There was always something about Mike Nesmith that Micky Dolenz just had to taste. The midnight shades of his eyes, the raven silk strands of his hair that bore highlights of gold in the sunlight. Or maybe it was those pouting lips that beckoned kisses that seemed to carry on for eternities, binding souls and hearts. Perhaps it was that body, so thin and long, it seemed to wind around another like a perfect glove to a hand. Mike was always Micky's second skin, the blood in his veins, the only true love of his life. That was why, many years after their downfall, Micky Dolenz had to kill Mike Nesmith.
The metro was the way to get there, the long sliver train halting to gather the awaiting passengers, packing themselves in like sardines into tin. Micky stood like a cool statue, his fingers clutching the handle of the suitcase that bore his toys. He wasted no time getting the window seat for he always cherished a grand view in sickening fast motion. A handsome soldier came into his compartment, waiting momentarily in the door as Micky gave him a cold smile. The soldier only tipped his cap before taking a seat beside Micky, shifting his weight so he was a polite distance. Micky only folded his hands in lap as the metro began sliding down the tracks. It was going to be a long ride. Micky's eyes quickly averted to the window, visions of Mike's youthful, smiling face flashing by on each solid stone until they were out of the tunnel and meshing into the bland colors of the city skyline.
Well, Micky thought as a feeling tightened in his crotch. Might as well let my memories wander as they always have since that night. Michael was so wrong, so ugly, and demanding that I could almost die from the shame and embarrassment it gave me. Why did he have to end it that way, leave me in a paradox of undying emotions and desires? He will get his, just as good as I got mine that day I finally met him and we danced a dance, that night, of unbridled passions and newfound comfort I thought I never could have imagined or lost...
April 13, 1967
Davy couldn't believe the crowd that was gathering so early in the afternoon. The cafe hadn't even been opened an hour and already the customers had lit their cigarettes and demanded drinks. Peter hustled around to fill them, trying to clean up another table for another round of impatient customers. Soon, they would want music to soothe their souls and mingle with the warmth and high from the cups of coffee and cigarettes coursing through their systems. The all black band tuned up, as if on cue, with the song they had been rehearsing for weeks, awaiting the arrival of their singer with the oddly soulful voice to come and somehow make them look like stars.
Micky held still in the backroom, fluffing the mass of curls atop his head. For some reason, he wanted to appear extra special tonight. Something inside told him he would finally get to meet the strange man with the dark, starry eyes that always came to watch him sing. He was never one to prefer men, even after hearing Davy's glorious escapades of one-night stands and thirsty blowjobs. But there was something about this odd person that made Micky want to run to the bathroom to calm his urges until his hand was raw.
Funny, even with his attraction, Micky never dared to speak, something that was unusual for someone like him. If he wanted someone, he would go after them, maybe tease them to the point of murder with his beauty and charm. Yet, with this man, it seemed there was a wall of armor around him and Micky didn't want to touch until he was told to.
The music of the band called him to the stage and he inched on, earning a brief applause before he began. The audience paid attention with alert ears and enticing smiles and Micky once again felt like he was a star high in the heavens, untouched but definitely adored.
Peter hissed in discomfort as the bells above the door jingled, making him believe another wave of an oncoming stampede was going to disturb his break. But it was only one: the quiet, tall man with the shadowy persona and piercing eyes. Peter nudged Davy as they watched him slink through the crowd without disturbing a head, taking his normal seat by the stage to admire Micky's performance. A tingling sensation traveled through Micky's spine as he spotted his aficionado, an emotion that only came before the anticipations of sex or some mind numbing substance. He could feel himself begin to sing with more vigor and passion as the gentleman smiled a little with the soft pinkness of his lips. Micky's licked his in expectation as he tried to ignore his instincts to leap off the stage right into the arms of this mysterious human. But with the increased stirrings of his crotch at that beckoning smirk, Micky was fighting a losing battle.
The man's eyes began to speak to him, his flirtatious glares igniting the twinkles of his soft browns. Micky blushed, feeling he knew all too well what might be in store for him. The audience clapped as the song ended without Micky bothering to notice. He stepped lightly from the stage, eyeing the stranger, who eyed him back with playful suspicion, as he passed by to go relax in the night air. Davy shot Peter an amused look as he wiped the counter, Peter only shaking his head as he made his way to answer another order.
Micky always savored the cool, night air with its tantalizing scents of the ocean and cotton candy. The wind danced through his curls as he leaned against the railing to observe the actions of joyous couples below, his attention halting as he heard the faint footsteps behind him. His erection grew and his hands squeezed tight to the bar, making his palms feel as though they would bleed from rubbing against such rough metal. He briefly looked over his shoulder, catching those dark eyes, before he turned back to face the sea.
The stranger took a deep breath as his back rested against the rails, his gaze falling on Micky's blushed expression. Without thinking, his fingers skimmed over the tainted cheek, Micky's eyes rising slow to meet his.
"Cold hands," Micky whispered as the movement was repeated, only this time the icy digit traced down and over the curves of his lips, causing him to smile.
