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"All or Nothing - Part 3"
Title: All or Nothing P3
Mike squeezed a small amount of oil into his hand and rubbed his palms together for a few seconds to warm it. Then, kneeling alongside Micky, he spread the oil over his back and started to massage him. He ran his hands in long, slow strokes from his shoulders to his waist and back again. After only a few passes, he felt Micky’s body relax.
“How’s that?” he asked, knowing what the answer would be.
Micky sighed. “Terrific.”
Mike grinned and moved so that he was straddling Micky’s legs. It was an easier position from which to massage him, and it allowed him a better view of Micky’s lean body.
Micky felt Mike shift his position and looked over his shoulder to see what he was doing. He could just make out his features in the dim light. His arousal was apparent, both from the expression on his face and from the stiffness of his cock, which Micky could feel against his ass whenever Mike leaned forward to rub his shoulders again. It was strangely stimulating to him, but his lack of experience made him a little uneasy.
“It’s okay, Mick,” he answered soothingly as he continued to massage him. “I told you, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
“I know.” He paused. “Mike, what’s it like to…?” he trailed off, somewhat embarrassed at the question.
“To be made love to by a man?” Mike finished for him.
He nodded in response.
“It’s kinda hard to describe,” he answered, thinking back to his own past experiences. More often than not, he had been the aggressor; but he had been fucked enough to know how good it felt when the other person knew what the hell they were doing. Yes, Micky was definitely in capable hands with him. “It’ll be good,” he continued, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Micky cleared his throat. He wanted to ask if it would hurt, but he didn’t want Mike to think he was a wimp. He just had to trust that if he said it would be good, it would be. As he felt Mike’s hands work their way down to his buttocks, he laid his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. He relaxed and relished the feeling of those strong hands on his body, sweeping away any trace of anxiety that might have remained with him.
Soon, Mike abandoned the backrub altogether and began gently kneading Micky’s tight ass. His already stiff cock grew even harder as he imagined getting inside him. He took a deep breath and reminded himself again that he would have to take this nice and slow. It wouldn’t be easy; he had wanted Micky for so long that holding back was already proving difficult. He stared at his face, taking in the look of extreme contentment he wore before leaning forward and kissing him. He couldn’t help but grind himself lightly against Micky’s ass and was pleased to hear him respond with a soft moan.
“Can we give it a try?” he whispered.
Micky nodded. The thought of Mike fucking him, which had been so foreign and intimidating only a short time ago, now excited him. He recalled the fervent expression Mike had worn earlier and wished that he could see his face now. As he tried to picture that handsome face, he became vaguely aware of Mike speaking to him, but couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. He felt cool liquid drizzle onto his ass, and then Mike’s well-oiled fingers easing inside him. The sensation triggered a sudden and intense arousal, and he felt his cock beginning to harden as Mike continued to prepare him for what was to come.
Mike stroked himself a few times with his free hand, as much to spread oil over his cock as to relieve a bit of the tension that had arisen within him. He knew that once he was inside that virgin ass it wouldn’t take long for him to come, and he wanted this to last as long as possible. When he was satisfied that Micky was ready, he replaced his fingers with his cock. They each moaned and Mike managed to focus his passion-blurred vision long enough to get a look at Micky’s face; that unusually attractive face that now displayed both surprise and gratification.
Micky lowered his head and grabbed fistfuls of bedding as Mike gently but steadily fucked him. Since he couldn’t see him, he closed his eyes and focused his other senses on the moment. He smelled Mike’s cologne mixing with the scent of baby oil. He heard Mike’s breathing becoming heavier and being peppered with the occasional moan. But most of all he felt Mike’s cock inside him, giving him unexpected and increasing pleasure with each movement. His own cock fully erect now, he reached down to stroke it. The dual stimulation was incredible, and he had to keep reminding himself to breathe.
