moonwalking vampire

୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

It was a summer night in mid July when Michael first saw you.

He had been vaguely aware someone new had moved in next door, Janet mentioning it a few weeks ago but he’d been so busy he hadn’t paid the news any mind. All of his attention being wrapped around working on his new album, staying up at an ungodly hour in the studio before collapsing back in bed.

In fact, he was heading there now, just shutting the door behind him to head down the steps of the outdoor staircase when he heard it.

Do Me, Baby by Prince was swirling in the air and it made him halt in his steps, jaw rolling in irritation he was trying to not put a name on as his eyes looked around for where on earth it could be coming from.

It was faint, but still audible enough to know it was close. The static sound crackling from what had to be a stereo.

He turned a bit, peering over the edge of the hedges that separated the house next door and that’s when his eyes landed on the offending radio perched on the edge of a hot tub.

Right. New neighbor.

Michael’s eyes then slated to the side and he felt the earth slow down in a way that was incredibly dramatic. Romantic, even.

He blinked, as if trying to see if what he was looking at was just a mirage from sleep deprivation. But no, the backyard next door remained in perfect clarity.

You were in a hot tub with your arms up on the ledge of it. One hand bringing a cigarette to your lips, the other holding open a book. The warm lighting from the back patio painting you in a warm glow that was a stark contrast to the bright blue lights under the water, the glimmer catching in the glass of wine near you.

Michael had no idea how long he stood there for, dumbstruck like he’d never seen a woman before.

When Janet said they had a new neighbor, he was expecting another family. An elderly couple, maybe. Not… Christ, he was mesmerized as he watched you move slightly. The water clinging to your skin catching in the light, the image of you making his mind move a thousand miles an hour because he realized you weren’t wearing anything.

He swallowed thickly, screaming at himself to look away because he was a gentleman. He was half ashamed to say that task was immensely difficult, but just as you started to turn around, his eyes flicked away and he quickly made his way down the steps. Bee lining it towards his studio and practically slamming the door behind him.

★

He was painfully obvious.

You’d lift your book up a little higher, trying to hide your smile behind the pages and your sunglasses as your music played. Not reading a single fucking word because the feeling of his eyes on you was beyond distracting.

Now, he didn’t linger. Not long, at least. Clearly concerned with not wanting to come off as an absolute creep. Which you appreciated, but you’d be lying if you said you cared.

When you realized what family you had moved in next to, it was a complete shock. Sure, everyone knew the Jackson’s lived in the area but you never considered one day being their neighbor.

You realized before you even saw one of them.

Walking out early that first official morning in your new home to go to work and hearing so much noise. Your heels clicked down the drive way, peering over your own gate to see a swarm of people a few yards away. Yelling even though it was seven in the morning.

Your irritation immediately evaporated when your eyes finally caught on one of the signs someone was holding. Your jaw going a little slack.

“No fucking way.”

Honest to God, your evening routine had absolutely nothing to do with who lived next door.

You just enjoyed being outside when the sun was low. Unwinding after a day at work with a glass of wine and your next read. Appreciating the new space around you that was now your home and contemplating what you wanted to do with the landscaping.

The first time you saw him, your eyes had just looked up at the faint sound of a door opening. Your eyes going a little wide when you took note of who exactly you were looking at as he walked down the stairs, disappearing from view behind the tall hedges.

Now, not so honest to God— that night you decided to skinny dip was completely up to chance.

Telling yourself you had no idea if he’d be walking out that night, and if he did see you, that wasn’t your fault. You’re in your own backyard minding your business.

You had to bite down hard on your lip as you heard his footsteps halt.

From then on, you couldn’t help but make a little game of it. Sometimes seeing him, sometimes not.

But when he would pause, just for a moment, you always knew. His gaze heavy and palpable in the hot summer air despite the fact the sun was setting.

You had a rotation of bathing suits you wore. Telling yourself they weren’t for him. Flicking through your book like nothing was amiss when he practically tripped over his own feet when you wore your new bright red one that was ridiculously skimpy.

What you hadn’t been expecting, was for him whistle at you.

At least not while it was two in the afternoon on a Saturday when you were elbow deep in a bag of soil and wearing a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt you had stolen from your ex. You looked up, utterly confused and peering over the edge of your sunglasses, half convinced you were just hearing things when you spotted him.

Michael was leaning against the railing of the stairs, his smile shy as he squinted against the sun.

“Hello,” he waved a hand, looking awkward as all hell and you bit back a smile.

Of course he’d initiate a conversation now.

You stood up, wiping your hands on your shirt as you did so. “Hi, Michael right?” You said after introducing yourself.

He blushed, as if he wasn’t one of the most recognizable people on the planet.

“Yeah,” he looked down, back up. “Sorry to bother you, but the garden is coming along really nicely.”

Your lips tugged up slightly, looking over your shoulder at the array of flowers you had managed to get planted. There was still so much you wanted to do though, it would probably take you the entire summer.

“Thank you,” you watched his face redden. “So…how’s work going?”

That made him laugh. The sound sharp and carrying across the property line easily. “Fine. Endless, I mean I always—“

“Mikey, we were gonna go see if—“ Marlon stopped short as his eyes fell on you, an easy smile slipping onto his face. “Hi new neighbor,” he called, followed by a wink.

“Marlon.” Michael looked at him pointedly, something silent passing between the brothers.

And that’s how you ended up in the backyard of the Jackson household twenty minutes later. Changed into a bathing suit hidden under a cover and watching mutely but in amusement as the brothers messed around. Michael’s eyes repeatedly sliding over to you, clearly trying to find something to say and just when his lips parted, Janet pulled you away.

There were many more afternoons like that as the days went on, finding a slot you fit into nicely within their dynamic of sibling banter and Christ, you had never met such shameless flirts.

And then there was Michael, your eyes always catching on his because he was always watching you. His eyes dark and flicking a rich brown when they’d catch in the sun, his smile slowly growing into something more relaxed as he got used to being around you.

He had just gotten out of the pool, wiping water off of his face and you didn’t really try to hide the fact you were staring at him. Not being able to help it as you watched water droplets race down his lean chest and stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his swim shorts.

When your eyes danced back up, he was smiling to himself. Knowing. Practically smug. Seeming to make a show of it as he walked past your chair, eyes catching yours briefly as he lifted his arm to dry his hair, the muscles that made up his physique from years of dancing, stretching as they caught in the sunlight.

It was almost immediate, and embarrassing, the effect he had on you as you watched him walk off to join his brothers in the grass to play a game.

There was a warm and tight feeling low in your abdomen, churning, the desire hitting you violently and you longed for a cigarette. Needed one, more like. Your fingers practically itched, wanting to abate the hunger that was slowly crawling up your neck.

You had always found him attractive. Hell, you had a poster of him up on your wall when you were a teenager. Something that would have to be water boarded out of you before you ever told him.

But now, after being around him, hearing him laugh and stumble over his words— you felt like you’d never been touched before.

It was ridiculous.

You stood up on legs that were threatening to shake, muttering to Janet that you would be right back, the girl clueless to your current dilemma.

Your feet padded along the path that lead to the gate connecting the backyard to their drive way, the ground hot from the sun and you winced a little as you tried to hurriedly make your way over to your house. Wondering if maybe you also needed to take a cold shower and not just smoke to snap you out of it.

