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The usually colorful venue had been dressed all in white, with accents of pale blues and greens. It was a startling contrast to the frenetic and lively energy usually given off by the ballroom.
Mike gave a low, slow whistle. “Looks so… clean in here.”
“Fitting,” Peter remarked, “For the opening of a dry cleaner’s!”
Mike thumped him on the back of the head. “The party is ‘cause she got a doctorate, not ‘cause she opened a dry cleaning business!”
“Well, both are exciting achievements, Mr. Nesmith!” Mr. Boorman said, stepping out of the sinister shadows which were only present in his corner of the room.
“Oh, hey, Mr. Boorman!” Mike said, giving a polite smile and a wave.
“Thank you, boys, for filling in at such last minute notice! Funnily enough, Ms. Conquest tried to book you in her initial attempts to hire a band, but-” Mr. Boorman peeked at them over his half moon glasses, his eyebrows raising and wrinkling his bald head, “It appeared, at that time, that you could not be reached by telephone.”
The guys glanced at Mike, watching him blush and turn nervous.
“W-we…” Mike cleared his throat, “We had some issues with the telephone company there for a while,” he said, his voice trailing off in embarrassment.
“What sorts of issues?”
Micky watched Mike flounder for half a second before stepping in. “They wanted us to pay our bills,” he said, with a dry chuckle.
Mr. Boorman stood back in his proper posture with a nod. “Well, you're here now,” he said, with a decisive sniff of his nose, “That's what matters.”
“Yeah, we remembered to bring the instruments and everything,” Davy joked, with a playful shake of his maracas.
“Excellent,” Mr. Boorman said stiffly, not enjoying the joke. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must check on the hors d'oeuvres.”
He left with a nod, the shadows disappearing with him.
Mike turned back to the others. “I don't get how that guy is so creepy!” he whispered.
Peter rubbed Mike's shoulder to comfort him.
“It's weird, isn't it?” Micky asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Usually a guy like that would've had us tied up in a basement months ago…”
Peter shrugged. “Innocent until proven guilty, I guess.”
“On with the show, then?” Davy asked, as he did an encouraging shuffle ball change, posing at the end with a grin.
“You two set up the stage, and Mike and I will set up the dressing room,” Micky informed, hooking his arm around Mike's and yanking it to his chest.
“Okay,” Peter agreed with a shrug, since he'd been planning on setting up the stage anyway.
“Fine,” Davy agreed, shoulders sinking as he'd wanted to avoid doing anything.
“Groovy!” Micky called, turning and jostling Mike out of the room like a shepherd with a lamb in his crook.
When they got to the hallway, Mike had finally had enough.
“Micky, I know where the dressing room is!” he hissed, wriggling out of Micky's hold. “We only played here about forty times!”
Micky doubled back and grabbed Mike again, shoving him through the door into the dimly lit room. He was hot on Mike's tail, slamming the door shut with his heel.
He sank against the door, breathing heavily.
“Mike, I can't stop thinking about her,” Micky said, his voice thin and alien to Mike's ears in such a state.
“About who? April?” Mike asked, shaking a bit from the adrenaline of being shoved. He reached up and brushed a stray hair down.
“Yes…” Micky breathed.
“Micky, what's goin’ on?” Mike said slowly.
“Mike, I'm dying,” Micky whispered, taking a few steps towards him.
“You-” Mike's eyes flicked quickly over Micky, “You don't look like you're dyin’.”
Micky rolled his eyes, his hands flying to the low hem of his baggy shirt. He lifted it up and hid behind it, showing himself off to Mike.
“Oh,” Mike said, lust dripping off the edges of his disgust as he surveyed the outline of Micky's erection, “My mistake.”
“Mike, please help me…” Micky whined.
Mike scoffed, glaring at Micky, entirely unamused. “Take care of it yourself.”
Micky dropped his shirt, shaking his head violently.
“I can't.”
“What?”
“If I touch myself, I'm going to think about her, and then I'm going to be touching myself and thinking about her, and then if I see her, and I know I did that here, I'm going to die!”
“So you're saying… If you don't do anything, you'll die, and if you do anything, you'll die.”
Micky closed his eyes and nodded, his fists clenching by his sides.
“So you're sayin’ I'm your only hope?”
Micky nodded again, slowly opening one eye.
The room was still as the proposition lingered in the air between them. Micky could practically see the gears turning in Mike's head as he stared.
Mike sighed. “Fine.”
“Really?” Micky yelped. “For a second, I thought you were going to leave me here!”
Mike took a slow step toward him. “For a second, I did too.”
“So, how do you-”
“Get up against the wall.” Mike said, nodding to indicate the wall behind him.
Micky swallowed hard. Whatever momentum his body had lost during his explanation was reignited by Mike's low tone.
