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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 Wait"



Title: The Wait (sequel to Tease)
Author: Daytona Demon
Rating: R
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Mike/Peter
Summary: It's Peter's turn to string Mike along mercilessly, offering him release only under inappropriate circumstances.
Warnings: Explicit sexual language and situations
Disclaimer: This story is about the characters, not the guys who played them, no implication is meant about the men who played the characters, I don't own the characters, and I get no profit from this (except a case of the jollies). So there.



As the band carried their gear into the small club, Micky clapped a hand onto Mike's shoulder. "Ready to rock 'n' roll 'em like they've never heard before?"

Mike glared at Micky and walked off with his guitars, leaving Micky standing with his hand hovering in the air. "OK, then," Micky said, unsure what was prompting this latest bout of stormy Texas weather.

What Mike wasn't about to tell Micky was that he was frustrated - no, downright angry - with Peter. He hadn't expected that Peter might try to get him back for the episode in the diner, that long day of torment and arousal spent keeping Peter on the brink. Mike was learning not to underestimate Peter, but he wasn't learning fast enough, he realized.

The trouble with someone who lets you test him and push all his buttons,
Mike thought, is that by simple observation, he learns all about your buttons and how to push them.

Peter had been playing Mike like a bass guitar all day.

From Mike, Peter had learned the art of nuance; combined with his naturally innocent air and sense of creativity, he'd been able to keep Mike wound up for hours without doing anything to spark suspicion in Micky or Davy. He'd hardly even needed to be alone with Mike. Walking around wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, Peter had practiced songs with Micky and Davy, knowing Mike wouldn't risk trying to drag him away in front of the other two. Peter had broken strings on Mike's guitars under the guise of tuning the guitars for him, knowing Mike would be angry and how frequently that anger led to arousal.

And so the player becomes the played.

Mike hadn't been able to get any alone time with Peter all day. Peter would simply give him that maddening, intoxicating smile and go off with Davy or Micky or both, keeping himself surrounded and unavailable. Mike had reluctantly taken his own alone time during the day to deal with the situation, and three jerk-off sessions later, here he was again fighting an insistent erection.

Get a hold of yourself, Michael,
he thought, and then smiled a humorless smile. That's the problem. I've been getting a hold of myself all day, and it ain't working. I need Peter, not myself. He knows it, too.

Mike leaned over to set up his guitar stand and felt a hand grab his ass. "Dammit, Peter, you'd better be ready to put that hand to work if you're gonna lay it on me," he barked, whirling around to face a stunned Davy.

"Sorry, man," Davy said, putting his hands up in front of himself and backing away. "I was just goofing. Peter said it might make you laugh and snap you out of whatever's bothering you."

Mike glared at Davy.

"I'll tell him this wasn't such a great idea," Davy said, turning around and walking toward the center of the small stage.

"See that you do," Mike grumbled, embarrassed at his behavior. He caught sight of Peter setting up his bass guitar stand and shot him the deadliest look he could muster. Peter smiled that infuriating smile, shrugged his shoulders theatrically, and began plugging guitar cords into amplifiers, making a point of bending over in his tight pants to show off his rear view for Mike's benefit.

Mike turned around, leaning his head and arm on the wall next to the stage. He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to hit the wall with his other hand. Looking down at himself and the ridiculously large bulge his pants didn't hide, he realized he'd have to go for Round 4 to make it through the gig.

If I keep doing this, I'm gonna break it off or shoot blood or something, Mike thought, irritated. Peter's gonna get it so hard tonight. He has no idea what he's in for.

Mike realized that thought was a mistake as soon as he felt his cock twitch, straining even harder for release, and he fought a brief dizzy spell. He strode down the narrow hall that led to the back door of the club, where the band had parked to take their gear in from the car.

Vaguely aware of the sound of the other guys sound-checking microphones onstage, Mike knocked on the door to the club's single restroom. He stood back, strategically arranging his hands to hide his crotch as much as possible.

"Occupied," a high-pitched voice called from inside the restroom. "Doing my face. Might be a while."

