Content Warning: Smut, Dom!Michael Sub!Reader Dom!Reader Sub!Michael, jerking!Michael Hand kink, Costume Kink, Creampie, Bad!Michael, Degradation, Praise (literally everything lol)
I haven’t edited this lol
The sound of the phone ringing snapped you out of your sleep. You glance at the clock as you stretch to the phone, it reads 2:04 am.
You reach for the phone, stretching the cord back to your original position, “Hello?” 
“Hey y/n, it’s Michael. Listen, I- I’ve got an idea. I’m down here in the studio and- I need- look I need some real rock and roll behind it.” A familiar voice responds.
You hadn’t know Michael long, you first met him at the 1984 Grammys. He congratulated you on your guitarist work in Easy Money, a competing record on Billy Joel’s An Innocent Man.
Of course, Michael blew the album out of the water with Thriller. Somehow, though, you didn’t leave mad. Michael had charm and a heart large enough to see from your seat with your then team.
- Grammys, February 18th, 1984 -
You stepped out of the limo and were immediately attacked with the cameras. “Is this your girlfriend Mr Joel?” “Are the rumors true?”
All you could see was the harsh white light as you gripped your lovers arm tightly. He led you knowingly through the crowd. He had been here before, many of times. Each time leaving with a large trophy. All you could think about was the cover of the latest tabloid story.
“Billy Joel entangled with his own guitarist”
You covered your face as you entered the door of the Shrine Auditorium. “Miss L/n, who are you wearing tonight?”
“Bob Mackie,” Billy chimed in “she’s premiering it tonight, Icicle, nothing but the best for my lover, if that’s what you call her.”
His Brooklyn accent was strong and sneaky. He sang of devoted love, but truly, he was quite sleazy. You smiled quietly at the reporter, denying to say anything, and shuffled after Billy.
The night creeped by. Michael sat two tables away, playing eye tag all night. You couldn’t help but be entranced by him. His suit dazzled in the light, his bedazzled finger tapped along to every song in support, a large smile across his face.
You glance to your left, Billy’s face is held tight, he rolls his eyes. “These people are clowns, they know nothing about real music.” Your face contorts, “I thought Michaels was pretty goo-“
“What a shmuck… that Michael, look at him, he looks like a disco ball… I can’t believe Quincy even looked his way… I don’t even know why I stopped by in Melbourne.”
You cock your head, “And that was the same day Quincy put the check your ego at the door sign on your dressing room door… so…”
He pursed his lips and looked away.
The night continued to drag. You listened to unsavory conversations between musicians while picking at the hors d’oeuvres on your plate. Billy is loud and full of himself.
Your attention is glued to the stage once the presenter appears. Thriller and An Innocent Man were neck and neck, and deep down, you knew Thrillers sound was superior.
Billy’s grip tightened on your leg, his eyes glanced from the presenter to Michael, his biggest competitor, over and over.
“Michael Jackson’s, Thriller.”
Billy slammed his hands loudly on the table, “You’re fucking kidding me.” you grit your teeth and close your eyes, “I get beat by a zombie?!” Your hands are silent while everyone, other than your band, clap in celebration.
Michael deserved it, after all. He was so kind, he sang of peace in a way that was palatable to every age. Truly, something nearly impossible.
- Grammys after party, 1984 -
“Congratulations, Mr Jackson,” You smile as you shake his hand, “Don’t tell Billy, but you deserve this…”
You glance over your shoulder, Billy is talking up Christie Brinkley. Though it wasn’t uncommon for him to do this, it still frustrated you.
“… Took a lot of time… your guitar work was incredible!” You notice you were only half listening, distracted by his large hand engulfing yours. It was clean, his nails well cared for, the veins bulged. “Oh, well, thank you, it was nothing like what you curated.”
Michael laughs, “You are brilliant.” He pulls you by your hand into a hug, “Are the tabloids true?”
Your breath hitches as he feels the beaded back panels of your dress. “Um, kind of,” you say softly.
