#michael jackson

the tour bus sways slightly as the driver merges across the highway lanes. the tinny sound of the metal hauling over asphalt was a strange but soothing sound.

miles of dark highway blurred past the windows; swallowing the roar of the stadium crowd still ringing in your bones. the air on the bus was close and smelled of stale coffee, leather, a faint hint of hairspray.

you stood dripping and furious in the narrow corridor, a sodden puddle forming around your bare feet on the plush carpet, the air conditioning raising goosebumps on your skin.

“no towels,” you seethe to the empty lounge, your voice tight, “not a single goddamn towel in this whole billion-dollar bus,” and you stomp, barefoot and naked, past the kitchenette, past the bank of TVs showing silent security feeds, your hair still dripping, painting cold tracks down your spine with every furious stride. you hoped michael could hear you.

he’s could hear you, of course.

he lay propped against a mountain of pillows on the massive bed that took up the entire rear wall, a hardcover book open in his lap.

but his eyes aren’t on the page, they’re tracking you, a slow liquid sweep from your damp scowling face, down the sheen on your collarbones, over the curve of your breasts, the dip of your stomach, the swell of your hips, as you march to the dresser bolted to the wall.

“unbelievable,” you mutter, yanking a drawer open, the sound loud and violent in the quiet, rummaging around in the top drawer. your pyjamas were off with the laundry department that were on hire for the dangerous tour so you had to make do with michael’s long black band t-shirts. 

“i feel gross, puffy, my body’s just holding onto everything this week, i’m up three pounds from yesterday... my jeans are tight in the wrong places, everything feels swollen and sore and wrong,” you keep rummaging, seething about the fact your cycle has you ovulating… it was a curse - you were horny but… pudgy as your hormones fluctuated.

you shook out an old AC/DC shirt-with no holes, because heaven knows you were always finding old sentimental shirts with gaping gaps in em- and in the turning, caught your reflection in the mirror. The frown was already there, deep and worn

“look,” you whined, “it’s like my body’s betraying me,” and you slap a hand against your outer thigh, the sound a sharp, satisfying smack in the quiet. “ugh ive gotten so soft”

that’s when he speaks, his voice a low warm rumble that seems to vibrate through the floor and up into the soles of your feet. he hasn’t spoken in a bit.

“i like it.”

you freeze, the shirt halfway over your head, pull it back down, and turn to look at him. he’s closed the book, set it aside. his gaze is unwavering, dark as the night outside the window, utterly focused. his hair is natural, down and soft looking. he’d showered directly after the show, so it had gone a little fuzzy.

he looked sweet sitting there - a goofy tshirt from Disney world that he’d worn the print so bad with washes, that the cartoon looked deformed. the tshirt was bundled up on his stomach, showing a dark wiry happy trail that led down into some plaid boxer shorts. 

you drunk him in, how pretty he looked without his makeup, and the cute little splodges of pigment on his legs. he was so endearing, but hot at the same time, you kinda just wanted to —

“wait what?”

you had totally lost your train of thought whilst looking at him. and he knew it.

“i like seein’ you a little fuller,” he says, simple as stating the time, his eyes drifting back to your thighs,

“specially there. when i’m between your legs, with my mouth on you… i can really feel them then.” he smirked at you, his eyes dancing with mirth. he was teasin’ cause he knew you were horny.

“they press against my ears, my cheeks. they cradle me in. it’s like… the whole world is just your taste and the softness of your thighs. i love that feelin’.”

he says it all so matter-of-factly, so honestly, that the anger seeps out of you, replaced by a slow creeping heat spreading low in your belly. you smirk, a deflection. 

“you’re so full of it, mike. you’d say anything to get laid.”

he swings his legs off the bed, pads over to you on silent feet, “no, no i mean it. i see you gettin’ frustrated with yourself. but to me… you look healthy. strong. your skin’s got this warmth to it.” his hands come up, resting lightly on your hips through the soft cotton of the shirt, his thumbs finding the new gentle curve of your lower belly,

“it’s not just weight. it’s your body workin’. doin’ what it’s meant to. Protectin’ you. it makes you softer right here,” he murmurs, pressing gently against your lower tummy, “it’s mother nature. I’ve read about it.”

you roll your eyes but the heat in your belly is a traitorous spreading warmth, a direct counterpoint to the frustration knotting your shoulders, 

“you’re just sayin’ that. we’ve been eating trash food and I’ve been having one too many cocktails with the crew at the after parties. that’s why i’m bloated and irritable and down on myself“

you brought your arms up to rest around his neck. “you’re just trying to make moves because you know my cycle and know I’m ovulatin’” your mouth quivers into a sly smile.

“I see you looking in my diary mike”

the moment the word leaves your lips—ovulatin’—his entire demeanor shifts, subtle but profound, the sleepy appreciative warmth in his eyes sharpening into a focused, almost crazed intensity, his pupils dilating, the hands on your hips stilling then flexing, his fingertips pressing in just a fraction more, as if he can feel the truth of it under his palms.

he doesn’t bother to laugh the accusation off. he just looks at you, his dark eyes serious, almost shy in that terrifyingly focused way. he closed the last bit of distance, his body heat a wall against the bus’s chill,

“its jus ‘cause i love you,” he says, his voice dropping even lower, becoming hushed, “i can tell without the diary. you’ve got a… a glow about you this week. a warmth. i’ve been noticin’ it.”

