tumblr hit tracking tool

Copyright (c) Naked Persimmon 2010-11. All Rights Reserved.

Contact Us - Submit Your Stuff

Home Fanfiction Fan Art Gallery Inspiration Station Rugulator Room Tumblr Links Contact Us

Feedback for the author...

Fic Title *
Feedback *
Home Slash Fiction Het/Gen Fiction Donatella's Head

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.


"Striking the Match"



Title: Striking the Match
Author: Lucy
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Mike/Peter/Micky. It's addictive, y'all.
Genre: Slash.
Warnings: Smut, language, threesome.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Monkees and make no aspersions toward their sexualities.
Summary: It feels like something's building, something inside of you that you can't stop. And you don't really want to stop it, either.
Author's Note: Seriously, guys, this is my new favorite thing to write. I hope you people don't mind it. Also, I've spent a lot of time wondering what these guys would smell like, and I do believe it shows. But come on, Micky would totally smell like oranges.

Peter sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He had been laying here on his bed ever since Davy left on his date, and the ceiling had not gotten any more interesting.

Every time Davy went out, it was the same thing. Mike would play his guitar, and Micky would go out on the beach, or watch TV. Sometimes Mike would stop playing and sit with him to watch. And Peter would be bored and come lie in here until Davy got back.

He frowned at the ceiling. 'It's not like Davy's the only one I ever talk to. Why don't I ever hang out with just Mike and Micky? Just because Davy's not here's no reason I can't have fun with the rest of the group...'

"Except it's not that and you know it," he said aloud. He turned, pressing his face into his pillow.

He wasn't exactly sure what it was he felt every time Davy left. It was like a sort of burning. And his face would go all hot when one of the others looked at him, and he would mumble something about being tired before he rushed off into his and Davy's room, feeling entirely too warm and very, very confused.

All he knew was that he couldn't be alone with Mike and Micky, or he would do something he'd regret. He didn't know what, but he could feel it building, building...

He snorted suddenly.

'You're messed up, Tork. There's nothing building and Mike and Micky are just two groovy guys you share a pad with. That's it.' He mind-sighed. 'Even if it wasn't, there's no chance. They'd hate you...'

He nodded once, sharply, and scooted off the bed.

'I'll go out there and things will be normal and maybe that'll prove to me that there's nothing going on.'

He took two steps to the door and swung it open, taking a step out before he simply stopped. And stared.

Mike and Micky were both on the couch, alright, but the TV was off. And Micky was in Mike's lap. And he didn't think Mike was wearing a shirt. And they were... Oh, no, this was not good, this was not good at all because now his pants were too tight and his face was all hot again, and he couldn't breathe. Now Micky was looking up, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, and all Peter could think was that that mouth had just been firmly attached to Mike's, hadn't it, their mouths, they had been kissing.

"O-oh..." he squeaked. Now Mike was looking, too, his face red. Mike was blushing, this couldn't be real if Mike was blushing.


Mike had said his name, but it didn't quite compute.

"Peter, please, say something." That was Micky, pretty Micky, Micky who was still on Mike's lap.

Peter made a small noise in his throat, almost a whimper, before whirling and dashing back into his room. He slammed the door behind him and collapsed onto his bed, very warm, very confused, and very, very hard.

Mike and Micky looked at each other in alarm as Peter's door slammed. They scrambled to untangle themselves, and Micky vaulted over the back of the couch. Mike took the more traditional route, forgetting his shirt and simply skittering around the couch. They both nearly smashed into the door to Peter and Davy's room.

Micky knocked tentatively.

"Peter? ... Peter? We, um, I think we should probably talk. About, um, what you saw out there?"

Micky sighed at the silence from Peter's side of the door, shrugging helplessly at Mike and stepping aside so that the taller man could try.

"Hey, Pete? Do you think we could come in?" He decided on the simple approach.

"... It's open..." Came the shaky reply from behind the door.

Mike raised his eyebrows at Micky before trying the knob. Just as Peter had said, it turned easily.

They both steeled themselves for any reaction from tears to violence and then crossed the thresh-hold.

Peter was slumped on his bed, the covers pulled up to his chin. He watched them warily as Mike sat carefully on one side of the bed and Micky took a leap to bounce onto the other.

They were all surprised when Peter spoke first.

"How... how long...?" Peter couldn't quite finish the question, but Mike understood.

"About three months," he replied quietly.

"W-why?" Peter stuttered. He wasn't angry, simply confused. And still hard, which was certainly not being helped by his close proximity to the two men.

