SUBSTANTIATE

(to give substance or form to)

§

 

Another venue.  Another hotel room.  After all this touring everything is starting to look the same.  You’re tired.  So tired.  Sleep calls to you but you know it will be hours before you can answer it.  He informed you after the show that he’d be meeting you tonight.  You couldn’t have told him no even if you wanted to.  Not that you did.

 

The door to your hotel room opens and closes behind you.  You don’t move until you feel the bed shift beneath you from the weight of your lover.  His hands are on you almost immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your back close to his front.  His lips seek out your neck and trace soft wet kisses all the way down and across your bare shoulder.

 

You smile to yourself thinking that maybe tonight will be different.  Maybe this time it won’t be all about dominance and submission.  It would be different for him.  Not his style at all.  But you would love it.

 

You sigh and lean your head back against his shoulder as his hand slips into the front of your loose gray pajama pants.  As usual you swallow the words “I love you” before they can leave your mouth, too afraid that will scare him.  Too afraid that will make him leave.  Too afraid to hear him say that he doesn’t feel the same.

 

His lips touch yours and he begins to stroke you slowly.  Almost lovingly.  Almost.  But his grip is still firm enough to let you know he is in charge.  You smile against his mouth and roll onto your back.  This is the kind of submission you don’t mind.  You wistfully wish he were like this more often.

 

“You feel good,” he whispers into your ear.  You harden instantly.  “Want to feel better?”  You start to respond but he silences you with a rough kiss.  His tongue snakes into your mouth and you grasp fistfuls of his black t-shirt.  He grinds against you.

 

Pulling away with slightly bruised lips you look into his lust-filled eyes.  You wish you saw love there but don’t have time to think about it.  You need him to take you.  Now.  “Fuck me,” you groan.  You add, “please,” for good measure.

 

Rikki looks down at you with that telltale smirk on his face.  He knows that you want him.  That you physically need him.  And there’s nothing at all that you can do about it.  Whatever happens is up to him.

 

“Do you deserve that from me?”  You swallow hard at the mocking tone of his voice.  “Have you been good?”  He always has a way of making you feel like less of a man.  You never have the nerve to challenge him.

 

“Yes,” you reply, almost pleading as he slips your pants over your hips with one hand and continues stroking you with the other.  “Please, Rikki.  I need you.”  You clench your teeth and hiss as his hand on your cock moves faster.  “I’ll do whatever you want.”  There.  You’ve said it.  And you mean it whole-heartedly.

 

He laughs at you then, pulling his shirt over his head before reaching across your body for the small bottle of lube on the nightstand.  You’re thankful that he seems to be taking you into consideration for once.  Kneeling on the bed he pushes your pants the rest of the way down.  His jeans hit the floor soon after.  “How bad do you want this?” he continues to taunt, squeezing a small amount of lube into his hand and spreading it slowly up and down his hard shaft, the muscles in his abdomen contracting as he does so.

 

You force yourself to breathe and try to ignore the throbbing of your own cock that is proof enough of how badly you want this.  His relentless teasing is driving you crazy.  You contemplate whether or not Rikki taking your forcibly is actually better than this.  At least that way you get what you want without hesitation.

 

“Answer me,” he growls, still stroking himself but now looking at you with a hint of warning in his eyes.

 

“I want this,” you begin but your voice cracks with your desire for him.  You clear your throat and try again.  “I want this more than anything.”

 

He moves away from you.  “Get on your knees.”  You scramble to do as he says before he changes his mind.

 

You’re kneeling now, your hands gripping the flimsy hotel headboard.  You look over your shoulder at him just as he enters you.  It’s hard and fast but you’ve grown used to it.  Learned to like it.  Even love it.  Your head falls forward onto the mound of pillows and you moan his name.

 

“That’s it, baby,” he says to you and goose bumps immediately break out up and down your spine.  You close your eyes as you feel his tongue on the flesh of your neck, his thighs hitting yours each time he pulls you back to him.  “It’s so fucking good.  And it’s all mine.  Tell me your mine.”

 

“I’m yours,” you choke out through labored breathing.  “All yours.”

