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"The Questions of a Thousand Dreams - Part 1"



Title: The Questions of a Thousand Dreams (1/5)
Author: Moondreams
Rating: NC-17 (More R for this part though)
Pairing: Torksmith (with a nice heaping of Stork :P)
Warnings: Language, sexuality, slash (duh)
Disclaimer: I don't own The Monkees or Stephen Stills and make no claim that this ever really happened. It is purely the result of an overactive imagination.
Summary: Peter is eternally grateful to have found a temporary home with the Nesmiths. But he soon realises that it might not be all it's cracked up to be and calls in a favour from a friend. But while this may solve his initial problems, it only serves to dump them on his unsuspecting bandmate...
Author's Note: So, I started the next part of my series, only to realise I haven't written a fic in around 5 months! So I thought I'd get back into it with something a little less heavy in case I screw it up. I've had the urge to do a Peter/Stephen fic for a while but didn't think I could really pull it off as I know precious little about the guy (apologise in advance to any Stills fans if I totally butcher his personality!) But I thought that a Torksmith would work with the help of Mr. Stills, especially when I read a quote from Steve about Peter's first impressions on the Monkees experience saying "He liked Michael Nesmith. That was the first thing that happened." No kidding? ;)

It all happened so suddenly. It didn't seem like a week ago that Peter had first gone into those studios to audition and now he was being bustled around with his new co-stars and "bandmates". It was a completely different scene to the Village and though he had been making his way in California for a while, this was somewhat out of his comfort zone.

Not that he'd admit that, of course. He was very excited by the opportunities this would give him and the new experiences but he still felt a little lost. Maybe that's why he was immediately drawn to Michael.

This rather stoic figure didn't exactly seem the type to go for something like this; a family man with country/blues roots exposing himself to the possibility of a multitude of swooning fangirls in a pop/rock capacity. Though he seemed very level-headed and blase about the whole affair, Peter got the distinct impression that he felt just as out of his depth as him.

Maybe it was this camaraderie that led to a rather unlikely arrangement.

Peter had a small place outside of Los Angeles but needed to move closer to the studios for it to be able to work sufficiently. But this proved easier said than done with so many people telling him what to do and where to go that he began to feel a bit suffocated.

"Why don't you come stay with us?" Peter turned away from the multitude of other voices, facing the source of that soft drawl. The look on Mike's face made it seem like he couldn't actually believe the words had come from his mouth but he looked to Peter for an answer nonetheless.

He wasn't sure what had made him ask it. He knew damn well that the place he was living in could barely house his family as it was, let alone someone else, a someone he barely even knew. Perhaps it was the overwhelmed look creeping over the poor guy's face, or the way it lit up at the question.

"That would be great!" Peter exclaimed but quickly tried to compose himself. "I mean, if you're sure..."

There was the get-out clause, all he had to do was say something about the lack of room and it would all be undone with the least amount of damage.

"Sure, I'm sure." Was his response, a small smile creeping across his face as the other man's broadened, emphasising a small dimple.
Phyllis is gonna kill me.


He wasn't far wrong. When Mike told her the news, she just stood in front of him, mouth slightly agape before shaking her head and simply walking away, knowing there was no point trying to change his mind.

Not having much to organise, Peter turned up on their doorstep the next day with a few cases surrounding him. Phyllis answered the door and, despite her many reservations, she couldn't help but smile warmly at the sheepish figure in front of her.

"Hi Peter, nice to see you again. Come on in!"

"I really appreciate this. Michael was so nice to offer, I don't wanna be a pain in the ass." Phyllis smiled sweetly, grabbing one of the cases to take inside while Peter lifted the others.

"It's OK, I'm pretty sure we can cope. That husband of mine rarely makes a mistake."

"That must drive you crazy." He replied, good-naturedly forcing a laugh from her.

"You have no idea."

"I'm guessing he's not here at the moment."

