m.

𝒯he roar of the crowd was a physical weight, a tidal wave of screams and frantic energy that surged against the stage.

But for Michael, the noise was nothing but a distant hum.

As he spun, his body a blur of precision and practiced grace, his mind was miles away from the stadium lights and the sea of reaching hands. It was anchored firmly in the memory of the night before, the taste of your skin, the way your hips arched to meet his, and the intoxicating, heavy scent of your arousal as he’d buried himself deep inside you.

Every time he hit a sharp, staccato movement or a deep hip thrust during The Way You Make Me Feel, a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat shot straight to his groin. He was performing for tens of thousands, but he was dancing for you.

As the bass dropped into a heavy, rhythmic thrum, the memory surged up so violently, it almost knocked the wind out of him.

He wasn't on a stage anymore; he was back in the dark, the air thick and humid with the scent of your bodies. He could feel the weight of his own body pinning you down in that deep, heavy mating press, his chest crushed against yours so there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. He remembered the way he’d leaned all his weight into you, forcing you deep into the mattress, making sure you felt every bit of him.

He remembered the way he’d looked down at you, his eyes dark and predatory, watching you squirm under his command. "Oh, my pretty baby..." he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to settle right in your bones.

He had leaned down, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, before his hand slid into your panties. He’d smeared your gushing, sweet nectar across your clit with his thumb, a slow, deliberate motion that made you whine. "Could give it t'ya all the time, everywhere... Ohhhh just feel how soaked she is f'me."

You nodded quickly, your breath coming in short, frantic hitches, humming in response as his fingers worked you.

"Yeah you'd like that, don't you?," Michael had muttered against your skin, his breath hot and smelling of desire. "'Just pullin' your panties to the side, all slick 'n ready for me, 'nd just slide in this sweet lil pussy"

The memory of him casually smacking the head of his cock over your throbbing clit made the Michael on stage stumble for a micro second, his hips twitching in time with the phantom sensation. He remembered the way you had trembled in his arms, the way you'd gasped, "Oh!—"

Then, the sensation of his heavy cock stretching you out and pushing in in one heated, relentless thrust, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs. He remembered the way your delicious walls clamped around him, the way your feminine essence covered his dick.

"That good, baby?" he had whispered, stilling just for a moment to kiss your cheek, his fingers digging deep into the soft meat of your thighs to keep you pinned. He had felt so fucking full, feeling the way your body tried to swallow him whole.

"Mhm, Mikey, pleasee..." you had whined back, your hands finding his his face, pulling his face back to kiss him deep.

"Don't beg, sweet baby, imma give it t'you..," he had hummed, a dark, satisfied sound.

The memory turned frantic, just like the music currently playing in the stadium. He remembered the harsh, speedy thrusts, his hips snapping with a raw, animalistic force to drive his flushed tip directly against your sweet spot with every single stroke.

"Love this pussy, baby... all wet and drippin' for me..." he had groaned into your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. "Gonna make 'er remember me when I ain't there to please my lil' angel"

"Ohh yes, right there—!"

The sound of it the wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin, the way your moans had echoed through the room, the way the very furniture seemed to shake that you thought the damn thing would give out every second now with the force of his stamina. It was all playing on a loop in his brain.

He remembered the way he’d relentlessly ploughed into you, his face scrunched in pure, unadulterated pleasure as his huge, veiny cock was driving you into the bed until you were nothing but a babbling, incoherent mess.

It was a dangerous game to play. He was running, jumping, and sliding across the stage with the intensity of a man possessed, all while managing a stubborn, pulsing half erection that strained painfully against the fabric of his black trousers.

Every heavy beat of the bass felt like a rhythmic reminder of how much he needed to be back in your bed, feeling the lush, soft weight of your body beneath him once more. He was wired, his adrenaline spiking not just from the choreography, but from the sheer, desperate hunger to get the hell out of the spotlight and back into your arms and into your delicious cunt.

The final notes of Man in the Mirror echoed through the stadium, but they were almost immediately swallowed by the deafening roar of thousands of screaming fans. Their cheers followed him like a wave, growing louder and louder as the lights brightened.

Michael barely acknowledged any of it.

He offered one last quick wave toward the crowd before disappearing into the wings, moving at such a pace that several crew members had to step out of his way. His pulse thundered in his ears, his chest rising and falling with every hurried breath as he all but rushed down the narrow backstage corridors. Sweat still clung to his skin from the performance, dampening the curls at the nape of his neck, but he hardly noticed.

Normally, after a show, he'd stop to thank the dancers, exchange a few words with the band, or greet members of his crew. Tonight, none of that crossed his mind. He had somewhere else he wanted to be.

Every minute he'd spent on stage had only made the anticipation worse, and now that the concert was finally over, he could think of nothing except getting to you.

All he could think about was the faint, floral scent of your perfume that always seemed to linger on his skin long after he’d left you and a fragrance he'd come to associate with comfort. And the way you looked when you were lost in sleep.

He needed to see you. He needed to touch you. He needed to feel your heat again.

As he reached the door to the suite, his heartbeat still hadn't settled. It pounded against his ribs from the performance, though by now it had little to do with the concert and more with the thought that he'd be finally reunited with his pretty angel again.

His breathing came in uneven pulls as he fished the keycard from his pocket, his fingers clumsier than usual as he tried to slide it through the lock. The plastic clicked once... then again before the reader finally flashed green.

A heavy click echoed through the quiet hallway.

Michael let out a slow breath he'd been holding and pushed the door open. The suite greeted him with warm amber light spilling from a lamp in the corner, the rest of the room bathed in soft shadows.

After the deafening chaos of the stadium, the silence felt almost surreal. It was calm. Still. The kind of quiet that settled deep in his bones.

The silence of the room wrapped around him like a velvet shroud, a stark, jarring contrast to the loud crowd he had just escaped. It was heavy, thick with the quiet intimacy of the night. As he entered your shared bedroom, is eyes immediately swept the room until they landed on the massive bed.

There you were. The clock on the bedside table read 11:00 PM. You were sound asleep, lost in a deep, peaceful slumber that. It seemed that you had fallen asleep while waiting for him.

You were a soft silhouette against the silk sheets, the covers having slipped halfway down your frame in your sleep. He stood there, frozen in the doorway, his eyes raking over you.

You were wearing a soft pink baby doll nightgown. The lace was thin and delicate, hugging the curves of your body closely, and the neckline was low enough that your pretty tits were practically spilling out, the soft swell of them catching the dim light, making him groan inwardly in anticipation.

The hem had ridden up in your sleep, bunching high on your thighs and leaving just enough exposed to show the edge of your pretty panties peeking out from underneath. It was a sight that made his throat go dry, the sheer, effortless beauty of you making his pulse hammer against his ribs.

The sight of you, so soft and unbothered, sent a fresh, violent surge of lust straight to his core. His trousers felt impossibly tight, the fabric chafing painfully against his hardening dick as he stared.

He didn't move at first. He just stood there in the shadows, his chest heaving, eyes dark with a hunger that was borderline feral. He wanted to wake you up with a kiss, but he also wanted to just watch you for a second, to see the way the moonlight hit the curve of your plush hip, the swell of your ass and the lace of of that damn nightgown.

Without saying a word, he started shrugging off his clothes. His jacket landed on the floor first, followed by his shirt, both tossed aside without much thought.

He made his way toward the bed slowly, his eyes never leaving you. Being this close, he could finally catch your scent—a mix of warm skin and the lingering comfort of sleep—and it went straight to his head.

He reached the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight as he climbed onto it. Every movement was slow and deliberate, careful enough not to disturb the slumber.

He stopped above you, his larger frame casting a shadow over yours, the warmth radiating from his body instantly closing the distance between you. For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze lingering as though he were committing every detail to memory.

Then he leaned down, stopping just beside your ear. His lips hovered only a breath away from your skin, and if you were awake, you would have felt the warmth of his uneven breathing against your neck.

"Hey, baby..." he rasped to himself, his voice low and unpolished, stripped of all the stage presence and replaced with pure, raw need.

He let out a shaky, heavy breath, his eyes dropping to where the pink lace met your skin. "God, you look so good, you got no idea how much I've been thinkin' 'bout gettin' back to this..." he whispered, barely audible.

