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"The Questions of a Thousand Dreams - Part 3"
Title: The Questions of a Thousand Dreams (3/5)
Author: Moondreams
Rating: NC-17
(again, more R for this part)
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: Apologies again for taking so long! Decorators, plumbers and interviews
have been occupying my mind too much but here it is! Once again, continued straight
from the previous part and it's a monster, I hadn't intended it to be so long but,
well, you know me!
Peter ran his fingers through the now sodden strings of his hair,
suddenly embarrassed despite what had just come to pass between them. Did he want
to share? He wasn't sure what good it would do but he didn't want Stephen to leave
just yet so he figured he would make the most out of his presence.
Walking almost
tentatively back to the bed, Stephen shifted over to make room for him as he propped
himself beside his friend. Stephen could see the mild reluctance on his face so passed
him over the joint which was graciously accepted. After a deep inhale and a thoughtful
pause, Peter spoke up, though what came out was a little more redundant than he would
have liked.
"You caught that, huh?"
"Hey, people have called me a lotta things during
sex. Michael's never been one of 'em. Now, I'm guessing it wasn't a memory lapse;
therefore there must be some kinda explanation. I wanna hear it."
Frowning to himself,
Peter took another toke before speaking. "It started about a week ago. No, I noticed
it about a week ago, it probably started before that. But, I'm guessing Phyllis,
Michael's wife, has some issues with having sex when her son is in the opposite room.
So when he was gone for a week, they made the most of it. And I could hear everything
from in here."
"Hot."
Peter laughed, lightly. "Most people would call it awkward but
yes, it was hot. But as it went on, I just kinda shut her out and focused on Michael
and started getting off on it. I mean, that's not normal, is it?" He looked to Stephen,
clearly wanting some kind of groundbreaking answer. What he got was a small shrug.
"Perfectly
normal...if you're attracted to them." That made Peter huff, not so much because
of the answer but because he felt like he was going in circles.
"But I didn't even
know I was attracted to him until that all started. What if it's just some messed
up reaction and I'm taking it the wrong way?"
"Well, it doesn't always show itself
in the obvious ways. You don't necessarily need to look at someone and instantly
think 'Hot damn, I want some of that' to find someone attractive. You probably manifested
it in a different way, you've never been the surface-y sort."
Peter thought about
that, thought back to the times they'd played together. The way Peter studied Mike
as his fingers danced carefully over the fretboard, how his thick hair slipped into
his face but seemed to fall back into place perfectly when he looked up for approval.
The way his tongue would occasionally slip out in concentration and how his eyes
would glint when Peter joined him in a perfect accompaniment....Peter suddenly realised
that he should have noticed sooner that such vivid and detailed observations pointed
towards something a little more than friendship.
He looked at Stephen to see a small
smile on his lips as he'd watched the realisation dawn on his face. He narrowed his
eyes at him. "When did you become so insightful?"
"Since I came here, guess you were
holding me back." Peter prodded him good-naturedly in the side but Stephen quickly
recovered, not yet done with the conversation.
"So, OK, you realised you had the hots
for this guy, no doubt you felt guilty about it...how in the hell does that lead
to calling me over to fuck you into oblivion?"
Peter blushed again, snatching the
dwindling joint to take another much needed hit. "This morning, I had a dream, or
it started out as a dream at least, that kinda got outta hand."
"Sex dream?"
"The best
kind. Only not when it's about your male housemate/bandmate/colleague who also happens
to be completely straight and happily married."
"Ah, I see where this is going. So,
in said dream or whatever, this Michael was fucking you and you were getting yourself
off..."
"Right. And I got myself off, all right. But, it didn't...like, you know when
you have a sex dream with a chick? You wake up, rub one out, everything's great,
you're all satisfied and whatever. But that just didn't work. It got rid of the obvious
tension but..."
"It didn't push the right button." Stephen finished, understanding
where he was coming from.
"Exactly. I needed that. I needed to get the release from
being 'fucked into oblivion'. I tell ya, as great as it was, I don't want that happening
again anytime soon, I thought I was gonna lose it."
"I think you did, man. It was
like you were possessed or somethin'."
"No shit."
A few moments of silence passed between
them before Stephen spoke again. "So...you called me to eradicate your 'Michael urges'."
"Uh,
I guess so, yeah." He responded a little sheepishly, looking over to see Stephen
staring back at him.
"I feel so used!" He proceeded to exclaim melodramatically, his
fingers coming up to cover his nipples in mock modesty.
Peter's lips curled up into
a small smile though his expression was unreadable. "Sorry."
Stephen quickly dropped
the act, waving a hand in front of him. "Forget it, man, it's what I'm here for."
