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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.


"Come On In"



Title: Come On In
Author: Moondreams
Rating: R, I suppose
Pairing: Torksmith
Warnings: Mild language and sexuality
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Monkees and make no claim that this ever really happened. It is purely the result of an overactive imagination.
Summary: A series of storms force Peter to seek comfort in Mike’s bed. But Mike isn’t taking it all too well.
Author’s Note: This just popped into my head on the way home from work the other day so thought I’d fire it on out, it's just a but of a stupid one. It’s pretty short (compared to most of my others anyway!) Sort of a PWP but also came out as ridiculous fluff, don’t know how that happened!

It started a week ago now. In a mere 7 days, Mike’s world had been turned inside out.

Malibu had a storm season, never really lasted that long but they were violent storms, the sort that could shake your very foundations.

Mike was used to these sorts of storms back in Texas, Davy was impartial, Micky loved a good storm…and then there was Peter.

Last year, he grinned and bared it, not wanting to show how terrified he actually was. When Mike found out afterwards, he felt bad that they weren’t there for Peter and said that if it ever happened again, he could go up and see him if he thought it would make him feel better.

So, when storm season rolled by again, he waited for the inevitable.

Day 1

The thunder and lightning raged outside. Mike was asleep when he faintly heard the door slowly open, a figuring creeping in and shuffling in front of the bed.

“Mike?” Peter whispered, almost inaudibly. Mike shifted a little but didn’t wake.

“Michael.” He said, a little louder and with an added poke. Mike opened his eyes, trying to focus on the figure. He smiled slightly at the quaking man, lifting up the cover to accommodate him with a warm, understanding smile.

Peter crawled in, curling up while Mike went back to sleep.

Day 2

Not much different. Peter came in around the same time but no words exchanged between them. Peter simply lifted up the covers and slipped in trying not to wake the sleeping Texan.

Mike registered the movement in a vague way and simply to himself smiled before falling back to sleep.

Day 3

This is when everything went a bit wrong.

It was the same routine: Peter came in, crawled in the bed giving Mike a sweet, almost apologetic smile, they both fell back to sleep, everything was OK.

But tonight, the storm was extra loud causing the windows to shake in their frames. Funnily enough, it wasn’t the noise of the storm or the windows that woke Mike but the repeated jumping of the figure beside him.

Still half asleep, Mike turned over to face Peter’s back, seeing him curled up in an almost foetal position. He pressed up behind him, wrapping his long arms around the young man in a comforting hug. The jumps ceased almost immediately then Mike kissed the back of Peter’s neck softly, feeling him slip back into sleep.

Mike soon followed, not fully aware of what he’d done.

Day 4

Mike woke first, as he always did and noticed he was still wrapped around Peter.

His mind started a little, trying to remember how that had happened but he gave up, instead just pulling himself away and leaving Peter to his sleep.

But it happened again. Peter lay in front of Mike but this time he subconsciously leant back, trying to find the warmth and comfort he’d found the previous night. Mike delivered, holding him close and nuzzling his face slightly into the soft blond hair.

Then he remembered.

He froze where he was, suddenly wide awake as he contemplated the situation.
I kissed Peter. I’ve got my arms wrapped round him...and I kissed him. Was that something friends did? They were meant to comfort each other, sure, but like this?? This was something partners did. Something lovers did.

He looked down at the peaceful, childlike face in front of him and was filled with a warm, fuzzy and utterly infuriating feeling. It was too comfortable, Peter locked in his embrace, the minute vibrations of his breathing coursing through Mike’s own body, it felt right.

Mike was in trouble.

Day 5

“Is Mike mad at me?” Peter asked Davy, concern painted all over his face.

“Don’t think so, why’d you ask?”

Peter shrugged. “I think he’s avoiding me. Every time I try and talk to him he just gives me a one word answer and walks off. Do you think he’s annoyed at me bugging him at night?”

“Could be. Or, you know, it could just be the fact that he’s Mike. You know he gets like this sometimes, mate. Just talk to him.”

Peter tried but Mike continued to find excuses to get away from that sweet, innocent face. He wasn’t mad at Peter, he was mad at himself.
What the hell is going on!? Why do I suddenly feel so weird around him, why is he all I can think about? It was all questions and no answers.

