"So? ' Ave you talked to 'im yet?" It was obvious from the tone of Davy's voice that he was almost out of patience.

Mike didn't answer. He stood at the window and stared silently at the curly-haired man on the beach below. Micky had changed so much in the past month or two that Mike hardly knew him anymore. He'd always been the one Mike could count on, the second-in-command of the group. The two of them had made a great team - both in and out of the bedroom they shared. At least they had until lately.

Davy stepped up to join him at the window. "So, what's 'e doing now?"

The little prick knew exactly what Micky was doing. He could see with his own eyes that Micky was stretched out on a blanket with a girl on either side of him, laughing as they teased him with kisses and ran their fingers through his thick, dark curls. Mike felt the all too familiar pang of jealousy as he watched, and he wanted to strangle the little Englishman who taunted him.

"Don't you have somewhere to go?" It sounded more like a directive than a question.

It wasn't that Davy was trying to be cruel. To tell the truth, he felt a little sorry for Mike. But dammit, he was frustrated that Mike wasn't putting a stop to the nonsense. Micky was totally out of control. In the past few weeks, Micky had missed more practices and been late for more gigs than Davy could remember. The old Mike would've never put up with it. But then, the old Mike hadn't been in love with Micky.

"If it was me or Peter acting that way, you would 'ave done something by now."

Mike's body stiffened slightly as he tried to pretend he hadn't heard. So Davy and Peter thought he'd gone soft, huh? Well, they just didn't understand. Micky was so… so…

As if on cue, Micky stood and began walking toward the house. His long, slim legs moved gracefully over the sand and he turned to flash one of his lethal smilesat the girls. Mike turned away from the window. Beautiful was the word.

"Peter's waiting for me out front," Davy said. "Here's your chance to 'ave it out with Micky."

The front door closed just as Micky stepped inside.

"Hey, Mike," Micky greeted him amiably as he hurried across the room.

Mike cleared his throat and moved toward the sofa. "Come over here a minute, Mick. I wanna talk to you."

Micky tried to brush past him. "Not now, Mike. I got two girls waitin' for me on the beach. I just came in to take a leak."

Mike grabbed his arm, abruptly stopping his progress. "You can go back to your little girlfriends AFTER we talk."

Okay, Mike was definitely pissed. He had every right to be upset, but Micky didn't feel like hearing a lecture just then. Good thing he knew a surefire method for diffusing Mike's anger. He reached up and fingered the collar of Mike's shirt.

"Are you mad at me," he purred, moving his body close to Mike's and looking up at him with his most innocent expression.

"C'mon, Micky, don't do that," Mike said, pushing his hand away. "This is serious. You missed another practice, man."

"I know." Micky tried to look as remorseful as possible. "I'm sorry, Mike."

Damn. He was rubbing his warm body against Mike and sliding his fingers across Mike's chest. And why the hell did he have to have that adorable little pout on his face?

"I won't do it again, Mike. I promise."

Strong, slender arms encircled Mike's waist as Micky's soft kisses caressed his face. It was no use. There was absolutely no way he could be stern with Micky - not when Micky was like this. He pulled him close into a deep, hot kiss that made his legs feel weak. And when it was over, Micky pulled away and bounded for the door, forgetting all about the bathroom.

"See ya later, Mike."

"Serves you right, asshole," Mike berated himself. "You're nothin' but a spineless jellyfish."

"So," Peter asked as soon as Davy met him at the sidewalk. "What do you think Mike's gonna do?"

Davy snorted. "Same thing he's been doing, I suppose. Nothing."

"I don't know, Davy. The band's pretty important to Mike."

"Yeah, so is Micky."

Peter nodded agreement. "I'm hip. I just don't think he'll put up with this much longer."

