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"Progression"

Title: Progression
Author: Lucy
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Torksmith!
Genre: Slash.
Warnings: Language and kissing.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Monkees and make no aspersions toward their sexualities.
Summary: Peter could even remember how it had started.
Author's Note: Wrote this one all in one session, bit different than I normally do it. Let me know what you think :) Hey, relatively short author's note!


He knew Mike was queer. They all did. Before they had made a final decision on the pad, he had sat them down and told them, those dark, normally shuttered eyes open and honest. He asked them if it would be a problem. It hadn't been, not then, but Peter was starting to think it might be.

Micky had been a bit wary of sharing a room with Mike after the revelation, but, peculiarly, cheered up when Mike assured him that he wasn't his type.

Davy had put on a supportive smile, but it was obvious that he was shaken. After a while, though, after Mike was still Mike and not acting any differently, any more... queer, he settled down.

And Peter had immediately jumped up to pat Mike on the back and make sure he knew that it was fine and it didn't matter and he was still Mike. His opinion of him hadn't changed.

But it was different now.

Things had changed.

Peter could even remember how it had started, maybe a month or two ago, out on the beach.

---

Micky and Davy had been playing around out in the water, their antics drawing a crowd of mostly female admirers.

He and Mike were sitting near a patch of rocks, just talking about the band and music and anything else that came to mind, when a girl in what Peter swore did not legally qualify as a swimsuit came up to them and plopped herself down next to Mike.

She leaned forward towards him, nearly spilling out of her bikini top and Peter averted his gaze, blushing furiously.

"Hey, cutie, what're you doing up here? Why aren't you in the water?" she asked, bringing a hand up to stroke one of Mike's arms. She batted her eyes at him.

Mike gazed back down at her, unaffected by the blatant display of flesh before him.

"Well, I was having a conversation with my friend here, if you don't mind-?"

She glanced over at Peter without interest and then returned her eyes to Mike, her stroking fingers becoming a grip around his upper arm.

"But the water feels so good, you should be down there having fun!" she pouted in what Peter was sure was supposed to be a seductive manner, but simply looked whiny on her young face. "Don't you wanna come have fun with me?"

"Not really," Mike responded as he attempted to tug his arm free of her grasp. "I'm just fine up here."

The girl's pout became a frown.

"But... but aren't you bored, just sitting up here? You should come with me, I'm lots of fun," she slid one of her hands around to Mike's chest, playing with the small thatch of hair there before moving it down toward his stomach, and Peter had no doubt that it would have gone even lower had Mike not snatched it by the wrist and pulled it away.

"Look, honey," he kept a tight grip on her wrist, speaking with steel in his tone. His eyes were narrowed at the girl's face. "You're wastin' your time. Now go get your kicks with someone else, alright? I'm not interested." His accent had thickened, exposing his anger to Peter more than his voice or eyes had.

The girl huffed, yanking her hand away from Mike and getting to her feet. She placed her hands on her hips, and Peter thought with not-quite-amusement that she looked even more like a child not getting her way than she had before.

"What are you, some kind of queer?" she sneered, all simpering and seducing gone.

Peter's eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open, but Mike's expression didn't change at all.

"Well ain't you a clever one? Now get."

The girl's candy pink lips opened in a round 'O' of indignation and horror before she turned and stomped toward a group of girls standing down the beach.

Mike turned back to Peter and when he saw the intimidation on his face, his expression softened.

"Sorry 'bout that, Pete. Now what were you sayin' about-?"

"Does that happen to you a lot?" Peter blurted before he could help himself. When he realized what he had just asked, he blushed even redder than he had before. "Oh God, I'm sorry, Mike-"

"Nah, s'okay, Peter," Mike said quietly, the corner of his mouth turned up. "It's just a question. And yeah, sort of. I dunno if you'd noticed, but hers is kind of a popular reaction."

"But, but why?" Peter asked, brow furrowed. "You're still Mike. Being, um, that shouldn't make any difference." And Peter couldn't believe they were actually talking about this, his mind was almost bursting with questions that he wanted to ask but never had, never could.

