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"A Night at the Nutcracker"



Title: A Night at the Nutcracker
Author: Mini
Rating: Hardcore NC-17
Pairing: Well, uh...Mike/Peter/Micky/Davy. Basically, everyone gets some from everyone else in this fic.
Genre: Slash. Smut. Kink.
Warnings: Contains cross-dressing, mild sexual violence, kink, elements of BDSM, and adult language. "Strong sexual content between members of the same sex" kind of goes without saying. If any of the above aren't your bag, don't read this.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, completely 100% fictitious. I make no claims as to the personalities or sexual proclivities of the real Monkees (though this fic takes place in the universe of the Monkees TV show), and I glean no profit from this story whatsoever. So don't sue me, cause I'm a broke grad student and I'd have to pay you in little tiny packets of Chinese mustard.
Summary: In "The Christmas Show" episode, Peter says he is going to buy Christmas presents with the money he makes from their gig, and Mike admonishes him not to buy presents like he did the year before. With that warning in mind, Peter comes up with quite an interesting gift for all of the guys to share...


"Ungh, FUCK!"

Ohhh, God, yes!"

A few final thrusts and high-pitched groans echoed loudly through the Pad, the sights and sounds of four young men each reaching the heights of their pleasure. Peter's eyes rolled up in his head as he bucked his hips against Davy's face, one hand threaded in the small Englishman's dark chestnut hair. Davy eagerly swallowed Peter's warm cum, nursing out every last drop from the blond's now-softening cock.

Mike had one arm wrapped tightly around Micky's waist as he pounded him mercilessly against the bedroom door, a hoarse growl escaping his lips as he came and spent himself completely into the drummer's tight ass. Micky gasped as his own orgasm overtook him, spurting again and again over his stomach and Mike's hand that had kept itself on his erection, jerking him swiftly to climax.

He and Mike staggered over to the other two a moment later, collapsing breathlessly on the double bed they'd created after pushing two of their individual ones together. Mike lay on his side, spooned up behind Micky, and Davy was resting against Peter's toned stomach, one arm covering the bottom half of his face. The corners of his eyes lifted in a twinkling grin at the sight of the sweat-soaked twosome curling up beside them.

Peter eyed Mike lasciviously, loving the scent and musk of the Texan that was so especially powerful after he'd had sex. He leaned over, curling an arm around Mike's head and pulled him close for a deep kiss. Micky took that opportunity to wiggle out of Mike's grip and crawl over to Davy, sliding a hand around his slim waist as he pulled him up to his chest and smashed their lips together. Peter and Davy groaned simultaneously as they each had a tongue enter their mouths.

It would be several hours later before they had fully exhausted themselves, so insatiable were all four Monkees that they could not get enough of each other. They fell asleep entwined, arms and legs sprawled every which way, reveling in the blissful warmth of their naked bodies.

Two a.m. came around, and Peter got up to use the bathroom and get a drink of water. He stood in the doorway then, smiling at the sight before him--his three friends tangled together, sleeping soundly after yet another night of unbridled passion. Peter considered himself thrice lucky--to have bandmates who were his best friends, and now, lovers. He loved the music that they made together, both out of and in bed.

Christmas was just two days away, and Peter had figured out exactly what he wanted to give to the others, remembering Mike's stern warning to not give presents like he'd done the year before. Peter always put his whole heart into the gifts he gave, and he was determined to make this year far better than the last.

He'd gotten the idea not long after the four of them had started having these 'nights' together. Peter and Mike had played with each other on and off several times before then, and had decided not to tell the others for the time being. They'd gone to fuck in Peter's room one night, thinking that Davy was out on a "hot date," as he'd told them, and were surprised to walk in on him with none other than Micky.

The four of them made quite an interesting tableau--Micky's head between Davy's legs and Peter's hand on Mike's crotch, catching sight of them mid-grope. Davy stared at Peter and Mike for a moment, then simply shrugged his shoulders, grabbing a fistful of of curly drummer hair and closing his eyes in blissful surrender.

Hot date indeed... Peter smirked as he remembered the course of events that followed once the initial shock had worn off of them. It had been one of the hottest nights of Peter's life, and as much as he loved defiling every inch of the Pad with the three of them, he was eager to try something different; something adventurous and exciting that he knew they would never forget.

None of them had plans for Christmas, since they'd reunited that little brat Melvin with his aunt before she'd ever even left for her cruise. They had all already told their families that they wouldn't be home for the holiday, and Peter saw it as the perfect opportunity to put his plan into action.

He approached Micky and Davy with the idea first, knowing that they would likely be easier to persuade. Surprisingly, after Peter explained what he had in mind, both men had enthusiastically agreed. Micky in particular had a gleam in his eye that sent shivers up Peter's spine, especially after Micky told him of a fantasy he'd been longing to fulfill, and the thought of it coming true that night aroused Peter to no end.

He knew Mike would be harder to convince, however, so Peter decided to talk to the dark-haired man earlier in the day as they were all lounging around the Pad.

Mike was sitting on the bandstand, guitar in hand as he plucked out a new song, while Micky was lying against Davy on the couch, immersed in an old movie playing on TV.

