isabella

Chapter one. [Late September. 1983.]

It’s nearing eleven o’clock at night. I’m freshly showered, long curls glossy and defined, and half pinned back away from my face. I dab pink lipstick on my lips in my vanity mirror as the record player wafts soft music into the air. 

The house is quiet, even though my parents are still up, still unpacking some smaller boxes in the kitchen, laughing amongst themselves downstairs. I check the clock. It’s almost time to go, and nervous butterflies take off inside my stomach. 

Should I be exactly on time? Or wait just a little bit? 

I dress into a short white dress with small puffed sleeves. It’s free flowing, doesn’t hug my body, only my chest, with a pretty square neckline, showing off a nice stretch of my cleavage. Not that I want to tempt or tease, but— well. Maybe I do just a little bit. 

I spray perfume onto my throat and wrists then stare at myself in the mirror after I pull on my short heeled leather brown boots that sit just under my knee, my socks peeking out just over the top. I look cute, which is all I can really be with big cheeks, large eyes and dimples. “Okay,” I breathe, giving a turn and checking the back of my dress in the mirror. It’s long enough that it covers my rear, but short enough to be a little bit more daring than the outfits I usually wear to see him.

I head out, and swipe our family’s little white dog, Biscuit, on the way. She’s sleepy, and doesn’t want to walk, so I hold her and slip out the front door, walk down the drive and step out into the clear starry night.

Our neighbourhood is nice, a lot of big houses behind big gates. There’s a lot of trees, hedges, and even a little dog park. We’d been living in Manhattan before, where it was always so loud and so busy, with so much concrete. Whereas down here in Encino, this area was softer. Very suburban, and real pretty. 

I walk for a little bit, still getting used to the wide streets where a car might pass once after ten o’clock. I check my watch, wondering if I’m a little early, since it’s just past half eleven.

I near the dog park and Biscuits perks up, but doesn’t ask to be put down. She only sniffs the air, lifting her sweet little floppy triangle ears, content to be carried and cuddled, whilst still enjoying the smells. 

I should’ve known though, for when she yips— it means he’s here.

My stomach lifts in anticipation, and I turn. He’s there, walking towards me, perhaps maybe fifty yards away on this quiet residential street, passing in and out of the puddles of light provided by the street lamps. Dressed in a red cardigan with a white shirt underneath, and slim black pants, he looks just so… cute, with his short curls and big eyes—I have to take a deep breath to calm myself before he gets close. 

Michael waves when he sees me, then glances towards his companion. A big white Llama named Louie. After meeting more than a few times now, the Llama has begun to recognise me from a distance, and lifts his ears and stares. 

I giggle softly to myself, cheeks already flushing as Michael nears, butterflies soaring in excitement. I give him a little wave. 

For the past two weeks, I’d been meeting Michael for a mid-nightly walk, where we just wander and chat. He brings his llama, and I bring the dog. And we walk around the neighbourhood, just… I don’t know, get to know each other. 

It’s nice. He’s so sweet and soft spoken, so unlike the performer I’d seen on TV or photographed in magazines, mid-show. His energy is completely different in person. Still intoxicating, but…gentler. 

“Hi boys,” I greet softly, smiling. He smiles wide showing a little teeth when he sees me now, so different to the startled wide eyed look he’d given me when we’d first met, purely by accident. 

I’d yelped seeing his Llama, having turned a hedgerow-ed corner and suddenly been faced with it. Biscuit had started yapping like mad, and I’d had to try and shush her, whilst Michael had been just standing there, staring at me, trying to stutter out an apology for frightening me whilst my dog had been freaking out. 

When I’d eventually calmed Bisc down, I’d looked at him properly. I hadn’t quite believed my eyes at first, and we’d just stared at each other. “Are you…?” I had begun to ask, wanting to know if he really was who he was, but when he’d looked immediately uncomfortable, maybe worried at being recognised, out and alone at night, I changed my question. “Are you walking a llama?” I’d asked instead. His eyes had just lit up. 

Then I’d been introduced to Louie. And I’d introduced him to Biscuit, who had immediately tried to bite him when he’d reached out to pet her in my arms. When I’d apologised and said, “Sorry, she can be a little bit of a bitch at first.” He’d just giggled, completely unbothered. His eye contact had been so intense that it had made me a little nervous, but he was kind, and gosh, just so handsome it had made my brain short circuit a little bit. He’d asked me a lot of questions since he hadn’t seen me around before. 

The next night it had happened again. 

Even though I’d deliberately gone out super late to take a walk with Bisc, he’d been there, walking Louie again. He’d smiled, licked his lips, and we’d just chatted politely for a bit until I’d taken up enough of his time and gone home. Slowly over the last fourteen days, he’d warmed up to me. 

He was talkative before, but now it felt more like we were actually more in-tune with each other. Talking, instead of just making conversation. 

When he’d asked me a little shyly if I wanted to meet up like this every night, it had felt like, in my delusional state, that he was asking me out. I’d agreed, with full knowledge that these weren’t actually dates, since he didn’t know that I was interested him like that, and I didn’t think he was interested in me. Or rather, I was still trying to figure that out.

He didn’t flirt, or try and pull any moves. We just walked and talked. And it was so different hanging out with him than hanging out with other guys I knew. I couldn’t even say how many friendly hangouts I’d been to where, within an hour, they were trying to get a kiss out of me, or cop a feel. 

“Hi,” Michael greets, cute smile on his face. A soft breeze passes through the nearby trees, gently rustling the leaves. Biscuit yips at him happily. He’s in front of me now, and Louie is leaning in close to sniff at my hair and face. I smile as Michael reaches over and pets the wiggling little dog in my arms, long fingers tickling her fur between her ears. “How are you?” He asks me, looking down and meeting my gaze. I catch him glancing at my chest. The look is quick, almost involuntary, but from the way his gaze snags on my cleavage for half a second ignites something in me.

This is exactly the reaction I wanted. 

“Oh, you know,” I say softly.“Long day sorting things out.” 

“The… uh, the house getting together?” He asks after clearing his throat. He glances at my cleavage again and I just smirk. We start walking side by side, and Louis makes a quiet bleat.

“Slowly,” I sigh, moving my curls away from my neck. “My parents are so chaotic, they unpack a room and suddenly everything needs to be somewhere else. But they’re just excited, you know.” I chuckle softly.

Michael smiles warmly. I ask him about his day, and he tells me he’s just been working on some songs, not doing much else. “You’re always recording something,” I giggle, smiling up at him as he walks beside me, one hand in his pants pocket. We’re not moving very fast. In fact we’re walking so slowly Biscuit has fallen asleep in my arms.

“Well, it’s my job,” Michael replies, smiling a little. His soft spoken tone is like butter, so smooth and gentle. It sends a shiver down my spine, especially when he lowers it a bit, not wanting to project his voice too much since its dark and quiet. “I love what I do.”

I smile at that, but then he redirects the conversation back to me. He wants to know all about my life, my parent’s lives, all of it. He asks so many questions, and his interest in everything I’m saying is starting to play with me a little bit. 

We’re just talking, I know that. But it’s rare, at least for me, to have someone ask so many insightful things, to even remember stuff I’d mentioned from previous nights. Like he’d been thinking over what I said when we weren’t together. 

It does nothing but fuel this little thing I have for him developing. I just can’t help it. He’s so… cute, and kind, and a little shy and so well mannered… it’s been driving me mad. If he was any other guy we probably would’ve done something by now. 

So the big question is, why haven’t we? 

I saw him look at my breasts. He’s done it a few times now, as I’ve been chatting away, in the corner of my eye, I notice he keeps looking over my dress. This is the first time he’s ever not just stared into my eyes. I’ve been waiting for him to make a move on me, but it hasn’t happened yet. I hoped this dress might just encourage him a little bit.

An hour or so later, I’m starting to get a little sleepy. We’ve walked around the neighbourhood at this slow pace about twice, talking in soft tones. It’s super late, almost one in the morning, but I’m awake enough that I want to try something. 

Over the last four nights we’ve been hugging goodbye, and the last one last night lingered for a little bit, humming with an energy I couldn’t ignore. It was all I could think about all day. And I was for sure over thinking it, but I’d felt a slight switch in his mannerisms. His hand had lingered on my waist for two seconds longer than it had done the first time. And he’d looked so shy after, ducking his head and nodding, avoiding eye contact. 

We near my house, which is usually our cue to wrap things up. He always walks me back to the gate, then waits until I head inside. This time as I near the house, windows glowing with warm amber lights, I say: “Do you want to come in?”

Michael’s eyes widen just a little, making them seem all doe like and confused for a split second. “For… what?”

“I don’t know, tea? Water?” I giggle softly. I gaze at him, eyelashes fluttering, cradling my dog to my chest. He blinks several times, gaze dropping to his shoes. 

He hesitates for a few seconds, then murmurs: “Sure.” 

I smile, eyeing him just to make sure he doesn’t feel strange about this, but he doesn’t look reluctant, just nervous. We head in, and I close the gate behind us. Louie mewls, interested in the bushes in the front courtyard and tries to nibble a few but Michael moves him on. 

“We can put him in the yard out back,” I say, since there’s a side gate for easy access. Michael follows me, and ends up tying Louie to an apple tree, grass underneath him. The Llama immediately lies down, sighing loudly and I can’t help but giggle. 

“I… I shouldn’t be long,” Michael murmurs softly.

“Okay,” I say lightly.

We head inside the backdoor into the conservatory, since I know where the key is, I unlock it and put the key back in its hiding place. There are a few cluttered items in here, placed on the woven seats and tables, since for a couple days this was the dumping room for stuff my parents didn’t know what to do with— but it’s mostly been cleaned up. 

The air smells faintly of incense and damp soil as we step into the kitchen. There are plants everywhere, big ones in massive pots, then little ones sitting on the counter. “Wow,” Michael murmurs as I put Biscuit down in her bed. She grumbles, then goes back to sleep.

I just smile and put the kettle on, then wander over to the fridge. “What can I get you?”

“Anything is fine… thank you.” he replies softly, lingering by the door.

“You can sit down,” I say gently. He seems nervous, and it’s so endearing I want to bite him. 

Michael blinks rapidly and glances at the breakfast bar that I just nodded to. He moves over to it, but doesn’t sit down, and instead hovers beside the counter, hand resting on the hard wood surface, fingers drumming. In the reflection of the glass window of the cupboard in front of me, I can see him watching my back, bottom lip sinking behind his teeth shyly.

“Camomile okay?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder. His eyes jump up from looking at my legs.

“uh— Yeah,” he practically whispers. 

I look away, hiding my smile, and open the cupboard door, pushing up on my toes to reach the shelf for the mugs just as the kettle finishes boiling. I hum, annoyed, and grab the counter to push up on it— 

But then Michael’s there, “Let me,” he says softly, grabbing two for me with one hand.

“Oh— Thanks,” I huff with a smile. Our fingers brush as I take them from him, and he sucks his lips  back into his mouth and nods, stepping away. I hesitate for a split second, then decide not to over think that. I make our tea, adding a little bit of honey, then approach him again. He’s taken a seat now, and swallows, mumbling a thank you, as I slide the mug across the counter to him. 

We’re quiet, air between us humming again. I sip my tea and watch him calmly, wondering what he’s thinking. My head tilts, drinking in his features, his sweet curls. He’s not looking at me initially, but when he feels my gaze he glances up, and our eyes meet. I hold his gaze, giving him a little smile, heat warming my blood as he just looks at me with those big pretty eyes and just gulps. 

“Are— are your parents still up?” He asks.

“Yeah,” I glance over my shoulder. The house is big, bigger than anything we’d ever had before. I think the size of it is making my parents a little giddy. They stay up until super late, just enjoying the space, listening to music, talking, drinking, eating. With my father’s real estate business taking off and encouraging us to move down here, it’s no wonder they want to spend as much time as they can awake, enjoying the success. 

Michael nods. He already knows all this. I’ve practically chewed his ear off talking about them the last two weeks. I watch him sip his tea, then lick my own lips, wondering what his taste like.

I feel like a little weird, just eyeing his every move, gazing at his big hands, watching his soft looking lips. But I’m just so attracted to him, it feels a little overwhelming. 

It’s also hard to remember that he’s famous. His energy is so calm, voice so soft. He’s just sitting here in my kitchen, sipping tea, nervously chewing on his bottom lip as his eyes doe like he’s worried about how he’s coming across. I wonder if people come onto him often, hence why he hasn’t made a move. If he’s waiting for me to… I suppose it couldn’t hurt to just try, maybe see what happens.

“You want to come upstairs?” I ask. “We could listen to some music…or, I don’t know.” I’m trying to break the ice, but his eyes widen just a little more and I immediately want to back track and release him back into the outdoors like he’s some whimsical creature I thought I could domesticate. 

But then he stands, body moving without his say so perhaps, from the way he looks a little bewildered that he’s suddenly on his feet. “Sure, okay.”

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh and show him the way, taking my steaming mug of tea with me. As we climb the stairs, having passed the living room where my parents are, listening to Sade, probably drinking red wine, boxes all around them. From here they can’t see the stairs though, or who I’m with.

“Won’t your folks care that I’m here?”

“No,”I say honestly, because they wouldn’t.“They’re really easy,” I add. Michael only glances over his shoulder, back down the stairs, watching as my dog wanders by and into the living room, greeted by happy coo’s at her arrival. 

I lead the way to my bedroom, and once inside, Michael gently closes the door behind him. 

The energy between us still hums, and my body is softly tingling, wanting attention from him now that we’re alone, but as I glance at him, I can see he’s still feeling nervous. He’s looking around my neat space, taking everything in, clutching his cup of tea so hard I wonder if the china might break. 

I put on some music, record player crackling, then go and sit on the bed, sip my tea, watching him closely. He walks over to my shelf of records, then my rows of books, browsing them, distracting himself. “You’ve got good taste,” he murmurs, his back to me. 

“Thanks.” 

I just let him just explore, get comfortable, and take him in, looking over those broad shoulders and slim frame. It’s weird to think there’s a famous man in my room, because to me, right here, right now, he’s just Michael. The cute guy who lives down the street, that I really really want to sleep with, but perhaps is a little too shy to make the first move.

Eventually, he braves the bed and sits next to me. I’m sitting crossed legged now, back to my pillows, facing him. And I smile, excitement simmering, and lean over to my nightstand to put our mugs to one side once I pluck his out of his hand. 

Then I reach for him, placing my palm gently on his jaw. He lets me pull him in, eyes so big, that I almost hesitate, wondering if he wants to do this. But he doesn’t stop me, doesn’t pull away. His lips pucker when I kiss him softly. Though it’s just a peck, to test the waters. I lean back, and he’s quiet, just watching me. 

“Is this okay?” I whisper. He nods, swallowing thickly again, and I lean in to kiss him once more. 

His lips are so soft, and he tastes a little like honey, camomile and faintly of mint, too. Carefully, I move my mouth with his, tilting my head to the right. His moves to the left, and despite his earlier shyness, there’s no hint of it in this kiss. He knows what he’s doing.

My heart beats a little harder, sending a flush crawling up my neck to my cheeks. I’m so turned on that I want to speed this along, but it doesn’t seem like the type who would enjoy rushing. Gently, he touches me. Placing his hand on my thigh. It’s feather light, full of hesitation, as if he’s waiting for me to bat it away. This only turns me on more, I reach down and press his palm into my thigh as I kiss him a little harder. 

For a couple minutes we stay like this, kissing softly, music gently playing in the background. I’m easing down into that delicious haze, wanting to take things further, and slide my tongue into his mouth as my fingers gently ease into his hair at his nape. 

He makes this noise. A soft, breathless sound and returns the gesture, sliding his tongue against mine. And now, I’m losing my ability to think. I wrap my arms around his neck, heat under my skin doubling. His fingers flex on my thigh, and I pull him in closer, shifting and unfolding my legs, keeping our lips locked as I encourage him on top of me. 

I lie back against the pillows, and he follows. I’m kissing him eagerly, tongue in his mouth— 

I’m so excited I can feel my heartbeat between my thighs, but then he sharply pulls back. 

I gasp at the sudden disappearance of him and open my eyes, leaning up from the pillows. “I’m sorry,” he blurts,“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” I pant, blinking at him. “What are you talking about? I invited you.”

“I shouldn’t have come up here.” He starts shaking his head, and is about to get up, but I grasp his arm gently. 

“Michael, what’s wrong?” I ask, worrying I pushed him too hard, or did something wrong. I didn’t realise his shyness was this intense. “Talk to me.”

“No, it’s not you— I took a vow,” he practically whispers, rushing the words out as he doesn’t look at me. I let go of him and sit up, tugging my dress down so it covers me again, and just stare at him. “I shouldn’t have touched you, I’m sorry.” 

“Wait, a vow as in… like a religious one?” My hearts pounding, desire cooling like someone had just thrown an ice bucket on me. A vow?

“I can’t be here.” He stands up and all but bolts for the door. He pulls it open and ducks out, disappearing down the hall in a second. I just sit there, staring after him. After a few seconds, my father appears in the doorway, frowning lightly. He points over his shoulder with his thumb. 

“Was that… the, uh Jackson boy? Michael?” He asks. Only moments later I hear a door distantly shut. 

“Yes…” 

He nods slowly. “What did you do to him? Practically ran out here with his tail between his legs.”

“I just kissed him,” I sigh, getting up off the bed. 

“Jesus,” he mutters, and then starts laughing. “Gotta brush up on your skills there, Em,” he chuckles as he walks away, heading down the hall to the master bedroom. 

“Oh my god,” I whine loudly, covering my face.

“And go to bed!” Dad shouts playfully, now out of sight. “It’s damn near dawn.”