Peter
turned to look at Stephen properly this time, I slight frown on his face. "You're
not just a casual fuck to me, you know that." The 'right?' went unspoken but Stephen
could clearly see the silent question in his eyes. He softened his expression, gently
nudging their shoulders together.
"I know. And I know you wouldn't have asked no-one
else. I mean it, it's fine, I was just kidding around. Relax, would ya?" Peter did
so, taking back the joint to help with this endeavour.
"So. You in love with him?"
He suddenly asked with surprising bluntness. Peter scoffed but didn't actually answer
the question which to Stephen was answer enough. "Uh-huh."
Peter shot him a sideways
glare, hoping to convey 'let it go, now'. It either didn't translate or Stephen chose
to ignore it. If he had to guess, he'd bet on the latter.
"It's not a crime, y'know.
Doesn't suit ya, running away from your feelings."
"I'm not in love with him." He
stated, slightly rattled by how unconvincing he sounded.
"Hm. OK, why not?"
"What?"
Peter asked, brow furrowing."
"Why don't you love him?"
"...What the fuck kinda question
is that?!" He was quickly becoming exhausted, the ache in his limbs combined with
the drug in his system and the unexpected (and unwanted) interrogation beginning
to make his brain foggy.
"Let's look at this objectively, shall we?"
"Do I have a choice?"
He groaned, head now buried in his hands which rested on his bent knees. He was quickly
wishing the younger man would just leave. He knew he was only trying to help but
he didn't want it. Or maybe it's because you're scared he'll hit the nail on the
head and you'll have to face up to something you're determined to hide... The thought
brought on another groan.
"No," Stephen answered, either oblivious to Peter's turmoil
or just ignoring it, "Now, what do you look for in a person, does he meet them?"
"Stephen-"
"Just
work with me, dammit!" Peter leant his head back on the headboard, as closed as Stephen
began checking things off on his fingers.
"OK...talented."
"Check."
"Sense of humour."
"A
bit out there but check."
"Passion and understanding of music."
"Double check."
"Easy
to talk to." Peter had to think about that one. Most people would probably say no,
he was often so aloof, it was hard for anyone to really sustain a conversation with
him. But Peter never had that problem, he felt comfortable around him and didn't
feel the need to watch what he said.
"Check."
"Hot." Again he paused. 'Hot' wasn't
exactly the term he would use, not in the conventional sense, at least. His face
wasn't one that would make you do a double take in the street but when you really
looked at it, he was a good-looking guy. Peter often found himself looking at those
dark, soulful eyes and the wry smile that often adorned his face. Then there was
the body. He was lanky and kind of awkward with it but god could the guy wear a pair
of jeans. Although he seemed to be all skin and bones, he had meat in all the right
places. Peter could still feel those sinewy limbs and muscles behind him from the
night before, how they would contract and ripple in pleasure if he were to run his
fingers, his tongue over them...
"I'll take that as a 'check'." Stephen's voice brought
him out of his thoughts. He noticed the barely contained smirk as he realised his
body had more than answered for him in the form of a growing bulge filling out his
pants. He glared at nothing in particular, knowing he was fighting a losing battle.
"Hm...anything
I've missed?"
"Tits?" Peter snapped but knew it was no use, it was all becoming frighteningly
clear.
"Well, nobody's perfect. I'm sure he makes up for it in other areas." He heard
Peter sigh, seeing his head back in his hands in a resigned gesture. "So, almost
a clean sweep! Congratulations, Peter, it would seem that Nesmith is your ideal chick."
He declared, cheerfully.
"I hate you." Was Peter's muffled response. A soft prod in
his ribs encouraged him to look into Stephen's suddenly serious face.
"I know it's
a shitty situation and I know you don't wanna hear it but it won't do you no good
to lock this up and pretend it ain't there. Look at what happened with Marlene."
Peter
groaned at the name. She was girl he fell for hard back in the Village, also married.
Knowing he couldn't have her, he pretended the feeling weren't there but became snippy
and distracted as a result, causing his music to suffer. Along with the memory came
the realisation that what he had felt for her paled in comparison to the connection
he felt with Michael. I am in such deep shit.
"You know I don't wanna tell ya stuff
to piss ya off, I just wanna help. Didn't mean to get all preachy on ya."
"I know.
And as much as I really, really don't want to be thinking about this right now...I
appreciate it."
"...Then promise me you won't bite my head off at what I have to say
next?"
"Oh god," Peter lamented, "what is it?"
"You should tell him." Peter noticed
Stephen visibly twitch when the older man opened his mouth to vehemently protest
but reigned himself in.
"Just, wait. You told Marlene, right? OK, so, it didn't go
so well and ya never talked to her again but it helped, didn't it? You felt better
about it. If you don't tell him, I'm pretty sure he's gonna find out soon enough."
