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Choices	By : twitchy Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Alice Cooper Views: 884 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Alice Cooper nor the members of his band. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Choices
- 2-No More Lies
- 1
- 2
Title: Choices
Pairing: Michael Bruce/Dennis Dunaway
Author Notes: The draft notices? – True. Alice shooting Neal in the foot? – True. Everything else, completely fictional. For all I know, all five of them could have been out shooting but I’ve always been under the impression that it was just the two of them. And for all I know, it may have only been two draft notices. In any event, the majority of the events in this story are false.

This story involves the original Alice Cooper line-up: Alice (natch), Michael Bruce (guitar and sometimes keyboard), Glen Buxton (guitar), Dennis Dunaway (bass), and Neal Smith (drums).

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The letters sat on the kitchen table, broken in their solidarity. That morning five waited for them, until Alice had picked them up, fanning them out like a fourth-rate magician about to do a trick. The role of beautiful assistant fell upon Neal; making a show of deciding he pulled out the one addressed to him. He ripped it open and started reading it aloud, his voice fading away with each horrifying word.

“A draft notice?” Alice flipped the four remaining envelopes around, studying them. “These are all draft notices.”

Glen attempted to close his mouth. “That... that can’t be right.”

Placing all but his own back down Alice opened the envelope addressed to him. His eyes scanned over the letter. “Well, let’s put it this way. The military isn’t naming a tank after me,” he deadpanned.

Twelve hours later and three remained, waiting for them to return from the half-full hall they performed at. Glen went first, opening his and silently reading the letter that indeed was what Alice declared it was. Wandering around the house in a daze, he mumbled something about a walk ten minutes later, slipping out of the house in that same trance. Fifteen minutes after that Alice and Neal announced that they were starting their training programs; with a rifle each they left the little house, and leaving two letters behind.

He didn’t know for how long he had sat in flesh-toned darkness; peeling his hand away from his eyes Michael peered down to his name, typed out in boldface on the bone-white envelope. He pressed fingertips to the barest tip of one corner, pulling it towards him before pushing it away. It skidded to the left, teetering on the edge of the table. He curled his fingers in the air, only to stop as something cold pressed into his palm. The shape was familiar, and it was with a smile he glanced up, the Budweiser logo looking back at him. Lowering the can he set to pop the tab open, but found that it was already done for him. He shook his head wryly. “Why don’t you just drink this for me?”

“I’ve already got one for myself,” Dennis replied, sitting down at the table. His smile faded as he glanced at the waiting envelopes. “That can be said for the beer and the letter.”

Alcohol tumbling down his throat Michael propped his head up again, cradling his jaw with his hand. “This is just... it’s shit.” His mouth and throat feeling like a painful blend of sand and stone he took another gulp. He watched as Dennis straightened out his letter, balancing it delicately between his index fingers. “Do you think it will make a difference if someone else opens it?”

A faintly amused expression flickered over Dennis’ face. “If it does, it would be my luck to find my notice in this.”

“Yeah.” Sighing on the word Michael set the can down. With damp fingers he pulled the letter from his hands. He wished he could blame the moisture on the sweaty beer, but knew it was a different kind of sweat. “Still doesn’t make me want to open the damn thing.”

“We don’t have to, we know what it’s going to say.” Dennis sipped his beer, seemingly calm like he always was, but the sip quickly followed by another, then a third, suggested otherwise. It was a small comfort, one that Michael appreciated. “But I wouldn’t put it past Alice or Neal to open them for us,” Dennis continued.

“I’m sure they’ll make a big show of it like they did this morning.” Lifting his face free of his hand he breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind of imminent doom. “Shall we spare them the theatrics?”

Dennis shook his head, slowly swallowing down more beer. “You can, but I don’t want to disappoint Alice.”

Hastily diverting his gaze, laughing lowly in hopes to distract himself, Michael tore open one corner. Slowly tearing across the top, frayed edges framing his finger, he had visions of a shell striking his shoulder, his arm shattering apart like a hapless twig. Clenching his eyes shut he jerked his chin away, unable to keep a slight wince and grunt at bay.

