Angel Face

"Deceitful eyes, she's got them 'come get me' thighs"

Rest in peace angelface. We love and miss you so much <33

(Personal letter under the cut)

The world hadn't been kind to him and he had still chosen to stay humble and give his best to make the world better. Even after all these years many people all around the world still love him very much and honor his memory. We miss you very much Michael.

𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. 🕊️

❥you live forever on michael.

I mean, it would depend what you mean by aura I guess? Personally, I think the easiest way of putting that sort of shift you’re talking about into words as somebody who’s looking at it all in hindsight is by looking at how he wanted to portray himself and how that changed after the first round of allegations and especially the trial. It’s no secret that Michael prided himself on maintaining a certain level of mystique and magic about him throughout his life, but, like you said, it seems like that aura was especially prevalent during thriller and bad, which I’d be inclined to agree with. I mean, he was fresh off the heels of creating the best selling album of all time for one. He was untouchable, he was almost magical, he was an enigma, the Peter Pan of Pop. Everybody knew who he was, and at the same time, didn’t know a thing about him, at least not personally. Ironically, I think that mystique eventually worked against him. During the allegations and the years that followed, people began to realise how little they actually knew about him, and what had once been fascinating suddenly became unsettling or questionable to some. But in the early days, I’d say that even things like the early tabloid stories, however stupid or untrue they were, added to this eccentric, larger than life image the public perceived of him, and the idea that he existed in a world completely separate from everyone else, thus creating this aura.

He was also a very good illusionist. You only saw him when he wanted you to see him, and alway in perfect, dazzling motion. The tabloids weren’t fully out of his control yet either, so those could be manipulated to work in his favour to some extent as well. Also, I think that because there was so little access, people filled in the blanks with their imagination. For better, or for worse. But, what little people did get spoke volumes. I agree that he was always very level headed, a great orator, so full of emotion and passion. Whenever Michael spoke at length, it was always with sincerity that cut through the mythology. It’s a bit off topic, but there’s this weird dichotomy surrounding his public perception that is pretty fascinating to me. On the one hand, at the time Michael was often perceived as unrelatable to the general public. How could he not be? His reality consisted of sold-out stadiums and security teams. He couldn’t walk down the street without being swarmed. He existed at a level of fame that very few human beings have ever experienced. But, if any average person who felt they couldn’t relate to him were to actually meet him, they’d probably walk away and say the opposite: that he was down to earth and sincere and shockingly easy to talk to. He was simultaneously the most relatable and unrelatable person on the planet. He was always such a walking mess of contradictions. It’s so interesting. Anyway, I digress.

Then 1993 rolled around. I actually (kind of tragically) think that the start of this year for him was a huge step in the right direction. He was on the up and up it seemed, especially after the Super Bowl. on top of the world but not so unreachable or elusive that it was impossible for the average person to understand like the thriller and bad years. I’m thinking mostly about his Oprah interview. It was probably the most vulnerable he had been with the public for a while (that I can think of), especially when addressing his vitiligo. He was, in a way, extending an olive branch, the first stepping stone for the public to begin to understand him, and I think that with a little time they could’ve gotten there. I really, maybe naively, do. Because, ultimately, he was finally toeing the line between Michael the myth and Michael the man. It’s also evident in his Grammy legends speech. He seems….. himself. Like. Fully. He was charming and easy to empathise with, so different to the bizarre caricature the tabloids had painted of him, but still an icon in his own right. It was the perfect middle ground.

And then? Well. I think we all know what happened next.

You’re so right to compare it to a train crash. I don’t think I could compare it to anything else, anything less devastating. I wasn’t alive to witness any of it, but to have what I imagine felt like the entire world turn on you overnight? It’s already painful. Then considering the steps it seemed he was taking to be understood beforehand?? Even worse. Because this media storm, the public outcry wasn't happening after years of openness, rather, It happened immediately after he had begun opening up. After he had finally sat down and said, in effect, "This is who I am."

And the things that had still gone unanswered, shielded by his aura of mystique, the very thing that had made him fascinating—that nobody quite knew who he was—soon enough became a liability. People wanted explanations. Why? How? Was it true? It must be, right? I always thought he was off. I always thought he was strange. He was always strange, right? Curiosity soon enough became critique, which became condemnation, which the media, of course, drained for every penny they could get. It was the first crack in his composure.

I think another important thing that needs to be taken into account surrounding the first set of allegations was Michael’s drug use and subsequent rehab visit in November of 1993. Going to rehab is already a difficult process for some, but having to announce it in front of damn near the whole world is unfathomable. That level of vulnerability, especially for a man who had found refuge in a very intentional image for the last 10 years, who had already had his vulnerability weaponised and turned against him? It was probably devastating. Addiction takes a physical toll, an emotional toll, and often a psychological toll as well. When you're trying to heal while simultaneously remaining one of the most scrutinised and ridiculed and bullied people on Earth, I imagine these effects feel even stronger.

So, I think that the mystique and aura he had spent his entire life building to protect himself had clearly and quickly become the very cage that trapped him. His transcendence though, was still undeniably there, even if it was irreversibly cracked. Even if there was the impending risk that it could shatter completely. I think this is ultimately what catalysed a lot of HIStory and its vibe. In my eyes, we see a man very clearly trying to re establish the transcendence and grandeur that marked his previous eras. The imagery became larger, grander, almost imperial. There was an emphasis on legacy. It was almost the complete opposite of the vulnerable, introspective Michael who sat down with Oprah earlier in 1993. Rather than inviting the public closer, he seemed to be re-establishing distance. Because the aura, the mystique, the sense that Michael Jackson was somehow larger than life? They were his shield. They gave him distance. They gave him control. Most importantly, they gave him somewhere to hide.

And yet…….. there was still always the need to be understood . I don’t want to analyse HIStory in the context of just Michael’s psychology, because it also goes much deeper than that (his best album imo 👀) and this is just my interpretation, but it’s clear as day in songs like childhood and stranger in Moscow.Part of him seemed desperate to restore the mystery, while another part still wanted people to understand him. That is the contradiction, like so many others, that made Michael Jackson Michael Jackson.

What's interesting is that moving into the early 2000s, there are these moments where the fog seems to lift and you catch glimpses of an incredibly level-headed, self aware, relatable person. Michael’s 2001 Oxford union speech is one of the most beautiful, heartfelt, well spoken ones I’ve ever heard. It’s him at his most human, most vulnerable. It is, simply put, him baring his soul. He is both ordinary and extraordinary.

