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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.
"Caught in the Act"
Title: Caught In The Act
Author: Daytona Demon
Rating: R
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Mike/Peter
Summary:
Peter discovers Mike engaging in the most private of activities, and can't look away.
If Mike catches Peter watching, the consequences will be harsh...or will they?
Warnings:
Explicit sexual language and situations, verbal humiliation.
Disclaimer: This story
is about the characters, not the guys who played them, no implication is meant about
the men who played the characters, I don't own the characters, and I get no profit
from this (except a case of the jollies). So there.
Peter walked lightly, quietly, toward the bedroom where Mike hid himself away much of the day. He’d bugged Mike a couple of times already. He didn’t want to annoy his moody bandmate in the middle of playing a song, or writing a song, or being frustrated about a song and throwing things around the room.
Standing next to the door, where he couldn’t be seen, Peter listened. He was surprised to hear no sounds at all. No guitar strumming. No singing. No swearing. No scratching of pencil on notebook paper, followed by ripping of paper from notebook, crumpling, and more swearing. Peter heard none of the familiar Mike sounds he’d know anywhere.
If Mike wasn’t playing, writing, singing, or being pissed off about something…what was he doing? Napping during the day wasn’t his style, even though he often slept poorly at night.
Peter peered cautiously around the doorframe, keeping himself hidden in shadow. Mike lay on the bed, fully clothed, hands clasped on his chest, staring upward at something. No, not upward, Peter thought. Inward. Whatever he’s seeing, it’s inside his head.
Mike trailed his right hand down his chest and stomach, to his crotch, and inside his right thigh, He slowly moved his hand back up his left side, caressing himself lightly with his fingertips. When his hand reached his collar, he began to unbutton his shirt with the same tantalizing slowness.
Peter slid away from the doorway, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle a shocked gasp. I shouldn’t be seeing this, he thought. I can’t believe Mike left the door open. He willed himself to walk away and failed, looking around the edge of the doorframe again.
After Mike unbuttoned his shirt, his hands moved to his pants, undoing the button, unzipping so slowly that Peter was convinced he could hear every tooth in the zipper pulling free. Mike exhaled, moving slightly on the bed, and slid his pants down to his knees.
Peter felt dizzy, his face burning and flushed. He was embarrassed at his fascination with the scene unfolding in the bedroom. Mike certainly knew how to put on a show, even when he didn’t know he had an audience.
Why am I watching this? What’s wrong with me?
Mike slid his hand under the waistband of his briefs. He closed his eyes, raising his hips slightly. His lips moved, but Peter couldn’t make out the words.
Mike pulled his briefs down to his knees – leisurely, as he was doing everything else – and traced his hand back up his thigh to grasp his hard cock. The size of that thing, Peter thought, amazed at seeing it uncovered and standing at full attention.
Peter remembered laughing at those inopportune moments when Li’l Mike chose to assert its presence, and Mike would have to use his guitar to hide the growing bulge in his tight trousers.
However, Peter wasn’t laughing now. He was breathing more heavily than he wanted to.
I like this. I can’t believe I like this. If Mike catches me, I’m…I don’t even know what he’d do. He shivered from a sudden blast of fear and anticipation.
In the bedroom, Mike moved his hands over his cock, spreading the pre-cum that glistened at the tip. He brought one hand to his mouth and touched his fingers to his tongue, tasting himself.
Peter leaned against the wall next to the doorway, steadying his shaky legs. He wanted to do to himself what Mike was doing only a few feet away, but didn’t dare lest he make a noise and risk being discovered. After taking a few deep breaths as quietly as possible, he peeked past the doorframe again.
Mike had turned over slightly onto his right side, his left hand inside his open shirt, touching his chest and stomach while his right hand remained occupied at his crotch. A spasm of pleasure racked him and he moaned, writhing and rolling onto his back, his left hand ripping his shirt away from his chest.
Peter wondered how he could possibly hear blood rushing and pounding in his head when he felt as if all his available blood supply had concentrated between his legs. He rubbed himself through his pants and then forced himself to stop, trying to control his breathing, trying not to make noise.
Mike paused and looked toward the door. “I know you’re there,” he said.
Peter pulled back from the door and flattened himself against the wall, suddenly unable to breathe.
Busted.
He crouched down and put his head between his knees, hoping he wouldn’t faint.
I messed up big time. Mike will tell everyone I’m a pervert. They’ll throw me out of the band. They’ll tell everyone they know to stay away from me because I’m a freak and a weirdo. I’m going to lose my friends, my band…Mike, just kill me now.
Mike spoke again. “I know you’ve been watching me. I want you to come in.”
Peter wondered why Mike sounded so calm. Maybe he always sounded that way before he opened a can of good old-fashioned Texas whoop-ass on someone.
He edged toward the door, looked in, and saw Mike still stroking himself with one hand, his eyes intense but not angry. Mike nodded, motioning for Peter to approach him.
Peter shuffled forward, his mind a jumble of fear, confusion, embarrassment, and growing excitement.
Mike widened his eyes slightly. “I don’t mind putting on a show,” he said. “But I like some audience participation.”
