kitana

The contrast was jarring because less than half an hour ago he’d arrived at her apartment looking like a man being chased by his own thoughts. He had barely made it through the front door before pulling off his sunglasses and throwing them onto the coffee table. His jacket had followed seconds later, landing carelessly across the arm of her couch where it still sat now, half sliding toward the floor. He’d accepted a glass of water from her, taken exactly one sip then abandoned it entirely. After that came the pacing. Endless pacing. Across the living room. Through the small hallway. Back again. Hands in his hair. Hands on his hips. Hands moving every time he spoke. He hadn’t even seemed aware he was doing it. The frustration had been rolling off him in waves, making him restless in a way she rarely saw. Michael wasn’t naturally confrontational. If anything, he tended to avoid conflict until it cornered him. So when something upset him enough to make him pace, she knew it had unsettled him deeply.

Now all that franticness seemed to have collapsed inward. She’d seen it happen before, Michael never stayed angry for long but hurt lasted much longer. Anger burned hot and quickly in him before giving way to something quieter and infinitely sadder. He’d withdraw into himself piece by piece until he seemed distant even while sitting inches away. It wasn’t cold like he was punishing her nor was it him shutting people out intentionally. If anything, it felt more like watching somebody disappear underwater. He was still there. She could see him, but reaching him became harder the deeper he sank.

She hated it because she knew exactly where it came from. People looked at Michael and saw a confident young man. They saw stardom. Adoration. They saw screaming crowds and magazine covers and gold records hanging on walls. What they didn’t see was how quickly he retreated when somebody he loved wounded him. They didn’t see the flashes of uncertainty, the pressure and uncomfort that appeared whenever his father was involved. The way a single comment from Joe could undo an entire weeks worth of confidence. The way Michael still carried himself around that man with the cautiousness of a son instead of the certainty of a grown man. Sometimes she wanted to shake him and remind him who he was. Remind him that millions of people adored him, remind him that he didn’t need permission anymore. But it wasn't that simple. Family never was.

Her fingers slipped back into his curls, scratching lightly against his scalp and usually he would lean into it without thinking. Usually his eyes would close and a smile would tug at the corner of his mouth. Tonight there was only the smallest reaction, his eyelids fluttered briefly before settling again. The tension was still there though, it sat in the line of his shoulders and in the slight crease between his brows. In the way his jaw occasionally tightened before relaxing again. Even lying there in her lap, safe and far away from home, he looked like part of him was still standing in that conversation.

For a while she simply watched him. The television cast shifting colors across his face. Blue. White. Gold. They slid across his skin like reflections on water, constantly changing while he remained perfectly still beneath them. Looking at him now, it was hard to reconcile him with the version that had stormed into her apartment earlier. That version had been restless movement and angry frustration. This version looked exhausted—exhausted in a way that settled behind the eyes.

Finally she spoke, her voice quiet enough that it barely disturbed the room around them.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Michael didn't answer.

His gaze never left the ceiling, but she felt the smallest shift beneath her fingertips. A swallow and a breath that caught for half a second before continuing normally. Tiny things. The kind of things most people wouldn’t notice. But she noticed them because she knew him. Because despite how absent he looked right now, she knew he had heard every word. The problem wasn‘t that Michael didn’t want to answer, he was still trying to untangle feelings he’d been carrying since long before he ever knocked on her door tonight.

The silence lingered long enough that she eventually stopped waiting for one. At first she’d thought he was simply choosing his words carefully, turning them over the way he always did whenever a conversation wandered somewhere uncomfortable. But after another minute passed, she realized he wasn’t searching for the right response at all. He was somewhere else entirely. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.

Her fingers continued moving through his hair for another few moments before slowing to a stop. There wasn’t much else she could do. She couldn’t solve whatever war was taking place inside his head, and she knew him well enough by now to understand that forcing him to talk would only make him withdraw further. Michael spoke when he was ready. Sometimes that meant minutes. Sometimes hours. Sometimes he would disappear into his thoughts entirely only to bring something up three days later as if no time had passed at all. She glanced toward the dark windows across the room, then toward the clock in the kitchen, realizing how late it had become. The apartment had taken on that strange after midnight stillness where everything felt like a liminal space.

“You don’t have to talk about it tonight,” she said softly, letting her hand rest against his curls instead of continuing to play with them. “We can just go to bed.”

For the first time in several minutes, Michael moved. His eyes finally left the ceiling, drifting somewhere toward the television before falling away again. Eventually he nodded once, the movement small and reluctant and she had the distinct impression that he wasn’t agreeing because he felt better. He was agreeing because he was tired. Not physically tired either, emotionally exhausted.

The process of getting ready for bed unfolded with her turning off the television while Michael sat up slowly, dragging both hands over his face before standing. The apartment immediately felt different without the flickering blue light filling the room; dimmer and more intimate as she carried his abandoned glass into the kitchen and poured the untouched water down the sink. He collected the things he’d scattered around her apartment earlier, sunglasses disappeared into the pocket of his jacket and the jacket itself found its way over the back of a chair instead of remaining half fallen where he’d thrown it. He was functioning on autopilot while the rest of him remained busy with thoughts he hadn’t shared.

A little while later she stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing her hair. The overhead light casted a warm glow across the small room while the rest of the apartment remained dark behind her. She watched herself in the reflection absentmindedly, working through a stubborn knot near the ends and trying not to think too hard about the evening. About Joe. About Michael. About the way he had looked when he first arrived, pacing her living room like he couldn’t stand being trapped inside his own skin.. it broke her heart. The brush moved steadily through her hair while her thoughts drifted further and further away.

She didn't hear him enter the bathroom. But what she noticed first was the sudden warmth at her back and the feeling of arms wrapping around her waist. Then Michael's reflection appearing beside hers in the mirror.

The brush stopped mid stroke.

For several seconds neither of them spoke. Michael simply stood there with his arms looped around her middle and his chin resting lightly against her shoulder. He wasn’t holding her tightly. If anything, the embrace felt unusually tentative. There was something uncertain about it. Something that made her stomach tighten unexpectedly in a way she didn’t like because? One of Michael’s main love languages was physical touch. Looking at their reflections together, she was struck by how tired he looked. So vulnerable as the anger from earlier had burned itself out completely, leaving behind only whatever hurt had been underneath it the entire time.

His gaze remained fixed on the mirror too. Not looking at himself exactly but not looking at her either. Just staring at the two of them standing there together as if searching for reassurance somewhere inside the image.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet enough that she almost missed it.

“Are you mad at me?”

(Name) actually turned slightly in his arms and for a second she just stared at him from over her shoulder. Because of all the things she expected him to say tonight, that hadn’t even crossed her mind.

Michael looked away first. His eyes dropped toward the sink before lifting again and she could see the insecurity beneath the question, genuine worry that he’d brought his problems into her home and made them hers too. That he’d spent the evening pacing and shutting down and disappearing into himself and somehow burdened her in the process. It was such a painfully Michael thing to worry about that her chest physically ached.

