Title: United, Divided, Decided.

Series: Third in the Split Worlds Trilogy

Author: Vera

Rated: PG, part two and three maybe naughtier, watch the ratings.

Summary: The boys never met, but that is soon to be fixed. Wacky high jinks ensue.

Parings: Cya/Mik, Skids/Harls more to follow.

"Where the hell is my..."

"Right here.

"What about the.."

"It's in the car."

Beat. Mikhael stared down at his lover.

"Is there anything I can panic about?" He asked finally.

Cya thought for a minute.

"Umm...Getting there on time?"

"Oh, shit!"

Cya chuckled, trailing after his boyfriend and locking the door behind him. It was the second show that he was living through with Mikhael and the first one had taught him to get a sense of humor about it. If he didn't, he might just kill his lover and then there'd be all the post-mortem fuss which was more then it was worth.

"All the paintings?"

"Have been there for weeks. Get in the car, Rasputin."

"Are you sure?"

Cyanide glared at him, pointedly. Mikhael got in the car and they were on their way. It was interesting to see Mik wrestle with his inner road demons. On the one hand, he wanted to speed to get there. On the other, he was afraid of breaking traffic codes. So the ride was filled with accelerations and decelerations until Cya thought he was going to lose his lunch all over his tux.

"Well,...here we are." Mik said, unnecessarily. He didn't budge out of his seat.

The Latino turned to see a very nervous Mik, staring at the steering wheel. He laid a hand on the trembling thigh.

"Come on. It'll be okay, Mik. These people like your stuff, you know they do. And to hell with them if they don't."

"I'm so sorry to be like this..."

"Shhh." Cyanide unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed up the arm rest. With dexterity born of practice he leaned over to kiss his lover. "I'll be there, no matter what."

Mik pulled in a shaky breath.

"You did promise to behave right?"

Cya smacked his arm and opened the door, flashing him an angelic smile.

"Good as gold, love. Good as gold."

Mik sighed and got out to follow.

()()

"You look.... Beyond fabulous." Harley managed to say. He had come home from work early, expecting Skids to still be lounging around, but he had underestimated the brunette's excitement. He had returned to see his lover just emerging from the bedroom, wearing the outfit they had picked out together.

They had operated on the knowledge that the other artist would most likely go for the ultra formal look most painters went for at gallery openings. So, they decided to go the opposite route. It had worked out better then they could imagine.

Skids had on a tight red tank top, dark blue vinyl pants, also tight, and black sneakers. His hair was neatly combed for once, but Harley knew it wouldn't last more then ten minutes. The brunette had to much energy to keep still without sending his hair into a massive upheaval of muss.

"You really think so?"

"Defiantly! I guess I'd better get ready too!"

Which took a bit longer then it should have, but was it really his fault with Skids looking that good in vinyl? And the hair was officially mussed. In the end, Harley was dressed in a shimmering silver button down, open halfway down to reveal his belly button piercing and low riding black leather pants. The car ride was post-coital and filled with leisurely touches.

The show was due to open in an hour, but the reproving look from the owner/curator that greeted them at the door.

"You two look great, but your nearly twenty minutes late." Immi scolded, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"Sorry." Skids managed. "We were...."

"Distracted." Harley filled in without missing a beat.

"Mmmm..." She looked between the two of them and just sighed a little. "All right, why don't you come in and meet the other artist."

Leading the way into the gallery, they stopped for only a moment to gaze at the permanent exhibit. The gallery was three rooms. The initial always held paintings by the owner while the other two were rotating. Tonight Skids was in the left room and Mikhael Rasputin was in the right. Somewhere far above, someone was having a really good laugh.

Currently the Rasputin-Torres party was checking out the compition. And were pretty confused.

"Is that an arm or a leg?" Mik finally asked of the particular painting they were looking at.

"I dunno." Cya admitted. "Honestly, I thought your stuff was off kilter, but compared to this you look like Norman Rockafeller."

"Thanks a lot." Mik said tightly. Cya rolled his eyes.

"You know what I..."