"Honestly?" Micky asked, uncharacteristically serious. "We were bored."

Peter's heart jumped into his chest.


"Yeah," Mike sighed. "We were just sitting out there after Davy left and we're always bored after Davy leaves, because you come hole up in here. Not like we can practice with just two of us. And there was just this... tension. Like something was... I dunno..."


Mike and Micky both stared at Peter, who was now blushing fit to burst, but couldn't keep his mouth from talking.

"Like something's building and you feel like if you don't do something about it, you're going to explode. Like you're a match about to be lit."

"... Yeah, exactly." Micky licked his dry lips. "How did you know that?"

"Do you feel it, too?" Mike asked, looking intently at Peter's face. "Whenever we're all three alone? Like you're a rubber band about to snap?"

Peter hesitated.

"Tell me."

He finally nodded, a barely there dip of the head, but it was enough.

Mike curled a hand loosely around the back of Peter's neck and tugged him forward gently. Peter didn't resist.

Their lips touched, and suddenly, Peter could think clearly. The scent of Mike surrounded him, a mixture of aftershave and something Peter couldn't quite place.

'This is right,' he thought, leaning into Mike. 'This is what I'm supposed to be doing.'

Mike's tongue touched to his lower lip just slightly, and then he pulled back.

Peter simply stared at him until he found his head being turned to the side and a different pair of lips being pressed to his. Micky.

Micky's kiss was different but equally mind-blowing. His lips were softer than Mike's, and Peter suddenly realized what that fragrance he couldn't place on Mike was. It was Micky. And now that it was separated from the Mike-scent, it was easier to place. Oranges, Peter decided absently. Micky smelled like oranges.

Micky pressed harder against him, and Peter shook himself out of his thoughts. It was getting hard to think anyway, with Micky's lithe body pressed so close to his. He could feel Mike's penetrating gaze on them and it made him shiver.

Peter felt Mike lay a hand on his side, rubbing softly up and down. Peter opened his mouth underneath Micky to allow his tongue in. They kissed slowly, deeply, before Micky leaned away.

Peter blinked a few times, noticing that Micky had maneuvered the cover down and off of him and was now lying on him. He looked up at Mike.

"Wow," he said quietly.

"Yeah." A small smile. "He does that."

And then Mike swooped in to kiss Micky, much harder than either of them had kissed him. A hand weaved roughly into Micky's hair, and Peter wondered vaguely whether it hurt. Judging by the sounds Micky was making, pain was definitely not a problem.

And then the kiss was over as quickly as it had begun.

"...Wow," was all Peter could say.

Mike leaned down and placed another gentle kiss on Peter's lips. He grasped the t-shirt he was wearing and tugged it up. Peter agreeably assisted, raising his arms and shaking his hair back into place once his shirt was off. He flushed as both Mike and Micky looked at him as predators would look at prey.

"... What?" he asked, head tilted curiously.

He was unprepared for the attack. Mike and Micky both lunged for him, Mike pulling his shoulders forward to kiss him and Micky pressing small kisses just below his navel. Micky's fingers immediately went to the button of Peter's pants, undoing it and sliding the zipper down before shoving the pants and underwear as far down as he could get them. He glanced up to see that Peter was distracted by Mike's kiss, releasing whimpers and whines. Boy, he sure knew how that felt. Mike kissed like he did everything else, with determination and skill. The point was that Peter was distracted, and Micky smiled greedily down at the cock bobbing in front of his face.

'Let's see if we can't get his attention...'

He swallowed it in one motion.

"Fuck!" Peter exclaimed into Mike's mouth, and the other man leaned away, surprise evident on his face until he looked down and saw Micky, eyes blinking innocently even while his mouth was wrapped around a dick. He began to slowly bring it back up.

Mike rolled his eyes.

"Jesus, Mick, you could give him some warnin' before you go and-"

"What's the fun in that?" Micky argued after he finally reached the top. He sucked the head back into his mouth when Mike gave him a look.

"Sorry about that," he said apologetically, turning back to Peter. "He gets-"

Peter yanked his head down, demanding entrance to his mouth. Mike, slightly amused and most definitely aroused by Peter's aggressive behavior, gave it to him.

Peter groaned. Micky was entirely too good at what he was doing. Peter slid a hand down Mike's body until he came to the bulge in his pants. He cupped it and squeezed slightly, delighting in the throaty groan Mike muffled into his mouth. He quickly undid Mike's pants, reaching in to pull out his erection. He slid his hand up and down, not quite sure of what he was doing, but knowing how he did it to himself and wanting to make Mike feel good.

