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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.

"The Prison: Part 3 - Elusive Ragings"

Title: The Prison –Chapter 3 – Elusive Ragings
Author: Woolhat’s Travelling Mood
Genre/Pairing: Slash Mike/Micky
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Monkee Misery , foul language and slashy sex!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Monkees, this did not happen and is just a figment of my imagination
Summary: A dreadful accident could either bring them closer or tear them apart.
Author's Note: I am British, so please excuse any Britishisms that creep in (unless they’re from Davy). Also, this intends to be a long one, in a few chapters, so bear with me!

“Fucking bitch, what the hell does she know anyway?!” Micky ranted, throwing his jacket into the nearest corner as he stormed in through the front door. Peter and Davy filed in sheepishly behind him.

“Shhh, you’ll wake Mike up.” Davy hissed, opening the downstairs bedroom door to check if the Texan was indeed asleep. After confirming he was, Davy closed the door again and slumped down at the kitchen table.

“Davy’s right man, you shouldn’t get so wound up Micky, some of what she had to say made sense,” Peter tried to sooth diplomatically, but as soon as he saw the rage in the drummer’s eyes, he knew he had stepped into the wrong direction.

“Right? Do you think she’s right to tell me how to look after my best friend? She doesn’t even know him!”

“She knows her job, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try out some of her ideas.” Peter didn’t want to lose this argument too quickly. He had come out of the meeting with Mike’s progress consultant in an optimistic mood, but now it seemed that Micky was just over-reacting.

“You’re full of crap Pete.” Micky spat, “As far as she was concerned, we should just leave Mike to his own devices and let him starve. How the hell is he supposed to do all those things she said on his own?”

“Well, he’ll never get the chance if you don’t let him!” Davy spoke up.

“Keep out of it!” Micky snarled.

“No. Fuck no Dolenz, why don’t you just stop and give your ears a chance huh?” The Englishman stood up, his body language confrontational, “You’re smothering Mike, and he’s never going to get better unless you let him try to do things on his own. Yes, he’ll struggle and yes, he’ll get pissed off, maybe even hurt himself, but you can’t keep him in a bubble forever. In fact, sometimes I think you’re glad he had his skull smashed in, that way he depends on you, makes you feel…” But Davy’s last words were silenced as Micky lunged at him, smacking him sharply across the mouth with a badly aimed fist.

“Hey! Break it up!” Peter couldn’t quite take in what he was seeing as Micky and Davy squared up for a full blown fist fight. “Have you guys heard yourselves lately? Please. Don’t do this.”

Peter’s pleading tone seemed to settle down his fellow Monkees, but it didn’t resolve the emotions coursing through Micky. He felt betrayed and bitter, abandoned by the friends who were supposed to support him. How could they think it would be ok to just leave Mike to his own devices, not to help him at all? After all he’d been through, it seemed like the cruellest act of all.

He looked squarely at Peter and then back at Davy. “Go fuck yourselves,” He growled, and strode into the downstairs room he now shared with Mike, closing the door quietly behind him.


Mike awoke from his pain killer induced sleep to find Micky balled up against his chest, softly sobbing into the fabric of his pyjamas. For a moment Mike thought it was part of his dream, he hadn’t seen Micky cry since the accident, and it felt so distant from the bouncy young man who had been keeping him company in the months since.

“Mick?” Mike asked groggily.

“Hey you,” Micky sniffed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t. What’s wrong?”

“Oh. Nothing. I’m just being stupid. Must be tired or something…”

“Babe…just tell me…”

“Honest Mike. Just…” He looked deep into Mike’s eyes. How could he tell him what was really happening? The disintegration of the band, the frustrations they all felt about Mike’s disabilities. “Just…make love to me Mike.”

The Texan was taken aback by this sudden request. He and Micky hadn’t got much further than kissing, touching and giving head and this change felt dramatic. Of course, he had hoped it would come to this, but he knew why Micky was stalling; his legs were useless, and his body was weak. Making love to Micky would be difficult at best, and probably quite one-sided.

“Mick, you know I…”

“I know, but let’s try huh? I need you so much Mike.”

Micky’s eyes pleaded with Mike’s and he softened in their gaze. The drummer leant forward and claimed Mike’s mouth in a long and sensuous kiss. The words he had exchanged with Davy were still spinning around his head. Maybe he did need Mike, maybe he did enjoy being wanted and depended upon, was that such a bad thing? But he also knew that Mike liked to be in control. Maybe Micky could never relinquish full control and leave Mike to fend for himself, but maybe if he gave Mike more control in the bedroom, it may just brighten his lover’s mood a little.

Mike felt the kiss had stalled and wasn’t progressing in the pattern it normally did. Micky was taking a backseat. The Texan waited, to see what the drummer had in store, but when Micky still didn’t make any more moves, he took the initiative, running his hand up underneath Micky’s t-shirt and running his tongue over his lover’s lips, seeking entry. Micky gladly obliged and Mike plundered his mouth, duelling with his

own tongue. Micky moaned and purred, loving every moment of being held in Mike’s strong grip.