“Well,” He whispered close to your ear, his breath smelled of mint, sultry on your skin, “If you ever change your mind, surely Billy knows how to reach me.”
He released you, your mind buzzing. He had gotten much more cocky with his success. His eyes dazzled almost as much as his suit. “About who you’re playing for, of course.”
“And I kind of need you here, now,” He pleaded.
“Awesome.. I’m excited!” The phone clicks.
You sit up and run your hands over your face. You don’t care too much about what you are wearing, surely, if it is this late, Michael looks just as bad.
You brush your teeth and hair, head bobbing as you try to stay awake. You slip on a pair of sneakers and hop in your car. It purrs under you as you pull out of your apartments parking garage, headed to Havyvenhurst.
You knock on the door of the studio below the spiral staircase, a small warning before letting yourself inside. Michael is beatboxing his vision as Bill sat to the side with a cup of coffee.
“There you are!” Michael smiled.
You were wrong. He was wearing dress shoes, high waisted jeans and an oh so tight white shirt.
“Did you just wake up?” “Yes, Mike, most people are still asleep.”
“Well here’s my idea, it needs to be real mean, real bad… real… sexy…” Michael says, his back turned to you.
“I can do sexy,” You laugh, “It’s kind of my specialty.”
Micheal turns around “I know.”
His eyes meet yours, then fall down your body and climb back up again. Bills face contorts and he glances at the floor.
He explains the concept and story behind the song, Bad. You dig it, and work until the sun rises.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” Michael says, “It’s all coming together… we need to get Quincy in here as soon as possible.”
Bill nods, “I’ll make a call.” The door shuts quietly behind him.
The birds chirp outside the window. Michael stands from his chair. “Are the tabloids true?”
You purse your lips, “Yes.”
He comes closer to you, “Do you remember our talk at the after party?”
“How could I not?” You say as you look up at him, he’s standing nearly over top of you at this point.
“Well, you changed your mind, did you not?” You blushed, his hand, just as large as you recall, caresses the back of your head, fingers entangling in your hair. Suddenly, you feel much more exposed in your night dress than before. The room is quiet, the air is heavy, and the tension between the two of you builds.
You lick your lips, “yeah… I did…”
His hand moves from the back of your head down your jawline and his thumb brushes over your lips. “Good. You need creativity… room to move… to feel the rhythm… to feel-“
Bill opens the door, both your heads snap to the right. Michael’s hand falls from your face, leaving a burning impression. “Quincy will be here in two hours.” “Perfect,” Michael smiles, “Gives her time to change into something more appropriate.”
You’ve barely seen Michael outside of studio time since the strange interaction the night Bad was born. He pretends like it didn’t happen when you arrive, no wandering eyes, no sultry voice.
Michael wants to film his music video today. Music comes togeather so quickly for him, it is effortless. You have learned that music videos and short films are much different. Short films tell a heart moving story, music videos showcase the skills of the band.
“Alright, let’s go from the top,” Michael tells the crew, “We have it together now.”
You begin to play when the cameras turn on. You’ve almost thrown out the image of Michael standing over you a few weeks ago. You tap your foot to the metronome, your fingers moving skillfully across the neck of the crystal encrusted guitar.
Michael dances to the music, drifting closer to you. Your solo is only a few seconds away, he comes closer. You attempt to focus, but feel his hand snake around your waist. His grip is like fire, leaving a burn in its place. His breath hits the crook of your neck. Quincy, Bill and the rest of the crew look on in curiosity.
Your arm becomes weak and you pull all the strings at once. The cameras stop in an instant. “What was that about?” Quincy fusses, “Michael, we are here to record, not make love.”
You blush. “I’m not!” Michael fusses right back, “It’s apart of the film… it’s for the film… goodness…”
This happens take after take, the hand, the breath, the light, artistic wimpers in your ear.
“Fuck!” Quincy shouts, “Y/n, Mike, get it under control, Jesus, It’s not that hard.” He is visibly frustrated.
