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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.


"Why Am I Standing Here?"



Title: Why Am I Standing Here?
Author: Gondorbunny
Pairing: Torksmith
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slashy sex, playful violence, and bad words.
Disclaimer: Do not own!
Summary: Micky begins to doubt his place in the Torklenzmith triangle.
Author's Note: Although I love my happy stories, we have to have conflict now and again to keep things interesting, right? Although this one also includes favorites such as Mike being forceful and Peter getting his ass spanked...again. (He loves it.) :)

Mike had been staring at Peter’s ass all day in those tight velvet pants, and the urge to grab up double-handfuls of those tight, rounded buttocks was almost unbearable.

So, after dinner, when the dishes were washed and dried and stacked away in the cupboard and the leftovers were safely stashed away in the refrigerator, Mike sauntered up to where Peter was idly picking out a tune on the piano. Micky and Davy were sitting on the couch, watching re-runs of “I Love Lucy” on the TV and laughing every now and again.

Mike leaned up against the side of the piano, arms folded, feeling the vibration through the wood as Peter’s nimble fingers danced over the keys. He stood watching Peter silently for a moment, while Peter remained lost in his own musings, temporarily unaware of Mike’s close presence.

Finally, Mike cleared his throat quietly, causing Peter to blink as if coming out of a trance and look up at him. “Oh, hey Mike,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t even notice you were there.”

“I guessed that,” Mike said. His voice was light, but his arousal was building and building as he noticed the way those damned pants molded around Peter’s thighs and clung to his crotch like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination...not that Mike had to try to imagine anything. He knew for a fact what treasures lay beneath that thin layer of fabric.

Meanwhile, Micky had turned away from the TV as he noticed Mike moving in. He knew that almost-predatory stalk of Mike’s all too well, and even from across the room he could discern the sly gleam in the other man’s eyes. Peter, whose brain was still halfway in the musical realm he had been immersed in, had not caught on to these warning signs yet. Micky watched them carefully, torn between nervous anticipation and burning curiosity. When Mike looked like this, interesting things were sure to follow.

“But,” Mike was saying now, seating himself on the piano bench next to Peter, causing Peter to slide over slightly to accommodate him, “I’ve definitely been noticing
you today.”

Peter looked at Mike quizzically. “What do you mean?” Then, just like that, he caught the glitter in Mike’s eyes that Micky had just seen. “Oh. Oh!”

Mike lips curved into a small smile. “Yep, I see you’ve got my drift,” he commented. Now he reached over to slide his hand up one velvet-clad thigh. “You in these pants is a very dangerous combination, Pete.”

Before Peter could even think of a reply to that, Mike suddenly stood, seizing Peter and pulling him to his feet, and then pushing him backwards up against the piano, knocking over the piano bench in his haste. Micky stood, his heart leaping into his throat at the same time that his cock noticeably jumped inside his pants.

The banging sound of the bench toppling over onto the floor followed immediately by the discordant jangling of the piano keys as Peter’s body made contact with them drew Davy’s attention from the TV with the force of a slap.

Instantly the Englishman was on his feet as well, concerned at first that a fight was breaking out. “Hey fellas? What’s going on...?” Then he stopped as he saw Mike voraciously clawing at Peter’s belt, yanking it open and then groping for the zipper on his pants.

“Oh for the love of...” Davy began, rolling his eyes in exasperation, not sure whether to laugh or cry. He poked Micky in the side as Micky stared at the scene, his eyes eating up his face, though said face was becoming more and more flushed with arousal as he watched the events unfold.

“You three are just impossible, you know that?” Davy demanded. “Bloody oversexed, that’s what.”

Micky turned to look briefly at Davy with a dubious expression, holding his thumb and pinky finger next to the side of his head to imitate a telephone as he said, “Hello, Kettle? This is Pot. You’re black!”

Davy chuckled. “All right. All right. I may have a bit of fun now and again meself, but at least I’m not participating in gang-raping our bassist on a daily basis.”

Micky looked back doubtfully at the piano, where Mike had now yanked Peter’s pants down to his knees and was busily digging his fingers into the rounded curves of Peter’s backside as he kissed him roughly and passionately. “You can’t rape the willing, Davy babe.”

“Don’t I know it,” Davy sighed. He turned and moved toward the back door. “I think it might be a good time to take a walk on the beach. Try not to break anything this time, all right?”

Micky briefly watched as Davy headed outside, and then his attention was redirected to the matter at hand as Peter’s loud groan of desire could clearly be heard. Quickly, Micky made his way over to where the action was taking place.

