#manager! michael

the worst of it came around when his 60th birthday crept up. 

“i just don’t understand why you wouldn’t wanna celebrate it,” you mused, leaning on your forearms over the piano. “birthdays are super fun, and it doesn’t have to be a big bash, you know.”

michael peers up at you for a moment before settling his gaze down at the piano. he shakes his head a little, sadness pouring through his voice. “you know i don’t really do birthdays like that.”

you blinked. “you’re an ex-jehovah’s witness, though. and you’ve celebrated before.”

he shrugs, fingers idly hitting notes on the keyboard. “still. i always feel like i’m doin’ something wrong. i just celebrate with the kids now. that’s it.”

your fingers laced together tightly. “so i’m not invited, then?” it was meant as a joke, but michael’s head snapped up, wide-eyed as he shook his head.

“no, no, of course,” he replied quickly. he raised a hand to your face in surrender, and you laughed lightly as you unwound your fingers to lace them with his. he seemed tense, more so than usual.

“i’m just teasing, babe.” you smile reassuringly at him, teeth poking from under your lips. you give his hand a few squeezes before wrapping your other hand around it, warming his cold fingers. he let you.

“we don’t have to do anything crazy, like i said,” you try to steer the conversation to make him more comfortable, and his head drops to stare at the keyboard again. he’s avoiding your gaze. “just tell me what you wanna do for your 60th.”

his nose scrunches in slight disgust, and you catch the curve of his upper lip sneering at the thought. he pulls his hand away from you, back into his lap with a sigh. you feel a pang of rejection hit your heart, and you stiffen.

“michael…”

“nothing.” his smooth hair is covering his eyes as he shakes his head a little. “nothing.”

you let out a huff of slight exasperation through your nose, though you try to still the force of it. “why not?”

michael’s long index finger lifts up to drop down onto a deep note, reverberating his feelings. “i don’t wanna think about it.”

the note continues to echo throughout the room, the baritone of his soul. “think about what?”

he tilts his head away from you, and you catch his eye twitching a little. he shudders, actually shudders, at the thought of something, and you’re starting to think it’s you. you knew he was hesitant about the context of the relationship, how young you were compared to him, how the media might blow up once they caught wind of it (hadn’t happened yet, but you were both counting the days), and you were treading lightly with the romance. 

if you could call it that.

michael jackson was still your manager, after all. and he wasn’t the first to get involved with a singer client.

“it’s stupid, just forget it, okay?” his voice is deep and sad.

you lift yourself off the piano a little, and you know he can see you out of the periphery of his eye, but he doesn’t move to look at you. your face is serious, and you try not to bite your lip as you study him. he’s not moving, frozen on the keyboard, as if he’s waiting for your reaction.

“can you be honest with me?” you ask quietly. the room is heavy with tension, and it’s bearing down on your head like humidity.

“hm?” he asks through clamped lips, and he is anything but nonchalant.

your nails absentmindedly pick at your cuticles while you peer downwards. it’s hard to talk to him when he’s like this, reserved, reclusive, hermited. 

distrustful.

you take in a steadying breath. “is it me? is it my age?”

that’s when he finally snaps his gaze to stare deep into your eyes, and you see confusion. “what?” 

his voice is suddenly loud, ringing throughout the room. it’s the first time he’s spoken up since you met at his house that afternoon.

it’s your turn to blink back at him. “what?”

“your age?” he questions with a squint of his eyes. “what does that—no…no, no, no, it has nothing to do with that.”

you crane your neck forward, hands outspread as you try to curb your upcoming attitude lodged in your throat. “so? what’s the problem?”

“it’s me.” michael jabs a finger into the center of his chest repeatedly, and he’s growing angry now. but not at you. “don’t you see? it’s me, it’s this–” 

he glances down at his body for a moment and actively curls away, like he can’t crawl out of his own skin. he throws his head back and lets out a frustrated sigh, eyes locked onto the ceiling. they’re glossy with tears, tears he looks like he is trying to will away into thin air.

“i can’t stand it. i’m sorry.” he apologizes softly, swallowing away a visible lump in his throat. “it’s just that you…you’re so young, and beautiful, and so full of life. all these birthdays…every year. just….” 

he can hardly speak, pausing every few words to blink slowly, his lashes wetting with tears, and he tries to take a few shaky breaths. 

you wait for him to finish his thought, patiently standing by his side. he continues, “and god, don’t get me wrong, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time. a very long time. i just can’t help but not want to celebrate how…old i’m getting. i don’t feel like my age.”

you smile, huffing a small laugh. “don’t look it, neither.” it’s meant as a compliment, but he closes his eyes slowly and clamps his rosy lips shut.

“don’t patronize me, fox.” he sighs, then sniffs once, heavily. “i know what i look like.”

your brows furrow. “and what do you think you look like?”

he opens his eyes to roll them to the side. “trust me, it’s not a ‘think’. it's an ‘i know’ situation.”

you bark out a laugh, startling him. “then, pardon my french, but you don’t know shit.”

he turns to you questioningly, sadness in his eyes, before you reach out and pull at his arms to tug him up. he rises with you, looking lost and broken, the biggest star in the world, feeling frail in your hands as you lead him away from the piano.

“where—”

“i’m curious,” you cut him off with a cheeky side glance. “if you’ve ever had your eyes checked.”

you can feel his heels dig a little into the ground as he skirts to a stop to your motions. you twist around and laugh as you bend in half to tug him closer to you. he looks hurt that you mentioned his obvious vision problem. “fox,” he starts.

“don’t insult me, michael,” you bite down on your bottom lip with a teasing look in your eye. “i think those reading glasses are the sexiest thing you’ve put on.”

michael loosens a little as he processes the information, letting you pull him towards the corner of the room again. “what?”

you smirk at him, tantalizingly swaying your hips as you go. “besides those golden pants, of course.”

he huffs out a hint of a laugh, shaking his head. “what are you on about, girl?”

you finally reach the corner of the room and square your shoulders, plopping michael in front of the large-scale mirror, leaning on a leg against the wall. he stares at himself; you can see his big eyes widen with curiosity as they meet yours in the reflection, still glossy with sadness.

“i want you to look at yourself,” you said softly, peeking from behind his broad shoulders. “and i want you to watch me. i want you to see yourself through my eyes.”

he shifts uncomfortably under your palms, and you can tell that he wants to fidget away from the mirror. his eyes trail from your reflection to the border of the mirror, looking away from anything that involves him. you squeeze his shoulders encouragingly.

“no,” you admonish him with a curl of your fingers digging into his skin. “look at yourself.”

he gives a small sigh, as if he’s done this before. he might recognize it as a self-love exercise, something he often preaches to you. but he has no idea what you have in store for him. he reluctantly meets your gaze in the reflection for a moment, waits for your slow nod, and he meets himself in the mirror. you can tell he’s struggling to study himself, and the critiques are showing in his eyes. every small wrinkle, curve, blemish, anything he felt was out of place.

you smooth your hands over his shoulders, warming him. “look at these shoulders. so resilient, so broad. they hold a lot of your pain, but also carry great strength, yes?”

when you plant a soft kiss on the corner of his trapezius, you feel he has no choice but to breathe out a complicit “yes” in response. you continue, your hands snaking around his midsection. your fingers graze a few ribs over the thin cloth, tickling him there to feel his shudder, and splaying wide hands over his torso.

“what a body,” you muse with admiration. your hands are traveling everywhere, and you feel his stomach jump under your touch. “dancing away, making people happy.”

his eyes soften watching you with lidded lashes. he doesn’t speak when your fingers trace a sly pattern from the dome of his belly button up the center of his chest. you think you can feel goosebumps rising on his skin, even though it’s the dead of summer. 

“you’re just a beast on stage,” you ponder out loud, your voice a whisper.

you feel his breath hitch a little. “was,” he corrects you half-heartedly.

you smirk. “oh, you’re still a beast, my love.” 

you watch his face scrunch up a little with baited anticipation as you point your fingers around his chest, nearing where his nipples might be, but not quite touching there. he exhales a sigh, and you can hear his voice crack a little. “i’m–”

you start to round his body, standing by his side rather than behind him as you eye his body with admiration. his posture is stiff and rigid again, and you can tell he feels a little exposed, though you’ve yet to take any clothing off him.

“what a man.” your eyes gleam at the words, and you don't mean to sound so ravenous, but it was disappointing to hear him talk about himself this way. as if he weren’t the most attractive soul in the world. “and you’re mine.”

you shake your head disbelievingly at the thought, and you can tell he is watching you stroke your hands up to his arm to clutch his biceps, massaging them. “my protector.”

michael shivers. you can see the pride slowly start to bloom in his chest as it puffs up a little at your words.

you slide your hands down to caress his wrists, rubbing a thumb over the protruding bone before tracing a nail down a prominent vein in the back of his hands. his large, thick hands. “don’t get me started on these hands. mm, the things they’ve done. created. made. illuminated.”

you trace over his skin adoringly, swiping the pad of your index finger over his knuckles, nails, and the underside of his palms. he’s clammy there, clearly still nervous, but intoxicated by your words. the exercise is working.

“you treat me so well,” you whisper, feeling a little hotter under your thin shirt. your face is now level with his, his eyes completely off the reflection and now piercing into yours. you forgot how intense his gaze could be, especially with those brown eyes dilated with desire.

it pleased you to see life in them. that little spark to grow into a raging flame.

