"Yeah, baby?” You already knew what she was trying to do, running her wet fingers up and down your waist like she couldn't help but touch you.

"I'm trying to shower and you're in here being nasty," you giggle, rolling your eyes.

“You think so?”

“I know you." Her fingers ran up and down your skin before pressing a delicate kiss to the crook of your neck.

"C'mon, let me play with you a bit," she spoke in that soft, sensual tone, her fingers stopping just below your breasts, drops of water falling against her fingers. The heat from the water combined with the warmth of your bodies pressed against each other, creating the sensation that the water could evaporate at any moment in the enclosed space.

"Mm, I want you to." You turned to face her, wrapping your arms around her neck, pressing one of those desperately needed kisses to her soft lips, earning a low, pleased hum, her hands finally settling down at your waist before pulling away. Her lips settling on your damp collarbone. The pads of her fingers are messing with the sensitive bud of your nipple, earning a low whimper.

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she trailed her fingers in between your thighs, your core aching painfully as she slipped a finger inside, curling it slightly. Your fingers wrapped around her forearm, digging into the skin. Walls clamped down on her finger as she added another one. Your head falls against her chest as your back presses up against the glass walls of the shower.

"Shit, your fingers are so good," you whined, your legs almost feeling like they could give out as she pumped her fingers in and out. The wet squelching sound mixed with the usual sounds of the shower.

Her thumb rubbed lazy circles around your clit before deciding that it wasn't enough, letting her fingers still move fluidly inside you, grabbing the showerhead to place it a good distance away from your clit.

“Is that good? Tell me how good that feels," she cooed.

"It's so good; keep doing that—fuck." Your legs felt like jello; the only thing holding you up was the glass wall. The ache that pooled in between your legs only intensified that rope that threatened to snap as you ran your fingers down her body, landing down at the sensitive bud of her clit, gently rubbing at it before sliding your finger past her folds, making her hand drop. The pressure from the showerhead is subsiding.

“Oh—” she whispered, the steam from the shower, your fingers stuffed in between her gummy walls that couldn't help but flutter against your fingers, sucking you in almost felt too much, mixed with the sweet sounds of moans, heavy breathing, and whimpers as you reached your high. Your body lurching forward instinctively as you cried out, your free hand digging into her slick skin as your fingers curled with each pump of your fingers as she guided you through your high.

Her hips rocked gently against your fingers, the desperation of finally reaching that high getting to her, making her head spin, hazy with flat-out desire. 

“Mm, you're doing so good; use that shower head," she whined, feeling the sudden feeling of water shooting against the sensitive spot.

"That's it; I'm so close." Her breathing sped up, seeming louder than the water that was slapping against the tile.

"Jan, please come for me." You could tell she was on the verge of giving in. Her body slumped against yours, damp bodies pressed tightly together as if it were the last time you'd experience each other's touch. Her hips sputtering uncontrollably against your hand, her face twisting into something that was beyond pleasure as her high came and went in waves, a giggle brushing past your lips from watching her knitted face.

“The water bills are going to be so high, Jan."

“Yeah, whatever."

©angelfacediary

Taglist :

You laughed at a barely audible joke a stranger told you as your hips swayed to the ‘Not Tonight’ remix by Lil' Kim, tooo excited to be outside for once. You held your 4th cosmopolitan tight as you took a large swig from the glass, catching a glimpse of your girlfriend, Janet. She was talking to her brothers Marlon and Michael, the latter being the birthday boy, as you all were out for drinks at the bar to celebrate. You started to dance your way towards her, realizing you had maybe than enough to drink, trying to hold yourself up as your body was telling you to tip over and fall out of your heeled boots right then and there. You grabbed onto Janet’s shoulder sloppily and caught yourself as you raised your glass to keep it from spilling everywhere. She looked over at you with concerned eyes.

“Baby— Hey! What are you guys talking about,” You yelled into her ear, a goofy smile taking over your face. “This is my fucking song.” You wrapped an arm around her neck, whining your hips onto her as you recited Left Eye’s verse word for word. Janet smiled, shaking her head as she somehow managed to rip the glass from your hand. She wrapped her hand around your waist as she pulled you close, indulging you as she rocked her hips in sync with yours to the beat.

“How many of these have you had?” She yelled back at you, waiting for your delayed response as you processed the question, perfectly overwhelmed by the atmosphere.

“Uhmm… probably my third one,” You halted your dancing to think, looking at the ceiling before you realized your prized possession left your hand. “My drin- Give it back! I’m just gettin’ started..” You took the glass back from your girlfriend and promptly downed the rest of the liquid, letting out a laugh that would be horribly loud if not for the music whilst Janet could do nothing but stare at you with an agape mouth.

“That’s more than enough for you. You want some water?” Janet offered, but it was more of a demand as she took a water bottle her brother was holding onto and unscrewed the cap, nudging your head back so she could pour it in your mouth. You complied with furrowed brows, becoming agitated at the way you were being babied—but in the same breath secretly loving it.

❤︎

“Baby, come on, wake up, time to go inside.” Your eyes fluttered open, to which you found yourself slumped in the back seat of a car with the door wide open and your girlfriend staring at you with low, kinda red eyes. A small smile formed on your face, but your brain didn’t completely follow.

“Mm.. Jan, where we at,” You slurred, body feeling like it was moving when you at least could grasp that you were sitting down. “I can’t party no more. M’ tore up. Let’s go home…”

“We are home. Michael got us a driver. No more partying tonight, alright? Get up.” You could hear Janet choke back a laugh as she gently shook your body, trying to keep your eyes from lulling back into sleep mode.

“Can’t.”

“Huh?”

“Get up… I can’t.” You smacked your lips together, flipping your body over to look at the other side of the car as you felt irritation bubble in your bones. Every bone in your body was telling you to get on your legs and stand, but you knew there wasn’t any use.

“You can’t be serious.” You two sat in silence for a moment before she shook you again, to no avail. You were on your way back to sleep, and that’s when she realized that you were, in fact, dead serious.

“Oh, you’ll see when you sober up… too tipsy for this shit.” She mumbled to herself, just loud enough for you to hear. She moved your legs outside of the car door before bending over to swiftly pick you up and throw your body over her shoulder, the working out she had done to perfect her abs certainly paying off today. As she walked you two into the house, you muttered small and incoherent ‘sorry’s and other apologies as she threw you onto the bed of your room. Eyes still closed, you could hear rummaging on the other side of the room along with footsteps coming closer to you.

“Sit up,” She commanded sternly, tapping your arms so that you could raise them whilst she gently pulled the tiny, awfully revealing dress you had on off. Your arms flopped back down, feeling like two weights were attached to them. “No, keep them up.” You tried to follow instructions as carefully as you could and felt something being placed over your arms and head; a large shirt that barely covered your ass in addition to your beloved bonnet, before a kiss was placed on your forehead. You’d be a fool to not admit that the way you were being bossed around was making your stomach twist with arousal.

“You get on my nerves, y’know that?” She laughed to herself at your drunken state, a hypocrite as she was not too far from it herself, pulling the covers from under you to tuck you in, but you quickly wrapped your arms around her neck.

“M’ sorryy.” You dragged, a pretty pout appearing on your—shockingly still glossed lips before you puckered them out for a kiss.

“Yeah yeah, you just go to bed.” She pressed a finger to your lips, removing your arms from her neck as you flopped back onto the bed.

“You’re mad at me.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Don’t be mad,” You whined, letting your eyes flutter open, which didn’t seem like much as your lids were lower than usual. “Get in bed with me.”

Janet hummed a small ‘Mhm!’ as she walked over to the dresser, your corrupted eyes immediately following her. You couldn’t help but watch the plump of her ass in her jeans jiggle as she moved. She stood sideways as your stare burned into her, eyeing the way her fingers worked to unbuckle her belt, the sight along with the jingling noise making your ears perk up as it reminded you of other, not so innocent times of your relationship. You watched as she slipped off her jeans and threw them to the side, her panties essentially begging for a break as her ass was just that big. You still couldn’t get over it.

And you couldn’t forget your favorite part, the shirt. She was clad with a normal silk blouse, aside from the fact that there were only two buttons holding up her cleavage that was just a few jumps from spilling out. You audibly cursed under your breath as she turned around, back now facing you, although giving you a perfect view of her butt. There was a mirror atop of the dresser, and you felt yourself grow more needy as you heard the buttons of her top pop open with no visual, only being able to see where her chest started in the reflection.

Soon enough, she put on a skimpy two piece sleep set before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving your mind to run wild. You felt like you waited eons for her to come back, but once she did with a bare face and scarf on her head, you swore you were gonna spew everywhere if her beauty hadn’t grounded you. Janet quickly got under the covers next to you, letting you be the little spoon before shutting off the TV that hummed in the background, leaving you two with nothing else to do but sleep.

But you couldn’t. How could you? Your body was hot with need, and the room spinning although your eyes were closed surely wasn’t doing any favors. You could feel Janet adjust behind you, her arm loosely thrown over your lower waist, hand probably a few inches from the wetness developing in your panties. And it felt like pure torture. You were so gone that you could imagine her ghosting her fingers over you although she didn’t move at all. Your thighs clenched at the faux feeling, your chest starting to rise faster as your body egged you on.

You tried all you could, shutting your eyes more than they go could go, thinking about counting sheep. Mentally punching yourself, you wondered if you could make it through the night as you finally began to calm down. You could feel the weight of the night now engulfing you, your consciousness drifting away into drunken space.

That was, until you felt a hand lay flat on your abdomen, right above your warmth. You tried not to get worked up again, brushing it off, until you felt it fully slip between your legs, cupping you now.

“Knew I saw you staring..” Janet’s voice was low, as if you were sleeping and she didn’t want to wake you.

“So wet for me.” She was breathless as she slowly grazed two fingers over the area, trying to figure out just how soaked you were. You tried to choke back a moan, feeling as though if you acknowledged her it would ruin the moment. She moved her body closer to you, leaving no space in between the two of you as she began to rub small circles to your clit.

“Thought I wouldn’t notice you, huh?” Her lips were settled right next to your presumably sleeping ear, making a shiver run through your body.

“And your thighs were movin’ too. It’s that liquor,” The warmth of her body felt heavy against you, the sweet aroma of her perfume flooding your nostrils. It was your favorite. You let out a hushed moan as she dragged a finger down to your entrance, prodding her finger in over your underwear as if she was fucking you. “Got my baby all hot and bothered n’ all I did was take my clothes off.” The tips of your ears burned at her lewd way of speaking, hips unconsciously jolting forward into her touch as she pressed hard to your slit.

“Need me to fix it for you, yeah?” She whispered gently, and you could hear the perverted smile in her words as she slipped her hand under the waistband of your undergarment. A sudden gasp left your mouth as she so easily slid her middle finger inside of your warmth, ever-so slowly pumping it in and out of you.

“Janet.” Was all you could whine lowly, your hand meekly gripping the sheets below you.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t stop, please.” Your breath came out ragged as she sped up her pace, her soft lips pressing a kiss right below your ear.

“Why would I when you sound so pretty like this?” She moaned in your ear as she sneakily entered another finger, almost stuffing you full as your mouth fell open. Your hips began to rock with her movements, your entire brain starting to go fuzzy at the feeling.

“Or maybe I should stop…” Her pace began to slow.

“I don’t think you’ve told me sorry enough.”

“No, baby, please. I’m sorry. Really fucking sorry.” You let out a whimper at her teasing, your chest now heaving as you stumbled over your words, a result of the intense pleasure and the remnants of the drinks you downed.

“Keep going.” She kissed down your neck and down your shoulder as she spoke.

“I won’t do it again. I’ll be good, watch what I’m doing next time..” You sounded utterly pathetic as you begged, your voice falling and raising in pitch as your sick girlfriend was now practically slamming her fingers into you.

“That’s what I wanna hear… is it good, baby? This is what you wanted?”

“Yes… it’s so good. So fucking good.” You babbled helplessly as she hit your sweet spot, fingers curling to places you could never reach whenever you touched yourself.

“Come for me.” She cooed in your ear as your back arched away from her body at the overstimulation, a needy free hand of hers gripping the back of your shirt to pull you closer.

You swore your knuckles went white as you now had a death grip on the sheets, the moans and whines falling from your parted lips now going up an octave as you felt your orgasm building in your abdomen. The words ‘Gonna come’ fell from your lips at least 6 times before Janet began to mock you and your noises, that ultimately making your climax hit you like a truck. You body trembled as you let go, your walls clenching around Janet’s fingers as if they were going to escape at any moment now. The noises you made were loud and sweet with curses layered under them, Janet’s gentle taunts in your ear only riling you up even more.

“That’s it, baby. So good for me,” She placed a few kisses over your shoulder blades and then over your cheeks. “Good?”

All you could do was whine a ‘Mhm’, completely melting into her touch. You let out a final moan as Janet slowly removed her digits from your sopping wet pussy, eyes following her glistening fingers as she stuck out her tongue and proceeded to sensually lick off your juices.

“Janet!” You smiled sheepishly, shaky hands going to playfully hit hers.

“What? You taste good.” She moaned softly as she suckled on her own hands, making your face and ears feel impossibly hot. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight, and you subconsciously thought that you both needed to drink more if this was to be the outcome.

𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚..

"dinner?" michael queried with furrowed, arched brows. a hand fixed itself on a loose strand of raven falling into his face. "..with me?"

"yeah, with you! i don't see no other michael in here!" chris responded in jest, with fluster clutching his words. he couldn't get a hearty read on michael's reaction, and if was honest, his insides were burning up at the thought of michael possibly rejecting his advance.

it wasn't helping that michael was kind of squirming in his seat, 'hmm'ing and 'uhhh'ing in the interim. his bright eyes were everywhere but on chris. he was also allowing a smile to tuck itself into the corners of his mouth, but chris couldn't decipher if it was one of those smiles you give when you want to entertain someone's idea but simultaneously don't have the heart to let them down. it was just that ambiguous.

"i mean.. when were you thinking?"

"whatever works for you. just tell me your schedule, and i'll be there to get you."

michael inhaled, "ummmm, i can fit it.. i mean, fit you in my schedule whenever. i'm busy, but not busy enough to not have time for you.." he was still smiling, and he read as tickled, he was.

for years, michael had always thought chris was extremely handsome, but had never confided in anyone about it. not to mention, it was a bit encumbering that lately, chris invited himself to the ranch, and if michael politely tried to tell him he was busy or that he wouldn't be home, he'd insist that he'd wait for him. everything was starting to make sense.

"are you doing anything on wednesday night?"

"wednesday.. let's see." michael's giant eyes peered up to the ceiling in thought, the idea that the chandelier wasn't properly dusted slightly irritating him. "i don't think i'm doing anything that night, no. yeah," he finally worked up the courage to meet chris' intense eye contact. "that works for me."

after chris had left, michael was left to his own devices, still trying to catch up mentally from what had just happened. there's no doubt that chris wasn't apprehensive about it, anyone would be, but the way he proposed the idea so casually.... chris was smooth, michael was smoother, but he still possessed the ability to be thrown off guard by chris' headlong bid.

he was still sat in his living room, unmoved in his position. chris had exited the room with a cologne-engorged embrace and looked over his shoulder to jokingly remind michael to be puntual come wednesday night, that this was no casual dinner and thus, cp time was unacceptable.

michael was at a loss for words. this whole time, chris had a thing for him too. he'd wondered when it all began, was it when they first started hanging out in the 90s? or when they shot the music video? when exactly did this all start, and why had they been bottling up their feelings for one another for years? and once the questions vacated his psyche, they were traded for giddiness, and the singer found himself trying to scavenge the room for the remains of chris' redolence. he always smelled so fucking good, it wasn't even funny.

fortunately for chris, he was michael's type. the singer swung both ways, thought all women were gorgeous, but with men, he had a preference that he kept confident to himself. chris was hot, indisputably, and when they were together, they complemented each other irrefutably. michael figured it had a lot to do with the fact that they shared very similar features, but michael's features were a little softer.

"that chris.." michael shook his head, utterly smashed at the realization that all traces of chris' cologne had abandoned the room. "all this time.." he muttered to himself, replaying chris' skittish expression and the way his voice was constricted by his nerves. it was something michael had picked up on in their friendship, so he had almost complete certainty that chris had to of been working overtime to remain stealth in his nervousness facially, but ultimately failed in his vocalization. contrarily, michael had done an impeccable job at concealing his respective nervousness. he worried that maybe he'd made chris unsure of his reaction, but in a way, it was kind of cute that he made him flustered.

perhaps karma was a bit of a beautiful bitch, because michael would be the one nervous for the next few days leading up to the date. chris had called, normal conversation as if to evade anything he'd want to talk about while on the date. michael found that odd, there was not even a single tinge of flirtatiousness serving the cadence of chris' voice, and because of that, he hesitated to make the first move over the phone. they didn't talk about much, and the conversations were extremely brief in comparison to normal.

wednesday afternoon finally rolled around, and michael didn't have a moment to catch his breath between hair, makeup, making sure the outfit he picked out wasn't too much and wasn't too casual, but ahh, don't wanna overthink it, he was extremely comfortable with chris to begin with. he kept asking for opinions from everyone on staff, switching out his shoes every few minutes, nearly sweating himself into another shower. truthfully, it was probably one of his best looks. everything was giving everything it needed to, hair with a feathered side part bang and fluffy layers, his usual earth toned eye makeup, nothing short of 10 spritzes of cologne, outfit was unspeakably sick, yet wore simplicity that still didn't quite border on casual. it was perfect. he was perfect, the outfit was just the cherry on top.

chris had told michael 6, but it really ended up being more like 7:30, as requested by his assistant. he showed up to the door in black slacks, a black button down with exactly four buttons undone to display his cross pendant, a leather jacket, and black gator dress shoes. his cologne overwhelmed michael, and satiated that craving he had for it just a few days back. chris was astonished at the way michael had cleaned up for him. he'd seen michael in every state possible, including sharp as a tack, but this was probably the best he'd ever seen him before.

"damn, you look good." chris shook his head, his eyes traced over michael in a way that made him want to melt into a puddle. because the dynamic had changed well, wholly between them, michael was trying to conjure up how to shift the way he spoke to chris, or if he even needed to. this wasn't overt flirting, he wasn't licking his lips or spewing out anything that would make his knees go weak. still, he had to wrap his head around the fact that at this point right now at least, they weren't just friends for the night.

"..really? you think so?" was all that michael could pry out under his blushing.

chris tilted his head and looked at michael as if to say, 'c'mon now..'. he chuckled. "yes. i think everyone would agree with me." he watched michael's eyes drop from their locking into his own and onto the driveway to defer his attention. "alright, mr. flustered, let's get in this limo and go. i'm starving like marvin."

michael sat next to him in the limo, but his eyes remained elsewhere. chris was overt with his staring through their small talk. truthfully, he couldn't shake the way michael absolutely glowed. he had always been unworldly gorgeous, but tonight, when the street lights illuminated from outside, the glow on his skin danced like diamonds. it was as if he had been powdered in glitter. chris found himself losing the jestful manner in which he normally talked to michael in collateral for a softer tone, biting back the urge to clutch the singer's hand into his own. it was just a bit too early for that.

they were immediately taken to a private entrance and into a secluded dining area, serviced right away. chris ordered still water for the table and a few appetizers, being left from the waiter with a dimly lit room with ambient music, a lounge in the left quadrant of the room to hang out in later on. michael had frequented most luxury dining establishments across the world, especially los angeles, but this was a new spot that chris had sneakily asked michael if he'd been to before, and he hadn't. it was gorgeous, and the menu looked ridiculously promising.

"anything you recommend?" michael flipped through the menu with a tilt to his head, "everything just sounds so good."

"i actually have never been here myself." chris confessed, his eyes squinted at the ossobuco and the sides it paired with. "but yeah, you're definitely right, everything sounds incredible. i'm looking at this ossobuco and wonderin' if that's gonna be the one for me."

"the risotto alla milanese with scallops is calling my name, i can't lie." michael chuckled, "and maybe amarone, but i know you don't drink, i probably shouldn't be drinking in front of you."

chris looked up. "no, no.. michael, get what you want! just 'cause i don't drink doesn't mean you can't. i don't mind, i just want you to enjoy yourself."

michael shrunk in shyness, "okay.." he smirked a little once his stomach lurched at the ossobuco's description, "are you going to let me try some of yours? it sounds so good, but i can't fully commit to it."

"yeah, and if you like it, we'll just get you a plate to go, that way you don't have to eat mine all up," he pauses with raised brows, perfect comedic timing on his words. "'cause i know you will."

michael felt himself dizzy with laughter. chris was the funniest person he knew, even when he wasn't trying. he took the back of his hand and slightly struck chris' right hand on the table, muttering a 'i will not!' in rebuttal.

once their orders were placed, chris inhaled sharply and fixed his owlish eyes onto michael intensely. "i'm sure you're thinking, why is this fool asking me on a date? especially after all these years. i wasn't fake kickin' it or nothing like that, i just didn't wanna scare you off."

"scare me off?"

