JUNKIE 🪽

nyla, she/her. black! 18+ multi-fandom blog.

EXCLUSIVE: local writer develops unhealthy fixation!

masterlist.

OFF THE RECORD, michael jackson.

— thinking about how shy and reserved michael is in public but the filthiest whenever he’s left alone with you entirely too long.

wc: do you really wanna know how filthy he can get or not?

content—18+ minors do not interact, explicit sexual themes. fluff, pet names, a consenting king, sensual kissing, whimpering, dry humpingg, semi-public sex, orgasm denial. hope i did him some justiceee mwuah!

something should’ve warned you there was a mischievous little thing buried somewhere deep inside the shy gentleman you knew as michael.

maybe it was the way his brothers teased him relentlessly whenever interviews painted michael as some impossibly “innocent” boy turned global superstar, remotely untouched by anything suggestive.

jermaine was always the one to laugh the hardest about it.

‘man if only y’all knew!’

and michael? he’d immediately duck his head afterward, shoulders shaking with embarrassed laughter insisting that the siblings stop. even as that little grin betrayed him completely.

was michael inexperienced? very much so, respectfully and faithfully by choice. but innocent? if we’re keeping it off the record? not nearly as much as people wanted to believe. because while the public saw his bashfulness, his brothers saw everything else firsthand growing up on the road with him.

they saw the way teenage michael greeted beautiful women backstage and at appearances. taking fan numbers and storing them in his pants during performances. shaking the hands of influential women all polite with soft spoken manners and lowered lashes everyone found so adorable. meanwhile michael would look them over appreciatively the second they walked away.

poking a tongue inside of his cheek the moment he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. shyness doing its best to disguise that charming little grin whenever he caught someone flustered by him.

and ever single time one of his brothers caught him doing it, the teasing started immediately.

‘mike swear he slick’

‘boy ain’t ever been that shy’

‘she got that boy nose widee open’

and michael would always deny it furiously afterwards. cheeks growing hot as he hid his face. but the evidence kept pilling up over the years.

because the same shy boy who struggled holding eye contact far too long was also the very same boy who’d gotten caught flipping through a playboy magazine somewhere in the old home videos of the jackson family archives.

“michael they filmin’ you..” joseph’s voice spilled past the camcorder.

the glossy pages flashing across the screen before he scrambled to hide it. horrified. shy glances overshadowing those curious eyes, curious hands, and curious mind. still trying to act innocent after the damning evidence was presented as they took a trip down memory lane.

you should’ve known then that there was something simmering quietly beneath thise cardigans, shy laughs, and gentlemanly habits.

or maybe it was the late night phone calls.

the spontaneous kind that michael was known for making whenever loneliness crept in too heavily. fame surrounding him constantly yet somehow it still left him isolated in ways most people would never understand. so, sometimes in the middle of the night, he’d simply call someone. anyone. whether it’d be family, a friend, or a fan. just to hear another human voice untouched by expectations, cameras, or screaming crowds.

and one random night, you answered. but neither of you knew just how dangerous that would become.

because somewhere between soft laughter through telephone static and whispered conversations stretching towards sunrise, michael stopped sounding like the biggest star in the world and started sounding like a man starving to be known.

maybe that’s why you never noticed the dangerous little shift happening beneath all that sweetness.

not until tonight.

the bass inside studio 54 practically rattled through your ribs as colored lights spun wildly across the crowded dance floor. disco balls splattering shimmering reflections against sweaty bodies moving shoulder to shoulder beneath mirrored ceilings and cigarette haze as ‘Get On The Floor’ blasted loud enough to swallow every coherent thought in your head.

and somehow michael still found you in the middle of all that chaos. grin spreading the moment your eyes met across the dance floor. all bright, boyish, and playful.

you barely had time to laugh before he was suddenly in front of you. moving effortlessly with the music while that infectious laugh from the song spilled from him in real time.

