Disclaimer: this imagine is NOT MINE. Credit to the original author, Arrowhead. I got this from Donatella's Head.

Rating: R

***

"All right guys, we'll pick this up in the morning." The assistant director said.

It had been a long day and tomorrow would be even longer. Not only was there more of the show to shoot, but there were new songs to begin recording. Mike yawned and observed his companions. Davy was already up and off to his dressing room, Peter was engrossed in yet another book about some kind of eastern mysticism and Micky was still stretched out in the corner looking very, very tired and yet vaguely upset. He had been that way for weeks and weeks now. No one had really thought much about it at first. They had all been putting in a lot of extra work and maybe it was finally wearing him down. But, Mike had noticed that it seemed to be more than that. Micky was not really himself at all lately. He was nervous and on edge and maybe even a little angry. He had even taken to avoiding the hordes of autograph seekers that were always hanging around the gates. When asked about it, he would explain it away with various and repeated answers. That had been enough for everyone else, but Mike sensed it was all a front.

"You guys wanna go get a bite?" Mike asked.

"No, I think I'll get something to go and head home. I'm beat." Micky said, absently as he hauled himself up from the floor.

"Pete?"

"Nah. I'm meeting some friends in just a little bit."

"Oh. Well I guess I'm on my own, then. See you tomorrow."

Mike easily caught up to Micky on the way to the exit. The sunset was fading rapidly to twilight as they left the cavernous soundstage. Mike took his final opportunity of the day to find out what was wrong.

"Mick are you ok?"

"What? Sure, I'm fine."

"You don't act like it."

"It's nothing a few days off wouldn't fix."

"You sure?"

Micky sighed in an annoyed fashion and paused a moment before answering. "Yes. I'm positive. I wish people would stop asking me that. I'm just tired, but I'll be fine."

"Alright. Peace. It just seems like more than that."

"Well it isn't, okay?"

"Okay.... I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah. Later."

Mike gave him one last, long appraising look before continuing on his way.

Micky slumped behind the wheel of his car. He pinched the bridge of his nose a moment and blinked rapidly. For a moment he felt like bursting into tears and unloading the whole story, but the look of disbelief and amusement he was certain would have followed stopped him. The cops thought it was funny and so did the ladies who answered the fan mail. Mike would be no different. He was positive of that. The car started easily and he pointed it toward the exit.

From his vantage point on the other side of the parking lot, Mike watched him go. Something wasn't right. He was certain of it. If only Micky would tell him what it was. Even though he didn't know the source, Mike hated it and what it was doing to his friend. He wondered just how fierce his emotions on the subject would be if he wasn't rapidly developing feelings for Micky. He already knew he harbored those tendencies but he could keep them reigned in until recently. It was the last thing he would have expected. They were totally opposite and as hard as he fought against it, he still found himself giving in and doing things like hanging around after he could have left for the day just to be around him longer or making some of the comedy bits a little more physical than necessary just to have an excuse to touch him. He would very much like the chance to take Micky's mind off his troubles. Right. Like that would ever happen. He resigned himself to a solitary dinner and evening at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The traffic light turned red and Micky caught himself looking around nervously while he waited for it to change. He couldn't help but be on his guard, even though anyone who happened to look at him would find it odd. If they only knew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first the letters were no different from the hundreds they all got every day. Then Laura, the lady who handled his fan mail noticed that the same person was sending him several letters a day, every day. It was the usual harmless stuff at first. 'I love you' and 'You're the greatest', 'I'm your biggest fan' etc. Gradually, the letters became longer and stranger. The writer called herself Tracy and these days most of what she sent him was long and rambling missives about how perfect they would be for one another and why he should marry her. Now, somehow, Tracy had gotten his home address and had begun sending things there. These notes had taken an angrier and darker tone. If there was any mention in a newspaper or magazine of him attending some showbiz event with an actress or just someone he had asked out for the evening, he was certain to get at least 3 or 4 pages front and back about what a little whore the girl was and why she was not good enough for him. They had gotten nasty enough that he had decided to take a little break from the celebrity social scene so that these girls didn't suddenly inherit his problems.

