🦇☽☾ Remi 🦇☽☾

as soon as the final note of the last song ended, backstage erupted with people shouting and yelling over each other, trying to organise themselves.

crew members called orders to each other, the background dancers filed back into their rooms, and security tried their best to direct people round.

but through it all, there he was. michael.

coming off stage, he looked ethereal.

his curls stuck to his forehead, his face shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

his jacket was slightly open, revealing his white tank top underneath, and his eyes were darker than usual.

his eyes found y/n’s in mere seconds, leaned up against the wall, the military hat he had on for the bad performance sat on the tip of her finger, spinning round slowly, almost tantalisingly slow, teasing him.

“there she is,” michael spoke, his voice slightly hoarse as he walked over, his hands finding her waist immediately, “my pretty girl,”

she hummed, gaze flickering round his perfect face.

even after performing for two whole hours, he looked so perfect still. it was unfair.

“hi pretty boy,” she tilted her head to the side, the hat still spinning on her finger.

y/n smiled, accepting the feeling of his large, warm palms splayed across her waist, the thin fabric of her dress beneath his hands.

“so that’s where it disappeared to,”

“finders keepers,”

michael watched her for a second, the way it spun round her finger almost hypnotising, before he plucked it off, watching the way she gasped, her lips moving apart.

“suits ya, mama,” he said, placing it on her head - a little big and hanging low over her eyes, but cute nonetheless.

his hands moved up her hips, kneading at the soft flesh of her body for a second as he watched her.

“think we should head back to the hotel, whatchu think, ma?” he lifted the hat slightly so he could see her eyes as she shrugged.

“sure,”

the back of the car was hot as michael helped y/n into it, the driver immediately starting the engine.

he helped her strap in first (as he always did) and then himself, his hands on her as soon as he finished.

michael pushed the hat back out of his way, his lips coming to hers in a hot kiss.

his tongue pushed against the cushion of y/n’s lower lip, seeking entrance inside of her mouth.

she wasn’t in the mood to make him wait, parting her lips almost immediately as she pressed her thighs together. she could feel heat pooling in her core, desperate for him.

“s’needy for me,” michael whispered, “already wet and we ain’t even home yet, girl,”

y/n just responded with a whine against his mouth as he moved her head to the side, exposing her pulse point, his lips immediately on it.

his other hand moved down her chest, squeezing the supple flesh of her boob, down her waist, to her thighs-

“mama,” michael pulled back, a string of salvia connecting his lip to the shining wet spot on her neck as he pushed his hand beneath her skirt, almost to double check something, “y’ain’t wearin’ panties,”

y/n’s face heated up at that.

he was supposed to find out when they got home.

“keep your voice down, mikey,” she whispered, her gaze flickering to where the driver sat at the front, blissfully unaware to either of their filthy fantasies and thoughts.

michael followed y/n’s gaze, before returning back to her.

“oh? don’t want the driver t’know you ain’t wearin’ no panties?” he hummed, deliberately making his voice a tiny bit louder to scare her.

“mikey-!”

“y’gonna drench ya seat, then what do i tell him, hmm?” he hummed, his hand moving back up her body, resting gently on her neck, his thumb against her jugular.

“mike,”

“mm?”

“don’t tease,”

michael hummed, his gaze flickering to the window for a second. they were almost back at the hotel.

“keep the hat on,” he adjusted the military hat on her head again, “and god knows i’ll eat you out s’good, til i can’t breathe, girl,”

just the way he said it, his voice low and sultry, had her thighs squeezing together.

composing herself as she stepped out of the car was hard for y/n, straightening her dress and acting like she couldn’t feel her own heat dripping down her thighs.

mikey did most of the talking, smiling to the receptionist, leading her all the way to their room, twisting the key in…

as soon as the door opened, his hands were on her again.

his long, slender fingers moved to her waist, pushing her against the door as his lips pressed to her, tongue pushing into her mouth.

his hands kneaded at the supple flesh of her waist as y/n moaned into his mouth, hands coming to tug at the long curls on his head.

michael moaned into her lips, the filthiest sound she’d ever heard.

“need you s’bad,” he adjusted the hat on her, “needa taste that sweet cunt,”

his lips were back on hers, tongue moving in every corner of her mouth as he lifted her, walking to the bed.

y/n gasped as he dropped her, her back hitting the plush mattress as he dropped her down.

“hat stays on,” michael picked it from beside her and placed it back on her head, shrugging off his jacket.

his hands came to her thighs, pulling her legs apart as she gasped, the cold air immediately hitting her hot core.

“michael-!” y/n gasped, her face heating up in embarrassment as his eyes traced every detail of her pretty pussy, her folds dripping with need.

“no no, you keep your legs open, ‘kay, ma?” his gaze snapped to her face, voice stern as she nodded, her legs still slightly tense.

that was, until, he moved down onto his knees, licking over the more sensitive part of her thighs so she’d loosen up for him.

“atta girl,” michael spoke into her leg as she mowed, head tipping back, the hat still on her head as his warm breath splayed over her cunt.

he kept both hands on her thighs, keeping her pussy available for him as he leaned down, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against her sensitive skin.

y/n moaned, her body arching into him slightly as he pulled back, peppering gentle kisses to her clit.

“oh yes- fuck, mike,”

michael moved back again pushing his tongue out to dart between her folds, collecting her arousal on the tip of his tongue.

his gaze flickered to her to gauge her reaction, the way her head was tipped back, the hat still on her head, her chest rising and falling as he bundled her dress up over her waist.

he moved down again, his tongue working against her tight hole as his thumb moved up to her clit, rubbing shaky, unsteady circles into her clit.

“tastes so fucking good,” michael groaned into her pussy.

her heat was smeared over his lips like gloss, his nose nudging her needy clit every few seconds as he pushed his lips against her hole.

the sounds his lips made against her pussy, paired with y/n’s moans and mewls, were filthy.

“mike, mmh-,” y/n gasped, her back arching as he pressed the tip of his tongue to her clit.

“mhm?” he hummed into her pussy, the vibration making her shudder.

“m-more, please mikey,”

michael pulled back, his thumb still working at her clit as he looked at her, his mouth covered in her juices.

the vision was downright sinful.

“want my fingers, baby?” he whispered, pausing to press a kiss to her pussy as y/n nodded, desperate.

“please,”

“you tell me how many, ma,” he traced a circle round her clit with his tongue, “how many fingers y’need?”

y/n looked up, pushing the hat off of her eyes as she was silent for a second, breathing heavily.

“three,”

“three?”

y/n nodded.

“y’gonna get two first,” michael said, “don’t wanna break you, b’fore i can fuck you, ma,”

she just nodded, his pointer finger dragging down to her sweet hole. she was tight, her pussy enveloping his long, slender finger in heat as y/n moaned, head falling back.

“oh fuck, that’s it,” michael whispered, curling his finger slightly as she hissed, “‘n’ this greedy cunt wants to take my dick, hm? fingers hardly fit,”

“i can take it,” y/n said, still managing to pout at him from under the hat, right as he slid another finger into her.

“yeah, sure,”

michael pushed another finger inside of her, moving them apart from each other as she moaned, his fingers creating a scissoring motion inside of her.

“that’s it, ma,” he leaned down, tongue flicking against her clit.

god, y/n felt so full, a third finger pushing into her tight hole.

his fingers pumped in and out of her as he sped up the motions of his tongue working on her sensitive clit.

just when she can feel the all too familiar knot in her stomach, her fingers twisted in his curls, he moved back.

michael’s fingers pulled from her tight hole with a filthy ‘pop’ as she gasped, the hat falling off her head in the process.

“mike-!”

“i know baby,” he moved back, dropping his trousers to the floor, his dick springing against his stomach as he pulled his tank top off too, “get yourself out that dress so i can fuck you good,”

y/n was up instantly, tearing the dress off of her body, her lady black bra alongside it.

michael was so perfect.

his long legs, his slender frame, his throbbing, hard dick, the tip a gorgeous shade of mauve?

perfection itself.

“c’mere,” he sat onto the bed, legs slightly spread as he pulled y/n onto his lap, her hot pussy against his dick as he adjusted the hat on y/n’s head.

she always looked so good in his clothes, but there was something about the hat particularly…

“i need you,” she moaned into his mouth, bucking her hips along him as he whined, a filthy sound against her mouth.

he was so hard, it was borderline painful.

michael still had her slick juices on his chin, looking like sin itself, as he lifted her up slightly, freeing his dick from beneath her.

y/n just whined, her hips still grinding down desperately on his thigh.

“c’mere, y’gonna sit on it f’me?” he tilted her face up so she looked at him, nodding frantically.

“good,”

chills went through her entire body as michael kept one hand on her waist, the other guiding his dick to slap against her dripping cunt.

the sounds were filthy, his throbbing head pushing between y/n’s folds as she moaned, back arching.

“y’gonna take it all?” michael paused, his tip poised against her entrance as y/n nodded, desperate.

“words, ma,”

“i will, i will!! y/n squeaked, her eyes wide as she nodded frantically.

“good,” he straightened the hat on her head again, pushing his dick into her, her hot cunt stretching round him.

he didn’t pause to let her adjust, slowly inching deeper and deeper into her as she moaned, sinking down onto him.

“i wanna do it,” y/n said, her words a little slurred and the hat a little sideways as michael started to move, her hands planted on his shoulders.

“y’sure?” michael said, eyebrow raised.

she usually let him do the work.

“‘m sure,” she nodded, lifting her hips up, and sinking back down onto him, earning a collective moan from them both.

michael watched her, his lips parted and lashes fluttering, as she moved, her thrusts nowhere near as punctual as his, her nails digging into his shoulders.

he leaned back, resting his weight on his arms as y/n moved.

each time she’d slam her hips down, a little gasp would leave her lips, paired with michael’s sharp intakes of breath.

“mikey,” she whined, arms wrapping round his neck as she stopped her bounces, a frustrated pout on her lips.

“mm?”

“legs hurt,” she said, her face heating up in embarrassment.

“and?” 

was he really gonna make her say it?

“and…and i want you to do it,” 

“do what?”

“fuck me, mikey,” y/n whined, “please?”

that was all he needed, adjusting her on his lap, his hands on her waist to hold her up slightly as he lifted his hips.

y/n moaned as he dragged his dick out of her, tantalisingly slow, before pushing back into her.

“couldn’t even last five minutes,” he muttered, lips dragging down the side of her neck as he moved quicker, pumping in and out of her.

y/n moaned, her pussy clenching round him as he slammed into her, her nails digging into his skin.

“mikey, please,” she whined, “please, i need you,”

“alright, captain,” he adjusted the hat on her head so he could see the desperation in y/n’s eyes, “i’ll give it to you,”

“fuck ma, y’feel so good,” he groaned, his voice low in her ear, “need ya so bad,” 

michael leaned back, pivoting his hips so hit top slammed into that specific spot inside of her that made her back arch, a loud moan leaving her lips.

he was surprised they hadn’t had anyone call the hotel staff about how loud they were, the room filled with the sounds of his dick slamming into her pussy and her loud, unfiltered moans.

“mikey, fuck, it’s s’good,” y/n babbled, her words slurring together as he fucked her deeper.

he could tell she was close, her eyes having that familiar haze, her lower lip red from biting it.

“i know mama, ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he moved faster, before he slowed down so she could savour every inch of him inside of her, “so warm and tight f’me,”

“feels s’good baby,” y/n clung to him, scratching red hot lines down his back as michael left sloppy, hot kisses down her neck.

his thrusts are hard and sharp, moving so deep inside of her that she swore she could feel him slamming into her ribs.

“that’s it, girl,” he held her tight, angling his hips even deeper, “takin’ me so good,”

y/n’s thighs squeezed together in desperation, she was so close.

“baby, shit, keep them open,” he pushed her legs apart, his hand dipping between her legs so his thumb could rub messy circles into her clit.

she moaned again, her head tipping back as she felt the knot in her stomach tighten, she was so close, just a few more thrusts.

the sensation shot through her body as she moaned, her pussy clamping down tightly round him as michael groaned.

“where d’ya want me?” he kept moving, fucking her through her high as her vision went white, blinking back stars.

“anywhere, i-in me, please,” she gasped, his dick still hitting that same spot as michael nodded, pushing deeper.

his cum spilled inside of her, hot and thick as he moaned, keeping himself buried deep inside of her, his dick twitching against her soft walls.

“y’good?” he leaned back so he could see her face, pushing the hat back as she nodded, her cheeks tear-stained and lip quivering as he gave them a soft kiss.

“did so well f’me,” michael spoke softly, letting her rest her cheek on his chest, “so, so good,”

he stayed quiet after that, letting her come down from her high as her breathing became more regular, the haze leaving her eyes.

“what about we go clean up, hm, captain?” he gave the hat a flick as y/n nodded, letting him wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“shower, c’mon,” michael lifted her to her feet, “can’t sleep all sticky and messy,” 

y/n could feel cum dribbling down her thighs as he led her to the little en-suite bathroom.

“as much as i’d like you to sleep with my cum dripping outta you,” he added quietly, earning a slap on the chest from y/n.

“michael!” 

select tags here

second last fic for michael.

Your eyes snap to his direction, but not the man on top of you that’s having you make all those pants and moans. The man never reveals his face, but that isn’t what Michael is fixated on right now. He’s fixated on the way you didn’t even flinch to see him walk in on you two, instead flashing him a satisfied smirk.

“Oh, yes! Right there! God, I’ve never been fucked this good before!”

His surroundings cut to black as soon as you moaned those words, eyes now showing him in bed half tangled under the sheets. He sits up with such urgency it makes you stir a little in your sleep beside him, in search for his warmth.

Sunlight bleeds through the curtains and stings his eyes, bringing a hand up to cover. Faint chirping can be heard, which reassures him it’s a new morning and it was only a dream.

A dream like that would have anyone start to have doubts in their relationship. He should be wondering who that man was, or should start considering if the dream is trying to give him a sign, but none of those thoughts flow to him. The affection you give to him everyday, how you sometimes cry when he gives you a kiss goodbye to head to work that won’t be releasing him till the very late hours of the night, he knows there isn’t any room in your heart for another man that isn’t him.

In other words, he doesn’t ever have to worry about you possibly cheating on him.

What his worries does lead to him, though, is what you said in the dream. “Ive never been fucked this good before”? What a damn lie.

His thoughts are interrupted from the sounds of your stirs, eyes gently fluttering open. Your lips pull into a soft smile once your gaze welcomes the sight of Michael sitting next to you, immediately reaching for him.

“Watching me sleep?” You joked, but he didn’t say anything in return. Before you could question his silence, he leans down to deliver your lips a sensual, deep kiss.

A kiss that tastes of hunger and need so quick into your morning starting left you gasping in surprise in the midst of it, even more-so after he broke it off to let the kisses expand every inch of your face down to your neck.

“Woah, good morning to you too—mmngh..” You couldn’t help your tiny moans interrupting, Michael always knowing which spots on your neck leaves you sensitive and breathless. You barely heard him, but he mumbles a quick ‘I miss you’ into your skin, which has you breathe out a laugh through your nose.

“I haven’t gone anywhere though.” You say, and he gives you a look that silently says ‘so?’.

Then you feel it, and his touches all make sense. His hardening bulge has been pressed right against your pajama shorts, the thin cotton not letting you miss every inch he has to give.

“I need you.” He says it like it isn’t up for debate, he will have you right this second. When have you ever complained?

You hook your thumbs under your shorts, him helping to get them off faster. He follows shortly after, exposed cock twitching from the cold air. He sucks in air through his teeth as he lets his length be covered in your slick, sliding it up and down between your folds.

“So wet already…” He whispers, more to himself than to you. He doesn’t stop his slides, focused on how you gasp and twitch your hips up each time the head catches your clit. You whine in frustration when it goes down to your entrance, as he nudges just a bit to give the idea he’ll slip it in, but then pulls back to continue the rubs against your folds.

“Michael,” You breathe out, wrapping your legs around his waist to have him push forward, but he doesn’t budge. “Please, don’t tease. Too early for that.”

He hums, not stopping the sly smile tugging from the corner of his mouth. “You’re shaking, baby. You need it that bad?” He knows you do, yet he’s in search for your pleas. He rarely keeps you waiting, hard to deny your inviting heat a little longer for his own amusement to watch you squirm.

You’re not use to this, but if begging gets you what you’re desperately craving for, then you’ll do just that.

You nod frantically, hands roaming up his arms to cradle his face. You make sure he sees your yearning glint in your eyes, in hopes it’ll put an end to his teases. “Yes, yes I need it so bad. I need you.”

That did it.

You feel the familiar stretch of his cock, your walls fighting to accommodate his length. With your given wetness, it didn’t take long for him to bottom out, pubic bone flushing against your clit. He brings his hands underneath your knees, pinning your legs to your chest to focus on his cock disappearing each thrust. Your cunt hugging him so perfectly, along with the wet squelches each time he snaps his hips forward again, you can tell how much it’s driving him insane as he picks up his pace.

“Fuck, Michael, it feels so good..!” You cry out, eyes squeezed shut as you fist the sheets, barely grounding you as the snap of his hips keeps having your body bounce.

“Yeah? Does it? I’m making you feel good, baby?” You couldn’t even stutter a response back, the tip kissing your g-spot perfectly with each roll.

He lets go of your legs to flush his chest against yours, cupping the side of your cheek to bring your gaze to his. “You’re mine, right? You’re all mine and no one else’s, right mama?” He asks between groans, each thrust given like he’s trying to prove something to you.

You don’t question much of his words, nodding as your pleasure starts to get sharper and your vision begins to blur. “Yes, of course Michael, I’m all yours— oh, I’m gonna come…!” You manage to warn until a second later your walls is clamping down onto his cock tightly, orgasm buzzing through every bone in your body.

He gives a couple more snaps of his hips, then pulling out to coat your stomach in his own release. It warms the skin it falls on, bringing your trembling legs down.

But Michael stops them halfway, pushing them back up to keep your cunt exposed. As you were about to pick your head up to see what he’s doing, you feel him deliver a slow, wet, dragging stroke of his tongue. Your mouth parts but there’s no sound that escaped, body locking up from his tongue flicking and circling with precision so sharp it’s devastating.

“Michael, wait—“ But he doesn’t, knowing you want him to stop because you’re still too sensitive, but he doesn’t care. He needs to taste your arousal, needs to tear you apart piece by piece.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, the vibration of his moan shredding through you. The work of his mouth is relentless, never taking a second to breathe. He doesn’t let up, pulling you deeper into his mouth, and it doesn’t take long for your orgasm to crash through you once again due to your high sensitivity from the last.

He only stops once your shuddering starts to ease, pressing one last slow kiss to your clit, like he’s sealing his claim.

How wrong of you to assume he’d be done after that, grabbing ahold of your waist to get you straddled on top.

You can barely hold yourself up, nails digging into his shoulders as he sinks you carefully down onto his cock again. “Michael, I can’t—“ you shudder into his neck, arms wrapped around you to keep you leaned forward on his chest.

“Please, one more f’me? I got you, mama. I got you.” His breath stutters against your cheek, hips rutting up to set a lazy rhythm. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, it’s always overwhelming like it’s the first time. His cock thick, unrelenting, filling you in a way that steals your breath, in a way that makes your head spin.

He does all the work, keeping you rested against him as the snap up of his hips never falter. Heat floods through you, pools between your legs, making your thighs shake. He feels it all, the curl of your fingers on the back of his neck, having yourself meet his thrusts halfway even after a second ago you said you couldn’t take any more.

“Tell me again how good it feels.” Michael groans, angling his hips to get impossibly deeper in your dizzying warmth. “No one else can make you feel this good, huh? No one else can do it like me, huh baby?”

Your heart stumbles against your ribs, Michael moving in a way like he’s made to consume you, to ruin you completely. You shake your head as the snap of his hips turn sharp, having your mind start to go blank. “No, no one else can do it like you. You fuck me so good— shit..!”

Your body begins to seize up, shattering apart, pleasure violently slamming into you. A hand tangles in your hair, gently pulling you off his neck to watch you break into breathless, gasping cries. “You took it so well, pretty. You always do.”

He’s quick to slide you off, fisting his cock until it spurs all over his stomach. You both share uneven pants, both sharing shakes of your bodies, twitching with the last aftershocks. He snakes his arm around your waist, pulling your back against his chest to burrow his face in the crook of your neck.

You moan quietly with each light kiss he gives your neck, all the way up to your ear to bring goosebumps with his whisper.

The neon lights of 1984 didn’t care about sweat, but the stage cameras certainly did. 

Behind the massive, roaring stadium, the backstage area of The Triumph Tour was a chaotic ecosystem of humming air conditioners, tangled black cables, and the constant, rhythmic thrum of bass soundchecks vibrating through the concrete floor. Clothes racks overflowing with sequins, shoulder pads, and heavy silk moved like metallic waves down the hallways. Security guards with ear pieces barked into walkie-talkies, and wardrobe assistants scrambled with hot irons.

And right in the center of the storm sat the Jackson brothers. 

You leaned over Tito’s chair, a fine dusting of translucent powder on your brush, delicately sweeping it across his high cheekbones. The man was a rock. 

While his brothers—Michael pacing in a corner practicing spins, Randy laughing loudly with Jackie, and Marlon messing with his hair—were high-energy live wires, Tito was the quiet anchor of the group.

“Hold still, Mr. Jackson,” you murmured softly, your fingers gently resting on the edge of his jaw to steady his face. “You’re making my job hard with all that fidgeting.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours through the lighted mirror. A slow, warm grin spread across his features, deep and easy. 

“Now, you know I’m the quietest one in this chair,” he said, his voice a low, smooth baritone—deep like rumbling thunder, packed with that relaxed Indiana cool that never seemed ruffled. “You got Michael bouncing around like a pinball, and you’re picking on me?”

“Because you’re the one holding out on me,” you teased gently, dabbing a bit of blotted lip balm on his bottom lip. “You sweat right through the primer before you can even step foot on that stage.”

“That’s just hard work, baby,” Tito chuckled softly, the nickname slipping out with that natural, unhurried charm of his. “Guitar strings don’t play themselves. Takes real muscles.”

The space between you two pulsed with an understated heat. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t demanding. It was in the way his eyes lingered on your lips when you blew gently on a brush, or the way your hands seemed to stay a second longer than necessary on his skin. 

Every brother in the room had noticed it weeks ago.

From across the room, Jackie leaned over to Marlon and whispered loud enough for the back row to hear, “Look at ‘em. Tito’s been in that makeup chair for forty minutes. Man’s skin ain’t that detailed.”

Marlon snorted. “Tito, man, if you get any more powder on your face, you’re gonna turn into a ghost. Just ask her already!”

Tito’s ears turned a dark red, but he kept his cool, tossing a rolled-up towel lazily at Marlon without even looking. “Y’all need to mind the business that pays you,” he grumbled, though a small, shy smile betrayed him.

You laughed softly, stepping back to hand Tito his pocket mirror. But as your fingers brushed against his broad palm, the air in the room suddenly turned ice-cold.

The heavy wooden door to the dressing room swung open with a sharp, heavy thud. 

Joseph Jackson walked in. 

The room’s volume dropped instantly from an eight to a zero. Michael stopped mid-spin, adjusting his hat line. Marlon straightened up. Jackie cleared his throat.

Joe stood in the doorway, hands buried deep in his trousers, wearing his signature leather coat and a fedora tilted forward. His eyes swept the room like a hawk looking for a crack in the wall, finally settling on you, standing just a little too close to his second-oldest son.

“We got fifteen minutes to doors,” Joe said, his voice a flat, gravelly scrape that carried no warmth. He looked directly at you, eyes narrowing into thin slits. “You done with him yet? We ain’t paying for personal conversation. We paying for a show. Get these boys looking right and get out of the way.”

Your throat went tight. “Yes, Mr. Jackson. He’s all done.”

Tito’s jaw clenched hard—the muscles along his cheek pulsing—but he kept his eyes lowered, respecting the boundary he had been forced to respect his entire life. “I’m set, Joseph,” Tito said softly, his voice tight, stripped of its previous lazy sweetness.

Joe grunted, casting one last warning glare at you before turning to Michael. “Michael, I need to talk to you about the mix on Can You Feel It. Come here.”

As soon as Joe walked toward the production manager at the other end of the room, you hurried packed your brushes into your leather kit, feeling the harsh burn of humiliation behind your eyes. You loved working with the boys. They treated you like family, like a queen. But Joe made you feel like an intruder, a distraction to be eliminated. 

As you zipped up your bag, a large warm hand gently covered yours over the zipper.

You looked up. Tito was standing right beside you, shielding you from the rest of the room with his broad shoulders. His eyes were soft, filled with an apologetic angst that broke your heart. 

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice so low only you could hear it over the sound of the stadium crowd muffled through the walls. “Don’t let him get to you. You do great work. Best we ever had.”

“I just don’t want to get you in trouble, Tito,” you whispered back, looking down at your sneakers. “Or lose my job. He looks at me like I’m a menace.”

“You ain’t no menace,” he said firmly, his thumb lightly brushing the back of your hand before he pulled it away, mindful of any wandering eyes. "He’s just... Joe. He thinks if we ain't working every second of the day, we’re failing. But he don't own everything." Tito paused, looking deep into your eyes, a sudden spark of quiet determination lighting up his dark gaze. "You staying at the Omni downtown tonight?"

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. 12th floor.”

“Keep your door unlocked around eleven,” he said, the words smooth and steady. “I’m coming by.”

Your heart took a hard, violent leap in your throat. “Tito, the hotel is crawling with security. Your dad’s floor guards are on every exit, not to mention the paparazzi outside.”

A slow, devilish grin tugged at the corner of Tito’s lips—the look of a man who usually followed the rules finally deciding he’d had enough. “Let me worry about all that, baby. Just be ready.”

At 10:30 PM, the hotel hallway of the 14th floor—the Jackson executive floor—was dead silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning.

Two burly security guards hired directly by Joe stood near the elevators, arms crossed, looking like brick walls in matching suits. Down the hall, Joe’s suite door was cracked open an inch, light pouring out as he argued on the phone with tour promoter Chuck Sullivan.

Inside Tito’s room, a covert war council was taking place. 

“I’m telling you, it’s a suicide mission, Tory,” Randy said, leaning against the dresser while biting into an apple. “If Joseph catches you out of this room after curfew, he’s gonna pull the contract on her before the sun comes up. He thinks women are ‘distractions’ before a three-night run.”

“I don’t care what he thinks no more,” he said calmly, buttoning up a crisp maroon silk shirt and checking his mustache in the mirror. “She’s special, Randy. I ain’t letting another city go by where I just look at her through a mirror. I’m taking her out.”

“Respect,” Jackie grinned, slapping Tito on the back. “Big Tory’s got it bad! Alright, so how we getting him past Big Mike and Big Bob at the elevator?”

The door to Tito’s room opened silently, and Michael stepped in, wearing an oversized trench coat and an infectious, mischievous grin.

“I got it,” Michael whispered, his voice light and bright. “Jackie, you and Marlon go down to the lobby and start a fake fan commotion. Tell security somebody saw a crowd break through the side doors. That’ll draw at least one guard down.”

“What about the other one?” Tito asked, fixing his gold chain.

“That’s where I come in,” Michael giggled quietly. “I’m gonna go out there right now and tell Big Bob I need him to walk me down to the kitchen because I ‘forgot’ my special tea. Once he’s gone with me, the hallway is completely clear for ninety seconds. That’s your window, Tito. Take the service stairs down to twelve.”

Tito looked at his younger brothers, a profound warmth in his chest. For all the pressure they were under, when it came to matters of the heart, the Jackson brothers were an unbreakable unit.

“You guys are really doing this for me?” Tito asked, stepping into his sleek black leather loafers.

"Man, you’ve been pining over this girl since Kansas City," Marlon laughed, throwing his arm around Tito’s neck. "Go get your girl, Tory. Just don't get caught, or we’re all doing five hundred pushups tomorrow."

Tito smiled, his quiet confidence locking in. "Appreciate it, fellas. I owe you one."

Three floors down, in Room 1204, you were pacing the floor like a caged animal.

You had changed out of your work clothes into a simple, beautiful emerald-green velvet dress that hugged your curves, your hair freshly pressed and your makeup done to absolute perfection. But your nerves were shot. Every creak of the floorboards outside made your stomach drop.

He’s not gonna make it, you thought, looking at the clock on the nightstand. 11:08 PM. It’s too dangerous. Joe probably caught him.

Just as a sigh left your lips, three, low rhythmic knocks tapped against your door.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

You ran to the door, checking the peephole. 

Standing in the dimly lit hallway, looking left and right with a sharp, cool leather jacket thrown over his silk shirt, was Tito. You unlatched the deadbolt and pulled him inside, closing and locking the door in a split second.

"Tito!" you breathed, pressing your back against the door, your chest heaving. "You actually made it? How—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Tito turned around, took one look at you in that emerald dress, and forgot how to speak.

The quiet guitarist stood there for a second, his eyes sliding down from the sheen of your hair to the velvet of your dress, a deep, admiring breath pulling through his chest.

"Damn, baby," he said softly, his voice thick with genuine awe, that Indiana drawl slipping out smooth as silk. "You look... man, you look fine as wine."

A hot flush hit your cheeks. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Mr. Jackson.”

He stepped closer, filling your field of vision. Up close, he smelled divine—expensive cologne, crisp cotton, and pure warmth. The tension of the backstage area vanished, replaced by a deep, electric calm that only Tito seemed to carry with him.

“I promised you I’d get here, didn’t I?” Tito murmured, offering you his arm with old-school chivalry. “Now come on. We got a date, and I ain’t letting Joseph, security, or the whole state of Georgia stop us tonight.”

“How are we getting out of the hotel?” you asked, slipping your hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling the hard muscle beneath his coat.

“Service elevator down to the laundry room, through the kitchen, out the side alley,” Tito grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Marlon greased the cook with fifty bucks to keep the back door unlatched. We’re home free.”

Twenty minutes later, the paranoia of the tour melted into the cool midnight air of Atlanta. 

Tito had arranged for a private vintage Cadillac—borrowed from a local contact through the band’s rhythm section—to be parked down the alley. He drove himself, one hand casual on the steering wheel, the other resting comfortably on the center console, close to yours.

He didn’t take you to a fancy, high-end restaurant where the press would scout him out. Instead, he drove you to a quiet, late-night jazz lounge tucked away in a quiet neighborhood on the edge of town—a place with dim red booths, low ceilings, and a saxophone softly weeping on the stage. 

Sitting in a secluded back booth, away from the world, the heavy weight of The Triumph Tour finally dropped off Tito’s shoulders. 

“You know,” he said, stirring his drink with a small straw, his heavy eyes fixed on you with an intense, warm devotion. “I been wanting to do this since the day you joined the crew in Dallas.”

You smiled, swirling the ice in your glass. “Dallas? Tito, I barely said three words to you in Dallas. I was terrified of messing up your foundation.”

