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"Sweet Like Chocolate"

Title: Sweet Like Chocolate
Author: Woolhat’s Travelling Mood
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mike/Peter
Genre: Slash/Smut
Warnings: Language, sexuality
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Monkees and make no claim that this ever really happened. It is pure FICTION.
Summary: Mike’s going through a rough patch and a certain bassist gives him new hope.
Author’s Note: I’m English so if there’s any Britishisms, sorry! I only ever write show based fics and this is the first fic I have written in nearly 8 years. I used to write for Donatella’s Head, though a lot of my stuff was at the sugary end of smut. This is my first ever Mike/Peter pairing and I must say it was a lot of fun to write. Peter in this is more like real life Peter (i.e. clever) even though it’s show based and Mike’s…well, Mike.


Peter stretched languidly, allowing the sun to touch every inch of his body. He was glad Micky had convinced him to have a ‘lazy’ day. He had been so busy the last few weeks, it was nice just to chill and let the others take the strain, if only for a day.

The last four weeks had been as close to manic as possibly imaginable, with a steady run of gigs Monday to Friday at the Cassandra, then the extra private parties on Saturdays. It meant they didn’t have the money worries, but the strain was beginning to show. Trying to be on top of their game every night, day in day out, was a lot harder than any of them expected.

Even Micky, with his seemingly boundless energy was spending less time on the beach and more time in bed. But Micky could look after himself; he carried worry like the flu, suffering briefly and then shaking it off and forgetting it had ever happened. Davy, too, had his ‘diversions’: A different woman every night, he was also spending more time in bed, but somehow Peter thought it wasn’t spent sleeping.

No, Peter didn’t worry about those two; he worried about Michael. It was his songs they were playing every night, his act fine-tuned to a tight set list. Though Mike showed no exterior signs that he was strained, Peter could tell different. Mike absorbed the energy from the gigs, recycling it into new energy to get himself through to the next gig and so on, but it didn’t stop the far away look in his eyes, or the distance he was creating between himself and the rest of the band. Peter had seen this strategy before, when they all first moved in together. Mike moving himself apart from the others so they wouldn’t pick up on his weaknesses; giving himself space until he pulled himself together again.

Peter felt his body stiffen with the sudden anxiety about his friend. Maybe he shouldn’t be lounging around doing nothing. True, since the start of the run of gigs, he had made sure he had more than pulled his weight. Cleaning the pad, moving and loading the instruments, buying the groceries, cooking all the meals, dealing with Babbit, all so Mike wouldn’t have to worry.

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was just about to get up and start on washing the dishes that were left over from lunch when the phone rang. He instantly darted for it, not wanting it to wake Micky, who was having a nap upstairs.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m calling for Mr Michael Nesmith?”

“I’m afraid he’s not in at the moment, can I take a message?”

“Um…no, not really, but can you ask him to call me as soon as he can? It’s really quite urgent. My name is Stevens, Greg Stevens…”

Greg gave his number to Peter and hung up briskly. Peter stood cradling the phone for a moment, slightly bewildered by the quick transaction. The guy’s tone hadn’t really settled any concerns he had, it sounded like Mike was in for some bad news. Peter replaced the handset and sat quietly at the kitchen table, the dishes momentarily forgotten.

Everyone thought Micky was the curious one, the one who stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong, but in reality it was Peter who couldn’t help but be inquisitive about his friends’ private lives–especially Mike’s. Mike was so secretive, so private, Peter realised that he didn’t really know that much about Mike’s earlier life at all. Maybe there just wasn’t much to know. Peter tried to satisfy himself with that answer, but it didn’t seem to hold.

Oh Mike, what now? He sighed, putting Greg’s name and phone number into his shirt pocket and sitting patiently for Mike to return.

Mike sat in the diner looking through the two day old newspaper with eyes that didn’t see. His stomach was tight, an insistent gnawing inside like there was a trapped dog in there pawing its way out. She’d just laughed. Laughed in his face as if it were one big joke. What a fool he was. What a complete and utter loser. He turned the page and tried desperately to read the next article, some gripe about too many parking lots in the city, but after the third sentence his mind was lost again. She could’ve just politely turned him down, she didn’t need to laugh, not in that irritating giggly way she did. Not in front of her friends, like it was a set up on some hidden camera show.

Let it go, let it go. It’s just one girl, its not like she was anything special anyway. But somehow that last thought made him feel even worse. She wasn’t the prettiest one in the room, nor the wealthiest, so why did she do that?

Mike finished the last of his cold cup of coffee and sighed. He really didn’t want to go back to the pad. He didn’t want Peter asking how he was—Mike, you don’t look well are you ok?—and he didn’t want Micky baiting him about the bet they made on who could get the most girls.