Mike shifted in place, cleared his throat, and tried to sound calm. "Miss? You think you might be able to do your makeup somewhere else? 'Cause I really, really need the restroom."

"No. Don't think so. Sorry," the high voice answered.

Mike fought the impulse to kick in the restroom door and stormed back down the hall, summoning every possible thought that might get his hard-on under control.
Business. Gear. Check the stage setup.

Inside the restroom, Peter smiled, peeked out the door to make sure he wasn't seen, and left through the club's back door to get the last of the band gear.

Onstage, Mike could see people entering the club, the owner and manager standing in one corner watching the growing crowd. He heard Micky testing his drum sound and Davy shaking maracas and tambourines into microphones. To Mike's right, near his usual place on stage, was a dimly lit area. From the dance floor, that far-right section of stage was partially obscured by a heavy velvet curtain, old and broken sound equipment, and a microphone stand with a microphone in it. Mike considered moving the microphone stand, as it wasn’t their gear and didn’t appear to be in use, but decided it wouldn’t be in the way where it stood.

Mike wandered back toward the hallway, mostly hidden from the crowd, surveying the stage landscape.
The guys are all out here and busy. They don't need me at the moment. Maybe the restroom's free now -

He felt a hand on his arm. "Mike!" boomed a familiar voice. "So glad to have you boys here tonight!" Mike turned around to greet the club owner and shake hands. He looked around, desperate to catch Micky or Davy's eye and pawn the club owner off onto them. Micky looked at Mike and waved back.

"Hey Mike, since you're up here, mind babysitting the gear while Davy and I grab a quick snack?" Micky asked. He and Davy didn't wait for Mike's answer as they scrambled down the short stairs to the club floor and made their way over to the snack bar.

Mike exhaled in frustration and turned back to the club owner, who hadn't stopped talking. "...and if you boys are a hit with our crowd out here, we'd love to have you back every other week."

"That would be great. That would be fantastic," Mike said, forcing a smile. "I tell you what, how about we discuss it after the show. Then we'll both know how well the crowd liked us."

"Great idea!" the club owner said. "I'll find you after the show. Don't you boys go anywhere when you're done. I have a feeling we're going to have some future business to discuss."

The club owner strode down the stairs to take his place with the manager and watch the crowd.
Great, Mike thought. Now I've just committed to spending even more time here tonight, instead of going right home afterward and giving Peter a good hard fucking. If I could just get five goddamn minutes to myself; even two minutes would probably do it at this point -

He moved again toward the hallway, toward the seclusion of the restroom. Suddenly, he felt yet another hand that touched his shoulder and moved lightly across his shoulder blades, and that tantalizing low voice purring in his ear.

"Where do you think
you're going, Michael?"

Mike turned and tried not to yell at Peter. "I'm going to get some alone time before the show, and I wouldn't need it if you hadn't been such a cocktease all day. Thanks to you, I’ve needed it three times and I’m about to go for another. Happy now?”

“Yeah, I hate it when that happens," Peter said casually, ignoring the thundercloud that was Mike's expression. "But someone has to stay here to watch the equipment."

Mike gave Peter his most sarcastic smile. "Well, good thing you happened along, then, shotgun. Now we can't very well be seen going into the restroom together. So why don't you mind our gear while I do something about this tent I keep pitching."

Peter guided Mike over to the guitar stand, in the partially obscured area of the stage. "You can hide that with your guitar, or have you forgotten?" Peter said, lifting the blond Gretsch off the stand and handing it to Mike.

Mike strapped the guitar on, not even sure why he was doing so. "Yeah, so I get to have guitars rubbing on me all night while you stand there across the stage smiling at me and moving around that way you know drives me crazy, and I'm not even going to be able to change guitars without looking like I'm putting on some kind of porno show. Seriously, get the hell out of my way."

Mike turned away from Peter, intending to push past him to go to the restroom, and was stopped when Peter reached up to touch the guitar's tuning pegs. "As far as anyone out there can tell, we're up here tuning guitars," Peter said. “It's dark back here. There's stuff in the way. They can barely even see us.”