"Hey, Mike?" the bassist called, getting up from a chair and slowly walking over to where Mike was.

"Yeah, Peter?" Mike replied, looking up at the blond.

"I was thinking, since none of us has any plans for tonight, that maybe we could go out."

"Go out where? It's Christmas Day, man. Nothing's open."

"Well, actually...I sort of know this club..." Peter said, smiling shyly.

"What, you mean like a gig? Is it a place where we can play?" Mike's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You could say that." Peter was unable to stop the smile from turning into a full-on wicked grin. He glanced knowingly at Micky and Davy, who were biting down on their respective lower lips as they tried not to laugh uncontrollably.

"Okay, so...you gonna tell me more about it? What's the name of the club, shotgun?"

Peter knew he'd gotten Mike exactly to where he wanted him for the time being--with his curiosity good and well-piqued.

"Let's just say we'll fill you in on the rest later. Oh, and, uh, you should definitely wear your leather pants."

He leaned down to press a long, slow kiss to the Texan's mouth, gently caressing Mike's cheek with his thumb as he massaged Mike's tongue with his own.

"Mmhhh..." Mike let out a low groan, the guitar in his lap suddenly moving forward as a bulge began to form in the front of his pants. He gripped Peter's wrist tightly, shoving his hand down to his crotch.

Peter broke the kiss then, yanking his hand away from Mike's rapidly swelling erection. He felt a shiver run up his spine as he saw how dark and full of lust Mike's eyes were then.

"Let's save some of
that for later, too, Michael." Peter winked at him, standing up again and walking back to his chair, purposely sashaying to show off his ass in the tight, grey pants that he wore.

As much as Mike was enjoying the view, he couldn't help wondering exactly what his bandmates were up to. He watched as Peter slid back down in his chair, and realized then that two other pairs of eyes were also watching him. He quickly turned to glare at Micky and Davy, but they managed to look away just in the nick of time.

Mike sighed, lowering his hand back down to the guitar's fretboard, brow furrowing as he contemplated the possibilities of what was going to happen later that night.


"I'm not so sure about this, guys." Mike was sitting on the couch in the Pad's living room, fidgeting nervously as he smoothed out the lines on his obscenely tight leather pants.

"You're going to love it, man. Trust us," Davy's voice wafted down from the upstairs bedroom where he, Micky, and Peter were getting dressed.

"I don't know why you'd wanna go to some club on Christmas anyhow. I'd rather stay in, if ya catch my drift."

Behind the walls of the bedroom, Peter smiled, loving how Mike's mind could be as one-track as theirs, though rarely did he admit to it. Peter could practically see the wave of raven hair falling just perfectly over Mike's face, lower lip pouted and forlorn as he grew more impatient with every passing minute.

"We're coming down now, Mike!" Micky announced then as the other two Monkees finished primping in front of the mirror.

Mike's head snapped up as the hinges of the door creaked open and three pairs of feet shuffled across the floor. The soft click of a boot heel on the stairs belonged to Davy, who was the first to come down, bare-chested and delectable in a pair of black vinyl pants. Mike was embarrassed to find himself staring at Davy's nipples, which were redder than usual thanks to a thin coat of body paint. They were flanked on either side by two strips of fabric--black suspenders, fastened to the waistband of Davy's pants with small, silver clips. For the first time, the young man's diminutive stature took a backseat to the rippling lines of his well-muscled upper body, and Mike fought the urge to spring up from his spot on the couch and ravage Davy where he stood.

A small smirk played on the brunet's lips as he felt Mike looking him over. Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, he stood by the front door.

"Oh, Peter? Why don't you come 'ere now?" Davy glanced upward, watching as Peter followed in his footsteps.

The blond walked slowly, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as Mike's eyes scanned him hungrily. A thin layer of black eyeliner rimmed his lower eyelids, and he wore a black collar around his neck, with a silver "O" ring hanging from the bottom and resting delicately against his skin.

Mike's gaze went lower, to the black mesh shirt Peter had on. It was just transparent enough to show off his lean torso, but still left enough to the imagination. The rest of his outfit, however, did not--a pair of leather shorts so tight that they put his red swim trunks to shame. The black fabric stood in stark contrast to the creamy, tanned thighs below them, which somehow looked even more taut and toned than they did normally. The delicious display of flesh ended in a pair of black sandals, the laces of which criss-crossed halfway up Peter's calves.

"Good to see you, Michael." Peter winked at the stone-faced Texan, though his arousal was evident from the enormous bulge straining against front of his pants.

He turned around to face the stairs as Davy had done and cupped a hand up to his mouth.

"Hey, Micky...get your sweet little ass down here!"

A mop of curly hair showed itself at the top of the stairs then as Micky began his descent. "All right, all right! Sheesh. I know Mike's getting impatient, but do you have any idea..."

Click...click... the sound of pointed heels echoed off the walls of the Pad. Black patent heels, with a thin strap buckled around Micky's ankles. From there, long, fishnet stocking-encased legs trailed upward, the fishnets ending just at the middle of two slim thighs. A brief flash of white skin followed, then disappeared into a very short leather miniskirt. Micky wore no underwear underneath the skirt, the smooth sac of his testicles becoming just visible as his thighs parted while he walked.

