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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.


"Reading Lessons"



Title: Reading Lessons
Pairing: Micky/Peter
Rating: R. Contains male/male sexytimes and strong language.
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: FICTION. Never happened (damn it). Purely a product of an overactive imagination.

Author’s Note:This is a TV show-verse fic, so it is based on the TV personas of Micky and Peter rather than their RL selves (although I have made Peter slightly more like his RL self than TV self).



Mike sighed for what had to be the fiftieth time, warily eyeing the “past due” and “final notice” papers scattered across the kitchen table. He slung his guitar strap over his shoulder, dropping the pen from his now-cramped fingers.

“All right, guys. I’m headin’ out.”


Davy had left for a date half an hour earlier, so Mike’s announcement was left to fall on the not-very-paying-attention ears of Micky and Peter. The two Monkees were curled up together on the faux leather couch in the Pad, Micky reading his latest favorite science fiction book, while Peter rested his head against the other man’s chest.


“Sorry, Mike. You say something?” Micky asked, looking up at him through the round frames of his glasses.


“Yeah, babe. Just goin’ to meet with that club owner and seein’ bout gettin’ us another gig.”


“Oh, okay. Good luck,” Micky half-mumbled, turning his focus back to the book, idly curling a finger through Peter’s hair.


“Thanks, man. See you guys later,” his voice disappeared behind the closing front door.


Licking the tip of a finger, Micky turned the page in his book, eagerly devouring the tale of a spaceman fighting an alien in a distant galaxy. Peter sat up then, pushing the long bangs out of his eyes as he rested an arm on the back of the couch, watching Micky intently.


The curly-haired man was so immersed in his reading that he didn’t even notice. Peter’s lips twisted into a dirty smile as he decided to take full advantage of that fact.


It was only a faint sound—a low “oohh, yeah“—but it was enough to perk up Micky’s ears. Bespectacled eyes glanced up from the half-finished book, and there he saw Peter, legs splayed open, the front of his pants undone, one hand wrapped around his cock, jerking slowly.


Christ, Peter!” Micky exclaimed, nearly dropping the book from his hands. “What the hell are you doing?!” his voice raised an octave in incredulity, ending in a laugh as he ran a hand down over his face.

“Sorry, Mick,” Peter grinned. “Been wanting to do this for hours. Couldn’t wait for Michael to leave.”


Micky opened his mouth to respond, but found that no sound came out. He looked at the book again, then at Peter, then the book, then back at Peter.


“Fuck it.”


Peter barely had time to blink before he saw the book go flying over the back of the couch and ended up with a now very horny Micky pouncing on top of him.


Mmmpffhh!” was Peter’s response as Micky kissed him hard, twining their tongues together in a whirlwind of passion.


Micky stretched his body out over Peter’s, groaning into the blond’s mouth as he felt his clothed erection grind into Peter’s naked one. He pawed insistently at the front of his shirt, finally wrestling the hemline free and pulling it over Peter’s head.


Peter set to work on Micky’s own shirt, unfastening the buttons and throwing it to the ground. There was nothing but bare skin between them now, and both men hissed as their heated torsos made contact. Micky fumbled with the buckle on his belt, sighing as he yanked the fabric of his pants down and felt the cool air ghost over his aching hard-on.


He reached for his glasses, still perched on his nose, but Peter stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

“No…leave them on…” he whispered, his voice low and raspy.


Micky did as he was told, leaning down to press a series of heated kisses to Peter’s chest, swiping his tongue over his dusty pink nipples, one at a time. Peter groaned, thrusting one hand in the thicket of Micky’s curls and gripping tightly as Micky’s lips went lower and lower.


“Oh, god!” Peter’s eyelids fluttered as Micky settled over his crotch, gently breathing puffs of hot breath onto his cock.


“Micky…please…” his voice cracked with arousal as he looked down at the drummer pleadingly.


Micky simply smiled, that teasing half-smile at the corner of his mouth that always drove Peter crazy, and swallowed Peter’s cock, effortlessly sliding every inch down his throat.


Peter gasped, digging his fingers so hard into the upholstery as to leave marks. He and Micky had spent one night not too long ago practicing improving their blowjob techniques, and he could tell that Micky had clearly taken his lessons to heart.


Faster, then slower Micky went, laving his tongue over the slit, then up the underside. He loved the taste and feel of Peter in full arousal—thick, hard, salty, with the faintest hint of sweat and Peter’s own natural musk. Mick was intoxicated by the combination, finding himself almost high from it.


