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"The Razor Edge of Youth-Filled Love"
Title: The Razor Edge of Youth-Filled Love
Author: Lydia
Genre/Pairing: Mike/Peter (TV version)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Strong language, M/M sexual situation
Disclaimer: If this ever happened on the show, I wasn't watching that day. Seriously, this is just for fun, and no copyright infringement, defamation of fictional characters, or any other offense was intended.
Summary: This is a sex scene I deleted from a longer work ("And He Is On the Run"). The Monkees have broken up - congenially - and Mike's been playing successfully in a club in Houston. A ragged stranger turns up one night; it's Peter, who "ran away from home" and got into some trouble en route. After feeding him, cleaning him up, and listening to his story, Mike takes him to the club where Peter plays alongside him. They get back to Mike's place, still reeling from how well they played together after all this time, and Peter haltingly confesses his love to Mike. Mike reciprocates, warning Peter that he has no experience with men either. This is what happens next.
Author's Note: The title is excerpted from "Carlisle Wheeling" by Michael Nesmith.
***
The
road to seduction had always been bumpy for Mike and tonight’s excursion was no exception.
En route to the bedroom he tripped over his underpants, his own feet, and Peter’s
feet, then he bumped his shoulder hard on the door jamb. He caught sight of himself
in the mirror, saw his skinny body clad in nothing but black socks, and sighed. Why
would
Peter, with his dancer’s grace and aura of serenity, want anything to do with
someone like him?
Mirror-image Peter stepped closely behind mirror-image Mike, elegant
fingers sweeping up and down Mike’s ribs as he cocked one hip. The sight was so erotically
charged that it almost obliterated the feelings rocketing across every inch of skin.
Mike felt Peter’s admiration in every light touch but could not imagine what Beauty
could possibly see in the Beast. As if subliminally aware of Mike’s confusion, Peter
lowered his head enough to take a little nip at the side of Mike’s neck. “Stay with
me, Mike,” he whispered. “It’s more fun.”
Mike had to agree as he saw and felt Peter’s
fingers knead at the tense muscles of his shoulders. The everyday aches and pains
that came with hours hunched over a guitar dissipated as if by magic. “Aah! There!”
Mike heard himself shout when Peter reached a particularly tricky knot. In the mirror
he could see Peter’s expression of rapt concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking
from between slightly-parted lips as he worked
at the tender spot.
Peter followed the path of his fingers with little kisses, then stood on tiptoe with
both arms wrapped around Mike. He ran his fingers through the black chest hair before
moving his hands apart so he could play with Mike’s nipples. Mike gasped and leaned
backwards, pleased to feel Peter’s arousal pressed tightly against him.
With a fond, knowing smile, Peter moved one hand and placed it under Mike’s chin,
tipping his face upward until they were eye-to-eye in the mirror. “Now, do you finally
see why I want you?” he queried in mock exasperation.
Mike still couldn’t comprehend why Peter wanted him, but he had to admit that the
two of them looked good together. They had in common the long, sinewy limbs of youth,
but the difference in their faces was striking. Peter’s countenance was guileless
and sweet, lacking the shadows and world-weariness that always lurked in Mike’s eyes.
Where Peter smiled
fully to show off the deep dimple in his right cheek, Mike kept
his lips tight over his crooked teeth and ducked his head.
“No,” Peter insisted, spinning Mike around so they faced each other. “Forget the
mirror. Look at yourself in my eyes, Michael. Tell me what you see.”
Finally, standing naked before his dearest friend and looking into his dilated brown
eyes, Mike truly saw himself. Disheveled hair and pursed lips could not conceal the
unabashed yearning in his reflected face. He was beautiful, after all.
With a cry of pure delight, Mike leaned forward and pressed his lips against Peter’s
again and again and again, as if kissing him were the only hope of salvation in a
ruined world. Peter hummed appreciatively against his mouth and began backing up
toward the bed. He miscalculated slightly and fell backwards against the mattress
with a surprised yelp,
still clutching Mike’s body with his strong hands.
From his position straddling Peter’s thighs, Mike could easily reach down and play
with Peter’s erection. He wrapped his left hand around the length and stroked up
and down. Peter moaned and arched upward so Mike lightly ran his calloused fingertips
over the head just to see Peter’s reaction, which was an immediate, gasped oath.
“Oh, fuck, Mike!”
“Later,” Mike promised. “Right now, I’m gonna play you, pull all
the sound out of you.”
Peter’s eyes, half-lidded and full of longing, were focused on Mike’s right hand.
“If I’m your guitar, then you’re using the wrong hand to make me sing.”
Flinching, Mike subconsciously folded his thumb over his weakest fingers. “Naw, man,
my hands are so ugly compared with yours. And that one’s worse anyway, you know it
already.”
“Let me see,” Peter implored. Gently he unfolded Mike’s oddly-clenched fist
and kissed his thumb, then each finger in turn. When he reached the two misshapen
ones he lavished extra attention on them. “I might just like these ones the best,”
he murmured as he licked the fingertips until Mike shivered. “They’ve been broken.”