Christ... Mike thought, desperately attempting to retain some semblance of self-control.

Above the skirt was a black, satin waist cincher, which endlessly laced in a criss-cross pattern up Micky's back. The curve of his shoulders gave way to a slender neck, which had around it a black, spiked collar. Angled cheekbones had been dusted with a faint blush, complementing the jutting spikes perfectly. Micky had used the same eyeliner as Peter, albeit far more liberally, highlighting the delicate almond shape of his hazel-brown eyes. The perfectly arranged curls atop his head served as an ideal frame for the drummer's sublimely androgynous features.

"...how hard it is to walk in these things?"

The last half of the sentence left Micky's lips at the same time that he reached Davy and Peter. Together, the three of them turned to face a now slack-jawed Mike Nesmith. He was standing now, too, having slowly risen to his feet to gape in awe as Micky came downstairs.

"I--what--Micky--you're--" Mike stammered, and finally his brain got itself to work a moment later. "What the
fuck are you wearing?! What in the world is going on here? And where in the hell are you guys thinkin' of going dressed like that?!"

The questions were numerous, and even as Mike stood there in stunned disbelief, he could not stop himself from drinking in the sight before him. Peter and Davy were perfect examples of defined, masculine beauty, but Micky...was gorgeous. He was far and away the most beautiful woman Mike had ever seen, and that thought alone spiraled him further into confusion.

Peter slid his arms around Micky's waist, pulling the curly-haired man close to him.

"We're going to the Nutcracker, Michael," he said nonchalantly, tilting his head and pressing his lips to Micky's in a passionate kiss, their mouths open just enough for Mike to see their tongues twining together.

They broke apart a moment later, panting slightly. Peter faced Mike again.

"And you're coming with us."

Mike's brow furrowed in disbelief at the notion of the four of them heading to the ballet dressed as they were, but just before he could open his mouth, the pieces quickly fell together.

The club. Peter's talking about the club. The Nutcracker. A club called...the Nutcracker. WHAT?

Micky could see Mike's mouth about to open with another barrage of questions, and he swiftly interceded, gracefully walking over to where the guitarist was standing.

"Please, Mike..." Micky whispered, placing his palms flat against Mike's chest. He cast a seductive gaze up at the Texan, seizing the corner of his lip between his teeth and looking at him from beneath long, thick eyelashes.

Mike swallowed hard, almost dizzy from the scent and feel of Micky right close to him. The heels he had on gave him just an inch or two over Mike, but still he remained submissive, fingers gently stroking up and down Mike's body in an unspoken request for permission.

"We want you to be our leather daddy," he added, lowering one hand to the front of Mike's pants to grasp the impressive erection within.

"You've already got the pants on, Mike. Just say yes." Micky stroked his thumb over the bulge, silencing the protestations Mike was about to make over the term 'leather daddy.'

"Nnghh...Okay..." Mike half-sighed, half-groaned, his reserve crumbling rapidly as Micky's caresses grew firmer. "Just...tell me one thing, Mick."

"Anything." Micky leaned in to lick a stripe up the side of Mike's neck, sending shivers up the dark-haired man's spine.

"Why are you, uh...why are you wearing that getup?" As much as he was trying to get a handle on things, Mike didn't even know if there was a word for what Micky had on right then.

"Remember when I got dressed up as the chaperone for Davy? Well, I...I kind of liked wearing the dress, you know? It felt nice. So I realized that I wanted to try some other girls' clothes, and Peter helped me find some groovy stuff at a few stores. But I wanted more than that. Then Peter told me about this club, and I knew I could finally get what I've been after."

Mike swallowed hard, "What's that?"

Micky smiled, giving Mike's cock another squeeze as he brought his lips to his ear and whispered:

"You'll find out soon enough."


The four of them wasted no time in taking off after that, with Mike practically throwing Micky into the backseat of the Monkeemobile with him. He'd gotten a better look at what lie beneath that skirt, the head of Micky's cock peeking out teasingly as he sat beside him, and the skirt slid even further up whenever Peter hit a bump along the way. Micky made no attempt to cover himself, pleased to be under the scrutiny of Mike's intense gaze.

Not twenty minutes later, the car pulled right up in front of a glowing, red neon sign: "NUTCRACKER." Mike had never been in this part of Hollywood before, but the ease with which Peter got out of the car and sauntered toward the club's entrance made it obvious that he was no stranger to the area.

The bouncer, a burly man wearing a leather harness criss-crossing his chest, made for an intimidating sight, and Mike wondered what--and who--he did in his spare time.

"Hey, Arlo!" Peter called out, waving to him cheerily.

"Well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in here. Somethin'
mighty fine indeed. And, ooh, he's got some new boys!" Arlo playfully slapped Peter on the arm, laughing heartily and looking Mike, Davy, and Micky over as they made their way to the front door.

"Take it easy, Arlo. These are my friends--Davy, Micky, and Mike. We're in a band together--the Monkees. That's why I haven't been by in a while. Practice," Peter explained while digging out his wallet.

Arlo threw up his hands in refusal. "Oh, no, no cover for you or the fellas--and the lovely lady--here. You go on in and have fun, my man."

