she who reads and watches

The grating bright lights from the studio beamed down on your skin; it felt like you were being cooked alive. There was a ringing in your ears. Your temple is pounding with a searing headache from this interview. In truth, you were nervous. These questions were incredibly intrusive, making you devastatingly uncomfortable. You could only imagine how your husband felt. Most of the questions are targeted towards his recent activities. You despised being here, sitting in this chair while being grilled not only by these harsh stage lights, but also by your interviewer, Barbara Walter. This entire menagerie felt like a circus; you and Michael were put on display. It felt like a scripted performance; none of it felt real. Not only was your skin on fire, but your blood. Boiling from these difficult questions. With each passing moment, your blood pressure rose, and every muscle tensed. That was until you felt the warm and bittersweet touch from your husband. He could pick up on your energy fairly quickly. He felt you needed to keep yourself collected for this trivial interview. His touch felt like a miracle, cooling you off from how hot and pressured you were feeling. He knew you were scared. He could just…sense it. He couldn’t have you scared; journalists can smell fear. 

He made sure not to avert his concentrated gaze from Barbara, or else the attention would be shifted to you. He made sure that you would be spared in this interview. Your brain finally caught up to the conversation after feeling the grounding touch from Michael, taking a breath. Barbara directs a question at you, Michael twisting his torso in his chair, his military jacket and rhinestones making a slight crunching noise from his sudden movement. 

“Are you two intimate? Do you both have separate bedrooms? As you might remember, there were serious rumors of Michael being homosexual in his younger years. Your fans would like for you to truly, put those speculations to rest. What do you say, Mrs. Jackson?”

Michael licks his lips in anticipation of your answer, gently nudging your knee with his own hand. His hand instinctively palmed your thigh as a reminder of his touch. How he would touch you while you two were intimate. Slyly giving you flashbacks. He carefully leaned in, getting ready to speak up before you could, trying to protect your privacy. His light and weightless voice rises above the silence after her question. “Um, Barbara, I don’t remember circling that question. Do you-.. Are you comfortable answering this, Mrs. Jackson?”

“It’s fine, Michael. Well, Barbara, if it is the FANS that would like to know if Michael and I are intimate, I will say this: Michael is a grown man. He loves women…he appreciates women… he respects women. I can assure you that Michael is not a homosexual; he makes love to me regularly. Even if he was, what would it matter? If that is what the FANS would like to know. What we do behind closed doors has nothing to do with his music. So focus on what really matters. Not…that.”

“I can see that you feel very strongly about this. Do you get tired of Michael’s constant controversies?”

You’ve been waiting for this question all day. Ever since you perched yourself in this chair. “Yes, Barbara, Michael and I are very tired. It’s hard because he tries to do so much good for people, donating to charities on his off days, visiting children in hospitals… but it goes unnoticed; only the awful things that the press puts out. It’s tiring.”

Michael shifts his hips in his seat, the sound of his rhinestones crunching, the noise being picked up in his mic that was taped to his chest. He felt satisfied with your answer, a half smile slowly surfacing across his lips while keeping his hand on your thigh. A light squeeze was felt, a deliberate signal for a “well done.” He spoke up once more, turning his torso back into its neutral position, so he could face Barbara. “Exactly. That’s exactly right. It is very tiring.”

“Okay, fair enough. We are about out of time here in the studio today. Michael, is there anything you would like to end tonight off with? Anything you would like to tell your fans? Something for your fans to take away from this interview?”

At the time of this final question, Michael took a quick sip from his glass of now lukewarm water. The water, slightly heated by the harsh and grating lights. He cleared his throat and rubbed the palms of his hands against his knees, preparing for something meaningful and grandiose to say. You would turn your irked gaze back towards Michael. Just the view of his genial exterior made your face soften.

“I-…Yes…I would like to tell my fans to not believe everything you hear…really pay attention to what is in front of you. Or else you’ll miss something very important. And don’t let people convince you that you’re something you’re not. Stay true to yourself.” You would nod as Michael spoke, he always knew just what to say at certain points of pressure. You truly admired how he remained calm even while people were actively trying to attack his character and destroy his reputation. 

“Very insightful. Thank you, Michael and Mrs. Jackson, for your time here today. We here at the studio appreciate you coming down and speaking with us tonight. And thank you, viewers, for watching. I am Barbara Walters, and this was Barbara and the newlyweds. See you next time.”

The cameraman behind the camera signaled to Barbara that the cameras had stopped rolling. She tugged at her skirt, yanking the fabric down as she slowly stood from her chair. To you and Michael, while you two were taking a well-deserved breath, she offered her hand out to both of you. 

“Again, thank you for coming. Thank you both. Hopefully this is not goodbye. I hope to see you both again soon.” You walked right past Barbara, massaging your temple. Michael glanced at you with a nervous smile. He understood why you walked away from her, but he could tell this would be a problem when we both got home.

————————————————————————————————————————————

The car ride home was long. Painful. Painful because of the searing headache you were still experiencing. The soft music in the background was the only thing filling the silence between you and Michael. That, and the low rumbling of the car against the pavement. Both of you still needed time to decompress and wrap your heads around that shitstorm of an interview. You were sitting across from Michael in the limousine, resting your head in your hands. He’s never seen you so zoned out. So focused on your own thoughts. He could tell you needed some time to be reserved. You both entered the home, still on edge. The air was thick between you two. Heavy. You needed a stiff drink and an Advil just to get rid of this agonizing strain on your skull. Michael followed behind you, quietly, seemingly needing you near so he could decompress.

He took off his military-esque jacket, which he wore as a way to promote his HIStory tour that was at its final stretch, throwing it on the nearest couch. You had already sauntered yourself to the kitchen, your body sluggishly resting itself against the counter. A brief remedy for your prolonged exhaustion. You poured yourself some dark liquor, as that was all Michael had in the cabinet. His brothers drinking any other possible choice in his selection. You opened the container of Advil, screwing open the top and shaking out the remaining two pills that were left. You allowed the tablets to fall into your palm, throwing them back to the head, the half-full glass of liquor following suit. Michael found his way to you, meandering into your space. His hands found your hips, gently rubbing them. His large and focused hands massaged your curvy sides. Your lips omitted gentle and hushed groans that escaped from the back of your throat, a sound that meant relief was finally melting over you from a nagging pain. Michael validated your groaning, leaning in closer to you, burrowing his face in your neck, still holding you from behind.”

“I know… It’s okay. I got you.”

