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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.


"Oranges and Oceans"



Title: Oranges and Oceans
Author: Lucy
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Micky/Davy. Semi-Torksmithy as well, because I'm still me, after all.
Genre: Slash. Sort of angsty.
Warnings: Language, sexuality, Davysmex. Well, I consider that necessary to warn for...
Disclaimer: I don't own the Monkees and make no aspersions toward their sexualities.
Summary: "Davy, this has to stop!" Peter's brows pulled together with stubbornness. "It's killing you!"
Author's Note: I'm really proud of this one. Came out exactly how I wanted it to and I even managed to write full-on Davysmex without cringing once :)

"Micky," Davy groaned into his partner's shoulder as his release slammed into him.

"Oh God, yes, Davy," Micky moaned in return, slowing until he remained buried deep inside the smaller man. "Yes, fuck, that's it, ohhh," as he reached his own climax.


Davy sighed as he came out of his dream. This was the fifth night in a row he had awoken sweaty, overly warm, and so hard he couldn't see straight. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

He suddenly and ferociously glared up at the ceiling.

'It's your fault,' he thought viciously. 'Why d'you have to be so goddamn... pretty? If you looked less like a bird, this wouldn't be a problem.'

He sighed, realizing the futility of blame. It wasn't Micky's fault, after all, that he was a great flaming fag. No, that one was all on him.

Davy was startled out of his self-deprecation by a sleepy voice drifting across the room.

"You're thinking too loud," Peter's whisper managed to pierce through the silence like a gunshot as he sat up and scratched his chest. He smothered a yawn, turning a curious gaze onto Davy. "What's up?"

"Nothing, Peter," Davy replied, unwilling to involve his friend in his depravity. "You go back to sleep. I'm just going to get a glass of water."

"Going to beat off in the bathroom, you mean," Peter stated matter-of-factly.

Davy stopped and stared at him, mind-boggled. Peter would have giggled at the amusing picture Davy's gaping mouth and wide eyes presented, had the situation been any less serious. He cracked a smile regardless.

"What? You think you're the only one who does it? I am a man, you know. I get horny, too."

"But - how did - I -"

Peter ignored Davy's sputtering, shifting to prop his head in the palm of his hand.

"And you should know that you talk in your sleep."

Davy's eyes widened impossibly further.

"You - you know -?"

Peter nodded gently.

"That you dig Micky? Yeah. Hard to miss. Davy, you can't go on like this."

"Like what?" Davy finally managed to find his voice. "I'm fi-"

"No, Davy. You're not." There was a thin line of anger in Peter's voice. "You haven't been sleeping or eating well, you're distracted all the time, and it's starting to affect you during practice, man."

Davy sighed, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

"Is it that bad?" he asked quietly.

Peter nodded again.

"I thought... I thought it'd just... go away, you know?" Davy spoke haltingly. "That I'd stop dreaming. But I didn't. And then, I'd just be minding my own business, and he'd walk by, and wham!" Peter almost jumped. "I'd start thinking about how beautiful he looked." He looked up at Peter desperately. "Peter, I don't want to be thinking of Micky as beautiful!"

Peter nodded sympathetically.

"Davy, man, you have to talk to him."

Davy began shaking his head frantically before Peter finished the sentence.

"No, no, no, no, I can't do that, Peter-"

"Davy, this has to stop!" Peter's brows pulled together with stubbornness. "It's killing you!"

"It is not!"

"IT IS!" Peter almost shouted, shocking Davy into silence.

Peter cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking in low, fast words that Davy had to lean forward to catch.

"Look, Davy, night after night, I listen to you moan his name, wake up, go off to the bathroom, and then come back here and cry yourself to sleep. And every day, you get a little quieter, a little sadder, a little less Davy. It's killing you."

Peter lowered his head.

"And that's killing me," he added almost silently.

He looked back up into Davy's captivated eyes, his own sparkling with unshed tears.

"You're like my little brother. I hate watching you do this to yourself."

There was a long moment of silence between them.

"I love you, Davy," Peter finally concluded softly.

"I love you, too, Peter," Davy shakily returned. "I'll talk to Micky tomorrow."

A tremulous smile.

"Thank you."


Except now it was tomorrow, and confronted with the actuality of confessing his attraction to his best friend, he contemplated making a run for it. One glance at the forbidding expression on Peter's face, however, told him that this would be a bad move.