Mike moved his hand all over Micky’s body, teasingly sliding it into the waistband of his pants before moving back up and brushing it against Micky’s nipples. He leaned in for another kiss, and then moved sideways, clamping down on a tender point of Micky’s neck, nibbling and sucking until Micky started to writhe beneath him.

“Take off your shirt and pants.” Mike ordered, his eyes smoky with desire.

Micky eagerly sat up to obey, quickly removing his clothes.

“Now undress me.” He whispered, reaching up and locking one of his hands in Micky’s curls.

The drummer leapt to the order, quickly unbuttoning Mike’s pyjamas, the power of Mike’s demands clearly making an impact on his arousal.

“Now I want you to suck me.” Another demand, and Micky felt like he would come then and there. This was like the old Mike was back again. Leader Mike, controlling Mike. He wanted to be dominated by this powerful man, succumb to his every whim. The power Mike held over him at that point, just by his words, was intoxicating.

“Like this?” Micky asked innocently, as he dipped his head down and sucked teasingly at the tip.

“…Hhhh…yeah babe, that’s a good start, but I was thinking more like this…” Mike managed to gasp out as he gently took hold of Micky’s hair and directed his lover’s mouth further down his growing cock.

Fireworks exploded in Mike’s brain as he felt his cock nudge the back of Micky’s throat and the drummer began to hum, sending vibrations through him and to every cell in his body.

“Uh…Oh Mick…” Mike groaned, running his hand down Micky’s spine to his ass. And what a beautiful ass it was, at this moment pointing up in the air as Micky bent over on all fours over Mike’s cock. Whilst Micky was otherwise engaged in giving the best head he had ever given, Mike blearily reached over to the nightstand and grasped a bottle of sun lotion. He was surprised by the dexterity of this action, sure that if his brain wasn’t alight by the fire Micky had set burning within him, he would have surely knocked the bottle over.

Micky began licking and sucking with relish and Mike closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on both enjoying the experience and not coming. He sighed and opened his eyes again, then brought the bottle to his other hand and liberally coated his fingers. He’d never done this before, but he had a good idea what was expected, and guessed it was something they would both enjoy.

He thought about warning Micky, then thought better against it, pushing a well lubed finger into that waiting asshole. Micky gasped around Mike’s cock and the Texan thought he would come then and there.

“Uh…Mike…uh…”was all Micky managed before Mike pressed in another finger, thrusting in and out.

“Did I say you were finished?” Mike asked and Micky forced himself back to the task at hand, trying to not come undone by Mike’s ministrations. It felt wrong, it felt strange and it felt wonderful all at the same time. He knew it would hurt like hell, but he wanted it so badly.

When Mike was happy with his preparations, he reached down for Micky’s hair again, pulling the drummer’s head up and crashing their lips together in a passionate kiss. Micky whimpered at the grip in his hair, but his own cock jumped in anticipation and greedy arousal.

Mike pulled them apart and looked deep into Micky’s eyes.

“You are so ready to be fucked my love,” He purred, and pushed Micky onto his back on the bed.

Now came the hard part. Mike had so far avoided moving anything except his arms, but if he were to do this properly, he would have to roll himself over on top of Micky. At this point he was pleased he was still young, fit and lean, and used his strong arms to push himself up and pulled himself on top of his lover.

Their cocks rubbed together teasingly and both moaned in unison. Micky looked up at Mike with wide innocent eyes and Mike nearly came.

Mike reached up to the bedpost and pulled himself until he was in line with his target. Before moving again, he leant down and kissed Micky tenderly on the lips, hoping it would somehow convey everything he felt for him at that moment.

Then as gently as he could, he pushed forward, penetrating his friend. Micky’s head rolled back on the pillow and he let out a low groan of pain. It hurt. It wasn’t as good as he was expecting and he was hit with a wave of disappointment. He screwed his eyes tight and tried to relax as Mike pushed in inch by agonising inch. When Mike was fully inside, he mustered all his strength to stop and let Micky adjust to the sensation.

“Babe?” Mike asked cautiously as he lowered himself down and kissed Micky’s ear.

“Please…Mike…don’t stop.” Micky panted and was relieved when Mike started to move ever so slightly in and out, building a rhythm. As the burning lessened, Micky could feel Mike inside him and he stretched out beneath him, widening his legs, allowing Mike to push in further still.

“Oh Jesus…uh God…” Mike sighed as he was enveloped in that incredible heat, that tight tunnel of pleasure.

Micky moaned in response, it felt so good to be filled, so good that he was being filled by Mike’s cock, so gloriously filled and completed by the man he loved so much.

“Ugh! Fuck!” Micky suddenly shrieked as he felt pleasure explode within him, so powerful he had to fight hard to keep his orgasm at bay.

“Please Mike, please do that again, fuck me harder…” Micky groaned and panted as Mike altered his position and pounded into Micky, hitting that sweet spot again and again. Micky writhed beneath him in pleasure, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his legs around Mike, trying to pull him in as far as he could go.

