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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.
"Enraptured"
Title: Enraptured
Pairing: Mike/Peter (Torksmith)
Rating: R/NC-17
Warning: Contains
adult language and sexual content between two members of the same sex. Also some
very mild violence.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, 100% false. Don’t know the
sexual proclivities of the real Peter Tork and Michael Nesmith, make no claims to
them. Don’t sue. Thanks.
Summary: Mike and Peter contemplate the end of the world
together…
“Guess this is it.”
Wet soles hit the dampened pavement below. Peter stood at the window, the glass streaked with a full day’s worth of rain. He shifted from foot to foot, arms folded and hands clasping at his elbows.
“Michael?” The sound of his name was laced with pleading. Mike slumped further in the cushioned chair behind him, swirling the brown liquid in his glass around, staring at it intently.
Slowly, he stood, pulling his tie from where it had hung around his neck, draped over his unbuttoned shirt. Coarse tufts of dark hair jutted out in between the strips of fabric, lightly adorning his wiry frame. Mike set the glass down on a nearby table as he moved up behind the other man, until he was close enough to bury his nose in Peter’s hair.
“Mmhh.” He grunted softly, inhaling the baby shampoo/patchouli scent that was so distinctly Peter, feasting on it as though he were dying a man having his last meal.
Peter shuddered in front of him, his eyelids fluttering at feeling the heat from Mike’s body radiating onto his, and the faint sensation of Mike pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. His cock swelled with arousal, despite his best efforts, leaving little room to breathe in his already tight, white pants.
“I thought we weren’t—”
“Don’t.”
“It’s the end of the world, Michael.”
Mike reached a hand around to the blond man’s front, closing it over the pulsing erection he knew was waiting for him. Peter sighed, closing his eyes and tipping his head back, letting it fall onto Mike’s shoulder. Mike took advantage of the bare expanse of skin and began nibbling the tender flesh, leaving a small series of bite marks in his wake. He soothed the pain with kisses, paying special attention to Peter’s Adam’s apple. The hand on Peter’s crotch squeezed firmly, eliciting a moan from the bassist, whose entire body spasmed with pleasure.
“Not yet.”
Peter’s eyes flew open then, a rush of anger coursing through him. He shoved back against Mike, hard enough to make the dark-haired man stagger backward in shock.
“Peter, man, what the fuck?” Mike yelled.
Peter spun around. “Every time, Michael. Every time, you do this. You tell me it’s over, and then you’re on me wanting more. I’m tired of it. So sick and fucking tired of it!” he spat, staring Mike down.
“And yet, I ain’t heard you say no,” Mike smirked, balling the tie up in his fist.
“Well, I’m saying it now. I love you, Michael, and I want to be with you, but not if it means you have to be in control every single second we’re together.”
“You like it when I’m in control, babe. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”
Mike began to circle Peter, his gaze predatory as he watched various emotions flicker over Peter’s face.
“I mean, I could just let you alone, but that wouldn’t make either of us happy, now would it?”
Peter scoffed, turning away from the Texan.
“Since when do you care if I’m happy?”
Mike stepped closer, biting his lower lip between his teeth, and chuckled. He eyed Peter’s arms, now hanging down at his sides, and moved to grasp one of Peter’s hands, twining their fingers together.
“It makes this a hell of a lot easier,” Mike whispered.
Peter gasped as Mike tightened his grip almost painfully. Before he could blink, Mike yanked the arm behind his back, looping the balled up tie in his other hand around it. He then grabbed his other wrist, tying them together.
Mike stepped back to admire the sight of Peter bare-chested, his arms tied behind his back and erection pressing at the front of his pants. He lowered a hand to his belt buckle, wresting it free, then undid the front of his jeans. He kept his eyes on Peter as he pulled his enormous hard-on from his pants. Not wanting to give in, Peter remained steely-eyed, concentrating all his energy on not moving.
Mike slid his long fingers around his cock, sighing as he began to stroke himself in front of Peter. He could feel the blood pulsing under his hand, the needing throb, and groaned as he thought of all the things he wanted to do to the bound bass player. He glanced up again, noting the arousal spiking up underneath Peter’s anger—the twitch and flex of Peter’s chest muscles, the vein in his neck bulging just slightly—the longer he watched Mike play with himself.
Peter tried to look away—at the curtains, the TV, the bed (no, not the bed, he thought)—but found his attention consistently returning to one place. He neither spoke nor moved, but could not refrain from unconsciously licking his lips at what he was seeing.
Mike fought back a triumphant grin.
“So,” he kept his voice even, almost casual in its tone. ”How about you get on your knees and put those pretty lips around my cock?”
“Ohh…” Peter groaned quietly, cheeks flushing in shame, and he cursed his body for betraying him. He lowered his head, his long bangs falling into his eyes as he struggled to pull himself together.
“Fuck you, Michael. Fuck. You,” Peter hissed.
The sound that came from Mike’s throat was the closest thing to a guttural growl that Peter had ever heard. He clamped a hand down on Peter’s shoulder, pulling him forward, then towards the bed, shoving him onto his back. Quickly, Mike straddled him, pinning Peter with his weight so as to prevent him from moving.
Without a word, Mike brought his hand back to his cock, stroking it as he knelt over Peter’s face. Peter was beyond aroused, and desperately wanted to take Mike’s dick in his mouth, but was afraid to let Mike win again. Still, the towering Texan being on top of him was doing nothing to diminish his desire.
Everything about Mike was perfection: long legs encased in tight jeans; the thick, pulsing column of flesh between his thighs; his bare chest, covered in a thin layer of sweat. Peter knew every line of Mike’s body, every nerve ending and rough edge; the taste of Mike on his tongue.
Fuck it, he finally thought.
