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"Picking Up the Line"

Title: Picking Up the Line
Author: Mini
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Torksmith
Genre: Slash. Smut.
Warnings: Contains adult content between two characters of the same sex. If that isn't your bag, don't read this (though if it's not, I'm not sure why you're here). Also contains lots of dirty words.
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's in Texas visiting family and decides to give Peter a call one night. Inspired by this picture.

***

"Ungh."

Mike grunted as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the couch. Phyllis, Christian, and everyone else had already gone to bed, but he couldn't sleep. Phyllis' mother had come by for an unexpected visit and her nagging presence had made the three days they'd been in Texas feel a lot longer, much to Mike's great chagrin.

He tried to lie down several times, only to feel the sheets sticking to his skin from the stifling heat of the day still trapped inside the house, even with all of the windows open. Mike's own body heat was overpowering enough, but with Phyllis' on top of that, it was more than he could bear.

And so was being away from Peter for so long. Peter, who could be both the most irritating and most delightful person Mike knew, often at the same time. He'd finally gotten a place of his own a few months before then and moved out of Mike and Phyllis' apartment. The quiet without him unnerved Mike at first, and although he would never admit it, some of the happiest moments he'd had since moving to L.A. had been when Peter was living there.

It started with songwriting, a few, simple collaborative efforts that only proved how strong their connection was, so much that it scared Mike. Nobody had ever been so in tune with his own musical instincts, had understood what he was trying to do with every note, ever chord and line.

Phyllis thought nothing of the many hours they spent together, staying up well into the night plucking away on their respective guitars. But it went further than that. Deeper. Mike knew Peter was attracted to him, unable to miss the longing glances, the way the blond would stare at him so intently when they were on set or in the recording studio. Peter had tried to be subtle, certainly, afraid of the explosive response--both verbal and physical--that he was sure he'd get if Mike knew how he felt.

A heated argument in Peter's dressing room after filming one night lead to the bassist with his back up against the wall--literally, as Mike seized him by the collar. Charcoal black eyes glared into softer brown ones, and Mike's hands trembled as he absorbed the defiance in Peter's eyes. At that moment, Mike realized Peter wasn't afraid--not of him, or of what other people thought. The latter would be a longer process, Mike decided, but the former was enough for right then.

Lips crashed together, strangled moans escaping from both of them before either man knew what was happening. Peter's hand frantically slid to the doorknob, turning the lock tightly as Mike's kisses grew deeper and more impassioned. Mike tore the crooked belt buckle from Peter's pants, and, with a deftness no doubt borne from a great deal of experience, wound the leather strip around Peter's wrists, lifting them above his head and over the coat hook on the door.

For his part, Peter hadn't realized how amazing a blowjob could be when you let someone else take charge. Or that Mike even knew how to give one in the first place. The whys and wherefores soon fell by the wayside as Mike deep-throated him, occasionally tonguing the smooth skin of his testicles, which made Peter gasp and writhe uncontrollably as he teetered nearer and nearer to the brink.

Mike was relentless, sucking him harder and faster, urged on by the desperate throb of Peter's cock in his mouth. It wasn't long before the blond finally went over the edge, and Mike shoved a fist into his mouth to keep him from screaming out. He held Peter's hip steady with his other hand, not really enjoying the taste of the salty liquid landing on his tongue, but proud to have been the one to bring it there.

Every moment of that night and the other nights they'd had together had replayed themselves in Mike's mind in the three days that he'd been in Texas. He cursed his vivid memory, the thick Texas heat made worse by the arousal he felt inflaming his body. He needed relief, the pleasure that only one person could give him, and that he would've gladly walked back through the hundred miles of desert for.

The night encased itself around him, the only light coming from a faint lamp out on the street below. Mike shifted uncomfortably, a thin layer of sweat already making his thighs stick to the cheap upholstery.

He picked up the receiver and slowly began to dial Peter's number.

~*~

Riiiing....

It was almost impossible to hear the faint noise of the phone over the din of the party. Peter had left the company of his guests momentarily, heading upstairs to use the only bathroom in the house that was off-limits to the public--the one in his master bedroom.