           

“Hey, Bob, we need to talk about…”

 

You freeze.  Rikki freezes.  And Bret, standing in the doorway to your hotel room, freezes as well.  You force your eyes open and look in his direction.  His mouth open wide, his eyes wider.  You see his right bicep twitch involuntarily.  He casts Rikki an angry glare and then he leaves, slamming the door behind him.  Rikki pulls out of you quickly and you cry out, unsuspecting.

 

“Jesus Christ!” he shouts, standing up and slipping back into his jeans.  “What the fuck were you thinking?”  His eyes are almost glowing with an emotion you know how to read all to well from him.  Rage.  And that may be the worst you’ve ever seen him.

 

“What do you mean?” you ask softly, pulling your pants back on as well.  You’re afraid to meet his almost maniacal gaze.  “I didn’t do anything.”

 

“Didn’t do anything?” he repeats, incredulous.  “What the fuck?  You left the god damn door unlocked!”

 

You wince at his accusing tone but are smart enough not to correct him.  You don’t dare tell him that he was the last to use the door.  Instead you stare at your feet and apologize pathetically.  “I’m sorry, Rikki.  I didn’t mean to.”

 

“Sorry.  That’s all I fucking hear from you anymore.  I don’t even know why I put up with your shit half the time.  You don’t seem to be worth much.  You’re barely even a good fuck.”

 

He might as well have hit you.  It probably would have hurt less.  You bite back the tears threatening to fall from your eyes.  “What can I do?”

 

“You can go talk to him,” he states sarcastically.  It occurs to you then that he is acting a lot angrier than you think he has reason to.

 

“Rikki,” you begin quietly, “I thought Bret knew about…”

 

“Don’t fucking talk back to me!” 

 

You feel the sting of the blow across your cheek before your mind can register that he has backhanded you.  You raise your hand to your face in surprise.  Being violent during sex is one thing.  But like this?  There needs to be a line drawn somewhere, you think, and almost laugh.  He doesn’t look apologetic so you leave the room quietly in search of Bret.  It doesn’t take long to find him.  He has left the door to his room open, obviously expecting someone.  When he looks up at you as you close the door you realize it’s not you he’s waiting for.

 

“Fucking faggot!” he shouts immediately and you find yourself standing toe to toe with him.  It brings a smile to your face to see that you are taller than him.  He has never intimidated you.  You have nothing to fear with him.  Nothing except his power to take Rikki away from you.  And that is a power that, until moments ago, he didn’t realize that he had.

 

“You’re calling me a fag?”  You smirk at his hypocrisy.

 

“Yes, I’m calling you a fag,” he replies on edge.  “I can’t believe I just walked in on that shit.  What the fuck is wrong with you two?  Are there not enough women swarming around this damn hotel for you to choose from?”

 

You’re laughing now.  Right in his face.  Something you could never do with Rikki.  He would have you on your knees begging for forgiveness by now.  Bret looks confused.  You just shake your head.  “Do you really think I don’t know that you guys are fucking?”

 

The confusion turns to anger.  You can see you’ve offended him.  “I’m not fucking Rikki.  He’s my best friend.”

 

Bret’s refusal to admit the truth sparks a fire somewhere deep inside of you.  Makes you feel like he doesn’t deserve the love you know Rikki gives him.  The love you wish Rikki would give to you.  “Does he mean that little to you?” you find yourself saying, surprised by how emotional you sound.  Rikki would laugh at you now.  Bret doesn’t.  Instead he looks up at you with a strange smile on his face.

 

“Does he mean that much to you?”

 

You’re rendered momentarily speechless.  You thought your love for Rikki was visible to all.  Of course you attempted to hide it.  But you never thought you did a very good job of it. 

 

“Holy shit,” Bret continues.  “He does, doesn’t he?  You actually care about him.”

 

You nod your head silently, uncomfortable with the lump in your throat and the knot in your stomach.  “It doesn’t matter though.”

 

“Obviously it does to you,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest.  “If it didn’t you wouldn’t have followed me back here.” 