I get up to close my door, and walk back to my bed, flopping onto it to hide my face as I full body cringe. I can’t believe any of that just happened.

end notes:

hello everyone! thank you for getting this far if you have, welcome to my new fic <3 this is a bit of a slow burner, so there will be a bit of back and forth BUT! that does not mean there won't be steammmmmm!

anyways let me know what you thought!!! let me know if you'd like a part 2 <3

this soft version of Mikey actually has me by the throat, omg. Can't wait to have fun with it :)) here are some visuals of the era we're in, if you wanted to see:

Chapter Two

[Late September. 1983.]

I’m lying on my front on the bed, thumbing through a book, yet I’m not really reading the words. A vow, he’d said. And in the moment, I had believed it was a celibacy vow, but I hadn’t thought of all what else it could mean. Perhaps he could be married, or promised himself to someone else. All those are vows, too. 

I sigh and glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s almost eleven, and I just don’t know if I should get ready this time around. My gaze shifts to the big window that looks out over the street and neighbourhood and I bite my lip hesitantly. 

What if he’s not out there? But also, what if he is and I don’t show? Will he think I’m punishing him because he didn’t want to have sex? 

There’s a knock on my door, pulling me out of my daze. “Wine for my special lady?” Mom smiles, sauntering into my room through the open door. I sit up properly, bringing my knees under my chest and laugh. “Are you heading out tonight?” She asks as I take the wide pretty glass from her and sip the red wine.

“Mmn…” I hum, moving a curl from where it hangs against my temple and tuck it behind my ear. “I don’t know.”

I’d told them everything this morning, when we’d all convened for breakfast at practically midday. Dad had told mom he’d seen ‘the Jackson boy’ bolt out of the house, and they’d teased me for a whole half hour. I’d confessed I’d been taking walks with him almost every night, we’d been talking, becoming friends, but I’d made the mistake of showing my interest, of making a move on him, and scared him off. 

“But he’d kissed you back,” Mom had said over a massive cup of coffee as we’d talked in the kitchen, all three of us, “surely if he hadn’t of wanted to, he wouldn’t have?”

“I don’t know, maybe I was pushy.” I’d muttered, guilt ridden. “He took a vow, or— maybe that’s just something he told me to let me down easy.” 

Dad had sighed, long and hard, deep in thought. “Are we sure he’s… straight?” He’d whispered the word as if it was taboo. “It might explain—“ 

“It could be a reason,” Mom had chimed in before they went into lengthy discussions about experimentation and why I shouldn’t take it personally when one is discovering who they are, sometimes it can get complicated, and messy. They’d given me this talk when I was ten, but I just endured it for the second time. Because, to be honest… I didn’t know. It might explain it. It might not. He could’ve also been telling the truth. And I wasn’t going to ask Michael to discuss it because it wasn’t any of my business. 

I’d known him for two weeks. It was just a kiss. He said no to more. It was what it was. 

Still, as I talked with my mother now, at almost eleven o’clock at night, I kind of wanted to talk to him about it. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry I was pushy and got caught up. I wanted to tell him that I liked him, and I was happy being friends if that’s what he wanted. If I also never saw him again, I’d suppose I’d just live with that.

When my mom leaves, I get ready, still sipping my red wine for a little bit of liquid courage. 

I pull on a pair of blue Levi jeans and a white t-shirt with a red collar I’ve had since I was fifteen. I leave my curls free, and just do a little bit of make-up. Soft coloured lipstick, mascara, some blusher. I debate putting perfume on for ten seconds, then just do it before I pull on my shoes and leave the house, swiping Biscuit from her bed once again. She doesn’t even protest, and only snuggles into my chest as walk down the drive and slip out the gate. 

I’m a little late, though as I approach our usual meeting spot, that’s about a four minute walk from my house, I see him. Though this time, there’s no Louie. 

My heart jumps, stomach tensing. I walk a little faster, guilt churning inside me. He waits, back to me, looking down the other side of the street, watching the shadows, hands in his pockets. How long had he been here?

“Michael,” I call, projecting my voice just a little. This is still a residential street, and it’s very late. 

He turns to face me, big doe eyes softening, a few curls hanging over his brow. He’s dressed slightly more simpler today, red t-shirt and jeans. My face heats, the attraction I feel towards him slamming right to the front of my brain. I gulp as I near him, and lick my lips, getting a brief flash of last night, of him kissing me back, tongue in my mouth.

Stop it, Mia. 

“Hey,” he greets gently, “I didn’t think you’d show.” He adds a little quietly, as if he hadn’t meant to say that. 

“Well, I’m here,” I say, feeling the tension between us immediately. Not angry tension, just thick air. “me and Biscuit.” I raise my cradled arms, showing off the snoozing fluffy white dog. It takes her a few seconds to stir, then she sniffs the air and perks up. She likes him a lot now, and starts wiggling with excitement when she spots him. 

“Hey girl,” he chuckles, petting her between the ears. “Louie was too tired to come, I’m sorry.” He mentions quietly. 

“It’s fine,” I smile, “would you like to hold her?” I ask, seeing as she’s about to break free of my arms and leap at him anyway. He nods, smiling widely, and I pass her over. 

He cradles her like she’s a baby, until she wiggles enough to climb up his chest, and start frantically licking his cheek, little tail wagging like crazy. I just smile, laughing softly as he scrunches his face, trying hard not to offend my dog by leaning away from the affection. 

“Alright, Bisc, that’s enough. Down,” I murmur, poking her back. She calms, still wagging her tail, and settles in his arms again. “So, how have you been?” I ask. It may have just been twenty four hours since we’d last seen each other, but it feels like longer. Perhaps because I’ve been through the motions trying not to rot in this pit of guilt I’ve been sitting in.

“Fine. Busy,” Michael replies in that soft spoken tone I’m starting to feel a little weak for. His lowered gaze meets mine, thick lashes framing his eyes prettily. “You?”

“Good. Yeah, um—“ I reply, tucking some curls behind my ear. Despite telling myself I’d play it cool on the walk over here, I give up immediately. He’s just staring down at me, dark eyes hypnotising and intense. How could I not start rambling? “Listen, about last night, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be all pushy like that.”

“It’s fine, Mia,” he says, but I keep going.

“No, it’s… I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve— I don’t know. I’m just really sorry, Mike.” 

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t know. It’s not something I really tell people. Usually I don’t have to.” 

“Oh.” 

I don’t know how to react to that. 

“Not that—“ Michael begins again, “—I’m saying that to try and make you feel bad, I’m just saying I don’t find myself in that situation often.” He exhales right after he talks and drops eye contact briefly. “That’s what I meant.”

“Oh,” I say a bit lighter. “So, strange girls you meet off the street don’t usually invite you in to hook up?”

“Well, no—“ he begins and then grins, ducking his head and bashfully chuckling. I’ve embarrassed him, and I just smile, laughing softly as some of the tension lifts. “No… um. uh—  damn.” He shifts where he stands, unable to stop that shy grin. Even in the faint light from a nearby street lamp, I can see he’s blushing super hard.  

“Sorry,” I giggle, trying really hard to stop smiling but he seems so thrown by what I said, I just can’t help it. “I’m just teasing.”

“I know,” he smiles, then licks his lips. He glances at me, but can’t hold the eye contact for long. “Um,” he says again, trying to think of something to say and I just giggle more.  

“You wanna walk a bit?” I ask, feeling a lot more relaxed than I did a few minutes ago. He nods, biting his lip and that urge comes back. He’s just so cute, and for some reason his shyness and handsomeness is making my libido act out like crazy. 

I take a steadying breath silently as we walk beside each other slowly. “So, tell me about this vow. You’re not married, are you?” I ask, glancing up at him. My eyes are in line with his shoulder, so in order to hold eye contact, I gotta look up. 

“No, I’m not married,” he laughs softly, “I’m a Jehovah’s Witness.”

I blink at him. I’d heard of the religion, but didn’t really know anything about them. My parents weren’t religious, like at all, but my grandparents were christian on both sides. So I had some experience with church and that kind of thing. 

“We feel that, um,” he pauses, clears his throat, “all sexual acts before marriage are a sin. It’s meant to be only for legally married couples.”

“Oh, okay,” I sigh softly, “including kissing?” I reach over and gently stoke Biscuits head. She’s asleep in his arms, breathing softly and stirs a little at the touch. Michael doesn’t respond for a second, instead he kind of cringes, sucking his lips into his mouth. 

After a few seconds, he says softly, almost in a whisper, “if… if it causes arousal, then yes.”

“Gosh,” I say, trying not to make a spectacle of his beliefs by reacting too much. 

If our kiss caused him to get excited, then no wonder he jumped up like that and bolted out the door. My body reacts like a shark scenting blood in the water. He’d felt it too, had wanted it too. He’d come up to my room. He’d let me kiss him. He’d even kissed me back for a few minutes, had touched my thigh, put his tongue in my mouth. 

He was testing boundaries, maybe went too far too fast. 

We’re quiet for about a minute as I wrestle like hell with my thoughts, walking slowly, doing our usual round of the neighbourhood, passing underneath street lamps and through amber puddles of light. A soft breeze wafts around us, rustling the tree leaves lining the road. 

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“Sure.”

“what’s the punishment for breaking your vow?”

“Punishment?” Michael parrots, frowning cutely. 

“Like how would they know, would you have to confess?” I wonder out loud before I can even hear what I’m properly saying. I immediately bite my lip, since my ‘sinful’ thoughts have obviously got the better of me and now I’m testing boundaries too. 

Michael stays quiet as we walk for a little bit. I can see he’s thinking, so I don’t say anything else and just walk with my arms folded across my chest. The autumnal breeze is starting to cool a little more everyday, if our walks continue like this at this late hour, I’m going to have to start bringing a jacket. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I’d have to confess, if I wasn’t seen. Then I’d be disciplined.”

I start putting little things together in my head. Late night walks are a great way not to be seen. He’s been testing the boundary already, and the kiss was him dipping his toes in to test the water.

“Have you?”

“No,” he replies quietly, then swallows, refusing to look at me. 

“Oh, so you don’t kiss and tell,” I tease. He sends a side glance my way, and I just giggle, smiling up at him.

“S’not funny, Mia. My family and the church could disown me.”

“Really?” 

“Not my brothers, they don’t really care. Just, my mother. She takes our beliefs real serious.”

“You love your mother a lot?” I ask.

“Of course, she’s my mother,” Michael says, glancing down at me. I don’t know if its just the academic in me, but I notice his wording. He loves his mother a lot. His mother takes the beliefs seriously, never once did he say he did…

I smile to myself, the fiend in my head celebrating more than she should. I just don’t know what’s come over me. I already completely understand why I’m into him, but the lust? That’s new. I’ve obviously felt it before, but not to this kind of level. It’s a little frightening the affect his presence has on me, and all we’ve done is talk and kiss a little. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings leaving like that last night,” Michael then says after a few moments of quiet. “That wasn’t my intention.”

I meet his eyes, and give him a warm smile. He’s still cradling my dog like a baby, it’s very sweet. “Its okay,” I say softly, “I’m happy to just be friends, if you’re more comfortable with that. You’re a really sweet guy.”

Michael pauses. “Yeah,” he says slowly, not sounding to pleased. “Though…” he trails off, hesitates for a minute,“I didn’t say I didn’t want to do anything with you. I still—“ 

“Still what?” 

I almost laugh. He’s so damn cute. At the suggestion of being just friends he’s suddenly irritated. But also, I feel kinda validated. I hadn’t been completely delusional in thinking he’d been, in his own way, asking me out when he’d wanted to go on these walks with me. 

“I still find you very attractive.” He speaks softly, taking a peak at me through his lashes as we walk side by side, half a metre apart.

“Yeah?” I ask, my voice a little breathy. Hearing those words sends heat tingling down my spine, right to my core. Now I want to laugh at myself, because it’s almost ridiculous how he’s making me feel. “You think I’m pretty?”

He hums, nodding. “Very pretty.”

“Well, I think you’re really cute,” I say without looking at him, cheeks flushing. He’s watching me now, gaze locked on my face. 

“Thank you,” he says, and I just smile more, feeling all shy under his direct attention suddenly. “I like your dimples.”

I laugh softly, embarrassed and gnawing on my bottom lip. I can’t even look at him. Because if I look at him, I’m going to want to kiss him. “How can we be anything but friends if we can’t even kiss?” I’m half teasing him, just being playful, even if I want to know. 

“We can kiss, I just can’t get—“

“What, hard?” 

At my words, he whines quietly: “Don’t talk like that.”

“Mike, you’re a grown man.” 

“We can just cuddle, I don’t know,” he mumbles. 

I smirk, glancing up at him. We’re nearing my house, second floor windows still aglow, peaking over the tall bushy hedge lining our property. 

“You wanna go upstairs and cuddle right now?” I ask. I’m teasing him again, and despite my gentle tone, he flushes. I feel horns start to grow out of my skull as I grin, seeing him get all flustered like that. “If you wanna kiss a little bit, I won’t tell.”

“Mia,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, head bowed. I tilt my head, long curls flopping to one side. “I…” he trails off, glancing down the road towards his family’s home. Then he looks back to me. He doesn’t have to say it. For god’s sake, he came out tonight without his Llama. He wanted to come over and not worry about Louie being outside by himself. He’s not as slick as he thinks he is, and its adorable.

So I invite him in, and let him play coy. He’s chewing on his bottom lip as we head upstairs, a little nervous now that we’re inside. This time, although my parents aren’t up still, they’ve left the lights on for me. The house is quiet, every footstep audible. 

I push open the door to my bedroom and wander in, Michael following. He closes it behind himself. His breathing is controlled, but his eyes have gotten a little wider as he hovers by the door, watching me as I perch on the edge of my bed. I pat the space next to me, but he hesitates. 

I get up and pad over to him, thinking he maybe wants me to guide him so he doesn’t have to think about it too much. I grab his hand, pull him with me. He follows and I sit him down on my bed, pressing down on his shoulders playfully, then walk over to my record player to put something on. 

Soft crackly music fills my room and I turn off my big light, leaving only my nightstand lamp on, filling the room with a soft orange glow because of the scarf draped over it to dim the lighting. I sit in front of him again, near my pillows, pulling my legs up under me. Michael is just staring at me, I’m not really sure if he’s breathing. 

“Relax,” I whisper, “I’m not going to bite you.”

He cracks a smile, then exhales slowly. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” I murmur, glancing at his lips. “You’re a really good kisser,” I say, hoping a compliment might help calm him a little. “How did you learn?” I ask, giving him a knowing smirk. “Mr can’t kiss a girl because it’s a sin?”

He bites his lip. 

“Mmm, I thought so.” 

“It was… a little different back then.”

“How?”

“Just not as intense.” 

“Kissing didn’t turn you on as much?” I ask. He just gives me a look, then shrugs. I hum, understanding, watching as he glances at my lips, his tongue grazing his bottom one. The air thickens with tension, unspoken words hanging between us. Kissing me had turned him on, and even now, as he looks at me, I can see it in his eyes. Swelling pupils, the focus. It probably didn’t help that I put on this soft jazz album I like. 

“You… you can’t tell anyone I was here.”

“I know,” I murmur, nodding. He shifts closer to me, and my breathing shallows and slows right down. 

“Please,” He murmurs, and I’m not sure if he means please kiss me, or please don’t tell. I just nod again, slipping into a daze, hypnotised by his eyes. “Just a kiss… that’s it.”

“Just one,” I whisper. He licks his lips again, just sitting there, watching my mouth, breathing carefully. Heat builds under my skin so fast that I feel a little dizzy. When he’s ready, he leans in slowly. His lips brush against mine, and my eyelashes flutter as my eyes close. Then he’s kissing me so softly I almost whine into his mouth. 

But I don’t move, and let him get comfortable. He kisses me a few times, just soft pecks against my lips. It’s turning me on so much I’m barely thinking, just absorbing sensation. When he kisses me properly, mouth moving with mine, so slow and gentle, I’m practically trembling from controlling myself. 

I squirm, moaning softly. He pulls back, dark eyes meeting mine. I don’t understand for a second, then I remember. This is not meant to be a sexual thing. So I just give him an apologetic little smile, but I’m dazed, and want more. “I’ll behave, I’m sorry,” I whisper. Wrong thing to say, but also, right thing, because his pupils swell even more and his expression softens, then he’s kissing me again. Just a little harder than before. 

I hold in the moan. His hand rests on my thigh, and I’m keeping my hands in my lap. When he eases his tongue into my mouth I mewl a little, then pull back before he can scold me with his eyes again. “Can I touch your face?” I whisper, gazing at him, completely heavy lidded. 

“Mm,” is the only sound he makes whilst nodding, then leans back in to kiss me. I melt into him, fingers sinking into his curls behind his ears as we kiss harder, descending further into that haze, his tongue sliding against mine. He tastes so good, like mint and something sweeter, and I’m devouring his mouth, not even thinking about how I’m coming across as I get lost in the kiss. 

I moan softly, loving his technique. I’m so wet already, wanting more, for him to touch me. Anything. When Michael’s hand slides up my thigh just by an inch, fingers digging in, I almost lose it. I’m clenching around nothing. 

Michael breaks the kiss, and I lean further in, sliding my lips down his throat. God, he smells so good. I’m kissing on him, right under his jaw, searching for that sweet spot. “Mia,” he murmurs, voice husked. He tilts his head slightly, letting me get closer. I don’t even know when I moved, but I’m almost on his lap, leaning into him, sucking on his throat once he hisses. I found the spot. 

He groans softly as one of my hands cups the other side of his neck. I’m licking at his throat like a cat, sucking on the skin, kissing him. I don’t know what’s come over me, why I’m acting like this. I’m just so ready for him I could die. 