For all the mythology surrounding him, for all the decades of spectacle and superstardom, what strikes me most about that speech is how recognisable he feels. He's speaking as someone reflecting on childhood, compassion, loneliness, responsibility, and the experiences that shaped him. There is a maturity and self-awareness there that often gets lost in discussions from the mass media about Michael. You come away from it with the impression of someone who has thought deeply about his life, his pain, and what he wants his legacy to be.

It's one of those rare moments where the gap between Michael the man and Michael the myth seems to disappear completely, and I so wish more people had heard it at the time.

And what's remarkable is that the magic doesn't disappear when that happens. If anything, it becomes stronger. The speech proves something I think Michael spent years struggling to believe: he didn't always need the mythology to be compelling. The person himself was enough.

I also see in that speech a crossroads. A heart wrenching reminder, a crystallisation of what his life from 2001 onwards could have been like. I get so caught up in sometimes. What if, instead of Bashir, he had worked with somebody more compassionate, more understanding. What if that version of Michael Jackson was the one that the public had seen- fully seen- and brought with them into the future…………

But we didn’t. We get to living with Michael Jackson. The second peak before the second fall. It is Michael, again, trying to do what he hasn’t since the 90s: explain himself.

One of the things that has always broken my heart in two and made me so upset and angry about this doc was how profoundly hopeful Michael seems throughout it.

hopeful in the sense that he genuinely appears to believe that if people could just spend enough time with him and see his life for themselves, and hear him explain things in his own words, they might finally understand him. I've always thought of this belief as one of Michael's greatest strengths and greatest weaknesses. The problem was that by the early 2000s, Michael's life experiences had become so radically different from everyone else's, so entrenched in the controversy that had followed him in the years before, that he often failed to recognise how his words and actions might appear to an outside observer.

which makes it sting even worse!! Because,If you watch him throughout the documentary, he doesn't come across like someone trying to hide anything. He seems to be trying, to the best of his ability, to be vulnerable. He was trusting. That was something he had every right not to give away by that point.

So psychologically, the public reaction to the doc must’ve felt awful.Because if you look at the trajectory of his life, this wasn't the first time it had happened. In 1993, he had not only sat down with Oprah and allowed people to see a more vulnerable side of him, but he had also let June Chandler and her family into his life because he trusted them. Shortly afterwards, his world collapsed. A decade later, he once again opens the door and invites people inside. Once again, the result is a public relations disaster.

At some point, a person begins to internalise that pattern.

You begin to wonder whether Michael came away from Living with Michael Jackson feeling that there was simply no version of himself the public was willing to accept. The myth was criticised for being too distant. The man was criticised for being too strange. The mystery created suspicion. The honesty created controversy.

And still, there is a final attempt at reaching out, at bridging the gap. You're watching someone extend an olive branch that they genuinely believe might finally, finally be accepted…..and it’s snapped right in two.

That’s one of the reasons the years after 2003 feel so much heavier than the years after 1993. In 1993, the shock was devastating, but perhaps there was still some belief that things could eventually be explained or corrected? By 2003, after everything that had happened, this felt like another failed attempt at connection. Another confirmation that the gap between Michael's intentions and public perception might never be bridged.

what followed seemed to reinforce this ten fold. I don’t like talking about 2005, but I will briefly

In short, I believe that the 2005 allegations stripped him almost entirely of whatever semblance of his myth making was left. In my opinion, one of the reasons the trial was so awful for him, among many many other things, is that the veneer of mystery and that larger than life energy he had been clinging on to ever since 1993, the one he had so meticulously cultivated and held together, that he had put on the line during that documentary, was stripped down in an instant. There’s a quote from an article I read a while ago that sums it up better than I ever could. I don’t like how crude and unsympathetic the writer is about Michael, nor do I agree that he was ever fully humanised, (and I’m pretty sure the part about the forensic observers is plain wrong), but I think I mostly agree with their interpretation of things:

“Despite this outcome, and despite the victory sign he gave to his fans outside the courthouse during his trial for allegedly abusing Gavin Arvizo in 2005, Jackson was effectively destroyed by these scandals. His downfall came when the police, investigating Jordy's reports of genital blotches, photographed his private parts. He called the ordeal "humiliating" and "dehumanising"; …..in fact the examination humanised him, humbling him by unpeeling illusions and reducing him to parity with the rest of us - odd, imperfect, but miserably unmysterious, with mottled testicles, patchily discoloured buttocks, wispy pubic hair, and a peekaboo penis that may or may not (the forensic observers disagreed) be circumcised. Jackson forfeited his divinity at that moment”

Every court appearance, every detail, every crude joke, every headline about his finances, appearance, or personal life chipped away at the distance that had once existed between Michael Jackson and everybody else. And mystique, magic, aura—whatever word you want to use for it—all rely on a degree of distance.They require space for imagination, for projection and for the unknown. The more every aspect of a person's life is examined, debated, photographed, analysed, and reduced to headlines, the less room there is for any of those things to survive.

And nobody's private life was magnified quite like Michael Jackson's.

that trial, it seems, was the final culmination of that.

After 2005, i think it became increasingly difficult for the public to view Michael in the same way they once had, regardless of what conclusions they reached about the trial itself. The image had been subjected to too much scrutiny and too many curtains had been pulled back. And once the curtains have been pulled back that far, it's almost impossible to draw them shut again.

That seems like the main reason his aura seemed to change, at least to me, as somebody who is apart of the younger generation, and who’s only experiences with Michael are seeing the span of his life all at once rather than being there to witness all of this in real time. I also don’t think the increased drug use after 2005 helped either, especially with the level headedness. I do think though that this is it could’ve been some attempt at reclaiming that larger than life energy. Maybe it would have worked. Maybe it wouldn't have. Knowing the tabloids, it's difficult to imagine a world where the trial wasn't held over his head for the rest of his life in some capacity, especially with how prevalent discussions of it still are, years after his passing. The shadow of it was simply too large.

We’ll never know for sure, though.

We do, however, know that the fascination remained. It’s why I’m typing all this out in the first place, why people are still having these conversations nearly two decades after his death.

So, to circle back to your original question: yes, I do think something changed. But i think it probably had to. No one could go through what he went through and come out the other side untouched. But the fact we're still discussing it all these years later suggests that for whatever was lost, there was also still something compelling left behind.

RESIST antiblackness

REVOLT against empire

REMATRIATE the land

This Juneteenth I wanted to explore what African-American liberation would look like on Turtle Island beyond reparations. I took inspiration from my Gullah-Geechee ancestors who maintained their indigenous African lifeways and culture in the face of chattel slavery and cultural genocide.