Summarizing your violent bout of hormones to the fact you hadn’t been laid in a while.

Hell, you and Michael had hardly ever spent a moment alone together.

You then heard him laugh, the sound rich and you shut your eyes as you felt another flutter low in your stomach.

Definitely a cold shower.

★

It felt silly to call it a crush, but he didn’t know how else to word it.

He’d get tongue tied anytime you were around him, trying to ignore the way his brothers would laugh behind their hands because of course they knew. It seemed obvious to everyone but you that he liked you and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated that or loathed it.

You two really only got weekends together. If he could even categorize it like that, given you two were never alone. But once the weekdays hit, he was back to his studio and practically becoming a hermit and you went back to work.

His stomach doing a funny thing when he found out you were a lawyer. Because of course you were. Of course your career would be something wildly impressive and the fact you were so accomplished was…

He woke up one too many times from a dream he was ashamed to admit happened with a hard on straining against his boxers.

But he had been so fascinated when you told him over a family dinner one night, your presence in the house now commonality with each passing weekend. His chin perched in his hand as he watched you talk about how you got into criminal defense. You seemed to glow as you spoke about it, your passion for your work evident and your cheeks would turn a little red after you realized you’d been rambling but he didn’t mind at all.

On weekdays, he found little solace. Only getting his brief glimpses of you in the evenings as you were out on the back patio of your house. Either in the water, gardening, or flipping through a book on one of the lounge chairs.

He was beyond tempted to call out to you, but that felt like crossing a threshold he wasn’t sure he was ready for yet.

It was nearing seven o’clock when there was a faint knock on the door of his studio.

His head turned from where he had been staring at his bulletin board for what must’ve been twenty minutes, brows furrowing because his family usually left him alone when he was in here.

However, the moment he opened the door and his eyes flicked down to meet yours, it was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the atmosphere.

He rarely ever saw you on Friday’s, so you standing there was a shock to the nerves.

“Sorry,” you muttered, looking more bashful than he was used to seeing and his eyes finally landed on the plate of food you were holding. “Your mom asked me to bring you this.”

He laughed a little bit, of course she did.

“Thank you,” he took the food from your hands, fingers brushing yours and making his head go a little fuzzy.

“I’ll leave you to—“

“Would you like to stay?” His heart was beating so violently it made his throat feel tight as he looked at you. Your eyes wide from the sudden request, his own cheeks red.

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

“You won’t be.”

He stepped aside, gesturing with his head for you to come in and when you walked by he got a whiff of your perfume. The smell lovely and so perfectly you.

You looked terrified to be in his studio and he smiled to himself as he set the food down. “You can relax, you won’t break anything.”

“I know, but just…” your eyes flicked around, taking in all of his notes and the mechanics of what made up music. “Surreal, I guess.”

He shrugged, he was so used to being in here it nearly felt more comforting than his own bedroom. “Sorry that it’s a bit of mess.”

“I think it’s lovely. Feels like I’m seeing your brain.”

He laughed at that, urging you find a seat, trying not to think too hard on the fact this was the first time you two were finally alone.

The small talk was a little awkward at first but it blended into something that felt easy. Natural. Finding it endearing that you didn’t want to bore him with legal speak from a case you were working on even though he kept insisting he found it interesting.

Telling you he didn’t mind at all if you stayed while he worked, finding your company comforting rather than intimidating. Though you didn’t say much if anything as he scribbled away or worked on adjusting some audio, he liked having you there.

But like always, he got completely swept up in his work. Carried away, his mind shutting off to the rest of the world and time slipping by like quicksand.

The only reason he had even glanced at the clock was because he’d accidentally dropped his pencil, turning to pick it up when he saw what time it was.

“Shit,” he muttered, sliding off his headphones as he turned around to see if you were even still there but he stopped short at the sight of you asleep on the couch.

You were curled up as if trying to make yourself as small as humanly possible, hair fanned out half over your face and the rest across the cushion.

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he smiled, taking a moment to take in your expression. The way your features were relaxed and the slow rise and fall as you slept soundly.

Fuck, you were adorable.

His eyes slated over to his camera, beyond tempted to take a picture of you but he wasn’t entirely sure if that was stepping over a line. He’d like to say that you two were friends, even though he’d do anything to be more than that.

Would you mind?

After all, you went skinny dipping far too often and he had a feeling you knew damn well he could see you.

An absolute tease and he tried to ignore the way it made his blood pulse and stomach churn.

Michael bit the inside of his cheek for a moment as he debated. Albeit, briefly. Only seconds passing before he reached a hand over and grabbed his camera. Making sure the flash was off before he positioned it, looking at you through the viewfinder and smiling slightly as his finger pressed down, the whir of the camera working as it started to print out the picture.

He grabbed the film carefully with two fingers, waving it around and setting it on the desk to let it develop.

That was definitely going in his wallet.

He got into the habit of taking more photos of you, slowly making it more apparent. Getting you used to seeing it.

He loved taking photos of whatever, it really didn’t matter what you were doing as long as you were in frame. Smoking a cigarette. Playing a card game with Janet. Sunbathing. Gardening— those were some of his favorites.

His collection grew and grew, keeping them away for safe keeping in his nightstand drawer, looking at them more often than was probably appropriate.

But his favorite was the one you had taken. Snatching the camera out of his hands when you were in the front entryway, just about to leave after dinner and aimed it at the large mirror that took up nearly half the wall.

“What’re you—“

“Smile.”

With a sigh he didn’t mean at all, he took a step closer to you, arm draping over your shoulders and his heart skipped a beat when you fell into him. Your smile bright in the reflection and he couldn’t help but look at it, his own smile small as he admired you and a moment later the flash went off.

As Michael stared at the photo a little longer, biting at his lip, he got an idea.

He was up not a moment later, slipping on his shoes and he was out the door. Journal in one hand and the picture in another as he practically ran to his studio.

The moment he was inside, he locked the door. Intent on writing down as much as he could while it was still fresh, pinning the picture of you two on his board before he forgot.

He wrote The Lady in My Life that night.

★

The faint sound of a basketball hitting pavement met your ears as you read, the Jackson brothers caught up in a game that gave you a rare moment by yourself at their pool.

You thought about putting one in your own backyard, but for the time being it felt like the only excuse you had to keep coming over here. Even though they were always the ones to invite you, happy to have the company during the fleeting moments of downtime the weekend provided.

You heard a door open but didn’t pay it much mind, turning a page as you glanced up for a moment but they immediately flicked back up.

You lowered your book a bit, squinting against the sun despite the fact you were wearing sunglasses. The California sun unforgiving.

Michael walked out, appearing to not notice you but you knew he did, and you watched him silently, intent to enjoy the view while you had the chance. 

You watched as he lifted his shirt over his head, his curls catching in the sun and his skin corded with lean muscle. Swim shorts low on his hips. 

He dove into the pool, the water aquamarine and shimmering. 

Michael broke the surface, shaking his head to rid himself of water and wiped at his eyes, looking at you over the ledge of the pool. He rested his arms on the edge, water beading up on his biceps and shoulders, eyes narrowing at you and you lowered your book, raising a brow.

