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"Long to Lay My Head"
Title: Long to Lay My Head
Pairing: Micky/Peter (at their current ages)
Genre: Slash. A little bit of angst.
Warnings: Contains adult content between two characters of the same sex. If that isn't your bag, don't read this. Also contains some adult language.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, completely 100% fictitious. I make no claims as to the personalities or sexual proclivities of the real Micky Dolenz and Peter Tork, and I glean no profit from this story whatsoever.
Summary: Takes place in the present day. Micky goes to see a friend after hearing some bad news.
Micky was pacing. It was an old habit, one he'd tried to break after practically digging a deep rut into his living room carpet. His movements were not without a reason, however; and this particular one happened to have brown eyes, golden hair, and a knee-weakening smile. Thoughts of Peter came into his mind as soon as he had heard the news, and hadn't left since.
He'd called Peter before and after the surgery, checking in on him, more frightened about everything than even Peter was. Micky wanted to come up and see him right away, but knew that Peter needed time to recover. After the radiation began and the reemergence of the cancer was discovered, Micky couldn't stand still any longer. Two weeks passed before he had a chance to reach him, unable to find a spare moment to have a meaningful conversation. One night after a show, Micky finally managed to get away. He holed up in his hotel room, opened his cell phone, and frantically dialed his old friend's number.
"Hey, Mick." Oh, God...he sounds so tired. Then again, it is 2:00am. Micky sighed and drew a hand to his forehead, sliding it down his face in exasperation. He'd forgotten about his other bad habit: calling people on the phone far later than he should. But drastic times required drastic measures.
"How are you feeling?"
"Not bad. Kinda beat, but it could always be worse." That was Peter. Even now, after everything that had happened, he still lived in the land of the glass-is-half-full.
Micky exhaled deeply, trying to recall his own faded optimism. "Can I come see you soon?"
"Thought you had a couple of gigs this week."
"I can get away for a while. You know that."
Peter yawned, one arm stretching behind his head, turning onto his side, pressing the phone to his ear that was facing up. "Okay. Friday."
Micky sighed in relief at Peter's immediate acquiescence. He never could say no to me...
"Friday it is. Now go to sleep and forget that I woke you up," he replied.
"'Kay. Night, Mick."
"Good night, Peter."
Micky pulled up to the old farmhouse, stopping his car halfway up the driveway. The days had seemed to drag since he talked to Peter on the phone, and he was ecstatic that Friday had finally come. He went to ring the doorbell and paused, taking a moment to smooth the wrinkles on his jacket and adjust the brim of the fedora sitting on his head. Ding-dong...
He gasped when Peter opened the door. My God...he looks as good as I remember... They greeted each other wordlessly, Micky walking up the stoop and wrapping his arms around Peter in a warm hug. It was then that he felt how thin Peter was, or at least thinner than he'd been before. Micky trembled slightly. I hate this... he thought as the inside of his stomach curled into an unpleasant knot. How could Peter, kind soul that he was, have this thing in him? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
Micky and Peter pulled apart a moment later, the latter running a hand through his still-golden hair. "Why don't you come inside?" Peter asked. Micky nodded, following him into the house.
"It's good to see you, man. Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, I'm all right. You should sit down, though. Here, come on," Micky said, pressing a hand to the small of Peter's back and guiding him to the couch.
A small grin played at the corner of the blond man's lips. "I'm fine, Micky. Really. I can make it to the couch by myself. I don't have cancer in my feet."
Micky stopped in his tracks and laughed loudly, despite himself. He briefly clapped a hand over his eyes and sighed as the sound grew strained, fighting to keep the tears far from the corners of his eyes.
"Jesus, Peter." Micky shook his head exasperatedly as the two men sat down a few feet apart from each other.
"I knew I could get a laugh out of you."
What is wrong with me? I came here to cheer HIM up and he's trying to make ME feel better...
But Micky knew why Peter was doing it. It was the same reason he'd done it so many years ago. He first saw Micky as a little brother in need of protecting; then, as their friendship grew and deepened, something more. Micky still remembered the first time that they kissed, sitting on Peter's living room floor one night listening to a Ray Charles record. He'd heard the music before, but something was different about it this time.