"Excuse me, Mr. Rasputin?"

Mik turned to see a small lithe blonde smiling cheerily up at him. A very sexy young blonde. With his boyfriend resting a proprietary hand on his shoulder, asking him a question.

"That's me." He managed. Cya shot him an annoyed look. A-sure-they're-cute-but -put- your- eyes -back- in- your- head look.

"I'm Skid Dianglo." Ah! The other artist. Mik shook the proffered hand. The one that wasn't curling possessively around the blonde.

"You can call me, Mikhael. And this is my...." Mik paused, fishing for a title. Cyanide was still uncomfortable with being outed in public.

"Boyfriend." Cya filled in, startling himself and Mik. "Cyanide Torres."

"Hey! I'm a boyfriend of the artist too!" The blonde said with a laugh. "Harley. Maybe the two of us should team up and leave the artists to brood over final placements."

"I don't brood." Skids protested. "I sulk."

Harley rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say, love." They exchanged a long loving look. Mik looked expectantly at Cyanide. The Latino crossed his arms.

"Don't even start. You brood and you know it."

Mik heaved a dramatic sigh. Cyanide patted him on the arm.

"You can't even pretend to indulge me?" He asked.

"Not a chance."

() Several Hours Later()

"Do you think they even know how late it is?" Harley asked as Cyanide passed him another glass of complimentary champagne. The two had ensconced themselves on a bench, conveniently placed near the makeshift bar.

"Nah. If I know Mik, he's probably too caught up in the attention. He really needs to get out more."

"A real homebody, huh?" Harley took a sip of the cheap bubbly. " I don't know if I could deal with that."

"You guys party a lot?" Cyanide asked, the slightest edge of jealousy in his voice.

"Yes, and no. We go out a lot, but it's pretty much a party of two." There was no missing the loving tones in Harley's voice. Cyanide couldn't help, but smile. He shot a glance at Mik, who was looking desperate about the huge pile of women around him. He looked up to catch Cyanide's glance, begging for help. The Latino laughed and handed his glass to Harley.

"Be right back, duty calls." Threading through the crowds he soon reached Mik's side. Making a small show of it, he slid up Mik's side, wrapping protective arms around a huge bicep.

"There you are lover," his voice raised an octave and Mik had a hard time not cracking up at the disappointed faces around him. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Your boyfriend's quite a painter." One of the hipper women commented, shooting him a pointed look as if he was somehow responsible for this ability.

Mik placed at hand on the small of Cya's back and returned back to the conversation, able to keep track and socialize while rubbing one finger over his lover's spine. Harley watched from a distance and was about to rise to find Skids when his way was blocked by a striking man.

"Are you the artist?" The man asked, waving an elegant hand at the paintings. Harley blushed.

"No. My boyfriend is."

"How charming! He has excellent taste."

"Well, he works very hard at them."

"I meant in men." The red head said, practically purring.

"Oh!" Realization dawned on Harley. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested."

"We can work on that. I'm Tybalt." He took the blonde's hand in a slow shake.

"I'm Harley."

"Harley." Tybalt rolled the name on his tongue. "How charming. Very very charming."

"Um. That's sweet, but like I said, I have a boyfriend."

"Your point?"

"The point is I'd like my hand back."

"Mmmmm. Let me consider your request." The grip tightened a little. "No."

At that moment, Cyanide happened to look after and got a good look at Harley's trapped statement. Immediately, he recognized the captor. Mik had pointed the man out at his last show, telling him the whole sordid story. Cya had avoided him up to this point, but he had come up with several torture plans, should Tybalt ever stumble into his hands. Looked like the time was nigh. Giving one last squeeze to Mik's arm, he slipped away and quiet as a cat and shimmied up behind the red head.

"'Scuse me, but could you remove your hands from my boyfriend?" He growled low, doing his best Mik impression. Tybalt started and released Harley, who in turn shot a look at Cya. The punk just winked at him and mouthed 'just go with it' at him. "Was this man bothering you, baby?"

"I was just telling Harley here, how wonderful your work was." Tybalt managed to say, regaining his charm.

