chloe

you huff dramatically, flipping a page in your magazine with unnecessary force, refusing to look at him. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, your tone dripping with sarcasm. you kick your leg out, letting the oversized shirt ride up higher on your thigh, testing his patience. knowing exactly what buttons to push.

michael’s jaw clenches as he watched the shirt ride up your leg. he knows this game all too well—the bratty behaviour, the teasing, the testing of boundaries. he unbuttons the first button of his white shirts, his voice lowering. “come here.”

you scoff, not moving an inch, instead turning a page in your magazine with exaggerated slowness. “no,” you reply, your voice dripping with defiance. you deliberately cross your legs, the hem of the shirt riding up even higher, revealing more of your smooth, bare legs.

the warning vibe in the room thickens instantly. michael doesn’t repeat himself; he simply moves, his long strides eating up the distance between the chair and the bed. he grips the magazine, yanking it from your hands and tossing it carelessly onto the floor, leaving you with nothing to distract you. he cages you in with his arms, hair dark eyes boring into yours.

“let’s get something straight, princess,” michael says, his voice low and firm, his face inches from yours. “you’ve been pushing me all day, and i’ve let it slide because i love you. but this attitude? it ends now.”

you open your mouth to fire back another bratty remark, but before you could michael grips your ankles, his large hands wrapping around them easily. with one smooth motion, he yanks you down the bed until you’re in front of him.

you let out a surprised yelp as your back slides down the mattress and michael looks over you, his expression stern and commanding. he’s no longer the patient, indulgent boyfriend; he’s now the dominant man who knows exactly how to handle a bratty woman. “you’re testing me.”

“maybe i am,” you challenge back, but your voice wavers slightly now, heart racing as his dark eyes lock onto yours. you reach up to touch his face, but he catches your wrist in an instant, pinning it beside your head. “nice try,” he murmurs, a dangerous smirk on his face.

he releases your wrist suddenly, only to grab both of your hands and pin them above your head with one hand, his other hand quickly moving to hold down both of your legs. he’s effectively trapped you beneath him, his body pressing against yours.

“stay quiet,” he orders firmly, before disappearing between your legs, lifting the oversized shirt up to your stomach. he doesn’t start slow or gentle; he immediately attacks your clit with his tongue, eating you out roughly and dominantly to punish your attitude.

you gasp sharply, your hands immediately flying to his hair but he growls against your skin, a warning that makes you freeze. his tongue works you ruthlessly, no sweet exploration, just pure domination—flicking your clit hard, plunging deep, sucking insistently. there’s no tenderness here, only calculated punishment that makes your back arch off the bed.

you bite down on your lip hard, trying to obey, but he immediately pulls back, his dark eyes meeting yours with a sharp look. “i said be quiet.” his voice is a low command before he dives back in, his tongue pressing flat against your clit and holding it there, then flicking rapidly in a punishing rhythm that makes your thighs tremble violently around his head.

your hips buck upward, seeking friction, but he pushes your thighs back down with one strong hand, keeping you pinned. his other hand grips your hip bone hard enough to leave marks as he devours you relentlessly. the wet, sloppy sounds of his tongue working you fill the room, punctuated by your muffled whimpers. he sucks your clit into his mouth hard, tugging insistently.

your resolve crumbles completely as he hits that spot relentlessly, your walls clenching around nothing as your orgasm crashed through you. you sob into the pillow, body shaking violently beneath him. michael doesn’t stop—he keeps eating you out through your climax, his tongue working harder, punishing even as you peak. finally, he pulls back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to you.

michael is still on his knees in front of the bed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction and dominance. he watches your chest heave, your body trembling in the aftermath, as he leans down to press a kiss against your stomach, then climbs back up your body to cage your face between his hands. “attitude gone?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

you blink up at him through hazy eyes, still catching your breath, your body still humming from the intense orgasm. but the fire isn’t extinguished yet—it’s just buried shallowly. before you can stop yourself, the bratty remark slips out, “not even close. you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

michael’s expression darkens instantly at your bratty response. a dangerous smirk plays on his lips as he leans down closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. “is that so? you want me to try harder?”

you lift your chin defiantly, meeting his glare despite your trembling limbs. “yes,” you whisper, challenging him openly. michael’s jaw tightens visibly, the playful dominance evaporating into pure authority. without a word, he flips you over onto your stomach in one swift motion, pulling your hips up sharply so your ass is in the air. “brave choice,”

he smacks your ass hard, the sharp crack echoing in the room. you let out a moan, hands curling into the sheets. but before you can react, he grabs both of your wrists and pins them at the small of your back with one hand, keeping you bent over helplessly.

he leans down over you, his suit jacket brushing against your back. “you really want more?” his other hand moves to unbuckle his belt, the sound of metal clicking loudly as he pulls it through the loops.

he expertly loops the belt around your wrists, pulling it tight to secure your hands behind your back. the position arches your spine, pushing your ass higher in the air. he runs his hand over the roundness before smacking it again hard enough that it stings throughly.

you gasp into the mattress, your face buried in the sheets to muffle your cries. with your wrists secured tightly against your lower back, you are completely helpless and exposed. you hear the rustle of fabric behind you—michael is undoing his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing his heavy erection.

he trails one finger slowly down your spine, stopping teasingly at your entrance. “still want an attitude with me?” he asks, his voice thick with lust and command. you feel his thumb press against your clit briefly before he pulls away, denying you. every second of touch is agonisingly slow, a punishment for your defiance.

without warning, he grips your hips and slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in one ruthless thrust. you scream into the mattress, your body arching violently as he stretches you instantly. he doesn’t give you time to adjust, setting a punishing pace immediately, withdrawing almost completely before driving back in deep and hard. your wrists strain against the belt helplessly.

he fucks you brutally, using your bent over position to his advantage, his powerful hips snapping against your ass with wet smacks. his free hand reaches around to choke your neck gently, adding another layer of dominance and control.

“is that attitude still there?” he smirks against your neck, punctuating his words with particularly deep thrusts. “or are you realising who’s in charge here?” his hand squeezes your throat lightly, making you lightheaded and even more aroused.

you try to form words, but all that comes out is a choked moan. your body is completely under his control—wrists tied, throat threatened, pussy impaled and stretched by his relentless cock. “that’s what i thought,” he growls, his thrusts becoming even more merciless, hitting spots you didn’t know existed.

your walls clench around him desperately, your body betraying your earlier defiance completely. michael notices immediately, his grip tightening on your throat as he leans over your back. “look at you,” he breathes hotly against your ear. “so bratty all day, and now you’re begging for it without even saying a word.” he hits your deepest spot hard, making you cry out.

your second orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. michael doesn’t slow down—he keeps pounding through it, drawing out your pleasure until you are sobbing into the pillow. only then does he pull out abruptly, his hot seed shooting across your back and add in thick stripes.

he stands there for a moment, panting, watching his cum drip down your trembling body. then he unties the belt from your wrists, flipping you over roughly so you’re on your back again. his eyes drill into yours. “now,” he says, his voice raw. “are we done with the backtalk?”

your lips part, your chest still heaving, your body trembling and slick with sweat. the words form on your tongue—another challenge, another spark of that damn defiance—but something in his eyes made you pause. that dangerous glint, the absolute authority, the promise of more punishment if you dare.

you swallow hard, your gaze dripping first. “…yes.”

a satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he sees the submission in your eyes. he leans down, kissing you roughly—a claim, a punishment, a reward all rolled into one. when he pulls back, his thumb brushes over your swollen bottom lip. “good girl.”

he helps you sit up, his touch gentler now as he checks the red marks on your wrists from the belt. his expression softens imperceptibly. “you pushed it,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “but you took it well.” he kisses your forehead, a silent apology for the roughness, though his eyes still hold that edge.

he grabs a tissue from the nightstand and begins cleaning you up, his movements efficient but surprisingly careful. the air between you feels heavy, charged with the lingering electricity of the punishment. once he’s wiped away his release, he pulls his pants back up, buckling his belt with a definitive click. “next time you want to act bratty,” he warns softly, smoothing your hair back.