Another
sigh escaped the blond as he looked at Stephen imploringly, trying to make him understand.
"I get what you're saying, but I am not willing to fuck this up. If I tell him how
I feel, how do you think he'll take it? Seriously? Worst case scenario: he kicks
me out, doesn't talk to me, the band falls apart, both of our chances at success
are ruined. Best case scenario: he is uncomfortable around me, the band suffers,
both of our chances at success are in jeopardy. Neither of those are options to me,
Stephen. It means to much to me to just throw away. And I know that he appreciates
my company, I don't want to ruin that for him either."
They sat in silence for a bit
before Peter groaned loudly in frustration, pulling at his hair slightly. "Shit...it's
fucked anyway you look at it, isn't it? Different routes all to the same destination..."
Stephen
put an arm around the defeated man's shoulder, pulling him into a comforting hug.
"It is. So you might as well just let it play out, I guess. Love's a bitch, you should
know this by now old man."
"Yeah well, guess I'm too much of an optimist."
"No such
thing. Oh, and in the meantime, while you're trying to figure out what to do about
Mr Texas, how about investing in some of your own lube? I can't be expected to bring
the good sex, the words of wisdom and the accessories, after all."
"You are such an
asshole." Peter said, smile on his face before he kissed the younger man affectionately
on the temple. He may be a pain in the ass, but he knew he was lucky to have someone
who had his best interests at heart.
"Thank you." He muttered.
"Anytime." Came the
soft response.
~*~
The slamming of a door woke Peter from the sleep he didn't even
remember falling into. His mind was groggy as he tried to recall the events prior
to his state.
The soreness in his bones and muscles as he moved reminded him all too
suddenly of what had happened. But looking around, he now found himself to be alone.
He was still in a partial state of undress, spotting his shirt in a crumpled heap
on the floor but the garments that had accompanied it were now also gone.
Peter frowned,
he was sure Stephen had been there the last he recalled. What the hell time is it,
anyway? Looking around for the watch he hadn't even attempted to put on yet today,
once his eyes managed to focus on the hands, they almost bugged out of his head.
"Shit!" 7:10pm, he must have been out for a good 6 hours. It would seem the late
nights and the exertion had finally caught up with him.
Getting off the bed to slip
on another shirt, he suddenly noticed a new, though not unpleasant, aroma. Eyes scanning
the room, he quickly spotted the source in the form of an incense stick burning on
his bedside cabinet. Funny, I don't remember doing that... On closer inspection,
he spotted a bit of scrap paper hidden under the holder.
"Pete,
Looks like I done
near wiped you out, guess I just got more stamina than you, old man. Sorry to love
you and leave you but didn't want to put you in an awkward situation if someone came
home. The incense was me, thought the aromatic mixture of pot, sex and strawberries
might prove to be a little hard to explain. You know where to get me if you need
anything...think about what I said.
Steve"
Well, that pretty much explained everything.
Now who feels used? Peter thought to himself but couldn't hold back a smile. He wondered
how long he'd stuck around for, judging by the almost burnt out stick, he'd been
gone awhile.
"Peter? You home?" Phyllis' voice travelled up the stairs as he finished
making himself presentable, trying not to look like he'd had his brains fucked out
hours prior. It didn't help that he was still feeling a slight buzz but that could
well have been the remaining effects of the weed.
"Yeah, I'm here." He called back
as he descended the staircase. He almost fell over his own feet as he looked up to
see not Phyllis' shining green eyes but two soulful brown ones.
"H-hi, Michael." He
stuttered, cursing himself for it. "I thought you were in the studio 'til late?"
"I
am, just thought I'd walk Phyllis and Christian here back home. They came in to see
me." Mike said, casually.
"Oh." Peter wasn't entirely sure why, but Mike's attitude
seemed off...but only because it was the same as usual. He realised he'd expected
some big change between them, a weird kind of interaction but of course, that was
ridiculous. Mike had no reason to treat Peter any differently and Peter wasn't about
to give him one. Coming to the conclusion that all was well and things could go on
as usual, he smiled to himself, something that did not go unmissed by the Texan.
"What?"
He asked, a small smile tugging at his own lips for no other reason than Peter's
was so damned infectious.
Peter simply shrugged, the smile getting slightly wider.
"Nothing."
Mike chuckled, shaking his head lightly. "You are one strange duck, Peter.
Hey, I'm probably gonna be back about 1 and I know we got an early start an' all
but if you're up for it, I got somethin' I wanna run by ya."
Peter's heart rate picked
up, his newly realised feelings suddenly scrabbling to make themselves known. Just
like Stephen said they would...Bastard. But he managed to stay casual, giving a curt
nod and a 'sounds great', before watching Mike give both Christian and Phyllis a
hug and a kiss then heading back to the studio.