"He stepped out 'bout an hour ago with Christian, should be back soon. Let's get all this upstairs and I'll show you your room. Which is being generous, Mike calls it the closet."

"I don't doubt I've slept in worse, I am a musician..." He quipped as they carefully ascended the stairs.


In less than a week, Peter had pretty much become one of the family. Mike and Peter spent most the days at the studios and evenings usually consisted of friendly banter between them all. Christian hadn't so much as batted an eye at the newest addition to their household and was more than happy to play with him.

Peter couldn't believe his luck that he'd been so easily accepted, he didn't think it could get much better than this. But he was quickly proved wrong.

One evening, a couple of weeks in, Phyllis had taken Christian out leaving Peter alone in the house while Mike was still organising something at the studios. Peter had been feeling down the last couple of days because he was beginning to get the impression that musically, things weren't going to go exactly as he had hoped. Instead of the input he'd hoped to have, it looked like he was just going to have to watch from the sidelines and chime in when called on.

Peter sat on the floor in the lounge, guitar in hand just playing whatever his brain told his fingers to do. He spent what felt like hours doing this, trying to let out all the creativity that was being impeded. He was so focused that he didn't notice the figure sit down opposite him until he heard the chords of a 12-string blend with his own. His eyes flew open to meet the glint in those dark brown eyes before him. Both pairs of hands stopped moving as each waited for the other to speak.

"You mind?" Mike asked, looking down at his own guitar. Peter quickly got his mind into gear, sensing that Mike was starting to feel a little foolish.

"No! No, I don't mind at all." He said with a grin that was returned albeit with more restraint.

The strummed together for a good 20 minutes, just bouncing off each other before Mike spoke up without breaking their rhythm.

"You're not writing any of this down."


"The music. You ain't writing any of it down. This is some good shit."

Peter smiled, meekly. "I'm not really much of a writer, I just love to play." Mike didn't really know how to respond to that so they simply continued letting the music flow out of them. Mike watched Peter's fingers glide over the fretboard, eyes widening as he handled a particularly awkward combination with ease.

"Wow..." he muttered to himself but it didn't go unnoticed by Peter whose eyes darted up, questioningly. Mike quickly cleared his throat.

"I can't believe they've stuck you on bass." He admitted. It had become obvious to all of them that Peter was the most talented musician of the bunch but he wasn't being allowed to showcase it.
He doesn't seem to really care though. If it were me, I'd be pissed.

"If by 'stuck me on bass' you mean wearing one as a prop while some other guy plays it for me while getting no credit for it themselves then yeah, it's unbelievable." Peter responded, unable to stop the resentment coming through.

Ah. Mike nodded gravely, understanding exactly where he was coming from.

"I mean, I know I can't complain, this is a huge deal for me and I wouldn't trade it for anything but..."

"...you were hoping to be more hands on." Mike finished.

"Right." Their playing continued as effortlessly as their conversation, rising and falling along with their moods.

"Well, listen...I'm tryin' to get my foot in the door in the recording studios, trying to let me produce some of the stuff. If I can pull it off, I'll get your foot in there too somehow. May not be much but..." He trailed off, seeing that all too familiar grin spread across the blonde's face.

"You really mean that, Michael?" His eyes and voice were so full of hope that Mike knew he couldn't let him down.

"It's a promise, buddy."


These "sessions" continued over the next few weeks at irregular intervals. Though neither actually voiced it, both found it a welcome respite from all the regimented recording. In those few weeks, Mike made good on his promise and literally fought to get Peter the opportunity to play bass on his composition,
Papa Gene's Blues. Sure, he was thrown in with a bunch of other musician's and he really didn't have much to do but as Mike had said, it was a foot in the door, maybe it could lead to bigger things.

Meanwhile, back at Camp Nesmith, something was amiss. It took Peter a good three hours after getting in, nose stuck in a book, before he even noticed.

