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"I think he's kinda cute."
That was what Micky and Mike had both said, wasn't it? When they were crouched behind the wicker chair, hiding, watching Davy suffer as he was courted by a slimy excuse of a man, dressed up in clothes that weren't his own.
And they hadn't meant it. Not properly. It was just something that was easy to say, with the way the dress fitted his slim body perfectly, accentuating his waist in a way that made him out to be rather quite feminine in build, and the way the wig framed his face like a portrait, like it was exactly how it was meant to be. He made a very attractive young woman, and Mike and Micky had no trouble admitting that. What they really meant was, 'I think she's kinda cute' - not Davy, but the part he was playing.
And, boy, did he play it well.
From the way he carried himself - hands always tucked close to his body in that way that girls often hold themselves, as though afraid of what would happen if they let them wander - to the way he moved - keeping on his toes (or trying to), moving with a gentle, skittish sort of manner, not quite graceful, but the sort of soft clumsiness of a girl who hadn't quite yet reached womanhood - right down to his mannerisms - the way he made sure to keep his mouth closed when he wasn't speaking, the way he pursed his lips from time to time, the way he made his eyes bigger, more vulnerable-looking - it was uncanny. Peter was left wondering, with somewhat of a sharp pang in his stomach, just how many girls Davy had been with to be able to mimic one so perfectly.
Because it wasn't easy for Peter, like it was for the other two. Because if he had said it, he would have meant it.
And it wouldn't have been anything new, either; Peter could remember right back to their first screen test together, when he had first been introduced to his new bandmate, all shining brown eyes and fluffy hair and toothy grin, the walking embodiment of charisma. And before he even knew his name, Peter's first impression was, I wonder if those canines feel as sharp as they look.
Much to Peter's misfortune, that was the first in a long line of forbidden thoughts, ones that he tried (and failed) not to think about too much. He had to force himself to think about other things, instead.
This was how he found himself thinking about the events of those few days a lot. Thinking about how Micky and Mike hadn't been even the slightest bit apprehensive about their appreciation of Davy's feminine form. And Peter began to wonder if he had missed a trick by keeping to himself and staying quiet.
He had been given a chance to be vocal about just how gorgeous Davy was, and he had let it pass him by like the idiot everyone made him out to be.
And so it was on a warm summer's day when Micky and Mike had gone out, and Davy was lounging across a chair like he was royalty, the book balanced on his lap completely forgotten as he experimentally hummed a tune, drumming his fingers against the chair's arm. He looked terribly handsome with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and Peter had to take a few breaths to remind himself of what he was meant to be doing.
“Say, Davy?”
Davy did not answer for a few more seconds, allowing himself to tie up the tune cleanly before looking up, bushy eyebrows raised expectantly. “Yes, Peter?”
Peter clicked his tongue, constructing his sentence very carefully. “If there ever.. came another occasion where one of us had to pretend to be a chick..”
The reply was instant. “Absolutely not. Nope. No way. I am not doing that again. Sorry, Peter, but you'll have to find some other unsuspecting victim to stuff in a dress.”
Peter tried not to look disappointed. “Did wearing it really bother you that much?”
Davy opened his mouth wide, ready with a sharp response to defend himself, but upon meeting Peter's eyes - soft and soulful and not in any way judgemental - he hesitated. He turned away and ran a hand through his hair. Peter noticed that he had let it grown longer again since the whole competition fiasco; really, he wouldn't have needed a wig anymore. Peter wanted to know what it would feel like beneath his fingers. “Look. It wasn't the wearin’ it that bothered me, it was the bein’ looked at. Does.. does that make sense? I was certain that everyone'd know as soon as they looked at me that I was.. y'know.. a lie.”
“But they didn't.” Peter pointed out.
“No, I suppose they didn't.”
“Everyone in there thought you were the prettiest girl they'd ever seen.” Peter definitely noticed the way Davy turned his face away slightly to try and hide the blush that was creeping up his neck.
“Quit takin’ the mick, would you?” He scoffed, but it sounded forced.
“I'm not, Davy,” Peter insisted, and when Davy looked him in the eye, fully expecting to see the usual glint of mischief, and was instead faced with a blazing hazel that was nothing but genuine, he was taken aback. He blinked, trying to calm the thoughts that were beginning to whirl around his mind faster than he could keep up with, and cleared his throat a little awkwardly.
“So.. so what are you saying?”
“I'm saying,” said Peter, slowly and carefully, “That you were the prettiest girl I've ever seen.”