He whispered against your neck. His breath tickling the hairs on the back of your neck, making them stand on end. His real voice was one of low and urbane nature. You could smell his skin, rich and woodsy. The faintest scent of Beurgemont invaded your nose. His calculated touch kept massaging your tense hips, moving those palms in a deep, circular motion. Soft groans escaped the back of Michael’s throat as he kneaded your body. His elegant fingers running themselves up your sides, manipulating your body to press firmly against his. His head slung down to plant fluttering kisses against the back of your neck. They were so soft, you instinctively closed your eyes. Trying to focus on feeling them more deeply.

“Look, can I help you? I’m trying to drink here.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… You did a good job, baby. I can tell you really spoke from your heart.”

“I had to. I would have said more. Y’know I can’t stand Barbara. Some points I was seein’ red.”

“I know, baby. We can’t let them see that side of us, though. You know that..” You could feel Michael’s kisses becoming deeper, heavier. His lips lingered more against your flesh, just groaning at your delectable scent. He gently pulled his hands off of your hips, intertwining his fingers, lazily with yours. You felt the pull of his hand behind your back. Those feathery lips of his pressing on your knuckles. Those kisses moved up further on your arm, gentle pecks were littered over it. His voice began to rise above the silence again, the air not so heavy as it was before. 

“Can you tell how much I wanted to kiss you?”

“Michael, I’m just… really tired…”

“I’m tired too, but never too tired for you.” He chuckled breathlessly against the side of your neck. He had let go of your hand, hesitating. His bottom lip grazed against your ear as he spoke. Pressing himself firmly against your ass, letting you feel his growing love for you inside his pants. The tempting tent that was forming made you raise an eyebrow.

“You feel…? It really doesn’t take me much… just bein’ close…”

“C’mon, Michael, go on ‘na. I’m not in the mood. That was a very irritating interview for us… I just need-..”

Michael interjects, cutting you off, pressing his large hand on your lower abdomen, simulating what he does to you while he’s deep inside, pressing down on your tummy to make you feel him inside you better.

“I know whatchu need. I just wanna give that to you. You did so good f’ me out there. Just wanna show you I’m proud. Please?”

His focused kisses against your neck never ceased as he spoke. His lips began lapping at your skin, dying to taste you. His lips clung to your neck, proceeding to suck your flesh between his teeth and lips. Small pink declarations of his lust for you appeared across your neck and jawline. Still lazily thrusting himself against your body, slowly pulling up your skin-tight skirt in the process.

“Mike-.. I have a headache. I’m really not for the games tonight.”

“C’mon, I’ll make you feel better. And my desire for you is no game; you looked so sexy defendin’ me, Mrs. Jackson…”

He carefully grabbed your jaw closer to his face, needing to at least feel your faint breathing against his face. His large palm covered the bottom half of your face as he gripped you closely. His nose weakly traced against your own, his own lips circling around your plump, pouty bottom lip. He gradually inched into your lips, opening his mouth upon kissing you. His kiss was at first gentle and cautious pecks. Checking if you’d pull away. Once he knew he had you, he caressed your jaw in the kiss, moaning at the taste of your lips. He pulls away from your lips, staring into your eyes, still holding your jaw in his hand. 

His long fingers teased at the hem of your skirt, lazily pushing it down with light force. The fabric colliding with the marble floor, a soft thud could be heard as the material fell. 

“Are you and Michael intimate? Do you share separate rooms? What do you think, Mrs. Jackson?”

Michael puts on a goofy voice, mocking Barbara and her ridiculous questions. You couldn’t help but throw your head back in a hearty giggle. 

The sound emerged from the back of your throat, a sign that you needed that laugh so bad. He knew that.

“I can assure you, Michael fucks me like the slut I am. Is that a good enough answer for you, Barb?”

“Mm.. is that right, Mrs. Jackson? Say that again. I don't think I heard you right..”

Michael swiftly lifts you; a soft grunt slips from his lips as he does so. He pushes the glass of liquor to the side, making you sit in its place on the counter. His hands found their way around the lining of your panties, gradually yanking them all the way off your thighs. He picked them up, letting the lace surround his fingertips. His eyes marveled at the lovely fabric, slowly inching those panties up to his nose, holding them in his palm. He took a deep inhale of your smell, moaning lustfully at your scent. “Missed this-..”

“Michael, you’re such a perv.”

You teased and gently shoved him by his shoulder; a slight guffaw escaped his lips. “And you love every bit of it. Why else would you protect me so much earlier? Hm?”

“touchè… continue..”

He placed those panties on the counter, laying them right next to your palm. His lips clashed against yours once again without any warning, this time. His sloppy tongue found yours, worming its way into your own hot mouth. His moans and desperate whines grew louder, his bulge thrusted against your now bare pussy. A warning to unbuckle his belt for him while his hands were busy holding you. You got the message, fidgeting at his buckle, the soft metallic noises of his belt excited you. It was the sexiest sound. 

His zipper was next, carefully pushing it down. His pants fell around his ankles into a soft thud. His hands found their way to his boxer briefs, pushing them down briskly. You could hear the heavy breaths of his, his heart banging against his sternum, as was yours. Your hand grabbed onto his girthy cock, pulling him closer to you by his hard flesh. Your hand shot up to your lips, spitting twice into your palm, using your saliva as lube for you both, not that you needed it at this point. Your hand found his dick once more, stroking it firmly, staring deep into his eyes. His soft groans filled the kitchen while his large Bambi eyes never left yours. “You make me out to be such a pervert. But you’re just as bad as I am. You know it.”

“I don’t know, Mike… I don’t recall ever sniffin’ your panties.”

Michael slowly pulled your hand away from his aching rod, slowly shuffling himself closer, teasing your tight hole with his own slippery tip. His hips made his cock inch inside; gradually, the pressure got heavier and heavier.

“You’re perverted in other ways…like how you call out to God when I get deep. He isn’t gonna save you from me, lovely.”

You opened your mouth in shock at how he was fillin’ you. Your hand shot up to your mouth, covering it. You whimpered out into your palm, nodding softly. The nod was reassuring yourself that you needed this. Badly. His lips found themselves against your neck once again as he thrusted, slow…real slow inside your tight cunt. His flesh being milked and coaxed from you. His deep and needy groans filled the kitchen as his fingers dug into your thighs, causing deep red marks to appear on your skin from his demanding touch. He kept pulling your body closely to his own, making you feel him, really feel him hitting your spot. 

