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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.

"Fifty Shades of Nezred"

Title: Fifty Shades of Nezred

Author: little red rider

Genre/Pairing: Torksmith

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: strong language, sexual situations

Disclaimer: I own nothing, you were warned.

Summary: Peter and Mike have a misunderstanding on the beach.

Author’s Note: I had this idea rolling around for awhile and then that terrible twilight fanfiction porn came out and boom, there was my title.

“Peter, I don't know about this.” Mike's fingers fidgeted with the hem of his swim trunks, gazing nervously at the horizons around them for any other human in sight.

“C'mon, you're the one who said you wanted to try and get a tan this summer.” Peter's voice floated up towards him. He glanced down, realized Peter had already discarded his own trunks, gulped and looked back up, nearly burning out his retinas with the noon sun in the process.

“I just don't see any benefit of gettin' nude to get a tan.” Peter chuckled and sat up.

“Michael, you're so pale, your tan lines would look absolutely ridiculous. I found this great hidden away spot just for your modesty. Sit down.”

“I can already tell I'm gonna have sand in every crevice of my-” Mike's voice caught in his throat as he felt his shorts yanked down and a cool breeze rush over his genitals. He dropped to the ground quickly.

“Fuckin' asshole.” Peter rolled his eyes and grinned at the sight of his friend curled up in a ball.

“You're going to have to stretch out and let the sun love you.” Mike merely grumbled at the suggestion. Peter placed a hand on Mike's shoulder and pushed him backwards into the beach blanket underneath them. Mike sighed and closed his eyes. Peter took the opportunity to sneak a peek at the other man’s lanky body. Mike was abnormally pale for a someone who lived on the beach. Wispy dark black hair accented his complexion nicely.

-Sweet heavens, he's hung. Why would someone that endowed...-.Peter snapped his attention to the ocean, afraid the warm flushed feeling he had would give away he'd been staring.

“You just need to relax.”

“I'm pretty sure there is only one thing that would relax me enough to lay around naked in public.” Peter coughed, a slight choking noise.  Mike's eyes fluttered open. His friend had quickly busied himself with a brown bottle. “What's that?”

“Suntan lotion. It's supposed to help. Want some?”

“Sure.” Mike was about to sit up when Peter slapped a handful of the lotion against his chest and began rubbing it in with slow, circular movement. Mike was about to protest that he could have done that himself, but suddenly found the combination of unexpected human
contact and tropical notes of the lotion more intoxicating than he would care to admit. -Maybe I should just relax.- and his eyes closed again.

Peter didn't know what he couldn't believe more, that he'd starting rubbing his hands all over Mike without a second thought, or that Mike was letting him, even appeared content. In fact, Peter didn't think he'd ever seen Mike look more peaceful.  His features had softened, the corners of his mouth were pulled up in strange smile as his
tongue occasionally darted out to wet his lower lip.

Peter hands were going dry as he reached Mike's stomach. He was about to grab more lotion when he realized how uncomfortably rock hard he was in his pants. -HOW DID I NOT NOTICE THAT, FUCK, WHY DID I INSIST ON NUDE  SUNBATHING - when he felt the tip of Mike's partially erect penis brush against his elbow.  -well well well-

“Hey Peter, I think I can take care of – UHNG!” Mike felt the blood drain from his face as his entire member, to the root, disappeared into Peter's warm, wet, mouth, growing harder once practically clamped inside. He hazily scanned the beach, desperate for no interruptions or gawkers. Without a word or release, Peter deftly moved from Mike's side to between his legs, which parted without a conscious thought from Mike himself.

Peter hummed approvingly, sending another grunt producing shockwave up Mike's spine. Peter moved one hand between his own legs, while he placed the other on Mike's hip to brace against, slightly worried the taller man might gag him as his body started jerking again his face. He could see Mike's hands, white knuckled, grasping wildly at the
blanket. It was too much, too quickly, and Peter was a bit too good at it.

“I'm...I'm gonna... fu, UNH, PETER!” The sound of his name being cried out in Mike's strangled accent sent Peter over the edge as well. Mike's climax lasted a bit longer, his body wracked with jagged breathing before finally slowing, body entire body going limp. Peter pull himself up and away, dropping quickly to Mike's side, but Mike rolled away onto his stomach. Peter waited. And waited. And waited.


And waited.

Peter felt his stomach knot. -Did I read that wrong. Oh god, that was too much with no warning.- Peter quickly pull his trunks up and ran back to the house, willing himself not to cry and hoping Micky and Davy were not at the house.