~*~
Mike got in later than he'd expected
but Peter was there waiting for him, not looking remotely tired thanks to his afternoon
'nap'. Mike, on the other hand, looked like the walking dead. At Peter's suggestion
of turning in, Mike merely brushed him off with a wave of his hand saying it would
help him unwind.
At the hand flourish, Peter noticed a row of weird marks under the
man's thumb. "What happened there?" He asked, concern etched on his face.
"Hn?" Mike
looked at it as if it wasn't even his own hand. The hell? "Must've...bashed into
something or...something." He replied with a frown.
They spent the next hour or so
as they usually did, bouncing ideas off each other and making idle chit chat.
While
Peter was playing a particularly haunting melody, he looked up to see that Mike was
slowly but surely succumbing to the world of sleep. Putting down his own guitar,
he stood to remove the Gretsch out of the dark haired man's loose grasp. He was met
with a weak protest of 'nn, I'm wake' to which Peter just smiled gently. He could
tell the man was barely conscious, his eyes red and sore looking, desperate to have
some downtime.
"Come on, you're going to bed." He pulled the man up, pressing a hand
on his lower back to urge him to move.
Mike had no energy left to argue so just allowed
himself to be herded up the stairs. It really had been an exhausting day; numerous
takes in the studio, nothing had sounded right, countless arguments, he'd had to
work through lunch, he...Hm, that doesn't sound any different to any other day. He
thought to himself with a frown. So why the hell am I so damn tired? The thinking
itself was making him feel even more drained so he focused on using the last of his
energy to get himself into bed, not caring that he was fully dressed.
He dimly registered
Peter saying goodnight to him to which he responded with something resembling a 'night'
before crawling under the covers and immediately becoming dead to the world.
~*~
Considering
how soundly he slept (the first time in a while), he was still awake just before
6am, his body so used to the routine.
Turning his head, he noticed that Phyllis was
already up so he moved to do the same. As he shifted his legs, his muscles tensed
and his eyes fluttered, a small gasp escaping his lips. Looking down at himself,
he saw a morning hard-on, not unusual in itself. What was unusual was that it was
tightly confined in his pants, not being able to recall why he still seemed to be
in yesterday's clothes.
Shifting again, the same agonising sensation shot through
him as he felt his member throb. The tight fabric was making it ache more than usual
as the zipper rubbed insistently against the bulge, demanding a quick release.
Hurriedly,
he headed for the bathroom, while still trying not to look obvious. Locking the door
and switching on the shower, he probably set the world record for stripping as he
let out a sigh once the swollen member was released. Stepping under the steaming
stream of water, he quickly freshened up before lowering a soapy hand to the sensitive
appendage.
As he began stroking rhythmically, he tried to think what had caused such
a reaction. Sure, it was probably the pants rubbing against him as he slept but...there
was a niggling thought in the back of his mind, a dream trying to push itself to
the front of his mind but the harder he tried to remember the more it seemed to slip
away.
Giving a mental shrug, he resorted to the usual masturbatory fodder to bring
himself to a (surprisingly violent) completion. Getting dressed, he headed downstairs
for some breakfast.
Phyllis and Christian were already in the kitchen, the former
making some toast while the other was content playing with his toys at the table.
Ruffling the boy's hair as he passed, he grabbed a much needed mug of coffee to prepare
him for the long day ahead.
"Morning, Michael," Mike heard from behind him. He turned
with a small smile to greet his friend.
"Mornin' Pete-" The smile quickly disappeared
from his face, the colour fading along with it as he stared back at the now slightly
self-conscious looking man.
The sensation that washed over him could be compared to
a bucket of ice cold water being thrown in his face, the realisations hitting him
with such force. He didn't know what triggered it, whether it was the sudden dose
of caffeine or Peter's somewhat dishevelled appearance, all he did know was that
he remembered. He remembered everything.
What he heard, what he saw, how he felt,
what he did...He found himself unconsciously rubbing a thumb over the bite marks,
clenching his eyes closed as the horror of that last part played over in his mind.
What he did...what that sight had brought out in him and, to his shame, was threatening
to do again right now.
But it suddenly got worse when he remembered something else.
The dream. He could suddenly recall every detail and vehemently wished he couldn't.
Peter,
naked on a bed (his own, if he wasn't mistaken) kneeling on all fours in front of
him. His head flung back in unmistakeable pleasure as Mike thrust into him. He could
even remember seeing their bodies connect, the sweat running over tanned skin, remembered
words spoken in desperation though not the words themselves.
He'd pounded relentlessly,
pushing both of them to the edge until...until...