Mike noticed what Micky was doing and smiled. Certain now that this wouldn’t be the last time they had sex, he allowed himself to take a little more liberty with his lover. He held more firmly onto his hips and quickened his pace. He heard Micky moan loudly, but wasn’t sure if it was because of what he was doing to him, or what he was doing to himself. It didn’t matter; this wasn’t going to last much longer anyway. He thrust harder, letting loose everything he had been holding back. Just as Micky let out the now-familiar bawl that accompanied his orgasm, Mike emptied himself into him.
They stayed that way for a short while, neither one having the desire or the energy to break contact. Finally, Mike freed himself and lay down next to Micky. As he reached over and brushed the damp curls away from his face, they gazed at each other, silently sharing the feelings that their male egos would not permit them to express aloud. A cool breeze blew in through the open window and Mike pulled the covers over them, not caring at that particular moment about the stains that the baby oil would surely leave behind.
He knew he should say something, but the only thing he could think of was to ask Micky if he was alright; probably the tritest question in the world in this situation. “So, what were you and Peter talking about?” he finally asked, as much to break the silence as to satisfy his curiosity.
Micky looked at him, surprised. He wasn’t sure what he had expected Mike to say to him after their lovemaking, but it certainly didn’t involve Peter. “When?” he replied, somewhat confused.
“When you were doing the dishes.”
“Oh…” he recalled the conversation. “He thinks I should go to Canada. He knows a guy who knows a guy who can arrange it.”
Mike turned onto his side and looked at him. “You’re not thinking about it, are you?”
“Not any more,” Micky answered with a smile that quickly disappeared. Now that his mind was back on the problem of the draft, he began to think guiltily about his family. While he had spent that day in the secure knowledge that he wouldn’t have to go; while he had spent that evening being made love to by Mike, his family had been worrying about him.
“You’re thinking about your mom, aren’t you?” Mike asked, noticing the change in his expression.
“I have to tell her something to ease her mind.” He glanced at Mike, hoping that he wasn’t trying his patience by rehashing the subject again. “I don’t think that Peter’s gonna let this Canada thing rest, either,” he continued. “I gotta think of some way to keep him off my back until I meet with the draft board.”
Mike sighed. The solution to Micky’s problem was obvious to him. “Just tell them the truth.”
“I can’t,” he said quickly. “At least, not yet.” He wished that Mike could understand how he felt. But how could he, when Micky didn’t understand it himself? He wasn’t exactly embarrassed or ashamed about what was happening between him and Mike, but he still didn’t want to announce to the world that they were lovers.
“It’s better than lying,” Mike replied, his tone becoming less sympathetic. “Just setting your mom’s feelings aside for a minute, don’t you think that Peter and Davy are going to figure it out eventually? Wouldn’t it be better for us to tell them straight out what’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Micky sat up, turning his back to him. He didn’t want to think about it any more. There was no reason to make any kind of decision tonight anyway. Things weren’t going to change between now and tomorrow. He reached for his bathrobe and got up without looking at Mike. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said as he headed downstairs.
Mike watched him leave the room and shook his head. There were some things that he would never understand about Micky, one of which being his preoccupation with what other people thought of him. Mike didn’t really care what people thought. If they didn’t like him the way he was, that was their problem, not his. He had spent his childhood in constant battles with his mother and his teachers; any authority figure who wanted him to be something he wasn’t. Micky, on the other hand, had grown up performing; discarding his own identity in favor of what would land him his next role.
Mike tossed the covers aside and got out of bed, refusing to spend any further time in self-analysis. He needed a shower as much as Micky, but he doubted there would be any hot water left by the time Micky finished, so he decided to get dressed. He wiped his hands on the already oily sheets and chuckled. They’d definitely be sleeping in Micky’s bed tonight; that was, unless Micky was pissed at him now. He shrugged and collected his clothes from where they had been strewn earlier and had managed to put on his pants and shirt before a knock came at the front door. He rushed out of the room, slamming his toe against the bed post on the way. After a few seconds of mumbled swearing he descended the stairs, buttoning his shirt on the way down.