"you know, when you been friends with somebody for years and years, and you got feelings for 'em, you don't wanna run the risk of ruining things between y'all. and i didn't wanna overstep and scare you away." he laced his hands together, "i don't know what got into me, but i guess i figured it was now or never, and i knew it would only be a matter of time before you'd be off the market again."

michael raised a brow. "i don't know about that.. and i also don't know that you would've scared me off, chris. even if i had said no, i think at least on my end, we still would've remained in good standing with each other." he blinked. "but.. how long have you felt this way? i'd be lying if i said i wasn't--"

"shocked. i know." chris cut him off sheepishly. "all i can really say is, it's been many, many years. i can't even really pinpoint how long. i just let it build up over time to where i couldn't fool with it anymore. i had to ask you out now, or maybe i'd never do it'."

"wow.." michael looked down. so it had been years, not within the last year. "i didn't.. wow, i wasn't expecting years."

"look, i'm just happy it wasn't obvious."

"noo, i was blindsided! honestly! you'd like an old man like me?"

chris sucked his teeth, "c'mon, mike. you not that old. i mean, you not a spring chicken no more, but you still got it, don't play with yourself like that!" he kidded. "you being older than me doesn't matter, why would that matter?"

"i don't know, i guess it doesn't." he slipped a finger across his bangs to move them out of his eyesight. his eyes landed on the comedian's rolex, then back to his eyes. "i uh.. i just.. well, i've had feelings for you too. if we're being candid."

chris' eyes receded, "you're messing with me."

"noo, i'm not messing with you at all, chris." michael divulged, "for many years myself, too. i just didn't think you'd be interested nor did i think you'd be okay with our age difference."

they sat in silence for a minute, gathering themselves at the thought that they could've been with each other for years, and time had been more or less wasted. they mutually landed on the things they could've been doing together, and why it had taken this long for either of them to make a move even when risk was on the table.

"so..i like you, and you like me?" chris broke the silence with a smirking tone. "that's what i'm hearing."

"you're right." michael pursed his lips. he nodded, then lifted the perspiring glass of water to his lips and took in the younger's disposition of processing all of this information in front of his eyes. chris looked disturbed, but not necessarily in a bad way, it was just that all this time he could've been fighting his own cowardice. he wasn't big on dating, and he hadn't dated a lot, much less men, michael was the first man he'd ever really fallen for deeply. the first person, man or woman, that had intimidated him to the extent of hesitating to pursue.

"i'm at a loss." chris uncoupled his eyes from the steamed wine clams on the plate in front of him to peer up and into michael's round eyes. "but honestly, i really do like you. i don't think it's ever been just general admiration for me. you really are.. everything."

michael couldn't help but be a bit asphyxiated by the abrupt shift of their dynamic. chris looked to be a second away from pissing himself every time they met eyes, it was so obvious now. it was as if their normal, light-hearted and joke-riddled bond had been traded for that of shy glances and unsure verbalizations. his words sat in his throat for a moment, processing what he was hearing. "everything?"

"yeah," chris' being stood still and stable, sure of himself. "i mean, it's not 'cause you're the best that's ever done it. you're just all the things i'm attracted to." his eyes scattered all over the visible parts of michael. "i've never met such a gentle, loving, real person in my life. you're one of one. and i know you hear that to the point where it gets old, but man, do i mean that."

"thank you..."

"talking to you.. i don't think i've honestly ever felt this at home with anyone i've ever known..and i'm not the type of dude that can just.. wear my heart on my sleeve like that around just anybody. i'm an open book with you, happily, you've got me open as wide as i can go."

michael reached over to place a hand to chris' wrist. "i'm relieved that i can do that for you. and you're a beautiful person -- such a special person to me, chris. i mean it. i really cherish what we have together.. i hope.. i hope i don't come across like i don't want you over or anything like that. i like having you around, i.. i love having you around."

chris relaxed into the melodious cadence of michael's voice. his voice was a lullaby of words. so thoughtful with how he spoke. it was true that behind closed doors, michael was a lot more frank, he was even quite hilarious, but still maintained his feather gentle demeanor. it was one of the reasons chris felt at peace with him around. everything about michael was delicate and diligent in nature.

their entrees arrived as they tried to conjure up their next dialogue, mutually. they'd commented on how good everything looked, and said a quick prayer before moaning into their food. chris' head jerked back at how amazing the veal was, it was so tender, it fell completely apart. he raised his fork to michael's mouth, "here."

"oh!" michael's eyes flickered up at him, then leaned forward to take a bite. "ohhhh wow.." he pressed his fingers against his carnation lips. "i'm definitely getting that to go."

"see, i knew it!" chris shook his head with the accompaniment of a knowing smile, "anyway. i love having you around, too, michael. and i would be lying if i said i wasn't feeling a way about your feelings being mutual. i just.. i just don't know what to do now."

"we date." michael presents matter of factly. "we start dating."

"like that?" chris choked. "you don't want me to at least wine and dine you a few times or nothing?"

"wine and dine me?" michael sits back in his chair, swirling his wine glass with a brow raised. "if you really wanna do that.. we can take it slow, i'm fine with that. but we don't have to go out like this all the time."

chris wasn't sure if he wanted to take it slow, truthfully. michael was just sitting there, extremely gorgeous with giant, twinkling stars emanating from his being. he was delicate and notably intimidating tonight. the actor found himself threatened with heat beneath his cheeks, constantly concerned about making the wrong move or being too forward. he finally had the chance to impress michael, but wasn't sure how to take them to the next level without correct pacing.

"i mean, i don't want to take it slow." chris admitted, folding his hands over the tablecloth. "do you wanna take it slow?"

"are you really that concerned with turning me off, chris tucker?" michael leaned forward. perhaps the amarone was getting the best of him and was starting to creep up and employ itself as bonafide crunk juice in his system. he was starting to withdraw his butterflies in his stomach to invite chris to be a bit more audacious.

"it's not that!" chris rebutted, "it's just that i don't wanna be too forward! tell me how i'm s'posed to go from being best friends with you to wanting to do some things to you. but with no intermission?"

"we need an intermission?" michael bypassed the latter comment chris made, because if had stayed on the topic of chris doing some things to him for too long, he'd flip the table over with a hard-on.

"no," chris cocked his neck, "i've been waiting for this moment for a long time. i said that. i'd be lying if i said i didn't want to be with you already. i'm just a gentleman. i can't be a southern gentleman, michael?"

the singer couldn't do anything but jut his lips up in a smirk at this. he set his wine glass down, then stickered his eyes onto chris' body. the wine was working day and night now, coursing through his system and invoking him to act on impulse. fuck, he couldn't help it. all that shy butterflies shit could be backseated. they were grown, and chris was too fine for him to play the waiting game with. it was like he was teasing michael with how his pecs were showing in the window of that button up, glistening with what he figured was an amalgam of baby oil and cocoa butter. his lips were smoothed over with lip balm too -- utterly begging to be locked on to, face clear and most likely rubbed down with shea butter. he was deliciously caramel, and michael wanted to be stuck in all of that. no lie.

"you can be a gentleman.." michael trailed off. "i don't need you to be one for me, though. especially when you look that good."

chris raised his brows at michael's vibe shift. alcohol had the tendency to do michael in. he became electric, and he'd watched the singer do some pretty wild (fun) shit while under the influence. totally out of character. but this was different. michael looked like he was on the prowl. and chris, well, he was amenable to this. "so you're saying that we don't gotta do all this courting stuff, we can really get to it?"

"well, do you want me?" michael purred.

"i think that goes without saying." chris leaned closer to the inebriated. "i don't gotta beg, do i?"

michael rested his head on his hand, leaving the other with infatuation as he leaned more and more into sultriness. "maybe you do. what do you want from me, chris tucker?"

"what do i want from you? no, i want you. there's a difference." his eyes got low after throwing a smirk in michael's direction, "first i wanna make you mine, then those things i was telling you i wanted to do to you before?" he paused, "i wanna do that."

it was only minutes before michael sloppily notified his security detail that they were to make sure nobody came into the room, not even to inquire about dessert for the pair. there was no need. michael figured that he was the dessert, seeing at chris' sweet tooth for him was bordering on hankering.

they tangled themselves into the cushiony lounge, starting with uninterrupted eye contact, their breath sitting on top of one another. there was mutual disbelief that they were this close to one another. chris cradled michael's waist, his scent sending blood rushing to places that were already intoxicated with the rush of being in chris' vicinity. michael's hand raveled in chris', their eyes deeply enmeshed.

"michael.." chris took the other's free hand and pressed it to his lips. michael wanted to melt at the warmth, the tenderness of chris' lips, the thought of them being on his own. "you're so beautiful. i don't think you understand just how beautiful you are. it's wild."

even with liquid courage in his body, michael still found himself utterly clumsily embarrassed by the compliments and affection chris was putting in his direction. "stop, chris..."

"you are! you have to know you are. you know, don't you?"

"i don't know about that."

"well, how 'bout i'm confirming that you are. you believe me?" and chris was staring at michael intensely. there was no doubt about it, he was really feeling the singer. his eyes steadied and he pressed another kiss to michael's hand.

"no, seriously. you think i'm beautiful?" the singer stumbled all over his words in a drunken stupor.

"gorgeous. i don't know how you do it, either. but i've always thought you were gorgeous."

"so are you, though." michael confessed. "and you smell so good, it does something to me."

"hmm?" chris tightened his grip on michael's slim waist. "and what does it do to you?"

"mmm.. makes me sick for you. i was sick the past few days.. i wanted to smell you again.. it's like a visceral reaction."

chris' heart skipped a little at this. michael liked him a hell of a lot more than he thought. sure, their feelings were mutual, but mutually intense wasn't expected. his eyes fell to their legs against one another, then felt himself itch under the urge to take it a step further. "can i kiss you?"

"yes..i'd like that a lot." michael felt his heart race not just at the thought of chris kissing him, but the way his cologne would stick on his skin and clothes after he did this. not only that, but chris really was a true gentleman. he didn't have to ask, and michael was going to allow him to do anything he wanted, but man was it all the more hot to have his comfort considered.

chris placed a few tender kisses on his neck, then exhaled and pressed their lips against one another. their lips chased one another uninterrupted. they were both immaculate kissers, the way their lips fit together like puzzle pieces and the pacing of the caresses was nothing short of providential. michael slipped his hands over chris' shoulders and allowed him to decrease their distance to the limit. they continued making out until chris could feel himself nursing a protesting hard-on in his slacks.

"i'm hard." chris broke the kiss. he bit down on his lips, entranced by michael's skillful kissing, the way the amarone on his breath mixed with the vanilla of his lip balm. he was delicious. you couldn't even taste the meal on his breath, he was perfect like that.

"oh.." michael peeked down at the print standing out against the dim light of the lounge. his hand reached forward, but not without looking up for a nod from chris. once he obliged, michael began to tease him, a hand cradling chris' neck as he began to kiss him once again, other hand sliding over the print.

chris moaned a little, "ooh, just.. just take it out."

michael tilted his head, and felt the heavy stare of chris fall on top of him. it was sick how beautiful michael was in every movement he made. his blowout's bouncy, glossy curls against his glowing skin, and the way his lips were permanently in a smirk at this point. it was turning chris on even more that this beautiful being was undoing his pants and greeting his member as a result.

it bounced out, and michael wasted no time in stroking from the base to tip smoothly. he placed one of his hands to chris' scrotum to massage in rhythm with the stroke of his other hand, biting down on his own lip carried by a smirk in reaction to chris letting out a few rare expletives. it had to feel good, because chris didn't curse, but he was colorful in each stroke michael gave to his throbbing dick.

chris didn't need amarone, chardonnay, or sauvignon blanc to become drunk tonight. he was drunk off of michael. he couldn't get enough, and michael was a pro at pleasure, just his luck. he threw his head back a few times, knitting his brows in focus when watching michael's magic work his dick into going rock-solid. here, before he could bust, he began to crush his and michael's lips together once more, then stood the singer up and over the couch, a kiss to his neck while he undid his belt and teased his dick against michael's ass.

"i need you so bad.." chris' voice went breathless, and he rocked his hips against the older man's ass before opening him up, a soft gasp escaping the other's lips. he entered him, going as gentle as he could manage against the hunger inside of himself. he steadied his hands on michael's hips and began to buck back and forth, and michael flawlessly joined him in flow.

chris felt shockingly good. he was a master at this, and michael cursed himself for missing out on such a good fuck all these years. he reached back and held chris' head closer to his shoulder, stopping for a kiss before resuming their lovemaking. the younger was minutes away from busting inside of him, and the way michael laced their hands together, moaned, and placed chris' hands on his waist and ass definitely didn't prolong him finishing. he was just so fucking hot, and the way he was a an expert at being a bit of a tart was making chris roll his eyes into the back of his head every few seconds. he was delicious.

"you feel so.. ahh man," chris whined, "you feel so good, i'm 'bout to bust, i can't take it anymore, michael, damn." he squeezed at the tight ass, "how do you do it? i'm sweating, you got me cussing, i swear you gotta be perfect or something."

though tickled, michael remained in his state of focus, bucking back on chris in a way that made him spill out a few 'shit's and 'fuck's, blowing his cheeks out and crying out under his breath once he was ready to come. michael rode back one last time before chris pulled out and released on his ass.

chris fell to the couch, cleaning himself up with a napkin from one of the tables and cleaned michael up in front of him. he was fucked out, but still maintained his beauty against the sweat and labored breathing. once michael was cleaned up and pulled his pants back up, he collapsed next to the comedian and rested his head against his. "mmm..how was that?"

"i'm gone have to keep you. i can't let nobody have none of that." chris' lip twisted, the breathless michael gifting him laughter in exchange. "you definitely mine now, that's for sure."

"aw, you're gonna keep me, chris?" michael teased. "not bad for an old man, huh?"

"i mean, i could barely even keep up with you. that's that dancer's endurance and agility, huh?"

"maybe." michael leaned to kiss up on chris' cologned neck once more, even his sweat was sweet. "you felt so good, i'm going to sleep good tonight..can't tell you the last time i got some."

"There you are," you walked out of the bathroom with a grin, causing Michael to immediately turn towards you, his big expressive eyes landing on your face first before they briefly flickered down to your abs since you weren't wearing a shirt. "Did you behave and follow my instructions?" You asked, your voice low, as you approached him and gently let your hand rest on his hip. Michael nodded eagerly. "Yes, I...it took everything I had," he admitted, making you chuckle.

"Been thinking about this all day, have you? Poor baby, all pent up..." You teased, lightly squeezing his hip. Michael leaned forward to press himself against you. "You don't know the half of it," he murmured, looking up at you. "Oh, I do. You weren't the only one suffering, you know?" You smiled, your hand sliding down from his hip towards his plush butt, giving it a firm squeeze and making him hum softly.

His hands reached up to hold onto your shoulders, pulling you down towards him to kiss you. Of course, you responded instantly, moving your lips against his deeply, sliding your tongue into his mouth. A small moan escaped him that you gladly swallowed.

"God, baby...get on the bed," you whispered against his lips, to which he immediately obeyed, moving back and climbing onto the neatly made bed, knowing it won't be so neat later. You walked forward slowly while unbuckling your belt. "Pants off," you ordered. Michael bit down on his lower lip, popping the button and unzipping the fly, shimmying out of his pants to reveal his panties already damp with slick arousal.

"Well, look at you. Already so excited, hm?" You teased with a grin, also climbing onto the bed. "Here, let me." Your fingers found the hem of Michael's panties, thumbs hooking inside. Michael lifted his hips eagerly, letting you pull his underwear down and off. His pussy was now on full display, sopping wet and dripping. He shivered at the cool air hitting his heated skin.

You gently grabbed Michael's thighs and pushed them open, getting in between his legs. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy," you coo'ed, leaning down to press a teasing kiss to his clit and making him shiver. He whimpered when your tongue flicked over his clit before sucking it into your mouth. "O-Oh...oh, God..." Michael's hands found the back of your head, pulling you flush against his pussy.

With a moan, you began flicking your tongue all over his pussy, tasting him, tasting the juices he was leaking. Your cock was getting painfully hard in your sweatpants but for now, you wanted to make him feel good first. "Mmh, you like that, don't you?" You whispered against his heat. "Mhm..." Michael hummed, his hands holding the back of your head to encourage you to keep going. "I need words, sweetheart. You like that?" You teased, pulling back from his pussy a little. Michael whined softly. "Y-Yes...I-I like it..." He admitted shyly. "Now go on..."

"What's that?"

"P-Please..."

"Together now, baby..."

"P-Please keep going..."

You grinned, satisfied. "That's my boy," you praised and dived right back in, starting to lick his pussy eagerly, making him gasp and shiver, his grip on your hair tightening. Your mouth and your tongue worked on his wet heat expertly, knowing exactly how he likes it.

But as soon as he was starting to tense up, telling you he was getting close, you pulled back again, making him whine in protest. He tried pulling you back in, but to no avail. "Hey now, be patient," you gently demanded, pulling down your sweatpants and boxers to free your aching cock, which was already leaking precum. Michael's big eyes glazed over with pure lust as he averted his gaze down towards it. He swallowed thickly, licking over his lips.

"Awh, look at you. I can tell you want it so bad," you smiled, kneeling between his legs. "But not yet. You're getting my fingers first." Grabbing the bottle of lube from the bedside drawer, you popped open the cap and squirted a small amount of it onto three of your fingers, knowing Michael's own wetness will do the rest of the job. "Relax for me, sweetheart," your free hand moved to rest on his thigh as your finger circled his hole teasingly before pressing inside slowly.

Michael almost immediately started whimpering and throwing his head back against the pillow, shutting his eyes. You pumped your finger in and out of his wet hole for a while, seeing how easily he's taking it, so you pushed in a second finger to start scissoring them. He tensed up slightly, but ultimately relaxed again, his hands gripping the bedsheets. When you pushed a third finger inside, he whined, already so stimulated from having his pussy licked. "Ngh...oh, please..." He begged needily, bucking his hips. "Shh, you're almost ready for my dick," you shushed him quietly, pumping your three fingers in and out, scissoring them, massaging his walls.

When you felt like he was ready, you removed your fingers, making him whine again at the sudden emptiness. "Shh, be patient now, okay?" You grabbed the lube again and put a little bit on your cock, slathering it all over. "Now, come sit on my lap." You moved to sit on the bed with your back against the headboard, pulling him onto your lap so he's straddling you. "Slow now, don't rush," you instructed, one of your hands grabbing his hip to support him while your other hand grabbed your cock and positioned the tip against his stretched hole.

Slowly, Michael started sinking down on it, his hands holding onto your shoulders. "That's it, baby, that's it," you praised, making him whimper. "Ngh...I-I've waited all day for this..." Michael mewled softly, sinking down further and further until your whole length was buried inside his welcoming heat. You groaned low in your throat, holding his hips. "Me too, sweetheart. Now move, slowly," you encouraged, gently guiding his hips.

Taking the hint, Michael started rocking his hips back and forth, so needy and wet, making you groan. He was already moaning and whimpering, his pussy tight despite stretching him open earlier. His gummy walls were rhythmically clenching and unclenching around your cock from the stimulation.

It didn't take long for Michael to start speeding up his movements, too desperate to wait. "Looks like someone can't wait, huh? What a needy little slut you are," you coo'ed, your grip tightening on his hips. "Come on, give me that pussy..." Michael whined, rocking back and forth, in circles, up and down, quick to get lost in the sensation of your big cock in his tight pussy. "Oh...oh, it feels so good...!" He moaned, louder than before. "Yeah? Make yourself feel good, baby," you purred as your hands roamed over his thighs, his hips and his ass. Of course, Michael didn't need to be told twice, starting to bounce on your cock feverishly, his moans and whimpers getting louder.

"Fuck...good boy," you praised as you watched him bounce, your hips starting to thrust up against his movements, making him cry out in pure bliss. "Ah! Ah! Oh, God!" Michael was quick to turn into an absolute mess, holding onto you with his nails digging into your shoulders, pussy clamping down on your cock, hips working expertly. His curls were sticking to his forehead from sweat, his big eyes glistening with lust. "Look at you, so eager for my dick," you teased with a pleasured moan. "I-It's too good!" Michael was panting and whining like a dog in heat, completely lost in the heat of the moment.

Caught up. Maybe a little too caught up. His movements were fast, needy, desperate. He was completely out of his mind from all the pleasure that he didn't even notice the first few spurts until you spoke. "Baby...oh, sweetheart, look at you, making a mess all over me," you chuckled quietly. Only then did Michael feel it, notice the wetness spreading. Instinctively, he clamped down in an attempt to stop, but he couldn't control himself. He whined in embarrassment. That's never happened before, he's never fucked himself so hard to the point of peeing.

"Shh, it's okay, let it out. Just don't stop moving on me." You grabbed his hips and started guiding him again, making him continue to fuck himself on your cock while continuously spurting pee all over your lap, soaking down into the hotel bedsheets. "I-I...ngh...I-I'm sorry..." Michael whined, but starting rocking his hips on his own again. "Don't you apologize, we can wash the sheets later...plus, it feels good, doesn't it? Keep going," you reassured him, starting to thrust up again, the wetness and skin making loud slapping sounds.

"I-I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum...!" Michael warned, whining, bouncing on your cock as the stream went on. "Me too. You want it inside you? Want me to cream that tight cunt?" You teased, talking dirty like you know he loves so much. "Y-Yes! Yes, please! Please cum in my pussy..." Michael begged, the stream of pee slowly subsiding until it stops, leaving your lap soaked and Michael's pussy even more sensitive. "I'm gonna fill you up so good, baby," you moaned, thrusting up harder.

