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"You Do Something To My Soul"
Title: You Do Something To My Soul
Rating: Starts off PG, but quickly develops into R
Summary: Peter's in love. 'Nuff said.
Warnings: Slashy goodness abounds, so if that's not your cup of tea, pray go elsewhere for your reading pleasure. Oh, and there's some naughty language too.
It had been a very successful show at the Groove Spot (known to their local teenage constituency as the G-Spot), a swinging new club downtown that had booked the Monkees for a two night trial stint over the weekend. If the club owners liked what they saw, other dates could follow, including the possibility of a permanent rotating spot on the entertainment schedule.
The boys knew what a break this could be for them, so they had carefully rehearsed all of their best material so that they were note perfect, and had pulled out all the stops to be as charming during the gig as they possibly could.
It had paid off. The kids had loved them. The dance floor was never empty during the entire time they were on stage, and the owners did indeed seem very pleased. It looked like things were really going the Monkees’ way for a change. For the first time in a long time, the chance to make some real money and get caught up on their growing mountain of past-due bills seemed a real possibility.
As the four of them set aside their instruments and left the stage, they were suddenly surrounded by a small crowd of admirers. The girls of course all wanted to get near Davy, no big surprise to anybody. There were also some boys in the crowd as well that wanted to merely compliment the band on their musicianship and tell them how “groovy” and “far-out” their music had been. It was quite gratifying.
There were even some of their fellow musicians in the crowd. Teddy Bower of the Pelicans was there with his girlfriend, and Andy Tisdale from the Jolly Green Giants made his way over to where they now sat at a table along one of the walls that ran alongside the stage.
“Hey, great set guys!” Andy exclaimed, coming up behind Mike and Micky and poking his head between them, a hand on each of their shoulders.
“Thanks, babe,” Mike said, smiling proudly. “We really needed this gig to be a hit, and it looks like we got what we came for.”
“Yeah, it sounded great,” Andy agreed. “Just what this club needed. Congratulations, boys. I always knew you’d turn out to be something someday.” With that, he impulsively laid a kiss on Mike’s cheek, winked at the other three, and hurried away.
Looking both surprised and slightly embarrassed, Mike reached for the napkin dispenser in the center of the table and immediately wiped his cheek with it. “Crazy sonofabitch,” he drawled disgustedly.
“Well, what do you expect, Mike?” Micky commented. “He’s in a band where the members paint themselves green and wear dresses. I wouldn’t put being queer past them either.”
“Oh come on, man,” Mike said in an exasperated fashion. “It was just a joke. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
Micky shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But no guy had better try laying a kiss on me. I don’t go for that type of stuff, joke or no joke.”
“Like anyone would want to kiss you anyway,” Davy cracked.
“Ha ha ha,” Micky responded, balling up another paper napkin and tossing it at Davy. “Laugh it up, short stuff.”
During this exchange, Peter had kept his silence, but now in the quiet following Micky’s words, he finally decided to speak.
“Micky, that’s not cool, man. You shouldn’t judge somebody like that.”
Micky lifted his head, his eyebrows lifting. “Aw, come on Pete. I’m not judging him. If he wants to be that way, that’s his bag. I’m not going to tell him he’s wrong. I’m just saying that I don’t want any part of it. That’s all.”
Peter looked like he wanted to say something more on the subject, but was suddenly cut off by Davy.
“Hey, I don’t know about you guys, but after all that successful playing, I’m starving. Let’s pack up and split so we can find some food.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Mike said, standing. “I wanted to talk to Mr. Keller before we left too to see what other dates he has lined up for us.”
As the other three Monkees headed eagerly off to the stage, Peter trailed a little bit behind, an unhappy expression on his normally cheerful face.
As the weeks wore on, something was becoming more and more apparent to the Monkees: Peter was in love.
It would have been a different story if Mike had been the one in love. His naturally taciturn and stoic personality easily covered up any such gentler sides of his feelings. No one knew anything about what Mike was thinking unless Mike wanted other people to know.
It would have been different if it were Davy instead as well. Davy fell in love with the frequency of the tide coming in, and with about the same level of permanence. A pretty face and a willingness to share his bed were all he needed. The word “slut” would describe the diminutive Englishman to a tee.
Peter on the other hand was a completely different sort. He didn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve; he wore it like a brand in the center of his forehead for all to see. It was obvious in the way he had been moping around the Pad lately, picking at his food in the evenings, and sighing moodily while staring at nothing. Sometimes these episodes took place at the most un-opportune times, such as when they were in the middle of a rehearsal, which is what had happened on this particular day.
