"Ravaged" Part I by HMC
	Peter puzzled over Mike's recent behavior.  The blond Monkee had just witnessed another of Mike's volatile mood swings, the kind that appeared out of nowhere sometimes when Mike was stressed or tired.  It had ended in Mike slamming his bedroom door shut after Davy had botched a verse of a song they were rehearsing.  Mike had recently become more distant from the rest of his friends, staying out late and coming home smelling like whisky.  Peter sometimes got the impression that Mike didn't want to hang around with them, like they weren't enough for him to have fun.  Maybe that's why Mike had been gone so often to go have the fun he wasn't having at home.          Something had definitely changed in Mike's behavior.  He seemed to be a whole other person than he was two months ago.  Now, Mike was more reserved, more private, and angrier with his friends.  Peter could sense there was a built-up hostility boiling up in Mike.  He was afraid of how it would come out and when.                                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Peter was just drifting off that night at about two in the morning when he heard the front door open with a jerk.  He could hear mumbled curses as Mike stumbled in, obviously drunk from how much noise he was making.  Peter crawled out of bed in only his pajama bottoms and t-shirt and went to the door to peek out at Mike.  He held his breath, knowing if Mike saw him spying, there would be more angry threats, and in his drunken condition, Mike could get violent.  They had lost a few dishes in the storm of Mike's wrath a few weeks ago.  In the dark, he could just make out Mike's shadow go into the kitchen for some water. When Mike finally started to move towards the bedroom he shared with Peter, the frightened blond hurried over to his bed to make it look like he had been asleep the whole time. He was halfway under the covers when he heard a growl from the door.  He mentally cursed himself for not being fast enough.  Now he had been caught.  He meekly turned his head to face Mike.  "H-hey, Mike w-what's up?"  He stuttered. "You're spyin' on me" He leaned against the doorframe, which was probably the only thing holding up his drunken self. "No, no Mike I wasn't spying I was just here in bed really" Peter shuddered.  Please don't let him be angry. "You stupid lookin' like I can't take care o'my own damn self" He hissed.  "No No Mike that's not" "I know what you think that Mike don' know who he is 'nymore" Mike took a haphazard step forward, reeling from the alcohol in his system.  "You and them all ag'inst me" Peter cuddled under the blankets, as if they would shield him from the drunk Texan who half-fell, half sat on his bed.  Mike reached out with one hand and grabbed Peter's shoulder.  The blond winced at the strength of the hand.  He knew he was screwed if Mike hit him; Peter was no match for Mike.  He hovered over Peter, wavering slightly, his eyes half-shut.  Mike leaned down and pinned Peter by his upper arms.  With slow, deliberate movements, Mike pressed his lips against Peter's, and the bassist squeaked with horror.  He meekly struggled against him, but Mike was soon on top of him completely. Mike had Peter's entire body covered with his.  Mike's tongue ran lightly over Peter's soft lips, as if demanding entry.  Peter clamped his mouth shut, but soon the air became thin, and he needed to open his mouth for a much-needed breath, and that's when Mike kissed him harder, using his tongue to explore. Peter didn't know when exactly the tears started.  He just knew that eventually, they were streaming down his face and Mike didn't care.  Peter lay trapped under his comforters, with Mike on top.  Mike moved his hands up to Peter's face, caressing his cheeks, while Mike moved to kiss down Peter's neck. "Mike" He gasped, trying to speak through the violent sobs.  He cried quietly, the last thing he wanted to do was make Mike angrier.  "P-Please Stop Please" Mike paid no attention; pulling Peter's t-shirt up to his neck so he could plant kisses on the soft skin of his chest.  Peter tried to move his arms, but Mike used his unmatched strength to force Peter's hands above his head.  The blond lay stretched out, helpless.  Mike held Peter's wrists with one hand while the other crept down Peter's side.  Mike then reached under himself and pulled the comforter away.  His hand brushed against Peter's crotch, and Peter cried harder, wishing that Mike would just leave.  Mike grinned drunkenly and rubbed Peter through his pajamas.  Peter found little or and no air to breath as he realized what Mike wanted to do. Mike began to grind himself against Peter, and Peter felt Mike's hardness answering his own.  