Chapter Sixteen

Erik opened the closet, which was actually a door concealing a staircase. He led them down the steps into an expansive wine cellar that occupied more space than Roger and Mickey’s apartment. Their path took them from one end of the cellar to the other, where another short set of stairs led up to a door that opened up onto the lawn.

It was easy to find Howie’s vehicle, and they climbed in, ditching their masks in the process. Erik fired up the engine and threw the engine into gear, flooring the accelerator until they were through the gate and out onto the street.

“Are they really going to have a fight in there?” Roger asked nobody in particular.

Kyle shrugged. “We’ll find out in the morning. Kind of a shame – it could have been a really epic party.”

“Alex is a champion party planner.” He spoke so quietly, Roger wasn’t sure at first that he’d actually heard Erik say something nice about his ex. “His parties are famous.”

“Well, this one is about to be infamous, I think.” Roger wiped his sweaty face with his glove. “Jesus Christ, I’m terrified.”

“You’re fine. They don’t know you’re staying at my place, and you’re going to be okay.” He downshifted and careened around a corner at much higher than posted speeds, making his passengers grab whatever they could to keep from being flung out of their seats.

“Slow down,” Mickey pleaded. “We’re not being chased.”

Erik glanced up into the rearview mirror. “Actually, we are.”

Roger whirled to look out the back window. “What?”

A dark green sedan was following them, taking the corners at the same hair-raising pace Erik was setting. He could make out two men in the front of the car, with another sitting in the middle of the bench-style back seat. He thought he saw a rifle in the third man’s hands.

“They were sitting outside Alex’s gate. Probably his private security,” the Viking advised. “That’s so many shades of bad…”

“Hold your bladder, Crash,” Kyle ordered. “If you panic, we’re all going to be screwed, and not in a fun way.”

“Jesus, you turn everything into a double entendre, don’t you?” Mickey snapped.

Rich interrupted the brewing argument. “Get down!”

A bullet ripped through the back window of the vehicle and out the windshield, spraying them with powdered shatterproof glass. Roger disintegrated.

“They’re shooting at us! Oh my fuck! It’s the bloody middle of bloody New Fucking York and they’re goddamn shooting at us!”

“We’re aware, Roger!” Erik shouted.

He hauled on the wheel and squealed into an alley, then back out again onto a one-way street. He very nearly broadsided another vehicle, then sideswiped another without stopping. He drove them down another side street, then another, and soon Roger’s head was spinning and he had no idea where he was. He decided that he would be best served by curling up into a fetal position in the back seat, and so that’s what he did. He could hardly do anything more useful.

Another three rapid turns later, and they drove into a parking ramp, the bottom of the vehicle scraping the pavement. Erik found an empty reserved spot and took it, jamming the car into park and joining everyone else on the floor.

They waited in frightened silence for a long while until finally it was clear that they had shaken their pursuers. They all sat up shakily, and Rich ran his hands over his face.

“That settles it. I’m going back to church.”

Kyle reached over and took his partner’s hand. “Take me with you.”

“We don’t need church,” the Viking objected quietly. “We need bulletproof vests and someplace to hide.”

“I thought we were going to be safe in your house,” Roger whined. He hated it when he whined, but sometimes he just couldn’t stop himself.

“We would have been until they upped the ante by bringing guns into it.” He grabbed his cellphone. “I’m going to call George.”

“Who’s George?”

Kyle looked at Roger as if he’d lost his mind, then broke into a shaky smile. “Guys,” he said, holding in laughter as if he had just heard the funniest joke of the year. “Crash has never been properly introduced to our manager. Can you believe it?”

“Well, he’s been working with Five-Foot Fantasm, so he hasn’t been around,” Erik shrugged. He glanced at Roger. “It kind of sucks to share a manager, but there it is. He’s also our producer, just like for 3F. When we’re in rehearsals, he’s working with them, and vice versa.”

Roger had heard of the other band, and he had even gone to one of their concerts. He hated their music. Their lyrics were inane and their chord progressions were simplistic, to say the least.