That night, Mike couldn’t sleep. He waited for the regular appearance of his friend. And waited. And waited. He began to worry that he had scared Peter away but just as he was about to give up hope, the door opened a crack and he snuck in, more tentatively than usual.


“Yeah, Pete?”

Peter rolled his hands together in an agitated fashion. “Is it OK t-to stay here tonight?”

Mike was being given the perfect get-out clause, he could easily just tell him that he needed the space or the sleep or something. But he realised he couldn’t (or maybe just didn’t want to) do it.

“Sure, shotgun.” Peter grinned brilliantly, relief evident on his face and Mike practically melted at the sight of it.

Peter shuffled in, snuggling into the covers and Mike turned his back on him trying to get back to sleep and give his thoughts a rest.

But then the jumping started again. The urge to calm him down was overwhelming to Mike but he made himself refrain. It made his heart ache that he couldn’t comfort the poor guy but he had to keep his head clear, try and figure out what the hell was happening to him.

He’d always felt an underlying duty to protect Peter, to look after him, which to him was just what friends do. But now he was beginning to doubt his intentions. It wasn’t just that he wanted Peter to be safe,
he wanted to be the one to make Peter safe. To be the one that Peter relied on and could count on.

He realised now that he cared for Peter more than as a friend. He loved him. And the thought horrified him.
No, I can’t love him, that’s not it. It’s just the proximity, it’s making me think all fuzzy. And it doesn’t help that he looks so darned cute in those pajamas. Wait, what!? What am I saying?! Argh, god! This has to stop!

He slowly fell into a light, unsettled sleep, still dwelling on his feelings for Peter.

Day 6

“Hey Peter, you seen this, man?” Micky hollered from the couch.

Both Peter and Mike sauntered over to him to see the weather report. No storm predicted tonight. Mike let out a quiet sigh of relief at not having to broach the subject but he could have sworn that Peter looked slightly deflated.

“Looks like it’s business as usual then, fellas!” Micky said with a cheery smile. He had been totally unaffected by Peter’s presence, as soon as his head hit the pillow he was gone for a good 10 hours.

That night, Mike lay on his bed but as much as he hated to admit it, he missed the warmth of the body next to him. He missed Peter’s presence and it shook him.

In his wakeful state, he wondered about what he should do. Should he tell Peter? No, that was not a good idea, it would probably just make him uncomfortable. Should he tell Micky? Tempting but Micky was never the most subtle of people and then it probably wouldn’t be long until Peter found out anyway. Should he just forget about it and pretend like it’s not there? Yep, that sounded the most appropriate option...

Mike turned over, running his hands over where Peter had slept and frowned.
I just hope it’s as easy as it sounds...

Day 7

Mike was handling it a little better today, finding a happy medium in not ignoring Peter but keeping his distance.
Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought...

But deep down, he knew that his feelings would just fester until they became too obvious. But that was something to worry about another time. Right now, he just wanted to concentrate on rehearsing and spending time with his friends.

It was a muggy night, tonight. Mike left off his pajama top to try and cool down, pushing the covers down but it didn’t help much. He found himself shifting over to lie in Peter’s space (
Dammit, it’s not Peter’s space it’s my space, all my space. This is my bed!), drifting off in the silence.

Not even two hours later, Mike heard the door creak ominously. Then there was a quiet muttering, no doubt a pointless attempt at trying to shush the inanimate object. Then the figure shuffled toward the bed and Mike tensed considerably.

What the hell is he doing here!? There’s no storm! Maybe if I just keep my eyes closed, he’ll go away.

But alas, that did not work. Peter saw that there was no room in front of him so instead, he crept round to the other side and crawled into the space behind him.

Mike continued to feign sleep which was made even harder when Peter shuffled forward, cuddling into the Texan, his soft hair tickling his bare back and warm breath ghosting over his shoulder.

Mike clenched his eyes tightly closed, trying not to make any sudden movement. Little did he know that things were about to get much, much worse.

Just as he was beginning to get used to the company, Peter began to shift.

He moved his hands up to Mike’s arms, running his hands smoothly over the skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Mike’s mind began to fire at a mile a minute.
What is he doing? Is he asleep? Should I wake him up? His hands are so soft...

Those hands were soon moving to wrap around Mike’s waist, pulling him closer to Peter who made a tiny moan. Tiny in reality but to Mike it was deafening and he had to clench his fists to keep from doing something stupid.