Davy stared at him, and, man, Peter could get used to that expression: those tanned cheeks dusted with just the right shade of pink; those soulful brown eyes so wide, he felt he could drown in them; those sweet, plump lips slightly parted around an unspoken question mark. They shone when Davy wet them with his tongue, and, oh, wow, it was like he was just inviting Peter to-
“And so, what?” Peter's dangerous train of thought was cut off by Davy looking away and crossing his arms. “You're telling me that if I was a bird, you'd make a pass at me? Thanks for the heads-up, Peter, but I really don't know what you want me to do with that information.”
“No! No, that's not what I'm saying at all!” (The miscommunication made Peter's hands flap a little.) “No, I… Davy, look - what would you say if I were to make a pass at you and you weren't a girl?”
Davy stared at him. “Now you're definitely taking the mick.”
“And what if I wasn't?”
Davy just kept staring. He stared and he stared until Peter couldn't handle the eye contact any longer and dropped his gaze to the floor, fidgeting with his hands. He didn't notice Davy swallow, then set his jaw with a determination. “Then… Then I would tell you that there's more to makin’ a pass than just sayin’ that you're makin’ a pass.”
This took a moment for Peter's brain to process, before a thrill shot up his spine like electricity. “Then I would tell you that I thought you were pretty long before I saw you dressed up like a girl.”
Peter had expected Davy to keep up the repartee for a lot longer, but at this, the shorter boy faltered, blushing a lovely shade of red. “You- you did?” When this was met with an earnest nod, the youngest Monkee let out a single, shaky breath. “Pretty's a new one,” he whispered, and oh, how, it made Peter's heart ache.
“Davy,” he said. “You're the prettiest darn thing I've seen in my life.”
Davy fell silent, turning roughly the colour of a beetroot, and his gaze - in the same way that Peter's had, moments before - dropped to the floor. He did not say anything for a long time. Peter was starting to get nervous.
"Davy?"
"Mm?"
"Are.. you okay?"
"Oh, yeah, no, I'm- I'm groovy, just.. just thinking."
"What are you thinking?"
Davy did not look up. "I'm thinking I really want to kiss you right about now."
Peter's brain stopped working. He opened his mouth and closed it again a few times, a bit like a fish. His body suddenly felt very warm. "Well," he eventually managed, trying to keep his voice from shaking, "I'm thinking that I'd like that very much."
Davy looked up at him, eyes so very deep and dark and gorgeous, and when he began to lean forward, Peter's first thought was that he may actually drown in them, before he realised, oh, wow, this was actually happening.
The next thing he knew, there were lips on his, soft and sweet and perfect, and they felt so, so good. It was just a gentle touch, that was all, two worlds coming together as one in a fleeting moment of contact, before one of them - Peter wasn't sure who - pulled away.
There was a beat of silence. They dived back towards each other in perfect synchronicity.
This kiss was deeper. This kiss was real. Peter tried to take it all in at once in order to commit it to his memory forever; the movement of Davy's mouth against his, the way the youngest Monkee's hands cupped Peter's cheeks, the softness of Davy's hair beneath his fingers - it was almost too much.
Almost.
Davy was a very, very good kisser, and he was insistent, pressing far enough into Peter that he briefly thought that they might fuse together into one person. In fact, he was just in the middle of thinking this when Davy decided to answer his question.
Those teeth were as sharp as they looked.
And when they teased at Peter's lip, his throat let out an involuntary whine. It was only a quiet one, but it meant that he opened his mouth wide enough for Davy to slip his tongue inside.
There was some part of Peter's brain that considered the fact that Davy was really, really into this, and wondered if he had thought about this happening at all. The rest of his brain, however, was just trying to keep him upright (he wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't going to pass out), and when Davy made a point to lick a stripe along the roof of his mouth, Peter positively saw stars.
He clawed at Davy, apparently to pull him even closer than he already was (which, unfortunately, wasn't really possible), and when Davy chuckled, the vibration humming down Peter's throat, Peter's legs gave way.
Davy swore, but managed to catch him before he could fall too far. "Peter!" he gasped, though whether he was shocked or worked up, Peter did not know. "Are you okay?"
Peter blinked up at him, taking in the view, and proceeded to press his face into Davy's neck, knocking him off-balance slightly (he wobbled on his feet but swiftly readjusted himself so that he could support both of their weights). The skin there was soft, and smelled of sea salt. Peter breathed it in, feeling giddy, and grinned a beautiful crooked grin.
"I'm just groovy."