“you’re such a darling thing when you’re hormonal, you’re little frustrated faces,” he continues, teasing. his voice is low though, almost a mumble.

hes clearly nervous. he’s correcting your assumption that he’s only noticing because he wants sex, his gaze dropping to his thumbs tracing the shape of you,

“i think about it — i mean… when you’re like this… a little softer. it means your body is… ready. And it makes you hotter” he’s fumbling over his words.

“you think about me bein’ hormonal and puffy? Does that get you off?” you tease, but your voice has lost its edge, caught in the gravity of his stare.

he shakes his head in aggreeance, finally looking up at you, a flush creeping up his neck but it isn’t from just embarrassment now, it’s from a building raw tenderness, “i think about you bein’… ready for me. your body knowin’ exactly what it wants. what it’s meant for.” his grip tightens, pulling you a half-inch closer, “it’s all i’ve been able to think about today.”

“tell me more.” you whisper

he ducks his head, his forehead touching your shoulder, his words a warm secret murmur against your skin, “i imagine you. full with my child. for real. your hips would get a lil wider, to make room. you’d be so heavy with it. all round and soft. beautiful, and your breasts…” he trails off, his breath catching, “they’d be full, too. achin’ sometimes… y’know. from the milk. and i’d want to ease the ache for you, suckle on em and make you feel good.”

the image is so stark, so visceral, it steals the air from your lungs.

“you’re out of your mind,” you breathe, deflecting but you’re arching into his touch, the frustration melting under a wave of sheer wanton need.

he reaches around with both hands, his palms broad and warm, and takes a firm, deliberate hold of your backside, his fingers sinking into the soft, full flesh through the worn cotton of the t-shirt. he squeezes gently, kneading, pulling you a fraction closer against him until you can feel the hard line of his arousal pressed against your stomach.

“i know,” he whispers back, his voice a low, rough vibration against your lips as he finally lifts his head. all the earlier softness, the boyish shyness, is gone, completely stripped away. what remains is a look of pure, undiluted intent, his eyes so dark they seem to swallow the dim light of the bus.

“baby, we’ve waited,” he says, the words thick with a pent-up hunger you can feel in the tremor of his hands. 

“been so damn careful. pills, condoms, timin’… playin’ it safe like our lives depended on it.” he leans in, his forehead touching yours, his breath hot and shared. “tonight, i don’t wanna be careful. i don’t wanna hold back a single goddamn thing.”

his hands slide from your backside, smoothing up the curve of your spine, and find the hem of the shirt. his knuckles brush the bare skin of your waist, sending a lightning-bolt shiver through you. in one slow, deliberate motion, he begins to gather the soft black fabric in his fists, lifting it, exposing you inch by inch to the cool air and the heat of his gaze.

“let me fill you up” he breathes, the words a formality, “please. i need to feel you. all of you. i need to be close to you. right now.”

you nod, a tiny helpless motion, that’s all the permission he needs. because deep down you want it too.

you’d usually tell him, the words a breathless, unconvincing plea in the dark, “n-no, mike, pull out, please,” even as your thighs would clamp tight around his hips, your ankles locking at the small of his back, your whole body pulling him deeper, holding him in-every clutching movement screaming the exact, desperate opposite of the weak protest leaving your lips.

the last pretense of patience evaporates, he kisses you then, deep and slow. a sweet, thorough claiming of your mouth that has your knees buckling, he walks you backward until your legs hit the edge of the massive bed, he lays you down, following you, his body covering yours, all lean warm muscle and trembling urgency.

he pushes the t-shirt up and over your neck, his mouth leaving a searing trail down your throat after your bare for him. over your collarbone, and then lower, he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue circling the peak until you cry out, your back bowing off the mattress.

“we’re always so lost in followin’ the rules,” he mutters against the damp skin of your sternum, his hands gripping the softness of your hips, holding you still, “but not tonight. I cant, not when you’re lookin so good like this.”

he moves down your body, his breath hot on your belly, his thumbs hooking in the hollow behind your knee bone to spread you open.

he doesn’t even bother teasing, he puts his mouth on you with a low grateful sound, his tongue laying a broad wet stripe over your clit before settling into a slow relentless rhythm, his nose pressed against you, his cheeks cushioned by the flesh of your thighs.

he loves you with his mouth, tender and thorough, until you’re shuddering, your heels digging into his back, until you’re whispering his name into the quiet of the bus that’s still driving, only when you’re clenching around nothing, your hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea, does he rise up.

he scrambles back on his knees, his movements suddenly frantic, boyish with eagerness. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his plaid boxers and shoves them down in one hurried, graceless motion, kicking them off his ankles. he’s already hard, the heavy, flushed weight of him curving up against his stomach, the skin taut, patchy and gleaming in the low light. the sight of him, so desperately ready, so stripped of his usual controlled grace, makes a bubble of fond laughter threaten in your chest. you bite down hard on your lower lip to trap it, the pressure turning into a shaky, wanton smile instead.

he doesn’t even seem to notice, his entire world is you. the space space between your thighs. he moves over you, the broad, aching crown of him nudging insistently against your soaked entrance, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding still. a fine sheen of sweat gleamed on his temple. his breath sawed in and out of his chest.

