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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.

"The Prison: Part 4 - Waking Mystery"

Title: The Prison –Chapter 4 – Waking Mystery
Author: Woolhat’s Travelling Mood
Genre/Pairing: Slash Mike/Micky, Het Peter/OC, Slash Peter/Mike  (but ever so slightly)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst and Monkee Misery and a little foul language and SEX
Disclaimer: I do not own the Monkees, this did not happen and is just a figment of my imagination
Summary: A dreadful accident could either bring them closer or tear them apart.
Author's Note: I am British, so please excuse any Britishisms that creep in (unless they’re from Davy). Also, this intends to be a long one, in a few chapters, so bear with me!

“And it´s all so different when you get to sources, And love will make you strong as a team of wild horses…”

Peter sighed gently as he closed his book and looked out of the window over the ocean. The Lovin’ Spoonful record he hoped would improve his mood hadn’t worked so well, and he was struggling to find things to divert his mind.

The bassist contemplated waking Mike up, maybe asking him if he wanted to go for a walk, and then thought against it. That would be selfish, waking him up from good sleep just for some company. Besides, how much fun could it be for Mike, having someone push him around. Maybe sleep was best.

Peter wished he could sleep, but he knew if he did, the dream would return. Damn his good imagination. He had never experienced anything like this before, to see these feelings as a burden and a misery, something so alien to his usual optimistic outlook.

The dreams had started a couple of weeks back, and he now wondered how it had ever taken that long. If only he had realised what he wanted months ago, he wouldn’t have this turmoil now. He looked longingly at the downstairs bedroom once more and came to a snap decision. He would go out. He would have some good love and maybe that would be just what he needed to drive the dream away for good. He quickly scribbled a note for the others. Davy was at work and Micky was studying down at the library. Peter paused momentarily, enjoying the pride that swelled in him when he thought of how hard Micky was working to gain a qualification as well as play in the band and look after Mike.

As Peter slipped his jacket on, his mind ran over all the names of girls who would be willing to see him this time of day. He brushed past her name several times, but somehow she had got stuck and he couldn’t shake her. It would have to be Rah-Rah.

On the walk over to Rah-Rah’s apartment, Peter felt the positive buzz of making a decision. He had been right to keep his feelings to himself, no matter how difficult and out of character that was. He had to respect the feelings of his friends.

Rah-Rah was a friend of Micky’s sister Coco and occasionally came round the pad to hang out, and was always top of the list for their parties. She was an artist, but worked in an old people’s home as a day job. Every time Peter saw her, he was intoxicated. She had presence and conviction. In the first few weeks after they had met they had actually dated properly, a real boyfriend and girlfriend, but it hadn’t worked out. She was too cynical for his easygoing nature, and he was too naïve for her to completely trust him. They had parted amicably, and since then he knew there was always a welcome bed for him whenever he wanted it. And he wanted it now. There was a hole burning right through him and he was hoping Rah-Rah would help fill it.

The apartment was near the centre of town and Peter looked thoughtfully at the buzzer by the front door. “Deborah James” was labelled next to the fourth button down. Rah-Rah as Micky had drunkenly nicknamed her one night, and Rah-Rah she had stayed. Peter hesitated ever so slightly before pressing the button.

Rah-Rah’s apartment was just as he remembered it, except now it was even more cluttered with canvasses, a pottery wheel and several broken bits of furniture. Rah-Rah hadn’t been overly surprised to see him on this sultry Sunday afternoon and had welcomed him in with a deep kiss.

“I get these old pieces from the alleyway out back…” Rah-Rah gestured absently to the broken chairs and tables littered around the room, some no more than two sticks taped together, “I’m thinking of making a huge physical collage with them, illustrating the waste of our time and how these broken chairs are like the broken boys of Vietnam.” She turned back to him and was about to say more when he claimed her mouth in a greedy kiss.

“I’m sorry…” Peter breathed as he broke the kiss, “but when you start talking politics I can’t control myself.”

Rah-Rah rolled her head back and laughed gently, her face looking years younger. “Oh Peter…somehow, that was quite sweet.”

She latched a finger into his belt loop and led him to her bedroom. This, he could see, she had strived to keep devoid of clutter, with just a couple of wardrobes and a double bed. What looked like an Afghan style blanket covered the bed.