Davy wasn't so sure about that. He'd witnessed a little scene yesterday morning that kept returning to play in his mind. Mike had wanted Micky to learn the vocals to a new song he'd written, but Micky had had other plans. Davy had watched through the crack in his bedroom door, waiting for the inevitable explosion. But instead of arguing, Micky had maneuvered Mike back toward the old leather chair and eased himself onto his lap, letting his bottom sink to the cushion between Mike's legs until they were almost eye-to-eye.

"If you want me to stay here and practice all day, then that's what I'll do … whatever you want, Mike."

Micky had rested the side of his head against Mike's shoulder, working his slender fingers into Mike's thick hair and pulling him close. Davy had turned away while they kissed, feeling more than a little guilty for spying on them. The sound of Micky's voice had made him look back again.

"I just need to go out for a little while, Mike," he'd explained sweetly. "What if I promise to be back an hour before practice? Then you and I can work on the vocals until Davy and Peter come home."

Silence.

"You know how much I love singin' the songs you write."

Davy had stared in astonishment. When had Micky gotten so bloody good at manipulating Mike that way? To his utter amazement, Mike had simply sat back and watched as Micky stood up and walked out the door.

The memory faded enough to allow the sound of Peter's voice to penetrate, jolting Davy back into the present.

"If you ask me, Micky's just pushing Mike to see how far he can go."

"Don't be ridiculous, Peter. Micky's not that brave."

"I'm not saying he's doing it consciously. I just think that deep down, he wants the old Mike back as much as we do."

"Whatever. All I know is that after missing practice so much, Micky better be damn good at the gig tonight."

"And what if he isn't?"

"If Mike doesn't kill him, I will."

"This is all your fault, you know!" Davy was almost shouting.

"He's right, Mike," Peter agreed. "You've been letting him get away with murder."

Mike was rightfully indignant. "Why, exactly, is this MY responsibility? Micky's a grown man!"

"Well, he sure isn't acting like one," Peter argued. "And it's your responsibility 'cause you're the leader. Micky'll listen to you."

"Yeah, if you ever get around to talking to 'im!"

Why was everyone blaming him? It wasn't his fault Micky didn't show up for the gig!

"Screw this," Mike announced loudly.

"Where are you going?"

"Out!" Mike jammed his hands into his black leather riding gloves and grabbed the keys for his motorcycle. He turned his back to the incredulous expressions on Davy and Peter's faces and slammed the door behind him.

Two hours of riding and thinking cleared his head enough to allow him to admit the truth in what his friends said. He knew in his heart that Micky was walking all over him - and that it was time to put an end to it.

He meant to announce his new resolve to Davy and Peter immediately, but he discovered upon his return that they'd apparently gone out for the evening. The car was gone and the house was completely dark. Mike stripped off his gloves and dropped them onto the kitchen table before pouring himself a tall glass of iced tea. He probably wouldn't need the caffeine to stay awake tonight, but he wasn't taking any chances. He wanted to be fully alert when Micky arrived. He gulped the tea and turned resolutely toward the stairs when a sudden thought occurred to him. He snatched his riding gloves from the kitchen table before proceeding upstairs to wait impatiently for his errant lover to come home.

Micky unlocked the door and tiptoed inside as quietly as possible. His roommates would all be asleep at this hour and the last thing in the world he wanted was to wake them. They'd probably lay into him pretty bad. He'd never meant to miss the gig, but oh, those two lovely ladies had double-teamed him, and how was he supposed to pay attention to the time? He still had a slight buzz from all the alcohol he'd consumed and the reefer he'd smoked. It all contributed to that delicious, just-fucked high he was on, and he didn't want anything to spoil it. Pulling his boots off at the front door, he slipped into the downstairs bathroom to get ready for bed.

Moving as silently as a cat, Micky made his way toward the stairs. He peered into the downstairs bedroom as he passed and was surprised to find it empty. Hmmm…maybe the guys were still out. Dressed for bed in his t-shirt and underwear, he dropped his jeans and shirt on the floor and crept in stocking feet up to his room - to find Mike waiting for him inside.

