𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧! - 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

「 ✦ In the Studio ✦ 」

He returns the affection, feeling how much you've been craving his attention that he's unpurposefully depraved you from. Michael returns your affection, pulling you closer, his head resting atop yours as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo, a comforting reminder of home amidst the chaos of the studio. "I know, baby, I'm sorry for neglecting you these past few weeks. You know how hectic it gets here sometimes," he murmurs into your hair, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back.

You nod  in understanding and exhale. The tension of your separation melting away in his arms. "I'm happy you came," he adds, his voice filled with genuine warmth, and you can't help but smile at the sincerity in his words.

"Good, I was worried. Didn't want to distract you too much," His response is a playful squeeze of your waist, accompanied by a tsk. "You could never, sweetheart," he counters, his affectionate gaze lingering on you.

"Although your little get-up might distract somebody else here," he remarks, his voice dropping to a deeper, more suggestive tone. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion as you lean back slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes trace over your body, settling on your short skirt, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you realize his intentions. You can see his pupils dilating even in the dim space. You try to release yourself from his arms to pull down your skirt but before you can do that, he tightens his grip around you, preventing your escape.

"Not so fast, baby. You'll have some explaining to do when we get home," he teases, a playful glint in his eyes. "I knew how desperate you can get after not being touched for a bit, but I didn't expect you to prance around here in your tiny skirt, trying to make me jealous," he continues, his tone sending shivers down your spine and causing you to press your thighs together instinctively.

"What? No, no, Michael, I'm not—" you begin to protest, but he cuts you off  by cocking his head to the side.

"Shh, didn't you notice how they were looking at you?" he murmurs, tilting his head toward the glass window. Your eyes follow his gaze, catching the embarrassed glances of his producers before they hastily avert their eyes, and you flush with embarrassment, realizing the unintended consequences of your outfit choice. "Practically drooling over you like perverts."

As you turn back to face Michael, his gaze pierces through you, sending a shiver down your spine. "Thought you could rile me up, hm?" he challenges, his voice dripping with a potent mixture of authority and desire. You open your mouth to respond, but your mind is too preoccupied with the overwhelming sensation pulsing between your thighs. God, you've missed his touch so much. Missed him fucking you spineless on your shared bed over and over again. Your mind drifts and you can almost feel the weight of him atop you, stretching you on his meaty cock. You can practically feel his tip rubbing against your clit deliciously.

Reality snaps you back to the present as Michael's strong hands grip your hips, pinning you against a secluded corner of the booth, a blind spot hidden from prying eyes. "I asked you a question, didn't I? Or have you forgotten your manners?" he demands, his fingers firm against your jaw as he lifts your gaze to meet his.

Stuttering, you struggle to gather your thoughts, your arousal evident in the flush of your cheeks and the erratic beat of your heart. "Aw, poor baby," he coos, his tone teasing yet tinged with a hint of affection, "can't even string a few words together." You whimper in frustration, attempting to focus amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, but the slickness between your legs betrays your desire.

"...Didn't wear it on purpose," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. Michael grins, bringing his face tantalizingly close to yours, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "Speak up, sweet girl. Can't hear you," he taunts.