm takin' care of you. Promise."

 You smiled, running your fingers through his sweaty hair. "I know you will." He hummed, content, and pressed a kiss to your collarbone before settling back against your shoulder. His hand never stopped moving, tracing lazy circles on your thigh his thumb occasionally dipping closer to where you needed him just to tease.

 "I'm gonna make you feel so good," he murmured against your skin. "Gonna make you forget your own name." "You're very confident for someone who can barely stand."

 He giggled, a sleepy drunken sound. "Don't need to stand. Got a tongue. Got fingers. Got you."

 The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, Michael's head resting on your shoulder, his hand absently rubbing your thigh. Every few seconds he'd press a kiss to your collarbone, mumbling little nothings against your skin. "Pretty." "Love you." "Best wife." "Gonna marry you again tomorrow."

 When the limo finally pulled up to the hotel, Michael stumbled out with your help, his feet unsteady on the pavement, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

  The driver had already circled around to open the door, and Michael turned to him with a look of genuine apology, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice sincere and slurred. "For the mess. For everything. I don't usually I promise! The noises. All of it. I'm real sorry."

 The driver laughed, waving a hand. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Jackson. Happens more than you'd think." Michael blinked, his head tilting like a confused puppy. "Really?" "No, not really." The driver grinned wide, his eyes crinkling. "But happy birthday Mr Jackson."

 Michael laughed loudly, leaning heavily into your side as you guided him toward the entrance. "I like him. He's funny. Tip him extra." "I will, baby." "Like a lot extra. Double. Triple maybe."

 "Whatever you want." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, messy and warm. "You're the best."

 The hotel lobby was mostly empty at this hour, just a few staff members behind the counter who nodded respectfully as you passed. A security guard near the elevator gave a small wave, which Michael returned with a lazy, two finger salute. You kept him moving, your arm wrapped around his waist, his hand gripping yours as you guided him toward the elevator.

 The moment the doors slid shut, he was on you again. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, his face burying in your neck. He breathed in deep, a content hum vibrating against your skin.

 "Almost there," he mumbled against your pulse. "Then I get to take care of you. Properly." "You're very determined about this."  He hummed again, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. "Determined husband. That's me. Cause I love you."

 "And very handsome." He pulled back just enough to look at you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Yeah? You think so?" "I know so." He kissed you then, soft and warm, his tongue brushing against your lower lip before he pulled away. "Love you."

 "Love you too, Michael." The elevator dinged. You guided him down the hall, fumbling with the key card until the door clicked open.

 The suite was quiet when you finally stepped inside. Dark, save for the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The curtains were drawn open. The bed loomed in the center of the room, massively covered in pillows you knew you'd be shoving off the floor within minutes.

 The door clicked shut behind you, and Michael turned to you immediately, his hands finding your waist. You expected him to stumble toward the bed, to collapse and sleep off the rest of his buzz. 

 Instead, he stood there, looking at you with those dark, glassy eyes, his chest rising and falling. "I didn’t forget." he said, his voice softer now, his earlier bravado fading into something gentler. "In the car. You didn't come at all. Told you I wouldn't forget"

 You shook your head. "It's okay, really. Tonight was about you Michael I told you. "

 "It's not okay." His hands tightened on your waist, guiding you backward toward the bed. "I'm gonna take care of it. Right now. That's what husbands do. That's what I want to do."

 You let him guide you until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He pushed gently, and you sat. Then laid back, your elbows propping you up as you looked up at him. He stood over you for a moment, looking down at you with heavy lidded eyes, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip.

 "Stay right there," he murmured, his voice low.

 He reached for the hem of your dress, bunching it up slowly, carefully, his fingers brushing against your skin with every inch he revealed until the dress was gathered around your hips, baring you to him completely.

  His breath caught when he saw the damp spot on your panties, the fabric dark and clinging to you evidence of how worked up you'd been all night. "Look at you," he breathed, his voice reverent. "So pretty down here, mama. You've been sittin' in this all night, haven't you? All wet for me, huh?"

 Your face heated up. "Michael."

 "Don't be so shy Tink." His thumbs traced slow circles on your inner thighs. "I'm your husband. I got every right to see what's mine. And this," he pressed a kiss to the damp fabric, "this is mine."

 He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He shifted, getting comfortable settling in like he planned to be there for a while.

 "I'm gonna take my time with you," he murmured. "Gonna taste every inch of you 'til you're beggin' me to stop."

 He pressed his mouth to the wet spot on your panties, hot and open, his tongue flat against the fabric. A low moan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against you, and you gasped at the sensation.

 "Mmm..—" He pulled back just enough to breathe, his lips slick. "Taste you through the fabric, mama. It's still so good. Sweet and wet. Could drink you up like this all night and die happy." He pressed another damp kiss to your panties.

 But he didn't pull them off yet. Instead, he lifted your foot, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the top of your arch, soft and slow. Then another on your ankle. Then he opened his mouth, dragging his tongue lazily along the side of your foot, leaving a trail of warm spit in its wake. "Mikey —"

 "'S pretty," he mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled. "Every part of you is pretty." He pressed wet, sloppy kisses to your toes, his mouth open and warm, drool slicking your skin as he went. He sucked gently on your big toe before pulling off with a soft pop, his chin glistening.

 "Taste good everywhere," he murmured, almost to himself. "Even your feet taste like you." He set your foot down gently and lifted the other, repeating the same ritual kisses, licks, open-mouthed drags of his tongue, leaving you shiny and wet and completely his.

By the time he set that foot down, you were a little breathless, your heart pounding.

 He looked up at you through his lashes, his lips swollen and slick. "Now." he said, his voice rough. "Lemme see what's underneath."

 His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, watching as they peeled away from your slick skin. He dragged them down your thighs, past your knees, over your ankles, and tossed them somewhere behind him without looking. His eyes were fixed on you, dark and hungry.

 "There she is," he breathed. "There's my pretty girl. All bare for me. You're so beautiful like this, you know that? All spread out, waitin' for me."

 He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. Soft. Warm. Then another, higher. He worked his way up inch by inch, kissing and licking at your skin, leaving a trail of warmth wherever his mouth touched. When he reached the apex of your thighs he paused, his breath hot against your core, making you jump.

 "You good?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Michael, just kiss me already." He laughed softly, the vibration tickling your skin. "So impatient. I like that about you."

 Then he pressed his lips against you, firmly. He started slow. Gentle. His tongue dragged up through your folds in one long, languid stroke, from your entrance to your clit tasting you like he had all the time in the world. A deep moan rumbled from his chest, his eyes fluttering shut.

 "Fuck," he breathed against you. "Taste better than I remembered. All mine." He had you pulled right to the edge, knees slung over his shoulders, your body pressed to his mouth. It was sloppy and drunk and he groaned with every movement of his jaw. 

 He was using his whole mouth, not just his tongue sucking, kissing, licking like you were a meal he'd been starving for.

 His lips pressed against you as he spoke, his words muffled but clear enough. "Could stay here forever. Just live right here between your thighs. You'd let me, wouldn't you, mama?"

 A low, rumbly growl tore from his throat. He doubled down on his efforts, pulled your thighs forward until his nose was flush against your clit, his tongue fucking into you with rapid, shallow strokes, absolutely sloppy with it. His grip on your hips left marks.

 "You taste," he said between kisses and licks and swirls, "so fucking good, mama. Like you were made for my mouth. Made for me."

 His tongue flicked over your clit again and again. You could feel the vibration of his groans, the way his nose pushed into you, and the way your thighs started to shake and squeeze around his ears.

 "Yeah, that's it. That's my girl. Squeeze my head with those pretty thighs. Love it when you do that."

 His lips closed around your clit and he sucked, gentle at first, then with more pressure, his tongue flicking against it while he did. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and he moaned in approval.

 "That's it, baby. Rut against my face. Use me. I'm yours."

 You came undone, tipped over the edge with the next roll of his tongue, but he didn't stop. He coaxed you through it, gentling his touch, his tongue slowing to soft, soothing laps as you shuddered above him. He pulled back slowly, his mouth glistening, his lips swollen. He pressed a kiss to your thigh with a lazy smile, his chin slick.

 "One more," he said, his voice rough, like he'd gargled gravel.

 "Michael…" "One more." He dove back in without waiting for your answer, his tongue plunging into your core.

 This time he wanted it messy. Wanted to taste you again, now that he had a fresh coat of you on his tongue. He sucked hard on your clit, drawing a broken moan from your throat as he drove his tongue in and out, into the weeping place between your thighs.

 His mouth was on you again, warm and insistent, his tongue dragging through your folds with that same sloppy, drunken rhythm. You were still sensitive from before, every pass of his lips sending sparks through your oversensitive nerves, and when he circled your clit with the flat of his tongue, you gasped your hips sliding up the mattress instinctively.

 Too much. It was too much.

 But his hand came down on your ass with a sharp slap, the sting blooming across your skin, and he pulled you back down against his mouth without missing a beat.

 "Unh uh," he murmured against you, his voice rough and muffled. "Where you goin'?"

 "Mikey— 's too much—"

 "Don't care." His hand gripped your hip, holding you in place, his tongue diving back in. "Stop runnin'. Take it, acting like you can’t."

 He pressed a sloppy kiss to your clit, his chin slick, his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you from between your thighs.

 "You can take it. You're my good girl, right? My good wife?" You nodded weakly, your fingers tangling in the sheets. "Then lay there and let me love you."

 He moaned against you, his tongue pressing deep inside, then sliding up. "Cum for me again, pretty mama. Let me taste it. Let me drink every drop." His tongue kept working you, keeping you right there, close, until you shattered again. He swallowed every bit of it, moaning like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

 The third time because yes there was a third time, he changed the angle.

 He lifted your hips onto his shoulders, your entire body pulled flush to his mouth. He wanted to taste every drop. Licking and drinking as you fluttered against him greedy. He didn't relent until he'd took a third orgasm from you, your trembling thighs locked around his head.

 "You're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured against you, his voice wrecked. "Best thing I've ever seen. Best thing I've ever tasted. I'm never gonna get enough of you."

 You fell back onto the mattress, breathless and shaking, your body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

 When he finally pulled away, he rested his cheek on your thigh, still on his knees, blinking up at you with those big, drunk, adoring eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled, his lips swollen and slick.

 "You okay?" His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. You nodded weakly, reaching down to brush your fingers through his hair. "Yeah. I'm more than okay." He grinned, proud of himself, and pressed a kiss to your knee.

 "Good." He pushed himself up. "Good. Mission accomplished." "It was your birthday, remember?"

 He gestured down at the mess he'd made of you. "Best gift I could've asked for." You were too spent to even consider a witty comeback.

 He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, his lips pressing soft, lazy kisses to your forehead, your temple, the corner of your mouth. That was his second language with you slow, featherlight touches after everything.

 "Thank you." he said, quiet but sincere. "For tonight. For everything. I don't say it enough but you're my whole world, mama." You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "Happy birthday, Mikey."

he had always been guided by a pretty strict moral compass. between his upbringing and his own polite nature, he just wasn’t the type of guy to fool around or treat people carelessly. he took things seriously, sometimes to a fault.

your friendship was the one thing in his life that felt safe and untouched by all the usual noise surrounding him. it was easy, it was real, and he kept a tight guard over it. but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the ache that had settled in his chest.

he wanted to be the gentleman he was raised to be, but every time he looked at you now, there was this need he couldn’t set aside. the thought of blurring those lines and letting things get messy scared him to death.

he didn't want to be the guy who took advantage of a close moment, and he definitely didn't want to look across the room one day and realize he’d made things weird between you two forever.

the shift hit immediately over the next few days. it wasn't anything too crazy, but there were noticeable hitches in your usual routine. you’d be hanging out on the carpet in his bedroom at hayvenhurst, casually flipping through a crate of old vinyl records to find something to play, and you’d look up to ask him a question. but instead of looking at the sleeve in your hand, michael would already be watching you. specifically, your mouth.

every time you spoke about the most boring, mundane things — like what track to play next or what you wanted to have for dinner — his gaze would drop. he’d watch your mouth, his own lips parting the tiniest bit as he tracked the movement, not even fully aware of what he was doing.

in his head, a loop was running. he kept remembering the sweet taste of your lip gloss, the dizzying warmth of your mouth parting for him, and the way your tongue slid greedily against his. it had felt incredible. just thinking about it made a tight ache coil low in his stomach. he wondered what it would feel like if he leaned across the carpet right now, if he could feel your soft, wet mouth sliding down, wrapping tight around his—

no. michael caught himself, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, a flush creeping up his neck. no, stop it. that’s your best friend. you are not taking your thoughts there. he’d abruptly yank his gaze away, clearing his throat and nervously shifting his weight on the floor to hide the stiffness in his trousers, stammering out a hurried reply that did absolutely nothing to clear the thick cloud of tension left in the room. 

by the weekend, the tension in the house was just getting to be too much. hoping a change of scenery would finally break the awkwardness, you both decided to get out of there and go for a drive.

you sat in the plush passenger seat of his light blue rolls-royce, the car parked under the sprawling canopy of a quiet, dimly lit street overlooking the valley. the street light cast a soft glow over the interior. you both had cups of soft-serve ice cream, the car filled with the easy, familiar chatter that always came naturally to you two.

"’m jus' sayin', it’s completely different when you're seein' it on a big screen," michael said as he gestured with his plastic spoon. "the way they did the transformation scenes in an american werewolf in london? 's like magic. rick baker is a genius, i'm tellin' you."

you snorted, shifting in your seat to face him. "you spent half the movie hiding your face behind your hands. you can't claim it’s ‘artistic appreciation’—” you used your free hand to flash quick air quotes, “—when you were literally too scared to look."

"i was not!" he protested, a laugh bursting out of him. he shrugged, shifting slightly in his seat. "i was studyin' the makeup effects— that’s research. y'gotta look closely at how the skin stretches, otherwise y'don't learn nothin'."

"right, research," you teased, taking another bite of your ice cream. "is that why you gripped my wrist so hard i lost circulation?"

"you're exaggeratin' now," he grinned as a pretty flush hit his cheeks. "i was jus' makin' sure you weren't scared. i was protectin' you."

"oh, thanks. my hero." you nudged his shoulder with your own, a smirk playing on your face. "what, are you thinking 'bout quitting your music career to become a makeup artist now?" 

michael let out another quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he looked down at his cup. "no way," he murmured, swirling his spoon through the melting ice cream. "'s too messy. i'll stick to the studio." he flicked his eyes back up to yours, his smile softening. "but a real artist has to appreciate all kinds of things. movies, painting, whatever... it all helps y'grow. y'gotta feed your mind, y'know?" 

you hummed, nodding along.

gradually, the chatter died down into a still quietness. you scooped up one last bite of your ice cream, turning your head to look out the window at the sprawling valley lights as you ate it, unaware that the motion left a small dab of vanilla right on the corner of your lower lip. 

michael was leaning his elbow against the steering wheel, watching you. his eyes locked onto the small white smudge. the silence stretched, growing warmer by the second, until the weight of his stare made you turn your head to face him.

your eyes met. neither of you looked away. the car suddenly felt a lot smaller than it did a second ago. heat bloomed in your cheeks under the weight of his gaze. 

"what?" you asked, your voice a little breathier than you intended.

michael didn't answer right away.

"y'have a little..." he said, his voice trailing off as his gaze drifted back to your lips. he slowly reached across the center console towards you.

you held your breath as his thumb pressed against the corner of your mouth to swipe the ice cream away. the intimacy of the touch made your pulse spike.

he drew his hand back, glancing down at his thumb before lifting his eyes to yours again.

without looking away, he slowly licked the vanilla from his thumb.

a hot rush of adrenaline zipped through you.

you swallowed against the dryness in your throat, nervously chuckling as you set your ice cream down in the holder. "thanks... guess i’m a messy eater."

"‘s jus’ me here,” he murmured with a small smile. his fingers fidgeted with the steering wheel, though his eyes never left your lips, it was clear his mind was elsewhere. the silence grew so thick it felt like the air was running out.

michael stayed where he was, still leaning across the center console. he was close enough to feel the warmth radiating off your skin. he took a deep, steady breath before speaking.