He watched as Peter tapped on Mike's shoulder, narrowing his eyes as Peter's widened. He cursed in his head when Peter, as Mike turned to face him, put on a smile that made both of his dimples show and shook his bangs into his eyes.

Shit. That was Peter's 'I-Want-Something-From-Mike-and-Don't-Ca
re-How-Underhanded-My-Methods-Are-As-Long-As-I-Get-What-I-Want' face (alternatively known as the 'I-Know-Mike-Has-A-Crush-On-Me' face).

"Hey, Michael?" Peter asked sweetly.

"Yeah, Pete?" Mike responded, staring down at Peter, or, more accurately, Peter's lips, which had affixed themselves into a vaguely pouting expression.

"I, um, we're out of... eggs," Peter improvised. "And I needed them for... I was going to make breakfast tomorrow. Do you think we could run out and get some?" Peter bit his lower lip and looked down. "I, I know we were going to practice, but it'll only take a few minutes?" He looked up at Mike from under his lashes.

Mike watched, mesmerized.

"Ah, I dunno, Pete, we really need the practice for that gig on Friday... couldn't it wait?"

"Please, Michael?" Peter began to softly stroke Mike's arm and Davy knew that the battle was over. "It'll only take a little while..."

"... Alright," Mike conceded, snagging the keys from the counter. "We'll be back in a few, guys," he called over his shoulder as he strode through the door.

Peter gave Davy a hard look that said 'you better use this opportunity wisely, you know how much I hate doing that' as he followed, and then the pad was silent, save for the munching at Micky's seat.

"Wonder why Peter wanted eggs so bad," Micky mumbled. "He doesn't use that face unless it's important."

Davy bit his lip, not to seduce, as Peter had, but as a nervous gesture.

"He, uh, he knew I wanted to talk to you, actually, Mick," he said, steeling himself for the conversation to come. "Uh, alone."

Micky's eyebrows raised over his spoonful of cornflakes.

"Oh?" he asked curiously. "About what? For Peter to use the Face, it must be big. You know how he feels about using Mike's... thing like that."

"Yeah," Davy answered vaguely.

Micky grew faintly concerned at the one word answer. Davy was behaving very strangely...

"Davy, babe, what's wrong? You seem... off." Micky got up and placed his bowl in the sink before sitting in the chair next to Davy. "Are you alright?"

'Not now, I'm not,' Davy thought wildly. With Micky's proximity came the scent of oranges and the beach that had been haunting his dreams for almost a week, and Davy nearly whimpered.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, Mick." Davy stared determinedly down at the table.

Micky frowned, reaching a hand out and gently grasping Davy's chin to pull his head up and look into his eyes.

"Yeah, right, that's why you can't even look at me." Micky moved his hand to cup Davy's cheek. "What did I do?"

Davy felt the room get much warmer and he was sure his eyes dilated with Micky's touch.

"You didn't do anything, Mick," he said almost dreamily, Micky's eyes pulling the words out of him. "It's me. I'm... not right. I'm sick," he added pleasantly.

Micky was beginning to feel alarmed. "Davy, why would you say that? What's wrong?"


Davy attempted to look down again, but Micky tightened his grip.

"Davy, I can't help unless you tell me," he said quietly. Davy appeared to Micky as though he was made out of glass, and with the slightest touch, he might shatter.

"..." Davy braced himself. "I've been having these... dreams."

Micky gave him an encouraging nod. "Okay, dreams, like nightmares?"

Davy released a small burst of almost hysterical laughter.

"No, not nightmares. They're... very nice dreams," he understated.

Micky squinted at Davy, confused. "I... I don't get you. If they're nice dreams, why-?"

"You're fucking me, Micky!"

Micky's hand slid off of Davy's face in shock, and Davy scooted backwards in his chair so quickly he almost fell over.

"I'm what?!"

Davy pulled his legs up onto the chair and hugged his knees.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah. And... And I like it, Micky." He huffed out a laugh that wasn't a laugh. "I like it."


Davy felt his heart break as Micky's silence stretched on for what seemed like hours.

"Wait," Micky finally said, scritching his hand through his hair. "So you... you want me to fuck you?"

"I don't know!" Davy burst out, hands spreading wide. "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know! All I know is that I keep having these dreams and then I wake up and... and..." He ran out of steam.