“c’mon!” he teased, reaching out for your hands before twirling you beneath him.

and god could michael dance. not just perform, but dance. feel every beat and rhythm the way only he seems to. moving effortlessly beneath the flashing lights, spins and footwork smooth enough to make your head turn trying to keep up with him.

big hands settling on against your waist, guiding himself around you before slipping away again. never too long, just enough to leave a lingering warmth behind. while shoulders bounce lightly to the beat as lights painted shifting colors across his face.

until a sudden finger poked against your waist, earning a squeal before he smoothly caught your hips again to steady you against him.

“oh you ticklish?” he teased.

the crowd surging tighter around you both, bodies pressed so close across the dance floor that you found yourself drifting behind michael one too many times. swallowed by the growing chaos. but each time it happened, michael’s hand found you almost instantly.

warm fingers curling around your wrist. your waist. your hand. keeping you close.

by the third time a man stumbled into you michael pulled you safely against him before you disappeared into the crowd entirely.

“you okay?” his brows pinched with concern.

“i’m fine mikey, promise..” you nodded, placing a reassuring hand against his chest.

but his hand stayed firm against your waist, protective. possessive in a way that felt strangely natural on him. moving you away swiftly when another crowd surged pushed up against your back. eyes darting around the club before he leaned toward bill near the edge of the dance floor.

“can we find somewhere quieter?”

within minutes, you were being carefully guided through the club, bill ushering you both to a quiet section he managed to carve out. tucked away behind heavy velvet curtains. keeping curious eyes and wandering strangers away while the muffled pulse of disco vibrated through the walls around you.

privacy, or atleast the closest thing michael jackson could get too it. now there was only this little pocket of quiet bill had secured for the both of you. for you.

colored flecks slipped through the seams, scattering fractured reds, blues, and golds across michael’s face every few seconds while shards of mirrored light shimmered throughout his fro like stars.

and suddenly you could really look at him.

the sharp line of his jaw, the graceful slope of his nose, that soft glow of disco resting against his brown skin as he sank comfortably into the sculpted conversation pit. a breathless laugh slipped from him as he caught his breath from the dance floor.

so handsome. and for once? he didn’t look away when you caught him staring.

he held it.

wide fawn eyes returning returning the favor as they dragging slowly over you beneath the dim lights, pearly teeth catching against his bottom lip in a slow bite. taking his time as though he hadn’t gotten a proper look at you all night.

heat crawled into your cheeks beneath his attention. not because he’d never looked at you before, but because he’d never looked this long. michael wasn’t even touching you but being looked at this carefully felt so much more overwhelming.

“your cute when you get all shy..” he murmured, head tilting slightly as his eyes flickered down to your lips. before slowly finding yours again. like he couldn’t quite figure out where he wanted to look.

and somehow hearing him say it made the heat that crept down your spine worse.

“you look so pretty,” he admitted quietly, the compliment barely above a whisper. like he’d meant to keep it to himself. “real pretty.”

the words settling between you, as his fingers absentmindedly traced along your calf. thumb brushing back and forth in lazy strokes all while his gaze lingered on his gorgeous girl.

“been thinkin’ that all night.” he confessed an moment later, brown eyes dropping briefly with a shy laugh. “ i don’t think i tell you enough.”

but the thing was, michael told you plenty. he always had. even during those countless late night calls where he’d sneak compliments in during conversations when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

but this felt different. because for the first time, michael wasn’t hiding how much he enjoyed looking at you. wasn’t disguising it being nervous glances or bashful smiles. he was letting himself stare, letting himself admire you openly. and somehow that honesty made him more vulnerable than compliment ever could.

then he leaned closer, slow enough for you to stop him if you wanted. close enough for his expensive cologne to wrap around you warm and dizzying. carrying traces of the night still lingering on his skin.

his mouth drifting towards the corner of your lips, a soft kiss. just before crossing to the other side, pressing another. equally patient.

and when michael finally pulled back, there was hardly any space between you at all. every breath shared as his mouth hovered just beneath yours. every word grazing as he spoke, “can i sweet girl?”

the question careful. patient. like your answer matter more than anything else. like he genuinely needed your permission. as if he needed to know you were okay with whatever he was about to do.

then his thumb lifted, moving with gentle hesitation that’d been woven into every tender thing he did. while the pad of it traced slowly along your bottom lip. from one corner to the other. his gaze following the movement as if he’d been distracted by it himself.