“i try,” michael barely moves his lips as he talks, and if not for the proximity, you wouldn’t catch his words. “i’m a gentleman. you deserve that much. more.”

you know when he talks like this, voice low and raspy, he’s being genuine.

“and then some,” you keep his eyes with yours when your fingers pry open his hands to thread themselves into his hold. “you’re so chivalrous.”

you’re not sure why his eyebrows raising at you knowingly causes your heart to flip a little. “not dead?”

“no,” you laugh, inching closer to his face. “not with me.”

he tries to subtly wet his lips as he whispers “never” over your waiting mouth before placing a chaste kiss there. you inhale deeply, and the sound of his soft groan turns you on. you’re overly energized by his lack of self-love, desperate to show him what he means to you. his insecurities were a bullet hole that could not be slapped over with a band-aid.

he makes a slight noise of surprise when you push up your body into his, nudging him backwards. he breaks the kiss and your intertwined hands to clutch at your shoulders to steady himself, and gawks a little when you greedily grab the lower half of his back, fingers digging into the neck of his pants.

“whoa,” he says more to himself than to you. he blinks long lashes your way, but you’re already grinning like a fox as you continue to sashay both of your bodies towards the bed. “fox–”

“lay down, pretty boy.” you’re overcome with confidence, a lust you’ve yet to address in your relationship. 

you can feel his laugh fall in his chest when you bring your hands around to his chest, lightly shoving him backwards onto the bed. his calves hit the mattress, then he’s falling with little grace, landing ass-first into the sheets. he blinks up at you in shock, not used to being manhandled. not for a very long time.

“pretty boy?” he snorts, but he’s obviously nervous.

“tell me i’m wrong,” you challenge. you’re standing between his legs, your knees knocking against his to spread them apart. it’s not meant to emasculate him, but his face collapses.

“you’re…” he stutters when you kick a foot under his heel, and he loses his footing, forced to prop himself on his elbows. “you’re wrong.”

you suck your teeth sharply, and he blinks, astonished at the sound. “god doesn’t like liars. what was that, the fourth commandment?”

michael laughs, actually laughs out loud. “there’s no such commandment, girl, what are you talking about?”

you shrug, a smug expression painted over your face as you kneel between his manspread. the argument dies in his throat as he watches you with widened eyes. “oh, well. i’m not that religious anyway.”

your palm smooths over his stomach, and you delight in the little jolts it gives beneath your touch. you keenly eye his center, and as if sensing your gaze, you spot a slight twitch beneath the material. you hear him try to speak, to form a word, but nothing aside from light groans spills from his lips when your hands trace down to his hips, and you start to unwrap him like a present. it’s all he can do, you know this with certainty as he watches you tug down the waistline of his pants over his hips.

“ah, wait–” michael objects weakly.

you hush him with soft lulls as you begin to palm him through his grey briefs. his head falls back with a long groan, soon stifled with a tight clamp of his lips. “fox, wait—”

“michael, look at me, or i’m stopping.” at that, he drags his head back to gaze down at you with cloudy eyes.

you continue to caress his bulge, thinning your fingers to feel the outline of his dick as it grows harder under your soft touches. he’s nearly whimpering in your hands, lower lip completely sucked into his teeth. “just look at you. the experience you have. you’re worried about me leaving or something?”

your reference to his size makes his hips jerk upwards. “for w-what?” he’s confused.

“for a younger man,” you hum. your free hand over his thigh forces his muscles down when they tense at the sentiment, and you smile up at him. “i’m gonna show you why that will never happen.”

with that, you leave no more room for discussion as your fingers deftly slip through the center flap to whip out his cock, already half-hard and leaking from the tip. he lets out a small yell as his upper body gives out, falling backwards onto the mattress as you stroke him fast, lips wrapped over his head. he hisses a little when you flick your tongue repeatedly over his head, dipping experimentally in and around the foreskin.

michael calls out your name, your real name, with a deep rasp in his voice. his large hands snap out to hold your head, and you slobber intentionally over the length. you know he can hear the obscene sounds because he squeaks like a mouse. you spit messily over his head, then hum gently as your glossy lips encompass his length, inch by inch, until his fat head taps the back of your throat and you gag.

you feel his upper body scramble up, and he tugs at your hair to pull you off him, concern stamped into his eyes. “are–”

that’s all he manages to spit out before your mouth magnetizes to his dick again, hands scooping his heavy length back into your mouth and you start to bob your head in earnest. michael whines a long note, pinching his nose and screwing his eyes shut as you start to suck him off. it’s raunchy and nasty and so raw. your nose continuously hits the base of his length, where the curls of his pubic hair tickle you. he’s spitting and stuttering over you, very overcome.

“fox, wait–” he gasps, hips jutting up, once, twice. “i—i’m gonna, i’m—oh, oh!”

you’re suddenly shoved downwards as his heavy hands hold your head there, and he’s spilling into your throat in spurts. he’s jerking his hips fast, so fast the movements are almost small. all you can do is try to breathe through your nose in small bouts of succession as you gag over and over with his thrusts.

when he tugs you off him, you gulp down a few gasps of air. there’s a line of saliva and cum connecting your tongue and his glossy cock. he’s still twitching, his hips sinking into the mattress as he collapses backwards again. he’s breathing hard, and sweat is forming on his collarbone.

he brings a hand to his face. “what…what was that?”

you move quickly, breath laboring as you climb onto the bed to settle into his lap. he whisks his hand away from his face to peer at you incredulously. your baby hairs are askew as you bear a sweet smile down on him. “that was just the beginning.”

he’s still breathing very hard, you can feel his chest rising and falling as you wrap the hem of your shirt over your head and toss it somewhere to the side. no bra, you smile to yourself as his coffee-colored eyes immediately latch onto your breasts, nipples already hardening under his gaze. 

“god, you’re so beautiful,” you moan over him, gyrating your clothed pussy over his still-hard cock. you unzip the side of your skirt to shimmy it over your torso and away from the bed. “you don’t even know, baby.”

michael is left writhing and gasping underneath you, sensitive from the aftershock of his orgasm. “baby, wait–”

you reach down to tug your thong to the side, exposing your leaking cunt to the air. your head dips to watch as your fingers scramble behind for his cock, reveling in his whine when you latch onto it. you fiddle with it a little, fitting the wet head in and around the juices of your pussy. the sensation over your clit makes your eyes flutter shut.

michael whines, a high-pitched, short sound that makes you shiver with delight. his hands are fisting at his sides, twisting into the sheets.

“michael, i need you,” you whimper, and you open your eyes to look into his. he’s enamored by the sight of you over him, the sun shining behind your body. “i need you to take me. like you always do. only you can do it, baby, please.”

he swallows when his hand reaches for his cock, bumping his knuckles into your fingertips when you both slide his cock into your heat. the warmth of the room amplifies when you lean forward to bump your forehead into his, moaning into his mouth when he returns your groans. 

 “oh, gooood,” he screws his eyes shut.

you start to rotate your hips over his, fingers tapping at his still-clothed stomach. “michael!”

his eyes fly open at his name. you crook two fingers into your eyes. “on me, baby. on me.”

he gapes at you, beads of sweat forming on the side of his temple. your hips gyrate smoothly, lower back recoiling at the jitter of your lower hairs tickling your clit. you nearly throw your head back as you start to bounce on him in earnest, tits jumping with you. his eyes are locked in, wasted at the sight of you.

his hands unravel from the sheets to clap over your hips, fingers digging into the fat of them. he’s holding onto you for support as you throw yourself up and down over his thick length. you can feel his thighs slowly coming up behind you as you fuck him into the sheets, and you muster the strength to speak again.

“c’mon, baby,” you groan out, grabbing at your breasts and squealing when you pinch the hardened peak. “fuck me, pump those pretty hips into me. just—aagh–please—”

the first warning you got was the sound of two pats on the bed behind you, the sound of his feet planting themselves firmly into the mattress before he squares his brows in concentration and slaps his hands over the small of your waist before it starts. you’re jolted forward, hands falling from your breasts to slam down on either side of his head when michael starts to fuck you in earnest.

your tits are jiggling in his face, and you can barely spot his tongue attempting to dart out to catch your nipple in his mouth as his hips patter up into yours. he’s fucking you like a young man, something you were spending all afternoon trying to show him. the gusto and spirit you wanted have now unleashed itself into a hungry beast, ready to ravage your body in the best way. and all you can do is bend over and take the consequence.

michael grits his teeth, gnashing them before snaking his full arms around your waist to haul you into his chest, angling your body into a more open position before he spreads his own thighs. he temporarily removes a hand from your side to lift and plop a stray breast into his waiting mouth, before bucking his hips back up into your cunt.

“aagh, unnghh!” you cry out. “michael, yes!”

it’s fueling him, you can tell from his clouded thinking, and his moan vibrates against your skin as he suckles your teat, lavishing his tongue around it and kissing when he can. his heavy balls are slapping against your ass as his hips make rapid pap, pap, pap sounds. you’re close, so close, as the sensation of your orgasm spreads over your body like an electrical current.

“yes, michael,” you sputter once he finally releases your breast and pants up at you. “god, you’re so good, such a—a man—, you’re mine, all mine—h-haagh!”

“yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s rambling through whines and gritted teeth. “i’m–”

he shouts with you, stilling his hips into your core and you cum hard, clit throbbing. you shudder in his embrace, and he squeezes you tighter into his chest, hugging you as he whines out into the room. all you can feel is an overabundance of cum leaking out of you, and he’s still pumping his hips into yours, though more slowly.

you’re overstimulated, and so is he, but all either of you can do is stare into each other's eyes, and everything feels like it’s on fire. every nerve is screaming, and you can’t seem to look away. 

he looks beyond beautiful, and for once, you can see the sentiment shared back. about both of you. there’s no disgust or doubt anymore.

he’s spent, and so are you when you fall into his arms, both of you breathing hard. your sweat drops onto his shirt, which is damp with perspiration and the stench of sex. his hair is now curling at the sides of his face, twisting into nonsensical letters. everything is wet, the bed, the clothes, your bodies, especially your connected nethers. no one moves for a bit, just heated faces and the sound of labored breathing in the room.

your head moves with the tandem of his breathing, and you feel the vibration of his voice in his chest when he says, “i haven’t…i haven’t fucked like that since…who knows.”

you bend an elbow to pinch his shirt, dabbing it into your face, where the sweat slowly stings your eyes. “eh, who cares.”

you hear him sniff. “clearly you do.”

your peals of laughter sound throughout the room, and you feel his arms start to unwind from your middle, though not letting you go completely. “only in the best ways.”

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂ 

the king and the popstar timeline

ꫂ❁ thoughts from saff: sorry if this was a little sad in the beginning, but i like my rpf to be realistic in some way. otherwise, michael becomes a character and he was very real, very human.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

it was arranged that you would tour the states before hitting a few foreign countries. michael vouched for england, japan, australia, germany, and brazil as a last stop. overall, the tour was designed to last half a year, with enough mandated breaks between the city dates to rest, explore the region, conduct interviews, etc. 

he has not seen you as often as the rehearsals have gone further along. he was forced to slip into a more professional role as the pressure to perform closed in on your team. more long nights at the office, annoying meetings with executives, directors, and engineers, all while you were spending your nights far away from him. he checked in when he could, and it was periodically reported to him that you spent your energy on stage, perfecting dance numbers, special effects, correcting the band, and getting outfitted.

michael knew a lot of your songs required intense breath control, and he took rare opportunities to hop by the arena, disguised so well that it would take a long conversation to figure him out. he watched from the first few rows as you rehearsed one of your more energetic songs. your skin was coated in a sheen of sweat, hair behind your head as your mic headset was adjusted closer to your mouth.

michael crossed his arms over his chest, knees bouncing to the tempo. he knew your performance would greatly increase if you were aware he was there, but he refrained from calling out. his keen eyes did not miss the disappointment and restraint your movements held.

the drummer missed your cue for a pose. again.

“stop, stop!” you swiveled on a heel to the band, music suddenly cutting. the drummer looked exasperated, and the backup dancers shifted on their hips. you threw your hands out wide, annoyed. you threw up four fingers. “fourth time i’m telling you that you’re missing my cue. we start in two weeks.”

everyone turned to the drummer, who michael noticed was not afraid in the least. in fact, he looked rather displeased at being talked to. “whatchu want me to do ‘bout that?”

your fingers waved in a circle above your head, your voice echoing in the arena. michael smiles to himself. “means get your shit together.”

the drummer sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes. “i’m together, girl. there’s no need to yell.”

you stepped forward, away from the stage front. a few dancers came closer to you, but you seemed to push through them. “who’s yelling?”

michael’s eyes fell to the drummer, who flipped a hand up, letting it drop soundly in his lap. “i dunno, you tell me, miss diva.” the sarcastic remark was not lost on anyone, but especially not you.

he wished he could see the flash in your eyes as your body stiffened from the back. “what the hell did you just call me?”

“oh, hell,” michael cursed under his breath. he didn’t hear what the drummer had responded, but he was loud. and crude. shocker.

michael stifled a shrill giggle when he saw your body leap forward to jump onto the back set towards the drummer. several crew members jumped up onto the stage after you, your backup dancers snapping into action. you barked out a stream of insults, coupled with demands to remove the drummer from the set. he wondered what had happened and why you were so on edge.

your phone calls to him about the rehearsals revealed otherwise, and you never told him about your apparent drama with the drummer. though michael had to admit, he was a little slow on the cues from you. 

perfection, it seemed, was something he had drilled into your psyche for performance.

you were tense and tired, he understood, but it seemed there was something further than just the stress of performing your first solo tour. he decided to call you again that night.

“hello?” your voice rang through the phone. you sounded exhausted.

“hey, fox,” he sits further into his loveseat, fingers tapping the armrest. “how’re you?”

“good,” you mumbled. he heard a shift on the other end. you sounded like you were in bed. he wouldn’t keep you, but he had to check in, especially after today’s fiasco.

“rehearsals going smooth?”

he felt the electricity in the phone before you spoke. “why, what do you know?”

“fox,” his voice was soft, but a warning. he knew you were high strung, but there was no way you were taking it out on him. “i’m just askin’.”

you gave a hard sigh, flipping your lips as you blew out air. “nothing. just some drama with the drummer.”

he hums, hoping you wouldn’t be able to hear his widening smile through the phone. “you wanna talk about it?” 

he knows the answer is no, and that’s fine. he would rather talk to you instead. nothing business-related.

“not really,” he nods at your answer.

“remember,” michael starts carefully. “if there’s anything i can do, or fix, you let me know, yeah?”

he waits for your answer, letting his nails pick at the armrest’s fabric. he knows you’re not asleep; your breathing is a little unsteady. he looks at his phone, the screen flashing once he pulls his head away. your picture is there, smiling brightly at him. he puts the phone back to his ear.

a sniffle.

“fox?”

“michael,” your whine comes through the phone. were you crying?

he sits up a little. “what’s wrong?”

“michael, i'm so tired. i’m tired of people fighting with me on my decisions, my cues, my direction.” your voice cracks a little, and he listens to how gravelly you sound. “i dunno what to do. i wish you were coming with me on tour.”

his heart squeezes a little as he listens to you try to steady your breathing. believe you him, if it were up to him, he would be right there with you, in the wings, backstage at every show, supporting you through your first tour. 

he knows how difficult it can get, and the process is exhausting. he sympathises with you, but he also has a family. his children are counting on his presence as a father since his retirement. it would also be a little strange as your manager to travel with you on tour. the hawkish media were constantly on his trail, sniffing for the next latest scandal to throw onto their front page.

he would never compromise your budding career for anything, no matter how desperately he wants you.

“i know, love,” he soothes you over your shaky breaths. “i wish i could be there with you. but you’re doing so well, you really are. i won’t tell you that for no reason, you know that, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe out.

“you are smart, you are important, you are beautiful,” his heart skips a beat saying that. “you are wonderful, you are strong, and you are glorious.”

he hears a huff on the other end, a giggle.

“say it with me now,” he urges. he makes you repeat various manifestations for yourself, for your tour, for your health. he insists on a second repition, with notes that you really need to say it like it’s a fact.

“...i am strong, i am successful, i am glorious.” you end off, sounding better. he smiles softly and sits back.

“yes, you are.” he confirms with gentle love. he wishes he didn’t sound so wistful.

you thanked him in a small voice, making his cheeks burn. he engaged in some small talk with you before bidding you good night. he closed his eyes in defeat when you wished him good night, smooching the receiver soundly before the call ends with a click. 

he thinks about how wrong you were. you didn’t need him while you were touring, he needed you. he misses you. he finds himself thinking about you outside of work boundaries, despite the few risque encounters you’ve had, and recognizes it as a deep desire to develop a romantic relationship with you.

he wanted to know what you looked like waking up, how you swam into a cold wave by the beach, what your fingernails looked like after a pottery class. did you like bubble baths or preferred showers? why did you favor this perfume over that one? did you know how to cook? the familial urge to be with you stabbed his heart and he was bleeding from the wound of you not being that for him.

he refused to call it infatuation. he thinks he really loves you. more than a friend. more than a client. more than an entertainer.

he rises from his seat and rushes over to his desk, covered with important papers and files. his eyes trail from here to there, until they land upon the tour dates, listed with the cities you would be visiting.

michael catches a glimpse at the side desk, where pictures of his loved ones and children litter the surface. his children, especially his daughter, were fans of your music. he was sure they would be happy to visit a concert. 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂ 

the king and the popstar timeline

ꫂ❁ thoughts from saff: i love giving a little backstory to my porn :)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

two months. that is how long michael went without seeing you. all 61 days of breaking into spring from the harsh winter, and he was beginning to feel rabid. he distracted himself with his family, dealing with his young teens, but his thoughts always trailed back to you as he wondered where he would place you in his little clove.

it upset him to have to deny answering your calls, opting to give his assistant the phone to hold. he needed to block everything about you. he had done what managers needed to do; now, you just needed to complete your tour.

he tried to wean you off his mind, encouraged to take his family to upstate new york, where cozy cabins awaited the jacksons. whatever drug you implanted into his system was deeply seeped into his bones. regardless if he was away from all stereos, news stations, televisions, and radios, it was for naught. every direction his thoughts trailed stemmed from you.

he was rather annoyed about it. and his children noticed it.

