Date: Fri, 25 Jul 2003 16:16:36 -0400
From: Noni Y. Mouse <nonimouse440@hotmail.com>
Subject: Kiss of Life Chapter 9 Replacement

Sorry guys- I got some emails, and as I re-read the ending, I saw that I'd
made a couple of typos. (embarrassed grin) sorry about that- in the future
I'll try to do a better job of proof-reading! This is the repost- with
hopefully all of the typos corrected. Thanks for the heads up!  NM

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! 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 9


	John Anderson stood at 6'4" tall, weighed a good 230lbs of muscle, had
brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes. He was not an easily shaken man, being a
detective and having to maintain a tough guy image both on and off the job.
On the job, it was to get to the truth of the matter from the people he had
to come in contact with during his day. Off duty, it was because he was gay,
and generally, people are much more hesitant to attack a tall, muscular,
confidant looking guy- gay or not. He knew that both men and women stared at
him as he walked by on the street- but he paid it no attention. Physical
beauty, he knew, faded over time. But surprisingly, it's how people seem to
fall in love- they look at someone, feel an animalistic attraction to that
person, and then swear that it's love. But John had been through enough to
know that looks aren't any kind of an implication to the soul of the person
beneath. A person could be handsome, but have a vapid personality beneath a
Colgate smile. Or, a person could be handsome and have a wonderful, charming
personality beneath a bright, warm smile. You could never judge the gift by
the packaging. And this was an important lesson for all Prince Charmings of
the real world to understand at once: the superficial packaging sometimes
has nothing to do with what's on the inside. There's real "sleeping beauty"
in everyone, waiting for someone to come along and unlock it, no matter
their situation. Sometimes it takes a kiss, sometimes it takes more;
patience is a great virtue, something which they sort of never tell you
about in the fairy tales. Not all heroes must slay a dragon to claim the
love of their princess. Sometimes all it takes is for a hero to have a great
ear, to make him a really great man. And if you understand that, then you'll
understand why John did what he did next.
	John leapt across the room, as Mike opened his mouth, and firmly clamped a
hand over Mike's lips. Mike looked up, startled at the cat-like quickness of
this man in front of him. John stood there, breathing, looking into Mike's
eyes. He slowly lowered his hand, not breaking the eye contact. Everything
between them was so intense that it was getting scary. But he knew that
this, what he was doing right now, was the right thing.
	"Don't Michael. You're not ready to tell me. When you are, remember that I
am here- waiting to get to know you. But only as much as you'll let me in at
a time. I don't want to force you baby. You'll tell me when it's time." He
silenced Michael with a kiss, so that any further words, protest or
otherwise, were smothered. With that, he took Michael by the hand, and led
him into the living room, and stood him in front of the window again- the
window that was the scene of his almost-demise. John wrapped his arms around
Michael's waist again, hugging him from behind, and whispered into his ear.
	"Weren't you going to order us some food, baby?" Mike, shivering from head
to toe despite being enveloped in the warmth of the man behind him, raised
the phone to his ear, and dialed the number for Sal's Slices. A sliver of de
ja vu ran through him as Joe answered the phone in his customary greeting.
	"Sal's Slices, this is Joe. Is this a pick up or delivery?"
	"Hi Joe. It's a delivery."
	"Mr. Dana, how are you? It's good to hear you're out of the hospital! Eh,
this one is on us, ok? In fact, Sal himself heard about what had happened to
you, and he told us to make sure that whenever you call, we take care of you
special, eh! So what  would you like, Mr. Dana?" Mike stood there, phone in
hand, mouth open, tears glittering in his eyes. He'd never imagined that so
many people had actually noticed him. The neighbors, Sal... he looked back
to catch John rolling around on the floor with a very perplexed looking
Jeff, who then joined in on the apparent fun. Most of all, he wasn't exactly
sure why John had noticed him... and then a flashback to the "bathroom
incident" brought a flush right up to his cheeks, and he coughed into the
phone.
	"Sorry about that Joe. I uhm... my ... usual?" Joe laughed into the phone.
