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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.





Title: Supplicio
Author: Miss Mini
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Mike/Peter
Genre: Slash. Smut.
Warnings: This is a slash fic, meaning that it contains adult content between two characters of the same sex. If that isn't your bag, don't read this (though if it's not, I'm not sure why you're here). Also contains lots of dirty words.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, completely 100% fictitious. I make no claims as to the personalities or sexual proclivities of the real Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork, and I glean no profit from this story whatsoever. So don't sue me, cause I'm a broke grad student and I'd have to pay you in little tiny packets of Chinese mustard.
Summary: Sometimes a moment arrives without planning. It simply lays itself before you, bare and alive, and you bring it to a quiet place, where you can listen to it, long and hard. Takes place at the 1968 NYC premiere party for Head.

They're not--are they?

He's hiking up her dress...

What are they *doing?*

Far out, man.

Hushed voices murmured across the room, gazes lowering to the wave of long brown hair laid out on the studio floor. The woman attached to it was moaning, hands desperately gripping her lover's back as he thrust into her.

They were oblivious to the onlookers, swept up in their own drug-fueled arousal, clawing at each other, grunting and channeling the primitive into one serious spectacle which the bewildered--and now turned on--audience could only observe in wonder.

It had been a long evening, with hundreds of bodies crammed into the Columbia studios, bowls of too-sweet spiked punch on hastily arranged tables alongside platters of rapidly disappearing finger sandwiches. Ancient Movieolas spun the reels of the film whose premiere they had come to attend, celluloid fragments playing in no order on the various walls.

Dirty blond bangs fell into the eyes of one spectator, who brought a hand to his forehead, sweeping the hair aside. He'd been standing there for a while, entranced by the copulating couple--bodies writhing almost rhythmically--and for a moment, Peter found himself mentally singing a riff in time to their motions.

He was becoming painfully aroused as well; almost unconsciously, his other hand drifted down to his crotch, rubbing the front of his pants, trying to make room for his growing hard-on.

Fuck, I need to go jerk off... Peter thought, eyes darting around the assembled crowd, hoping that there was someone else dealing with the very same problem.

He counted Micky and Davy among those staring in rapt attention, each with a hand surreptitiously creeping its way onto the breasts of the girls each had an arm around. Peter's lips twisted into a dirty smile as he watched the two couples walk off, knowing full well what was about to happen.

Returning his gaze to the crowd, Peter continued to look for familiar faces. He stopped his survey quite suddenly then, pleasantly startled as he noticed who was standing just a few feet away.


Even in the dimmed light of the room, the sparkling blue sequins stood out. Peter remembered Mike saying he'd had the suit special made by some Nudie guy, and was nearly floored to see the dark-haired man decked out in such resplendent regalia. Glittery detailing aside, the pants were a simple white with swirling blue sequins up and down the legs, and tight enough to show off Mike's ass perfectly.

Peter watched Mike's eyes as he watched them, burning with a darkened desire, glancing around every few seconds as if a teenager at a skin flick afraid of being caught. It was during one of those glances that Mike looked up, and there he saw Peter looking at him, the corner of his mouth drawn up in a knowing smirk.

Got him.

Peter kept his eyes on Mike, lowering a hand to the front of his pants as he did, caressing the prominent bulge there. Even in the near-dark of the room, this action did not escape Mike's attention. He studied the blond carefully, noting his flushed, red cheeks and the thin layer of sweat on his brow.

What the fuck's he doing... Between the carnal spectacle in front of him and Peter's own shameless display of arousal, Mike was finding it difficult to think clearly.

Peter's tongue darted out to lick his lips then, the exclamation point on an unspoken sentence. A wave of arousal rushed through Mike, and his cock twitched appreciatively in his pants. He swallowed hard, hands balling into fists and clenching tightly. Peter lowered his eyes, his mouth falling into a wicked grin as he reached one finger up to pinch a nipple through the fabric of his own shirt.

