C14 - LATE TUESDAY NIGHT

Only he would think he talked too much., Micky thought to himself, his small grin turning lopsided. "What you said to me — about how you felt about me — right before Pete interrupted us." I need to hear it again for it to be real. I need it to be real.

With that clue, Mike's brain rewound back to the time in question, and it hit him. A hope he had kept suppressed all this time surged within him. "Oh." He simpered, dipping his head down and then back up, sheepish from having shared such a private and visceral emotion out loud — an emootion that seemed to be accepted. He wondered suddenly if he would be blessed to have the opportunity to get used to saying that out loud to Micky.

And then he decided he wasn't going to let that opportunity to find out slip him by. Be brave like you were once before. He might welcome it now..., he felt to himself more than he thought in any precise words. Timidly, he followed the idea up by stepping forward and reaching out his empty hand to run his fingers through the untamed curls on the side of his hopefully-once-again-lover's head. He was half afraid the slightly younger man would step away, but just like on Christmas Eve, he stayed put. The assuring look Mike was given this go helped to embolden him, and he didn't wait any longer to affirm what he had said and had absolutely meant in the car. "I love you, Micky.", he admitted with confidence this time, able to gaze more deeply into the Californian's soothing browns than he felt he ever had before — was gazing into his soul, he wagered — and he found himself at home with what he connected with there. "More'n anything in this world."

And that was the plain truth. He was in love with Micky, and it was freeing to be able to come to terms with that fact. He had never felt like he genuinely belonged anywhere or with anyone until he had met this wonderful person standing before him, this person who willingly and eagerly gave him his time and made him laugh and feel appreciated and now loved every single day. Repeating the words of deep-seated affection to Micky couldn't be a hardship now that he was able to level with himself that, if it came down to it, there wasn't anything that he wouldn't do if this boy asked it of him.

Micky hadn't noticed that he'd dropped his own crossed arms when Mike had laid tender fingers to his hair. He didn't hold back from glowing with relief and happiness at Mike's words and touch and countenance. "I always knew you were a big softie.", he verbally poked, his eyes humored, horizontal slits.

With their eyes locked on to each other's, Mike shook his head just a bit and produced a full and natural smile then. "Only when it comes to you."

Smiling right back, Micky informed him with smooth sincerity, "I really do love you, ya big softie."

Mike's eyes widened and his fingers in Micky's hair stilled. He's not jus' sayin' that. He really does..., he thought in breathless awe, recognizing the truth of Micky's words. His inner turbulence went quiet, externally mirrored by the tension leaving his forehead to smooth out his skin back to its innocent, youthful appearance, just as it should be. He meant it. He really does love me. Mike beamed at him.

Observing the stages of Mike's reaction to his declaration, Micky wondered, Could he really not know how I feel? He tilted his head a bit, smile still stuck on his face. I want to show him so badly. But rather than push him into anything, he wanted to wait, deciding that Mike should be the one to make the next move in order to commit to what they had going on between them — a real relationship, he hoped. But as it happened, his patience ran out almost instantly; if one more second went by, Micky felt like it might be the end of him. "So are you gonna shake my hand or hug me or make out with me or what?", he teased with anticipation.

At that, Mike's eyes twinkled, and without delay, the hand that had resumed stroking Micky's curls shifted around to cup the side of his face. Mike's other hand, dropping his hat to the floor forgotten, snaked up and around to cradle the other side of Micky's face.

Not missing a beat, Micky had in turn wrapped his arms around the waist of the slender man before him. They were so close, face to face.

Secure in their embrace, Mike found himself at a loss for further words, beyond elated that this was real. He leaned in the last inch and delivered a meaningful and unhurried meeting of lips, putting into it everything he felt and hoping it would be a start to his making amends. After an extended moment floating on a sea of euphoria, he felt as much as heard a very small, benignly strangled sound in the back of Micky's throat that he didn't know how to interpret apart from being able to discern it wasn't necessarily bad. "Mmwhut'sthat?", he mumbled as if entranced, reluctantly breaking off their kiss.