"Get in," he said simply.

You blinked and lowered your glasses down your nose.

"What?"

"Get in.”

Your brow furrowed.

"Why?"

"Because I told you to"

Despite your scoff, you found yourself getting up anyway. His eyes watched you as you walked closer, each leg lowering into the water, goosebumps covering your flesh even though it was warm. The water wasn't too deep, but you were still on your toes as you neared him, momentarily entranced by the water dewed up on his lashes.

His dark eyes glowed as he briefly looked at your mouth.

Part of you was tempted to grab his neck and just say to hell with it.

You bit the inside of your cheek, “you’ve interrupted a perfectly good book.”

“My sincerest apologies,” he said with a slight bow of his head.

You laughed, “you’re not sorry at all.”

“I’m really not.”

“Why’d you want me in the pool?”

“You looked lonely.”

You splashed him a little. “No, I didn’t. I looked peaceful. Something that you ruined.”

He splashed some water at you. “I didn’t ruin anything. I’d hardly call what you were doing reading.”

You splashed him again. “And what would you call it?”

“Ogling.”

Your mouth fell open, “I was not ogling.” You went to send more water his way but his hand easily caught your wrist and brought you closer, both yours and his laughter mixing in with the sound of water hitting the side of the pool and you had blinked before you realized he’d easily, smoothly, maneuvered your arms to be around his neck and one of his secured itself around your waist.

For a man who seemed shy all the damn time, you were beginning to think it was a tactic to misdirect you. Take you off guard and surprise you.

You didn’t mind at all.

He was so warm, even in the cool water. Your chest pressed to his and your legs seemed to have a mind of their own as they wrapped around his waist. Telling yourself it was to keep your head above the water more efficiently.

He was breathtaking to see so close. Every curve and slight of bone, his eyes set low as he looked at you with a slight smile on his face and you repressed a shiver when his thumb ran back and forth against your back.

“Even if I was ogling, which I wasn’t, you aren’t one to talk.”

He clicked his tongue, his voice low and eyes not leaving your mouth as he spoke. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

His eyes shut briefly as your nails dragged along his scalp as you played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“So every time you walk out on those stairs, you aren’t watching me?”

Michael looked as if he had to think about it before shaking his head. “It’s not ringing a bell.”

You couldn’t help it as you smiled. “You’re such a liar.”

And just when you thought finally, when your eyes lowered to his mouth and he leaned in closer—

There was a sudden rush of footsteps before the loud sound of a splash met your ears, quickly followed by getting absolutely drenched.

“Tito man, come on.” Michael said, immensely irritated at his brother for ruining the moment but he didn’t have time to dwell on it as Marlon jumped in.

There were moments in between. Small but driving you just a bit more towards the madness that was impatience. Towards an itch that was growing insatiable.

Stolen glances across rooms and small smiles. Lingering touches that he had absolutely no excuse for, his hands dipping just a bit lower each time. Your bikini’s growing smaller by the day and praying he got the fucking hint, but so far… nothing.

You felt like you were slipping into hysterics fueled entirely by the base need to get fucked.

Half tempted to be so dramatic and start playing with yourself while you lay out on the back patio just to get the message across.

That would probably scare him off, though.

So, after mulling over a list of ridiculous ideas as you had another glass of wine, you settled on something with a finality.

It was late on a wednesday evening, the sun slipping just below the horizon and painting the sky in a vibrant orange that dusted into pink. You lowered your wine glass from your mouth, a faint red mark being left behind from the lipstick you had put on. One leg swinging a bit as you waited, adjusting the silk robe you had put on to make sure it was sitting just right. Admiring your new manicure every now again as the minutes ticked by.

The moment you heard the door open, your eyes flicked up. Catching sight of his usual routine of only a polite glance before making his way down the stairs.

Not tonight, though.

“Michael.” Your voice carried across the warm air evenly and he paused immediately, turning to look at you with an expectant expression hidden poorly on his face.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you swirled the wine around.

“Would you like to come over?”

Two minutes later he was slowly stepping out onto your patio, shutting the door softly behind him and watching you with an openness that made it a little hard to breathe.

You stood there, watching him just as carefully as you set down your glass of wine, feeling your heartbeat ring in your ears as Michael came to a stop just in front of you. Hands in his pockets and head tilted just slightly. Looking painfully romantic in the low lighting.

Your eyes met his and slowly, with hands you hoped weren’t shaking, you began to untie your robe. Watching with a keen fascination as he swallowed, his throat working as his eyes flicked down to the action.

He said your name so quietly you barely heard it as your robe opened, the hot summer night kissing your exposed skin.

Michael’s eyes flicked to his house, wary given you two were outside and anyone could see but your hand reached out to grab his wrist. Gently tugging him closer and like it was second nature to him, his fingers slid along the warm skin of your waist as his arm wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest and his breath hitching at the feeling of your nearly naked body against his.

His pupils were blown, eyes so dark they looked like ink as they slid from your own to your shoulder and he gently pulled the fabric away, letting it pool at your feet.

He took you in, a content sigh leaving him.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

You smiled, “that’s the idea.”

One would say this was terribly bold considering you two hadn’t even kissed yet, but can you blame a girl for being desperate?

As if reading your mind, or likely the wanton expression that was likely apparent on your face, one of his hands lifted to cup the side of your throat as his face lowered, lips meeting yours with an even pressure that made you lean back a bit from the force of it.

Hardly a moment passed before a string seemed to snap. Both your common sense and his fading into nothingness because not a moment later he was all over you.

Your hands were greedy as you pulled at his clothes, finding the barrier between your bodies immensely annoying. His own fingers seemed hellbent on exploring every inch of you. Warm, larger than yours, and calloused. One hand winding in your hair to tug your head back and your mouth fell open from the action, giving him more access and a sound left the back of your throat as his tongue slid past your teeth and tangled with yours.

When one of his hands came up to cup your breast, the sound that left you was woefully pathetic but it only seemed to encourage him. His fingers adding more pressure as his head then danced down, mouth leaving yours only to land on one of your hardened nipples. Your head thrown back from the sensitivity of it and hands burying in his hair.

You hardly noticed him lowering you to the ground, the transition of positions so seamless it made you slightly lightheaded. Only taking note when the soft grass met your back and you looked down to see his tongue trailing hot and wet kisses lower and lower. Lips dusting over your hip and you sucked in a breath when his eyes rose to meet your own.

The sight of Michael between your thighs was nearly enough to make you come then and there. In fact, you nearly thought you might as you watched his tongue slide past his lips before licking a line up from your pussy to your clit. His eyes never leaving yours like he was intent on gauging your exact reaction to his touch.

Your mouth dropped open from the sensation, back arching a bit off the ground and hand slapping over your mouth as he continued to eat you out. His fingers digging into your thighs to hold you open as his lips closed around your clit, the point of his tongue tracing patterns into it that made you see stars.

When one of his fingers slowly sank into you, the whine that left you was nearly piercing and you bit harshly into your bottom lip.

Michael laughed lightly against you, the vibration shooting straight into your cunt.

“Don’t go being shy now, you’re the one who wanted to do this out here.”

Before you could even contemplate a response, he added a second finger. The smile on his face sharp and glistening from your wetness and you whined again.

“Please.”

