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arrowflier · 3 years

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Arrow write the mickey spotting ian and kev fic challenge!

Had to do this while it was still topical lol, so here goes.

The first time was an accident. Well, sort of.

"Ian can help with that," Mickey offered, watching Kev struggle to shift kegs and pour drinks at the same time.

"Thanks man," Kev grunted, hoisting another keg. He waddled with it along the length of the bar, body hidden behind the counter, and set it down with a heavy thunk.

"Not easy though," he added as he straightened. "Don't wanna make him strain somethin' before your wedding."

He waggled his eyebrows at Mickey, tongue stuck out, and Mickey rolled his eyes.

He knew exactly what would come next.

"You think I can't lift a keg?" Ian asked from the stool next him. His voice almost broke on the last word with sheer disbelief. "I'm not some skinny kid anymore, Kev, I just got out of prison for fuck's sake!"

"Cause there were plenty of kegs there to lift," Mickey muttered into his beer, and almost sent it splashing over the old stained countertop when Ian shoved his shoulder too hard.

"Just point me where you need me," Ian told Kev, puffing out his chest.

Kev eyed Ian, then Mickey, then Ian again. But ultimately, he shrugged, and tapped the top of the keg he had just put down.

"Uh, this guy here needs to go out back," he said. "Brought in the wrong one."

"On it," Ian said, and made his way to it. He bent over at the waist, his hands reaching for the handles, ass stuck out in his too-tight jeans.

Mickey tilted his head, and sipped his drink, admiring the view.

"Whoa, whoa, not like that!" Kev said from behind the bar, arms out. "You're gonna hurt yourself, man."

"Then how," Ian forced out between gritted teeth, still leaning over, "would you suggest I do this?"

Kev came around, whacked Ian in the back until he let go and straightened with a huff. Then he took up position at another keg alongside the first.

"Lift with your legs, kid," he said, and dropped into a half squat right in front of Mickey's face.

Oh.

"Like this?" Ian relented, assuming position next to Kev, broad back stretched and straight over bent legs and strong thighs.

Oh.

Kev and Ian each hoisted their kegs, beginning their awkward walk away toward the back, and Mickey leaned so far back on his stool he almost fell off.

Well, he thought as he downed the last of his drink, eyes following two ridiculously built sets of shoulders strain their way across the room.

He could get used to seeing that.

---

The second time, it was definitely on purpose. He had talked Ian into trying out KevFit after his own misadventure--he was not eager to keep working out on his own, but Ian kept wanting to do new shit together.

They were only one round in at the keg lift station, Ian already grunting and heaving and sweaty next to him, when Kev came by.

"Good form, Ian," he congratulated, clapping a hand on his shoulder hard enough to make him drop the half-filled keg with a clatter. "Way better than last time."

"Gee, thanks," Ian answered dryly, wiping his forehead with the hem of his thin workout tank, and Mickey had an epiphany.

"Hey, Kev," he said slowly, like the idea was just occurring to him, "You got all this equipment rigged up, but how are you on basics?"

Kev's brow furrowed, his muscled arms going slack at his sides.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean like, pushups and jogging and shit," Mickey answered. "You know, the kind of stuff they do in the military."

He let his eyes widen, and turned them on Ian.

"Oh wait," he said, "that's kinda your thing, ain't it?"

Ian shrugged, looking confused.

"Uh, I guess?"

"Why don't you show Kev one of your old workouts?" Mickey suggested innocently. "He could add some things to the whole KevFit routine, maybe bring in more clients."

Kev perked up at that.

"Yeah, why not?" he said. "C'mon Ian, show me what you've got."

Five minutes later, Mickey was leaning against the "spring water" station, sipping from the flask he had snuck in from next door, watching two ridiculously tall, ridiculously strong fuckers take up half the open floor space doing increasingly impressive pushups. Right then, Ian had one arm behind his sweat-slicked back, Kev mirroring his form, and Mickey's eyes followed the rise and fall of their bodies with total focus.

"Excuse me," a wimpy, hipster-sounding dude said hesitantly from behind him, " but do you know when they're bringing out more waters?"

Mickey didn't even bother to look.

"Get lost," he answered, waving a hand in the guy's general direction. "Go drink outa the bathroom sink like a normal fucking person and let me watch my show."

---

The third time, he was pretty sure Ian was catching on.

Not that he cared, honestly--the view was fucking worth it.

"You call that a bench press?" He goaded his husband from behind the bench. "Kev's kickin' your ass, man, that's just embarassing."

Ian glowered, breath hissing out between his teeth as he pushed up again.

"I'm pretty much pressing you right now," he gritted out, "so I'm feeling pretty good about it, actually."

Mickey hid his grin behind a hand, feigning disinterest even as his eyes followed Ian's bulging arms up and down, lingering on the tight plane of his chest.

"Well he's pressing like two of me," Mickey countered, letting his eyes wander, "so you might wanna step it up, tough guy."

Sure enough, Kev's current weights were at least half again what Ian had, and he was doing an admirable job of lifting them considering that his gigantic self was too big for the bench. Mickey hadn't considered that when he invited Kev to check out the gym at their new place; it was designed for recreational exercise, not fucking seven foot tall body builders. The man's legs stretched out awkwardly off the bottom of the bench, knees bent but stuck up far too high for proper form. His broad shoulders dwarfed the other end, making it look like his upper body was just suspended there.

