Per Fare Una Pace Fragile (To Make a Fragile Peace

Per Fare Una Pace Fragile (To Make a Fragile Peace)
Part Four

Enzo took a deep drag on the cigarette, letting the nicotine soothe his jittering nerves a little. He blew out a cloud of smoke, which Michael waved away. "Oh, scuze, signore!"

Michael smiled. "It's okay, Enzo."

"Your Papa, he's okay now?"

"He should be. Sonny will have men here any minute, and..." He lifted his head at the sound of approaching sirens.

Enzo looked relieved. "Ah, good! Polizia. Now we don't worry."

The look Michael gave him was cynical. "Maybe." Two squad cars turned into the street. "You better go, Enzo."

"You don't need me?"

"You've helped all you can now." Michael shooed him away. "Go on, you' new newlywed. You don't need to get tangled with the cops." Enzo was halfway down the block when the cars pulled up in front of the hospital, and the policemen who emerged ignored him. They charged up the steps, surrounding Michael. One of them grabbed him, and he stiffened, but didn't fight--he knew better.

A third car, an unmarked one, pulled up, and Captain McCluskey slowly emerged, unfolding from the back seat. He was a hulking man. Everything about him seemed big--his shoulders, his hands, hit gut, his nose, his voice. He was the type of policeman the Irish were going to spend generations trying to live down.

McCluskey stomped up the stairs and stood before Michael, hands on his hips, scowling. "What the fuck is this? I thought I got all you guinie hoods locked up."

Michael glared at him. "What happened to the men who were guarding my father?"

McCluskey's eyes (*no, his eyes aren't big,* Michael thought), already piggy, narrowed even farther. "Punk, are you trying to tell me my business I p I pulled 'em off. Dago bastards had no business hangin' around a hospital, and YOU'RE gonna go, too, and STAY away!"

"I'm not moving till you put guards around my father's room," Mike said stubbornly.

McCluskey's already florid complexion deepened, and he nodded at the patrolman who was holding Michael's arm. "Phil, take him in!"

The officer looked doubtful. "Captain, the kid's clean. He's a war hero. He's never been busted for the rackets, or..."

McCluskey overode him. "Goddamn it, I said take him in!"

Michael's voice was cold. "What's the Turk paying you to set up my father?"

McCluskey stiffened, his complexion going almost purple. His voice was clogged as he said, "Stand him up!" When Phil hesitated, McCluskey gestured at another officer, who took Michael's other arm. "I said stand him up!" Reluctantly, Phil tightened his grip.

Michael knew what was going to happen. Instead of bng hng himself (which probably would have made what happened even worse), he relaxed suddenly. When McCluskey's ham-sized fist slammed into his jaw his head snapped back, so that he did not absorb the full force of the blow. Just as the blow landed a car screeched to the curb and men boiled out. One of them was Tom Hagen.

Several men hurried past the watching officers into the hospital, headed for the Don's room as Tom approached McCluskey. "Captain, I'm Tom Hagen, attorner thr the Corleone family. Those men are detectives, hired to protect Vito Corleone, and they're licensed to carry firearms. If you try to interfer in any way you'll have to go before a judge tomorrow and show just cause."

McCluskey shook his head in disgust. "All right, boys. Let the punk go." He gave the drooping Michael another look, muttered, "Shit! Woulda liked to get your candy ass in a back room at the station." He stomped back to his car. In a moment the police were gone, leaving only the Corleone men.

The last to leave was Phil. He still supported an unsteady Michael, and his voice was soft and urgent when he spoke to Tom. "Hagen, I had nothing to do with this, I swear. I didn't know what was happening till I got here, and I couldn't just stop McCluskey, bold faced."

"I know, Phil," Tom said quietly. "Don't worry about it. Go on, before someone gets suspicious."

Phil patted Mike's shoulder, whispering, "I'm really sorry about this, kid."

