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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.


"Between the Lines"



Title: Between the Lines
Author: Mini
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Pairing: Mike Nesmith/OFC
Genre: Het-smut.
Warnings: Contains explicit sexual content and language.
Disclaimer: Based somewhat on true events (something Mike allegedly said to a reporter from LOOK magazine, I think it was), but otherwise absolutely and completely 100% fictitious. Never happened, not real, and I make no claims as to the sexual proclivities of the real Michael Nesmith. So don't sue me, cause I'm a broke grad student and would have to pay you in tiny little packets of Chinese mustard.
Summary: A reporter is having a hard time getting the scoop on Mike Nesmith, until he gives her a very interesting ultimatum...
Author's Note: Inspired by the following picture.


Imposing? Hmmm...no. Towering. She'd been scribbling random notes onto the page, flipping through her mental catalog of descriptive adjectives, trying to find the one (or two) that could encapsulate the subject of her latest piece. Her eyes drifted up to him, the man in the black shirt standing on the stairs. He'd been avoiding her all day, it seemed, and yet was somehow managing to stay in place for the photo shoot that had been scheduled.

Mike sighed, the green woolen hat hanging low in his right hand. He'd been posing on the stairs for twenty minutes, growing more and more impatient as the photographer shot pictures of him from every angle.

"Hey, man, when's this gon' be over?" Mike asked, pushing the dark wave of hair out of his eyes, only to have it insistently return a moment later.

"Soon, Mr. Nesmith. We just need a few more shots," the man with the camera replied.

He looks so...bored, she thought, watching the photographer circle around him. His hip remained perpetually cocked to the side; cool indifference mixed with a hint of unbridled sexuality. The pen drifted from her lips as she stared at his lanky body, her gaze transfixed on the silver belt buckle on his waistband. Have to hand it to the shutterbug...He's got some great material to work with...

"Okay! That'll about do it." The photographer's voice startled her out of her reverie, her pen dropping to the floor. She scrambled to pick it up and looked up in time to see Mike walking off the set.

Shit! she grabbed her notepad and stuffed it in her purse before running after him.

"Mr. Nesmith? Mr. Nesmith!" she called out, her heels clacking on the concrete as she attempted to catch up with him.

Mike looked behind him and sighed under his breath when he saw her, rolling his eyes and continuing his long stride in a trying-to-get-away direction.

She managed to reach him then, and tugged on his sleeve. "Mr. Nesmith, please." Her bag strap had slid down her shoulder as she ran, and she pulled it up again tightly.

"What do you want?" he finally said, turning around to face her.

"Mr. Nesmith, I'm sorry. I don't mean to bother you, truly, but I have to interview you for my magazine. It's what my editor wants, and if I don't deliver, I'm out of a job," she pleaded, slightly out of breath.

"Well, that's not my problem," he replied, folding his arms and smiling a slight, sarcastic smile at her.

She put her hand on her hip, unamused by his attitude. "Look, Mr. Nesmith...just answer a few questions for me, and I'll leave you alone. I promise. Please don't make me beg."

Mike sighed in disgust but stopped when he realized exactly what she'd said, and his eyes went dark and narrow, focusing on her. He walked up to her until they were just inches apart, causing her to jump and inhale sharply at his sudden advancement. She stepped back, trying to recreate the distance between them, but he moved closer to her again and leaned down, lowering his lips to her ear. She could feel his breath hot against her cheek and she shivered, out of both fear and excitement.

"I'll do the interview...if you fuck me."

Her eyes widened at this and she pulled away from him in disbelief. Mike smirked at the look of shock on her face, convinced that he'd finally won. She saw him starting to turn, and didn't stop to think, blurting out a reply before he could walk away again.

"All right. I will."