“daddy?” michael blinked out of his daydream as he turned to the sound of his daughter’s voice.

“yes, princess?”

paris wiped her face with the towel wrapped around her waist, as prince and blanket continued to splash each other behind. her bright blue eyes bore into his. “you’re very quiet.”

he smiled warily. perceptive child. “’m just a little tired, sweetness. wanna talk?” he pats the pool chair next to him.

she slumps into the chair, as michael wraps an arm around to bring her closer. rubbing her arm up and down to warm her, he watches as his sons flip around like fish in the indoor pool, their laughs and shouts echoing in the empty hall.

he hears footsteps approaching and turns a little. it’s one of his assistants, with a bodyguard behind her. michael’s heart drops a little at the sight of what’s in her hand: an open blackberry phone.

the assistant stops near his chair and holds the phone out expectantly. paris watches as michael turns back around, ignoring her. “mr. jackson, it’s for you.”

he nods. “i’m with the kids.”

“she’s calling again.”

he can feel paris’ head slowly dampen the front of his shirt as she looks up at him. he swallows. “take a message, please.”

a deep sigh behind him and the clacking of footsteps trails away from their position, the boys’ shouts resuming. he can feel his daughter looking at him and he raises a hand to stroke her hair back. “it’s okay, i’m here.”

he can feel her blinks on his chest. “daddy, didn’t you say we’re gonna go to one of her concerts?”

michael’s eyes close slowly, taking a deep breath and letting the chlorine hit his nose. she’s waiting for his answer, but he doesn’t know what to start with. how do you explain to your teenage daughter that you’re deeply in love and infatuated with one of her favorite singers, whom he happens to be managing, and that actually visiting her will end up with his hands over her body, kissing her pretty lips?

of course, there’s no easy way to say any of that. so he replies, “soon, baby. daddy just has to figure out the schedule. you know it’s hard to travel.”

he doesn’t realize how stiff he is when paris moves her head back down, shuffling closer to him. the entire right side of his body, he hardly cares, but the thought of you coupled with the cool water on his clothing brings a shiver to his spine. she sniffles a little, and he finally looks down, smoothing her hair back. she’s looking at him.

“can we go to one?” she’s pleading at this point and michael feels weak. “just before she goes away.”

weakness, he thinks to himself as he prepares to board the jet with his children in tow. he eyes paris flipping through your magazine eagerly, chewing her finger as she stares at your bold photoshoots. he would usually sit beside her, asking about her thoughts on it, but he didn’t trust himself with your image, which was already burned deep within his mind.

“daddy, look!” he hears his daughter flip the pamphlet towards him, and he cranes his neck to her. paris is beaming brightly, her face nearly hidden by your photoshoot spread. “she looks so cool here!”

michael stares at the photo, your eyes staring back. yes, he remembers this photoshoot well. it was for promotion with your rebrand album, and you decided to take on a more mature approach to your style. donned in all leather, skin lathered in body oil, hair braided back, and dark makeup to accentuate your eyeshape. your sultry look into the camera did not slow the patter of his heart.

“yeah, she does, huh?” he’s speaking softly, dazed.

paris doesn’t notice. “were you there, daddy?”

he nods, not trusting himself to speak. she smiles widely again, cheesing as she flips the book to her again, plugging in her wired headphones. he spots your name pop up on her ipod as she tunes out the plane ride.

he chewed his bottom lip in deep thought. you stopped calling a few days ago, after you had landed in california. he figured one of two things: you either got very busy, or you were pissed off.

he figures it’s the latter, but he digresses to avoid the knot forming in his stomach.

they land in los angeles not too long after, and michael allows his family and crew to settle quietly into the hotel near the arena. there’s a buzz in the air, and though he knows it’s partly due to his sudden presence in the city, he is also aware of the billboards with your face plastered everywhere. this was going to be one of your biggest concerts, a sold-out stadium in inglewood. three days back-to-back.

there was no chance he would see you at all.

the roar of the crowd in the stadium was deafening. though michael had arrived just in time for night 1, paris insisted on attending day 3, claiming your performance would be better and she could enjoy seeing you better. she stayed back at the hotel, catching up on sleep and lyrics to your songs, leaving michael to slip back into manager duties. he is made aware that your stay in california would require the use of a tour bus, which is supplied to your team.

“mr. jackson!” your assistant exclaims, but quickly lowers her voice into a hush. michael smiles, patting a hand on her shoulder. she returns the motion, her eyes wide.

“what are you doing here?” she jolts. “i mean, not saying you’re not allowed to be here or anything, of course you are, but we didn’t get a call, or heads up. i mean, not that you need to give us a heads up, you’re the boss—”

“it’s okay,” he assures her with raised hands. “i’m just here to oversee a few things, i wont be in anyone’s way.”

“oh! oh.” your assistant is frazzled, not from seeing him, she was used to his presence. more like at the fact that he was there. you must have said something to her. about him.

complaining and kvetching, no doubt.

“where is she?” he asks, referring to you. you have a couple of hours before the show started and he wants a few moments with you.

your assistant’s eyes widen a little and they dart from side to side. he watches as she scrambles for her phone, another hand pressing into her earpiece. she opens her clipboard, flipping through pages, frantic. he lays a hand on her wrist, and she stills.

he makes his eyes meet her from behind his shades. “she doesn’t want to see me, i take it?”

an audible gulp confirms his suspicions. he straightens again and crosses his arms, shaking his head. he forgets how petty you could be, how immature. then again…

“sorry,” he hears your assistant talking to him. “she…she was very stressed these past few weeks.”

“yeah.”

she continues warily. “she was…upset. i think.”

michael reaches up to itch the space under his ear. “i know. i’m here to talk to her ‘bout it.”

her eyebrows fly up in understanding, and she nods. “oh, okay. uh, okay, okay. come, she’s…she’s just resting in the bus.”

he furrows his brows. “she’s not in her dressing room?”

your assistant lifts a finger to press her earpiece, mumbles into it, nods, and then looks back at him. “she was there, but it got too noisy for her, and she went for some privacy, i guess?” she shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “i dunno, she’s been a little off her game lately.”

he lets your assistant talk his ear off as he’s led through the skeleton of the backstage, half-heartedly greeting people here and there as he passes by, his thoughts drowning out the noise of the arena and crowds of crew members. his heart thumps hard against his ribs, blood rushing through his ears as he thinks of you. he can’t help but feel a little guilty about ignoring you and how it affected your tour. 

he smiles at a few of the photographers flashing their cameras at him, their shock at his arrival very profound. he wonders if you will be just as shocked.

he turns to your assistant, placing a hand on her shoulder. she stiffens at attention. “please, no disturbances under any circumstances. when should she be heading out?”

she glances down at her clipboard, then her watch. “in about 2 hours. we have two openers, so it gives her some time.”

“perfect.”

he climbs into the bus, doors hissing behind him and closing softly. he peeks behind to make sure his bodyguards are against the door, hands clasped and looking about for intruders.

“michael?”

oh, that sweet voice.

he climbs the last step to face you. there you are, sitting on one of the couches, a plate of snacks and refreshments by your side, your lyric notebook open before you. your eyes were open and wide, lashes kissing your brows as you stared back at him. he eyed your outfit for the opener, little jewels dancing across your body, glinting in the low light.

“hi, fox,” he murmurs softly. his hands crawl into his pockets.

your surprise gives way to coldness as your face becomes stony. “what are you doing here?”

he’s taking a deep breath to answer you but you cut him off. “two months, michael? not a word, no calls, no checkups, nothing. for two fucking months?”

he doesn’t like you cursing at him. his face falls a little. “i’m sorry—”

“yeah,” you scoff. “i’m sure you are.”

“i am.” he says a little more definitively. you lay back into the seat, your boots shining into his eyes as you cross them.

you look away, shaking your head incredulously. you give a morose laugh. “i can’t believe you’re actually here. i call you for nearly two months straight, no answer and you’re suddenly–miraculously! you’re available on one of my biggest nights. i never pegged you for someone who needed the attention that badly.”

michael scowls at the accusation. he steps forward. “pardon?”

you side eye him. there’s no real malice in it, but it hurts him all the same. “you heard me.”

he points to himself. “you think i came here because i needed media attention to piggyback off your success?”

you rolled your eyes. “whatever, michael. get out, let me do my show.”

“don’t say that. you don’t mean it.” his voice is hard, but it’s laced with pleas.

“you’re clearly here for something,” you spat. “so, come on, what do you need from me?”

you had no idea what was brewing in his mind when you said that. it was like a flip switch. like a sleeper agent to your words, your venom, he feels his body move forward, taking long strides to meet you. your eyes are wide when he closes the distance, climbing on top of you and pushing your back down. you hit the seat of the couch with an ‘oof’ and he tosses his shades to the side, hearing them clack on the table before bracing his hands on either side of your head, minding your hair.

he gazes deep into your beautiful eyes, memorizing the shock on your face. his hair curtains your faces, tickling his cheeks. “you wanna know what i’m here for?”

his eyes don’t miss the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips, lipstick drying there.