MAN, that's good., Micky thought in a daze of his own. He had pulled back just far enough for some air and smirked, thoughts of Mike's lips being as soft and pliable as ever on his mind. Contrary to what the sound he had made might have seemed like, he hadn't had any complaints whatsoever and treasured their sweet exchange more than he knew how to express. "The way you kiss me — that's what had me stumped. I didn't think you could be faking how you felt." Every blissful time their lips had touched since their first kiss on Christmas Eve, Mike had seemed to him so affectionate and tender and caring — and, often, needy of Micky. And Mike was level-headed and down to earth, not one to be whisked away by atmosphere and fantasy, so Micky would have bet some money on his kisses alone that it was real, that Mike had serious feelings for him because he didn't think Mike would, or could, fake that. Which is what had made it all so unbearably confusing when Mike had closed himself off and announced his imminent departure. But that was then, and this was now.

Mike was lost once again in the warmth of Micky's drying eyes. "No, no fakin' it for me.", he agreed with a sluggish shake of his head and a dreamy look cast on his features. It was a fact that he couldn't possibly fake it nor could he imagine trying to fake such a thing. The person in his arms was his first and only love, and holding back from him had proved its own torment.

Micky's stomach did a flip at the intensity and the sincerity of it all. He was so keen on experiencing so much more of Mike like this in his life that he was thrumming with excitement. "Tell me you feel this way about me again next Christmas, and all's forgiven.", he half-joked, feeling compelled to cement his position.

Mike looked surprised and perfectly pleased, any of the remaining reluctance he might have felt earlier having faded away. Caressing Micky's cheeks with the pads of his callused thumbs, he didn't understand how someone like Micky could love someone like him, but he wasn't about to take it for granted ever again. "I will. If you're sure that's what you want." He had to check one last time about this astonishing reality where Micky actually did love him and where they could, if they were very lucky, get by just fine together.

"Never been more sure about anything, babe."

Mike couldn't contain himself. He pulled Micky's face in for a more intense and eagerly reciprocated kiss, and before long, Micky's tongue sought entrance which was immediately granted. Seconds could have passed — or minutes, or hours; Mike couldn't be sure. But the next thing he knew, Micky's hands had slipped around his front, one to hold his belt buckle in place and the other to palm the front of his pants, eliciting a modest groan from him as his hands fell to Micky's shoulders.

Liking what he felt and heard, Micky's other hand went to his belt buckle as well to help deftly undo it and slide it out of the loops and toss it to the floor. To hell with not being a little pushy. He wants me, and I want him! Micky didn't care who in the bedroom below might have been woken up by the thunk of the belt's landing; all that mattered to him was that Mike was committing to this.

And Mike did want it, which he demonstrated by drawing up the courage to stare Micky down while shifting his hands to Micky's own belt, boldly doing away with it in the same fashion, then removing Micky's jacket followed by pulling Micky's green striped sweater over his head and dropping it to the floor in a growing pile.

Now uncovered from the waist up, Micky took hold of Mike by his tie, hauling his face back for another kiss before undoing the strip of cloth, pushing Mike's jacket off his shoulders, and moving his fingers to the buttons on Mike's long-sleeved work shirt, opening them one after another as fast as possible until he could also push the shirt along with the tie off of him.

They next went to work, though less sexily, on divesting themselves of their own pants, shoes, and underwear before pressing their warm bodies and faces back together and in no time maneuvering around to Micky's bed, falling onto it in a tangle of limbs. Mike took a moment to draw the covers up over them, partly due to a sense of propriety and partly because the air was indeed chilly in December, even upstairs, even when they were worked up.

They were all over one another, need surging within them, wide, sloppy kisses up top and rutting and fondling down below. Overwhelmed with feeling, Mike's lips migrated to Micky's cheek and temple. "I'm sorry, Mick.", he whispered out in a heavy breath.

Micky shushed him, wondering if Mike was even aware of the words having left his lips. Wanting him to feel nothing but good, Micky turned his face to the side to recapture Mike's mouth with his own.

It worked, and Mike let himself become entirely lost, adrift in all the different, highly pleasurable sensations of Micky, a murmured "I love you." falling out during his gasps of passion which Micky responded to in kind.