Not only did she like to write to him but she had also taken to sending him artwork. Like the letters, the pictures were harmless. At first. They were mostly drawings of him that were copied from photos in the magazines. They were actually pretty good, but when she was angry that all changed. The last one he had gotten depicted him nude and tied to a post while a shadowy figure stood close by with an enormous and sharp looking knife in hand. This was what had prompted him to speak with the police. That had been a pointless waste of an afternoon. The feeling he got was : 'Oh yeah. It must be a real bitch to have chicks throwing themselves at you. If you want to be famous, you'd better learn to deal with the fact that there are a few cranks out there.' He felt embarrassed at just the memory of that visit. The officer he had spoken with went on to inform him there was nothing to be done unless she attacked him. What kind of man couldn't defend himself from a lovesick teenage girl? - Was the unspoken question.

Maybe he WAS over reacting. It was really affecting him, no question about it. He started to relax a little and look at the situation as not so bad. That was when the calls began. The phone rang non stop. He would answer and get silence or the caller immediately hung up. After a few days she spoke to him. He hung up on her without a word. That was a mistake. He left the phone off the hook for a few hours and within a minute of putting the handset in its cradle, it was ringing again.

  "How dare you hang up on me!" She hissed at him.

"This all has to stop. The letters, the calls. What do you want ?"

"Why, all I want is you. But I guess you think you're too good for someone like me!"

"I've never even met you."

"Are you sure about that? I have your autograph."

Micky suddenly felt ill. This sick bitch had been that close to him? He quickly found his outrage again.

"You and a lot of people, but they don't keep calling and sending letters day after day." He said.

"They don't love you the way I do. I don't get why you can't seem to realize that. We belong together."

"No we don't."

"Yes we do! I guess I'll have to show you how far I'll go to prove it!" She screamed.

"What does that mean."

"You'll see." She said, in a mocking tone and then angrily slammed the receiver down.

Days later there was another letter waiting for him when he came home. This one was heavier than usual. And he noticed with growing dread that there was no stamp or postmark on the envelope. It had been delivered personally. The note said 'I went on a little drive the other day, and look who I ran into.' Micky's hands began to shake as he flipped through the photos that had been with the letter. They were all shots of his little sister walking home from school.

Now his family had been dragged into the whole thing. He had hated to tell them, but there was no way they could take any kind of chance with the situation. There was still nothing that could be done legally. There was no proof of any threat other than Micky's own word. All the letters he got never once mentioned his family. It was just so fucking frustrating! After that it was quiet for a day or two and then the calls started again. After answering once and getting a nasty giggle in response, he calmly hung up the phone and then grabbed the wire and ripped it from the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Micky glanced around as he waited for the gate at the end of his driveway to open. The street was deserted in both directions. He pulled the car inside and then sat there waiting for the gate to close again before getting out to check the mail. There was something from his accountant and a flier for some new restaurant and that was all. This was the third day straight that Tracy hadn't left something for him. Wow. That improved his mood right away. Was it possible, that somehow, some way she had finally gotten it through her head that he wanted to be left alone?

It was a very peaceful evening for him. He devoured the take out cheeseburger, took a long, hot shower, and then crawled into bed. He was joined by his cat, Slinky.

Slinky purred contentedly as Micky stroked the orange striped fur as he began to drift off to sleep. Just as he was almost completely out, the phone rang. Who could this be? He had changed the number and not everyone was aware of that yet.

"Hello?" His heart sank as a familiar voice answered.

"I hope you didn't think you'd get rid of me so easily."

"How did you get this number?"

"I have my ways. It was very rude of you to do that. I guess I'm going to have to teach you some manners."

"What?"

Silence.

"Hey! Answer me!"

"Goodnight, Micky."