"Not your fault," Micheal mumbled painfully. "You tried." Tom moved up to take the departing Phil's place, supporting Micheal with an arm around his shoulder. "Tom, Dad..."

"Sh, Mikey. It's okay now. He'll have people around him every second. Let me look at you." He touched Michael's chin, tilting his head so that the streetlamp could better illuminate it. He sucked his teeth. "Christ, kid, he pasted yogoodgood one. It's swelling already."

"I think he cracked something."

"Well, if it had to happen, this was the right place. C'mon, I'll take you to the emergency room, then I got to call Sonny and let him know things are all right."

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Tom could have easily arranged for quick treatment, but Michael refused to be taken first. He sat in the waiting room with the drunk who'd burned his hand and the mother clutching the feverish toddler till it was his turn. Then there wasn't much that could be done. X-rays showed a hairline fracture of his cheekbone, and he had a loosened tooth. The doctor gave him some pills for the pain and told him to use compresses to help with the swelling, eat soft foods for a week, and to try to to injure the area again.

After that Michael went up to see his father againito ito was sleeping peacefully, with one man at his bedside, two at the door, and one at each end of the hall. Michael sat with Tom for a few minutes, watching him sleep.

Tom whispered, "You made him proud, Mike. You made all of us proud, and grateful. We'd have lost him if you hadn't been here. It's lucky you came back." He cocked his head, looking at the younger man's bruised, impassive face. "Why, Mike? You were so close with the family when you were young. What drove you away?"

Michael didn't look at him. "I can't discuss it with you, Tom."

Hagen's voice was a little hurt. "I thought we were family, Mike. You told Sonny I as as much Don Vito's son as you two."

"You are, Tom. But this is something I can't discuss even with family. I'm sorry."

Tom sighed. "Okay, I'll have to respect that. But whatever it is, Mike, try to come to peace with it, for all our sakes."

Michael sighed, standing. "I should go now. I'm tired."

Tom nodded. "I'll stay a little while longer. Clemenza is down in the lobby--he'll get you back to the house."

Michael's eyes darkened. "Maybe I should go back to the hotel."

Tom shook his head quickly. "No! Look, Mike, we're all hurting right now, emotionally. You, maybe, more than any of us, and you're hurting physically, too. You need to be where someone who loves you can take care of you. Go home."

Michael, too tired to protest, nodded. "All right, Tom."

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**

Micheal huddled down in the front seat of the car on the way back, and after a quick squeeze to his shoulder, Clemenza didn't try to talk to him. The pain pills the doctor had given him were taking effect, and he was getting a little groggy. He wasn't too out of it, though, to notice the man standing in the street in front of the Corleone gate, his hand tucked inside his coat. "What the fuck?"

"You're gonna be seein' a lot of new faces around, Mikey," Clemenza warned him as he stopped the car. The man approached cautiously, peering in. When he recognized the occupants he waved at the gate, giving a shrill whistle. Then he backed off and waved them on.

The gate closed behind them as they pulled up the drive. Michael saw what had to be a dozen men scattered around the mall, all watching them. As he got out of the car Michael said, "Do we really need all this muscle?"

"Fraid so," he said grimly. "Sonny got mad. What is it now, 4:30? We hit Bruno Tattaglia about a half hour ago."

Michael shook his head as they waited for the door to open. "Jesus Christ, it looks like a fortress around here."

The door opened, and Sonny stood in the doorway. Clemenza started to scold, "Sonny, what you thinkin' of, answerin' the door yourself?"

"Shut up, old man," he said absently. "Santy Claus couldn't get in here." His eyes were fastened on Michael. His voice was soft. "Mikey." He held out his arms. Michael just stood, staring at him. After a second Sonny made a small sound, stepped forward, and took Michael in his arms, holding him close. Michael didn't stiffen this time. He closed his eyes, sighing, and laid his uninjured cheek on his brother's shoulder.

