Copyright (c) Naked Persimmon 2010-11. All Rights Reserved.
Home
Fanfiction
Fan Art
Gallery
Inspiration Station
Rugulator Room
Tumblr
Links
Contact Us
Feedback for the author...
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 7"
Title: Saved by the Bell P7
Pairing: Micky/Mike
Rating: NC-17
Author: Woolhat's Traveling
Mood
Micky deftly buttoned his pants as he continued eye contact with himself in the
mirror. His hair was a mess, but he couldn't bring himself to comb it. Glancing behind
him, he watched Mike stretch luxuriously on his worn mattress, hands placidly folded
behind his head.
"You're worried.” The Texan murmured; it was a statement, not a question.
"I
have to get back to school before classes end, I have to meet Coco, or she'll know
I skipped school, then dad'll kill me for sure."
"I wish you didn't have to go.” Mike
looked wistfully at him with eyes that shone chocolate in the early afternoon sun.
"Same here.” Micky murmured, finally tucking in his shirt. Mike was about to say
something else when there was a sharp knock at the front door.
"Who the hell?” Mike
leapt up and quickly dressed before ushering Micky towards the other end of the room.
"Can you just hide in there?” Mike seemed to know what he was talking about as if
he had this all planned and pushed Micky gently towards a small closet. He gave Micky
a quick peck on the cheek before closing the door.
Micky could see through the little
slats in the door but couldn't see far. He could hear though. He listened to Mike's
ambling footsteps as they trudged across the living room and halted. Then there was
the click of the lock and the door creaked open.
"Yes?” Mike drawled.
"Is this the
residence of Robert Nesmith?" a very stern voice sounded clearly.
"Yes, that's me.”
Mike's voice had suddenly lost all its confidence and Micky could only imagine who
this visitor was. His breathing began to grow quick as he heard shuffling and his
heart pounded in his ears. How would he explain this?
"Well, My name's Detective Atkins
and this is Sergeant Brianson and we have a warrant to search your house Mr. Nesmith,"
"Why?!"
"Because
we have reason to believe that you were involved in the burglary of 94 Crescent Avenue,
two nights ago."
"What? You're crazy!"
"We have two witnesses who identified you from
your existing police records, now if you'll just move out of the way, we need to
search this place."
"You can't just barge in here!"
"Just watch us!"
The door slammed
shut and there was the sound of movement of furniture, violently, and rummaging of
other objects. Micky bit his lip and held his breath as he heard footsteps thunder
around the small house. Any minute now.
The bedroom door creaked and Micky could
see the detective. He was a large, plump man with a thick moustache and small squinty
eyes. He easily tossed furniture aside before his eyes settled on the closet. Mike
had appeared behind him and was babbling on but the detective's eyes never swayed
from the slated door and he edged closer. "And what's in here I wonder.” He whispered
coyly as his hand reached out for the knob.
Micky closed his eyes and could feel tears
about to roll down his face. This was it.
"Hey sir?” A voice called from another room.The
detective stalled and glared behind him.
"Yes Brianson?"
"I think I found what we're
looking for!” The voice called and Micky could see Mike visibly cringe.
The detective's
hand dropped from the knob and he hurriedly left the room.
Mike stayed where he was
and Micky gasped as they made eye contact, despite the door, and Mike mouthed 'I'm
sorry'. Soon the detective returned, brandishing several items ranging from silver
ware to house appliances. Mike said nothing and stood perfectly still for the cops
to force his arms behind his back and lock the handcuffs in place. "Back to your
old tricks again eh? We got your files up from Dallas, old habits die hard eh boy?”
Atkins gave a sneer. Mike remained silent and just stared darkly at the floor.
Brianson
began to march Mike from the room but suddenly halted when he realized that the detective
was not following. Micky bit so hard on his lip that he could taste blood in his
mouth when he saw the detective edge towards the closet once again, grin of triumph
on his face.Micky felt his heart pound so hard he thought his chest was going to
explode.
The detective was just a couple of inches away now and Micky could smell
his greasy breath.
The light was blinding and Micky needed a couple of moments to
let his eyes adjust before focusing on the scene before him. The sergeant was snickering
to himself and the oily grin of the detective remained. They both looked bemusedly
at Micky for a couple of moments and Micky could feel himself grow bright red. Finally
the detective turned to Mike and ruffled his hair in a humiliating manner. "That's
another old habit you're finding hard to get rid of, isn't it boy?"
Micky stalled.
'Another'? 'Old'? He gazed at Mike but the Texan refused to look in his direction
and merely glared at the floor with hate because it wouldn't open up and swallow
him. The truth was out.
Brianson ushered Mike out but Micky was frozen in shock. The
detective kept gazing at him like he was some sideshow attraction and Micky felt
the tears well up. What did it all mean?
He looked back at the policeman and saw
a look of pity. "Take it from me boy.” He spoke lowly, "Dump this loser before you
end up in hot water. Go find yourself a nice young girl. Don't get tangled up with
this screwed up kid, he'll only drag you down with him. He's done it before." And
with that, he was gone, with Mike being dragged behind him.
*************************
Micky
was late to meet Coco and he found she had gone without him. He took the bus alone
and walked the last street in the dying light. By the time he passed Peter's house
tears were streaming down his face. What kind of a mug had he been? How gullible
can you get? Mike had a habit of picking off young boys and he was the latest in
a long line. He felt so low, his heart was dragging along the sidewalk. Occasionally
he glanced at the ring on his finger and wondered if the only reason Mike had burgled
that house was to buy him a present. That made Micky's tears run faster and his body
began to shudder with all the emotion. He couldn't believe that Mike didn't love
him, it didn't seem real. Maybe all that playing around was in the past and this
was the real thing? Micky didn't know what to think anymore, he just knew he wanted
to hide away for a while and just mull over everything.
How would he get to see Mike
now? Mike couldn't go to jail, he was too young, but what if he was expelled from
school? What if he couldn't see him again? Micky realized that he had walked home
without his coat or his bag or anything, they were still at Mike's house, but he
didn't care about that anymore. Right now, the only thing that occupied his mind
was the gut-wrenching pain of having his heart ripped from his chest and put on display
for everyone to laugh at. He felt betrayed and humiliated and alone, so terribly
alone.
Micky sat on the curb for a few moments and buried his head in his hands,
crying harder than ever before. Then he clambered to his feet and turned to the front
door. He believed that things couldn't get any worse but when he turned to see his
mom and dad standing in the door way with a police officer, he knew things were about
to take a nosedive into misery.