He chose to keep that opinion to himself.

They sat quietly while Erik spoke on the phone. “George? Erik. We need to take Valhalla into the studio, but outside of New York. We need a change of atmosphere. What do you say?”

Roger looked at Mickey, who frowned. If they left the city, Mickey would be unable to follow. Christmas season was approaching, and like every other ballet company in the world, they were going to be performing constant iterations of The Christmas Gift in the very near future. His job with the company would be forfeit if he didn’t show up for those rehearsals and performances.

Of course, he was going to Russia. Maybe things would all work out. Roger made a mental note to discuss it in more detail later.

“Sounds great,” the Viking affirmed. “How soon can you get the plane ready? Perfect.” He put his phone down. “Okay, guys. We’re heading to Island Studios for the next three months. Get ready for Christmas on the beach.”

“When do we leave?” Kyle asked.

“The plane will be on the tarmac and ready to go wheels up in two hours.” Erik looked pleased, and he told Roger, “Welcome to the big time, Crash.”

Mickey took a breath. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Don’t use that nickname and the word ‘plane’ in the same conversation ever again.”

Roger took his lover’s hand. “Can you come with me?”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not staying here.”

“I know that…” he started.

“That’s my problem. I’ll deal with it.”

Mickey sounded firm, as if he was made out of steel on the inside. He had thrown his lot in with Roger completely, to the detriment of his own career. It was the most self-sacrificing, utterly romantic and completely impractical thing Roger had ever seen him do.

“Mick,” he said softly.

He put his hand over Roger’s mouth, gently but with intent. He got the hint and fell silent.

***

They moved quickly when they got to the house, packing up their instruments and the sheet music for their new songs. Erik packed, and Roger just picked up the suitcase that he and Mickey had brought from their destroyed apartment. Erik tried to get Penny to come with them, but she decided to head back to Nyack, so he sent her on her way with a kiss and a hug. Once the gear and suitcases were loaded into Howie’s SUV, they went to Kyle and Rich’s house.

Their home was an arts and crafts style bungalow, and Roger decided he needed to see it again as soon as they were able to come back. He hoped that they’d be able to come back. He hated the thought of being hunted for the rest of their lives.

Once Kyle and Rich had added their suitcases to the assemblage in the vehicle, Erik drove toward a private airfield on Long Island. When they got there, a twelve-seat plane was waiting, along with a maroon import with vanity plates saying PRVT I. Howie and another man, whom Roger assumed to be Josh Warsinski, were waiting there, looking none the worse for wear. Howie was still in his Tarzan briefs, but Warsinski was dressed in normal street clothes.

Roger wasn’t sure what he’d expected Warsinski to look like, but what he saw was surprising. A man with twelve years as a homicide detective should have been scruffy, maybe with bags under his eyes and premature aging in his gaze. Warsinski had silver hair, yes, but his face was unlined, and his piercing hazel eyes were clear. He was the sort of man that the term ‘silver fox’ had been created to describe. Trim body, handsome face, obvious experience… if Roger hadn’t already been involved, he might have been tempted. He chose to stay faithful to his boyfriend, though.

He looked at Mickey and didn’t regret his choice.

“How did it go?” Erik asked.

“There were too many people there for a really good brawl, but we got a few licks in. We managed to get out of there before the cops arrived.” Howie looked pleased with himself, and he winked at Roger. “I nailed the creep. He was still on the floor when we left.”

He grinned back. “My hero.”

The big man laughed, then waved a hand toward the private jet. “Okay, buds. Everybody got their passports in hand?”

Roger blinked, stunned and dismayed. “Uh…”

“Don’t sweat it. George’ll fix it before we get there,” Kyle told him. “You haven’t met him, but he knows all about you, so we’re all good.”

Howie helped to load the gear onto the plane, and they all climbed on board. The pilot, a Latina with her glossy ponytail pulled through the strap on a baseball cap, met them at the stairs to the aircraft.