“I wasn’t terrified,” he chuckled, his voice low and vibrating over the table. “I was sitting in that chair thinking, Lord have mercy, who is this beautiful woman touching my face?’ But I’m a quiet guy. I don’t run my mouth like Marlon or try to show off like Jackie. I just… observe.”

“And what did you observe?” you asked, leaning closer, resting your chin on your hand.

“I observed that you’re the sweetest thing that happened to this tour,” he said softly, reaching across the small table and taking your hand in his. His fingers were big, calloused from thousands of hours of plucking heavy bass and guitar strings, but his touch was impossibly soft. “I seen how patient you are with my brothers. I seen how hard you work. And I seen the way you look at me when you think I ain’t paying attention.”

Your heart fluttered softly in your chest. “I didn’t think I was being that obvious.”

“To the rest of the world? Nah. You were professional,” he said, his thumb slowly stroking the back of your hand, sending goosebumps up your arm. “But to me? I felt it every time you touched my skin, baby. It was like… electricity. Soft, but real heavy.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the quiet pain and restraint he carried every day. “I wanted to say something, Tito. So many times. But your dad… he makes it so hard. I was scared if I stepped out of line, he’d fire me, and then I’d never see you at all.”

His eyes softened, a shadow of angst crossing his features before he squeezed your hand tightly.

"Joseph’s built a lot of things for us," Tito said, his voice dropping into a somber, honest register. "And I respect him for keeping us alive in this business. But he don't own my heart. He thinks music is all there is. He thinks if we fall in love, we lose our edge. But sitting here looking at you tonight... I ain't ever felt more sharp in my life."

He leaned in across the red velvet booth, his face inches from yours.

"I don't care about the rules no more," he whispered firmly. "I care about you."

The sincerity in his voice dissolved every doubt you had ever held. In the quiet, red-lit corner of that jazz club, far away from the screaming stadium crowds and the controlling glare of his father, Tito Jackson wasn't a superstar. He was just a man who adored you.

By 2:30 AM, the Cadillac rolled quietly back into the alleyway behind the Omni Hotel.

The night had flown by in a blur of shared laughter, quiet confessions, and steady, holding hands under the table. Sneaking back up through the laundry room and the service stairs was surprisingly smooth, the adrenaline of their stolen night making every shadow feel like an adventure rather than a threat.

Standing in the quiet, carpeted hallway outside your room, the world seemed to freeze.

The dim wall sconces cast a warm gold light over Tito’s broad shoulders as he stood in front of your door, hands tucked loosely into his jacket pockets, looking down at you with a heavy, sweet gaze.

“Well,” you whispered, turning to face him, holding your hotel key card tight. “We survived. No security, no press… no Joe.”

He let out a soft, rumble of a laugh. “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you smiled, looking up into his velvety eyes. “Thank you, Tito. That was… the best night I’ve had in a really long time.”

“Me too, baby,” he said softly. The playful banter faded, replaced by an intense, lingering stillness. He stepped closer, closing the small gap between you until you could feel the radiate heat of his chest. 

"I don't wanna go back to my room yet," he murmured, his deep Indiana drawl dripping with an ache that sent a shudder down your spine.

"Tito..." you breathed, your pulse racing. "If someone sees you out here—"

"Let 'em see," Tito whispered, his cool composure melting into pure, unadulterated passion.

He lifted a hand, his large, warm fingers gently cupping the side of your neck, his thumb lifting your chin slightly. His gaze dropped down to your lips and stayed there.

"I been waiting all night for this," Tito rasped, his voice dropping an octave, heavy and thick. "Can I kiss you?"

You didn't answer with words. You leaned up on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms gently around his neck.

Tito bent his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was slow, deep, and impossibly sweet. It wasn't rushed or frantic; it was like Tito’s guitar playing—deliberate, rich, and full of soul. He pulled you flush against his chest, his other arm wrapping tightly around your waist, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You melted into him, tasting the subtle sweetness of his drink and the absolute warmth of his devotion.

When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, both of your breaths were uneven in the quiet hallway.

Tito’s eyes were heavy, a slow, intoxicating smile spreading across his face. He kissed the tip of your nose, then pressed one more soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

"Good night, baby," Tito whispered, his hands lingering on your waist before slowly letting go. "I’ll see you in the makeup chair tomorrow. And this time... I ain't letting nobody hurry us up."

You smiled, your heart bursting with a quiet, triumphant joy as you unlocked your door and backed inside. "Good night, Tito."

As you gently clicked the door shut, Tito stood in the hallway for a second, adjusting his leather jacket, a cool, unshakeable smirk on his face. Let Joe talk. Let the security watch. Tito Jackson had his girl, and nothing on The Triumph Tour was ever going to be the same.

© 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐲𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛𝐱

You’ve been friends with Jermaine for a long time. You’ve been invited to every pool party and family event since the start so you guys spoke about any and everything, nothing was off limits. Tonight’s topic was past relationships.

“Yeah she was-” Jermaine made an outline of her shape with his hands and smiled recalling the last girl he brought around.

“had nice thighs and all, you remember her?”

you rolled your eyes “the one who’s dad was a cop?”

He laughed “Nah, she had on the pretty gold bangles!”

you shake your head, “sorry Jermaine there’s just so many”

You didn’t mean to sound jealous but the amusement in his face was clear

“you act like you havent had your fair share of guys” Jermaine leaned up to look at you

that’s the thing, you haven’t. You had a few boyfriends but you didn’t go too far with any of them

“shut up!” you waved him off

“took a little long with that response…”

you groaned “Jermaine just drop it” it was silent for a minute and you could tell he wouldn’t let it go so you just admitted it.

Your voice was low and rushed “i’ve done some things but I never got off”

He turned his head to the side, “you mean to tell me no one’s ever took you there? Now that’s a shame baby”

Your ears perked up at the new pet name he gave you

“it’s fine,” you looked down into your cup “one day it’ll happen”

“yeah, but it just upsets me. Pretty girls like you should feel pleasure all the time.”

You nearly choked on your soda “Jermaine-“

he shrugged “I mean I could definitely get you off, not like I’m a stranger”

He sat close to you and tilted your face towards his

“I’d do a real good job too…”

“o-okay just once,” you watched his smile get big “and don’t tell anyone either!”

He took your hand and led you into the house, “who would I tell? You’re my closest friend anyway”

You both ended up in his room he put some music on and dimmed the lights

“don’t be nervous, I know exactly what to do” he ran his hands over your waist before they snaked down to your ass.

“Take it all off, lemme see your pretty self”

You couldn’t believe you were doing this but you took everything off and leaned into his chest

“so how far did you get? you know what type of things you like?” his hands continued to roam your body

“Just hand stuff” you cringed feeling so vulnerable “i like kissing…”

He hums “you’re just the cutest thing”

he kissed your temple and put you with your back facing him on the bed.

He turned your head and started kissing you while his hand crept down to your thighs

you moaned into the kiss opening your legs wider

you gasped when he started to suck on your tongue

“you like this?” before he could finish asking you were already nodding and starting to clench around nothing.

“we can go faster Jermaine, i swear im ready”

he kisses you again and runs his finger tip over your cilt giving it firm pressure before circling the bud.

you close your eyes and give a breathy moan

He was falling in love with the way your slick was already glistening on his hand.

“knew you were waiting for me to touch you, shoulda told me. those girls would’ve been gone”

He put two fingers inside of you and curled up

Jermaine tapped your thigh, “open your eyes and look at what i’m doing baby”

you put your hand over your mouth, otherwise you’d scream

“hear how sticky it sounds? he sped his fingers up. “means you really like it”

the dim light made the white around the base of his fingers stand out

“just opening you up for me, then you’ll get the best part”

you felt a pressure in your lower stomach and he halted laughing at your hips chasing his fingers

“not yet” he brought his fingers to his mouth and groaned “figured you’d taste this sweet”

He moved you off his lap and took his pants down revealing his hard length

he grabbed your hand and had you stroke it a few times

“it’ll fit?” he was definitely bigger than you thought, and no doubt bigger than your past ‘lovers’

he scoffed though his ego was through the roof.

“of course it will! now c’mere”

he let you lay flat and placed himself in the middle of your open legs

“gonna go slow first then i’ll speed up”

you felt the thick head run up and down your slit before sliding inside

“oh fuck!”your nails dug into his back

“I know baby” Jermaine could feel you already start to leak around him

He began to speed up, so much for going slow. But he couldn’t help himself you felt so warm, you were literally pulling him in. He had to kiss you to quiet you down.

“Jermaine feels weird” he bent your legs back as far as they could go

“yeah? what’s it feel like?” he was now trying to fight off his own release

“it’s soo good but, I-I think i’m gonna pee” you started to squirm

he smirked already knowing what was happening “nah you won’t, just feel it sweet thing”

you had no choice, the tingling washed over you as you screamed out sounds that you never made before

“sorry! I can’t help it” each thrust drained more liquid from you

He thought your politeness was funny but he tried to comfort you. “thats my good girl, did nothing wrong trust me…”

Not long after he pulled out and came on your stomach

you completely understood why he had women going crazy. “thank you for helping me out jermaine…” you felt panic kick in “we’re still friends right?”

Jermaine had never sprayed this much cologne in his entire life.

He stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, his chest bare and glistening from a fresh shower, a white towel wrapped around his waist. He picked up the bottle of cologne, hesitated, and then gave himself two more heavy spritzes right on his neck.

"Man, you tryin' to suffocate the girl before she even gets through the front gate?"

Jermaine glared at the mirror’s reflection. Jackie was leaning against the doorframe, a toothpick dangling from his lip, looking thoroughly amused. Behind him, Marlon was peering over his shoulder, a grin stretching across his face.

"I don't smell like too much," Jermaine grumbled, grabbing a green and white striped shirt from his bed and pulling it over his head. "I just wanna make sure I smell fresh. You know she’s been traveling all day."

"Traveling all day because you flew her out from a whole different state, Mr. Moneybags," Marlon teased, walking into the room and flopping onto Jermaine’s neatly made bed. "I still can't believe you did that. You've been on the phone with this girl every single night like a love sick puppy."

"Leave me alone, man," Jermaine grumbled.

Usually, he could throw on whatever was sitting at the top of his dresser, run a pick through his afro for two seconds, splash some cologne on his neck, and walk out the door looking like a million bucks. He was a Jackson. Confidence was practically written into his DNA. But today, Jermaine was sweating even after his shoulder.

After putting on his shirt, he just kept adjusting the collar for the fifteenth time. He unbuttoned three buttons. Too much. He buttoned one back up. Too stiff. He sighed, running a hand over his face, his heart thumping a heavy, nervous rhythm against his ribs.

"Man, get it together," he muttered to his reflection.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of the most intense, late night phone marathons of his entire life. Ever since that night at Flipper’s Roller Palace when he had literally flattened you onto the hardwood floor, you had been the only thing occupying his mind. He’d kept that sticky, silver gum wrapper tucked safely inside his wallet like it was a winning lottery ticket.

The first time he called, he’d been so nervous his palms were sweating. But the moment you answered, your voice coming through the receiver with that familiar, teasing attitude, all his nerves had melted. After that, it was over for both of you. You guys literally couldn't get enough of each other.

Every single night, the second the clock hit nine, Jermaine would drag the extra long telephone cord all the way into the hallway closet, squeezing his large frame between the winter coats just to get some privacy from his loud ass family. You two would talk about everything and nothing– the music you actually liked to listen to, his crazy schedule, how much your head had throbbed the day after the fall, and how cute his nose really was up close.

Half the time, the calls would end with you laughing so hard you had to hold your stomach, or Jermaine whispering sweet, low toned melodies directly into the receiver just to hear you sigh on the other end.

Other times, the calls only ended because your dad would start shouting in the background.

"Girl! If you don't hang up that damn phone! This bill is gonna look like a car payment! Hang it up now!"

You’d have to whisper a rushed, giggly, “I gotta go, Jermaine, he’s coming!” before clicking the receiver down, leaving Jermaine staring at the phone with a goofy, longing smile.

Which brought Jermaine back to the massive oversight that had almost ruined everything.

During one of those late night, whisper quiet conversations, when the longing to actually see your face was getting too heavy to ignore, Jermaine had blurted it out: "Man, I was thinking," he had said, his voice smooth and lazy. "Maybe I can slide by your house tomorrow after we finish this vocal tracking session. We can go grab some of that nasty pizza you like so much, or maybe walk around the park. I just wanna see your face."

"What park are you talking about? The park down the street from me is surrounded by sand and tumbleweeds."

Jermaine had frowned. "What you mean? The park by the arena. It's only like a twenty minute drive from the studio."

You had laughed, a sweet, musical sound that made his stomach do flips. "The studio you’re talking about is in Los Angeles, California. Jermaine, you do know I live in Las Vegas, right? Like...Nevada. That's a whole other state."

Jermaine had frozen in the dark closet, his jaw dropping. He’d completely forgotten. The night they met, the Jacksons had been in Vegas for a quick weekend trip, just hitting up Flipper’s on a whim while they were in town. In his mind, you were just there. He hadn't even processed the three digit area code on the gum wrapper until that very second.

“Oh,” Jermaine had muttered, his stomach dropping. “Man...I forgot. You...you really live in Vegas.”

“Yeah,” you had sighed. “And my daddy barely lets me go to the grocery store by myself, let alone out of state. We literally can't even see each other.”

But Jermaine wasn't about to let a few hundred miles get in the way. He was already too far gone.

“Wait, hold up,” he’d interrupted, his voice suddenly filled with determination. “Don't worry about none of that. I can pay for the flight. I'll get you a ticket, first class, round trip. I'll handle everything. You just gotta say yes.”

The silence on the other end of the line had been deafening. You were completely speechless. For a girl who was used to regular neighborhood boys who could barely afford to buy a slice of pizza, the offer was mind blowing.

"...Jermaine?" you’d whispered.

"Yeah?"

"You serious?"

"Dead serious. Just let me do this for you. I wanna see you."

"That’s...that’s a lot of money. I can't just let you do that.”

“Hey,” he’d said softly, his voice incredibly tender. “Listen to me. I want to see you. Just say you'll come.”

So of course you said yes. But getting you to California wasn’t as simple as just buying a ticket. You had to go through the ultimate gauntlet: your parents.

You had spent three solid days begging, pleading, and practically doing chores on your knees. First, you had to tackle your dad, who was convinced that some "fancy haired singer boy" in California was trying to kidnap his daughter. You had to sit him down, show him the respect he deserved, and let him speak to Jermaine on the phone for a terrifying ten minute conversation where Jermaine had used his most polite, "yes, sir," "no, sir" church boy voice.

Then came your mama. Your mama was a tough nut to crack, but once Jermaine had promised that his mother, Katherine, would be supervising the entire visit, and that you would be staying in a completely respectable guest room, she had finally softened.

"Yo, Jermaine! Earth to Jermaine!"

Tito’s voice snapped him back to the present. Jermaine blinked, looking at his brother, who was waving a hand in front of his face.

"Man, you got it bad," Tito laughed, shaking his head. "Look at him, he’s daydreaming already. She ain't even here yet."

"He took a whole shower for this girl," Marlon said from the bed, a massive grin on his face. "A shower, Jackie. Jermaine usually just splashes some water on his face and calls it a day if we ain't performing. He is whipped."

"I am not whipped," Jermaine said, though his voice lacked any real conviction. "I'm just being a gentleman and I want her to feel welcome."

"Oh, 'welcome'?" Tito walked by, holding a soda, shaking his head. "Is that what we're calling it now? Man, you better hope she doesn't remember you leveling her at the rink. If I was her, I’d make you wear a helmet the whole time you're around me."

"She forgave me for that!" Jermaine protested, his cheeks heating up.

"She only forgave you because you bought her pizza and you got that pretty boy face," Michael’s voice drifted in from the hallway. He popped his head into the doorway, holding a bowl of popcorn. "But for real, Jermaine, you look nice. Very fancy. Are we doing the movie night in the theater room?"

"Yeah, that’s the plan," Jermaine said, trying to regain his composure. "I was thinking we could put on a movie or something."

"Mmm, sweet," Marlon teased. "Can we sit in the back row and throw popcorn at y'all?"

"No." Jermaine said, his face all screwed up, pulling on a pair of dark slacks and stepping into his shoes. He smoothed down his shirt, checking his hair one last time.

The brothers all burst out laughing. It was rare to see Jermaine like this. Usually, he was the cool, quiet, flirty one who had girls chasing him left and right. He never had to try. But today, he was visibly shaking in his boots, acting all shy and soft over one girl who didn't even listen to their music. They loved every second of it.

"Just make sure you behave yourself," a stern voice boomed from the end of the hall.

The laughter instantly died down. The brothers parted, clearing a path as Joseph Jackson walked slowly, his eyes hard and calculating as they swept over Jermaine.

Joseph stopped in the doorway, his presence immediately shifting the lighthearted energy in the room to something very tense and heavy. He looked Jermaine up and down, his chest expanding with a slow breath.

"You got a lot of distractions going on lately, Jermaine," Joseph said, his voice low and gravelly. "I don't mind you having a little friend over, but don't forget we got rehearsals tomorrow morning. Early. I don't want to see you dragging your feet because you stayed up all night with some girl."

"I won't, Joseph," Jermaine said quietly, his posture straightening up instantly. He kept his eyes respectful, but there was a faint tightness in his jaw. "I’ll be ready for rehearsal."

Joseph stared at him for a long, silent moment, then gave a single, curt nod. "Make sure you are." He turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps fading down the stairs.

Jermaine let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, slouching slightly. The brothers exchanged knowing looks, the teasing temporarily paused. They all knew how Joseph could be.

Just then, the distant sound of a car engine pulling up the long driveway echoed through the open window.

"She's here!" Marlon yelled, springing up from the bed, and sprinting down the stairs. "First one to the door gets to introduce themselves!"

"Marlon, don't you dare!" Jermaine shouted, his voice cracking as he scrambled past Jackie and Tito, rushing down the grand curved staircase.

Within ten seconds, they both were flying down the grand staircase, shoving each other, their brothers trailing closely behind them like a pack of eager puppies.

Jermaine reached the massive front doors just as the driver opened the back seat of the black car and you stepped out.

Jermaine’s breath caught in his throat. You looked absolutely stunning. You were wearing a simple sundress that complimented your smooth brown skin perfectly, your hair styled beautifully with a matching headband, and a pair of neat sandals. You looked around the massive estate, your eyes wide with a mix of awe and slight intimidation, clutching your small suitcase in front of you.

"Hey," Jermaine called out, his voice softer than usual as he walked down the front steps.

You looked up, and the moment your eyes met his, a massive, brilliant smile broke across your face. All the nervousness you’d been feeling on the flight completely melted away. "Jermaine!"

Before you could even take another step, he was there. He reached out, his large hands gently taking your suitcase from you and setting it aside on the driveway, before wrapping his arms securely around your waist. He pulled you into a warm, tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume. You hugged him back just as tight, your hands sliding up the softness of his shirt, laughing softly against his chest.

"Man, you don't even know how good it is to see you," he murmured, his voice rumbling against your collarbone.

"It's good to see you too, clumsy," you teased, pulling back just enough to look at his face. "And look at you, all dressed up. You look nice. And you smell...really good. A little strong, but good."

"I try, I try," he grinned, his cheeks warming under his skin. (Imagine the picture on the banner)

The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by a wall of people. The Jackson siblings were lined up like a welcoming committee, all of them grinning, while Katherine stood in the center, looking beautiful in a soft floral dress. Joseph was standing a few paces back, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.

You froze for a second, a bit overwhelmed by the size of the house and the famous faces staring at you.

Jermaine felt you tense up and gently squeezed your shoulder. "Don't be nervous. This is everybody."

You took a breath, stepping forward with a polite smile. "Hi, everyone. It's so good to formally meet you all. I...okay, I gotta be honest." You looked at the brothers. "You all are gonna have to introduce yourselves and say your names, because I still don't know which is which. I don't want to call the wrong brother." You admitted, your hand covering half your face. "Jermaine only talks about himself on the phone."

The brothers burst out laughing, the tension in the room instantly breaking.

"I'm Jackie," the oldest said, stepping forward with a warm smile and shaking your hand. "The actual smart one."

"Tito," the next one said, nodding with a cool, relaxed grin. "The one who told this fool his plan was stupid."

"It was," you agreed, nodding solemnly.

"Marlon," the younger one waved energetically. "The one who predicted he was gonna break something."

Michael stepped forward, his eyes soft and sweet, a shy smile on his face. "I'm Michael. It's really nice to meet you. Jermaine hasn't stopped talking about you for three weeks."

"And I'm Randy," a smaller voice piped up from the back, as a young boy squeezed through his brothers' legs, staring up at you with wide eyes.

You also met the sisters– you hadn’t known about them. La Toya was sweet, and little Janet, who was only about five years old, peeked out from behind her mother’s dress, her eyes all wide and innocent. You knelt down, giving Janet a little wave, and Jermaine watching the interaction, his expression melting into something so tender.

"Alright, boys, leave the poor girl alone," Katherine said, her voice like warm honey. She walked straight to you, her hands reaching out to clasp yours. "Hello, beautiful. I'm Katherine. Welcome to our home."

"It is so wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Jackson," you said, your voice naturally dropping into your most respectful, polite tone. "Thank you so much for having me in your house."

"Oh, the pleasure is all ours," Katherine smiled, her eyes searching your face with a gentle, approving look. "And let me apologize on behalf of my son. Jermaine has always been a bit clumsy when he gets nervous, but running over a beautiful young lady like you...I raised him better than that. I hope you're feeling much better."

"Mama, please," Jermaine groaned, covering his face with his hand.

"Oh, I am, Mrs. Jackson," you smiled warmly, feeling completely at ease with her, glancing at Jermaine. "He bought me pizza to make up for it, so he's partially forgiven."

"Good," Katherine nodded. "He should be working hard. Now, let's get you settled..."

From the back of the room, Joseph let out a low grunt. He stepped forward, his eyes locking onto you. The warmth in the room seemed to dip a few degrees. "Welcome," he said, his voice flat. He gave you a long look, just staring at you, his sharp, scary ass eyes evaluating your dress, and your posture, and your hair.

Nobody else seemed to notice the coldness of the look– or maybe they did and just didn’t show it, but you definitely felt it. You offered him a polite nod. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson."

"Jermaine, remember what I said about tomorrow. Don't be running around all night."

"Yes, Joseph," Jermaine said quietly.

With that, Joseph turned and walked into his office, closing the door behind.

"Jermaine, show her to the guest room so she can put her stuff away," Katherine said, breaking the brief silence. "Then we'll have some food ready."

After a long dinner filled with the brothers teasing Jermaine along with Marlon flirting with you, Katherine asking you about your family in Vegas, and Joseph sitting quietly at the head of the table giving you occasional, sharp looks that you tried your best to ignore.

The tension broke the moment Joseph left after dinner, not wanting dessert that they were all making. The brothers piled in, and suddenly, the house felt alive again. La Toya and Janet, seemed to have taken an immediate liking to you. You were showing them how to make a proper milkshake, the three of you laughing as the blender whirred. Michael was showing you his new dance steps he’d been practicing on the tile floor, his feet moving so fast they were a blur. Marlon was trying his best to flirt again, cracking jokes, but you kept brushing him off.

Jermaine stood close to you the entire time, his hand occasionally resting on the small of your back, his eyes tracking your every laugh.

He was so soft with you, so attentive. Every time you spoke, he leaned in close to listen, completely ignoring his siblings' loud antics.

"Look at him," Jackie whispered to Tito as they watched Jermaine carefully wipe a drop of melted chocolate from the cookies off your thumb with a napkin, looking like he was handling a piece of fine china. "I've never seen him this quiet in my life. He’s usually the loudest one in the room when a girl is around."

"He's in loveee," Tito agreed, grinning.

After the milkshakes and cookies and a quick tour of the grounds by Marlon and Michael, including the pool and the exotic rat cages, and the game room, Jermaine decided it was time to get some privacy.

"We're gonna go upstairs," Jermaine announced, grabbing your hand. "Watch a movie in my room."

You blinked, “Oh, okay.”

"In your room?" Marlon raised an eyebrow, a devious smirk playing on his lips. "We got a whole theater room, Jermaine. Why you gotta go to your room?"

"Because the theater room TV is acting up," Jermaine lied smoothly, not even blinking. "And I got a TV in my room. Come on."

He didn't wait for them to protest. He gently pulled you up the stairs, your hand locked firmly in his. Your heart started doing that flutter as you walked down the hallway.

When he opened the door to his bedroom, you stepped inside and smiled. It was spacious, and clean, and completely him. There were bass guitars resting in the corner, posters of classic soul artists on the walls, and a large, comfortable looking bed with a dark comforter. A small television set sat on a wooden dresser opposite the bed.

Jermaine shut the door, locking it. The chaos of the Jackson household was completely locked outside.

"Sorry about them," Jermaine said, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking very shy as he stood by the door. "They don't know how to act."

"It's okay," you smiled, walking over to his dresser to look at a framed photo of him and his brothers on stage. "I think they're sweet. They clearly care about you a lot."

"Yeah, well...sometimes they care too much," he muttered, playing with a singular ring on his finger.

You walked over to the window, looking out at the sprawling, moonlit backyard. "It's really beautiful here, Jermaine."

"It's alright," he said, shrugging. "But it's a lot better with you in it."

You turned around, giving him a look. Jermaine was standing a few feet away, fidgeting with his fingers, that shyness taking over him once again.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" you said softly, walking over to the edge of the bed and sat down, resting back on your elbows, looking up at him as he finally moved from his door to near his dresser, trying to play it cool.

"I'm just being real," he murmured.

"So," you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. "You brag about being the singer. Are you gonna show me something, or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?"

Jermaine grinned, his confidence returning suddenly. "You wanna see something?"

You only nodded, your tongue pressing against the back of your teeth.

He walked over to his guitar case in the corner and pulled out the instrument. He sat on the floor, making you sit up just so you could see him fully. He started to play; just a soft, bluesy melody.

He didn't sing like you’d. He just hummed a low, soulful tune, his fingers dancing across the strings. His eyes sometimes locking on yours.

Eventually he stopped playing, setting the guitar aside. He stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, right next to you and for a few minutes, you both just talked, but the conversation was different now. It was quieter, and slower. Jermaine’s eyes kept dropping to your lips, then back up to your eyes, his breathing getting a little shallower.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered. "I spent three weeks trying to remember exactly what you looked like under those lights. But the memory didn't even do you justice. You're perfect, truly."

"Jermaine..." you whispered, "Thank you. I would say the same but then I'd be lying."

The tension snapped instantly as Jermaine threw his head back, letting out a bright, startled laugh. You couldn't help but join in, the playful mockery melting away any lingering nerves between you. For a few seconds, the room filled with the easy sound of your shared amusement.

Gradually, the laughter subsided, tapering off into soft, breathless smiles, a sudden wave of shyness washed over the space. Jermaine ducked his head slightly, a faint flush creeping up his neck, though he never broke eye contact. You found yourself looking down at your hands, suddenly hyper aware of how close he was sitting, your heart doing a nervous flip.

Jermaine slowly reached out, his large, warm hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb lightly brushed over your cheekbone.

"I’ve been wanting to do this since the night I met you," he whispered, his voice dropped to a low tone.

"What's stopping you?" you whispered back, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

He didn't say anything else. He just leaned in, slowly. You thought about pulling away but you didn't. You leaned in too, your eyes fluttering shut as the space between you completely disappeared.

It was your very first real kiss, and it was everything the phone calls had promised and more. His lips were incredibly soft, and warm, pressing against yours with a gentle, slow rhythm that made your head spin far more than the fall at the roller rink ever had. You reached up, your hands finding the collar of his shirt, your fingers curling into the soft fabric as you pulled him just a fraction closer.

Jermaine let out a soft, shaky sigh against your mouth, his hand moving to the back of your neck, his fingers gently tangling in your soft curls, holding you like you were the most precious thing he had ever touched. The kiss was slow, and completely intoxicating, a perfect blend of sweet innocence and a burning, built up desire that had been waiting for weeks to finally be set free.

You felt yourself leaning back slightly, pulling him down with you onto the plush comforter, completely lost in the warmth of his mouth, the smell of his skin, and the absolute perfection of the moment.

The door swung open, and a tiny, energetic body burst into the room.

"Jermaine! Mama said you gotta-"

You and Jermaine scrambled apart so fast you practically got whiplash. Jermaine flew to the opposite side of the bed, his shirt slightly wrinkled, his face a deep, burning red. You sat up instantly, smoothing down your dress, your heart beating in your throat as you tried to look completely casual.

Little Randy stood in the doorway, his eyes darting between the two of you with a weird look. He might have been the youngest, but he wasn't stupid.

For a solid five seconds, there was dead silence in the room.

Jermaine stared at his little brother, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. He looked around the room frantically, trying to find something to make it look like they hadn't just been locking lips.

"Uh..." Jermaine stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he suddenly pointed to the carpet. "We...we were just...looking at the carpet pattern, Randy. Yeah. The...the weave is really interesting. Look at how the fibers...they go left to right."

You quickly leaned over, staring at the plain brown carpet like it was a piece of high art. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. It's...it's a very fascinating weave, Jermaine. I’ve never seen a brown like this. It's very...brown."

Randy looked at Jermaine, then he looked at you, then looked down at the completely plain, uninteresting carpet. He blinked slowly, completely unimpressed.

"Mama said you gotta bring the extra pillows down to the guest room," Randy said. He crossed his arms, looking at Jermaine. "Why y'all standing so far apart? You look weird."

"We don't look weird!" Jermaine snapped, his voice cracking. "Go tell Mama I'll be right down! And knock next time, Randy! Seriously!"

"Alright, alright," Randy giggled, turning on his heel and running back down the hallway, his loud laughter echoing through the house.

Jermaine let out a long, defeated groan, covering his face with his hands. "Man...I am so sorry. My family has absolutely no timing."

You turned around, looking at his embarrassed face, and let out a beautiful laugh that filled the room. "It's okay, Jermaine. It keeps things interesting."

The guest room at Hayvenhurst was nice, and big, and clean, smelling faintly of incense and whatnot, but right now, it looked like a full blown convention center.

You had just finished washing up, your skin still warm from the shower, and you were wearing your favorite pair of pajamas. The second you walked back into the bedroom, you stopped in your tracks and just had to laugh. It seemed like the entire Jackson lineup had decided that the guest room was the only place to be at ten o'clock at night.

"Alright now, don't y'all be crowding her out," Jackie said, leaning casually against the doorframe, acting like he wasn't part of the problem. "She had a long flight from Vegas, she needs her rest."

"You're the one who led us up here, Jackie." Marlon grumbled from the corner, sitting backwards on a wooden chair, flashing you a dazzling smile. "I just came to make sure the pillows were soft enough. You know Jermaine don't know how to host a lady."

It was honestly the cutest thing you’d ever seen. The little ones were the best part. Janet, who was wearing her little nightgown with her hair in two neat puffs, came running right up to you the second she saw you. She didn't say a word, just wrapped her little arms right around your thighs.