“...can i kiss you?” he asked quietly.

you barely let him finish asking before you were already leaning in.

when his mouth finally met yours, michael didn't think it was possible to miss your lips this much. the touch of you washed over him like relief, erasing all the agonizing distance between you in an instant. it somehow felt even better than he'd remembered over the last few day. your lips were soft, carrying the sweet taste of vanilla ice cream.

the kiss started as a slow, but the lingering sweetness on your tongue made it impossible for him to hold back for long.

michael let out a breathy sigh against your mouth as his hand slipped from the steering wheel to cup your cheek. his thumb slid along your jaw, tilting your head to slant his lips deeper over yours.

the first tentative sweep of his tongue past your lips sent a jolt through him, drawing him closer, as if he could close the gap between the seats by force of will.

he devoured you, his breath coming in short gasps that mingled with your own. every soft clash of your lips against his felt heightened, amplified by the cramped dark of the car.

michael’s mind went completely blank to everything except the way you responded to him, your hands finding the collar of his jacket and pulling him down, inviting the weight of him. a faint hum of approval vibrated in his throat when he felt your tongue slide back against his, matching his cadence with a hunger that rivaled his own.

he sucked your lower lip into his mouth, his hands drifted blindly down to your waist.

the center console dug into his side, keeping you frustratingly out of reach, but he refused to pull away. he needed you closer.

without breaking the kiss for even a second, he gripped your hips and hooked his arms beneath your thighs, lifting you up and over the center console. 

you scrambled to adjust, your knees sliding onto the edges of his seat until you were straddling his lap. the sudden drop of your body onto his made michael let out a muffled whine into your mouth. he wrapped his arms securely around your back, pulling your chest flush against his as the kiss turned sloppier.

the heat inside the car was blistering. michael's broad hands settled firmly on your hips, holding you close. the pressure between your bodies made him shudder against your mouth.

he couldn't get enough. all the frustration that had built up over the past week spilled over as he shifted his hips up to meet you. the leather beneath him squeaked softly with the movement.

even through the layers of your denim and his trousers, the friction was almost too much to handle. michael’s mouth grew clumsier, his teeth grazing your lower lip as he sucked your tongue into his mouth, drunk on the taste of you and the ache tightening in his groin. 

his head was spinning. he squeezed your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin as he guided your pace, chasing the delicious rush every time he rocked up against you.

a quiet moan slipped from your lips as your hips rolled into his. the sound alone made his dick twitch against his pants. his grip tightened, his knuckles paling against your waist.

he was trembling all over, his breathing shot, warmth creeping up under his curls. the pace turned frantic, both of you losing your breath as your bodies rolled together in the cramped cabin of the car. 

"oh... 'm gonna—" michael slurred into your mouth as his whole body shuddered.

"f-fuck," you whimpered, your fingers gripping his shoulders as your own climax threatened to crash over you.

desperate for a deeper angle, michael gripped your thighs and hoisted himself slightly higher in the seat, thrusting up hard to bury himself flush against you. 

in his haste, his movement made your back bump into the center of the steering wheel, the horn blaring and piercing the quiet street. 

both of you jumped, the sound cutting through the heat like a bucket of ice water. michael instantly lurched backward, his arm tugging you off the wheel as he tried to put distance between you, his head nearly hitting the roof. 

"oh shit," you gasped.

his chest heaved like he’d just run a marathon. he stared at you with wide eyes, his lips swollen and red. 

you were still straddling his lap, your hands clutching his shoulders while your heart battered against your ribs. the car was dead silent, save for the sound of both of your uneven breathing. 

the absurdity of the situation hit you first, and an airy giggle slipped past your lips. michael blinked at you, startled, before his own shoulders relaxed and he huffed out a short laugh.

but it was very short lived. michael's head was spinning, his thoughts a mess. looking at you in his lap in the dim light, a wave of guilt washed over him.

"we— we gotta stop," michael stammered. he dragged a trembling hand over his mouth, trying to steady himself, though his gaze kept slipping to your rumpled shirt. "we shouldn't... we can't be doin' this.”

you swallowed hard and forced yourself to nod.

but neither of you made a move to separate. the heat between your bodies was thick, your core still pressed flush against his stiff trousers, feeling the twitch of his erection right against you. michael swallowed hard, his hand dropping from his mouth to rest tentatively on your hip. 

he looked so torn, caught in this battle with himself, and it made something soften in your chest. you didn't want him pulling away out of fear or some strict rulebook. 

you leaned a little closer, reaching out to cup his jaw. your fingers slid along his warm skin, your thumb hooking under his chin to tilt his face up so he had no choice but to look at you.

he was so pretty it almost hurt. his soft curls framed his face in a messy halo, and his dark skin had flushed a deep crimson all the way to the tips of his ears.

as your eyes locked, michael’s gaze dropped to your mouth. his tongue darted out to quickly lick from his lower lip before he bit down on it hard, trapping it between his teeth 

"what if... i don't want to?" you murmured, your heart hammering so hard against your ribs you were sure he could feel it. your free hand slid down his shoulder to catch his wrist. "i mean... remember what you said earlier? 'bout research? you said a real artist has to appreciate all kinds of things to grow… and how will you grow if we don’t… you know."

michael blinked, a breathless laugh escaping him. his gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips.

"that... that was about the movies," he whispered, his voice dropping into a soft drawl as he stumbled over the words. he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing beneath your fingertips where your hand still rested on his jaw. his gaze dropped for a moment as his thumb traced a small circle against your hip, the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes. "'s different. y'know it is."

"'s not different," you breathed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "we're just researching. practicing... aren’t we?"

michael's breath caught. he'd been the one to call it practice in the first place, but hearing the words in your voice made them sound a whole lot less convincing. it painfully obvious that neither of you believed it anymore, but it was just the excuse you'd both quietly agreed to hide behind.

you leaned down closer, the scent of him filling your senses as your eyelids fluttered shut. you pressed your lips to the soft corner of his mouth.

when you started to pull back, he chased your lips until he caught them again, locking his mouth over yours in a desperate kiss. a groan caught in his throat as his fingers tangled deep into the hair at the nape of your neck, his tongue slipping past your teeth.

but just as you tangled your fingers in his collar to pull him closer, he stopped.

he let out a shaky exhale against your skin before dropping his forehead into the crook of your neck. he stayed there for a moment, his chest heaving against yours. he still looked downright tormented as he dragged a trembling hand down his face. 

"if i don't stop right now... 'm not gonna be able to," he whispered. he looked down at his hands, heat spreading across his cheeks. "the things i wanna do t'you... the way i want you... 's too much. i can't. i have t'be a gentleman with you.”

your throat tightened, your stomach flipping at his words.

"michael,” you murmured softly, squeezing his hand "you are good for me. i want you. 'm not asking you to be perfect… and you don't get to make this decision all by yourself — it's my choice too"

you leaned in, your thumb tracing the back of his hand. "i don't trust anyone the way i trust you... i want this."

he held your gaze for a long moment, searching your face as if he were making sure you meant every word.

his gaze dropped to your lips, then to where your hand still held his wrist. after a brief hesitation, he turned his hand over in your grip, lacing his fingers with yours and giving them a gentle squeeze.

his free hand returned to your waist, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt as his thumb traced the curve of your hip. he leaned down, pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck before he spoke.

"i wanna make y'feel good," he murmured, his fingers drifting toward your shorts, his knuckles brushing the fabric where you needed him. "can i? can i do that for you?"

you nodded, your voice catching a little. "please."

michael let out a quiet breath, his gaze drifting around the cramped front cabin before a tiny, nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. he cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his neck.

"backseat?" he whispered.

you felt your face burn, a small smile breaking across your face as you bit the inside of your cheek and nodded.

you both scrambled over the console until you reached the wide bench seat in the back. you scooted back against the leather as michael climbed in after you, bracing himself above you with one hand planted beside your head and the other at your waist 

he carefully flipped your skirt up over your hips. he clumsily worked his hand along your legs while you both shifted awkwardly on the leather, trying to get comfortable. when his hand brushed your bare thigh, you shivered.

"doin' okay?" he asked, looking up at you.

"yeah," you whispered, your face feeling incredibly hot. "'m jus’ a little nervous."

"me too," he said softly. he moved his hand back up, his fingers tentatively tracing the inside of your thigh until his knuckles nudged the edge of your underwear. he stopped there, his eyes searching yours. "can i... touch you here?"

you nodded, your fingers tightening on his shoulder.

michael drew his hand back a few inches as his gaze drifted between your thighs. right in the center of your underwear, a cute little damp spot had bloomed through the cotton. the fabric clung to your skin, outlining the soft shape of your folds where it creased against your body. 

michael's breath hitched. he stared, completely transfixed. his lower lip disappeared between his teeth before he reached out, his index finger tracing the damp patch of cotton where it hugged your skin.

"you're drippin'," he whispered, his voice turning raspy as he looked back up at your face.

heat rushed to your face, and you quickly looked away. a tiny smile tugged at his mouth when he saw how flustered you were. he reached up with his other hand to guide your face back toward him, wanting to look at you.

"makes me feel good to know i do that t'you," he confessed, his eyes locked onto yours.

his fingers hooked beneath the elastic, pulling it down your legs. when his fingertips finally touched your drooling pussy, a shaky groan slipped from his lips.

he stared for a long moment, hypnotized by how puffy and swollen you were, by the way you were already spilling over, and when he parted your folds, the wetness caught in the low light filtering in from the street.

"michael," you breathed, your voice cracking. you tried to press your legs together, your hands coming down to shield yourself from his gaze. "don't... 's embarrassing."

"no, don't hide," he whispered. he caught your wrists, easing your hands away. "you're so pretty... you're leakin' all over f’me."

a small, pleading noise slipped from your lips before you can stop it.

"m-michael, please," you begged, your hips twitching under the weight of his stare.

he leaned closer, his nose brushing against your thigh as he took another look, his fascination bordering on obsession. he watched the way your pussy glistened, completely captivated.

he mumbled something under his breath that you couldn't quite make out, sounding almost awestruck by the realization that he was the reason you were falling apart like this. then he reached out, tracing the very edge of your folds with one long finger, following the path where you were dripping.

he wasn’t just touching.

he was exploring you, his curiosity getting the better of his shyness.

he slid his finger upward, an experimental stroke that dragged the wetness over your folds. your breath caught, and michael noted the tiny hitch in your chest, his thumb pausing right where it was. he was studying you, trying to get a gauge of your reactions to what you like.

he was being uncharacteristically shameless but so attentive.

and it turned you on more than you wanted to admit.

"y'like that?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

you gave a small nod, your hands reaching for his forearms.

michael swallowed hard. he repeated the same upward stroke, this time pressing just a little harder, his thumb lightly grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top. a sharp gasp escaped you, and your hips twitched against his hand.

michael moaned in response, trapping his lower lip between his teeth. he studied you like you were something precious he didn't want to break, mapping out exactly what made you gasp and what made your body respond. then he tried a different angle, circling his thumb gently over your clit. when your eyes fluttered shut and a whimper slipped free, he let out a shaky breath against your skin.

the steady pressure of his thumb was already making your head spin. michael's breathing grew shallower, his chest rising and falling against yours as he looked down at his hand. his middle finger shifted slightly, the tip nudging against your opening before he stopped.

"michael—" you gasped, your hips twitching on his lap.

"still okay?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

"y-yeah," you whispered, your fingers curling into his shirt. "can you give me more?"

michael swallowed hard, his face flushed. "tell me if it's too much," he whispered.

he eased his finger inside. he moved carefully, trying to find the right angle while your walls gripped him. a low, quiet moan caught in his throat from how warm and tight you felt.

you were soaking, the mess of it making everything slippery as he pushed a little deeper. the wet noise of his finger sliding against your folds was loud in the quiet car, making your face burn, but you couldn't stop your body arching into him.

when his finger curled slightly and your whole body buckled, he let out a shaky groan into the crook of your neck.

“oh— mike, fuck,” you whimpered.

he looked back up at you, his lower lip caught between his teeth, looking overwhelmed by an idea he was clearly trying to work up the nerve to ask.

"can i..." he started. he cleared his throat, a deeper flush creeping up his neck. "will y'let me taste you? please?"

your heart skipped a beat, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. when you gave a small nod, the tension in his shoulders melted away. carefully, he eased his finger out of you, the soft sound of the release making you both shiver.

"lay back f'me," he whispered. 

you let your elbows slide out from under you, easing back onto the wide leather bench seat. the smooth leather felt cool against your skin.

he shifted his weight, moving down between your legs, angling himself on the lower edge of the seat.

he rested his hands on the insides of your thighs, his fingers tracing upward until he had a clear view of you. he stared for a beat before lowering his head.

looking down at him, your chest ached with how beautiful he was. his skin looked soft under the dim light, and those huge, deep brown eyes of his were wide and completely focused on you, framed by thick lashes. even with his curls a little messy and his face completely flushed with nerves, he looked so striking it almost made you forget to breathe.

you felt his breath first — hot and shallow, panting softly against your cunt — and you went still under him, your stomach tightening as his hair tickled your thighs.

he still hadn't moved and you were squirming just waiting for him to do something.

he lifted his eyes to yours, the contact hitting like lightning.

there was so much written across his face — hunger, reverence, something almost possessive — but it was the softness that broke you. the slight twitch of his eyebrows.

slowly, michael leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, his breath ghosting over your skin. then another, a little higher this time, right at the crease where you leg met your hips. and finally he lowered his head closer to your core, never once breaking eye contact, before he leaned in and licked you.

a slow lick from bottom to top, with the flat of his tongue. you let out a sharp gasp, your hands flying to grip the edges of the seat cushions as your hips jolted.

and he groaned, a sound so filthy that you felt it through your cunt, all the way to your spine.

he began using his tongue in slow upward strokes, mirroring the way he'd touched you with his fingers. he was so gentle, his tongue warm and wet as it dragged through your slickness, parting your folds to get closer. when he swept a little higher and lapped directly over your clit, a loud whimper broke from your lips.

michael let out a low groan against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver through your inner thighs. he pressed his face closer, his nose nudging into your wetness as his strokes grew wider, hungrier, fumbling his way into a steady rhythm as he drank you in.

"y’taste so good," he rushed out. "so sweet. god, you're so wet."

he was obsessed with every sound coming out of you and wanted to hear more. he slid his middle finger back inside your slick opening, drawing another broken sound from you as your hips jolted off the leather.

michael's nose nudged against your clit as he let out a shaky breath against your skin. he pushed his finger a little deeper, trying to find a rhythm between the lapping of his tongue and the slide of his hand. he experimented with different pressures until his fingertip nudged against a rougher, textured spot along your gummy walls. your entire body convulsed.

a cry tore from your throat, your fingers instantly tangling in his soft curls to pull him closer. 

michael let out a muffled moan against your inner thigh. realizing what he'd just stumbled onto, he tentatively pressed his finger against that same spot again, curling it just a fraction while his tongue swirled over your clit.

"does that feel good?" he whispered against your skin. he didn't pull away, his mouth still hovering there.

"y-yes," you choked out, your hips twitching against the seat. "michael, feels so good."

he buried his face back into you. he sucked on your clit while his finger gently hooked that spot again. the sensation was so overwhelming your eyes rolled back. you were dripping, the wet sounds of his finger working inside you blending with the sound of his breathing. he kept tracing that sweet spot, his finger prodding clumsily, completely losing himself in the way your body buckled and shuddered beneath his mouth.

but the closer he worked you toward the edge, the more his own desire built. his breathing grew louder as he kept his face buried against you.

"you're doin’ so good," he murmured.

he was so worked up, so overwhelmed by how wet you were — and god, those noises spilling from your lips.

without realizing it, he started grinding into the leather seat cushions, rubbing against them to find some relief while he worked you over.

michael was determined to make you cum, he needed to feel it. 

he shifted his angle, his hands sliding beneath your thighs and lifting them, draping your legs over his shoulders as he pulled you closer.

you cried out, because he was even deeper. his face was pressed into you, tongue flattening out again and dragging hard over your entrance.

and then he pushed in, tongue-fucking you. he wasn't even coming up for air, like he didn't even want to.

you could hear the obscene, sloppy sounds of his fingers fucking into you, the suction of his lips over your clit and his moans — god he moaned so much — but you weren't doing much better.

every attempt at a coherent thought dissolved into broken mewls and breathless squeaks. you were climbing so fast you could barely comprehend the pleasure rushing through you.

he lined two fingers this time, sliding into you in one smooth motion, palm facing up. his knuckles dragged across the slick heat of your entrance, easing past the resistance like you were made to take him.

he found that heavenly spot again, pressing into it until you were seeing stars.

your thighs began to tremble, your toes curling as the muscles around his fingers clamped down hard.