It took almost no time at all, and minimal effort, to find their releases, one after the other softly crying out as they came. Catching their breaths and coming down from their mutual high, dopamine flooding their systems, the fatigue from the long and stressful day was overshadowed by giddiness from their intimacy coupled with their new personal understanding. They cuddled and kissed quietly, hums of happiness scattered for some minutes.

"Micky.", he sighed as he placed a matching, soft kiss on Micky's neck below his ear.

"Mmm. Mike." The smile in Micky's voice was apparent.

Slowly pulling back, Mike got to see that smile he had heard, and he examined Micky with no small amount of awe and reverance. He rubbed nimble fingers over Micky's waist as his mind started to clear a bit from their haze of lovemaking. Able to handle complete sentences once again, his face morphed slightly. "So I get why you'd wanna punch me, but I'm still tryin'a figure out why on Earth you'd think you forced me into wantin' t' be with you. Just me bein' a pushover's enough?" Lying with Micky in their relaxed afterglow of fooling around, thoughts wandering over recent events, it was difficult for Mike to not find himself a little amused and entertained by the idea.

This time it was Micky's turn to feel silly. Had they not been in one another's arms, front to front up against each other in Mike's narrow bed, he maybe would have stubbed his toe on the floor as a distraction. As it was, he did the equivalent by lowering his eyes to Mike's chest and dragging a toe down along the side of Mike's foot. "Well, after you wouldn't explain what'd made you so upset and touchy, I got to thinking about it all in the car, and it occurred to me: I couldn't remember when it wasn't me who started something between us these last few days."

Mike frowned in thought, contemplating what Micky meant and beginning to feel badly all over again. "Oh. I—", he started, then stopped for a lack of an excuse. It was surely true. He lifted his fingers from Micky and ran them through his hair in place of a scratch, remembering how he hadn't wanted to get comfortable at Micky's mother's house for multiple reasons, one of which was the concern he had about getting too attached. The irony, of course, was that he was already well gone by then. But if that hadn't been the case, he had been worn down over and over since. "I didn't want ta lead you on 'cause I really didn't think we stood a chance." He paused then. "I'm sorry, Mick."

"It's okay.", Micky placed a gentle palm on Mike's face. "I get it now. I just thought—"

"I'm sorry.", he repeated seriously, stopping him short. "An' I'm sorry for the way I treated you after."

Micky kissed him in reply, far more interested in feeling Mike's pillowy lips than in making Mike feel uneasy.

When they had backed off from one another just a little, Mike, feeling wanted and wanting to make sure Micky felt just as wanted, laid his hand on Micky's arm and wondered aloud, "But I do touch you plen'y, don' I?" He tried to remember back while simultaneously trying to concentrate only on the good parts, which to him were the parts that were all Micky.

Running his fingers up Mike's chest, he replied, "I guess. Like you always have." He didn't want to be a downer again, or put Mike on the spot and make it weird, or sound like he was asking too much when he didn't mean to ask him for anything, not really. So he hedged in a mumble, "But I mean... Idunno, man."

Though deriving pleasure from Micky's fingers, Mike's focus was on Micky's answer. He didn't enjoy hearing Micky sounding troubled and questioning himself like that. He was certain that any lack of initiative had been his own fault, not Micky's, and he frowned harder at himself. This wasn't exactly his strong subject, so he was willing to admit his obliviousness in general. "I'm sure you're better at this sorta thing than I am. But I'll work on it.", he added decisively, rubbing lazy circles on his boy's upper arm. He was amazed by the thought that a week ago, he would never have imagined in his wildest dreams that his roommate, his best friend, the person whom he secretly loved would be in bed cuddling with him, naked as the day he was born, and Mike felt lucky as hell at this slight change of scenery that meant so much to him. He would make it a point to ensure Micky knew how he felt from hereon out.

