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 Three [ Late September. 1983.]

I find myself debating on whether or not to go out again. It’s half ten, and I’m freshly showered, even dressed in leggings and a simple cropped t-shirt, slippers on, make up done. 

“You got a date tonight?” Dad asks, passing by me to head back to the living room where he and my mother are drinking wine, relaxing. I’m just hovering in the kitchen, staring down at a cup of tea on the counter in front of me.

“Um, I dunno,” I say lightly. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Ah,” dad replies, as if he understands what I mean. He disappears out of my peripheral vision, and I go back to staring into my cup of tea. 

I could not get Michael out of my head. Ever since last night he’d been on my mind, same few minutes looping like a broken record. His lips, his taste. That bulge in his pants. I was literally losing my mind and it was starting to scare me a little bit because of how much I wanted him.I’d never been this caught up before in my life. Like I was even debating on going outside to wait in the dark to see if he’d show like some sort of— 

I cut my thought off.

I mean, how realistic was this… whatever it was between us? Were we friends? More? 

Could we maintain whatever situation this was beyond a couple weeks, or was one of us — probably me — bound to get so frustrated that it would end up being more toxic than anything else? 

I didn’t want to be the kind of girl who makes him question his whole upbringing, his religion, his choices, or risk his status amongst his family and community. It may be just sex to me, but from his reaction last night, just seeing how much of a big deal it was to him to get a little excited just kissing… it just switched something in my brain. Or at least part of it.

What kind of girl would I be if I encouraged him to have sex when he obviously wasn’t ready? 

I sigh hard and pick up my tea, turning so I can lean my back against the counter and take a sip. 

I wanted him so bad that I was seriously considering never speaking to him again. And it really had nothing to do with the fact he was Michael Jackson. I hadn’t even listened to the Thriller album yet, despite it being everywhere. 

It was more of the effect he had on me. His tone of voice, the way he listened, remembered details. It was the way he talked to me like a person, not just something he wanted to pleasure himself with. 

I liked him as the guy I met walking his damn Llama in the dark at almost midnight, not the performer, and yet… perhaps that was something I needed to consider too. The fame. The scrutiny. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. 

If we started dating, would I have to be a part of that too? 

For god’s sake, I was a yoga teacher. I was still in college, studying. How could I finish my studies and actually start my career as a therapist if I was his girl? One of his fans might decide to choke me out on a random Tuesday, then it would be all over. 

My stomach churns, overlapping thoughts fuelling my anxiety and this uncertainty. I was confusing myself, overthinking. And like my mother always told me, if a man makes you overthink, it’s not the man you should be with. 

Even if it’s not his fault. 

When eleven thirty comes, I head up to my room. I wash my face. I comb out my loose curls and plait them up so they don’t knot whilst I sleep. I change into my pyjamas and pull my curtains closed. Guilt makes my chest ache, but I settle down with a book, and read until I fall asleep, trying desperately not to picture Michael waiting outside for me to show up, and instead hope he’s back at home, deciding to put whatever this is between us to rest too. 

A week goes by and I start to feel a little better about my decision. I teach two evening classes after spending the day at college, and head home late Friday night, exhausted. 

I get dropped home by a friend, hop out her car, and wave goodbye outside my gate. I’m in black yoga pants, a white tank top, cardigan, bag slung over my shoulder, yoga mat tucked under my arm. 

I’m standing just out of range of a street light as I rummage in my purse for my house keys when I hear an engine rumble up behind me. 

For a moment, I think my friend returned. Maybe I’d left something in her car, so I turn around with a smile, but pause, seeing a baby blue Rolls Royce instead of her white beetle. I hesitate, frown descending over my expression. I reach for my pepper spray inside my bag as the passenger side window eases down. 

“Mia,”a soft spoken voice wafts out. I shove my pepper spray back into my purse and bend forwards, peering into the car, frown still on my face. Michael drums his fingers on the steering wheel, lip tucked under his teeth. He looks like I’ve just caught him in the act.

“Have you been waiting for me?” I ask, glancing at my watch. It’s dark out, almost ten o’clock at night.

“Uh,” he replies, “no, I was going out for a drive when I saw you…” He explains, then licks his lips, glancing over my outfit, eyes sticking to my thighs for a split second too long. “can we talk?” 