"Michael? Mi- Hey, where are you
going?! We've still got 40 minutes before we have to be at the studio!" Mike hadn't
even registered that he'd grabbed a jacket and was heading for the door until he
heard Peter's exclamation. But that only slowed him down for a moment before he stepped
into the early morning cool, slamming the door behind him.
Inside, Phyllis and Peter
exchanged confused glances. Phyllis shrugged it off, "He gets like that when he doesn't
get much sleep. Or when he sleeps too well." Peter nodded but wasn't really listening,
he was more concerned that he'd already screwed things up somehow, maybe something
he did last night...He just hoped that things were better once there were at the
studio.
~*~
It was...uncomfortable at best.
During filming, they just went through the
scenes as directed without much improv at all. Even Micky noticed that something
was off as he spied Peter and Mike on opposing sides of the set during their breaks
when usually they would have been chatting away about something no-one understood
or cared about.
"What happened, you guys have a fight or something?" Micky asked as
he approached the bored looking blond.
"Why, did he say something?" Peter asked, eyes
wide and somewhat hopeful.
"No. You guys just seem to be keeping your distance today,
it's freaking us out."
"Us?"
"Well, OK, me. So you haven't had some kind of domestic
or something?"
Peter sighed, looking over at Mike attempting to disappear into the
shadows. "No, nothing like that. He's been a bit weird since he got up." Peter chose
to keep to himself his suspicions that he'd upset him somehow, still unable to figure
out how he could have done so.
"Huh. Well, he probably didn't get much sleep. Or maybe
slept too much."
"That's exactly what Phyllis said," Peter replied in surprise.
"Well,
it happens. He's been downing that coffee like it's a lifeline, may be an idea to
keep it that way." Micky pointed out as he walked off to catch up with a couple of
make-up girls.
Peter felt more at ease with the dual suggestion at the lack of or
possible excess of sleep, hoping that it was that that was affecting his mood, rather
than something Peter had unknowingly done to upset him. He did decide to take Micky's
advice however, and got them both a cup of coffee.
Mike tensed a little when he saw
the blond approach but tried to relax when he saw him falter a little in his stride.
Peter wordlessly handed the strong beverage to the Texan who accepted with a mumbled
'thank you'. They stood in awkward silence for awhile before Mike broke it.
"Thought
we were doing a romp today," he spoke quietly, keeping his head down.
"I think they
moved it to tomorrow, something about the crew." Mike nodded, trying to think of
something else to say to lighten the mood.
"Gonna be a long day. Think they want us
to get about five tracks finished tonight."
"You're shitting me," Peter said, incredulously,
causing Mike to look up. "I don't know if there's enough caffeine in the world to
get me through that."
"Who needs caffeine when you have a Micky?" Mike responded which
was accompanied perfectly by a loud squeal as they watched Micky carry a weakly protesting
make-up girl over his shoulder, pretending like he was some kind of caveman.
They
both laughed at the display but when Peter turned that dimpled smile to Mike, the
other man's unknowingly turned into a pained scowl as he quickly downed more of coffee,
ignoring the scolding liquid as it coursed down his throat.
Peter realised things
had taken a sudden turn for the worse again so decided to leave quickly before he
could do any more damage, again not knowing what he'd done in the first place. It
was frustrating as hell but he wasn't about to confront Mike with it.
As Mike watched
him leave, he felt the sudden urge to throttle someone, namely himself. Goddamn it,
nice one Nesmith. Way to fucking not make this a big deal. He was trying, lord knows
he was trying. He knew it wasn't Peter's fault that he had no damned self-control
and was unwittingly making him suffer for it. But every time he seemed to let his
guard down, Peter would do or say something that instantly brought back memories
of the day before or images of his dream making him want to crawl into a hole and
die of disgust. He just needed some time to...block it all from his psyche. He managed
it before, maybe he could do it again.
~*~
It certainly was a long day, they were all
stir crazy by the early morning hours. Thankfully, that came as a small mercy for
both Mike and Peter who were finding it much easier to interact with so much going
on; Mike didn't have time to worry about his thoughts and Peter didn't have time
to worry about his feelings. They were both silently relieved at the returned sense
of normalcy between them.
When they both got home, each went straight to their respective
rooms, too exhausted to do much else.
Mike got into his pajama pants, slipping into
bed quietly so as not to disturb Phyllis. He sighed as he felt her snuggle into him.
"Sorry
darlin', didn't mean to wake ya."
"Mm, you know I can't sleep when you're in late."
She looked up at him, eyes adjusting to the dark, seeing how worn out he looked.
"Rough night?"
"Could've gone better, yeah. The term 'slave drivers' comes to mind."
