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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.


"He’s a Tramp, But I Love Him - Part 3"



Title: He's a Tramp, But I Love Him P3 or The Last Temptation of Mike
Pairing: Mike/Micky, some Mike/Davy
Rating: NC-17
Author: HMC

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I wish I could think of more creative curses.” Mike thought to himself. Why didn’t he just lie? Why didn’t he just insist that it was all part of Micky’s imagination? Why didn’t he just make up some excuse as to why he got so close to Davy?

Because he couldn’t lie to Micky. He just couldn’t bring himself to look into Micky’s beautiful almond eyes and lie. He cared about Micky. It wasn’t just the sex.... the incredibly good sex. In fact, Mike couldn’t really tell where the friendship ended and the affair began. It all seemed to add up to the fact that he was in love. He loved Micky as a friend and a lover.

But now it looked like it would end. Micky had distanced himself from Mike for the past week. He rarely wanted to talk, rarely hung around when he and Mike were alone, and forget about any sort of romantic rendezvous. And all because Mike had let himself get careless.

But he missed Micky. Oh, God how he missed Micky. He thought of those irresistible curls that just begged to be touched. Micky’s hair always smelled of shampoo, some sweet herbal shampoo that acted as an aphrodisiac. He also thought about Micky’s eyes. There was something special about those eyes. Mike could always tell when Micky wanted him because his eyes were a dead giveaway. Whenever Micky felt romantic.... or just horny, his eyes would darken from brown to black, and would mist over slightly. He called it ‘Micky’s Hot and Humid’ look. And his lips.... ooh.... Of all the things he loved about Micky, his lips were the one thing that could come anywhere remotely near shattering his iron self-control.

But throw Davy into the mix and everything got more complicated. The first time he had even thought about Davy that way was on the beach no more than two weeks before the incident at the theatre. Mike rarely went swimming, but it was blistering hot that day. Davy had been out with him and initiated a friendly wrestling match when they were about chest deep into the ocean. Mike got twisted around and found that Davy had jumped on his back and was trying to dunk him underwater. He was distracted by the thought that he could feel every detail of Davy’s chest and arms pressed against him. For the rest of the day, all Mike could think about was Davy’s perfect little body, his well-defined chest, his muscled arms and legs, those pouting lips, and what lay under those impossibly tight swim trunks.
Now Mike sat strumming his guitar and feeling miserable. ‘Should I apologize to Micky? See what’s going on with Davy? Should I just let the whole thing blow over? Christ, I need a drink.’

Davy felt guilty. The tension between Micky and Mike had reached an all time high and he knew it was his fault. He resented the fact that Mike thought he was totally clueless, and didn’t know genuine concern from a come-on. But in a way he was thankful, because he didn’t feel he was truly ready for some awkward confrontation. The more Mike thought he was clueless, the more time it bought him to think. And anyway, any kind of confrontation would result in his roommates realizing he swung both ways, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with that yet. He had already pushed his luck being so helpful to Peter about homosexuality. It was an out of character thing to do, but he wanted to help Peter understand. The more he understood now, the easier it would be if or when Davy ever revealed his secret.

And now there was this new thing with Mike. A month ago, the thought of Mike blushing seemed inconceivable. Cut to recently, and Mike blushed every time Davy got close. It happened so often, that Davy had taken to seeing just how big a reaction he could get out of Mike by doing seemingly innocent tasks around the house. The best he’d gotten so far was when he came downstairs in only his boxer shorts, which he rarely ever did. It was before Mike had begun seeing Micky. The first thing he noticed was that Mike was watching out of the corner of his eye. Davy’s next move was to complain of a stiff neck and innocently ask Mike to give him a light massage.

“Ah, I’m not.... really good at that stuff, Davy.” Mike hesitated, backing up.

Davy gave him his best Bambi Eyes and moaned pitifully from the table. “Please? I’m dying here!”