I sigh softly, moving a curl from where it’s brushing against my cheek, and tuck it behind my ear. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” He asks, eyes enlarging. I almost curse out loud, about three seconds from giving in. 

“Because…” I begin to explain, but as he gazes at me, big eyes so soft and open, I find it hard to articulate myself. I clear my throat, and right myself so I’m not bending down to look through the window of his car anymore. Michael cuts the engine immediately and hops out, dressed in a red varsity jacket, dark jeans and a white t-shirt. His curls are defined, a few ringlets hanging over his brow. I press my lips together, because he looks damn good, and he walks around the car, comes towards me, but doesn’t get too close. 

“Have I done something wrong?” He asks, tilting his head a little bit, brows crinkling. 

“No,” I say, heart thudding behind my ribs. “But… I…” I trial off, glance towards my house, sitting half aglow behind the big iron gates. My parents must still be up.

“Is there someone else?” His voice lowers a touch, and it makes my eyes snap back towards him. 

“No.” I eye him, looking from his sneakers to his eyes and back.

“So, what is it?” He steps closer to me, and as the breeze wafts over his shoulder and sweeps towards me, I smell his cologne. I breathe it in, lungs expanding painfully wide. Jesus. 

“Michael, I don’t want to be the reason you become a pariah in your community. All this sinning stuff is just messing with my head.” 

He frowns immediately, shifting where he stands and licks his lips. “Oh,” he replies gently, breaking eye contact, soft tone coming back. He pauses for a long moment, and I just stare at him, eyes big, stomach clenching so hard I almost wince. “I don’t…” he trails off, like he doesn’t know what to say. 

“It’s just the way your religion sees sex, like it’s some taboo, dirty thing, and I’m sorry but I don’t want that on my conscious.” I practically mumble. His gaze jumps back to mine. “I don’t want to feel like I’m gross for wanting to have sex.”

“I never— I don’t want you to feel that way, Mia,” He steps towards me, “I don’t see it that way, or you.”

“You took a vow. You obviously believe in the message enough to agree to do something like that.” 

“I took it when I was fifteen,” he replies, “it’s… it’s all I know.”

“Which is exactly my point.”

He grimaces, glancing away from me and rubs the back of his neck. “Can… can we talk about this somewhere else? And not outside your house like this?”

I sigh. I know I shouldn’t agree, I should end things right now, save us both some misery and go inside, but within the blink of an eye he’s opening his car door, and I’m getting into the passenger seat, body controlled by some higher power I don’t even believe in. 

The interior of his is so… luxurious. Smooth, beige leather seats. A nice, pine scent in the air from an air freshener hanging on the rear view mirror. I settle, put on my seat belt, and clasp my hands in my lap after putting my yoga mat and bag in the back. 

Michael slides into the drivers seat, and the engine purrs to life after he slots the key in. “I know a good place.”

“How far away is it?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes. Not too far.”

We’re quiet for a couple minutes. Michael glances at me a few times as his car glides through the residential neighbourhood and onto a main thoroughfare. Headlines gleam through the windshield as he drives, hands flexing on the steering wheel. 

“Where have you been this week?” He asks, voice so soft it brushes over my skin like silk.

“Class,” I murmur, “and I was working Tuesday and today.”

He nods. He already knows I teach, and what I study. I also know that he knows I deliberately avoided answering his question properly. Because he meant after-hours, as in why was I not with him, and where was I instead.

“How was your week?” I ask after a beat of quiet. 

“Fine,” he murmurs, “a lot of meetings…”

“About what?”

“My father wants— we were discussing a tour.”

“With your brothers?”

“Yeah,” he replies bluntly, then sighs hard, jaw muscles flexing as he clenches his teeth. I don’t press the topic, but I know how he feels about family projects already. I realise then just how much we do know about each other, how much we’ve talked, how much we’ve shared. Nothing damning, of course, but enough that it was silly of me to consider us not, at the very least, friends. 

A couple minutes later Michael pulls in to a viewing point. The roads been dark and quiet since we turned off the highway to get up here, which gives the space this weird aura of solitude and privacy, despite being out in the open. From here there’s a gorgeous view of the city, big buildings glittering— distant sirens blaring. 

I get out and stare at the view, a little taken with it. I hadn’t seen LA in all it’s glory like this before.