She
chuckled lightly, raising a hand to run through his thick hair. "You need to unwind."
He
looked down at her head on his chest, making eye contact, a teasing smile on his
lips. "You making me an offer?"
"Was thinking about it." Without waiting for a response,
her lips and tongue began to explore his chest, causing him to shiver in delight.
Soon
they were both on their sides, facing each other, as mouths and hands ravished. Her
warm, panting breath sent chills down his spine, her soft fingers running over skin
and muscles that jumped at the contact. He thrust one hand into her silky hair while
the other gripped her backside, forcing them to grind together making him groan with
growing arousal.
"Ohh, Michael," Phyllis gasped causing Mike to flinch, his subconscious
stepping into high gear. He knew she'd said it, but all he could hear was a deeper
voice, drenched in passion repeating the same thing.
Then all at once, the hair wasn't
silky enough, the touch not rough enough, the body he held against him too small,
too submissive, too...Female?
As if burned, he pulled out of the heated embrace, actually
having to suppress a shudder as his thoughts turned on him.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
Phyllis asked, eyes wide with concern. As she attempted to scoot over to him, he
turned on his side, facing away from her.
"Nothing. Just...I'm just tired, need to
sleep. Night." He responded, ignoring the aching erection pitching a tent in his
pajamas. He knew Phyllis didn't buy it but she wouldn't say anything as he lay there
wishing himself into a dreamless sleep.
~*~
It wasn't meant to be, if anything the
dream was even more vivid and detailed than before. He had a shower (opting for a
very cold one, this time) before making his way downstairs. He didn't miss the suspicious
absence of a certain musician.
"He left early," Phyllis said from the sink, as if
sensing Mike confusion, "Said he wanted to talk to a writer or something." Mike suspected
that was a lie, Peter rarely kicked up a fuss where the writers were concerned. No,
it was probably more an attempt to avoid a repeat of yesterday which made Mike feel
more than a little guilty. He was the one with the problem but Peter was the one
trying to make it better. He resolved to make them both at ease and shut those insane
thoughts away for good.
Well, easier said than done.
It started out fine, Peter seemed
a little cautious in talking to Mike but when he realised he didn't look ready to
throw a fit, he eased up and everything seemed to be back to normal.
It was around
midday when everything started to go to hell, right when they were filming the romp.
Just some stupidness of them running around the Pad, the usual kind of stuff. Only
Mike was much more edgy and alert than usual and was, to put it bluntly, freaking
out.
Fuck, why do I always seem to be in front or behind him? I'm pretty sure I'm
usually next to Micky. And does he have to get so fucking close? He shot Peter a
warning glance, not comfortable with their sudden close proximity but Peter seemed
completely oblivious as he gave a grin that made Mike's chest tighten, painfully.
What's he so goddamn happy about? Oh. Right. We're meant to be having fun. What are
we, eight? It's just so - HANDS!
Mike almost tripped up the spiral staircase he was
currently running up when he felt Peter push him forward, hands planted firmly on
his ass. When the director yelled 'cut' and they broke for lunch, Mike couldn't get
away quick enough.
The rest of shooting didn't go much better. Mike was clearly distracted
and overly touchy and Peter watched him quietly forlorn. He'd pushed his luck, he
knew it. He didn't even know what had possessed him to publically grope him but Mike
was just there and his hands seemed to move of their own accord. Not that he blamed
them. But it was happening quicker than he'd hoped, he was getting careless and no
doubt Mike was figuring it out and getting uncomfortable. He needed to get a grip
before he royally fucked up everything.
The late night hours had them in the recording
studio laying down tracks. Mike was trying his damndest to keep to himself but that
blond hippie kept showing up everywhere, asking him questions and involving him in
conversations. And he was being so fucking polite and pleasant about it, it would
be like shooting a puppy to tell him to take a hike and give him some space. But
some things are just inevitable.
"OK guys," Bobby Hart could be heard over the system,
"let's try that again one more time. Micky, you try coming in a bit later this time."
"How
about Davy coming in later? It might balance out the vocals better. Don't you think
so, Mike?"
Mike felt himself snap before he had a chance to do anything about it.
"How the fuck should I know, Pete? Why do you insist on asking me all these damned
questions, you not got a brain of your own? If you think you know everything, why
don't you produce something!"
The room was silent, everyone staring at Mike who, in
turn, watched the cheerfully curious eyes become cold and somewhat distant. Yep,
just like shooting a puppy. He felt his gut wrench when Peter silently excused himself,
trying desperately not to show how hurt he was.
More silence followed until Micky
spoke up. "Mike-"
"I know," Mike interrupted, tone agitated, "I'm goin'."
