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.
The next several weeks glowed white-hot for Micky; his life seemed to be roaring through the present, firing on all cylinders. The band was doing better than ever, Mike being suddenly inspired to write excellent new songs; they had money; they had friends and even groupies; and for once they were all getting along, rehearsing with a minimum of bitching and fighting. They were in the groove. Even the weather was perfect. And Mike was fucking him at every opportunity.
Somewhere inside he believed that everything was perfect *because* Mike was fucking him. Certainly he thought they were perfect together, in bed anyway: they seemed completely in tune as to when, how often, how much, how hard, and how fast. Sometimes, when they couldn't manage it for a couple of days, he jerked off while imagining his ass stuffed full of Mike's cock.
And, strangely enough, the girls were swarming over him. At first he had thought he might be giving off some kind of queer vibe that would chase them away, but it was just the opposite: the more he had of Mike's intense desire the more intensely desirable he became, and soon he had his pick of women whenever he wanted them, almost Davy-level. Mike didn't seem to care how many girls he did, never asked about his conquests; when the coast was clear he would make a move, and Micky never turned him down, no matter the time or the place. Sometimes Micky would come home very late after fucking some sweet young thing's brains out, only to have his own brains fucked out in Mike's bed. And sometimes Mike would stay out with whoever he stayed out with, and announce his return in the early morning hours by giving Micky a first class blowjob as the light crept in through the windows. Life was pretty damn good sometimes.
Like now, for instance. Micky collapsed on his blanket, dripping wet from his morning swim - except that it was now two in the afternoon. Oh well, it still counted as morning since he'd only woken up an hour ago. Last night he had finally gotten to go with that red-haired woman, Kira, and she had shown him a thing or two. There was certainly something to be said for older women, even when they did look like lesbians. He closed his eyes. Maybe she liked girls too; maybe she'd let him watch...
His thoughts were interrupted by a disturbance in the sand next to him as someone sat down.
"Whore," Mike greeted him.
"Freak," Micky replied, just as pleasantly. "I bet you've got long sleeves and jeans on. On the hottest day yet." He opened his eyes to check. "Man, you are a freak."
Mike gazed out to sea. "Swimming suits are for pussies."
"Did you come all the way out here to tell me that?" Micky loved it when Mike was in a playful mood. He must have good news.
"No, I came to tell you that Davy went to his girlfriend's and will meet us at the gig tonight, and Peter went to the movies and won't be back till six.î Mike continued to regard the waves thoughtfully.
"It would appear we have the house to ourselves." Micky tried to sound casual.
"Looks like," Mike drawled, the epitome of nonchalant.
"Well, then," Micky said.
"Yep," Mike agreed. Now it was a game of who would make the first move, one they'd played many times; Micky had won it often by casually removing some piece of clothing, after which Mike would just pounce. Today he didn't care about winning, but instead took a moment to observe Mike's strong profile as he stared serenely ahead, a tiny smile resting in the corners of his mouth, black hair moving gently in the warm wind. Mike's full, pouting lower lip would taste sweet with sugary coffee and salty with sweat and the sea breeze and Micky decided he wanted to spend a good part of the afternoon kissing those beckoning lips.
Micky got up, gathered his towel, and started back up the beach.
"Where you headed?" Mike called.
"I'm going back to the house to get laid. You coming along?"
When he came out of the bathroom, having changed his wet shorts for dry ones, Mike was lying on his bed, still fully dressed except for his bare feet: he'd taken his boots and socks off and looked rather proud of himself for doing it.
Micky folded his arms and tried to look stern. "If you don't take that shirt off right now, you're not getting any."
Rolling his eyes heavenward, Mike sat up and lazily complied. "You're damn lucky I don't have anything better to do," he grumbled.
"What could be better than this?" Micky asked, running his hands up Mike's chest to his shoulders, impressed with the strength he knew lay hidden in that lean frame.
"Nothing on God's earth is better than this," Mike said, and said it so seriously and with such force that Micky drew back, startled, laughing a little to cover his unease. Mike continued to gaze calmly and intensely at him and suddenly it was hard to breathe. The message was clear enough, one that required a response, or at least an acknowledgement: Micky had been in this situation before and knew exactly what to do: he avoided it. But he did it with such easy grace, such practiced skill that his non-answer seemed to be all answers, or at least the answer Mike was looking for, or so he hoped. He lowered his eyelashes and let an earnest expression transform his face, then played his ace, the line that had worked for him so many times before.
"I'm only as good as you make me," he breathed, and finished the sentence with a deep, searching kiss that would put an end to any conversation.
They stayed that way for a long time, lost in silent kisses that flowed together slowly, each moment an exploration of taste, touch, awareness. The insistent tongue thrusting against his own reminded Micky of the growing erection he felt pressing against his hipbone, making him even more determined to get all of Mike's clothes off for a change.