”I know I wasn't exactly..” He paused, searching for a word before giving up entirely. “Good company.”

The attempted joke barely survived the trip out of his mouth.

And suddenly she understood that while she’d spent the entire evening worrying about him, Michael had apparently been worrying about her too. About whether she’d finally gotten tired of carrying him through nights like this and about whether one day she might decide the weight of loving him wasn’t worth it anymore.

Even now, after everything that had happened with his father, some part of him was standing here asking permission to fall apart when he never had to worry about that.

“Baby, why would I be mad at you? Ever?”

The question left her mouth almost immediately, carrying more confusion than anything else. She turned in his arms, the movement forcing him to loosen his hold around her waist just enough for her to face him properly. The bathroom suddenly felt very small. Warm light spilled down from above the mirror, washing everything in gold and catching against the tiredness etched into his face. Up close, she could see all the things he probably thought he was hiding. The tension still lingering in his jaw. The faint shadows beneath his eyes. Michael’s gaze dropped almost instantly the moment she looked at him, drifting somewhere toward the floor between the. He genuinely meant the question. He genuinely thought there was a possibility she could be upset with him for needing her.

Her hands rose without thinking, settling firmly against either side of his face. The second he tried to glance away again, she gently but insistently redirected him back toward her.

“Michael.” His eyes flickered away once more and she immediately nudged his chin back toward her again with an expression that said absolutely not. The stubbornness (virgo men) of it almost made her laugh if the moment hadn’t felt so serious. Michael had a habit of avoiding eye contact whenever he felt vulnerable, especially when somebody was saying something he desperately needed to hear.

“Stop it.” Her voice softened, but there was an unmistakable firmness underneath it. Once again, she guided his face back toward hers when his gaze started drifting elsewhere. This time she held it there and by now, he understood she wasn’t giving him another option. For a second he looked sheepish, caught in the act. It would’ve been endearing under different circumstances. Instead, it just made her heart hurt more.

“I will never be upset with you for venting,” she said slowly, making sure he heard every single word. “Or being upset. Or needing me to listen. Or needing me to be there.”

His eyes dropped again. Unbelievable.

Her thumbs pressed lightly against his cheeks, “No.” The word came out harsher than before. “Look at me.”

Michael let out the smallest breath through his nose, somewhere between embarrassment and reluctant obedience, before finally meeting her eyes properly.

“Thank you.” Her words were quiet and affectionate. And somehow that made his expression soften more than anything else had.

“I need you to listen to me right now.” The bathroom had gone completely silent around them. Even the faint hum from the light above the mirror seemed distant compared to the sound of their breathing. Michael remained still beneath her hands now, watching her carefully and for the first time all evening she felt like she actually had his full attention.

“I don't care if you’re upset.” Her thumb brushed across his cheek. “I don’t care if you need to complain.”

Another gentle stroke. “I don't care if you spend three hours pacing holes into my floor because you’re angry.” The corner of his mouth twitched before he could stop it and he saw it immediately.

Good. Because she wanted him present for this.

”I don't care if you come over here and sit on my couch all night without saying a single word.” Her voice softened further. ”What I care about is you standing here wondering if I'm angry because you needed me.”

Because beneath all the fame and success, there was still a large part of Michael that seemed convinced love had to be earned somehow. Through performance. Through achievement. Through being easy to deal with. Through never asking for too much. And every now and then she caught glimpses of it, usually on nights like this.

His throat moved as he swallowed.

“Do you understand me, Michael?” The question hung between them and he nodded immediately.

The response was so quick she almost rolled her eyes. And judging by the flash of embarrassment that crossed his face a second later, he knew exactly what he’d done.

“No.” She gave his cheeks the tiniest squeeze. “No, sir.”

His expression shifted into something dangerously close to a smile. “You don't get to nod your way out of this conversation.” And his smile grew slightly despite his obvious attempt to suppress it.

“Use your words.”

For the first time since he’d arrived at her apartment, something sweeter finally broke through the exhaustion, appearing for only a moment before he ducked his head again out of habit. Immediately one hand slid beneath his chin and guided him right back.

“I hear you.” The corner of her mouth lifted.

The smile that appeared on her face felt genuine at first. Small and warm and effortless in the way smiles always seemed to be around Michael when he let his guard down. For a moment, the heaviness that had settled over the entire evening loosened its grip. Watching him finally crack after her relentless insistence that he look at her, watching the reluctant amusement tug at the corner of his mouth despite how exhausted he was, it felt like she’d managed to pull him back from wherever he’d disappeared to. Enough that she forgot.

For exactly one second.

Then she remembered.

The smile faltered almost immediately. One moment it was there and the next it wasn’t quite as bright. Because the second her mind stopped focusing on Michael, it returned to the thing waiting patiently in the background. The thing she’d spent days avoiding. The thing sitting between her ribs every waking moment. Tell him. The thought arrived so suddenly it almost startled her. Tell him. Her stomach tightened because he was right here. Right in front of her. Standing inches away. Looking at her. Listening to her. Trusting her. If there was ever going to be a moment, surely this was it.

She could practically feel the words pressing against the back of her teeth. They seemed so simple in theory. A single sentence. It would take less than five seconds to say aloud. Michael, I'm pregnant. That was it. No speech required, just the truth. But the second she imagined actually saying it, panic swept through her. Not now. The excuse surfaced immediately. Not now. Her eyes drifted over his face. The tiredness was still there. The remnants of whatever argument he’d had with his father still lingered around the edges of his expression. He’d spent the evening unraveling, asking if she was mad at him for simply needing her. She had just spent the last twenty minutes convincing him he wasn’t a burden. Convincing him it was okay to fall apart sometimes. Convincing him she wasn’t going anywhere. How could she possibly drop something like this into his lap now?

The thought alone made her feel sick. He had just calmed down. Just breathed. Just smiled. And now she was supposed to tell him something that had the potential to change the course of both of their lives forever? No. Tomorrow. Tomorrow made more sense. Tomorrow was better. Tomorrow was responsible. Tomorrow wasn’t standing barefoot in a bathroom after midnight with his father’s voice still haunting the evening. Tomorrow wasn’t while he was exhausted emotionally. Tomorrow wasn’t while she was terrified. The excuses came quickly in her mind. One after another, so quickly they nearly sounded reasonable. And deep down she hated that she recognized them for exactly what they were. Excuses. Because tomorrow would become next week. And next week would become after his next rehearsal. And after that there would be another reason. Another bad day. Another inconvenient moment. Another excuse to keep postponing the inevitable.

Her chest tightened painfully. Fuck. Just tell him. The thought returned again. Louder this time. More insistent. She looked at him, at the warmth in his eyes. At the concern that always seemed to appear whenever something was wrong with her. At the man standing in front of her who had spent the last hour unknowingly proving exactly why she loved him. And suddenly the words felt impossible. Not difficult but fucking impossible. They had lodged themselves somewhere behind her ribs and refused to move.