He knew that if he hadn't been there, he wouldn't have heard it. It's 1 o'clock in the morning... Peter thought, certain that anyone who would be calling at that hour was already in his house.

Against his better judgment, he picked up the line.

"Hello?"

At first there was only silence, save for the measured, steady breaths on the other end.

"Hey, shotgun." If he hadn't known from the drawl, the nickname was more than enough.

"Michael..." Peter's eyelids fluttered as he reached a hand down to the bed, steadying himself from the alcohol and grass coursing through his system.

"I bet you miss me." Mike never asked a question when he already knew the answer. Part cocky, part charming. That was Mike, and Peter knew it, and it both annoyed and enthralled him.

"Maybe I do." The equally cool response, given despite Peter's chemically altered state. He lowered himself onto the mattress, positioning several pillows under his head and back as he laid against them.

"I had to talk to you."

"Phyllis and Christian asleep?"

"It's 3 o'clock in the morning, Peter."

"So that's a yes."

Mike loved this. The back-and-forth, testing and teasing. He could be as much of a sarcastic bastard with Peter as he wanted, and the blond could give as good as he got. It aggravated him how Peter had been relegated to playing the "dummy" on the show, as he knew how unlike him that really was. He's better than that... Peter hated playing the part, and Mike hated the ones who made him play it.

"Phyllis' ma has been over visiting," Mike sighed. "Christian cries all the damn time, and I can't get a decent night's sleep cause it's hotter'n hell down here."

"But you're probably still wearing a shirt anyway," Peter said, sliding an arm behind his head.

Mike looked down at the green button-down he had on and chuckled softly. "Yeah. With a pair'a boxer shorts."

"You're so predictable. At least unbutton the damn thing before you sweat to death."

Mike cradled the phone to one ear, swallowing hard at the sound of Peter's breathing, so close he could nearly feel its warmth ghosting over the shell of his ear. He slid the tips of his fingers down across his chest, undoing each button one by one, revealing the patch of dark hair on his torso and the thin trail below his navel.

"See, that's much better now, isn't it?"

"How do you always know--" Mike wanted to wipe away the grin he knew was on Peter's face.

"I can read your mind."

Mike snorted loudly, clapping a hand over his mouth to quiet himself.

"You're so fulla shit."

Peter had taken off his own shirt, tossing it onto the floor. His nipples hardened at the feel of the cool night air, and he began to draw a hand down his stomach as Mike did the same on the other end.

"What are you thinking about, Michael?" Peter murmured, sighing as the soft caresses slowly gave rise to his own arousal.

"Thought you could read my mind." Mike's voice was raspy, the front of his boxers tenting due to the presence of a rapidly growing erection.

Peter squirmed anxiously against the pillows. "Tell me..."

"Breakfast in bed."

It was their morning together some months ago, just after Peter had moved into his new house, and neither of them could wait for Mike to spend the night. Mike had woken up to the sight of Peter in only a bellboy hat, carrying a silver platter with a cover over it. He'd lifted the lid to reveal a canister of whipped cream, a bowl of fresh strawberries, a bottle of maple syrup...and two empty plates.

It didn't take Mike long to realize that they were the breakfast. Peter drizzled the cool syrup over his dick and wrapped his lips around it, reveling in the sweet taste of maple and Mike. They were soon a mess of stickiness and tangled limbs, staining the crisp linen sheets red from the berries and white from...other things.

"That was fun," Mike sighed softly, recalling the long, hot shower they'd taken afterwards to "clean up."

"Wasn't the most nutritious breakfast ever, though," Peter slid a hand below the waistband of his trousers, caressing the small expanse of skin on his pelvic bone.

"Hmm, I dunno...I seem to recall givin' you a good amount of protein at one point." Mike's own hand moved lower, cupping the bulge in his boxers as he bit back a groan of pleasure.

Peter chuckled softly, moaning as he wrapped his fingers around his aching cock, desperately needing release.

"I wish you were here, Michael," he whispered, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to imagine the tall Texan sprawled out on the couch, shirt unbuttoned and pants undone, rubbing himself over the front of the coarse fabric.

