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hi lovies! i really didn’t think it would come to this but i have moved accounts. the algorithm has completely hidden my works unless reblogged and i just thought i’d start new.
i will be continuing my current works like spotlight, dirty dancing, and childhood bsf!reader on there as well as reposting my previous works surrounding those concepts. this account will be kept as an archive so my old works still have a place to live.
i am beyond grateful for the immense support i received on here and hope you all continue to look forward to my works thus far! ^♡^
the account is @dottedseven! i am currently working on a pinned but the rules i have set here also apply there. can’t wait to see you loviesss!!
could you do one where it’s Bad era and the reader and Michael are already in a established relationship (maybe age gap too??) but the press finds out about it and writes about her with scrutiny and judgement so Michael notices and decides to make her feel better (smut or fluff, you decide) also I love your works !! 🤍
ooo this is so tea! since i’m off work soon, your request will be fulfilled 😌
your hand in marriage i beg you 😫 all jokes aside i absolutely adore your work and love your mind and i hope you know how much joy you bring to people through your stories 🤍🤍 please never lose the spark to create, it’s genuinely a blessing to get to read your work
YES GIRLLL! but you’re gonna make me cry before bed :’c that truly means a lot as it’s been feeling like i’ve been writing to an empty crowd lately but your words genuinely made me feel better 🥹💗 you’re so precious and i adore you girl. <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i'm sorry to say this but some of you people genuinely have no lives. for people who claim to hate maddie so much, i sure do see her appearing on ya'lls blogs extremely often lmao. also, i'm not defending maddie on the topic of her beliefs so don't you dare try to bring that shit up in order to defend your parasocial shit. you guys genuinely have no shame and that's the fucking issue. you're mad that jaafar—a grown ass man btw—is with a white woman, point-blank. you all are so furious and upset that you don't have a chance with him, so you take it out on his fiancé out of spite. i myself only tolerate maddie slander if its specifically the topic of her beliefs. & also, all of my mutuals believing some random tiktok bullshit about her "going after randy to make jaafar jealous" is so insane to me. what happened to that "don't believe everything you see on the internet" you all seem to preach, huh? nonono but of course it flies away whenever you see it's promoting malicious rumors about a woman you don't like. a woman you don't like mostly because she's white. ya'll won't admit it (some of ya'll have tho) but we all know you're upset because a sought after black man chose to be with a white woman. i'm so done with this community it's not even fucking funny. you people are slowly turning mjblr into mjtwt and that is NOT what we stand for. everyday ya'll conjure up some new controversy or drama to try and fill the void of yours that is boredom. please grow up and let people live their own lives. they don't know you exist. jaafar doesn't want you or know you. get it through your heads. just needed to rant abt this bc ya'll are becoming insufferable.
2K angels!! 🥹🥹 i can’t even believe this! i’m so eternally grateful for all the support, i really never imagined that my little writing account would reach so many people! i really hope you all are enjoying my work and i still have so many ideas! despite what goes on within the community, this is a comfort space for many people and i wanna continue to be that! i love and appreciate you all so much <3 (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)
❛ can you keep a secret? ❜ · 𓐇˚ִִ ꒱ ❪ 5.8𝒌 ❫ ╱ a 3-part mini series based off the feature film "Dirty Dancing" ˖‿◞ ྀི﹒⋆
𝓬ontent 𑄹 ྀི◟.。❤︎︎ ﹕ coming of age. summer romance. dirty dancing au. off the wall!michael jackson as johnny castle. no use of y/n, reader is referred to as ‘baby’ ofc. class differences. lots of teasing & awkward flirtation! michael being effortlessly charming. close proximity. sensual dancing, im talking bumping and grinding.
݂𐄢˖ᐧ sullivan county, new york — summer 1979 ݂𐄢˖ᐧ
you had spent every summer since you were a child going to kellerman’s mountain house resort, where you never really did much of anything.
the drive there always felt longer than you remembered. winding roads climbed steadily through the mountains while your father kept one hand relaxed against the steering wheel, occasionally pointing out familiar landmarks as though none of you had seen them every august for nearly as long as you could remember. your mother sat beside him with the resort brochure folded neatly across her lap, reading aloud from the new summer schedule despite already having circled several activities for you in blue ink. beside you, your older sister had spent the last hour complaining about the humidity, the cramped back seat and the possibility that the talent coordinator might have already assigned someone else the song she wanted to perform.
“you could always choose another one,” you suggested, keeping your face turned toward the window as green hills and scattered cabins passed behind the glass.
your sister stared at you as though you had proposed something unthinkable. “it’s the only song that suits my range,” she replied, speaking with the solemn conviction of someone discussing a matter of national importance. she adjusted the scarf tied around her hair and leaned forward between your parents’ seats. “mom, tell her.”
your mother did not need to tell you anything. you had heard every detail of your sister’s performance plans before the car had even left the driveway that morning, from the pale-blue dress she intended to wear to the exact moment she planned to lift one hand dramatically toward the audience. by the time the weathered wooden sign for kellerman’s finally appeared between the trees, you were willing to personally guarantee her the closing spot in the talent show if it meant she would stop rehearsing the final note beneath her breath.
the resort emerged gradually beyond the tree line, appearing almost exactly as it had the summer before and every summer before that. the main lodge stood at the center of the grounds with its broad stone steps and long white balconies, surrounded by carefully maintained lawns, tennis courts and clusters of guest cabins tucked beneath the mountains. employees dressed in crisp uniforms hurried toward the arriving cars, collecting suitcases and greeting returning families with practiced smiles while music from the outdoor pavilion drifted faintly across the property.
your mother brightened the instant the car rolled to a stop. your father stepped out with the pleased expression of a man returning somewhere that made him feel important, stretching his arms before offering his hand to help her from the passenger seat. your sister nearly struck you with the car door in her eagerness to escape, immediately searching the lawn for anyone she recognized from the previous summer.
you climbed out last, smoothing the creases from your skirt as warm mountain air settled against your skin. nothing had changed. the same flowers lined the walkway. the same families stood beneath the lodge awning, embracing one another and announcing how much the children had grown. even the same bellhop seemed to be reaching for your father’s luggage, though his smile looked slightly more exhausted than you remembered.
mr. kellerman descended the front steps before your family had managed to gather all of its belongings. he greeted your father first, clasping his hand warmly and asking after his medical practice with genuine interest. he kissed your mother’s cheek, complimented your sister’s hair and turned to you with both arms spread as if your arrival had completed the summer. great.
“and there she is,” he declared, smiling broadly while he looked you over. “our baby’s all grown up.”
you accepted his embrace because refusing would have required far more explanation than it was worth. you had been called baby for so long that the name no longer felt particularly strange, though hearing it from people who had known you since childhood had begun to make you feel permanently preserved at sixteen. mr. kellerman asked about college, told your father that anything your family needed would be taken care of and personally instructed one of the employees to place your luggage in the finest adjoining cabins available.
the young man nodded immediately, shifting two suitcases into his already crowded arms.
mr. kellerman’s smile disappeared the moment he turned away from your family. he told the employee to straighten his jacket, reminded him not to drag the luggage and warned that guests should never be left waiting in the heat.
you had noticed things like that more often as you grew older. kellerman’s was built around making families like yours feel as though the entire mountain existed for their comfort. meals appeared before you were hungry. beds were turned down while you attended dinner. employees carried bags, poured drinks and smiled through every impatient request, yet somehow seemed to become invisible the moment their service was complete.
your attention followed the chastened employee as he started toward the cabins. several staff members stood near the side of the lodge, waiting for instructions while mr. kellerman called out assignments. that was when you saw michael for the first time.
he stood slightly apart from the others with one hand resting against his hip, dressed in black trousers and a pale shirt tucked neatly at his waist. his name tag caught briefly in the sunlight when he shifted, though you were too far away to read anything printed beneath it. dark curls framed his face, stirred lightly by the mountain breeze, and while the employees around him listened with lowered heads, michael’s gaze remained calmly fixed on mr. kellerman.
there was nothing openly disrespectful in his posture. he was not smirking or rolling his eyes, but something about the stillness of his expression suggested he was merely waiting for the speech to end rather than absorbing every word. mr. kellerman spoke to him differently than he had spoken to your father, informing him that the afternoon dance demonstration was to begin precisely on time and that guests were not paying to watch the instructors socialize with one another.
michael answered with a quiet nod. then, as if he had felt your attention resting on him, his eyes drifted toward the driveway. they met yours for no more than a moment.
you should have looked away immediately. staring at staff members was hardly more polite than ignoring them altogether, but there was something unhurried about the way he regarded you. his eyes moved over your face with mild curiosity, lingering just long enough to make you aware that you were still standing beside an open car door with one hand wrapped around the strap of your bag. the faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth.
before you could decide whether it had truly been meant for you, mr. kellerman called his name. michael’s attention returned to him, and the moment disappeared so quickly that it left you wondering why it had unsettled you at all.
“baby, sweetheart, come meet someone.” your mother’s voice pulled you back toward the family. she had already arranged herself beside a somewhat-tall, young man wearing pressed white trousers and a pale-green polo shirt, her hand resting lightly against his arm with an enthusiasm that immediately made you suspicious. he was handsome in the clean, expensive way your mother always seemed to appreciate, with carefully combed hair and the self-assured posture of someone who had never questioned whether a room would welcome him. mr. kellerman introduced him as his grandson, neil.
“neil’s studying hotel management,” your father explained before neil had an opportunity to tell you himself. the approval in his voice suggested this was nearly as respectable as medicine. “he’ll be running this place one day.”
neil smiled as though the future ownership of the mountain had already been printed on his business cards. you put on the best, most convincing smile you could before he took your hand and held it slightly longer than necessary, telling you that he remembered seeing you around the resort the previous summer. you did not remember seeing him at all, though your mother seemed delighted by the possibility that the two of you had been quietly orbiting one another for years.
“i’d be happy to show you what’s changed,” neil offered. his tone was pleasant, but there was something rehearsed beneath it, as though he had made the same offer to several daughters of important guests. “we’ve expanded the golf course, and i’ve been helping grandfather organize some evening events for the younger crowd.” your sister caught your eye from behind him and lifted her brows suggestively. you responded by looking away before she could silently plan your first date with the kid.
“that sounds lovely,” your mother answered for you. “baby never knows what to do with herself here.”
you resisted the urge to remind her that she had scheduled nearly every free hour of your summer without asking. neil continued describing the resort improvements, speaking mostly to your father despite supposedly addressing you. he explained staffing decisions, complained lightly about the difficulty of managing seasonal workers and referred to the employee cabins as though they were an unfortunate necessity hidden behind an otherwise beautiful property.
when one of the bellhops passed with your luggage, neil snapped his fingers and instructed him to take extra care with your mother’s garment bag. the employee adjusted it without responding. you glanced toward the side of the lodge again, but michael was gone.
by the time your family settled into the cabins, your mother had already accepted neil’s invitation on your behalf to attend a welcome mixer the following evening. your sister spent most of the afternoon unpacking dresses across both beds and asking which one made her appear older, only to reject every answer you gave. when you attempted to read near the window, she practiced vocal scales until you finally abandoned the cabin altogether.
the rest of the week unfolded exactly as every previous summer had. you begrudgingly participated in the daily activities and games your mother signed you up for, offering halfhearted swings during tennis lessons and allowing yourself to be dragged into an afternoon charades tournament. you watched your sister rehearse for the end-of-summer talent show, applauding at the appropriate moments while she argued with the pianist over tempo. you wasted your quieter afternoons inside the lodge with a book balanced across your knees or beneath the shade of the same large oak tree you had claimed years ago. it was the only time you could appreciate the quiet sanctity of the busy-filled vacation.
though, neil appeared often enough to make you suspect your parents had given him a copy of your schedule. he joined your family for lunch, saved you a seat at bingo and spoke confidently about the future he expected to inherit. there was nothing particularly cruel about him, but every conversation felt decided before it began. he told you what you would enjoy, which events were worth attending and which people around the resort were worth knowing. he seemed perfectly satisfied with the world exactly as it was, perhaps because it had been arranged to benefit him. you found yourself craving something you could not properly name.
your glimpses of michael only worsened the feeling. you saw him teaching dance lessons on the terrace, patiently guiding guests through safe, respectable steps while several women giggled over the attention he gave them. you watched him and penny perform one afternoon near the lawn to promote dance lessons. their bodies moving with such effortless precision that the applause began before the routine had ended. occasionally, you caught him crossing the grounds with other employees, his laughter carrying toward you before he vanished behind the service buildings. he belonged to a part of kellerman’s you had never been invited to see.
but this summer was supposed to be different. you were twenty now, much too old to spend another august following your parents around like a child, smiling politely at people you did not care to know while your father discussed medical school and your mother hinted at all the respectable young men staying at the resort. this summer, you were not going to sit around and let every opportunity for fun pass you by. at least, that was what you had promised yourself.
