Mike ordered the others to empty their pockets and produce the cash and any envelopes that had been earned over the past month.  He sat himself down at the kitchen table, going into accountant mode, and prepared to pay the bills.  It was going to be a bad month since Micky was out of commission for most of it, and he hoped he could scrape up enough for the rent.  He couldn’t help thinking that maybe he shouldn’t have splurged on that new twelve-string guitar…and the new wardrobe for Micky and himself…and did he really need those new amps?  ‘Pete’s just gonna have to cut back on the drugs,’ he said to himself.  Nonetheless, in a very typically organized Mike manner, he stacked the bills on the left while opening envelopes of cash on the right.  When he came to Micky’s presumably hefty sum he gave a sigh of relief, knowing Butch’s contribution would surely put them in the black.  He got an unexpected shock when he counted the contents and found it a whole seventy-five dollars short.

He felt the blood rush to his head as his infamous temper climbed, and he slowly rose to his feet as he continued to inspect the inside of the envelope, ferociously ripping it apart in the process, looking for the tens and twenties that he must have missed.  “Micky!” he shouted, as he headed upstairs to their bedroom.

Mike flung the door open with uncontrolled anger.  He found Micky on the bed with a book, looking up at him in surprise.  ‘Boy, Mike looked really pissed’, Micky thought.  ‘What dumb mistake did I make this time?’

Mike had the torn envelope in his fist.  He held it up for emphasis as he asked his shocked roommate, “Where the fuck is the rest of it?”  His tone was deep and foreboding.

Micky glanced to his hand and remembered what Butch said to him – only he forgot to let Mike in on it.  So he played innocent.  “What are you talking about, Mike?”  His voice was shakier than he’d hoped.

“I’m not in the mood for games, whore – where’s the rest of the money you made from Butch?”  Mike asked him again, his body trembling with anger ready to be released on something, or someone: he was truly a terrifying sight.

“Um….I forgot, Mike…”

“You *forgot*?”  He started to walk slowly toward his victim.

“I mean…Butch said…he didn’t give me your full price this time.”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?  Did you take this money, bitch?”  Mike’s voice was an enraged calm.

“No!  I didn’t touch it, Mike – I swear!”

“Why don’t I believe you?” he said as he approached the bed.  The envelope trapped in his fist was brought down hard onto Micky with a punch to his mouth.  Mike lifted him by his tee shirt, easily done with the anger feeding his strength.  He brought Micky’s face up to his and explained slowly and calmly how Micky would make up for his mistake:  “You’re gonna have another visit with Butch tonight – and I’m gonna let ‘im do whatever he wants so we can get the money to pay the rent.  Then I’m gonna have at ya for while…if there’s anything left of ya.  Understand, bitch?”

Micky just shook his head, too scared to say anything that might piss Mike off any further.  He could taste the blood in his mouth and didn’t want another blow from that fist.  But worse was what it meant.  How could Mike treat him this way after he told him he loved him?  Was the money more important?  So many questions filled Micky’s mind as the iron grip on him let go.  He slumped down to the bed, more confused than ever.  After the other night he thought he’d had some pieces to the puzzle, but now…  What was wrong with Mike?

Mike left the room, and Micky sat and continued to go over the situation – he was getting nowhere and things were only getting worse.  He heard the car pull out and looked out the window to see Mike behind the wheel, speeding up the street.  Now was his chance, but for what?  He could run away, but to where?  He thought of Mike’s last words “….if there’s anything left….”   What did that mean?  Micky didn’t want to find out; he didn’t need another encounter with Butch.  But if he left, Mike would surely find him and that would be even worse.  “Davy,” he said to himself, and he made his way downstairs to find him in hope of some solution to his problem.

A cautious knock on Davy’s bedroom door prompted nothing but a moan from the other side, so Micky opened the door a crack out of sheer curiosity.  He found Davy alone in the room lying naked on Peter’s bed jerking off.  Before Micky could close the door and leave, Davy spotted him.  “Micky,” he said with a wide smile, “Come ‘ere.”