Blood within his eyes, images of warfare played out in Dolby sound and Technicolor. Shadows in broad hats, jumping out from the dense jungle surrounding him, he stumbled forwards and backwards, vainly searching for an escape. He didn’t realise his one arm was tense and trembling, not until he felt fingers skimming his hand, a hand finally settling on top of his. “You don’t need to read it,” Dennis said, low and slow tone placating him. It took a bit longer for his hand to relax around the envelope, letting Dennis prise it out of his grip.

Waiting until his heartbeat slowed to its natural rhythm, Michael let his eyes slink open; he stared down at his arm, needing to make sure it was really there. In one whole piece, it remained attached to his shoulder, albeit with a white hand, his fingers curled into a fist. Swallowing thickly he forced his gaze further up, to Dennis holding the envelope. “Get that thing out of my sight,” his sharp tone contrasting his raspy voice.

Dennis only hesitated a moment, picking up his letter as well; with a flick of his wrist he tossed the envelopes onto the counter behind him. Weighing his words silently he spoke after a few seconds. “There is a chance that nothing will come from this.”

“And there’s a chance that everything will come from this.” Grabbing his beer he downed all that remained. His shoulder screaming in imaginary agony and his head throbbing in real pain, he stood and walked over to the fridge. Opening it he found it typically stocked; a meagre supply of food and an over-abundant supply of beer. He grabbed two cans, returning to the table. He set one down in front of Dennis before popping open the one he still held. “Finish that up now.”

Dennis arched an eyebrow, but did as he was told. Once finished he placed his thumbs atop the new can, studying them as they drummed against the rim. “It’s not written in stone that you’re going, that any one of us is going.”

Sitting back down in his seat with an audible huff Michael glared over at him. “You can say that, your birthday’s in December," he spat.

“I’m also over a year older than you, and I’m sure that will count for something,” Dennis reasoned. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, it’s not in our hands.”

“And that’s what I hate!” Taking a long gulp of his beer Michael shook his head. It didn’t help his headache; jaw tensing at the pain that bit at his temples, he tightened his hand around the can. “I deserve to have a voice in this matter, not to be told by some trash sheet of paper what I will do!”

“It’s not just you, everyone is being dictated by a sheet of paper,” Dennis pointed out after several sips. “No one likes it.”

Scowling into his beer he took another guzzle, trying to ease the burn of fury with the burn of alcohol. “You don’t seem to be bothered by it all.”

Amused annoyance flickered over Dennis face, his eye-roll further emphasising his expression. “Oh, it bothers me. It bothers me that American politicians need to force young men into the military to fulfill the promises they haven’t been able to keep.”

“Could you try not making me look like some selfish prick?” Twisting his lips in self-disgust he took another long sip of his beer. “Here you’re thinking about the American people, when I’m only concerned about my own well-being.”

“Oh, I am being selfish,” Dennis assured him. The lower but indulgent pitch of his voice had Michael mentally lift himself out of his little sulk, far enough that he even lifted his gaze. “I’m just not announcing the fact that I hate the thought of getting all my hair chopped off.”

Trying not to laugh he shook his head, feeling his own hair rustle about his face. His face fell as he toyed with his own long strands. “Guess I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“And you’d rather be angry?” Dennis asked, after swallowing some more beer.

“I’d rather be... shit, I don’t know.” Amusement evaporating into frustration he frowned, curling his fingers into his hair. “I don’t know what I’d rather be. I just know I don’t want to be sitting here, terrified of a letter.”

“What letter? I don’t see any letter,” Dennis mentioned, looking over the table, empty but for their cans. “And I thought you were enjoying our intelligent conversation.”

The attempt at a joke fell short; if anything it only set Michael off again. “There is no intelligence, let alone reason, to be had here. We’re surrounded by arrogance and stupidity. Because of the government’s promises we’re trapped into another war!”

“Out of one fire, into another; it’s like we can’t not have any conflict, there’s always going to be rage, and protest.” Dennis ignored his drink, letting his fingers slide back and forth over the aluminum. “To be provoked and to provoke back, throwing questions back in the faces who’d rather order us around.” With a deep sigh his hands stilled. “We never get answers, and when we do it’s not the answers we want.”

