Imagine a first date with MJ and he picks you up from your house, and starts rolling up….
tw: smoking, short imagine
You watch his long fingers steady around the paper. He doesn’t look up at you yet, focused on the roll.. his tongue running slow along the edge to seal it.
“You’re staring at me?” he mumbles, still not looking up. His voice makes you feel soo warm despite the cold, crisp air… you see the smirk pulling at his mouth and yours begins to water.
“I didn’t know you smoke…” you try to sound as casual as possible, genuinely surprised.
He finally meets your eyes. “Sometime.” The jay rides the corner of his mouth as he speaks, dipping and lifting with the syllable of each word. “I like the ritual of it mostly... the process. Doing things right… taking my time.”
He cups his hand around the lighter, broad palm blocking the breeze without even thinking about it… the kind of motion of muscle memory done a thousand times before.
He inhales slow and deep. His deep eyes start to fall half shut… he tips his head back just slightly, lips parting as the smoke rolls out of his mouth. You can see the structure of his neck under his chin and imagine what it’d be like to bite there.
“You gonna stand there.” his voice rougher on the exhale, “or you gonna pick a movie?”
“I trust your taste,” you watch his eyes turn to gloss. “Surprise me.”
“If you say so girl…” He passes it to you, fingers grazing your wrist to take it from him. “Don’t chicken out and say it’s too scary.”
You smoke a little, already feeling high enough… don’t want to look like an idiot and passes it back quickly. “I like scary, actually.”
He opens the passenger door of his Chevy for you and you move past him to sit, taking in the scent of his cologne and car seat leather. His leans across you and fastens your seat belt, the side of his neck peeking again, and you can see the vein.
“I can fasten my own seat belt, you nut!”
“You’re precious cargo.” He looked at you like he wanted to devour you then and there, before closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s side. He climbs in and the engine rumbles to life with the radio humming low.
As he pulls out onto the dirt road his hand finds your thigh. He rests it there easy, where it belongs, thumb tracing slow absent circles as he drives with the other hand on the wheel, jay still dancing smoke in between his fingers.
“Comfortable?” he asks, glancing over.
“Very.” You cover his veiny hand with yours, feeling the high catch up to you now. His skin is rough but safe.
He squeezes gently, eyes back on the road with that same steady confidence, picturing your screams at the end of the night already.
——
A/N: I don’t smoke anymore, but i so wish I could share a J with him lol.
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This is an excerpt from my MJ book It’s Just Desire on wattpad. ૮꒰˵•ﻌ•˵꒱ა₊˚⊹
₊˚⊹ Behind the closed doors of Neverland, Michael’s jealousy and desperation finally spill over. After days apart, one mention of another man is all it takes to turn a quiet romantic bath into a raw, possessive claiming and he pours out every filthy fantasy he’s been holding back ★
In the bathroom he set her down only long enough to turn the taps and strip her himself, slow and thorough. When he unclasped her bra, her breasts spilled heavier into his hands than either of them expected… fuller, tighter.
Michael sighed and dragged his thumbs over them once, watching the way her body reacted. She jerked and giggled before stepping into the deep, steaming water. He climbed in behind her.
The heat pulled a soft sound from her throat as she settled back against his chest. His hands immediately rose to cup her breasts again under the water, obsessed with the new fullness with new attention.
He let her lather herself before asking the question.
“So, tell me about this… Sebastian?” he murmured in her ear.
“He’s nobody,” Gia smirked, enjoying his jealousy in his inquiry.
“He saw you in that little bikini, huh?”
“It was a dress,” she corrected. She remembered how her cheeks flushed when Sebastian called her Mrs. Jackson, realizing he knew exactly who she was the entire time. “And he knew I was married to you, ok?”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes.”
Michael made an audible exhale. Low. Rough. The sound vibrated through her entire back like it had been punched out of him. She didn’t expect that response from a single sentence.
His fingers started sinking into her flesh.
“You know when I couldn’t reach you, it drove me insane …“His hand came up around her throat, closing gently but firmly, holding her still against him. “I finally get you on the phone and after we hang up, you’re telling me some man was staring at you in a little dress?”
Gia’s breath caught, flustered. “Michael it wasn’t anything like that—”
“I thought about you every night you were gone,” he whispered, voice fraying. “Just thinking about what you were doing made me so hard… I had to stroke myself so slow it hurt.”
Gia’s eyes widened, surprised by how far gone he suddenly sounded. “Well… alright.”
“Made me want to drag you home, bend you over, and ruin you over and over. I still do.”
“You could have called me,” Gia breathed as his grip tightened around her neck. “I would’ve told you…”
“You would’ve?” he asked against her ear, hand still at her throat, the other kneading her fuller breast like he was obsessed with the new weight of it. “Or would you have heard how desperate I sounded for you? Thinking of another man talking to you, picturing if you moan the same way for him as you do for me?”
His other hand left her breast and slid down under the water, two fingers pushing straight inside her without warning. Gia surrendered instantly, a whimper escaping from her mouth.
“I was thinking about the way you look when you come. The way you sound. The way you let me fill you until it was running out of you.”
She could see Michael alone in their bed, fist tight around himself, hips lifting into his own hand, eyes shut, lost in memories of her while jealousy ate him alive.
“I couldn’t stop,” he confessed against her ear. “Even when I heard the phone ring or someone knock for me. I bit down on the pillow and kept going… desperate… I couldn’t get enough of you even in my own hand. I came so hard I saw stars. Makes me want to keep you full all the time.”
The memory of his groan still echoed in her body… the pure, unfiltered reaction.
“Michael Jackson,” she whispered, almost laughing, almost moaning, “you are the wildest man alive. Jealous over a man who didn’t even touch me?”
“Only you make me like this,” he said, voice rough, almost shaking with it, watching her face him now.
Even in the low light and rising steam he looked unreal. The sharp, elegant lines of his face were softened by pleasure and desperation. His high cheekbones flushed, his lips parted around uneven breaths, His black curls clung to his forehead and the nape of his neck in damp ringlets. Water beaded along the skin of his shoulders and chest, tracing the lean muscle.
