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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
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1,399
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1/1
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6
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1,410

Monkees rush in where angels fear to tread 2 And so I come to you my Monkee my heart above my head

Summary:

A sequel to T'Monkeelover's "Monkees rush in where angels fear to tread"

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:



And so I come to you, my Monkee, my heart above my head
by Amy Throcklesonmorrison-Smythe


"Are you busy, Mike?"

"No, come in, babe," Mike Nesmith continued to re-string his guitar. "Where're
Micky and Peter?"

"They picked up some birds in the pub downstairs," Davy smirked. "They'll either be back right away or tomorrow sometime." He settled on the twin bed opposite Mike's and watched him nimbly re-sting his favorite guitar.

"And nobody tried to pick you up?" Mike asked, glancing up at him, mischievously.

"Oh, some bird, yeah," Davy admitted. "She saw the show, thinks I've got
nothing better to do than get laid."

"Have you got something better to do?" Mike asked, not looking up.

Davy waited until Mike looked up at him before answering. "No, not really.
But I'm tired and she looked like work."

"Know what you mean, babe; this tour is wearing me out, too."

"Is that why you've been 'aven't been bird-watching?" Davy asked.

"Yeah," Mike said slowly as he tuned his guitar. "There's always chicks,
I just want to focus on the music right now." He glanced up at Davy, who
nodded and smiled, and then played a few chords to cover his nervousness.

Mike had been wanting to get Davy alone since the night of the littlest
Monkee's elevator dream. It wasn't as if Davy was avoiding him, but there
never seemed to be time for them to get together or for Mike to open the
subject of Davy's dream.

And then the tour had started and it was all a blur to Mike. They'd been
playing one-night stands for weeks. These four days in St. Louis were the
first breather for the band. This was their second night in town and the
exhaustion was just starting to wear off Mike. He wondered how Peter and
Micky had the energy to go on a vixen hunt every night (on tour or off).
Of course, sex was not in short supply for the Monkees (on tour or off),
just rest, thought, privacy, peace and quiet were in short supply. When
all Mike really wanted to do was curl up somewhere quiet with Davy in his
arms, there were gigs, sound checks, interviews, photo shoots, and other
annoying interruptions. At least in St. Louis they each had their own room
and that gave them some space.

Still, this was the first time Mike had been alone with Davy and he was
nervous and tongue-tied. 'If I don't say something soon...' he thought.

Davy must have had the same thought because he mentioned a new song by the
Beatles he liked.

"What's it called?" Mike asked. This was interesting because Davy almost
never talked about music.

"'I'll follow the sun'," Davy said, humming a bit.

"Goes like this?" Mike asked, starting to play the deceptively simply melody.
"Know the words?" He played a simple intro and gave Davy a big downbeat
to come in on. Davy was cute but his musicianship was sketchy.

Davy smiled gratefully and launched into the song. A nice little song,
wistful and vague, not unlike the singer.

Or at least that's what Mike thought as he played an inspired solo on the
A section and nodded Davy back in for the B, A and out. They sat smiling
at each other as the last chord faded away.

'He'll probably say goodnight now,' Mike thought sadly. But Davy surprised
him by slowly crossing the distance between the beds, easing around the
guitar neck and sitting very close to the tall Texan.

"I've been thinking about my dream a lot, Mike," Davy said quietly, slipping
his arm around Mike's waist.

So as to appear in control of himself, Mike carefully placed his guitar
on the other bed and looked down at Davy looking up at him. Somewhat awkwardly
but with determination, he put his arm around the smaller man's shoulders
and tried to look cool. "What," he squeaked and cleared his throat. "What,
" he said firmly. "Have you been thinking?"

"I was thinkin' about the part in my dream where the lights went off," Davy
said, reaching across Mike to turn off the lamp. "And I freaked and you
'eld me close."

"Like this?" Mike put both arms around his bandmate.

"Yes," Davy sighed. "And then the lift jerked and I was frightened and
you tilted my chin up."

"Like this?" Mike drew a caressing hand along Davy's shoulder and neck to
his chin, which he titled up at the perfect angle for kissing.

"Oh, yes," Davy sighed, letting his eye fall shut and his lips part. So
he was very surprised when Mike turned the lamp back on. "Mike? What...?
Are you...?"

"Davy, do you know what you're doing?"

"I think so..."

"Good." Mike turned off the lamp and pulled Davy close again. "I just
want to be sure one of us knows what he's doin' here." He cupped Davy's
face and kissed him.

It started out a simple kiss, just lips pressed against each other and nothing
special. But Davy leaned against him and sighed and the kiss became more
complex. Mike ran the tip of his tongue along Davy's soft lips and coaxed
the singer's mouth open so he could explore it.

Davy welcomed the invasion with another soft sigh that nearly blew Mike's
mind. Why had they waited so long? And if this was just a kiss... what
would the rest of the night be like?

Sliding his arms around Mike's neck, Davy ran his fingers through the thick
black hair. He let his hands play until they reached Mike's shirt collar
and slipped inside. Casually, the little Englishman tugged the top buttons
undone and ran his fingers through the thatch of chest hair. Feeling Mike
shiver, and not from cold, Davy broke the kiss. "It grew back," he whispered.

"What did?" Mike asked desperately.

"Your chest hair," Davy explained. "The man made you shave it off for that
beach romp, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Mike said calming down, but he jumped when Davy's fingertips
brushed his rock hard nipple. "Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you trust me?"

"You said that in my dream," Davy smiled up at him, kissing his neck. "Of
course I trust you, Mike."

"Then stay with me tonight." Mike buried his nose in Davy's soft hair, hoping
against hope...

"You'd have to throw me out, luv," Davy said, pulling him back down in to
the kiss.

Feeling more secure, Mike eased Davy onto his back and out of his shirt.
He ran his long guitar-player fingers over the firm muscled warm skin,
marveling for the hundredth time how perfect Davy's body was on a small
scale. He paused in this exploration so Davy could pull his shirt off and
they lay chest to chest, smooth against furry, playing light kisses and
little nips over their necks and shoulders.

Mike's hand strayed from Davy's chest to his tight little tummy and beyond,
to tug at his belt. Deftly undoing the clasp and zipper, Mike gently caressed
the perfectly proportioned sex he found there. "Why don't we get out of
these clothes?" Mike suggested, feeling Davy fumbling with his own pants.

"Ummm, an excellent idea," Davy said happily wriggling out of the last of
this clothing and sliding between the covers of Mike's bed.

Mike lay down next to him and drew the smaller man into his arms. They
kissed passionately, rubbing their erections together, bringing each other
higher and higher. Davy came first, with an anguished sigh and tipped Mike
over the edge. He came, growling and crushing Davy against him as his cock
jerked against Davy's smooth taut tummy.

When their breathing got back to normal and they lay drowsily, twined in
each other's arms, Davy suggested he should go to his own room.

"Never!" Mike said, holding him closer. The last thing the leader of the
Monkees heard was a contented 'yes, Mike' as Davy snuggled against him.

~~~

Mike Nesmith woke with a start. The sun was pouring in his hotel room window
and he was alone. And hard.

'Damn! Another dream about Davy,' he cursed, ungluing himself from the
sheets.

Just then, Davy leaned out of the bathroom and invited him into the shower.

As Mike leapt out of bed and chased the smaller Monkee into the spray, he
was thinking that some dreams really do come true.

THE END?

t_monkeelover@hushmail.com

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author Amy Throcklesonmorrison Smythe.
If this work is yours and you would like to reclaim ownership, you can click on the Technical Support and Feedback link at the bottom fo the page.