I Know What I Like

Fanart!

2013-01-13T17:58:32Z

Not by me (I can barely write, let alone draw) but by the uber-talented http://mcvveigel.tumblr.com/ (lots of Genesis drawings on that blog, actually), but this one, an illustration of the first story I wrote for Genesisslash, is here:

http://3notes.smackjeeves.com/comics/1657804/1/

can't stop won't stop

2012-10-12T01:00:41Z

Title: Follow You Follow Me
Rating: R
Pairing: Tony//Peter/Mike
Summary: Mike helps resolve an argument.
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.

Mike was sitting alone in his hotel room, casually flipping through a magazine, when the phone rang. He picked it up, wondering who would be calling him, and why

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mike,” came Tony’s voice. “Peter and I are having a bit of a disagreement. Do you think you could come down here and help us resolve it?”

Mike paused before answering. He was pretty sure that the disagreement, whatever it was, had nothing to do with music. “Sure.” He hung up the phone, pocketed his room key, and walked down the hall. He knocked on their door.

“Come in, and lock it behind you!” Tony called. Mike did as he was told and turned the corner into the bedroom, where – oh.

Peter was tied spread-eagled to the sizable bed, with Tony crouched over him like a triumphant cat. Mike wondered for a moment why Peter wasn’t vocally and loudly protesting this when he realized that he was also gagged.

“Peter here thinks I’m a control freak,” Tony said.

“Well, um,” Mike said, sitting down in the chair next to the bed because he wasn’t sure what else to do, “considering the position you’ve got him in, I can’t say he’s entirely wrong.”

“Yes, that’s what I said, and then he said – what did you say, Peter?”

Peter made some very angry muffled noises.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” Tony grinned, crawling off the bed and situating himself in Mike’s lap. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Mike started running his fingers up and down Tony’s back idly. “He said that I was too much of a coward to let anyone else be in charge, ever, and that we couldn’t get any songwriting done if I was micromanaging everyone with the bloody Mellotron.”

Mike started to piece things together. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get between Tony and Peter, but at the same time, he very much did. “So…are you implying that you want someone else to be in charge?” He raked his blunt nails down Tony’s chest, and grinned to himself as Tony shuddered involuntarily. Oh, he was liking the sound of this.

“I couldn’t very well let Peter win an argument, could I?”

“And why haven’t you let Peter prove himself wrong? See what happens with him in charge?”

“With him in charge? Are you daft? He’d have no idea what to do with me.”

“And I do.” Mike stood up abruptly, causing Tony to tumble off his lap and fall to the floor. He stood up to his full height, looming. Tony looked up at him, and his eyes were very wide. He had sprawled, when he fell, and Mike gestured.

“On your knees and get to work, then.” When Tony didn’t move fast enough, Mike grabbed him by the hair, to encourage him along. With his other hand, he undid his belt buckle and the sound of a zipper sliding down filled the room. He glanced over to Peter, who was staring at them in shock. Mike grinned and winked at him before turning his attention back to Tony. “If you want me to fuck you, you’ve got to earn it.”

Tony frowned up at him testily. “I never said-”

“Good. Keep not saying things. You’ve got better things to do with your mouth.” The harsh tug on Tony’s hair left him no other choice but to take Mike’s cock into his mouth. Clearly he knew what he was doing, and Peter had the oddest look on his face – Mike was wondering what the history there was, the story behind Tony’s very apparent oral skill. He’d have to ask about that sometime, but for now he was enjoying the tricks of the tongue, the glide of the lips, letting Tony bring him to full hardness, not that it was a particularly hard thing to do. He’d felt the first spikes of arousal walking down the damn hallway.

It was tempting, to let Tony’s talented tongue bring him to completion, to watch him swallow, or try to swallow, or maybe to just spatter all over his perfect face. But no. That wasn’t what Tony really wanted. What he needed. And he was going to give Tony what he needed. After a few more minutes, another tug on his hair made Tony slide off, and Mike had to clench his teeth together to retain self-control. Tony’s lips were red and shiny and just a little bit swollen. Gorgeous.

Mike shimmied out of the rest of his clothes and lounged back in the chair as casually as possible, long legs splayed. Tony stopped and stared at him for a moment, as if unsure, until he realized with a slight start what Mike was indicating with his raised eyebrow. He reached under the pillow for the bottle of lube and brought it over to Mike, toes curling into the carpet. Mike pulled him into his lap.