He moans quietly, shifting his hips, that hand that’s only thigh tightening its grip.

When my hand then slides down his chest, grazing his abdomen, then settles on his thigh— he snaps out of it. 

He jolts back and I sit back too, snatching my hands back to myself. I stare at him with wide eyes and stutter out, “I’m sorry,” I cup my mouth. “Oh my god, i’m sorry.”

He’s breathing hard, facing away from me slightly. Involuntarily, I glance at where my hand just was, just inches from where there’s a very prominent rise in his jeans. “I need to go,” he mutters, cheeks flushing deep red.

“Okay,” I agree and he abruptly stands, angling his body away from me, so I can’t see what I did to him. “Michael, I’m sorry.” I bite my lip, face flushed, body humming.

“It’s fine, I just have to go,” he mutters quickly, “I’m sorry, I just need to go.” He’s cringing at himself, so turned on and shy, and I don’t know how to help.

I watch him leave, ducking out of my room and closing the door behind him, unsure of if I’ll see him again, or if I just crossed the line.

end notes:

Hello again everyone!! Thanks so much for reading! I had to giggle because I saw a few of you saying the story is cute so far, I’m here to tell y’all right now it’s not gonna be for long😭😭😭 just warning y’all!

Anyways pls let me know what you thought and if you’d like a part three✨✨✨

Chapter Two

[Late September. 1983.]

I’m lying on my front on the bed, thumbing through a book, yet I’m not really reading the words. A vow, he’d said. And in the moment, I had believed it was a celibacy vow, but I hadn’t thought of all what else it could mean. Perhaps he could be married, or promised himself to someone else. All those are vows, too. 

I sigh and glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s almost eleven, and I just don’t know if I should get ready this time around. My gaze shifts to the big window that looks out over the street and neighbourhood and I bite my lip hesitantly. 

What if he’s not out there? But also, what if he is and I don’t show? Will he think I’m punishing him because he didn’t want to have sex? 

There’s a knock on my door, pulling me out of my daze. “Wine for my special lady?” Mom smiles, sauntering into my room through the open door. I sit up properly, bringing my knees under my chest and laugh. “Are you heading out tonight?” She asks as I take the wide pretty glass from her and sip the red wine.

“Mmn…” I hum, moving a curl from where it hangs against my temple and tuck it behind my ear. “I don’t know.”

I’d told them everything this morning, when we’d all convened for breakfast at practically midday. Dad had told mom he’d seen ‘the Jackson boy’ bolt out of the house, and they’d teased me for a whole half hour. I’d confessed I’d been taking walks with him almost every night, we’d been talking, becoming friends, but I’d made the mistake of showing my interest, of making a move on him, and scared him off. 

“But he’d kissed you back,” Mom had said over a massive cup of coffee as we’d talked in the kitchen, all three of us, “surely if he hadn’t of wanted to, he wouldn’t have?”

“I don’t know, maybe I was pushy.” I’d muttered, guilt ridden. “He took a vow, or— maybe that’s just something he told me to let me down easy.” 

Dad had sighed, long and hard, deep in thought. “Are we sure he’s… straight?” He’d whispered the word as if it was taboo. “It might explain—“ 

“It could be a reason,” Mom had chimed in before they went into lengthy discussions about experimentation and why I shouldn’t take it personally when one is discovering who they are, sometimes it can get complicated, and messy. They’d given me this talk when I was ten, but I just endured it for the second time. Because, to be honest… I didn’t know. It might explain it. It might not. He could’ve also been telling the truth. And I wasn’t going to ask Michael to discuss it because it wasn’t any of my business. 

I’d known him for two weeks. It was just a kiss. He said no to more. It was what it was. 

Still, as I talked with my mother now, at almost eleven o’clock at night, I kind of wanted to talk to him about it. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry I was pushy and got caught up. I wanted to tell him that I liked him, and I was happy being friends if that’s what he wanted. If I also never saw him again, I’d suppose I’d just live with that.

When my mom leaves, I get ready, still sipping my red wine for a little bit of liquid courage. 

I pull on a pair of blue Levi jeans and a white t-shirt with a red collar I’ve had since I was fifteen. I leave my curls free, and just do a little bit of make-up. Soft coloured lipstick, mascara, some blusher. I debate putting perfume on for ten seconds, then just do it before I pull on my shoes and leave the house, swiping Biscuit from her bed once again. She doesn’t even protest, and only snuggles into my chest as walk down the drive and slip out the gate. 

I’m a little late, though as I approach our usual meeting spot, that’s about a four minute walk from my house, I see him. Though this time, there’s no Louie. 

My heart jumps, stomach tensing. I walk a little faster, guilt churning inside me. He waits, back to me, looking down the other side of the street, watching the shadows, hands in his pockets. How long had he been here?

“Michael,” I call, projecting my voice just a little. This is still a residential street, and it’s very late. 

He turns to face me, big doe eyes softening, a few curls hanging over his brow. He’s dressed slightly more simpler today, red t-shirt and jeans. My face heats, the attraction I feel towards him slamming right to the front of my brain. I gulp as I near him, and lick my lips, getting a brief flash of last night, of him kissing me back, tongue in my mouth.

Stop it, Mia. 

“Hey,” he greets gently, “I didn’t think you’d show.” He adds a little quietly, as if he hadn’t meant to say that. 

“Well, I’m here,” I say, feeling the tension between us immediately. Not angry tension, just thick air. “me and Biscuit.” I raise my cradled arms, showing off the snoozing fluffy white dog. It takes her a few seconds to stir, then she sniffs the air and perks up. She likes him a lot now, and starts wiggling with excitement when she spots him. 

“Hey girl,” he chuckles, petting her between the ears. “Louie was too tired to come, I’m sorry.” He mentions quietly. 

“It’s fine,” I smile, “would you like to hold her?” I ask, seeing as she’s about to break free of my arms and leap at him anyway. He nods, smiling widely, and I pass her over. 

He cradles her like she’s a baby, until she wiggles enough to climb up his chest, and start frantically licking his cheek, little tail wagging like crazy. I just smile, laughing softly as he scrunches his face, trying hard not to offend my dog by leaning away from the affection. 

“Alright, Bisc, that’s enough. Down,” I murmur, poking her back. She calms, still wagging her tail, and settles in his arms again. “So, how have you been?” I ask. It may have just been twenty four hours since we’d last seen each other, but it feels like longer. Perhaps because I’ve been through the motions trying not to rot in this pit of guilt I’ve been sitting in.

“Fine. Busy,” Michael replies in that soft spoken tone I’m starting to feel a little weak for. His lowered gaze meets mine, thick lashes framing his eyes prettily. “You?”

“Good. Yeah, um—“ I reply, tucking some curls behind my ear. Despite telling myself I’d play it cool on the walk over here, I give up immediately. He’s just staring down at me, dark eyes hypnotising and intense. How could I not start rambling? “Listen, about last night, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be all pushy like that.”

“It’s fine, Mia,” he says, but I keep going.

“No, it’s… I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve— I don’t know. I’m just really sorry, Mike.” 

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t know. It’s not something I really tell people. Usually I don’t have to.” 

“Oh.” 

I don’t know how to react to that. 

“Not that—“ Michael begins again, “—I’m saying that to try and make you feel bad, I’m just saying I don’t find myself in that situation often.” He exhales right after he talks and drops eye contact briefly. “That’s what I meant.”

“Oh,” I say a bit lighter. “So, strange girls you meet off the street don’t usually invite you in to hook up?”

“Well, no—“ he begins and then grins, ducking his head and bashfully chuckling. I’ve embarrassed him, and I just smile, laughing softly as some of the tension lifts. “No… um. uh—  damn.” He shifts where he stands, unable to stop that shy grin. Even in the faint light from a nearby street lamp, I can see he’s blushing super hard.  

“Sorry,” I giggle, trying really hard to stop smiling but he seems so thrown by what I said, I just can’t help it. “I’m just teasing.”

“I know,” he smiles, then licks his lips. He glances at me, but can’t hold the eye contact for long. “Um,” he says again, trying to think of something to say and I just giggle more.  

“You wanna walk a bit?” I ask, feeling a lot more relaxed than I did a few minutes ago. He nods, biting his lip and that urge comes back. He’s just so cute, and for some reason his shyness and handsomeness is making my libido act out like crazy. 

I take a steadying breath silently as we walk beside each other slowly. “So, tell me about this vow. You’re not married, are you?” I ask, glancing up at him. My eyes are in line with his shoulder, so in order to hold eye contact, I gotta look up. 

“No, I’m not married,” he laughs softly, “I’m a Jehovah’s Witness.”

I blink at him. I’d heard of the religion, but didn’t really know anything about them. My parents weren’t religious, like at all, but my grandparents were christian on both sides. So I had some experience with church and that kind of thing. 

“We feel that, um,” he pauses, clears his throat, “all sexual acts before marriage are a sin. It’s meant to be only for legally married couples.”

“Oh, okay,” I sigh softly, “including kissing?” I reach over and gently stoke Biscuits head. She’s asleep in his arms, breathing softly and stirs a little at the touch. Michael doesn’t respond for a second, instead he kind of cringes, sucking his lips into his mouth. 

After a few seconds, he says softly, almost in a whisper, “if… if it causes arousal, then yes.”

“Gosh,” I say, trying not to make a spectacle of his beliefs by reacting too much. 

If our kiss caused him to get excited, then no wonder he jumped up like that and bolted out the door. My body reacts like a shark scenting blood in the water. He’d felt it too, had wanted it too. He’d come up to my room. He’d let me kiss him. He’d even kissed me back for a few minutes, had touched my thigh, put his tongue in my mouth. 

He was testing boundaries, maybe went too far too fast. 

We’re quiet for about a minute as I wrestle like hell with my thoughts, walking slowly, doing our usual round of the neighbourhood, passing underneath street lamps and through amber puddles of light. A soft breeze wafts around us, rustling the tree leaves lining the road. 

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“Sure.”

“what’s the punishment for breaking your vow?”

“Punishment?” Michael parrots, frowning cutely. 

“Like how would they know, would you have to confess?” I wonder out loud before I can even hear what I’m properly saying. I immediately bite my lip, since my ‘sinful’ thoughts have obviously got the better of me and now I’m testing boundaries too. 

Michael stays quiet as we walk for a little bit. I can see he’s thinking, so I don’t say anything else and just walk with my arms folded across my chest. The autumnal breeze is starting to cool a little more everyday, if our walks continue like this at this late hour, I’m going to have to start bringing a jacket. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I’d have to confess, if I wasn’t seen. Then I’d be disciplined.”

I start putting little things together in my head. Late night walks are a great way not to be seen. He’s been testing the boundary already, and the kiss was him dipping his toes in to test the water.

“Have you?”

“No,” he replies quietly, then swallows, refusing to look at me. 

“Oh, so you don’t kiss and tell,” I tease. He sends a side glance my way, and I just giggle, smiling up at him.

“S’not funny, Mia. My family and the church could disown me.”

“Really?” 

“Not my brothers, they don’t really care. Just, my mother. She takes our beliefs real serious.”

“You love your mother a lot?” I ask.

“Of course, she’s my mother,” Michael says, glancing down at me. I don’t know if its just the academic in me, but I notice his wording. He loves his mother a lot. His mother takes the beliefs seriously, never once did he say he did…

I smile to myself, the fiend in my head celebrating more than she should. I just don’t know what’s come over me. I already completely understand why I’m into him, but the lust? That’s new. I’ve obviously felt it before, but not to this kind of level. It’s a little frightening the affect his presence has on me, and all we’ve done is talk and kiss a little. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings leaving like that last night,” Michael then says after a few moments of quiet. “That wasn’t my intention.”

I meet his eyes, and give him a warm smile. He’s still cradling my dog like a baby, it’s very sweet. “Its okay,” I say softly, “I’m happy to just be friends, if you’re more comfortable with that. You’re a really sweet guy.”

Michael pauses. “Yeah,” he says slowly, not sounding to pleased. “Though…” he trails off, hesitates for a minute,“I didn’t say I didn’t want to do anything with you. I still—“ 

“Still what?” 

I almost laugh. He’s so damn cute. At the suggestion of being just friends he’s suddenly irritated. But also, I feel kinda validated. I hadn’t been completely delusional in thinking he’d been, in his own way, asking me out when he’d wanted to go on these walks with me. 

“I still find you very attractive.” He speaks softly, taking a peak at me through his lashes as we walk side by side, half a metre apart.

“Yeah?” I ask, my voice a little breathy. Hearing those words sends heat tingling down my spine, right to my core. Now I want to laugh at myself, because it’s almost ridiculous how he’s making me feel. “You think I’m pretty?”

He hums, nodding. “Very pretty.”

“Well, I think you’re really cute,” I say without looking at him, cheeks flushing. He’s watching me now, gaze locked on my face. 

“Thank you,” he says, and I just smile more, feeling all shy under his direct attention suddenly. “I like your dimples.”

I laugh softly, embarrassed and gnawing on my bottom lip. I can’t even look at him. Because if I look at him, I’m going to want to kiss him. “How can we be anything but friends if we can’t even kiss?” I’m half teasing him, just being playful, even if I want to know. 

“We can kiss, I just can’t get—“

“What, hard?” 

At my words, he whines quietly: “Don’t talk like that.”

“Mike, you’re a grown man.” 

“We can just cuddle, I don’t know,” he mumbles. 

I smirk, glancing up at him. We’re nearing my house, second floor windows still aglow, peaking over the tall bushy hedge lining our property. 

“You wanna go upstairs and cuddle right now?” I ask. I’m teasing him again, and despite my gentle tone, he flushes. I feel horns start to grow out of my skull as I grin, seeing him get all flustered like that. “If you wanna kiss a little bit, I won’t tell.”

“Mia,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, head bowed. I tilt my head, long curls flopping to one side. “I…” he trails off, glancing down the road towards his family’s home. Then he looks back to me. He doesn’t have to say it. For god’s sake, he came out tonight without his Llama. He wanted to come over and not worry about Louie being outside by himself. He’s not as slick as he thinks he is, and its adorable.

So I invite him in, and let him play coy. He’s chewing on his bottom lip as we head upstairs, a little nervous now that we’re inside. This time, although my parents aren’t up still, they’ve left the lights on for me. The house is quiet, every footstep audible. 

I push open the door to my bedroom and wander in, Michael following. He closes it behind himself. His breathing is controlled, but his eyes have gotten a little wider as he hovers by the door, watching me as I perch on the edge of my bed. I pat the space next to me, but he hesitates. 

I get up and pad over to him, thinking he maybe wants me to guide him so he doesn’t have to think about it too much. I grab his hand, pull him with me. He follows and I sit him down on my bed, pressing down on his shoulders playfully, then walk over to my record player to put something on. 

Soft crackly music fills my room and I turn off my big light, leaving only my nightstand lamp on, filling the room with a soft orange glow because of the scarf draped over it to dim the lighting. I sit in front of him again, near my pillows, pulling my legs up under me. Michael is just staring at me, I’m not really sure if he’s breathing. 

“Relax,” I whisper, “I’m not going to bite you.”

He cracks a smile, then exhales slowly. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” I murmur, glancing at his lips. “You’re a really good kisser,” I say, hoping a compliment might help calm him a little. “How did you learn?” I ask, giving him a knowing smirk. “Mr can’t kiss a girl because it’s a sin?”

He bites his lip. 

“Mmm, I thought so.” 

“It was… a little different back then.”

“How?”

“Just not as intense.” 

“Kissing didn’t turn you on as much?” I ask. He just gives me a look, then shrugs. I hum, understanding, watching as he glances at my lips, his tongue grazing his bottom one. The air thickens with tension, unspoken words hanging between us. Kissing me had turned him on, and even now, as he looks at me, I can see it in his eyes. Swelling pupils, the focus. It probably didn’t help that I put on this soft jazz album I like. 

“You… you can’t tell anyone I was here.”

“I know,” I murmur, nodding. He shifts closer to me, and my breathing shallows and slows right down. 

“Please,” He murmurs, and I’m not sure if he means please kiss me, or please don’t tell. I just nod again, slipping into a daze, hypnotised by his eyes. “Just a kiss… that’s it.”

“Just one,” I whisper. He licks his lips again, just sitting there, watching my mouth, breathing carefully. Heat builds under my skin so fast that I feel a little dizzy. When he’s ready, he leans in slowly. His lips brush against mine, and my eyelashes flutter as my eyes close. Then he’s kissing me so softly I almost whine into his mouth. 

But I don’t move, and let him get comfortable. He kisses me a few times, just soft pecks against my lips. It’s turning me on so much I’m barely thinking, just absorbing sensation. When he kisses me properly, mouth moving with mine, so slow and gentle, I’m practically trembling from controlling myself. 

I squirm, moaning softly. He pulls back, dark eyes meeting mine. I don’t understand for a second, then I remember. This is not meant to be a sexual thing. So I just give him an apologetic little smile, but I’m dazed, and want more. “I’ll behave, I’m sorry,” I whisper. Wrong thing to say, but also, right thing, because his pupils swell even more and his expression softens, then he’s kissing me again. Just a little harder than before. 

I hold in the moan. His hand rests on my thigh, and I’m keeping my hands in my lap. When he eases his tongue into my mouth I mewl a little, then pull back before he can scold me with his eyes again. “Can I touch your face?” I whisper, gazing at him, completely heavy lidded. 

“Mm,” is the only sound he makes whilst nodding, then leans back in to kiss me. I melt into him, fingers sinking into his curls behind his ears as we kiss harder, descending further into that haze, his tongue sliding against mine. He tastes so good, like mint and something sweeter, and I’m devouring his mouth, not even thinking about how I’m coming across as I get lost in the kiss. 