Mickey licked his lips, watching the shift of muscles under Kev's tanned skin--thank the lord the man shared his aversion to sleeves--and almost got chinned when he leaned too far over Ian's station.

The bar slotted into place without his help, Ian sitting up and wiping his face with a hand.

"Why don't you spot him for a while, then," Ian said. "While I go hit the shower."

He stood, making his way to the door, and Mickey paused, torn.

"Or I could give you a practical demonstration of my ability to lift you," Ian added over his shoulder, and Mickey was making his excuses to their guest and chasing after him before Kev could even finish another rep.

---

Ian never brought it up, after that, but Mickey still decided to cool it, just a little. Ian had seemed a little jealous, at the gym, although you'd never have known it by the things he said later--bet you like it when people look like they can throw you around, Mick--and Mickey did not need to throw a wrench into their marriage just for a little extra eye candy.

But then they were all at the pool together, the Gallaghers plus Mickey, plus Tami, plus Kev and Vee, and he really couldn't help it.

"Damn our men are hot," Tami had commented, sitting in a white plastic chair next to Mickey.

Mickey leaned back with a grin, taking a swig of lukewarm beer, and said, "You think that's hot?" nodding to where Ian and Lip were splashing each other over Franny's head in the shallow end.

"Watch this," he finished, and cupped a hand over his mouth to help his voice carry.

"Hey Ian," he shouted. "Bet Kev could beat you in a race."

"Hell yeah!" Kev called back from where he was manning the grill. "Name the time, man!"

Mickey could see Ian roll his eyes, and worried for the briefest of moments that his husband was done humoring him. But after a brief, hushed word with his brother, Ian was swimming to the side of the pool nearest Kev, saying "right now, backstroke, three laps," and Mickey was falling in love all over again.

"You do this a lot?" Tami asked, amused, as Kev stripped off his shirt and jumped in to take his place at the wall of the pool.

Mickey waited until they were off, arms wheeling wildly through the water and sending the sparkling spray onto sculpted, heaving chests, to answer.

"Define a lot," he said, not looking away from the spectacle as Ian and Kev hit the wall and turned, their swimsuits flashing through the water.

Tami snickered.

"Got it," she said, then, "thanks for sharing the wealth."

The race finished, Ian and Kev lifting themselves out of the pool, water running down their bodies as they clasped hands and went in for a shoulder-slapping bro hug. Ian looked back to where Mickey sat, and smirked.

"No problem," Mickey murmured, watching closely.

Ian leaned up to say something into Kev's ear, and Mickey squinted, like that would somehow help him hear it.

"Ogling the competition, Milkovich?" Lip's voice came from behind, and Mickey nearly fell out of his chair.

"The fuck are you talkin about?" he demanded, twisting around in his chair to look at Lip's knowing smirk.

"Nothing," Lip answered innocently. "Just noticed you've been watching Kev a lot lately."

Mickey scowled.

"And what's it to you?" he challenged. "Nothing at all," Lip said. "Just an observation." His grin widened. "And a distraction."

Mickey's eyes narrowed.

"A distraction from wha--argh!"

He cut off as he was lifted by two pairs of string arms, familiar ones wrapped under his own and different, strong hands holding his feet. He flailed, barely registering the flash of green eyes and a mostly bald head, before he hit the water with a splash.

By the time he surfaced, snorting chlorinated pool water out of his nose, it was to see two grinning faces looking down at him.

"Thought you might need to cool off after watching us," Ian said with a grin, laughing when Mickey tried to splash water into his face.

"Next time you want a show," Kev added, "just ask, man." He waggled his eyebrows. "I learned a few things when I worked that gay club."

Ian laughed again at Mickey's shocked expression.

"You need to work on your poker face, Mick," he said. "But it's okay, we don't mind."

He winked, then turned to walk away, leaving Mickey floating in the pool. Kev left with him, hips swaying slightly, and Mickey bit his lip and watched them go.

"Really?" Lip asked from the side of the pool, sounding disgusted, and Mickey just shrugged without looking back.

After all, if they didn't mind...

#daily speedwrite #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #fanfic #kev ball #silly and random

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stereksecretsanta · 7 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @anyberry!

Merry Christmas Berry! I hope you have a wonderful festive season and I hope you enjoy this Stereky goodness. Love from your Secret Santa

*****

Stiles really hated lacrosse, despite the fact that he was on the lacrosse team. In fact, Stiles probably hated lacrosse mostly because he was on the lacrosse team. It was a perfectly reasonable if slightly nonsensical sport back when he was sitting on the bleachers watching other people run around trying to throw a ball into a netted goal with the aid of another, smaller net at the end of a stick. But now that he was one of those people he was finding it significantly less reasonable.

And the most unreasonable thing about lacrosse? Summer practice sessions. Stiles never would’ve joined the team if he’d known about summer practice sessions. Stiles was expecting after-school practice, it goes with the territory of playing a school sport. He could deal with weekend practice, grumpily, because he could see the benefit of extra training before big, important games.

But summer training? When they wouldn’t actually have a game, important or otherwise, for at least another two months? When he wasn’t even sure he’d make the team again in his junior year? Lunacy. Absolute lunacy.

Which was not really that surprising considering Coach Finstock was a lunatic. But Stiles hadn’t known that when he’d let Scott beg and plead and puppy-dog-eye him into signing up for tryouts last year.

And now he was paying the price for his ignorance. During summer.

