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DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.

"Saved by the Bell - Part 2"

Title: Saved by the Bell P2: Blood in the Playground
Pairing: Micky/Mike
Rating: NC-17
Author: Woolhat's Traveling Mood


Micky tried desperately to remove the rocker's grip on his own feeble arm, but to no avail. He was dragged mercilessly towards the stands that surrounded the baseball fields and then thrown behind them. There were six rockers in all, all jeering with mangled teeth. Micky gave his best scowl but they didn't see it, they weren't interested in him. They had just brought him there to stop him running for help when they started fulfilling their other plans.

Mike's face never changed. He just looked at them, almost disinterested as they pounded their fists into the palms of their hands in a menacing manner. He didn't say anything, just gazed back at them.

"Well howdy, cowboy.” One laughed, gaining an ebony stare of slight irritation - the angriest reaction they got out of the laconic Texan.

Then they set about him, pounding their fists of iron into his thin frame. Mike didn't fight back; he didn't cry out, he didn't even raise his hands to protect himself. He just took it as well as a pat on the back, keeping a stony face. Every time he was knocked to the ground he just stood up and took the beating all over again.

Micky stood, restrained and amazed as his new friend stood like a defenseless rag-doll, not even bothering to protect his face from the beating of several knuckles. Every time he saw Mike get to his feet he kept whispering under his breath "Stay down, for Christ's sake, stay down!"

Finally, for the fourth time, Mike was knocked to the floor and this time, he didn't get up. The rockers added a couple of kicks in the ribs for good measure and left, giving Micky a hefty push to the ground as they left.

Micky crawled over to Mike and shook him gently. He was unconscious, blood masking his ivory skin. Micky checked that he was breathing and thanked God that he was. Mike's face was covered in blood and bruises of all shades were already beginning to appear. After a couple of minutes a small groan escaped his throat and his eyes flickered.

"You stupid bastard!” Was the first thing Micky told him when he knew the Texan was near enough conscious. "Why on Earth didn't you hit back at those guys?"

"You don't understand.” Was all Mike could squeak out before he turned and vomited.

Micky held a face of disgust but hidden in his features was a look of pure pity. "Come on, I know where we can get out of here and I'll take you home.” With that, he helped Mike to his feet and walked him to where there was a gap in the fence, easy enough for both of them to slip through.

Mike kept his head down on the bus ride home and just hoped that the ground would swallow him up, or at least that was the vibes Micky felt.

Micky still hardly knew anything about this guy, but as far as he gathered, he was a bit of a nut.

Mike lived in one of the worst areas, but Micky had guessed that already. Mike's clothes were always scuffed or patched. Micky soon learnt that Mike didn't have a father, but for what reason he didn't know.

Mike's home was a two-bedroom bungalow, small and almost insignificant. Micky stayed with him, just to make sure, and was startled to find that Mike's mother wasn't home. His own mom was always home, he thought that's where moms stayed. Mike had a key and wandered inside, crooking a finger slightly to beckon Micky to follow.

"Thanks.” The battered young man whispered to the empty house although the words were actually meant for Micky.

The curly haired youth gazed around at the near desolate house. There wasn't much furniture, nor anything on the walls bar an old painting of what appeared to be Jesus Christ.

Mike caught him staring and sighed slightly. "Ma's a religion freak.” He murmured and then headed to the kitchen. Once again, Micky followed, but this time it was because he didn't want to be left alone in a house that gave him the creeps. Mike had filled a small bowl with warm water and grabbed a towel. By now, Micky could see tears of blood streaming down his face, rolling over the swollen skin.

"Come here," Micky ordered quietly, taking the towel from the Texan's hands and dipping it in the water. He edged closer and wasn't surprised when Mike moved away slightly. "I can't help if you keep moving!” Micky put his hands on his hips and amazed himself at how much he was beginning to sound like his mother. Mike sighed again, a long, drawn out raspy sigh and sat at the kitchen table. Micky leant over again and this time Mike resisted pulling away, no matter how much he hated the situation.