“Okay, guys. I registered the flight plan with the tower, so we just have to get ready and get on the runway,” she said. She hugged and kissed each of the Valhalla regulars. “Good to see you again.”

“Hi,” Mickey said when she turned to face him and Roger. “This is the new bass player, and I’m his partner.”

She offered her hand and introduced herself. “Aracelis. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They both shook her hand, and she hugged them, as well. “Okay. Now get your asses on board.”

When it came time for her to greet Howie, she wrapped her arms around his thick neck and kissed him deeply. Roger’s jaw dropped, and Rich laughed.

“They’re married.”

“Oh… Right. I just didn’t expect….”

“Yeah, I know,” Kyle teased. “A straight guy. Who’d believe it? They say that nine in ten men are straight…”

He giggled his way up the stairs into the plane.

The plane was easily the most luxurious that Roger had ever been aboard. He normally flew coach, especially cheap coach when he could find it, so it was surprising to be in a plane where every seat was first class, with leg room and a seatback that folded all the way down to make a bed. He only regretted that the bed was a single, because he really needed to hold Mickey right now.

He pushed the back into its lowest position and lay down on his side, watching and listening as Mickey chatted with Kyle.

“So what’s this studio like, and where will we be staying?” his lover asked.

Kyle slouched into his seat. “It’s actually in a shed on the grounds of a nice old house that overlooks the beach. We all have rooms in the house, and there’s a lady who comes up and works as cook and housekeeper for us. Expect to gain weight while you’re there, because that woman can cook.”

Mickey smiled wistfully. “I don’t think it’ll matter, but thanks for the warning.”

“Hey,” Roger said softly. “It matters. You’re not done. You still have Russia.”

He looked at him with a sad but grateful sigh. “It’s nice to hear you say that, but… I don’t know.”

“I do. I’m sure of it.” He held out his hand, and Mickey, who was seated next to him, took it. Their fingers interlaced. “Maybe Erik knows someone who has some financial influence that can sway the artistic director to forgive you… this is just until we can be sure we’ll all be safe.”

“I know.” He leaned down and kissed Roger sweetly. “Don’t worry about me, and I won’t worry about me, either.”

“Aww,” Howie said, flopping into a chair nearby. “It’s cute that you say that. You’re a ballet dancer, you said? And you’re gonna be in trouble for skipping town?”

“Yeah.” He sighed and pushed his seat down into a bed, too.

“I’ll take care of it.” The big man plugged earbuds into his phone and prepared to put them into his ears.

“No disrespect intended, but I don’t see what you can do,” Mickey said sorrowfully.

“I’ve done a lot of powerful people a lot of favors, and every one of those fuckers owes me. I’ll just call in favors until I hit the right combination.” He winked at him. “Don’t worry, little buddy. I’ve got ya.”

Roger had no idea what to make of their bodyguard. His first impression had been terrifying, and his casual talk of murder didn’t help that, but he also had a way of acting like an overprotective big brother. He supposed the two personas weren’t mutually exclusive, and he resolved to always stay on Howie’s good side.

“Thank you, Howie,” he said sincerely. “It means the world for me that you’d stick up for Mickey that way. He’s being hurt most in all of this.”

“Pfft,” Howie responded.

Mickey lay on his side so he could look at Roger. “You’re the one who’s being hurt. You’re being stalked.”

“Yes, but that’s because I actually did something to bring it on myself. You’re the one who’s lost his possessions and his peace of mind for something that never involved you.”

“It involves you, so of course it involves me.”

Erik walked past. “Get a room.”

Roger laughed. “We would, but…”

“There actually is a bedroom in the back of the plane,” Rich told them from his seat beside his partner. “In case you guys are interested in joining the Mile-High Club, it’s way more comfortable than the bathroom.”

“Speaking from experience?”

He grinned. “No comment.”

“You had to tell them,” Kyle mock-complained. “Now they’re going to be thinking about it all flight, but they’re both too polite to do anything about it, so they’re just going to be frustrated and horny the whole way to Bermuda.”