The roaming hands swept under Mike’s arms and over his chest, brushing through the hairs that adorned it and over the nipples which stiffened in response.

Shit! God, why does this feel so good? I really need to stop this. But he didn’t. He didn’t dare move.

The movements continued for what was probably only a few minutes but felt like an eternity. Then those hands slowly, dreamily, slinked downwards sending Mike into a blind panic.

He rolled forward ever so slightly, forcing Peter’s hand to narrowly miss the growing erection, instead brushing over his hip.

But it was no use, those hands were determined and they moved back round again, this time gliding over the clothed bulge. Mike took a sharp intake of breath, furiously trying to place himself in a field, alone in a field…in the rain, yes the rain, it’s wet and it’s cold and miserable and- oh god, now what’s he doing?!

He was going in for the kill, the hand slipping under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, just a few more inches... Mike knew he had to make a move, had to get away before this whole illusion was shattered. But he wasn’t quite quick enough.

“Ungh-!” Mike tensed considerably, trying to stop any noises from coming out but he couldn’t control himself as that nimble hand began to exquisitely work his cock.

This cannot be happening, this is –ah!- this is insane. Not good, not good.

But it was good. Very good, that was the problem. Mike had his hands clenched together in front of him with so much force they were turning white. He kept his eyes closed but that cold, wet field was unobtainable now. All he could think of was Peter, lying behind him, giving him the most incredible hand job ever.

The rhythm didn’t change for a long time, making Mike practically suffocate from the languid pace. Peter’s thumb suddenly flicked over the head, spreading around the pre-cum there.

“Oooh, Pete-“ He killed the words dead in his mouth. He was terrified of waking anyone. He was all too aware that Micky was merely a few feet away and, although he was a heavy sleeper, the weirdest things would wake him up.

As for Peter…how the hell would Mike explain himself? How would he come up with an excuse as to why he didn’t stop Peter, why he didn’t wake him up or run away? How would he explain that he was enjoying every minute of it and never wanted it to end?

His brain was telling him to get the hell out, his body was telling him to stay put and his heart was just trying to stay out of it.

Mike noticed the pace pick up a bit and he was getting desperate to come. He couldn’t believe how hard he’d gotten in such a short amount of time. He thought about wrapping his own hand around Peter’s to increase the speed but that would surely wake him so Mike just had to try and keep his composure.

Soon enough, Peter’s fingers brushed Mike’s balls and softly fondled them. Mike’s leg jerked impulsively as he moaned loudly. He unclasped his hands, reaching out blindly for something, anything that could shut him up.

He tried to locate the pillow but Peter was on top of it. Flailing for the bedside cabinet he felt his green wool hat and figured that was better than nothing, managing to shove it into his mouth to stifle another groan as Peter’s hands turned their attention back to his shaft.

It was the home stretch now, he could feel it. His breathing was so heavy he was surprised the neighbours hadn’t come round complaining, his balls felt like they were three sizes too small and the sweat was beginning to roll off his forehead with the strain of keeping himself together.

Peter brushed another sensitive spot, causing Mike to push back slightly suddenly eliciting a moan from Peter practically directly in his ear.

That was all he needed. He couldn’t stand it any longer and began thrusting into that tight fist, hoping that he could keep quite as he neared the finish.

Mike felt Peter press against him and tighten his grip, making the thrusting even more glorious. He clenched his eyes closed, steadily groaning into the fabric of his hat, gripping onto the edge of the bed for dear life.

Just a bit more, it’s so good. So close, so close...

“Come for me, Michael.” Peter suddenly purred in Mike’s ear.

Any thoughts he’d had about remaining quiet went out the window then as he threw caution to the wind.

“Oh, fuck! Peter, god yes, ngh!” He threw one hand behind him to knit in Peter’s hair while the other he wrapped around Peter’s like he had imagined doing earlier and helped him tip him over the edge.

Mike writhed erratically on the bed, arching his back against Peter’s chest, continuing to thrust into his hand until he came in three jolting waves. He’d never felt anything quite like it.

He lay still for a while, trying to get some air into his lungs, his body still trembling from the exertion. Finally, he found the energy to flop himself onto his other side where he was facing two very open and very terrified eyes. A pair of eyes that seemed to be trying to focus on anything but the man in front of him.

