A Man for Michael

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

When Mike got to Donnie’s the next night, he went to the office to let him know he was there. Mike pushed open the door, stepped in and froze. Right there in Donnie’s office, seated on Donnie’s ratty leather couch, was the Chow.

Mike recognized the stocky guy in the expensive suit who’d been in the emperor’s box the night before. And of course, he recognized the Chow, whose large dark gaze rested on him, the expression on his beautiful face inscrutable. The Chow still wore the same shitty pants, black kung-fu shoes, and a moth-eaten sweatshirt, presumably to be removed just before the fight. His owner apparently diverted Cory’s winnings only to his own designer suits. If the Chow didn’t fight for him, Mike doubted the guy would have even kept him fed.

To Mike’s disgust, the Chow also still wore his collar, the tether ending in the large paws of one of the suited monkeys. It was all Mike could do not to lunge forward and yank the leash out of that stroonz’s hands.

“I-I’m sorry,” Mike stammered, his heart already scudding in his chest. He couldn’t understand it, the way this little guy’s mere presence reduced him to a lovesick adolescent. But there you have it.

Mike glanced at Donnie who wore a scowl. “I’m just letting you know I’m here,” he told him.

“Good, now get out. We’re talkin’ business.”

Same sweet old Donnie.

“No, we’re going.” The Chow’s owner spoke, rose from his chair and looked at Donnie. He spoke with an English accent, the kind you usually hear in the movies from characters who sweep chimneys and s**t like that.

“Those are my terms,” he went on. “Seventy percent and put all your night’s fighters into the pit with him at once. Or we walk. You’re not the biggest show on this circuit. New York is just panting for the Chow.”

Donnie held out a fat hand. The sweat was pouring from his skin and Mike actually almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “All right, Benson. All right. You got it.”

Benson gave him a smile that made Mike think of the way the cat in his gym looked when she’d caught a particularly juicy rat. “I thought you’d see reason. I know you’d not want to empty out your place now, would ye’s?”

Donnie didn’t answer, just mopped his drenched brow with a handkerchief. But Mike knew Donnie too well not to know the guy was seething inside.

Benson signaled to his guys and the one holding the leash gave it a yank. “Come on, doggie,” he said, his Cockney accent matching his boss’s.

That treatment sent a potent wave of anger through Mike, especially in the docile way the Chow rose from the sofa and obeyed. Mike’s stomach did a flip to find the Chow’s even gaze still on his, the intensity behind the brown irises unlike anything he’d ever seen before in a pair of eyes, as if the Chow could look right through him.

Benson stopped just in front of Mike, still wearing his glib smile. “You know why we call him the Chow, don’t yuh?” he said.

Mike suppressed a scowl. “No, why?”

“Because that’s what they call a dog in China. Those Chows guarded the Imperial Palace, they did. Can rip a man limb from limb if they get angry enough.”

It was on the tip of Mike’s tongue to say, “Piss off, motherfucker”. He didn’t, not because he didn’t want to insult the bastard, but because he didn’t want him to take the Chow away. “I’m sure he has a first name,” Mike heard himself say.

Benson chuckled and reached up and gave Mike’s cheek a few condescending pats. Mike held himself back from grabbing him and twisting his arm until it snapped.

“Now, Guv’nor, if I told you ‘is first name, you might think ‘e’s a faggot.” He started laughing and headed out the door, the obvious signal for his goons to follow him.

Mike stayed where he was, his sneakers feeling rooted to the ground, watching the Chow. The Chow was no longer looking at Mike, his eyes downcast, as if he were afraid he’d trip on his feet if he looked up. However, just as he brushed past, Mike felt the unmistakable press of fingers into the palm of his hand.

Mike had the presence of mind to act as if nothing was happening even though the Chow’s touch sent streaks of sensual fire right up his arm and a pleasant shudder through his chest, right where his heart was. The contact lasted all of about two milliseconds and then it was gone, the Chow following along on his leash, disappearing through the back hallway before the waiting spectators could see him and rush in on him.