“Not my problem,” Rich shrugged.

Mickey snorted. “Wow… that’s compassion for you.”

“God helps those who help themselves.”

With a determined look, the dancer got up and took Roger’s hand. “Let’s go, baby.”

“I… but we…” he stammered. He looked at Rich in embarrassment, but his friend winked at him, clearly not at all offended by what was so obviously about to happen.

If Rich wasn’t bothered, then Roger wasn’t going to be bothered, either. He certainly would never dream of turning Mickey away.

They walked down the center of the plane, past the rows of seats that stood two by two along the sides. There was a door like the one that sealed off the cockpit, currently closed. Mickey reached out and tried to open it.

It was locked.

Roger turned and looked back at Rich and Kyle. “You did that on purpose.”

They both burst out laughing. Rich recovered first, and as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, he said, “I saw the Viking go in there and knew it would be ocupado for the rest of the flight. If not, I would have dragged Kyle’s ass in there.”

“Along with the rest of me.”

“Parts of the rest of you.” He grinned. “I had to see what you two would do.”

Mickey grumbled and returned to their seats. “You know perfectly well what I’d do, if I could.”

Kyle nodded. “Yeah. Same.”

Roger couldn’t help himself. “Who’s he in there with?”

Howie laughed. “Seven guys got on this plane. You’re telling me you can’t figure that out on your own?”

His eyebrows rose. “Warsinski?”

“Can you blame him?” Rich asked.

Kyle added, “Did you see him rocking that gladiator costume at the beginning of the night?”

“That was him?” Roger sat down again. “Yeah, I noticed him. He asked me to dance.”

“Did you dance with him?” Mickey asked.

“No.” He smiled. “I only dance with you.”

“Liar. You don’t dance with me, either.”

“Touché.”

Roger looked back at the closed bedroom door, then asked, “How long has the Viking known this guy?”

“The P.I.?” Rich asked. “As far as I know, just tonight. Erik must really like him, because he usually doesn’t move this fast.”

“Well, he seems nice enough, and I already told him he needs someone.” He leaned toward Mickey, not close enough to touch, but enough to feel closer to him. “I hate anyone being lonely.”

“Erik’s only lonely because he chooses to be.” Kyle chuckled. “I mean, look at the dude. He could have people hanging off his dick all day every day and taking it in shifts if he wanted.”

Rich rolled his eyes. “What an elegant way to put it.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do.” He put his hand on the side of Kyle’s face and gave him a gentle shove. “You’re such a freaking frat boy.”

“Ha! Unlike you, I never went to college.”

“Believe me, it shows.”

Mickey asked, “What did you study?”

“Professional partying one-oh-one with a minor in man whoring,” Kyle teased.

Rich reached out again, and this time he put his hand over his partner’s mouth. “Business administration. I was going to be an estate planner.”

“Wow.” Roger leaned back in his chair. “My eyes are glazing over even thinking about that.”

“No, they’re always that way,” Mickey teased.

Howie snorted. “Man. If this is the way you gay guys treat the people you like, I’m glad I’m straight.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” the dancer responded pertly. “We can and will harass you, too. After all, my partner doesn’t like anyone to be left out.”

“I don’t,” Roger defended meekly.  Mickey kissed him. “And I think it’s very sweet. You never used to be into match making before. What changed?”

He shrugged. “I guess it was when I found my match. I want everybody to be as happy as I am.”

He cringed inside, waiting for someone to jump on his words and mock him, even if it was only friendly banter. Instead, Mickey shifted over and sat on his lap, his arm around his neck. He kissed him deeply, and Roger’s hand settled on one of his lover’s muscular thighs while the other cupped his blond head.

“Too bad there’s only one bedroom,” Kyle said softly. “I think two more would be ideal right about now.”

Howie rolled his eyes and joined Araceli in the cockpit.

Rich chuckled. “We could just, like, hang a sheet in the middle of the plane…”

“Exhibitionist,” his partner accused.

