⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝓛𝓪 𝓬𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 ⊹ ࣪ ˖
𝓛𝓪 𝓬𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 ─(n.) French; La ceinture.
Synonyms: waistband, sash, belt.
𝓢𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 - Studio 54, 1977.
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :
Riding Bsf!Michael's belt in a private booth while you are intoxicated.
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 :
Kissing, Teasing, Drunken Outercourse, Semi-Public Sex, Slight angst, Mutual Inexperience, Slight Sub!Reader, Slight Softdom!Michael, Belt Kink, Best Friends with Benefits, Reader has an afro.
Word count: 2.73k
Pairing: Michael Jackson x Black Fem!Reader
Inspired by @3leni and @eohqz .ᐟ .ᐟ .ᐟ :3
A wrangly bundle of nerves would be an apt description of what Michael is right now. He's fidgeting, he can't seem to keep himself from eyeing you every two seconds while your head leans on his shoulder, your puffy afro tickling his cheek while you oscillate between consciousness and dozing.
Finally, the ravenet speaks, voice softer than the bud of a dandelion in your ear as he tries to sound less anxious than he actually is. "Y're not gonna... pass out or die from liver failure or somethin', right?" He knows he sounds a bit funny, it's such an extreme outcome. But what else is he supposed to think? He doesn't know how rum works, all he knows is that it messes with your organs.
A whine escapes your flushed lips, your brows pressing together in instinctive annoyance at the sound of Michael speaking. You're already overwhelmed again, though his voice is soft enough. "I dunno? I never been drunk before!" You flail a bit in your seat, repeating yourself without realizing it. "I ain't never been drunk before, maaan...! I dunno know how this worksssss...."
Michael hugs you closer by your shoulders to comfort you, cooing gently with concern. "Then why'd ya drink so much?" It was a valid question.
You never drank at all when you and Michael came to Studio 54 together, you were both called "uptight" for not liking alcohol, so why'd you go and get lost in the sauce?
Well, whether it was peer pressure from your other friends, or the fear of missing out on something supposedly all grown ups eventually did, it was clear that you regretted your decision. Michael's question just made it all worse. Not to mention the color-changing lights of the room and the muffled sounds of music still playing outside the booth you two occupied.
You plead with him, teary-eyed and still a touch whiney. "Michael, shut uppppp, my head hurts...."
Michael's brows draw together ever so slightly in pinched heart ache at plea. He's already melting for you. "Shhh, it's okay...lemme get you some water." He's about to get up and do just that. He won't let you suffer in your own self-imposed misery.
That's when you let out an abrupt gasp, your head jerking up as your hands reach out to grab his face, then slipping to his neck. "Waitwaitwait─"
"What? What?" Michael paused, his doe-like eyes fixed on your puppy-ish, urgent expression.
The questions tumble out uncontrollably, tinged with eagerness. "Lemme...Can I─ can I try somethin'? Can I? Can I try somethin' really quick, Mike? Pleaseee? Pleeeeassse...?"
Michael's brows shoot up, his eyes going impossibly wider as he reaches up to steady your busy hands. When the ravenet replies, it's hesitant, preciously shy. "What is it, baby?" His voice goes a bit breathy on the endearment. "What d'ya wanna try?"
You slump against the couch, hands going limp for a second. You think to yourself, then you get confused. "I... don't know."
Michael cracks up, delightfully surprised, his hands rubbing your knuckles soothingly. "You don't know?" He sounds incredulous, but also fond. And because you can't focus on more than one thing at a time, your mind seems to zero in on the feeling of his long fingers massaging yours.
"Mmm...feels good, Mikey." You slur, nuzzling his shoulder. "Feels...good, keep─ yes, right thereee..."
Michael's face catches a feverish shade, his lips falling open in startlement at your almost lewd-sounding affectation. He tries to keep his composure, even as his cock is already hardening in his pants. He doesn't want to presume. "L-like this?" His rubbing slows, now more careful.