Frustration simmered below two surfaces, one silent and one ready to boil over. A slew of retorts were brewing in his head, tempered only by the tight line of his mouth and clenched jaw. It didn’t last long, the force of his thoughts too strong to be contained. “This is bullshit! We deserve to have a choice – I deserve to choose what I want!”

Fingers curled around his drink, lowering it from his mouth, Dennis looked up, gaze dark but curious. “What do you want?”

“I want to be here, albeit not sharing a room with Alice.” A little chuckle snuck free of his mouth, before he shook his head reprovingly. “I want to keep playing my music, with far more success than the petty amount we have. There are so many things that I want. I want-” His secret wish was ready to dive off tip of his tongue, out into the open, but he stopped it fast enough. “I want, and I just look even more selfish than I really am.”

“That’s not true, but even if it was, that would make me just as selfish as you are.” Giving him a comforting smile Dennis shifted his chair closer, or at least as close as he could, sitting on one side of the rectangular table and the wide leg separating them. “Actually, that wouldn’t be bad at all. I’d be in great company.”

“Flatterer.” Smiling in spite of the little jab he patted the back of Dennis’ hand. “That is, if that is meant to be a compliment,” he continued, letting his hand settle upon warm skin.

“You think I’m insulting you?” Dennis asked mock-offended. “Thank you for thinking so highly of me.”

“You said it yourself, you’re selfish. Someone needs to keep you in line,” Michael reminded him cheekily.

“The same can be said about you Brucey.”

An annoyed expression lasted all of four seconds before he was back to smiling, curling his fingers tighter. It took him another second to realise that their hands lay differently; Dennis had twisted his so their palms met, their fingers interlocked. Throat tight and mouth dry again, he reached for his beer with his free hand, enjoying the tempting pull of alcohol on his throat and brain, and the feel of Dennis’ hand still holding on.

“Michael?”

Looking up sharply, wide-eyed like a caught and guilty schoolboy, he forced his breathing to stay soft and calm, unlike the blood pounding between his ears. “Ahh... what?”

“Are you alright? I said keeping me in line might be a risk you don’t want to take,” Dennis mentioned. A little smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Did I scare you into shock?”

The thrill that those words brought on was not built on fear or shock, but the same sensation that drove his blood, if the sudden warmth of his face had anything to do with it. Hoping he wasn’t as red as he thought he was he took another drag on his beer, looking for another excuse in case he was, only to discover it was empty. He desperately wanted to grab another beer, needing cold liquid to cool down, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go, to not stare at that tilt of Dennis’ lips. “No,” he murmured distractedly, even though he knew his reply sounded more like a question.

He started coming back to his senses as Dennis leaned in, smirk fading away. “Then what are you?” There was no accusation to Dennis’ words, just curiosity.

“Do you really want to know?” He countered back. Dennis cocked his head in quiet wonder, not taking his gaze off of him. He started to nod but got no further than bobbing his chin down, Michael pushing forward, grabbing his hair and pulling him forward, knocking two cans over in the process. “Choosing what I want.” Not letting Dennis get a word in Michael pushed himself forward the few inches necessary to kiss him hard. At first there was slack, no resistance or reciprocation, but within seconds that had changed, Dennis matching his enthusiastic actions.

Trying to lever himself closer to Dennis with his arm, knocking the cans further about the table, his frustration from the whole day spurred him on, finally drawing the two of them to their feet. Hand still locked in Dennis’ hair he pulled them out of the kitchen, narrowly missing the doorframe as he was too focussed on the clash of their tongues. It was Dennis’ hand that cushioned the blow, caught between his head and the wood paneling to save him from pain. His hand freed from Dennis’ he clutched his bicep, dragging his body as close as their faces were to one another. Their legs dangerously close to twisting together they stumbled down the hall, Dennis catching him each time his backward steps threatened to topple the two of them over. They fell against the wall past beside the bedroom door Michael had been aiming for. It took him several tries to open the door, first to figure out where his hands had migrated to, then to open the door even as Dennis efficiently distracted him with his hands and mouth.