Mike blinked, clearly not expecting his bluff to be called, but he quickly recovered and sauntered back up to her, wrapping one hand around her wrist. He slid his fingers up her arm and gripped it tightly, yanking her close to him. She gasped loudly, swallowing hard at the feeling of his torso against her, taking in his scent--a heady mixture of sweet tobacco and leather. His free hand went to the front of her blouse, deftly unbuttoning the top two buttons, exposing her bra and the gentle swell of her cleavage. She looked around, frantic, and was relieved that no one was close by enough to see what was happening.

What IS happening? she wondered, her cheeks burning red with a combination of embarrassment and arousal. Mike trailed his index and middle fingers down her sternum and over to her right breast, letting his hand lightly hover over it. He could feel the heat radiating out from her, and smirked when he saw the slight protrusion of her now-hard nipple from beneath the fabric of her shirt.

He pulled his hand away. "Meet me here tonight. Midnight. And call me Mike," he said, leaning down to plant a lingering kiss on her neck. Her mouth fell open in a silent moan at the feeling of his lips on her skin, and she managed to nod in response as he moved away from her.

"Oh, and one more thing," Mike lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I'm looking forward to makin' you beg."


The hours seemed to crawl by from then on. Mike had left her standing there, heart pounding in her chest so loud she thought everyone on every set on the lot could hear it, and when she finally came back to her senses, she rebuttoned her shirt and hurried out of there, gunning her car back up the freeway.

She stood in front of her bedroom mirror now, nervously pulling and tugging at her clothes, which she'd spent nearly an hour picking out.

Oh, God...what am I doing? she thought to herself. Get a grip! It's only an interview. Right...I'm sure that's exactly what he wants to do. Talk. Her subconscious knew better than that, however. As much as she would've liked to ignore it, there was no denying the real reason for her venturing back to the studio that night.

She pulled her car into the lot just shortly before midnight. It was so late that she worried she wouldn't be able to get in, but the gate was open when she arrived, and the guard didn't even look up as he waved her in.

Not knowing where else to go, she walked back to the part of the studio where they'd been earlier, which was now dark and silent, in stark contrast to the cacophony of the afternoon. She heard a faint rustling noise and looked down to see a piece of white paper beneath her foot. It seemed to be just a piece of trash, but when she picked it up, she saw writing on the other side: "Look Left."

She looked up again, and saw a faint light off to the side of the set. Cautiously, she approached it, unsure of what she might find. As she got closer, she noticed a door with a sign on it: "Michael Nesmith."
His dressing room... The door was open just slightly, and before she could even knock, she heard his voice.

"Come on in," Mike drawled.

She pulled the door open, and could now see the light that had been emanating onto the set: a thin string of multicolored Christmas tree lights, hanging in a long row across the room. That was only the start of the unusual decor, which she took note of as she came inside--the walls were covered with aluminum foil and cigarette wrappers. Her eyes widened at one wall in particular, which had hundreds of safety pins stuck into it.
What is this...?

"Good to see you again." His drawl was soft, yet commanding. She looked around the room and noticed the outline of a couch in a dark corner, which was where his voice seemed to come from.

"I'd say the same thing except I can't actually see you," she replied, her eyes darting around anxiously as she strained to focus on him in the dim light.

"Maybe you ought to come a little closer," he whispered, getting up from the couch. She looked him up and down as he came into view--still wearing the same clothes he'd had on earlier that day, but his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a thin line of hair just below his navel, trailing down to the waistband of his trousers.

She'd spent the entire ride down the freeway that night silently panicking, terrified of what she was getting into.
Anything for a story... was the old reporters' mantra, yet one she wasn't sure she could live by. Still, she could not get the sight of Mike on the stairs that afternoon out of her mind. This sudden preoccupation was in direct opposition to how she'd felt when her editor had first said that she had to interview him.

"I'd rather interview Davy Jones," she insisted, but her boss stayed firm.

"Everyone already knows everything about Davy. People want to know about Mike Nesmith, about his story. They want to find out what's behind all that mystery."

It was that mystery that had captured her attention when she first saw Mike swagger onto the set. There suddenly seemed to be more to him than the tall, dark, and handsome surface--features that he wore almost like a costume. But he wouldn't let her in. Her boss had neglected to share a vital piece of information in that initial meeting--the fact that Mike hated reporters.

