#marlon jackson

The pool party had been a riot of the Jackson brothers splashing and being idiotic; Randy doing cannonballs and hitting the water so hard that his mother, Katherine started yelling at him that he was getting water on the patio windows, Janet and Latoya peering out from behind her to see what all the racket was.

Tito had been grilling burgers for the whole family, that Jermaine insisted on seasoning with something he called “soul paprika.” When he pulled it out everyone started making disgruntled noises and tutting.

"'Maine, why you gotta be so pretentious?" Tito had asked, shaking his head. "My burgers are damn good without that nonsense"

You’d been pulled into the chaos of the pool as well, laughing as Jackie kept lifting you up in your floatie and throwing you. This made Michael laugh - his big, head back high cackle he did when he was really tickled, and swim to come save you.

It truly felt like summer. The blue skies, the vintage lawn furniture, the bassy speakers playing It Only Takes A Minute by the Tavares. It felt fitting. You were absolutely smitten with Michael and his crazy family.

At some point you ditched the floatie and Marlon challenged you to a breath-holding contest, and much to your dismay, you kept losing. Michael had joined in, whining that he didn’t want to be left out, and won every consecutive round, popping up from the crystal clear water with a massive smirk on his face. This would not last long because Jackie and Tito would then tag team trying to playfully drown him for being smug. You’d laughed so much your ribs hurt.

Michael had been a little sunbeam; smiling at you like you were his world all day. You had been dating for about 8 weeks at this point, and it still was incredibly tender. This was both of your first experiences in a relationship.

There was an element of frustration on your part as not much had… happened yet. Other girls would tell you of their boyfriends holding their hands and kissing you, touching you whenever they could. Tigerbeat magazine described boys as more wanting, impatient and crude. Michael wasn’t really like that. He was awfully shy, and wanted to be very gentle with everything in his life, including you. Michael's sister Janet told you not to worry, and if judging by their other brothers antics, Michael just needed to come out of his shell.

He shifted on the lounger, the plastic creaking under his weight. His fingers, delicate and long, tapped a nervous rhythm on his knee. 

You could see the decision hardening in his expression.

“I want to kiss you, properly” he said, the words rushing out like a secret he’d been holding underwater. 

“Not like before. Not just a… a peck.”

Your heart did a silly little flip. “Okay,” you breathed, because what else could you say?

He leaned in, eyes fluttering shut. You met him halfway, your lips parting expectantly. What followed was so far removed from the soft, cinematic meeting of mouths you’d imagined. What you’d seen in the movies.

It was a sudden, earnest mash; his front teeth clacked directly against yours with a dry, ceramic tock. You jerked back, eyes flying open.

Michael’s eyes were wide with alarm. “Oh! Did I—?”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, though your gums tingled with pain. “Just… go a little to the left.”

“Right. The left.” He nodded, steeled himself, and dove in again. This time he aimed lower, but his enthusiasm overcorrected; his bottom lip smushed against your chin, his nose bumped yours, and in the adjustment, his teeth grazed your upper lip. It felt less like a kiss and more like a slightly aggressive greeting from a very beautiful bunny rabbit.

He pulled back, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s just… I’ve thought about this. A lot. In my head it’s smooth. Jackie told me ‘it just happens’.”

“Well, we can go slow,” you offered, your voice gentle.

“Slow. Yes.” He took a deep, theatrical breath, as if preparing for a high note. 

He cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones—a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. 

He tilted your head, leaned in with meticulous care, and—

You got 2 seconds in and his teeth were there again.

Smacking against yours. A distinct, dull crunch that made you both wince in unison. 

You couldn’t help it, a snort of laughter escaped you, which you instantly tried to swallow into a cough.

Michael’s face fell into a look of such profound, comical dismay it was all you could do not to burst out laughing. 

“Why is this happening?” he asked the universe plaintively. “The angles are all wrong!”

“Maybe we just need practice,” you suggested, biting your own lip to keep a straight face.

“Practice. Right. Okay. From the top.” He was treating it like a choreography session. “On three. One… two…”

Before he could reach “three,” the sliding glass door from the house slid open. Marlon strode out, a fresh can of soda in hand, his swim trunks on from earlier. They had little yellow rubber ducks on them. 

He took in the scene: you and Michael, faces inches apart, Michael’s hands still framing your face preciously.

A huge, wicked grin split Marlon’s face. “Well, well. Look at Mikey, tryin’ to get his smooch on!” he crowed, his voice echoing in the quiet yard. “Sounded like two billiard balls kissin’!" He then started to laugh even more.

"Y’all are so sweet. Looks like a whole new interpretive style!”

Michael dropped his hands as if burned, shrinking into himself. “Marlon, don’t,” he said, but it came out more like a thin whine.

“Nah, come on—is this the new move? The lip-lock moonwalk?” Marlon demonstrated, launching into a ridiculous, stiff-legged shuffle toward you both, his arms swinging while he made exaggerated, silent kissing faces. “Pucker up, baby! Ooh-whee!”