you had been doing a rather terrible job of keeping that promise until one particularly warm evening, when the walls of the lodge seemed to close in around you.
your sister was rehearsing the same verse for what must have been the twentieth time, standing before the mirror with a hairbrush clutched dramatically against her chest. your parents had gone downstairs for drinks with the kellermans, leaving you with strict instructions to join them before dinner. you had every intention of obeying until you heard music drifting through the open window.
it was faint, carried from somewhere behind the guest cabins. the rhythm was nothing like the careful orchestra playing in the ballroom below. it was heavier, livelier, interrupted by distant laughter that did not sound restrained or polite causing you to lower your book. your sister continued singing, entirely unaware as you crossed toward the window and listened more carefully. the music seemed to rise from beyond the main grounds, somewhere near the buildings guests were never given a reason to visit.
you could have gone downstairs. you could have changed for dinner, taken your expected place beside neil and listened while he explained another improvement his grandfather intended to make. instead, you slipped out of the cabin.
the paved walkway gradually disappeared as you moved behind the lodge, giving way to uneven dirt and grass softened by the evening humidity. you followed the music between the trees, lifting the hem of your dress away from low branches while the familiar glow of the resort faded behind you. the farther you wandered, the less the mountain resembled the kellerman’s you knew. employee uniforms hung from clotheslines between small cabins, crates were stacked beside service entrances, and voices carried freely through open windows without anyone lowering them for the comfort of guests. you knew you were not supposed to be there. that realization should have frightened you into turning around. instead, it sent a bright, nervous excitement fluttering through your stomach.
the music grew louder as you approached an old building tucked behind the staff quarters, its windows glowing amber through the darkness. shadows moved behind the curtains, quick and indistinct, while the muffled beat vibrated faintly beneath your shoes.
you were so focused on the building that you nearly walked directly into someone coming around the corner. a young man stopped in front of you with a startled expression, balancing one side of a wooden crate filled with watermelons against his hip. you recognized him vaguely from around the grounds, usually laughing with michael near the dance pavilion. up close, there was enough similarity around his eyes to make you wonder whether they were related.
“you shouldn’t be back here,” he told you, glancing over his shoulder as though someone might already be searching for you. he adjusted his grip beneath the crate and looked pointedly toward the path you had come from. “your parents are gonna be livid if they find you out here.”
you offered him your most innocent expression, the same one that had rescued you from lectures and unwanted introductions throughout most of your childhood. it did not appear to affect him nearly as much as you had hoped.
“i was only taking a walk,” you explained, although the distant music exposed the lie before it had fully left your mouth. your attention drifted past him toward the old building nestled farther between the trees. its windows glowed a muted amber, shadows moving rapidly behind the curtains as laughter and music poured from somewhere inside.
his gaze followed yours before returning to you with renewed urgency. “then take a walk back to the guest cabins.”
he started moving again, expecting you to listen. you followed alongside him instead. every attempt he made to discourage you only deepened your curiosity. “what’s in there?” you asked, nodding toward the old building tucked between the cabins.
“nothing.”
“then why’s everybody going?”
“they’re not.”
you looked pointedly at the steady stream of employees disappearing through the doorway. “they definitely are.”
he sighed through his nose, shifting the crate higher against his hip before continuing toward the building. “you really oughta head back.”
“well, is it some kind of party?”
“no.”
“a meeting?”
“no.”
“then what is it?”
“none of your business, kid.”
his answers grew shorter with every question, though they never quite managed to discourage you. if anything, they only made you more curious. you matched his pace beside him, carefully stepping over exposed tree roots while your eyes kept drifting toward the music spilling through the windows.
“i’ve been coming here my whole life,” you said. “how come i’ve never seen this place before?”
“because guests aren’t supposed to.”
“well, i’m here now.”
“yeah,” he muttered, glancing sideways at you. “that’s exactly the problem.”
he stopped beside another stack of watermelons and lowered the crate with a tired exhale, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck. you remained standing beside him, waiting expectantly for an answer he clearly had no intention of giving. you immediately bent down and wrapped both arms around the largest one you could find, barely managing to lift it against your stomach.
his eyebrows rose. “what are you doing?”
“helping,” you said breathlessly, tightening your hold when the slippery weight nearly escaped your arms. the watermelon was heavier than you expected, pressing awkwardly into your ribs, but setting it down would have felt like admitting defeat. you looked toward the glowing building and then back at him, waiting.
he studied you for another long moment. whatever argument remained in him seemed to fade beneath the determination written across your face. finally, he leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the trees themselves might overhear.
“can you keep a secret?” he asked. you nodded much too quickly.
that was how you found yourself climbing the narrow wooden steps with an enormous watermelon braced against your body, following a near stranger into a place you had spent your entire life visiting kellerman’s without knowing existed.
the moment the door opened, the music swallowed you whole. heat rushed over your skin first, followed by the heavy beat of drums and bass vibrating through the floorboards. the back house was crowded with employees you recognized only in pieces. waiters who carried silver trays through the dining room were laughing with their shirts unbuttoned at the collar. housekeepers who moved quietly through the guest hallways were spinning beneath raised arms, their dresses catching the warm light. kitchen staff, groundskeepers and young entertainers filled every corner of the room, no longer performing politeness for anyone.
they looked freer than you had ever seen them. the polished dances from the ballroom seemed painfully stiff in comparison. there were no careful steps or respectable spaces maintained between partners here. bodies moved close enough to share breath, hips following the restless pulse of the music with an ease that made your face grow warm. hands settled on waists and lower backs. skirts lifted and fluttered with every turn. the entire room seemed to move as one living thing, reckless and unashamed beneath the dim lights.
you almost forgot you were still holding the watermelon. michael’s cousin glanced over his shoulder, quietly amused by the stunned expression you could not hide. he guided you through the crowd, occasionally placing one hand near your elbow to keep you from being knocked off balance as dancers passed. you tried not to stare and failed almost immediately. there was too much happening at once, too many movements your parents would have considered inappropriate and too much joy accompanying every one of them.
when you finally reached a table near the wall, you lowered the watermelon with aching arms and remained beside him, unsure of what else you were permitted to do. neither of you spoke for a while. you simply watched the crowd together, though he observed them with familiarity while you studied them with intrigue as though you had wandered into another world.
“they do this every night?” you asked, keeping your voice low despite knowing the music would have buried it.
“whenever they can,” he answered, leaning his shoulder against the wall. then he glanced at you, a teasing smile forming across his mouth. “try not to look so terrified. somebody might think you’ve never seen dancing before.”
you had seen dancing. you had taken lessons as a child, attended formal parties and watched couples move elegantly beneath the ballroom chandeliers. none of it had looked like this.
before you could defend yourself, the door opened again. the shift in the room was subtle at first, more something you felt than noticed. a few faces turned. someone near the entrance cheered, and the energy already running through the crowd sharpened with sudden anticipation.
penny stepped inside first. you recognized her immediately from the afternoon dance demonstration near the lawn, though she looked entirely different without the stiff costume and bright resort smile. she wore a flowing pink dress that floated around her legs as she moved, the fabric light enough to catch every current of warm air passing through the room. her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and there was something effortless about the way she carried herself, as if she knew every pair of eyes would eventually find her and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
michael entered behind her. he wore black trousers and a thin white shirt with the first several buttons left undone, the sleeves pushed carelessly toward his elbows. the clothes were simple, but nothing about him appeared ordinary beneath the hazy amber light. his curls were slightly damp around his face, and his smile came easily as people reached out to greet him. he moved through the crowd with an ease that suggested the room belonged to him without him ever having to demand it.
you had seen him around the resort throughout the week, usually from a distance. he taught afternoon dance lessons near the terrace, charming older women into attempting turns they would later describe breathlessly over dinner. sometimes you caught him crossing the grounds with penny, the two of them moving with the quiet coordination of people who knew one another’s bodies well enough to predict every step.
seeing him there was different, though. there was no polite smile fixed across his face and no kellerman’s name pinned neatly above his heart. he looked younger somehow, looser around the edges. more dangerous, though you could not have explained what made you think so.
penny reached for his hand before the next song had properly begun. the crowd parted for them with immediate understanding, leaving an open space near the center of the floor. michael let her pull him forward, his smile turning playful as she spun beneath his arm. the music changed into something slower and heavier, its rhythm rolling through the room, and they slipped into it without hesitation.
penny’s pink skirt swept around his legs as she turned. michael caught her by the waist, bringing her back against him so smoothly that the room erupted with delighted shouts. they seemed determined to outdo one another after that. every movement became more daring than the last, penny rolling her hips with theatrical confidence while michael followed close behind, matching her rhythm without appearing to try. they were showing off.
michael dipped her low enough that her hair nearly brushed the floor, holding her there for one suspended moment before drawing her upright again. penny laughed against his shoulder, and he answered by turning her away from him only to pull her back by the hand. their bodies met with the beat, separating and returning as though the music itself kept drawing them together.
you watched far more intently than you meant to. michael’s cousin leaned closer, muttering something amused about how neither of them knew how to behave when there was an audience yet you barely heard him. your attention had become fixed on the shape of michael’s hands at penny’s waist and the controlled movement of his hips against hers. it was impossible to reconcile this version of him with the charming instructor who gently counted steps for nervous guests beneath the afternoon sun.
then michael looked toward the wall. his eyes passed over the room once before stopping directly on you. the moment stretched far longer than it reasonably could have. his body continued moving with the music, but his attention no longer seemed to belong to penny. surprise flickered briefly across his face, followed by curiosity and something warmer that made your stomach tighten. you resisted the instinct to look away. you were not going to let him catch you behaving like a sheltered little girl who had stumbled somewhere she did not belong, even if that was precisely what had happened.
penny followed his gaze and noticed you as well. rather than appearing bothered, she smiled knowingly and turned beneath his arm once more before slipping away toward a group of dancers. michael remained in the center of the floor for a moment, his eyes still resting on you.
he began walking—well dancing—over but he wasn’t in a hurry. that somehow made it worse.
the crowd moved aside as he approached, though he scarcely seemed to notice. the music continued thudding through your chest while you forced your posture straighter and tried to decide what expression a person was supposed to wear when michael jackson was crossing a room toward them.
his attention shifted briefly to his cousin once he reached the wall. “what’s she doing here?” he asked, though the mild curve at the corner of his mouth made the question sound more amused than angry.
his cousin lifted both hands as though absolving himself of responsibility. “she wouldn’t leave.”
michael looked at you then, waiting for whatever explanation you might offer. up close, his presence was far more unsettling. his eyes were darker than you expected, framed by lashes that softened the mischief lingering in them. there was a faint sheen of perspiration across his skin from dancing, and the open collar of his shirt shifted gently with each breath.
you had every opportunity to say something clever. you could have explained that you heard the music. you could have admitted that curiosity led you there or teased his cousin for being so easily persuaded, any of those answers would have made you sound reasonably composed.
instead, you gestured toward the table and announced, “i carried a watermelon.” silence seemed to form around you despite the music.
michael’s gaze moved toward the fruit and then returned to your face. his lips pressed together, but not quickly enough to conceal the smile threatening to escape.
you carried a watermelon. of all the words available to you, those were the ones you had chosen. you wanted to reach into the air, gather the sentence and force it back into your mouth. perhaps you could still turn around and walk into the woods. perhaps the earth might split open beneath the floorboards and spare you from having to watch him process the most humiliating introduction of your life.
“i can see that,” michael said gently, his smile finally appearing.
your face burned. “i didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“how’d you mean to say it?”
you had no answer, which only seemed to amuse him further.
his cousin laughed beside you, and you cast him a look of betrayal. michael’s attention remained on your face, studying you with an interest that felt far more intimate than it should have. you became suddenly aware of every detail of yourself beneath his gaze, from the loosened strands of hair near your cheeks to the dust gathering along the hem of your dress.
another song began, the opening rhythm slower than the last. michael glanced toward the dance floor before looking at you again. “you dance?”
the sensible response would have been to say no. at the very least, you should have clarified that whatever you knew certainly did not resemble what you had witnessed inside that room.
“a little,” you answered and in response he extended his hand.
you stared at it for half a second too long. when you finally placed your fingers into his, his palm was warm and slightly rough, closing around yours with an easy confidence that made your pulse stumble. he led you away from the safety of the wall before you could reconsider, guiding you into the space where he and penny had been dancing only moments earlier.
you felt every eye in the room turn toward you, even if most people were probably too occupied with their own partners to care. the floor seemed much larger from the center. there was nowhere to hide, nothing to hold and no idea what michael expected you to do.
he stepped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes.“don’t watch everybody else,” he murmured, placing one hand lightly at your waist. his touch was careful at first, barely more than the pressure of his fingertips through the fabric of your dress. “you’ll start thinking too much.”
you were already thinking too much. his other hand caught yours and guided it toward his shoulder. the movement brought you nearer, close enough to feel warmth radiating from his body. your breath shortened, but you refused to let it show. michael seemed like the type of person who noticed nervousness and found subtle ways to tease it out of you.