Except, apparently, the ones he wants to sleep with...

The sound of a snap coming undone brought her back to the room. She looked down and recognized the snap as being on her dress. Mike's hands had gone to the front and were slowly undoing each one, and he caressed each newly-bared area of skin as it became visible. She'd worn this dress on purpose, knowing how easily it would allow him to disrobe her.

He'd backed her up against the wall with the safety pins, and she could feel several of them digging into her. The last snap on her dress came undone then, and Mike pulled the dress away, letting it fall to the floor. A lewd grin spread across his face as he gave her a once-over, enjoying her nearly naked body framed by the glinting silver of the innumerable pins on the wall behind her.

He placed a hand on either side of her head and leaned in to kiss her. She kissed him back hungrily and moaned, her hands sliding around to grip his back. Mike reached behind her, his nimble guitarist's fingers making short work of her bra, and pulled the unwanted garment away, throwing it to the floor. Almost immediately, his hands were on her breasts, cupping and squeezing the supple flesh. He pinched her nipples, causing her to cry out against his lips.

Mike broke the kiss, leaning down again to run his tongue over her neck, nibbling her overheated skin. He sunk to his knees, and was now eye level with her breasts, which he greedily licked, taking each of her nipples into his mouth, one at a time, rolling his tongue over the hardened nubs. Her legs shook slightly from arousal, and she gripped his shoulder with one hand, trying to steady herself. He bit down gently on one nipple, tugging it upward with his teeth. A flood of pain and pleasure coursed through her body, and she dug her nails into Mike's back, causing him to let out a low growl.

"So..." his voice was raspy and deeply accented. He continued his oral assault on her body, kissing, licking and nibbling down her stomach. "You came here for a story."

"Interview..." she corrected him with a gasp, her eyes fluttering shut as he trailed his tongue down her hip. He stopped directly in front of her panties and seized the waistband between his teeth, slowly pulling them down her legs.

"Well..." Mike spoke between licks and caresses on her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to her warm lips. "How 'bout a Letter to Penthouse instead?"

He pushed her legs open, lifting her right one and shoving it against the wall. His other hand spread her open and he dove in, running his tongue up her clit.

"Shit!" she moaned, head thrown back against the uncomfortable pins, which had clotted together to form a makeshift cushion. He was swift and so, so good in his ministrations, his lips and tongue stimulating every inch of her down there. His fingers also got into the game, rubbing and pinching her clit as his tongue slid in and out of her, then switching positions a moment later, playing her body like a finely-tuned instrument.

Oh God, oh God...he's so fucking good at this! I can't believe I didn't want to come here tonight...this is the wildest dream that ever came true... her mind raced. Mike's hand reached around to her ass, groping the firm flesh. Suddenly, he spanked her, the loud smack! echoing off the walls.

Her eyes flew open at this. "Mr. Nesmith!" she exclaimed, and looked down to see him gazing up at her, a devilish grin spread across his face.

"I believe I told you to call me Mike," he said, and spanked her again, harder than the previous one. She shrieked again--now much more from arousal than surprise.

His pace was unrelenting as he tasted her--sometimes slow and languid, almost casual; other times fierce and rough, feasting like a starving man. Her legs began to shake as she felt her orgasm nearing, and he curled his long fingers inside her, repeatedly touching her g-spot until she cried out.

He pulled away from her then, hands and lips alike. Her head was so cloudy with arousal that she could scarcely comprehend what had happened.

"Why the hell did you stop?" she asked, staring down at him, eyes blazing with anger.

"You know why," he whispered, lightly running his fingers up her inner thigh. She gasped, her nerve endings so stimulated that even the slightest touch went straight to her clit.

"Please..." she said quietly, biting her lip.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

please..." she repeated, a little louder this time.

"Please what?" his fingers found their way toward her lips again, teasing, as he kept his eyes on her all the while.