"Where's Christian?" He suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"My mom's looking after him back home for little over a week while she's visiting." Phyllis replied, eyes darting to Mike, a flirtatious smile playing on her lips. Peter followed the gaze, only to see the look reciprocated. He shifted, uncomfortably, for the first time since moving in, he suddenly felt like something of a fifth wheel.

He waited another 20 minutes or so before excusing himself and retiring to his room, hoping not to make it too obvious that he was feeling like he was encroaching on their personal space.

Not long after, Mike and Phyllis were in bed, totally divest of clothing and devouring each other like a couple of teenagers.

"Feel...better...now?" Mike asked between the kisses travelling down her neck.

"Mmm, much." Came the dreamy response. Yes, Phyllis had thought a change of scenery would do Christian good...but there had certainly been an ulterior motive. With his room being just opposite theirs, she was paranoid that he would easily hear their more...
intimate activities. So with the room temporarily vacant, they were planning on making the most of it.

Phyllis ran her hands through the thick ebony hair, pulling him close for another impassioned kiss. While his tongue plundered her willing mouth, his calloused fingers drifted up the satiny skin of her thigh before settling between her legs.

A high-pitched squeak escaped her as she looked at him first with surprise, then with desire. She reignited the kiss as his fingers went to work, forcing more moans out of her.

"Wh-what about Peter? You think -ah!- think he might be able t-to hear us?" She stuttered, frowning slightly in concentration. In Mike's mind, the time for talking was over so he kept his hands on her but pulled back to half-heartedly mutter some words of comfort.

"Darlin', he's right down the other end of the hall. Ain't no way he can hear us. Now just...relax" And to aid in her achieving this, his lips began their descent down her body, making her writhe and moan in earnest.


Several hours later, Peter was lying in his bed staring at the ceiling. As he had been relentlessly for the last several hours. His eyes were wide, hands clenched tightly together on his stomach as if he were praying.

Perhaps he should have spoken up when he heard Mike say, clear as crystal, that Peter wouldn't be able to hear them. He heard them alright. He continued to hear them hours later, the moans and groans rattling around his skull.

I really should have said something... He thought to himself, but he was already intruding enough as it was and it wasn't as if he were a prude, he just felt awkward about listening in on a friend. Oh well, it's over now, might as well just forget about it. He mentally shrugged. No real harm done, right?


When they said they were going to make the most of it, that's exactly what they meant. The next night they were impossibly louder. Peter unsuccessfully tried to block out the noise with a pillow over his ears, then changed tactics and tried to smother himself with it instead.

He had fully intended to mention it casually to Mike the next day but with the hectic schedule it just went out of his mind. And he also began to notice how much more relaxed Mike was in the evenings, playing with Peter for hours on end. Peter decided that he was inadvertently getting something out of this arrangement after all so he kept his gripes to himself. Nothing was worth jeopardising that in Peter's mind.

But on the fifth night, something changed.

Peter lay in bed as usual, mulling over the day: filming, recording, bullshitting with Mike. He felt privileged in some way that Mike even gave him the time of day as he'd noticed that he didn't tend to interact with a huge range of people. He often found himself wondering why that was.

Dimly, he heard the beginnings of their activities but he had grown adept at blocking them out for the most part so his thoughts continued predominantly uninterrupted.
I wonder what made him ask me to stay? I mean, he didn't even know me and he sure doesn't seem to trust many people. I guess it doesn't even matter...although, I wonder if he was expecting me to be gone by now. I mean, how temporary is temporary? But he seems happy to-

His paranoid ramblings were killed dead as a loud groan echoed through what felt like the entire house. Peter wasn't even aware that he was holding his breath, let alone straining to hear anything else coming from the room down the hall.

Phyllis was usually the main culprit, her moaning and panting and squealing usually cancelled out Mike's short remarks of encouragement and groans of fulfilment. But that...that was something else. Phyllis didn't even seem to be figuring into the equation which led him to think only one thing.