"And... what?" Micky asked slowly, mind working. What was...? How did...? Could he...? He thought, maybe, yes.

"And I want you so bad I can't breathe." Davy whispered. "I tried to get angry at you. For being too pretty."

Davy shook his head, another not-laugh exiting his mouth.

"I, I can't..." He dropped into silence when he realized he had nothing to say.

"So... you want me to fuck you." Micky didn't ask this time, simply stating and waiting for Davy's answer.

"... Yeah." Davy finally exhaled. "Yeah, I do. Micky, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Micky replied absently, slouching low in his chair and worrying his lip. "Just... let me think for a minute, okay?"

Davy tried his very hardest to suppress the little thrill of hope that fluttered in his chest, but it made its way into his throat anyway.

Micky thought, mind working fast behind his eyes.

'Could I...? I think I could. I've never really thought about it before. But... huh. Maybe I could...?'

Davy jumped when Micky suddenly cleared his throat.

"Can I kiss you?"

"What?" Davy blurted, staring at Micky incredulously. "You want to - what?"

Micky shrugged casually, as though Davy's heart wasn't practically beating out of his chest.

"Well, that's usually how you start, isn't it?"

"Start... you mean-?"

Another shrug, and Micky began ticking points off with his fingers.

"I like you. You're one of my best friends. You're cute. This has obviously been bothering you, and I want to make you feel better."

"Micky..." Davy frowned. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything..."

"You aren't," Micky assured. "I just want a kiss. If I hate it, we'll figure out something else. If I like it..." Here, Micky smiled a naughty little grin that made Davy's dick almost leap out of his pants. "Well, we'll see, won't we?"

"... Alright," Davy answered. After all, if a kiss was the closest he could get to actually having Micky, he wasn't going to say no.

Micky leaned in, immediately pressing his lips to Davy's, and Davy almost melted from the feeling. Micky apparently kissed like he did everything else, fast and hard. Davy wondered absently if that was even how he... But no, calm down, it's just a kiss. There's no need to torture yourself.

Micky hummed in the back of his throat and curiously passed his tongue along Davy's full lower lip until the younger man gasped, allowing Micky to delve his tongue inside.

Davy's head was spinning. He whined in the back of his throat and brought a hand up to Micky's shoulder, needing some sort of leverage to keep himself from falling over due to the sheer pleasure. If he had thought Micky's scent was overpowering before, it was nothing compared to this, this cloud of orange and ocean that he could almost feel, enveloping him and threatening to overcome him.

Davy had to break away before he simply climbed into Micky's lap to get closer to that smell. He was surprised as Micky placed one more peck on his lips, lingering there and then leaning away, face still in dangerously close proximity.

He looked into Davy's eyes, his own hazy but sure.



"Davy, I think I wanna fuck you."

Davy swallowed. Hard.


"Yeah. That alright?"

Davy gave a shaky nod. "We'll have to move, though, Mike and Peter'll be back any minute."

Micky nodded once, sharply, and then stood and offered a hand to Davy. Davy took it, grateful for the support, as he was almost positive that if he attempted to stand of his own volition, he would fall over.

Micky led them into Peter and Davy's bedroom, pulling Davy along with him. He stood awkwardly next to Davy's bed.

"So... now what?" he asked. "I mean, I know the mechanics, but-"

Davy sprang at him, knocking him onto the bed and tugging his own shirt off as he went. He shimmied out of his pants and then muffled Micky's giggles with his lips, straddling the other man's lap and shoving his hips forward into Micky's so that the giggles became moans.

Micky encircled Davy's waist, pulling him closer as he kissed him.

Davy untucked Micky's shirt and began undoing the buttons. He leaned back once he had finished and stared.

'All that...' he thought in awe. 'All that's mine... I can touch and kiss and lick...'

Micky arched as Davy abruptly bent his head to lick a stripe up his neck, then trailing his tongue down to his ribs. He slid his tongue lower, sucking kisses from Micky's now slightly sweaty skin.

"Davy," Micky breathed, pressing his hands lightly to the back of Davy's head. "Don't stop..."

Davy looked up wickedly, confidence restored and eyes sparkling with a mischievous joy.

"Stoppin' was never in the plan, babe..."

He dipped his head lower, nuzzling at the thin line of hair that led into Micky's pants. He placed another kiss just below his navel.