After a few more deep and hard thrusts, Michael cried out, squirting his juices all over you lap as well, his walls clenching tightly around your cock, which ultimately pushed you over the edge too. You pulled Michael down on your lap and held him there, your cock buried balls deep in his pussy as you emptied yourself all up inside him, filling his womb and making him whine at the warmth.

You stayed like that for a while, both you and Michael riding out your orgasms, coming down from the high before you slowly, gently lifted him off, watching your thick cum leak from his creamy pussy. Michael was shaking and shivering, sensitive and fucked out. "You okay?" You asked, earning a small nod. "Y-You're not mad?" Michael murmured. You shook your head. "It's just pee, baby, we'll clean it up. Now stay here, I'll be right back."

Pulling back the wet sheets before gently laying him down on the bed, you stood up and made your way to the bathroom, running a soft cloth under warm water. You walked back to the bedroom and sunk down on the bed again, tending to Michael's now swollen, filled pussy, cleaning him up before pulling him into your arms, deciding that you'll clean the sheets tomorrow. For now, you just let him drift off against you.

“Michael take them off,” you whispered sharply, having already had it with his funky ass attitude today.

He begged you to be his date to the CBS Awards because he didn’t want to be anxious due to being the guest of honor for the night. Said he’d missed you at events with him. That you were his comfort and it’d be oh-so boring without you. You told him the only way that was happening is if he took off his sunglasses in at least one of the photos you posed in with him.

The glare from the flashes bouncing off of them made your makeup look ashy in pictures. And when he wore them, it looked like you were meeting him, like a fan. You’re his girlfriend.

Of course, that demand already irritated him.

“Y’know why I wear them, baby,” he’d complained.

“I do. But you also know why I want them off. It’s only for the ones with me in ‘em, okay? At least one? I just wanna see your pretty eyes, baby. When you wear ‘em, I feel anxious n’…disconnected from you. Like some fan,” you’d pouted, giving him your very best puppy dog eyes. It succeeded in getting a “Fine, just a few,” out of him, and you thought that was it. Well…The whole event had passed and he was still wearing them while you walked the carpet on your way out.

What pissed you off further was that he knew better. The way your dynamic went was simple: you said to do something, and he’d do it. He’d sometimes do it before you told him to. He’d even willingly trail behind you like a puppy, your finger—hooking into his belt loops or the collar of his shirt—being his unspoken leash.

People loved to poke fun at that; fans, family, and the tabloids alike. They called you a maneater. But Michael was exactly where he wanted to be, and so were you.

Although you’d never really…spoken on the workings of your dynamic—everything honestly came naturally—it was pretty much an unspoken rule that you talked and he listened. You commanded and he obeyed. You’d throw and he’d fetch. Both of you liked it that way.

It gave him a sense of peace, being bossed around and guided everywhere. At work and honestly even in his daily life, he had too many people just doing anything he said and telling him things they thought he’d want to hear. He had such a strict image for himself in public, too, that he was afraid of ever complaining, even if he wanted to. A people pleaser through and through. So, he loved having someone that could be mean for him when he was too scared to. Or having someone be mean to him because they weren’t scared to.

It gave you a sense of ease as well. You enjoyed not being treated like some docile little princess that had to say “Yes, please” and nod your pretty little head at everything the “big man” in charge wanted you to. It was enough putting on that front for hours on end at work. You weren’t going to pretend to be your boyfriend’s submissive little doll at home as well.

So, once the two of you fell into the step of things on your very first official date, it seemed like the both of you sighed out a breath of silent relief when you—having been so comfortable that you hadn’t had the time to check yourself—told Michael to pick up a fork that you’d knocked over and couldn’t reach by his feet. As soon as that “Pick that up for me,” left your mouth and he did it without hesitation, almost looking ecstatic by the way you spoke to him, the both of you knew this was meant to be.

And sure, he’d slip up a few times. He wasn’t really used to being so directly told what to do constantly…That, and he secretly enjoyed when you’d get all worked up and put him in his place. But he’d never acted like this.

He knew better because you’d had this conversation the very last time you went out together. So, that only made his response worse.

“Mama, c’mon everyone’s starin’. Just smile real quick n’ it’ll be done,” he whispered back, smile tightening and voice shaking with nervousness once he registered your tone.

But no. You were already on one. Because he was on one.

You’d been patient all night. When you walked the red carpet before the ceremony, you gave him a pretty little smile and eyes that said, ‘Remember our agreement,’ and he proceeded to take those photos with his onyx Ray-Bans sitting atop his nose bridge. Any time a flash went off, your smile would falter infinitesimally at the idea of the photos making you look like a hot ass mess.

The thing was, Michael didn’t really enjoy how his makeup turned out today. His artist decided to experiment with a new eye look instead of letting him go with his tried and true, so he wanted to cancel on showing up completely. Of course, he couldn’t do that because that would be unprofessional and vain. Plus, he was being awarded that night. So, he decided to wear the darkest pair of shades that he owned—ones that swallowed up the entirety of his expressive eyes and his upper cheeks—and make sure to never take them off, no matter what.

He knew that he’d be met with some complaints after begging you to join him, especially since he’d want you to join him in pictures. But he missed you. The two of you were always so busy these past few months—your shared label decided it was a great idea to have you drop albums within a week of each other. That left no time for you to be together at events since you were being invited to different ones constantly.

He understood that you loved looking into his eyes and that you felt connected to him when you did. And, although he was still shy, he loved the feeling he got when your eyes warmly met his. Even when it was in public. Especially so, because it felt amazing to be loved so openly in that way.

Michael knew that you hated feeling like a fangirl whenever you were with him, especially because he was so established in the industry, and tabloids tried to paint you as such when you first started hanging out romantically. They’d tried their hardest to call you anything from a gold-digger to Michael’s ‘luckiest fan,’ and you’d spent countless phonecalls ranting to him about the demeaning articles and begging him not to believe them.

One time, shortly after the two of you decided to make your relationship publicly official, a tabloid wrote a particularly nasty piece on you, using a photo the two of you took together at a carpet the previous night. Both of you were dressed to the nines, obviously, but Michael was wearing his Aviators. In the article, the author wrote:

“POP PRINCESS AND POP KING MAKE IT OFFICIAL! BUT WILL IT LAST?: The bright, young star looks like any other fan who just so happened to get lucky enough to lay down with their idol. I mean, look at them! He won’t even take off his sunglasses to look at her. Let’s give it a week before she starts to bore him or she announces a new project—riding off the MJ hype. Hopefully she has enough self confidence to not let the heartbreak ruin her, because she clearly has enough to flaunt this hot commodity of a man to the world—as if he even truly loves her.

See page 2 for all the dirt on how the pair came to be, their first failed attempt at dating, the list of demands the Pop Princess has for the Pop King, and an exclusive story from a hotel maid; she heard them going at it for 4 hours one night on their secret vacation in Cabo!”

You’d explained to him that when he was posed up with you in sunglasses that hid his expression and you looked all lovesick and excited to be there, it looked to people like you were a fan and idol. The relationship dynamic was already hard enough as is, with all the speculation and comparisons, but this one particularly struck a nerve deep within you.

Something that he never truly understood was when you’d said that you “looked like a mess” in photos with him, because that sounded absolutely ridiculous. You were nothing short of perfection, not even just in his eyes, but to everyone.

But today he was insecure, so he thought it was a good idea to give you false hope, like a dumbass.

Michael had a hard time admitting to his insecurities or heing vulnerable right before he had to go in public because he had a front to put on. It’s not like he was being fake or anything, just more guarded. So, he hadn’t told you the full truth and agreed to remove his glasses in photos you were in, even when you double-checked with him on the way there.

It’s not like you were pretending to be okay with it and said nothing, either. When you were taking a photo where he had his arm wrapped around your waist securely, you leaned up and planted a feather-light kiss to his cheek, and sneakily whispered, “Baby, take the shades off for this one. I wanna look into your eyes.” He had the nerve to say, “Next one, lovey,” and leave them on for the next set as well.

When you were being seated at your designated tables, a photographer came up to the two of you, excited to see you both accompanying each other to the same event for the first time in months. “Ahh, let me snap some photos of the world’s most darling couple!” the French man gushed.

You’d given Michael a sharp side-eye and a soft nudge to his ribs as the two of you leaned into each others’ sides for a complimentary embrace. He gave you a side-eye back, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled at the photographer, shouting out a, “Ready!”

At one point, having downed your flute of champagne a bit faster than usual due to nerves and irritation, you made Michael help you find the restroom during a commercial break. You scolded him in the hallway as you exited, your cold, slightly damp hands roaming up his shoulders to adjust his collar and pick something out of his curls.

You pointed your acrylic finger all up in his face, whisper-yelling at him to “Fix your fuckin’ attitude,” and “Stop bein’ difficult or I’m leaving,” and he did nothing but sit there with an unreadable expression. Looking like a puppy getting in trouble for chewing on shoes he knew better than to chew on. He said he was sorry and that he’d have them off next time. He told you that he was just scared of everyone seeing into his soul.

Then he let you scold him some more for lying and embarrassing you in front of so many people. You chewed him out for giving you a dirty look instead of saying no or explaining himself further. Instead of just letting you stay home without looking like a loser.

On your way back, after reassuring him that you only wanted to see his eyes for one photo because you missed him—not to make the paps see them—and sharing an impassioned makeout session, you were stopped by another photographer.

One that wanted to snap photos of the hot couple with lipstick smudged all over their lips. You’d laughed, a real, hearty, lighthearted laugh, and brought your hands up to remove Michael’s glasses. Because you’d come to an agreement that he would.

He’d immediately backed away from your touch, shoving yours arms away, and mumbled out a “Stop it,” between a clenched smile.

You’d decided to muster up enough strength to take the stupid photo and stare blankly down the barrel of the camera, a PR smile drawn all over your face. Then the photographer left. You’d started to complain again and he got snappy with you, telling you to “Just leave it alone, already.”

With a smile so emotionless it was terrifying, you’d dragged Michael back to your seats by his stacked belts and he walked with his head hanging low. Anyone could see he was in trouble. He thought cracking a few jokes throughout the rest of the night would help. When he was awarded, he gave you a sweet shout-out in his speech and pointed at you lovingly, and you played along for the crowd. Even when he rejoined you at your seats, he tried to initiate a game of footsies underneath the table. You turned away from his embrace just enough to stop him, but not enough to look obvious to onlookers. You weren’t having any of it.

Maybe too hopefully, you’d anticipated him finally acting right after the mood shift. Hoped that he’d just take a singular photo without his glasses for you like you wanted. You just wanted one. Your entire mood was counting on it.

Still, through a terrifyingly convincing smile, you urged him again. “This is my last time repeating myself to you tonight. Off. Now.”

“I said no.”

Clearly that wasn’t him. Clearly he wasn’t speaking to you in that tone. Clearly, you’d lost your mind.

“M’kay,” you responded monotonously, and his entire body stiffened. A flash of something dark came over your features that only he would be able to pick up on. You finished your little photo-op and then headed to the SUV stretch limousine, Michael trailing behind you nervously trying not to trip over his own feet.

He so graciously shrugged Bill, his driver, away from the passenger door, making a show to open it for you himself, and lifted the train of your fancy gown as you stepped inside, while you held onto the crook of his elbow lazily.

You said not a word to him.

“Baby, please speak to me. ‘M sor—”

You cut him off with a yawn, asking Bill in your sweetest voice to roll up the vehicle’s partition. Not for privacy, but because if he looked at you close enough, he’d eventually see your facade crack and the anger slip through.

When you get irritated, that’s one thing. When you get annoyed, that’s another. But when you get disrespected, though? And this personally? You’re not the easiest person to be around. Especially in a suffocating vehicle.

The ride was unbearably quiet.

Time and time again, Michael tried to get you to speak to him. Tried to kiss on you. Tried to lighten the mood. Each time, you stonewalled him, pushed him away, or looked straight past his figure as if he wasn’t even there.

You suddenly found all the architecture and street lights outside to be the most fascinating thing your eyes had ever laid upon, as if you’d never seen them a day in your life.

Periodically, Bill would knock on the partition window for permission to crack it, letting you both know how far you were from home. Each time, Michael would let you speak first. Both from fear of cutting you off, and for the yearning to hear you speak at all. He knew he fucked up. Bad.

Bill knew it was serious when you opened the car door for yourself before either of them could get to it, and all you said to him was, “Thanks. Night.”

He looked at Michael and whispered, “Fix it,” before he was off, leaving Michael standing awkwardly in the driveway for a belated moment. He replayed the tone you used on him today. The way you had disappointment written all over your face as you finally gave up. The pout on your pretty lips when you thought he wasn’t looking. One that he’d only ever seen in much more intimate settings—moments filled with the scent of lust and the visual of abandoned clothing.

Then, begrudgingly, he stepped through the front door into the foyer of your now shared home—one that he insisted the two of you lived in for privacy. A cage of his own making.

You were already upstairs, either preparing his doom or getting ready for a shower, and he walked up the stairs as slow as possible without the chance of you rushing down them to hurry him up. When he entered the silent bedroom, he saw that you were sitting at your vanity, removing your makeup. You looked heartbreakingly stunning. A melancholic beauty.

“Um. Hi,” he spoke in a hushed tone, like you were a deer on the edge of running away at the slightest of sounds.

“Mm,” was all you responded, with a jut of your chin.

“Are you okay?” he asked. A bit stupidly, you thought to yourself. Because of course you fucking weren’t.

And you lost it. Well, only a bit.

“Okay? Really, Michael? Do I seem okay to you?” you asked, raising your voice a bit more than you wanted to, but not quite yelling.

“No, that was a dumb question. I mean—well. I’m sorry?” he said, more like a question. Which only irritated you more.

“No, don’t just stand there n’ tell me what you think I wanna hear. What the hell was all that today?” you asked, slamming down your moisturizer. “Embarrassing me like that in front of all those people? You couldn’t take them fuckin’ glasses off for one photo?”

“I—My makeup’s horrible!” he argued, sounding lost on words. He’d definitely seen you mad before, but never at him like this. And never so…avoidant. He was usually the avoidant one. A taste of his own medicine, perhaps.

“Are you serious?” you scoffed, meeting his face in the mirror. His almost comically tinted sunglasses perched atop his nose, as if to cruelly mock you. “Your makeup?” You stood up from your soft chair and pushed out of it, walking over him and concentrating on not slamming your feet into the soft carpet. His heart pounded in a pace he’d never felt before. Equal parts guilty and attracted to you. Then even more guilty for even thinking like that at this moment.

“Well, I’m glad you were willin’ to ruin my night over some goddamn makeup, which actually looks fantastic, by the way! Meanwhile, mine’s gonna come out all ugly and ashy in the photos. I bet the tabloids are already writin’ their lil’ think pieces on it!” you exclaimed hysterically.

“No, my eye makeup…It’s–it’s bad. And different…” he countered, the weakest argument he could’ve had.

“Well I’m sorry, but I’m not sure how you’d think I care about that over bein’ embarrassed and anxious all fuckin’ night. Everyone there heard me ask you countless of times to take ‘em off. Those photographers saw you shove me away when I tried. And worst of all?” you nudged his shoulder with your pointer finger, poking it with your nail. “I was nervous bein’ out together after all that time n’ all I wanted was to look into your eyes for one moment for some reassurance. And you couldn’t even give me that because of some damn makeup. You’re ridiculous,” you rambled, getting more hysterical with each sentence you spoke.

Michael had no idea how to fix this. Because you were right. You’d never make him feel bad about his appearance, because somehow you truly loved him. You were the only person he allowed to see him completely bare—clothes, makeup, and all—and all you did was make him feel…beautiful. Even if he was anxious by onlookers, he knew that all he’d have to do was look over to you and see the love in your eyes. And he had been able to do that all night, because yours were visible. He’d miserably failed to be there for you in that way over an experimental eye look that’d only gone wrong to him.

He still hadn’t said a word. His face was displaying every attempt at consolation, and every time he shot it down, realizing what he was attempting to say sounded terrible each time.

“I’m going the fuck to bed,” you announced, breaking him out of his reverie. He reached out for your retreating figure, and his fingers brushed along your bare arms. You shrugged away from them and headed to the bathroom to shower all your stress away.

And Michael? He spent the entire time pacing back and forth, seemingly determined to wear a hole into the carpet. He still couldn’t figure out how to fix this.

You didn’t want to talk to him, clearly. And even when he tried explaining himself, it was stupid. So that was a no go.

Would you maybe want to cry? You didn’t do that much, but you seemed hurt enough to.

Or should he just leave you alone? Somehow, that seemed like the worst option, no matter how much he wanted to run away from the situation…that he caused.

You returned to the room in your robe, pointedly ignoring him as you went into your closet to change into a pair of undies and a thin tank top. When you exited, you walked straight past him, mumbled out a, “Take a shower before you even touch that bed,” and walked downstairs to make some tea.

Really, to anyone else you might’ve been overreacting. But it was the lack of consideration of it all. The fact that it was due to his makeup. The pit that arose in your stomach when he’d rejected you and spoken to you in that tone. All of that, paired with the inevitable snark pieces you’d see on the news or on magazine covers the morning after, made you feel…small.

It hurt more because it wasn’t like Michael to be this way. You’d been so grateful that such a sweet man had fallen into your lap, and you took that kindness at face value. You naively hadn’t realized that he could eventually hurt your feelings. That he could get mad and snappy, too. So you were reconciling with that realization as you stirred your sleepytime tea, which did nothing to help you fall into slumber anyway.

You could’ve felt bad about the cold shoulder you were giving him, and maybe you would eventually, but this hurt. Sure, he hadn’t known every complexity of the situation and why it’d affected you so deeply, but he knew enough. He knew the reasons behind why you’d be uncomfortable in the first place, which is what prompted him to agree to your condition initially. He also could’ve just let you stay home!

Going against your normal nighttime routine, you drank the cup of tea downstairs, prolonging having to face the inevitable tension of sharing a bed with Michael tonight. The two of you never ever went to bed angry, something you both lived by even before meeting one another. But, you couldn’t see yourself getting over this easily, and you were too tired to have a flushed out conversation about the deeply complex inner workings of your mind that made you react like this.

As you trudged up the stairs, you reassured yourself that he’d be receptive. That maybe he’d apologize on his own. He was probably standing in the middle of the floor, waiting on you to return so he could drop to his knees and kiss your hands in sincerity. But, when you pushed past the threshold, he was still in the shower, and that false hope leaving your body took away the rest of the emotions you’d had that night, leaving you completely numb in its glaringly loud wake.

You laid in your bed, its comforter ironically cold, and faced the bathroom door longingly before turning back around, trying to let sleep entice you.

Less than a minute later, you heard the shower turn off and rustling about the bathroom before he stepped out, the pads of his feet meeting the carpet as silently as he could.

He disappeared into the closet—presumably changing into his signature sleep attire of boxer briefs and a white tee—and emerged shortly after. Then, his side of the bed dipped, his scent lapping through your lungs in familiarity.

“You still awake?” he whispered into the dim bedroom.

You took a belated moment to respond, turning over the possibility of pretending to be, until you decided you didn’t care enough to do that. “Mhm.”

“I miss you.”

Ouch.

Silence.

“Please. Just look at me. Baby?” He laid a gentle hand atop your exposed shoulder and rubbed tenderly. “I just want a hug.”

“I don’t.” Ice. Your voice was like hard, cold ice.

“You do,” he retorted. “I can see by the way you’re huggin’ yourself. Just lemme do this for you. You can be mad at me through it all, I just don’t want you to feel the need to comfort yourself when I’m layin’ in bed right next to you.”

Your blood simmered as you felt a sense of embarrassment suffocate you; you’d never been so exposed. You’d never had someone pay so much attention to you that they’d notice that yes, although you weren’t the most affectionate person ever, you hugged yourself as a sense of comfort because you’d never felt entitled to ask for one.

But then that nasty little voice in your brain that always seemed to ruin everything good you had going for yourself grew louder. Because if he could notice something this small, then why didn’t he notice how glaringly uncomfortable you were earlier? Or did he?

You sat up, your body feeling like a live wire as Michael’s warm arms wrapped around yours. He squeezed you tightly, and hot, heavy tears dripped onto them. Yours.

You weren’t sad. That wasn’t why you were crying. You cried because you were frustrated and at war with yourself. Had this been any other time, any other person, a mistake like this—especially so early on in the relationship—would’ve made you retreat, and eventually eat away at you until you left altogether.

“You were so inconsiderate. Do you know that?” you asked him into his chest, your arms still wrapped around your torso as if the hug wasn’t enough.

“Yes.” He smoothed down the fabric of your tank top. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m so frustrated, Michael. All you had to do was communicate! You can’t do something like this again. I’m serious,” you mumbled through angry tears.

“I know. I’m sorry, bubble,” he whispered again, tears threatening to sneak their way into his own eyes. “I—I truly screwed up. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I thought it was okay to lie. I just…” he sniffled, and your body stiffened slightly. Because although you were upset at him, you hated being the reason for anyone’s tears.

