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"You Just May Be the One - Part 2"
Title: You Just May Be The One P2
Author: Lily Rose-Petals
Genre/Pairing: Romance/Humor; Mike/Peter
Warnings: Explicit m/m smut
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or settings in this story, I only claim ownership for the words and ideas I've presented.
Summary: A Mike and Peter romance, with Monkee awesomeness from all four.
Author's Note: The title is also the title of the Monkees' song "You Just May Be The One." I thought if fit Peter and Mike very nicely--especially since Mike's singing it. :-)
Peter got dressed in three minutes and rushed downstairs to find Mike in the kitchen darting around, pretending to be busy. This was silly of Mike to do, in Peter's opinion, because Peter was always the one who made breakfast and so no one was going to believe that Mike was actually making breakfast and therefore think he was busy and not ignoring Peter. But Peter kept this thought to himself and stood behind the breakfast table watching Mike run about until he couldn't find any pretense for doing so anymore.
Finally, when the last item was taken out of the refrigerator (Mike didn't seem to know he had taken every single thing out of the fridge and freezer in his haste, even the ice cube trays), he stood across from Pete with his hands flat on the breakfast table, bent over as if he were
weary. Silence reigned in the tiny kitchen— kitchenette, really— while Mike stood, too conflicted to speak.
"Peter, I'm sorry I did that," he said finally. His voice was firm, but he was looking at a point on the floor somewhere beyond the tiny table.
Peter didn't say anything. He didn't realize how anxious his silence made Mike until the other man looked up at him, right in the eyes, quizzical and worried.
"Oh," Peter began, realizing he should say something. "I didn't mind." He glanced away to look at Mike's left shoulder.
Mike appeared to be dumbstruck, and straightening up looked at Peter for a good two seconds before saying, "You— didn't?"
"Well, I thought it was pleasant, you know. Kissing is nice. The tongue bit was very nice. The taste was nice. Butter is so good-tasting; and bread, very nice stuff..."
Peter seemed to have run out of niceties as he continued to look, unfocused, at Mike's left shoulder, which was all very well with Mike because he was about to interrupt anyway.
"So, you liked it then? We are talking about the same thing, right?"
Peter suddenly looked worried that they were not talking about the same thing after all, and looked at Mike again.
"Aren't we talking about kissing at the bathroom door? I mean, us two, between us, I thought it was clear..."
"Peter...Peter," Mike closed his eyes and shook his head once. "I was just saying that because...it was a figure of speech, okay? Or something like that. Yes, that is what I'm...referring to."
Peter seemed relieved and smiled brightly, a very Peter-ish quality that Mike quite adored.
"Oh, well yes, then, I'm glad we know what we're talking about. I had wondered for a while...you know... I don't know, whether there was some... You know," Peter finished shyly.
"Peter." Mike could hardly believe what he was hearing. "So it wasn't just me, then?" he said suddenly. He was honestly surprised.
"What wasn't just you?"
"That felt it!"
"Peter! It! You know, the— the tension!"
"Mike, I have no idea what you're talking about. If we wanted tension we would have to stretch a rope between us, tie it very tight, and—"
"Peter! Are you—? Really? That's so dumb! Sexual tension, I'm talking about sexual tension!" he hissed the last, suddenly aware the bathroom door wasn't all that soundproof.
"Oh, oh right!" Peter said quickly. Mike was relieved he understood without any more explanation. "Yes, I've felt that. I like it. I feel tingly when it happens," he said with a foppish smile.
"Yeah, it's very nice," Mike said, shifting agitatedly. He'd just heard Micky's shower stop. "Peter, this really isn't the place to talk about this, we need somewhere more private..."
Peter looked over at the bathroom door too, his brow crinkled. He seemed to be thinking the same things that Mike had been worrying about.
"I see what you mean. We should probably put away all this stuff before going anywhere, though."
"And Micky and Davy will want breakfast, I'm sure."
Mike looked around.
"Did I do all this?"
"Yeah, while you were pretending to be busy."
"Well, I guess you can't make breakfast with this mess. I guess we should put it away. Oh look!" He pointed at the ice cube trays.
"Yeah, I saw that," Peter said, moving around the table toward the trays. He put them in the freezer as Micky opened the bathroom door and came out in a bathrobe. With only a cursory glance toward them before heading for the stairs, Micky asked,
"What happened with the fridge? Is everything rotten?"
"No, nothing but you," Mike replied, grabbing eggs and the still mostly-frozen French toast.
"Oh very funny. I'll go kick Davy. Or do you want a shower first, Mike? Is Peter making breakfast?" he asked, his voice trailing away up on the landing.