The tiny spirals of heat in the calloused palm of Mike’s hand lasted much longer than the touch itself. Long after he’d closed Donnie’s office door and worked his way through the crowds, collecting the tickets for what promised to be the underground fight of the century, he replayed that moment, over and over again in his mind, like a videotape being rewound and played until the ribbon inside wears out. Of course, that tiny whisper of a touch from the Chow only made Mike hungry for more.

However, along with the pleasant memory was the ring of Benson’s voice as he said the things he’d said. Something about his words gave Mike the horrid suspicion that he used the Chow for more than just fighting. It seemed this small but powerful man was a slave in every way, with no control over his body or his destiny. Strange too, how a guy who could probably kill all his captors with his bare hands seemed so docile when he wasn’t in the pit-cage.

After what felt like forever and the crowds emanated that restless shuffle wanting the fights to get on, Donnie went into the center of the pit and held both chubby hands in the air. He had to wait one full minute for the cheering and clapping to subside

enough so that he could be heard. When it had died down sufficiently, he made the announcement that mirrored the deal Mike heard happen in Donnie’s office. All the fighters on that night’s ballot were going in with the Chow at once.

Mike’s heart felt like it was trying to claw out of his chest and he made sure to position himself as close as possible to the gate of the pit-cage.

As was custom, the lesser-known fighters were announced first and made their grand entrances to the blend of cheers, boos and hisses according to their popularity. Within seconds, four burly guys sporting a motley assortment of tattoos, body piercings and leather stalked around the pit. Mike swallowed hard past a painful lump in his throat. He couldn’t imagine that a small guy like the Chow could take on all these beasts at once and come out alive, no matter how superior a fighter he was.

Then he was there. The Chow paced to the entry gate, his gaze fastened on his opponents. As he’d done the night before, his fists were at his sides, clenching and unclenching, and Mike could practically smell the testosterone emanating from the pores of the Chow’s body. His lust for him forgotten in his fear, Mike wanted to call out to him, to jump into the ring and fight at his side, but knew he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there and watch, hoping the Chow could hold his own.

The crowd roared, drowning out everything else. All that mattered to everyone there was the fight at hand. Even the loads of money changing hands that night over the Chow’s head seemed to pale in comparison to the challenge he was facing in the pit- cage.

The runner pulled back the gate and the goon holding the Chow’s leash reached out and unclipped it. The Chow bounded into the center of the pit and was immediately surrounded by the crew of fierce bloodthirsty-looking opponents.

One man, a big bald guy with a handlebar mustache, charged him, a large foot kicking his back. The Chow went right down to his knees.

Boos and hisses filled the entire club. The jeers grew deafening when the Chow remained on his knees, staring straight ahead as if he were in a trance.

Mike froze, goose bumps erupting on his arms in spite of the hot press of sweaty bodies around him. What the hell was the Chow doing?

The opponents in the pit-cage were dancing around him, jeering at him, making lewd comments about his mother. They baited the Chow relentlessly, all to no avail.

That’s when Benson shot up from his seat. “What you doin’?” he yelled over the crowd. “I’ll kill you meself if you don’t get up and fight!”

Mike’s heart lurched. He remembered the way the Chow’d been looking at him in Donnie’s office. The brief touch of his fingers on Mike’s palm. Like he’d been saying goodbye.

Holy f*****g crap! The Chow was throwing the fight. He was getting himself killed.

Another beefy guy landed a booted foot against the side of the Chow’s head, sending him onto his belly in the middle of the pit-cage. The rest of his opponents circled around him. They’d finished jeering and now pounded and kicked him, a merciless barrage of fists and boots.

That was it. Mike fought his way out of the crowd and charged the gate, crashing through before anyone could stop him. He lunged into the center, the crowd’s hisses of anger echoing in his ears, and covered the Chow’s body with his own. The Chow remained unmoving beneath him and Mike screwed his eyes shut, pulling the Chow tight against him so the fighters couldn’t pry him off.

Mike gritted his teeth and held on, grunting against the blows of boots hitting his backside, his thighs, a punch to his skull. He didn’t know how the hell he was going to get him and the Chow out of the f*****g mess they were in.

Just when he figured they were both dead, the aggression spread into the crowd. Like fire through gasoline, a riot began, and fighting erupted everywhere. Soon enough, their attackers were diverted, sucked into the melee of fighters who now spilled through the gate into the pit.