His hands moved back to your hips, holding you in place. The sheer force of his thrusts made your body jolt and flinch. Small droplets of sweat materialized on Michael’s forehead. Your arms reached forward to hold onto him, holding him tenderly resting onto his shoulders. While your hands were up and out of the way, his own hand relocated to rest in between your legs, and his hand gently pushed your legs apart. You felt that familiar touch, his thumb moving in a focused circle on the space above your clit, taking care of your slick button. 

“Ooh… Mi-Michael… You-… gonna make me cum… don’t stop. Don’t you dare.”

“I wasn’t plannin’ on stoppin’, baby. Take it…”

His thrusts grew deeper, harder; you could feel his thick cock head kissing your sensitive spot roughly. Your eyes would roll to the back of your head as he kept that thick thumb above your clit. The pressure was beginning to be too much for you to handle; you tried to stick it out longer, to no avail. 

“F-ah… Wait-Wait-… I’m close… Stop. S-..

“Nuh uh, come on. Give in to me..”

You whimpered out loudly, falling apart onto Michael’s shoulder, convulsing from your orgasm. Your head slung down into the crook of his neck, groaning softly. He gave your forehead a passionate kiss. Holding his lips there for what felt like a minute. His hips reeled back, gently pulling out of your slick, sticky pussy. A slight popping noise audible in the quiet kitchen. 

“I bet that headache gone, huh? Came so quick this time…”

“Yeah, Michael. T-Thank you.”

It was a very cliché, dark, and rainy night. So much so that the nasty weather caused all of master jackson’s electricity to be completely knocked out. As you knew the drill, you lit his favorite evergreen candles. The fresh and clean aroma filled his mansion, cascading throughout the home. The candles sat on his oakwood altar that resided in the west wing, where he stayed during stormy days like this. He enjoyed listening to the rain pitter-pattering against the windowsill. While he sat on his red suede chair, he would create beats in his head and mutter lyrics as the rain came down, a man who was a reincarnation of rhythm.

This time, he was not sitting; he was nowhere to be found. You felt uneasy if he wasn’t there, like he could be watching you as you bend into uncomfortable positions. Although you knew where he most likely was- feeding. Or trying to. As he was on tour, he would get more exhausted more quickly. Doing all of those elaborate dance moves made his hunger intensify. For him, it was painful, like his head started to thump and his body started to twitch and spasm.

Especially after his Pepsi commercial accident, his body has needed more sustenance just to feel “normal.” No one quite knows his secret of being a vampire, but he told you. He felt incredibly lonely holding in the secret for so long. So much so that his voice was softer with you than usual, as if he was preparing you for something with his softness. The night that he confessed to you his secret, there was so much desperation within him for you to understand what was really going on inside his mind. You remembered it like it was yesterday…

“Hon?”

He called out to you; his voice lingered in your mind like the smoke of incense lingered through the air. He called out to you through one of the intercoms he had littered throughout the large Neverland Ranch.

“Hon? Can you come to the uh.. the-.. the tea room.. please? I’ll be down here with bubbles, waitin’ on ya.”

His voice was an urgent pinging, like a ringing in your ears as the static crackled over the speakers. You licked your lips as you had prepared to speak back into the intercom. You were preparing his bed before he went to sleep. He had an early morning meeting with Barbara Walters. You hated her interviewing style, but he agreed to interview with her amidst the allegations, showing her around the Neverland Ranch.

“Oh, okay, Michael. I-… I’ll be right down.”

After you got off the intercom, you fluffed his pillows rather quickly so you could make it downstairs before Michael got too antsy. Oftentimes, he would just find you. For some reason, you could never hear him as he entered a room. It was as if he were levitating or hovering over the marble floors. 

You made your way down the stairs, rubbing your hands together in anticipation. So excited to hear you and Michael’s favorite film playing in the background.

“Singing in the rain,” you spoke softly to yourself as you gladly skipped downstairs. Your fingers glided effortlessly down the banister as you moved down.

You finally met with Michael, his lanky body was sprawled over the red and black loveseat.

As soon as he saw you enter, he sat up quickly and positioned himself in a way that gave you the room to sit down next to him.

Once you saw him, though, you leaned up against the doorframe, allowing your round hip to hold yourself up.

“Michael, is that our movie? And where’s bubbles? You said he’d be down with you.”

He nodded and chuckled the breathy chuckle he does. All of those perfect white teeth were shown to you. His deep dimples in the corners of his lips began to deepen as his smile tugged.

“Yeah, I-… he couldn’t make it. He had a previous engagement with a banana. And yes, I thought the movie would be a nice buffer for..”

He trailed off, looking shyly away from you. He covered his face with his large hand and smiled as he stood up, coming towards you. He slowly put his hand out, reaching for you.

“For what? Michael, you're scaring me.”

He genuinely looked as if he was trying to ease his own nerves so he could muster up the courage to tell you his dying secret.

You hesitantly took his hand and slowly walked you over to his loveseat, where he sat you down on the seat, then gently grabbed your hand, sitting on the floor with his knee propped up, as if he were proposing. 

Michael licks his lips and huffs in a deep breath; it’s very shaky and hesitant. It was as if he wasn’t ready, mustering up the courage to speak yet.

“Do you remember those… those IV bags that I ordered? All that silly medical stuff? like you called it?”

“Well… yes, I do.. What about that stuff? Did you lose it? I told you I put them in the spa.”

Your eyes rolled, totally sure of yourself, he lost them, and he was about to blame it on you, like he’d done once before.

“No no.. heh.. that’s.. that’s not it.. I was… using them.. for sustenance… to satiate my hunger… they were full of… a fluid. Blood…I need blood to keep myself full, or else… I can’t perform. I get all… woozy… You understand?

“Michael… what are you saying?

He had his glasses on, so you couldn’t see where he was looking. You couldn’t see that he was searching for what you thought about in it within the wrinkles on your face. He adjusted his shades and turned away as he kept his large hand holding your delicate hand.

“Look-… look at me. I’ll help you understand..”

He opened his mouth, pulling his cheek back with his index finger, and chuckled at your reaction, giving you a smirk, showing off all of his perfect, white teeth. Only now, his canines are sharpened, pointy, and shiny at this point.

He flashed his teeth, and you opened your eyes wide, your head went blank, and the room got spinny. Suddenly, you fell short of breath and slumped your head on the loveseat, dramatically passing out from the sight of those fangs. He placed his hands over his mouth and watched as you sank down into the seat.

When the cold sweat began to appear across your forehead, he gently wiped your forehead with his handkerchief. Your curls are now stuck to your forehead with sweat appearing. Suddenly, he began to stare down at your bare neck.