He didn't wake you. He didn't want to break the spell, at least not yet; he wanted to savor the way you looked, completely vulnerable and blissfully unaware. Completely trusting him.

Slowly, tentatively, he slid a hand beneath the hem of that pink nightgown. His skin was hot, still buzzing from the stage lights and the sweat of the performance, and as his fingers brushed against the soft skin of your thigh, he let out a tiny, jagged exhale.

You didn't stir, only let out a soft, sleepy hum that made his cock twitch violently in his trousers.

"Yeah, just keep sleepin', sweet girl..." he whispered, his voice a dark, rough caress in the quiet room. "Just stay right there for me..."

His hand traveled higher, his long fingers tracing the delicate lace of your panties. He could feel the heat radiating from you, a delicious warmth that made his head swim. He reached the edge of the fabric, his thumb grazing the damp, swollen center of you through the thin material. You were already slick, already warm, and the mere sensation of him made your breath hitch just a fraction.

"God, y'so soft..." he muttered, his eyes hooded and dark as he watched his own hand move against you. He worked his fingers under the lace, sliding them deep into the heat of your panties, finding you slick and ready even in your sleep. "Been thinkin' 'bout you all night... every time the bass hit, all I could think about was how much I wanted t'be right here... sinkin' into you..."

He began to move his fingers in slow, rhythmic circles, his touch light but purposeful, teasing the sensitive nub of your clit through the silk. He watched your face, mesmerized by the way your features softened with pleasure even as you remained lost in dreams.

"Look at you..." he breathed, a low, hungry sound vibrating in his chest. "Just a sweet little doll, layin' here waitin' f'me. My sweet, beautiful doll..."

He slid two fingers deeper, stretching you slightly, feeling the incredible, velvet grip of your walls. He let out a low, guttural groan, the sound muffled as he pressed his forehead against the mattress near your hip.

"So fucking wet for me..." he rasped, voice thick with his arousal. "Drippin' just thinkin' 'bout how much you missed me. You got no idea, baby... how much I been starving for this delicious little cunt of yours. Just wantin' to bury myself so deep in you that we both forget where the bed ends and we begin..."

He increased the pressure slightly, his thumb working the clit with a steady, relentless rhythm, his eyes fixed on the way your hips gave a tiny, involuntary tilt toward his hand. He was practically vibrating with the effort of staying controlled, of not just stripping off the rest of his clothes and shoving himself into you right then and there.

"Almost there, baby..." he whispered, his voice dropping to a pitch so low it was almost a growl. "Just a little more... let me see how much of a mess you can make for me while you're dreamin'..."

The rhythmic friction of his thumb and the deep, steady pulse of his fingers finally pushed you over the edge. A soft, broken gasp escaped your lips as your body tightened, a wave of warmth rolling through you that pulled you upward from the depths of sleep. Your hips gave a small, instinctive twitch against his hand, searching for more of that incredible pressure.

Your eyes fluttered open, heavy and clouded with sleep, trying to make sense of the dark silhouette looming over you and the delicious, aching sensation between your thighs.

"Mikey...?" you murmured, your voice thick and honey slow, completely dazed. You reached out blindly, your hand brushing against the warm, bare skin of his chest.

"Just me, baby... just me," he rasped, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, heated kiss to your temple. "Go back to sleep, sweet girl. You looked so damn pretty layin' here... just waitin' for me. Just let me love on you all night..."

He didn't give you a chance to fully wake up before he was moving, his lean frame sliding close behind you in the dark. He settled in, molding his body to the curve of your back, his warmth seeping into you.

"Just relax, baby..." he whispered, his breath a warm, steady caress against the shell of your ear. "Go back t'sleep. Just stay right there 'n your dreams. Imma make you feel real good..."

Before he moved to push his heavy cock into your waiting pussy, he reached down, his arm sliding under your thigh. He lifted your leg, guiding it forward and hitching it up toward your chest so he could settle deeper against you. The movement opened you up, leaving you feeling beautifully exposed to him in the quiet of the room. You let out a soft gasp at the angle.

"There... just like that," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "Perfect."

With your leg pulled forward, he slid your panties to the side and positioned himself at your entrance. He didn't rush; he wanted to savor the feeling of you. You felt the blunt, heavy tip pressing against your slickness, teasing your soaking hole before he finally began to slide in slowly.

He moved in an agonizingly controlled rhythm, guiding himself in one long, seamless stroke that filled you so completely it made your and his breath hitch at the same time.

"Mm, so warm..." he breathed, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he buried himself inside you, big hands gripping your sides. "You feel so good, sweet baby. So wet..."

He began to move, but he kept the pace heavy and deliberate, the friction of his skin sliding against yours creating a delicious, rhythmic heat. He stayed tucked close behind you, his chest a constant, warm pressure against your back. His hands were never still; one stayed anchored firmly on your hip to steady you, while the other roamed feverishly up and down your side, his palm hot against your skin.

He reached down, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you wide to make sure every single inch of him was buried deep within you.

"Just stay sleepy for me, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice a dark, hungry caress. "Just let me take care of you. Feels so good when I'm deep inside you like this, don't it?"

You let out a shaky, broken moan, your head lulling back against his shoulder. "Mikey..." you whimpered, your voice thick and heavy with arousal and sleep. "Feels so good..."

"I know, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he drove into you again, a little deeper this time. "Just let me hold you like this."

He never let up the rhythm, his hips continuing that heavy, deep grind that had you melting into the mattress. As he drove his cock into you, he reached around to the front, his fingers hooking into the neckline of your pink baby doll top.

He pulled the soft fabric down, exposing your tits to the cool air, and his eyes darkened as he saw your tits swaying with every thrust of his dick.

"Fuck yeahh..." he breathed, his voice a low, worshipful rumble. He reached up, his hand cupping one of your heavy breasts, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. "You got the prettiest tits, baby. Every time I slide back in, they just bounce so sweet f'me..."

He squeezed you gently, his thumb rolling over your nipple, teasing the peak until you let out a sharp, needy gasp.

While his hand stayed busy worshiping your tits, his other hand slid down, snaking past your waist and disappearing beneath the hem of your nightgown. His long fingers found your heat again, sliding straight back to that swollen, sensitive nub of your clit. He began to rub you with a steady, relentless pressure, his touch a perfect contrast to the heavy, blunt sensation of his cock filling your cunt.

"Mm, so messy f'me, girl," he murmured, his voice thick with affection as he felt your pussy clenching around him. "Pussy's just drippin' f'me... so slick 'nd ready for my dick."

The combination was overwhelming. The feeling of him stretching you open from behind, while his fingers worked your clit into a frenzy, had you arching your back, your hips searching for more of that friction.

"Just stay right there, my sweet baby," he urged, his pace picking up, his thrusts becoming more demanding as he felt you getting closer. "Just let me take care of you..."

You let out a broken, desperate sound, your voice barely a whisper as you fought to stay in that hazy, pleasurable state. "Mikey..." you whimpered, your head lulling back against his shoulder. He pressed a sweet kiss against your cheek. "It feels so good..."

"It is so good," he agreed, his voice a soft, gravelly caress as he drove into you again, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside your cunt. "So delicious, my angel. Just a sweet, beautiful girl, lettin' me fill you up like this..."

The tension in your body was coiling tighter and tighter, a frantic, beautiful pressure building deep in your belly. The sound of his heavy, ragged breathing was right against your ear, punctuating every deep, sliding thrust of his cock.

"Mmm, god, baby..." he groaned, the sound low and vibrating through your entire body, voice breaking as he felt the heat of your pussy clenching around him. "So perfect... my sweet girl.. you're so fucking— mmm..."

He trailed off into a long, low moan as he drove himself into you with a sudden, deep surge, his hips hitting yours with a soft, wet thud. His hand on your breast squeezed firmly, his fingers trembling slightly as he kneaded your soft flesh.

His fingers at your clit were relentless, a steady, rhythmic friction that felt like it was setting your entire lower half on fire. Every time his cock hit that deep, sweet spot, he let out a sharp, breathy moan, his head lulling against your shoulder as he fought to keep his rhythm.

