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Home Slash Fiction Het/Gen Fiction Donatella's Head

DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.


"A Simple Thought May Occur to You"



Title: A Simple Thought May Occur To You
Pairing: Micky/Peter
Rating: As before, starts off PG and then progresses to heavy R.
Warnings: More slashy lovin'. Again, bypass it if that's not your bag. More naughty words too. Be on the lookout!
Summary: Micky tries to sort out his feelings regarding the events that happened in the previous story. The poor thing is a little mixed up about it all, understandably.
Author's Note: I'm known in my writing to start off slowly and then build things up. I can do PWP, but when I'm trying to write something with plot, I tend to try to "set the stage" before the yumminess begins. Just my modus operandi. Hope you can all forgive my long-windedness at times. :) And now, without further ado...

A week had passed since that bizarre afternoon between Peter and Micky, and Micky was still having trouble coming to terms with how he felt about it all.

The two of them had never spoken about it, and although Davy gave him several curious glances, he had never actually dared to ask Micky any questions. Mike seemed to have forgotten it happened, though Micky didn’t believe that for a minute. It was just that the tall Texan knew that what happened between them was their own business and if they wanted to talk about it, they would.

Then there was Peter himself. He still looked at Micky with that sweet, innocent expression, but Micky knew damned well that there was no way he could ever see Peter as innocent again. Not after that day, and the things that Peter did…

So now the question was this…Where did things go from here? Micky just didn’t know. On the one hand, he knew he had been completely swept away by Peter and was a bit titillated at the idea of such a thing re-occurring, but on the other hand, he felt fear as well. He found he did want to be with Peter again, despite the fact that Micky had been making every excuse in the book not to be left alone with Peter at any given time.

The matter most concerning Micky was the fact that Peter had said he loved him, but had never pressured Micky at all to express any such returning emotion. Did the fact that Micky had willingly become physically involved with Peter imply that there was such a mutual feeling? Did Peter now believe that Micky felt the same way?
Did Micky, in fact, feel the same way? If he didn’t feel the same way and continued a physical relationship with Peter, wouldn’t that be horribly unfair to both of them?

The questions kept circling his head like a swarm of gnats; maddening, persistent. He needed to get answers, and deep down, Micky knew that the only way to get those answers would be to talk things over with Peter…alone.

It was almost too easy for a situation like that to come together. That Friday night, Davy had a date, while Mike was heading out to the Club Casanova to catch a new band that was headlining there. He had heard in the local music circles that this new group put on a great act.

As fate would have it, Peter declined Mike’s invitation to join him. Peter was working on a new song and he wanted to get a certain riff down on paper while it was still fresh in his mind.

Micky also begged out, claiming fatigue. None of the others would question that. They knew that Micky loved sleep almost as much as he loved his peanut butter and onion sandwiches.

As soon as Micky heard the Monkeemobile pull away from in front of the house, he knew the time had come to get this conversation started, before he lost his nerve. He sauntered over to where Peter sat in the wing chair by the TV, strumming his guitar quietly. Every now and then he would lean forward and make a new note on the sheet of music he had laid on the floor at his feet. Each time he did this, his face would lose its expression of studious concentration and light up with sheer happiness.

Micky felt his heart tug a bit to look at him. Peter really did love music. While Micky saw it merely as a job…a means to an end…Peter saw it as a form of expression. He loved every part of it, from the lyrics to the composing to the playing.

As much as he hated to interrupt what Peter was so obviously engrossed in, Micky knew he had to speak about this now. It was a perfect opportunity and he didn’t want to waste it.

“Hey Pete?” Micky said as quietly as he could, not wanting to startle his friend. Nevertheless, Peter had been so absorbed in the creative process that he jumped a bit. He looked up at Micky questioningly.

“Sorry,” Micky said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I know you’re busy, but…”

“No. No problem, man,” Peter said. He slipped out of the leather loop of his guitar strap and stood, setting the instrument down carefully in the vacated chair. He walked off toward the kitchen, with Micky trailing behind.

“It was just thinking of taking a break anyway,” Peter said over his shoulder. “Writing songs can be thirsty work.”

He opened the fridge and took one of the glass bottles of root beer that stood on the inside of the door. He turned to look at Micky, holding the bottle out to him.

“No thanks,” Micky responded to the offer. Peter shut the fridge and grabbed the bottle opener beside the sink, popping the cap off as he asked, “So what’s up?”

Micky sighed. Now that the moment had come he found it difficult to arrange what he wanted to say. He was momentarily at a loss as to how to begin. Fumblingly, he began to speak.

