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Home Slash Fiction Het/Gen Fiction Donatella's Head

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.


"Under the Summer Sun"



Title: Under the Summer Sun
Author: Mini
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Torklenz
Genre: Slash. Smut. RPS.
Warnings: Contains adult content between two characters of the same sex. If that isn't your bag, don't read this (though if it's not, I'm not sure why you're here). Also contains some adult language.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, completely 100% fictitious. I make no claims as to the personalities or sexual proclivities of the real Peter Tork and Micky Dolenz, and I glean no profit from this story whatsoever. So don't sue me, cause I'm a broke grad student and I'd have to pay you in little tiny packets of Chinese mustard.
Summary: Peter and Micky embrace the Summer of Love in a way all their own...
Author's Note: Based on Micky's mention in his book of he and Peter going to the Monterey Pop Festival together, and how on the last night, after all the concerts were over, the hard-core music lovers still stayed, and he (Micky) spent the night listening to Jimi Hendrix jam in an empty livestock barn.



Micky was wearing them, along with an Indian headdress he'd gotten from Gene in the wardrobe department. The second day of the Monterey Pop Festival was winding down, the energy in the crowd nearly palpable as Otis Redding powered through the last chords of his set. Micky sat watching, entranced, his entire body humming with stimulation, of both the natural and chemical variety. He'd been having an amazing time since getting there on Friday, in no small part due to the fact that Peter was with him.

The LSD both men had ingested at the start of the concert was particularly strong, and they'd taken two more of those little purple pills over the last 24 hours. Micky rubbed his eyes as he felt the last of the current dose winding its way though his body, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead as his arm seemed to vibrate on its own. He looked around for Peter, who'd been standing next to him until just moments ago.

"Peter, where are you, man?" The din of the crowd was slowly dying out as the others left. Micky didn't want to leave without Peter, though. He reached out blindly, gasping aloud as he felt a hand clap down on his shoulder.

"Hey, Mick." The sandy-haired man was smiling almost dreamily as he stood there. "I wanna show you something."

Micky smiled back.
I think I kind of love him a little... "What is it?"

"Come with me," Peter grinned, clasping Micky's hand in his own as he started to walk.

The grass beneath Micky's feet felt like water as Peter pulled him along. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes and reveling in the sensation of floating, gracefully moving through liquid. A small smile curled up the corners of his mouth as one single image came into his mind's eye:


Micky couldn't forget the sight of Peter during the concert. Peter never just listened to music--he
became the music, something rich and incredible, like it filled up his entire being. Even just sitting still, his whole body seemed to be humming. Micky had glimpsed over at his friend several times, transfixed by Peter almost as much as by the band onstage. Every inch of Peter was a vision--long, golden bangs falling over his soft brown eyes, pink lips slightly parted as he watched the stage, and that beautiful smile that spread across his face whenever he heard those parts of the music that lit a particular fire in his soul.

It had all started when Micky went to pick Peter up for the festival. He'd stood in front of the mirror for hours at home, dressed to kill in animal skins, a custom-made suit, and, of course, the headdress. Sitting there in the car, Micky couldn't wait to get to the fairgrounds and show off his psychedelic outfit.

Then Peter came outside, all peaceful energy and effortless charm, and Micky was struck speechless (a rare feat indeed). He stared at Peter as he slid into the passenger side of the car, unsubtly raking his gaze up and down that lightly muscled body; the tight, white pants that Peter wore, which curved perfectly over his ass, and the blue paisley shirt and brown vest that clung to his upper body in all the right places. Micky was envious of how Peter made looking good look so easy.

The citrus incense and clean detergent scent of the man next to him was almost intoxicating to Micky, and he felt his heart racing as they sped towards the festival. Peter quickly mixed in with the crowd, and Micky grabbed a little purple pill, trailing behind him to their seats, hoping the drug would kick in fast and clear his mind of Peter enough to focus on the show.

But it was no use. He couldn't keep his eyes off the blond, stealing glances that became longer and longer, that went from all of Peter to just his lips; lips that Micky so desperately wanted to kiss.

What the hell? Snap out of it, Dolenz. Not here, not now. Micky shook himself out of his thoughts. He and Peter had kissed before, and then some...all in the privacy of one of their homes, or backstage after a show, when no one else was around. Micky preferred it that way; it was something that was just theirs. But the whole atmosphere of the night was doing things to him that he couldn't explain. He wanted more, wanted to touch him, to have the taste of Peter's skin tingling on the tip of his tongue. But how could they do it here, with so many people around all the time?