Clemenza watched this for a moment, feeling relief, and hope. Maybe whatever had happened between the two was beginning to heal over. "Inside, you two. What the hell's the point of all the security if we stand around in the open air?"

They went inside, and Sonny carefully took Michael's chin in his hands. Inside he winced as he studied the battered features. There was a scraped lump on his cheek, and dark bruises spread up and down, mottling his face. He forced a smile. "Lemme look at you. Ah, you're beautiful, kid! Just gorgeous." His voice lowered so that only Michael could hear him. "You always were. You always WILL be." Michael stiffened and pulled away. He staggered slightbut but when Sonny reached for him again he pulled even farther away, falling back against the wall. "Mikey..."

"I'm okay! Don't fuss over me. I'm just a little woozy, that's all. The doc gave me something for the pain, so I'm kind of dopey, but I'm all right. I wanna go to bed."

Sonny backed off a pace, watching him. "Yeah. Clemenza, help him upstairs, wouldya?"

Clemenza took Michael's arm and started for the stairs. "How 'bout you, Sonny? You need sleep, too."

"In a little while."

Michael hung back when Clemenza started to lead him toward his old room. "What? You want a big bed? I can see if there's sheets in one of the guest rooms."

"No." *Time to face the nightmares down.* "No, this'll be fine." Once in the room Michael slowly started to take off his jacket. Clemenza went to help him, and the younger man shrugged him off. "What? I'm a baby that you have to help me undress?"

"I just thought..."

"I know, but I'm all right. Go on, old man," there was affection in the term. "I promise if I feel funny, I'll yell."

Clemenza nodded, and left. He wanted to go home for a few hours of sleep himself. He was a tough old man, but, he reflected, he WAS getting old. *Eh, I still got a few good years of service left in me before I go to pasture.*

Michael stripped to his boxers, tossing his clothes over his old desk, too tired to obey Mama's strict rules about hanging them up. He switched off the light, but left the one in the bathroom on, and left the bathroom door open a crack. Then he crawled into his old bed.

He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He was groggy with the medication that took the sharp pain in the side of his face down to a dull ache, but still he couldn't sleep. *So much has happened,* he thought wearily. *Why can't I put a finish to today?*

He stared up at the ceiling for awhile, mind blank. The house was very quiet. Most of the men must be outside, patroling the perimiter of the estate.

When he heard the footsteps in the hall, he knew who it was. They drew abreast of the door, then stopped. Michael waited, a lump rising in his throat. He waited for the steps to continue down the hall. Instead the door started to open, and he quickly closed his eyes.

There was a wash of redness across his closed eyelids, then it was gone, and there was the soft click of the door closing. Footsteps padded across the rug toward his bed. *He can move so quiet for such a big man.*

The familiar voice was hushed. *I know you ain't asleep, Mikey. You might have been able to fool Mama, but you never could fool me.*

Michael opened his eyes. Sonny stood by the bed, looking impossibly tall from this angle. "I'm trying to sleep, Sonny."

"I know. And you're havin' about as much success as I did."

"Don't lie to me, Sonny. You didn't try to sleep."

He shrugged. "I was worried about my baby brother. I got something to help with that bruise." He offered Michael a thick pad of cloth. Michael took it. It was damp and very warm, almost hot. A sharp, medicinal, but somehow pleasant, smell, drifted up. "It's got witch hazel on it. That helps with the scrape. We don't want that pretty face scarred up."

Michael gingerly pressed the pad to his injury. Even with the medication there had been discomfort, but the moist heat worked magic, making it fade. He sighed. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Tom told me about McCluskey. You got balls, kid. You got brass balls the size of cantelopes."

"He's a dick."

Sonny smiled at the crude name. "Yeah, but he can be a dangerous dick." His eyes narrowed. "Not so dangerous as he thinks, though." Michael made no reply, pressing the poultice against his cheek. The silence stretched. *He wants me to go,* Sonny thought.