“I-”

“Shh.” Mike placed a finger over Tony’s lips. He quieted, and Mike liberally slicked up his fingers before kissing him gently. Tony gasped when Mike slipped a finger into him, and Mike took that opportunity to deepen the kiss, their tongues sliding together softly. Tony was tight, and his whole body was tense, and so Mike spent long minutes teasing him, loosening him up, relaxing him and winding him up until he was wantonly straddling Mike’s lap, not caring about the litany of moans he was making.

“Now,” he said at last. “Ride me.” He shifted, and help Tony sink down onto his cock. Tony hissed, and Mike paused, giving him time to adjust before sheathing himself fully. Tony began moving, slowly at first at then faster, while Mike trailed kisses up and down his neck.

“Do you trust me?” Mike whispered.

“Ah?” Tony gasped. Words were a bit beyond him at that moment.

“I said,” he repeated, sliding one hand over Tony’s throat, “do you trust me?” Just the slightest bit of pressure, not enough to even momentarily disrupt Tony’s heaving breaths, but enough to let him know who had all the power at that moment.

Tony looked straight into his eyes and nodded. There was a groan from across the room and Mike glanced over Tony’s shoulder to Peter, whose back was arching off the bed and who was, very clearly, aroused. Poor lad. He’d have Tony take care of him soon. But first…

“Peter?” Mike asked, and Peter arched an eyebrow at him. “do you have something to say?”

The still-gagged singer glared at him for a moment, before flicking his eyes to the wall, and back to Mike, and back to the wall. Mike grinned.

“Oh, excellent.”

Summoning every ounce of strength in his lanky body, he stood, carrying Tony over to the wall and shoving him roughly up against it, the pianist’s legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. Gone was the gentleness, the soft touch. Mike fucked him, hard, and Tony dug his nails into the flesh of his back and cried out when he came. It was only after Tony had stopped trembling that he allowed himself to lose control, and his legs damn near crumpled beneath him with the force of his orgasm.

He set Tony down carefully, not quite trusting his muscles, and rolled his shoulders.

“You’re not done yet,” he said. “Peter’s been very patient.”

Peter nodded as much as he could, and – surprisingly, without argument – Tony crawled over him and unzipped his trousers. There was a muffled shout of relief as his hardness was finally, finally freed from the confines of pants, and Tony swallowed him down with the same skill he had Mike. It didn’t take long at all for Peter to come apart, straining against his bonds. Tony sat back and wiped the corners of his mouth as Mike set about removing the gag and untying Peter, checking to make sure the ties – good lord, were these actual neckties? They were – hadn’t chafed his wrists.

“Just like at school, eh, Tony?” Peter laughed, voice hoarse.

“Shut up,” Tony grinned. While Peter was stretching and shucking his clothes and Tony was washing up in the bathroom, Mike made three quick cups of tea, which he fussed over and made everyone drink before allowing them to finally collapse into bed. Peter curled up on his left, and Tony on his right, and Mike wrapped his arms around them, waiting for them to fall asleep before he himself drifted off happily.

genesislash @ 2012-08-16T19:46:00

2012-08-16T23:46:19Z

Title: the silent sun
Rating: R
Pairing: Tony//Peter(/Mike)
Summary: A moment backstage.
Disclaimer: : Inspired by two probably separate incidents that I have combined for purposes of this fic. 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.

Nobody else would have noticed, or if they did, they would have chalked it up to his stage persona, an act. But Tony had known Peter for years, and he could read the lines in his body, the way his voice whined, just a little bit, when he hit certain notes, and the way he was practically grinding against the microphone stand.

Peter was desperate, and luckily for him, Tony was feeling indulgent.

The screaming of the audience was still ringing in their ears as they exited the stage, and the minute they were out of view, Peter was pressed against him.

“Tony, please,” he whispered. “Please, I just-”

“In here,” Tony said, keeping his voice low as people milled around in the murky half-darkness of backstage. He yanked open the door to the broom closet and practically shoved Peter in, shutting the door and yanking the cord dangling from the single ceiling bulb. The tiny space filled with a dingy light, but it was more than enough to see with.