The silence lasted only a few seconds though, it felt much longer. Michael noticed immediately. Of course he did. The smile he’d been trying to suppress faded slightly as his expression shifted. Concern settled across his face almost at once. She watched his brow furrow, his eyes searching hers. Michael had always been frighteningly observant when it came to her. He missed entire conversations sometimes when he got trapped in his own thoughts, but the second her mood changed even slightly, he noticed.

“What’s the matter?” The question came quietly, gently. Not suspicious but concerned as his hands remained resting against her waist. ”What is it, pretty girl?”

Her heart dropped straight into her stomach. For one terrible moment, she thought she was actually going to do it. The words surged forward. So close she could practically hear them. Michael, I'm... Instead she froze. Completely. The truth hovered there between them, desperate to be spoken and utterly trapped at the same time. So she did the cowardly thing. The easy thing. The thing she'd been doing for days.

She smiled.

Or at least she tried to and it wasn't nearly as convincing this time. Her hand drifted slowly, settling against the side of his neck. Her thumb brushed lightly against his skin while she desperately searched for something to say. Anything to redirect him. Anything that would keep him from asking another question.

“Nothing.” The lie came out softer than she intended—she could have believed herself. Her throat felt tight as she swallowed hard, then forced another smile. “I just..” Her voice nearly cracked and she hated that. Hated how emotional she’d become lately. The affection in her eyes was real, though. That part wasn’t a lie. Not even a little. She looked at him for another second before gently smoothing a curl away from his forehead.

“I just love you.” For the first time all night, it occurred to her that loving him and telling him the truth might soon become the exact same thing.

“I can tell you’re thinkin’ about somethin’ though, baby..” He says, but it never really gets to settle because she shifts and that gaze she’s giving him changes the entire shape of the moment before it can become any spoken language. Her hands are still on him, still warm at his neck but something in her attention to him.. Michael notices it immediately, even if he can’t define what he’s noticing yet—or maybe he can and he’s pretending not to for the sake of being a good boyfriend.

His sentence starts to form and then fractures halfway through. “You can tell me anythin—” he begins, but it breaks apart before it can become anything stable as she comes closer, closing the space between them by pressing her breasts up against his chest. The conversation he was attempting to hold onto doesn’t go away, but it does loses structure as his mind has to reset around her presence.

And she knows that.

She can feel it happening in real time.

(Name) knows exactly what she’s doing, that’s the worst part. Her hands slide down from his neck to his chest, fingers flattening lightly against him before one hand moves higher, to his jaw. Her thumb brushes once along the edge and her touch is gentle, but the intention beneath it is already shifting away from conversation.

She tilts his face toward her.

Michael’s eyes flicker down to her mouth before he can stop them, confusion still present, still trying to hold onto the question he lost. And that small lapse is all it takes for her to lean in. The kiss lands softly at first, her hand staying at his jaw while the other slips lightly up into the hair at the nape of his neck as her fingers curl there while she draws him in.

Michael responds instantly because he always does with her, like instinct has learned her before thought has time to interfere. His hands settle at her waist again, pulling her in closer against him without hesitation. There is no resistance in him, no suspicion, just familiarity taking over where confusion was trying to exist. But the confusion doesn’t vanish. It scatters instead. The question he was holding breaks apart, fragments of it still lingering somewhere behind his eyes, no longer organized enough to become speech.

When she breaks the kiss, it is only enough to breathe but she stays close, forehead almost brushing his for a second before she shifts slightly, her attention drifting lower. Her lips find the line of his jaw first, slower now—this time it feels less like an interruption and more like something she’s sinking into because if she stops now it, would force her back into words she is not ready to say. She kisses there once, then again, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

Michael exhales under it, a sound that catches halfway between thought and reaction. “Hey—” he tries.

Her mouth moves again along his jaw slower now and his head tilts slightly without him fully realizing it, his body responding before his mind can catch up and reassert control. That small shift is enough to undo whatever sentence was trying to form. It breaks cleanly, leaving only sensation where language was trying to exist.

“I—Baby, hoh—” he tries again, softer this time, but it dissolves mid breath. His brow pulls faintly together, not in frustration with her, but with himself. He’s is aware something is slipping but cannot grab it fast enough to pull it back into place. He swallows, attempting to reset, to return to whatever he was asking, but the rhythm between them has already changed. The conversation no longer has a clear edge to land on.

Michael’s hands rested loosely at her waist and she watched him for a moment before a smile slowly tugged at her mouth. ”Let’s play,” she murmured. The words were enough to make his brows raise a bit, faint pinkness touched his cheeks before he could stop it. He was feeling warm.

“Pattycake?” he asked quietly, already knowing exactly what she meant. She nodded once, trying and failing to suppress her smile with a bitten lio. The second he saw it, he let out a small laugh through his nose and dropped his gaze toward the floor.

For a moment, Michael looked almost embarrassed by how easily she’d derailed the entire evening. One hand slid up to rub the back of his neck while he shook his head at her, smiling despite himself. “You’re somethin' else,” he muttered, the words carrying more affection than criticism.

His earlier questions seemed distant now, not forgotten entirely, but pushed to the edges of the room where neither of them wanted to look at them yet. When he finally glanced back up, there was a warmth in his expression that hadn't been there when he’d first arrived. ”Pattycake,” he repeated under his breath with another quiet laugh, he still couldn’t believe that was the name they’d settled on, even after all this time. But he was still too shy to refer to their sex as what it is: fucking. She’s too ”ladylike” and he’s too much of a gentleman.

At some point, he ended up on his back with her naked skin close against him, one arm locked tightly around her waist because letting go had stopped being a consideration altogether. His breathing wasn’t fully steady yet, still a little uneven as sis curls were slightly damp, falling messily against his forehead. His eyes stayed half lidded for a moment before drifting shut again.

He looked completely gone—a sweet angel boy lost in his own pleasure. He deserved this, he deserved his dick getting swallowed up by her perfect pussy. Her thighs tensed as she sank up and down repeatedly, her slick, tight pussy swallowing his pretty dick inch by inch. She rode him with a steady rhythm, the wet heat gripping him tight every time she bottomed out. A frothy ring of white cream gathered at the base of his shaft, growing thicker with each downward thrust as she bounced relentlessly on top of him. She pushes him downward, making him fall back down onto the pillows at the headboard as she steadies herself by planting her hands onto his chest. (Name)’s already managed to cum twice, but now it was his turn.

Michael was so pretty. Such a beautiful man.

She stayed pressed against him as she continued to bounce onto him, feeling the uneven rise and fall of his breathing under her hands. Michael looked completely gone—fucked out already and by then his grip at her waist had loosened, looking up at her through his lashes with lidded eyes.

And her mind started to drift with him.