Michael tried not to flinch when Sonny sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm real tired now, Sonny."

"You been dodgin' me since you got back, Mikey. It's time we talked." He poked at a wrinkle in the sheet. "You been dodgin' me for a long time now." Michael shrugged, turning his head to look at the wall, and Sonny said sharply, "Don't do that!" When Michael looked back in surprise he continued, "Don't shut me out like that! Christ, Mikey, I'm your brother! I'm your blood. You can't keep me locked out of your life like this. Tell me what's wrong."

Michael stared at him, mouth open. Finally, voice hoarse, he said, "You know."

Sonny winced. "Oh, Christ! That?"

"Yes, THAT!" Michael spat the words out. "What the hell did you think, Sonny?"

Santino made a helpless gesture. "Mike, that was over eight years ago. We were drunk..."

"-I- was drunk. You weren't," his voice had begun to tremble. "You knew just what the fuck you were doing..." he hesitated, looking at his brother's uncomprehending expression. "Shit. No, you didn't. You still don't."

"Okay, I was too rough--I admit it. I was just kinda carried away, Mike. It had been so long, and you were just so soft and sweet..."

"Excuses."

Sonny didn't seem to hear. "...and you said you'd do anything to help me, anything for me."

Michael's voice rose in anguish, "Dammit, Sonny, you knew what I meant! You knew I wasn't offering to fuck you! You only heard what you wanted to hear."

Sonny couldn't meet his eyes. His voice low, he said, "You said you liked it."

"YOU said I liked it! What the fuck was I supposed to say, Sonny? I'd just gotten raped by my brother." When Santino flinched, Michael raised his voice. "Yeah, RAPED! I was sick, I was hurting, I was BLEEDING, and you were standing over me. I still had your come running out of me, what was I supposed to say? I've seen how you get, Sonny." His voice cracked. "I wanted to live."

"Mike," Sonny's voice was anguished. "Jesus, kid, I wouldn't have hurt you!"

Michael choked on a sob. "You DID hurt me, Sonny! Can't you see that? You broke something inside me. Not in my body, but... but in my heart. You broke my heart, big brother. I loved you and trusted you, and you used me."

Michael had never seen such a look of anguish on Sonny's face. He whispered, "Mikey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, you gotta know that."

Michael fiercely wiped away a tear, wincing at the renewed flare of pain in his injured cheek. "That's the sad part, Sonny. I DO know that, but it happened, just the same. You hurt people." He sighed. "I don't think you can help it."

They sat together in silence for a moment. "Are you ever gonna forgive me, Michael? I want things to be the way they were."

Michael's voice was heavy. "I think I forgave you a while back. But things will never be like they used to be. It happened, and I can't forget it, and it isn't going away."

"But you forgive me?"

*He still doesn't get it,* Michael thought resignedly. *He never will.* "I forgive you."

Sonny smiled, eyes bright with happiness. "You won't regret it, Mikey. I'm gonna make it up to you." He laid his hands on Michael's bare shoulders, his thumbs rubbing over the smooth skin.

Michael felt his scalp prickle, a sensation of apprehension and *God help me* anticipation sweeping over him. "That's all right. Good night, Sonny."

But Sonny wasn't ready to be dismissed. He stroked Michael's hair, moving the soft, dark locks away and bent down, kissing his forehead. "I'm gonna be good to you, baby brother."

Michael started trembling. "Sonny, no." There was no strength in his voice.

Sonny moved down, kissing the tip of his nose, his uninjured cheek. Then he pulled aside the poultice and pressed a feather soft kiss to the injury, so gentle that there was no pain. "The bastard pays for this, Mikey," he whispered. "No one hurts you and lives."

"Oh, God." As Sonny bent toward him again, Michael placed his hands flat against his brother's chest. "Don't."