Mike gritted his teeth. On his good days Micky was a great friend, but it hadn’t escaped Mike’s notice that Micky hadn’t made the same bet with Davy, or even Peter, for that matter. He’d made it with Mike because he knew he could beat him.

Thanks a fucking bunch, Mick… He had tried to convince himself that he would never had gone through that humiliation of asking that girl out if he hadn’t been trying to win the bet, but in his heart he knew it wasn’t true. He hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time, not one that he actually felt any kind of connection with, and at times he felt desperately lonely. Maybe he was just no good. Maybe there was something about him that girls didn’t like. He knew he was probably too serious for his own good, too wrapped up in the band, and damn it, wasn’t it paying off? For fuck’s sake, why didn’t he have someone to share that achievement with?

Mike looked down and realised he was screwing the paper up between two clenched fists, garnering a few worried glances from the waitress behind the till. He gulped the last awful mouthful of coffee and abruptly left.

Michael strode into the pad about an hour after Peter received the ambiguous phone call, guitar case in one hand and a bar of chocolate in the other. Peter caught sight of it and his stomach knotted.

Oh God, this is a lot worse than I thought.

His eyes followed Mike as he sat down on the couch. It may have sounded stupid if he’d said it out loud, but Peter had always been intensely observant, especially when it involved the people he loved, and he had quickly learnt the traits of his fellow Monkees.

If Micky was upset, his appetite would drop from that of a horse to that of a sparrow. He would aimlessly push his food around his plate and then discreetly hide bits under other pieces to make it look like he’d eaten. It wasn’t a habit Peter was very fond of, and he was worried about where and when that behaviour had originated.

Davy, on the other hand, became aggressive. Not necessarily with his bandmates—he knew better than to pick too many fights with Mike—but with random strangers or people they met out. He would become rude and bolshie, talking back to club managers in a tone that said he was better than them. Peter had seen it a few times, and when he did a little digging, he would find that Davy had been dumped by a chick he really liked, or had been laughed at by some guys because of his height.

But Mike. Mike was more subtle than that. It had taken a long time before Peter had managed to piece together any correlation between Mike feeling bad and a change in his behaviour.

Until that night round Micky’s mom’s. She had gotten all the old photo albums out, embarrassing Micky but entertaining the others. It wasn’t until later, when they were all home and Davy and Micky had gone to bed, that Peter found Michael out on the veranda, gently sucking on a chocolate bar and looking out to sea.

He didn’t need to tell Peter what was wrong. It was the happy families, all the good memories Micky and his mother shared, all the opportunities that Micky had had and Mike never had. A chance to go to college. A chance to do whatever you want. A supportive parent to back you all the way. Peter had said nothing, just sat with Mike until he seemed to feel better.

Peter looked over to him now, watching as Mike chewed his way through a Hershey bar, and felt nothing but sympathy for his friend.

“I’m guessing Greg Stevens managed to speak to already?” Peter asked nonchalantly.

“Greg who?” Mike tried to get out the words with a mouth full of chocolate.

“Greg Stevens. I don’t know who he is, he just said he needed to talk to you urgently. It sounded really important. I thought that was why you’re unhappy?”

“Who said I’m unhappy?”

“I can see you’re not happy,”

“Bullshit. I’m fine. Nothin’ wrong with me. You spend too much time thinking Peter, maybe give that a break hmmmm?”

Peter could see that Michael hadn’t reached the communication stage of his bad mood yet, so he let it drop. They sat silently regarding each other for a while.

Why the hell does he keep staring at me? Have I grown a second head or something? Mike was getting more irritable and regretted coming back to the pad so soon. Peter was looking at him warmly but unwavering and it was making Mike feel unnerved. He just wanted to be left alone. But hang on…

“So there was a call for me?” He brought them back to the top

“Oh yeah, sorry, some guy called Greg Stevens…you’ve never heard of him?”

“Nope, what’s his number?” Mike got up and walked over to Peter who handed him a piece of paper.

Mike gave a small yet forced smile as a thank-you and turned to the phone.

“Do you mind givin’ me a minute please Pete?”

“Oh…no, sorry,” Peter got up and went into his bedroom.

Mike listened as the phone rang and rang and was about to hang up when a flustered female voice answered

“Yes, Stevens and Son, Mr. Steven’s Office,”

“Oh, sorry ma’m, I was told to call for a Greg Stevens? My name’s Mike Nesmith.”

“Oh yes, one moment Mr. Nesmith, we’ve been expecting your call, I’ll just put you through now.”

Mike’s brow furrowed as he heard the various clicks of being ‘put through’. He looked down at the candy bar still in his hand and saw it had begun to melt. He sneered at it in distaste and launched it into the trashcan by the icebox.

“Hello Mr. Nesmith, I’m Greg Stevens”

“Hello Mr. Stevens, do you mind telling me what all this is about?”