	"I shoulda guessed, Mr. Dana. Your usual coming right up. Be there in 30
minutes. Stay safe, ok? If you ever need any help, me and my boys aren't too
far away, ok? I mean it, Mr. Dana! We can't lose our best customer!" Mike
grinned into the phone- if grins made sound, Mike's was shouting. He almost
felt like... well, like Joe's little sister... he supposed... protected,
really... by "the boys." He laughed out loud as he hung up. If only those
"boys" knew that he had a full grown man rolling around on his kitchen
floor... Well, backup couldn't be such a bad thing, all things considered...
	He stood back for a moment, hesitating to intrude into the picturesque
scene.  Was it moving too fast? Damnit- it was only the first night, and
already, they were at "baby" and "sweetheart" and non-stop kissing and
serious emotional intensity. Mike needed to know of himself - why did he
want to get to know Detective John Anderson? Was it his charm? His beauty?
His forward and gentle masculinity? More importantly, Mike wanted to know of
himself why he wanted the Detective to get to know him! Was he just feeling
desperate at the moment? Aching for human contact, and had so snagged the
first thing to come along? Was it good to have all of these doubts.
	He stood there, watching the scene in the kitchen with his eyes, but
traveling at thousands of miles per second in his brain. The doubts were
overwhelming, and he almost wanted to tell John to leave- that he needed
space... time... something. This secure man was making him extremely
insecure about himself- about his own intentions. And to think that he'd
almost told him... But John had stopped him. He seemed so noble-
considerate. Mike turned to his left, and caught his reflection in a mirror
hanging there on the wall. It was at face height, oval, and large enough for
Mike to really pause to take a look at what he saw there. The thing that had
been troubling him all along, all his life, kept him so isolated and hurt...
was he worth it? Wasn't he damaged goods? Didn't John deserve someone
better?
	Damaged goods... he'd always be tainted... but how much DID that matter...
to anyone else? Could they see past that? See to the desperate him, yearning
for something to love, something to hold on to? Perhaps, for... maybe...
forever?
	John looked up to see Mike standing there, studying himself in a mirror,
and wondered what was going through his mind. Jeff's cold, wet nose edged
its way into the crook of John's neck, and he giggled, and got back to
wrestling the dog on the kitchen floor. In his own mind, John couldn't help
but to think of what Mike had been just about to tell him. He knew that he
had his own share of things to say- hurtful things, loving things, and
hopeful things- but that it was too soon. Too soon to do anything but roll
around on the damned floor with the damned dog when what he really wanted
was to be rolling around on the damned bed with this man standing there
staring at himself as if he were looking into his very own soul. And that
was right where John wanted to be- standing there, staring into Mike's soul,
and being a part of it. But why...? Why was that where he wanted to be? What
was it about Mike that drew John to him like a thirsty horse to water? And
that's what he really wanted to do- draw Mike to him, and drink from him-
slake his own desperate thirst for love and affection- to touch and be
touched- really touched.
	John stood up off of the floor. He was a rumpled mess, but he moved with
purpose, to stand in front of Mike, still gazing and lost in his own
reflection and thoughts. When John crossed into his view, Mike jumped a bit,
startled, and then looked up into John's face. John stared down at him, into
his eyes.
	"Where did you go, Michael?" John asked. Mike shook his head, indicating
that he couldn't answer. Not because he didn't want to, but because he
couldn't say all of the things that were trying to force their way out of
his head at once. The congestion...
	"Why me, John?" And there. A sentence constructed of the simplest grammar,
yet requiring of the most complex conscious reasoning our cerebral cortexes
have to offer... and then some. And Michael cocked his head to one side, and
a smile played out across his full, beautiful lips. His brown eyes crinkled
at the corners when he smiled, lights seemed to dance between his irises.