“i need you, fox.” his knees squeeze your hips as his voice grows desperate, heart spilling onto yours. “i’m here for you because i can't stay away.”

he ghosts his lips over yours, drinking your scattered breaths. “i thought i could wean you off, keep you out of my head, my fantasies…” he lowers his lower half to sit over you, grinding a little over your stomach. you keen into him.

“you’re all i can think about,” michael lays a quick kiss onto your lips, pulling away before you can chase him there. “my dreams aren’t safe from you. i’m over it.”

“michael…” your whisper is ragged. that’s all it takes for him to mash his lips into yours, delighting in the way your hands fly up to hold his face, feel his chiseled cheekbones, and stroke his jaw.

the kiss becomes desperate, teeth clacking a little as he lays numerous kisses on you. you can hardly keep up. how could you? were you even thinking about him like he was to you? did you yearn for him? he needs to feel you; he’s so desperate, it’s embarrassing.

he pulls away from your magnetic lips, plastering wet kisses all over your cheeks, jaw, and moving to your neck. your perfume wraps around his heart like a vice and makes his cock twitch. you drive him insane.

“michael, ah,” you call out weakly as he trails his lips down your body, lathering attention to your breasts with his palms. he squeezes them together, drinking in your gasps, and places two loving pecks on each breast. he’ll visit that later, once you’re out of costume.

he scoots himself down your body, attention fully on your skirt. it’s paired with shorts and tights, and he lays one last kiss to your belly, tongue dipping into the button. you gasp in surprise and shove at his shoulder. you flash a crooked smile at him, and he returns your grin.

“michael, you can’t—” the words die on your tongue as his fingers wrap around the pantyhose, tugging with a powerful grip as it rips in one strike. you’re aghast at the action, choking as his fingers curl over your skirt to tug it down. he’s happy to see it flow to the seat, pushing it aside.

“be quiet,” he tells you as he takes your cold hand in his. he drags your shocked form up from the couch and catches you in his arms.

only for him to sit on the other side, where the couch is wider, made to accommodate more people. he watches your face, mouth gaping as the air of the bus hits your core, and he thinks you’re probably wet down there. he lays back, head hitting the seat and his arms are already outstretched to tug your thighs closer.

your stutter comes a little too late as he roughly manuevers you over him. “michael, wait!”

he lets his eyelids lower, hands stroking your smooth thighs. “let me taste you. i can’t take it anymore.”

in truth, he feels like he’s gonna die if he can’t be with you for one more second. he prays to god you won’t deny him.

your head flips around, ears searching for any sound. “but–”

michael lets his hands round your backside, slowly squeezing your bare ass. his sharp eyes catch a bit of slick running from your cunt down your thigh and he is sad to see a drop wasted. his eyes are big as he brings you closer to his face.

“please, love.” he guides your ass lower, mouth watering. “sit on me.”

you whine a little, brows furrowing. you angle your knees better, careful not to pinch his hair or shoulders and hesitantly let yourself onto his waiting mouth. he doesn’t mean to let out such a pleased growl when his lips close over your lower lips, splitting them open with a swipe of his tongue. but your fall forward is worth it, a deep moan rumbling from your chest.

“michael, michael!” you whimper as he clutches onto your thighs, searing your cunt into his face. you taste so good, so human, so alive. your smell is intoxicating, hitting his nose as he lathers your pussy with his saliva. “michael, ah my god…”

he groans into your cunt, as he feels himself get harder with your whine and your hips gyrating over his face. there’s nothing hotter in this moment. he doesn’t remember the last time he was this turned on by someone; it’s like everything you do makes him want more of it.

he’s become the epitome of greed. he doesn’t recognize himself with you.

he lets his hands grope and fondle your asscheeks, laying a few slaps to the skin to hear your cry out. the obscene kisses he leaves on your clit squelch throughout the bus as he rubs his palms over your heated skin. 

michael slips a finger under your rump and digs it between your folds. you jump a little when his knuckles slide into your cunt, giving it a few pumps, before adding another. he hears your hands squeeze the leather seat above his head, thighs near his cheeks quivering. he sucks your clit as he looks up at you.

“look at me,” he speaks into your cunt, and your eyes fly open to meet his. he lays another wet kiss to your core, watching your shiver. “look at me when you cum, dove.”

as if forcing your eyes open, you bulge them, widening at the edges. his fingers and tongue begin to dance, his big brown eyes never leaving your face. he watches as you convulse over him, your head threatening to throw back, your hair wildly thrashing.

“mm-mm,” he shakes his head a little when your eyes start to roll back, and his fingers leave your warm cunt. he pinches your clit when you heave out an annoyed whine. “i mean it, look at me. the whole time.”

“michael, you’re so mean.” your eyes are watering, and your cheeks are flushed.

he smiles into your pussy, letting his tongue thrash wildly against you there. his eyes were still locked onto yours, and he could sense you’re about to fall faster than last time. he massages your puffy clit with calloused fingertips, letting you crash over his working mouth.

he’s devious, but pleased when your eyes dilate, cumming hard as you lock into his face. you’re shaking hard, and his free hand holds you by your sternum.

he laughs a little when you ride out your orgasm over his face, throwing every modest movement out the window and losing yourself to his pleasure. he feels your body move to bend backwards, arms slamming near his hips as your cunt rolls over his mouth hard. he lets you use him, using his soft groans to vibrate into your core, and he knows he is overstimulating you.

“ah, god!” you exclaim with dry lips. michael places one last kiss to your clit, watching it twitch with a grin. “holy shit.”

when you make your way off his face (you stumble a little, he adores that), he settles you down on his lap, holding you there. you gaze into his eyes, a little fucked out and he bumps noses with you. he watches your nostrils flare. “smell like you?”

you nod a little, breath steadying. you tap the cleft in his chin. “nasty man.”

his heart patters at that, but he laughs, giving you a sweet kiss. you arch into his embrace, his arms rocking you back and forth over his clothed bulge. you pull back, a fire in your eyes. “you know you’re not getting forgiven that easily, right?”

he stills his motions. you lean forward to lick his lips of your slick left there. “what do you mean?” he’s weak.

you shrug, hands holding his biceps as your body starts to move off him. he grabs you, but you smooth a palm over his chest, pushing him against the backrest of the couch. “sit back, michael. my turn.”

“what?” he hears the blood rushing through his ears.

distantly, he hears the clink of a belt unbuckling. you’re near his hips now, eyes hungrily gazing at his groin. he feels an instinct to cover himself, you look predatory with your stare.

you pull his belt, not taking it off, but just to tug his hips up. his fingers grab at the couch edge to steady himself and you stifle a laugh. he’s embarrassed at how you have him wrapped around your finger.

“i’m getting my lick back,” you echo at him. your nimble fingers find his zipper and tug down, making space for his bulge to pop out. 

his face feels hot as he numbly watches your fingers palm him through his boxers, hissing lowly when your nail traces his shaft. you look up at him, your lips smudged with lipstick, baby hairs askew. you look divine.

“all this time, no one’s been taking care of you,” you coo at him and he bites his bottom lip. “yeah, michael?”

“yeah,” he lets out through his teeth.

“yeah,” you confirm.

his hands reach down to hold your wrists. “you don’t need to do that, love.”

your face is suddenly near his, kissing his lips. he weakly accepts as you mumble, “but i want to. been dreaming of this pretty cock. let me see it?”

he barely feels himself nod before you disappear again, smoothing your hands over his hips, thumbs rubbing the bone of his pelvis. his chest heaves up and down as he watches you slip your hand inside the flap of his boxers to pull him out of his confines.

it wasn’t cold in the bus, but he hisses anyway when the precum drips off the head, and you catch it on your tongue.

michael forces his hands by his side, nails digging into the plush leather seat. you lay a few kisses on his tip, eyes staring up into his the whole time. you need your own warning label, he thinks. you’re dangerous, with your sweet mouth, your fiery soul. he’s wrapped up in your charms.

you continue to massage his hips with one hand while the other grasps the base of his cock, your lips glossing over his head and grazing your lips along the side of his shaft. michael is trying to breathe, unable to stop his hips from bucking up into the air.

“don’t tease, fox,” he whispers. he glances at his watch. he can’t even read it, his vision is blurry with lust. “we don’t have much time left.”

he trembles when you hum against his cock. “maybe we should revisit this, then?”

his eyes fly open. “don’t play.”

you pull your head back to laugh, leaving another kiss on his tip. “so needy.”

and that’s all you say before opening your mouth wide and lodging his length down your throat. he croaks out a broken moan, hands flying to your head, mindful of your style. he doesn’t tug, just holds you, feeling the rhythm of your head bobbing up and down on his cock.

your throat is warm, so warm. he’s dying to bury himself in your cunt one of these days.

michael’s hissing through the pleasure, watching with a gaping mouth as you slurp noisily over his cock. it’s reddening at the base, where you stroke in tandem with your head bobs. you let your fingers fondle his balls and he near damn loses himself.

he putters into your mouth. “ah, yes, girl. keep on, just like—ungh, like that. y-yeah–”

he doesn’t feel your fingers press against the pulse under his balls until it’s too late. by then, you start to hum, your vibrations tickling his cock as you swallow him and he’s cumming down your throat. he holds your head tight as he fucks your mouth, eyes never leaving your face as you struggle to take him. he’s tattooing the sight into his brain.