"Aww, thanks, man!" Peter flashed that winning grin the bouncer's way, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. Mike did a double-take as he swore he saw the man blush.

The four of them quickly had their hands stamped, though they were temporarily held up as Arlo stopped to kiss the back of Micky's hand as he stamped him. Micky giggled demurely, a red flush rising high on his cheekbones as he curtsied in response. Mike scowled at the bouncer, grabbing Micky's wrist roughly and yanking him away.

"Can't take you no place..." Mike grumbled, yet internally he was reeling, surprised at the possessiveness that reared up in him at the sight of Arlo fawning all over Micky.

And what was with Peter kissing him on the cheek? Why the hell is everyone here so damn touchy-feely, anyway?

But before any further analysis could take place, a throbbing bass line redirected Mike's attention. The music was pulsing, alive and loud as it surrounded them from every which way. Strobe lights flashed epileptically near the DJ station, illuminating the outlines of writhing bodies on the dance floor.

Tall, wrought iron cages hung from the ceiling on either side of the club, and inside were go-go dancers--female and male--twisting and gyrating about in various states of undress. Passers-by stopped to slide their hands in between the bars, touching and groping the dancers as they pleased.

Peter and Davy paused at one of the cages, which was occupied by a woman with long, light brown hair that cascaded down her back. Peter slid a hand up her bare leg as Davy leaned in to gently bite her ankle, and her face lit up in a smile as she turned to see who was touching her.

"Oh, my God...Peter! It's so good to see you! And you've brought a cute friend."

She knelt down, looping a hand around the back of Davy's head and pulling him in for a kiss. At the same time, Peter cupped one of her bare breasts in his hand, lifting it to his lips and flicking his tongue over her hardened nipple.

The girl squealed into Davy's mouth at the sensation, thrusting her free hand down to rub her pussy, sliding a finger inside.

Davy broke the kiss then, grinning as he watched her.

"Nice to see you, Chantal," Peter said from behind him, and Davy felt the weight of Peter's arms resting on his shoulders, one hand moving around his waist as both of them enjoyed the show.

"Ahem," Mike cleared his throat. "That's enough, guys." He suddenly felt very uncomfortable with the proceedings, and was sure that Micky wasn't faring much better.

"Mick, are you--" Mike stopped mid-sentence. He'd turned to face Micky but the younger man was no longer standing beside him.

What--he was just there a minute ago! I'm gonna need to put a bell on that boy...or girl...

"Come on, Micky, let's go," Peter said, having pulled himself and Davy away from Chantal.

Mike was about to tell them that Micky had wandered off to God knows where when he felt something brush against his leg. He looked down, and there on all fours, head bowed slightly, was Micky. A leash had been attached to his collar, and he obediently trotted behind Peter, who was holding the other end.

Mike followed them, watching as Micky's hips raised high as he crawled. His eyes darted from side to side at the hungry stares that followed Micky, and as the curve of his buttocks slid out from under the skirt, Mike knew that one of the stares belonged to him.

They reached the booth a moment later, dark and secluded in a corner of the club. Mike sat down immediately, grateful for the cover of the table to disguise the bulge in his now uncomfortably tight leather pants. A heated flush crept up his face as he stared at Peter and Davy, who were standing near the booth but hadn't sat down. Micky remained kneeling at Peter's side.

"So what d'you think, Mike?" Davy asked, raising his voice over the music. The Texan glared at him in response, unable to decide if he was thrilled or furious at his friends for bringing him there.

"Aw, what's wrong, Michael?" Peter jibed, noticing the annoyed look on the guitarist's face. "You still aren't ready to play?" He fought back a laugh, knowing how turned on Mike was right then and how he was too stubborn to admit it.

A roar went up in the crowd as the DJ put on a new record and the opening chords of "Foxy Lady" started to play. Peter gently tugged on Micky's leash--a silent cue for him to stand up--and pulled the younger man around to face him. He then gestured to Davy, who took his position behind Micky. Wisps of smoke curled around them from the lit cigarettes nearby, the club lights turning the smog into a haze of brilliant color as they began to dance.

You know you're a cute little heartbreaker
You know you're a sweet little lovemaker...

Peter pressed himself up to Micky's front, one hand gripping the side of Micky's neck and tilting it backwards, leaning in to nibble gently on the delicate flesh. Micky moaned softly, grinding his crotch against Peter's hips, and both men's eyes fluttered as their cloth-covered erections made contact. Davy's arm slid around Micky's waist from behind, his free hand moving down to roughly squeeze the drummer's ass.

I see you, heh, on down on the scene
You make me wanna get up and uh scream...

The three of them continued to move in an almost sinful rhythm to the beat of the song. Micky reached a hand behind him, grasping Davy's erection through the front of his pants. The Englishman gasped, loving the friction created by Micky's hand rubbing against the vinyl.

From his position against Micky's neck, Peter watched Mike watching them, one hand gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were turning white. The other had disappeared from sight and was resting atop Mike's leather-covered thigh as he fought the urge to touch himself.

Here I come baby
I'm comin' to get ya
Ow foxy lady...