He whimpered against your neck, a sound so pretty it made your heart race. "Jus' wanna hold you forever..."

He was losing his grip on that controlled, slow pace. His thrusts were becoming heavier, more desperate, driven by the sheer sensation of your slick cunt wrapping around his dick. He was huffing, his chest heaving against your back, his skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat.

"Almost there...baby" he groaned, his voice a wrecked, beautiful mess of affection and hunger. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he let out a long, shuddering moan. "Give it t'me, lemme feel you come all over me, girl..."

You were right there, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps that mirrored his own. "Oh fuck—"

"Yeahh, juuust like that," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he felt the first tremors of your orgasm begin to ripple through your pussy, his own moans growing louder, more primal, as he felt you tighten around his cock.

The tremor hit you like a wave, a sudden, violent clench of your pussy that caught him completely off guard. You let out a high, broken cry, your back arching as the pleasure became too much, radiating outward in hot, pulsing ripples.

Michael let out a wrecked, guttural whine, his entire body tensing as he felt your cunt milking him, the rhythmic contractions of your walls squeezing his dick so tightly it felt like you were trying to pull him deeper .

The sensation was too much for him. As your orgasm peaked, he gave one final, deep thrust, burying his cock as far as it could possibly go, his hips pinning you firmly to the mattress.

He let out a long, shuddering groan that seemed to vibrate from his chest into your spine as he finally broke. You felt the hot, thick pulses of him filling you, his seed flooding your pussy in heavy, rhythmic bursts that made your toes curl and your head spin.

"Oh, god, s'good baby..." he gasped, his voice a broken, breathless wreck. He stayed buried inside you, his entire frame trembling with the aftershocks of his own release. He was huffing, his chest heaving against your back in the quiet room, the only sound the frantic, synchronized thudding of your two hearts.

Slowly, the tension bled out of both of you. He didn't pull away; he just stayed there, heavy and warm, his lean body a comforting weight that anchored you to the bed. He let his forehead rest against the back of your neck, his breathing gradually slowing from ragged gasps to long, heavy sighs.

He reached around one last time, his hand sliding up from your hip to tenderly brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, his lips warm and damp.

"You're perfect baby..." he murmured, his voice barely a thread of sound, thick with sleep and adoration. "My sweet girl..."

He waited for a response, a sleepy mumble or a soft sigh, but as he watched the steady rise and fall of your shoulders, a small, tender smile touched his lips as he realized you had already drifted back into the darkness of sleep, lulled by the warmth of his body and the sweet, heavy satisfaction of the night.

A small, tender smile touched his lips as he watched you sleep. He leaned in one last time, his lips brushing the skin of your cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

"I love you, my angel."

𝒯he roar of the crowd was a physical weight, a tidal wave of screams and frantic energy that surged against the stage.

But for Michael, the noise was nothing but a distant hum.

As he spun, his body a blur of precision and practiced grace, his mind was miles away from the stadium lights and the sea of reaching hands. It was anchored firmly in the memory of the night before, the taste of your skin, the way your hips arched to meet his, and the intoxicating, heavy scent of your arousal as he’d buried himself deep inside you.

Every time he hit a sharp, staccato movement or a deep hip thrust during The Way You Make Me Feel, a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat shot straight to his groin. He was performing for tens of thousands, but he was dancing for you.

As the bass dropped into a heavy, rhythmic thrum, the memory surged up so violently, it almost knocked the wind out of him.

He wasn't on a stage anymore; he was back in the dark, the air thick and humid with the scent of your bodies. He could feel the weight of his own body pinning you down in that deep, heavy mating press, his chest crushed against yours so there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. He remembered the way he’d leaned all his weight into you, forcing you deep into the mattress, making sure you felt every bit of him.

He remembered the way he’d looked down at you, his eyes dark and predatory, watching you squirm under his command. "Oh, my pretty baby..." he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to settle right in your bones.

He had leaned down, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, before his hand slid into your panties. He’d smeared your gushing, sweet nectar across your clit with his thumb, a slow, deliberate motion that made you whine. "Could give it t'ya all the time, everywhere... Ohhhh just feel how soaked she is f'me."

You nodded quickly, your breath coming in short, frantic hitches, humming in response as his fingers worked you.

"Yeah you'd like that, don't you?," Michael had muttered against your skin, his breath hot and smelling of desire. "'Just pullin' your panties to the side, all slick 'n ready for me, 'nd just slide in this sweet lil pussy"

The memory of him casually smacking the head of his cock over your throbbing clit made the Michael on stage stumble for a micro second, his hips twitching in time with the phantom sensation. He remembered the way you had trembled in his arms, the way you'd gasped, "Oh!—"

Then, the sensation of his heavy cock stretching you out and pushing in in one heated, relentless thrust, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs. He remembered the way your delicious walls clamped around him, the way your feminine essence covered his dick.

"That good, baby?" he had whispered, stilling just for a moment to kiss your cheek, his fingers digging deep into the soft meat of your thighs to keep you pinned. He had felt so fucking full, feeling the way your body tried to swallow him whole.

"Mhm, Mikey, pleasee..." you had whined back, your hands finding his his face, pulling his face back to kiss him deep.

"Don't beg, sweet baby, imma give it t'you..," he had hummed, a dark, satisfied sound.

The memory turned frantic, just like the music currently playing in the stadium. He remembered the harsh, speedy thrusts, his hips snapping with a raw, animalistic force to drive his flushed tip directly against your sweet spot with every single stroke.

"Love this pussy, baby... all wet and drippin' for me..." he had groaned into your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. "Gonna make 'er remember me when I ain't there to please my lil' angel"

"Ohh yes, right there—!"

The sound of it the wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin, the way your moans had echoed through the room, the way the very furniture seemed to shake that you thought the damn thing would give out every second now with the force of his stamina. It was all playing on a loop in his brain.

He remembered the way he’d relentlessly ploughed into you, his face scrunched in pure, unadulterated pleasure as his huge, veiny cock was driving you into the bed until you were nothing but a babbling, incoherent mess.

It was a dangerous game to play. He was running, jumping, and sliding across the stage with the intensity of a man possessed, all while managing a stubborn, pulsing half erection that strained painfully against the fabric of his black trousers.

Every heavy beat of the bass felt like a rhythmic reminder of how much he needed to be back in your bed, feeling the lush, soft weight of your body beneath him once more. He was wired, his adrenaline spiking not just from the choreography, but from the sheer, desperate hunger to get the hell out of the spotlight and back into your arms and into your delicious cunt.

The final notes of Man in the Mirror echoed through the stadium, but they were almost immediately swallowed by the deafening roar of thousands of screaming fans. Their cheers followed him like a wave, growing louder and louder as the lights brightened.

Michael barely acknowledged any of it.

He offered one last quick wave toward the crowd before disappearing into the wings, moving at such a pace that several crew members had to step out of his way. His pulse thundered in his ears, his chest rising and falling with every hurried breath as he all but rushed down the narrow backstage corridors. Sweat still clung to his skin from the performance, dampening the curls at the nape of his neck, but he hardly noticed.

Normally, after a show, he'd stop to thank the dancers, exchange a few words with the band, or greet members of his crew. Tonight, none of that crossed his mind. He had somewhere else he wanted to be.

Every minute he'd spent on stage had only made the anticipation worse, and now that the concert was finally over, he could think of nothing except getting to you.

All he could think about was the faint, floral scent of your perfume that always seemed to linger on his skin long after he’d left you and a fragrance he'd come to associate with comfort. And the way you looked when you were lost in sleep.

He needed to see you. He needed to touch you. He needed to feel your heat again.

As he reached the door to the suite, his heartbeat still hadn't settled. It pounded against his ribs from the performance, though by now it had little to do with the concert and more with the thought that he'd be finally reunited with his pretty angel again.

His breathing came in uneven pulls as he fished the keycard from his pocket, his fingers clumsier than usual as he tried to slide it through the lock. The plastic clicked once... then again before the reader finally flashed green.

A heavy click echoed through the quiet hallway.

Michael let out a slow breath he'd been holding and pushed the door open. The suite greeted him with warm amber light spilling from a lamp in the corner, the rest of the room bathed in soft shadows.

