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The first time it happens, it’s the warmth that sticks around.
It’s winter, and despite the sunshine, it’s a little cold. But for once, the pad is warm. They’re still using that Christmas gig money, so despite the colder night temperatures, it’s warm. It’s their birthdays, respectively, when it happens for the first time.
Mike had written a new song that he wanted Davy to sing, Micky had taken a shift at the dog pound for some extra cash and bought them both an ice cream cone, and Peter had made them both little beads. Davy had scrounged together his own money from some dance lessons he’d taught to buy them all a bottle of wine. He’d had to ask about it at the store earlier that day, as he wasn’t quite sure what to get still.
After a long day at the beach hanging out and lounging around, they all said their separate goodbyes as they went to bed. It wasn’t like it was any different. Micky and Mike to theirs, him and Peter up the stairs.
“Happy birthday,” Peter whispers long after they’ve said goodnight, the words so soft Davy almost thinks he’s imagined them.
“Thanks,” Soft in response.
“I hope it was good. You’re all grown up now.”
“Yeah.” Davy thinks he can imagine Peter’s warm brown eyes. The sweetness in a little smile across his lips. It’s soft and warm and leaves that lingering feeling he’s been getting so often lately. It lingers a little longer today. Long and lean and warm. Like Peter’s back in the summer sun. Like his fingers sliding up and down the bass. Like his hair when he lets it get a little too long between haircuts. He gets a little sick with that feeling. Lets it roll around.
“I can’t sleep.” Peter says, still just above a whisper.
“Me either.”
He expects Peter to say something else. Suggest they go downstairs, or stare out the window, or play a game. Or talk. Or something. Anything.
“Remember the first night I met you?” Peter says instead. As if that’s supposed to make any of it better.
Davy doesn’t say anything. Just thinks about how the California sun had long gone down and Peter’s fingers had raced up and down his banjo as the night had moved around them both. Short exchanges with tired eyes and smiles. A week later, he was sleeping on Peter’s couch. Fingers lingering and getting to know each other before they’d bumped into the other two troubadours.
“What about it?” Davy asks instead, countering. He sits up, gazing at the long form across from him.
“It’s just weird to think about how you weren’t in my life before that. I feel like I’ve always known you. Always.”
Davy wants to sink back down into his bed. He wants to curl up and forget about what Peter’s just said and think about it all of the time and never, ever let it leave his mind.
“Happy birthday, Davy. I love you.” He shifts in his own bed, and Davy tries to let his breathing even out. Minutes later, Peter’s breathing has mellowed into sleep.
The second time it happens, it’s nearly three months later. Davy finally lets himself relax when they get home. Peter is here and the harp is gone. Peter is here and the Devil isn’t. Peter is here and sitting up in bed across from him. Peter is here. Peter is here. Peter. Peter. Peter.
Davy wants to say that he wasn’t scared. He wants to say that he knew they’d win in the end, between the court and the trip and all of it. But he can’t. He can’t say anything, and hasn’t said anything, really, since they came back.
Peter’s sitting on the edge of his bed, the lamp in the corner just barely illuminating the two of them in a yellow glow. Davy wants to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t know where to. He doesn’t want to scare Peter anymore than he’s already been.
He knows that Peter isn’t afraid of contact or intimacy with his friends. He’s always touching Davy, hugging Micky, and even patting Mike. But after the debacle of selling his soul to the devil, it all feels a little different now. He’s not the same Peter as he was this morning. Nor two days ago.
Davy realizes too late that Peter’s crying.
“Peter?” He tries, but it gets a bit caught in his throat.
Peter looks at him; all sad eyes and huge heart, and Davy just crosses the gap. Doesn’t think twice before he pulls Peter tentatively into his arms. He’s stiff when he first makes contact, and then he’s hugging Davy close, sobs ripping through him. Davy angles himself better onto the bed, kicking his feet up and lying down, Peter curled up against his neck. He hasn’t heard anybody cry like this in a very long time, if ever. It’s breaking his heart in two.
He just stays silent, running his hands through Peter’s hair. Soft. His shirt is soaked where Peter’s been crying, only sitting up to blow his nose or wipe away at himself. He doesn’t care. Peter could blow his nose on him too and Davy’d sit through it all.
