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"Private Screening - Part 1"

Title: Private Screening (Part 1 of 2)
Author: Mini
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Torklenzmith, followed by Peter/Mike/Micky/Frankie Catalina. You read that right.
Genre: Slash. Smut. Insanity.
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 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, Peter Tork, and Micky Dolenz, (although this story is based on their show personae) 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: Peter, Mike, and Micky decide to "strike back" against Frankie Catalina in their own way. Revenge is oh-so-sweet...
Author's Note: Ever since I found out that Bobby Sherman is gay, it's explained so many things in the episode "Monkees at the Movies"...like, for instance, why Frankie Catalina seems to have a million times more chemistry with the members of the Monkees than with any of the bikini-clad girls running around. So this was basically begging to be written (at least, in my slash-addled brain, it was). Hot men cavorting on a beach in tiny, tight-fitting swim trunks also served as inspiration for this fic (God bless fashions of the 1960s).
***

The Monkees were not pleased.

The guys were acting as extras in Frankie Catalina's new film, and right then they were shooting the volleyball scene. Dominate the game was the direction Kramm had given Frankie for his character, and he'd become enraged when Davy, Peter, Mike, and Micky's athletic abilities proved to be far better than his own. The bleach-blond blowhard made a big stink, waving his arms around and calling for a cut. Frankie marched up to the diminutive Englishman, determined to give him a piece of his mind.

"I know when I'm being upstaged!" he cried, glaring at Davy. Peter, Mike, and Micky immediately rushed to Davy's defense, arguing that he'd just been trying to keep the ball in play.

"And just who do you guys think you are? You, with your stupid expressions!" Frankie huffed, indicating Peter. The bassist pouted forlornly, hurt by Frankie's unkind words.

"You, with that uh, uh, that silly green bonnet!" Mike narrowed his eyes, regarding the arrogant movie star with a cold stare. Frankie had actually hesitated to insult Mike, choosing the least offensive put-down possible for fear of getting a genuine beat down from the towering Texan.

"And you...a scarecrow in shorts!" he finished, sneering at Micky, who cast a glance downward, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

The four boys rolled their eyes and muttered angrily under their breath as they watched the tanned prima donna storm off to his trailer. The Monkees left the beach a few moments later, fed up and ready to take action against the ridiculously overinflated ego of Frankie Catalina.

~*~

Back at the Pad, Davy had retreated to his room to ready himself for a date that night. Meanwhile, Peter, Mike, and Micky were scattered across the living room, each contemplating their own personal dislike for a certain platinum-haired pompous windbag.

Mike sat on the bandstand, guitar in hand as he strummed lightly, imagining all the different ways he could hog tie Frankie to a large boulder in the middle of nowhere, leaving him for hungry vultures and recently released convicts who just "happened" to be walking by.

Micky was lying sprawled on the couch, one arm resting on his stomach, the other splayed above the top of his head as he daydreamed about strapping Frankie to a rocket and sending him to the moon, or some other distant planet where they'd dissect his brain. Except he doesn't have one. HA! Micky smirked at the thought.

Peter was sitting dejectedly at the kitchen table, his head resting in his hand, sad and depressed that Frankie had been so mean to all of them. Who does he think he is, anyway? Peter thought, a ball of what felt like anger rising in his stomach. Mike's hat isn't silly, it's super groovy and it looks great on him, and Micky's not a scarecrow--he's skinny, but he's so handsome. And my expressions are NOT stupid! Peter remembered how cruelly Frankie had taunted him, and his lower lip trembled slightly as he fought to keep from crying.

Davy emerged from the bedroom then, stunned by the tense silence filling the air. He walked into the living room where the other three sat. "Uh, hey, fellas...I'm going to be heading out now. Are you all all right?"

"Never been better, Davy," Micky said, standing and walking over to him.

Mike rose from the bandstand to join them. "Yeah, we're okay, babe," he drawled.

"I hope you have a groovy time on your date tonight, man." Peter was the last to arrive, finally getting up from the table. He gave him a genuine Peter-smile, which wouldn't have been possible a few minutes earlier, but Davy made him too happy to be sad.