“Mich—”

“No, ’m okay. Really, I just.” He took a deep breath and started over, something…heavier laced into his words. “For some reason, I just get so into my own head in public that I forget you do the same. I forget you haven’t been in this life for as long as I have, so things effect you in a different way than they do to me, and…” he gulped, his rubbing coming to a halt as he squeezed your torso again, seemingly for his own comfort.

“…I—I dunno how to say this without soundin’ like a terrible person,” he whispered, hesitance swirling into every syllable.

You waited, your body too spent and your mind too busy comforting you the way it knows how to—by making you so numb that you don’t care enough to speak anymore.

“I just didn’t think it was that serious to you.” He gulped and then froze as he felt your own body stiffen up more. “I’m not sayin’ I didn’t believe you were ever upset or anythin’, I just…I thought the tabloids issue was somethin’ that only bothered you a long time ago. I figured you’d eventually get over it or that you already did.”

The more he spoke, the more he felt like he was digging himself a deeper grave.

“I’m not—this is all comin’ out wrong. Shit—pardon my language.” He took in a greedy lungful of air, determined to get his point across in one way or another. Tried again.“There’s nothin’ I can say that’ll make what I did today better, because there’s no excuse. I was fully bein’ selfish, and in the process, I completely ignored your feelings. Even though you warned me multiple times n’ I knew you were gettin’ upset, I was more worried about my own in the moment. When, you’re right. All I had to do was communicate, or just take off the damn sunglasses for one photo. I’m sorry.”

As much as you wholeheartedly appreciated the raw honesty—truly, you did—the fact that he admitted to purposefully pushing your feelings to the side hurt. The fact that he acknowledged that he remembered your anxiety-induced feelings towards this exact issue before, but he thought you’d “eventually get over it” hurt.

You sat in silence without intending to, because the entire monologue stunned you to silence. Nobody had ever been so openly raw with you, and you didn’t know whether to cradle and appreciate that or tuck away the uncomfortableness his words choked you with into a pocket with all of your other most hurtful memories.

“Please, baby. Say somethin’…” he begged, pulling back just slightly to catch a glimpse of your face. He wished he didn’t. Because you didn’t look sad or angry. You looked…empty.

Another suspended moment of silence cradled the dim bedroom, save for the sound of the two of you taking in breaths; yours coming in even drags, and Michael’s in clumsy ones.

“Do you take me seriously?” you asked, your voice cracking through the deafening silence like a whip.

“Of course, lovey. Hey, of course I do,” Michael cooed, his hands sliding up to cradle either side of your face. He looked deep into your distant eyes, trying to coax you to just…look.

“No, I mean am I just…someone to have fun with? Do you see yourself marryin’ me and settlin’ down?” you asked, and a flicker of…life flashed through your eyes. Michael caught that and held onto it, using that slight lapse to fuel his determination further. He needed you to see. To believe him. To feel better. To forgive him.

“Baby. Please look at me? Yeah? Yeah, I’m right here, bubble,” he cooed some more, once he saw you actively trying your hardest to follow his guided instructions. “Baby, I knew I wanted to marry you before I even told you ‘I love you’ out loud. We both knew this would be hard, right? Remember our talks about this industry? All the times I came to you explainin’ how I’d never been in a long term relationship because bein’ with me came with a lot? It’s not an excuse, I know that. I also know it’s better said than done, but I’m learnin’, because I care.”

You looked back at him with ferocity, now. You were allowing yourself to feel this hurt. You welcomed it, along with his truth.

“It’s so hard…I’m—I’m not as established as you are and the press can take any little thing n’ turn my entire career upside down from just one moment. They’ve already tried! And you made me look desperate out there, bugs.” Your eyebrows knitted together tightly as your facial muscles remembered that they existed, and your eyes flicked between his and briefly to his pouty lips.

“You can’t do anything like that ever again, do you understand me?” He nodded his head fervently, and you brought your hands up to cradle his face, a mimic of his own. “I’m so fuckin’ serious. I never want to feel like this again. Because it’s one thing for strangers to upset me, but I can take that. I can use that as fuel. I can’t be hurt like this from the love of my life,” you spoke again, louder this time.

“I understand. I’m sorry,” he apologized again, a warmth bubbling in his chest at your words. You hadn’t necessarily forgiven his actions, but you forgave his intentions.

You stayed in each other’s hold like that for a few minutes, taking in the deep pools of your eyes staring back at one another. Because you meant it when you said you needed his to ground you. Eyes—they really were the window to the soul, and his was bared to you. In them, you saw regret, apology, love, lust, promises, sincerity, and warmth. It was all you needed.

And then you realized his breath was fanning straight across your nose.

You were a millimeter away from a kiss. His softer gaze flickered between your parted lips and back to your eyes, and then the heaviness in the air dissolved into a thin mist of untamed feelings as you pressed your lips to his.

His voice came out in a surprised gasp at the back of his throat, and you pulled his face into yours with a heavier grip, desperate to pour everything you felt into the action.

Michael’s hands and body were frozen in uncertainty—should he reciprocate? Would you end it if he didn’t? But would this be taking advantage of your vulnerability? Were you forcing yourself to do this for his own sake—

“Michael? Kiss me back,” you whispered, pulling away slightly and slotting your arms around his neck.

At that, his posture loosened and he melted—truly dissolved—into the kiss. He let out a sigh of content and tiredness and something else you couldn’t quite place. All of the stress of the evening molded around your bodies and wrapped around your limbs as if it were a puppeteer and you two the marionettes—guided by its emotion and desire.

You climbed over to him, not breaking the kiss. He welcomed the warmth of your embrace as you slotted against his lap, hugging yourself closer to him as he clasped his arms around your half-clothed torso.

“I missed you,” he whined between heated pecks, and you sighed contentedly.

“Me too, Mikey.”

He then deepened the kiss, and you couldn’t tell if it was natural or if he was determined to prove something, until he spoke again.

“I’m sorry. Please, let me show you.”

And then your heart nearly collapsed. Because those last five words were enough to break down your walls.

“We can just kiss, baby,” you stated softly, pulling back to catch your breath and lay your forehead against his. Also feeling the need to stop for fear of him doing this because he felt obligated to.

“I want to. Please. I want you to feel how sorry I am, mama. You deserve it,” he pleaded, his voice cracking at the edges.

And the sheer desperation in his voice caused a white heat to bloom in your lower belly. He almost sounded like he needed it more than you did. Then you felt the proof of his words growing against your backside.

So you reconnected your lips to his, and they fit like two complementary puzzle pieces—like they were made to be there.

He softly slid his body from underneath your own and flipped you over onto your back. A surprised gasp caught in your throat as his warm fingers roamed your body in a way that made you feel like he’d studied you. He trailed the most sensitive parts of your skin, areas that would only be known by practice.

He grazed the tiny fold of skin on the backs of your thighs. The area just above your hipbone that only had feeling with a specific level of pressure. His nails slightly scratched on your left collarbone—the one he knew was more sensitive—and it was then that you felt a physical tether form between the two of you. Because no matter what hurt—past, present or future—nobody would ever learn you like this.

And he did it all while kissing you with the passion of every great poet of the past, and the passion of the modern poet that he currently lived as. His lips and tongue were writing a love song into your own, and you could practically hear the melody whisper into your ears as the bed creaked beneath your bodies.

A trail of opened mouthed kisses was placed onto every reachable spot of skin from your chest up, and you felt on the brink of tears. It felt like something deeper, something forgotten and broken, was being released into the care of a doctor. That shattered feeling or memory being mended and nursed one peck at a time.

Michael didn’t take your silence as insult. He welcomed it, knew you were processing his actions. The way your breath came out as sounds tilting on an axis between moans and gasps, the way your heart sputtered under your chest where he osculated you, the look he saw in your eyes when he met them. He knew he was doing what he intended to.

He was showing you.

Your arms balanced your torso by your elbows, hands suspended in the air because you weren’t quite sure where exactly you wanted them.

Michael never let up his display of devotion and apology. He pulled one of your legs apart from the other and bent it up, slotting his hot body between your thighs. You mewled out at the feeling of his warmth ghosting over you, and he caressed the expanse of your legs.

His lips traveled from the tender crook of your neck and spread open—darting his tongue out—as he slid down your collarbones with applied pressure, until he landed to the inner swell of your breasts.

“May I?” he asked, in reference to your shirt. He wanted to remove it.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice dipped in ennui despite how wild your brain felt.

He hummed to himself and lifted the cotton fabric from its hem, his large knucles tickling that tender part above your hipbone in the gesture. A hushed whine was threatening to sprint out of your throat as the shirt grazed your nipples while he continued to lift it up.

But he was truly taking his time, so he left it risen halfway.

He kissed every millimeter of skin possible, antagonizingly slow, and it was like his mouth was making love to you. You could feel every nerve in your body start to alert in anticipation for his next move.

As thorough as he was, he was also unpredictable. He slid a hand under the area of your shirt that remained atop your breasts and whispered his fingers over one of your awaiting nipples. In the same movement, ke kissed up and down the faint path of hair growing on your belly, stopping just above the hem of your visibly soaked underwear.

When he pulled back, he blew onto the wet skin with his breath, cooling the area and your flushed body. And he’d repeat this action to every part he could reach, switching hands to alternate his attention on each of your nipples.

And you laid there patiently, because you were absolutely captivated.

Then he traveled back up your torso, licking a line straight from the bottom of it to right between where your breasts were mounted, and then he made out with you there, sucking and bruising a lovebite into the skin.

Your hands fluttered nonsensically above his dark curls, because you didn’t really want to put them there, it was instinct drawing you to force him closer.

Michael looked up at you and smiled with the warmth of a thousand hearths, and pulled your tanktop up higher, using one steady hand to lift your torso up as he slid it off the rest of the way before you could even attempt to do it yourself.

Maintaining a sort of magnetic eye contact, he stuck his tongue out as he lowered his mouth down to your breast, licking and sucking everywhere but the most sensitive part. Just as he saw your eyebrows knit up in frustration, he flicked his tongue across one of the sensitive buds and then attached his lips to it, suckling from your nipple like it was providing him nectar.

You whined then—a broken, suprised thing—and your back aggressively parted from the mattress in a flexible arch, Michael’s chin hitting your sternum in the act.

He grabbed you by your sides and gently pushed you down, then held you down one-handedly with a firm grip as you writhed beneath his grasp, bringing a hand back to your unoccupied breast. He looked up at you from under his eyelashes and his eyes watered with tears of love. Because he was using his mouth to give actions to the words he couldn’t form.

A vision of you in white, him spinning you on a dance floor surrounded by family members, a lacy garter on your leg, flashed through his mind as your hand rested idly on his neck. A wedding. Your wedding.

Michael replaced the hand fondling your other breast with his mouth, and suckled with the same intent as he did to your other. His free hand massaged the swell of it, careful not to overwhelm and over-sensitize your nipple.

Then, he popped off of your nipple and straddled you, taking your face into his hands.

And he looked at you. Deeply and invasively, he looked into your very being through the blown out pupils of your eyes, and you let his gaze swallow you whole. You felt stripped bare in a way you didn’t think was possible. In a way you never thought you’d allow.

“You’re my future and you mean more to me than any n’ everybody ever has or ever will. I’m sorry that I’ve done such a terrible job at showin’ that. Please let me love you until the world ends,” he practically sang to you. The tone of voice he used on you was unlike anything you’d ever heard. Pure, natural music. He brought his lips to yours and kissed, explored, thanked—all in one movement—before pulling away.

You tried responding, but felt a sob forcing its way into your esophagus, and you tried to cough it up—but he waved it away.

“You don’t needa say, anythin’ pretty thing. Just lemme take care of the mess I made.”

With that, he brought his head down by your thighs and kissed all over, leaving lip-shaped sheens of saliva everywhere. He brought one of your legs up by your ankle and rested it on his broad shoulder, then kissed the entire length of it. Your knee, your shin, your ankle, and even your foot. Then he repeated the same action to your other.

After placing that final kiss to the top of your foot, he hooked his arms under your thighs and bent down to give you a kiss on your forehead. Then, he slid down on the bed some more, and positioned his face above the moistened fabric covering your pussy.

He steadied your legs on his shoulders before he let go of them, reaching between to hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drag them down. You lifted your hips to help, as Michael watched your arousal connect the fabric to your folds by a single, pronounced string of slick. It transfixed him until the distance he had the underwear snapped it, sending it landing on your inner thigh.

Michael licked his lips hungrily, and neatly folded your underwear next to your vibrating body. Then his tongue was carving into your folds and collecting your arousal like the muscle was a spoon and you were a soup dish.

You shrieked, and then bit your lip harshly, forcing the sound down. Pettily, you still wanted him to work for your sounds of pleasure, despite being more aroused and pleasured than you’d ever previously been in your lifetime.

He smiled to himself at the action, and took it as a sign to try harder, so he did.

Michael removed one of his hands from your thighs and teased his middle finger at your entrance, mostly to gather some of your arousal, but he appreciated the sound of you holding your breath as well. He slid his tongue all the way to your clit and then really worked there. His tongue went up, down, left, right, clockwise, and counterclockwise. Somewhere in between, he managed to slide two fingers into your leaking hole, the tips grazing your g-spot in a teasing manner.

Your legs shook and constricted around him as you drew blood in your lip, biting straight into the soft flesh.

But then he moaned when you locked your legs around his neck, and you lost your composure as well.

“Oh, Michael! F-uck! That’s it! Just like that, baby…” you moaned throatily.

You brought a hand down to his shoulders and pulled him against you, his nose brushing against the stubble on your pelvis.

His fingers curled and pumped you so well, your vision danced with colored lights, and your ears started to ring. The familiar coil that was bound so tightly in your lower abdomen was threatening to explode with every expert lick to your clit, and you forced yourself to look down at the devoted man below you. You needed to cum with this image before you.

But he was looking back, and then your body was craving him more.

You locked your legs around him tighter and ground up to meet his movements, fucking his mouth with little care for his breathing.

He tried to free his nose a bit, and you groaned out a, “Lemme have this, Mikey. ‘M sooo close,” and he took it in stride, willing himself to preserve his breath and bring you to your peak faster.

“Mmmnh, yeah baby. You stay r-ight there ‘til I’m done,” you whispered, and he whimpered against you, sending the vibrations all the way up your spine.

And then everything went still.

Every thought.

Every sound.

Every sight.

A comforting…nothingness?

It was unexplainable, but that feeling…It took ahold of your body and you felt nothing and everything at the same time.

All of your worries were swept away as natural instinct took over and allowed you to feel this orgasm as deeply as you did.

It was so beautiful you told yourself to write a song about it.

The feeling could really only be explained by the color white—pure, untouched, so light that it was almost nothing at all, but so bright that it commanded its presence adequately.

Your mouth filled with saliva, and you swore it tasted like the sweetest candy ever as it dribbled through the crook of your mouth.

Your back was arched up in a near-convincing ‘C’, your head buried so deep into the pillows that one of the pillowcase’s edges was dipped into your partially opened mouth.

Those thighs that you had locked so tightly around Michael’s shoulders tensed up, the familiar sensation of a cramp forming sneaking its way through the upper tendons, until your body gave way and you came to again.

Both of you laid trapped in the moment, just taking in what you could. You waited until you could feel your legs again, and Michael waited until you moved first. You did.

You sat up and made eye contact with him. He looked just about as fucked out as you were; his mouth was glistening like he just ate a bucket of oily fried chicken, his lips were bruised and parted as he took in heavy gusts of air, his hair was frizzy and pointed every which way. And he looked at you like you’d just told him you created love just for him to experience.

“C’mere—”

He was already moving before you parted your lips, and he gripped onto your sweaty, naked body in a childlike embrace that deeply contrasted the lewd scene the two lf you were trapped in.

You urged him under the comforter, wrapping your arms around him and tangling your limbs as you held him like he was about to disappear.

“I love you so much, Michael,” you whispered as you felt your body give into slumber.

“I love you too.”

When you woke up the next day, a sense of relief swaddled its delicate arms around your soul as you searched for your boyfriend in the dark room. The curtains had been shut and the light was turned off at some point. You didn’t remember doing it, and as your hands met the cold, empty space next to you, you realized Michael did, probably to prevent the light from intruding on your much needed rest.

You found your tanktop and slid it on, taking your soiled panties and placing them with your dirty laundry before sliding on a fresh set under a pair of sleep shorts.

You cradled your feet into a pair of your favorite slippers and shrugged on your silk robe. Then, you did your usual morning tasks—used the restroom, brushed your teeth, and splashed ice cold water on your face until you felt alive.

Michael’s ears were met with the lively sound of humming and soft pads down the stairs as you met him in your living room, where he’d been bent over, placing the day’s papers on the coffee table and setting up the news channel, a glass of orange juice in his hand.

Your nose was greeted with the scent of grilled cheese sandwiches frying on low heat over the stove. You smiled to yourself as you realized he made your favorite lunch because you’d awoken at lunch time.

You hugged him from behind as he began standing up straight again, and he welcomed your arms easily.

“Did you sleep well, baby?” he asked you softly, his own voice sounding heavy with sleep.

“Perfect. You?” you asked.

“Perfect,” he echoed.

He turned around and took your hand in his, swinging your connected arms as he led you to the kitchen with him.

“Let’s eat these in front of the TV? I’m feelin’ a lil’ lazy today,” he said, a raspy chuckle reverberating through his vocal chords.

“Sounds perfect to me. I wanna stretch out on the couch. My legs are achin’,” you complained with a light smile.

Michael plated the sandwiches and sliced them in half sloppily while you stifled a giggle at his attempt. He rolled his eyes while he handed you both plates.

“Lemme pour you some juice as well. I’ll meet you on the couch, pretty,” he said, placing a tender kiss to your temple.

You hummed and walked to the couch, the steam from the hot food fanning underneath your chin.

As you sat them down on the coffee table, you mindlessly reached for the papers.

A furniture catalog.

An ad for carpet cleaners.

A list of February’s greatest love songs, ranked by a survey of elders at a high scale nursing home.

A tabloid trashing a few dangerously thin supermodels for eating at a burger joint.

A tabloid trashing you for what happened at the CBS Awards last night.

The day’s crossword puzzle—

Wait.

“Sorry, I’m makin’ it extra special for my extra special girl! Where’s that fancy glass I bought you two weeks ago?” Michael called from the kitchen.

“Left cabinet above the stove! Rinse it first!” you called back as you read the print:

“POP PRINCESS IS AN EMBARRASSMENT TO HER POP KING? The Pop King seemed utterly uninterested in the presence of his “girlfriend,” both pictured below. Witnesses say they saw him shove her away, and even roll his eyes at her when she wasn’t paying attention! It looks like the fun’s coming to an end for the two. She’s definitely worn him out and he’s tired of putting up with the younger starlet. You know how they say never meet your heroes? Well, never date your superfans either!

An inside source of ours says they heard her yelling at MJ while they went on a “restroom break” during the ceremony. Who wouldn’t get tired of all that nagging? Most embarrassing of all is that he’s clearly out of her league. She’s managed to leach for this long, it’s only a matter of time before she drains Jackson of life, leaving nothing to leach onto in the end.

See page 7 for an audio recording of MJ shutting down her obsessive complaints on the carpet & an in-detail recall of their “restroom break” argument!”

The snark piece sat below an unflattering photo of you and Michael, although it was only unflattering on your end. Michael looked gorgeous, and his gaze was obstructed by those fucking Ray-Bans.

You, on the other hand? Your makeup did exactly as you said it would. The bright light reflected from the glare of Michael’s shades and cast a white flashback onto your makeup, making you appear ghostly. Not only that, but you yet again looked at him like a protégée. Like a fan.

You heard Michael gasp from over your shoulder. He must’ve snuck back in when you were too immersed into the story, and read it over your shoulder—or at the very least caught sight of the ugly ass photo.

Your hand shook as all the shame, embarrassment, and upset from the previous day returned with a vengeance, right to your gut.

He crowded your peripheral vision from above, the orange juice having been placed down somewhere as his cold hands waved franctically, trying to shield your eyes from the page as if you hadn’t already read the whole fucking thing.

“Baby, no put that down! It’s—”

You put a hand in the air to stop him as you dropped the article somewhere onto the floor between the couch and coffee table.

Your eyes glazed over with something distant as you swallowed down the relentless pit in your stomach, and you forced a smile that hurt as it stretched against your teeth. Your voice came out a bit too chipper, but also highly robotic, like every word was being read as you spoke them aloud.

“I told you.”

Tags: @simp4eshal @urbanfunkchild @slugstarzz @cndybliss @yenvixx @plumppies @lil6uapa @etherealmikeyj @saiki-enthusiast @kottonkanditits @gyuuchuuu @ggformike @cherubae111 @strangerexee @softchaosdiary505 @devynrulesboisdrool @applehead444 @screammv @ilyliberiangrl @thrillerpilled @loveposiie @deletedkisses @freakinme @melaninswift @chrollosblackgf66 @melonvinyl @cafe-lectura @kiwikisses20 @carouselgirl77

“C’mon, girl! By the time we make it, there’s gonna be a crowd!”

Michael was damn near gonna break down your front door with the force he was putting into each slam of his fist.

