Disclaimer: this imagine is NOT MINE. Credit to the original author, HMC. I got this from Donatella's Head.

Rating: R

This fic has four parts

***

{part 1}

       Micky stood shoulder to shoulder with Mike as they waited for the clerk to give them their tickets to the movie. Micky had formed an evil idea in his mind and was extremely thankful that the particular movie they were going to was bombing at the box office; there was nobody there, and there would be almost nobody in the theatre. With nobody there, he and Mike would have the theatre all to themselves, and he got excited just thinking about it. He was so wrapped up in his planning that he didn't even notice he was slowly drifting closer and closer to his lover, until a light shove from Mike reminded him that in public, they needed to be discreet. Micky immediately took a step back, giving Mike his space.

It had been a month since their feelings for each other were realized. Thanks to a cool summer night out on the beach, a little pot, and about a dozen beers, Micky had taken the initiative only to find out that Mike had been thinking the same thing. They thanked the good Lord for alcohol and the night had eventually led to hours of passionate lovemaking. In that one night, their lives changed. Mike had decided he was bisexual, while Micky concluded that 'just guys' was the way to go.

They had already told Peter and Davy. As expected, it took them a little time to get used to the idea that the 'father figure' and the drummer of their band were in love. But they were understanding, and thank God, not close-minded, and eventually came to grips with it. Mike and Micky consciously made an effort not to make Peter or Davy uncomfortable by deciding that signs of affection that went further than a hug or a pat on the back belonged in the bedroom, or when they were alone. They both agreed it would not stay that way forever, but for now it was better to keep things light.

Mike was really the one who decided what could be done out in public and what couldn't. The more he thought about it, Micky knew that public displays of affection were 'against the rules'. He recalled one instance when he had tried to hold Mike's hand when the band went out to dinner at a casual restaurant. Mike had quickly removed his hand from the table, squeezed Micky's shoulder, and said, 'not in front of everyone, Mick'. Micky was frustrated and embarrassed that he had just been censored. He pouted all the way home, because Mike hadn't so much as apologized until they were behind closed doors.

Needless to say, he was getting a little tired of being the passive lover. He didn't want Mike to have his way all the time. Fuck, if Micky could have had his way, he would be making out with Mike during their gigs. He was stuck. If word got out that the Monkees consisted of a British sex-addict, a hippy and two male lovers, they'd never get work again. That's just the way things were. Money was tight as it was, so they were forced into secrecy.

They walked through the doors to the large theatre to find that there were only four other people in the audience, all relatively close to the front of the theatre. Micky quickly pulled Mike to the row at the very back. "Micky, we won't be able to see from back here..." Mike complained.

"Shh. Don't worry about it." Micky grinned and they took their seats. He was secretly rejoicing. Mike was totally clueless. He could hardly contain himself and almost cheered when the lights went down, but he forced himself to remain cool.

The movie was some lame B flick that had men in rubber suits that were supposed to look like aliens from Saturn, or some stupid shit like that. The movie was supposedly chock-full of women who were cast only because they could scream for five minutes straight. Mike had, at first, refused to go, claiming he had better things to do. At that, Micky called his bluff and, long story short, there they were.

The theatre was pitch black as the title ran across the screen. Micky had been planning to wait until there was at least some screaming to give him some cover, but he couldn't wait. His hand drifted from the armrest to Mike's knee. He breathed a breath of relief that Mike had at least let him do that much. He assumed the dark theatre and the privacy of their seats had Mike relaxed enough to allow some leniency on Mike's 'no touch in public' rule.

'I love him when he not being a hard-ass', Micky thought.

A few minutes into the movie, some shrill, dramatic music began to play as a spaceship was seen landing in a cornfield. Mike sighed. Micky could tell he was already bored out of his skull. Moving his hand up Mike's thigh ever so slowly, Micky held his breath and waited for Mike's reaction. The Texan squirmed a bit, putting his hand down to stop Micky from reaching his crotch. Micky pulled his hand free, and keeping his eyes forward, resumed his caresses. This time he didn't wait for Mike to try and stop him before he moved his hand right between Mike's legs and began a light massage there.

Mike gasped as quietly as he could and leaned back, gripping the armrests of his chair. He didn't try to stop Micky but growled quietly into his ear, ".... just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Micky didn't even make eye contact. "Shut up, will you?" He whispered. "I'm trying to watch the movie."

"Micky, honestly...." This time he sounded more like he was begging.

"Shh...." Micky moved his hand up to the button of Mike's jeans and expertly undid it, sliding the zipper down slowly, to make as little noise as possible. His heart began to beat faster. The thrill and danger of it all had him aroused, but he tried to ignore it; he wanted to focus all of his attention on Mike. In the back of his mind, he knew it was a cruel thing to do, but he wanted to teach Mike a lesson. All the hiding and secrecy in public would seem pointless now that Micky was on a mission to make Mike cum in a movie theatre.

