Where'd You Go? (Track Twelve, III), chapter 14
You can read new chapters of this story and post comments on Mibba.
*Mike*
He didn't know how long he stood there, just gaping at the scene in front of him. His best friend, shirtless, lying on the bed, cuddled up with his—Mike's--girlfriend. Mike couldn't believe it at all. Stunned, he walked away from the door.
Did I just see that? Tell me I did not just see that. Somebody please. Maybe I sniffed something at the bar, and I'm hallucinating.
Feeling lost, he stumbled into the living room and plopped down on the couch. He buried his face in his hands and tried really hard not to believe anything his eyes had just told him.
"Mmmmfff, hey man."
He looked over to see Tré blinking and appearing like he just woke up.
"You look like you had a shitty night. I had a shitty day."
"Yeah, it was shitty."
He squirmed in his seat, "Hey, you wanna let me out? I'll listen to your shitty night story. Maybe even cuddle you."
Mike went over and gently removed the tape without taking too much arm hair away. Tré still winced.
"I guess I should wax more often." Tré stretched and made himself comfortable as I started making a ball out of the tape. "So, what's up?"
Do I really want to talk about this?
"Wanna come for a ride?" Mike asked instead of replying.
"Why the hell not?"
Mike still said nothing as they left the house. In a way, he was relieved. Who wants to go to sleep across the hall from-- He closed his eyes to shut off his brain.
"Well, if we're gonna go," Tré prompted, "Let's go. Move it move it move it."
Mike put the car in gear and started driving. For some strange reason, they wound up at the soccer field where Tré had flipped the truck. The grass was all grown over. Mike could not tell that a half-ton had skidded through it. He shut off the car and stared out the window. Tré actually was silent for once. Instead he got out, put the seat down, and climbed into the back. He put his shoes up on the still folded down front seat, crossed his arms behind his head, and waited.
Mike did not want to crane his neck around to talk, so moved into the back as well. It took him a while to get up enough nerve to speak out. During that time, Tré hummed and bobbed his head to music only he could hear.
Mike took a deep breath.
"WrenandIarekindagoingout. Ilikeherawholebunch,damn,Iloveherawholebunch. IsawherandBillieonthebedandhisshirtisgoneandtheywereallsnugglyandshit."
Tré stopped enjoying his music and blinked. "Say that again? You are going out with Wren?"
"Yes."
"And she slept with Billie Joe."
"That's how it looks."
Tré shook his head, "Damn." He patted his shoulder. "Are you sure?"
"Do you nap with a girl with your shirt off after not doing anything dirty?"
"Good point."
Mike rested his head on the cool glass of the car's side window. An ironic smirk edged onto his face as rain began to slide down the window. What perfect setting to be miserable. He suddenly realized that Tré was running his hand soothingly up and down his back. Sighing, he leaned into it. Who would've thought that he knew how to give such awesome back-rubs?
Mike turned his head to tell him that, and was slightly surprised to find Tré's face right beside his. He smiled and cocked his head. For some insane reason, Mike found himself becoming turned on. He sucked in a breath as the drummer's hand slid down to his ass.
What's going on? I'm not gay! I'm not!
Mike was about to ask just that question when his mouth found Tré's. The bassist had no idea what he was doing. Emotions were in control, not his brain. Right at the moment, he didn't care what his orientation was becoming, or had been. It was pacifying to know that someone cared; someone was willing to wait and comfort him.
Catching Tré's face in his hands, Mike kissed him hard. He heard Tré suck in a breath through his sharp nose when Mike's hand slipped under his shirt. Looking like he knew that he was being naughty, Tré straddled Mike's lap.
They stopped for a moment, chests heaving against each other as they stared bewilderedly. There were only a few items of clothing on each of them left. This was the point of no return.
"Mike, are you sure? I mean, I'll go through with it, but what about...you know who?"
Pain welled afresh in his mind. Was this how it had been for her? Had she felt guilty? Judging by the fact that she hadn't even bothered to get Billie out of her room, probably not.
With a bit of temper, Mike roughly undid Tré's pants.
"Geeze Mike, easy on the goods."
"Tré, fuck the foreplay, and just get it over with."
"You know," he nipped at Mike's chin, "you're pretty bossy. I bet you wanna be on top too."
"I don't really give a fuck right now, I just--"
"Want a fuck?"
"Tré...."
I know I sound like a whiney kid, but so?
Minutes later, Mike sprawled back on the seat in exhaustion. Sweat dampened and chilled his body. Tré lay across him. Shamefully, Mike noted that Tré bore marks of fingernails on his shoulders.
As he laid there, Mike suddenly felt very disgusted, almost disgusted enough to puke.
I just fucked one of my best friends. A guy, no less. Dammit. Does what I just did make me any better than her?