Peter knew Micky and his girlfriend had just broken up, and he'd seen the curly-haired drummer go from upbeat and silly to depressed and morose in a matter of days. So he'd invited him over, determined to find a way to lift his good friend's spirits. That "way" involved smoking a lot of dope and listening to most of Peter's impressive vinyl collection. The cloudy haze of the drugs combined with the music created a fog in Micky's mind, albeit a pleasant one because he knew Peter was there and in a similar state. It was when the song "Together Again" came on that things...somehow changed.
My tears have stopped fallin'
The long lonely nights
Are now at an end//
A quiet sob erupted from inside Micky then, and he turned away from Peter, burying his head in the crook of his arm, ashamed. He shook as the tears fell from his eyes, cursing the wretched bitch who'd broken his heart and left him a mess.
Peter said nothing, but slid his fingers into Micky's hair, lovingly stroking the thick locks. The younger man's trembling began to subside as he felt his friend's hand on him--Peter's touch was soothing, more reassuring than any words could ever be. Micky lifted his head, quickly wiping his eyes with his sleeve before facing Peter again.
Both men were still silent as their faces inched closer together, and all Micky felt was the heat of Peter's breath ghosting against his cheek. Peter's focus had gone to Micky's lips, pink and slightly pouted from him biting on it. To this day, Micky wasn't sure who kissed whom, but the next thing he remembered was Peter's mouth on his, the tip of his tongue darting out and running across Micky's bottom lip.
The music continued on behind them as the kiss deepened, progressing from gentle and curious to exploratory. Micky could still hear the lyrics, the shape of which had changed as memories of the girl who'd sent him into despair faded away. Memories of Peter, old and now new, took their place, filling up the empty space she'd left behind.
//The key to my heart
You hold in your hand
And nothing else matters
We're together again//
Micky shivered slightly, the melody as powerful in his mind as it had been that night. He looked up at the man sitting next to him, old feelings pushing their way to the surface. Peter studied him intently, realizing then how glad he was that Micky had come over.
"So, how's the radiation going?" Shit...good form, Dolenz. Nice job being subtle. Really.
Peter chuckled softly. He'd always been fascinated by the two very different sides of Micky--one quiet, introspective, constantly in deep thought about the world around him; the other, unpredictable and as blunt as a sledgehammer.
"It's going fine. Got a few weeks left, and I'll be so glad when it's over." He moved closer to Micky, eyeing him curiously.
"Well that's great, man. I mean, you look--you look really good," Micky stammered, wondering why he was suddenly nervous.
"So do you," Peter replied, propping his elbow up on the back of the couch and resting his head on his hand. Micky felt his cheeks flush as Peter smiled at him, that same beautiful smile he'd had his lips up against so many times in years past.
Peter reached up and clasped the brim of Micky's fedora then, stroking it between two fingers. "You're still wearing these things," he said, shifting his gaze from the hat to Micky.
Micky cleared his throat, looking away. "Well, you know...we can't all have an amazing head of hair like some people," he replied, his lack of subtlety now deliberate.
"You don't need the hat."
"Yeah, right," Micky scoffed under his breath, eyes downcast. He's still doing it...why does he have to be so kind? He felt Peter's finger under his chin then, tilting his head upward. Micky inhaled sharply as Peter lifted the hat and the cool air of the room hit his head.
"Pete--no, come on. Give it back," Micky protested, reaching for his chapeau. Peter held it out of reach and slid his free hand to Micky's chest, briefly distracting the other man. Peter tightened his grip on Micky's shirt and pulled him closer, waiting until he was completely focused on him to throw the hat across the room.
"You don't need the hat," Peter said again, this time in a whisper. "You're beautiful, Micky."
The younger man opened his mouth to argue, but was stopped by Peter's lips pressing against his. Stars and planets seemed to explode behind Micky's eyes as he felt Peter kissing him, and now it was forty years earlier, the two of them still sitting on that living room floor.
Micky's heart pounded at his thoughts of the past, which were now merging with the sensations he was feeling in the present day. I can't believe this is happening... Slowly, he kissed Peter back, finally finding their old rhythm. But Micky then remembered Peter's condition and gasped, pulling back from the kiss. Peter looked at him questioningly.
"Your mouth. God, I forgot for a minute. I don't--I don't want to hurt you," Micky breathlessly explained.
Peter smirked. "You're not hurting me. I kissed you, in case you don't remember."
"I know, but--" Micky was cut off by Peter's mouth again, the kiss far more searing and intense this time. A small sigh escaped from Micky as Peter deepened the kiss, once again running his tongue along Micky's lower lip. He tugged at Micky's jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms. Micky quickly shrugged the garment off, bringing a hand up to the side of Peter's face, trembling as his fingers made contact with the scratchy-softness of Peter's beard.
