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."

angelcrescent © 2026 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡🧁₊˚⊹♡ ╱ writing this immediately after my last one shot was a fun twist lol ! what a dichotomy. also… initially i intended to include some light smut at the end but i decided against it bc i felt that it would taint the fluff !! there will be soooo much smut in the third part when they do everything together >u<

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@someonessoulrecord @kkgalerii

You and Michael had a bond that was unbreakable since the early years of adolescence. You often talked about the uncomfortability of growing up, and when life just wasn’t going to be so simple anymore. You used to be afraid of getting older, having to put everything aside for what was to come–and so was Michael. He wasn’t able to have a regular childhood like you were. He was accustomed to hard work and heavy manual labor at the early ages of five years old. He wasn’t used to the celebration of the major holidays, gifts under the Christmas tree, or even birthdays most of the time. Joseph thought things like that were a waste of time, and that work was more important than living through his childhood.

This affected Michael big time, too. When he would visit the small, one story house you and your parents lived in, he got a taste of what real childhood was like. Decorations for every holiday, birthday parties every year, and the biggest of all–your own room, that was catered and decorated to directly fit your personality.

Was Michael a little envious of you as a child, of course he was–he had every right to be. But once you let him in your life, you helped him fill the void that was down in his heart. You two were able to be kids together, and he never failed to enjoy every lasting moment with you.

You hit your teenage years, and fell for each other. It was a feeling that sat in the low depths of your heart for the longest, too timid to ever admit your longing for Michael. When he asked you to be his girlfriend, you had no hesitation in saying yes. He had feelings for you ever since the day he met you, always telling his brothers in private that he’d marry you one day. He never wanted to push it, so if being best friends with you was how close he could be with you in that moment, he accepted it because of how much he loved you.

You were at every tour, every event–all of it. Michael was so happy to have you in his life, through all of the things he’s gone through his entire childhood, having a loyal woman in his life who was there for thick and thin was something he not only cherished, but prayed for.

And this is why he got on one knee when the two of you turned twenty-one. A private proposal, just like you wanted. You talked about getting married young when the two of you were teenagers, and you talked about having children once Michael was at a good point in his career–but it was only a thought that sat in the back of your mind for years. Your parents knew that Michael would change your life for the better, and asking for their blessing was the first thing he did. You and your mother talked about the hypothetical life with you bearing Michael’s children, and she gave you the ups and downs of motherhood. At first, it frightened you–the pain and absolute torture it applied on your body, the complications, all the things that could go wrong. It all scared you more than anything, but your head brought you back to everything good–bringing life into this world, a fresh start for a human being that you could call yours, and Michael’s.

A FEW MONTHS AFTER THE END OF MICHAEL’S ‘BAD TOUR’, – 1989.

You and Michael were settled in the luxury of your living room on the Neverland Ranch, your legs laid onto his lap, while the two of you watched Bambi on DVD for what seemed like the fourth time this week. You enjoyed moments like this, because before you knew it, he’d be back working again. You were always used to his schedule, if he wasn’t rehearsing something, he was in the studio–if he wasn’t in the studio, he was at children’s hospitals. And if he wasn’t doing that, he was tucked away in his office, brainstorming ideas about new music. The only reason you never complained, is because despite all of this, he never let you go to bed alone–and once the two of you got married, he learned to shut his brain off so he could cater to you. Was it a long process? Of course, but you knew that would come with the two of you being together. Michael was extremely work driven, but it wasn’t his fault. It was engraved in his head that every song, every dance move, every performance–it needed to get to a point of absolute perfection. But even when he beat himself up, one thing Michael never wanted for you, was giving you the impression that work came before you, and that was the first thing he said in his vows.

He rubbed his big hands along your leg propped onto his lap, feeling the smooth skin that made contact with his palm. He loved touching your body, and not just sexually. He needed to know that you were still real, and not just a figment of his very vivid imagination. He had his hands on you all the time, massaging you when you had a long day, or simply just interlocking your fingers to bring him a sense of comfort.

“Bambi reminds me of you, baby.” You spoke, breaking the comforting silence between you.