 

You decide not to tell him that the only reason you came to his room was because Rikki told you to.  Because if you hadn’t you’d probably be sitting in your own hotel room with a bloody nose right now.  You figure Bret doesn’t want to hear that.  And you think he wouldn’t understand it anyway.  You don’t realize how wrong you really are. 

 

“So why do you say it doesn’t matter?” Bret asks when you don’t respond.  He sounds like nothing more than a concerned friend.  Although he is being rather flippant.  He doesn’t seem to understand how serious this is for you.

 

You shrug and look away, not wanting to see his blue eyes bore into you any longer.  Not wanting to notice the sexuality he oozes at every moment, even when he doesn’t mean to.  Not wanting to see so plainly why Rikki loves him, why you will never measure up.  “I’m not the one that he wants.”  Your voice cracks and you feel ridiculously like a thirteen year old kid that is going through puberty and whose girlfriend has just left him for the most popular boy in school.  The emotion is almost too much.  You will not cry in front of the lead singer of your band.  You will not.

 

“Rikki doesn’t know what he wants,” Bret replies harshly.  “He just likes to get fucked.”

 

“Fuck you,” you shout, your anger snapping as you push the shorter man away from you.  You watch him stumble and it brings you slight pleasure.  “He fucking loves you, Bret.  And I fucking love him.  Everything is just totally fucked.”  When you realize what you’ve said, and that you’ve said it aloud, you fall silent again.  If Rikki finds out he’ll…  You don’t even want to venture a guess at what he will do to you.

 

“You love him?” Bret’s voice is soft again.  Softer than you think you’ve ever heard it.  You look him in the eye with little fear, something you aren’t used to.  Your arms drop to your sides and you suddenly feel bad for pushing him like you did.

 

“Yeah.  I love him.”

 

Bret takes a step closer to you, almost hesitant.  It’s been so long since anyone has been hesitant around you.  Even the groupies are overly confident now.  To find this hesitation in someone like Bret Michaels is more than a little unexpected.  There’s nothing about you that should make him nervous.  At least that’s what Rikki has led you to believe.  “I didn’t know,” he says.  And you can see that he’s telling the truth. 

 

But you’re still upset.  You wonder why Bret doesn’t ask if Rikki loves you back.  You figure he must know that he doesn’t.  The question of whether Bret loves Rikki as much as you do crosses your mind as well.  But it goes unspoken.  You don’t want to hear his answer.  If he says yes you will be crushed.  You will know that you really have no chance.  If he says no you will hate him for it.  Hate him for consuming Rikki’s time when he doesn’t even care.  No, you can’t ask him that.  You just shake your head in disgust.

 

“Well now you do.”  Sarcasm drips from your tongue, it’s the only defense mechanism you have left.  But it doesn’t seem to be working.  The sadness in your eyes betrays you and Bret sees that.  Your jaw clenches as he reaches out and touches your arm. 

 

“I’m sorry, Bob.  I am.”  His sincerity is surprising.  Who is this man and what has he done with the person you’ve known for the better part of your life?  More importantly, why is the look in his eye and the softness of his touch turning you on?  You fight it.  You fight it with everything you have in you.  But you can’t stop him from leaning forward and kissing your chin.  And then your lips.  What is he doing to you?  Does he think this is some sort of sick joke?  You pull away and ask him just that.  “No,” he tells you firmly, his fingers just barely touching your own.  “I just want to make you feel better.  I don’t know what else to do.”

 

You almost collapse from the weight of his words.  Make you feel better?  You’re not sure you understand the concept anymore.  You’ve spent so much time with Rikki that everything else seems foreign to you.  Rikki makes you feel good in his own way and time.  But you know that isn’t what Bret is offering.  And the thought makes you so damn happy that you don’t even contemplate stopping him when he kisses you again.  Or when you both lower yourselves onto the bed.  No pushing or yelling or forcing.  Just a mutual decision to move to the bed.  And by the time his hands are at the waist of your pants, the same pants Rikki had taken off of you just minutes earlier, you’re too caught up in the moment to think of anything but how wonderful this feels. 