“Now you make yourself comfortable,” She smiled teasingly, “whilst I get the last of this pottery off my hands.”

Peter slipped into the room and removed his shoes. He contemplated removing more of his clothes and decided not to. Half the fun was having someone else remove them for you. He lay back on the bed, his hair fanning out around his head and looked up at the plain white ceiling. To him it looked like a canvas waiting to be painted. Maybe that was why Rah-Rah kept it empty, so she could just imagine any image she wanted as she lay in bed.

He heard her cough lightly from the doorway, and saw her standing in the light. She had changed into a silk bathrobe and had let her long hair flow down onto her shoulders, framing her face. Her eyes were keen and sparkling, both innocent and controlling all at once, and Peter realised he had been holding his breath. But there was something else too. That beautiful black hair, so thick and rich, revealing Rah-Rah’s ancient Persian lineage; those coffee eyes drinking him in and holding him. Now the reason he had come here was so crystal clear Peter was almost shocked by his own mind’s craftiness. Michael. She reminded him of Michael and that is why he had come here. Couldn’t he get that man out of his head for even a few minutes? Especially when a beautiful girl was offering herself to him in this way.

Rah-Rah took his surprised look as a complement and sauntered in the room, slowly approaching the bed.

“Peter…” She breathed and climbed onto the bed and into his arms.

Peter traced his hands down her back, loving the feel of her skin beneath the silk. She claimed his mouth and plundered it with her tongue.

The blonde could feel his hardness pressing tightly against his pants and wanted nothing more than to race ahead. He knew he should take it slow, they hadn’t seen each other for a while and they had all afternoon, but right now patience was alluding him.

Thankfully for Peter, Rah-Rah seemed to be in the same frame of mind and had already unbuttoned his shirt and was busy on the button of his pants.

“You’re so lazy…” She smiled, almost to herself, “Look how tanned you are, you must spend all your time on that beach of yours.”

“Jealous,” Peter whispered, stroking the pale skin of her cheek with his fingers.

She looked deep into his eyes, staring down at him unmoving, and he saw Michael again. His heart ached for this to be Michael in his arms. And when Rah-Rah leant down to Peter’s ear and growled “Fuck ME,” he could have sworn he heard the trace of a southern accent.

Peter couldn’t restrain himself any longer, and flipped himself over, pushing Rah-Rah over and onto her back where he devoured her face with kisses. He roughly pulled open her bathrobe and gripped her breasts hard, hearing her moan and gasp beneath him. She loved it when he was rough.

Peter slipped out of his pants and threw his shirt across the room before leaning down and kissing Rah-Rah’s neck, licking, sucking and biting his way down to her chest. He wanted her badly, he didn’t think he could hold on much longer.

She reached down and grabbed his ass hard, pulling at him, urging him to continue, and he obliged, plunging into her with a groan. Her dark head rolled back and she moaned loudly as he thrust into her a second time, harder. The conflicting passion within him, the feeling he was in love with his best friend (who, by the way, and hadn’t escaped his notice was in love with his other best friend) combined with the awesome sensation of the sex with the woman beneath him was enough to drive Peter’s mind to momentary madness, and he pounded into Rah-Rah relentlessly until she was howling with pain and pleasure. And still she wanted more. She wrapped her legs around his hips, driving him deeper as she ran her nails down his back. She had never seen him like this, his eyes shut and face contorted with concentration, almost as if he was in pain.

She raised her hips off the bed, willing him to come, wanting the experience never to end and yet, at the same time, wanting it for finish for his sake, so she could have the old Peter back.

He gripped her hips tightly and in the last moments before he came, bent down towards her, snaring her mouth in a kiss that said everything and nothing, before groaning as he came.