He was startled by the loud click of the lamp switch and the low light suddenly flooding the room. Mike was sitting backward on a stray wooden chair that had found its way upstairs years ago. The way he was sitting, legs apart and arms crossed resting on the back of the chair, stirred something in Micky. After the action the girls had given him, he would not have expected to be ready again so soon.

"Damn, Mike, you nearly scared me to death,"

"Have a nice evening?" Mike said, ignoring Micky' s attempt at levity.

"You wouldn't believe the night I had," He knew what Mike was getting at but the best idea seemed to be to feign ignorance of his mistake.

"Mmmm. You wouldn't believe mine, either. Nothin' like getting screamed at for half an hour by an irate club owner"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Mick. You know damn good and well what I mean," Mike said in a conversational voice as he rose from the chair.

Micky moved close to Mike and looked up at him with his best repentant expression, the one that always worked.

"I'm sorry, I guess I just lost track of time."

"You're gonna have to do better than that."

"Why don't you let me make it up to you," Micky said, hooking a finger in the waistband of Mike's jeans and pulling him closer.

It was happening again. It would be so easy to give in to this invitation, to kiss those waiting lips and all over that beautiful body. Micky's dark, sparkling eyes were practically begging for it. No! This very weakness was what led up to all the problems they'd been having lately. He gathered his resolve and grabbed Micky's hands, holding them with one of his own before stepping forward and pulling the t-shirt over his head and down to his wrists.

Micky watched without any struggling while his hands were bound with the shirt. Someone must be feeling aggressive tonight. He noticed that Mike had on his driving gloves. Just what did he have in mind?

"Take those off." Mike said, gesturing at the remaining bit of clothing Micky still wore.

"Maybe you should do it for me."

"Mick...." came the response in a tone that suggested a shortage in patience.

Oh, he was very good. Mike was having to work a little harder at maintaining his composure. He managed to keep up an impassive expression as he watched Micky make as big a show as he could of removing the plain, white underwear, smiling seductively at him the entire time. Later. He would have to wait until later.

"Now, what was that about making it up? I know you can make it up to me, but what about Davy and Peter?" Mike asked, as he reached out to guide his confused friend across the room.

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"We have tried everything to get you to show up on time and quit fuckin' around," Mike said, placing a thick folded towel over the back of the chair. "Do you have any idea how fast the word gets around when a band is unreliable? We've worked too hard just to let it be thrown away. You can't keep doin' this to us."

"What is all...Hey!" Micky abruptly found himself bent over the back of the chair. It was just high enough that his feet came off the floor and Mike had to steady him with one hand.

"What are you doing? Let me up!" He demanded, while squirming wildly.

"No. This is the only way I can get your attention," Mike said. In his awkward position and with his hands bound, Micky was easily subdued.

"What are you going to do?"

"You've been actin' like a spoiled brat, so I'm gonna treat you like one."

What did that mean? Micky got his answer when the first snap of the belt against his ass split the silence.

"OW!"

"Quiet!"

"No! You'd better let me up right now!"

"Or what?" SNAP! Another whack of the belt. "You brought this on yourself. If you'd just listened when I tried to tell you..."

Mike looked at the two pink stripes on the pale skin. He traced one with a gloved finger. It was astounding how far he had let things go. Well, no more of that. He was taking charge again, and the sooner that fact was acknowledged, the sooner they could get this nastiness over with.

"Now, the way I see it, you owe us each about five whacks for all your bullshit."

"Fuck you!"

WHACK!

"If you'd just cooperate, we could get this over with it."

"No!"

Mike sighed. He didn't really want to do this, but now that it was started, it had to be finished. If he showed any sign of weakness now, there would never be any hope of getting things under control. He looked at the belt. It was wide and thick. Perfect for this job. He had found it in the bottom of his closet, a remainder from the days when they had sported matching outfits to all the gigs. (What on earth had they been thinking?) He drew back and began to bring the leather down on Micky's behind at regular intervals, like the ticking of a massive clock. The blows gradually got harder until they had the desired effect. When he began to hear quiet sniffles, he stopped.