I moan softly, loving his technique. I’m so wet already, wanting more, for him to touch me. Anything. When Michael’s hand slides up my thigh just by an inch, fingers digging in, I almost lose it. I’m clenching around nothing. 

Michael breaks the kiss, and I lean further in, sliding my lips down his throat. God, he smells so good. I’m kissing on him, right under his jaw, searching for that sweet spot. “Mia,” he murmurs, voice husked. He tilts his head slightly, letting me get closer. I don’t even know when I moved, but I’m almost on his lap, leaning into him, sucking on his throat once he hisses. I found the spot. 

He groans softly as one of my hands cups the other side of his neck. I’m licking at his throat like a cat, sucking on the skin, kissing him. I don’t know what’s come over me, why I’m acting like this. I’m just so ready for him I could die. 

He moans quietly, shifting his hips, that hand that’s only thigh tightening its grip.

When my hand then slides down his chest, grazing his abdomen, then settles on his thigh— he snaps out of it. 

He jolts back and I sit back too, snatching my hands back to myself. I stare at him with wide eyes and stutter out, “I’m sorry,” I cup my mouth. “Oh my god, i’m sorry.”

He’s breathing hard, facing away from me slightly. Involuntarily, I glance at where my hand just was, just inches from where there’s a very prominent rise in his jeans. “I need to go,” he mutters, cheeks flushing deep red.

“Okay,” I agree and he abruptly stands, angling his body away from me, so I can’t see what I did to him. “Michael, I’m sorry.” I bite my lip, face flushed, body humming.

“It’s fine, I just have to go,” he mutters quickly, “I’m sorry, I just need to go.” He’s cringing at himself, so turned on and shy, and I don’t know how to help.

I watch him leave, ducking out of my room and closing the door behind him, unsure of if I’ll see him again, or if I just crossed the line.

end notes:

Hello again everyone!! Thanks so much for reading! I had to giggle because I saw a few of you saying the story is cute so far, I’m here to tell y’all right now it’s not gonna be for long😭😭😭 just warning y’all!

Anyways pls let me know what you thought and if you’d like a part three✨✨✨

Chapter one. [Late September. 1983.]

It’s nearing eleven o’clock at night. I’m freshly showered, long curls glossy and defined, and half pinned back away from my face. I dab pink lipstick on my lips in my vanity mirror as the record player wafts soft music into the air. 

The house is quiet, even though my parents are still up, still unpacking some smaller boxes in the kitchen, laughing amongst themselves downstairs. I check the clock. It’s almost time to go, and nervous butterflies take off inside my stomach. 

Should I be exactly on time? Or wait just a little bit? 

I dress into a short white dress with small puffed sleeves. It’s free flowing, doesn’t hug my body, only my chest, with a pretty square neckline, showing off a nice stretch of my cleavage. Not that I want to tempt or tease, but— well. Maybe I do just a little bit. 

I spray perfume onto my throat and wrists then stare at myself in the mirror after I pull on my short heeled leather brown boots that sit just under my knee, my socks peeking out just over the top. I look cute, which is all I can really be with big cheeks, large eyes and dimples. “Okay,” I breathe, giving a turn and checking the back of my dress in the mirror. It’s long enough that it covers my rear, but short enough to be a little bit more daring than the outfits I usually wear to see him.

I head out, and swipe our family’s little white dog, Biscuit, on the way. She’s sleepy, and doesn’t want to walk, so I hold her and slip out the front door, walk down the drive and step out into the clear starry night.

Our neighbourhood is nice, a lot of big houses behind big gates. There’s a lot of trees, hedges, and even a little dog park. We’d been living in Manhattan before, where it was always so loud and so busy, with so much concrete. Whereas down here in Encino, this area was softer. Very suburban, and real pretty. 

I walk for a little bit, still getting used to the wide streets where a car might pass once after ten o’clock. I check my watch, wondering if I’m a little early, since it’s just past half eleven.

I near the dog park and Biscuits perks up, but doesn’t ask to be put down. She only sniffs the air, lifting her sweet little floppy triangle ears, content to be carried and cuddled, whilst still enjoying the smells. 

I should’ve known though, for when she yips— it means he’s here.

My stomach lifts in anticipation, and I turn. He’s there, walking towards me, perhaps maybe fifty yards away on this quiet residential street, passing in and out of the puddles of light provided by the street lamps. Dressed in a red cardigan with a white shirt underneath, and slim black pants, he looks just so… cute, with his short curls and big eyes—I have to take a deep breath to calm myself before he gets close. 

Michael waves when he sees me, then glances towards his companion. A big white Llama named Louie. After meeting more than a few times now, the Llama has begun to recognise me from a distance, and lifts his ears and stares. 

I giggle softly to myself, cheeks already flushing as Michael nears, butterflies soaring in excitement. I give him a little wave. 

For the past two weeks, I’d been meeting Michael for a mid-nightly walk, where we just wander and chat. He brings his llama, and I bring the dog. And we walk around the neighbourhood, just… I don’t know, get to know each other. 

It’s nice. He’s so sweet and soft spoken, so unlike the performer I’d seen on TV or photographed in magazines, mid-show. His energy is completely different in person. Still intoxicating, but…gentler. 

“Hi boys,” I greet softly, smiling. He smiles wide showing a little teeth when he sees me now, so different to the startled wide eyed look he’d given me when we’d first met, purely by accident. 

I’d yelped seeing his Llama, having turned a hedgerow-ed corner and suddenly been faced with it. Biscuit had started yapping like mad, and I’d had to try and shush her, whilst Michael had been just standing there, staring at me, trying to stutter out an apology for frightening me whilst my dog had been freaking out. 

When I’d eventually calmed Bisc down, I’d looked at him properly. I hadn’t quite believed my eyes at first, and we’d just stared at each other. “Are you…?” I had begun to ask, wanting to know if he really was who he was, but when he’d looked immediately uncomfortable, maybe worried at being recognised, out and alone at night, I changed my question. “Are you walking a llama?” I’d asked instead. His eyes had just lit up. 

Then I’d been introduced to Louie. And I’d introduced him to Biscuit, who had immediately tried to bite him when he’d reached out to pet her in my arms. When I’d apologised and said, “Sorry, she can be a little bit of a bitch at first.” He’d just giggled, completely unbothered. His eye contact had been so intense that it had made me a little nervous, but he was kind, and gosh, just so handsome it had made my brain short circuit a little bit. He’d asked me a lot of questions since he hadn’t seen me around before. 

The next night it had happened again. 

Even though I’d deliberately gone out super late to take a walk with Bisc, he’d been there, walking Louie again. He’d smiled, licked his lips, and we’d just chatted politely for a bit until I’d taken up enough of his time and gone home. Slowly over the last fourteen days, he’d warmed up to me. 

He was talkative before, but now it felt more like we were actually more in-tune with each other. Talking, instead of just making conversation. 

When he’d asked me a little shyly if I wanted to meet up like this every night, it had felt like, in my delusional state, that he was asking me out. I’d agreed, with full knowledge that these weren’t actually dates, since he didn’t know that I was interested him like that, and I didn’t think he was interested in me. Or rather, I was still trying to figure that out.

He didn’t flirt, or try and pull any moves. We just walked and talked. And it was so different hanging out with him than hanging out with other guys I knew. I couldn’t even say how many friendly hangouts I’d been to where, within an hour, they were trying to get a kiss out of me, or cop a feel. 

“Hi,” Michael greets, cute smile on his face. A soft breeze passes through the nearby trees, gently rustling the leaves. Biscuit yips at him happily. He’s in front of me now, and Louie is leaning in close to sniff at my hair and face. I smile as Michael reaches over and pets the wiggling little dog in my arms, long fingers tickling her fur between her ears. “How are you?” He asks me, looking down and meeting my gaze. I catch him glancing at my chest. The look is quick, almost involuntary, but from the way his gaze snags on my cleavage for half a second ignites something in me.

This is exactly the reaction I wanted. 

“Oh, you know,” I say softly.“Long day sorting things out.” 

“The… uh, the house getting together?” He asks after clearing his throat. He glances at my cleavage again and I just smirk. We start walking side by side, and Louis makes a quiet bleat.

“Slowly,” I sigh, moving my curls away from my neck. “My parents are so chaotic, they unpack a room and suddenly everything needs to be somewhere else. But they’re just excited, you know.” I chuckle softly.

Michael smiles warmly. I ask him about his day, and he tells me he’s just been working on some songs, not doing much else. “You’re always recording something,” I giggle, smiling up at him as he walks beside me, one hand in his pants pocket. We’re not moving very fast. In fact we’re walking so slowly Biscuit has fallen asleep in my arms.

“Well, it’s my job,” Michael replies, smiling a little. His soft spoken tone is like butter, so smooth and gentle. It sends a shiver down my spine, especially when he lowers it a bit, not wanting to project his voice too much since its dark and quiet. “I love what I do.”

I smile at that, but then he redirects the conversation back to me. He wants to know all about my life, my parent’s lives, all of it. He asks so many questions, and his interest in everything I’m saying is starting to play with me a little bit. 

We’re just talking, I know that. But it’s rare, at least for me, to have someone ask so many insightful things, to even remember stuff I’d mentioned from previous nights. Like he’d been thinking over what I said when we weren’t together. 

It does nothing but fuel this little thing I have for him developing. I just can’t help it. He’s so… cute, and kind, and a little shy and so well mannered… it’s been driving me mad. If he was any other guy we probably would’ve done something by now. 

So the big question is, why haven’t we? 

I saw him look at my breasts. He’s done it a few times now, as I’ve been chatting away, in the corner of my eye, I notice he keeps looking over my dress. This is the first time he’s ever not just stared into my eyes. I’ve been waiting for him to make a move on me, but it hasn’t happened yet. I hoped this dress might just encourage him a little bit.

An hour or so later, I’m starting to get a little sleepy. We’ve walked around the neighbourhood at this slow pace about twice, talking in soft tones. It’s super late, almost one in the morning, but I’m awake enough that I want to try something. 

Over the last four nights we’ve been hugging goodbye, and the last one last night lingered for a little bit, humming with an energy I couldn’t ignore. It was all I could think about all day. And I was for sure over thinking it, but I’d felt a slight switch in his mannerisms. His hand had lingered on my waist for two seconds longer than it had done the first time. And he’d looked so shy after, ducking his head and nodding, avoiding eye contact. 

We near my house, which is usually our cue to wrap things up. He always walks me back to the gate, then waits until I head inside. This time as I near the house, windows glowing with warm amber lights, I say: “Do you want to come in?”

Michael’s eyes widen just a little, making them seem all doe like and confused for a split second. “For… what?”

“I don’t know, tea? Water?” I giggle softly. I gaze at him, eyelashes fluttering, cradling my dog to my chest. He blinks several times, gaze dropping to his shoes. 

He hesitates for a few seconds, then murmurs: “Sure.” 

I smile, eyeing him just to make sure he doesn’t feel strange about this, but he doesn’t look reluctant, just nervous. We head in, and I close the gate behind us. Louie mewls, interested in the bushes in the front courtyard and tries to nibble a few but Michael moves him on. 

“We can put him in the yard out back,” I say, since there’s a side gate for easy access. Michael follows me, and ends up tying Louie to an apple tree, grass underneath him. The Llama immediately lies down, sighing loudly and I can’t help but giggle. 

“I… I shouldn’t be long,” Michael murmurs softly.

“Okay,” I say lightly.

We head inside the backdoor into the conservatory, since I know where the key is, I unlock it and put the key back in its hiding place. There are a few cluttered items in here, placed on the woven seats and tables, since for a couple days this was the dumping room for stuff my parents didn’t know what to do with— but it’s mostly been cleaned up. 

The air smells faintly of incense and damp soil as we step into the kitchen. There are plants everywhere, big ones in massive pots, then little ones sitting on the counter. “Wow,” Michael murmurs as I put Biscuit down in her bed. She grumbles, then goes back to sleep.

I just smile and put the kettle on, then wander over to the fridge. “What can I get you?”

“Anything is fine… thank you.” he replies softly, lingering by the door.

“You can sit down,” I say gently. He seems nervous, and it’s so endearing I want to bite him. 

Michael blinks rapidly and glances at the breakfast bar that I just nodded to. He moves over to it, but doesn’t sit down, and instead hovers beside the counter, hand resting on the hard wood surface, fingers drumming. In the reflection of the glass window of the cupboard in front of me, I can see him watching my back, bottom lip sinking behind his teeth shyly.

“Camomile okay?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder. His eyes jump up from looking at my legs.

“uh— Yeah,” he practically whispers. 

I look away, hiding my smile, and open the cupboard door, pushing up on my toes to reach the shelf for the mugs just as the kettle finishes boiling. I hum, annoyed, and grab the counter to push up on it— 

But then Michael’s there, “Let me,” he says softly, grabbing two for me with one hand.

“Oh— Thanks,” I huff with a smile. Our fingers brush as I take them from him, and he sucks his lips  back into his mouth and nods, stepping away. I hesitate for a split second, then decide not to over think that. I make our tea, adding a little bit of honey, then approach him again. He’s taken a seat now, and swallows, mumbling a thank you, as I slide the mug across the counter to him. 

We’re quiet, air between us humming again. I sip my tea and watch him calmly, wondering what he’s thinking. My head tilts, drinking in his features, his sweet curls. He’s not looking at me initially, but when he feels my gaze he glances up, and our eyes meet. I hold his gaze, giving him a little smile, heat warming my blood as he just looks at me with those big pretty eyes and just gulps. 

“Are— are your parents still up?” He asks.

“Yeah,” I glance over my shoulder. The house is big, bigger than anything we’d ever had before. I think the size of it is making my parents a little giddy. They stay up until super late, just enjoying the space, listening to music, talking, drinking, eating. With my father’s real estate business taking off and encouraging us to move down here, it’s no wonder they want to spend as much time as they can awake, enjoying the success. 

Michael nods. He already knows all this. I’ve practically chewed his ear off talking about them the last two weeks. I watch him sip his tea, then lick my own lips, wondering what his taste like.

I feel like a little weird, just eyeing his every move, gazing at his big hands, watching his soft looking lips. But I’m just so attracted to him, it feels a little overwhelming. 

It’s also hard to remember that he’s famous. His energy is so calm, voice so soft. He’s just sitting here in my kitchen, sipping tea, nervously chewing on his bottom lip as his eyes doe like he’s worried about how he’s coming across. I wonder if people come onto him often, hence why he hasn’t made a move. If he’s waiting for me to… I suppose it couldn’t hurt to just try, maybe see what happens.

“You want to come upstairs?” I ask. “We could listen to some music…or, I don’t know.” I’m trying to break the ice, but his eyes widen just a little more and I immediately want to back track and release him back into the outdoors like he’s some whimsical creature I thought I could domesticate. 

But then he stands, body moving without his say so perhaps, from the way he looks a little bewildered that he’s suddenly on his feet. “Sure, okay.”

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh and show him the way, taking my steaming mug of tea with me. As we climb the stairs, having passed the living room where my parents are, listening to Sade, probably drinking red wine, boxes all around them. From here they can’t see the stairs though, or who I’m with.

“Won’t your folks care that I’m here?”

“No,”I say honestly, because they wouldn’t.“They’re really easy,” I add. Michael only glances over his shoulder, back down the stairs, watching as my dog wanders by and into the living room, greeted by happy coo’s at her arrival. 

I lead the way to my bedroom, and once inside, Michael gently closes the door behind him. 

The energy between us still hums, and my body is softly tingling, wanting attention from him now that we’re alone, but as I glance at him, I can see he’s still feeling nervous. He’s looking around my neat space, taking everything in, clutching his cup of tea so hard I wonder if the china might break. 

I put on some music, record player crackling, then go and sit on the bed, sip my tea, watching him closely. He walks over to my shelf of records, then my rows of books, browsing them, distracting himself. “You’ve got good taste,” he murmurs, his back to me. 

“Thanks.” 

I just let him just explore, get comfortable, and take him in, looking over those broad shoulders and slim frame. It’s weird to think there’s a famous man in my room, because to me, right here, right now, he’s just Michael. The cute guy who lives down the street, that I really really want to sleep with, but perhaps is a little too shy to make the first move.

Eventually, he braves the bed and sits next to me. I’m sitting crossed legged now, back to my pillows, facing him. And I smile, excitement simmering, and lean over to my nightstand to put our mugs to one side once I pluck his out of his hand. 

Then I reach for him, placing my palm gently on his jaw. He lets me pull him in, eyes so big, that I almost hesitate, wondering if he wants to do this. But he doesn’t stop me, doesn’t pull away. His lips pucker when I kiss him softly. Though it’s just a peck, to test the waters. I lean back, and he’s quiet, just watching me. 

“Is this okay?” I whisper. He nods, swallowing thickly again, and I lean in to kiss him once more. 

His lips are so soft, and he tastes a little like honey, camomile and faintly of mint, too. Carefully, I move my mouth with his, tilting my head to the right. His moves to the left, and despite his earlier shyness, there’s no hint of it in this kiss. He knows what he’s doing.

My heart beats a little harder, sending a flush crawling up my neck to my cheeks. I’m so turned on that I want to speed this along, but it doesn’t seem like the type who would enjoy rushing. Gently, he touches me. Placing his hand on my thigh. It’s feather light, full of hesitation, as if he’s waiting for me to bat it away. This only turns me on more, I reach down and press his palm into my thigh as I kiss him a little harder. 

For a couple minutes we stay like this, kissing softly, music gently playing in the background. I’m easing down into that delicious haze, wanting to take things further, and slide my tongue into his mouth as my fingers gently ease into his hair at his nape. 

