𝓋𝒾𝓋𝒾 ꨄ

The evening had proven to be exceptionally draining.

Everything had started off well enough. Michael’s show – flawless as usual. Stolen kisses backstage between his performances, and the lingering promise of a passionate night to follow.

God, the passion between you burned fiercer than ever before. It constantly ignited, sparking off Michael’s impulsive actions and your own intense emotions. But the moment the BAD tour kicked off, the arguments began.

Women. So many women in Michael’s life. Dancers, musicians, managers, makeup artists. You’d have to gouge your own eyes out not to notice just how beautiful this Jackson had become. And God knows, no one on his payroll was blind.

In the beginning, you didn't let it bother you. He was a superstar, it came with his fame. Michael was wildly charismatic and painfully gorgeous – women craving him was just a fact of life. Trust had never been an issue for you.

And then... the kiss. At first, you thought you were hallucinating. Watching from the wings of the stage, you had to blink a few times. That was absolutely not in the script you had read backstage out of boredom. Tatiana’s happy smile seemed to burn a matching silhouette into the back of your eyes. While she was running away to the opposite side of the stage, you kept your eyes glued to Michael. He didn’t even look taken aback. He glanced toward you, as if the physical weight of your stare had reached him, but he refused to make eye contact.

The argument behind the scenes was heated. Surprisingly, you stayed entirely out of it. Frank DiLeo, Michael’s manager, was perfectly capable of handling the pressure on the "poor" girl without your help. You stood back, watching with blatant satisfaction as Tatiana withered, seeming to shrink down to nothing with every single word out of Frank's mouth.

Cry. Do it for me, cry.

To your slight disappointment, she didn't shed a tear. But you got your consolation prize: Tatiana was fired before Michael's set was even over.

Perfect.

He stepped off stage as soon as the concert wrapped up, slick with sweat, breathing heavily, and flashing a triumphant smile that dazzled everyone in the room. Of course, Michael’s disheveled state instantly sparked breathless whispers among the makeup artists. Ohgodhessosexy.

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Groupies.

Michael made his way toward you, noticing your thunderous expression even from a few steps away. Your posture was completely rigid, arms crossed over your chest, one hand tightly clutching the ring that was supposed to be on your finger. And the fire in your eyes – god, that fire could burn Michael alive.

"Baby..."

Baby?

A resounding slap echoed through the room, instantly plunging everyone into dead silence. Michael let out a ragged breath, his hand instinctively flying up to cover his burning cheek. The next thing he saw was your fingers calmly sliding the ring back on.

How thoughtful of you.

Michael's eyes met yours, and a ripple of adrenaline and chilling fear trailed down your back. In that look, the beautiful brown shade of his irises shifted to almost black.

Oh no, he wasn't mad at you for hitting him, he was mad at how you did it. Humiliated him in front of everyone just like that.

His fingers clamped around your wrist like a vice, dragging you down the hallway with unrelenting force. You fought against his grip, screaming curses at him, until he stopped so abruptly that you slammed right into his chest. Michael snatched your other wrist, yanking you forcefully toward him as though trying to shake some sense into you. His voice came out as a low, snake-like hiss.

"Shut your mouth. You're making an absolute spectacle of yourself," he hissed. "I'm embarrassed to even call you my girlfriend right now."

"Oh, so now you remember I'm your girlfriend?" you spat back. "And you weren't making a spectacle of yourself while kissing another woman right out there on stage?!"

"What did you expect? For me to cause a scene right out there? Use your head! You're acting like a spoiled brat."

A sliver of truth echoed in his words, and the realization of it stung deep inside. Yet, it was too late to surrender. Anger had consumed you completely, and you had no intention of backing down.

"You had the chance to pull away!" you barked in Michael's face. "I saw that you wanted it too!"

Michael groaned in frustration, throwing your wrists away. He tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking a step back, and threw his hands up as if in defeat.

"Think what you will. I'm so done with this bullshit."

And he just... walked away? Yes, he turned around and walked out, leaving you screaming at his back. You felt abandoned, fundamentally misunderstood, and simply the loneliest girl on the planet. A part of you wanted to sink right there onto the hallway floor and burst into tears as the wave of emotions pulled you under. The injustice of this world tied itself into a tight knot in your throat, desperately needing a release. But another part of you stared at the receding back of the man you thought you loved, and, piece by piece, began constructing a plan.

Fine. Every action bears a consequence.

You refused to let him treat you like a doormat. From that moment on, a subtle fracture appeared in your relationship. The days were swallowed whole by work, leaving you and Michael with practically zero time alone. In those endless hotel rooms, you would fall asleep long before he even walked through the door. You felt as creeping boredom was settling in, despite you having your own work to do.

And loneliness as well.

Your palpable detachment didn't go unnoticed, nor did you even try to conceal it. The dressing room incident was burned into everyone's memory, fueling a constant buzz of whispers behind your back. So be it. If people's lives were lacking in excitement, let them dissect yours. It provided a mild amusement, if nothing else. The idle gossip reached your ears regardless. "What if they've split?", "Looks like it's really over between them." "Tatiana would be so much better for him, poor thing."

Through gritted teeth, you kept up flashing a flawless smile at Michael’s team.

The only person you genuinely wanted to smile at was Stephen. This sweet guy was Michael’s photographer, and he made absolutely zero effort to hide his crush on you. It seemed like he was holding out hope that you were finally single, though he never quite gathered the courage to ask. And honestly? That suited you just fine.

Over and over again, you’d catch Michael’s irritated glare whenever you pointedly giggled at one of Steve’s jokes. When you rested a hand on Steve's chest with a tender smile. When you let him wrap his arms around you. Any second now, Michael was going to have steam coming out of his ears. It was almost funny.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"And what exactly am I doing?"

"You’re letting him strip you bare with his eyes. What kind of sick game are you playing?"

"I have no faintest idea what you’re talking about, Michael."

"You think I'm blind? Don't play with fire, y/n..."

"Looks like you have far too much time on your hands if you’re making up this kind of nonsense."

Michael’s jaw clenched with sheer anger. You could see his fingers repeatedly curling into fists and releasing, fighting the urge to punch the wall, the desk, the door – anything just to let out the raging burst of emotions.

When he gets like this, his kisses are blistering, like he’s trying to consume you alive. In moments like this, you desperately try to bite down the heat spreading sweetly through your lower belly and pooling between your thighs.

Under the sharp bite of your snarling remarks about the women who throw themselves at him, and beneath his breathless insistence of "this is completely different," he works you to orgasm with his fingers in the semi-dark dressing room, your back pinned flat against the wall by the scorching heat of his body. He walks out onto the stage with an unmistakable hard-on, because there's simply no time left to sate his own hunger with you.