"I'm sure, " Oh, if looks could kill. "You can go away now."

"Are you sure I can't interest you in a little three way action?"

Cya's eyes flashed dangerously and he would have let loose on the moron in front of him, if he hadn't at the last moment come up with an even better idea. An idea so evil, he almost didn't go through with it. Almost.

"Actually..." He turned to Harley, trying to tell him to play along with his eyes, " that sounds like fun."

"Yeah." Harley echoed, not really sure what was going on, but willing to go along with it.

"Look, here's our address." Cya took out a pen and scribbled it onto a cocktail napkin. "Come around when you can and we'd be happy to uhhh....negotiate."

Tybalt greedily snitched the address, glancing it over once.

"You live in apartment 666? Isn't that a little cliché?"

"We're renting from a friend. A woman will answer the door, tell her that Cyanide sent you. Now, go away."

He turned away, dragging Harley with him, through the other room to where Skids was also being interrogated by several critics.

"What was that all about?" Harley hissed at him.

"Loooong story, but trust me, he's going to get what he deserves." He pulled a pen out from somewhere in his tux and scribbled a number on Harls' hand. "Call us sometimes. We could all hang out and I'll tell you the whole story."

The blonde flashed him a grateful smile.

"Sounds good. Thanks for the save."

"No problem." "The show went well." Cyanide said finally, breaking the silence as they entered the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went.

"It did, didn't it?" Mik's voice was muffled as he pulled his undershirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor. He blinked large dark eyes at Cyanide, heat rushing to his groin as the Latino purposely slowed his shucking of clothes. "Thank you for not freaking anyone out."

"I told you I'd be good." Cya said over his shoulder, his hands straying to the black tux pants, unzipping them painfully slowly before dropping them to the ground. "What did you think of Skids and Harley?"

Mik looked thoughtfully at his lover, hearing the other question in that question. He answered both.

"Skids is a good enough artist. A little to hyper for me. Harley....I don't usually like tiny blondes."

"But you'd make an exception in his case?"

"Oh my God. "Mik laughed, shaking his head, " I never thought I'd see the day! Cyanide Torres is jealous!"

Cya pouted.

"Am not."

"You are too!" Mik quickly crossed the gap between them, enfolding Cya in his arms. "You are mine. There may be others who I look at and your eyes wander a little too. But no one else is like you, Cya. No one else knows when to leave me alone or when to drag me back to bed. No one can make me want to scream and laugh at the same time. No one else knows where to scratch my back and how hard. No one else would make me eat homemade fajitas and enjoy them."

"Someone else could learn. " It was meant to be a joke, but somehow his voice cracked a little.

With a sigh, Mik got down on one knee, his head level with Cyanide's half-sun tattoo. He whispered into dark flesh. Cya usually hated poetry and pretty words, but tonight was different and part of love is knowing when to force these things and when to leave them alone.

"No one could learn to be what I really want. No one could learn to be you." Mik tilted his head up to stare into dilated pupils. "I love you. And I'll keep telling you, a thousand times over until the world collapses to shards and the fire at the center of the earth extinguishes."

With a sigh, Cya shimmied down until he too was kneeling, eye to eye with the larger man.

"Yeah, me too. But sometimes...."

"What?"

"I dunno. You really don't mind if I look, once and a while?"

Mik chuckled.

"I'd be scared if you didn't. The day you stop looking at girls' behinds and boy's crotches, I'm checking you into a mental hospital."

Cya glared at him, but was obviously repressing a chuckle.

"Wanna take this lovefest to bed?" Mik asked, confused when the Latino burst out in laughter, falling to the floor.

"Subtle, Mik. Reaaall romantic."

The Russian let his lover laugh it out, before joining him on the carpet which he would regret tomorrow when he could feel the sting of rug burn against his jeans, but for tonight was wonderful.

()

"You should have seen it! I thought that guy was gonna turn blue!" Harley was retelling Cya's save to Skids while they got ready for bed. The usually bouncy brunette seemed tired as he tossed his shirt to the floor.