“hah, yes, fox…” his hips stutter a little, twisting into your mouth, which is starting to spill saliva on the corners. “take me…”

his hold on your head loosens as he falls from his high, chest heaving. he sees dark spots in the corner of his vision and loosely sees your form come up from below him, lips popping off his head with a sound slurp. he reaches for you with a weak hand, and you bat him away gently, chuckling.

“one second,” you sound distant, and he hears running water.

you return with a dampened cloth, tapping him down. he lets his head follow your movements, watching as you diligently scrub the corner of his pants, where a few drops of his seed fell from your mouth. then, you’re swiping from between your legs, once, twice, before stuffing the towel in a nearby bin.

michael quietly tucks himself back into his pants, zipping and standing with a groan. you’re already changing into another set of pantyhose, slipping your abandoned skirt over your hips. he’s standing behind you as you hook a chain into the belt loops, and you look back at him.

your gaze drops from his eyes to his chest, and you turn back, your eyes holding a thousand words. michael moves silently, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, holding you there.

you stop moving. all anyone can do is breathe.

“i’m sorry,” he finally speaks, his voice barely a mumble. he slots his head near your cheek to press a chaste kiss there. “you have to understand, this isn’t easy for me. whatever this is.”

“and what is this?” your voice is careful. you smell like sex, like him.

“i was hoping you could tell me,” he replies shyly. he’s not too good at figuring relationships out. he was counting on you to tell him, seeing as you kept a spell over his soul.

you turn in his arms and gaze into his eyes. your hand comes up to his cheek and he turns to kiss your palm, laying his head into it. he’s so scared, his soul is naked before you and there’s no time to let you fester in it. but he feels compelled to let you speak.

“michael, i like you,” your voice is soft, gentle. “i like you a lot. you mean everything to me. you’re more than just a manager and friend to me. and no, i’m not using you for nothing. i want to get to know you.”

his hand comes up to hold your wrist by his face. he takes both hands to guide yours down, until it meets the center of his chest, pressing your open palm there. feeling how hard his heart is beating. he watches your eyes dilate a little, breath unsteady and he hopes you feel his entire being thrumming under your fingers.

“fox, i–” he begins, but a sharp knock on the bus windows startles you both out of your trance. you don’t jump back from him and he blesses you for it.

“we’re on in 10!” your assistant’s voice comes out, sounding erratic.

you close your eyes in a huff and he smiles, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “it’s okay, go. paris and i will visit you for tomorrow’s show.”

your eyes fly open, a wide smile gracing your face. “paris is here?”

he nods. you throw your arms around him, rocking him a little. he’s delighted to bury his nose in your shoulder, squeezing you tight. he feels you swivel your head to tuck your lips against his ear to whisper, “stay for the show. watch me.”

he knows he is designed to comply. the leash you hold on his heart is too tight to remove.

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

the king and the popstar timeline

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who is introduced to you through a longtime friend and producer at your record company. you’re very young compared to him, but enough of a woman to catch his eye and attention. you shake his hand, a little starstuck, but media trained to the high heavens to compose yourself a little. he finds the composure cute as he squeezes your hand, placing another on top of it. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he responds warmly. he can practically feel your face radiating heat at his words.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who watches your music videos in his off time, after a long day of meetings and planning with you. he appreciates how open you are towards his ideas for your rebranding. how could you not be, with an experienced legend like him coaching you along? he politely smiled at your compliment, bowing his head in thanks to you. michael thinks you have great creative potential and your image is moldable, he can work with that. he just hopes you will be receptive towards his perfectionism.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who brings in the best artists and illustrators to put together moodboards towards your rebrand. he tries not to bring up his experiences upon going solo and his success as a young superstar, so he expresses his vision for you as best as he can put it.

he’s not pushing anything onto you, though, so he has long conversations with you about yourself, what speaks to you, what makes you light up, and how you speak through your music. he explains to you that music is the soul’s language and people will feel that faster than any lyric or beat you throw at them, so it’s important you know yourself as a person and a soul before giving that over to an audience of listeners.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who adores how you ask him respectful questions about his experiences over lunches. he would honestly rather you talk about yourself, but understands your admiration for him and his work, so he indulges in your barrage of questions.

he especially adores the twinkle in your eyes when you talk about your own vision for music and how dramatic you want to be with it, wanting to go all out for an album, to tell a story, make it cohesive, wanting fans to connect with it and break it down rather than consume it as another song to stream. you remind him of himself in a way, the best parts. he is especially pleased and blessed that his first managing position is with someone he connects with.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who sits behind the mixer next to your producer at your recording sessions. you spent the past month writing out songs with him, though he was the main composer for your album, he pushed you to write from you heart.

he reminded you that the authenticity you wanted as an upcoming artist needed to be felt from people in order to gain their attention for a long time. he gives you cues on your vocal ranges, describing what he wants from you when you sing certain songs. the songs with sensual lyrics have you chewing your inner cheek, embarrassed to sing such….intimate topics in front of the michael jackson, but he ushers you on.

“i’ve been there before, love.” you can’t see his eyes from behind his glasses, but his smile reaches his cheeks as he raises a thumbs up. “go for it, and really feel it, girl.”

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who arranges for you to attend photoshoots, talk shows, podcasts, etc. branding can only take a person so far, people need to meet you through other projects. with your new album coming out, he pushes for your company to promote you. he’s been through that whole bullshit with sony, so he steps in for you when it comes down to signing agreements and contracts with lawyers.

you trust him to speak up for you, so it’s rare for you to attend unless your signature and presence is required. he feels protective of you, quietly shutting down any excuses to have you doing long tours, excessive projects, overspending on budgets just to have to pay back the company in the long run. michael knows the industry, as glorious as it is, has its snakes in the camp, so he uses his experiences to protect you from hidden traps.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who gazes at your costume changes during photoshoots. he doesn’t attend every one of them, but for major shoots, he is there to oversee and doesn’t see any issue with him stepping in to direct as well. you learn to speak up as well, taking his side as you trust michael with your branding image. he knows you best, what works and what doesn’t.

repetition is recognition, he told you. he can’t help but think you look absolutely amazing in your fits, your makeup adjusted to your taste, that will certainly set off an internet trend. he giggles behind a hand when you act silly in between shots, shaking his head at your antics.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who prepares you for your first concert. rehearsals are hard with him, he’s quite tough on the execution. michael is never harsh or mean about his direction, but when he says something needs to be changed, everyone needs to lock in because he gets annoyed fast.

his annoyance is not audibly apparent; more like he gets quiet and stares at the people he’s critiquing until the message gets through. his vision often requires sharp movements, expressive facial movements and following the beat. don’t play with him on this, he really believes your body needs to link with the music. you get a chuckle out of him when he tells you to put your back into a dance move and you goofily throw your ass back.

“now, girl.” he warns you playfully. he likes that you can still embrace your inner silliness.

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

the king and the popstar timeline

as originally intended.

he loved you, though. maybe that's why he forced himself to stay away. he’d not known you for too long, but you formed a deep connection with him quickly. he wondered if being your manager was a good idea in the long run. maybe after this album’s release and the first year of touring would be sufficient to let you go. release the bird from its nest.

“michael, why are you being so weirduhhh?” your whine came through the phone. “you’re the reason for the album's success.”

his lips squeezed into a thin smile. sometimes he forgets how young you are. and bratty. 

“maybe you can ask your co-star to join you,” he hums.

you clicked your tongue. “don't be like that, i don't want people to think i'm leeching onto his success for my own.”

ah, now you say that? he wonders to himself bitterly. 

“and that’s exactly what everyone will speculate if i'm there with you.” he replies instead.

you barked out a laugh, startling him. “but you are the reason for my success!”

“no, fox,” he replied gently, nails picking at the couch armrest. “i’m not.”

no one replied for a bit, just silent breaths exchanged over the receiver. he patiently waited for your response, not expecting anything other than a bite back. when you didn’t say anything for a few minutes, michael chewed his inner cheek, his eyes darting around the room.

“michael?” he finally heard you ask, so softly he almost missed it.

“yeah?”

“please come.”

so he did. under the condition that he would take a few pictures with you, then retreat with the rest of the team while you did your rounds of interviews on the carpet. you agreed, and autumn came fast. you were up for the new artist of the year at the american music awards, having been nominated for a few other awards as well, such as song of the year, collaboration of the year, and best music video. 

chanel designed your outfit for the night, custom-made to fit your body only. you asked michael to match with you again, to which he silently complied. he was not excited about the field day the paparazzi would have with that. he rode with you in the limo to the event, and a few other people crowded in with you. your makeup artist is touching up your face as you hold still as best as you can in the moving car, while another person dowsed michael in his best cologne.

he noticed your side glance at him when the sprays fluttered around you and he smiled at how your nose flared. “do you need some?” he joked.

you tutted at him and turned away. now, your assistant tightened a part of your outfit. “what, you’re telling me there’s still something left in there?” 

he giggled mischievously, patting your knee. “i'm just playin’, fox.”

your hand smoothed over his, rubbing the back of it absentmindedly as you were adjusted. he let you touch him there, your nails fingering one of his rings. he leaned over to get a better look at your face and you turned to look at him fully. he studied your face from behind his shades, grateful for the cover.

you looked exquisite, bold. you smiled a little at him, and he squeezed your knee twice, a silent conversation taking over.

what’s wrong?

you shook your head subtly. 

nothing.

he rubbed a thumb over your thigh repeatedly, warming your skin beneath the cloth. he gave you one slow, deliberate nod.

it’s okay.

you pursed your lips and closed your eyes for a moment, releasing a tense exhale. your assistant finally noticed and looked up at you two. michael leans back, but not before letting his hand slide along your leg and dropping it in his lap. 

you climbed out of the car with him, your hand tucked into the crook of his arm as you walked into the arena. led by a few bodyguards and your team trailing behind you, michael let you release his hold a few times to meet and greet people, exchanging kisses and half-hugs. he practically felt the excitement humming through your body, your cheeks swelling with smiles all around.

he wanted to see you happy like this all the time.

he desperately tried to calm the patter of his heart when the paparazzi called to him on the red carpet with you. he gave a few peace signs to the snapping photographers and waved to a barrage of screaming fans behind the barrier, but the hand at your side remained strictly above your waistline and barely held you there. the photographers were not deterred.