By the time Michael comes off stage, you're at each other's throats again over Stephen, and the two of you ride back to the hotel in separate cars. The silence that follows stretches through the entire evening, thick and suffocating. Until a hotel employee knocks, leaving an enormous bouquet of flowers at your door.

Michael, of course, hurls it straight out the hotel room window, then rounds on you with a snarl, his silhouette looming over your body like a dark, threatening shadow.

It drags on, it seems, for an eternity. You barely recognize your boyfriend anymore. Fight after fight, sparking from the smallest, most insignificant things. Every time you started a conversation, you felt like you were sitting on a powder keg. What would be the final spark to set off the explosion of feelings this time? Getting through each argument was becoming harder and harder.

And today is no different. The same Emily, finding new excuses to orbit around Michael for the second week straight. The same Stephen, still incapable of hearing the word "no." The same you just don't understand and that same exhausted sigh.

When will this all finally be over?

Michael doesn't respond to your words. He's sitting on the floor, a bottle of whiskey chilling his hand, his gaze drifting absently across the patterns of the hotel room wallpaper.

You let out a sigh, dropping your head into your hands and letting out a quiet groan of exhaustion and helplessness. You sink onto the carpet, leaning your back against the wooden leg of the bed, and suddenly feel the cold glass touch your leg. Michael is silently offering you a drink.

Having no other options left, you take the bottle from his hands and swallow a mouthful of the burning liquid. It settles unpleasantly on your tongue, already raw from the alcohol. This is the third bottle of the night. Come to think of it, you've never seen Michael drink this much. Not once in your entire life.

You study his face – an impossibly beautiful face, shrouded in a fog of heavy thoughts. His eyes hold no emotion whatsoever, fixed on the window with its view of the nighttime metropolis. The room is lit only by a yellow backlight, turning Michael's skin a deep, liquid gold. He silently twirls the chains from his costume in his hands, too drained to even take the suit off.

You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them close. Your short black dress rides up – just a little more and it would reveal far more than it should. In any other moment, Michael's lips would have already curled into that signature smile, his teeth sinking into his lower lip in familiar way, but right now he doesn't even glance at you.

The atmosphere in the room feels unbearably heavy, pressing down on your shoulders with all the unspoken words and the terrifying realization that things cannot go on this way any longer.

You bring the whiskey to your lips for another sip. Your clouded mind can no longer weave thoughts into coherent sentences, producing only a dull, roaring chaos within. Michael gently pulls the bottle from your grasp and empties whatever is left.

For some reason, the thought of his lips being right where yours had just been a second ago sends a shiver of goosebumps across your skin.

Michael places the empty bottle alongside the others, his gestures clumsy, brow furrowed heavily above the bridge of his nose, each breath weary and labored. Then, for the first time that night, his eyes find yours. And he actually sees you. The silence stretches as you hold each other's gaze for a handful of seconds.

Click.

"Maybe you're tired of me?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Boom.

His quiet words land like a bucket of cold water dumped over your head. Michael's gaze remains as calm as ever, but inside you the rage is rapidly boiling up. You can tell this has been eating at him for a while, God, he thinks about it all the time. Every time he sees you near Steve, Johnny, Leslie, whoeverthehell it is. He doesn't care about a name, a skin tone, or a title if some motherfucker is touching his girl. His girl.

And you let it happen. And that drives him absolutely insane. Why the fuck do you allow it? The less time you spend together, the lower that photographer's hand creeps down your thigh. You're looking for a replacement – that's what he sees. You don't get enough attention, you've always needed a lot of it. And apparently, if he's not giving you enough, you'll find it somewhere else. His jaw clenches with pure irritation at these thoughts.

"You're looking for something in other men that you're not getting enough of from me."

"That's not true!" you cry out, refusing to believe the words coming out of his mouth. "How can you even think that?!"

"I'm only saying what I see!" he raises his voice in answer to your shout.

"I see so much too, Michael! Every ass you follow with your gaze! So maybe I'm the one you've gotten tired of? You literally forget I exist!"

"I think about you all the time," he spits through clenched teeth, his face resembling an angry cat.

"You think of me only when you spot someone else handling the role of being a man at my side better than you. That 'damages your reputation,' doesn't it?" you echo his words, your voice dripping with mockery. "Though your little flirtations with the makeup girls don't damage it at all, naturally."

Better than you.

Better than me?

You watch Michael boil over. Here we go again. Once more, you've failed to have a calm conversation without igniting that devastating fire – a fire that had just barely begun to die out. And now here you are, fanning the embers all over again.

"I'm trying to be friendly! And I'm not the one crawling into their arms, unlike you!"

"Bullshit!" you shout, and the force of it silences Michael mid-sentence. You stare at each other wordlessly for several seconds, breathing hard, before you add, "Tell me the truth... have you found yourself a new toy? I don't satisfy you anymore, do I?"

The last thing you expected was for Michael to grab you by the ankle instead of answering, dragging you toward him across the floor. You open your mouth to say something, but he's already looming above you, settling between your parted legs. The sharp smell of alcohol hits you from his lips as he stares deep into your eyes. A raging fire burns in his gaze just before Michael seals his lips over yours, pulling you under into the kiss.

This is nothing like your gentle, loving Michael from memory, the one with cheeks flushed crimson with shyness, the one who touched your lips for the first time so hesitantly, as if silently asking for permission. Oh, no. Over the past few weeks, Michael has transformed into a starved, wild animal that simply cannot be tamed.

He claims your mouth, barely giving you a chance to breathe between kisses, his hardness grinding insistently against your thigh. The burn of whiskey on his tongue blends with the sharp, coppery taste of blood as he sinks his teeth into your lips just enough to hurt. A small act of vengeance, and it draws a wicked smirk to the corner of Michael's lips at your displeased, breathless groan.

He drags his tongue across your lips in one slow, wide stroke, licking up the crimson droplets from your tender skin. Your hands wander feverishly across his body, mapping every inch. The heat is unbearable, it's far too much. There isn't enough air, it feels as though one more breath and you'll suffocate in his pheromones.

"Mike.."

With a quiet, broken whimper, he buries his nose into the crook of your neck, his lips wandering across your skin. His breath comes in uneven bursts, his whisper grazing your flesh like a fever.

"Don't speak... just don't speak. For once."

Kisses give way to bites, over and over, until vivid red petals unfurl across your neck. Michael's hand slips beneath the hem of your dress and halts there frozen for a suspended heartbeat. Then he practically growls into your ear, his grip tightening on the sensitive inside of your thigh.

