The Immortal Michael Jackson

Mark wanted to be inside of Michael. He wanted to hold him, to be on top of him, to be the one forcing those angelic notes from his lips. Oh God, those lips...

Michael ran his fingers through Mark's dark hair as he watched his hard penis slide in and out of his mouth. His mind was racing. He still couldn't believe this was real. He wanted it to last forever; he wanted to go to the moon tonight...they were already halfway there.

Mark turned his eyes up to Michael's. There it was. There was what he was waiting for. And he knew it before Michael could say it. The fire burned in Michael's dark eyes...

Later that night, Michael sat alone in his living room at the newly crisened Neverland Valley Ranch. He sat thinking in front of the fire, tracing a long finger lazily around the rim of his wine glass. Actually, he wasn't getting much thinking done at all. The only thought he'd been able to entertain was his and Mark's scene earlier.

Michael had come home and, after dinner, promptly attacked the wine cellar. He was not upset with himself for behaving the way he had, but he did want to calm down. He kept anaylizing everything that had happened and was expecting himself to find fault with something,...

"Why the heck is there creamer in my coffee, Mark? I specifically said no."

"Oh sorry, Michael. I guess I just forgot."

"I'm paying you not to forget. Got it?"

"Well, of course. I just got rushed and the phone has been ringing non-stop and by the way, it won't kill you to gain an ounce," Mark finished with his usual teasing air.

Michael suddenly rose from the desk.

"I don't care what you think of my body, K!"

Mark froze and looked up at him. Where had that come from? Michael blinked and shifted his chocolate eyes.

"Okay," Mark answered quietly. Michael consciously melted back into his seat and after...