“Well, it’s like this, Pete…It’s been a week since…you know…and I know nothing has really happened since then, and I know I haven't said much about it. But I
have been thinking about it.”

He paused, cleared his throat, and noticed that Peter had left off drinking the root beer and was merely watching Micky with rapt attention.

“So,” Micky began again. “I thought that…since Mike and Davy are gone…”

Before he could say another word, Peter had set the bottle on the counter and had closed the distance between them.

“Micky,” Peter breathed happily, his eyes shining. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you talking like this. After all, it did seem like you’ve been avoiding me ever since that day. Now I see that you were just waiting for the right moment.”

“Peter…” Micky tried, suddenly coming to the realization that Peter had totally misinterpreted what Micky was trying to say.

“Shhh…” Peter said, placing his fingers against Micky’s lips. “Don’t talk right now. I understand.” His eyes now softened with emotion as he murmured, “I understand everything now.”

I sure wish I did, Micky thought frantically, and then all further thought ceased as Peter replaced his fingers with his mouth, his arms slipping around Micky’s slender body as he kissed him deeply.

As before, Micky found it impossible to resist Peter’s charms. He sighed and relaxed into his friend’s embrace, tasting the sweetness of root beer as Peter’s tongue wrapped sinuously around his own. Suddenly to Micky’s surprise, Peter, normally the most gentle and non-violent of them all, shoved Micky none-too-gently backwards against the kitchen wall.

Micky felt the breath forced partway out of lungs and gasped. Peter used the opportunity to deepen the kiss still further, his tongue diving deep as he pressed his body fully against Micky’s.

Firmly pinned between the brick wall and Peter’s leanly muscled frame, Micky felt his cock hardening rapidly as he was unexpectedly excited by Peter's aggressive move, and he instantly decided that he was not going to remain passive this time around.

Grasping the lower hem of Peter’s pullover shirt, Micky tugged it upward. Peter instantly took the cue and broke the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt off completely. He dropped it to the floor beside them with a brief shake of his head to allow his golden hair to fall back into place.

Micky’s hands roamed with cautious curiosity, tracing the firm muscles of Peter’s shoulders, toying briefly with the patch of hair trailing down Peter’s chest, marveling at the warmth, the contrast of hardness and softness, so different than touching a woman.

Peter gasped softly into Micky’s mouth as Micky’s bold hands moved over his bare skin, seeming to leave paths of heat wherever they touched. Peter shuddered visibly as Micky’s questing fingers grazed over his nipples, instantly stiffening them, and then lower down to slip over the taut surface of Peter’s stomach, making the muscles there jump and tremble.

Tentatively, Micky traced his fingertips over the edge of the waistband of Peter’s pants. Did he dare….?

Oh what the hell, Micky thought, and then he was scrabbling at Peter’s belt, undoing it with ease and releasing the zipper a split second later. Without stopping to think about what he was doing, Micky slipped his hand inside.

“Oh my god…Micky…” Peter groaned, trailing his tongue up the side of Micky’s neck and then nipping gently at the damp flesh in his divine agitation.

Oh my god is right, Micky thought, astounded and mildly envious at the same time. They didn’t nickname you Big Peter for nothing, my friend.

Carefully, Micky drew Peter’s impressive length out of the opening in his pants and immediately began to draw his hand up and down it with a soft touch, loving the way that Peter’s entire body stiffened and trembled at the contact.

“Yes, that’s it…Just like that,” Peter whispered eagerly, his head tipping back as his eyes closed blissfully. His tongue slicked restlessly over his lips.

Holy shit, he’s beautiful, Micky thought randomly, watching him closely, trying to concentrate fully on making this as good for Peter as possible. He tried to remember the sorts of things he liked to do to himself when he was jerking off, and apply those same motions to Peter.

Reaching out with his free arm, Micky cupped his hand around the back of Peter’s neck drawing him forward in order to trail his tongue up the smooth column of his throat as his stroking pace picked up a bit. He paused to circle the head of Peter’s cock with his thumb, spreading the moisture that was collecting there. Peter groaned again, softly.

“You like that, Peter?” Micky murmured into his ear.

Peter’s head nodded eagerly, his eyes still closed in blissful concentration. “Oh yes, Micky. It feels so good.”

“You want to come for me, then?” Micky asked now, his own arousal now being fed by Peter’s own. Damn, seeing Peter coming slowly undone under his touch was sexy as hell.

