yumeee

It begins with a scarf. It's a lovely scarf; maroon and soft and dotted with little white flowers. Michael lets the fabric cinch and bunch up around his fingers. One of his staff wordlessly handed him the box he'd pulled it out of, eyes widening at something so simple. It's delicate and Michael can't help the way he brings it up to his cheek to rub it against the side of his face like he's a cat, head butting against the pant leg of its owner. And the way the scent hits him—it's all at once. The cologne is faint, perhaps too faint to even be barely noticeable but the moment Michael recognized it he continued pushing his face into the fabric, eyes now closed, grabbing the fabric tightly and subsequently placing it in the back of one of his many closets once he realized how enthralled he had become.

Then it's a cat—a kitten, actually. Janet is beaming as she gently hands the tiny thing to him, gesturing to the small note carefully folded underneath the collar around its neck. Michael places the kitten down to quickly read it.

A sign of good luck.

Michael picked the kitten back up to examine her. She's a calico, her eyes are a brilliant blue and she squirms in his hold. Michael can only blink in disbelief, immediately knowing who had given her to him. He isn't upset. He could use the company. He names her Patches.

Two weeks later it's a bouquet of flowers and the next month it's a bottle of white wine.

Michael is stunned. To his staff, it's nothing. To them, it's simply fan mail. But to Michael, it's someone from the past. A friend? He likes to think so.

He furrows his eyebrows.

A lover?

His teeth worry into his bottom lip. He hopes not. Michael is stuck between a limbo of lies and the window of truth.

****

He's forgotten about it. But not really. It's stuck there, in the back of his mind. He hugs Janet as he walks on stage; the Grammys are complicated for him, but he doesn't worry about it. He can feel the sparkle of his ivory coat glint in the corner of his eyes, pearls shimmering underneath harsh lighting. Even through the tears, the yells, the hollers of I love you, Michael cannot shake the fact that the world turns its back on him. It's confusing. He thinks of the gifts he received—almost as if he's being courted. How silly, he thinks, the award clutched tightly between his fingers.

He sees Him in the crowd as his speech comes to a close and tries not to make it obvious that he's panicking.

He doesn't have the energy to stay longer but academy voters keep him occupied and Michael is not so discreetly taking flutes of champagne from platters that waiters carry around, drowning out the unnecessary chatter people he wishes to never associate with again bother him with.

Eyes tell a lot. Their eyes only hold malice and judgement and Michael has truly had enough as he feels his body start to sway slightly. He excuses himself with a nod before stumbling off. The venue is huge—too big and Michael blinks and suddenly he's in a hallway. The lights are slightly less harsh but not by much. A gloved hand presses against the wall for balance. Even through the sorrow that he seems to drown in… he giggles.

So silly, it all really is so silly.

Someone passes him by. Michael pays them no mind until they go frigid and for a split second, he sobers up.

"Michael?"

The man's voice is like molasses, like honey dipped in a dream. Michael takes in a breath and then stumbles as he breathes out a giggle. He seems to quickly catch on, cautiously approaching and steadying Michael by his arm.

"What're you doing here?" Michael hums. He's not totally drunk, just tipsy, but everything feels different.

"I could ask you the same thing. But I'm not going to. Come on, your team is probably worried." The man sighs, slowly turning him around, trying to lead him back the other way.

Michael stumbles over his feet, clinging on to Him and laughing out apologies, not understanding why He suddenly freezes at his touch.

There's something intimate about it all. The way He lets him lean against the wall as nausea takes ahold of him or the way he guides his water bottle to his lips to hydrate him. It's soft, it's safe.

Michael can't do this. He's a little more coherent now as he stops and turns to look up at the man with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The man may known him better than anyone, inside and out. And he's unsure. About everything.

He gets on his toes just slightly. The man has always been tall. Michael pecks his cheek. It's small, ephemeral, it's nothing, he tells himself. "I'll see you later." he whispers before walking forward, feeling dread overcome him.

And then a hand, no, fingers wrap themselves around his wrist and Michael yelps as he's turned around, eyes blown wide at the look of desperation and despair in the man's own gaze.

"Michael." He says flatly.

They stand like that, in each others gaze, for what seems like days until the man slowly, slowly sinks down to his knees, arms coming to wrap around his waist. He feels him nuzzle into the fabric of his shirt, lifting it just slightly, exposing his belly button.

Michael starts to tremble. His tongue his lax and his mouth is suddenly a desert.

He keeps blinking. His fists are clenched.

And then the man speaks and his words terrify him.

"You're gorgeous," he sighs. "The prettiest fucking thing ever."

Lips press against his tummy, placing a kiss to the skin. "You're kind, you know? The type of kind you don't really see no more. Your love for children, your need to protect and nurture. God…"

He keeps going and Michael—

"Stop. Stop. Please, stop."