“jus’ listen to the beat,” he explained, his voice nearly lost beneath the music. his hand settled more securely around your waist, encouraging you to sway. “it’s already tellin’ you what to do.”
at first, your body resisted him. you moved cautiously, trying to measure each shift of your weight and anticipate where he intended to lead you. michael noticed immediately. his thumb brushed once against your side, not quite a caress, though it sent a strange warmth unfolding beneath your ribs.
he moved his hips slowly, exaggerating the rhythm enough for you to follow. “you’re still thinking.”
“i’m just trying not to step on you,” you replied, concentrating on his chest because looking directly into his eyes had become far too distracting.
“nah, eyes up here”
you looked up, and when you did, something changed the moment your eyes met his. perhaps it was the quiet approval in his expression or the steadiness of his hand against your waist, but the room gradually began to disappear around you. the laughter and cheering blurred beneath the music until all you could properly feel was the beat beneath your feet and the gentle pull of his body guiding yours.
your movements started to soften, michael smiled when he noticed. he shifted closer, bringing one leg between yours just enough to change the angle of your hips. his hand moved from your waist to the curve of your lower back, drawing you into the rhythm with him. you followed instinctively, your body answering his before your mind could interfere.
the motion was far more intimate than anything you had done before, the sinful movement making your adrenaline rush. his hips met yours through the thin layers of your clothing, rolling slowly with the beat before easing away again. heat rushed toward your face, but you held his gaze with stubborn determination. you would not embarrass yourself again—not in front of michael.
the faintest hint of amusement appeared in his eyes, as if he knew exactly how flustered you were and admired your refusal to admit it. he turned you beneath his arm and caught you again before you could lose the rhythm. this time, your back settled briefly against his chest. both of his hands found your hips, guiding them in a slow circle while his own followed behind yours.
your breath escaped before you could stop it. michael lowered his head slightly, his curls brushing the side of your temple. “there you go,” he encouraged, the words warm against your ear. “just feel it.”
you tried, oh god you were trying. you allowed the music to move through you instead of treating it like something that needed to be solved. your hips followed the firm direction of his hands, swaying against him as the bass rolled beneath the floor. the embarrassment never entirely disappeared, but something bolder began taking its place. you could feel it growing each time michael released you only to draw you back, each time his smile deepened because you had managed to follow without hesitation.
for those few minutes, you were no longer the well-behaved daughter who spent her summers watching other people enjoy themselves. you belonged inside the heat of the room, beneath michael’s large hands and within the reckless pulse of the music.
he turned you around to face him once more. your bodies were still close, your hips moving together in a slower rhythm now. neither of you looked away. then, just as you began to believe you understood what was passing between you, michael’s hand slid into yours and he sent you into one final spin.
your skirt lifted gently around your thighs as the room blurred. when you came to a stop, you expected his hand to steady you again.
it never did. michael had already slipped backward into the crowd, his smile lingering as dancers closed around him. within seconds, he disappeared among raised arms and moving bodies as though he had never been standing in front of you at all.
you remained alone in the center of the floor, tiny beneath the warm lights and uncertain what to do with your hands.
your heart was beating hard enough to embarrass you. your skin still remembered every place he had touched, especially the weight of his palm against the small of your back and the slow meeting of his hips with yours. you looked toward the crowd, hoping to catch another glimpse of him, but only found flashes of his white shirt between passing bodies.
michael’s cousin watched you from the wall with an expression far too knowing for your comfort. you slowly returned to him, attempting to gather what remained of your dignity. the watermelon was still sitting on the table exactly where you had left it, large and ridiculous beneath the dim light. you stared at it with quiet resentment.
it had gotten you inside, at least. and although you could already imagine the lecture awaiting you if your parents discovered where you had been, you could not bring yourself to regret following the music. not when michael’s voice was still echoing inside your mind, soft and close against your ear and the burning sensation of where his fingertips once laid.
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❛ can you keep a secret? ❜ · 𓐇˚ִִ ꒱ ❪ 5.8𝒌 ❫ ╱ a 3-part mini series based off the feature film "Dirty Dancing" ˖‿◞ ྀི﹒⋆
𝓬ontent 𑄹 ྀི◟.。❤︎︎ ﹕ coming of age. summer romance. dirty dancing au. off the wall!michael jackson as johnny castle. no use of y/n, reader is referred to as ‘baby’ ofc. class differences. lots of teasing & awkward flirtation! michael being effortlessly charming. close proximity. sensual dancing, im talking bumping and grinding.
݂𐄢˖ᐧ sullivan county, new york — summer 1979 ݂𐄢˖ᐧ
you had spent every summer since you were a child going to kellerman’s mountain house resort, where you never really did much of anything.
the drive there always felt longer than you remembered. winding roads climbed steadily through the mountains while your father kept one hand relaxed against the steering wheel, occasionally pointing out familiar landmarks as though none of you had seen them every august for nearly as long as you could remember. your mother sat beside him with the resort brochure folded neatly across her lap, reading aloud from the new summer schedule despite already having circled several activities for you in blue ink. beside you, your older sister had spent the last hour complaining about the humidity, the cramped back seat and the possibility that the talent coordinator might have already assigned someone else the song she wanted to perform.
“you could always choose another one,” you suggested, keeping your face turned toward the window as green hills and scattered cabins passed behind the glass.
your sister stared at you as though you had proposed something unthinkable. “it’s the only song that suits my range,” she replied, speaking with the solemn conviction of someone discussing a matter of national importance. she adjusted the scarf tied around her hair and leaned forward between your parents’ seats. “mom, tell her.”
your mother did not need to tell you anything. you had heard every detail of your sister’s performance plans before the car had even left the driveway that morning, from the pale-blue dress she intended to wear to the exact moment she planned to lift one hand dramatically toward the audience. by the time the weathered wooden sign for kellerman’s finally appeared between the trees, you were willing to personally guarantee her the closing spot in the talent show if it meant she would stop rehearsing the final note beneath her breath.
the resort emerged gradually beyond the tree line, appearing almost exactly as it had the summer before and every summer before that. the main lodge stood at the center of the grounds with its broad stone steps and long white balconies, surrounded by carefully maintained lawns, tennis courts and clusters of guest cabins tucked beneath the mountains. employees dressed in crisp uniforms hurried toward the arriving cars, collecting suitcases and greeting returning families with practiced smiles while music from the outdoor pavilion drifted faintly across the property.
your mother brightened the instant the car rolled to a stop. your father stepped out with the pleased expression of a man returning somewhere that made him feel important, stretching his arms before offering his hand to help her from the passenger seat. your sister nearly struck you with the car door in her eagerness to escape, immediately searching the lawn for anyone she recognized from the previous summer.
you climbed out last, smoothing the creases from your skirt as warm mountain air settled against your skin. nothing had changed. the same flowers lined the walkway. the same families stood beneath the lodge awning, embracing one another and announcing how much the children had grown. even the same bellhop seemed to be reaching for your father’s luggage, though his smile looked slightly more exhausted than you remembered.
mr. kellerman descended the front steps before your family had managed to gather all of its belongings. he greeted your father first, clasping his hand warmly and asking after his medical practice with genuine interest. he kissed your mother’s cheek, complimented your sister’s hair and turned to you with both arms spread as if your arrival had completed the summer. great.
“and there she is,” he declared, smiling broadly while he looked you over. “our baby’s all grown up.”
you accepted his embrace because refusing would have required far more explanation than it was worth. you had been called baby for so long that the name no longer felt particularly strange, though hearing it from people who had known you since childhood had begun to make you feel permanently preserved at sixteen. mr. kellerman asked about college, told your father that anything your family needed would be taken care of and personally instructed one of the employees to place your luggage in the finest adjoining cabins available.
the young man nodded immediately, shifting two suitcases into his already crowded arms.
mr. kellerman’s smile disappeared the moment he turned away from your family. he told the employee to straighten his jacket, reminded him not to drag the luggage and warned that guests should never be left waiting in the heat.
you had noticed things like that more often as you grew older. kellerman’s was built around making families like yours feel as though the entire mountain existed for their comfort. meals appeared before you were hungry. beds were turned down while you attended dinner. employees carried bags, poured drinks and smiled through every impatient request, yet somehow seemed to become invisible the moment their service was complete.
your attention followed the chastened employee as he started toward the cabins. several staff members stood near the side of the lodge, waiting for instructions while mr. kellerman called out assignments. that was when you saw michael for the first time.
he stood slightly apart from the others with one hand resting against his hip, dressed in black trousers and a pale shirt tucked neatly at his waist. his name tag caught briefly in the sunlight when he shifted, though you were too far away to read anything printed beneath it. dark curls framed his face, stirred lightly by the mountain breeze, and while the employees around him listened with lowered heads, michael’s gaze remained calmly fixed on mr. kellerman.
there was nothing openly disrespectful in his posture. he was not smirking or rolling his eyes, but something about the stillness of his expression suggested he was merely waiting for the speech to end rather than absorbing every word. mr. kellerman spoke to him differently than he had spoken to your father, informing him that the afternoon dance demonstration was to begin precisely on time and that guests were not paying to watch the instructors socialize with one another.
michael answered with a quiet nod. then, as if he had felt your attention resting on him, his eyes drifted toward the driveway. they met yours for no more than a moment.
you should have looked away immediately. staring at staff members was hardly more polite than ignoring them altogether, but there was something unhurried about the way he regarded you. his eyes moved over your face with mild curiosity, lingering just long enough to make you aware that you were still standing beside an open car door with one hand wrapped around the strap of your bag. the faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth.
before you could decide whether it had truly been meant for you, mr. kellerman called his name. michael’s attention returned to him, and the moment disappeared so quickly that it left you wondering why it had unsettled you at all.
“baby, sweetheart, come meet someone.” your mother’s voice pulled you back toward the family. she had already arranged herself beside a somewhat-tall, young man wearing pressed white trousers and a pale-green polo shirt, her hand resting lightly against his arm with an enthusiasm that immediately made you suspicious. he was handsome in the clean, expensive way your mother always seemed to appreciate, with carefully combed hair and the self-assured posture of someone who had never questioned whether a room would welcome him. mr. kellerman introduced him as his grandson, neil.
“neil’s studying hotel management,” your father explained before neil had an opportunity to tell you himself. the approval in his voice suggested this was nearly as respectable as medicine. “he’ll be running this place one day.”
neil smiled as though the future ownership of the mountain had already been printed on his business cards. you put on the best, most convincing smile you could before he took your hand and held it slightly longer than necessary, telling you that he remembered seeing you around the resort the previous summer. you did not remember seeing him at all, though your mother seemed delighted by the possibility that the two of you had been quietly orbiting one another for years.
“i’d be happy to show you what’s changed,” neil offered. his tone was pleasant, but there was something rehearsed beneath it, as though he had made the same offer to several daughters of important guests. “we’ve expanded the golf course, and i’ve been helping grandfather organize some evening events for the younger crowd.” your sister caught your eye from behind him and lifted her brows suggestively. you responded by looking away before she could silently plan your first date with the kid.