"Tell me what you want, babe," Mike's voice was low, desirous. He cocked one ear towards the stairs, holding his breath at what sounded like a faint baby cry, but there was only silence.

Whew... Mike sighed. Now, where was I...

"Peter." The tone in Mike's voice was urgent, demanding.

"I want you to touch me. God, the way you....when we were alone at your place that one day..."

Mike smirked knowingly. Peter had been complaining of shoulder pain, and with Phyllis out with friends all day, Mike saw it as the perfect opportunity to give him some relief. He laid the blond down on the couch, naked, straddling his gorgeous ass. With baby oil-slicked palms and a practiced touch, Mike gave Peter the massage of his life. Peter had always fallen asleep during massages in the past, but his nerve endings sprang to life under Mike's skilled hands, and by the end, he was both boneless and hard as a rock.

"You liked that, huh?"

"Mmm, especially what happened after." Peter's dick twitched at the memory of Mike's erection rubbing against his ass, and how effortlessly he'd slid into him, his hands slipping up Peter's oiled back to grip him tightly as he moved in and out.

It wasn't rushed or frantic like so many of their couplings, but slow, sensual. Peter was groaning into the couch cushions as Mike panted behind him, and it wasn't long before they reached their climaxes. Mike went still as he spent himself inside Peter, and Peter's own cum shot out onto his stomach and the couch below. They collapsed together moments later, chests heaving and bodies crumpled from the force of their orgasms.

Mike shoved the rest of his shirt off completely, the sweat from his body causing the fabric to stick to his skin. He tossed the unwelcome garment aside, then did the same with his pants, pushing them to his knees, sighing as his erection was freed from its clothed prison.

"I wanna do that to you right now," Mike growled, closing his fist around his enormous hard-on. "Fuck, Peter...ohhh..."

Peter sped up the pace on his own cock, a flush of heat racing up his body as he heard Mike's groan, and knew exactly what the guitarist was up to.

"Does that feel good, Michael? Bet you wish it was my hand on you...my lips around your dick..."

"Ooohh, shit...you're in for it, Tork. Jus' wait until I get home. You're not gonna walk right for a week."

Mike's words tingled under Peter's skin, his eyes still closed as he laughed quietly.

"Promises, promises."

The air in the room was stifling now as Mike jerked himself faster, small gasps of pleasure escaping his lips as he stared up at the pitch-black ceiling, images of Peter naked and lying beneath him flooding his mind's eye.

Peter's own heart was pounding rapidly, almost in time to the bass line reverberating through the thin walls from the loud music playing one floor below. Everything and everyone else faded into the distance as he thought of Mike, that perfect wave of raven hair falling over his eyes, those full, pink lips slightly wet and glistening, waiting to be kissed and nibbled upon.

"Fuck...oh, I need to come...it feels so good..." Peter groaned, clutching the receiver between his chin and shoulder as he reached down to play with his testicles, heated and tightening the closer he got to orgasm.

"Unggh...not yet, good buddy. Hold on jus' a little longer."

Peter kicked his pants the rest of the way off, spreading his legs wide. He let a free hand drift down between them, hissing softly as he slid a lone finger up and down the crack of his ass.

"Guess what I'm touching, Michael. Your favorite place," he sighed.

"Put a finger in," Mike ordered, the words coming out half-choked as he pictured his hands caressing those taut, toned thighs.

Peter obeyed, groaning loudly as he slid past the ring of muscle and into endless heat. His entire body felt like it was on fire as he tried not to move, waiting for the next command from his lover.

"How's that feel?" Mike's voice was unsteady, his body shaking with arousal from imagining what Peter was doing.

"Tight...so tight...and hot..."

"Christ," Mike muttered, feeling his dick throb in his hand at Peter's words. "Start movin'. Fuck yourself for me."

"Ungghh, ohhh..." the blond did what he was told, slowly moving the finger in and out, crooking the tip just slightly to reach that spot inside.

