(REQUESTS CLOSED) Motley Crue Kink Oneshots (NO X READERS)

Cocktail (Tommy x Mick)

for cliffsbellbottoms

Daddy 

Crossdressing

Spanking

Collars

Bondage

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy has always looked up to Mick. Ever since the strange, alien-like guitarist first walked into their crappy little apartment, he's wanted nothing more than Mars' attention and praise. He wants to be stroked and pet, stared down at with a smile as he's told how good he is. Mick is god to him.

The drummer stands in front of the mirror, the sluttiest dress he could find clinging to his form. He'd lucked out in finding one tight enough to show off his skinny curves and edges. It pairs a little strangely with his broad shoulders and strong, drummer's arms. Then again, a dress on a man is unorthodox in itself. Tommy doesn't care at all. Fuck the thoughts of some random stick in the mud.

He'd first tried cross-dressing on a dare dealt by Nikki whilst both were in a drunken stupor. They were crammed in their stuffy tour bus for hours and watching Vince buttfuck Sixx was only fun for as long as the two were able to last. So came truth or dare, as if they were in middle school again. 

His drunken state renders his memory of the other dares hazy at best, but that one dare stuck out. A groupie had somehow left her dress on the vehicle. Or maybe Vince's bitch ass had pushed her out after a dispute. He thinks he remembers Vince ranting about some needy girl, but he isn't one hundred percent sure.  

Nikki had picked up the dress and held it up to Tommy's lanky frame. It's a beautiful dress, a surprising choice for a groupie. It's short, barely able to cover the rear and it's cut to be tight, flattering one's figure. But the garment is also quite elegant, made of a silky, ruffled fabric, dyed a decadent, deep scarlet. The top is strapless, leaving the shoulders and collarbone exposed.

Even though he was drunk, Tommy clearly remembers the surreal feeling of slipping into the dress. The way his legs felt so exposed, his bulge hidden by the ruffled material. His strong arms and shoulder blades were caressed by the air. It was so sinful, so feminine. As his bandmates stared at him, he felt his cock swell, filling up until it became taut with arousal. 

Mick stared most of all, his ice-blue eyes traveling up the eroticized drummer's legs, his stomach, and his chest. As if he was taking Tommy with his gaze.

Mars had fucked Tommy that day. He'd pulled him into the back of the bus and kissed him, touched him, praised him. Bent him over and taken him, his big cock working, gorging Tommy's lewd little hole. That day, Tommy discovered the existence of other dimensions.

He would have been out of his mind not to keep the dress.

"My angel, you look so beautiful like that. Every inch of you on display."

The collar around Tommy's throat tightens as he swallows to keep the arousal out of his voice, "Th-Thank you, daddy..." 

His daddy kink had come out a little earlier than the cross-dressing kink, probably around high school. He can't exactly pinpoint why it turns him on so much to cry daddy, but it fits Mick. Among fans and rockers, the joke of Mick's need to supervise Tommy ran strong and was true in many ways. The older, more experienced man usually had to be the one to keep Tommy from dropping furniture on some poor soul from a bedroom window. He would clean up the vomit and sit him up if he found the young drummer passed out on substances. He would even hold Tommy as he cried. Daddy was perfect for a man who made him feel so good, so protected while using him so well all the same.