"I don't bite," the man drawled as Micky shivered with the feeling of strong hands tangling in his hair. "So soft and fine, you shouldn't be shy. Shyness doesn't become of beauties like you."
Micky felt he would melt at those words, his eyelids dropping a bit as he let new thoughts massage his mind. The comfort and strength of the man's long fingers caressed every inch of Micky's scalp, causing him to lean forward, wanting to touch back, smell this odd creature and hear him speak again.
"Who are you," Micky forced to breathe out as the fingers caught a sensitive spot along his neck. The man smiled and inched as close as he could get, still without touching Micky the way he wanted to, but just enough.
"Just a fan who wants to give something back," he grinned, his eyes sparkling with a bit of mystery. Micky felt the tug on the back of his neck and willingly moved forward, his feet floating above thin air as his lips connected with a pair of soft, warm ones. He moaned low in his throat as a slick tongue pierced into his mouth, licking around, getting used to his taste. It seemed to carry on for hours, or minutes; he couldn't count when his head was swimming. All he knew was when it was over, his body didn't object to being lead in various directions, passing noisy people and lights that had no clue of his sudden, new emotions, or what would lie ahead.
The stranger before him was a man of little words and slight gestures, his glance occasionally looking back with that hint of mischief Micky could get used to. They stopped in front of an old, darkened house miles down along the beach, one Micky, in all his years knowing and living around here, never noticed before. At first glance, it reminded him of the old horror movies of creepy houses that hung over unsuspecting cities, with lightning and thunder booming above them. But once the door was open, it was like stepping into another world of priceless antiques of glass and wood and modern paintings, all complied in such neat space. It was a classic mansion. Beautiful.
The stranger wasted no more time as he swung Micky around to press to his body, devouring Micky's mouth in a series of fervent kisses that left them both drunk and dizzy for more. Hands roamed everywhere along Micky's thin body: under his clothes, around the curves of bits of bare skin, the outline of his scalp. Whoever this person was, he knew what he was doing. Micky allowed his body to fall and be carried, in comforting arms, to a simple bedroom of white and black sheets and small photographs along a dark blue wall.
He wasn't nervous as weight hovered then covered his body, compressing him into the sheets. He kissed back with all his might, trying to keep up with the urgency of his new lover, who seemed impatient with being clothed and dealing with pointless foreplay. Micky giggled as he was shoved onto his stomach, hands tickling his sides until they moved to massage his ass through the rough fabric of his jeans. He looked over his shoulder, back into mysterious eyes that narrowed when hands slid back under his body, squeezing his throbbing crotch.
It felt wonderful to be shrugged from his jeans and underwear, exposed to hungry eyes that didn't make him self-conscious about his shape or size. A tongue experimented with the head of his shaft, back and forth licks that melted into one long journey into a moist and slick tunnel. Micky felt his back arch and head roll as his hands sank into the sheets, so hard, he could feel the springs of the mattress against his palms. He wanted to come, but something in the back of his mind told him to hold back, enjoy this because it may be the first and last great blowjob of his life. The tongue worked like magic all around his sex, spiraling like the red and white colors along a column, spinning his senses into oblivion as his hips domed to go further.
But nothing happened, his brows crinkling as he was left to open and cold air. Somehow he managed to peel his eyes open, the stranger looking at him with lips a dark crimson from the vigorous action that just took place. Micky felt his soul was being read into by the piercing of those vague and unyielding eyes, and he shivered at what could be going through this man's mind. He didn't have to wait too long as calloused but gentle fingers danced along the veins of his penis.
"Make those pretty noises with your mouth," the man breathed, his grip tightening as he began to stroke Micky's sex. Micky's eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open as quiet moans escaped. The pressure increased and he gave in, surrendering his voice to the magic being projected onto him, those "pretty noises" bringing a victorious smile to his capture's face as the orgasm burst through Micky's lower body and shot out into the air.
It took several seconds before he could breath again, let alone function the rest of his body. He felt like he was hit by a car and left for dead, caught in some glorious wave between heaven and hell. His eyes opened to the outsider standing naked beside him, his body bathed in the most incredible mixtures of shadow and light Micky had ever seen. The stranger crawled onto the bed in a seductive manner that made Micky feel the urges of wanting to either curl up or be chased. His look was predatory and dangerous as he spread Micky's trembling legs wide to welcome his body, and Micky suddenly knew he had to brace himself for whatever would come next.
"Relax," the man said, stroking Micky's cheek as a mother would to a cranky child. "Just relax and let your body go, all for me." Micky loved the way he said "me," as if it was a word that stood for royalty and power.
"You," Micky sighed before a round of kisses overtook him. Their legs tangled and cocks rubbed, each feeling the beats of the other's pulse as the friction grew between them. Micky held tight and allowed his body to be toyed with in each new way, his head rolling and lips quivering at the feel of a warm mouth nibbling and sucking all around his flesh.
When the stranger paused to reach for the lube, Micky felt he would go insane with need. But as the coolness of the oil calmed and stilled his muscles, he was more than ready for what was to come. The pain wasn't slow and agonizing, as Davy had explained his first time. It was smooth, like velvet traveling on the outside of your skin, only it was on the inside. It was an odd feeling and the stinging was far away when the thrust came, Micky's body undulating with the movements rocking above him each time something deep inside was set off like an electrocution.
