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Home Slash Fiction Het/Gen Fiction Donatella's Head

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.


"Behind Closed Doors"



Title: Behind Closed Doors
Pairing: Micky/Mike
Rating: NC-17
Author: Woolhat's Traveling Mood
Author's Note: Based on the sneaky looks Mike and Micky keep giving each other in 'Monkees in the Ring'. This is like a mini-sequel with a twist.

It seemed every day they had to do this. Someone was always getting in trouble, there was always some scam and they always had to come in with decisive plans and help out. Now it was up to them to save Davy - from himself. Micky couldn't believe that Davy was stupid enough to believe that he could be a prize boxer. Did he have a death wish or something? The Champ would tear him to shreds if he were given the chance.

Micky sat still watching Mike intensely. He could see the Texan was plotting something, anything to get away from the heap of stupid muscle called Vernon. The drummer had an inclination of what Mike might try and hoped it would work before they were too late and Davy would be beaten to a pulp in the boxing ring. If they could get past Vernon they could stop the fight. Micky remembered previously trying to ward off the Champ by trying to scare him off with tales of dynamite Davy Jones, but Mike had just given him a look - it wasn't working. While they sat there silently, watching the fight on the television, Micky thought back to how things had started to change. From the outside, everything looked the same and he and Mike were just roommates and friends. From the inside, they were a whole lot more. Sometimes Micky wanted to tell Davy and Peter about his and Mike's relationship, sometimes it was fun to keep a secret. But now Micky had a secret he was keeping from Mike and it was beginning to plague him day and night. Micky shook his head slightly; he had to concentrate if they were going to escape Vernon. He looked down at his hands that were still handcuffed and then looked across at Mike once again, looking at the cuffs that also adorned his wrists. A sharp, shrill tingle of excitement ran up Micky's spine and he felt slightly sickened with himself for it. How could he feel like this? It must be wrong.


Well, they had done it once again. Mike had come up with the plan of challenging Vernon and tricking him, gaining them time to interrupt the fight and save Davy. Micky felt himself grow proud with the thought that Mike had managed to do that. Mike was the unannounced hero, or so he was in Micky's eyes. The group was safe once again.

Mike opened the door to the pad and headed straight for the stairs, not bothering to turn the light on. He put on the act of utter exhaustion, but Micky knew better. The others filed in behind him, Davy turning the light on and slumping at the kitchen table, Peter falling on the couch, and Micky following Mike up the stairs. "I'm off to bed you guys." Mike mumbled, as he neared the top bedroom door.

"Yeah me too," Micky gave a quiet smile.

"Night." Davy called, but it was softer than usual. The Englishman was still feeling guilty about not believing his friends and being so foolish. He couldn't believe he had fallen for such a scam. Deep down, he was embarrassed more than anything.

Once behind the closed bedroom door, Mike turned to Micky and immediately captured his mouth in a long, hard kiss. His elegant fingers held Micky's head in place as he explored the drummer's mouth with his tongue. It felt so good, so needed, like taking a drink after going thirsty for days on end. Finally they broke the kiss and Micky smiled up into Mike's face, before nuzzling the Texan's neck softly.

"You handled that Vernon guy real well," Micky murmured, locking his arms around Mike's waist.

"Well, I had to protect you didn't I?" Mike whispered, slipping his fingers amongst Micky's curls and feeling the ultimate softness he found there. Micky blushed slightly and gave a small laugh, pressing himself closer to Mike. Mike moved out of Micky's embrace and began to get undressed. Micky watched, almost fascinated, and gazed as Mike's lean body shone in the faint moonlight, so beautiful it looked as if it were made from marble. Mike changed into his pajama bottoms and lay back on his bed, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. Maybe he was tired after all, Micky thought. After a few moments, Mike cracked one eye open and looked across at Micky, a look of concern on his face.

"Are you ok babe? You've been real quiet." Micky kept staring at Mike and knew that he had to tell his lover his secret or soon he would go mad. He loved Mike more than anything and hiding something from him was like trying to keep an elephant in your pocket without anyone noticing. Micky ushered himself slowly towards Mike and sat down on the end of the bed, his back to the Texan. Before he spoke, he could feel the bed shift and soon Mike's legs were on either side of his waist and strong arms were wrapped around his shoulders. Micky could feel Mike's breath blowing warmly down the back of his neck and Mike hugged him closer.

"Go ahead." Mike whispered from behind, his love seemingly surging forth from every pore in his body. This didn't settle Micky's nerves and he was worried that if he told Mike the secret then he would lose him. It was a heavy weight lying on his heart and he wanted to get it out, but he had to be sure.

