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"Sometime in the Morning"
Title: Sometime In the Morning
Author: Nowhere Girl
Pairing: Micky/Davy slash
Warnings: Just extreme fluff!
Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own any of The Monkees.
Summary: Micky is having trouble writing a song and finds inspiration from the least likely person.
Author’s Note: My first Monkees fanfiction, so this probably sucks!
Micky paced the room with his hands nervously running through his hair. What am I gonna do? He thought helplessly.
He sighed inwardly as he continued pacing and said out loud, “Alright, Dolenz, calm down. You’re not going to feel any better by getting yourself all worked up!” He paused for a moment, frowning at the ground. “Great, now I’m talking to myself.” He mumbled, annoyed with himself.
Micky fell back on his bed, his head thumping onto his pillow. He didn’t ask for this to happen. He couldn’t even understand why it happened, but he certainly knew when it happened. He closed his eyes and thought back to that fateful day.
It had been weeks since they played a gig and Mike wouldn’t stop complaining about the bare cupboard and how the rent was due at the end of the month. Micky, who could usually ignore Mike’s pessimistic personality, was about to throw his drumsticks at the Texan until Peter practically ran through the front door with exciting news: They got a gig. The other three’s eyes widened and huge grins spread across their faces. “A gig? Where?!” Mike asked.
“The Van Go-Go!” Peter told them happily. “We play every day next week, except Sunday!”
“Aw, man, this is great!” Davy cried, jumping up and down.
“Thanks, Peter! We owe you one!” Mike told the blonde gratefully.
“More like a thousand!” Micky chimed in, patting Peter’s back.
Peter blushed. “Aw, gee, guys…it was nothing.”
The other three laughed and Mike immediately launched into the usual riot act. “We need to practice harder, longer, and give it our all! With any luck we’ll have just enough to pay the rent and stock up on food for another couple weeks!”
Micky sighed in mock-admiration. “I love your optimism, Mike!”
Davy giggled and Mike shot a glare at both of them.
“There’s just one problem.” Peter cleared his throat, drawing the attention back to him.
Mike groaned. “A problem? Great.” He sighed. “What is it?”
“Well, they want a new song.”
Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, is that all? That’s no sweat! I can get to work tonight, and—“
“Well, that’s the thing, Michael.” Peter said uncertainly. “They don’t want the new song written by you…”
There was a short silence, in which Micky watched Mike’s expression carefully. Mike cleared his throat, slightly awkwardly. “Oh? Well, why’s that?”
Peter shrugged his shoulders. “They just said they’ve noticed most of the songs we play are written by you and me. They like them just fine, of course!” Peter assured him hastily, seeing the dejected look on his face.
“Then who does he want the song from?” Davy wondered, eyebrows knitting together.
Micky’s eyes widened. “Huh? Me?”
Peter nodded. “Why me?!” The drummer asked.
“Sam just said he wanted to hear something different. He wanted to hear what you can write.”
Micky sputtered, looking at Mike and Davy in exasperation. “But I DON’T write! I’ve never written a song before in my life!”
Mike sighed and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Well, start now! I think me and Peter should go and at least get some bread and cheese for dinner for the next few days.” He looked at Peter, to which the bassist nodded.
“See you later.” Davy said to them as they grabbed the keys to the Monkee Mobile. Peter waved with a smile and the door closed, leaving Micky and Davy alone. The British boy looked at the drummer, who still looked as if he had gotten the news of needing surgery.
Davy chuckled. “Oh, come on, Micky, it won’t be that bad!”
Micky swallowed and subconsciously nodded his head. “Y-Yeah, you’re right.”
“So you’re okay, then?”
“Great! Well, I think I’m going for a walk on the beach!”
Micky gave him a small smile and Davy clapped his shoulder, before heading out the back door. Micky watched Davy walk away, until he could no longer see the figure at all. He threw his arms in the arm and flung himself on the couch, “My life…is over.” He mumbled into a pillow.
Thirty minutes later Davy returned from his swim at the beach. Shaking his wet hair, he stepped into the Pad. “Hey, Micky?” He called out, looking around the living room. “Micky, where are you?”
“Down here,” A muffled voice called from beyond the couch. Davy stepped around the sofa and gaped when he saw his friend laying face down on the carpet. Song writing sheets, blank ones and crumpled ones, were scattered all around with pencil shavings littering the floor.
“Micky, what are you doing down there?” Davy asked curiously, crouching down next to him.
“Failing,” Came the muffled response.
Davy sighed and rolled his eyes. With an effort, he managed to get the boy in a sitting position. “Micky, you are not failing.”
