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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.


"It Could Be Done So Easily"



Title: It Could Be Done So Easily
Pairing: Torklenz
Rating: PG at first, but ultimately NC-17
Warnings: More of that gorgeous slashiness
Disclaimer: Do not own!
Summary: Micky tries his hand at songwriting
Author's Note: I'm taking a bit of poetic license here. I know Goffin & King actually wrote the song at the center of this song, but I'm having Micky write it instead. After all, this is based on the fictional Monkees, not the real ones, and therefore they WOULD have been writing all their own songs.

Micky was writing a song.

It was the first time he had ever attempted such a thing, and he was nervous. He had assisted the other guys in their songwriting efforts before...if you could call suggesting a phrase here and there to add into the lyrics “assisting”...but this was his very first venture into doing an entire composition himself. Words, music, the whole bit.

He was struggling with it. He had the lyrics down pat. Those had been absolutely no trouble at all, but the music part was eluding him. He was out of his element and he knew it. It was late January now. He was running out of time. He needed to get this done as quickly as possible.

Oh, how it had almost killed him, that look of utter incomprehension on Peter’s face; The one that had appeared there when Micky had refused his offer to help him compose the song, and then had asked for Mike’s help instead.

He couldn’t tell him why. Not yet. It was too soon. He could only wait and pray that his efforts turned out as he planned and that, in the end, Peter would understand.

But it had been hard. God, had it been hard. Peter still acted kindly toward him. He didn’t show any jealousy or resentment...at least not outwardly. Yet Micky could see the hurt in his eyes. He could see it during rehearsals, during dinner, during conversations, and...worst of all...during their lovemaking. Sometimes Micky wanted to tell Peter exactly why he was doing this. Sometimes the end result didn’t seem justified by the means.

However, Micky knew deep down that it would all be worth it in the end. He just knew it.

He got his chance to finally prove it, and right on time too. They were going through their rehearsal that afternoon. The back door to the deck was open, letting in a breeze that held a slight chill to it, unusual for Malibu, even if it was February 13th. They had come to the end of their set, and Davy and Peter were getting ready to put down their instruments when Micky suddenly cleared his throat.

“Hey guys,” he said a bit timidly. “I have one more song that I’d like us to run through. It’s a new one. Do you mind?”

Davy shrugged, looking over at Peter. “I don’t mind. Do you, Peter?”

Peter’s gaze was trained steadily on Micky, his expression unreadable. Finally he said quietly, “No, I don’t mind either. Let’s do it.” He dropped his gaze to the guitar, fiddling with it. “What chord is it in?”

“B,” Mike said, earning himself, albeit briefly, one of the bland stares that Micky had just received.

“B it is, then,” Peter said, and then he went right to tuning his guitar without another word or glance for either of them.

Micky watched as Mike handed out rough copies of the music to the other two. He watched Peter as his eyes moved briefly back and forth over the notes, digesting them quickly and efficiently in that almost prodigious fashion of his. At that very moment, Micky would have given every dollar he had ever earned just to know what thoughts were going through Peter’s head.

It was time...Time to see if all the pain and guilt and worry would pay off. Micky settled himself on his stool, setting down his drumsticks temporarily to wipe the palms of his hands over his thighs. At some point, they had become slick with sweat. Then he was picking up the sticks and tapping out the opening beat.

The simple melody with its waltz-like timing came forth like something out a dream of Micky’s that was now finally realized in the waking world. It sounded wonderful, but that was only half the battle. Now, as he opened his mouth to begin to sing, he hoped the other half would soon be won.

He needn’t have worried. Peter listened, entranced, as Micky’s carefully constructed lyrics issued forth. It only took the first verse to make him realize one thing...he had been an absolute fool. All this time, he had thought that Micky was starting to dig Mike’s company over his own. Why else would he have spent so much time with him, writing this song with him instead of with Peter?

Now Peter understood. Even though the subject of the song was a female, ostensibly for the purposes of future public performances, it was obvious to everyone...even to Davy, who usually tried to stay carefully oblivious to his roommates’ sexual proclivities...that this song was written directly from Micky to Peter.

Your love has shown me things, I never thought I could see.

Peter slowly turned his eyes toward Micky, noticing the dreamy expression on the drummer’s face as he sang, and the way his gaze would move to Peter now and again, his eyes filled with adoration. And had Micky’s voice ever sounded so lovely before? If it had, Peter couldn’t recall it.

Sometime in the evening, you’re sitting there by the fireside
And she’ll touch you
And you will realize how much you never knew before
How much you didn’t see

A lump formed in Peter’s throat as he felt the sting of tears coming to his eyes. How could he have ever doubted Micky? How?? All he had done was wrote this beautiful, heartfelt musical message; Just another Monkees song to their fans, but so much more than that...so much more. A soft smile touched Peter’s lips as Micky’s eyes met his own again.

Now in her childlike eyes, you’ll see the beauty there.
You’ll know it was always there
And you need no longer wear a disguise

As the song reached its conclusion, there was a moment of utter silence in its wake. Then Micky was standing up behind his drum kit and moving around to where Peter stood. Peter immediately freed himself from his bass and set it aside, waiting.

Micky stopped about six inches away from Peter, and the two of them faced each other silently for several seconds.

“Happy Birthday, Peter,” Micky said quietly.

Peter’s only response was a soft sob of happiness as he propelled himself into Micky’s arms, embracing him tightly.


Only half an hour later, Mike and Davy had vacated the house, giving Micky and Peter the privacy they needed to continue celebrating Peter’s birthday, and their reconnection to each other.

“Mm...Micky...You’re so amazing. Unbelievable.” Peter’s voice was breathless as he spoke between heated kisses, trying to eat Micky alive and undress him at the same time as the pair rolled around on their bed.