"fuck, michael— wait, 'm gonna—"

you couldn't even finish the sentence. your hips jerked off the seat, your body going rigid as the first wave of pleasure crashed through you. a loud cry tore from your throat as your fingers flew to his hair.

michael let out a muffled groan against you as your walls began to spasm around his fingers, squeezing them in pulsing waves. he stayed right there, working you through it as your sweet release slipped around his fingers, creating embarrassing squelching noises. he panted heavily against your inner thighs, trapped between your legs while you shook.

his fingers slowly slipped out of you as he exhaled, the motion drawing another twitch from you. he pushed himself back until he was sitting on his heels. he looked like a wreck — his face flushed, his lips wet all the way to his chin. he swallowed hard, glancing down at his hand before lifting his eyes to yours.

"you okay?" he whispered, his voice thick. "was that alright?"

a soft laugh escaped you. "yeah, it was perfect. you sure you haven’t done this before?"

he let out a breathless laugh, equal parts relief and embarrassment. he looked out the window, rubbing the back of his neck with his clean hand as the dark skin flushed deeper. "never."

you reached out, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and gently pulling him toward you.

eagerly, he leaned into you until his chest pressed against yours. when your lips met, the kiss was soft at first, filled with quiet gratitude, before it slowly deepened. you could still taste yourself on his tongue, and it made your head spin.

he groaned softly into your mouth, his clean hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek as he kissed you again like he couldn't stop. when you finally pulled apart for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

his gaze flicked to the analogue clock on the dashboard, and he let out a soft sigh.

“‘s getting real late." he whispered as he reached down to find your panties, handing them over to you with a gentle look. "i should get y'home before your family starts worryin’ 'bout where you're at. i don't want 'em thinkin' bad of you... or me." 

you laughed softly as you pulled your panties back on. "i know you're just worried about your own reputation, mr. gentleman."

michael laughed.

the ride back that night wasn't nearly as tense as you'd expected. when he dropped you off, you waved a quick goodbye before practically sprinting inside, your heart doing flips the whole way.

michael had gone home that night in a daze, staring up at his ceiling until the sun came up. he could still feel the dizzying taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

every time he closed his eyes, his mind flashed back to the way you ground down against him. he couldn't shake the memory of those little moans slipping from your lips whenever he'd rub against you just right. it had taken everything in him not to cum in his pants.

though, what happened after that was between him and the four walls of his bedroom.

on the other hand, every time you tried to do something productive, your mind wandered.

all you could think about was how his dick had twitched against your clit through your jeans — god, he'd felt so big. even through two layers of denim, he felt so thick, so hard beneath you. you could still feel the pressure of his fingers digging into your hips, dragging you down so he could grind up into you harder. your underwear had been soaking wet, rubbing against him.

and fuck, his mouth.

you couldn’t stop your mind from going to the dirtiest places. if he was that needy without even being touched, what would he be if you actually did more? you couldn’t help but picture him pinning you down on a bed, gripping your thighs to pull them wide open, and just rutting himself inside you— 

no. what were you thinking?

you shoved yourself up from the bed, practically marching into the bathroom before you could let your mind wander any further down that rabbit hole.

turning the tap all the way to the right, you waited until the water ran freezing cold before splashing a handful over your face. the icy shock hit your skin like a slap, stealing a gasp from your lungs as water dripped down your neck and into the collar of your shirt.

you grabbed a towel and dried your face before staring at yourself in the mirror.

get a grip. what is wrong with you?

you headed back to your bedroom, finally feeling a little more grounded. the second you sat down, the phone rang. it was michael, his voice soft and hesitant as he asked if you wanted to come over for a while.

before you could even talk yourself out of it, you were pulling into his driveway.

stepping into his house, the familiar warmth of the place did nothing to settle the nerves twisting in your gut. 

michael greeted you with a small smile before gesturing toward the stairs. 

you followed him upstairs, the familiar routine of making your way to his bedroom easing some of the tension in your chest. once inside, michael crossed the room to switch on his stereo, keeping the music low while you kicked off your shoes and settled onto the carpet with your back against the side of his mattress.

when he turned around and saw you'd already claimed the floor, he laughed softly before flopping face-down onto the bed. he slid down until his head hung over the edge.

"you're really gonna sit on the floor? there's a whole bed right here," he said, his voice all soft.

"yeah, well, the carpet is cooler. plus, you take up the whole mattress anyway," you said, resting your arms on your knees.

"i do not," he scoffed, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. he tucked his hands behind his head.

you fell back into your usual conversation.

you both were great at not addressing the elephant in the room.

a wave of relief washed over you as you listened to him ramble about some silly show he'd stayed up watching the night before. you'd spent the entire drive over with sweaty palms, convinced he was going to sit you down and talk about what happened in his car.

just listening to the sound of his voice, the knot in your chest finally began to loosen. your mind was still a little loud — it was impossible to completely forget the way he'd gripped your hips — but his easy, familiar energy grounded you. he wasn't pushing or making things awkward, and for the first time in days, it almost felt like nothing had changed.

"oh, wait, i almost forgot," michael said, popping up onto his elbows. he looked down at you, his eyes bright with that boyish excitement he always got whenever he had something new to show you. "i got something yesterday. hold on."

he scrambled off the bed and padded over to his closet. after rummaging around for a moment, he pulled out a colourful cardboard box.

"twister?" you asked, reading the bold letters on the front as he walked back over.

"yeah!" he grinned, dropping to his knees on the carpet as he tore the plastic wrap off the box. "i saw it the other day and i had to get it."

you chuckled, shaking your head as you crawled over to help him clear a space on the bedroom floor.

"michael, you know you're way too flexible for this to be a fair fight."

"that's not true," he scoffed, shaking out the large white mat covered in bright red, blue, yellow, and green dots. "you have good balance. 's totally fair. here, you spin first."

he tossed the little cardboard spinner toward you, and for the first ten minutes, it was just stupid fun. you kept up your usual chatter, laughing and teasing each other every time the spinner landed on something inconvenient.

it felt normal.

but the game had no intention of letting it stay that way.

"left hand, green," michael muttered, reaching over his own arm to flick the spinner. he glanced down at where the arrow landed before looking back up at you with a grin. "right foot, red for you."

you groaned, eyeing the mat. to reach the only open red dot, you had to stretch directly over him. keeping both hands planted on their blue dots, you lifted your hips and stretched your leg across, hovering right above him.

michael was propped up on his left hand and right foot, waiting for you to make your move. but the second you shifted, his breath caught.

from where he was on the floor, he had an unobstructed, up-close view of your ass, the fabric of your shorts pulled taut as you stretched into the awkward position.

michael's brain blanked. the playful comment he was about to make died in his throat. he tried — he really did — to look away.

he blinked hard, forcing his gaze toward the closet door, then down to his hand on the green dot as his breathing picked up.

but it was like a magnet. his gaze snapped right back to you, tracing the curve of your hips as his mind flashed to the heat of his car a few nights ago — to the memory of exactly how it had felt to hold you right there.

heat flooded his veins, burning all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

"okay," you said, letting out a breath as your foot settled on the red dot. "your turn. spin it."

the mat had become so crowded that michael had to awkwardly lean over his own arm to reach the spinner again, letting out a strained laugh as he stretched across the mat. as he shifted, you adjusted to give him room.

"don't move," you panted, your arms beginning to shake. "if you move, i'm gonna fall."

"i'm trying, i swear—" michael started, a breathless laugh escaping him as he glanced up at you. but his foot slipped on the smooth plastic.

you let out a yelp before collapsing straight onto him. the two of you tumbled into a tangled heap, laughing as you landed sprawled across his chest, your hips settling over his lap.

for a second, you were both recovering from the fall, your laughter echoing in the bedroom. but as your giggles faded and you leaned up on your elbows to look down at him, the amusement vanished.

michael went still beneath you. his hands hovered uncertainly by your waist, trembling as though he didn't know where to put them. he stared straight up at you, his chest rising and falling beneath yours, his lips slightly parted as his breath caught. up this close, his eyes were wide, his pupils so blown they nearly swallowed the brown of his irises.

it felt like the universe was doing everything it could to push you together. you were seriously starting to think you'd jinxed yourself. every time you convinced yourself things were finally back to normal, the universe found a way to prove you wrong within minutes.

because beneath the fabric of your shorts, you felt the unmistakable hardness growing against your thigh.

michael’s gaze darted to where your hips were pressed against his. he looked mortified, caught red-handed in a way he couldn't hide.

his hands came to rest at your waist. with the gentlest touch, he tried to ease you back and off him.

"'m sorry," he whispered, his voice real soft as he gave you a small, embarrassed smile. "it'll go away if y'just... give me a minute."

the way you were looking at him had him bringing up both his hands up, burying his face in his palms to hide the crimson flushing his cheeks.

he looked so sweet and so overwhelmed. it made you lean down closer towards him.

"I swear I didn't invite y’over for this," his muffled voice came from behind his hands. He slowly lowered his palms, his dark skin flushed a deep crimson all the way to the tips of his ears as he looked up at you. "I jus’ wanted to hang out with you… like before."

you bit the inside of your cheeks. "i know, mike," you said, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. "’s been weird not seeing you as much the last few days.”

“yeah?”

"yeah," you murmured, looking down at him. now that you were this close, keeping up the casual front was getting harder. "but if i'm being honest... i haven't really been able to stop thinking about it. ever since the couch... and the car."

michael's eyes searched yours, his features softening as the tension melted from his shoulders. he let out a long, slow exhale, his head settling back against the carpet.

when he looked at you again, his gaze wandered over your face, lingering like he was trying to memorize every detail.

"i missed you these last few days... and i miss y'now, even when you're sittin' right here." he swallowed. "i jus'..." he whispered, searching your face. "i jus' wanna be close t'you."

his fingertips tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "i wanna hold you." his voice faltered. "i don't wanna keep pretendin' this doesn't mean somethin'."

he let out a slow breath, his forehead nearly brushing yours. "...i think i need you more than i know what t'do with."

for a moment, you couldn't find a single thing to say. a surge of giddiness hit you so hard you had to fight to keep your face from splitting into a grin. you desperately swallowed down the high-pitched squeal threatening to bubble up your throat, forcing yourself to keep it together so you wouldn't give away just how badly he'd short-circuited your brain. 

so you did the only thing you could think of.

you leaned down and kissed him, your hands framing his face, your fingers curling against his jaw as you pulled him up to you. 

the kiss spoke for itself, pouring every ounce of the frustration and longing you couldn't put into words straight into his mouth.

you parted your lips, sliding your tongue against his with an urgency that drew a muffled gasp from him. 

the sound only made you press closer, your chest flattening against his as you drank him in. 

there was a profound ache to the kiss. almost like the release of all the secret longing he'd been hiding away for days. it felt like he was pouring his whole soul into your mouth, every stroke of his tongue tracing a quiet plea against yours. he kissed you like a man who had been starving in the dark, his lips sealing over yours with a reverent hunger that made your chest ache. 

he dragged his mouth away from yours, his breath coming in shallow puffs as he kissed a trail down your cheek, his lips hot against your skin. he pressed a string of kisses along your chin and jaw before his mouth found your neck. 

a quiet moan slipped from your lips as he found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. his lips parted as he sucked gently at the soft skin, the drag of his mouth making your hips twitch against his lap. 

you slid your hand down his chest, past his belt, until your palm rested over the hard ridge beneath the fabric, giving it a gentle squeeze.

michael choked on his breath, his hand flying to still your wrist.

"i wanna make you feel good too.”

"y'don't have to... 's not good for you," he whispered, his fingers trembling around your wrist. 

"not good for me?" you murmured, tilting your head. "but it was fine for you to do it to me?"

he bit his lip, looking away. "'s different f'you. you're... you're a lady. i don't want you messin' with somethin'... like that." 

you bit back a smile. "like what?"

"somethin'... dirty," he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“michael, you tongue-fucked me in the backseat of your car, but this is where you draw the line?”

your blunt words made him look like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. he immediately buried his face behind both hands, heat rushing into his cheeks. 

"d-don't say it like that," he mumbled from behind his hands. 

you laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before gently pulling his hands away. 

leaning closer, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, dragging your lips to the sensitive skin just underneath his ear. “please let me, michael. i want to. don’t you wanna feel good?”

his fingers reached up to gently tangle in your hair, holding you close.

"i do..." he whispered. he swallowed hard, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. "i want to so bad... it's jus' scary. y'make me... so nervous." he let out a quiet laugh before biting his lower lip.

"me? make you nervous?" you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips.

instead of answering, michael slid his hand from your hair, trailing down your arm until his palm found yours. he wrapped his fingers around your hand and guided it to his chest, pressing your palm firmly over his heart, letting you feel how rapidly it was beating. 

"see?" he whispered, his eyes locked on yours. 

you let out a quiet breath before taking his other hand and guiding it to the center of your chest, your heart hammering just as hard beneath his palm.

a soft exhale escaped him before his fingers slid from your chest to cup your jaw. he caught your lips in a kiss, sealing his mouth over yours. 

slowly, you broke the kiss and shifted off him, moving until you were kneeling between his legs at the edge of the twister mat. michael's breath caught, his arms falling back against the carpet, his fingers gripping the edge of the plastic mat as he watched you. the room felt impossibly quiet now, the low music from his stereo nothing more than a distant hum beneath the sound of his shallow breathing.

looking down at the waistband of his trousers, a fresh wave of nerves washed over you. you couldn't believe you were seeing michael — of all people — like this.

your fingers trembled as you reached out, your knuckles brushing the fabric. you worked the button of his trousers loose, the click of the metal loud in the quiet room. carefully, you pulled his zipper down. 

michael's stomach rolled as he drew in a heavy breath, his abdomen tightening while you parted the denim and gently eased his underwear down just enough. 

when he finally sprang free, your breath caught. he was thick, long, already glistening at the tip, the length of him pulsing faintly in the light.

tentatively, you wrapped your fingers around the base of him, giving him a soft, experimental squeeze. 

michael let out a sharp hiss through his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as his back stiffened against the side of the bed.

"o-oh— my—" he gasped, his knuckles paling where around the carpet under his hands. 

"am i hurting you?" you asked, your hand halting.

"no, no," he rushed out between heavy breaths. he glanced down at your hand around him before lifting his eyes back to yours, his voice dropping into a shaky murmur. "jus'... 's real sensitive. your hands are cold." 

you let out a breathy laugh. “‘m sorry.”

wanting to tease him a little, you extended your index finger. carefully, you traced the pad of your finger along the prominent vein running beneath his length. 

michael let out a strained groan, his hips squirming weakly against the floor. you kept your eyes on his face, watching his eyelids flutter and his throat bob with every stroke. 

when your hand reached the very top, you lightened your touch until it was barely there. using just the tip of your finger, you slowly circled the crown, swirling through the clear bead of pre-cum gathering there. 

a loud whimper slipped from his lips, his hips jerking upward. he bit down hard on his lower lip, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. he didn't think he'd ever been more turned on in his life. 

"please," he breathed, his voice cracking as his eyes grew glassy. "please don't tease me."

"but you like it, don't you?" you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips.

michael let out a strained sound, his head falling back as he stared helplessly at the ceiling. 

"don't you, mikey?" you coaxed.