“Yes, I am, Davy!” Micky cried, his almond eyes wide with fear. “Three days! I have THREE DAYS to write a song! And I’ve never written a song before! And Mike and Peter, songwriting GENIUSES, just left me! I don’t know how to do this! And if I fail, then I fail you guys, too!”
Davy stared at him, concern growing in his face. He opened his mouth, but Micky continued with his wallowing speech.
“We could get kicked out or starve! That’s a lot of pressure! And…and…” He frowned, realizing his rant was coming to an end.
“I’m just the drummer, Davy.” Micky finished in a desperate whisper to his friend. “I can’t do anything.”
Davy’s eyes widened at that last statement. There was no possible way that could be true. He felt a stab at his heart when he noticed water welling in Micky’s nervous eyes. Davy shook his head. “Look,” He sighed. “I know it must be frustrating, but you can’t give up! I know you, Micky, and you’ll work this out somehow. And…And I’ll help you!”
Micky sniffed. “How?”
Davy looked at the ground, thinking. “Well…we’ll just take this slowly, I suppose. So…think of…well, what’s your favorite time of day?”
Micky stared at him, bewildered. “What?”
“It’s all I’ve got at the moment.”
Micky sighed, glancing outside at the new day. “The morning, I guess.”
“Okay, what’s your favorite thing about the morning?”
Going downstairs and seeing you, Micky thought desperately. Wait…what? Where did that come from?!
The drummed blushed at his own thoughts and looked away. “I dunno, breakfast?” He scratched his head.
Davy laughed, making Micky’s heart flutter. What the hell is going on?!
“Micky, you are impossible.” There was a moment of silence that passed between them. “Look, Micky…you’re a smart guy. You really are. You can do this. And I know you think people only see you as the clown, but you’re a lot more than that. You know you are…and I know you are.” Davy whispered.
Micky looked up and their eyes met. For minutes, neither of them said anything. They only stared at each other. Micky got lost in Davy’s child-like eyes. The gears in his head turned when he noticed how close the Davy was. He’s as close as the summer air, he thought with a nervous smile.
“Just…just take what’s in your heart and put in on paper.” Davy smiled at him, causing Micky’s heart to beat a mile a minute. He nodded.
“Anytime, babe.” With that, the Brit stood up and headed for his room.
Micky sat in the same position on the floor for a long time, the smile never leaving his face. He absentmindedly drummed an unfamiliar melody on his hip. Soon, he was humming the tune; light and playful. Close as the summer air…He repeated in his head, and then, in a low voice, sang it out loud in the same pitch as in his head. “Close as the summer air.”
Yes, that’s when it happened. Micky didn’t want to fall in love with his best friend, his male best friend, but he did. And now whenever he saw Davy, half of him was filled with butterflies, and the other half was filled with misery. Micky couldn’t help blush whenever Davy complimented him, or feel a sense of pride whenever he made Davy laugh. That laugh…Micky sighed dreamily, thinking of the Brit’s joyous giggles. And yesterday when Davy finally hit the low note he was struggling with for months, Micky’s heart practically leapt out of his chest as Davy threw his arms around his neck and hugged him.
He groaned as he felt the familiar fluttering in his tummy and mentally slapped himself. “Stop thinking about him like that!”
“Stop thinkin’ about who like what?”
Micky wheeled around and saw Mike standing at the door, his arms crossed, leaning casually against the door frame.
“M-Mike! Uh, what’s up?”
“Oh, in about ten seconds I’m going to repeat what I just said, that’s all.” Mike ticked the counts of his fingers. “Five, four, three, two…stop thinking about who like what?”
Micky gulped. “Just uh…some girl.”
“That you refer to as ‘him’?”
“. . .”
Mike chuckled. “It’s okay, man, I already know.”
Micky’s eyebrows furrowed. “Know? Uh, know what?”
“That you dig Davy.” He said simply and walked over to his own bed, sitting down.
Micky’s heart froze and he incompetently started to stutter. “What?! I dig Davy?! Ha!” He lied terribly. “I don’t like Davy!”
Mike merely stared at him. “Come on, babe. I see the way you look at him. Just talk to him.”
Micky heaved a long, miserable sigh. “But…But I don’t even know if Davy, you know…is okay with that kind of scene…”
The Texan shrugged his shoulders. “Why wouldn’t he be? Remember when that one guy from the beach had a crush on him?” Micky nodded, and Mike continued. “Davy told the guy he was flattered, but that he didn’t like him and he was sorry.”