“that sounds lovely,” your mother answered for you. “baby never knows what to do with herself here.”
you resisted the urge to remind her that she had scheduled nearly every free hour of your summer without asking. neil continued describing the resort improvements, speaking mostly to your father despite supposedly addressing you. he explained staffing decisions, complained lightly about the difficulty of managing seasonal workers and referred to the employee cabins as though they were an unfortunate necessity hidden behind an otherwise beautiful property.
when one of the bellhops passed with your luggage, neil snapped his fingers and instructed him to take extra care with your mother’s garment bag. the employee adjusted it without responding. you glanced toward the side of the lodge again, but michael was gone.
by the time your family settled into the cabins, your mother had already accepted neil’s invitation on your behalf to attend a welcome mixer the following evening. your sister spent most of the afternoon unpacking dresses across both beds and asking which one made her appear older, only to reject every answer you gave. when you attempted to read near the window, she practiced vocal scales until you finally abandoned the cabin altogether.
the rest of the week unfolded exactly as every previous summer had. you begrudgingly participated in the daily activities and games your mother signed you up for, offering halfhearted swings during tennis lessons and allowing yourself to be dragged into an afternoon charades tournament. you watched your sister rehearse for the end-of-summer talent show, applauding at the appropriate moments while she argued with the pianist over tempo. you wasted your quieter afternoons inside the lodge with a book balanced across your knees or beneath the shade of the same large oak tree you had claimed years ago. it was the only time you could appreciate the quiet sanctity of the busy-filled vacation.
though, neil appeared often enough to make you suspect your parents had given him a copy of your schedule. he joined your family for lunch, saved you a seat at bingo and spoke confidently about the future he expected to inherit. there was nothing particularly cruel about him, but every conversation felt decided before it began. he told you what you would enjoy, which events were worth attending and which people around the resort were worth knowing. he seemed perfectly satisfied with the world exactly as it was, perhaps because it had been arranged to benefit him. you found yourself craving something you could not properly name.
your glimpses of michael only worsened the feeling. you saw him teaching dance lessons on the terrace, patiently guiding guests through safe, respectable steps while several women giggled over the attention he gave them. you watched him and penny perform one afternoon near the lawn to promote dance lessons. their bodies moving with such effortless precision that the applause began before the routine had ended. occasionally, you caught him crossing the grounds with other employees, his laughter carrying toward you before he vanished behind the service buildings. he belonged to a part of kellerman’s you had never been invited to see.
but this summer was supposed to be different. you were twenty now, much too old to spend another august following your parents around like a child, smiling politely at people you did not care to know while your father discussed medical school and your mother hinted at all the respectable young men staying at the resort. this summer, you were not going to sit around and let every opportunity for fun pass you by. at least, that was what you had promised yourself.
you had been doing a rather terrible job of keeping that promise until one particularly warm evening, when the walls of the lodge seemed to close in around you.
your sister was rehearsing the same verse for what must have been the twentieth time, standing before the mirror with a hairbrush clutched dramatically against her chest. your parents had gone downstairs for drinks with the kellermans, leaving you with strict instructions to join them before dinner. you had every intention of obeying until you heard music drifting through the open window.
it was faint, carried from somewhere behind the guest cabins. the rhythm was nothing like the careful orchestra playing in the ballroom below. it was heavier, livelier, interrupted by distant laughter that did not sound restrained or polite causing you to lower your book. your sister continued singing, entirely unaware as you crossed toward the window and listened more carefully. the music seemed to rise from beyond the main grounds, somewhere near the buildings guests were never given a reason to visit.
you could have gone downstairs. you could have changed for dinner, taken your expected place beside neil and listened while he explained another improvement his grandfather intended to make. instead, you slipped out of the cabin.
the paved walkway gradually disappeared as you moved behind the lodge, giving way to uneven dirt and grass softened by the evening humidity. you followed the music between the trees, lifting the hem of your dress away from low branches while the familiar glow of the resort faded behind you. the farther you wandered, the less the mountain resembled the kellerman’s you knew. employee uniforms hung from clotheslines between small cabins, crates were stacked beside service entrances, and voices carried freely through open windows without anyone lowering them for the comfort of guests. you knew you were not supposed to be there. that realization should have frightened you into turning around. instead, it sent a bright, nervous excitement fluttering through your stomach.
the music grew louder as you approached an old building tucked behind the staff quarters, its windows glowing amber through the darkness. shadows moved behind the curtains, quick and indistinct, while the muffled beat vibrated faintly beneath your shoes.
you were so focused on the building that you nearly walked directly into someone coming around the corner. a young man stopped in front of you with a startled expression, balancing one side of a wooden crate filled with watermelons against his hip. you recognized him vaguely from around the grounds, usually laughing with michael near the dance pavilion. up close, there was enough similarity around his eyes to make you wonder whether they were related.
“you shouldn’t be back here,” he told you, glancing over his shoulder as though someone might already be searching for you. he adjusted his grip beneath the crate and looked pointedly toward the path you had come from. “your parents are gonna be livid if they find you out here.”
you offered him your most innocent expression, the same one that had rescued you from lectures and unwanted introductions throughout most of your childhood. it did not appear to affect him nearly as much as you had hoped.
“i was only taking a walk,” you explained, although the distant music exposed the lie before it had fully left your mouth. your attention drifted past him toward the old building nestled farther between the trees. its windows glowed a muted amber, shadows moving rapidly behind the curtains as laughter and music poured from somewhere inside.
his gaze followed yours before returning to you with renewed urgency. “then take a walk back to the guest cabins.”
he started moving again, expecting you to listen. you followed alongside him instead. every attempt he made to discourage you only deepened your curiosity. “what’s in there?” you asked, nodding toward the old building tucked between the cabins.
“nothing.”
“then why’s everybody going?”
“they’re not.”
you looked pointedly at the steady stream of employees disappearing through the doorway. “they definitely are.”
he sighed through his nose, shifting the crate higher against his hip before continuing toward the building. “you really oughta head back.”
“well, is it some kind of party?”
“no.”
“a meeting?”
“no.”
“then what is it?”
“none of your business, kid.”
his answers grew shorter with every question, though they never quite managed to discourage you. if anything, they only made you more curious. you matched his pace beside him, carefully stepping over exposed tree roots while your eyes kept drifting toward the music spilling through the windows.
“i’ve been coming here my whole life,” you said. “how come i’ve never seen this place before?”
“because guests aren’t supposed to.”
“well, i’m here now.”
“yeah,” he muttered, glancing sideways at you. “that’s exactly the problem.”
he stopped beside another stack of watermelons and lowered the crate with a tired exhale, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck. you remained standing beside him, waiting expectantly for an answer he clearly had no intention of giving. you immediately bent down and wrapped both arms around the largest one you could find, barely managing to lift it against your stomach.
his eyebrows rose. “what are you doing?”
“helping,” you said breathlessly, tightening your hold when the slippery weight nearly escaped your arms. the watermelon was heavier than you expected, pressing awkwardly into your ribs, but setting it down would have felt like admitting defeat. you looked toward the glowing building and then back at him, waiting.
he studied you for another long moment. whatever argument remained in him seemed to fade beneath the determination written across your face. finally, he leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the trees themselves might overhear.
“can you keep a secret?” he asked. you nodded much too quickly.
that was how you found yourself climbing the narrow wooden steps with an enormous watermelon braced against your body, following a near stranger into a place you had spent your entire life visiting kellerman’s without knowing existed.
the moment the door opened, the music swallowed you whole. heat rushed over your skin first, followed by the heavy beat of drums and bass vibrating through the floorboards. the back house was crowded with employees you recognized only in pieces. waiters who carried silver trays through the dining room were laughing with their shirts unbuttoned at the collar. housekeepers who moved quietly through the guest hallways were spinning beneath raised arms, their dresses catching the warm light. kitchen staff, groundskeepers and young entertainers filled every corner of the room, no longer performing politeness for anyone.
they looked freer than you had ever seen them. the polished dances from the ballroom seemed painfully stiff in comparison. there were no careful steps or respectable spaces maintained between partners here. bodies moved close enough to share breath, hips following the restless pulse of the music with an ease that made your face grow warm. hands settled on waists and lower backs. skirts lifted and fluttered with every turn. the entire room seemed to move as one living thing, reckless and unashamed beneath the dim lights.
you almost forgot you were still holding the watermelon. michael’s cousin glanced over his shoulder, quietly amused by the stunned expression you could not hide. he guided you through the crowd, occasionally placing one hand near your elbow to keep you from being knocked off balance as dancers passed. you tried not to stare and failed almost immediately. there was too much happening at once, too many movements your parents would have considered inappropriate and too much joy accompanying every one of them.
when you finally reached a table near the wall, you lowered the watermelon with aching arms and remained beside him, unsure of what else you were permitted to do. neither of you spoke for a while. you simply watched the crowd together, though he observed them with familiarity while you studied them with intrigue as though you had wandered into another world.
“they do this every night?” you asked, keeping your voice low despite knowing the music would have buried it.
“whenever they can,” he answered, leaning his shoulder against the wall. then he glanced at you, a teasing smile forming across his mouth. “try not to look so terrified. somebody might think you’ve never seen dancing before.”
you had seen dancing. you had taken lessons as a child, attended formal parties and watched couples move elegantly beneath the ballroom chandeliers. none of it had looked like this.
before you could defend yourself, the door opened again. the shift in the room was subtle at first, more something you felt than noticed. a few faces turned. someone near the entrance cheered, and the energy already running through the crowd sharpened with sudden anticipation.
penny stepped inside first. you recognized her immediately from the afternoon dance demonstration near the lawn, though she looked entirely different without the stiff costume and bright resort smile. she wore a flowing pink dress that floated around her legs as she moved, the fabric light enough to catch every current of warm air passing through the room. her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and there was something effortless about the way she carried herself, as if she knew every pair of eyes would eventually find her and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
michael entered behind her. he wore black trousers and a thin white shirt with the first several buttons left undone, the sleeves pushed carelessly toward his elbows. the clothes were simple, but nothing about him appeared ordinary beneath the hazy amber light. his curls were slightly damp around his face, and his smile came easily as people reached out to greet him. he moved through the crowd with an ease that suggested the room belonged to him without him ever having to demand it.
you had seen him around the resort throughout the week, usually from a distance. he taught afternoon dance lessons near the terrace, charming older women into attempting turns they would later describe breathlessly over dinner. sometimes you caught him crossing the grounds with penny, the two of them moving with the quiet coordination of people who knew one another’s bodies well enough to predict every step.
seeing him there was different, though. there was no polite smile fixed across his face and no kellerman’s name pinned neatly above his heart. he looked younger somehow, looser around the edges. more dangerous, though you could not have explained what made you think so.
penny reached for his hand before the next song had properly begun. the crowd parted for them with immediate understanding, leaving an open space near the center of the floor. michael let her pull him forward, his smile turning playful as she spun beneath his arm. the music changed into something slower and heavier, its rhythm rolling through the room, and they slipped into it without hesitation.
penny’s pink skirt swept around his legs as she turned. michael caught her by the waist, bringing her back against him so smoothly that the room erupted with delighted shouts. they seemed determined to outdo one another after that. every movement became more daring than the last, penny rolling her hips with theatrical confidence while michael followed close behind, matching her rhythm without appearing to try. they were showing off.
michael dipped her low enough that her hair nearly brushed the floor, holding her there for one suspended moment before drawing her upright again. penny laughed against his shoulder, and he answered by turning her away from him only to pull her back by the hand. their bodies met with the beat, separating and returning as though the music itself kept drawing them together.
you watched far more intently than you meant to. michael’s cousin leaned closer, muttering something amused about how neither of them knew how to behave when there was an audience yet you barely heard him. your attention had become fixed on the shape of michael’s hands at penny’s waist and the controlled movement of his hips against hers. it was impossible to reconcile this version of him with the charming instructor who gently counted steps for nervous guests beneath the afternoon sun.
then michael looked toward the wall. his eyes passed over the room once before stopping directly on you. the moment stretched far longer than it reasonably could have. his body continued moving with the music, but his attention no longer seemed to belong to penny. surprise flickered briefly across his face, followed by curiosity and something warmer that made your stomach tighten. you resisted the instinct to look away. you were not going to let him catch you behaving like a sheltered little girl who had stumbled somewhere she did not belong, even if that was precisely what had happened.
penny followed his gaze and noticed you as well. rather than appearing bothered, she smiled knowingly and turned beneath his arm once more before slipping away toward a group of dancers. michael remained in the center of the floor for a moment, his eyes still resting on you.
he began walking—well dancing—over but he wasn’t in a hurry. that somehow made it worse.
the crowd moved aside as he approached, though he scarcely seemed to notice. the music continued thudding through your chest while you forced your posture straighter and tried to decide what expression a person was supposed to wear when michael jackson was crossing a room toward them.
his attention shifted briefly to his cousin once he reached the wall. “what’s she doing here?” he asked, though the mild curve at the corner of his mouth made the question sound more amused than angry.
his cousin lifted both hands as though absolving himself of responsibility. “she wouldn’t leave.”
michael looked at you then, waiting for whatever explanation you might offer. up close, his presence was far more unsettling. his eyes were darker than you expected, framed by lashes that softened the mischief lingering in them. there was a faint sheen of perspiration across his skin from dancing, and the open collar of his shirt shifted gently with each breath.
you had every opportunity to say something clever. you could have explained that you heard the music. you could have admitted that curiosity led you there or teased his cousin for being so easily persuaded, any of those answers would have made you sound reasonably composed.
instead, you gestured toward the table and announced, “i carried a watermelon.” silence seemed to form around you despite the music.
michael’s gaze moved toward the fruit and then returned to your face. his lips pressed together, but not quickly enough to conceal the smile threatening to escape.
you carried a watermelon. of all the words available to you, those were the ones you had chosen. you wanted to reach into the air, gather the sentence and force it back into your mouth. perhaps you could still turn around and walk into the woods. perhaps the earth might split open beneath the floorboards and spare you from having to watch him process the most humiliating introduction of your life.