His mouth was practically salivating as he gently grazed his slender, elegant fingers across your lovely clavicle. 

“Um, love? Are you okay?”

He spoke as he leaned down, pressing his head against your heaving chest, listening intently to your steady heartbeat. You could still feel his cool, minty breath against your cheek and neck.

Once you opened your eyes, his lips were parted, uncovering his two large, pointy fangs, ready to sink his teeth into you. You felt his weight shift closer to you.

Your eyes flickered open to see him ready to taste you.

You placed a gentle smack against his hollow cheek, snapping him out of his own little trance with your smooth caramel neck.

He chuckled lightly and tilted his head back, playfully, holding onto his sides.

“Oh, c’mon. I was just kiddin’.  I knew you’d wake up.”

“Michael! Don’t be jokin’ like that. You scared me half to death.”

He smirked and sat up on the loveseat next to you. He seemed paler than usual, looser, or more woozy, it seems. It was as if he had taken some kind of sedative to make him relax, but the reality was more jarring; he needed to feed, and he had another show in 2 days.

Oftentimes, he would still be out of town, preparing every step, preparing every spotlight to flash perfectly on his body, preparing every costume to fit him perfectly, and creasing in every perfectly articulated move. Seeing this superstar, who is the king to many and an unattainable thought to most, was sitting right in front of you, feeling a certain desperation or pining you felt radiating from him. Feeling he wanted to ease you into something… he was trying to warm you up to an idea. He still had his glasses on, so you couldn’t see exactly where his eyes would lie on your body.

Mostly on your cleavage peeking through your insatiable red blouse. He was circling the way your hard nipples began to point underneath your thin blouse. He wondered if it was possibly too cold in here for you. He started to sit up and opened his mouth to ask, but your staring… your stares reeled him back into the moment.

The tension at this point was thick as ‘singin’ in the rain’ came to a close in the background. The movie, now a distant memory for another time, another planned movie night that would have been between you and Michael. Although this was turning into something different entirely. You caught Michael staring in your general direction after he stopped his chuckle. You were serious as always, tilting your head to the side, trying to get a read on him.

Those large aviator shades were in the way, obstructing his gorgeous doe eyes. The eyes that you could not look away from, the eyes that would reel any man or woman in, to understand the soul behind them. That is exactly what he didn’t want you to see or witness. That’s why he wore those godforsaken things; You. Could. Not. Stand. Them.

So, you reached up, slowly, just so he could take in what you were beginning to do. You would give a slight nod to him, a signal that it was okay. His large hand reached up to stroke your little wrist as you slowly pulled his glasses off. A gesture that confirmed he was okay with it. A gesture that confirmed it was time for you to finally see inside his soul.

“Michael… You shouldn’t keep hiding those beautiful eyes from me. I only see you around the ranch for so little time… at least lemme see you… truly see you…”

“Y’know how I feel about you lookin’ in my eyes… I don’t want you to know what I’m thinkin’.”

“And why shouldn’t I know what you’re thinkin’? What you hidin’ from me?”

What you didn’t know was that he needed something from you. this intimate feeling of seeing his eyes after months, feeling his minty and icy breath against your neck once again, made you close your eyes. His breathing was ragged. A gruff panting slipped from his lips as he felt something grow underneath his black jeans.

The area around his groin started to grow warmer and warmer. Noting his length was getting hungry for stimulation.

“I’m hiding… that I want you.. Y’know I need you. Need to be with me… not with that other schmuck… and don't deny it. I heard you on the phone with him earlier… Y’know, he won’t give you all the pretty things like I can. Nothin’ as pretty as a pretty young thing like you. Do you understand?”

“Michael… We’ve talked about this..”

He pressed his own finger up to those sensual lips that have sung your favorite song time and time again, over and over again on the stage.

“Shh… let me make you feel good tonight… and see how you feel after that… I bet you’ll be thinking about it… while touching yourself…”

He whispered against your ear. A little giggle escaped his lips. He couldn’t believe he would say such a thing. “Yearning for someone makes you do crazy things,” he thought in his head. His glossed lips grazed over your earlobe, allowing you to feel his soft, warm, wet bottom lip. Goosebumps littered over your willing body, your breathing became shallow, and your mouth gaped in shock. He noticed this and leaned down, pressing soft, gentle, almost teasing kisses across your neck, cheek, and clavicle as well.

The kisses turned into soft laps with the tip of his tongue, tasting the cocoa butter you had spread across your silky skin after your shower, before he arrived at the ranch. He inhaled deeply while slowly tracing his soft and large hand across your thick thigh. He slowly pushed his hand underneath your skirt, feeling your warm and smooth skin.

“Can I? Can I move it higher up? Should I stop?”

He says, almost begging. He sounds so meek and adorable, waiting for your consent.

“If you let me… don’t be surprised if I get a little bit rough… I can do that sometimes when it feels really good…” 

“Y’know what? You been so good, did so well with the concert… I think you deserve to feel good… I know you deserve to feel good.”

You would say gently to him, in the same meek register. You slowly pulled his hand up to your lips, teasing his middle finger with your tongue and your luscious bottom lip. You both exchanged soft glances, peeking at each other through your eyelashes.

He gave a slight nod, slowly pulling his hand from your lips. Suddenly, slipping his hand high up your inner thigh, pushing your lace red panties to the side, allowing his cool fingers to invade your warm mound. He softly massaged your crotch, allowing you to unwind and relax as he kissed your neck and softly lapped at it. A soft groan escaped your lips, subconsciously nodding in assurance that this is where you were supposed to be. 

“Does that feel good for you? You like it when I tease? … you feel how eager my tongue is, don't you?”

“Yes michael… that feels so… good… your tongue is-...”

Before you knew it, the licking at your cheek stopped. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, hearing a soft “whoosh” and feeling a chill against your lower body, your lacy panties now around your ankles, your legs have been pushed up against your chest.

He had somehow used your being in a trance to go between your legs stealthily, like the smooth criminal he is. He chuckled as he heard your gasp, feeling his hot and thick tongue slowly slinking over your warm and wet slit, making you arch deeply.

“Ah… oh god… Michael..’”

He looks up at you from underneath his lashes, slowly slipping his tongue up from the bottom of your needy hole, all the way to the top of your throbbing clit. Once he finds it, it’s over. He swirls his entire perfect tongue around your button, allowing your hole to leak more intensely from this violation.