"SHIT!" Peter's hips bucked as he felt his prostate stimulated, the sweat-dampened plastic of the phone nearly slipping from his hand.

Mike grinned on the other end, knowing full well what Peter was up to. "Don't think I gave you permission to do that, did I?"

"S--sorry. I'm sorry, Michael."

"Don't apologize. Just don't do it again unless I say so."

"Yes, sir."

A faint creak at the top of the stairs sent Mike's neck snapping backwards. Fucking mother of Phyllis... His eyes stayed trained on the darkened landing as he waited for more movement, but there was none--only the soft whisper of the wind blowing in through the curtains.

"Michael?" Peter's pleading voice sounded distantly under his throbbing veins, blood pulsing with reckless abandon as Mike tightly clutched the receiver.

"Put another finger in. Jerk yourself at the same time." The Texan finally settled back down, his grip on the phone loosening and his half-deflated erection quickly reawakening at Peter's cry of ecstasy.

"Ohhh my God....unghh, please...please..." Peter was nearly sobbing as he stroked himself, his cock hot and hard as a bar of iron under his palm.

"I'm fuckin' you right now, Peter. Can you feel it?" Mike ragged gasps shot straight from Peter's ear to his dick.

"Yeah, I can feel it. So good, Michael. God, go harder..."

"Oh, I'm goin' harder. Hard as I can, babe. I got your legs on my shoulders, just holdin' you steady. Ohh, you look so hot, Peter. So beautiful."

"You're looking down at me...your eyes are so dark. You're so deep inside me, unghh, touching that spot...I want more, I need more. Make me come, Michael. Make me come all over you."

"FUCK! Ohh, shit, shit...coming in you...fuckkk!" Mike cried out and bit the insides of his cheeks, a mixture of pleasure and pain flooding his senses as he fought to keep from screaming Peter's name. He gave in completely as his orgasm crashed over him in wave after blissful wave, the only thoughts in his mind of Peter beneath him, surrounding him, holding him.

"MICHAEL!!" Peter shamelessly called out the Texan's name as he reached his own climax moments later, several jets of hot cum landing on his stomach and all over his hand, back arching and toes curling as he imagined Mike thrusting into him, sending him over the edge.

BANG! BANG! Several fists pounded against the bedroom door, jolting Peter upright just as he'd barely finished coming.

"Shit! What the hell?!" he cursed at the unwelcome interruption of his post-orgasm afterglow.

"Hey, Peter! What happened to you, man?? You sleepin' it off? You gotta come down, we're gonna jam!" Two to three very sky high voices called out.

The bassist sighed and rolled his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I'm fine! Don't fucking come in here, guys! I'll be down in a few minutes!"

What sounded like a collective "okay" was murmured by the voices, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief as the sound of retreating footsteps soon followed.

"Who the hell was that?" Mike was quiet the entire time; concerned, at first, but then amused at Peter being the one who was almost walked in on.

"Sorry, Mike. The masses are getting unruly." Peter slid his finger between the phone cords, twirling it around almost unconsciously.

"I should give 'em a good spanking for causin' you so much trouble."

Peter laughed loudly, a brilliant grin spreading across his face. "I'd rather you give me one when I cause you trouble. And as much as I hate to do this, I'd better make my long-awaited return."

"All right, shotgun. Go on back to your party. Don't let me stop you."

"Michael, come on. You know I'd stay on if I could." Mike could almost see Peter pouting, a forlorn expression on his face, forehead still damp with sweat and skin still glowing from their exertions.

"Yeah, yeah. Just stay out of trouble."

"Only until you get back."

"Goddamn, you're gonna make me work the second I come home. I can't get a moment's rest around you, can I?"

"Never."

"You're a little shit, Tork."

"I know." I love you, too...

Mike tried to hide the yawn that escaped from him then, to no avail. Peter held the receiver close, and he reached out a hand, stroking the empty air as though the dark wave of hair was right in front of him. Mike pressed two fingers to his own lips, kissing the soft, warm cheek that wasn't there.

He spoke once more, whispering into his lover's ear. "Sleep tight, babe. I'll see you soon."

"Good night, Michael."