Within Me

He hummed beneath his breath...

Sing a joyful song to the Lord

...as he cleared out the rest of the mess left by the teens he had just spent the past hour teaching. Today had been ‘Bring-a-Meal-to-Share’ Day, and needless to say, just about every other kid ordered a pizza, hence the boxes he was now forced to stuff into large black garbage bags. They had offered to help him, but Michael was more than willing to do the work alone. He needed the time to think anyway, so he basically shooed them all home.

“You still here, Brother Michael?” came the voice of Brother James – one of the elders – as he stuck his head into the room with a smile on his face. “We’re about to close the building for the evening. Will you be ministering today?”

“Just a few streets,” Michael replied as he tied a knot to seal the bag. “Is Brother Joshua still here?”

James nodded. “He’s waiting outside I think. Good job today by the way.”

“Thank you,” came the slightly breathless reply filled with genuine gratitude at the compliment; for Michael was aware that he had to make a good impression on the Elders if he ever hoped to gain that position someday. A part of him was still slightly bitter for getting passed up so many times despite all his hard work for the Hall over the years, but he was a patient man and knew that someday, his time would come.

Until then...

“Took you long enough,” Brother Joshua chided with warmth in his voice as he eyed his protégé, and best friend, finally saunter out of the building. “Doris will kill me if I don’t bring you home for dinner tonight.”

Michael laughed and gave his mentor and (in his mind at least) father-figure a warm hug. “Just a few houses first, okay? I’m in the mood for ministry this evening. I think the Lord is speaking to me in more ways than one.”

Joshua raised a brow but said nothing, only giving a nod as if understanding what the younger man was talking about. Seeing Michael’s eyes light up with anticipation to spread the Lord’s Word was always a pleasure for him. It was a definite far cry from the troubled teen he had met and dealt with oh those years ago. The Michael that now sat next to him was a young man of twenty-four with the whole world ahead of him. So what if he still saw things through rose-colored glasses sometimes, it was that fresh take to life that made his personality so lovable and likable. Was it any wonder many of the single women at the Hall wanted a piece of the eligible young man as a husband? Pity Michael didn’t seem too interested in that at the moment.

“This looks like a good neighborhood,” Michael suddenly said as Joshua was just about to drive past the road that would lead them into ‘unfriendly’ territory. Unfriendly as in these were homes of people who were more than likely to call the cops on them for disturbing their peaceful Sunday afternoons. Just the houses alone were intimidating; and even Joshua was in no mood to be turned away.

“Michael, are you sure...?”

“We won’t know if we don’t try,” the younger man replied with a firm nod. “I’m already used to doors being shut in my face, but I get the feeling we might make a difference in someone’s life today.”

He could sense that the older man wasn’t really thrilled about the prospect. “Do you want to wait in the car for me?”

“Why don’t I start off at the other end and you start off from here. We’ll meet halfway and compare notes.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Michael beamed and reached for his fedora; plopping it on his head before picking up his Bible and pamphlets from the backseat. “May the Lord be with you, Brother Joshua,” he said in parting, giving the older man a two-fingered salute before watching the car pull away from the curb.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; muttering a quick prayer for God’s guidance. He could already feel the hostility bearing down from all sides; unseen pressures of society’s stigma towards Witnesses threatening to crumple his resolve, but with a grit of his teeth, he finally lifted his lashes and marched towards the first house.

He couldn’t give up now. If God was putting him through a test, he was determined to pass it with flying colors.

__

The rented home was a welcome reprieve from Neverland; especially with all the crap he had to deal with the past few months from the media over those godforsaken allegations. He couldn’t believe that people could be so quick to destroy each another over something that wasn’t true. He couldn’t believe that all his honest and innocent intentions had been twisted and made into something so horrible and ugly; it took bitter tears of self-pity to remind him of how cruel the human nature could really be.

He couldn’t bear to remain in Neverland for another second; hence sending Bill to find him a place as inconspicuous and as far away from his ‘supposed’ sanctuary as possible. He only had two bodyguards, and his personal chef with him, and since his arrival here about a week ago, the ‘silence’ was a godsend in more ways than one. The owners of the home were avid readers – both professors of literature who were more than willing to give up their home for as long as he wanted. Of course they didn’t know it was him renting the place, but the money offered had been too good for them to turn down.

Michael had spent the better part of the week cooped up inside; buried in the books the Palveskis’ had in their arsenal. When the inside became too stifling, he could sit on the patio facing the backyard with the massive pool and breathtaking garden; hardly worried about being sighted as the nearest neighbor was almost a mile away. He purposefully kept away from watching the news or anything current; choosing instead to remain lost in classic movies with Bogart, Astaire, Bacall or Brando for company. He had no visitors; and he received no phone calls, which was just fine with him. He relished in his solitude; for it gave him time to think...time to write...time to be creative...

Even if his creativity sometimes led him to a place he was almost frightened of.

There were nights he would wake up in cold sweats; such dark homicidal and suicidal dreams taking a hold of him. He could still picture Neverland being torn apart; the sneering face of Sneddon and his team willing to make fools of him over and over again. He could feel their cold eyes watching him strip naked; suffering their cold, clammy invasive hands touching, prodding, and investigating his body as if he was nothing more than a plaything.

“He probably likes you doing that to him.”
Mocking laughter as he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut at the public humiliation.
“Look...he’s getting a boner. Sheesh. What a freak.”
“You know he likes it when he gets to touch young boys like this.”
A gentle then hard squeeze of his cock that sent him nearly yelping in pain.
“Oooh, watch it now. He’s gonna cum all over your hand.”
Mocking. Mocking. Mocking. Laughter.

What would happen if he told the world what those bastards had done to him? Would anyone believe him? It was bad enough that his ‘confession’ to the world had been met with ridicule; exposing the real truth would only make things worse. No, it was something he could never reveal to anyone; not even if they tortured him to confess. He could only let out his frustrations and anger with his writing; his dark songs...but he needed something more. He needed something to punish; to inflict as much pain as they had inflicted on him, but who...or what?

With a sigh, he flipped through the page of the book he was currently reading about World War II – an in depth memoir from soldiers who were forced to live through such a terrible time in the world’s history. Between their fears of the unknown and wondering if they’d ever get to see the light of day again; he found a few of the stories quite...intriguing. For you see, the concept of homosexuality back then was more than regarded as taboo. It was almost sad to read about these young men so desperate to experience pleasure in any way they could, that they resorted to their companions for feelings of love and acceptance.

Love is a beautiful thing...no matter how it comes.

He just wished that those bastards hadn’t twisted his version of love into something so sick and...