After the deafening chaos of the stadium, the silence felt almost surreal. It was calm. Still. The kind of quiet that settled deep in his bones.

The silence of the room wrapped around him like a velvet shroud, a stark, jarring contrast to the loud crowd he had just escaped. It was heavy, thick with the quiet intimacy of the night. As he entered your shared bedroom, is eyes immediately swept the room until they landed on the massive bed.

There you were. The clock on the bedside table read 11:00 PM. You were sound asleep, lost in a deep, peaceful slumber that. It seemed that you had fallen asleep while waiting for him.

You were a soft silhouette against the silk sheets, the covers having slipped halfway down your frame in your sleep. He stood there, frozen in the doorway, his eyes raking over you.

You were wearing a soft pink baby doll nightgown. The lace was thin and delicate, hugging the curves of your body closely, and the neckline was low enough that your pretty tits were practically spilling out, the soft swell of them catching the dim light, making him groan inwardly in anticipation.

The hem had ridden up in your sleep, bunching high on your thighs and leaving just enough exposed to show the edge of your pretty panties peeking out from underneath. It was a sight that made his throat go dry, the sheer, effortless beauty of you making his pulse hammer against his ribs.

The sight of you, so soft and unbothered, sent a fresh, violent surge of lust straight to his core. His trousers felt impossibly tight, the fabric chafing painfully against his hardening dick as he stared.

He didn't move at first. He just stood there in the shadows, his chest heaving, eyes dark with a hunger that was borderline feral. He wanted to wake you up with a kiss, but he also wanted to just watch you for a second, to see the way the moonlight hit the curve of your plush hip, the swell of your ass and the lace of of that damn nightgown.

Without saying a word, he started shrugging off his clothes. His jacket landed on the floor first, followed by his shirt, both tossed aside without much thought.

He made his way toward the bed slowly, his eyes never leaving you. Being this close, he could finally catch your scent—a mix of warm skin and the lingering comfort of sleep—and it went straight to his head.

He reached the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight as he climbed onto it. Every movement was slow and deliberate, careful enough not to disturb the slumber.

He stopped above you, his larger frame casting a shadow over yours, the warmth radiating from his body instantly closing the distance between you. For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze lingering as though he were committing every detail to memory.

Then he leaned down, stopping just beside your ear. His lips hovered only a breath away from your skin, and if you were awake, you would have felt the warmth of his uneven breathing against your neck.

"Hey, baby..." he rasped to himself, his voice low and unpolished, stripped of all the stage presence and replaced with pure, raw need.

He let out a shaky, heavy breath, his eyes dropping to where the pink lace met your skin. "God, you look so good, you got no idea how much I've been thinkin' 'bout gettin' back to this..." he whispered, barely audible.

He didn't wake you. He didn't want to break the spell, at least not yet; he wanted to savor the way you looked, completely vulnerable and blissfully unaware. Completely trusting him.

Slowly, tentatively, he slid a hand beneath the hem of that pink nightgown. His skin was hot, still buzzing from the stage lights and the sweat of the performance, and as his fingers brushed against the soft skin of your thigh, he let out a tiny, jagged exhale.

You didn't stir, only let out a soft, sleepy hum that made his cock twitch violently in his trousers.

"Yeah, just keep sleepin', sweet girl..." he whispered, his voice a dark, rough caress in the quiet room. "Just stay right there for me..."

His hand traveled higher, his long fingers tracing the delicate lace of your panties. He could feel the heat radiating from you, a delicious warmth that made his head swim. He reached the edge of the fabric, his thumb grazing the damp, swollen center of you through the thin material. You were already slick, already warm, and the mere sensation of him made your breath hitch just a fraction.

"God, y'so soft..." he muttered, his eyes hooded and dark as he watched his own hand move against you. He worked his fingers under the lace, sliding them deep into the heat of your panties, finding you slick and ready even in your sleep. "Been thinkin' 'bout you all night... every time the bass hit, all I could think about was how much I wanted t'be right here... sinkin' into you..."

He began to move his fingers in slow, rhythmic circles, his touch light but purposeful, teasing the sensitive nub of your clit through the silk. He watched your face, mesmerized by the way your features softened with pleasure even as you remained lost in dreams.

"Look at you..." he breathed, a low, hungry sound vibrating in his chest. "Just a sweet little doll, layin' here waitin' f'me. My sweet, beautiful doll..."

He slid two fingers deeper, stretching you slightly, feeling the incredible, velvet grip of your walls. He let out a low, guttural groan, the sound muffled as he pressed his forehead against the mattress near your hip.

"So fucking wet for me..." he rasped, voice thick with his arousal. "Drippin' just thinkin' 'bout how much you missed me. You got no idea, baby... how much I been starving for this delicious little cunt of yours. Just wantin' to bury myself so deep in you that we both forget where the bed ends and we begin..."

He increased the pressure slightly, his thumb working the clit with a steady, relentless rhythm, his eyes fixed on the way your hips gave a tiny, involuntary tilt toward his hand. He was practically vibrating with the effort of staying controlled, of not just stripping off the rest of his clothes and shoving himself into you right then and there.

"Almost there, baby..." he whispered, his voice dropping to a pitch so low it was almost a growl. "Just a little more... let me see how much of a mess you can make for me while you're dreamin'..."

The rhythmic friction of his thumb and the deep, steady pulse of his fingers finally pushed you over the edge. A soft, broken gasp escaped your lips as your body tightened, a wave of warmth rolling through you that pulled you upward from the depths of sleep. Your hips gave a small, instinctive twitch against his hand, searching for more of that incredible pressure.

Your eyes fluttered open, heavy and clouded with sleep, trying to make sense of the dark silhouette looming over you and the delicious, aching sensation between your thighs.

"Mikey...?" you murmured, your voice thick and honey slow, completely dazed. You reached out blindly, your hand brushing against the warm, bare skin of his chest.

"Just me, baby... just me," he rasped, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, heated kiss to your temple. "Go back to sleep, sweet girl. You looked so damn pretty layin' here... just waitin' for me. Just let me love on you all night..."

He didn't give you a chance to fully wake up before he was moving, his lean frame sliding close behind you in the dark. He settled in, molding his body to the curve of your back, his warmth seeping into you.

"Just relax, baby..." he whispered, his breath a warm, steady caress against the shell of your ear. "Go back t'sleep. Just stay right there 'n your dreams. Imma make you feel real good..."

Before he moved to push his heavy cock into your waiting pussy, he reached down, his arm sliding under your thigh. He lifted your leg, guiding it forward and hitching it up toward your chest so he could settle deeper against you. The movement opened you up, leaving you feeling beautifully exposed to him in the quiet of the room. You let out a soft gasp at the angle.

"There... just like that," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "Perfect."

With your leg pulled forward, he slid your panties to the side and positioned himself at your entrance. He didn't rush; he wanted to savor the feeling of you. You felt the blunt, heavy tip pressing against your slickness, teasing your soaking hole before he finally began to slide in slowly.

He moved in an agonizingly controlled rhythm, guiding himself in one long, seamless stroke that filled you so completely it made your and his breath hitch at the same time.

"Mm, so warm..." he breathed, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he buried himself inside you, big hands gripping your sides. "You feel so good, sweet baby. So wet..."

He began to move, but he kept the pace heavy and deliberate, the friction of his skin sliding against yours creating a delicious, rhythmic heat. He stayed tucked close behind you, his chest a constant, warm pressure against your back. His hands were never still; one stayed anchored firmly on your hip to steady you, while the other roamed feverishly up and down your side, his palm hot against your skin.

He reached down, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you wide to make sure every single inch of him was buried deep within you.

"Just stay sleepy for me, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice a dark, hungry caress. "Just let me take care of you. Feels so good when I'm deep inside you like this, don't it?"

You let out a shaky, broken moan, your head lulling back against his shoulder. "Mikey..." you whimpered, your voice thick and heavy with arousal and sleep. "Feels so good..."

"I know, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he drove into you again, a little deeper this time. "Just let me hold you like this."

