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.
"The Prison: Part 2 - Dance Between the Raindrops"
Title: The Prison –Chapter 2 – Dances Between The Raindrops
Author: Woolhat’s Travelling Mood
Genre/Pairing: Slash Mike/Micky
Warnings: Angst and Monkee Misery, Sexy Slashy Scenes and a little foul language
Disclaimer: I do not own the Monkees, this did not happen and is just a figment of my imagination
Summary: A dreadful accident could either bring them closer or tear them apart.
Author's Note: I am British, so please excuse any Britishisms that creep in (unless they’re from Davy). Also, this intends to be a long one, in a few chapters, so bear with me!
Just a little bit further. Christ it hurt. His fingers stretched as far as they could go and yet still he pushed, hoping they would extend just a fraction more. His hand brushed the canister teasingly and he felt sweat run down the back of his neck and across his brow. Why was this so hard? He growled through gritted teeth and pushed his muscles, inwardly pleading with them to stretch just a little bit further.
“Mike? Mike what are you doing?” Micky scolded as he hurried in from the front door, putting down shopping bags as he moved.
“Just trying to make myself a fucking coffee but some fucker put the coffee tin out of my reach,” Mike groaned as he felt his muscles creak under the pressure he was putting them under.
Then Micky was by his side, easily reaching up and retrieving the tin for him.
“I’ll make the coffee, you should be resting.”
“No.” Mike scowled. Micky sighed. He knew it was about time for one of Mike’s daily moods, and he couldn’t really blame him. The guy had been crushed by a van and was now trapped in his own home, but still, some days Micky wished Mike would just cheer up a bit.
“Ok. Here.” Micky handed Mike the tin, and got out of his way as Mike navigated the wheelchair around the small kitchen.
Micky went back to the shopping bags and started unpacking the groceries. He couldn’t help but keep looking up and checking on what Mike was doing, hoping he wouldn’t hurt or burn himself. After spending so much time watching over him in a hospital bed, it was now difficult to relinquish control and give him back some independence.
Mike clumsily spooned the coffee into a mug and then sat back and waited for the kettle to boil. He glanced over at Micky and caught the drummer watching him.
“Haven’t you got something better to do than stare at me all day?” He snarled.
Micky instant dipped his head in embarrassment and continued emptying the bags. Mike was stabbed by a feeling of regret and sighed.
“I’m sorry Mick. It’s just...two hours since I had a painkiller and I can’t have another for two hours...and...” He floundered. The kettle started to whistle and he turned back to the challenge of making a coffee.
As he stirred the hot drink he felt a gulf of silence between him and his friend. Micky had stood by him throughout his recovery, during the long months in hospital, and now the struggle of re-adjusting at home. It could be months before he could try and walk again, or it could be never. The doctors weren’t sure how bad his brain damage was, he felt like some guinea pig. As he brought the spoon of sugar towards him, he suddenly felt a lapse, a blank spot in his mind, and dropped the sugar in his lap. He looked down and felt a wave of nausea wash over him. His balance was off.
“Mick...” He murmured, and felt a brush of warmth as Micky encircled him in a hug.
“It’s ok Mike, I’m here.” The drummer could feel dampness on his sleeve and looked down to see tears streaming down Mike’s cheeks. “Oh Mike...please, it’s ok,”
“No, it’s not. I’m useless, I can’t even make a fucking coffee...” Mike sobbed.
“No, it will get better. It will.”
Micky clasped Mike’s chin and pulled him up for a kiss. It was powerful and passionate and Micky hoped it would show Mike just how much faith he had in him, how much love he had too.
Mike sank into the kiss, needing it, and hating himself for needing it, for being so dependent. At first, when he had left hospital and received the grim news that he may never walk again, he had contemplated taking his own life. It had seemed the most sensible thing to do, and something he could do himself, no help required, a last bid at control over his own life. But then Micky let him in on a little secret – that he was in love with him. It had made Mike re-evaluate his situation, and for now at least, he had given himself a stay of execution.
Micky broke the kiss and ran his thumb over Mike’s bottom lip, a small compassionate smile playing on his face.
“You know…Davy and Peter will be gone for hours…” He purred as he leant closer and straddled Mike’s lap. Mike let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Micky bent his head and buried his face in Mike’s hair, blowing gently, watching the skin on Mike’s arms break out in goosebumps.