“i can see that,” michael said gently, his smile finally appearing.
your face burned. “i didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“how’d you mean to say it?”
you had no answer, which only seemed to amuse him further.
his cousin laughed beside you, and you cast him a look of betrayal. michael’s attention remained on your face, studying you with an interest that felt far more intimate than it should have. you became suddenly aware of every detail of yourself beneath his gaze, from the loosened strands of hair near your cheeks to the dust gathering along the hem of your dress.
another song began, the opening rhythm slower than the last. michael glanced toward the dance floor before looking at you again. “you dance?”
the sensible response would have been to say no. at the very least, you should have clarified that whatever you knew certainly did not resemble what you had witnessed inside that room.
“a little,” you answered and in response he extended his hand.
you stared at it for half a second too long. when you finally placed your fingers into his, his palm was warm and slightly rough, closing around yours with an easy confidence that made your pulse stumble. he led you away from the safety of the wall before you could reconsider, guiding you into the space where he and penny had been dancing only moments earlier.
you felt every eye in the room turn toward you, even if most people were probably too occupied with their own partners to care. the floor seemed much larger from the center. there was nowhere to hide, nothing to hold and no idea what michael expected you to do.
he stepped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes.“don’t watch everybody else,” he murmured, placing one hand lightly at your waist. his touch was careful at first, barely more than the pressure of his fingertips through the fabric of your dress. “you’ll start thinking too much.”
you were already thinking too much. his other hand caught yours and guided it toward his shoulder. the movement brought you nearer, close enough to feel warmth radiating from his body. your breath shortened, but you refused to let it show. michael seemed like the type of person who noticed nervousness and found subtle ways to tease it out of you.
“jus’ listen to the beat,” he explained, his voice nearly lost beneath the music. his hand settled more securely around your waist, encouraging you to sway. “it’s already tellin’ you what to do.”
at first, your body resisted him. you moved cautiously, trying to measure each shift of your weight and anticipate where he intended to lead you. michael noticed immediately. his thumb brushed once against your side, not quite a caress, though it sent a strange warmth unfolding beneath your ribs.
he moved his hips slowly, exaggerating the rhythm enough for you to follow. “you’re still thinking.”
“i’m just trying not to step on you,” you replied, concentrating on his chest because looking directly into his eyes had become far too distracting.
“nah, eyes up here”
you looked up, and when you did, something changed the moment your eyes met his. perhaps it was the quiet approval in his expression or the steadiness of his hand against your waist, but the room gradually began to disappear around you. the laughter and cheering blurred beneath the music until all you could properly feel was the beat beneath your feet and the gentle pull of his body guiding yours.
your movements started to soften, michael smiled when he noticed. he shifted closer, bringing one leg between yours just enough to change the angle of your hips. his hand moved from your waist to the curve of your lower back, drawing you into the rhythm with him. you followed instinctively, your body answering his before your mind could interfere.
the motion was far more intimate than anything you had done before, the sinful movement making your adrenaline rush. his hips met yours through the thin layers of your clothing, rolling slowly with the beat before easing away again. heat rushed toward your face, but you held his gaze with stubborn determination. you would not embarrass yourself again—not in front of michael.
the faintest hint of amusement appeared in his eyes, as if he knew exactly how flustered you were and admired your refusal to admit it. he turned you beneath his arm and caught you again before you could lose the rhythm. this time, your back settled briefly against his chest. both of his hands found your hips, guiding them in a slow circle while his own followed behind yours.
your breath escaped before you could stop it. michael lowered his head slightly, his curls brushing the side of your temple. “there you go,” he encouraged, the words warm against your ear. “just feel it.”
you tried, oh god you were trying. you allowed the music to move through you instead of treating it like something that needed to be solved. your hips followed the firm direction of his hands, swaying against him as the bass rolled beneath the floor. the embarrassment never entirely disappeared, but something bolder began taking its place. you could feel it growing each time michael released you only to draw you back, each time his smile deepened because you had managed to follow without hesitation.
for those few minutes, you were no longer the well-behaved daughter who spent her summers watching other people enjoy themselves. you belonged inside the heat of the room, beneath michael’s large hands and within the reckless pulse of the music.
he turned you around to face him once more. your bodies were still close, your hips moving together in a slower rhythm now. neither of you looked away. then, just as you began to believe you understood what was passing between you, michael’s hand slid into yours and he sent you into one final spin.
your skirt lifted gently around your thighs as the room blurred. when you came to a stop, you expected his hand to steady you again.
it never did. michael had already slipped backward into the crowd, his smile lingering as dancers closed around him. within seconds, he disappeared among raised arms and moving bodies as though he had never been standing in front of you at all.
you remained alone in the center of the floor, tiny beneath the warm lights and uncertain what to do with your hands.
your heart was beating hard enough to embarrass you. your skin still remembered every place he had touched, especially the weight of his palm against the small of your back and the slow meeting of his hips with yours. you looked toward the crowd, hoping to catch another glimpse of him, but only found flashes of his white shirt between passing bodies.
michael’s cousin watched you from the wall with an expression far too knowing for your comfort. you slowly returned to him, attempting to gather what remained of your dignity. the watermelon was still sitting on the table exactly where you had left it, large and ridiculous beneath the dim light. you stared at it with quiet resentment.
it had gotten you inside, at least. and although you could already imagine the lecture awaiting you if your parents discovered where you had been, you could not bring yourself to regret following the music. not when michael’s voice was still echoing inside your mind, soft and close against your ear and the burning sensation of where his fingertips once laid.
18+ mdni. pt. 1 , pt. 2 , pt. 3 . . . now part four of nanny and mike being official, a ring (rock) on her finger makin' love in the dead of the night. nothing but soft moans and whines and cry's for the other, michael's gentle grip has roughened as he steadies his pace against your hips. each meticulous stroke has you scratching down the length of his back, maybe your mouth even finds home within his shoulder as you gnaw to contain your noises. it's within that midst that it's nanny who pops the idea, "give me a baby, mikey." you could've brushed it off of it just being the heat of the moment and you really don't mean it, not yet, at least. but when michael's pupils dilate further, his brown eyes now almost completely black, you didn't wanna take it back. he doesn't stop, he just slows his pace, making his strokes hit deeper, "you want it? another?" he'd ask between pants, both from his actions and now his mind running rampant that his greatest fantasy is turning into a reality. so when you wrap your legs around his torso, locking him inside of you, pulling him into a messy 'n sloppy kiss that's when you tell him in between breaths, "i mean it, let's have another baby. get me pregnant, mikey."
let's just say you ditch your birth control & mama and papa are locking their doors every night from here on out . . .
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intro ✴︎⸝꙳.˖𖥔݁˖⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ( 9.5k ) childhoodbsf!popstar!reader x pre-otw!michael 𝓳ackson ╱ upon taking your first shower together, you and your boyfriend see each other naked for the very first time…
𝟐/𝟑 • 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆: 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ; no need to read in order!
notes ♡⋆°୭ established relationship of 3½ months. tooth-rotting fluff. } romantic shower. perfect excuse to use the wet fro pic ;). religious guilt. shyness: both reader and michael! avoidant!reader. 𝟏𝟖+ brief explicit description of michael’s erection. no smut. sensual breast massage. mikey is so so gentle. experienced!reader n very inexperienced virgin!michael. caught by his brothers, oopsie! so much brotherly teasing. cute nicknames for each other: tinker bell, bambi, mickey n minnie. reader’s name signalled by heart symbol
AUGUST 17, 1978. Hayvenhurst, Encino…
Four weeks had passed since that night in Studio 54, where Michael had finally offered to hear you out on your valid criticisms of his mother's religion, its strict morals ingrained into his psyche after all these years.
Your criticisms were mostly influenced by the strict stance of the Jehovah’s Witnesses on condemning sexual intercourse outside of wedlock. You'd felt a little awkward and over-imposing at the time, but thankfully he eventually grew to understand, and promised you that he would think deeply about what he'd been forcing from himself for so long. Before the two of you had started dating in the spring, he had never before struggled all that much with his refusal to have sex, because even if one was to remove the orthodox religious aspect out of the equation, Michael was inherently somebody who would only make love to a lady he had a true emotional connection with. And so, since he had spent forever yearning for only you—while making a futile effort to distract himself with dates and sweet kisses with other girls because you 'clearly' never felt the same way—it was only now that he actually had a real, viable opportunity to lose his virginity.
He'd been struggling so much with his restrained arousal since you'd began your romantic relationship together, because he was in a constant battle between the needs born of his heart and his lower body, and the rules he was supposed to abide by. It had been that hot summer night in July, under disco lights and smothered in your lipstick kisses, that he had finally declared with true honesty that he would at least try to look at this whole sex thing a little differently. For Michael, it wasn't even only about religion and his treatment of lovemaking as a sacred act—it was also that he faced quite a degree of childhood trauma that he didn't at all understand. Throughout his formative years and into his adolescence, he had seen only the worst of the act—loveless groupie hook-ups, promiscuous women receiving hurls of abuse in the strip clubs he was forced to perform at; and worst of all, the unmistakable, incredibly uncomfortable sounds of his older brothers, and even his own father, giving it rough to a different woman every night.
As a young child, Michael had been deeply disturbed; by not only the sounds and the reality of it happening right beside him, but also by the sheer disgust that he felt at experiencing how his own flesh and blood treated women so thoughtlessly. They would discard one, only to seek out another the following night, and each time, Michael knew very well that the girls weren't as happy as his brothers were after their one night stand. The girls would act cool and pretend that mindless sex with somebody famous was all they wanted, but Michael would notice the sad, passive look in their eyes as they left, having achieved nothing but the sad reality of being used. Most boys could look up to the older male figures in their lives, but young Michael Jackson would found his own morals as he grew.
The aggressive sex that surrounded him from such an early age had a profoundly deep effect on his psyche. It was all happening too often for a boy so empathetic and sensitive to just brush it off and move on, let alone to be able to easily slip into that sexual world once he became of age.
And then, to make matters worse, as he grew older he watched his best friend become one of those girls he'd seen his brothers discard. While the opposite of a groupie in your stardom, it was in your naivety as a young singer turning to adulthood that you found yourself falling into the trap of men who couldn't care less about you. Michael despised viewing such a thing from the sidelines, comforting you as you would cry over their behaviour, or even worse—watching helplessly as you walked off with yet another. But you had been chasing dopamine hit after dopamine hit, unaware of that reasoning at the time, but altogether knowing one thing: that you were deeply afraid of a real, gentle relationship.
Sex with those sort of men was easy. It was a quick rush of oxytocin, adrenaline, all those hormones that could easily become warped into tools of self-harm.
And the most ironic thing was that not a single one of those men had ever made you cum. So what was the point, one might ask?
In your older adulthood, you finally understood the answer. Buried in your core, beneath all the avoidance and tension that kept you away from real love, was a genuine, bone-deep craving for such a love. You messed around with men because there was still physical touch involved, even if it was meaningless. There existed the act of lovemaking—although in reality how they treated you always stripped away that romantic term, and was more appropriately described as 'fucking with no strings attached.' Essentially, with those men you could experience small hits of affection from the opposite sex; you could convince yourself that you were 'dating' normally, like everyone else your age did successfully. And with that, you had led yourself under the illusion that you were right to avoid anything more. Gentleness didn't feel right to you, and as you mingled with all these different men, it became increasingly apparent that most likely, a sweet man didn't even exist to begin with.
You believed you were okay with the no strings circumstances you switched between—but often, when you were all alone at night in your bedroom, you would cry yourself to sleep. Even then, without the maturity to make you understand what you truly needed, the reality was that your body had always known. It would break down, sending you warning signs that you were continually heading in the wrong direction, although you never listened.
And you were so far gone, so beyond distanced from logic, that you weren't paying enough relevant attention to what—or whom—had been beside you the entire time. The gentle lover your unconscious mind dreamed of had laid in wait for so long, in the form of your very best friend, the boy who was always prepared to show you nothing less than the adoration you deserved.
Since your dual love confessions, it had been a whirlwind of a few months. Incredibly difficult though it was in the beginning—where you struggled to adapt to such unfamiliar, attentive affection—over time you'd gradually felt more and more comfortable. Three weeks had gone by since you and Michael had spoken seriously about your future first time together, and the more Michael waited, the more wild the concept seemed—that while you obviously wanted your first night to come quickly, you couldn't fathom the very real fact that sometime soon, you would be making love with your childhood best friend. You’d be taking his virginity.
Every single element of the prospect was incredibly intimate, and you found yourself actually getting quite anxious at the thought of it. They always say that anxiety and excitement are produced as the same feeling, and truly you struggled to discern one from the other in those weeks leading up to the first night.
It also didn't help that Michael wouldn't give any hints as to when this night would be, but you understood how difficult this was for him, and you would by no means wish to rush him. You were to be unlike how you carelessly behaved previously, where while drunk you had more than once ended up practically begging him to give up everything he believed in and take you right then and there.