He makes this noise. A soft, breathless sound and returns the gesture, sliding his tongue against mine. And now, I’m losing my ability to think. I wrap my arms around his neck, heat under my skin doubling. His fingers flex on my thigh, and I pull him in closer, shifting and unfolding my legs, keeping our lips locked as I encourage him on top of me. 

I lie back against the pillows, and he follows. I’m kissing him eagerly, tongue in his mouth— 

I’m so excited I can feel my heartbeat between my thighs, but then he sharply pulls back. 

I gasp at the sudden disappearance of him and open my eyes, leaning up from the pillows. “I’m sorry,” he blurts,“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” I pant, blinking at him. “What are you talking about? I invited you.”

“I shouldn’t have come up here.” He starts shaking his head, and is about to get up, but I grasp his arm gently. 

“Michael, what’s wrong?” I ask, worrying I pushed him too hard, or did something wrong. I didn’t realise his shyness was this intense. “Talk to me.”

“No, it’s not you— I took a vow,” he practically whispers, rushing the words out as he doesn’t look at me. I let go of him and sit up, tugging my dress down so it covers me again, and just stare at him. “I shouldn’t have touched you, I’m sorry.” 

“Wait, a vow as in… like a religious one?” My hearts pounding, desire cooling like someone had just thrown an ice bucket on me. A vow?

“I can’t be here.” He stands up and all but bolts for the door. He pulls it open and ducks out, disappearing down the hall in a second. I just sit there, staring after him. After a few seconds, my father appears in the doorway, frowning lightly. He points over his shoulder with his thumb. 

“Was that… the, uh Jackson boy? Michael?” He asks. Only moments later I hear a door distantly shut. 

“Yes…” 

He nods slowly. “What did you do to him? Practically ran out here with his tail between his legs.”

“I just kissed him,” I sigh, getting up off the bed. 

“Jesus,” he mutters, and then starts laughing. “Gotta brush up on your skills there, Em,” he chuckles as he walks away, heading down the hall to the master bedroom. 

“Oh my god,” I whine loudly, covering my face.

“And go to bed!” Dad shouts playfully, now out of sight. “It’s damn near dawn.”

I get up to close my door, and walk back to my bed, flopping onto it to hide my face as I full body cringe. I can’t believe any of that just happened.

end notes:

hello everyone! thank you for getting this far if you have, welcome to my new fic <3 this is a bit of a slow burner, so there will be a bit of back and forth BUT! that does not mean there won't be steammmmmm!

anyways let me know what you thought!!! let me know if you'd like a part 2 <3

this soft version of Mikey actually has me by the throat, omg. Can't wait to have fun with it :)) here are some visuals of the era we're in, if you wanted to see:

The air conditioning hums, night quiet, aside from the gentle patter of rain against the window. Behind me, Michael breathes softly, deeply asleep, arm thrown over my waist whilst I use his other as a pillow. 

I’d only been awake for a couple of minutes, and I have no idea what time it is. The sound of thunder I think had woken me up, even though it wasn’t loud, my brain had quietly mistaken it for a distant door closing. I’d almost jolted myself out of bed thinking Johnny had come back, and I needed to get Michael out of my bed. 

I turn over, snuggling closer to him. He hums, stirring a little as I tuck my head under his chin and breathe in the scent of his skin like a creep, nose close to his throat. A couple deep breaths later, I’m calm again. I flutter my eyes closed and almost drift off when Michael mumbles sleepily, “why are you sniffing me, ma…”

I smile, giggling softly. “Sorry, you smell good.” 

He chuckles, sound rasped, low and quiet. I just smile more, snuggling in closer to him, eyelids fluttering with sleepiness. I drift off again, and wake the next morning, sun pouring into the room through the big bay window near my bed. I sit up and rub my eyes just as the bedroom door opens. I glance over, and Michael’s there, walking in with two mugs. 

I sit up straighter at the scent of coffee, clapping my hands lightly as he grins. “Thought you’d want this,” he smiles, curls pulled back with one of my pink scrunchies, a few strands hanging freely around his face. He looks so handsome this morning, just walking around my house without a shirt on, just in his boxers, like this space is his. It’s suits him. 

I gently bite my lip as he hands me a big mug of steaming coffee then walks around the bed, climbing back in with his tea. I watch his mouth as he takes a sip, staring at his bruised bottom lip and where the skin is slightly split. I reach over and touch it, and he hisses, side glancing me. “Stop, it’s tender.”

“You said it didn’t hurt.” My voice is still damaged from last night, rasped and quiet, dipping in and out like a radio struggling to find signal.

“It doesn’t until you poke it,” he replies, then smiles. “I’m fine,” he adds gently upon seeing my face. But then his light expression fades, concern taking over as tears dew in my eyes. He reaches across, taking my coffee out of my hand, putting his and my drinks down on the nightstand beside him before he turns back to me. 

“He hit you,” I say, bottom lip wobbling. “I’m so sorry,” my voice cracks, and Michael shifts closer to me, putting his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in.

“Baby, I’m fine. I promise. It was nothin’,” he soothes, looking at me earnestly as I peer up at him, eyelashes dewed with tears, “you should see the other guy,” he teases, smiling a little. I laugh softly, covering my mouth with my hand. “Sorry,” he then adds, “I shouldn’t make jokes about that.”

“It’s okay,” I mumble, wiping my eyes with my palms, “he deserved it.” 

“Tabi…”

“He did. He was doing what he always does, just acting like god damn bull in a china store to get what he wants,” I scoff, sniffing again and sitting up, away from his warm body. I reach over him for my coffee on the nightstand, moving carefully so I don’t spill it, and take a long sip as if the caffeine is meant to calm my nerves. I glance back at Michael when he doesn’t speak. He’s sucked his lips into his mouth, doe eyes guarded. “What?”

“I need you to know that I don’t usually… being violent like that isn’t me,” he says, “I want you to understand that I’m not that kind of man, but I will be if I have to be. If I need to protect you.”

I stare at him, really hearing what he’s saying. That he’d break his own personal code to defend me.

“I care about you a lot, Tabi. I want you to feel safe with me.”

My cheeks warm, but the heat descends lower too, spreads all over me. “I do,” I breathe, my own eyes doing that thing where I can feel them doe-ing and I just stare. “I feel very safe with you.” He looks back at me, gaze intense as he nods a little. 

“Good,” he murmurs, glancing at my lips. I flutter my eyelashes at him, sitting sideways on the bed facing him, still half under the comforter. The strap of my nightgown slips, dropping down my arm, and he looks at it, eye scanning over my bare shoulder then collarbones, my throat. It’s just such a simple look, and yet my bottom lip sinks beneath my teeth as I gaze at him even harder, eyelids lowering, soft smile forming— inviting him in. 

He’s just about to accept, pupils swelling wide, when his cell phone rings. He doesn’t move, instead he keeps watching me, glancing over my body, my face and hair. “Michael,” I whisper. He blinks, meeting my eyes. “Your cell phone, babe.”

“Right.”

He turns, snatching up the clunky black phone. “What?” I thump his thigh.“I mean, hello?” He corrects. He sits there, listening to whoever is on the phone, but keeps his eyes on me, scanning, drinking me in over and over “uh huh,” he hums. I sip my coffee, smirking into the big white mug, pretending as if I don’t notice the greed in his gaze. “When?” He asks, reaching over, sweeping some of my hair back and away from my neck. His touch sends a shiver down my spine. “I can be there in a couple hours.”

I glance at him. 

“No, I’m not at home.”

I wonder who he’s talking to. 

His touch slides down my back, over my nightgown, following the trail of my hair. 

“What’s the address?” He asks, sounding so professional and business like. When he uses his soft spoken tone in that manner, it just does something to me. “Just tell me, I’ll remember.” I meet his gaze as he plays with my hair, twirling my strands around his finger. He doesn’t say goodbye and hangs up, dropping his phone onto the bed. “You wanna come with me today?” He asks.

“Where?”

“House viewing.”

“Sure,” I agree, tucking some hair behind my ear. I need something normal to do. Something quiet. Just so I don’t stew over what happened yesterday, at the show.“Wanna shower with me?” I then ask. For even though I want to sleep with him, I know that right now I probably shouldn’t. We need to talk more first, figure things out. Adding sex into the mix again might just complicate things even more than they already are. Though even as I think about it, what is there that’s complicated? I want him. He wants me. 

My wounds from my relationship with Johnny may still be open, but at least they’re healing, right? 

Michael is up before I even get out the bed, though he still tries to play it off as we enter the bathroom, strip off and step into the shower. His eyes are glued to my body, even if he keeps his hands to himself, following my lead, watching my hands as I wash myself. His own movements are slow, his teeth toying with his lip. I can tell what he’s thinking, because blood has rushed to a certain spot on him, giving it all away.

I only giggle, but he can’t even laugh because he’s dazed and way too interested in where my hands move soap next. Still, he doesn’t touch me, and the self control warms my own veins. We slip into this weird haze. Him watching, me washing. We don’t talk, and yet so many things are said. 

When I don’t think my skin would appreciate anymore soap, I wash off, trailing the water over my skin with my palm. Michael licks his lips, and finally I find my voice. “You wanna wash off?” I ask him quietly, my injured vocal chords making my voice sound a little more seductive than I meet it to. He just nods, mumbling something incoherent, and we switch places. He washes off, soap trailing down his skin, disappearing into the drain. 

I take him in, gazing at those paler patches across his torso and abdomen. So pretty, like rose petals resting on his skin. We step out the shower, smelling fresher than ever before. We get ready quietly, and I change into a pale pink high waisted long skirt with pleats, and a white simple tank top that I tuck in. I pair it with little kitten heels that have a bow on the front, and pin half my hair up, fluffing it with a brush so it’s back in that messy 60s style. As I do my make up at my vanity, Michael watches. I pretend to not notice, enjoying his attention on me. 

Then we leave, grabbing breakfast on the way after a quick stop of at Michael’s house so he can change into simple jeans and a white t-shirt, big shades on. I don’t go inside, since I know his parents are there, and I can’t seem to face his mother yet considering the last time she saw me I was butt naked on her son’s bed. 

His driver slash bodyguard takes us to some cute small cafe he knows by the coast after an hours drive towards our destination. We head inside to grab pastries, and more coffee and tea. People can barely believe their eyes as we wait in line to order like normal people, standing close together, talking quietly. 

No one approaches, but people stare as they sip coffee at their tables, trying to figure out if Michael and I are actually who we are, and not lookalikes. At this point in my career I’m used to the staring, but I can tell it gets on Michael’s nerves a little. Despite easily playing it off, still chatting with me, still soft spoken, his jaw is tight and he stops moving as much, perhaps unconsciously thinking if he freezes, he’ll disappear from their view. 

We grab what we want and head out, successfully not being swarmed by the general public before we can head back to the car. We eat as Bill drives, sipping the coffee we got him. I brought my book, and have my legs curled up on the backseat as I read, leaning against Michael’s arm as he just looks out the window. 

We arrive at our destination about a half hour later, pausing at some big gates. There’s a real estate agent outside, looking a little nervous as the car slows and both Michael and I get out. He introduces me to the older woman, and I shake her hand. When she tells me her daughters are big fans of mine I smile. “Shall we go in?” She asks, motioning to the big black gates hiding the driveway from the road. “You really get the full effect of the property when you walk.” 

So we walk, passing through the gates and inside. Behind the gates, Michael’s guard drops. He reaches out of me, takes my hand. My face flushes a little, but I link my fingers with his as we walk the long curving drive and his real estate agent talks us through what makes the property stand out for her. Almost 2,000 acres of land, some out buildings, a big main house with a pool and a wine cellar. I keep quiet, but as she shows us around, I start getting a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Bubbles of excitement, anticipation. 

The master bedroom is beautiful, almost like a suite with big bathroom, a sitting room area and the bed on a second half floor. Whoever designed this property must’ve been on the good stuff, because it’s so interesting. The decor is a little dated but, overall, I actually really like it. 

“I’ll give you two a minute to talk it over,” the real estate agent, Barbara, says smiling politely, almost knowingly. I don’t give anything away with my expression, but I do wonder if she’ll talk about Michael and I being here together… holding hands, looking around.

“She’s discreet, don’t worry,” He says as I watch her leave. Perhaps I gave everything away in my expression after all. “No one even knows I’m her client.” 

“No?” I ask quietly.

“No, on all the emails she calls me Bob Johnson,” He informs me plainly. I snort loudly then slap my hand over my mouth, staring at him wide eyed. Michael grins down at me. “What the hell was that?” 

“Shut up,” I whine and my voice cracks. “Shut up right now.”

But he’s already laughing. “You sounded like a piglet,” he grins, finding it more amusing by the second. “You have never made that sound before,” He laughs harder, and I stare at him blankly, which only tickles him more. He’s fully laughing at me a second later, just loud and boisterous, which then makes me laugh since I’ve never heard him laugh like that before either. 

“Ow!”I keen, grasping my throat, voice rasping since it hurts, but we’re just stood there like idiots, cackling at each other. He tries to reach for me, but I bat him away and walk off, since I’ve now gone completely silent and I can’t breathe. Michael crouches, shades off in his hands as he presses his palms into his eyes. Tears stream from mine, and we’re just hysterical over the smallest thing. I suddenly snort again and Michael laughs harder. “It’s not funny!” I rasp, having to sit down on the nearest couch and put my head in my hands, unable to stop laughing even when it hurst. 

It takes us five full minutes to calm down, and even then, I’m still dabbing under my eyes with a tissue trying not to smudge my mascara. “Alright,” Michael sighs, placing his hands on his hips. He clears his throat, cheeks flushed from amusement. “What did you think?” He wonders.

“Of the house?” I ask. He nods, putting his shades into the pocket on the front of his shirt. “I like it. It’s spacious, has a lot of land like you wanted, the decor is a little old, though. But decorating it will be easy.”

“How’d you do it?” He asks, and I get that funny feeling again in my stomach. 

“Oh, well, let’s see…” I murmur, turning around to have a look at the living room we’re in. It’s long and wide with big windows looking out over the property on one side, big double glass doors on the other, overlooking a courtyard with a fountain. There’s a nice fire place with a mantel piece that would look gorgeous with a big fluffy Christmas tree beside it. It’s very rustic and pretty, a lot of character. “I’d make it all neutral. Dark wood, cream walls… then add in colour in the soft furnishings… like with the, um, rug and pillows…” I trail off as Michael watches me closely, gaze so intense I forget what I’m talking about. “What?”

“What?” He asks.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just listening.” 

I part my lips to keep talking about furnishing the place when my cell phone rings. I rummage for it in my little purse, bypassing lipstick and perfume, and pull it out. “Oh, it’s my manager, one second.” I wander off and head outside, taking the call, leaving Michael inside to speak with his real estate agent who’s just reentered the room. 

I just about catch her asking: “so what does she think?” 

I have no time to think of that before Lorelei is chewing my ear about tabloids. “Wait what?” I ask, wandering away from the main house and into the slightly overgrown gardens. “What story?”

“From last night. Of the almost-kiss on stage, everyone’s going crazy over it. It’s all over the papers.”

“He kissed my cheek, it’s not really…”

“Tabi, it’s not really the kiss they’re talking about, it’s you. It’s your blush, it’s your eyes. It’s his hand on your spine. It’s how you look at each other. It’s that damn song from Johnny, and how barely minutes before you guys weren’t even trying to hide that you’re seeing each other. They know something is going on.”

“But we’re not—“ I start, but it’s no use, I can remember exactly what my face did the moment he leant in to kiss me. “I don’t understand what the problem is, I’m single.” I mumble, walking over to the pool where leaves drift on the water from a tree hanging over it. The house looks like no one’s been here for a while, to either live in or maintain it. A house this big with this much land definitely would’ve sat on the market for a long time though, so no wonder. 

Lorelei sighs, and I know I’m not about to like what I’m hearing. “The label isn’t happy.”

“Why?” I reluctantly ask.

“Look, where are you now? They’d prefer to discuss it in a meeting. Can you come in to the building? I can be there in an hour.” 

I hesitate, nerves folding over each other in my stomach. “I’m in Santa Monica. I can’t be there in an hour.”

“What are you doing all the way out there?”

“Just hanging out with a friend. I needed some quiet time.”

Lorelei pauses. “Is it Michael?” 

I don’t respond. 

“Tomorrow morning, then.” Lorelei says, “ten a.m sharp. And please just… try to keep out of sight.”

I end the call and head back inside. 

“What happened?” Michael asks, catching sight of my face immediately. I sigh hard. 

“apparently my label isn’t happy with me because of last night, but I’m not sure why. They want to have a meeting about it,” I reply, “oh, and apparently we’re all over the papers.” 

“No wonder people were staring at us this morning.”

“No, that’s because you’re Michael Jackson,” I chuckle. His real estate agent, Barbara, waits for us to finish before she returns the conversation. When she says the price of the house with the land included my brows jolt, but Micheal has no reaction. I mean I do well for myself but not well enough that a number like that would not make me flinch. 

“Should we take a walk of the grounds next?” Barbara offers before asking for Michael’s decision regarding putting an offer in. We both agree, and we walk quietly behind the estate agent as she leads us outside. I don’t think I really gathered just how big 2,000 acres really is, because we walk for a while, checking out the outbuildings, the endless fields. There’s even a big pond, with a few ducks floating on the water calmly. The land is so big a village could be built and no one would know, and I can even see Michael thinking about what to do with it all. 

“I like it,” he says, reaching for me. We’re by the barns and out buildings, looking out at an old paddock. I think this was an old ranch because it has all the facilities, even if they’re ancient and rusty. Instinctually I drift closer to him, slipping under his arm that now rests on my shoulders. 