And Michael is visibly hard, you can feel it press into my back with every take. you can’t even think long enough to understand what Quincy is saying before Michael juts in, “Take a break everyone, let me talk to Y/N and get it sorted out.”
Michael puts his hand on the back of your neck and guides you to his dressing room. He slams the door behind him. He urges you to sit down. “Do you have a problem?”
You stall for a moment and try to find your words. You look around the dressing room. He has clothes thrown everywhere, makeup open on the counter, photos of him and his brothers through the years pasted on the wall.
One of his drawers is half open, and an erotic magazine lays on the floor beside it. A box of toys… crops, handcuffs, gags and more is also open on the other side of the chest cabinet.
Curiosity, partnered with jealousy rings through you.
“Who has he had in here? Some kind of slu-“
Your thoughts are interrupted by a sharp “Pay attention,” from Michael.
“No- no.. you just.. i’m… when… i…”
“Turn you on? Do I turn you on?” His hands twitch as he speaks.
“Well…” You press your legs together. He nudges them open with his foot, his sparkly socks catch the light.
His hand returns to the back of your head, following the same path to your lips. He parts them slightly, “Well what? Talk to me. Tell me how I make you feel.”
“Yes… yes you turn me on.” Your entire body begins to burn.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He smiles slightly, his eyes full of lust.
He parts your lips with his thumb and slides a finger inside. You can’t help but lean into it, running your tongue up and down his finger. You can feel the spirals of his fingertips on your tongue.
He pulls his finger out with a light pop and leans down, “Is this what you want?”
“You’re so confident… if only you could translate that to the guitar.” His lips touch yours.
You kiss passionately. He pushes you down on the chair, looming over top of you. “How long have you wanted this?”
He breath was just as fresh and his touch was just as hot as that faithful night at the Autotorium. “Since the Grammys,” You pant.
“I’ve wanted this since I saw you on MTV playing that guitar like that.. all I could imagine was that beautiful hand wrapped around my cock.”
Your breath hitches, you divert your gaze from Michael’s. “Really?”
He stands again, his hands snake down his body, stopping at his zipper. He pulls it down methodically, his veins pulsing.
He pulls his cock out, it springs to attention. “You like your mouth played with? Don’t you?”
You make eye contact with his dick. His hand still rests to the side of his pelvis, his cock pulses just half a second behind his hands. It has distinct veins, just as you had imagined.
His thumb parts your mouth, your tongue plays with it. He hooks your chin and pulls you close. You barely make contact with the tip, the salty precum spreading over your taste buds. Then-
Michael jumps and stuffs his erection back into his pants. It makes a distinct impression. He runs to the phone before anyone else can bust in.
“So you stole my grammy and now you’ve stolen my fucking bird?” A thick Brooklyn accent shouts through the speaker.
“Billy- please, you’re interrupting. Do you talk business or bullshit?”
You are kind of taken aback, you’ve never heard Michael talk like that.
“You’re a fraud, always have been,” His mouth sounds full of food, “you’re a stupid cun-“
“Don’t call here until you get the shit out of your mouth,” Michael hangs up the phone with a sharp click.
Quincy busts open the door. “Talk over? Who’s calling? You two get back out there.”
Michael bumps shoulders with Quincy on the way out, you stand inside the room stunned with everything that has happened.
“You’ve got a loud mouth, Quincy, if this ends up on the tabloids i’m firing you, she doesn’t deserve that again.” He says without ever turning around, his voice sharp and serious.
“Maybe I should make you a sign,” Quincy retorts, never looking back to see if Michael was looking, “Y/N, get out there.”
The crowd roars as the stage lights awaken, bright and hot.
You and Michael had established a relationship after the demands of the Bad album had subsided. Now, you tour along side your boyfriend, and you have almost gotten over the stunt he pulls during your solo.
Contrary to what had occurred months prior, you have yet to have sex with him. In fact, you have yet to see his nakedness again.
You play for Michael as he sings and dances, you watch as his body becomes drenched with sweat. He does his iconic crotch grab often, but today, his hand seems to linger longer, rubbing up and down his shaft.