"Mhmmmm," you whimper without meaning to, pressing a kiss to his clothed shoulder. "Please, Mikey... keep doin' that... 's makin' me feel so good, Mikey."
Michael can't help the way his cock jumps in his underwear at that. He really can't.
"... Baby," he whispers, uncertain.
For you, the second utterance of that word unlocks something inside you. Something needy. Something really, really horny.
You press your body further into Michael's side, grabbing his face again to mash your lips against his in a clumsy, needy kiss. You keep pressing your lips to him over and over, and over, moans already bubbling out of your throat. You can't focus on anything other than the addictive, pillowy feel of his lips. You probably taste bitter on the tip of his tongue, but you could care less.
Even Michael leans away, your lips chase his, until you're half-way in the ravenet's lap.
"Shit ─ lovey, wait.." he stops you by grabbing your cheeks with one hand, his fingers lightly smushing your cheeks. "You're drunk, c'mon. We can't..."
His protests only make you whine again, louder as you shake your head from side to side. "Nooo! I jus' wanna kiss you, please, Mikey, I jus' wanna kiss youuu!"
Helplessly, Michael giggles, unable to handle how unusually needy the alcohol has made you. "You're such a mess, (Name)." And while his words make you pout, his tone is loving, affectionate.
It's so sweet that it gets you going all over again. Before you know it, you're fully in his lap, straddling him. "W-woah, (Name), what're you doin'?" Michael startles, his hands gripping your hips firmly to keep you balanced.
"Mikey...," you call.
"...Yes?"
"Please kiss me." You urge, shaking his shoulders. "Please." Michael's bottom lip becomes briefly wedged between his teeth, he feels himself jolt down there again, hips twitching with restraint. He didn't wanna take advantage of you, not at all. But he also didn't wanna make you cry when your eyes are already so wet.
"Okay," he relents, tenderly cupping the back of your neck. He hesitates, his breath ghosting over your lips, before he finally leaned in. Michael's mouth slots against yours with a gentleness that belies the wild thoughts circling his mind.
He pulls back just a fraction to breathe, and you feel the cool air brush the wet heat left behind on your lips. Then he’s back, tilting his head to slot deeper against you. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, a subtle tease that makes you tremble. You answer by parting for him, inviting him in without protest.
His tongue is long, slick and so warm, he tastes of cool mint and ginger ale. The pink muscle swirls, exploring the inside of your mouth like he’s memorizing every ridge and hollow. A low hum rumbles from his chest, and your fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his shirt.
You rock your hips forward instinctively, feeling his hardening length press against your core through the layers of denim and cotton. He groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening. Then he breaks the kiss, pulling back to nip at your bottom lip. It’s a sharp, sweet pain that sends a dizzying jolt straight to your cunt.
He soothes it with his tongue, lapping at the sting, before sucking your lip between his. The gentle pull tugs at something deep in your belly, makes your breath hitch. He releases it with a wet pop, and the sound is obscene in the quiet room.
If you weren't drunk, you'd have gotten embarrassed, knowing that the door of the booth wasn't even locked. But you can't bring yourself to feel that way, not with your best friend's tongue in your mouth and your ass pressing against his hard-on.
His hand slides from your neck into your afro, tangling into the coils, softly tugging your head back a little. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. You squirm against him, whining again, "Mikey...!"
But this time you shift until you're on top of his belt buckle, you breath catching as you feel the gooey wetness between your legs, soaking up your panties. Your clit throbs with a burning tingle that demands attention. Every slide of his tongue, every gentle suck, every scrape of teeth sends ripples through your aching cunt. That's when you begin to slowly drag your crotch right across the thick, silver motif of his belt, then back, then forward.
Michael notices this, pulling back for a second. “Y-yeah?” he murmurs, his heart stuttering as he presses his forehead pressing against yours. His lids are droopy, those Bambi eyes locked on your mouth. “That's what you need?"