“Micky…I…” Mike managed to speak before Micky captured his mouth again in another kiss. All arguments Mike had disappeared as Micky opened his mouth, allowing Mike’s tongue room to explore. At least I can still do this, Mike thought, as he brought his hands round to caress the drummer’s backside. Micky moaned into his mouth and wriggled ever so slightly, rubbing his quickly growing erection against Mike’s. Mike growled deep within his throat, loving the feel of that lithe body pressed so close to his. It made him forget his disability.
Micky broke the kiss again and rubbed noses with Mike affectionately before slowly sliding down his body until he was kneeling at Mike’s feet. He looked back up at his lover with seductive Chinese eyes, and ran his hands up and down Mike’s legs. Mike just watched, trying to remain poker faced but failing. Micky knew how to unravel him, and he was powerless to stop him.
Soon Micky was at Mike’s belt buckle, quickly undoing it and pulling his pants and underwear down, exposing his impressive arousal. Mike sighed as the cool air flooded around his flesh and then gave a load groan as Micky dipped his head and took Mike into his mouth.
“Oh Mick…ngh…oh,” Mike couldn’t contain himself. It felt so dangerous doing this out here in the kitchen, where they could be clearly seen if someone were to drop by. This didn’t seem to daunt Micky, who attacked Mike with ravenous excitement. He licked and sucked and teased until Mike was writhing in his chair, begging for release. Considering he had never been with a man before, Micky had quickly learned the best ways of giving head, and relaxed his muscles enough to take all of Mike into his mouth and down his throat. Mike gasped, clutching the edges of the chair, and threw his head back with a loud moan as he came.
Micky swallowed every drop and continuing licking Mike until he had semi-recovered. Then he pulled his clothes back up and sat back on his lap.
“Have fun?” He beamed, running his fingers through Mike’s hair.
“Uh huh, stupid question, but what about you babe?” The Texan asked, running his hand towards the sizeable bulge in Micky’s pants.
“Oh, I’m ok. Just as long as you’re happy…” Micky brushed it off quickly, before standing up and returning to the groceries he had left strewn around on the table.
The old guys in the corner would want more coffee soon, but he would hold off as long as he could, his feet were killing him. He felt a tense headache starting in the base of his skull and hoped the clock would move just a little bit faster. Maybe when his shift was finished he would treat himself to a little puff to help him relax. Yes, that would do it. Then he could forget all about this bastard place with its grease and fat and nicotine.
Davy wiped the surface of the counter top with lacklustre energy. It was coming on to rain outside and he felt gloomy. He couldn’t believe that he had been in this job for five months now, and he hated going home smelling of French fries. Maybe those old bastards had had enough and would leave soon. He could sneak off then and no one would notice. Certainly not Caroline, she was already half-way to pissed anyway.
He started stacking glasses under the counter when he heard the bell over the door jingle signalling another customer. “Shit.” He groused, hoping to hide behind the counter for a few more seconds.
“Hey, anyone here to serve a cripple?”
Davy jumped up and stared over the counter.
“Mike? What are you doing here?”
Mike wheeled himself closer to the counter and smiled up at Davy.
“Micky was going to the library and gave me a ride. I thought I’d drop in and see you.”
“Wow, you’re really getting out and about now huh?”
Mike grimaced slightly “Not quite, only if one of you guys help. There’s not many places that this thing will fit,” He slammed the heel of his hand down on the chair.
Davy felt panic rise in his chest. What was Mike doing here? To tease him? To remind him of how stupid he was? To remind him that it was all his fault that Mike was in the damned wheelchair?
“Anyway, any chance I could have a soda? I’m parched.” Mike tried to appear jovial, but his back was beginning to throb and he was beginning to wish he hadn’t begged Micky to take him out. He had got used to his little cocoon inside the pad and now the world seemed a big, unwelcoming place, not helped by the fact that it seemed even Davy was disgusted with him. He saw very little of the Englishman these days; he was either at work or busy elsewhere and Mike wondered if he was just simply avoiding him.
“Why don’t you go sit at that table and I’ll bring it over,” Davy smiled back, pointing to a table by the window.
Mike wheeled himself over and edged in between the chairs. Just as he got settled, Davy came over with a Coke and sat down opposite. Mike drank half in one go and then looked at Davy with an even gaze. Davy fussed with his hands, and started to look out of the window, anything to keep from looking at Mike’s accusing eyes.
“Davy?” Mike asked quietly.