"It's all right, Mikey," Sonny whispered. "I know what I need to do this time." He kissed Michael, his tongue prying at his brother's closed lips.
Michael closed his eyes and, with a whimper, let Sonny in.

Sonny slid his tongue deep into Michael's mouth, probing and licking softly, his touch gentle, but purposeful. He worked his fingers through the thick mass of Michael's hair as he savored the warm, spicy taste, and felt a thrill of desire mixed with triumph when Michael's tongue moved shyly against his own.

He broke the kiss with a soft, wet sound and gazed possessively down at his brother. Michael's eyes were wide with confused anguish, but he said nothing. And his hands, pressed against Sonny's chest made tiny movements, fingers working in the fabric of his shirt.SonnSonny pushed the sheet down around Michael's waist, then slid his hands back up the younger man's sides, feeling him shiver at his touch. Sonny was already getting hard. It was such a rush, being able to excite someone like this, especially someone so beautiful, someone he loved.

His fingerst settled on Michael's nipples, and he felt the soft flesh begin to stiffen immediately. He rubbed and pinched gently, and Michael arched his back, eyes drifting half shut. *No one else,* he marveled. *No one else has ever had this effect on me--not even Kay.*

Michael cried out quietly when Sonny bent his head and lightly scraped one straining point with his teeth. Sonny's head jerked up anxiously, "Did I hurt you, kid?"

"N-no. But you gotta stop. This isn't right."

Sonny's voice was rough. "Bullshit. This is somethin' I can give you, Mikey. I don't see anything wrong in makin' you feel good."

"But Sonny, I can't, honest I can't. It hurt too much. You--you're just too big."

"Aw, baby," Sonny gently cupped his uninjured cheek. "No. I know you ain't ready for that. There are other things, good things." He pushed the sheet down Michael's thighs, exposing the mound that pushed up the front of his boxers. "Didn't I tell you? I'm gonna take care of you." He slipped his hand inside the waistband, and Michael drew in a sharp breath as warm, firm fingers closed around his hard cock and began to move. "You just relax, sweetheart, and let me do all the work."

As he stroked Michael's hard-on, he pressed his lips to his brother's ear and whispered, "I'm gonna suck you off, Mikey."

Michael gaped. Sonny? Macho Sonny, sucking cock? Sodomizing someone else was one thing--Michael knew that many men did this, or recieved fellatio, and never questioned their own sexuality because THEY were in charge. But this? "Sonny, I can't believe you'd take a prick in your mouth."

Sonny nipped his earlobe. "Not any prick, jackass!" he said sternly. "Yours. Only you, Mike. You're the only person I'd ever do that for, the only one I've ever WANTED to. I love you."

As Sonny dragged his boxers down his hips a stunned Michael whispered, "Jesus. I think you do."

Sonny unzipped his own fly while he rubbed little circles on Michael's bare belly. "Remember, kid, I have no experience at this, so I may be kinda clumsy. But what the hell," he grinned. "Enthusiasm has to count for something, don't it?"

Sonny moved onto the bed. He took a firm grip on his own cock with one hand as he crouched between Michael's spread legs. "You tell me if I do anything wrong, or if there's somthing you want, okay? I want this to be right."

Michael desperately tried to think of something else to say, something that would quickly cool this situation and get them back on a safe and sane level. Then Sonny's tongue touched his cockhead, and he stopped thinking at all.

He'd never been able to persuade Kay to do more than touch him a little and, with his own history, he'd been reluctant to push her. Now, without any urging, Sonny began to to lick him, working steadily to bathe every millimeter of the hot, solid flesh he held. As he lapped at his brother, he masturbated himself slowly. Though he was almost unbearably excited, Sonny was determined to make it last.

Sonny had decided on this plan of action long before Michael had come back home. He thought that this was the only way he could prove his love and good intentions to the man he'd hurt so much when he was just a vulnerable boy. Still, as determined as he was, he'd expected to feel reluctance, and even disgust, but it didn't happen.

