"Fuck." He whispered hoarsely and took a long drag off his cigarette.

He'd left Peter at five p.m. to start working, after they'd spent the whole afternoon slowly making love to one another. It was the single happiest and worst thing that'd ever happened to Davy in his life. He could still feel Peter's strong arms around him, holding him tightly. He could recall so clearly the smell of Peter's hair and his cologne. The sound of Peter's healthy baritone voice echoed through his head. The things they'd done with one another.... It was driving him insane just thinking about it.

Now it was going on one in the morning, and Davy fought not to break down in the middle of the street. It was definitely colder than the other night; he could even see his breath now. Pulling his coat closer, he debated with himself, only coming up with the same god damned answer every time.

"Shit.... Forget this." He threw down his cigarette stub, turned on his heel and heading straight for Peter's.

Davy sat naked at the edge of the bed, with Peter sitting directly behind him, legs astride the smaller. He turned his head to kiss Peter, mumbling how much he'd missed him, how much he wanted him. Peter returned the kiss gratefully, snaking his arms around to Davy's front, rubbing his chest. His fingers, calloused from years of hard work on a farm, were nothing if not gentle on Davy's skin, exploring every crevice and detail of the Brit's upper body as they kissed. Peter's hand came to rest on Davy's heart, and the younger man placed his own hand over it as well, a show of affection that did not go unnoticed.

Micky showed up at eleven this time, wanting to spend more precious minutes with his new.... lover? Associate? Casual fuck toy? He wasn't precisely sure. Being with Mike was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He was handsome, dangerous, dark, and damn good in bed, but there was something else.

Mike answered the door this time, no "drunk chick". That was good; Micky didn't want to put up with her tonight. He didn't look necessarily happy to see Micky; he just had a smug grin on his face when he invited the young bartender inside. Mike took Micky's leather jacket from him, showing off bruises on his knuckles that hadn't been there the night before. "What happened to your hand?" Micky asked, suddenly unsure of whether or not he should be asking.

Mike looked him in the eye. "A guy walked into my fist."

Micky immediately felt stupid for bringing it up. He decided to change the subject. "So, uh. Where you from?"

Mike looked slightly amused. He knew that this chitchat was just to make the situation less awkward for Micky, so he played along, simultaneously directing Micky to a sofa. "Texas, born and raised. Moved here 'bout ten years ago, made my presence known, worked my way up and here I am. How about yourself?"

"Born in L.A. I wanted to be a musician, but it pays shit to be out of work, so I moved here and used certain 'talents' at my disposal to get the job at 54."

"Hm." Mike nodded, and reached for a bottle of vodka sitting conveniently on the counter.

Micky was on his hands and knees less than twenty minutes later, painfully aroused, and waiting for Mike to get on with it. Just like the first night, Mike was making a big deal out of getting himself as aroused as possible. He kneeled on the bed; one hand holding up his body while the other ran swiftly over his large cock, making slight pauses to fondle his balls, then stroking again with renewed energy. He must have known how sexy he looked, at least that's what Micky felt as he watched. It was torture to see his expression of pure bliss, and to see those slender fingers trace along that wonderful erection, and have to wait for his turn.

Mike eventually brought lube into the equation, preparing himself for the act. Micky moaned impatiently, twisting his hips like a jungle cat stretching its muscles. Mike heaved a gush of air at the sight of it, his cock noticeably twitching and growing in size.

Finally, Mike seemed ready and brought himself right up behind Micky, taking a tight hold of the slim hips that greeted him. Micky sighed, bracing himself by putting his weight against his arms on the mattress.

"I've been waiting all day for this." Mike moaned and centered himself, pushing in slowly. Expletives escaped and he rocked his body back and forth, starting out slow, just like last time. Micky's pain faded away with the initial shock, and the erotic movements got to him, his manhood swelling to an agonizing fullness. Mike sped up the pace, shaking Micky's thin body forward and back, making the bed squeak and tap against the wall.

Micky balanced himself on one arm and reached under his body with the other. Touching himself sent shivers through his frame. He grasped his dick in hand and slowly pumped, the sweat on his hands making it go smoother. When Mike noticed what he was doing, however, he pulled Micky's hands out from under him. Micky did a face plant and landed in the mattress, his ass sticking up in the air, Mike riding him like there was no tomorrow. Forbidden from touching himself, his hands pinned and Mike going at him, Micky was in some kind of twisted heaven/hell hybrid.

Micky felt every detail of Mike's rigid cock in him as it managed to get deeper and deeper with every thrust. It touched upon that secret spot, that ever elusive pleasure point deep inside him, gently brushing against it at first and then gradually pressing it into his body. He let moans and whimpers escape him, knowing it was what Mike liked to hear. His energy was fading fast; Mike was full of power tonight, strongly shoving Micky's body deeper into the mattress and letting up again. Sweat ran down Micky's shoulders in rivers, the amount of concentration he needed just to keep from coming was putting serious strain on him.

Mike's strong hands moved from Micky's hips to his waist, controlling his movements, and taking him back down to a slower speed. This gentle fucking went on for several minutes, Mike's quiet but passionate grunts giving no indication of stopping anytime soon. Micky's cock was a deep flushed red, bobbing under his body with each movement, his balls had grown unbearably tight; orgasm was right within his reach, but he dared not before Mike did.

'Fuck, what is he doing?' Micky thought, 'I can't take this....'