"Why the fuck aren't you wearing any panties?"

You whimper at just how scorching his voice is and at how desperately you've missed the feeling of his direct touch. Your hands slip beneath his T-shirt, damp with sweat, pressing against his bare skin.

It doesn't matter, Mike. Absolutely.

"God..."

A whisper leaves his lips, a surrender to the terrifying realization that has just seized his mind. Michael presses himself purposefully against your thigh, his heavy pressure unmistakable, his fingers tracing slow, agonizing patterns up your skin until they find your clit. He spreads your slick wetness, anchoring you to the long-awaited warmth of his body as you let out a broken moan. You arch your back in exquisite pleasure the moment his fingers push inside you. Your lips, swollen and bitten raw, part for another moan and Michael’s cock throbs responsively inside his pants.

"Don't move."

He pins you to the floor with the full weight of his body, his hips grinding against yours in an unconscious, desperate rhythm. You feel hot tears welling in the corners of your eyes, forcing you to shield your face with your palm, hiding your vulnerability away from Michael. A tidal wave of overwhelming emotions crashes over you, every single one of them inextricably tangled with pure lust.

It was an endless cycle. Your rage fed on the primal urge to sink your teeth into his neck, your sadness found its solace only in Michael’s kisses, and your jealousy vanished the second he was deep inside you. A desperate need to cry out and scream tore through you. You craved his body, and God, you wanted him so badly.

Michael stubbornly pulls your hand away, allowing a ghost of tenderness to pass between you as he leans down to kiss away the salty tears trembling on the edge of your eyelashes. That single gesture is enough to make your anger vanish, leaving only the bittersweet aftertaste of desperation

You impatiently reach down for his crotch, unzipping his fly with practiced, familiar movements. The sharp sound sends a jolt of an electric shock straight through you, prompting you to slip your fingers beneath the fabric and pull out his hot, hard flesh. Michael groans incoherently against your neck at the sweet teasing of his tip. Only then, you suddenly realize he is shivering slightly, and a tight, heavy ache blooms in your chest.

Oh, God.

"Come on, do it. Show me i'm still yours."

You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, the heavy press of his body leaves you no room to take a deep breath, but you don’t care. In this fleeting moment, he is the only air you breathe, and that is more than enough.

Burying his face in the crook of your neck, Michael rests his head against your shoulder, his damp lips sending a tickling shiver down your sensitive skin. A sudden rush of goosebumps washes over your whole body as you feel his cock sliding deep inside you. Your lips part in a silent, breathless moan, your eyes tightening as a wave of pure sensation crashes through you.

Driven by a fierce blend of anger and lust, Michael sets a sharp, relentless rhythm, his mouth dropping down to claim your chest with bruising kisses and sharp bites. The entire room dissolves into a haze of breathless moans. Instinctively, your thighs tighten around him, trying to lock his frame in place, but he presses heavy hands into your inner thighs, forcing them back down exactly where he wants them.

​"Spread your legs."

The command is soft yet absolute, making you comply with a breathless whimper. You need more, a consuming hunger to have every inch of him filling you, to merge into one flesh and never exist separately again. Burying your hands in his curls, those beloved black tresses, you kiss Michael’s slick cheekbones as a ragged breath escapes his lips. With each powerful thrust, your head scrapes uncomfortably against the floor, yet that minor ache pales completely against the heat swelling in your lower belly.

​“I want… my love…”

He mutters an unintelligible phrase, his large hands enveloping your frame. Without warning, the motion of his hips ceases, and a hollow, cold ache takes over your core – only for Michael to lift you and set you onto his lap. Caught off guard, you cry out softly, fingers locking onto his shoulders for balance.

His cock slips and slides over your wet, sticky folds, stimulating your clit each time you roll your hips. He rests his heavy palms on your backside as you grind against his lap, creating an agonizingly perfect friction for you both.

“God… t'feels so good…”

You throw your head back, eyes rolling in sheer ecstasy the exact moment Michael buries himself inside you once more. Letting out a satisfied groan, he tugs your dress down past your breasts, his lips instantly claiming the hard nipple that has been aching for his touch. He blows a breath of cool air onto the damp skin, as you cry out sharply, your tight, clenching walls violently clamping down around him.

He lets out a sharp hiss, matching his hips to your frantic rhythm, when he suddenly snaps his hand up to grip your chin, forcing you to look straight into his eyes.

​"See? Do you see this, y/n? You’d better remember exactly who makes you feel this good…" He feathers his lips against yours, and your instinct is to chase the kiss, but he denies you, pulling back just out of reach. "…not fucking Steve, who keeps tailing you. He’s dying to fuck you, isn’t he? But that’s my job. Remember that."

The dirty talk leaving Michael's gentle lips feels utterly unfamiliar and aggressive, yet it only serves to ignite your fire further. Groaning, he claims your mouth in a desperate, bruising kiss, teeth bumping and tongues tangling until the salty wet taste reaches his lips. Once again, he has brought you to tears. Again.

Breathless and overwhelmed, he tears his mouth away with a sharp sound, pressing his forehead directly against yours. Your arms drape securely around his neck, your nipples rubbing against the rough, structured fabric of his performance attire.

"I love you… I love you, do you hear me?" Your sobs grow louder, fully exposing your vulnerability to him. At these words, Michael wraps his arms around your waist in a gentle, soft motion. "…and I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want it like this…"

You moan, never pausing as you ride his length, as if this is the only way to force him to listen. "I don’t want to see those sluts around you."

Michael whimpers, showering your face with desperate kisses. A feverish shiver racks your entire body as he pecks at your nose and cheeks, hips completely losing their rhythm.

​"And I don’t want to see him pawing at you," he mutters against your skin. "You belong to me."

​"Otherwise, you don’t look at me," you sob out. "You don’t even see me."

Your eyes lock, and you realize that right now, that couldn’t be further from the truth. He sees you, and he is utterly drowning in you. Your lips meet in another trembling kiss as you cup his cheeks with your palms. Your legs shake violently as a climax crashes over you in a scorching wave, forcing you to tighten around him and moan directly into Michael’s mouth. He swallows your whimper, working you through it.

​"Good girl… just like that… well done…"

You let out a broken sob, riding him for those last few desperate friction-filled moments before he shudders, releasing deep inside you with your name stretching like a slow sigh on his lips. You feel the searing hot rush filling your core completely while Michael’s hands dig ruthlessly into your thighs. Tomorrow, there will definitely be bruises left behind in the perfect shape of his hands.