“It’s nice and quiet,” I say, since it is. There’s no car noise. No planes noise. No distant sirens. Just wind in the trees, the smell of earth and grass. Of real air with no pollution. Michael hums, thumb grazing my shoulder. Barbara looks on, quietly holding the file with all the info for the property, giving Michael space to make a decision. 

“I’ll take it,” he says decisively. Barbara grins, already pulling out her cell phone from her purse. 

“I’ll give the owner a call. They’ve been waiting pretty anxiously,” she smiles, striding away as she puts her phone to her ear. 

“Congratulations,” I say, turning to Michael, sliding out of his hold. “On your first house purchase,” I smile, looking up at him. His shades are back on, so I’m really just looking at my reflection. Even then though, I can still feel his gaze. 

“Thanks,” he grins, “It’s been a long time coming,” he adds, licking his lips. “We should celebrate. Go out, or something.” He shifts, and I realise despite his casual tone, he’s asking me out.

I hear Lorelei’s voice say ‘stay out of sight’ right in my ear as if she’s here, but it fades quickly as excited butterflies flutter around my stomach. “Sure,” I agree, and Michael smiles big, relieved. There are a few more details to figure out with the house, so I give him some space and wander around, making myself look busy as he talks to Barbara. 

I keep wondering what my label wants to talk to me about, trying not to get to anxious about it since I’m not entirely sure what I might’ve done wrong. 

An almost kiss on stage? Sure it might spark dating rumours but we’ve already been through those. For gods sake, no one had an issue when the dating rumours were with that random executive who I hadn’t spoken to since that weird not-date dinner. 

When Michael’s ready, we walk back up to the main house and the courtyard where his driver, Bill, waits. We take some time to find what looks like a good restaurant in the local town nearby the ranch he’s just agreed to buy, and slip into an Italian place. At this time of the day it’s thankfully quiet, but the wait staff look bewildered as we find a place out back in the little garden under the veranda as if we are just two normal people, having a late lunch date. It feels just like that until I catch one of them taking a picture of us on a digital camera. 

It’s whatever though, I don’t mention it, not wanting to spoil the afternoon by telling Michael what Lorelei suggested and what just happened either. 

We order pizza, eat half, then swap half way. We chat over chilled white wine and get a little tipsy. I chatter about nothing as I fold one leg over the other, then reach out with my foot, grazing the Michael’s calf with my toe that I’ve slipped out of my heels. He doesn’t react much, only smiles a little when he feels me do it, sipping his wine as his cheeks flush a little. 

He just looks so handsome under the speckled shade of the vine covered veranda above us that I can’t help it. 

“Excuse me,” a very young voice asks as a little girl approaches the table. Our conversation stops. “Can… can I have your autograph, please?” She asks. She must be eight or nine, and she’s so nervous her shoulders are up by her ears. It takes me a second to realise she’s talking to me, and I jump into action, bright smile on my face as I coo over her.

“Of course you can!” I chirrup, deeply flattered and slightly embarrassed since the content of my songs are not really age appropriate, but who am I to say anything? I’m not her mom. “What’s your name?”

“Jessica.”

I write a message on the material napkin she gave me, and spot her glancing at Michael a few times, blushing deeply. I almost want to agree with her out loud, but I wonder if that might be weird. He waits silently, warm smile on his face and when she looks at him again. I hand her back the napkin and her pen, and she grins, staring at the personalised message. She looks as if she’s about to cry and my throat thickens, glancing towards her parents. “Thank you so much,” she breathes, gripping the napkin hard.

“you’re welcome, sweet pea,” I smile. She puts her arms out for a hug, and I oblige. 

When she pulls back, there’s a little bit of confidence there as she asks, “are… are you guys on a date? My mom told me not to bother you because you might be.”

I hear her mom gasp her name and fight back the urge to bark out a laugh. “Can you keep a secret?” I ask, and she nods eagerly, “Yes.” I admit, “this very nice man asked me out and was very polite about it. He’s a real gentleman.”

Michael chuckles. I nudge him under the table with my foot. Jessica just smiles, blushing as she looks at him again. “Would you like his autograph too?” I whisper. She nods, bashful and quiet now that he sits up. She hands him the napkin and doesn’t look at him as he signs another message beside mine, then adds his signature. 

“Thank you.” 

She doesn’t ask for a hug and instead bolts from the table, running back to her mother, face red like a tomato. The mother waves at me, mouthing a thank you before they disappear back inside, and I start giggling. “Oh, she thought you were the cutest thing.” 

Michael grins, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a sip. He’s quiet, and I tip my head in questioning, taking a bite of the last bit of my pizza. “S’nothing,” he murmurs, “just you said we were on a date.”

“Oh, should I not have?” I ask, eyes widening. I immediately think of how to fix it, wondering if I should say to the little girl that I was just joking or something, but Michael’s smiling, looking bashful. 

“No, I like that you said it.”

The air softens even more between us, and I gaze at him a little bit before dropping my eyes back to my plate, wondering what else I can nibble at. We order dessert, legs brushing against each other under the table as we share ice cream, out of sight of any eyes since there’s a cloth. It’s early evening by the time Michael pays and we wander out of the restaurant, my arm linked with his as he opens the door for me. I half expect paparazzi, but the street is quiet as the sun descends over the ocean ahead of us, with only a few people milling about. 

“Do you wanna take a walk?” Michael suggests, “the beach is just there.”

We walk close to each other, but don’t touch once we’re on the sand. We talk about nothing and everything, and Michael listens as I yammer on about useless things as we wander. “I wish I bought my camera,” I say as we stop to watch the sunset over the water. 

There are people nearby, some just relaxing on the sand, whilst others wade into the water for an evening swim. Further along, a few are just lounging on their surfboards, enjoying the view. Not one person has looked our way, because, well, why would they? We’re just two people, watching the sunset, just like everyone else. 

Michael closes in behind me, wrapping his arms around me. My kitten heels are off, and he’s holding them, which means he can comfortably rest his chin on the top of my head. “You’re squishing my hair,” I grumble. 

“It’s fine,” he says, “that hair spray you use is stronger than steel.”

“Oh my god,” I giggle softly, but I’m leaning back into him, watching the sun glow burning amber as it slowly descends into the horizon. As more people gather on the beach, we decide to quit whilst we’re ahead and sneak away, taking Jackie’s advice and walking with confidence, since if we start acting like two people who don’t want to be seen, someone will look at us. 

We make it back to Bill unnoticed and clamber into the backseat. I’ve had the most wonderful day, and I feel like I’m floating. Before the car even starts moving I’ve grasped the front of Michael’s shirt and pulled him in to kiss me. 

He leans over me as our mouths move together, already into it within a few seconds. My heart pounds with excitement as our lips lock, separating and connecting eagerly. In the background, I hear the partition sliding up. I break the kiss, unable to stop the giggle. “Sorry Bill,” Michael says, and I hear the older man grunt nonchalantly. 

I lie back against the seats of this sleek town car and Michael hovers over me, my fingers in his curls, my lips moving with his. Des!re courses through my veins as I hum softly, parting my thighs and letting him settle between them. I wrap my legs around him, kissing him eagerly, wanting to show him how much fun I had today.

He groans, pressing his hips into me, then suddenly pulls back. “We gotta stop,” he breathes. 

I’m already dazed, lips tingling from the kiss. “Hm?” I ask, caressing this shoulders. He’s so pretty, I just can’t think straight. Not when he’s close to me like this, smelling so delicious. And we’ve been flirting all evening, playing footsie under the table, holding eye contact and all that. “Kiss me,” I whine quietly, pulling at his t-shirt.

“I can’t,” he murmurs, his doe eyes are all big, gaze bashful. I tilt my head, gazing from his lips to his eyes. It takes me a second, because if I’m already hot for him, then he… 

“Oh,” I whisper, then bite my lip as I giggle. But then I lean up and nip his bottom lip, pulling at it. “You like me that much, Mikey?”

“Stop,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead his eyes dark, lids lowering. I smile, caressing his broad shoulders and back with my palms. He breathes slow and deep, controlling himself. But he still doesn’t pull away.

“S’just a little kiss,” I tease under my breath, “a small one, please?” 

He doesn’t say anything, just gazes at me as the car glides onto the highway, taking us back to the city. 

“Just one more kiss, please?” I ask, fluttering my eyelashes at him. He licks his lips, and I can tell he likes this. This pleading tone of voice, the way I’m touching him, gently pulling at his t-shirt. How I’m pinned under him. “You like this?”I ask very quietly. He’s barely blinking, but he can at least manage a little nod. “You want me to beg?” I whisper practically in audibly. 

His pupils have swallowed up most of the colour in his eyes. He swallows, then nods slightly again. 

“Kiss me,” I plead softly. I’m still resting my voice, at least I’m meant to be, since I’m actually not supposed to talk at all, and yet here I am, begging for a kiss in the backseat of Michael’s car. “Kiss me,” I whisper again, tone lowering. I know he’s thinking of another word, whenever I whisper it to him, he sinks deeper into that haze. 

Then he gives in, and presses his mouth against mine. We k!ss like we’ve starving, just devouring each other. I mewl into him, lifting my body to press against his. He grips my thigh, lifting it against his hip. 

I’m already excited, heat pooling between my thighs where he’s pressed his hips into me. My heart’s racing, body tingling. I can’t seem to think of doing anything else but having him right here, right now.

I shift my hǐps against his, finding that bulge and rubbing against it. He groans, deepening our kiss even more, tongue sliding against mine, diving deeper into my mouth. I can’t wait to get home. I’m so eager I’m getting irritated, glancing out the window above me when Michael shifts his lips from mine, to my neck. 

Maybe we could just do it here…

... Soon, I’ve barely come down when Michael's finishing, hips still gently moving as he comes down from his own high.

He drops his head onto my chest, breathing hard, but still trying to control it so we aren’t too loud. The partition hums and we freeze, “just to let you guys know we’re about to leave the highway…” Bill says. “In case you wanna..” 

“Thanks Bill,” Michael says, using that sweet soft voice that is not fooling me anymore at all. He eases out of me, biting his lip as he grins. “Careful,” he murmurs, since his release is still inside and it will come out if I move too much. 

“Do you have a tissue?” I whisper, blushing.

“Uh, hold on.” He rummages around the car, opening compartments until finds an unopened packet of tissues and helps clean me up, “sorry baby,” he blushes, doing that bashful smile. I sit up, feeling oddly shy about it too and just laugh it off, righting my clothes. 

Bill was right to warn us. There’s traffic, and every now and then we pause and have to wait way too close to other cars. Thankfully, his car windows are tinted, but still, if people get too close— they could see us. 

They drop me home and I kiss Michael goodbye. He decides he wants to go into the studio tonight, and after our car encounter, I want to shower and go to bed. I drift through my house, run a bubble bath, then about an hour later climb into bed. I fall asleep face first into the pillows, and immediately dream of Michael. 

The next morning, I’m on time at the label’s building, ready to meet with the reps and my manager. I’m in a simple black dress that cinches at my waist, and stops mid thigh. The sleeves are puffed, neckline square. And my usual big messy hair has been sleeked into a low, twisted bun. Which took me way longer to do than it needed to. Still, I look very professional this morning, and feel good about myself. Which is great, because I don’t feel good about this meeting. 

The conference room is set up with snacks and beverages, I help myself to a herbal tea and take the seat beside Lorelei who is the only one sitting on my side of the table. On the other side are four executives. Three men, one woman. One of those men being Arthur, whose gaze I barely meet when we all shake hands to greet each other. 

“So, let’s jump right in,” Arthur begins, and I glance at Lorelei who only meets my eyes for a split second. I’d been dodging taking this mans calls for about a month, and the weight of that sits in the air. Whether or not he wanted to pursue something romantic or just chat about work, I don’t know, since I haven’t spoken to him since that dinner. 

“I was told you guys weren’t happy with me,” I say, breaking the ice immediately. “If it was something I said or did at the show, I’m sorry.”

I wonder if they heard about Michael beating half the life out of Johnny backstage and feel a little queasy.

“No, no, we’re overjoyed with you, Tabitha, but we actually wanted to talk to you about something a little… sensitive.” Rita, the only other woman aside from Lorelei and me, says. I gulp at her words and prepare myself. “It’s… Michael.”

My expression twitches, threatening to break my cool, calm and collected mask. “I… don’t understand.” 

“Well, it’s not necessarily him, per se, it’s more of the story around this that the press is starting to fixate on. One thing your fans love about you is your independence, your strength. You’re a young, attractive woman making a way for herself in a male dominated world.” Rita continues, “Being… attached to someone as substantially known as Michael Jackson, well. We fear it may swallow your brand.”

I lick my lips quickly, process. “Right,” I say slowly. 

They wait for me to say more but I just blink. 

“What Rita is trying to say is, and please forgive me for speaking plainly,” Arthur intervenes, “you’re hot, you’re talented. You’re your own woman. Your own brand. If you become Michael Jackson’s woman, that’s all you will be known for, unless something happens and then all you will be known for is for who you once were to him. With your last boyfriend it was different. Of course, Johnny was not as well known, especially outside of the US. Michael, however…” 

One of the other executives whistles. “He’s a powerhouse.” He adds in. 

“Exactly,” Arthur continues. “The Jackson brand is dominating the industry right now, and you… you are not on that level yet. You know, the guy has been working since he was a child. He’s got almost two decades on you.”

“What…” I begin, but trail off. I pause for a second before saying, “Are you saying I can’t see him?” My voice still isn’t 100%, and cracks over some of the words.

“Well… what we are saying is that we want you to be single.”

I fight the frown and side glance Lorelei, who is sitting very quietly, taking it all in. 

“Tabitha,” Rita says slowly, bringing my attention back to her across the table. “I’ll put it like this. You’re publicly single now. You have the king of pop lusting after you on live television. Men all over the world, whether they want to or not, will follow his lead. This broadens your demographic by billions. You’re a young, beautiful woman. The men want you. The women? They want to be you. They idolise you. They’ll mimic you. Buy everything you put out. But that is only if you develop a brand that is not being the girlfriend of someone more famous than you.”

“Okay,” I nod, processing still.

“What we’re saying is that we’d prefer if you didn’t attach yourself to him right now. Be your own woman. Your fans look up to you because of this.”

Tension starts locking my muscles in place. They don’t need to spell it out for me. They don’t want me to be seen with Michael, which means they don’t want me to see him, period. I swallow thickly, unsure of what to do or say. If I go against them, this could really damage my career. As in, they could blacklist me and start pumping all their time and money into someone else more obedient. 

Then I see it in their eyes, there’s something else. 

The moment they notice that I notice, one of the younger looking executives stands up. He retrieves a board from the edge of the room and pulls a cloth off it. On is concept designs. Sketches of me in more revealing outfits, practically lingerie. I have big heels, even bigger hair, and I’m showing way more skin than I usually do, which is saying something.

“Sexy, single and strong,” the baby faced executive says, “is the concept title of this.”

“Of what?” I ask.

“Your next album,” Arthur says, using a tone that makes me pause. I don’t state the obvious. I just made an album. ACTUALLY, I just made two. Back to back. I just worked my fucking ass off. “Tabitha,” he begins, and I suppose it’s all over my face what I’m thinking. “Your last album is full of love songs. Or should I say the first half is. The second half is closer to what we want. It’s sexier, more mature, bolder.”

Thanks to Michael. 

“You want me to redo my album.” I state. “I just—” I begin, wanting to argue, but he puts up his hand to stop me from talking. My eyes widen and Lorelei grips my arm under the table to stop me from cussing him out.  

“This is a decision we’ve made. We, being your label.” Arthur says. He doesn’t need to elaborate. We the people who pay you. We the people who own you. I hold my breath, frustration burning under my skin. “Unfortunately, due to last minute changes, we’re gonna need to do really work on this one, and work on it fast. You’ll need to eat, sleep and breathe music until it’s finished.”

“Wh…” i begin, glancing at Lorelei as if to say help me? But she just grimaces. “How long do I have? How many songs do I need to make?”

“Ten, minimum. And you’ve got seven weeks.”

“Seven weeks?!” I gasp. I can’t even hide it. I’m fuming. “You’re joking.” I say loudly. “Seven!? The last album took me a year!” 

“We believe in you, Tabi.” 

They’re wrapping up, meeting over. Just like that. Gathering up their shit and leaving me to sit at the table, lost and furious. The moment they’re gone I slap my hands over my eyes and fight the urge to hysterically sob out loud. 

“Sweetie I’m sorry, I really tried to talk them out of this. Something about you being around Michael really triggered them.”

“Why?” I gasp, tears sliding down my cheeks. 

“You’re they’re golden girl” she replies, “they’re making millions out of you. The Jackson brand… it could threaten that. If people stop seeing you as your own powerhouse, if the women you inspire start…”

“What, thinking less of me?” I snap, not at her, just at the situation. “Because I want to date someone new? What the fuck!” 

Lorelei doesn’t say anything, only smiles sadly at me. “This is the world we live in.”

I push up from my seat and snatch up my little purse. I walk out, even as Lorelei calls out to me, I just keep going. I can’t believe this shit. Months I poured into that album. Blood, sweat and tears, all over it, just for them to want to discard it and turn me into— well, whatever the fuck. 

I wipe my tears and fix my face, noticing a little crowd of people outside of the building. Photographers. Shutter clicks sound rapidly as I near the big glass doors to leave, flashes temporarily blinding me. I shield my face, really not in the damn mood for this as I head out to where my driver waits. Once he sees me coming, he rushes to open the door for me. 

