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#45 - …out of anger - Peter/Mike
It had all started with a silly bet - as most disasters do. They had all been on the beach relaxing when Micky had managed to get himself involved in an altercation between some bickering couple. Mike had been quick to act when Micky was mere seconds away from having his face thoroughly pummelled by the rather muscular man, however in doing so had managed to gain the attention of the man’s small female companion, who took a very strong liking to him. This then made Mike the man’s next target. Unlike Micky, Mike was smart enough to suggest a resolution that didn’t involve hand-to-hand combat, but much to his dismay the man had suggested surfing of all things to impress their female companion. It didn’t take Peter long to decide Mike, for once, had zero idea of what he was getting himself into when he actually agreed.
Davy and Micky had been apprehensive of telling Mike he might be in over his head, but Peter let his compassion for his friend take the lead, and had told Mike outright that he didn’t think it was a good idea - not only did Mike not know how to surf, the man wasn’t the strongest swimmer he’d ever seen. When Mike dismissed him, all Peter could do was watch in pain as Mike was well and truly decimated by the other man as they splashed around in the water on two rented boards. The end result was the muscular man leaving the four of them with his female companion in tow, Mike floating miserably on a board in the middle of the sea. In all honesty, it was a peculiarly humorous sight seeing Mike actually actively participating in one of their little endeavours, and Peter knew that had it ended there, Mike would have lamely floated back to shore and they all would have gone home and forgotten about it in a few hours.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
One particularly large wave managed to catch poor Mike off-guard and swept him clear off the frail board he’d been lounging on, plunging him into the water and sending Davy and Micky into hysterics. Peter wasn’t able to laugh with them, though - unlike Davy and Micky, Peter knew Mike wasn’t a strong swimmer, and after ten or so seconds had passed and Mike was still nowhere to be seen, Peter started to panic.
At that point, Peter felt his instincts take over and he ran into the water, ignoring the sounds of Davy and Micky shouting after him. Yes, he was fully clothed in a t-shirt and shorts, but what he was wearing wasn’t important - what was important was that Mike wasn’t there with him. He eventually spotted a soggy mop of black hair emerge from the water and clutch the surfboard for dear life, and so he made his way over with haste.
As Peter dragged Mike back to shore, the man coughed and sputtered, kneeling in the sand as Davy and Micky rushed over to see if he was alright. Peter aimed to offer the same reassurance, but when he stood over Mike and the Texan looked up at him, something in his gaze seemed… odd. All Peter could muster out in the end was that Mike shouldn’t have agreed to surf, peeling his very sodden t-shirt from his torso and wringing it out next to him. Something in his slightly disappointed tone must have flicked a switch in Mike’s head, because almost instantly he shut himself off from everyone around him, his face turning cold and him rising to his feet, announcing they were going home.
Peter felt guilty, but he didn’t quite know what for - he got the impression he must have done something though, because he kept catching Mike glancing at him for the whole car ride back to the pad.
-
Returning to the pad, Mike made a beeline for the kitchen and occupied himself with cooking, not even taking a moment to get changed or speak to the other three. As the three of them sat on the couch, Davy leaned close to Peter, raising an inquisitive eyebrow as they all subtly watched Mike move on auto-pilot.
“Peter, did you say something to Mike?” Davy asked, keeping his voice low.
Micky leaned in also, nodding. “Yeah, Pete, you must have said something. He’s real mad at you.”
“I didn’t say anything bad to him,” Peter protested, pouting sadly, “I just told him he shouldn’t have accepted the bet. You guys know he shouldn’t have, either. Why isn’t he mad at you guys?”
Micky folded his arms and twisted his mouth in thought. “Good question. Any ideas, Holmes?”
Turning to Davy, he’d donned a deerstalker temporarily. “It truly is a mystery, Watson. Why would a man be upset at his friend helping him?”
“You didn’t give him a wedgie on the way out of the water, did you?” Micky asked, seeming completely serious.