"god, look at you," he choked out, his voice wrecked. "so ready. you're always lovely but tonight… tonight you're perfect."

he leaned forward and dropped his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezed shut, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk against your clit that made you both gasp with pleasure.

“i need to put a baby in you so bad it's makin' me stupid."

you can’t speak, you instead just nod. your eyes are watering with the emotion of it all.

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your answer in the arch of your body.

a broken sound tears from his throat and he sinks into you, deep, one long devastating thrust that stretches you perfectly, hilting him completely, a punched-out gasp leaving your lips. he’s staring at you, his face strained with the angle but still so perfect.

his lips full and red, a vein on his forehead protruding with his concentration. you reach up and thumb his mouth, right over his perfect cupids bow.

“yes baby, I love you so m-much, you make me feel so good” you mutter over and over again and he’s saying it back, it’s perfect, your voices harmonising in the quiet space

he’s moving purposefully, each thrust lived in a little longer before he pulls out to drive back in, it’s tender in its absolute focus.

he moves with a deep rolling rhythm, his eyes locked on yours, fluttering shut every one and a while from pleasure. every push is a claim, every withdrawal a promise to return.

"gonna watch you change," he pants, the words hot and broken against your mouth, his forehead slick with sweat where it presses to yours. all you can taste is salt. 

"day by day. gonna feel it happen under my hands." his hips roll, crazily slow, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. "your skin gettin' tighter. your curves. all mine. you're gonna be so damn beautiful it'll ruin me.

after a few minutes of this slow claiming pace, he pulls out almost completely, his breath ragged, “turn over for me,” he murmurs, his hand guiding your hip, “on your side.”

you comply, curling onto your side, he slides in behind you, one arm hooking under your top knee, hiking your leg up high, the angle is obscenely deep, intimate, he can go no further, and he begins to move again, shorter sharper thrusts that rub a spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, “Jesus,” he grunts, his lips against your shoulder blade, “you feelin’ okay baby?”

He continues to breathlessly talk to you in between thrusts; “m’so happy i have this with you, so safe, so right”

you can only moan in response, he picks up the pace and starts mercilessly rubbing your clit with his four fingers. but you can feel the tension start building in him, the way his breaths are becoming ragged and the uncoordination; he’s not going to last.

“i need you on top,” he gasps suddenly, stilling, “i need to see you. need to watch you take me.”

he helps you turn, guiding you to straddle his hips, you sink down onto him, a slow breathless descent, for a moment you just rock and grind there, your hands braced on his chest, setting the pace.

“s-shit that’s good” you mumble

he lets you keep your pace for a bit, his hands roaming over your stomach, your breasts, his eyes worshipful, “look at you,” he breathes, “takin’ me. so beautiful like this.”

‘you’re perfect, so utterly perf–”

but then his control frays, his hands come up to grip your waist, then slide around to clutch your back, pulling your torso down hard against his chest, he holds you there, locked to him, your breasts pressed against his sweat laced skin, your face buried in his neck,

“stay like that m’girl” he whispers, his voice strained, and he begins to thrust upward, fast and desperate, driving into you from below. the force of it drives the air from your lungs, you can’t move, can’t do anything but cling to him as he moves under you, his hips pistoning. you were dizzy from how good it felt, him reaching your g-spot over and over again, with ease.

this is what undoes him, the feel of you pinned, taking him, while he drives himself home, 

“’m close, baby, i’m so close,” he chants into your hair, his rhythm becoming erratic.

“let me…” he chokes on the pleasure slightly. “let me be on top for this,” he manages to grit out, “i need to… i need to see your face as i fill you up”

he rolls you both over in one fluid, desperate motion- a half-spin that leaves him on top again, never slipping out, his weight settling over you and his arms caging your head.

he’s breathing like a sprinter, his entire body taut, “i’m gonna finish inside you,” he pants, almost again shyly asking for permission. you nod and give a clipped “mhmm”

the vein in his temple throbs. “gonna give you all of me’,” he rasps, his voice scraped raw from the force of holding back. “every drop. you’re gonna take it. c’mon, baby. say you will. say it for me”

“shit–please,” you sob, your own climax building again, triggered by his desperation, “yes, michael– please.”

with a shattered cry he drives into you one final grinding time and holds, buried to the hilt, you feel him pulse, a hot rhythmic flooding deep inside you that seems to go on and on, 

“ah—god, ohhh, sweet je— mhmm…” he groans, totally nonsensically, his body convulsing with each release, you clench around him, milking him through your own climax, as he messily rubs your clit with his thumb. you think even his words were enough to put you over the edge this time.

he stayed there, softening inside you. he looked like incredulous. “oh my god, that felt incredible,”

he sighed again, eyes roaming all over your body and then stilled at where you were both joined. “m’gonna have to do that every time now til we make a baby”

“uh-huh. Im pretty sure thats how this whole thing works– you have to do it over and over” you giggle.