Although his own cock was threatening to rip a hole in his shorts, Micky forced himself to breathe, to wait, to be in the moment. He curled up next to Mike and concentrated on doing just one thing. With great care he sucked gently on one perfect earlobe, then let his teeth graze the soft, sweet flesh. When he drew back and blew a little puff of air across the wet skin Mike shivered with pleasure. Micky traced the edge of his ear with the tip of his tongue and let the motion take him down to the pale tender spot just behind the jaw line, where the taste of sweat was stronger. He let his hands play with the waistband of Mike's underwear for a little while before he unbuckled the belt and unzipped his jeans, giving that considerable hard-on a little more room to breathe.
"Turn over," he murmured, and Mike obliged, stretching his long body the length of the bed and settling down with a happy sigh. Micky knelt between Mike's legs and slid his hands along the back of his thighs until he could squeeze his wonderful ass with both hands. Sitting behind the rest of the group gave Micky a perfect vantage point from which to judge asses, and he'd long ago concluded that Mike's was the best: high and firm and surprisingly well-rounded for someone so lanky. He wondered whether Mike knew how fantastic his ass looked when it was covered by the soft worn denim of his favorite jeans, the same jeans that showed off his basket to anyone who cared to look.
Micky tugged the top of Mike's pants down a little so that he could see the place where the curve of his ass began: smooth and white and flawless, skin that had never seen the sun. A little more and he could see where the lovely dark cleft started that would lead him to the deepest treasure. And then when he had pulled jeans and underwear over the highest point of the curve, he sat back and tried not to laugh.
"Do you know that there's a great big red lipstick kiss on your ass?"
"WHAT?" Mike twisted around frantically, trying to see, then jumped up and stormed into the bathroom. Micky gave up trying to control himself and fell over sideways on the bed, laughing uncontrollably. Nona. It had to be. Mike had finally told him that it was her apartment over the bar, that she was the one he was with when he wasn't home. If Mike was willing to stay with her, and she could put up with him, she must be something else. Clearly she had a wicked sense of humor.
"GODDAMN IT!" Mike roared, making Micky laugh even harder; the water ran in the sink for a while, and then Mike came back in, looking royally pissed. He threw himself down on the bed again, fuming.
"Didn't come off, huh?" Micky observed.
"I'm gonna kill her. Fucking weapons-grade cosmetics. She musta put glue on her lips or something," he muttered.
"Aw, come on. I like it. It'sÖkinda cute." Micky pulled down his jeans again to trace a circle around the mark. Nice lips, he decided.
"Don't never say that word to me again. I mean it."
Micky leaned forward and pressed his lips to the red kiss print. She had picked the perfect spot for it; he wondered what she'd been thinking, and doing, and wearing, when she'd managed to pull off this trick. In addition to annoying Mike, which was always fun but not easy to do, she'd also managed to send a friendly hello to Micky. He was certain she'd meant to do that, and he liked her even more. Funny how he'd never felt jealous. It was more like meeting another member of the cult and realizing there was someone else as crazy as you. It felt good.
Micky's erection, having faded a bit from hilarity, was recovering quickly enough in the presence of Mike's bare ass. Time to get down to business, he decided, and quickly pulled off the rest of Mike's clothes. He stood up to shuck his own shorts and then once again forced himself to go slow, to fight the urge to hurry up and fuck. Mike had turned on his back again, waiting patiently for Micky's return as he stroked his half-hard cock back to glorious fullness. His face and chest were flushed with a rosy glow and his cock was even redder, the slick head emerging from the sheath with each stroke of Mike's hand. He looked relaxed and aroused and pretty damn sexy lying there, watching Micky through half-closed eyes. Hallelujah, Micky thought; finally, a naked Mike all to myself.
He laid down on top of his lover - and when had he started thinking of Mike that way? Oh well, too late now - and reveled in the feeling of skin against skin, smooth and warm. The sparse black hair sprinkled over Mike's body was silky, and highlighted, rather than hid, his best attributes. Brown nipples, hard and pointed now, a flat tight belly, and the thin dark line of fur leading downward: seeing all of him like this was almost unbearably erotic. Mike twined his long legs in with Micky's and kissed his chin.
"It is lazy and sinful to spend the whole afternoon in bed fucking," Mike said, pushing his hips up a little to press their cocks together.
"Whores don't care about sinning. And as for lazy..." He attacked Mike's mouth with renewed energy, kissing him hard and nipping delicately at his lips. Mike continued to rock his hips gently, creating just enough friction to be interesting.
"I want to suck you," Micky said into Mike's mouth. He could feel Mike's lips curl up into a smile.
"We can do it together." They'd never done a sixty-nine before and Micky was thrilled that Mike suggested it. Soon he had reversed himself and tried to concentrate on giving good head, which was awfully hard when Mike was using his magic on Micky's cock. He didn't want to come now, and he didn't want Mike to come either, so he gathered his self-control and teased instead of delivering, playing with the flared ridge of the cockhead and sucking at the slit. Mike took his cue and did the same, then ran his tongue along the underside of Micky's shaft and lapped at his balls. It became a game of follow-the-leader. Micky began to swirl his tongue in complicated patterns up, down, and around Mike's shaft; Mike could copy them exactly, and responded with designs of his own, going lightly, carefully, but always touching exactly those places that Micky loved the most.