"Thanks, Peter," Davy smiled back at him. "Well, then I'll see you all later."

They bid Davy farewell as he got into the Monkeemobile, echoes of "Bye, Davy," "See ya, man," and "Have a good time," fading behind him as the door pulled shut and the car sped away.

~*~

Micky folded his arms, leaning back against the door and glancing knowingly at the other two men, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You're not okay, Mike, are you?"

Mike exhaled deeply, a hardened stare off into the distance the only sign of the simmering anger he felt inside. He sighed, setting down his guitar on a nearby chair.

"Hell and no, man. That Frankie Catalina's got me so steamed I can't see straight."

"You and me both," Micky replied.

"He hurt my feelings," Peter said softly, tossing his bangs out of his eyes with a shake of the head.

"Oh, don't let him get to you," Mike said, moving closer to Peter and placing a hand on the small of his back, stroking up and down it gently. "He's not worth all that." A shiver went up Peter's spine as Mike caressed him, stimulating all the little nerves in that one spot. He slid his arms around Mike's waist, nestling his head against the side of the dark-haired man's neck, his head turned outward facing Micky.

Micky stared at Peter for a moment, a slight pang of longing reverberating in the pit of his stomach as he wished it was his neck that Peter was nuzzling. He shook the thought from his head. There's time for that later...

Micky pushed himself off the door. "He insulted us out there, Mike. We have to do something."

"We are doing somethin', Mick. Remember? The plan for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's too far away. And why mess up his movie career when we can mess up something a lot better?" An evil grin spread across Micky's face as an idea came into his head.

"You don't mean--" Mike started, but Micky cut him off.

"Oh, I do mean. I saw how he was checking me out today, looking me up and down. And it wasn't a look of disgust, either. I could tell what he wanted. He was even giving Peter the eye...though, admittedly, you do make it hard not to look when you wear those shorts, Pete."

Peter's face flushed red at this, and he lifted his head, looking up shyly at Micky.

"Thanks, Mick." The Peter-smile was back again, although now it was tinged with a hint of wickedness at the thought of Micky admiring him in his bathing suit.

"I know you wore those on purpose," Micky added, sauntering up close to Peter until they were just inches apart. Mike pulled away from the bassist to move behind Micky, watching him looking at Peter.

Peter swallowed hard, eyes fluttering half-closed at the feel of Micky's warm breath ghosting against his cheek and the intensity of Mike's gaze not far behind him.

"I wore them because Mike told me to."

"Is that so?" Micky turned back to Mike, pressing a hand to the Texan's chest. "I owe you a thank you, then," he smiled, grasping Mike's shirt in his fist and pulling him against his body. Mike growled softly, and that was all Micky needed, crashing his lips to the other man's in a fierce kiss. Their tongues tangled together as they fought for dominance, and Micky quickly unbuttoned Mike's shirt, shoving it off his shoulders.

All of the blood in Peter's body seemed to concentrate itself in his cock as he watched them, his arousal growing stronger with every passing moment. He slid his hand down to the front of his pants, biting his lip to stifle a groan as he softly groped his erection through the thin fabric.

Micky sensed the powerful desire of the man behind him and broke away from Mike, turning to Peter and wrapping his arms around the blond's back as he kissed him hard. He brought a hand to the side of Peter's face and the other to his hip, gripping gently, and pushed him backwards onto the faux leather couch behind them. Micky climbed on top of Peter, one knee resting on either side of Peter's body.

"Mmhh..." Peter moaned against Micky's lips, eyes rolling up in his head as Micky planted a trail of hot kisses down his neck.

Now it was Mike who was doing the watching, his thoughts of Frankiecide temporarily put on hold as they were replaced with thoughts of Micky and Peter, of taut, golden skin and freckles and smooth lines now bared to him as Micky unbuttoned Peter's shirt and unfastened his pants, pushing them down until they were around his ankles. Peter kicked them off, groaning as Micky leaned down to kiss the soft curve just above his pelvis, dragging his tongue down it.

"Fuck..." Peter's head lolled back onto the couch as Micky's tongue explored further, pushing his legs apart and nibbling on his inner thighs, causing him to shiver with pleasure.