He groaned and hummed a familiar song against your hungry pussy, vibrating like a toy beneath you. The stimulation was already overwhelming, but knowing who was doing this stimulation made it harder to contain yourself. Your hips would buck and thrust into his mouth, listening to his seductive, low humming, hearing his real voice between your legs.

“Mm.. so wet f’ me… I know you don’t get this wet for wassaname? I bet you don’t even remember his name. I’ll help you forget, sweetface.”

He chuckles upon hearing his own cocky words spilling from his own lips. His voice was low and barely past a whisper. Your hand slips down into his hair, gently stroking his loose curls as he slowly traces his middle finger over your clit. Moving it in rhymic circles, paying close attention to your face. His smile never left his lips as he slowly circled your clit, watching how you reacted and behaved so well to his touch. Moving back down, he placed his lips back onto your clit, sucking at it gently, moving his middle finger to your aching hole.

His hips rocked against the cushions on the loveseat, trying to hide how needy he was as well. He humped against the cushions, trying to satisfy his aching length somehow. His long and slender finger invaded your tight and wet hole, slowly thrusting his single finger over… and over… and over again. Wanting the pressure to build so you’d only want one thing.

“That feel good? You like being filled up? You look so gorgeous… coming undone f’ me. Damn, sweetface.. get my fingers all messy for me, go ahead.”

“Ngh… mikey.. I’m about to.. fuck.. take off your pants.. please.. I need you… I need it… please f-fuck me.”

He exhaled while smiling, lightly showing that your words made him flustered. Despite this, he leaned up, angling himself to completely make a mess of you. He gently lifts your lower body up and slowly pulls the skirt down, allowing it to settle and pool between your ankles. You cannot stress how gentle he is with you, even placing one of the throw pillows behind your delicate head while he plants one knee on the seat and the other foot planted on his marble floor.

He slowly unzipped his jeans, watching how antsy you got, adding dramatic effects. Michael loved being dramatic, and it made you chuckle as you watched. The sound of his belt buckle unhooking was so satisfying; it seemed to echo in your ears. His briefs were barely containing his dick as it was begging to be let out. The fabric was so stretched you could practically see through his briefs. 

“You see what you do t’ me? Hm? Look at this…”

You were speechless. You looked up at his dick just as he instructed you to. You couldn’t believe the size, or could you? The length was at least 9 inches, and the width was thick like a tree’s trunk. You moaned at the sight. You had to get a taste. You leaned up to him, and he giggled at your eagerness to taste his flesh. You reminded him a lot of himself. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You want a taste of me? Mm... I can tell baby… get you a taste before I get to work, lovely.”

You were already on it. You looked up at him through your lashes as you arched your back and pushed your small, wet tongue against his base. Making him release a soft hiss under his breath. His large hand immediately goes straight to your head, caressing and running his fingers over your moisturized curls. He loved your curly hair; it added character, he thought. 

He gazed back down into your large, beautiful eyes as you gazed into his. You wrapped your hands the best you could around his length, stroking slowly as you stared. Your tongue suddenly found his tip, already leaking with his potent precum. He watched you licking it clean thoroughly. He groaned and yanked your hair taut as he slowly pushed you back down onto the loveseat.

“You drive me crazy, y’know that? You’re so nasty, how nasty do you get, huh?”

“I can show you… I WILL show you… c’mon... just fuck me mike… please..”

He loved it when you begged. He slowly leaned down, holding himself up with his hand, setting it on the arm of the loveseat. He used his free hand to guide his now slick length to your sopping slit, teasing you slowly. He traced his leaking tip against your pulsing nub, moving his firm and thick tip in a rhythmic circle. Your pussy pulsed intensely as you bucked against him more. 

“Take your pretty blouse off, baby… let me see whats underneath, okay? I need to please every part of you, sweetface.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. Quickly, you unbuttoned your frilly, red blouse, low-cut, just to show a bit of cleavage, showing Michael what assets you possessed. You would always make it hard for him to function around you. Fully unbuttoned, you displayed your bare chest to him, your body presented and vulnerable for him to stare at. Once he snapped himself out of his daze, he had to wipe his mouth with his palm. He was so deep into your body, how willing you were, that he was drooling, seeing your gorgeous flesh. His vampire side was beginning to take over; he had to retract that feeling and snap out of it.

“You look s’ good. You ready for me? You want me, princess? Give me a nod.”

You nodded quickly and pulled him down to your lips by his collar. Your lips were practically twitching to be against his. Finally, your plump lips enveloped him into a soft and passionate kiss. His tongue wrestles with yours; overall, your tongue won in dominance. Maybe you were just as hungry for him as he was for you. He gently held your face and caressed your jaw, his large hand landing on your throat. Showing you he was beginning to get a little rougher, just as he warned he would. Kissing was Michael’s favorite. Once he got started, he couldn’t stop til he got enough. He sucked your tongue gently, making you stick it out for him, your saliva mixing together and dripping down onto your bare nipple. Noticing this quickly, he leaned down, slowly lapping up the saliva. These licks turned into gentle sucking. You could feel his warm fangs against your nipple, teasing. You were sure he was going to sink his teeth in, but never did. Only teasing the tip of his fang around your areola. He loved seeing you on edge; he felt your breath hitch and prepare for it too. Michael finally had enough, pressing his large palm into your stomach. He didn’t even need his hand to guide himself inside you; he was that hard. All for you. He pressed his tip up against your tight hole and moved his hips in a slow and addictive pattern. One trust forward, and his thick tip wouldn’t go past your hole. He covered his face in embarrassment.

“Aw geez… Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I’m gonna have to… stretch you. It’ll hurt just a little bit… but I’ll be as gentle as I can, okay? You think you can take it, princess?”

“Yes michael, just.. uh… here… I’ll get closer baby…”

He watched as you pressed into his crotch, practically pulling his dick to your hole with your smaller hand. The resistance was hard to ignore, but finally, he gave you some help. inch after inch, he would push himself deeper and deeper. He held his hand on your lower stomach so he could feel himself enter. Slowly, the pressure inside your pussy grew. All you could do is moan and whimper as his low groans infiltrated the tea room. He only pushed in four inches to see how you would take it, making sure it was pleasurable for you. Slowly, he started to thrust. His hips moved quickly but firm, at least for now. The lewd noises of your wetness only excited him more. Making him forget the promise he made himself of only four inches. He started to increase to five, six, seven, eight, all the way up to nine. He was digging in you, deep. He slipped his hand down your sweaty body, rubbing your begging clit. It was calling for him. He had to answer that call. He collected saliva in his mouth and allowed his spit to drip down between you two, right on top of your love button.