“I hate you so much right now,” Stiles muttered to Scott as they packed up their gear, the rest of the team plodding past them towards the locker room.

“Aw c’mon, it’s not that bad! Doesn’t it make you feel alive, being out here, under the sun, feeling the grass beneath your feet and the wind against your face and the solid weight of your crosse in your hands?” Scott said, grin lopsided, arms open wide toward the pitch before them.

Stiles stared at him for a while, because he felt he needed to.

Then, “No.”

There was a noise from behind him and Stiles turned to see the back of Derek Hale moving toward the low, squat wing of the school that housed the locker rooms. If Stiles didn’t know better he might’ve thought Derek had laughed. In reality Derek probably just had gas.

Turning back to Scott he continued, “No, it makes me feel the opposite of alive, because the sun is burning the shit out of my lily white Polish ass, the grass is generally beneath my face not my feet, the wind is usually getting pounded out of my lungs, and I’m far more likely to feel the weight of other dudes’ crosses getting smacked into me.”

Scott gaped at him.

“You realise that sounded, like, aggressively sexual, right?”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Stiles grunted, and he hauled his bag over his shoulder, stomping off to the locker room.

***

Apart from unreasonable training schedules, the locker room was the worst thing about lacrosse. Or, more specifically, it was the worst place to have to be, three times a week, during summer, when one was possibly maybe potentially having a small sexuality crisis.

Not that Stiles felt that there was a major crisis to be had. He was 98.3% certain that his dad and his grandma and Scott and Scott’s mom would all be completely accepting of a potentially not-straight Stiles. And Stiles knew he was extremely lucky in that sense, and he was grateful. But still, that 1.7% was enough to keep him up at night.

And it wasn’t as though Stiles really, deeply cared about what other people thought of him, outside of those four that really mattered. But still, he wasn’t naive and he was extremely aware that homophobia was well and truly alive in modern America. Particularly within hyper-masculine environments such as high school locker rooms.

And the most crisis-inducing aspect of Stiles’ not-major and yet also not-insignificant sexuality crisis was the simple fact that Stiles was not who he thought he was. And that’s not at all a bad thing, but it is a confronting thing. Thinking that you knew who you were, that you have known who you are for years, and then slowly realizing that you don’t, in fact, know yourself inside and out. To be certain and then to be suddenly not, it was overwhelming. It felt raw and jangly and new underneath his skin.

So Stiles felt edgy enough as it was, and all those male abs and backs and thighs in the locker room, three times a week, during summer, were doing nothing to help his already frayed nerves.

Stiles faffed and fiddled around his locker, double-checking he had his helmet, carefully wiping off his pads, until most of the rest of the team had finished in the showers. It basically guaranteed that there would be no hot water left for him, but it was worth a cold shower if it meant he wouldn’t be surrounded by naked dudes on all sides. Plus it was the middle of summer, Stiles could not stress this enough, and who was wanting a hot shower anyway?

When he could hear only two or three other people moving around the dark, humid room Stiles stripped the rest of his clothes off and grabbed his towel.

He spent a while in the shower, letting the lukewarm water soothe both his aching muscles and the stinging-hot parts of his skin that were exposed to the sun for too long. He was in there long enough that Scott shouted his goodbyes and left without him, but Stiles didn’t mind. He’d catch up with Scott later, probably to annihilate him in a virtual world. The undisputed natural and proper way to be spending summer vacation.

Once Stiles towelled off he headed for the door and blessed freedom, feeling relief and jubilation, planning to reward himself with an ice cold milkshake on the way home, the rest of that fine summer's day stretched sweet and sticky before him and -

The doorknob wouldn’t turn.

Stiles tried it again.

It still wouldn’t turn. It remained unmoved and unforgiving, like Coach Finstock when Stiles tried to weasel his way out of running suicides.

Stiles rattled and pushed and pulled and still the doorknob wouldn’t turn and the door stayed shut.

“Fuck!” Stiles shouted and kicked the closed door. Which, in hindsight, was a thoroughly idiotic move, so Stiles cursed some more as he hopped around on one foot, a hand clutching at the toe of his other sneaker.

“What’s going on?”

Stiles froze at the voice behind him. Because he knew that voice. And he should’ve known that horrible, embarrassing things come in threes. The locked door, his crumpled toes, and now…

“Derek!” Stiles squeaked.

It hadn’t started out as a squeak. But then Stiles had turned around halfway through the word to find Derek Hale, half-naked and wet, staring at him with furrowed eyebrows. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, water droplets were gliding down his shoulders, his pale eyes seemed even paler in the dim light of the room, and a towel, a tiny scrap of material wrapped around Derek’s hips, was the only thing saving both Derek’s dignity and Stiles’ sanity.

“Uh,” Stiles said, super intelligently.

And then he just stared at Derek. Naked Derek. He ogled, there was no denying it. He was ogling, and he made himself stop.

“Stiles? What’s going on?” Derek repeated.

“The door’s locked,” Stiles mumbled at the floor.

“What.”

“The door,” Stiles said, slightly louder, no less squeaky. “It is locked. The way is shut. We shall not pass.” And he flailed with one hand to emphasize his point.

“What,” Derek said again, the same word, but entirely different.

He strode forward and Stiles made a garbled sound in the back of his throat, backing himself into the wall next to the door.

Derek grabbed the door handle, twisting it and pulling it, like he thought Stiles was lying to him, or like he thought his superior lacrosse captain strength would prevail where all others before him had failed.