Mike was starting to get a sugar headache and was looking longingly back at the armchair, in his mind promising himself that after this phone call he would have a little nap.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, Mr. Nesmith, some very bad news. I hate to have to tell you this over the phone, but there’s no other way…are you sitting down by the way?”

“Should I be?”

“I think you should…”

Mike sat down at the kitchen table, his heart pounding in his chest. It hadn’t escaped his notice that both the secretary and Mr. Stevens had Texas accents. His mind was bringing up all the worst case scenarios, and he was positive they were about to be proved right.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you, Mr. Nesmith, that your mother…that your mother was involved in an accident yesterday evening…a hit and run…I’m sorry…but she passed away the early hours of this morning…I’m very sorry…Mr. Nesmith? Mr. Nesmith?”

CLICK.

Mike hung up the phone, staring straight ahead, and slowly balled his hands into fists.

~*~

“And he just left?” Micky regarded Peter with his best patient look.

“Yep. He spoke on the phone, and the next I know the door slammed and he was gone.” Peter was thumbing the edge of his shirt nervously, something Micky was quick to pick up on.

“And you say you thought the call might be bad news? Why, Pete?”

“I don’t know, just the vibes I was getting. I can’t say for sure.”

“Well, he can’t have gone far, the car’s still here. Maybe he just went for a walk. At least it’s Sunday, so it’s not like we have a gig or anything. Don’t worry Big Peter, he’ll come back.”

Mike did come back, at 3am the next morning. Peter could see from the moment he stepped through the door that this was possibly one of the worst crises that had ever faced. It had rained overnight and Mike was soaked from head to toe. He looked dishevelled and dirty. He regarded Peter with suspicion as he struggled to remove his boots. Peter was in his pyjamas but had waited up, desperate to make sure Mike was ok.

“I don’t need no help…” Mike started before slumping down on the floor.

“Mike…please, just tell me what’s happened.” Peter stepped closer but was stopped by a reproachful look from the Texan.

“Nothin’. My life’s fuckin fantastic. Just fantastic..” Mike continued tugging weakly at his boot. “Fuckin…fuckin shit, come off you fucker…”

He pulled and tugged until his hands were pushed away and Peter removed his boot for him.

“Said I…”

“I know, you said you don’t need any help, but you’ll wake Micky if you keep on…”

“Peter…”

“What Mike?”

But when Mike looked at him, Peter knew he wasn’t going to say anymore. He had never seen such a desperately sad look in all his life and it nearly broke his heart.

“Come on, you need to get out of these wet clothes...” Peter began unbuttoning Mike’s shirt when Mike suddenly leaned forward and pressed his lips against Peter’s.

The first thought to enter Peter’s mind was “God, you reek of whiskey,” but he didn’t pull away. Behind the abundant taste of alcohol was the sweetness of Mike’s mouth and a warm softness. Peter closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Mike’s shoulders, breaking the kiss and pulling him into a hug.

“Peter…”

“Shhhh…don’t break the habit of a lifetime, just be quiet for now.” Peter squeezed him for emphasis, ignoring a growing heat in his pyjama bottoms.

How long had he wanted Mike? Too long. Way back to when he first saw him at the Troubadour playing his own songs and scaring the regulars with his enigmatic stage presence. Peter wanted him so badly he felt his heart tighten when he thought of all the love he wanted to share with Mike.

“You can talk to me tomorrow Michael, but now you just need to go to bed.”

“I can’t…I can’t sleep…” Mike looked on the verge of tears and Peter was starting to panic. He had never seen him like this; surely nothing could possibly rock him this badly?

“Davy’s not home tonight.”

Mike sneered, “So?”

“So, you’re going to sleep in my bed with me.”

As Mike opened his mouth to protest Peter calmly placed a finger over his lips.

“No arguments.”

Peter regarded Mike carefully. His sodden hair had fallen over his left eye and his bottom lip was sticking out in a pout. Peter wanted nothing more than to share his love with Mike, but now was definitely not the time. As cute as he appeared, he was clearly going through some serious issues, and Peter was not willing to muddy the waters further.

He slowly tugged at Mike’s shirt sleeve and pulled him to his feet. Once again, Mike lunged forward and claimed Peter’s mouth in a drunken kiss, and Peter allowed him, meanwhile struggling to keep a grip on his own self control.

Mike broke the kiss slowly and looked deeply into Peter’s eyes, so deep that he almost looked sober, and whispered, “I’ve never kissed anyone I’ve actually loved before.”

Peter didn’t get any sleep that night. He lay on his side, spooned up to Mike’s back as he held him close, listening to the soft breaths as he slept soundly–at least the whiskey was good for something.