Indeed there had been no hints from Michael—not until the week before the intimacy would finally occur, when he suddenly approached you with something that was secretly way more anxiety-inducing than it should've been for a suggestion so romantic. Such a suggestion, then, was Michael's request that you might both take a shower together for the first time.
Your mouth had opened slightly in surprise, and Michael had then started speaking quite quickly, evidently shy of his own idea.
"Uh, I just think it would be... y'know, a good way for us to, um," he looked down at his feet, shuffling his weight, "break the ice a lil bit? 'Cause we've never seen each other—uh—well, naked."
He kind of whispered that last word, so crude in Michael's innocent manner, and you giggled. You deliberately maintained an outward feigning of normalcy as you responded, but inside your heart was beating incredibly fast, and suddenly you had slight heartburn. Taking a shower together? In your opinion, that was even more intimate than the lovemaking Michael was building up to. At least he was finally building up to it, but now the closer you got to going all the way with your boyfriend, the more your emotions attacked you. For you, sex had always been erotic escapism, something that was done quickly and, despite its inherent intimacy, actually didn't hold within it anything intimate at all.
But you knew what Michael was like. Even before you'd started dating you could've guessed, and these last few months had shown you just how deeply serious he was when it came to taking care of his girl. He was a hopeless romantic, and in the beginning that was awful for you—it all felt so strange and not something you deserved to experience, until finally you began to fully let him in. He was initially so shy with every new step he took to show you his love, yet shyness never stopped him from performing such displays of deep affection.
But now you had been requested to do the most romantic, the most private and intimate thing of all—and even in your sudden timidity, there was no way you could say no. This was how Michael liked to do things, and the butterflies in your stomach were an explicit sign of just how much you did in fact want to experience an adorable, romantic shower with him—nothing sexual intended, just two young adults approaching what was foreign.
So, a few days later, Michael’s en-suite was where you found yourself, preparing to undress on a sweet summer’s evening, after a long day of bathing in the sun.
"Um, I'm just gonna..." Michael began, as he awkwardly gestured how he was about to face the wall and slip out of his boxers.
"Mhm, I'll, um—yeah," you mumbled back, cringing at yourself as you turned the opposite way and rid yourself of your bra and panties.
And then you were under the running water as quickly as possible, so nervous that you desperately wanted this beginning part to be over and done with. You faced the showerhead as Michael stepped in behind you, and at the mere sound of his feet hitting the tile, your breath hitched.
Now you were both standing there, fully nude, in the most intimate situation you believed there was. You didn't like that you had your back turned—it felt rude and dismissive, because you knew Michael wanted to look at you—but you thought you might faint if you turned around.
"Hi," Michael whispered, slowly coming up right behind you, though with enough distance to ensure that a specific something of his didn't touch a sensitive something of yours.
You felt his long, cosy arms slide around your waist, followed by a soft kiss to your shoulder. You arched your head back, exposing your neck properly to the scalding heat of the water, and you placed a shaky hand over your boyfriend's, where his rested at your hip.
"Hi," you whispered back, smiling with so much fluster that Michael couldn't believe had adorned your face. He could see your side profile from his height and his proximity, and he grinned.
"Why you all shy, huh?" He began to pepper your cheek in kisses, and effortlessly tilted your head by your jaw to bring your lips to his.
All you could do was giggle into his kiss. "’m not shy," you pouted, finally turning your whole body to directly face him, as Michael carefully detached his arms from you. You didn’t want him to know of your anxiety.
As he took you in, Michael's mouth dropped open instantly—and just as quickly did he shut it, in his embarrassment at how visibly he'd folded. "Oh, mama..."
"Mikey," you laughed, running your hand up and down his arm—outwardly as a way to soothe him, but truthfully as a way of using his touch to soothe yourself. You really did feel a little lightheaded now, and you were perfectly hydrated and nourished, perfectly used to a blazing hot shower; so the only perpetrator was your hormones.
You had to be the luckiest girl in the world. This man—this beautiful, smiling, handsome man, in his barest form before you—was the man who would soon make love to you. You would guide him through it, bring him into this world he'd been so scared to enter, and upon crossing that threshold, you would feel the utmost content—not just for the finally having had sex, but for the very truth that you had been the one to make him feel comfortable enough to change his mind. The boy who'd been so traumatised, so careful and so specific about who he gave his heart and his body to... That boy had chosen you.
And the most beautiful, the most emotionally poetic thing of all, lay in the romanticism of how this year would see you both guide each other into unfamiliar, uncomfortable worlds. You had already helped to dissect and unravel Michael's religious guilt and past sex-adjacent experiences, and you would continue to do so—you would continue to reassure him that passion between man and woman was just human nature, that there was no sense in a manmade religion determining the act of out-of-wedlock lovemaking as a sin.
And then, parallel to your patience with him, was Michael's own unwavering patience in his endeavours to break down your hard-built walls. Where his unfamiliarity was with sex, yours was with the non-sexual arena of a relationship—the intimacy of soft words, gentle touch, protective embraces and hand-holding. Everything that Michael did with ease, everything that he insisted you deserved, he didn't force onto you, but he gradually guided you into, attentive to the cognitive dissonance between your mind and your soul.
Your mind had for so long shut out the craving for romantic love that belonged to your traumatised heart. In his tenderness, Michael was slowly stitching up the organ's tears, and bringing you into the territory of soft love.
So lost in your thoughts as you looked up into his gleaming dark doe eyes, his pretty lashes already wet to compliment the shine of the orbs, you almost missed what he was saying to you.
"Y' so beautiful," Michael whispered, overcome with emotion, in disbelief at the sight of you and at how this day had somehow been made true. His everlong dream, second to the one where he would surrender himself to you completely. "So magical, baby..."
You bit your lip, holding the back of your neck anxiously with a flustered smile. "Um... you look really good too."
Months ago you'd been made aware of how long he'd been in love with you, but you could've never imagined the extent of his feelings. As he looked at you now, in your purest form, an embodiment of ethereality, he couldn't believe his eyes. His life was complete.
That evening, Michael's en-suite had consisted of two flustered young adults with hearts that were in competition for beats per minute, and two pairs of eyes that erratically darted around at everything but the most intimate parts that lay before them.
It was very clear to you that Michael was making a seriously difficult effort not to stare at your breasts, and you found it very amusing, so you acknowledged the elephant in the room.
"Mikey. The more you try hard not to look at my boobs, the more you're just gonna wanna stare at 'em. 's fine, seriously." You held his hand, standing closer now, beautiful and entirely bare.
"Oh—yeah, but I feel like 'm objectifyin' y', Minnie."
Since you were kids and had sat down to watch Mickey Mouse together for the first time, you had declared the two of you as Mickey and Minnie—especially because Mikey sounded so much like the name of the cartoon mouse—so from then on the names had stuck, used on and off as playful pet names, now even cuter in your romance.
"You're objectifyin’ me by just lookin' at me?" You smiled in amusement. "You're my boyfriend, Michael—I sure would hope you enjoy lookin' at my naked body."
Michael squinted anxiously, looking to the ceiling and then down again. "I know, it's just... this is all so new to me."
"I know that," you whispered, taking hold of his other hand now too and stepping again closer, looking into the eyes that still continued to dart around. "Don't get me wrong—my heart is beating out of my chest right now. I'm so nervous, baby. I didn't say anythin' before but... I really am."
"Why?" Michael furrowed his brows, a flash of worry crossing his mind that perhaps he'd overstepped the mark and made you uncomfortable. "You're... way more experienced than me. I've never even been naked in front of a girl before. Or… seen a girl naked.”
You raised a brow, knowing he most definitely had seen a girl naked, although not in real life of course.
“Um, except in Playboy,” he corrected quickly. “I have… seen naked girls in Playboy.”
“Oh, I know you have,” you said humorously.
“But only before we started dating,” Michael added. “I would never look at those while with you.”
“Shh, baby,” you chuckled, holding his arm. “I know you wouldn’t.”
He started to loosen up again, taking a long exhale as he looked at you with a small smile. You could see the excitement and content in his reticent expression.
You, on the other hand, had become entirely reticent. Shyness had overcome you, and while you kept trying to keep it together and conceal the ridiculous way you felt through playfully giving the shy title to Michael, that didn't help steady the beat of your heart. He looked so beautiful under the stream, the coils of his afro slick with water, rivulets falling from the tips. And this was your very first time seeing him fully naked, therefore it wasn't just the scary intimacy of the shower that was on your mind, but it was the mere sight of your boyfriend, too. You took in his long limbs, the physique that always made him look so tall despite standing at only 5'9; the wet droplets scattered over his broad shoulders and chest, the way his collarbone peeked just below a hickey you'd given him yesterday. To ensure nobody found out, he'd had to wear a sweater with a high neckline all day—in the ninety degree heat of an LA summer.
You didn't dare look down at his lower half. For a woman who had been so desperate to have sex with her man, and for a woman who had literally just been critiquing said man for being hesitant to look at her own genitals, you couldn't bring yourself to face Michael in that way. While he was shy in regard to sexual encounters and sexual thoughts, you were shy of the opposite—of romantic, soft encounters that asked for nothing more than love and care. Here you were, stood right in front of the man who just wanted to wash the body of the woman he admired, and wouldn't be desperate to hoist you up the shower wall and fuck you like any other man would. Every man besides Michael would take you into his shower for only one thing—and unfortunately, it was only that genre you were prepared for.
As crazy as it sounded, Michael having an erection would've actually made this easier. It would turn the moment into something you could tease him over, something that might steer you away from the very pressing truth that there was a man in your life who truly just wanted to admire you and take good care of you. Because Michael wasn’t looking at your naked body right now to fulfil a sexual desire—he was consuming the image to appreciate you at your most vulnerable, where you had laid your entire soul out bare to him.
In your peripheral, you could see that Michael was indeed soft down there, and while you doubted that it would last, the glimpse made your head spin. He was so big. Surely he couldn't be a grower...
You shook your head quickly, snapping yourself out of the thought as you stared absentmindedly at that dark bite on his neck.
He clicked his fingers in front of you, and cradled your cheek with his warm hand to bring your gaze to his. "Earth to my Tinker Bell."
Long before you'd become a couple, cute pet names had been the norm, but ever since your dynamic had entered the realm of romance, you found your heart fluttering with every usage of those names. Michael honestly hardly ever referred to you by your real name.
"Oh, 'm sorry," you chuckled, clearly looking bashful now. This wasn't like you, and Michael was confused.
"You're not uncomfortable, right?" he asked gently, while turning to take his soap from a shelf. He began to lather his upper half in it while you talked.
God, there was something about such a mundane action that just looked so insanely sexy on him.
Again, you blinked yourself out of the aroused thoughts, remembering that if you really wanted to succeed in a non-avoidant relationship, you would have to accept the circumstances that were merely innocent. Of course, Michael had primal, sexual urges—lots of them, to be clear—but he was also capable of being with you in an exclusively delicate, tender way too, even while you were both completely naked. The inexperienced individual was usually so uncontrollably horny, unable to do much about the appearance of an erection at the slightest touch, but Michael had worked out that thankfully, he could prevent the rigid enlargement between his thighs outside of makeouts. He assumed that the reasoning was probably because of the religious and sexual trauma that had messed around with his arousal and understanding of his own body for so long.
"What?" Your voice was a little high and anxious in response to Michael's question, as he now scrubbed over his shoulders. "No, you never make me uncomfortable. Why would I be uncomfortable?"
"Guess 'm just confused ‘cause you're all shy, y' won't look at me properly, even though it's not your first time like it is mine. You've already been naked in front of someone else before."
Now there was a slightly sad expression on your boyfriend's pretty face, because he could tell that there were lies in your words. You took a deep breath.
"Michael."
"Mhm?" He still looked melancholy as his eyes met yours, silently regretting putting you in this situation. He felt as though he'd forced you—and that was his worst nightmare.
"Yes. I do feel a little uncomfortable. Or... I think anxious is a better word. This isn't about you—I would never feel discomfort in your presence." You began to explain.
Michael nodded slowly, still confused. He turned to face the other way while he continued to wash himself, and your eyes widened at the sudden sight of his back profile, before again you collected yourself.
"So, basically... um, yeah, I'm experienced in sex... but not, y'know... real intimacy like this. With this sort of thing, I'm just as much of an amateur as you are."
He turned back, his sad eyes softening into those of compassion and understanding.
"You know I get anxious with the more romantic stuff—just because I'm not used to it. It's not that I don't want to do these things with you—of course I do... It's just that in order to do them, I have to push myself out of my comfort zone, and something like this is a hard thing to push through."
"Honey, 'm sorry," Michael whispered, setting the soap down and stepping forward. "When you put it like that, I understand. I guess I was just gettin' caught up in makin' myself feel more comfortable before we make love, that I didn't view this as one of those things that would give you anxiety. 'm so sorry."