“That’s a little sadistic, Peter,” Mike grumbled, trying to cover his growing discomfort
at having anyone, much less Peter, getting such a close look at his disfigurement.
“No,
not like that. They’ve been broken and never really healed. I think that’s true of
this, as well.” Peter placed their joined hands over Mike’s heart. “I think that’s
why you’re convinced that you’re ugly and unlovable, because you’re a little broken
inside.”
Mike, smiling indulgently despite the lump in his throat, leaned over to kiss Peter’s
forehead. “And you can heal me?”
To his surprise, Peter didn’t make a joke. His eyes were as serious as they were
compassionate. “I wish I could. I wish I could show you how to love yourself, Michael.
All I can do is show how much I love you. All of you. Even the parts you don’t like.”
He could not possibly doubt Peter’s sincerity. With a shaky sigh, Mike shifted the
distribution of his weight and switched hands. “Won’t be as tight,” he mumbled, embarrassed
by the sight of Peter’s joyous visage.
“Does it look like that’s a problem?”
Mike had to admit that it did not. Peter’s face was flushed, his eyes feverishly
bright and lips parted with the effort of breathing. “Doesn’t feel like it, either,”
he commented as Peter’s cock twitched and swelled in his hand. He kept time with
Peter’s breathing, increasing the tempo in steady increments until Peter began to
writhe helplessly. “That’s beautiful, babe, you look so good when you do that,” Mike
crooned.
“Oh, God,” Peter gasped, “I’m gonna come…”
“That’s the plan.” Mike loved the wantonness of Peter’s rolling hips and the sound
of his throaty moans.
“I’m…I can’t…”
If Peter had suddenly sprouted wings and a halo, Mike didn’t think he could look
any more perfect. “Yes, you can, Shotgun.”
“Slow down!”
“Don’t wanna.”
“Mike.” Peter grasped Mike’s wrist and took a deep, rasping breath to steady himself.
“I’d probably fall asleep three seconds later, and then where would you be?”
That got Mike’s attention. He squeezed Peter’s cock at the base then pulled his hand
away, absentmindedly licking the bitter-salt residue from his index finger. “Good
point.” He still wanted to send Peter into a frenzy, but it would have to wait. He
stroked Peter’s hair off of his damp forehead and followed the gesture with a soft
kiss.
“Sorry, I need a minute,” Peter wheezed as he threw his forearm over his eyes. Mike
used those few moments to rush into the bathroom, his distended cock jutting upwards
like the mast of a ship, and find the bottle of lubricant he’d only ever used on
himself. When he returned to bed he had scarcely begun to unscrew the cap when Peter
sat up, grasped Mike’s buttocks, and pulled him close enough to take Mike’s cock
into his mouth.
“PETER!” Mike roared. Unmoved except for the slight smirk at the corner
of his mouth, Peter began to lick and suck until Mike was straining not to thrust.
“I won’t last…five minutes…” he panted.
Peter released him, cradling the distended organ in his palm. “That’s okay. I’m undernourished
and need protein.”
“You…you…” Mike sputtered, then he cried out his pleasure when Peter took his length
in his mouth again, leaving his hands free. “Oh God, yes, yes!” He saw Peter’s hand
reach for the little bottle and squeeze some of the viscous liquid onto his fingertips.
Whatever Peter was about to do, it was going to be spectacular.
Oh.
After a lingering kiss to the head of Mike’s penis, Peter lay back with his legs
spread. He took one gel-slicked finger and opened himself with it.
Oh, God.
“You said,” Mike began, but his voice came out half-strangled so he had to clear
his throat and start again. “You’ve never done this with a guy? How do you—”
“Spend enough time on the beach at night, Mike, you see a lot of interesting things.”
Peter shut his eyes and added a second finger, wriggling his hips and sighing. “It
feels better than it looks,” he whispered.
“It looks pretty damn good.” Mike’s voice was still strained and he was reasonably
sure that his blood pressure was approaching four digits. He snatched up the bottle
with unsteady hands and slicked his index finger, which he gently added to the two
Peter had already used on himself. With a devious grin, Mike angled the finger upward.
Peter let out a surprised squeak.
“…the HELL?” When Mike stroked his prostate a second
time, firmer, Peter involuntarily clamped down on their fingers. “Sorry,” he gasped.
“We’d better go for the real thing.”
Mike nuzzled Peter’s chest. “You sure?”
Nodding, Peter murmured, “I’m sure, Michael.”
Mike’s heart was hammering and his vision was becoming blurry around the edges. “I
love when you call me ‘Michael,’” he said, his voice thick with desire.
“‘Mike’ is for everyday. ‘Michael’—that’s for right now.”
“And the next time?” Mike heard himself ask.
Peter’s response was to pull Mike forward until he landed with his hands just above
Peter’s shoulders, so close that he could enter Peter with the slightest movement
of his hips. Peter slipped his legs over Mike’s shoulders, his gaze never wavering
from Mike’s cock. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” Mike breathed as he nudged at Peter’s opening.
“You.”
“Most of me is up here,” Mike commented wryly.
“Not the part that’s going to go inside of me.”
That was true. Mike slowly, carefully, breached Peter with the very tip of his penis.
