For a week after that, Micky thought things seemed to be better between Mike and Davy. Micky felt like he was living on a cloud: having both his roommates come on to him, and then getting in bed with one of them was more thrilling than he’d ever imagined. Sex with a man wasn’t so different, aside from learning what to do with that great big cock, and he thought that having sex more often could only be a good thing. Davy was always after pussy, but he’d hardly even seen Mike with anyone, woman or man. Maybe that had been the problem all along. Maybe Mike had just needed to get laid.

As far as Mike was concerned, he was very happy that he’d gotten to Micky first and completely confident that he could do it again any time he wanted. He didn’t get so angry when one of the guys made a mistake in rehearsal, and he even loosened up at the gigs they played on the weekend and got a little drunk afterwards. Even Davy seemed less annoying to him now.

Davy didn’t know why Mike was suddenly less of an asshole, but he had his suspicions. He wasn’t upset, just disappointed that Micky didn’t have better taste in men. Then he had to admit to himself that when Mike wasn’t being a total bastard, he would rank pretty high on anyone’s list. He was smart (in that laid-back country boy way), passionate about the things that mattered to him, and not bad-looking at all. If Davy himself was a 9 – alright, maybe a 10 with a height problem – then Mike was a definite 7. Micky was probably an 8.5. So what if they were fucking? Davy had plans of his own.

So things settled down. And then another week went by, and then Davy saved Mike’s life.

This is how it happened: Saturday night they'd played to a bigger-than-normal crowd at the Troubadour and gotten a great reception. To Mike it meant another month of guaranteed gigs there, plus more take home pay, since they were getting a little cut of the door too. It paid to be friends with the bouncer.

Micky and Peter had already left and the gear was packed up in the car; he just had to collect the money and drive home with Davy. He hoped the little English tart hadn't broken a fingernail or something - he wasn't about to unload all that shit himself. Five minutes later, four hundred in his pocket, Mike scanned the crowd at the bar for Davy. Probably couldn't see him if he was there. Oh well, if he wasn't waiting outside he'd have to walk home.

Nobody by the car, behind the club. But just as Mike dug in his pocket for the keys, an arm went around his neck and jerked him back off his feet. A switchblade flipped open in front of his face and his stomach turned over.

"Not gonna kill you, just going to rob you," a deep voice said in his ear. "Pull the money out and hand it to me, nice and slow." The blade moved to just under his left ear. Oh shit, Mike thought. He'd been in enough fights to know that he wasn't going to win this one. Where the fuck were his so-called friends when he needed them? Slowly he reached back into his pocket.

"I'd put that down if I were you, mate." Davy's voice echoed in the alley and Mike heard the distinctive noise of a gun being cocked. The thief relaxed his head lock just a little.

"It's a real gun, man. Let my friend go and I'll let you go." Nobody moved for a long time, then suddenly the thief let Mike go, shoving him against the car. By the time Mike picked himself up off the dirty ground he was gone.

"Damn! Since when do you have a fucking *gun*?" Mike asked. His voice was trembling just as much as his hands.

"Since I got beaten up, remember?" Davy pushed the little revolver back into his jacket.

"Davy, guns are dangerous. Do you even know how to fire that thing?" Back in Texas it was something you learned growing up, but Mike doubted it was the same in England.

"Well, no….but it doesn't really matter. I haven't gotten around to buying bullets for it." They looked at each other and broke up laughing.

On the drive home it was like they'd never fought, never been anything but the best of friends – talking, laughing, comparing notes on the women who'd waited for them after the show. Only when they got home and Mike cut the engine did Davy get serious.

"Mike, wait. I want to talk to you." Mike took his hands off the wheel and sat in silence. "Just listen to me, all right? I thought about this a lot and I know it's the right thing to do. I'm leaving the band." Davy had been waiting to say those words for a long time. Now he finally had a reason.

"Goddammit!" Mike exploded. "We have steady work and you quit? What the fuck, Davy?"

"Just *listen*, Mike. The truth is, you're better off as a three piece. Micky can sing your songs about a thousand times better than me, and Peter can play any instrument you'll ever need. I don't fit in in your band."

"But-"

"Mike, shut up. For once in your life, listen to me. Do you remember that we used to be friends before the band got serious? Now all we do is bug the shit out of each other. It's your band, man, and I need to do other things. Don't tell me you won't be happy to be in total control." Mike didn't say anything; he was too busy figuring out how to rearrange the song list. He didn't look happy, but at least he wasn't yelling. Davy figured he'd better tell Mike the rest of the story.

But Mike spoke first. "So are you movin' out too?" he asked sourly. He didn't want to admit that Davy was right about anything, not just yet.

"Uh, eventually. It's gonna be too far from my new job."

"Job?" Mike shot him a sharp look.

"Once more: listen. This chick sees us a couple weeks ago, right? Turns out she works for one of these local TV stations and they got some new show, playing records for teenagers, you know? And they asked me if I wanted to be the host. What could I say, man? Even if it bombs, it still gets me on TV. I'm an actor, not a singer." Davy felt as excited as he had when they offered him the job. It was the chance of a lifetime.

"Oh, so now you'll be a TV star. Lucky you." Mike hoped Davy couldn't tell how jealous he was.

"I get to pick some of the records. And I get to recommend bands to play live. Who do you think I'm gonna pick, eh?" Mike looked over in surprise. "Come on, don't you think I know who my friends are?"

"That's really…really decent of you. Look, I'm sorry I've been a jerk. I guess I always feel like I'm competing with you. In the band. And other things…" he trailed off.

"Mike…I'm not gonna take Micky away from you. I just wish he wasn't so tempting. You know what I mean?" Davy felt himself getting hard at the thought of Micky's soft lips.

"Damn straight." There was a long silence, each of them pondering the temptations of Micky.

"Did you fuck him?" Davy asked.

"Technically, no," Mike chuckled. "Next time."

"It's stupid to fight over him. Why don't we…share him?" Davy could see that Mike was intrigued.

"Tell me in plain English," Mike said.

"OK, just imagine this: Micky on his hands and knees. I'm in front of him and he's sucking me off. And he's moaning and gasping because you're behind him, fucking that tight ass like you want to split him in half. We'll get him coming and going." Davy ran his tongue over his lips and smiled.

Mike suddenly felt very hot and his jeans felt very tight. "You think he'd do it?"

"You think he *wouldn't*?" Davy could see Mike's face getting flushed; his stiff cock filled the front of his jeans. Davy scooted a little closer.

"Tell me again what we can do with him…" Mike whispered, his voice rough. As Davy's hand slipped into his pants he closed his eyes and gave up. Zipper down and Mike's cock bobbed up in the warm night air and Davy sucked in his breath in awe – it was way bigger than he'd imagined. Seeing him fuck Micky would be a trip.

"Two of us, one of him. We can do anything we want. I'll hold him down and you can get your fingers in him. Or you can suck his cock, I'll suck his balls, and we can both get fingers in him. He can suck off both of us at the same time – think of it, Mike, his mouth around me, then you, back and forth…" Davy slid his hand up and down, steady and regular. Mike's mouth was open and he was breathing hard as Davy talked. This was insane! Double-teaming Micky? Davy a friend and not a enemy anymore? But fucking Micky was the only thing that mattered right now, and seeing Davy with him too, well, that would be just fine.

"And Mike, you can fuck him all night long and I'll watch you and help you and Micky will do whatever you want him to – two against one, Mike, two against one…" Mike moaned and came in a great gush over Davy's hand.

"Oh god, Davy, stop, stop, I can't stand it," Mike gasped. He looked down at the mess in his lap. "Damnation. But how do we get him into bed?"

Davy told him.