The man looks up at him, terrified, like he's done something wrong.

He hasn't. And that's the problem.

The man's grip loosens for a moment and Michael runs. He feels the sting of tears start to well up. The hallways are like a labyrinth, one turn leads to another hallway. Michael doesn't care he's lost he's just—he can't—he—

"Michael! Please, wait!"

And He's is chasing after him.

Michael is turned to face him once more, their lips a whisper away from one another. The man speaks up. "I'm serious. I just… I can't believe you're real."

And the man is holding him again. Michael squirms, begging, pleading for him to let go to leave him alone, to…

"You're ethereal."

"You don't have to lie to me." Michael says through the tears that finally start to fall. He wishes he had his sunglasses. The way He stares at him. It's too much.

"Why would I lie?" He whispers, their foreheads pressed together.

Michael is back into the wall, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, purely from his gaze and words. The man lifts his chin and Michael takes a leap of faith as he pulls Him down by his collar to connect their lips. A gloved hand comes up to caress his lover's cheek, feeling the man's arm wrap around and push their bodies closer together.

It's slow. "I've got you." his love repeats it like a mantra between the slow kisses he trails down the front of his neck, over his adam's apple and over his collarbones that expose themselves from atop his v-neck. Michael shrugs off the coat, letting it crumble to the floor, uncaring.

They kiss again. Michael lets Him remove his gloves from his hands, fingers tingling as they're exposed to the cool air. He lets his love turn him until his chest his flush against the wall, feeling him kiss over his shoulder, hands feeling him up. He still feels stray tears escape his eyes.

His love kisses his ear lobe, "Is this okay?"

Michael nods, letting him help him out of his jeans and boots. Michael should care. They're in an unknown hallway at the Grammy awards, there could be cameras… but it's lost on him. And it always will be, he decides.

His love's slick fingers circle his rim, his lips remaining by his ear, whispering praises and asking if he's alright. Michael gasps at the first breach of his fingers inside of him. He rolls his hips, feeling his own cock harden between his legs.

"Does that feel good?"

Michael nods.

Michael's breath hitches, eyes closed in ecstasy, just from his fingers alone as they pump in and out and gently scissor him open. His love slowly lifts Michael's leg to get a better angle, humming at the way Michael's back arches, gasping out his name and throwing his head back.

And then the fingers are gone and quickly replaced with the blunt tip of his love's cock. Michael whines at the first breach, only soothed by his soft words in his ear. His lover bottoms out, and then he's moving his hips. Slowly, passionately. It's like dancing.

Michael braces both of his hands against the wall, arching his back at the pleasure that rushes through him. His lover intertwines their fingers. They'll be here for a while. They've got time.

Off the Wall Era Mike - who would spends more than half his time at your house like he lives there. Your family already knows to expect him when he randomly shows up at the door asking if you’re home. Eventually your family stops calling him “your friend Michael” and just say “Mike” because he’s around THAT much.

Off the Wall Era Mike - who definitely gets clingier once his fame starts getting bigger. Interviews, rehearsals, touring (I love to tour) everybody constantly wanting something from him. The second he gets around you, he can finally relax again. Lying on your bed and talking for hours, bringing you into the studio with him because he "doesn't wanna be alone." 

Off the Wall Era Mike - who would 100% realize he likes you through jealousy. Some random guy flirting with you at a Studio 54 and Michael suddenly sitting there quiet and annoyed for no reason. Then when you ask him what’s wrong, all he says is, “nothin’ while pouting, unable to enjoy his night.

Off the Wall Era Mike - who loves teaching you dance moves and gets very excited whenever you actually get them right. Grabbing your shoulders, shouting, "SEE? I told you you could do it, while shaking you around; meanwhile, both of you are laughing too hard to even keep dancing anymore.

Off the Wall Era Mike - who would absolutely have one of those accidental moments where the two of you are lying on the floor listening to music and he turns his head to look at you and realizes hes actually in love with you more than he thought he was noticing your lips, the way you smile at him, how close you are to each other, and he just malfunctions.

Off the Wall Era Mike - who gets REALLY touchy once he realizes the feelings are mutual. Arms around you all the time, pulling you against him when talking, his head on your shoulder when he’s tired. Everybody can tell something is happening between you before either of you actually say anything.

Off the Wall Era Mike - who kisses like he’s afraid you’re gonna disappear after. Really soft at first, kinda nervous, shaking hands, smiling into the kiss because he literally cannot believe this is actually happening.

Off the Wall Era Mike - who turns into the kind of guy that unknowingly invades your personal space. Sitting too close to you, stealing all your clothes, lying over your lap when you're in the studio, or taking your hand while you're speaking. At some point, everybody around you is like, "Are you done pretending you're only friends yet?"

Mood-Board for this post (trying something new y'all)

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