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DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.


"The Sweetest Music"



Title: The Sweetest Music
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mike/Peter
Summary: The Monkees have an out-of-town engagement. Mike and Peter are thrilled to share a hotel room.
Warnings: As I said, I'm not too fond of this. Peter is fairly OOC and there's no real plot. It's quite obvious where all of this leads and there are no detours whatsoever. Still, I might learn from this, so criticise away. :)
Disclaimer: Neither did any of this happen, nor do I own anything.

Mike let out an accompanying sigh of relief when he moved his hand in order to change to the last chord of the song.

This gig had taken the longest time. The audience had virtually forced them to play an encore and every additional note had tried his patience beyond measure.

He let his gaze drift over Davy’s head to Peter again, who was still happily plucking the thick strings of his bass, moving to the beat in an enticing manner.

Of course he didn’t mean his dance to be enticing, but the strain in Mike’s groin grew more and more undeniable the longer he watched the other man. Mike didn’t know how to help himself but to look the other way.

Peter on stage was a sight for the gods.

Peter on stage reminded Mike far too much of Peter in bed.

His hips moving in small circles, bucking against his instrument; the sweat on his skin that soaked through the shirt, making it stick closely to the body leaving not much room for imagination; the expression on his face when he got carried away by the music, so similar to the face Mike had seen many times when he had brought Peter close to the climax and further.

He desperately needed to get off this stage and into their hotel room.

Before this they had to go through the usual procedures though, so he joined the guys in the middle of the stage, putting an arm around Micky, who had left his place behind the drum kit, and bowed to the audience, still clinging to his guitar in case the growing bulge in his trousers should show too clearly.

When they all rose again, he darted a look at Peter. Peter’s eyes narrowed and he smiled a lewd little smile.

I love that man, Mike thought, it’s almost like he reads my mind.

Both Peter and Mike lingered a bit on stage, pretending to unplug their instruments, so that Davy and Micky had already disappeared to the dressing room, when Mike and Peter entered the short dark passage that led from the stage to the backstage area of the club.

As soon as they were out of sight of the audience, Mike lunged forward and pressed Peter against the cool wall, the wood and strings of their instruments crashing into each other, emitting dissonant noises.

“Your dancing will drive me crazy one of these days, you know, shotgun?” His voice wasn’t more than a hoarse whisper, partly from the exertion of singing, partly from that of suppressing his arousal. He gently nibbled the bassist’s earlobe.

The other man grinned; he could feel it against his cheek.

“Maybe I do know…” Peter answered, repeating the moves he made on stage, rubbing against Mike’s body, who couldn’t help but moan.

“Peter? Mike?” Micky’s bright voice suddenly rang out through the corridor.

Mike practically jumped backwards, releasing Peter just in time before Micky’s curly head peeked around the corner.

“Are you two coming, or what?”


Mike was sulking. It was so obvious that Peter wondered if any person at all in the room hadn’t noticed.

Peter knew Mike wanted to go to their hotel as quickly as possible and he surely didn’t have any objections to it himself, but the band came first. They had agreed on this some time ago.

This concert was one of their rare out of town engagements and if the owner of the club, who not only paid them for performing in his club, but also paid their hotel rooms, wanted to have a chat with the band after the gig, they had to stay.

Patience had always been one of his strengths, but certainly not Michael Nesmith’s.

While Davy and Micky were in high spirits, busy wooing some girls that had somehow made their way into the dressing room, Mike was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, still holding his blonde Gretsch and silently playing some song or no song at all.

Peter himself was for now content sipping his coke, answering to an occasional question put to him - nobody expected him to contribute anything intelligent to their conversation anyway, which was sometimes a surprisingly liberating feeling - and secretly watching Mike.

Normally Mike would squirm under his gaze, tell him to look away and start to act constrained, but now he was immersed in his own stubbornness and didn’t notice.

If Peter hadn’t known, that he’d still get his share of the tall Texan later, he wouldn’t have been so calm, but luckily they had ended up sharing a hotel room, or maybe not so much “ended up”.

There were two single rooms and one double and assuming that everyone wanted to enjoy the luxury of having a single room for once, they decided to choose fingers. Once again Mike had been the odd finger and hence was to take the double room.

Nobody had wondered about Peter offering to share a room with the guitar player, to Davy and Micky it had seemed like one of the typical selfless things Peter would do and Mike had counted on being joined by him.

They hadn’t been able to spend much time alone lately due to the band always hanging out together, so this was an opportunity handed to them on a golden plate with a little twig of parsley beside it.

To stick to the metaphor: Mike wasn’t much of a gourmet, he ate in order to be sated, while Peter preferred to relish his food, let it melt in his mouth until every flavour developed to its fullest.

Sitting here, watching Mike’s long fingers slide gently over the fingerboard was like lifting the cover off a plate, breathing in the scent of a delicious meal. Mike, the bassist knew, was starving. The thrill of anticipation filled Peter, when he imagined himself being devoured by the hungry man.


“Finally alone!”, he sighed and locked the door behind them.

Peter was standing close to him, not showing any inclination to take initiative, so Mike reached impatiently for his arm to pull the blonde-haired man into a tight embrace, pressing his lips fervently to Peter’s, who compliantly opened his mouth wide enough for Mike’s tongue to slip inside.

Fuelled by the passion he had had to repress the whole day, Mike wanted to feel even more of the other man against him and lifted Peter off the floor, urging him to wrap his legs around him, never breaking their kiss while he did so.

But the next moment showed that he had misjudged his strength. It was when Peter playfully bit his lip, that his knees buckled and they both fell to the floor with a loud thud.