Micky whimpered when Davy made fast work of the button of his pants and slid them down along, with his underwear. He almost yanked some of Davy's hair out when, without hesitation or warning, Davy licked a long line up his erection.

"Fuck, Dave!"

Davy began to lick and suck at the hardness in front of his face, paying no mind to the fact that he'd never done anything like this before. He tried to do what he liked girls to do to him, and Micky certainly seemed to have no complaints, if the litany of moans above his head was any indication.

Davy kept up a steady stream of licks and kisses until Micky's 'yes's and 'more's and 'so good's degenerated into a meaningless mass of whimpering moans. He lifted his head and looked at Micky through half-lidded eyes.

'This is what I wanted,' he thought with conviction as he looked upon Micky; sweaty, sexy, leanly muscled Micky, who was staring at him with lust in his eyes.

Davy clambered up to straddle him again before planting his foot and flipping their positions. He looked up at the man on top of him pleadingly.

Micky's grin was teasing.

"What? You want me to fuck you?" He asked, nudging Davy's legs apart with a knee. "Is that what you want?"

Davy nearly growled.

"You know it is..."

"Huh..." Micky suddenly slid a finger into Davy and grinned again at the ensuing gasp. "What was that? I didn't quite catch that..." He added another finger.

"Ohgod, please, Micky!" Davy cried, squirming on his fingers.

"Please what? Can't hear you when you mumble..."

"FUCK ME!" Davy verbally exploded when Micky touched a spot inside of him, a spot that made his toes curl and stars burst out in front of his eyes.

Micky made a note of that spot and lined his erection up with Davy's entrance.

"Ready, babe? This is gonna hurt..."

Davy deliberated, then nodded.

"I can take it," he decided, bracing himself. "Just... do it fast. Like pulling off a Band-Aid, right?" A shaky laugh.

Micky nodded tightly. He shoved forward, driving deep into Davy with one thrust.

They both inhaled sharply, but Davy's was because it felt as though he were being split in two, and Micky's was because he thought that if he moved at all, he would come right there. Davy was so tight, so hot...

Davy laid his head back into the pillows for a minute until he caught his breath, then gave a halting nod.

"You, you can go..."

"Are you sure?" Micky forced himself to ask. In reality, all he wanted to do was fuck the shit out of the body his dick was buried in, but that would be rude.

Davy nodded again. "Yeah, just... just go."

Micky retracted his hips before snapping them forward again, and all pain was wiped out of Davy's mind as Micky hit that spot again, and now he was flying.

"Do that again," he commanded Micky, digging his heels into the man's backside.

"What, this?" Micky asked innocently, nudging forward again and purposefully prodding that spot. "You like that?"

Davy was too busy moaning and arching up into Micky to respond, but to Micky, that was answer enough.

"Please, please, more," Davy panted. He tugged Micky's face down to kiss him, tongues sliding deliciously against one another.

"Ahhh," Micky moaned into Davy's mouth, pace quickening as he was urged on by both Davy's voice and body, which tightened around him with every thrust.

Davy was rubbing against Micky every chance he got, reaching up to grip his upper arms.

Micky attempted not to collapse from the strain, and his arms shook from the effort.

"Micky," Davy gasped. "Gonna... gonna..."

Micky moved one of his hands to Davy's erection, giving it a few quick tugs to help him along.

"Micky," Davy groaned into his partner's shoulder as his release slammed into him.

"Oh God, yes, Davy," Micky moaned in return, slowing until he remained buried deep inside the smaller man. "Yes, fuck, that's it, ohhh," He smothered a shout as he reached his own climax before his arms finally gave out and he dropped onto the man underneath him.

He rolled off so that he was lying on his side next to Davy and stretched languidly.

"We gotta do that again."

"Not right now, though," Davy groused, landing a light kiss on a freckle on Micky's shoulder. "I don't think I'll be able to move for about a week."

He almost immediately contradicted his statement when he quickly sprang up into a sitting position and frowned in the general direction of the door.

"What?" Micky asked, sitting up as well.

"Shouldn't Mike and Peter be back by now?"


Out in the car, Mike's head appeared over one of the seats, hat missing, hair mussed, and a button gone from his shirt, which hung open.

"You think they're done yet?"

"Nope," Peter's answer came instantaneously from somewhere below Mike. "I think we should give them a few more minutes."

"Okay," Mike's reply was muffled as Peter tugged his head back down behind the seat. "Mmm..."