Under much protest, Mike moved behind him as Davy laid his head down on the table. Davy knew this was supposed to be his game, but as soon as Mike’s strong fingers made contact with his neck, he had to remind himself to keep a cool front up, lest Mike figure out what was going on. Mike turned out to be better than he gave himself credit for, moving his fingertips in firm, slow circles on Davy’s back and neck bones. Davy sighed, letting his eyelids droop involuntarily. As soon as he let out a small moan of pleasure, Mike coughed and excused himself, saying he had to go make a phone call, but instead disappearing into his room as hastily as possible. Davy mentally patted himself on the back.

But then some weeks later, Micky and Mike were going together, and that was the end of Davy’s games. And what really burned his ass was the knowledge that Mike still had a crush on him, even though he was going with Micky. He didn’t want Mike to be taken any more than he wanted Micky to get hurt.

But now that they had supposedly split, Mike was acting like a fucking lunatic around the house. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he was around either Micky or Davy. “Bloody mind games....” Davy mumbled. Why did Mike have to be such a bastard? One little fight with Micky and he just gives up. The only thing he really wanted was for Mike and Micky to be happy. Despite rumors, Davy was not one to ruin relationships. He knew that Mike was never in a better mood then when he was with Micky.

So he just went to sleep that night, promising himself that he would get those two back together, and not let anything keep his friends from happiness.

Davy awoke late that night to a crashing sound coming from downstairs. His eyes quickly inspected the room. He squinted at his clock. Two a.m. Blond hair stuck out from under the paisley comforter on the bed across the room. Peter was asleep. And from the snoring sound that was finding its way through walls, Davy could tell that Micky was asleep in the next room.

“Aw hell, Mike’s back.” Davy whispered, grabbing his robe to protect his boxers-clad body from the chilly night air. He shuffled to the bedroom door, uttering colorful expressions about being dragged from his bed so early in the morning.

He stood at the top of the stairs and frowned at Mike clumsily gathering up broken pieces of a ceramic statue that Micky had bought at a thrift store three months ago. Mike’s hair was mussed, his clothes were disheveled, and Davy didn’t need anybody to tell him that the Texan probably reeked of alcohol.

“Mike!” Davy half-whispered, half-yelled. “What the hell’s the matter with you? You trying to give me a heart attack?” He moved down the steps while Mike stared blankly. “Honestly, you shouldn’t--- oh God,” Davy caught the sickeningly strong odor of Southern Comfort. “You’re pissed out of your mind, aren’t you? Well, here’s to that statue and your upcoming hangover. C’mon, you’re going upstairs.”

Mike suddenly shook his head, and his expression changed as if he just realized whom he was talking to. “Davy, I’m so glad taste you!” Mike said.... happily? Since when, was Mike enthusiastic about anything since his breakup with Micky? “I gotta talk to you, man, it’s real important.” He slurred, smiling just a little bit.

“Tomorrow Mike, it’s too early and you’re pissed.”

“I’m not mad!”

“Drunk, Mike, you’re drunk.” Davy couldn’t help chuckle a little. Mike made such an ass of himself when he was shit-faced.

“Davy, c’mon, man. I’m not as think as you drunk I am.” He laid a hand on Davy’s shoulder and stumbled a little bit, losing his balance. Davy grabbed his arm and unceremoniously dumped him on the couch. He looked awkward; his unusually long and thin body was disheveled and mussed, as he lay sprawled out on the couch. Mike giggled, and calmed a bit, looking up at Davy with slightly glazed over eyes. “Are you angry at me?” He asked; his face wore an expression of pure innocence.

Davy sighed and sat down next to Mike on the couch, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and look straightforward. “To be honest.... yes. A little.”


“Because you obviously hurt Micky’s feelings and you won’t do anything about it.”

“Micky hates me. He doesn’t trust me anymore.... all because I’m fixed on you....” Mike whispered, looking at the ground.

God damn it, Davy thought to himself. He likes me.... but he loves Micky. He didn’t know what to say, and still didn’t even when Mike inched forward and laid a hand on Davy’s cheek. He flinched, but couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“I just can’t help it, Dave. Sometimes you’re like a brother to me, but other times I don’t know what keeps me from kissin’ you. You hate me now?” He was closer now.
Davy could smell Mike’s hair, his clothes, and his breath....