They had been playing the song “She”, and were right in the midst of Peter’s organ solo when suddenly the organ trailed off and abruptly stopped. The others continued to play for a few seconds until they realized that something about the song didn’t sound quite normal. One by one, they ceased and turned impatient eyes toward Peter, who was merely standing motionless behind his instrument, staring blankly down at his hands.
Mike cleared his throat to get Peter’s attention. When that didn’t work, he called out, “Hey! Earth to Peter!”
Peter’s head snapped up, his dark blonde hair flipping about his face with the abrupt motion. “Wh..What, Mike? What’s wr…?” He stopped, noticing that all three of them were staring at him, and suddenly realization slowly dawned on his face. “Oh no. Did I zone out on you again?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened,” Mike said. “And that’s the fifth time this week during rehearsal, Pete. We’ve got to get this material down for our gig this Friday, man.”
“I know,” Peter said softly, bowing his head again. “I’m sorry, Mike.” He glanced around at the other two. “Sorry guys.”
Mike pulled his guitar strap from over his head and set his Gretsch into its rack as he said, “Let’s take five for now, guys. Davy? Micky? Could you come over here for a minute, please?”
“What about me?” Peter asked nervously.
“You just stay put for a second,” Mike said, holding up his hand in a forestalling gesture. “We’ll be back with you in a jiffy.”
Chagrined, Peter moved out from behind the organ and sat down on the edge of Micky’s drum riser, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, watching his friends warily as they huddled together by the spiral staircase.
“Okay,” Mike said in a low murmur. “Now it’s obvious that Peter is dealing with a hang up of major proportions.”
“Right,” said Davy and Micky in unison, also keeping their voices barely above a whisper.
“If he continues like this, he may start to interrupt the actual gigs instead of just the rehearsals, which could be a very bad thing,” Mike continued.
“Right,” Davy and Micky said again.
“So one of us really needs to take him aside and talk to him. You know, find out what’s on his mind.”
“Right,” his faithful chorus responded again.
“And the person that needs to do that is you, Micky,” Mike concluded.
“Right,” Davy and Micky said, just before Mike’s words truly sunk in. Then Micky’s eyes widened. “Huh?? Why me, Mike?”
“Well, you’re his best friend,” Mike said reasonably. “If he’s going to open up to anyone, it would probably be you.”
Micky nodded silently, though his expression was worried. He knew Mike was right, though. They had to try, for all of them, but especially for Peter’s peace of mind. Obviously he hadn’t just been struck by love. He had been run completely over and dragged down the road for about fifty feet.
“Okay, so Davy and I are are going split and give you guys some time to talk,” Mike said, and then to Davy, “You want to go out and get a hamburger or something?”
“Are you buying?” Davy asked as they moved toward the door.
“Yeah, I’m buying mine,” Mike said pointedly.
“Oh, you’re just hilarious, you are,” Davy said in a surly tone as the door swung shut behind them.
“Where are they going?” Peter asked, as Micky crossed the room back towards him.
“They decided to get some food,” Micky replied, sitting down beside Peter on the drum riser.
They sat in companionable silence for a minute or so. At least to an outsider it would have looked companionable, but in actuality, Micky’s mind was racing along at a mile a minute. That in itself was nothing surprising, for Micky was known to think fast, and act even faster…sometimes recklessly so.
This time, however, his addled brain couldn’t really settle on a clear course of action. He didn’t want to embarrass Peter, and he certainly didn’t want him thinking that he was trying to butt into his business either. This was a situation to handle rather delicately, and Micky found a part of his mind vaguely wondering what drugs Mike had been taking when he nominated Micky to handle a delicate situation.
As Micky sat there, he was also very aware of the fact that Peter was watching him. He wasn’t staring outright, but Micky could feel his gaze upon him and could just picture Peter sitting there with his head in his hands, surreptitiously cutting his eyes sideways toward Micky every few seconds, gauging his intentions.
Finally realizing that he had to at least try to start this conversation, Micky cleared his throat and said in a voice laced with false cheerfulness, “So what’s going on with you, Pete? You seem kind of preoccupied lately. Are you in love?”
Ah yes. Suave and smooth as ever, Micky ol’ boy, he thought to himself, cringing as the completely blunt inquiry poured from his mouth.
Peter seemed completely unfazed by the question, however. He merely lifted his head, resting his arms on his legs and letting his hands dangle loosely between his thighs. He sighed quietly and said, “I guess I haven’t done a very good job of hiding it, have I?”