“I come up here sometimes to think,” Michael says softly, sitting on the hood of his fancy car, hands in his pockets. I glance over my shoulder at him. His expression is calm, and his demeanour makes him look so… so… 

“It’s a great spot,” I say instead of finishing that thought. 

Michael smiles, watching me closely as I walk back towards him and perch next to him. “Why didn’t you want to see me this week?” He asks. “I waited—”

“Don’t tell me that.” I whine softly. “I already feel awful.”

“It’s the truth,” he replies. In my peripheral vision, I can see him watching me as I watch the view. “I like you, Mia. I don’t want us to stop seeing each other.”

I pout, though my cheeks flush hard and my body starts humming, the urge to twist towards him, grab his shirt and kiss him stupid increasing. I sigh hard, and itch my brow. “But your vow.” Is all I say. 

“I know what I said,” he murmurs, “but… I want…” he trails off, “I want…”

I glance at him, brows lifting a little. 

He exhales slowly, swallowing. He looks irritated and breaks eye contact to look at his shoes as he scuffs the dirt. “I know what I want.”

“And yet…” I mutter, folding my arms to protect myself against the cool autumn breeze. My cardigan isn’t very thick, and in the last week, the temperature has been dropping pretty rapidly at night. Though it’s still not as cold as it was in new york this time of year. 

Michael sighs, eyes flicking upwards towards the sky as he mutters, “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t,” I say honestly. “I really don’t. Because it’s sex. Its natural for us to want to have it, to experience it and enjoy it. We have desire built in to our system so that we want to bond with potential partners for reproduction, or continue to bond with compatible partners we already have. It’s a whole part of our DNA as humans, and I think its so harmful that so many religions paint it as something disgusting. It’s emotionally stunting so many adults and can lead to an a whole range of people to don’t know how to act when it comes to sex or the thought of it.”

Michael sits there, staring out at the view, dead silent. 

I suck my lips into my mouth, pressing them into a thin line. “Respectfully.” I add. 

He doesn’t say anything for a long few moments. A minute almost goes by, when he inhales and says, “Mia, I grew up with this. My mother believes it, my father. It was built in to how I was raised, it’s in my morals, my core beliefs.” He begins softly, but his tone starts sharpening, “I can’t just drop it overnight because you want to have sex after two weeks of knowing me. Excuse me, if I want to take my time. I’m not in the habit of sleeping with everyone I’m attracted to.”

I gasp, immediately irritated and embarrassed. “Wow,” I say loudly, getting up off his car and taking a few steps to put some space between us. “No way did you just say that to me?”

“You just insulted my whole belief system.” He says as he stands, holding eye contact.

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did. You said it was harmful, as if my community is damaging me. Stunting me.” 

“IT—“ I shut my mouth and press my fingertips to my lips. “Okay,” I breathe, lowering my voice, speaking softly. “Michael, you just insinuated that I was a whore.” I say flatly, “that’s a personal remark I am deeply offended by.”

“I didn’t call you a—“

“You’re pissing me off so bad right now,” I interrupt, face burning red, heart pounding, “I said insinuated. I—I am an adult, I have full autonomy over my body like I was taught to have by both my parents. I showed an interest in you sexually and now you want to insult me with it? This is why I think religion—” I shut my mouth again and hold the words in, knowing if I say them he would one hundred percent never speak to me again. 

Neither of us speak for a good thirty seconds. Then I suddenly walk back to Michael’s car and pull open the back door, snatching my stuff out. “What are you doing?”

“You think I’m a slut.” I sling my big slouchy bag over my shoulder and begin walking, ready to head back down the dark road. How I’m actually going to get home is something I will consider when I need to.

“No, I never said that,” Michael says quickly, walking after me.

“Insinuated!” I snap loudly at him, whirling around. He pulls up, only a couple half steps behind me, shoes skidding on the dirt. “Insinuated means—“ 

“I know what it damn means!” He raises his voice, and I widen my eyes, staring at him in shock. “You keep talking to me like I’m an idiot.”

I pull my head back, breathing hard. “What?”

“I’m religious, not a dimwit,” he says, soft tone hardening, voice lowering. Suddenly he sounds less like the soft spoken man I’d first met, and more like a regular twenty five year old. “You’re frustrating me,” he adds, “I know all of this. I’ve read the research, I’ve read the same books you have. The only difference between you and me is that I’m not putting myself up on some high horse acting like my way of thinking is better than yours.”

I stare at him, stunned.