Mike was now able to raise his head. He and the Chow were almost forgotten in the chaos. Someone had even dragged Benson and two of his goons from the emperor’s seat area and were messing them up.

That’s when Mike saw the flames. Someone had started a fire and where there wasn’t fighting, a path had cleared of people escaping the flames.

The place was a mess, but this was his chance. He dragged the Chow to his feet and heaved his muscular body over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Mike wasn’t sure if the Chow was even conscious at this point, but all he cared about was getting both of them out of there. He gave a quick thought to Noodle. Mike had always gotten Noodle out of scrapes but Mike didn’t even know if the guy had shown up tonight. Noodle had made himself scarce during the day, alone with his spoils of the previous night’s earnings.

Scooting out the back, Mike burst through the door and took off for the street. For a full five minutes he jogged, leaving the burning, riotous place behind. Sirens blared in the distance and he moved faster, breaking into a run, the Chow’s limp body weighing into his shoulder.

He must have run for a full ten minutes and was panting heavily by the time he’d gotten away from the warehouses by the wharf where Donnie’s club was. There he found a cab and threw open the door. He piled the Chow into the backseat and slid in next to him.

Mike gave the cabbie his address and told him there was an extra twenty in it if he burned rubber. He eyed Mike suspiciously but did as Mike asked, doing a great imitation of a New York City cabdriver hustling for a bigger tip. It worked, however, for in the space of ten minutes, they were at the curb outside Mike’s place in Allston. Mike paid the cabbie and then, gently as he could, slid the injured Chow out of the backseat.

The street was pretty quiet, Mike’s part of the neighborhood not being the center of nightlife, so nobody saw him pick the Chow up and do the potato sack thing again with

him while he took him upstairs to his apartment above the gym and laid him out on his bed.

* * * * *

The first thing Mike did was check his own body for broken ribs. He damn well couldn’t patch up the Chow if he, himself, risked a punctured lung from a busted rib. Tenderly, Mike patted his own bruised skin for signs of more serious damage, but thank God he wasn’t badly injured. The riot had broken out before their attackers could do him any real damage. He wasn’t so sure, however, about the Chow.

Turning his attention to the Chow, Mike felt the injured man’s rib cage, ignoring the pleasant thrill that came with the contact to the Chow’s warm bare skin. Mike breathed a sigh of relief, finding no breakage other than points on his torso where the other fighters’ boots had cut him.

The Chow’s head was another matter. That kick he’d received had looked vicious and Mike feared he had a concussion. A large lump had already begun to rise, purple and swelling. In spite of his state, Mike couldn’t afford to bring the Chow to the hospital where there was the chance of him being recognized. Mike threw together an icepack from the kitchen and placed it against the bruise. The Chow’s whole body jumped and he came out of unconsciousness long enough to yelp and pant as Mike held the cold poultice in place.

After that, the Chow lay on his back, his chest heaving, his hands limp on either side of him. He was badly in need of a bath, but Mike didn’t dare move him, only washed off his cuts, disinfecting and applying butterflies where needed. The entire time, the Chow lay docile and silent except for an occasional whimper when Mike cleaned a particularly nasty cut.

At one point during Mike’s ministrations, the Chow looked up at him, his dark eyes huge. Only this time, his expression wasn’t so fathomless. In fact, a kaleidoscope of emotions seemed to pass through the chocolate-hued irises. Mike had never prided

himself on being the most perceptive guy in the world, but in those moments of staring into the Chow’s eyes, Mike could have sworn he saw sadness, defeat, gratitude and a heartrending look of desolation. After all, the way the Chow had let those fighters work him over could only mean one thing. He’d wanted to die.

Mike didn’t know what seized him in the moment, but before he knew what he was doing, he’d reached out and passed his hand tenderly over the Chow’s brow. The black stubble of the Chow’s hair rasped in a pleasant way against Mike’s fingertips and his eyelids shuttered rapidly, as if Mike’s touch was pleasurable to him.

One caress followed the next and Mike found that he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. It seemed to him, the guy hadn’t gotten a drop of affection, maybe in his entire life and well, he sure as hell needed some now.