“No, I’m afraid not, old buddy,” Micky said affectionately, smiling. “But hey, it happens, right? Look at Davy, it happens to him almost every day and twice on Sundays.”
Now he studied Peter a little more closely, his eyes a bit predatory as he said, “So fess up, Pete…Who’ve you got your eye on?”
Now Peter’s slightly sheepish, open demeanor closed abruptly and he turned to face forward again, avoiding Micky’s eager, inquiring expression. “I…I’d rather not say,” he said uncomfortably.
Micky’s brow furrowed slightly. Peter tried very hard to be a private person, but had never quite picked up the habit of keeping himself to himself, the way that Mike had made an art form of doing. For him to act like this, when it was just the two of them, was very odd indeed.
Undaunted, Micky tried again, the smile returning to his face and the light-hearted tone coming back into his voice. “Aw, come on, Pete. I’m your friend. You can tell me. No…Better yet…Let me guess.”
“Micky…” Peter said quietly, but anything further was cut off as Micky began his guesses.
“Is it Barbara down at the Vincent Van-Gogh Gogh?”
Peter shook his head slowly, still facing forward, his eyes aimed toward the floor.
Micky thought for a minute, leaning back on the riser and holding himself up with one elbow. “What about Tina at the Mini-Mart around the corner?”
Again, Peter dumbly shook his head.
“Wait, I know,” Micky said, snapping his fingers. “That new chick that just started down at the Bowlarama. The concession stand girl with the long red hair. What’s her name?”
“Alice,” Peter said forlornly. “And no, it’s not her either.”
“Well hell, Pete. I just give up then. You’ve got to tell me!” Micky said. He abruptly sat upright again and wrapped both of his hands around Peter’s right arm, putting on a comic-manic expression. “Come on and fess up. I’ve just gotta know or I’ll die of curiosity!”
Looking more uneasy than ever, Peter again turned his head toward Micky. “I want to tell you, but on the other hand…I don’t. I….” He closed his eyes briefly, and Micky loosened his grip on Peter’s arm as he saw the internal struggle his friend was having.
“What is it, Peter?” Micky asked, now dropping all semblance of his former hilarity. His face now grew serious and concerned.
“I just don’t want you to hate me, Mick…” Peter said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes pleading.
Now Micky’s concern grew. This was not anything like what he was expecting. This wasn’t just your garden-variety hang up. This was big. Much bigger than Micky suddenly decided he probably should have tried on his own. He wished fervently that Mike were here. Mike was the answer man. The one who knew the solution to heavy problems, and this definitely fit that mold.
Mike wasn’t here, though…and suddenly Micky’s mind realized that maybe that was for the best. Peter had expressed his worry that Micky would hate him, which made this a rather personal issue between just the two of them. If the guys had been here…even Mike…Micky had a feeling that Peter would have clammed up completely and not even let out what he had revealed to Micky so far.
“Hate you?” Micky now said uncertainly. Why on Earth had Peter said something like that? There was absolutely no reason for Micky to feel anger towards Peter for falling for some chick. Unless…
Realization suddenly brightened Micky’s eyes, and his mouth curled into a knowing smile. “Oh man, I get it. You’ve fallen for one of my ex-girlfriends, haven’t you? That’s why you think I’ll hate you. Damn, Peter. Why didn’t you say so?”
Micky fell back on his elbow again, almost limp with relief at having solved the mystery. He didn’t notice the fact that Peter looked more miserable than ever, or that his hands resting upon his thighs had begun to rub back and forth in a restless manner.
“Linda,” Micky was saying now. “It has to be Linda. She and I just split up about five weeks ago, and now that I think of it, that’s about when you started acting strange. Well, strange-er, that is. Yeah, got to be Linda.”
Suddenly Peter whipped his head around to stare at Micky, his eyes flashing with frustration as he snapped, “Damn it, it’s not Linda! Don’t you get it? It’s you, Micky! It’s you!”
As soon as the words had exited Peter’s mouth, he wished he could grab them back and stuff them down his throat again from where they came. His face flamed scarlet and he quickly turned away.
For probably the first time in his life, Micky was struck utterly speechless. His mouth hung open like it had a busted spring, and then slowly, as the meaning…the reality of Peter’s words sunk in, he slowly closed it and sat up again.
“Oh no,” he groaned softly, letting his head drop into his hands. “No, no, no, no, no….”
“I’m afraid so,” Peter said softly, not daring to look at Micky now.