“michael, michael, are you dating?”

“michael, over here! kiss her!”

“honey, can you look at michael?”

“kiss him, kiss him! one kiss, c’mon!”

he felt you giggle, a manicured hand on his chest as you obliged naively to the commands of the photographers. a plastered smile on his lips, he felt–no, smelled–you get closer to his face, your body heat radiating like a fire to his skin. he hardly remembered feeling your glossy lips on his cheek, only remembering the sudden roar of noise from the photographers, a million flashes blinding his eyes.

well, they got their front page for tomorrow.

your performance was phenomenal, something michael had overseen himself. he shared a standing ovation with the arena, smiling wide and clapping hard at the finale. he was more than happy you had decided to perform one of other popular songs from your album and not the collaboration with your co-star. maybe it was his way of having you to himself, musically at least.

michael held your hand tight when the award ceremony began. he rubbed smooth circles into the back of your hand as they called out the nominees for new artist of the year. when your name was announced, he jerked your hand up and urged you to rise. dazed, you smiled broadly and leaned over to him. he returned your warm hug, but did not expect you to plant a giant kiss on the corner of his mouth in front of everyone.

the hall erupted into thunderous cheers and whistles at the sight and he felt rather than saw you run up the stage, the corner of his lips burning him.

you minx, he thought as he watched you hug the presenters. that stunt will be all everyone will talk about and nothing about your success.

your speech was emotional, but to the point. you thanked your team, your family and friends, and then, directed your entire body to him and pointed with a delicate finger in his direction. you were breathless and your eyes shone with emotion.

“michael, michael!” you cheered into the microphone, the crowd behind him applauding at his name. you brought a hand to your chest, overwhelmed. he laughed a little. you were really selling it.

“ladies and gentlemen, without this man, i would be nothing. nothing!” you exclaimed. “he showed me what it is to be in this industry, he taught me everything i know, and i want you to know, i love you. i really do. thank you so much for giving me a chance. you’re a legend. i love you, michael.”

the roar of the arena shook the earth. michael blew you a small kiss and placed his hands together in thanks. you waved at him and jumped up and down, excitedly. the presenters by your side laughed and guided you away. michael’s head was swimming as he watched you being led into the curtains, with his eyes shaded.

“what’re you doing,” he later asked you in the limo ride back home. “feeding the media like that?”

you swiveled your head away from your purse to look at him, puzzled but still smiling. “huh?”

he continued looking out the window. “you know what i mean. i told you about this.”

he heard you chuckle, followed by a shuffle of clothing. you moved away from him a little. “relax, it’s showbiz, right?”

he turned to you with his shades turned down on his nose. you locked eyes with him as he held you there. only silent disappointment stayed pregnant in the air. “don’t you be tellin’ me those things now, fox. you know how i feel about all those…rumors.”

he folds his shades slowly in his fingers, waving his hair out of his face. he blinks at you, once, before raising his eyebrows expectantly. you held his gaze, almost defiant.

“i dont get what’s so wrong about what i did,” you retorted. “thats just how i show love.”

he leans back into the car seat, nodding his head. “ohhhh, i see. thats how you show love, huh?”

“michael, don’t be like that,” you started with an eye roll. he raises a hand to stop you.

“no, no.” his tone is dangerously light now. “you said that’s how you show love. you show affection like that to everyone? or am i just super lucky to be shown off in front of hundreds of cameras?”

your eyes dart away a little ashamed and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. he cocks his head to follow your eye direction. he stares at you, burning holes through the side of your face, waiting.

finally, you sigh. “look, im sorry. i got carried away.”

he puffs out a stream of air from his nose and settles back into his seat. “yeah.”

he hears you shuffle closer and his body stiffens. you’re close enough to where he can smell your intoxicating perfume, his favorite one. “michael, i’m so sorry. i didn’t even think about it like that. but i really meant it, every word. you mean the world to me.”

he lets his head fall back against the headrest, and closes his eyes. “i’m not upset at you for what you said, fox. i really do appreciate what you said.”

more than you will ever know.

you threw your hands out. “the hell did i do then?”

he snaps his eyes open and turns to look at you. your faces are very close now. “the goddamn tabloids. you just need to know when to quit. there’s a time and place for these things and you, of all people, know how they hound me for anything i do.”

“but-”

“this is why i didn't want to come out,” he can't stop himself from sitting up and waving his shades at you. “anything ‘michael jackson’ does is a statement. something they can twist into garbage for their rotten papers. instead of keeping it light, you fed into it! you fed into the very people who will turn around and throw mud in your mouth for anything you say or do.”

all you seemed to be able to do was gape at him, but he saw your eyes shining with water. softening his face, he took your hand in his with a gentle grasp. your head ducked down a little, but you maintained eye contact with him. he lowered his head to look into your eyes. your beautiful, watery eyes.

“look,” he rubbed his free hand over your clasped ones. “it’s gonna be fine. i don't care about me anymore, it is what it is. i’m worried for you, girl. i wanted this to be your night of success, all your accomplishments, your hard work…”

he held your eyes expectantly. he finally smiled when you nodded a little.

“they ain't gonna see none of that now because all they wanna see is what they wanna sell.” he lifted his folded shades to bop your nose. “a story.” 

when his antic didn’t elicit more than a blink out of you, he stroked your chin with a thumb. “smile for me, fox. don’t cry.”

your teeth finally shone through your tightened lips with a broken giggle. he laughed softly back with you, pushing back your baby hairs. you gave a few harsh sniffles before poking a finger into the corner of your eye. god, now he felt bad.

he dropped his shades somewhere behind him. “come here, sweet girl.”

you seemed to welcome his embrace, knees knocking together as your head settled into the crook of his neck. he soothed you through your fading sniffles, stroking your back with a wide hand. “i didn’t mean to be so harsh, i’m just….i’m just looking out for you, okay?”

he felt your voice rumble in his neck. “yeah, i know. i just don't like when you're mad at me.”

“mad?” he laughed, pulling you back from him. he raised your hand to his lips, placing a few open-mouthed kisses along the back of your knuckles. he felt your grip loosen in his as he peppered affection to your hand. “i’m not mad, love.”

you gave him a wobbly smile. “you sure?”

he peeked up at you from behind your hand, molding the word, “positive.” into your skin.

he felt he had to make it up to you, poor thing, you were probably so unraveled from the entire experience. he hears you sigh a little and scoot closer to him as his lips leave a trail of soft kisses up your forearm. he lets his arm wrap around your back to squeeze you closer to his body, letting the both of you settle back into the car’s cushions.

michael feels your eyes on him, watching as he soundly kisses up your arm, nibbling your shoulder. he delights in hearing your low hum, and he feels a flame of desire stir in his chest. he lifts his head from your shoulder, but before you can catch his eyes, he ducks it quickly into the crevice of your neck.

you gasp lightly as his right hand, laced with your fingers in his, pulls closer to his chest so you can feel his heartbeat pounding against his suit. he lets his hungry mouth latch onto your neck, lathered in oil and perfume, suckling on that sweet spot under your jaw. your head instinctively tilts to give him access, your eyes fluttering shut.

“michael–” is all you can get out before his other hand slides up from your waist to cradle the underside of your breast. it rubs almost mischievously before snatching it with a full clamp. your lack of a bra does not compensate for the instant prickle your nipples feel against his fingers, boldly massaging you there.

“i’m so proud of you,” he whispers into the kisses he presses by your collarbone. he lets his teeth graze you there. “you did so well tonight.”

the four awards you won that night could not replace the damp feeling creeping between your legs and he smelled it.

your free hand came up to join michael’s, holding his palm against your breast. he took it as a sign to massage you there, squeezing and pinching at the center. your head fell back a little with a little squeal. he tugged you closer still.

“fox,” michael breathed out. 

three knocks pattered by the window, snapping you both into a shock. like a deer caught in headlights, your eyes snapped open and you jerked away from him a little. slowly, he unraveled your bodies and hands and straightened his jacket out. he glanced over at you to make sure you were clean before clearing his throat. he slipped his shades back onto his nose.

“yes?” 