But the door, surprise of all surprises, was still fucking locked.

Derek kept trying to open it though, and he was starting to look panicked, and his breath was beginning to rush in and out of him like frantic waves against a stormy shore.

“Dude,” Stiles said, but Derek either ignored him or couldn’t hear him at all. “Derek.” He put a hand on Derek’s warm, broad shoulder.

Derek stilled, and he looked at Stiles, and he suddenly seemed to notice that he was more or less caging Stiles in against the wall while he fruitlessly pulled at the door handle, and then an even more panicked expression passed across his face and he jumped, literally jumped, backwards.

Stiles held his hands up like he was trying to calm a wild animal, because it felt like he was trying to calm a wild animal. There was something extremely wild about the way Derek was looking at him.

“Hey,” Stiles started softly. “Are you okay? Are you claustrophobic? I have panic attacks sometimes, I could help you through some breathing exercises if you want,” he said, making his hands and his voice as gentle as he could.

Derek was clutching his towel with both hands like it was a liferaft, and at Stiles words his expression shifted, becoming no less panicked but now somehow longing too, like Stiles was the liferaft, and he couldn’t quite reach.

He took two deep breaths and Stiles could see him visibly trying to calm himself.

“I’m fine,” he said, but Stiles could hear the strained hoarseness of his voice.

“How about this,” Stiles said, his brain clicking into gear, “you dry off and get dressed and I’ll make some calls, see if I can get someone to come get us out of here.” Doing something proactive, something physical, working towards a goal always helped Stiles when he felt a panic attack coming on.

“Okay,” Derek said shakily and turned to go to his locker. Just as he was about to round the corner he glanced back at Stiles over his shoulder, and the same panicked, longing look swept over his features again.

Stiles swiped open his phone with determination. It was just his goddamn rotten luck that he gets trapped inside the boys locker room, during summer, with the one person who was possibly maybe potentially responsible for kicking off Stiles’ not-major and yet also not-insignificant sexuality crisis in the first place. Jesus.

Stiles tried Coach Finstock first, because he had Coach Finstock’s number, because Coach Finstock insisted on each of his players having his phone number and him having theirs in return, because Coach Finstock was a lunatic.

And in keeping with Stiles’ luck, Coach Finstock didn’t answer.

Next Stiles tried his dad, and because his dad was a steady, solid, dependable presence in Stiles’ life he did answer his phone. Of course he spent the first three minutes of the conversation laughing himself to tears about the newest ridiculous predicament that Stiles had found himself in, but after that he came through.

The Sheriff promised that he would try to track down someone with a set of keys to the school locker rooms, and failing that he would send over a locksmith to get them out. It might take awhile, but Stiles and Derek had access to running water and working toilet facilities, and Stiles was pretty sure he had a flattened Cliff Bar or two floating around in the bottom of his bag somewhere, so they could survive in there for a good few hours.

Sure, it wasn’t an ideal way to waste a day of vacation, but things could be worse. And Stiles could be stuck with far worse survival buddies than Derek Hale. All in all Stiles was feeling pretty positive about their situation.

Until he went in search of his survival buddy and overheard Derek on the phone.

“God, why did it have to be him?” Derek was whispering desperately to someone on the other end of the call. “Out of all the guys on the team why did I have to get trapped in here with Stiles fucking Stilinski.”

***

It took about half an hour but eventually Derek came looking for him.

He found Stiles sat on the cool tile floor, back against the wall, arms curled around his legs and his chin resting on his knee.

He looked confused, and a little bit hurt, but Stiles couldn’t be bothered wondering why that was. Stiles’ stomach still felt all hollowed out and empty, his fingers still tingled with humiliation and unspoken rejection.

Worst of all was the cavernous feeling inside his chest where his bruised heart bounced and echoed around.

In all honesty he never truly believed he ever stood a chance with Derek. Derek Hale was handsome and popular, respected by his teachers and revered by his peers. He was as intelligent as he was athletically gifted, he volunteered at the local animal shelter in his spare time, and he loved his family unabashedly. And he knew who Stiles was. By name, even. Sometimes he’d stop and give Stiles little tips about hand placement and throwing technique when they were on the field during practice, and he always nodded at Stiles when they passed each other in the hallways.

So although it was fun to fantasize, to daydream about holding Derek’s hand, Stiles never honestly believed Derek would ever want to date him.

He had thought they’d been sort of friends, though. Friendly teammates at least. And to hear Derek say his name with such utter anguish, like being forced to spend time with him was the worst punishment in the world, was a fist to the gut that Stiles was entirely unprepared for.

“Where have you been?” Derek asked, and it was such a stupid question that it punched an ugly laugh out of Stiles’ throat.

“I’ve been here,” Stiles replied slowly. “Locked inside the locker room.”

A hint of a smile began to grow on Derek’s lips, but it withered quickly at the sarcasm in Stiles’ voice.

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Derek said. He looked at Stiles in confusion. “I meant, why didn’t you come back to m- um, why didn’t you come and tell me what’s going to happen. Is someone coming to get us out?”

“Yeah, my dad’s working on it.”

Derek nodded.

And then when he seemed to be waiting for more Stiles just couldn’t help adding, bitterly, “And I thought I’d give you some space, seeing as how you wish you weren’t trapped in here with Stiles fucking Stilinski.”

Stiles had never seen Derek’s face get so pale so quickly. In fact, he didn’t think he’d even seen Derek’s face go pale at all.