He looked at you and smiled, his pearly whites leaving you in a trance like they always did. “It’s all in the eyes,” he laughed. “Mother used to say the same thing.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought of Michael and his mother. You were glad that she still tried her best to give him those small moments of comfort, no matter how much Joseph fought her on it.

“I hope our kids have eyes like you one day, Michael.” You admitted, giving him a soft smile that just made him want to bring you in closer.

He ushered you to sit up, bringing you closer to him, and you nuzzled your head in his chest. He played in your hair and rubbed circles on your back, his mind now wandering about the statement you just admitted.

“Well, I hope they get your beautiful personality, mama.” He says, kissing the top of your head and gently laying your flyaways back down. The two of you sat comfortably like this for a while, listening to the soothing sound of the Bambi end credits. For a second, you dozed off–but for some reason, (some reason being that you were his wife, and you knew him like the back of your hand), you could sense that Michael was lost in thought. You watched as he fidgeted with the drawstrings of his pajama pants, and when you looked up–he was teary-eyed.

You sat up, all of your attention towards your vulnerable husband in front of you.

Before you could ask what was wrong, it only took you looking at him one time for him to vent.

“I just–you’re the love of my life. I wanna give you children, but I’m so scared that I’m never gonna know the right way to be a father.” As he expresses this towards you, a single tear falls from his right eye. You sat on your knees, and grabbed ahold of him, bringing him in to hug you. He cried into your shoulder, and you rubbed on his scalp as gently as you could.

“You’re gonna be a great father, Michael. There is no right way, honey. Just be you.” You comforted him, getting a little teary yourself.

You knew deep down Michael didn’t want to be anything like his father, and you knew for a fact he was far from it. Michael had a different kind of love for children that weren’t even his, and did everything in his power to give them as many blessings as he could, because he had to work for all of his blessings at their age. He wanted to show that children could make all the difference, they just simply needed all the help they could get. The children of the world were never alone as long as Michael was living, and he made sure of that.

“What if I’m like him? What if I don’t know how to be the parent our child would need?” He was starting to spiral at this point, and you gently shushed at his antics. Michael was the only candidate you saw fit for being the father to your children, and you knew better than to let just anyone help you bring life into this world.

“You’re so much more than what Joseph thinks you are, honey. When the time is right, and we have children of our own–you’ll be the best thing they have. I can promise you that.” You kissed his temple, and gently glided your thumbs across his face to dry his tears. You knew this was a tough subject, simply because the two of you had this conversation so long ago. Michael wanted to not only maintain perfection in his work, but for the things in his life, too. He felt that if he wasn’t the perfect father to his future kids, he’d make them feel how Joseph made him feel.

Lost.

His tears slowly dried up, and he looked at you with his large, soft eyes. Just like Bambi.

“I can’t believe I made you my wife.” He said, with a big smile creeping on his oh so beautiful face. He leaned and kissed you, and the two of you got back comfortable on your couch, sitting in the silence you learned to cherish.

You were moving around on the couch, trying to get into a comfortable position. Since the movie started, your lower back and neck began to ache from sitting in one spot too long. You made faces out of frustration, and Michael was amused by this.

“You okay, baby?” He chuckled, sitting back to let you get this out of your system.

“Neck is killin’ me,” You started. “And I have to pee, all that orange juice you had me drinkin’.” You laughed, and slowly stood up.

Michael tapped at the back of your thighs. “Go pee, baby. Nd’ when you come back, I’ll give you a massage or somethin’.” He bit his lip a little at the thought, and all you could do was shake your head out of amusement. He watched you strut to the bathroom in your very short pajama shorts, leaving a little wiggle behind with each step.

FIVE MINUTES LATER

You stepped back into the hallway, shutting off the bathroom light. Michael heard your footsteps approaching, and quickly wrapped up the glass of orange juice he was pouring to go back to sitting next to you on the couch. You thought that it was so adorable that Michael’s favorite things carried into his adulthood, because the amount of orange juice you had stored in your fridge would drive anyone else crazy. It was what he loved, and it made even more space for him in your heart.