“SWEET SUFFERIN' MOTHER OF FUCK.” Davy jumped at the roaring profanities, his magazine landing somewhere behind the couch. Mike, bright red, rage contorting his features, strode past him to the room he shared with Micky.

“Hey Mike, you look like a lobs-HURRK” Mike picked Micky up by his collar and shoved him out of their room, slamming the door behind him. The sound of the lock slamming into place sent a clear message of Do Not Disturb.

“What the hell did I do?!” Micky looked at Davy, who shrugged.

“I dunno mate, but about a hour ago Petah came in white as a ghost, looking like he was going to throw up, and 'as been posted up in our room ever since.

“Did you talk to him?”

“I tried, but he said he wanted to be left alone.”

“Do you think it's related to whatever ticked off the red Texas tornado?”

“Only one way to find out.” Davy and Micky headed upstairs and opened the door to their bedroom. Peter was nowhere to be seen, but something appeared to be shaking under  Davy's bed.

“Uh, Big Peter, you okay?”

“Micky?” Peter whispered. “Was that...that was Mike, right?”

“Yeah man, what's going on?”

“I...I made Mike mad I think, b-but he wouldn't talk to me, a-and now...” Peter trailed off.

“What did you do?”

“I can't t-tell you.” Peter sniffed.

“Why not?” Davy bent down next to the bed and pulled the dust ruffle up. Peter was clutching his teddy bear, wet eyes shining in the dark.

“Because it might make him madder.” Davy sighed and dropped the dust ruffle.

“We'll be back later Petah.” The two headed back downstairs and knocked  on the other bedroom door.


“Mike-” Davy started.


“Mike, Peter is upstairs under Davy's bed freaked out and crying. What's happened?” Mike was silent for a few minutes.

“I don't know what happened to Peter.”

“Well he thinks you're mad at him. Can you come help us get him out from under the bed?”

“I'd really rather not.” Davy and Micky looked at each other.

“Why not?”

“I kinda have a problem of  my own to deal with right now. Sorry.” Now it was Micky's turn to sigh. They headed to the couch and sat down.

“Well it seems like we're at a standstill in this mystery.”

Peter dared to crawl out from under the bed in the dead of night, the cramping in his legs and overwhelming pressure in his bladder finally enough to sneak out of the room. Davy and Micky were both passed out on the couch, the sound crackling softly in the silence of the house. Peter took a brief look at Mike and Micky's closed door before tip toeing behind his sleeping band mates to the bathroom.

Peter found his legs a bit too rubbery to stand to piss, and sat down on the toilet. Suddenly the shower curtain swished back and Mike, half submerged in the bath tub, reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Peter!” Mike hissed.

“Mike!” Peter squeaked, terrified but unable to pull away.

“What happened to you?”


“Why did you leave?”

“I, I....you...” Peter stammered. Mike released Peter's wrist and stood up, a splash of cold water coming up with him.

“Look at me, I'm redder than a tomato and burnt worse than Micky's bacon! How could you leave me like that?!”

“You could be a BLT.” Mike tilted his head, completely dumbfounded by Peter's comment.  He noticed Peter's eyes looked a bit glazed over and not exactly aimed at Mike's face. He clapped his hand's in front of Peter's face.

“HEY! Why did you leave me on the beach?” Peter blushed and looked at his feet. He'd been completely entranced by the water drops trailing down Mike's slender frame.

“Well after what happened....you wouldn't talk to me....and I panicked.” Peter looked back up at Mike's face. It was somehow magically more red than before. Mike slapped his hand to his forehead, winced, and sat back down in the tub.

“Peter, I'm embarrassed to say that....well, that was so unexpected....amazin'...and, drainin' that, well, I fell asleep.” Peter's eyes widened.

“You mean, you weren't mad that I-”

“Babe, no, not at all. I fell asleep, burned up, and freaked out. My skin is on fire! Hurts almost as bad as when I smashed my finger as a kid but it's all over!”

“I have something that could help.”

The next morning Micky decided he had rights and wanted access to his things. He was surprised when he knocked on the door and found it unlocked. He was more surprised to see a still bright red but now nude and somewhat shiny Mike asleep on the floor. A shirtless Peter was sleeping peacefully next to him. One large potted aloe plant was
nestled in between them. Micky backed out of the room and gently closed the door.

“Hey, is Mike okay? I took these toaster waffles up to Petah but he's not in the room.” Davy was right behind him, having slid down the spiral staircase railing.

“Uh yeah. Pete's in there. Things are a bit weird but they're working it out. They need a bit more time alone though.”

“Oh, okay. Burnt waffle?”