Peter watched the dawn peep through the edges of the blinds and wondered what the day had in store. First things first—he should call the Cassandra and say they would not be able to play for the next few nights. Mike’s demeanour when he arrived home had only encouraged Peter’s suspicions and after a lot of pondering and analyzing he concluded that Mr. Stevens was probably a lawyer, or at least someone in the legal game and almost definitely from Texas.

What possibly could rock Mike so badly but the death of someone? The death of someone he loved. The last living connection to his past. By 8am, Peter was convinced that the phone call had been to tell Mike of the death of his mom. It couldn’t have been anything else. And Peter was determined to help Mike through the grief. That included making sure Mike made it back to Texas for the funeral. Peter still had the number for Mr. Stevens; he would call him and get all the details he needed, even if he had to ring them twenty times before they broke confidentiality.

He would also have to make sure Micky was aware, and either made himself useful or made himself scarce. As much as Peter loved the drummer like a brother, he did have the knack of opening his big mouth, which was not the wisest move when you had a grieving Texan with a bad hangover waking up in his best male friend’s bed…naked.

Peter did feel a little guilty about not putting any pyjamas on Mike. In the cold light of day, it looked calculating, but, in fact, he had just been too tired and Mike needed to get out of his wet clothes, and if he had gone to get Mike’s pyjamas he would have woke Micky…yadda yadda yadda. Oh well, Peter thought, at least it’s a little reward for me being so helpful.

He gave Mike’s sleeping body a little squeeze, feeling his warm skin beneath his hands and a broad dimpled smile crossed his face.

He would save Mike. He would move Heaven and Earth to make him feel better.

Mike shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There just wasn’t enough room for his long legs to stretch out, and he began to feel flustered. He chanced a sideways glance at Peter, who was calmly leafing through a music magazine he’d bought at the airport. Mike wished he could distract himself through reading, but he was too nervous to read.

Once Peter had got it into his head that they would go to Texas, Mike had at least tried to convince him that they would drive, but Peter was having none of it. Driving would take too long and be too tiring he said, let’s fly. Flying was an extravagance that Mike abhorred, but in this circumstance he didn’t have much choice. Peter had bought the tickets with his own money, saved from the constant gigs they’d been doing, and Mike was thankful. Left to his own devices, he wasn’t even sure he’d be making this trip at all. He had loved his mother dearly, but the thought of returning to his old stomping ground, not as a conquering hero, but as a struggling musician for his ma’s funeral, was something that sent icy chills up his spine.

Peter watched Mike out of the corner of his eye, silently wishing the plane to move faster. Mike was nervous and his emotions still very raw, and when he was this vulnerable, he had a habit of turning all his energy into anger, something that was best avoided in a confined space several thousand feet in the air.

“Michael, are you ok?” He asked, knowing the answer already.

“M’fine Pete. Just, you know, bit uncomfortable…”

“Are you sure you don’t want my aisle seat?”

“No, m’fine. I like looking out the window…”

“Ok. Do you want to read my magazine?”

“No…No, s’ok.” Mike quickly looked back out of the window, gripping the armrest of his chair tightly.

Suddenly he jumped when he felt his hand loosened, and a foreign hand gripping his tightly. He turned back to Peter and was greeted with a sunny smile. Peter squeezed his hand gently and to his joy, Mike squeezed it back.

“You’re going to be ok Michael…it’s all going to be fine.”

Mike tried to relax and let his mind wander. He expected to find himself thinking of all the missed opportunities he’d had with ma, all the things he’d never said, all the gestures he’d never made. But his mind chose not to go there. Instead, it drifted back to two days ago, when he awoke in Peter’s bed.

The first thing Mike had been aware of was an intense pain in his head, a ferocious hunger in his belly, and that he wasn’t in his own bed. It smelt different, and the light looked all wrong.

“Sleep well?” A rich baritone asked, and Mike jumped, turning sharply to find Peter lying in bed next to him.

“What the fuck…?” Mike began but was hushed with a finger across his lips.

“Before you start ranting and raving, use the ears God gave you. You were upset, you were wet from the storm, and you were lonely Michael. I let you sleep in my bed with me. That’s all.”

Mike looked at Peter with a steady gaze, so put off his stride he found he had no cognitive thought at all. Peter was naked down to the waist, and his skin looked so tan and soft. Mike closed his eyes wearily, he must have drunk more than he realised. He had always felt something towards the blond, but thought it was just a great friendship with a mutual love of music.

Now, looking at Peter sharing the same bed as himself, Mike realised it went a whole lot deeper than that. But he couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. He was so overwhelmed. His ma. She was dead. She would never see him make it big, she would never be in the crowd of any of his gigs, he could never proudly present her with his first album. His eyes flooded and he quickly turned away from the bassist, covering his face with his hands. He was desperately trying to hold on to some sanity, some concrete feeling that wasn’t lust and wasn’t grief.

