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DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.
Title: Backstage Passes
Genre: Slash. Smut. Somewhat PWP-ish.
Warnings: Contains adult content, strong language, and male-on-male action. If any of that isn’t your bag, don’t read this.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, 100% false. I make no claims as to the sexual proclivities of the real Micky Dolenz and Mike Nesmith. So don’t sue, cause I’m a broke grad student and I’d have to pay you in tiny little packets of Chinese mustard.
Summary: Takes place after Micky's glammed-up performance of "Steppin' Stone" in the Dolenz, Jones, Boyce, & Hart TV special from 1976.
Author’s Note: Inspired by screen stills of Micky from the aforementioned TV special.
Micky sighed. He'd just finished taping one of the segments of his TV special with Davy, Bobby, and Tommy. Of course, the Jones, Boyce, & Hart part of Dolenz, Jones, Boyce, & Hart hadn't been entirely thrilled with Micky's take on the Monkees' hit song, "Steppin' Stone," and tried to talk him out of it.
But Micky held his ground, arguing that he was the one who had to sing it, so why not make it fun? The band hadn't broken up that long ago, but even after ten years, the act was starting to get stale, and Micky knew this was the best way to keep it fresh.
He was still sweating and panting from his performance, a "Mick Jagger"-fied version of the song, as he'd described it to the guys, and was in his dressing room "taking five" while the others filmed another segment on stage.
The sound of his dressing room door closing made Micky jump with a startled yelp. He turned to see a tall figure standing there, wearing a hat and dark glasses and beard. There was no mistaking that familiar, lanky frame--Micky knew it was Mike.
A seductive grin came over Micky's face, and he let his legs fall open enough for Mike to see the hard-on pressing against the front of his very tight pants. Mike slowly sauntered over, removing his disguise as he did. He grabbed Micky by his long scarf and yanked him up to a standing position, crashing their lips together in a heated kiss.
Micky threw his arms around Mike, moaning as the Texan started to grind his now huge erection into Micky's pelvis. His hands moved to Micky's tight ass, groping the firm cheeks through those ridiculous pants. Micky unbuttoned Mike's shirt and shoved it off his shoulders. He leaned in, taking a nipple in his mouth, biting until a low growl escaped Mike's mouth.
Mike pulled Micky off and spun him around, bending him over the dressing table. He pressed his chest against Micky's back, and leaned down to whisper in his ear:
"You fuckin' slut," he drawled hoarsely. "Do you know what you were doin' on that stage just now, Mick?"
"Having fun..." Micky smiled beneath Mike. He arched up against Mike's slim frame, purring at the warm weight above him.
"You were fuckin' with that audience, babe. More'n that...you were fuckin' with me." Mike moved a hand down to the front of Micky's pants, groping his cock through the material.
"I'm guessing that's why you're here," Micky said, moaning as Mike began to stroke him. "Fuck, Mike...please..."
Micky turned his head slightly, a small smile spreading across his lips at the dark beard covering Mike's face. "I thought that was part of your disguise," he said, reaching a hand up to softly stroke the coarse hairs.
"You don't like it?" Mike's gaze faltered, his eyes choosing instead to focus on the dressing room floor.
"What? No," Micky's already high-pitched voice seemed to go up an octave in alarm. He tilted Mike's head back up and looked at him intently. "I love it. You look sexy with a beard. You always have."
Micky crashed his lips against Mike's, as if to drive the point home. The Texan growled, quickly taking control of the kiss, sliding his tongue into Micky's mouth.
"Mmmh..." the curly-haired man moaned.
Micky broke the kiss then, threading his fingers through the taller man's dark hair.
"I knew you were out there, Mike. I could feel you looking at me."
"Uh huh. Sure you could, Mick. But you weren't puttin' on a show for me. You were doin' it for you. Makin' all those people want you, want to fuck you. Makin' 'em beg for it."
Nimble fingers closed around the now prominent bulge in Micky's pants, squeezing hard.
"But I'm the one who's here now. And it's your turn to beg."
Without warning, Mike spun Micky around again, shoving the backs of his thighs against the table. Micky's eyes widened considerably as Mike gracefully moved to his knees, unfastening the front of Micky's pants and pulling them down his legs along the way.
Oh, god, oh shit... Micky's mind was reeling. Mike hadn't done this in years, and even when he did, it was either because he was pissed off or in a very good mood.
