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Tommy- 2015

 

"Still tight as fuckin' ever, Marsman."

Tommy's raspy voice never failed to send butterflies through Mick's stomach. Especially when they were like this; the drummer with his cock buried deep inside Mick to paint a picture of pure bliss, and Mick curled beneath him to receive. He moaned softly as a responce, because his tongue couldn't work properlly when his teeth were biting his bottom lip so hard. Tommy slid into him slow, slow enough to hear the lube coating his cock slide against their warm skin in wet noises. He pulled out halfway, then sunk deep again. Each time he moved it sent Mick scooting ever so slightly higher on the bed, because fuck Tommy was just so much more powerful than him without even trying.

"Fuck, you feel so good, even after all these years," Tommy praised him again. Mick sucked in a wet breath, wondering to the universe how on Earth he ever managed to be so lucky.

 

The first time Mick asked Tommy to fuck him wasn't in the 80s. It wasn't in the 90s either, because he didn't feel very good back then. He of course had wanted it since day one and every day after that, but the time was just never quite right enough to ask the drummer for a night together in bed.

Tommy was too young, Mick was too old, his back hurt too bad and there was always a girlfriend in the way. All valid excuses Mick told himself, as he let Tommy slip further and further away over the years.

No, the perfect time came in 2007. He was finally healed, finally on his feet again and keeping himself up. The distant remains of his pills were gone at last, now only a harsh memory he sometimes dreamed of. Vince was happy, Tommy was back, and Nikki was holding them all tightly together. They were on tour for the summer for the first time in years, and Mick was sat alone on his bus after a show somewhere in California. The sun had set hours ago, but he wasn't sure exactly how early into the morning it was. He figured maybe been one or two o'clock, because everyone had since gone to bed until Mick was the last one awake, all alone in his temporary home to think about many heavy things. But that was okay, because he just didn't sleep very well anymore anyways. He had taken the bus because he wasn't ready to fly so often, even if alone on a private jet. The bus may be lonely, but the jet was even more so.

He was often up at these hours of the night worrying about his back, despite the mass amount of damage already being done. What if he rolled in his sleep wrong and broke something worse? Or he woke up and his legs were gone next? What if his ribs finally punctured a lung, and he died all alone gasping for air? They were things he couldn't even control, and yet they doused him with fear each night. Mick rarely feared the things he couldn't control- but he supposed it was because he saved that fear for his fucking AS. Oh well. Fuck his head and neck then- he just needed his arms.

Someone knocked on the door then, disolving his pained thoughts, and Mick limped over to open it.

"T-Bone?" Mick tried to straighten up, to not look so small and tired in his socks and pajamas, but that was of course rather impossible. Luckily Tommy, his ever caring young drummer, didn't mind one bit.

"Can I come in?" Tommy sniffed, hands buried in his sweat pant pockets. Mick stepped over to allow him in, and the two found themselves sat on the couch with only a small lamp giving them a yellow glow. "You good?" Tommy sounded no more worried than he usually did when he would check up on his guitarist at odd hours of the night.

"I'm fine," Mick said. "Are you?"

"Yeah, yeah, just needed to check on you, you know..." Tommy looked around, grinning at the three guitars sat at the table. Good old Mick, trusting no one as always. Before Mick could reply, Tommy scooted over to sit right next to him, wrapping an arm around his skinny torso.
Mick briefly wondered, as he did every time Tommy hugged him, if his sinful dream wasn't so far fetched after all. How unrealistic was it, in their unbelievable world?

Tommy had aged so well, and even here, in the dead of the night on a bus, he was heavenly to be embraced by. Twice the size of himself, Mick felt so safe wrapped in the drummer's strong arms. It had taken Tommy months after Mick's surgery to finally trust himself and trust Mick enough to hug him with both arms, always worried he would break his poor old friend if he moved too fast. Mick assured him the first time, as he grabbed on to Tommy with all the strength left inside himself, that Tommy would never hurt him.

He missed Tommy, and told him this against the younger man's chest as Tommy returned the embrace with caution.

So now, and every time after that day, Mick let Tommy hug him and wrapped his own thin arms around the drummer's mid section.