The sudden chime of the doorbell nearly had him dropping the book to the floor. On autopilot, his body stiffened and his heartbeat quickened; unaware of the dark and slightly fearful look that filled his eyes in that moment. He rose to his feet and paced to the door of the den; opening it slowly to listen to the conversation being held by Bill and -

“...just wanted to share the good word with you today, sir.”

...a young man with a fedora on his head.

Who is he? A fan? How did he know I was living here?

“If you’ll just give me a moment to talk to you about God’s plan for your life,” the visitor was saying in a slightly breathless voice that reminded him of the way he used to sound when he was much younger. It was that eager-to-please attitude he once had; that shy voice of innocence (at least most folks mistook it for innocence) that brought a reluctant smile to his lips.

“I’m not so sure,” Bill began, already trying to close the door in the man’s face. “We are not interested...”

“It’s okay, Bill,” he finally said aloud, letting himself be heard and seen as he opened the door to the den a little wider to reveal himself. “Let him in.”

__

For a moment, Michael was sure he had walked into a really bad scene from the Twilight Zone. All he could do was gawk in shock (and mild awe) at the pale-skinned man leaning against the door jamb with hands stuck in the pockets of a pair of black pants. The white long-sleeved shirt he wore had its top three buttons undone, revealing a bare chest to his gaze. Long, curly dark hair fell to brush against his shoulders, but it was the face...

(that face!)

...that had Michael swallowing tightly and seeking a means to pinch himself without being too obvious about it. There was simply no mistaking the nearly effeminate yet strong features which only belonged to the greatest entertainer in the world. Michael was more than aware that some people compared him to this man’s younger version back when the world simply loved him for his music. But now...

“Won’t you come in?” the older man invited with a wave of his hand. There was small smile on his face; yet amusement clearly in those dark eyes. “I assure you...I don’t bite.”

“Ah...oh...I mean...I’m just...” Just what? Shocked that I get to see you when everyone else in the world wonders where you ran off to after the accusa –

He halted his rapidly deteriorating thoughts as he noticed the singer’s brows furrowing a little. Perhaps he was too obvious with his wariness, but all the same, he stepped into the foyer; nearly jumping out of his skin as the front door was closed behind him.

“We can talk in here,” the entertainer urged, pushing himself away from his position to walk into the den; hardly caring if Michael followed or not. However, for all his calm and seeming detachment, he was a mess inside. As soon as the door was shut, he was finally given a good view of the visitor and what he saw had sent a shock of disbelief racing down his spine.

He had been looking at himself!

It was the him of the late eighties – when the world was his oyster and he could simply do no wrong. This version of him nearly carried himself in the same way; the same shuffling walk he had – slightly nervous and unsure of himself – the way he fidgeted with his fedora (as he finally took it off his head), the messy curls in the loose ponytail that brushed his shoulders, the simple blue oxford shirt and black jeans with a pair of loafers...Jesus H. Christ! Was this some sort of a sick joke?

“Do you want something to drink?” he finally asked as he walked to the mini-bar; hoping to do something with his hands lest he slap himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Michael jerked himself out of his dazed stupor; having been reluctantly admiring the way the elusive singer looked in the flesh. Maybe it was because he had only seen Michael via music videos and magazines, but to see the man in person was something else entirely. There was an aura...a ‘presence’...a ‘power’ that seemed to ooze off him in waves. It was something that could not be put in mere words and for reasons beyond him, he felt slightly out-of-breath and flustered at the emotions it was creating within him. He really couldn’t understand it.

“I don’t drink,” he replied with a sheepish smile. “I mean...not today. I’m supposed to be ministering...”

“I understand,” the older version of himself said with a quirk of his lips. “I should know. I used to do that stuff too.”

“Drink?”

“No...Witness. We’re Jehovah Witnesses...at least I used to be.” He shrugged and sank into a leather sofa, crossing his legs at the ankles and clasping his large hands before him on his flat torso. “I used to go door-to-door too...only in disguise of course.”

“Wow.” Michael wasn’t sure if he ought to sit or not, and he was content to remain standing, but the other man waved a hand carelessly towards one of the empty chairs across him; and on slightly wobbling knees, Michael plopped himself into a Victorian-inspired straight-back chair. Nice. In fact, the whole room was nice. Lots of books and cozy and...

“What are you here to minister about?” came the sudden question that jarred him from his drifting thoughts.

Blushing in embarrassment, Michael cleared his throat and began to open his Bible. “Well...I just wanted to share with you God’s plan for your future,” he began shyly, wondering what the hell he was doing sitting in the living room talking to THE Michael Jackson about God’s plans for him! He fully expected someone to slap him awake soon...and boy was he praying for that, because he had a feeling he was about to make a major mess of things.

He found he couldn’t stare into the other man’s eyes for very long because...

I see me.

How weird was that? He would steal a shy/nervous glance– every now and then – only to see that he was being watched with something akin to obvious amusement.

Michael burned.

“Do you know where you want to be when this world is no more?” he asked breathlessly; cursing inwardly as his hands trembled a bit. “Will you be one of God’s chosen to live in Paradise on Earth or will you...?”

“Go straight to hell?” came the low drawl that had Michael looking up in shock at the blunt question. The amusement was now gone; and instead there was a dark, unreadable expression in those familiar brown eyes that sent a shiver of awareness down his spine.

“Isn’t hell the only place for a man like me?”

“I don’t...”

“You were thinking that, weren’t you?”

Michael shook his head desperately. “No, sir...I mean...not at all. I was just...”

“Judging me before you knew the facts?” The man’s eyes narrowed with distrust.

“I don’t...”

“You heard the news, didn’t you? You must have heard all about my sordid deeds, correct?”

“I’m...I’m... not sure I understand...”

“Who sent you here?”

Michael felt himself break into a cold sweat. What was the meaning of this interrogation? Why did it suddenly feel like it was a hundred degrees in here? “No one sent me here,” he defended himself hastily. “As I told you, I am ministering...”

“Stand up.”

“Wha...what?”

“You heard me,” the singer repeated in a voice that was husky with intent as his lean fingers began to caresses the arm rest of the sofa. “Stand up.”

On legs that felt like jelly, Michael did as he was told, wondering just what he had done or said to make the older man upset. He tried to catch the musician’s eyes, but again, found his gaze drifting to another part of him...those hands and how hypnotizing they were as they continued their exploration of the leathery fabric.

“What’s your name?”

“Mic...Michael...” came the trembling whisper.

For some reason, this tickled the singer so much; he burst into loud laughter that sent the other man’s cheeks filling with color.

“Of course it’s Michael. What else would it be?” When his laughter subsided; the dark look was quick to replace what had been clear amusement earlier. “Michael, eh? God really does have a nice sense of humor.”

“God...”