For a few long seconds, you sit in absolute silence; only your heavy breathing and the rhythmic ticking of the clock indicate anyone's presence in the room. Softly, with all the love he possesses, Michael presses his lips to yours in a tender, shallow kiss. He gently brushes the sticky strands of hair away from your face, staring into the depths of your eyes he knows so well.

"Mike… I don’t want to say goodbye. I refuse to believe these are our last moments together."

Your words strike the fear lurking deep within Michael’s chest. A single tear slips down his cheek, and you catch it gently with your lips. He strokes your back, a weary smile blooming across his face.

"I’m not saying goodbye to you, y/n. We’ll get through this together, right?"

He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. You offer a tearful smile, pressing yourself closer against his chest.

Everything will be fine. It will all be okay, as long as you are together.

“I love you too, baby. I love you too...”

Jermaine discreetly pretends not to notice anything, carefully avoiding letting his gaze drop below your face. It seemed like everyone around understood exactly what was going on here.

Everyone except Michael.

He blinks his innocent eyes, blushing cutely every time you catch his gaze on you. There was something almost comical about it. A shy look, beneath which lays an uncontrollable desire to kiss, lick, bite – to do anything at all, just to satisfy this fierce hunger.

You loved observing his internal conflict – it was written all over Michael's face. The way he froze for a few seconds, his eyes blurring, yet his head tilted just enough that it was easy to guess what Michael had been staring at before drowning in his own fantasies once again.

The thought of Michael picturing you in some dirty scenario caused your thighs to clench repeatedly, trying to soothe the pulsing sensation spreading rapidly between your legs.

You definitely needed to do something about this.

By around ten p.m., everyone gradually began heading to their rooms, worn out from a packed day. After a while, only Michael was left in the living room, staring intently at some dancer’s performance on the TV screen. And you. A smirk spread across your face in an unconscious motion.

Perfect.

“Want some ice cream, Mike?”

Michael turned toward your voice and offered a quick nod before snapping his gaze back to the screen. It hadn’t escaped his attention that the two of you were finally alone. His throat went bone-dry in an instant.

A few minutes later, the two of you were laughing in unison at a TV program, sharing ice cream straight from the carton. Everything was wonderful, right? At long last, you could wind down. Until a single moment changed everything.

Lost in laughter over some nonsense, you failed to notice a bit of the sweet treat slip down onto your chest. But Michael did.

Driven by some unknown impulse, he suddenly leaned over and licked the ice cream from your breast. Both of you froze instantly, staring into each other’s eyes. For a few seconds, time seemed to expand into an eternity.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I...”

Before Michael could even get his pointless apologies out, you were already straddling his lap. His hands automatically found their place on your thighs, while his cheeks turned a deep, endearing red. How precious. Putting on such an innocent act after masturbating to thoughts of you in the shower. Simply unbelievable.

You smile, cupping his face before the kiss. It turns out cool and sweet, eliciting a quiet whimper from Michael. His hands on your thighs squeeze tighter, pulling your body closer. The temperature in the room spikes by a few degrees when you suddenly feel his hard flesh beneath you, pressing perfectly against your clit through the layers of fabric. A quiet moan drowns in the kiss, and your hips unconsciously move toward his desired body.

From the pleasurable friction, Michael can barely suppress his whimpers and shame. In his head, a total chaos of thoughts, nervousness, and desire dance together, driving the young man completely insane.

​“Stop thinking too much, Mike.”

A hot whisper against his neck interrupts his endless train of thought, snapping Michael’s attention right back to you. A rough tongue traces over his salty skin, savoring every single inch, making Michael completely melt under your touch. Your hips don't stop grinding against his closed cock, coaxing quiet groans from him through clenched teeth.

“God...”

A breathy whisper escapes sideways as you break away, but you do so for one reason only. Slowly, your fingers catch the edges of tank top, pulling it up and over your head while holding Michael’s gaze entirely captive. He stares up at you as though you were the deity he worships every night on his knees, pleading for forgiveness.

Your soft breasts are exposed right at his eye line, but he remains shyly hesitant to look. Smiling, you apply slight pressure to the crown of his head, guiding him inward. Michael's lips gently touch the cleavage of your breasts, exhaling deeply as if a massive weight has been lifted. The touch burns his lips, heavy with anticipation and the sudden, crushing realization that you knew all along. You noticed everything.

In this moment, Michael didn't want to think. Lust and an uncontainable desire flooded his young mind, desperate to finally have what he had craved for so long. His deep brown eyes flicked upward, meeting yours. A single, micro-nod. Permission granted.

Michael briefly shuts his eyes, then lets out his tongue, dragging a wet trail from the valley between your breasts all the way to the left nipple, tenderly circling it. Your body shifted within Michael's grasp, and a sharp breath left your lungs. It was like a silent signal for him.

Michael encloses your nipple with his lips, suckling gently just as he had done in his wildest dreams. His free hand wanders up your torso, tracing every curve before molding over the other breast. Michael's cock trembles in his pants from the intense strain, causing him to groan deeply, coating your nipple in a wave of hot air.

A small shudder ripples through you when Michael licks the sensitive bud, already fully hardened by his touch. He kneads the opposite breast softly, rolling the nipple between his fingers with inexperienced, slightly tentative motions. His tongue draws patterns known only to him, stimulating the delicate skin precisely as needed.

You rhythmically grind your hips against his pulsing heat, compelling Michael to pull back just enough to release a sharp, ragged groan. Instinctively, his hands clench around your breasts, eliciting a needy moan from you in return. You arch your spine, your chest almost crushing against Michael's face. One more moment, and he’ll be on the brink of madness.

Anchoring you by the waist with one arm, Michael coats your breasts in wet, licking strokes, applying pressure to your nipples and grazing them lightly with his nails as your moans grow louder. He wraps his lips around the other nipple that craved his attention, sucking on it while locking eyes with you. Biting your lip, you struggle to contain your gasps, captivated by how exquisite he appears in this state of complete surrender, eager to worship and obey.

You run your hand into his curls, gripping them in your fist to pull Michael back for a kiss. But he disobeys. He frowns in disapproval, placing his hand over yours, refusing to tear himself away from your breasts. They are simply perfect, fitting into his palm as if made for it, tasting even sweeter than he had imagined.

A soft chuckle escapes you as you witness his stubbornness, but the sound dissolves into a gasp when Michael grazes your nipple with his lips and pulls away with a loud pop, only to blow cold air onto it. The unexpected sensation covers your body in goosebumps, making you shiver, creating new friction and pressure against Michael’s length beneath his linen pants. He hisses, instinctively pushing his hips forward to meet you. Heat floods your lower abdomen, so you continue your rhythmic movements, your breasts swaying right before Michael's eyes.