He deserves this, she thought immediately—it was obvious, it had always been obvious, right? He deserves to be like this. Elated.. warm. Not thinking so hard all the time. Not carrying everything. Her fingers moved through his hair again and the thought softened as it repeated itself, not really structured anymore, just circling.

He deserves this, he deserves this, he deserves to just be here for a minute. He deserves this.

It almost sounded like relief in her head. Almost.

But it kept going anyway, loosening as it spun. He deserves this, she thought it again but slower this time and its more scattered, she was watching the idea from farther away while still holding onto it.

He deserves it after everything tonight, after how tense he was, after the way his whole face changed when he came in. He deserves this and I’m just.. I’m just helping him, I think. I think that’s what this is. Helping him. Keeping him here. Keeping him okay.

The words started to blur into each other a little after that.

Because underneath them, something else kept trying to push through—a quieter thought.

He deserves this.

And I deserve.. what?

The question didn’t fully form, it flickered and broke apart almost as soon as it appeared. She tightened her hold on him slightly without meaning to, like anchoring herself back into something physical would stop her from drifting too far into her own head.

Michael shifted a little against her, still half lost in his pleasure.

He deserves to feel good. He deserves to not be thinking about any of that right now. Not tonight. Not when he finally looks like this. Not when I finally got him here.

And that last part slipped in without her asking for it.

I got him here.

The thought made something twist in her chest—guilty. She felt fucking guilty. She swallowed it down quickly, tucking it behind the other thoughts before it could grow teeth.

He deserves this! She told herself again, pleading with the idea instead of stating it

He deserves this and I can’t ruin it right now. I can’t. Not when he’s finally quiet. Not when he’s finally okay. Not when he’s finally—

Her gaze dropped to him again.

Cum, he’s about to cum.

His hands gripped her hips as she rose off his cock, the wet suction breaking with a soft pop. She leaned forward, lips on his ear and holding his jaw in place while presenting her ass to him, and he immediately reached around them both. With a few rough strokes of his own fist, his dick twitched violently—one thick pulse, then another, shooting hot ropes of cum across her rounded ass cheeks.

“That’s right, baby.. give it to me—” She whispered in his ear, her grip on his jaw tighter as she places kisses on the side of his face. “You have so much of it for me, don’t you?”

“Oh, oh.. baby—” Michael’s moans nearly sound like he’s crying, so tightly wound and high pitched. “So much of it!”

He pumps the last bit of seed out of him and his breathing eventually evened out into something slower, heavier, the kind that came after too much of everything all at once. The tension that had been clinging to him since Hayvenhurst had finally drained away completely, leaving him softened in her arms, his grip at her waist loose but tracing patterns into her skin. She stayed with him in the quiet, feeling the last remnants of his warmth settle into the space between them while the room dimmed into near silence.

Somewhere between her thoughts slowing down and his breathing deepening, sleep took them both without ceremony, pulling them under.

Then.. morning arrived too quickly.

The golden light had barely started to warm the room when hard knocks landed at the door, loud enough to cut straight through the sleep they’d fallen into. More knocks came again, harder this time, followed immediately by a voice that cut through the thin walls of the apartment like it had been waiting there all night.

“MICHAEL!”

She and Michael both stirred at the same time, pulled out of sleep in pieces rather than fully waking at once. For a few seconds, neither of them moved properly, just disoriented in that soft, half dream space where reality hadn’t fully arrived yet. Then another knock hit the door, sharper, more insistent, followed by overlapping voices outside.

“Dad, calm down—”

“Just let him open the door—”

“Joe, stop—”

The brothers were there too.

Michael pushed himself upright slowly, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep, confusion immediately giving way to something more alert as the voices outside kept rising. She could feel the shift instantly.

“Michael!” Joe’s voice came again, louder now. “Open this door!”

They both stood, quickly getting dressed before moving down the hallway. Michael glanced back at her once before moving toward the door as she held onto his bicep tightly.

When he opened the front door, Joe stood at the center of it rigid with anger, with his sons behind him trying unsuccessfully to contain the situation, their faces tight with exhaustion.

Joe’s eyes landed on her immediately.

Not Michael, but her.

And whatever restraint he had been holding onto snapped into something cold and direct.

“I don’t want you around my son.”

it was an important evening after all, a night the record label hosted for the shareholders and other potential investors. it’s the mixer where these grubby men can get their hands on speaking to any artist.

as a PR associate for the record label, you’re used to the one making those introductions. what you didn’t expect was for these people to want to talk to you. you’ve probably spoken to half the men in that room, being whisked away from one conversation to the next.

meanwhile, you haven’t uttered a single word to michael since you both arrived in separate cars. separate cars that he asked for, in his attempt to keep your relationship a secret.

so you find his misery hilarious.

him, not so much.

throughout the evening, he battled coming up to you. as men swarmed over you, he knew it couldn’t be helped. you were gorgeous after all. but did you really have to laugh at their jokes? did you really have to accept a drink from them? and most importantly did you really have to ignore him all night? not one glance in his direction, really?

he saw you take another man’s hand as he led you to look at an art piece on display. probably talking your ear off, shit he could care less about at the moment. the man had his hand on your back, but was slowly sliding down to your waist.

that’s it. he’s had enough.

he storms out of the conversation he was pretending to have, leaving a group of people dumbfounded as he made his way across the room. with the sunglasses on, he had an unreadable expression. he can hear someone whisper “did I say somethin’ wrong?” as he walked away.

he plants himself firmly next to you, shoulder brushing against yours. you can practically feel the steam coming off his ears.

“ah mr.jackson. nice of you to join us. i was just telling y/n here about this piece i just bought fr-”

“let’s go home. now.” he turns to you, removing his aviators so you can see his eyes. he was using a voice he only used with you in private. if other people around heard him, they wouldn’t assume it was from michael. their soft spoken, gentle-mannered michael jackson, usually so polite and respectful.

it raises a few eyebrows from the men you were standing with. “apologies, will you excuse me?” you smile at the businessmen you already forgot the names of.

michael takes your hand and leads the both of you out of the venue and into to driveway where his limousine waits.

and even in his annoyance, he’s a perfect gentleman. stopping bill from opening the car door so that he can do it just for you. “get in” he deadpans.

“i brought a car remember, i can drive myself home” you dangle your keys in the air before he plucks them off your fingers. “please…just get in the car” he pleads at this point, other hand still holding the car door open.

you have no choice but to follow. he doesn’t even slam the door once you’re safely inside.

the car ride home is silent, save for Michael’s incessent finger tapping on the left console where his hand rests. he’s antsy to speak; but he doesn’t know where to begin.

“something wrong, applehead?” you ask, feigning innocence. and as you bat your eyelashes at him, your own lips come to a smirk. at this very moment, he realizes you did it on purpose.

you pissed him off because it was fun for you. you pissed him off to prove a point.

he scoffs at the realization, lips breaking into a thin smile. oh you’re such a brat.