“No, Mike. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. There’s no point in lying about it, I sometimes feel the same way about you, but....” He stopped when Mike initiated a deep kiss, leaning so far over that he was pushing Davy downwards onto the couch. Davy was so unsure of himself that he complied with Mike’s insistent downward motion. The first thing Davy noticed was that Mike seemed to sober up as soon as things started to heat up. There was no awkwardness about him anymore; in fact, he seemed to be focusing intently on what he was doing.

Mike buried himself in the emotions ripping through him, thanks partly to the alcohol in his system. He physically reacted as he felt the movements of Davy’s firm little body under him. He was aching for a release, for someone to be with who would love him back. When Davy tried to deepen the kiss, Mike broke off for half an instant, putting himself in control again. He ran his fingers through Davy’s luscious brown hair, feeling a slight pang of guilt when he wished he could run his hands through Micky’s curls. He dismissed the feeling and covered Davy’s mouth with his own.

Davy inwardly groaned that Mike wouldn’t let him initiate anything. He made another attempt at control by moving his head to the side to plant light kisses and gentle bites on Mike’s neck. Mike’s immediate response was to put one of his hands on the back of Davy’s head, sort of directing him along. It also served to hold him still. It took Davy a couple moments to realize that he had once again been foiled. His thoughts immediately reverted back to something Micky had said to him once. ‘Mike is such a control freak. Even with me....’

Suddenly, Davy thought of Micky’s smiling face. He thought of how Micky had looked when he and Mike were together. And he just couldn’t continue. He gathered all of his strength to push Mike up and away from him, as he squirmed to get away.

Mike noticed he was being pushed away. ‘Damn it, not again.’ He thought to himself, remembering that fateful afternoon when Micky had done the exact same thing.

Davy paused to catch his breath, and stumbled a bit when he realized his bathrobe had come open. As he re-tied it he wondered how that had happened without him knowing. Damn, Mike was good. He regarded Mike, who looked lost, like he didn’t know what he wanted to do.

“God....” Mike mumbled, actual tears springing to his eyes. “I miss him, Davy. I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Let him fix it, then. You just don’t know how to let others take control, Mike. It pisses me off, and I’ve only been with you for two minutes. I mean, now I understand what Micky was talking about. You ARE a control freak. Especially when it comes to sex and it’s driving him crazy!”

“Davy, I’ve heard all this before.”

“Oh, cut the shit, Mike. You weren’t really listening, were you?” Mike had nothing to say for once.

“C’mon Mike. You practically gave him a lecture on do’s and don’ts in public. That really sucks.” Davy sat down next to Mike and patted him on the back. “Wait here.” Davy got up and climbed the stairs, disappearing into Micky’s room. A few minutes later, he emerged and made a beeline for his own room, disappearing and not coming back.

Then Micky stepped out of his room, hugging his comforter around his shoulders, questioning Mike with a tired gaze.

Mike stood up, making eye contact and never breaking it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He said, softly, waiting for Micky’s reaction. When he didn’t get one, Mike knew he had to say more, or he would never get Micky back. “I love you Mick. I wanna be with you.” He forced the sentences out, knowing it was what Micky needed to hear. “I don’t want to control you, I just didn’t want you to get away from me. I won’t control you and order you around. None of that....”

Micky looked at him expectantly.

“Oh, and there’s nothing going on with Davy and me.... He set me straight. Well, not really straight, I mean, straight like.... Ah shit.” He kicked the couch, frustrated that a turning point in his life was marred by his uncanny ability to fuck up sentences.

Micky descended the stairs and threw his arms around Mike’s neck, enveloping them both in the blanket. Mike wrapped his arms around Micky’s waist, relishing in the sensation of Micky’s body pressed against his. “I love you....” Mike murmured, inhaling the sweet scent of Micky’s curls.

Micky pulled back slightly to look Mike in the eye.

‘Oh, sweet Jesus....’ Mike thought to himself. ‘The Hot and Humid Look’.