Mike didn't answer and was about to stuff the French toast in the freezer when he remembered he wanted to eat it instead. Peter was in the refrigerator section, organizing the various jars and cartons to make room for bread and garlic. (No one knew why they had garlic on hand, as none of them liked it. Peter once voiced the theory it was in case vampires came by, to which they all replied, "Isn't that dumb?")
Mike handed Peter items when the latter held out his hand behind himself until all were in the fridge. The last item Peter received was a bag of grapes.
"Wait, Mike, these really are rotten," he declared and handed them back to Mike, who on an impulse dug the pad of his thumb into Peter's palm while taking the bag. Peter glanced at Mike and gave the impression of liking it, but Mike took the grapes and dropped Peter's hand, glancing away as if indifferent, when noises of Davy's awakening came from upstairs. Scuffling noises came with the voices.
"All right, all right, damn! You do realize it's only 8:45 in the morning, right?"
"Yeah, but we have a gig tonight and—"
"—'tonight' being the key word—"
"—and practice makes perfect, so get in the shower!" Micky bossed, effectively driving Davy downstairs. It helped that he was right on his heels. "I know you have somewhere you want to go, so we better practice now. Peter's making breakfast."
"Doesn't he always?" Davy said grumpily while closing the bathroom door.
Micky had dressed in the time Peter and Mike had put away the refrigerator items but had left his wildly curly hair uncombed. Micky was usually lazy about his hair unless the Monkees had a gig right away, which Mike supposed was unfathomable to Peter.
Peter prepared breakfast and Mike helped until Davy finished his shower. Micky then made a feeble offer to help but was happy enough to return to strumming on his guitar when Peter said he didn't need him. Micky was not very good at domestics, while it seemed to be one of Peter's fortes.
Mike left to get in the shower while Davy dressed (Davy always took a long time) and by the time he was done and going to the bedroom to dress Davy was heading back toward the bathroom to finish his morning routine, which consisted of a close shave and blow-drying his hair. (The others had long ago stopped snickering at the sound of the hair dryer. After taking the Micky out of Davy for a month after first hearing the dryer, the boys stopped because Davy wasn't.)
Meanwhile, Peter made scrambled eggs with tomatoes and the French toast Mike wanted. As they were out of orange juice and, now, grapes, Peter placed the milk carton on the breakfast table and threw a pack of dried apricots next to it.
By 9:15 breakfast was ready. Davy had finished with his grooming regime and he appeared at the breakfast table at 9:21 with fluffy hair. Mike had already dressed and come down five minutes ago. The boys were almost done eating their first helpings, so Davy got a serving twice as large as their firsts to make up for his belatedness.
As for Peter and Mike, they made the mistake of sitting next to each other at the round table. Not much table could've come between them anyhow as it was so small, but having their knees hit constantly was causing both men a small amount of agitation. The nattering of Micky and Davy and their own occasional need to interject a comment wasn't distracting either one from the tautness between them. Urgency to get away from the other two was at a paramount by the time the short meal was over, but as Micky and Davy were quite oblivious to their discomfort they thought it was a good idea to practice for the gig since, as Davy put it, "I'm already awake anyway."
Peter put away the breakfast food and piled the dishes in the sink while the other three made minor rearrangements to the small stage in the apartment's alcove. The Monkees practiced for nearly an hour. Mike felt the tension in his body leave him as he played and sang; he always felt most relaxed when he was performing. Both he and Peter were relaxing in the jam session when, at 10:30, Davy declared he had a date to get to. ("At ten in the morning?" Mike said.) He went upstairs to check his appearance and was out the door in five minutes.
Micky was happy to stop practice to strum on his guitar and watch Saturday morning cartoons. He said practice made his voice hurt, but he only said this on Saturdays. Gigs on Saturday night were his least favorite even though they brought in the most money: He hated having to practice through the morning cartoons.
Peter said he was just going to go upstairs, then, and Mike was about to be disappointed when he realized that Peter was looking at Micky to gauge his reaction. Micky grunted but otherwise could have not heard him at all: He was too busy strumming his guitar and watching The Funky Phantom.
Peter walked slowly up the spiral staircase. Mike piddled around the kitchen sink, putting some space between his and Peter's departures from the living room. He couldn't seem too eager to follow Peter, even if Micky wasn't paying attention. He knew that Davy and Micky would eventually get to the dishes and so left them untouched, although he reckoned his loitering would be more plausible if he was actually doing something. Still, Mike only fidgeted for a few minutes and then bounded up the staircase.