"don't... don't make me say it," he whispered, an embarrassed laugh slipping free as his shoulders shook. 

you smiled but didn't press him any further. instead, you shifted closer, leaning down between his thighs as your hand stroked him with more purpose, your thumb smoothing over the ridge. 

when you finally parted your lips and took the warm, wet tip of him into your mouth, michael let out a broken moan, gasping as you swirled your tongue around the crown. his eyebrows pinched together as he looked down at you.

your long lashes cast soft shadows against your flushed cheeks as your eyes lifted to meet his. his chest tightened. he couldn't stop staring at the way your lips moved around him, at the shine of your mouth every time you pulled back before taking him in again. you looked so pretty.

too pretty to be doing this to him.

every filthy thought he'd been too embarrassed to let himself have came rushing forward all at once, and for the first time, he didn't have it in him to push them away.

all he wanted was more. deeper. slower. again. he didn't know where one thought ended and the next began anymore. his hands flew straight up to cover his mouth, trying to muffle helpless whimpers spilling out.

and you took that as a challenge to see just how loud you could get him.

you wrapped your fingers firmly around his base, your hand acting as an anchor. you focused entirely on the very top. you parted your lips just enough to take the sensitive crown back into your mouth, using the flat of your tongue to apply a heavy pressure, dragging it flat across the ridge in long strokes.

above you, michael's entire body stiffened. a gasp caught behind his palms.

you didn't give him a second to recover. keeping your tongue flat against the underside of the tip, you swirled it in tight circles right over the slit, matching the pace with a pulsing squeeze of your hand at the base.

a high, broken whine tore from his throat, his hands flying to your head as his lower body gave a helpless twitch, his hips lifting off the carpet. he tried to ground himself, his long legs tensing, but god, you were killing him.

the slick sound of your mouth sucking him so greedily was so filthy.

michael's hips jerked upward again, pushing him deeper into your mouth. 

just as he was about to apologize, you swallowed past the tightness in your throat and hummed against him. the vibration drew a pathetic little squeak from him.

you wrapped your free hand around the very base of him, twisting your palm as you slid it up to meet your lips, catching the trailing wetness before spreading it back down his length. your mouth settled into a slow, sloppy rhythm. 

you pushed forward, taking his dick deeper down your throat than before. the heavy stretch forced a gag from your chest, tears welling up in your eyes and spilling over your lashes from the intrusion.

he was practically trying to run from you, backing up until his shoulders bumped against the edge of the bed, trapped between the frame and the pull of your mouth. 

you kept your eyes on his, taking in every flicker of pleasure across his face, every flutter of his lashes, every pinch of his brows. you wanted to remember him exactly like this, committing every twitch of his jaw and every dark flush to memory. 

watching him lose himself underneath you made your own core throb. you subtly pressed your thighs together, hoping the pressure would dull the ache. it didn't. 

"w-wait, wait, 'm gonna— ah—" 

his voice broke completely, a high, panicked whimper tearing through the room as his abdomen knotted.

michael panicked, realizing you weren't getting off. his hand frantically shot down to grip your shoulder, trying to pull you up and off him, desperate to keep you from getting a mouthful of something he was convinced would gross you out. 

but you weren't a quitter.

you gently brushed his hands away, tightening your grip on his base without pulling away. 

he came with a loud, broken groan, his hips giving three jolts forward. your name slipped from his lips in a breathless whine that you knew would replay in your mind for days. you held him tight through the tremors, swallowing down the hot bursts of his cum, continuing to suck softly even as his body shivered and went lax against the edge of the bed.

when the final twitch subsided, you slowly slid your mouth off him, the wet sound of the release echoing in the quiet of the bedroom. you swallowed the last of him, cleaning up the stray wetness along his length with a slow swipe of your tongue before sitting back on your heels.

michael was a puddle against the side of his bed. his chest was heaving in deep drafts, one arm flung over his eyes while the other lay limp across the carpet, his fingers still twitching every now and then. the deep crimson in his cheeks had spread all the way down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. 

michael let out a weak little groan from beneath his arm as you tucked him back into his pants. slowly, he peeked out from under his elbow, his large, glassy eyes lifting to you as you climbed back over him. 

he reached out, his fingers finding yours before gently pulling your hand toward him. he lifted it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss into the center of your palm, his lips warm against your skin. 

bringing his face close to yours, he leaned in, his eyelids fluttering shut as he pressed a tender kiss to your left cheek, then your right, his curls brushing against your face. when he finally found your lips, the kiss was slow and so, so sweet.

you pulled back just an inch, your fingers resting on his shoulders as you looked down at his flushed face. a playful smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“i won, by the way.”

michael let out a quiet huff of a laugh, his shoulders shaking beneath you.

"you did not," he protested "the mat was slippery, 's all. it don't count."

"it does count," you laughed, finally climbing off him to sit cross-legged on the carpet.

"absolutely not. you fell right on top of me!"

"yeah, because you moved and made me fall!" you shot back, gesturing at the crumpled plastic. "you lost your footing, michael. just admit it."

“i didn’t lose because the game was rigged," he insisted.

"keep telling yourself that."

"y’know what, i will," he murmured, a soft grin breaking across his face.

you rolled your eyes, reaching over to help him gather up the ruined twister mat that was probably headed straight for the trash.

you were glad the awkwardness of the last few days had finally melted away. you and michael were still the same two idiots arguing over who won a game of twister.

the only thing that had changed was everything in between.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

im so bad at writing endings like GODDDDD

and twister positions

i had a bit of a diff vision for this originally but unfortunately i stink with words so i'll see if i can make up for it in a potenial p3

also his confession was (loosely) inspired by the intro of his song, i can't stop loving you :p

Late Sunday evening had settled over the Hayvenhurst estate and the scent of fried chicken, collard greens, mac & cheese, and cornbread was still wafting through the home. 

Some new variety show played quietly on the television in the background, but it was drowned out by the Jackson brothers’ loud voices overlapping. They were lounging around after dinner and someone had brought out the good whiskey. 

At the edge of the couch sat Michael, halfway listening and picking at a loose string on his sleeve. He was mostly quiet like he always was when this kind of talk came up. 

Whenever his brothers started having locker room conversations he stayed out of it. 

His private life— especially anything in relativity to you— stayed close to the vest.

Tito leaned back in the leather armchair nursing his second glass of the night. He was grinning wide, saying “I’m tellin’ you man, hittin’ it from the back changed the game for me. You get that angle right, put her face down, ass up… she gon’ lose her mind. A whole different kind of cryin’.”

At this, Michael’s head snapped up. 

The word cryin’ had piqued his interest. 

Heat began spreading across the back of his neck as he listened closer. Jermaine jumped in and nudged Tito with his elbow. He looked over his shoulder before speaking to make sure none of the ladies were about to wander into the room. 

The guys’ wives were currently having their own chat, still sat around the dining table drinking wine.

Once the coast was clear, he added “Especially if you know how to find that lil’ spot deep inside that makes her legs shake and her voice get all high and whiny like she can’t talk straight.” He pointed at Tito smirking, “And if you add a pillow under her hips and hit it just right, she gon’ love you forever.”

Michael gulped audibly. His fingers were now frozen in place. Tito heard it and grinned even bigger. 

“What Mike? You and your girl ain’t never tried it?” 

Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes, “You guys can be such pigs”. He mumbled while avoiding eye contact.

Truthfully, no, you guys hadn’t. 

You and Michael had just started being intimate and it was mostly in missionary where Michael stayed pressed chest to chest with you and couldn’t stop kissing you. 

He loved being able to see your pretty face and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

That is— until now.

Tito didn’t let up. “Mike, with the body that girl got, man? You playin’, right? The way her ass sits? You still doin' it missionary like a church boy?” 

The brothers chuckled together in that loud and playful way they always did. 

Michael cut his eyes as Tito. He felt defensiveness bubble to the surface quickly, sharp and protective. 

This wasn’t new. His brothers had been on him for months now ever since you started coming around. You were real thick, and fine as hell. A real brown skin beauty. This was a synonymous agreement amongst them all. 

Every time you came over, he caught them doing low whistles or elbowing each other when they thought he wasn’t looking. 

“Damn Mike… you got all that and you still playin’ it safe? Couldn’t be me.” They’d say once you were out of earshot, shaking their heads. 

They weren’t wrong, you were fine as hell, and he had definitely been playing it safe. But you were his girl, and therefore his business. 

“Don’t talk about her like that.” He said, voice low and firm. “That’s my girl and y’all need to mind your own business, quit sayin’ all that stuff about her body. Keep it to yourself.”

Jermaine and Jackie oooh’d in high pitched voices before sipping their drinks, staying out of it. 

Everyone knew how Michael got when it came to you. 

Out of all the brothers he was the most sensitive, romantic, and emotionally attached when it came to women. And to make things more intense, you were his first. 

First real girlfriend, first girl he’d ever invited over— and more recently, to spend the night. You were the first person he’d ever been intimate with. 

To Michael that was sacred. He was a bit of a late bloomer, and you thought it was adorable.

You loved being able to experience new things with him. Honestly, you had him wrapped right around your finger. If you asked him to pluck the stars out the sky one by one, he would. 

Tito held his hands up in surrender, still laughing. “Aight, aight. We ain’t mean no harm, but for real Mike. You still got a lot to learn, and that’s a good thing. Means you get to figure it out with her, make her feel brand new every time.” Then he winked and took another drink from his glass. 

“Whatever, Tito” he rolled his eyes. 

Michael was mostly quiet for the rest of the night, but the words stuck with him, sparking a lightbulb in his head.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that same week you stopped by the house to drop off something for Michael. He was upstairs changing and had asked Tito and Jermaine to keep an ear out for the door because he was expecting you. 

You were rounding the corner when you overheard Tito’s voice, real low. 

“Damn, she fine as hell. Hips that’ll make a grown man drool like a baby. Her body is crazy man. And Mike still playin', doin’ it like its 1965.” 

He and Jermaine chuckled together and then Jermaine replied, “Mike don’t know what to do with all that. She probably makin’ that boy forget his own name.”

You stepped into the doorway as if you hadn’t heard anything, smile sweet and eyes soft. “What y’all doin’?” Immediately, the energy changed. Tito sat up straighter and his grin turned warm and respectful.

“Hey sweetheart. You lookin’ pretty today.” Jermaine nodded in agreement with a sweet voice.

“How you doin’ baby girl? Go on up, Mike’s waitin’ on you”

Thanking them you turned and headed up the long winding staircase, smirking to yourself. 

You weren’t visually impaired; you knew exactly what kind of body you had and the effect it had on men.

But as for Michael’s brothers? Out of respect, they would never dare say anything of the sort to your face. 

You had skin-tight bell bottom jeans on that accentuated your curvy figure, and the top you had on revealed a peek-a-boo of cocoa skin at the small of your back. You made sure to roll your hips extra hard as you trailed up the stairs to your man.

Both brothers’ eyes followed the sway of your hips and the full, heart-shaped curve of your ass as you walked away. 

Once you were out of earshot, Jermaine and Tito gave each other a knowing look. Tito let out a low appreciate whistle under his breath. 

Jermaine shook his head and walked away, “I’m tellin’ you man, Mike don’t know what to do with all that.”.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

That same day Michael found himself at the library. He asked Bill to drop him off for a while so he could do some research on a new dance style he was trying.

But truthfully? He was trying to figure out what to do with all that.

He walked into the library with his hoodie pulled low over his curls and large sunglasses covering most of his face. When he got to the help desk he asked the librarian for books on female anatomy. Specifically medical ones— the kind with diagrams. 

Once the package was secure Michael made his way to the back of the library to a corner that seemed quiet enough and settled down at a table. His heart was thumping so hard he thought he could feel it in his throat. 

Michael took one more look around before he cracked the book and began scrolling through its pages. His face felt hot when his eyes finally landed on the diagram he’d been looking for. 

The description of the sensitive bundle of nerves made everything his brothers were saying click. He scanned the page slowly to make sure he understood.

How pressure there could make everything clench and flutter and cry. The idea that touching you a certain way and a certain angle could pull that kind of reaction from you felt like a new language to Michael. 

One that he was desperate to speak. 

He flipped the page and when he saw the illustration on it of the anterior vaginal wall he gasped softly and nearly dropped the book. 

His fingers fumbled as he quickly shut it, suddenly embarrassed at the idea that someone might come near. Quickly Michael decided that he needed a private place to study. 

The only thing was, when he went to stand to leave, he finally noticed the not-so subtle tent that had formed in his pants as he was reading. 

So, he sat there for a long minute, fumbling with the book and breathing through it while his ears burned hot with embarrassment. 

Once he had contained himself enough he tucked the book under his arm and checked it out at the front desk with his head down like he was hiding something sacred. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The next afternoon Michael thought he was alone. 

He had his book open— and fairly close to his face due to how intrigued he was. 

The house was quiet which was a rarity. He was just getting to the good part about applying rhythmic pressure and circling the spot when he heard footsteps coming toward him.

Immediately he looked up. Tito walked in and locked eyes with Michael. But before he could speak or greet him, he saw the look that flickered across his face.

It was the same look Michael would get as a little boy whenever he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. The same look he had seen on his face when Michael was 10 and snatched one of his older brother’s magazines, being nosey of course. 

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t realize he was looking down at a Playboy until Tito called out, “Mike, they filmin’ you”. Instantly he had dropped the magazine like it was on fire. Just like he did the book in his hands now.

Michael felt like he was in one of those old ninja movies. The ones where the screen splits in half and the camera closes in on both their eyes. He knew he was caught. Michael’s fingers tightened around the book on instinct, but it was already too late. He had maybe 5 seconds to react and he knew it.

Tito’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, and before Michael could even move Tito quickly crossed the room in 3 strides and snatched the book from him. “What you got here, Mike?” Michael’s eyes went huge.

“Give it back, man—” But Tito was already teasing and holding the book out of his reach. He started flipping pages and reading aloud in a sultry voice, teasing Michael. 

“To stimulate the G-spot, apply firm, rhythmic pressure to the anterior vaginal wall approximately two inches inside… combine with clitoral stimulation for maximum effect…” Tito hooted in amusement. “Aw man, we got Mikey studyin’! Look at this — diagrams and everything. Lil’ man out here doing homework for his girl!”

Jackie and Jermaine heard the commotion from the other room and came in to be nosey. Tito kept going, his voice getting higher as his amusement grew. 

“The tissue may swell and become more sensitive with continued stimulation…” He looked away from the book to his little brother “You really got sticky notes in the margins with notes Mike? I’m proud of you man, finally learnin’ how to handle all that fine ass your girl got”.

Michael’s face was on fire. He reached for the book, voice sharp with embarrassment and a little bit of attitude even though he knew it was just teasing. “Give it back Tito, don’t! I’m serious, that ain’t funny.”

Tito held the book out of reach still chuckling then acted like he was gonna hand it over. He extended the book to Michael, but when he reached for it— he yanked it back at the last second still giggling to himself at Michael’s diligence. 

“You sure you ready for all this knowledge?” He laughed harder when Michael glared at him hard. “Aight, happy studying then.”

Michael snatched the book back, grumbling “You guys are so dumb” under his breath as he stormed off to his room. A chorus of his older brothers’ warm teasing followed him all the way there. 

Yeah they were clowning him, but they were happy he was stepping up.

Later that night when things were actually quiet and it was safe, Michael stayed up late with the book open on his bed. 

He kept re-reading the section on angle and pressure. He felt flustered from how explicit the instructions were, but he was determined to do right by his woman.

At one point, he even grabbed a pillow and slipped it under his hips to practice the slow rolling motion the book described. Of course, with his face buried in his arm because he felt ridiculous—and horny— at the same time.

He kept thinking about you. How pretty you sounded when you came for him, and about how he wanted to make you cry the good kind of tears.

When you came over the next day Michael caught himself watching the way your hips swayed when you walked and how full your ass looked in the jeans you wore. 

His eyes lingered for longer than they usually did, but he quickly looked away when you turned over your shoulder to ask him something. He wasn’t usually like that…vulgar. 

He appreciated your body and loved every inch of it but researching this new information had him feeling bashful, anxious, and eager all at once. 

Still, he simply tucked his hands in his pockets and tried to act normal. The image stayed with him all day though.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

That weekend the Jackson family left for New York City to celebrate Janet. She had just landed a guest star role on the show Diff’rent Strokes and was over the moon about it. It was one of the most popular shows on television. 

Katherine had suggested that the family fly out to watch her first few days on set because Jan's nerves were high. If there was one thing the Jacksons were gonna do, it was pull together for one of their own.

Everyone was going, except Michael. He declined claiming that he had some new music he had to get out, so he needed to be near his studio. 

And everyone knew how Michael was when it came to getting his ideas out in a timely manner. “We know, we know Mike” Marlon had said on his way out. “You gotta get it out now or God’s gonna give the idea to Prince.” He rolled his eyes dramatically before closing the door behind him. 

Michael sighed contently, a large smile taking over his features. 

Finally. 

He did have music he wanted to work on, butttt that’s not why he declined to go. 

This was the best time for him to put his knowledge to the test without fear of anyone overhearing or interrupting. Michael headed down to the kitchen immediately. 

