Date: Fri, 18 Jul 2003 01:21:22 -0400
From: Noni Y. Mouse <nonimouse440@hotmail.com>
Subject: Kiss of Life Chapter 8

Guys- I want to thank ALL of you for your wonderful emails. I want you all
to know that I've read them all, and sorry for being so slow in responding.
I'll try to respond to everyone as quickly as I can. But thanks for your
support and your continued reading of this story. It's a pleasure writing
for everyone- believe me! This chapter of the story is dedicated to a
special friend of mine, Andrew, who has a character that is, in one word, at
the very least, admirable. He's many more things than that, however, and I
want him to know that I appreciate him each and every day. Thanks Andrew.
Don't forget- you can send an email to NoniMouse440@hotmail.com to send in
any comments. I always appreciate feedback, or just a nice hello from
readers. Thanks to all again for making this a special triumph for me.

NM


Chapter 8


	The sun had finally set, and the stars were out twinkling in the blue-black
sky. The moon was a bright white circle of allure, as it set a contrast
against the darkness of the night. There were no clouds in the sky- all the
better, because it would have spoiled a perfect view of the heavens for any
number of men and women, gazing up into the inky blackness and wondering
about their place in life- their place in the universe. Forever is a long
word, and quite different from the concept of infinity. Whereas infinity can
go on forever, forever doesn't necessarily have to go on for infinity.
Forever is relative, whereas infinity is constant. Relativity is
circumstantial- it depends on the presence of the objects involved in the
equation, to make any kind of orderliness out of the chaos surrounding it.
So take, for example, two men, both in similar states of need and
loneliness, traveling in different circles... circumstance happens to bring
them together, the relative similarities of their needs draw them closer to
one another, and fate has given birth to the potentiality of the concept of
forever. Not infinity- very few things are infinite, or last for an infinite
period of time or space. However, forever, is another thing- attainable by
human measures, and wonderful, powerful and sacred to those few who have
managed to achieve it.
	Forever was a concept that, in romantic terms, people thought only
regulated heterosexual encounters could provide. Loyalty to the institution
substituted for passion for the person, and although marriages may have
lasted longer "back in the days" unhappiness was rampant and largely
ignored, or even expected. But isn't it possible to have a marriage- a
commitment of loyalty that lasted passionately forever? Or does "Happily
ever after" exist only in the fairy tales?
	It was a quiet drive back to 99 EverGlade Terrace. The human inhabitants of
the shiny black Volvo sat holding hands, the passenger looking out of his
window, his mind racing and his heart fluttering, spurned on by the unseen
forces of fate. The driver sat looking out the window, imagining his life
full of the man sitting beside him. Could he look forward to driving home to
see this man, sunshine or rain, snow or hail, good mood or bad mood or sad
mood? In winter spring, summer and fall? That was a hard question to answer
given the pressure of all the circumstances. It seemed inhuman to be able to
love a person that faithfully... could he do it? Was he the one? Was Mike
the one? His brow furrowed as these thoughts ran through him mind.
	A certain furry someone sat in the backseat with his head out of the
window, and his tongue lolling in the breeze. If it can be accepted that
dogs can grin, then Jeff was grinning from flapping ear to flapping ear. He
liked the smell of the stranger in the car- he also liked the fact that his
master was covered in the stranger's scent, and vice versa. The mingling of
the two smells brought a sense of comfort to Jeff. He'd long since felt how
unhappy his master was- it was like a heat that was emanating out of Mike's
pores that Jeff could pick up. But now, the heat seemed to be cooling down-
if ever slightly- however, progress was good. And, Jeff thought he could get
accustomed to riding like he was. His master never let him stick his head
ALL of the way out of the window- but the dog had an inkling that the
stranger might let him get away with quite a few more things than his master
would. And with that, he let out a loud, joyous successions of barks, and
began planning what exactly he would do with the stranger to test him- test
his dominance- test his goodness. His instinct to protect his master had
kicked in.