“I’m trying, damn it.” He snaps. Then he swallows, and takes a few seconds to clam down. “I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, blinking a few times, heat building beneath my skin. “I’m sorry too.” 

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were…” he trails off, voice softening. “I’m sorry about that too.”

I just nod, staring at him still with wide eyes. He looks at me properly then, takes in my expression. I see him flicking through options of what my face might mean when he lands on the right one. His head tilts just a little, and I gulp. I drop my bag off my shoulder, then drop my yoga mat, I’m closing the distance between us in less than a second, clutching his cheeks, bringing his face down to kiss me. 

He makes a startled sound, but then his hands are on my waist, pulling me close to his slim body as I wrap my arms around his neck. He kisses me back, mouth moving against mine eagerly. I moan when his tongue slides into my mouth, tasting like mint and something sweeter, like strawberry or raspberry. 

God, he tastes good. And he smells good. And he holds me so nicely, big hands clutching my waist. My heart’s racing as I kiss him eagerly, so turned on by his tougher tone that perhaps I should psychoanalyse myself when I get home. And the fact he’s read all the books I spoke about when I was telling him about my studies… oh my god. 

I want to do so many things to him I can’t even breathe.

I moan just thinking about it, practically crawling up his body as tilt my head, giving him better access to my mouth and lift up on my toes so he doesn’t have to lean down. 

He grasps my hips and I start feeling dizzy. I’m so excited, blood rushing around my body, heating and electrifying every nerve. I want him to touch me more, and pull my arms away from his neck and grasp his wrists, slapping his hands down onto my ass, all whilst keeping my mouth locked with his. 

He hands freeze for a breath, but then he squeezes, groaning into the kiss as I moan, delighted, experiencing a full head rush that almost makes my knees buckle. He squeezes my ass again, pulling me up against him, devouring my mouth like a man starving. And I’m just turning to putty in his hands, letting him knead my rear, and tug at my yoga pants like he wants to rip them. 

I break the kiss, needing a second to catch my breath and tip my head back, blinking up at the stars overhead as Michael starts kissing my neck, searching for a spot that’ll make me gasp. He finds it quickly, and I hum, biting my lip as his suck on my throat, sending pleasurable tingles right down to my core.

“Michael,” I breathe, “I want…”

“I know,” he murmurs, nuzzling my throat, breathing in my scent. He presses another few kisses against my skin, just as his hand shifts around my hip, across my abdomen… 

I can feel him against my stomach, and I’m soaking, so excited anticipating his next move I literally stop breathing. I know what he wants to take his time, ease himself into it. So I shut my mouth again, I don’t plead, I don’t rush him. But I’m biting my lip so hard it might bleed. 

His hand dips between my thighs, fingertips brushing against my covered slit—

But the sound of an engine approaching makes us snap apart. 

Michael’s panting, turning away from the road to hide his face as a car’s headlights glide by, heading further up the hill. They honk, male voices jeering out the window. And I can only laugh into my hand and try and ease out some of the adrenaline. My chest still heaves, and I’m all flushed, lips tingling. “Um, maybe we should head back,” I say. I think getting carried away up on a public view point with arguably the worlds most famous face isn’t perhaps the best idea, even if it is dark. I start walking back to his car, needing a second to do some breathing exercises when he’s not looking at me.

Michael just nods, clearing his throat. But he walks over to where I'd dropped my bag, and picks it and my rolled yoga mat up. 

“Oh, thank you,” I blush, having forgotten about them just like that. 

He just smiles, peaking at me through those dark lashes. Even in the moonlight I can see his pupils are blown wide, face flushed like mine. I climb back into his car, and he puts my stuff in the back and slides into the drivers seat. His hands flex on the steering wheel, both of us just smiling, being quiet. 

He drives me home, parks in the street just outside my gate. “Can I see you tomorrow?” He asks. He sets a boundary before I can push it and ask him inside. I just smile, and lean over to kiss his cheek gently.

“Sure.” 

end notes:

I have nothing appropriate to say. All I can say.... is please be prepared. this fic is going to get FILTHY. In this alternate universe, Mia is about to be the one who inspires the hip thrusts on stage. Yessirrrr. *chugs wine*

anywayyyy please let me know what you thought!! see y'all in part four probably way sooner than you expect lmfaoooo

thank you guys for reading xoxoxoxoxo

Chapter Three [ Late September. 1983.]

