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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."


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?"


"Just work with me, dammit!" Peter leant his head back on the headboard, as closed as Stephen began checking things off on his fingers.



"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.


"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.


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.


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."


"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...

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.


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."

The Questions of a Thousand Dreams - Part 4 The Questions of a Thousand Dreams - Part 2