"Oh, look at you, sweet pea," you cooed, melting instantly. You dropped to your knees on the thick carpet, wrapping your arms around her small frame and lifting her up for a proper hug. She smelled like baby powder and gave you a big, toothy grin.

Then Randy, trying to act way older than he actually was after busting into Jermaine's room earlier, marched over. "I gotta get a goodbye hug too," he demanded, crossing his arms. "Since Jermaine almost took my head off earlier."

"Come here," you laughed, pulling him into a hug too. You looked over his shoulder and saw Michael standing by the edge of the bed, doing a little shy shoulder shimmy, holding a book.

"Goodnight," Michael said softly, waving five fingers at you with a giggle. "Don't let the bedbugs bite. And don't let Jermaine sneak in here either, he's sneaky."

"Michael, shut up!" Jermaine’s voice yelled from the hallway. He appeared in the doorway a second later, looking completely flustered, his chest heaving like he’d just sprinted up the stairs. He looked at his siblings with murder in his eyes. "What are y'all doing in here? Get out! Let her go to sleep!"

Marlon was quick to get his hug though he was lingering, his small hands rubbing your back, giving Jermaine a look. "We're just saying goodnight, man! Dang!" Marlon complained, holding his hands up as Jermaine practically shoved him out the door but he still lingered in the doorway.

It took another ten minutes of laughing, and shooing, and extra hugs from them all, including La Toya, and Tito, and Jackie before the room finally cleared out. Katherine’s voice could be heard from down the hall, calling the little ones to bed, which finally broke up the party. Jermaine was the last one left. He stood by the edge of your bed, looking at you with those big, apologetic brown eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. "They got no boundaries. I swear they act like they never seen a girl before."

"It's okay, Jermaine," you smiled, climbing into the big bed and pulling the covers up. "It’s sweet. You got a beautiful family."

"Yeah. They alright," he chuckled, leaning down to plant a quick, gentle kiss on your cheek. "Get some sleep, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

Oh, but by midnight, you were still wide awake.

The house was dead silent now, save for the distant sound of the wind rustling the trees outside. You turned over on your side, staring at the unfamiliar shadows on the ceiling. This wasn't your room. It didn't smell like your house, and the bed was way bigger than yours back in Vegas. Your brain just refused to shut off.

Sighing, you reached over and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm, golden glow across the sheets. You pulled a book out of your bag and started flipping through the pages, trying to force your eyes to get heavy.

The sound of the door handle turning was so quiet you almost missed it. Your head snapped up, your heart doing a quick, nervous stutter in your chest.

The door cracked open, and a tall shadow slipped into the room. It was Jermaine. He had changed into a pair of soft grey sweatpants and a plain white tee, his hair a little messy from laying down. He closed the door behind him carefully, making sure the door didn't snap loud.

He turned around and paused when he saw you sitting up with your book.

You raised one eyebrow, putting your hands on top of the book, giving him a look that spoke volumes. You glanced at the glowing numbers on the alarm clock: 12:14 AM, then looked right back at him.

"Jermaine," you whispered, your voice a hushed, teasing scold. "What are you doing here?"

Jermaine offered a sheepish grin, treading softly across the carpet until he reached the side of your bed. He didn't sit down immediately; he just stood there, looking down at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I just...I wanted to check on you," he whispered back. "Make sure you were comfortable."

"Uh huh," you smirked, closing your book and setting it on the nightstand. "At midnight, though? You couldn't check on me at seven AM?"

"Nah," he murmured, finally sitting down on the very edge of the mattress. The weight of him made the bed dip, bringing him closer to you. "I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about you being right down the hall. It’s crazy having you in my house."

You shifted under the covers, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them, making the covers slide down to your feet. The golden lamplight caught the edges of his jawline, making him look entirely too handsome for this hour of the night.

"It's a little crazy for me too," you admitted softly. "Your house is huge. And your siblings...man, they are a trip."

"Tell me about it," Jermaine grumbled, a small smile playing on his lips. "Which one was bothering you the most? Let me guess...Marlon?"

You let out a tiny, hushed giggle, covering your mouth so the sound wouldn't carry through the quiet hallway. "Actually, yeah. I think Marlon might have a little bit of a crush on me, Jermaine. The way he was looking at me at dinner? And he kept trying to flirt with me during dessert."

Jermaine rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck, crossing his big arms over his chest. He let out a low puff of air through his nose.

"Marlon wishes," Jermaine muttered, his voice suddenly thick with attitude. "Don't pay him no mind. He’s just a flirt. Besides, he knows better than to try and move on something that’s mine."

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat at that last word. Mine. You bit your lower lip, looking up at him through your lashes. "Oh, so I'm yours now? I don't remember agreeing to that, Mr. Jackson."

Jermaine leaned in closer, his shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. The playful jealousy in his eyes melted into something much warmer. He reached out, his large, warm hand gently sliding over your ankle through the material of your pajamas.

"You agreed the second you gave me that gum wrapper, beautiful," he whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips before rising back to your eyes. "And you definitely agreed when you kissed me on the sidewalk in Vegas. I ain't forgot about that."

"I’m pretty sure you almost tripped over the curb right after," you reminded him, your voice barely a breath.

"Because you had me dizzy," he murmured, his thumb starting to trace slow, soothing circles against your skin. "Still do, honesty."

You felt that familiar, thrilling flutter in the pit of your stomach. The shyness was completely gone, melted away because it was midnight, and it was quiet, and you were alone, and the way he was looking at you like you were the only person left in the world.

Slowly, you uncurled your legs. You shifted forward on the mattress, your pajamas rustling softly against the sheets until you were sitting right in front of him on your knees.

Jermaine’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes tracking your movement.

You leaned in close, your eyes dropping to the center of his face, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss right on the tip of his cute nose.

Jermaine let out a low, shaky exhale, his eyes fluttering shut. Taking advantage of his compliance, you slid your hands up his chest, feeling the solid, warm muscle beneath his plain white tee, and wrapped your arms securely around his neck. You shifted your weight, leaning into him as you moved your lips from his nose to his cheek. You pressed your mouth against his smooth brown skin, letting the kiss linger there, breathing in the scent of his clean skin.

He groaned softly, his hands automatically coming up to find your waist, his grip firm but incredibly gentle, but not pulling you against him.

When you finally pulled back just a fraction, his eyes slowly blinked open, completely filled with affection. You didn't give him time to speak. You tilted your head and pressed your lips directly to his.

This wasn't like the quick, shy peck on the sidewalk back in Las Vegas nor was it the hesitant kiss from his bed. This was a slow, and sweet kiss. His lips were impossibly soft, parting slightly as he tasted you, his hands smoothing down the fabric of your pajamas, anchoring you to him. You squeezed your eyes shut, completely losing yourself in the warmth of him, your fingers tangling into the thick, soft hair at the back of his neck.

Jermaine’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you just a little bit closer but not into his lap. He deepened the kiss, his lips pressing harder against yours, and then he smoothly tried to introduce his tongue, wanting to take the kiss to a whole different level.

The sudden heat of it caught you entirely off guard. Your eyes snapped open, and you instinctively pulled your head back, your lips parting from his with a soft, breathy sound, the tiniest bit of slick following before breaking off.

You didn't pull away completely, your arms were still looped around his neck, and your faces were just inches apart, but you stopped him right in his tracks.

Neither of you said a single word. The silence in the room returned, twice as loud as before. Jermaine opened his eyes, looking a little startled, his face burning underneath his skin. He bit his lower lip, a nervous expression crossing his face as he realized he might have moved just a little too fast for the guest room at midnight. He looked at you like he was silently apologizing, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction.

You just stared at him for a second, your heart pounding against your ribs, a tiny, amused smile breaking through your surprise. You weren't mad; you were just teasing him.

Before he could spiral into his own head and start stammering out an apology, you pulled his neck back down.

You pressed your lips back to his, but the energy was completely different. The initial rush eased into something much more comfortable, a slow, synchronized rhythm that felt natural and easy. There was no rush, no pressure, just the two of you figuring each other out in the quiet room. Your tongue brushed against his this time, but it was gentle, a sweet, exploratory stroke that made your toes curl. He tasted like the sweet mint from brushing his teeth earlier, and you let out a soft sigh into his mouth, melting like butter in his arms.

The kiss went on for what felt like hours, a beautiful, lazy loop of warmth.

Slowly, your lips drifted away from his mouth. You trailed your kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, making him tilt his head back with a sharp inhale. You moved lower, pressing soft, warm kisses down the side of his neck, right where his pulse was jumping erratically against his skin.

Jermaine let out a ragged breath, his head dropping back, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Baby...you're gonna be the death of me," he whispered into the quiet room, his voice completely wrecked.

You only smiled against his neck.

Jermaine hadn’t gone back to his room. Instead, he had stayed right there, shifting under the covers to pull you against his chest.

Right now, he was asleep, his breathing slow, deep, and steady against the back of your neck. One of his large, heavy arms was wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back against his chest, while his chin was tucked right in your hair. You were completely tangled up in him, your legs intertwined under the sheets. It felt incredibly natural, like you’d been waking up next to him for years instead of just meeting him a few weeks ago.

The quiet of the morning didn't last long. The door handle turned, and the door swung open with absolutely zero warning.

"Alright, lover boy, wrap it up. Time to get to work."

Jackie’s voice boomed through the quiet room like a megaphone. He was standing right in the doorway, fully dressed, rocking a pair of pants and a nice simple shirt, a smirk plastered all over his face. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as his eyes locked onto the two of you tangled up in the bed.

Jermaine stirred instantly. His grip on your waist tightened automatically, a low, frustrated groan rumbling deep in his chest. He buried his face further into your hair, trying to block out his brother’s voice. "Man...Jackie, get the heck out of here," Jermaine muttered, his voice thick, and completely heavy with sleep. "Knock, man. Have some respect."

Jackie just let out a loud snort, completely unbothered. "Respect? In this house? You know better than that. Joseph is already downstairs, and the van is getting loaded up. Mama said breakfast is on the table right now, and you got exactly an hour to get your tail downstairs before we leave for rehearsal. Don't make us late, Jermaine."

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness of the room, your cheeks burning hot underneath. You tried to pull the comforter up over your face, completely mortified that his oldest brother had just caught you guys cuddling. "Morning, Jackie," you mumbled shyly from beneath the sheets.

"Morning, beautiful," Jackie smiled, his tone softening out of respect for you, though the teasing glint never left his eyes. He pointed a finger at Jermaine’s shoulder. "Up. Now. I’m not playing with you, Maine."

With that, Jackie finally stepped back and clicked the door shut.

The second the door closed, Jermaine let out a long, dramatic sigh, letting his forehead drop against your shoulder. "Christ," he grumbled, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips, squeezing gently. "I swear he times it just to mess with me."

You chuckled, turning around in his arms so you were facing him. His hair was a beautifully messy afro, his brown eyes still half closed and sleepy, looking so soft and handsome it made your heart ache. "Come on, Maine," you teased, "You heard your brother. Go get ready for rehearsal."

A half hour later, the dining room was loud, filled with the clinking of silverware, the smell of sizzling bacon, grits, and biscuits, and the chatter of the Jackson siblings.

You were sitting at the long table, quietly eating your breakfast, trying to keep a low profile. Joseph had already eaten and left the room, which made the atmosphere a lot lighter, but you were still a little shy surrounded by them. Jermaine was sitting right next to you, his thigh pressed against yours under the table for reassurance, though he was mostly focused on inhaling his eggs so he wouldn't get chewed out for being late.

La Toya was sitting across from you sipping her orange juice. She had been watching you with a sweet smile, and as the chatter around the table died down for a second, she leaned forward.

"Hey," La Toya said, her voice gentle. "Me and Janet were thinking about getting in the pool later on this afternoon, once the sun hits the backyard. You should come get in with us. It’s gonna be so hot today."

Little Janet, who was sitting next to her mama with a mouth full of biscuit, vigorously nodded her head, her eyes wide. "Yeah! Come swim!"

You paused, setting your fork down, looking a little embarrassed. You offered a small, apologetic smile. "Oh...thank you, La Toya, that sounds so nice. But I can't. I didn't even bring a bathing suit with me. Honestly, when Jermaine asked me to come to California, I was so rushed trying to pack and get permission from my parents, I didn't even think about the fact that y'all had a pool."

La Toya instantly giggled, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, girl, don't worry about a bathing suit. You can just put on some casual clothes- like some old shorts and a tank top or a t shirt. We do it all the time, it's no big deal at all. Just come hang out."

Before you could answer, Katherine Jackson walked into the dining room from the kitchen, holding a pitcher of oj. She caught the end of the conversation and set the pitcher down on the table, her warm eyes settling on you with nothing but kindness.

"Don't you worry about that for one second, sweetheart," Katherine said as she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "If you want a proper suit, I can easily take you out to the shop down the street later this morning, or I'll just send one of the bodyguards to go pick you up a nice one in your size."

You looked up at Mrs. Jackson, completely touched by how welcoming she was. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Jackson. You really don't have to go through the trouble, though. The shorts and a tee sound perfect."

That’s how you found yourself, like, three hours later, completely submerged in the cool, crystal clear water of the Hayvenhurst pool, floating on your back while the bright California sun beat down on your skin.

You had a proper swimsuit on, too. Katherine had put her foot down about the whole "swimming in casual clothes" idea. About an hour after breakfast, a huge security guard named Big Dan had arrived at the front gate to start his shift. Katherine immediately pulled him aside and asked him to run to the boutique down the street to grab a swimsuit for you.

"Oh, no, Mrs. Jackson, please," you had insisted, stepping forward with your hands raised. "I’ll go with him real quick, just so I can pick out the right fit."

The second you said that, Janet’s ears perked up like a little puppy. "I wanna go!" she gasped, dropping her coloring book onto the coffee table.

La Toya took one look at Janet’s face, then looked at you, and let out her soft, high pitched giggle. "Well, if you guys are going, I’m definitely coming. I need to get some stuff anyway."

What was supposed to be a quick, five minute errand turned into a whole chaotic, hilarious production. Big Dan looked so out of place driving a luxury station wagon filled with three laughing girls, looking through the rearview mirror every two seconds like he was concerned. When you all got to the boutique Janet kept running up to you, grabbing adult sized sun hats three times bigger than her head, putting them on, and asking, "Do I look pretty? Do I look like a star?"

La Toya was holding up these tiny, brightly colored two piece bikinis, whispering, "Get this one. Jermaine’s jaw is gonna drop right off his face."

You gave her a look, shaking your head.

You ended up picking out a nice yellow two piece that complemented your skin- cut just high enough on the hips to be flattering, but modest enough that you wouldn't feel awkward around Joseph if he randomly walked past the backyard. Janet approved it by giving you a big thumbs up, and La Toya bought you a matching pair of oversized sunglasses just because she thought you looked fabulous.

Now, back at the pool, the water felt like heaven.

"Watch this!" Janet squealed from the shallow end. She took a deep breath, pinched her little nose, and ducked her head under the water for all of three seconds before bursting back up, splashing water everywhere. "Did you see me?! I stayed under for an hour!"

"An hour?" you laughed, wiping the pool water from your eyes as you swam over to her. "Felt more like three seconds to me, little lady!"

"Was not! It was an hour!" she giggled, splashing you right in the face.

You spent the next forty five minutes completely splashing around with her and La Toya. You played marco polo, helped Janet practice her kicking, and just floated around talking girl talk with La Toya on the edge of the pool deck. They were just so normal.

You didn't really know how to put it into words. When you thought about "The Jackson 5," you thought about screaming television crowds, bright flashing lights, bell bottoms, and unapproachable superstars. But sitting here in the backyard, watching La Toya dry her hair with a towel and watching Janet, who was busy using a plastic cup to pour pool water all over a ladybug that had the misfortune of landing on the edge of the cement, you realized they were just a regular, sweet, Black family that happened to be ridiculously talented. It made you feel so comfortable, like you were right at home.

"Don't drown the little bug, Janet," La Toya said gently.

"I'm giving him a bath!" Janet protested as she dumped another cup of water down.

You swam over to the deep end ledge, resting your elbows on the smooth tile, kicking your feet lazily behind you. You pulled the wet hair back from your face, wiping a stray drop of water from your eye, and looked over at La Toya.

"I gotta be real with you," you said, resting your chin on your hands. "Before I came out here, I was lowkey terrified. I thought everybody in this house was gonna be all stiff and Hollywood, expecting me to act a certain way or whatever."

La Toya let out a soft laugh. "Stiff? With all these boys running around here? There’s no room for anybody to be stiff." She sat back a little, leaning back on her hands. "Besides, we were all excited to meet you. Jermaine hasn't shut up about you since that trip to Vegas."

You blushed a little, feeling that warm flutter in your chest again. "Really?"

"Oh, please. Don't let him play you coy," La Toya giggled, shaking her head. "That boy has been floating around here like he lost his mind. It’s funny, too, because Jermaine usually thinks he’s the smoothest thing walking on two feet. You know how he is– all that hair, that little smirk, always talking about his music. He usually has all the ladies swooning and running behind him, trying to get his attention."

You raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on your lips. "Oh, so he's a player, huh?"

"Well..." La Toya fanned herself with her hand, leaning in like she was telling a big secret. "...he likes to think he is. But the second he got back from Vegas, all that slick stuff went right out the window. He was practically pacing the floor waiting for a perfect time to call, yelling at Randy every time he picked up the house phone! Then he wants to act all shy, and quiet, and sweet around you, like he’s a little church boy who doesn't know what to say."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I guess he thought telling you he had all those fans would make him look big and important, but then he turns right around and acts like a softie the minute you actually look at him. It’s hilarious to watch. We’ve never seen him act like that with anybody."

You chuckled, feeling a quiet sense of satisfaction. "Good to know. I’ll make sure to keep him on his toes then."

"Please do," La Toya smiled warmly. "He needs it."

While you guys were out by the pool, you could hear the distant, heavy thumping of bass reverberating through the thick walls of the house. You’d assumed when Joseph said they had "rehearsal" that they flew out to some massive, soundproof studio in downtown Los Angeles with engineers and executives running around. But nope. They were literally just down in the living room.

They had cleared out the furniture, set up their equipment , and microphones, and were running through their vocal harmonies until the walls literally shook. Every now and then, between pool splashes, you could hear Michael’s high, clear voice cutting through the air, followed by Jackie yelling out a count: "One, two, three, go!"

Around one oclock, the side door that led to the patio creaked open, and Mrs. Jackson walked out into the shade of the overhang. She was holding a massive plastic tray stacked high with thick triangular sandwiches, wrapped neatly in wax paper, alongside a huge pitcher of ice cold lemonade with sweating plastic cups.

"Alright, girls, time to get out of that water for a little bit!" Mrs. Jackson called out, her voice sweet but firm. "Come on and eat before the sun bakes you completely. And make sure you dry off real good before you sit on those chairs!"

"Yay, food!" Janet cheered, instantly abandoning her soaked ladybug and scrambling out of the shallow end like a little dog, shaking water everywhere.

"Janet, don't run too fast or you’ll fall!" Mrs. Jackson scolded gently, handing her a big fluffy towel. She looked over at you with that motherly warmth that just made you feel completely safe. "How’s the water, sweetheart? Is the suit fitting you alright?"

"It’s perfect, Mrs. Jackson," you said, climbing up the ladder and wrapping your towel around your waist. "Thank you so much. Really."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, child," she smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. She turned toward the side of the house where the living was located, took a deep breath, and yelled at the top of her lungs; "BOYS! FOOD'S READY! COME GET IT BEFORE THESE SANDWICHES WARM!"

The response was instant. The loud bass cut out mid riff with a sharp screech.

Within three seconds, the herd arrived.

Jermaine was practically sprinting. His forehead glistening with a light sheen of sweat from singing and playing under the living room lights. All of that coolness completely evaporated the second he saw the tray of food.

"Man, I am starving!" Jermaine announced, stepping right up to the patio table, his big hands reaching straight for the biggest sandwich on the tray. He was greedy as hell, completely locked in on the food like he hadn't eaten in a week.

"Unt unt," Katherine said, lightly tapping his hand away. "Hands off that one, Jermaine. That one’s got mayonnaise on it. Yours is right over here on the side with the mustard, just how you like it; don't go grabbing blindly just cause you're hungry."

"Thanks, Mama," Jermaine mumbled, reaching for the correct plate, his mouth practically watering.

He lifted the sandwich toward his mouth, ready to take a massive bite before his eyes swept across the patio deck and landed squarely on you.

You were standing by the edge of the pool deck, pulling your wet hair back over one shoulder with one hand and the other holding your plate. The bright yellow two piece swimsuit fit you like it was custom made, highlighting your smooth brown skin, the slope of your waist, and your long legs, with just a hint of water glistening off your shoulders under the California sun.

Jermaine froze.

Literally froze mid motion. The sandwich was about two inches away from his face. His jaw subtly dropped, his big brown eyes widening as he took you in from head to toe. The greedy ass, hungry boy who had just sprinted out of the house completely vanished, replaced instantly by a man who looked like he’d just been hit over the head with a brick for the second time this month.

He completely forgot to eat. Entirely. He just stood there, holding his mustard sandwich in mid air, staring at you like you were a vision.

Jackie wiping his face with a towel, Tito grabbing a cup of lemonade, Marlon stretching his arms, and Michael was staring too as he took a sip from his cup. It took them all of two seconds to notice Jermaine malfunctioning.

Marlon stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Jermaine, then looking at you, and a massive grin spread across his face.

"Yo," Marlon whispered loudly, nudging Jackie with his elbow. "Look at the statue over here. I think his battery ran out."

Jackie looked over, let out a loud snort, and slammed his hand against Tito’s shoulder. "Man– Jermaine, if you don't put that sandwich in your mouth or put it down; lookin like a whole fool standing there drooling.”

Michael giggled, covering his mouth as he sat his cup of juice down. "His eyes are gonna fall out of his head!"

Jermaine snapped out of his trance, his face instantly twisting up. He quickly lowered the sandwich, clearing his throat awkwardly, trying his absolute best to recover. He adjusted his stance, though his hands were slightly shaking as he set the plate back down on the table.

"Shut up," Jermaine grumbled, his voice cracking just a tiny bit, making his brothers erupt into even louder laughter. He crossed his arms, glaring at Marlon. "I was just...I was just taking a breath. Mind your business."

You couldn't help the huge, glowing smile that broke across your face. Remembering what La Toya had just told you about him acting all shy and soft, you decided to lean into it. You took a slow step toward the table, sitting your plate down, tilting your head, resting one hand on your hip as you looked right at him.

"Hey, Jermaine," you said, your voice all smooth, and sweet, and playful. "How was practice?"

Jermaine looked directly at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The boy who could sing in front of thousands of screaming fans suddenly looked like he was trying to remember how the English language worked.

"It...it was good," he stammered out, his voice dropping into that quiet tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, his eyes darting down to your yellow swimsuit and then right back up to your face, a completely smitten, helpless smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Practice was...real good. You, uh...you look real nice."

"Oh, brother," Jackie groaned, throwing his head back. "Look at him– the man is paralyzed,”

"Gag me," Tito joked, taking a big bite of his sandwich. "He lost all his game in Las Vegas and never got it back." He mumbled shaking his head.

"Please, shut up," Jermaine snapped at them, though he couldn't even keep a straight face because he was looking back at you. He stepped away from his laughing brothers, walking closer to where you were standing by the edge of the shade, completely ignoring his food now.

He stood right in front of you, looking down at you with those soft, big eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets. All the bravado was gone, leaving just the boy who was hopelessly, completely crazy about you.

"You really do look beautiful," he whispered softly, so only you could hear it over the noise of his family. "For real."

You bit your lower lip, stepping just an inch closer to him, smelling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh sweat from his rehearsal. "Thank you," you murmured back, your eyes sparkling. "You gonna eat your mustard sandwich, or are you just gonna stand here staring at me all day?"

Jermaine let out a low, sweet laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at his feet, his heart practically beating out of his chest. "Honestly? I think I'd rather just stand here and stare at you."

And that is exactly what ended up happening; Jermaine didn’t even touch that mustard sandwich for another twenty minutes. He was too busy hovering near you while you sat and ate. Jermaine offered to hold your lemonade, and Jackie shook his head like a disappointed father, but Jermaine didn't give a single damn, a dopey smile stuck on his face.

Once everybody finally finished eating and the plates were cleared, La Toya took Janet and Randy inside to get them cleaned up from the pool and settled down. Michael and Marlon vanished somewhere into the house to mess around with their record collection, their loud laughing fading up the stairs. That left you, Jermaine, Tito, and Jackie kicking around the shaded patio.

"Alright, look," Jermaine said, lowkey trying to reclaim his cool guy demeanor now that he was dressed in a dry shirt and some shorts. "I'm about to show you how to play real pool. Not that amateur stuff you play back in Nevada."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your yellow swimsuit cover up. "Oh, so now you're a pool shark? Last night you were an expert roller skater, and look how that turned out for my head."

Tito nearly choked on his cup of ice water, letting out a laugh. "I cannot lie, she got you, Jermaine," he admitted, shaking his head.

"Man, leave my past mistakes in the past," Jermaine grumbled, the skin behind his cheeks burning, though he couldn't hide the grin twitching at the corner of his lips. He grabbed your hand, his large, warm fingers weaving effortlessly through yours, pulling you toward the double doors that led into the game room. "Come on. Let me beat you in eight ball real quick so I can get my respect back."

The game room had a massive felt topped pool table sitting right in the center under a stained glass hanging lamp, a jukebox tucked in the corner, and walls lined with framed gold records and posters.

Jermaine walked over to the cue rack, picking out two wooden sticks. He checked the straightness of one, rolling it along his palm, before handing the lighter one to you.

"Alright," he said, stepping up close behind you as you walked up to the green felt table. "You ever played before?"

"A little bit," you lied softly, biting your lip to keep from smiling. Truth was, your uncle had an old slate table in his basement back in Vegas, and you’d spent half your childhood hustling your cousins out of their pocket change. But watching Jermaine try to play the protective teacher was entirely too cute to interrupt just yet.

"Okay, so look," Jermaine whispered, his chest pressing lightly against your back as he reached around you to adjust your hands on the cue stick. His chin was resting right near your ear, his breath warm against your skin, sending a wave of goosebumps straight down your spine. "You gotta form a bridge with your left hand. Like this. Keep your fingers flat...yeah, just like that, beautiful. Now slide the stick back slow..."

He was so busy trying to smell your hair and act smooth that he wasn't even looking at the balls lined up in the rack.

You took a deep breath, adjusted your grip just a fraction, and lined up the cue ball. With one swift stroke, you pulled your hand back and struck the white ball dead center.

The break was loud and perfectly executed. The balls scattered across the green felt like marbles, two solid colors instantly dropping into the corner and side pockets with a satisfying thump.

Jermaine blinked, stepping back instantly, his jaw dropping open for the second time that day.

Tito, who was sitting on a high stool in the corner chalking up a cue stick, let out a loud whistle. "Lord have mercy! Jermaine, she set you up!"

Oh, you loved Tito.

He just kept going. "Man, she played you like a cheap fiddle! You out here trying to teach her, and she’s out here breaking like a whole professional.”

You turned around slowly, resting the pool cue against your hip. You looked Jermaine up and down with a sweet, innocent expression. "So...what were you saying about forming a bridge with my fingers, superstar?"

Jermaine stood there, looking from the pockets back to your face, somewhat flabbergasted. But instead of getting mad, that big, gorgeous, helpless smile broke out across his face. He shook his head, laughing softly to himself.

"You are something else, you know that?" he murmured. "You really are something else."

He reached out, catching you by the waist, pulling you in close before you could line up your next shot. You giggled, pressing your hands against his chest, but he didn't care. He leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss right against your lips, completely unbothered by Tito making gagging noises from the corner stool.

"Aye! No kissing the opponent!" Jackie yelled, tossing a piece of chalk at Jermaine’s back. "Play the game!"

"Shut up, Jackie," Jermaine laughed against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, his hands resting soft on your waist. "She’s running the table anyway. I’m just trying to get my consolation prize."

You ended up beating Jermaine two games out of three, though he managed to sink a crazy bank shot in the second game just to save a little bit of his pride. You guys played music on the jukebox, danced a little bit in the tight space between the pool table and the leather sofa, and drank cold sodas while Tito and Jackie argued over who was up next.

It felt like a dream to you. You were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt, completely wrapped up in Jermaine's easy warmth and the playful, loud energy of his brothers that you didn’t hear the heavy wooden door opening, and Joseph Jackson walking in.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the easygoing laughter vanished into thin air. Jackie stopped mid sentence. Tito quietly set his pool cue back into the wooden wall rack. Jermaine’s hand, which had been resting casually over your shoulder as you sat together on the sofa, slowly slid back to his side, his body tensing up instantly.

Joseph didn't look at Jermaine. He didn't look at Tito or Jackie. His sharp eyes swung directly onto you.

It was the same look from yesterday that made the room feel twenty degrees colder. He looked at your bare shoulders, your bare legs hanging over the edge of the sofa, and the way you were sitting so close to his son.

"Jermaine," Joseph’s voice echoed.

"Yeah, Joseph?" Jermaine answered quickly, sitting up straighter. His voice sounded different, smaller in a way, more guarded, completely stripped of that confident, flirtatious tone he’d been using all afternoon.

"You got time to be messing around in here playing games?" Joseph asked, his eyes still lingering on you with a look of disdain, like you were nothing more than a distraction taking his boy's mind off business. "The tape deck in the studio needs resetting, and you haven't finished going over those basslines for the new track. Y’all already know rehearsal tomorrow starts at six in the morning. I don't pay for studio time so you can sit around doting on company."

The way he said company, like it was a slur, like you were an unwanted stray cat that had wandered in from the street, stung like a slap across the face.

You felt your throat tighten, your hands pulling the edges of your cover up tighter around your lap. None of the brothers said a word to defend themselves let alone you. Jackie stared down at his shoes. Tito literally turned his back to look at the wall. They were terrified of him, and the control he had over the room was terrifying.

Jermaine swallowed hard, his knuckles turning white where his hands gripped his knees. He looked over at you, his eyes filled with a sudden embarrassment, clearly hating the way his father was looking at you and talking about you right in your face.

"I'll get to it, Joseph," Jermaine said quietly, his head lowered slightly. "We were just finishing up."

Joseph gave you one final look, a look that plainly said you don't belong here, before turning and walking out, slamming the door behind him.

The silence left in his wake was deafening.

Jackie let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm...I'm gonna go upstairs," he muttered softly, stepping past the pool table without looking at anyone. Tito just gave Jermaine a sympathetic, quiet pat on the shoulder, and nodding at you before following Jackie out, closing the door softly behind them.

You were left sitting on the leather sofa, your heart pounding against your ribs, feeling smaller than you ever had in your life. You looked down at your hands, your throat burning with unshed tears of…embarrassment? Hell, you didn’t even know why you were crying–

"Hey..."