“Ah, glad you’ve joined us, Mick,” Mike said, breaking off from kissing Peter. Only the darkness of his eyes and the obviously raging erection pressing prominently against his zipper betrayed how turned on Mike actually was. Peter, however, had no such guile. His eyes were half-lidded and slightly glazed from the speed and ferocity of Mike’s sudden assault. His impressive cock was fully at attention, between thighs that were taut and trembling.

Now Mike turned Peter around and gave him a slight push into Micky’s waiting arms. “Hold him for me, would you?” Mike asked conversationally. Not waiting for Micky to reply, he leaned slightly forward, smoothing his hands over Peter’s rear again.

Mike made a low, throaty purring sound in his throat as he groped Peter’s buttocks like they were a pair of women’s breasts. Peter moaned softly again, prompting Micky to kiss his temple gently, Peter’s own steadily mounting arousal feeding his own.

“God, I can’t get over how crazy you make me, Peter,” Mike commented, almost to himself. “You have got the most incredible ass I’ve ever seen.”

Then, before either Micky or Peter could react, Mike suddenly rendered a ringing slap to Peter’s backside. Peter jumped and yelped with a combination of surprise and pain.

“Ow!! Michael!!” Peter protested, though the protest was more brought on by shock than by discomfort, Mike guessed. He knew damned well how much Peter liked this sort of thing.

Micky opened his mouth to say something...perhaps to protest such rough treatment, or so he thought, but to his own shock and Mike’s obvious delight, what actually tumbled out of Micky’s mouth was,

“Give him another one, Mike.”

“Hey! Whose side are you on??” Peter cried, pouting at Micky. The pout of mock outrage turned into another squeak as Mike smacked him again, and Micky could clearly feel the heat and the hardness of Peter’s erection jumping against his thigh. Peter moaned against Micky’s neck in reaction, and now Micky’s eyes took on the same predatory gleam as Mike’s as he realized how hot this was making Peter.

Feeling like his own pants were suddenly three sizes too small, Micky pushed aside a sheaf of honey-colored hair in order to start busily nibbling and suckling down the side of Peter’s neck. Peter pressed his hips hard against Micky’s leg, rubbing slightly, his breath coming in short, hard bursts.

Mike continued to spank Peter ruthlessly, alternating between one side or the other until Peter was whimpering with lust and his ass was an interesting shade of bright red.

“Mmm....” Mike hummed quietly, smoothing his hands over the reddened flesh, loving the heat that radiated from it, while Peter jerked slightly from even such a light touch, gasping. “I think this boy’s ready to be fucked, Micky. What do you think?”

Micky pulled his head back, nodding his agreement with a wicked smile. Peter shuddered against him, prompting Micky to stroke his fingers through Peter’s thick hair, encouraging him to tip his head back. Immediately, Micky took his lover’s mouth in a long, sensual kiss. Peter instantly responded, flickering his tongue over the interior of Micky’s mouth in a manner that communicated his need, his urgency.

Meanwhile, Mike glanced around and spied a bottle of suntan oil that had been left on the sill of the bay window when one of them had come in from the beach. He stepped over and quickly scooped it up, carrying it back toward the other two men.

“Should we move him to the couch?” Micky asked, watching with gathering excitement as Mike shucked out of his clothing, dropping it heedlessly to the floor.

Mike shook his head, his eyes darkening with lust. “No. I want him just like he is now, leaned up against you.” He reached out to caress Peter’s tingling buttocks again. “I like to be able to look at this ass while I’m fucking it.”

Feeling another sharp shock of arousal at just the sex-drenched tone of Mike’s voice, and almost wishing that it was he himself that would be at the receiving end of Mike’s attentions again, Micky nodded dumbly. He released his hold temporarily on Peter to remove Peter’s shirt and help him step completely out of his pants, tossing them aside.

Micky slid his arms around Peter again, re-taking Peter’s lips in another volley of kisses. Even as their mouths clashed and slid over one another’s however, Micky kept his eyes open, watching as Mike opened the bottle of oil and liberally coated his fingers with it, then did the same to the length of his cock. The summery, tropical aroma of coconut filled the Pad.

Soon enough the Pad was also filled with the sounds of deep, appreciative groans as Mike penetrated Peter with first his fingers, and then his cock. Peter clung to Micky, his warm breath fanning out over Micky’s skin as Mike began to set a hard pace, rocking Peter against Micky over and over again.

“Ohhh...,” Peter moaned. “Oh yeah, Mike. Fuck me....Fuck me harder.”

Micky was turned on beyond belief at the enthusiastic way Peter was reacting to his rough handling, even as a part of him worried slightly that Mike would hurt Peter. He held Peter tightly, bracing himself against Mike’s increasingly violent thrusts.