He never let up the rhythm, his hips continuing that heavy, deep grind that had you melting into the mattress. As he drove his cock into you, he reached around to the front, his fingers hooking into the neckline of your pink baby doll top.

He pulled the soft fabric down, exposing your tits to the cool air, and his eyes darkened as he saw your tits swaying with every thrust of his dick.

"Fuck yeahh..." he breathed, his voice a low, worshipful rumble. He reached up, his hand cupping one of your heavy breasts, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. "You got the prettiest tits, baby. Every time I slide back in, they just bounce so sweet f'me..."

He squeezed you gently, his thumb rolling over your nipple, teasing the peak until you let out a sharp, needy gasp.

While his hand stayed busy worshiping your tits, his other hand slid down, snaking past your waist and disappearing beneath the hem of your nightgown. His long fingers found your heat again, sliding straight back to that swollen, sensitive nub of your clit. He began to rub you with a steady, relentless pressure, his touch a perfect contrast to the heavy, blunt sensation of his cock filling your cunt.

"Mm, so messy f'me, girl," he murmured, his voice thick with affection as he felt your pussy clenching around him. "Pussy's just drippin' f'me... so slick 'nd ready for my dick."

The combination was overwhelming. The feeling of him stretching you open from behind, while his fingers worked your clit into a frenzy, had you arching your back, your hips searching for more of that friction.

"Just stay right there, my sweet baby," he urged, his pace picking up, his thrusts becoming more demanding as he felt you getting closer. "Just let me take care of you..."

You let out a broken, desperate sound, your voice barely a whisper as you fought to stay in that hazy, pleasurable state. "Mikey..." you whimpered, your head lulling back against his shoulder. He pressed a sweet kiss against your cheek. "It feels so good..."

"It is so good," he agreed, his voice a soft, gravelly caress as he drove into you again, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside your cunt. "So delicious, my angel. Just a sweet, beautiful girl, lettin' me fill you up like this..."

The tension in your body was coiling tighter and tighter, a frantic, beautiful pressure building deep in your belly. The sound of his heavy, ragged breathing was right against your ear, punctuating every deep, sliding thrust of his cock.

"Mmm, god, baby..." he groaned, the sound low and vibrating through your entire body, voice breaking as he felt the heat of your pussy clenching around him. "So perfect... my sweet girl.. you're so fucking— mmm..."

He trailed off into a long, low moan as he drove himself into you with a sudden, deep surge, his hips hitting yours with a soft, wet thud. His hand on your breast squeezed firmly, his fingers trembling slightly as he kneaded your soft flesh.

His fingers at your clit were relentless, a steady, rhythmic friction that felt like it was setting your entire lower half on fire. Every time his cock hit that deep, sweet spot, he let out a sharp, breathy moan, his head lulling against your shoulder as he fought to keep his rhythm.

He whimpered against your neck, a sound so pretty it made your heart race. "Jus' wanna hold you forever..."

He was losing his grip on that controlled, slow pace. His thrusts were becoming heavier, more desperate, driven by the sheer sensation of your slick cunt wrapping around his dick. He was huffing, his chest heaving against your back, his skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat.

"Almost there...baby" he groaned, his voice a wrecked, beautiful mess of affection and hunger. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he let out a long, shuddering moan. "Give it t'me, lemme feel you come all over me, girl..."

You were right there, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps that mirrored his own. "Oh fuck—"

"Yeahh, juuust like that," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he felt the first tremors of your orgasm begin to ripple through your pussy, his own moans growing louder, more primal, as he felt you tighten around his cock.

The tremor hit you like a wave, a sudden, violent clench of your pussy that caught him completely off guard. You let out a high, broken cry, your back arching as the pleasure became too much, radiating outward in hot, pulsing ripples.

Michael let out a wrecked, guttural whine, his entire body tensing as he felt your cunt milking him, the rhythmic contractions of your walls squeezing his dick so tightly it felt like you were trying to pull him deeper .

The sensation was too much for him. As your orgasm peaked, he gave one final, deep thrust, burying his cock as far as it could possibly go, his hips pinning you firmly to the mattress.

He let out a long, shuddering groan that seemed to vibrate from his chest into your spine as he finally broke. You felt the hot, thick pulses of him filling you, his seed flooding your pussy in heavy, rhythmic bursts that made your toes curl and your head spin.

"Oh, god, s'good baby..." he gasped, his voice a broken, breathless wreck. He stayed buried inside you, his entire frame trembling with the aftershocks of his own release. He was huffing, his chest heaving against your back in the quiet room, the only sound the frantic, synchronized thudding of your two hearts.

Slowly, the tension bled out of both of you. He didn't pull away; he just stayed there, heavy and warm, his lean body a comforting weight that anchored you to the bed. He let his forehead rest against the back of your neck, his breathing gradually slowing from ragged gasps to long, heavy sighs.

He reached around one last time, his hand sliding up from your hip to tenderly brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, his lips warm and damp.

"You're perfect baby..." he murmured, his voice barely a thread of sound, thick with sleep and adoration. "My sweet girl..."

He waited for a response, a sleepy mumble or a soft sigh, but as he watched the steady rise and fall of your shoulders, a small, tender smile touched his lips as he realized you had already drifted back into the darkness of sleep, lulled by the warmth of his body and the sweet, heavy satisfaction of the night.

A small, tender smile touched his lips as he watched you sleep. He leaned in one last time, his lips brushing the skin of your cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

"I love you, my angel."

You glanced up at him, confused. “You okay, angel?” He forced a smile. "Fine. Just tired of hearing him talk." You giggled, patting his chest. “Don't worry. I don't pay attention to him anyway.” As if realizing finally that he was far too close, he removed his arm instead crossing them over his chest. He could feel his face burning. "Good," he murmured. “'Cause you're too good for him and he's an idiot.”  

You just laughed and shoved him playfully, teasing Jermaine about being an idiot. Michael watched you, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to pull you back against him. Wanted to wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your hair and breathe you in until the jealousy subsided. He didn't. He just stood there, crossing his arms, trying to look casual and not annoyed …

When you weren't around, Michael fell apart. It started small. He'd find himself at your place, alone, waiting for you to get back from an errand. He'd wander into your room just to be surrounded by your scent.  He'd run his fingers over your pillowcase, your blankets, the clothes you'd left draped over a chair. He'd open your drawers without thinking, his fingers brushing over your folded clothes.  

And then he'd find them, your underwear.

The first time it happened, he stared at the fabric in his hands for a full minute, his brain short-circuiting. He knew he should put them down. Knew he should walk away. But your scent was everywhere on the cotton. Sweet and warm and so you that his knees went weak. He started drooling n it dropped straight onto your panties. His hands started trembling..

 He brought them to his face before he could stop himself then he realized how foolish he was being and with a flushed face he put your panties back. The second time, he didn't even bother pretending he had control. He buried his face in the fabric, breathing deep, a whine building in his throat. His hips bucked against nothing. His hand moved to his jeans without his permission.  

"Sorry," he whimpered against the fabric, even though no one was there. “Sorry, sorry, sorry—”

He rubbed himself through his jeans, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Your scent was driving him insane, clouding his thoughts until all he could think about was you. The curve of your waist. The sound of your laugh. The way you said his name. The way you looked at him like he was someone worth looking at. The way your skin felt under his fingers. The way your lips parted when you were about to speak. “Oh g-gosh..”

He came with a strangled moan, shuddering against your underwear, completely  unashamed of himself. Apparently he wasn’t all that sorry. He cleaned up as best he could. Hid the underwear in the back of your drawer, hoping they'd dry before you noticed. His face was burning the entire time. His hands wouldn't stop trembling.

"M'sorry," he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "M'sorry, m'sorry. That was stupid.” He didn't even know why he did it. He just knew he couldn't stop. And then, one day, he stopped showing up.

You called. Wrote. Left voicemails that went unanswered. A week passed. Then two. You were sick with worry, your mind spinning through every worst-case scenario. You showed up at his house, but his brothers said he wasn't taking visitors. You left him notes, care packages, snacks you knew he liked. Nothing. Finally, you called his brother. “Hey, is Michael okay? He hasn't answered any of my calls. I'm starting to get really worried.”  