"Baby, it's okay," you smiled, interlocking both hands with his, and swinging them softly. "I'm not having a panic attack or anythin'—I want to be in here with you, and I love how romantic you are. It's just a lil bit of anxiety, and honestly I'm already feelin' it kinda slippin' away the more we stand here."
"Yeah?" His eyes lit up marginally, and he squeezed your hands to soothe you.
"It's just..." you started to giggle, covering your face. "Oh my god, this is so silly but every time you look at me I feel dizzy. I thought I'd got over this, but right here I feel the same as I did when I kept gettin' all shy after we first started dating."
Michael laughed, cupping your cheek. "I never stopped feelin' that way myself. I just manage it a little better now."
"Ugh, this is so... Wow, I'm here telling you that you should be looking at my boobs without restraint, but I can hardly look at you."
You continued to giggle shyly, while Michael was very amused, and emotionally moved by how wildly flustered he'd made you.
"Exactly, don't be a hypocrite now, baby," he grinned, using one finger to your chin to direct your eyesight up at him. "Look at me."
"Noooo," you laughed, playfully shutting your eyes, but in an instant Michael had you held tightly against his chest, your face mushed against his pectoral muscles. You squealed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"Well, now you can't see me," you murmured airily, against his sandalwood-scented skin.
So Michael readjusted your head, cradling your face in a position that now allowed you to both snuggle into him and be seen by his higher view. "There. That's better," he smiled.
You hummed—the vibration hitting Michael's grateful nervous system—and you felt a strange glimpse of real calm now, as if finally experiencing what normal women felt like when their man would cuddle them in the shower. You tightened your arms around his neck, kissed his chest twice, and in turn Michael tightened his hold around your waist, stroking your hair. He rocked you in a slow sway for a period longer than you ever expected to be comfortable with in such silent intimacy, but it grew to be the most beautiful feeling ever, and you found yourself never wanting to leave it. He kept kissing atop your head, and then giving small pecks to your nose because he knew you'd instinctively smile.
After a few minutes, he finally spoke. "Are you just restin' on me because y' don't want me to look at y'?"
"No," you hummed into his neck, before pulling back slowly, and taking your hands in his again. Now that you were more relaxed, your clingy side was becoming further apparent. "I feel better now. A lot better."
"Mm?"
"I think I needed that," you admitted, referring to the standing cuddle. "You always know what I need, even when I don't know myself."
Michael's chest ached. Without sounding too egotistical, that was true—he did have some magical superpower that allowed him to help you in the situations in which you felt the most vulnerable. Even while he'd made the mistake of misunderstanding your hesitation tonight, it was upon recognising your feelings that he immediately knew what to do to make you relax.
"I'm glad, baby," he smiled, picking up your interlocked hands to kiss your knuckles. "Always want y' to be comfortable."
You suddenly felt like you were about to cry, but you turned quickly, blinked back the tears hard, and turned back. "Got somethin' in my eye," you laughed.
"An eyelash? Y'want me to get it out for y'?" Michael was already disconnecting one of your hands to reach out to help, but you stopped him.
"No, I don't know what it was but it's gone now. Wait, what are those?"
You quickly changed the subject, because the shelves behind Michael had been brought to your attention a moment ago. On the top were two extra bars of soap, decorated in a wrapper that told how they were most definitely not intended for a man's use, beside two bottles of what appeared to be body oil? Also clearly not for a man, even if your boyfriend did tend to enjoy more feminine notes when it came to cologne.
"Oh," Michael blushed, turning to look at the shelf. "Um, I bought these for you. So y' have 'em whenever you’re at mine and y' wanna shower. I didn't know which scent to get you of both the soap and the oil, so I got two different ones for each."
"Michael... Thank you, baby." You stood on your tiptoes and kissed him softly, before going over to the products and examining them.
There sat two pale French-milled bars of soap by Hermès, unopened in their decorative paper wrappers, in a porcelain dish beside two cut-glass bottles of body oil. One bar was delicately scented with lavender, the other with verbena and rose. Then, the first bottle of body oil was titled as a luxurious blend of gardenia and jasmine by Estée Lauder, while the second carried the fragrance of orange blossom softened with bergamot, by Guerlain.
"Wow, honey, you didn't have to..."
"Y' needed some soap, Minnie. 'm not makin' y' use mine," he answered, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind again, and leaning his chin on the crown of your head as you held the products.
"And the oil?" you questioned in amusement. "You wanna pamper me? Is that what you had planned, baby boy?"
"Maybe..."
"Michael Jackson," you began playfully, while turning around out of his hold with the lavender bar in your hand. "You lured me in here so that you could rub oil all over my naked body?"
"Don't put it like that..." he grinned bashfully, covering his face with one hand.
You instantly moved the hand away, giggling. "Don't worry, 'm not judgin' you, Mickey."
"Okay, then yeah, I wanna... um... do that. But not today, I don't think I'll, uh—be able to handle it without accidentally, y'know..." He gestured his gaze downward to his crotch.
You nodded slowly, a happy grin on your face. But then you squinted, having caught another glimpse of his soft dick in your peripheral, and you decided not to second guess your next question. After all, Michael was your long-time best friend and your boyfriend, no matter how shy you sometimes felt with each other.
"Baby… I have a question.”
“Yes?”
“Are you a grower?"
"Am I a what? What's a grower?"
You rolled your eyes with a sigh, then started laughing awkwardly. "Mikey, don't make me explain. I really can't do this while we're both stood here naked."
"Well, I don't know what y' mean, so I'm askin'. How do I answer the question otherwise?"
You continued to laugh through your words. "Ugh, I'm talkin' about your dick, silly!" You flicked his forehead. "I'm just gonna say it how it is—you're big as hell down there considerin' you're soft, so I'm askin' if it grows much more when you're hard."
"Oh, um..." Michael's eyes widened upon understanding, but he didn't laugh with you. He actually looked quite anxious, because he'd just identified a potential problem. "Yeah, quite a lot more, actually. Is that gonna be an issue? When we..."
You gasped, followed by another giggle. "Just a slight issue. But you're not taking my virginity, so you're not gonna tear me apart, don't worry."
Michael furrowed his brows, looking seriously worried that you were being too naive and that he just might tear you apart with his size.
"Michael, you can't be that big."
"Baby, let's just end this conversation. I don't know how big I am compared to other guys."
"Okay, I guess I'll find out soon," you laughed, squeezing his cheek. You were entirely relaxed now. "Unless you back out because you're scared you're gonna break me?"
Michael rolled his eyes, fighting an adorable smile. "It's just... The last thing I wanna do is hurt y'."
"I know, Mikey, and we're gonna go so slow—I'll teach you all the very important parts of foreplay... We'll be fine."
His eyes lit up at the mention of foreplay—he'd heard his brothers talk a lot about it, notably how satisfying it felt to make a woman cum with just tongue or fingers or both, and he'd been too nervous to ask about the details.
You paused to laugh at his expression, then suggested an additional component. "You can even get some lube for us, if you want?"
"Uh, yeah, okay."
"You're so cute," you giggled, reaching up to pet the wet frizz of his afro and squeezing his cheek again. "It's gonna be fine, baby."
"Stop it," he rolled his eyes with a smile; and then, with a hand on the back of his neck, you pulled your sweetheart down into a sweet, slow kiss.
When Michael pulled away to talk, he had his hands settled at your hips, and he looked a little nervous again.
"Honey, uh... would it be okay if I washed you?"
At his request, your eyes widened, but of course Michael would want a romantic evening shower to involve him doing everything for you, even if it was true that you hadn't even so much as grazed each other's nudity sensually before.
"Um, yeah, of course you can," you whispered, becoming a little shy again but without possession of the anxiety you'd carried in there earlier.
Michael nodded, then hesitated for a moment before taking the bar of soap from your hands, and picking up a fresh cotton washcloth.
Wordlessly, he began rubbing the product up and down your arms, the least anxiety-inducing part of your body to begin with, but all he could think about was how he would very soon be initiating touching the body part that sat just outside of his peripheral. Your breasts, what he'd yearned to touch for so long... And impossibly, he now had his very first opportunity.
You started to laugh again, because he had this adorable concentrated expression on his face, and because his wet fro was adorable enough in itself. The scrubbing also tickled slightly.
"Hm?" Michael looked at you, brows raised.
"I know I said this already, but you're so cute."
"Oh," he smiled bashfully, looking down at your arm again.
"Baby," you whispered, taking hold of his wrist. "Don't y' think you've washed my arms enough already? They're not that long, y'know."
Michael bit his lip, finally pausing, but still looking elsewhere from your face. "Uh, yeah, probably."
Truth be told, he was insanely nervous to touch your breasts for the first time. So much so, that he even began to share your concern from earlier. This was too intimate.
Michael never drank alcohol, but a sudden thought occurred in his mind that perhaps he should've taken a few shots before this shower.
"Mikey."
"Yes."
"Look at me," you laughed, reaching up to drag his jaw.
"I'm lookin'," he muttered, with a pout like a child.
"What's goin' on? Why have you stopped completely?"
No way could he say aloud that he, at the grown age of nineteen (to be twenty in two weeks) was scared to touch his own girlfriend's breasts. 'Scared' was perhaps a silly word to use, because one couldn't be scared of something they desperately craved. Rather, his inexperience was crushing him, overwhelming his free will and thereby rendering him unable to proceed with the next action in a normal, casual way.
And so, indeed unable to admit what was plaguing him, he shook his head and grinned. "Was nothin'. I just thought I heard somebody, 's all."
"Alright," you chuckled, although you felt a hint of a lie on his part.
You brushed it off. It was understandable if he was nervous.
Now he moved your hair out of the way and scrubbed gently over your neck, up to your jaw, making you gasp as he held your nape in place. His heart pounded as he did so, both with the thrill of hearing you gasp that way, and with the anxiety about what he would be doing next.
Finally, he lowered his hands, dragging the cloth over your upper chest, just below your collarbone, before setting it aside. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes tight for a moment, before relieving his hesitation and opening them.
You looked up at him, wet lashes fluttering, heart racing too. He wouldn't touch you like all the rest—you knew that for certain. He was going to touch you so tenderly; with so much care, so much reverence, and—
"Oh..." you involuntarily moaned, head rolling back slowly. Both of Michael's big hands had met your aching breasts, kneading carefully over the tissue. He eagerly lathered your chest in soap, lip between his teeth as his dilated pupils relished in the sight before him. You were breathtaking, and he couldn't believe he somehow had you like this. If he hadn't been so nervous and hesitant, he could've had you this way all the way back in spring. Or even earlier, if he hadn't taken so long to confess his love.
"This okay, mama?" he whispered, kissing your cheek, and then your lips.
Your eyes rolled back as you took another deep breath, reaching a hand up to his shoulder to steady yourself. How was he real? Michael took so much care, paid so much attention, and then had the nerve to kiss you twice, and ask if he was doing well enough. How quintessentially him. He never had any idea how innately talented he was at absolutely everything.
Because in that moment, as your supposedly 'shy' boyfriend squeezed and kneaded, you had quite literally ascended to cloud nine. Incredibly, Michael knew exactly what to do with what he had zero experience in. He was working the tissue in a way no man had before. All men loved breasts—that was a given—so Michael's infatuation with yours had been expected, but the men of your past did something very different. They would grab roughly, hold onto them tight for their own pleasure, without an ounce of tenderness. While here was Michael, doing something so particular, you wondered how on earth he was a virgin. If you hadn't known him on such a deep level, you would've chastised him for lying.
"Mikey..."
You didn't have to explicitly state a confirmation of how this was very much way more than okay. Your soft whines said enough, and they ran through Michael's body like the first hit of a hard drug.
Repetitively, he would run the palm of his hand along one breast, dragging the smooth skin over your erect nipple, and to the other breast he would provide a very slow massage, squeezing passionately as his thumb rubbed side-to-side and in circles over that nipple too.
You hardly looked down, too lost in one of the most pleasurable sensations you'd ever experienced—and you hadn't even reached the sex yet!—but whenever you did, your head would instinctively roll back again. His hands you knew were huge, except now they looked like the sexiest assets to inhabit the earth, you the lucky lady who had the digits sprawled all over your chest. And how tender he was...
All your life you'd done everything erratically, switching from one boy to the next in the hope that his pleasure might give you what you needed. But you had been so wrong—so naive and disconnected from what your safety hormone was really begging for. Beneath everything you sought that only harmed you, was a craving for this very touch.
Michael had a tendency to switch between shy and dominant. While you'd had only heated makeouts and dry-humping sessions so far, it excited you that there was a high likelihood he would behave the same way during sex itself. He would be shy during the build-up, but once he was settled, it was like all his inhibitions were hazy, and the only thing he could focus on was you—consuming you, and pleasuring you. That was the reason why you often found yourselves making out in public, because you were equally addicted to each other, and Michael's shyness appeared to dissipate entirely once he became lost in your body.