“You enjoyed fucking me in front of Brock, huh? Knowing he was watching? You want to do the same thing with Sebastian?”
“God yes,” he confessed, voice almost black with it. “And I would have made him watch every second. I would’ve bent you over right there, pulled your dress up, and slammed into this tight little pussy while he stood there. I would’ve made you look at him while I fucked you, made you tell him how much deeper I get… how much better I fill you. I would’ve pulled out and made you suck me clean then pushed back in and pumped you until you came screaming my name until you had no memory of him left.”
Gia wasn’t sure how to react to that, but seeing him look so desperate and pathetic for her turned her on anyway. She never imagined Michael to be a voyeur… or whatever he was.
“So do it,” she challenged softly. “Fuck the memory of him out of me right now.”
Something in Michael snapped.
He turned her in the water and pulled her up into his lap so she straddled him. His hands gripped her ass hard enough to bruise as he lined himself up and thrust into her in one deep, claiming stroke. A broken, tearful moan tore out of him at the feel of her closing around him.
“God, Gia” he choked, already moving, already thrusting up into her with short, urgent thrusts. “You’re mine. No one else gets this. No one else gets to feel you like this.”
He held her tight against his chest, face buried in her neck, crying quietly while he drove into her. Every thrust was possessive, almost frantic, like he was trying to fuck the fantasy out of both of them and replace it with pure, undeniable ownership. The water splashed over the edges of the tub.
Gia was bouncing so hard she felt like she was in a trance. Total and complete hypnosis, surrendering to his strokes as her eyes rolled and she cried his name. He cupped her heavy tits in his hand and put one in his mouth, completely turned on at the thought of milk flowing out of them soon enough.
“I love you girl” he sobbed between sucks. “You’re going to have my baby, Gia. All of them. I’m going to give it to you now… I’m gonna fill you now, okay baby girl?”
“Okay da–” she couldn’t even get the words out when she felt a primal wreckage in her walls. She came hard around him, clenching and fluttering, milking him. Michael felt it too and flooded her while tears kept slipping down his face. He held her locked against him through every aftershock, grinding up into her like he never wanted to leave her body again…
Even after the last pulse faded he stayed buried inside her, arms tight, forehead pressed to her shoulder, breathing hard and uneven, his member still twitching with residual sparks, completely wrecked and completely hers.
"He knew he'd have her. He knew she was made for him to have."
tw: slow burn, sexual!tension, losing!virginity, nonmonogamy, bad + dangerous era, excerpt, original character, flashback, obsessed mj
This is an excerpt from my book It's Just Desire... You can read it here.
Everybody's got a story about where they were the night the world changed. Mine just happens to be the night I met the man who'd become my whole life... and my whole undoing.
January 1989 - Los Angeles
"Gia, I think you got a letter." Alisha waved the envelope from across the couch in Gia's apartment like a little flag. "You'd think you're a wife waiting for your husband to come home from the war the way he be writing to you, girl."
Gia broke the seal and read, sighing at the familiar handwriting.
Dearest Gia. I'm sorry I haven't called you. But guess what? I want to see you at my show this weekend, if you'd like. I wired you something to get ready. I think about you all the time. Please, come.
She let the page drop to the coffee table between them. Alisha snatched it up before it landed flat, scanning fast, her eyes stretching wide. "Girl. He wants you to roll with him..."
"How many of these you think he mails out? He's been back stateside all week. Nada. Zip. It's been over a year since I laid eyes on the man." The memory surfaced, that afternoon he'd popped up unannounced and caught Vanessa in her kitchen wearing her shirt. "I mean, he writes sometimes but I never know where to write him back."
"You talking crazy. All that sounds like to me is he got some pressure built up. God, I can feel the tension in the pages."
The women shared a laugh, "Oh my god. Absolutely not. That man has women everywhere. Probably has secret babies from here to Tokyo. I'll never be with an industry man." All of the women in the studios she'd been in, in a constant rotation. The relentless flirting from near every male artist she wrote for, married or unmarried. She swore it off.
"Well, you have to go. We have to get you a dress."
Gia got herself ready, and got ready indeed. She blew out her hair, painted her nails cherry red, bought herself a new black mini dress with chrome studs. She made sure everything was perfect. She called the number of one of his driver's and the limousine purred below.
The crowd was a living, screaming ocean, chanting his name so hard it drummed under her feet. First time she'd watched him command a stage since the night they met, and even tucked back in the shadowed wing, half swallowed by the dark behind the scenes, she felt like the baddest, luckiest woman in America.
Suddenly she felt a prickling dark hole burning between her shoulder blades, the unmistakable weight of a stare. She turned.. and there she was: Tatiana. And her face was full tilt pissed. She saw her in the papers, Michael's video girl... her hips switching mesmerizing Michael trailing behind like a panting dog with his eyes on her ass like a man possessed. Tatiana's eyes thinned to cat slits and clung to hers, the air going syrup thick between them, until a producer's bark split it.
"Tatiana. You're up. Now."
She strutted passed Gia so close she almost bumped into her as if she meant to give her a warning, before carrying out her segment.
And then she kissed him. Full on the mouth. She couldn't see his facial expression but she did see him jerk back. Tatiana rounded on Gia and smirked like she won something.
She strutted past her almost skipping at this point, wiping her mouth.
When the show wrapped, Gia drifted toward his trailer light as helium through the hollering and cheers of the backstage buzz, until the guard's arm swung up like a gate. She lifted the laminate hanging at her chest. "Personal staff," she recited off it. His face stayed stern.
"I'm sorry," the guard read her badge to find her name. "Ms. Wolf. He's in a meeting."
"Oh..." her shoulders sunk, making her way to the chairs in the hall way when all of a sudden the trailer door swung open, and a teary eyed Tatiana came out, meeting her face to face, her expression turning stone cold as she closed the door behind her. If she looked mad before, it was surely fire burning out of her eyes now. "You," she vexed, sharp and accusing. "You must be the new girl, huh?"