He quivers subtly, his tongue parted just enough to catch against your nipples with every rhythmic slide of your body. Michael lets out a broken whimper as his core muscles tighten, his fingers clawing into your waist. The second he wraps his lips around your breast, his body violently recoils with a muffled groan. You feel a wet patch and a heavy pulsing beneath you as Michael releases your swollen nipple and buries his nose deep between your breasts.

His cheeks burn with the shameful realization that he just came in his pants, completely undone by your incredible chest. Your cheek is resting on top of his head, a smile on your lips as you softly stroke his hair.

​“There you go... shh... it’s alright, you did so well,” you whisper soothingly, feeling a thin trickle of Michael’s saliva trail down your stomach. Your breasts tingle slightly from overstimulation, but a sight like this was entirely worth it.

Michael lets out a weary groan, bringing a triumphant smile to your face that instantly morphs into a startled gasp when you feel Michael’s fingers pushing the thin fabric of your summer shorts aside, touching your swollen clit through your panties.

You look down into those huge, innocent doe eyes staring up at you with almost childlike fascination, and something between a moan and a sigh slips from your lips as you hear his quiet:

“Can I?”

(^з^)-☆ dedicated to:

➥ @a-motherfcking-fish

​A whisper right in his ear, and Michael shifts his gaze to his hands, which are nervously fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

He knows. He knows all too well that he shouldn't be lingering his gaze on you for so long. But he simply can't help himself when someone so deeply desired and so utterly unattainable is sitting just an arm's length away.

​And it wouldn’t even be so bad if the sunlight didn’t caress your skin so perfectly, if your eyes didn’t gleam so happily when you smiled, and… if you hadn’t worn that damn semi-transparent white tank top.

Michael let out a ragged breath, closing his eyes just to keep from looking in that direction again. But his imagination, as if out of spite, kept flashing the exact same images.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration, trying to look in the opposite direction. For a few minutes, Michael managed to distract himself, the view of the calm sea scattered his obsessive thoughts and the urge to look back.

But why on earth didn't you wear a bra?

Michael wanted to groan the moment that thought popped into his head. Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes immediately catching your silhouette.

You stretched out contentedly on the sun lounger, arching your back in a gesture that felt like pure torment for Michael. Your tank top was slightly damp from contact with your wet, post-swim body, making everything even more obvious. Your small, flawlessly perky breasts were sharply defined beneath the clinging cloth. The semi-transparent material did absolutely nothing to hide the small areolas of your nipples, which practically magnetically drew Michael's gaze. A gentle sea breeze stroked your skin, leaving your nipples erect against the cool air.

Michael's mouth was watering so intensely that if he dared to open it, saliva would run down his chin.

His fantasy had no intention of sparing the poor boy. He imagined running his fingers over your breasts, knowing they would fit flawlessly into his palms. He would cup and squeeze them softly, forcing you to arch your back in pure satisfaction. He would tease your nipples with his tongue through the damp shirt, torturing you until you let out whimpering moans.

Then he would pull up your top and drag his tongue over your belly in a slow, long-awaited stroke. Your skin was unspeakably sweet in his imagination, with a subtle tang of ocean salt. It would absolutely utterly ruin him.

He’d cradle one breast in his hand, kneading it softly as his mouth claimed the other. Lapping and sucking, he would lightly scrape your nipple with his teeth, drinking in your helpless whimpers. Positioned between your thighs, he’d let you fist his hair, gripping tight whenever the sensation overwhelmed you. Yet Michael wouldn't relent, hiding his face against your soft chest.

He would pull away from your peak with an audible pop, pausing only to leave a tender kiss on the reddened skin before giving his attention to the other one. Mouth capturing the nipple that was begging for touch, he would slip his hand between your thighs, finding you already soaking wet. Feeling your radiant heat against his own stomach, Michael would slide your underwear out of the way. He would tease your clit, losing himself in the breathless moans and cries spilling from your lips.

Michael would slide two fingers deep inside your pussy, making you curve upward against him. But still, he would hold you pinned to the chaise lounge, treating your boobs as lollipops, giving them short kitten licks and...

​“Mikeyyy!”

Michael blinked rapidly, snapping back to reality as his eyes found yours. Crimson flooded his cheeks at the sudden realization of everything he had just been fantasizing about. You beamed at him, utterly oblivious to the throbbing ache in his shorts as he desperately tried to maintain eye contact without letting his shame show.

“Looks like Michael has a touch of sunstroke.”

​A chuckle from Randy brought a sheepish smile to Michael’s lips. He placed a hand over his sweaty forehead, but he alone knew that the sun wasn’t the reason he was burning up. You watched him with a hint of concern, handing Michael a glass of water.

“Are you okay?”

Michael nodded repeatedly, taking a grateful gulp of water. A tender smile touched your lips as you suddenly reached out to embrace him, pulling his face flush against your chest.

His heart seemed to miss a beat.

Shit.

His shaking hands found their way around your waist as his lips made a stealthy, subtle contact with your nipple through the cloth. No one would notice; his face was simply buried there. At least, that was the lie Michael fed himself, even as his cock throbbed in his shorts, practically weeping for release.

Michael prayed to God that he wouldn't come right then and there in front of everyone, straight into his shorts—purely from your embrace. He quietly thanked you, gently pushing your body away.

A few minutes later, he’d be standing under the shower, jerking off with ragged movements, fueled by the sole thought of how his lips burned from the memory of touching your breasts.

Michael would never dare tell you about his desires, repeatedly coming into his hand every time you decided a bra was optional. He slides down the cold wall in exhaustion, the water pouring over his flushed skin as his muscles slowly relax after the orgasm.

That made it five times in the last two days, all for the exact same reason. His outward shyness clashed with the natural urges of a young guy who was simply obsessed with your delicate breasts. He sighs wearily, promising himself once again to do-something-about-this.

And you just sat there on your sun lounger, watching Michael walk away and disappear into the villa. You turn your head, exchanging sly glances with Marlon.

“I told you, he’ll be drooling over you like a hungry dog veeery soon.”

You smile at his words, glancing toward the house once again. Taking the glass of water Michael left unfinished, you deliberately pour it over your chest where the fabric had managed to dry.

​“Is it clearly visible like this? What d'you think?”

You tug at the wet material, forcing it to cling obediently to your rounded breasts, putting the beads of your nipples on full display. Marlon tilts his head to the side, evaluating your “masterpiece.” His smile widens as he nods and holds up a hand for a high-five, amused by how effortlessly and accurately you manipulate his little brother.