"Micky?"

"What?" He was trying not to sound like he was crying, but it was nearly impossible. Man! His ass felt like it was on fire! How had this happened? Maybe he had been kind of slack lately ...ok, really slack, but still. Mike had been doing whatever Micky wanted him to do, (and boy, hadn't that been easy after they'd been together awhile?) Now he had suddenly reverted to his old self and then some.

"Are you ready to listen?"

"Ok," he replied in a small voice.

"You got no self-control, but you'd better find some fast. You're gonna get five for each of us and you better keep track. If I ask how many and you don't know, that's five more, plus I'll start over."

It happened just as promised. Micky's firm little ass twitched with each kiss of the leather, fueling the spark of guilt that singed the edges of Mike's conscience. This was about the band, Mike told himself; but deep down, he knew it was more. As much as he would have liked to deny it, Mike knew that this was personal too.

Micky gritted his teeth as he stifled the urge to cry out. Now and then he was asked the count and he always had it. At last, they reached the magical number of 15. Just as he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, Mike gave him some unfortunate news.

"I was thinkin'."

"Yeah?"

"I should get a few extra just for the way you've been treatin' me."

"What do you mean?"

"Micky I love you, but I really don't like when you play with me just to get what you want."

"I'm sorry, Mike," he said, and he meant it. He'd never been sorrier for anything in his life. It was more rare than a lunar eclipse, but he could actually hear the hurt in the other man's voice.

"I'll tell you what else..."

WHACK!

"I also don't like it…"

WHACK!

"When you parade..."

WHACK!

"Your little girlfriends around in front of me."

WHACK!

"Like it's a big joke or somethin',"

WHACK!

Micky's tears were flowing freely now from a combination of guilt and pain. He heard a thump as the belt was tossed back into the closet and then a rustle and snap as Mike peeled off the gloves. He was lifted gently to his feet and two hands began to caress his wounded backside with a feathery touch. It only looked like he had a bad sunburn, but it felt much worse.

It was all so bizarre. Micky stood motionless - bewildered by what had just taken place. As his head began to clear, he wished for the strength to push Mike away; but Mike's cool hands were soothing against his blazing skin and with his hands still tied together, it was impossible to rub the sting away himself. He took a few deep, stuttering breaths and sniffed softly a couple of times as he struggled to compose himself. Mike's white hanky magically appeared before him, and he used it to wipe away the last of his tears.

"You okay, Mick?"

No, he wasn't okay. His butt hurt like hell.

"Yeah."

The lie seemed to amuse Mike a little. "You sure about that, buddy?" He bent down to look into Micky's downcast eyes.

"That sucked, Mike," Micky whispered.

"I know." Mike brushed the curls back from Micky's forehead and placed a gentle little kiss there. "But you had it comin'."

When Micky didn't react, Mike continued with a series of soft kisses along his brow and the tip of his nose, silently urging Micky to look up at him. When that didn't work, he placed a bent finger under Micky's chin and tried to coax his head up. It was no use. Micky jerked his head to the side, knocking Mike's hand away at the same time.

Stubborn little shit! "Maybe I'd better put those gloves on again," Mike suggested.

That got Micky's attention, all right. He snapped his head up and glared at Mike. "No! You're not gonna do that again!"

"Oh, no?"

"No. I won't let you."

Mike almost laughed out loud. That was a pretty confident statement for someone who was wearing nothing but a pair of socks and had their wrists bound with their own t-shirt. He flicked his index finger against the shirt and let a smile play at the corners of his mouth.

"Under the circumstances, Mick, I'd say it would take me less than thirty seconds to get you over my knee."

He grabbed the fabric binding fast and hard to emphasize his point.

Micky took a giant, frantic step back until the bedroom door stopped his progress. He froze in place and stared at Mike, the fear obvious in his eyes.