Gia's brows jumped. "I... don't know what you're talking about?"
"He'll drop you like a hot potato," Tatiana hissed, and walked past, heels clicking down the steps like a hex.
Gia glanced up at the guard. His face had softened into something close to pity. "He'll be out in a minute."
Gia sighed and waited on the set room, patiently, trying to remain excited to see her infamous friend. People floated around her, gabbing, laughing amongst each other in celebration, not looking at her at all. She felt like an imposter in a borrowed life.
"Yo, Gia." she heard a voice behind her.
Gia turned around and saw LL Cool J. "Come here, girl." He pulled her into a one arm hug in his frame, chain digging into her cheek smothered in cologne and confidence. "I heard you was writing with the big stars now."
She held him at arm's length, laughing, aware Michael could come out at any minute.
She'd been so busy living inside it she'd never once stood outside it and seen it..
This is real, she thought, a little dizzy with it. This is actually my life now.
"It's," she started, and laughed, helpless. "It's a whole thing. It's a long, whole thing."
"A thing." His grin went sly, reading her face, reading the fine dress and the finer jewelry and the way she couldn't finish a sentence. "Girl, is you, " he lowered his voice, delighted, "is you tangled up with somebody?"
Then their heads both turned at the security detail knotted up at a door and out he came, his guard whispered in his ear and he caught sight of her clear across the room. His face broke in shock. "Frecks. Girl." He pitched it high and delighted, double timing down the steps, curls damp around his neck under the towel roped around his neck, eyeliner smudged.
He slid an arm around Gia's waist, proprietary, planting himself between her and LL Cool J like a wall going up."They just let anyone backstage huh?"he asked the rapper, smiling with pride, unthreatened.
"My dawg" LL Cool J dapped Michael up, pulling him into the shoulder-bump. "Great show man."
"How you been?"
"Blessed and dressed, you see the fur coat."
"It's 70 degrees in LA, brother," Michael quipped, amused. "You dressed like you're in New York."
"Everybody keeps saying that."
"Hey, you" MJ turned to her. She let him gather her into a hug, all warm and clumsy, his body solid against hers, muscle still thrumming under the sequins, stage heat pouring off him.
Before she could take her breath, she was interrupted.
"Excuse me, so sorry, " a kid who was on the show, appeared at Michael's elbow out of nowhere the way they always did, breathless, camera up. "Can I just of you guys Mr. Michael, one picture, please, one picture?"
Michael's smile went wattage "Course." Gia felt his arm sliding off her waist as he leaned into the kid's frame with the rapper and there was the flash, and the kid was stammering thank yous.
"Man," he said, low, half to himself. "That never stops, do it."
"Never," Michael replied, the smile still cooling off his face. "Hey little man, can you take one of me and my friend, Giovanna, too?" he said, looping his arm behind Gia's waist again.
Gia looked up, surprised. The kid lifted the little disposable, one eye shut, tongue between his teeth in concentration, and Gia turned toward the lens, and in the half second before it went she caught the whole strange shape of her own life folding into a single frame, the biggest star on the planet with his arm her.
The flash went off.
And it printed itself somewhere behind her eyes, a moment she'd be replaying for years. There it is. That's me. That's my face next to his, caught on film, real as anything.
The kid lowered the camera, stammered a shy thank you again, and rushed back in crowd.
LL turned back to Gia, warm again, and there was something almost protective in it now, one old friend to another. "Aight, songbird. You still got my number, same as it ever was. We'll cook something up like old times. And you, " he pointed at Michael, grinning, "take care of my writer. She got a pen on her. You don't find that twice."
Michael nodded, his grin beginning to dissipate as he grew impatient, craving his time alone with her.
"Stay up, songbird." He tipped the Kangol, flashed the gap-tooth one last time, and was gone.
There was a little silence between the two, despite the crowd around them. Gia was still glowing from it, a real placement, a real artist, her pen, and she caught Michael watching her glow with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"What?" she asked, as she saw him drink her in, the yearning burning memory of her finally in the flesh again.
"I almost thought you split on me."
"They said you were having a business meeting?" The inflection at the end of the sentence obviously a question.
"Business meeting... " he mocked, rolling his eyes up at the rafters. "I fired that girl on stage."
"Why?"
"Ain't important." He shrugged goofy like, easily and softly dismissing it. For some reason, he was still out of breath, or maybe it was the adrenaline.
"Well, she gave me a real look when she walked out."
Michael chuckled under the towel as he was patted the sweat off his face again. "That girl has been a pain in my ass since I hired her... talks too much. Some people are better seen, you know? They open their mouth and poof, the magic's gone. No mystery. Nothing left to want." His irritation in his eyebrows were an instant storm cloud.
Gia stalled at his comment, and Michael caught her look. His grin flashed again, changing the subject. "Want to meet later? Your place?"
"Ok?"
"Yoohoo, Brock," he pivoted to his security. "Can you take Gia home? And make sure she doesn't wait like that again, ever, please. Too many dogs out here," he said, referring to the rapper. His gaze swung back and hooked into her, sliding from stern to something molten underneath. "I'll see you soon, okay? Just let me say my goodbyes and get this funk off of me," he kissed her quickly on the cheek and was swept away as fast as he'd come.
-----------------------------
Later that night she folded herself onto the living room floor beside the potted palms, lime-green toes pressing anxious little prints into the leopard rug. She hated the way her mind refused to sit still. As pissed as she looked at Gia, she sure enough gave him something. Her look was feral, a madness. Maybe that was why he'd never once brought Gia to a show before tonight.
His signature three beat knock cut clean through her spiral.
She opened the door and there he stood in front of her personal elevator of the penthouse. Trucker hat, black button up shirt, silk pajama pants hanging loose on those narrow hips, and a flush high on his cheeks. A pearl white box with a satin ribbon rested in his hands, his bodyguard's broad shoulder just visible behind him. "Hey, mama."