“Michael, I’m going to make you breakfast, and then we’re going to arrange getting to Texas…”

“How did you know?” Mike asked from behind his arms,

“I’m not as dumb as I look…” And before he left, Peter leant over and kissed the back of Mike’s neck, not seeing the goosebumps that erupted on the Texan’s arms.

Things hadn’t progressed from that point. Peter had done everything he promised, and that night Mike found himself back in Peter’s bed, but this time he was clothed, and fell asleep in his friend’s arms with no more than a peck on the cheek.

“…hungry?”

“Huh? Sorry Pete, I was miles away.”

Peter smiled at Mike warmly. The Texan looked so tired, yet he was sleeping more than ten hours a night.

“I said, maybe we should make our first stop somewhere to eat. Are you hungry?”

Mike looked at his friend with misty eyes “Starved.”

“Good. We’ll get the hire car and drive to near the hotel and then we’ll stop and get something. What are you in the mood for?”

Mike looked like he was pondering for a second, “Chilli. No chilli in the world is better than Texas chilli.”

And without warning, he broke down in tears.

Peter quickly found that Texas was possibly not the best place for a vegetarian, but with a little negotiating with the waitress, he managed to get a salad. Mike, on the other hand, ate like he hadn’t eaten in days. He and Peter talked about generic things – music, politics, books and Peter was very aware of the elephant in the room. Occasionally, when not eating or speaking, Mike would look up at him and give him a smile, and that worried the bassist more than anything.

As much as he wanted Mike to be happy, all this was just too weird. One minute the Texan was bawling like a child, the next he was smiling and acting like nothing had happened. Peter hadn’t expected a walk in the park when it came to helping Mike with his emotions, but this was beginning to become a strain. Peter didn’t know whether he should be bringing up the subject of Bette Nesmith’s death at all, or just wait it out until Mike built up to it.

They got to the motel just after lunchtime and checked in. Mike had receded into himself and was tamely letting Peter do all the talking, before following him to the room they would share. Not to Mike’s surprise, there was only one bed.

“It’s the only room they had left,” Peter lied, taking Mike’s jacket and hanging it up.

The new, docile Mike didn’t argue, just sloped over to the bed, lay down and closed his eyes. Peter sighed. He suddenly felt so alone. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea just the two of them coming here. Maybe he should have brought Micky and Davy as reinforcements. But he didn’t like that idea, either.

He was unnerved at seeing Mike so different from his usual leader mode, he didn’t want to think how this experience would affect the other two. Peter didn’t want to think of them as less mature, but he couldn’t find any other way to express it. They were less mature, and it was up to him to shoulder the responsibilities of the group until Mike got better.

Peter puffed the air out of his cheeks and looked out the window. It was only 2pm; they had a little while to rest before they had to go to Mr. Stevens’ office and discuss a few things. He half expected Mike to be looking at him when he turned around, but he wasn’t. He looked asleep already. Peter shook off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, curling up to Mike’s back as he had done for the last two nights. As he snaked his hand around Mike’s chest, it was gripped tightly, and Mike pulled it closer to him, which pulled Peter closer still.

“Thanks Peter…” Mike whispered.

Peter remained in a kind of limbo for the next 36 hours or so before the funeral. Mike didn’t cry again, but he didn’t seem to be taking anything in, either. It turned out that Bette hadn’t been alone as he had expected, and in the time since Mike had left for California five years earlier, she had found herself a ‘companion’.

Mr. Stevens was quite clear that no will had been made, and that Bette hadn’t remarried, either, but Mike didn’t seem to be taking note. They met Mr. Stevens twice before the funeral, to tie up paperwork and other necessary things. Throughout both meetings, Peter asked all the questions, whilst Mike just sat gazing out of the window.

“So the funeral costs can be taken out of the sale price of the property, I can’t see too many problems…” Greg Stevens was saying, when Mike’s head suddenly snapped up and looked at him unwavering.

“Did he make her happy?” Mike asked,

“Hmmm?” Stevens stopped mid-sentence, half glancing at Peter in concern at this sudden change in Mike’s demeanour.

“Did he make her happy? That man she dated?”

“Mr. Sanderson? From what I can tell from her neighbours it would seem they were quite close, yes.”

“Right.” Mike nodded, “Then give him everything, I don’t want it.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and Stevens’ jaw actually dropped.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nesmith, I don’t think you quite understand. I know this is not a huge estate, but from what I can tell from what your friend here has said, it would benefit you quite a bit.”

“I said, I don’t want it. Give it to Mr. what’s-his-name.” Mike growled evenly.

Stevens gave an embarrassed smile and looked to Peter for backup, but found none. Instead, Peter turned to Mike and gave him a warm, small smile.

“Mike, are you sure?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t a good son to her. I hadn’t spoken to her in over nine months, man. If this guy made her happy, he deserves it all more than me.”