With each caress, the Chow’s breathing calmed, growing normal and softer. His eyelids stopped shuttering and remained closed, the heavy fringe of ebony lashes resting against his bruised cheeks. In the next minute, Mike realized the Chow had fallen asleep.

Mike sighed and finally lifted his hand away from the other man’s brow. Not wanting to leave him for a second, Mike watched him. His gaze roved down the Chow’s face, over his sharp cheekbones and full, plump lips. Unable to stop looking at him, Mike surveyed the rest of his face, his slightly pointed chin and his upper lip, both of which showed the slightest shadow of beard. Mike couldn’t help smiling. The Chow probably shaved once a year by the looks of it.

That’s when Mike’s look fell onto the collar. Anger seized him and his hands itched to unbuckle it. He resisted the urge, however, not wanting to wake the Chow up from badly needed rest.

Finally, Mike got up and went to the easy chair on the other side of the bed. His body protested even the short move to the chair. Damn good thing the next day was Sunday and he didn’t open the gym until noon. They both needed to recover.

He toed his shoes off and leaned heavily back in the chair. Propping his feet on the edge of his bed, he sank down and reclined his head. He stared up at the ceiling and listened to the Chow’s quiet breathing.

Mike exhaled a long breath. In all his days as a fighter, he’d never had a night like this one. Images of the assault on the Chow haunted him, making sleep difficult for a long time. He almost felt afraid to sleep, as if those people would hunt the Chow down and kill him. Strange how a top fighter like the man in his bed made Mike feel so protective.

Sleep finally began to take over but not before he also felt a wave of incredible gladness over the presence of the Chow in his bed. He wished very much that he knew the Chow’s real name and hoped he’d tell him.

Mike also hoped that that guy Benson, if he’d survived the riot and the fire, didn’t decide to come looking for the Chow. Benson had probably lost a shitload of money and prestige by Chow’s throwing that fight the way he did and if he did search for him, it wouldn’t be to give him a pat on the head and tell him what a good boy he’d been.

A wave of fierce protectiveness surged in Mike’s chest. There was no way in f*****g hell he was letting that piece of s**t get anywhere near the Chow. And if Benson tried, he’d end up wishing that the fire or the riot had gotten him instead.

* * * * *

The Chow basically slept the next thirty-six hours straight. The injury to his head gave him a slight fever so he didn’t even get up to piss or have a drink of water.

Mike stayed at his side for nearly the entire time, only leaving to go downstairs and open the gym. Thankfully, one of his regulars was interested in a job and Mike gave him one on the spot, assisting him in keeping an eye on things and registering new members should someone join. This was a Godsend, since it freed Mike to go upstairs at regular intervals to check on his patient while the gym was open. Mike found himself

referring to him as Chow rather than the Chow. It seemed a hell of a lot more human and really, Mike thought, Chow could very well be his real last name.

To lower Chow’s fever, Mike kept the covers off him, pulled off his shoes and bathed his torso with a cool sponge. It was really hard not to get turned on by the gleam of the water on Chow’s hard muscles or by the way droplets of it clung in his belly button or to his dark brown quarter-sized n*****s.

Gently, Mike lifted Chow’s hands one by one, and slid the damp sponge all the way up into his armpits where even the small soft thatches of ebony hair did it for him. Maybe not all guys were turned on by that part of the body, but Mike always had been. He loved to press his nose to that intimate spot and inhale the musky body scent that gathered there. Not that he’d done that to every guy he’d been with, but he’d found that when he had feelings for someone, it enhanced the s*x.

When Mike opened his eyes early on Monday morning, Chow was awake.

Mike practically sprang from his chair in spite of his own minor injuries and went to the bedside, relieved to see the droplets of sweat on Chow’s forehead and upper lip.

Chow blinked several times and stared up at Mike. His lips moved and a strangled sound came from his throat. Mike realized he was terribly dry. He got him a glass of water, calling his assistant from his cell phone at the same time, asking him to open the gym for him.

Mike held the glass for Chow and cupped the back of his head, gently supporting him so he could drink. Chow took a long sip and Mike loved the tiny sounds Chow’s throat made as he swallowed. When he’d finished, Mike eased Chow’s head back to the pillow so he could rest.