“i’ll remember this,” you murmur back, half joking but also completely serious. your body aches in the best way, your ass stinging gently with every movement. he just smirks knowingly, clearly pleased that the lesson has sunken in. “good,” he says firmly.

aftercare if a non-negotiable for him. he’s dominant as hell in the bedroom, but he always takes care of you afterward—no matter how bratty or demanding you’ve been. he pulls you into his side, wrapping those strong arms around you lovingly. “come here,”

he gathers you against his chest, your face pressed to his rapidly beating heart. one hand strokes your hair soothingly while the other massages your back in slow, deliberate circles. he smells like expensive cologne and sex, and his body heat seeps into your chilled skin. “you okay?” his voice is softer now, genuinely concerned.

you hum softly in real, shifting so you’re wrapped tighter around him. your legs tangle together, your back pressed to his chest. his large hands splay over your stomach, one thumb rubbing soothing circles over your lower belly.

“you did good,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “for a brat.” the playful insult is said with such tenderness it barely registers as teasing. he reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your lips. “drink.”

you take slow sips, feeling utterly cared for.

he pulls the plush duvet over both of you, tucking you in securely. you’re nestled completely against him—from your chest to your thighs, every inch of you is pressed to his. his lips find your ear, his voice dropping to that intimate, vulnerable tone he only uses when it’s just the two of you. “i love you so much.”

you turn in his arms, pressing your lips to his softly. “i love you more,” you whisper against his mouth, tasting him lingering on your tongue. he kisses you deeply, tenderly this time—no dominance, just pure affection. when you finally drift off, his arms are wrapped tightly around you.

“it’s cold outside,” he pointed out, his gaze lingering on the short hem of your skirt. you rolled your eyes, grabbing your coat. “i’ll be fine. we’re going to a club, not the north pole.” you turned to leave, but his voice stopped you cold.

“you’re not going.” the command was quiet, absolute. you froze, coat halfway on. “excuse me?” you turned back slowly, meeting his stare—those eyes that could be so soft, so loving, and in the next breath could cut like glass. “i said you’re not going.” he pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer.

“i most certainly am going.” you pulled your coat closer defiantly. “it’s just a girls night. and you’ll be in the studio anyway.” your voice softened slightly. “please don’t do this. not again.”

he ran a frustrated hand through his curls, jaw tightening. “i don’t like you going out like this,” he repeated stubbornly. “those clothes…you look like you’re asking for trouble.” he uncrossed his arms and stepped even closer, lowering his voice. “and those guys at the clubs? they’re always all over you.” his jealousy was obvious.

“and don’t get me started on your friends.” he shook his head, a hint of disgust curling his lip. “natasha, brittany…they’re not exactly the influences i want in your life.” he paused, his eyes searching your face.

“they’re my friends, michael.” you said firmly, pulling your coat tighter. “and they’ve been there for me since before i ever met you. they don’t want anything from me—unlike half the people crawling around you.” you turned to grab your keys, but he moved fast, blocking the doorway. “you’re staying here tonight.”

“move, michael.” your voice was sharp now, patience wearing thin. you tried to sidestep him, but he planted his feet, that stubborn look crossing his features—the one that meant he wasn’t budging.

“i’m not kidding,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “i don’t want you out there tonight. not with them.”

“so what am i supposed to do?” you demanded, throwing your hands up. “stay at home like a good little girl while you’re off god knows where with quincy?” the moment the words left your mouth, you knew you’d hit a nerve. his expression hardened.

“at least i’m not going to some club to get drunk and dance with every guy in the place,” he snapped back. the words hung heavily between you, laced with jealousy and anger. before you could retaliate, he grabbed your wrist, his grip surprisingly tight. “you’re staying here.”

“get your hands off me.” you yanked your wrist free, the anger in your eyes matching his. “i am going out, michael. and you’re not stopping me.” with one last defiant look, you shoved past him, your shoulder knocking hard against his chest, and stormed out the bedroom. you didn’t look back.

the house was dark and silent as you stumbled through the door, well past 3am. your heels clattered on the marble floor, echoing through the empty halls. you were drunk—really drunk—and your vision swam as you kicked off your heels and fumbled with your coat.

you made your way down the hallway, swaying slightly, guided by instinct rather than sight. the bedroom door was ajar, a sliver of moonlight spilling across the floor. you pushed it open quietly, wincing at the creak of the hinges. michael was sprawled across the bed, one arm flung over his face, the covers kicked halfway off. he was breathing deeply, fast asleep.

your fingers fumbled with your clothes, your movements clumsy from the alcohol. you caught your reflection in the mirror—smudged eyeliner, flushed cheeks, hair disheveled from dancing. you looked like a mess, but you didn’t care. you slipped under the covers, careful not to wake him.

you hadn’t made it two seconds under the sheets before his voice cut through the darkness—low, sharp, and unmistakably awake.

“having fun tonight?”

you froze. his arm hadn’t moved from over his eyes, but his body was tense, shoulders rigid. you could smell the alcohol on your breath, could feel the thudding headache approaching. “michael, i—“

“did you dance with a lot of guys?” his voice was quiet, deadly quiet. you knew that tone—jealous, hurt, angry. his hand slowly lowered from his face, revealing those piercing eyes that were now staring into the darkness, awaiting your response. the room was thick with tension.

“i’m drunk, michael,” you mumbled, turning your back to him. “i don’t want to fight right now.” you closed your eyes, hoping he’d just let it go and go back to sleep. but you knew better than to think this was over.

“of course you are,” he said, his voice tight with restrained anger. you heard him shift behind you, the bed creaking under his weight as he sat up. “was it worth it? going out like that, wearing that…letting them look at you? letting your friends control you?” his words stung, cutting through your drunken haze. “i told you not to go.”

“and i told you to stop trying to control me,” you shit back, sitting up too fast. the room spun violently. you gripped the sheets to steady yourself. “you’re not the boss of me, michael. i’m not one of your employees, i’m not one of your backup dancers.” the alcohol made you braver, harsher than you would’ve been sober.

“whatever,” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with disappointment. without another word, he lay back down and pulled the covers over himself, turning his back to you. the room fell silent except for the sound of his even breathing as he deliberately ignored you, signalling that the conversation was over.

you stared at his back for a moment, frustration bubbling in your throat, but your head was pounding too hard to argue anymore. you collapsed back onto your pillow, squeezing your eyes shut as the room tilted and spun. the silence was heavy, filled with unspoken anger and disappointment. within minutes, the alcohol pulled you into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

you woke up to the harsh morning light streaming through the window, your mouth dry and your head throbbing like a drum. your groaned, rolling over to find michael’s side of the bed empty. the note on the nightstand caught your eye.

you squinted against the light, reaching out with a heavy hand to grab the piece of paper. it was folded neatly, your name scrawled across the front in michael’s familiar, jagged handwriting. you unfolded it, wincing as the movement sent a sharp spike through your skull.

“on the plane waiting for you. quick as you can.”

that was it. no “i love you” no “im sorry.”

he didn’t even wait for you, making you get your own way to the jet.

you sighed deeply, rubbing your temples as you tried to shake off the remnants of last nights alcohol. the fight, the harsh words—it all came back in a rush. you threw off the covers and stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face before quickly getting dressed.

as you slid into the backseat, you wrapped your long, lavish fur coat tightly around yourself. underneath, you were wearing nothing but the skimpy, black lace lingerie set you’d thrown on to tease michael. the coat was massive, hitting your ankles, shielding the scandalous outfit from the drivers view.

the drive to LAX was intense, your mind racing with thoughts of michael. why had he left without a word? you stared out the window, watching the city blur past, your fingers fidgeting with the fur trim of your coat. when the car pulled up to the private terminal, the driver hurried you inside, where a flight attendant greeted you with a knowing smile.

you stepped onto the private jet, your heels clicking against the polished floor. michael was sitting in the leather recliner, his face hidden behind his signature aviator sunglasses. his jaw was clenched, giving away his anger even though his eyes were concealed. he didn’t look up as you entered.