He walked around Mike, leaning delicately onto the wall. Mike turned and faced him, planting his forearm on the wall and staring down at him, his hip cocked away from his body.
“What do you think I oughta do, Micky?” Mike asked slowly, his fingers lazily exploring some of Micky's stray curls.
“Do-do whatever you want, M-Mike.”
“I wanna know what you want… I wanna guess.”
“Alright…”
Mike's hand came up to delicately pinch Micky's chin.
“I bet you were hopin’ somehow this ends with me on my knees.” Mike dropped Micky's chin, beginning to thumb open the buttons of his shirt. “I bet you were thinkin’ how easy it would be if you could cum down my throat. If I could swallow the evidence of your perversion.”
“Wh-What, Mike?”
“That's what you want, isn't it? Maybe you didn't think those words, but that's what you thought, isn't it?”
Micky gasped as his shirt opened, inviting the cool air to touch his skin. “Y-Yes, Mike,” he agreed, watching Mike's hand reach for his fly.
“You just wanna use me to get off,” Mike said, as he unzipped Micky's pants. “You want me to sit there and let you fuck me.”
“Yes, Mike,” Micky mewled, as Mike's thumb slipped into the waistband of his underwear.
“Well, it ain't happenin’,” Mike said, “I gotta sing tonight.”
“Yes, Mike. That's fine,” Micky breathed, “I-I understand.”
Mike pulled his hand away and brought it up, cupping it under Micky's mouth.
“Spit,” he ordered.
Micky spat into his hand, his face heating up at the way his body reacted to the order.
“Don't hold out on me, Micky,” Mike cautioned, “I'm doin’ you a favor.”
“Yes, Mike,” Micky said, with another nod. He was starting to feel like a useless novelty toy.
Mike worked Micky's underwear down and started to stroke him. He leaned his forehead onto Micky's.
“You gonna make this worth my while?”
“H-How?”
“Don't hold back. Make noise for me.”
“Mike- someone might hear.”
“Do it quietly if you have to.”
“Mike…” Micky whispered. “Oh, Mike…” his head hit the wall with a soft thump as Mike stroked him.
“That's a good start,” Mike said, with a small laugh. He tilted his head, stealing a quick, sloppy kiss from Micky.
Micky whined as he pulled away.
“You be sure and let me know how good I'm doin’.”
“Mike…” Micky's voice wavered as he shivered. “Mike it feels so good.”
“The hell were you thinking about, Micky? I can't believe how hard you got just from- I mean, Jesus, what were you thinking about?”
“Mike, I- I can't-” Micky's breath shuddered. “I can't think about her right now…”
“You're gonna feel like a pervert if you lose it thinkin’ about her, huh?”
Micky nodded, whimpering and biting his lip, trying to expel any thought of April from his mind.
“That'd make you a pervert…” Mike agreed. “I wonder what this makes you.”
Micky gripped at the wall and began panting, his whole body wanting to sink and melt and simply feel.
Mike shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Holdin’ out on me… I know you're gettin’ close. I know how noisy you get, Micky.”
Micky whimpered, reluctant to make any noise; paranoid that April would walk by.
“Micky, I mean it,” Mike growled.
A choked moan escaped Micky all at once, a loud release of self-denial.
“That's better,” Mike whispered, leaning in to kiss Micky's neck as he jerked him off faster.
“Jesus, Mike- Je-” Micky's hips jolted forward in a desperate thrust, sending him sliding down the wall slightly. He reached up and grabbed Mike's shoulder for support.
“Be still, Micky,” Mike ordered.
“Yes, Mike. Wh-whatever you say, Mike.”
“Good. That's good. Good Micky,” Mike mumbled.
Micky moaned again, his head falling onto Mike's shoulder, hitting his own hand.
“Mike, I'm close,” he whispered.
“That's good. Hurry up, Mick.”
“Just don't- Just keep-”
Mike nodded. “I've got ya, Micky.”
He sped up even more and Micky could barely take it. His hand clenched around Mike's shoulder.
“Fuck!” he hissed.
Mike couldn't see anything, but he could feel and hear Micky cumming, and that was more than enough.
“Don't stop, Mike-” Micky whined through his teeth.
“I said I got ya,” Mike said, petting the back of Micky's head as he worked him through the last of his orgasm.
When his moans died off and he stilled, Micky pulled back, taking Mike's face into his hands and kissing him deeply to show his appreciation.
He stepped back and looked at the mess he'd made.
“Let me- I'll just get some tissues…” he muttered, a blush rising to his face as he tucked himself back into his pants and underwear.
Mike looked down to examine the damage. He blinked blankly down at it as Micky clumsily cleaned himself up.
He came back and handed Mike two thin, measly tissues.
“I-” Mike started, but found he had no other words. He cleaned his hand off as well and quickly as he could, staring down at himself all the while.