Mike could hardly stand still, the combination of Peter's breathy moans and Micky's soft panting almost more than he was able to handle. A loud groan escaped from Peter then as Micky's mouth enveloped his throbbing erection, his tongue curling around the tip and flicking over the slit.

Peter grabbed a fistful of Micky's unruly hair and tugged, pulling Micky's head up to face him. The drummer felt a surge of lust rush through him as he saw how dark Peter's normally light eyes were, staring at him with an intense combination of love and arousal.

"How long until Davy gets back?" Peter's voice was low, almost seductive in its timbre.

"A while," Micky breathed, looking up at him from beneath long eyelashes. Peter grinned, and Micky felt his pants tighten to discomforting proportions.

"Good." Peter pushed Micky's head back down to his crotch.

Micky wasted no time, wrapping his lips around Peter's cock and swallowing it down his throat. Peter's back arched, lips parting slightly as he gasped, the sensation sending small flashes of heat pulsing through his body. The blond turned to the side and smiled when he saw Mike, his cock out of his pants and at full hardness, one hand slowly moving up and down the shaft as he watched the two other men. That smile alone was enough to quicken Mike's pulse, his eyes glazing over as Micky slid a finger into Peter's ass and Peter cried out, thrusting his hips forward against the curly-haired man's face.

"Michael..." Peter called to him, and just the sound of his name coming from Peter in such a desperate, needing moan made Mike stroke himself faster. He walked over to the couch, swinging his leg over Peter's chest to straddle him, and slid a hand under his head, pulling him in for a bruising kiss.

Mike's breath hitched in his throat as he felt Peter's hand on his cock, brushing his own away. Peter moaned into Mike's mouth as Micky's finger brushed his prostate once, twice, three times in a row, and he tightened his grip on Mike's cock, jerking feverishly. Mike bucked his hips up into Peter's heated palm, pulling back from the kiss and sliding a finger under Peter's chin, tilting it up to look at him.

"I think it's time you put those pretty lips of yours to work, shotgun."

"Why whatever do you mean, Michael?" Peter played up the tone of innocence in his voice, knowing full well how much it turned Mike on.

Mike rose to his knees, moving forward enough so that the tip of his cock was resting against Peter's lips.

"Open," Mike commanded, and Peter obeyed, sucking the head into his mouth and rolling his tongue around it, eliciting a strangled groan from the man above him.

"Jesus...fuck!" Mike's head tipped back as Peter took him down his throat, inch by inch. Peter sucked greedily, moving his mouth all the way down until Mike's testicles were touching his lips, and he inhaled deeply, loving the musky scent of the thatch of dark hair resting just above his nose.

"Ohh, you little whore. You love that cock. Mmmhh..." Mike began to thrust his hips against Peter's mouth, his hand moving up to Peter's face to gently caress his forehead, pushing his blond bangs out of his eyes.

Thin beads of sweat clung to Micky's skin as he listened to the other two men, admiring the view of Mike's gleaming back. The feel of Peter's tightness around his finger was overwhelming, making him want more, and he frantically undid his pants, shoving them down, sighing as his throbbing erection came in contact with the cool air. Micky lifted Peter's legs, positioning himself between them, and thrust in, throwing his head back and groaning at the delicious heat surrounding him.

"Unnghh!" Peter moaned around Mike's cock as Micky set a fast pace, pounding in and out, taking him roughly. He watched as Micky slid a hand around to Mike's chest, then up his neck, tilting it backward to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. Their tongues tangled together as they both thrust in and out of Peter, and the blond cried out again as Micky hit his sweet spot.

"FUCK!" Peter pulled his mouth off of Mike's cock, releasing the sounds of pleasure and torrent of half-mumbled curses that had been bottled up in him. "Oh, God...Micky...fuck me..." Peter lifted his hips to meet Micky's thrusts, groaning shamelessly as Mike stroked himself on top of him.

Mike turned to Micky, leaning over to whisper something in his ear, and Micky smiled, gradually slowing his movements inside Peter until he stopped completely, withdrawing from him.