He tried to turn the best he could to hug Tommy proper as he briefly recalled that moment in time, but his knees caught on the drummer's and left extra space between them that he wished didn't exist. He was sad for only a second before Tommy effortlessly picked his two legs up, and draped them over his lap. Mick could finally bury his face in Tommy's chest, inhaling the scent of his freshly washed skin and cigarette stained clothes.

"Thanks," Mick whispered.

"Aw, don't worry Mick," Tommy kissed the top of his head. "You never gotta worry about a thing ever again, little fucker." His tone was a gentle wave of true love, reserved only for Mick Mars in the dead of night.

This affectionate little monster they were growing was something they tended to only on nights like this. When they were the last ones awake in the world, drifting towards each other in the dark until Tommy finally pulled Mick away from those tormenting shadows in his mind. He saved Mick each night his tattooed arms held him tight, just tight enough not to hurt his ruined bones.

Tommy. His Tommy. Always there to hold him when he needed it. Sure, they had lost each other for a little while there, and Mick had come out of the battle looking a little different and a lot more worn, but Tommy had found him again. And he still cherished his guitarist. They loved each other back then, but they couldn't say it. And now, they made sure to remind each other each and every day, even if over a phone.

"Hey." Mick finally decided that he had officially had enough of slinking around that chained up box in his deepest, darkest thoughts. The restrains were coming lose, and the rattling was getting too loud to bear any longer. "Can I ask you something? And please don't be mad?"

"Sure, what is it?" Tommy nuzzled his soft black hair, kissing his forehead.

"I, uh..." Mick swallowed. He shifted slightly in Tommy's embrace, hiding his face even closer against his cotton tee. "Wanted to ask a favor, but I think you'll say no."

"Go on, I probably won't," Tommy took a shy pet to Mick's head, carding his fingers through his unteased hair. He silently reminded himself to let Mick know he still thought it was pretty fucking badass, even if much shorter and much more smooth than before. He knew Mick had gotten rather insecure about it when it was cut to his shoulders for their reuniting.

"Well... it's kinda, sex related."

"Sweet," Tommy chuckled. The joyous noise made Mick grin slightly. "For you?"

"Yeah. I want to-" Mick stopped himself then. Fuck...

Thirty years. Nearly thirty years of waiting. And now there he was, finally ready. In a dark bus, in the silence of the night, with his best friend and forever crush that would aways have a handprint on his heart. Finally ready to say it.

"What? Gonna finally let me fuck you?" Tommy laughed quietly. Mick froze. He thought Tommy was simply joking, but oh, how wrong he was.

"Yes," Mick whispered with seriousness. His voice was a breath in the night, praying Tommy wouldn't even catch it. And Mick expected him to laugh again, if the drummer had even heard him- not lean down to whisper against his ear, with a dangerous amount of meaning in his smoke stained tone.

"Good."

And that night, under the light of half a moon, Tommy had taken Mick to bed. He laid him down gentle, and learned to make love to his guitarist. He wiped away the older man's tears of endless joy with both his thumbs as they laughed on together. And Mick moaned, whined, cried out softly for his drummer as Tommy filled him up. He thanked Tommy, told him how much he meant to him, how much he loved him. He thanked him again as Tommy cleaned him off, kissing his bare skin, for not thinking so ugly of his deformed body.

"You're never ugly, Mick. You're beautiful. I fucking mean it." Tommy kissed his chapped lips, devouring every inch of his frail frame.

 

Mick blinked away his memory of their first night from so, so long ago. Tommy hit his prostate with another thrust, earning a loud moan from the silent shredder as Mick desperately grasped at Tommy's toned shoulders.

They were tucked away together in a hotel outside of Miami, where once on Cruefest they had made love not too far down the street at a different one. That was a long time ago in Mick's mind, but only their looks had changed since then. Tommy was standing at the foot of the bed, with Mick on the matress squirming the best he could with each thrust deeper. Tommy moaned with him, much quieter than one would expect him to be.

But that was how Tommy was with Mick; it was a side to the drummer the world didn't know. He didn't need to be loud, or show off with his guitarist. Mick only wanted him, for who he was, and Tommy felt safe with Mick. They needn't be anything other than themselves when they made love.