This painting includes a character of mine who I lovingly refer to as Sister Liberation. She represents a continuum of Black women’s militant resistance against misogynoir and colonialism outside of motherhood. I call her Sister Liberation because she “ain’t nobody’s mama”.

Pictured here is Sister Liberation adorned with cowrie shell jewelry and her signature rifle (adorned with the Akan Adinkra symbols for justice, freedom, and wisdom from the past). In her left hand, she holds stalks of wild rice. In front of her, a Gullah-Geechee sweetgrass basket is adorned with Aya, the Adinkra symbol for survival and endurance. The basket is filled with indigo leaves and okra.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Original Male Character

Era: Bad

Setting: Bad Tour Tokyo (1988), in a hotel suite

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, bodyguard OC, Anal sex, rimming, face-sitting, riding, no protection, dacryphillia (a bit), coming untouched, belt kink (?), powerbottom!Michael, sub!Michael, service top OC, self-indulgent im sorry, POV switching, fluff and smut, sight angst, self-worth issues

Synopsis: Michael wants to do something special for Dean in return for all the times his partner had neglected his own needs to pleasure him. The plan he has in mind is a little too daring, a little too out of his comfort zone. But, at the end of the day, he knew it was fool-proof.

Words: 8.1k

Disclaimer: All material written is purely fictional and doesn’t claim to allude to reality in the slightest. If you don’t like the tags, I strongly advise to not read.

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He can’t believe he’s about to do this, but then again he’s short of ideas.

Michael looks at his signature belts with wariness and charged anticipation. One belt resembled a wrestling belt from its design down to its size, as it can envelop his hips. The rest of his belts were intricately connected to one another, studded to the max, complete with belt buckles that run down from the right spot near his groin to his right thigh, and finally his knee when worn.

As they were his belts, they were a normal sight to behold. Before his shows begin, he’d put them on with the help of the fashion department to make sure he tightened them on his body just right, to check if the belts are turned right to the audience, and if all the metal studs glistened under harsh lighting as always.

It was a tool and a deliberate fashion choice to capture an audience’s attention to his leg and footwork, to enhance the impact of his movements.

However, he wasn’t in one of his shows right now.

He had no crowd to entertain.

But there is an audience—one person in particular.

Michael sighs, feeling a shiver run down his spine and a prickling feeling in his skin at the mere thought of what was to come. Emotions of both excitement and shame battle within him as he thinks about the course of actions he’s about to take in order to get his plan up and running.

He had already prepared himself in the shower and towelled off the remaining droplets of water from his body. Now, standing stark naked with a hard on—borne from doing his business in the shower earlier—and feeling his bare thighs rub together, he feels incredibly wound up.

He grabs the combined belts to put on before anything else; firstly, Michael raises his right leg forward and quickly and swiftly inserted it through the space between the belt strap that goes around and under his knee. Afterwards, he attaches the biggest part of the belts around his bare waist, settling it on the beginning of his hips, a little higher than he puts them on stage. He makes sure that the belt directly under it, slanted diagonally and connected to the bigger belt, was placed above his dick.

He began to adjust the buckles one by one, starting from his waist to his knee, making sure they were tight, perhaps tighter than he has them on stage; he sees to it that the belts resembled second skin with how much they hugged him.

He grabs the largest belt and eyed it with hesitation, contemplating if he should even put on something this eye-catching considering his already daring get-up, but remembers that the point of the huge belt in the first place was to highlight the grace and movement of his hips.

If there’s any better time to use it off the stage, it would be now.

Michael straps and secures the belt around his hips, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror in case he’d feel the urge to back out. He grabs his red robe off a hanger and quickly and swiftly wears it on his body. Finally, he put the straps of the robe around him and ties them into a ribbon, successfully shielding his belts to the outside world.

This time, he leans forward and put his hands on the countertop and allows himself to look into the mirror, catching a glimpse of his flustered cheeks and overeager eyes. He looks like he was about to combust from sheer anticipation.

Gosh, how long has he had that look in face?

Shaking his head, he ignores his mortification and schools his face into a more neutral expression. He checks if the makeup on his eyes still looked presentable, if anything had to be reapplied after his shower. Satisfied, he puts on the final touches of the ensemble by ripping off some white tape to stick onto the usual pinky, index, and ring finger.

Though all these details seemed pointless, he wants to be as close to himself when performing.

It helped him get into the mindspace of confidence.

After deeming himself ready, he removes himself from the countertop and exits the bathroom leading to his bedroom. He inches towards the door that led to the living room, feeling his heart beat faster and breathing increase rapidly with every step.

Here goes nothing.

───────────────

Michael was planning something, at least that’s what Dean can derive from the situation he finds himself in.

His suspicions started when, earlier that day, he had overheard Michael sheepishly ask a member of his team for his stage belts to take home to the hotel, something about needing to practice in his gear.

That in and of itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, as Michael always went over the extra mile to perfect his performances, even down to the last detail of how his costumes operated on stage. That’s why each time he went on the stadium platforms he was even better than the last, and Dean always finds himself mesmerised that he manages to top himself so consistently.

Dean had never even known there were levels to perfection before he met Michael.

But something that had struck him as odd is that, after he obtained his belts, Michael would all too frequently cast prolonged glances at his direction. It started when he eventually had to do a series of photoshoots, where he kindly asked Dean if he could hold onto his belts for him.

“Can you hold these for me, Dean?” he had asked him with the full effect of his big eyes and soft voice, and, of course, as per his bodyguard and lover, Dean was never one to deny him—but not without getting his fill of teasing him first.

“Flattered you always pick me to carry your belongings, but shouldn’t you give the other guys some love?” Dean had smirked and spared a glance at his workmates, Michael’s other bodyguards, as he poked fun at the fact that he always seemed to favour him for mundane requests—from holding his spare jackets to carrying tumblers of his orange juice. Despite his words, he had taken it from the star’s hands immediately and without hesitation.

Michael had rolled his eyes and snickered, like the answer to the question was obvious, “You’re the closest one to me, so I handed them to you.”

While Dean had known that Michael probably meant that he was physically the closest, his heart drummed at the probable double meaning.

“And if my hands are too full to save you from danger?”

“Well… I’ve got other bodyguards to show some lovin’ to, don’t I?” Michael had replied with a smug smile, as he threw Dean’s own words back to him.