‘Mhmm m’not complainin’ baby”

slowly, he slips out of you, but he doesn’t roll away, he shifts down your body, his movements languid, possessive, he hooks his hands behind your knees, pushing your legs up and apart, opening you to the cool air of the bus—and to his gaze.

there, in the dim light, his release is already beginning to seep out, he watches it, his expression one of profound quiet awe, he presses a thumb gently against you, spreading you open a fraction further, a thicker trickle escapes and slides down.

“look at that,” he murmurs, his voice hushed and full of wonder,

“filled my baby up so nicely.” he leans down and places a soft lingering kiss low on your belly, then looks back up at you, his eyes shining,

“you’re gonna be incredible. carryin’ our child. your body’s meant for it. you’re gonna be so beautiful, all round and glowin’.”

he doesn’t say anything else, he just gathers you, pulls you against his chest, and wraps himself around you, one hand splayed low on your stomach.

his dream is no longer just in the air between you, it’s a warm claiming presence inside you, and his quiet steady breathing against your back is pure satisfied possession.

your stupid ass certainly ruins the moment.

"Uh, Mike—" you whined, the spell thoroughly broken. "I gotta pee and you're squishin' me."

he laughs heartily and rolls away from you.

“yeaaaah forgot about the whole ‘peein’ directly after thing’.”

He pauses and then feigns anger. “don’t be such a moany pants”

you rolled your eyes and got up.

“Mhm laugh and joke now, michael, you’ll know all about moanin’ when I’m 8 months pregnant and the size of a minivan with anger issues”

“I can handle you, sweet thang, don’t you worry”

fin.

want more? go back to masterlist

tags;

After a particularly rough rehearsal, Michael found himself longing to see you more than ever. It had only been 2 days since he was last face to face with you, and only 17 and half hours since he's heard your sweet voice through the phone. And still, he just had to see you before your scheduled date.

"Bill, straight to my lady's place." He smiled eagerly, ready to see the happy look on your face when he turned up at your door almost 7 hours early.

"She know you're comin, Joker?" Bill glanced at him from the rearview mirror.

"Nope!" He smiled brightly.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Loud music blasted through your apartment, the speakers that Michael had bought you already being put to use. Michael's newest album, Thriller, spun on your turntable, his sweet voice following you all through the small living space.

You had decided to allow yourself a nice spa day before your dinner with Michael. You had been lounging all day, doing absolutely nothing but planning your outfit, how you would style your hair, and which lip combo you wanted to go with.

You had just taken the longest most relaxing bath known to man, bubbled practically overflowing from the edge of the tub, scented candles burning carefully, your hair wrapped up in the softest turkish cotton towel. It was pure bliss.

It took every ounce of your will power to pull yourself from the warm water. Once you found the strength, you carefully stepped out of the bath, wrapping a towel around your torso as you stepped up to the mirror.

You hummed quietly as you applied some ridiculously expensive mask to your face. You wanted to look absolutely perfect for your date with Michael, which meant looking absolutely ridiculous beforehand.

You were currently dancing around your apartment haphazardly, a deep green face mask covering your face, hair pinned up in a protective style, a large t-shirt with your boyfriend's face covering your body. You wore an old stained pair of sweat shorts under the large shirt. You laid out your dress and heels, laying them carefully across the edge of your bed. You sang wildly as you moved to the kitchen, fixing yourself a warm cup of tea.

"I WANT TO LOVE YOU, PTY! PRETTY YOUNG THANG!" You sang loud and obnoxiously, not caring if your neighbors would voice another complaint.

Michael smiled to himself as he stood outside your door, ready to see the happy look on your face. He gently knocked on the door, bouncing on his feet as he heard you approach the door. You skipped over to the door, completely unsuspecting. The absolute last person you expected to be on the other side of the door was Michael. Yet, as the door swung open you were met with his bright eyes, a large smile plastered on his face.

You blinked, eyebrows shooting up in horror. "Michael!?"

He nodded, "Surprise!!"

You let out a small yelp as you looked down at your attire, slamming the door in his face. "You- you're not supposed to be here!!" You yelled through the door.

Michael's laugh was muddled by the thick wood of the door, "I know, baby, I just wanted to surprise you. Why don't you open up the door?"

"No thank you-" You squeeked out.

"Why?" He tried the doorknob. You held it shut.

"Cause I don't look right!" You frowned.

"That's impossible, now open up. I've been dyin to see your pretty face all day." He pushed at the door carefully.

You leaned against it, not giving in. "That's the thing! My face aint pretty, I've got on a mask and nothin under it."

He smiled, heart melting. "You're pretty no matter what, baby. I don't care what you look like, you're just as gorgeous as ever. Now please let me in, I wanna hold you."

