by mickchick
Part I
He'd been dumped again. Beautiful Lisa, the girl he was sure he'd spend the rest of his life with, had left him for someone else. She'd wanted security, and Micky was too wild, too impulsive, and too immature. She hadn't even given him a chance to change, and he would have done anything for her! He sighed and stared down at the floor in front of him.
It had been nearly three weeks since he and Lisa had parted ways, and in that time, Micky had managed to alienate all of his friends with his irritable manner. Even Peter had given up on trying to help him. So here he was with no girlfriend, no family, and no friends. Micky wanted desperately to make things better, but he didn't know how. He was just so miserable and lonely.
A wave of self-pity washed over him and he felt his eyes fill with tears. His slender shoulders shuddered a little as he fought a quiet sob that rose in his throat.
"Mick?"
"Oh, shit," Micky thought. This was a fine time for Mike to come in. Micky had thought he was alone in the house.
When he got no response, Mike moved in closer. He could have sworn that he just saw Micky tremble a little, and he was concerned. Micky was having a hard time with this breakup, and he'd been almost impossible to live with the last few weeks. He'd probably get his head bitten off for his trouble, but he walked over and stood in front of Micky anyway.
"Mick, you okay?"
He couldn't look up. He needed to look up so the tears wouldn't escape, but he didn't want Mike to see his eyes. And then it was too late.
Mike saw the small droplet of water fall from Micky's cheek and disappear into the fabric of his pant leg. He stood perfectly still for a moment as panic set in. He'd never seen Micky cry before, and he was unsure of what he should do. But, as another teardrop fell, instinct took over and Mike sat down next to his friend and put a comforting arm around his shoulders.
The kindness was more than Micky could bear and he broke down into soft, silent sobs. Mike pulled him closer and Micky collapsed weakly against his chest. As Mike sat there holding him, he marveled at his own feelings of strength in the face of Micky's helplessness. He was nearly consumed with a desire to make everything okay again, to make Micky happy. It was simply his role as their leader and he accepted it without question.
When Micky's breathing finally became normal, Mike bent his head forward, brushing his lips gently across the soft, brown curls that lay against his shoulder. He leaned forward still and kissed Micky's closed eyelid, tasting the salt from the tears that clung to his wet lashes.
Micky pulled back slightly and looked up at Mike with startled eyes. This was weird. Mike had never touched him this way before, and something about it didn't feel right.
Mike looked down at him and drew a stunned breath. Why had he never noticed before how attractive Micky was? Why had he never noticed the wide, almond-shaped eyes, the long, dark lashes, the strong, masculine jaw line, the enticing lips that beckoned for his? Without realizing what he was doing or why, he pulled Micky closer and bent his own head down until his lips were just a whisper away from Micky's.
Micky turned his head abruptly, burying his face in the crook of Mike's neck. Warning sirens were sounding in his mind - compelling, alarming demands for him to get up, to run as far from Mike as he could go. But he couldn't move. Despite his fears, he needed the warmth and safety of Mike's strong arms around him. He desperately needed to feel wantedand loved. His heart was pounding wildly and he could feel the beating of Mike's heart against his chest. Mike's fingers were under his chin now, lifting, coaxing him to look up. He lifted his face hesitantly, and felt Mike's warm lips on his own.
Mike was surprised at how sweet Micky tasted. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected because he'd never really thought about it before, but he was pleasantly surprised at the faint hint of peppermint on his breath. He knew, too, that Micky was scared. He could feel his fear in the tension of his body and it made him feel protective. At that moment, he would have done anything to give Micky pleasure.
Sliding his arm out from behind Micky, Mike leaned over him and deftly unbuttoned Micky's shirt. He pressed his lips against Micky's chest and his hot breath sent shivers down Micky's spine. Mike sucked at the taut flesh, moving in steady measures toward Micky's stomach. His nimble fingers worked to undo the belt buckle and unfasten the pants that hindered his progress. To his surprise, Micky reached down to unzip the tight pants himself and slide them down over his narrow hips.
Mike buried his face in Micky's groin, rubbing his nose and lips lightly against the coarse hair and inhaling the sweet scent that was Micky. He could feel Micky grow hard against his cheek and he slid his tongue along the length of Micky's shaft and took the head of his penis into his warm, wet mouth. He couldn't get enough, and he slid his hands under Micky's bottom, wrapping them around the firm little cheeks and using them to tilt his pelvis forward and pull his hips up closer to Mike's face.
Micky tried not to thrust as he exploded in powerful waves of pleasure. When it was over, he fell limply against the back of the sofa and looked up at Mike in amazement. No girl had ever made him feel that way. No girl could have known exactly what to do the way that Mike did. He had to reciprocate! He had to show Mike how great it could be! Just as he sat forward and reached for Mike's belt buckle, they heard the front door open.