The thought of figuring out which one it was this time quickly vanished as Mike took Micky's hard cock into his mouth.
"Unngghh, fuck! Oh god..." Micky cried out. Apparently Mike hadn't forgotten a thing, deftly sliding his tongue around the head of Micky's cock. He licked a long stripe up the underside, one hand playing with Micky's balls, and then swallowed him whole, relentless in his pace.
"Oh, Mike...god, yeah...that feels so fucking good..." Micky wailed, almost afraid to look down, knowing that he would come just at the sight of Mike's lips around his cock.
Mike hummed around Micky's hard-on, and the drummer's legs nearly buckled as the vibrations shot through him. Mike inhaled deeply, loving the sweet, musky scent of Micky in full arousal, his nose twitching only slightly from the coarse pubic hairs tickling them.
Keeping his mouth in place, Mike darted his tongue out, curling it around each of Micky's balls. The standing man gasped for air, his chest heaving as he fought to steady himself against the onslaught of pleasure.
"Jesus, Mike...please make me cum..."
Mike smirked, as much as it was possible to do with a mouth full of slutty drummer cock.
Now that's the song I've been waitin' to hear you sing...
Mike pulled his mouth off of Micky's cock, trying not to smile at the other man's look of disbelief.
"You asshole!" Micky yelled, crossing his arms in front of his chest with an angry huff.
Mike couldn't stop himself from laughing as Micky's inner 12-year-old came out, so childlike and cute did he look pouting like that.
His laughter faded as he took in the rest of Micky--his cheeks, reddened by a coating of blush makeup, now flushed even further; skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat; and his hair, messy and wilder than usual.
Mike shoved Micky against the dressing table, pressing him up against the mirror. Micky quickly kicked his pants the rest of the way off, a small sigh escaping his lips as Mike stepped between his legs, pushing them apart.
Mike nodded towards the shirt Micky had on, and Micky obeyed, quickly pulling the blue sequined garment over his head and dropping it to the ground below.
He brought his hands to the scarf around his neck, gasping as Mike issued a light slap to his backside.
"I like it. Leave it on."
Micky abandoned the scarf, wrapping his arms around Mike's neck and pulling him in for a heated kiss.
Mike reveled in the feel of that lithe body beneath him once more. It had almost been a decade, and Micky was still skinny--long, graceful limbs, smooth skin, and now just a light coating of hair on his formerly bare chest.
The boy's becomin' a man... Mike thought, memories from years past entering his mind. They'd fucked anywhere and everywhere they could--Micky's house, both of their dressing rooms, in several of Mike's cars...even on the leather couch in the "Pad" after everyone had gone home.
But the show soon ended--and when Mike finally left the band, so did their relationship. I have a wife and kids, Mike figured. Micky's got Samantha and the baby. It's time we got on with our lives.
What Mike hadn't realized was how difficult, or unpleasant, a life without Micky would be. He kept his distance, not wanting Phyllis to get suspicious. He knew Micky screwed around with everything that wasn't nailed down, and Sammy was used to it, but his own situation was far more precarious.
That's what had broken them up, above all else: Micky's recklessness. Showing Mike too much affection when they went out, trying to act like they were a couple.
Mike would never admit that some part of him, deep down, wanted exactly that. But he knew it was impossible...and so was saying "no" to Micky Dolenz. So he just left, reasoning it would be easier on both of them if he went without a word.
But Mike had kept up with the goings-on in Micky's life, and that was how he'd found out about the special. Davy had invited all of them to come to the taping, probably expecting Mike to be the last one to show up.
Mike was never one for doing what people expected.
That was how he'd wound up in the audience, staring at Micky from behind dark sunglasses, his dick standing straight up almost from the moment the other man appeared onstage.
It was "Steppin' Stone" that finally did Mike in. He was just going to leave afterwards--maybe jerk off in his car once or twice--and head home. But when he saw Micky in that ridiculous outfit--that glittery blue shirt, the purple scarf, and particularly those tight pants--saw him writhing, crawling, panting, practically fucking his way through the song, he knew he wouldn't settle for anything less than pounding him into the stage.
Mike slowly ended their kiss then, bringing a hand to his belt and loosening it. He sighed as his now-throbbing cock made contact with the cool air of the room. He looked up, a small smirk forming on the corner of his mouth as he saw Micky licking his lips.
"You ready for me, babe?" Mike asked, wrapping a hand around his erection and stroking himself to full hardness.