 

For the first time in ages you aren’t someone’s bitch.  No one is making you feel uncomfortable.  No one is pulling your hair or scratching your arms or deliberately trying to leave scars and bruises on your body.  You’ve grown accustomed to Rikki because you love him so much.  If you didn’t you wouldn’t let him do what he does.  But even without love, what you feel as Bret grinds himself against you is amazing.  And it isn’t because he’s Bret Michaels.  It isn’t because he’s some sort of sex god that millions lust after but few ever get.  It isn’t even because he’s your friend.  He could be a complete stranger and it would still feel this good.  Because he’s being nice to you.

 

You peel Bret’s shirt from his body and toss it to the floor, loving how his chest muscles constrict beneath your hands.  Loving that you can touch him without repercussion.  His tongue dances with yours, it doesn’t compete.  He whispers your name and moves from your mouth, down your neck, and onto your chest.  His wet kisses drive you crazy and you can’t remember the last time Rikki made you feel like this.  But you hate the fact that in the midst of all this pleasure you still can’t seem to focus solely on Bret.  Constant comparisons run through your mind.  His mouth leaves a wet trail down your stomach and you feel him take you in his hand.  Your head spins.

 

“Bret,” you choke out, your hands on his shoulders.  He doesn’t look up.  You feel his tongue at the base of your cock.  “Bret.”  You say his name again, more forceful this time.  You struggle to breathe.  Your eyes roll back in your head as he slips only an inch of you into his hot, wet mouth.  Then you gasp for air and push him away. 

 

“What’s wrong?” he questions, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at you through a strand of his long blonde hair.

 

“I can’t do this,” you tell him hurriedly, pushing away from him as you pull up your pants.  “I’m sorry.  Rikki…” You shake your head and never finish the sentence.  You’re out of the room before Bret can say anything more.

 

You try to calm your ragged nerves as you realize that you can’t go back to your room.  Rikki is there.  And if you see Rikki right now you know the outcome won’t be good.  You are powerless in front of his prying green eyes.  Everything that just happened with Bret will be out of your mouth before you can stop it.  And that just can’t happen.  It will jeopardize everything that you have.  Granted, you don’t have much to begin with.  But you don’t want to lose what little you’re still hanging on to.

 

You wander through the hotel hallways and eventually find yourself opening up a door that leads to the enclosed swimming pool.  You know it’s after hours and this room is off limits.  That’s why you’ve come here.  You just need to be alone.  You just need to think.  If the voices in your head don’t stop shouting at you soon you are afraid you might start shouting back. 

 

The smell of chlorine invades your senses as you sit down on one of the white plastic lounge chairs.  Your head falls back and you sigh deeply, trying to wrap your mind around what just happened.  Had Bret really come onto you like that?  And had you actually let him do it?  This is so far from the norm that you can barely find any logic in it at all.  It feels remarkably like you have stepped into a bad episode of The Twilight Zone.  Except you know there won’t be any strange aliens capturing you and taking you back to their planet.  Although that would make things a hell of a lot easier.  At least then you wouldn’t have to deal with this newfound reality.  This reality of your attraction to Bret.

 

You honestly never thought it could happen.  The two of you have been friends for what seems like forever.  But the moment you had fallen in love with Rikki you had been thrown into a ridiculous competition with Bret.  You had forced yourself to dislike him.  And Rikki had helped that dislike along immensely.  The way he always compared the two of you.  The way you were never quite as good or as alluring or as sexy as Bret.  Somewhere along the line you had grown to almost hate him.  And now here you are, trying to keep yourself from remembering the way his lips felt so soft against your own.

 

“Christ,” you say aloud, and the word echoes slightly through the empty room.  There is just no way for this to work out in your favor.  If you let yourself fall for Bret you will lose the man you love, and probably get the shit beat out of you as well.  But if you stay with Rikki you will fall headfirst back into that competition with Bret, possibly ruin one of your oldest friendships, and still have to deal with the pain you know Rikki will inflict.  You’re fucked, you think.  Thoroughly fucked.  And things aren’t getting any better.

 

“Where have you been?”  The words are short and direct.  You almost laugh at yourself for thinking you were lucky enough to get out of this.  “Answer me,” Rikki growls.