Micky considered the matter. “Yeah, I guess he was pretty cool about it…but it’s different with me! We’re best friends!”
“So you should feel more comfortable talking to him.”
Micky looked down, blushing red to the root of his hair. “But Mike…what if he doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore?”
Mike laughed. “I DOUBT that’ll happen, Mick. Just trust me: you’ll feel a whole lot better once you tell him.” He gave him one final encouraging smile and left the room.
The next morning, Micky hesitantly knocked on Davy and Peter’s door.
“Come in!” Peter’s cheerful voice came. The drummer took a large gulp and opened the door. Peter was sitting on his bed, tuning his guitar while Davy was lying on his bed fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Glancing up, he smiled brightly when he saw it was Micky at the door. “Micky!”
“Hey guys.” He smiled shyly. “Uh, Pete? Do you mind if I talk to Davy…alone?”
Peter looked at him questioningly for a moment, but seemed to understand from Micky’s nervous face that he shouldn’t ask any questions. “Sure, Mick.”
When the door was closed, Micky took a deep breath and slowly turned around. Davy smiled. “So what do you want to talk to me about?”
“Well, uh…” He stuttered, staring down at the ground. “I have to tell—to tell you something.”
Davy frowned. “Micky, are you okay?” He stood up and walked over to his friend. When Micky didn’t respond and only continued staring at the ground, he grew worried. “What’s wrong?”
“When I tell you this…you’ll hate me.”
Davy’s eyes widened. “Hate you?!” He gasped. “Micky, I could never hate you! Why would you say that?”
And to his horror, he saw a tear slide down Micky’s face. “Micky, you’re scaring me…what’s going on?” He gripped Micky’s hand.
Micky gulped. “I’ve been…thinking about you…a lot, recently.”
Davy’s eyebrows shot up. “You have?”
“Well, what kind of thoughts?”
Micky blushed. “Well, I’ve just been noticing some things about you, I guess…things that have always been there, but…I haven’t notice before?”
Davy looked at him quizzically. “Like…?”
“Well, like the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous or scared…or how your eyes kind of…shine when you’re happy…”
Davy felt himself blushing. “Okay…well, why have you been thinking…those kinds of things?”
Micky took a deep breath and mumbled, “I love you.”
For a few moments, there was silence. Micky moaned and buried his head and his hands. “I’m sorry, Davy!” He sulked over to Davy’s bed and sat down, keeping his eyes on the ground. “I didn’t mean to! I’m sick!”
Davy blinked and glanced at the sobbing Micky. When Micky looked up with his tear strained eyes, he could have died of shock; Davy was smiling. No, that’s an understatement. He was positively beaming.
“W-Why are you smiling?!” Micky yelled. “Having a good l-laugh at the s-s-sick boy?!”
Davy shook his head and sat beside Micky, the million dollar smile never fading. “Micky, if you’re sick, then I must be too.”
“I love you too.” Without waiting for a response, he leaned in and pressed the softest of kisses to Micky’s lips.
Micky’s eyes widened. When Davy pulled away, he sighed. “Wipe those tears away, darling. I can’t see your beautiful eyes.” He brushed a tear off of Micky’s face.
“But I…I don’t understand!” Micky stuttered. “You love me?”
Davy nodded with a chuckle. “Of course. How could you not have noticed?”
“I don’t know…since when?”
“When my grandfather almost took me back to England…I was at the airport, just thinking about how I’d miss you the most. And I kind of put two and two together.” He smiled. “And you? When did you start developing feelings for me?”
Micky wiped his eyes and laughed. “When you were trying to help me with that song a few weeks ago.”
Davy grinned. “That was a groovy song, by the way!”
Micky cleared his throat. “Well uh, I wrote it about you.”
The shorter boy’s cheeks turned bright red. “Really?”
Micky nodded sheepishly, smiling.
“Aw, well, I don’t know what to say, Micky…thank you. It was amazing.”
The two sat in a partially comfortable and partially awkward silence.
“So…what now?” Micky wondered.
Davy thought for a minute. “We could kiss again?”
Their lips met again, only this time Micky reciprocated and this kiss was filled with passion. Davy snaked his arms around Micky’s waist and Micky ran his hands through Davy’s soft hair. Bolts of electricity shot through Micky’s body when he heard Davy moan at the back of his throat. The drummer smirked and pulled away, panting slightly. “Davy…?”
He only shook his head and reclined so Micky was now on top of him. “I love you, Micky.” He said, kissing every inch of Micky’s face.
Micky smiled. “I love you too.”
Sometime in the morning
You’ll just reach out and he will be there
Close as the summer air