He knew exactly whose help he needed. “Hey Ms. Nancy” Michael leaned up against the kitchen counter unsuspectingly, peering over the older women’s shoulder as she stirred something that smelled delicious in a large pot.

Nancy hadn’t heard Michael enter the room but she turned around smiling a smile that reached her eyes. “Hey baby, what you still doin’ here? Not goin’ to celebrate Jan?” Michael shook his head and his curls fell across his forehead as he did so. 

“No ma’am. I had some things I needed to get done back here… Can I ask you a favor?”

She looked over at Michael again and raised an eyebrow. “I’m not making vegan lasagna again, Michael. That cheese is just nasty.” she screwed up her nose at the thought. Michael laughed hard at the memory of the watery lasagana. 

“No, no. I promise I’ll never ask you to do that again. I was just wonderin’… I wanna have my girl come over tonight for a little date. Before you leave for the day, do you think you could whip us up somethin’?” 

She smiled knowingly to herself as she focused on attending to the pot. “Oh you had some extra work to do, huh? You ain’t got to lie to Ms. Nancy, baby. I was young once.” Michael’s face felt hot and his eyes widened. He covered his face and nervous giggles escaped him.

“It’s not like that Ms. Nancy! Just gonna spend some time now that it’s quiet, that’s all.”

“Mhm, alright now.” She gave him a look that clearly said “you can’t fool me honey, you ain’t slick. I’ve known the game longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Whatcha want me to make baby? She loved that honey butter cornbread last time, I ended up sending some home with her.” 

Michael’s stomach rumbled and he nodded in agreement. “That would be perfect. And can you make that one dish with the smothered chicken and rice that she likes?”

“I got you. Want me to leave the stove on low so it can stay warm?”

“Yes please, you’re the best” Michael pressed a sweet kiss to Ms. Nancy’s cheek and thanked her before turning and heading out of the kitchen. “Tell Mr. Greg I said hello” He yelled over his shoulder as he headed off to his next destination. 

“I will baby.” She called back.

Everything was coming together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that evening, Michael had asked Bill to pick you up to bring you over. You told him you could drive but he insisted on waiting on you hand and foot. 

You were so confused when you got to the estate and there was no one playing basketball outside. No music drifting through the windows. It looked empty. 

You almost asked Bill if he was sure Michael was home before he stepped out of the front door. 

He stood waiting patiently, a shy sweet smile on his face as he waited for Bill to park. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

“Mikey?” You looked around suspiciously as he opened your door for you. Instantly, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest.

“Hi baby. It’s so good to see you, how was the ride over?” He looked you over as if he hadn’t seen you in days before pressing a soft lingering kiss to your lips.

“It was fine Mikey, where is everybody? Why is it so quiet, is everything okay?” 

You were getting concerned now. Hayvenhurst was never this empty. Michael let out a breathy laugh and nodded.

“They all went to New York. Went to see Jan. She had some stuff she was working on and mother wanted the whole family there.” He paused but his doe eyes stayed on you. “I stayed behind 'cause I wanna be with you.” 

You were flattered but didn’t ask him to elaborate further. No way were you gonna complain about finally getting alone time with your man in his mansion.

He took your hand in his large one and led you toward the house, thanking Bill and saying goodbye. “I asked Ms. Nancy to make dinner” He said looking over at you shyly. “Wanna wash up first? It’s ready whenever you are.”

Now you raised your eyebrows. Not because Michael wasn’t usually thoughtful, he always was. Sometimes too much and to his own detriment. But, this evening suddenly started to feel special in a way you couldn’t pinpoint.

“For meee?” Playfully you raised a hand to your chest in a flattered way. 

“You’re so cute. Yes, silly. Of course, for you. Always for you.” His gaze held yours a little longer now, lips curved in an adorable boyish smile. 

“What she make?” You asked. He scratched the back of his neck bashfully.

“Smothered chicken, yellow rice, cheesy broccoli, and cornbread.” Your whole face lit up before you could hide it. 

“Mike, you know that’s my favorite!” You were already smiling big. Michael’s expression softened and admiration glazed over his features.

He was always enamored by how small things made you so happy. He thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. Especially when your eyes got big and you bit your lip trying not to smile too hard.

“I know” He said quietly, thumb massaging your hand that it was holding gently. “That’s why I asked for it.”

Stepping in close, you wrapped your arms around his middle. “You’re so sweet. How’d I get so lucky?”

Michael couldn’t stop the grin he had from getting bigger. He loved feeling chosen by you. He hugged you back and laughed under his breath. Chin resting on your head.

“Go wash up mama, I’ll fix your plate.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Dinner was quiet in the best way. You guys sat at the kitchen table instead of the big formal one since it was just the two of you. Between bites you chatted and caught up, although there wasn’t much to catch up on because Michael made sure he saw you nearly every day. If he didn’t see you, he’d speak to you at least twice on the phone. It was clingy but you loved it.

He asked you what you had been up to for the day. You told him a funny story about your little cousin.

You guys were at the mall and she was talking loudly about how her mama was trippin’ on her about not wanting her to hang out with some guy.

And then, her mom appeared right behind her as she was in the middle of rolling her neck and saying, “I don’t care what she say, I’m still goin’ with him to that party. If I gotta climb out my window, I’m goin.”

Long story short, when she looked and saw your aunt standing behind her, arms crossed and lips pursed, she changed her whole tune. Michael laughed hard and shook his head he loved hearing stories about your life. It was nice. Normal.

Every time you made a happy little sound as you took a bite his eyes flicked up to you like he couldn’t help watching. When you tore a piece of cornbread and dipped it in the gravy, he smiled to himself and looked down at his plate. Things felt easy with you. Comfortable, like home. 

By the time the plates were empty you both were full and lazy.

“C’mon” Michael stretched his hand out to you. “Movie?” You accepted it without thinking.

In the den the lighting was warm and low. Michael put on something but you weren't really paying close attention to it. You were stretched out on the big couch on your back and he was settled between your legs, cheek resting against your tummy and arm draped loosely over your thigh. His weight was warm and familiar and every now and then he’d turn his head and press a soft, slow kiss to the skin right above your navel.

Absentmindedly, you played with his curls. His breathing matched yours and every so often his fingers would stroke lazily along the side of your thigh. After a while, he turned to look up at you with big doe eyes. 

“There’s somethin’ I wanna show you” He said quietly, “In my room… come with me?” You shrugged and said sure, allowing him to pull you up off of the couch.

You followed him down the hall expecting a new demo he’d been working on or one of his quiet little hobbies. But when he opened the bedroom door, the air was warm and sweet with candlelight.

A new Stevie Wonder record was spinning on his turntable. And the bed— the bed was made neatly, pillows fluffed, rose petals scattered over the comforter and everything glowing gold.

Your eyebrows knit in confusion as you stopped in the doorway. “Michael… what is all this?”

He turned to you with a shy smile tugging at his lips, shoulders a little hunched. “Just… just tryin’ somethin’. For you. For us.”

He stepped close and placed gentle hands on your waist to lean in and kiss you. It started slow and soft, the kind that made your stomach flutter. His lips moved against yours like he couldn’t help himself, tongue gently trailing along your bottom lip to request access. His tongue slid warm and careful against yours.

One hand came up to cup your jaw and his thumb stroked your cheek as he kissed you deeper. He pulled back just enough to mumble against your lips, a little out of breath.

“I love kissin’ you so much,” he whispered. “Could do this all night and still not get enough.”

He kissed you slower this time like he was trying to prove it. You melted into it. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. He made a quiet appreciative sound in his throat and kept kissing you, nipping softly at your bottom lip.

Only when both of you were a little dazed did he start walking you backward toward the bed. He eased you down and followed you. Then he started all over again. Kissing your throat and your collarbones, pushing your shirt up inch by inch so he could mouth at the soft skin at your stomach.

He took his time kissing down your tummy before going lower and settling on your thighs. His hands rubbed slow circles on them as he pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh where the skin was softest.

When your muscles twitched against his lips he smiled to himself and did again. Slower and higher this time. He let the anticipation build until your hips were shifting restlessly against the sheets under you.

A hot, open mouthed kiss was pressed over your panties and your breath caught. He looked up at you with dark, soft eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Every part of you.”

He took his time taking off your panties, hooking his fingers in the waistband and easing them down.

For a second he just gazed and admired how puffy and pretty your pussy looked. He still couldn’t believe he got to see you like this. Then, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss right over your clit. You made a quiet sound.

He settled in farther between your legs like he belonged there, shoulders gently spreading your legs wider. His tongue was gentle and he licked you with long careful strokes that made your hips roll against him without you intending to. He watched every little reaction closely and used them as a guide. If your breath caught in your throat, he stayed there. If your thighs shook in his hands, he did it again softer. He moaned quietly into you when you got wetter like the taste of you was something he wanted to savor.

“Mikey…” you gasped, hands gently threading through his curls.

He hummed against you teasingly to answer you which made your hips jolt. His tongue licked you flat and broad then he used the tip of it to gently circle your clit. One of his hands stayed on your thigh rubbing soothing circles while the other slid up to lace his fingers with yours.

When his lips sealed over your clit and sucked your back arched and soft moans fell past your lips. Michael loved it, and he kept that same patient rhythm as he kept you from pulling your hips away from him. He listened closely to the way your breathing changed. Then, he slid two fingers inside you and curled them slow, searching until he found a spot that made your hips jerk.

The way he stayed right there and used his tongue and fingers to stroke you had you seeing stars and tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from how good it felt. Michael moaned in appreciation when your thighs started quaking around his shoulders.

“That’s it, good girl baby” he murmured against you. “Let me make you feel good.”

The orgasm rolled through you in long, slow waves. Your fingers tightened in his hair and your hips pushed up against his mouth but he didn’t stop. He kept licking and sucking you through every throb, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive to his touch. Only when you started gently pushing at his shoulders with a breathless little sound did he back away.

His gaze lingered on the pleasure-struck look on your pretty face as he pressed soft kisses to your thighs and made his way back up to your lips. His lips were shiny, eyes bright and soft.

He brushed his lips against yours and his eyes drifted across your features adoringly. He loved the way you got so dazed after he made you cum like that.

“I been thinkin’ bout somethin’,” he said softly. “I wanna try somethin’ new with you. If you trust me.”

“What, Mikey?” you asked, still breathless. He bit his lip nervously but held your gaze steadily.

“I…I want you to turn around for me, baby. On your knees… face down so I can love on you the way I been wantin’ to.”

The way he said it made your tummy flip. He never talked like that. Your eyes fluttered in surprise but you obeyed him immediately without question. Turning away from him, you pressed your chest and cheek to the mattress and arched your back to raise your ass high in the air.

Michael went completely still at your submission. The candle light was flickering against your soft brown skin, highlighting your pretty heart-shaped ass. His eyes trailed over your frame in the provocative position and admired how your waist dipped in at your wide hips that looked way more dramatic in this position.

He couldn’t help but notice the way your cheeks spread just enough to show the glistening lips of your pussy peeking out between them, a single strand of arousal dripping from you. Michael nearly drooled.

“Lord have mercy…” He exhaled. His hands explored you gently as if this was all new, palms sliding over the backs of your thighs to cup the fullness of your ass.

He squeezed gently then trailed his hands to your hips, gently running his thumbs over the dimples at the small of your back. “You look so pretty like this… I don’t even know what to do with myself, mama.”

He kissed your back where his thumbs has just been and then pressed another one to your right cheek.

He stood up straight and raised his t shirt up exposing his belly. Then he pushed his sweats down just enough. He was already hard, tip leaking with pre-cum from him rutting the mattress while he drooled from how good you tasted. 

He dragged the head gently through your folds in a teasing way before letting it catch on your entrance. “You trust me, baby?” he whispered as he slid up to bump your clit. You made a soft surprised sound and he giggled.

“Yes baby, of course I trust you.”

That was all the permission Michael needed to show you everything he had learned for you.

He placed a hand on your hip and pushed in carefully and slowly. You let out a low satisfied sound as he slowly stretched you inch by inch, biting his lip to contain himself.

“Takin’ me so good, princess.” His voice was shaking a little. “So warm and tight… I can feel every little flutter.” He bottomed out, hips flush against you and stayed there for a moment. Once he was sure you were okay, he began moving in slow, deep, searching rolls like he was looking for something. Until oh— he found it.

The second the head of his dick nudged that spot your eyes rolled back and a broken gasp punched out of your chest. Your hips pushed back against him to take him deeper on instinct.

After a few strokes he felt your walls clench around him and suddenly, you got a lot wetter. When he looked down to watch himself stroking you, you were creaming thick and white around the base of his dick.

Michael’s eyes went wide. He had never made you do that before. “Oh… there it is. That’s it, ain’t it?”

He repeated the motion from the same angle with another deep nudge. You pushed back against him harder with a high, whiny moan spilling past your lips. Exactly how his brothers had described it. Your thighs shook slightly and he could feel you creaming more as the obscene sounds filled the room.

He pulled his t-shirt the rest of the way up and brought it to his lips so he could hold it with his teeth. He wanted an unfiltered look at the pretty picture he was painting between your legs.

Once free, his hands found their way to your hips and his thumbs pressed into the dimples there. He started fucking you deep and focused on angling every stroke to hit that spot over and over again.

He was still a little unsure, so he asked “Right there? Does that feel good, baby? I… I been readin’ ‘bout this. Wanted to make you feel good. Wanna make you cry for me the way Tito said.”

You nodded hard, pushing back against him for more and biting your lip when the movement made him nudge against your cervix. “Yes— yes, Mikey doin’ so good, don’t stop—”

He let out a shaky breath and kept rolling his hips. “Thank you baby, I learned it all for you. Been studyin’ so hard for you. So I could be perfect, just for you”

Your moans grew higher, completely wrapped in ecstasy and love. You kept pushing back, chasing it, thighs already starting to shake. His praise came in soft pieces between his breaths.

“Your skin looks so pretty in this light mama…” 

“Love how soft you feel… smell so good too, like cocoa butter” 

“These hips, baby…”

You were still pushing back for more, hips rolling to meet every deep stroke until— the intensity started tipping over into something sharper.

The pleasure got so concentrated it almost scared you. Your arms trembled and you tried to stay with it, but the pressure on that spot was becoming so intense that your body started easing forward on the bed without you consciously realizing it.

“Mikey—” you gasped, voice high and shaky. “Wait— it’s… it’s t-too much—”

His hips chased you as he trailed a hand slowly up the length of your back.

“Hand me a pillow, baby” You didn’t compute his request immediately due to being lost in the rhythm of his strokes.

One hand came down in a playful spank against the side of your ass. Not hard, just enough to make you jump a little and moan.

Instantly you obliged. He took the pillow from you and gently tucked it under your tummy under your hips. Instantly your back felt supported— and the pressure in your core increased.

His palm settled between your shoulder blades, gentle but firm, to keep you right where he wanted you. The other hand gripped your hip and pulled you back onto him in one smooth motion so he could keep the angle.

“I know, mama, I know,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing around the shirt in his mouth. “Feels so good, don’t it? Don’t run from me. Be a good girl and let me keep massagin’ that spot just right.”

You could hear how much wetter you were getting, and you could feel it too. Messy, creamy strings of your essence and his pre-cum every time he pulled back and thrust in again. Your arousal was coating his dick thicker, dripping down his balls now onto the sheets.

He watched it happen and his lips parted as the muscles in his stomach clenched and fluttered every time you creamed more around him. Your ass rippled and jiggled slightly with every thrust, back arching deeper because of your curves. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your heart-shaped ass bouncing soft and pretty against him in the candlelight.

“That’s my good girl…” he cooed, voice hoarse around the fabric in his mouth. “Look at you creamin’ all over me, baby. Your body was made for this, I swear. I love every inch of you. These thighs, this sexy lil’ waist,” he gently squeezed your love handles. “Pretty ass bouncin’ just for me. You smell like home, baby. Feel like home. I love you. I love makin’ you feel this good.”

Your eyes rolled back hard at the praise. “L-love you too Mikey— it feels so good— so— so good—” the words broke apart between high breathless moans as the pressure inside you kept building higher and higher.

It felt like something was about to break. Your thighs trembled violently and drool slipped from the corner of your mouth onto the pillow as your walls fluttered endlessly around him.