Paps crowd in, shoving cameras in my face, shouting and asking about Michael Jackson and Johnny, for gods sake they even ask about that executive man, Arthur. I don’t answer, and continue to push my way through this sea of grown ass men and climb into my car, slamming the door and locking it right after. 

I’m deathly silent all the way home, anxiety churning. 

Just when I got comfortable with seeing Michael again, the world tips and throws something else in the way. And now, I’m terrified to tell him, thinking he’s going to believe it’s all me just not wanting to commit, and cut me off for good. 

The idea of that makes me feel sick, but I also don’t want to fuck up my career either. I have so many points to prove to so many people, that by the time I’m back home, inside my house, all I can do is stand there in the foyer, and stare into space. 

For the first time ever, I understand why my mother wanted to keep me out of the industry, and the realisation as to why almost crushes me. 

end notes:

*stares at Tumblr mad and irritated as fuck for like fifteen minutes* anyway, so this post is edited to cut out the sexual content considering I'm now on some kind of black list and can't post it here. Yay. The full version is on A03 like it says in the description, but whew girl. I'm IRRITATED.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter anyway, I do try and make the plot fun and the smut is meant to be the cherry on top, but yeah. Jesus lord Almighty.

I'm sorry that I'm complaining, this is just mad annoying to be targeted like this repeatedly when everyone else gets to post as normal. Hope you guys will enjoy a cleanish style for a while, I'll figure out a way around this soon lmao.

The air conditioning hums, night quiet, aside from the gentle patter of rain against the window. Behind me, Michael breathes softly, deeply asleep, arm thrown over my waist whilst I use his other as a pillow. 

I’d only been awake for a couple of minutes, and I have no idea what time it is. The sound of thunder I think had woken me up, even though it wasn’t loud, my brain had quietly mistaken it for a distant door closing. I’d almost jolted myself out of bed thinking Johnny had come back, and I needed to get Michael out of my bed. 

I turn over, snuggling closer to him. He hums, stirring a little as I tuck my head under his chin and breathe in the scent of his skin like a creep, nose close to his throat. A couple deep breaths later, I’m calm again. I flutter my eyes closed and almost drift off when Michael mumbles sleepily, “why are you sniffing me, ma…”

I smile, giggling softly. “Sorry, you smell good.” 

He chuckles, sound rasped, low and quiet. I just smile more, snuggling in closer to him, eyelids fluttering with sleepiness. I drift off again, and wake the next morning, sun pouring into the room through the big bay window near my bed. I sit up and rub my eyes just as the bedroom door opens. I glance over, and Michael’s there, walking in with two mugs. 

I sit up straighter at the scent of coffee, clapping my hands lightly as he grins. “Thought you’d want this,” he smiles, curls pulled back with one of my pink scrunchies, a few strands hanging freely around his face. He looks so handsome this morning, just walking around my house without a shirt on, just in his boxers, like this space is his. It’s suits him. 

I gently bite my lip as he hands me a big mug of steaming coffee then walks around the bed, climbing back in with his tea. I watch his mouth as he takes a sip, staring at his bruised bottom lip and where the skin is slightly split. I reach over and touch it, and he hisses, side glancing me. “Stop, it’s tender.”

“You said it didn’t hurt.” My voice is still damaged from last night, rasped and quiet, dipping in and out like a radio struggling to find signal.

“It doesn’t until you poke it,” he replies, then smiles. “I’m fine,” he adds gently upon seeing my face. But then his light expression fades, concern taking over as tears dew in my eyes. He reaches across, taking my coffee out of my hand, putting his and my drinks down on the nightstand beside him before he turns back to me. 

“He hit you,” I say, bottom lip wobbling. “I’m so sorry,” my voice cracks, and Michael shifts closer to me, putting his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in.

“Baby, I’m fine. I promise. It was nothin’,” he soothes, looking at me earnestly as I peer up at him, eyelashes dewed with tears, “you should see the other guy,” he teases, smiling a little. I laugh softly, covering my mouth with my hand. “Sorry,” he then adds, “I shouldn’t make jokes about that.”

“It’s okay,” I mumble, wiping my eyes with my palms, “he deserved it.” 

“Tabi…”

“He did. He was doing what he always does, just acting like god damn bull in a china store to get what he wants,” I scoff, sniffing again and sitting up, away from his warm body. I reach over him for my coffee on the nightstand, moving carefully so I don’t spill it, and take a long sip as if the caffeine is meant to calm my nerves. I glance back at Michael when he doesn’t speak. He’s sucked his lips into his mouth, doe eyes guarded. “What?”

“I need you to know that I don’t usually… being violent like that isn’t me,” he says, “I want you to understand that I’m not that kind of man, but I will be if I have to be. If I need to protect you.”

I stare at him, really hearing what he’s saying. That he’d break his own personal code to defend me.

“I care about you a lot, Tabi. I want you to feel safe with me.”

My cheeks warm, but the heat descends lower too, spreads all over me. “I do,” I breathe, my own eyes doing that thing where I can feel them doe-ing and I just stare. “I feel very safe with you.” He looks back at me, gaze intense as he nods a little. 

“Good,” he murmurs, glancing at my lips. I flutter my eyelashes at him, sitting sideways on the bed facing him, still half under the comforter. The strap of my nightgown slips, dropping down my arm, and he looks at it, eye scanning over my bare shoulder then collarbones, my throat. It’s just such a simple look, and yet my bottom lip sinks beneath my teeth as I gaze at him even harder, eyelids lowering, soft smile forming— inviting him in. 

He’s just about to accept, pupils swelling wide, when his cell phone rings. He doesn’t move, instead he keeps watching me, glancing over my body, my face and hair. “Michael,” I whisper. He blinks, meeting my eyes. “Your cell phone, babe.”

“Right.”

He turns, snatching up the clunky black phone. “What?” I thump his thigh.“I mean, hello?” He corrects. He sits there, listening to whoever is on the phone, but keeps his eyes on me, scanning, drinking me in over and over “uh huh,” he hums. I sip my coffee, smirking into the big white mug, pretending as if I don’t notice the greed in his gaze. “When?” He asks, reaching over, sweeping some of my hair back and away from my neck. His touch sends a shiver down my spine. “I can be there in a couple hours.”

I glance at him. 

“No, I’m not at home.”

I wonder who he’s talking to. 

His touch slides down my back, over my nightgown, following the trail of my hair. 

“What’s the address?” He asks, sounding so professional and business like. When he uses his soft spoken tone in that manner, it just does something to me. “Just tell me, I’ll remember.” I meet his gaze as he plays with my hair, twirling my strands around his finger. He doesn’t say goodbye and hangs up, dropping his phone onto the bed. “You wanna come with me today?” He asks.

“Where?”

“House viewing.”

“Sure,” I agree, tucking some hair behind my ear. I need something normal to do. Something quiet. Just so I don’t stew over what happened yesterday, at the show.“Wanna shower with me?” I then ask. For even though I want to sleep with him, I know that right now I probably shouldn’t. We need to talk more first, figure things out. Adding sex into the mix again might just complicate things even more than they already are. Though even as I think about it, what is there that’s complicated? I want him. He wants me. 

My wounds from my relationship with Johnny may still be open, but at least they’re healing, right? 

Michael is up before I even get out the bed, though he still tries to play it off as we enter the bathroom, strip off and step into the shower. His eyes are glued to my body, even if he keeps his hands to himself, following my lead, watching my hands as I wash myself. His own movements are slow, his teeth toying with his lip. I can tell what he’s thinking, because blood has rushed to a certain spot on him, giving it all away.

I only giggle, but he can’t even laugh because he’s dazed and way too interested in where my hands move soap next. Still, he doesn’t touch me, and the self control warms my own veins. We slip into this weird haze. Him watching, me washing. We don’t talk, and yet so many things are said. 

When I don’t think my skin would appreciate anymore soap, I wash off, trailing the water over my skin with my palm. Michael licks his lips, and finally I find my voice. “You wanna wash off?” I ask him quietly, my injured vocal chords making my voice sound a little more seductive than I meet it to. He just nods, mumbling something incoherent, and we switch places. He washes off, soap trailing down his skin, disappearing into the drain. 

I take him in, gazing at those paler patches across his torso and abdomen. So pretty, like rose petals resting on his skin. We step out the shower, smelling fresher than ever before. We get ready quietly, and I change into a pale pink high waisted long skirt with pleats, and a white simple tank top that I tuck in. I pair it with little kitten heels that have a bow on the front, and pin half my hair up, fluffing it with a brush so it’s back in that messy 60s style. As I do my make up at my vanity, Michael watches. I pretend to not notice, enjoying his attention on me. 

Then we leave, grabbing breakfast on the way after a quick stop of at Michael’s house so he can change into simple jeans and a white t-shirt, big shades on. I don’t go inside, since I know his parents are there, and I can’t seem to face his mother yet considering the last time she saw me I was butt naked on her son’s bed. 

His driver slash bodyguard takes us to some cute small cafe he knows by the coast after an hours drive towards our destination. We head inside to grab pastries, and more coffee and tea. People can barely believe their eyes as we wait in line to order like normal people, standing close together, talking quietly. 

No one approaches, but people stare as they sip coffee at their tables, trying to figure out if Michael and I are actually who we are, and not lookalikes. At this point in my career I’m used to the staring, but I can tell it gets on Michael’s nerves a little. Despite easily playing it off, still chatting with me, still soft spoken, his jaw is tight and he stops moving as much, perhaps unconsciously thinking if he freezes, he’ll disappear from their view. 

We grab what we want and head out, successfully not being swarmed by the general public before we can head back to the car. We eat as Bill drives, sipping the coffee we got him. I brought my book, and have my legs curled up on the backseat as I read, leaning against Michael’s arm as he just looks out the window. 

We arrive at our destination about a half hour later, pausing at some big gates. There’s a real estate agent outside, looking a little nervous as the car slows and both Michael and I get out. He introduces me to the older woman, and I shake her hand. When she tells me her daughters are big fans of mine I smile. “Shall we go in?” She asks, motioning to the big black gates hiding the driveway from the road. “You really get the full effect of the property when you walk.” 

So we walk, passing through the gates and inside. Behind the gates, Michael’s guard drops. He reaches out of me, takes my hand. My face flushes a little, but I link my fingers with his as we walk the long curving drive and his real estate agent talks us through what makes the property stand out for her. Almost 2,000 acres of land, some out buildings, a big main house with a pool and a wine cellar. I keep quiet, but as she shows us around, I start getting a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Bubbles of excitement, anticipation. 

The master bedroom is beautiful, almost like a suite with big bathroom, a sitting room area and the bed on a second half floor. Whoever designed this property must’ve been on the good stuff, because it’s so interesting. The decor is a little dated but, overall, I actually really like it. 

“I’ll give you two a minute to talk it over,” the real estate agent, Barbara, says smiling politely, almost knowingly. I don’t give anything away with my expression, but I do wonder if she’ll talk about Michael and I being here together… holding hands, looking around.

“She’s discreet, don’t worry,” He says as I watch her leave. Perhaps I gave everything away in my expression after all. “No one even knows I’m her client.” 

“No?” I ask quietly.

“No, on all the emails she calls me Bob Johnson,” He informs me plainly. I snort loudly then slap my hand over my mouth, staring at him wide eyed. Michael grins down at me. “What the hell was that?” 

“Shut up,” I whine and my voice cracks. “Shut up right now.”

But he’s already laughing. “You sounded like a piglet,” he grins, finding it more amusing by the second. “You have never made that sound before,” He laughs harder, and I stare at him blankly, which only tickles him more. He’s fully laughing at me a second later, just loud and boisterous, which then makes me laugh since I’ve never heard him laugh like that before either. 

“Ow!”I keen, grasping my throat, voice rasping since it hurts, but we’re just stood there like idiots, cackling at each other. He tries to reach for me, but I bat him away and walk off, since I’ve now gone completely silent and I can’t breathe. Michael crouches, shades off in his hands as he presses his palms into his eyes. Tears stream from mine, and we’re just hysterical over the smallest thing. I suddenly snort again and Michael laughs harder. “It’s not funny!” I rasp, having to sit down on the nearest couch and put my head in my hands, unable to stop laughing even when it hurst. 

It takes us five full minutes to calm down, and even then, I’m still dabbing under my eyes with a tissue trying not to smudge my mascara. “Alright,” Michael sighs, placing his hands on his hips. He clears his throat, cheeks flushed from amusement. “What did you think?” He wonders.

“Of the house?” I ask. He nods, putting his shades into the pocket on the front of his shirt. “I like it. It’s spacious, has a lot of land like you wanted, the decor is a little old, though. But decorating it will be easy.”

“How’d you do it?” He asks, and I get that funny feeling again in my stomach. 

“Oh, well, let’s see…” I murmur, turning around to have a look at the living room we’re in. It’s long and wide with big windows looking out over the property on one side, big double glass doors on the other, overlooking a courtyard with a fountain. There’s a nice fire place with a mantel piece that would look gorgeous with a big fluffy Christmas tree beside it. It’s very rustic and pretty, a lot of character. “I’d make it all neutral. Dark wood, cream walls… then add in colour in the soft furnishings… like with the, um, rug and pillows…” I trail off as Michael watches me closely, gaze so intense I forget what I’m talking about. “What?”

“What?” He asks.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just listening.” 

I part my lips to keep talking about furnishing the place when my cell phone rings. I rummage for it in my little purse, bypassing lipstick and perfume, and pull it out. “Oh, it’s my manager, one second.” I wander off and head outside, taking the call, leaving Michael inside to speak with his real estate agent who’s just reentered the room. 

I just about catch her asking: “so what does she think?” 

I have no time to think of that before Lorelei is chewing my ear about tabloids. “Wait what?” I ask, wandering away from the main house and into the slightly overgrown gardens. “What story?”

“From last night. Of the almost-kiss on stage, everyone’s going crazy over it. It’s all over the papers.”

“He kissed my cheek, it’s not really…”

“Tabi, it’s not really the kiss they’re talking about, it’s you. It’s your blush, it’s your eyes. It’s his hand on your spine. It’s how you look at each other. It’s that damn song from Johnny, and how barely minutes before you guys weren’t even trying to hide that you’re seeing each other. They know something is going on.”

“But we’re not—“ I start, but it’s no use, I can remember exactly what my face did the moment he leant in to kiss me. “I don’t understand what the problem is, I’m single.” I mumble, walking over to the pool where leaves drift on the water from a tree hanging over it. The house looks like no one’s been here for a while, to either live in or maintain it. A house this big with this much land definitely would’ve sat on the market for a long time though, so no wonder. 

Lorelei sighs, and I know I’m not about to like what I’m hearing. “The label isn’t happy.”

“Why?” I reluctantly ask.

“Look, where are you now? They’d prefer to discuss it in a meeting. Can you come in to the building? I can be there in an hour.” 

I hesitate, nerves folding over each other in my stomach. “I’m in Santa Monica. I can’t be there in an hour.”

“What are you doing all the way out there?”

“Just hanging out with a friend. I needed some quiet time.”

Lorelei pauses. “Is it Michael?” 

I don’t respond. 

“Tomorrow morning, then.” Lorelei says, “ten a.m sharp. And please just… try to keep out of sight.”

I end the call and head back inside. 

“What happened?” Michael asks, catching sight of my face immediately. I sigh hard. 

“apparently my label isn’t happy with me because of last night, but I’m not sure why. They want to have a meeting about it,” I reply, “oh, and apparently we’re all over the papers.” 

“No wonder people were staring at us this morning.”

“No, that’s because you’re Michael Jackson,” I chuckle. His real estate agent, Barbara, waits for us to finish before she returns the conversation. When she says the price of the house with the land included my brows jolt, but Micheal has no reaction. I mean I do well for myself but not well enough that a number like that would not make me flinch. 

“Should we take a walk of the grounds next?” Barbara offers before asking for Michael’s decision regarding putting an offer in. We both agree, and we walk quietly behind the estate agent as she leads us outside. I don’t think I really gathered just how big 2,000 acres really is, because we walk for a while, checking out the outbuildings, the endless fields. There’s even a big pond, with a few ducks floating on the water calmly. The land is so big a village could be built and no one would know, and I can even see Michael thinking about what to do with it all. 

“I like it,” he says, reaching for me. We’re by the barns and out buildings, looking out at an old paddock. I think this was an old ranch because it has all the facilities, even if they’re ancient and rusty. Instinctually I drift closer to him, slipping under his arm that now rests on my shoulders. 

“It’s nice and quiet,” I say, since it is. There’s no car noise. No planes noise. No distant sirens. Just wind in the trees, the smell of earth and grass. Of real air with no pollution. Michael hums, thumb grazing my shoulder. Barbara looks on, quietly holding the file with all the info for the property, giving Michael space to make a decision. 

“I’ll take it,” he says decisively. Barbara grins, already pulling out her cell phone from her purse. 

“I’ll give the owner a call. They’ve been waiting pretty anxiously,” she smiles, striding away as she puts her phone to her ear. 

“Congratulations,” I say, turning to Michael, sliding out of his hold. “On your first house purchase,” I smile, looking up at him. His shades are back on, so I’m really just looking at my reflection. Even then though, I can still feel his gaze. 

“Thanks,” he grins, “It’s been a long time coming,” he adds, licking his lips. “We should celebrate. Go out, or something.” He shifts, and I realise despite his casual tone, he’s asking me out.

I hear Lorelei’s voice say ‘stay out of sight’ right in my ear as if she’s here, but it fades quickly as excited butterflies flutter around my stomach. “Sure,” I agree, and Michael smiles big, relieved. There are a few more details to figure out with the house, so I give him some space and wander around, making myself look busy as he talks to Barbara. 