Under the lights and camera flashes, Michael had started off as focused as he could be, donning on what he heard to be a royal blue ‘kimono’ and, as usual, he looked exceptionally handsome and elegant. The longer the shoot went on, however, Michael’s eyes, seemingly glazed and half-lidded, in their own world, strayed away from the camera and found Dean’s own. And while doing so, he subtly licked his lips and quickly glanced at the belts Dean held up in his right arm ever so frequently, like him and the belts were some sort of package deal to look at. He had done it enough times that the photographer had to tell him to keep his eyes on the camera.

Usually, when Michael would make eye contact with Dean during photoshoots as a way to pass time, he’d make a few faces to silently communicate his boredom or impatience, or he’d smile at him and try to mouth some words, which he, with a convincing nod of acknowledgment, would pretend to understand; nine times out of ten Michael would laugh at him for misunderstanding later on.

The long and, dare he say, almost heated stare—resembling eyes that he would only be treated to in the bedroom—wasn’t something he had ever received from Michael in public.

Needless to say, Dean had fought a hard battle of keeping himself unaffected by said eyes.

When the photoshoot had wrapped up, and after Michael emerged from the building's studio with a change of casual clothes, complete with a scarf that covered the bottom half of his face, and, oddly enough, eyeliner still painting his eyes (which he presumed Karen would’ve removed after the photoshoots from what he knew of their routine) Dean and the rest of security ushered him into a black van inside the building’s private parking lot.

The ride to the hotel had been mostly quiet, where Michael looked out through the tinted car window as he hummed and tapped on his knee the beat to ‘speed demon,’ which Dean found pretty ironic considering the glaring traffic.

He had leaned near Michael’s ear, and made sure to put enough of a professional distance, “Dreaming of speeding on the freeway?”

Michael had whipped his head around in surprise at hearing his song lyrics spoken like a question, but was quick to break down in a bout of giggles.

“You’re being silly.” He had said with a light laugh and radiant smile, and lowered the volume of his voice for his next words in respect for their driver, “But yes, I do wish we can get to the hotel quicker. Maybe, if I was allowed to drive in this place… which I would be very capable of…”

Dean had grinned as he recognized Michael’s jab at his security team for strategically preventing him from driving while on tour, lest they run into a nightmare where Michael’s overeager fans meet his knack for driving fast, “As much as I’d like to see that, your safety is my first priority.”

Michael had raised his eyebrow playfully before he challenged his words, “Quit pullin’ the bodyguard card. Between you and me, do you really think I would get us into some trouble?”

“Sorry, boss’ orders.” Dean replies before he thinks it over, “Hmm… it’s not so much about you getting us into trouble, but more so how trouble seems to find you.”

“You talk in circles.”

“It’s because you make my world go round.”

At that, Michael pinched Dean’s side for his corny reply, which caused him to jolt and cover his waist in case Michael was annoyed enough to deliver a barrage of pinches.

Instead, Michael had only crossed his arms and let his gaze linger on him for longer as a flush slowly creeped up his cheeks. Slowly, the expression of indignation melted along with the tenses of his eyebrows and eyes, where Michael had started to look at him with a softer and almost dazed expression, his long lashes fluttering slowly and deliberately. And again, there was something so intentional in that look—ignited with want and expectation, fervently searching—that it had convinced Dean that Michael was trying to communicate a message with his eyes.

A message that he couldn’t respond to in the way he had wanted, knowing that they were in public.

Before he could have done anything idiotic, such as kiss Michael stupid for being so effortlessly beautiful and tempting him all day, his train of thought had been cut off as the driver addressed him, “Sir Hendrix, can I confirm if the drop-off area has been cleared of Sir Jackson’s fans?”

Dean had whipped his head in alarm and cleared his throat before responding; he washed away the dryness that started to form in his mouth, “Yes, we took extra measures to make sure this vehicle would not be tailed. That’s part of the reason why we opted for this van.”

The driver had made a sound of approval, and after that, the rest of the drive became relatively non-hectic. Michael went back to watching the nightly sights and lights of Tokyo through the window, and Dean was left daydreaming on how he would finally answer to Michael’s eyes once they were alone.

Now, in the present, Dean sits on the plush couch of their two-bedroom suite (arranged under the conditions of raising security measures) with a remote in hand and a paused movie called ‘Top Secret’ in front of him. It was, unfortunately, far from the situation that he expected to be in. He thought that by now, his hands and his lips would be all over Michael, pleasuring him in a way that the star’s eyes had told him to.

Instead, his attempt at trying to kiss Michael the minute they had stepped into the suite was met with a finger to his lips, and an amused reply of, “Not now, Dean… I’m gonna need those belts and a shower. Can you set up a movie while I’m gone?”

So now he sits alone, stripped to his polo and work pants, head hanging off the couch with his eyes looking up at the extravagant ceiling, contemplating if he had misunderstood the intent behind Michael’s eyes. He felt embarrassed that he all but pounced on Michael like a dog at the smallest sign of privacy, and wonders if the seductive stares he received throughout the day were just a result of his overconfidence and hyperactive imagination, and the superstar wasn’t really up for a night of fun.

Fun that didn’t include movies, that is.

As he was lightly grazing his thumb on some of the remote’s buttons, hoping that the action could help him get immersed in the idea of movie marathons and kill his half-chub, the sound of a door creaking pulls him back to reality.

As he was about to make a casual announcement of ‘Top Secret is on!’ (partly to make Michael forget about his fumbling earlier), his gaze met Michael’s big eyes—the same manner of eyes that sent him into a frenzy—and the words quickly died in his throat. His mind registers that Michael was only clad in a red bathroom robe that reaches past his knees. A slither of the skin on his chest was slightly exposed, peeking through the robe’s gaps, tempting to reveal what was underneath.

Michael had never worn that outside his bedroom before.

The sound of slight jingling of metal reaches Dean’s ears as Michael’s bare feet carries him to the latter. The star’s eyes remain glued to his own as he stares at him with purpose.

Now standing in front of him, with their legs barely centimetres apart, Michael slowly and deliberately grabs the tail end of the string that held the robe together with his now tape-clad fingers, and positions it towards Dean. He tilts his head, looks at him expectantly, and dares him to try.

It did not take much convincing on Dean’s end, as he reaches up to pull it, untangling the ribbon as it became loose. Michael assisted in the unraveling of his robe by rolling his shoulder backwards, causing it to fall fully and off his skin like silk.

The sight he was greeted with was unlike anything, and yet, was everything he had seen before.

He had loved up upon Michael’s bare body enough times to memorize every part of it, from the dimples of his back to his enchanting skin and to the patterns of his palms; he had watched Michael’s performances from backstage enough to know how his stage belts hugged his body, how it complemented him whenever he’d walk, kick, and spin—whenever he had moved his hips hypnotically to the beat of a song.

