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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.

"Morning Routine"

Title: Morning Routine
Author: Mini
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Peter/Mike
Genre: Slash. Smut.
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 Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork, and I glean no profit from this story whatsoever. So don't sue me, cause I'm a broke grad student and I'd have to pay you in little tiny packets of Chinese mustard.
Summary: Mike and Peter have a little fun before taping begins. Inspired by this picture and the realization that there's no way in hell that Mike walked around like that without someone taking notice.

***

Peter sat in his dressing room reading the morning newspaper. Gaffers, grips, assistant thises and thats were running to and fro outside, readying the TV studio for another day of filming. He was often the first to arrive, as Davy took a long time in front of the mirror at home and Micky practically needed the jaws of life to pry him from bed.

And then there was Mike.

Mike never got to the studio at the same time twice--sometimes he was early, rushing around and penciling in last-minute script rewrites while arguing with the director. Sometimes he was late, sunglasses on, his face grim and expressionless, in no mood to acknowledge anyone else's existence.

Except for Peter.

It had started a few months before. It was one of Mike's early days, and he holed up in his dressing room to work on a song. After plucking out an indistinct melody for a while, Mike set his guitar down in frustration. The song wasn't coming out how he wanted, and so he decided to find Peter, the one person as obsessed with music as he was.

The door to Peter's dressing room was ajar when Mike went over, and he pushed it open, walking in without hesitation and closed it behind him. The bassist was nowhere to be seen, which was puzzling. He knew Peter wouldn't leave the door unlocked, not with all of his instruments in there.

"Pete?" Mike thought maybe the blond was crouching down somewhere, buried in the sea of amps and keyboards.

Mike heard a door open behind him and spun around, and there was Peter, fresh out of the shower.

"Hey, Mike." Peter's face was hidden by a blue towel that he was using to dry his hair. He tossed it aside, moving past Mike over to his desk.

"I had a great idea for a song when I was in the shower. Gotta get it down before I forget," Peter said excitedly, opening his notebook and grabbing a nearby pencil.

"Uh, Peter..." Mike was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that Peter wasn't wearing anything except the towel tied around his waist, and had no idea how the blond seemed to be forgetting this fact.

He watched as Peter wrote the lyrics furiously, wishing that ideas for songs could come so easily to him. Mike's gaze drifted upward to Peter's leanly muscled bicep, admiring the way it twitched and flexed with his movements. The question he'd wanted to ask had faded from memory by then, and he moved closer to Peter, almost in a trance, drinking in the tanned skin and toned upper body of the man in front of him.

Peter continued writing, not pay attention to anything else until he noticed a shadow casting itself over the desk. He looked up, finding himself face to face with Mike's crotch. He stood, fearing a beating from the dark-haired man if he caught him staring. Mike's hand came forward and Peter flinched, tensing as the hand went to the back of his head, threading through his damp locks.

"Michael..." Peter said softly, and that was all Mike needed, crashing his lips to Peter's in a heated kiss.

And so, it began. Every morning now, Mike would stop by Peter's dressing room, sometimes to work on a song, sometimes just to say hello--and other times, for more.

Mike sauntered up to the doorway then, smirking as he saw how absorbed Peter was in reading his newspaper.

"Mornin', Peter," Mike called to the blond casually, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the frame.

The bassist only briefly looked up, a half-hearted, "Hey, Mike" escaping his lips. His gaze quickly fell upon the prominent bulge in Mike's extremely form-fitting grey pants, and he gasped, coughing loudly as a piece of the donut he'd been eating lodged itself in his throat.

Peter flailed wildly, arm reaching out to the dressing table for the cup of coffee sitting atop it. Mike strolled in, shutting the door behind him and watching with amusement as Peter gulped down the hot beverage in relief.

Peter's chest heaved as he fought to breathe, and he stood, stepping close to the Texan, eyes dark and incredulous. Mike was perfectly still, his expression cool and unreadable. The two men stared at each other for a few moments, neither one speaking nor moving. Without a word, Peter dropped to his knees, reaching around and roughly gripping Mike's ass in his hands. He shoved his head forward, mouthing Mike's cock through his pants.

Mike sighed, eyes fluttering as Peter breathed hot air onto his clothed erection. He slid his lips around the head, panting as he felt Mike's dick throb underneath the fabric. He squeezed Mike's asscheeks harder, raising one hand and bringing it down with a smack! Mike groaned aloud, the simultaneous sensations flooding him with pleasure.