“I was so scared, Davy.” He finally says awhile later, the tears mostly dried up, the snot mostly gone into the wastebasket between their beds. “I was so scared.”
“I know.” Davy says, sitting up from his position to mirror Peter. “I was scared too.”
“I thought I’d never see you again. Or Mike. Or Micky. Or anybody.”
“I’m glad Mike said that to you. There’s a lot to know about you, Peter. You’re good at just about everything.”
“No, I’m not.” Earnest.
Davy shifts a little closer, picks at his nails before he places them on each side of Peter’s face. Warm chesnut meeting dark brown. Davy wants to drown in that warmth. “I’m serious, Peter. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
Peter inhales and exhales with Davy’s hands on his face, then a tear drips down his face. Davy wipes it away, pulling his hands off.
“I’m done. I promise.” Peter wipes the rest of them with the back of his hand. His shirt needs to be washed. So does Davy’s. He pulls his own over his head and Davy follows suite. Davy hasn’t made a move to leave the bed yet, and Peter doesn’t want him to go.
Peter gets up first, throws a shirt on over his head. He grabs another one out of their dresser and hands it to Davy. Davy pulls it over, still sitting.
“Can you stay here with me tonight?” Peter asks, although he already knows the answer.
They pull the sheets back and get comfortable. Peter’s longer, but Davy doesn’t mind once they’re all figured out with the position. Peter on his side curled up and around him. Davy’s heart is bursting out of his chest. Davy’s still running his hands up and down Peter’s back, trying to get him to relax more and more. He feels a bit rigid.
“Nobody’s gonna get you, Peter.” He says once his breathing has evened out a bit. “I’ll be here.”
“It’s not a storybook, Davy. You’re not going to be a knight.”
“That’s more your style.” Davy admits, thinking about another situation they’d gotten into. “But I’ll fight them off, Peter. The dragons and the evil wizard and all of them.”
Peter shifts, and his breath is suddenly hot on Davy’s neck. “I believe you.”
Davy shifts so he’s looking down at him, and they’re so close he could close the gap. “Do,” He doesn’t. “I’ll protect you from it all.”
“I know.” Peter relaxes back down, and Davy finds his own heart beating faster. He’s sure Peter can hear it. If so, he doesn’t mention it. He feels Peter settle into himself, the breathing mellowing out into what is almost sleep.
Davy’s hands back on Peter’s back, running circles and shapes up and down. Peter has tangled a hand across Davy’s chest, and they’re flush to each other. Peter taps his chest five times with his pointer finger slowly before he speaks a little while later. Davy’s just about fallen asleep.
“I love you.” Peter says. No grandeur, no balloons. No fanfare. Just simple and sweet. Just like Peter. He shifts, kisses Davy’s temple, and turns so that his back is pressed against Davy’s side.
The thunder in his heart, despite himself, is loud. Louder than it’s ever been before. He shifts too, pressing himself up against Peter’s back, threading an arm around him. Peter lets him scrape his way inside. Lets Davy hold his hand. Davy wants to press a kiss to the back of Peter’s neck, just beneath the hair that’s covering it. He doesn’t.
The third time it happens, it’s a party at their house. No landlord. No chaperones. Just some kids from the beach. Girls Mike and Micky know. Girls Peter knows. Boys Peter knows. Girls and boys and everything in between running around their place, their own music filling the air. They’d done a few numbers, and had just about tuckered out for the night. Mike had gone to set up some music on the jukebox.
Davy gets roped into flirting with the girls, smiling and grinning at them. He’s thinking about Peter’s fingers sliding up and down the bass. He’s thinking about Peter’s hands on him. Since the incident with the Devil, he’s been more affectionate with him. They’ve slept together in that twin sized bed four times since. Davy’s imagined more than sleeping four times since.
Davy’s talking to a group, but he’s thinking about Peter’s hands on his chest and in his hair. Peter’s eyelashes fluttering too close for comfort. Peter’s warm laugh wrapping him up alongside the blankets. Peter was talking with the group too, just on the outskirts.
“Let’s play a game!” Micky suggests, an empty bottle of root beer in his hand. “Seven minutes in heaven! Or we can spin the bottle and kiss!”