He called you less than an hour ago to “give you time” to get ready. Late last night, while he was walking his pets through his ridiculously safe neighborhood, he caught sight of a littered flyer floating about on the asphalt, and picked it up to throw it in the nearest trash bin. As he walked toward the bin, he read the bold font announcing that a new snow-cone truck would be parked a few blocks from your home, by the private beach, and he got unnecessarily giddy at the idea of having an excuse to hangout with you alone—not that he ever really needed one. He set his alarm clock and everything, making sure to factor in time for himself to get ready and extra time for you because you took forever to get out of bed. Plus, he knew you’d kill him if he didn’t wake you up for it, although hearing how you trudged down the stairs, you seemed like you were gonna kill him right now…

The sound of your screen door hitting the wall and the jolt of the wooden door in front of it unlocking made his stomach flip. You swung it open with a surprising amount of force while he was mid-knock.

“That’s if we even make it. I almost fell down the stairs tryna hurry to get you to stop poundin’ on it. You’re gonna scare the neighbor’s dog!” you scolded him without any real conviction in your voice. You looked just as happy to see him as he was to see you.

“Aw, c’mere bubble. Don’t be like that,” he fake cooed at you, reaching for your hand to lead you down the porch steps as you locked up. As you neared the concrete at the foot of them, he pulled you into a very friendly hug—one that looked like a couple reuniting after some time away rather than a pair of just friends getting ready to go on a walk. He leaned away and cleared his throat after the embrace started to make him want to plant a kis—

“S-so it’s seven blocks away. You sure you don’t wanna bring your bike? I’ll ride on the back,” he suggested awkwardly.

“As much of an ego-booster it would be to have your tall ass crouched over ‘n holdin’ my waist for dear life, I’m fine with walkin’. The weather today is perfect,” you replied softly as you tugged him down your path.

It truly was. A clear, sunny, and breezy 77° California afternoon—the coolest of the month. The sun shone with all its passion as the wind tickled your arm hairs in the most delicate attempt at soothing from the heat, and it was perfect. You could hear seagulls squawking in the distance at the small beach nearby.

Michael swung your still connected arms as the two of you strolled at your set pace. Truth is, he was never rushing you to get there. He was rushing you so he could see you. He smiled to himself at the thought of him struggling to accommodate his height to your vehicle. Every time you two rode together, you insisted on being in control, and one pout on your lips was enough to make him give in. It made for some embarrassing falls on his part.

“What?” you asked, slowing down your pace. He hadn’t realized he subconsciously turned to look at you through his dazed thoughts and was openly smiling at you.

“You’re just…funny,” he said. It wasn’t really a lie—he was finding humor in the way you had him wrapped around his finger without even trying. He just wasn’t sure he should explain all of his thoughts…But why not? You’re just friends.

“Maybe the heat’s finally gettin’ to you. Let’s hurry it up, pretty boy,” you responded, turning away to conceal the shy smile threatening to dawn across your face. The way he was looking at you made you anxious.

“Hey, slow down! You’re gonna twist your ankle on this sidewalk,” he complained as he narrowly dodged the toe of his shoe from catching between a slab of raised concrete.

“Nuh-uh. You were the one rushin’ me to go, so we’re going.” You rolled your eyes with a hint of affection behind them, thankful your face wasn’t visible to him.

The rest of the walk was relatively quiet, save for a few comments on the aromatic citrus trees, Michael’s fun facts about little critters on the pathway, and you feeding him another compliment on his looks.

You could sense him getting a little tensed up as you neared the stand. A few people had gathered in line, and although he wasn’t cocky about it, he knew he could be easily recognized. You traced your thumb along the back of his hand in an act of comfort, letting him know you were still there.

“Mike, it’s okay. Hey, c’mere,” you paused your walking and stood square in front of him, reaching your free hand out to rub at his arm. “If this is too much, I’m perfectly fine grabbing yours for you ‘n we can book it back to my place. Here, take my sunglasses.” You reached into the neck of your shirt and unfolded the cherry red glasses you brought to shield your eyes from the sunlight, knowing he would feel better with something to protect his eyes. As you placed them on his nose, you wondered silently why he hadn’t brought his own.

“Thank you. But it’s okay, really. We’re still super early, I just didn’t expect anyone to already be here. I really do wanna enjoy the day with you,” he protested.

“Alright, but you tell me if you get even the tiniest bit uncomfortable, understand? I’d hang out with you in the men’s restroom if that meant you were havin’ fun,” you joked to him, sliding your hand up his arm to cup his jaw, fixing him to look you in the eyes.

“Yes, I promise,” he squeaked out, flustered and fighting the urge to lean in and kis—

“Good. Now c’mon, babe. I’m hot,” you complained as you closed the distance between you two and the tiny group at the snow-cone stand.

It was a group of little kids—3 girls, 1 boy—and they thankfully hadn’t seemed to recognize Michael one bit. They were pretty young after all, the oldest being no more than 6, and you could see their parents—who you were convinced would’ve made a scene if Michael hadn’t had your glasses on—watching them from a distance, waving their arms to signal them to hurry up.

The little boy accidentally stepped on Michael’s shoe as he was preparing to run back to his family, and he apologized in the sweetest voice you’d ever heard.

“Aw, it’s okay, Applehead. That new spot just made my shoes look cooler, don’t ya think?” Michael amended as he saw that the boy was about to cry. The kid didn’t say anything and just continued running away, pleased enough that Michael at least wasn’t upset.

“Hey, lovebirds! What can I get for you two today? I’ve got a couple’s piña colada specialty that’s really popular right n—”

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re just friends!” Michael said sheepishly before the vendor could unintentionally make things more awkward.

Right, you were just friends. You knew this, but hearing him dismiss the man like that felt so personal in a way you couldn’t explain.

“Oh, I do apologize! You two were holdin’ hands like one, I thought— Well that’s none of my business. What can we get started today?” he asked with a shake of his head and blush crawling up his neck.

Neither of you had realized your hands were still interlocked, and you both simultaneously dropped your own at your sides with an embarrassingly audible slap! to the thigh.

“I’ll do the Rainbow Sunset,” you responded calmly, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing out of embarrassment.

“I’ll take what the lady’s gettin’,” Michael responded soon after.

Something about the way he referred to you as a lady…He sees you as a lady? Not just a girl or just his friend, but a lady? You didn’t realize the vendor was speaking to you until Michael nudged you with his shoulder.

“Do you want it or no?” he asked, sounding like it was his fifth time doing so. It probably was.

“Want what?” you replied with a bewildered look on your face.

“Coconut cream. It makes the shaved ice a bit creamier and sweeter. Most of my customers get it on this flavor,” the vendor responded with a patient smile. You nodded a yes as Michael took his wallet from your purse and overpaid the man, insisting on him keeping the change.

As you dispersed from the area with your sweet treats in hand, the man caught your eye and gave you a loaded wink, jutting his head toward Michael. Whatever that meant.

Michael, being oh-so attentive, noticed you were rubbing the shoulder you had your purse rested on, and slid it off absentmindedly, placing it on his own. It’s like he was determined to kill you with his cuteness.

“You look sexier in that purse than I do. I should let you keep it,” you teased, giving him a wink as you two sat down on your favorite bench away from prying eyes. He just laughed and rubbed your sore shoulder briefly before turning his focus on the frozen treat in his hand.

You took a bite of yours first, something of an unspoken rule for the two of you. Each time you ate or drank something when you hung out, you would alternate who tried their delicacy first. If there was something either one of you was particularly excited to try, that person would try first as well, even if they tried first last time.

“Michael this is really fucking good. Woah.” You groaned and made a stank face—your telltale sign of enjoyment—and motioned for him to try his. He chuckled loudly and obliged, then his eyes widened.

“I thought you were bein’ dramatic— Ow!” You slapped him on his arm very lightly for the ‘dramatic’ comment.

He went in for a second scoop and he seemed to enjoy that one more than the last.

“Wait, lemme try yours,” you quipped, reaching your spoon over to his cup, making a beeline for the area he was going to scoop up next.

“C’mon bubble, you have your own! It’s the same thing!” he complained as you persisted.

“No, it’s not. He definitely added more cream to yours!” you muttered with fake annoyance etched into your voice.

If anyone were to somehow find this spot and see the two of you in it, they’d be fully convinced you were a longtime couple who never seemed to leave the honeymoon phase.

From the outside looking in, although Michael was ‘fighting’ back, he didn’t actually want to win. He was hardly even moving his cup from your reach, which he easily could’ve if he moved it to his other hand and stretched his unnecessarily long arm into the air. The look he was giving you? Pure adoration. His eyes sparkled at the sight of you, as if every star in the galaxy was hand placed into his deep brown eyes.

You weren’t really that subtle about the way you were ‘fighting’, either. Because of how flimsy he was being, you could’ve easily snatched his cup right up and owned him then and there, but you were enjoying the fact that each stretch of your arm and torso invited his body heat and the scent of his perfume in your nose. That, and you could see his dazzling smile from the corner of your eye.

It seemed like even the seagulls could sense it, as about four of them crowded together and just…watched. The entirety of the beach seemed to bend around your stolen moment together. The waves stopped crashing and eased into soft laps against the sandy shore. Families pulled out of the parking lot and left silence in their wake. The wind even blew in your direction, unintentionally causing your fluffy hair to graze across Michael’s face in the process. You lifted the sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to rest at the crown of his head, revealing his eyes. He froze completely, eyes bulging and mouth agape, and you launched your spoon into his cup.

“Hey there, handsome. I win,” you announced smugly. You tasted his shaved ice and sure enough, he had significantly more coconut cream. “Ugh, I told you! You had more,” you pouted dramatically, retracting your spoon and getting ready to devour yours.

You looked up at Michael, realizing he just kinda…sat there, without a word. That seemed to snap him back.

“Let’s do half and half?” he suggested.

This was another one of your little quirks the two of you came up with. If one of you liked something of the other’s more, you’d split each of your respective items equally, that way both parties were equally satisfied.

“YAY! Thank you, bugs!” you squealed excitedly. Yes, it was actually that serious to you.

The two of you ate your shares of the snow cones and then swapped, watching the ocean in a comfortable silence. Neither of you could pinpoint when, but since you were sitting under a tree, shaded from the sun and closer to the water, the chill from the wind made your bare arms cold, and the two of you mindlessly gravitated towards one another for warmth. You could even feel your head willing itself to rest on his shoulder once you finished the remains of your shaved ice.

“Y’know, I really appreciate this,” Michael spoke suddenly, his soft voice cracking the silence.

“Hm? The shaved ice?” you asked, your head fully resting on his shoulder now.

“No, silly. I just mean…moments like this. With you. You make me feel really normal, and you’re truly such a cool ‘n down to earth person. Thank you.” He was being completely serious, and that tugged at your heartstrings with so much force you thought your chest would collapse. You lifted your head and met his intense gaze.

“Aw, look at you goin’ all soft on me.” You poked his shoulder playfully. “I really do enjoy your company, no matter how many times I threaten to break your kneecaps for waking me up to do somethin’ random. You remind me how to be free. How to appreciate the fleeting moments. Thank you.” You leaned your head back onto his shoulder, but deeper into the crevice of his neck this time.

Neither of you seemed to want to unfreeze this moment, so you didn’t. You sat there in each other’s presence, not thinking of work or home life or anything but the beach in front of you, the dipping sun in the sky, and the company of the other.

“Let’s go throw these cups out before we attract ants,” you whispered to Michael, subconsciously trying to hold on to the quiet longer, even through speech.

He nodded his head and took yours from you, placing it inside of his. With his free hand, he helped you rise to your feet and both of you stretched your tight limbs. Wordlessly, he took your hand again and led you to the nearest trash can.

Then, his eye caught a glimpse of a foil package on the outside of it, ready to pick it up and place it in the bin—the environmentalist in him.

“Wait, Mike no! That’s a used condom!” you giggled at his naivety.

“Jesus—not in vain. People really do that kinda stuff out in public like that?” he asked, flustered.

“You have no idea what people get up to…At least we’re not at Venice Beach,” you joked, imagining Michael trying his hardest to appear unfazed at the sight of topless women, contortionists, and old men in thong speedos riding around and chatting it up with people on their roller skates. Or the other thousand crazy things that happen there. “Looks like it was a waste though,” you added thoughtlessly.

“A waste? What d’you mean?” he asked, incredulous. The man seemed to at least…finish the job.

“Those condoms suck. I bet it either broke in the woman or he came too fast and she was uncomfortable the whole time,” you suspected.

“How can you tell that by looking?” Michael was still so confused.

“Babe, I’m not a virgin. I’m speakin’ from unfortunate experience,” you replied through an unamused chuckle.

“Oh.”

He of course knew that. You’ve called him hungover or tipsy a couple times talking about failed hookup attemps and at least two successful ones. You never ever went into detail about it, but he’d still get awkward at the mention of your sex life anyways. For no reason, at that, because you’re just friends.

He threw the cups—accompanied by your spoons and soiled napkins—he was still holding in the trash after a beat of silence.

“I don’t think I’ve asked. And you don’t have to answer, I swear. But are you? A virgin, I mean,” you inquired cautiously. It made you slightly self cautious whenever the conversation was focused on your romantic life because it didn’t feel…whole, and you weren’t sure why. So, you decided to let him know he was safe to talk about his own.

“You can’t tell?” he asked honestly.

“I mean, I’ve learned not to judge…but I’ve considered it?” you replied truthfully.

“Well, yeah. I am. I’m just waitin’ for the right girl, y’know?” You nodded your head in earnest.

“I wish I did the same, to be honest…Well, to the future girl, lucky you!” You wished you could grab the words from the air and shove them back down your throat, because why in the fuck did you say that out loud?

Thankfully, he just laughed it off, probably assuming it was just you being weird again.

You looked up at him and realized his face was only mere inches from yours, and it felt like all the oxygen supply in the world had been put on pause. He had been looking at you intently, but you were never one to shy away from eye contact, and your warm eyes made him all but melt right then and there, and he looked past you after struggling to hold it.

“Makin’ you nervous?” you asked him, voice full of allure. You were trying everything not to risk your entire friendship.

“N-no…” Michael so obviously lied. You raised a very disbelieving eyebrow at him and he tried again, making a show to clear his throat. “A little,” he admitted.

The boy looked scared. You shrugged nonchalantly.

“I have that effect on people. C’mon, I wanna see if those turtle eggs have hatched yet.”

You grabbed his wrist and led him up the path to the area on the sand where the eggs had been buried the last time you two saw them.

“They’re still not hatched, damnit!” you cursed, letting go of your tight hold on his arm. You’d sworn that the next time you came, they would’ve been, and now you owed Michael your special edition Disney World hoodie.

“Ha! I knew it. That Disney sweater’s gonna look so good in my closet,” he gloated.

“Whatever. I was actually lookin’ forward to seein’ the baby turtles, though. I’ve been taking care of them and now I want one.” The pout you tried so hard to conceal was the most pitiful thing Michael had ever seen.

“Bubble, I’ll get you one! We can raise it together….y’know, as friends,” he added, desperate to bring that pretty smile back to your face.

“Really?! Oh, Mike, let’s go to the animal shelters and see if they have any right now!” you exclaimed enthusiastically. You gave him a kiss on the cheek, and although it was honestly platonic on your end, realizing what you did made your stomach go crazy. Looking like the happiest guy on earth, he adjusted your purse on his shoulder and took off your sunglasses, placing them on your forehead. He stretched his hand out for yours and took it gently. He so badly wanted to kis—

“Okay, but can we get another shaved ice first?”

Tags: @simp4eshal @urbanfunkchild @slugstarzz @cndybliss @yenvixx @plumppies @lil6uapa @etherealmikeyj @saiki-enthusiast @kottonkanditits @gyuuchuuu @ggformike @cherubae111 @strangerexee @softchaosdiary505 @devynrulesboisdrool @applehead444 @screammv @ilyliberiangrl @thrillerpilled @loveposiie @deletedkisses @freakinme @melaninswift

You were anticipating his arrival. Eager for it. The egotistical, amateur thug, Michael Jackson.

He irritated you beyond relief. He managed to intercept a handful of your private dealings with the powers of nearby towns. He was seizing new attributes and some of your most ‘loyal’ allies, and he was doing it all legally, so you couldn’t technically get the law enforcement youwere in control of to lock him away.

Newspaper headlines scrawled his name across them. The residents of your city were constantly whispering his name in heated gossip sessions. He was everywhere. Except your saloon.

You supposed it was because of the club’s reputation. You were known to be…assertive and highly intimidating. That fact was what confused you more, though. This was your city, your territory, your residents. Anybody blowing through it had to answer to you, and this man came in over four months ago terrorizing it, and in turn, you.

What made things worse was the fact that the team you employed to handle things and people like this were being incompetent as fuck. In fits of blinded rage, you’d cycled through eight different hench-people within the past few months—four duos—and clearly nobody could get the job done but you. When you had to fire even your best and most decorated security duo, you knew you’d have to step back into the field.

Or, so you thought.

A small part of you got tired of the unspoken cat and mouse game you had going on with him. He’d ruin some of your shady business deals, you’d be a second too late to catch him. He’d claim yet another one of your longtime product vendors, your goons would miss him by mere minutes.

Everyone who came to your club knew better than to utter his name in it, let alone with your earshot. The first and last time someone had, you removed one of your clunky stilettos and gave his tender parts a memorable blow with it. He was an unreliable crook who had it coming anyways, but the onlookers knew that action right there was a warning.

So, you knew it had to be serious business when you walked into your place of business and the entire place was crowded, everyone in their own groups passing around the same phrase over and over; “Michael Jackson’s coming.”

You knew what that meant. He was finally showing his slimy little head in your business. You thought of him as a punk. That he was so scared of you, he hadn’t even been brave enough to ask permission to come into your home, opting to wreak havoc instead of trying to work with you.

You secretly thought about that last part often—letting him do business with you. Or, at least the idea of it.

Had he done what he should’ve, he could’ve explained what he was there to do, maybe gotten on your good side and proven himself to you. Sure, objectively, he was really skilled at business deals and sweet-talking figureheads, not that you’d ever admit that to anyone out loud. He was also gifted at not leaving behind messes, which is what made catching him that much harder. He was so hard to track. Until he started brazenly leaving behind a signature to run things in.

No. Instead, he thought he could just bounce his happy ass into your shit—after months of strategically avoiding you—and take over. He was out of his damn mind.

Naturally, you were on edge and irritable by the idea of him just deciding to stroll into your relatively peaceful club like he was allowed the luxury.

Although you were into some pretty shady business, you’d always made sure to keep it away from Club 30s. The place was a safe-haven, a vessel for escapism. Sure, there had been a few tussles and mishaps here and there, but nothing that couldn’t be easily talked down, and certainly nothing like the trouble he was sure to bring.

Although you were made aware by one of his “associates” that he meant no harm and that he was coming peacefully and alone, you weren’t taking any chances. The place was filled with security disguised as regular club goers at every focal point in the building, every line of sight.

Of course, he was leaving you waiting in your own office, swiveling around in your chair sat in front of a sleek mahogany desk. Taking his sweet time to get on with this “meeting.”

“Who the fuck does this guy think he is? God? He has fifteen minutes to get in here or I swear on your mother, I’m killing him myself!” you yelled at your head of security, Knuckles, though there was nothing he could technically do. He was in charge of being near you at all costs. “Someone go scope the floor again. If it turns out he’s pulling some sneaky shit under our eyes, so help me, G—”

“Boss, he’s at the entrance. Says he’s…waitin’ on you to greet him,” a guard bursts into your office explaining timidly.

“Excuse me? Greet him? The fuck does he think this is, a spa? Tell one of the guys to escort him up,” you scoffed at Jackson’s audacity.

“B-but he said he—”

“Do you consider your pinky toes valuable? I suggest you follow my orders, or I’ll answer that question for myself,” you threatened the man. Seriously, where was everyone getting their balls today?

He ducked his head apologetically and exited the room hastily, mumbling codes into his ear piece. You, however, meticulously reapplied your dark mauve lipgloss and spritzed an extra layer of perfume onto your warm skin, appearing not to care about the whole ordeal. This was all apart of your routine, though.

It was something you used to your own advantage—being a woman in a male dominated industry. Men heard about you, sure. Everyone knew you; you were the biggest name on the coast, but they always doubted you when you first met them. They thought you’d used your looks to climb your way up, when you truly only started to after you solidified your place on top. It kept up a barrier; they’d think they could manipulate you because you’re just a pretty face, when in reality, you were a pretty face manipulating them.

They’d always find out when it was too late, but when they did, they respected you too much to retaliate. You played the role of a fool so well they hadn’t realized they were the fools all along. That, and they found you nothing short of terrifying.

Going off of the behavior you saw in Jackson, you had to play up this role very specifically. He was no doubt full of himself, but not in the way that most men were. He didn’t see himself as better because he was a man or had anyone stroking his ego, he was confident because of his proven skill.

Worse, he seemed to openly respect you in his own way without you having to properly demand it, and you didn’t know how to read that.

“He’s down the hall. Anything happens, we’re all ready to go on your signal,” your security head leaned down and whispered as you straightened your back in your chair, putting on your most stoic face.

“Got it. Send ‘em in.”

The door swung open with so much force, both yourself and your guard thought you were being setup and attacked, before you heard the most obnoxiously tickled laugh follow it.

