⊱ Michael's voice is his ultimate weapon. In bed, he drops the soft, high-pitched public speaking voice entirely. His natural voice is deep, raspy, and incredibly commanding. He loves whispering directives in your ear, telling you exactly how he wants you to move, praise him, or take him. Hearing him stutter or lose his breath when he's close to the edge is rare, but it's the most rewarding thing you'll ever hear.

⊱ He is a praise king, both giving and receiving. He needs to know he's pleasing you, constantly asking, "Do you like that, beautiful?" or "Tell me what you need." In return, worshiping his body, running your hands through his curls, and telling him how incredible he feels drives him absolutely wild.

⊱ Because his schedule is so unpredictable, when you two finally get uninterrupted time together, he wants to make it count. He has insane stamina (he's a dancer, after all). He loves slow, sensual, hours-long sessions where the goal isn't just a quick release, but complete physical connection.

⊱ He likes to tease. He spent his life perfecting his patience and timing; he applies that to the bedroom. He will bring you right to the brink, then stop, pulling back with a soft, knowing smirk just to watch you beg a little bit.

⊱ Michael is incredibly polite and soft-spoken in his daily life, but in the bedroom, he flips the script. He has a dominant streak that comes from a lifetime of being in charge. He loves commanding you to do things—whether it's telling you to undress for him slowly while he watches from an armchair, or demanding you stay perfectly still while he pleasures you.

⊱ He loves massive, floor-to-ceiling gold-gilded mirrors. He will deliberately position you in front of one, holding you from behind, forcing you to look at how beautiful you look underneath him. He wants you to see exactly what he sees.

⊱ He loves a highly sensory, immersive environment in bed. Think silk blindfolds, feather ticklers, or melting massage wax. He loves taking away one of your senses (like your sight) so you are entirely dependent on his touch and his voice.

⊱ He is honestly incredibly possessive during this era. He loves leaving marks where the public can't see them—inner thighs, hips, and collarbones hidden beneath your clothes. He gets a quiet, smug satisfaction seeing a faint bite mark or hickey on you the next day during a meeting, knowing you belong to him.

⊱ Because of his intense dance training, his stamina, core strength, and flexibility are unmatched. He loves lifting you against doors or walls, holding your entire weight effortlessly while keeping a steady rhythm. He knows exactly how to angle his body to get the maximum amount of pleasure for you.

⊱ Michael loves to push your limits just a little bit. He loves bringing you to multiple orgasms, ignoring your breathless pleas to stop, and keeping you right on the edge of sensory overload until you are completely spent and crying out his name.

⊱ Michael has famously large, expressive eyes, and he uses them to lock you in place. He rarely closes his eyes during sex. He wants to watch every single micro-expression on your face—the way your lips part, the way your eyes roll back, the flush on your chest. If you try to look away because it’s too intense, he will gently but firmly cup your jaw to force you to look right back at him.

⊱ He has a hidden urge for a little bit of rougher, more primal play. He loves the sharp contrast of a heavy, stinging slap against your bare thigh or ass, followed immediately by him kissing the red mark he left. He loves hearing the sharp gasp it pulls out of you.

⊱ Michael has an eye for fashion, design, and fabrics. He absolutely adores high-end, vintage-style lingerie—silk corsets, thigh-high stockings with garter belts, and sheer lace. He will personally shop for you, buying pieces he wants to see on you, only to slowly, deliberately peel them off your body, piece by piece.

⊱ He is the absolute best at aftercare. Once the high energy clears, he immediately shifts into the most attentive, nurturing partner. He loves drawing a warm bath for the two of you, gently washing your back, and tracing the lines of your body with a damp washcloth. Afterward, he'll brush your hair out, scent your skin with lotion, and hold you tight against his chest in bed, humming low in his throat until you both fall asleep.

michael had been a fan of yours long before he ever met you.

it started with one movie while he was stuck in a hotel room somewhere in europe. then another. then another. before he knew it, he was asking people if they had seen your latest film and getting weirdly excited whenever your interviews came on television. michael liked that you never seemed prepared for them.

while everyone else in hollywood answered questions like they had practiced in front of a mirror before, you always looked like you just wandered into the conversation by accident. half the time you were laughing at something you had said yourself, so when he spotted you across the ballroom at a charity gala in 1997, he knew exactly who you were.

what surprised him was how normal you looked. you weren’t working the room or posing for photographs. you were sitting with a group of older women from the organizing committee, listening so intently to one of their stories that you didn’t even notice half the celebrities walking past your table. he couldn’t stop glancing over, so later while trying to grab a bottle of water, he nearly walked straight into you.

“oh! i’m so sorry.”

you looked up then immediately giggled.

“michael jackson apologizing to me is crazy.”

his face turned pink so fast it was impressive.

after that, talking to you was easy, easier than it should’ve been. he kept waiting for that awkward moment where the conversation stalled out and one of you had to pretend to be interested in the decorations or something, but it never happened. one topic just kept leading to another.

michael’s secretary came over and reminded him that he was supposed to be speaking with one of the donors, and michael nodded, said he’d be there in five minutes, and twenty minutes later he was still standing exactly where she’d left him.

by the time the night started ending, most of the guests had already gone home. staff members were stacking chairs near the back of the room and collecting abandoned programs from empty tables, and somehow the two of you were still talking. when you finally hugged him goodbye, michael sat in the back of the car afterwards staring out the window like an idiot.