“Mikey, you’re so nasty… fuck, I want you to give it to me… Give it to me… show me who’s bad..”

He threw his head back and chuckled. He sat up straight once more while shaking his head. You just smiled mischievously, just as Michael was tracing his hand back up to your throat. Slowly, beginning to lightly squeeze your delicate throat once again. Michael ignored the resistance your tight pussy was giving him. He pushed his dick deeper and deeper, feeling your limits. pushing you to them. 

“I’ll show you whos bad… you’ll see… just keep making those sweet noises for me… just gorgeous… I’m addicted to you.”

He sped up, his voice started to break, his hips rocked harder, slamming deeper into you. His moans sounded like a melody in your ears, as if he were creating a song in his head as you two were doing this unholy act. He slammed all the way inside, just watching your breasts jump from his thrusts. His mouth twisted, showing you that he was focused on making you feel good, not caring about the developing cramp in his calf. The pleasure between the two of you made it impossible for him to contain himself. Quickly, he leaned down to you, kissing your lips and swirling his smooth tongue with yours as he felt himself getting closer. He moved his fingers from your throat and grabbed your abdomen, holding you up, allowing him to plant his seed deep inside. 

“Michael… G-God I’m…”

“I know prin’cess just ride it… just ride it out… I’m almost there too I’m almost…”

As soon as he said that, he let it out. Releasing his thick, potent cum into you. He couldn’t help himself; he just couldn’t stop. He leaned down to you, thrusting faster and faster. The thrusts became loud, the wetness of your orifice filled the room. His firm pounds became sloppy and less choreographed. They became primal and needy. He slunk his head down into the crook of your neck, sucking, kissing, and tracing his nose down the curve of your soft, supple neck. 

Finally, you couldn’t take it. The mess between you two made it harder to keep your composure. It was so slick, so wet, so filthy, you finally let go and moaned out loudly, gripping onto Michael’s sequined blazer, arching your back forward. Once he saw you were distracted and using his length to ride out your eye-rolling orgasm, he slowly leaned down. At first, he circles the tip of his nose into the side of your neck, noting exactly where he wants to mark you.

Once you were distracted, riding out your climax, he protracted his two fangs deep into your neck, moaning deep and low as he sucked your crimson blood. His brows furrowed in plain hunger that he felt for your warm and tasty blood. He needed it; you could feel his dick twitching as he drank from you. He made sure not to puncture you to the point where you could bleed out, but just enough for him to taste you. Your eyes were rolled back in pure ecstasy, not even minding, if anything at this point, you loved the pain he placed upon you. You knew what this was for-… to keep Michael healthy and well for his concert coming up. It soon turned into pleasure. At last, he got his fill and retracted his fangs from your beautiful neck, now showcasing two shallow holes on the right side. A marking that you were now his. 

“I hope you weren’t thinking about going back to… doesn’t matter… he’s history…you’re mine… alllll mine…”

He sang that last part to you sweetly, thinking it would soften the blow of you now being bitten. You were now his mate, and did you truly mind?

Your head rose up, staring deep into his eyes, noticing they had a red hue to them. Once he noticed you saw, they turned back into their beautiful dark brown color, searching your eyes for what you thought.

“They get that way when I’m… satisfied… sorry…”

“Don’t apologize. I-… I wouldn’t want it any other way…”

You two ended your passionate lovemaking with a soft kiss. Michael switched positions with you, gently rolling you over and switching spots, now lying in your old spot on the loveseat. 

He relaxed his back against it, allowing his head to rest on the arm of the loveseat as he gently placed your head over his chest.

Allowing you to listen to his fast heartbeat, beginning to finally slow down.

He kissed your forehead and gently massaged your breasts, having his arm hooked around you. You could tell he was beginning to doze off as his breathing slowed. Michael, now with you wrapped in his long arms.

“Michael? You sleep?”

“Mhm… we’ll talk in the morning, doll.”

He nods, letting out a soft exhale, and pulls the weighted blanket up over your body and his. Beginning to fall asleep with you, tightly holding you like his favorite teddy bear.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were laying in bed next to Michael, his hand lazily drawing patterns on your stomach through your nightgown. He had a habit of resting his hand there, even when you weren’t pregnant, like it had become a second nature. 

He was obsessed with feeling the baby kick. Every little flutter made him light up like a kid on Christmas morning—like it was a gift just for him. It was the same no matter how many babies you had, and it seemed that the novelty would never wear off. 

You loved that about him. 

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Hm?” He wasn’t listening to you, too lost in his own little world. 

“I said I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?”

“That usually means you’re up to no good. Last time you said you’d been thinkin’, we had to rip out all the kitchen cabinets and get new ones.“

You laughed, shaking your head. 

“It’s nothing like that.”

“What is it, then?”

“I think we should name this baby Brandon.”

His hand went still. 

“What?”

“Let’s name him Brandon.”

He looked suddenly choked up. 

“Why?”

“For your brother.”

“I don’t… how do you even know about that?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him affectionately. “Because I know things. And because your mama told me.”

When Katherine had first told you about Marlon’s twin, you couldn’t believe Michael had never mentioned it. But then you realized why. 

Losing a baby was his worst nightmare. It was why he was so, so careful with you when you were pregnant. 

Maybe he was scared that if he talked about a baby dying, he would somehow will it into existence. Or maybe the idea was too painful to think about at all. Either way, you’d known it would be a touchy subject, which is why you hadn’t brought it up before now. 

“We don’t have to.” You said, when he didn’t respond. “But I think it would be nice to honor him somehow.” 

His eyes were welling up before you even finished that sentence.

“Sorry.” He laughed once, sniffing and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was crying about this. “I don’t know why I’m cryin’ over somebody I never met.”

“He still would have been your big brother.” You took his hand and squeezed. “Losing him hurt your mama. I’m sure it hurts Marlon, even if he doesn’t talk about it. And you have such a big heart that when someone else hurts, you do too.”

Michael lifted both of your hands to his lips and kissed the back of yours. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.”

“Marlon’s gonna cry.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. He’s just as big a baby as me.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Helloooo. It’s Grandma and Uncle Marlon! You rang?” Months later, Marlon poked his head in the door of your hospital room, grinning like a fool. He looked utterly delighted to have been bestowed the honor of being the first uncle to meet his new nephew.

“Come in.” You laughed, beckoning them inside with your hand.