And then a click and the dial tone. Micky slumped down into the bed. Sleep was a long time in coming after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The strident buzz of an alarm clock brought Micky out of the few hours of sleep he had managed to get. He wearily went about his morning routine. Oh, it was going to be a long day. Well, at least it was a few extra hours he wouldn't have to deal with Tracy. He carefully went through the house and made sure he locked all the windows. Micky had been shocked and appalled to discover he had went off and left one open yesterday, and he had been certain they were all closed too. Well, the way his mind was all over the place, it shouldn't come as a surprise he would forget one. When he stepped away from the house and got a look at his car it became obvious the game had changed and he'd better act like it. The Pontiac was sitting on four tires that had been cut to pieces. As he got closer he saw that the paint had several deep scratches that ran its entire length.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The red and white Triumph hummed beneath him as it wound up the twisting canyon road. Micky could barely keep his eyes open. What a lousy day. They had had to do take after take because of him. The recording session hadn't been too cool either . He had actually forgotten the lyrics of songs they had been working on for weeks. He could tell everyone was getting pissed at him and that hadn't helped. He would have to make some apologies tomorrow. But for now, all he wanted was sleep. The gate seemed to take forever to open. In fact he slipped the motorcycle through as soon as the opening was wide enough. Not a thing in the mail. Good. The headlight washed over the immobilized car and he didn't feel one way or another about it. He was just too wiped out to care. He put the bike in the garage and then went inside making sure that the door was locked and chained.

"Slinky!" He called. It was unusual for the cat not to greet him at the door.

"Hey, Slink!" He yelled again as he walked toward the bedroom, undressing as he went. He'd shower in the morning and grab some breakfast on the way in. His heart nearly stopped when he flipped on the light.

The bedroom looked like a bomb had gone off. Clothes everywhere, the bed had been slashed to ribbons. Every move he made disturbed the feathers that had come from the now destroyed pillows. Pictures were torn from the walls, and the mirror over the dresser was smashed. He stood there shocked, taking it all in. There wasn't a single thing in the room that hadn't been touched or more correctly, destroyed. Oddly out of place in all the chaos was a red towel carefully draped over the center of the bed. His eyes were drawn back to it again and again. Upon closer inspection he saw that the towel wasn't really red, it was just soaked with blood. He could hardly believe he was doing it, but he reached out and cautiously tweezed a corner with his thumb and finger. He slowly pulled it away to reveal Slinky, or what was left of him. The cat had been completely eviscerated. Written on a sheet of paper in what could only be the cat's blood, was the message 'You're next.' Micky backed away from the bed, moaning quietly, though he was unaware of it. He could not fathom what he had seen but the image was burned into his mind. And then a terrifying question surfaced: What if she was still here? A floorboard squeaked as though responding to his thought and that was enough to send him running from the house.

He flung the garage door open and tore off down the driveway on the cycle. The gate rattled open and he took off like a shot. He was no more onto the pavement when a set of headlights popped into view behind him. Was that her? Was she still there and out to kill him? He thought he could hear a roar as the car accelerated as though it were about to spring on him. Micky twisted back on the throttle as far as he dared and concentrated on not spreading himself all over road. The Triumph was fast but not designed to be driven like a dirt bike. It took all his ability and luck not to put the cycle onto its side as he flew around the many tight curves. At one point he rounded a curve and just as he was getting upright, the rear wheel found some loose gravel that had washed down from a driveway. The rear of the bike fishtailed sickeningly for just a second and then straightened out. The intersection at the bottom of the hill came into view just as the traffic light there began to change. The yellow light seemed to mock him but he did not slow down. He flashed through the intersection at the last possible second and then he was alone.

His heart was still racing. What now? He should call the cops. They had their fucking evidence this time! There was no way he could face going back there tonight but he had to go somewhere. Only one place came to mind and he reasoned that it was where he should have gone all along.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fritz was a killing machine, pure and simple. To look at him you'd never guess it. Dogs trained the way he was were illegal to own in the States. That little fact hadn't stood in Mike's way for a second. Rules he considered stupid never did. He watched as the German Shepherd yawned and then immediately got to its feet and focused on the front door, growling softly. A few seconds later Mike could hear steps outside and then there was a rapid knock on the door.

"Easy." Mike said to the dog as he passed. He opened the door to discover a fast unraveling Micky.

"Mike, can I stay here tonight? Please?" He said, while his eyes silently pleaded.