On that stage he'd been something else entirely. A rare enigma. In her doorway he was familiar. Human. Tired. She felt a sense of ease again.
"Get in here, crazy," Gia reeled him inside the by his wrists, hugging him, his body warm against hers, solid and real. He showed her the box. "Michael. What is this? I know this ain't for me."
"I got you something. From Japan," he smiled from ear to ear, walking down her sunken steps of her living room to her couch. She squealed, taking apart the box which was beautiful within itself, and gasped.
"A...kimono?" Her fingers traced the fabric, the pink-orange sunset pattern, the silk cool and slippery like water.
Gia disappeared into the bathroom to change. She opened the door and stood in the frame with the ties dangling from her fingers. Michael took in the silk clinging to her every curve like it had been poured over her and his eyes darkened to a liquid obsidian.
"Let me tie it," he murmured, stepping behind her. "I was on the plane, all I could think about was seeing you in this." How it would cling to your tits, your ass, he thought. How it would look pooled around your ankles while I fucked you senseless.
He smoothed the fabric around her shape and his hands stayed there, resting on her hips and he turned her to look at herself in the mirror. In the reflection, he was devastating. Those smoldering traces of black around his eyes, full lips parted, the kind of beauty that made her fantasize all of those nights... what he was doing without her.
She felt him inhale deeply against her neck, breathing her in like a drug. Gia could feel the heat radiating off him, the waves of want. She turned in his arms, her hands coming up to his chest.
"Stop it," she whispered.
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me like that."
"Like what?" His hips rolled forward.
"Looking at me like that."
"Like what?" He smirked. Like I want to drop to my knees, shove this pretty silk up around your waist, and eat your pussy until you're dripping down my chin?
Almost as if she heard his thought, he felt her stiffen under his hands and her eyes dart off to some alarm going off behind them. Michael released her instantly. "You okay?"
The words vomited out of her before she could cage them. "I thought I'd have seen you by now."
Michael's brows raised catching the edge of stress he'd never heard from her. "Pardon?"
Gia was instantly embarrassed at how she sounded, and headed to make him a glass of wine, the silk trailing on the floor behind her. Michael tracked her retreat, thrown. Her cool was splitting straight down the middle, and he savored it. He guessed his absence made her heart grow fonder.
"So, when's the next tour?" she asked, sliding the glass across the counter, desperately trying to regain control.
"Oh," his tone was back to casual again. "That was the last show."
Gia blinked at him, and he can tell some neuron was firing off in her brain.
"It's my last tour," he amended. "I can't go through two years of that again."
"So you didn't fire her?"
"What?" he settled into a bar stool.
"At the show you said you fired her, but you didn't. It was the last show anyway."
Michael sipped the glass, trying not to let her see the corners of his mouth raising. He could smell her arousal and relished every second of her sweating him. So she does like me after all. "She's fired. In more ways than one."
Gia opened her mouth to say something wondering what that meant, but raised her glass to her mouth instead.
He set the glass down and tucked his grin with a lip bite. "Besides. You don't hear me sweating your little girlfriend, do you?"
She gasped, heat flooding her face. "Vanessa? She is so not my girlfriend."
His head tilted. "We've known each other for what... 5 years now? And you notice I've never said a word about it."
She sucked her teeth, long and sharp with all her mother's islands folded into it.
"It's okay, Gia. You don't have to lie to me... You have a girlfriend. I have mines. That's fair."
"Since when you got a girlfriend?"
"Since you." He aimed the wineglass at her.
A disbelieving hoot burst out of her. "I don't lay eyes on you in over a year and you stroll back in talking crazy." This was not the same man with the constant shyness and anxiety behind his eyes. The tour seemed to have struck a current into him.
"I'm serious." He sipped, unbothered, heat in his eyes. "You just aint caught up yet."
Gia rolled her eyes, putting on her radio. His eyes kept dropping to where the silk kissed her cleavage. He could feel something new and dark and possessive had taken over himself, and seeing LL Cool J all up in her face made his nature even worse.
"I see you've been doing well since I saw you last."
"You saw one rapper."
"I ask about you. I don't need to be in America. I know."
God help her, she loved it, the way he watched her now like a thing he already owned.
"Take a bubble bath with me?" she heard from behind. "My body is shot."
"I'll draw one for you."
He smirked, and followed her to the dimly lit bathroom.
She perched on the lip of the jacuzzi, twisted the knob, and tipped in the salt. He studied the clip in her hair and he bared softness of her neck, imagining what the warmth is like under his mouth. She swirled the salt through the bottom and flipped the jets, foam catching the candlelight across the surface.
He tried to bury his desire with a tease.
"So how do the two of y'all do it?" His voice echoed over volume of the water, all mischief. "She got some kinda strap? You the lady, she the man?"
Gia looked up at him In disbelief. "Strap?"
"She just uses her fingers?"
She rose now, fed up of him poking about it and cranked up the jets to a roar. The water churned and danced. "Okay, it's done. You can get in now."
He stripped off his shirt, revealing the smooth brown skin and the places where spots were starting to map across his chest like little islands. His frame had been carved down since she'd last seen it and all that dancing toned his muscles sliding smooth under warm skin. She caught herself staring as his fingers hooked the waistband, "I'll be in the living room." She began to walk out when he reached for the small of her back again, but gentler this time, no rush in them at all.
He turned her back around to face him, and found something soft. "I'm sorry... I'll stop. I guess I'm just jealous myself. I like you, Gia."
Gia blinked.
"You know what I did the whole tour?" His voice came low. "Every city, they'd bring these girls backstage. Whole lines of em. Beautiful women, Gia. Women who'd have done anything." He shook his head slow, thumb grazing over her arm. "And I'd sit there in the dark after every show thinking about that hardheaded little lady back home who won't even return half my letters or calls," he cupped her face.
"How can I do that when you're never in the same place?"
Michael just smiled at her, as if she was the prettiest diamond he'd ever seen. "Bath?"
