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Fri, Aug. 3rd, 2012, 01:09 am

Title: Peter's Problems
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tony/Mike, Peter/Phil
Summary: Peter's having a crisis.
Disclaimer: : Any similarity between the fictional version of the person or persons portrayed here and the actual person or persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person(s) on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person or persons). I am not casting aspersions on the sexual orientation or activity of the characters represented within, and furthermore if Mr. Peter Gabriel ever stumbles across this, I'm very sorry sir. You're just so hot.

Of all the men in the world, it had to be him.

Even of all the men in the band! Peter groaned with frustration. He couldn’t have gone for Tony, his old friend, who was weirdly pretty, or Mike, who was tall, and handsome – hell, even Steve had some sort of charm, which explained why he seemed to have six girlfriends at once. (That, and girls loved guitarists.)

But no. He was hung up on Phil.

Short, goofy, monkey-like stupidly sweet Phil and his stupid face. Peter couldn’t get Phil out of his goddamn head.

And Phil had no idea!

Everyone else did, though. Steve kept snickering over his guitar and Mike looked down his nose at him at least once – although, considering Mike’s height, that might have been an accident. And Tony kept shooting him disapproving looks, especially yesterday, when he had glanced over at Phil jamming on the drums and had forgotten the lyrics mid-sentence.

Forgotten. The lyrics. Mid-sentence.

God, that had been embarrassing.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He simply couldn’t do it! The situation was getting worse, and there was only one person he could go to in a situation.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a very long walk to Tony’s flat. He let himself in with the key Tony had given him – just in case – and sighed. No sign of Tony in the kitchen. Peter took off his jacket and flung it on the counter. He started walking towards the living room.

“Tony? Tony, I need your help-”

Peter! No!

Too late. Despite the cry of warning, he stepped into the living room, and wow, that was a whole lot more exposed flesh than he thought he would be encountering.

Augh!” Peter yelped, instinctively clapping a hand over his eyes as Mike tumbled off the couch in surprise, just managing to grab a throw pillow to protect his dignity. Then he uncovered his eyes because, you know, he was curious.

“Um. Hi, guys.”

“Are you having a crisis, Peter?” Tony asked, voice clipped. He hadn’t bothered to cover up because, well, they’d gone to boarding school together, it’s not like Peter hadn’t seen him naked before. Or in compromising positions.

Tony was gorgeous, for a bloke. Not as hairy as Phil, definitely, and probably not as muscular either – Phil was weirdly compact for such a short guy, maybe it was all the drumming?

Dammit, he was still thinking about Phil!

“That’s exactly the problem!” Peter shouted, throwing his hands up in the air and starting to pace. “Tony, you’re really, really good-looking! But I don’t want to have sex with you!”

“Drat,” Tony replied, voice drier than a desert.

“And Mike! You’re excellent too, I mean, look at all that!” he waved his hand around in the general direction where Mike was sprawled on the floor, slowly turning tomato-red.

“Uh. Thanks?”

“But looking at you doesn’t…doesn’t…doesn’t do anything for me!”

“I think if it did, you and I would have to have words,” Tony sighed. “Peter, what is this all about?”

I can’t stop thinking about Phil.”

Tony and Mike exchanged a glance.

“And this was an emergency that couldn’t possibly wait.” It wasn’t a question.


Before Tony could magically solve Peter’s life problems, the doorbell rang. Everyone froze and turned towards it.

“Well, I’d better answer that,” Tony declared, yanking on the pair of jeans that had been flung over the back of the couch, but not bothering to zip them up all the way. Peter followed Tony, mostly because he was curious, and partially because Mike looked like he was about to pass out from embarrassment.

“Hello, Phil!”

Peter panicked a bit on the inside as Tony greeted the drummer with abnormal cheerfulness.

“Hey, Tony, I was looking for-” Phil began, but stopped when he saw Peter behind Tony. He looked at Peter, whose eyes were wide, and Tony, who was dressed in nothing but a precariously positioned pair of trousers, and immediately connected the wrong dots. “Oh, um, I was just looking for Peter, but I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt anything-” he started to back away, looking, oddly enough, vaguely hurt.

“Oh, you weren’t interrupting anything. Actually,” Tony grabbed Peter by the back of his shirt collar and manhandled him into the hallway, “could you do me a favor and take Peter out for a drink so that Mike and I can get back to business?”

Phil looked over Tony’s shoulder, where Mike was peering around the corner of the wall, looking like he was going to spontaneously combust of embarrassment.

“Hi, Mike.”

“Hi, Phil.”

“Goodbye, both of you,” Tony said firmly, shutting the door and leaving Peter and Phil standing in the hallway.

“So…” Phil began. “Pub?”

Please,” Peter all but sobbed.

“So… Tony and Mike?” Phil carefully began later, after they had knocked back a drink or two.

“Yep,” Peter said morosely, taking another gulp of whiskey. “They’re together. And Steve’s probably off with one of his birds. And I’m alone. As always.”

“You’re not alone,” Phil said cheerfully, nudging his foot under the table. “You’ve got me! I’ve got to count for something, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” Peter mumbled.

“What, because we’re not sleeping together?”

Phil’s tone was playful, but there was an undertone to it, and Peter looked up at him, a question in his eyes.

“Because that could be fixed, you know.”

Peter blinked.

Phil nudged his foot again.

The next morning, Tony walked up the steps of Peter’s flat, pleasantly sore from the previous night. He used the key that Peter had given him to let himself in. The kitchen area was empty, and he put the jacket Peter left at his place last night on the counter.

“Peter?” he called out, walking towards the living room. “Peter, you left your jacket-”

Tony! No!