Mike looked
down the hall, noticing that Peter hadn't strayed far, leaning against one of the
coffee machines. Mike approached him cautiously, not knowing what to say. But it
didn't matter because Peter beat him to the punch.
"I'm sorry."
"Uh, in case ya didn't
notice, I was the one that flipped out on you."
"Only cos I've been bugging you all
day, I'd be pissed off with me too."
Mike gave a wry smile. "Still didn't give me
no right to snap atcha. And, for what it's worth, I agree, Davy comin' in later would
be better. They don't know shit. Like workin' for a bunch of..."
"Monkeys?" Peter
finished with a sly smirk.
"Ah, sweet irony." Mike said, with a more wholesome smile
this time.
They finished the session without anymore outbursts or awkwardness, making
everyone more at ease and actually finishing earlier than expected.
As Mike and Peter
arrived home, Peter let out an exaggerated sigh. "After all that regimented crap,
I need to play something. I don't give a shit what it is but if I don't do something
spontaneous, I fear my brain will expire."
"I can dig that." Mike chuckled, beginning
his ascent up the stairs but Peter's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"You...wanna
join me?" Peter could tell that Mike was struggling with an answer and cursed himself
for pushing his luck again, he couldn't seem to help himself.
Mike knew he should
say no, knowing that he would just be setting himself up for a world of trouble but
he didn't much like the idea of offending Peter for the countless time that day either.
"Sure."
It
went much better than he'd expected, finding themselves chatting and laughing more
than playing. He didn't realise how much he'd missed Peter's company, which was insane
seeing as only two days had passed since...Mike found it somewhat easier to control
his thoughts, ignoring the disturbing flutters in his stomach and chest when Peter
laughed. I'll forget all about it soon, it'll be like it never happened... Mike thought
to himself, hoping beyond hope that he was right.
~*~
Mike lay stretched out on his
bed, arms behind him propping him up, legs slightly open. And he was naked. The wave
of ebony hair fell into eyes that were intensely focused on a figure kneeling before
him.
His skin lightly bronzed, muscles subtly toned, chest covered in a fine dusting
of hair, sandy hair framing his beautiful face. He, as it happened, was also naked.
"Mmm,
Michael," Peter said in a painfully sensual purr. Mike just swallowed hard, never
taking his eyes off the older man who's own caramel eyes were lazily roaming over
his body with a predatory gaze.
"Like what you see?" Again, Mike just continued to
stare, brain not quite firing on all cylinders. Peter smirked salaciously, hands
running idly over his own body. "I sure like what I see. Look how hard I am for you,
how hot you make me." Mike watched the hand travel down his stomach to grasp the
very erect cock jutting between his thighs. Mike almost choked on his own saliva
as he continued to watch Peter languidly stroke himself, seeing the thigh muscles
twitch occasionally.
"Wanna touch me, Michael?" Peter asked, knowing full well the
answer. Mike actually managed a nod, still captivated by the sight.
"Wanna fuck me?"
He asked with an evil smirk, seeing how Mike's dick twitched at the question.
"Yes..."
Mike rasped, his breathing quickly becoming irregular.
"I want you to fuck me, I want
you deep inside me. Want this thick...hard...cock." The hand not occupied at his
own crotch reached forward to run over Mike's leaking member.
"Fuck..." he gasped,
head thrown back as he desperately gripped the sheets beneath his hands. He looked
down to watch Peter expertly work his cock, unable to stop his hips from sometimes
bucking up, seeking more contact.
"Look at me," he heard Peter say, his own voice
getting raspy. Mike managed to focus on Peter's intense and strangely serious gaze.
"Tell me."
It was an ambiguous question but Mike knew exactly what he wanted to hear.
Another rough squeeze made it impossible for the words to stay locked up.
"I want
you."
"You wanna fuck me." Not a question this time.
"I wanna fuck you. I wanna take
you like he took you, make you feel so good." He gasped again as Peter pumped him
harder.
"Mm, wanna give it to me hard, Michael? Make me scream?"
"Yes, yes, fuck, everything."
Mike was beginning to lose strength in his arms as Peter worked him faster.
"That
all you want?" That caught Mike's attention and he managed a frown.
"Wha-? Ah!" Before
he could complete the question, Peter ran a finger over the sensitive skin behind
his dick making him jerk and squirm suddenly, a loud moan forced past his lips.
So
loud, he managed to wake himself up.
He found himself staring up at his bedroom ceiling,
the room enveloped in darkness. Another fucking dream. He felt himself twitch and
then realised something was...different. He knew he was awake, so how was it that
he could still feel it? Another tug dragged a moan out of him and turning his head
to the side, he saw Phyllis staring back at him, eyes fighting off sleep.
"What...?"
She silenced him with a kiss he didn't have the wherewithal to return.