Mike stepped away and cursed softly as Peter and Davy came into the house. Micky moved quickly to pull his pants back on and fasten his belt before they saw anything. Good thing too, because Davy immediately headed for the sofa and sat down next to Micky.
"It smells like sex in here," Davy observed.
Mike and Micky looked at each other in alarm. Mike thought quickly.
"That's just one of Micky's experiments," he said.
"Yeah, right," Micky added, "I just finished cleaning it up."
"What was it, Mick," Peter asked.
"A semen-powered rocket," Micky answered.
Mike barely stifled a laugh and Davy looked at both of them in disgust. "You're sick," he declared.
There did seem to be something odd going on here. Mike and Micky were looking at each other as if they shared some kind of secret. And Micky looked better than he had in weeks. There was a certain sparkle in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Davy watched them closely - and wondered. He wished he'd been the one to make Micky look so happy all of a sudden.
Mike noticed the way Davy was watching Micky. He didn't know how he'd missed it before, but it was obvious that Davy wanted him. Strange. If Mike had been inclined to question his own manhood after what just happened, he needn't bother. Davy had obviously wanted the same thing for quite some time.
Micky stood up and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he passed by Mike, Mike reached out and gave his bottom a firm, possessive little slap. Davy saw it and heard it, but aside from a momentary flicker of surprise, there was no discernible reaction from Micky. There was, however, a very clear message from Mike. The look he gave Davy let him know, in no uncertain terms, that Micky was his, and he'd better back off.
Davy was up for the challenge. What had given Mike the idea that he suddenly owned Micky? Davy had been waiting a long time, afraid to make a move on one of his best friends. But something told him that Micky might not be as resistant to the idea as he'd thought. Something about Micky had changed and Davy desperately wanted a piece of him.
He spent much of the evening flirting with Micky, finding any reason to parade in front of him in his tightest pants. Davy knew he looked good. Girls almost never failed to find him irresistible, so why should Micky? It was only a matter of time.
Micky was thrilled to be a part of the group again. He enjoyed the attention immensely, and much to Mike's dismay, he laughed at all of Davy's little jokes and responded wholeheartedly to Davy's playful roughhousing.
Mike bit down on his inner cheek and watched the two with ill-concealed jealousy. Why shouldn't Micky prefer cute, perky little Davy to him? Mike couldn't compete with Davy's good looks or charm. When he'd had enough of watching the two of them together, he stood up and announced grumpily that he was going to bed. Only Peter cared enough to say "good night."
Mike lay in his bed and stared up at the dark ceiling. What the hell had he been thinking? If anyone had told him yesterday that he'd be craving sex with his best friend, he would've punched them. Yet, here he was, wanting Micky with every fiber of his body and feeling completely bummed out because Micky was apparently interested in someone else. He wanted to strangle Davy! He could almost feel his hands around that sturdy little neck, squeezing, squeezing
The bedroom door opened and Micky stepped inside, his toothbrush still stuck in his mouth. He fumbled in the dark for his pajamas and finding them, left the room. Mike wondered where he was going. His mind began spinning out of control as he imagined Micky getting ready to spend the night in Davy's room. He thought of various ways to dispose of Davy's body. As he lay there making plans, the door opened again and Micky came inside.
He could see him in the dark, the faint light of the moon illuminating the edges of his long curls. He imagined the luscious little body hidden deep within the folds of the oversized pajamas. How he longed to hold him and feel his body against every inch of his own.
"Mike?"
Micky's voice sounded soft and hesitant. He was standing at the foot of Mike's bed, watching him, waiting for a reply.
"Yeah, Mick." Mike tried to keep his voice casual, disinterested.
"I want to make you feel good, too."
His voice was sweet and a little shy, and Mike smiled up at him. He lifted the covers with one arm in an invitation. Micky breathed a small sigh of relief and climbed inside.
Micky stood in front of the mirror the next morning, his naked body still dripping with water from the shower. A loud pounding on the bathroom door interrupted him.
"C'mon, Micky. I have to get in the shower!" It was Davy, in a hurry as usual.
"The door's open," Micky called out, spreading shaving cream over his morning stubble.
Davy stepped inside and tried not to stare. Micky had already caught him staring at him before and he didn't want to annoy him. He undressed quickly and turned on the shower when something caught his eye.
"What 'ave you been doing," he asked curiously.
"Whaddya mean?"
"You've got bruises on your butt," Davy said.
"I do?" Micky turned to observe his backside in the mirror. He did indeed have a few small, round black and blue marks. He remembered Mike's hands, squeezing and pulling him up, and he felt the heat rise to his face. But he was an actor, so he shrugged nonchalantly and resumed his shaving. "Why are you looking at my butt," he asked blandly.
Busted! Davy had no good answer for that, so he simply turned away and stepped into the shower.
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