Peter furrowed his brow, upset at the thought. “I would never do that to Michael!”
The three of them were cut off when Mike cleared his throat, not sounding at all impressed: “When you three are done talkin’ about me behind my back, can you set the table please?”
Stunned, the three of them looked at one another guiltily before standing, doing as Mike asked. Within another ten or fifteen minutes they were all sitting at the table poking at the food Mike had managed to scrape together, a very uncomfortable silence smothering the pad. Peter just watched his food, pretending to not notice Mike staring at him from across the table. Micky was the first to excuse himself, and Davy followed suit shortly after, the two of them leaving their plates in the sink before disappearing into their rooms. With Peter and Mike left at the table, the tension in the room felt thick enough to cut.
The screeching of Mike’s chair brought Peter out of his pondering, the dark haired man taking Peter’s plate from him along with his own and placing them in the sink with Davy and Micky’s. Just as Mike was about to ascend the stairs to retreat to his room, Peter decided he couldn’t just leave things the way they were.
“Michael?”
One hand on the railing, Mike stopped at the foot of the stairs and tensed up. “Yeah?”
Peter looked into his lap. “Michael, why are you mad at me?”
“Why am I…” Turning around to look at Peter, Mike scowled. “I’m… I’m not mad at you.”
“You’re scowling at me, Mike. You’re mad at me,” Peter observed. “Is… is it because of what happened at the beach?”
Rubbing his eyes, Mike exhaled loudly through his nose. “Just drop it, Pete. We’re fine.”
Standing, Peter approached Mike, worry plastered over his features. “We aren’t fine Mike, I want to help you-”
“Haven’t you helped enough?”
The tone of Mike’s voice tore straight through Peter, making him wince and back away slightly. Seeing his reaction, Mike sighed and covered his face with his hands.
“Look, Peter - just leave it,” Mike huffed.
“But-”
“Leave. It.”
Mike started climbing the stairs, leaving Peter standing alone and confused. He didn’t want to just leave it there - he didn’t want Mike to be mad at him. He didn’t even know why Mike was mad at him. Panicked, Peter acted on impulse and rushed over to their little stage, grabbing Mike’s guitar and hugging it to his chest. The strings rang out softly at the movement, and Mike halted where he was on the stairs, going eerily still before turning slowly to look at Peter with a grim expression.
“Peter,” Mike spoke in a low voice, “put the guitar down.”
“No, not until you talk to me.”
“That’s not yours, Pete. Put it back.”
“No-”
“Peter-
"Talk to me or I'll… I'll break the strings!"
The stare Mike gave him was hollow. "No, you won't."
He was right - Peter wouldn't dream of damaging a guitar, or any instrument for that matter. But he had to show Mike he was being serious. Mike never took Peter seriously. Grabbing one of the pegs, Peter started turning it slowly. "Mike, talk to me, or the high E string gets it."
Mike stomped down the stairs with a new-found ferocity, walking right up to Peter and ripping the guitar out of his grip. Peter just let him do it - he didn't really want to damage Mike's guitar. Setting the guitar aside, Mike seemed to square up to Peter, his wiry frame looking fairly meagre in comparison to Peter's more well-built frame, but he did best him in height. Looking up at him, Peter frowned.
"Can we talk please?"
Mike just looked at him darkly.
Folding his arms, Peter sighed. "You're not being very mature, Mike. This isn't like you. Is something wrong?'
The Texan let out a hoarse laugh. "Why're you lecturin' me so much? Can I not be in a bad mood?"
"You can be in a bad mood all you want, Michael," Peter spoke plainly, "I just think it's silly that you're taking it out on me for no good reason."
"No good reason? You-" Mike stopped himself before he finished his sentence, allowing himself to give Peter a once-over: Peter was still shirtless after stripping down at the beach following his rescue efforts. Mike diverted his eyes. "I got plenty of reasons, Peter."