Tony pressed Peter firmly against the wall, letting him grind against him while they kissed. “Please,” Peter gasped after a few frantic minutes. “Your hands, I need – please, Tony-”

Ah, that was it. Peter had been watching him at the keyboards again.

“Paying attention to me instead of the audience?” he asked conversationally, slowly unzipping Peter’s ridiculously tight trousers. Peter whimpered. “I won’t be letting you get away with that, you know. It’s quite rude.” He grasped Peter’s cock and began stroking him, slowly and teasingly. Peter’s head fell back against the wall with a thump, and the noises he made would have put his onstage vocals to shame. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, if there hadn’t suddenly been footsteps right outside the door.

“Good gig, I thought,” they could hear Phil say.

Tony immediately slapped his hand over Peter’s mouth, pressing him even harder against the wall. The singer’s blue eyes went wide.

“Keep quiet,” Tony whispered into his ear, stroking him faster. Peter arched off the wall as much as he could, moaning, the sound muffled. Tony grinned wickedly and nipped at the side of Peter’s neck.

“You seen Tony and Pete?” Phil asked.

“Can’t say that I have,” they could hear Mike’s deep voice reply. Peter moaned again, louder, and Tony responded by tightening his grip. Peter’s fingers flexed, nails scraping across Tony’s hips, sending sparks of pain skittering across his skin. It was almost enough to make him lose his iron self-control, for just a moment.

“You,” Tony growled. “You’ll pay for that later.” Peter whimpered, the noise vibrating against his hand.

“Why don’t you go take care of the equipment,” they could hear Mike say. “I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

Peter came with a barely-muffled scream, shaking body kept upright only by the combined efforts of the wall and Tony Banks. Tony waited, releasing his hand only when he was sure Peter could be quiet.

“Ugh, forget these trousers,” Peter muttered, looking down. He rubbed his jaw, looking back up at Tony.

“Don’t think those puppy eyes of yours will get you anywhere,” Tony scolded gently, dropping a quick kiss to his forehead. “You’re still in trouble. Now, let’s get out of here before someone gets suspicious.”

Peter fixed himself up as best he could and they opened the door to the closet slowly, looking out.

Mike was leaning against the wall, grinning lazily, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “You are terribly unsubtle,” he told them taking in their rumpled appearance – Peter’s more so, of course, but Tony’s shirt had come untucked at some point, which was as disheveled as he usually let himself get.

“Good thing Phil and Steve are taking care of the equipment, then,” Tony smiled. “Come on, back to the hotel. Peter needs to get out of these clothes.”

“He does look like he could use a change of trousers,” Mike commented as they began to walk off.

“Oh, I never said he was putting clothes back on again, did I?”

Peter whimpered. Quietly.

genesislash @ 2012-08-07T23:46:00

2012-08-08T03:46:37Z

Title: cryme and punishment
Rating: R
Pairing: Tony/Mike/Peter
Summary: Mike's in trouble.
Disclaimer: : Inspired by two probably separate incidents that I have combined for purposes of this fic. 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. Please pardon the horrible, horrible pun of the title.

Fuck!

That was the only thing he could think as he stormed off the stage. The show had practically gone down in flames, and all because the stupid equipment hadn’t worked properly. There hadn’t been anything wrong with the band, oh no, it had all been a bloody mechanical failure! He could barely hear his own bass through the buzz and feedback –

With a cry of frustration, he threw the offending instrument down on the ground with a resounding clatter. Despite the noise around them, there was suddenly silence backstage.

“Mike, mate,” Phil said quietly, and Mike whirled on him. The drummer took a visible step back. “They want us out there for an encore.”

“No.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d had time to even consider them. After a show like that? Why humiliate themselves further?

“But they-”

“I said no.”

“Phil, Steve, you two go and get things set up. I’ll take care of this,” Tony’s voice suddenly broke through the red haze of Mike’s vision. Normally it would have been calming, but now everything felt like nails on a chalkboard to Mike. He couldn’t do a fucking encore, he had to go somewhere and calm the hell down – maybe take a nice long walk, or smoke a nice long joint.

They left, and there was only Tony. “Mike. Pick up your bass and act like an adult.”

“Fuck you,” Mike said flippantly, starting to stalk off.