“you didn’t even wait for me,” you said, sliding into the seat across from him, crossing your legs. the fur coat fell open slightly, revealing a hint of black lace underneath. michael’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping for a split second before snapping back to your face.

“you were taking too long to wake up,” he said tightly, his voice low and neutral. it was the same gone he used when he was angry, but trying not to show it. his hands were clasped together, knuckles white.

“and what about last night?” he snapped, finally taking off his sunglasses and revealing the fire in his eyes. “you think it’s okay to come home at 3am, reeking of alcohol and god knows what else?”

“god knows what else?” you shot back, your own anger rising. “are you seriously accusing me of something? i was out with friends, michael. something you should try sometimes instead of working 24/7.” the air was thick with tension.

“friends?” he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “you mean those people who encourage you to drink until you can barely stand? who push you to wear next to nothing in public?” he snapped, his eyes darkening. “i saw how you were looking at me last night. like i was the enemy.”

the jet took off, climbing into the sky, but the argument didn’t stop. “and i’m supposed go just stay home alone all the time?” you shouted over the engine noise.

“no, you’re supposed to be respectful!” he yelled back, matching your volume. “to me, to our relationship, to the fact that i’m trying to build something here while you’re out chasing some…some freedom fantasy!”

“freedom?” you laughed bitterly, throwing your hands up. “you call this freedom? being controlled, questioned, judged every time i step out the door?” your voice cracked slightly. “i can’t even have a drink with my friends without you acting like ive committed some crime!” the plane jolted slightly as it hit turbulence, but neither of you backed down.

“a drink? is that what we’re calling it now?” michael’s voice was rising dangerously. “because from where i was standing, you weren’t just having a drink. you were wasted, barely recognisable, dressed like…like some stranger!” he gestured sharply at you.

“and don’t even think about trying and turn this around on me because i know you will,” michael lectured, his hands flying wildly as he paced the small aisle of the cabin. “i work my ass off for this lifestyle, for our future, and i come home to a girlfriend who doesn’t even know her own limits! it’s disrespectful, it’s reckless, and quite frankly, it’s embarrassing—“

the tension snapped. you stood abruptly, your heels clicking on the carpet as you slowly slipped off your oversized fur coat. it fell to the floor in a pile of soft luxury, revealing the black lace lingerie beneath; the matching bra hugging your breasts, the tiny panties riding low on your hips. michael’s jaw dropped. his angry words died in his throat.

michael froze mid sentence, his eyes widening as they raked over the scandalous black lace set that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. the angry lecture vanished instantly, replaced by a stunned, heated silence. his gaze traced the curves of your hips, the sheer fabric, the skin that was practically bare. “what the hell are you doing?” he choked out, his voice dropping an octave.

“making my point,” you said coolly, walking toward him in nothing but the lingerie and heels. michael backed up against the leather seat, his composure completely shattered. he tried to look away but his eyes betrayed him, glued to the sheer lace and it way it hugged your body. “put your coat back on,” he demanded, though his voice came out raspy and weak.

“why? so you can pretend you’re not looking?” you stepped closer, stopping just inches from him. michael’s breathing grew heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his button-down shirt. his hands gripped the arm rests, knuckles white, fighting every instinct to reach for you.

“i am not looking,” he lied through gritted teeth, his eyes practically burning a hole through the sheer lace. “put your coat back on. now.” but he didn’t move. he remained trapped against the leather seat, his self-control crumbling with every step you took closer. the vein in his neck throbbed visibly. “this isn’t solving the argument.”

“isn’t it?” you challenged, sliding onto his lap, ignoring his order. the lace scratched deliciously against the expensive fabric of his trousers. michael groaned, a sound torn between frustration and desire, his hands instinctively gripping your waist to steady you—or push you away—he couldn’t decide. “get off me,” he warned, though his grip tightened. “we are fighting.”

“then fight me,” you whispered, pressing your body flush against him, feeling the hear radiating off his toned chest. one hand slid up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his curls. “but don’t pretend you’re not attracted to what you called reckless and embarrassing two seconds ago.” you leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “your hands are trembling, michael.”

michael’s entire frame tensed. his hands, still clamped on your waist, were indeed trembling. not from anger anymore—from pure, desperate restraint. “you think this is a game?” he hissed, his voice thick, his hips bucking involuntarily as you shifted your weight. “you think showing up half naked solves anything?”

“i think it gets your attention,” you purred, grinding slowly against the growing hardness in his trousers. michael’s head fell back against the seat, a low growl escaping his throat as his control snapped. his hands moved from your waist to your hips, gripping them hard, fingers digging into lace and skin. “stop fucking with me.”

“i’m not fucking with you. you started this fight.” you whispered, rocking your hips deliberately against him. “you called me reckless, embarrassing, disrespectful…” you leaned down, biting his lower lip softly. “now look at you. trembling underneath me.” michael groaned violently, his eyes rolling back. “stop.” it was a desperate warning, utterly powerless. “i am serious.”

“are you?” you challenged, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. his dark eyes were hazy with want, lips swollen from your bite. “because your hands say something completely different.” you guided his trembling fingers to the edge of your lace panties, pressing them against the damp fabric. michael let out a broken sound, his forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“god help me,” he muttered against your skin, his hot breath ghosting over your collarbone. his fingers twitched against the lace, fighting the urge to push the fabric aside. “you’re impossible. you know that? absolutely impossible.” his hips bucked up meeting yours, a needy thrust that betrayed his words. “we were arguing about your drinking, your behaviour—“

“and now?” you whispered proactively, rolling your hips to feel every inch of his arousal beneath you. “are we still arguing about my drinking, michael? or are you thinking about how easy it would be to tear this lace off me?” his head fell back, exposing his throat, a guttural moan tearing from his lips. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.” you corrected softly, pressing open mouthed kisses along his jawline. your hands roamed over his chest, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. “you hate that i make you want things you shouldn’t.” you found his belt, fingering working to quickly undo it.

michael’s hand flew to yours, stopping you mid-buckle. “don’t,” he wanted, his voice low and dangerous. “don’t do this right now. we’re not having sex to end an argument.”

“then what are we doing?” you asked, leaning back to look at him. your chest rose and fell rapidly, your lips parted slightly as you breathed. “because it sure as hell feels like you want to fuck me out of this stupid lingerie set.” you shifted your weight, pressing down onto his erection.

“i do,” he admitted, his hips jerking up to meet yours. his hands tightened on your wrists, torn between pushing you away and slamming you onto his cock. “god, i want to rip this thing to shreds and fuck you senseless. but that’s not how we solve our problems.”

“then how?” you demanded, frustrated by his restraint. “we fight, you yell, i storm out, we make up in bed—that’s our cycle, michael. break it.” he released your wrists, you then slide your hands up his chest to cup his face. “talk to me. really talk to me. without the anger.” his eyes softened, searching yours.

he started to talk but then you rolled your hips once, and his restraint finally shattered. he flipped you onto your back, the seats creaking as you landed beneath him. “talking is overrated anyway,” he growled, yanking the delicate lace aside. his mouth crashed onto yours as he fumbled with his belt, impatient, desperate. “i’ll yell at you tomorrow.” one hand gripped your thigh, hiking it over his hip.

“damn right,” you murmured against his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist as he settled between them. you didn’t want to talk either. you wanted him to fuck the anger and jealously out of him. you wanted him to remind you why you loved him even when he drove you crazy.

michael groaned as you pulled him closer, his hips grinding against yours through the thin barrier of fabric. “fuck,” he hissed, his teeth grazing your earlobe. his hands roamed everywhere—your waist, your thighs, the curve of your ass—possessive and hungry. the argument was forgotten, replaced by raw need. “you drive me insane,” he muttered against your neck.

“shut up and kiss me again,” you ordered, pulling his face back to yours. michael obeyed instantly, his mouth covering yours in a brutal, dominating kiss. his tongue pushed past your lips, duelling with yours as he reached between your bodies to unzip his pants.

michael’s hand slid between your bodies, shoving his expensive slacks down just enough to free his hard, aching cock. he didn’t both removing them completely—there was no time, no patience. the plane hit a small air pocket, tipping slightly, causing you to gasp as his tip pressed against your lace covered entrance.

he hooked his fingers into the damp lace, tearing the flimsy fabric aside with a sharp sound that was swallowed by your moan. before you could catch your breath, he surged forward, burying himself deep inside you in one thrust. your back arched off the leather seat, a cry tearing from your throat as he stretched you, filling you completely.