But never in his wildest dreams had he imagined those images to collide.

Dean could physically feel his eyes dilate, his mouth beginning to dry, and his cock hardening at the sight of Michael's bare thigh wrapped tightly by his stage belts, some of the skin spilling to the sides that weren’t occupied by the thin leather. The rest of the two belts near his groin hug his hips like second skin, nearly touching his pretty cock from above. The largest belt of them all settles at the end of Michael’s waist and envelops his hips, overlapping a bit of the smaller belt under it; the silvers he adorned himself with makes him look like sinful royalty.

Suddenly, Michael moves closer to him and places his knees beside Dean’s thighs as he settles onto his lap, making the plush cushions of the couch dip and squeak minutely. He feels the other’s hard cock now press onto his clothed stomach.

Michael’s forwardness renders him speechless, it was like something out of an uncharacteristic wet dream.

Michael grabs Dean’s star struck face in his gentle but firm hands and whispers into his soul, “Tonight is about you, Dean. So please, let me show you how much I want you.”

And with that, Michael crashes his lips into Dean’s in a heated kiss, tilting his head and using his hands to roughly pull the other towards him by the jaw. This breaks Dean’s state of horny-induced paralysis, and immediately kisses the star back with vigour, his hands grabbing and palming at everything he could touch before one settles on the juncture of Michael’s thin waist and the other reaching over to his backside, feeling both leather and a plump behind in his grip.

Dean, using his hold on the other’s waist and the belt that ran down his ass, pulls Michael closer and kisses him deeper, invading the other’s wet and hot mouth with his tongue. He feels Michael begin to subtly grind his ass onto his clothed, aching dick while the star’s own hard-on rubbed on Dean’s polo shirt, seemingly unbothered about the friction as he moaned into his mouth, the sound reverberating and leaving a tingling, pleasant feeling on the bodyguard’s lips. It was like Michael was trying to kill him in the best way possible.

Dean retracts his hand on the other’s waist to hurriedly unbutton the bottom half of his polo, as he now felt Michael’s cock and pre-cum rub on his bare stomach. His hand went back to Michael’s waist and pulls him impossibly closer, moving his lips and tongue against Michael’s own in an easy and smooth rhythm they have practiced times before.

Just as Dean was about to bite on the other’s lip, the star slowly stopped humping him and parts from his lips with a deep exhale, a string of saliva connecting their mouths, all the while keeping his eyes on him. Michael’s grip on his jaw held him in place before he could chase his lips again. The star shoots him an almost cocky, self-assured look, a look that often commanded an audience to watch him.

Consider himself commanded, alright.

Michael places his hands on Dean’s shoulders before rolling his hips into deep, rhythmic grinds, his bare ass lifting slightly before crashing down and putting pressure on his partner’s clothed cock. He flicks his head upwards, the curls of his hair following. He shows the long line of his adams apple as he releases a long, drawn out groan. Dean is transfixed with the graceful movement of his body—from how his bare chest heaves with deep breaths to how the large, glinting belt on his waist moves along the enticing rhythm of his hips and frames his cute belly; it tilts upwards, downwards, and everything in between—and he could feel every emphasized movement putting pressure on his bulge, teasing him. The star’s own hard cock hangs untouched and bobs slightly as he rocks back and forth.

As Dean notices this, he reaches down to touch the neglected cock but Michael grabs his wrist before he could. Instead, he directed it towards his parted lips and slowly bit the appendage. He rests his cheek on Dean’s palm as his smokey eyes, clouded with lust yet painted with pointed focus, stares at Dean’s own. He rolls his tongue around the thumb, downing it in his spit as he keeps the pace of his moving hips.

Dean feels like his cock will comically burst out of its cotton confines at the lewd display if he lets Michael continue.

Reluctantly, Dean slides his thumb away from Michael’s mouth and used both of his arms to grab the back of Michael’s thighs into a strong hold, pulling him upwards and towards him, temporarily separating him from his lap and forcing Micheal to rest his arms on Dean’s shoulders. He hears Michael’s surprised and indignant whine about the loss of friction above him as he wiggles his ass impatiently in the air.

“Sorry baby,” he whispers breathlessly, “If I let you keep doing that I’m gonna come in my pants, and I haven’t even had my fill of touching you yet. You’re just way too sexy.”

He hears Michael almost purr at his words and lets out a giggle of amusement, “That’s what I feel when you tease me too much.”

“Oh? Is this some form of revenge?”

“Maybe,” Michael jokes before whispering into Dean’s ear, “But I just wanna be good for you.”

“You’ve never been bad for me a day in your life.” Dean pauses before saying, “Pun not intended.”

Dean swears he could hear Michael roll his eyes, “Seriously, Dean…” he says as he tightens his hold around the other’s shoulders, “I want you to tell me what you want. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

At those words, Dean reflects that it echoed his own sentiments during the times they were intimate before. When he had Michael sprawled out, trembling and aching for any form of pleasure, he’d whisper into his ear a series of questions: Where do you want it? How deep do you want it? Don’t be shy, tell me where it aches.

Was this his way of taking charge?

He thinks it over, reaching far back into the recesses of his mind for any fantasies he kept hidden, ones he knew Michael would derive the most pleasure from in all of its newness and familiarity.

Got it.

“I wanna eat you out while you sit on my face.” He says with conviction, but then quickly realizes how brazen that request sounded to his ears.

Brazen, but not untrue.

He can feel Michael freeze in his hold. The star moves backwards to look at him with a mix of surprise, confusion, and arousal, “Dean, I’ve already prepared and stretched myself out. Don’t feel obligated to do that anymore… Tonight is about you, remember?”

“Who says I feel obligated?” Dean raises. an eyebrow and smirks, all the while trying to keep his composure at the knowledge that Michael had prepared in the shower already, “There’s nothing I want more right now than for you to smother my face, gorgeous.”

“You always talk so dirty…” Michael replies, embarrassed and looking a little unsure, but he visibly lights up from his words as the tension in his shoulders loosened bit by bit, “And say the craziest things. I never even knew you were into that kinda stuff.”

“Has to come from somewhere though, right? I don’t take time out of my day eating you out just to prepare you. I see it as more of a hobby.”

“You need to learn how to shut up sometimes.”

“What better way to shut me up than to...”