"Hey!" Peter protested, propping himself up on his elbows to pout at them. Mike and Micky gazed at Peter for a moment--tanned, lean muscles covered in a thin sheen of sweat, bangs sticking slightly to his forehead, cheeks red and flushed with arousal, and that pouting lip, even fuller than usual from having Mike's cock in his mouth for so long.

Both men felt a fresh wave of arousal course through them as they took in Peter's beauty, and they wordlessly switched places, Mike now kneeling between Peter's legs and Micky straddling him. Mike leaned down, and Peter gasped as he took his cock into his mouth for brief moment, making sure to leave plenty of saliva behind. Mike winked at the curly-haired man in front of him, and Micky grinned, slamming himself down onto Peter's cock as Mike entered him at the same time.

"OH, SHIT!" Peter collapsed onto the couch again, head lolling back in ecstasy as Micky began to ride him and Mike fucked him. "Ohgod...Micky...Michael..." Peter panted, moving his hands to Micky's slim hips, guiding the drummer's movements on him.

"Unhh...Christ..." Micky grunted as he was stretched out, and Peter was so huge he felt like he might die. What a fucking pleasant death, though... Micky thought, gasping aloud as Peter's cock hit his prostate, and the pain was replaced by incredible pleasure.

"Fuck..." Mike pounded Peter mercilessly, angling his thrusts so that he hit Peter's sweet spot every time. The blond's resolve was crumbling before long, incoherent moans tumbling from his lips as he fucked Micky and Mike fucked him.

"Oh shit, yes...I'm gonna fucking come..." Peter wailed, his entire mind feeling like it was going to shatter from the glorious, simultaneous sensations of filling Micky and being filled by Mike.

"Yeah, Pete...come in my ass...please," Micky urged him on, and clenched his muscles around Peter's cock. That was the final coup de grâce, and Peter howled as his orgasm overtook him, back arching clear off the couch, fingers digging so hard into Micky's hips that Micky knew there'd be bruises there the next day.

"Fucking hell..." Mike's release followed moments later, growling loudly as he gripped Peter's thighs, spurting into him repeatedly. He circled his arms around Micky's waist, one hand moving to his cock and stroking it roughly.

"Come on, Mick...come for us," Mike whispered, and that soft drawl in his ear combined with Peter's now-softening cock in his ass sent Micky over the edge, the names of both men pouring from his lips as he came, head falling back onto Mike's shoulder. Peter groaned softly as he watched Micky power through his orgasm and felt warm droplets of his cum landing on his stomach.

Micky fell forward onto Peter, boneless, not caring about the stickiness now between them, and Peter wrapped his arms around the exhausted drummer, lifting them up and rolling them over onto the floor with a loud thud. Both men giggled as they hit the ground, laughter soon changed into small sounds of satisfaction as they kissed, reveling in the afterglow of their exertions.

"What, are you just going to stand there and watch?" Micky addressed Mike, who was standing over them.

Peter snickered at this. "Come join us, Michael," he said playfully, stroking a hand down Micky's side and over his ass.

Mike didn't need to be told twice, and he sunk to his knees, crawling in between his two lovers, his back lying against Peter's chest and Micky facing his front. Peter and Micky looked at each other, and together they lifted Mike's head, leaning in for a three-way kiss. Mike sighed as he alternated between Peter and Micky's mouths, a murmur of pleasure resonating deep in his throat.

They broke apart a moment later, spent and breathless, lying down side-by-side on the carpeted floor. Micky rested his head against his hand, admiring the two beautiful men beside him. He leaned over Mike's torso for a moment, capturing Peter's lips in a tender yet heated kiss.

Mike stroked both men's hair, enjoying the sight. "So..." Mike said as they broke apart, "back to our egomaniacal movie star situation. What exactly did you have in mind?"

Micky's evil grin from earlier returned then, once again remembering the revenge that still needed to be taken. "I say we give Frankie Catalina, matinée idol, exactly what he wants. Monkees style."

Mike nodded, readily catching Micky's drift as the two of them smirked knowingly. They looked over at Peter, wondering if he understood what they had in mind, and were surprised to see the blond slowly break into a cool smile, far different from his usual innocent one.

"I just have one question," Peter said, and both men swallowed hard at the devious look now spreading across Peter's face.

"Can I go first?"