Part II
By Woolhat's Traveling Mood
Suddenly there was a loud cough and Mike was wide-awake again. "Can't you can it Mick?” He growled, peering down over the side of his bunk at Micky, who had snagged Peter's bed, due to the blond working tonight preparing some fancy dinner for the Captain and his friends.
"S...sorry...Mi.” He spluttered again and stuffed a tissue up his nose. Mike rolled his eyes and clambered down, giving up all hope of sleeping. Micky looked at him with gummy eyes and gave a weak smile. "I didn't mean to wake you,"
"Couldn't sleep anyway," Mike crouched by Micky's bedside.
"I feel like shit," Micky coughed and Mike gave a sympathetic nod. He leant forward, kindness in his usually unreadable eyes, and brushed some hair from Micky's forehead, feeling his temperature in the process. Micky closed his eyes, enjoying the amiable contact and wished he could have more.
"You're still a bit warm," Mike whispered, but Micky's eyes remained closed. The drummer wanted to sleep, but wanted Mike to be there with him and it was in this twilight zone that he didn't notice Mike leaning closer and it was only a warmth on his cheek that brought him back to Earth. He opened his eyes to find Mike leaning back again. His natural instincts wanted to question the kiss, but somewhere deep down he already knew, or thought he knew. He wanted to believe that Mike loved him as more than just a friend; he didn't want to know if Mike loved him as someone would a child, and so he left the question unanswered. The kiss felt like the kind he would receive from his mother and that disheartened him and his smile dropped; he didn't want to be mothered, he wanted to be loved.
"What's up?” Mike cocked his head to the side questioningly.
"I can't sleep - I feel real sick,"
"You should see the Medical Officer - give you some painkillers,"
"No."
Mike shook his head, tutting lightly under his breath and leant forward again to stroke Micky's cheek soothingly; hardly realizing he was doing it. Micky wanted to pull him closer, but hesitated. Mike was doing it out of sympathy that's all, he didn't see the drummer as anything more than a little child, and Micky knew it. But there was no harm in testing his theory; he wanted to be wrong.
Micky wriggled under the blankets and looked at Mike with misty eyes. "I'm cold," He whispered, pretending to shake.
"Do you want my blanket?"
"No."
"What, then?"
Micky didn't want to answer him and just kept looking at him longingly. Mike blew the air out of his cheeks and looked around to see if they had woken anyone else. He gave a snort, it would take an earthquake to shift them, and there wasn't much chance of that. "Shove up," He murmured, wavering his hand.
Micky scooted over until he was against the wall and turned to welcome Mike into his bed.
"I'm gonna have to put my arms around you, ya know. This bed ain't too big.” The Texan warned and
Micky nodded happily, allowing those long arms to encircle his waist. "You're gonna catch my cold now," Micky whispered nasally,
"Good - might get some time off work, now go to sleep," Mike closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Micky snuggled into those arms and smiled, he was definitely warmer now and the steady beat of Mike's heart, with its gentle rhythm, gradually coaxed him into sleep.
Micky woke the next morning alone and stuffy. He hoped that it wasn't just a wonderful dream and was pleased to find that that was not the case. Taped to his shoes on the floor was a note:
Have gone to radio room for shift. Left you to sleep off illness. Have told someone to cover you.
Get well shotgun, - Mike.
Micky smiled and lay his head back in his pillow, closing his eyes and welcoming dreams that included a new evolving fantasy. Mike would look after him and maybe something would come of this dreadful voyage after all.
~~~
Davy stood paralyzed under the stream of hot water from his shower. It was like a slap in the face but it was at least refreshing. He didn't want to look down at the bruises that covered his body, nor the pain from being touched and merely enjoyed the solitude of the moment. He was pleased that he had snagged the only shower with a curtain and it was a relief to be hidden away. The water gently rolled off the curves of his tanned shoulders, over his chest and down his legs where it washed away the filth he felt he had accumulated.
He didn't quite know how he could let this happen to himself. He hated being pushed around; never obeying any of his peers, but this was different. These guys didn't care if he protested or not. When it came down to it, they were bigger and stronger and he could do nothing to prevent it from happening so he should just get on with it. He rubbed himself thoroughly with soap and swallowed back a tear that was threatening to spill; he was not going to be so stupid, that's what he had to keep telling himself, despite how much it all hurt.
He was just forgetting everything as he allowed the water to wash away his cares when a gust of wind suddenly blew down his back and he realized the curtain had been opened. He had his back to the curtain and didn't bother to turn around or even open his eyes. "Can't you see the shower's taken arsehole?” He growled.
"It's not the shower I'm after.” Came the reply, but the voice was made indistinguishable by the sound of the pounding water.
Before Davy could react, the water was shut off and he turned terrified eyes to face the intruder, knowing full well the vulnerable state he was in.