“please..?” he added softly.

the nod came before you could stop it, like your body decided it was sure before your mind. and michael released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. capturing your lips like a gentleman trying so hard not to stop being one. letting himself learn the feeling of your plush lips as his dragged across yours softly.

and when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t much. barely enough to separate. barely enough to breathe.

one hand tangling in your hair. tilting your head back just enough to deepen the angle. breathing ragged into your open mouth like he couldn't get enough. while another slipped higher, slender fingers leaving a scorching trail as they curl gently behind your knee.

a quiet request. an invitation.

guiding you closer, letting you feel that hard line of him settle against your pussy.

and my god could you feel it.

“there you go pretty girl..”

his breath warm and wet against your lips, soothing and soft even as your hips drop down in his lap, chasing that heavy pressure that sent a buzz through your clit. fingers tightening gently in your hair as he pulled you flush against his chest, meeting your hips with a slow rock.

his hands dipping to your hips, fingers digging possessively at the flesh of your ass as he held you gently in place. your tongue slipping out to taste his bottom lip, sucking it softly into your mouth with a wet pop.

“y-you make it so hard” michael whimpered into your mouth.

“so hard t’remember i’m supposed to be a gentleman with you” words slurring together as his head fell back against the velvet cushion. exposing that long, graceful throat as his hips jerked up involuntarily, rolling once, twice. “so hard not to ruin you…”

the words sounding almost devastating coming from someone so soft spoken. like wanting you this badly genuinely terrified him, which somehow only made you want him more.

and he was hard. so hard.

and so dangerously close to right where you needed him to be but instead leaning down to place a gentle kiss along your shoulder where the straps of your top had slipped.

“but you just feel so good,” finding your frilled thong peaking beneath your skirt. plush folds practically eating the fabric, “i bet she’s so pretty when she’s all wet and sticky for me”

lips brushing over the sweet hollow of your collarbone before, guiding your pretty face back down to his as he kisses you again, disgustingly slow this time. his tongue sliding against yours, deep and lazy as his fingertips squeezing higher, hiking your skirt up inch by reckless inch until the soft swell of your bare ass finally met air. like he was savoring every second. like he'd waited so long for this, that he needed to remember what it tasted like.

before you knew it five of your manicured fingers scratching along the soft curls at his nape while the others dug into his knee, holding your body and strained thighs steady as you helped him drag that clit against his throbbing dick. the thick pads of his fingers curling around the stringy band of your panties.

yanking. pulling.

practically dropping your pussy onto him just to meet halfway with hard, desperate thrusts against you. meeting the rhythm you'd started without even realizing it. mouth opening wider for you, tongue slipping out to chase yours, tasting like expensive champagne and something richer. sweeter.

“oh my fucking g— mich..michael” a shuddering whine against his mouth. “just like thattt,”

the weight of him undeniable beneath you, pressing flush into all the right places through the thin layer of his briefs that you both insistently drag of your soaked clit across. “please don’t stop baby..”

and why would he?

his hips rolling with you now, chasing every needy grind you gave him while his fingers splayed out possessively as they cradle the back of your skull, dragging kisses along the sensitive curve beneath your ear. panting hot along the column of your throat.

“never,” he promised, breath hot against your neck before he bit down—soft, but enough to mark. “i’d never stop for the world, angel”

making it almost impossible not to melt back against him

and somehow that promise came out sounding more sinful than sweet because those long slender fingers of his find the soaked crotch of your thong, pushing the fabric aside so he could finally see that glimmering clit. grinding that thick length of his dick against it with a delicious slow rhythm.

a rhythm that had your heavy head nuzzling into his neck, catching every shaky whimper that spilled from your throat, body growing hot with every slow roll. a rhythm that had his leaking tip soaking through his cotton briefs until they were nearly translucent with how much the two of you wanted eachother.