“We’re going to be professional, damn it, and that means an encore!” Tony bent down and picked up the bass himself. “I hope you didn’t damage this in your little tantrum-”

“Sod the fucking bass!” Mike shouted. Without thinking, he picked up the nearest object – which happened to be a metal folding chair – and hurled it at Tony. Tony dodged, and the chair hit the ground with a clang.

Tony locked eyes with Mike, and if Mike was filled with fiery rage, Tony was all ice. But he was no less angry for it – he was simply keeping better control of himself than Mike. Mike found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, as Tony put the bass back down, walked up to him, and slapped him right across the face.

There was a little gasp from the corner. Mike’s head shot up, cheek still stinging, and he saw Peter standing there, eyes wide.

Tony grabbed him by the chin, yanking his focus back down.

“Now, this is what’s going to happen,” he said, voice very quiet and very commanding. There would be no arguing. “You are going to pick up your bass. We are going to play an encore. And when we get back to the hotel, I’m going to teach you a lesson or two.”

Mike couldn’t deny that a thrill rushed through his body – a prickle of fear and anticipation. Judging from the shaky exhale from Peter, over in the corner, he wasn’t the only one.

“Do you understand me?”

Mike swallowed. “Yes.”

Tony didn’t let him go, though. It seemed like he was waiting for something, eyebrow cocked. Mike ran through a bunch of options very quickly in his head before he realized.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, rage already beginning to ebb.

Tony grinned. “Good boy.” He patted Mike’s cheek harshly, the same one he’d slapped, the pain an almost enjoyable jolt. He let go, and turned to Peter. “Come on, then. Let’s get out there.”

Peter nodded and scampered off. Mike picked up the damn bass and went out for an encore. Suddenly, he found himself hoping it lasted the night. Anything to avoid getting back to a room with Tony.

So, of course, the next thing he knew, he was back in the hotel and the door was being shut and locked behind him. The encore had gone as well as could really be expected, but he’d done his job, and played to the best of his ability. After, Phil and Steve had decided to go out and get drunk to drown their sorrows, but the rest of them had begged off with various excuses. Mike wondered if the others were beginning to suspect what was going on with the three of them, but he didn’t really have time to worry about it, not with Tony looking at him like that.

“Strip,” he ordered.

“So romantic,” Mike said sarcastically.

“Don’t make me gag you,” Tony warned.

“He’ll do it, too,” Peter piped up. “He used to do it to me all the time until-” Tony shot Peter a look. “-until I learned to be good,” the singer finished meekly.

“That still doesn’t stop you from being a chatterbox,” Tony sighed fondly. “You know, sometimes I think you aggravate me on purpose.”

“Why would I ever do that?” Peter asked cheekily. Tony arched an eyebrow, but let it go. Peter wasn’t the one in trouble tonight.

Mike shimmied out of his clothes quickly, shivering slightly in the cool room. He curled his toes into the soft carpet, which he was soon grateful for when Tony said “kneel.”

To help him along, Tony put a hand on his shoulder and pressed down. Mike hit the floor with a thump.

Suddenly, Mike was half the height of everyone else, which was very disconcerting for him, because he was used to being the tallest in the room. He was even more unsettled when Tony threaded a hand into his long hair and smiled at Peter.

“Go and get the kit, would you?”

Peter scampered over to the dresser and pulled out an unassuming black travel case. If Mike had seen it before, he might have thought it was a shaving kit. Now, of course, he knew better. Tony took the bag and unzipped it. Mike tried to turn his head, to see what Tony was pulling out, but he was interrupted with a sharp “eyes front.”

Mike focused on the bed, where Peter sat, eagerly awaiting whatever happened next. There was a slight metallic clinking noise, and Peter’s face lit up. “Ooh! That looks like-”

Tony pulled Mike’s wrists behind his back and locked a pair of handcuffs over them.

“What the-” Mike began, trying to swivel around, forgetting the warning. He remembered when Tony clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Lesson one. Don’t argue. Something you clearly need to learn.”

Mike considered trying to bite the hand, but he really didn’t want to find out what Tony would do if he did. Instead, he quieted down. “Good boy.” Tony let go of him, for the moment. “Judging from your actions today, you could learn a little something about teamwork and showmanship from Peter. He sang the whole concert and went on for the encore without complaining, even though his throat was sore and he nearly lost his voice. Isn’t that right, Peter?”

Peter nodded, eyes wide.