“oh my god,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his back as he began to move, his hips snapping forward and back in a bruising pace. “michael, wait—“

“shh, baby, i’ve got you,” he panted against your neck, his hand sliding up to wrap around your throat gently.

“i’ve got you,” he repeated, his voice low and commanding. he lifted your hips slightly to change the angle, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. the planes gentle rocking only intensified the sensation, making every thrust deeper, more intense. “look at me,” he demanded softly.

you forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze as he continued to fuck you with deep, powerful strokes. his thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point, a silent reminder of who was in control. the argument from earlier was long forgotten, replaced by this raw, primal connection. “i love you,”

the words slipped out between grunts and gasps, his forehead pressed to yours. “i love you. even when you’re being a brat in this lingerie. even when you drink too much. even when you go against what i say.” each declaration was punctuated by a hard thrust, his hips grinding in perfect circles. “remember that.”

“i remember,” you choked out, your eyes rolling back as his pelvic bone ground against your clit. “i love you too.” your orgasm coiled tight in your belly, the friction from his relentless strokes pushing you closer to the edge. the leather seat squeaked beneath you, the smell of expensive cologne and sex filling the cabin. “please, don’t stop.”

“never,” he growled, suddenly flipping you over so you were on top. his hands gripped your hips tightly as he guided you to ride him. the change in position hit new spots, making you both moan loudly.

you arched your back, taking him deeper as you started to bounce on his lap, meeting his thrusts with your own eager movements. the plane hit another air pocket, causing you to yelp and grab onto his shoulders for stability. michael just smiled wickedly and kept fucking you from below.

“you like that, huh?” he teased, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, squeezing firmly as you rode him. the friction was driving you insane—your clit grinding against his pelvis with every downward stroke. “like this, baby?” he bucked up hard, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. “you feel so good, mama.”

“michael—“ your voice broke into a sob as your orgasm crashed through you, stars exploding behind your eyelids. your walls clenched around him, milking every inch as waves of pleasure ripped through your body. michael’s grip on your hips tightened as he bottomed out deep inside you, his own release spilling hot between your thighs with a guttural groan.

he held you there, still buried deep, both of you panting heavily as the aftershocks of your orgasms rolled through your joined bodies. his thumbs traced lazy circles on your hips, the possessive fire in his eyes now softened to something tender. “my god,” he breathed against your shoulder. “we should fight more often.” you shoved at him weakly, laughing breathlessly.

as the high of your intense makeup sex wore off, reality began to set in. michael’s hands slid from your hips to gently cup your face, his thumbs brushing away any lingering traces or tears or sweat. his voice was soft but sincere, completely opposite from how he’d been acting earlier. “baby,”

“i’m sorry,” he said quietly, his forehead resting against yours. “for everything. for telling you not to go out, for being an asshole when you got home, for ignoring you, for being rude, for—“ he took a shaky breath. “for acting like a possessive caveman who doesn’t trust his own woman.”

“i trust you,” he continued, his dark eyes searching yours earnestly. “i do. i just…i get this thing in my head. this fear that you’re going to do something stupid, that someone’s going to take you away from me.” he pressed his lips softly to your forehead. “there’s no excuse. i shouldn’t have acted like that. i shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

you reached up, cupping his face in your hands and pulling him down for a slow, tender kiss—nothing like the bruising one from before. when you finally pulled apart, you whispered against his lips, “i forgive you. just…talk to me next time. don’t shut me out.” michael nodded, holding you close against his chest as the plane descended toward new york city.

The car rolled around the back entrance of the hotel, and Michael got out calmly. He went around to your side of the car and opened the door, offering his hand. You took it and carefully stepped out of the car. You could feel your eyes growing heavier with each step, Michael noticed. He watched as you slightly leaned closer to him as you blinked rapidly in an attempt to stay awake. He gently placed a hand on the small of your back, a subtle sign of support. Your body leaned closer at the contact, and his hand slid across your back to the side of your waist so he was now holding you to his side. The two of you walked quietly through the lobby of the hotel, Bill following closely behind. By the time you had reached the elevator you were fully leaning against Michael, his arm wrapped around you securely. As you rode up the elevator to the top floor you whispered something unintelligible into his neck.

The hairs on his arms stood up at the feeling of your hot breath against his neck, "What did you say, baby?"

You spoke slowly, taking time to collect your thoughts, "Mmh, I should y'know get home, before" you let out a small yawn, "before I fell asleep." Your eyes fluttered as you looked up at him.

Michael shook his head, "Nah, I don't think that's a good idea."

You whined slightly as the elevator door opened. Michael started leading you to his room. "You said you'd call me a cab."

Bill opened the door for the both of you, and Michael gently led you over to the bed. "I don't trust you'd get home safely in a cab like this. How about you get some sleep here? I'll sleep on the couch."

You sat on the bed with a plop. You were going to refuse, but the feeling of the cloud like mattress beneath you shut you up quickly. "Holy hell," you laid down, spreading out of the bed before grabbing a blanket and curling into it. "I think this is heaven."

Michael laughed slightly and turned, taking off his shoes. "I'm glad you like it. Y'know I had a really good time with you tonight, or last night, or morning." He laughed a bit, "Man, you have my internal clock all messed up. I guess that just happens with a girl like you, huh-" He turned around to find you sound asleep. He smiled and laid across the couch, "Night, baby."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You woke with a gentle yawn and stretch. You took notice of the room around you. It was less of a room and more like an open floor condo, it was massive. You figured it must take up at least half of the top floor. The room was full of gold embellished furniture, and far too many lamps than possibly necessary. You looked around the room for Michael, he was nowhere to be found. A feeling of disappointment washed over you for a moment before your ears caught the sound of the shower running. You smiled for a moment before catching a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror, yikes. Your makeup had worn off, leaving remnants of your mascara below your eyes, and your hair had grown tangled and poofy. The string of your dress had slipped down your shoulder, showing just the very top of the white lace bra you had opted for the night before. To you, you looked a mess. But when Michael had come out of the bathroom and seen you, he thought God had sent him an angel. The sun was shining through the wall of glass, casting a golden hue around you. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth half-hazardly.

He watched as you quietly moved the edge of the bed, you still hadn't noticed him, slipping on the boots you had kicked off at some point during your nap. Michael smiled, "You goin' somewhere?"

You jumped slightly, looking over at him. The sight of him shirtless brought a pink tint to your cheeks. "Jeeze, ya scared me." Your eyes raked over his still slightly wet chest, admiring the way the water glistened against his abs.

He laughed lightly, "Sorry, baby." He moved deeper into the room, heading over to the large closet.

You quirked an eyebrow, "Baby? Oh so we're gettin' serious now, are we?" You teased, expecting him to take it back.

Instead he simply nodded, tossing on a low v-neck shirt, "We are."

You stilled slightly, before relaxing into the bed, watching him with a small tilt of the head. "Oh really?"

He turned towards you, eyes meeting yours. There was both a playfulness and yet a sincerity looming deep in them. "Really."

You tried to hide your smile in your shoulder, "You know, you don't really know me. I could be some crazy lady out to get ya."

He laughed, "But you're not."

"How can ya be so sure?" You teased

He watched you for a moment, "Cuz I see you."

Your eyes met his again, his answer stirred something in your chest. You both share a gentle smile, speaking quietly without words. This was dangerous. You lived here in New York, and Michael -sweet Michael- lived in LA and was constantly on the move.

Almost as if he read your mind he spoke softly, "I'll make it work." He carefully sat by you, grabbing your hand gently.

"Michael, we met less than 24 hours ago. You don't even know my last name. Don't you think this is a little unrealistic?" Your hand held his tightly, contradicting everything you had just implied.