"No thanks. I like our friendship."
"Oh girl," he grabbed her hands. "Just take a bath with me. A friendly bath."
She turned back around. "Well go ahead in it."
She heard the water take him, the slosh of his body lowering in.
"Turn around," she said to the wall.
"Say what?"
"Turn around, Michael. I'm not getting in that water with you looking at me like that."
Wonder broke open across his face and he did as he was told. She saw him now, his back a long dark line she let herself look at now that he couldn't catch her doing it. She loosed the tie at her waist and let the silk pour off her shoulders and down at her feet, stepped in and sank into the heat.
"Okay," she said, once the water had climbed her waist and the foam had gathered itself over boobs like a secret. "You can face me now."
He turned slowly, making the bath water into a wave over the jets.
"You nervous" she observed, sensing his recoil at eye contact, something so different than before when they were dressed.
"I'm shy, yes." He focused his eyes at her full soft mouth, the freckles sprinkled across her face, and her eyes. Brown, both of them, except the right one carried a wedge of hazel/green spilled through the pupil, like somebody had started to paint her one color and decided better of it halfway.
"What?" she said, because he'd been quiet too long.
"Looking at you." He tipped the wineglass to his mouth and passed it to her across the water. "That eye of yours. You know, I never once asked you about it."
She took a swallow, easy. "And I never asked you why you look how you look."
Michael's hand paused on the surface of the water. "How I look?"
"Different." Gia shrugged, the foam sliding on her shoulders. "Since the tour. Before it, even. Figured you just, I don't know. Stopped catching the sun or somebody in a lab talked you into something. " Another sip, unbothered, no weight on it at all. "It's not my business how a man wears his own skin, so I left it be. Same courtesy you left my eye."
He was quiet a beat. Then he brought his hand up out of the water and moved the bubbles off of his chest, and in the gold light she saw them, the paler places at his chest, his forearm, a map spreading soft across the brown, places of light where the color had gone.
"It's called vitiligo," he said low, as if he was handing over something secret. "My skin's quitting on me. Patch by patch. Doctor says I'm only gonna keep going lighter. Says one day I might not look like myself at all." A dry breath.
"That scares you?"
"Course it scares me. My whole life is my face, Gia. My body is the product." He huffed. "What happens to a man whose body changes on him in front of the whole world? Whole world already thinks I'm doing it on purpose. Bleaching myself. Tryna be something I'm not."
Gia reached out, unhurried, and laid two fingers against one of the pale places on his chest, gentle. He covered her hand with his and held it there against the islands on his chest.
"I wonder sometimes," he said, turning the glass, "what my kids'll come out looking like. Whether the color carries and they wear it like me or come out one clean shade." He said it half to the water. "Gave some vials to my doctor this past year. Just in case the wanting comes too late... my body keeps taking things from me."
She arched a brow over the rim of the glass. "Storing your nut like a squirrel in the winter?"
He laughed, despite the subject.
Gia laid back on him now, her eyes tilting back on his shoulder, feeling sleep creep on her. He was wide awake.
"Truth is I did some things on that road I ain't proud of, Frecks," he whispered in his ears.
She waited, eyes open now.
"I mean I, um..." He rubbed the back of his wet neck. "There was a night. Maybe two. It wasn't nothing. But it was. You know. Something."
He tested her reaction. She did not even sit up. She let her head tip back against the cool lip of the tub and rumbled with laughter.
"I knew it." She wiped under her eye with one wet knuckle, still cracking up. "Michael. I knew it."
"With—"
She waved him off. "Unh uh, you don't gotta tell me--"
He cut her clean off, one wet hand rising up out of the water flat between them, making a stroking motion. "My hand."
That only made her laugh harder, and then the laugh caught him too, and the two of them sat there in the drowning candlelight cracking up like fools, the bubbles trembling between them.
"Any other woman woulda thrown that glass at my head."
She swirled what was left of the wine, resting easier on him now. "You're a man. A handsome one."
"I don't like showing my body," he admitted. "Not no more. Not since it started doing all this."
"Michael." She turned to look at him fully. "You are beautiful, you hear me? You were beautiful before, and you're beautiful now, spotted up like a fawn, and you'll be beautiful when you're some wrinkled old fart hollering at kids to get off your lawn. The right one isn't going anywhere on account of your skin getting bored of one color."
He eased at that. "You ever think about it? Getting married. All that."
"You asking or interviewing?"
"Askin."
"Sometimes. Why. You're the marrying kind?"
"I'm the ten kids kind." He said it flat, like a man stating his address.
She choked and recoiled off of him, turning around to see his face. "Ten?!"
"Ten." He nodded, dead serious. "I mean, why not? Money is no issue..."
She searched his face, trying to find sarcasm and found nothing but sincerity in his Bambi eyes. "You are out of your natural mind." She shoved a little wave of water at his chest. "Ten. Who's carrying ten? Not me, I'll tell you that right now."
"I didn't say you." The rockstar grinned a wine crooked smile into the steam.
She splashed him playfully.
After a moment he sank a little lower in the water, thoughtful now. "Nah, I mean it though. A big house full of noise. Kids everywhere. Somebody's always got a scraped knee, somebody's always singing. I grew up in all that racket and I miss it, honestly. This quiet I live in now with the guards and the gates... it ain't natural. Money bought me the loneliest quiet you ever heard."
"You got ten vials then?"
Michael's eyes shot out. "--No!"
"If we don't use them, we practice for the rest the natural way," Michael added slyly.
"We what?"
He grinned, sheepish, and then it slid off into something more honest. "You and a mess of babies with your crazy green eye."
"And when you're on the road two years at a time while I'm home wiping noses by myself?"
"This was the last tour, Gia."
She reached across the water and took his hand, not for any reason, just to have it, and turned it over in both of hers, tracing the long dark fingers, the wide palm, the calluses at the tips. She imagined everywhere on her.
"You're gonna make me crazy, girl." Michael said, looping his fingers into hers. "But I can wait. I'm a patient man."