He tossed the tissues in the vague direction of the waste basket, then addressed Micky in a thin voice.
“Micky you-” he struggled around his words, suddenly feeling chaste and embarrassed, “You got seminal fluid on me.”
Micky choked on a laugh, “Mike ‘seminal fluid’ is about the least sexy thing-”
Mike grabbed him by the shoulders, anger flaring. “Lemme try this one: you got jism on my favorite God damn tie, Micky!”
“I'll pay for the cleaning,” Micky choked.
“You're gonna take it in yourself, too, I'm not explaining this!”
Micky laughed awkwardly. “She's not going to-” he cleared his throat, “She's not going to ask…”
Mike glared at him. “I bet you she can figure out what it is. I'm not lookin' her in the eye after she does!”
Micky blinked, imagining the knowing twinkle in April's eye, the slight, judgemental smirk she would likely display.
“Micky, what is that noise you're makin’?” Mike growled, shaking him out of his thoughts.
“I wanna take it…” Micky muttered, a bit dazed. “I insist on being the one to take it in.”
“Well-” Mike yelled, his anger beginning to die awkwardly as he realized Micky was agreeing. “Well, good, then… Fine.” Mike released him and stepped back with a sigh. “God, you're gonna be the death of me, Micky,” he said, as he began to undo his tie. “I mean it. My actual death. Someday, it's gonna be you and I know it.”
Micky sank, sliding down the wall to sit cross legged on the floor and watch Mike pace while he buttoned up his shirt.
“I dunno what you're gonna do, I dunno what stupid thing it's gonna be, but I know, it's you. Oh, Peter an' Davy can kick up some trouble for sure,” Mike said, as he dramatically turned on his heel to pace back in the other direction, “But you- It's always too much when it's you.”
Micky yawned and stretched, pretty used to the routine. He had to let Mike get it out of his system.
“Gangs and guns and- Hell, I bet it's gonna be shock.” He ripped his tie from his collar with a sharp jerk. He stepped up, right over Micky, his own face cast in slight shadow as he glared down. “You're gonna pull some shit like this again, and I won't be able to take it.”
“You can take it,” Micky scoffed, “You love it.”
Mike leaned down, dangling the tie over Micky's face. He lowered it slowly and Micky tilted his head, letting the silky, damp fabric fold onto his face. He purred up at Mike, then opened his mouth, licking the tie.
Mike grabbed him by the jaw and began stuffing the tie in his mouth, his fingers brushing Micky's throat. “You don't have to be such a slut all the time.”
Micky choked slightly, thoughtfully trying to relax his throat, even as the fabric tickled at it. If he vomited on the tie too, he was going to feel really bad.
“My favorite fucking tie, Micky…” Mike whispered mournfully, wrenching it from Micky's mouth with one swift yank.
Micky gagged and coughed, sputtering as he leaned forward. He wiped at his chin, spit having pooled under his tongue and come flying out on the cough.
Mike whipped his tie at the mirror and it landed on the dressing table with a small, soft thump. Mike stood for a moment, breathing heavily, his back turned to Micky.
Micky could see the guilt rising up in Mike's shoulders.
“Mike…” Micky groaned.
“What, Micky?” he asked carefully.
“Did I make it worth your while?”
Mike dashed over to Micky and sank to his knees, grabbing him into his arms.
“Yes, Micky.” He stood, pulling Micky up with him. “I- I'm sorr-”
“I like it when you enjoy yourself too, Mike.” Micky sighed in delight.
Mike pulled back and looked at him. “Yeah?”
Micky nodded. “Yeah.”
Mike released him. “Thanks.” Mike glanced around the dressing room. “Man, we have to get out there.” He checked his watch and whistled lowly. “Like, now.”
“Sure,” Micky said, straightening his shirt, “Right.” He nodded at himself, and reached up to finger comb his hair.
“Everything is okay, Micky?”
Micky nodded. “Everything is okay, Mike?”
Mike nodded, slight and curt. With a sudden burst of need, he reached for Micky's wrist and jerked him forward. “When we're done out there, when we're home…”
“Yes?” Micky asked, his heart racing as Mike leaned towards his lips.
“I'm going to fuck you, Micky.”
Micky shivered with delight. “Oh, isn't that a nice idea?”
Mike yanked him closer, nose pressing against his cheekbone. “You better not get too distracted thinkin' about it. You better play right out there.”
Micky nodded.
“Y'know I'm gonna hear it if you mess up. Even if nobody else does.”
“I bet Peter will-”
“I don't care what Peter hears. I'm talkin' about me. I will hear it, Mick.”
Micky swallowed hard. “O-of course.”
Mike gave him a quick, harsh kiss. “Good boy,” he said, patting him on the ass. Micky took a brief moment to pant like a dog in appreciation. Mike smirked and ruffled his hair.
“Get out there and cover for me. I gotta find a tie.”