They moved faster now, back and forth as the music throbbed all around them. Davy was panting slightly as he thrust himself against Micky's backside, his hands gently caressing Micky's thighs from behind. Peter had his arms wrapped around Micky's neck, swaying from side to side as he threaded a hand in his hair, sending tingles up Micky's spine with every tug and pull.

Peter moved his head to Micky's ear, whispering something Mike couldn't discern as he kept his lips out of view, with one eye still trained on the dark-haired man.

A wicked grin spread across Micky's face, and he wordlessly moved a hand down Peter's body, flicking the button on his shorts open and slowly pulled down the zipper. He slid a hand inside, drawing out Peter's enormous erection. The blond moaned loudly as Micky's long fingers took hold of his shaft, jerking him in long, perfect strokes.

God...fuck, that's so good..." Peter's eyes squeezed shut as he continued to move, still dancing with the other two men.

As desperate as he was to ignore what was happening, Mike was unwilling to look away from the scene before him. A flicker of caution crossed his face, the only outward sign of how loudly his body was screaming at him to join in, nerve endings and skin twitching with arousal, cock so hard he was sure he could move the table with it.

Mike glanced around the club, surprised that no one was paying attention to what Peter, Micky, and Davy were up to, only to realize they were all too busy doing it themselves. He noticed a couple up against the wall--two young men, a blond and a brunet. The brunet was on his knees, lips wrapped around the other man's cock. The blond, who reminded Mike of Peter, caught his eye, his hand pressed against the back of his lover's head as he took his pleasure. He pursed his lips together in a gloating smirk, as if to say,
I'm getting the best head of my life right now, and you can't even get control over your boys.

Mike's grip on the table edge grew deeper, nails digging into the wood nearly enough to leave marks. He refocused his attention on the gyrating threesome of Peter, Micky, and Davy. They had manipulated him, Mike realized, parading their half-naked bodies in front of him, first at the Pad and now there in the club. Under the guise of desiring his leadership, they had coerced him into coming to the club, and then did everything to strip him of it once they were there.

He'd had damn well enough, and was determined to take back control.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Mike's body as he felt his dominating side rise up. He stood slowly, not wanting to spook the others with sudden movement, crossing his arms across his chest. Micky's hand was still wrapped around Peter's cock, and the bassist thrust into his grip shamelessly, golden bangs falling over his eyes and heated gasps escaping his lips as Micky flicked his thumb over the head, spreading the bit of precum that had begun to collect there.

The final chords of the song were dying down then, and Mike took the opportunity by the balls.

Hey. All three of you, get your hands off each other and sit the hell down in this booth. NOW."

Mike hardly had to raise his voice, the thickened accent and the darkened, impassioned glare enough for them to know that he meant business. They quickly broke apart, Davy sliding across the red leather on Mike's right and Micky on his left. Peter went to tuck himself back into his shorts, but was stopped by Mike's hand on top of his. He looked up at the Texan with a mixture of bemusement and curiosity.

"Uh-uh, shotgun. If you're so damn proud of it, then leave it out for the world to see like you been doing. Though as of this moment, your 'world' is made up only of me, Micky, and Davy. And the same goes for you two," Mike looked Micky and Davy dead in the eyes to make sure they were paying attention. "I see any of you so much as look at another body, and there'll be hell to pay. Understand?"

Three heads nodded simultaneously, and Peter shifted out of Mike's grasp, quickly sitting down beside Micky. He was surprised to find that Mike's roughened demeanor did not stamp out his arousal, but rather heightened it considerably.

Looks like Michael's finally ready to play... Peter thought as he bit back a grin.

"I'm about sick and tired of you guys pettin' all over each other in front of me. That little show you put on? I hope you enjoyed it, cause now you're gonna be taught a lesson." Mike spoke loudly enough for only Peter, Micky, and Davy to hear, just enough out of earshot of the other clubgoers.

"Mick," Mike cupped Micky's chin in his hand, turning the drummer's face to look right at his. "You like dressin' up like a whore, babe, so I'm gonna treat you like one."

Micky's eyes fluttered at Mike's words, blood pounding in his heart and cock as Mike held his head in place. Try as he might to look away, there was no escaping the guitarist's smoldering gaze. His tongue darted out slightly to lick at his lips, now dry from the long silence in which they sat.

"Turn around and kneel," Mike finally spoke again.

He released Micky from his grip and leaned back. Micky immediately scrambled up from his seat, rising to his knees and facing away from Davy, Mike, and Peter. He dared not move, waiting patiently for further instructions.

Micky gasped aloud as he felt a hand grab the laces on his back and shove him forward, sending half of his upper body over the back of the booth. He managed to grab the edge just in time, holding on as the strong arm kept him in place. It soon moved lower, however, over the backs of his thighs to the crook of his knees, which were pulled apart and spread wide. The curve of Micky's ass became visible once more as the skirt bunched up, and he shuddered at the feel of the cool air on his bare skin.

Micky knew the other two were staring, and possibly more--members of the faceless, nameless crowd that would bear witness to what lie ahead. The hand was on the move again, now groping and rubbing his buttocks in a slow, circular motion. A heated flush crept across Micky's face as he began to imagine what Mike was planning, both dreading and anticipating it, all at once.