------
She woke to an empty bed.
His side gone cold, quiet as smoke, as usual. He always woke up before her, always left a note somewhere like a clue for her to find. This time she didn't see one.
She finally padded out to her kitchen to make coffee and stopped dead in the doorway.
Twenty pink balloons crowded the ceiling, ribbons trailing like frozen rain. A teddy bear near big as a person slumped on her table, arms flung wide, and in front of it a crystal platter heaped with fruit, strawberries and watermelon cut to their pink centers, mango fanned like a sunrise. A note against the bear. So you'd wake up to something sweet. Yours dearly, M.
"That man," she whispered to herself, biting into the mango piece.
---------------------------
He told her later that week to come see him at Neverland. Three o'clock, he said. Clear the whole day, just us.
She came at 2:30. That was her first mistake.
The gates opened for her name, and the drive wound on forever, past fountains and topiary and a little train threading through the hills. She stopped her car at the front when the tall front doors opened first.
And a woman came out. Not just any woman, a supermodel. She came down the steps pulling sunglasses over her eyes, tossing a laugh back over her shoulder at Michael, who stood in the doorway in a white shirt looking loose, black Ray Bans on looking pleased with himself.
Gia's stomach dropped straight through the floor of the car.
She got out slow. The starlet clocked her, gave her the once over at her outfit, and then a small knowing smile that could have meant anything and therefore meant everything. "He's all yours," she said lightly, sliding past her. It was then that Gia saw the box in her hand. The same box Michael just gave her.
"That's a lovely box." Gia states, remembering Tatiana's complete breakdown a few nights back and wanted to keep her composure. Michael's easy face had gone tight the second she said it.
"Oh thank you... it's from Michael." she giggled, blushing.
Gia looked at her lips like her mouth went into slow motion saying it, then cut to Michael who stood there like he was watching a car accident.
"He got me a--"
"Kimono robe?" she finished the answer.
The woman blinked her doll eyes, a little taken aback by her. "Yes," she said, took one quick look at Michael and kind of did an embarrassed laugh. "Bye now," she slid into a waiting car, and the car left quickly.
Gia looked at the trail of the car with her heart beating inside of her chest, and a frog building in her throat.
"You're early," he said flatly. Not an explanation. Not an apology. Just early. Like I showed up to a hairstylist appointment.
"Sorry, sir," the guard said jogging up a golf cart. "We tried to call you but you didn't answer." It was the same guard from the concert. "You said to not keep her waiting..."
She turned to Michael finally, grateful for the shades on her face to hide the burn behind them. "I wanted to surprise you." Trying not to show a hint of worry on her face. "Guess I did."
He stared at her with his hands in his pockets, trying to figure out if he was being tested. "She's here for business."
That did it. Now she thought she was just stupid. Coming back to the states, don't hit her up until the last show, giving all his rotation of chicks kimonos like it was the Girl Scout uniform. "You do all your business in a white shirt with the top buttons open?"
He studied her, something crossing his face that wasn't quite anger. He dragged a hand through the back of his curls. "You gotta trust me, Gia. If you can't trust me, this whole thing, us, it can't..." He didn't finish it as the silence between them grew like a 12 foot grass weed.
She looked up at the enormous house, at the perfume still hanging in the air, and felt something go very quiet and clear. This was what it was. Every day of it. Famous, gorgeous women drifting out of his doorway laughing, and her showing up early with her heart in her hands. I could never love a famous man. She'd sworn it. And here she was learning exactly why.
But she swallowed it, the way she'd swallow a thousand more, and made herself smile. "Show me the zoo, then."
Something in him eased. "First, let me get you settled. I got somebody I want you to know."
He lifted a hand toward a man standing a discreet distance off, one of several dark suited shapes that seemed to spawn out of the property out of nowhere. Big. Broad through the shoulders and quiet in the eyes.
"Gia, this is Brock. Best I got. Ex military, doesn't talk much, doesn't miss anything. Brock, this is my friend, Gia. She's," his lips curled over his teeth looking at her face in the sunshine, something proud and private in his voice, "she's important. She's the most important. Anything she needs, you handle it."
Brock's eyes moved to her, and for just a flicker of understanding registered before he tucked it away. "Ma'am," he said, with a small nod.
"Just Gia."
"Set her up in the guest house by the lake," He turned back to her. "I gotta take a call I can't get out of. Ten minutes. Brock'll get you settled." He kissed her forehead and was gone up the steps, swallowed by the house.
Gia didn't even know what to say. "Shall we?" Brock asked, and the two of them rolling toward the lake in a golf cart. Another man took her car.
Somewhere in the hills, something trumpeted.
"Was that an elephant?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh my God."
A ghost of something crossed Brock's face. Not a smile exactly. The place where a smile would go on a man who didn't do them on the clock.
She watched the grounds unspool, all that green, all that quiet, and thought about the woman in the sunglasses, and couldn't help herself.
"Can I ask you something," she said. "And you don't have to answer if it's, whatever."
"You can ask."
"That woman. Leaving just now." She kept her eyes on the lake so she wouldn't have to see his face. "She come around a lot?"
Brock was quiet a moment, hands easy on the wheel. "I'm not really the person to ask about Mr..." he caught himself, "about his company, miss. I keep the gate, not the guest list."
She understood that as the most honest answer a man in his position could give and still have a job by dinner.
"Fair." She picked at the hem of her dress. "How about in general. Since you're the one who keeps the gate." She tried to make it light and heard it come out anything but. "He have a lot of, company... Out here?"
The cart hummed. A peacock crossed the path ahead of them, unbothered, dragging its glory through the grass, and Brock slowed to let it pass. Gia felt awkward.
"Ma'am." He looked at her then, just for a second, and there was something almost gentle under all that trained flatness. "If you don't mind me saying. You seem like good people. You look young, too."
"I'm 23."
"Okay. The guest house you're going to is a real nice one." He faced the path again and eased the cart forward. "I'd just enjoy the nice guest house. And try not to ask a man who signs my checks business too loud out in the open."