Without giving it a second thought, Peter's mind went straight to the image of Phyllis' head buried between Mike's legs, her tongue running over the engorged head of his swollen member which jutted upwards. Mike's full lips glistening as he restlessly ran his tongue over them, his fingers twisting in the fabric of the sheets in a silent plea for more, his brow furrowed in restrained pleasu-

Wait! Peter's eyes flew open, the full reality of what he was thinking finally sinking in. He physically shook himself out of it, disturbed by the vividness of it all. Instead, he attempted to get back on track with more appropriate thoughts.

Clarksville. Right, yeah, the recording session tomorrow...I don't even think they'll want my vocals on "Last Train to Clarksville", I doubt I'll even end up on this damn album at- oh god!

Another strangled groan shattered any more thoughts and there was no putting them together again, he couldn't ignore those delicious sounds.

Something else he couldn't ignore was the straining at the front of his pajama bottoms. A hand swiftly ran over the clothed bulge and he had to bite back a moan of his own as the pleasurable sensations shot through him.

But he just as swiftly retracted it, gripping the side of the bed, willing himself to get it together. He felt guilty in a way, like he was betraying Mike's trust in getting so aroused by him.
Not him, them. He corrected himself, though he knew that to be far from the truth.

Ngh. That's it, keep goin' like that. Shit..." But the urgency in Mike's voice was too much to resist right then as Peter slid his hand below the waistband, roughly grabbing his dick and tugging it mercilessly. He'd have plenty of time to feel guilty tomorrow and probably the rest of his life.

As he stroked himself, he imagined what Mike would taste like. Good, judging by how long Phyllis was staying down there. As he spread the pre-cum around the head he envisaged how he'd lick up Mike's own fluids, feeling him shudder in pleasure. Oh god, how he wanted to taste him...every inch of that piece of flesh, to feel him explode in his mouth when his teasing became too much...

God, Ph-Phyllis...more, little mo- oh god!"

Mike was getting close, he could tell, from the way he was beginning to stutter and the rough timbre of his voice from the effort it was taking to hold off his climax.

Peter's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he quickened the pace on his cock, feeling the familiar tingling in his stomach along with the constant ache in his balls.

Wait, n- too much! Ah, fuck! Unghhhhhh..." Mike practically choked as his orgasm suddenly overtook him, catching him by surprise. Too much was right. From the elongated groan of completion, Peter was lost to his own release as his hips left the bed, cock twitching continuously in his hand as the fire ravaged him.

He did his best to stay quiet, convinced that he'd burst several blood vessels as a result while he slowly came to his senses. He cleaned up the mess as best he could but exhaustion soon overcame him and the last semi-conscious thought he had was:
I need to get my own place.


Though he hid it well, Peter still couldn't miss the flicker of hurt in Mike's eyes and for reasons unknown it made his heart ache just a little bit.

"Well, it's your decision, Pete." He mumbled, not quite making eye contact. "But just so's ya know I- we, uh, we're happy for ya to stay. Just in case you thought you were in the way or somethin'." This time he actually looked up into that face and could see the inner turmoil etched all over his features.

Mike didn't know what the hell had suddenly happened, to his mind everything had been going great, but clearly Peter had something serious going on so he should just keep quiet and let the guy make his own decisions. But I Mike wasn't a 'should' kinda guy, he was an 'I want' kinda guy. He wanted Peter to stay and, whether it was morally right or not, he wasn't gonna let him go without even trying.

Luckily for Mike and his morality, Peter was utterly useless at letting people down, no matter what the consequences to him. So, in the space of 5 minutes, Peter went from hoping to get as far away from the house as possible to trudging back up to his room with a slightly fuzzy feeling in his stomach that Mike wanted him to stay. But he was also all too aware that the problem remained and he would now have to come up with another solution.

Thankfully, such an opportunity presented itself the very next day. After a particularly intense jerk-off session the previous night, despite struggling to stop himself, he was noticeably twitchy around Mike in the TV studio. Mike didn't mention it, putting it down to left over anxiety from yesterday. But he wasn't the only one that noticed it...