Micky's mind swam with arousal as he tried and failed to think clearly, instead re-familiarizing himself with the lines on Peter's face, then the contours of his chest, which Micky stroked softly through the fabric of Peter's shirt. Wait, I know...
Micky broke their kiss again, both men panting heavily as they looked into each other's eyes. "Turn around," Micky finally said, and Peter raised an eyebrow before complying with his friend's request. He felt Micky's hands on his waist, pulling at the hem of his shirt. Peter untucked it from his pants, and Micky lifted the now-freed garment over Peter's head, tossing it aside onto the floor.
A wave of fresh arousal coursed through Micky at the sight of Peter's bare back, skin slightly less taut than it once was, but still golden and smooth. His eyes traced over the freckles on Peter's shoulders, a guided path leading to the guitarist's spine.
Micky placed his hands on Peter's sides, gently pulling the man closer to him, and bit his lip to stifle a moan as he felt the heat from Peter's body so close to his own. Okay...I think I remember how to do this... Micky prepared himself, wiggling his fingers and digging through his memory banks for the moves he knew Peter liked best.
Peter remained still, trying to figure out what Micky was planning. He didn't have to wonder for long, as he soon felt Micky's hands on his shoulders, slowly massaging.
"Ohh..." Peter moaned, eyes rolling up in his head as Micky worked his magic. He and Micky used to take turns massaging each other for hours, lying naked in bed, or out on the wooden deck by Peter's swimming pool. Peter mainly massaged Micky, at first, trying to relieve him of his soreness as he learned to play the drums. But as time went on, it was Micky who took over the massaging, his now-strengthened hands and arms lending themselves to massages that left Peter both boneless and rock hard.
Kind of like right now... Peter thought, the fit of his pants growing more snug by the minute.
Micky kneaded his hands across Peter's shoulder blades, stopping to run a lone finger down Peter's spine. The older man shuddered at this, head falling back into the crook of Micky's neck. Micky smirked, unable to hide his thrill at still having what it took to make Peter come unraveled.
Any self-consciousness or nervousness Micky felt earlier in the evening rapidly abated, and he leaned down to press his lips to Peter's neck, dragging his tongue up the heated flesh, nibbling gently along the way. He continued his ministrations on Peter's back all the while, and Peter was soon writhing, moaning in earnest, sending shivers through Micky as he felt the reverberations pulse through Peter's body and into his own.
The grey skies are gone
You're back in my arms
Now where you belong//
Micky moved his hands around Peter's chest now, gently tweaking one nipple while roughly pinching the other at the same time. Peter growled as his body was overtaken by waves of pleasure, in response to the dual sensations. Micky's hand drifted over the top of Peter's waistband, and Peter wasted no time in pulling off his belt. He went to undo the button as well, but was stopped by Micky brushing his hand away. A low moan left Peter's mouth as Micky slowly unzipped his pants and reached inside. A huge grin spread over Micky's face as he discovered, much to his delight, that Peter's intense dislike of underwear wasn't just a phase of youth.
Micky wrapped his hand around Peter's impressive erection, pulling it free from the confines of his pants. Peter's stomach muscles twitched as Micky began to stroke him slowly and steadily. He gasped as Micky flicked his thumb over the tip, spreading the small amount of pre-cum that had already begun to collect there.
With his free hand, Micky pushed Peter's chin back and kissed him, tongues twining furiously as Micky increased the speed of his strokes. Peter whimpered into his mouth, knowing he wasn't going to be able to last long with Micky's hands doing to him those things that should very well be illegal.
Micky moved his unoccupied hand down to Peter's testicles, rolling them around in his fingers. "Oh, fuck!" Peter groaned. Micky grinned triumphantly, knowing that was one of Peter's weak spots (his Achilles' gonad, if you will). What he didn't anticipate was Peter's almost violent reaction, whirling around and climbing on top of Micky, pinning him down to the couch. Micky's hand slid off of Peter's cock for a moment in the rapid changing of positions.
"Unhh, keep going," Peter urged, hastily shoving Micky's hand back down to his hardness. Micky simply nodded, enthralled at the sight of Peter losing the last of his control. He thrust wildly into Micky's hand, his hips pressing against Micky's body with such force that Micky knew there would be bruises to contend with in the morning. He didn't care, however, and in fact nothing mattered right then except his overwhelming desire to send Peter over the edge.