Roger and Mickey broke their kiss, and the bass guitarist said, “Either hang up a sheet or shut up. You’re distracting.”

His lover stood up, his blue eyes glittering with mischief. He grabbed Roger’s hand and pulled him toward the lavatory, and he happily followed.

Kyle laughed. “Great. Now we lost the bathroom, too.”

Mickey opened the lavatory door as Rich pointed out in a sultry voice, “Well, there’s two of those…”

Roger followed Mickey inside and closed the door behind them. If Kyle had responded to Rich, he didn’t wait to listen, because he truly didn’t care. The only person he had any interest in at all was in front of him now, standing in the cramped space with his back to the sink.

“This is a little roomier than normal,” Roger observed, putting his hands onto Mickey’s hips and kissing him.

“Yeah. But I don’t need a lot of room to do this.”

Gracefully, because he seemed to do everything gracefully, he turned them around so Roger was leaning against the sink. They kissed passionately, hungry for one another. Roger cupped Mickey’s ass and pulled him closer, grinding their cocks together, and his lover tipped his head back with a breathy groan. He kissed his way down his long, elegant neck, nipping the pale skin over his pulse point. Mickey pushed back and freed his neck from that tender torture and looked into his eyes.

“I’m driving,” he whispered.

With firm hands, he pressed Roger back against the sink again, holding him in place. Their gazes stayed locked as Mickey dropped slowly to his knees, mouthing the growing bulge beneath Roger’s belt buckle. He slowly opened the clasp and pulled the leather through the loops in his jeans, discarding it completely somewhere on the floor. Roger couldn’t care less where it had ended up.

Mickey unzipped Roger’s fly and followed the zipper with his lips, kissing every superheated inch that was released by the opening of the garment. He exhaled, hot and wet, and Roger shivered, his hands catching in his lover’s hair. Patiently, with great skill, Mickey pulled his jeans and underwear down together, freeing his erection to the air.

He leaned back for a moment, taking advantage of the brightness of the lavatory lights. “I never really looked at you like this,” he said huskily. “You have the most beautiful dick. The way the head is shaped, and the color, and the way I can see the vein here on the underside pulsing all the way to your balls… and the way you smell…” He buried his face in the hair at the base of his hard-on, pulling away slowly, dragging his cheek along the side of his cock as he retreated. “I don’t think I appreciate you enough. I don’t think I tell you enough how beautiful you are.”

He punctuated his statement by taking him in his hand and squeezing, licking away the tiny drop of moisture that beaded at the slit. Roger moaned at the flickering touch of Mickey’s tongue, and when his lover took him into his mouth and all the way down his throat, he simply forgot to breathe.

Mickey swallowed around him, the muscles of his throat milking him with surprising strength. He shuddered with the sheer power of the pleasure he was feeling, and his hands spasmed, pulling Mickey’s hair. The reaction that hair-pulling elicited was unexpected. Mickey pulled back, then pushed down onto him again, increasing his pace. He used one hand to hold Roger’s cock steady, but the other hand reached down and liberated his own cock, rampant and twitching before he fisted it rapidly. Experimentally, he pulled his hair again, and Mickey moaned around him, his yanking fist moving even quicker. He would remember that for later.

Right now, he was falling under his lover’s spell, and intellect was giving way to reaction. He was lost in a mosaic of wet heat and slick friction, in pleasure and the surprise of sudden intrusion when Mickey thrust two of his fingers into Roger’s ass, reaching for and finding his pleasure spot. He jerked, thrusting hard into Mickey and bumping the back of his throat, and instead of retreating from the battering he was beginning to take, Mickey leaned into it, digging inside Roger with his fingers, encouraging him to go hard and fast.