Michael rubbed his thumb across your knuckles. "I know this is crazy, but I really don't care. I want to learn more about you, I want to take this from unrealistic to a reality. If you'll let me."

Every logical thought in your head was saying no, telling you that you were only preparing yourself for heartbreak. And then there was your heart, begging you to say yes. Oh fuck it, when did you ever listen to logic? "Alright."

His smile lit up the room, eyes scanning your face to see if you were serious. You were. He moved closer, cupping your face. "Can I kiss you?"

"As much as I would love that, I have some pretty rank morning breath." You giggled, hiding slightly behind your hand.

He deflated slightly, and then lit up again. "Y'know, I'm here for a whole week. Maybe you can show me round the city?"

You smiled and nodded, "Alright, but I've gotta go back to my apartment and change."

"Why? I think you look smokin'." He laughed slightly as you rolled your eyes.

"I look like a hooker." You stated simply. "I'm dressed for a night at Studio 54 not a stroll down Wall Street."

He laughed more, "Alright, well we'll go to your apartment so you can get dressed and then we'll head out."

You shifted slightly, "Mmmh, I'm not sure your security is gonna love the idea of you going to a stranger's apartment."

"Only Bill really needs to be there, and he'll stay in the car." He assured you.

"Alright, let's go then, lover boy." You stood from the bed. Michael watched as the tight dress rode up your thighs slightly. He swallowed hard and looked away, standing up from the bed slowly.

You both made your way out of his room, him following slightly behind you. He waited for you to readjust the dress, but you just continued to the elevator. Once in the elevator Michael carefully leaned down, tugging the hem of your dress down. You gave him a look, and he held his hands up in defence. "Just lookin out for my girl." He said sweetly.

You smiled gently and shifted closer to him as his arm wrapped around your waist.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

When you got to your apartment complex you both rushed in so he wouldn't be spotted, opting to take the stairs instead of the elevator. Once you got to the door you turned to look at him, slightly embarrassed. "Alright now listen, I wasn't expectin' a guy over, let alone you. So just prepare yourself." You opened the door and invited him in.

It looked like a tornado of clothes had ripped through the apartment. Articles of clothing hung off of every piece of furniture, a pair of pink tights draped across the tv, a bra hanging off a lamp shade, a silky robe draped over a chair, I mean it was a lot. The walls were covered in pictures, posters, cards, sequenced strings capturing all the light. Bottles of liquor sat empty on the coffee table, along with credit cards and rolled up dollar bills. A large record player setup sat on a console table, baskets full of records sitting neatly under it. He looked around in amazement.

"I know, it's a mess. Like I said I wasn't expecting anyone, otherwise I would have cleaned up." You moved around the apartment quickly, trying to pile all of the clothes in a laundry basket.

"There's no need to clean, it honestly reminds me of my room at home." He examined the records you had, pulling out Off the Wall with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, "Don't let that go to your head. And I hardly believe your room looks anything like this, don't you have like housekeepers that clean up after you?"

He laughed and the record away, sitting on the bright orange couch that sat in the middle of the apartment. "Yeah, but they don't go in my room. I like my room to feel lived in, like how it feels in here." He smiled.

You stilled from cleaning, relaxing slightly. "Well, just make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything I have in the fridge. I'm gonna go shower and get ready."

"Mind if I join?" He smiled over at you.

"Mmh, sure it's just in my room, door to the left." You shrugged lightly.

His eyes widened but he got up and followed your direction. He looked around your room for a moment, taking in the smell. It smelt like vanilla and florals, your bed was messy, the comforter halfway off the bed and too many pillows than necessary. He shook his head and found the door. He opened it, only to be met with a closet full of shoes. He heard the water running down the hall. Damn, you played him like a fiddle. He shook his head with a laugh and stared at the sheer amount of shoes.

"Note to self, when in doubt, get her shoes." He closed the door and turned to the large bookshelf that was stocked full of books.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

When you came out from the shower you walked into your room with your towel wrapped around your chest, ringing the water out of your hair without a thought. You found Michael sat on the edge of your bed, a book in hand. He looked up at you, saw that you were half naked and looked back at the book.

"Sorry- I'll go back into the living room." He stood up quickly.

You laughed, "It's alright Michael, just no peeking." You smiled and disappeared into your closet.

He nodded, keeping his face in the book.

Once you were dressed, the two of you got back in the car with Bill and toured around New York. You didn't take him to any of the big sightseers, instead opting to take him to the little treasures you had found in the time you had lived in the city.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The week continued like this, running rampant through the city during the day, parties at night, chats in the morning, repeat. Michael was in deep, he wanted to learn anything and everything about you, and succeeded. You told him things you hadn't told anyone before, and he did the same with you.

People say love takes time to develop. Is it really possible to be in love with someone after only a week of knowing them? To Michael, the answer was a simple yes. And as much as you wanted to deny it, your answer was yes too. Everything about him made you giddy, he gave you the high that you had been chasing in drugs, except this high lasted. And you were the friend Michael had been searching for. He didn't feel judged around you, he didn't feel like the relationship was transactional. The most bizarre point for you was that you and Michael hadn't even been physical yet, hell you had barely kissed. The most physical contact you had was a long kiss to the cheek and cuddling late at night after parties.

Neither of you wanted the week to end, neither of you wanted to face the hard reality: Michael had to go home.

The night before his flight he held you close in his arms, both of you lying on the top of his massive hotel room bed. Your legs tangled together, your head resting in the crook of his neck. It was late at night, you both knew you needed to sleep, but neither wanted to give up that time.

Michael spoke softly, "I hate this."

You pulled yourself closer to him, "Me too. I don't-" You cut yourself off, eyes stinging. "Michael, I don't want this to end." You pulled back and looked at him.

He searched your eyes for a moment. The room was silent, and then he spoke softly, "Then let's not let it." His hand gently cupped your cheek.

Your eyes dropped to his lips for a moment. He inched his face closer, nose brushing against your softly. You could feel his free hand settle on your hip, thump making small circles against your skin.

Michael felt your hand slide up his arm and rest on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly. You were so close he could feel your lashes against his skin. The air around the two of you grew warmer, both of you still fighting to hold back. If you crossed this line, you weren't sure you'd be able to move on once he left. But you wanted it so bad. He wanted you so bad. He could see everything he had ever wanted with you, he saw the life he dreamed of. You were all he had ever wanted.

His restraint snapped. His lips met yours with need. You fought back with the same force, you hand slipping to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His hand rode up your shirt, resting his hand against your waist. You lifted yourself into his touch, body melting against his. He groaned deep into your mouth, tongue moving in rhythm with yours. He shifted over you slightly, caging you beneath his body. You let out a light sigh as his mouth left hot open kisses against your neck. His hand returned to your bare waist, giving it a slight squeeze, causing you to pull him down closer. Michael gently trailed small kisses to your collar bone, eliciting small needy sounds from your mouth. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his lips back to yours, desperate to feel his mouth on yours again. Gentle sighs and gasps filled the room like a heavy perfume.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that, it could have been 5 minutes, it could have been hours. You didn't want it to end. But, when you felt your lips were too swollen to continue, you placed a gentle hand on Michael's chest. He frowned and looked down at you, the sight nearly killing him on the spot. "What's wrong?"

"Michael, you get on a plane in the morning, and I don't know if I'll ever see you said." Your painful expression hit him hard. He sat up, pulling you with him.

He grabbed your hands, "Come with me."

Taglist: @sebbysbaby@chloethefantastic@umafanficdoidaqualquer

It wasn't like Michael was new to the environment, he and his brothers got their start from performing in strip clubs in the midwest, but none of them were as magical as this. In fact, unlike the clubs his father had booked him when he was the age of a kindergartener, this club didn't suffocate him at all, he didn't feel like he was unsafe, he felt free.

Quincy came up to his side as they waded deeper into the building, he grinned and leaned down to whisper in Michael's ear, "Still feelin' hesitant?"

Mike let out a breathy laugh, "Nah, m'feelin great, Q." He smiled bright, nodding at a group of ladies who eyed him up and down.