Jermaine’s voice was barely a whisper. He shifted on the couch, sliding closer to you, his large hands gently reaching out to take yours. They were warm, but they were trembling just a little bit.

"Look at me...please?" he begged softly.

You slowly lifted your head, biting your inner cheek to keep your lip from trembling.

Jermaine looked completely broken. His brown eyes were swimming with guilt, searching your face desperately. He reached up with one hand, his thumb softly brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with such gentleness it made a tear slip past your lash line despite your best efforts.

"I am so sorry," Jermaine breathed, his voice cracking without his permission. "I am so, so sorry for how he just looked at you. For how he talked. You don't deserve that; you don't deserve that at all."

"Jermaine, it's fine," you whispered, trying to pull back a little, feeling awkward. "He's your dad, I get it–"

"No, it's not fine," Jermaine cut you off firmly, his grip on your hands tightening, pulling you closer until his forehead leaned on your shoulder. "It's not fine at all. He acts like that with everybody, but he had no right to treat you like you're nobody. You are everything to me right now. You hear me? Everything."

The intensity in his voice made your heart stop for a beat.

"He doesn't see what I see," Jermaine whispered, his thumb catching that lone tear and wiping it away tenderly. "He just sees work and records and money. But I see you. I see how good you are to my family, and how smart you are, and how beautiful you are...how sweet you are to me even when I’m being an idiot."

You looked at him, seeing the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

"He ain't gonna ruin this," Jermaine promised. "I won't let him. I don't care what he says."

A tiny smile broke through your sadness, and you let out a shaky breath, leaning your forehead against his chest. "You really mean that?"

"On everything I got," Jermaine murmured, wrapping his broad arms around you, burying his face into the side of your neck, holding you so tight like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. "I mean every word."

You gently pushed against his chest, pulling back just enough so you could look him in the eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Hey," you whispered, your fingers lightly tracing the soft line of his cheekbone. "It’s getting real late...and we should probably head to bed anyways. I got that early flight back to Vegas tomorrow, remember?"

The second the words left your mouth, Jermaine’s whole body went completely stiff.

It was like somebody had just sucked all the air right out of his lungs. His lower lip twitched, a tiny, frustrated crease forming right between his eyebrows. He didn't let go of your hands, though. If anything, his fingers tightened around yours, holding on like you were about to slip straight through the floorboards.

"Tomorrow?" Jermaine echoed, his voice dropping into a tone that sounded completely wrecked. "Man...don't say it like that. Don't remind me."

"Jermaine, I have to," you said softly, offering him a sad, small smile. "My daddy barely let me come out here for the weekend as it is. If I miss that plane tomorrow morning, he’s gonna drive all the way to California himself and drag me back by my hair."

Jermaine looked away, staring down at the dark green felt of the pool table like it had offended him personally. He let out a long, heavy exhale through his nose, his shoulders slumping.

"It went too fast," he grumbled softly, his thumb tracing nervous, restless circles over the back of your hand. "It feels like you just got here. I didn't even get to take you nowhere real nice. We just stayed in the house..." he frowned.

"Jermaine, stop," you said, reaching up with your free hand to gently cup his chin, forcing him to look back at you. "I had the best time. Seriously. I got to swim, I got to kick your butt in eight ball, I got to hang out with your mama and your sisters...and I got to be with you. I don't care about going nowhere fancy. This was perfect."

Jermaine looked into your eyes, searching your face like he was trying to memorize every single detail. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.

"I don't want you to go," he admitted, his voice barely louder than a whisper, completely raw and honest. "I don't."

"I know," you whispered back, leaning forward to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek. "I don't want to go either. But I have to. Come on...let's get out of this room."

You both stood up from the leather sofa. Jermaine kept one arm draped securely around your waist as you walked out of the game room.

When you finally reached the door of the guest room, you stopped and turned around to face him. You stepped out of his grip, resting your back against the cool wood of the doorframe, looking up at him. He stood there in the quiet hallway, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts, looking down at you with those big, puppy dog brown eyes that were driving you completely crazy.

"Well..." you murmured, biting your lip. "goodnight, Jermaine."

Jermaine shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking down at the carpet, then back up at you. The quiet stretched out between you two, sweet and heavy.

"Hey..." Jermaine started, his voice cracking just a little bit. He took a step closer, closing the distance until he was standing right in your personal space, his chest almost touching yours. He reached out, his fingers lightly pulling at the ribbon of your cover up, his eyes swimming with hesitation. “Uh…”

"...you want me to sleep in here with you again tonight?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours desperately. "Just...so I can like…hold you? So we don't gotta waste the last few hours sleeping in different rooms?"

The vulnerability in his voice made your heart melt right into your chest. He looked so hopeful, so sweet, standing there asking for permission.

You looked up at his cute nose, his soft lips, and the messy afro framing his handsome face. A soft, warm smile broke across your lips, and you reached out, taking his hand and pulling him gently toward the open doorway.

"I thought you'd never ask," you whispered.

Jermaine’s entire face lit up with that beautiful grin, all the tension leaving his shoulders in an instant. He slipped into the room behind you, shutting the door, making sure the lock didn't make a single peep.

You both washed up quickly in the adjoining bathroom, stripping down into comfortable clothes. You slipped into your soft satin pajamas, and Jermaine pulled on a t shirt and his comfortable sweatpants.

The moment the bedside lamp clicked off, plunging the room into the soft, blue toned darkness, Jermaine didn't hesitate for a single second.

He climbed into the big bed, sliding under the heavy comforter, and immediately reached for you. He pulled you right against his chest, his long arms wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling your back flush against him. He tucked his face right into the crook of your neck, his warm, steady breath fluttering against your skin, sending a sweet wave of shyness through you.

"Mmm...much better," Jermaine mumbled into your skin.

You let out a soft, contented sigh, intertwining your fingers with his where his hand rested over your stomach.

"Jermaine?" you whispered into the quiet room.

"Yeah, beautiful?" he murmured, his lips pressing a lazy, sweet kiss right against the side of your neck.

"You better call me the second I land back in Vegas."

Jermaine let out a low, sweet chuckle, his chest vibrating against your back. He squeezed you just a little bit tighter, burying his face deeper into your neck.

"Girl, I'm gonna be staring at that house phone until it rings," he whispered softly, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your hip. "You ain't gotta worry about that. Now get some sleep...I got you."

And right there, wrapped up in his arms in the middle of Encino, listening to the steady, strong rhythm of his heart beating against your back, you finally closed your eyes and drifted off into the sweetest sleep you’d had all week.

Westminster, California, 1975

The engine to Jackie’s 1973 AMC Hornet revved as he pulled into the Hi-Way 39 drive-in theater. This was one of your favorite date night spots. The hour drive it took to get there didn’t put a damper on your excitement for it. The place was packed out with people and cars due to the most anticipated movie of the year: Jaws.

When Jackie had brought you here on the third date, you fell in love with the spot. You knew it was something you would have to do at least once a week. When he wasn’t on the road with his brothers, he was so eager to do whatever you wanted to do.

He paid the entrance fee and was able to secure a spot near the middle of the field. They hadn’t even turned on the pre-movie content yet so you felt it was a good enough to time to run to the concessions stand. Hopefully there wasn’t too long of a line.

The watermelon flavor of your BlowPop still vibrant in the gum you smacked on. Turning to Jackie as you dug in your purse for your wallet, you caught him staring at you heatedly.

“Why you staring so hard, Jackson?” You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

“I can’t look at my lady now?”

“Not the way you doing, nasty ass.” You blew a bubble with your gum. His eyes zeroed in the activity.

“That mouth of yours, I swear, little mama.” He did that thing with his voice that had you squeezing your thighs together.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” You tossed your beaded braids over your shoulder and smirked. “You want that chocolate you like from the snack stand?”

“I got the chocolate I like sittin’ right here next to me.” He licked his bottom lip, looking you up and down.

“Ooh, you are a dangerous flirt, Sigmund Esco. I reckon it’s gonna get you in trouble one day.” Another bubble blown.

“How bout it get me into some right now? Gimme that gum you smackin on.”

One of your eyebrows arched and your mouth twitched. There was no point in acting like you were disgusted because you’d never came harder than you did when Jackie ate your ass while fingering you on the second date. He was a super freak and you were obsessed with him, almost like he put a spell on you.

“Well come and get it then, papa.”

His big hand landed on your thigh, pulling you across the leather seats over to the driver’s side. He grabbed one of your legs to sit on top of his knees, opening you up. Jackie wrapped his fingers around your throat, leading your faces to meet.

Your lips clashed with his hastily. His tongue lapping at your lips until you opened your mouth, allowing him entry to explore. You let out a high moan pushing your gum into his mouth with his tongue instantly curling around it. With shiny lips and a string of spit following you both when you released each other, you were almost tempted to say fuck the movie.

Leaning against the door, Jackie grinned like the cat that got the canary. His strong jaw chewed on your gum like it was his to begin with and you had simply prepped it for him. You sat back, hand pressed to your chest trying to calm your heart.

“Fuckin’ delicious. Watermelon?”

“Boy, you ain’t no good,” you snorted, licking your lips, elated at the taste of him.

“Only for you, sweet thing.” He winked, pulling out his wallet. “Here, take this money so you can get whatever you want.”

“Jackie, I have my own money.”

“I didn’t ask you that, now did I?”

You could be stubborn with the best of them but Jackie being the oldest brother of so many kids you knew it was impossible to win any battle against him. You shook your head, taking his fifty dollar bill.

“And don’t forget my Pibb!” He yelled out the window as you walked away. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was watching your booty bounce in your polkadot sundress.

You were making your way back with the snacks when a familiar face stepped in front of you.

“Sunshine?” Only one man called you that nickname.

“Jerome? Hey honey, how you been?” Your ex whom you hadn’t seen in years. Occasionally one of your girlfriends would run into him and bring you the gossip but you hadn’t laid eyes on him since you both decided to part ways. He was trying to go to college in San Diego and you had stayed in Encino; you both felt the relationship wasn’t worth the long distance.

Jerome was a tall light skin with light eyes, straight white teeth and his signature small afro. The side burns were new though. He was a sweet talker, incredibly kind and smart. It was no wonder you dated him initially but alas you were bored.

He didn’t alight every nerve in your body like Jackie did. Jackie liked to go back and forth with you to an extent. Once he was over that he’d just thrown you down and draw orgasm after orgasm from you like he was born to do it. He could be rough despite that soft spoken, demure façade he put on. He also had a jealousy streak a mile long.

Jerome roped you into a side hug and began asking you questions, wanting to catch up. Every time you attempted to walk away and end the conversation he would reel you back in with some new detail about his life. You were polite but deep down you knew Jackie was probably wondering where you were.

“You lookin’ real good, girl. You must be eating right.” He leered at you.

You opened your mouth to shut him down when: “Yeah, I’m feedin her real good,” replied from behind you.

Exhaling in gratitude, you turned around seeing Jackie right behind you with his arms crossed. You knew that look in his eyes well. It told you that shit was about to go left very quickly.

“Jackie! I was just on my way back when I ran into an old friend. We were just catching up.” You smiled nervously, stepping beside your boyfriend.

“Old friend? From where?”

“I’m her ex,” Jerome supplied, clarifying simply.

You wanted to evaporate completely. Sighing in defeat, your eyes fell shut.

“Oh really?” Jackie’s voice hardened. You didn’t want to look at him.

“Jerome.” The other man stuck out his hand and Jackie just looked at it. Jerome put his hand back to his side.

“You like them J names don’tcha?” Jackie slightly turned his head towards you, arching one of his eyebrows. “Baby, I don’t need to be worried about you leaving me for a James, do I?”

“Technically, your name doesn’t start with a J so…” You joked awkwardly. You met his eyes, then shot yours to the ground seeing the unamused expression on his face.

That was going to be your ass. You knew that the second it came out of your mouth. He was not going to let that slide. Your pulse steadily climbed at the prospect.

“Well, it was nice catching up with you, sunshine. Maybe we can get a cup of coffee next time I’m in Encino.”

“Um, I don’t—“

“She won’t be available.”

The projector flickered on signaling that they were about to play the movie and you couldn’t had been more grateful for the interruption. Jackie grabbed the snacks out of your hands and turned on his heel without another word.

“Damn,” you mumbled under the breath and followed Jackie with your tail between your legs.

It took everything in you to hold in your scream while Jackie brought you to the brink repeatedly and then denied you. You were stretched on his dick with your back to his chest sitting in the drivers seat. He felt you shake while he lazily strummed your clit like a guitar.

Your legs were on either side of his, keeping you wide open for him. Knowing that anybody could look in and see what you two were doing thrilled you.

“Jackie,” you whined, hands clutching the steering wheel.

“Watch the movie, little mama,” the tone in his soft voice meant to brook no argument.

You had no idea what was happening at this point in the movie. Not long after it had started Jackie told you to take your panties off and to come sit in his lap. You were concerned that since you were out in the public that anybody to could see but he was adamant and not in the mood for games. He had taken himself out of his pants, stroked himself a couple of times until his rigid length was ready for you. You had nervously looked around and realized no one was paying your car an inch of attention.

“D’you know why we’re doing this?”

You shook your head, unable to answer because all your thoughts were focused on chasing your climax.

He took his hand away from your engorged bud and you wanted to cry. He rubbed his hands all over your thighs, feeling your sopping pussy clench around his dick.

“Yes, you do. You’re a smart girl. Tell me why.”

The air in the car was intoxicating. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to not move your hips.

“Because I was talking to—“

“Yes, because you were talking to another man. You know that’s not how we move ‘round here, baby.”

“But Jackie, I didn’t want to talk to him!” You groaned. “I’m sorry!”

“Oh, I know you’re sorry. This tight pussy trembling around me tells me that. But I need you to learn your lesson,” Jackie lightly scolded.

You hissed as his fingers went back to circling your clit, unable to control the squirm of your hips. He huffed out a strangled breath behind you. His thick veiny dick throbbed inside your heat. Your arousal was definitely soaking his front of his pants and you weren’t apologetic about that one bit.

“Sig, please. I need to come,” you mewled, biting your lip. The movie was all a blur to you.

“I’m sure you do.” His fingers sped up and your toes curled. Your breathing came in short pants. “Do you deserve it is what I need to know.”

“Yes! I’m sorry. I won’t do it again I promise. Just let me—“ You rattled off incoherently then keened with a closed mouth when he bit your shoulder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you, girl. I gotta lock you up to keep men away from you? Maybe I need to put a baby in ya.” He shifted underneath you, somehow digging deeper into you. His other hand caressed your stomach.

“Please, baby. Do it.” You were out of your mind at this point. You were so close it drove you insane.

Jackie inhaled sharply and slowly thrusted into you. His shallow jerks had your eyes rolling back. Your grip on the steering wheel increasing.

“You want my baby?”

“Yes, papa, whatever you want,” you moaned, gyrating your hips. The wetness of your cunt helping you slide easily.

“Take it then,“ he growled.

You moved like butter with him deep in you. You felt every vein scraping along your walls. With his tip kissing your cervix and the rough pad of his fingers swiping your button, it wasn’t long before you were shaking, coming undone especially hard on his big dick. You smashed your lips together to conceal the shriek that lodged in your throat.

Jackie followed you soon after shooting his seed into your womb. He groaned behind you feeling your pussy milk him dry. He moved your braids to the side and kissed the back of your sweaty neck, licking the skin with every kiss. You melted into his chest and finally released your grip on the steering wheel.

The sun had gone down at some point. Fireflies danced outside the rows of cars.

You casually glanced around and of course no one payed your car any mind, not with the big shark on the screen.

“I love you, Jackie. We so solid, I don’t want anyone else,” you whispered sleepily, turning your head into the crook of his neck. The smell of his Afro soothing you.

“Let’s keep it that way. I love you too, little mama.” He kissed your forehead and hummed with his length still resting in place. You loved that full feeling. “We gon have to come see this movie again. Don’t you think?”

The change was gradual for Michael. He couldn’t pin point exactly when he started paying more attention to you but once he did he couldn’t stop. His eyes found you first in any room you shared.

At first, it was mainly due to you not being a recurring member of his life and he considered himself extremely hyper vigilant to strangers. Though as time went on with you spending so much time with his family, it transformed into something more sinful.

Naturally, he hated himself for thinking this because you were his older sister’s best friend. But he rationalized in his head that you were his friend too, so it wasn’t that strange.

Whenever you came over and La Toya wasn’t around, you would spend your time with him and he relished in it. The two of you had so much in common. You both loved music, Disney movies and animals. Sometimes he felt like you two were the same person.

However, there were some things you did with La Toya that you most certainly did not do with him.

He couldn’t have been more thankful for the pool in his backyard when the hottest day of the year landed without warning. It was sweltering and down right offensive. This was the type of heat that made your brain foggy and your limbs unresponsive.

The pool overflowed with all his siblings and their respective partners. A chaotic scene. Jermaine sat on the edge of the pool, loudly disagreeing with Randy about getting his hair wet. Marlon was trying to tell a story to his wife but Tito persisted with cutting him off to correct details. While Jackie sunbathed, Janet determinedly poked and prodded at him until he gave up relaxing and threw her in the pool. Much to the amusement of Janet’s little teeny bopper friend. You and La Toya were gossiping on inflatables over in the deep end.

That tangerine two piece you wore made him choke on his spit when he first saw it. He thought he played it off well but Marlon sent him a knowing smirk. The way the little triangles secured your perfect smooth breasts and how the bottoms hugged your plump ass, it was positively scandalous.

Michael was enraptured.

His aviators masked his perusal of you incredibly well while he lounged on his own inflatable on the other side of the pool humming to himself. Every so often Randy would splash at him to get his attention but he would just tell him to leave him be. Giving some lame excuse about working out lyrics and concepts.

In reality, he simply wanted to watch his tv show uninterrupted.

He loved the way your neck stretched when you threw your head back cackling at something his sister said. He liked it better when you did it because of something he said.

He wished he knew what you girls were chirping about but he would sooner have Bill run him over with the car twice than look desperate in front of you. So he resigned himself to creepily staring from afar under the guise that he was deep in thought.

He imagined burying his face in your deep brown skin, just drowning in your natural scent. He craved it day in and day out. For far longer than he cared to admit. Many a night he would wake up drenched in sweat and rock solid.

He liked when you grabbed his hand when you got scared during movie nights (even though you liked to act nonchalant after). When you would sing softly to yourself when you thought no one could hear you. How bright and wide your smile became when you would win during board games.

It was no wonder he was in love with you. He would not and could not tell you these things as he didn’t want to jeopardize his friendship or incur his big sister’s wrath.

A warning lodged in his throat when he saw Janet swimming towards you and La Toya under the water. An odd feeling settled in his gut but something in his brain told him to wait, to see what would happen next.

Janet sprung up, flipping your float over. Your high pitched scream barely having the time to come out before you were under water. Every one at the pool erupted with laughter.

Even he chuckled a little biting his lip.

You broke the surface sputtering and looking like an annoyed drowned kitten.

“JAN!” You roared. Your eyes locked on to Michael’s form, narrowing when you registered he was laughing at you. He caught it immediately.

Like the teenage menace she was, Janet cracked up as she swam away.

Unfortunately, she swam straight to him and knocked him off his raft too. Now the backyard was a cacophony of amusement.

“Yeah, not so funny now is it, Mikey!” You yelled out.

He dragged himself onto the deck embarrassed and soaking. Reaching for his towel to dry himself off, the sight of you stepping out of the pool with that orange bikini clinging to your shimmering skin stopped him in his tracks. His mouth instantly dried up.

The blood drained from his head as he watched you walk towards him. Your long legs and the sway of your hips, which were a shelf for your hands at present. Then all cohesive thought abandoned him when he really got a good look at your chest. Those were new.

When did you do that?

Breathing failed him when his brain registered that you had gotten your nipples pierced. PIERCED. He had never gotten hard so quickly.

Your tits danced as you got closer to his side of the pool. With the last vestiges of tangible thought, he gathered himself and sped inside the house. It was the only way to save his dignity.

“Michael!” You called to him.

He was only able breathe again after he slammed his bedroom door shut.

Sometime later when the California sun was no longer at its peak but no less unyielding, there came a knock at his bedroom door while he listened to his Smokey Robinson records.

He closed the notebook he was writing in and turned down the player before opening the door. And there you stood before him still in that tantalizing swim wear only covered with a thin white shawl this time. It did nothing to make him forget what he knew for a fact he saw earlier. The tips of his ears felt like they were heating up.

You held out to him a glass of what looked like lemonade. Lemonade you probaby made because you were a fiend for the sour-y sweet beverage.

“Why did you run off like that earlier?” You pushed past Michael entering his room while he stayed in the doorway dumbfounded. You sat on his floor, legs spread out with your arms propping you up.

“I— I didn’t run.” He shrugged unconvincingly and took a sip of the drink.

“You ran, Mike.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“That was me walking quickly.”

“So… running?”

“Girl, why you always wanna argue with me?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Boy, don’t nobody wanna argue with you. I’m telling you what you did.”

He sucked his teeth and sat on the bed, across from you. He would never admit it but he loved these interactions with you. They were so ingrained in his every day life. He didn’t know what he’d do without you there to antagonize him and vice versa.

“I wasn’t running and I just had to use the restroom. Happy?”

“So why didn’t you come back outside?”

“Because it’s hot as hell outside and I got enough Vitamin D. Just wanted to cool off in here.” He avoided eye contact. He knew you were like a dog with a bone once your mind latched onto something.

“I would’ve came in with you. We could played a game or something.”

“Nah you were with Toya and I didn’t wanna be rude. You know she don’t like sharing you like that.”

Your starry laugh rung out and his heart sang. His eyes drifted to you on instinct. He loved making you laugh.

“Don’t do my girl like that. She’s gotta share with the likes of you, I get it.”

He swallowed hard.

“And besides, there’s plenty of me to go around.” You smirked.

He took a sip of the drink at the wrong moment and nearly choked to death. What a way to go that would be. Michael Jackson, drowned in lemonade.

You rushed getting off the floor to help him when he stuck out his hand to stop you and made contact with one of your breasts. Cupped expertly in his large palm.

Both of you froze, even his coughing subsided almost immediately.

Before you had the chance to speak, he had already jumped off the bed and dove out of his room, down the stairs and out the house.

“Bill, we gotta go right now!” He rushed out. His brain short circuiting. The older man hopped in the car with the quickness and drove out the estate’s driveway.

“Where to, son?”

“Anywhere that’s not here.”

The sun and moon had done their dance switching places by the time Michael returned to Hayvenhurst with a steady heart and non shaking hands. All but the street lights were off when he stepped in the house.

He hoped everyone was in bed already as he was in no mood for conversation. He was drained after today. Maybe a lifetime.

This avoidant behavior continued for the next two weeks. You seeing Michael. Him making any and every excuse to dodge you.

It was beyond tiresome.

After three weeks it went from tiresome to hurtful. Did you do something or say something that offended him? It would literally kill you if you did anything to hurt that sweet boy. He meant so much to you.

The most considerate and compassionate man you had ever met. That’s why you loved him and you thought he might’ve felt the same way but his behavior recently was extremely odd.

He wouldn’t even look you in the eyes while talking. And you found this to be more disheartening than anything else when you adored staring into them. Those big brown eyes had witnessed more than anyone would ever know and you could read so much emotion in them. Not being able to see his eyes felt like you had been kicked in the chest.

You asked the rest of the brothers if he had said something about you or if he was acting differently with them but they all said that he was the same as always. Which stumped you even further.

Yes, you two had an awkward moment but that’s not the first one nor did you expect it to be the last one. A questionable touch here and there during Twister. Maybe a glance that lasted too long during movie night. Accidentally sitting in his lap when you thought there was more space on the sofa without checking beforehand. These things happened all the time and neither of you ever made a fuss about it. Why be so flighty all of a sudden?

When he blew you off for the fifth time, citing work reasons, you stopped trying. You could take a hint. You had no idea what you could’ve possibly done to be iced out but you figured perhaps it wasn’t something you needed to know.

Though, in true petty fashion, you wanted to stop hanging out at the Jackson estate because seeing him was making your heart hurt. And you surely couldn’t tell your best friend that you had seemingly fallen for her little brother. Even if that brother was one of the most popular people on the planet.

So when you spent time with La Toya, that meant no looking for Michael any time you entered a room or listening for his laugh or footsteps. You simply ignored his presence. If he could erase you, then you could do the same.

Tonight, Toya rang you up asking if you wanted to go the Whisky down on Sunset. Of course you readily agreed. It had been a while since you had the opportunity to dress sexy and get tipsy.

Out of your closet, you picked white bellbottoms and a yellow halter strap top that tied in the front, making your tits sit so nicely. The faintest outline of your two month old piercings were visible. You drove to the big house to get ready with your girl. Tonight would be a good night, you could feel it. The days of moping over Michael fucking Jackson were behind you.

All oiled up, perfumed and irresistible, you and Toya waited for the cab chatting away about what band you wanted to see at the club. She giggled about possibly meeting a guy and you could only shake your head in amusement. One thing your friend was going to do was get a man.

Once inside the yellow cab, you could feel the excitement building. You wanted to make sure no gloss was on your teeth and reached down to grab your compact mirror in your purse when you realized that you didn’t have the bag to begin with.

“Hollon! I left my purse in the house.” You heard Toya protest immediately when you hopped out of the car. “Girl just go on ahead. I’ll meet you there.” The cab drove off as the front door shut.

You hoped you could find your bag in a timely fashion. You rounded the corner to La Toya’s room, walking straight into a solid wall of flesh.

Bergamot and cinnamon enveloped you, wrapping you in that familiar embrace. You exhale taking a step back and met those eyes that had been denied to you for weeks. His gaze accessed your outfit from top to bottom.

“Where you going?” He crossed his arms looking down at you.

“To mind my business. Excuse me.” You tried to side step him when he blocked your path. Irritation bloomed on your face.

“You going to some club?”

“Where I’m going is none of your business,” you scoffed.

“Since when?” He scoffed right back.

“Really? Since you wanted to act like I don’t matter to you.” Your volume slowly climbing with each word as anger seized your chest. The object of your ire grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into his room not wanting to disturb the rest of the house. You yanked your hand from his grasp, glaring at him.

“Don’t touch me, Michael! You’ve been ducking and dodging me for weeks and I don’t know why. But it’s fine, I couldn’t care less anymore.” You attempted to steel your voice at the end so he couldn’t hear how hurt you were but he knew you too well.

His face softened. He scratched the back of his head, appearing sheepish.

“You do matter to me. I just—“

“Save it. I thought we were friends but you’ve been treating me like some fan. That’s not what friends do.”

“I didn’t mean to—“ His eyes looking everywhere but your face.

“Even now! Not looking at me. Making up excuses to not have to hang out with me. That’s not what friends do.” Your lips turned downward into a deep frown.

“But I wanted to—“

“What did I do? Did I say something, do something that day at the pool? It seems like that was the last almost normal day we had and then you started running off any time you saw me, or brushing me off or flaking on me.” Words came out rapidly, stumbling into each other as your irritation was at its peak.

He took a deep breath and snapped his mouth shut. Whatever words he wanted to say were swallowed.

You shook your head in disbelief, shrugging. You hated that beginning feeling of your eyes burning. Damn him.

“That’s it? You can’t even explain yourself, Mikey. I thought we were… well it doesn’t matter, but I really did think we were friends,” you whispered dejectedly.

A suffocating silence claimed the space of his bedroom. You hadn’t been in there in weeks.

You stared at each other until you physically couldn’t take it anymore. You brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder and grabbed the door handle. You couldn’t be in there any longer. Your emotions were starting to get the better of you and you refused to let him see you in shambles over this.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” he gritted out.

“What?!” You swung back around.

“I… This is so hard f’me. Please.” The struggle was evident on his face. You begrudged that even though you hadn’t gotten a good look at him in weeks, he was still so handsome.

You couldn’t resist that gentle voice of his; it was the only thing that staved off your next scathing reply. Leaning back against his door, you pressed your glossed lips together and crossed your arms.

“I wanted… That is… I tried to work this out on my own. It didn’t work. And the only thing I could think of was avoiding you. I thought… a stupid thought really… I thought if I didn’t see you as much these feelings would go away. Because they weren’t right.”

“What feelings, Michael?” Your heart was in your throat. You were almost scared to hear his response, not wanting to get your hopes up.

He tugged on his earlobe nervously.

“I don’t want to be your friend anymore… because I’m in l-love with you. But I know that’s not right! You’re my sister’s friend. You’re my best friend. I don’t want it to be weird when—“

You leapt from the door, crashing into his body. Wrapping your arms around his middle with him embracing you instinctively to steady you both. Your heart played a melody that could never be replicated by any instrument known to mankind.

Cocooned in his natural familiar scent you finally felt you could exhale after three long weeks. You nuzzled his chest and cradled his strong back.

He stiffened initially only to melt into your warm embrace, rubbing his face in your curls. This was heavily missed.

You gently pushed away from him to meet his beautiful eyes. Your manicured hand traveled from his chest and lightly grabbed his chin.

“Boy, you’re such an idiot.” He had no opportunity to rebuttal before you tugged him down to meet your lips in a dizzying kiss.

He retracted to stare at you in awe.

“Wait, you like me?”

“Like you? I’ve been in love with you for a year.”

“Just a year?”

Giggling, you cupped his face with both of your hands bringing him into another kiss. This time much longer and staggering. Your tongue prodding at his bottom lip causing him to gasp, giving you the opening you craved.

He struggled with where to put his hands when he settled on gripping your shoulders with his large hands.

When your tongue swept across his own, it felt like something activated in the air. You turned your head sideways intent on devouring the man. He tasted so good like butter pecan ice cream, you couldn’t get enough.

He walked you backwards until your back hit the bedroom door. You craned your neck to allow him better access to your mouth. Your hands combed the curls at the back of his head while his hands grabbed at the exposed skin of your waist. A rolling sensation moved in your gut at the feel of his hands touching you there.

One of his legs stepped in between your thighs and a soft high pitched keen came from your throat as you slowly began to grind on him. That pulsing in your pussy overrode any brain function.

You broke the kiss with you both sporting a drunk look. The lustful fog in your mind not fading even then.

“C’mere, pretty boy.” He allowed you to lead him over to the bed with absolutely no protest. He licked his lips, pupils blown wide.

You fell back on the bed, pulling him on top of you. The hard length in his jeans brushed up against your core and he whimpered. His face went straight into your neck, marking it up with his teeth and lips.

“Why you been hiding from me, Mikey?” You gasped out as he licked a certain spot of your throat. Your hands groping his back.

“Because I couldn’t handle it, mama.” He nipped at your ear and you shivered.

“Handle what?” Your hands found their way under his t-shirt. His skin was warm and smooth.

“These.” You curled into him when he boldly attached his lips to one of your nipples, encircling the metal bar that went through it. He didn’t let your top deter him as he sucked on one and fondled the other.

“Fuck,” you breathed, yanking his shirt over his head.

“Can I?”