"god, you're so wet for me" he groaned against your throat, teeth catching the soft skin there before soothing it with a wet kiss.

snaking a hand down to grab your ass, like he needed you closer. the disco ball above casting shimmering lights across his face, highlighting his sharp features and soft lips. “please look at me baby,”

“i need it..”eyes blown wide and unfocused as you rocked against him.

and when your eyes finally met his again they were heavy with something neither of you had seen before. reeling back just enough so the both of you could watch each other work.

slender fingers digging into your fleshy hips as he drug your clit with a pressure that had your thighs trembling. a pressure that had his fat tip clinging to slickly thin fabric. a crumbling pressure that had you falling apart.

"michael—" your voice cracked, breaking on his name like it was a prayer.

until suddenly— thunk, thunk, thunk.

three knocks sound against the wall. not urgent. not concerned. just a loud enough sound to remind you both that rest of the world existed beyond your little corner of 54. the kind of knock that carried unmistakable feeling of a man who’d already given you both far more privacy than he intended.

“now michael,” bill sighed, “i can keep folks from peekin’ in here, but i can only make yall sound so innocent behind these curtains.”

your face burned, and judging by the breathless laugh michael tried hiding against your shoulder. he was too.

“especially with how noisy y’all being behind this here curtain.”

michael bit back another laugh, his cheeks flushed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, trying to compose himself.

"s-sorry bill," he called out, his voice embarrassingly shaken.

pulling you closer as an his arms wrapping around to tuck you in a protective embrace. peppering soothing kisses across your face, each one accompanied by a soft chuckle as you tried burying yourself in his skin.

“your alright pretty girl. promise.”

good afternoon anon! so i’ve just started writing for the michael fandom on tumblr after watching the movie and personally never read any of this creator’s works. the inspiration for ‘behind the curtain’ is also included in the work but i’ll also include it here and here for reference. which is an interview from quincy on tiktok about michael struggled to tap into sensuality and the lyrics to the lady in my life with this same picture. which can be reverse searched on google.

the michael movie really dug up the suppressed admiration i’ve always had for michael as a artist & person. this story is inspired by this tiktok explaining the creative process behind ‘the lady in my life’ & the extended version is chefs kiss. we’ll start this off fluffy before we get smutty. hope you enjoyy, mwuah!

content: emotional angst, fame-induced isolation, media scrutiny, fluff, yearning, sensual kissing.

the success of Off The Wall changed everything around michael almost overnight.

suddenly there were cameras where there used to be silence. executives where there used to be family. everyone wanted a piece of him now. everyone wanted wanted to say they knew him before the world did. the fame brought spotlight, endless bragging rights, and an impossible kind of isolation.

you watched it happen slowly.

at first it’d had been exciting. everyone recognized him staring, reaching, and flashing cameras. studio sessions running till sunrise. limousines. award shows. cheeky grins as he watched songs climb the charts.

long slender fingers digging into your shoulders as he shook you with that infectious laugh, “can you believe it?!”

as if he couldn’t believe it himself. but fame has teeth.

the media began slowly picking every piece of michael with a cruel sort of fascination. his childlike wonder and soft voice. every magazine stand seemed to carry another cheaply inked headline dissecting his life and most importantly his newfound appearance. the slimming of his nose. thinned out eyebrows. loose curls that once belonged to a tightly coiled fro, hanging towards those big eyes. trying to decide who michael jackson was soon to become before he even had the chance to figure it out himself. as if he were something to be consumed instead of understood.

you saw it happen in real time.

the way michael glanced in the mirrors a little too long, hesitating before photographs, hiding more of himself behind lowered lashes, dark frames, and glittering jackets. compliments rolled off him like water because somewhere along this journey he stopped believing any of them.

and diana…

diana still had her claws in michael, a inconsistent source of affection and validation that kept him dangling between devotion and confusion. praising michael as if he hung all the stars himself then disappearing just long enough for him to question if he imagined the whole thing. sometimes you wanted to hate her for it but most times you just hated what it did to him. because every time she disappeared michael came back emptier.

tonight was one of those nights.

the havenhurst living room sat dim outside of the television glow, some old rerun playing neither of you were actually watching. the jackson family home had long since gone quiet upstairs. michael sunk deep into the couch cushions beside you, fingers mindlessly fidgeting with his curls.

