Darling Mikey || Michael Jackson & Prince Fanfiction

fifteen

"No thanks, have fun." He waved me off, wanting me to leave the car already. I shook my head playfully, and left the car. Shortly after that, the car pulled off and I made my way to the door. I took a deep breath, feeling excited, since I hadn't seen him for awhile due to our schedules, but a little nervous, not knowing how this night was going to play out.

As soon as I raised my hand to ring the doorbell, the door flew open, catching me off guard, revealing him. I looked at him from head, to toe. His wavy, black hair was pulled into a low ponytail while a few curls hung on the side of his face. He wore a gold chain around his neck, and he was covered in a light, purple hoodie, with black adiddas track pants. Then, he was also wearing purple socks on his feet. This was probably the most casual I've seen Prince dress the entire time I've known him, but damn.

"Hey, handsome." He said, with his deep voice sending chills down my spine. I licked my lips, feeling myself blush a little and I smiled, still checking him out.

"Well what's cookin', good lookin'?" I teased, and Prince rolled his eyes playfully, shaking his head.

"Please don't ever say that again." He cringed, "You ruined the moment."

I chuckled, looking down at the ground then looked back up at him, and our eyes clicked. After a couple of seconds of the peaceful silence, Prince held his out hand in front of me. Then, I gently placed my hand in his, interlacing our fingers together, and he slowly pulled me inside, closing the door behind him.

"What's that smell?" I ask, inhaling the heavenly scent. Our hands swinged back and forth while we made our way into the kitchen.

"I'm making Mexican Stew." He replied, letting go of my hand softly as he made his way over to the pot, taking the top off, "It's almost done, you wanna try some?"

I smirked, hopping onto the counter next to the pot, adjusting my seating so I won't slip off, "Hit me." I said, wanting a taste.

Prince picked up a spoon that was on the other side of the stove, and dipped it in the pot, scooping up a little bit of the stew, and brought it up to my mouth.

"Blow it first." He warned, but I rolled my eyes.

"Prince, a little heat won't bother me." I stressed, he shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to argue, then he put the spoon in my mouth, and carefully slipped it out once I finally had the taste. I cringed at the hot, burning sensation that was on my tongue, and I coughed a little, hoping it would wear off.

Prince laughed at me, and looked over at the pot, putting the top back on, "Maybe next time you'll listen."

"Shut up." I waved him off, hating the fact that he was right. Then after I had a good moment of tasting the stew, I reflected on Prince's cooking skills and I shook my head in amazement.

"This is really good, P." I praised him, "You should make dinner for me more often." I joked, but a little part of me wasn't. In the past when I would come over to Paisley Park, Prince always cooked for the both of us and everytime he did, he'd throw it down. He had some serious skills went it came to cooking, no wonder why he didn't have any personal chefs around like I assumed he would at first.

"Maybe." He teased, smirking a little before turning to face me fully, "But don't go eating the whole thing, now. We got three more people to feed."

"Are you calling me fat?" I raised my eyebrow, slipping off of the counter.

"If the shoe fits, Camille." He smirked fully, calling me the nickname he gave me a while back, which was his feminine alter ego that he loved to throw at me for some reason. He slowly made his way towards me. I rolled my eyes playfully, and moved even closer to him, trapping the space between us.