"Good, cause I got the best seats in this place." He nodded up to the second floor where he saw a small area blocked off. It sat in the center of the second floor balcony, providing a view of the entire club. The room was clothed in red velvet and silk in a variety of different oranges. There was the swankiest looking couch he had ever seen and a chair that was the shape of a literal hand. The table that sat in the middle looked like it was made out of disco ball fragments and fairy dust. There were large plumes of pink feathers that clung to a large floor lamp. It was the most overwhelming yet mesmerizing room he had ever laid his eyes on.

Quincy led Michael to the spiral stairs that led up to the second floor. Michael paused halfway up them, his body telling him there was something he was missing. He scanned the crowd below him, everyone had resumed all of their previous activities. He saw people dancing, people talking and laughing, people drinking, smoking. It was almost too vast to look at. But his eyes raked across the sea of people before being drawn like a magnet to her.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You stood with your girlfriends against the back wall of the club. They were on their 5th round of whatever the drink of the night was. You think it's some sort of tequila based drink that was so sweet you couldn't even taste the alcohol. It wasn't really your style, no you opted for an espresso martini and whatever substance was in the small compact mirror in your hands. Maybe it was the dangerous mix of alcohol and drugs in your system but you felt a pair of eyes on you. Your eyes scanned the crowd as best you could.

One of your friends tapped your shoulder, pulling you away from your search. She held her drink in one hand, her other hand lingering on your shoulder, "You're up next, babe." She pointed to the elevated stage where the current DJ was wrapping up.

Excitement fills your body like a rush of adrenaline. You sniffled slightly and tucked the compact into your bra, thanking your friend and giving her a playful wink as you made your way to the stage. You fluffed up your hair, and smoothed out the tight little dress you had stepped into back at your apartment.

As you took your place behind the booth, getting things set up to your liking you felt the familiar return of the eyes from before. You ignored the feeling as you placed the headphones around your neck, you typically would have actually put them on your head, but you had spent forever fluffing up your hair and getting it to sit just right. Your hand held one side of the headphones up to your ear, your other hand quickly fiddling with certain dials and indicators. The table felt so good beneath your fingers, you could feel the energy slicing from the hundreds of wires into the soft pads of your fingers.

You queued up a few songs before the stare came back. It felt purposeful at this point, like whoever was staring at you wanted your attention, wanted to make you nervous. But it also felt thick, like this person was using all their energy to make you look at them. And shit, it was working. You glanced up from the mixer, eyes somehow knowing exactly where to look. They trailed straight up in front of you and into the VIP box in the balcony.

There he stood, dressed in fitted bell bottoms that hugged his thighs perfectly, and a long glittery flowing shirt that plunged almost all the way to the waistband of his pants. He leaned against the balcony, skin shining beautifully under the rainbow of colorful lights. His big brown doe eyes locked onto yours.

Either your incredibly intoxicated brain was pulling a prank on you, or Michael Jackson was staring straight into your soul like he had already conquered it.

With the way he was looking at you, it wouldn't be long until he did.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Michael watched you move effortlessly through the crowd and up into the dj booth. His eyes raked over your body more times than he would like to admit. He wanted to commit your figure to memory, everything from your chunky gold heels to the bold turquoise makeup look that made you look less human and more siren. Oh you were absolutely poisonous.

He had been silently praying to God that you would look his way, that you would spare him even a single glance.

And then you did, your glossy eyes meeting his. Did you naturally have that effortlessly bewitching look in your eyes, or was that something that you saved specifically for men who looked at you like you were the sun? Michael wasn't sure he cared all that much, all he cared about was that you kept looking at him.

And you did, a smile pulling at your lips as your hands moved across the mixer with ease. Everything about you was captivating, Michael genuinely felt like a sailor being lured to death by a siren. He leaned further over the railing, eyes trailing over every curve of your skin that you mercifully let him see.

As his eyes met your, you bit your lower lip slyly. You shot a wink at him as you pressed play on the mixer, turning the volume up as the crowd hollered at the song.

Disco Inferno boomed through the speakers, hitting Michael like a punch to the gut. He smiled and dipped his head, nodding at you as an approval of your song choice.

Quincy called Michael away from the railing, wanting him to sit down and have a drink. Michael left his spot begrudgingly, but kept his eyes trained on you. Even when he sat on the plush couch he looked through the iron railing at you. Every sip of alcohol made his body ache for more of your attention. Since the music had started playing you had paid him absolutely zero thought. He knew you were doing it on purpose, he knew you could feel his gaze on you.

Quincy talked beside him, introducing him to other celebrities, producers, business men, whoever. Michael didn't care. He sat watching you, watching your hands move expertly against the mixer. He wished your hands were on him. He could imagine your touch easily, the feeling of your hand on his chest, your fingers in his hair.

You sneaked the tiniest glance up at him. He sat with his legs slightly widened, body leaned back, drink dangling lazily from his hand. It was a mistake to look, because that one look lit your whole body on fire.

Michael noticed, he caught your eyes darting up at him before back down to your task at hand. He noticed the heat in your cheeks, and it made him giddy. He watched you move to the music, head nodding perfectly on the downbeats of each song, hips swaying carefully. It was so natural that it could have made him cry out in pure joy.

He found himself wondering about you, what was your name, did you live here? Did you have a boyfriend, a girlfriend, any kind of partner? God, he hoped not. Did you always elicit this kind of response from strangers? He wondered how you felt about animals, did you like them as much as he did, what if you hated animals. He wondered what you smelled like. His best guess was some sort of husky amber scent, or maybe some kind of citrine smell.

He didn't know anything about you and he was already imagining what a date would look like, how bad he would spoil a girl like you. He imagined the sound of your voice, how it would sound hearing you say his name.

Quincy shook his shoulder, "Michael!"

He blinked, you were gone. Shit, he had been day dreaming so hard he had missed you leaving the stage. He stood up, eyes searching the crowd frantically, what if you had left? He thought he may actually pass away if you had slipped through the cracks.

Quincy looked up at him, "Michael, relax, she's on the dance floor."

He let out a sigh of relief, "Good," he looked at Quincy, "Wait, how do you know who I'm looking for?"

"You've not exactly been discreet about it, Mike. I mean Cyndi Lauper was sitting next to you and you were starin' at that dj chick."

Michael shrugged, "She caught my eye, Q."

"Well, Jesus, Mike don't just stand up here. Go talk to the girl before I lose my mind."

Michael smiled and left the VIP area, fully on a mission.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

After your set you carefully slipped out from the booth and over to your friends. They smiled and kissed your cheek, applauding you.

Before you knew it, you were on the sparkly dance floor with them. The three of you danced close, hands roaming each other comfortably. You wolf whistled as another girl came and whisked away one of your friends. Then your other friend quickly disappeared with a guy, sending you a wink as they left the floor. You smiled and continued dancing, letting the music clear your head. You shut your eyes, the music leading your body in fluid movements.

You felt his presence before you saw him, in fact you were so certain it was him you didn't even open your eyes. A large hand found its way to the small of your back, and you leaned into the touch. Your back grazed his chest, you could feel the cold touch of his necklace graze your bare back. The sharp difference in temperature sent a chill down your spine. His hands settled on your hips, guiding them with his to the music. Your heart felt surprisingly steady, like this was natural, like dancing with Michael Jackson was just an ordinary experience. Maybe it would become one, Michael sure hoped it would.

Michael felt your body relax and press into his touch, your head leaned back against his chest, his mouth right next to your ear. He wanted nothing more than to dip his head and kiss your glistening neck, but he remained a gentleman, or as much of one as he could muster.

He wasn't sure how long you two stayed like that, but it had been a couple of songs. Slowly you turned in his grasp, now facing him. Your glossy eyes met him again and he could have sworn he was in heaven. You both smiled lazily at each other, sharing a knowing look.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, as he wrapped his around your waist, bringing you closer. "I'm Michael."

You smiled more, you wanted to say 'i know,' but you decided to play his little game, "I'm Y/n, it's nice to finally meet you, Michael."

God you sounded exactly like he had imagined, and somehow you smelt better than he could have ever dreamt.