“I get what ya trying to do you know” he starts.

“and what was it I was trying to do?” your arms are crossed.

“my girl was trying to make me jealous. talking up those other men, taunting me, because you know i can’t…” his voice softens and he reaches out to unfold your arms.

“but am I your girl, michael? last I checked, you don’t even want to be seen with me in public”

okay, he totally gets it now. you’re pissed at him because he asked to come separately, which is silly considering you live together. he initially had his reasons, but they all seem so stupid now.

“baby you know it isn’t like that” voice low, he pushes your hair behind your neck. giving him room to plant a little kiss near your collarbone.

you don’t need much convincing either, practically letting him litter kisses all over you. “did I mention how gorgeous you look tonight?” he comes closer as he whispers “my girl, my girl, my girl..I was practically drooling in there begging for your attention”

his hand rubs at your knee, slowly making its way up your thigh, taunting you “but all you wanted to do was talk to those men. do you enjoy making me jealous?” he asks into your ear.

“well, did it work?” you taunt back. palm resting against his chest, feigning a stop in his ministrations.

“you definitely have my full attention now, baby” he smiles before he kisses you. he takes your wrist and removes your hand from his chest, guiding you to grasp his hair instead.

you’re extremely relaxed on the seat, practically laying down as michael hovers over you. his kisses are deeper and you pull him in closer to get more of him.

with the privacy of your limousine, the two of you can do anything. a privilege you both abused more often than either of you would admit.

he hikes your dress up so that it pools by your hips. slowly, he reaches your g-string and rubs his fingers against your clothed clit. this elicits a groan from you, aching to be touched fully.

he gives you what you want as he hooks your panties to the side, his hand now fully working your pleasure. his thumb pads your clit in slow, agonizing circles. he watched as your face falls apart for him.

“tell me who’s making you feel good”

all he can hear is the soft, breathy pants that came out of your own mouth, practically begging for more friction. he inserts two fingers inch by inch, as he slowly curls upwards. “what was that? I can’t hear you baby, hmm?”

you can hear yourself squelching as his fingers settle on a steady pace. it's embarrassing, really how wet you are. he on the other hand, pays no mind, amused at how easily turned on you are.

"you" barely above a whisper.

“louder.” he demands, unrelenting at his pace. he presses hard against your clit, feeling your walls tighten.

“you mike. only you make me feel good.” panting. your senses are overwhelmed, thoughts so clouded that the only thing you can chant at this point is “mike, please”

you repeat it like a mantra, feeling his lips kiss the side of your jaw as he whispers for you to let go.

pleasure washes all over you as you grip his hair tighter, head thrown back as you plead for something you're not sure of. he kisses you back to reality, pausing in between to watch your face – making sure you're okay. "you good, mama?"

you nod, he helps pull your dress down as the car comes to a halt. you're both finally home, and as usual, the fans and paparazzi are waiting by the gate hoping for a glimpse of their superstar. this means michael will have to get down from the car first, while you aimlessly circle around with the driver for another block or two – before ultimately returning to use the back entrance to your own home.

“in all seriousness I hate that we have to keep us a secret” you pout.

"yeah safe to say, lesson learned" he kisses your pout away and makes you wear his shades. "let’s change that starting today." he has a shit-eating grin as he opens the car door.

"michael, are you crazy?" you whisper shout as he steps out. but all he does is giggle as he extends his hand out to you, coaxing you to come out of the limo.

you take his offered hand, and step out with a smile on your face. he takes his sweet time walking you inside, hand on your waist, and a peace sign to the paparazzi.

he doesn't care anymore that the media is within eyesight, taking photos of a disheveled michael escorting his "mystery girl" out of the limo, noting that she's sporting his signature sunglasses.

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ............✎ masterlist

author's note: i finished this so fast, literally within an hour of seeing the request

your heels clicked against the sidewalk as you left the restaurant, your hand tucked comfortably inside his.

“you know,” you laughed, looking up at him, “i’m still mad you made me try that nasty ass drink.” jermajesty looked offended.

“first of all, it was delectable wine.”

“it tasted like cough syrup.”

“expensive cough syrup.”

you rolled your eyes.

“see? that’s exactly why i can’t take you anywhere.”

he grinned.

“you love me.”

“unfortunately i do.” you said with a smile on your face.

“wow.”

he clutched his chest dramatically.

before you could tease him again, flashes suddenly exploded in front of your face. you immediately blinked.

paparazzi had came out no where.

“jermajesty!”

“look this way!”

“can we get a photo?”

“how long have you guys been together?”

you sighed quietly. jermajesty’s grip protectively tightened around your hand. he was used to this. probably more than anybody should be.

“just ignore it,” he murmured. you nodded. the two of you continued walking toward the waiting suv. most of the photographers were just doing their jobs.

annoying, sure but harmless. then somebody opened their mouth and ruined everything.

“jermajesty!”

the voice came from somewhere behind the crowd.

“your family cool with that?”

you immediately frowned.

the comment was strange enough to make both of you glance over. the photographer smirked. then he said it something ugly and racist, something that made your stomach drop.

for a second, you genuinely froze.

it wasn’t the first racist comment you’d ever heard. but hearing it shouted at you in public? with dozens of cameras around??you immediately looked away.

pretending it didn’t bother you, pretending you couldn’t feel everyone’s eyes suddenly shifting toward you, pretending your chest hadn’t tightened.

suddenly jermajesty stopped walking, completely. you knew by just that look on his face he was going to say something crazy.

“jer…”

he slowly turned around. the crowd instantly got quieter. because even the photographers knew. they had fucked up. the smile had been wiped from jermajesty’s face. completely.

“the fuck did you say?” his voice was calm.

the photographer laughed awkwardly.

“it was just a joke—”

“nah.”

jermajesty took a step forward.

“say it again. i dare you.” the man didn’t.

of course he didn’t. because people like that were always loud the first time and silent the second. the cameras kept flashing, but nobody said a word.

jermajesty shook his head.

“that’s what i thought.”

you reached for his arm. not because you disagreed, mostly because you knew his mouth. and once he got started… lord help everybody.

“maj, it’s okay.”

he looked at you, and his eyes immediately softened. just for a second. then his attention snapped right back to the photographer.

“no.” his voice was firm.

“it’s not okay.”

the photographer shifted uncomfortably.

“i didn’t mean anything by it.”

jermajesty laughed, a short laugh. the kind that meant he was actually irritated.

“that’s funny.”

he crossed his arms.

“because you said it.”

nobody moved nor pretended to be taking pictures anymore. they were listening.

“you don’t know her.”

his voice carried across the sidewalk.

“you don’t know what she’s been through.”

another step forward.

“you don’t know how hard she works.”

another.

“and you definitely don’t know enough about her to stand there and disrespect her.”

the photographer opened his mouth.

“i’m just asking questions—”

“no.”

jermajesty cut him off immediately.