He’s still touching himself, Peter thought. What the…what the hell is happening?
“I want you over here, Peter,” Mike said, commanding but calm.
Peter forced his unsteady legs to take him to the bed. Mike raised himself up on one elbow as Peter instinctively bent down toward him.
“You got to watch,” Mike whispered to Peter. “Now you get to show me. I want to watch you like you watched me.”
Whaaaaaat?
Mike reached out and pushed Peter’s right hand downward, forcing Peter to touch himself. As Mike withdrew his hand, Peter kept moving his own hand, pulling his zipper down, slipping his right hand inside his pants to jerk himself off.
This is crazy. I must be tripping. This is the weirdest nightmare that ever felt so good.
“Yes. That’s it. That’s what I want,” Mike whispered, caressing the inside of Peter’s thighs. “Do it, do it, do yourself for me. I want you to shoot all over me. All over me here,” Mike said, touching his own chest and stomach.
Anything you want, Mike. Anything. Anything anything oh my fucking god -
Mike grabbed Peter’s left hand, squeezing hard. “Keep looking at me. Right at me. Look me in the eyes. You love this. You love watching me. You want me to watch you. You’re a dirty, filthy pervert, aren’t you? Dirty faggot, watching me jerkin’ it, now you’re going to get yourself off for me.”
Peter looked Mike in the eyes, those eyes that blazed black like coals on the brink of burning. Mike’s cruel words rang inside Peter’s head, everything swimming before him, brief anger ebbing into humiliation that fueled the excitement.
“Say it, Peter. ‘I’m a dirty fucking pervert,” Mike taunted.
“I’m a dirty fucking pervert,” Peter mumbled. Mike reached up to fondle Peter’s balls through his pants, sending Peter over the edge into orgasm.
“I’m a dirty fucking pervert faggot,” Peter gasped, shooting his load across Mike’s chest. He staggered back and watched as Mike dipped his fingers in the sticky fluid on his chest, spreading it on his stomach, lifting his hands to his lips and sucking his fingertips.
“I want you to touch me now,” Mike said, his voice low and commanding. “I want you to make me cum.” He gestured toward the end of the bed. Peter obeyed, standing still near the end of the bed. Mike sat up and took Peter’s hands in his own.
“Don’t just look at it. Touch it,” Mike demanded. Peter watched silently as his hands were placed on Mike’s erect cock.
Mike lay back slowly, watching as Peter began moving his hands tentatively. Mike relaxed and smiled slightly, a little smugly. “That’s it, Peter. Do me like you did yourself,” he said, putting his hands behind his head to prop himself up so he could watch Peter.
Peter knelt by the bed, leaning over Mike and stroking him with his right hand while cupping Mike’s balls in his left hand. He looked up to see Mike throw his head back on the pillow, brow furrowed and eyes shut, mouth open slightly, his face caught in that exquisite limbo between pleasure and overload. Peter smiled as Mike began to thrust into his hands.
“Oh, God, it’s good, it’s good,” Mike whispered, digging his hands into the bedsheets. He writhed constantly, forcing Peter to shift around to keep up with him. Suddenly, Mike arched his back, gritting his teeth, and then gasped sharply. Peter stopped for a moment, startled, wondering if he was hurting Mike.
Mike opened his eyes and glared at Peter. “Don’t stop, goddamn you, don’t stop…ohhhhhhhh, shitthat’sgood,” he breathed as Peter began touching him again. Knowing Mike was close to coming, Peter stroked him quickly, forcefully, enjoying the sight and the feeling of Mike moving around wildly and moaning, swamped by waves of ecstasy.
He’s out of control, Peter thought. And I’m causing it.
Mike slammed his right hand down on the bed, his body stiffening, his moans escalating into a loud growl as he came. Peter felt warm wetness filling his hands. Mike smacked the bed twice more, his hips jerking, his stare fixed on the ceiling with a fierceness that spooked Peter.
“Stop. Stop,” Mike begged, his breathing harsh, his legs trembling. Peter took his hands away from Mike and looked at them, marveling at the amount of sticky fluid that covered his fingers and palms. Does he keep a reserve tank in there somewhere?
Peter looked away from his hands toward Mike, who lay exhausted on the bed, his chest heaving.
“You see what you did?” Mike said, fixing his gaze on Peter. “All your fault.”
“You didn’t close the door,” Peter countered. “Looks to me like someone wanted to get caught.”
Mike broke into an evil grin. “Yeah. Someone wanted to get caught all right.” Peter blushed.
Mike sat up and touched Peter’s arm. “Go wash your hands. Come back here when you’re done.”
When Peter returned to the bedroom, Mike lay on his back, eyes heavy-lidded with impending sleep. As Peter approached, Mike patted the empty bedspace next to him. Peter crawled in and was stunned when Mike suddenly kissed him on the forehead.
Peter threw his arm over Mike’s chest, settling his head on Mike’s shoulder.
“Mine,” murmured Mike, placing his hand on Peter’s.
Yours, thought Peter, drifting off to sleep next to Mike.