Peter felt physically spent, and couldn’t hold himself up any longer, collapsing on Rah-Rah as gently as he could. He rested his head on her chest and felt her long fingers run through his damp hair. He could hear her heart beating like a drum and felt guilty for using her as an emotional release valve. She deserved better. Guilt started to swallow him up, starting in the pit of his stomach and washing up his throat like a tide. He was such a bad person. He had used her. He had fallen in love with his friend when he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t be having dreams like the one he had every night. The one where he’s lying on the bed, in the throes of passion and as he looks down his body, he can see Mike kneeling between his legs, Peter’s cock in his mouth. No. He shouldn’t think of that. It was wrong. And what about Mike? Where had he been when Mike had needed him most? He should have been there on that day, he would have stopped Davy before he stepped off the kerb, he was sure of it.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Rah-Rah murmured quietly. The tone of her voice was not accusatory, more reflective.

“How did you know?”

“Because I won’t be able to sit down for a week, and that’s not really your style babe,”

Peter blew the air out of his cheeks, suddenly his ‘problem’ seemed everything and nothing.

“I…I think I’m in love.”

He felt Rah-Rah shift awkwardly and saw the hint of shock on her face.
“No, not you…” He chuckled softly, and watched the concern wash from her features.

“No offense, Pete, but we tried that remember?”

“Yes, I know. No, it’s not as simple as that.”


“I can’t really tell you. Coco would get it out of you eventually, and it wouldn’t be fair on you…if you knew. Let’s just say that I love someone and they love someone else. I should have realised I loved them sooner, or at least done something about it. Now I feel like they’ve been stolen from me and I feel so guilty for feeling this way.”

“So you’ve got the hots for Mike too?”

The look of shock on Peter’s face was so comical that Rah-Rah couldn’t help but laugh.

“Peter, you’re about as impenetrable as Jello. I could see from the moment I came over that first time that you had some kind of man crush on Mike. You laughed too much at his jokes and always seemed to be seeking his approval…shame, coz he’s such a bastard I don’t know why he has everyone interested in him.”

Peter knew that Rah-Rah and Mike had never really seen eye to eye. Mike thought she was too loud and boisterous for a woman, she thought he was too arrogant and self-important. Peter just thought they were so similar in personalities there was never any likelihood they could be more than civil with each other.

“I didn’t even know myself until a couple of months ago.”

“Sure you did, but before then you didn’t have to worry about Mike going anywhere, or being with anyone else. Now he nearly died and all three of you are tiptoeing round him like lightning’ll strike twice, and you’ve realised just how precious he is to you.”

Peter closed his eyes briefly. Said by someone else, the whole thing seemed so simple.

“So what do you think I should do?” He croaked.

“I think you should tell him. Who knows, he could feel the same way,”

“No.” Peter sat up then, anxious to remove himself from the conversation, “No, I could never do that. He’s happy with Micky…I’d never move in on someone else’s chick, so how is this any different?”

“Peter…this isn’t a game, this is your life we’re talking about. You have two choices, you either put up and shut up, or you do something about it. If you really do love him, then you have to tell him. Who’s to say he’s not with Micky just because Micky got there first?”

Peter looked at his hands. He’d seen the way Micky and Mike looked at each other, and found it hard to believe it was all an elaborate act on Mike’s part. He had no doubt about Micky, the drummer was so head over heels in love with the Texan he barely even noticed anyone else around him. But Mike had always been difficult to understand.

“Do…do you think he would do that?”

“Well, he never showed any interest in Micky before did he? So what’s changed? His accident, that’s what. He now thinks he can’t get anybody so he’s settled for whatever turned up first, in this case, our dear Micky. It could easily have been you Pete…”

Peter was started to get confused and upset. He so wanted to believe Rah-Rah, yet at the same time he felt that she was one of those cartoon devils sitting on his shoulder, telling him things he wanted to hear.

Outside thunder clapped and Peter jumped, startled out of his thoughts.

“I guess I should be getting home,” He shrugged, “I need to think.”

“Just think about what I said babe, ok?” Rah-Rah fixed him with a gentle smile, and waited to see a large dimpled version returned in her direction.

“So much for the lovely sunny day huh?” She laughed, pulling her bathrobe back on.

She got up to look out of the window as Peter walked around the room finding his clothes. “It’s really raining hard now. I knew we were due for a storm, my head’s been pounding these last few days.”

“The human barometer huh?” Peter chuckled, buttoning his shirt. He watched Rah-Rah saunter back to him and paused as she kissed him gently on the lips.

“Don’t get hurt baby, I do worry about you.” She whispered into his ear.