How they had gotten back up to their room, Mike had no idea. He was in a haze of emotions that he couldn’t make sense of. All he knew was that Micky had taken over, and he could do nothing to get control back. Micky had him by his shirt collar, covering his face and neck with little kisses that set his nerve endings on fire. Mike kissed him back; making sure his hands didn’t grip Micky too tightly, or direct him along. If Micky wanted his freedom, Micky would get freedom. There was no way Mike was going to let himself fuck this one up.

The fact that Mike was holding back gave Micky the green light. He knew that he had control over sex for the first time in his relationship with Mike, save for that one morning at the theatre. But that had been different. This time, Mike was actually giving him control. The thought was definitely going to his head. He subtly but quickly pushed Mike back until the taller man fell backwards onto his bed.

Mike lifted his head off his bed to look into the slightly amused face that Micky wore. “Careful now,” Mike murmured. “I don’t want you to get too good at this.”

At that, Micky just grinned openly. “Oh it’s too late for that.” He purred, crawling to where he was right above Mike’s prone form. Micky held Mike’s arms where they were and kissed down one of Mike’s sideburns to his ear. “Whether you like it or not, I know what turns you on, I know what drives you crazy, I know which buttons to push, I know what puts you over the edge.” As he spoke, Micky stealthily reached for Mike’s shirt buttons, pulling the shirt off in a matter of seconds. He had Mike under his spell.

Micky took the shirt, and directed Mike’s hands up towards the headboard. Using the sleeves, he tied Mike’s hands together and used the torso of the shirt to secure him to the bedposts.

“The one thing I don’t know,” Micky continued, “is how much you love me.” Micky moved down slightly and took one of Mike’s nipples into his mouth. Mike gasped at the sudden burst of pleasure that formed in his chest and plunged straight down to his crotch. Micky rapidly licked at the tip with his tongue and slowly moved to give the same attention to the other nipple as Mike squirmed beneath him.

Mike wondered how something so simple could be so erotic. At that very moment, it felt like his chest was the most sensitive area on his body. But then Micky’s thigh would rub up against his crotch, and that changed his mind immediately. “Oh Micky....” The words forced their way out in the form of a breathy whisper.

But suddenly, the sensations had stopped. Mike forced his eyes open to find that Micky had moved to the foot of the bed, observing him with mischievous eyes. There was a different air to him now, Micky looked stronger, more muscular than he ever had before. His toned chest looked broad and his stomach had that washboard look to it. His skin had felt smoother than ever before. Could it be that Mike had never actually taken the time to truly look at Micky before?


Micky casually ran his hands up and down Mike’s legs; removing the all-too characteristic cowboy boots the Texan habitually wore. “Tell me how much you love me,” Micky said. “I want to hear you tell me.”

Mike understood now. Micky was going for the gold. Mike took a deep breath. “I love you. I love you so much, I need you, and I want you.... God how I want you.” He smiled, a lazy, lusty smile as Micky moved to the belt buckle gracing Mike’s hips. Now Mike knew he was on the right track. “I love you so much that I’d quit the band if that’s what you really wanted.” He held his breath, waiting for the reaction that would get.

Micky giggled. “That was unfair, Nesmith. But it was definitely a good one.” Micky undid the belt, pulling it from the belt loops and stirring up some untapped pleasure within Mike’s body. Micky then hesitated slightly. “Keep going.”

“I love you so much, you can forget about any rules I gave you about being out in public.” Mike knew that that would rack up some serious points.

Micky exhaled deeply. “That’s more like it.” He undid Mike’s jeans, pulling them down around his hips. His hand brushed against the erection that was waiting for him under Mike’s briefs, and he smiled when Mike pulled against his restraints suddenly. “You’re awfully close, Michael. Think, now.”

Mike breathed hard. His body was begging him for release and he just couldn’t comply until he had Micky. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, as his body temperature seemed to steadily rise. “I love you so much that I forgive you for this little stunt.”

Mike’s mind immediately cursed him out. ‘You stupid fucking bastard! What the hell was that?’

He almost panicked when Micky’s hands moved away from his groin. He forced his eyes open to look into Micky’s mock-saddened eyes. “Wrong answer, Nesmith.”

Mike felt like he wanted to cry. His head fell back against the pillow, and his chest heaved from the strain of keeping his body in check. He knew he had one more chance to redeem himself. “Micky. I love you so much, that I apologize for that stupid ass comment I just made.” His voice shook a bit, but he forced out the sentence. “Forgive me?”