"Hey Pete! Man, you look exhausted. Mike riding you hard back home, huh?"

"Huh?!" Peter practically spluttered, spinning round, wide eyed. He relaxed a little when he was met Micky's jovial features.

"With the music." He clarified, seeing the mild panic in his colleagues eyes. He hadn't spent much time with the blond off the set and found him to be a little...odd but damn if he didn't like the guy.

"Oh, right. Uh, no, actually. We play a little but not like work or anything. I'm just feeling a little..."

"Say no more." Micky interjected, raising a hand, which Peter was grateful for because he had no idea where that sentence was going. He didn't trust himself not to just blurt out what he'd been doing and thinking.

Before Peter even digested what was happening, Micky was hauling him through the studio by the wrist. Mike continued his conversation with one of the crew but his gaze followed the fast moving pair with some interest.

"Mick, where the hell-?"

"Sh. I know just what you need." Micky responded, not slowing down. Peter didn't like the sound of that but there wasn't much he could do.

They finally came to a stop behind one of the wardrobe girls who spun round when Micky grabbed her by the waist.

"Oh!" She squealed, slapping his hands playfully. "Hey...Michael, isn't it?"

"Micky." He corrected, completely unfazed. Her bright blue eyes fell on Peter, looking him up and down. He had a confused look plastered on his face, not quite knowing why had been brought along to this exchange.

"Daisy, this is Peter. Peter, Daisy." Peter shook her hand, not missing the rather salacious look she gave him. Micky then leaned over to whisper in his ear. "She's new here, looking to work her way up to being in front of the camera any way she can."

Peter suddenly realised what this was about. Micky had obviously taken his twitchiness as some kind of tension (which wasn't far wrong) that needed relieving and apparently Daisy was the one to do that."


"She's damn good too. Just what ya need, man."

"You slept with her and she can't even remember your name?!" He asked, incredulously. But Micky just shrugged, names complicate things anyhow.

Peter was flattered, in a way, that Micky was looking out for him. He was all ready to decline the offer when he really thought about his situation. Maybe this
was what he needed. He hadn't gotten laid in weeks, maybe that was partly what was making him so insatiable at night. I've got nothing to lose... He thought, giving a nod to Micky before turning his attention to his walking, talking stress reliever.


By the time he got back home that night, Michael and Phyllis had already retired so he followed their lead, exhausted from the evenings rigorous activities with Daisy.

As he lay in bed, dimly registering the familiar sounds from down the hall, he smiled to himself sleepily as he realised the encounter had had the desired effect. Not once did he have the uncontrollable urge to pleasure himself while listening to his friend, he was cured! It had all been in his mind! Of course, his tiredness meant that he didn't remember the thoughts that occupied his mind before sleep consumed him. Thoughts of being in that bed with him, hands running over heated skin, lips caressing every inch of bared skin...

Peter didn't like the fact that he still felt uncomfortable around Mike the next day so he decided to stay over at Daisy's that night. But if he thought that would spare him a confrontation, he was mistaken.

"You didn't come back last night." The soft drawl was still enough to scare Peter half to death as he spun round to face the Texan. "Phyllis was worried aboutcha."

"Oh. I was at Daisy's, kinda lost track of time."

Mike nodded, not saying a word. He felt his stomach churn with a familiar feeling. It almost felt like jealousy but that was absurd, why would he be jealous of Peter?
Worry, that's what it is. He's not spending enough time playing while he's off with that bimbo.

"You staying there again tonight?"

"Um. Maybe." Peter said, getting the distinct impression that Mike didn't approve though he wasn't sure why. Mike merely nodded again before walking away, barely saying another word all day.


This went on for another two days and Mike had pretty much resigned himself to the fact that Peter had all but moved out, which was why he was more than surprised to find him waiting with Phyllis when he returned home with Christian in tow. The boy was greeted with a big hug from his mom and what could have been considered an inappropriately bigger hug from Peter.