"Sure, Mick." Was the baffled response. He could not have refused him even if he had wanted to. "What's going on?"

Micky had gone as far as the couch where he sat down and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. Mike followed and sat beside him, feeling a bit awkward and unsure of how to proceed.

"What's wrong, Mick?" He asked quietly.

Micky looked at him with an agonized expression. If Mike laughed at him he would just die right there and save Tracy the bother.

"Someone's trying to kill me." He said, in a voice that sounded near tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The story didn't take long to tell. Mike listened with concern that was gradually replaced by anger. Aided by some very fine Panama Red, Micky managed to keep himself together through the whole story, even the fate of Slinky.

"Man, what am I going to do? Even with all that, I have no idea who this person is." Micky said dejectedly, leaning forward again. "I can't keep living like this."

Mike scooted a little closer and put a friendly hand on his back.

"You can stay here as long as you want to, and I'll help you any way I can."

"Thanks. I'm sorry I drug you into this mess,"

"Don't be sorry," Mike said as he gazed at Micky. Maybe it was just the grass, but he looked beautiful. He couldn't restrain himself from reaching out and brushing back the wind ruffled curls. Besides he could see something under there.

"What are you doing?"

"There's something on your forehead."

"Oh. I felt something hit me on the way over." Micky said, as he searched for the spot. He rubbed it and examined what came off in his hand.

"Look! It's a bug." Micky said with surprise as he showed it to Mike and then the two of them dissolved into helpless laughter.

What the hell. They were both high and if it failed, he could blame it on that. There would never be a better moment. Micky was caught completely unaware when Mike leaned forward and kissed him. What the fuck was that?!

"I...I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't have done that, huh? Mike said, unable to meet Micky's stunned expression, although he did notice that the other man hadn't tried to get away.

"It's just that I had no idea that you... well, you know."

"Yeah, well it's not exactly something you want in the studio press releases," Mike said. "So I guess you want to get the hell out of here now." It was more a statement than a question.

"I don't know. I'm not mad at you just shocked, I guess."

"I've never done anything like that before," Mike said quietly.

Micky couldn't help but wonder and then asked "Did you like it?"

Mike smiled a tiny bit before fixing him with a penetrating stare. "Yes I did. A lot." And then it was his turn to be pleasantly surprised as Micky moved a little closer awkwardly kissed him back.

"You don't have to do this." Mike said.

Micky shrugged. "I guess I've always been a little curious."

"You can trust me. I won't hurt you or do anything you don't want me to." Mike said in a near whisper, as his fingertips gently traced Micky's jaw line and then his throat before coming to rest at the base in a small spot of fine, curly hairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room seemed to be spinning and Micky couldn't tell if it was the grass or that he hardly got a chance to catch his breath. The kisses were warm and started out gentle but gradually became more and more urgent. He could feel the playful flicker of a tongue and answered it while he began to notice a hand sliding over most of the length of his body. He was liking it a whole lot more than he ever would have imagined.     

Mike was proceeding cautiously. He wasn't this nervous with any of the girls he had been with over the years. Maybe that was caused by not caring. He certainly cared now and didn't want to do anything sudden and scare Micky away. He brushed his lips over Micky's throat before pausing to carefully nip at it. His hands made quick work of some buttons and he was free to move his actions lower. He heard a quiet moan as he took an erect nipple between his lips and lightly sucked it. The moan, combined with the creaking of the large couch and pops from the fireplace prevented any of them, including Fritz, from hearing the click of a shutter and the whine of a tiny motor just outside a window at the rear of the room.

The rubbing of a hand between his legs released a contented sigh from Micky and he opened his eyes to see Mike crouched over him and looking vaguely pleased.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked.

"No." Micky replied, arching his back a little to increase the contact between the hand and his crotch. He closed his eyes and waited while his uncomfortably tight pants were unfastened and pulled out of the way.