Micky felt a little embarrassed walking in on such a scene, but Davy didn’t seem to mind, so he opened the door wider.
“ Hi – sorry I disturbed you.”

Davy stopped his activity and turned on his side seductively to greet his welcome interruption.  With those gleaming white teeth still shining through that wide smile he said, “You’re always a welcome disturbance, Micky.  I wanted to talk to you – come ‘ere an’ sit down.”  He patted the bed to show Micky a cozy spot waiting for him.

With some reluctance in his stride, Micky slowly walked over to the bed and sat down.  It was strange sitting there with Davy lying on the bed nude and hard.  He tried to avert his eyes from the beautiful body stretched out before him.  Davy was perfect.  Small, but everything in perfect proportion: perfect muscle tone, perfect tan, and the perfect smile to go along with it.  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Micky asked innocently.

Davy put his hand on Micky’s.  The hand he had just been using on himself, Micky thought.

“You’re so pretty, Micky.”  And his hand moved up Micky’s arm to his face.  Micky could smell the sweat on the hand that cupped his cheek: it smelled like essence of Davy, and it was intoxicatingly sweet.

Davy lightly fingered the bruise on Micky’s mouth; he knew where it came from.  “Mike is such a bastard,” he said, with understanding in his eyes.  “Are you alright?”

Micky gave an unsure nod of his head.  Deep down he knew he wasn’t alright; he was ready to explode with fear and frustration, and he suddenly remembered that this was why he had come to Davy, for answers.  But Davy’s touch was so kind and his face so sympathetic.  Micky could feel that sting in his eyes again and tried to hold it back.

Davy instinctively knew Micky needed some compassion; he sat up and gave his friend a slow gentle kiss on his pouting lips, and wrapped his arm around him.

A single tear escaped Micky’s eye with that kiss.  How did Davy know that was what he needed?  Some compassion from someone who understood his situation – something he wasn’t getting from Mike.  It was no secret how Mike treated Micky.  Though Peter didn’t care, Davy always kept a keen eye on what went on in the pad.

Davy brushed away the long curls that Micky hid behind.  “You’re so beautiful, Micky.  We need to cut your hair so I can see your face.”

“No!”  Micky said with a shake of his curls,  “Mike likes it like this.”

“Fuck Mike,” was Davy’s response.

“Davy…”

“Don’t worry so much, Micky.”  And Davy pulled Micky closer to him with another soft kiss.

He was so gentle and smooth, almost like a woman, Micky thought, and nothing like Mike.  Even when Mike tried to be like this he was still rough and liked to torture his sex partner with too much teasing and pain.  This was better.  Davy’s lips were so full and wet, so erotic, so commanding without the harshness.  Why couldn’t Mike be more like this?  But Micky suddenly remembered this was not why he came to Davy and he tore himself away from those luscious lips, trying to steady himself for his real purpose.  “Davy…Mike is really mad at me…”

“So, what else is new?”

“He’s sending me back to Butch tonight.”

“I know, Micky.”

“I don’t wanna go – I don’t know what to do.”

Davy understood Micky’s reluctance; Butch had almost killed him the last time – the sick bastard, and it wasn’t the first time he’d done so much damage.  Last year Micky wound up in the psychiatric ward for over six months.  It wasn’t all Butch’s fault.  Mike was no innocent in what happened to Micky.  Davy didn’t really have an answer for Micky.  There just weren’t many options to consider and all had their consequences.  Davy sighed and gave Micky that sympathetic look again; it was all he could do really, just make Micky feel better.

“There’s no simple solution, Micky.”

“I know,” he said as he covered his face in his hands.

“You’ve survived Butch before, you’ll survive ‘im again – Mike too.”