Coffee eyes gazed back at him and Davy clutched his heart, giving a small sigh of relief.
"Mike, what the hell are you doin'?” He scolded the young man sharing the stall with him.
Mike looked at him blankly, seemingly saddened by the black and blue spots that dotted Davy's small frame. Slowly the Texan closed the curtain, giving them a meager glimpse of privacy.
Davy gave a questioning look. It was a strange atmosphere. What did Mike want? He was standing fully clothed in his shower stall and Davy suddenly realized just how naked he was.
Finally Mike took a breath to speak. "You've been avoiding me like the plague. I don't need to guess why, I thought this was the only place where you can't run, not unless you want the whole ship to see your butt."
Davy glowered but stayed where he was. "So what do you want?"
"To help you.” Davy gave a snort and a false laugh that hurt Mike, but angered him just as much.
"Why won't just quit being such a asshole yourself and let me help you?"
"Because I don't want to see you hurt!"
Mike's mouth shut and he looked calmly at his old friend. "Davy."
~~~
Micky lay back in Peter's bed and smiled. His cold had gradually got better during the day, and he couldn't help but spend every minute thinking of Mike. He decided that he could do with a quick sleep to ease a growing headache but was quickly interrupted by Peter's return.
"Get out of my bed," He snarled,
"I'm sick," Micky pouted playfully,
"Fucking lazy!” Peter was turning nasty. "Anyway, I got this for you," and he threw a piece of paper at the bewildered drummer. Micky quickly opened it and read what was scrawled on it:
Mick, come to radio room D as soon as you get this, bring a pillow - Mike.
Micky looked quizzically at Peter but he just shrugged in an unhelpful manner, while trying to drag Micky off of his bed.
~~~
The corridors never ceased to amaze Micky as they wound around the ship. He found himself continually climbing stairs. Finally he found the room and entered slowly. It was engulfed in darkness and the only light was a lime green glow from the radar.
"Oh, hey Mick," Mike smiled, looked up from some paperwork on his desk.
"Hey, I got your..."
"Oh that, yeah."
"Well? What did you want me for?"
"Well, I'm on duty tonight and I thought that just in case you got real sick, you might need me nearby, and I couldn't leave the radio room so I thought you could sleep up here." Mike lied.
Micky was going to protest, claiming that he was a lot better, but corrected himself. Why on earth would he pass up the opportunity to spend the night in a nice warm room with just him and Mike?
There was an armchair in the corner for the really long shifts and Micky made himself comfortable, dragging Mike's seaman's coat over himself for extra warmth.
"Comfortable?” Mike smiled.
"Uh huh, very snug.” Micky gave a cheeky grin and settled further into the chair. He didn't want to question Mike about the fact that he wasn't technically allowed in the radio room for longer than a few seconds, let alone to sleep in it, so he just lay back and watched Mike work. "You sure have a lot of shifts," He murmured,
"Yeah, we have them for mornings, afternoons, evenings and nights. The one who did the afternoon does the night too. It works out fair in the end."
"But you left early this morning? Where did you go if you weren't working?"
"I had to see Davy."
"Why?"
"Ain't you supposed to be sleeping? I got work to do!"
"Why did you see Davy, Mike?"
Mike could feel himself reaching the end of his tether, but simply took a deep breath and turned to face Micky properly, giving the same look that he would give to a child. "Micky. If you don't go to sleep right now and quit yappin' I'll throw you out so quick your feet won't touch the ground."
Micky gave him a sarcastic look and straightened his mouth into a thin line, trying to look intimidating, but his cheeky face gave him away. The room buzzed with a ticking clock and various beeps of radio equipment and it added a strange atmosphere, mainly one of contentment. Micky couldn't resist falling asleep, the warmth of the room engulfing him like a giant quilt.
Mike continued with his work, but couldn't concentrate properly. He was divided between telling Micky that his ass was in danger, and keeping quiet so as not to panic him. Mike didn't want what was happening to Davy to happen to Micky too and guilt gnawed at him. If Micky stayed unaware, he could be more vulnerable and that was not what Mike intended. Then again, if he claimed Micky as his own, then the drummer may not be in so much danger of being picked off, he would be second hand, and less valuable. Mike looked out of the corner of his eye, attracted by the soft breaths of his companion. With so much to think about, how could he possibly think about work?
~~~
Davy wandered down the empty corridor and tried to rid his head of the endless nagging voices. It was too quiet, something was going to happen, and he didn't like the endless anxiety grinding away in his stomach. He seemed to be lost in some strange game, as if God was playing a game of chess with him as one of the pieces, and God was losing. He hated the fact that no matter what he tried, he could
not escape the event of surrendering every ounce of power he had. He thought about the conversation he had had in the morning with Mike.