“Wow, I heard you were serious, but I wasn’t expectin’ all this for lil’ ol’ me. C’mon, put the gun down!” Michael announced as he caught sight of the rifle in Knuckles’ hands. “I come in peace, I promise,” he declared, giving a bow.

His eyes scoped the room out, presumably looking for exits, traps, weapons, what have you, before they landed on yours. He gave you the most dazzling smile you’d ever seen on a man, and that only pissed you off even more.

As hypocritical as you felt, you understood the climbing to power by your looks assumption. There was no way he wasn’t using his to help him, at least in the way you were. It made you sick—you were very skilled at picking up character traits, and you realized that the two of you were too common. Clearing your throat in defiance toward the invasive thought, you squinted your eyes at him, realizing you didn’t care to leave up that delicate mask you usually did.

“You walk in to my place of business and don’t even introduce yourself to me first? Where are your manners?” you spat at him, curling your fingers and beckoning him toward the seat in front of your desk. He followed the command mindlessly.

“I honestly expected you to be waitin’ on me. Felt like the whole building was,” he responded, motioning to all the security outside. “You’re right, though. Hi, I’m Michael Jackson. Thanks for not killing me,” he partially joked, extending his hand to shake yours.

“If you made me wait fifteen minutes longer, I was definitely going to.” You looked at his extended hand and back up to his face, scoffing at it. He dropped it in his lap as he sat down.

“Why’re you here, exactly? And why now?” you asked him dubiously. He shrugged his shoulders as if this conversation was the most mundane thing he’d ever experienced.

“I wanted to have a civil conversation with you. I got tired of you chasin’ me down. It’s a pain, y’know? Figured I could call for some sorta truce and split some terrifies n’ vendors.” He looked into your face with a hopeful glint in his eyes. He was definitely an idiot.

“A pain for you? Do you know how many business deals I’ve lost because of your double-crossin’ ass? A truce? “Split up” territories and vendors? This is my city, and these are assets I worked for on my own. I oughtta beat your ass right now.” You glared at him with pure venom in your eyes and disgust in your face and you stood up, slapping your palms against your desk. He smiled at you like you just offered him a billion bucks.

“Yeah? What makes you think you’ll win?” he egged on, a look of pure mischief etched into his eyes. You pushed out of your chair and walked up to his side, bending down to his ear.

“The fact that I’m standin’ right next to you unarmed, n’ Knuckles doesn’t even have his gun drawn,” you stated evenly, sending a chill down his spine. “In fact, Knuckles? Go ahead n’ check on our sweet guests. I have everythin’ under control.” He looked at you and a proud smile drew across his face as he gave you a swift nod and Jackson a shake of his head.

As the door clicked shut, you smoothed Jackson’s collar down and cleared your throat, sitting back down at your expansive desk. You folded your hands under your chin and smiled at him in a way that unsettled him; it was so calm that you almost came off like a lunatic. And God, you somehow looked more beautiful.

“So!” You clapped your hands together, breaking the deafening silence. “You either give me back my town, or say goodbye to any family you have, because you’re gonna be goin’ away for a long time,” you threatened.

“You’re kinda funny, y’know? C’mon, let’s write out an agreement. Get me some paper?” he replied arrogantly, ignoring the threat you realized you only partially meant. Scoffing, you slid open a drawer in your desk and brought out a stack of blank sheets of paper and two black ink pens adorned with your initials. “Branding your name? Isn’t that a little narcissistic?” he teased in an attempt to ease the tension. It only pissed you off further.

“And scratching your name into the walls of businesses you stole from me isn’t?” you retorted with a roll of your eyes, sliding him a sheet.

“It’s a statement, pretty lady. Besides, it got your attention. I’d say that worked out well for me, don’tcha think?” he asked you lowly, biting his lip.

“Ugh, you’re really fuckin’ irritating. First rule—write this down—you are only to address me as ‘Boss.’ Everyone else does, n’ you will show me the same respect. Or, I can just go through with gettin’ rid of you!” you suggested, your voice brightening at the last sentiment.

“You really think I’m scared of you n’ your lil’ empty ‘threats’, mama?” he questioned gesturing air quotes, with a defiant raise of his his eyebrow. He leaned his elbow on your desk and perched his cheek in his hand.

“I think you should be. In fact, yeah. I think you are.” Your voice lowered to a threatening decibel, and you watched as he gulped and tried to cover it with a cough, a wave of heat rushing over you.

“Definitely not,” he argued in an attempt to assert dominance. He tried to shrug off his…well, whatever he was feeling, and sign his name and date on the paper you handed him. His hand was trembling so much, he had to hold it still and try again. That only fueled you further.

“Then why’re you shakin’, Jackson? Hm?” you teased with an evil glint in your eyes.

“It’s just unnaturally cold in here. What are you, a demon? You scared of heat ‘cuz it reminds you of the spot in hell you crawled out of?” He was trying to insult you, and anyone else would’ve taken it as one. But, you could hear his voice shake below the stern tone he tried to smooth on top of it.

“You’re wearin’ a full suit and it’s actually pretty warm in here with all that hot breath you keep spreadin’ around,” you scoffed at him, trying to ignore the way he looked away from your heavy gaze underneath his pretty, long eyelashes. He let the thick silence swallow the stuffy room. “Aw, c’mon papi. Nothin’ cocky to say?” you sneered at him.

“You shouldn’t…Don’t call me that,” he whispered pathetically.

“Why not? Whatcha gonna do if I say it again? Hm…” you asked as you stood up, leaning down over your desk. “…Papi?”

“Please…” he tried again, still avoiding eye contact.

“Please what? Look at me while I’m speakin’ to you,” you commanded with a little extra bass in your voice, causing him to flinch and meet your eyes.

“Please, let’s just finish the stupid contract. You’re wastin’ my ti—”

“Y’know what your issue is? You’re so used to people doin’ anythin’ for you. You’re spoiled. You need to be put in your place,” you interrupted as you began pacing around the office.

“C’mon—”

“Every stupid story I’ve heard from people you’ve managed to sweep from under my feet has been the same: ‘He just knew what to say!’ ‘He was charming!’ ‘He threatened me!’ ‘He was a smooth talker!’ Do y’know what that sounds like, Jackson?” You stopped at the office door and locked it with a swiftness. You heard him shuffle in his seat and turned around to face him, an unreadable expression on your face. “That sounds like a pretty boy that charmed his way to the top.”

You walked up to him and placed your hand on his shoulder, leaning down to whisper into his ear.

“That’s not gonna work on me, handsome. I know that game. I’ve deconstructed that game.” You made eye contact with a set of keys on your desk and strolled over to it again, pushing the one you needed into a key fob in one of its drawers. When you found what you were searching for, a sinister smile crept into your lips, and you pulled it out slowly. A handgun.

“I’m unarmed,” Jackson protested, a sense of anticipation, excitement, and fear settling into his bones.

“I know.”

He stood up now, and your hand gripped the gun tighter, anticipating his next move. Instead, he leaned over the desk hand curled his finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“I’m not scared of you, mama. These threats…they probably scare everyone else. You’re all talk, baby. It’s cute,” he teased, only irritating you further. You grabbed ahold of his wrist with your free hand and tugged it, pulling him closer to your face. Your mouth was inches from his, and a deep, instinctual part of you wanted to bite his lip.

“What’s my name?” you asked him softly, your minty breath fanning over his face.

“I’ll call you whatever I wanna call you, pretty,” he retorted, scoffing. You yanked his hand down lower, clutching his wrist between both of your chests.

“No. You’re gonna call me ‘Boss’, and you’re gonna respect me,” you giggled maniacally, placing his hand atop your chest, above your heart. “Feel that? See how it’s beatin’ steadily? You’re the only one that’s scared here. I’m in my element.”

Jackson was losing a battle within himself. As much as the stubborn part of him wanted to fight you, everything about the way you were treating him disarmed him completely. Your breath smelled like mint, your hands smelled like caramel, and your aura smelled like hard work. He wanted those scents all over him. But he also wanted to play this little game with you for a bit longer. He leaned into your face just a fraction closer, but noticeable enough for your heart to sputter under his touch.

“It’s poundin’ now,” he whispered.

“You’re a joke,” you deflected, unable to admit the fact that he was succeeding in making you nervous.

“Why’s your heart beatin’ so fast?” he asked teasingly, and it only made your heart pound harder. You dropped his wrist and bought the gun up under his chin. He bit his lip, but not out of fear—he was very openly…into this.

“What’s my name, Jackson?” you asked Michael sweetly, coaxing him to obey. A technique you usually used for opponents that proved to be a bit harder to get through.

“I’m not sayin’ it, if that’s what you think. It’s beneath me,” he spat at you. You crawled on top of your desk and sat on your knees before him. Confidently, you clicked the gun’s safety trigger, turning it off, and clutched your other hand around it as well, holding it properly against the middle of his forehead. He leaned into it, almost daringly, his eyes sparkling up at yours.

“Looks like you’re beneath me, now. What’s my name?” you responded icily.

“Can’t take you seriously when you look this pretty, baby. It’s gonna take more than an unloaded gun,” he shamelessly flirted with you. “Honestly, you’re just gettin’ me all hot n’ bothered.” The pretty man reached for his suit jacket, his hand searching for the button holding it together. Against your better judgment, you took the gun and roughly nudged his hand away with it, eliciting a surprised whine from his throat. “The hell?” he cried out.

“You didn’t ask for permission to do that, handsome,” you replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“I don’t need to ask for permission—What? Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” he questioned, his voice trembling at the sight of you. You were looking at him like you were starved. He felt small under you, and he loved it.

Unbeknownst to him, hearing the way he whined and protested—never letting up his stupid little act of arrogance—was awakening something in you. You’d always been assertive, but you’d never had someone so clearly fight submission to you. People always just…submitted. You wanted—no, needed—to break him. You trailed the gun up his arm and settled it in the crook of his neck slowly, teasingly. Fluttering your eyes at him, you then trailed it up to his mouth.

“Look at you…Mr. Big Guy starin’ up at me like I’m his religion. Open your mouth, pretty,” you cooed at him sweetly. He obliged without a thought. “Hmm, so you can listen, huh?” you scoffed at him, drawing the gun away. “You’re so fuckin’ pathetic. Close your mouth, you’re drooling on my desk.” His mouth clamped shut and he wiped his chin awkwardly.

“Shut up,” he argued, rolling his eyes. You reached your free hand down, gesturing for him to grab it.

“Make me. And help me down.” you ordered. Of course, he tenderly helped you meet the floor. He was so fucking easy. But apparently, so were you. He grabbed your waist with both of his hands harshly and looked you deep in your eyes.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re pretty?” he drawled at you, a hint of an accent slipping out.

“You’re so desperate, are you serious?” you laughed at him in an attempt to conceal how badly you wanted to close the distance between your lips. Because he still pissed you off heavily. Your gun-clad hand was swinging loosely at your side, completely forgotten. Your mind? Lost.

You took in the sheer want written all over his face and crushed your mouth to his, and you’d swear all of the tension in the room physically fell into your lips, until he kissed you back.

Jackson moaned into your mouth and hugged you closer with his arm snaked around your hips. A hard obstacle kept nudging your abdomen as your mouths worked in tandem, and it was starting to distract you. As much as you wanted him, you still absolutely despised him. And clearly, he was lying about being unarmed. Drawing your gun, you pulled away from him, guard completely up again.

“H-hey what’re you doin’!” he cried, putting his hands up in the air.

“You fucking liar. I felt the weapon, jackass. Keep your hands up!” you commanded, all of the venom from before creeping back into your voice.

“I don’t have a weapon, are you crazy? Put the gun down!” He slowly lowered his hand towards his pockets, ready to turn them inside out. You slid your pointer finger toward the trigger.

“I said hands up!” you threatened.

“Okay, check for yourself! I’m unarmed, I swear,” he pleaded.

Cautiously, you walked up to him, patting him down invasively. His breathing came out in sharp staccato every time you touched him, and his pants grew tighter and tighter. Maintaining eye contact with him, you grazed your free hand over his pockets, and that’s when you felt it. His breath hitched and his eyes widened in embarrassment. It wasn’t a concealed weapon…at least not in that sense.

“Jesus, are you taking pills? Why the fuck can your dick even get that hard?” you snickered at him with faux disgust, lowering the gun and dropping your other hand, making a show of wiping it on your clothes.

“I’m—you’re the one who…” he trailed off, giving up on finding an excuse.

You, on the other hand, started gaining your composure and you wanted to slap both him and yourself for losing control the way you did. Especially with him of all people.

“Well, that was enough to make me come to my senses. Let’s finish this stupid “peace treaty” so you can get the fuck outta my office.”

Without a word, the two of you sat back down in your respective seats, writing up clauses and trading papers, making notes in the margins of the terms you agreed and disagreed on. Knuckles came back a few times yelling through the door to check in on you, as you’d been alone with Jackson for over two hours by this point.

As you neared hour three after signing both copies—the two of you finally having come up with a clear and concise set of rules—you both stood up and shook hands amicably, your fingers lingering a bit longer than they should’ve as your hands separated. You cleared your throat and tucked your contract into one of your file cabinets, the sound of it closing filling the room.

Ever the annoying gentleman, he held your office door after you unlocked and opened it, gesturing for you to walk out first.

“I’m looking forward to working with you, pretty,” he sounded as he sauntered down the hall to the bustling club.

You hated how deep that compliment sat in your stomach.

You hated him.

𑣲 𑣲 𑣲

What you hated the most was that you spent the next hour pretending to care about anything other than the heated kiss you shared with your self proclaimed rival.

It was ridiculous. It was like the night intended to humiliate you.

The DJ played all of your favorite songs. The club goers were on their best behavior tonight. An attractive couple from out of town—man and woman—looking to have fun for the night were throwing themselves at you. Stupidly, all you could think about was him.

You found yourself zoning out of conversations and slowing down your dancing as you scanned the crowd, searching for his white hat and dark curls under the lights.

It was like fighting a war within yourself. You still held this visceral disdain towards his arrogance and the way he flirted with you in the way men do when they know they’re attractive. Yet, that tension was melting into a palpable attraction as well.

It was only 10:34pm and you were already yearning to go home. You decided that having fun tonight wasn’t in the cards for you, so you trekked your way past drunken, sweaty bodies, headed to the club’s secret exit. Knuckles gave you one last once over and a friendly handshake as he bid you a safe night.

As your heel turned when you walked into an obscured back corner, you felt a large, warm hand clasp against your mouth and nose, and your body was tugged into a cold supply closet.

Just as you began to lose consciousness from fighting against the body without being able to properly breathe, the hand slipped from your face and spun you around. You landed a strong right hook to the figure’s shoulder—missing his face because you were still dizzy.

“Ouch—Hey, it’s me! Stop, before I have to hold you down!”

Fucking Jackson.

“What the fuck is your issue?!” you whisper-yelled at him, coughing as you caught your breath.

“I…I tried enjoyin’ myself, I really did…” he whispered back, cautiously reaching his hand out toward your figure. “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. And the kiss,” he confessed shyly.

Stunned—still trying to focus on remaining calm and conscious—you stood in the tiny room shivering, connecting your thoughts. He stood only a few feet in front of you, and his perfume coated every centimeter of your lungs. Supposedly because you still hadn’t said another word, he continued to explain himself.

“I was standin’ in a corner, tryna avoid this group of…these women. And like two men. They kept tryin’ to get me to come “hang” with them.” He sighed, replaying the moment in his mind. “I wasn’t interested in what I realized they were puttin’ down. Then I saw you leavin’ n’ wanted to at least tell you good night…if that’s alright?”

He stepped closer to you, nearly backing you against a metal rack containing an assortment of cleaning supplies. His hand settled against your forearm with a touch so delicate, you nearly folded. Nearly.

“Jackson, I don’t know what you think this is, but you got it wrong. We’re not even friends. Get the fuck out my way, man. I’m tired,” your voice sounded with just the amount of bite you hoped it would. You heard him sigh exasperatedly in response.

“Baby, please. I’m bein’ completely vulnerable here. It’s just you n’ me. You tellin’ me you haven’t thought about that kiss? Not even once?” he questioned you. The way his voice carried through the question made it nearly slip into a plea.

“I told you what you need to refer to me as.” You shook your head and pushed him back towards the door. “Let me out, I’m irritated and tired enough to just kill you here,” you threatened, voice full of exhaustion.

“I’ll drive you home, then,” he offered.

“No the hell you won’t. You think I want you knowin’ where I live? I’m not an idiot.” You laughed with no humor, the sound nearly drowned out by the booming bass in the club getting louder as a more upbeat song filtered through the speakers.

Even worse, you were close to excited at the offer. Because you had been thinking about the kiss. About him. And you’d been thinking about all the ways you’d break him.

“Then come to my place,” he counter-suggested, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“Jackson—”

“Just call me Michael,” he interrupted. Rudely. You rolled your eyes and continued.

“Michael—see how at least one of us can use preferred names?—it was a stupid kiss and a very obvious mistake. Just mistook that tension as attraction instead of pure hate.” You shrugged your shoulders and pushed past him successfully, walking through the dark hallway to your exit. You heard the sound of his footsteps following you and that succeeded in irritating you more than you ever had been.

“So you admit there’s tension between us then?” he called after you with hope in his voice.

“Go home, Michael!” you called back, slamming the door you slunk out of right in his face. He busted it open and yelled after you down the hidden parking lot, walking far enough behind you to not be threatening, subconsciously scanning the darkness and your surroundings for potential threats.

“C’mon girl, just slow down. Don’t you wanna try one more time?” he pleaded. Your legs slowed to a halt as you made it to the rear of your car, and he took that as an invitation, jogging up to your side at last. He grabbed your cold hands and stepped in front of you, holding your gaze. “If the next kiss sucks, we can just leave this in the past. We can be professional and respect each other whenever we cross paths.”

You continued looking at him with no emotion, feigning boredom as he continued on, every word he spoke panging at your abdomen. One of his arms snaked around your waist, holding your body flush against his, and you could feel yourself drunken with his scent like you were in your office.

“But I can’t part from you if we don’t at least try again. You’re drivin’ me crazy,” Jackson sighed.

You stood frozen in his desperate embrace for a belated moment, genuinely warring with your conscience. As much as you wanted to do this—whether you’d admit it or not—thinking about kissing him again and that spark being gone was a disappointment you weren’t hoping to be faced with. Still, he was right. You also couldn’t part from him without at least taking that risk and trying again as well. So, you grabbed him by his collar and held him in front of your face for a second, truly taking him in up close under the blue moonlight and yellow streelights, and finally kissed him.

This kiss wasn’t as rushed as before, but it was much more passionate, and even more aggressive. He fought to take the lead, but your lips and tongue refused, and you pushed him up against your car with a bit more force than you anticipated, hooking your arms around his neck. He was moaning into your mouth like he was getting pleasured elsewhere, and grabbing you so tightly, it seemed as though he was trying to fuse his body with yours. You pulled away and laughed a bit, teasing him.

“I’m not runnin’ away, handsome. You can loosen your grip,” you whispered against his parted lips, panting.

“I want you,” he whispered back, chasing your mouth.

“You’re easy. All you asked for was a kiss,” you argued, pretending you weren’t excited by the idea of more.

“Please, I…” he trailed off, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one more…tender. His grip on your body loosened, but his hands explored more. Your shoulder blades. Your collarbones. Your stomach. Then, his fingers curiously trailed to the swell of your ass, and just…rested there.

Embarrassingly, you were getting increasingly wet by the feeling of him touching you like this, and wanted more. You pushed your breasts up against his chest then bit his lower lip like you’d absentmindedly thought of doing earlier, and deepened the kiss even more. He groped your ass just as you wanted, and you let out a nearly inaudible whine against his mouth. He heard it, though, and smiled against your lips, using that ego-stroke to fuel his travel down to the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up to straddle his hips.

You gasped softly, your lungs filling with the taste of his tongue and the cool of the crisp air of the night, and your lips reconnected with his as if it were instict. You were losing that mental battle of stubbornness. Then your hips ground against his, and it creeped back in.

“I need to go home,” you spoke abruptly, your voice slicing through the muffled night. He looked at you with eyes widened with shock and…embarrassment?

“But—”

“Drive me there,” you interrupted his protest, fishing one of your hands into the purse hanging loosely between your elbow and dangling your keychain in his face. He took it without a second thought, and dropped you steadily onto the asphalt, straightening your clothes for you as you dropped your arm from his shoulders.

He lodged the car key into the keyhole and unlocked it, then walked around to the passenger seat and opened it for you, gently leading you in. You closed it before he could because you still couldn’t let up your little facade, and took a deep inhale as he walked around to the driver’s seat. Your seatbelts clicked loudly in the silent car, and then he turned the engine over.

You directed him to the freeway as you looked out your window, voice coming out evenly.

Michael reached over to the car stereo and pressed play, humming in approval over your music selection, and mumbled the lyrics as he followed your short, simple driving instructions.

You were still so heated. And wet.

Then the idea came to you, and you turned it over in your head about four times before acting on it. You looked over and studied his side profile as he cautiously eyed the traffic, squinting his eyes and leaning forward every time he got close to another vehicle.

Sucking in a short breath, you quietly unbuckled your seatbelt and reached your left hand over to his clothed thigh, gripping it suggestively. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, raising his eyebrow at you in question.

“I’m gonna try somethin’, okay? Just continue drivin’ n’ keep your eyes on the road,” you ordered.