He hissed when the water touched his face and gave a quick glare at his companion.

"Sorry, but it has to be done.” Micky clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in true mother hen fashion as he dabbed away some more blood.

The clean up operation took the best part of half an hour and Micky felt Mike relax tremendously during it. Now was the time for answers.

"Are you gonna explain why you didn't fight back?” Micky cooed quietly, trying not to sound too irritating.

Mike looked at him with a gaze Micky was beginning to grow accustomed to and ended with yet another sigh, his most expressive mannerism to date.

"I didn't want to lose.” He mumbled almost silently.

Micky stopped and propped his elbows on the old, crumbling table. "What do you mean?"

"You see, if I fought back, then we would be in a fight and so there would be winners and losers. But I didn't fight, so it was merely an attack and I couldn't lose, no one could."

Micky's face held the image of perplexity but he nodded as if he understood.

There was silence for a while and then Mike took a deep breath and spoke again. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this.” He averted his gaze and became interested in the amount of scratches on the table.

"I said I'd be here for you.” Micky heard his own voice in the room but he couldn't believe those words had come out of him, they seemed so...feminine.

The two sat looking at each other for a while, silenced by the vast difference between them and Micky found it difficult to imagine the kind of life his newfound friend led.

Mike's eyes met his and they both gazed. Finally the Texan stood and he watched as Micky rose as well. The stares continued; their body language confused and bewildered.

Micky had never been in such a situation before in his life and he didn't know what was happening. Finally Mike wandered over to the refrigerator and snagged a carton of milk. He drank from it and wiped the white moustache from his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he opened his mouth and he took a long, dramatic breath.

"Are you a virgin Micky?” Mike asked, playing with the tip of the carton in his fingers.

Micky's nerves hit an all time high and he gave a false laugh. He didn't answer quickly enough and Mike gave a broad smile. "Thought you were.” He silenced Micky's laughter.

"But I...err.” Micky spluttered.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of.” Mike purred.

Micky's head spun. Yes it was true, he'd never been all the way, but what was that to do with this freak anyway. He was only sixteen for crying out loud; he had plenty of time to have sex.

Micky turned a beet red and looked to the floor. Finally, after another painful silence, Mike spoke again. "I didn't mean to embarrass you, I just wanted to know, I'm sorry."

Micky looked up and saw the eyes were genuine. Mike had stepped closer now and there were only a couple of inches between them. Micky could feel his heart pound in his chest and he also felt another pounding and tremendous heat further down and he hoped Mike wouldn't notice how aroused he was. He couldn't think why, was it hot in here? All he knew now was that he wanted to get home, wanted to leave. Mike read every emotion which was displayed on his friend's face and tried a calming effect he knew worked on himself.

He raised his hand ever so gently and stroked the back of his crooked index finger along one of Micky's tomato colored cheeks.

Micky's eyes flashed in alarm, but surprisingly he didn't move, just stood, speechless.

Soon Mike was lost in the moment, noticing all the little features of his new friend that he hadn't noticed before. Honest eyes, beautiful curls, divine lips. Mike felt himself disappear into another realm where he wanted to taste those lips and his head dipped and he made smooth soft contact.

That was it. Micky leapt back and gave a look similar to one of a deer caught in car headlights. He felt sick and aroused and embarrassed and terrified and alone. Mike's eyes were on the floor again and he held the face of shame. "I'm sorry," He murmured again and turned on his heels, disappearing into a room nearby, the slamming of the door making his departure permanent.

Micky's legs were jelly and he was amazed he made it to the front door. He gave one last glance behind him but found no Texan. Then he faced outwards and headed home, pained by confusion. Now what was he going to say at school tomorrow? What had made Mike do that? He realized just how little he knew of this guy and that drove him on even more. He was going to get to the bottom of this, for better or for worse.