Gia sat with that as the lake came up bright and enormous through the trees. She understood that she had just been told everything and nothing at once, and that Brock had done her the mercy of at least being kind about it. But she couldn't help if that woman she saw just came from it. Or maybe she stays in the big house. Maybe she's graduated to another level in his harem. Was that his signature? Buying women an exotic silk garment to take it off, get them in a bathwater and confess their secrets. She was glad she didn't sleep with him.
And the golf cart carried her on toward the lovely guest house (bigger than most people's entire lawns) by the water, deeper into the beautiful gilded trap of him, past the peacocks and the elephant song and the twenty slowly sinking balloons of a life she'd sworn she'd never want and was already lost inside of.
---------------------
She found Michael out by the flower beds a while later, and stopped short.
He had a child on his hip, maybe three, chubby and delighted, and Michael was bouncing him and making a face and the baby was screaming with the good kind of laughter, and Michael was laughing too, unguarded, no camera, no crowd, just a man and a baby and the sun, and it did something to Gia's mind she did not like.
She looked at him holding that giggling child and her primal brain went: that'd be ours. He'd hold ours just like that. Ours would have his eyelashes and my mouth and that green in one eye, or maybe his patches, maybe both, and she felt her whole face go hot, blushing like a fool, and had to physically turn and look at a rose bush to collect herself.
Batshit, she informed herself, staring hard at the rose. You are medically batshit, Giovanna.
"You alright?" Michael called, still bouncing the boy. "You look like the flowers said something to you."
Before she could think of a response, or capture the full beauty of his gaze in nature, an environment she never got to see him in back in the city, a suit materialized at his elbow the way suits did, murmured something, and Michael's face shifted. "Two seconds, Frecks." He handed the baby off and stepped away... and just like that the man was gone and the product was back, jaw tight, voice clipped, saying words like territory and net and no, tell them no.
She was learning this rhythm. Every time she got close to the real one, the human one, a phone would ring or a suit would appear and yank him back up into the machine.
He came back rubbing his temple. "You alright?" she asked, noticing his demeanor change.
"I gotta go to London. Day after tomorrow."
Her stomach did the thing.
"Business. A week, maybe ten days." He caught her face. "Don't do that."
"I'm not doing anything." She was absolutely doing something. "Take me with you."
He hesitated, and she watched him hesitate, and it stung. "Frecks. I like to keep my hidden gem, you know... hidden." He smiled like it was a compliment. "The second the world sees you on my arm, that's it. No more quiet. No more just us. They'll never let you go back to being a regular person again. I'm protecting you."
"I'm in your album credits."
"Yeah, but the general public doesn't read."
Gia let a silence go by. Then she cut him a look. One look. The kind her mother used to give a man to end his whole afternoon.
Michael held it for about a second and a half.
"Okay," he said. "Okay, okay, you can come."
"Mm," she said, but it didn't hit as much as it would have it he'd just said yes in the first place.
"But I'm just saying." He pointed at her, backing toward the house where a suit was already waiting to reclaim him. "Once that starts, Gia, there's no putting it back in the box. They see you once, they want you forever. You ready for that, songbird?" he asked, mocking their friend LL Cool J.
She had no idea she wasn't. "It's a week in London, Michael, not a marriage," and he laughed, and got drafted by another phone call, hopped on the golf cart that looked like a Batmobile and disappeared into his enormous house, and Gia stood there in the roses with absolutely no clue that she'd just said yes to the whole rest of her life.
-------------------------------
The other women was never just one dramatic thing. It was a pattern.
There was Madonna, who he took to an awards show while Gia watched from her couch at home, because it's a business thing, Frecks, the label wants the photo. And there was the photo, all right. Front page. Her left hand flat on his sequined chest, his head tipped toward her laughing, and Gia sitting home in a house he bought her, watching the man she was just friends with squire another woman down a red carpet in the exact jacket she liked best on him.
"Business thing," she said flatly to Alisha, holding up the paper.
"Mm. He do a lot of business with his hand on a woman's waist."
And yet the second another man looked at Gia, Michael turned into a different animal. A waiter pushed her chair for too long and Michael waited until he was out of ear shot to comment. "He was all up in your face."
"He pushed in my chair, Michael."
"He lingered," Michael commented, his fawn-like face turned into stone. Gia got slight satisfaction from that.
He went to some city in Germany, and it was the middle of the day her time, and she'd picked up the phone. Frecks, I miss you, I can't sleep, and it was warm and it was good and she'd started to believe it.
And then, behind him, clear as a whistle three thousand miles of phone line, a woman laughed.
Not a TV laugh. Not a hotel hallway laugh. A close laugh from inside the room.
"Who's that."
"That's, the TV."
"The TV." She spun around to the wall, her phone cable wrapping around her. "Michael. I have a television. TVs don't laugh at something you just said."
She heard the phone wrestling against a surface and his voice urgent and distant saying something incomprehensible. She hung up and didn't answer again.
He came clean, eventually some weeks later, him showing up in his apartment again. "Freck's I'm sorry."
"I don't care what you did.. Nothing new to me. What I cannot survive is being lied to. You lie to me, you make me a fool who don't know her own life. So tell me the truth and I'll take it. But if I ever catch you in a lie, that's the end. So much for the you don't like to show your body, bullshit!"
"I didn't lie. I just keep my clothes on."
Oh my god, she thought. "I don't trust you."
So he'd told her. The confessions tumbling out, and most of it hurt in the ordinary way, but one of them she never forgot.
"And that one," he said, "the one in Berlin? That wasn't even, it barely... Gia, I'm tellin' you, the woman had, " he lowered his voice like the walls might hear, "she had a bacterial situation." He circled his hand above his denim covered crotch." Down there. I found out, in the middle of it. I was traumatized."
"You said you liked fish."
Michael covered his face and shook his head, as if he could smell it now.
"Don't act like that. You still did it."