Reaching the landing at the top of the stairs, Mike headed immediately for the bedroom. It was the only truly private place in the apartment besides the bathroom, and he figured Peter wouldn't want to talk and hopefully do other things in the bathroom. He carefully opened the door so it wouldn't creak and peered around. Peter was laying on his own bed, trying to relax, with a magazine in his hands.
He immediately sat up and put down the magazine. He looked nervous. Mike closed the door behind himself and paced to the center of the room.
"Mike..." Peter began, and he truly sounded nervous. For some inexplicable reason, a surge of arousal went through Mike.
"Peter." Mike just wanted to say his name. As much as he wanted to explain his feelings for him, and ask how long he had felt the same, and find out about Peter's experience as a gay man...he really just wanted Peter to touch him right now. "Come 'ere."
Peter swallowed and rose unsteadily. He almost tottered across the room under Mike's intense gaze. He stopped a little less than a foot away and searched Mike's face. He was so unsure of what to do, whether he should kiss him or just say something.
Mike reached out a hand and almost placed it on the side of Peter's face, to brush his hair back, but the moment of tenderness was lost in Mike's desire: Instead he latched on to Peter's collar and dragged his face a centimeter from his own, keeping eye contact. Peter tentatively placed a hand on Mike's chest and that was all it took for Mike to kiss him.
This time Mike didn't try to insert his tongue right away but kissed with his lips. He wanted to feel the fullness of Peter's lips between his own and find out how the other man liked to kiss before deepening it.
Peter grasped Mike's elbow, the elbow of the arm still holding onto his collar, and ran his hand up toward the shoulder. At the same time Mike wrapped his hand around the nape of Peter's neck, through his soft, fine hair and tilted his head a little. It was what he had done earlier. But Peter didn't seem to like it and he disconnected their lips long enough to tilt his head another way.
So that's how he liked it.
The two stood in this embrace for what seemed an eternity, desperately cleaving to each other's mouths. Mike thought kissing someone had never felt so good. Although hesitant, Peter seemed to want Mike as much as Mike wanted him. And then Peter slid his hands down Mike's torso, to his hips, which he grasped and pressed his own against.
"Peter...!" Mike gasped, and pulled him around to land on his bed. But they didn't exactly land on the bed, more like halfway off it, and the two slid to the floor with a clunk from Peter's foot. Peter's chest was heaving and he was looking up at Mike, who was straddling him and looking at the door in hopes that Micky hadn't heard.
A moment passed and neither one heard anything from below. Mike turned back to Peter and took in his heaving chest and tousled blonde hair. He set himself on him again. The treat that was Peter was too good to resist.
Peter gladly accepted Mike's hot, open-mouthed kiss. He ran his hands over Mike's chest and sides and pushed his fingers under the edge of his pants while Mike explored his mouth with his tongue. He scraped his nails over Mike's back and massaged his hands over his ribs. Honestly, he couldn't get enough of touching Mike. He was just thinking how he really wanted to grab Mike's ass when Mike distracted him by breaking lip contact and pulling him up on the bed by his own. Mike laid directly on top of him and ground his pelvis into Peter's. Peter seemed to like that very much as his eyes glazed over with lust.
Mike smiled, pleased with himself, and latched onto Peter's neck while continuing to grind his pelvis into Peter's. Peter yelped as Mike nipped a little too roughly in his haste at the sensitive skin under his jaw and Mike made sure to be more careful a centimeter lower. Peter made a noise in his throat at the gentler attention and his hips moved upward involuntarily. Mike ground back and licked in the dip of Peter's collar bone. He started fumbling with his shirt.
Mike gave Peter's collar a quick kiss before ripping his fingers through the buttons of his plaid shirt. He had to see his chest; he'd seen it before, on occasion, but had never been allowed to ogle it as he was going to do now. He got Peter's shirt open and Mike slid to his knees on the floor, pulling Peter to a sitting position with him, and pushed the sleeves off his shoulders. For a modest guy, Peter was muscled and tanned in a way even the most imaginative could not expect. Or maybe that was only in Mike's eyes.
His pectoral muscles were covered in only a smattering of light blonde hair; the rest of his torso was bare except where his pubic hair started at the bottom. His rosy nipples were erect. Mike took it all in and wasted no time in pushing the shirt all the way off Pete's arms. His arms were gorgeous as well; a slightly bulging vein ran along the inside of his right forearm and Mike ran his palm over it. Peter, who had been watching Mike with lust and fascination, said,
"This really does it for you, doesn't it?"
"What?" Mike asked, flicking his eyes to meet Peter's.