I find myself debating on whether or not to go out again. It’s half ten, and I’m freshly showered, even dressed in leggings and a simple cropped t-shirt, slippers on, make up done. 

“You got a date tonight?” Dad asks, passing by me to head back to the living room where he and my mother are drinking wine, relaxing. I’m just hovering in the kitchen, staring down at a cup of tea on the counter in front of me.

“Um, I dunno,” I say lightly. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Ah,” dad replies, as if he understands what I mean. He disappears out of my peripheral vision, and I go back to staring into my cup of tea. 

I could not get Michael out of my head. Ever since last night he’d been on my mind, same few minutes looping like a broken record. His lips, his taste. That bulge in his pants. I was literally losing my mind and it was starting to scare me a little bit because of how much I wanted him.I’d never been this caught up before in my life. Like I was even debating on going outside to wait in the dark to see if he’d show like some sort of— 

I cut my thought off.

I mean, how realistic was this… whatever it was between us? Were we friends? More? 

Could we maintain whatever situation this was beyond a couple weeks, or was one of us — probably me — bound to get so frustrated that it would end up being more toxic than anything else? 

I didn’t want to be the kind of girl who makes him question his whole upbringing, his religion, his choices, or risk his status amongst his family and community. It may be just sex to me, but from his reaction last night, just seeing how much of a big deal it was to him to get a little excited just kissing… it just switched something in my brain. Or at least part of it.

What kind of girl would I be if I encouraged him to have sex when he obviously wasn’t ready? 

I sigh hard and pick up my tea, turning so I can lean my back against the counter and take a sip. 

I wanted him so bad that I was seriously considering never speaking to him again. And it really had nothing to do with the fact he was Michael Jackson. I hadn’t even listened to the Thriller album yet, despite it being everywhere. 

It was more of the effect he had on me. His tone of voice, the way he listened, remembered details. It was the way he talked to me like a person, not just something he wanted to pleasure himself with. 

I liked him as the guy I met walking his damn Llama in the dark at almost midnight, not the performer, and yet… perhaps that was something I needed to consider too. The fame. The scrutiny. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. 

If we started dating, would I have to be a part of that too? 

For god’s sake, I was a yoga teacher. I was still in college, studying. How could I finish my studies and actually start my career as a therapist if I was his girl? One of his fans might decide to choke me out on a random Tuesday, then it would be all over. 

My stomach churns, overlapping thoughts fuelling my anxiety and this uncertainty. I was confusing myself, overthinking. And like my mother always told me, if a man makes you overthink, it’s not the man you should be with. 

Even if it’s not his fault. 

When eleven thirty comes, I head up to my room. I wash my face. I comb out my loose curls and plait them up so they don’t knot whilst I sleep. I change into my pyjamas and pull my curtains closed. Guilt makes my chest ache, but I settle down with a book, and read until I fall asleep, trying desperately not to picture Michael waiting outside for me to show up, and instead hope he’s back at home, deciding to put whatever this is between us to rest too. 

A week goes by and I start to feel a little better about my decision. I teach two evening classes after spending the day at college, and head home late Friday night, exhausted. 

I get dropped home by a friend, hop out her car, and wave goodbye outside my gate. I’m in black yoga pants, a white tank top, cardigan, bag slung over my shoulder, yoga mat tucked under my arm. 

I’m standing just out of range of a street light as I rummage in my purse for my house keys when I hear an engine rumble up behind me. 

For a moment, I think my friend returned. Maybe I’d left something in her car, so I turn around with a smile, but pause, seeing a baby blue Rolls Royce instead of her white beetle. I hesitate, frown descending over my expression. I reach for my pepper spray inside my bag as the passenger side window eases down. 

“Mia,”a soft spoken voice wafts out. I shove my pepper spray back into my purse and bend forwards, peering into the car, frown still on my face. Michael drums his fingers on the steering wheel, lip tucked under his teeth. He looks like I’ve just caught him in the act.

“Have you been waiting for me?” I ask, glancing at my watch. It’s dark out, almost ten o’clock at night.

“Uh,” he replies, “no, I was going out for a drive when I saw you…” He explains, then licks his lips, glancing over my outfit, eyes sticking to my thighs for a split second too long. “can we talk?” 