Micky maneuvered his legs around Mike's slim waist, scooting to the end of the table. He slid a finger between his lips, slicking it up with spit, and brought it to his ass. He kept his eyes on Mike as he pressed the finger against the puckered opening, letting out a low moan as he pushed it inside.
"Does this answer your question?"
Mike fought back a groan, more than turned on by the sight of Micky fucking himself on his own fingers.
Not wanting to wait another moment, Mike grabbed the tube of lube sitting on a nearby table and slicked himself up. He lined up the head with Micky's entrance, slowly circling it, teasing.
Micky whimpered and moved his hips, trying to force himself down on Mike's cock.
"Please, Mike. Do it. Make it hurt."
Mike happily obliged, thrusting in past the ring of muscle. Both men gasped--Micky from how huge Mike was, and Mike from the incredible heat and tightness surrounding him. Mike pushed further until he was all the way in, his balls coming to rest against Micky's round asscheeks.
"Jesus..." Mike groaned in a choked sob. He took a deep breath and began to move in slow, steady thrusts, determined to make this last.
"Oh my God..." Micky moaned, his head lolling back against the mirror. "Fuck, ohh...more, Mike..."
Mike began to move faster, harder, his strokes uneven and deep. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead as he watched his cock disappear into that perfect ass over and over.
He leaned down to press a few kisses to Micky's chest, stopping to nibble on the curly-haired man's dusty pink nipples.
Micky's gasp of pleasure soon turned into a giggle.
"Your beard is tickling me!" he laughed, playfully running a hand through Mike's hair.
Mike suddenly changed the angle of his thrusts, and Micky's grip on his head tightened as he felt Mike brush against his prostate.
"SHIT! UNNGGHH!" he groaned and Mike stimulated his sweet spot again on the next pass, and Micky saw stars.
On the one after that, Micky lifted his hips to meet Mike's movement, and the older man groaned, moving his hands to the crook of Micky's knees, holding him steady as he pounded in and out.
"Ooohh, fuck...fuck me, Mike, yeahhh...please...!" Micky cried out. Desperately needing to come, he reached a hand down to his own erection.
"No," Mike growled, brushing the hand away. "You come when I say you can come."
Micky groaned in frustration but obeyed, knowing full well how much it would be worth it to wait.
The legs of the dressing table were squeaking in protest under their weight, but both men failed to notice as they were lost to their passions.
"God damn, you're such a hot little slut, Mick. Ungh. You been wantin' this for a while now. I know it," Mike panted.
"So have you, Tex," Micky grinned, and clamped his inner muscles around Mike's cock like a vise.
"FUCK!" Mike yelled, nearly losing his balance. He'd almost forgotten about Micky's mid-sex tricks, and glared at the younger man. Micky just looked back at him with one eyebrow raised, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
"Don't you fucking do that again, shotgun, or this show's gonna be over a lot sooner than we'd both like." Mike tried to look angry, but couldn't stop himself from breaking into a quiet chuckle at the end.
Micky laughed at this and wiggled his ass, wordlessly urging Mike to continue. Mike pulled out slowly, almost to where the head wasn't even in. Micky opened his mouth to protest, but Mike thrust in to the hilt before he could get a word out.
"UNNGGHH!" Micky screamed as Mike fucked him relentlessly.
Mike moved Micky's legs to his shoulders for better access, mercilessly thrusting in and out.
He grabbed the purple scarf that Micky was still wearing and wrapped it around his hand. He yanked on it, pulling Micky upright and crashing their lips together in a searing kiss.
They groaned into each other's mouths, both knowing that they couldn't hold on much longer.
"Please, Mike...I need to cum," Micky whined, his dick so hard he was sure it had become an interesting shade of purple by now.
"Soon, Mick. Just a little longer," Mike grunted, hissing quietly as he felt his balls raising higher and tightening with every thrust.
Micky moved his head up slightly to the side of Mike's, his mouth next to Mike's ear.
"Do you know...what I remember best of all...from, ungh...the old days?" he whispered. "Sucking...your...dick...oh, God...in that...swimming pool."
Mike remembered that vividly. It was during filming for Head, when they'd been in a pool for the water scenes. Bob and Bert and Jack had called cut and gone off to discuss something. Mike normally would've joined them, but Micky had dragged him off to one side of the pool.
"Wanna see how long I can hold my breath underwater? I'm really good at it." he'd said so innocently.