“Isn’t here to save you from yourself,” came the low mutter that sent the goose bumps into overdrive on Michael’s skin. “Take off your clothes, Michael.”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

There was no room for argument in that voice, and daring to look into his face; Michael could see that this man was not kidding in the slightest. Those pink-tinted lips were firm and unsmiling; the unreadable expression still in those endless pools of chocolate. All he had to do was pick up his Bible and pamphlets and walk out of here; pretend this hadn’t happened and pray like hell when he got back home tonight.

And yet...

His fingers were already on the top button...undoing them...one after the other. He didn’t question why his breathing was becoming uneven and rough as he shrugged out of the shirt to toss it aside carelessly. He didn’t cross-examine his decision to go along with this as the cool air from the unseen vents sent his nipples hardening into relief at the sensation; or why he was unbuckling his belt...pulling the pants down his legs...all the while watching Michael watch him...watching the obvious effect his stripping was doing to him...watching with growing excitement as the singer’s hand clenched into a tight fist...the slow but obvious effect it was waging in his pants...the captured lower lip between his teeth...

He was turning Michael on.

Damn.

He shouldn’t derive pleasure from this and yet he couldn’t help it. The dull ache in his groin was gradually becoming unbearable, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand like this without humiliating himself. He didn’t know if the accusations were true or not; and to be honest, he didn’t really give a damn about such things, but this was bringing a whole new question about his morality and principles into the matter. He was a Witness for God’s sake! They both were! So why in the world was he even allowing this to happen? He could already picture the paths of Hell burning and waiting for him; could already picture the Elders disappointment if he strayed from the path of Righteousness and...

“You aren’t done yet.”

Michael jerked at the sharp and impatient reprimand, sucking in his breath at the annoyance on the other man’s visage. “I...I think I should go...” he stuttered weakly, now really sure he didn’t like this game anymore.

“Go? Go where?” The singer smirked with a knowing look in his eyes. “Don’t you want me to take care of that for you?”

Michael felt the rush of blood to his head as he slapped his hands over his erection. He took a shaky step back, only to fight back a yelp as he was suddenly pushed hard against the wall. When the other man had stood up, he had no idea, but he could only assume that all the years of dancing so lightly on his feet had made him quite fast.

He gasped, or at least tried to get some air into his lungs as the strong hand continued to tighten the pressure around his neck. However, all thoughts of successfully breathing were wiped clean as he felt Michael’s other hand reach down to squeeze his cock through his briefs.

Oh Jesus...! Please...stop...!

“You like that, don’t you?” came the throaty voice against his ear; sending a rush of warmth through him that was only compounded as it was nipped gently.

He shivered at the dual sensations of pain and pleasure, grunting a little when his cock was tugged out of his briefs to shameless exposure. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to lift his hands to push away the one still wrapped around his neck, writhing with subconscious delight as his older ‘twin’ began to stroke...and stroke...and stroke...

“No...”

Faster.

“God...stop...” He wheezed. He whimpered. He begged. He thrust into the punishing hand all the same. He cursed his traitorous body. He prayed to God for forgiveness. This sin...oh this sin...

“Please...!”

Harder.

He dug his fingernails into Michael’s forearms; the world now spinning out of control as he became lightheaded from lack of oxygen while still pulsating, throbbing, and swelling within his tormentor’s hand. And just when he thought he was going to go absolutely bat shit crazy with his impending orgasm, he was suddenly released in both places.

“Oh God...”

He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap; coughing and trying to suck in as much air into him, while suffering the pain of being denied the pleasure of coming. Desperate, he tried to touch himself, but a sock-clad feet reached out to still his movements; holding his hand prisoner to the floor.

“Don’t,” came the low warning. “You can’t come yet.”

He looked up in disbelief at the unreasonable demand; only to gasp as he watched the older man’s zipper being pulled down slowly. Michael began to shake his head, realizing what he was about to be made to do, but he wasn’t going to be let go that easily, for strong, lean fingers reached for his hair to force him closer to the hard length raging with a fire that only he could douse.

“Please don’t make me do this,” he pleaded in a shaky whisper; but the older man would have nothing of it.

“Pretend it’s a lollipop,” he replied with a smirk. “You like those, don’t you, Michael? Just like I do...so...” He gave a light grunt and forced himself into the younger’s mouth, allowing his lashes to drift shut as the welcome warmth enveloped him.

Oh, so fucking good.

A lollipop? He would laugh at the comparison, but it was bad enough he was having to taste and suck on something this thick...long...hard...sticky...

Sweet

...that kept going deeper and deeper...hitting the back of his throat while those swollen sacs kept slapping against his jaw with each frenzied thrust. It was a miracle he was able to keep up with the pace being set; and he had to steady himself by holding on to the taut ass cheeks; unaware of the way he caressed and clutched them tightly each time he nearly gagged on his ‘treat’. He could feel Michael trembling above him now; the low grunts he gave becoming more ragged and uneven as he began to swell within his mouth.

Oh God...he’s about to come. Not in my mouth...please not in my....

“Urgh...stop...” came the grunted command, and before he could think of what was going to happen next, he was dragged to his feet and thrust against the wall again, only this time, he was forced to steady himself by placing both hands flat against it.

Fear...yet excitement...coursed through his body as he felt the older man’s hand run down his back and down to the crack of his ass.

“What...what are you going to...aaaah!” He hissed and bit down hard on his lip; his eyes squeezing shut as he felt the wet fingers thrusting into him...stretching...sending his knees buckling at the unexpected invasion. However, Michael was quick to steady him just when he thought he was going to fall flat on the floor again, by wrapping a strong arm around his waist to hold him up.

“How does that feel, Michael?” came the husky whisper that made him even harder. God help him...just his voice alone...

“Come on, Michael...tell me how it feels...”

“Urgh...”

Deeper.

Oh fuck!

“Come on, Michael...say it...”

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. This is too....

“Shit,” he cursed as the pain began to subside and the dull flame of pleasure began to trickle into his consciousness.

Oh God no...no...it’s not supposed to feel good. Please don’t make it feel this good...pleasestoppleasestoppleasestoppleasestop...

“I see,” the older man drawled in amusement. “I guess this will just have to make you talk then.”

Michael groaned in weak protest as the fingers were withdrawn, only to nearly lose his balance again as something much thicker, longer and harder found its way in. He slammed a fist against the wall and tried to even his breathing, crying out softly as he felt the undeniable sensation of the other man’s teeth sinking into his right shoulder.

Oh God! I can’t take this anymore...!

“Just breathe,” came the soothing encouragement. “Take a deep breath...relax...and just...let it go...Michael...let it all go...”