“Yes!” Your top was gone the next second and he was back suckling on your tits. His tongue expertly played with the piercing while you held his head to your chest keeping him there. He ground himself into your pelvis, trying to relieve some pressure for you both. He kissed a trail to the other breast and his mouth played with it like a beloved instrument.

You mewled helplessly, “Please.” Head lolling from side to side.

Like a man possessed, he lifted your hips allowing you to shimmy off both your panties and bellbottoms, not wanting to waste anymore time.

“Oh baby, you smell divine.” He left a path of kisses down your stomach to the thatch of hair that sat atop your mound. He drew in a deep breath and licked his lips.

Your back arched when you felt his mouth engulfing your sopping cunt. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your mouth hanging open loosely at him devouring you. No drop was wasted while he lapped your flesh and pushed it back inside with his tongue.

You were bent in half with your legs somewhere close to your head and his other arm forcing them to stay. He ravaged your pussy with the intensity of a starving man. You were barely able to dwell on one finger destroying your body before he added two more.

“Fuck, Mikey,” you babbled incoherently.

“S’ good— My God— You taste— S’ wet, mama,“ he mumbled in between breaths.

The sounds of him drowning in you and your moans filled the bedroom. In some far away part of your brain, you knew you needed to be quieter but you were so far gone that any thought outside of him flicking and sucking on your hard, sensitive clit were deemed irrelevant.

You let out a cry as his fingers knocked against that spongy part inside of you. He fucked you with those long digits until you were an undignified mess.

Your legs trembled as your orgasm drew nearer. You were at his mercy. This boy who loved to show you his book collection, who loved talking to animals more than people, who religiously tucked his shirt in his pants or else he didn’t feel put together… when had he learned how to do this? You couldn’t even fully process the thought.

You felt so dizzy with tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Right when you felt the coil about to snap, he retreated from you and you moaned deliriously.

“Michael— Baby, please— I need— I can’t—“

He kissed the hood of your clit one last time and stood on shaky legs. His hands trembled unbuttoning his pants however he never broke your gaze. He pushed the pants down his long legs, with his heavy dick falling into his hands.

Your stomach tightened at the sight, just then more of your arousal leaked from you pooling under your ass. Your mouth watered seeing his fat glistening tip.

He took his hand to swipe at your pussy once more for lubrication and stroked himself.

Your hole clenched in anticipation. This was almost too much to bear and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t ever imagined the two of you in this exact position. Oh, this was one of your favorite day dreams but the real thing was incomparable.

“You want this, baby?” He rasped in a low gravelly tone that was unfamiliar to you. You could have came off that alone.

“So bad,” you whined pathetically.

He ran the tip through your folds then dipped it in your heat once then twice, teasing you. He was so big. So fucking big. Once he sank into you inch by inch you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath.

“Oh girl… this pussy… My goodness… Made for me, baby.” He stared at where your bodies met with wide eyes. Perhaps he shared your state of disbelief.

You molded around him perfectly. You could see him fighting back the urge the slam into you. You surged up, grabbing his neck and attacked his mouth in a messy kiss. You moaned against him as his tongue, heavy with the taste of you, wrestled with yours.

You felt so damn full. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you pulled him to where your nipple piercings rubbed against his chest. You were feeling so many things at once. Your lips quivered.

His arms were on either side of your head. Those eyes that before he hid from you locked with yours as he pulled out, only leaving the tip in, then slid back in at a steady pace. Your body slowly relaxed to his size and within seconds, you were coming.

He looked at you shocked then something akin to pride settled over his face. You had no time to recover from the first orgasm when he began to drive into you mindlessly. His pace harsh and unforgiving. His words a frenzied string of thought.

“Been wanting this f’so long— You have no idea, girl— Been losing m’ mind.” His voice heavy with need and emotion.

You were ruined. Absolutely ruined. No other experience would compare to this.

Your heart raced and your walls fluttered at the unrelenting onslaught from the hair at the base of his dick rubbing at your swollen bundle of nerves.

“I’m gonna—“

“Give it to me.” He plucked at one of your piercings and swallowed your cry with his mouth.

You could hear the mess you were making and it sent you over the edge. You gushed around him. Panting, you rubbed all over the hardness of his abdomen and felt his muscles twitch.

His moans changed in pitch and his hips moved with abandon. You clenched around him and his resolve snapped. He sunk deep into you as he painted your walls with thick hot cum. So much of his essence. You wanted all of it.

His movements never stopped. The sloppy buck of his thrusts pushed his cum further inside you. You kissed every inch of his sweaty face that you could touch.

He dropped onto you in exhaustion, face buried in your neck. He managed to land a peck under your ear. You scratched his scalp and enjoyed the weight of him on top of you. His twitching member still nestled inside your welcoming heat.

He shuddered a breath and rolled off of you. You whined at the change and he shot you a sheepish grin as his softened dick slipped free. Your combined fluids trickled out of you.

You briefly took stock of what you must look like to him. Your hair felt like it was all over your head and you were covered in sweat. Yet he stared at you with such a look of love and desire.

You were so gone for this man it made your head spin.

“I’m gonna get you a towel.” He started to get up when you pushed him back down.

“Stay. Please. I don’t mind it,” you whispered.

You rolled over, laying your head on his chest and hiking one of your legs over his hip. The room was thick with the smell of sex and sweat. He had one hand tapping your hip rhythmically and the other cupping your tit, fidgeting with the piercing.

“You like ‘em?”

He nodded. “A lot. When’d you get ‘em?”

“Not too long ago. Got ‘em done with Toya. She didn’t know I had you in mind when I did it though.”

“Oh really? So you got these girls all dolled up f’me?”

“Now, that’s not what I said, Michael.”

“Aw nah, sweet thing, I’m pretty sure it is.”

“See, here you go starting with me.”

“And you love it.” He nudged your chin up to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

When you woke up a few hours later, parched and in need of water, you untangled yourself from Michael’s lanky limbs and threw on an oversized sweater of his and some shorts. Confusion warped your features when you almost tripped as you stepped out the door. You glanced down to see your purse from last night. The purse you had left in La Toya’s room that you were supposed to retrieve then continue on with your night of clubbing. Your breath hitched and you bit your bottom lip.

“Oops…” You mouthed to yourself, picking it up and retreating back into the room.

Your mind raced as you climbed back in bed with your new love though as soon as he wrapped himself around you once more, your body relaxed and you figured that you would deal with whatever repercussions later.

The brothers, minus Marlon and Randy, stood in a line before you. They had varying expressions of boredom on their faces, except your sweet angel baby Michael. He looked at you like you hung the moon and stars — nothing out of the ordinary.

It was Tito’s thirty-second birthday so the guys wanted to all go out to a club to celebrate. Totally fine by you, however, you weren’t about let them go crazy with your man in tow. You were reasonable enough not to tag along because you understood it was a boys night but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to have something to say.

“Now, before you heathens cart my hubby off, I have a few ground rules.” You ticked things off your fingers.

Predictably, Jermaine was the loudest to disagree and you proceeded to ignore him.

“Do not let women dance all over Michael. And if you think I won’t find out, trust me, I will.”

“Do not allow him to be swarmed by fans. You know he gets overwhelmed. Better turn into bodyguards or I will have something to say!”

“She was gone have something to say regardless,” Tito muttered out the side of his mouth. You ignored him too.

“Lastly, and this is the most important one so listen closely. Do not bring this man back to me drunk as a skunk. We have an important event to attend mid morning tomorrow and if he can’t go because he’s hungover, the Jacksons will feel my wrath for generations,” you finished with a smile. Hands clasped in front of you, you met each of their eyes.

“We clear?” They stared at you blankly.

Jackie cleared his throat and spoke softly, “Baby girl, he’s grown man. I’m pretty sure he can take care of himself.”

You slid up to him, looking up to meet his eyes. Cocking your head to the side, you gave him a closed-mouth smile.

“Sigmund, how eager are you to see the underside of my 1984 Pontiac? Be honest.”

He swallowed, clenching his jaw. You patted his cheek condescendingly. Jermaine’s spray bottle laugh cut through the air. Michael covered his mouth, giggling.

“I’ll take that to mean yes, we’re clear. And you, my baby love, better act right too. You know you can’t hold your liquor.” You kissed Michael and shooed them out the door.

By 2:46am, you sat on the staircase in the entrance hall of Hayvenhurst with narrowed eyes. Michael didn’t need to be out this late. You inhaled sharply through your nose seeing headlights pull into the drive way. Your babydoll night dress pooled around your thighs.

You only caught a snippet of the muffled chatter as you climbed the stairs to you and Michael’s room.

“Dammit, Tito, grab his arm.”

“That girl is gonna kill us.”

“Us? More like she gone hit me with her car. My legs just stopped hurting during thunderstorms.”

“Psssh, she ain’t gone do shit. She all talk, trust.”

“Mike! Lower your voice, man. I know she got ears everywhere.”

You nodded your head before you entered the bedroom. Their voices faded but that particular distinctive one replayed like a broken record.

“She ain’t gone do shit. She all talk.”

“All talk huh? Guess we’ll see about that,” you chuckled darkly as you snuggled on your side of the bed.

With your back to him, you pretended to be asleep when Michael finally managed to drag himself to bed. His drunk ass tried to cuddle with you but you scooted until you were nearly on the edge of the bed. He eventually went back to his side and was asleep in mere seconds.

A plan was formulated with the last tendrils of thought in your mind before you drifted off.

After two days of ignoring him and being pestered by his groveling, you eventually snapped. You sent him upstairs to strip nude, sit on the bed and to not touch himself. You finished the chapter of the book you were reading and took a long shower.

He waited…

And waited…

You knew he was in agony.

When you stepped out the steamy bathroom, a deep groan rumbled in his chest. You paid him no mind. The maddeningly slow pace at which you moved to lotion yourself had him in tears.

“Mama please…”

About five minutes in, you stuffed a dirty pair of panties in his mouth. He shuddered as his animated eyes rolled back. You heard him moaning as he sucked on two day old underwear and smirked.

There he sat, naked, back against the headboard with his wrists tied together with pantyhose and his legs spread. His body was taut with tension. His dick was so hard it stood straight up and it weeped, heavily.

The muffled cries thrilled you as you paced in front of the bed. Your blow out was pulled back into two low buns opening your face up with two thick strands curling around your cheeks. The black lingerie clung to your tits and ass like a second skin. Michael’s watery eyes followed the switch in your hips as though he was hypnotized.

You stopped at the foot of the bed and crossed your arms, pushing up your breasts.

“She ain’t gone do shit… that’s what you said, Mikey,” you pouted.

He shook his head with wide eyes. His pleads blocked by the fabric.

“Yes, you did. I heard you. You calling me a liar?”

He shook his head again. You clicked your tongue in disappointment.

“She all talk… You said that too. You don’t remember?”

He uttered something that sounded like, “No.” His hips bucked and his hard-on twitched.

“Hmm. That’s convenient. S’alright because mama is gonna get you right, baby. You want me to touch you?”

Michael nearly broke his neck shaking this head this time. You arched a sculpted brow.

“No?” Your knees dipped into the comforter as you crawled to his trembling body. He spit the panties in your hand and they were soaked.

You tutted at him. “The world would never believe me if I told them Michael Jackson was a nasty ass dirty panty sucking freak.” You laughed a little. “But that’s alright. It’ll be our little secret, pretty boy.” You kissed his cheek, leaving a red lip stain.

“I want—“ He whimpered, biting his lip. “I want you to sit on my face.”

“Oh?” You scoffed, “And you think you deserve that after going out and getting drunk after I told you not to? I was embarrassed at my event, standing there all by myself while everybody and they momma kept asking me where my husband was. You promised me, Mikey!”

“I know, mama. M’sorry. Please let me make it up to you. I love you. I love you. I’ll be good— I’ll be a good boy.” Tears streaked down his striking cheekbones.

You grabbed his chin, and swiped his quivering bottom lip with your manicured thumb.

“You wanna be my good boy?”

“I do… So bad,” Michael whined pitifully.

You loved him like this. It made your heart soar. Your thumb slipped into his mouth, “Suck. Show me how good you gone eat on this pussy, baby.”

He went to work. Licking and sucking like it was his chosen profession. You imagined that’s what he planned to do to your clit and arousal flooded your lace panties. He’d probably want to suck on those too.

You popped your thumb free and traced his lips with it, coating them in his saliva. You pat his cheek lovingly and he leaned into it adorably.

Once you commanded him to lie down, you straddled his face with ease and he gasped seeing your lace clad cunt. The area surrounding it was wet with your slick and he licked his lips.

“No hands.”

“Yes, mama,” he choked out. The horny taking over his brain. His pupils were blown wide and the Michael Jackson the world knew was no longer present.

“You smell so good,” he murmured as if intoxicated.

“And taste even better. But you knew that, ain’t that right sweet boy?” You exhaled shakily, tightening your core muscles.

You reached down and pulled your panties to the side and delicately lowered yourself onto his awaiting mouth. You gasped when he began lapping at you, tongue flat along your folds. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, making you roll your hips against his face.

He scraped his teeth over your sensitive bud. Groaning, you tossed your head back as he dragged his tongue to your entrance, dipping inside it. Your slick coated every inch of his mouth and he drank his fill.

“Ooh, Mikey, you’re doing so good, my love. Such a good boy.”

The praise sent him into a frenzy. His tongue was insistent as it drilled inside you. He shook his face into your pussy, nose flicking your clit and attempting to drown himself in your wet heat. He curved his tongue to collect your nectar like a dehydrated man.

“That’s it. I’m almost there. Keep going. I love this. I love you so much,” you moaned deliriously. This was truly the fruit of your labor after having taught him how to pleasure you when you two started dating.

With the renewed enthusiasm, he attacked your pussy like it owed him money. Your thighs shook and you knew your orgasm was near. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was thrusting into the air. The pitch of his moans told you that his was budding too, and completely untouched at that.

You bucked into his mouth one last time and came with a filthy squeal. He sucked and drank up what he could. He was a fiend for it. Your release rolled down his cheeks and chin.

“F-fuck!” He growled into your pussy as your climax triggered his own.

Your stomach trembled as you fought to not smother him completely. You turned your head just in time to catch his stiff dick erupting violently. The sight making your mouth fall open because it might’ve been the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You bit your lip watching the thick pearly liquid slide down his slowly softening shaft.

In a flash, you were eye to eye with his dick.

“Baby, you did so good. My good boy. Let mama clean you up, mmkay?”

His head lolled to the side and his eyes had glazed over.

You breathed in deeply. The raw smell of him sent your eyes fluttering shut and you cleaned him up with your tongue, savoring the taste of his cum. You licked from his balls to the pretty sensitive mushroom tip.

“No more, pretty girl. It’s too much,” he whimpered at the contact.

You grinned then gave the head one last kiss and licked your lips. You untied his wrists and wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your head on his chest.

One of his large hands gripped your ass and the other tapped your chin. You lifted your face and he attached his shiny lips to your own. You instantly deepened the kiss and moaned tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I really am sorry, baby. I swear I wasn’t trying to go overboard but my brother… he kept handing me drinks and I didn’t want to say no. I thought it would be rude.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

“It’s alright, Mikey. I forgive you,” you sighed.

He popped your meaty thigh. “You know I hate it when you ignore me like that, sassy girl. You gotta cut that out and just talk to me.”

“Maybe someday — not this day or tomorrow or the next day or any of those days after that but… someday! So that gives us something to look forward to, baby!” You tapped his chest with smile. He barked out a sharp laugh.

There was silence in the post-coital bliss. You focused on the rhythm of his heartbeat and noted that his breathing was evening out.

One thing kept replaying in your mind though and it wouldn’t allow you to fully relax. It was going to eat you up if you didn’t know.

“And which brother was it that kept handing you drinks?” Your voice sliced through the silence.

“Don’t start,” Michael groaned.

“Hey, I’m not the one who started it. One of you no good brothers started it.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“Please don’t lose your mind when I tell you. And I’m only telling you because I know you won’t drop it. Stubborn little thing you are.”

“Are you saying you married me for anything else?”

“Girl, you see all this ass you got?”

“Michael! Quit stalling!”

He groaned, rubbing his face in exasperation.

“He’s gonna get me, oh my gosh. It was… Jackie.”

“Oh, I’m putting belt to ass next time I see him!” You sat up so quickly, it made him flinch back. “He better lay low for a while, I swear.”

Michael snatched you back to his body and held you tight to him. He snickered into your skin and whispered nothing but love and affection into your ear until he fell asleep with you in his arms. Sleeping well for the first time in two days.

After four months of constant hesitation and anxious overthinking, Michael Jackson had finally decided that the night of September 1st, 1978, would be his very first time making love. It would be the night he’d lose his virginity to the girl he’d loved since he was eleven years old.

Having grown in comfortability and confidence surrounding sex unlike the sheer disdain he’d felt toward it previously, he was still certifiably terrified—so excited to take this next step with the woman he adored more than anything, but so incredibly nervous that he would do something wrong, paired with the intense guilt that what you would be doing together was also much too sinful. He'd pondered over the question of religious purity relentlessly since you'd first told him in July that he need not take the overly strict rules so seriously, but even while he had calmed down his vehement religious adherence, it still nagged at him. He really hoped that once tonight was over and done with, he'd feel differently. He prayed that he wouldn't feel any worse—that the guilt wouldn't instead increase after the fact, because really, that was more likely—and then he remembered that the God he was praying to obviously condemned the act out of wedlock in the first place. So, again he was stuck, relying only on your insistence and his own self-assurance that the act wouldn't be the disgusting thing he'd always perceived it as. He was an adult now—freshly twenty years old—and he needed his girl so badly. There was no fighting it anymore.

He even began to wonder, if God permitted sex within marriage, surely it couldn't be that sinful outside of it? He knew from you, from his brothers and from his father how rough and aggressive it could be (that particular knowledge existing as part of the reason why he'd been so disturbed and deterred from it in the first place) but he also believed in just how beautiful and gentle it could be. He knew you'd been victim to sex that was on the more aggressive side as you'd grown into adulthood, and he was ever determined to show you that the opposite could also be true in this domineering, patriarchal world. He wanted to love you, not just fuck you; to display to your body his eternal devotion, each touch a promise that he would never, ever hurt you like you'd been hurt before. He'd always known that you were destined to be with him, that even when he was beginning to give up hope because you weren't seeming to show him any romantic interest despite knowing him for so long, something inside of that boy still screamed, "she'll be mine one day."

Michael had planned tonight extensively, down to every last detail of which he was in control of—but of course the specifics within the evening would be instructed by your expertise. He'd decided that it had to happen at your place (even though he would've preferred to take you in his childhood bedroom) because if he did attempt the latter option, precisely it would be a mere attempt and nothing more. His brothers would hear, they'd tease and ruin the moment just like they did with your first shower together; and aside that, there was also the terrifying possibility of Michael's mother finding out.

You lived in a mansion too, with a family half the size of his, and the rooms were all so far apart that you didn't really need to choose a night where the house would be completely empty. But Michael still requested that you did, because for his very first time with you he needed it to be absolutely perfect. The pressure for perfection carried him through his entire life in every sector, and while such pressure helped him to acquire greatness in his creativity and in his career, Michael was mistakenly applying it to something that in fact required zero pressure in order to survive successfully. The more he focused on being the best you'd ever had, and the more he desperately needed every little thing to fit the dream he'd been having for years, the higher the likelihood that he'd be too awkward and unable to relax.

As he walked over to your house, he began to understand that to some extent; but not fully, because even while he tried to calm down through deep, controlled breaths, the underlying yearning for perfection still didn't leave. And to make matters worse, nor did the religious guilt, and the childhood trauma. Every thought—tiny or huge—was piling on top of one another, making his chest constrict so much that he felt he might have a literal heart attack on Encino Avenue. When your family mansion came into view, his head was spinning.

Walking closer, he saw you out on the porch talking to a neighbour, clad in a tight hot pink tank top—the hem riding up to show a glimpse of your stomach—with Daisy Dukes to accentuate your ass, and Converse Chuck Taylors on your feet. Michael tried to stroll normally, but really he felt as though every step he took was mechanical, as though he was dreaming and the freshly-mowed grass would soon transform into quicksand.

You knew he was supposed to turn up around seven, and the time was indeed right on seven o'clock, but you hadn't been paying attention, because you figured he probably wouldn't turn up exactly at the strike of the hour. 

Seriously? Did you even know your boyfriend at all? When it came to you, Michael would be nothing short of punctual—especially when he'd been pacing around Hayvenhurst all day before finally allowing himself to leave at 6.30. In truth, he'd been pacing around Hayvenhurst all week.

You didn't notice him walking over at first, because you were busy engaged in a conversation with one of your girlfriends about your upcoming single. It was her that spotted Michael first as he came up behind you. She'd started grinning all of a sudden.

"What is it?" you chuckled. "Have I got somethin' on my face?"

"No—your man's here, girl."

"Hi," Michael said shyly, wrapping an arm around your waist. He was wearing a half-buttoned cream linen shirt that exposed part of his chest, with light blue high waisted bell bottoms, fixed tight on his hips by a thick brown belt.

"Oh, hey baby," you beamed, turning to the side to face him, then pulling him into a quick greeting kiss. Your face nestled into his shoulder, and the girl beside you cooed in adoration.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds," she laughed, giving you a short hug. "See you tomorrow, babe!"

Then she was heading back inside her house next door, and so you turned properly now to face your sweetheart.

"Mm, been waitin' for you all day," you murmured against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed kiss after kiss onto his facial features.

"Yeah?" Michael's eyes lit up a little, as if some part of him was believing that only he was excited for tonight. You'd had sex several times before with other men, so surely this wouldn't be anything special on your end, he thought, and he imagined you'd probably forgotten all about the appointment he'd made before you'd found him standing right next to you.

And yet, he couldn't have been more wrong, where it seemed the memory of your sexual cravings regarding him had since slipped his mind. He was also yet to be aware of just how deeply your love for him ran—how despite your avoidance (of which you were slowly recovering from) you were treating tonight with just as much care and anticipation as the boy who'd never made love before.

"Mhm, let's go upstairs," you smiled, kissing his cheek and taking hold of his hand. 

"Nervous, huh?" you asked while the two of you walked up to the front door and into the foyer. 

Michael's breath caught in his throat. He'd hoped you wouldn't notice.

"Uh—a little. I guess."

You linked your arm with his and squeezed his hand tighter, leaning comfortably into his side. "You're shakin', honey. You have nothin' to be worried about—really—but would you wanna maybe watch a movie before we, uh—?" You started to giggle, feeling a little shy yourself. "Just to loosen you up a little."

"Um," Michael smiled bashfully, "yeah, that would be great."

"Okay, let's go to my room, Mickey!" you sung with his Disney nickname, reaching the staircase.

"After you, Minnie," Michael chuckled in response.

You both took off your sneakers, and then in an attempt to replace anxiety with playfulness, he sped up as you walked, now skipping up the stairs after you and chasing you into your room while you squealed. As soon as you rushed inside, he wrapped his long arms around your waist from behind and lifted you with surprising ease, then shifted you into a bridal carry as you still continued to whine happily. 

"Mike," you sighed, cheeks aching already from how much you'd been smiling. You wrapped your arms around his neck like a koala seeking refuge in its mother.

"Yes, honey?" he smiled back down at you, stroking your thigh as he walked your figure over to your huge champagne-pink king-size bed, enveloped in silk. You'd spent half of your relationship thus far here, and the other half at Michael's place. Really, your bedroom was much more appropriate—with the likelihood of outside intrusion much less—but as stated previously, Michael always thought it was more romantic and more gentlemanly to bring you to his home, rather than to rely on yours.

You were looking up into his eyes now, getting so effortlessly lost in the shining brown orbs, how the pupils dilated the more they locked onto your own, and you'd forgotten what it was you wanted to say.

"Tink," he whispered, urging you to continue your sentence with a kiss to your nose. He was doing something he did quite a lot—standing in the centre of somewhere, carrying your waiting body, entirely lost in the feeling of the holding, so much so that he didn't want to let you out of his grasp. Silly in this circumstance however, because you'd be in an even closer grasp once you got comfy under the sheets and entwined your bodies.

"I forgot what I was gonna say," you giggled. "Um... but somethin' else just came to mind, too. Y'know... the three words..."

You were always too shy to say them, still only four months into dissecting and overcoming your deep-rooted avoidance, but at the same time you often had a strong need to make clear to Michael that you felt the words, no matter how difficult they were to leave your lips.

Michael's smile grew ten times wider, and he leaned his face down to kiss your forehead, rocking you absentmindedly in his arms as though you were in your very own Disney movie, saved by the handsome prince. 

"Can I say 'em for y'?"

"What, about yourself?" you joked, reaching up to play with his afro. "Wow, Michael, I never knew you were so self-absorbed."

He chuckled, and upon staring deeper into your fluttering eyes, almost lost his train of thought again.

"Mikey, take me to bed—I don't know what we're still standin' here for," you laughed, suddenly a little shy. He was looking at you too closely, and sometimes you wished he wouldn't be so intimately attentive.

"’m admirin' y', Minnie," he whispered, but now without a smile at all—just an expression that would appear so plain if it wasn't for the heavenly intensity in his eyes, that which gave an eloquent display of his aching emotion. "My Minnie Mouse..." he whispered some more, pairing the words with soft kisses over the crevices of your face.

You had literal goosebumps now, breath hitching imperceptibly at the insane effect he had on you. Michael was just being sweet, like always, but you weren't used to such close attention from anybody, let alone from the gorgeous, soft-spoken man with the sexiest voice. He didn't seem to understand just how sexy he was, and in fact he'd never even thought of himself in that way before—which was yet another reason why he believed the events of tonight would be difficult.

"Michael..." you whispered back, almost gasping in your sheer surprise at just how passionately he was looking at you. His arms stayed holding you so protectively, tucked under your legs, and he still kept pressing his lips over your face and to your jaw, while you shut your eyes and relished in the gift of his affection, no matter how nervous it was making you. 

You'd never been this kind of nervous before. Even though Michael had treated you in this way many times over the last few months—where you became slightly more comfortable with it as the time passed—the tenderness had never before contained the subtext of sexual intercourse. Previously, sex and softness had been a separate subject in your mind, unfortunately having never dealt with a man who saw that the two could coexist, but tonight your first boyfriend would be finally combining the two. As opposed to all your other men, Michael Jackson couldn't conceive of performing sex in any other way. From foreplay to the act itself, he would be oh so gentle...

And though he hadn't said that aloud to you, it was clear nonetheless that he would be that kind of lover. The knowledge was what had made you so anxious when you stepped into that shower with him two weeks ago, and as he'd proven himself then to be so thoughtful and tender with your naked body, it had only confirmed further what you'd be experiencing on your first night together.

You were thinking about that now as he swayed you carefully in his arms, somehow his shyness dissipating whenever he could lose himself in your eyes just strongly enough for every other thought and emotion to momentarily pause. As he loved on you, your mind was thinking about later tonight; and not because you were desperate to cut to the sex, but because of that same anxiety surrounding how beautifully he'd treat you. Many girls would deem you crazy for actually worrying about a man treating your body with reverence, but you'd spent so long stuck in an intense fear of vulnerability, feeling so unworthy of a soft love, that now even while you'd made progress, the severity of tonight made you feel as though you would be losing your virginity all over again. Michael might have been the only virgin in the room, but you might as well have been, and therefore just like your boyfriend, you too would be experiencing something so very new. 

What you weren't yet aware of in that moment, as you shut your eyes tight, too scared to look into his adoring eyes as he kissed you with more innocence than anybody ever had, was that the night ahead would be the single most beautiful (though equally heart-aching) experience of your life. You could have awarded the birth of all your incredible children the top spot on that list of experiences, but really, those children would have never come to see the light of day had it not been for the man who taught you how to be loved.

"I love you, honey..." you heard him say, snapping you from your daze as your eyelids finally fluttered open. 

Your cheeks heated up in an instant. Why were those words still so difficult? It made you even more anxious to think that Michael might be feeling self-conscious at the fact that you'd only ever half-said the phrase (an instance where you'd almost said the 'you' in the middle of a makeout, but had instead craftily cut yourself off with a kiss). You hoped he never took it personally, and truly he didn't, because he could empathise with your situation. While it was so different from his own, as somebody who craved affection and reassuring words, he understood that you operated in the opposite way.

"Take me to bed, baby," you whispered, although feeling guilty for not reciprocating his declaration. 

"Mhm," Michael muttered quietly, nodding. "Got distracted." He huffed a laugh.

"I can see that," you giggled, as he began to set you down oh so carefully onto the silk sheets, treating you like a fragile object of porcelain. 

Sitting down beside you, he immediately outstretched his limbs for you to crawl in between them, settling comfortably at his chest with his arms wrapped tight around you, and with your smooth bare legs brushing against his pair. You entwined them together, sighing in content into his warm neck. 

Then the two of you were sitting in lovely silence for a few moments, before you remembered that you were supposed to be watching a movie together. 

"Y'know we need to actually pick the movie, honey,” you pointed out. “One of us needs to get up again to put it on."

Michael groaned theatrically, throwing his head back at the mere idea of separating from your warmth again. "I'll do it," he sighed.

"Okay, what about Bambi for my Bambi?" you grinned, taking his hand and kissing his wrist.

The film had always been one of your favourites, and partly because it did indeed remind you of Michael. Bambi's pretty doe eyes reflected him so much, a mirror image of your sweetheart's own pair, and that similarity had influenced one of your nicknames for him.

Michael blushed, lips pressing together in shyness, and you nudged his cheek with your knuckles.

"Baby, you know you can't be this shy when you're buried in me later," you teased, and Michael's fluster only grew even deeper.

"Minnie," he glared playfully, but there was really nothing playful about the intense tachycardia-like symptoms of his heart.

"I'm just playin', Mickey!" you laughed more, with a soft peck to his nose. "Now, do you wanna watch Bambi or not?"

"Mhm, Bambi's fine," he muttered, a smile growing on his pretty face as he reluctantly stood up from the bed that he'd only just gotten comfortable in, and walked over to set up the chosen film. 

"Darlin', where is it?" he called back. "Y' have so many here—which drawer is it in?"

"Oh, the second on the left!"

When he found the cassette, he slid it into the VCR beneath your television, and the screen flickered to life with the opening credits. Eagerly, with the spirit of a child, he rushed back to where you laid in the centre of your sheets, and as before, you were cuddled up so close; cheek-to-cheek, his arms around your waist. Michael always insisted that he be practically glued to you whenever you cuddled, so attached that you could feel his warm breath each time he murmured a soft word to you. As the film settled into the opening scene, he took hold of your hand and interlaced your fingers, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles—though unlike most, with zero absent mind. Every slight touch was deliberate, so deeply thought about, and for Michael, handholding had always been what he deemed 'magical'. He never really needed much more, for he believed that and kisses were celestial in themselves. 