“He’s been very good. Maybe later I’ll have you make him a cup of tea, but for now I want you to suck his cock.”

Peter got naked very, very quickly. Mike couldn’t deny that his mouth watered a bit at the sight, but he was apprehensive, too. He hadn’t – not really – he’d been drunk, all right. Tony must have seen the tension in his shoulders, because he said, almost gently, “It’s okay. You’ll learn. That’s what tonight’s all about. Get a little closer, then.”

Mike had to shuffle forward on his knees, his hands trapped behind his back, and the action was just on the right side of humiliation – as Tony planned, no doubt. He looked up at Peter from between his legs, meeting his eyes, which were clouded with lust. For no particular reason other than it struck him as the right thing to do – and, all right, he wanted to tease Peter a bit – he nuzzled the soft skin at the inside of his thigh, giving it a little nip. Peter’s breath hitched.

“Go on, then. Have a taste.” Tony’s voice was gentle and encouraging. Mike ran his tongue up the shaft, and Peter shuddered. Without being prompted, he opened his mouth and took Peter in, slowly and carefully, getting used to the weight on his tongue. He found that he rather liked it. And he definitely like the breathy noises Peter was making. So pretty…

A hand tangled in his hair. Tony’s. “More,” he ordered, pushing gently but firmly down on Mike’s head, forcing him to take Peter in further. His body automatically fought for a moment. “Breathe. That’s it. Good boy.” Lord help him, but he did want to be good for Tony. Peter was trying to be good, too, twisting his hands in the sheets and not rocking his hips as much as perhaps he would like – Mike could sense the tension in his body as he restrained himself. It was the same tension present in all of them.

At Tony’s murmured direction, he sucked harder, faster, sliding off when the hand in his hair pulled and taking him back in when the hand pushed. He found it quite arousing, but with his hands behind his back, he had no outlet but through pleasuring Peter, which caused the singer to emit a series of impressively vocal groans, which turned Mike on even more, which caused him to become even more enthusiastic – it was a brilliant loop of positive feedback that only came to an end when Peter did.

Mike swallowed, of course. He would have even if Tony hadn’t been holding him firmly in place.

“I’m going to uncuff you now,” Tony said, “but you’d better not touch yourself.”

Mike whined – he was starting to get seriously uncomfortable – but he nodded. There was a clinking, and his wrists were free. He rolled his shoulders a few times, stretching, but he kept his hands off himself.

“Against the wall.”

He gladly pulled himself up and went over to the wall.

“Bend over a bit-” Tony’s hands were on his back and legs, adjusting his position. “Excellent. You might want to brace yourself a bit. Peter, could you toss me the-”

“Gotcha,” Peter said, handing Tony something. Mike kept his face to the wall, understanding instinctively that that was what Tony wanted. He heard a creak as Peter settled back on the bed – probably lounging against the pillows to watch his punishment, the prat.

He heard the pop of a bottle being uncapped right before a slick finger probed at his entrance. He hissed a little, at the cold and at the suddenness, but he tried to relax. It was difficult, though, with Tony standing close enough to him that Mike could almost feel the heat radiating off him. Maybe he was imaging it – after all, Tony was still fully clothed. Somehow, that made him feel even more vulnerable.

Fuck, but Tony had talented fingers. Not that he doubted that – how many times had he watched them fly across keyboards? – but somehow it was a bit different now that they were stretching him open. And not just perfunctorily – they were going deeper, until- fuck!

Mike made a vaguely embarrassing yelping noise, his body jolting with the sudden shock of pleasure. Please please please again please he thought, jaw clamped tightly shut to avoid saying the words again. He wasn’t ready to beg, not just yet. But the urge was rising quickly – his pride was paling before his need for relief. There was quiet for long minutes as Tony simply fingered him, delicate hands leaving him trembling with need.

“Are you ready to ask politely now?” Tony murmured quietly.

He wasn’t.

“Still so stubborn,” he admonished. “A little stubbornness can be good, Michael – you know that – but you need to know when to give in.”

“What, like for our shit encore?” Mike snapped, only realizing that he shouldn’t have said that after the words were out. Strangely enough, he could sense a smile in Tony’s voice.

“Exactly. I’d really like to make some sort of horrid joke about the best stallions needing to be broken before they’re ridden, but I won’t. Peter, if you would?”

“The whip?”