Tito was quiet for a moment. Long enough that your heart started to sink. Then: “Yeah, he's fine. Just came down with something nasty. You know how it is. Doesn't want you to catch it.” “A virus? Is it serious?” "Nah, he'll be fine in a few weeks. Just needs to rest. I'll tell him you called." You hung up, relieved but still uneasy. *Weeks?* Michael had never been sick for weeks in his life. It almost seemed untrue.

Because it was. Michael was curled up in his room, his body overtaken by fever as his bones reshaped themselves for the first time. He was going through his first full transformation, his body fighting itself. He thought about you the entire time. Your face. Your voice. The way you smiled at him. The way you said his name like it mattered. The way you laughed, bright and unguarded, when he said something stupid. The way you felt in his arms when he hugged you.

He humped his pillow every night, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. He couldn't stop himself. The rut made him feral, made him needy, made him want things he'd never admitted out loud. He'd bury his face in the sheets and pretend it was you, pretend he was buried inside you, and come with a broken sob.

It was the only thing that kept him sane through the pain. …

When he finally showed up at your door a month later, he looked thicker. His shoulders seemed broader, his jaw sharper. He'd filled out in ways that made his shirts fit differently. Pretty healthy, actually. His eyes had a new intensity to them that you couldn't quite place.

"You look better," you said, pulling him into a hug. He laughed weakly, burying his face in your hair. He breathed in deep, and you felt his chest expand against yours. "Missed you too, bunny."

“I was so worried. Why didn't you call me back?”

"Didn't want you to see me like that." He pulled back, rubbing the back of his neck. "I looked rough."

"Rough is an understatement. Are you okay now?"

"Yeah. I'm okay now." He wasn't, really. He could smell you differently now. Could pick up the sweetness of your shampoo, the warmth of your skin. the faint, intoxicating scent of your arousal when you shifted too close to him.  It made his head spin. Made his gums ache. Made his fingers curl into fists with the effort of not touching you. Made him want to sink his teeth into your neck and never let go.

He controlled it. Barely. And he found every excuse to be near you. "I've got a headache," he'd whine, flopping onto your couch. "Can we lie down?" You'd laugh. “You have a headache every time you come over.” 

"'Cause you're comfortable." He'd pat the couch, giving you those big puppy eyes. “C'mon, bunny. Just for a few minutes.”

You'd roll your eyes but sit down anyway, and then his head would rest on your thigh. He'd try to play it cool, your hand stroking through his hair, but the moment his nose got anywhere near your crotch he was done for. He could smell you through your clothes. Could feel the heat radiating from through your pants n underwear. Could imagine with painful clarity, what you tasted like.

He'd get hard instantly. Every single time.

He'd have to adjust himself subtly, pray you didn't notice, and spend the rest of the time trying to think about unsexy things. It was torture. The best kind of torture.

. . . He’d started guilt-tripping you into wearing skirts. "It's hot out today, bunny," he'd say, even when the forecast said sixty degrees. "Why don't you wear a skirt? It's cute. I like the skirt." You'd raise an eyebrow. "It's not that warm."

"Please?" Puppy eyes. Full force. “For me?” You'd sigh and agree, because truthfully, Michael had always had good fashion sense. He knew what looked good on you. And the way his face lit up when you came out wearing the skirt he'd picked out made you happy.

He'd spend the entire day trying to catch a glimpse of your underwear every time you bent over or sat down. He'd picture what was underneath the curve of your thighs, the dip of your waist, the damp spot that he knew would be there if you were as affected by him as he was by you. His mind would run wild, and the moment he got home he'd lock himself in his room and touch himself to the memory.

He was a pervert, and he was aware of it. But he didn't care. And Michael had never been good at denying the himself. …

He supposed this was gonna happen eventually.

It happened on a random night. You and him were supposed to watch horror movies together, easily his favorite genre, but not because he liked being scared. He liked the excuse to press close to you in the dark, to feel you jump and grab his arm, to act like he was the one protecting you when really, he was just looking for any reason to have your body against his.

He was laying across your lap, his head resting on your thighs while your fingers traced absent patterns through his hair. The movie was playing some thriller (get it?…LMAO) flick he'd seen a dozen times but he couldn't focus on it. Not with you so close. Not with your scent filling his lungs with every breath. Not with the warmth of your thighs pressing against his cheeks.

Not when his instincts were clawing at the inside of his skull, screaming at him to claim you, mark you, make you his. He shifted, his nose brushing against the fabric of your shorts. He inhaled without meaning to, and a low whine escaped his throat.

You paused the movie. "You okay?"

"Yeah." His voice came out rough, strained. “Just…headache's acting up.”

"You want me to get you something?”

"No." He turned his head, pressing his face against your thigh. “Just stay here. Please.” You laughed softly, your fingers resuming their path through his hair. "You're so clingy lately. Did the sickness make you emotional or something?"

“Or something.” He breathed you in again, and this time he couldn't stop the way his hips twitched. He felt himself hardening, pressing against the seam of his jeans. If you noticed, you didn't say anything. The movie played on. Neither of you were watching. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken things.

He was being good. He was trying so hard to be good. But then the scene changed, and you shifted, and a fresh wave of your scent hit his nose. And he couldn't help it. He couldn't. “Hey, bunny?” 

"Yeah?" He sat up slowly, turning to face you. His hand found yours, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He looked nervous. Actually nervous. “I mean, something else.” 

"Go ahead."

He took a breath. "Do you ever think about... kissing?"

You blinked at him. “I mean. Sometimes. Why?” He shrugged, trying to look casual, but his ears were bright red. "I don't know. I was just thinking. I've never really done it before. Kissed anyone. And I was wondering if maybe—" He cleared his throat. "If maybe you'd want to practice with me?"

Your heart paused. “Practice?” 

"Yeah. You know. Just to see what it's like." He squeezed your hand. “We're best friends. There's no one else I'd rather practice with than you. And if we're bad at it, it doesn't matter because we're just figuring it out together.” You hesitated. "Michael."

"I mean, unless you don't want to." He looked down, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. "If you don't want to, that's okay. I'll just find someone else to practice with. I just thought it'd be better with you, since we trust each other."

The guilt trip was subtle but effective. The thought of him kissing someone else, practicing with someone else, made something twist in your stomach.

"Fine," you said. "But just once." His whole face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. And then he kissed you. It started soft. Gentle. His lips moved against yours slowly, learning the shape of them. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and when you didn't pull away, he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced along your lower lip, asking permission.

You opened for him, and the sound he made was almost a whimper. His tongue slid against yours, warm and wet, and he kissed you like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment. He tilted his head, adjusting the angle, and suddenly he was good at this. Surprisingly good. You didn’t know he could be this confident actually.

And then you felt it a warmth spreading across your chin. Wetness. Damp. He was drooling into your mouth. Not a lot. Just a little. A bit of extra saliva that slipped past his lips and into yours when he got too into it, He didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care. 

He just kept kissing you, deeper and hungrier, until you were both breathless. When he finally pulled back, you were panting. Your lips were swollen and glistening. Your head was spinning. And then you really looked at him. His eyes weren't brown anymore. They were glowing. Dark yellow, like embers in the dim light of the TV. Warm and bright and distinctly not human.

"Mikey?" Your voice came out shaky. “Your eyes.”  His pupils were blown wide, his irises that strange, luminous gold, and when he smiled, you saw them his canines. They were longer than they'd been this morning. Sharper. Like a dog's teeth. He blinked, and the color seemed to flicker. He laughed softly, brushing it off, but his voice was rougher than before. “It's just the movie lighting, bunny. Scary movies always mess with your head. You're imagining things.”

 You wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that the movie turned off, and the only light in the room was the lamp in the corner. But he was already leaning in again, already pressing soft kisses to your jaw, your neck, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver. And you were too distracted to argue. He smiled against your skin, pressing closer.  The makeout sessions became a regular thing after that first time.

                                                                  . . .

 started with sleepovers. You'd stay over at his place, or he'd stay at yours, and somewhere between the movie and the late-night snacks, he'd find his way into your space.  His hand would rest on your thigh. His lips would brush against your shoulder. He'd give you that look, those big puppy eyes, and you'd cave every single time.  