“Bu-Wait. I can’t focus like, o-oh,” he sighed. Your nails scratched up his thigh until your hand stopped at his groin, and you gently palmed him through his dress pants. You bit your lip as you truly assessed his size. He was…huge.

“Yes you can, papi. Do it for me?” you asked him sweetly, your voice thick like molasses.

“O-ah! Okay,” he obliged.

You hummed in reply and crawled up onto your seat, leaning over the console to balance your elbows against the armest as you began kissing up his neck. He jerked the car as you reached a particularly sensitive spot right below his ear, and you yanked his clothed erection painfully in warning.

“What did I just say?” you warned, feeling him throb inside his pants.

“I’m sorry! Just feels so...I’ll be still,” he amended, fighting down a shiver as he felt your breath fan against his damp neck.

“That’s what I thought. Turn left on La Brea, and keep goin’ straight ‘til you see that broken stop sign. You’re gonna make a right there n’ drive until you see a dirt road,” you instructed as your eyes focused on your surroundings. He nodded once and tried his hardest to focus on the road as your hand rubbed against his dick properly again.

Michael’s strained moans filled up the car, completely drowning out the crooning from your high-quality stereo the more friction you gave to his length. You were fighting so hard from moaning yourself—everything about this situation was turning you on. From the resentment you had toward him to the honey-dipped vocals coming from his throat, your nervous system was in shock from the pure dichotomy.

He kept fighting himself every time he would get lost in your touch. Whenever his grip on the steering wheel would loosen, he’d grit his teeth and adjust his posture. Every time his eyes would start rolling back, he’d shake his head and squint his eyes in focus. When he felt himself buck up into your palm and accidentally accelerate on the gas, he forced his hips to still completely.

As the car approached that aforementioned dirt road, you pulled your wet lips from his neck once more, giving out gentle instructions to find your home, hidden in an unsuspecting area. Once he started getting closer, both to your house and to his orgasm, you sped up your softcore handjob and bit his ear, mumbling a mix of insults—

“I hate you.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“So fuckin’ easy.”

—and praises—

“That’s it, handsome.”

“What a sweet voice.”

“You’re doin’ such a good job.”

—flying from your lips, until you ripped your hand away and settled back into your seat with a satisfied smile.

“Why—”

“Roll the window down n’ put in the gate code. It’s 0829#,” you interrupted his protest, pretending to be unaware of the situation you created.

Shaking, he cranked the window down just enough to reach his arm out and carefully pressed each digit. As he drove into the property, you instructed him on where to park your luxury car, and he rolled his window up. The vehicle overflowed with silence, save for his uneven panting and the gentle humming from your car radio. Clearing his throat, Michael looked straight ahead.

“Thanks…for…um. I’m walkin’ you to your door n’ I’ll needa use your phone to call a cab,” he spoke evenly as he turned off the engine and put your car in park.

“‘Kay,” you responded lightly, pleased with yourself. You weren’t making him go home in a cab. You weren’t letting him go, period. Gravel crunched beneath his black loafers as he made his way to your door, extending his trembling hand as he helped you out of your seat and led you to your house. He swung your keychain around the index finger of his free hand as he took in the scenery, very obviously avoiding your eye contact. That irritated you.

You snatched the keys from his hand and sighed loudly, pushing past him as you walked up the steps to the front door. Impatiently, you unlocked it and thrust it open, leaving it wide for him to follow in behind you as you hit the lights in your foyer. He did just that, closing and locking the door behind him and sliding his shoes off as he saw you do with your kitten heels. You hummed to yourself as you walked around adjusting things here and there and putting away stray items you left out earlier, not realizing you’d have a…guest.

“Uh, sorry. Where’s your phone?” Michael asked bashfully after he’d watched you flit around your kitchen for at least three minutes. You pointed to the wall next to his shoulder, and there it was: a cherry red landline hanging proudly right by his face. Heat crept up his neck as you turned back towards your refrigerator, snickering to yourself.

“You don’t need it, though. At least have some water and a shower,” you suggested as you reached inside the appliance for the pitcher, while Michael pervertedly eyed your bent figure. “I sometimes wear men’s clothes to sleep in. I’m sure I have somethin’ you’ll fit.”

“I don’t wanna keep you up,” Michael replied, waving his hands in dismissal.

“Boy, just take the damn offer. I don’t wanna kill you anymore, if you’re just sayin’ that ‘cuz you’re scared…At least not right now,” you joked. “Here. Sit n’ drink this,” you directed as you handed him a glass of chilled water while he sunk into the barstool at your kitchen’s island. You stood in front of him on the other side of it and downed your own glass, two stray droplets of water dripping down your exposed neck. That’s when Michael realized you’d removed the jacket that went with your perfectly tailored pantsuit, and his breath hitched, causing him to choke on the water slightly.

“I think I’ll have that shower,” he stated between coughs.

𑣲 𑣲 𑣲

Honestly, nothing much changed between the span of the next seven minutes that would’ve made it obvious that this was the position the two of you were gonna get into.

Michael helped you wash the glasses—per your demand, though he truly would’ve done it on his own—and the few dishes you’d left in your sink before you headed to work, and tidied up your island while he watched you put those dishes away.

He smiled to himself as he listened to you call him annoying and complain that he “ruined your night” by “brainwashing” you into kissing him the first time.

His long legs followed your own as you led him up your staircase into your room, where you flicked on a light and dimmed it before searching your closet for a suitable pair of sweatpants and a band tee for him to change into.

Somewhere along the way, Michael grew tired of the way that your demanding voice landed in his ears and caused him to grow even more aroused. The clothes in your hands fell at your feet while he kissed you roughly, pressing you up against your bedroom’s wall.

He melted into your touch immediately, and you stubbornly—and weakly—fought his initially, eventually melting into it as it grew more impassioned.

“You’re so damn stubborn. Relax, mama,” he coaxed you, growing impatient with your attitude.

“It’s ‘cuz I still can’t fuckin’ stand you, Jackson,” you retorted between heated pecks.

He hummed against your lips and pulled you away from the wall, taking what you said as a challenge. He spun you around and sat you on the sofa at the foot of your bed, eyeing you seductively.

“Can’t stand me?” he questioned for clarity, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

“At all,” you responded evenly, jutting your chin out in defiance.

He nodded once and sunk to his knees, rubbing his hands along the length of your upper thighs. You turned your head, refusing to let him see how nervous you were, and held your breath.

“Breathe, pretty. I’m not gonna hurt you…Unless you’re into that,” he cooed at you.

“Well, I’m not into you,” you responded, your voice betraying you by coming out much softer than you intended.

“Oh, please. Even you don’t believe that,” he replied with a chuckle, sliding his hands to your hips and leaning into your personal space.

That little display of overconfidence pissed you off yet again.

“Boy, you got a mouth on you,” you remarked with irritation in your voice, pulling him closer and resting your palms on his shoulders. He faltered at your touch—slightly, but noticeable enough to tease him for. “You’re nervous.” It was a statement, an observation.

“So are you,” he countered, leaning into you enough to ghost his lips over yours.

You both stilled at the whisper of contact, unsure whether to deepen the moment or leave it suspended. Then your lips were closed around his and his hands were unbuttoning your lacy blouse with confidence. His voice was stuck in a high timbre, whimpering and moaning every time your tongue licked his own or traveled across his lips. By the time you pulled away for air, your entire torso was revealed, and he was staring at the plane of skin.

“I need…” he trailed off before kissing up your stomach to the undersides of your tits, teasing. You tried your absolute hardest to remain impassive, but you wanted more.

“Jackson, do something,” you insisted, slinking your hand around his neck and tugging him close.

“Mmm, say please,” he argued. You ignored that because there was no way he was being serious, and tugged some more, to no relief. He leaned away from you and sat on his knees, looking at you with a sly expression dawning over him. “I said say please.”

You rolled your eyes at him because the idea of you begging for anything from him felt absolutely ridiculous. Still, he held that face and posture, and excitedly waited for you to do what he ordered you to.

“You’re out of your mind,” you said with nothing but impatience falling from each syllable. He laughed, and you slid your hand to the front of his neck, your voice dropping an octave as you spoke calmly to him. “I’m not joking. I don’t like you enough to play around with you.” You trailed your chilly fingers along the underside of his jaw—unhanding his neck—and settled your index under his chin, tilting his stubborn pout toward your own.

“I gotta be honest. You’re doin’ somethin’ to me…when you talk to me like that. It’s…I want you so bad,” he whined, genuinely pouting at you.

“Michael, you’re actually a slut. Holy shit,” you exclaimed, with a hearty laugh. He quite literally groaned at the degrading term.

“Am I?” asked breathlessly, continuing to kiss and lick your mostly exposed upper body.

“Clearly,” you responded between bated breath as well, as his fingers hastily reached behind your back and unhooked your bra. Your breasts spilled from the undergarment and jiggled at the loss of support. Michael gasped audibly.

“Oh, hurt me,” he moaned before taking a half-erect nipple between his spit-dampened lips and sucked with fervor. You let out your first unrelentingly loud sound of pleasure of the night, and it was music to his ears.

You moaned from the depths of your diaphragm, and your back arched straight into his mouth, away from the back of the couch. Still, because he just had to be annoying, Michael decided to tease you about it. “Thought you weren’t into me?” he stated mockingly, then he licked a teasing stripe down to your bellybutton.

“Yeah, ‘m not,” you half lied. You definitely were into him, you just hadn’t accepted that yet.

“Mm. This?” he asked as he unbuttoned and unzipped your dress pants? holding eye contact.

“Mm-mmnh,” you mumbled quietly.

He stared at the intricately etched flowers on the crotch of your cream colored undies. They matched the vibrant blue in his shirt. A tiny patch of lightly trimmed hair was visible through the fabric. And you were very visibly wet. Cute.

“Can I…?” he asked. You raised your hips in response, and he pulled your pants and sticky panties down off your legs and ankles in one go. Your pussy drooled onto the couch while he just…observed it, licking his lips in pure hunger.

“Michael…” you rushed him.

“Just wanted to remember her,” he whispered before he delved in. His hat tipped ever so slightly as the rim of it collided with your lower stomach while he pulled you closer.

He parted your lower lips with two of his fingers and dipped his tongue into your hole, keen to taste your essence. As soon as the flavor hit his taste buds, his eyes rolled back slightly and he groaned throatily.

“Shit,” you cursed belatedly, having held your breath for most of it. His tongue dragged up your slit with no rush at all, and once the top of it nudged your clit, you full on whimpered. “Need more.”

He obliged, hurriedly—but precisely—circling his tongue against the delicate bud, as his middle finger searched for your entrance, collecting the moisture from it.

“Use it. Your finger…” you sighed, feeling a tremor run up your lower core as he moaned into your pussy.

He nodded his head persistently and followed your instruction.

This was the moment you realized you could be in over your head. Because if his finger was this long, how the hell would he fit his…

Your pussy squeezed around it as he licked and suckled your clit and pumped his finger in tandem. Maybe you were touch starved because your job didn’t really leave time for romance, or maybe he was just gifted. Whatever it was, you were so overwhelmed that you thought you were hearing doves chirping. You looked down at his place on his knees and almost fainted. He was looking up at you from the tilted brim of his hat, almost pleading you with his eyes to come undone.

“Can you…I want you to cum in my mouth, please,” he…said? Begged? Either way, you hooked your legs around his neck and began riding, losing yourself in the pleasures you were getting from his mouth, finger, and the lewd sounds echoing from your bedroom walls.

“I’m real close, b-oh!” you tried warning him, before he slipped his index finger inside your entrance and curled it along with the middle.

As much noise as you were forcing yourself not to make, you couldn’t help the holler that left your lips when his fingers jabbed your g-spot that one final time. You came hard—your walls fluttered and then constricted his fingers, and a clearish-milky white liquid streamed out of you in sticky, thick puddles. The dedicated man tried his best to ride you through the whole thing. His fingers couldn’t budge any longer, but he collected your cum with them and licked your essence clean from both himself and you.

You just sat there panting and restricting his air with your legs until you were overcome with a slew of emotions. Embarrassment. Shyness. Self-consciousness. The usual feelings most people get after being intimate with someone for the first time. Most people didn’t get irritated or annoyed though, but that’s something else you felt.

He’d successfully unwound you in a way you rarely let anyone do, let alone to this level. Even less so with people you considered to be competitors. Despite it all, you still wanted him.

After noticing you’d been in your thoughts a bit too long, you dropped your legs from his shoulders and gave him a rub on one of them.

“That was…really good. Thanks,” you clipped, still terrible at giving him a compliment this way despite flirting with him all night. He understood though, and ducked his head bashfully, blush crawling up his neck at a rapid speed.

“S’nothin’. I wanted to do that.” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled at you shyly, and you realized his bottom lip hung lower in one area, giving him a crooked smile. You hated how much that endeared him to you.

“C’mere,” you whispered to him, bringing his lips to your own. His mouth tasted like you, and you secretly reveled in the idea of your dna mixing with his. “Switch spots with me,” you ordered him in between pecks. Michael obeyed and began trying to remove his clothes, and you stopped him abruptly.

“The suit stays on,” was the only thing you said as you straddled his lap, grinding against his prominent erection and moaning at the over sensitivity. He began to protest, until he saw the snail trail you left on his white pants, and he realized that maybe he could make this work.

Keeping the kiss intact, you sat up on your knees and snaked one of your hands to the button of his white colored pants. He hugged your bare torso—save for your unbuttoned, lacy black blouse—flush against his body, his chin softly colliding with the soft plush of your breasts every time your hand traveled further down.

Michael broke the kiss first, hissing as your fingertips accidentally grazed his leaking tip while you undid his zipper. He tightened his hold on your body and dipped his head between your tits, lightly biting them to muffle a scream.

“Please…It hurts so bad,” he whined into your chest.

It was cute. He was holding onto your body like it was his temple and he was begging to you like it was a prayer. But you wanted to break him some more. You just couldn’t help it. That’s how you got to your level of success anyhow; breaking men.

“Hmm, let go then,” you mused unsuspectingly. He obliged, but he had no idea what you were planning, his leg shaking in unadulterated anticipation.

As you stood before him in all your soft, sweaty, warm glory, you winked at him and quickly disappeared into your closet. Your hand searched past different carboard boxes of loose jewelry, papers, and other miscellaneous items, until you found the two you needed. They were both nearly abandoned on the back of your closet shelf, since you hadn’t any reason to reach for them as of recent.

A designer business partner of yours took a few months creating them for you, since such a shoe hadn’t really been sold in stores at the time. It took a few seconds and two almost falls, but you got the custom designed 8-inch pumps on your feet and you felt like one of the Amazonian women from those Wonder Woman comics.

You fished what you needed from the second box, then dipped back into the warm bedroom, taking in the sight of your clothes strewn about the floor at your rival’s feet and the fact that he was still wearing all of his own.

His eyebrow was raised in confusion, but you said nothing as you approached him alluringly. It wasn’t until you were smack dab in front of him that he realized you were a lot taller than before—he sorta just always viewed you as somewhat otherworldy, so being excessively tall seemed normal, until it didn’t.

He looked down your moisturized legs and saw them. They were intimidating, but oh-so inviting.

Listen, he’d never been a crazy foot guy—not against them, just never caring for them too much in particular. He was sure that changed the moment he saw the way your feet arched in the towering heels that adorned you now.

He could only watch in wonder and bewilderment as you slowly lifted your leg and pressed the heel of your shoe right in front of his…delicate bits. He scooted forward just a bit, silently daring you to do it.

“Y’know…” you spoke slowly, twisting your ankle in intimidation. He gulped when the stiletto grazed his shaft slightly. “Earlier, I told you to call me ‘Boss’. Hm, how many times was that? About five, right? Nod.” He complied, nodding his head slowly, unsure what exactly he was agreeing to. “Right! So it’s only fitting that you get put in your place. Nod.” He did.

“Great, we’re in agreement!” you chirped, leaning forward, taking his wrists and pinning them behind his back. You tied them with the silk you’d sneakily grabbed earlier. You could see his throat bob as he gulped. “This can be real easy. Just do what I say. Do you understand, handsome?” He nodded again.

“Nuh-uh. Use your words, daddy,” you drawled enticingly. The title made him sit up straighter.

“Yes. I understand,” he stated, nearly tripping over his own words.

“Good. You say stop n’ I’ll stop, m’kay?”

“Okay,” he whispered, bracing himself.

Your heel met his testicles increasingly harsher, and you met his eyes, watching his face fight between an expression of pain and pleasure. His eyes fluttered open and closed, and arousal gathered between your thighs.

“I want you to call me…mommy,” you remarked as you pushed harder, and you watched with excitement as Michael’s eyes widened at the unconventional term.

“No,” he replied defiantly, biting his lip.

“I’m not askin’, sweetheart,” you laughed. “I gave you plenty of chances to respect me earlier n’ you didn’t. Call me mommy.”

“I said no,” he responded without a lick of power. Still, you were getting upset enough in return.

“Don’t you respect me?” you pouted, your lip trembling as you retracted your heel from his groin and then snapped it back in its previous place. You weren’t actually sad, but seeing him fold at your mercy just because he thought you were was exactly what you wanted.

“A-ah! Of course I do!” he exclaimed in a panic.

“Then why—” another retract and crush, “won’t you just say it?” you pouted some more.

“Mama, please. A lil’ gentler…” he panted before he got his response out. “I…like when you yell at me. W-when—mmnh. When you’re mean,” he confessed between greedy gulps of air.

“Yeah? Well I like being respected.”

Retract. Crush.

He gasped in shock, but otherwise held the back of your pump in place, craving the pressure before you pulled it away again. Reluctantly, he let go and braced himself for impact again.

“This is the fifth one, Jackson. It’s now or I’m plannin’ out your assassination n’ goin’ to bed,” you warned as you drew your heel away again. It came back with more pressure than before, and he moaned pornographically.

“F-f-Okay! Mommy! I said it. Please, I still wanna…” He looked up at you with foggy, fucked-out eyes, and without another word he leaned forward, attempting to taste your visibly leaking pussy.

You drew your leg away from him and pulled his dick out of the opening in the crotch of his briefs. It was heavy, hot, and huge. And you wanted it to stuff you full.

“I don’t have any condoms. You?” you asked him calmly, another slick little plan brewing in your mind.

“No…” he sighed disappointedly.

Still calm, you straddled his lap again, looking him in his eyes. That eerily terrifying smile that equally scared and turned Michael on so much earlier fell into place on your lips as you leaned in to speak. “Then just pull out,” you suggested, nodding your head as you looked at him, coaxing him to do the same. “You’ll be fine. If you won’t, I will have you tortured and killed, n’ I’ll personally hide the body. But no need. We’ll be fine, right? You can do that for mommy?”

He mirrored your nodding, just ‘yes-manning’ you as you wanted.

“Yes, I can do that for you, pretty. I can pull out,” he replied almost in a trancelike state, nodding in time with you.

“Good boy. I’ll untie you now,” you responded with a smile to yourself. You started doubting your negotiating abilities earlier, but this was almost comically easy.

He whispered a thank you as the silk fell behind his back, and snaked his arms around your torso, attempting to hold you as close as possible.

You lined yourself up with his rock-hard sex and sunk down slowly, accomodating the size. He mewled into your neck loudly, holding the back of your head and waist as you pulsed feverishly around him.

Feeling a surge of confidence and possessiveness, you took his hat and placed in atop of your thick hair. You yanked him forward by his white tie and bit your lip as you eyed him. That sent a thick spurt of his sticky precum into your core.

And then you moved.

It was like you could feel every negative feeling you’d ever had about him both dissipate and ignite. It sat somewhere between yearning and resentment, and you expressed that unspoken emotion with every bounce.

You settled on degrading and praising again, not sure which fit your mood best, and it drove him halfway insane.

“Imagine if everyone saw you like this.”

“You’re so fuckin’ big, pretty boy.”

“Moanin’ like a slut.”

Michael seemed to particularly enjoy being called a slut, too. You said it over and over and you swore there was no way physically possible that he could get any harder, but he would.

“Yes,” he’d reply as you humiliated him repeatedly. “W-what else?” he’d question, begging for more.

He didn’t make you do all the work either, though you wouldn’t have minded. When your heel caught in one of the cushions as your legs began to stutter from pain and overstimulation, he held you tighter against his own torso and thrusted up into you with the force and speed of a jet engine.

Neither of you wanted the moment to end. For different reasons: You from unresolved resentment. Him from sheer adoration. And for a few of the same: Both of you were being opened up in new ways. You were enjoying yourselves. You’d miss the rawness of this moment.

That anecdote didn’t stop either of you from chasing the pleasure though, it only fueled your excuses to immerse yourselves into it further. You pulled Jackson’s head between your tits, silently guiding him to ravage them again. He did exactly that, and you took back over on the riding.

His tongue worked your body wonders. He was painting half a story of lust, love, hate, and competition all over the sensitive mounds of your breasts, and you read it while you wrote the climax and ending where your two most sacred body parts met.

You were racing. He was trying to push you over edge with his mouth, and you tried to do the same with your velvety core.

Both of you were working each other aggressively, a fight of dominance that only you wanted to win, and that he wanted you to work for.