From doorway to bed the journey was much safer; the small size of the bedroom was for once a benefit. Grinning even as he kissed he twisted the two of them around so he was the one walking forwards, pushing Dennis back first to the bed. He climbed onto the bed between his legs, shedding the clinging sparkly shirt and tossing it to the floor. Dennis’ hands reached for his pants, ready to assist, but he batted them away. He undressed quickly, driven by the fact that Dennis was already stripping. His shirt had hit the floor by the time Michael grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the patch-work blanket. “No you don’t,” he growled lowly. Giving them a good squeeze for encouragement he pulled the rest of Dennis’ clothes off, adding them to the growing pile. Admiring his work and the erection that stood at attention, he gave an approving smirk, only to have it wiped off in surprise as he found himself lifted to face level before being flipped to his back. For a few seconds long silky hair grazed his cheeks, before trickling down his neck to his chest, further down with hot breaths puffing onto his skin. He lifted his head long enough to watch hair and mouth cloak his cock, his head hitting the pillow with a groan rather than the protest he wanted.

Grabbing at the blanket rather than the hair sliding over his thighs, he tried to resist the sensations creeping through his blood, blistering with every swipe of a tongue and a well timed suck. Having already experienced those talents with his own mouth, he knew it would be over way too soon. By the time calloused finger pads brushed over his balls, he released the bedclothes with a loud gasp, hauling Dennis’ head up by his hair. One last languid slide and the air of the bedroom felt considerably colder on his cock. “You don’t want that?” Dennis asked, the darkness doing nothing to hide his perplexed expression.

Using the long strands in his hand to his advantage Michael wound the hair around his fist several times, carefully pulling Dennis up so they were eye to eye. “What did I tell you? I’m making the choices tonight,” Michael reminded harshly.

“I think I remember something like that.” Another tempting twist of lips and Michael was biting into the bottom lip, worrying it nicely until Dennis pulled away, turning so he was on his stomach, propped up slightly by his knees and elbows. It was a sight he could appreciate, going so far to squeeze one of the cheeks offered to him, before grabbing a hip and rolling Dennis back over so he was half on top of him. Blinking down he tilted his head. “What did I do wrong this time?”

“I’m the one getting fucked tonight,” he stated. Squeezing Dennis' erection for emphasis, he couldn’t help but smirk triumphantly at the heavy swallow that worked through Dennis’ throat, his mouth parting in a thick breath. His other hand reached effortlessly for the bedside table, opening the drawer the bare inch it took in order to pull out a tube of lotion. He wove it in front of Dennis’ unfocussed eyes. “Do I need to tell you how to use this?”

Gaze turning into an effective glare Dennis grabbed the lotion, squeezing a couple of drops into the palm of one hand, squeezing more onto his free fingers. The need for questioning didn’t cross Michael’s mind, not until a slick hand grabbed his cock and fingers slid into him. By the point Dennis’ thumb played over the head, Michael was thrusting his hips up, then down, only to find the fingers teasing him just as effectively as the other hand. He tried to fix Dennis with a glare of his own, only his eyes were flashing between warning and lust. In his line of vision he found a smirk that might have been the same one he was wearing a few seconds ago. “Problem?” Dennis asked, voice concerned unlike his expression.

“Not-” Fingers pulsing over his erection, tapping in time with twisting fingers elsewhere, and he was shuddering in something very similar to approval. “What I want!”

“Oh, we can’t have that now.” Voice most certainly taunting Dennis continued to stroke the full length, squeezing and twisting. Still shuddering Michael opened his mouth to issue another warning, only to gasp as Dennis breached an inch of entry. “Better?”

He didn’t even need to think of an answer. “I’ve had better.”

Arched eyebrow and a smug expression later, Michael was caught between the taller frame of Dennis’ body and the bed, Dennis pushing all the way in. His breath knocked out of him for several good seconds Michael laid pliant, unaware of Dennis grasping his hips and angling them up. Several thrusts later he was very much aware, keening as his spot was struck. “It’s about time,” Michael panted, curling his hand back into Dennis’ hair while hiking a leg up to waist height, hooking it around his hip.

Teeth were sharp at his shoulder. “Bossy.”