The world swam around him for a moment, then he remembered that Peter might not be
having quite so delightful an experience. “You okay?”
Somewhere Mike had seen a photograph of a statue, a saint ecstatically welcoming
a golden arrow that was poised to pierce her breast. That image paled next to the
longing Mike saw in Peter’s eager, awestruck expression as he smiled and nodded for
Mike to continue.
Despite his own ferocious need, Mike watched out for any sign that
he should slow down or—God forbid—withdraw. Apart from a single, fleeting moan and
a brief grimace, Peter seemed as ready to accept as Mike was to give. “Go,” Peter
encouraged, gazing amorously up at Mike’s face and seeming to like what he saw.
For his part, with the tiny bit of his brain that was still processing information
not coming from his groin, Mike thought he probably looked like a scrawny, sweaty,
grinning idiot.
Oh, well.
When Peter’s ankles locked around Mike’s back and drew him in further, anything like
rational thought went for a long, solitary walk. For long minutes, Mike was unaware
of anything but the sounds of their combined lust, their gasps and pleas for “more”
and “harder” filling the room as if amplified by the finest sound system money could
buy. He tried to concentrate on his own noises, tried to control or at least modulate
them, but he was utterly helpless. It didn’t help that Peter’s voice alternated between
deep moans and frenzied wails whenever Mike’s cock brushed his prostate.
“Jesus, Peter, you could wake the dead!”
“The ones who died the little death, maybe,” Peter responded, tightening around Mike
until
he almost howled with frustration.
The loss of control completely unraveled Mike. He turned his head, suddenly craving
privacy as much as he craved release. He hid his face in Peter’s shoulder as he felt
the first fiery shocks of impending orgasm. Peter, seeming to understand the gesture,
simply put his fingers in Mike’s hair and whispered nonsense syllables into his ear.
With a long, drawn-out cry, Mike pushed in all the way and let himself shatter in
Peter’s arms, in his body.
“Ssh,” Peter soothed, holding Mike as he trembled in the
aftermath. “I have you, it’s okay, I love you so much, Michael…”
It was an effort to withdraw from the safe haven of Peter’s embrace and Mike’s entire
body shook with the strain. He winced when Peter was unable to hold back a thin whimper
of pain. “I’m sorry,” Mike panted.
“No, it’s okay.” Peter stretched his legs out fully. He held out his arms and Mike
sank into them, still quaking with relief and other emotions too sacred to name.
It took a few blinks before Mike’s vision cleared enough to take in the high spots
of color on Peter’s cheeks and the astonishment in eyes that had never shone so brightly.
Wordlessly but with a smile as big as Texas, Mike passed the bottle of lubricant
to Peter. To his surprise, Peter flung out one arm and deposited the bottle on the
nightstand. “Not this time,” Peter said firmly. He took Mike’s right hand and made
a circle of the thumb and
forefinger. “Like before,” he breathed.
Mike knew his grin probably looked like a feral Cheshire Cat. He kissed the freckled
bridge of Peter’s nose, then put his hand over his lover’s cock and began to tease
it. until Peter let out a long, sensuous moan. “You’re better than my twelve-string,”
he drawled. “The best sound I ever did hear.”
Peter’s body was tense, stomach muscles fluttering under Mike’s left hand as his
right hand continued pumping. How Peter had held out this long, God only knew, but
Mike wanted to be certain that he ‘gave as good as he got.’ He added a little flick
of his wrist at the top of each stroke, running his palm over the slick head for
an instant before
moving back to the root again. “You’re so damn gorgeous,” he declared
as Peter bucked into his hand.
“Then watch me,” Peter demanded breathlessly, “Look what you’ve done to me.” His
face contorted into a fierce mask of concentration, his teeth gritted. “Ohhh, Michael…”
“That’s
it, babe, you’re there, you’re ready…”
Peter’s back arched, toes clenching. “Oh, God, I’m close…”
“C’mon, Peter…”
“God, yes…”
Mike kissed Peter just as he reached climax, Peter’s cries vibrating in his open
mouth so vividly that they almost had a flavor of their own. Pulling back enough
to look Mike in the eyes, Peter touched his cheek with shaking fingers. He tried
to say something but no words formed. Mike kissed his forehead. “I know, Peter, I
know.”
They lay on their sides, facing each other, silently marveling at how the simple
contact of flesh upon flesh could create such bliss. As if he’d become suddenly shy
under the spotlight of Mike’s scrutiny, Peter blushed and tried humor. “There’s a
wet spot,” he grumbled.
Too relaxed and sated to be offended, Mike simply raised his
eyebrows. “Babe, the way you came just now, we should build a boat ramp on the edge
of that wet spot.”
Peter’s laugh was the most beautiful music Mike ever heard. He wanted to capture
that sound, to put words around it and inside it. He twisted a bit of blanket over
the offensive dampness and drew Peter into his arms, smiling as Peter rested his
sleek head over Mike’s heart. The stubble on Peter’s chin rasped along Mike’s chest.
It was an intriguing sensation,
one that Mike would explore further somewhere along
the way.
For now, though, all he wanted was keep his wandering minstrel safe.
***
END
***