Mike's face took on a somber expression.

"You're right, it shouldn't. But it does." His expression became amused as he leaned back against one of the rocks and closed his eyes. "Go ahead, Pete."

Peter was confused. "Uh, go ahead and what?"

"I can tell you have questions you wanna ask. So go ahead."

"R-really?" Peter stammered uncertainly. "You don't have to-"

"I know I don't have to," Mike said, cracking an eye open to look at Peter. "But you wanna know and you're one of my best friends. So, fire away, good buddy. What do ya want to know?" He settled back against the rock.

"Okay. Um..." Peter blanked. All of those questions he had wanted to ask suddenly flew out of his head. "Oh, um, how long have you known? That you were, uh-"

"Queer? You can say the word, Peter. It's what I am, I can hardly get offended by it," Mike grinned. "... You know how you say that you've just always known that you were supposed to play music? It was kinda like that."

"Oh." Peter thought about that for a while. "How did you figure it out? I mean, did you just wake up one day and-?"

"Nope, nothin' like that. There was no big 'oh shit, I like fellas' moment. I just... never got into girls. All the guys would sit around talkin' about how they scored last weekend and I'd never have anything to say. That was sort of a drag, y'know. Used to get made fun of a lot. Other'n that, I never really thought about it too much, I guess, just thought I was one of them late bloomers everyone talks about. Until I noticed that I was noticin' guys, that is."

"We do that, too, don't we?" Peter asked seriously. "All the time, we talk about girls and crushes and all the groovy thngs we've done, and you just get left out."

Mike shrugged. "It's fine. I know y'all don't mean nothin' by it."

"It is not fine!" Peter's voice grew louder and he looked furious with himself. "You shouldn't be left out just because you happen to like guys instead of girls!"

Mike looked amused again. "Peter, really, it's alright. Truth be told, it'd feel sorta strange, talking about which guys I thought were groovy with you three. S'not like any of you would agree."

Peter still looked vaguely irritated. "Still... It doesn't seem fair for you to have to keep it to yourself when we can talk about the chicks we like all the time."

"Well, I'm more of a keep-it-to-myself kind of guy, anyway. It doesn't bother me, Peter," Mike insisted gently. "But thanks, anyway. For caring, y'know." Now he looked a tad embarrassed, taking off his hat and fidgeting with it in his lap.

"If you're sure, Michael..." Peter trailed off uncertainly.

"I am."

"Okay. But, do you?"

"Do I what?" Mike asked, absentmindedly nudging at the flip that hung over his left eye.

"Have a crush on anybody?"

Mike stopped all movement except for his head, which turned slowly toward Peter. The taller man looked intently at him, and Peter couldn't help but to look back, and why had he never noticed how pretty Mike's eyes were, or how full his lower lip was? And then Mike was turning away, the back of his neck red as he placed his hat back on, and Peter felt empty and cold when Mike replied, his gaze determinedly on anything but Peter.

"No, shotgun. I don't."

---

Yes, that had been the beginning.

The conversation had ended, then, when Mike noticed that Micky, angry that Davy was 'stealing all of the chicks', was holding the smaller man under the water. Mike wasted no time in heaving himself upward and loping down to the edge of the water to keep one of their room-mates from drowning the other. In Mike's absence, Peter found that he was much too warm, even for California in the middle of July, and there appeared to be a fluttering in his stomach.

He had dismissed it, figuring that he had gotten sick from being in the sun too long, heading inside fairly soon after.

But the flutters hadn't gone away.

They kept reappearing, when Mike would look over at him during practice on the bandstand or pass him the potatoes at dinner. Peter was beginning to get worried. Was he sick? Did he have some sort of ongoing illness? Was it contagious? He spent two whole days hiding in the bedroom he shared with Davy, positive that he was going to infect all of his friends with some kind of stomach-fluttery sickness. In the end, Micky had forced his way into the room to try and find out what was wrong.

"You should go away, Mick, I'm gonna get you sick..." he mumbled from where he was ensconced under his blanket.