His thumb drew little circles against your hip, "You dance like this with every guy you meet?" he teased slightly, leaning closer to your face.

"No, just you. And do you stare at every girl that peaks your interest?" You leaned closer, nose brushing his.

"Nah, just you." He copied your response. You smiled at the lighthearted banter.

"I guess that makes me a very lucky girl, hm?"

"That depends on if you make me equally as lucky and go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?" His grip on your hips tightened ever so slightly, it made your knees slightly weak.

"Why wait until tomorrow night?" You smiled, a mischievous glint hitting your eye.

He raised a brow, a grin matching the look in your eyes. "What did you have in mind?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You and Michael found yourselves seated in a waffle house, laughing violently at something one of you had said. His security guard, Bill, sat a couple of seats away, enjoying his own late night/early morning breakfast.

It was close to 5 AM the next day, you and Michael had been terrorizing the waffle house for almost 4 hours now. You would've felt bad had you not been having such a good time. And Michael felt the same way.

When the sun started to peek through the city streets, Bill finally decided to intervene.

"We gotta head back to the hotel room before your father has an aneurysm, Joker." Bill clapped his shoulder.

Michael sighed and muttered, "I wish he would," causing you to double over in more laughter. Michael smiled proudly.

You stood up, "I should head back to my apartment."

Michael stood as well, looking at you curiously, "How are you getting home?"

"I'll probably walk." You grabbed your purse, carefully reaching for money to pay for the food.

Michael stopped you, "First, you're not walking home alone. Second, I'm paying."

"Michael, I'm the one who suggested we come here, and I am perfectly capable of walking, I've done it many times before."

He placed down enough cash to cover the bill and to leave a hefty tip. "I don't like that, you're not walking home on my watch."

"But it's an inconvenience to take me home, my apartment is on the opposite side of the city from your hotel." You crossed your arms.

"Then you'll come to the hotel with me and we can get you a cab from there." Michael said cooly, even though he had no intent of calling a cab.

"Can I not call a cab from here?" You challenged, eyes narrowing.

"No, you can't." He said simply, taking your hand and leading you to the sleek Cadillac he had arrived in.

"Why are you so worried, you're not my boyfriend." You teased him lightly.

He opened the door for you, a smile already on his face. "Not yet."

​however, you don't know why you kept quiet when michael told the driver to bring you to hayvenhurst instead of your place. you don't really want to know the reason you acted like that.

​you don't look at him; you don't think you have the guts to do it right now. instead, you focus on his woody fragrance, which has always helped you relax. it isn't any different now. so you just close your eyes and try to clear your mind, letting the thought of having him close to you calm all the noises in your brain.

​michael is not used to your silence, but he can still contemplate your face while you are asleep. you look so beautiful and soft. he uses all his self-control not to pull you closer to him, taking a deep breath as he watches the road through the car window.

​he's worried about you. although your ankle seems alright, he doesn't think you are really alright. he still doesn't know why you are ignoring him or the reason for this sudden change in attitude towards him.

he just knows one thing:

how much it hurts not being able to understand you. he can't comprehend what he did wrong.

​in your sleep, your face slips onto his shoulder. you're so comfortable against him that you draw yourself nearer and snuggle into him. michael drops a smile, realizing that even if you are not talking to him, you still quietly look for him. he couldn't avoid you, even if he wanted to.

​his eyes soften as he sees you so relaxed and close to him. for an instant, there is nothing else in the world, just you and him. he hears you breathing, and that's enough to dissipate the adrenaline in his body.

losing his composure, he gently presses a kiss to your forehead.

​michael looks up, searching the rearview mirror, and sees bill's proud face smiling back at him. bill isn't oblivious to the story; he knows how much you like the boy—and how much michael likes you. it's just a matter of time before you both get together.

michael gives an embarrassed smirk, like he was caught doing something wrong. but he doesn't care, because nothing about you could ever be wrong.

​....

​you feel a soreness in your throat. you open your eyes and don't even need a second to realize that you are in michael's bedroom. actually, you are lying in his bed. and he's right there. he doesn't notice when you open your eyes—and that's great. you need a minute, or maybe two, to think straight.

​the memories come to your mind like flashes. you remember seeing him and diana; you remember being blinded by jealousy. it's all there in the back of your mind.

​"are you awake?" his sweet voice comes out of nowhere. you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't realize when he stepped closer to you.

​"n-no—i mean, yes. i just woke up." your voice is a bit raspy; your throat is definitely sore. "i think i need some water."

​before michael can tell you to stay lying in his bed, you abruptly plant your feet on the floor. the moment you put your left foot on the carpet, a sudden pain burns through your ankle. it hurts so much. you don't think you've broken it, but the pain is massive. you bite your lip to avoid letting out a whine of pain. still, your eyes start watering, and everything seems like too much; everything hurts too much.

​the feeling of being there with him hurts. this whole situation is so... you don't even know what to think about it. you are jealous, but not only jealous. you're disappointed. he is—or was—your best friend; he used to tell you everything.

then why didn't he tell you about diana? were you the last one to know?

​you are tired.

​you are tired of masking your own feelings.

​and you are tired of ignoring him.

​you don't know when you started crying, but you can feel your eyes welling up with tears as they stream down your cheeks.

​michael doesn't know what to do.

you are crying. he would rather die than see you cry. "no, baby, don't cry. is it hurting that much? let me take you to the bed." the words come out so fast that he's almost breathless.

​you don't answer, but he gathers you in his arms like you're the most precious thing to ever exist, sitting you back on the bed. he calmly runs his hand over your ankle. "you don't need to worry, baby. it's not broken, you know." he gives you a soft smile.

​but that doesn't help you stop crying. you just look at him, not knowing what to do. one part of you wants to be honest with him, but the other... she just wants to lie down and cry.

​"don't cry. please don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry." his voice is soft, like he is talking to a baby. he needs you to stop crying. it's like a knife tearing through his flesh when he watches you suffer like that, and that disappointed look is the worst part of it. he doesn't know what to do, so he just begs you:

​"princess, please, talk to me. what did i do wrong? mama, please, look at me. please talk to me. i need you to stop crying, alright? please, baby, tell me what happened. i just need to know where i went wrong so i can fix it."

​now, his head is resting against your lap. he looks up at you with so much devotion that it confuses you.

he stares at you, waiting for your answer. you can see his anxiety growing with every minute you stay silent. you run your hand through his pretty curly hair, taking in how handsome michael is. his doe eyes are melting your resolve; you don't think you can keep quiet anymore—not when he's looking at you this way.

​you take a deep breath, and in a whispering voice, you reveal the catalyst behind all your tears:

​"i—i saw. i saw you and her, michael. you and diana."

michael takes a moment to react to what you just said. he slowly realizes what must have happened, replaying that moment at studio 54. he had never seen you be that rude to anyone, but now, the realization hits him.

​you think he is with diana.

​he doesn't know how you arrived at this conclusion, but as he looks at you, he can see how hurt you are. it kills him to know that he is the cause of it all. a bittersweet feeling takes over him; he's glad that he finally knows the truth. however, he will never forget how sad he made you over something that could have been avoided.

​it's all his fault.

​you cried because of him.

​and he's not okay with that. the thought of hurting you had never crossed his mind, and knowing he is the reason for your pain is overwhelming, to say the least.

​"michael—are you with her?" your hesitant voice pulls him from his thoughts.

"no—god. i—i, princess, i like you," he says, looking deep into your eyes. "actually, i've liked you since we were just two silly kids."

​you don't know what to say.

​so, you don't say anything.

​you just look at him, waiting for his next words. he takes in your silence, looking deeply into your eyes;

​"i never had anything with diana," he says quickly. "i mean it. we never had sex, and i never kissed her." you aren't doubting his words, but jesus, you are still so afraid of getting your feelings hurt.

​"but mikey..." you take a pause before continuing. "i don't get it. you know, i never thought about you and her. but i saw the way she looks at you, and how you look at her."

​"the way i look at her?"

​"yes."

​"princess, don't you see the way i look at you?"

​"i don't know, michael, you were never clear about it."

