Love Hurts

Chapter Four

Copyright 2001 Marlene Taylor

Warning: This story contains rough m/m sex. If you are offended by this, or under 18, turn back now.

Disclaimer: This original work of amateur fiction is based on the TV series "The Monkees" which (as far as I know) is owned by Rhino. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright extends only to the original material in this work.


Micky sat down on the couch and looked around the room again. He was bored. It was four o'clock, and he didn't need to be at the club till seven, when he would meet the guys for a soundcheck and dinner. A two week stint as house band had plenty of advantages to make up for the lousy pay: free food, free drinks, and the luxury of just showing up and playing without having to drag the equipment in and set up every night. Just show up on time and play till two, thank you and don't forget to tip your bartender. Almost like a real job. No wonder he was bored.

At least he was getting laid. Between fucking Christine, his girlfriend, and the occasional, unexpected, but always amazing blowjob from Mike, he felt well taken care of in that department. In fact, the more he had of it, the more it seemed to be available: there were two girls at the club who had clearly shown interest. Maybe tonight was the night to accept an invitation.

It was too cold to go back out on the beach, plus he didn't feel like getting back into his wet trunks. The TV was broken. He'd finished reading all the books they'd found in a box outside the library. Sighing, he picked up the stack of magazines next to the couch, knowing what was there: Mike's car monthlies, six copies of a music rag that they'd been mentioned in, Peter's assorted literary journals - he'd been through them all before. But there was something new, hiding near the bottom of the pile. "Razzle"? The girl on the front cover smiled at him and seemed happy without her shirt; the ones inside seemed happier with no clothes at all. Suddenly he wasn't bored anymore.

Micky wondered why it wasn't up in the bathroom cupboard with all their other porn, and then as he turned the page to the centerfold he knew. There she was, looking as luscious and lusty as she had when Davy had introduced her last weekend - Donna? Dinah? No, Deanna, that was it, and now he knew why Davy kept telling them she was a model, and understood Peter's surprised expression when she'd handed him her "portfolio". He hadn't realized it was a skin magazine, from England no less. Maybe she really was English, although with that weird accent she could be from another planet.

But, oh, those mind-blowing tits. They looked even better than he'd imagined, round and firm and squeezable. He guessed that Davy was doing just that right now; who knows, he might even get the chance to do it himself. Davy wasn't usually too selfish about his casual partners, and Micky doubted there would ever be anything serious between them.

In the meantime, he had this picture of her naked, bending over slightly so that her long curly black hair framed her face and her breasts, looking straight at the camera like she had just seen her favorite lover. An artistic triumph.

And here Micky was alone, conveniently wearing nothing but a towel with a bottle of suntan lotion sitting next to him. So he sank back into the pillows and imagined what it would be like to spend a few days with his face buried between her creamy white thighs.

Which was just when Mike walked in. Micky had been so lost in his fantasy that he hadn't heard Mike's truck pull up, and now he was caught in the act. He hurriedly tried to pull the towel over his crotch but it didn't do much to hide his raging hard-on. He thought vaguely that Mike might be angry with him - for what, he wasn't sure - but instead Mike smiled, dropping his keys on the table.

"What are you up to, Mick?" he asked casually.

"Oh, nothing, just, you know, playing solitaire," he said, pushing the magazine back on the floor. That would be funny if it weren't so pathetic, he thought.

"Don't let me stop you," Mike said, falling into the chair opposite him.

"Since when did solitaire become a spectator sport?"

"Since I said so." He settled back, eyes half closed. When Micky hesitated, the smile vanished and his voice became dark and commanding.

"Micky. I said do it." It was clear that refusing wasn't an option. I shouldn't be doing this; it's not right; why does he want to watch me jerk off? Mike's eyes were intense, focused only on him; Micky could almost taste Mike's need. And just like before, that thrill of fear and desire shot through Micky and took care of any fears he had about performance.

Well, he thought, here I am in the spotlight. Better put on a good show. He took the bottle and poured a generous amount of lotion into his hands, made a big production out of warming it between his palms, then twitched aside the towel to reveal his very erect cock, its rosy flush contrasting nicely with his tanned hands and body. Slowly he began to stroke himself up and down the full length of his shaft, pausing at the bottom to massage his balls; all the while he was very aware of Mike's unblinking gaze fastened on him. He'd never touched himself in front of Mike before, never been allowed to; strangely, he didn't feel embarrassed, just nervous about doing it right. He wanted so badly to please.

He blew out a long sigh, closed his eyes and moved his hand a little faster, falling easily into the familiar rhythm, a squeeze here, a feather touch there, all working steadily towards a rapidly building climax. He held an image of Deanna in his mind, her tits pressed against his chest and her full sweet lips covering his as she wriggled in his lap

"Tell me, Micky," Mike demanded. "Tell me what's in your head."