First there was the sound, followed by the sting.

"AHH!" Micky cried out, more from shock than anything else. The pain spider-webbed into pleasure, the release of endorphins flooding his body with even greater arousal.

Mike did not wait for Micky to recover, and spanked him again, now on the other cheek. He paused to admire the red handprint that remained on the white flesh, the mark of his ownership.

Mike leaned up over the booth to whisper in Micky's ear. "How many inches are on them heels?"

"Four," Micky responded in a half-choked groan, cock throbbing and brain spinning as Mike sat back down.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The four successive spanks came in short order, with Micky crying out after each.

One for every inch... Micky thought.

Despite the pain, he was sure that he would come soon, and he began to grind his crotch against the cool leather of the booth, trying to keep his movements as small as possible so that Mike wouldn't notice.

But the Texan was not fooled and easily saw what Micky was up to.

"You fucking slut," Mike growled, gripping Micky by the hips and yanking him away from the seat.

The drummer nearly sobbed at the loss of contact, whimpering as Mike took both his wrists in one hand and pulled them behind his back.

"You just don't know how to listen, do you, Mick?"

Mike undid the buckle of his belt with one hand as he held Micky in place. He pulled the strip of leather free, looping it around the drummer's wrists and tying them together, leaving the loose end of belt hanging down between his thighs.

Mike looked at Peter over Micky's back, smirking at the sight of the blond man's mouth hanging open, staring at them. He knew Peter would have been fucking Micky into the wall at that point if he wasn't there, and silently congratulated himself for making damn sure that Peter knew better than to try anything without his permission. He held Peter's gaze for a few moments, then glanced quickly at the table in front of them. Peter followed Mike's glance, finally realizing what the dark-haired man was indicating: a bowl of candy canes.

Peter looked at them, then back at Mike, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Take one," Mike ordered, and Peter did as he was told, grabbing one of the larger canes from the bowl.

"Suck it."

Peter slid the long end between his lips, looking up at Mike as he hollowed his cheeks and moved it back and forth, rolling his tongue around it again and again.

"That's enough." Far too many memories rushed to the surface as he watched Peter enjoying the concoction, and Mike decided that he'd left his own hard-on neglected long enough. He craned his neck to look over at Davy.

"C'mere, Davy." Mike moved a hand to the front of his pants, pulling down the zipper and easing his aching cock out from its clothed prison. He sighed as the cool air danced over his skin.

"Looks like you could use a little help there, mate," Davy said with a wink, scooting closer to the Texan until their sides were touching. Keeping his eyes on Mike, he leaned down and flicked his tongue over the head of his cock.

shit," Mike sighed, threading his fingers in the young man's hair, groaning quietly as Davy began to suck him off with relish. He turned back to Peter, who was still holding the candy cane, and nodded towards Micky.

"Fuck him with that."

Mike draped his arms around the back of the booth, head thrown back and a variety of colorful curses falling from his lips as Davy deep throated him, engulfing the dark-haired man's cock in the hot suction of his mouth. Mike fought to collect himself and focus on what Peter was doing to Micky.

The blond turned on his side, reaching one hand up to caress Micky's still-red buttocks before spreading them open. Micky trembled, never having felt so vulnerable and exposed in his life, knowing that now the entire club was now privy to one hell of a view. The pink, puckered opening beckoned Peter invitingly, and he brought the cane up, slowly circling the outside before pushing it in, breaching the tight ring of muscle.

"UNGH!" Micky moaned as his body protested against the strange intrusion. He willed himself to relax, rocking back and forth in a slow rhythm as Peter began to move the sweet treat in and out, one hand gripping Micky's ass as he went in deeper with each stroke.

"Harder," Mike grunted, his hips rising up to thrust against Davy's face as Peter picked up the pace.

"Yesss...oh, fuck, oh my God!" Micky cried out, the muscles in his arms tensing and flexing as he strained against his bindings. The pain had all but evaporated by then and was replaced with a rolling, building pleasure that tingled all the way down to Micky's toes in his pumps. Thin beads of sweat formed across his brow as he pushed back against every one of Peter's thrusts, desperate and hungry for more.


Micky thought he would die at the sound of the word. He collapsed against the booth, boneless and exhausted from the constant teasing. Normally he would never give in, not willing to let Mike so readily break him down into submission.

But he's doing too damn good a job of it this time...

Peter withdrew the candy cane, tossing it over Micky's shoulder into a garbage can nearby.

"Can I have a taste, Michael?" He couldn't help himself, already knowing that it was what Mike wanted, despite the annoyed glare that the Texan sent his way.

"Do it."

The smile that lit up Peter's face at that moment reminded Mike of when he'd saved the day with the baby photo in court. He'd been so ecstatic over clearing his, Micky, and Davy's names from the bank robbery charges, jumping up and down and hugging them in his joy. It was a marvel to Mike how Peter could retain that boyish, wide-eyed innocence no matter what, even in their current surroundings.

Of course, any and all notions of innocence soon fell by the wayside as Peter pressed his face up against Micky's ass cheeks, darting his tongue out to flick over the tight little hole.