 You could feel it. An intense, almost scary pressure right on your spot. Then your eyes fluttered open just enough to notice the towel spread underneath you. Very carefully placed. He planned for this.

Michael leaned forward and gently grabbed your jaw to tilt your head back so he could kiss you. As his mouth met yours he shifted the angle of his hips, gently alternating between nudging the sensitive swollen tissue of your G-spot and pressing just a little deeper so the head of his dick brushed your cervix.  It was pornographic.

The combination of the tender open-mouthed kiss and the dual stimulation made your eyes flutter with submission and roll back. You moaned into his mouth, soft and helpless.

He kissed you like he couldn’t help it, soft and deep as he gave you those slow, alternating strokes before finally letting your head drop back down.

“Your ass looks so pretty like this,” he breathed, almost to himself. Then his cheeks went hot. “Can I say that? Tell me I can say it, baby.”

You looked back at him over your shoulder with glassy eyes.

“You can say whatever you want, Mikey… I love you. And I want you to stay inside. I went and got on the pill. Been thinkin’ about tryin’ somethin’ new with you too.”

His eyes lit up. Something warm and confident sparked behind them. The words his brothers had said echoing in his head. You hit that lil’ spot deep inside her, and she gon’ love you forever. He gripped your hips a little firmer, a soft new certainty in the way he moved.

The pressure kept climbing. Your voice cracked.

“Mikey— wait— I think I gotta— I think I gotta pee—”

His whole face changed. Eyes bright and shining like he’d just unlocked a new level in a video game.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said, voice low and coaxing, a little breathless with excitement. “Don’t hold it. Don’t be scared. Just let it go for me. I read about this… it’s supposed to feel like that when it’s real good. You’re doin’ so good for me. Just let it happen mama. I got you.”

You almost giggled at how earnest he sounded until he nudged that spot again, slow and deliberate. Your eyes rolled back hard. The pressure broke. A sharp, wet rush of fluid gushed out of you around his dick, soaking the towel and splashing against his thighs as you squirted hard, body shaking, high-pitched cries spilling from your throat.

Michael made a sound like he’d just won something. A soft, stunned, almost disbelieving moan left him as he watched and felt you come apart on him.

“Oh my God… baby… look at you…”

The second he felt you squirt, his own orgasm started to crest slow and deep. His eyes fluttered. His stomach muscles clenched. A broken, accidental “F-fuck—” slipped out of him right as the first thick pulse left him.

He immediately looked almost panicked.

“Sorry—! I didn’t mean to say that—” he gasped, still cumming in long, drawn-out waves, hips stuttering as he filled you. “It just— it felt so— oh God, baby, I love you—”

You moaned low and deep when you felt him spill inside you, the warmth of it making your whole body clench around him again. It was y’alls first time like this. Something about the trust of it and the way he stayed buried deep and gave you everything made your eyes sting a little even as another aftershock rolled through you. You pushed back against him weakly, taking every pulse, a soft, satisfied sound leaving your throat.

He stayed inside you until the last tremor passed, arms wrapped tight around your middle, both of you shaking and trying to catch your breath. Stevie Wonder still spun soft in the background.

After a long while he pulled out slowly and kissed the back of your neck. He laid next to you and pulled you on top of him, draping your still shaking thigh across his waist. One hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your lower back.

He was quiet for a while, just breathing you in.

Then, soft and shy he asked, “Did I… did I do okay? Was that good for you?”

You lifted your head enough to kiss him, lazy and sweet.

“More than good, Mikey. You found it. You made me cry just like Tito said you would.”

He buried his face in your neck, cheeks hot, but you could feel him smiling against your skin.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice full of wonder. “I guess I did.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

please respect my work 💌

Everything posted here is written

at your question, he broke his gaze away from the tv, looking over at you with wide eyes.

he let out a small laugh – half-amused, half-shy. he looked down at the couch cushion, shaking his head slightly.

"no," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. “i've never... i've never kissed anyone… at all." 

your jaw drops.

"shut up, no way," you said, a bewildered smile breaking out on your face. "not even a little bit? like, not on a date, or... i don't know, someone you met on tour?"

"no, really," he said, giving a little shrug as he looked down at his lap.

“i mean... ‘m always workin'. it's either rehearsin’ or bein’ in the studio all night... y’know how it is. i jus’ never really focused on stuff like that. i guess i've always been a little too shy, too. it jus’ hasn’t happened." he paused, looking towards you. "what about you? y’talk like you're some kind of expert." 

your face heated up. "i... well, no," you admitted, your voice dropping as you looked down at your hands. "actually, i haven't either.”

michael blinked with a look of surprise before a soft, relieved smile broke through.

"really?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

when you noded, his tone turned a bit more vulnerable. he shifted his weight, pulling one leg up onto the couch so he was facing you a bit more.

"is it... i mean, do y’think it's bad?" michael asked, looking down at his lap for a second. "t’be our age and jus’... not know what it's like? like, i write all these songs ‘bout love, but i don't even know what it's like to be with someone. i'm completely clueless. like how do people know what t’do? like, does it jus’ happen naturally, do y’have to think about where your hands go…?"

he trailed off, looking down at his own hands, his long, slender fingers tracing his palm as if he were genuinely mystified by the mechanics of it.

"i don’t know. i think... everyone just fakes it until they figure it out," you murmured, sliding closer so your knees were touching.

michaels fingers stilled against his palm. at the warmth of your knee pressing against his, his gaze slowly lifted, drifting from your eyes to your lips for a beat. the ambient glow of the tv caught the intense focus in his gaze as he looked back up to meet your eyes.

the silence between you suddenly felt a lot heavier, a lot warmer than it had been a minute ago.

"maybe..." michael started, his voice barely a whisper, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "maybe we should... y'know. practice? jus’ so we aren't so lost when it actually happens."

a stillness settled over the couch, your heart skipping a beat at his words. you looked at him carefully, the weight of the suggestion catching you off guard. had you heard him correctly? 

"practice?" you repeated gently.

michael nodded slowly, his cheeks dusting a pretty flush. "yeah," he breathed, his voice small but eager. "i mean... we both don't know what we're doin'. so it's fair, right? nobody has t’feel embarrassed. we can jus'... figure it out together."

you stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of nerves and excitement.

the idea of actually crossing that line and practicing with him made your pulse skyrocket.

a wave of nerves hit you so hard your throat went completely dry.

the room felt suffocatingly quiet. the ticking of the clock on the wall, the low hum of the air conditioner, the faint murmur of the movie still playing – every little sound seemed louder than it should've.

part of you felt like you should say no just to save yourself the embarrassment of it – you didn't know what you were doing, and the thought of being that exposed made your stomach flip. but at the same time, the curiosity was overwhelming.

you did want to know what it was like. you wanted to finally figure it out, and there was a strange comfort in knowing he was just as clueless as you were.

"yeah," you whispered. "yeah, okay. we're just... figuring it out."

you took a shallow breath, shifting your weight on the cushions until you were sitting directly in front of him, your legs brushing against his.

with one last shaky breath, you leaned in. michael’s eyes flickered with surprise for a split second before his eyelids fluttered shut and he mimicked your motion.

your noses bumped first – a clumsy, awkward angle that almost made you pull back and laugh it off. but then he tilted his head, and your lips finally met.

they were softer than you ever expected and warm. they tasted faintly of the popcorn you’d shared earlier.

you pressed against him tentatively, your head buzzing with an anxious rush of questions: am i doing this right? is he overthinking this too?

then, his lips moved against yours. it was firmer, steadier, as if he was trying to carry both of you through the nerves. he sighed softly against your mouth, the initial tension completely leaving his shoulders.

it wasn't a perfect kiss. it was messy and a little uncoordinated.

you bumped teeth for a second, and michael let out a muffled laugh against your mouth before correcting his posture, angling his head slightly.

it was an awkward kiss. the kind you could never replicate twice.

your firsts.

when you both finally pulled back at the same time, the air between you felt incredibly thick. you let out a shaky laugh, pressing the back of your hand to your burning cheek.

"well," you cleared your throat, trying to find your voice. "that wasn’t… bad."

michael let out a breathy laugh and bit his lip. “yeah," he murmured with a shy smile. "i think we did okay.”

for a second you both just sat there, knees brushing, trying to act like your pulse wasn't thundering in your ears. you reached down to fidget with the hem of your shirt, just to give your hands something to do.

michael watched you, his smile fading as something more contemplative settled over his features. he nervously bit his lower lip, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flipping back up to meet your eyes.

"y’know..." he started, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. he hesitated, his fingers tracing a little circle on the couch cushion between you.

"...maybe we should try it again. but, like–" he cleared his throat. "with tongue. jus’ so we... y'know, really know what we're doin’."

you stared at him, a hot wave rushing to your fingertips. 

"with tongue?" you repeated, the words coming out as a tiny squeak.

you tried to swallow down the sudden dryness in your throat, your mind racing as you looked at the soft, inviting line of his mouth. this felt like a massive leap from the kiss you just shared..

but... if you stopped now, the whole "practice" thing would just be half-done, wouldn't it? you’d still be clueless when the time actually came.

that was the only reason your stomach was flipping like this – you just wanted to make sure you actually learned how to do it right.

there definitely was no other reason to say yes. it was just... a matter of being thorough.

a small, nervous smile tugged at your lips.

"i mean... i guess if we wanna be good at it, we have to, right?" you murmured, your heart hammering against your ribs as you shifted your weight, closing the small gap between your knees.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

he only looked back at you, his cheeks flushed as your eyes searched one another.

you reached out, your hand trembling just a little as you rested it on his shoulder.

the second your hand touched his shoulder, he leaned in, his eyelids fluttering shut.

the initial contact was still a little hesitant, but it didn't last long. michael tilted his head, his chin brushing yours as he found the right alignment, his mouth pressing firmer against yours this time.

the low murmur of the tv faded into the background, swallowed by the loud rush of your own blood to your ears.

his hands came up from the couch cushions his slender fingers tracing a line up your neck before burying themselves deep into the hair at the nape of your neck.

his grip tightened, his fingers threading through the strands and giving a small tug to angle your face exactly where he wanted it.

a gasp escaped your throat from the sensation. michael swallowed the sound, his lips sealing over yours just as he slid the tip of his tongue tentatively past your teeth.

the first contact was electric – a warm, wet swipe that sent a jolt down your spine. it was a completely different feeling than before, deeper and incredibly dizzying.

all you could feel was how good it felt having michael’s tongue prying your lips apart, coaxing its way into your mouth. his lips moved against yours again, with more certainty this time, and every brush – every slide sent sparks across your skin. 

the weight of his large palm at the back of your neck kept you in place. you were both letting out muffled needy sounds into each other's mouths.

a faint alarm was still ringing in your head, warning you that this was reckless – that this was michael, your best friend, and you were crossing a line you couldn't uncross. but your body completely ignored it.

you leaned into him, your chest flushing against his as if gravity were pulling you under, your mouth opening wider for every deep, daring swipe of his tongue. the taste of him was maddeningly familiar and new all at once.

a bloom of heat pooled low in your stomach. your pulse stuttered before racing into overdrive. the air in the room felt suffocatingly hot. every slick slide of his mouth against yours sent another jolt through you, blurring everything else into the background.

when he finally broke the kiss to catch his breath, his forehead remained pressed hard against yours. his chest was heaving, his lips wet and swollen as he let out a ragged exhale.

"does it feel good?" he murmured.

"uh-huh," you managed to breathe out as you blinked up at him, completely dazed.

he pulled back just an inch, his eyes heavy-lidded. michael let out a soft exhale – a breathy laugh, his tongue quickly darting out to lick his lower lip before he bit down on it, as if trying to steady himself.

"could taste your lip gloss," he murmured, his voice raspy.

you let out a small laugh of your own, your thumb subconsciously tracing the seam of his collar as your face burned. "yeah?" you breathed.

michael nodded. his gaze stayed fixated on your mouth, looking at your lips with an intensity, like he was under a spell. his thumb softly brushed the soft skin of your jawline.

michael’s eyes searched yours, his thumb softly brushing the heated skin of your jawline. a confidence flared in his expression, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours.

"do you... do y’want t’keep going?" he murmured.

your answer came in a surge forward, capturing his mouth in another kiss.

it turned messier, rougher.

your teeth grazed his lower lip, making him catch his breath, before his tongue pushed even deeper, his long fingers tightening their grip in your hair like he had absolutely no intention of letting you go.

you could feel the vibration of a laugh in his chest at your eagerness, but it quickly broke into a sound that wasn't a laugh at all. a short, high moan slipped past his throat, stifled against your mouth, sending a bolt of heat between your legs.

you shifted closer, and his free hand slid to your waist. the taste of him, the firm grip in your hair, the sharp scrape of his teeth – felt so overwhelming. it felt like too much and not enough all at once.

this was supposed to be just practice.

your entire body felt alive, every nerve ending firing at once. michael’s breath was hot against your skin, his curls brushing your face as he tilted his head deeper. you pressed firmer against him, the frantic thud of his heart rattling right into your own chest. his fingers tightened in your hair, angling your head back to kiss you harder, deeper, his tongue sliding greedily against yours.

the blanket, once wrapped over both of you, slipped onto the floor, completely forgotten.

a heat coiled low in your stomach, making you shift restlessly as your thigh brushed the solid warmth of his leg. his broad palm tightened on your waist, dragging up the thin fabric of your shirt.

you tried not to notice how instinctively your hips wanted to tilt into him, or the tight ache in your chest. but it was impossible to ignore.

you felt everything – the dizzying taste of him, the nip of his teeth on your lip, and the beautiful sounds escaping his lips.

when you broke for air, your forehead rested against his. both of you were breathing fast and unevenly, the air between you scorching. his lips were wet and swollen, his eyes lidded and locked on yours.

“how does it feel for you?” you question back.

“...feels too good.” he whispered, his voice soft and breathless. he leaned the tinitest bit closer, ghosting his swollen lips against yours as he spoke.

“feels like…” he hesitated, his thumb caressing the bare skin at your hip where your shirt had ridden up, his voice dropping to a raspy murmur. “...like i don’t ever wanna stop.”

you swallowed hard, pulse kicking in your throat.

a million thoughts raced through your head, but the loudest one was the simple realization that you didn't want to stop either. 

all that came out was a shaky breath as you leaned back in, desperate for his mouth to be on yours once again.

and when he kissed you, it stopped being about “practice.”

it was pure hunger.

your hands blindly scrambled up his chest, your fingers tight and unyielding as they grabbed at the fabric of his shirt collar, yanking him closer to you.

michael let out another moan against your lips at the sudden force. his hands slid down from your waist, his palms low on your hips, his fingers digging in as he hitched your weight up and pulled you flush against him – shifting you until you were practically draped right over his thigh.

the kiss was turned sloppy, a frenzied wreck of a kiss, your lips sliding over his, tongues tangling deep and slick without a care for coordination or gentleness.

he was swallowing your gasps, his teeth bumping against yours as he drank you in, both of you completely consumed by the messy, intoxicating heat of it–

the unmistakable sound of the front door swinging open and shut echoed through the foyer, followed by the muffled chatter of his brothers. 

instantly, the spell shattered.

you both scrambled back apart so fast it was a wonder your heads didn't collide. you lunged blindly toward the floor, snatching up the forgotten blanket in a flurry and pulling it all the way up to your chin.

beside you, michael threw himself back against the opposite side of the couch. both of your hearts were hammering violently against your ribs, the spike of adrenaline making your chests heave as you both stared fixedly ahead at the tv screen. the movie was still playing, completely unheeded, as you both desperately tried to quiet the sound of your ragged breathing.

the heavy footsteps and familiar voices of his family grew louder, moving down the hallway toward the living room.

you swallowed hard, your lips tingling from the heat of the kiss.

trying to break the suffocating tension before anyone walked through the door, you cleared your throat and leaned slightly toward him, your voice a shaky whisper.

"well... i think we're safe from embarrassing ourselves."

michael let out a quiet laugh, his hand coming up to nervously rub the back of his neck as a flush crawled all the way up to his ears. he kept his eyes locked straight ahead on the screen, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his kiss-swollen mouth.