Micky struggled to make the words come out in order. "Davy's girlfriendshe's so sexy.I - I just want to get inside her - she's hot and wet - ohhhh - I could fuck her hard - so hard - god, the way she'd come - oh - I - " and he came himself in three long waves of sensation that left him weak and giddy.

Across from him Mike sat unmoving, seemingly unaffected by what he'd just seen except for his rigid cock pressed tight against the front of his jeans. As Micky lazily wiped sticky drops off his belly, he wondered why Mike was such a freak when it came to sex. When he was in the mood, he wanted Micky to be naked as soon as possible, yet he'd never so much as unbuttoned the top of his shirt. In the years they'd lived together in the house he'd never even seen Mike in his underwear; on the hottest day of the year, on the beach, Mike would still be wearing his jeans and checkered shirt.

Every time Mike had blown him, Micky had wanted to get him off in return, but Mike had always put him off with some variation of "not yet". He was obviously turned on, but why didn't he want to get his rocks off? Micky decided he'd had enough of that shit - time to do something about it.

He stretched luxuriously and gave Mike his best slow, sexy smile. "Well?"

"Well what?" Mike's voice was strained.

"Is that what you wanted?" Micky dropped down on all fours and crawled across the floor to kneel in front of him. "Don't you want more from me?"

"Not now, babe-"

"Bullshit." Micky reached between Mike's legs to stroke the impressive bulge staring him in the face. "Let me. Please. Let me taste you. I want to do it. I want to so bad," he whispered.

Mike stared back, struggling to resist. "Micky, you are such a whore."

"Then I'm your whore, aren't I?"

That did it. Mike slumped back in the chair and reached for his belt buckle. "OK, then, get to work. But close your eyes. And keep 'em closed."

It was easier, Micky thought, to do this with your eyes closed anyway. Mike guided his hand to the right place and at last Micky had what he wanted. Mike's cock was thick and hard, rooted in a nest of sweaty curls, standing straight and tall. Micky stroked him a few times and then experimentally touched his tongue to the silky head; Mike sighed and Micky took that as encouragement to continue. He opened his mouth and let the head rest on his tongue, then slowly drew it in to take as much of the shaft into his mouth as he could - which wasn't much, since it was big to start with and seemed to be getting bigger. How the hell was he supposed to take this up his ass? Maybe there was magic involved; anyway, he'd worry about that later.

In the meantime he focused on not gagging, and keeping his front teeth out of the way. He rolled his tongue around, exploring textures and tastes, discovering a ring of tight skin just below the head - Mike was uncircumcised! Micky filed that fact away for future reference. He still wasn't sure if he was doing it right, although he was getting turned on again himself. He could hear Mike's breathing get deeper and more ragged when he moved smoothly up and down, so he closed his lips tightly around the shaft and sucked hard.

Mike's hands gripped his shoulders, forcing Micky's head closer; then he gave a stuttering gasp and came in a great gush of hot liquid. Micky had no choice but to hold still till Mike was done and then, very reluctantly, he swallowed, and let Mike's still-hard cock leave his mouth.

Fastest blowjob in the west, Micky thought: that couldn't have lasted more than a minute. The last time Mike had done him it seemed to go on for hours. Next time he'd do better - that is, if Mike gave him the chance.

The taste lingered in his mouth - salty, sweet, bitter - and he wondered if his own come tasted like that.


"Just a minute." He felt Mike shifting in the chair and heard the zip go up. "Look at me, babe."

Micky thought he had never seen Mike look so tired.

"Was it good?"

"A little too good. You OK?"

"Better than OK," Micky laughed, and then turned serious. "I want to do it again next time." No response. "Please."

"Micky, I can't -" he broke off.

"Can't what?"

"It's not easy for me." He fixed his gaze on the arm of the chair, speaking carefully as if he had just told Micky some terrible secret. Micky had no idea what he was talking about, why it was so hard to let Micky blow him, so he decided the best thing to do was to accept it and wait for more to be revealed.

"It's OK. I just want you to be satisfied."

Mike smiled at that. "Don't worry about that, babe. I find you very satisfying."



A few weeks later they hit the road for a week of one-nighters up the California coast, which meant a lot of driving on narrow, winding roads during the day and a lot of fresh faces to choose from in the evenings. They all got laid every night - well, Micky assumed the others were getting some action, but he was too busy fucking college girls in closets and cars to know for sure. All he did know was that as soon as the gear was packed up, the four of them took off in separate directions and eventually ended up staggering in to their cheap motel rooms in the early morning. It was exhausting and scary and it was the most fun he'd ever had.

The last gig was in a seaside town called Santa Cruz: they had to play outdoors on the boardwalk until very late, then get up early the next day to drive back to LA for an opening slot at the Whisky. For once they decided to skip the sex and drugs and just try to get some sleep in the free room they were given.

Which turned out to be less than ideal, in that it was one big room with two large double beds. It wouldn't be the first time they'd had to double up, but Micky thought it might just be the perfect opportunity for a little surprise.

