Copyright 2001 Marlene Taylor
Warning: This story contains rough m/m sex. If you are offended by this, or under 18, turn back now.
Disclaimer: This original work of amateur fiction is based on the TV series "The Monkees" which (as far as I know) is owned by Rhino. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright extends only to the original material in this work.
A sharp slap on his ass jolted Micky from his bittersweet memory. Turning his head slightly, he could see that Mike was already dressed and ready to go.
"Come on, Micky, get up. We'll be late." Mike pulled his boots on and almost smiled to himself. The party they were supposed to be attending had started an hour ago, so they still had another hour or so before they'd actually be "late". Micky had thought it would be enough time for them to spend making love slowly and carefully, but Mike had had other ideas.
"No. I don't want to go." He pressed his face back into the pillow, not caring if Mike got pissed off.
"What's wrong, Mick?"
"I don't feel like going to a party. Just leave me alone." He knew he sounded like a sulky teenager, but he figured he was entitled to a little pity.
"Micky...Micky," Mike said softly, letting his hand run along Micky's smooth back. "Don't be like this, babe. You just gonna sit here alone all night and be miserable? That ain't no way to spend your time. Look at me." He turned Micky over and pulled him into a sitting position. "Tell me what you want."
"I just want -" And he realized he didn't know what he wanted. To stop having sex with Mike? No, he sure as hell didn't want that: most of the time it was too good to believe. A little less violence with the sex? But that was what made it so good, even if it meant he had to be Mike's boy toy sometimes, and he loved having this secret life of pain and pleasure with someone he could trust completely. What he really wanted was... "Can we skip the party and just go get a drink? Let's just sit around and...*talk*."
Mike laughed. "I'm buying."
Late that night Micky lay in bed alone, feeling as happy as he'd been in a long time. He and Mike had had a great time on their own, talking about music and the band and girls and a million other things that made him remember how sweet his life really was. He'd even told Mike about that new girl he'd been seeing, Christine, a tall blond chick who worked as a nurse at the county hospital and who didn't mind liberating prescription drugs once in a while. He'd have to clue Peter in to that. For some reason he wasn't sleepy, even though it was well past 2 am; he thought about waking up Mike, but he decided to take matters into his own hands and use the one sure-fire path to total relaxation. Quickly slipping off his underwear, he let his thoughts roam until he found a likely focus for his fantasy. Funny how he'd been thinking of the first time Mike has sucked him off; the second time had been so much better...
A few weeks had passed since that drug-soaked night and Micky was beginning to wonder if Mike even remembered what had happened. He'd been his usual self - intense, taciturn, in general about as cuddly as a cactus - and all four of them had been busy with a flurry of performances that put some much-needed money in their pockets. There was even talk of a recording session.
Micky bounced in the door after a date and was surprised to find Mike sitting on the couch, strumming his acoustic guitar. Mike had been gone a lot lately, sometimes on band business, sometimes just gone. He knew Peter and Davy were gone - they were double-dating the Delaney sisters. This was actually the first time they'd been alone since the party.
The last notes of the song he'd been playing faded away when Mike turned suddenly to Micky. "You never answered my question."
"You never answered me." Mike fixed him with a penetrating gaze. "Did you like it?"
Clearly Mike hadn't forgotten, and he wasn't going to pussyfoot around the issue. Micky stared right back. "You know I did. Did *you* like it?"
"I'd like to do it again."
Micky took that as his cue and moved to sit next to Mike on the couch. "Does that mean you want me to stay here with you?" He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth - he felt positively bold. Little shivers of excitement ran through him and came to rest in his cock, which was responding quickly to Mike's hungry look.
Mike put his guitar down carefully on the floor. "Micky. Last time was just fun, you understand? But I won't waste no time foolin' around. You want to do this, you do what I say." He grabbed both Micky's wrists easily in one hand, holding him tight, and tangled the other in Micky's soft brown curls. "All or nothing, babe."
Micky knew what that meant. Fear and excitement fought for space in his heart as he focused on Mike's lips. "Okay," he murmured.