Half way through Bad, Michael begins dancing his way towards you, His hand strays from the usual path. It starts at your hip, wandering around to your ass, up your back, and cups your breast.
His breath was heavy into the microphone, his moans seem less artistic and more primal as the night goes on.
The curtains close and the band comes together in celebration. The first live performance of Bad was a success. The light is still harsh, everyone is hot, but the energy from the crowd continues to pulse through your bodies.
“Oh, you’re bad,” I tell Michael as we hug. The sent of his sweat is intoxicating.
His body tenses, “T- thank you… meet me in my dressing room in ten minutes.”
He pulls away and leaves without following up. The stage lights make him glimmer like an angel. The golden pants make a clear outline of his cock. Using the clues, you understood his motives.
You walk down the backstage halls, dodging groupies and security. Girls faint, they cry and they want you to die, but, at the end of the day, you are the one Michael is holding at night.
You arrive at the door with a large star on it, it displays his name. Though you are next door to him, you lack the star.
When you open the dressing room door, he is waiting on his knees, cock standing, pulsing through the open slot of his pants.
“The force has a lot of power…” He moaned.
“Michael get up,” You say simply.
“Tell me i’m bad.” He pleaded.
“What?” you question, the only sexual encounters you’ve had with Michael have been interrupted, and each time he has been cocky, dominate and in control, not a sweaty mess, undone and erect in the floor in front of you.
“Please” His eyes looked up at you, nearly glossed over with arousal. “Tell me…”
His hand come up off the floor and onto his cock. He pumps it methodically while keeping eye contact. One hand cups his balls, the other pumping steadily as strings of precum drip onto the floor. “Tell me.. take me.. I need you..”
You step forward, “look at you… behaving so badly.”
“You couldn’t even contain yourself on stage… you’re so bad…”
He bites his lip. Sweet moans of pleasure escape from his mouth. His eyes close, “Tell me more, please, y/n, please.”
His dressing room is different now. He has only one photo of his brothers framed and on his counter. The walls are covered in posters of himself. The box of treasures is absent, and the magazines are replaced with photos of you he has taken. He has large photos of you hanging on the wall. One of you in the bathtub at Havyenhurst, looking up at his camera, another of you half dressed doing your makeup.
Safe to say, he is utterly obsessed.
“What a dirty little slut, so needy for something you’ve never had.” You slur.
Michaels breath stops completely, his hips jolt as hot cum sprays onto the floor. Aftershock takes over his body for seconds after.
“That’s all it took?” You think to yourself
“I- um…” Michael says shyly.
“Really needed that, huh?” you say with your brows furrowed.
“Yeah, ha, I guess… I don’t know why… oh wow…”
Michaels words trails off as you lift my dress, he lays his eyes on your pussy. . “wow… it’s… beautiful wow.. what a blessing… can I put my mouth on it?”
You are so surprised by this side of Michael, but you are incredibly into it. You walk over to the couch and spread your legs, “Come here, bad dog.”
He crawls on his hands and knees to you, cock hanging out of his pants. The sequins make a scratching noise on the hardwood floor below him.
You feel his breath on your pussy, and his lips engulf it nearly entirely.
“Keep. Talking.” He says between desperate laps, “Tell me. I’m bad.”
“You’re bad-“ You moan out, your breath being stolen by his skillful tongue on your clit.
Much like Michael, it doesn’t take long for the heat to build up inside your body. You grip the leather couch, your freshly done nails leaving scratches on the arm rest.
You look down and Michael is hard as a rock all over again, a pool of precum forming under him. Your hand tangles in his hair, “Mikey- I- fuck i’m-“
Before you can finish his face is sprayed with your squirt. Once he feels the convulsions of your orgasm diminish, he stands quickly, your squirt dripping down his chin, running down his neck, your cream spread on his face. The costumer is going to have a hell of a time cleaning this one up.
“Again, I need it again.” He pleads.