	"I have faith in you, Michael, that you won't hurt me. I have faith that
you're here to rescue me. I have faith that it's no one else but you, and I
don't need a reason beyond that. Do you?" Mike shook his head and looked
down. Is that what it really took? Faith?  Did he have faith? When he
thought of faith, he thought of God... and where had God been when he'd been
so wrongly taken advantage of. A fork of lightning ran jaggedly across the
sky, and thunder rumbled outside of the windows. It had been a cloudless,
almost perfect night before- but now, it looked as though it were going to
rain.
	"Faith... that's a hard subject for me, John. I don't want to hurt you...
but who's to say that I won't? How can I be sure, if I've lost my faith?"
Mike looked back up, honestly, into John's eyes. For a conversation of a few
hours, this was suddenly getting very intimate.
	"Maybe that's why I'm here then, Michael. To help you regain your faith.
Maybe I can teach you... I don't know what I have to offer, except myself,
Michael. But isn't that really all that we can expect of anyone else? To
give us what's there? If we really care? I'm not asking for your heart
overnight, Michael. Just maybe... give us an honest chance." John stepped
back, another flash of lightning illuminating the two of them, suddenly so
distant from one another. Mike turned away from John, but stood his ground,
leaning against a wall. His voice sounded distant and far away.
	"I feel like my faith abandoned me a long time ago, John, before I had a
chance to really develop that kind of a skill. Then why now? Why all of this
now?"
	"Do you really want me to answer that question, Michael? Because I can't.
No one can, and it's a waste of time trying to figure that out."
	"But isn't that what fate is, John? Things have a specific meaning at a
specific time? That the now is as important as the what? That the now and
the what are closely related? If that isn't the case, if the now doesn't
mean anything, then how can you have faith that the what means what you
think it does?" John looked at Michael for a moment.
	"Michael... I have no idea what you just said. It's not that I'm not
smart... I think that you're just convoluting yourself. Think about it like
this, Michael. You can't see why the now is so important at the moment, and
you know what- not a lot of people can. That's because you're in the moment,
Michael. It's hard to gain perspective on something when you can't see it
all. And right now, this is something that's just beginning. Can you tell me
about how you ran a race, before you've even run it? Give it time, Michael-
that's what fate is. Taking the blessings, and taking the time to appreciate
it. Understanding will come with time, as you appreciate more what you've
been given. And not to sound cocky, but I think that the fates have been
pretty damned kind to you- they practically gift wrapped me and dropped me
off at your door." John was grinning, and Michael was laughing. He had
managed to back himself into John's warm, hard body, and stood there, blood
pumping down to this sensitive crotch as the information trickled in and
took root. He wondered if it were normal that just standing close to a
person was cause enough for a hard on. He then figured that it must be,
because John had a hard on too. He could feel it, massive and hot and
throbbing like a scalding lead pipe, trapped sideways and downwards across
John's massive thigh. It was so ridged and thick- Mike could feel it through
his jeans- his downy soft ass clenching at the suggestive presence of the
raw power behind the rod.
	Mike moaned, closed his eyes, and fell hard back against the detective. He
ground his ass into the detective's crotch, and inhaled sharply, as he felt
John's stiff cock throb hard against the confines of its denim prison. He
wanted that monster to push itself into his ass, lube squelching, hot
throbbing cock racing into his steaming, soft guts, over and over, John on
top of him, groaning, crying out his name, belonging to him, he belonging to
John, impaled and happily going no where except to bliss. He wanted it so
bad- to have this naked hunk doing him until John was the only name that he
knew that existed. He could see the sweat dripping off of John's abs as he
pounded that piece of hot sausage meat in and out of him, the head flared
out to its maximum, scraping his ass walls with every movement. He
shuddered, and came out of his reverie in time to feel John's hands roaming
on the outside of his jeans covered cock. John was breathing in his ear,
slowly grinding his cock into Mike's ass, while his hands ran lightly up and
down the outline of Mike's sensitive cock, from root to tip, and back down
again. Mike shuddered, and pulled away, mixed feelings welling up inside of
him. He hadn't minded the making out... just... it reminded him that he had
something to do...