Who was he to deny a request? He began to thrust, ramming his cock down the slickness of Mickey’s gullet, banging through the narrowing where mouth and throat connected, forcing himself further inside. Mickey gagged but did not release him, and it was so primal that Roger lost all capacity to think. He clutched Mickey’s head to hold it steady, rocking into him, his ass clenching around the questing fingers that were doing such welcome work. He felt the first tightening in his balls and shoved himself into his lover as far as he would go, shooting his load hard. He heard a ragged shout and realized he was hearing himself, but he didn’t care. He was lost between the feeling of taking and being taken, and he was joyfully losing his mind.

Mickey took everything he gave, swallowing his cum and holding him in his mouth as he trembled in powerful aftershocks. As Roger slowly spiraled back down to consciousness, he saw that Mickey was still hard as a rock, his orgasm not yet reached. He tried to pull out so he could see to him, but Mickey refused to let him go. He added more fingers until all four were inside of him, and he fucked his own face with Roger’s cock. A white stream bubbled over his fingers, and he sucked in air through his nose, unwilling to release the dick inside his mouth. Roger rocked back against Mickey’s hand, thrilling to the stretch. He had never been fisted and likely would never go that far, but with all four fingers inside him now, he was being challenged by the largest invasion he had ever felt, and it was glorious.

Mickey finally pulled away, gasping for air, his lips swollen and red from the abuse they’d taken. He looked up at Roger with love shining in his watery eyes, and Roger bent to kiss him. He could taste himself on Mickey’s tongue, and in concert with the probing, it was enough to make him hard again.

Mickey pulled his hand out of Roger’s ass and stood, yanking his own jeans down to his ankles. He turned and presented himself to Roger, silently begging to be fucked. He was only three-quarters hard, but he had enough to comply. Grabbing Mickey around the waist, he sheathed himself inside of him, the slickness from Mickey’s throat easing the entry. He fucked for all he was worth, and Mickey pushed back. Their bodies crashed together, both of them aggressively in pursuit of a second release. He flattened Mickey’s chest against the wall, but his back was still arched, and his beautiful ass was still lifted toward him. He plunged into him again and again, and when the flash point hit him, he yanked on Mickey’s hair and bit his shoulder.

Mickey cried out as he had never cried out before, and he came harder than Roger had ever seen him do. He shook from head to toe, convulsed by the power of his orgasm, leaving streaks of fresh cum on the wall. Roger emptied his balls into his lover’s ass, filling him up as his vision sparkled with stars.

They collapsed against the wall together, and it held them up until they found the strength to stand up on their own again. He kept his arms tightly around Mickey’s waist, embracing him and holding him close, pressing kisses to the pale skin of his upper back. Mickey’s shoulders were shaking, and it shocked Roger to realize that he was crying.

“Baby,” he whispered breathlessly. “Baby, are you okay?”

He reached back and grasped Roger’s thigh with his sticky hand, holding him close. He shook his head. “No.”

His heart plummeted. “Did I hurt you?”

“No more than I wanted you to.” He sniffed and tried not to sob, and a strange, stifled sound came out instead. “They shot at you. They could have killed you. I could have lost you.”

He leaned into Mickey even harder, his arms tightening until he thought he would break his love in two. “Never. You’ll never lose me.”

“I can’t,” he cried. “I’ve waited for you for so long.”

He craned his neck so that they could kiss, their lips clinging to one another in a sweet kind of desperation. Roger broke away first, and he whispered, “I must have known I wanted you when I followed you to America. I know I need you now. I can’t ever be without you. Oh, Mickey… say you’ll marry me.”

It was hardly the way he would have planned to propose if he’d given it more thought: half naked in an airplane bathroom, his softening dick still somehow inside his lover’s body, Mickey’s cum on the wall and the scent of sex everywhere. Somehow, though, it seemed so perfect that he would never regret the timing.

Mickey looked at him over his shoulder, and he tightened his asshole around Roger’s cock, trying to hold him in. Roger groaned.

“Do you really mean that?” Mickey asked.

“With all my heart.”

He pulled free and turned in Roger’s arms, and he kissed him deeply, no less passionately than before but with less urgency. He clasped him close and breathed in Roger’s ear.

“Hell, yes.”