His sweet words slowly coaxed you to open the door. You hid behind it, but allowed him into your space. "You shoulda called me, Mikey. I would've gotten much more presentable for you."

Michael gently grabbed your hand, pulling you into his line of sight. "Nah, you don't have to do all that for me. I'm just glad I'm gettin blessed with your presence. Plus you look real cute like this." His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. "And I really like this shirt you're wearin." He teased.

You looked away, your face heating up. "Yeah, the guy on it's pretty cute."

He smiled, "And whoever you're listenin to can really sing."

That managed a laugh from your lips, "Oh yeah, I heard he's the best performer of our time."

"That so?" He rubbed small circles against your hip.

You hummed nodding slightly.

"Well I'm sure he's got the best girl there is to offer."

You playfully rolled your eyes, "You're such a flirt." You patted his chest as you pulled yourself from his grip, heading into the kitchen.

He followed after you like a puppy, eyes scanning your bare legs. "I cant help myself, you make it so easy."

You turned and raised a brow, "You callin me easy?"

He blinked, eyes wide, "No! No of course not! I'm only tryin to say that you- well I just- I think you look nice and."

You laughed, quickly pecking his cheek. "Just teasin, Mikey."

He smiled bashfully. "Y'know... I was lookin forward to our dinner reservations, but I wouldn't be opposed to joinin in on whatever it is you're doin." He gestured to your face mask.

You laughed, "You want me to put a face mask on you?"

"Oh is that what they're called?" He played dumb. Of course he knew what they were, his makeup team had always had a habit of giving him one after particularly long shoot days when he was filming Thriller. But he knew if he played the fool, you were more likely to get all up in his space to help apply it, and he just couldn't resist the urge.

You laughed, "Yes Michael, that's what they're called. And they're super soothing, but are you sure you want to cancel our dinner plans?"

"If that's okay with you. It was a pretty hard day at rehearsal, and as much as a dinner sounds nice, I think just lounging around with my girl sounds even better. Especially with you lookin all cute in a t-shirt with my face all over it."

You smiled, shoulders relaxing as his arms found their place around your waist again. "Alright, come on lover boy." You tugged him to your bathroom, making him sit on the ledge of your tub. You grabbed the small container of your face mask and the applicator. Michael watched as you stood above him, leaning down to carefully grab his face.

He gently reached up, hands grabbing your hips and guiding you onto his lap. You settled yourself on either side of him, biting back a smile. You held his chin in your hand, tilting it up slightly. You gently brushed the mask onto his face, fully focused on making it as nice as possible.

Michael watched with heart eyes as you bit your lip every so slightly in full concentration. He smiled brightly, gripping your hips tightly in his hands. The whole thing was so domestic, it made Michael's heart swell with pride.

Once you were done you leaned back and admired your work, humming approval and pecking his lips gently. “All done, just gotta let it sit for an hour.”

He nodded, helping you stand back up. “Where’s that camera I got you?”

“Hmm, on my vanity, why?” You looked over at him from the sink.

“Cause I wanna take a picture before you wash yours off! Save the memory!” He smiled and disappeared into your room, returning seconds later with the camera.

He pulled you close, carefully directing the lens towards the both of you. You smiled, your head tilted towards his as his arm wrapped around your waist tightly. The flash went off, a large polaroid shooting out the top of the camera.

He shook the picture as you washed off your mask, patting your face dry with a clean towel. He kept his gaze on your face, admiring your natural beauty.

You glanced at him through the mirror, “You’re starin, Mikey.”

He smiled and nodded, “Sure am.”

You smile to yourself, pulling him out of the bathroom and into your living room. The rest of the night consisted of movies, ice cream, teasing, and a whole lot of kissing.

As he left the apartment that night, he stared down at the sweet photo in his hands. When Bill picked him up, he leaned over the center console, showing Bill the picture with pride before carefully placing it in his wallet. He made sure to remind himself to pay you more surprise visits.

The rehearsal studio was thick with the smell of sweat, and Tasha’s sickly-sweet perfume. There was something that annoyed you deeply about how it clung to the air as she walked by.

You were standing in the wings, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you watched the dancers cool down.

Tasha had her head thrown back, laughing way too hard at something Michael said, that likely was not that funny. Her hand rested high on his chest, fingers splaying across him possessively like she had every right to touch him there. Michael smiled politely, a little tired— but he didn’t step back. Then, she leaned in to whisper something near his ear, her body brushing his as she did so. Your stomach flipped in an awful way.

You waited until most of the crew had cleared the area before you crossed the floor.

“Mike.”

He turned immediately at the sound of your voice and his face lit up for a half a second. Until he saw the expression on your face. Tasha’s hand had finally dropped, but the damage was already done.

Hey baby, you ready to head out?” His tone was careful. Eyes watching you intently, begging you silently not to embarrass him. He wasn’t sure what had agitated you, but he read it all over your face. Sensing the tension, Tasha’s conversation dried up mid-sentence and she awkwardly walked away.

You kept your voice low but sharp. “You’re telling me you really didn't see that?”