“Yes.”

Mike’s eyes widened, and he caught a glimpse of sleek black leather in Peter’s hands before Tony grabbed his hair and forced his head away, towards the wall.

“If I were you, I’d try to relax,” he warned, before there was a slight whistling and a loud crack. Mike gasped, feeling the contact right before he felt the pain blossom across his back. It shot a jolt of electricity right through his body.

Just as the initial sting started to fade, there came another strike, right on top of the first. Mike felt his whole body jerk in response. It hurt worse than the first, but it felt better. The pattern repeated – strike, pause, strike – for another five blows, and Mike found his fingers scrabbling against the smooth wall for some sort of hold, but there was nothing.

Then, Tony spoke. “Peter, would you like a turn?”

“Oh, well, yes, if that’s-”

“Mhmm.” There was a rustling, as Tony (Mike presumed) passed the whip to Peter. “He’s really quite good, you see, but he doesn’t get much practice.” Mike could imagine why not – Tony didn’t seem the sort to let himself get whipped.

Peter’s strikes were different than Tony’s. They were delicate – not lighter, not any less intense, but more precise. Mike could feel the pattern of crisscrosses Peter was laying into his flesh, and he thought about the marks it would leave. Peter was an artist in everything he did, and the wide expanse of Mike’s back was his canvas.

God, everything ached. His back from the whip, his muscles from supporting him, and especially his cock, hanging hard and heavy between his spread legs. And he knew there would be no relief, not until he begged.

As if sensing his weakening – through his labored breath, or his whimpers, perhaps – Peter increased the speed with which he cracked the whip, setting Mike’s skin ablaze all over. The sharp pain blended with his overwhelming arousal to create a nearly trancelike state, more potent than any drug.

“Please,” he whispered quietly, so quiet that he thought they might not have heard them. But they had.

“Please, what?” Tony prompted.

“Please f-fuck me.” His voice cracked.

Tony manhandled him off the wall and flung him unceremoniously facedown on the bed. Then he was on him and in him, fucking him mercilessly and Mike nearly sobbed with relief. His cries were muffled when Tony slapped a hand over his mouth, his other hand holding Mike firmly in place, so that all he could do was tangle his fingers in the sheets and take what Tony gave him. It went on for forever, or perhaps for not very long at all, but he could hear the soft gasps, the little cracks in his iron self-control that signaled Tony was getting near the edge. When he came, he bit down into Mike’s shoulder, and everything went blank with white-hot bliss.

When he came down from the high of his orgasm, Peter was cleaning him up and there was a warm, solid weight of support behind him, holding him. Tony.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked, voice low.

Mike nodded, not trusting his voice yet.

Tony reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a glass of water, holding it to Mike’s lips. “Drink this.” He did, not realizing how thirsty he was until half the glass was gone. “Good boy.” Tony put it back and grinned at him. “And what did you learn tonight?”

“Always listen to Tony,” he answered.

Tony laughed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I was thinking of something more abstract, maybe, but that works too. Come on, under the covers.”

With an effort, mostly on Tony’s part, he managed to get himself under the covers. His back stung pleasantly as Tony snuggled up to it, curling an arm over him. He shivered a little as Peter removed the top blanket and chucked it into a corner – Mike would probably feel bad about getting it all messy later, he’d have to make sure to leave a nice tip for the cleaning service– but quickly warmed up as Peter nestled against his chest, kissing the skin over his heart lightly.

“I’m supposed to make you tea,” Mike murmured sleepily, eyes already closing.

“You can make me tea later,” Peter replied, yawning.

“With honey,” Tony added, and with that, they all drifted off to sleep, tangled up together.

Jill Moore Gabriel

2012-08-06T18:14:57Z

Hey all-- I'm finishing up a story I started about a million years ago and was wondering if anyone had info on Peter's first wife, Jill. For example, are there any bios of Pete that tell a bit more about her than just the standard biographical details? I'm waiting on a copy of Spencer Bright's Gabriel bio, but was curious if there's anything else out there.

Thanks in advance! :)

genesislash @ 2012-08-03T01:09:00

2012-08-03T05:09:18Z

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.

“To-ony-y!”