I sigh softly, moving a curl from where it’s brushing against my cheek, and tuck it behind my ear. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” He asks, eyes enlarging. I almost curse out loud, about three seconds from giving in. 

“Because…” I begin to explain, but as he gazes at me, big eyes so soft and open, I find it hard to articulate myself. I clear my throat, and right myself so I’m not bending down to look through the window of his car anymore. Michael cuts the engine immediately and hops out, dressed in a red varsity jacket, dark jeans and a white t-shirt. His curls are defined, a few ringlets hanging over his brow. I press my lips together, because he looks damn good, and he walks around the car, comes towards me, but doesn’t get too close. 

“Have I done something wrong?” He asks, tilting his head a little bit, brows crinkling. 

“No,” I say, heart thudding behind my ribs. “But… I…” I trial off, glance towards my house, sitting half aglow behind the big iron gates. My parents must still be up.

“Is there someone else?” His voice lowers a touch, and it makes my eyes snap back towards him. 

“No.” I eye him, looking from his sneakers to his eyes and back.

“So, what is it?” He steps closer to me, and as the breeze wafts over his shoulder and sweeps towards me, I smell his cologne. I breathe it in, lungs expanding painfully wide. Jesus. 

“Michael, I don’t want to be the reason you become a pariah in your community. All this sinning stuff is just messing with my head.” 

He frowns immediately, shifting where he stands and licks his lips. “Oh,” he replies gently, breaking eye contact, soft tone coming back. He pauses for a long moment, and I just stare at him, eyes big, stomach clenching so hard I almost wince. “I don’t…” he trails off, like he doesn’t know what to say. 

“It’s just the way your religion sees sex, like it’s some taboo, dirty thing, and I’m sorry but I don’t want that on my conscious.” I practically mumble. His gaze jumps back to mine. “I don’t want to feel like I’m gross for wanting to have sex.”

“I never— I don’t want you to feel that way, Mia,” He steps towards me, “I don’t see it that way, or you.”

“You took a vow. You obviously believe in the message enough to agree to do something like that.” 

“I took it when I was fifteen,” he replies, “it’s… it’s all I know.”

“Which is exactly my point.”

He grimaces, glancing away from me and rubs the back of his neck. “Can… can we talk about this somewhere else? And not outside your house like this?”

I sigh. I know I shouldn’t agree, I should end things right now, save us both some misery and go inside, but within the blink of an eye he’s opening his car door, and I’m getting into the passenger seat, body controlled by some higher power I don’t even believe in. 

The interior of his is so… luxurious. Smooth, beige leather seats. A nice, pine scent in the air from an air freshener hanging on the rear view mirror. I settle, put on my seat belt, and clasp my hands in my lap after putting my yoga mat and bag in the back. 

Michael slides into the drivers seat, and the engine purrs to life after he slots the key in. “I know a good place.”

“How far away is it?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes. Not too far.”

We’re quiet for a couple minutes. Michael glances at me a few times as his car glides through the residential neighbourhood and onto a main thoroughfare. Headlines gleam through the windshield as he drives, hands flexing on the steering wheel. 

“Where have you been this week?” He asks, voice so soft it brushes over my skin like silk.

“Class,” I murmur, “and I was working Tuesday and today.”

He nods. He already knows I teach, and what I study. I also know that he knows I deliberately avoided answering his question properly. Because he meant after-hours, as in why was I not with him, and where was I instead.

“How was your week?” I ask after a beat of quiet. 

“Fine,” he murmurs, “a lot of meetings…”

“About what?”

“My father wants— we were discussing a tour.”

“With your brothers?”

“Yeah,” he replies bluntly, then sighs hard, jaw muscles flexing as he clenches his teeth. I don’t press the topic, but I know how he feels about family projects already. I realise then just how much we do know about each other, how much we’ve talked, how much we’ve shared. Nothing damning, of course, but enough that it was silly of me to consider us not, at the very least, friends. 

A couple minutes later Michael pulls in to a viewing point. The roads been dark and quiet since we turned off the highway to get up here, which gives the space this weird aura of solitude and privacy, despite being out in the open. From here there’s a gorgeous view of the city, big buildings glittering— distant sirens blaring. 

I get out and stare at the view, a little taken with it. I hadn’t seen LA in all it’s glory like this before.