Mike looked at him. "What..."

"Start tuning," Peter said.

Mike placed his hands on the guitar, plucking the strings and turning the tuning pegs. He felt Peter press up close to his right side and slide a hand between Mike's guitar and crotch.

"You've got a big problem," Peter whispered as he caressed Mike. "It's getting bigger, too."

"Not here, Peter," Mike said, staring straight ahead, his hands frozen on his guitar. "Not here. Not in front of all those people." He fixed his gaze on the abandoned microphone in its stand perhaps three feet away.

"Yeah, I thought the same thing when you did this to me at the diner," Peter said quietly, unbuttoning and unzipping Mike's pants. “I can stop, if you want me to. Just say the word."

Mike stood still, silent, as he felt Peter's warm hand slip inside his pants and grasp him. Peter moved his hand gently, spreading the slick wetness that already leaked from Mike. "You're messy, you know that?” Peter said, laughing. “I thought you said you'd done this three times today already. Where do you keep it all?"

"Inside my skull, probably, because it's all I've been able to think about today," Mike said in a quiet, unsteady voice.

Peter grinned. "Now if we were at home, just you and me, I'd take what's on my hand and spread it all over me, the way you like to watch me do, and then you could lick it all off me, the way you like to do. But we can't do that here. That'll have to happen later."

Peter moved his hand a little faster, grasped a little harder, and Mike moaned, trembling in Peter's grasp. "Why does it feel so much better when you do it?" Mike breathed. He knew he'd completely lost control of the situation, and was no longer going to fight it. Peter was giving him what he needed so desperately, and if it had to be right here, right now, on Peter's terms, so be it.

Mike shivered as he felt Peter's other hand trail lightly down his back, the touch on his spine as soft as the grip on his cock was firm. "You're in for it tonight," Mike said, his voice cracking. "You're gonna get fucked so hard. The cops are gonna show up because the neighbors will hear you screaming my name, over and over. For every time I've had to do myself today, you're getting it at least that many times."

The mental image of Peter sprawled underneath him, crying out in ecstasy, was the final push Mike needed for release. His legs nearly buckled as he spurted all over Peter's hand. "Ah, goddammit, Peter, ahhhhh, FUCK," Mike yelled - and then stopped, frozen, as he heard his words amplified all over the club.

The microphone stand. The microphone. That one just a couple of feet away. It's LIVE.

Mike opened his mouth in shock, his eyes wide and fearful, and leaned just far enough to the left to see the dance floor and  the confused, murmuring crowd looking at the stage. Across the room, he saw Davy's astonished expression and Micky mouthing the words, "What the hell was that?"

Peter walked over to the microphone and spoke to the crowd. "I broke one of Mike's guitar strings. It's been happening all day. No big deal, everyone. Micky, Davy, we'll be ready for you up here in about 10 minutes to start the show."

Mike zipped and buttoned his pants up, his face burning with embarrassment, as Peter grabbed a towel from Micky's drum stand to wipe off his hand. Peter walked back over to Mike and said, "You got a hell of a wet spot there. Good thing I brought a change of pants for you, huh? I'll grab them from the car."

Mike stopped and stared at Peter. "You brought a change of pants for me? You planned this whole thing out from start to finish, didn't you? I bet you even knew that microphone was on."

Peter smiled his beautiful, aggravating smile at Mike. "Of course I did. I switched it on. I even sound-checked it to see how far voices would carry at what level. You tend to be loud when you, uh...But that's the only part they all heard. They couldn’t hear anything else we said.”

Mike looked down at the floor and shook his head as Peter left to get the extra pair of pants. "You
are gonna get it tonight," Mike said, unable to hold back a smile. It would be a little slice of torture, having to wait for later when he and Peter could be alone together at home. However, Peter had relieved most of the torment, and as for what remained...Mike knew the night's final events would be entirely worth the wait.

Need You Tonight Tease