I keep wondering what my label wants to talk to me about, trying not to get to anxious about it since I’m not entirely sure what I might’ve done wrong. 

An almost kiss on stage? Sure it might spark dating rumours but we’ve already been through those. For gods sake, no one had an issue when the dating rumours were with that random executive who I hadn’t spoken to since that weird not-date dinner. 

When Michael’s ready, we walk back up to the main house and the courtyard where his driver, Bill, waits. We take some time to find what looks like a good restaurant in the local town nearby the ranch he’s just agreed to buy, and slip into an Italian place. At this time of the day it’s thankfully quiet, but the wait staff look bewildered as we find a place out back in the little garden under the veranda as if we are just two normal people, having a late lunch date. It feels just like that until I catch one of them taking a picture of us on a digital camera. 

It’s whatever though, I don’t mention it, not wanting to spoil the afternoon by telling Michael what Lorelei suggested and what just happened either. 

We order pizza, eat half, then swap half way. We chat over chilled white wine and get a little tipsy. I chatter about nothing as I fold one leg over the other, then reach out with my foot, grazing the Michael’s calf with my toe that I’ve slipped out of my heels. He doesn’t react much, only smiles a little when he feels me do it, sipping his wine as his cheeks flush a little. 

He just looks so handsome under the speckled shade of the vine covered veranda above us that I can’t help it. 

“Excuse me,” a very young voice asks as a little girl approaches the table. Our conversation stops. “Can… can I have your autograph, please?” She asks. She must be eight or nine, and she’s so nervous her shoulders are up by her ears. It takes me a second to realise she’s talking to me, and I jump into action, bright smile on my face as I coo over her.

“Of course you can!” I chirrup, deeply flattered and slightly embarrassed since the content of my songs are not really age appropriate, but who am I to say anything? I’m not her mom. “What’s your name?”

“Jessica.”

I write a message on the material napkin she gave me, and spot her glancing at Michael a few times, blushing deeply. I almost want to agree with her out loud, but I wonder if that might be weird. He waits silently, warm smile on his face and when she looks at him again. I hand her back the napkin and her pen, and she grins, staring at the personalised message. She looks as if she’s about to cry and my throat thickens, glancing towards her parents. “Thank you so much,” she breathes, gripping the napkin hard.

“you’re welcome, sweet pea,” I smile. She puts her arms out for a hug, and I oblige. 

When she pulls back, there’s a little bit of confidence there as she asks, “are… are you guys on a date? My mom told me not to bother you because you might be.”

I hear her mom gasp her name and fight back the urge to bark out a laugh. “Can you keep a secret?” I ask, and she nods eagerly, “Yes.” I admit, “this very nice man asked me out and was very polite about it. He’s a real gentleman.”

Michael chuckles. I nudge him under the table with my foot. Jessica just smiles, blushing as she looks at him again. “Would you like his autograph too?” I whisper. She nods, bashful and quiet now that he sits up. She hands him the napkin and doesn’t look at him as he signs another message beside mine, then adds his signature. 

“Thank you.” 

She doesn’t ask for a hug and instead bolts from the table, running back to her mother, face red like a tomato. The mother waves at me, mouthing a thank you before they disappear back inside, and I start giggling. “Oh, she thought you were the cutest thing.” 

Michael grins, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a sip. He’s quiet, and I tip my head in questioning, taking a bite of the last bit of my pizza. “S’nothing,” he murmurs, “just you said we were on a date.”

“Oh, should I not have?” I ask, eyes widening. I immediately think of how to fix it, wondering if I should say to the little girl that I was just joking or something, but Michael’s smiling, looking bashful. 

“No, I like that you said it.”

The air softens even more between us, and I gaze at him a little bit before dropping my eyes back to my plate, wondering what else I can nibble at. We order dessert, legs brushing against each other under the table as we share ice cream, out of sight of any eyes since there’s a cloth. It’s early evening by the time Michael pays and we wander out of the restaurant, my arm linked with his as he opens the door for me. I half expect paparazzi, but the street is quiet as the sun descends over the ocean ahead of us, with only a few people milling about. 

“Do you wanna take a walk?” Michael suggests, “the beach is just there.”

We walk close to each other, but don’t touch once we’re on the sand. We talk about nothing and everything, and Michael listens as I yammer on about useless things as we wander. “I wish I bought my camera,” I say as we stop to watch the sunset over the water. 

There are people nearby, some just relaxing on the sand, whilst others wade into the water for an evening swim. Further along, a few are just lounging on their surfboards, enjoying the view. Not one person has looked our way, because, well, why would they? We’re just two people, watching the sunset, just like everyone else. 

Michael closes in behind me, wrapping his arms around me. My kitten heels are off, and he’s holding them, which means he can comfortably rest his chin on the top of my head. “You’re squishing my hair,” I grumble. 

“It’s fine,” he says, “that hair spray you use is stronger than steel.”

“Oh my god,” I giggle softly, but I’m leaning back into him, watching the sun glow burning amber as it slowly descends into the horizon. As more people gather on the beach, we decide to quit whilst we’re ahead and sneak away, taking Jackie’s advice and walking with confidence, since if we start acting like two people who don’t want to be seen, someone will look at us. 

We make it back to Bill unnoticed and clamber into the backseat. I’ve had the most wonderful day, and I feel like I’m floating. Before the car even starts moving I’ve grasped the front of Michael’s shirt and pulled him in to kiss me. 

He leans over me as our mouths move together, already into it within a few seconds. My heart pounds with excitement as our lips lock, separating and connecting eagerly. In the background, I hear the partition sliding up. I break the kiss, unable to stop the giggle. “Sorry Bill,” Michael says, and I hear the older man grunt nonchalantly. 

I lie back against the seats of this sleek town car and Michael hovers over me, my fingers in his curls, my lips moving with his. Des!re courses through my veins as I hum softly, parting my thighs and letting him settle between them. I wrap my legs around him, kissing him eagerly, wanting to show him how much fun I had today.

He groans, pressing his hips into me, then suddenly pulls back. “We gotta stop,” he breathes. 

I’m already dazed, lips tingling from the kiss. “Hm?” I ask, caressing this shoulders. He’s so pretty, I just can’t think straight. Not when he’s close to me like this, smelling so delicious. And we’ve been flirting all evening, playing footsie under the table, holding eye contact and all that. “Kiss me,” I whine quietly, pulling at his t-shirt.

“I can’t,” he murmurs, his doe eyes are all big, gaze bashful. I tilt my head, gazing from his lips to his eyes. It takes me a second, because if I’m already hot for him, then he… 

“Oh,” I whisper, then bite my lip as I giggle. But then I lean up and nip his bottom lip, pulling at it. “You like me that much, Mikey?”

“Stop,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead his eyes dark, lids lowering. I smile, caressing his broad shoulders and back with my palms. He breathes slow and deep, controlling himself. But he still doesn’t pull away.

“S’just a little kiss,” I tease under my breath, “a small one, please?” 

He doesn’t say anything, just gazes at me as the car glides onto the highway, taking us back to the city. 

“Just one more kiss, please?” I ask, fluttering my eyelashes at him. He licks his lips, and I can tell he likes this. This pleading tone of voice, the way I’m touching him, gently pulling at his t-shirt. How I’m pinned under him. “You like this?”I ask very quietly. He’s barely blinking, but he can at least manage a little nod. “You want me to beg?” I whisper practically in audibly. 

His pupils have swallowed up most of the colour in his eyes. He swallows, then nods slightly again. 

“Kiss me,” I plead softly. I’m still resting my voice, at least I’m meant to be, since I’m actually not supposed to talk at all, and yet here I am, begging for a kiss in the backseat of Michael’s car. “Kiss me,” I whisper again, tone lowering. I know he’s thinking of another word, whenever I whisper it to him, he sinks deeper into that haze. 

Then he gives in, and presses his mouth against mine. We k!ss like we’ve starving, just devouring each other. I mewl into him, lifting my body to press against his. He grips my thigh, lifting it against his hip. 

I’m already excited, heat pooling between my thighs where he’s pressed his hips into me. My heart’s racing, body tingling. I can’t seem to think of doing anything else but having him right here, right now.

I shift my hǐps against his, finding that bulge and rubbing against it. He groans, deepening our kiss even more, tongue sliding against mine, diving deeper into my mouth. I can’t wait to get home. I’m so eager I’m getting irritated, glancing out the window above me when Michael shifts his lips from mine, to my neck. 

Maybe we could just do it here…

... Soon, I’ve barely come down when Michael's finishing, hips still gently moving as he comes down from his own high.

He drops his head onto my chest, breathing hard, but still trying to control it so we aren’t too loud. The partition hums and we freeze, “just to let you guys know we’re about to leave the highway…” Bill says. “In case you wanna..” 

“Thanks Bill,” Michael says, using that sweet soft voice that is not fooling me anymore at all. He eases out of me, biting his lip as he grins. “Careful,” he murmurs, since his release is still inside and it will come out if I move too much. 

“Do you have a tissue?” I whisper, blushing.

“Uh, hold on.” He rummages around the car, opening compartments until finds an unopened packet of tissues and helps clean me up, “sorry baby,” he blushes, doing that bashful smile. I sit up, feeling oddly shy about it too and just laugh it off, righting my clothes. 

Bill was right to warn us. There’s traffic, and every now and then we pause and have to wait way too close to other cars. Thankfully, his car windows are tinted, but still, if people get too close— they could see us. 

They drop me home and I kiss Michael goodbye. He decides he wants to go into the studio tonight, and after our car encounter, I want to shower and go to bed. I drift through my house, run a bubble bath, then about an hour later climb into bed. I fall asleep face first into the pillows, and immediately dream of Michael. 

The next morning, I’m on time at the label’s building, ready to meet with the reps and my manager. I’m in a simple black dress that cinches at my waist, and stops mid thigh. The sleeves are puffed, neckline square. And my usual big messy hair has been sleeked into a low, twisted bun. Which took me way longer to do than it needed to. Still, I look very professional this morning, and feel good about myself. Which is great, because I don’t feel good about this meeting. 

The conference room is set up with snacks and beverages, I help myself to a herbal tea and take the seat beside Lorelei who is the only one sitting on my side of the table. On the other side are four executives. Three men, one woman. One of those men being Arthur, whose gaze I barely meet when we all shake hands to greet each other. 

“So, let’s jump right in,” Arthur begins, and I glance at Lorelei who only meets my eyes for a split second. I’d been dodging taking this mans calls for about a month, and the weight of that sits in the air. Whether or not he wanted to pursue something romantic or just chat about work, I don’t know, since I haven’t spoken to him since that dinner. 

“I was told you guys weren’t happy with me,” I say, breaking the ice immediately. “If it was something I said or did at the show, I’m sorry.”

I wonder if they heard about Michael beating half the life out of Johnny backstage and feel a little queasy.

“No, no, we’re overjoyed with you, Tabitha, but we actually wanted to talk to you about something a little… sensitive.” Rita, the only other woman aside from Lorelei and me, says. I gulp at her words and prepare myself. “It’s… Michael.”

My expression twitches, threatening to break my cool, calm and collected mask. “I… don’t understand.” 

“Well, it’s not necessarily him, per se, it’s more of the story around this that the press is starting to fixate on. One thing your fans love about you is your independence, your strength. You’re a young, attractive woman making a way for herself in a male dominated world.” Rita continues, “Being… attached to someone as substantially known as Michael Jackson, well. We fear it may swallow your brand.”

I lick my lips quickly, process. “Right,” I say slowly. 

They wait for me to say more but I just blink. 

“What Rita is trying to say is, and please forgive me for speaking plainly,” Arthur intervenes, “you’re hot, you’re talented. You’re your own woman. Your own brand. If you become Michael Jackson’s woman, that’s all you will be known for, unless something happens and then all you will be known for is for who you once were to him. With your last boyfriend it was different. Of course, Johnny was not as well known, especially outside of the US. Michael, however…” 

One of the other executives whistles. “He’s a powerhouse.” He adds in. 

“Exactly,” Arthur continues. “The Jackson brand is dominating the industry right now, and you… you are not on that level yet. You know, the guy has been working since he was a child. He’s got almost two decades on you.”

“What…” I begin, but trail off. I pause for a second before saying, “Are you saying I can’t see him?” My voice still isn’t 100%, and cracks over some of the words.

“Well… what we are saying is that we want you to be single.”

I fight the frown and side glance Lorelei, who is sitting very quietly, taking it all in. 

“Tabitha,” Rita says slowly, bringing my attention back to her across the table. “I’ll put it like this. You’re publicly single now. You have the king of pop lusting after you on live television. Men all over the world, whether they want to or not, will follow his lead. This broadens your demographic by billions. You’re a young, beautiful woman. The men want you. The women? They want to be you. They idolise you. They’ll mimic you. Buy everything you put out. But that is only if you develop a brand that is not being the girlfriend of someone more famous than you.”

“Okay,” I nod, processing still.

“What we’re saying is that we’d prefer if you didn’t attach yourself to him right now. Be your own woman. Your fans look up to you because of this.”

Tension starts locking my muscles in place. They don’t need to spell it out for me. They don’t want me to be seen with Michael, which means they don’t want me to see him, period. I swallow thickly, unsure of what to do or say. If I go against them, this could really damage my career. As in, they could blacklist me and start pumping all their time and money into someone else more obedient. 

Then I see it in their eyes, there’s something else. 

The moment they notice that I notice, one of the younger looking executives stands up. He retrieves a board from the edge of the room and pulls a cloth off it. On is concept designs. Sketches of me in more revealing outfits, practically lingerie. I have big heels, even bigger hair, and I’m showing way more skin than I usually do, which is saying something.

“Sexy, single and strong,” the baby faced executive says, “is the concept title of this.”

“Of what?” I ask.

“Your next album,” Arthur says, using a tone that makes me pause. I don’t state the obvious. I just made an album. ACTUALLY, I just made two. Back to back. I just worked my fucking ass off. “Tabitha,” he begins, and I suppose it’s all over my face what I’m thinking. “Your last album is full of love songs. Or should I say the first half is. The second half is closer to what we want. It’s sexier, more mature, bolder.”

Thanks to Michael. 

“You want me to redo my album.” I state. “I just—” I begin, wanting to argue, but he puts up his hand to stop me from talking. My eyes widen and Lorelei grips my arm under the table to stop me from cussing him out.  

“This is a decision we’ve made. We, being your label.” Arthur says. He doesn’t need to elaborate. We the people who pay you. We the people who own you. I hold my breath, frustration burning under my skin. “Unfortunately, due to last minute changes, we’re gonna need to do really work on this one, and work on it fast. You’ll need to eat, sleep and breathe music until it’s finished.”

“Wh…” i begin, glancing at Lorelei as if to say help me? But she just grimaces. “How long do I have? How many songs do I need to make?”

“Ten, minimum. And you’ve got seven weeks.”

“Seven weeks?!” I gasp. I can’t even hide it. I’m fuming. “You’re joking.” I say loudly. “Seven!? The last album took me a year!” 

“We believe in you, Tabi.” 

They’re wrapping up, meeting over. Just like that. Gathering up their shit and leaving me to sit at the table, lost and furious. The moment they’re gone I slap my hands over my eyes and fight the urge to hysterically sob out loud. 

“Sweetie I’m sorry, I really tried to talk them out of this. Something about you being around Michael really triggered them.”

“Why?” I gasp, tears sliding down my cheeks. 

“You’re they’re golden girl” she replies, “they’re making millions out of you. The Jackson brand… it could threaten that. If people stop seeing you as your own powerhouse, if the women you inspire start…”

“What, thinking less of me?” I snap, not at her, just at the situation. “Because I want to date someone new? What the fuck!” 

Lorelei doesn’t say anything, only smiles sadly at me. “This is the world we live in.”

I push up from my seat and snatch up my little purse. I walk out, even as Lorelei calls out to me, I just keep going. I can’t believe this shit. Months I poured into that album. Blood, sweat and tears, all over it, just for them to want to discard it and turn me into— well, whatever the fuck. 

I wipe my tears and fix my face, noticing a little crowd of people outside of the building. Photographers. Shutter clicks sound rapidly as I near the big glass doors to leave, flashes temporarily blinding me. I shield my face, really not in the damn mood for this as I head out to where my driver waits. Once he sees me coming, he rushes to open the door for me. 

Paps crowd in, shoving cameras in my face, shouting and asking about Michael Jackson and Johnny, for gods sake they even ask about that executive man, Arthur. I don’t answer, and continue to push my way through this sea of grown ass men and climb into my car, slamming the door and locking it right after. 

I’m deathly silent all the way home, anxiety churning. 

Just when I got comfortable with seeing Michael again, the world tips and throws something else in the way. And now, I’m terrified to tell him, thinking he’s going to believe it’s all me just not wanting to commit, and cut me off for good. 

The idea of that makes me feel sick, but I also don’t want to fuck up my career either. I have so many points to prove to so many people, that by the time I’m back home, inside my house, all I can do is stand there in the foyer, and stare into space. 

For the first time ever, I understand why my mother wanted to keep me out of the industry, and the realisation as to why almost crushes me. 

end notes:

*stares at Tumblr mad and irritated as fuck for like fifteen minutes* anyway, so this post is edited to cut out the sexual content considering I'm now on some kind of black list and can't post it here. Yay. The full version is on A03 like it says in the description, but whew girl. I'm IRRITATED.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter anyway, I do try and make the plot fun and the smut is meant to be the cherry on top, but yeah. Jesus lord Almighty.

I'm sorry that I'm complaining, this is just mad annoying to be targeted like this repeatedly when everyone else gets to post as normal. Hope you guys will enjoy a cleanish style for a while, I'll figure out a way around this soon lmao.