​"i'm being clear now. i've liked you since we were kids. and now, every time i see you, my heart fills with something i can't even explain. it is love, but it's much more than that," he says as he interlocks his fingers with yours. "can you forgive me, mama?"

​"i think i can." —oh, you already forgave him, but he doesn't need to know that. he starts to stand up, but before he can, you pull his hand. suddenly, he's on the bed, lying next to you, so, so close. you can feel his warm breath against your skin, and he seems just as affected by the sudden closeness as you are.

​"so you like me that much, yeah?" you tease him, and he looks at you with sheer disbelief. "yes, ma'am, i do."

​"i'm not so sure about that," you say jokingly. this causes him to pull you closer, holding you so tight that you can hear your heart beating in sync with his.

​"remember when you were this little girl who would follow me everywhere—" mike starts, but you quickly interrupt him:

​"you would follow me every—"

"let me finish, mama. but yes, i would also follow you everywhere. i liked being around you; you were so gentle with me. you would try to cheer me up when i was down by giving me ice cream. you were so cute." and suddenly, all these memories come flooding back to your mind, and you have never felt so loved. he still remembers the little details that didn't seem like much at the time, but right now? they mean everything to both of you.

​"i love you," you say for the first time, and michael just looks at you, so much love radiating from his eyes. he can't help but squeeze you in his arms as he tells you how much he loves you too.

​and for the first time, you feel completely at peace. you are exactly where you belong: in his arms.

something was going on with you; that's what michael thought.

he had realized this after last friday at studio 54.

the music was loud, everyone was either dancing or snorting the white powder. you were on the dance floor, grooving to the beat of the music. your curvy hips were grinding against that stranger, which wasn't unusual for you—dancing with the guys or the girls—while you waited for michael's arrival.

​but something weird happened: you didn't dance with him that night. you gave him a short smile, acknowledging his presence, but you kept your distance. every time he would turn to you, or put his hand on your back, you would quickly find another person to dance with.

then he stayed in the corner and observed you, beautiful as an angel, sparkling on the dance floor. you didn't give him a single glance.

​michael couldn't sleep; he kept thinking that was so unusual for you.

i mean, he met you when you were this cute girl who was the only person at motown his age. he wouldn't be lying if he ever told you that you were his first crush.

so as you guys grew up, things got harder for him. he would be with the jacksons while trying to produce his first solo album.

and you were always there.

​he would invite you to his studio. you would sit close to him while eating strawberry ice cream, listening to him talk about how excited he was; he would show you his various lyrics.

you were always the first one who supported him. and you would give him that look—the one that would make his heart beat a little faster.

he didn't know if you were aware of it. he thinks you don't realize the effect you have on him. and that's awful.

for you, he's probably just your old friend.

​he would ask you to sing this part—because he actually just wanted to hear your sweet voice. he would ask your opinion about it before quincy's; that's how close you are—or were. he doesn't know anymore.

he is so scared of his growing feelings for you. a childhood crush is one thing, but this is so much more intense than it was supposed to be.

you know him, the real him.

he wasn't michael jackson to you; he was just a guy from indiana.

he doesn't want to ruin this beautiful friendship.

​what could be worse than unrequited love? he used to think that nothing could be worse than that.

but being ignored by you is worse than everything. he doesn't know if he can live without hearing your laugh every time he hums something silly; he doesn't know if he can pretend everything is fine.

he doesn't know if he can take his own torturing thoughts saying that you never liked him, not even a bit.

he's hurt.

​the telephone rings at hayvenhurst.

michael immediately walks away from his bedroom, goes downstairs, and picks up the telephone.

thump. thump. thump. thump. thump.

his head is spinning with the adrenaline that runs through his veins. he's expecting it to be you, but at the same time, he doesn't even know what words he should say if it's really you.

​"michael, it's me." a feminine voice that is not yours comes from the speaker.

he's disappointed that it's not you; instead, it's diana ross. he doesn't know when this thing started; at first, she was more like a mentor to him, an inspiration. she was a beautiful woman, but nothing more than that.

he wouldn't call that thing a relationship; it's definitely not serious between him and diana. they never had sex or shared a real kiss. he didn't think he liked her; it was more like a comfortable situation.

​she flirted with him, and he would just let her. it's not like she didn't know about his feelings for you. the funny part about it is that everybody knew, except you. but it was so much easier for him to pretend that he liked the whole situation, and just be passive about it.

and because of that, michael takes a deep breath, and with a fake cheerful voice, he says:

"how are you doing, di?"

"great, just letting you know i'm coming to the club today."

"you are going to 54?"

"yes i am, and you are going too. see you, handsome."

​before he could reply with an obviously negative answer, she ended the call. a strange feeling consumes him; he doesn't want to be there to see you dancing with another person. he doesn't know if he can take being ignored by you one more time.

but at the same time, you drive him crazy. it's impossible for him to be away from you. he needs to feel you; he misses your touch, your smell. then he decides. he is going to face you and ask what is wrong.

​you are drunk. you don't even remember when you started dancing on the table, but the feeling was good; you could feel the rhythm of the loud music in your ears, and everything was spinning.

but you still couldn't stop thinking about him.

you haven't talked to michael for 2 weeks.

you thought it was the best option, to keep yourself away from this whole situation. you wanted to scream at him, argue with him, ask him why. then you chose the better option: you ignored him for your own well-being.

but even when you did that..... the disgusting scene you watched wouldn't leave your mind.

​so you're just drinking. and dancing. with the hope you will not remember any of that.

then you see her. your dizzy mind wasn't capable of imagining them, so that's how you knew that you were really seeing michael and diana.

she was too close to him, letting out a loud laugh at something he had said. you could see her hand wrapped around his arm like glue. his chin was marked with her lipstick print.

​and suddenly—when you see that, you don't know how to breathe anymore. a crushing pain invades your chest, and everything seems wrong.

it was supposed to be you. you and him. you and michael. he was supposed to be yours.

​jealousy blinds you, your head hurts, and everything turns black. you don't realize when it happened, but the next thing you remember is falling off the table.

then, your ankle hurts like hell. people are so close to you; they are asking what happened, and you can't manage to answer, because right now he emerges out of nowhere, and he's so close to you.

you feel his doe eyes on you, checking if you are really okay. he doesn't say anything; he just pulls you into his arms, and that's when you can finally relax.

​you don't know where he is taking you—he's walking fast, as if he is afraid of something happening to you, and you can feel his heart beating so fast against your chest.

you don't see diana at first, but she is there, too.

your whole mood goes down again. michael doesn't say anything for now, but diana is saying something. you can't hear it right. but you understand michael even when he's not saying a word, and then you realize he is uncomfortable.

​"diana, can you leave us, please? michael will be taking me home"—you snapped the words with a rush. you didn't wait for her answer; you looked at michael, and he quietly nodded at you as he held you even tighter, walking at a fast pace.

you are in his car now; bill looks at you with a soft smile that warms your heart. you told him to drive you to your place. but michael ignores you and tells bill to take you to hayvenhurst.

you didn't realize it at first. it took you a long time to see the way she looked at him.

it clicked on one fateful day.

at the motown 25 special, mike did the moonwalk for the first time. he was so nervous, and you told him he would do fine, as he always did; he was brilliant on that stage. you needed to see him and tell him how incredible he was up there.

diana ross was there first.

they were in the green room. at first, you thought it was an ordinary interaction. you didn't know what compelled you to just stay in the hallway and watch them through the crack in the door, but something inside you told you to do it, so you stayed there.

you could see her hand touching his arm. she was like a hunter gazing at her next prey. they were almost embracing.

he was looking at her like she wasn't of this world; so much love was coming from his eyes.

it hurt because he never looked at you that way.

she was saying how proud she was of him, how he was a grown man now. and that was so weird—you felt like you could throw up at any moment. you couldn't believe the scene you were witnessing.

and then it happened. she slid her hand under his chin and gave him a subtle kiss on the corner of his mouth. you didn't realize you were holding your breath. mike didn't look surprised; he just giggled, and that was worse than everything you had just observed.