“Oh my god,” Peter cried out, his eyes rolling in his head, and Micky knew from experience that Mike had found Peter’s sweet spot. “Oh Mike....Yeah....Keep going.”

There was something so bizarre and twisted about this scene that Micky was having trouble digesting it all, but he supposed that was what a lot of the turn-on was...just the sheer
weirdness of it. Never mind the fact that Peter looked and sounded so sexy in his mounting pleasure. That was just icing on the cake.

But at the same time, Micky couldn’t help but take note of the steadily increasing uneasiness that was stirring within him as he listened to Peter urging Mike on. It was almost as if Micky didn’t exist for the time being, at least not to Peter.

That’s ridiculous, he told himself sternly. Of course Peter is totally into Mike right now. In case you haven’t noticed, Mike has got his cock buried in Peter’s ass, and is doing a pretty fair job of fucking him senseless. Something tells me that rational thinking is not exactly what Peter’s brain is focused on right now.

As if to confirm what Micky’s interior voice said, Peter shuddered violently in Micky’s arms, his voice taking on a rougher, more desperate edge.

“Ohhhh Michael....Ohhhhh my god....I’m going to come, man....Oh god....”

The next thing Micky knew, his pant leg was splattered with wetness. Shock after shock of pleasure caused Peter’s body to spasm against him. He uttered a final sobbing cry against Micky’s shoulder that tapered off into a low moan as Mike continued his rough, frenetic pace, seeking his own release.

“You crazy hot slut,” Mike snarled, his fingers digging into Peter’s hips. “You beautiful fucking whore. You want me to come in your ass? Do you? You want my cock to shoot off straight up your ass, Peter?”

“Yes,” Peter groaned, clinging to Micky desperately, trembling. “Yes, Michael. Do it. I want it. Come for me.”

With a growl of pent-up lust, Mike thrust just a few more times before the pleasure overtook him as well and his orgasm tore through him.

fuck,” he shouted, holding Peter’s lower body flush with his as he came in short, sharp bursts. He hummed blissfully, his eyes closed, riding out the final throes until there was nothing left.

Mine again at last, part of Micky’s mind whispered as Mike carefully withdrew from Peter’s body. Micky scolded that part of his mind for being so selfish, so possessive. After all, these last couple of months of sharing their sexual activities with Mike had really been fun...and educational at times...for both of them.

However, when Mike suddenly grasped Peter lightly by the shoulder and turned him around to face him, effectively pulling him out of Micky’s arms, Micky felt a pang of loss the like of which he had never experienced before. It was so strong that his very first impulse had been to grab Peter’s arm and yank him back toward him, like a child whose toy was being taken away.

He resisted that impulse, however...merely standing and watching dumbly as Mike leaned back against the side of the piano, wrapping up Peter in a warm embrace and bestowing surprisingly tender kisses upon his lips.

As the minutes ticked by and the pair continued to kiss, Micky was feeling more and more like a fifth wheel. An intruder. A voyeur. Hadn’t that been the case a lot lately with Mike and Peter, though? It seemed they had always become well involved in their activities before Micky would happen upon the scene, only to be invited to participate as some sort of afterthought.

Suddenly any warm, aroused feelings that Micky might have been building up within himself were suddenly and completely gone, leaving him feeling cold and vaguely ill.

“Hey guys,” he started to say, and then realized no sound was coming out beyond a raspy whisper. He cleared his throat quietly and then tried again. “Hey guys?”

Mike and Peter broke off...reluctantly enough, to Micky’s eyes...and focused their attention on their friend.

“I’m going to go lie down for a while, I think. I feel kind of sick,” Micky said, which was definitely the truth.

Suddenly Peter was the picture of concern. “Are you okay, Mick? Do you need me to do anything?”

Yes, I need you to get out of Mike’s arms and come back to mine, Peter. That’s all I need, Micky thought sadly, but knew that he couldn’t say any such thing without blowing this whole thing wide open. “No, that’s okay, Pete. I’m fine. I just need to rest for a bit, I think. Thanks, though.”

He glanced briefly at Mike and noticed that the Texan was merely watching him in his vague, lazy fashion, and then his eyes returned to Peter. However, Micky decided that if he had to look at that lovely, well-loved face for much longer right now, he might just burst into tears and wouldn’t
that be fun explaining?

So instead, he merely forced a small smile before turning away to move toward the bedroom. As he reached the door he turned back briefly to see that Mike and Peter had resumed kissing, as if Micky’s brief interruption had never happened.

His heart aching in his chest, Micky silently slipped into his room, shutting the door behind him.






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