Micky growled softly, nibbling his way over kiss-swollen lips and down Peter’s jaw line, feeling brief resentment at having even a millisecond’s worth of interruption as he briskly whisked Peter’s shirt off over his head before flattening him down to the bed again. He plunged his hands into Peter’s thick hair, grasping at it loosely in hands that trembled slightly.

“Peter,” Micky whispered, his lips gliding over Peter’s again, suckling them gently, and then sliding away again to trail open-mouthed kisses down Peter’s throat. Peter went with it, indulging in it. God, it felt so good.

Dimly he was aware of his pants being loosened, being drawn down and away. The much cooler air of the bedroom struck his overheated loins but did not dim their fire in the least. Hands now replaced clothing as Micky stroked his body from chest to thighs, rousing Peter’s passions to a fever pitch. He strained against Micky; soft, needy sounds coming from his throat that he was only partially aware of.

The soft sounds grew louder as Micky descended down his body, slowly exploring. His lips, tongue and teeth combining in a glorious cavalcade of sensation as they delicately and patiently mapped out each and every contour of Peter’s inviting physique. At the same time, Micky was carefully monitoring every sigh, every gasp that Peter elicited along the way.

Peter arched and groaned quietly as Micky’s tongue licked over the hollow of his hipbone. It tickled, but at the same time sent a radiating tingle straight to his crotch, making his already rigid member shift and throb.

Micky slid down further still, positioning himself between Peter’s splayed legs. He leaned in to lay a series of butterfly kisses up the inside of one of Peter’s thighs, and then did the same to the other. His movements remained slow, patient, unhurried. He hovered his mouth over Peter’s needy cock, merely exhaling warm breath over it, and then bending his neck to pepper the turgid organ with more tiny kisses.

Patience was one virtue that Peter, on the other hand, had completely forgotten about by now. He doubted he could find the meaning of the word even if he had a Webster’s Dictionary right there in front of him. Hell, he doubted he could even spell “patience” right now.

“Micky,” he whimpered. His voice was trembling, unsteady, and absolute music to Micky’s ears. “Micky, please....please....I’m going to go crazy.”

Smiling a bit, Micky slowly began to take Peter’s cock in his mouth. He only licked it at first, alternating long and short passes of his tongue with occasional flickers at the head. Peter shifted in pleasurable agony, moaning, pushing his hips up into Micky’s face, demanding more contact.

Finally, Micky relented, taking as much of the full length as he could.

Oh shit. Shit. Could anything in the world feel better than this? Peter seriously doubted it as he felt the head of his cock nudging the back of Micky’s throat. Damn, that mouth was so hot...the lips so tight...sucking him...swallowing him whole... Oh man, this couldn’t last. It was so good...so good...so good...

“Jesus, Micky...” Peter groaned, rocking his hips in time to the strong pulls of Micky’s mouth. He wasn’t positive, but he could swear he could feel his brains slowly being pulled out from the top of his head down through his body to be siphoned out through his cock. That was the only rational explanation for why he could think of nothing but how fucking incredible this felt.

Micky, for his part, was relishing every second of this...savoring it with all of
his senses. Feeling Peter’s cock in his mouth, sliding over his tongue; tasting Peter’s unique flavor; hearing Peter’s appreciative moans; breathing in Peter’s rich, masculine scent, spiced all the more by arousal; watching Peter’s lean, toned body writhing before him. He loved it. He loved loving Peter. He loved Peter loving Micky loving him.

“Oh!” Peter exclaimed, as Micky suddenly slid two saliva-coated fingers deep inside him. His eyes widened in a completely involuntarily response as his prostate was gently brushed, and then rolled back in his head at the paralyzing wave of pleasure that followed. He shuddered all over, his groans taking on a much more salacious edge. He could feel his climax coming on with freight-train speed now, and his hands clenched into the bedspread in fists that trembled with tension and anticipation.

It only took one more calculated touch to his sweet spot before Peter was lost in a blinding wave of ecstasy. He uttered another cry and bucked up hard as his orgasm completely had its way with him, picking him up and turning him inside-out, then slamming him down again.

Micky stayed put even when the last of Peter’s seed had been swallowed, still gently suckling and licking his spent cock until it grew too sensitive for Peter to stand it anymore, until he was whimpering and trying to scoot back and away from that torturous mouth..

Slowly, Micky slid back up Peter’s body, randomly kissing hot flesh here and there along the way, until he lay beside him. He merely watched his lover silently as Peter lay staring up at the ceiling, panting, and thought to himself how utterly beautiful Peter was.

When Peter finally felt that his brain was back in one piece and inside his head again, he slipped a hand around the back of Micky’s neck and drew him into a long, soft kiss, slowly feasting on his mouth for several seconds before drawing away.

“Thank you. That was perfect, just like the song you wrote,” Peter whispered against Micky’s lips, staring deeply into dark, adoring eyes. Just then, Peter glanced down and realized that Micky had never removed his own pants during this entire interlude. Immediately, Peter reached down to take care of this oversight, and was surprised when Micky laid a hand over his own, stopping him.

“No, Pete,” Micky said in his husky just-for-Peter tone, tapping the tip of Peter’s nose affectionately with one fingertip. “You’re the birthday boy today, and that means it’s all about you.”

Peter smiled, his eyes glinting again in that no-so-innocent way. “Okay. But this day isn’t over yet...and the birthday boy may want another present later on.”

“Man, you certainly are greedy, aren’t you?” Micky teased.

“Greedy for you,” Peter purred, pulling Micky’s head down to him for more kisses.






He Looked At Me Phantasmagoric Splendor