“you’re being blatantly disrespectful, and you’re hiding behind a camera while doing it.”

you could literally feel social media preparing itself. somebody was definitely recording. probably multiple people at this point. jermajesty pointed toward you.

“that’s my girl.”

your heart skipped and his jaw tightened.

“and if you’ve got a problem with her because of how she looks, where she’s from, or anything else, that’s your issue.”

the photographer stared at the ground.

“because trust me,” jermajesty continued, “i sleep perfectly fine at night.” a few people in the crowd laughed. the photographer looked embarrassed. as he should. jermajesty wasn’t finished.not even close.

“matter of fact, she’s smarter than you.”

you blinked.

“jermajesty—”

“she’s prettier than you.”

the crowd laughed harder.

“jermajesty.”

“and you know what? she makes better decisions than you too because it sure as hell wasn’t a good one saying that shit to my face.”

now even you were trying not to laugh.

the photographer looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

jermajesty finally rolled his eyes.

“exactly”

he turned around, immediately reaching for your hand again.like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just publicly embarrassed a grown man. the second you got inside the suv, the door shut behind you.

silence filled the air.

for about three seconds.

“she’s prettier than you?” you laughed.

jermajesty looked over.

“was i wrong?”

you covered your face.

“you are ridiculous.”

“i’m serious.”

“jermajesty.”

“what?”

he leaned back against the seat, completely unbothered.

“he started it.”

you couldn’t stop smiling. he looked at you for a moment, really looked at you. the smile faded from his face.

“you okay?”

your chest tightened because he wasn’t joking anymore. he was worried.

you nodded.

“a little shaken up.”

he immediately reached over.

pulling you closer against his side.

“don’t listen to people like that.”

you rested your head against his shoulder.

“i try not to.”

“good.”

he kissed the top of your head.

“because they’re stupid.”

you laughed.

“that’s your advice?”

“yep.”

another kiss.

“they’re stupid.”

another.

“and you’re beautiful.”

another.

“and you’re stuck with me.”

you groaned.

“that’s the worst part.”

jermajesty gasped dramatically.

“see? now you’re being disrespectful.”

You sensed Michael's presence soon before you heard him.

The soft click of the door, as if he thinks he'll wake you up from deep slumber, then a sigh, equally innocent and sweet, even though deeply exhausted. Michael taking off his shoes and shrugging his jacket off, the soft clicks of his chunky belt echoing through the otherwise quiet house.

The sound of his keys hitting the wooden surface of the cabinet down the hall, then the heavy footsteps, his feet barely lifting off the floor as he took the stairs with one thing on his mind:

You.

He was looking forward to the moment he would see you again the whole day. It was a sweet motivation that pushed through the demanding rehearsals, keeping him in your head as the dancers made yet another mistake in the choreo they've been practicing for two months now. Maybe he was too harsh on himself and the people working for him, or maybe he was just stressed. Stressed by the lack of your company, your touch, grounding and comforting in a way that had his mind calm and relaxed. Stressed by the fact that tour was starting soon, and nothing was even close to perfection yet.

Nothing but the calmness of the house and your sweet presence that lights his heart up.

The bedroom door clicked softly, and Michael's ears perked up as he saw you, comfortable and spread out on your shared bed, eyes meeting his before he could say a thing. You smiled, soft and warm, your nose crinkling in the most perfect way as you did so, eyes wide and attentive as you took in his exhausted posture.

The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of the moon peeking through the curtains and the TV playing some shitty, old school show you didn't care about one bit. The moonlight hit your face in the most perfect way, highlighting the color of your eyes and hair, spread around your head like a halo.

Michael's knees buckled as he took you in, grinning despite exhaustion, his arms spreading out and claiming the space without even trying.

"Hi, superstar," You grinned, getting up from the bed to greet him with a hug that meant more than any fame or fortune in the world. Your small arms wrapped around his back, face squishing into his chest to breathe him in, letting his scent cloud your mind.

"I hate you calling me that," He chuckled softly, cradling your head in his hand, bringing you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Michael hid his nose in your hair, taking in the sweet scent of your shampoo and something different — something so ultimately you, it brought him comfort immediately. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Mikey." You breathe out, gently petting his back. "How're the rehearsals going?"

Michael shrugged, kissing the top of your head, suddenly aware of the tension in his shoulders and back. God, he could use a massage right now.

"Some dancers have trouble remembering the steps. You know, it's... normal. It should be. But it just keeps on annoying me, y'know? I need everything to be perfect by the time tour starts, and instead everything is falling apart right in front of me." He said, slow and shameful, not quite used to being this honest and open, not in that way.

You slowly pulled away from his chest, lips pouted in that specific way that insinuated you were thinking deep about what he had said. You took his hand slowly from where it was rubbing the small of your back through the red t-shirt you were wearing (stolen from Michael's side of the closet). His eyes followed your joined hands, watching as you kissed his knuckles, soft and warm, instantly calming his bubbling nerves and sweating hands.

"Mike, you need to take thing easy." You tilted your head, head turned towards the bed as you slowly led him to climb onto the warm sheets, the mattress moaning under your joined weights.

"I don't ever take things easy."

"That's why I need you to calm down. Take a deep breath. Relax. I know you crave perfection, but baby, things take time. They're eventually gonna get it, it's gonna be fine." You said softly, not trying to disregard his feelings, just being as supportive as you can.

Michael's lips pursed as he leaned back against the headboard, thinking about what you said with careful consideration. He met your eyes with a boyish, gentle smile, patting his lap softly.

"Sit here? Pretty please."

Michael had this innocence in his gaze, and you knew immediately he felt vulnerable in his heart. You took him in: the disheveled hair on the top of his head, loose strands breaking free from his ponytail and falling onto his forehead and eyes. The way his hands reached out to you, like a little kid looking for comfort. The red shirt that sat perfectly on his torso, first few buttons unlocked, droplets of build-up sweat glistening on his chest and neck.

He looked so exhausted, but oh, so beautiful.

You climbed onto his lap, and Michael's arms wrapped around your waist before you had a chance to fully settle. His chest expanded as your legs bracketed his, your smaller body melting into his much bigger one naturally.

"Besides...," You continued, a hint of tease in your voice as you settled in the moment, gentle hands pushing the stray strands of hair away from his face. "No one could ever dance as good as you do."

Michael laughed, the tiniest of tension dripping from his shoulders as he squeezed your waist. He missed this. The warmth coming from your whole body, the comforting touch on his face that kept reminding him of home, those sweet lips of yours that had the ability to make him blush like a teenager.

"That's a bit overboard."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Michael, you're the most talented person in the whole world. And I mean it." You narrowed your eyes at him.

He sighed at the praise, melting underneath the weight of your body, his own going slack as your slow, steady hands played with his hair. You curled a piece around your finger, tugging on it ever so gently, causing Michael's hands to twitch on your waist. He not so secretly loved when you did this.