It was nice, honestly. He was a good kisser. Attentive. Soft when he needed to be, hungry when you wanted him to be. And he always held you after, pressing kisses to your hair, telling you you did good, that you were getting better at it. Tonight was no different.

You were at his place, sprawled across his bed in matching pajama sets he'd bought for the two of you months ago. The movie was some action movie neither of you were paying attention to. His hand was on your waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the fabric.

He leaned in, and you met him halfway. The kiss started slowly, familiar. His tongue slid against yours, and you hummed, your hand finding its way into his hair. He pulled you closer, your chest pressing against his, and you felt the familiar heat building between you.

But tonight felt different. His kisses were hungrier. His hands were more restless, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you against him. You could feel him hardening through his pajama pants, and you pulled back, breathless. "Mikey.."

"Sorry." His voice was rough. “Just - feel good. You feel good.” He kissed you again, deeper this time, and his hands found the hem of your shirt. He paused, asking permission without words. You nodded, and he pulled it off, tossing it aside. His lips found your collarbone, your chest, the swell of your breasts through your bra.  

"Michael," you breathed. "Want you so bad," he mumbled against your skin. “Been thinking about it all day.” He shifted, guiding you until you were straddling his lap. The position pressed his hardness directly against your core, and you both gasped. 

"See?" His voice was strained. “Feels good, right?” You nodded, your hands braced on his shoulders. He rocked his hips up, grinding against you through the layers of fabric, and a moan escaped your throat. "That's it," he murmured. “That's my good girl.”

He kept grinding, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. The friction was overwhelming, even through your clothes. You could feel how hard he was, could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric. "Mikey, I don't know if we should.."

"Just this," he said quickly. “Just this. No pants. Just grinding. Please.” You shook your head. "That's too far."

"Bunny." His voice dropped, soft and pleading. "Please. I've been so good. I haven't pushed. I've been patient. But I need this. I need you."

You hesitated, and he pressed closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Do you want me to go find some random girl?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Because I will, if that's what you want. But I'd rather it be you. It's easier this way. We trust each other. You know I'd never hurt you."

Your stomach twisted. The thought of him with someone else, of some other girl seeing him like this, hearing the sounds he made it made you feel sick. "Please, bunny." His voice cracked. “Don't be a bad friend.” The guilt trip hit its mark. You swallowed, your resolve crumbling.

"Fine," you whispered. “Fine. But just this once.”

"Just this once." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I promise.” He helped you out of your pajama pants, tossing them aside. His own followed, his pants pooling around his thighs. You were both still in your underwear, but you could see everything the outline of him, thick and hard, straining against the fabric of his boxers.

He guided you back onto his lap, and you felt him pressing against you through the thin layers. His hands found your waist, his grip firm. "You ready?" You nodded, and he pulled you down. The pressure was immediate. He was hard and hot against you, and you moaned, your head falling back. He groaned in response, his hips bucking up to meet you. "Yeah—fuck—yeah, just like that—"

He guided your movements, his hands on your hips, showing you a rhythm. The fabric of your underwear slid against his, and you could feel the dampness of him, the heat of him, the way his breath hitched every time you rolled your hips. "Doin' so good," he breathed. "So good for me, bunny."

His head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut. His lips were parted, his cheeks flushed, and he looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. "Look at that," you heard him mumble, and when you followed his gaze, his eyes were fixated on the tent that was visible in his boxers, the outline of his length straining so obviously, so big and heavy, that it was impossible to look away.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and wanting. “We got time. We can take this slow.”

"Doin' s’good," he breathed. "So good for me, bunny." His head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut.  His lips were parted, his cheeks flushed, and he looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. But as his hips moved faster and his breathing grew more ragged, you started to notice things.

His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing harder into your skin. When you glanced down, you could have sworn his fingernails looked darker, thicker. Like claws trying to push through.

And his sounds they were changing. His moans were deepening into growls, low and rumbling, vibrating through his chest. When he opened his eyes, they weren't brown anymore. They were yellow. Bright and glowing, his pupils narrowed into slits.

"Mikey" Your voice came out shaky. He blinked, and for a second, he looked almost panicked. Then he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point.  You swore you felt something sharp graze your skin, but it was gone before you could process it. "You're imagining things," he mumbled against your throat, his voice deeper than before, rougher. “Just the lighting. You're seeing things.”

His lips found yours again, kissing you deep and desperate, distracting you. His hips kept moving, grinding up against you, and the sensation made it hard to think. Hard to focus. But when his mouth trailed down your neck, when he bit down gently on the curve of your shoulder, you could have sworn his teeth felt sharper than before. And when your hand found his arm to steady yourself, you could have sworn the skin felt coarser. Hairier. "Mike."

"You're imagining things," he repeated, his voice breathless, almost pleading. "Just focus on me. Focus on how good this feels. Feels good right?” He pulled you closer, held you tighter, and kept you from seeing his face You could feel him trembling beneath you, his whole body wound tight like a spring. His hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering, and you knew he was close.

"Bunny" His voice was wrecked, barely human. "I'm—I'm gonna—" His back arched, his grip on your hips turning bruising. His moan pitched lower, twisting into something that didn't sound human at all a howl, long and desperate, needy almost, that tore from his throat and filled the room.

His whole body shuddered beneath you, his hips jerking as he came in his boxers, warm and wet against the fabric.And then he collapsed, panting like he'd run a marathon. 

His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His forehead pressed to yours, his eyes still squeezed shut."Holy..that was." he breathed. You stared at him, your heart pounding. "Did you just howl?" Now you weren’t hearing things. That was no movie.  He laughed weakly, still catching his breath. "What? No. That was..that was a moan. A really loud moan."

"That didn't sound like a moan." You may not have ever slept with anyone ever but you knew moaning shouldn’t sound like a wild animal.  "You're hearing things, bunny."  He pressed a kiss to your forehead, still panting. "Scary movie's got you all spooked. My moans don’t sound that bad.” He joked.  You wanted to argue. You were pretty sure you knew the difference between a moan and a howl. 

But he was already holding you closer, already burying his face in your hair, already breathing you in. And you were too tired to argue.

You dropped your keys on the side table. “Hey, baby. Missed you.”

She gave a small hum. “How was it?” Her tone was unusual, noting you’ve heard before. You kicked off your shoes and walked over, sitting close enough that your knee brushed hers. “It was cool. Michael’s got some crazy stories. We just chilled, talked about old tour stuff. You good?”

Janet finally looked your way. Her eyes flicked to yours sharply. “I’m fine.” You knew better. “Janet… what’s up? You’re doing that thing where you say you’re fine but you’re not.” She let out a short breath, almost a laugh but not actually. “You really don’t know?”

You reached for her hand. She let you take it for a second, then pulled away. “Talk to me. Please.” Her jaw tightened. She turned toward you on the couch, voice low. “Did you have fun with Michael, hm? Forgetting about me while you’re out having the time of your life with him?”

The words landed like ice water. You pulled your hand back, staring at her. “Janet… that’s not— I swear it’s not like that. We’re just friends. I went over there because he invited me and it’s always been chill. You know that.”

“Do I?” She stood up, pacing a couple steps before facing you again. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve been spending more and more time with him lately. Coming back here acting like everything’s normal while he’s probably thinking about you the same way I do. I heard my brothers talking earlier. Michael’s been going on about you. How sweet you are, how you ‘understand’ him. And they were all in his ear—‘Go for it, Mike. She obviously likes hanging with you.’ Laughing like it was already happening.”

Your heart pounding. “No. Baby, please. It’s not like that at all. I came straight back to you. I always do. You’re the one I want to be with.” Your stomach kept on plummeting when she didn’t answer. “Janet, I swear it’s not like that. I went over there as a friend. That’s it. I came straight back to you.” Her fingers came up to brush your jaw, tilting your face so you had to look at her. “You promise?”

“I promise,” you said quickly, voice cracking a little. The guilt hit even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. She toooo good at this. “Please don’t be mad. I’ll do anything. Just tell me how to fix it.”