At those words, Dean sees a shift overcome in Michael’s eyes before he was unceremoniously pulled to his right side and pushed to lay back on the couch, a resounding thud echoing in his ears. He feels Michael’s hands on him, digging into his chest as he adjusts himself in an all-fours position. He shoots Dean one last look before turning his body around, giving him a tempting sight of his pucker, plush cheeks, and hanging cock before sitting into a more upright position. He now hovers above Dean’s mouth.

“I hope you don’t regret this.”

“Never been so sure about anything else in my life, come here baby.”

At that, Michael tentatively lowers himself, and Dean feels the angel put his body weight onto his face.

───────────────

This wasn’t how Michael expected this to go.

He had thought Dean’s request would be something along the lines of sucking him off while he kneeled on the floor, or giving him a handjob then riding him. He had prepared for those scenarios both physically and mentally, psyched himself up in the bathroom for it. He had performed that mortifying lap dance to tease Dean the way he had always teased him, to give him a glimpse of what he could get. He had parried off the hand that went for his own dick so that he wouldn’t cum too early and ruin the night for either of them, thinking that it was just guilt that urged Dean to reach out.

He wanted to give back to Dean the pleasure he felt when he was under his hands and ask him what he wanted this time; he wanted to be good for Dean the way Dean had always been good for him.

But he didn’t expect this, that Dean’s first thought was to touch him in places that he knew Michael loved.

Despite the confusion and the want to tell Dean to forget about him for a second and to focus on himself, his eyes showed his sincerity and his mouth spoke of what he wanted. And if tonight was for Dean, he thinks, who was he to deny him?

Michael moans low as he feels a wide, wet tongue lick a long stripe from his perineum to his hole. He feels his hips stutter at the contact, his hands on Dean’s stomach slightly shaking in nervousness and excitement.

Dean’s hands snake around his butt and his thighs, putting one of his thumbs under a belt strap as he continues to unrelentingly suck and lick and kiss at his balls and hole, tapping and pulling him towards his face as a sign to move.

And move he does. Michael lets the sensation of hot pleasure take over his movements, forgetting all his reluctance and shyness as he closes his eyes and grinds onto Dean’s open mouth. He shakes his butt in Dean’s face, feeling the own fat of his behind jiggle as his special spot continues to be lathered with spit and become more tender by the second. It was like Dean was trying to eat him alive with how eagerly he moves his lips and his tongue, with how his hand on Michael’s leg belts continue to pull and strain his thighs, with how the other hand that was firmly planted on Michael’s belly encourages him to keep moving—it was like the full weight of himself wasn’t enough to stop Dean from getting what he wanted.

He feels Dean prod and insert his tongue into the ring of muscle around his pucker, causing Michael to let out a pleasured groan as left over lube and spit mixed inside of his walls. The bodyguard’s hold on him was firm, anchoring and guiding Michael’s movements to his tongue.

Everything in Michael’s body felt hot, like he was a live wire that’s about to burst from sheer energy. His movements felt uncontrollable as he chases the feeling of Dean devouring his special place. His hips moved faster and more desperately, driving the tongue inside him deeper as he raises his body up and down with his knees.

Suddenly, Michael is lifted slightly by Dean as he heard the other heave a deep breath and promptly spit on something. He feels a wet hand grab his dick, and, in his surprise, he jolts forward and almost falls flat on his chest if not for his own hands that caught him mid fall.

“You okay there, baby?” Dean asks him as he slowly strokes Michael’s cock with his big hand.

“Y-yes…” Michael manages to stutter out, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations that made him feel all too light-headed. He jerks his hips downwards to fuck into the fist in spite of his initial reluctance to get his dick touched, and feels Dean grasp and subtly pull on his thighs, signaling him to move backwards and sit back on his face if he was ready again.

However, even in Michael’s delirious state, he somehow manages to notice the straining bulge in front of him, the other’s legs unable to stay still as he presses both his thighs together to relieve any form of tension.

Without much fanfare, Michael lowers himself towards the bulge and uses his shaky hands to unbutton Dean’s pants and pull his zipper down, willing himself to focus despite the active hand on his own dick. As he tries to lower the other’s pants and boxers, he feels Dean slightly lift his hips up to make it easier for him.

Finally, the other’s cock—big, swollen and dripping with pre-cum—springs free from its elastic confines and Michael wastes no time to lather his right hand with his own spit and wrap his palm around Dean’s dick. He works it with his hand up and down in quick motions, feeling the other jerk up in his hold and hearing a groan escape his lips.

When it was wet enough, Michael pauses the movements of his hand and flattens his tongue on Dean’s cock before licking the long length of it, from the base to the tip, tasting the salty beads of cum at the top. He puts his lips on the cockhead and promptly kisses it before bearing down, straining his throat and swallowing as much of it as he could in one motion.

Michael hears Dean let out a low moan as he begins to desperately bob his head back and forth, feeling the girth and length of the cock take up space in his open mouth and hollowed cheeks as it hits near the back of his throat every time he lowered himself, trying his best to get closer to the hilt and take it all without resistance. His right hand still remains at the base of the cock, jerking the spot his mouth couldn’t reach.

His jaw aches and the sense of fullness overwhelms him, invading his senses and making it hard to breathe, but he couldn’t care less.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Michael’s mind doesn’t register that Dean’s unoccupied hand moves to his hole, and is surprised by two wet fingers prodding at his pucker, entering him easily as he had already loosened himself up in the shower, with the addition of Dean lavishing his hole with attention. He feels them scissor and slide in a familiar rhythm, stretching him further with his lover’s thick fingers. It’s not long before Dean finds his sweet-spot, causing Michael’s hips to stutter to a stop and his mouth around the cock to let out a muffled, pleasured moan—halting his motions momentarily as he takes in the heavenly sensation of getting his prostate played with alongside the light stroking of his own cock.

He feels Dean add a third finger and repeatedly hit the spot with no remorse, causing Michael to curl his toes and fuck back on the fingers sliding inside of him, desperate to feel them hit deep at the shortest possible intervals. He takes his mouth off of Dean’s cock to look back on his shoulder, using his hand to stroke him fully instead, but his pace was bordering on uncoordinated—he couldn’t focus as waves of pleasure kept crashing onto him.

“Ah! feels really good! m’going crazy…”

“I know baby,” Dean says, breathless, “I love it when you’re desperate… when you want me to please you so bad you forget everything else.”

“Dean… please!” Michael exclaims, as he feels close to the tipping point, “I wanna cummm… but I-I want to only when you’re inside me. Wanna be able to ride you…”

Michael hears Dean groan at the admission, clearly affected by the prospect, “It’s fine if you’re too tired,” He says sincerely, but Michael can hear that it pained him to say that—that he’s holding back from telling Michael that he wants to see it, that he wants to see him on his lap and fuck himself open, “It’s enough for me to see you come undone.”