"That's great, Harls."

Sensing something wrong, Harley looked over to the other side of the room and saw his lover trembling.

"Skids? Are you okay?"

The Italian turned, facing his lover, head on. Harley could pick out tears.

"I should have been there." Was the whispered reply.

"What?"

"I should have been the one to punch that moron and save you. I failed. Like I've failed before. One day, there isn't going to be anyone else there Harls. And then I'm really going to lose you." The fear was there and very real all of a sudden.

Before he could respond, Harley had to fight his own fear. He hadn't thought about what would happen, had Cyanide not intervened. Probably nothing, Tybalt while annoying hadn't seemed dangerous. But there was always a chance...

"You can't be there all the time, Skids. You won't lose me. Not like that."

"That's what I'm worried about. There are so many ways, Harls. By choice or not. One day we might wake up and just be out of love. It happens all the time."

"Not to us." Harley said firmly, finally going over to Skids and pulling him into a tight, reaffirming hug. "Not now and not ever."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Cause sometimes, things happen for a reason. We're here and now because we're supposed to be. That can't change. Plus, for some stupid reason, I am in love with you. I fall back in love with you every morning and that isn't going to just change one day."

Big brown eyes gazed down at him.

"Really?"

"Really. Now get your ass in bed."

"Yes, Sir!"

()

Tybalt adjusted his shirt slightly, before knocking on the door. For a long moment, no one answered. Maybe he had gotten the address wrong?

"'Ello. Who the hell are you?" A dangerous looking woman answered the door, in extremely tight, revealing clothes.

"Name's Tybalt. Cyanide sent me?" Her eyes lit up. Must have gotten it right then, he decided. " May I come in?"

"Anytime, pretty boy. I'm Tabitha. Cyanide's told me a lot about you."

"Oh, really?" He asked, bored. He stepped into the apartment, the vague smell of sulfur assaulted him. Long delicate fingers ending in wicked black points landed on his shoulder and he was being dragged to the bedroom.

"Oh, yes....how do you feel about bondage?"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!"

()

Mik blinked sleepily.

"Wha? What was that?"

Cyanide snuggled closer and snickered a little.

"Nothing. Just go back to sleep."

"Hey, Tabby turned the heat on."

"Just go back to sleep, Mik."

"Cyaaa.....what did you do?"

"Nothing you wouldn't approve of. Now, go back to sleep!"

Mik yawned and settled back into bed, enjoying the now, pleasantly warm apartment.

It was fairly regular day in the Rasputin-Torres household. Mik had spent the better part of the day contemplating a canvas and fielding several telemarketers. Around five he threw together a stir-fry, tossed it into a Tupperware container and set it on the counter. Into the bedroom, picking out a book at random before settling on the bed on his stomach. Almost as soon as he was settled the door slam shut. He could hear vague mutterings and the throwing around of various layers, landing mostly where they belonged.

He felt rather then heard Cya enter the room, dark eyes taking in the scene before the final sound of shoes hitting the floor echoed through the bedroom. And then just heat, delicious warmth and a flooding of all the senses as Cya settled into his favorite nap position, right on top of Mik. One leg snuggled between thick thighs, the other on the bed, his head between muscular shoulders and one hand tracing patterns through the cotton of the Russians shirt. The quiet was part of it. It was a transition period of the day as he went from being Mr. Torres, graduate assistant and student to Cya, bitchy Latino princess of Mik's heart.

Eventually, he would talk and begin to describe, in vivid detail, his day. Detailing to his isolated lover, the life that he led outside of their bubble. Teachers, students and the guy who sold him his daily Pepsi were all fair game to the caustic mouth. Anyone else would have been bored. Mik was fascinated. Well, most of the time. Okay, sometimes he was just happy to hear another voice, but his own and may not have focused on the details, but one had to cut him some slack.

"You made dinner."

"Wha? Yeah. I did." Mik said, slowly, aware that he just tuned in, in the middle of a ramble.

"We're meeting Harley and Skids for dinner tonight, remember? It's Friday."