“This time, I'll push him over the edge.”

He whispers soothingly, pressing your back against the ruins of an ancient temple dedicated to some Olympian god. The sun-warmed stone heats your spine, which, combined with Michael’s hot breath on your neck, makes you utterly melt in his arms. The nervousness of your absence soon being noticed sends jolts through your body, covering your skin in goosebumps.

​“I'm sure Marlon will notice right away… imagine the looks he’ll give us,” you whisper over Michael’s quiet giggling. He just shakes his head as his hands slide up under your blouse. Pleased by the absence of a bra against your chest, he gently rubs your nipples, making you throw your head back in pleasure. Michael takes advantage of this, burying his lips into the crook of your neck.

​“Oh God, Mike…” you groan softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. Something hard presses firmly into your thigh, and you unconsciously rub against his cock. He lets out a low whimper, licking up your sweat-dampened neck in a broad, sweeping motion. The salty taste on his tongue drives him crazy, making him shudder and press his groin hard against your hip.

Getting ready for this excursion this morning, you had obvious doubts that even a single outing with your family and the Jacksons would pass without… this. Michael had been overtly hungry these past few days, and you were stepping closer and closer to getting caught red-handed.

Being so close to the Jackson family, you and Michael had been inseparable since childhood – movie nights, sneaking out of the house to wander the city after dark, gossiping about the boys you used to like, and deep, whispered conversations after your very first taste of alcohol. Together, of course.

The older you grew, the more thrilling it became to discover each other from a whole new perspective. The level of comfort between you had always been boundless, allowing you to explore each other's bodies with pure curiosity. Your very first kiss was shared between the two of you, a shy, tentative brushing of lips. But..

​“Mike, don’t use your tongue, it’s gross!”

​“That’s how adults do it! Come on, you try using your tongue.”

​“Ew, no way!”

Such attempts often ended in a pillow fight, which – naturally, you always lost.

Over time, hands began to accompany the kisses, wandering across each other’s bodies and forcing you to shift uncomfortably on the bed from a strange, hot ache between your legs. You watched Michael’s heavy breathing and knew he was feeling the exact same thing.

Once, at one moment you found the boldness to cup his length through his pajama pants. Michael's response was unexpected. He jolted with a sharp cry, and you felt a sudden, warm, sticky moisture spread right beneath your fingertips.

“Mike?.. What’s happening?..”

“I don’t know, but it feels so good..”

When his body finally stopped trembling under your watchful gaze, Michael looked up at you shyly, awkwardly offering a suggestion.

“Do you want me… to help you out… down there?”

He glanced down suggestively as your cheeks burned crimson with embarrassment.

​Of course he helped. And it wouldn't be the last time you helped each other out. When Michael went on tour with his brothers, he would call you late at night once everyone else had fallen asleep. You would talk for hours until he started whining about how desperately he missed you. Michael would beg you to tell him exactly how you touched yourself while thinking of him, asking if it made you feel good. Of course, you could never truly please yourself the way he could.

From that moment on, every single family vacation culminated in long, drawn-out kisses in your villa bedroom, before using your hands to bring each other to the edge, both stifling groans to avoid getting caught. It became a routine, entirely normal to you. After all, didn't all friends help each other out like this? He would stick to your side during every walk, the two of you always drifting away from the group, giggling quietly together. Losing sight of you became second nature to both the Jacksons and your parents.

Eventually, this worked perfectly to your advantage.

Inside a museum? You’d wander into a quiet empty hall to steal a few quick kisses from each other’s lips. During a family dinner? You’d sit right next to each other, Michael’s hand softly caressing your thighs, his fingers creeping dangerously high towards your wet panties. It became familiar and expected, almost a routine that passed without any surprises.

And then, out of nowhere, something strange happened. Michael got a girlfriend. You watched his happy face with a sense of confusion as he raved about how wonderful she was. But all your worries vanished away the moment his fingers were inside you right after his story. You had never crossed the line past heavy petting, because Michael didn't intend to “cheat.” And this was just for fun, right? You were just playing around and gaining experience. Nothing more. It was completely normal – you were practically family, and he didn't see you as a “girl” at all.

Yet here Michael is again, sinking to his knees in front of you, bunching up your skirt as you nervously scan the surroundings. Caressing your legs, he nuzzles his cheek against your knees, as if a jealous cat marking his territory with his scent. He lifts up his large, innocent brown eyes, catching your gaze. With a wicked smile, he ducks beneath the light fabric, washing over your damp panties with his hot breath. Resting your spine against the warm stone, you let your eyes shut. A helpless smile blooms on your lips. You absolutely adore this bastard.

Michael presses his lips to the bud of your clit through the sheer fabric of your panties, forcing a sweet arch into your spine. Letting out a low hum, his long fingers firmly cup your buttocks. His tongue glides between your folds, tasting the moisture brought on by the bare thought of having him down there between your legs once again.

Gripping the hem of your skirt in tight fists, you let out a ragged breath. You feel Michael’s cautious touch as he slides the fabric of your panties to the side, breathing in your body's musky fragrance with sheer delight. He uses a finger to spread your thick slick across your pussy and clit, leaving your whole body shivering with heavy anticipation.

“Mike, baby…”

“Mhm?”

You barely hear his quiet question, but you know exactly what he wants to hear. You swallow hard, bracing your hands against the wall behind you.

“Touch me, please, stop… teasing,” you breathe out, unconsciously moving your hips. Accidentally, you brush your clit against Michael’s nose, shuddering from the sudden rush of sensation. He smiles to himself, intentionally nuzzling his nose against your wet cunt, drawing aching moans from you.

“Mike!”

You whimper, biting your lips from the sheer impatience and hot desire pooling between your legs, already on the verge of dripping down your inner thigh. Michael presses his lips to the bead of your clit, sucking gently as your satisfied moans fill the air. He strokes your sweat-dampened legs, adding a faint, tingling touch to the overwhelming sensations. Over the past year, he has memorized exactly how you like it, paying special attention to tender kisses on your most sensitive spots and teasing bites along your thighs.

​“Oh, yes… right there… please…”

You twist in his hands, driving your hips against his tongue while stifling your low moans into a tight fist. Suddenly, Michael pushes two fingers into your warmth, eliciting a sharp cry that you immediately choke back with your palm. You glance around in panic, but the waves of pleasure rushing from below completely override your fear.