With such in mind then, it would've been easy to predict just how insatiable the young man would become after simple physical touch had been elevated to the realm of bodily entwining. He'd never be the same.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒕, 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒆. 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆

But despite Michael's comfort, there was a lot on your mind that evening. Much of the sex you'd had since you'd turned sixteen three years ago had been coercive and at times literal rape—where you'd been so intoxicated and vulnerable that you believed it was all okay, because you'd kissed him back, hadn't you? You'd let him take you to his bedroom, so hadn't you consented to being treated that way? No one had taught a vulnerable girl growing up in both the music industry and the 1970s that real consent wasn't black and white. 

Your very first time had been aggressive, where the man four years older hadn't taken a care to the fact that it hurt so badly. He just kept forcing himself in harder. Afterward, you had immediately rushed over to Michael's house and cried yourself to sleep in his arms.

Indeed, Michael then went on to learn of those who came after that horrible first experience, none any gentler or more careful. But you hadn't been a virgin anymore, and you had wanted sex, so at the time you believed that you were an equal participant to the men you engaged in it with. Oh, how wrong you were—but as a young, naive girl with domineering men surrounding her career and personal life in every which way, how were you to be blamed? Objectively, you didn't hold a fraction of the blame of course, although it would sadly be years until you would finally let go of the self-deprecating shame you carried beneath your confident exterior.

And there had been something else, something Michael hadn't known about—a memory you hadn't even registered yourself until just less than two weeks ago, when the realisation had triggered you to projectile vomit in your en-suite. Because while Michael had spent the recent weeks in a both happy and nervous anticipation for your first night together, you had been spending those same days alternating between the studio, the stage, and your bedroom, uncovering the repressed event that your brain was now relaying back to you unsolicited.

It had been a memory from January of that year—almost eight months ago now—and the only reason you could remember the month was because you were beginning to recall the date of the Motown dinner you'd attended on the night. Michael had been there too, with all the Jacksons, alongside most of the record label and a few others. But from what was in the beginning such a peaceful, ordinary get-together, you failed to understand how it had produced such a horrific thing as what you'd come to remember. It was all coming back to you in fragments, and you could only surmise that you had been plied with drugged alcohol throughout the evening, to lead into a dark night of defencelessness. Your brain hadn't yet unpacked the build-up, those missing pieces of information terrifying you further, but indeed you had deliberately been made weak, then at some point taken into an obscured backroom and mercilessly raped. You hadn't the slightest idea who by, because there were so many people at that dinner who you didn't know beyond professional conversation—and you guessed that if you were ever to see the man again, the sight would trigger a horrible panic. He had likely been an executive from another company, perhaps living elsewhere. Hopefully. It terrified you that you might run into him again. In your flashback, he was a mere dark shadow.

After thinking it through some more, you'd realised it must have been the cause of that winter morning in which you'd woken up with zero memory of the night before, attributing the mindlessness to 'what must have been a really good night'. But you'd had bruises on your thighs and on your neck, and for those you fitted the reasoning that you must have had a makeout session with somebody, and that you might have banged your thighs into the edges of a chair or some object similar. Or maybe you'd had sex, but it wouldn't have been your first time indulging in drunken intercourse with no memory of it the morning after. So, with those possible conclusions in mind at the time, you hadn't given it any more thought, despite how deep down it did unnerve you whenever your memory would fail you in that way.

When the attack had first returned into your consciousness, you'd been falling asleep, and therefore had initially hoped that perhaps it was just your very vivid imagination playing tricks on you—that you'd had rough, supposedly consensual sex in the past, so while your mind slipped into slumber, wasn't it reasonable to assume it had been merely a disturbing amalgamation of images in the purgatory of the dream state, stemming from sex’s rougher elements? Perhaps the violence hadn't been real?

But in truth, the feeling had been too deeply visceral. Your body knew what had happened to it as soon as the image had entered your brain, and even after your stomach had emptied its contents, you then spent the rest of the night lying wide awake in nausea, completely drained of all melatonin, unable to process anything deeper than your sheer disgust and terror.

By the next morning, you had forced yourself to do what you did best, and that was to perform. Not on stage, not that day at least—instead enacting a performance of personality, of poise and class and grace despite the shame and repulsion that filled your tormented, shattering spirit. You forced yourself to push through, trying to put yourself in the mindset of the girl you'd been twenty-four hours before, the girl who hadn't yet remembered, and who could stay in blissful ignorance. But that girl had been hurt whether she could remember it or not, and she had been raped and coerced even prior to that night in January. The intoxicated, blacked-out night had been the most traumatising, violent form, but rape didn't look the same every time. Its brutality enfolded in various ways; and really, America's golden girl had experienced each of those even before she had turned nineteen.

Despite the memory only having come to the forefront of your mind a mere two weeks ago, so insistent in its vehemence, you were confident tonight in Michael's presence that you had successfully pushed past it, that it no longer affected you because you would move on and smile through life like you always did. That was what the industry had taught you: to keep on going no matter what might happen, because your very existence as a performer depended on the capital you made, not merely for yourself, but for the industry men who controlled you, and who could drop you without remorse if you put a foot out of line. These men were why you could do what you loved in the first place, but the financial and oftentimes sexual control was what came with it. In your youth, you hadn't realised how deeply it had repulsed your inner being, because in your immediate conscious you received each bit of attention gladly, and enjoyed your career as Michael did even in the forceful nature of it, with no idea you were being taken advantage of.

Deeper than that however, all you truly craved and desired was real love and comfort, from somebody whose intention wasn't to use you for your body and your talent. You just hadn't confronted that part of you before Michael had begun to demonstrate to you his love, and even afterward, you still struggled to believe you deserved it.

It was really no wonder you'd repressed so much of your past, because your very nervous system while growing up in the spotlight had encoded the philosophy that one should repress and quieten the things that weren't so pretty. No, tonight you hadn't simply 'gotten over it'—you were just in the phase of forced ignorance. If you could have been completely true to yourself at the time, you would've understood that your anxiety about the night ahead stemmed not only from the unfamiliarity of the sweet lovemaking Michael would give to you, but from the shame and guilt over how you had previously taken the direct antithesis: that you'd been fucked so aggressively in the past, and that you'd allowed such aggression to take place. That was your standpoint, but in truth it had never, ever been your fault.

Michael was littering kisses all over your face again—sweet, playful kisses that the beat of his innocent heart swam with. He was hardly watching the movie, ready to initiate a makeout session, but your eyes were fixed hard on the flickering scene, pupils following Bambi and his friends. Bambi was so innocent... Oh, how you craved to slip into a sweet Disney film and never come back. 

But there was one cherished element: that at least in this reality you had the closest thing to Bambi himself, and the sweetest lover one could ever wish for.

Michael knew you'd had a lot of sex, and he spent a lot of the early days trying to convince you to stop being taken advantage of, yet you never believed in what he said, so you stopped telling him the details. That way he couldn't comment. 

But what concerned you was that now, if he found out that such a disgusting thing had happened to your body, would he have still wanted to make love to you? Would he have thought you less an angel and more a whore, a site of nothing other than the most shameful, immoral act? Surely, in his religious ways, he would dismiss you in a heartbeat. He'd waited so long to lose his virginity to a girl he deemed worthy enough, and you almost felt guilty that he'd chosen you. Some days you experienced gratitude over the fact, and others you ruminated over how downright filthy you were, believing Michael deserved way better.

So, you had to make sure he never found out. If you were going to attempt to rebuild your life with this beautiful boy, to hopefully rid your avoidance entirely and live somewhat happily ever after, you were going to have to force your oppressive mind to start afresh. It could no longer keep dragging you into the past—it must belong to only the present, with no influence from who you had been, and what you'd been through. But of course, psychoanalysis had proven long ago that unfortunately one couldn't simply remove the influence of a memory on the present. You had been too young to know.

"Tink," Michael whispered against your cheek, with another kiss to it. "What y' thinkin' 'bout?"

"’m watchin' the movie, baby." You giggled to conceal how your mind had wandered into a dark place.

"Can we kiss instead?" he asked with a slight pout.

You smiled, heart melting at how Michael would always ask and never take based on mere presumption, even with something as small as a kiss. Suddenly, you felt tears well up in your eyes, before you blinked them back harshly, quicker than he could notice.

"Of course, honey," you grinned, moving to straddle his waist while the movie played on. The sweet, happy sounds of childhood sounded behind you both, and you realised right then just how painful it would feel if anyone other than you had taken Michael's virginity. It needed to be you, whether you felt 'worthy' or not.

Settled on his clothed crotch, he wrapped his arms around your waist while pulling you downward so that your lips could meet his. The makeout started off soft and slow, but it grew quickly into one of pure heat, and the denim of your Daisy Dukes slid up your ass each time you ground your hips over him with deeper fervency. 

You stayed wrapped up in each other like that for over half an hour, and as the time passed on, the pinks and oranges of sunset bleeding through the half-open Venetian blinds, you began to wonder if Michael was stalling. He somehow was barely hard beneath you, and you put that down to anxiety.

Breathlessly you pulled away, lips slightly bruised with his kiss, gloss smudged everywhere. He chuckled as he looked up at you, and you stroked his cheek.

"Mike..."

"Mhm?"

"How ‘bout that bath now, huh?"

Immediately, Michael's cheeks heated up, and his grip on your ass tightened instinctively. He looked away, then looked into your eyes again, with so much shyness you thought he might burst.

When Michael had asked you last week how you thought the first night should be structured (to which you'd laughed at his mechanistic wording), you'd suggested a bubble bath to begin, before then taking the lovemaking itself into the bedroom. This time you wouldn't be so nervous at something so intimate, because the purpose of the bath would be sexual, not purely romantic like the shower had been.

And Michael was a very big fan of that idea, immediately becoming flustered at the mere suggestion of it. He'd even happily offered to bring over the luxury oils he bought for you, but you assured him you had some of your own. You'd cracked up laughing at his offer, knowing that in his innocence he just wanted to make things as perfect as possible, but how typically boyish was he to offer to douse you in oil so excitedly, with so much eagerness? Your shy baby was planning to rub oil all over your bubble-covered curves, and your own heart started to speed up very quickly once you recalled just how perfect he had been at giving you that unexpected breast massage. God, he really had nothing to worry about if he'd gotten that right on first try. It had been the most perfect sensation a man had ever given you in the field of foreplay—or in the field of anything—and his attentiveness had contributed a great deal to achieving that title.

But then, he'd raised a question. "Honey, how am I gonna eat—uh," he cleared his throat, "y'know, how am I gonna… pleasure y'… down there, with my mouth... if the foreplay’s in the bath?"

You'd giggled and poked his cheek. "That can come after. But don't overthink it now, Mikey—on the night I'll show you everythin' that makes me feel good."

In the present day, you were very amused by his sudden fluster at the simple mention of said bath.

"Michael..." you laughed, feeling over his fro. "You chose tonight; and, may I remind you, were also very eager about this when I first suggested it."

"I know, and 'm ready, I just..." He sighed, pressing his thumb into his temple. "’m just nervous, darlin'. I didn't wanna be and y'know, I've had long enough to prepare, but..."

"Hey," you cut him off gently. "Seriously, baby, there's no pressure. I don't expect anythin' of you 'cause I know it's your first time. And you can be as anxious or as confident as you want, because no matter what, I know we're gonna have a good night."

He began to smile, eyes lighting up. There was something about the way you spoke to him that could always reassure him of anything, at least temporarily.

"You hear me? We're gonna have such a good night..." you whispered sultrily through giggles, leaning forward to say the words into his ear.

Michael shivered, smiling wider, and feeling a rush of blood to his nether region. Now he really needed to get on with things, because he had no intention of ejaculating before you'd even touched him. 

"Alright, 'm gonna go run the bath," he chuckled, kissing your shoulder. "I guess you should... y'know... undress... Uh, before we get in."

You scoffed playfully. "Yes, I think that might just be compulsory for a bath, honey."

To that he smiled awkwardly again, and you lightly smacked his cheek, so he clarified. 

"I meant... d'y' want me to undress y', or...?"

You bit your lip with a grin, trying not to laugh at how adorably innocent he was, but again it also caused a weird, sad ache inside your chest. 

"Of course I do, pretty." You took his hand and kissed it. "And I wanna undress you too. 'N then kiss you," you leaned forward into his ear again, "everywhere... real slow..."

Michael clamped his eyes shut momentarily and exhaled a shaky breath. With more teasing laughter you hopped off his lap, allowing him to stand up and make his way to your bathroom.

He spent the next ten minutes preparing the romantic bath he'd been anticipating for a week straight, and he was grateful that you had a countless array of candles available in the room, because candlelit decor was the final component needed in order to elevate the intimacy to its highest degree. The sun had set, therefore the deep fuchsia and apricot sky would soon be descending into the black of night.

Michael stood staring at the bubble bath for at least three minutes after it was ready, trying to control his breathing and getting fixated on the sight of the various bottles of body oil that decorated a shelf beside a corner of the tub. He couldn't wait to douse your entire body in the scent of your choice, to squeeze the product into your breasts while he sucked on that sensitive spot under your jaw…

"Honey!" The sound of your voice broke him out of his daze. "Y'okay in there?" You were confused as to why he hadn’t invited you in when the water was no longer running.

But then, standing at the doorway, leaning on the side of the wood, Michael appeared. He took one final deep breath and outstretched his arms, grinning. "C'mere, princess."

You laughed gleefully, skipping over to him with hearts in your eyes, and then before you could even process it, you were up in his arms again, in the same bridal carry as earlier, pressed flush within his embrace. He nudged the door open wider and stepped over the threshold with you, before setting you down.

"I don't think I needed to be carried from the bed to the tub," you pointed out with a grin, wreathing your arm into his and leaning your head on his shoulder. 

"I just like carryin' my girl," Michael smiled. 

You got to work taking off each other's clothes, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses all over the revealed skin—before the final layers were in the process of removal, and at that point Michael was looking away again, as though he hadn't already seen you naked.

"Mikey," you laughed, gripping his jaw so that he'd face you. "Stop lookin' away—and you need to get in first."

"Oh," he huffed a laugh, his entire body burning with nerves and anticipation. "Oh, right, yeah, I'll—mhm."

You couldn't stop smiling as you watched him get in and get comfortable, resting up against the back of the stone resin. His soft dick immersed itself beneath the bubbles, and your heart beat faster at how you knew it would soon poke up hard over the surface of the water, pressing against your back...

But first, before you were to sit between his legs, you needed to demonstrate what he must do. The next few minutes would be a masterclass in female pleasure, taught by a woman who had never even experienced an orgasm outside of her own doing, and who had an inkling that the man before her just might be the first to give her one.

So, you straddled his hips as you'd done before, except now completely naked, bare thighs hitting bare thighs, hands steadying themselves on a gorgeous bare chest. But you weren't in the water for longer than five seconds before Michael had hooked his arms under your legs and pulled you into him sideways, while you giggled in surprise at his confidence.

"Michael! I need to show—"

"Yeah, ma, I know, but I wanna..." His voice trailed off as he began to press the most gentle kisses from your earlobe to your collarbone, holding your body tight to him. "So pretty..." Another kiss. "’m still nervous, honey," he muttered under his breath, as if he didn't want you to hear despite choosing to say the words aloud.

You leaned back and cupped his cheek, moving to straddle him again. "I know, baby," you whispered, smooching his lips, "but you can't keep stallin'."

"Mm." Michael nodded shyly and slowly, pupils dilating further than they already were as he took in your plump breasts before him.

You laughed, cheeks heating up at how reverent his gaze, void of the typical hunger that most men consumed you with.

Gradually and sensually, you brought both hands up to what had Michael so entranced. Shutting your eyes, kneading your palms over the flesh, you began to rock ever-so-subtly back and forth on his thighs, arching your back a little, performing the image of a real-life goddess before him. Michael's jaw was slack, in disbelief at the sight, and he chewed the inside of his cheek as he tried desperately to calm the ache between his thighs. This part was supposed to be slow—he simply couldn't embarrass himself by disrupting the pace with something so boyish.

"Oh, mama... Y'like an angel..."

Without comprehending what he was even doing, he began to grip your hips, hands guiding your movements further, although your speed stayed painfully slow. You wanted to perform for him a little, before getting into the sexual lesson. After all, this was what you knew. Men loved to see you play with yourself, the object of their desires, their living and breathing sex toy—you had essentially existed as the oxymoronic liberated prostitute. Seemingly so free, but in reality deemed to have only one bodily purpose. In the water with your boyfriend, you kept forgetting that he didn't request or expect what those men always had done.

After some moments of solitary foreplay, you opened your eyes again, and started to giggle. Michael had been your best friend long before he'd become your boyfriend and best friend in one, so the fact that you were about to do it with him still made you so nervously shy like a teenager.

"What?" Michael furrowed his brows.

You smacked his cheek lightly, heart racing faster but trying not to let it show. "You look so cute."

He only squinted, looking irritated by your choice of wording. "Cute?"

You rolled your eyes. "Michael Jackson, it's just semantics. I could go on."

"Could y'?" Michael asked anxiously, still squinting. "I don't wanna feel all childish here with y'... if y' sayin' 'm just cute."

"What?" For the second time you gave an eye roll, with a confused laugh. "C'mere."

Cupping his jaw now, you leaned a little downward so that your forehead met his, before giving him the most passionate French kiss you could muster. And then you began to whisper phrases all over his soft skin while he shut his eyes, immediately regretting what he'd asked of you, because he could never behave like a normal person whenever you started praising him.

"So, you're very cute," you began, smirking as your lips brushed his and then endeavoured to brush his every feature, "equal parts sexy... equal parts handsome... and oh so gorgeous..."

Michael was blushing profusely, biting his lip hard. "Minnie, tha's okay, I get the point..."

You chuckled, pulling away and taking his hands in yours. "Michael, you really can't expect to love on me so vocally without letting me do the same to you. And you did just ask me to expand on the list of adjectives."

"Whatever," he sighed, though a small smile betrayed him. "Um, so what do y—?"

You took a deep breath, beaming as you did, and slid your hand below the bubbles, a sight at which Michael almost cursed at. Your sex was invisible to him where the height of the water lay, so you shuffled forward, now hoisted in a straddle over his abdomen, and the moment your glistening pussy came into view—decorated with two manicured nails spreading open the labia—your boyfriend felt like he was going to faint.

"Oh my G—" He shut his eyes tight again, for the millionth time already, and you laughed again softly.

"Aht—can’t say the Lord's name in vain, honey, don't be a hypocrite," you joked, but immediately switched the subject when the boy with the crucifying religious guilt looked up at you with immense anxiety.

"Okay, so—" you moved on, but cut yourself off again because he still looked ridiculously flustered. "Wait, Mikey, seriously—chill."

"I can't, honey, I feel lightheaded."

"Well, maybe you made the bath too hot. I think it's fine, personally, but—"

"No," he exhaled. "It's you, I can't... I can't look at y' without my whole body burnin' up. It's bad enough when y' fully dressed, but now..."

Your own cheeks began to heat, and the air seemed to be full with only the sounds of deep breath after deep breath from each of you.

"You were fine in the shower with me, though?"

"I was forcin' myself to seem fine," he blushed, "but anyway, this is a whole other thing, 'cause y' naked on top of me now. And I can see everythin'..."

"Well, yes, that's kinda the whole point," you chuckled, and that brought a little smile to the cheeks that you then squeezed on impulse.

"Alright, take a deep breath," you advised, performing a slow inhale and an even slower exhale with him, in the comedic tone of a yoga teacher.

But once you'd breathed out together, you both burst into a fit of giggles, with you falling forward onto his chest, splashing the surrounding bubbles into his face.

"Hey!" Michael exclaimed through laughter, already feeling a degree calmer as he splashed you back. This fight went on for about three minutes, hits of jasmine-scented foam flying back and forth, until alas you were both still and catching your breath again, skin decorated in the effervescence.

Now, you finally initiated the evening properly. "Okay, you ready?"

"Mhm," he nodded, but he was mostly still going insane inside.

"Alright, Mr Jackson," you said playfully, "this is your lesson in female pleasure 101."

"’m lookin' forward to it," he smirked boyishly, but his face then assumed the appearance of somebody who just remembered the inner state of their emotions. "As long as I don't... faint first."

You rolled your eyes lightheartedly, then held his chin. "Okay, eyes—down here." You gestured to your soft, already-weeping pussy again, fingers smoothing over the small strip of hair over your pubic mound. "Not at the ceiling, not at the faucets—down here. Yes?"

Michael nodded eagerly, lip between his teeth again as he fixed his gaze where you'd asked him to. Your fingers now slowly ran up and down your folds, stopping momentarily at your entrance to drag slick from there and up your slit.

"So beautiful..." he whispered without even realising, and somehow looking at the thing that made him most nervous actually helped rid the nerves entirely. That was because all he could think about when he stared at your leaking sex was just how desperately he wanted to touch and devour it.

You giggled at his admission of your beauty, now running your fingers up and over your pussy a little more insistently now, but intentionally ignoring your clit—because that was the most important part.

"Alright, so," you started, "I'm not gonna lie, no man has ever brought me to an orgasm before."

Michael flinched at how easily you said such allegedly 'vulgar' words, but then remembered he had to be neutral and normal about all this. More than anything, he was stunned that you'd had so much sex and never achieved release. What had been the point?

"Wait, you've never—?"

"No, I have, but only alone. Um, just when I touch myself."

"Like... like you're doin' now?" His mind was running wild with the image of you nestled privately in your sheets, back arched, fingers dipping in and out of your sex as you writhed...

"Just like 'm doin' now, baby," you grinned, still smearing your slick all over your outer lips. "But 'm not doin' it exactly how I do it alone. And this is the first thing I wanna say. Most men—well, every man I've ever been with—"

Again, he flinched at the mention of the 'other men,' even though he already knew of their existence.

"—has stupidly believed that just mindlessly running his fingers up and down here, is what brings a woman to the euphoric sensation of climax. No, it's more complex than that, because there's one component that changes everything."

"When you… put y' fingers inside?" Michael asked shyly. "And there's somethin' called the... j-spot, or? I can't remember—Jackie was tellin' us all about it..."

You chuckled, the misuse of the term tickling you greatly. "First of all, that's the g-spot, baby," you corrected, free hand playing with his slightly wet afro.

"Oh."

"And that's not what I'm referring to yet. I'm talkin' about just outer fingerin' for now, honey. So, look closely..."

That particular instruction wasn't necessary, for Michael hadn't taken his eyes off the pretty flesh in two whole minutes.

You spread your labia even wider now, and his breath quickened, fingers inching closer along your inner thigh.

"So, you see this right here?" Your thumb brushed lightly over your clit, the focus of the current tutorial, and your breath hitched with his. Michael hadn't even been properly touched yet, beside your legs over his, but every nerve in his body felt alight. He could really feel his member begin to grow now, and he knew that in its size it would soon be pressing up against your lower back. The thought alone made him equal parts anxious and excitable. He hoped you'd be pleased with the sight of his erection.

"This little nub..." you continued. "Feel it..."

His head shot up. "Y' want me to...?"

"I do, honey. Go on. Just take two fingers—your index and your middle... And place 'em just over here... over my clit..."

"Oh, y'know, Jackie mentioned that too—"

"Michael," you laughed, finding it incredulous that he was bringing up the expertise of his brother during such intimacy.

You took his wrist, and slowly brought it down to where you needed him most. Even slower were the moments he took to finally settle the two fingers over your pearl, and he almost choked on nothing when, with hardly more than a slight rub, you let out a soft moan, steadying yourself on his weight. God, this was going to be a real good night...

"Right there?" he whispered, to which you nodded. "And what do I—? How do I make y' feel amazin', mama, tell me..."

"Okay," you breathed out shakily in anticipation, "you're gonna wanna keep pressin' down, but not too hard—ah, Mike, slower—" He had been quietly experimenting, and had provided a beautiful mode of pleasure that was just a little too harsh and overstimulating to begin with. "Just with a light pressure... so pressin' firm but not hard..."

"Like this?" He decreased the strength of the two fingers, moving them up and down, still unsure of what to do.

"Mhm... Alright, so, what I was also gonna say is—mm—"

"Tink, I thought y' said this part didn't really make y' feel nothin'? When the fingers just go up 'n down..."

"Nngh—no, that's what I'm 'bout to say... I think it matters whose fingers—oh—they are, 'cause when I do it it feels real good, but with men it never—"

Now Michael had confidently swept up some of the sticky substance that sat lower, and was rubbing it up and down your folds, while he waited to be told the specifics of your clit.

"Oh, Mike—how are you doin’ th—?"

"Is this right?" he asked, those pretty doe eyes meeting yours for a moment while he continued to smear your slick everywhere. "Y' really makin' a mess down here, mama..."

You smirked, but now you were rocking over his thighs, the water swimming around you and making light splashing noises. "That's what's gonna help me to take you later."

Michael's brows furrowed, and then he understood. "Oh, like a lubricant? Shit!" He shook his head in frustration, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, um, shouldn't have cursed—Uh, no, I forgot to bring the lube..."

He was continuing to play with you as he spoke, and you marvelled at how quickly he was getting the hang of things despite having never touched a woman's genitalia before a few minutes ago.

"’s okay, honey," you said through another shaky breath. "I'll be o—okay."

In all honesty, you weren't sure if you would be after the glimpses of his soft dick you'd seen in the shower two weeks ago, and it was at the exact moment the thought appeared into your mind that you suddenly felt the hard weight of something up against your ass.

You gasped—louder than just as a result of his fingers—but you still hadn't shown him what magic he needed to direct to your clit. So, you tried to ignore the very insistent thing behind you. It was evident on Michael's face that he was struggling to contain himself already, but all you could think about was how, if he was this good with no idea what he was doing (and touching mostly your inner labia) imagine how incredible he'd be in just a few moments, once he'd been instructed of the workings of a woman's clitoris?

It was a known fact that Michael Jackson could learn dance moves in an instant when the move was presented before him—no additional practice necessary—so it logically followed that the same might apply with bedroom activity.

"So, um, with the—mm—with the clit... Go back up to it, baby, and stay still—just pause a minute while I tell you how I like it..."

Michael paused, ever so attentive, and even just the feeling of his unmoving fingers on your nub made you want to start rocking on him again.

"So over here, I need you to rub slow circles. You could go up 'n down—it wouldn't be wrong—but it feels best when you take the pads of your fingers 'n rub round 'n round in small circles... Watch me first."

You gently removed his hand and replaced it with your own, dragging up more gooey slick and playing with yourself the way you'd described. Your head was thrown back slightly, back arching subtly and hips moving over his abdomen that you were leaking translucence all over—all while you rubbed and rubbed at your aching clit, wrist flicking with each movement.

Michael watched on in awe, taking in each of your whines and moans, so excited now to be the reason they elicited from your eager throat.

"So sexy, mama..." His voice went a little deeper now, and at the praise your clit throbbed further. Reluctantly you paused, reminding yourself that you had to in order for your man to continue the pleasure and show you his yet to be uncovered talent.

"Okay, your turn, handsome," you smiled, whole body entirely alight now, and you really had never felt so embarrassingly horny.

You kissed his nose to initiate movement, and the two of you truly unlocked heaven right there.

Michael had his lip bitten tight between his teeth as he stared down at your pretty pearl, so determined to get this right. No man had ever made you cum this way. How dare they be so careless?

With the slowest, most direct precision, he began to rub the tight bundle of nerves just as you'd demonstrated, brows always furrowed in his ensuring that he was doing it correctly. The way your body responded told him everything—your hips stuttered, lower body grinding over his abs, hands immediately steadying themselves on his chest as whines spilled from your mouth.

"Oh, Mikey—"

"Yeah, is this okay, beautiful?" he whispered in that gorgeous voice of his, and your brain almost short-circuited.

"Yes, yes—oh, so good... Keep talkin' to me, baby, talk me through it, c'mon..."

"Y'—y'want me to say stuff?" he stammered, fingers still rubbing so effortlessly perfect, and as you rocked harder you nodded eagerly.

"Like, talk dirty?" he said almost under his breath, in disbelief of the situation he'd found himself in, even though it should have happened a long time ago.

"Mhm, try it, honey..."

"Uh, okay..." He squinted, trying to think, but you shook your head.

"No, let it come naturally. 'm sure there's some stuff you wanna say to me, baby... Tell me what you think about when you play with yourself."

"How do y' know I—?"

"Michael," you giggled through another moan. "Was I supposed to believe you were sat politely with your legs crossed while you looked at those Playboy bunnies?"

"Um, well I did sit like that sometimes..."

"Sometimes." You sighed in amusement, but again he had your eyes rolling back with more firm, circling pressure.

"Uh, most of the time, when... when 'm playin' with my—y'know—uh, it's not when 'm lookin' at the magazines... It's usually when 'm thinkin' of you."

You almost drew blood from your bottom lip at that comment. Grinding down harder instinctively, you squeezed his bicep to tell him to keep going. The entire time, he managed to both talk and keep up his movements perfectly.

"I look at pictures of y'... ones I keep in the box underneath my bed... and there's this, um, this particular one... Y' wearin' a bikini... sittin' on my lap by the pool at—at home..."

"Mhm, and how does the picture make you feel, baby?"

"Uh," he gulped, never taking his eyes off your gleaming sex. "Real good..."

"Tell me how you play with yourself..."

"Minnie."

"Hm?" You didn't bat an eyelid, losing yourself in the pleasure.

"It's too dirty."

"No, it's not, Mikey," you chuckled, fingernails digging into his arms now to make crescent moon shapes. "I showed you how I touch myself, 'n now I wanna know what you do when you're all alone..."

"Okay..." Michael breathed, eyes flicking now between your pussy and the beautifully erotic expressions on your face. He wondered if this was all a dream—but the reality was that you'd been his for months now.

"Um. So, I squeeze, um, my..."

"Your dick," you happily finished the sentence for him, eager at the mention of what you could still feel pressing harshly against you.

He flinched, but continued. "Yeah..."

Then you leaned over to whisper in his ear, still grinding your hips. "Your big dick, yeah, baby?"

Michael was nearly rendered speechless. "Oh—uh, I guess it's..."

"Well, I haven't seen it hard yet, but d'you know I've been feelin' it against me for the last five minutes?"

"Wh—? Oh, yeah, 'm sorry, darlin'... Y' jus' too beautiful..."

"Hey, don't apologise, pretty baby," you whispered against his cheek, moving slower and sensual now. His fingers had paused their movements, and you frowned, so he continued.

"Mikey, keep talkin', sweetheart, we're gettin' somewhere..."

"Mm," he hummed, gripping your ass with one hand to guide you, trying desperately to be more confident. "So, 'm pumpin' myself up an' down, lookin' at the pictures... Pictures of my beautiful girl—I don't need no Playboy models..."

Suddenly your heart ached a little. This was the way Michael would talk dirty—and really, 'dirty' wasn't the correct word to describe it. Each word turned you on just as much as it made you want to cry with profound emotion.

"And what do you wanna do to me when you're tuggin' on your dick, honey?"

"Well..." he began, unsure how much of his imagination to reveal. "First I think about—oh, this is so bad, Minnie—"

"No, go on, tell me..."