"Oof." Micky grunted as Peter suddenly stopped, eyes opening and adjusting to the dark.

"Where are we?" He craned his neck around to look behind them, and was surprised to see how far away they were from the stage area.

"In the field, by the barns." Peter's hand was still grasping Micky's. A small smile curved up the corners of his mouth as he saw what he was looking for.

"Over here," he said, pushing open one of the doors, the wood groaning with age as it slid across the frame. Micky stepped inside, head tilted back as he gaped in awe at the massive structure.

"Wow...it's so big in here. And quiet." The laughter of the still-remaining festival-goers echoed from another barn across the way, the sound only somewhat muted as Peter pulled the door shut.

"Hey, Peter, how'd you know about this barn any--Mmph!" The last part of the sentence quickly died in Micky's throat as Peter looped an arm around the back of his head and pulled him close for a bruising kiss. Micky groaned against the blond's lips, the brief opening giving Peter the opportunity to slide his tongue into Micky's mouth. Their tongues tangled feverishly as Peter pressed his hands to Micky's hips, reaching around to grasp the drummer's ass--so well-defined through the tight fabric of the bellbottoms--kneading the heated globes of flesh in his hands.

"Christ." Micky muttered softly against Peter's mouth, his senses on overdrive from the remnants of the drug and the arousal flooding his entire body. Both sensations fought for dominance in his body, and there was no telling which high would win out.

Peter broke the kiss then, chest heaving as he caught his breath, and twined his fingers with Micky's again, pulling him over to a massive hay pile. The other people in the nearby barn had started a bonfire outside, and soon slits of orange flame flickered in between the boards. The only other source of light was a lantern hanging from one of the beams. Despite these dim conditions, Micky could see everything perfectly, and was entranced by the outline of Peter, skin tanned and glowing in the soft light.

"Peter, what--?" Micky stammered, still trying to find coherence underneath the chemicals as the shadows from the fire began to take shape and dance across the barn floor.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," Peter breathed, smiling wickedly. "Do you have any idea how good you look in those pants?"

Me?" Micky was incredulous.

"Yeah, you," Peter chuckled. "Those bellbottoms look like they were painted on. I knew from the second I saw you this morning that you were dressing to show off. It doesn't take a genius, Mick."

Micky found himself blushing furiously, grateful that the darkness masked most of the crimson red creeping over his cheeks.

Peter stepped closer to Micky then, lifting a hand to the side of his face. "Now that I've got you alone, I can show you just how much your efforts are appreciated," Peter whispered, gently sliding his thumb back and forth across Micky's cheek. He brought his other hand to the bottom of the headdress, slowly pushing it up and off Micky's head. It soon lay forgotten on the ground as Peter sucked in a sharp breath at the mass of slightly-flattened curly hair that had been hidden underneath.

"Mmh, I love this hair," was the last thing Peter said before kissing Micky again, much more softly than before, but still passionate.

A deep sigh of pleasure sounded from within Micky's throat, and he parted his lips so that Peter's tongue could slide inside. Peter's hand tightened in Micky's hair as he walked them back a few steps and lowered Micky onto the pile of hay.

Micky felt as though he were melting into the hay, and suddenly his only anchor was Peter, whose broad shoulders he grabbed tightly for support. Peter moaned softly, reaching behind him to slide Micky's arms all the way around his upper body, and his lips were on the curly-haired man's own again, licking and nibbling at Micky's lower lip, tracing out to his jawline and down the smooth, creamy skin of his neck.

"God..." Micky breathed, head tilting backwards to allow Peter better access. He willed his brain to get his fingers working, and as his coordination returned he slid his hands down Peter's back to his ass. A quick squeeze to the firm, fabric-encased flesh was all the warning the blond man received before Micky deftly moved to the front and hooked his thumbs into Peter's belt loops, yanking him down as he simultaneously thrust upward, grinding their rapidly swelling erections together.

Peter groaned loudly as Micky's hardness rubbed up against his own. A thin layer of sweat began to form across his brow as they continued their ministrations, until finally Peter felt as though he would burst if he didn't soon get some relief.

"We need to get you out of these pants," Peter half-moaned against Micky's lips. Micky smiled, pressing his hands to Peter's chest and gently pushing him up to a sitting position.

"With pleasure," Micky said, slowly lowering the zipper as he gazed at Peter from beneath heavy, arousal-clouded eyelids. He arched his back seductively, long fingers grasping the waistband of his pants, sliding the fabric down at the most tortuously slow of paces.