Micky seemed to be thinking it over.

“Please....” Mike groaned.

Micky smiled and leaned in close, so close that they seemed to be breathing each other’s air. He looked straight into Mike’s eyes, covering him with his body, and breathing the words, “All I wanted was a little begging.”

Mike hardly had time to raise an eyebrow before Micky assaulted him with kisses. While Mike was relishing in the fact that Micky’s luscious mouth was all over him, Micky ran his hands up the sensitive skin of Mike’s arms, up to the headboard, where he twined his fingers with Mike’s, but only for a short period of time before he finished the job of relieving Mike of his pants.

Mike exhaled sharply when the confinement of his jeans was gone. He was so aroused he was having trouble breathing, let alone keeping his eyes open. He didn’t feel there was much he could do anyway, seeing as how his hands were tied. His thoughts were whirling by now. The feeling of being helpless, completely under someone else’s control; it was so mind-blowing. Mike found himself nervous and excited at the same time. He wasn’t expected to give back anything. It was a new concept; to be pleasured by someone else and not be obligated to return the effort. Even though it was new to him, Mike found it was a small price to pay to have Micky back.

Micky kissed his way down Mike’s chest, taking time to taste every inch of his hot skin. He could feel the insistent bulge in Mike’s underwear, begging to be released, but Micky wanted to wait just a little longer. It was too fun watching and feeling Mike squirm.

Micky finally slid the tips of his fingers under the waistband of Mike’s briefs, caressing the soft expanse of skin. Mike shuddered, unintentionally lifting his hips ever so slightly in a desperate attempt at more contact.

Micky smiled, and in one fluid motion, Mike was naked, and Micky got to work. He carefully gripped Mike’s erection with one hand and licked the tip lightly, which forced a heavy sigh from Mike. This was all new to Micky, he’d never been allowed to do this before, but it was almost instinct. Micky moved his hand up and down Mike’s shaft, while simultaneously using his mouth to bring him to the edge.
Mike tried not to thrust too much, the last thing he wanted to do was make Micky feel uncomfortable. But as he got closer and closer to that peak of ecstasy, his iron self control began to melt away. A sort of tingling feeling filled his entire body, and he found himself crying out. It was somewhat quiet, because in the back of his mind he knew his roommates were trying to sleep next door, but it had definitely happened. He had never just spontaneously cried out before, but he had never been the submissive in terms of sex, and he found his vulnerability to be surprisingly erotic. He moaned almost uncontrollably now, as Micky’s attentions brought his passion to its peak.

Micky could sense that Mike was getting close now. He released Mike from his mouth so he could lie flat on top of him. Mike peeled his eyes open to focus on Micky’s deep brown eyes, misted over slightly, staring him right in the face. Micky’s eyelids drooped seductively; they seemed to see right through Mike’s soul.

Micky wrapped his arms around Mike’s chest and began to move his hips up and down, side to side. His erection was rubbing firmly and slowly against Mike’s, and they both began breathing hard again. This position reminded Mike of making love to a woman, but it had never been this good before.
Micky ground himself against Mike harder, but began to miss the feeling of Mike’s hands on him. He reached above Mike’s head and pulled one of his hands free.

Mike realized he could move one arm and wrapped it around Micky’s shoulders, pulling the drummer’s body even closer as the tempo increased. Mike found himself burying his face in the shampoo-scented curls in front of him. Their bodies moved as one, as Mike came with a dramatic moan that filled the room and set Micky off. He followed only seconds later.

Their bodies had seemed to fuse together, thanks to both sweat and other bodily fluids. Micky laid his head on Mike’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath. Mike also breathed hard, stuck in the shockwaves zipping through his body. He stared at the ceiling, mouth agape, and kept his arm securely wrapped around Micky’s shoulders. Both seemed content to never move again, they wanted to just lie there forever, molded to each other’s bodies, breathing each other’s air.



















He's a Tramp, But I Love Him - Part 4 He's a Tramp, But I Love Him - Part 2