“You heard that?” Derek asked, and he sounded pained.

“Yep,” Stiles said, popping the P, because his assholish tendencies kick into overdrive when he feels hurt.

“It’s not what you think, I swear.” Derek sounded urgent and he crouched down onto his knees in front of Stiles.

“Really?” Stiles hated it, but he couldn’t help the way his voice went all high and disbelieving. “Because it sounded like being alone with me was the worst possible torment you could ever face. And that’s a real ego boost, dude, thanks.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Derek was wringing his hands at this point.

Stiles just raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘please, do go on’.

Derek sighed, then squared his shoulders.

“The truth is, I like you.”

Stiles snorted. A real, guttural, wholly unattractive snort. “Could’ve fooled me, dude.”

“I’m being serious, doucheface.”

And didn’t that make Stiles sit up and listen. When he finally looked Derek full in the face he could see that Derek was serious. Also kind of pissed, but mostly just very sincere.

“I like you, Stiles. A lot. Probably more than I should considering you’ve never shown any interest in anyone outside of Lydia Martin. But,” and here Derek shrugged helplessly, looking away from Stiles for the first time, “I guess we don’t have much control over these sorts of things.”

Stiles was so shocked he lost the rigid control he’d had over his body, arms unfolding and legs flopping down onto the floor.

Derek’s cheeks were pink, as were his adorable, small, sticky-out ears. He wasn’t making eye-contact and he was picking at a hangnail on one of his fingers.

“Really?”

Derek sighed and glared at him, but hey, at least he was looking at Stiles again.

“Right, sorry, stupid. What I’m trying to say is, I like you too.”

Derek’s mouth dropped open. Stiles could see bunny teeth.

“Yeah,” Stiles said with a spreading grin, slow and unstoppable. “You’re adorable as hell and I like you.”

Derek leaned closer to him, and Stiles knew what was coming and the air shivered inside his lungs. The meeting of their lips was slow and dry and impossibly sweet. It was a soft kiss, quiet, and it spread through Stiles like the most delicate breeze, soothing the raw parts of him, silencing the jangling. It was still new, but it felt right, and instead of feeling like he didn’t know himself this felt like greeting an old friend.

Derek pulled away from him when Stiles’ smile became too wide, rather than continuing to awkwardly kiss his teeth.

“I knew summer practice sessions were one of my greater ideas,” he sighed.

“Wait, what?” Stiles squawked.

***

Stiles and Derek were finally released from the locker room after a couple of hours, a severe tongue-lashing from Stiles, and then a different kind of tongue-lashing altogether. The audience to their triumphant emergence included Stiles’ dad, Scott, Coach Finstock, a good half of Derek’s extended family, and a random locksmith.

If Stiles had known they’d attract so many spectators he probably wouldn’t have tumbled out of the door holding Derek’s hand and trying to bite his ear. As it was, Stiles’ coming out of the closet moment was a lot more literal than expected.

That 1.7% had Stiles freezing in fear, but his dad gave Stiles a knowing smirk, Scott gave him a perfectly indiscreet double thumbs up, and Laura Hale cheered “I knew it!” and snapped a photo.

#anyberry #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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smartynuts1-blog · 7 years