"You won't be angry will you?" Micky asked meekly.

"No, I promise." There was a sharp twang of doubt and suspicion in Mike's voice.

"Well," Micky began, "I... well, you know when Vernon put the handcuffs on us?"


"Well, what I'm trying to say is,there's certain things...." Micky found that the words were getting more and more difficult. They seemed to be clogging up in his throat, muddling up on his tongue.

"Come on Mick," Mike squeezed a little harder, "You can tell me."

"Well, you know when we sometimes get in trouble and people, you know, tie us up and stuff?"


"Well...I kinda like it." Micky spat it out and sat in silence as he waited for Mike to answer. There was a long pause.

"You mean you like people tying you up? Hurting you?" Mike's voice was more surprised than angry.

"Well, sorta. I dunno what it is. It kinda gives me an adrenaline rush I suppose." Micky relaxed a little, knowing the worst was over. There was silence as Mike seemed to think over what Micky had just said until finally he took a deep breath.

"Is that what you want Mick?" Now Micky had to think, was it what he wanted? He remembered the shrill feeling that tingled through him when he thought about the handcuffs; he had had the same feeling when the Four Swine's manager had kept the band hostage and both he and Mike had found themselves tied up once again. It may be wrong, but Micky couldn't deny that there was an element of masochism inside him and sometimes he longed for that feeling of helplessness, there was just something about it that turned him on. Slowly Micky nodded.

"Yeah, I guess so." Before Micky could blink an eye, his arms were clamped behind his back and he lost his balance, crashing down to the floor on his knees. He tested how tightly gripped his hands were and found that he couldn't release them, even if he wanted to.

"Ok Mick." Mike's voice was still compassionate, yet commanding, "I'll do what I think you want, but if you want me to stop, you have to say so. Just say 'stop Mike', and I will, ok? Micky nodded and felt the pressure on his arms tighten ever so slightly. "Now stay there!" Mike growled and his voice had become sharp and vicious, yet playful. It seemed he was beginning to enjoy himself too.

Micky stayed perfectly still, holding his hands behind his back, as Mike stood and wandered over to the wardrobe. He seemed to rummage around for a while, before returning with an old scarf that had been lying in a drawer for years. Micky gulped slightly as Mike came to him and roughly grabbed his head by the hair. A small yelp escaped Micky's throat and looking up, he saw an element of concern glimmer in Mike's eyes. Mike was asking him through his eyes whether he was ok; they had never tried anything like this before. Micky looked back at him and his quickly growing arousal spoke for him. The grip on his hair tightened painfully and then everything went black as Mike wrapped the scarf around Micky's eyes.

"Stand up bitch." Mike ordered and Micky stood obediently on wobbly legs. Micky felt his hands thrust above his head and his shirt was removed, before his arms were once again forced behind his back. All Micky could hear was his own heavy breathing, anticipation and excitement building up within him. There was more rummaging and then his hands were taken in that firm grip again and he felt something cool slither over his wrists. It was strong and smooth - leather. Mike had put a belt around his wrists and Micky couldn't help but find that a huge turn on. Micky stood there, still and silent and wondered what on earth Mike had in store for him. Thoughts of doubt began to plague his mind and he worried if he had suddenly got himself in serious trouble. On the other hand, he had never felt so aroused in his life and he yearned to feel more of this new experience.

Micky could feel Mike's calloused fingers trailing up the sides of his bare arms, before they clamped down just below the shoulder, tightening and tightening until all Micky could feel was a burning pain. He opened his mouth and nothing more than a gasp escaped. He could feel Mike's nails digging in to his soft flesh and the Texan's ragged, brutal breathing against his naked back. The breathing seemed to get louder and then Micky felt a warm wet sensation on his right ear. Mike licked his ear lobe gently at first, then sucked on it softly before issuing a sharp bite that made Micky squeak in horrified pain. The fingers were still digging in and Micky could imagine the colors his arms would be turning. Micky couldn't tell when Mike let go, both with his teeth and his fingers, because the pain continued throbbing, keeping up a steady beat in his brain. The drummer was concentrating so much on the pain that at first he didn't notice that his pants and underwear were being removed, leaving him exposed to any torture Mike merrily thought up.

Micky stood, aroused and bewildered and listened intently. He heard Mike walk across the room and Micky traced his steps in his mind. There was a soft clattering sound, which could only mean that Mike was looking in his bedside cabinet. More rustling and then the steps retraced until they stopped just in front of Micky's naked, helpless from. The hands were on him again, turning him round and bending him over. Mike outstretched Micky's arms for him and placed them on the bed, so that Micky was bending over with his ass in the air.