What was meant to be a laugh sounded more like a strangled hiccup as Dennis moved faster. It took a few seconds for Michael to match the new tempo, pushing back in time with Dennis’ thrusts. Just as he succeeded Dennis snuck his hand between them, stroking in counter-time to the rhythm they already had. His vision started to blur at the edges, the only thing he could truly see being Dennis’ face. Muttering nonsensical words of encouragement he pressed his free foot into the mattress, bending his leg up and getting a deeper thrust for his efforts. Dennis’ groans intermingled with his own, and he was somewhat sure he heard the bed rattling at the periphery of his perception.

There was no mistaking the slam of the front door however, along with Alice’s shout. “Mike, you won’t guess what just happened!”

Wincing they both froze, expressions of pain on both of their faces. Heart beating wildly Michael gulped for air before attempting to speak. “Do-Do I want to know?” he struggled to ask.

“He fucking shot me!” Neal yelled.

“In the foot! Trust me, it could have been a lot worse, seeing as you jumped in front of me!” Alice reminded, both voices drifting from the front door into the kitchen. “Don’t blame it all on me.”

“You shot one of your best friends!” Michael shouted. “I’d say blaming you is a brilliant idea!”

“Precisely! I was carrying a gun too, but did I shoot Alice? Of course not, I know better than that!” Neal stated.

“Oh shit.” Dennis’ body shifted as he dropped his head. Michael squirmed, the motion reminding him of their positions, and from there his need, but he remained anxious. “We have an audition in two days.”

Expression livid Michael turned his head to the door, as if his glare could penetrate the wood and bend towards the kitchen. “Our audition?!”

“Oh shit.” Michael almost wanted to laugh when the realisation hit Alice. “We have a big problem.”

Instead of laughter there was a chuckle, but from Dennis. His shifting body made Michael moan softly, fingers sliding from Dennis’ hair to squeeze his shoulder. Watching him intently, his expression and tense limbs, Dennis thrusted slowly. Pushing back instinctively he felt the burn of impending climax rekindling, even stronger than before. “Ye-yeah,” he spoke in encouragement to Dennis’ actions, but more loudly than he planned, still accustomed to the louder pitch he had been using for Alice and Neal.

“Yeah, I know we’ve fucked up – I’ve fucked up.” No doubt Alice revised his statement because of a choice look or words that Neal tossed his way. “There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

Biting his lip to keep from groaning, Michael dug his heel into the blanket, trying to keep some leverage as Dennis increased the pace. “Nothing – now,” Michael agreed, trying to keep his voice level despite his hitched words.

“Nothing but go to sleep,” Alice commented. His voice veered from kitchen into the hallway. “Today’s been just a bit too eventful for my liking.”

Lust rolled through his body but Michael wasn’t too far gone to not notice Alice’s approach. Dennis realised that too, pulling back and stilling. “No!” Michael snapped, both at Alice and Dennis. He dragged Dennis back down, grounding against him desperately. Dennis hesitated for a second before starting up again.

“No what?” Alice asked, right outside the door to his and Michael’s room.

Michael swallowed heavily, trying to catch his breath to sound normal. “You can’t – go to bed – tonight.”

“I've had a long day, I deserve to sleep,” Alice reasoned. The floorboards creaked as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Alice has a lot to make up for to Neal,” Dennis breathed in his ear, careful to keep to a whisper so Alice couldn’t hear him. “Shooting him in the foot? He’s been a bad boy.” The way his teeth tugged on his ear had Michael reconsidering just how many bad boys lived under the same roof. “He should be catering to Neal, on hand and foot.”

“You deserve-” Losing his breath for a second as Dennis struck at another angle, an angle that had his eyes rolling backwards, Michael restarted. “You deserve to be making up for shooting Neal. We are out a drummer because of you, and all you’re concerned about is your – sleep?!” Gasping as quietly as he could he tried to focus on Alice, not on Dennis. “Get in there and be his slave!”

“Like I’m being your slave?” Dennis whispered into his ear, thrusting slow, almost lazily. “You seemed to have really gotten off on ordering me around, being in charge, making your choices...”