Peter’s smile grew, but as much as he wanted to, he resisted the urge to pull Mike in for a kiss there and then.

“Okay. Whatever you want, Michael.”

The day of the funeral was long and tiring. The stares Peter and Mike were garnering from distant relatives and old friends hadn’t escaped the blond’s attention, nor the odd whisper or two. It seemed they didn’t see many long-haired, rock-and roll-musicians, and Peter was glad that, for once, he had shaken off his hippie image and was wearing a plain suit.

Mike seemed on his best behaviour and greeted everyone as if he couldn’t think of a better place to be. It was only later, as they were walking up to the house that Mike had spent his childhood for the wake after the funeral itself, that Mike stopped dead.

“Michael?” Peter asked cautiously.

“I don’t want to go in there Pete. Can we go now?” Mike looked at him with dark, unsettled eyes.

“Sure.” Peter smiled, “Tired?”

Mike nodded, and they both sneaked off without anyone noticing.

~*~

“You have a hole in your sock…” Peter whispered casually, peering down at Mike’s feet that hung over the end of the bed.

“Yeah.” Mike whispered back.

Peter smiled at him as he stretched out his hand, brushing Mike’s hair out of his eyes.

They lay on the bed for a while longer, side by side, just looking at each other. Mike was using Peter’s other outstretched arm as a pillow, enjoying the simple contact of someone he felt so close to.

“Mike, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“When you came home on Sunday. You were upset about something. Before the phone call. What’s wrong?”

Michael felt himself get a little hot in his cheeks. He had been trying desperately to forget about all that, and now Peter was bringing the whole ugly thing back up again. He felt the embarrassment turn to anger, and was about to tell the bassist to mind his own damn business, when he caught Peter’s eyes, and saw the concern that was very clearly displayed there.

“I…I don’t really wanna say Pete…”

“Oh come Mike, you know I won’t judge you. Please. It might help if you tell me.”

Mike bit his lower lip and looked at Peter. He knew he could trust him. Hell, he’d probably seen Mike through one of the lowest ebbs of his life. But there was a worry that if he told Peter about that girl, about how any girl didn’t seem to be interested, maybe Peter too would lose interest, maybe he would see Mike for the loser he really was and run for the hills.

“It’s just…”

“Yes?”

“It’s just this stupid bet Micky and I made. He said he could get more girls than me in a week, and like the fool I am, I rose to the challenge…”

Peter could already see where this was going, but chose to let Mike continue.

“And, well, Saturday night I saw this girl. Nothin’ too special, you know, just…nice lookin’. An’ I went over and asked if I could take her out to the movies or somethin’…and…and she just laughed in my face. Her and her friends. Like it was all such a big joke. I don’t think I’ve ever been so humiliated…”

Mike looked into Peter’s eyes for reassurance and saw something he didn’t expect—rage. Peter’s eyes were almost smouldering with hot anger, an anger that could easily make Mike’s usual temper look like slight annoyance.

“What a fool,” Peter growled.

Mike’s mouth unhinged a little at Peter’s words. Did he just say…? All the time he expected Peter to support him and now this? How could he have been so stupid to trust him when…

“What a stupid little fool. Didn’t she realise what an amazing man you are? God help me! Some people look but just can’t see.” Peter shook his head, and without saying another word pulled Mike in for a deep and yearning kiss.

Fireworks exploded in Mike’s head. What…? He felt so confused, so emotionally charged, and so suddenly turned on.

Peter broke the kiss and looked sternly into Mike’s eyes, cupping his face in his hands.

“Michael. I have loved you for longer than I can remember. You are such an extraordinary person, so talented. She laughed at you because the thought of being with someone like you scared her to death and she didn’t know how to handle it. She’s not the type of person who could understand someone like you…I on other hand, would like to be given the chance…if you’ll let me?”

Mike didn’t really know what to say to that little speech. No one had ever said anything quite so nice to him before and he felt confused and dazed all over again. Numbly he just nodded, and Peter swooped in for another demanding kiss.

This time, Mike could feel a tongue brush insistently at his lips, and he opened them to allow the kiss to go further. Peter moaned as he felt Mike’s hand snake around to his lower back, pulling him in closer until their torsos touched. Mike felt so hot, feverishly hot and delirious, and he moaned loudly into Peter’s mouth.

Peter broke the kiss abruptly and started kissing down from Mike’s earlobe across his jaw-line and down his throat. Mike was panting into Peter’s hair when Peter suddenly let out a loud moan as he felt Mike’s hand grab his ass. He moved back up and kissed Mike deeply again.

“What do you want, Michael? What?” Peter gasped as he broke away.

Mike looked back thoughtfully, before answering “To be loved.”

Peter had no words to reply, just broke into a big dimpled smile and kissed Mike carefully on the mouth—the gentlest, most heartfelt kiss he could muster, hoping it would convey some of the emotions he was feeling.