The grip on his wrists tightened. "I will take you places you ain't never dreamed of. You're mine now," Mike breathed. His voice had changed subtly, now deeper and more commanding; it sent a sharp thrill through Micky's groin. The smile on Mike's face was cruel and confident. He squeezed Micky's wrists even harder, driving the point home, knowing how much it hurt as the small bones ground together.
"Please don't -" Micky started, the pain forcing tears to his eyes. Abruptly Mike released him and turned away.
"Then leave. Or stay. But do it because it's what you want to do." Mike's voice crackled with anger.
Micky sat perfectly still for a long minute.
"I'll stay a little longer," Micky ventured.
"How many minutes do you graciously offer me?" Mike spat.
"I only meant -"
"I'm sick of this. Now you have to ask me to stay." There was another, longer silence.
"I'd like to stay. Please," Micky whispered.
Mike turned back, deadly serious. He reached out to caress Micky's cheek and let his hand rest at the base of his throat. "You have to trust me. Will you?"
Micky felt hypnotized. What was he agreeing to? What the hell would Mike do to him? He'd never felt such a sense of danger before; but somehow it was turning him on so much he thought he might come in his pants right then. Mike was still waiting for his response: the fingers at his throat dug in ever so slightly.
"I promise - I'll do anything you ask," he said, and he knew there was no going back.
Mike looked him over, a long, appraising stare. "Take off your clothes."
Micky glanced nervously at the door. "But what if they -"
"Forget it," Mike said curtly as he started to get up.
"No! No, don't go - I'm sorry - " Micky implored, knowing he wouldn't get another chance to make a mistake. He frantically unbuttoned his shirt as he looked into Mike's dark eyes, trying to communicate his willingness to be obedient. Soon he sat naked on the wooden floor at Mike's feet, hoping he'd been fast enough.
Mike leaned back into the couch, letting the silence stretch between them. Finally, just when Micky thought it was all over, he said, "Lie down on the couch."
Instantly Micky scrambled to comply, putting some pillows under his head and his feet against Mike's leg. His erection, which had faded a little on contact with the cool air, began to rise steadily as he wondered what was in store. At least he'd remember it all this time.
Mike turned to face him, his expression unreadable. With one hand he traced a line up Micky's left leg, along his inner thigh, up his belly and chest till he stopped at his parted lips. Micky forced himself to lie still even though he was dying to move; he was rewarded with a long, deep kiss as Mike stretched out, still fully clothed, on top of him. Fingertips brushed his cheek, but when Micky moved to do the same, he was stopped cold.
"No." Mike pushed Micky's arms above his head and frowned. "Don't move. Not unless I say so."
Micky swallowed nervously and nodded. He was going to have to learn these rules, and fast, if he was going to stay in the game. Something in the back of his mind told him that he'd just stepped way out of his league, but the feel of Mike's mouth on his neck, soft kisses and sharp little bites, made him ignore everything but the desire racing through him. Mike moved lower, concentrating on one rosy nipple so tight and hard: first touching his tongue to the point, then covering it with his mouth and biting down hard, so hard that Micky yelped and tried to twist away from the arms that held him pinned to the couch; but then Mike sucked on the bruised flesh and the gentle warmth of his mouth felt a hundred times better than before.The burning kisses continued slowly down his chest, following the treasure trail straight down to his stiff cock - but at the last minute Mike detoured around it and fastened his lips to a very tender bit of skin just inside his left hipbone. Micky moaned his frustration, then again, louder, when Mike's long fingers raked lightly across his balls. He pushed his hips up, desperate for more contact, but Mike wasn't about to give in now. "Mike - please - please -" he groaned, clutching the pillow behind his head. "Please what?" "Oh, god, please! Just touch me - please touch me -" he begged, and saw Mike's face soften into a look of pure delight. "Like this?" Mike asked. He touched his index finger lightly to the tip of Micky's cock, already wet with fluid; then he brought it to Micky's mouth, rubbing it against his lower lip. "Suck it," he ordered, and once again Micky obeyed, eager to please. He'd never sucked a cock before, but he had a feeling he'd learn how pretty soon, and working on this finger seemed a good place to start. He closed his eyes and tried to do what he remembered Mike doing to him, first sucking gently, then nibbling delicately on Mike's fingertip, licking it like an ice cream cone, and finally sucking again, this time with determination. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed it, how sexy it was, and he was truly sorry when Mike pulled away. "Very good. Don't forget how to do that. Now what else would you like me to do, exactly?" he drawled. "Just - last time, like last time," Micky said, not wanting to say out loud what he'd been thinking about every night before he went to bed. "Last time what?" "Mike, you know what I mean," he said, dropping his gaze to where Mike's hand hovered near his throbbing cock. "I won't know unless you tell me," Mike replied, stern again. Now Micky understood: another game. He would have to force himself to say the words. "I want you to - to - please -" - his voice dropped to a whisper - "suck my cock." He'd said those same words to a dozen girls and he'd never been embarrassed, but saying them to Mike was like confessing a mortal sin. "Say it like you mean it, boy," Mike said. "Louder." "I want your mouth on my cock and I want you to suck me hard and - and -" "And? And what? Say it!" "I want you to make me come!" he cried in desperation. That brought the smile back. "Well, now, maybe I will." He took a moment to survey the scene before him, his gaze lingering on all the delicious details; Micky was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, naked, aroused, and helpless to move. He'd never seen Mike look at anyone the way he was looking at him, and he felt selfishly proud that he was the object of Mike's smoldering desire. Micky closed his eyes and spread his legs even wider, offering himself, and willing Mike to release him from his sweet torture; and finally, finally, those lips closed on him, embracing him completely - But only for a moment, and then he was left alone again, thrusting up into empty air. He wanted to cry. Mike had ordered him not to move, but how could he stay still when every cell in his body was screaming for release? "Please, no more…" he pleaded. Then he drew his breath in sharply as Mike's finger slipped inside him, slowly at first, probing carefully deeper until it reached its goal: a place Micky hadn't known existed inside him but which was suddenly the center of all his pleasure. A magic button. Mike seemed to know exactly how to push that button; with his finger pressed completely into Micky's body he started to stroke that sensitive spot gently, watching the tension in Micky's face dissolve into an expression of sheer astonishment at how incredibly good it felt. Very soon Micky didn't care about anything but the finger on his button and the orgasm he felt building in his balls and his spine. His hips moved automatically and his cock slapped his belly with each jerking motion. Just a little more, a little more, oh god don't stop now… "Micky," Mike called softly, slowing his magic massage. "Open your eyes, babe." "Huh? What?" Confused, he tried to focus. "If you stop now I'm going to die. I mean it." Mike laughed. "Just wanted to make sure you were still with me. You get your wish now." And with that he bent his head to work on Micky's shaft, moving in a rhythm to match the strokes of his finger. Micky felt himself begin to tremble all over and then he came explosively, with another jolt every time Mike touched him deep inside, and the warm mouth on his cock stayed with him, sucking every last drop out of him, until he just couldn't come any more. A stray thought darted through his mind, wondering how many cocks Mike had sucked to get this good at giving head. When he could breathe again Micky looked around and was mildly surprised to find that nothing had changed. It was only his own reality that had just been altered. While he pondered this Mike slid up next to him on the couch to deliver a lingering kiss. "You are somethin' else, babe," he said. "Don't never change." "Uh - OK. Can I move now?" Micky's arms were really starting to ache, and he felt glued to the couch: god knows what the other guys would think had taken place there. "Here." Mike drew him into an embrace. They stayed like that for a few minutes; Micky could feel the sizable bulge in Mike's jeans pressing into his thigh. "Mike? Do you want me to, uh, you know…" "Not tonight. You gave me what *I* really wanted. We got time for that later. We got all the time in the world." Micky didn't really understand but right then he didn't really care, and so he let himself be held in comfortable silence while he thought of all the places he'd never been to.