All of the praises he got from his peers and colleagues could never bring him this much joy. This, here, with you, felt real: no fake sympathy, respect that meant nothing behind the closed doors, bows and applauses that didn't matter at the end of the day. This, you, was authentic, real, a connection that was worth more than any fame or respect in the world. He knew that.

"I love you. You're working too hard," You whispered, quieter now, and Michael's long fingers tightened on your waist just a fraction. "I'm so proud of you, baby."

"You're so beautiful. Like an angel. Always taking my breath away," You continued, your fingers tracing the sharp edge of Michael's jaw, then moving up his nose, careful, a small smile playing on your lips as Michael's body twitched underneath you, unconsciously seeking more of the attention. The praises travelled through his whole body, a deeply settled insecurity regarding his appearance slowly melting away as he took in your awed expression.

"Keep— keep talking. Please." He swallowed, leaning into your touch, his face inches away from yours now, embarrassment flooding his body as he felt his cock twitch in his pants.

You felt it, too. Suddenly very aware of your core pressed tightly against his crotch, something you ignored in the moment of fondness but prominent now. You tutted as Michael's arms tightened around your back, breath shallow and eyes clouded with devotion and something deeper beyond the surface — desire.

"You like it when I talk about how pretty you are?" He nodded, desperate, his face rubbing against your palm lovingly. "You are, Mikey. Everything about you is perfect. Like a work of art, only for me to admire, to love, to cherish. I love your eyes. How you look at me like I'm the only one that matters, even in a room full of people. This pretty little nose...," You pecked the tip of it, earning a nervous giggle from Michael. His cheeks turned rosy as you kissed the soft skin there, giving him all of your undivided attention to prove your point. "Those lips. Drive me insane. This beautiful smile, yeah, this one—"

You starting laughing as Michael's lips pressed tightly against yours, heightening your arousal that slowly started to spread across your body as you praised him. His cock jumped in his pants at the sound of your voice, your smile against his lips, that beautiful melody that's your laugh echoing through the room.

Michael whimpered into the kiss, quiet and unfiltered, his hips flexing underneath you as he tugged on your — his — shirt covering your body, already craving the feel of your bare skin against his.

You used your tongue to part Michael's lips, and he obeyed immediately, moaning into your mouth as you licked your way into his, completely taking control over the kiss. You knew Michael needed this, needed the adrenaline that comes with being desired. His brows furrowed as he sinks further into the sheets, hips rising off the mattress to search for the warmth of your sweet cunt on his achingly hard cock.

"I need you, baby—" He sighed into your mouth, and you sucked on his tongue, humming lowly while your hips began to move on their own, the buildup of your desire leaving you grinding down onto his cock. You could feel the outline of him through his pants, big and aching and ready for whatever you'd give him, ready to burst from a simple touch. "O-oh, angel girl—"

"Feels good?" You moan, leaving a wet spot on Michael's pants where you connected over and over again, not pulling away from a second. You fought with the urge to close your eyes, instead tugging on Michael's hair to get him to look at you, at the effect he had on you. "Of course it does. My good boy, always so obedient. What do you think your fans would say if they saw you like this— oh— completely at my mercy? What would they say, Mikey?"

You grinded harder, your hips working in tandem with Michael's, your bodies singing in a beautiful harmony without even trying. Your own words turned you on beyond belief, and they seemed to have the same effect on Michael.

"'m your good boy," He whispered, low and pathetic, his hands shaking with restraint as they rested on your thighs, squeezing and fondling the skin there. "Wanna be good for ya, that's all I want to do, baby—"

"What do you want?" You asked, sharp and firm, your voice dropping lower as your hands travelled down Michael's torso, playing with the buttons of his shirt and undoing them, one by one, slower than Michael would like it. The fabric felt like a barrier, a burden on his skin that was aching to be pressed against yours, but he let you take things slow, instead focusing on playing with the hem of your own shirt.

"Ah, ah, ah," You tutted, hand rising up to rest against Michael's throat, not quite squeezing, just resting there, feeling his pulse against your small palm. He let out a pained sound, half-whisper, half-sob, his hands dropping to his sides and tangling into the sheets. "No touching. Yeah, good boy. You like it when I choke you a little?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes," He groaned, teeth grinding together as you squeezed his throat experimentally, seeing just how far he's willing to take it, and to your surprise, he whined again, surer this time, hips bucking up just a fraction before dropping to the mattress.

"Yeah, you do," You smiled, biting your bottom lip as your hips faltered just a fraction, hips shaking with effort as your high creeped up on you, sudden and unexpected.

And so you stopped.

Michael's loud groan echoed through the room, annoyed, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. The way he looked at you then sent a shiver down your spine.

Devoted. Completely and utterly under your spell.

Yet still he didn't move. Didn't say a word, didn't rush you, his eye whites showing as he looked at you pitifully, breathing shallow and unsteady.

"What do you want, Mikey? Use that pretty little mouth of yours," You whispered softly, hands moving down his torso to move his shirt out of the way, scratching his skin with your nails with enough pressure to make him hiss.

Your palm experimentally moved over the aching bulge in his pants, feather-like and soft, and it only made Michael's hips buck up into your touch.

"I— I need to feel you— I can't wait anymore," He babbled, words leaving his mouth in a hurry. You rewarded him with a small flick of your hand as it rubbed up and down his length with pressure that was not nearly enough. "Oh God— And I want you to keep talking to me. About how— p-pretty I am— and how proud you are of me— You always take such good care of me, baby, please—"

You smiled, sliding off Michael's lap only to tug on his belt, and he understood immediately what you wanted. His hands shook as they unbuckled the heavy thing, fumbling with the zipper of his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers, not bothering to ask for permission.

His cock sprang free from the confines of his clothing, bobbing in the air freely and then hitting Michael's stomach with a wet sound. He whined — soft, desperate. You could see the effort it took for him to not touch himself, not give into the feeling until you made a move, allowed it.

"So pretty, so, so fucking beautiful," You whispered, taking in the sight in front of you with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. You didn't lie; every inch of Michael was perfect, starting with his perfectly sculpted face, to his lean body, strong thighs, and the cock that sat between them. He was big, flushed, looking as if a simple touch from you could make him come. It looked painful, and you only cooed at the sight.

"Want me to touch you, angel face? Want to cum so bad, don't you, sweetie?"

"Yes, God, yes," He breathed out, and you wasted no time climbing back into his lap, straddling one of the very thighs that drove you insane. Your pussy rubbed against Michael's soft, brown skin as you sat down, leaning in to peck his lips.

"Please."

The way he said it, soft and sweet, his mouth instinctively chasing after yours, made you smile. You kissed him again, slower this time, your fingers tracing soft circles on the skin of his thigh, dangerously close to his aching, throbbing cock.