Peter started laughing almost immediately, but Mike’s clouded brain needed a moment to process what happened, before he joined in the laughter, both of them rolling on the floor, their limbs still half entangled.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

“Hey fellas? What’s going on in there?” It was Davy.

Their laughter died down to a chuckle. Mike looked at Peter, who motioned to the door with his head. They had to open the door or else Davy would get suspicious.

It was okay, Mike reckoned, they hadn’t really done anything too compromising as yet. All the same he motioned to Peter to get up, while he made his way to the door.

“Mike! What was that noise?” A concerned Davy greeted him and entered the room.

Mike still couldn’t stop sniggering, neither could Peter.

“Err...” He cleared his voice and tried to put on an innocent face. “Peter tried to teach me how to… walk on my hands… and well, you know how I tend to trip over my own feet. Turns out, I’m not much better with my hands...”

He could see how Peter desperately tried not to burst out laughing again behind Davy’s back.

Lying to their friends had become a bad habit during the last month, but they weren’t yet ready to step out of their cosy togetherness and face the rest of the world. They would eventually. He knew that it laid heavily on Peter’s conscience already and he felt bad about it too, but tonight was not the night.

“Oh… okay.” Davy seemed a bit confused, but he asked no more question concerning the noise. “Listen, Micky and I are going to a club to meet the girls. You know, the ones from the dressing room. Do you want to come along?”

He had turned around to face Peter, probably because Mike rarely joined them on their nightly tours through the clubs.

“What club?” Mike couldn’t believe the words that came out of Peter’s mouth.

“I don’t know, man, just some club; the girls gave us the address.”

Peter tilted his head slightly as if he was meditating. Mike darted an angry look at him, gesticulating behind Davy’s back that he had to stay.

“No,” Peter finally said. “I’m kinda tired. You two go alone. Have fun!”

Davy turned around; Mike stopped his gesticulating just in time. “Mike?”

“You know that I don’t really dig clubs, babe.”

Davy nodded and left the room, wishing them a good night before he closed the door behind him.

“Walking on your hands? Man, that was the lousiest excuse ever!” Peter chuckled when he was sure that Davy was out of earshot.

Mike walked over to him and ran his hand through strands of sandy hair.

“He bought it, what more could we ask for? But you weren’t actually considering going with them, were you?”

Peter smiled. “Maybe…”

When had he turned into such a tease? Mike just rolled his eyes and bent down to kiss Peter again, slow and softly this time. The other man’s moans told him that he had struck the right chord.

Kissing they made their way to one of the beds, where Mike gently lowered Peter onto the bed.

“Just a moment…”

He quickly walked over to the door and locked it again.

“Don’t want another interruption.”


Then he was back, kneeling over his body and planting kisses on Peter’s neck.

The bassist tugged at Mike’s shirt so he could let his hands slip under the fabric and roam over the warm skin on Mike’s back who had proceeded to unbutton Peter’s own shirt slowly, his mouth following his hands.

It was as if Mike’s touch and kisses set him aflame, the hotbed clearly located between his legs.

He needed alleviation; all of a sudden their roles seemed to have changed. Now it was Peter who had run out of patience. He sat up, eagerly stripping the shirt from himself and then tugging at Mike’s shirt again. Mike watched him with a pleased grin on his lip, content to let Peter do the work.

When he had both freed them from their shirts, Peter pulled Mike close again, kissing him and bucking up his hips, to increase the friction between their bodies. The low-tuned sounds of joy Mike emitted at each contact of their groins only spurred Peter’s determination to speed things up.

He brought his hands between them and let them wander over the dark trail of hair on Mike’s belly down to his belt. Mike moaned against his mouth when Peter released the pressure that had built up in his already tight-fitting pants, the moaning only increased when Peter started stroking him.

He could tell Mike was close to climax, when after a while the Texan’s caresses became slower and his head lolled back, breaking their kisses, but Peter had other plans for him and drew his hand back to unbutton his own pants.

Mike, clearly displeased with the slowdown of the action, started helping – what meant that he tugged impatiently at Peter’s pants and underwear until he finally got them off his legs and then did so with his own garment.

Peter smiled at the sight of the concentrated frown on the man’s forehead.

“What’s so funny, huh?” Mike drawled in a jokingly menacing tone that only increased the throbbing between Peter’s legs.

Mike forced his friend back on the mattress again, lying on top of him, pinning Peter’s arms down with his hands. Peter playfully started to writhe under him, bucking his hips up against Mike’s.

Peter had to bite his lip in order to stifle a cry at the contact of his erection with Mike’s.

“You like that, don’t you?” Mike whispered hoarsely in his ear. He knew exactly what effect his voice had on Peter, who now shivered with arousal under the weight of the Texan’s body.

Suddenly one of his wrists was released and just a second later, Mike shifted and closed his hand around Peter’s and his own cock. The increased friction was too much for Peter to hold back any longer and he closed his eyes and surrendered to his instincts.

His hips moved almost automatically following the rhythm Mike dictated, Peter’s clear moans like the melody to the low grunting noises Mike emitted.

It didn’t take long until he felt all the heat in his body concentrating in one spot shortly before he spilled himself over Mike’s hand and his own belly, and only a few thrusts later Mike came with a loud and long moan and collapsed on top of him.

They lay like this for a while, both gasping, drained of all power, but filled with happiness.

Mike stirred first, rolling off Peter and tugging at the blankets to wrap them both up in them.

When he snuggled up against him again, his head resting on his shoulder, Peter released a throaty noise of pleasure.

“Gee!” Mike’s warm breath tickled on his skin. “You really make the sweetest music, babe.”

Peter chuckled and sleepily planted a kiss on top of Mike’s head, before he allowed himself to doze off for a moment.

He had a feeling that a long night lay still ahead of them.