"Peter, you are not sick," Micky said impatiently, tugging at Peter's makeshift cocoon. "Come out from under there!"

Eventually, Micky managed to wrestle him out from under the blanket.

"Now, what's wrong? Why do you think you're sick? Do you have a fever? Does your stomach hurt?"

"Well, sort of..." Peter said reluctantly. He was still worried that he was going to infect Micky. "It doesn't really hurt, it just goes all fluttery sometimes."

Micky looked slightly confused. "Fluttery? When does it go fluttery?"

Peter thought for a second. "Um, sometimes when Mike tells me I did good during practice, or when... when he shows us a new song. Oh, and they got really bad when Mike hugged me when the manager at the Vincent Van told us we got that gig last week."

Micky's mouth slowly dropped as he silently 'Ohhh'ed in understanding.

"Uh, Peter, these... flutters, do they feel kind of like, uh, butterflies, maybe?"

Peter gasped in terror, his hands flying to cover his mouth.

"Oh, no, Micky, did I give it to you, too?" he cried, diving down next to the bed and attempting to pull the blanket back over his head.

"No, Pete, no, I'm fine!" Micky assured hastily, keeping a firm hold on the aforementioned blanket.

Peter's eyes slowly appeared over the edge of the bed.

"I didn't?" He asked tremulously.

"No, Peter," Micky stated. "Uh, you... I know what's wrong with you, though."

"Really?" Peter climbed back onto the bed, still cautious.

"Yeah. I think so. You... you..." Micky laughed quietly. "Well, at least this one doesn't room with me," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Oh, um, nothing. Peter, you have a crush on Mike," Micky said bluntly.

"What?! No, I don't!" Peter exclaimed, flushing bright red.

"Yeah, you do. You said it feels like there are butterflies in your stomach?"

"Uh-huh."

"You have a crush on Mike."

"I do not! Micky, I dig chicks! Mike is not a chick!" Peter argued. Still, an image popped into his head, Mike, on the beach, just looking at him...

Micky rolled his eyes.

"You have butterflies in your stomach. Do you feel really warm when you talk to him?"

"Yeah, but-"

"It feels really good when he tells you you've done good, better than if Davy or I were to say it?"

"It feels exactly the same-"

"No, it doesn't. It's more special."

"It is not!"

"You blush when he looks at you?"

"No-"

"Peter. You have a crush on Mike."

Peter dropped his head into his hands.

"I do, don't I? Oh God, I have a crush on Mike," Peter groaned. Micky patted his arm sympathetically.

"I'm afraid so, Pete."

Peter raised his head from his hands, looking miserable.

"But Micky, I've always liked girls. Why... Why would I start liking Mike all of a sudden?" he asked, blowing his bangs out of his eyes.

"I dunno, Peter. When did this start?"

"About a month ago, I guess..." Peter told Micky the story about what had happened on the beach. Micky whistled softly once Peter had finished.

"I never realized... That's not fair at all, is it? I never thought of asking Mike..."

"Neither did I. And I asked him if he had a crush on anyone."

"Wait, wait, wait, you didn't tell me that!" Micky's eyes grew wider. "What'd he say?"

"He just looked at me for a little while and then he said he didn't."

"... Just... looked at you..." Micky muttered, thinking. "Did he look really embarrassed? Not able to meet your eyes?"

"... Kind of. He did that thing where he takes his hat off-"

"Started playing with it? Huh... Never woulda figured you for his type, but..."

"Huh?!"

"Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself. Anyway," Micky said abruptly, "You should talk to him."

"What?! No!" Peter scooted backwards against the headboard as though Mike was at the foot of the bed. "I can't do that! I can barely talk to girls!"

"But Mike's your friend," Micky pointed out. "Shouldn't it be easier to talk to a friend?"

"I guess," Peter said uncertainly. "But-"

"No buts. Now, I'm gonna go out to the beach for awhile, and when I come back, you and Mike better be makin' out on the couch." Micky grinned.

"Micky!" Peter squeaked in embarrassment.

