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"New Year’s Eve"



Title: New Year's Eve
Author: Daytona Demon
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Mike/Peter
Summary: On the last night of 1966, Mike is the only member of the band without a date - or so he thinks.
Warnings: Implied naughtiness. Nothing too explicit, other than boys kissing and some slightly strong language.
Disclaimer: This story is about the characters, not the guys who played them, no implication is meant about the men who played the characters, I don't own the characters, and I get no profit from this (except a case of the jollies). So there.



Mike sat huddled on the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest. He glared at the television screen, angry at the stupid movie he was watching, angry that the band wasn't playing a gig on New Year's Eve, angry that he was the only one of the guys who didn't have a date that night.

Even Peter, shy as he was, had found a girl to help him celebrate the end of the year. He was still getting ready, repeatedly changing his outfit. This was his first date with the girl, and he was nervous.

"How do I look?" Peter said, standing between Mike and the television.

"Like you're in the way," Mike said, refusing to look at Peter.

Peter sat down next to Mike. "Are you mad because we all have dates and you don't?" he asked.

"I'm mad because we should be playing tonight, not going off with girls and getting drunk and acting dumb," Mike said, still staring at the television. "I'm mad that we're not in front of a crowd, making money and making music. But, whatever. Go out, have a good time, see ya tomorrow morning. I'm surprised you're not already gone. Micky and Davy left, what, couple of hours ago?"

Peter looked at his watch. "Yeah, Mick left an hour ago, Davy about two hours ago. Michael, are you all right? Are you going to be OK here by yourself?"

Mike finally looked at Peter. "I'm fine. I'm where I want to be, I guess, if I can't be playing on stage. Go have fun. Be careful. Don't drink too much. Use a rubber."

Peter shook his head. "Sheesh, Mike. I don't even know if she'll let me kiss her!" He walked toward the door and stopped to look at Mike. "Happy New Year," he said, opening the door and leaving the pad.

Mike stared at the closed door. "Happy goddamned New Year," he muttered. He went to the refrigerator, opening a bottle of champagne he'd bought earlier in the day, knowing he'd be spending the evening alone at home.

Two hours later, Mike lay sleeping on the couch, his snoring competing with the blaring of the television. He'd consumed half the champagne, the bottle sitting on an end table next to him. A sudden banging noise jolted him awake.

"What the...Peter? What are you doing back home?"

Peter stood in the doorway, looking both angry and sad. "She ditched me, Mike. We went out to dinner, I bought us a really nice meal, we went to a party at her friend's house, and she found some other guy to hang out with. She didn't even have the guts to tell me she was leaving with someone else. I saw them leave. She got into a car with him and off they went."

Mike stared at Peter, feeling slightly fuzzy-headed from the champagne. "Well, that sucks. Forget that bitch. Here, have some bubbly stuff." Mike held the bottle out to Peter.

Peter sat next to Mike and took the champagne bottle. "You drank half of this already?" he asked.

Mike nodded. "And I was going to drink the rest of it, but it seems like you could use a drink or two yourself."

Peter held up the bottle. "Well, I don't usually drink, but tonight..." He drank from the bottle and coughed, unprepared for the onslaught of bubbles in his throat. "Hey, that's pretty good," he said, taking another drink from the bottle.

Mike smiled. "I've created a monster," he said. "Here, give me that before you drain the damn thing."  He set the bottle back onto the side table.

Peter slumped forward, putting his head in his hands. "Why, Michael?" he asked. "Why would she just leave like that, after I was so nice to her, dressed up for her, took her out for a nice dinner? Am I that bad to be around? Am I boring or ugly or what?"

Mike put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You ain't boring or ugly or what. That's my job, man, being boring and ugly. You just picked a girl who turned out to be...I don't know. It's her problem. If she's that messed up and treats people that way, it's best you found out now instead of later."

Peter looked at Mike, his expression concerned and confused. "You're not boring or ugly, Mike. Why do you say that about yourself?"