Michael blinked slowly, confused by your statement. “Hm? See what?”

“Tasha” You nodded your head in the direction of the dancer who was now talking to another girl, your jaw tight. “The way she’s touching you. Laughing way too damn hard at everything you say like it’s the funniest shit she’s ever heard. She leaned into you just now like she was about to mount you in front of all these people. And you stood here smiling like an idiot.” Your words were sharp, but Michael knew you didn’t mince words when you got upset.

Michael’s brows pulled together, genuinely confused now. He was used to women being overly physically affectionate with him, so he really never paid much attention to it. His dancers were like family. “She’s just being friendly. We all work together and we’re trying to build a vibe for the show—”

“Friendly?” Your eyebrows raised now as you cocked your head to the side. An empty laugh came out of you. “Her hand was on your chest for a solid 2 minutes and you didn’t even budge. Didn’t say a word.”

He ran a hand over his face, curls damp at his temples. “I didn’t even notice, mama. I was focused on the choreography, the counts, and making sure everything looked tight for the cameras. I don’t see her like that. I don’t see anyone like that, but you.” 

Shaking your head, your throat grew tight. He wasn’t getting it. “That’s the problem right there. You never see it. And I’m standing here like a lost puppy watching some girl put her hands all up on my man like it’s nothing. That’s not “a part of the job”.”

The argument had escalated quickly after that. It was hushed, but very heated in the corner of the emptying studio. You accused him of being naïve and too friendly, letting it slide because he like the attention. Or maybe just too polite to outright shut it down. Michael kept pleading with you, insisting he only had eyes for you and would never cross that line. He said he was exhausted from the long days and just wanted to keep the peace with the dancers so the show would run smoothly.

By the time the two of you got in the car, your silent treatment had begun. You stared out the window silently for the whole drive, arms folded and foot tapping against the floor of the car impatiently. You were steaming and wanted to be away from Michael as soon as possible.

Every time he tried to talk to you—“Baby come on now. Talk to me”— you refused and gave him nothing. Just the occasional shrug or one-word answer that cut deeper than you yelling ever could.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hours later, the tension in your home had become thick enough to choke on.

Michael followed you around like a man that had been starved for air. The second the door closed behind him; he was reaching for you. His fingers brushed your wrist, your waist, anywhere he could touch you without forcing it. 

“Baby, please.” His voice was rough and needy in a way that pulled on your heart strings even through the anger. “Don’t shut me out like this. It’s killin’ me. You know it is. I can’t stand when you go quiet on me. It feels like I’m losin’ you, and I don’t know how to fix it” 

You rolled your eyes at this. He was so dramatic.

It had only been a few hours. But Michael loved your attention— and he wanted it undivided and focused on him. Always. You kept walking toward the bedroom, holding a laundry basket and refusing to meet his eyes. He trailed after you, close but not enough to crowd or further anger you. His voice dropped into a soft pleading tone that he only used when he was truly hurting. 

“I saw your face at rehearsal. I know it looked bad. But I swear on everything, I wasn’t encouraging her. I was just… there. Tryna get through the day, y’know?” You remained silent, continuing to fold clothes. Michael licked his lips and shook his head at your stubbornness. “You’re the only one I want touching me like that. The only one I think about when I close my eyes. Please baby— just say something. Yell at me. Stomp on my big toe. Just don’t give me this silence, it hurts worse than all of that.”

At this you laughed, hard and out loud. Michael’s eyes widened with delight. This was a start. He hadn’t heard your pretty laugh all day. But just as quickly as you had thawed out, you went back to remaining icy and silent. Eyes peeking up at him every now and then.

Michael dropped to his knees in front of you without hesitation, hands holding your calves gently. His thumb stroked slow circles over your skin like he was trying to soothe both of you. “Look at me,” His voice cracked slightly now. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, struggling not to give in to his touch. “Please? Let me see those pretty eyes. Just wanna know you still see me the way I see you. I’ve been hurtin’ all day thinking about how mad you are. How I might’ve messed up without even knowing. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you’re not the only one. You are.”

Carefully, his hands slid higher until they rested on your thighs. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to your knee. “I hate this,” he mumbled against your skin. “the quiet. Knowing I put that look on your face 'cause some girl I barely know made you doubt how gone I am for you. I’d never let anyone come in between us. You hear me? You’re it for me. My beginning and end.” He looked up at you now, big eyes pleading silently. “Please baby? I’m beggin””

The raw need in his voice broke through to you. You still didn’t talk, but your body betrayed you. Your shoulders softened and your breathing changed when he brushed his lips against the inside of your knee, and Michael knew he had you. He felt the shift.

Rising slowly to his feet, his hands slipped up your body as he stood in front of you, caging you in without trapping you. One hand cupped your jaw while his thumb brushed your cheek. The other wrapped around your throat. Not applying pressure, just holding and owning.

His palm settled warm and firm against the column of your neck, fingers curving around the sides. His thumb gently stroked your steady pulse. The pressure was gentle but deliberate, like he was claiming the rhythm of your heartbeat for himself. Your eyes fluttered with submission despite the lingering anger you felt. A soft sound escaped you before you could stop it.