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Don Legend

In 2004 Don Legion and Criss Trown were the biggest R&B male artist in the music industry. Don was a pianists and all of his music was accompanied by the sweet sound of strings, while Criss was a dancer and kept the crowd screaming with his complex moves that appeared effortless. Although they had different styles of artistry they had a strong rivalry because their album dropped the same day, which battled back and forward for the number 1 spot on the charts and their tours were held at the same. Radio personalities constantly fueled their rivalry by saying one was better than the other by mentioning record sales each week. Everyone new that both of them would be nominated for best male R&B artist for the Grammy's next year. Since his debut in the industry gay rumors have followed Don's flamboyant style, because he wore tight bell-bottom dress pants that showed off his gigantic booty and thighs that complemented his 6'2 220 lb frame. On the red-carpet his side-profile poses (with one hand in pocket to stretch the seams at the booty) made it obvious that he was well aware of his fully developed ASSets. He had the look of a "pretty boy" with a red-bone skin complexion and bee-stung pink lips - which were always glossy in photos. The first two buttons of his shirts were never fastened to showing off his well defined hairless and beefy chest that almost bulged through. He was the prettiest beefy guy in Hollywood although he didn't pay the gay rumors much attention due to his climbing success. In June Don was photographed on a private beach off the coast of Puerto Rico wearing a bright pink speedo, which fit tight around his curvy hips and booty. This picture flooded tabloids and during an interview Criss said that Don looked "super gay". This controversial comment spiked up Criss' record sales and put him at the top charts. After Don had made it back home from the island he was hit with a wave of gay controversy brought on by the pictures of him in the speedo. Plus, he had to address the Criss' negative comments. Being that these new gay rumors were hurting his success he had to fight for his masculinity back, which added a great deal of stress and caused much built-up anger towards Criss. After weeks of interviews addressing the rumors Don realized that the only way for the rumors to pass would be to get out of the public eye for a while. This almost meant career suicide for an up-and-coming singer. This drove Don insane and he could only think off how he could seek revenge on Criss. It was now mid December and no one had heard a word from Don. The last thing anyone had seen or heard from him was in early July when he was caught taking steroids. Over the months Criss' record sales continued to soar and he had even received a Grammy nomination as planned, while Don didn't. When asked in an interview, "Do you think Don went MIA because your comments towards his speedo picture during the summer?" he responded "I can really care less about that fag. He's probably somewhere getting fucked in the ass right now. He can't compete with me." This reaffirmed Criss' masculinity with his male audience and raised his record sales even more, but it made Don want to punish him like never before. Since July Don has been overly obsessed with seeking revenge on Criss. He could no longer overpower the trash talking dancer with his career so he had to use the only thing that he could control, which was bulking up his body to an intimidating frame and punish him in the most disgusting way possibly. Don was no longer concerned about his "pretty-boy" image or his health so he unhealthily packed on a whopping 120 pounds of muscle and fat. During the week he exercised everyday and ate only red-meat, nuts, and protein packed milk shakes. On the weekends he stayed in bed constantly eating donuts and pasta. Afterwards he took sleeping pills to force himself into long sleeps allowing him to gain weight quicker. From July to about late October he could feel the grease from his food escaping his pores and mixing with his sweat. At the gym he did only sumo deadlifts, squats (with weights), and leg presses to build an even bigger butt than what he had initially. Regular doses of steroids caused him to grow rapidly along with his rage. Hormonal changes exacerbated his sweat glands and body odor. He anus had begun to secrete a thick, pasty, sweet liquid that tasted like syrup (probably from all the sweets he ate). Digested protein shakes and nuts made his farts smell vile and animalistic. He drove all of his personal friends away, but that didn't bother him. He was becoming the ultimate butt dominator that he had planned for months, which brought him sick, narcissistic, sexually sadistic pleasure. By December his ass was twice the size of Buffie the Body's and wobbled uncontrollably when he walked. Old underwear briefs became too small and constant weight gain made it impossible to track his size so he stopped wearing them. After the first two weeks of going without underwear he appreciated the breeze traveling up his workout shorts cooling down his beefy glutes that were so large that Don himself couldn't reach all the way back there to wash the ends of either cheek - let alone his full ass crack. Don was almost where be needed to be physically to accomplish his goal. From December to the end of January Don had been on a high calorie binge rampage. By this point his stomach could hold 6 times the amount of food that it could when he was in the public eye. Body wise he was where he wanted to be, but he wasn't satisfied with his azz, which was already too large for him to fully wash on his own. This wasn't enough. He wanted it to be large enough to fully engulf and smother Criss in it. He bought dangerously concentrated steroids and injected the directly into his cheeks, which made them grow 3 inches in 3 weeks. Don's cheeks had grown heavier than the weights used to build them. They were nasty bone-crushers. He was ready. The night of the Grammys Don watched the show from his tv in his fully loaded Benz. He had parked a few cars down from Criss' Lamborghini in preparation of a ambush. Criss had won the award for best male R&B artist and arrogantly walked off the stage without thanking anyone. He definitely was a little bitch. After the show Criss was walking on his way to his lambo. In a drunken intoxication he stumbled with his keys. Don dress in only a trench coat, hat, and sun glasses popped out from behind some bushes and snatched the dancer up. Instead of using chloroform to put him to sleep Don used his most foul smelling work-out shorts, which worked just as effectively. In a flash the capturer had abducted Criss and taken him back to his house for a night Criss will never forget. As Criss slowly regained consciousness he was in a dark steamy room that smelled like a gym without ventilation. He was actually laying on Don's bed. Criss tried to escape but his efforts failed him because he had been temporarily paralyzed. Don had injected Criss with an overdose of muscle relaxers, which had the same symptom of paralysis. Only his head was fully functional. A loud musical sound from the corner of the dimly lit room underneath a soft red light startled the captive. Don was completely covered in a trench coat (still hiding his appearance) while over-dramatically playing the instrumental to one of his songs. Criss recognized the song too well, but naively screamed for help. Even if someone else were in the house with them they wouldn't be able to make out the screams through the loud forceful music. When the crazed musician stopped he was slightly panting as if he had just finished jogging. After gaining his breath he slowly got up from the bench while saying, "That song took me the longest to record. " (he paused and slightly chuckled) "I kept messing it up whenever I got into the studio, but when I got it right I was on cloud nine." (He paused to turn around toward his captive and continued). "When the label sent it to the radio stations it spent 12 weeks at the top spot battling for number 1 with yours. You may have had the dance moves, but I had the best album. Even you know it. That's why you had to talk all of that shit about me to boost your hype." By now Criss' squinted eyes revealed a scared look of confusion as he failed to match the voice of his capturer with the large image approaching him in the darkness. It sounded like Don, but it didn't look like him. "Still don't know who I am, YOU LITTLE BITCH!!?? (His voice grew louder and filled with anger) It's me, the SUPER FAG, Don!" Immediately after this was said Criss began to cry like never before. He realized that Don was preparing to get revenge on him for what he had done. The captive burst out saying, "I'M SORRY BRO! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! YOU KNOW HOW THE INDUSTRY IS MAN. IT WASN'T MEANT TO HURT YOU. IT WAS TO GAIN PUBLICITY!" Don replied, "I DON'T WANNA HEAR YOUR BULLSHIT!! YOU FUCKING RUINED MY CAREER!! AND NOW IM ABOUT TO RUIN YOUR LIFE." By now Don had made it to the edge of the bed where Criss' feet were. In an act of force Don had snatched off his coat and clapped his hands to turn on the lights. "WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! AWE FUCK NAW!!" Criss couldn't believed his eyes. Standing before him was a wall of naked beef, muscle, and fat that almost gave the appearance of Don wearing a muscle body armor. Criss had never seen a man as big as Don. Firm fat stacked on top of muscle. Large zebra patterned stretch marks mostly around the thighs, chest, and arms were painted all over his body. Huge thighs thick enough to strangle a moose thundered underneath a solid torso with huge protruding pecks that could be mistaken for size C breast were hanging below the thick neck of the handsome monster. Although scared and alone Criss just laid there in shock of what was happening to him. Don walked over to the side of the bed next to Criss' head and jumped on the bed and landed on his knees with Criss between his legs. The force of the landing caused the bottom of Don's hormone pumped meaty AZZ to slap Criss' thighs beneath him bring a loud sound similar to a belly flop in a pool. After landing on top of the captive Don made himself comfortable by leaning forward until his beefy stomach touched Criss' as if planning to kiss him. He said, "I've been waiting on this torturous moment for over half a year, and it bring pleasure to know that I can do whatever I want to you while you remain helpless. Even though I definitely am gonna punish you I can't help but to wonder how your dick feels. I haven't had sex since last summer and I noticed that you are equipped with a thick footlong dick down there. I'm gonna fuck you with my ass." Don reached over into the drawer aside his bed and grabbed 2 pills of Viagra and forced them down Criss' throat. After a few minutes a giant horse dick grew to match Don's horse - like ass. Don turned completely around to face Criss' ankles to reveal his perfectly round ass. "DAMN!!!!, Criss shouted Criss. "Fuck me like you do all of your groupies, Criss!!"