Mike stood stock still, silently fighting the impulse to ravage or strangle the bassist on the spot. Much to his surprise, Peter suddenly dropped his hands to his sides. He began to back away from the crowd, and Mike eyed him curiously, moving behind the mass of bodies that had shifted slightly to fill the gap the bassist left behind.

Where is he going? The thought barely finished passing through Mike's head when he realized his legs were already moving, and he followed Peter's shadow, which soon disappeared under the men's room door.

Mike looked around, noting that most of the partygoers had converged into that one corner, ignoring the spinning film reels in favor of the impromptu live show. Certain that no one had seen him leave, he took a deep breath and gripped the small doorknob, twisting it in his hand.

The light was blinding, at first; the sterile fluorescents a harsh contrast to the hazy dimness of the studio. Mike studied the four stalls carefully, each appearing to be vacant--save for the one on the end. He smirked at the sight of the moccasin-covered feet against the white tile.

I see you.

He turned slightly, locking the bathroom door so as to avoid interruption. Slowly, Mike opened the stall door, eyes fixed on the moccasined feet, then moving upward as more of the blond man came into his field of vision.

And what a vision it was. Peter had one arm braced against the wall, palm flat against the tile, his head bowed slightly. The waistband of his pants was pushed down to mid-thigh, exposing the smooth, tanned skin of his bare ass. Soft groans escaped his lips as he jerked himself off feverishly with his other hand.

Fuck... Mike thought, and now his pants were too tight for comfort.

He wanted to touch, to indulge in the glorious display of flesh in front of him. Paranoia or just plain common sense wouldn't normally allow such things to happen there, then, with only a door separating them from the boisterous mob outside. Luckily, the libations had been flowing freely all night, and combined with the heady aroma of smoke wafting through the air, Mike was tingling with arousal, daring and eager to do whatever it took to sate his desires.

Without a word, Mike leaned up against Peter from behind, grinding his cloth-covered crotch into him. Peter gasped at the sudden contact, then groaned loudly, head raising slightly as he arched his back in pleasure.

Mike slid a hand around Peter's body, covering the hand on Peter's dick with his own. The column of flesh pulsed readily, and he could feel it through their hands, hard and wanting. His other hand moved under Peter's shirt, reaching for a nipple and pinching it hard. Peter's senses flooded with arousal, and he moaned, his voice low and raspy.


Spurred on by the bassist's reaction, Mike pulled his hand from Peter's shirt to roughly undo his own pants, yanking the belt free and sighing as his raging erection was met by the cool air. He searchingly slid the tip of his cock up and down the crack of Peter's ass, using every reserve of his self-control to keep from plunging in with one thrust.

Please...Michael..." Peter dug the tips of his fingers into the wall in front of him, panting as he thrust his cock through the heated ring of his and Mike's hands.

"Please, what?" Mike focused on keeping his voice steady, moving an arm around Peter's waist and gripping tightly so as to slow his movements.

"Fuck me."

Mike inhaled deeply, hissing as the coarse hair on his legs stood on end, every muscle tensing and thrumming with arousal. He leaned forward, burying his nose against the back of Peter's neck, letting out a long breath. Peter shuddered, the skin on his neck giving rise to goosebumps at the feel of the cool air ghosting over it.

Mike calmly released Peter, the arm that had been around his waist sliding up and over Peter's, twining their fingers together against the tile. He pressed his chest against the blond's bare back, removing the hand from Peter's cock, and spit into his palm, wrapping it around his own erection, slicking himself up. Taking a deep breath, Mike held himself steady, aiming his cock at the puckered opening in front of him, and slowly slid inside.

Ohhgod..." Peter groaned in blissful surrender, willing his muscles to relax, to take all of Mike deep into his body.