The silence held for many long minutes as Micky sat motionless, his hands plastered over his face, while Peter sat mute beside him. The fact that Micky hadn’t (a) fled from the room like the place was on fire or (b) knocked Peter’s lights out was cause for a glimmer of hope in Peter’s heart. Still, he was on his guard. He had a feeling that Micky was merely digesting the information, and his true judgment would be still to come.
After what seemed an eternity to Peter, Micky slowly uncovered his face and dropped his hands in a defeated gesture. Slowly, he turned his head to regard Peter, and the utterly thoughtful, serious expression on Micky’s normally jovial face caused Peter’s heart rate to kick up another notch. He could actually feel his pulse vibrating in his throat, so great was his fear and anticipation right now.
A couple of more silent seconds ticked by. Somewhere in the structure of the house, a board creaked.
“Fuck it,” Micky suddenly rasped in a savage manner, and suddenly seized Peter by the shoulders, dragging him forward as Micky planted a rough kiss squarely on his mouth.
Peter was too shocked to either resist or reciprocate right now. His mind circuits were going haywire at this completely unexpected development. Before he could even make himself understand that one of his most fervent fantasies was finally coming true, Micky had released him and pulled back.
Temporarily stunned, Peter could only gape silently at Micky, who was now looking nervous and uncertain as his eyes darted from Peter’s face to various points around the room and then back again.
Finally, Peter was able to find his voice, although his full command of the English language was still temporarily out of his reach for the time being.
“Micky, I….So you…You’re not mad?” he managed to stammer, still trying to get a handle on his flying thoughts.
Seeing the utter bewilderment in Peter’s face caused Micky’s mouth to pull up at the corners. Peter really was such a sensitive person, and Micky suddenly realized that he would do anything in the world not to hurt his friend beside him, just as he instinctively realized that Peter would do nothing to hurt him as well.
Micky’s voice was soft and slightly husky as he replied, “No, Pete…I’m not mad.”
“Really?” Peter asked, as his feelings of fear and confusion were now giving way to a sense of absolute relief. “You really aren’t mad at me? Not even a little bit? Seriously?”
The babble of questions caused Micky to suddenly laugh out loud. “Man, Peter. You almost sound disappointed that I’m not!”
For the first time since this whole conversation had started, Peter’s usual sunny grin appeared over his face. Just as quickly, however, it faded a bit as he asked cautiously, “I just figured…you know…after what you said about Andy at the club that night…”
Suddenly Micky truly put two and two together. Peter’s preoccupation and down-in-the-dumps moods had really started after that night when Micky had spoken those derisive comments about queers. Jeez, no wonder Peter had reacted the way he did. He must have harbored deep feelings for Micky for a while, and was afraid to say anything. Then hearing Micky’s comments just made things all the more difficult for him. Micky now felt ashamed that he had spoken so bluntly and so generally about the subject.
“I understand, Pete,” he said now, his demeanor subdued. He suddenly rose and walked over to the couch, sitting down and looking at Peter thoughtfully for a long moment. “To be honest, I still don’t completely know how I feel about…that. But now I think...” A look of determination suddenly crossed his face, not much different than the expression he had worn when he had laid that impulsive kiss on Peter just a short time ago.
“No, I’m sure of it…I didn’t mean that to include you, Peter. I mean, yeah, you’re a guy, and I’m a guy. But for some reason….I don’t know. It doesn’t feel wrong with you. It doesn’t feel like I’m doing a bad thing. Especially when you’ve pretty much admitted that you love me.”
At that, a rather attractive flush spread across Peter’s high cheekbones, and he nervously ran his fingers through his hair, yet a small smile played upon his lips as Micky continued to speak.
“I mean…wow. That’s pretty far out. I mean, how often do people express that? I mean, really express it? How can I possibly feel like there’s anything wrong in that?”
Unable to sit alone a moment longer, Peter also rose from the drum riser and crossed the room to sit beside Micky, still maintaining a polite distance. Micky followed him with his eyes as he did this. Once Peter was settled next to him, he said,
“I guess what I’m saying is…That whatever feelings you have toward me…They’re okay. I’m okay with them.”
“I’m glad,” Peter said, the words coming out almost as a sigh. He felt so utterly calm and peaceful right now, a stark contrast from the fear and uncertainty which had clouded his thoughts for the past few weeks, ever since he began to truly realize that the feelings he held toward Micky were far stronger than those one usually had for someone of their own gender.
“So do you?” Micky suddenly asked now, his voice light and playful, but his eyes very serious again.
