Miki’s vision remained red, this time the color of Andrew’s blood mottling his hands and running over the man’s face. Andrew flailed, catching Miki’s throat with his fingers. He felt the trapped man rake at him, then the bite of air when his skin peeled up under Andrew’s dirty fingernails. The wound wept, trails of watery pink running down Miki’s neck
The exchanged blows were furious. Then Miki hit something in Andrew’s face that gave way. A nasty crunch reverberated through Miki’s skin, and his knuckles bloomed their own spikes of pain. Miki’s eyes watered, and the middle finger on his right hand quickly swelled, curling his fist into a rigid claw.
Then he noticed Andrew’s unnatural stillness.
Miki rolled off the other man’s legs to rest on his hip and hand, leaning to the side. His right knee refused to uncurl, and he cradled his hand to his chest, panting from the exertion of nearly beating a man to death.
Andrew’s face was a mess, barely recognizable under the blood and swelling. Turned slightly to the side, his chest stuttered as his lungs struggled to breathe. A chattering sound rattled from somewhere below his collarbone, and bubbles of snot and blood clogged his left nostril. Miki’s fists had pounded at the bridge of bone until only one passage worked. Andrew’s mouth didn’t look much better, and somewhere under the tangled clot of hair, spit and more blood were Andrew’s eyes, his lashes barely visible beneath the crimson swirls.
Miki’s knuckles were raw, and the dried weeds were pricking into the scraped skin. Blowing on the spots only made matters worse, and Miki shook his hands to rid himself of the sting. His own breath was as jagged as the skin on his palms, and Miki forced himself to stay upright. Despite the scratchy burrs around him, he wanted to fall over and close his eyes. Every inch of his body ached where it wasn’t on fire from pain, and he doubted he had the strength to do more than just breathe.
The shakes hit him fast and hard, and his fingers barely had enough strength in them to pull his jacket forward so he could check its inside pocket. The worn plush was secure in its nest, its bobble-black eyes staring up at Miki from its stained white round head. Twisting one of the bear-dog’s ears between his trembling fingers, Miki let go of a shuddering breath and let the shock take him. Overwhelmed, he retched up a watery cocktail of stale coffee and mostly digested burger. Staring down at the weeds, Miki couldn’t help but think his contribution could only help the disastrous lawn.
“I have thrown up more in the last couple of weeks then I have all the time I was on tour.” Miki spat his mouth clean. “This is fucking insane.”
When sirens began to close in on the Vega house, Miki’s insides clenched. Then he heard a very familiar Irish-tinted voice announcing he was a member of the San Francisco Police Department and that whoever was around should come out with their hands up.
“Oh, fuck me,” Miki sighed, rubbing at his sweaty temple with the back of his hand. “Fuck me to hell.”
“Hands in the air! Let me see them!” Kane came around the side of the house and leveled his gun at Miki. Miki obliged his lover, raising his battered hands so Kane could see his palms. Swearing, Kane jerked his weapon up when he recognized his lover, then dropped it again to cover the man lying facedown in the dirt a few feet away. “Miki?”
“Hey, how you doing?” Miki gave Kane a negligent wave. “If you want to point that thing at someone, keep it on that guy. He tried to kill me. I think. Don’t try to finish off what he started.”
“Sanchez! Back here!” Kane shouted toward the street and squatted next to Miki. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he studied his lover’s tear-streaked face. “Dear God, what did you do to yourself, Mick boy?”
Glancing at the prone man a few feet away, Kane holstered his weapon and ran his hands over Miki’s body. Kane plucked at the bullet holes in his jacket, and then he cupped Miki’s face. His fingers made a mess of the blood and spit on Miki’s face, smearing trails over his skin.
“It’s not my blood. It’s Andrew’s. Dude, you’re going to get that all over you,” he protested weakly at being touched. “I’m okay.”
Miki found himself being kissed soundly. He gave in to Kane’s assault, his lips parting to let the other man’s tongue in. It was short but intense, enough to steal the rest of the air from Miki’s lungs.
Even through the pain, Miki was left panting and wanting more.
“I am seriously fucked in the head,” He muttered under his breath. “Kane, stop trying to rearrange my face. It hurts.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, Mick?” The Irish was strong, bleeding into his words. His thumbs brushed over Miki’s lips, and he stiffened slightly when the wind rustled the weeds around them.
Reaching for his gun, Kane visibly relaxed with relief when he saw his partner emerging from the brittle, dry brush at the other end of the house. Kel’s face was bright red from exertion, with a sweaty sheen covering his cheeks. Panting, he bent over to grip his knees as he caught his breath.