He slips his cock inside of you, feeling your warm walls close around his length. It’s painful, the size of him, but you are so drunk on his passion it ceases to matter.
The leather squeaks, the back of the chair slams against the wall, a loud, wet, slapping sound fills the room as his large, hanging sack slams against you.
He shoves his fingers inside your mouth for the first time in months, you suck on them, letting him gag you over and over again. His fingers slip out and he takes his hand off the wall that was stabilizing him to rip your dress apart.
His mouth falls open and his body begins to shake, “yes… show me those… makes me feel so.. mmm… good.”
You are dumbfounded, the Michael you knew is showing through. His hips rolled into you rhythmically. He leaned down and took one of your breasts into his mouth, pouncing relentlessly into you in this new, tighter, deeper, more intimate position. His sweat dripped onto you as his breathing got heavier.
His body froze, all his muscles spasmed at once as he shot thick cum into your pussy. He let out loud, unadulterated moans as the pleasure possessed him.
“What the fuck is that kids problem?” Quincy asked, his leg bouncing relentlessly. He has been waiting to talk to Michael for nearly an hour now.
Bill sits stoically across from him, legs propped up on the coffee table, his head bobs with the rhythm of the couch in dressing room one hitting the shared wall over and over again, “A lot of things.”
Quincy fakes a gag, “I’ve got a lot of stars man, a lot, and usually they wait until they get home. In fact, Michael is the only one i’ve been able to hear lay pipe in the room next to me. Disgusting, really. I have to be in Indianapolis by six tomorrow, he needs to hurry up. Is this normal? Because if it is I need to know now.”
“Before her, sure, every day even,” Bill looks down to light a smoke, annoyed by the fact Quincy so obviously went skiing. “At the beginning? I think I busted them before it ever got like that… recently, yeah, back to every day.”
“Can we get him to hurry up? I mean, how long does this take?” Quincy pushed.
Bill sighed, “That dressing room is like a pent house, I bet they will stay there tonight”
“I have to meet Billy Joel in Indianapolis at Six tomorrow… hurry him up.”
“Not my job, I keep him safe, and he sounds perfect safe” Bill says before a long drag of his cigarette, “Maybe don’t… bring up Joel to him.”
When the shock subsided, he looked down at you. Your makeup was running, your hair wild, and he smiled. “Did that feel good?”
“You are too large to mess anything up, Mikey.”
He laughed and pulled out, his cock slapping onto his leg. He stuck his fingers inside of you, sending a shock through your body. He took it out and lifted it to his lips, sucking the mix of cum clean off. He inserted his finger again and raised it to your lips.
“Come on, be good and take it.”
You sucked his finger, the sweet and salty mix of combined eruption coated your mouth. He pulled his fingers out and kissed you. “Do you know how long i’ve been waiting for that?”
“Probably since I could feel you undressing me with your eyes all those years ago.” You smile.
“Precisely.” He cuddled up next to you, inviting your head to his chest. You follow his lead and fit into him perfectly.
Michael reaches over you to press the call button on the table.
“Mr Jackson?” A voice on the line says.
“Bring Y/N a new, yes, new, sweat suit, and two bottles of cold water, order in dinner as well. KFC, yes, well- y/n is that okay?”
You smile and nod, listening to him list his demands into the phone.
“Yes, KFC then, water and sweat suit, as soon as possible please thank you.” He hung up the phone and held you close. “Incredibly work out there tonight love, keep doing that, do whatever the rhythm tells you to.” He pulls a blanket off the back of the couch to drape over you.
You smile up at him, “Thanks Mikey.”
He smiles back and gives you a small kiss on the forehead, “Do you really think i’m bad?”
“No Mikey, you aren’t bad” You laugh.
“Okay.. I just wanted to check.”
Thank you for reading!!! I haven’t wrote a fic since 2020… bro I was THIRTEEN… anyway I am unc now so enjoy. Let me know what’s good, what’s bad, ect, I want to get back into writing!!
*all characters are fictional