“You aren’t-” The change in pace was doing nothing for his sanity, even though it was doing everything to stave off his completion. Michael squirmed as Dennis nearly came to a halt. “Finish me off. Hard and fast, I am in charge, not you.” How the bed didn’t rattle as Dennis did as he was told Michael didn’t know. A whine bubbling up in his throat he scratched helplessly at Dennis’ shoulder.

“I don’t want to be his slave!” Alice protested.

“Yes!” Michael shouted, not listening to Alice any longer.

“You don’t have a choice – now help me to my room!” Neal ordered.

“Fuck, fuck me,” Michael muttered, vaguely hearing the floorboards creak as Alice grumbled and drew away from the door, back towards the kitchen. “Too close.”

“If you were quieter, you wouldn’t have to worry about Alice or Neal catching us,” Dennis pointed out, voice still low and slightly breathless as he continued pounding.

It was a struggle to lift his head, but he managed it. To give Dennis a pointed look it was worth it. “If you had listened to me we would have been done already!”

“Maybe you would be, but my stamina is far better than that,” Dennis remarked, looking him straight in the eye in time with a particularly forceful thrust.

Scrabbling with his hands and feet Michael tried to find purchase while being pushed to the brink. Sparing the retorts, helped by lack breath, he gasped and moaned; the sounds combined with Dennis’ own harsh breaths, fast and burning on his cheek, sounded like a hurricane in his ears. It was only a matter of seconds for him, he felt it in his toes, all the way up to his teeth. Vision dimming, his fingers slid over slick skin, finding Dennis’s neck; lurching up at the same time he yanked Dennis’ head down, kissing him, drawing the slightly bitter tang of alcohol breath into his mouth as he came. Body coiled tight he didn’t let go, eagerly stealing one kiss after another until Dennis finished as well. His head hitting the pillow with a thump he was on the verge of well deserved sleep, but Dennis’ face loomed over him, skin flushed and with a scrutinising but calm expression. Fully exhausted he wanted to sleep the sleep of the dead but a sense of dread held him back. “What?” Michael breathlessly asked.

Staring for a few seconds longer, Dennis tried to peel away some of his hair sticking to his sweaty skin, pretending that it was more important than his question. “Just how much of this was a declaration of choice?”

Michael refused to turn his head but couldn’t stop the visible wince from taking a hold of his face. He racked his mind for a truthful but placating response, but nothing came to him. Several long seconds later he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Couldn’t you have asked me a different question?” There was no reply, only shared silence. He lay perfectly still, mentally beating himself up, but he didn’t miss the dip in the bed. He turned his head and opened his eyes a tiny fraction, enough to see Dennis reach for the pile of clothes beside his bed. Sitting up suddenly he grabbed his arm. “Don’t-”

“Why?” Dennis had a strangle-hold of a grip on his shirt, and there was probably some interpretation there, one that Michael really didn’t want to read into it.

Reluctantly he let go; not knowing what to do with his restless hand, aside from touching Dennis again, but he didn’t want to test his luck. He eased his shirt free of Dennis’ hands, drawing it into his lap. “They’ll see you leave my room, and they’ll wonder why you didn’t say hello to them. They’ll get suspicious.”

“And they won’t get suspicious when they see me in here tomorrow morning?”

“You can leave early.” Michael hated how feeble his answer sounded. “If you would just-” Throwing his shirt back to the ground, he bit his lip. “It would be better if you didn’t go.” His lip was in pain but he didn’t release it, knowing that if he did he wouldn't be able to stop a ‘please’ from escaping.

Dennis stood up, the bed dipping and creaking again. Michael squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see him collect his clothes and leave. Lowering himself to his side he curled up, head on his pillow, ready to sleep or scold himself, most likely both. A sharp jab to his shoulder and he half-sat up; glaring across his bed he discovered Dennis, just as he last saw him, albeit standing beside his bed. “Are you going to make room for me?”

With a soundless nod Michael uncurled himself, trying to make enough space on the narrow bed. Troubled or not Dennis was soon asleep; the sheets just reaching across both shoulders, Michael was free to watch his muscles relax as sleep took a deeper hold on him. A tiny bit envious he inched a bit closer, pressing his chin to Dennis shoulder and letting his fingers graze his hip, a choice just as much as a sign of the words he wanted to say but couldn't.
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Choices