The way Mike was sitting, Micky knew it was impossible to give him a decent hand-job. No, he had a better idea. He would make Mike beg for it.

Micky fondled Mike's now impressive hard-on through the thin material of his briefs with light touches and calculated movements. Mike's head lolled back to rest on the back of his chair. He sat up straight again, determined not to get caught. But he was sweating, he was heavily breathing, he was weakening, he was losing. He made one last desperate attempt.

"Micky.... god...." he struggled to keep himself in check and whisper at the same time. "Please stop.... Geez, you're making me crazy.... if you don't stop...."

"Oh yeah, what are you gonna do?" He hissed back, a smile overtaking his face. "Do you really want me to stop?" He squeezed, and Mike exhaled sharply, leaning over so that his forehead was almost touching Micky's shoulder. "Is that was you really want?" Micky applied long, deep strokes and could have sworn he heard Mike whimper.

"....." Mike had whispered something unintelligible.

"What?" Micky leaned closer. "What did you say?"

"I said don't stop.... please don't stop." He adjusted himself so Micky could work his magic. His underwear was pushed down, and he leaned back so Micky could get his hand around that impressive cock. And that's exactly what he did. He wrapped his hand around Mike's pulsating erection and made a slow but firm pumping motion. But Mike was still paranoid about getting caught, so he removed his jacket and placed it over Micky's hand in his lap.

Mike's body temperature was rising steadily, and Micky could feel the heat radiating from Mike. He continued the long, steady strokes, getting Mike as hard as possible, until he knew the taller man wouldn't be able to hold out much longer if he continued, so he changed tactics and took the head between his fingers. Making slow, circular motions, he massaged the head of Mike's cock, kneading it between his thumb and his index finger.

He could swear he heard Mike suffocating in the chair next to him. Mike had latched onto the armrest and was gripping it so hard his knuckles were white. His chest heaved with effort not to cry out, or moan, or make any kind of noise to alert the other four people in the audience that he was getting off.

And Micky decided to ease off a little bit, the calm before the storm. He lightly brushed his fingertips across Mike's balls, watching Mike's face closely. His eyes were squeezed shut; he eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His breathing was so heavy that, if not for the cheesy soundtrack of the movie, would have gotten them caught in no time. Micky cast his eyes over the room and saw that none of the moviegoers had even become remotely suspicious. The movie had probably put them to sleep already.

Micky's efforts got slower and slower until he stopped altogether.

Mike looked like he was about to burst out into tears.

"Just kidding." Micky whispered. He pumped Mike again, harder this time, bringing him to the edge. At the last possible second before Mike came, Micky pulled him into a kiss. He parted Mike's lips with his tongue and made the final jerking motion that set Mike off. Micky kissed him so deeply that any noise Mike was going to make was smothered. The orgasm sent a violent shudder through Mike's body, and he broke the kiss. He collapsed against Micky's shoulder and then slouched back in his chair, gasping quietly for breath. Micky removed his hand and leaned back also, putting his feet up on the seat backs in front of him. They stayed that way for at least another fifteen minutes of the movie, before Mike collected enough energy to sit up again. He pulled his underwear up and zipped his pants, folding his jacket so it covered the wet mark on his jeans.

Just as alien pod people were eating innocent civilians, Mike was doing some devouring of his own. He grabbed the back of Micky's head and pulled the drummer almost bodily to him. His lips crushed Micky's, his tongue forced it's way between his lips, and then his other arm moved down to wrap around Micky's waist. The deep-throated kiss was cut short by a strange sound coming from the front of the theatre. They broke apart and watched as the film burst into flames and quickly the house lights came up.

A voice from the back of the theatre announced that the film was broken and they wouldn't be able to fix it. The four other people actually cheered, agreeing it was the stupidest movie they'd ever seen as they walked out.

Mike and Micky waited until everyone else had left the theatre. Micky was glad his coat reached his knees; he wouldn't have to worry about hiding his arousal. Unlike Mike, who would have to stealthily try and hide his lap from the public until they got to the car. As they left the theatre, they were stopped by the manager, who asked them if they wanted their money back, as everyone else did.

Mike stopped and replied, "Don't look at me, I enjoyed myself."

The manager looked confused and shrugged, walking away.

When they finally reached the safety of the car, Mike slumped in the driver's seat and stared at Micky with an incredulous expression.

"What?" Micky demanded, a mock-innocent expression on his face.

"Slut," he said. "I only hope you stay that way." He shook his head in amazement.

Micky laughed.

{part 2}

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."

{part 3}

"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."

"Why?"

"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?

"Mick?"

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. 