"Mmmhh..." Peter moaned happily at the combined taste of the peppermint and Micky's own wonderful musk--an intoxicating perfume that went straight to his cock, which twitched in delight.

ohhh!" Micky squealed aloud as Peter began to tongue-fuck him in earnest. The bassist's enthusiasm overwhelmed him as he rimmed Micky, one hand roughly groping the drummer's reddened buttocks.

Peter felt a hand fist in his hair from behind, yanking him away from Micky's ass. A low growl soon followed as Mike smashed their lips together in a fierce kiss, loving the taste of peppermint and Micky on Peter's tongue. The blond groaned as their tongues dueled, his need for release increasingly exponentially with every bit of his mouth that Mike claimed.

A loud whimper from above interrupted them.

"Please...Mike...Peter...one of you, fuck me right now," Micky begged, needing to be taken and filled more than anything in the world.

"Why don't you do the honors, Pete?" Mike petted the back of Davy's head, gently tugging him up off of his cock. "I got my own ride to catch."

Davy was panting hard, lips red and swollen from sucking Mike for so long. Coal black eyes met deep brown ones as Mike stroked a hand down the smaller man's chest, tweaking one of Davy's nipples between his fingers. The Englishman groaned, feeling his own hardness spring to life once more.

Peter grabbed the loose end of the belt around Micky's wrists, pulling him down into his lap.

"Hey, baby," he grinned, fisting a hand in Micky's lusciously thick locks as he kissed him hard. Micky returned the kiss with equal fervor, wishing his arms were unbound so that he could touch Peter all over.

But the bassist had other ideas, ending the kiss as quickly as it started and slamming Micky onto the table on his back.

Micky gasped, trying to adjust his arms to the weight of his body on them. He tilted his head back, watching the darkened crowd dancing out on the floor, and the especially appreciative smirks of those eyeing him up and down as they walked by.

Peter slid his shorts down to mid-thigh, his erection bobbing up full and proud against his stomach. He pushed Micky's knees apart, caressing the fishnet-covered skin just briefly before gripping him tightly, shoving the drummer's legs up to his shoulders. He hissed as he lowered his body onto Micky's and their heated torsos made contact, the fabric of his corset rubbing against Peter's mesh shirt, creating delicious friction.

Peter pressed his lips against Micky's ear, whispering: "What do you want?"

He teased the head of his cock around Micky's entrance in small circles, groaning at the heat radiating off the younger man's body.

Micky writhed underneath him, trying to lift his hips, but Peter held on firmly, keeping him still.

"Want you in me...please...want that thick cock fucking me until I scream..." he moaned in response.

"Mmmh..." Peter purred. "What else?"

He leaned down, long blond bangs hanging down over his eyes as he nipped at the smooth skin of Micky's neck. With a free hand, he pushed the leather skirt up as high as it would go. Micky groaned, feeling his erection make contact with Peter's stomach. His balls hung low underneath, and Peter reached down to caress them lightly, eliciting a gasp from Micky.

"Want you to punish me...hurt me...show everyone what they're missing." The words poured from Micky's mouth freely, so horny was he then that he couldn't think straight.

Peter grinned. "You're such a slut, Micky."

"So fuck me like one." His eyes were wild as he stared at Peter, urging him on.

Peter snapped his hips forward then, burying his cock in Micky's ass in one, fluid motion. Both men groaned aloud at the sensation, and Peter set a steady rhythm as he began to move in and out.

"UNGHH, ohfuck, oh God, yeah...yesss!" Micky groaned, arching his back in pleasure.

"Christ, you're so tight, Micky...so good..." Peter gasped as he pulled nearly all the way out, before slamming back in again.

"Tell me about it, babe." Mike's voice came from next to them.

Peter turned his head, smiling as he saw Davy on his stomach and Mike on top of him. He'd yanked the singer's trousers down, exposing the lovely curve of his small ass. Davy groaned as the head of Mike's huge cock breached his opening.

"Please...I can take more..." he gasped.

Mike chuckled softly. "I know you can."

Crack! The sound of metal hitting skin pierced the air. Mike had Davy's suspenders in his hand, coiled up like a whip, and lashed him with it at the same time that he slid his cock the rest of the way in. Davy cried out, hands balling up into fists as the pain shot through his body.

Crack! Crack! Two more lashes, each leaving behind red stripes on Davy's back. Mike groaned as Davy's muscles tightened around him and began to fuck him hard, his pace rough and deliberate.

"OHH fuck...do it, Mike...harder..." Davy hissed, nails digging into the wood. Mike gladly obliged, holding Davy's hips steady as he pounded in and out.

Peter was doing the same to Micky, his balls slapping against Micky's ass again and again as he went harder and faster. He felt a hand in his hair--Mike's--and turned his head, not even managing to get a word out before the Texan kissed him roughly. He shoved his tongue into Peter's mouth, imitating the motions he was doing with his cock, and Peter groaned, pressing a hand to Mike's chest and fisting the fabric of his shirt.

Davy, meanwhile, reached a hand over to Micky, wrapping it around his cock and jerking slowly. The curly-haired man moaned loudly, raising his hips to meet each of Davy's strokes.

