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It was almost noon when Micky woke up, groaning against the bright sunlight that seeped in through the window. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, memories from last night quickly coming back to him.

He and Michael took turns blowing each other in the bathroom and, dear God he hated to admit it, but Michael was good. He was fantastic, really. Micky's cock twitched at the memory and he sighed, slipping his hand into his underwear.

They hadn't gone any further than blowjobs—yet—but Micky didn't need much to get himself off. The thought of Michael's lips around his cock did more than enough, and he bit back a groan as he climaxed. This time, he left his underwear on so he would only have to clean one garment instead of his entire bedding.

Micky got up, heading for the shower and stripping out of his soiled underwear after closing the bathroom door. The shower was long and hot, relaxing his muscles. It was just what he needed and he sighed happily, closing his eyes and allowing the warm water to flow freely through his wild curls.

After his shower, Micky got out and towel-dried his hair before putting on a pair of sweatpants. He wouldn't have to work for several hours so there was no real point in getting dressed just then. The man hummed to himself as he ambled into the kitchen and prepared a bowl of dry cereal.

He was just putting his dirty bowl in the sink when somebody knocked on the door. Still in a good mood, Micky abandoned his dish and went to answer the door, a smile on his face as he opened the door to reveal Peter.

"Hiya, Pete," Micky said brightly.

"I need to talk to you."

Micky was instantly concerned. For once in his life, Peter seemed totally clean. He wasn't high, his breath didn't reek of smoke, he wasn't puking his drunk guts out in a batch of bushes. Micky raised an eyebrow before stepping aside, allowing his friend into the house.

"Sure. What's up?"

"I saw you last night, Mick."

"At the club? So what? I happen to work there, remember?"

"I saw you. With Michael Nesmith."

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