You sat down on the couch and took a breath, watching as Michael walked back to your living room. He sat down his tall glass of orange juice on the coaster taking its place on your coffee table.

“Face your back towards me, love.” He demanded, his voice still maintaining that gentleness.

You turned your back to him, taking a deep breath while he worked his hands along your shoulders. He firmly massaged them, then worked his hands along your neck, being as gentle as possible while still getting the job done. His hands felt so good against your skin, so much so that you let out a quiet moan–hoping he didn’t catch it.

“Feels good, huh?” He teased, his voice laced with that tinge of seduction he always used when he had his hands on you. He massaged a lot firmer, trying his best to get some sort of reaction from you. That was another thing Michael couldn’t resist. Every groan, moan, whimper, any of it that escaped your mouth, immediately gave him shivers. He already loved listening to your voice, but any foreign sound that left your throat drove him crazier.

He kissed your bare shoulder, moving the spaghetti strap of your tank top out of the way. His lips were like heaven against your body, and you told him this countless times. Listening to the sound of his slightly wet lips pecking at your shoulder was turning you on, and that wasn’t anything your husband couldn’t see. He knew your body like the back of his hand, and the warmth radiating off of your body sent him over the edge.

“Y’know…the thought of seein’ you carrying my child makes me feel some kinda way.” Michael admitted, chuckling low against your skin. “You’d be ten times more gorgeous than you already are, baby.”

You smiled and let out a shy giggle, placing your hand on top of the one Michael was using to rub at your shoulder.

“I’d get t’ watch you grow our baby,” he groaned in your ear, kissing behind it. He knew what he was doing, getting you all riled up just to deny his actions once you caved in. “Can watch these grow too,” he added, removing his hands off of your shoulders to wrap around your chest, gently massaging your breasts, still covered by your tanktop.

He loved kneading the fat of them, even when the two of you weren’t indulging in anything sexual. He knew how tender they could get at times, and always sprung to action to relieve you from any pain. His hands were huge, and as you looked down to see your tits completely melted in his hands with no struggle, the heat between your legs started to ache you.

You whimpered from his touch, and the kisses on your neck began. They were serene, but you couldn’t resist how he was making you feel. It was becoming unbearable, and your hand snaking to his neck from your position made him even more cocky. He knew you were falling apart, and this was all he wanted.

“I’m ready.” You moaned out, all your pent up frustration making you admit things you didn’t know were entirely true. He brought his teasing to a halt, tilting his head. “I-I’m ready, Michael. S’ all I can think about now.” You added.

“Ready for what, mama?” He raised his eyebrows, anticipating the sweet sound of your voice to finally admit to him that you needed him. Michael always teased you when you didn't use your words when you were fed up with his taunting, which only motivated him to do it more.

“I wanna make a baby, Michael.” You confessed, turning around to look at him with your low, begging eyes. You caressed his jaw with your hand, and Michael looked hungry. Everything he ever wanted was coming to a reality. He married the love of his everlasting life, and now he had the opportunity to plant his seed inside his woman to create a new life. A life that will never know what it feels like to go through half of what he went through.

“Well, let’s go make a baby, my love.” He smiled, standing before you with his hand reaching out to take yours. You took his hand, and he guided you in front of him. He left a polite slap to your ass, as you led the two of you to your master bedroom.

You already had the ambience for it, the candles you lit a couple hours ago leaving a warm hue, while the smell of cinnamon and cedarwood filled your nose. You had so many lamps around your house, including your bedroom. Michael always believed he could focus more and stay level-headed when there was more warmer toned lighting throughout the house. The super bright lights wired him as if he was on stage, and that’s what he wanted to get away from when he was at home with you.

As you approached your king sized bed, you released your hand from his. You stood before him, and he watched as you pulled the straps of your tanktop from off of your shoulders, and let the cloth fall to the floor. Your nipples were already hard from the cool air in the bedroom, and it left Michael salivating. You tugged at your pajama shorts, wriggling your thighs out of them so they can also fall to your feet. All that was left on your body was your baby pink lacey panties, with a short white ribbon in the middle of them.