	Mike didn't look up at the sound of Jeff's barking- he was entirely wrapped
up in his own thoughts. John, however, stirred, and squeezed Mike's hand,
causing Mike to shake himself out of his reverie. He looked towards John,
and smiled, and squeezed back. He wondered briefly if holding hands
intimately meant that he was moving too fast... but he also realized that
pulling his hand away would be a step in an entirely wrong direction, and
entirely too quickly. As much as he wasn't sure about holding hands, he was
definitely sure about NOT holding hands at this point.
	John took a quick peek at Mike, who had been staring at him, a slight smile
playing out across his lips. His eyes had made contact with Mike's eyes, and
for that second, his heart gave a sickening lurch, and it felt as though an
army of butterflies had been let loose in his stomach. He was aware that his
palms broke out in a fresh sweat, and that his cheeks felt hot. He surely
had a crush on this guy- and bad. But would it last for, dare he say it...
forever?
	"It's too early to think about forever, "he told himself, "let's just do
this one day at a time right now." He squeezed Mike's hand again, and they
continued to ride in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable- rather, it was as
though they'd ridden together like this a thousand times before, but
neither, as much as he realized it, was about to openly admit that to his
respective self. The newness of the situation had to be preserved. They'd
move forward sensibly.
	By the time that they pulled into the lot at Mike's apartment, a new
problem had arisen. Mike, who'd sat the entire trip in a state of blissful
surrealness, suddenly snapped back to reality with the acknowledgement that
he was home. He hadn't been "home" in a quite a few days, and to return to
the scene of the... incident... He hadn't realized that he wasn't prepared
to see it again quite yet. He'd almost died there- on his floor, and alone,
bleeding to death and at the same time, drowning in the pool of his own
blood.  Someone had hated him enough to spill his blood- to paint the night
red with his essence. Someone had hated him enough to follow him back to his
residence, and to spy on him to make sure that they hurt him. And, if they'd
thrown the brick a little higher, a little harder, he'd have gotten hit in
the head and there would have been no saving him then. His almost-killers
had almost gotten away with their crime. And, they'd turned around to lie
about it. The anger that welled in him, the grief; he hadn't realized he was
squeezing John's hand as tightly as he was, until John let out a grunt of
pain. Mike turned slowly to look at John, his neck creaking from the tension
that held his body as stiff as wood. John's face was slightly contorted in a
grimace, while Mike looked at him blankly and unblinkingly, all the
expressions he felt were projecting from his eyes. His eyes were blazing
with so much emotion; and John, for the first time, felt frightened by the
prospect of Mike. How could he look like that? How could he... How could he
be so cold and so hot at the same time? Was Mike oblivious to the discomfort
that he was causing John?
	"Michael... you're actually hurting me..." John spoke quietly. His voice
was steady in its quietness, and it said that John obviously had the power
to take control of the situation. What it implied was that John wanted Mike
to be the one to take control of the situation- take control of himself. And
Mike slowly relaxed. He began by blinking, and then releasing a whoosh of
air. His shoulders slumped, and those eyes, which had seconds before been so
full of anger and cold hate, filled with tears, shimmered, and released
their crystal pearls onto Mike's cheeks so that they flowed down his face
and fell into a black abyss of nothingness. Mike wasn't making a sound- just
crying- and John sat there, his hand still wound in Mike's, looking at him,
waiting for Mike to make the move. Mike had to be the one who came to John
for comfort- otherwise, John knew, that would be a signal that Mike wasn't
ready to be helped. And this WAS the big gamble, wasn't it? Was Sleeping
Beauty ready to be awakened by the Prince?
	They sat there, staring at each other for what seemed like a torturously
long time. Mike cried and cried until there were no more tears left, and
John sat unflinchingly staring. Jeff had fallen asleep in the backseat.