“I’ll be ok, thank you Rah-Rah,” She wrinkled her nose as he used her nickname.

“Here,” She held out her hand, “Here’s some change for the bus, you’ll get drenched if you walk home in this.”

Peter looked down thoughtfully at the money she had put in his hand. “Thanks.” And this time, he smiled genuinely, dimples and all.


Peter got home half an hour later to a pad that was dark and quiet. ‘Mike can’t still be asleep, not during all this thunder,” The bassist thought to himself as he switched the lights on. He instantly saw that the downstairs bedroom door was open, but as he looked in, there was no sign of the guitarist.

Peter was about to try the bathroom, when he caught something out of the corner of his eye on the veranda. It was Mike’s wheelchair. On its side.

Peter instantly dashed out the back door. His heart was hammering and panic was rising, when he saw the Texan sitting on the floor, soaked to the skin from the pouring rain.

“Michael?” Peter knelt at Mike’s side, “Are you ok?”

Mike looked up at him, his dark hair falling in his eyes, rainwater running down his nose.

“I couldn’t get back in,” He snarled, barely containing the fury and distress he felt, “I came outside into the sunshine and when it started to rain I tried to get back in but the fucking chair slipped down the ramp and I fell. Then the door blew shut and I couldn’t even crawl back in.”

Peter felt like crying. He had let Mike down again. If only he had been here.

“Come on,” Peter half lifted Mike by the shoulders, before realising that was a bad plan. He wouldn’t be able to walk Mike back to his chair.

“Hold on,” He gasped and he swept his arm under Mike’s legs and lifted him like a child in his arms. Mike instinctively latched his arms around Peter’s neck as the bassist carried him into the living room. Peter put him down on one of the kitchen stairs, and leapt to get a towel from the bathroom.

“I’m so sorry Michael,” Peter murmured, “I should have been here.”

“Forget it,” Mike growled quietly, “My own fucking fault anyway.”

Mike unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. It landed on the floor with a wet slap and Mike started shivering. He gratefully took the towel from Peter and started to dry his hair. Peter couldn’t help but stand and stare. Was this fate taking a hand?  He wondered. Mike, semi naked, the two of them alone. Surely this was a sign that Rah-Rah was right and he should tell Mike the truth.

“So where were you anyway?” Mike said as he began unbuttoning his soaked jeans.

“Uh…,” Peter had to tear his eyes away from Mike’s undressing so that he could regain his thoughts, “I went to see Rah-Rah,”

“Oh yes?” Mike asked with a cynical smile, “She happy to see you?”

Peter blushed beet red and looked down at the floor. “We hadn’t seen each other for a while,” He said, almost a whisper.

Mike smiled to himself, but it dropped when he started to struggle to remove his pants. The denim was so wet it was clinging to his legs and he couldn’t pull them off without losing his balance. He wished Micky was here to help him. Peter was making him embarrassed.

Peter suddenly snapped to and saw Mike furiously tugging with his jeans.

“Oh, sorry Michael, can I help?”

“I think you’re gonna have to Shotgun, unless I sit here like this til Mick gets back.”

Peter dropped to his knees in front of Mike and peeled his jeans down his legs, trying to do so as quickly as possible, the blush never leaving his cheeks.

“I’ll get you a blanket.” He quickly stood and ran into the downstairs bedroom. By the time he returned, Mike had pulled his arms across his chest and his teeth were chattering.

Peter squatted beside him and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Mike looked at him but said nothing, but Peter received the calm look as thanks. Mike was still shaking and Peter, without thinking, reached up and surrounded him in a hug, pulling him close and rubbing his arms and back to warm him up.

When the shivering had seemed to die down, Peter pulled back and looked into Michael’s face. He so badly wanted to tell this man how he felt. How every night he went to bed and dreamt of him, how he was actually jealous of Micky for getting there first.

Mike looked back at Peter and tried to hide his bewilderment. The blonde was acting very strange. Mike was about to open his mouth to say something when Peter suddenly claimed his mouth in a kiss. The Texan’s eyes went wide, but he couldn’t escape Peter’s embrace. Well, this certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

As soon as his lips touched Mike’s, Peter was in heaven. They were exactly as he had imagined, exactly as he had dreamed, and he wanted the kiss to never end. He hadn’t noticed that Mike was returning the kiss, but he certainly wasn’t pushing him away either.