Michael’s eyes darkened, pupils dilating at your reaction to his touch. “There it is,” he whispered, voice low and rough with relief and hunger. “That little sound you make when my hand’s right here. You love this, don’t you? Love when I hold you like I own every beat of your heart.” His words sent a throbbing sensation between your legs.

Then, he tilted your head back with that same hand. Slow, controlled. He used the grip on your throat to guide you exactly where he wanted you. Your chin lifted, exposing the soft skin of your throat to him. Michael leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. Down the side of your neck. And over the spot where his thumb currently rested. Each kiss was wet and lingering, his tongue flicked out to caress your fluttering pulse point.

“Mmm, I love when your pulse jumps like that for me. Your body knows who it belongs to even when your mouth won’t say it, huh pretty girl?” At this, you whimpered. And he groaned like the sound physical affected him. His mouth moved higher, kissing the corner of your lips before claiming them in a deep, filthy kiss. His tongue slid against yours while his hand kept your head tilted back.

The kiss was wet, desperate, and full of the yearning Michael had been carrying around all day. When he finally pulled away just enough to speak, his lips brushed yours with every word.

“Talk to me now baby, or don’t. But this body? This pretty throat under my hand? They’re tellin’ me everything I need to know.”

And just like that, silent treatment over. As if he had said the magic words.

Your voice came out hoarse and needy with desire. “I just— I saw her touching you and it made me crazy. I don’t want anyone’s hands on you.”

He watched you with soft, understanding, affectionate eyes. He nodded and kissed you again, slower and deeper this time, thumb stroking your throat in soothing circles while he other hand slid down to grip your hip.

“I know mama, I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve shut it down right then. It won’t happen again. You’re the only one I want touching me. The only one I dream about. Let me show you, hm?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Clothes disappeared in a blur of desperate touches. He had you on the bed in seconds, flipping you on to your belly and pulling your hips so your ass was high and your breasts were pressed to the cold sheets.

You gasped from the sensation. Wasting no time, he trailed the head of his cock up and down your weeping slit, pausing to tap it gently on your clit. You whined softly at the contact.

“There she is…” Michael’s lips slowly curled with satisfaction at the sound that fell from your lips. “All that jealousy, all that anger… and this pretty pussy was drooling for me the whole time.” He slowly pushed past your entrance, stretching you in a way that was both satisfying and painful.

Then, he transitioned to long, deep strokes that let you feel every bit of yearning he’d been carrying. The wet squelch of your arousal was loud and pornographic in the quiet room. One of his hands stayed braced on your hip as he stroked into you, and the other slid up your back and around your throat again. Pressing just enough to make your pulse race under his palm while he fucked you harder.

“Ooh listen to that sound,” He rasped, hips keeping their rhythm. “Creaming all over my dick already. You like gettin’ fucked like this when you’re mad at me, baby? Like me reminding you exactly who this pussy belongs to?”

You moaned into the sheets, pushing back to meet every thrust. “Yes—fuck—Michael”

“Louder baby, tell me.” His hand tightened just a fraction on your throat. Still claiming you. You arched into it with a broken cry. “Whose is it?” his tone was honey sweet and raspy and it made your pussy drool fresh arousal around him.

“It’s yours Mich—Michael. Only yours.” The words tore out of you on a gasp as he ground deep, the head of his cock kissing your cervix.

“Good girl, baby” he cooed, voice filthy and tender all at once. “Love when you let me love on you like I'm supposed to. Lettin' me dig you out like this while my hands 'round this pretty throat”

You were already close and overstimulated from the vulgarity of his words. From the way he was filling you up so perfectly, and from the possessive grip he had on your neck that made your thoughts fog in the best way. “I love it—I love it. P-please don’t stop” 

Suddenly, Michael pulled put of you without warning and flipped you onto your back. He folded you into a deep mating press before you could catch your breath. Your knees were pushed back to your shoulders and your thighs were spread wide. Completely vulnerable to him. He sank back into you with one smooth, deep thrust that had you seeing stars.

The new angle was obscene and even deeper than before, every roll of his hips grinding against your g-spot and cervix at once. Skin to skin, chest to chest, his body covering yours completely. He stayed buried for a moment, grinding in tight circles, watching your face with pure, pornographic ecstasy.

His pupils were blown wide and his lips parted on ragged breaths, eyebrows knitted in concentration and awe as he admired every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features. A thin sheen of sweat made his skin glow under the warm evening light pooling in from the window. 

He kept up those deep, rolling thrusts that made your vision blur. “Don't go quiet on me, mama” he rasped, voice hoarse with lust. “You needed this, huh? Needed me to stretch you out and remind you you're mine. Only mine. Tell me how good it feels. Wanna hear you say it, baby.”

You could barely form words. Your mouth fell open, a string of drool slipping from the corner of your lips as he hit that spot again and again. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming fullness and the way his hand was back on your throat. His fingers pressed gently, tilting your head just enough so he could kiss you between thrusts.