	The doorbell rang, and Mike went to get his wallet, leaving the boned up
and horny detective to stand there looking down at his own massive tool,
aching steadily in his shorts. He could feel precum drenching his thigh. He
turned and went into the kitchen, searching for plates, cups, soda. He just
wanted to spend some time with Mike- quiet time, where he could relax, and
let Mike relax into him. They moved towards the couch, both of them a little
nervous suddenly, but not backing away. Mike set the pizza down on the
table, and scooped up the remote. He turned on the television as John placed
plates down next to the pizza box, and then stood, not sure of what to do
next. Would they sit on the couch? The floor? Mike looked up to John, and
then laughed.
	"We'll sit on the floor for now. No pizza near my cushions!" John smiled,
and settled himself down, while Mike got him a slice of pizza, and placed
the plate next to him. As Mike was about to sit next to John on the floor,
John reached up, grabbed the waistband of his jeans, and pulled him down to
sit right between his legs. Mike slipped down to the floor, twisted, and his
butt brushed against John's nuts, firmly held in place by his confining
underwear. The hot slab of John's man sausage lay in an upright position-
not hard, it was soft, but still hot with the warmth of his recent erection.
Mike turned back to the television, and a very curious and somewhat hungry
Jeff came padding silently out of the kitchen. He knew that he wasn't
allowed up onto the couch, but he figured that he'd at least try to push the
boundaries a little bit. He silently hopped up into the couch, and settled
himself in behind the two on the floor. He closed his eyes, feeling
supported and somehow secure, and went to sleep.
	The night seemed to slip away in comforting quiet. Pizza done, cold and
forgotten, John's hands first rested themselves on Mike's shoulders, and
then made their way down to his lap, to clasp themselves there, not in so
much of a sexual move. It was more of a claiming ritual- their bodies
pressed tightly against one another, enjoying the closeness of one another's
bodies. And that's as far as it went that night, to be honest. There wasn't
even anymore kissing. Their intimacy had taken a break- formed some
boundaries, in order to give the prospect of their dating a chance. As John
stood at the door, waiting to leave, Mike leaned in, and gave him a kiss of
the cheek, which John returned.
They parted ways, Mike turning around after closing the door just in time to
see a very guilty Jeff scooting off of the couch, tail between his legs, and
making a bee-line for the laundry room. Mike growled, and rolled his eyes at
the retreating dog. He'd let it go, or deal with it later. Either way, he
hurried over to the window to watch the detective get into his shiny black
Volvo, and speed off into the night. He realized that he'd had no idea where
the detective lived, or if he lived in an apartment, or a house, or if he
even lived alone. He had no idea if John's parents were dead, or alive, or
how he'd even arrived at having become a detective. He smiled to himself.
Was it worth holding on to life? For... a man? Or was it for himself? Could
he rightfully give himself a chance to be happy? He smiled, the spark of
hope warm in his belly, and he made his way back to his bedroom to call his
lovely evening to an end.
A certain someone, driving away from Mike's place, suddenly boned up hard in
his jeans. He boned up so hard in fact, that a deep ache ran from the tip of
his rod through to the root of his balls, and he had to pull over onto the
side of the road to avoid an accident. The road was framed in by trees on
either side- about 10 feet back from the blacktop. John had pulled over
there, and shut his lights off. It being late, and a very definitely a back
road, there were no overhead lamps lighting the way. John sat there in total
darkness, his seatbelt off, his seat back reclined, and his hands grasping
for his zipper and belt buckle at the same time. It was frenzied- this
action- of trying to free his throbbing, and hopefully not blue cock and
balls. He freed himself, covered in precum, a drop oozing out of the tip. He
grasped the head, and as the shivers ran through his body, his arm began to
move up and down his turgid, veined shaft, slowly at first. As his fist hit
bottom, he gave it a squeeze, and the head gorged with more blood, a
brilliant scarlet color, contrasting with the deep brown of his furry pubic
hair. He released the clench of his fist, and began the journey back up his
shaft, ever so tantalizingly slowly. When his fingers found the sensitive
underside of the head of his cock, his entire body convulsed, flew up off of
the seat, and he arched his back. He was so out of control, so full of
raging lust. He caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror- his lips
parted, his eyes slanted closed with animalistic passion for his own body.
