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"He’s a Tramp, But I Love Him - Part 2"
Title: He's a Tramp, But I Love Him P2 or Eagle Hangers
Pairing: Mike/Micky, some Mike/Davy
Micky was still grinning ear to ear when they got home from the movie theatre. He reentered the Pad to find Peter tuning his banjo on the bandstand, while Davy practiced scales on the bass. They both looked up and tried to hide their laughter when they saw the expression on Micky’s face. Micky winked and hummed Pleasant Valley Sunday as he walked up to his room, leaving the door slightly open as he disappeared.
Then Mike walked in through the front door with no intention of revealing anything had happened at the theatre. He calmly went straight to his room to change out of his sweat-dampened clothes and returned to the room, when Davy began to eye him.
“So,” Davy cleared his throat. “How did it go?” He nonchalantly plucked at the bass.
“Fine...” It almost slipped right by Mike, whose mind was occupied with thoughts of Micky’s hands, but not quite. He stopped mid-stride, turned towards Davy with a strained expression, and placed his hands on his hips. “How did WHAT go?”
Davy looked like a deer in headlights. “I meant, how was the movie?”
“No you didn’t! That’s not what you meant! What are you talking about?”
“Well....” Davy carefully lowered the bass to the ground, slowly stood up, casually straightened his
shirt.... and tore ass out the door to the beach, running for dear life.
“Micky! After I kill the midget, you’re next!!” He followed suit, intending to do no less than maim the young Englishman.
Micky emerged from his room, tucking in a new shirt. “What’d he say?” He looked down at Peter.
“Mike found out that Davy knew about the plan.” Peter smiled.
Micky shook his head. “Ooh, shit. Poor little bastard gave me the idea. His girlfriend did it to him once. Remember, he wouldn’t have told us, but he was stoned off his ass at the time and told the whole story.”
“Yeah, but Mike wasn’t there. And after he kills Davy he’s coming after you.”
“Oh, good.” Micky snatched a coca cola from the fridge.
Peter continued to play a simple tune on his banjo and suddenly a thought occurred to him. “How did it go, or do I really need to ask?”
Micky collapsed on the couch, a dreamy look overtaking his features. “It was.... incredible. I don’t know; I just like taking control sometimes. You know Mike, what a bastard he can be sometimes when it comes to control.” Micky smiled, in spite of himself. “But he loves me, I can tell. He’s just not ready to be open about it. Even so, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He stopped, thinking about the conversation he was having with Peter, and abruptly sat up to face him. “Pete? I’m not.... I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”
Peter shook his head no. “You two aren’t the only gay couple I’ve ever known you know. You’re talking to someone who spent years in the village. I was uncomfortable at first, but just because I thought I knew you so well. I snapped out of it, plus Davy and I talked, and he helped me out a bit.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged Davy as someone who would understand us better than you.”
“I didn’t either, but he talked it out with me, and that helped.”
At that moment Davy burst back into the pad, his hand to his forehead, seemingly concentrating with all his might not to cry. Mike came stumbling after him, sputtering out apologies. “I’m sorry, man, I was just goofin’! I didn’t mean to!”
Peter got up. “What happened?”
Davy couldn’t answer, so Mike did. “We were clowning around and I was gonna throw him in the ocean, but I dropped him. He landed on a rock.” He grabbed some paper towels out of the top cabinet and held them out to Davy.
Davy mumbled thanks, ran the towels under some running water, and pressed it to his forehead, before blood could trickle into his eye.
Mike stepped closer to him. “Honestly, Davy babe, I’m really sorry.”
Davy patted Mike on the shoulder. “It’s okay, man. Just a little cut is all.”
Micky watched the scene with some confusion. There was something odd about the way Mike was looking at Davy. To anybody else, it would seem that Mike was just making sure Davy was okay, but to Micky it seemed a little bit different. The way Mike held onto Davy’s sleeve seemed just a little bit out of the ordinary. He was even inspecting the gash on Davy’s head, which he had never done before. He seemed to be getting awfully close.... and then Micky noticed what Mike was doing.
Mike held the back of Davy’s head with one hand, and the other was lightly inspected the still-bleeding cut. He used his hands to tilt Davy’s head back with the supposed purpose to get a better look, but it held a very definite subtext. It wasn’t like Mike to get so touchy-feely with a friend. It wasn’t like Mike to get so touchy-feely with anybody except for Micky himself. Davy didn’t seem to notice, he just insisted he was fine. Mike released him and patted him on the back, apologizing again.