Under the fierce shower stream, he sure was taking his sweet time. While just previously he had been too nervous to even touch the area, now he was reluctant to pull away from it.
But there was a problem. So lost in his provision of pleasure, so immersed in your sexuality and your angelic hums with each slight alteration of his movements, indeed Michael Jackson was getting a boner. The love he had for you, the arousal coursing through his veins, had rushed to his nether region, the blood flowing rapidly, much more insistent than he would've liked.
Michael knew he could've kept this shower at mere innocent romance, and when he initiated washing you, he hadn't intended to give you a full on massage. Except, that was what had ended up happening—against his will, he believed, because he felt that his body was moving via his arousal and not his logical mind. He was supposed to save everything until the first night—partly because that was just how he had wanted it to be, and also because the last thing he wanted was to get hard in the shower right in front of you, unable to conceal an inch of it in his nudity.
He was surprised you hadn't noticed, but then again you had your eyes closed during ninety percent of the massage. If this had occurred a few minutes ago, however, you would've seen instantly. Where once his cock had hung limp, it was now risen—the tip flushed mauve, thick veins running up and down the erect length. He wasn't fully hard yet, but he really was getting there, and the longer he touched you and stared at your beautiful chest, the worse this situation would become.
Quickly, he came up with an idea. He would guide you to turn around, so that he could wash your back. Perfect.
"Turn, honey. Lemme do your back," he whispered, cupping your cheek to kiss you again, and then he gently spun you 180 degrees, at which you giggled.
You were stunned by what he'd just given you. "Michael, what on earth was that?"
He gathered more soap and began spreading it from the nape of your neck and downward, scrubbing as he spoke. "Um," he chuckled, "I don't know, but it looked like you were enjoyin' it?"
"Quit this gimmick—you know exactly what you're doin', sir. Have you been stealing porn from your brothers?"
Michael laughed louder. "Nothin’ but Playboy, I promise. 's all me—I haven't learned nothin' from nowhere."
"Ugh, you're incredible, baby. No one's ever touched me in that way before. Like, I've never had anythin' close to that, I swear." You sighed in disbelief and leaned back into his chest, wanting him to cradle you in a hold.
Michael was astonished by your reaction. Sure, it was clear you'd been enjoying yourself, but you'd been with several men before. How had he, in all his inexperience, managed to win such an achievement on first try?
When you leaned back into him, he took hold of you as you wished, now done with washing the plane of your back. He kissed your shoulder, but then froze in his place as he remembered his erection, and so gently pushed you forward again.
"What are you doin'? I wanna cuddle," you protested, about to turn around, but he stopped you with a hand on your hip.
"Not done yet, mama."
You sighed in irritation, but then felt the thrill of realising he was about to wash the lower half of your back profile. With a now content sigh, you let him continue.
Past your waist, Michael washed over the curve of your ass, lip bitten tight between his teeth as he stared at the image before him. He squinted in his sexual frustration, and you never would've guessed—to you he felt so entirely in control, those gorgeous hands running over where you so desperately wished he would just stop being such a gentleman and squeeze, but he didn't want you to think that he was like all the others, that he really had lured you in here just to touch you that way.
That was the last thing you would've ever believed of him, but Michael second-guessed a lot of things.
All of a sudden, he found himself speaking with sincerity. "Uh, y'know, baby, I'm sorry that we're waitin' so long to... um, have sex. 'Cause it's been nearly a whole month since I told y' I'd think about it. I guess this is kind of like me warmin' up to doin' it? I promise I won't make y' wait much longer."
"No, honey, don't apologise," you reassured, reaching back to hold his arm. "There's no pressure at all. We do it when you're ready."
Michael smiled to himself, and leaned down to kiss your shoulder again several times.
"And," you added happily, "I'm very impressed with the glimpse you've given me today. Well, in all fairness, it was really a lot more than a glimpse."
He chuckled, crouching down further now to wash over the backs of your legs. He pressed a kiss to your left hip, and to the skin just above your ass, again producing a pleasant gasp from your throat.
But just as he was about to consider what he might do next, about the problem concerning his own lower half, there was a loud, insistent knock at the door.
"Michael!" one of his brothers called. You didn't know which one it was, because the loud downpour of water above your head was quietening outdoor sound.
"Oh God..." Michael groaned under his breath from behind you, standing up from where he'd been crouched.
"Mike, y' in there? I can hear the water runnin'!"
"Is that Marlon?" you whispered in amusement, still facing away, but you were a little anxious that he might walk in and find out you were in there. The glass was fogged, but it was more than clear that two people stood behind it. Michael would lose his mind if anyone saw, because he knew that Katherine would lose her mind.
"Yeah," Michael muttered back, worrying now. Then he called to his brother, because he couldn't ignore him when it was very obvious he was in the shower. "Hey, yeah, 'm in here!"
"Alright man, y' still got my Afro Sheen?"
Oh no. Michael had borrowed the product off of Marlon earlier on—having run out of his own bottle—and now Marlon had a date, and needed it back immediately.
"Yeah, I can give it back to y' when 'm done!" Michael shouted, trying to disguise the unease in his chest. "See if anyone else has any, maybe?"
"Nah, 's cool, man, I can just come in right now and get it myself!"
You both heard the twist of the door handle, still facing away from each other but with expressions that were parallel, a mirror image in their horror.
"No, don't come in!" Michael yelled, much too defensively, but Marlon obliged, because living with so many brothers meant that you really could witness something you would regret if you weren't careful. That was never the case with Michael though, because he was always so innocent, therefore his anxious yell left Marlon now incredibly suspicious.
"Alright man, Jesus! But what the hell are y' doin' in there? Y' jerkin' off or somethin'?"
You tried not to laugh at that, but Michael didn't find it funny, scared that his mother might hear if she happened to be upstairs. She wasn't, but he couldn't be sure.
"Uh, no—no. I would never do that."
"Whatever, bro," Marlon chuckled. "What is it then? You got a girl in there? Oh shit, that's what it is, huh? Lil Mikey's got a lady in his shower..."
It hadn't taken very long for Marlon to work that one out, given the fact that Michael had literally no other excuse for why his brother couldn't quickly come in and out of the bathroom.
"Michael, this is so embarrassing..." you whispered. "What if he walks in?"
"He won't."
"Michael!" Marlon called again, with more frustration in his tone this time.
"What, Marlon?!"
"Tell me—am I right—do y' have a girl in there?"
What followed was more extremely telling silence, with the sound of the shower's persistent cascade. The quiet spoke for itself.
So Marlon continued. He was loving this, because he never thought he'd see the day that his younger brother would begin to break the rules. "If you don't have a girl wit y', then you'll let me in, but y' not lettin' me in, so that proves it!"
Again, more silence, while Michael groaned under the noise of the hot water.
"No way..." Marlon began to laugh again. "It's [♥︎] in there wit y', ain't it?" Then he raised his voice louder. "Jackie! Tito! Get over here!"
"I'm so sorry," Michael whispered from behind you, although you just found it all very amusing. As long as nobody actually saw you naked in the shower, this was some light entertainment to add to the romantic evening.
But Michael was stressed out, and for more reasons than just that he'd been caught. He had wanted to make this evening as romantic as possible, already nervous enough without the intrusion of his stupid brothers. In retrospect, he really should've done this with you at your place instead of the chaos that was Hayvenhurst, but he didn't want to impose, considering he was the man, and therefore the one who was supposed to initiate all these milestones in your relationship.
"What's gon' on, man? We're 'bout to go out." Jackie was now outside the door too, responding to Marlon's call. Michael's blood was boiling.
"Nah, listen to this." Marlon paused, then couldn't help but laugh again in his shock, so excited to deliver the live news. "Mikey's got a girl in his shower."
"Not [♥︎]?!” Tito asked, in disbelief. Surely his brother had to be kidding.
But for once, he wasn't. "Mhm. 'm sure of it. He won't let me in, 'n he keeps goin' all quiet whenever I ask."
Dumbfounded by the revelation, Jackie called into the bathroom. "Michael, y' can't be for real, man? When mother finds out?"
Each one of his brothers were hypocrites, because they all did whatever they liked, no matter what their mother believed in. It was just that Katherine was most protective over Michael, and Michael was the most compliant with her requests. He had vowed with sincerity never to do anything sexual with a woman until he married.
"God, shut up, Jackie!" Michael snapped. "All of y' need to mind y' own business. And don't y' even dare tell mother. She'll kill me. We're not even doin' nothin' in here—we're just takin' a shower. Washin' ourselves, 'n..."
"And each other?" Tito interrupted through laughter, which the others joined in with.
You'd found it funny until you heard how stressed Michael was, because he really was such a sensitive soul who'd wanted an entirely private night with his girl.
Although, unbeknownst to you, the one thing he had to thank his brothers for was a distraction from his erection. His cock was softening now, and as you turned back to face him, it was like nothing had happened down there at all.
Now, Jermaine had walked up to the door. "What's goin' on?"
"Michael's havin' sex in the shower," Marlon announced.
"Not even kiddin' neither," Jackie added.
"What? With [♥︎]?!" Jermaine asked, in the same shock the others had expressed.
"No, 'm not!" Michael yelled again. "Jesus, just—"
"Michael, why else would you be in the shower with your girl?!" Jackie asked.
"None of y' business!"
From down the hall, a twelve-year-old Janet Jackson had peeked her head out of her bedroom door. "Why are y'all shoutin'?"
"Oh, 's nothin', Jan! You go'n!" Tito called back to her.
"Is Michael doin' somethin' bad?"
"No, I just want my Sheen back!" Marlon shouted.
"Shut up, mother's gonna hear!" Michael reminded. "Is she downstairs?"
"Yeah, she's outside, we're fine!"
"Alright, I'll get out of the shower quick, 'n give it to y'. Only if y' promise to leave me alone."
"Leave 'us' alone, y' mean!" Jermaine corrected. "You're not exactly alone in there!"
Out of respect, the boys didn't speak to you directly, and you were very appreciative of that. The Jacksons were like your brothers, and this was definitely not the most comfortable situation for you to be in with them.
"’m sorry, we'll be alone again in a minute," Michael whispered to you, kissing your forehead.
Then he grabbed a towel, and at the side dried his body with it quickly, before wrapping the cotton around his waist and stepping out. He picked up the jar that had been requested, handing it to Marlon through the now scarcely opened door.
Jackie, Tito and Jermaine were already walking off, done with their teasing because they too had girls waiting on them.
"Marlon, 'm so serious, don't tell mother about any of this. Or Joseph, 'cause he'll tell her himself and then he'll—"
"Hey, bro, stop worryin'. Y' know 'm only messin' with y'. Have you guys been sleepin' together, though?"
Michael squinted in confusion. "Yeah, obviously. We have sleepovers all the time."
Marlon laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, man. No—sleepin' together as in... y'know, makin' love."
The younger brother's face dropped. "Oh."
"You ain't done it yet, huh? How long y' been together?"
"Uh, 3 months. We're, um—"
"Mikey!" you called, getting bored in there alone. "Is everyone gone?"
Marlon tapped his shoulder, before dapping him up with a supportive smile. "You go back in there 'n enjoy yourself, Mikey."
Michael smiled, but rolled his eyes at how his brother mocked your nickname for him.
After shutting the door again and taking off his towel, he stepped back into the shower, immediately pulling you flush to his chest. "So, where were we?"
You grinned, pulling your head out of his neck to lock your lips onto his. "Um," you started to giggle, "you were giving me a very sensual massage."
"Very sensual, huh?" He pecked your nose and squeezed your hips.
"Mhm. Latherin' me in all this luxury soap." You sighed happily. "Baby, I love how much thought you put into this. 'm sorry they ruined it for you."
"No, 'm sorry for you, not me," Michael stressed.
"Oh, shut up, Bambi. Honestly, it was funny. They didn't actually see us, so I can laugh it off. I mean, I would definitely be feeling much different had your mother found out, but if you know for sure that they're not gonna tell, then... Let's just resume our paradise." You beamed, wrapping your arms around his neck and feeling over his fro. "Y'know, if you really wanted something totally private, you would've been better off with a hotel suite, baby."
Michael's brows furrowed in concern. "Is that what you would've preferred? I should've—"
"Noooo, shut up—no. Honey, this is more than enough. Let's move on now. I've really enjoyed tonight."
"Yeah?"
The beautiful boy smiled so wide, it physically hurt you.
"It's been perfect," you whispered against his lips, between more kisses. "Even in its imperfections."
You both chuckled, and Michael now cradled your head, guiding you to rest against his chest again, nestled in the crook of his neck.
"I love you," he murmured. "I really think 'm ready to give you all of me."
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