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"Lighting the Fuse"

Title: Lighting the Fuse
Author: Lucy
Rating: R
Pairing: Mike/Peter/Micky
Genre: Slash. Angst.
Warnings: Language, threesome, angst, smexins.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Monkees and make no aspersions toward their sexualities.
Summary: Sequel to Heat and Striking the Match. Micky thinks Mike doesn't love him. Peter knows otherwise.
Author's Note: Micky's an angsty little bitch, kay?


"Mick, come on, let me in!"

"No!" Micky ignored the little voice in his head that said that mouthing off to Mike was a bad idea, wiping tears from his eyes and cursing himself for being overly emotional.

"Micky, please. you're crying." That was Peter, gentle Peter. He couldn't be angry at Peter just because Mike... Mike... This spurred on a fresh bout of tears.

"I'm not crying!" He sniffled loudly after he said this, betraying himself. "Just, just go away!"

He heard shuffling and soft voices on the other side of the door and assumed that the other two had finally given up until he heard Peter's quiet voice speaking to him.

"It's just me now, Micky, Mike's gone. Can we talk?"

Micky deliberated. Peter was Peter. Yes, he might be part of the reason he was crying, Micky thought disgustedly as he furiously wiped at the wetness on his cheeks. But he was still Peter.

He slowly approached the door, turning the lock and opening it.

"Hi," he said with a rasp in his voice.

Peter looked at him calmly, but with an obvious tint of concern coloring his face.

"Hey."

Micky turned, instinctively knowing that Peter would follow him as he sat back on his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Peter sat next to him.

"What's wrong, Mick? Why are you crying?" Peter asked, settling his arm around Micky and tugging him to his side.

Micky leaned into Peter, the tears flowing unchecked.

"I dunno," he mumbled into the soft cotton of Peter's shirt.

Peter sighed, turning away for a second, and Micky thought he was leaving him to be an idiot in peace until he found himself being pulled onto Peter's lap. Peter pulled him close, scooting backward to settle against the headboard and rubbing his back gently. Micky thought about struggling, but Peter anticipated this.

"I thought you might need a hug."

Micky burst into hiccuping sobs, burying his face in Peter's shoulder and squeezing him so hard Peter thought his lungs might collapse, but he didn't let go.

He ran a hand gently through Micky's curls when the other man's shaking began to subside.

"Micky, please... Tell me what's wrong. I hate seeing you like this."

Micky pulled out of the hug and leaned back on his heels, sniffling and wiping at his red eyes.

"He... he loves you." The words came out in a whisper, and Peter furrowed his brow and leaned forward.

"What? He what? Who?"

"M-Mike." Micky swallowed, determined to get through this. "He loves you. He doesn't love me." Scenes played out in Micky's head, of Mike hugging Peter when he was sad, making music with Peter, making love to Peter... He forced down another sob.

"What? Micky, what are you talking about?"

"Peter, he loves you!" Micky said loudly, rubbing at his eyes again. "Not me, he loves you."

Peter simply looked at him.

And then he laughed.

He was laughing. Micky had been in love with Mike for what seemed like forever, and Peter was laughing.

Micky tried to shove himself off of Peter's lap, but Peter still had his arms wrapped tightly around him.

Peter brought a hand up to Micky's chin and grasped it, turning his tear-stained face to look him in the eye.

"Micky, Mike's been in love since the day he met you."

Micky stopped struggling and sat down on Peter's thighs, staring at him in confusion and shock.

"W-what? N-no... That's not... No," he said firmly, glaring at Peter. "Why would you say that? Why would you tell me that? I thought you..." Micky stopped talking, resuming his attempts to get off of Peter.

"No, Micky." Peter tightened his grip. "Mike loves you. Why don't you believe me?"

"Because you're lying!" Micky cried, finally accepting that he wouldn't be able to break Peter's hold. "He doesn't, he loves you, he doesn't love me, he's never gonna love me," Micky said through his tears. He leaned forward and tucked his head into Peter's shoulder again.