Let it all go, he says. He knows he shouldn’t be listening to this, yet he’s doing the exact opposite; rotating his hips as he begins to adjust to the hard length caressing and thrusting even deeper within his inner walls. He groans and lowers his head, his ponytail finally coming undone as his hair shrouds his sweat-drenched face like a curtain. When the older man is satisfied that he’s ready, he begins to establish a rhythm...thrusting in and out...slowly at first...whispering words of praise at Michael’s supple compliance to his demands...and then...

__

...he picks up the pace...

“Ooooh....fuck...aaah...yes...yes...”

He watches his younger version moaning in pleasure beneath him; almost glad he cannot see his expression at this point for fear he’d lose his resolve. He seeks and finds Michael’s cock; wrapping his fingers around them as he continues to pound into his ass mercilessly. He is not surprised to realize his mind is becoming clouded again with those familiar feelings of bitterness and anger; the painful memories of his humiliation coming back to haunt him.

He realizes now what he’s doing; that this man before him – who may or may not be him – is only here to satisfy and eradicate this darkness before it consumes him completely. In this Michael – he can lose himself; he can become a beast – unforgiving and unrelenting. He can vent and use him as an emotional punching bag; allowing every lie, every false accusation, every sneering eye, every mocking laughter directed at him, to center within the inferno being generated between them at this moment.

Sweat pours off their skin in rivulets as they work to bring each other to completion; and as he tugs Michael’s hair, he finally forces himself to stare into those familiar brown eyes now filled with lust before claiming the full parted lips in a bruising kiss.

Too overwhelmed at the sensory overload; Michael’s nearly in tears as he feels his orgasm approaching again. He prays to God he’s not denied the pleasure of exploding this time around or he swears, he’ll literally die at this point. Nothing had ever felt this good before in his life and to think he was receiving it from the one man he would have never thought of –

“Aaaah....fuck,” he whimpers and trembles violently from head to toe – which he nearly stands tiptoes on as he feels it coming in a heady rush. “OhGodohGodohGod...”

“Say it,” comes the husky demand as his cock is squeezed. “Beg me to make you come, Michael.”

“Please....please...”

“Speak up, sissyboy. What do you want?”

Sissyboy? Call me whatever you want, but please... “I want to...to...I want to come.”

A tinge of shame fills him at his pathetic answer, but that is quickly eradicated as Michael slams into him one last time; sending every nerve ending in his body into overdrive. He explodes with a grunt and choked sob, pounding his fist against the wall again as his seed paints the wall and his lover’s fingers with its sticky, creamy essence. Trembling with satiation, he stiffens again as he feels Michael swell within him before letting go with a similar sound of release. He can’t help the blush that fills his already flushed countenance at the warm sensation of being filled before gasping as its finally withdrawn; leaving him feeling cold and bereft.

Oh Jehovah...what have I done?

It takes a while, but he finally lifts his lashes when he feels that the world has finally righted itself again. He straightens up slowly; trying not to wince visibly at the soreness he experiences, and dares to turn around to face the other man. Still panting and trying to catch his breath, he can only watch in mild disbelief and yet disappointment at the sight of the same unreadable expression on the singer’s face. He was already zipping up his pants and tucking his shirt back in; acting as if what had just happened between them meant nothing at all to him.

“There’s a washroom through those doors,” comes the instructions that could have been read from a manual for all the inflection in his tone. “Sorry I can’t stay for the rest of your ministry...but...it was a pleasure getting to meet you...Michael.”

He turns to leave, and to his horror, Michael wonders why this should bother him more than the act of taking his virginity with no permission whatsoever.

“That’s it?” he calls out, halting the older man in his tracks. He hates his voice for breaking. “Is that all you really have to say to me?”

The older man seems to square his shoulders as if bracing himself for something before finally looking back to give the younger a smile filled with so much sadness, it literally breaks Michael’s heart.

“There is nothing more to be said, Michael,” he says softly. “You have served your purpose. You will walk out of those doors and forget this afternoon ever happened, for it was nothing more than a means to exorcise my demons. If anything...”

He walks back up to Michael; his smile becoming a little warmer as he reaches out to caress his cheek gently before sinking his fingers into the nape of his neck and seizing the already swollen lips in a much slower, deeper....lingering kiss. When they finally break apart for air, it’s only to rest their foreheads against each other’s - knowing full well the irony of staring at an uncanny look-a-like –searching desperately for an answer that’s not forthcoming anytime soon.

“I want to thank you,” he whispers, caressing Michael’s lips with a thumb. “And hopefully someday you’ll come to forgive me for today.”

With a final kiss on the other’s forehead, he walks away without a second look back, leaving Michael to stare in stumped silence at what had just transpired.

It takes him another ten minutes to get himself together; for the stupid tears won’t stop falling even as he cleans himself as best he can in the guest bathroom and finally gets dressed. He does not understand why he isn’t more upset with the older man; why he doesn’t go running after him and punching him in the face for daring to take him so...brutally? He knows he’s not attracted to men in such a way; and doubts this will ever make him want to go through such an experience again...so why in God’s name can’t he stop reliving every painful yet toe-curling moment with that man? Why can’t he forget about the way those hands – so reminiscent of his – had played his body like an instrument; taking him to heights of desire he never knew he could experience? Why does a part of him want to return to ‘the-scene-of-the-crime’? To seek and fulfill this hidden masochistic side of him?

Exorcise his demons? I think I’m the one who needs that after all...

He cannot bear to look at the bodyguard/security person in the eye as he’s ushered out, and he cannot even begin to imagine walking up to any other house to continue his ministry; definitely not in his current state of emotional turmoil.

With a heavy sigh, he makes his way out of the compound, only to stiffen as his neck prickles with awareness. He turns around quickly, but there is nothing to give away that anyone is watching him. However, he feels it all the same. He knows he is being watched; and for some bizarre reason...he finds that he likes it.

“Michael?”

He turns around at the sound of his name; forcing a smile on his visage as Joshua pulls up to the curb to pick him up. “Are you done already?”

“Yeah,” he replies with a small smile, settling into his seat and closing his eyes with an exaggerated sigh of weariness. “I’m tired...can we just go straight home now? I mean to my place...explain to Doris I can’t make it for dinner.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t look so...”

The words die on his lips as Michael lifts his lashes to throw him a look that clearly says he’d rather not talk about it. He cannot be sure, but there is something definitely different about the young man sitting next to him. It’s like an added level of awareness...something inexplicable and powerful that mere words cannot describe.

Just what the hell happened out there?

“...alone...”

“What’s that, Michael?”

“Hmm...nothing,” he replies softly, as he turns to look out the window, where his reflection fades away to reveal the man now responsible for the most amazing afternoon he’s ever experienced. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore his now sensitive body’s response to the memory; realizing now that getting over ‘himself’ was going to be the most difficult thing he’d ever have to do.






