You were propped up in bed, and Michael was in the chair next to you with the baby asleep on his chest. This was his favorite place to be—next to you, holding a newborn in his arms, memorizing every detail about the new little person.

He was such a good Daddy.

“Oh, honey. Look at you.” Katherine beamed, kissing the top of your head first, then Michael’s. She’d loved you like her own from the moment he’d introduced you to her—to the point where the brothers got pouty about it sometimes, whining about how you were Mama’s favorite.

“He’s beautiful.” She whispered, like she didn’t want to disturb the baby’s sleep. Michael just nodded, not even looking at them, and if there weren’t currently an IV in your arm, you would have smacked him.

“Michael. Let your mama hold the baby.”

He looked so disappointed that it was comical. Like he wasn’t about to spend every waking second with his son. But he did what you asked, reluctantly handing him over.

“Be careful.” He warned, as if his mother hadn’t had an entire brood of children herself.

“I’ve got him.” She promised, taking his concern in stride. She’d watched her other boys become fathers too, but there was something different about Michael. She found his gentleness almost as endearing as you did.

“Hey, little guy.” Marlon peeked over her shoulder, waving at him.

“What’s his name?”

You and Michael exchanged glances, having a silent back-and-forth. 

You tell him. No, you tell him. 

Ultimately, he was the one who did it. 

“Brandon.”

“Oh.” Katherine’s eyes filled with tears immediately, but his brother didn’t seem to have quite processed that answer. 

“Do what?”

“His name is Brandon.” You echoed Michael, and Marlon looked at you, his expression cloudy with confusion.

“Like… my Brandon?”

“Like your Brandon.”

His expression crumpled into something between grief and gratitude, and he stooped down, pulling you into a hug so tight that Michael had to elbow him and tell him to knock it off before he hurt you. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, looking at you like you had personally hung the moon and stars.

That was the first time you ever saw Marlon cry. 

(And you could practically hear Michael in your head. I told you so.)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Hey, baby?” Your husband’s gentle voice floated up the stairs, laced with concern.

It had been half an hour since you’d called Michael, sobbing so hysterically and uncontrollably that he was certain someone must have died.

Through hiccups and tears, you’d managed to get out that no, everyone was fine, but you needed him to come home. 

It was the first time he’d left your side since the baby was born.

He’d fallen into fatherhood so effortlessly, it was like it was his calling. Like the music and dancing paled in comparison. Like he was born to be somebody’s dad.

Not wanting you to lift a finger, he’d taken on every task he possibly could. Diaper changes? Done. Late night bottles? Prepared and given. Rocking the baby so you could take a shower or a nap? He was in heaven.

He got positively giddy whenever she did anything. He acted like he’d won a Nobel Peace Prize the first time she smiled at him, even though you gently reminded him that it was just a newborn reflex.  And when she wrapped her whole tiny hand around one of his fingers? You thought he was genuinely going to pass out.

Normally, when Michael was away from work, he got restless. You could see it—how hard he tried to focus on what was happening around him when really, he was itching to get back in the studio. 

There had been none of that these past couple weeks. 

You were the one who’d finally convinced him to go back to work, feeling guilty that he was doing so much for you.

It hadn’t been an easy ask—he’d practically begged you to let him stay home, sworn up and down that the album could wait, that you and your daughter needed him there, but you were stubborn.

You were kicking yourself for that now. Why were you so stubborn?

Being left alone with your own baby shouldn’t be this hard, but it became apparent almost immediately that you’d bitten off more than you could chew.

She hadn’t stopped crying for what felt like hours. You’d tried everything you could think of to console her—changing, feeding, singing, rocking, bouncing, burping—but nothing worked. You thought her little lungs would give out eventually, that she’d wear herself out and stop, but no such luck.

Eventually, you’d resorted to sitting on the floor next to her crib and crying with her. Might as well make it a family affair.

Michael was a crier too. He cried all the time when he heard a particularly moving piece of music, or when he thought about the injustices in the world. He’d cried like a baby when yours was born. But at least he was pretty when he did it. 

You were decidedly ugly about it. A certified snotty, red-eyed, puffy-faced mess. 

That was how he found you when he quietly entered the room, looking so worried that it sent you right into another round of pitiful, gut-wrenching sobs.

“Woah, hey. Hey.” He crouched in front of you, brushing a thumb over one of your tear-stained cheeks. 

“Wha’s the matter?” His voice was even softer than usual, eyes flitting between you and the crying baby. She didn’t look physically sick or hurt, but her face was scrunched up and red from wailing, a whole lot like her mother’s.

“She. Won’t. Stop.” You choked out, burying your face in your hands.

This was so embarrassing. What business did you have having kids if you couldn’t even stop them from crying?

Michael’s entire face morphed into something profoundly sympathetic.

“Oh, baby.”

He pulled you into his arms and held you tight, burying his face in your hair. “‘s okay.” He whispered, rubbing your back like you were the baby who needed comforting. 

“I tried everything.” Your tears had completely soaked his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. He held on until you’d calmed down enough to look at him, sniffling and wiping at your face with the back of your hand.

“I don’t know what else to do.” Your voice was pathetically small, your throat raw from crying. Michael kissed your forehead. “I got it.”

He stood up and reached into the crib, lifting your daughter oh-so-carefully into his arms. He’d always touched you like you were something delicate and fragile, but with his baby, it was a thousand times more so.

“Shhh.” He cooed, rocking her gently back and forth. “‘s okay. Daddy’s here.”

She calmed down so quickly that it made you sick. 

“Why are you so good at that?” You watched as he got her to sleep like a pro, feeling utterly helpless and miserable. 

“I… I dunno.” He admitted.

You’d expected your maternal instincts to kick in after the baby was born, but apparently they’d skipped right over you and gone to Michael instead. It made you feel woefully inadequate in comparison, and you were sure he was regretting his decision to have children with you, even though he would never say it out loud.

When he was sure she was sleeping soundly, he laid her back down in her crib and held out his hands to you. You just stared at them.

“C’mon, baby. Get off the floor.”

Reluctantly, you let him pull you to your feet. Now that the room was finally quiet, you were afraid to even breathe too loud. Michael seemed to sense that. 

“Let’s get outta here so we can talk, yeah?”

He led you out to the hallway and delicately closed the bedroom door. He wasn’t saying “I told you so,” but you could feel him thinking it. He never should have gone into the studio today.

“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” His dark eyes searched your face, like maybe if he looked long enough he could read your mind and fix whatever was wrong with you.

“I’m a terrible mom.” 