“Marlon, please, be cool” Michael hissed, his embarrassment turning into something hotter. You saw his jaw tighten, a rare flash of frustration in his usually gentle eyes. 

“Aw, I’m just playin’!” Marlon laughed, taking a swig of his soda. “Don’t let me stop y’all. Though from the looks of it Mike, you’re more likely to chip a tooth than steal a kiss.”

That was the last straw. Michael stood up abruptly, the lounger scraping against the patio stones. 

He didn’t look at Marlon. He looked at you, his eyes blazing with a resolve that was both desperate and utterly serious. Without a word, he grabbed your hand, his grip surprisingly firm, and pulled you to your feet.

“Hey, where you goin’ all of a sudden?” Marlon called after them. “I was joking, giblets!!”

Michael didn’t answer. He was on a mission. He pulled you past the chuckling Marlon, through the sliding door into the cool, dim interior of Hayvenhurst. 

The house was quite quiet now, soft melodic sounds coming from the TV in the den. He didn’t pause in the plush living room with its gold records on the wall, didn’t even glance at the grand piano where you both spent a lot of time. 

He marched you down a hallway, past a confused-looking housekeeper, and straight into the large, spotless kitchen.

The overhead fluorescents were off, only the ambient glow from a digital clock on the oven and the moonlight through a window lit the space. He beelined for a heavy, polished wooden door near where the fridge sat; the pantry. 

He yanked it open, revealing a deep walk-in cupboard lined with shelves of canned goods, pasta boxes, and industrial-sized sacks of flour. It smelled of dried herbs and clean wood.

He tugged you inside, into the cozy, dark space, then turned and closed the door firmly behind you both.

Click.

Darkness, total and velvety, swallowed you whole. You could hear his breathing, a little quick and shallow, and your own heartbeat in your ears. You could barely make out the silhouette of his slender frame.

Then his voice came, low and close, tinged with that unique Michael-esque blend of vulnerability and absolute conviction. 

“Everyone’s watching,” he said, the words rushing out in the dark. “Out there… everyone’s eyes on me. God, even the animals. They were all watching me. I could feel them. And when I feel watched, my… well, I overthink when it comes to girls.”

You could hear him shift, his shoulder brushing against a shelf. “But in here,” he continued, and his voice gained a soft, triumphant confidence. “In the dark… it’s just my other senses. I can hear you breathing. I can smell your perfume; it’s like… gardenias and pool water. I can feel the heat of you from right here where I am standing. Just… me. And you.”

A hand found your waist in the darkness, his touch sure now. The other gently cradled the back of your head. His breath fanned your lips, warm and sweet, smelling faintly of the orange juice from the pool party.

“Its gonna work out this time” he whispered, and in the utter privacy of the pantry, with the world shut out, Michael finally, finally bridged the gap. 

His lips found yours—it wasn’t a clack of teeth, nor a mash, but a real, soft, searching kiss. It was a little clumsy still, over-eager, his nose nudging yours again, but it was right. It was warm and sincere, and when he tentatively moved his lips against yours, it sent a shiver straight down your spine.

He pulled back an inch, a soft, wondering sound escaping him. “Oh,” he breathed. “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like. I got butterflies”

Then he kissed you again, deeper this time, one hand moving to your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin as if memorizing its texture in the dark. You pushed him back to tease him a little;

“Practice makes perfect though, right?” you breathlessly laughed.

“Sure it does.” Michael agreed, his lips finding yours again in the dark of the pantry.

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MICHAEL JACKSON— Michael had invited you over—or rather, begged you to come to his studio. He was hard at work on his next album and insisted he needed to get things done, but he also couldn't go without seeing his girlfriend. Of course, you said yes, though not before teasing him a little over the phone before you made your way over to his house.

He tapped his pencil against the soundboard, eyes scanning over his notes as he searched for the perfect rhythm. His free hand rested on your knee, a quiet reminder that even while he was lost in his work, he was still aware of your presence.

"Michael?" you asked softly, careful not to interrupt his concentration as you adjusted the sweater he had draped over your shoulders. "Yes, honey?" He looked up from his notes, his attention shifting to you.

"How about, instead of this..." You gently tapped out the rhythm he'd been working on against your knee, the one he clearly didn't find as amusing. "You try something like this?" You repeated it with a subtle variation, changing the timing of a few taps while keeping the overall pattern intact.

Michael's eyes went wide.

"Oh my God, that's it!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with excitement. He immediately began humming the melody, matching it to the rhythm you were tapping with your fingers. "You are amazing, I love you."

Without thinking, he cupped your face in both hands and pulled you into a soft yet passionate kiss. When you finally pulled away, his eyes widened as the realization of what he'd just admitted out loud slowly sank in.