Everybody clambers a response, and they decide to switch off. One turn seven minutes, the next a kiss. The crowd around them erupts, and everybody sits around. Davy’s still watching Peter, carefully. He doesn’t want to be too conspicuous.
“Davy?” Mike, who is sitting next to him, taps his knee. “Are you okay, man?”
“Hm?”
“You’re kind of far away.”
“I’m okay, yeah.”
The response doesn’t reach Mike’s eyes, and Davy can tell that he isn’t impressed.
Peter goes fifth, as Micky had all but jumped at the opportunity to go first. He feels Mike stiffen against him as Micky follows a pretty blond to the closet. He looks everywhere but at Davy while Micky’s inside.
The entire room erupts after they’ve left, the party chatter back. There’s probably 30 people, and it’s a lot of noise.
“It’s your turn, man.” A kid says, handing the bottle to Peter. Peter grins back, that warmth coming off in waves. “You’ve got seven minutes.”
The bottle rolls around and around. Davy wants to stop it on himself, but he knows that if it ends up on him, he can’t do anything about it. Another guy had already made a rule. No boys with other boys, no girls with other girls.
Davy realizes a bit too late that everyone’s eyes are on him. Peter’s rolled, and it’s landed on Davy. Fate, he thinks dumbly.
“Davy!” Peter cheers, eyes lighting up.
“Hey!” The guy who made the rule pipes up. Davy knows he won’t ever be invited back into their house. “No guy on guy!”
A couple of people chime in in response.
“I don’t mind if Davy doesn’t.”
“No, man!” And that pretty much settles it. Peter rolls again, and Davy’s face is still red hot. A pretty brunette with short hair gets up, and Davy feels so jealous he can’t stand it.
The clatter erupts again once the girl has waved, and everybody’s lost in their own conversations. Davy wishes that he was in the closet, pressed so close to Peter he could feel the outline of his chest against his own. Wishes that he was getting Peter’s tongue down his throat and Peter’s long fingers around his waist and dipping lower and Peter’s teeth in his neck.
He shifts, over stimulated by his thoughts and the noise around him. “I’ve gotta go get a drink.” He says, and Mike’s watchful eyes follow him.
He has a moment of reprieve on the stairs down to the beach before he’s joined. He checks his watch. Five more minutes. The footsteps down to join him are Mike’s, he knows, before he turns to look. It’s the sound of him.
“Are you okay, Davy baby?” He sits down next to him, long limbs stretching out far. Davy’s all curled into himself.
“Just needed some air.”
He doesn’t say anything. Four more minutes. Then, “I needed some too. Earlier.”
“You haven’t gone yet.”
“No.”
“Micky went.”
“Peter’s going.” He counters, and then it’s all slotting together for Davy.
Three more minutes.
“I want to say that I don’t know what you mean.” He says, picking at his nails. “But I don’t think we should invite that blond bloke back here ever again.”
“No,” Something twinkles behind Mike’s eyes. “I don’t think so either.”
“How long?”
“Awhile,” Mike stands, hand on a hip while he watches the dark waves. “You?”
“I don’t know. The first night I met him, I guess.”
“One minute,” Mike says, and starts back up the stairs. Davy follows, letting the conversation play around in his head.
When they reach the top, Peter’s emerging with mussed hair and lipstick on his neck. Davy wishes he had mussed the hair, wishes he had skewed the buttons. Wishes he had given him the worst blowjob known to man between his winter jackets and the Christmas ornaments.
They play the rest of the night before Mike throws everybody out just before midnight. Davy had kissed one of his old friends from drama, and she’d grinned in a way that told him it was all just a game to her. She and her boyfriend were still pretty steady, from what he could remember.
The four clean up the ransacked house before retiring. Peter’s quick to shower first, and Davy’s just changed, lying numbly in bed as he thinks it over and over.
“You gonna shower?” Peter asks, towel through his hair. Boxers and lean tanned skin still dripping water in his shoulders. All the lights are still on in the room and Davy feels like curling under his covers and never coming out again.
“No.”