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mikeyd1986 · 7 years

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MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 45, March 2017

On Monday morning, I had my second appointment with counselling psychologist Ms. Angela Ewing at Casey Allied Health in Berwick. Getting a parking spot was a pain in the ass with cars constantly pulling in and out of each bay and most of the spaces being full. I was stressing out because I only had five minutes until my appointment time and getting a spot was tough. Eventually I did find one and hoped that my car wouldn’t be towed away for not parking in the correct parking bay. https://caseyalliedhealth.com.au/se...

Today we discussed issues about making conversation with others in social situations, coping strategies for dealing with anxiety and being tested for ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). I actually have a family history of it and there is a possibility that I do have it as well. Angela got me to fill out a questionnaire containing 100 questions. I scored 51 which was a borderline result. However, Angela believes that I should get a proper screening test done as my behaviours (fidgeting, forgetfulness, easily distracted) seem to suggest otherwise. https://add.org/adhd-test/

On Monday afternoon, I met up with my Mum at The Main Cafe Bar Restaurant in Berwick. It’s my Mum’s 50th birthday so I decided to surprise her with a shopping bag filled with pressies. I bought her a bunch of purple flowers (her favourite colour), a green tea flavoured beauty pack, a ceramic tealight holder shaped like a teapot and a Bunnings teddy bear. It’s always good to see my mum smiling and happy. We shared a large margarita pizza together and chatted about each other’s mornings. http://www.themainberwick.com.au/

On Tuesday morning, I had an appointment with my support worker Ally at Colourfield Cafe Casey Central. I had a lot of things to get off my chest today starting with the huge 5km run around Lysterfield Lake last Sunday. I found it really tough fitting in socially mainly due to the fact that this group of 20-something UFT Playgrounds members were mostly new to me. I didn’t know what to say or how to make conversation. I’ve always felt like an outsider in these sorts of social situations. Still I tried to blend in at times and decided to leave early as I’d reached my limit.

I’m also considering getting a referral to see a psychiatrist to get tested for ADHD following yesterday’s appointment with Angela. It’s something that I’ve considered over the last few months and it would give me clarity to know whether I have it or not. My cousin was diagnosed with Autism so there is a family history there and could possibly be a genetic disorder.

We also discussed my sexuality and how comfortable I am with it. I came out of the closet as a gay man when I turned 21 years old. Ten years later, I still have moments where I hesitate telling people. It’s not really a big deal to me nor do I feel like I need to broadcast that information so that the entire world knows. I think it’s more of an anxiety issue, being worried of how the other person will react and will it change anything. Most people accept me for who I am, sexuality included, so it shouldn’t really matter.

On Tuesday night, I went to my Body Combat class at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. In typical Melbourne style, it was pouring with rain and even some of the streets were flooded. But this didn’t stop me from driving out to my class. I was still feeling a bit sore from my run on Sunday (still not used to those DOMs) but I figured that I could handle it and rest if I needed to.

Tonight was a really tough workout. Even our instructor Cinamon Guerin was getting worn out towards the end of it. The most challenging parts of me involved a flowing movement going from a lunge to a wide side squat and back again (my thighs are really gonna love me tomorrow!). There were also combo sequences involving jab boxes, uppercuts and hooks plus the usual high knee lifts, round-house kicks, side kicks and front kicks. http://w3.lesmills.com/israel/en/cl...On Thursday morning, I had my counseling se

On Thursday morning, I had my counseling session with Ruth at Piece Together Counselling in Narre Warren. Today we focused on celebrating my positive qualities and achievements. I’m quite a modest person and so I’ve never really boasted or made a big deal about the things that I do so it’s nice hearing it from another person’s perspective. I’m making small steps toward breaking through my mental barriers and being able to achieve my goals in life. I still have moments of self-doubt, jealousy, awkwardness and anxiety but I’m finding ways to better adapt and cope with it. https://www.piecetogethercousellingnarrewarren.org/...