The power between them grew furious and faster as both their bodies were jerked into a realm where they couldn't escape. Micky cried out like he never had before, every muscle in his body contracting, pumping in and out to a sharp rhythm that didn't die until the man above him collapsed. Harsh breathing was the only sound, the sweat and musk mingling in a dance about the room around them. Micky had never felt as sated as he did with this man in his arms, and he hugged the slick body close, his thoughts tumbling into darkness as a deep sleep swept over him.
Micky woke, alone, to the low twangs of a guitar. It was such a beautiful sound, one that summoned his curiosity and sore body out of bed. The whole living room was lit in various candles all around the lone figure who sat, engulfed in thought, on the floor. The rhythm was hypnotizing and Micky couldn't help but sway to it before he found a comfortable spot to watch from. The stranger's face was etched in complete concentration and sweat from the previous lovemaking. His fingers danced about the strings the same way they did over Micky's body, and Micky crossed his legs, trying to ease the growing pounds of his crotch. He couldn't believe he was ready for another round, but this man before him was like a drug and Micky wanted to get high some more.
"Oh," the outsider sighed as he caught site of his audience. "I see you are awake and still moving." His eyes traveled to Micky's crotch and Micky now realized his nudity, that the absence of his companion and the sweet sounds of the guitar caused him to run naked from the bedroom.
"That was lovely," Micky smiled, shifting slightly. "Is it yours?"
"Of course it's mine. I never play anything that isn't mine." He gave such a look that made Micky blush from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.
"You, um, you still haven't told me who you are." The stranger looked away, as if he was pondering something, and Micky felt ashamed all of a sudden. Some people weren't much into talk after sex and maybe this guy was one of those people. But the look that was thrown to Micky made him think twice about saying another word, those eyes piercing into his soul again.
"I don't like to talk much before sex," the stranger stressed. "I like to get used to the body that occupies the spirit, see if I'm being deceived before I waste anymore time with my words."
"And your name," Micky questioned, hoping he had passed the test.
"I only give my name when I feel it should be given."
"Oh."
"Because if I fuck someone without talking, it means they don't know who I am, and afterwards, I feel no regrets."
"I see." Micky felt heart broken, but still felt the need to say something, maybe redeem himself.
"Feeling no regrets would be nice in life, like having the combinations of your two favorite things."
"Oh yeah," the stranger asked, reaching for a cigarette. "What might that be for you?"
"Well, like bubble gum and chicken." Micky's brows creased as his index finger tapped his chin. The man watched him, completely fixated on the concentration of the beauty before him. It wasn't often he met people he liked, or vice versa, but he knew there was something special about this vision before him. He was a rarity in a long line of disappointments, like actual snow on Christmas day that decorated the trees so that they looked like moving creatures, or a thunderstorm of cold rain on a very hot day in June that made the lilies grow. Light in the devil's darkness, seeing God when you are about to die, any of those wonderful things that just happen when you least expect them, but couldn't help but dream about every night.
"Yeah," Micky continued, his eyes gleaming. "Like bubble gum flavored chicken. I always wondered what that would taste like. Well, obviously like bubble gum flavored chicken, but, what kind of bubble gum, you know? You have such a variety from strawberry to cotton candy, and then there's the chicken. It could be fried or roasted, baked or toasted -- oh what a rhyme! But to actually have such a thing in your mouth! It might be good or then again..."
The man grinned as Micky's nose scrunched up, as if he just tasted the worst poison one could get a hand on.
"...it might be disgusting. But hey, at least you could dream, right? Who wouldn't want their two favorite things together? Hey, didn't um, Julie Andrews sing about something like that? Wasn't it in that movie? Oh man, what was the name...something about-"
"Hey," the stranger called, his face drawn in annoyance. Micky sat back and blushed at having carried on in such a way. He could sit here and wait to be thrown out, or he could get up and leave before any such action would occur. The way he was being looked at, it would be safe to throw himself out.
"Hey," the stranger called again, as Micky stood to leave. "You do all that talking and never let a person get a word in? Who are you, Muhammad Ali? Jesus, the last person that talked that much around me got punched in the mouth and thankfully had their jaw wired shut, forever. Hell, nobody minded it was a dirty old preacher. At least no one would fall asleep in the good lord's house anymore. But hell boy, don't you ever shut up? Wait, don't answer that. It might set you off again."
Micky looked down at the floor as he turned around to head back to the bedroom. He knew he talked a lot. It was a curse he inherited from his actor father. But if someone asks you a question, you don't ignore them for fear of being rude. He liked this guy, and he thought the guy liked him back, but hell, Micky felt he was just smacked by his mother.
"And by the way," the stranger spoke as fiddled with the strings on his guitar. "I'm Mike."
Micky felt his heart would burst as he turned to see the smart ass grin on his companion's face. He couldn't stifle his own as his arms folded across his chest and he walked back into the room.
"Well, hello, Mike."