“mr. jackson, first stop.” the driver called from behind the car door. he looked over to you, almost defeatedly. your hotel. shame he wasn’t staying with you. he had another residence not too far from the arena, so there was no need for him to really book with your team.

he helped you collect your awards, handing the doorman your bag and shaking his hand. you climbed out of the limo, and he grasped your wrist before you left. “call me tomorrow, yeah?”

you flashed a sweet smile at him and he nearly clambered out of the car with you. “of course, michael.”

he squeezed once before letting go, the chauffeur shutting the door after you. michael watched your hips sway a little as you were escorted up the steps to the hotel lobby, greeted by two doormen. against all better judgement, he rolled the windows down, calling your name.

you turned, your dress swishing behind you. He caught a glimpse of a blooming dark spot by your neck and gave you a mischievous but knowing look.

“don’t read the tabloids tomorrow, right?” he reminded you.

Your eyelids lowered at him. “never.”

his lips sharpened into a smug smile, before rolling up the window slowly. “good girl.”

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂ 

the king and the popstar timeline

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who initially hesitated on having the majority of your album be full of romantic songs, agreed with the record company to push you to collaborate with one of the heartthrobs of the industry. he begrudgingly sent out the demo he sang on (let’s see the boys compare with his vocals) and felt rather overprotective of you as the prospects rolled in.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who was approached by the ceo of the record company, who complained to him that they had to complete the song collaboration since it would be pushed for the lead single on the album, and michael had declined them all. michael insisted that none of the men who sent their demos for the track complimented you, because who else can complement your vocals and lyrics on such a sensual track besides for him?

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who rolled his eyes to the side when you were presented with the demos (at the behest of the producer on the track), and you giddily jumped and clapped when one of the artists he denied right away made you smile. he didnt meet your eyes when you squeezed his upper arm and repeated, “this is the one, this is him!” 

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who became annoyed at your blush and shy smiles when the handsome young singer came through the studio, all swagger and cockiness. he dipped his sunglasses low on his nose to ogle you as you shook hands with him, then his eyes widened upon seeing michael. michael internally scowled when the young man practically slid you aside to rush to him instead, failing to act cool and enthusiastically shaking his hand, yapping about how honored he was to be working with a legend such as him.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who slipped his hand away and rubbed his palms on his jeans, before telling the man that it was you he should be honored to work with, not him. that he was just managing your up-and-coming career, not directly working as a musician on the track. though he wasn’t about to indulge the man in the secret knowledge that he had provided some of the backup vocals on the track. that was between you, him, and the producer.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who eyed you and the young singer like a hawk, burning a hole through the glass as you both stood apart from one another, mics standing back to back. his bottom lip was chewed through as he watched with a sharp eye at how meek you became around the popular heartthrob, nodding your head when he said something to you, and your eyes wide as you took in his nonchalant appearance.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who took several breaks after chiming in with notes on the singer’s take of the male part of the song. you gave michael several warning glances, almost as if you were embarrassed he was giving the poor guy critiques and pointers. he didn’t care and shrugged his shoulders.

“i’m a perfectionist, fox.” he threw you that sweet nickname on purpose, hoping to indicate to the other man that he would not have what you had with him.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who clamped his teeth together when he heard the man ask “who’s fox?” and you paused before answering, “oh, it’s michael’s nickname for me.” he knew it wasn’t a betrayal, but boy did he feel a sting with your answer. why were you entertaining this fool?

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who froze when he heard the man chuckle and ask you, “oh yeah? so what should i call you, then?”

michael pressed the talkback button faster than he processed thinking about it. “guys, time is money, let’s get a move on.”

he ignored your horrified look through the glass as he settled back into his chair. he also ignored the snickers coming from the producer beside him. michael waved a hand at him with a shake of his head.

“c’mon,” he urged.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who gave a curt nod to the singer when he finally left the studio, and gave him a half-hearted pat on the shoulder. his sunglasses dug into his nose at this point, concealing his eyes from your stares as you tried to catch his gaze. he focused on other things, making himself busy with the producer.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who got a call from you later on, with news that you wanted to produce a short film with him on the single. he could taste the disappointment in your voice when he softly declined, saying he did not see much of a vision for the song. when you asked him what the hell he was talking about since he co-wrote the song, he replied that he felt the song was empty. in his humble opinion.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who nearly sighed when you argued with him, “michael, you were the one who urged me to take on another male collaborator, and now with my rebrand coming up, this is more important than any of my other songs! it will be the first to be broadcast on mtv, and vevo is pushing for the video to pop up first in the search engines. he’s already a great singer, he’s sexy, a great voice, and he’s not too bad at acting!”

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who knows deep down that you are right, and with any other opportunity, he would be the first to jump on the bandwagon you’re leading. he’s just having a hard time with the chemistry you’re both oozing out from just vocals alone, let alone what he witnessed in the studio over the past couple of days.

he feels left out, even though he was hardly there to begin with. his heart is squeezing more than usual, and he wonders if he can pull out of the project, blame it on cardiology appointments. he wouldn’t be lying, really.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who agrees last-minute to hop on as a director of the music video, but only if there are other directors involved. he requested a female director on set, hoping she would be able to mitigate the amount of touching, eye-gazes, grinding, and kisses on set. you know, women looking out for each other?

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who was aghast at how his female co-director instead vouched for more steamier scenes between you and your male collaborator. she insisted on a choreographed intimate routine, something that imitated sex as a dance. michael wanted to die.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who lurked in the corner of the set, crossed arms as he watched his co-director take over. he tried to let the crew know to shoot as few takes as possible, claiming he wanted the most natural takes, not choreographed. little did they know it was really to minimize the number of times he would have to witness your attractive co-star slide his hands all over your torso, nose dipping by your neck, lower halves meshed together.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who caught you in between breaks, all sweaty and smiles as he hands you a drink while you rambled on about how great it was coming out. you reviewed the footage over and over, and all he could do was gaze at you from behind his shades. he loved how your eyes scanned the screen over and over, watching your body move flawlessly to the music with every take and smiling wide when you nailed a difficult move. you snapped your head up to look at him, and his heart melted a little when you told him, “i was inspired by you for that move, mike!”

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who watches your co-star playfully squeeze your sides and lay a few chaste kisses on your shoulder as you both wait for the cue to start. his head is swimming as he realizes that he is uncharacteristically jealous, an emotion he has not felt in a very long time. he couldn’t understand if he was protective of you as a father figure or if he was possessive over you like….like you were his.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who dissociates when action is called, his eyes glazing over as your figures blur together. he pictures himself in the costar’s stead, chest to your back, bodies swaying together, his big hands crossing over your torso, his head ducked between your neck and shoulders. he jolts out of his daydream when a shrill cut is called, and he flips a thick strand of hair out of his face.

ꫂ❁ manager!michael who is surprised when you run up to him after wrapping the shoot and tackle him with a big embrace. he takes in your sweaty body, half-naked, and traps you in a tight hug, rocking back and forth with you. “what’s this for?” he smiles into your hair, only your ears are able to hear him. he hates the way he stiffens up when you pull back from him and flash him that gorgeous smile, your giggle like a melody to his ears.

“michael, you made my dream come true.”

he would move the world for you and more.

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

the king and the popstar timeline

ꫂ❁ thoughts from saff: arghhhh i'm slowly building their relationship, but i lowkey wanna do a mini fic one day! i need more asks, share your thoughts with me guys

I don't think you would ever be catty like that to fight over a grown man, like everyone here is an adult. We ain't in high school to claim anyone, BUT!

butt

I feel like you would throw major shade on her in interviews. Full Mariah and Whitney style. Like, if a late-night show host asks you, "What do you think of Diana Ross?", you would probably be like, "Oh, I don't think of her at all." This one comment would however, spiral into a whole internet beef between you and her. You would shade each other throughout interviews and comments.

Like Diana would likely say some shit like, "I don't tussle with little girls" (you're the little girl in question), and I think someone would upload a clip of you at a party where one of her songs is playing and you ask to skip the song, saying your ears hurt lmaooooo

It's not so much that Manager!Michael is jealous. Such a weird feeling, but yes, inherently, he is a possessive person, but not in a toxic or obvious way. He's petty, often through his words or even actions. He has such an expressive face, and he's horrible at concealing his true thoughts, so everyone around him is like 👀 on set. The producers of the track are well aware of the tension in the booth, but they're more interested in laying out the music than gossip because studio time is money.

Manager!Michael knows that, too. It's the fact that the song was co-written by him, he laid out the demo vocals, and it was you he was signing it with. He's not entirely sure how he feels about you just yet, you've just started out your projects with him, but he knows he likes you. Maybe he's being protective?

No, it's not until he gets on set for the music video with his female co-director that he realizes it's probably more than just protectiveness over a client. He hates to see it as a dick-measuring contest between him and your handsome co-star, who is practically oozing swagger and confidence.

And you... You're so cute. So naive, so oblivious. Or maybe not, and that's what eats him inside.

Are you aware of what's going on? Are you simply too shy to do anything when your co-star is being handsy with you?

He'll pull you aside and ask if all is well between takes, and your eyes are twinkling with confusion when you ask him, "Yeah, why? What's going on?" He has no idea how to tell you, "Well, I feel really weird seeing that hot guy push himself all up on you, touching you, flirting with you, pinching your sides, making comments about you. I dunno, just a thought!"

So he stays quiet and says nothing about it. It's his own personal hell to watch his sweet, pretty client choreograph such... intimate things with another man. It feels like he's being cucked. That's the best way to describe his turmoil.

Even if you're not his...yet.