Categories > Cartoons > Biker Mice from Mars > It's War

Chapter Eleven

by whipblade 0 Reviews

Throttle and Mace have something to share?

Category: Biker Mice from Mars - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama - Characters:  - Warnings: [!] [V] [X] - Published: 2006/09/19 - Updated: 2006/09/20 - 727 words

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Biker Mice from Mars
Biker Mice from Mars
In:
It's War!
Part 11
/By: Whipblade/



Throttle wandered around the garage. Finally! No one was there, some peace and quiet.

"Vinnie and Flea are exploring the city. Rimmy and Modo took Stoker out for a while, Carbine and Charley left an hour ago to do girl stuff." Mace called from the kitchen.

Throttle frowned. /'Damn, not a lone after all.' /he thought, almost bitterly.

"Just leaves us two." The rusty furred mouse sauntered closer.

"Hey Mace," Throttle said with less enthusiasm.

The red mouse didn't look at the tawny one. His mind had been playing on something since Charley and Carbine left him alone. "Look, bro I'm sorry, okay." he confessed with much sorrow hanging off his words.

"Sorry?" Completely confused Throttle tilted his head to the side. "For what?"

"For calling your lady a selfish-bitch, among other things...." he trailed off.

"When..." Face scrunched up, trying to remember. Then it hit him. "Mace, that was close to seven years ago!"

"Yeah, well.... still. I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, Throttle pulled his rusty furred bro to him. "You worried about that? For six years?" he was amazed, maybe even shocked.

"Hey, you took her. I don't blame you. You're the family type." Mace shrugged, enjoying the embrace. Wrapping his arms around the tawny mouse he sighed. "You've changed." he whispered.

"So have you." Throttle muttered, smelling the shampoo and the scent of Mace. A scent he had long forgotten.

"You're still short." Mace playfully rubbed Throttle's antennas.

"And you're a sack of bones." Throttle commented sadly.

"Eating.... what we had to wasn't exactly appetizing." Mace said letting go of his bro. Walking back to the kitchen, he opened the fridge and grabbed another can of juice.

"That isn't root beer." Throttle said.

"I know. Your lady friend, Charley said it would help more than soda and hotdogs."

"What does Sand Raiders eat, anyways?" Throttle asked. "Mice have been living on rations forever it seems."

Mace paled. Jamming the straw into the hole of his juice box, he sighed. "Throttle, it's a prison. We didn't ask what we ate. But we knew damn well what it was."

Throttle's curious head tilt made sigh. "You still have some of that naive ness in you." he gave a tight smile setting down his drink.

Throttle couldn't say a word. He just moved closer to Mace.

Mace pressed up against the tans body, arms wrapping around Throttle tightly as his injuries would allow. "Mice bro, we ate mouse meat."

Sucking in a deep breath, Throttle held onto Mace. "I was hoping it'd be dog meat."

Leaning his head on his bros shoulder he sighed. "Yeah, I never told Flea. If he figured it out, pity. If he just ignored the fact one mouse vanished the same day every few weeks, good for him. Either way, when I saw those bodies in that damn cooler of an interrogation room. I knew just what we were being held for. Prisoners my ass." turning his head away, he leaned his cheek on Throttle's bicep.

Throttle closed his eyes tightly, his brain trying not to wrap around what the red mouse was saying. He just lightly rubbed his bros back, mindful of the cuts and bruises that Carbine and Stoker had inflicted. "You wont be going back there again Mace. I promise."

"I know." Mace whispered pulling his head off Throttle's shoulder; Mace looked his bro in the shades. "You had really pretty eyes."

"You still do." Throttle muttered, without thinking, their mouths met. Both leaning into the kiss neither expected nor stopped.

*

Stoker hopped off his bike, grumbling. "Who ever invented Fishing and called it fun needs to be dragged into the street and shot!" The rear of the Last chance Garage had better parking for a strange Motorcycle than the front. Fewer questions asked by annoying neighborhood teens, adults, kids and old ladies a like.
"Watching a red ball bob in water isn't fun!" he continued ranting, to no one but himself. "Now, tossing a grenade into the lake, that'd be fun!" He opened the back door, strolled in and froze.

In the middle of the room, stood Throttle and Mace, bodies meshed together in a deep embrace. Anger Flared inside the old war hero.

************
... Who will survive and what will be left of 'em?...


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