Mike agreed, not knowing what Micky really had in mind. Micky disappeared beneath the water, and Mike's eyes widened in surprise and horror when he felt a pair of lips around his dick a moment later.
He tried to get Micky to stop, to no avail. To make matters worse, Davy and Peter had started to swim over to where they were.
Mike tried to play it cool, ignoring the magic Micky's skilled mouth was working on his aching hard-on.
"Eh, what's Micky doing down 'ere?" Davy asked.
"He dropped something," Mike quickly answered. "He's jus' pickin' it up before we gotta shoot again."
"Uh huh," Peter said, one eyebrow raised skeptically.
Mike glared at Peter, silently willing him to grab Davy and get the hell away from them.
"Come on, David. Let's practice our lines," Peter gently grabbed the Englishman's upper arm, guiding them away. He looked back at Mike one more time, rolling his eyes in exasperation.
Mike exploded in Micky's mouth moments later, biting his lip so hard he was sure he'd end up drawing blood.
Not long after, a now-sopping wet Micky bobbed up from the water, grinning lasciviously at Mike and licking his lips like a satisfied cat.
"Told you I was good at it."
The emotions he'd felt then surged through Mike--the embarrassment, the arousal, and most of all, the fear of getting caught. He'd never been so angry in his life or so turned on, especially with the guys standing right there. Truth be told, it took every ounce of willpower Mike had then not to tell Davy and Peter he was getting the best head of his life.
"Fuck, Micky..." Mike growled, reveling in the memory of those lips around his cock that day and all the other days, his fist tightly gripping that beautiful, curly hair. He thrust even harder, wondering how he could've deprived himself of this pleasure for so long.
"Gonna come...gonna come in that tight little ass, ohh..." Mike was rapidly losing control, overwhelmed with the need to come, to feel Micky's incredible body clenching around him.
"Mike...I'm so close..." Micky panted, nearly sobbing in relief as Mike closed a hand around his hard-on.
"Ohh, goddamnit--FUCK!!" Mike yelled as his orgasm slammed into him, the pleasure rushing through his body like lightning, from his hair follicles to his toes. He thrust into Micky once, twice, three times, spending himself into that glorious channel.
"Miiiike...MikeMikeMike MIKE!!" Micky screamed, following the Texan over the edge moments later. Mike stilled his hand on Micky's cock, watching as jet after jet of hot cum shot out, covering Micky's stomach.
"Ohhh..." Mike groaned exhaustedly, collapsing onto Micky, not caring about the stickiness between them.
The dressing table chose this moment to do the same, its legs cracking ominously, and before either man could react, they went crashing to the ground.
"Mick! Jesus, are you okay??" Mike scrambled to get off of him, and was surprised to see Micky giggling uncontrollably when he did.
"I'm--" Micky tried to speak, only to break into more giggles.
"I'm...fine...Mike," he finally said, clearing his throat in an effort to calm down.
A pounding at the door startled them both more than the table breaking had seconds earlier.
"Micky! Are you okay in there?" came a combination of Bobby Hart and Davy's voices.
"I'm fine, guys! Just had a little accident, that's all!" Micky replied, trying not to look at Mike for fear of laughing again.
"You sure you don't need am ambulance or something, man?"
"I said I'm fine! I'll see you later, all right?" Micky bowed his head, sighing in relief at the sound of retreating footsteps.
He looked up at Mike, and after a beat, both of them burst into uproarious laughter.
It was several minutes before they finally stopped, slowly moving closer. Mike re-buttoned his shirt and redid his pants, tucking himself back in. Micky brought a hand to the side of his face as he finished getting dressed, caressing it gently, enjoying the soft-scratchiness of Mike's beard.
"Am I gonna see you again soon, Tex?" he asked quietly.
Mike said nothing, instead pressing a passionate kiss to Micky's lips. He poured every ounce of emotion he had into devouring Micky's mouth, nipping at the sides with his teeth, holding the sides of Micky's face with his hands.
Micky pulled back, eyeing Mike uncertainly. He thought for a moment, then pressed his fingers to his lips, a shy smile spreading across his face.
"I love you, too, Mike."
Mike simply nodded, his eyes focused on Micky as he slid his sunglasses back on.
Micky sat down in one of the chairs and turned around, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He heard the dressing room door open, and watched in the mirror on the wall as Mike walked out, a little, happy smile on his face.
As the door clicked shut, Micky smiled back.