Micky was snapped out of his thoughts when he realized Mike was at his side. “You follow me,” he growled playfully.
The famous ‘Micky-giggle’ that had always turned Mike on was in great form when Mike backed his lover up against a wall and assailed him with kisses. “That is the last time I go anywhere with you....” He murmured between kisses.
Micky smiled. He was about to answer, but little spasms of pleasure seemed to take his breath away. He moaned as Mike pulled him closer by his hips, grinding their crotches together, making his arousal accumulate until there was an insistent need to be relieved of his pants. Mike used one hand to undo Micky’s belt buckle, running a finger down his inner thigh before making any move to undo the zipper.
It had registered at the very beginning that he was letting Mike dominate him again. ‘I can’t let him keep doing this, or I’ll never get a chance to give anything back. I have to stop being.... Oh, Christ if only it didn’t feel so goooood....’ His thoughts scattered again when Mike reached under Micky’s sweater, teasing his nipples until they stood erect. His hand then wandered down, combing through the thin line of hair on Micky’s stomach and continued downward. Micky’s pants hung around his hips by then.
Mike leaned down to nibble on the sensitive spots on Micky’s neck. It was only then that Micky was able to gather enough will power to take Mike by the shoulders and push him away slightly, so that he was at arm’s length.
“Wait Mike,” he gasped. “I don’t want this. I don’t want this to be one-sided anymore.... I can’t let you take control all the time.”
Mike leaned in close with a wicked smile on his face, pressing his body against Micky’s. “Well it was pretty one-sided at the theatre, wasn’t it?” He was so close that the tips of their noses touched. “Think of it like I’m repaying you for a job well done, if you’ll excuse the bad pun.” He leaned to playfully kiss along Micky’s jaw line, teasing with his tongue here and there, hitting all the spots he knew reduced Micky to pudding in his hands.
Micky felt his defenses weakening. Mike knew which buttons to push, all right. ‘Oh, he feels so good.... I just.... I just.... fuck! Why can’t I concentrate?’ Then Mike’s hand wandered down. ‘Oh, maybe that’s why....’
In the back of his mind, Micky knew that it was just a complex that Mike had. It wasn’t that Mike wanted to dominate Micky; he just liked to be in control. In his need to be in charge, he had turned into someone that could never turn over the steering wheel once in a while. In every sense of the phrase, Mike held himself with an iron grip. Mike had never once let his emotions get the better of him. Even in bed, Mike was a fairly quiet lover, never once crying out, or yelling, but keeping it limited to pleasured moans and grunts. But Micky just couldn’t let him do it this time.
He half-slapped Mike’s hand away from his pants, and wrenched himself out from the tight crevice between Mike and the wall. “Christ, Mike. You’re not listening to me.”
‘You sound like a whiny little bitch, Dolenz,’ his inner voice told him. He told his inner voice to suck it, and zipped his pants.
Mike fell onto his bed, sighing and combing his fingers through his raven hair. He put his need to screw on hold for a minute. “I’m listening, Micky. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m tired of being used! That’s what the fuck’s on my mind!” He slouched against the wall, tucking his shirt in.
Mike sat up and leaned back against the headboard, a somewhat baffled look on his face. His slouched posture, tussled hair, unkempt condition and spread-eagle position on the bed forced Micky to remind himself he was mad, and couldn’t let horniness get away with him now.
"I’m not using you Micky! I would never do that!”
“Sometimes you do! Every time we’re alone, you take control, you please me, you’re on top, you get me off, you get yourself off and you go to sleep. I can’t, save for this morning, ever remember a time when you let me reciprocate! And call me crazy, but I’m tired of being the plaything. I’m tired of being the submissive. I’m tired of being dominated.” He sat down on the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest.
“Micky, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“And what was that thing with Davy down there?” He demanded, getting up and suddenly realizing he was very much pissed off.
Now Mike sat straight up. “What? The hell are you talking about?”
“Mike, you practically kissed him to make it better. You didn’t do that when I cut myself with the bread knife. You didn’t do that when.... Peter twisted his ankle last month.”
“Micky, you’re being ridiculous! He was bleeding from the head because I dropped him!” He leaned back. “It’s different,” he added, but with less conviction.
Micky let his arms hang down at his sides. Now he saw what was going on. He wearily sat down next to Mike on the bed. “Tell me the truth. If you don’t tell me the truth, it’s off.” He made eye contact and held it. “You want Davy, don’t you?”
“Mick....” He looked at his hands, looking as if he was going to speak, but not finding the right words. He lowered his head. “Yes.”