He hummed beneath his breath...

Sing a joyful song to the Lord

...as he cleared out the rest of the mess left by the teens he had just spent the past hour teaching. Today had been ‘Bring-a-Meal-to-Share’ Day, and needless to say, just about every other kid ordered a pizza, hence the boxes he was now forced to stuff into large black garbage bags. They had offered to help him, but Michael was more than willing to do the work alone. He needed the time to think anyway, so he basically shooed them all home.

“You still here, Brother Michael?” came the voice of Brother James – one of the elders – as he stuck his head into the room with a smile on his face. “We’re about to close the building for the evening. Will you be ministering today?”

“Just a few streets,” Michael replied as he tied a knot to seal the bag. “Is Brother Joshua still here?”

James nodded. “He’s waiting outside I think. Good job today by the way.”

“Thank you,” came the slightly breathless reply filled with genuine gratitude at the compliment; for Michael was aware that he had to make a good impression on the Elders if he ever hoped to gain that position someday. A part of him was still slightly bitter for getting passed up so many times despite all his hard work for the Hall over the years, but he was a patient man and knew that someday, his time would come.

Until then...

“Took you long enough,” Brother Joshua chided with warmth in his voice as he eyed his protégé, and best friend, finally saunter out of the building. “Doris will kill me if I don’t bring you home for dinner tonight.”

Michael laughed and gave his mentor and (in his mind at least) father-figure a warm hug. “Just a few houses first, okay? I’m in the mood for ministry this evening. I think the Lord is speaking to me in more ways than one.”

Joshua raised a brow but said nothing, only giving a nod as if understanding what the younger man was talking about. Seeing Michael’s eyes light up with anticipation to spread the Lord’s Word was always a pleasure for him. It was a definite far cry from the troubled teen he had met and dealt with oh those years ago. The Michael that now sat next to him was a young man of twenty-four with the whole world ahead of him. So what if he still saw things through rose-colored glasses sometimes, it was that fresh take to life that made his personality so lovable and likable. Was it any wonder many of the single women at the Hall wanted a piece of the eligible young man as a husband? Pity Michael didn’t seem too interested in that at the moment.

“This looks like a good neighborhood,” Michael suddenly said as Joshua was just about to drive past the road that would lead them into ‘unfriendly’ territory. Unfriendly as in these were homes of people who were more than likely to call the cops on them for disturbing their peaceful Sunday afternoons. Just the houses alone were intimidating; and even Joshua was in no mood to be turned away.

“Michael, are you sure...?”

“We won’t know if we don’t try,” the younger man replied with a firm nod. “I’m already used to doors being shut in my face, but I get the feeling we might make a difference in someone’s life today.”

He could sense that the older man wasn’t really thrilled about the prospect. “Do you want to wait in the car for me?”

“Why don’t I start off at the other end and you start off from here. We’ll meet halfway and compare notes.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Michael beamed and reached for his fedora; plopping it on his head before picking up his Bible and pamphlets from the backseat. “May the Lord be with you, Brother Joshua,” he said in parting, giving the older man a two-fingered salute before watching the car pull away from the curb.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; muttering a quick prayer for God’s guidance. He could already feel the hostility bearing down from all sides; unseen pressures of society’s stigma towards Witnesses threatening to crumple his resolve, but with a grit of his teeth, he finally lifted his lashes and marched towards the first house.

He couldn’t give up now. If God was putting him through a test, he was determined to pass it with flying colors.

__

The rented home was a welcome reprieve from Neverland; especially with all the crap he had to deal with the past few months from the media over those godforsaken allegations. He couldn’t believe that people could be so quick to destroy each another over something that wasn’t true. He couldn’t believe that all his honest and innocent intentions had been twisted and made into something so horrible and ugly; it took bitter tears of self-pity to remind him of how cruel the human nature could really be.

He couldn’t bear to remain in Neverland for another second; hence sending Bill to find him a place as inconspicuous and as far away from his ‘supposed’ sanctuary as possible. He only had two bodyguards, and his personal chef with him, and since his arrival here about a week ago, the ‘silence’ was a godsend in more ways than one. The owners of the home were avid readers – both professors of literature who were more than willing to give up their home for as long as he wanted. Of course they didn’t know it was him renting the place, but the money offered had been too good for them to turn down.

Michael had spent the better part of the week cooped up inside; buried in the books the Palveskis’ had in their arsenal. When the inside became too stifling, he could sit on the patio facing the backyard with the massive pool and breathtaking garden; hardly worried about being sighted as the nearest neighbor was almost a mile away. He purposefully kept away from watching the news or anything current; choosing instead to remain lost in classic movies with Bogart, Astaire, Bacall or Brando for company. He had no visitors; and he received no phone calls, which was just fine with him. He relished in his solitude; for it gave him time to think...time to write...time to be creative...

Even if his creativity sometimes led him to a place he was almost frightened of.

There were nights he would wake up in cold sweats; such dark homicidal and suicidal dreams taking a hold of him. He could still picture Neverland being torn apart; the sneering face of Sneddon and his team willing to make fools of him over and over again. He could feel their cold eyes watching him strip naked; suffering their cold, clammy invasive hands touching, prodding, and investigating his body as if he was nothing more than a plaything.

“He probably likes you doing that to him.”
Mocking laughter as he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut at the public humiliation.
“Look...he’s getting a boner. Sheesh. What a freak.”
“You know he likes it when he gets to touch young boys like this.”
A gentle then hard squeeze of his cock that sent him nearly yelping in pain.
“Oooh, watch it now. He’s gonna cum all over your hand.”
Mocking. Mocking. Mocking. Laughter.

What would happen if he told the world what those bastards had done to him? Would anyone believe him? It was bad enough that his ‘confession’ to the world had been met with ridicule; exposing the real truth would only make things worse. No, it was something he could never reveal to anyone; not even if they tortured him to confess. He could only let out his frustrations and anger with his writing; his dark songs...but he needed something more. He needed something to punish; to inflict as much pain as they had inflicted on him, but who...or what?

With a sigh, he flipped through the page of the book he was currently reading about World War II – an in depth memoir from soldiers who were forced to live through such a terrible time in the world’s history. Between their fears of the unknown and wondering if they’d ever get to see the light of day again; he found a few of the stories quite...intriguing. For you see, the concept of homosexuality back then was more than regarded as taboo. It was almost sad to read about these young men so desperate to experience pleasure in any way they could, that they resorted to their companions for feelings of love and acceptance.

Love is a beautiful thing...no matter how it comes.

He just wished that those bastards hadn’t twisted his version of love into something so sick and...