Finally, Mike let go of John's hand, and moved to get out of the car. John's
heart threw itself into a mad panic pace, and then broke as Mike got out of
the car and closed the door without looking back. John hung his head, his
hand alone and cold, much like the rest of his body felt. He broke; his sobs
were harsh and choking, and his body wracked and contorted with the force of
them. He moaned into his hands, and as he threw back his head, he saw Mike
waiting by the driver's side door, motionless. John threw the door open, and
jumped out. His tears still stained his cheeks, and he stood there, car door
open, breeze blowing across the parking lot. They were directly beneath one
of the overhead lights in the lot, there was a halo of light that surrounded
them and the car. Mike moved towards John, and wrapped his arms around
John's torso, drawing the man into him and breathing in his scent. It wasn't
necessarily an odor that could be detected- like laundry detergent, soap or
cologne. It was the smell of him- the essence of this man. Not a smell of
sweat or deodorant- but a very primal and biological claiming of John. Mike
looked up into John's face, and saw there something he couldn't read. They
still hadn't spoken, but for some reason he found that he couldn't speak. He
knew that whatever he'd say, words wouldn't be enough. Words could only go
so far- he felt that whereas humans prided themselves on their capacity to
learn language- to make complex sounds and grammar- for the most part, it
failed them as a species miserably. In his mind, the fact of the matter was
that 98% of people misunderstand each other when speaking to each other
person to person, and that could be attributed to the human experience.
Communication was such a complex subject... could he be wrong? John answered
his question for him.
	"I told you that I wanted to come in, Michael. I thought you understood.
Maybe it's my fault for not being clear enough in what I meant. Don't walk
away from me- ever. I don't take well to being abandoned, Michael. Always
tell me what you're thinking, or if you need space... if you need anything-
and that means any-thing, Michael- please ask me or tell me. You have to
talk to me because unfortunately, I can't read your mind. Maybe over time,
I'll get better at reading your body language... but right now, I need you
to talk to me. It's the only way that I ever have a hope of understanding
you. Am I making myself clear, Michael?" Mike stood there, still pressed
against John, looking up into his face. He nodded, for he had understood
what John had said, and what John had also implied. Language spoke in two...
well, codes. The spoken and the unspoken. What John had said was that Mike
needed to communicate. What John hadn't said, was that he needed Mike- but
it was very well implied by what he'd said. Mike realized that John was
looking to be healed- he'd had some hurt that he was being very proactive in
trying to fix. Yet the only solution for him was to place himself at the
mercy of another person- another man. A man who was broken as well. Was this
the blind leading the blind? Wasn't the Prince supposed to be handsome and
strong... and typically wealthy? The very embodiment of security? The
antithesis to the damsel's distress? The Prince had just revealed that he
wasn't as well layered as assumed, and for Mike, it was the first time that
the desire for this relationship really solidified within him.
	"John Anderson. You asked me to communicate... to tell you what I want-
anything that I need... well I want you. Time will tell us if I need you, or
you need me. But for right now, Mr. Anderson, I want you to come upstairs
with me and my dog, and I want you to sit with me on my couch, Mr. Anderson,
and I want for you to hold me- tightly. I want you to make me feel secure-
if even only for this one night, John. Right now, that's what I need- to
feel secure, especially here. But what I want, is for that feeling of
security to come from you. Do you understand me?" John looked into Mike's
eyes, and smiled. His arms, which had been hanging limply at his sides,
lifted to wrap around Mike's slender waist. They stood there, hugging in the
light. Mike placed his head onto John's chest, and John's chin rested
alongside Mike's head. Loud clapping and hooting broke the stillness of the
moment, and both startled men looked around wildly trying to located the
source of the commotion, but not letting go of one another.
	"Well shit honey! It's about muthafuckin' time!" Mike's eyes opened widely,
for he recognized the voice. It was Widow Green in 2A, his neighbor. She was
a sweet woman in her late 70's, and a firecracker. Nothing seemed to slow
her down- not losing her husband of over fifty years, not becoming old, not
having a replaced hip- nothing. She was mobile and entirely self sufficient.
Sure, she had her slow days, or, as she called it, her "cuntingly close to
dead" days. Mike shook his head- that woman could make up the most
interesting curse words. "Cuntingly" was his favorite to date, beating out
"puke-pissingly" by a landslide. Mike looked up to see Widow Green on the
balcony in a robe, slippers, and a shower cap. For some reason, she was
always in a shower cap...
	"Hi Mrs. Green! It's good to see you!" Mike called out. He wanted to go on,
but she cut him off.
	"Fuck that "hello" nonsense sweetie- get up here and dish me the dirt on
your friend! He looks like he could put a hurtin' on a horny moose! I betcha
he's got a dick like a moose, too! Mr. Green, God rest his blessed soul, had
a dick like a fucking safari elephant. Damn near touched the ground! I used
to play with it for hours when he went off to... dear? Where are you going?