"You fucking tease," Peter growled impatiently, shoving Micky's hands aside and yanking his pants to his knees with surprising strength. Micky yelped at the coarse texture of the hay suddenly making contact with his skin, tickling and stimulating all the little nerve endings in his buttocks and thighs. His erection curved impressively away from his body, the tip hovering just slightly over his stomach.

The sight of Micky in full arousal sent Peter's already-racing pulse into overdrive, eyes darkening with lust as he raked his gaze over the young man's half-naked form. Peter hurriedly pulled off his vest and shirt, then reached for his own pants, loosening the sideways belt buckle and pulling it off, followed by those sinfully tight white pants. His own hardness sprang free then, and he sighed with relief, noting with a very satisfied smirk the "O" shape Micky's mouth had fallen open to as he eagerly surveyed his manhood.

Peter lowered himself onto Micky's chest, a pleasurable hiss escaping his lips as their heated torsos made contact. He leaned up slightly to the side of Micky's face, sliding his tongue up along the outer edge of his ear. He nibbled briefly on the tender lobe, then brought his lips as close as possible to Micky's ear, whispering:

"You've been dying for a taste, haven't you?"

Micky groaned aloud at Peter's words, a fresh wave of arousal flooding his body, and his dick unabashedly twitched against the blond man's tanned, toned stomach. Micky couldn't see, but he felt Peter grinning widely against him.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Peter rose to his knees, placing one on either side of Micky's slim waist as he straddled him. He moved closer, pressing the tip of his erection to Micky's lips, "painting" them with the bit of precum that had already gathered there. Taking care to never break eye contact with the man above him, Micky parted his lips, sucking the head into his mouth and sliding his tongue around it.

"Fuck!" Peter cried out, head falling backwards as he gasped in ecstasy. He felt Micky's hands slide around to his ass, caressing and roughly groping the warm, perfect cheeks as he swallowed Peter's cock down his throat. Micky's enthusiasm only continued to grow as he hollowed his cheeks, the overwhelming, glorious suction eliciting a strangled cry from Peter, who could no longer hold back and began to thrust his hips against Micky's face.

"Mmmhh..." Micky hummed, the vibrations sending shockwaves through Peter's balls and straight to his knees, which momentarily weakened. He steadied himself by twisting a hand into the back of Micky's head, fisting those gorgeous curls and holding on for dear life.

"Oh, God, Micky...that feels so fucking good..." Peter was panting roughly, not knowing whether it was the drug or the high that he still felt from the music that made this the most incredible blowjob he'd ever received. Micky sucked him down to the root then, tongue sliding effortlessly around the shaft, and Peter suddenly had his answer. Screw Disneyland; Micky's mouth was now officially the happiest place on Earth.

A probing finger jolted Peter out of his thoughts, eyes rolling into the back of his head as Micky breached the tight ring of muscle at his asshole, pushing in further and curving up, pressing on that sweetest of sweet spots. Peter's entire body trembled as Micky finger-fucked him in rhythm with his sucking, his mind so close to shattering as the familiar ball of fire began to build in the pit of his stomach.

Not wanting to go over the edge just yet, Peter reluctantly fought off his climax, slowing his thrusts before withdrawing from Micky's mouth entirely. Micky cocked his head to one side, gazing up at Peter adoringly, and for a moment Peter wanted to turn him over and slide his cock between those beautiful, pale buttocks, bury himself inside, and plunder that clenching, hot passage until he came, again and again.

But Peter resisted that urge, instead preferring to give Micky what he knew he wanted, what they'd both been wanting for a long time.

"Mick...sit up..." Peter breathed, still straddling the younger man's lap. Micky did as he was told, attempting to find some support for his back against the hay. A low chuckle sounded in Peter's throat at the sight of a few pieces of hay that had gotten stuck in Micky's thick locks. He marveled at how mussed the younger man looked, yet so beautiful there in the darkness--a sinewy-limbed nymph lying against and beneath him like a gift sent from the gods themselves.

Peter's hands went to the hem of Micky's shirt, lifting the garment over his head and tossing it aside.

"Hey, that was expensive!" Micky pouted, whimpering forlornly as he craned his neck to take in the sight of the custom-made fabric lying in the dirt. Peter took that moment of distraction to slide a spit-slicked hand around Micky's cock, stroking him to full hardness.