"Feels so fuckin' good," Tommy mumbled more to himself than Mick as he sped up. His strong hands kept Mick's legs pressed against his torso where they gripped the older man's knees. Mick pleaded softly for more as he yanked on the sheets, and Tommy sped up.

"Fuck," Mick gasped as Tommy groaned long and loud.

He loved his drummer most like this. Tommy was so big compared to himself; sure, he was decently sized as well, sporting a good amount of inches that knew how to please just about anyone, but fuck, Tommy was even better. And not only the cock that was stretching him open, but his body as well. Mick would only ever admit it to himself, but on nights like this, he was glad he was shorter than he should be. It made it so much easier for Tommy to pull him close, bend him until he could bend no more, and push down deep.

"T-Thank you," Mick nearly cried, as Tommy kept fucking him good.

"For what?" Tommy chuckled down at him, meeting those icy eyes with his own.

Mick didnt know how to answer. He smiled, crooked with quivering arousal as he closed his eyes and tensed around his bandmate.

They wouldn't be a band for much longer, but that was okay too.

He would have his Tommy. Forever. Always.

It was the way it always had been, always would be.

"Fuck, yes baby," Tommy moaned for him, speeding up as Mick spasmed around his cock.
Mick relaxed the best he could on the bed, but that was rather hard to do as Tommy moved faster and began to ruin him. He gasped loud, panting for air, as Tommy gripped his thighs enough to bruise. It was just about that time when Mick would be wet enough, lose enough, aroused enough, for Tommy to flip him over and finish off with Mick bent on the edge of the bed. The drummer pulled out with a wet pop, allowing Mick to flip onto his stomach and cradle the pillow his head had been resting on under his chin now. He toes just barely brushed the floor, so Tommy picked his waist right up with ease and pushed back in. Even just the few seconds he'd been empty, Mick still tightened up enough for Tommy to shudder at the burning warmth he forced himself into again.

Oh, how Mick loved him. He loved when they had sex, when Tommy held his hand, when Mick would straddle his lap and Tommy would stroke his back just soft enough. He loved how Tommy towered over him. Each time his slender arm wrapped around Mick's shoulders. When he would stand behind him in the shower, Mick suddenly a few inches shorter without his boots, and wrap his arms around him again to pull Mick close. And when Mick had finally admitted that to Tommy, only seven long years ago, Tommy told him he would always be there to hold him. He would protect Mick, keep him safe, and fuck him good.

And Tommy fucked him good tonight. Mick moaned and gasped with each hit of his prostate against Tommy's tip wen the drummer sped up fast. Mick was left a stammering mess as he gripped his pillow and came between the bed and his shuddering stomach.

Tommy followed not long after, announcing to the world with a loud groan that his magnificently large amount of cum had filled Mick up.

He pulled out after slowing down, and jerked himself slow for a moment. He dropped Mick gently back down, rubbing the older man's ass and then his sides until Mick could push himself up. His spine was painfully stiff after each time, but the fireworks between his legs always drowned out the pain. His long hair fell in curtains over his face, until he turned around and Tommy brushed it all back.

Mick took a gentle hold of Tommy's neck when the younger bent down and kissed him softly, holding Mick's cheeks in his large hands. He thumbed away the small tears that had escaped Mick's baby blue eyes, and stroked all the way down to then cup his hands under Mick's ass. He lifted his guitarist up, and Mick gasped as his legs wrapped around Tommy's waist. The drummer carried him to the bathroom, standing them in the shower with a kiss to his lips.

"Mmm, you're so damn good, Mick. I love you, tiny fucker." Tommy whispered to him as they soaked under the warm water. Mick was weak against him, still catching his breath as Tommy kept him upright in a tight hug despite being the one to make his knees so weak in the first place.

"Love you too, idiot," Mick smirked against his wet skin. His black hair was plastered to his neck and face, so Tommy carded his fingers through it to better see him.

Together they stood there, embraced by one another. Mick not even tall enough to reach Tommy's neck, but the younger man still holding him close far away from the world.

Disease didn't exist when it was just them. Neither did pain. And most certainly not heartbreak. It was only them, all they were and all the love they felt for each other.

It was perfect, if Mötley Crüe could ever call themselves so. Tommy was all Mick needed in that moment. Tommy loved him for who he was, and what he had become. They both did.

They always would.