Chow remained in bed for several more days, only getting up to pee before falling back into bed and sleeping. However, he proved quite resilient and after a few more days, the light returned to his dark eyes and he started to eat more solid food besides the minestrone soup Mike got for him at Sid’s Pizza and Subs down the block. Not only that, but Chow’s hair had started to grow in a bit, lengthening from soft stubble to a bit

longer brush. Mike found himself looking forward to seeing Chow’s hair longer—it was probably quite beautiful, ebony and smooth, framing his angular face just right. Even with the swelling and bruising, Mike could see how gorgeous Chow was.

Finally, late on Saturday night, Chow was ready to get up and take a bath. Mike figured it would be easier for Chow to sit in the tub and soak rather than take a shower so he filled the tub with steaming water, set out soap, shampoo and towels for him. Mike’s hands shook as he turned off the faucets and rose to go get him. He turned and practically jumped out of his socks.

There Chow stood, close behind Mike, already naked except for that Goddamn collar. In spite of the fact that every inch of Chow’s body was exposed, Mike locked gazes with him for several moments before letting his vision rove lower, over Chow’s voluptuous lips, across his broad hairless chest, luscious dark n*****s and rounded, cut arm muscles, down his flat carved-looking abs and lower.

Mike swallowed hard, his c**k already tight and starting its aroused climb to attention. Chow seemed to want Mike to look at him, standing there quietly, docile like always, while Mike stared at his c**k already standing at half-mast from its thatch of black pubic hair. Chow’s c**k was surprisingly large in proportion to the size of his body, the head like the tip of a plump, rounded spear, the thick, veined shaft reddish-gold above his heavy balls.

A sweat broke out in Mike’s armpits even though he only wore a light t-shirt. “Come on,” he said softly, hearing his voice nearly crack. “Get into the tub.”

Obediently Chow went forward giving Mike a perfect view of his broad back, which was equally defined and carved. The muscles along Chow’s spine blended seamlessly into narrow hips and a perfectly round, hard ass, the same dusky gold as the rest of his skin only smoother-looking. Mike stood by, making sure Chow got into the tub all right, and watched him lower his naked body slowly into the hot water.

Once seated in the tub, however, Chow’s hands went to his sides. His knees were bent and he sat in the water, submerged to his chest, not moving.

Mike waited several moments before he realized Chow wasn’t going to move. Mike’s heart squeezed painfully at the sight and his eye fell on the collar again. Somehow that dreadful piece of studded leather held a connection to Chow’s docility. Mike knelt down by the tub bringing his face even to Chow’s.

Chow turned and looked at him, his expression neutral, his enchanting almond-shaped eyes almost unblinking.

“I’d…um…like to take this thing off you.” Mike pointed to the collar. “Do you mind?”

Chow continued to stare at him as if he didn’t comprehend and Mike began to wonder if he understood English.

Mike moved his outstretched hand closer, coming to within inches of the collar’s buckle. He dared to let his fingertips land on it.

Chow jumped as if Mike had burned him and Mike pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry.”

Chow watched him, thankfully without fear in his eyes, but his reaction gave Mike the strong sense he wasn’t ready to part with the collar.

Mike sighed. “Look, why don’t you wash up?” He picked up the washcloth and a bar of soap and held them out to Chow.

Chow watched him blankly as if he didn’t know what to do with those items.

“Don’t you know what to do?”

Still he watched Mike.

Apparently, he didn’t, which meant Mike was going to be washing Chow if Chow was to get clean.

Damn. Mike’s c**k grew harder. He looked at Chow a moment longer. “Here goes.” Mike dipped the washcloth into the steaming water and lathered it over the back of Chow’s neck and behind his ears. A shiver of lust tore through Mike at the simple way the water darkened the golden hue of Chow’s skin and beaded off his golden

expanses of hard muscle. Mike wanted more than anything to press his lips to the curve of Chow’s neck, to taste his watery skin with the tip of his tongue. Even with all his bruises, Chow was f*****g gorgeous.