The sudden chime of the doorbell nearly had him dropping the book to the floor. On autopilot, his body stiffened and his heartbeat quickened; unaware of the dark and slightly fearful look that filled his eyes in that moment. He rose to his feet and paced to the door of the den; opening it slowly to listen to the conversation being held by Bill and -

“...just wanted to share the good word with you today, sir.”

...a young man with a fedora on his head.

Who is he? A fan? How did he know I was living here?

“If you’ll just give me a moment to talk to you about God’s plan for your life,” the visitor was saying in a slightly breathless voice that reminded him of the way he used to sound when he was much younger. It was that eager-to-please attitude he once had; that shy voice of innocence (at least most folks mistook it for innocence) that brought a reluctant smile to his lips.

“I’m not so sure,” Bill began, already trying to close the door in the man’s face. “We are not interested...”

“It’s okay, Bill,” he finally said aloud, letting himself be heard and seen as he opened the door to the den a little wider to reveal himself. “Let him in.”

__

For a moment, Michael was sure he had walked into a really bad scene from the Twilight Zone. All he could do was gawk in shock (and mild awe) at the pale-skinned man leaning against the door jamb with hands stuck in the pockets of a pair of black pants. The white long-sleeved shirt he wore had its top three buttons undone, revealing a bare chest to his gaze. Long, curly dark hair fell to brush against his shoulders, but it was the face...

(that face!)

...that had Michael swallowing tightly and seeking a means to pinch himself without being too obvious about it. There was simply no mistaking the nearly effeminate yet strong features which only belonged to the greatest entertainer in the world. Michael was more than aware that some people compared him to this man’s younger version back when the world simply loved him for his music. But now...

“Won’t you come in?” the older man invited with a wave of his hand. There was small smile on his face; yet amusement clearly in those dark eyes. “I assure you...I don’t bite.”

“Ah...oh...I mean...I’m just...” Just what? Shocked that I get to see you when everyone else in the world wonders where you ran off to after the accusa –

He halted his rapidly deteriorating thoughts as he noticed the singer’s brows furrowing a little. Perhaps he was too obvious with his wariness, but all the same, he stepped into the foyer; nearly jumping out of his skin as the front door was closed behind him.

“We can talk in here,” the entertainer urged, pushing himself away from his position to walk into the den; hardly caring if Michael followed or not. However, for all his calm and seeming detachment, he was a mess inside. As soon as the door was shut, he was finally given a good view of the visitor and what he saw had sent a shock of disbelief racing down his spine.

He had been looking at himself!

It was the him of the late eighties – when the world was his oyster and he could simply do no wrong. This version of him nearly carried himself in the same way; the same shuffling walk he had – slightly nervous and unsure of himself – the way he fidgeted with his fedora (as he finally took it off his head), the messy curls in the loose ponytail that brushed his shoulders, the simple blue oxford shirt and black jeans with a pair of loafers...Jesus H. Christ! Was this some sort of a sick joke?

“Do you want something to drink?” he finally asked as he walked to the mini-bar; hoping to do something with his hands lest he slap himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Michael jerked himself out of his dazed stupor; having been reluctantly admiring the way the elusive singer looked in the flesh. Maybe it was because he had only seen Michael via music videos and magazines, but to see the man in person was something else entirely. There was an aura...a ‘presence’...a ‘power’ that seemed to ooze off him in waves. It was something that could not be put in mere words and for reasons beyond him, he felt slightly out-of-breath and flustered at the emotions it was creating within him. He really couldn’t understand it.

“I don’t drink,” he replied with a sheepish smile. “I mean...not today. I’m supposed to be ministering...”

“I understand,” the older version of himself said with a quirk of his lips. “I should know. I used to do that stuff too.”

“Drink?”

“No...witness. We’re Jehovah Witnesses...at least I used to be.” He shrugged and sank into a leather sofa, crossing his legs at the ankles and clasping his large hands before him on his flat torso. “I used to go door-to-door too...only in disguise of course.”

“Wow.” Michael wasn’t sure if he ought to sit or not, and he was content to remain standing, but the other man waved a hand carelessly towards one of the empty chairs across him; and on slightly wobbling knees, Michael plopped himself into a Victorian-inspired straight-back chair. Nice. In fact, the whole room was nice. Lots of books and cozy and...

“What are you here to minister about?” came the sudden question that jarred him from his drifting thoughts.

Blushing in embarrassment, Michael cleared his throat and began to open his Bible. “Well...I just wanted to share with you God’s plan for your future,” he began shyly, wondering what the hell he was doing sitting in the living room talking to THE Michael Jackson about God’s plans for him! He fully expected someone to slap him awake soon...and boy was he praying for that, because he had a feeling he was about to make a major mess of things.

He found he couldn’t stare into the other man’s eyes for very long because...

I see me.

How weird was that? He would steal a shy/nervous glance– every now and then – only to see that he was being watched with something akin to obvious amusement.

Michael burned.

“Do you know where you want to be when this world is no more?” he asked breathlessly; cursing inwardly as his hands trembled a bit. “Will you be one of God’s chosen to live in Paradise on Earth or will you...?”

“Go straight to hell?” came the low drawl that had Michael looking up in shock at the blunt question. The amusement was now gone; and instead there was a dark, unreadable expression in those familiar brown eyes that sent a shiver of awareness down his spine.

“Isn’t hell the only place for a man like me?”

“I don’t...”

“You were thinking that, weren’t you?”

Michael shook his head desperately. “No, sir...I mean...not at all. I was just...”

“Judging me before you knew the facts?” The man’s eyes narrowed with distrust.

“I don’t...”

“You heard the news, didn’t you? You must have heard all about my sordid deeds, correct?”

“I’m...I’m... not sure I understand...”

“Who sent you here?”

Michael felt himself break into a cold sweat. What was the meaning of this interrogation? Why did it suddenly feel like it was a hundred degrees in here? “No one sent me here,” he defended himself hastily. “As I told you, I am ministering...”

“Stand up.”

“Wha...what?”

“You heard me,” the singer repeated in a voice that was husky with intent as his lean fingers began to caresses the arm rest of the sofa. “Stand up.”

On legs that felt like jelly, Michael did as he was told, wondering just what he had done or said to make the older man upset. He tried to catch the musician’s eyes, but again, found his gaze drifting to another part of him...those hands and how hypnotizing they were as they continued their exploration of the leathery fabric.

“What’s your name?”

“Mic...Michael...” came the trembling whisper.

For some reason, this tickled the singer so much; he burst into loud laughter that sent the other man’s cheeks filling with color.

“Of course it’s Michael. What else would it be?” When his laughter subsided; the dark look was quick to replace what had been clear amusement earlier. “Michael, eh? God really does have a nice sense of humor.”

“God...”