“You are so tight, my love, you are so incredible,” Mike gasped, feeling the familiar sensations building within him. He couldn’t hold on much longer, and by the sounds Micky was making, he guessed his lover wasn’t far off either. Mike’s arms were beginning to ache from the stress of doing all the work, but he hardly noticed. At that point all he could feel was he cock moving in and out of that lithe body beneath him, and Micky’s legs wrapped around his, urging him on.

“Come for me Micky…come…”Mike whispered huskily and it was enough to send Micky over the edge. Micky bucked and wriggled beneath him, riding the wave of euphoria as his orgasm hit. Mike felt the muscles in Micky tense around him and then he too was lost to that incredible release.

Once spent, they lay together in a messy pile, both breathing too heavily to say anything at all.


Mike jotted a few more notes in his song-writing notebook before snapping it shut and putting it down next to his guitar.

“When’s she meant to be here?” He asked, turning to Micky who was going through the newspaper at the kitchen table.

“Davy’s bringing her over at 2. Then she’ll stay for a bit and then we’ll all go out and eat I guess. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. I just…well, it’s the first time Davy’s brought anyone back since…well, you know, and I just feel a bit odd.”

Micky looked up at the Texan over his reading glasses. He face was puzzled.

“You know,” Mike added, “You look damn cute with those specs on,”

Micky cracked into a grin and shook his head. “Haven’t you had enough already? I won’t be able to sit down for a week!”

Mike blushed ever so slightly and smiled sheepishly. “Well, can you blame me?”

“Blame you for what?” Peter asked as he came in through the back door.

“For finding Micky attractive.” Mike said bluntly, his look at Peter almost challenging the blond to be embarrassed.

“Well, that’s refreshing,” The bassist smiled, turning to Micky to see the drummer’s face lit by a huge, yet bashful smile.

Mike shrugged, having surprised himself by his own honesty. He probably wouldn’t have said the same thing had it been Davy, but somehow he felt Peter understood what he meant. If you could describe Peter’s beliefs in a word it would be open-minded.

Mike winked at Micky and then looked at his watch. He didn’t want to admit how nervous he was about Davy bringing his new girlfriend back to the pad. All the people who had visited since his accident had known him before, but this was new. She would only ever know him as the guy in the wheelchair. He wasn’t sure if he was prepared for that kind of pigeonholing. And that was before she saw him eat. What if he had another bad day and missed him mouth again? It was becoming infrequent but there were still days when he struggled with basic tasks. Mike wrung his hands. He couldn’t believe he was getting so wound up over a chick he didn’t even know.

Just then, as if thinking about it had conjured the very devil, the front door opened and Davy walked in, holding hands with a petite redhead.

“Hey guys!” Davy beamed, “This is Imogen. Imogen, these are my mates – Peter, Micky and Mike,” He pointed them all out in turn.

“Hi.” She smiled shyly.

“Would you like a root beer?” Peter asked, offering her a chair at the table.

“That would be great, thanks.” Imogen furtively followed Davy further into the pad and took up a seat next to Micky.

“So, I hear your from New York, what made you head west?” Micky asked,

“Oh, a girlfriend of mine had moved out here and was starting her own photography studio and needed an assistant so she called me and I accepted. I was getting fed up with the weather in New York anyway.” She laughed nervously and supped quickly at her root beer.

Micky smiled politely and then looked over to Mike, who was still sitting by the bandstand. With a tilt of his head, Micky motioned for Mike to come over and join them. The Texan hesitated at first, before finally wheeling himself up to sit on Micky’s other side.

“Do you want to be a photographer yourself?” Mike asked, trying to make small talk

“Oh…” Imogen seemed surprised that he had spoken. “Yes, I suppose so…” She started answering but when she looked up at Mike’s face, she quickly redirected her gaze back to Micky, finishing by telling him “I haven’t really given it much thought, you know?”

It was a minor detail, perhaps not even intended, but at that point Mike was filled with fury. She couldn’t even bare to look at him. He felt like snapping her over his knee like a twig. Who the hell did she think she was?

Micky caught the troubled look on Mike’s face and discreetly slid his hand over to grasp Mike’s.  

Peter felt the awkward silence, and tried to move the conversation on, “So where are we going to eat?”

“I’m not sure, I thought we’d let Imogen decide,” Davy smiled, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Oh…really? Well, there’s this little place me and Sherry go to, it’s called the Kasbah, it does Moroccan food…” She paused thoughtfully, before leaning over to Micky and lowering her voice, “Can he eat Moroccan food?” She asked, nodding her head towards Mike.

For a moment Micky was so shocked by her ignorant behaviour he couldn’t answer, but then the performer in him took over, and with a straight face replied, “I don’t know, I’ll ask him,” turning to Mike he smiled, “Michael, can you eat Moroccan food?”

Mike pretended to give it some thought before nodding. Micky turned back to Imogen, who was now burning scarlet with embarrassment and beamed “Yes. He can.”

At that moment Mike felt more love for his friend than he had ever felt for anyone. Micky was using him wit to protect him and humiliate Imogen, even if she was Davy’s girlfriend. Mike squeezed Micky’s hand silently. He didn’t care what she thought anymore, as long as he had Micky, he would be ok.

The Prison: Part 4 The Prison: Part 2