“you know what quincy told me today?” he asked suddenly, pushing it all out in one quick go.

you glanced over, “what?”

“that i ‘oughta stop reading those magazines.”

a small laugh left you, “that probably good advice mikey.”

“mhm..” he murmurs, eyes still fixed on the television. “one of ‘em talked about how i’m so expressive.. that i’ve got these deformed alien-like eyes.”

“micha—”

“no it’s okay..” he smiled, thise cheeks refusing to reach his eyes. “m-maybe they’re right.”

“they aren’t.” you slammed down a magazine, words final.

he shrugged lightly, laughing it off. “diana says people notice these things because i’m different now.”

there it was again. always diana.

like every road inside of him somehow lead back to her.

“you think she ever really cared?” michael asked softly, voice barely raising above a whisper. “or maybe i just made it all bigger in my head than it was..”

you looked over at him carefully, the plush couch consuming your legs as you faced him. michael kept his eyes fixated ahead, shaking his head as if his thoughts had already turned cruel long before he spoke them out loud.

“i dunno… she gets me.” he murmured quietly, almost to himself. “I don’t think anybody ever got me like diana..”

the words struck harder than they should have. not because they were meant wound you. because he believed them. maybe that somehow made it worse. suddenly every year spent quietly loving him felt unbearably heavy sitting in your chest.

you knew the difference between his real laugh and the polite chuckled he gave. knew when he was anxious with every knock of his knees colliding together. knew that he’d spent hours curating a fresh melody, while he asked “this sounds okay? m’still working out the kinks..”

like your opinion mattered more than executives and producers combined.

you knew that he still got excited over peter pan, nostalgic childhood games, and film despite the world trying to age him into something polished and untouchable.

and suddenly the hurt slipped out before pride could even stop it. “i did.”

michael blinked, finally looking at you. brown eyes wide and searching, full of confusion then disbelief.

“i did michael..”

the confession settling between the both of you almost instantly, fragile and irreversible. you swallowed hard, fighting to steady your breathing despite the way your chest burned with buried truth.

“i loved you.” you voice smaller than you intended, hurt slipping through despite your best efforts. “always loved you.”

his face softened then, quiet surprise spreading slowly across his face like dawn breaking over water.

“before there was a diana that existed…” you continued, eyes burning as they darted away from his. “I did..”

michael stared at you as if the confession physically rooted him in place. lips parted slightly as he watched you rise from the couch collecting your things, and letting yourself out.

because somewhere between the fame, headlines, diana ross, and the desperate climb to toward greatness. michael never once stopped to consider that someone had chosen him exactly as he was.

westlake had started to feel suffocating by hour eight.

dimmed lights, half empty coffee cups, empty soda cans littering the console, and tape reels spinning endlessly behind glass. again and again the opening chords of ‘The Lady in My Life’ floated through the studio speakers only to stop halfway through another take.

and michael? well he looked frustrated.

everytime the outro came around, he hesitated. like he was standing at the edge of something too vulnerable to say out loud.

“you wanna try it again?” michael asked softly before anyone else could speak.

“mike,” quincy’s voice crackled through the speaker, chair creaking as he leaned up “you singing pretty, man, but we gotta dig deep for that passion.”

every note sounded technically perfect.every run landed exactly where it should. every note sounded perfect. too perfect. but something was missing. michael knew it. quincy knew it. hell even the engineers silently behind the boards knew it.

it lacked ache. longing.