Tears of shame ran down his face.  He felt incredibly dirty this was wrong.  He struggled again, trying to get his lower region out of the way of Mike's.  Mike looked up with fire in his eyes.  Peter whimpered, now he knew Mike was angry with him.  Mike removed his hand from Peter's crotch and slapped him hard across the face.  Peter cried out and bit his lip to keep from making more noise. "Don't Move" Mike growled, fiercely.  He got up from Peter only long enough to remove his jacket, shirt, and shoes.  Peter had instinctively curled up into a ball, but Mike forced him out of it.  Mike had Peter on his back again, one hand held a handful of Peter's smooth hair, the other was stealthily undoing his own jeans. "N- No" Peter whimpered.  "P-Please Mike Stop" Mike held Peter's mouth shut.  When he looked Mike in the eyes, there was a coldness there that Peter had never seen before. Mike took hold of Peter's t-shirt and dragged him to the floor.  He glanced down and saw that Mike's jeans were loosely clinging around his hips, his underwear still in place. Mike gripped the front of Peter's t-shirt in one hand and his hair in the other.  Pulling him close, Mike growled into Peter's face, and the blond man cringed at the pungent smell of whisky.  "Suck me" Peter turned multiple shades of white.  "Oh god no, Mike please I can't" Why didn't anybody come to help him? Mike slapped him again, and this time, Peter tasted blood on his lips.  He sobbed and begged at the same time, saying anything he could think of to get Mike away from him. Mike grumbled and pushed his pants further down his slim hips, the underwear came next.  Peter cringed and looked away, shame turning his face bright red.  Mike yanked on his hair, and Peter cried out again.  "Do it."  Mike demanded. This time, Peter did as he was told.  He gagged involuntarily when he first took Mike, who was fully aroused, into his mouth, but it made no difference, Mike was pulling Peter's head closer.  Mike moaned, the sound almost making Peter physically sick.  He didn't know what to do, but it didn't matter, since Mike seemed to be doing it for him anyway.  His hand was still fastened on the back of Peter's head, drawing him closer, than further away, than closer again.  Soon, the pumping motion became more desperate, and Peter tried not to throw up when Mike came.  Mike seemed satisfied and pushed Peter to the ground, where the traumatized bassist gagged and heaved, tears fell to the carpet and mixed with bile. Mike fastened his pants, reaching down to grab Peter's t-shirt again.  He hauled Peter into a sitting position and smacked him once, twice, three times.  Peter's arms flew up around his face, shielding himself from the blows.  Mike didn't stop hitting him, and Peter wondered if he was going to die. But suddenly, a loud crack rang through the air as Mike grunted and fell unconscious to the ground. Peter hazarded a peek and saw Davy holding a baseball bat in one hand and standing over Mike.  "Bastard" Davy murmured.  He moved to sit beside Peter, dropping the bat in the process.  "It's okay, Pete" Davy placed a gentle, calloused hand on Peter's shoulder.  At first, Peter winced, but then he realized that this friend was not going to hurt him.  Peter wailed and buried his face in Davy's chest, wrapping his arms around the Englishman's waist.  Davy hugged him close, stroking Peter's back soothingly.  "It's okay, Pete I got ya.  Did he hurt you?"  Davy lifted Peter's chin up with gentle fingers and inspected his face.  "Oh, Peter I'm so sorry." Peter looked away, ashamed to look him in the face after what he had just been forced to do. "It's okay, Peter" Davy soothed, trying not to cry himself.  "You didn't do anything wrong he made you do it.  It's not your fault.  It's okay."  Peter hugged him closer and continued to sob. Micky dashed into the room babbling.  "I called 911, they're sending the police are you okay, Pete?  What'd he do to you?  Oh man, oh man" Peter looked down at himself and saw his condition.  His shirt was ripped from the neckline right down the middle, exposing bruises on his chest.  His wrists swelled and ached.  He touched the side of his face and saw blood on his fingers.  The injuries themselves didn't scare him as much as the thought that Mike had done it to him on purpose. "What happened?"  Micky was asking quietly.  "Davy, what'd he do to him?" Peter just shook his head and cried into Davy's shoulder.  Davy looked up to Micky with sad eyes.  "I'll tell you later, Mick."                                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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