“Not tonight?” Peter giggles, drying the rest of himself off as he crosses to his bed. He pulls on some pajamas, and Davy looks everywhere but at him. The grooves of his back. The mole on his left shoulder. The space where his hair meets his neck.
“No.”
“Not very talkative,” He grins, sitting across from him. He’s wearing Davy’s patterned polka dot pajamas. He kicks his feet back and forth, then sits on the end of Davy’s bed. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” He lies.
“Something’s wrong. Did you not have any fun? You kissed three girls. I’m sure you had a little bit of fun.” He jokes, nimble fingers brushing against his elbow.
“You went into that closet for seven minutes with that girl. Did you have fun?”
“I would have gone in that closet with you, Davy.” He says, soft. “But that guy… I don’t know. I would have if he wasn’t there.”
Davy finds all the air has been knocked out of him.
“We could have sat and talked. We wouldn’t have had to make out or anything. Not fed into that silly game.” He grins, and Davy’s chest hurts so bad he wonders if it’s going to kill him.
He wants to tell Peter that they could have kissed each other senseless. He could have sucked a hickey into Peter’s neck the size of a quarter. He could have dropped to his knees if Peter had only so much as asked him. He didn’t even have to ask! He just stays silent, picking at his nails.
“What’s the matter, Davy?”
“I’ve just been thinking a lot lately.” He admits, something like the truth.
“Anything you need to talk about?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Then, “I mean, I’m sure about it, but it kind of scares me.”
“Oh,” Peter just nods, like Peter knows, and then stands up. He motions for Davy to join him, and then he pulls back the blankets and curls himself inside. “Come here.” He beckons, and Davy follows because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Follow blindly what he loves.
“Just relax, okay? I’ve got you. Peter’s got you, Davy.” Peter says, and the fingers that Davy’s been dreaming about for days are rolling up and down his back, making shapes. The roles reversed, it’s more comforting than anything. It’s doing nothing for his whirring brain, but eventually, Peter gets him calm enough to sleep.
“Just keep relaxing.” Peter whispers, voice low. “I’ve got you. Whatever it is, don’t let it get you down. I love you, Davy.” Kisses the top of his head, settles into sleep.
Davy wants to throw back the covers and kiss him until he can’t breathe, but he tries to silence himself, just lying there. Doesn’t want him to know anything about it, because if Peter didn’t feel the same way, Davy doesn’t know if he could take the heart break.
The fourth time it happens, they’re coming back from a midday job when they find Mike kissing Micky on the couch. Micky’s shirt is tangled up in Mike’s hands, and when the door opens they’re ripped apart like an explosion.
“Mike?” Davy pants, because of course. Of course Mike would tell Micky that the closet was too much for him and of course Micky would fall head over heels for him. It makes him sick. Peter can look at him like he hung the stars all he wants, but he’s never going to get action out of him like the stuff in front of him.
“Hi, guys!” Peter acts like nothing’s happened, and the two taller boys are quickly making excuse after excuse to hide what the other two have just seen.
“Hey, I don’t care at all, man.” Peter says, shaking his head with a laugh at the two of them. “Just tell Davy and I when to get the heck out!”
Everybody’s a little speechless.
“Feel free to keep it up. We’ll head upstairs. Won’t we, Davy?”
“You don’t have questions?” Mike drawls, “Or nothing?”
“Well, I don’t know. I mean, you love Micky. I love Davy. So really, what’s the difference?”
Mike widens his eyes. Davy looks miserable. Micky’s face is still red.
“We’ll see you two later. Come on, Davy!”
Davy follows the sun upstairs, trying to forgive him for the words. Trying to not think about how he wishes Peter was pressing him into that couch. Tries to not think about Peter’s fingers inside of him and Peter’s beautiful back and Peter’s love. He swallows down whatever he’s going to foolishly say. It doesn’t matter anyways.
The fifth time it happens, it can’t be unsaid.
Davy’s strung out. He’s been trying to kiss somebody all night. He’s had a couple of beers, and because he doesn’t really drink, it’s all going to his head. Peter’s been kissing a blond with long legs. He feels such an indescribable rage that he has to go outside to null it.
“Hey Davy,” Mike says, a soft smile on his face. He’s watching Micky from the bench he’s on. Micky’s inside, laughing with some girls and doing shots.
