Cronche

The moon was nestled into the clouds as it shone onto the quiet house of the Jacksons. You two sat in the quiet glow of the starlight, cuddled with each other on the couch.

With you consumed by acting and Michael by music, it was rare moment of peace either of you get.

The quiet was occupied but the mindless hum of the tv, and the shuffling of you and Michael proving how much you love each other.

Sneaking over— it was routine.

Sure, you didn’t have to sneak over. But imagine the fans already awaiting at his front gate, the tabloids itching for a new story, the paparazzi ready to blind you when they discover you and Michael holding hands for too long. You two have so much going on in your lives, and having a “are you two intimate with each other?” on top of that by an invasive journalist is not something you want to worry about.

Of course you made you public appearances together, but keep them light. Simple. Friendly.

Besides— you were going public when Off the Wall releases. You can already imagine some eye grabbing headline like— “The Lucky Lady Behind Michael’s Biggest Hits is Revealed!!” You don’t know— and honestly you don’t want to think about it right now.

Hence, here you are.

The blanket pooled at your hips that straddle his own, fingers tangled in his curls, his own hands gentle but firm on your waist…

Your lips met softly at first, Michael giggling at something he heard on the TV before deepening into something hungry but tender. The rhythm of your lips against his was absolutely perfect! Slow and sweet one moment… then passionate the next.

And Michael was greedy. But gentle, of course.

Every time you kissed him, he never wanted to pull away. His arms would lock around your waist, or hands cup the back of your head— just to keep you close and feel you as your mouths moved together in a slow, lingering kisses that felt endless.

Warmth bloomed like flowers in the spring every time his palms blessed your skin. He’d breathe you in between presses of your lips, fingers tracing the curve of your jaw like you were something precious. And you were. You meant the world to him. And right now? Every second with you was cherished because it was all you both had.

“Michael…” you called out in a sweet whisper, barely audible over the sound of your shared breaths. He didn’t even hear you (or bother to hear you).

He was lost in you, drowning in the sweetness of your sweet lips dancing with his. His hands framed your face, thumbs brushing along your cheeks as he kissed you even deeper. Slow but with desperate. Every press of your mouths felt like a prayer: worship and all-consuming.

Your hands gave his shoulders a squeeze in an attempt to ground him, “Michael—“ he kissed you “I gotta go—“ another kiss.

Oh what the heck.

You reciprocated his kiss with that same desperate sweetness, cupping his face and twirling the curls at the nape of his neck.

Finally you speak again, a little louder this time, soft but persistent against the quiet hum of the room.

Michael finally registered it through the kiss-drunk haze. He blinked slowly before pulling back just enough to look at his woman properly— your lips slightly parted from yours separating, cheeks flushed agsint the dim light of the tv.

His eyes were glassy with affection as he studied the face he fell in love with. “Hm?” he humbled drowsily, that sleepy-sweet tone he only used for you when you’d be making out for ages.

“They’re gonna home in less than minutes…” you didn’t miss his flicker of disappointment, and you couldn’t help but feel it too. “I should be heading out.”

His face fell. He hated that he was being needy and begging you to stay. But he hasn’t seen you in weeks. He misses his girl.

“Nooooo,” he whined in denial like a petulant child, pressing his forehead to yours, “five more minutes… please?”

The clock on the wall mocked him— his family probably two streets away from Hayvenhurst… Yet Michael couldn’t find himself to care. He just wanted one more kiss, maybe two, maybe three, maybe ten.

Although he kissed you again— you didn’t dare to pull away. You both know you don’t want to. You giggled into the kiss, your laughter vibrating between your lips. Your hands slid up to cradle his face, fingers threading through soft coils. You melted right back into him despite knowing both of you were on borrowed time.

The world outside— the risk of being caught by his family (and the world in general) coming home— faded for just a few more blissful seconds.

Then Michael had the nerve to trail his lips down your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut momentarily and your head automatically tipped itself back. Every brush of his lips against yours sent little sparks though you. Yall knew you were pushing it— you knew the car could pull up any second now— but this boy addicted to kissing you.

“Michael— I seriously gotta go—“ you tried to be responsible while making no serious effort to leave.

His hands slide down to your hips, squeezing them gently in that way he always did when he was utterly smitten. The touch was warm and possessive, a silent I love you without words.

You hesitated on saying his name again— Michael could see it in the way your lips parted to speak but you held your tongue. With his stupid smirk you loved so much he kissed the hesitation away. Slow and teasing, refusing to let go.

“Mmmm… one more…” he whispered against your lips.

Then one became two.

Three.

Four.

You lost track of time as he kissed you back like a man starved. Each press of his lips was soft! But hungry. His node nudged against yours, breaths mingling,

Each peck was sweeter than the last: one of your bottom lip… then the corner… your cheekbone… the tip of your nose… that little space between your eyebrows… as he chased every inch. He didn’t care about anything else at the moment— not schedules, responsibilities, touring, his brothers, Joseph— just you. Right here, in his arms.

He mumbled without even thinking “Mine…” a quiet claim slipping out before he could stop it. You felt a tingle in your spine.

He swallowed your next gentle scold with a kiss, deeper this time. He didn’t want to hear about responsibilities or curfews… not when you tasted like cherry lip gloss and home. So, he kept kissing you. Slow… hungry… then soft again. Unfortunately you melted into him, arms wrapping around his neck and sighing softly.

“Shhhhh…..” he breathed against your mouth between kisses, fingers sliding to cradle the back of your head while the others held the arch of your back.

You finally put your foot down.

“Michael Joseph Jackson.”

He sat there, dazed and kissed-drunk, lips still puckered from the sudden break in your heated makeout session. Those big brown eyes stared at you with a mix of adoration and poutines.

The both of you look ridiculous. Cheeks flushed, hair messy from fingers running through it… and absolutely lovesick.

Michael looked like a puppy who’d just been scolded for begging too much. “Whaaaaaatt?” he rasped after a beat.

“I have to go,” a soft smile graced your lips as unhooked your arms, thumb tracing his jaw, “like— right now.”

His pout deepened as you found amusement in his heartbroken face. But he knew you were right, they would be home any second now. But damn it… he didn’t want you to leave! Not after you both have been lost in each other for so long.

With dramatic reluctance, he finally exhaled and leaned back on the couch, but not before stealing one last peck.

Your hands fell from his face, down his chest, to your own lap, while his own hands hovered over your hips, like he was determining if he was ready to let go or not. His fingers twitched like they had a mind of their own (something you can confirm.)

And then, in one last act of defiance, he cupped your face and kissed you fiercely. It was messy and desperate, and he didn’t miss the way your hands crept up to grasp his chest.

You two finally parted, chest rising and falling rapidly, what glassy with unspoken emotion.

You grinned, “you done?”

Michael exhaled dramatically, shouldering slumping in exaggerated defeat. He looked at you one last time with those pretty, soulful eyes. Maybe if you stared hard and long enough then you’d stay the night…

He didn’t anything. Then nodded once like a sulky child accepting defeat. “Yeah.. sure…” he muttered, voice low and resigned as he reached to tuck a stray curl behind your ear one last time before you left.

Not before he leaned forward to press his lips to yours…

finally published something omg