"Oh, Mike.... I can't hold out any more.... I.... I have to come.... I have to come now.... I need to.... I can't...." He whimpered into the sheets, glad he could get the words out and not lose control.

"Not yet...." Mike whispered. He wanted to get as much as he could out of this, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste. He watched his cock disappear into Micky's tight ass again and again, his balls lightly touching pale skin with each movement. The sight of it was so erotic, that with a final groan, he pulled out and came on Micky's back, watching his seed sprinkle the soft flesh. It only took him a few seconds to recover before he observed Micky in front of him. He was still patiently waiting for a sign, for anything. Micky's face was screwed up into an expression of pure concentration, trying not to come, but wanting to more than anything.

Mike silently leaned over and encircled Micky with his arms, one hand clutching the younger man's staff, the other lightly squeezing his balls. With a firm squeeze and one hard stroke of his dick, Mike smiled as Micky's body jerked and he came violently into the sheets, the buildup of nearly a half hour ravaging his body and leaving him spent. He let his hips fall to the bed as he caught his breath.

Mike rolled onto his back next to him, putting his arms behind his head. His eyes drooped shut and he stayed in that position, with a smug and satisfied look on his face.

It was at that inopportune time that the phone rang. Mike reached over Micky's shell-shocked body and brought the receiver to his ear. "Yeah." He greeted, lazily. Listening for a few seconds, his expression grew dark again. "Well, find the little shit, then.... hiding? Who told you that? Hm.... Look, we'll give him a day, but I swear to Christ if he doesn't show up with my money.... Yeah. A week's worth.... Then I'll do it myself if he doesn't." He glanced in Micky's direction, and was met with questioning eyes tinted with fear. Mike listened quietly to the voice on the other end of the phone for a few seconds, then turned on his side, away from Micky's gaze. The taller man spoke quietly for a few moments, then mumbled a goodbye and reached over Micky to hang up the phone again. A silence followed that could only have been categorized as uncomfortable.

"Have you ever killed anyone?" Micky asked, the question escaping without warning.

But Mike didn't bat an eye. "Depends. You mean with my own hands?"

And Micky suddenly felt very sick. "I uh.... I should go." He sat up quickly, feeling dizzy and lost. This was not right. He really didn't want to be so vulnerable around a man who could kill without flinching. But not just kill. He knew that Mike had had people mugged, raped, beaten, tortured, disfigured, ruined, and frightened for their lives. It scared the crap out of him. Those people.... Half of them might not have even deserved it. And that made Micky sick. He reached for his discarded clothes on the floor, when there was a hand on his shoulder. "I want you to stay." Came Mike's voice from behind him.

For a split second, Micky thought he was being threatened.

But Mike quickly sputtered something else, trying to sound as dignified as possible. "Shit, I mean.... leave if you want to, hell. But just know. I'd like it if you stayed."

Micky wore a very confused look. He didn't want to be naïve and assume that this little affair they were having was anything more than sex. He figured Mike must have conquests like this every night.

'Time to make a decision, Dolenz'. Came that obnoxious little voice in his head. 'Stay or go'?

Early the next morning the phone rang, rousing Peter from his light slumber. Rubbing his eyes and mentally cursing whoever was breaking a perfect moment of tranquility for him and his lover, he reached for the phone. "Hello?"

"Is this Peter?" Came a strangled voice from the other end.

"Yeah, who's this?" Confused, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"It's Richard. Is Davy over there?" A cough, and a whimper.

"Yeah, he's here. Why? Are you okay?" Peter cast a glance over to Davy, out like a light, buried under the covers.

"You guys have to leave. Get out of there. Something happened, they asked me where he was and I wouldn't tell them. But.... they messed me up. I had to tell them your name, Peter, they would have killed me; I swear they would have. They're coming to look for you to get Nesmith's money."

Peter's pulse rose. "What? Who's Nesmith? What do you mean we have to leave?"

"The guy that beat Davy up, remember? He's our boss! And he's fucking pissed! Get Davy out of there now!!"

Peter slammed down the phone and whirled around, shaking Davy frantically.

The Brit woke quickly, mumbling. "What? What?!"

"Davy! Nesmith's guys are coming! You have to get out of here!" Peter jumped up to throw on his pants, desperately yelling at Davy to move.

Davy jolted upright in bed, his eyes wide. "What? When?"

"That was Richard on the phone just now! He said guys are coming over here to get you!"

"FUCK!" Davy threw off the covers and grabbed his pants, trying to put on his shirt at the same time. He froze when there was a knock on the door. "Fuck." He whispered.

Peter tiptoed over to Davy, his wide eyes fixed on the door. "Fire escape." He whispered in Davy's ear, and he crept over to it, breathing labored but hushed.

There was knocking again. A scratchy voice from behind it said, "Taxman, open up!" More insistent knocking.

On the verge of tears, Davy opened the window as carefully as possible, not so loud to alert the men outside the door. Once on the fire landing outside the window, he motioned for Peter to follow. "C'mon." He hissed.

"You go, and I'll distract them." He hissed back.

"No!"

Peter grabbed a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. "Go catch a taxi and get out of here!" He shut the window before Davy could say anything more.

Davy almost knocked on the window to protest, but that's when he heard Peter answer the men, and he figured he'd better make himself scarce. Cursing under his breath, he stumbled down the stairs and shimmied down the ladder to the sidewalk below.