Fuck.
Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.
He didn't know how long he stood there, just gaping at the scene in front of him. His best friend, shirtless, lying on the bed, cuddled up with his—Mike's--girlfriend. Mike couldn't believe it at all. Stunned, he walked away from the door.
Did I just see that? Tell me I did not just see that. Somebody please. Maybe I sniffed something at the bar, and I'm hallucinating.
Feeling lost, he stumbled into the living room and plopped down on the couch. He buried his face in his hands and tried really hard not to believe anything his eyes had just told him.
"Mmmmfff, hey man."
He looked over to see Tré blinking and appearing like he just woke up.
"You look like you had a shitty night. I had a shitty day."
"Yeah, it was shitty."
He squirmed in his seat, "Hey, you wanna let me out? I'll listen to your shitty night story. Maybe even cuddle you."
Mike went over and gently removed the tape without taking too much arm hair away. Tré still winced.
"I guess I should wax more often." Tré stretched and made himself comfortable as I started making a ball out of the tape. "So, what's up?"
Do I really want to talk about this?
"Wanna come for a ride?" Mike asked instead of replying.
"Why the hell not?"
Mike still said nothing as they left the house. In a way, he was relieved. Who wants to go to sleep across the hall from-- He closed his eyes to shut off his brain.
"Well, if we're gonna go," Tré prompted, "Let's go. Move it move it move it."
Mike put the car in gear and started driving. For some strange reason, they wound up at the soccer field where Tré had flipped the truck. The grass was all grown over. Mike could not tell that a half-ton had skidded through it. He shut off the car and stared out the window. Tré actually was silent for once. Instead he got out, put the seat down, and climbed into the back. He put his shoes up on the still folded down front seat, crossed his arms behind his head, and waited.
Mike did not want to crane his neck around to talk, so moved into the back as well. It took him a while to get up enough nerve to speak out. During that time, Tré hummed and bobbed his head to music only he could hear.
Mike took a deep breath.
"WrenandIarekindagoingout. Ilikeherawholebunch,damn,Iloveherawholebunch. IsawherandBillieonthebedandhisshirtisgoneandtheywereallsnugglyandshit."
Tré stopped enjoying his music and blinked. "Say that again? You are going out with Wren?"
"Yes."
"And she slept with Billie Joe."
"That's how it looks."
Tré shook his head, "Damn." He patted his shoulder. "Are you sure?"
"Do you nap with a girl with your shirt off after not doing anything dirty?"
"Good point."
Mike rested his head on the cool glass of the car's side window. An ironic smirk edged onto his face as rain began to slide down the window. What perfect setting to be miserable. He suddenly realized that Tré was running his hand soothingly up and down his back. Sighing, he leaned into it. Who would've thought that he knew how to give such awesome back-rubs?
Mike turned his head to tell him that, and was slightly surprised to find Tré's face right beside his. He smiled and cocked his head. For some insane reason, Mike found himself becoming turned on. He sucked in a breath as the drummer's hand slid down to his ass.
What's going on? I'm not gay! I'm not!
Mike was about to ask just that question when his mouth found Tré's. The bassist had no idea what he was doing. Emotions were in control, not his brain. Right at the moment, he didn't care what his orientation was becoming, or had been. It was pacifying to know that someone cared; someone was willing to wait and comfort him.
Catching Tré's face in his hands, Mike kissed him hard. He heard Tré suck in a breath through his sharp nose when Mike's hand slipped under his shirt. Looking like he knew that he was being naughty, Tré straddled Mike's lap.
They stopped for a moment, chests heaving against each other as they stared bewilderedly. There were only a few items of clothing on each of them left. This was the point of no return.
"Mike, are you sure? I mean, I'll go through with it, but what about...you know who?"
Pain welled afresh in his mind. Was this how it had been for her? Had she felt guilty? Judging by the fact that she hadn't even bothered to get Billie out of her room, probably not.
With a bit of temper, Mike roughly undid Tré's pants.
"Geeze Mike, easy on the goods."
"Tré, fuck the foreplay, and just get it over with."
"You know," he nipped at Mike's chin, "you're pretty bossy. I bet you wanna be on top too."
"I don't really give a fuck right now, I just--"
"Want a fuck?"
"Tré...."
I know I sound like a whiney kid, but so?
Minutes later, Mike sprawled back on the seat in exhaustion. Sweat dampened and chilled his body. Tré lay across him. Shamefully, Mike noted that Tré bore marks of fingernails on his shoulders.
As he laid there, Mike suddenly felt very disgusted, almost disgusted enough to puke.
I just fucked one of my best friends. A guy, no less. Dammit. Does what I just did make me any better than her?
Fuck.
Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.