Internally Mik groaned. He wanted more then anything to just fuck Cya into oblivion tonight and eat dinner at one a.m. when they both woke up ravenous from a post-coital nap. But his lover seemed to have other plans.

"Do I have to?"

Cya thumped him in the back of the head.

"Am I the only one participating in our conversations? YOU were the one who thought it was a good idea."

"I did not! YOU gave them our phone number."

Thump. Pause. Thump.

"Okay! Okay!"

()

"Skids? Why the hell are you still in your pajamas?"

"Uh? I had the day off?"

Harley stared down at the brunette, who he had to admit looked adorable in flannel pants and a wifebeater, but it was nearly six o'clock at night and they were supposed to meet Cyanide and Mikhael for dinner.

"Go put on pants, we're going to be late."

"But we're always late!" Skids protested, even as he got up to grab a pair of relatively clean jeans off the floor.

"No. You're always late. I'm always on time. I just can't leave without you."

Skids' reply was muffled as he pulled off the wife beater and reached for his sweater.

"If you didn't try tomufkmewhenmeffe had to be some place."

"What was that?" Menace fairly leaked from the blonde's voice.

"I said why don't you go get the car started, we have to be some place."

Harley glared daggers, but Skids pulled his best innocent face.

"It's not like you seem to mind." And without he turned on his heels leaving Skids to laugh at his retreating figure.

()Post-dinner, Coffee House()

"Okay, I officially am in love with you." Harley was confessing to Mik while Cyanide and Skids looked on amused.

"You're welcome." Mik managed to stutter out flustered, turning to Cya, who only laughed.

"Dude, he just meant that he liked the coffee." Skids assured the Russian.

"This isn't just coffee! This is THE Coffee. There is no other coffee like it. I can't believe we lived five blocks away from here and never found this place!" Harley babbled on, having had maybe one too many expressos.

"Oh."

"Don't worry, Mik. You two share something beautiful." Cya reassured his lover, patting him condescendingly on the arm. " Just think, a whole relationship based on the shared interest of a single coffee shop."

"I think I need cliff notes to follow this conversation, " Mik mumbled. He had immensely enjoyed dinner, finding both of the younger men good company, but he had worn out his supply of tolerance and he wanted to go home.

"Could you get me a refill?" Cya asked him suddenly, passing him his empty mug. Mik took it, grateful for the brief reprieve and the pressure of espresso fingers on his, told him that this was the last one.

"So, Mik? Totally wrapped around your finger?" Harley asked, the moment the Russian was out of earshot. Cya gave him an enigmatic smile.

"Sometimes."

"I gotta know. Which one of you two, ya know..."

"What?" There was a gleam in Harley's eyes that made Cya's skin itch.

"Well ya, know..... tops?"

"Harls! Remember that talk we had on personal questions?" Skids said, shooting an apologetic look at Cya.

"The one where we decided that I got two at every social event?"

"I don't remember agreeing to that...."

"You were busy at the time. Something to do with raspberry syrup."

"Did I just learn something potentially kinky and disgusting about your sex life?" Cya interrupted. Skids had the decency to blush, but Harley just flashed him a bright smile.

"You think that's kinky! You should see what Skids can do with his tongue and a few...." He didn't get a chance to finish as Skids hand had somehow wound up clamped over Harley's mouth, pushing back his chair and forcing Harley to get up as well. "It's been great meeting you guys, but I think we'd better go."

Mik returned at the moment, feeling more confused then ever as Skids said to Harley,

"Say goodnight to Mik, Harley." Before removing his hand.

"Goodnight to Mik, Harley."

Thump.

Mik met Harley's eyes in silent sympathy.

"They just bitch and bitch don't they..."

Thump. Damn! Cya was fast.

"I think you and I should host a meeting for abused boyfriends." Harley muttered to Mik.

"You deserve it." Cya and Skids chorused. All four laughed, ending the night on a good note.

Then, they went to their separate homes and ended the night on a great note. Although Mik had a hard time finding raspberry syrup at two o'clock in the morning, he did have to admit that it was worth the effort.