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“Micheal!”
“What the hell- Peter get out! ”
“But it’s important!”
Mike yanked the shower curtain so he could pop his head out. He made eye contact with a visibly upset Peter. He quickly ran and sat down on the toilet lid, indicative of Peter telling a very, very long story.
Mike had been in the shower for only a minute, leaving the rest of the band to their own devices, hoping for some peace and quiet before bed. Peter was incredibly interested in a show on their television before Mike left. Mike assumed that during his absence, Peter’s show ended. And the boy was not happy about it.
So here they were. Mike listening to Peter wail about the horrible ending of the show he watched. Mike in the shower. Peter on the toilet. Just looking at each other. Could it get any worse?
Well, yes. It could.
Davy strode in and began to brush his teeth. Mike cut Peter’s rant off.
“Who said you could be in here?”
“You left the door open,” Davy said nonchalantly.
Mike gave a look to Peter who gave back a bashful smile. Then, Peter decided to start his rant all over again to Davy, who nodded and hummed around his toothbrush when appropriate.
“I’m glad y’all are having a good time and all, but I’m trying to shower!” Mike was beginning to get agitated. Yeah, he could deal with Peter’s interruption, because as soon as he was done talking, Peter would leave. Now that Davy was here, he’d stay to talk to him . And Davy had an extensive nighttime routine, so the shortest Monkee would be in the bathroom for about 30 minutes. Mike despised long showers, so he wanted them out as soon as possible.
“What’s going on?” Micky seemed to appear out of nowhere in the doorway of the bathroom. “Did Mike slip and die?”
“No, I didn’t slip n’ die, why would you think that?”
Micky shrugged and sat on the counter next to Davy. “What happened on your show, Pete?”
Peter started from the top, Davy began washing his face, and Micky kicked his legs. All three seemed to forget about Mike’s existence. With a sigh, Mike closed the shower curtain and continued his routine, realizing he would have to shower in not peace and quiet. That was until Micky knocked on the curtain like it was a door.
“One second Peter– Hey Mike, can I get in with you?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Mike groaned. Sometimes, the group would double (or even triple) up in the showers to save both time and money. Something that was completely practical turned into fun for Micky. He liked to shower with others because he enjoyed getting his hair washed.
Micky cheered a quiet “yes!” before stripping and getting into the shower with Mike. Mike poured some of Micky’s special shampoo for his curly hair and gestured for the boy to turn around. Peter’s rant had finished by the time Mike began scrubbing Micky’s scalp and started to talk about a song he was writing.
“I think it would sound great with a stop time– like– well– should I get my banjo?” Peter asked.
Davy said ‘yes’ the same time Mike had said ‘maybe later’. Peter became conflicted with who to listen to. So instead, he tried his best to verbalize what he wanted the segment to sound like. Davy gave him feedback and Mike began to run conditioner through Micky’s hair. He scrunched his brown locs so they could retain a nice curl. During their numerous shower sessions, Micky had taught Mike how to properly wash curly hair ‘just in case’ and for ‘no other reason’. Even with Mike’s initial annoyance, there was something incredibly peaceful about tending so lovingly to the drummer’s hair.
When Micky’s hair was washed and the two had fully cleaned up, Mike turned the shower off and stuck a hand out for his towel, which Peter handed. When the guitarist was out, Davy’s hair was held back with a headband and he was scrubbing his face violently.
“Jeez, Davy, don’t hurt yourself,” Mike teased.
“Oh, what do you know?” Davy shot back. Mike wasn’t sure if it was an insult or not. He decided to leave it.
“Someone get me a towel, I’m cold!” Micky whined.
Peter gently tapped Davy’s hip to get the shorter to move. He reached into the cabinet under their sink and got a towel for Micky.
Micky thanked Peter and got out of the shower. Him and Mike made their way to the bedroom and Peter stayed with Davy in the bathroom.
“Why do you wash your face so much, David?” Peter questioned.
“So my skin will stay soft and clear,” Davy began rubbing an oil on his face and down his neck.
Peter watched Davy. He pursed his lips.
“Can you put some on me?”
Davy looked at the boy and pondered. He shrugged, took his headband off, and put it on Peter. Davy only put a small amount of product on Peter’s face, knowing the blonde had an aversion to certain textures like lotion. But he did use sugar scrub, cleanser, and face drops, something Peter would be fine with having rubbed into his skin without getting overstimulated.
Peter’s eyes were fluttered shut and he hummed happily as Davy massaged his fingers along his sinuses. Peter, still sitting on the toilet lid, wrapped his arms around Davy’s hips and pulled him in closer. Davy leaned into the show of affection and continued to massage the blonde’s face.
Mike and Micky entered the bathroom again, Micky throwing out a joke about Davy’s princess behavior rubbing off on Peter. Peter giggled and Davy scoffed, saying Micky shouldn’t be talking, with his demands on having others wash his hair.
“Ohhh, I don’t do it that often!”
“Yes, you do,” Mike, Davy, and Peter said at once. Micky chuckled, embarrassed.
Davy patted Peter’s face with a clean towel and took the headband off. He pinched the older’s cheek and left his hold. Peter sighed, caressing his own face, and thanked Davy. Mike grabbed Davy from behind and threw him over his shoulder, declaring it was time for the group to go to bed.
Davy yelped but went limp in the guitarist’s grasp. The rest of the Monkees followed, turning off the lights as they went.