Her expression shifted. The anger softened into something a lot more intense. A slow smile tugged at her lips. “Anythin?” You nodded fast. She leaned in, breath warm against your ear. “Good girl.”

She took your hand and led you to the bedroom without saying much more. The lamp was already on low. Janet pushed you gently onto the bed and stood over you for a second, just looking. “Clothes off.”

You stripped fast, heart hammering. She stayed in her silk tank and pants longer, watching you the whole time. When you were naked she finally crawled over you, kissing your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “You’re mine tonight,” she muttered against your skin. “Not his. Say it baby.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Janet. Only yours.”

Her hand slid between your legs. Two fingers pushed inside you right away, curling slow. You were already soaked to the point where your slick drenched her fingers. She let out a soft, satisfied sound. “Wet as hell. Just from me being pissed?” She circled your clit with her thumb, light and teasing. “You’re really something else.”

You tried to roll your hips but she pulled her hand back the second you did. “No. You don’t cum until I let you, got it?” She kept you right on the edge for what felt like forever. Fingers deep, stroking that spot that made your toes curl, then stopping. Over and over. By the third time you were shaking, grabbing at her shoulders. “Janet—please baby, please. I need it so bad.”

“Need what?” She went down and kissed the inside of your thigh, lips brushing but not giving you more. “Say it properly.”

“I need to cum. Please let me cum for you.”

“Not yet.”

When she finally went down on you, it was almost too much. Her tongue was slow at first, then faster, sucking your clit while two fingers fucked into you steadily. You were right there, thighs trembling around her head, when she pulled back again.

“Fuck—Janet!” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and climbed up, pressing her bare pussy against yours. She’d taken the rest of her clothes off at some point, you were just too fucked out to notice. Her slick heat made you moan loud. “Look at me,” she said, starting to grind. Her clit rubbed directly over yours in tight, wet circles. “You think about him while you’re out there enjoying yourself?”

“No,” you gasped. “Only you. Always you.” She sped up for a second, then slowed right when you started shaking. “Liar. I bet you liked the attention.”The words burned immensely, but they made you a lot wetter. She felt it and laughed under her breath. “Greedy little thing. Getting off on me being mad.”

She kept grinding, changing the angle, holding your hips down when you tried to chase it. Every time you got close she eased off, whispering shit in your ear.

“Say you’re sorry for making me jealous.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Say you’ll cancel on him next time.”

“I’ll cancel. I swear!!!”

You were crying by then, tears slipping down the sides of your face. Janet kissed them away, almost gentle, then went right back to torturing you.

When she finally let you cum, she pinned your wrists above your head and grinding down hard, fast, clit rubbing perfectly against yours. “Come on, baby. Now, do it for mama,”

It hit you like a freight train. You cried out her name, body jerking under her while she kept going, chasing her own orgasm right after. Her moans were raw, shaky, and she buried her face in your neck as she came.

Afterward she pulled you against her chest, fingers stroking your back in slow circles. The room was quiet except for both of you catching your breath. “You’re mine,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Don’t ever forget that again.” You whimpered against her, still trembling. “I won’t. I love you, Janet.”

She went still for a second, then kissed the top of your head. Her voice was quieter than before. “Love you too.”

You dropped your keys on the side table. “Hey, baby. Missed you.”

She gave a small hum. “How was it?” Her tone was unusual, noting you’ve heard before. You kicked off your shoes and walked over, sitting close enough that your knee brushed hers. “It was cool. Michael’s got some crazy stories. We just chilled, talked about old tour stuff. You good?”

Janet finally looked your way. Her eyes flicked to yours sharply. “I’m fine.” You knew better. “Janet… what’s up? You’re doing that thing where you say you’re fine but you’re not.” She let out a short breath, almost a laugh but not actually. “You really don’t know?”

You reached for her hand. She let you take it for a second, then pulled away. “Talk to me. Please.” Her jaw tightened. She turned toward you on the couch, voice low. “Did you have fun with Michael, hm? Forgetting about me while you’re out having the time of your life with him?”

The words landed like ice water. You pulled your hand back, staring at her. “Janet… that’s not— I swear it’s not like that. We’re just friends. I went over there because he invited me and it’s always been chill. You know that.”

“Do I?” She stood up, pacing a couple steps before facing you again. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve been spending more and more time with him lately. Coming back here acting like everything’s normal while he’s probably thinking about you the same way I do. I heard my brothers talking earlier. Michael’s been going on about you. How sweet you are, how you ‘understand’ him. And they were all in his ear—‘Go for it, Mike. She obviously likes hanging with you.’ Laughing like it was already happening.”

Your heart pounding. “No. Baby, please. It’s not like that at all. I came straight back to you. I always do. You’re the one I want to be with.” Your stomach kept on plummeting when she didn’t answer. “Janet, I swear it’s not like that. I went over there as a friend. That’s it. I came straight back to you.” Her fingers came up to brush your jaw, tilting your face so you had to look at her. “You promise?”

“I promise,” you said quickly, voice cracking a little. The guilt hit even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. She toooo good at this. “Please don’t be mad. I’ll do anything. Just tell me how to fix it.”

Her expression shifted. The anger softened into something a lot more intense. A slow smile tugged at her lips. “Anythin?” You nodded fast. She leaned in, breath warm against your ear. “Good girl.”

She took your hand and led you to the bedroom without saying much more. The lamp was already on low. Janet pushed you gently onto the bed and stood over you for a second, just looking. “Clothes off.”

You stripped fast, heart hammering. She stayed in her silk tank and pants longer, watching you the whole time. When you were naked she finally crawled over you, kissing your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “You’re mine tonight,” she muttered against your skin. “Not his. Say it baby.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Janet. Only yours.”

Her hand slid between your legs. Two fingers pushed inside you right away, curling slow. You were already soaked to the point where your slick drenched her fingers. She let out a soft, satisfied sound. “Wet as hell. Just from me being pissed?” She circled your clit with her thumb, light and teasing. “You’re really something else.”

You tried to roll your hips but she pulled her hand back the second you did. “No. You don’t cum until I let you, got it?” She kept you right on the edge for what felt like forever. Fingers deep, stroking that spot that made your toes curl, then stopping. Over and over. By the third time you were shaking, grabbing at her shoulders. “Janet—please baby, please. I need it so bad.”

“Need what?” She went down and kissed the inside of your thigh, lips brushing but not giving you more. “Say it properly.”

“I need to cum. Please let me cum for you.”

“Not yet.”

When she finally went down on you, it was almost too much. Her tongue was slow at first, then faster, sucking your clit while two fingers fucked into you steadily. You were right there, thighs trembling around her head, when she pulled back again.

“Fuck—Janet!” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and climbed up, pressing her bare pussy against yours. She’d taken the rest of her clothes off at some point, you were just too fucked out to notice. Her slick heat made you moan loud. “Look at me,” she said, starting to grind. Her clit rubbed directly over yours in tight, wet circles. “You think about him while you’re out there enjoying yourself?”

“No,” you gasped. “Only you. Always you.” She sped up for a second, then slowed right when you started shaking. “Liar. I bet you liked the attention.”The words burned immensely, but they made you a lot wetter. She felt it and laughed under her breath. “Greedy little thing. Getting off on me being mad.”

She kept grinding, changing the angle, holding your hips down when you tried to chase it. Every time you got close she eased off, whispering shit in your ear.

“Say you’re sorry for making me jealous.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Say you’ll cancel on him next time.”

“I’ll cancel. I swear!!!”

You were crying by then, tears slipping down the sides of your face. Janet kissed them away, almost gentle, then went right back to torturing you.

When she finally let you cum, she pinned your wrists above your head and grinding down hard, fast, clit rubbing perfectly against yours. “Come on, baby. Now, do it for mama,”

It hit you like a freight train. You cried out her name, body jerking under her while she kept going, chasing her own orgasm right after. Her moans were raw, shaky, and she buried her face in your neck as she came.

Afterward she pulled you against her chest, fingers stroking your back in slow circles. The room was quiet except for both of you catching your breath. “You’re mine,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Don’t ever forget that again.” You whimpered against her, still trembling. “I won’t. I love you, Janet.”

She went still for a second, then kissed the top of your head. Her voice was quieter than before. “Love you too.”