You Give Me Fever || Michael Jackson

Chapter 11: Returning Home

"Girl, look, we gotta get home," Michael tells me, exhaling loudly between our kisses.

Yeah, it's about twenty minutes since we started making out under the sunset, and it's dark now, but that didn't stop me an Michael from enjoying each other's company.

"Oh, give it five more minutes," I reply, finally seperating my lips from Michael's to catch my breath.

He's really the most perfect kisser you will ever know. Beats Alex by miles, for sure.

"Sweetheart, no, c'mon. It's dark now, we're wet through, and we've had a perfect night anyway! We can just do all this over again next time. Even the pushing-into-pool business."

"What a kill-joy," I chuckle.

"Anyway, if we stay in this water any longer, we're gonna get the chills, warm water or not," Michael says.

I love it when he acts all doctory. His little pre-diagnosis is cute.

"If you say so, doctor Michael. C'mon, let's go back to.. well, wherever we came here from."

Michael climbs up into the boat, water dripping from every part of his body.. why does that turn me on? Why do I find Michael, soaking wet, sexy? Hmm, not sure.

Maybe the Extreme Fever, or something.

"I'm kinda wet here," I protest, and Michael offers his hand for me to take. I grab it, and he hauls me up into the boat, not a single drop of energy needed. He's damn strong!

"There ya go," he giggles softly.

"Thanks," I smile, and I wring my hair out to get rid of some of the water.

Michael removes the hair bobble that has kept his hair in a ponytail, and his wet black curls fall down his back. Wow, his hair looks damn perfect!

"My hair is soaking!" Michael chuckles, before starting to wring his own hair out.

I stop him by placing my hand over his.

"Stop," I say softly. "Let me do it."

"Are you sure? My hair can be a little fiddly when it's wet."

"Ah, I don't care. I love the look of your hair. I always wanted to touch it, but I thought that would be a slightly.. pervy.. and creepy action.." I laugh nervously.

I sounded so stupid saying that. But hey, I can't just un-say things. Michael smiles, stifling a giggle.

"You can touch my hair any time you want, it's fine."

"I.. er.. feel happier knowing that?" I reply unsurely, chuckling softly.

"I'm glad I make you feel that way. By the way," he stops to check his watch, '"it's currently 10:23pm. We got seven minutes to get outta here and back home."

"But I haven't done your hair yet," I say, before he turns and looks at me, deep in the eyes, and I raise my arm and touch a lock of his hair with my finger.

It's so soft, despite it being wet.

"Well, you better get doin' it, aintcha?" Michael chuckles, and raises his arms up, as if surrendering, indicating that I'm allowed to keep playing with his hair.

"I love your hair," I say, twirling a lock of it in between my fingers.

"Thanks, but it's a right pain in the ass to get it just right in the mornings.. I'm not a morning person, and my hair just makes it worse."

Why does his cussing sound so cute? I mean, it wasn't a major word, but still. Adorable.

"I'm not a morning person, either," I reply. "Being a morning person requires effort, which I don't like to give."