Not wanting to waste what little time they had before being called to the set, Peter brought a hand up to the bulge, rubbing it roughly. He slid a finger between the crack of Mike's ass, sensuous in his movements as he dragged it up and down.

Mike swore, shoving a hand to the back of Peter's head as he slowly increased the speed of his stroking. At the same time, he mouthed Mike's cock again, tongue darting out to lick a long stripe up the shaft, causing Mike to grip his hair tightly.

The feel of Mike's hand on his scalp went straight to Peter's cock, and his appreciative moan reverberated into Mike. He began to thrust against Peter's mouth, the heat and friction becoming more than he could bear. Peter decided to go for the kill, pushing his finger into the Texan's puckered opening. Mike growled, thrusting harder, the front of his pants becoming wet with Peter's spit and his own leaking precum.

Peter gasped, nearly unable to breathe as Mike pinned him between his hand and his crotch. He could feel the air in the room getting hotter, the sweat his body was releasing causing his clothes to become ever-more constricting. Mike looked down, hissing and groaning at the sight of the gorgeous blond there on his knees.

"Fuck...gonna come..." the first words Mike had spoken since being in the room. "Gonna come in that hot mouth, that pretty fucking mouth, oh christ...yeah..." Mike was rapidly losing control and Peter welcomed it, fingering him harder, not caring that his knees were beginning to ache. He moved his free hand to Mike's balls, cupping and squeezing them through the fabric, then moving his mouth down to tongue them through the pants.

"FUCK oh holy, UNGHH!" Mike cried out as he came in his pants. His orgasm tore through him, legs trembling and twitching as the pleasure rushed from his head to his toes. He gasped as the front of his pants grew warm, and Peter kept his mouth in place, panting hard as he milked every last drop out of his cock.

Mike released his iron grip on Peter, staggering backwards and collapsing onto a nearby chair. Peter grinned, standing up to admire the wet spot spreading across the front of Mike's pants. He pressed a hand to his raw, red lips, entirely pleased with himself. Mike stared at him for a moment as he fought hard to catch his breath.

The silence was soon broken as he growled, standing up just long enough to grab Peter by the hips and yank him forward. Mike sat back in the chair, making short work of Peter's crooked belt buckle, tossing it aside and pushing his pants down to mid-thigh. He loved Peter's habit of not wearing underwear--it was especially convenient for these spontaneous trysts. Peter's erection bobbed out in front of him, thick and hard as a rock. Mike didn't hesitate, dipping his head and taking the massive hard-on into his mouth.

"FUCK!" Peter cried out, head tipping back as Mike began to suck him hard and fast. He thrust a hand into the raven hair, gasping as Mike's tongue expertly glided up and down his shaft.

Peter knew he wouldn't last long, having gotten so turned on from what he'd done to Mike. He felt a probing finger at his body's entrance, and it slid in effortlessly. Mike deep throated him then, at the same time that his finger brushed again's Peter's pleasure center, pushing him over the edge.

"UNNGH! SHIT!" Peter wailed, groaning out Mike's name as he came down his throat.

Mike swallowed all that Peter had to give, sighing at the feel of the bassist's cock throbbing in his throat. Peter thrust against Mike mindlessly, spending the last of his seed into that hot, glorious mouth.

"Guys! You're needed on the set!" The voice of the A.D. called out in the hallway.

Peter and Mike quickly pulled apart, adjusting themselves to be as presentable as possible. Both of them realized this would be a challenge as Mike stood. Peter snickered quietly, smirking as Mike crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him.

He moved a hand up to stroke Mike's hair, kissing him softly, tongues twining as they reveled in the afterglow of their exertions. Peter reached behind Mike into a drawer, pulling out a spare pair of pants. He pressed them against Mike's chest as he ended the kiss.

Mike tried to look annoyed as he turned away from Peter, but Peter knew how satisfied he was, and how much further he would've liked to go if they'd had the time. While Mike removed his ruined pants and slipped on the new pair, Peter retrieved his coffee, taking a few more sips before setting it back down on the table.

He opened the dressing room door, standing aside as Mike walked out first. A young production assistant happened to be walking by then, and he looked briefly at the two men.

"What the hell are you lookin' at? We were doin' a read through of the script, that's all. Mind your damn business, kid," Mike glared at him, scaring the poor boy half to death as he scurried off to his destination.

They began to walk towards the set, Mike going ahead as he got to talking with the assistant director.

Peter grinned, replaying the morning routine in his head as he watched Mike's ass swaying from behind.