At that, Michael, with as much self control as he can muster, reluctantly yet quickly moves away from Dean’s hold and his fingers—as if doing it any slower will tempt him to remain—and lifts himself up to sit on his lover’s stomach. He moves himself to face Dean again, feeling indignant and guilty that his lover seems to always think about Michael before himself—he didn’t want the night to end like his most shameful nights, where he’d cum too early with all his energy drained out of him, leaving Dean to jerk himself off and paint his body with sticky white.

“Michael, you don’t have to—“

“Want you in me, Dean…” Michael cuts him off, pausing to catch his breath. He locks his eyes on Dean, channeling his confidence on stage once more as he lifts himself on his knees and grabs the aching cock behind him, aligning the tip to his ready and waiting hole, “and I know you want it too. You’re so hard and desperate for it… yet you never admit it.”

“Just don’t wanna hurt you like everyone else.”

“Stop acting like a body guard,” Michael replies as he puts Dean’s cockhead to his pucker, “don’t need you protectin’ me.”

Without wasting any time, Michael lowers himself in one big drop, feeling the wet cock surprise his tight insides as it stretches him to his utmost limits. He feels the heat of Dean’s cock warm his hole as he brings himself down to the hilt. His shoulders tense, his chest puffs, and a moan is drawn out of his lips as the cock hits his sweet spot, the feeling of fullness utterly consuming him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Dean says breathlessly, his hesitation forgotten as his hands go up to palm and squeeze Michael’s bare chest, teasing and grazing his small, hard nipples. The star leans into the touch as he bites his lips, trapping a whine that almost let loose. He took in Dean’s ruffled hair and glazed expression as he feels hands slide slowly down to the sides of his waist, his heart soaring from how much Dean openly admires him.

As Michael feels his hole settling onto the size of Dean’s cock just right, he leans forward to put his hands near his lover’s chest without warning and starts to move his hips and his knees enthusiastically with as much grace as he can muster as a dancer, grinding and bouncing as the fat of his butt jiggles and moves towards the base of the dick. The obscene sounds of his tight, wet hole greedily taking in every inch of Dean’s cock does nothing but fan the flame of his arousal.

His eyes remain on Dean’s, taking in the other’s expressions: his heavy breathing, how his mouth remains agape and in awe, how his eyes can’t seem to look away from the sight in front of him.

He looks desperate, on the verge of letting go of his ridiculously strong restraint.

Michael feels his hole grip tightly and slide smoothly down on Dean’s cock as its shape and veins brand themselves on his walls, making him feel a sense of incomparable fullness. Pleasurable tingles shoot up his spine as the tip of the cock occasionally hits his prostate at a certain angle, a feeling he tries to chase over and over again as he moans loudly without shame, but his frustration shows in his crinkled eyebrows at every miss.

“Baby… you having trouble finding it?” Dean says in harsh breaths, trying to keep his composure. Michael feels the other’s hands settle on his hips, his thumbs trapping themselves under his silver belt for support, and begins to assist him in lifting himself up and bringing him down, anchoring him to a position where his prostate would be precisely hit. Dean’s own hips start moving and jerking upwards as much as they’re able to, meeting Michael’s ass at every thrust. “Is that better?”

“Mmmh!! Feels too amazinggg…” Michael blabbers out loud in between high pitched whines, nodding his head, “Pleash, don’t ever stop…”

“Why would I… ever wanna stop.” Dean grunts out his response as Michael feels the bodyguard’s hips start to move faster and the grip on his hips become stronger, more demanding, dragging the star towards the other’s hips in harsher and shorter thrusts.

“You drive me crazy, the way you fuck yourself so eagerly on my dick.” Dean says with effort as Michael feels the cock inside of him go impossibly deeper, causing his eyes to roll to the back of his head and his head to loll in the same direction. Only a silent scream managed to escape his lips. “Never seen you like this before. Makes me wanna put you through the mattress, give you everything you need and more.”

“Ah!” Michael shouts as he feels Dean lift his hips higher, forcing Michael to plant his feet to the sides of the other’s hips. This allows the star to use his full momentum in lifting himself up higher and bearing his whole weight towards the hilt, his own neglected cock dripping wet with pre-cum and bobbing towards his big, silver belt in exaggerated motions. However, the longer the moment stretches the more he feels his hips still and stutter, the more his own movements take a step back, the more he feels Dean control the pace. He was losing momentum as the direct hits to his prostate left him a panting, shivering, and spluttering mess.

“Do you want that, baby? Will you let me take over?”

Michael has half a mind to say that he was already at Dean’s mercy, and that tonight was never really about what he wanted, that he didn’t even need to ask for his permission. But all that was capable of coming out of his mouth was, “Need you real bad, love everything that you do to me… don’t want you to hold back.”

In that moment, Michael’s world was flipped upside down as he now finds himself laid sprawled on his back. Dean was now on top of him, sitting upright between his raised and open legs—his flexibility showing in how far they bent towards himself and how they could rest on Dean’s shoulders.

Dean removes the rest of his pants and underwear before he slams his dick inside of Michael fully, the change of position and lack of restriction allowing him to drive his cock deeper and thrust in a more unrelenting pace. His strong and unyielding hold on Michael’s hips and his silver belt pull the star towards the base of his cock at every brutal thrust, practically bruising his already sensitive prostate. He could hear his belts jostle at the impact, metal clanging echoing in his ears. It sends Michael into a spiral of overwhelm, his neglected cock letting out dribbles of more pre-cum.

All he could do was scream and tilt his head to the ceiling. He feels an incoming wetness build on the edge of his eyes, threatening to spill along with his release.

He was so so close.

It’s not long before Michael registers that his legs were being manoeuvred to wrap around Dean’s hips, the latter leaning forward and bearing down to bite at his neck. He jolts and lets out a choked out moan, grabbing onto Dean’s nape and hair and squeezing his legs around the other’s waist, the need to have something to hold on for dear life dictating his actions as he lets himself be manhandled and fucked into submission.

“Didn’t know you like me like this,” Dean whispers in his ear, the strangled grunts and hot puffs of breath grazing Michael’s cheek, sending a shiver down his whole body, “taking what I want, doing whatever I please.”