But Micky didn't want Mike to think he had to change himself at all to feel like he was enough for him. "No, it's fine. You be you." On reflection, he supposed it would be a little preposterous to expect any type of relationship a person could have with Mike to hinge on Mike being overtly, expressively affectionate — or to have Mike be expected to begin any interaction of that kind at all, really. Mike just wasn't normally like that. Although, he had to admit that when in bed, Mike didn't seem to have any problem letting his guard down to be expressive and affectionate with his mouth and his body. And that thought warmed Micky's heart and made him feel special. It really is a wonder he ever kissed me to begin with., he reminded himself. But it also reminded him of a thought that had crossed his mind earlier, a misgiving about being more enthusiastic than he normally intended to be. "If I'm ever... too much, you'll let me know?"

Mike crinkled a brow. "Too much?"

He shrugged the shoulder that wasn't against the bed and dropped the same hand down from Mike's chest. "You know, clingy and stuff." It had sounded childish in his head, but he'd said it anyway.

The Texan grinned. "I like you just the way you are.", he disclosed, squeezing him closer and kissing him in one fell swoop. Seconds later, once he pulled back a bit, he started to add on another thought. "It's just..." But he trailed off there, unsure of how to say it.

Micky's gut tightened, primed to aggrievement from their prior ordeal. "What?"

He shook his head once against the pillow. "Oh, I just worry." He threaded the hand he'd had on Micky's arm underneath said arm and around Micky further to trace his fingers up and down his spine. "I've never..." He stopped himself from getting too sappy. "We've barely been outside together, an' I worry I'll act like a nut and get stars shinin' in my eyes like Davy and stare at ya too long — maybe even just in disbelief that this's real. Or that one of us'll touch the other in a certain way without thinkin'." He quickly clarified: "Not because we don't know better but because it'll be natural for us to. And I don't want ta haveta think too hard about it, like you said before. I don't want t' get too caught up in worryin'."

With that explanation, Micky relaxed. He had himself wondered if he'd be able to keep it together a hundred percent of the time too when in public. And he didn't want to tell Mike yet that his mother knew since at least that indeed was not worth worrying about right now. He consoled himself with the thought that only she may know her son well enough to figure out what was going on between them. They'd manage, he decided; Mike was hardly the one who would give them away, and Micky had made a concerted effort so far to be mindful of his own behavior outside. He was determined to continue to be mindful because he had no intention of messing things up a second time. "Mmm. Guess we'll just have to figure it out as we go. Just don't stress too much, 'kay?" With Mike's hand now pressing flat against his lower back, Micky graced him with another a kiss.

"Yeah.", Mike breathed out afterward, perfectly willing to agree to anything for Micky now that his own hangup had been resolved.

"Hey, babe?" Micky's stomach faintly growled then. "Not that I'm not enjoying being all toasty and curled up with you a whooole lot," he nuzzled and rocked into Mike in accentuation, "but you wanna go downstairs? We missed dinner, and I'm getting hungry. Plus I'd be willing to bet Davy is gonna get up early to eat our doughnuts — possibly out of spite."

Mike chuckled, moving his hand around Micky's hip. "You want me goin' down there with you?" He raised an eyebrow, imagining Davy hearing the two of them and stomping out to gripe at him some more. "Davy'd have my head if he got woke back up. An' what about you? You ain't still mad at me an' wanna steal my doughnut?", he teased with a small smirk.

Micky good-naturedly rolled his eyes. "When have I ever actually been mad at you?"

If he'd been standing, gravity would have lowered his head for him just a little. "Shoulda been."

"Get over it.", he smiled at his guy. My guy. He really is with me for sure now.

Before Mike could say anything back, he was distracted by Micky's delightful lips on his own once more. The slightly older man giggled, the vibration of it traveling through to Micky, and it was the most adorable sound the drummer thought he'd ever heard in his life.

Mike knew he would have to apologize to Davy and Peter in the morning. But for now, the weight of the world felt like it had been lifted off of him and everything was back to normal — a promising, new, fantastic, together-normal. It was an even greater level of ease and openness between them than they had known before which lead Mike to think that Micky was right, that they might just end up being okay after all.

-—-—-

They had cleaned themselves, and each other, up, grinning the whole time, and had dressed in their pajamas before heading downstairs. Mike had located the sack of food, relocating it to the table before moving two of the kitchen chairs up next to each other around on one side of the table. In the meantime, Micky had gotten a glass of milk for them to share while they ate.