On Thursday afternoon, I had my one-on-one PT session with Luke Davey at Breakaway Fitness in Narre Warren. Today was a really tough session for me, both mentally and physically. I feel like I’m connecting well with Luke on a personal level now and not being afraid of speaking my mind. The warm-up exercises involved a 60m cowboy walk, four rounds of 15 glute bridges and four rounds of kettle bell side stretches.

The development exercises were definitely the most challenging for me mentally and emotionally. I started doing 12 reps of weighted front squats with 10kg added. I got a little shaky trying to keep my balance and not fall over but I did okay. Next was the box jumps. I was absolutely shitting myself inside. I didn’t want a repeat of my last year’s disastrous attempts where I nearly walked out in tears.

This was very much a mental with the fear of tripping over the box and making a fool of myself in front of Luke really holding me back. But I kept persevering. I kept telling myself “I’m not going to let that box defeat me”. My thighs were getting more and more fatigued with each attempt but that didn’t stop me. Luke decided to add two foam mats stacked on top of each other for extra height. Boom! I finally did it. It’s going to take time for me to overcome this fear but today I really made some great progress towards it.

In the workout today, I had to do 30, 20 and 10 reps of the following exercises: Rowing Machine in calorie mode and weighted squats. My goal time was 15 minutes. This was a really tough workout for me as the fatigue was really getting to me. My legs were physically shaking and at one point I nearly dropped the bar but thankfully Luke stood behind me and made sure I kept doing them correctly. I told myself “There’s nothing wrong with struggling. I’m gonna finish this.” And I did. I even smashed my goal time which I didn’t expect. https://www.facebook.com/breakawayf...

On Friday morning, I attended my Vinyasa Flow yoga class at Just Be Yoga and Meditation in Beaconsfield. Of course, my DOMs (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness) was coming on strong through my legs, thighs and glutes after yesterday’s PT session so I really had to be mindful and not overdo it today. It was another full class with about 10-12 students in the studio. http://www.yogajournal.com/slidesho...

Today we did the following poses and sequences:

Flowing Sequence 1...From Bound Angle pose (Baddha Konasana) and a Forward Fold, transition into Reverse Table Top, then into Staff pose with a Forward Fold, then transition into Reverse Plank and flow back into Bound Angle pose.

Flowing Sequence 2...From Standing Forward Bend (Uttanasana), move your right foot back into a High Lunge then into Downward Facing Dog, Plank, Chaturanga and up into either Seal pose or Upward Facing Dog pose. Then bring your feet back up to meet your hands, raise your arms up and into Mountain pose (Tadasana)

On Saturday morning, we celebrated Mum’s 50th birthday with a High Tea at our place. We spent the morning getting the outdoor patio area set up with tables, chairs and decorations before the catering staff arrived. It was a lovely day with 15 of Mum’s friends and relatives in attendance. The weather was fairly hot and humid but luckily the undercover roofing provided adequate shade for us all to enjoy the day.

In terms of the food, we were absolutely spoiled with finger sandwiches, mini quiches, scones with jam and cream, strawberries and marshmallows. We also had a selection of teas, coffees and flavoured lemon-lime water. I decided to give Mum one last present and it was a really special one. I bought her an Elvis Presley guitar clock and she absolutely loved it. I was so relieved that it arrived on time as I had to get it posted from interstate.

Later we all engaged in a fun game of pass the parcel which was really entertaining with Mum blowing her whistle to stop passing and unwrap a layer of paper. Everyone got a small present and seemed to enjoy themselves. It was a great idea.

On Saturday night, we drove down to the city and checked into the Pensione Hotel on Spencer Street. After getting changed, we all walked down to the The Colonial Tramcar Restaurant tram stop near the Queen Victoria Market. Eventually, we boarded the burgundy-coloured tram and sat down inside the booth. This was a whole other level of fancy in terms of being wined and dined. The detailing inside the tram car was immaculate with plush red velvet seating, tasseled lampshades and beautifully furnished wood paneling.

We were in for a long 3 hour dinner with the tram taking us down to South Melbourne, St. Kilda and Albert Park. The five course meal included appetizers (crackers with hummus and red capsicum dips), entree (grilled barramundi fillets), main course (breast of chicken with potatoes and greens), cheese selection (crackers, two specialty cheeses, dried apricots, nuts) and dessert (cheesecake, chocolate brownie, strawberries, blueberries).

The service was excellent throughout the night with the staff regularly walking through the center aisle and asking the guests whether they’d like another drink. We also had to option of having a coffee, tea or lacquer to finish the night on. Walking back to my hotel room with my step dad and my uncle, I was well and truly knackered, bloated and busting for the toilet. But I have no regrets and I refuse to feel guilty about overindulging for a special occasion. Back on the fitness horse next week! http://tramrestaurant.com.au/ “I had a one-way ticket to a place where all the demons go. Where the wind don’t change and nothing in the ground can ever grow. No hope, just lies and you’re taught to cry into your pillow. But I survived. I’m still breathing, I’m still breathing. I’m alive” Sia - Alive (2016)

“Uh-oh, running out of breath, but I. Oh, I got stamina. Uh-oh, running now, I close my eyes. Well, oh, I got stamina...Don’t give up, I won’t give up. Don’t give up, no no no...I’m free to be the greatest, I’m alive.” Sia - The Greatest (2016)

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