Micky could feel the pressure starting to build and decided, regretfully, to leave his position between Mike's legs; but before he did he took one last plunge, licking his way down as far as he could until, with Mike's balls resting against his cheek and his tongue tickling the very sensitive point just behind them, he caught the unmistakable scent and taste of pussy. Faint, but there it was, lingering sweetly in the dark secret places between his legs. He licked it up greedily, wondering when he'd get to taste the real thing.
He pulled away from Mike and righted himself so that they were lying side by side. Mike moved to climb into his usual position but Micky shook his head no. "I want to get up on top of you," Micky said, reaching for the lube Mike had thoughtfully left on the nightstand. Mike looked genuinely surprised, and delighted, as if he'd just gotten an unexpected present.
"Won't say no to that, babe," he drawled, putting his pillows behind his head. Micky spread the lube generously on Mike's cock, standing stiffly upright; then he maneuvered himself into position, straddling Mike's slim hips, and slowly, very slowly, began to lower himself. They'd been fucking long enough that he didn't need much prep anymore, and the head slid in easily enough, but once the shaft began to penetrate him Micky sucked in his breath sharply: it had never felt quite like *this* before - god, that cock felt huge, like a steel pole inside him, and he gripped Mike's shoulders to steady himself.
"OK?" Mike asked breathlessly.
"JustÖjust a minuteÖ.waitÖ" he panted, eyes screwed shut, as he adjusted to this new sensation. Relax, he told himself, and in a few moments he could feel the muscles stretching and he knew he could go on. An inch at a time, little by little, and soon Mike was all the way inside, rubbing deliciously against the bundle of nerves there. Micky looked down to see the place where their bodies met, brown hair brushing against black, his cock curving away from Mike's body and bobbing gently as he moved. He felt filled, fantastically filled; blossoming heat raced through him, making his mouth go dry. His body was urging him to move, so with great caution he moved his hips in a circle, slowly, until he could sway back and forth, and with every movement he was aware of Mike inside him, part of him, touching everything all at once. He'd just settled into a rhythm when under him Mike suddenly stiffened: he threw his head back, fingers clutching Micky's thighs, and let out a long moan of pleasure.
Dammit, I wanted this to last, Micky thought; the one time when we *don't* have to hurry and he shoots it off like a rocket. He slowed his motion, waiting to see what Mike was going to do.
"Don't stop," Mike panted, sliding his hands up to Micky's hips.
"Didn't you come? How can you stay so hard - ohhhhhh - " Mike drove up into him forcefully, then began fucking him in earnest, bending his knees to get maximum leverage. Micky surrendered himself to the rush, throwing his head back and chanting in time with Mike's thrusts: "Yes, yes, *yes*, *yes*, *yessssssssssss*..." It was so good to cry out, to make a joyful noise: Mike once told him that most of the songs he wrote were only for Micky to sing, because his voice was special, and now he could finally use his voice to let his lover (those words again!) know how good it was.
"Mick - come on me - I want to see it - "
Mike's hand was around his cock, cool and slippery with lube, and with his ass filled, and his pulsing erection in a masterful grip he exploded, over the edge and into orbit.
Micky opened his eyes to see Mike watching him hungrily, eyes wide and shining. The little pool of liquid on his sweaty chest was smaller than Micky thought it would be - funny, it always felt like gallons coming out but it never amounted to more than a teaspoon. Mike was still moving inside him, slowly now but still steady, still stiff and wide and tall.
"Jesus, Mike," Micky puffed, still recovering, "Don't you ever get tired?"
Mike laughed. "Hell, babe, with you I could go for a month a Sundays and never quit." His gaze traveled up and down Micky's body and then he closed his eyes, grinning. "One more time."
Micky almost laughed at that - it was Mike's favorite phrase at rehearsals - but he gathered up his strength and worked it, following Mike's rhythm, making sure that big cock was in him as deep as could be, and Micky knew he wasn't going to come again so soon but it felt good all over again, so good, and watching Mike get lost in his pleasure was another trip, and then the thrusts got faster and faster and Mike grabbed him hard again and shouted "Mick - oh - damn - *Micky* - " as he arched his back and drove home for the last time.
That night Micky was reminded of how they'd spent the afternoon every time he shifted on his seat. He ass was sore, his cock was sore, and he felt deliriously happy for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely. He and Mike were playing it as cool as could be in front of Davy and Peter, but every time he glanced over at Mike's wonderful ass, he couldn't help but think of the red lipstick kiss still planted on the right cheek, and it almost made him lose his place, more than once. So he thought about Mike's songs, Mike's beautiful songs, and poured all his energy into singing better than he thought he ever could.