"Trust me...in a few minutes you won't even remember you had it on," Peter purred, capturing Micky's lips in a heated kiss. Micky sighed, raising one hand to the back of Peter's head, fingers lightly sifting through the silky, golden hair. Peter moved swiftly, aligning his entrance over the head of Micky's cock, eyelids fluttering as he slid the cleft of his ass back and forth across the tip, teasing.

"Are you sure?" Micky whispered. "We haven't gone this far yet...do you really want to do this now?"

Peter nodded, taking his lower lip between his teeth and biting lightly. "This is the right place. I can't explain why, but I just feel it. I want this. Here, with you. Now."

Micky wasn't one to argue, and he held his breath as Peter slowly sunk himself down onto his erection, inch by glorious inch, until Micky was completely sheathed in him.

"Ohhh my God..." The words left Micky as a throaty groan, the muscles in his arms tensing and flexing as Peter's weight rested on his hips, and that incredible heat and tightness choked what little coherence Micky had left in him.

"You feel so good in me, Micky...so good..." Peter gasped, trying to adjust to the pulsing hard-on that filled him so completely. It hurt like hell at first, but the pain had reduced to a bearable simmer, and he was all-too-eager to get to the incredible pleasure that he knew lie behind it.

Peter raised himself up slightly, maneuvering his long legs around Micky's slim waist. He shivered as Micky caressed his inner thighs, agile fingers lovingly stroking the taut flesh, causing the little hairs all to stand on end.

Their chests were just inches apart, and Peter leaned forward then to press a gentle kiss to Micky's forehead. Hazel-gold eyes looked deep into dark chestnut ones, and Peter spoke just two words: "Hold on."

With that, he thrust down, impaling himself on Micky's cock as they both cried out. Peter began to rock himself forward, thin beads of sweat forming across his brow as he rode Micky at a slow, languid pace.

"Peter--please...oh, it feels too good. Please move faster," Micky begged, already coming unraveled. He settled his hands in the curve of Peter's lower back, lightly scratching his nails down the smooth skin.

A low growl rose up from Peter at the sensation, as if some switch inside him had been turned on. "You want it rough, Mick? Is that it?" Micky opened his mouth to his respond, but all that came out was a high-pitched squeak as Peter suddenly clenched his internal muscles, effectively clamping around his dick like a vise.

"Fuck me, Micky. Make it hurt so good." Micky could hardly believe the words tumbling from Peter's mouth, words he'd certainly never heard him speak before, and not in such a roughened, sex-drenched tone of voice. The world had seemed so big earlier that day at the festival, and now it had shrunk to include only the two of them, the hay digging into Micky's backside, and the vast, faintly-lit walls of the empty barn.

Micky decided that he would oblige Peter, so desperate was he to fulfill that need that ran deeply in his--and Micky's own--body. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he was sure Peter could hear it, and yet he proceeded confidently, sliding his hands to either side of Peter's hips, gripping tightly.

He lifted Peter until the tip of his cock barely remained inside, then plunged him back down on it. A strangled groan poured from Micky's lips as Peter swore aloud, and Micky set a fast and hard rhythm, bucking his hips up again and again.

"Jesus...I can't believe how much I want you...why the fuck didn't we do this sooner?" Micky panted as Peter's arms slid around his neck, pulling them close so their foreheads were touching.

Peter chuckled softly before crashing his lips to Micky's, tongue darting out and tangling with the other man's as they moaned into each other's mouths. Peter pulled back a moment later, loving the red, swollen state that he'd left Micky's lips in from the kiss.

"All that matters now is that we--FUCK!!" The rest of the sentence permanently died in Peter's throat as Micky's cock suddenly brushed against his prostate.

"Oh, Christ, Micky, do that again...please..." Peter begged, twisting his hips down to meet each of Micky's thrusts.

Amazed at how just a slight change in his movement had sent Peter reeling, Micky gladly repeated the action, angling each of his thrusts to reach that sweet spot.

All Peter could do was moan incoherently in response, the intermittent bursts of white heat and light running together like a snowball, rolling fast downhill and out of control.

And behind it all was that fireball again, forming fast at the base of Peter's spine. There would be no fighting it off now, no waiting or delaying. Micky's arm slid around his back then to hold him steady, and Peter brought a trembling hand forward, wrapping it around his throbbing erection, slicking up the head with the precum that had gathered there.

Peter started to jerk himself off in the same rhythm as Micky's movements, eyes squeezing shut as he concentrated on the stimulation he felt both inside and outside. His eyes flew open when he felt his hand pushed away, however, and Micky's soon replaced it, stroking Peter roughly.