Peter began to buck his hips in earnest, fucking Micky’s face, feeling his orgasm building all the way in the tips of his toes. Higher and higher it went, rushing up his legs, his balls tightening and raising, until finally he let go, shouting Micky’s name as he spent himself in the younger man’s hot, waiting mouth.


He collapsed against the couch then, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, and grabbed Micky by his shoulders, pulling up for another series of steamy kisses. Peter could taste himself in Micky’s mouth and shivered, his cock slowly rising to life once more.


“Mmh…looks like someone’s ready for round two!” Micky giggled against Peter’s lips.


“You haven’t even had round one yet, though,” Peter mumbled through a kiss, then grinned as he felt Micky’s hands in the crook of his knees.


“Don’t worry, babe…I’ll take care of it,” Micky winked, pulling Peter’s legs further apart and pushing them up to his chest.


“God….” Micky sat back for a moment to admire the sight of the blond completely spread open—the golden hairs on the backs of his thighs, the flat plain of his belly, and the pink, puckered opening that beckoned Micky so invitingly.


Somehow, Peter’s smile was as sweet as always, the dimples poking out at the edges of his mouth. Micky shook his head in disbelief.


“How do you do it, Pete?”


“Do what?”


“How do you look so innocent when I’m about to fuck you? Makes me feel like a pervert.” Micky reached for the tube of lube stashed in a nearby drawer.


“Well, you are a pervert, Micky. Otherwise I don’t think I’d be nearly so interested in you fucking me, you see,” Peter replied earnestly.


Micky couldn’t help but chuckle, and kept his eyes trained on Peter as he slid one, then two fingers into the bassist’s ass, stretching him open. He curled one forward just enough to reach that magic spot inside, and Peter’s head lolled back onto the couch as a rush of pleasure flooded his senses.


Fuck, Micky…please…do it now…” he begged, licking his lips as Micky slicked up his cock with more of the lube.


The lust-filled groans of both men echoed off the walls of the Pad as Micky thrust into Peter—slowly, at first, just enjoying the tightness and heat and utterly sexy keening noises Peter was making.


But neither of them could contain their passions for very long, and soon Micky was pounding into Peter, rocking him roughly back and forth across the couch. He bent himself over Peter, kissing and nibbling the blond’s neck, up the lightly stubbled landscape of his jawline.


“Ahh, yeah…ooh, baby, I’m gettin’ close…gonna come inside you, Peter…gonna come so hard…” Micky panted.


He felt the heat on his skin from a thin layer of sweat, the hard plastic of his glasses sliding down the bridge of nose until he brought a hand up to push them back into place.


Unggh, Micky, yes! Oh, you feel so good…” Peter wrapped his fingers around his own cock, eyes squeezing shut in concentration as he tugged roughly, desperate to come for the second time that night.


He whined when he felt the hand pushed away a moment later, but was pleasantly surprised to look down and see Micky’s own hand grasp his cock. The languid pace Micky set there was in sharp contrast to the frantic rhythm of his thrusts—just inconsistent enough to drive Peter wild and keep him guessing.


“Damn it, Micky!” Peter finally cried out, those brown eyes now much darker and flashing with arousal.


The curly-haired man took pity on his lover, increasing the speed of his hand on Peter’s cock to match his thrusts, and now both men’s passions were at a crescendo. With an almost imperceptible shift of the hips, Micky angled his thrusts to brush against Peter’s prostate with every movement.


“Ohgod, oh god oh god, oh GOD! Ungghh, Micky!!” Peter groaned as he came, coating Micky’s hand and his own stomach with cum.


Micky gasped, loving the sight of Peter’s face screwed up in unbridled ecstasy and the feel of his muscles clenching around his cock.


“Fuuuckk, yeah, yeah, yeah! Oh, GOD!” Micky howled, his orgasm crashing into him in wave after wave. He thrust into Peter once, twice, three times more, spending himself into that gloriously tight channel.


He collapsed onto Peter’s chest, breathless, not caring about the stickiness and sweat between them. His ear pressed against Peter’s sternum, and he listened to the bassist’s heart, pounding so fast still from their exertions.

Micky lifted his head, leaning up to kiss Peter once more, much more softly than earlier. Sighing against the bassist’s lips, Micky was the first to speak.


Definitely do that again the next time I’m reading.”


“You’re never gonna finish that book, you know.”


“Nuh uh! I’m up to page 35.”


“What page were you on last week?”




“I rest my case.”


“Shut up.” Micky giggled, burying his head in the crook of Peter’s neck.


Peter smiled, lightly running a hand up and down Micky’s sweat-slicked back.


“Love you, Micky,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of the drummer’s head.


“Mmpfhletoo,” came Micky’s muffled response from below.