"yeah," he murmured, his voice still raspy. he stole a quick glance at you out of the corner of his eye. "guess it was good practice."

you both leaned back into the cushions, trying to pretend the entire room wasn't still vibrating with the aftershocks of what just happened. 

your lips were still tingling and your head was buzzing. an ache continued to pulse in your stomach, refusing to settle down. it had felt so good – too good. dangerously good, even.

the exact kind of good that made you want to completely ignore his family in the hall, lean right back across the couch, and erase the space between you all over again.

but as his brothers' loud voices spilled into the room, you forced your eyes to stay glued to the tv. beside you, michael stiffened, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets as if he were trying to hide how much they were shaking.

you told yourself right then and there that it was over. a one-time fluke. just a heat-of-the-moment mistake that both of you would lock away and never let happen again.

but as you stole one final glance at his swollen lips in the dim light, you caught him doing the exact same thing to yours.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

i debated making this an inexperienced!michael x experienced!reader, but i could not get it right for the life of me

A shy smile tugs at his mouth as he ducks his head a little toward the sink, suddenly finding the plate in his hands very interesting.

“..Well, you cooked for me..” He says softly.

“Mhmm~ ♪ ” You nod, peeking over to smile at his profile.

“So.. I’m doing the dishes for you.” Another kiss is pressed against his cheek at his words.

“You’re sweet.” His ears are hot now, he never really got used to your affection. Every time feels like the first time. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you my sweet angel?” You tickle under his arms and the laugh that leaves him is bright and completely involuntary, shoulders jumping toward his ears as he clamps his arms tightly against his sides.

“Stop it!” The words come out between laughs, Michael twisting away just enough to escape your hands before inevitably ending up right back where he started, wrapped up in you.

You settle against his back again with a satisfied little hum, arms around his waist. After a second, you lean forward and bite his shoulder through the sweater

“Hey.” The protest is immediate, though there’s no real conviction behind it.

You smile against the fabric. “Hmm?” You tighten your arms around his waist, your cheek brushing his shoulder as he reaches for another plate.

“..Besides, I like doin’ things for my lady.”

“Oh, yeah? Your lady?” You repeat with a grin.

Michael hums and one of your hands slips beneath the hem of his sweater, acrylics finding warm skin as you scratch lightly across his stomach, feeling him suck in a small breath. Your hands were always cold when you were here.

You smile against his shoulder and a shy grin pulls at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

“Mm.. I like that, baby.” You say, hand still running along his soft skin.

“Well, you are..” He’s drying a cup with a rag

“I’m what?”

Michael shrugs one shoulder. “My lady.”

He’s halfway through drying his hands when you hook two fingers into the collar of his sweater and tug him towards you as you lean back against the kitchen island, still smiling at him.

He stumbles a half step closer, blinking down at you.

“I like when you claim me like that, daddy.” You chew on your bottom lip, running a hand down the side of his face before caressing his chin.

Michael’s entire face changes: his eyes squeeze shut and a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh escapes him.

“Don’t.. call me that dirty stuff..” The words come out awkward, almost scandalized.

“What’s the matter?” You tilt your head, running your hands down his chest. “Big man..”

Here’s the thing about Michael.

Michael.. likes taking care of you, loves it even. That itself isn’t particularly groundbreaking—anyone who spends five minutes around him could figure that out. He likes carrying things when your hands are full. He likes opening doors. He likes hearing you call for him from another room because you need help with something. He likes being useful to you in a way that feels embarrassingly earnest. Somewhere along the way, usefulness and affection became tangled together until he stopped being able to tell where one ended and the other began.

And it isn’t as though the idea appeared out of nowhere. Michael grew up around men born in a certain generation, and men always seemed to have very strong opinions about how other men were supposed to act. Most of it came from his father and brothers. The latter didn’t have malicious intent. It was just the endless background noise of older brothers who found his softness endearing, but amusing. Michael was too nice. Too polite. Too easy. Michael let girls get away with murder. Michael needed to be tougher. More assertive. Less shy. The comments were usually followed by laughter and a head lock, but that didn’t stop them from sticking somewhere in the back of his mind.

So as he got older, the idea lingered. Not as some conscious mission to reinvent himself, but as a quiet curiosity about what adulthood was supposed to look like. What being a boyfriend was supposed to look like. Sometimes he found himself reaching for a version of masculinity that seemed to come naturally to other men. More decisive, confident and more certain of itself. And lately, with you, he’d been.. experimenting with it in harmless little ways. A hand at your back guiding you through a crowd. Taking charge of small decisions. Calling you my lady when the affection got ahead of his self consciousness.

The thing was, all of that felt very manageable when it lived inside his own head. But then.. you looked up at him, smiling, and said something, something “I like when you claim me like that, daddy.” And suddenly the entire arrangement collapsed.

Because of what it meant.

Because in one sentence you’d revealed that you had noticed. You’d noticed him trying. Noticed the possessive little note hidden inside my lady. Noticed the confidence he’d been attempting to grow into. Worse, you seemed to genuinely like it.

That was the part he wasn’t prepared for.

Michael could imagine himself being more assertive. He could imagine himself being the sort of man who knew exactly what he was doing. Those fantasies were safe because they belonged entirely to him. They required nothing. Risked nothing. But now you were looking at him like you believed it a little. Like you had taken that tentative confidence at face value and decided to encourage it.

And for one dizzying second, Michael finds himself trapped between two versions of himself. The first is the man he’s been trying to become: calm, confident, capable of handling the way you’re looking at him without blinking. The second is the boy currently standing in his kitchen with burning ears and a racing heart because the second you treated him like that man, he realized he might be in over his head.

The worst part is that he likes it. He likes the approval in your voice, likes being seen as someone strong enough to take care of you..

So now he’s forced into the humiliating position of trying to act like Mister Big Shot over here while every instinct in his body is screaming. Trying to keep his shoulders squared and his expression composed while his pulse is hammering in his throat. Trying to look like he belongs in the role you’ve handed him when, in reality, he is discovering that being treated like a confident man is significantly more intimidating than pretending to be one.

Which is why he couldn’t possibly say no to you when you were whispering so sweetly in his ear that you want something he’s never done before.

Because now this was an opportunity to admit he had no idea what he was doing, and another opportunity to pretend he did.

Michael’s penis, unfortunately, found the second option extremely tempting.

So he nods a little too quickly. “..Okay.” The answer leaves his mouth before his courage has a chance to catch up with it.

You take his hand, fingers sliding into his as you look up at him with heart eyes. Your bottom lip is tucked between your pearly teeth, “C’mon..” You say softly.

“I—” He starts, then stops immediately because he doesn’t actually know what he was going to argue against.

You’re already walking and the kitchen light falls away behind you as you guide him out, past the quiet hallway.

By the time you reach the stairs, he asks a stupid question. “Where are we going?” He asks.

You look back at him over your shoulder and smile. “Upstairs, silly..”

You guide him up the stairs, each step making your thick thighs flex under those clingy little shorts. The fabric over your ass is this close to splitting—seams straining as your supple flesh jiggles with every ascent, cheeks spilling from under the bottom.

Thar soft layer of padding of your tummy peeks out where your baby doll tee rides up just an inch or two. Every curve is exaggerated now, tits heavy and full beneath the flimsy top that clings for dear life. From here he can see the little “ℳ ” you got tatted right below the dimples on your lower back.

It wasn’t planned, but seeing it right there on you.so casually displayed while you climb those stairs..? It ignites something in him and pride swells hot under his ribs. That little letter isn’t just ink, it’s ownership stamped delicately into soft skin and the best part is.. she doesn’t hide it. She’s proud of it.

His confidence flickers to life like a match struck, so sudden and bright. Maybe.. maybe he really can do this?

This is his lady.

His.

Aaand for all the confidence he had, it’s gone when he has you up in his room. The air thickens as he takes in the sight of you sprawled across the bed—bare, save for the cotton fabric clinging to your hips.

You’re propped up on your elbows, eyes locking onto his with intent—dark and fathomless, pupils blown wide enough to swallow him whole. He feels like you’re not just looking at him but you’re devouring him, leaving no space for him to doubt or retreat between where you lie and where he stands frozen at edge of mattress. Every curve is exposed now, full breasts rising slowly with your breaths, thighs pressed together but already parting slightly—an invitation without words needed.

And then he sees it.

The wedgie on full display, panties in losing the battle.

Your fat folds devour the fabric, sucking it inward like a hungry mouth. The delicate material stretches taut across your plushness, struggling to contain what’s beneath: a soft pussy spilling over and around. Heavy inner thighs press tight together without thinking, sandwiching the wet spot into an even more pronounced bulge against thin cotton as you try to silence the heartbeat of your clit.

It looks obscene—how much your body is consuming the thin garment. The crotch seam rides deep between you; not just damp but soaked through with evidence of how badly you want this moment to unfold.

The air reeks of musk now, a raw, feminine hunger so potent it makes his throat dry. Your eyes never leave him though, not even when your hips lift slightly off the bed like an offering when his slender fingers hook into the waistband and pulls them down your thighs.

“Can I—” He stops himself. “‘M gonna eat it..” His voice is barely above a whisper. You tilt your head at him and give him a knowing smile that makes his hands shake with adrenaline. For the first time ever, he’s told you what he’s going to do versus asking you.

And u don’t even need to speak, the slow roll of your hips in answer says everything. A silent hurry.

Michael is so fucking hard that he doesn’t know if stalling with hurt or help him at this point. His entire body is thrumming, cock straining painfully against his boxer briefs, the fabric digging in just enough to border on torture. He doesn’t want to cum too fast.. he’s had issues with that in the past but tonight is different.

Tonight he’s fucking you from behind and he’s so nervous.

He remembers your hands guiding his head between your thighs months ago, teaching him exactly where and how to press his tongue against your pussy before sinking his fingers into you properly. The lesson flashes behind his eyes as he licks upward in one long stripe, tasting salt sweet arousal smeared across your lips.

Michael moans against you when you part those folds just enough for him at first, warm breath ghosting over slick skin while fingertips dig into soft flesh.

Oh, fuck.. he looks up at you with those wide, Bambi eyes—long lashes fluttering every time he drags his tongue through your folds. The contrast is maddening, that sweet faced devotion on a man who’s currently feasting on you like it's his last meal.

His cheeks are flushed hot; spit and arousal smearing across his chin as he licks deeper. Every little noise he makes, whimpers or muffled groans, vibrates against your clit in the most delicious way.

You love this: how helplessly hard he is while worshipping at your altar with nothing but kittenish stares and clumsy devotion. It makes something primal curl in your stomach when those lash fringed eyes lock onto yours just to see if you’re watching him because your approval still means everything to him.

“Oh, my gosh, baby..” You whine, reaching down to cup his chin as you roll your hips onto his face. “Makin’ me feel so good..”

The sudden shift hits him suddenly because one second he’s buried between your thighs, the next you’re gently guiding him up by his chin. Your lips crash into hus, still wet and swollen from eating you—tasting of sweetness as you kiss him deep. The moment breaks when your words register:

“But I wanna cum on that cock.”

A shudder wracks through him. That cock? The one currently aching so badly it’s embarrassing? The one straining against fabric like a prisoner begging for release? Oh. That cock.

The moment fractures whatever composure he was trying to keep.

He thought that there would be time. A period of anticipation, where he could mentally prepare himself. But you move with lethal grace, flipping onto your hands and knees in one fluid motion dismissing all pretense.

Your spine curves into a perfect arc; an offering carved from flesh. The sheer weight of what you present to him is overwhelming—the swell of the hip leading to the fat of your ass. Your hand slides beneath yourself, fingers parting the swollen folds and opening a sacred text meant only for him alone.

A sharp inhale betrays him and his body reacts before reason can intervene, already leaking against fabric. Your cheek presses into the mattress—squished, almost childlike in how you’re smiling. Lips caught between your teeth, a single dimple popping on one side as you watches him over your shoulder with half lidded amusement.

Michael thinks you could be posing for some sinful Renaissance painting right now.. all plump lips bitten to hold back laughter, eyes dark with mischief while presenting yourself like an unholy altar just for him.

His fingers tremble as they hook into the waistband of his underwear, peeling them down with a shyness that’s almost endearing. He’s exposed now, dick standing up on its own as every nervous breath id visible in the way his chest rises.

Goodness, you’re just.. there’s so.. much—all warm flesh and soft curves where he can barely see past.

For a second, he just stares—overwhelmed by you, eyes drinking in the swell of your ass beneath him, those parted lips glistening, it short circuits coherent thought. He cups one cheek with his palm before lining himself up with your slit, tentative pressure as he nudges forward.

A gasp escapes you both when heat finally meets heat and suddenly there’s no turning back now.

The first inch sinks in and his entire body jerks..

His cock pulses violently inside you, twitching with every shallow breath, every micro movement of your walls clenching around him. It’s not smooth, it’s frantic like his dick has a mind of its own and is begging to thrust deeper even as the rest of him trembles from sensory overload.

A broken sound escapes his throat, somewhere between a whimper and a groan as he bottoms out slowly, each new millimeter met with another involuntary spasm from that overstimulated length.

He isn’t thinking about anything else right now, just the white hot intensity: how tight, how warm, how perfectly you take him.

This position..

Standing behind you, hands gripping your hips—he feels it, He feels power of this angle. The way his cock disappears into you with every shallow thrust, how your body yields beneath him like clay under a sculptor’s palm.

It makes him feel filthy, a man using what he wants. It coils hot in his gut—the part of him that likes knowing he could pin you down harder if either of them wanted it rougher. It’s dirty.

Every thrust punches a wet sound through the room—no hiding how deeply he bottoms out, how thoroughly he’s using you for this moment.

It makes him feel like a caveman, sweat dripping down his temple, teeth bared in focus so he doesn’t cum so soon. The slap of skin on skin drowns out rational thought; all that's left is the slick heat squeezing around him and her ass jiggling obscenely with every snap of his pelvis.

You start fucking him back, the shit leaving your mouth is lethal. The shift is instant—rolling your hips back to impale yourself deeper on him. There’s gentleness now just raw, grinding friction as you ride his cock like it’s yours. Each backward thrust drives him impossibly further into that sweet spot inside you, the one that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back. The slap of skin echoes louder this way, more obscene.

“Fuck, daddy..” You grit through your teeth.

...You know what you’re doing.

The second that word leaves your lips again, his world stops.

His eyes slam shut, body going rigid as every muscle locks: biceps trembling where they grip your hips, thighs burning with tension. The sheer power of that word unravels him in ways he’s never.. anticipated.

Because this? This isn’t some kink for him—it’s a fucking revelation. A man who’s spent his life being called weak, too soft, a boy, too nice.. but now.. now you’re branding him something else entirely with just one filthy syllable.

He can feel it: that thick cock pulsing inside you like a live wire when you ride back onto it, your pussy taking what belongs to him. His breath comes in ragged bursts; jaw clenched so tight it aches. A broken groan rips from his throat as pleasure coils violently low in his stomach, too fast to stop now.

His hands grip to your waist not guiding anymore, just clinging because he cannot physically pretend to have this under control. “Oh—don’t stop! (Name), baby.. please, don’t stop! Don’t, don’t stop!”

“Michael.. You feel ’s good stuffing me full of that fuckin’ dick..” The words slither down his spine, his gaze falls to the “ℳ ” on your lower back.

Unfortunately, that’s a trigger he didn’t know he had until now.

“Oh—no, no, no.. no, no..” His balls tighten instantly; a coil snapping without warning, just pure reflex taking over as pleasure crests violently. A choked gasp escapes him before he can stop it; hips jerking erratically as the first hot pulse surges inside you.. and then another, and another.

The realization hits him a second too late. His hips jerk backward hard as the last few hot stripes of cum paint your lower back where they drip down toward the curve of your ass.

A ragged whine tears from his throat as he watches it happen—helpless to stop himself. The sight is obscene: pearly ropes sliding between the swell of you while his own spend starts leaking out from where he was buried moments ago.

It’s mortifying and exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

You giggle, looking back at him. “What happened, my love?”

“I.. I didn’t mean to.” Oh, he’s embarrassed.

So embarrassed that he couldn’t look you in the eye until the next morning.

"Wanna go to my family's cookout?" You asked as you squeezed him a little tighter.

Michael was surprised you asked him because he's never met your family and he's never asked. He thought it was probably a sensitive topic or you didn't get along. He always wondered how different your family might be from his own. He was excited to meet everyone especially the people who raised you. Little did he know he was in for a wild ride.

"Okay, before we walk in—" You stopped him with a hand on his chest. He stared down at your hand before looking back at you. "Do not play spades with Leroy. Do you understand?"