Sonny took the pink, spongy head of Michael's prick into his mouth and sucked on it, careful to keep his lips over his teeth. He was rewarded with a moan and a trickle of warm, slightly salty fluid. *So this is what cock tastes like. No,* he corrected himself, *This is what MIKEY'S cock tastes like. I could get used to this.*

Sonny pulled off, letting his lips slide over the tip of Michael's glans, then flicked his tongue teasingly into the tiny slit on top. Michael's hips jerked, and Sonny quickly tightened his grip around the base of the younger man's cock. *Not yet. No, I'm gonna drive you nuts before I let you come, Mike. That way I'll be sure that there'll be a next time.* He grinned up the length of Michael's panting body, enjoying the stunned look on Michael's face, then bent to his task again.

Micheal watched in disbelief, unable to tear his eyes away as Sonny slowly bobbed up and down on his cock, taking a little more into his mouth with each motion, while his hand slid up and down the base of the shaft. It was the most erotic sight he'd ever seen.

In the dim light from the bathroom he could see Sonny's other hand working in his own lap, fisting his erection. Michael remembered what it had felt like--the thick shaft spreading him open, moving into his ass on the thin coating of baby oil. He'd felt like he was going to split open--and then it had touched his prostate, and he felt like he was going to EXPLODE. That memory had fueled both screaming nightmares and fevered wet dreams. Now it sent even more heated blood pounding into his prick and balls.

Sonny felt the change. He felt when Michael went from passive acceptance to participation, and he rewarded him by swirling his tongue over the crown of Michael's cock, then sinking down on it as far as he could, taking almost two-thirds of it. *If I practice,* he thoughtefulefully, *I should be able to deep throat him. He'll love that.*

Michael reached down, burying his hands in Sonny's sandy curls and lifting up into his oral embrace. "Oh, God. Do it, Sonny. Please." Sonny sucked harder and faster. Michael felt tears on his face, and started to hump upward, fucking his brother's mouth. "Do it, please, do it. Suck me. I need it. I need you."

The choking sensation Sonny felt was from emotion, not from Michael's strong thrusts. He met them easily, even as he felt his throat muscles strain and ache. He was taking care of his little brother. His hand flew, jerking his own prick, fast and rough.

Michael, who'd never been given head before, didn't know the little courtesies that the one receiveing was supposed to give the one providing. He held Sonny's head tightly and pumped deep. Soon he gasped, "Sonny! Gonna come! Gonna come now!"

His last shove drove his cock to the limit, and he gushed, his body jerking as he wailed his completion. Sonny let go of himself and gripped Michael's hips hard, holding him so that he would not be able to pull free before Sonny had a chance to swallow his liquid offering. He gulped, and Michael, groaned and swore quietly as the muscles rippled around his fast softening prick.

Finally Sonny let the deflating cock slide out of his mouth. He quickly moved up on the bed, settling himself between Michael's legs, his rigid cock prodding Michael's still half-hard cock. Then he hesitated, looking down questioningly at his brother.

Michael put his arms around Sonny, lifting his knees and putting his feet flat on the mattress. He pulled Sonny down, burying his face against his neck, whispering. "Yeah. It's okay."

He had expected heated rutting--he hadn't expected tenderness. That's what he got, though. Sonny moved against Michael slowly and gently, running his hands all over the smaller man's body. As he humped he kept whispering, "Love you, Mikey. Need you." As he spilled his seed against Michael's flat, heaving belly he groaned, "No one in the world like my Mikey. Love you so much."

When the last spurt of sperm was dribbling down to collect in Michael's navel, Sonny moved off to lay by his side, pulling Michael into his arms. Michael went without protest, his body pliant. Sonny cradled him, more like a child than a lover, holding his head tight under his chin, and again whispered sleepily. "Love you, Mikey. Love me?"

Michael sighed, staring into the dark. "I've always loved you, Sonny. Always."