He hummed, picking up his pace and curling his fingers a bit. Hitting a sweet spot inside of you that made you tilt even closer to the edge.

“You’re a lawyer, baby. I know you can use your words.”

If you werent seconds away from an orgasm you would’ve rolled your eyes, but instead your fingers dug into the soil, your hips rising up to meet his fingers.

“I… fuck, I want you to make me come.”

His teeth sunk into his lip, “fingers or my mouth?”

“Both.”

“Atta girl.” Not a moment later he lowered, tongue flattening over your clit as he picked back up his force and when his other hand applied pressure on your lower abdomen that was it.

You came with a cry, eyes screwing shut and hands in his hair as you ground against his face, riding out your high in a way that nearly felt violent.

You could hardly breathe, your chest heaving and Michael only made it worse when he lifted himself up on one arm, his hand that had been fucking you rising to his lips and you watched in a lust induced haze as he slid the digits into mouth, his eyes shutting at the taste of you.

You didn’t feel bad at all as you grabbed him by his shirt and quite literally dragged him into your house.

He laughed as he followed you, trying to kick off his shoes as he went. Your neediness was thick in the air and you had no intention of waiting till you got to your room. Instead coming to a stop in your living room and pulling him close, the sight of his hard on in his trousers making your mouth water because good Lord, he was huge.

Just the thought of him filling you with his cock made your thighs clench.

Michael’s hands settled on your waist, though not gently, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pulled you against him, his hips thrusting forward to grind into you and he groaned, face falling to the crook of your neck as he started to leave open mouthed kisses there.

“How do you want me?” He asked, his cadence rough around the edges and coated in sin.

You turned in his hold, bending over the armrest of your couch and looking back at him over your shoulder, your own smile wicked as his head fell back a bit as he groaned. The sight of your still swollen and wet pussy being on display for him like this and one of his hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass as his other easily undid his belt.

His pants lowering not a moment later and when you actually saw him your eyes widened.

“Christ.”

“I just know you’re gonna take me so well,” he whispered, eyes still entranced by the sight of your cunt as he began to pump his cock a few times before lining the tip up with your entrance. The feeling of the large and smooth head against you made you shiver and he splayed one hand on your back, pushing you down a bit so your back arched.

Then he started to push in, inch by inch and the sound that left him didn’t entirely seem human.

Your own fingers dug into the cushions, a whine being caught in your throat along with your heartbeat as he slowly sank in all the way to the hilt.

You’d never felt so fucking full before.

“Michael, please—“

He dragged back out before his hips snapped forward, his other hand coming to grab ahold of your hip as he yanked you down on his cock.

The lewd sound of sex echoed around the room, skin slapping skin and wetness from your arousal and previous orgasm was dripping down your thighs like tears.

“God, look at you.” He moaned, hips rolling against you in a way that was special to dancers. His cock hitting every single spot inside of you that was dancing on the edge of painful and delicious.

“Good girl, taking me so well.”

You whimpered, pushing back into him at the praise.

You suddenly felt his fingers on your clit, rubbing tight circles into it and by god you actually screamed.

“That’s it, baby.”

“Michael, I’m… gonna—“ there was a searing hot coil in your stomach about to collapse and he changed the angle of his thrusts just slightly and that did it.

Your pussy spasmed around his cock as you came with a cry, burying your face in the cushions and not a moment later you heard him moan your name before you felt something hot start to trickle between your legs as he fucked his cum back into you.

He then melted on top of you, his skin slick with sweat and warm. Chest heavy and heart beat rapid as it rattled through your ribs.

“That was… Jesus, Michael.”

He laughed, short and sharp before you felt him place a kiss to your shoulder.

★

His hand gripped your waist firmly as the cascade of flashes rained down upon them, the release party for Thriller in full swing. His grin warm as his eyes danced down to you next to him, your hand rested on his chest as you smiled for the photos.

You two had been trying to keep a low profile for the most part, the only people even knowing Michael Jackson had a girlfriend being his family and Quincy.

You didn’t mind, completely understanding his preference for privacy. After all, you had your own career you were focused on, not really caring to be in any form of spotlight for longer than was needed.

You assured him you didn’t mind, saying you’d be there for him happily whenever he wanted. Whether that was an award show or in private moments in his studio.

But you felt like a grounding presence for him. Something to ease his mind when the world got loud, which lately, was always.

And he wanted to share this milestone with you, not wanting to keep you hidden away for forever. Because that was his plan.

Forever.

He’d already browsed a few rings. Losing his mind over trying to decide what you liked. Doing his best to ask questions about jewelry in as subtle a way as possible. Not knowing if it was too soon or not.

But he wanted forever with you. In this lifetime and the next.

He leaned over slightly, placing a kiss to your temple, just wanting to touch you.

You looked up at him, eyes shining and cheeks dusted and rosy.

“What?”

“I love you.”

You bit your bottom lip as you smiled at him.

୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

michael jackson masterlist

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The bedroom was warm with late afternoon light, gold pouring through the gauzy curtains, and you'd had the house to yourself for hours. It wasn't often that all of the Jackson's were out at once.

Michael was working on something with Tito at a studio in the city, and he'd left you that morning with a slow, promisin’, sexually driven kiss against the doorframe; the heat of it had trailed you around all day like a hand, possessive, at the small of your back. It was infuriatingly annoying and it was riling you up.

By mid-afternoon you'd given up pretending to read your books. There was no patience for dense college textbooks. You'd read all you could take, but they were no longer serving as a distraction to your impending horniness.

You'd crept up to Michael's bedroom and fished the little pink vibrator out of your bag; a gift from your girlfriend weeks ago, after a conversation centered around 'spicing' it up in the bedroom. she pressed into your hands with a wicked grin and a: 

trust me, you'll thank me. 

Now you were sprawled across his pillows with your sweatshirt rucked up, chasing the ache he'd left you with, the low buzz of it lost under the record still spinning lazily on his turntable; Love Rollercoaster, loud and woozy in the glimmering afternoon light.

Thank god for new technology.

You were close. So close to it. You were almost sprinting after it deliciously, the music a backdrop of how you were feeling, building with intensity.

The song had warped into something dizzy and psychedelic, swelling in time with the heat low in your belly, and you pressed the buzzing toy harder against yourself, sprinting for the finishline.

Your head was full to the brim of him; his veiny hands, his wet, hot mouth, the weight of him on top of you, the way his rounded innocent eyes peered up over your pubic bone whilst he ate you out, the feeling of your hips rolling up into the line of his cock in his slacks on the couch, the sound of his breath coming fast and ragged whilst he neared his—

You didn't hear the car. You didn't hear the front door either.

You heard nothing until the bedroom door swung open and Michael walked in blazenly, peeling off his jacket, mid-sentence, totally distracted.

"—and Tito kept sayin' the bassline was fine but it was draggin', I could feel it draggin' the whole—"

You scrambled.

In one frantic, graceless motion you jammed the vibrator under the nearest pillow—that ridiculous Alice in Wonderland caterpillar cushion Michael adored—yanked your sweatshirt down to something less incriminating, and sat bolt upright against the headboard covering your naked bottom half with the duvet, heart slamming, face on fire.

"Hi!" you said, far too brightly.