He looked into his own eyes, and knew that sitting in the car jerking off
would not abate his feelings at all. He opened his car door, and got out,
dropping his shirt, his pants, his socks, shoes and underwear in the car.
Something hit his foot, but he paid it no attention. He was on a mission.
John stood outside, naked, near the warm hood of his car. He found his right
nipple with his left hand, and his right hand ran down his body until it
connected with his wet, dripping cock. As the two made the connection, cock
and fist, he threw back his head, and sat down on the hood of his car. It
made his knees weak, he was so horny. He thought back to the evening- to
having his hand on Mike's ass, the warm, sweet taste of Mike's mouth, the
feel of his cock through his jeans, the feel of that firm ass on his cock...
John grunted, and broke down into an almost uncoordinated rhythm of jerking
his cock, grabbing on his nuts, and twisting his right nipple. It was sore,
sparking off intense waves of pleasure through him as he tweaked it, and
pinched it, and wet the tip of his finger and ran it over and over lightly
over the engorged areola. His balls, drawn up into his body, it felt,
tingled as he rubbed them, and then under them to his puckered hole. He'd
never really explored back there on his own- maybe once or twice, and he'd
bottomed before, but never really got into the hang of it. But now, as he
coated his fingers with spit, almost in a trance, he thought of fucking
Mike- of Mike fucking him. Those fingers found their way to his anus, and he
began to rub around and around and around his hot pulsing hole. He pushed
the first finger in, and spread his legs wider, laying fully on back on the
hot hood of his car. He began to almost punch that finger in and out of
himself, nearing his climax as groans and whimpers shuddered out of him. He
deep-fingered himself for a moment, and found that hot, slippery bump that
brought so much joy to the number of men that had been pinned and anally
pummeled by him. He pressed on it, and almost rolled off of his car. He
clasped his legs around his arm, squeezing his anal opening, and crushing
his finger in the hot muscular warmth of his inner body. He then continued
to push in and out against this resistance, nearing his orgasm, groaning
louder and louder. The tremors started way before fluid ever left his body,
and he cried out, naked underneath the stars, sweat pouring off of him. He
convulsed, his taught 6 pack clenching and releasing, as he cried out, over
and over, and his body released a gush of cum, the first spurt flying over
his head, and landed on his windshield. It dribbled down, and was joined by
two more spurts, and then the rest painted John's body from chin to crotch,
in scalding sperm. Orgasmically spent, John wiggled under the intense
sensations spreading out from his sensitive ass, as he rubbed his hole a
little more. He sighed, and lay there, breathing in the clean night air,
underneath the stars, naked and contented. He thought to Mike- to what he
was thinking of doing to Mike- invading Mike's warm hole, making room for
himself literally and figuratively inside of Mike. He sat up suddenly-
thinking of Mike made him realize that he was on his car, naked, sweaty and
covered in semen. What if someone else came along?! If someone drove up,
he'd be for sure noticed in the glare of the headlights. He jumped off the
car, and moved quickly to the driver's side of the car. He pulled at the
door, and to his dismay, the door did not open. He pulled again, and the
door still didn't open. His blood froze in terror- was this really
happening? He raced around to the other side of the car, and grabbed at the
handle there. It wasn't open either- in fact, none of the doors were open.
He raced back around to the driver's side, panic setting in, and he stepped
on something. He looked down- and holy shit, it was his cell phone! He
breathed out a sigh of relief, and picked it up; as his rear was poised so
vulnerably in the air, a bright burst of headlight beams picked up on it,
and illuminated its alluring creaminess. John dropped to the ground
reflexively, and rolled under the car. He couldn't be caught by anyone out
here- naked and smelling of sweat and semen. The headlights slowed, and then
pulled off to the side of the road. John peered out from under the car. He
knew how suspicious it looked- a car sitting there on the side of the road,
relatively new, and unattended. He saw a flash or red and blue lights, and
groaned out loud. It looked as though he were fucked- with something quite
larger than his left middle finger!