“this one gotta ache a little” quincy continued, “this the one we gotta try for michael. i’m gonna need you to beg, to yearn..” pointing towards the booth glass.

michael nodded once, adjusting the headphones along his messy curls. “i—i can do it Q.”

“I know you can.” quincy chuckled, “but right now you singin’ like you scared of it.”

the struck something tender inside michael, because maybe he was. because michael messed up by letting that confession sit between you for the past week and a half. you didn’t push him. you knew michael well enough to understand that when emotions overwhelmed him, he retreated inward first.

always inward.

“matter fact,” quincy snapped, nodding towards the phone as one of the engineers reached for the line. “we’ll get sweetheart on the phone.”

“what?” michael’s head snapped up instantly.

“that little sweet girl of yours” quincy grinned knowingly, “get her on down here and get a fire lit beneath those feet.”

chuckles filling the space as busy bodies move around the room.

michael stood so quickly the headphone cord tugged taut. “no, no, Q. you don’t go—”

but his protests came too soft. too late. the number had already been dialed. shrinking into himself with every ringing tone.

one hand rubbed nervously against the back of his neck while he stared down at the lyric sheets scattered across the booth floor. after everything that happened, the last thing he wanted was for you to see him like this. yet some buried, deeply selfish part of him still hoped you’d come.

you still came. even with hurt heavy in your chest.

the studio doors opened sometime around midnight, drawing everyone’s attention toward you. you looked exhausted. pretty in that effortless way michael always noticed first. despite everything sitting heavy between you two, you still managed to curl those lips into that teasing smile as soon as you saw quincy.

“only you can have mikey in the studio till midnight on the lord’s day Q.”

your sleepy voice earning the warmest laughs from the room.

“hey,” quincy pointed towards you. “mike says we gotta get them vocals in before the good lord give em to prince.”

the entire studio erupted, earning a soft groan from michael behind the booth glass. ducking his head bashfully behind the microphone, rosy cheeks darkening with embarrassment. “Q..”

“and maybe, just maybe.” quincy spoke louder, leaning back as he grinned towards the booth. “we could use your help getting that match lit for our pretty boy.”

your eyes found michael’s almost instantly after that, curled inward on the stool with headphones hanging around his neck, fingers nervously picking at the wire. avoiding your gaze the second it met his. quincy glancing slowly between the two of you, grinning like he finally understood something everyone else missed.

you stepped into the booth quietly, letting the heavy door shut behind you. the air was thick, warm, and tender in all the worst ways.

“…thank you for coming.” voice feather soft, barely carried above the hum of the equipment. nervous eyes darting all around the room instead of holding yours too long.

“well..” you huffed out a humorless laugh, settling on the arm of the nearest couch. “you show up for the people you care about about.”

“a disagreement doesn’t make everything between the person you care about disappear.” you added quietly, before you could stop yourself. words laced with that sweet honest southern accent, “wondering where you stand every week.”

and the guilt that spread across his face so quickly it almost hurt to look at.

“i didn’t mean—”

“i know.” crossing your arms loosely over yourself, trying to ignore how small the booth suddenly felt.

outside the glass, quincy pressed the talk back button. voice suddenly ringing throughout the booth. “you good in there mike?”

michael froze, eyes flickering toward the glass where half the studio pretended not to be watching the two of you.

“m’fine Q.” swallowing hard, but his voice cracked around the lie. silence lingered another moment before michael looked toward the microphone again. “… can we start again?”

quincy nodded, exchanging a quick look between engineers. “roll it.”

the instrumental started once more.

michael adjusted the headphones over his messy curls, but before the first lyric could begin he hesitated. “c-can you close the curtains please?”

quincy’s teasing expression softened slightly before he nodded towards the booth. the thick curtains slowly slid shut around the studio glass, cutting you two off from everyone else in the room. even now, after years of performing, there were still pieces of himself that he hated exposing in front of people. especially this kind of vulnerability. this kind of wanting.

now it was only you. only him. only the dim amber lighting and the music curling through the booth like heat.

michael stood still for a few notes, eyes lowered toward the floor. breathing carefully. working uo the courage for something bigger than the song itself. then finally, he looked at you.

really looked at you.

no nervous glances away, no shy smile softening the moment. just raw. just michael. and when he sang this time, it wasn’t polished anymore. it was honest.