"God, am I glad you're back..." He muttered to himself.

With Christian's, return, everything went back to the way it was: Peter would spend the evenings with the family, he stopped hooking up with Daisy who was already making moves on Davy, he had a peaceful nights sleep and woke up guilt free. Everyone knew something had happened but just shrugged it off, it didn't matter now.

A few days later, Peter's slumber was disrupted by a sharp twang followed by a string of curses. Despite the lingering tiredness and early hour, he decided to investigate.

Stumbling down the stairs, he could make out Mike sat on the floor, still fully dressed with his acoustic guitar in hand. His head snapped up and the sound of the new arrival, shifting almost nervously.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake ya." He mumbled, his gaze focused intently on the scribbles in front of him. Peter sat down opposite, just watching. It had been awhile since they'd really hung out, just the two of them, what with Peter suddenly distancing himself from Mike and he realised that, Mike being Mike, he had probably taken it as some sort of rejection so Peter was keen to make amends. And music was their perfect gateway.

"Having trouble?" He asked, genially. Mike looked up, intending to ignore the question but found himself unable once he made eye contact.

"I just can't figure out this damn tune. There's something wrong with the bridge..."

"Play it." It was a demand but he delivered in such a way that it sounded more like a plea. Once again Mike faltered but found his fingers already acquiescing to the request. It was obvious to Peter what part wasn't working and he was quickly made aware that he hadn't hid it well when the melody cut off and he saw Mike's disheartened look.

"Told ya it was shit."

"No, it's great but maybe if you try...may I?" He asked, holding out his hand for the instrument, which was wordlessly passed across.

Peter strummed a chord but frowned when it came out slightly garbled. Mike quickly leant over, tentatively shifting Peter's fingers.

"12 strings can be a bit of a bitch when you don't play them a lot..."

"Yeah, never really played them before." Peter managed to day as he fought off thoughts of how surprisingly gentle Mike's touch was and how it seemed to make his skin burn and how he physically had to shake them to make them work again.

He proceeded to play the bridge while changing some chords and the tempo, looking up to see a wide-eyed Mike.

"That was amazing. Let me try." Peter happily passed the guitar back to hear him duplicate his amendment and was rewarded with big, boyish grin.

"How in the hell did you do that?" He asked in wonder, it almost sounded rhetorical. Peter merely shrugged. "Do you wanna beer?" Mike suddenly asked, almost interrupting himself.

"Uh, sure." Mike scrabbled up, making his way to the kitchen, returning moments later with two beers.

"Wanna hear the whole thing?" He asked, suddenly far more animated than Peter had seen him in days, he had to suppress a chuckle.

"Please! But don't you have a really early start tomorrow- today even?"

"Shit, I don't care. This is more important, and it's technically work anyhow."

"You're writing this for the album?"

"Plan to. If they get the stick outta their asses, that is. Now quit yappin', you wanna hear this or not?" Peter would have been slightly taken aback were it not for the smile plastered on the Texan's face.

He listened to the whole song. Several times. They took turns playing it, tweaked it, altered some lyrics, then Peter set out the bass line in accompaniment and it soon became 4 hours and 5 beers each later, when the decided to turn in.

seriously need to get some sleep, Michael." Peter said, fingers idly picking the guitar strings. He didn't want to stop but he was aware that his brain was quickly shutting down. Mike blew out a big gush of air, nodding in agreement.

"I hear ya. I'ma jus' stay here. Don't wanna wake Phyllis." He slurred.

"I'm sure she wouldn't-" But Peter realised that Mike was already out cold. And once he made it to his room and his head hit the pillow, so was he.


When he woke the next morning, his head was foggy and his eyes were reluctant to open against the morning light. He decided to just remain lying on his stomach, trying to remember why it felt like someone had kicked him in the head.

I heard a noise...went downstairs...song...I helped Mike with a song...Mike...