Mike smoothed the cloth down Chow’s muscled back and then up over his strong chest. Carefully he cleaned around Chow’s neck, trying his best to ignore the collar. The passive way Chow let Mike wash him was both touching and unnerving. The only evidence that Chow was enjoying his bath was his hard-on, barely masked by the depths of water in the tub.

Swallowing hard, Mike lifted Chow’s arms one by one, as he’d done during Chow’s fever, swirling the soapy cloth around his armpits watching the little puffs of black hair flatten against his skin from the water. Mike had never bathed a guy in this way and the experience was the wildest combination of c**k-hardening eroticism and tenderness. He felt like Chow was fragile even though he was a man obviously somewhere in his mid-twenties and probably could have beaten Mike into the ground with a few kicks.

Mike was very tempted to have Chow go up on his knees so he could wash his ass and c**k, but he really didn’t feel like it was the appropriate thing to do. Mike wanted Chow to know he had some control over what was done to his body.

Fighting down the arousal pounding relentlessly through his own c**k and balls, Mike concentrated on Chow’s hands, scrubbing his nails with a nail brush and trimming them. Chow’s hands were really as beautiful as the rest of him, strong-looking, blunt-shaped fingertips and nails, skin smooth and golden. Mike handled Chow’s hands as carefully as he’d bathed the rest of him, realizing as he did so that he was already more than half in love with Chow and felt more like he was worshiping him than just getting him clean.

Once Mike was done with Chow’s hands, he took a cup and poured water over Chow’s head, tilting his head back with a careful fingertip under his chin. Even though Chow’s hair was barely half an inch long, Mike shampooed it, massaging Chow’s scalp with gentle fingers, encouraged by the small groan that vibrated in Chow’s throat and

the telltale fluttering of his eyelashes that showed his enjoyment. Chow seemed to love having his head touched and Mike wondered about that, especially considering that Benson couldn’t possibly have treated any part of Chow’s body with tenderness or reverence.

Mike rinsed his hair, taking care not to get the suds in Chow’s eyes and decided he was clean enough. Even though he’d really wanted to touch Chow’s privates, he felt it would be a terrible violation going there when not invited, especially when he had the chilling suspicion that’s exactly what had been done to Chow numerous times.

Mike pulled the drain and grabbed a towel, encouraging Chow to stand up.

Chow climbed out of the tub and stood, dripping on the bath mat. Again, even though he was shivering a bit, he stood in his docile way, obviously waiting to be toweled off.

Mike stole a glance at the water beading off Chow’s dark n*****s before gently wiping his skin dry. He especially enjoyed toweling off the strong columns of Chow’s legs. They were slightly bowed, chiseled with rounded muscles and had just a bit of dark hair on his inner thighs and on his lower legs. His feet too, were as perfectly shaped and strong-looking as his hands.

By the time Mike finished drying off each muscular leg, his own hard-on was so tight and painful it was all he could do not to groan out loud.

Mike stood up and showed Chow the fresh clothes he’d brought for him to change in to. “You put these on,” he said, figuring Chow would get dressed since he’d undressed himself back in the bedroom. “I’m going to change the bedding, okay?”

Chow looked up at Mike with those killer gorgeous eyes and though he didn’t nod or answer, the look in them seemed to show comprehension. Mike set the clothes on the closed toilet seat and turned abruptly, lest he stand and stare at Chow’s magnificent naked body any more.

Quickly Mike stripped the old sheets off and put on the new ones, feeling especially glad that Chow would have nice clean sheets to lie down in. Mike kinda liked taking

care of Chow, especially because of the treatment he’d so obviously suffered. Mike wanted Chow to know that people could be kind too.

When he finished putting on the blanket and pulled the corner back for him to get in, he felt Chow’s presence behind him. Turning, Mike caught his breath.

Chow was standing there like he’d done in the bathroom, still naked, still with a hard-on, his gaze locked on Mike’s in that mysterious way of his. Silently, Chow padded over to the bed, climbed in and got on all fours.

Mike’s eyes widened at the sight of Chow positioning himself with his ass up in the air. He turned and looked at Mike, a pleading look in his large dark eyes and said one of the most startling things anyone had ever said to Mike in his entire life.

“f**k me, please.”