Mike moved closer and lifted Micky's wrists, pausing to kiss one of his hands before forcing them over his head and fastening them to the door hook. He could almost hear the pounding of Micky's heart as he pressed his body against him and kissed his smooth cheek.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he whispered.

Micky must have believed him because he didn't try to resist Mike's tender kisses along his ear and neck. He could feel Mike's lips, as soft as the petal of a rose on his sensitive skin, and it gave him goose bumps. All of his nerve endings seemed so much more responsive than ever before.

Mike let go of the soft cotton fabric, knowing it was hooked securely enough to prevent easy escape. He skimmed the tips of his fingers lightly across Micky's palms and along the insides of his arms. Damn, Micky looked great. It wasn't just the fact that he was helpless; it was the sweet, almost innocent expression on his gorgeous face. Mike could never quite define what it was about Micky that made him seem so much like a little boy - yet so obviously a man. As his fingers continued their glide down Micky's sides, they must have tickled him, because Micky giggled suddenly. Mike stared at him a moment in surprise. He loved that sound. Stretching his hands up to lace his fingers with Micky's and pressing the entire length of his own body against him, he forced his lips against Micky's delectable mouth.

"Oh god, Mick," he sighed heavily between kisses, unable to remember when he'd ever wanted anything more.

Micky squirmed and wriggled against him. It was so frustrating not to be able to use his hands. How he wanted to grab fistfuls of Mike's coarse hair and not let go. It seemed he couldn't get enough. He wanted to kiss even harder, to tear Mike's clothes from his body and to feel the heat of Mike's skin against his own. He needed this so badly. His whole body ached to be loved. He struggled so hard against his restraints that Mike backed away suddenly and laughed.

"I thought I told ya to get some self-control."

"C'mon, Mike, this isn't funny. Untie me."

Mike considered it for a moment and made up his mind.

"Nope. Not 'til you've learned your lesson."

Oh man, now what? Micky watched him closely, afraid of what he would try next.

Mike spread his hands on either side of Micky's hips and slid them slowly and firmly down along his legs as he sank to his knees in front of him. He inched forward just close enough to place his hot mouth against Micky's cock.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Micky remembered something and hoped in vain that Mike wouldn't notice it.

Mike scowled slightly and looked up at him.

"You taste like soap," he said.

Micky shifted nervously. "It's probably from that towel you used."

He exhaled in relief when Mike accepted the explanation unquestioningly, and he silently congratulated himself for his quick thinking. Micky had washed before leaving the girls' apartment, carefully lathering away any trace of sex so Mike wouldn't smell it on him when he climbed into bed. He'd never considered the possibility that Mike would notice the scent or taste of the soap.

Micky could feel his legs being forced apart, and an instant later he gasped softly as one tight little ball was sucked into Mike's mouth. Mike seemed to play with it for a while, rolling it around with his tongue before moving on to the other. When he finally released it to slide his tongue along the shaft of Micky's rigid cock, he cupped the compact little sack in the palm of his hand and worked his middle finger over the sensitive skin behind it.

His movements were slow and careful lest he accidentally tip Micky over the edge. He meant to bring him to the brink a few times, just to teach him that he couldn't always expect immediate gratification. And this time, he'd make sure it was a lesson they both enjoyed.

Micky's knees felt like they were made of rubber and his fingers were tingling. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the door, wondering how much more of this he could take. He'd noticed the bulge in the front of Mike's pants - that enormous, swollen cock screaming for release. This had to be torture for him too, so why didn't he just get it over with already? If he dragged this out much longer, he'd be making love to Micky's corpse.

Mike was tickling the tip of Micky's cock with his tongue yet again when he felt Micky's right knee buckle. He grabbed hold of his hips quickly to support him and rose to his feet. Shit! He'd taken this too far. His hands moved swiftly to untie Micky's wrists and he wrapped one arm tightly around Micky's waist and led him to the bed. As soon as Micky sat down, Mike took both his wrists in his hands and rubbed the circulation back into them.