Peter felt a hardness pressing into his thigh, and was very aware of his own pressing need. As much as he wanted to race ahead, he willed himself to go slow, to enjoy every second of something he had dreamt of for years.

Peter began slowly, torturously unbuttoning Mike’s shirt, revealing smooth pale skin beneath, with the odd trace of fine black hair. Mike moaned again as Peter dipped his head and traced his tongue down Mike’s chest, following the movement of his hands.

“Peter…” Mike gasped, sinking his hands into Peter’s silky hair.

Peter slid back up and Mike immediately started unbuttoning Peter’s clothes.

“Don’t ever wear black again,” Mike mock scolded, “It doesn’t suit you.”

Peter smiled and touched noses with Mike lovingly. “Whatever you say."

When both their shirts were removed, they spent a few moments just holding each other, feeling skin on skin. Mike was nibbling softly at the skin just beneath Peter’s ear and Peter’s eyes rolled back in his head. It felt so good, better than he could ever have imagined.

He let his hand trail up and down Mike’s waist and then circled his hip, tugging teasingly at the waistband of his pants. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Mike was eagerly following his lead—in fact, almost too eagerly as he already had Peter’s pants undone.

“Patience is a virtue.” Peter whispered in Mike’s ear, as he slowly dipped his hands into Mike’s pants and squeezed his ass gently.

“Patience was never my strong point,” Mike replied breathlessly and Peter laughed good naturedly.

“Well, then I’ve got a few things to teach you then haven’t I?”

Peter slowly eased Mike’s zipper down, one notch at a time, hearing Mike’s breathing hitch.

“Now you’re just teasing…ugh!” Mike gasped as Peter finally grasped his cock with one hand and pulled Mike’s pants down to his knees with the other.

Peter gently stroked and pumped Mike, watching the emotions play openly on his face. Mike lay there, just accepting Peter’s attentions for a few moments, before seeming to come to the present and started pushing Peter’s pants down with his underwear.

Peter sighed as Mike took hold of his aching cock, slowly starting to pump it in time to Peter’s own ministrations.

“Oh…Pete…” Mike whispered breathlessly, as Peter tried a few tricks on him.

“Just relax, my love…” Peter smiled as he kissed Mike deeply.

When the kiss broke, Mike leant his head forward and rested it on Peter’s shoulder. “Pete?”

“Hmmm?”

“I…I’ve never been with a man before.”

“I know. Don’t worry. You’ll love it.”

And Mike did love it, too. He loved everything Peter did to him. Once they had finally shed the last of their clothes, Peter rolled Mike onto his back and laid stretched out on top of him. Both moaned as their arousals rubbed together.

Then, keeping his movements painstakingly slow, Peter slid down Mike’s body, kissing as he went, until he was face to face with his prize. He admired Mike’s cock for a few moments, imagining all the scenarios he had dreamt of which would now become true, before opening his mouth and touching his tongue to the tip.

Mike groaned loudly and arched his back, clutching desperately at the sheets below. Peter couldn’t help but smile and did the same again, this time trailing down with his tongue, until his mouth hung open over Mike’s member. He breathed heavily onto it, feeling Mike writhe below him. Just as Mike seemed to calm down a little, Peter closed his mouth around his cock and gave a short but deep suck before releasing again. Mike groaned even louder and Peter hoped that the motel walls weren’t too thin.

Peter began a rhythm, sucking gently, then building to powerful pumps, before slowing down and releasing again. The moans and other noises Mike was making were music to the blond’s ears. Roaming hands found Peter’s hair and clutching at it ferociously, only causing Peter get to more turned on. He brought Mike to the brink once more, before slowly getting back onto the bed and crawling to where Mike lay panting helplessly.

They shared another deep kiss before Peter rolled off the bed and went over to his luggage. He rummaged around a while before returning with a bottle of baby oil. Mike raised one eyebrow.

“Been planning have we?”

“Never hurts to be prepared,” Peter smiled, “I was in the Eagle Scouts, you know.”

“I hope you didn’t learn this in the Eagle Scouts.” Mike retorted and laughed, a little too nervously.

Peter smiled at him and stroked a hand down his face.

“I love you Michael, and I want to make love to you, but I’ll only do what you’re comfortable with.”

Mike looked back at him calmly, before breaking into a bashful grin.

“I know. I love you too Peter. Somehow I think I always have.”

Peter smiled and lay down next to Mike again, drawing him up into his arms. Peter let his hands wander down Mike’s body, slowly stroking the base of his spine, before moving down to his ass, tenderly running a finger down the crack in a teasing manner.

Mike sighed and pushed his face against Peter’s throat, kissing it.

“Do what you want Pete…I trust you.”

