Work Text:
Monday, January the 8th, 1968
Los Angeles
7:20 p.m.
Mike was in a terrible mood all day. Nothing has been right since early morning. Sitting on the couch in the living room of his house, Michael wondered why he had even woken up today.
The living room was in a strange state. Phyllis went to her family for Christmas, taking Christian with her. Mike didn't go, he couldn't because of work. Or he didn't want to. Honestly, he didn't know himself. It was quiet at home, and he didn't feel lonely, but rather calm. Especially knowing that soon the walls will be filled with baby crying again. The Christmas lights and the tree were still on with no one to take care of it.
In any case, he stayed at home for the holidays, and spent Christmas and New Year alone. Not quite alone, but it's better for no one to know about it. Michael's remorse had stopped tormenting him a very long time ago, and he had no shortage of female attention. But tonight was clearly not that kind of evening, tonight he really wanted to be alone.
He spent the whole day trying to finish recording Circle Sky and hoped that today's session would be the last. He really liked the song, but the process turned out to be exhausting. He also heard rumours that Bob wanted to record this song live for the movie. Why record it at all and waste time if it's not going to be used anywhere. It made Michael angry and he felt really frustrated about the whole process.
His thoughts were interrupted by a phone call. Phyllis? Has something happened? Almost no one knew this number, except for the closest people.
"Nez here."
"Hello, Michael."
Michael froze in an awkward position, half bent over the phone, half remaining on the couch. It was a voice he certainly hadn't expected to hear, especially considering that its owner was currently in London.
"Peter?", as if not believing his ears, Michael decided to clarify.
"Waiting for someone else?"
"No, it's just... I thought you were in London."
"I am in London"
"Isn't it too late for transatlantic conversations?"
"I knew you weren't sleeping and I wanted to talk."
Michael was starting to get annoyed by Peter's excessive friendliness, which he could feel even through the phone. He was not ready today to cope with his feelings and control himself during a conversation with his older coworker. Coworker his ass!
Moreover, he knew what such late-night conversations with Peter led to. He's either going to say something he'd never told anyone, or he's going to admit something. Or he would do something that he would be sorry for later. But this conversation is just on the phone. What's the worst that can happen? Peter is in another country. Another continent, even.
"I just wanted to hear your voice, Michael. Also. Happy belated birthday, how does it feel to be 25?”
“Nothin’ special.”
“Oh come on. Don’t be so grumpy. You know that you are my main musical companion, and incredible musical things happen to me in England."
"Yeah, I heard that. How is he?"
"Who?", Peter pretended that he did not understand the question, he was starting to like this game.
"You know who. George."
"Ah, George. Yeah. He's... incredible! And not just because he plays the guitar so well, but just because of the energy he exudes. We talked so much, and he taught me how to play the sitar! Can you imagine? It's so strange to think that he's younger than us, he's so... I don't know, wise?"
Peter sounded too enthusiastic, and Michael didn't like it. He pushed the thought away. Then it suddenly dawned on him.
"Wait, shouldn't it be very late for you?"
"Yes, it's been past 2 a.m. now, but I really wanted to talk to you. Tell you about George."
"And if I don't want to hear about George?" To be honest, Michael didn't know if he wanted to or not.
"Are you jealous?"
"I'm going to hang up now."
"Then I'll call you back right away."
"You're hopeless."
"That's why you love me."
Michael hung up the phone. The call he had been hoping for came just a minute later.
"I warned you."
"I'm sorry, I know we don't talk about that."
"Is there anything else you wanted besides discussing the Beatle?"
"Actually, yes," Michael could hear Peter smirking even through the phone.
"If I calculated everything correctly, and I did, it should be 7:30 p.m. for you right now."
"Yeah."
"That's great. Do you remember what day of the week it is today?"
"Monday... Oh no, and don't ask, I don’t want to watch us embarrassing ourselves on the national tv."
"Please, it's going to be my favourite episode!"
Michael hadn't followed the release schedule of his own show, so he had no idea what episode was coming out today.
"Okay, I'll turn it on. But only because you're sacrificing your sleep for this nonsense."
Michael got up, went to the TV and turned on NBC.
Hi, I’m Peter, and I’m out of work.
It didn't come to Michael straight away, but as soon as he realised what Peter wanted from him, he immediately decided for himself that this time he would not give in to persuasion.
"No, Pete, I'm definitely not watching this."
"Please, for me, I can't watch it here, but I'll listen through you."
Michael weighed the pros and cons. He was starting to like this phone game too. And it still was just a phone call. He sighed dramatically into the phone, but got up, walked over to the TV set and turned up the volume. He sat back on the couch and pressed the speaker button on his phone.
"Happy?"
"Yes, thank you, Michael, you always do what you're asked to do."
Michael blushed but said nothing. The titles were already playing on the TV.
"I hate this song," Michael muttered, and Peter pretended not to hear.
"Oh course you do”, whispered Peter and before Michael could reply continued, “Do you know that this is my favourite episode, Michael?"
"Why is that?"
"You're just adorable in it!"
Ooh, wow! What a great looking chick!
"And you really look incredibly groovy."
"Peter, why are you doing this?"
"What?"