Michael stopped. Blinked. He looked wrung out, curls sort of flat on top where the headphones had pressed against, dark smudges under his eyes where he'd messily drawn on his eyeliner; but something in him clicked the second he really looked at you.

"...Hi," he said slowly.

"How's the track?"

"A bit nonsensical, I guess." His eyes hadn't left your face, and you knew exactly what he was clocking: the flush down your throat, the sheen on your lip, your chest still going too fast.

He saw everything. He always did. "You okay? You're all—" He gestured at the entirety of you. "Red and sweaty."

"Well, uh, it's hot in here."

"It's really not that hot in here, Mother has the heat off because of the weather." He stared at you for a moment longer and then sighed dramatically.

He was clearly too tired to chase the reasoning as to why you seemed to be lying. He crossed to the bed with a low groan, toeing off his loafers.

"God, I'm wrecked. Eight hours arguin' with my brother about one silly line of sheet music." He flopped face-first across the mattress beside you, sighing into the duvet like he was lowering himself into his grave.

"Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Tito has wiped me out. He really did it this time."

You bit down on a slightly hysterical laugh, painfully aware of the small hard shape buried in the bedding inches from his hands. "Poor baby."

"Mm." He stretched then, luxuriously, the way he always did—arms flung up over his head, hands sliding up under the pillows, his whole long body arching out with a contented little sound—

And his fingers closed around something.

He went still.

You stopped breathing.

"...What's this," he mumbled into the duvet, eyes still shut, his hand pawing at it. He dragged it out from under the pillow and lifted his head to squint; small, pink, smooth, faintly ridiculous in his long fingers. He turned it over and frowned. "What is this? Is this one of those gadgets—"

His thumb found the button.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzt.

The thing roared to life in his hand and he startled so hard he nearly flung it across the room, jerking up onto one elbow.

"Oh."

The single syllable hung there. You watched the realisation land on his face; the buzzing toy, your scarlet face, the rucked-up sweatshirt, the way you'd been sitting up bright-eyed and breathless when he walked in… every piece clicking into place at once behind his eyes.

His gaze lifted to yours. Very, very slowly.

"...Oh," he said again. Completely different. Low. Almost delighted??

A grin breaking across his exhausted face, the studio forgotten, all that quiet knowing focus kindling. He let it keep buzzing in his hand just to watch you squirm.

"You were busy," he said, "while I was gone."

"Michael—give it back—"

"What even is this?" He held it up out of your reach, examining it like he'd unearthed an ancient relic, fascinated and perturbed in equal measure. "I have never ever—where'd you even get this?"

"My friend gave it to me, okay, it doesn't matter—"

"Your friend..." He turned it over, thumbing it off and back on, jumping a little each time it buzzed. And then; because he was, underneath it all, just a guy, he brought it to his nose and sniffed it.

"MICHAEL."

"What!" He reared back, blinking, like he'd done something perfectly reasonable. "I wanted to know if—"

"Why would you smell it—"

"I don't know!" He was laughing now, scandalized at his own hand. "It's instinct! You see a thing, you wanna know—I wasn't thinkin'—"

You lunged for it; but he held it up out of reach, and then you were both gone with laughter, helpless, you behind your hands and him snorting into the pillow, the awful mortified tension breaking apart into something warm and giddy, the way it always did with the two of you. You could laugh in the middle of anything.

"Okay—okay—" He wiped his eyes, still chuckling, and thumbed it off. The sudden silence was louder than the buzz had been. The record was now scratching repeatedly on the plastic label.

He set the small bullet on the nightstand, deliberately, out of your reach, and turned the full weight of that focus back on you, all the tiredness burned clean out of him. "Very chill. Very normal. Nothin' to see here."

"Don't start," you warned, fighting a grin.

"You missed me that much, hm?" His voice had dropped now, gone soft and velvet, that teasing dark thread winding through it as he started crawling toward you across the bed, slow, all liquid grace, backing you gently into the headboard. His hand came to rest high on your thigh, thumb stroking. "Couldn't even wait for me to get home."

"You left me like that this morning," you accused, breathless, your laugh going unsteady. "Kissin' me like that and then just— leaving. What was I supposed to do?"

"Mm. I did do that, didn't I?" He didn't sound remotely sorry. He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm, his exhaustion transmuted entirely into something low and hungry.

"So tell me, baby. Did you finish? Before I walked in?" His teeth grazed your jaw. "Or did I get home right in time?"

You couldn't answer. Your face answered for you.

A slow, knowing smile appeared on his face. "You didn't." He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the grin he gave you was pure wicked warmth.

"You got yourself all worked up with your little pink toy... and you didn't even get to finish," he said in mock horror.

"...No," you admitted, mortified and molten in equal measure.

"That's a shame, baby." He kissed the corner of your mouth, slow, his hand sliding higher, his thumb tracing the crease of your hip. "All that. And nothin' to show for it." His mouth moved to your throat, where your pulse was hammering. "Lucky for you I'm home now."

He kissed you then, and it wasn't with the claiming heat of some nights you'd shared together, but something slower, fonder, a smile still pressed into it, his tongue licking warm into your mouth as his weight settled over you and eased you back against the pillows.

You melted into it, your hands finding the hem of his t-shirt, sliding up the warm plane of his stomach—but he caught your wrists, gentle, and pressed them back to the pillows with a soft tut.

"Nuh-uh. Not yet." His grin was wicked. "You don't get to touch yet. You had your fun without me—now it's my turn."

"That's not fair—"

"Mm. Life's not fair, m'girl." He worked your sweatshirt up your body, his knuckles dragging over your ribs, baring you to the gold afternoon light, and the teasing softened into something rawer, his thumb skating the underside of your breast. "Look at you. Already all flushed up for me and I barely touched you."

"That's your fault—"

"you got yourself into this mess" He dipped his head, his mouth closing hot over your nipple, and your back arched off the bed. "Mm. I'm gonna fix it. Gonna take real good care of you. Make up for leavin' you all day." His hand slid down your stomach, down between your thighs, and the first brush of his fingers through how wet you already were drew a groan out of him, low and undone, his forehead dropping to your collarbone.

"God. Y/N. You're soaked."

"I told you—"

"I know. I know you did." His fingers slid through you, slow, finding the slick aching heart of you, circling, and your hips chased his hand helplessly.

"And you tried to hide what you'd been doing, too." He clicked his tongue, mock-scolding, his mouth curving against your skin. "We don't hide things in this house."

"Michael—" you gasped, as two of his fingers sank into you, his palm grinding against your clit, picking up right where you'd been left aching.

"I've got you, m'love," he breathed, his rhythm slow and sure and devastating, watching your face come apart with that dark, rapt focus.

"Got you now. You can finish for me this time." A soft, wicked grin. "Much better than that little pink thing, hm?"

He worked you slow, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face, his fingers curling into that spot that made your hips jump while his thumb kept a lazy, maddening circle.

You were squirming, already close again; you'd been close for hours at this point—and he knew it, the little wretch, watching you climb and deliberately not letting you get there.

"You're doin' that on purpose," you panted.

"Doin' what?" All innocence, his mouth twitching against your skin where he was trying to pepper kisses along your neck.

