They had been arguing for nearly twenty minutes now, with no sign of it ending anytime soon. Their roommates had been driven from the house by the force of it; to any but the two doing the fighting, it seemed to be just a round of petty bickering that didn't involve anyone else. Also, by dint of its repetitiveness, the argument had lost all of its entertainment value.
"I'm doing what's in the best interests of this group!" Mike, in his calm, collected fashion, attempted to use reasoning on his bandmate.
"But you haven't any right to make decisions that concern any of us without our input!" David's customary charm and charisma were put aside in favor of a scrappy, street-smart variety of righteous irritation. It might have been easy to assume that the young Brit didn't care about anything but chasing girls and having a good time, if one didn't know him well. Thus, it might have been easy to underestimate his capacity for trying to right a perceived wrong (not to mention his will and ability to kick serious butt).
"I know what it is we're up against, and I know what needs to be done. By the time I'd have sat everyone down and had a meeting, who knows what mighta gone down?" The Texan stuck to his guns, but anyone who knew him would have expected that.
David, though nearly a foot shorter than the man he was locked in this fracas with, had no trepidation about stepping into Mike's space. He glared up at him defiantly and quietly intoned, "You may think you know everything, but trust me, Michael, you don't."
Mike, feeling a mix of anger at David's upstart ways and guilt because David made a good point, mustered every ounce of self-control he had (in order to not knock his adversary across the room). In an attempt to gain control of the situation (geez, when had Davy become so testy?) he stepped forward, locking into a staring contest with the smaller man.
"Now, look here, shotgun, it's already a done deal, and if you don't like it," Mike growled defensively, "then you know where to find the door."
Everything that followed happened so quickly that Mike could only react without the luxury of strategy. David lost his temper and flew at Mike, who reacted by pinning his arms down and shoving him against a living room wall, holding him there with all the strength he could muster. It was at some point, when David struggled violently against Mike (and thus caused him to further tighten his grip), that they found themselves kissing each other angrily and desperately.
This carried on for a few minutes. The anger dissipated; their embrace became passionate and tentatively curious. Mike let his hands slip through David's soft, satiny hair; David stroked the side of Mike's face with one hand while playing with his tie with the other.
The kiss finally broke of its own accord, leaving its participants sneaking awkward glances at each other. David finally started to retreat to his and Peter's shared room. He turned back to Mike, his face creased with worry.
"Mike?"
Mike looked across the room at him. "Yeah?"
"We're okay, then?"
Mike, quietly overcome with sympathy for the boy, shot him a weak smile.
"Yeah, we're okay." He paused, while David stared at him expectantly. "Look, man, I'm sorry."
David smiled ruefully. "I shouldn't have lost me temper with you like that."
They left it at that, at least for the time being.