Michael skillfully moves his fingers within you, stimulating your clit from inside your soft walls. Under the influence of adrenaline and the scorching heat, you know your body won't hold out much longer in this sweet torture. Michael deliberately rubs his nose against your clit, knowing how much you love to ride it. The only thing that makes him love this part of his face.

​“God… it feels so incredible… oh, I think I'm gonna…”

You thrust your hips in rhythm as Michael works you over with his tongue and fingers. You can practically feel his grin the moment your walls start throbbing around his fingers. His free hand digs into your thigh with bruising force, eating you out with utter fervor and devotion. Michael's knees are already raw and flushed against the sharp surface of ground with stones, even through his lightweight summer pants, yet he pays it no mind, completely locked onto your pleasure.

His own cock aches with desire, rubbing uncomfortably against the fabric of his boxers and begging for attention, drawing a desperate whine from Michael. Yet he maintains his patient focus on leading you to orgasm, well aware that his reward awaits. Sobbing out praises and pleads, your words dissolve into one continuous prayer dedicated to his tongue and to God, making you feel as if you are hovering at the gates of heaven. Sensing the knot coil deep in your lower belly, you whine helplessly, riding the rhythm of his tongue with slight, helpless hitches.

Hearing your moans, Michael hums in approval, sucking your clit until the very last second, right up until you clamp his head between your thighs, coming violently over his fingers. For a split second, he regrets that he can't see your beautiful face, but the feeling vanishes as he watches, completely mesmerized, as you pulse tightly around his fingers. Your whole body shivers as you grasp blindly for an anchor, desperate to keep your footing on weak, trembling legs. The faint, final moans escape your slick, swollen lips the moment Michael slides his fingers out of your warmth.

Looking down, you watch a drop of translucent, thick moisture trace a path down his hand. Michael deliberately sticks out his tongue to lick the slick from his fingers before sliding both into his mouth with relish, savoring them completely clean. The mere sight causes your thighs to press together once more, fighting back a new wave of arousal.

Rising from his knees, Michael claims your lips without warning, sharing what has quickly become his favorite taste. A moan escapes into the kiss, yet Michael literally swallows the sound down, at that same moment impatiently dry humping your bare hip.

Chuckling against his lips, you give him a gentle push. Glancing around, your eyes meet Marlon’s, who is watching you with a knowing smile. Crimson floods your cheeks, but you place a finger over your lips in a quiet “shh,” pleading with the older Jackson for silence. He flashes a wicked grin, gives a quick wink, and deliberately turns around, steering Jermaine away. A breathless sigh of relief escapes your lips when you turn your attention back to Michael.

​“Come on then, hero,” you say, looking at the poor guy, who practically has a silent plea scrolling across his forehead to do something about his arousal before he completely explodes. You giggle, nodding at Michael’s obvious bulge as you pull the bandana off your head to protect your knees. “Pants off. We’ve got a few minutes, honey.”

You stood frozen as the door clicked shut behind you, but it seemed Jaafar was too deep in his own world to notice. With bated breath, you watched as he knelt on the plush rug, still wearing his training pants and a white t-shirt, his hands gripping his head and... crying?

Yes, you could unmistakably hear soft sobbing and see his shoulders shaking subtly. As the start of production drew nearer, Jaafar would come home increasingly tired. He grew quiet, often exhausted to the point where you barely exchanged words, and when you did, it was devoid of much emotion.

Placing your bag softly on the table by the door, you stepped onto the rug as noiselessly as a cat, unwilling to scare him with your sudden presence. Jaafar exhaled heavily, brushing away a tear with the back of his hand. At that exact moment, you came into his line of sight, causing him to startle.

"Оh.. y/n." He spoke in a slightly raspy voice, turning his head away to hide his reddened eyes from you.

You silently approached Jaafar and knelt in front of him, mirroring his position. You gently ran your palm through his soft, overgrown curls — the very ones that drove you so crazy, making you beg Jaafar to keep this hairstyle. Of course, he stubbornly kept insisting that he would cut his hair as soon as he was done with the movie. Bastard.

"Love?" You gently took his chin in your fingers, silently asking him to face you. He only shook his head, continuing to avert his eyes.

You pressed your lips together, cupping both his cheeks with your palms. The skin beneath your fingertips was damp and slightly sticky, likely from the salt of his tears. You felt your heart ache in your chest. Seeing Jaafar like this was unfamiliar, and at the same time, unbearable. Something was weighing heavily on him, and he wasn't letting you help.

“Please, Jaafar, talk to me.”

You see him bite his lower lip, and his next breath comes out ragged. Jaafar is hesitating, you can read it in his body language. He tenses up slightly, tilting his head to the left as if fighting his own thoughts. Fortunately, stubbornness loses this battle, and he raises his eyes, meeting yours.

Oh God...

You exhale softly, gazing into the depths of his brown eyes, reddened by tears and unspoken words. Your chest tightens with a boundless love that is simply impossible to exhaust. Poets have already spoken every word imaginable, yet none of them are enough to capture the wave of emotions that crashes over you every time you look into the raging universe of Jaafar’s eyes. He is completely undone in front of you, childlike in his vulnerability and honesty.

The dim light from the lamp in the corner of the living room makes his eyes gleam with gold. It feels as though you could cry right along with him, simply at the sight of it.

“Please, tell me...” you whisper, as Jaafar blinks away another tear. His lips tremble with emotion and the touch of your fingers burning against his cheeks. He places his palm over yours, nuzzling against it like a kitten.

“I am so exhausted.”

He softly presses his lips to your fingers, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“It feels like I can’t go on anymore. I’ve drained all my strength. My efforts... they aren't enough.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he fights back a new wave of tears. You had seen him weary or discouraged before, but never so utterly shattered.

“You see, right? I just don't have what they need. I'm working day and night, trying to chase their expectations, but it feels like it's never enough. I regret the time I put into this so much... I wasted everyone else's time, I feel so guilty...”

Jaafar murmurs this quietly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He is shaking all over from the sobs, but you don’t interrupt, letting him talk it out.

“There’s so little time left before filming starts, I can’t back out. But what if I turn out to be a disappointment?.. I can’t... I mustn't tarnish the family name. And right now I’m sitting here like a weakling, unable to even be a man for my girlfriend. God, just a weakling...”

You cut him off, covering his lips with yours and drawing him into a tender kiss. You pour all your love into it, along with every emotion that has been bottled up inside you for so long. You simply can't bear to see him like this, and you know you have to do something about it.

"Jaafar..."

You whisper, peppering his entire face with kisses. His lips, forehead, cheeks, jawline. You cover every single inch of his skin with your kisses.