"This has been coming to you bitch," Mike snarled and Micky braced himself. Micky felt Mike's hands on his ass and then something cold. Before his brain could work out what it was, Micky gasped and nearly cried out as a solid object was forced inside him. His arms shook and he thought they would give way, but they seemed to hold their ground - barely.

"That will stay there till I remove it, do you hear me?" Mike grabbed Micky by the hair and the drummer nodded meekly. "What do you say?" Mike spat.


"Yes what?"

Micky thought for a moment. "Yes sir." Mike laughed callously, or so it seemed, and made Micky stand up straight again, forcing whatever it was further inside. Micky tried to think what it was, it certainly wasn't a sex toy, Mike didn't have any of those, and Micky guessed he wouldn't know until Mike let him. Micky was breathing hard now, pain had forced tears to his eyes, but he knew that if he asked, Mike would stop. But that was the issue - he didn't want it to stop. The pain, the brutality made him feel so turned on he thought he might burst.

"Now you'll do something for me." Mike whispered gruffly and his large hands landed on Micky's shoulders, forcing him down to his knees. There was a rustle of clothing but Micky wasn't concentrating, all he could feel was the pain on his arms, on his ear and around his ass. A hand grabbed Micky by the hair, painfully tighter and a whimper escaped the drummer's throat. "Shut up whore," Mike swore, giving Micky a quick slap around the face.

For Micky, the situation was becoming more and more intense. He was so aroused, yet his body ached and there was a mild, yet thrilling element of fear that was gnawing away at him. Mike might just go too far. Mike levered Micky's head by his hair and then Micky realised what Mike intended.

"Suck it," Mike murmured, spite seemingly laced in his voice. Micky opened his mouth obediently and took Mike's hardness inside. He seemed even bigger when Micky couldn't see, when Micky was helpless and couldn't stop, even if he wanted to. Mike's hand arched Micky's head, holding there as he thrust himself deeper into Micky's mouth, hearing his lover gag and feeling a certain pleasure from that. Micky choked and at first his natural instincts made him try to pull away, but Mike had him in a firm grip and held him still until he was done. Micky heard Mike moan quietly as he kept a rhythm going, faster and harder every time. Micky could feel the scarf grow a little damp from tears of pain that had spilled over. But he didn't want to stop - not yet. The rhythm went faster and faster until finally Mike's grip tightened and Micky felt a warm, salty liquid shoot down his throat. Mike immediately removed himself and forced Micky's mouth shut, making him swallow every last drop. "Good bitch." Mike's breathing began to slow as he petted Micky gently on the head. "Now," Mike continued, "What would you like me to do to you slut, huh?" Micky listened to the silence and knew it was his turn to answer.

His voice was dry and raspy as he spoke. "Hurt me, punish me." He practically moaned. He stood, head slightly bowed, and was glad he was blindfolded when he said that. He couldn't see Mike's face but he knew the expression would be somewhat bemused.

"I'll give you what you deserve, what all whores deserve." Micky stood and waited. He had no idea what would come but when Mike came back to him and forced a piece of cloth in his mouth, Micky knew that it wasn't going to be gentle. "Just so we don't worry the others," Mike chuckled as he seemed to stand back and admire his work. Micky waited and waited and knew that Mike was also playing mind games. The Texan was cunning and the drummer was completely taken by surprise by what happened next. A shrill cry rang past Micky's lips but was heavily muffled by the gag when the first blow was struck. The scarf grew damper with tears of pain and for a moment Micky thought he might pass out.

A sharp pain, like being burnt with a large candle shot across Micky's bare legs and it took him a while to realize what the pain was. His legs buckled slightly and he felt another shot set his skin on fire just above his ass. That's when it dawned on him. A belt. Mike was whipping him with a belt. Micky had just enough time to think that last thought before another strike, followed by another; hard and painful, forcing a cry out of Micky every time.

On the fifth time, Micky's legs did give way and he toppled gracelessly to the ground. The beating stopped for a moment. Micky lay face down on the cold wood floor, whimpering under the gag. Despite the pain, he was sure he would come soon. He heard Mike above him, standing over him and Micky was struck by an imaginary image of what his lover would look like - naked, aroused, breathing heavily with a thin sheen of sweat across his entire body and a big belt wrapped tightly around his right hand like a knuckle duster. He could tell by the atmosphere of the room that Mike was concerned, despite the fact that he was silent. If Micky wanted to stop, he would say so.