Mike experimentally licked the entire length of the swollen cock before him and decided from the reaction that he must be doing something right. He did it again, pausing to give the head a thorough, tortuously slow going over. Micky writhed beneath him in an encouraging fashion as he continued on. It took much less time to get him off than Mike thought it would. He pulled back to watch as Micky came. Perhaps next time he would stay put, and it did look like there was a good chance of a next time. Micky smiled at him and said nothing. Just as Mike leaned down to kiss him again (he felt like he could never get enough of that,) a flash of bright white light shattered the moment. Mike leaped to the front door, yelling something in German to Fritz who charged out of the house snarling fiercely. Micky sat up, confused.

"What was that?"

"You don't know? It was a camera. Someone's fuckin' spying on us!" Mike said, as he searched for a weapon of some kind. Both men looked up as a shriek resounded from the back yard.

Mike smiled evilly. "Good boy, Fritz," He said as he settled on a piece of firewood and then ran from the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of all the stupid things to do. How could that fucking flash have gotten turned on? That wasn't important now. What mattered was escaping before she was caught or that damn dog tore her head off. If she could get away, Micky was as good as hers. And certainly Mike would pay well to keep these pictures under wraps. She edged away from the growling dog but he was having none of that and closed the distance again. The son of a bitch hadn't bitten her yet but it had been a near thing. She supposed that if she hadn't stopped running he would have killed her.

The beam of a bright flashlight suddenly blinded her.

"Well, what do we have here?" A mocking voice drawled. She did not have to see its owner to know who it was. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Fuck you!" She spat.

"Temper, temper. How about handing over that camera?"

"I don't have any camera," She said.

"Don't bullshit me honey."

She was about to say something else when Micky came running up to the scene. Her furious expression immediately melted into something much softer and it suddenly occurred to Mike who this was.

"Hi Micky." She said.

He recognized the voice right away.

"Tracy?"

She smiled and nodded at him.

He was nearly sick with the sudden anger that boiled up inside him. Here, cornered against the low stonewall, was the source of his torment. If he had seen her out someplace, he never would have suspected. She looked like the standard teenage girl. She was of average height and weight with dark blonde hair. There was no clue in her exterior of what kind of nastiness lied within. Neither of them could believe what she said next.

"Micky, you're not mad at me are you?"

"Mad? Oh no. I'd only like to strangle you with my bare hands,"

"Don't you see? I had to do it. You had to understand that I'm serious. I love you and would do anything for you. But oh no, you had to ignore me and run around with every little whore that looked in your direction. And then I see THIS." Tracy gestured toward both men and her shift from pleading to murderous rage was disturbing to witness.

"Are you going to give me that camera or do I have to take it?" Mike asked.

"Come on and try to take it, asshole!" Tracy said, and flashed a large kitchen knife she had been hiding behind her back.

"You know, one word from me and that dog will rip your throat out."

"Yeah, do it! I'll kill him just like that cat. He was a snap, just walked right up to me and goodbye kitty!"

Mike averted his gaze for only a moment to see how this was affecting Micky and that was when Tracy made her move. She vaulted over the wall, intending to run back to where she had hidden her car. There was only one problem with that little plan. Mike's backyard ended abruptly at the top of a very high cliff that overlooked the ocean. Tracy landed on the other side and took a giant step out into nothing before gravity kicked in and she plummeted a hundred and fifty feet down onto the jagged rocks waiting at the bottom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last of the police had left and they were alone again. The nightmare was over. There hadn't been much time to get the story straight. In the end they decided it was best to tell as much of the truth as they could. What exactly they had been doing when they discovered the intruder and the fact that Mike had carefully went down to the beach to be certain that the camera was damaged to the extent that the film was ruined, was something they had kept to themselves of course. They were free and clear.

They had called the director who had given them the day off. In his exhausted condition Micky could not face going home just yet. That was fine with Mike. He had prepared the guest room thinking it best not to bring up the earlier festivities. They trudged up the staircase. The hall went in two directions at the top, each room in a different end.

"Mike...."

"Yeah?"

"Would it be ok if I...I mean I don't want to be alone right now."

Mike nodded and they both retired to the darkened room. As he laid there

wrapped in a loose but warm embrace, Micky sighed contently. He hadn't felt this safe in a long time. He did not regret any of the night before. As soon as they both got some rest, he was going to show his bedmate just how much he didn't regret it.