"Oh, God, oh, fuck, yes, yes," Peter's cries were growing louder, and Micky knew he was close. He jerked Peter even harder, a thin layer of sweater forming across his brow as a result of the writhing man above him. Micky leaned up, trailing kisses across Peter's jawline until his lips were beside Peter's ear.
"Come for me, Peter..." Micky whispered, scratching his nails down Peter's back.
That was all it took, Peter's entire body stiffening as he cried out. "FUCK! MICKY!" he groaned loudly, his cum shooting out of him in white hot jets, covering his stomach and Micky's hand. Micky watched in awe as Peter powered through his orgasm, an enormous sense of pride flowing through him at Peter having called out his name.
Peter collapsed onto Micky then, spent and exhausted, chest heaving rapidly as he fought to catch his breath. "God..." he hoarsely whispered. "That was so wonderful. Oh, Micky, that was incredible." He raised his head slightly to look at his lover, and kissed him, a kiss full of gratitude and love.
Micky chuckled, extremely pleased with the outcome of things. "You're welcome," he said, his fingers lightly threading in Peter's hair. Peter felt his breathing finally return to normal, and he sat up to face Micky.
"I don't know if you wanted--I mean, I'd like to return the favor, very much, but that, wow, that took a lot out of me, and I'm just not quite--" he didn't get to finish as Micky cut him off, suddenly realizing what he was implying.
"Oh, God, no, Peter! I didn't expect you to...I mean, I came here to see you. To make you feel better. And then you were telling me that I was beautiful, and I...I sort of got derailed, you know? Because you're going through so much right now, and you didn't need to be making me feel better...and then you kissed me. And I wanted to do this to you, for you. Not for me," Micky finally took a breath, wishing his explanations didn't so often tend to lean toward the verbose.
There was that smile again from Peter. "Thank you. I'm sorry, truly I am. But when I've got my strength back..." Peter trailed off, grinning devilishly, glancing over at Micky, who grinned right back.
"Come here," Micky said, pulling Peter back down onto him. He kissed Peter again, soft tenderness replacing the franticness and passion from earlier. He thought for a moment before speaking again, Peter's words still not fully settled in his mind.
"Did you really--" Micky paused, restructuring the question in his mind. "Do you really think that I'm...that word you said before?" he couldn't bring himself to say it.
"I always have." Peter smiled softly, bringing a hand up to caress the side of Micky's face. "I just wish you'd believe me."
I do. Nobody else could make me believe that. But you do. Because when I'm around you, that's how I feel. Micky was surprised at how much emotion was pouring out of him then. He always felt so vulnerable with Peter, like he could finally take off the masks of zaniness and insanity that he was forced to wear around everyone else. Maybe because Peter knew, too, what it was like to wear a mask all the time. Peter had said this to him before, that he was the first person who wasn't afraid of what was underneath, and Micky felt likewise about Peter.
Micky's thoughts were interrupted by a soft sound coming from the man on top of him--Peter yawning. He realized then how tired he was, too. "Hey, Peter...sit up a moment?" Peter obeyed, and Micky took the moment to remove his own shirt, then pulled Peter back down onto his bare chest.
"Mick?" Micky winced momentarily, convinced that Peter was disgusted by his out-of-shape form, and was going to ask him to put his shirt back on.
"Yeah?" he braced himself.
"I know I haven't said this to you in a long time, but I've never stopped feeling it. I love you."
Micky's breath hitched in his throat, completely thrown off-guard by Peter's admission. Everything he'd felt brimming to the surface earlier came rushing back, his arms, legs, and all the parts in between now humming with unbridled happiness. His own vocal cords went numb for a moment, and he swallowed hard, relubricating them. He finally looked down at Peter, his face a mixture of youthful elation and the sort of sagacity that only comes with age. Micky sweetly ran his thumb over Peter's lips, smiling as Peter folded his upper lip over it.
"I love you, too, Peter."
Upon hearing this, Peter broke into a wide grin, almost boyish in its impishness, and leaned up to kiss Micky once more, before finally settling back down onto his chest. He closed his eyes, much-needed sleep coming on quickly, and Micky soon followed suit, heart and body tingling with anticipation over the prospect of his life with Peter back in it again, tomorrow and every day after that.
//The love that we knew
Is living again
And nothing else matters, Baby
We're together again.//