"You know what—"

"I'm just bein' thorough." He lowered himself and pressed a kiss to your sternum, grinning against your skin. "I had a long day. I gotta concentrate on what I'm doing." And he eased off again, right as you tipped toward the edge, until you made a sound of pure outraged frustration and smacked his shoulder, and he laughed, totally elated, that bright real laugh, catching your wrist and pinning it gently to the pillow.

"Okay, okay," he relented, eyes dancing. Then a thought visibly arrived behind them, wicked and curious, and his gaze slid over to the nightstand. "...Hold on."

"Michael—"

"No, no, I wanna—" He reached over and plucked the vibrator up again, turning it in his fingers, that concentrated frown back on his face like he was studying a piece of equipment in the studio.

"Show me how you had it. When I came in. Where were you—" he thumbed it on, the buzz filling the room, and grinned at his own daring— "puttin' this?"

You buried your face in your hands. "I'm not—oh my God—"

"C'mon. Show me what you were tryna hide from me." He was laughing now, nudging your knee wider with his own, the toy humming in his hand. "I'm nosey, remember? I gotta know what I'm competin' with."

"You are not competing with it—"

"No?" He pressed it, soft, right where you needed it, and your whole body jolted, a cry breaking out of you. His grin went molten.

"Hm. There?" He circled it, watching you arch and grab fistfuls of the duvet, his own breath catching at the sight of you. "Oh, you like that. Look at you, baby. Okay. Okay, I see. I'm learnin'."

He was good at it, the teasing... that was the infuriating thing; of course he was, he was good at everything. he set that focus on reading you, easing the vibration against you and pulling it back, his face inches from yours so he could watch, his free hand pinning your arm to the bed so you couldn't intervene.

You were a mess, gasping, hips chasing it, and he was loving every second, soft little encouragements falling out of him;

that's it, there you go, let me see, you're so pretty like this

"Michael, I'm gonna—if you don't—pull it away—" you choked.

"I know. I know, baby, I've got you—" And this time he didn't pull back. He held it steady, his mouth on your throat, and you came apart with a cry, shaking, your hand flying to grip his wrist as it crashed through you. He worked you through it, gentling, murmuring into your skin, until your body felt like jelly and you were trembling against the pillows.

He clicked it off and set it back on the nightstand. Kissed your slack mouth, smug and tender at once. "There she is. M'beautiful dirty girl."

"I hate you," you breathed, with absolutely no conviction.

"Mm. You love me." He was still hard against your thigh through the blue denim, his own breath uneven despite all his composure. He pushed himself up off you and rose to stand beside the bed, looking down at the wreck of you; sweatshirt rucked up under your arms, skin flushed and gleaming, completely bare from the waist down, while he stood over you still dressed, disheveled, curls wild, eyeliner smudged. The contrast made you squirm.

"All day," he murmured, his fingers going to buttons of his white shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion to bare the lean plane of his stomach, the dark trail of hair below his navel and the little patches of white skin at his hip bones.

"I been thinkin' about you all day. Arguin' with Tito over one stupid line and the whole time I'm picturin' gettin' home to you." The belt came next, the metallic clink of it coming loose, then the button of his jeans. "And I walk in and find you already started without me."

"You left me like that—"

"I know I did." He shoved his jeans and briefs down and stepped out of them, unhurried, without a trace of self-consciousness, fully bare now and achingly hard while you were still half-tangled in your sweatshirt. He was magnificent, all long lines and elegant tension, the tip of him flushed dark pink.

"Lucky for you I'm home now. No more waitin'."

He leaned over the bed, his hands sliding under your hips, and dragged you bodily to the edge of the mattress until your ass was just off the side. He stepped between your splayed thighs, his hands rough and warm on the insides of your knees, pushing them wider.

"No more toys," he muttered, his eyes locked on where you were open and wet for him.

He grabbed his dick firmly and guided himself to your entrance and pushed in, slowly, so slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as your heat enveloped him. It was a deep, stretching, filling sensation that had you arching off the bed, a low moan dragged from your chest.

"That's what you needed," he breathed, sinking to the hilt and holding there, his head dropping forward.

He began to move then, with a rhythm all his own, not too eager, but devastatingly deliberate. Long, deep, rolling thrusts that struck something deep inside you on every stroke. His hands were on your hips, controlling the pace, holding you open for him. Deep, thundering thrusts.

"You feel that?" he grunted, his breath hot. "That's real. That's me."

You could only nod, your fingers scrambling against his sweat-slick back, your legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper. He was everywhere, his scent, his weight, the sound of his skin against yours, the ragged puff of his breath.

But Michael's curiosity was a retched thing at times. It never switched off.

Halfway through a deep, grinding stroke, he stopped. His eyes, squeezed shut in concentration a second ago, snapped open; dark, hazy with pleasure, but a familiar glittering curiosity cutting clean through the fog.

His gaze darted sideways, landing on the pink vibrator where it still lay on the nightstand.

A slow, almost reluctant grin touched his swollen lips.

"Hold on," he rasped.

He pulled out of you abruptly, the sudden emptiness a shock. Before you could protest, he'd reached over and snatched the toy up. He stared at it in his hand, then at you, then at his own painfully hard cock, glistening with your wetness.

"I gotta know," he said, as if apologizing to himself. "Just… once. To see what all the fuss is about."

He thumbed the button.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzt.

He didn't hesitate. He pressed the buzzing head directly against the sensitive spot just under the swollen head of his cock.

The reaction was immediate and violent.

His whole body jerked as if electrocuted. A shocked, strangled sound—half-gasp, half-yelp—ripped from his throat. His knees buckled, and he had to throw a hand out to catch himself on the nightstand, knocking the lamp sideways. His head dropped forward, a shudder wracking his spine.

"Oh—Jesus—" he choked out.

He tried to drag it down the shaft, but his hand was trembling violently. The vibration was clearly too intense, too direct, overwhelming a body already wound past its limit from being inside you.

His hips began to stutter in tiny, frantic circles, completely involuntary. His breath came in ragged, punched-out pants.

"Too—GOD—it's too much—" he gasped, but he didn't let go. His curiosity was warring with sensory overload, and curiosity was losing.

His movements became jerky, uncoordinated. you witnessed a fine tremor run through his thighs. He was biting his lip so hard you thought he might draw blood, his eyes squeezed shut, his face a mask of agonized, over-the-edge pleasure. You'd seen him feel good so many times before, but this was borderline painfully pleasurable.

He was hovering on the brink, his body taut as a bowstring, controlled solely by the relentless, alien buzz of the vibrator. You could see the exact moment his control shattered.

His hand spasmed around the toy, holding it tight against him as his hips gave three sharp, abortive thrusts into the empty air above you.

"uhmhh—" The warning was a breathless, desperate unintelligible plea, but it was too late, he couldn't come back from it.

With a gut-deep groan that sounded pained, his body convulsed. \

He spilled in thick, hot pulses across your stomach and the rucked-up fabric of your sweatshirt, completely undone by it. His eyes had opened at that point, watching the ordeal happen in front of him, watching you and the shock at his premature release..

The vibrator fell from his limp hand, vibrating pointlessly against the carpet as he collapsed forward, catching himself on his forearms beside resting arms, his entire body trembling with the aftershocks.