“Isn’t here to save you from yourself,” came the low mutter that sent the goose bumps into overdrive on Michael’s skin. “Take off your clothes, Michael.”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

There was no room for argument in that voice, and daring to look into his face; Michael could see that this man was not kidding in the slightest. Those pink-tinted lips were firm and unsmiling; the unreadable expression still in those endless pools of chocolate. All he had to do was pick up his Bible and pamphlets and walk out of here; pretend this hadn’t happened and pray like hell when he got back home tonight.

And yet...

His fingers were already on the top button...undoing them...one after the other. He didn’t question why his breathing was becoming uneven and rough as he shrugged out of the shirt to toss it aside carelessly. He didn’t cross-examine his decision to go along with this as the cool air from the unseen vents sent his nipples hardening into relief at the sensation; or why he was unbuckling his belt...pulling the pants down his legs...all the while watching Michael watch him...watching the obvious effect his stripping was doing to him...watching with growing excitement as the singer’s hand clenched into a tight fist...the slow but obvious effect it was waging in his pants...the captured lower lip between his teeth...

He was turning Michael on.

Damn.

He shouldn’t derive pleasure from this and yet he couldn’t help it. The dull ache in his groin was gradually becoming unbearable, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand like this without humiliating himself. He didn’t know if the accusations were true or not; and to be honest, he didn’t really give a damn about such things, but this was bringing a whole new question about his morality and principles into the matter. He was a Witness for God’s sake! They both were! So why in the world was he even allowing this to happen? He could already picture the paths of Hell burning and waiting for him; could already picture the Elders disappointment if he strayed from the path of Righteousness and...

“You aren’t done yet.”

Michael jerked at the sharp and impatient reprimand, sucking in his breath at the annoyance on the other man’s visage. “I...I think I should go...” he stuttered weakly, now really sure he didn’t like this game anymore.

“Go? Go where?” The singer smirked with a knowing look in his eyes. “Don’t you want me to take care of that for you?”

Michael felt the rush of blood to his head as he slapped his hands over his erection. He took a shaky step back, only to fight back a yelp as he was suddenly pushed hard against the wall. When the other man had stood up, he had no idea, but he could only assume that all the years of dancing so lightly on his feet had made him quite fast.

He gasped, or at least tried to get some air into his lungs as the strong hand continued to tighten the pressure around his neck. However, all thoughts of successfully breathing were wiped clean as he felt Michael’s other hand reach down to squeeze his cock through his briefs.

Oh Jesus...! Please...stop...!

“You like that, don’t you?” came the throaty voice against his ear; sending a rush of warmth through him that was only compounded as it was nipped gently.

He shivered at the dual sensations of pain and pleasure, grunting a little when his cock was tugged out of his briefs to shameless exposure. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to lift his hands to push away the one still wrapped around his neck, writhing with subconscious delight as his older ‘twin’ began to stroke...and stroke...and stroke...

“No...”

Faster.

“God...stop...” He wheezed. He whimpered. He begged. He thrust into the punishing hand all the same. He cursed his traitorous body. He prayed to God for forgiveness. This sin...oh this sin...

“Please...!”

Harder.

He dug his fingernails into Michael’s forearms; the world now spinning out of control as he became lightheaded from lack of oxygen while still pulsating, throbbing, and swelling within his tormentor’s hand. And just when he thought he was going to go absolutely bat shit crazy with his impending orgasm, he was suddenly released in both places.

“Oh God...”

He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap; coughing and trying to suck in as much air into him, while suffering the pain of being denied the pleasure of coming. Desperate, he tried to touch himself, but a sock-clad feet reached out to still his movements; holding his hand prisoner to the floor.

“Don’t,” came the low warning. “You can’t come yet.”

He looked up in disbelief at the unreasonable demand; only to gasp as he watched the older man’s zipper being pulled down slowly. Michael began to shake his head, realizing what he was about to be made to do, but he wasn’t going to be let go that easily, for strong, lean fingers reached for his hair to force him closer to the hard length raging with a fire that only he could douse.

“Please don’t make me do this,” he pleaded in a shaky whisper; but the older man would have nothing of it.

“Pretend it’s a lollipop,” he replied with a smirk. “You like those, don’t you, Michael? Just like I do...so...” He gave a light grunt and forced himself into the younger’s mouth, allowing his lashes to drift shut as the welcome warmth enveloped him.

Oh, so fucking good.

A lollipop? He would laugh at the comparison, but it was bad enough he was having to taste and suck on something this thick...long...hard...sticky...

Sweet

...that kept going deeper and deeper...hitting the back of his throat while those swollen sacs kept slapping against his jaw with each frenzied thrust. It was a miracle he was able to keep up with the pace being set; and he had to steady himself by holding on to the taut ass cheeks; unaware of the way he caressed and clutched them tightly each time he nearly gagged on his ‘treat’. He could feel Michael trembling above him now; the low grunts he gave becoming more ragged and uneven as he began to swell within his mouth.

Oh God...he’s about to come. Not in my mouth...please not in my....

“Urgh...stop...” came the grunted command, and before he could think of what was going to happen next, he was dragged to his feet and thrust against the wall again, only this time, he was forced to steady himself by placing both hands flat against it.

Fear...yet excitement...coursed through his body as he felt the older man’s hand run down his back and down to the crack of his ass.

“What...what are you going to...aaaah!” He hissed and bit down hard on his lip; his eyes squeezing shut as he felt the wet fingers thrusting into him...stretching...sending his knees buckling at the unexpected invasion. However, Michael was quick to steady him just when he thought he was going to fall flat on the floor again, by wrapping a strong arm around his waist to hold him up.

“How does that feel, Michael?” came the husky whisper that made him even harder. God help him...just his voice alone...

“Come on, Michael...tell me how it feels...”

“Urgh...”

Deeper.

Oh fuck!

“Come on, Michael...say it...”

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. This is too....

“Shit,” he cursed as the pain began to subside and the dull flame of pleasure began to trickle into his consciousness.

Oh God no...no...it’s not supposed to feel good. Please don’t make it feel this good...pleasestoppleasestoppleasestoppleasestop...

“I see,” the older man drawled in amusement. “I guess this will just have to make you talk then.”

Michael groaned in weak protest as the fingers were withdrawn, only to nearly lose his balance again as something much thicker, longer and harder found its way in. He slammed a fist against the wall and tried to even his breathing, crying out softly as he felt the undeniable sensation of the other man’s teeth sinking into his right shoulder.

Oh God! I can’t take this anymore...!

“Just breathe,” came the soothing encouragement. “Take a deep breath...relax...and just...let it go...Michael...let it all go...”