“Aren’t you jealous?” Is the first thing that comes out.
“About what?”
“About what he asks.” Davy rolls his eyes, feeling mean.
“I don’t have anything to be jealous about.” Comes Mike’s quick response. “Look man, I don’t know what your hang up is here, but you need to figure it out for yourself.”
Davy turns, looks out at the ocean by the place they’re at. Mike’s going to drive them home. He goes back inside, hungry.
Peter’s long fingers are on the blond girl’s neck. They’re still kissing.
He can’t stand it anymore.
“Peter?” He asks, effectively breaking his own spell. “Peter?”
“W-huh-Davy?” Peter asks, pulling away. Those fingers travel down the neck on to the hip.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait?” The girl asks, laughing a little.
“No.”
“What is it, Davy?” So patient.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Tell me.”
“In private. Peter I need to talk to you in private.”
“Sure,” Peter leans up from his slouch against the wall, digits drifting off of the girl.
Davy grabs his wrist and drags him to the bathroom. He doesn’t care how it looks.
“Are you okay? Is Micky hurt? Mike?”
“Peter,” Davy begins, but once it’s all in front of him, staring right into his eyes, he finds that he can’t say it. Can’t say the three little words that have been building up in his chest all day.
“Davy, are you okay?” Peter’s clearly trying to assess the situation. Davy’s beautiful eyes are filled with tears, and they’re beginning to stream down his face. “Davy, Davy, Davy.” He’s fussing over him. “What’s the matter?” He sits him on the shut toilet lid, brushing hair out of his eyes and handing him tissues and placing warm digits on his shoulders. Davy’s so in love he could die.
“What’s the matter, baby?”
“I-uh… um. I-Well, I-” He’s tongue tied.
“Are you hurt?” Peter gazes up and down at him. “Do you need me to get Mike?”
“No!”
“What’s the matter, then?”
“It’s just… Peter. Peter, I-” He can’t find the words. Somebody knocks heavily on the door.
“Get out fags!”
“Davy, come on. What’s the matter?”
“It’s just…”
“Davy, you know I love you. Now come on. What’s the matter?”
“Don’t say that.”
“What?”
“Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”
“What are you talking about?” A cock of his head. “Of course I mean them.”
“I’m drunk and I’m tired and I need to go home.” Davy confesses, before he can say anything else.
They leave the bathroom, and the guy outside looks a little bad when he finds that Davy’s crying. He mutters something about how he feels bad about his girlfriend breaking up with him.
Peter’s around him and guiding him along. He sits him in the Monkee mobile. A few minutes later Mike and Micky join. Micky’s a little worse for wear. He’s in the front, window rolled to catch the breeze. His hand hasn’t left Mike’s thigh since they pulled away.
“Davy you need to talk to us. What’s the matter?”
“Pete, just let him loose awhile.” Mike chimes in, hand on the gear shift.
“But he’s been acting like this for days!” He bemoans, “Weeks, even!”
“Maybe you two should figure it out yourselves. In private.”
“You know I have nothing to figure out, Mike!”
“I wanna suck your dick,” Micky whispers, loud enough for everyone in the car to hear. Mike pales and everybody goes a little silent. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Stop fighting with each other.” Davy says, the wind feeling good to his face.
“But Davy you’ve got to talk to me, okay? Mike, tell him he needs to talk to me!”
“Just relax until we’re home, okay?”
The rest of the drive is pretty silent. Davy holds himself together until he can’t anymore. Peter’s fingers on his knee. Peter’s fingers traveling up his knee. They’re on his thigh when they pull into the beach house.
“You get some rest Davy. You hear me?” Mike calls after him.
The beer has long since warmed off. Peter’s hands are still hovering over him.
They change silently.
“Do you love me?” Davy asks after they’ve changed. Peter’s staring silently at him. They’re in between their beds. Close enough to reach out and touch.
“Of course I do, Davy.”
“Don’t be mean. That’s not what I mean and you know that. You know that, Peter.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you know.”
“I don’t.”
“Peter,” Davy’s exasperated. He closes the space between them with one of the most horrendous, ferocious kisses he can muster up. His teeth clacking against Peter’s and his hands on Peters’s cheeks.