"I am very excited," he admitted with a laugh, "but I meant every word."

"I love you too," you laughed softly before leaning in to kiss him again.

JERMAINE JACKSON— Jermaine had known how he felt about you from the moment you started dating. He'd been with other women before, but none of them had ever made him feel the way you did. You made him nervous—in the best possible way. He got excited whenever you called, and he missed you whenever you couldn't see each other.

He was completely whipped, and he wasn't ashamed of it.

That was why he wanted to tell you he loved you in the most special way possible.

He called you that morning and asked you to meet him at the park before sunset so the two of you could watch it together. You didn't think much of it, since watching the sunset together was something you did all the time.

What you didn't expect was to find your boyfriend waiting for you with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, standing beside a picnic blanket beautifully arranged with candles, a wicker basket, and all your favorite treats.

"What is all this?" you asked with a smile as you wrapped your arms around him. "Something special for the most special girl in the world." He smiled as he handed you the bouquet when you pulled away.

"Did you handpick these?" you asked, pouting slightly as you looked down at the messy but adorable arrangement. "I did." He grinned proudly.

You sat down together, talking and laughing as you ate. It wasn't until a little while later that you noticed him fidgeting with his hands.

"Jer, baby, are you okay?" you asked gently. "I have something to confess," he said, his voice a little nervous. "But please don't make fun of me."

"Of course not, honey."

"I did all this because I wanted to show you how special you are to me." He gently took your hands in his, his fingers intertwining with yours. "And also because I wanted to tell you that I love you." He finally met your gaze, his expression filled with a mixture of nerves and love.

You felt your heart skip a beat. He had taken the time to plan the entire evening, putting so much thought and effort into making it special, all just to tell you that he loved you.

"I love you too."

"Really?"

"Really. Now come here." You smiled as you gently grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss.

JACKIE JACKSON— You two had been apart for almost a month, so you were determined to make up for all the time you'd lost. That was how you found yourself under Jackie for the fourth time today as he pounded into you relentlessly.

"Fuck baby," he groaned as he kept hitting the right spot. "missed this pussy so much."

"Jackie," you moaned.

"Oh, you like that?" He whispered in your ear, your pussy clenching around his dick, earning a groan for him.

His thrusts became harder and deeper. His mean cock slamming against your tight hole, making you throw your head back in pleasure as you arched your back.

“Such a good girl fo’ me, missed you so much mama,” he pressed his hand against your stomach.

“Jackie, fuck. I’m gonna—” you whimpered as you came, wrapping your legs around his hips, your limbs shaking in the process. “Fuck, I won’t last longer.” His thrusts became sloppier. “Where do you want it?” He played with your sensitive bud, overstimulating you some more.

“Inside, please,” you whined, eyes rolling back in pleasure. He kept slamming his hips into you before he came, “Fuck, fuck, I love you.” He filled you up to the brim as he let out an animalistic groan.

As he came down from his high, he noticed the way your eyes widened.

"You said you loved me!" you exclaimed, pointing at him as you tried to catch your breath. "Girl, you knew this before I even had to say it." He playfully rolled his eyes, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah but, I didn't expect to hear it after you fucked me dumb."

"Shut up."

MARLON JACKSON— You and Marlon were play fighting in his room—not the cute, gentle kind of teasing, but actual wrestling, rough enough to be a challenge while still careful not to hurt each other. After a while, he managed to pin you down, holding your wrists in place as his free hand hovered threateningly near your sides.

"Marlon David Jackson, I swear to God," you warned, squirming beneath him.

"What are you going to do, pretty girl?" he asked with a smirk.

"Nothing, but please don't tickle me." You batted your eyelashes at him, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes in an attempt to convince him.

"Great attempt, but no." He kissed your forehead. "I love you, though."

Your heart fluttered for a moment at the confession before Marlon's fingers attacked your sides, making you squeal and burst into giggles as you tried to escape his grasp.

"Pause!" you said, causing him to stop his attack. "Yes?" He looked down at you, waiting. "I love you too." You smiled.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he leaned down to kiss your forehead before immediately returning to his mission.

"MARLON!" you shouted, laughing as he continued tickling you.

TITO JACKSON— Tito wasn't very good at talking about his feelings out loud. So what a better way to confess his love for you with a song?

He worked on it for a week. The lyrics came easily because loving you was easy—the best thing he had ever done. But what made it even more special was that you made him feel like being loved by you was just as effortless.

Then he worked on the tune, perfecting it with his guitar before finally working up the courage to go to your house with the rewritten and perfected version of the song for you to keep.

When he sang the song, it brought tears to your eyes. Never had anyone made you feel so special, and you loved your Tito to pieces.

"Tito... what is all this?"

"I love you, honey, and I couldn't wait to tell you."

"So... you wrote me a song?"

"Mhm." He smiled proudly.

"God, I love you." You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a tender kiss to your boyfriend's lips.

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