It was nighttime now, and he hoped he would get to the dormitories, maybe have some sleep. But deep down, he knew he wouldn't get there anytime soon. He felt so mixed up. After he had spoken with Mike, he had felt slightly better. He had never really got on that well with the Texan, but now it seemed that he really cared and that meant a lot to Davy, even if Mike couldn't do anything to stop what was happening. Then again, Mike hadn't really tried to stop it, and it was these conflicting thoughts that made Davy feel nauseous with confusion. Then the inevitable happened.
A low whistle wound itself around the corridor, bouncing off of the walls and Davy closed his eyes in dread. A few seconds later, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, making him jump slightly, despite the fact that he was expecting it.
"Hello Frank," Davy whispered nervously as he turned to face the older man before him.
"Bit jumpy aren't ya Jones?"
"No."
"Seems that way to me. No one bothering you are they?"
"No."
"Good."
Frank gripped the crook of Davy's arm and began to herd him towards the end of the corridor. "No!” Davy pulled his arm away and turned to run but was grabbed again, this time receiving a sharp slap round the jaw as well.
"You better start behaving yourself tiny, no use making waves.” And once again, Davy was dragged down the corridor, his feet refusing to follow his body, making him stumble. His whole body wanted to resist the torture that would almost routinely tear him apart and he knew that he couldn't take much more until he became completely numb and void of emotion.
At the end of the corridor, there were two doors. One led up a flight of stairs to the kitchens and stores, the other led down, towards the punishment cells. No one was authorized to go down there, but when did that stop them? Davy was pushed forward into the darkness of the second door and he almost choked in it. He groped for the rail made of rope to guide him down the narrow metal stairs
until he reached the lower floor. By now he had given up all hope of escaping. Once he was down there, Frank was joined by various cronies, all flashing less than perfect teeth, wanting more than just a look.
Davy felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a huge truck. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no one to save him.
"Right," Frank smiled, pushing Davy towards one of the two punishment cells, its door slightly ajar, "Down to business."
Davy felt his arms grow limp of their own accord and his eyelids droop, his body ceremoniously surrendering, all hope drained.
The cell was so narrow that it made Davy remember when Mike had crept into his shower stall, the same close proximity applied. Hang on a minute, Davy's brain restarted, here he was with a man about to fuck him to kingdom come and all he's thinking about is Mike. Davy shook his head, his thoughts becoming twisted and manipulated in his head. He put it down to girl starvation. When they were back at the pad, he always had a girl, and now he was on complete cold turkey, that's all it was. Davy felt like he was falling into some twilight zone, his thoughts were so screwed up that he couldn't keep track of what was happening. Or was it his mind doing it on purpose, to spare him the grief of this torture? He didn't know anymore.
He felt a hardness press into his back and he swallowed hard. Ah yes, how could he forget that. Frank breathed down his neck as he craftily undid Davy's shirt buttons. Davy didn't feel any sensation whatsoever, or forbade himself to. He didn't want to feel that horrible sick and dirty feeling because some strange man had made him aroused, but he couldn't fight it off forever. Soon he was naked, and a strong hand gripped him and started a rhythm, making him moan involuntarily, no matter how much he tried not to. He hadn't noticed that Frank had got undressed too, but soon he would be made very aware of it.
There was a bed that ran along the wall, but it was just a flat piece of wood jutting out of the wall, no mattress. Frank forced Davy face down on it, and prepared for the moment he had been waiting for all day. Davy clutched the edge of the bed, his knuckles turning white as Frank entered him, painfully and forcefully, enjoying the power and the feeling of ecstasy. Davy cried out once, but was brutally yanked by his hair, so he never did again, instead, biting his bottom lip until it began to bleed. Tears he had tried to hide for so long overflowed from his eyes as the pounding continued. It was a one-way situation. Frank got all the pleasure and Davy got all the pain. Davy's mind screamed out everything that he believed was right and told him that he shouldn't be a victim like this, but he had no choice.
Davy's knees began to ache from being forced on the hard wood, as Frank's movements grew more erratic, still rough and grinding, and so hard. Soon Frank came and he collapsed on top of Davy, who was frantically trying to wipe the tears from his face. He wasn't going to look so weak in front of these bastards, never.
Then it happened. Just like a firecracker going off in his head. The pain went, the confusion went, and so did all emotions. His features straightened and he gazed into the distance, his mind detached from his body. He didn't feel anything any longer. He would still let his body be tortured like this, but his brain didn't care anymore. For a moment Davy had no thoughts at all, as if his head had been blasted from the inside and he now had a large black space instead. No one can hurt a black space. He didn't give a fuck what they did to him now; it didn't hurt anymore. His brain was detached from everything and he felt nothing, all had been destroyed.
Frank stood, almost inclined to brush himself off, and dressed slowly. Once he had finished, he turned to Davy, still huddled on the bed, face vacant, and gave his head a gentle pat. "Good boy," he grinned, and stepped outside of the door, cooing the phrase, "Right, who's next?"
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