Eventually though, Peter knew he had to pull away, and with regret he broke the kiss and waited for Mike’s reaction.

Mike just sat there for a moment, confusion and surprise displayed very clearly on his face.

“What the fuck was that?!” He gasped, wishing he could stand up and get some distance between himself and Peter.

“Michael. I’m sorry, but I can’t hide my feelings any more…I…I like you…I mean, I can’t stop thinking about you…”

“Pete, man…” Mike was shaking his head, “What kind of game are you playing? I’m…Micky and me…”

“I know,” Peter said, perhaps a little too quickly, “But…I thought…I had to be sure you didn’t have feelings for me too.”

Mike’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped ever so slightly. “What? Peter…why the fuck now? Huh? You wait until I’m happy with someone and then you tell me what? You like me. Well, I’m sorry buddy, I appreciate the gesture, but Micky…”

Peter could feel the rejection biting at him, and it was a pain he didn’t think he could cope with. It hurt more than anything he had ever experienced before. “But…but do you love him?”

Not before now had Mike wished so much that he could just use his legs and run away from this whole situation, but he was stuck here. He felt so angry, and confused, and annoyed.

“Peter. You can’t ask me something like that.”

“Why not? Just tell me you love him more than you could love me, and I’ll never mention this again. I just need to know that you’ll never have me…”

“I don’t think I even know who you are anymore.” Mike said coldly, his words hitting Peter like bullets, “Micky has given up so much for me, the least he deserves is my love and loyalty…”

“But that doesn’t answer my question!” Peter interrupted.

“Fuck your questions!” Mike roared. “I’ve tried to let you down gently, but don’t you understand you half-wit? I…I do love Micky. There. I’ve said it. You happy now? Finished with your interrogation?”

Peter felt tears sting his eyes. How did this all go so wrong? He should never have said anything.

“I…I’m sorry,” He whispered, and ran upstairs to his bedroom.

Mike watched him go and sighed. He was starting to get a headache and he still felt cold. But most of all, he was devastated. How could he have told Peter that he felt the same way? It was true when he said he loved Micky, he did, he adored him, but he still didn’t feel the same connection with Micky as he did with Peter. For so long, possibly even going back to the day they met, Mike had harboured amorous feelings for the blond, but had never said or done anything about them. Why would he? Peter would never have felt the same way. Mike had always been suspicious about his own sexuality, and when Micky had looked after him after his accident and told him of his feelings, it felt like a natural progression. Micky had given Mike nothing but unconditional love, and the Texan felt fulfilled by that love. But now the one he had hankered after for so long had finally been within his grasp and he belonged to another. And belonged was certainly the right word. Micky owned him now, whether he intended to or not. Micky had put his life on hold to take care of Mike, and would never back down now that he had made that commitment.

It hadn’t escaped Mike’s notice the way Micky still gave girls the glance when they were out, or the sad smile that crossed his lips when he saw a young couple with a baby carriage. Micky was growing up, and maybe after all this, it was just a crush he had had, something that he never would have acted upon had it not been for Mike’s accident. Now he was stuck with a cripple. No chance of a proper career or kids of his own, not as long as he continued to stick by Mike’s side.

Despair and depression welled up in Mike’s chest. He felt like crying himself. He knew if he broke it off with Micky it would break the drummer’s heart, even if he did it with all the right intentions of giving Micky the chance to have a life of his own. Micky had such low self-esteem he would never understand Mike’s reasoning. And if he stayed with him? They would grow old and probably miserable together, with Mike being the burden, and Micky bearing it.

“Fuck.” Mike grimaced as a tear rolled down his cheek. If he hadn’t have been hit by that truck he never would have been in this position. Micky would have seen sense and got himself a pretty girl instead of pitying a cripple, and who knows, maybe Mike would have still got to be with Peter. Peter was so different to Micky. It was if he didn’t see that Mike was disabled. He was so free-spirited, he didn’t seem in any rush to follow any of life’s master-plans. Mike looked at the closed bedroom door once before before dropping his head into his hands.

The Prison: Part 3