Chapter 8

"Get him away!"

He locked gazes with Kirishima, whose right hand was still placed on Fei. He surely hadn't intended this, but it was Fei's groin under his hand, and the gesture sent a shiver of arousal through Mikhail.

The paramedic seemed torn in an internal battle, eyes moving from Asami to Fei, lying still over the counter like an offering on the altar. The blanket had fallen apart at his neck, a pulse throbbing visibly in his smooth, arched throat. He shifted a little, as if sensing his fate hung in balance, and looked up at Kirishima in a clouded half smile.

The handcuffed pursuer made an angry motion, and Asami urgently inclined his head.

Everybody began acting at once. Kirishima rummaged in the medical kit, produced a syringe…and stabbed it into the rat faced man's thigh.

Akihito ripped off his crocheted Rasta cap and leaned over Fei. "Lift your head."

He didn't wait for the Chinese to obey, but cupped his face, and Takato, grasping his intent, swept up the mass of shimmering black hair, doing his best to coil it and stuff it beneath this counter culture "in" accessoire.

Alexej slipped out of his pants, standing in "Star Wars" Bermuda boxers. "Come on, Misha, don't be shy." Together they pulled the baggy pants over Fei's boots, sliding them up his slender muscular legs. Mikhail thought his friend was touching the Chinese far more than necessary. "Aren't you straight?!" "Yeah well, he's cute…", Alexej coolly rejoined, even grazing Fei's cock with the back of his hand, when carefully closing his own zipper over the Chinese' bare skin. "Anybody spare a belt? So my designer garb won't slip down again…"

Fei was beginning to comply, confused but docile. All of his classmates were helping now, liberally patting and fondling him, revelling in his hard muscles, soft skin and the way he was giving in to everything…

Pjotr and Mikhail both fumbled with Mikhail's jumper. Mikhail was now in an army green T-shirt with a pink hammer and sickle, his scars just beginning to show in the low neck line. They awkwardly stuffed Fei's arms into the floppy sleeves of the worn garment, supporting his back and chest. Fei took over obediently, pulling the sweatshirt over his head, just as Pjotr, dipping down a bit, briefly brushed his nose against one of the firm, rosy-brown buds on his bare chest.

"Oh, but you do smell good…"

"Oh no, not you too!", Mikhail growled, " don't force me to have both of you executed, you, my two best childhood friends!"

"Can you walk?" Akihito was asking the Chinese, who nodded uncertainly. Alexej and Mikhail each slang one of his arms across their shoulders, all three of them almost exactly the same height, Alexej perhaps a little more burly than the other two.

"Come on, quick! Follow me!" Akihito urged.

"You want to go out like that?" Pjotr made a face.

"Oh - what of it," Alexej nonchalantly began manoeuvring in his Yoda boxers, supporting a very shaky Fei, Mikhail staggering on his other side. "They'll put it down to student's pranks - I've seen worse…"

"Attend to him, and take along some more valium, just in case", Kirishima instructed Takato. With the utmost professional detachment he was performing the same routine as on Fei on the rat faced man now, not bothering to undress him, though. "I'll see you are excused."

A different kind of siren was growing louder.

"The police! Get a move on!"

Stumbling towards the back exit after a frantically gesticulating Akihito, Mikhail saw Yoh being blocked by Asami. He blurted out something in Chinese, and Fei turned his head in his direction, peering out uncertainly under the garish cap. With a jolt Mikhail realized he was crying, a lone tear making it's way down his right cheek.

The cold street air hit their faces, and they staggered into a little back alley, just as the blue and white lights began flashing in the night.

- to be continued -