"You've been
moaning in your sleep the past few nights, I thought you might need to get it out
of your system but without having to do any of the work."
He gasped again as she touched
all the spots that made him unravel. It was pure bliss, but there was one rather
large problem...His dream had not been placated and it was not going away. When he
dared close his eyes, the pleasure becoming too much, all he saw was Peter.
He continued
to thrust into his hand, choking out non-words as he watched Peter pleasure both
of them.
"That's it baby, let go." Phyllis' voice shocked him out of it again and
he knew he had to act now, he had to stop it before he did something he'd regret.
Loosening
the apparently real death grip he had on the sheets, he lowered his hand to his crotch
in an attempt to still her movement but it didn't have the desired effect.
While it
did stop her movements, the added pressure on his throbbing cock, with his hand over
hers, sent his mind careening into oblivion.
Better judgement out the window, he wrapped
his large hand around hers, controlling the movement. He heard a small whimper from
her, no doubt she was getting worked up too. He was usually more restrained than
this but there was nothing usual about this instance.
He increased the pace while
also tightening the grip making him groan in earnest. His eyes slipped closed again
and he was inside Peter. Thrusting mindlessly into that tight, hot passage, he watched
as Peter took it, craved it, begged for more. His movements became erratic, hips
lifting off the bed and he strived to get deeper still. His moans becoming grunts
as he got closer, needing to make Peter crumble, needing to prove something to someone.
A
particularly hard, tight thrust made Peter cry out, making Mike let out an impassioned
groan of his own. He dimly registered some giggling coming from his left but kept
his eyes tightly closed this time.
"Not so loud, baby. You wanna wake up Christian
and Peter?"
The name resonated through his mind. "Peter..." he whispered.
"Yeah, he's
only down the hall, remember?"
"P-Peter..." He repeated to the darkness, not even
listening any more as he focused on the man riding him to completion.
"Love me, Michael,"
was the last thing that registered before his body went into spasm, expletives streaming
from his mouth as he came in three jolting waves, splashing cum over their hands
and the covers.
He continued to twitch for a few minutes afterwards, feeling Phyllis
kiss his face, neck and collarbone.
"Feel better now?"
Mike just nodded, not knowing
what else he could do.
~*~
Peter didn't sleep too well that night, spending a lot of
it sat outside smoking a joint Stephen had so thoughtfully left behind.
He was in
turmoil, knowing that things were not-so slowly but surely going to hell between
him and Mike. He still didn't know what he was doing to make him so uncomfortable,
he didn't think he was acting any differently. OK, so there had been the odd slip-up
but this seemed to be more than that. They should have just garnered a weird look,
not outbursts and aversion. Peter could only surmise that he himself was too oblivious
to the 'I-have-a-thing-for-you' vibe he was apparently sending out.
As far as he could
see, he had three choices...and all of them sucked.
Choice #1: leave things as they
are, friendship crumbles painfully over time. Not a good idea.
Choice #2: leave Mike
and possibly the band. Also not a good idea. Not only was this probably the best
musical opportunity he was ever going to get but he was not remotely prepared to
purposely throw away his friendship with Mike, it meant too much to him. Leaving...
Choice
#3 aka Stephen's Choice: tell Mike how he felt and hope that he didn't flip out and
sever all ties.
Thinking rationally, Peter couldn't see that happening. He knew Mike
wouldn't be homophobic or anything. It had never come up but, knowing Mike as well
as he had come to, he knew he only judged stupid people and himself. Still, that
didn't mean he wouldn't flip out and be awkward. But isn't that happening already?
With
a sigh, he put out the joint, feeling like he could actually get some sleep now and
resigned himself to talk to Mike tomorrow. It wasn't a perfect plan but it sure beat
causing irreparable damage to their friendship.
~*~
When Peter woke a few hours later
to get up, he actually felt a lot better about his decision. So much so that he actually
felt slightly excited rather than nervous. It was probably just adrenaline more than
anything else but it was as if he could already feel the weight lifting off his shoulders.
He
made his way to the kitchen, seeing that unusually, Mike was already up and on his
third cup of coffee.
"Morning Michael," he said cheerfully as he approached, "I need
to...talk to you." He finished, pausing as he took in Mike's appearance. His hair
was matted, he hadn't yet shaved, his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles underneath
them. It looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.
"I need to talk to you too." Mike muttered,
looking into his half empty cup.
"Well, you go first." Peter said with growing concern.
His eyes darted around the kitchen and living room for signs of Phyllis and Christian
but saw nothing. He hoped to god nothing had happened to them.
Mike finally looked
up into that concerned face, his own a mask of indifference as he spoke.
"I think
it's time you got your own place."