‘stay with me’

‘i want you to stay with me’

the music swelled gently around him, the melodies soft, dreamy, and slow enough to breathe inside. his voice quieter now, richer. every lyric threaded with something achingly personal. allowing himself to feel every forbidden desire he’d spent years swallowing down.

‘i need you by my side’

‘don’t you go nowhere’

doe eyes holding yours with a kind of vulnerability that almost hurt to witness. because michael didn’t sing sensuality loud, he sung it tenderly. like devotion. like trust. like he finally allowed himself to want something out loud.

‘ooh, girl, let me keep you warm.’

somewhere between the soft melodies and whispered promises, every guarded piece of himself started falling away. the shyness, the hesitation. the fear of wanting too much.

‘i love you, i love you. i need you, i want you babe’

‘stay with me. don’t you go nowhere.’

‘and i love you babe’

“oo—ooh, babe..” lowering his head slightly, the sharp inhale crackling through the sound system. warm and intimate against the silence of the booth, as though you were standing close enough for his breath to brush against your skin. steadying the trembling exhale before diving back into the song. “don’t you go nowhere.. your my lady,”

“all through the night…” michael let the note linger longer than anyone expected him to. long enough for the studio air to warp itself around it. his head tilted back as the sound poured from him smooth and aching, the vibrato trembling just enough.

“let me feel you babe.” the repeated promises. the pleading softness in his voice. the aching trembles melting into one another. “all over, all over, all over.”

he was sounding less like the worlds rising star and more like a man desperately trying to hand someone his heart before they walked away with it still inside him. and the longer he sang the closer he drifted towards you between versus without even realizing it. pouring every unspoken thing between you into the microphone, like he was saying everything he failed to say earlier.

‘lay back with me’

‘let me touch you girl’

‘lay back with me’

“all over, all over, all over, all over, all over, all over.” his throat bobbing hard, like each repeated promise pulled another layer off him. like every whispered ad-lib dragged something deeply buried to the surface. “all over babe, whoo”

“your my lady” michael’ voice wrapping around the lyri like it physically belong to you, hold his arms out to his side, palms open, opening himself up completely. knees sinking a little as he fell into the melody, curls falling against his forehead “your my lady babe, hee—”

“rock me, rock me, rock me, babe” his head shook faintly with every word, curls brushing against his carmelized skin. body swaying as each one weighted down by the emotion sitting behind it. like he was losing the composure he barely cling to. settling somewhere painfully deep in your stomach, pulling a thigh across the other as your fingers tightened along the seat.

then the final note faded into silence.

michael just stood there, breathing hard. still staring at you. slowly slipping the headphones from his curls and crossing the booth with careful steps, almost like you’d disappear if he moved too fast. barely any time to catch your breath before his hands found your face gently. like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you this way.

“i’m sorry.” mouth meeting yours with an unraveling need as he let out the softest sound into your mouth. his curls brushing against your forehead with every tilt of his head. breath warm and uneven against your skin as he kept returning for another kiss before either of you could fully pull away. “m’so sorry..”

like he couldn’t stop.

like now that he finally had you, even breathing apart for a second felt wrong. and you could feel the slight tremble of his hands when your fingers slid against the back of his neck. letting your plush chest rise up against him every time the kiss deepened. pouring that aching devotion into every slow drag of his tender mouth against yours.

the soft smacks of your lips echoing over the running melody seeping through the studio speakers outside the booth, earning a few applause. quincy lunging for the talkback switch and cut the booth audio off with a sharp click. somewhere behind the glass, leaning back in his chair with a cheeky grin.