Things started to come back to him then, the feel of Mike's hands on his, which if he remembered correctly, had happened continuously once Mike had several drinks in him. He vaguely remembered Mike kneeling behind him, strumming the guitar while Peter's hand remained on the fretboard. He didn't remember the tune or the lyrics but he remembered clear as day the feel of Mike's warm breath ghosting over his ear, the hum of his chest reverberating through his back as he sang and he most certainly remembered how Mike would suddenly shift when his knees started to get stiff from kneeling, unaware that he was continually rubbing his crotch against Peter's ass.

Peter then recalled that Mike's knees weren't the only thing getting stiff, he'd just been too drunk at the time to really notice or do anything about it. He assumed that Mike hadn't notice, especially with the guitar still being in his lap.

But now...now he was sober enough to know that the mixed up recollections were having much the same effect on him now.

He began to make small circular motions with his hips, grinding his crotch against the mattress. His thoughts remained on last night's events but he did away with the shirts so he could feel Mike's warm skin glide against his own.

The circular motions grew faster as he then did away with the guitar, freeing Mike's hands to wander over his chest, running his slightly calloused fingers over his nipples, stiffening them instantly.

Peter groaned into the pillow as he felt his cock continue to swell both from the glorious friction and the building fantasy wherein Mike's wandering hands were now travelling down across his stomach to the clothed bulge which he proceeded to grope roughly.

"Please..." Peter choked in both realities. As gentle hands worked to remove his garment, Peter yanked down the pajama pants, grasping the leaking cock with a shaky sigh and began to pump it quickly.

Subconsciously realising, with the rapid tightening of his balls, that he wasn't going to last much longer, the fantasy jumped ahead with both men now naked and fully aroused.

Mike leant over his shaking frame, whispering in his ear: "Peter, you are one sick fuck...I know what you want, but I want to hear you say it." He held Peter's cock firmly in hand, squeezing intermittently.

"Fuck..." Peter groaned, the pace on his cock speeding up further as he raced to the finish, his face pressed into the pillow but his ass slightly in the air allowing more room to jerk off so he wasn't fighting the mattress.

"Close...but I think you're a word missing." He heard Mike's teasing drawl, almost able to see the smirk that would have accompanied it. A few more jerks and Peter suddenly gasped, eyes flying open.

"Shit! Fuck me! Unghhhhh...." His climax suddenly struck and with it came a barrage of images consisting of Mike bucking into him relentlessly, face contorting in ecstasy as Peter emptied himself all over his hand and the sheets below.

After a few moments, his body collapsed and he crumpled on the bed, mindful of the sticky mess. After he gathered his thoughts, the fear set it. Not only had he just had his most intense fantasy about Michael yet, without any vocal trigger no less, but he had undoubtedly shared it with the entire household. He frantically tried to recall if he'd spoken Mike's name but came up blank.

Deciding the ground wasn't going to swallow him up any time soon, he decided to head downstairs to assess the situation and work out damage control.

Looking around, he found no-one. He dimly recalled that Mike had an early call in the recording studio today so that was a minor mercy. After further investigation, he found a note that read "Peter...Taken Christian out, be back around 7. P."
Pure dumb luck... He thought to himself, relieved that he didn't have that to deal with.

But the fact remained, this
thing with Mike hadn't passed, if anything it had gotten worse. That chick had cleared his mind for a few days (or had at least been a suitable distraction) but that wasn't what he needed now, it had moved past that. What he needed now only one person could give him.

He headed for the phone, noticing how his hand was shaking slightly and dialled a number from memory.

"Come on...come on- Stephen? Hi, Peter. Look, uh- I need a favour...Uh, no the- the other kind of favour...Right now, I mean, if you can. Ye- no, I'm at the same place...It'll be empty, don't sweat it...N- Well, I doubt it, just bring some with ya, stick it in your pocket or something. So you'll come?...Ha ha, look I really appreciate this. Thanks, man. Bye."

And then, wringing his hands together nervously, he waited...



The Questions of a Thousand Dreams - Part 2