You scratched at his back, knicking him a bit too hard where you tore his shirt and drew a bit of blood. He bit and sucked harshly below your breast, leaving a prominent bruise. It only turned the both of you on more.

It was like you couldn’t get close enough, but you didn’t want to. The struggle of not having enough of one another heightened everything. It made everything more desperate and tender.

“I’m so, so close. Please, don’t leave. Please, please,” Michael begged, on the verge of tears.

“I won’t. You jus’ gotta pull-mmmnh. Pull out, ‘kay?” you cooed at him as you bit his bottom lip and then followed it with a delicate kiss.

“Mama, I can’t…” he whined.

“Yes, you can. Or I’ll seriously kill you,” you threatened between moans. You captured his lips in another kiss as he was gearing up to speak again, not wanting to hear anymore excuses. You felt his hips beginning to falter more and more, and he reached his hand between you to palm your clit aggressively, desperate to get you to cum before he had to pull out. Still so annoyingly gentlemanly.

The heel of his hand added just the amount of pressure you needed while his thick tip kissed your cervix every time you even slightly moved, and you could feel your room ablaze with static electricity just from the energy your body was oozing out.

“I’m close! Just like that Michael,” you whined needily, too far gone to care about your image right now. He applied more pressure and gritted his teeth, holding back his orgasm as much as he could while your walls attempted to milk him for all he was worth.

You looked down at him once more. His curls were all frizzed up in a disarray, and the scrunchie that held them in a ponytail was now lodged into the crook of his collared shirt. His mouth was now stained mauve, the shade of your lipstick. His big brown eyes were smudged with the black eyeliner he usually wore. He looked like sex on legs.

You yanked him by his tie once more and let your lips tell his how you felt about him through kiss, as you creamed around his dick and on the crotch of his pants.

The base was covered in a thick layer of your cum and his precum, and the sound of it squelching didn’t let up for the entirety of your climax. Your walls constricted around him and gushed more and more cum out by the second.

You moaned into his mouth as you came, using the excuse of your lips melding together to tell him thank you and that you appreciated and respected him.

He couldn’t take it anymore, however, and he lifted you up and flipped you onto your back, your legs dangling off the couch. He thrusted into you a few more times, sending some whines from your throat, and then he pulled out and jerked himself with an inhumane speed in front of you.

“Where can I put it, pretty?” he queried, in reference to his cum.

“My stomach. Gotta shower anyways,” you sighed. In the middle of your response, he’d already started spilling his seed all over your soft skin, the sight itself fuel to drag out his orgasm as long as humanely possible. He was committing the sight to memory, refusing to blink.

He whimpered once really loudly and slumped onto the floor in front of you, resting his head on your knee.

The uncomfortableness settled into your bones after a few minutes. Silently, you nudged his head away and began picking up your clothes from the floor. You used your soiled underwear to wipe his cum off of your body and tossed all of it into your clothing hamper, changing into a random oversized t-shirt to cover up your body until you showered.

Something about this made you feel…tainted. It’s not like you didn’t want any of that. It was far from it, and that’s what made this feeling worse. A vindictive little voice in the back of your mind just kept telling you that you’d regret everything and that he was using you to get your guard down.

You walked past him—still slumped on your couch, but his pants were buttoned and zipped up—with a fresh set of pajamas for yourself and the clothes you’d gotten for him earlier, and placed the latter on the foot of your bed as you headed to your restroom door.

He stopped you in your tracks, pulling you in for a hug. You couldn’t tell what emotion it was intended to convey. Empathy? Love? Friendship? Shame? But it did what it needed to do, and you let Michael run his hands up and down your back until your stiffened shoulders relaxed and your gritted teeth unclenched.

“I’m sorry,” he expressed solemnly, inadvertently confirming your fear. “I didn’t mean…I mean, I dunno how bad I hurt you. Or if I made you uncomfortable in some way, but ‘m deeply sorry.” Wait, what?

“You didn’t do any of that, I swear on it,” you assured him.

“Then…what’s the problem?” he questioned warily.

“I’m just…I dunno. I don’t trust you not to screw me over after this,” you admitted guardedly. “I know we signed some contracts n’ stuff, but so did my other vendors and property partners. Then you came over n’ took ‘em all. Can’t really trust anyone anymore.” You shrugged as if that statement wasn’t as sad as it seemed.

“Well in that case, I’m definitely even more sorry,” he replied, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “But we’re both the best business in town. Workin’ together, we can be a power duo. For real,” he proposed. “I think we should really make this official.”

“Jackson, calm the hell down. I still hate you!” you exclaimed at the mention of things being official. As…whatever you were with him right now, your career always came first, and you were not throwing it away for some man over a few hours of sex. No matter how much it rocked your world.

“No, silly! I just mean us as a business. I think we’d own the entire state by the end of next quarter if we started ASAP” he explained patiently. “As for us as a couple…” he continued, his voice lowering in timbre. He grabbed your hands and his eyes visibly softened as they bored into yours. “…I’d like you to at least enjoy my presence as a friend first. Then I’m gonna court you properly.” You could tell by the inferno behind his eyes that he meant every word, and it made your stomach flip in fear and anticipation.

“Whatever, we can talk about this tomorrow. Go shower, you smell terrible,” you insulted as you realized you’d gotten too vulnerable. A secret part of you really appreciated that he was willing to work with you in this way—both business-wise and relationship-wise—and you gave him a playful jab to his ribs to soften the blow. “We can take one together…Y’know, to save water,” you suggested.

“Yeah. I’d like that, Boss.”

It was a purchase he admired on other people without ever imagining it around his own neck. His brothers wore chains. Older musicians wore them—rappers wore even larger ones. Men in the industry paired them with silk shirts and wore rings that knocked against piano keys and watches that cost more than cars. He appreciated the way they looked in the same way he appreciated a well-tailored suit or a beautiful stage costume, but it ever occurred to him as something he should own. It looked right on other people. But they represented a.. specific kind of adulthood that felt grown. He felt like he was posing as something he’s not whenever he tried to imagine himself with these pieces.

So when you placed the small velvet box into his hands, his immediate reaction wasn’t excitement—it was disbelief. The chain was beautiful, but he had never viewed himself as someone worth.. adorning. Love, in Michael’s mind, was demonstrated through action. He stayed on the phone until sunrise with friends. He wrote songs for people. He remembered birthdays, favorite flowers, childhood stories mentioned only once. Affection existed in the things he could do. Receiving something beautiful simply because someone wanted him to have it felt almost foreign.

The necklace itself was understated, it wasn’t oversized or ostentatious, nor did it demand attention the moment he entered a room. It rested naturally against his collarbone, catching light in subtle flashes. It looked expensive, elegant and so pretty against his deep brown skin tone.

Watching you fasten it around his neck for the first time stirred something he couldn’t name in the moment. Your cool fingertips brushing up the curls at the nape of his neck, the soft click of the clasp settling into place, the sudden awareness of a new weight resting against his skin. It wasn’t heavy enough to notice physically, yet psychologically it altered the way he occupied his own body. When he turned toward the mirror, he found himself looking longer than he usually allowed because the image staring back at him felt.. more mature. For perhaps the first time, he saw a glimpse of the man everyone else seemed convinced already existed.

There was something a little transformative about it. The chain framed the graceful line of his neck, disappearing beneath open collars and reappearing whenever he moved. Against his skin, the gold emphasized the masculinity he had always struggled to recognize in himself. Michael had spent much of his adolescence feeling painfully aware of his own gentleness. His voice was soft even when he wasn’t singing. His mannerisms were careful and thoughtful. He had never been the loudest person in a room, nor the broadest, nor the sort of man who filled space through physical confidence like some of his brothers. Michael thought about it more than he would have liked to admit—the toxic relationship with black men and what is expected of them in terms of what masculinity should mean to them and how they should carry it. The chain muted that bit of insecurity in the gentlest possible way.

There was a masculine quality to the way it rested against his chest. It wasn’t one of the glittering stage jackets he slipped into before becoming Michael Jackson. This remained after the lights went down. Even when Michael shifted above you—knees braced on either side of your thighs, strong arms caging you in, the gold links stayed right there: resting against his neck, swaying faintly with every deep roll of his hips into yours.

And you loved it. You loved seeing it glint each time he leaned back slightly to watch your face as he moved inside you. Loved how its cool metal pressed ever so lightly against the heated skin between them whenever your chests touched during an especially intense thrust.

Michael caught himself touching it absentmindedly throughout the day, his fingers brushing over the links whenever he grew lost in thought. Each time, he experienced the same shy satisfaction. He looked—he looked handsome. More importantly, he felt handsome and he really liked how that made him feel on the inside.

The feeling surprised him.

Because he could still delight in the whimsical, still collect the things that made him smile, while wearing something that reminded him he was no longer merely the youngest Jackson brother following his father’s forceful lead.

It wasn’t long before the necklace ceased to feel like an accessory and instead became something that was just as part of him as a limb. He reached for it every morning with the same unconscious that he buttoned his shirt or tied his shoes. On the rare occasion he forgot it, something felt incomplete. His hand would drift to his collarbone during rehearsals only to find bare skin, leaving him oddly distracted until he returned home.

You also discovered that it offered you an excuse to indulge in his affection. Slipping one finger beneath the chain and giving the faintest pull was enough to draw his attention immediately. Sometimes you did it only to straighten the collar of his shirt. Sometimes to steal a kiss. Sometimes you simply wanted him closer, and the necklace became somewhat of a collar for him and your finger was the leash. Michael responded with the same thoughtless trust every time, drifting toward you instinctively because he had come to associate that delicate tug with affection waiting at the other end.

The gesture became its own private love language, remarkably intimate in the simplicity of it. Michael never seemed embarrassed by it. If anything, there was a pleasure in knowing someone wanted him close enough to reach for him first.

She was forever finding little reasons to touch him, always finding something to do. She’d flatten the front of his jacket after he shifted in his seat, running her fingertips over his lapel checking that it was sitting properly. Every now and then she’d absentmindedly take hold of his tie, giving it the tiniest adjustment before smoothing it back against his shirt. She never interrupted herself, their conversation carried on the entire time with dainty hands working independently while her attention stayed on whatever she was telling him.

Michael didn’t tease her for the public displays of affection, he definitely didn’t stop her either. He just watched her, because he loved having her undivided attention. Sometimes he’d lower his head a little without thinking, making it easier for her to reach him. Or sometimes he’d smile before she’d even touched him because he’d already guessed what she was about to do. It was impossible to miss how happy and giddy he looked letting her fuss over him. The second she would pull her hands away, he found some excuse to bring them back, reaching for her wrist and lacing their fingers together.

Michael and (✿) were like.. obnoxiously happy together. A type of couple everyone swore they couldn’t stand until they spent five minutes around them and realized.. there wasn’t actually anything to dislike. They weren’t loud, or even really showing off. They were just.. relentlessly fond of each other. Every glance turned into a smile. And every one of those smiles turned into one reaching for the other’s hand. Conversations somehow ended with them giggling over something no one else had heard, and honestly? It probably wasn’t even that funny. It was enough to make people groan into their champagne before admitting, very reluctantly, that it was kind of adorable. “Congratufuckinglations!” and “That’s Mama y Papa!” type of thing. One would be absolutely gutted to find out a break up in the blogs because.. you really are supporting and rooting them.

Michael wore his sunglasses indoors, nothing new. She knew when he got around certain people he liked keeping them on but she loved his eyes and often got antsy when she couldn’t see them for too long, telling him he feels “far away” when he feels like this.

At one point her hand drifted toward his face. She slipped a finger beneath the bridge of his sunglasses and gently pushed them up.

Just a little.

She paused there, studying him for a few seconds with an expression somewhere between amusement and affection. Michael looked back, his eyes met hers without hesitation and before long that pretty, pretty smile spread across his face, slow enough that the photographers caught every stage of it. She smiled too, but it felt like it was almost to herself before she eased the sunglasses back into place with gentle hands, straightening them and giving the side of the frame the lightest tap with her fingertip.

Her hand lingered.

Instead of pulling away, it slipped behind his neck, disappearing beneath the curls resting against his collar. Her thumb settled against the warm skin at the nape of his neck and began slow, absent circles. Michael’s shoulders loosened and his head tipped ever so slightly toward her hand, and he stayed there, eyes still on her smiling through whatever story she’d started telling him.

At some point, her leg ended up draped across his. No one quite caught how.

One minute they were sitting side by side, listening with only half their attention as someone across the room addressed the crowd. The next, Michael had gently gathered her leg beneath the table and lifted it across both of his knees. It didn't seem to surprise her as she barely paused in the middle of whatever she was saying, simply shifting in her chair while he settled her leg across his lap with absentminded care.

She pointed toward one of her high heels, lifting her foot just enough to show him whatever had caught her attention. From where the cameras stood, it looked like she was complaining about something. The strap, maybe. The height. She spoke with animated little gestures, eyebrows pulling together in exaggerated frustration while Michael listened with the sort of patient expression he had for stories he’d already heard twice.

Then he chuckled—still smiling as he slipped one hand beneath her ankle, his thumb resting lightly against the inside of it while his fingers curled around the back of her heel. He turned her foot this way and that, inspecting it. Whatever conclusion he reached only seemed to amuse him more.

She gave him a look and her hand landed lightly against his forearm in what was very obviously an attempt to make him stop.

It had absolutely no effect because one thing about Michael, is he’s going to play—all day.

Instead, his thumb began tracing slow circles over the side of her ankle while he gently rolled her foot back and forth in his hand. His other hand drifted higher, smoothing absent strokes over the curve of her calf without a second thought, his fingertips barely grazing the fabric of her dress where it met her skin. He looked completely entertained by whatever she was saying, smiling at her with that familiar grin while she continued fussing, shaking her head and quietly swatting at his wrist again.

From across the room, it looked very much like she was scolding him. “Michael, stop it.”

From the expression on Michael's face, it looked like he intended to ignore every word of it.

He only smiled wider and she tried one last time, pointing toward her shoe again with an expression that suggested she was making an entirely different point than the one he’d decided to hear. Michael glanced dutifully at the heel for all of two seconds before his attention drifted right back to her. His hand never left her leg.

He leaned over in the middle of whatever she was saying, the thought had simply crossed his mind and he’d acted on it before it could disappear. His hand found the side of her face for only a second as he pressed a quick kiss against her lips.

It was over almost as soon as it began.

Except he never really left. He lingered just a few inches away, close enough that their noses nearly brushed. His smile had softened into something like be was endeared, his eyes dropping back to her lips because he’d gotten distracted halfway through pulling away. It looked like it seemed entirely possible he’d forgotten they were sitting in the middle of a ballroom filled with people.

Whatever she’d been talking about stopped mid sentence.

She looked back up at him with the tiniest pout, lips still pursed from the kiss, waiting expectantly because one kiss clearly hadn’t been enough. There was something almost impatient about it, like she’d been interrupted and fully intended on collecting what she believed she was owed before continuing her story.

Michael looked at her for another second then he leaned in again for another quick kiss, even shorter than the first.

She seemed satisfied this time, the corners of her mouth curling upward as she finally settled back into her chair. Before he could pull away completely, though, she caught his chin lightly between her fingers.

Her lip gloss had transferred onto him.

She glanced at his mouth, smiling to herself as the pad of her thumb gently wiped the shine from his bottom lip. Michael stayed perfectly still, letting her fuss over him with the same e endeared expression he’d worn all evening. When she finished, she gave his lip one last absentminded swipe, admiring her work for half a second before dropping her hand back into her lap.

After a couple more hours ballroom slowly emptied around them. Chairs scraped against polished floors, security began guiding guests toward the exits, and the crowd outside had already grown thick behind the barricades. Camera flashes bounced off the glass doors before they were even opened, the waiting photographers spotting familiar faces through the windows and shuffling into position.

Michael stepped out first and she followed a heartbeat later, their hands already intertwined. It was the sort of thing people expected from newly smitten couples, except they’d been together for about a year.

The shouting started immediately.

Questions overlapped until they became impossible to separate.

“Michael!”

“Over here!”

“You look beautiful, (✿) !”

“How was the event tonight?”

She glanced toward the voices first.

“It was lovely,” She answered with an easy smile, giving the crowd a little wave before looking back at Michael as they continued down the sidewalk. He was smiling too, offering a small nod with his sunglasses still sitting high on his nose despite the sun having disappeared hours earlier.

Another photographer called after them. “When are you two tying the knot?”

Oh!

The question caught both of them off guard and she laughed first feeling her cheeks and ear tips get warm. Michael immediately looked down shyly, and the reaction only made everyone around them laugh harder. It was the kind of question they had clearly heard before, but neither of them had mastered the art of pretending it didn’t affect them. She tucked a little closer to his side giggling, while Michael shook his head behind.

Then he looked at her, not fully but just a glance from over the top of his frames. That was enough.

She caught it and immediately smiled at him, because she knew exactly what that look meant. A quiet little check in—a private ESP shared between them before either of them acknowledged anyone else.

“We’re.. enjoying each other’s company right now.” More shouting followed before she’d even finished speaking.

Michael barely heard any of it; the cameras, the questions, the security guards urging them toward the waiting car.

It all blurred together the second she looked at him.

He spent the entire evening watching people watch them, and somehow she still managed to make him feel like there wasn’t another person in the room.

She always answered questions like that with the same diplomacy, never sounding flustered, never embarrassed, never trying to turn their relationship into a spectacle. She gave people enough to satisfy them, then quietly closed the door before anyone could step inside. He admired that about her. More than admired it. He relied on it.

She squeezed his hand once as they walked.

He squeezed back.

Without thinking, his thumb found the side of her hand, tracing the same slow path it always did whenever they walked together. It had become such a habit that he doubted either of them noticed anymore.

He looked down at their hands for a second and back at her. She was still smiling to herself. He wondered if she’d realized she’d called them “each other’s company.”

The words echoed around in his head with ridiculous persistence.

Each other’s.

It sounded.. nice. His smile crept back before he could stop it.

She caught it. “What?”

He only shook his head.

Nothing. He just liked the way she’d said it.

The ride back to their hotel passed in comfortable silence.

Every so often she’d catch him looking at her and smile to herself, smoothing a thumb over the back of his hand where it rested between them. He’d answer by bringing her knuckles to his lips for the quickest kiss before setting her hand back down again, he also couldn’t seem to go more than a few minutes without finding a reason to touch her.

By the time they reached the hotel, the suite was quiet.

She slipped off her heels the moment they stepped inside, leaving them abandoned beside the entryway with a relieved sigh. Michael laughed under his breath as he loosened his bow tie, setting his sunglasses on the coffee table.

He settled onto the couch, shoulders finally relaxing against the cushions, only for her to wander over a moment later with a glass of red wine in one hand.

She climbed onto the couch and settled across his lap, one knee rested on either side of him and her dress spilled over his legs while she balanced her wine glass carefully in one hand. Her free hand found his face almost immediately, fingertips traced the edge of his jaw.

Slowly. Back and forth.

He tilted into her touch without thinking.

She turned the stem slowly between her manicured fingertips while Michael continued looking at her with the same dazed and smitten look he hadn’t managed to shake all evening.

“You want some?” She asked.

Instead of reaching for the glass, he leaned forward.

Tilting the glass carefully, she brought the rim to his lips. Michael took a small sip, never taking his eyes off her as the wine touched his mouth. She steadied the glass until he leaned back again, swallowing before the corners of his mouth lifted.

“Yummy?”

He nodded once.

She was already lowering the glass when his hand settled lightly around her wrist, stopping her just long enough for him to lean in.

Their lips met again.

The kiss was slow and lazy. She smiled into it, her free hand sliding back to his jaw while he tipped his face toward hers. There was still the faint taste of red wine between them, sweet and warm, lingering just enough for her to recognize it before she kissed him again.

When they finally separated, they stayed close, noses brushing.Outside, the city hummed beneath their windows.

“..What are you thinking about, Bambi?” She asked quietly.

Michael’s eyes stayed on hers for another moment before drifting down to the stem of her wine glass, then back again.

“Oh, I dunno..” He blushed, embarrassed by the thought now that he had to say it out loud. “Could you see yourself marrying me, really?”

She stared at him for a second then giggled, he’d managed to ask the question with the same shy clumsy he’d had when he first asked her to be exclusive and official with him.

Her hand slid into his curls at the nape of his neck.

She leaned down and kissed him. It was unhurried, warm, lingering just long enough to make him forget he’d asked anything at all.

When she finally pulled back, their foreheads stayed close.

“Michael, I’ve been hoping you even consider me to be wife material..” She murmured.

“You have?”

She laughed again, this time unable to stop herself, brushing her thumb across his cheek as his grin slowly spread from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Of course.. there’s no one else who understands me the way you do. And I want to be someone you feel safe enough to marry..”

He looked completely delighted. “And babies?”

“As many as you want..” She pecked his lips. “Should we.. get in some practice tonight? Prepare for the real thing..”

“You’re bein’ dirty.” Michael responds, though his body is already reacting to her words feeling the blood start to pump directly into his shaft.

“Am I?” Her hands slide down his chest as she tilted her head at him, fingers fidgeting with his belt to unbuckle it. “I thought you liked playing patty cake with me.”

“You always win..” A half complaint wrapped in affection because yeah: every time they played together.. she ended up steering things exactly where she wanted.

And damn if he didn’t love losing to her anyway.