"Calling me in the middle of the night, making me look at myself in a dress, making these useless compliments," Michael didn't even know where to start.
"Because I want to. And because I know you like it too."
"You ain’t know shit."
I will honor your spine with a walk across it. Down, peasant!
"You know, I also often think about that day and the filming," Peter said in an unusually quiet voice.
"Why?"
"Because it was a lot of fun. And you were in a good mood, which doesn't happen often," Peter paused for a moment and continued, "And because I liked how dominant you were. Even if it's all play pretend."
Michael heard Peter's voice crack as he sighed heavily, as if the words were coming hard to him. What? It can't be, it's too much. He wouldn’t dare...
"Peter, what are you doing? Right now?"
"Why are you asking if you know the answer?"
Michael really didn't know why. He didn't know what to say. All he knew was that he was starting to feel tension spreading through his lower abdomen and all over his body.
My princess! My princess! My bridge! My bridge!
"Is that why you called me? To use me?"
"You... You know that I'll never do anything to you that you don't want to do yourself. You didn't hang up on me, even though you could have done it a long time ago," Peter's breathing quickened, and Michael felt that his did too.
Hold it just a minute, buster. Never—never let it be said that a princess didn’t reward a favor.
"Michael, I know that's what you want too. Be a good boy, for me."
Mike felt that it was already useless to resist, and slowly he began to unbuckle his belt.
"Michael, tell me, what are you thinking about now?"
"About how I ended up in this situation. And about what I'll do to you when you come back."
Peter didn't say anything, but his moan from the other side of the Atlantic said it all for him.
Don’t even like her? Man, that’s the grooviest looking chick I ever sawr! With them side...
Cool it.
They were both silent for a few minutes, not knowing what to say, and, to be honest, neither of them could say anything.
Both of them were thinking about each other, what was happening on the screen, and the distance that now separated them from each other. A distance that sometimes seemed just as vast, even when they were in the same room. But not today.
Don’t give up hope, Gwen! I’m coming to save you!
Peter was first. Michael could tell by the rapid breathing and the groan, which he knew very well to be wrong.
"Michael, are you there?" a breathless voice asked from the other side of the phone.
"Yes, Peter, I'm here."
"Good boy."
"Say it again."
"Ask me. And you should really mean it this time."
"Peter, please," Michael no longer cared how pathetic he sounded, that he would regret it later, he needed Peter to talk to him.
"Michael, you're my good boy. The most beautiful man I've ever met. My princess."
That was it for Michael. He came with a moan, crying Peter’s name out loud, eaten by the thought of what he just did.
"Peter, I'm... I... Hold on, I'll be there in a minute."
"Wait, Michael, I want to listen to your breathing."
"Don't be silly," Michael stood up, leaving Peter alone with the TV.
Hey. Hey! What do you think they’re really gonna do? Well, they’d never kill a real princess.
When he returned, Michael didn't know if he wanted Peter to still be on the line or if he wanted him to hang up. Peter was here, of course.
"Thank you, Michael."
"For what?"
"You know. For you."
They were silent for a while longer. The episode was ending, coming to its silly conclusion. Michael couldn't help but smile at the sight of himself in a dress and wig, he did indeed like playing Princess Gwen in the "Fairy Tale", even if he would never admit it.
Yeah, go ahead. Ask her to marry you, man. What groovy looking chick, with a body like that—
"You know, Michael, I really wouldn't mind marrying you if you weren't already married...", Peter muttered, but Michael pretended not to hear him.
They chatted about everything for the rest of the episode and the interview: music, an upcoming movie, a new album that Michael wanted to release. He didn't want to talk about what happened, and Peter always respected his reluctance to admit what was going on between them, even if he didn't like it.
The Daily Nightly started playing. Michael could literally see the smile that appeared on Peter's face.
"I don't know why you all like this song so much."
"Come on, Michael, it's amazing, you know. Don't act like this... You could've at least pretended that you liked what was going on."
"Why? I wrote the song, what else did they want from me? Enough effort."
With the final chords, it seemed that their conversation should come to an end too, but no one wanted it to end.
"Michael, you know, we can talk about what happened and what's going on between us at any time."
"I..."
"...don't want to," Peter finished for him, "I know, but we have to. It's better for both of us."
"Peter, isn't it almost 3 a.m. for you? I definitely don't want to do this right now."
"Okay, but please don't get mad at me."
"I'm not mad, it's just... You know, not now.". Michael really wasn't mad. He could never get mad at Peter, no matter how desperately he wanted to prove the opposite to everyone.
They kept talking about everything. They also were silent for minutes. They really were silent partners, as Michael liked to call them, and it seemed that both were more than satisfied with this. After another 20 minutes, Michael began to notice that Peter was falling asleep, until finally he heard a steady snoring on the other end of the line. He didn't want to hang up, and the advantage of being a Monkee was that both of them could afford to talk on the phone for hours across the world.
Michael remained sitting on the couch in his living room, listening to Peter's steady breathing, imagining how he was sleeping thousands of miles away.
"I love you, Shotgun", he whispeder knowing that no one could hear him.
Peter didn't indeed hear him, of course, but for whatever reason his dreams that night were calm and peacefull.