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Home Slash Fiction Het/Gen Fiction Donatella's Head

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"Love is Understanding"



Title: Love is Understanding
Author: Lucy
Rating: R.
Pairing: Davy/Mr. Schneider
Genre: Really weird. Slashy, to a point.
Warnings: Language. Angst. Sexuality.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Monkees and make no aspersions toward their sexualities.
Summary: There's only one person who understands.
Author's Note: So, this is fairly dark, not at all what I expected when I started to write it. But, I did. And it is this. And thus, I am posting it. Also ridiculous, because, I mean. Look at the pairing.

"I hate them."

Davy stared up into blue plastic eyes, his own unfocused and foggy.

"All of them, they don't look past what they're supposed to see. I'm nothing to them. They don't care about me. Why don't they care?" he asked the wooden man almost dreamily. "That's all I wanted. Was for them to care. I mean, they didn't have to care the way I was caring, I know that's disgusting. But do they even like me? Why am I here, Mr. Schneider?" He pulled the string connected to their dummy. He was the only one who ever listened anyway.

"Because they love you," came the disjointed reply.

Davy immediately shook his head furiously. "No! You're wrong! They don't care, none of them care, and why would they?" He let out a sigh and dropped his chin to his chest. "It's not like I have anything worth caring about." He pulled the string again.

"Yes, you do. They love you."

"Why are you lying to me?!" Davy shouted, tears springing to his eyes. "You're supposed to understand, you always understand! You're the only one..." Davy trailed off, laughing under his breath. "I guess that's what I get for talking about my problems to a piece of wood."

He reluctantly pulled the string again after a pause. Those eyes would look at him disapprovingly for the rest of the day if he didn't.

"Why do you think they do not care? What have they done?"

Davy laughed again, bitterly. "It's more like what they haven't done, babe." Another pull.

"Tell me."

The story began pouring out of Davy.

"I loved them, all of them. They were supposed to be like brothers, but then... then..." He shook himself out of his daze. "I'm not a queer. I know I'm not. I love girls, with their looks and laughs and parts. I just..." He paused. "I think it started with Mike. Wouldn't he be pleased." A sniff. "He's strong. One of the strongest people I've ever known. Not even with muscles and things, just with his mind. And he's smart and funny and..."

He pulled on the string again because Mr. Schneider was looking at him expectantly.

"He could return your feelings. You do not know-"

"I do know!"


A tear ran down Davy's smooth cheek. "He's Mike. He's the straightest person I know. Besides, even if he did care, I doubt he would find it lovely that I'm lusting after our other room-mates as well."

He imagined that the large head inclined in an encouraging nod.

"Micky was next. It wasn't even anything that set that one off. We're always hugging each other for some reason or another, I don't really know why. But it was just... surprising, I guess. I was sitting on the sand, and he came out of the water and sat next to me. And I was bummed, you know, because some girl whose name I don't even remember had dumped me. And he gave me a hug to make me feel better. And I got hard, Mr. Schneider, I got fuckin' hard!" He rubbed his hand over his eyes. "From a hug."

He pulled on the string, desperate for he wasn't sure what.

"I am not even capable of sexual stimulation, and I believe that boy has aroused me. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

That surprised a laugh out of Davy. "Well, I don't feel as bad now." A pull. The question he had been dreading.


He rocked back and forth on his heels. "Peter..." He sighed again. "That one hurts the most. I never thought Peter would hurt me."

"What happened?"

"I was sitting at the kitchen table, and he was playing a song. Something I hadn't heard, on the keyboards. He asked me to come over and listen to it. He played it again for me, and it was amazing, brilliant. I told him and he blushed, you know, because he's Peter. I noticed things I'd never noticed about him, his face, his eyes, the way the sun was shining onto his hair. I thought he looked like a bleeding angel. I tried to..." He stopped, sniffling and damning himself. "I tried to kiss him." A tug on the string which he was beginning to lose sight of through his tears.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing. That's just it. He let me kiss him. He didn't kiss back, or anything. He just sat there. And I pulled back, and he was still just sitting there with this look on his face. And I ran." Tug.

"Why did you run?"

"Because he didn't care! That's what I've been trying to tell you this whole time, none of them care except... except you." He aimed a hesitant smile at the dummy's face, tentatively tugging on the string once again.

"Of course I care, David. But they care, too."

"No, no," he mumbled frantically. "Just you. You listen. You care what I say. I wish you were real." An apathetic tug.

"I am real."

"Not real enough."

"They are."

Davy snapped.

"They don't fucking care, you great oaf!" He leaped up next to Mr. Schneider, hoping that with proximity would come understanding. "They. Do. Not. Care. About. Me."

"They would if you would let them."

Davy laughed almost hysterically. "And how am I supposed to 'let' them? I can't even talk to most of them anymore! You're the only one I ever talk to! I, I..." He looked at Mr. Schneider, an unreadable look on his face.

"What is it, David?"

"You're the only one I talk to. You understand." He looked very thoughtful now.

"I try to understand and offer you advice."

"Well, right now, can you offer me something else?" Davy looked pleadingly into the wooden man's eyes.

"What can I do?"

Davy's face exploded into a grin, and if Mr. Schneider had feelings, surely he would have been happy that he could make Davy this animated.

"You don't have to do anything. Just sit there. I'll do all the work."

Davy reached out to grab Mr. Schneider's hand, lifting it and pulling it over to him. He bit his lip, wondering what exactly he thought he was doing, taking advantage of a puppet, but decided he didn't quite care. He pressed the hand to the crotch of his pants, moaning lightly.

He undid the button, then the zipper, pulling out his rapidly hardening cock and pursing his lips, pondering.

He curled the hand into a loose fist, then wrapped it around his erection before letting go of it, and it stayed precariously propped against the arm of the couch. He thrust forward carefully and smiled when the hand remained steady. He moved forward again, and still, it remained.

Davy groaned. For a handjob given by a dummy where he was doing most of the work, this was nice.

For once, Mr. Schneider was silent, and Davy was thankful for it. He was fairly certain that those eyes were full of recriminations, but he wasn't looking at those eyes now.

Davy was thrusting in earnest now, images stubbornly entering his brain, Mike, Micky, Peter, PeterPeterPeterPeter-

"Fuck!" Davy cried, dangerously close to the edge.

One final image flew before his closed eyes, Peter, that day, the sun turning his hair into a halo, his smile warm and thankful and open.

One more thrust and Davy came, his release spurting onto Mr. Schneider's hand and part of his suit jacket.

He slumped, exhausted. That string dangled before his eyes, and he knew that he would have to pull it, but not right now. He wanted just a few more precious seconds before the only 'person' who cared about him began to break his heart.

He took in a huge breath of air, then let it out slowly. He pulled the string.

"Do you feel better now?"

"... No," Davy said. "I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize."

"But I used you."

"You wanted to feel better and I am, you believe, your only outlet."

"That doesn't make it right," Davy insisted.

"No, it does not." The tone of this sentence would have been agreeable had there been any tone at all. "But it was not wrong. I still believe that you should talk to them."

Davy stared into those eyes. After what he had done, it was the least he could do.

"Alright. I'll talk to them." He looked down at himself. "But I think I should clean up first."

"That may be wise."

Davy stood, walking over to the doorway of his and Peter's room.

"Thanks, Mr. Schneider."

"You are welcome."

Davy was halfway through changing when he realized that he hadn't been anywhere near the string.