He looked through the peep hole of the front door and immediately slammed it shut. He closed his eyes and cursed again, wishing he had stayed upstairs. Aside from the disagreement with Micky and his throbbing toe, the evening had been great – he should have known that something would spoil it. He sighed and, against his better judgment, opened the door.
In another time, Mike had found her very attractive. Her long brown hair was done up in an elaborate style and, combined with the high heels, made her look taller than she really was. Her curvy figure was shown off nicely by the short, clinging dress she wore. She smiled and greeted him in an overly-friendly tone.
He didn’t bother trying to hide his annoyance at her presence. “What do you want, Barbara?”
Her smile didn’t waver. “I was in the neighborhood.” She stood there for a few seconds, lightly bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
“Why not?” She craned her neck to look inside. “Got a girl here or something?”
“No, I don’t have a girl here,” he said curtly, “not that it’s any of your business.” Tired of her interrogation, he started to close the door.
“Then who were you just having sex with?” she quickly asked.
A parade of emotions passed over his face as he wondered just what she knew and how she knew it. His disheveled appearance told some of the story, but then he remembered the bedroom window. Luckily, it faced the back of the house, so she couldn’t have actually seen who he had been with. His eyes narrowed as he watched her gloat in the subtle victory. He wished he could throw it in her face that, not only was he with somebody else, but it was a man. But that would end up hurting Micky far more than it would hurt Barbara, so he kept his mouth shut.
“You really should close your window next time, Mike,” she continued when he didn’t respond. “I could hear you all the way outside. So, who is she; anybody I know?”
“What have you been doing; hanging around out there, spying on me?” he asked, incensed.
“No,” she said, “though it would have been… interesting… to watch.” She took a step toward him, stopping when she caught sight of the bathroom door opening.
Curious to see what Mike’s new girlfriend looked like, she watched the figure emerge from the steamy room. The loosely-tied robe hid most of the body and the face was obscured by the towel that was being run roughly over the hair, but it was evident that this wasn’t a woman. When the towel moved, Barbara saw the brown curls and exaggerated jaw that belonged to a certain drummer. She looked disbelievingly at Mike as she suddenly realized just who his new lover was.
Silently, Mike grabbed her by the arm and pushed her outside. His mind raced as he followed her and closed the door behind them. It didn’t bother him if she, or anybody else, knew what was going on; but Micky would be frantic. He faintly hoped that he could reason with Barbara and that she wouldn’t cause trouble, but he knew better.
“No wonder it never worked out between us,” she spat. “I don’t have a cock.”
There was no point in denying that he and Micky were together, but he wasn’t going to let Barbara think that his primary motivation for being in a relationship was physical. “You really think that’s it, don’t you? You think it’s all about sex.”
“What else would it be?”
Mike noticed the slight tremble in her voice, but didn’t know if it was from anger or pain. He didn’t really care. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the way you manipulate everything – and everyone – to suit your own needs. I’ve had it with you and your games, Barbara; now get out of my life.”
“You think you’ll be happier with him than you were with me?” she asked, gesturing toward the house.
“That’s just the point. I was never… happy… with… you,” he said, emphasizing each word.
“Is that so?” She crossed her arms in front of her and shifted her weight to one side, assuming a no-nonsense posture. “Well, hell hath no fury, Michael. I just wonder what people would think if they knew about you and your boyfriend?”
Mike looked straight into her eyes. “Look, Barbara, this is between you and me; leave Micky out of it.”
“Oh, how touching; such concern for your lover,” she said with disdain. “Well, enjoy your little fling while you can, because once I start telling people what you’re up to, your life is going to be hell.”
“You fucking bitch!” He raised his arm and was about to backhand her when he heard a voice from behind him.
His jaw quivered in anger as he slowly let his arm fall back to his side. He glared at Barbara, clenching and unclenching his fist as he tried to get his temper under control. “Get back in the house, Mick,” he said as calmly as he could.