You'd better be coming up this way to tell me all about... Michael? In a
rush dear? To GET to something? I would be too if I had someone to go
playing in MY sandbox! Have a good night dear! Come visit me tomorrow!" Mike
was dragging a laughing John into the building, followed closely by a groggy
Jeff. Before they got in, Jeff stopped at the flowerbed, sniffed for a
second, and then lifted his leg and sprayed the flowers. Satisfied, he
trotted inside, more awake and definitely hungry.
	Mike pulled Jeff up the stairs, and into the apartment. Still laughing,
John bent over double and tears sprung from his eyes as he remembered the
expression on Mike's face as Mrs. Green started talking about her deceased
husband's penis. Mike glared at John from the doorway, hands on his hips and
legs spread apart in a defiant pose.
	"It's NOT funny, Mr. Anderson!" Mike growled. Jeff ducked under Mike's
legs, and his nose led him straight to his bowl. He nosed it around a couple
of times, and then went to the cupboard where the doggy food was stored. He
could smell it, and it was making his mouth water. He turned back to his
master and the stranger. Which one would he ask? He instinctively knew that
he'd have a better chance at getting a late night feeding from the stranger,
than from his master. That decided, he trotted over to his bowl, grabbed it
in his mouth, and trotted over to the stranger. He dropped the bowl, and
pawed at the stranger's leg while letting out a low woof. John looked back
and down at the dog, and saw the bowl. Jeff picked it up again, and tail
wagging, trotted off to the kitchen. He dropped the bowl in front of the
cupboard that contained the food, and sat down. He looked back at John, and
gave another low woof. John walked over to him still laughing, and Mike, not
seeing the action that had gone on between the two, had gone off to examine
the living room window, which had been replaced. There was a note attached
to the window.  He stood there reading it, while John bent down, opened the
cupboard, and discovered the doggie food. Jeff sat there the entire time,
tail wagging slowly, watching the stranger. Now that the stranger had bent
down close enough, Jeff figured that he got his chance to check him out up
close. He stretched forward his nose, and stuck it in the stranger's neck,
inhaling several times. The man's scent washed over his olfactory receptors,
and rushed chemo-electric signals off to his brain. Jeff sat back,
processing, while John reached out a hand and patted his head, pouring food
into the bowl. Jeff, done processing, had smelled all he needed to smell to
get a read on the stranger. He waited until John had finished pouring the
food, and replaced the bag- a dog knows when to keep his food supply safe,
of course- and as John turned around to pat the dog again, he was surprised
to find the dog up on all fours, tongue hanging out, waiting for him. He
froze- not sure if the dog was going to attack- but then Jeff's warm tongue
bathed his left cheek in a loving saliva bath. The dog paced back, and stood
there, wagging his tail at John. John smelled... good. He was good. He would
do. And that decided, Jeff promptly attacked his food. John shook his head,
and walked up to Mike in the living room.
	"Michael- your dog is STRANGE. He's almost too smart... I mean, he's
obviously a dog... but when he wants something... he really knows how to get
it!" John exclaimed. Mike turned from the note to look at John and then to
his munching pooch. He let out a roar, to which Jeff looked up, barked and
wagged his tail almost laughingly as if to say, "I beat you! Ha!" and
returned to devouring his sneakily gotten late night meal. Mike shook his
head.
	"Damned conniving dog! Don't let him goad you into doing dirty favors! That
sneaky mutt... I've got something for him tomorrow then..." Mike growled, to
which John burst into a fresh bout of laughter.
	"What's the note say, sweetheart?" John asked, his hands raising and
rubbing Mike's shoulders. Mike was still tense, but considerably less so
than two hours ago when he'd been escorted out of the hospital. Mike turned
back to the note.
	"It's a note from all of my neighbors. They heard what had happened, and
got the maintenance guy to get in touch with some of his friends to get an
estimate for the window repair. They paid for it as a welcome home gift," he
broke off. He hadn't realized that his neighbors had all known him- or had
all thought good thoughts about him. He had had no idea...