Peter broke the kiss with Mike, returning his attentions to Micky. He grinned at the sight below him and changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting Micky's prostate on the next pass.

SHIT!" Micky cried out as the pleasure flooded his senses. He silently willed Peter to do that again and succeeded, feeling his sweet spot stimulated again and again.

"Peter...please make me come, please..." he wailed, straining so hard against the belt that he knew there'd be deep indentations in his wrists.

"Ask and ye shall receive," Peter grunted, rotating his hips in circles as he began to lose control, racing he and Micky towards their finish.

Mike reached a hand around Davy's body as he continued riding the smaller man, fisting his erection roughly.

Davy's cursed loudly, his breathing growing ragged as he felt Mike start to jerk him off. He in turn stroked Micky harder, leaving the drummer incoherent from the dual sensations.

Unbeknown to the four musicians, a small group of people had gathered near the table, watching the scene with wet pussies and dicks standing at attention. Some had begun to touch themselves, so turned on were they by the sight of the four young men enjoying each other so completely.

Peter knew Micky would come soon, and he desperately wanted to taste it. He gently pulled Davy's hand off, bringing it up to his lips and sucking on the tips of his fingers. Davy turned to watch what Peter was doing, and felt himself enflamed by arousal at Peter's lust-filled gaze.

Micky was dimly aware that something had changed, but could hardly stay focused as Peter continued to fuck him ruthlessly. The blond dipped his head, sucking Micky's cock down his throat as he thrust in deep, hitting his pleasure center once more.

Micky screamed out Peter's name, back arching as his climax ripped through him from head to toe. He shot himself into Peter's eager mouth again and again, and the bassist moaned in delight as he swallowed Micky's hot cum. He gasped as Micky's muscles clenched around his cock and he pulled his mouth off of Micky, groaning loudly as his orgasm overtook him.

"OH, FUCK!" Peter yelled, holding Micky's hips flush as he spent himself into that tight passage.

The other Monkees soon followed suit, Mike grunting as he slammed against Davy over and over, and the white heat engulfed him. He gripped Davy's shoulders tightly, fingers digging in so hard there would be marks left.

"UNGHH, yeah, Davy...oh, Christ,
fuck!" Mike yelled, raising one hand and bringing it down on Davy's ass in a loud SMACK! as he came.

The feel of the Texan's warm cum filling his ass, along with Mike's furious jerking, was enough to send Davy over the edge, and he gasped in ecstasy, shooting his load onto his stomach and the table below.

Several echoing groans came from the crowd as a few of the onlookers reached their climaxes at the same time. All four Monkees fought to catch their breath, panting harshly from their exertions, bodies covered in sweat.

A faint smattering of applause sounded within the club then, though Mike was the only one to hear it. His face burned with a combination of pride and shame, and he climbed off of Davy, standing up and straightening himself out.

"Uh, guys...I think our work here is done," Mike said, adjusting the wave in his thick, raven hair.

Peter moved off of Micky, tucking himself back into his shorts and smiling at the sight before him. The curly-haired man looked utterly debauched--cincher pulled down, skirt bunched up, and fishnets slightly torn on the one leg. He took Micky's hand and helped him up, planting a soft kiss on his lips as he undid the belt from his wrists.

Micky winced, his skin raw from being bound for so long and arms sore from the weight on them. He flexed his fingers to get the feeling back in them, sighing as Peter finished smoothing out his skirt and caressed his arms up and down gently.

Davy pushed himself up off the table, pulling his own trousers up and fastening the button. He felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned to see Mike holding out the suspenders.

"Hope I didn't hurt you too much, babe," Mike said, almost sheepishly.

"Wouldn't have wanted it any other way," Davy replied, standing on his tiptoes to kiss the dark-haired man--a silent assurance that all was well.

The candy canes laid shattered on the ground, knocked out of the bowl and long forgotten by any of them. Micky and Davy tiptoed around the mess as they made their way towards the exit, with Peter and Mike trailing behind.

Appreciative and delighted grins from both men and women followed the four of them, and Peter eyed Mike nervously as the Texan seemed to pick up his pace, hurrying to get out of there.

As soon as they were outside, Mike stopped dead.

"Micky, Davy. Go on ahead to the car. Me and Pete'll be there in a minute."

Peter felt a knot building in his stomach. He knew that Mike had enjoyed himself, but was starting to wonder if he regretted any part of it.

"Mike, I--" the bassist started, but was cut off by Mike shoving him up against the wall of the building, his hands on either of Peter's upper arms in a vice-like grip.

Oh, shit, Peter thought. Mike stared at him for a few moments, his expression unreadable. Peter swallowed hard, preparing himself for a fist in the face.

Instead, Mike kissed him, a passionate kiss; deep, slow, and full of all the things he wanted to say to the blond but could never get out. He pulled back a moment later, mustering the only phrase that could sum up the jumble of thoughts and emotions clouding his mind right then:

"Thank you."

Peter was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief, happy and grateful that he'd taken the chance and that it had paid off in spades. He felt a tingling warmth start in his toes and rise through his entire body, ending in a brilliant smile that slowly spread across his face.

"Merry Christmas, Michael."