"C'mon..." Micky grabbed Peter by the hand and dragged him off the bed. "No time like the present!"

"Micky, I don't know about this-"

"You'll be fine, trust me," Micky assured, opening the door and pulling Peter out.

Mike was sitting with his guitar on the bandstand, and looked up when Micky stampeded into the room. He raised an eyebrow.

"In a hurry, Mick?" He questioned, looking at his watch. "It's 10:30."

"Nah, just goin' for a walk on the beach, I'll be back soon. Oh, but Peter had something he wanted to talk to you about." He shoved the other man forward. "See you both later!"

Micky then dashed for the back door, slipping out and leaving the other two alone.

Mike shook his head, muttering under his breath. "That boy... I'll never understand him. Anyway, Peter, you wanted to talk about somethin'?"

Peter froze as Mike turned back to his, those eyes flickering over his face. They narrowed in concern.

"Hey, Pete, you don't look too good. You alright?" he asked, standing and leaning his guitar against an amp.

Mike took a few steps toward him and Peter wavered on his feet. His legs felt like jelly.

"I... I think I need to sit down, Michael," he heard himself say faintly as Mike got even closer.

"Okay, shotgun, no problem," Mike said, stepping next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Couch okay?"

Peter nodded hurriedly. 'I think I'm going to be sick...'

With a little assistance, Peter found himself settled on the sofa, leaning back with relief into the soft cushions.

Mike sat next to him, torn between fussing over his bandmate and finding out what was wrong. He decided fussing could wait.

"Hey, Pete," he said gently. "What's wrong?"

Peter found himself saying words, although he hadn't given his mouth permission to speak.

"You'll hate me..."

Mike's brows pulled together. "What? Peter, I could never hate you. You're my best friend. Why do you think I'm gonna hate you?"

Peter pulled his knees to his chest and muffled his voice in them. "I have a crush on you."

Mike leaned closer. "What? Pete, I can't hear you when you're-"

"I have," Peter pulled his head up and looked at Mike. "A crush. On you."

"... Y'what?" Mike blurted, his face the epitome of surprise.

"Oh, God, don't make me say it again," Peter groaned, re-burying his face.

"... Oh."

"Yeah."

"... Ohhh."

"Please, Mike, please say something else," Peter pleaded, looking up at the other man. "Anything."

"You have a-"

"Yes, Mike! I have a crush on you! I want to hug you and touch you and kiss you, okay? I'm sorry!"

"..." Mike grinned, full force, eyes flashing, and it took Peter's breath away.

"Wait, you're... happy?"

"Yeah, Peter," Mike said with another knee-weakening smile. "I'm very happy. I think ecstatic could be what I am right now."

And then he kissed him.

Peter thought he might die, could have sworn his heart stopped, and kissed back frantically.

'This is happening, this is really happening, I can't believe this is happening.'

Peter felt Mike nip at his lower lip and opened his mouth, wondering at how this felt so natural, so right.

Mike slid his tongue into his mouth and Peter let out a genuine moan as it touched his own. He turned to the side, straightening his legs so that Mike could lean closer, kiss harder, yes, please, more. Peter leaned back on the couch, tugging Mike down on top of him, and then Mike was there, settling between his legs, sliding his hands up Peter's shirt, and it all felt so good-

"YES!"

Their heads whipped around to the back door, where a smug Micky stood, leaning against the back door.

"Good job, Pete. Knew you had it in you," Micky said nonchalantly, practically strutting over to the stairs. "Glad you two talked."

"Micky..." Mike growled.

"I'm going, I'm going... So I'm guessing you like him, too?"

"Micky."

"Fine, jeez... You two have fun, now," Micky smirked as he climbed the stairs. "Don't make too much noise."

He giggled as he closed the door to his and Mike's room, hearing what he assumed was a shoe impact the other side.

"Such violence..."

Down on the couch, Mike looked beneath him at Peter.

"So, uh..."

"Yeah," Peter responded, his blush slowly receding. "Um..."

"You wanna do that again?"

"... Yeah, okay."