Davy pried Micky’s hands away from his face and let Micky’s tears fall on his bare shoulder.  He thought about telling Micky what Butch had done to him to put him in his present state, but what was the point?  Micky would have to endure another night with that asshole and there was nothing Davy could do about it, so why upset Micky even more – better he stay in his ignorance, than fear the worst.  He remembered the night he went with Mike to retrieve an almost lifeless Micky after a session with Butch.  Mike had been so angry because Butch had beaten Micky's face beyond recognition – and he wasn’t supposed to touch Micky’s face.  Mike fought with Butch while Davy attended to an unconscious Micky who was covered in blood, and Davy knew Mike would give him a fight about taking Micky to the hospital.

“How would we explain this?”  Mike shouted with that never-ending anger of his.  “He’ll be fine at home – there’s no real damage done.”

But Davy felt differently about it.  He knew there would be long-term side effects from this one; he also knew that Micky wouldn’t be able to work for quite a while, which meant overtime for him.  It turned out that Davy was right, and now Micky was headed for another long stay at the psychiatric hospital.  If only Mike had listened.

He stared into Micky’s tearful eyes and felt a little sorry for him.  He truly wished he could do something, but Mike had his mind made up, and that was that.  So he did what he knew best, and touched his forehead to Micky’s, still staring into those sad eyes, and gave Micky a warm hug.  He felt the hug returned with a squeeze around his waist, and after a silent moment, kissed Micky’s long neck till he met his lips with his own.

Micky was still unsure about this situation, but there it was again: those sweet soft lips that meant no harm, only pleasure.  And though Micky couldn’t help wondering what Mike would think of this, he felt so safe with Davy that he didn’t even care.  It had never been spoken, but he knew Davy would stick up for him against Mike if it ever came to that.

Davy, on the other hand, knew the danger of playing with Mike’s toy, and it turned him on even more.  Knowing he could get a piece of Mike’s property behind his back was the stab Mike deserved, even if he didn’t know about it.  The revenge was sweet, and so was the delicious body in his arms, begging him for some comfort.  He gave Micky all that he had to offer, pushing him gently onto his back and letting his tongue search passionately inside Micky’s mouth.  He could taste the blood, the result of Mike’s anger, and felt another pang of pity for his friend; this small wound was only the beginning of Micky’s nightmare.

He licked the blood away from Micky’s mouth and then trailed his tongue down his neck where small half-healed scars intruded on the soft skin – Mike was such a bastard, he thought, as he lifted Micky’s shirt out of his way.

Micky jumped a bit every time Davy hit a sensitive spot – spots that Mike enjoyed biting.  But Davy was so gentle; his lips so soft as he delicately lingered at an erect nipple, and he knew Davy would never hurt him the way Mike would.  He could feel Davy’s hot breath on his hard-on through his jeans and wished he were naked too, so he could have flesh to flesh contact.  That succulent mouth enveloping him in its velvety wetness – ‘Oh god, please,’ he thought, 'before I come right in my pants.'

Davy decided to make the most of the opportunity, though he still wouldn't be able to compare Micky’s blow-jobs to Peter’s, he thought he would try to use what Peter had shown him.  As he unzipped Micky’s jeans, he was relieved to find an average-sized erection.  ‘Now this I can work with,’ he said to himself.  Relieving Micky from his jeans, he noticed how his cock was just like the rest of him: smooth and beautiful, without the enormous glory of Peter’s immense size and attitude.

He tried to remember all the steps Peter had taken with him.  First, one good long suck: he wrapped his mouth around Micky and pulled him in.

Micky gave a quiet but long moan, a sound of pure ecstasy.  Mike would make him wait a lifetime before he would do that to him, making him cry out in frustration.  But Davy never let it get that far, just enough to want more and not let him come too fast.  What great technique, Micky thought.  Mike could learn something from Davy.