"Please...make me come," she whimpered, desperate for release.

He smiled smugly, happy with what he'd heard. "As you wish," he grinned, placing his whole mouth on her again, his tongue rapidly flicking over her clit as he slid two fingers into her, finding that spot deep inside.

"MIKE!" his name escaped her lips in a wail and she screamed as the waves of pleasure hit her again and again, rushing from the roots of her hair down to her toes. She thrust against him, fucking his face with her pelvis, and he held her hips steady with both hands, tongue still sliding over her clit, lapping up every last aftershock.

She slumped back down against the wall, panting, no longer caring about the safety pins behind her. "God, that was..." her words came in harsh gasps, her voice shaky and hoarse.

Mike stood up then, satisfied and smirking, running his tongue over his lips to catch the rest of her juices. He grabbed a nearby towel and wiped off the rest, never taking his eyes off of her the entire time.

"I don't think...that I can write about that," she said, her head falling to the side as she broke into a laugh.

"Maybe this'll give you some inspiration," she heard him say, and turned back to face him. His shirt was completely off now, and she could see the enormous bulge straining against the front of his trousers. He undid the belt buckle and buttons, and reached inside, pulling out his fully erect cock. Her eyes widened at the length and girth.
*Very* impressive...

Mike stood there for a few moments, just slowly stroking his cock, his hand moving steadily up and down the shaft. She licked her lips unconsciously as she watched him, loving the sight of him pleasuring himself. It wasn't long before her desire grew again, and she was desperate to have him inside of her.

"You'd better get over here, cowboy," she grinned, flattening herself against the wall again. "Gotta get in the saddle while it's still warm."

He smiled at her, eyes darkening with lust as she beckoned him over. His body was pressed against hers in a flash, his hard-on rubbing against her stomach, and they both groaned from the contact.

Not wanting to waste another moment, Mike lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and slowly slid himself into her. She cried out, her arms snaking around his neck and back, trying to hold on.

"God...you feel so good..." she whispered, adjusting to the size of him.

"'Was just thinkin' the same thing about you," he choked out the words between grunts as he began to move in and out of her. His hands gripped her body as he thrust into her--long, deep thrusts that brought out cries from the back of her throat.

"Yeah...fuck..." Mike gasped, letting her take over as she started to ride him, her left hand fisting in his thick hair. He watched her as she fucked him, head thrown back in ecstasy, breasts bouncing against him, creating delicious friction that only spurred him on further.

"Oohh, that's it, that's good..." he grunted, and abruptly turned her around into the doggy style position. "Brace yourself," he whispered, almost menacingly, and threw himself forward into her. She screamed, her hands gripping the pins in front of her as he pounded in and out of her. He draped his chest over her body, and lifted her to a standing position, still pressed against the wall. His hands reaching around to grab her breasts, pinching her nipples hard. She moaned again as he leaned down to her neck, licking and biting the soft skin, trailing up to her earlobe and giving it the same treatment.

She felt the edge coming close again and threw her head back as her second orgasm overtook her, torrents of incoherent swear words pouring from her lips. Mike felt her muscles clench around his cock and groaned, thrusting into her several more times before his own climax came. "Ohhh, goddamnit--FUCK!" Mike yelled, milking his release into her.

They stayed like that for a few moments, with him still inside her, his head collapsed forward onto her shoulder, planting soft kisses onto it.

"Come on," he said, his voice almost unnaturally loud in the now-quiet dressing room. He turned her around again to face him, hoisting her legs up around his waist, and kissed her hard enough to bruise, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She whimpered softly, sore and spent.

"My editor's
never going to let me write about this," she giggled, one hand covering the right side of her face.

"So tell him I was a huge asshole and wouldn't give you what you wanted," he dryly replied.

She grinned, softly stroking his sideburn. "Mmh...I'm not sure that's entirely true."

"You know, woman, I'm kinda unhappy with you," he said, still monotone, yet coy.

"And why is that?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"'Cause I think I'm startin' to like reporters now."