The room was hot even with the windows wide open and yet there was Mike, wearing his pajamas, while Davy and Peter had already stripped down to their underwear. Micky went into the tiny bathroom and spent a long time washing up, fussing with his hair, and generally wasting time until the others might be asleep.

He'd timed it exactly right. All three of them were dead to the world, and Davy was snoring. Even better. Micky padded quietly to the bed containing the object of his plan: Mike lay on his side, the sheet pulled close around him, his lips slightly parted, his black hair curling delicately around the ear that was visible. For once he didn't look pissed off about something; in fact, he looked kind of cute. Gee, Mike, Micky thought, girls might like you if you'd just lighten up a little.

Micky slipped into bed next to him and very carefully began to slide his arm around Mike's narrow waist. Pleased that he'd managed to do that much without waking him, he reached down and let his fingers brush Mike's crotch gently but insistently. Mike began to stir as his cock responded to the overture, and frowning, he mumbled, "NoNona, cut it out"

Nona? Who the fuck was that? Never mind, Micky decided, there'd be time for a quiz later on. He slid his fingers into the waistband of Mike's underwear and in one quick movement curled his hand around that beckoning erection. Mike gave a little moan, then jerked awake as he realized where he was and who was holding on to his dick.

"Micky!" he hissed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Shhh, you'll wake them up," Micky whispered. He shifted his hand even lower until he had Mike, quite literally, by the balls.

"You stop this right now or - " Mike's frantic whisper turned into a strangled sigh as Micky caressed a particularly sensitive spot between his legs.

"If you don't stop making noise they'll wake up and want to know why I'm holding on to your huge hard-on." Micky put his lips close to Mike's ear. "So why don't you just let me" He began to stroke Mike's very warm shaft while he sucked on a delicate earlobe. This was way more fun than he'd thought it would be.

Mike grabbed his wrist painfully hard and tried again: "Micky, I mean it - " But he froze into silence as Davy sat up, punched his pillow, and settled back to sleep again.

"Shhhh" Micky continued his slow caresses, feeling Mike grow even hotter and more stiff in his hand. Knowing how turned on Mike was got him hard, too, but he ignored it and concentrated on Mike. Deep down he knew he wasn't really forcing Mike to do this - Mike could have easily twisted his wrist hard enough to break it - but the danger of being caught was real.

Right now it looked as though he'd given up fighting. Mike's eyes were shut and his lips were pressed tightly together as if he were trying very hard to do something, or not to do something. Micky rolled him on to his back and with practiced skill pulled his pajama bottoms and underwear down to his knees, exposing him to Micky's hungry gaze. Mike drew in his breath sharply when the ocean air, a little cooler now, made contact with his skin. Resuming his firm grasp on Mike's cock, Micky tried to figure out why Mike as so paranoiacally modest. He looked good in his clothes; he looked very good out of them. His skin, without the benefit of the sun, was the whitest Micky had ever seen, and seemed translucent in the moonlight. When he moved the muscles rippled under his skin, not an ounce of body fat anywhere on him. The fine black hair on his flat belly ran down into a generous thatch around his cock, where Micky let his fingers wander. Better get this show on the road, he decided, and curled over Mike's half dressed body to take his pulsing erection into his mouth.

This time he was prepared, and, remembering what had set off Mike's rocket last time, he avoided long deep strokes and instead licked and nibbled around the satiny head, up and down the rigid shaft, and finally pressed his tongue flat against Mike's hefty balls. God, he tastes good, Micky thought; I never thought I'd want to do this and now I don't want to stop.

Davy's snoring was loud enough to drown out any noise from their side of the room, which was a good thing, since Mike was getting so close to the edge that he couldn't keep quiet. When Micky raked his nails lightly across his scrotum, Mike sighed; when Micky wrapped his hand firmly around the shaft he bit back a moan; and when Micky touched his tongue delicately to the slit, wet with fluid, he actually whimpered.

Micky paused for a moment to study Mike's face: he was totally lost in the moment, living in the rush of sensation. I did that, he realized; it's hard work but for once I made him feel the way he makes me feel every single time. He had a sudden pang of sadness and didn't know why.

And just like before, he opened his mouth wide to finish the job, and just like before, it took only a few seconds before Mike's hips rose off the bed as he erupted in a trembling orgasm. But this time, after he'd made himself swallow the hot thick liquid, Micky rolled his cock around in his mouth until it was soft, not wanting to let go.

Davy turned on his side and quit snoring, so Micky moved as quietly as he could to pull up Mike's clothes and lie down next to him. The sweat shone on Mike's forehead; impulsively Micky leaned over to kiss it, tasting salt. Mike slowly opened his eyes.

"So? What was that for?" he whispered.

"Cause I'm your whore," Micky replied, grinning. Mike stifled a laugh.

"I will get you back for this."

"Oh, good," Micky sighed, and soon fell asleep. But Mike lay awake for a long time.

Chapter Five


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