Micky had seen Mike angry before, but he never thought he’d see the day when he would hit a woman; even Barbara. “Mike, whatever she’s done, you can’t—”
Mike spun around. “I said, get back in the house.”
The look in his eyes sent a chill up Micky’s spine. He glanced at Barbara, wondering what she had done to send him into such a rage. For her part, she didn’t seem the least bit intimidated, but rather had an oddly triumphant expression on her face.
“Actually, I was just leaving,” she said sweetly. “After all, three’s a crowd.” When Mike turned back to face her, she gave him a wink and then turned on her heel and walked away, swinging her hips as if to remind him of what he was giving up.
For the first – and hopefully the last – time in his life, Mike knew how it felt to want to kill someone. He also knew that Micky was looking at him, waiting for him to offer some kind of an explanation both for his own behavior and for Barbara’s last remark. After a moment he went inside, passing Micky and heading straight for the icebox. He rummaged around until he found a couple of beers, opened one, and drained half of it with just a couple of swallows. He handed the other one to Micky, who accepted it silently.
Though beer wasn’t his first choice when it came to alcohol, Micky opened his bottle and took an obligatory sip. He wanted to know what was going on, and hoped that if he waited long enough, Mike would tell him without him having to ask. He nervously started picking at the bottle label, still shaken that Mike could have gotten so angry as to hit Barbara. He wondered if he had done the right thing by interfering. After all, whatever had happened was between them; he didn’t really have any business getting in the middle of it. He ventured a glance at Mike, who was now sitting on the sofa finishing off the rest of his beer.
Mike sighed. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” he said. “I’m not mad at you.”
Micky set his bottle down on the coffee table. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked.
“Not really,” he honestly replied.
Though he was somewhat disappointed that Mike wouldn’t confide in him, Micky figured it would probably be better to just leave him alone; at least, for now. “I’m gonna go get dressed,” he said as he headed for the stairs.
“She knows,” Mike said quietly.
Micky stopped and turned around. “Knows what?” he asked slowly, hoping that the answer wasn’t what he thought it would be. When Mike responded only with a regretful look, Micky’s worst fear was confirmed. He felt the blood drain from his face as he sat limply down on the sofa. His heart pounded in his chest and his palms began to moisten. “How?” he managed to ask.
“She… heard us from outside,” Mike answered. “She assumed I was with a girl, but then she saw you coming out of the bathroom.” He paused for a moment as Micky ran his hands over his face and then through his hair. “That’s not all,” he continued. “She’s not going to keep quiet about it.”
Micky’s worry quickly turned to resentment. “That’s just terrific,” he said sharply. “She wants to drag you through the mud, and I get to come along for the ride?”
The sudden change in his demeanor took Mike by surprise, and his desire to comfort Micky was overtaken by his latent anger. “Why do you think I wanted to smack her?” he replied, sorry that Micky had stopped him earlier. “Look, I didn’t want you involved in this, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.”
Micky grabbed the beer and took a few swigs. He knew it would be a futile suggestion, but he made it anyway. “Can’t you talk to her?”
“What; beg her to reconsider?” As much as he cared about how this would affect Micky’s immediate future, Mike wasn’t about to throw himself on what passed for Barbara’s mercies. “Fuck that.”
Micky’s frustration dissolved back into anxiety. “You have to do something, Mike,” he almost pleaded.
His own anger began to wane as he saw how this was already affecting Micky. “I wish I could, babe,” he said, “but we don’t have a lot of choices here. People are gonna find out, either from her or from us.” He moved closer to Micky and put his arm around his shoulder. “Now, we can cross our fingers and hope that nobody will believe her, or we can beat her to the punch and tell people ourselves.”
Micky hung his head and began playing with the bottle label again. “Or we can just deny the whole thing,” he said quietly.
“Sure, that might work,” Mike nodded, “until you come out of that draft office next week with a reject slip in your hand.”
Micky looked sadly into his eyes, part of him wishing that Mike could somehow make everything alright; and part of him wishing that he’d never gotten involved with him in the first place.