(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.