“You’re the most incredible man I could ever ask for. Hear me?”

You whisper to his lips, feeling Jaafar’s hot breath. You kiss him again, throwing both arms around his neck, desperate to hold his body close. He catches his breath with a sob between kisses, your words hitting him even harder.

“And I admire you. You’re doing an incredible job, one that no one else could possibly handle. Do you understand me?”

​Jaafar closes his eyes, nuzzling his nose against your neck. He is sitting on his heels while you are kneeling, making you a bit taller than him.

“The entire crew is amazed by you, but you're constantly tearing yourself down because you set impossible goals. You’ve already gone above and beyond.”

​“But...”

​“No buts.”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, your hands glide across his body, tracing every detail as though it's the first time. At this moment, the fabric of his t-shirt is horribly in the way. Had Jaafar been shirtless, your words would carry so much more weight.

​“I see clearer because I observe you the same way other people do. I see what everyone else sees. Don’t you believe me?”

You whisper somewhere into his hair as Jaafar places his hands on your waist. You brace one hand against the couch behind his back, while the other slides down to the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Are you listening to me, baby?”

With those words, your hand slides under the soft fabric of Jaafar’s underwear, coming tantalizingly close to touching his cock. He breathes out heavily against your neck, slurring his words.

“I'm listening...”

You cup Jaafar’s semi-erect cock, applying a tight, pleasing pressure around the base. His hands on your waist feel scalding, burning your skin right through the thin fabric of your summer dress.

“You believe what I’m saying?”

You whisper into his ear, beginning to slide your hand up and down his hot flesh. His cock goes hard within a few fleeting seconds from your touch alone, drawing a low, faint groan from him. Instinctively, his hips thrust forward, aching for more friction. He doesn’t reply, choosing instead to press his damp lips against your neck.

"Talk to me, Jaafar. I want to hear your voice."

Your hand smears the pre-cum leaking from his cock, making the strokes easier. Jaafar parts his lips, coating your collarbone and neck with the saliva pooling in his mouth. When you tease the head of his cock with your fingers, Jaafar whimpers like a starving dog, dropping his hands to your ass and squeezing it in his palms.

"Oh, mama.."

Suddenly you stop the strokes, pulling back slightly from him. Jaafar lifts his head, his brows drawn together at the bridge of his nose, eyes glistening with moisture. He looks at you with silent pleading and confusion.

"Think you deserve to touch me like that after saying such things about my boyfriend?"

Your voice is quiet, but steady. Jaafar looks at you like a guilty puppy, reluctantly pulling his hands away. He places them behind his back, leaning on them to keep his balance. He knows well enough what position he should take to please you.

You give a satisfied smile as you kiss his succulent lips, tasting the salt on them, somehow it fills you with a strange, perverse pleasure. Your hand resumes its motions, faster and more rhythmic this time, causing Jaafar to arch his back with a drawn-out moan through gritted teeth. Smiling, you press a kiss to your lover's sweat-slicked neck.

"Just like that, baby... s'good for me... you're doing great."

You feel his pulse fluttering wildly beneath his skin as your lips wander lower to his collarbones, pressing light, wet kisses interspersed with feather-light bites. This sense of absolute control over him is more intoxicating than any wine. Seeing him completely unravel in your hands stirs up that same dark, throbbing pleasure.

You run your free hand through his curls, forcing Jaafar to look at you. You gently massage his scalp, simultaneously pressing your thumb against the sensitive tip. Pressing your forehead to his, you rub your noses together.

"Show me how much you want it... show me what a good boy you are."

Jaafar shivers under you, completely vulnerable and incredibly tempting. You catch yourself wishing he could see this from your perspective, so he could appreciate the beautiful picture he’s painting for you.

"You look so pretty like this..." You can't resist dropping the praise directly onto his lips. He chases your mouth, desperate for a kiss, but you pull back. He's overly sensitive, his mind reeling. Jaafar mumbles something incoherent — a messy sound caught between a needy whine and a soft curse.

"What was that, sweetie?"

Jaafar’s hips roll upward, unconsciously chasing your touch. His lower lip quivers, and his eyes grow glossy with tears from the overwhelming rush of pleasure. He’s unable to break eye contact, letting out a desperate moan each time you slow your pace, intentionally driving him out of his mind.

"Please... feels s'good... kiss me, please..."

He breathes out the words, practically begging you. A deep flush of shame and embarrassment paints his cheeks as he blinks away new tears, letting them spill down his feverish face.

Unable to hold back, you lean down to lick the salty drops from his chocolate skin.

The gesture tears a wet sob from Jaafar's throat. Heat flares through his entire body at the wet touch of your tongue, feeling so perfectly right against his skin. More tears bead at the corners of his eyes, making him look so overwhelmingly perfect you could just eat him alive.

"I am so proud of you, Jaafar. You're taking this so beautifully."

You murmur the praise as you finally free his length from the restricting fabric of his boxers. Jaafar’s stomach muscles jerk involuntarily alongside a helpless whine, and you can feel his cock pulsing hot and heavy in your grip. Driven by pure impulse, you lean down and take him into your mouth. You lock eyes — his gaze is stunned and mesmerized, while yours is completely clouded with lust. It’s the moment his control utterly shatters.

Thick, salty spurts hit your tongue while Jaafar breaks down with a raw sob, gripping fistfuls of your hair. You deliberately hold it in your mouth, leaning in to kiss him instead. Jaafar is so incredibly obedient, opening up right away and tasting his own hot cum as you share it with him. He pulls you close by the waist, knowing full well he isn't being denied anymore. It’s a slow, wet, heavy kiss as the pounding of your pulses slowly fades into a gentle rhythm.

"You did so good for me, Jaafar." You murmur the words against his mouth, your thumbs sweeping away the lingering tear tracks on his skin. And Jaafar smiles — God, he actually smiles, for the first time in what feels like forever — before letting his forehead come to rest against yours. His breaths come in heavy pants, yet a beautiful serenity washes over his features, glowing with the pure bliss of a completely sated need.

"Good... such a good boy. Mama's so proud of you." You smile in return, giving his sweet lips a quick, affectionate peck. With a soft giggle, your thumb wipes the lingering mess of his cum off Jaafar's mouth. You deliberately lick the slick off your fingers while staring right into his eyes.

"Is this the kiss you were begging for?"

a/n: was a good student getting an A+ on every exam, so now i can write smut about jaafar jackson.

don't forget to comment if you like it !!

i appreciate the feedback sm!

♡⃕ೃ TL !! ➙ @sweetdreamingx @heyitsconysstuff @uhlay @ladybugnectar