"The chest, the arms, that's what you like. You can't get enough," and Mike thought he detected a hint of pleasure in his voice.
"Yeah...and the hands," Mike said, and looked down at Peter's hands which lay on his knees. He ran his fingers between the ridges of his knuckles and then laced his fingers with Peter's to bring his hands up so they could be palm to palm.
Where Peter's hands were broad Mike's were narrow in comparison; where Peter's fingers were thick and long, Mike's were thinner and longer. Mike had always supposed he had fairly attractive hands, but now he could not be sure Peter thought so at all. He looked at Peter between their interlocked hands and found that he was rubbing his fingers on the back of Mike's hands as they were intertwined. He supposed Peter, at least, didn't mind his hands.
"I want to see you too," Peter stated.
Mike hesitated and then loosed his hands and rose from his knees; Peter rose also.
"I don't think I'm as attractive as you," Mike said, trying not to sound uncertain. He had never been so paranoid about his chest in his life.
"I don't think I'll mind," Peter replied.
Mike fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt; Peter took the initiative. He started from the bottom and undid all the buttons. When he reached the top he took his index finger and ran it down between the opening of the shirt, stopping at Mike's naval to go right and slip the finger under the cloth of the pants by his hip.
Mike was slightly breathless. He now took his own shirt off, tugging it off his elbows, and let Peter look. Peter did not move his hand from Mike's hip but scanned over Mike's chest with his eyes. Mike had an ectomorphic body type— he was very lean and thin. His ribs were slightly visible even though he certainly ate enough and his pectorals had a nice shape to them although they were not particularly muscular. His nipples were dark and also erect, with some hair around them that extended across his sternum. His pubic trail started just above his belly button and went down in a thin black line.
Peter leaned in and kissed Mike's neck, returning Mike's earlier attention. He kissed his collar bone and tilted Mike's head to lick by his left ear. Mike sighed against him as he nibbled on the soft skin by his jaw. He switched to the other side of Mike's neck, kissing his chin on the way. He gave a long lick across his Adam's apple and the stubble on his neck. Mike hadn't shaved this morning.
His ear brushed against Mike's sideburn as he raised his head again to kiss his lower lip. Mike's hands were on Peter's hips and Peter still hadn't moved his forefinger from under the edge of Mike's pants, but was rubbing the skin there expectantly.
Mike kissed Peter and pulled him closer to his body. Their tongues flirted together and the kiss was heating up when Peter made an effort to pull away. He paused, regaining his breath.
"Mike, I've never done this before," he whispered eventually against the other's lips. He locked his eyes on Mike's.
Mike was silent for a moment.
"You mean...you're a virgin? Or...?"
"I mean...I've never been with a man, before, like this."
"Peter. How..." Mike pulled away a little, his hands still on Peter's hips. Peter's finger moved nervously against Mike's hip. "Haven't you...? Have you been with women?" A sudden flood of panic filled Mike. "You aren't putting me on, are you?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I mean, are you not really gay?"
"What?" Mike took a step back, removing his hands. "What are we doing here then?" he said with a hint of desperation in his voice.
"I... What do you mean? I like you, I want to—"
"But you're not gay? I don't understand. Is this— is this just an experiment to you?"
"No! I want you. I— Mike, I don't understand what you're worried about."
"Well, I don't get it. Are you straight?"
"Um, no. I mean, I don't know. I mean, I try to be, but I've always felt attraction to men. But I like women too! Women are very nice. But men...there's something about men too. Does that help?" Peter asked, confused.
"So...you like both. Okay. I guess that makes sense. I don't know." Mike ran a hand over his hair. He paused for a while.
"But you really are attracted to men?" he asked as if to clarify. And to me, he added silently.
"Well, yeah! I don't understand how you don't get that. I'm all over you," Peter said, and then blushed, flipping his hair down over his forehead.
Mike huffed a laugh, evidently relieved. "You're cute." Peter blushed more. "Do you want to...move to my bed?" Mike suggested after a moment.
Peter smiled and laughed a little. "Okay, but Micky's still downstairs."
"Oh, shit, yeah," Mike said suddenly, turning toward the door. He had practically forgotten about him. "Too bad the door doesn't lock."
"Are we going to tell them, though? Sometime? Because I don't think..." he hesitated at Mike's look, "I don't think we can't not tell them, you know? If we're going to...be together?"
Mike seemed to ignore these questions and strode to the door and peeked out. He crept out to the railing, made sure Micky was still watching cartoons, and slid back into the bedroom.