“I come up here sometimes to think,” Michael says softly, sitting on the hood of his fancy car, hands in his pockets. I glance over my shoulder at him. His expression is calm, and his demeanour makes him look so… so… 

“It’s a great spot,” I say instead of finishing that thought. 

Michael smiles, watching me closely as I walk back towards him and perch next to him. “Why didn’t you want to see me this week?” He asks. “I waited—”

“Don’t tell me that.” I whine softly. “I already feel awful.”

“It’s the truth,” he replies. In my peripheral vision, I can see him watching me as I watch the view. “I like you, Mia. I don’t want us to stop seeing each other.”

I pout, though my cheeks flush hard and my body starts humming, the urge to twist towards him, grab his shirt and kiss him stupid increasing. I sigh hard, and itch my brow. “But your vow.” Is all I say. 

“I know what I said,” he murmurs, “but… I want…” he trails off, “I want…”

I glance at him, brows lifting a little. 

He exhales slowly, swallowing. He looks irritated and breaks eye contact to look at his shoes as he scuffs the dirt. “I know what I want.”

“And yet…” I mutter, folding my arms to protect myself against the cool autumn breeze. My cardigan isn’t very thick, and in the last week, the temperature has been dropping pretty rapidly at night. Though it’s still not as cold as it was in new york this time of year. 

Michael sighs, eyes flicking upwards towards the sky as he mutters, “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t,” I say honestly. “I really don’t. Because it’s sex. Its natural for us to want to have it, to experience it and enjoy it. We have desire built in to our system so that we want to bond with potential partners for reproduction, or continue to bond with compatible partners we already have. It’s a whole part of our DNA as humans, and I think its so harmful that so many religions paint it as something disgusting. It’s emotionally stunting so many adults and can lead to an a whole range of people to don’t know how to act when it comes to sex or the thought of it.”

Michael sits there, staring out at the view, dead silent. 

I suck my lips into my mouth, pressing them into a thin line. “Respectfully.” I add. 

He doesn’t say anything for a long few moments. A minute almost goes by, when he inhales and says, “Mia, I grew up with this. My mother believes it, my father. It was built in to how I was raised, it’s in my morals, my core beliefs.” He begins softly, but his tone starts sharpening, “I can’t just drop it overnight because you want to have sex after two weeks of knowing me. Excuse me, if I want to take my time. I’m not in the habit of sleeping with everyone I’m attracted to.”

I gasp, immediately irritated and embarrassed. “Wow,” I say loudly, getting up off his car and taking a few steps to put some space between us. “No way did you just say that to me?”

“You just insulted my whole belief system.” He says as he stands, holding eye contact.

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did. You said it was harmful, as if my community is damaging me. Stunting me.” 

“IT—“ I shut my mouth and press my fingertips to my lips. “Okay,” I breathe, lowering my voice, speaking softly. “Michael, you just insinuated that I was a whore.” I say flatly, “that’s a personal remark I am deeply offended by.”

“I didn’t call you a—“

“You’re pissing me off so bad right now,” I interrupt, face burning red, heart pounding, “I said insinuated. I—I am an adult, I have full autonomy over my body like I was taught to have by both my parents. I showed an interest in you sexually and now you want to insult me with it? This is why I think religion—” I shut my mouth again and hold the words in, knowing if I say them he would one hundred percent never speak to me again. 

Neither of us speak for a good thirty seconds. Then I suddenly walk back to Michael’s car and pull open the back door, snatching my stuff out. “What are you doing?”

“You think I’m a slut.” I sling my big slouchy bag over my shoulder and begin walking, ready to head back down the dark road. How I’m actually going to get home is something I will consider when I need to.

“No, I never said that,” Michael says quickly, walking after me.

“Insinuated!” I snap loudly at him, whirling around. He pulls up, only a couple half steps behind me, shoes skidding on the dirt. “Insinuated means—“ 

“I know what it damn means!” He raises his voice, and I widen my eyes, staring at him in shock. “You keep talking to me like I’m an idiot.”

I pull my head back, breathing hard. “What?”

“I’m religious, not a dimwit,” he says, soft tone hardening, voice lowering. Suddenly he sounds less like the soft spoken man I’d first met, and more like a regular twenty five year old. “You’re frustrating me,” he adds, “I know all of this. I’ve read the research, I’ve read the same books you have. The only difference between you and me is that I’m not putting myself up on some high horse acting like my way of thinking is better than yours.”

I stare at him, stunned.