So much had happened and so much had been said in the past two minutes that Peter had lost the thread of the conversation. He blinked stupidly at Micky. “Do I what?”
Micky’s almond-shaped eyes narrowed in concentration. “Love me?”
“Oh yes,” Peter said without a moment’s hesitation, his expression quietly earnest. “I’m not sure exactly when it started, but I do love you, Micky.”
Micky sat motionless for a moment, his eyes not leaving Peter’s face, absorbing the words that his friend had just spoken. Then he reached out one hand, lightly laying it upon Peter’s shoulder, gripping it gently. He then slipped his hand around, running feather-soft fingertips up and down the back of Peter’s neck.
Peter legs shifted restlessly and he sighed, his toffee-colored eyes growing slightly unfocused.
“Come here, Peter,” Micky invited quietly, using his hand on Peter’s neck to gently encourage him forward, at the same time, he leaned in closer.
The kiss they shared this time was exploratory, and much more mutually involved. Being completely unaccustomed to kissing another man, Micky let Peter take charge. What resulted was something that Micky could never have imagined in his wildest dreams.
My god, I knew it wasn’t just Peter’s sweet nature that all those girls were after, Micky thought randomly. Peter’s mouth slid confidently over Micky’s, mapping it out, memorizing its contours. He effortlessly parted Micky’s lips and Micky moaned quietly as he felt Peter’s tongue for the first time; licking, darting, probing, changing rhythms and patterns, making Micky absolutely dizzy.
When they finally came up for air, Micky was left stunned and addled by what had happened. He also suddenly realized that he had a raging hard-on that was pressing uncomfortably against his zipper.
Without even thinking about what he was doing, Micky suddenly lunged forward again, his mouth clashing with Peter’s almost violently. Peter didn’t shy away from the rough treatment. In fact, Micky could swear he felt Peter’s lips curve into a smile at Micky’s enthusiasm.
Micky had always been the sort to be intensely curious about any situation that was new to him, and today was no different. Feeling his own body coming fully to life under Peter’s touch, Micky was interested to see if the feelings were mutual or not. He slipped one hand from where it had been cradling the back of Peter’s neck, and then without a moment’s hesitation, dropped it into Peter’s lap.
A strangled sound escaped from Peter’s throat, and he pulled back, his eyes wide. “Micky!” he exclaimed in surprise.
“What?” Micky asked, blinking. “Isn’t that what…Don’t you want me to...you know...touch you?”
Peter smiled gently, stroking his hand lightly over Micky’s jaw line. “Very much so,” he said. “But I think that for the time being, it would be best if we took this slowly.”
“Yeah, that’s what all the girls say too,” Micky grumbled, though he was really thrilling inside. In the split second before Peter had pulled away, Micky had ascertained that Peter was sporting an erection as healthy as his own, which in turn made Micky feel an odd sort of pride.
I guess I’m not as opposed to this homo stuff as I thought, Micky thought, mildly perplexed at his sudden change in attitude. He had never experienced anything so alien to his nature that also felt so safe and familiar at the same time.
“I just figured, in for a penny, in for a pound, you know?” Micky said now, smiling and shrugging a little defensively.
“Mmm…Well, I have to say I didn’t expect you to be such a quick study,” Peter said, his eyes darkening with desire. “I am certainly looking forward to teaching you everything I know.”
Peter slowly began to move his body over Micky’s, encouraging Micky to lie back on the couch. Wordlessly, his gaze locked with Peter’s, Micky reclined. The tension between the two men built and built as Micky swung his legs up onto the couch. He was now lying prone beneath Peter, who was stretched out at full length on top of him, covering him from chest to foot.
Bending his head slightly, Peter stroked his lips teasingly over Micky’s slightly parted ones, making Micky’s eyes flutter closed and a soft sigh escaped him, even as he arched his neck for more contact.
“Micky,” Peter whispered against the other man’s mouth, and then he was kissing him with almost bruising force. Micky’s head spun as he felt himself utterly devoured, feeling Peter’s tongue caressing the roof of his mouth, setting off what felt like electrical shocks that coursed through his body and coalesced in his groin, making the muscles there jump and flutter. Lost in a maelstrom of sensations, Micky honestly could not imagine how things could get any better than this.
That was until Peter began to grind his hips down into Micky’s, and Micky gasped into the wet heat of Peter’s mouth as he felt their erections sliding against one another’s. Micky had experienced dry humping with girls before, but this was above and beyond any feeling that he had generated that way before.