"Yesss...God, yes...I'm gonna fucking come," Peter moaned, and Micky increased the speed of his strokes, sliding his thumb across the slit of Peter's cock, at the same time making sure that every one of his thrusts reached the blond's pleasure center.

Peter's head fell forward, his breath hot and shallow against Micky's neck.
Just a little more...a little more...SHIT! Peter's mind exploded then as his climax rushed over him, everything from toes to hair follicles set alight with pleasure. A loud groan fell from his lips, fingers clutching tightly at Micky's back as jets of hot cum landed on his and Micky's stomachs.

Micky gasped as he heard and felt Peter's orgasm, absolutely riveted by the sight of those golden bangs spilling over his eyes as he cried out. It was the same way he'd looked earlier that day in response to the music. This realization, combined with Peter's muscles tightening around his cock again, sent Micky flying over the edge. He slammed into Peter several more times and his testicles rose higher as he finally let loose.

"Oh fuck...yeah...fuck...PETER!" Micky cried out, his features contorting in unbridled ecstasy as he came, holding Peter's hips flush as he spent himself into the older man's body.

Peter slumped forward then, boneless and exhausted, as was Micky, who collapsed backwards into the hay under the unexpected weight. Both he and Peter giggled helplessly, hands and arms twining together as they kissed some more, reveling in the afterglow of their exertions.

"Oh, man...that was unbelievable," Micky sighed, chest still heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Peter smiled at this, leaning forward to press one more kiss to Micky's lips, which was interrupted by a groan of protest as Peter lifted himself off of his softening cock. Peter hissed softly at the sudden loss, quickly sliding off to the side and curling up next to Micky, one hand draped over his stomach.

"I still can't believe you threw my shirt into the dirt, though," Micky said, unable to keep from breaking into a grin when Peter sat up to look at him in disbelief. He lowered his lips to Micky's hipbone, pressing lightly as he gazed up at the curly-haired man.

"It's only a piece of clothing, Mick. Remember: you wear the suit. The suit doesn't wear you," Peter said, slowly dragging his tongue along the smooth Adonis lines on Micky's body. He flashed a dimpled grin up at him before turning back around and lying down in Micky's arms.

They fell asleep like that, oblivious to the laughter and commotion still happening outside the barn. The bonfire continued burning brightly, the long fingers of intermittent amber light just briefly illuminating their intertwined bodies, keeping them hidden from the rest of the world as they peacefully slept.


"Hey, guys! Jimi's gonna play in one of the old barns!" someone shouted.

It was late Sunday night, and the Monterey Pop Festival was over. Nearly everyone had gone home; the fans, the press, most of the musicians. But the hardcore music lovers were loathe to leave--and among them were Peter and Micky.

"You wanna go, Peter?" Micky asked, unable to suppress the ubiquitous smile that had been on his face since waking up next to Peter that morning.

"Hell yeah!" Peter replied, and they followed what was left of the crowd up to the fields. A few people were already there, and those coming in then hurried excitedly to where Jimi was standing and starting to play "Purple Haze."

Peter and Micky hung to the back, still making sure to have a good view, but grateful for the privacy and the dark, as Peter's fingers found their way over to Micky's, sliding in between them and squeezing gently.

Micky felt a warm flush creep up his chest as he listened to Jimi play, both the music and the soft hand holding his sending a quiet thrill through his entire body.

A wave of familiarity washed over Micky as he looked around the barn, and he suddenly realized that it was the same barn he and Peter had been in the night before.
Oh, shit...well, it's not like anyone knows we were here. We cleaned everything up...right? Micky took a deep breath, willing himself to be reasonable and not freak out over nothing.

Then, he spied it. He knew that to anyone else's eyes it would be small and barely noticeable, but to Micky it was like having the Hindenburg in your living room: A feather. One, single, solitary feather from his headdress that had lain there on the ground. It was a memento, a reminder of all that they'd done to and with each other, and Micky felt an incredible sense of pride well up inside of him.

Micky cast his gaze up, noticing then that Peter had seen it, too. He felt the other man's hand slide around the back of his head, and for a moment, they simply smiled at each other, keenly aware of the combined tenderness and sense of wickedness they were sharing.

Certain that the darkness of the barn and everyone's attention being so fixed on Jimi would give them enough cover, they leaned in to each other, lips pressing together in a quick, sweet, kiss.