Peter sat up slightly, struggling to balance himself with his arms still bound, and darted his tongue out to flick over the slit of Mike’s cock, making sure to look up at the dark-haired man as he did. Mike swore loudly, then groaned as Peter effortlessly deep-throated him.
You make me fall; I’ll make you crumble.
“Mmmh…” Peter panted, gasping as he sucked Mike’s cock with a ravenous hunger.
The scent of Mike in full arousal was dizzying, more powerful than any drug he’d ever taken. He felt Mike’s hips slowly bucking against his face, and the tug of his fingers threading in the back of his hair.
“Yeah…oh, fuck, that’s fuckin’ good…” Mike whispered, gritting his teeth as he felt the familiar tightening in his balls.
He reached behind him, groping around until he found Peter’s belt, yanking it free. Blindly, but with near perfect precision, Mike gripped the waistband of Peter’s pants and shoved it down to mid-thigh.
“Stop, stop.”
Mike was barely able to get the words out, and almost felt his self-control when he saw Peter blinking at him with those innocent eyes, his mouth still full of Mike’s cock.
“You know it ain’t gonna end like that.” Mike moved off of Peter, pulling his pants the rest of the way off as he did.
“Turn over.”
It’s never simple, Peter thought, but was too far gone to care.
He did as he was told and flopped onto his stomach, burying his nose in the blankets below. He closed his eyes as he felt Mike grip his hips, hauling his ass up in the air.
Mike ran his hands over Peter’s back, down to his bound arms. He lingered over Peter’s wrists, toying with the end of the tie that hung loose. The blond barely flinched, and kept his face still turned away from the man above.
Come on, Michael…what are you waiting for?
Peter inhaled and exhaled deeply as he tried to figure exactly what Mike was up to. The warm breath that tickled his ear a moment later took him by surprise, along with the scratchy-softness of Mike’s sideburns against the side of his face.
“I love you, Peter.”
It was the coup de grâce, enough to shatter whatever walls Peter still had up. A choked sob escaped his lips, but was soon cut off when Mike’s hand under his chin pulled him into a passionate kiss.
“Ohh,” Peter gasped between kisses, fighting for air. “I love you, Michael. I love you so fucking much—”
They plundered each other’s mouths, lips and tongue and teeth clacking together fiercely. Mike, already having slicked himself up, teasingly traced the head of his cock up and down the cleft of Peter’s ass.
“Please.”
That one word was all the prompting Mike needed, so full of pleading and desire. He breached Peter’s opening, both men groaning as Mike’s cock slid past the tight ring of muscle. He steadied himself against Peter’s back, possessively wrapping one around the blond’s stomach as he began to move in and out.
Peter could feel the inside of his head vibrating from Mike’s slow, deep thrusts, reveling in the glorious sensation of Mike pulling almost all the way out before ramming back in, filling him again and again.
There was nothing more perfect, Peter decided, than that one moment when Mike was completely inside him. He pushed back to meet Mike’s movements, cursing aloud as he strained against his bonds.
“God…Michael…want to touch you,” the words came out as a half-choked cry.
All of the tension the earlier teasing had built up was rapidly undoing Mike. He moved his free hand to Peter’s wrists and pulled him upright, gripping Peter from both the back and front. He thrust up into the lithe body beneath him, angling his movements just so to reach that special spot, delighting in Peter’s keening wail when he was successful.
“UNGHH, Michael! Do that again!” Peter cried, wanting to see the stars explode behind his eyes once more.
A thin trickle of sweat worked its way down Mike’s chest as he made sure to hit that spot on every pass. He brought a hand around to Peter’s hardness, so full of blood and throbbing, wanting to watch and feel the bassist go over the edge.
“I want you to come with me, Peter. I wanna feel you,” Mike’s roughened voice spoke into Peter’s ear, his accent even thicker in the heat of arousal.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Peter chanted, trying desperately to wait for the dark-haired man but knowing he couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Oh, fuck, god dammit…I’m gonna fuckin’ come…”
Mike was lost to the pounding rhythm, the tightness and heat and gleaming, tanned skin. Peter’s hair bounced as he fucked him, the tendrils at the back of his neck now damp with sweat.
“Michael…I can’t—I’m…”
Mike sped up his hand on Peter’s cock, groaning he felt it throb beneath his hand, so full of life. He pressed his lips to Peter’s ear, clamping his teeth over the lobe in a soft bite.
“Come for me, Peter,” he growled.
“UNGH! Fuck, oh God!” Peter nearly screamed as his orgasm slammed into him, racing from his hair follicles to his toes. His cock spasmed in Mike’s hand as jets of cum spurted out onto the bedspread below.
Mike swore loudly as Peter’s muscles clenched around his cock, and he slammed into him—once, twice more, spending himself completely deep inside Peter.
“Ohh…” Mike groaned, exhaustedly collapsing onto Peter on the bed, heart pounding so fast he was sure Peter could feel it through him.
He reached down, finally undoing the tie from Peter’s wrists, and tossed it aside. Slowly, Peter pulled his arms out from under Mike, wincing at the soreness in his muscles. Mike slid his arms over Peter’s, raising both of them up above their heads.
“The world.” Peter was the first to speak.
“What, babe?”
He shivered at feeling the vibrations from Mike’s chest spider-web through to his own body.
“The world, Michael.”
“What about it?”
“It didn’t end.”
Mike sat up then, rolling onto his back and sitting up against the headboard. He looked over at Peter, his blond bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat, cheeks flushed, skin glowing with a post-sex sheen. He was almost shy now, his face half-buried under one arm, save for his eyes, which had gone back to their light brown innocence, now totally devoid of the anger that had earlier been present.
“It’s not gonna, Peter. It’s not gonna end.”