Every breath was accompanied by a typical Micky moan, and Davy could tell by the slight thrusting and hard breathing that Micky was ready for the final phase.  He forgot about that part.  Peter had explained the process of deep-throating, but he never had a chance to practice on anything.  “The trick is to relax the throat muscles,” Peter had told him.  So Davy gave it a shot, and to his surprise, Micky’s average-sized dick slid down with ease, and Davy followed up his newfound skill with a short massage of his balls and then the finger that was waiting patiently to make its entrance.  As expected, Davy’s receiver reacted exactly the way he had when he was on that end.

Micky’s entire body trembled with an orgasm so intense, he felt like he would float away or explode, whichever came first.  But he didn’t.  When he opened his eyes he was still lying on the bed in one piece, the only change being that he was soaked in sweat and his heart was pounding fast and hard in his chest.

Davy sat up, pride written all over his face for a job well done.  He smiled at the altered state he’d left Micky in and slid up beside him for a kiss.  “You alright?”  he asked with a mischievous smile.

“Uh-huh” was all Micky could get out between hard breaths.  Then he turned his face to Davy and gave him a broad smile.  “I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel like that before.”

“I know what you mean.”

“You do?  How?”

“Nothing.  I’m glad I made you feel good.”  His words were so sincere and his expression so sweet that Micky melted into new love – Mike who?  He lost his worries in the smile of Davy’s beautiful face hanging over him.  He reached up to touch him, just to make sure it wasn’t another dream, and he felt the full silky hair that framed the chiseled jaw, and wanted desperately to kiss him.

As if on cue, Davy bent down to kiss his new lover’s lips.  Once Micky opened up to him, he was passionate and giving.  How could Mike do such horrible things to such a sweet person, he thought, and how could Micky put up with it?  But he knew the answer.  That’s why Micky became Mike’s little toy.  Only someone as naïve and innocent could be so well controlled by such a bastard.

Micky was the only one brought up in a decent home.  When Mike found him, Micky was still a virgin – what a stroke of luck.  Micky had no idea what he was getting into.  A teenage singer looking for a band, and Mike played the perfect protector for the fatherless boy looking for a home.  Mike had done the same to Davy and Peter too, but they weren’t naïve like Micky; they had been on the streets doing whatever it took to get by.  In a way, Mike was their savior, but they understood what was expected of them, while Micky was lured in like a helpless fly to Mike’s sick web.

Poor Micky, Davy thought as he continued his kisses and rubbed his erection on Micky’s, and then he realized what was so appealing about him – his innocence.  No wonder Mike couldn’t keep his hands off him; and now Davy found that same magic that kept his lips and hands on Micky’s flesh like glue.  He was truly irresistible, and Davy felt the need to help him, protect him, the way Mike was supposed to do.  Now, Micky needed protection from Mike.  How was Davy going to do that?  And why did he suddenly care?  Because with nowhere else to turn, Micky came to him for help and won him over in the process – that’s why, Davy remembered.

All the thoughts running through his head turned him on more as he worked his way to orgasm.  Just feeling Micky under him and caressing his back with his gentle hands were enough to get him off.  So different from Peter’s mind-blowing blowjobs, but just as good and with an emotion he hadn’t felt with anyone he’d made love to before.  He rocked his body back and forth creating just the right friction when he shuddered with an orgasm that filled him to the deepest part of his being.

When it was over he corrected his thoughts: it was better than Peter’s mind blowing blowjobs – that was all physical and calculated; this was a feeling that penetrated to the core of his soul.  ‘Oh god’, he thought, ‘Could I be in love?’  He looked down at the sweet smiling eyes looking back at him.  He didn’t really care what it was he was feeling, it felt good and that was all that mattered, and he leaned down once more for a taste of those lips.

They were both so engrossed in their activity that neither one heard the front door open and then shut.  Peter walked to his bedroom.  The door was wide open when he found the couple still in each other’s arms, oblivious to his presence.  He couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he closed the door to leave them alone.  He rubbed his hands together with mischievous glee as he said to no one: “Oh, won’t Mike be surprised!”