“I—I love it—” you gasped, voice breaking. “Feels so good—too much—Michael, please—”

He leaned down and kissed you tenderly, licking the drool from the corner of your mouth before claiming your lips properly. Between kisses he murmured, voice cracking with emotion:

“I’m so sorry, baby… I’m so sorry I made you feel like that… don’t be mad anymore… please, I need you… only you…” Every apology was punctuated with soft kisses to your lips, the corner of your mouth, your jaw. 

His hand stayed on your throat, thumb stroking soothingly even as his hips kept driving into you with deep, claiming strokes. The contrast, deep thrusts and tender kisses, had you unraveling fast.

“Whose dick is this?” he groaned against your mouth as he watched you fall apart beneath him. “I love you, baby. I only do this for you. Fucking you like this. Kissing you like you’re the only thing that matters to me.”

You sobbed out at his words, tears slipping free now from the sheer intensity. The stretch, the fullness, his skin against yours, his mouth on you, his hand owning your throat. The reassurance. It was all too much. “It’s mine—fuck—it’s mine—Michael, it’s mine—”

A satisfied, gruff sound tore from his chest. “Good girl. That’s my good girl. I’m all yours, baby. Every inch. Every drop. All yours.”

Your orgasm hit like a detonation. Hard, soaking, and endless. You gushed around him in messy pulses, your whole body shook and your thighs trembled violently in his grip. 

Helplessly, you tried to talk through whimpers and moans. Tears streaked your temples from the intense pleasure. You were babbling incoherently and lost in wave after wave of pleasure.

Michael buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, grinding deep as his own orgasm crashed over him. Longer, heavier, and drawn out by the way your walls kept milking him.

He didn’t pull back. He pressed in as deep as he could go, cock throbbing and jerking inside you, flooding you with thick, hot pulses that you felt with every spurt. His expression was pure pornographic ecstasy. Eyes heavy lidded and dark with lust, lips brushing yours on ragged moans, eyebrows furrowed as he watched every flicker of overwhelming pleasure paint itself across your face.

The sight of you cumming so hard around him, combined with the tight, rhythmic squeeze of your pussy and the way you were still gushing, dragged his orgasm out in long, pulsing waves.

“I love you so much,” he groaned, voice wrecked and reverent, hips locked deep while he throbbed inside you. “You love me, baby? Tell me—while you’re still cumming on my dick like this. Tell me you love me.” You tried. You really did. Your mouth opened but all that came out were broken, stuttering moans, tears slipping faster as another ripple of your orgasm tore through you.

“Y-yes—ah—Michael—love you—love you so much—fuck—can’t—oh God—”

He kept grinding, slow and deep, burying every inch while he filled you, relishing in the way your expression twisted in helpless pleasure from the sensation of him cumming so deep inside you, from the stretch, from the warmth flooding you, from the skin-to-skin weight of his body pinning you open. His hand stayed on your throat, owning the fluttering pulse, thumb stroking tenderly even as he panted against your mouth. And you loved it.

“That’s it… that’s my girl… keep cumming for me… I love you—I love you so much… you’re mine and I’m yours… feel me filling you up? How deep I am while you’re falling apart?”

He stayed buried through every last pulse of his orgasm, cock twitching and spilling until it leaked out around him in thick, creamy strings, mixing with your arousal and soaking the sheets beneath you. 

Only when the aftershocks finally eased did he ease the pressure on your throat, sliding his hand up to cradle your jaw instead, kissing you slow and deep between every shaky breath.

When he finally eased your legs down and rolled to the side, he pulled you with him. He kept you tucked against his chest, one leg thrown over his hip so he stayed inside you. His hand never left your face at first. His touch was gentle now, thumb brushing your cheek while the other hand rubbed slow, soothing circles into your lower back.

For a long time he just held you, pressing soft kisses to your hair, your temple, the corner of your eye where tears still clung.

“I’m sorry I hurt you today,” he whispered eventually, voice raw and honest. “I’ll talk to Tasha tomorrow. Set clear boundaries. Make sure she understands there’s only one woman who gets to touch me like that. You’re it for me, baby. My heart, my home, my everything. I don’t want anybody else’s hands on me. Just yours. Always yours.”

You nuzzled closer, voice hoarse from moaning but steady now. “I know. I just… I got scared for a second. Women are always throwing themselves at you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His hand slid from your jaw to cup your face fully, thumb brushing away the last of the tears. “You’re more than enough for me. You’re everything to me. I’m the one who should be scared—scared of ever making you feel like you have to compete. You don’t. You’d win every time. Every single time, baby.” He kissed you slow and deep, then tucked you back against his chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your spine.

“Get some sleep, mama. I got you. We’re good. I’m yours and you’re mine. That’s never changing.”

The jealousy finally eased under the weight of his arms, his words, the steady beat of his heart under your ear. The house was quiet again, but this silence was warm. Full of love and reassurance and the faint, lingering scent of sex and his cologne.

You drifted off like that, wrapped in him, the last thing you felt before sleep took you was his lips against your forehead and the soft, certain murmur of “My girl. My only girl. I love you.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

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