Mike went to say something but Peter anticipated it and interrupted, not wanting to be hit with a rush of abuse. It was then that Peter said the stupidest damned thing Mike had ever heard him say.

“I’m sorry, Mike. I don’t know- I didn’t mean... Please don’t hate me.” The last part was said in barely a whisper and the fear within it was heart breakingly apparent. Mike couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He lifted a hand to raise Peter’s chin so he’d look him in the eye.

“I could never, would never, will never hate you, Peter. Not ever. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Peter stared into those dark eyes for a little bit until he was satisfied that there was nothing but sincerity there and gave Mike one of his best smiles which Mike instinctively returned.

“We’re you awake that whole time?”

“No.” Peter shook his head furiously but stopped under Mike’s scrutinising look. “Well, not exactly. I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t know I was
actually doing it. It wasn’t until you sort of said my name that I realised it wasn’t a dream.”

“So, you were awake for all the good stuff...” Mike smiled, causing Peter to blush, eyes darting away from Mike again.

“Damn. You’re something else, aren’t you Peter? You’re a little devil.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Mike began, shifting himself closer to Peter. “That you are
not as sweet and innocent as you make out to be. Are you?” Before Peter could answer, Mike wrapped an arm around Peter, grabbing him by the ass and fusing them together at the crotch.

“Oh!” Peter’s vision blurred for a second at the sensation of their bodies so close and Mike kneading his cheeks, slowly and lovingly. He gave another smile, but this was
not one of the innocent variety. This was something Mike had never seen before but definitely something he could get used to. Peter’s eyes half closed as his breathing began to get uneven but he never took his eyes off Mike.

“Yep, definitely a devil.” Mike smirked as he gripped harder, allowing him to grind his crotch into Peter’s, feeling his erection under those deceivingly cutesy pajamas.

Peter’s eyes rolled back in his head at the sudden friction and it wasn’t long before he was bucking his hips against him, aching for his own release.

“Ungh, Michael?”

“What, Peter?”

“What about Micky?” Mike had totally forgotten he was even in the room but he was too involved with what he was doing now to stop. Besides he didn’t think Peter was in a good state to stop either from the feel of it.

“If he managed to stay asleep through our last little activity, I’m pretty sure he’ll sleep through this.”

Peter smiled back at him, knocking their foreheads together as Peter began to thrust more intensely.
Man, I’ll have bruises tomorrow... Mike thought to himself. But seeing the beautiful blond crumbling in front of him let him know that it was so worth it.

Peter began to lose any sense of rhythm or control as a fire started raging in his stomach. He suddenly grabbed Mike by the shoulders, trying to take in big gulps of air with small breaths.

“Mike, I-oh!...I...I...-“ From the sudden elevation of pitch and the frantic pace, Mike knew that Peter was almost there. He also realised that, despite what he said, Micky might be a problem.

Peter was getting louder and louder by the second, quickly losing any inhibitions and as much as Mike wanted to hear him scream and shout and yell his name to the heavens for all to hear, he knew now was not the time.

Without waiting another minute, he deftly rolled Peter onto his back without breaking any contact and crashed his lips to the dishevelled man’s beneath him, smothering the barrage of pleasured moans and groans that escaped him while he violently bucked up into Mike as his orgasm had his way with him.

He eventually stilled and became quiet but Mike continued to kiss him, now with more tenderness. Peter pulled back as far as he could against the pillow to break the kiss. Mike looked down at him quizzically, then worriedly when he saw the unusual seriousness on the young man’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- I love you, Michael.” Mike felt little explosions go off in his chest and stomach. He never realised how much he had wanted to hear that. He reclaimed Peter’s lips in a furious yet gentle kiss, leaving Peter slightly dazed.

“I love you, too.” Peter smiled back, somewhat sleepily. “Come on, let’s get some sleep, huh?”

“But, what are we gonna-“

“No. Let’s not worry about anything right now. This is our time.” He moved behind Peter, snuggling behind him like he did days earlier. But now he didn’t feel conflicted or confused. He had never seen things so clearly.
This is right.

As if to enforce this thought, Peter snuggled back, holding tightly onto the hands that were wrapped around his chest.

“Night, Michael.”

“Goodnight, Pete.”