Mike pulled away from his mouth, but Peter continued to stroke him.

"Micky," Mike said, a light tremor in his voice as Peter leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his stomach.

"Mmmhmm," Micky hummed around Peter, who let out a moan against Mike's skin. Micky looked up at Mike inquiringly, swiping a hand over his mouth.

Mike gave him a very meaningful look before nodding at Peter. Micky grinned, then nodded in return.

Mike pressed Peter back down into his pillow, kissing him furiously as Micky gave Peter one last suck, making sure he was thoroughly coated with saliva before climbing up to straddle his waist. He took a deep breath, then began to sink down onto Peter's erection.

Peter gasped and Mike took the opportunity to fill his mouth with his tongue.

Micky released a breath he hadn't known he was holding when he had finally taken in all of Peter's cock. Fuck, but he was big, even bigger than Mike, who was no slouch in that department.

Mike pulled away so Peter could see Micky perched on top of him. Micky gave a jaunty wave.

"Fuck," Peter whispered, settling his hands on Micky's hips. "... Doesn't that hurt?"

Mike and Micky both laughed quietly.

"It does at first," Micky replied with a wink. "But then I just," He used his leg muscles to propel himself up, then slam down. Peter's eyes practically rolled up in his head and Micky let out a deep moan as Peter nudged his prostate.

Mike reached out a hand and trailed a finger down Micky's stomach, smirking when Micky moaned again, the sound dirty and gratifying.

Micky maneuvered up, then down again. He leaned forward until he managed to grasp Mike's cock, stroking it quickly as he set a rhythm, up, down he went on Peter, down, up he went on Mike. It was almost like a beat, and he began absently singing I'm a Believer in his head.

Mike thrust into his hand desperately. He tangled his hand in Micky's curls once again and pulled him into another kiss, letting their tongues slide against one another.

Peter couldn't take his eyes away from the sight before him, Mike and Micky, kissing, hints of tongue peeking through every so often, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

He let out a deep groan. "Mick... gonna... fuck..."

"Do it," Micky said when Mike broke away to suck at his pulse point. "Come on, Peter, come in me."

Peter arched suddenly, and Micky had no doubt he would have gone pitching off the bed had Mike not still had a tight grip on his hair.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!" Peter almost screamed his release.

Micky was now breathing heavily, hand going steadily on Mike's cock.

"Mike, please, Mike, I need to," Micky begged in fragments.

Mike leaned closer.

"You make me come, Mick. Then you can."

Micky thought frantically. What could he do...? He needed to come, needed to so bad...

His mind finally landed on an idea he thought might work.

He snapped forward, sinking his teeth harshly into the junction of Mike's neck and shoulder. He kept his hand going rapidly as Mike howled, throwing his head back as he came, hips jerking spasmodically into Micky's hand.

Micky grinned breathlessly. Yes, yes, now he could...

He brought a hand to his own erection to finish himself off, but his hand was knocked away. He watched in surprise as Peter replaced his hand with his own. He looked down at Peter, face so close to his cock, and inhaled sharply as the other man smiled wickedly before licking a stripe up the underside of it.

Oh, shit...

Micky's breaths quickened as his orgasm rushed upon him. He groaned as he finally came, falling bonelessly forward with the force of it and faintly hoping he didn't crush Peter.

He felt a hand rubbing gently on his back, and snaked his hand out to grasp Mike's, giving it a slight squeeze. His other hand moved to Peter's cheek, stroking it softly.

He smiled suddenly and Peter gave him a questioning look.

"I didn't know you even knew the word 'fuck'."

Peter huffed a laugh.

"I'm shy, not a monk."

He flushed as Micky leered at him

"No, you're definitely not a monk."

"Would you two quit yammerin'," a grouchy voice emanated from the pile of Mike next to them. "Some of us are tired."

"Some of us actually did work, Mike, so - OW! FUCK!" Micky looked down at Mike indignantly. "I can't believe you just bit my ass!"

A yawn, and a lazy wave of the hand. "You bit me first."

Micky snickered. "Yeah, but you liked it."

"Last time I checked, so did you."

"That's different."


Their banter was interrupted by a fierce storm of giggles from Peter. They both looked at him in question.

"Is this all you do after you have sex?" he asked with an amused look on his face. "You argue like five year olds?"

Mike and Micky looked at each other, then shrugged.

"Pretty much."


Peter laughed again, shaking his head.

"Oh, this is going to be interesting..."



Lighting the Fuse Heat