You nod wordlessly, your skin flushed and sweaty under your clothes. Michael's pupils are dilated so much that his eyes appear almost black, his hand trembles in your hair, slipping down to hold onto your nape as he leans in to kiss you again.
He breaks it to trail his lips along your jaw, his breath ragged and frantic in your ear. “God, you taste so damn sweet, mama,” he whispers, and the words are filthy with want. “I could kiss you until I forget my own name.”
Your pussy clenches on nothing, so empty, so wet as you continue to drag yourself over his belt buckle, grinding down with increasing desperation. He shifts you on his lap so that your clit catches on the ridged center of his melt's motif, and you're squirming again.
"Oh my God...!" You heave, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Michael gives your afro another light tug, sending sparks pleasure down your spine. "Mikey, no..." you whine, voice still slurred. "You're cheating! "
The ravenet freezes for half a second, before he's laughing at your silly remark. "Wasn't─ah! Aware this was a game, lovey." He teased.
"Shut up...," you're annoyed again, for no reason. But it quickly melts away the more you grind on your best friend's buckle. The seam of your jeans rubs against your puffy clit, and through the damp fabric you can feel every single groove of the solid motif.
Michael's other hand leaves your afro and finds the other side of your hip, helping you find the right angle. His mouth never leaves yours, swallowing your gasps and moans as you rock against him, so as to not alert anyone outside.
Well, if they can hear the two of you carrying on over the loud voice of Donna Summer's Love to Love You Baby playing.
Your hips stutter on his buckle, your ass accidentally grazing his erection, which sparks a groan from the ravenet that makes your gummy walls clench again.
"F-fuuuuck," he breathes against your throat, his voice wrecked. "We're gonna make a mess, ma'." He warned, almost pleading.
And he's right. You can feel it—the creamy slickness soaking through your panties, through your jeans, leaving a dark stain on the denim. It's so much that it smears against the belt, lubricating the metal until every grind sends a fresh jolt straight to your cunt.
Your thighs tremble as you chase the edge, grinding harder and faster, the buckle's ridges rubbing against the entrance of your swollen, drooling hole. You can feel it coming now, you're so, so close.
"Mikey! " You whimper, feeling his cock give a tell-tale twitch against your ass. He knows what's coming, he can feel it too.
"(Name)...," he whines back, grinding up into you.
"S-shit, Mikey, 'm gonna─ gonna cum—!" The words die in your throat as a wave of unbearable ecstasy crashes through you.
Your head falls back, a guttural moan tearing from your chest, Michael goes still against you, his own hips jerking up until his bulge pressed as deep as it could go against your slit. The orgasm hits you both like a freight train, washing over in overwhelming, pulsing flashes that leave both of your visions spotty.
Your pussy squirts out creamy, gushing slick. It soaks your jeans, your thighs, the belt buckle beneath you. Michael's own jeans have a forming wet spot where his cum has shot. You ride it out, grinding frantically through the aftershocks, babbling incoherently.
But then, your body goes limp soon after, you can't move. The exhaustion from the alcohol in your system hits you like a brick wall. Your eyes flutter closed, your cheek pressing into the crook of his neck. The world around you goes hazy, fading into darkness.
"Baby?" Michael's voice is distant to your ears now, as if from underwater. "Hey, you okay?"
Michael freezes as he glances down at your slack face, your soft breathing, noticing the way you're now completely deadweight against him.
Silence.
A bright, disbelieving giggle escapes him. "Did you just... fall asleep on me?" He asks you, even though you can't answer.
He shakes his head, already smiling to himself with fond, almost tired exasperation. He shifts you carefully, adjusting you in his lap so you're more comfortable. "Guess that drink really did the job, huh, lovey?"
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. He knows you've both made a mess of your jeans, and he's still figuring out how he's gonna take you home without being asked any questions by your... other friends.
Michael's cheeks flush with more embarrassment than arousal, biting his lips before letting out a defeated sigh.
What a night.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ 💋
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For the Jacksons era Lovers 👀👀👀