"Okay? I don't really—" He went to say but you stopped him again.

"Don't ask who made the Mac and cheese either." You snapped your fingers and shook your head. "Actually don't ask anything like that at all."

Michael just nodded as he laced your fingers together. When you walked through the door it was straight rowdy. Your cousins were running in and out the house while getting yelled at by your granny. Your uncle was already hootin' and hollering to whatever R&B song was playing outside. You sighed as you got ready for the long day ahead.

"They're cool, I promise." You whispered to him as you kissed his cheek. You took him to the kitchen first to meet your mama who was asking her brother to help carry the coolers outside.

You took a deep breath as your body began to shake. You've never introduced anyone to your family before but Michael was different. You've been dating forever; it was about time right? "Mama, this is my boyfriend M—"

Her jaw hit the floor as she swiftly turned around, ready to tell you about yourself. There was no way in hell you brought Michael Jackson to her home. Michael waved shyly before sticking his hand out for her to shake. She was still gobsmacked as she shook his hand.

"Hi I'm—Michael Jackson are you serious?" She whispered to you with wide eyes as you nodded slowly.

"My child is dating Michael Jackson." She whispered as she smoothed down her hair. She was more stressed than you were.

She waved you off as she huffed. "Go show your cousins. Hell, show ya daddy."

You nodded before taking him out of the kitchen to meet everyone else. As soon as you stepped outside your cousin yelled for you. He was so excited to see his favorite cousin since it had been a minute. As soon as he stopped laughing his jaw hit the floor. His hands brushed over his waves and he nearly fell out.

"NIGGA, IS THAT MICHAEL JACKSON?!" He looked as he paused with a funky face.

Your cousin was the loudest one in the family. His voice caught the attention of your nosy auntie and you could've smacked him for that. Your uncles stopped playing spades to see what your cousin was talking about. Why would Michael Jackson be at the cookout?

"Nice to meet you." Michael laughed as he stuck his hand out. Your cousin shook his hand while your family watched.

"You and you're big mouth." You whispered harshly to him. Michael found all of this hilarious.

"How did you bag him? Matter of fact how did he bag you? How did y'all bag each other?" Your cousin rambles making Michael turn and laugh as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"Leave your cousin alone! Hell she doing better than you." Your uncle Leroy told him as he slammed down a card. "Some damn situationship. Fuck is that?"

Your cousin groaned before explaining it to your uncle for what seemed like the millionth time. You blew air out of your nose as you leaned into Michael. Fortunately for you, Michael was having a good time. Your cousins even ran up to him showing him that they could dance like he could. You giggled as they had a dance off to which he let them win, obviously.

"I'm gonna tell everyone at school that my cousin is MJ." Your younger cousin said as their sibling rolled her eyes.

"Ain't nobody gonna believe you, boy." She sassed before smiling at Michael who snorted.

Leroy collected all the cards as your elders groaned. He had won once again. Leroy was unstoppable when it came to spades. You could see the look in his eyes; he was about to challenge Michael. You already knew what was about to happen and you kind of wanted to see if Michael could hold his own. You also didn't want him to succumb to your uncles shenanigans.

"Come have a seat, son." Leroy's mischievous tone didn't slip past you.

Michael nodded as he sat across from Leroy. Michael already knew what Leroy was gonna ask. "You play spades, son?"

Your uncle stacked the cards on the table as he analyzed Michael. Michael bit his lip before he shrugged. "I've played before."

"Played before huh?" Leroy snickered as he dealt cards to everyone at the table. "Let's play."

Michael put your uncle on his ass. He was slamming down cards left and right. Everyone gathered around the table giving 'ooo's and 'damn's. You sat on Michael's lap at one point watching him go ham on Leroy. You watched as Leroy fumed at how many times he lost. Michael raised an eyebrow at him waiting for him to say something.

Leroy threw his cards down making the family hype Michael up. Michael nods his head triumphantly as you kissed his face. Nobody could beat Leroy in spades—ever. Today was the first time anyone has ever beat him. Your mama was shocked because he never lost even against the one who taught him to play.

"Oh you gotta keep him. Ain't nobody beat Leroy in shit before." Your cousin howled as he ran off with his red solo cup.

"Alright y'all its time to eat." Your mama called as the kids followed behind Michael who grabbed your hand.

The rest of the cookout went on without a hitch. Michael blended with your family so well that you would've thought he'd been there before. He did the wobble and the Cupid shuffle with your granny, who was moving like she was in her twenties again. Michael got face paint with the kids and they took pictures. By the time the cookout ended, your mama packed both of you an ass of to go plates.

"Let me help your mom then we can go." He said as he kissed your temple before walking into the kitchen.

Your cousin popped up behind you making that knowing face. You rolled your eyes already knowing he's about to start messing with you. "If you don't marry him, I will no shade." He whispered as he sipped his drink.

You snorted turning away from him. "Boy get the fuck out my face, for real."

He cackled before he ran off making you shake your head. You watched Michael help your mama make plates for your granny and make conversation. She pinched his cheeks like three times. You knew he had her sold. She couldn't stop smiling, hell he had your daddy's approval!

"Bring him by every gathering. I love me some him!" Your auntie said as your uncle pushed her out the door.

Your mama winked at you as she went outside to gather everyone. You walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smiled as he tried to look at you over his shoulder. He shook his head as he laughed.

"You're such a good sport." You told him as he snickered.

"I played your uncle out of fifty dollars." He told you as your jaw dropped.

"Michael! You didn't." You tried to suppress your laughter. He nodded as he turned to lean on the sink. His arms crossed as he bit his lip.

"Gave it to your little cousin." He shrugged as you barked out laughter.

Michael laughed watching you laugh. "I love your family." He sighed content with his day.

"They love you trust me. Auntie was gonna take you home." You snorted as Michael cackled. He held you close as he rocked you both.

"Uh-uh! Don't be doing that in my kitchen." Your mother snapped her fingers before pointing you both to the door.

"Mama!" You shouted as she gave you that look before snapping towards the door again. Michael hollered before holding your hand and leaving your mothers kitchen.

After helping out, you and Michael went home. He told you he wanted to host the next one. You smiled as you watched him plan it out in animated motions. You laughed as he explained how he would set it up. You were happy he had fun and even happier he got along with everyone.

𝐀𝐏𝐑 𝟏𝟕, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟎 .𖥔 ݁ 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑨𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒆, 𝑬𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒐

Your legs were locked tight around your man’s waist, heels digging into his lower back while his cock pressed almost cervix-deep inside you with each ruining thrust. His torso was flush to yours, bodies entirely entwined as you moved in a messily erotic rhythm. Michael’s bicep was just beside your face, where he had one arm resting around the silhouette of your upper body on the pillows, so that a hand cradled your dazed out head. Every time you made love, he held you this way.

“Oh Mikey, baby, s’good—” you gasped and whined, tugging at his dark hair as he hit your sweet spot upon thoughtful direction of every single stroke. He’d started off achingly slow, but now you were both reaching your climax, therefore unconsciously Michael had picked up the pace.

“Mama, y’so tight, oh—” he moaned right beside your ear, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the pretty sound and the sensations in your nether region at once.

“Michael, they’re gonna hear,” you stressed, although you didn’t do so very quietly, as with the prior moans.

“Don’t care no more—not thinkin’ ‘bout nothin’ but you, baby,” he said through grunts, pounding you with precision as the headboard knocked against the wall in rhythmic force. It had been making that repetitive noise for the last ten minutes, together with the sound of Michael’s childhood bed squeaking and the sound of skin slapping.

Each sound protruding from those four walls, including the pornographic noises elicited from your throat, were contributing together to make a lewd sort of song. For anybody in the house, it was incredibly obvious what Michael was getting up to in his locked bedroom. It was a warm spring evening, and Michael’s brothers had been out playing basketball all afternoon—on one of those days where they all reunited back home—but now they were inside messing around, and there was no way they couldn’t hear the two of you.

Yet despite that knowledge, neither of you could even attempt to slow down or lower the noise. The present moment was much too heavenly to be reduced. And you’d been doing this a lot lately—fucking in his bedroom even though you both knew his mother despised sex out of wedlock. She hadn’t caught you both yet, but the risk was of course always there.

Writhing against the sheets, you mentally praised the otherworldly evidence of how well Michael could use his thick, well-endowed cock, but on top of that, his moans alone were ethereal. When he wasn’t whispering praise in your ear, you relished in the beauty of the desperate mewls he shamelessly spilled out above you, and especially this evening, where the snap of his hips was making him breathless.

“Baby girl, y’ body’s everythin’… so magical,” he murmured, kissing and biting at your neck while fiercely maintaining pace. “So soft ‘n sweet. All mine…”

With each nip to your skin, he let his tongue dart out to taste your scent, in heaven at the indulgence but altogether wishing he could somehow eat your pussy and make love to you at once.

Without meaning to, your moans only grew louder. “Baby, I love you—mm, harder, oh, you’re so deep—”

“Yeah, I got you, mama,” Michael whispered, pressing one hand down on the mattress to get better control of his movements, those skilful thrusts picking up even more pace. Meanwhile, the activator in his Jheri curls was mixing with the constant production of sweat that dripped down his forehead, and together the liquids amalgamated and trickled onto your shoulder and chest. You truly could feel every inch of him everywhere, and you kept attempting to tighten the weight of your legs around him, to tighten the security of your arms around his neck, except there was no getting any closer than your current position.

“How y’feelin, honeybaby? Want me to pull back a little and rub y’ sweet clit?”

Obviously you did want him to use his fingers on you, but at the same time you didn’t like the prospect of his thermal body being detached from yours, even if there was to be a replacement of sensation. Because really, you didn’t necessarily need his slender fingers over your bundle of nerves in order to bring you to orgasm. The cosy weight of his body, the intimacy of your locked-in positional dynamic, too with the feel of his bicep on your shoulder and his tender hand at your head—all those elements accompanied by his girthy cock pistoning in and out of you was more than enough already. You could feel every vein, every ridge, brush against your walls with each stroke, each squelch of your juices coating his shaft.

“No, Mikey, want you just like this, don’t move—oh, don’t stop, honey, you fuck me so good, ’m gonna—oh fuck, baby, yes!”

“Aw, my baby—nnghh—sweet girl… Lemme get you there…” Never slowing the relentless force of his cock, he took one of your hands and gently placed a kiss over the knuckles, and you really could’ve died right there. How perfect was Michael Jackson in bed, that he could fuck you into oblivion while equally being so tender and soft? That oxymoron was your boyfriend summed up in a nutshell.

The two of you were being way too loud now—truthfully you in particular. It was a good thing Katherine and Joseph weren’t home, but as clarified previously, every single brother was. How on earth had they all managed to end up back at Hayvenhurst for a stupid reunion on the night you and Michael desperately needed the most alone time?

Well, that was honestly a silly question, because Michael made love to you like this almost every night, if he wasn’t at your place to do it instead. The brothers weren’t exactly to be blamed. Perhaps you and your man just needed to calm down where sex drive was concerned, but one couldn’t help the nature of their biology. Here were two individuals deeply addicted to each other, and an addiction to that degree was impossible to override.

“Now what in the hell is goin’ on in here?” you suddenly heard Jackie say from outside the door.

You froze, yet Michael was unfazed. It was an unexplained phenomenon, but whenever Michael had sex with you, his usual shy, cautious inhibitions would lose their place in his line of focus. All he cared about was you, and making sure you reached your orgasm quickly, while his was very much nearing too.

“Man, you know exactly what they up to,” Marlon chuckled, in response to Jackie. “Can hear that shit from downstairs. Oh, Michael, harder!”

“Mikey, stop,” you said quickly, tapping his shoulder.

Immediately he did as instructed, pulling his head up from your shoulder a little to check you were okay.

“Too much, baby?” he asked, a little out of breath, as he brushed his thumb over your cheek to soothe you.

Outside the door, the boys were still laughing. Randy and Tito had joined them now from downstairs.

“No,” you giggled bashfully, holding the back of his neck and wiping some of the ever-dripping Jheri juice-sweat mixture from his jaw. “Your brothers are literally outside.”

“Huh?” Michael’s face scrunched up in confusion, and in part frustration at the way he’d been made to pause inside your throbbing, weeping cunt all because he’d been cursed with a million bothersome brothers.

“Michael, how the hell did you not hear ‘em?” you chuckled, playing with his damp hair now.

He rolled his eyes. “Go back downstairs!”

“We’re not doin’ nothin’, Mike!” Tito shouted.

“But y’know what I’m doin’, right? And y’ still up here!”

“No? What are you doin’ in there, Michael?” Marlon teased sarcastically.

You were literally squirming at this point, mentally praying that they’d just go away, because you needed Michael to continue.

“You makin’ love?” Jackie sung playfully. “Don’t get her pregnant, lil bro.”

“’m not gonna get her pregnant,” he protested in annoyance. “Will y’ just leave us be?”

“Alright, alright,” a few of them laughed in unison. “Just keep it down—Joseph’s comin’ back in a few minutes.”

“Oh no,” Michael squinted anxiously. Footsteps began, then faded as the boys skipped off downstairs again.

“Baby, it’s fine,” you reassured, stroking his upper back. “We’ll be quick—I’m almost there.”

“Um,” he stammered, rubbing at his eyes. “No, I uh… I don’t feel well.”

Slowly and carefully he sat back on his knees and slipped his cock out of you, it now standing flushed up against his stomach, messy white streaks painting up and down the shaft from base to tip, but the flesh was beginning to soften.

“Hey, what do you mean?” You sat up too, expression one of sheer confusion. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I’m really sorry, I just…” Michael turned, picking up his boxers from the floor and slipping into them, seated on the edge of the bed, facing away from you. “It’s Joseph. I really made him mad this mornin’ and I’ve not seen him since. Until, um—well, he’s comin’ back now.”

Feeling incredibly awkward, Michael then jumped up off the bed, searching for some comfortable clothes to quickly dress into. Meanwhile, you sat anxiously in the messy sheets, your sex still glistening with arousal, but the inner sensations were fading with Michael’s. You didn’t mind that he’d had to stop so abruptly, because you understood. Sometimes he would even projectile vomit at the thought of his father returning unexpectedly. His body went into fight-or-flight mode at the mere mention of the man’s name, and so there was no way he could sustain an erection and enjoy the rest of your lovemaking in that state.

“C’mere, baby,” you sighed sadly, outstretching your arms.

When he turned around, he didn’t smile. There were hints of anxiety splayed all over his face, and it broke your heart.

“Michael. Come back to bed—you can just get up again when he knocks.”

Michael took a deep breath, clamping his eyes shut as a signal of the constricting pain he felt in his chest. “Okay,” he said quietly, a real switch in temperament as opposed to just minutes ago. Now he took the appearance of a sad little boy, the one you knew had never left him.

He climbed into bed beside you, and immediately you pulled him into your chest, letting him nuzzle against your bare breasts.

“There ya go, honey…” you whispered to him, cradling his head. Without the need for instruction, he latched his mouth onto one of your nipples, beginning to suck over the sensitive nerves.

“’m sorry for cuttin’ things short,” he muttered against your skin. “I was close but… I can’t really, y’know, sustain it when I get anxious.”

“No, baby, I understand,” you said back, running your hands through his hair, uncaring how damp the strands were. “Listen to me, angelface,” you kissed his forehead, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Ever. Just wanna take care of you, make you feel safe… That’s everythin’ you deserve.”

Michael nodded, though he didn’t respond, because he never knew what to say to such intimate talk. He couldn’t stop worrying about Joseph, who would come through the door any minute now, and so you spent the remaining minutes with him cuddled up close, whispering sweet nothings and praise in his ear, telling him how he only ever needed to listen to your words, and never Joseph’s jealousy-fuelled ones.

He ended up approaching his father with much less anxiety than he’d initially been feeling, but indeed he was berated, defined as worthless, and hit with an iron cord—all because he had expressed a different opinion that morning.

When Michael slipped back into bed beside you after night had fallen, you kissed over the growing bruises, and again held him to your chest until he fell sound asleep. Oh, how you wished life would be kinder to your sweet angel boy. He hadn’t done a thing wrong in his entire existence.

omg ok i just started writing a lil drabble and ended up with this >:) also i literally have to end every smut fic with michael being soft because of course?!♥︎