Mike shrugged and stared at the television. "You tell me, man. I can't hardly get a girl's attention. Didn't have a date tonight with nothin' but the TV and a bottle of champagne. Most girls just don't like me in that way. I'm their friend or their big brother or the one they talk to so's they can get closer to Davy or Micky, or the one they talk to 'cause you're so shy, you won't talk to them."

Peter sighed and moved over on the couch, settling in close to Mike. "Well, it's like you just said. If they're that messed up that they can't see what they're passing up in you, that's their problem."

"Well, it gets to be my problem after a while," Mike said quietly, more to himself than to Peter. "I get, you know, lonesome...it would be nice to have someone. Someone to love. Someone to touch. A man's got needs."

"Needs?" Peter asked.

Mike rolled his eyes, not wanting to explain the particulars.

"Oh, yeah. Needs," Peter said, nodding. "Yeah. Doing it yourself gets to be a drag after while."

Mike stared at Peter, his mouth dropping open.

"Sorry," Peter said. "That's what happens when I have champagne, I guess. I say things I shouldn't."

"Don't worry about it," Mike said, laughing. "That was pretty funny, especially coming from you."

"Hey, we all have those magazines around the house. Did you think I just read them for the articles?" Peter joked.

Mike burst out laughing again.

"If girls saw that side of you, Michael, you'd always have a date," Peter said. "If you'd let people see you smile and laugh more -" He cut himself off mid-sentence.

"If I let people see me smile and laugh more, then what?" Mike asked. He crossed his arms and looked at Peter, waiting for an answer.

Peter looked at the floor, fidgeting. "Can I have some more champagne?" he asked.

Mike handed Peter the bottle. Peter took a drink and handed the bottle back to Mike without looking at him.

"You didn't answer my question," Mike said.

Peter coughed and forced himself to look at Mike, to speak. "There's not a more amazing person in the world than you in a good mood," he said. "When I left earlier tonight, you were in such a bad mood and I couldn't wait to get away from you. Now, you're smiling and laughing and joking with me, and I don't even care about that girl any more. I'm glad I'm here with you instead."

 "I appreciate that," Mike said. "Now if I could only get a girl to think that."

"Why does it have to be a girl, Michael?"

Mike stared at Peter, surprised at his words.

"I'm serious," Peter said. "Does it have to be a girl? Why should anyone limit himself? Can't it be someone you care about, who cares about you?"

"Wow, and I thought
I'd had too much champagne," Mike said. "I mean, I...I guess anybody can be with anybody who makes them happy, but..." He trailed off, unsure what to say or think.

Peter moved even closer, resting his head on Mike's shoulder and his hand on Mike's chest. "Never mind. Let's just watch TV."

Mike was baffled by Peter's words and sudden affection. Even more confusing was how comfortable Peter felt next to him, how natural it seemed to have Peter snuggled up against him like...

Like a girl.

"Whoa," Mike said out loud, waving his hand in front of his face as if shooing  away a bug, or an unwelcome thought. He grabbed the champagne bottle and took another drink. Within minutes, he and Peter were both asleep on the couch.

Loud noise from the television eventually woke Mike and he realized the countdown to the New Year had begun. He nudged Peter. "Wake up," he whispered.

Peter looked up, groggy from sleep and champagne. "Huh? What? Is it almost the New Year?"

"They're counting down now," Mike said. He and Peter chanted along with the television. "Ten...nine...eight...seven..." Mike picked up the champagne bottle.

"Six...five...four...three...two...one..." Mike took a drink and handed the bottle to Peter.

"Happy New Year!" they shouted at the same time. Peter drained the last of the champagne and set the empty bottle down on the floor.

"Hey, Mike," Peter said. When Mike looked up, Peter kissed him. Mike pulled back, shocked.

"That was going to be for my date," Peter explained. "But you deserve it more."

Mike looked down at the floor, suddenly unable to meet Peter's gaze. "Aw, well, thanks, buddy," he mumbled.


Mike looked up at Peter.

"If I kiss you again, would you kiss back?"

Mike stared at Peter, trying to think of a response, and then Peter's lips were on his. This time, Mike didn't pull away. He savored the kiss instead of fighting it.