{part 4}

Micky was the first to move. He raised his head just enough to get a good look at Mike. Strands of Mike's dampened hair fell in his face, droplets of perspiration clinging to the ends of them. His eyelids drooped; he was obviously exhausted. Mike seemed to be focusing on the patterns in the ceiling, those tacky fuckin' swirls that Peter loved so much covered the cheap plaster. As stupid looking as it was, it was the only thing Mike's blown mind could understand. His lips were parted only slightly, and Micky could tell he was still trying to get his breathing under control by the deliberate way his chest rose and fell. Micky grinned and ran his fingertips over Mike's sweat-slicked chest.

Micky leaned forward and lightly nipped at Mike's lower lip with his teeth. Mike slowly ran his tongue over his lips and brought his gaze from the ceiling patterns to the younger man on top of him.

Micky had an expression on his face that seemed like a hybrid of curiosity, smugness, and hesitancy; he really wanted to know what Mike was thinking. Was Mike mad at him? But as he looked more carefully, he saw the content, pleasured way Mike draped his arm across Micky's lower back. He was doubtful as to whether or not he should say something, the last thing he wanted to do was something that would end their moment together.

Micky look up and noticed that Mike's other hand was still tied to the bedpost, and it practically hung there, pitiful and useless. Micky found a conflict within himself. If he untied Mike, would he get up and leave? Micky decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He reached up and deftly pulled Mike's other hand free, holding his breath while he waited for Mike's decision facing his newfound freedom.

Mike rested his hand against Micky's cheek, using his thumb to caress Micky's lips. He arched his neck and kissed Micky, more tenderly than he ever had before. It was a milestone; Mike wasn't dominating a show of pure affection when he easily could have. It was completely mutual. Their tongues dueled at each other's leisure.

Mike let his head drop back to the pillow after the kiss ended. He then latched his arms around Micky's waist and rolled over quickly, so that the squeal of surprise he let out was soon muffled by Mike's insistent lips once Micky was effectively pinned down.

Mike chuckled lightly. He loved the surprised little noises Micky made.

"So," Micky giggled once his tongue was capable of speech again. "What should we do tomorrow?

How about we go see a movie?" And he let a fresh barrage of laughter loose when Mike's jaw dropped.

"You must think I'm fuckin' crazy. If you think I'm going to any theatre with you again, you're just plain...." He trailed off as Micky caressed Mike's chest with his fingertips. ".... nuts." He finished.

"Oh, fine. Hold one incident against me for the rest of my life." Micky pretend pouted, pushing his lower lip out.

"You bet your ass I will." Mike grumbled, using his index finger to poke Micky in the chest.

"Yeah, bet THIS ass." He quickly grabbed Mike's butt with both hands and squeezed.

"Ah! Jesus, Micky you are such a tramp." He teased. He lightly touched his lips to his partner's and said, "But I love you."

~~~~~

It had been just a little earlier that evening, after Micky had dragged Mike up to their room when Davy had snuck out, fully dressed and aching for a pint.

He pulled his brown leather jacket closer around him as he finally turned a corner to arrive at one of his particular favorite spots. The hole-in-the-wall little bar was called simply, 'Millie's'. Despite its small stature, it was a notorious spots for gay and bisexual young hippies. But finding someone to spend the night with was far from his mind as he sat down at the bar. All he could think about was getting drunk and forgetting about the whole stupid situation he was in. The middle-aged woman serving the drinks hobbled over to him and took his order, winking and noting that he had a cute little accent.

Davy smiled politely and sipped at his drink, swiveling on his chair to watch a couple of guys playing pool in the far corner of the room. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of cheap beer, tobacco, pot, stale pretzels and men's cologne all mixed into one, hazy formula.

He had a mantra going in his head. I did the right thing, I did the right thing, I did the right thing. He knew that it was true, but it was just a tad more complicated than he would have liked it to be. He still had a crush on Mike. But he would sooner die than let that get in the way of what Mike and Micky had together.

His first beer was gone and he was just on the verge of ordering another when a light tap was felt on his shoulder. He turned to find a devastatingly handsome young man in his mid-twenties looking his square in the face. The man's dirty blond hair was shorter in the back, but longer in the front, and his bangs fell messily across his forehead and into his eyes. He was thin, about as thin as Peter was, and about the same height. Davy could tell this guy had at least six inches over him. The young guy was dressed in a denim button-down shirt and black pants that fit him rather tightly. There was a light beard covering his face, forming some sort of a beard-moustache combination that gave him a rugged and very hippyish look. The man held a pool cue in one hand and smiled a sexy smile. "Haven't I seen you around here before?" He grinned, displaying a pearly white set of perfect teeth.

Davy grinned back, albeit a bit sheepish and made a conscious effort to lay on the accent for all it was worth as they made conversation.

He had a feeling he wasn't going to be lonely anymore.