"Peter, no one knows I'm gay, not even my parents. I don't know if— I don't know if Davy and Micky would accept us. We're all guys, you know? It'll make them uncomfortable, it always happens with other guys. Do you get what I'm saying?" he asked at the look on Peter's face.
"Yeah, I get it," he sighed. He sat on his bed. "I guess that's why I've never admitted to anyone that I like guys. I just...Micky and Davy are my best friends, you know?" Mike nodded. "I don't want to lie to them, I wish they could..."
Peter trailed off and rested his head in his hands. He sat quietly. Mike came and sat by him and Peter raised his head. Mike understood what he was feeling. Was this the first time he'd thought about this? Mike couldn't really fathom how this could be, but he sat without saying anything.
After a moment he kissed Peter's shoulder. Peter turned his head and Mike looked him in the eyes and then kissed him softly. He kissed him again and Peter turned his torso toward him more.
Peter kissed Mike and didn't stop. Mike pulled him farther onto the bed, on top of himself. He kissed Peter in a more thoughtful, less heated way. Peter placed his hands under Mike's shoulder blades and pulled him up, kneading his back with his fingers. Peter straddled Mike and Mike gripped his waist.
"Are we going to have sex?" Peter murmured against his mouth.
"Oh, that was smooth Peter. Way to build suspense."
"Mike...I've never been with a man before."
Mike realized what he was saying as he started to speak again.
"What do you do? I can't imagine, well... I can't imagine." He didn't want to say it.
"Peter, are you talking about...you know...?"
"Y-yeah. That. Does it feel good? How can it feel good?"
"Yeah, it can feel good. It does feel good. After the first time. Everything's a bit...tight, the first time."
"Oh. Oh dear." And then, "Mike? Is the...you know...is it like...sex with a woman?"
Mike laughed. "Peter, I don't know. I've never been with a woman."
"You haven't?" Peter was surprised. "But I thought... I thought you would've been, to pretend you're straight, or something. How did you find men to sleep with?" he asked, suddenly curious.
"Bars. Gay bars. Clubs. The gas station." He laughed slightly.
"Really, gas stations? I didn't know gay men went to gas stations. I mean, I've never seen them there."
Mike rolled his eyes. "Peter, you wouldn't know if they were gay just by looking at them, not necessarily. You just get to talking... —Hey, it's just like meeting a girl, and you chat her up. Except with a guy you have to drop little hints about what you're after and be flirty without really being flirty, you know? And if he doesn't pick up on that then you're screwed— or, you know, not."
"Hm. Okay. Well, I've never flirted with a man before. Not on purpose anyway. I guess this would explain some things that have happened to me..."
Mike laughed again and kissed him. Peter responded eagerly. He obviously wanted more but Mike felt uncomfortable.
"Peter, we can't do this right now. Not when Micky could catch us so easily."
Peter ignored him and kissed beside his mouth. "Yeah, I know. But you're the one who started it. Honestly, what did you expect? This is all very thrilling to me, you know. First time and everything."
"Yes." Mike let out a long breath through his lips. "I know. I'm sorry I started this right now, I really did want to talk. I just got carried away. But...we can't do anything more right now. We need privacy. We need... This apartment to ourselves!" he said obstinately. Peter laughed because Mike's tone and expression implied that it was all Micky's fault, that he was being very rude, by sticking around and not letting him and Peter get it on.
"You're cute," Peter said, and kissed him. "Let's wait till tonight after the gig. I know, I know, I don't want to wait that long either, but think about it. Davy and Micky will want to go to an after-party, pick up some chicks. Normally I would find a chick with them—" he hastily went on at the look on Mike's face, "— but not tonight, of course! Not for a long time." He smiled. Mike smiled back, understanding as best he could. "I just think we should pretend to find some chicks, then leave them when Micky and Davy are preoccupied with their own and...scuttle off here. What do you think?'
"That's the best idea you've ever had," Mike said sincerely.
"Thank you," Peter smiled. "And of course no one ever claims dibs on bringing a girl back here, we're three beds short of being the Seven Dwarfs; how awkward would that be to explain?"
"Oh, so that's why I never see any of you here when I come back without a partner," Mike laughed, playfully, and flipped Peter onto his back to lay on top of him again. Mike kissed him and Peter's hands latched onto his hair. Peter laughed into his mouth.
Of course the four had discussed in great detail the strangeness of four men sharing one bedroom when they'd first started living together. It had quickly been realized that no one was ever going to want to bring a girl back here, so if one of them didn't get a date they wouldn't have to worry about walking in on anyone else.
As far as Peter and Mike were concerned, this situation was perfect.