Michael scanned your body, and instead of pushing you down into the mattress like he usually would, he knew that tonight was the night he took his time with you. He needed to make sure it was more intimate than the two of you were used to when you had sex—this was the night the two of you were in an attempt to conceive your child.

He stared at your breasts before walking towards you. He didn’t kiss you just yet, he just looked into your eyes for a couple of seconds. You wrapped your hands around his neck, and he ducked just enough to reach your height. He placed his hands on your hips backing you into the mattress as gently as he could, despite his anticipation. He wanted this night to be a special one.

You followed his lead, leaving small pecks along his jaw, before you fell back onto the memory foam behind you. He stood over you like a ravenous animal ready to devour what was in front of him, and you knew that you were in for it. Michael had the tendency to keep his gentle persona while he drilled your pussy, and it drove you nuts. His face was so sweet, but it was finally that time.

He slowly untied the drawstring of his pajama pants, letting the fabric fall effortlessly. His boxers were on the tighter side, and the sight of his hard erection sent chills down your spine. He snaked his plain white t-shirt over his head, his beautiful chest exposed to you. It took a while for Michael to get this comfortable having sex with you, since it was a nude act most of the time. When he learned that you didn’t care about his skin condition and loved all of him for who he was, it was easy to do this now.

He kept his boxers on, and he didn’t want to take your panties off just yet. He leaned into your body, leaving wet, sloppy kisses on your collarbone. He was close enough to your heat to bait you to buck into his boxer clad cock, the bulge against your pussy feeling like a dream.

You tugged at his boxers, getting them halfway down before he took over, taking them off on his own. You looked at the sight before you–all mean nine inches that you took every other night still seeming to make you nervous. You were nervous for a completely different reason though this time. You and Michael usually fucked raw, simply because it seemed more intimate for the two of you, and there weren’t many risks or scares because you let Michael cum on your chest most of the time, and he especially loved watching it drip onto your body.

But taking all of him inside, felt more intertwined–like puzzle pieces.

He hooked a finger into the side of your panties, yanking them down gently, watching the slight string of wetness follow behind them. You weren’t ashamed of how much Michael made you leak, it was your way of showing him your submission. He grinned at the sight, tossing them on the floor with everything else.

“I want it to last a while… so put it inside now, not later.” You demanded, your voice still soft and submitting. You didn’t want to rush anything, and with Michael’s foreplay, you were bound to cum in under two minutes once he inserted his length inside of you.

“S’ whatever you want, beautiful. You needy, huh?” He mocked, kissing your neck some more. You arched your back off of the mattress slightly, and at this point he was done with his teasing. His girl needed him to please her, ‘not later–right now.’

He lined his cock up with your entrance, patting it against your clit just for the fun of it. He held his length, slowly watching as you took all of him with no hesitation. His bottom lip immediately made contact with his teeth, the feeling so good he almost bit skin off. He pushed all the way in, and fell on top of you. He grabbed at your hand, holding it against the sheets.

What felt like pure bliss, he gave you an unholy amount of strokes until he was reaching his end, and so were you.

“You’re…mmph–gonna make such a good…fuck–daddy, baby.” You moaned out, using your free hand to claw at his back, leaving red marks you know might be a tad bit sore to the touch tomorrow morning.

“Clearly I already am, mama. Y’ see how I’m–shit… fuckin’ you? Gonna give you a pretty baby, I promise.” He groaned between strokes, the sound of his hips slapping yours making your brain feel fuzzy.

Your stomach was starting to grow that familiar heat, and suddenly he picked up his pace. This was the moment that mattered–for the first time since your wedding day, Michael was releasing his seed inside of you–and it would really count this time.

A couple of strokes later, and you could feel him starting to spill out of your pussy from the white ring around his dick. He held your hand tighter, burying his head in the crook of your neck, letting out all kinds of whimpers and groans. You felt the liquid spray inside of your body, and it felt like it was sealing the deal.

You both attempted to try and recollect your breathing, but Michael thrusted a couple more times.

“Jus’ wanna make sure it takes, angel.”

