Part III
By Woolhat's Traveling Mood
beneath his naked back, tried to release the passion building up within him.
Ragged breaths beat down on his chest as the kissing continued downwards, making him moan for longer. He knew he should be quiet, someone might hear, but he couldn't, not when this was happening. There was an overwhelming feeling of vulnerability building up but his arousal forced him to ignore it. "I'm going to make you mine," his companion growled, nibbling at an area just above his hip. "Do anything," Micky panted, eyes tightly shut, "just release me...please."
Rough hands massaged his aching flesh and Micky could no longer moan, overwhelmed with sensation. An earnest kiss on the lips seemed to bring him back to earth and he stared deep into those eyes looking back at him. "Please.” His eyes closed again, his body trying desperately to keep some kind of control on what was happening, and failing.
He felt his legs be nudged apart and he wrapped his arms around the shoulders of his lover to be. He didn't quite know why this was happening, when it had all started and did he really want it, but at that point he would have given anything to be rid of this sweet torture.
He prepared himself for what was to come, eyes still tightly closed. Had he gone too far? Too late now. A sharp pain ran up his spine and he sucked in his breath and bit his lower lip. It hurt and it felt too strange. A whimper escaped his throat and the movement slowed, getting gentler, and then slowly dissolving into a rhythm. At first, Micky wanted to stop but as the rhythm grew faster, an immense feeling overtook him, building up from below. He moaned again, unsure, at that point, where the pain stopped and the pleasure began. Faster and harder, making his head spin. At first, when he needed to release, everything was too slow and agonizing. Now it seemed to be going too quickly and all he could feel was a growing pressure. He gave a quick, sharp cry and came, shortly followed by his new lover, who collapsed on top of him.
Micky's rhythm of breathing matched his perfectly and they both lay there, the drummer's soft broken body lying motionless.
His lover finally looked him in the eyes again and smiled, brushing a curl from Micky's face.
"I've never had a virgin before," Mike murmured, resting his head on Micky's shoulder.
"I'm glad you approve," Micky tried to get his breathing back to normal, "I just hope no one heard us."
He received a kiss on the ear as a reply, hot and delicious. He never knew Mike could be like that, so
passionate, so teasing. It was mind blowing.
Peter lay back on his bed, pounding a baseball against the bottom of the bed above. He was bored out of his mind and it almost hurt. He had no creative release anymore, nothing that was brain stimulating and no friends around. Just as he was about to enter a deep well of self-pity, Davy strolled in and crawled into Micky's hammock, deliberately swinging it into a gentle rhythm.
"Hi," Peter looked up, relieved that he finally had someone he knew nearby.
"Hi.” Davy said, monotone. His face held no expression and he just stared ahead mostly, lost to another world.
"What's up?"
"Nothing."
"Where's Micky and Michael?"
"Dunno, don't care."
"Sorry I spoke."
Peter went back to pounding the upper bed with the baseball, trying to concentrate on the ball only, and trying to hide all feelings away.
There was silence for a while, save for the continual pounding and Davy gradually allowed his eyelids to droop and soon he was lost in a blissful, ignorant sleep.
Peter was tempted to follow suit, but just as he began to bury his head in his pillow, he heard the sound of laughter. The noises grew closer, strange noises he hadn't heard in a long time, and, at length, Mike and Micky entered. Mike stood and surveyed the room, hands firmly on his hips, with Micky hovering around him, their close proximity even stranger than their laughter.
Mike's eyes were bright and sparkling and even though his mouth didn't show it, he was smiling. Micky's hair was wilder than usual; looking as if it was partying to a rock and roll album all on its own, and his face held the grin Mike managed to contain.
"What's up?” Mike cooed cheerily,
"Why are you so cheery?” Peter immediately shot back.
"No reason, can't a guy be happy for once?"
"Not when it's you."
Mike shrugged and perched on a nearby bench, silently beckoning Micky to sit beside him. They sat together, holding a silent conversation with silly smiles and suggestive body language, but it went unnoticed by the other two.
Mike was unprepared for what happened next, and he cursed himself with gritted teeth. He knew the peaceful moments couldn't last, and they didn't. The news about him and Micky hadn't escaped yet, so to the rest of the world, Micky was free and ready for taking - and that was just what they were going to do.
Mike looked up from his bench seat as Nick, a nasty, thirty-something arms keeper, who thought he ruled the world, and probably did, stalked in and eyed the scene before him. His face immediately cracked a grin and he pointed at Micky, motioning him to come closer. The drummer immediately refused, glancing nervously at Mike, and then everything began to spiral mercilessly downhill. Nick grew restless. "Come here Curly.” He spoke this time, his words gashing the air mercilessly.
Micky shook his head again and averted his gaze, hiding from his worst nightmare. He didn't quite know why Nick would want him. Maybe he had done something wrong? Or not cleaned up somewhere? But, deep down, he had a shrewd suspicion of something a lot more sinister.
Nick began towards Micky, and Mike immediately leapt to his feet, shadowing his new lover with primitive possessiveness.