Peter whimpered in response, his hips starting to pump in rhythm with Micky’s strokes, thrusting through Micky’s fist again and again, his breath harsh and ragged.

Mere moments later, Peter’s entire body grew rigid and his motions slowed considerably. Micky knew what was happening and tried to brace himself, but was still not completely prepared for the sudden hot jet of fluid that doused his fingers and part of his left leg.

Peter’s choked cry of release was enough to make Micky forget the mess temporarily though. Knowing that he alone had been the cause of Peter’s pleasure was a source of great pride for him.

With a lazy smile and a soft sigh, Peter focused slightly glazed eyes on Micky. “Thank you,” he said. “That was wonderful.”

“Really?” Micky asked, looking down at his sticky hand and then sidestepping over to the sink to wash it off.

When he turned back from the sink, Peter was standing right before him. He reached up and cupped both sides of Micky’s face between his hands, his tawny eyes filled with emotion as he stared searchingly at Micky.

“Really,” Peter murmured firmly before leaning in to capture Micky’s mouth again in a series of brief, lingering kisses. Micky became acutely aware of the fact that although Peter’s immediate need had been satisfied, Micky’s own lust was building to the point of agony. He made a small, eager sound in his throat as his erection throbbed and strained within his trousers.

Pulling back with a small, knowing smile, Peter now dropped his hands from Micky’s face down to the top button of Micky’s shirt. He undid that swiftly and then moved down to the next one.

“Don’t worry, Mick, I haven’t forgotten you,” Peter said softly, completing the opening of Micky’s shirt and then slipping lower to release the fastening of his pants. Micky drew in a sharp intake of breath as Peter’s nimble fingers slowly drew down his zipper.

Peter’s eyes flickered up to meet Micky’s, and their gazes locked for a moment. Peter’s quietly determined and little mischievous, Micky’s slightly glazed with anticipation.

“It’s your turn now,” Peter said, and the next thing Micky’s dazzled mind knew, Peter had dropped to his knees in front of him.

Good god, he’s not thinking of... Micky thought incoherently, and then thought gave way to pure reaction as he felt the first hot, wet sensation of Peter’s mouth enfolding his straining member.

“Ohhhh…fuck,” Micky moaned as Peter skillfully swallowed him down to the root.
Where the hell did he learn how to do that?? Micky’s brain yammered. Never mind, I don’t think I want to know. Just don’t stop doing it…

Peter seemed to have no intention of stopping. He sucked Micky greedily, hollowing his cheeks, acting like he was starving for it. On their own, Micky’s hands moved down to bury themselves in the thick softness of Peter’s hair, resisting the urge with all his might to not start pistoning in and out of that gorgeous mouth like a sex-crazed madman.

Micky felt his legs trembling past the point of being able to stand, and he flailed one arm out to grip the edge of the sink desperately, hearing the dishes clatter within it at the violent motion. He braced his hips hard against the edge of the counter behind him, and somehow miraculously managed to stay on his feet.

“Peter…oh yeah…oh my god…” Micky ground out between clenched teeth, shuddering all over. He had never wanted to come so badly in his life, but at the same time, he had never so badly wanted something to never end. He could not recall any woman he had ever been with making him feel like this.

Micky suddenly knew he couldn’t hold out any longer. Peter’s mouth was just too much. “Pete…man…I’m going to…ohhhh…” That was all the warning that Micky could manage.

Peter seemed to take no heed, however. In fact, his clever tongue began darting in rapid flickers over the head of Micky’s cock, encouraging him further.

Micky could not prevent his one hand from momentarily fisting hard into Peter’s hair as with one great spasm his peak was reached. He threw back his head and sobbed out Peter’s name as he felt Peter’s throat constricting around him again and again, swallowing every drop until Micky was completely drained.

Now his legs had no choice but to rebel, and Micky didn’t try to fight them as they folded up like the legs of a cheap card table, spilling him gracelessly to the floor in front of Peter. He sat there for a long moment; his head leaned back against the cabinets, his eyes closed blissfully.

As though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred, Peter suddenly asked, “So what was it you wanted to say before?”

Micky lifted his head lazily, his dark brown eyes sparkling as he regarded his best friend. He reached out, looping his arms around Peter’s shoulders.

“Just that I think I love you too, Pete,” Micky said, and as soon as the words had left his mouth, Micky knew that they were absolutely correct.

And if there was still any doubt in Micky’s mind, Peter’s answering brilliant smile just before Micky kissed him was confirmation enough.


With Your Wings, I Can Learn To Fly You Do Something To My Soul