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

It goes to show that the night you and Michael shared seven months ago, definitely got your point across. Here you were, in your white sundress and relatively large baby bump, putting together the Bambi themed nursery for your baby girl. Ever since you and Michael found out the gender of your newest creation, you took forever trying to decipher what a fit name for her would be. You ultimately decided on “Angelina”, which Michael said meant ‘little angel’, and that’s exactly what she would be. You kept the announcement between family, but of course as they always do–the tabloids got a hold of the news as well. Michael never cared about any of that, and was proud to tell the world that he was becoming a father, because in his eyes–this kind of thing was a blessing, not a burden or curse–not even to his career.

Her nursery was almost done being painted, and Michael insisted that the two of you tackle this project without any help, because it seemed more authentic that way. You were in charge of decorating–he was in charge of painting and building–and soon enough this baby was going to be sleeping in something straight out of a Disney movie.

Michael was such a big help with everything too, and you thought to yourself how there was no way he thought he was unfit to be a father–because in your eyes he always did everything the right way. He kept his rehearsals at a minimum, spent time doing whatever it was you needed, and even caving in to try whatever pregnancy cravings you had just so you wouldn’t feel alone.

He kissed your belly goodnight every single night along with you, and made sure to give you space when it was time to sleep, but also never hesitating to bring you in when you were feeling isolated. You were glad that you had a husband that would take care of you regardless of his fame, because that was always something you feared. But knowing now that carrying his child was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made, you were finally at peace.

TWO MONTHS LATER (total of nine months)

“Keep pushin’! You’re doin’ great, sweetie!” One of the nurses yelled out, boosting your confidence to get this baby up and out of you. In reality, you were struggling. The pain was nothing like you’ve felt before–a hundred times worse than period cramps, and more uncomfortable than getting a pap smear. Michael stood by your side, draped in blue hospital gear, with a scrub cap on top of his head for the extra precaution.

You were squeezing his hand hard, but the adrenaline made him feel nothing at all. He motivated you just as the nurse did, telling you how great of a job you were doing, and he left so many kisses on your forehead. As you closed your eyes to give your final pushes, you felt a breeze of relief. The crying started, and you watched as they gently pulled the tiny human from out of your body, and to your surprise—she had a head full of hair–just like Michael.

So that’s why your heartburn was so bad.

Michael cut the cord, and the nurses finished their job.

The nurse cleaned her off and sat her on your chest, and this left you and Michael crying so many tears you could fill up a neighborhood pool. The nurses congratulated you, and took their leave, so you and Michael could have your first moments with your newborn.

“She’s beautiful like her mama,” Michael starts, his voice muffled from the snot build up in his nose. He took the seat next to you, admiring his now two favorite girls. She was calm, and for a split second, she opened her eyes. They were doe-like, and honestly, very identical to Michael’s.

“She’s got eyes like you, Mikey. I knew she would, baby.” Michael looked at the baby sitting on your chest, then at you–the woman he loved with all his might, who just gave birth to his child. He got teary eyed at the reality–finally becoming a father, and not only that–a much better father than Joseph would’ve ever been. He knew that this was going to change his life forever, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He scrounged around in the go bag the two of you brought for when this moment was supposed to happen, and found the camera he used when he took pictures of you to put in his office. He called one of the nurses back in, and he had a moment to hold his new baby. He sat back in the chair next to you, and smiled for the camera. Angelina seemed to understand, despite being a no less than an hour old, because the smallest smirk painted across her tiny face. The flash of the camera went away, and the picture printed at the top.

There were the three of you, Michael in his black button up shirt and slacks, those same loafers and white socks he wore everywhere–and the small hairs creeping up on his upper lip, really making him look like a dad. There was you, hospital blanket pulled up to your chest, anticipating to breast feed Angelina later. Your hair was stuck to your face from all the sweat, but your face was always as beautiful as ever. And then there was baby Angelina, so poised and perfect already. She was fast asleep, dreaming about who knows what, but now you finally felt complete, and so did Michael. And most of all, both of your wedding rings beamed in the light.

Michael took the polaroid and let it finish processing. He leaned in to show you, and couldn’t believe the sight he was seeing.

“We finally have our family now, baby.”

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