You were too tired and too afraid of waking the baby to start loudly boo-hooing again, but your eyes still welled with tears that threatened to fall at any moment.

Michael didn’t respond, he just listened.

“I’m a terrible mom, and you’re, like… this perfect dad, and I can’t even take care of my own baby by myself, and I’m so tired all the time, even though you’ve been doing all the work, a-and I feel disgusting, and I look disgusting, and I… I can’t do this.” You blubbered, shoulders beginning to shake as silent tears fell down your cheeks. Michael pulled you close again, but he didn’t speak until you dropped your forehead against his chest, done and defeated.

“Let’s unpack that real quick, hm?” His voice was calm, his body steady and solid against you when you felt anything but.

“You are not a terrible mom, and I am not a perfect dad.”

Did he love being a dad? Absolutely. But he had his fair share of fear and anxiety about it. He worried constantly that he was going to screw something up, and he was especially terrified by the idea that he might turn out like his own father. 

“I have definitely not been doing all the work.” He went on, still quiet but firm. “I do as much as I can to make things easier for you, but you’re the one who grew and gave birth to an entire human being. I could never do that. You’re allowed to be tired.” 

You sniffed, but didn’t look at him.

“And you sure as hell don’t look disgusting.” He sounded like that one was personally offensive to him. “This body gave me a baby. I don’t wanna hear you talkin’ bad about it again.”

That made you laugh—a miserable, stuffy sound, but a laugh nonetheless.

If anyone else had said those things to you, you wouldn’t have believed them. But Michael was so honest and sincere that you knew he meant every word.

“I’m stayin’ home for a few more weeks, okay?” He finally pulled away and put a hand underneath your chin, tilting it up until you were looking him in the eye. You knew he wasn’t asking for permission. After this, you were going to have to physically kick him out of the house to get him to leave you alone again.

“And right now, you’re gonna go get comfy and take a nap. Then I’m gonna make you dinner. Sound good?” You nodded, overwhelmed by the sudden realization that you did not deserve this man.

“Okay… but I owe you for freaking you out and making you come home.”

Michael shook his head profusely.

“You don’t owe me anything. I’ve already got everything I want right here.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“This one is my favorite.” You grinned, clicking on a twenty-five minute video: Michael Jackson Unauthorized Interview, 1983.

“Oh, God.” Michael groaned when he saw the thumbnail, burying his face in your shoulder. He looked adorable even in the preview, with his curly hair and pearly-white smile. He was wearing a plaid shirt underneath a red sweater (red had always been his color), and his arms were stretched wide, his mouth open like he was in the middle of singing something positively gleeful. 

“Do you remember this one?” You asked, and he nodded, still hiding his face against your shoulder. “Then what’s the matter? It’s cute.” You nudged him playfully with your elbow.

“It’s embarrassing. And I’m shy.” He grumbled, his voice muffled by your upper arm.

“No, it’s cute.” You doubled down. “You’re cute. Watch.” You pressed play on the video, and a young Michael appeared on the small screen, leading a llama into the frame. “This is my llama, Louie.”

Beside you, your Michael sank further into the couch. “Can we turn it off, please?” 

You shook your head, already absolutely enamored with what you were watching. You’d seen it countless times already, but you wouldn’t tell him that. “No way. And sit up. I have questions.” You nudged him until he was sitting mostly upright next to you, and he covered his face with his hands instead. “I don’t wanna.”

“Too bad.” You said, not unkindly, but in a firm, end of discussion sort of way. On the screen, the younger Michael was explaining what a charming, sweet animal Louie was. “He eats alfalfa. They’re originally from South America. And, uh… they originally come from the mountains in Peru. They’re from the breed of the alpaca, as well as the camel.” 

Michael had begrudgingly removed his hands from his face, but he looked pained as he watched himself drone on and on about the wonders of South American camelids. “Why did they let me talk about that for so long?!”

You grinned again, resting your head on his shoulder. “Shhh. My show is on.”

He talked about llamas for a solid two minutes before stopping to ask the interviewer, “Are there any questions?” That made you laugh hard enough to press pause.

“I thought they were supposed to be interviewing you.” You teased him. Michael rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a telltale sign that he was trying not to smile. “I was very passionate about my pets.” He shrugged.

“I wish I could have met Louie.” You admitted, pressing play again. At about the three minute mark, Michael walked him off screen, and a beautiful fountain appeared in his place. Mike sat on the edge of it, looking longingly into the distance for several seconds, like he didn’t realize the camera had begun rolling again. 

“Pardon?” He cleared his throat and sat up straight when someone offscreen asked him a question about his schedule. You pressed pause again. 

“How old were you here?” You asked curiously, glancing over at him. Michael quirked an eyebrow. “I was twenty-four. Maybe twenty-five? I don’t know, I don’t remember what month it was filmed.” 

“Just a baby.” You cooed, which earned you a gentle elbow to the side. But that’s what he looked like—a baby. Nothing like the grown man sitting next to you, although the gentle voice and sweet, shy personality were unmistakably Michael.

“This video is going to take us two hours to get through if you keep pausin’ it like that.” He reached over you to press play again, but he seemed to have relaxed a bit. He actually looked a little eager to see what was coming next.

You let the interview play uninterrupted for a while after that, but every cute noise, every nervous lip bite, and every random burst of song endeared this version of him (that you had never even met) to you even more.

“It’s a wonderful day!” You sang along to one of your favorite parts of the video, a dead giveaway that you’d seen it before. Whoops.

This time, Michael was the one to press pause. “You’ve already watched this.”

“Once or twice…” You admitted. (Okay, maybe a few more than that. But that was private information.)

Instead of looking annoyed, Michael just shook his head and laughed. “Why?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I like hearing you talk about how magical the world is. Kids. Animals. Nature. It makes me see everyday things in a different light.” His expression went soft at that, and he put his hand underneath your chin, tilting it upwards to give you a kiss.

“Plus, you were like, really hot back then.” You added cheekily, spoiling the tender moment. Michael rolled his eyes again. 

“I was? And what about now?” He asked, raising a brow. 

“Still hot. But in an old man sorta way.” You replied without hesitation, and he pretended to look offended, but he was secretly enjoying this just as much as you. He liked the way you looked when you were watching his old videos—like you absolutely adored him at any age or stage of life. And you did.

“Now pay attention! My favorite part is coming up.”

You started the video again just as his sister La Toya shouted to Bill to close a door somewhere off camera. “Your voice is very irritating.” Younger Michael said. “You sound like Carol Burnett.”