Micky groaned as Peter began to thrust slowly but rhythmically against him, the friction and the heat almost driving him wild. His hands clutched helplessly at the paisley shirt that Peter wore, balling up fistfuls of the fabric and pulling the hem free from where it had been tucked into the waistband of Peter’s pants.
Micky’s hands slipped lower, his over-stimulated senses almost flying out of control as he grazed over the warm, bare flesh where Peter’s shirt had come un-tucked, then he was slipping his fingers into Peter’s belt loops. He held on like a man riding a wild stallion will cling with all his might to the reins.
Now the heated groan that passed between the frantically dueling mouths was Peter’s as the passion built to a critical level. Somehow he was still managing to keep his movements slow and controlled, though the amount of effort it was taking was clear as his long fingers dug hard into Micky’s thin shoulders. Dimly he hoped he wasn’t hurting Micky, but he then figured that the whimpering sounds that Micky was emitting had nothing to do with pain.
Trembling and sweating, Micky arched his hips up into Peter’s trying to increase the stimulation, but found it almost impossible to get enough leverage within the soft cushions of the couch. He growled in frustration. Holy shit, he was so close now. So fucking close…
Suddenly Micky’s orgasm erupted with the force of a wave crashing on the beach at high tide, his final cry muffled against Peter’s lips. Even as Micky was feeling the last intense throes draining away, Peter suddenly broke their kiss, panting harshly against Micky’s neck. Peter’s entire body stiffened and Micky heard him emit a sound somewhere between a sob and a gasp as he evidently found his release as well.
The two men lay together quietly for a minute or so afterwards, their breathing and heartbeats gradually slowing to normal. Micky could dimly feel the spreading wet patch on the crotch of his pants and knew that they would have to get up and change before Davy and Mike got home.
Even so, Micky was enjoying the feeling right now of his friend’s solid weight atop him. He even found himself for the first time entranced just by Peter’s scent, something he had only noticed in passing before but that had never been as attractive to him as it was now; a rich mix of male muskiness and patchouli and the faint but pleasing odor of Sunshine laundry detergent.
“My god, Peter,” Micky now heard himself saying, now that his breath has completely returned. “That was amazing.”
Peter lifted his head, his soft tawny eyes shining as he gazed down at Micky. “I’m glad you thought so.” He dipped his neck to suckle with utmost tenderness at Micky’s kiss-bruised lower lip, and then just as quickly drew away again. A smile touched his lips and he dropped his voice down a full register as he spoke in a street-wise accent, “Stick with me, kid. You’ll go places.”
“Mmmmm….I believe it,” Micky sighed, stretching luxuriously. “I feel like I’ve been to the moon and back already.” He lay silently for a moment, merely staring up at Peter, and then he smiled up at his friend, saying softly, “I’m glad you told me the truth, Pete.”
“Me too,” Peter replied, kissing Micky again, the touch of their lips lingering as neither of them seemed willing to break it just yet.
And that was when the door to the Pad suddenly flew open.
The sound of Mike’s and Davy’s voices in the midst of conversation drifted through the opening as they stepped inside, and then all sound ceased instantly as they beheld the sight before them.
For a long moment the four of them formed a perfect tableau, like something out of a stage play. Mike and Davy seemed rooted to the spot just inside the front door, their faces wearing almost identical expressions of astonishment. Micky and Peter still lay tangled together on the couch, both of them flushed and disheveled from their activities.
Finally the silence was broken by Mike clearing his throat in an awkward manner.
“Well,” he said with remarkable calm. “It looks as if you managed to get to the bottom of Peter’s problem, huh Mick?”
Not yet trusting himself to speak coherently, Micky merely nodded his head.
“Oh, well…That’s great,” Davy said. His voice was just as reasonable-sounding as Mike’s, but his eyes were still wide. “So I guess that means we can get back to practicing for the gig, eh?”
“Uh…yeah. Sure.” Peter suddenly said, snapping out of his paralysis and climbing carefully off of Micky to stand beside the couch.
Micky slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position. He felt purely incapable of looking directly at Mike or Davy right now. He did, however, take the hand that Peter reached out to him to assist him in rising from the couch. As Micky stood, his eyes locked with Peter’s and Peter gave him a small, private smile of reassurance. This made Micky feel better instantly. Yes, the situation was a bit bizarre, but it was going to be okay.
As Micky and Peter retreated to their respective bedrooms to change prior to resuming rehearsal, neither of them was aware of the five-dollar bill that passed from Davy’s pocket to Mike’s.
“All right, you won that bet fair and square,” Davy said grudgingly.
“Thank you very much,” Mike said with a smile.