Peter smiled, pulling Mike even closer. With subtlety that only comes with experience, he poured some of the oil onto his fingers, and slowly traced his hand back down to Mike’s ass, before gently pushing a finger inside. Mike gasped and Peter felt him tense up in his arms.

“Just relax,” Peter murmured into Mike’s ear, “It will feel so good, but you must relax.”

Slowly but surely, Mike relaxed again and Peter began to pump the finger in and out, whilst his other hand moved down to grasp Mike’s cock.

“Ugh!” Mike growled as Peter began to pump him in rhythm to his finger, and the Texan was so overwhelmed with the feelings that he didn’t initially notice the addition of another finger. He began to get hot and flustered again, tingles shooting up his spine and make his head swoon.

He could smell Peter’s scent and the scent of sex everywhere. Mike no longer needed to will himself to relax, everything Peter was doing was starting to feel so good. But then the third finger was added, and Mike’s breath hitched in his throat. It was uncomfortable, but he squeezed his eyes closed and forced himself to loosen his muscles.

Slowly, Peter rolled Mike onto his back and looked down at him with concerned eyes.

“Michael, are you ok?”

Mike just looked up at him and smiled, before pulling him down for a kiss.

Whilst they were kissing, Peter began to nudge Mike’s legs apart and positioned himself. He had already lubed himself up and was just waiting for the right moment. He leant down and ran his hands through Mike’s raven hair, loving how it felt in his hands, and gradually pushed himself forward penetrating his best friend.

Mike groaned, his eyes closing as the burning pain became more apparent. He desperately held on to the promise Peter made that it would feel good, but at that moment he doubted it.

“Relax…” Peter sighed in Mike’s ear as he buried himself all the way in.

Mike tried to slow his breathing, and had almost succeeded when Peter reached between them and grasped his cock again, slowly running his thumb over the slit.

“God…Pete!” Mike gasped and Peter felt Mike loosen enough for him to start a rhythm.

He pulled back a small amount, then in again, loving how hot and tight Mike was. He was nervously biting his lower lip, tasting copper in his mouth. He didn’t want to let himself go, not yet, not with Mike still adjusting to being so filled. He wanted Mike to enjoy it so much.

For Mike the pain gradually eased and he started to let himself go. It felt nice, it felt…whoa!

“Argnh! Fuck!” Mike near screamed as Peter touched a place inside of him that erupted in pleasure.

Peter grinned to himself, knowing full well what he’d done, and adjusted himself to hit that spot again and again, watching Mike writhe and melt below him.

“Peter…oh, God…Peter….” Mike was moaning and sighing and Peter began to pound harder and harder. He had held off for so long, he had been patient for so long, and now he would get his reward.

Mike arched his back, willing Peter deeper. This did feel good, so much better than he ever could have imagined. He felt his hands move of their own accord, sliding round to Peter’s ass and clutching desperately, almost forcing him to drive inside harder.

Peter groaned loudly as he felt Mike’s hands on him. He felt the familiar pressure building and knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. He reached down again and grasped Mike’s cock, pumping it hard and furiously in time with his own thrusts.

Mike threw his head back and cried Peter’s name, before letting go and coming hard.

Seeing the look of ecstasy on his lover’s face was enough to undo Peter and he came hard, thrusting deep as he had one of the best orgasms he could remember.

He tried desperately to hold himself up but his arms gave way and he collapsed on top of Mike. Mike’s eyes were closed as he panted weakly, his hair in his eyes and plastered to his forehead. Peter reached out lovingly and brushed it back into its familiar wave, and was rewarded with a kiss.

They lay in silence for a while, neither really knowing what words could possibly follow what they had just done. Peter started to panic that maybe he had moved too fast, what if Michael freaked out? How could he ever win his trust back again?

He looked into Mike’s face and found no hint of any reaction.

He was about to ask if Mike was ok, when Mike sighed and finally spoke.

“Pete…I’m really hungry.”

After going out to dinner, they returned to the motel late in the evening, laughing like schoolboys. Once again, they received a few odd looks, but this time, Peter hardly noticed.

As soon as they were behind closed doors, their lips were locked, and Mike worked anxiously on Peter’s clothes. Peter took a back seat this time, allowing Mike to take the control he so badly needed.

They spent the night kissing and touching, and before dawn, Mike bent Peter over the small desk in the corner of the room and entered him carefully, enjoying the tightness he had never experienced before. They made love long and slow, with no real race to orgasm, just the pleasure of being connected and all the micro-orgasms shooting through them.

“Mike…Oh, fuck, Michael…” Peter groaned, pushing himself back against his lover, urging him on deeper and harder.

Mike pulled Peter tight against him and kissed the back of his neck, before moving round and nibbling at his earlobe.

“I love you Peter,” Mike groaned

“I love you too Michael,” Peter panted.