“Yeah Mike?” Davy turned to look at him slowly.
“Is…is there something wrong? I ain’t seen nothing of you for weeks. It’s like you’re avoiding me.” Mike tried the direct approach, hoping it would get a direct answer.
“What?! Why would I do that?”
“I dunno. Maybe you don’t wanna hang out with a cripple. I mean, you’re only 21, I can understand that.”
“No Mike. That’s…that’s just wrong. I have no problem with you.”
“That’s a little hard to believe…”
“Well…it’s true. I just…every time…every time I see you mate, it reminds me of how stupid I was, and I hate myself for thinking that its my fault you’re…”
“It’s not your fault Dave. If I blamed you, do you think I’d still want you living in the same house as me? Do you think I’d still want to be your friend? I would have done the same for any of you guys, and you know what? I think you would have done the same for me…”
“Of course I would…but,”
“No buts. You just answered your own question.”
Davy looked defeated and Mike could see the beginnings of tears welling up in the singer’s eyes.
“I get nightmares Mike. Horrible dreams and I keep reliving it all over and over again. But in my dream, you don’t wake up. I can’t live like this…I just can’t deal with it.”
“For fuck’s sake, you can’t deal with it? How the fuck do you think I feel? What about Peter and Micky? Do you think they have it any easier? I ran in front of the truck, not you. I got myself in this damn chair…”
“Saving me! Sometimes I wish it had hit me, then I wouldn’t have to put up with…”
“What? Put up with me? You listen up you little English prick. I forgive you, ok? I took a chance and lost, but you won. Now if you don’t hold your head up high and get on and make the most of your life than this sacrifice was worthless. Don’t you get it? The more you punish yourself, the more you punish me? And I’ve about had enough.”
Davy was openly crying now, and hung his head in shame. He was struggling to pull all these different thoughts together. Just as Mike was about to speak again, they heard a horn blast and saw the Monkeemobile pull up outside.
“I gotta go.” Mike began to wheel away, but turned back and looked Davy straight in the eye, “Peter’s turn to cook tonight. I expect you to be home for dinner. So we all suffer together right?” and slowly, he cracked a grin. Davy couldn’t help but smile back through his tears and slowly nodded, wiping his eyes. “Sure Mike…I’ll be there….just as long as it isn’t Cream of Rootbeer.”
“Well, if it is Shotgun, I’ll make sure you get double helpings, just so that we’re even.” And with that he trundled off, not realising the huge weight he had taken off from Davy’s shoulders.
“Here, let me do it...”
“No. I can manage.” Mike barked, trying to keep his temper even.
“I only wanna help Mike,”
“I know Mick, but you got to let me do it. Ok babe?”
Mike tried pushing the button through the hole again, but the fabric slipped through his hands. He had been trying to button his shirt for the past ten minutes and his patience was wearing very thin indeed. He didn’t need to look up to see the expression on Micky’s face. He would be compassionate and concerned, as he always was. Desperate to help.
And it wasn’t just the buttons. It was brushing his teeth, shaving his face, sometimes even writing his own name. Anything that needed hand eye co-ordination was a challenge and struggle. He had lost count of the bruises on his shoulders from crashing into the table or the staircase, unable to judge the distance.
He pulled hard on the button, gritting his teeth in anger and felt it come loose in his hand. The thread had snapped and he held the button up.
“Can’t even button my own fucking shirt.”
“You’re getting better every day...maybe...”
“Oh give it a rest Mick, please?” Mike sighed, and slumped in his chair.
Micky stepped closer quietly and slid the shirt back off Mike’s shoulders. He then went to the chest of drawers by Mike’s bed and fetched another shirt. He didn’t say anything as he came back and attempted to get Mike into it, finishing off by kneeling in front of him and briskly doing up the buttons.
Mike closed his eyes in despair. Micky looked up at him, his heart breaking. He couldn’t bear to see his lover like this. He had spent so much time praying for Mike to live, but this wasn’t living. This was existing, and it was tearing him apart.
“I love you Mike,” Micky murmured, almost too quiet for the Texan to hear.
Mike slowly opened his eyes and fixed the drummer with a sorrowful gaze.
“I love you too babe. Don’t take too much notice of me; I’m just having a bad day. I’m sorry.” He tried to smile genuinely.
Micky beamed back at him and rose to his feet, leaning down to give Mike a passionate kiss.