 

“I was doing what you asked me to.”  Already your voice has taken on that submissive tone you know he wants to hear.  You never thought it was possible to love and hate someone so much all at the same time.  The two emotions have never been so close for you.

 

“Why didn’t you come back to the room?”  You flinch at his harshness but take notice of the fact that he doesn’t ask you what Bret said.  You wonder why.

 

“I just needed to be alone for a minute, Rikki,” you reply softly, hoping that for once in your entirely fucked up relationship he will be understanding.

 

“I never gave you permission to be alone.  I wasn’t done with you yet.”

 

For the first time since he’s entered the room you look in his direction.  The lights from the blue-tinted pool cast an eerie glow across his face.  But for some reason you aren’t afraid.  Maybe it’s because someone else has just treated you as an equal.  Maybe you are finally starting to realize that, as much as you love him, you don’t have to put up with Rikki’s abuse.  Or maybe it’s just that you’re too emotionally drained to care much about what he will do to you at this point.  Yeah, that’s probably it.

 

“I’m sorry,” you offer, but even to your own ears you don’t sound convincing.  “I would have come back eventually.  I just didn’t want to argue about…”

 

He is on you in an instant, pinning you to the chair and rendering you speechless.  Your eyes grow wide as his long fingers close around your throat.  “I don’t give a fuck what you wanted.  You’re mine.  You do as I say.”

 

The way he emphasizes that you are his makes you wonder if he knows what happened with Bret.  His fingers tighten, pushing into your Adam’s apple.  You try to breathe but only manage a weak cough.  The thought crosses your mind that, for the first time since you’ve been with Rikki, you’re unsure of his intentions.  He’s pushing the punishment factor further than usual.  Your sight begins to blur and your head spins.  Then he kisses you.

 

His fingers remain rigid around your neck as his tongue delves into your mouth expertly.  This is new.  And as much as you trust him, you’re scared.  Terrified, really.  The dangerous glint in his gaze removes any notion of calmness you had prior to this moment.  He pulls his mouth away from yours and grinds his hard cock into your own.  You gasp for air.  He doesn’t let go.

 

Tears of panic hit your eyes as you reach up to claw at his hands and he smiles.  “Scared?” he asks, his tone mocking.  You open your mouth but only soft whimpers come out.  “You don’t feel scared.”  He rubs himself against you again and you hate that you raise your hips to meet him halfway.  Hate that you are hard.  Hate that something inside you is actually enjoying this.

 

Just as everything starts to go black, he lets go.  You inhale several times, deep and quick breaths, trying to reorient your senses.  “Jesus, Rikki,” you barely squeak out, rubbing at your tender throat.  “I said I was sorry.”

 

He stands up, grabbing your wrists and pulling you with him.  Your legs are weak and wobbly.  It takes everything you have to stay upright.  “Don’t fuck with me,” Rikki growls, one hand still on you arm while the other grips your semi-hard cock through your pants.  “When I tell you to do something, you do it.  Understand?”

 

You’re too tired and in too much pain, both emotional and physical, to argue.  You simply nod your head.

 

He laughs then.  And the sound is almost evil.  “Don’t forget who you belong to.”

 

And then with one hard shove he pushes you backward.

 

Your bare feet slip on the tiles surrounding the pool.  Before you can prepare for it, you’re in the water.  You feel yourself go under once, arms flailing and mouth open.  The chlorinated liquid burns your nose and lungs.  You surface, sputter, and go under again.  Rikki is still laughing.  You surface a second time and manage to keep your head above water.

 

“I want you in my room and dry in twenty minutes.  Don’t make me wait.”  That’s all he says before leaving you alone.

 

You are shaking and dripping wet as you pull yourself from the cold pool.  You try to convince yourself that those aren’t tears on your cheeks.  It doesn’t work.  The thought that you walked out on Bret, on actually feeling good, only to be treated this way by the man you love haunts you.  You don’t understand why Rikki can never show affection without pain.  What has he been through that makes him enjoy hurting others?  Or maybe it’s just you he likes to hurt.  You want to ask him but know that you won’t.  Some questions are better left unanswered.  Or never asked at all.