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anaalnathrakhs · 1 day

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okay, since you said more requests are welcome: 13. and/or 30. for a Mick ship of your choosing would be sweet <3

one 13. Drunken/drugged/sleepy confessions and 30. Only one bed, coming right up

I hear your heart beat to the beat of the drums

700 words Rated G probs Tommy/Mick

also on ao3 for ur reading comfort

“Don’t fall asleep.”

The voice was the only bridge left between him and reality.

“You have to go home, c’mon.”

Oh the dulcet tones, oh the velvety flow.

“You can’t do this,” the voice slurred. “That was my bed, man.”

“Sure I can.”

“No you can’t.”

Mick put his best effort into shrugging. His shoulders rose directly into the couch cushions, and his spine woke up again, but that was the price to pay.

“Move over, I’m not sleeping on the ground.”

“Should’ve thought about it. Before.”

Tommy rummaged near the couch. He could hear the sound of his steps, hurried, unsure, but he couldn’t see anything. His eyelids weighed a million pounds. So much he could never open them again. Already sleep crept up on him again, heavy as lead. Tommy would find something else. He always did. Mick let the pathetic ripped cushions absorb the ache in his back (nevermind tomorrow) and the vague sensation of nausea that he was used to ignoring.

Finally comfortable.

That is, until a sharp and bony asshole wormed himself on the thin strip of fabric that was left between Mick and the abyss beyond the couch.

“Move the fuck over,” he muttered through the haze. Halfway muffled into a forearm, not his own.

“Should’ve thought about it before.”

So that didn’t fall in deaf ears. He could hear the self-sufficient smirk. How proud he was of tormenting his own guitarist.

“Go find somewhere else to crash.”

“No,” Tommy sighed, nuzzling in the eviscerated armrest above Mick’s head. “The one and only night I don’t go off with a girl, you steal my bed.”

“That’s not your bed,” he could only answer. A peaceful slumber was so near, just beyond his fingertips, and he couldn’t reach the sweet black hole of bliss because he was boxed in an angular hug with the worst chatterbox he had ever met. A solid headache rooted behind his eyes started making surface.

“Yes it is,” Tommy yawned. “Vince locked the room.”

“Sleep on the ground, then.”

He usually bit back these kinds of comments. Not that they didn’t deserve it, but he’d rather not get booted from the band before they could do anything of value. It just wasn’t worth the argument. Well. It still wasn’t, but fuck that. He wanted the couch to himself, not an elbow in his ribs.

“Dude, you’re so mean to me.” He could hear the pout in Tommy’s voice.

He debated answering. What, though? What could be answered? Yeah, he was mean. Loud, rude, and aggressive. His spine was starting to hurt from the contrived position Tommy had shoved him in, against the back cushions. It was way too late, and way too many drinks for that. He closed his eyes harder.

“You don’t wanna be nice and share with a friend, Mick?” he poked the shoulder that was nearest.

“No.”

“Aw, you don’t like me,” he was sounding way too pleased saying that. The kid had something in mind. Some devious plan. “I thought you were cool, man!” He sighed, but Mick would not mistake a setup for some kind of genuine sadness. Tommy wasn’t even capable of thinking people didn’t like him.

“I was on the couch first.” That felt safe to settle on. And efficient. Goal-oriented.

“And that was my couch first,” Tommy protested.

“Finders keepers.”

“Piss off,” he said, and as he said it, his hand began absentmindedly running up and down Mick’s back. A gentle touch, almost something he would’ve believed Tommy incapable of.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he raised his voice the best he could, drowned as he was between couch and man, “don’t fall asleep here.”

“I told you that,” Tommy yawned again. “You move if you want. ‘m staying.”

Mick groaned. His voice was sounding too low, too slow, for him to have any hope. Tommy would sleep here no matter what. He was well and truly stuck.

“Love you, dude. G’night,” Tommy settled his chin atop Mick’s head, the buzz of his voice in his throat right next to Mick’s ear. But despite that, his fingers dancing lightly along Mick’s back didn’t stop. His other arm slid up a little, nestled comfortably between the two of them. His breath slowed down, deep, steady, rhythmic. He radiated warmth.

Something was amiss, but for the life of him, Mick couldn’t focus. Sleep was catching up.

“Love you too, dude,” he murmured while he still could.

Tommy hummed gently in response.

#motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #tommy lee #mick mars #motleyposting on main #i write things sometimes #rpf #is this my best work? no. is it titled after the kesha song? yes. so that's all okay in the end.

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anaalnathrakhs · 10 months

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