"I don't want to talk to you Stork, my query's with the fuzzy one.” Nick flashed his yellowing teeth as he issued his first and last warning. Mike merely remained where he was, adamant to keep Micky from all
harm - it was almost his duty.
By now, various droogs had gathered behind Nick and he basked in an undefined glory; he would have what he wanted. He tried asking Micky to follow once again, but Micky just ignored eye contact and gazed at the floor, hoping it would swallow them up.
"Leave him alone. Why don't you just fuck off?!” Mike finally growled, standing rigid like a marble statue. Nick was silent for a minute and then just threw his head back and laughed, cruel and evil, and it echoed off the cold steel walls.
One of the cronies stepped forward to claim Micky on behalf of Nick and that's when organized chaos merely became a jumbled mess of madness and fear.
Mike rammed his fist against the opposing sailor's jaw, sending him tumbling backwards into the wall. Blood dribbled from his lower lip, but apart from that, he was unharmed.
The Texan pushed Micky further back behind him as he let out a couple more punches, but he knew from the start that he was doomed. All at once, three burly shipmates descended on him, and he was on the ground in seconds. Occasionally he would kick out and hit for all he was worth, but the
constant kicks and beatings from his assailants soon drained him of all energy.
Micky quickly grabbed one droog around the throat, but he was easily shaken off and ceased by one of the others. By this time, Davy had woken up and he watched what was happening with a strange feeling rumbling in his stomach. Something told him that this wasn't right, even in his unemotional state, and he went on his gut instincts. The Englishman leapt down and grabbed Micky firmly by the
wrist, dragging him to the nearest door, trying to take him as far away as he could, but it was impossible. The whimpering drummer was dragged back beside Nick and Davy was slammed in the chin by an iron fist, sending him sprawling on the floor.
Mike's beating finally stopped, a pool of blood spawning on the floor, and the guitarist lay motionless, curled up in a fetal position.
"Good.” Nick beamed, grasping Micky's upper arm, "I got what I want, " And with that, he left, dragging Micky behind and being escorted by his followers.
**********************
There was a constant pounding, a solemn drumbeat playing in his head and his arms felt like cement.
Mike wearily opened his eyes and immediately gazed into two caramel spheres, looking back at him with the tiniest hint of warmth.
"I think he's coming round," Peter murmured to Davy, who was perched on Mike's other side. The bassist cradled Mike in his arms, nursing his head with a wet flannel, washing some of the blood away.
"You're lucky you weren't killed!” He scolded his patient, but there was a glimmer of compassion in his voice.
"Micky.” Mike mumbled, tossing his head and wishing he hadn't, "Where's Micky?"
"He went with Nick, God knows where he is, but don't worry about him now, you're the one on death's door."
Peter knew he was dramatizing slightly, but it was the only way to get Mike to listen. The three of them were silent as they remained on Peter's bed. Mike noted that it was still daylight, so he couldn't have been unconscious that long.
"We didn't take you to the MO, we thought it better if we handled it ourselves, we don't need to get anyone involved.” Peter said in his new authority role, watching Davy's nod of agreement. The singer's chin hurt and it was swollen, but at that moment, he was more concerned about
Mike...and Micky - wherever he was.
That night, Mike lay still in his bed. He was grateful that he hadn't broken any bones. He knew that Nick's followers were practiced at their art - they could cause the maximum pain with the least amount of damage. Occasionally he heard a far off cry, whimpering in the night. He was sickened and felt so guilty, knowing that only a couple of rooms away was his lover, and he could do nothing about the
indescribable things they were doing to him.
Mike faced out into the room, tired of looking at a wall and finally allowed his black and blue eyes to close, but sleep alluded him, and there was no need to ask why. Slowly, a lone tear trickled down his swollen face, running over the bridge of his nose and plopping, with a light thud, on his pillow.
He heard the gentle creak of the bed below and assumed Peter must be having a sleepless night too.
Suddenly he felt a cold draft as his blanket slid from his body and was replaced. Then there was an incredible warmth and a softness brushed his cheek. Mike growled at the thought that it was probably his pain induced daze that was making him imagine things, but when he opened his eyes, he was pleased to find that he was wrong.
Almond eyes gazed back at him, red rimmed but smiling, and Micky touched noses with Mike, another simple, silent sign of affection.
"I didn't wake you did I?” He whispered, his voice strained with grief.
Mike shook his head and attempted to wrap his arm around Micky's hips. Micky hissed slightly, wounded by the night's escapades, but allowed Mike to hold him - they both needed it.
Micky nuzzled Mike's neck and kissed the softness he found there, happy to find himself back in the arms of someone who actually cared for him. His suspicions had been confirmed and he was now Nick's property, but they couldn't deny him this, the one feeling he craved more than anything. He and Mike would meet secretly if they had to, just like earlier that day when he lost his virginity to the Texan in the disused potato and grain store. He had never had such a feeling of adrenaline before and he was more than willing to try it again.
He felt a burning guilt for all the pain he had caused, especially when he saw the extent of Mike's injuries, but he hoped that in the near future, he could make it up to him. Micky kissed the tip of Mike's nose and found that his weary soldier was already asleep, and with that, Micky settled down to join him; at least in their dreams they could be together.
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