He was panting, wrecked, his forehead pressed to the duvet beside you. A long moment of stunned silence hung in the room, broken only by the record scratching and the distant hum of the fallen toy.

You looked down at the mess cooling on your skin, then back at his bowed head. A slow, triumphant smile spread across your face.

"You," you said, your voice dripping with smug satisfaction, "are dead meat for that, Jackson."

He groaned, the sound muffled by the bedding. He didn't lift his head. "Shut up," he mumbled, utterly defeated. "It was a.... curious... inquiry."

"You inquired yourself right into an accidental finish," you teased, poking his heaving shoulder.

He finally lifted his head. His face was flushed, his eyes dazed and more than a little embarrassed, but a reluctant grin was tugging at his mouth. He glanced at the mess on you, then back at your face, his grin turning wicked. "Yeah, well." He glanced down again. "Looks like my curiosity made a mess of you, too."

He leaned in, his intent clear, and you laughed, kissing him lovingly on the mouth.

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Michael’s camcorder covers half of his face, trembling fingers clasping desperately against the plastic exterior as he works hard to keep it pointed at you.

Maybe his hands are shaking from nerves, or maybe it’s because he’s fighting against every last drop of restraint left in his body while your hips roll painfully slow over his as you ride him on the plush carpet of his bedroom floor.

It was your idea— filming the two of you in such an intimate setting.

You’d spent days watching Michael get all wide-eyed and giddy as he captured every little moment on his new video camera. He took it everywhere, becoming somewhat of an amateur filmmaker as he directed everyone around him, taping the most mundane moments.

Even when it was just the two of you, the camera stayed glued to his hand.

The late afternoon sun slipped through his curtains as you sat in his bedroom, thumbing through a stack of records. You thought you were finally safe from your boyfriend’s constant need to document his every move, when the realization hit you— you were being watched.

The albums at your fingertips stilled as you gazed up, noticing the red light glaring in the distance.

Your eyes found Michael’s through the lens of his camera— always filming.

He smiled from behind the bulky machine as you waved, giggles bubbling under your breath at your precious boyfriend who thought you searching through his music collection was something worth documenting.

And for him it really was.

But seeing the way his curls fell against his forehead while he focused on your every move through the viewfinder, his slender fingers curving and gripping at the camera as he kept you in his sight, gave you other ideas.

You’d thought about it last week; using his camcorder to film the two of you having sex.

His head was buried in the crook of your neck kissing and sucking, while his breath got heavier against your skin with every thrust of his hips.

And when his hand fought between your bodies to rub tight circles into your clit, your back arched in a way you didn’t even know was possible, pressing your cheek even further into the satin pillowcase beneath your head.

You felt a familiar coil tightening deep in your abdomen, but were met with a familiar sight when you opened your eyes, momentarily distracting you from the orgasm curling at your toes.

Sitting on the bedside table, his video camera was pointed toward you, completely shut off, and yet, your body went numb at the thought of the little red recording light turning on.

You imagined it capturing the lewd sounds Michael was making into your neck, and the image of your heaving bodies meshing together— all slick and sweaty.

The thought of filming such a filthy thing, having it on tape for just the two of you; it was hot. So hot, that the notion of it sent you right over the edge.

Michael was too busy moaning into your shoulder about how good you felt to notice your gaze locked on his favorite new toy.

You grasped at his back, nails digging into his skin as the most pathetic whines fell from your lips.

From that moment on you could barely look at it the same.

Every time he held the camcorder in front of his face, gentle hands keeping it steady, and the corner of his smile peeking out from behind it— your skin got hot.

But each time you thought you could work up the courage to tell him about your little fantasy, a twinge of embarrassment kept the words from leaving your mouth.

Michael was just so private. You couldn’t imagine he’d want to film something that personal.

So, for the sake of avoiding rejection, you kept your desire to be filmed confidential.

But it was especially hard to keep your dirty little secret in instances like this: him taping when it was just the two of you alone.

It would be so easy to ask him, so easy to set the camera on any surface in his room and angle it just right, letting it capture every second as you had your way with each other.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You never could.

Settling for a bashful smile in his direction, the tension fueled by forbidden thoughts pulled at your cheekbones as he caught each tweak of your expression on his camera.

“You’re so funny with that thing.” You went back to the albums at your fingers, flipping one after another looking for the perfect soundtrack to accompany the setting sun outside the window.

“How?” He kept the camcorder in front of his face, still rolling, as his question slipped past his grin.

You didn’t answer, shaking your head with a smirk of your own as you kept your hands busy with the records.

“Because I wanna record my girl?” His voice was sweet, carrying across the room with a quiet confidence that made your breath hitch.

If he wanted to record you so bad, maybe he wouldn’t turn down the depraved idea that kept rolling around in your head-

“Maybe I want something to watch when I’m away. When I miss you.” the camera was still recording, and you had to force your fingers to keep moving through the vinyls, because the way his voice got all low and soft threatened to make your entire body freeze.

Your chest swelled thinking about him watching these moments when he was halfway across the world; simple tapes of you doing absolutely nothing in his room— something to remind him what’s waiting back home.

But then your mind wanders as you think about him missing you in a different way.

The nights when he’s alone in a hotel room somewhere, with his hand wrapped around his dick and his eyes squeezed shut, picturing your naked body on the back of his eyelids.

The nights when it’s already morning back in California and he knows you’re too busy to talk on the phone.

The nights when he needs just a little something more than his imagination to fall asleep.

And you could help him with that.

Right now.

With his video camera you could offer a little keepsake for him to take on tour, something for him to keep hidden away until he needed it most. Something for his eyes only that would make his cheeks burn when he remembered it was tucked deep inside the front pocket of his carry on.

“You’d do that? Watch tapes of me while you’re away?” You try your best to keep the sultry curiosity out of your voice as you stare down at your hands that have definitely stopped moving.

“Of course baby.”

The camera lowers just enough for his stare to meet yours and his eyes are too warm and gentle. If only he knew the thoughts clouding your brain right now.

“That’s sweet.” Your smile barely reaches your cheeks before the camera is back in front of his face, capturing your response.

“Michael?”

“Hmm?”

A surge of courage, or more likely lust, rushes through your chest as you watch him hum in response, his lips lightly pressing together.

“Could you kiss me?”

The camera lowers, his eyes visible to you again.

“Baby you don’t have to ask-“

He pulls the camcorder down completely, his lips pulling into a full fledged smile as his finger hovers over the button to turn it off-

“With the camera on.”

His body goes still.

You’re staring at him, watching his smile settle into his cheeks, lips parted just enough for his breathy response to slip past them.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t turn off the video camera.

“I could do that.”

Instead he places it carefully on the edge of his bed, making sure it’s pointed directly at you. Adjusting it inch by inch, his eyes bounce between the picture of you in his camera, and your eyes locked on him just a few feet away.

It nestles perfectly against his comforter as he makes his way across the floor, kneeling beside you without saying a single word.

He looks a little uncertain and for a minute you regret putting him in this situation, but then his hand finds your jaw, pulling you closer until your lips meet.

The movement of his mouth against yours is slow and careful, but there’s a hunger in the way his hands find your waist, grabbing and pulling you into him— eager.