After a few moments of carefully moving in, then out slightly, then in just a bit further, Mike was fully sheathed, his forehead covered in sweat from the mind-blowing heat and tightness and the sheer force of will it took to stay completely still.

fuck, Michael!" Peter cried out as Mike began to set a rhythm; long, slow thrusts in concert with short, hard ones.

Peter pushed his hips back to meet Mike's movements, brow furrowing and tongue darting out to lick his lips as his senses were flooded with a combination of pleasure and pain. Mike plundered his body ruthlessly, the sound of his balls slapping against Peter's ass echoing in the tiny bathroom.

Somewhere beneath the thick heat of the room, colored lights flashed, flickering under the door frame. The premiere was at its climax--literally, as the cries of the couple on the floor escalated with every passing moment. Several of the bystanders had unfastened their own pants and were touching themselves as they watched. The fevered crescendo of the display in front of them was enough to drown out the sounds of passion both Mike and Peter were now shamelessly making.

Sweat flowed freely from Mike's body, the fabric of his jacket becoming ever more constricting as it stuck to his skin. His fingers clung to Peter's slim hips, digging into the skin so hard that he knew there would be marks left. Deftly, he moved his hands to Peter's waist, yanking him upright from the wall and twisting his upper body so they were face-to-face.

The sight of Peter in full arousal--cheeks flushed, hair hanging in sodden strings around his forehead, eyes hazy and dark--nearly did Mike in, and he slammed their lips together in a passionate kiss. Peter groaned loudly, thrusting one hand back into Mike's thick hair for leverage, knocking the bejeweled cowboy hat perched on his head to the ground.

Tongues dueled heatedly, and Mike changed the angle of his thrusts then, making sure to brush against the sweet spot inside Peter. The bassist squeaked in surprise into Mike's mouth, pulling away from the kiss. He stared into Mike's eyes, which were coal black, and tinged with the faintest glint of mischief.

Fuck, Michael...do that again..." Peter pleaded, biting his lower lip in a gesture of complete submission.

Mike spun Peter back around, pinning his arms to the wall again and covering them with his own. The tendons in Peter's neck bulged out slightly, his eyes squeezing shut in concentration as he focused on Mike's cock slamming home again and again and the orgasm steadily rushing up behind each thrust.

Ungghh, yeah...I'm gonna fucking come..." Peter hissed as the faintest hints of stars formed under his eyelids. The tightness in his balls heightened to almost unbearable levels, twitching, pulsing, and he knew his climax was imminent.

The slow, drawling voice behind him spoke then, in a whisper drenched with lust:

"Come for me, Peter."

Peter threw his head back, nearly howling as he came, jet after jet of cum shooting out of his dick and landing on his and Mike's hands, as well as the wall in front of them. Mike let out a choked cry as he felt Peter's muscles clench around his cock, the tension enough to propel him over the edge.

"Goddamnit--FUCK!" he roared, thrusting into Peter once, twice, three more times, milking his cum into that gloriously tight channel. Peter moaned softly in approval, relishing the sensation.

Mike collapsed onto Peter's back, willing his heartbeat to return to normal, and somewhere over their gasping breaths, they began to hear the faint din of the crowd outside. Slowly, Mike stood again, and Peter winced as he felt the dark-haired man's now-soft cock slide out of him.

"Make yourself useful," Mike said gruffly, reaching down to grab the fallen cowboy hat at his feet.

Peter turned around, one eyebrow cocked as he held a ball of toilet paper in his hand. Mike said nothing as he tucked himself back into his pants, and glanced down at the fluid coating the blond's stomach. Peter trailed a finger through the stickiness, lifting it to his lips and sliding it in between, while wiping himself off with his other hand.

Mike's hand snapped forward then, in what had only been the faintest movement, clamping over Peter's wrist. He pulled the hand away from Peter's mouth and stepped forward to close the space between them, draping Peter's arm over his shoulder.

Ignoring the now frantic pounding on the bathroom door, Mike slid a finger under Peter's chin, tilting it up and leaning in for another long, slow kiss.