Why does it have to be a girl, Michael?

It didn't have to be a girl, Mike realized. Not when he had someone right there with him, someone he trusted and who trusted him, a friend whose embrace was as warm and inviting as that of any girl he'd ever been with.

"You feel awfully good," Mike whispered to Peter. "If we keep going with this, I don't know where it's gonna stop."

"Why does it have to stop?" Peter replied.

"You're the one making all the sense tonight, so I'm just gonna quit talking," Mike said, his mouth on Peter's again. Peter reclined on the couch, pulling Mike down on top of him.

Later, outside the pad, Micky and his date made their way up the stairs to the front door, her high-heeled boots clomping on the wooden steps. "Shhhhh, Dianne, don't walk so loud," Micky warned her. "Mike's probably asleep by now and I don't want to wake him up. Peter and Davy are both out tonight, so we'll just use their room."

Dianne tiptoed up the stairs as Micky unlocked the door and cracked it open slowly. He peered inside, stepped back in shock, and pulled the door shut just as slowly as he'd opened it. He locked the door again and turned toward the stairs.

"Um, I don't think we'll be going in there just now," Micky said, his eyes wide and dazed. He took Dianne by the arm and guided her toward the steps, shushing her when she tried to ask what was going on. At the bottom of the steps, Davy and his date were headed upstairs.

"Hey, Micky, Dianne. Meet Cynthia," Davy said. "Cynthia, this is -"

"Shhhhhh! Don't go up there," Micky said. "Don't go inside. We're on our way to find a motel room or something."

Davy looked first at Dianne, who shrugged, and then at Micky. "Is everything OK? What's going on? Peter was supposed to be out, and Mike's probably asleep -"

Micky interrupted Davy again. "Peter's there, Mike's there, they're not asleep, and let's leave it at that," he said.

Davy looked at Micky, confused, and then a smirk spread across his face. "Ohhhhh, so they both found dates, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Micky said. "Now let's go."

"Not so fast," Davy said. "If they're in there making out with their chicks, I gotta have a look at that. I mean, Mike and Peter with dates? That doesn't happen every day."

Micky gestured frantically at Davy. "No! They don't have dates! I mean, they do have - but they're not - no, Davy -"

Davy unlocked the door and opened it just wide enough to look in, as Micky buried his face in his hands. Davy squinted for a moment and then jumped back, eyes wide, just as Micky had. He started to slam the door shut, only to be stopped by Micky.

"Close it quietly, lock it, and let's pretend we didn't see any of that," Micky whispered. Davy nodded, stunned, and locked the door.

"What is going on in there?" Dianne asked. Cynthia leaned toward her and said, "I think Micky and Davy's roommates are in there together. As in, with each other. No dates."

"They don't have dates? Well, they must be lonely then! We should go in and say hi. They might want someone to talk to!" Dianne said.

"They'd have a hard time talking with their mouths full," Davy said. Micky glared at him and smacked him on the shoulder. Cynthia took Dianne's arm and turned her toward the stairs.

"But it's New Year's Eve and they don't have dates! They might be bored!" Dianne protested.

"They're not lonely or bored, believe me," Micky said. Cynthia kept her hand on Dianne's back, herding her down the steps as the two men followed.

Davy shook his head and blinked. "Boy, when Mike said they grow things bigger in Texas, he wasn't kidding. He must have scared the girls away with that thing."

Micky winced and put his hands over his ears. "Shut UP, Davy. I'm trying to forget, not burn it into my mind. Let's get a taxi and get the hell out of here for the night."

Upstairs in the living room, Mike and Peter lay entwined on the floor, naked and sweating from their exertion. Peter raised his head as if he'd heard something. "I think there are people outside," he said.

Mike listened. "Probably. It's New Year's Eve - well, New Year's Day now. Everyone will be coming back from parties. There'll be all kinds of noise."

"Good. The more noise they make, the more noise we can make," Peter said.

Mike grinned at him. "Happy New Year, shotgun. Let's get to celebratin' some more." He and Peter embraced again, oblivious to the lights and sounds of the outside world ringing in the new year.