	"What is it Michael?" John asked. He pulled Mike closer into his body, and
wrapped his arms around Mike's waist again. Holding this man here... in this
exact spot... he bent his head into the crook of Mike's neck, and sighed
into the soft sweet smooth flesh. His lips parted of their own accord, and
his tongue- in on the plot- reached out to slowly, tantalizingly, lick up
the side of Mike's neck to just behind his ear. Mike shuddered, and his
knees buckled into the Detective. John was firmly holding his weight, so
Mike didn't sink far. Mike could feel John's erect cock pressing into his
butt, throbbing its way into his crack, demanding entry with each powerful
almost angry pulse of the heated rod.
	"Uhm..." Mike said softly, "It's just that I'd had no idea that these
people thought this much about me at all. I don't even know half of them,
and this note is from the entire building. It's just a little overwhelming
is all." John turned Mike around in his arms, and looked into his eyes.
	"Michael. It is impossible for me to believe that anyone who has ever met
you, wouldn't have loved you on the spot," and he stopped himself there.
He'd almost said, "like I did" but it was too early to talk of love. LOVE
didn't happen that way... but at this point he was down to trying to
convince himself that this was so. Mike blushed, and looked away, smiling.
His gaze fell onto his pooch, still devouring his late night meal.
	"AND you gave him SO much more than he's allowed to eat even when he's
eating at a time he's supposed to be eating! John you're out to get my dog
fat," Mike playfully accused. John grinned, and tickled Mike, who giggled,
and collapsed into John's arms even further. His own erection was straining
at his jeans, precum soaking the area of his underwear that lay plastered
around the head of his cock. Each breath he took rubbed the material
slightly against his sensitive cock head, and sent a jolt of sexual bliss
running down his shaft, through his nuts, racing across his perineum, around
his asshole, and up to his spine. He arched his back involuntarily, and
caused his erection to be ground into John's own considerable "weapon of
mass destruction." He thought of Mrs. Green, and realized that she was
right- John had to have been part moose... his hand wandered down to it, and
grabbed it; a good part.
	"Darling... if you don't want me to rip off your clothes right now and fuck
you in front of this shiny new window, then I suggest we find some food and
curl up in front of the television like you wanted." Mike looked up sharply
at that. The thought of he and John actually making love... he didn't want
to tackle that issue at the moment- delay the guilt he felt... the
uselessness and contamination he felt at the...
	"Let's... uhm... order a pizza, ok? I'll go do it," Mike said, and slipped
out of John's arms without giving him a chance to agree or disagree. He
didn't look back as he went to hunt down his phone either. John got the
distinct feeling that something had happened, but he wasn't sure what. Had
he done something wrong by making a sexual innuendo in such an intimate
moment? Or such a space where the potentiality of something sexual
happening, was actually feasible? He stood there, feeling hurt blossom in
his heart. Mike had walked away again... damnit, don't do this to me, he
thought. Don't push me away Mike... But he couldn't bring himself to
actually say it. To say it out loud. But he didn't have to. Mike came
charging back around the corner, phone in hand, horrified expression on his
face. Relief burned through John so hard that he felt weak in the knees. He
actually bent a little.
	"John... I'm sorry for just walking away. I shouldn't have done that- and
as coldly as I did. I'm not accustomed to being so intimate with anyone. You
didn't do anything wrong, John. What's wrong here is me. I'm wrong. I'm all
wrong." Mike felt dangerous. He was hot, and he was scared. It was as if he
were walking along a cliff's edge, and he wasn't sure whether or not he
really trusted John as much as was required for him to tell his secret...
but he felt out of control- getting so close to telling him and trying to
not tell him.
	"Michael... what's wrong? Baby I can't help you or know you unless you let
me in. Please- what's going on? Why did you run away from me? You say that I
didn't do anything wrong; yet still you run away from me? Why?" John reached
out to Mike, and Mike froze, tense and afraid. Would it come out? Would he
tell John what was wrong with him? Could he make this silence last for
forever? Couldn't he hold this relationship in this exact moment- for
forever- and not have to cross a painful threshold?
	"Only in the fairy tales, Dana," Mike grimly told himself, "this is real
life." Mike sighed, looked down, and opened his mouth to speak.