"I'm sorry, babe. I got carried away."

"S'okay," Micky whispered tiredly as he dropped straight back on the bed.

Mike climbed next to him.

"You wanna stop? We don't have to finish, Mick. We can stop right now and go to sleep."

He saw Micky's head shake slightly and heard a faint whisper. He leaned in closer.

"What did you say, Mick?"

Micky grabbed Mike's hair with both hands and pulled his head down until their faces were no more than an inch apart.

"I said NO," Micky stated clearly. "DON'T STOP."

Mike laughed good-naturedly. There was one little matter he still wanted to settle, but it could wait. From the looks of Micky, he'd absorbed all the lessons he was going to for one evening.

Once the fingers in his hair relaxed, Mike stood and began undressing slowly. His eyes never left Micky's, and he was pleased to see the effect this was having on his impatient friend. When he'd finally shed his clothing, he took Micky's hands in his own, lifted him from the bed, and backed toward the chair, beckoning him to follow. He meant to pull Micky onto his lap, but Micky had other ideas. He slid gracefully to the floor and pushed Mike's legs as far apart as he could before creeping forward and taking his enormous, throbbing cock into his mouth. As he began to barely graze the surface of the head with his tongue, he felt hands become entangled in his hair, carefully encouraging him to go down yet farther. Micky was happy to accommodate. He really had been treating his lover badly and now he desperately wanted back in his good graces.

A heavy, contented sigh escaped Mike's throat. Micky must have been holding out on him. Somehow he had managed to take in almost the entire length of his cock. No one had ever done that before. The hot wetness enclosing him was exquisite, and the slight dizziness only enhanced it. He moaned quietly as Micky released him and with his tongue and lips, started tracing up and down the length of Mike's shaft, pausing to give the head special attention before moving on. A hand cradled his balls and gently rolled them against one another as he was once more captured in the moist heat. This time, Micky tried something that was new to them both. Mike let out a moan that could have been heard downstairs if anyone had been there to listen. Micky was making a low sound in his throat, kind of like a growl, and the vibrations it sent along the length of his shaft nearly set Mike off instantly. Micky kept it up for only a few seconds before pulling away completely.

"Mick, are you tryin' to kill me or what?"

"I just want you to have everything," Micky said innocently, as he dug around in a dresser drawer before finding what he needed. He squirted the lube into his hand to warm it a little before applying it to the other man with long, slow, tortuous strokes. Mike let his neck relax and hung his head over the back of the chair, totally absorbed in Micky's attentions. The sensation of lightly carried weight poised above him brought him back to the moment. Micky, who now stood over him with a leg on either side of the chair, favored him again with that seductive smile, but it was different. This time it was no put-on. His eyes glittered hotly with anticipation and wanting. Mike looked on as Micky carefully guided himself onto the swollen rod, now wet with lube. He gripped the back of the chair to help maintain his balance, arched his back and closed his eyes with pleasure as he slid down as far as possible. The display was too much to take just then. Someday soon they would have to try this again, but right now Mike could think of nothing other than fucking Micky until neither of them could go any more.

Micky sighed contentedly as he continued his movements. He should have done this a long time ago. The angle and control enabled him to hit the magic spot every time It wasn't long before he felt hands on his hips, guiding him into a faster, harder rhythm. The old chair creaked in protest from the furious motion and weight upon it. The wood squeaked and wobbled like it was going to come apart, but neither man really noticed. Micky watched Mike's reactions. His head was down and he was wearing an expression that looked more pained than pleasured - but that's the way he always looked during sex. His muscles flexed under a thin sheen of sweat and the sight was just about enough to put Micky over the edge. What finally did it was when he felt one of Mike's hands leave his hip and glide over to roughly squeeze and massage his erection. Micky cried out as he came with what felt like explosive force. That little display was enough to do it for Mike who soon followed suit.