They stayed like that for a few moments, just getting their breath before Micky felt himself hauled to his feet once again. He tried to stand as straight as possible and he felt Mike press up against his back, his hardness digging into Micky. Mike's arms locked around Micky's waist and pulled them closer still - hostage and captor - and they stood there silently, almost wistfully. Mike's chin rested on Micky's shoulder and his grip tightened again, squeezing the air out of the meek body before him and sending a new wave of pain through Micky. Then Micky could feel the hands begin to move. One stayed clamped over Micky's chest while the other travelled down until it had a good grip of Micky's manhood and squeezed ever so slightly. Micky groaned at the pleasure, which flowed parallel to the pain and his head rolled back slightly. The hand that was on his chest also began to move and slid softly around to his ass, where it grabbed hold of the hard object that was still inside Micky's weary body. Slowly this hand began to move the object in and out, in and out and a loud moan came from behind the gag. The other hand began to pump Micky to the rhythm and soon he felt himself losing to the build up of pleasure that was breaking down all boundaries. The object moved faster and faster, harder and harder and groans of agony mingled with the moans of pleasure. Micky's body began to grow limp and slowly gave way. Micky could feel the climax coming as Mike pumped him, but as he grew closer, all motion stopped. Micky thought he just might cry and he swallowed hard. Slowly the object was removed and Micky felt both disappointment and relief. Soon he felt himself be directed once again and he was moved until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. The hands were in his hair again, gripping tight and adding just a little more fear and pain to Micky's experience.

Micky heard Mike take a deep breath as he uttered one last sentence; "I'm gonna rape you now." Then Micky was thrown back on the bed, landing painfully on his arms that were still tied behind his back. He whimpered a little and felt Mike join him on the bed. He knew that Mike was going to take him raw and he mentally prepared himself before the pain hit. It was like being stabbed with thousands of knives and burned inside out. Mike thrust into him, groaning with pleasure as he filled Micky completely, forcing him to the very boundaries of all mortal emotions and feelings. Strong hands gripped Micky's upper arms once again as the rhythm grew quicker and harder with every thrust. To Micky, the ordeal seemed to last forever, and by now he could feel that the scarf was almost soaked through. Mike's ragged breathing seemed to be heard everywhere and to Micky he was everywhere, he was inside him, not just physically, but mentally too. Micky felt the pressure build as Mike began to stroke him in rhythm, faster, faster, faster until finally Micky's world turned black and he could no longer hold on. Micky came explosively, screaming out Mike's name, which just sounded like a muffled mess once it came through the gag. Mike came almost immediately after, collapsing on top of Micky and breathing so hard it sounded as if he had just run the marathon.

Micky lay there, and his eyes closed, despite the blindfold and he realized that his curiosity had been appeased and that he regretted nothing. He knew that he would have to abstain from swimming for a while until his bruises went but he was glad for the experience, and he felt even better that he had shared it with Mike. He knew that Mike hadn't really raped him, that that phrase was just to scare him and he knew that if he had asked, Mike would have certainly stopped immediately. It was this safety net that seemed to make the whole experience a lot more enjoyable, knowing that he could do such a thing with someone that he trusted one hundred percent. Mike began to stir and withdrew from Micky.

He moved to his knees and bent down, raising Micky gently into a sitting position and removing the gag and blindfold. Micky smiled at Mike with red-rimmed eyes and was pleased to see Mike smile back at him warmly, as if the person who had hurt Micky was a completely different person.

"Thanks," Micky whispered, and received a passionate kiss in return.

"Glad to be of service," Mike laughed lightly and leaned closer to untie Micky's aching arms.

Micky looked around briefly and saw discarded clothes, the belt that had struck him and, lying almost hidden in the darkness, a silver cigar holder which Mike had got as a freebie from somewhere. It was a silver tube that held just one cigar. It was something that looked ostentatious, too fancy for Mike and anyway, Mike didn't smoke. But now Micky knew what that hard object was that Mike had fucked him with. When he was free, Micky wrapped his arms around Mike's neck and buried his face in the curve of Mike's shoulder. There he kissed the delicate skin and silently wished that they could live like this forever, together in love and trust. He and Mike understood each other, and that's all they needed. It sounded mushy in the light of what they had just done, but it was true and Micky knew Mike felt the same way. They shared one last passionate kiss before both lying down beneath the covers and falling into a deep, blissful sleep, safe and happy.