He doesn’t give Peter a second to respond before he pulls away. But Peter’s thinking faster. His arms are already closing him in. He pulls him back in, kissing Davy properly. Like Davy’s always dreamed about being kissed. Long fingers curling into his hair and around his neck and down his back and around his waist. Davy moans against him, the anticipation of it all so much that he’s flying.
“God, Davy,” Peter pants, pulling away.
“Sorry.” He responds immediately. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing? I still don’t understand earlier. What’s all the matter? Davy, I love you.”
Davy can’t say anything. He doesn’t know how. Just stares and stares.
The final time it happens, they’re curled into Peter’s twin sized bed. A little high on life. The gig had gone well. They still haven’t talked about the kiss. Not really. Davy had blamed it all on alcohol and loneliness in the morning. Which of course, wasn’t really true.
“I miss this,” Peter says, laughing. Davy’s sitting up, looking down at Peter’s infectious smile. Peter’s hand covering his face as he laughs and laughs. Davy doesn’t even remember what he’s said.
“I love you.” Davy says, the words not fumbled or messed up or missed. “Peter, I love you.” He’s not shocked when it leaves his mouth, but it’s still a surprise.
Peter just relaxes back into the sheets, a smile on his lips. “Davy,” A hand reaching out to take Davy’s own. “Davy, I know.”
“How’d you know? I haven’t said a thing.”
“Davy,” He says, shaking his head. He sits up and slots his lips to Davy’s own, as if they’ve always done this. As if Davy hasn’t been strung out enough already for so many years.
Davy doesn’t want it to end this time. He doesn’t want to pull away and lie in the morning and make up excuses. He wants Peter for forever.
Davy doesn’t know what comes over him. He kisses back roughly, hands on Peter’s neck and cheekbones and that space where his hair meets his neck. He’s trying to get to every part of Peter. He wants every part of Peter. Every part of him.
Peter’s fingers close in around Davy’s waist and pull him from his spot on the bed into his lap. Davy moans against him despite himself. They kiss and moan and let it get heady and intense for minutes. It could be hours. Davy doesn’t know. He’s too pent up to care. Peter’s lips are on him and Peter’s fingers are resting in his hair and his neck and traveling over his back and trying to get underneath his pajama top.
“I thought you’d never notice.” Peter says, taking his lips away to get to Davy’s neck. “I never thought you’d feel the same way about me.”
“What do you mean?” Davy breathes, tangled up in him.
“Well, I said that I loved you awhile ago. I thought you thought I was being nice.”
“I did.”
“That’s why I thought you’d never notice.”
“When you were in that closet for seven minutes with that girl, I wished it was me.”
“I know, Davy.”
“I would have gone too. If he hadn’t been there, I would have. I would have done whatever you asked me to.”
Peter’s teeth find his neck again and Davy lets out a low, loud moan. Peter pulls away a little later, admiring his work. He smiles, elbows on the bed as he just looks up at him. All beautiful and warm and relaxed. Davy’s keened up enough to rip Peter’s shirt in half.
“You’re having fun watching me squirm.”
“Of course,” Peter says, then kisses him soft. “I love you, Davy.” Davy’s still straddling him, and he’s still horny and blissed out a bit from it all, but Peter’s words are anchoring him back down. “I’ve been in love with you since that first night.”
“I love you,” Davy says, because it feels so warm inside of his chest he doesn’t know what to do. “But Peter,” He shifts, Peter’s hands on his thighs. “Peter, if you don’t put your fingers in me I think I’ll die right here in your arms.”
“Davy,” Peter laughs. He laughs so hard that he flops back onto the bed. He laughs like they’re friends. He laughs like it means everything. “Davy,” He grins at him, all happy smiles and warmth, “You are so dramatic.”
That makes him a little hysterical. “What did you want me to say? That I’ve been thinking about you playing me like your bloody banjo since that first night? That when you went into that closet I was so jealous I wanted to give you a blowjob next to the Christmas ornaments?”
“Well, I can get started on one of those.” Peter flips them, and then his fingers are running up and down Davy’s body and underneath his shirt and on his bare skin. “You want me to play the C chord or the D chord first?”
Davy just grins.