“You want me to use you, that’s it right?” Dean punctuates his words with a fast and deep thrust, causing Michael’s body to move higher and arch off the couch cushions in surprise, “Til’ I’m satisfied… til’ you can’t take it anymore…”

“Y-yessss!!” Michael exclaims, feeling the tears in his eyes fall and wet his cheeks, a sob wracking from his throat. He couldn’t see it, but the stinging and heaviness in his eyes tells him that his mascara started running, dark streaks flowing down his face, “don’t stop, m’sho closeeee…”

At that, Dean moves to lick the tears that spilled from Michael’s eyes as he continued to fuck the star at an unforgiving pace, as if his cock was permantly carving a home inside of his walls. He feels as if every coherent thought in the world escaped him and he was only able to think about the dick ramming inside of him, like his whole world was reduced to this one point of otherworldly pleasure and nothing else mattered.

Michael feels something inside him build to a mounting pressure as the cockhead doesn’t stop the assault on his prostate, his nerves feeling all the more alive each second. The shockwaves of pleasure become stronger, feeling the tingling in his body intensify and the tight, heated coil that guarded his orgasm unwind before a scream punches out from his chest to his mouth.

“Ah!!” His body shakes and stiffens, his hole tightens, and his toes curl all at once. His hands grip onto Dean tighter as he comes untouched, painting Dean’s and his own chest sticky white with his cum.

Despite his release, Dean continued to move his hips into the same spot as if he was hypnotized, his ragged breaths and moans filling Michael ears and adding to the onslaught of sensations that overstimulated his body.

More rivulets of tears ran down his cheeks as he felt unable to distinguish the difference between bliss and pain, but he couldn’t care less. Having Dean like this, unable to hold himself back and using him to get to his own release like he can’t get enough of him, makes him unfathomably happy.

He didn’t always like it when people took more from him than what he could give, but with Dean, he feels as if he can give himself totally.

He had never felt this wanted in his life.

In one last punctuated, deep thrust, Dean’s hips stutter and stills. He comes, filling Michael’s walls with his hot release, warming the star’s whole body.

Michael tightens his hold on Dean’s nape and his legs around the other’s waist as a result, making sure Dean empties everything inside of him, leaving him stuffed and full.

“Love you,” Michael hears Dean choke out as he moves his head to look at Michael, his eyes clouded with adoration and meaning, before kissing him softly on his parted lips.

Michael feels the quiet passion and love behind the other’s kiss, and for the first time in his life, he feels like he was deserving of it—that he earned the love that Dean had always been so willing to shower him with.

Michael kisses back with as much concentrated fervor and gentleness as he could, his hands running through the other’s hair while he pulls him by his head, as they both come down the high of their orgasms. He can’t help but continue to cry, his puffed out eyes and sniveling making it hard for him to return the kiss how he wanted to.

With a soft hum, Dean parts from his lips and moves back, sliding his dick out of Michael carefully, as the latter feels cum drip down his ass. Michael had half a mind to pull Dean back with his legs, but his whole body felt boneless as his legs gave out from their hold.

Dean’s hand reaches out to wipe Michael’s tears away with his thumb while he holds his cheek. At the comforting gesture, Michael’s breaths began to slow to a normal pace, and the tears in his eyes began to dry up bit by bit.

Dean had always been good at bringing him to a peak and calming him down.

“Did it hurt?” Dean says breathlessly.

“No…” Michael replies before he corrects himself, “j-just a little. But I love… I love it…”

“I can see that,” Dean lets out a light laugh, “I didn’t know you had that in you… you’re full of surprises.”

Michael makes an offended sound, “You’d know sooner if you didn’t treat me like glass…”

“I just wanted it to be good for you,” Dean says, and Michael hears his earlier sentiment in Dean’s words, how he wanted to be good for Dean as well, “after your performances, or whatever you had going on in a day, I could see your exhaustion.”

At that, Dean moves to collapse on Michael’s body and wrap his arms around his waist, burying his face in his neck, “You always put your all into everything you do, and there’s nothing I wanted more than to make you relax, to see you freed from your worries. With me, I didn’t want you to think of giving or performing.”

Dean tightens his hold on his waist, “But that thought escaped me today… the moment you sat on my lap and kissed me senseless, I felt like I was under a spell.”

Michael feels a mix of emotions at the admission. An overwhelming sense of love bloomed in his heart and spread through his chest at the knowledge of why Dean had always been adamant and meticulous at taking care of him, at making sure he was comfortable the last time they were intimate. He was so so gentle and treated Michael like he was precious.

But at the same time he felt confused. What did he do to deserve that type of attention, that sort of tenderness? For as long as he knew he had to work for other people to love him, to give them something irreplaceable. Whether it be through his music, his money, or through his own body, he needed to prove himself, to meet and surpass expectations.

He knew he was hard to love as he is, when he’s stripped off the glitz and glamour and the person behind it was all that remains.

But, against his wishes, something in him just lets go of the need to be at his best with Dean. The first time he noticed that he had been acting too lax, too carefree, and too much of himself—forgetting to filter his words and adjust his mannerisms around him, he was terrified.

But here Dean was—still undeterred by the personality that had the media calling him names, by the nature of someone who didn’t get to grow up normally—loving him in his barest, weakest form both in body and in mind.

Michael feels something wet well up in his eyes once more, “You’re too selfless for your own good…”

“I can say the same for you.” He hears Dean say near his neck, and Michael can see the cogs in Dean’s brain turn in his silence, “Did you do this for me as a way to give back?”

“Yes,” Michael replies tentatively, aware that his answer doesn’t do much but prove Dean’s point, “But I did it cause I wanted you to see how much I appreciate you… that I can make you feel good too…”

“You didn’t have to prove anything to me.”

“Maybe I didn’t, but for you… I wanted to.” Michael replies, his hand finding Dean’s cheek and caressing it to signal him to look. Their eyes meet once Dean turns his head and raises his chin, where Michael’s gaze revealed his complete vulnerability and open heart, “Cause I love you.”

Something in Dean’s eyes softened at those words as he sank more into the palm that held his cheek.

“That’s the same reason...” Dean says, before he turns to tenderly kiss Michael’s palm, “why I treated you that way in bed before. I wanted to show you how special you are to me, and that’s because I love you.”

This time, it was Michael’s turn to pull Dean towards his lips to cement a firm and purposeful kiss, a kiss that told all his feelings—his disbelief, regrets, gratitude, and love, the emotions he wasn’t able to voice all at once in a way that did them justice.

Dean returns the kiss like he understands him, like Michael wasn't all that difficult to figure out. His lips, as sure and as confident as the promise of tomorrow, press on his own like they don’t want to be anywhere else, like they never want to leave him.