"No way. I made an excuse. And then I lit candles."
Gia stared at him. "You lit candles."
"For my healing."
"You want me to feel sorry for you?"
"I'm just saying, it wasn't romantic! It was medical! That should count for something!"
And she'd laughed, she couldn't help it, laughed till she cried.
--------------------------
He was right about the fame. They saw her once, a single photograph ducking out of a restaurant, her hand in his, and by the end of the month the question was in every checkout line. WHO IS SHE?
The offers came without her chasing them. A magazine cover. A movie, a small part, then a bigger one. Alisha called her squealing. "Sister, you are in a magazine. In the grocery store. I bought four."
And then her first major interview on a day show. Michael was the first topic.
"People say he's, different. Eccentric. Some might even say strange."
Gia tensed. "Strange?"
"What's it really like, being close to someone like that?"
"Honey. Let me tell you about that man." She leaned in, and the whole country leaned in with her. "He is the finest, most magnetic, most heart stoppingly sexy man I have ever laid eyes on in my natural life. Strange? Please. I've seen the man come out of a swimmin' pool. There is nothin' strange about that."
The studio audience lost its mind. Screaming. Somebody's grandmother on her feet. The journalist actually laughed, thrown off her script, hand to her chest.
Gia let it roar, then lifted her manicured hand and the room hushed for it. "But we are just friends."
"Just, friends?"
"Just friends. Best kind there is. Nothing strange about him, and that's the first thing I'll tell anybody. Next question."
Watching from his TV in a hotel, Michael put his face in his hands, half mortified, half in love, and could not stop grinning.
The interview only made the public's hunger worse, as the whole world was sure and furious they couldn't prove the extent of their relationship: the exact recipe for turning a private woman into a public obsession.
The apartment became unlivable. Men in cars with lenses like cannons. A photo surfaced of her taking out the trash in a headwrap, GIA WOLF, MAKEUP FREE AND STRESSED? and that was the one that broke her.
"They got me and the trash in the same shot," she told Alisha. "I'm jealous... of my own trash."
So Michael solved the ache with a purchase. He bought her a house, and parked in the driveway, red as sin with a bow on it, sat a cherry red Ferrari Testarossa.
"Michael. This is gorgeous."
He dangled both the car and the house keys. "Gates. Walls. Nobody photographs your trash out here."
More important than the trash, there was solitude. Neverland had taught her something she didn't have the stomach for: the women, the meetings, the way she got smaller and more scarred each time she watched one leave. The little knowing smiles when she'd cross paths with another irritated her soul. She wasn't built for it.
So she stayed behind her own walls. Michael couldn't stand a locked door with her behind it, so he made a whole ritual of coming to her. Three beat knock on the door, movies on her couch in the dark, her feet in his lap.
---------------------
He knew he'd have her and he knew she was made for him to have.
And when turned 25 and Michael finally took it.
The sex was a fever dream. He took her body slow, deep, and completely. He was gentle at first, then dominant and relentless, whispering endearments against her skin the whole time.
Feeling him lose control, those long fingers digging into her hips, that famous mouth sucking marks into her brown skin while he pumped deep and slow like he was trying to imprint himself inside her... this became her drug of choice. Every moan he pulled from her throat, every time he growled her name, she was lost all over again.
Despite her playing it cool, truly Gia was gone. Addicted, plain and simple.
She was wanted by a man the entire planet screamed for, and all that screaming hunger funneled into her bed, her body, inside her every single night.
She'd be floating in the high of him, legs wrapped around his waist, silk sheets twisted around their slick bodies, him still buried deep while she clenched and fluttered around him. She'd be certain for once that she had him. That she'd won. That this time he was really hers.
And every single time, the same cruel clockwork. The phone would ring, and even if he didn't answer there'd be a sharp knock at the door with a suit waiting in the hallway.
She'd feel him leave her before he even pulled out. The king had to go back to his kingdom. He'd kiss her slow and deep one last time, forehead pressed to hers, whispering promises about what he'd do to her when he returned... and then he was gone.
She built a whole work ethic in the wreckage, threw herself into songs and movies and her own name almost out of spite. But the truth under the truth was she was an addict managing a habit... and the habit was him.
------------------
PRESENT:
The next morning passed and Gia was alone, face puffy with tears. Despite the circumstance, she was feeling the withdrawals of Michael already. She finally answered her phone, which was ringing off the hook.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Lish."
"You bitch. Where in the world you been? I've been worried... called you four times."
"It's a lot." Gia pressed the heel of her hand to one eye. "Like, too much, actually."
Alisha took a pause of a best friend recalibrating. "Okay. Talk to me. What's a lot?"
"There's a woman," Gia said. "Debbie. Apparently she might be pregnant, Lish. With his."
Three full seconds of silence which is rare for Alisha.
"What do you mean apparently? And who the hell is Debbie?!"
She told him about the vials, and the woman, her mouth moving faster than her brain.
"That fucker. Where is Aiden?"
"Neverland. I feel like a bad mom," her voice trembling with guilt and tears.
"Get dressed. We are going out there. Today. I have been rooting for you people for years, and I did not do all that rooting to find out he's making babies out a freezer." A car door slammed. "Twenty minutes. And Gia?" she softened. "It's gonna be okay. Whatever it is. Aiden's with his father, who apparently wants children so bad he has to go behind the back of his wife."
"Nothing new right? We been through this before." She couldn't believe her karma was this.
"Oh, Gia, this is so different than that Lisa hussy. Michael has been begging you for kids for years. I'll see you soon. Bye."
Gia hung up and looked at the woman in the hall mirror. Older somehow.
Twenty minutes later Alisha leaned on the horn in the driveway, and the two of them pointed the car north, toward the gates and the fountains and the little train threading through the hills, toward a house full of peacocks and one sleeping child and the man who'd turned her whole life every way but loose.
I feel like MJ audios are like how people describe doing certain drugs for the first time, I’m still chasing that first high ! 😭 because that BLEW MY MIND
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