"Um, I think about y' mouth..." he murmured. You were feeling giddy now, for he was finally getting more comfortable, and there was nothing sexier and more adrenaline-inducing than your shy, sexually inexperienced boyfriend telling you about the filthy images he'd conducted in his mind.

"Ugh, it's real dirty, darlin', but when my hand goes... up 'n down... 'specially when I put my thumb right over the top of my, um, my dick... I pretend it's your tongue... Lickin' and suckin' me..."

"Yeah?" you beamed, moaning deliberately louder in his ear.

"Mhm," he uttered quickly, "but—that's nasty, mama. A lady shouldn't... her mouth shouldn't be, um," his voice lowered to a tiny whisper, "down there."

"No? Shouldn't she?" you teased sultrily, cupping his jaw again and rubbing over his smooth complexion.

"Definitely not, darlin'," he insisted, eyes still darting from your face to your pussy while his fingers continued to work their magic.

"I think many women wouldn't agree, baby... Sure, we like receivin', but that doesn't mean we don't like givin' too..."

He audibly groaned. "Oh, Tink—don't say stuff like that..."

You chuckled with a tone of sheer tease. Michael's voice was shaky now, and you felt he could be close to orgasm, so you removed his hand and repositioned yourself. At first he was a little confused, but when you gestured him to widen his legs a little more (to the width of the tub), he understood.

But your mouth shot open in surprise, eyes widening with it, when you saw the sheer size of what laid between your man’s legs. He was quite literally enormous. Now fully hard, standing up proudly above the surface of the water, you saw the beginnings of the thick veins running up and down the girthy, dark brown skin, and couldn't help but instantly notice white precum leaking from the mauve tip. Most of his length was obscured by the bubbly sea of water, but the fact that it poked up so high had you stunned.

"Oh my... Baby, are you for real?"

"What?" he asked anxiously, shuffling in his seat as you sat kneeled before him, staring at his major asset.

"This has gotta be like nine fuckin' inches, what?"

"Tink, don't curse," he said firmly, rolling his eyes.

"And it's so..." You gulped in your shock. "So thick..."

Michael suddenly looked panicked, and tried to cover himself with an amalgamation of bubbles, but he wasn't so successful, because they kept swimming away. He felt as though he was an animal in a zoo, on display for all to see and comment on—but you hadn't intended to make him feel like that.

"Honey, I've been real scared that this was gonna be a problem... I don't know how big most guys are, 'n... well, there was no way I could ask my brothers..." He grimaced at the mention of them.

You chuckled. "Yeah, let's not talk about them right now. And don't worry..." You placed a hand on his warm thigh, craving desperately to hold what rested right beside it, but pacing yourself for now. "’m gonna be fine, Michael. You're not gonna hurt me. I just... well, I was taken aback, that's all."

Michael still didn't look too pleased. "I want tonight to be perfect."

"I know you do, baby." Now you positioned yourself between his legs, back against his bubble-clad chest. Comfortably settled, much of your torso submerged itself into the water, and you sighed in content, shutting your eyes happily. "It is going to be perfect."

Michael wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the side of your neck, before talking lowly into your ear. "But what if I really hurt y', baby? You've obviously never taken anyone as big as me before..."

You started to giggle, despite Michael's genuine anxiety, because the way he worded that line was very amusing. "Oh, look who has an ego 'n we've not even started!"

"Angel, 'm serious," he pressed on, holding your waist tighter, and you clenched your thighs together at the feeling of his hands.

You turned your head a little to press kisses into his neck. "And I'm serious when I say that everything's gonna be fine. The only thing that might ruin it is your anxiety, honey." You picked up his hand and smooched his palm several times, but you smelled your cum on his fingers and blushed to yourself.

"Okay, I'll shut up now," Michael chuckled shyly. "I hope you're right."

You smacked his bicep playfully, cuddling deeper into his chest and stretching your legs out. "Positive attitude, please. You seem to have one with everything else."

"True," he whispered, shaking his head of the worry.

You shuddered even in the scalding heat as you felt his thick member pressing up and twitching against your skin, and to that your voice dropped an octave, resuming the moment.

"Make me feel good, baby... I want you to make me cum..."

"I'll do whatever y' body needs, mama..."

Michael's whole body ached with desire, and as before, his anxiety didn't take too long to dissipate. Fondling your waist, your hips, and then your thighs, one hand crept to where it had previously been, and below the bubbles he resumed the earlier pace, rubbing in sweet circles.

"Mmph—oh, baby..." Instinctively, your hand reached back to his jaw, then up further to his afro, playing with the wet coils at the ends. "Keep rubbin' just like that..."

It was at this moment that Michael decided he would set aside all hesitation and display his entire devotion, unrestricted.

"Yeah, y'like that, pretty mama?" he whispered into your ear, warm breath and his beautiful tone coursing through your veins.

You were stunned that such confident words could be born of your Michael, and he only kept on going.

"Yeah, tell me, baby, I wanna know..." His fingers slid down your folds again, before dragging back upward, and then—to your pleasant surprise—he used his palm to direct three sudden smacks to your clit. Gentle of course, but he'd wanted to experiment with the movement because he expected that it would arouse you to jerk and shake in his arms. And that you did.

"Oh! Mikey—you're doin' perfect, baby, you're so—mmphhh—"

"Thank you, honey," he whispered, tilting your chin up so that your head could turn slightly and your lips could meet his. Immediately, he engaged you both in a hot makeout, as steamy as the bath itself. Your tongues wrestled, lips smacking into each other's over and over, throats swallowing moan after moan; and just as the kiss began, Michael slipped the first of his slender digits into your entrance.

"Mm, honey—" you whined against his lips, but he silenced you with more lewd kisses, the pleasure of which met with the thrust of his middle finger against your inner walls. He kept slightly hitting your g-spot (where it wasn't difficult given how long those gorgeous fingers were) but then on the next thrust he'd inch a little distant from it, and repeat; so after a minute or two you gently broke from the kiss.

"Baby," you gasped for breath. "Lemme show you somethin'."

"Hm?" His doe eyes widened in intrigue, but also in the worry that he was doing something wrong.

He removed his finger from your sopping entrance, and you smiled, before taking hold of his wrist and bringing the digit up to your lips. You sucked down the length of it, drinking it clean, and Michael's mouth dropped open.

"Minnie, tha's nasty..." were the words that came from his lips, but his cock—leaking still against your back—twitched at the sight.

You giggled in your mischief, and then, bringing his hand back down under the water, went on to teach him another lesson in female pleasure. "Okay, so you reached my spot perfectly," you began.

Michael grinned, very pleased that he'd gotten something right on first try, without even needing your instruction.

"But—"

He started to frown.

"—There's a specific way of doin' it. People often describe the movement of the fingers as a sort of 'come hither' motion. See?" You demonstrated what you meant with your fingers, and instantly he nodded.

"You have to do it that way so that when you thrust in, it's hittin' my spot each time, not just half the time," you explained. "Yeah?"

"Mhm, I get it."

"Okay, try again, honey. But I can't keep kissin' ya 'cause my neck is gonna break in this position," you laughed, sadly having to refuse any continuation of the makeout session.

Michael frowned again, but understood, and he was much too pleased already with your soft body in his hold, feeling your tight walls clench around him as you sighed; and he could still kiss your neck even if he didn't have access to your lips...

To your surprise, he now slipped in two fingers at once, stretching you out perfectly. You were incredibly wet, so it was no trouble, and as soon as you felt the sweet intrusion, sure enough the digits were up at your g-spot, curling exactly as you'd taught.

"Like this, ma?" Michael whispered, pressing wet kisses along your neck and up to your jaw.

"Yes, Mikey—just like that, oh baby, hittin' my spot so good..."

Michael was beyond ecstatic. "Yeah?!"

"Yes, honey, it's perfect, oh—"

"You're so pretty, angel girl..." he murmured against your skin. "Love hearin' y' moan for me. Don't hold nothin' back, oh baby, I wanna hear ya..."

Your moans naturally did increase in volume, loud whines hitting the air while you writhed in the tub, lower back rubbing against Michael's hard cock each time you moved, only adding to the white-hot pleasure coursing up your spine.

Now you began to tug at your breasts, kneading them the way you liked—the way Michael had so miraculously been able to knead on first try. You rolled your nipple between your fingers, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your boyfriend never let up the pace and careful direction of his fingers. He was speeding up now, knuckle deep, and the squelching noises were mixed with the continuous ripple of water sounding with each movement. You were feeling a sensation that before tonight only you had been able to give yourself.

"Pretty baby, let me," Michael urged, removing one of your hands off of one of your breasts and replacing it with his own. You sounded like a pornstar now, unable to speak coherently as Michael somehow managed to talk, thrust his digits, and massage your breast at once. It seemed he really was perfect at absolutely everything.

"Mm, they're so full, mama... Love feelin' em... Is this good too, huh?" He kissed your temple so gently, so contradictory to the supposed 'dirtiness' of the scene by Michael's estimation, and your heart felt that strange ache again.

"So good, baby... so, so good... oh, I'm close, Michael—"

"Yeah, y'are?" His voice lit up with hope and happiness, eyes widening as he anticipated an event he never comprehended would be his reality.

"Mhm—rub my—oh, mmphh—now rub my clit with your thumb while you keep thrustin', honey..."

Michael internally cursed himself for not thinking of that without your advice, and then, insanely he was doing four things at once. The previous list, now including clitoral stimulation too.

"Oh, baby!" you whined.

Michael strangely felt just as emotional as he felt aroused. He'd waited so long to hear these sounds spill from your lips, and he had been every bit satisfied. The fact that so many disgusting men before him had experienced the very same made his blood boil with both jealousy and a bitter sadness.

But in truth, they hadn't experienced the 'very same.' As you'd told Michael, no man had ever made you cum, therefore no man had ever heard your real, unfiltered, natural moans, nor felt the way your body now shook and trembled in Michael's grasp as you approached climax.

And another necessary thing to mention, was that you were also secretly experiencing that same fusion of arousal and emotion, close to literal tears even—and not just from the sexual pleasure.

No, you were close to tears because of the man providing you that pleasure. Michael loved you so much—you could tell, and of course you hadn't needed tonight to understand the extent of his love, but what struck you forcefully was how entirely different each touch and each whisper was to all the other men. You didn't even like that the comparison was appearing in your mind, because you wished that in this timeline it had only ever been Michael—only ever your sweet angel boy, who loved you more than anything, and would do anything to keep you safe...

"Baby girl, hold my hand," he murmured so softly.

Still squirming and moaning, you took his free hand, and even though the force of his fingers was relentless now, speeding faster and faster, he interlaced your digits with the most gentle nature.

"That's it, honey, cum for me..."

He was testing the waters with each phrase that left his lips, and because it was all coming so naturally in his adoration and aching arousal, he was doing perfectly.

"Oh, Mikey, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, I gotchu..." he whispered, pressing feather-light kisses over your neck.

"Ugh, baby! Ohhh—"

Finally, you squeezed your boyfriend's hand tight as the coil in your lower abdomen broke, the pleasure building to its peak, before crashing down while you trembled against his chest. You shuddered and shook with the force of it, and certainly it was the very best release you’d ever had.

Except, something strange had happened instead. Rather than experiencing a normal orgasm as you usually did, you saw before you spurts of thin, translucent liquid—similar to... pee?—shoot up from beneath the water. Too fucked out to speak, your head lolled back onto Michael's shoulder in exhaustion, trying to catch your breath against the strength of your orgasm, but you were beyond confused at what had just happened.

Michael, not understanding a thing about the female body before tonight, had no idea that anything was unusual. He thought he'd just made a woman cum as many men did; but much more than that, he'd actually produced something of a woman that only a very small percentage of those men ever could.

"Wow, mama, that was amazin'..." he gasped in shock, taking his fingers out of you and discreetly wiping them on the bottom of the tub. Never before had he seen such a beautiful sight as his sweet girl getting an even sweeter release.

"You were amazin', Mikey," you said through erratic breaths, playing with his fingers. "But I don't know what just happened..."

"What do y' mean, Tink?" he asked in confusion, kissing each one of your fingers absentmindedly. He blinked hard at how painful his cock was now, shuffling again to relieve the ache, but only orgasm would do it. And it didn't help that you kept unintentionally moving around against him—he really thought he might cum in a moment.

"The... the liquid—that's not... normal..." you tried to explain.

"Huh?"

"No, that's..."

And then suddenly you understood. "Oh my God. This is what Whitney was tellin' me about a couple months ago... I just squirted?!"

Michael was even more confused, but in all honesty he couldn't think about much outside of his twitching, leaking dick that was really about to embarrass itself if he wasn't careful. "Uh, Minnie... I—"

"No, Michael, listen." You turned your head to look up at him. "I just squirted. Most men don't even know how to make a woman cum, let alone squirt."

Now, he was intrigued. Still shuffling and biting his lip out of frustration, his eyes had widened. "For real?!"

"For real," you beamed, kissing his cheek. You were still consciously aware of the weight of his member behind you, and you did wonder how he was holding on so long. You'd have preferred to linger on the incredible moment for longer with him, but it took one close look at his expression to see that he was struggling.

"Michael, y' holdin' on really well for a first timer..." you giggled, writhing your hips back on him deliberately now.

"Yeah, well, it's not easy, girl... Please—um..."

"Please, what, baby?" You batted your lashes.

"Uh... I can't—No, I shouldn't ask..."

"Oh, but your girl thinks you should."

"No, Tink, I don't think it's worth it anyw—I'm gon—ohhhh—"

Your eyes shot wide open in complete and utter astonishment as Michael's face contorted into the most gorgeous expression of sheer pleasure. His eyes were clamped shut, face scrunched together, harsh while soft moans eliciting from his throat... And in equal timing, you felt several hot spurts of liquid hit your lower back.

Michael had climaxed unwarranted; prematurely but in truth he should've been proud for getting through the evening so far without succumbing to orgasm earlier—although of course he was incredibly embarrassed about it. His cheeks were burning now, eyes so anxious. How could he have been so dirty? He was only supposed to cum in a condom, or in his hand or on his own stomach to wipe it off immediately after. Never on a beautiful lady's skin. He felt he had tainted you.

"Oh, mama, oh no, 'm so sorry—lemme, uh—lemme get the soap," he stuttered, reaching forward to pick up the bar. "Oh no..."

But you only giggled—mouth still open in shock of course, but you were only both amused and aroused. You shifted slightly to cuddle into his chest, then looked up at him.

"Mikey. Calm down."

"Huh? Um, honey, y'need to move so I can wash, um... wash it off." He was feeling lightheaded again, so overcome with embarrassment and shame that he almost didn't want to continue.

"Shut up, silly," you scolded playfully, with a light smack to one pectoral muscle. "Are you gonna actually ask me how I feel about what just happened? Rather than make assumptions and give yourself a panic attack?"

"No, darlin', that was so dirty," he squinted, scrunching up his eyes in disgust, as if willing the memory to exit existence. "Just lean forward so I can wash y'. 'm so sorry..."

"Michael."

"What?!"

"Let me speak," you said firmly.

His voice quietened, but his whole body was still tense. "Okay."

Now you grinned wide, peppering light kisses all over his neck and collarbone. "I liked it," you murmured against the skin.

"Huh?" Michael's brows furrowed instantly, in complete confusion.

"It was sexy, honey," you murmured again, licking over an erogenous zone before biting down with suction to create a hickey.

Michael got a little lost in the feeling, leading him to moan softly, and you smiled over the soon-to-be-bruise. You were so good with your mouth that it had distracted him from your words, even though that wasn't your intention.

But then he came back to earth, and his head shot back in surprise. All of a sudden you actually grew a little self-conscious yourself, concerned that Michael, in his reserved nature and religious guilt, might have a problem with what you’d found sexy.

Truthfully, that was to an extent how your boyfriend was feeling. You couldn't blame him or yourself, for he was incredibly new to all this, and the fantasies he'd naturally been dreaming of always carried immense shame if they crossed into the territory of anything he deemed 'too dirty'. So, while you were by no means kinky, to Michael most sexual things appeared that way. If the specific act didn't involve a reverent display of love to your body, he wasn't interested. You decided that at this early stage in your relationship it was pretty futile to convince him that not everything needed to be delicate, because you felt that he'd understand in time, the more comfortable he became with sex.

"Michael," you whispered, looking up into his eyes and playing with his wet frizz. "It's okay if... you're not into stuff like that. Y'know, doing that on my—"

Michael cleared his throat awkwardly. "Can we jus' move on, baby? I don't know how it can be sexy that I came on y', um... uncontrollably."

Oh, he had no idea.

You bit your lip. "But don't you wanna know why I found it sexy? I think it would make sense to you if I explained."

He raised a brow, but allowed you to continue.

"I feel that way..." a kiss to his lips, "because you coming apart so unrestrained for me, shows me exactly how I make you feel. And I love that a lot. You might think it's embarrassing, but honey, I'm just surprised you lasted this long, seriously."

A small smile etched itself across Michael's lips.

"You get it a little more now?"

"Mhm," he muttered, and there was a pretty twinkle in his eye. "A little."

You giggled and brought him into a deep kiss; then when it ended, you had to remind him of something.

"Mikey..." you pouted. "Aren't ya gonna use any of my oils on me?"

Michael's mouth widened, surprised that he'd somehow forgotten. It had slipped his mind during your enticing tutorial of female pleasure.

"Oh—uh, the oil..."

"Mhm," you nodded. "I like my body to be nice 'n moisturised, baby," you sighed, bringing your hands up to your breasts again, where your nipples were still erect. You rubbed your palm over one of them, moaning as you began to rock yourself back on your sweetheart again.

As intended, you quickly began to feel his milked cock re-stiffen against you, and the feeling made you grind down harder, kneading your breasts with an ever-increasing ferocity. Michael wrapped his arms around your waist slowly, so enthralled by you that he almost forgot your request, and what he so badly wanted to do too.

"Pick up the vanilla and almond oil for me, handsome..." you whined, still kneading your soapy breasts, head thrown back against him.

Michael nodded eagerly, reaching forward to select the correct bottle. He screwed off the lid faster than he'd done anything all evening, and you chuckled through another whine at his enthusiasm.

Before you could register it all he was squeezing the liquid out into his palm, and then both of his hands were slick with the oil. You took a deep, excited breath as you rested further back into his chest, and a moment later you felt both hands steadily, leisurely make their way down from a short massage of your shoulders, to the plump shape of your breasts.

As soon as he made contact with them, you both shuddered with a shaky exhale. Night had fallen now, and the candles lit you both up in a golden shine, highlighting the erotic look on your face and the attentive, mesmerised look on Michael's. His mouth was half-open, studying your every response to each touch, and he realised he was actually fairly confident at this part, because he'd received such a positive response last time.

"Oh, that feels so good, baby..." you gasped softly, reaching down to rub your clit, because Michael could no longer do it for you with two hands full.

"Yeah, mama?" he whispered directly into your ear, and that warm cadence shot a hit of pleasure right to your throbbing bud.

Taking his eyes off your breasts for a moment finally—while still massaging with perfection—he noticed your hand moving beneath an expanse of bubbles, and audibly moaned at the realisation that you were rubbing yourself.

"Oh, Minnie—does it turn you on when I touch y' like this?"

"Mhm," you murmured, eyes clamping shut in disbelief at how magical his hands were. "Love how you touch me, oh Michael..."

This moment was the perfect example of something that simply couldn't be done at the Hayvenhurst household. Had you been moaning your boyfriend's name like that in his own ensuite, there would have been close-by mock-echoes of the sounds by at least two other Jacksons. You were both so grateful now that you were completely alone together, cut off from the outside world in what rare chance you got; and really it was as though nothing else existed but your passion in that bathtub, under the twinkling moonlight.

Every minute or so he gathered more oil, relishing in the scent and the sight; spreading it up and down your arms, your neck, your stomach down to your navel, back up to your breasts, and then...

"I wanna rub y' clit too, ma," he whispered. "Let me..."

Already growing again in confidence, he swiftly removed your hand by a hold on your wrist, and replaced it with his own that had run down from your breast and your torso to your swollen pussy.

"Oh, Mike—"

With the precision of an expert, Michael began to massage circles over your bundle of nerves, while kissing your neck and murmuring sweet nothings that vibrated against your skin, and still he somehow managed to keep running his oiled hand over your upper body.

"Honey, y' so pretty for me... Wanna make you feel so, so good inside..."

"You're already makin' me feel perfect, Mikey, mmphh, keep rubbin' it just like that..."

"Yeah, jus' like that? Want y' to cum for me again, baby, y' looked so beautiful the first time... So wonderful, I wanna get y' there over 'n over..."

Now, you shuffled a little so that you could reach behind and return the favour. You'd been in this bath together for so long already and somehow your hand hadn't even brushed his cock yet. You'd been saving that for the bedroom, but your brain had just reminded you of how fucking gorgeous and well-endowed he was down there...

Squeezing his shaft and running your thumb over the head, your hand had dipped beneath the water so discreetly that it rendered the action a complete shock to Michael.

"Ah—Tink!" he whined, stopping his movements and almost taking his hands off of you in surprise. His thighs and his dick twitched in tandem, and you giggled, tapping the hand of his that had paused over your aching clit to get him to continue.

"What, baby?" you asked with faux-innocence, stroking up and down his fully hard member, gladly feeling over every thick vein and ridge. "Couldn't wait til the bedroom to play with your pretty dick, 'm sorry..."

"Nngh—tha's so good, baby... Just how I—oh—no, better than I ever imagined... Mm..."

"Yeah, baby boy?" you teased, pumping slowly, and your own body twitched in pleasure when Michael slipped his middle finger inside you again, curling it up to meet your sweet spot instantly.

"Oh, honey—" you moaned loudly, free hand holding his thin wrist tight.

"Girl, I love how warm y' are in here..." he whispered, sliding in his ring finger now too. Every single time the digits thrust in they'd hit your spot with ease, and you were writhing and gasping like a whore against his body, hand faltering over his slick cock.

"Honey, I just wanna... mm—wanna feel this sweet pussy all night... Forever, baby, I need to feel y' like this forever..." Michael was already committing eternal loyalty to your sex and he hadn't even felt what it was like to be inside of you yet.

"Oh, Mike, we need to get out of this tub, baby..."

"Why?" Michael frowned against your shoulder, squeezing more oil onto your chest, before going in again with an eager hand; gripping, grabbing, squeezing, kneading your sensitive tissue, all while his two astonishingly long fingers curled up inside your tight walls, over and over again.

"’Cause—oh, mmphhh, Michael..."

Every time you moaned his name like that he felt he had ascended to heaven. How was he this lucky? So much else in his life was troubling, but to be able to have the most beautiful lady on planet Earth wrapped up in his hold, squirming and whining for his touch... He had been awarded such a blessing.

"Wait, honey, I wanna..." He cleared his throat, slowing the pace of his fingers before pulling them out. "I wanna taste y'," he whispered against your cheek, where he pressed a kiss.

"Yes, that's what I was gettin' at," you laughed, ceasing your movements over his dick. "I was tryna say we need to get out of the tub 'cause I won't let us have sex before I've had your head between my thighs."

Michael's cheeks heated up for the millionth time that night, and his entire body was consumed with a giddy excitement. "Okay," he grinned.

You turned your head, giggling into his neck, and then in an instant you were up in his arms for the third time, swept up off the stone resin, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck while he held you protectively.

"Mikey!" you squealed, the water splashing around at your sudden exit. His dick poked up hard against your ass, and God, you needed him so badly…

"C'mon, mama," he laughed warmly, leaning down ridiculously to blow out the candles, then kissing your nose as he stepped out over the edge of the tub, taking you with him. He quickly brushed his feet against the plush rug, then began to skip in the direction of the door, without a thought other than how much he desperately wanted to taste his girl for the first time, and then make sweet, sweet love to her and let the night chase all his fears away...

But he was made to stop before he could reach the doorknob.

"Boy, are you crazy?! We need to dry off first! 'm not gonna let you drip water all over my bedroom!"

Michael sighed, chuckling to himself. "Oh, right, yeah, I got a lil carried away. Let's..."

And so he carried you back over to beside the tub, where fresh cotton towels were lined up. He set you down gently, before taking a body-length towel and running it over you, drying each droplet of bathwater and every glisten of oil.

Your heart raced as you watched him. Of course you were already so horny, but this was a different feeling—a stronger version of what had been underlying everything else all evening. He was so tender with the way he rubbed the towel over your skin, so slow and careful even though he had no reason to be, and even despite how his nine-inch dick was pressing up proud against his navel.

You stroked his afro when he leaned down to dry your legs, and then after he'd dried himself, you kissed him so softly.

"Baby, 'm so excited," you whispered, holding his jaw. Michael tentatively held your ass, and then decided to hold it firmer in the remembrance that you were his girl and you wanted his firm touch.

A huge smile spread on his face at your expression of excitement; and really, the two of you were as enthusiastic as two children exploring a candy store.

"Let's go, Minnie Mouse," he whispered, outstretching his arms so that you'd jump up into them. You grinned, letting him hoist you up so that your arms and legs were wrapped tight around him—that insistent weight between his thighs still so prominent against you—and then he was off, skipping again to the door and out of it into the dark room ahead, while you squealed and you each giggled.

He let you fall gently onto the silk sheets, and immediately you found yourself wrestled in a tickle fight, Michael's hands lightheartedly exploring your torso, so effortlessly able to switch from sensual to playful from one moment to the next.

"Baby, stop it!" You laughed until your chest and your cheeks hurt, after having rolled over each other's bodies to win the silly fight. Neither of you won in the end, because you both stopped in the interest of desire.

"Tink, wait," he said breathlessly through more laughter, lying beside you now, trying to return his breathing to normal.

You both laid in silence for a couple of minutes, content smiles on both your faces in the excitement. Momentarily, it hit you again how intimate this was about to be, after the oral sex (which in fact would likely be just as intimate given the way Michael had been with everything else so far), and so of course that same underlying worry and strange discomfort regarding the unfamiliarity hit you again.

But you brushed it off. You physically shook yourself of the thought, then turned to your beau and slowly interlaced your fingers with his.

Michael smiled softly, heart beating faster when he felt your fingers initiate handholding with his much larger ones. It confused you how he could take things so slowly despite his erection, how he could be so erect but willingly spend time tickling you and then choosing to lay side-by-side in an embrace of only hands. Every other man had always jumped on you as soon as they got the chance, with no room for romantic pause.

"Tonight's been so beautiful already, honey," he whispered into the dark.

"It has," you nodded with a smile, playing with his pinkie.

Some more silence, and you watched as Michael looked to the ceiling, with the most adorable smile plastered on his face. Your heart melted, even though you were still left confused about why everything had suddenly paused, past the necessary point of catching your breath.

From Michael's perspective, yes, his dick was currently throbbing like crazy, but his love for you was so passionately deep that he really had no urgency to speed past the quiet romance of it all.

"I can't believe you want me like this, Minnie," he spoke again, but despite the sad statement, he continued to smile in both gratitude and happy disbelief.

You frowned however, and squeezed his hand. "Why wouldn't I, baby?"

"Well, 'cause there's so many others y' could have chosen to be with. I'm so inexperienced 'n shy, 'n... uh, 'm not the best lookin', either."

"Oh, shh. Don’t talk that way around me, I’ve told you so many times," you scowled playfully, leaning on your elbow to face him. You pinched his cheek, before speaking sultrily again.

"Don't you want your dick sucked, honey baby?"

Michael's breath caught in his throat, and his head snapped in your direction. "What does that have to do with what I just said?"

"It has to do with the fact that you've been hard for like ten minutes, 'n you obviously need a release." You began to stroke his thigh, inching closer and closer to his throbbing member.

His eyes widened, and he stuttered in his response. "Um. Honey, I don't... I don't think y' should do that."

"Why not, Michael?" you pouted, climbing on top of his body to plant kisses onto his torso and grind your leaking pussy over his leaking dick.

"Oh—" Michael whined. "Um, well, 'cause like I told y' before, baby, it's way too dirty. A lady's mouth shouldn't be down there. It would be real bad... I mean, 'm already committin' sin by makin' love to y' in the first place, but that—"

You cut him off with a finger to his lips. "Shh. What if the lady would like to have her boyfriend's dick in her mouth?"

Immediately, Michael squinted at the filthy wording. "Oh, mama, y' can't be sayin' stuff like that, really..."

"Well, honey..." you began, as you leaned down and started to lick and kiss down the expanse of his body, from his chest to his happy trail, to the mound of dark pubic hair. He lay pliant beneath you, lip between his teeth, eyes shut tight.

"...It's either I give you a blowjob..." Another shy squint from the boy below. "Or you deal with accidentally climaxing too early again, on my expensive silk sheets while you eat me out."

You sat back up on his thighs again, smirking happily. "So, what's it gonna be?"

There was a pause, some hesitation, and then you got your answer.

"Um... You can..." Michael gestured down to his cock, taking it in his hand for a moment, and you didn't have to be told twice.

"I thought so," you grinned. Instantly you were on your knees before him, hand squeezing his shaft, rubbing the leaking tip against your cheek.

Michael was in utter shock. "Oh my—"

Even in the darkness, there was a very clear stain of his precum on your face, and he barely had time to register that before your mouth was on him, applying perfect suction over his tip.

"Oh, mama, nngh—!" His hand flew to your hair, gripping your head tighter than he meant to, hips bucking upward.

"Yeah, baby, that feels good, huh?" you murmured as you licked along the veins from base to head. "Such a pretty dick, Mikey... Been hidin' it from me for so long..."

The prettiest noises were spilling from his throat endlessly, filling the quiet air beside the filthy schlick-schlick sound with each pump of your hand, or suck of your tongue. And you knew that moaning around his length would increase the pleasure, so you did that too, exaggerating each to create the perfect vibration. Michael had never felt such ethereal pleasure. He wondered if he was still existing here on earth.

Licking one long stripe upward before kitten-licking the mauve tip and sucking his sweet 'n salty cum, you counted an estimate of his measurements.

"’m thinkin' it really is nine inches, honey. Eight at least... but 'm really thinkin' nine..."

Michael could hardly speak in the immense euphoria—not that he would know what to say to a comment like that even if he was able to. All he knew was that you seemed to be very pleased with what you were passionately fondling.

"Oh, Mikey, my pretty, pretty boy..." You enveloped as much of his dripping length in your mouth as you could, until you felt the thick head at your throat and gagged far from quietly. Your eyes brimmed with tears.

Michael's hips bucked up harder in both shock and arousal. "Baby girl, be careful down there." He reached a hand down to stroke your cheek, wanting to influence you to pull off of him, but you wouldn't, still attempting to draw him in further, therefore still producing those choking noises so insane to Michael's ears.

And so he pressed on. "Mama, stop chokin'—y' can just lick 'n suck the tip, 'm okay. I don't need y' to go all the way down it."

You finally came back up for breath, saliva dripping in a lewd mixture with his gleaming precum, scattered all over every inch.

"’s okay, baby, 'm fine," you murmured, tongue tracing the upper half of him while you twisted your wrist to pump what you couldn't reach. "I love doin' this, it's okay..."