"So good for me. You can touch me, baby— Yeah, take what you need," You praised him softly, finally giving him the permission to touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips. Slowly, almost painfully so, your palm reached its destination. Michael's own hands travelled up your body, one hand resting on the small of your back, the other sliding up to hold your hair out of your face while you kissed him. His touch was firm but delicate, claiming your body without taking control, letting you take the initiative without a word of protest.

Your fingers wrapped around his girthy cock with undeniable precision, the one that came from knowing his body way too well. Michael whined into your mouth, his hips bucking up into your palm, a soft cry leaving his mouth right after. He was on edge, and you knew it.

"Such a good boy. You're doing so perfect for me, look at how well you're taking me," You whispered against his lips, your hand beginning to stroke him slowly, your wrist flicking in a way that you knew drove Michael crazy. Your thumb rubbed against his sensitive slit with each movement, and Michael sighed, eyes rolling back into his head.

Your lips disconnected as soon as you began your little demonstrations on his dick, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you long after he pulled away. His head fell back against the headboard, eyes half-lidded, clouded with lust and ultimate devotion.

"So good, ma," He whined, licking his lips as you sped up, just enough to make him dizzy and hot. Michael's body shook underneath you, his hold on you tightening just a fraction, letting you know just how much he enjoyed it.

"I know, baby, you're so hard for me, so fucking big. You're practically drooling, that's what a little attention does to you, huh? Falling apart so prettily for me. You're so pathetic it's cute," You said, voice fond and affectionate even when your words did nothing but humiliate him. Michael's body shook as your hand became a blur, your pace suddenly changed into something charged with animalistic desire — desire to watch him fall apart.

"I'm so close, don't you—"

"I know, angel boy, I'm not stopping, I'm right here—"

"I love you so much, oh God, I love you—"

"What do you need, Mikey?" You flicked your wrist in the right way, watching his face confront in pleasure, your hand beginning to hurt from the rough, demanding pace you've set. You couldn't stop, though, no: not when Michael's hips began to thrust up into your hand and his soft sobs echoed through the room.

"Can you— can you put your hand there— oh— jus' need a little more," He silently begged with his eyes, interlocking your fingers with his and bringing them to his neck. You immediately knew what was going on.

He truly needed for you to choke him in order to reach his peak.

And so you obeyed. You applied a little pressure to his pulse point, squeezing the sides of his throat in the most delicious way, feeling his Adam's apple bob as you did.

You squeezed harder, checking Michael's face for any type of discomfort, but all you could see was utter, devoted pleasure. His eyes rolled back into his head, curls sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his chest glistened in the moonlight, heaving with every, choked up breath he took. The feeling of your hand on his dick was like no other: your grip was as tight as a glove, not as tight as your pussy, but enough to make him lose his mind.

"You like it when I do this, don't you?" You punctuated your words with a tight squeeze to the base of his cock and his throat, pulling his foreskin down to have him as sensitive as possible. Michael whined — a pained, desperate sob from somewhere deep in his chest that made your pussy throb against his leg. "You carry the whole world on your shoulders. You work so hard. Let me take care of you the way you deserve, baby."

"I'm right there," He moaned through another sob that shook his whole body, his hand clawing at the one squeezing his throat. He wasn't trying to push you away, just anchoring himself in the moment, needing to feel the warmth of your skin against his palm. "I'm right there, angel—"

"Yeah, take it. Take it like a good boy, that's right—"

Your hand movements became a blur, palm hitting his lower abdomen with every stroke, every squeeze to his length, bursting and twitching in your palm. He wouldn't need much to unravel, and you knew it.

"C-can you kiss me, baby? Please, I need to—"

You wouldn't let him finish, immediately crashing your lips onto his with force that pushed the air out of his lungs. Michael immediately granted you access to the inside of his mouth, moaning and whimpering, loud and unfiltered, completely consumed by the pleasure surging through his body. The kiss was messy, your saliva mixing and stretching between your willing mouths when you pulled away for a breather. It dropped between you, right onto the tip of his cock, and Michael hissed, his whole body shaking as he neared that familiar peak.

"Come for me, angel boy," You whispered, knowing just how much he loved the nickname, your hand moving from his throat to grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back to watch every moment of his pleasure.

"I'm coming, ma, I can't hold it, I'm—"

"Yeah, good boy, such a good fucking boy, give it to me—"

Michael's back arched off the mattress, hips bucking wildly as his own body betrayed him, a gasp that sounded pained leaving his swollen lips. The first spurt of his white, sticky seed made you chuckle, watching him make a mess of himself. Your hand movements never slowed — not for a second, guiding him through the moment, your lips crashing onto his in a mess of saliva and teeth clashing, but neither of you cared. Michael pulled you closer by the hips, his grip almost painfully tight, his cum staining his expensive shirt, your hand and his chest. It was messy, and it was perfect, and it was never ending — a spurt after spurt, each one weaker than the last, but nonetheless intense.

"So good, let it out, just like that, baby," You cooed softly, continuing to stroke him through every aftershock, and Michael cried out, overstimulated to the limit, his whole body trembling underneath you.

"I can't— take no more," He whispered, soft, broken, some fresh tears staining his tears, and he looked so beautiful you wanted nothing more than to devour him whole.

"It's okay, angel face, it's okay."

"I love you. I love you so much, baby, you're doing so good," You stopped your movements altogether, even though his cock still stood tall, some droplets of cum leaking from his tip, and you collected them with the pad of your finger, bringing them to your lips with a moan. Michael sobbed softly, following the movements of your mouth with his teary eyes as you sucked on your finger, licking the remains of his cum theatrically, with intention to drive him insane again.

"Tastes so good, too. Want to try?" You moaned, and Michael's hands tightened on your thighs just a fraction, offering you a shy nod of his head.

You took two of your fingers, then, dragging them through the mess he made on his chest, collecting some of the pearly cum and immediately bringing them to his lips. You padded on Michael's bottom lip, and he obeyed immediately, granting you access. His tongue lolled out, eyes wide and cheeks rosy as your fingers snuck into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue only to watch him squirm and moan.

"Good boy. Don't you taste fucking good?" You tilted your head as Michael's lips wrapped around your digits, his brows furrowing as the tasted himself on you.

Michael both hated and loved how much this aroused him.

You caressed his cheek slowly, lovingly, watching as he came down, finding comfort in the weight of your fingers on his tongue. He eventually came down, his body melting into the mattress as he settled. You slowly withdrawed your digits, bringing Michael closer and letting him rest his head on your chest. Your unsteady heartbeat was the only thing he could focus on.

"I love you," He mumbled lowly, his face rubbing against your t-shirt in a way that immediately made you melt. "I love you, I love you, I love you—"

You laughed, out of breath, kissing the crown of his head lovingly. "And I love you. Feeling better?"

You caressed his hair, letting him wrap his arms around you and bring you impossibly closer.

"Never better."

a/n: i apologise. or not. planning to make him even whinier and more pathetic in the upcoming fics. not sorry for that either.