To fill in the late night stillness for a solid couple of minutes around taking bites, Micky quietly chattered about this and that, all of it light, most of it relating to their friend's surprise birthday party he had gone to on Monday before he'd come back to the pad sauced. With Micky getting distracted in the car on the way home the following day and with everything that had happened since, he hadn't had a chance to tell Mike about it before now, so he described to him the dozens of people who were there that he'd remembered talking to and the good time that was had by all. It was as if Micky couldn't help but feel he needed to make up for the time he had spent earlier in near silence.

Through it all, while wordlessly finishing off his own pastry, Mike low-level smiled away.

It didn't go unnoticed by his beau who let it go for awhile as he talked, happy as always to see Mike happy. But eventually Micky had to ask just what it was that was making Mike so happy because he didn't remember saying anything particularly humorous. "What?", he queried as he finished popping the individual leftover sprinkles into his mouth, looking back at him funny.

"Lots of things." Mike innocently peered down at the table — and at Micky's fingers that appeared directly in front of him to pinch the remaining crumbs of his cinnamon bun — but his grin widened for a second, belying his customary ability to keep his composure.

"Oh?", Micky prodded in-between taking in the morsels.

Mike shook his head, preparing himself to let it all out, to again lay his emotions bare. Micky deserved as much. "It's strange. I feel like jello inside when you're around. When I'm with you, I've always felt... I cain' explain it, what you do to me. I couldn't explain it at all before I understood what it was. Then when I did understand it, I didn' know what ta do with it for the longest time. An'... now that I have you, that we're together, I don't know how ta contain it." He paused, staring at him openly. "An' that you're back to bein' you again — that you're not speechless anymore."

With a soft "Hey!" having pushed through the warm, fuzzy feelings Mike was giving him by sharing himself as he just had, Micky poked him in friendly retaliation for pointing out his one-time lack of yammering. I really could get used to him being so open like this with me. I hope it lasts. But even if it doesn't, I'll take him just how he normally is because he's him, and he's wonderful., he thought with a broad smile.

Mike unexpectedly wrapped his arms around him from the side and leaned in to take possession of Micky's lips with his own. Seconds later, mostly letting go, he added slyly, "But I do like it when you're speechless from doin' other things with yer mouth."

With that statement, bordering on salacious given who had said it, there could be no more second-guessing for Micky about where his best friend stood. He kissed me! Mike kissed me — again — of his own free will!, he squeed internally, the fervor of it showing bright as anything on his face.

After a pleased moment of taking in his lover's elation, Mike continued, gratefully apologizing in his own way. "And I'm real glad that you're givin' me a second chance an' you still want me — that you ever wanted me t' begin with." Left arm still draped around Micky's waist, he rubbed the fingers of Micky's left hand that he was now holding in his right. "Real glad."

With a crooked smile back at him, Micky melted all the more. In truth, he felt very special to have Mike. He was of the belief that loads of chicks would kill to have a guy like him — dependable (maybe except for this one time), selfless (even if he tried to do selflessness majorly wrong this once), smart as a cookie (when he wasn't being fearfully dense), extremely talented (no exceptions there), and handsome as hell (not a question in his mind). Distracted by the clock on the wall beyond the stairs, he finally took his eyes off Mike's, and judging by the time it showed, it was now December 30th. "Happy birthday, babe.", he announced, tipping his head in its direction to elucidate what he had been looking at. "It's past midnight."

As for Mike, his heart was full. No other present could hold a candle to his getting Micky as his own, and he couldn't fathom how any future present could ever top it. He fixed Micky with a look and quietly rehashed his announcement from moments before their very first kiss less than a week ago in this very room: "I'm going to kiss you again." He moved his right hand up and gently took the side of Micky's face with it, leaning in to capture the now-eager and not-at-all-anxious lips that awaited his own, determined to not let all their future exchanges start off one-sided. Pulling back to get a good look at him, he gazed at his boy in wonder and told him earnestly, "I love you, Micky. You don't ever have to doubt that."