A pang of horrible jealousy hit Michael's chest as he remembered all the other men you'd done it with. They were probably the ones who'd taught you how to deepthroat, who'd encouraged you to go further and further until you could barely breathe. Sure, the sensation felt great, but Michael would never want you to go that far just for his pleasure.

And what he surmised about your past experiences hadn't been too far from the truth. You had been pushed too far before, been made to feel like you should do anything and everything to pleasure a man, so over time your body had accepted the act as something normal, even though nothing was normal about being involved in aggressive sex with men who treated you like shit. You felt completely safe with Michael, so a breath-restricting blowjob didn't feel the slightest bit dangerous like you had to admit it had felt with other men, but even if you were enjoying it, the point persisted that the reason you'd even become used to such ferocity in the first place had been due to coercion. Michael wanted you to unlearn the harsh parts—to perform passion with him but in a romantic interpretation, rather than the roughness you always equated it with.

So, when you pushed your head down again to take as much as possible, Michael tapped your cheek and gently pulled you off. You swallowed quickly, and furrowed your brows in frustration. "Michael?!"

The boy was chewing the inside of his cheek. He sat up against the headboard now, cock still painfully hard and twitching, but he was thinking mostly about something else.

"Angel, I don't want you to do that."

You sighed.

"Um, I don't... I don't know what those other guys had you doin' but, you're my girl now 'n I just want y' to do it gently, okay? I don't get off on seein' y' strugglin'."

Biting your lip, you leaned down to rest your head on his thigh, and started stroking slow circles. "I didn't... I don't think they meant it that way. Uh, I never considered that, actually."

"You didn't?" Michael whispered.

"No, I... um," you shook your head, "y'know, it doesn't matter anyway, because I'm here with you now and I just wanted to make you feel good. It wasn't any sort of power imbalance thing. Um, not with you, at least."

He took a deep breath, cradling your cheek in his hand. "Pretty girl, it's real sexy to watch y' take me, but I'd feel much better if y' didn't push y'self. Please? 'm gonna feel y' warmth when we make love—I don't need y' to suck every inch too, just to make me feel good."

Suddenly, you were beginning to understand something very crucial, and it influenced a question that you'd never before asked yourself. How much of sexual activity did you truly want to do? You'd been so accustomed to the rougher, more meaningless kind of sex since the age of sixteen, that you hadn't considered if perhaps you'd actually been conditioned to only enjoy it that way. Tonight's sensual bath had been a big indicator of that, because you never expected to enjoy something so romantic and slow, but indeed you had enjoyed it very much, and very easily—instinctively even, as if it was all you ever truly needed.

But that was too much to unpack right now, so you simply nodded, and kissed his inner thigh. "Okay. No, I understand."

"Y' do?" He furrowed his brows hopefully. "I don't wanna spoil y' fun or nothin', but I really just like to be gentle with y'."

That pressing anxiety of the unfamiliar had returned again, but you masked it with a smile, jumping up on your knees to kiss his soft lips. "I know. Thank you, baby."

The next couple of minutes were spent with Michael in total ecstasy, laid down against the silk again with his head thrown back against the pillows, squirming, groaning, gasping... And as you loved on his pretty cock, relishing in how effortlessly you could draw out those beautiful sounds, for the first time in your life you weirdly saw the romance in oral sex. Strangely enough—but it made sense, because you'd never before given a blowjob to a man who you loved. It had always been in return for something else, or because you felt like you had to, and since you didn't mind the act you'd performed it without thought. But with Michael, nothing could be thoughtless. Care and reverence was woven into his veins.

"Oh, honey, 'm gonna—mmmhhh, 'm close—" he suddenly groaned, thrusting a little, but without intention.

"Yeah, handsome?" you moaned over his slit, before continuing your expert suction. His hand had never ceased to thumb your cheek, in awe at how beautiful you looked doing something so inconceivably dirty. He'd heard his brothers talk about blowjobs before, and he'd vowed to himself that he'd never allow his girl to be on her knees that way. Of course, there had been many purity vows broken tonight.

"Aw, baby girl, pull—mmph—pull off of me, honey, I don't wanna dirty y' pretty face..."

You only giggled as you continued to suck and pump him, ignoring his protests.

"Mama, 'm serious," he gasped quickly, hips bucking ferociously, hand moving to the back of your head to try to pull you off—but Michael could never be anything other than gentle, so his attempt failed.

"Nuh-uh, honey, 'm good right here," you muttered into his flesh, and then, as one final trick you'd been saving for his climax, you dragged your eager tongue down to his heavy balls, still playing with his shaft as you did.

As soon as that warm lick registered in his system, Michael let out the most unrestrained, ecstatic half-moan half-groan, somehow both high and low in tone at once. "Oh, mama, 'm really 'bout to—oh, baby, mm, keep doin' that, but I need y' to get y' mouth off of m—"

You only smiled, sucking his balls into your mouth one by one, never letting up the pace of your hand over his slick length. "Cum for me, Mikey... All down my throat, c'mon..."

"No, baby, I can't—oh, y' can't let me..." he whined, writhing senselessly, one hand tightening in your hair and the other gripping the sheets.

"Your body wants it, my love," you whispered, and then, with two more pumps, your mouth back over his ever-twitching member, he was there, gasping louder and stuttering further, body shaking with the effects of orgasm. Several hot jets of salty-sweet cum shot down your throat, and you swallowed greedily, still stroking the flesh but slower now as you brought him through it.

"Oh, that's it, honey... So beautiful..." you cooed to him, speaking the way he loved to speak to you. After kissing over his thighs, you licked your lips and wiped your cheek to rid the excess of his release.

Michael was motionless against the sheets following his very intense climax, and you shuffled up the bed to meet his body with yours. Lying on your side, propped up by your elbow, you turned his face to yours with a finger on his chin. His expression was dazed, hairline decorated with a sheen of sweat, mouth half-open in amazement.

You giggled, kissing his nose. "How was that?"

He shook his head slowly, in disbelief. "Incredible, baby... More wonderful than I could've ever imagined. I can't believe y' let me do somethin' so nasty with y'..."

"Mm, well..." you chuckled, bringing his hand up to your mouth, resting the knuckles against your lips as you played with his fingers. "Are you excited for the next part?"

Michael bit his lip again, soft doe eyes brightening. "Mhm."

You beamed, probably looking forward to this part more than anything, and so you rested up against the headboard, getting comfortable. Now, as Michael stood up from the bed and repositioned himself between your thighs, your entire body was on display right in front of him, stretched across the silk like a modern take on a Renaissance painting. He couldn't believe his eyes, almost cursing at the sight.

"Wow, honey. Y' really such a goddess, I swear..." he praised in awe, settling himself on his forearms and then wrapping them around your thighs. "These thighs... ugh, baby..."

He was unashamedly yearning for you, leaning his head on the soft vanilla-scented skin of one inner thigh, gazing at the glistening organ that lay between it. Your heart was fluttering in your chest, and the more he stared into your intimacy the more flustered you became. You shook your head, trying to appear normal, because you were supposed to be doing the teaching; but then it suddenly occurred to you that perhaps Michael wouldn't need any more teaching. He knew where the clit was, he knew how to reach the g-spot... He had a perfect tongue that was extremely skilled where makeouts were concerned, and a perfect nose that would feel amazing if he...

"This is the part I've been real nervous about," he murmured, still taking in the sight of your swollen folds, running his fingers up and down them for the second time that night.

You chuckled, with a light smack to his head. "Michael, you've been nervous about every part."

"True," he admitted, smiling as he pulled your thighs further apart, looking up into your eyes now to ask for permission. "Sweetheart, can I?"

"Yes, you can, baby," you laughed, reaching down to play with his fro. "Please do, actually. I'm achin'..."

"Yeah?"

You nodded.

"Tell me if 'm doin' everythin' right, please..."

You were noticing that Michael's voice, while always soft, became quite a bit deeper during intimacy, and that made you feel even more insane over him.

Having been given the green light, he dove right in, with first a gentle kiss to your clit—at which you shuddered—and then he licked one long stripe from there to your entrance, before dragging his tongue back up and enclosing your pearl in his lips. He figured that it was best to follow the structure of using his lips and tongue in the same way he did during makeouts, with the added component of paying particular attention to your clitoris, since that part of your anatomy was what you'd emphasised earlier.

"Taste so good, baby…" he groaned into you. "Heaven on earth…"

Even though he'd asked you to let him know if he was doing everything correctly, you'd completely forgotten about that request, so lost in the pleasure from that very first kiss to your clit. He was perfect, and you'd been right; there had been no need for specific instruction. If the foreplay hadn't been going on for so long already, your only extra advice would've been that he should kiss over your thighs before beginning, but you figured he’d do that himself the next time you were intimate, given how much he loved your curves.

As soon as he began he had you moaning and squirming exactly how he'd craved, and he took that as a positive sign, thinking himself silly for how nervous he'd been about it before.

But of course, Michael still requested verbal praise, confirmation that he was up to standard.

"Am I doin' it right, mama?" he asked, licking another stripe up to your clit, before sucking again. You arched your back instinctively, gripping his fro, grinding your sex over his face. The pleasure was everywhere, and his big hands always kept their place on your thighs, as though he were a seasoned expert.

"Don't doubt yourself, baby," you whined, hand tightening in his hair. "You're doin'—oh—amazin'... I can't believe—mmphhh—this is your first time—God, I told you..."

Michael tapped your leg in a scolding manner. "Y'shouldn't use the Lord’s name in vain, honey."

"Shut up, hypocrite," you giggled, smacking the back of his head.

Michael didn't appreciate that, but it made him laugh into your pussy, and the vibration had you whining louder.

"Baby, I like it when you talk to me while you do it..." you whispered.

"Mm?" he hummed, spreading your labia wide with his fingers before diving back in.

"Yes, please talk to me, Mikey..."

It didn't take long for him to decide what to say. So overcome by the incredible cosmos of your beautiful body, so in love with every tiny element, he didn't think he'd experienced a better indulgence in his entire life. He lapped at you like a man starved, slurping up the incessant juices that swam from your entrance to your inner thighs.

"Thank you—thank you so much, baby, for treatin' me w' this..." he whispered between sucking your clit, lips carrying a string of saliva and slick each time he pulled back. "’m gonna cherish y' body this way forever... mmph..." He licked another stripe up the expanse of your sensitivity. "My baby girl, y' so, so unbelievably beautiful... 'm sorry we waited so long. I need to pray when 'm home 'cause this is all so bad but I can't get enough... I can't wait for us to make love..."

Your tense nervous system was in complete disbelief at how a man could say such words, and about you of all people. Michael had made it so clear over the months just how much he treasured you, and why he did, but it still seemed so unreal, especially now that he was between your thighs, speaking each word thoughtfully into your weeping cunt. For some reason, you wanted to cry, and it wouldn't be the last time you'd feel that way tonight.

"Um, can we now, honey?" Michael asked, but you'd forgotten what he was referring to.

"Can we what, baby? Ohh, right there! Mmmm..."

Now he had plunged his middle and ring finger inside your entrance, gently but with a desperate pressure, and he was thrusting them in and out as he lavished attention on your clit. Using what you'd loved earlier, he was experimenting through educated guesses.

"Um, I mean can we make love now?" he asked shyly, still curling his fingers while you writhed. His pretty doe eyes looked up into yours, but you could barely look at him without wanting to cry and orgasm at once.

"Minnie, it's 'cause 'm really 'bout to cum again, 'm sorry. I wanna keep eatin' y'—I wanna get y' to cum again like this—I mean, I could do it for hours 'n hours, I promise, but um... 'm just really achin' down here 'n I don't wanna dirty y' sheets by accident."

"Yeah, you need to be inside me now?" you smiled through the insane pleasure, taking his hand and trying to take deep breaths.

"Mhm," he hummed, a little absentmindedly, pulling out his soaked fingers. "Should I get the—? Uh, well, are y'... um, wet enough first?"

"Michael." You raised your brows in amusement, speaking flatly. "My cum is dripping down your face, and you’re asking me if I’m wet enough?"

He brought a hand to his cheek quickly, and felt his whole body heat up in a flush as he realised how your wetness had very much completely adorned the lower half of his face. "Oh—um. Oh yeah." He started to chuckle in his awkwardness, wiping the glistening liquid with the back of his hand. "Yeah, but I was just... makin' sure, y'know. 'm real nervous about," he visibly cringed, "ugh, y'know what I mean. I don't want y' to tear down there, 'cause I've heard that can happen when girls aren't prepared enough."

You smiled, heart aching evermore. "No, trust me, baby. This..." You ran your fingers down your slit and dipped them into your sopping cunt, before drawing them out to display how they dripped with endless slick. "...is as wet as a girl can be. You have me soaked; 'n I'm not gonna lie, the only thing that could make me dry up is if you continue to take forever to touch me. My body couldn't be more prepared, I promise."

Physically, you were correct. But mentally, emotionally, you couldn't have been any less prepared, and deep down you knew that.

Michael laughed softly. "Um, okay, so I'll... 'm gonna go get a condom, it's in my jeans..."

"Oh, that's not necessary, Mike. I'm on the pill."

"You are?" His brows furrowed at this new information.

"Mhm—I've been on it for a while, so, we don't need any other protection," you smiled.

"O—okay," Michael stuttered, even more excited now, that revelation being the last thing he expected tonight. He took two deep breaths before standing up from the bed, but then proceeded to walk off into the bathroom, much to your confusion.

"Michael—?"

Thirty seconds later, he returned. In his hands were the candles from the romantic bath, and you felt a strange pang in your heart again.

"I wanted to make it special," he smiled awkwardly. "I know it's not your first time, and it's not even about it being mine... It's just that I like to make things special for you."

"For my beautiful girl..." he hummed to himself under his breath as he began organising the candles around your furniture.

Now, a tear did slip from your eye while you watched him prepare everything, his soft face portraying how important this all was to him. You brushed the salty liquid away before it had a chance to be recognised, and soon enough your honey was back between your legs.

Except, he did notice one thing, and that was the visible change in your eyes.

"Why d'y' look so sad, Tink?" he asked anxiously, guiding you to lay back while he positioned himself over you.

"’m not sad, silly," you played it off. "My eyes are a little watery 'n I probably look a little dazed 'cause of what you've just done to me... You’ve been amazing."

You squeezed his arm comfortingly, bringing him into a soft kiss. The room was candlelit now, illuminating the two nervous bodies on the king-size bed, playing their part in a scene that would be the most intimate either of them had ever experienced.

"Okay," Michael giggled, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Um, what position do y' want? I was thinkin' just... missionary, like this. But I wanna make sure you're as comfortable as possible."

"Um, yeah, either this or cowgirl is best," you answered, playing with his fingers. His other hand came up to hold your jaw, and your eyes flickered down to it nervously, before you forced your expression to retain neutrality. "You're real big—you know that," a small laugh, "but I think we'll be okay like this."

"You think?" Michael asked anxiously. "You don't know? You sounded certain earlier."

"Mikey," you sighed with a lighthearted eyeroll. "How can I know for certain when you've never been inside me before? We'll just have to try it 'n see."

But somehow, he only looked even more anxious. "Minnie, don't mess w' me—I thought you were wet enough."

"I am, Michael!" you giggled, flicking his forehead. "I'm just bein' realistic, 'cause you asked me, so..."

Michael bit his lip and, following a silence, spoke quietly, in a tone more gentle than ever.

"Baby, 'm gonna be so careful, I promise."

More emotional silence, and you felt your heart split into two, despite the moment being nothing but beautiful. All you could do was think back to the other men, how they always treated you the exact opposite. Suddenly it occurred to you that it wasn’t only Michael who was learning the inherent beauty and innocence of sex, outside of its commonly rougher and vulgar connotations. You too had never understood until now that sex didn’t have to be a filthy dopamine hit to feel ashamed of immediately after. It was likely that you wouldn’t have discovered that understanding with anybody else.

Your voice almost cracked audibly with the intensity of your emotion, and he hadn't even started making love to you yet.

"I know you will," you whispered, looking into his sweet, sweet eyes.

He began to smile, and you did too, trying so hard not to let any more tears fall. It was a seriously difficult endeavour.

“Okay, ’m gonna… uh, I want us to be skin-to-skin, is that alright?” He kissed your collarbone, running his thumb over the side of your neck.

“I’d love that, Bambi,” you smiled softly, bringing your arms up around his neck. 

Michael grinned wide, then returned his concentrated demeanour as he carefully dropped his body downward so that he was pressed flush against you; chests held against each other, foreheads touching. His hand immediately took its place at the back of your head, where it would remain for the duration of the session.

“Like this?” he whispered, kissing your nose and your lips. “I want us to be as close as possible.”

“Mhm, me too,” you whispered back.

“Uh, okay, so I guess I should…” he uttered bashfully.

You nodded, taking two more shaky breaths. Michael didn’t notice your nervousness, because he was way too nervous himself. He couldn’t believe he’d finally reached this point, and with you, his dream girl.

He leaned back just a little, enough to stroke himself a few times, before sliding the weight of himself up and down your soaked folds. You gasped, holding his bicep, and slowly, eyes on you the entire time, he finally inserted the tip.

“Oh my—nnghh—” you moaned at both pain and pleasure, his thick girth beginning to stretch you out. 

Michael’s brows were knitted in pure anxiety, unable to relish in the pleasure just yet, but already knowing that your tight heat would be the best thing he’d ever feel. 

“Does it hurt, baby?” he asked, rubbing your lower abdomen with his thumb to soothe you.

No man had ever asked that thoughtful question before, and you gulped at hearing it now.

“Um, just a little. Keep goin’. It’s just—she’s takin’ a little longer to get used to a size so foreign,” you chuckled softly, to break the ice.

But Michael was still concerned. As he pushed himself further and further inside, he watched your face intently, and your fingernails were digging into his bicep now. You gasped and groaned, wrapping your legs around his hips. 

“Mm, Mikey, you’re so big—mm, ugh—“

“Is it feelin’ any better?”

“Yes, oh God yes it is, push in a little deeper…”

Michael gave you a quick look of disapproval at the blasphemy, and then finally, he bottomed out in one go. You nearly screeched at how good he felt, and he let out the most animalistic groan you’d heard from him thus far. Your eyes rolled back and so did his, and then before you knew it his chest was flush against yours again, forehead to forehead as before, so close you could feel his breath with every exhale…

“Hi,” he whispered shyly, taking your hand in his, while his other stayed holding your head protectively. This was how he’d always envisioned it. 

“Hi, pretty face,” you giggled, hooking your legs tighter around him, your free hand moving to play with the coils of his afro.

“Feel like ‘m in heaven, mama,” he whispered, and in response you initiated a passionate kiss, tongues exploring each other’s mouths while you both hummed into the warm and wet expanse softly.

“Me too, baby… You feel amazin’ inside me…”

“You feel the best,” he argued.

“Nooo, you.”

“Shh…” he sighed with a teasing smile, resuming your kiss. He remained resting still inside you for the next two minutes, despite how much he ached to move, because he wanted to ensure you were definitely comfortable enough.

So, in those two minutes you kissed and gazed at each other in silence, a silence so vulnerable you felt slightly lightheaded, heart pounding. And then your faces were brightening at each other, beaming; Michael began to kiss all over your face while you sighed in content, his lips sucking marks from your jaw to your neck.

“Oh, Mike…”

“You want me to start movin’ now, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nodded quickly. “Mm, please.” You pushed your heels down where your ankles met at his back, urging him to begin his thrusts, but first, he interlocked your fingers carefully. After pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles and then your lips, he nudged his hips forward, and hit your sweet spot in one clean stroke.

“Mmm,” you whined high and soft, squeezing his hand hard. 

“You feelin’ good, honey?” Michael whispered against your lips, before capturing them in his and thrusting deep again.

“Uh-huh, yes baby, feels so good…”

At your confirmation, and upon seeing how your eyes rolled into the back of your head with each movement, he set a slow and steady pace, rocking his hips into you in the most passionate dance. Admittedly, since you knew how talented Michael was with his hips onstage, you’d expected him to be just as naturally skilled in the bedroom too, and my God were you pleasantly satisfied.

“Oh, this is amazin’, mama, y’ so tight around me…” 

Everything was so, so beautiful. You were both cuddled up, snuggled into each other’s warmth, as close as two people can be, and despite the coziness, each thrust nearly knocked the wind out of you. The sounds you produced were celestial to Michael’s ears, and the way you tugged at him and kept trying to pull him closer (whether by his hand or his hair) had his heart aching with happiness.

Meanwhile, your own heart was aching with both happiness and sadness, still for those same reasons previously discussed. He kept asking how you felt, if you were comfortable, overall portraying to you exactly how much he wholly adored you with every fibre of his being…

“Pretty baby, I love you so much,” he moaned against your lips, aside another deep, tender stroke, and as your eyes rolled back again, you kissed him hard, trying desperately to push away the tears that still threatened to emerge. You absolutely couldn’t let him see you cry during sex. He’d either think you were in pain, or think you were plain crazy.

But as you kissed deeply, tongues swirling over each other’s, hums vibrating into each other’s mouths, you were so immersed in each other that you didn’t realise what was happening on Michael’s end. You didn’t want to pull away from his lips because you wanted him to stop triggering your tears with his sweet nothings—way too difficult to deal with when paired with the most sensual thrusts—but all of a sudden, you felt something wet on your cheek, where your face was just below his.

Immediately, your eyes shot open in confusion, and sure enough, the wet droplet was a tear—not from one of your eyes, but from Michael’s. He was crying as he moaned, as he displayed his bone-deep infatuation and devotion to you with each heavy stroke, cradling your head in his hand, decorating your lips with his hot kiss. This moment all seemed so surreal for him—that he was truly, in this present moment, sinfully losing his virginity to the girl he’d wanted for so, so long, but in the most innocent, most serene way. Religion might have previously permitted him against the decision, but the universe itself was surely compelling you both, encouraging this cathartic meeting of your bodies. Somehow Michael had overcome fears that he never expected to, and as a reward he got to love and dote on every inch of the girl that had always needed a soft love so badly. She hadn’t known before, but it was all so very clear now.

“Mama, ‘m sorry, I’m—‘m an idiot…” he chuckled self-consciously, wiping at his eyes while his pace never faltered.

You gasped and whined, biting your lip very hard to keep your own emotions in check. Then you reached up to cradle his jaw, and whispered softly.

“Honey… Don’t—oh—don’t apologise… I know. I understand.”

“I just love you so much, my angel girl…” 

“I know, baby, I know…” you moaned, eyes brimming with more of the annoying liquid that you continued to force back, hoping that your watery eyes would appear nothing more than a product of pleasure.

And still, you couldn’t say those three words back to him. It was all too much intimacy at once. You loved it, while equally you feared it. How could that be?

“My beautiful lady, I just wanna protect you forever…” Michael continued, rocking into you with the softest fervour as he did, chest so warm and comforting against your bouncing breasts. “Wanna keep you so safe… Always wanna hold you… just like this, forever… Or not even in a sexual way, I just… mmph—Oh, baby girl, you deserve everythin’ wonderful…”

“Michael—” you gasped, unable to take such attentive words.

“Yeah, honey?” he exhaled into your ear, kissing your cheek.

“No, I—I’m just—ohhh—I can’t believe you see me that way…”

“Oh Minnie, I think you’re the single most precious thing on this earth…” he groaned, eyes clamping shut in pleasure and emotion as he began to speed up, while still prioritising careful sensuality.

“Baby,” you cried out, “I’m really nothin’ specia—“

“Shhh…” He kissed away your speech, hitting your spot faster now, and nearly reaching your cervix. The sound of the headboard banging against the wall with the other lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, and you were very grateful Michael had demanded you choose a night where not a soul would be around. 

“You mean so much to me,” he continued. “Nobody gets me like you do… and I don’t think anyone ever will… ‘m so lucky…”

You were lost for words, and all you could do was emanate pornographic noises that Michael only interpreted as angelic.

A few moments passed, but finally you decided you must say something. You needed to. If not now, then you’d feel so guilty for allowing the exhibition of love to be so one-sided, Michael as the only giver.

And what was more, you had surprisingly started to actually want to say something. Despite your avoidant nature, in this very moment you absolutely had to let your baby know how much he meant to you. He was reconstructing the arrangement of your nervous system in real time, with every push of his sex and every word from his lips.

“No, you don’t understand, Michael,” you moaned out, voice breaking. His hips were snapping ferociously now. “I’m the lucky one… Me falling in love with you isn’t—mmph—isn’t as insane as you think it is… Because—oh—“ He was gazing deeply into your eyes now, smoothing his thumb over your lip. “Because I—nngh—I swear to you, you’re the most beautiful boy I could ever dream of. You’ve shown me the softness I’ve never known…”

“Oh honey…”

“You brought light into my life. I need you way more than you need me, and I—mmhh—resent that it’s almost always only you tellin’ me of your love. Oh, Michael—” you cried out, digging your nails into his palm, your other hand scratching at his shoulder. 

“Sweetheart…” His face was contorted in pleasure, another tear falling, and he let it drip onto your cheek again.

“I love you, baby,” you gasped. “I love you, I love you… There, I said it—‘m sayin’ it…”

Michael almost choked on his own saliva, pupils so dilated as he took in the sight before him. You were completely undone, almost crying over him, hair and makeup a mess, lips and neck bitten, and finally, you had said the words.

“Tink, I—oh, I love you, my baby girl…”

“Mikey,” you giggled, a tear finally slipping but you knew he’d think it was only induced by arousal. “You’re puttin’ me through the mattress ‘n still callin’ me Tinker Bell.”

Michael smiled wide, pressing a soft peck to your nose, strokes slowing momentarily while you both laughed. 

“You don’t stop bein’ my Tinker Bell just ‘cause we’re makin love… In fact, y’ more magical than ever right now, honey…” A heated kiss. “’s never been more appropriate, really…”

You couldn’t help but smile at him, but your face instantly began to contort as before when the thrusts sped up again. The bed was creaking like crazy beneath you, and you were both so close to climax now.

“Baby, ‘m close,” Michael groaned, followed by sounds resembling whimpers. 

“Yeah, me too, I’m—mhm—baby, I’ve never felt this good in my life…”

With every word you uttered, Michael was even more utterly astonished, and overall so wholly glad that this night had gone the way he wanted it to. It truly had been perfect—even in its little imperfections, too.

“Honey, can I, uh—inside?” he asked hesitantly, soft grunts hitting your ear as his thick cock pounded your gummy walls over and over.

“Yes, mhm, please baby…” You let out a pornographic moan as his strokes began to take on an erratic force, but still hardly faltering in rhythm.

“Oh, I gotchu baby girl, ‘m gonna get y’ there… I love you…”

“Mm, Michael, I love you,” you whined again, licking your tongue into his mouth. You engaged in a passionate embrace of locked lips, interrupted only a few times momentarily to murmur a sweet nothing.

Your orgasm came crashing over you suddenly, having built to a perfect peak, and the unfamiliar sensation of experiencing one at the hands of penetration was otherworldly. Your body went taut, muscles tensing, and before you could try to stop yourself, there were tears streaming down your face. Michael had talked you through it all, cooing at you through the comedown, although he looked entirely perplexed at the realisation that you were crying all of a sudden.

“Minnie, wha’s wrong?” he asked gently, stroking your cheek and slowing down a little despite how he was so close to his own orgasm.

“No, nothin’, Michael—it’s just…” you sniffled, wiping your face rapidly, “um, this happens to us women sometimes… An orgasm is like an emotional release as well as a sexual one, y’know, um…” That wasn’t an incorrect statement to make, so you hadn’t exactly lied, but you felt silly nevertheless.

“Okay, yeah, I thought you were hurt or upset, but I get that. It was beautiful anyway,” he smiled, kissing you and rocking into you fervently, a little harder again to approach his release, but he also didn’t want to overstimulate you so he tried to keep it not too distant from slow and sensual. 

Your eyes rolled back with erratic inhales and exhales as he thrust a few more times, before you suddenly felt the gorgeous heat of his cum gushing through you, painting your walls with his seed. Thank God you were on the pill… And oh, Michael looked so beautiful when he came…

His groans continued as his head fell forward on your chest, cock gradually going limp while still nestled inside your core. 

“Oh, you’re so wonderful, baby… I’m so happy,” he whispered into your neck. 

“I’m happy too, pretty boy,” you smiled back, playing with his hair again.

But Michael wouldn’t let himself linger too long, already pressing up on his elbows. “Need to clean y’ up, honey.”

You both groaned in frustration as he slowly pulled out of you, and you stayed lying flat while you watched him blow out the candles and head off into the bathroom. He returned with a cloth, and with the most gentle touch and the most gentle expression of concentration, patted over your sex and your inner thighs. You lifted your hips to let the liquid ooze out into the cotton so that it wouldn’t sink into the sheets later, and Michael felt incredibly ashamed at how the sight made him feel. That alone was the first glimpse of a kink that would follow the two of you through the rest of your lives.

When he was done, you cuddled up on your sides facing each other. Michael wrapped the comforter around your body protectively, burying your bodies beneath it, tightly bundled; and then he wouldn’t stop staring at you, so you covered your face shyly.

“No, don’t do that, baby,” he giggled, trying to get you to move your hand.

“You’re makin’ me shy!” you exclaimed, but when he tried to get you to drop the hand again, you obliged, and rushed a little further forward into his embrace, nestling your head in the crook of his neck.

Some comfortable silence, and then Michael was whispering to you again, playing with your hair and drawing circles over your skin.

“You told me y’ loved me. Multiple times, y’ said it.”

“I did,” you whispered back, with certainty. Saying the words so ardently had really highlighted to you how much you never needed to hesitate ever again.

“Minnie?” Michael said into the quiet, intertwining his legs with yours, and resuming the handholding that had carried you through most of the night.

“Yes, Mickey?” you hummed into his skin.

“Tonight was the best night of my life.”

“Mine too,” you smiled. “I’m fallin’ asleep, honey, I’m sorry, but I promise we can talk all about it tomorrow. Orgasms always knock me out.” You yawned with a quiet laugh, tugging him impossibly closer, and he repositioned the comforter around you again, so delicately. 

“Yeah, ‘m tired too.” He kissed your forehead several times. “Sleep tight, I love you.”

“I love you, baby. So, so much…”

You fell asleep only minutes later just like that—warm bodies merged, hands interlocked, your ear pressed directly over Michael’s steadily beating heart. For once tonight, it had calmed. Finally you had both crossed that monumental line, the feeling different for each of you—emotional in unique ways—but born of the same bone-deep, eternal love.

angelcrescent © 2026 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡₊˚⊹ omg this has taken me approx 3 weeks to write n i had no intention to make it so long but !!! in order to really emphasise the passion and to have michael experience all his firsts , i wrote it as descriptively as possible. i've exhausted myself writing so much smut lol n i was even anxious posting this because i don’t know if it flows as ideally as i wanted it to?!! i put too much pressure on myself but anyway i hope u guys enjoyed :D !

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