Peter pouted. "Are you gonna let me know what I did so I can fix it? Did you…" Peter went quiet before humming, reaching out and putting a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Did you want to drown, Mike?'
"Oh don't treat me like some kind of mental case, Peter - of course I didn't want to drown."
"If it's not that, then what? You seem to be mad at me over nothing. Do I just bother you by existing?"
Once again, Mike didn't respond. That made Peter strangely curious.
"...I do just bother you by existing. Why?" Peter asked, although he knew Mike wasn't going to cooperate. "I thought we were friends, Mike."
"We are friends," Mike mumbled - it was clear to hear he was growing more and more frustrated, the anger in his voice becoming more prevalent each time Peter spoke.
"And you're mad about it?"
"Peter, just drop it."
Peter shook his head, now placing his other hand on Mike's other shoulder, essentially boxing him in. "There isn't any reason you should be mad about us being friends. Do you not want us to be friends?"
"Peter-"
"I can leave you alone if you want, Mike, it just might be hard to explain to Micky and Davy-"
"I don't- I don't want to stop knowing you, Peter," Mike muttered, "stop bein' stupid."
"I don't want to say it Mike, but you're the one making this difficult. You're mad because we're friends-"
"Peter-"
"-but you don't want to not know me-"
"Peter, stop-"
"-so the only thing left is you wanting to know me… more?" Tilting his head, Peter hummed. "That doesn't make sense. How could you know me more?-"
He was cut off when Mike pushed his arms aside and grabbed either side of Peter's head, pulling him in aggressively and kissing him on the mouth. Peter felt himself squeak in surprise for a moment, and he was sure that he felt his and Mike's teeth collide, the Texan pushing further and further into Peter's personal space. Almost losing his balance, Peter flailed a hand loosely next to him trying to grab something to steady himself on, only to feel his hand smack something solid and then a very loud bang ringing out in the pad - something that sounded an awful lot like guitar strings. Mike pulled away from Peter abruptly, his head snapping to the source of the sound. Peter peered around his head to look.
On the floor, Mike's guitar had toppled over after colliding with the jukebox, one of the strings looking well and thoroughly snapped. Peter felt his stomach drop, and looked at Mike's face - his expression was unreadable.
Peter started stuttering: "I-I didn't mean to knock it over-"
As he spoke, Mike turned to face him again, and he looked mad. "My guitar-"
Just as Peter saw Mike on the verge of exploding, he did the first thing he could think of to stop him from shouting: raising his hands and threading them into Mike's dark hair, Peter pulled Mike back in to pick up where they had left off, crushing their lips together and silencing the Texan before he had the chance to throw a tantrum. It was messy and abrupt, but it felt right - like the two of them couldn't possibly kiss any other way. When Mike pulled away, he huffed, pushing Peter gently on the shoulder.
"You owe me a guitar string."
Peter let out a small laugh. "And you still owe me an explanation. You were mad because you liked me?"
"When you say it like that it sounds dumb."
"Because it is dumb, Michael," Peter sighed, smiling, "but we're both dumb. How come you only got mad at me today?"
Mike's face grew red. "You… uh," he started before gesturing at Peter's torso and lack of shirt. "Look good. And you saved me 'n' all. And you, uh, told me off."
"Did… did you like it when I told you off?'
Mike scoffed. "Hell no! It was embarrassin'! Just made you look a lot more… mature, Peter. It's a side of you that's nice to see."
Smiling at him warmly, Peter brought a hand up and stroked Mike's cheek. "Well you look after all of us - someone’s gotta look after you. Now," the blond hummed, "someone didn't shower when they got back."
Shaking his head, Mike wandered off and over to the staircase. "Yeah, yeah, alright. Geez," Mike grumbled, similarly to a bratty teenager being sent to their room. "Pete?"
"Yes, Michael?"
"You, uh, kiss good."
Peter smirked. "Love you too, Michael."