Peter cradled Micky's body, looking over to the doorway. He was unsurprised to see Mike standing there, face concerned. He had no idea how Micky couldn't see that Mike loved him, it was constantly written all over his face, just as he supposed it was written on his.

Mike took a hesitant step forward, looking to Peter for confirmation that he was doing the right thing. At Peter's nod, he strode forward and settled next to the two men already on the bed.

Micky jerked backward as a hand that was definitely not Peter's settled onto his back. His face paled as his eyes met Mike's and he scuttled away from both of them. His expression changed to one of alarm when he almost tumbled off the side of the bed. He probably would have if Peter had not reached out and grabbed his arm.

Mike glanced at Peter with a pained look on his face.

"Is he... is he afraid of me?" Mike asked quietly.

Peter contemplated the answer to this. "In a way, yes. He thinks-"

"No!"

Mike and Peter both looked over to Micky in surprise.

"No, you can't tell him!" he insisted, looking only at Peter and thus not noticing how Mike's face became quietly hurt before it smoothed into a blank slate.

"Micky, he needs to know how you feel. You need to know how he feels," Peter argued back.

Micky's head bowed as he realized that Peter could tell Mike now or he would tell Mike later. Those two had no secrets, he thought bitterly.

He stared at his knees , breathing deep in preparation for Mike's rejection.

Peter narrowed his eyes at Mike, silently warning him. "Micky thinks you don't love him, Mike."

"What?" Mike blurted, an almost comical expression of alarm on his face. He lowered his voice when Peter nearly hissed at him.

Mike swung his legs up onto the bed and used his hands to push himself forward until he was close enough to Micky to reach out a hand and pull his head up. He looked into the red-rimmed eyes seriously.

"Is that true, Mick? Do you think I don't love you?"

Mike's eyes pulled answers from Micky. "You love Peter. Not me."

Mike glanced back at Peter, anger at himself evident. He looked back at Micky.

"Micky," he said patiently. "I've been in love with you as long as I've known you."

Micky's eyes widened and he licked his dry lips.

"Y-you do?" he asked, not daring to believe.

"Hell, Micky, of course I do. You're... Micky. How could I not love you?"

Micky lunged forward and Mike caught him, enfolding him in his arms.

Peter watched proudly as Mike whispered affirmations into Micky's ear. He grinned when Mike eyed him before grabbing him to tug him into the impromptu hug.

When they broke apart, Micky jumped into Mike's lap and pressed their lips together. Mike accepted his tongue with a mental smile.

Peter ducked down to lift Micky's shirt and begin placing kisses on his stomach. He sucked a patch of flesh just above Micky's navel into his mouth.

He undid Micky's pants and was about to begin sucking him off, but was stopped when Mike placed a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up to see a look of calm determination on the Texan's face. Mike jerked his head to the side and Peter moved out of the way.

Mike laid Micky down and maneuvered so that his head was level with Micky's hardness. He looked up into Micky's eyes and then, keeping their gazes locked, took Micky's cock into his mouth.

"Jesus, Mike!"

Mike smiled around his dick and Micky nearly died. Peter threaded a hand lightly into his hair and crushed their lips together, forcing his tongue into Micky's mouth as Mike continued to suck.

Mike pulled his mouth off of Micky and trailed his tongue down the underside of him, kissing and licking before he returned to the tip and sucked him back into his mouth, humming around him until Micky released another deep groan into Peter's mouth.

Peter broke from Micky to suck at his neck, nibbling lightly down to his collarbone.

Micky thrust into Mike's mouth, whimpering from the attention to his neck and dizzy from Mike's expert abilities. Where the fuck had he learned how to do that?

Mike slid a finger into him and he knew he was finished. His voice rose in a keening wail and Mike swallowed his release with a moan of his own.

Mike slid up to rest next to Micky, placing an arm across his chest and a kiss on his forehead.

Peter planted another soft kiss on Micky's lips.

"By the way," he said conversationally. "I love you both."

Micky laughed breathlessly, reaching over to smooth Peter's hair behind his ear tenderly. "I love you, too."

"Always, shotgun," Mike returned quietly from Micky's other side.

They fell asleep that way, curled together on Micky's bed.