Let it all go, he says. He knows he shouldn’t be listening to this, yet he’s doing the exact opposite; rotating his hips as he begins to adjust to the hard length caressing and thrusting even deeper within his inner walls. He groans and lowers his head, his ponytail finally coming undone as his hair shrouds his sweat-drenched face like a curtain. When the older man is satisfied that he’s ready, he begins to establish a rhythm...thrusting in and out...slowly at first...whispering words of praise at Michael’s supple compliance to his demands...and then...

__

...he picks up the pace...

“Ooooh....fuck...aaah...yes...yes...”

He watches his younger version moaning in pleasure beneath him; almost glad he cannot see his expression at this point for fear he’d lose his resolve. He seeks and finds Michael’s cock; wrapping his fingers around them as he continues to pound into his ass mercilessly. He is not surprised to realize his mind is becoming clouded again with those familiar feelings of bitterness and anger; the painful memories of his humiliation coming back to haunt him.

He realizes now what he’s doing; that this man before him – who may or may not be him – is only here to satisfy and eradicate this darkness before it consumes him completely. In this Michael – he can lose himself; he can become a beast – unforgiving and unrelenting. He can vent and use him as an emotional punching bag; allowing every lie, every false accusation, every sneering eye, every mocking laughter directed at him, to center within the inferno being generated between them at this moment.

Sweat pours off their skin in rivulets as they work to bring each other to completion; and as he tugs Michael’s hair, he finally forces himself to stare into those familiar brown eyes now filled with lust before claiming the full parted lips in a bruising kiss.

Too overwhelmed at the sensory overload; Michael’s nearly in tears as he feels his orgasm approaching again. He prays to God he’s not denied the pleasure of exploding this time around or he swears, he’ll literally die at this point. Nothing had ever felt this good before in his life and to think he was receiving it from the one man he would have never thought of –

“Aaaah....fuck,” he whimpers and trembles violently from head to toe – which he nearly stands tiptoes on as he feels it coming in a heady rush. “OhGodohGodohGod...”

“Say it,” comes the husky demand as his cock is squeezed. “Beg me to make you come, Michael.”

“Please....please...”

“Speak up, sissyboy. What do you want?”

Sissyboy? Call me whatever you want, but please... “I want to...to...I want to come.”

A tinge of shame fills him at his pathetic answer, but that is quickly eradicated as Michael slams into him one last time; sending every nerve ending in his body into overdrive. He explodes with a grunt and choked sob, pounding his fist against the wall again as his seed paints the wall and his lover’s fingers with its sticky, creamy essence. Trembling with satiation, he stiffens again as he feels Michael swell within him before letting go with a similar sound of release. He can’t help the blush that fills his already flushed countenance at the warm sensation of being filled before gasping as its finally withdrawn; leaving him feeling cold and bereft.

Oh Jehovah...what have I done?

It takes a while, but he finally lifts his lashes when he feels that the world has finally righted itself again. He straightens up slowly; trying not to wince visibly at the soreness he experiences, and dares to turn around to face the other man. Still panting and trying to catch his breath, he can only watch in mild disbelief and yet disappointment at the sight of the same unreadable expression on the singer’s face. He was already zipping up his pants and tucking his shirt back in; acting as if what had just happened between them meant nothing at all to him.

“There’s a washroom through those doors,” comes the instructions that could have been read from a manual for all the inflection in his tone. “Sorry I can’t stay for the rest of your ministry...but...it was a pleasure getting to meet you...Michael.”

He turns to leave, and to his horror, Michael wonders why this should bother him more than the act of taking his virginity with no permission whatsoever.

“That’s it?” he calls out, halting the older man in his tracks. He hates his voice for breaking. “Is that all you really have to say to me?”

The older man seems to square his shoulders as if bracing himself for something before finally looking back to give the younger a smile filled with so much sadness, it literally breaks Michael’s heart.

“There is nothing more to be said, Michael,” he says softly. “You have served your purpose. You will walk out of those doors and forget this afternoon ever happened, for it was nothing more than a means to exorcise my demons. If anything...”

He walks back up to Michael; his smile becoming a little warmer as he reaches out to caress his cheek gently before sinking his fingers into the nape of his neck and seizing the already swollen lips in a much slower, deeper....lingering kiss. When they finally break apart for air, it’s only to rest their foreheads against each other’s - knowing full well the irony of staring at an uncanny look-a-like –searching desperately for an answer that’s not forthcoming anytime soon.

“I want to thank you,” he whispers, caressing Michael’s lips with a thumb. “And hopefully someday you’ll come to forgive me for today.”

With a final kiss on the other’s forehead, he walks away without a second look back, leaving Michael to stare in stumped silence at what had just transpired.

It takes him another ten minutes to get himself together; for the stupid tears won’t stop falling even as he cleans himself as best he can in the guest bathroom and finally gets dressed. He does not understand why he isn’t more upset with the older man; why he doesn’t go running after him and punching him in the face for daring to take him so...brutally? He knows he’s not attracted to men in such a way; and doubts this will ever make him want to go through such an experience again...so why in God’s name can’t he stop reliving every painful yet toe-curling moment with that man? Why can’t he forget about the way those hands – so reminiscent of his – had played his body like an instrument; taking him to heights of desire he never knew he could experience? Why does a part of him want to return to ‘the-scene-of-the-crime’? To seek and fulfill this hidden masochistic side of him?

Exorcise his demons? I think I’m the one who needs that after all...

He cannot bear to look at the bodyguard/security person in the eye as he’s ushered out, and he cannot even begin to imagine walking up to any other house to continue his ministry; definitely not in his current state of emotional turmoil.

With a heavy sigh, he makes his way out of the compound, only to stiffen as his neck prickles with awareness. He turns around quickly, but there is nothing to give away that anyone is watching him. However, he feels it all the same. He knows he is being watched; and for some bizarre reason...he finds that he likes it.

“Michael?”

He turns around at the sound of his name; forcing a smile on his visage as Joshua pulls up to the curb to pick him up. “Are you done already?”

“Yeah,” he replies with a small smile, settling into his seat and closing his eyes with an exaggerated sigh of weariness. “I’m tired...can we just go straight home now? I mean to my place...explain to Doris I can’t make it for dinner.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t look so...”

The words die on his lips as Michael lifts his lashes to throw him a look that clearly says he’d rather not talk about it. He cannot be sure, but there is something definitely different about the young man sitting next to him. It’s like an added level of awareness...something inexplicable and powerful that mere words cannot describe.

Just what the hell happened out there?

“...alone...”

“What’s that, Michael?”

“Hmm...nothing,” he replies softly, as he turns to look out the window, where his reflection fades away to reveal the man now responsible for the most amazing afternoon he’s ever experienced. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore his now sensitive body’s response to the memory; realizing now that getting over ‘himself’ was going to be the most difficult thing he’d ever have to do.