“I’m trying, damn it.” He snaps. Then he swallows, and takes a few seconds to clam down. “I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, blinking a few times, heat building beneath my skin. “I’m sorry too.” 

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were…” he trails off, voice softening. “I’m sorry about that too.”

I just nod, staring at him still with wide eyes. He looks at me properly then, takes in my expression. I see him flicking through options of what my face might mean when he lands on the right one. His head tilts just a little, and I gulp. I drop my bag off my shoulder, then drop my yoga mat, I’m closing the distance between us in less than a second, clutching his cheeks, bringing his face down to kiss me. 

He makes a startled sound, but then his hands are on my waist, pulling me close to his slim body as I wrap my arms around his neck. He kisses me back, mouth moving against mine eagerly. I moan when his tongue slides into my mouth, tasting like mint and something sweeter, like strawberry or raspberry. 

God, he tastes good. And he smells good. And he holds me so nicely, big hands clutching my waist. My heart’s racing as I kiss him eagerly, so turned on by his tougher tone that perhaps I should psychoanalyse myself when I get home. And the fact he’s read all the books I spoke about when I was telling him about my studies… oh my god. 

I want to do so many things to him I can’t even breathe.

I moan just thinking about it, practically crawling up his body as tilt my head, giving him better access to my mouth and lift up on my toes so he doesn’t have to lean down. 

He grasps my hips and I start feeling dizzy. I’m so excited, blood rushing around my body, heating and electrifying every nerve. I want him to touch me more, and pull my arms away from his neck and grasp his wrists, slapping his hands down onto my ass, all whilst keeping my mouth locked with his. 

He hands freeze for a breath, but then he squeezes, groaning into the kiss as I moan, delighted, experiencing a full head rush that almost makes my knees buckle. He squeezes my ass again, pulling me up against him, devouring my mouth like a man starving. And I’m just turning to putty in his hands, letting him knead my rear, and tug at my yoga pants like he wants to rip them. 

I break the kiss, needing a second to catch my breath and tip my head back, blinking up at the stars overhead as Michael starts kissing my neck, searching for a spot that’ll make me gasp. He finds it quickly, and I hum, biting my lip as his suck on my throat, sending pleasurable tingles right down to my core.

“Michael,” I breathe, “I want…”

“I know,” he murmurs, nuzzling my throat, breathing in my scent. He presses another few kisses against my skin, just as his hand shifts around my hip, across my abdomen… 

I can feel him against my stomach, and I’m soaking, so excited anticipating his next move I literally stop breathing. I know what he wants to take his time, ease himself into it. So I shut my mouth again, I don’t plead, I don’t rush him. But I’m biting my lip so hard it might bleed. 

His hand dips between my thighs, fingertips brushing against my covered slit—

But the sound of an engine approaching makes us snap apart. 

Michael’s panting, turning away from the road to hide his face as a car’s headlights glide by, heading further up the hill. They honk, male voices jeering out the window. And I can only laugh into my hand and try and ease out some of the adrenaline. My chest still heaves, and I’m all flushed, lips tingling. “Um, maybe we should head back,” I say. I think getting carried away up on a public view point with arguably the worlds most famous face isn’t perhaps the best idea, even if it is dark. I start walking back to his car, needing a second to do some breathing exercises when he’s not looking at me.

Michael just nods, clearing his throat. But he walks over to where I'd dropped my bag, and picks it and my rolled yoga mat up. 

“Oh, thank you,” I blush, having forgotten about them just like that. 

He just smiles, peaking at me through those dark lashes. Even in the moonlight I can see his pupils are blown wide, face flushed like mine. I climb back into his car, and he puts my stuff in the back and slides into the drivers seat. His hands flex on the steering wheel, both of us just smiling, being quiet. 

He drives me home, parks in the street just outside my gate. “Can I see you tomorrow?” He asks. He sets a boundary before I can push it and ask him inside. I just smile, and lean over to kiss his cheek gently.

“Sure.” 

end notes:

I have nothing appropriate to say. All I can say.... is please be prepared. this fic is going to get FILTHY. In this alternate universe, Mia is about to be the one who inspires the hip thrusts on stage. Yessirrrr. *chugs wine*

anywayyyy please let me know what you thought!! see y'all in part four probably way sooner than you expect lmfaoooo

thank you guys for reading xoxoxoxoxo