The kiss deepens but there’s a slight hesitation in his touch as his fingers linger at the hem of your t-shirt.

“We can stop.”

The offer is abrupt as you pull back just enough for your words to land on his lips: swollen, parted, and fighting a tender smile.

“The camera- I mean. We can stop recording.”

“D’ya want that?” His voice was quiet, eyes intense as he searches your expression for the answer to his question.

You’re unable to look him in the eyes, attention falling to the ground as you try to pry the word “yes” from somewhere deep in your throat where it’s refusing to leave.

“Angel…”

You can’t see his face, but the nickname floats through the air in a low chuckle.

He’s amused.

“Don’t.” Your chest is hot and there’s a slight pang of humiliation— or maybe annoyance— swimming in your voice as you keep your eyes trained on the floor.

“Look at me baby.”

You can hear the smile behind his words as his fingertips find your jaw, pulling your gaze forward.

“My angel wants to be filmed?”

“Mikey.”

He’s holding your face in his hands making it impossible for you to look away.

And he’s grinning.

“Tell me.” His words are taunting, seeping with a discreet kind of arrogance.

You shake your head, physically unable to pull the words from your mouth.

“C’mon, gotta tell me what you want.”

“I wanna record it.” You find your voice, pulling it from your throat and shoving it past your lips.

“I want you to have a tape— of us.”

You wish you didn’t sound so timid as you watched the smile push against his cheeks.

“Doing what?”

He’s smug now, biting at his lower lip to keep his smirk from growing.

“Michael.”

He raises a brow and suddenly you remember all of this is being captured by the camera perched on his bed.

“Wanna make a video of us fucking Mikey.” Your voice drops to a low whisper and you can feel him tense up at the indecent language dripping from your lips.

“So you can watch it when you miss me.” You throw his earlier statement back at him, only this time, the intention behind the words is far more perverted.

“Would that be okay?”

Now you’re teasing, trailing your fingers up the nape of his neck, wrapping them gently in his curls.

His answer is delivered in the quick grip of his hands on your hips, fingers sliding past your t-shirt and onto your skin.

His touch is everywhere: hands roaming your stomach, pressing flat against your lower back to push you further into him as your lips find each other in an all consuming heat.

It’s a sweltering frenzy of newfound corruption with both of your fighting to free yourselves from the layers of clothing that kept your skin from touching.

The flames of anticipation grew hotter with every article that hit the floor— the gentle reminder of your on-screen debut flashing red in your peripheral vision.

The camera sat nice and neat on the edge of Michael’s bed, recording as your bodies moved in a desperate rhythm.

Your lips were still attached when his fingers ran along the waistband of your panties.

“You sure?” His voice was muffled into the kiss, too quiet for his camcorder to pick up.

You pulled back, legs straddling his hips as you reached toward the bed.

You grabbed the camera, handing it to him, red light still blinking.

He held it out in his palm, unsure of what you were doing, until you moved his hand, guiding the camera to its habitual position in front of his face, letting him do what he’s been doing for weeks— record you.

“Oh, Angel.”

The groan falls from his lips as he leans back, one hand keeping the camera secure at his face, the other sitting flat against the carpet.

And while he looks for you in the view finder, you tug his underwear down his thighs, not even bothering to push them all the way off his legs.

You think about wrapping a hand around his length, stroking him a few times for the sake of his later-viewing pleasure.

But you were too impatient— willing to skip foreplay in exchange for the satisfaction of feeling him deep inside you.

You pull your panties aside just enough to feel him dip into the slick mess pooling at your center.

His breath hitched.

You were wet. It was rare that you could get this worked up from him barely touching you, and even more unlikely that you’d be ready to take him without the stretch of his fingers first.

But as you sunk down, it became increasingly evident just how much you wanted this— how much you’d thought about him filming you.

“That’s good angel.” His praise chokes out between sighs.

You’re whining as he fills you completely, every inch of him tucked away and pulsing against your walls.

Your eyes had been shut, soaking in the stretch as you slid down, but now, you looked directly at the lens in front of you, eyelids heavy and lips parting as you rolled your hips over his.

“Angel.” This time the word is a complete and utter whimper.

“You look s’pretty like that.” He’s cooing under his breath, as you keep eye contact with him through the camera.

His dick presses somewhere real deep making your lashes flutter and your brows pull together.

His fingertips dig into the carpet, and you can tell his need to touch you is agonizing, but the angle is too good. The point of view from his camera, the way he’s stroking into you at just the right spot; all of it forcing him to stay put— driving his hand even further into the ground to hold himself steady.

It’s a slight shift when pans the camera down, but the action has you going dizzy.

The camcorder is focused between your bodies, perfectly capturing the view of your pussy hugging him in.

You make a show of it, lifting up just enough for the camera to catch a glimpse of the creamy ring of arousal building at the base of his cock, before burying yourself back down on him. Bouncing nice and slow, watching the way his brows furrow from behind the camera.

It startles you when he shifts beneath you, abruptly leaning over to put the camera back in its original position, tossing it on the bed and pointing toward you, still recording.

He’s still inside you, his hands gripping your body, everywhere— desperate to touch you, to hold you.

You rock your hips into his at a quicker pace, fingers tugging at his hair.

“You like this.” His statement is almost incriminating as it melts through his smile pressing beneath your jaw.

Your hips stutter; skin going warm at his sultry accusation.

Before you can respond his voice drops lower, humming into your neck, “I like it too.”

He holds onto your hips steady, fucking up into you— deprived and impatient.

The pleasure is blinding and you can feel your body tensing under his fingertips.

“Mikey I’m close.”

You’re whining into the air, and the broken groans falling into your shoulder tell you he’s not far from his own release.

He kisses back up your neck, sloppy and quick before bringing his face back to yours.

“Look at me baby.”

With gentle fingertips, he holds your jaw in his hand, stroking a careful thumb across your cheek to coax your eyes open.

“Wanna see you.”

Your lashes flutter, eyes opening with heavy lids and a completely fucked-out gaze.

“My pretty girl.” His compliment yanks at the thin string of composure pulling tight in your stomach and you can’t stop the waves of relief from washing over you as it snaps.

The orgasm induced high clouding your brain sends a filthy request to your lips,

“Want you to cum inside Mikey…”

His hands stiffen, but his pupils grow wide, laced with something more than hunger— greed.

“Please please please.” The word is a breathless whimper ringing out over and over again, pussy sensitive and throbbing as your hips roll languidly against him.

The pathetic sound of your begging is all it takes for Michael to hold you close as he spills into you.

Burying into your chest, his lips press against your sternum muffling the desperate sounds seeping from his throat. Each little gasp melts into your skin while your hands tangle into his hair.

You gently play with his curls, wrapping them around your fingertips as you hear his breath soften under your touch.

He’s almost giggling when his voice finally becomes clear again, still purring into your bare chest, “That was filthy.”

He pulls back just enough to catch you peering down at him, both of you wide-eyed and grinning.

“Bet you’ll appreciate it when you’re all worked up a million miles away.”

Your fingers are still threading through his hair, attempting to remedy the mess you’ve made from all the grabbing and tugging.

“Bet I will.”

He’s got that look on his face of sheer joy. Smile digging deep against his cheekbones and his eyes washed over with pure bliss as he looks up at you.