They collapsed wearily into the nearest bed and Micky fell asleep immediately. Mike rolled off to one side, propping his head up with one hand and fixing his bedmate with a curious stare. How did Micky do that? How did he manage to look so angelic when he slept? It was almost enough to make Mike forget about that other nagging problem. Almost.

Oh sure, he'd tried to keep an open mind at first, telling himself that Micky just wasn't the kind of guy who could be faithful to just one person. He was a free spirit, wild and untamable. Well, screw that idea! He'd let Micky get away with that shit a few too many times, and tonight had been the last straw.

Maybe he shouldn't have pretended to believe Micky, but he'd had other things on his mind at the moment. He'd known damn well that taste of soap hadn't come from the towel. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had really happened. Micky had blown off that gig because he was with those girls. And if the rumors around the beach were true, he'd probably fucked the both of them. It wasn't going to happen again - not if Mike had anything to say about it. Starting right here and now, Mike was taking back the wheel.

Micky sighed in his sleep and snuggled closer to Mike, resting his head in the curve of Mike's shoulder. Mike wrapped one arm securely around Micky and bent down to kiss his cheek. Seems that attitude adjustment had done wonders. It was probably going to take more than one time to get things back on the right course, but Mike was prepared to do whatever it took. Micky was definitely worth the trouble.

They sounded better than ever! Davy looked at Peter who just shrugged bemusedly from his position behind the keyboard. The both of them hadn't returned to the pad until after 4 AM. Despite the late hour, they had taken great pains to enter cautiously and silently. There was no way to know what kind of scene they might walk in on. The house had been dark and silent. As they'd skulked across the living room, Davy had paused to look up at the second floor landing. The bedroom door had been closed.

He had let out a tiny snort of disgust. It wasn't hard to imagine what had taken place. No doubt Micky had exercised his bizarre sexual hypnotism, or whatever it was, and Mike had caved right in. Well, they had practice and a gig later that same day, and if Micky decided to blow it off again he would handle things himself. But now, it looked like there would be no need.

They had been rehearsing since late in the morning and things were beginning to wind down. They had gone through all the usual material and even tried out a few new songs, and Micky had never been so with it. Everything went without a hitch.

"That's enough for now," Mike said. "I think we're more than ready for tonight,"

"Sounds good to me," Peter said. "I'm going out to the beach. Wanna go?" He asked Davy.

"No, I think I'm going to take a catnap,"

"Mick, you wanna go? Maybe we can get up a volleyball game or something,"

"Uh, no thanks, Pete. I think I'll just hang around here," Micky replied.

The truth was, he'd be staying fully dressed for a while around these guys. Well, at least until the dozen or so hickies on his chest and thighs went away. Mike had done a good job on those. Micky guessed it was his way of marking his territory. Whatever the meaning, he would rather be awakened by that than an alarm clock's bell, but Mike shouldn't have bothered. After last night, Micky had no interest in straying.

"Suit yourself," Peter replied, and sauntered out the door to the deck.

"I gotta go take care of some things with the club manager and then go check out another place that might want to book us in a few weeks," Mike said, gathering a few items and stuffing them into his pockets. "I'll meet you guys at the gig,"

"Ok," Micky said as he nonchalantly flopped onto the couch and picked up a magazine.

Uh-oh, Davy thought to himself. The last time he said 'ok' we didn't see him again for 18 hours. He caught the glance Mike threw in Micky's direction. He remembered the last time, too. Davy watched as the Texan carefully picked up his riding gloves and slowly and deliberately placed them on his hands. He began smoothing them over each individual finger as he looked at Micky and speared him with a gaze that spoke something only the two of them understood.

Micky's body tensed for a few seconds as he stared at those gloves. Then he looked up at Mike with wide eyes.

"I'll start getting ready right now!"

Mike smiled and bent down to kiss the top of Micky's head.

"Good," he said. "I'd like to skip the foreplay tonight."

Davy watched as Mike headed for the door. He had no idea what that was all about, but who cared? The only thing that mattered was that Mike was back in the driver's seat - exactly where he belonged.