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!”

genesislash @ 2012-07-29T14:48:00

2012-07-29T18:48:41Z

Title: the captain leads his dance
Rating: R
Pairing: Tony/Peter/Mike
Summary: He knew where this train was headed. (sequel to "watcher of the skies" and "we're waiting for you (come join us now)", and "rainfall means two things")
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.

“So we’ve got good news,” was Phil’s greeting when Peter and Mike walked into the studio. Fortunately, nobody commented on their late arrival together, but Tony gave them one of his indecipherable but meaningful looks.

“Do tell,” Mike said offhandedly, going straight for his bass and making sure it was tuned.

“None of the instruments are broken!”

“That’s a relief.”

Mike’s eyes flickered over to Tony, but Tony’s expression was, as usual, blandly unreadable. For some reason, the ground beneath his feet seemed unstable for a second, but suddenly Phil was banging out a count on his drum and Mike was swept up into the music, into Steve’s riffs and Phil’s drums and Tony’s delicate keyboards and Peter’s even more delicate voice and, quietly but insistently beneath it all, the heartbeat of his bass. Nothing in the world was more soothing than the gentle vibrations the rhythms sent through his chest.

Well, he thought, his mind briefly flashing back to last night, to laying in bed, jumbled up with Tony and Peter, almost nothing.

It was fascinating, actually, how quiet Tony was. How easily he took Peter’s musical directions, how he calmly sat back and let Peter – and, to an extent, Phil, who always had a lot of ideas – boss him around, musically speaking, telling him to play a key higher, a measure faster, a note different. He obeyed almost wordlessly, asking only for clarification, and somehow this show of what Mike now knew to be false submissiveness turned him on even more.

By the time they had finished their extremely productive session in the studio, it was getting late, and the band walked back to their hotel together.

“I’m getting an early bus, so I’m going to just crash,” Steve said.

“Me too,” Phil concurred, yawning wide. “What about you, Mike?”

“Mike’s going to have some drinks with us,” Peter answered for him.

I am? “I guess I am,” Mike shrugged, looking at Peter and then glancing at Tony, a question in his eyes. Tony gave the most subtle of nods, and Mike felt a knot of tension in his chest loosen slightly.

“Are we actually going to be drinking?” Mike asked as soon as they were in their hotel room.

“Do you need to be drunk for this?” Tony asked, with only a little humor, the implication being that Mike was having some sort of sexuality crisis.

Mike was not, in fact, having any sort of crisis over what the repercussions might be for his orientation. True, he had mostly dated girls, but he’d hooked up with guys too. He liked what he liked, and he was pretty secure with himself.

Of course, this wasn’t a random bar hookup, this was Peter and Tony…and, perhaps most importantly, Peter and Tony.

Again, he had the curious sensation of the ground underneath his feet shifting. But then Peter slid out of his coat and into his arms, and everything suddenly became solid.

Mike’s hands settled on Peter’s hips as they kissed lazily. Tony made a noise of approval and Mike could feel Peter grin, and suddenly the kiss became a whole lot more pornographic, not that he minded. Moans and groans and tongues and Peter’s fingers tangled in Mike’s hair, the shorter man standing on his toes in order to be able to reach.

After a few minutes, Mike reluctantly broke the kiss, sucking for a moment on Peter’s lower lip. But he knew where this train was headed, and he knew who the conductor was.

“Tony?” he asked, turning towards his friend, whose eyes were nearly black with lust. A shiver went down his spine.

“I want Peter to ride you,” Tony said quietly, complete authority in his tone.

“Yes,” Peter hissed triumphantly, already starting to take his shirt off. Mike just swallowed, trying to stop himself from whimpering at the mental images that were going through his head. He was less than successful on that front.

“And will you be watching?” he managed to get out without his voice shaking too much.

“No, that’s more your area. I’m a bit more…hands on,” he grinned.

Mike felt himself being guided back towards the bed, and he hit the edge and went down with a slightly thump. He could feel Tony behind him, and the next thing he knew his shirt was being lifted up.

“Very nice,” Tony said conversationally, and Mike blushed a little – although he would deny that if anyone asked. He was neither muscular like Tony nor lithe like Peter – he was just awkwardly lanky, and very tall. But hey, if they liked it…

He was distracted from Tony’s hands roaming up and down his chest by the unbuckling of his belt. It turned out to be Peter, who unzipped his jeans and managed to pull them all the way off, Mike having kicked off his shoes the minute he walked in. Peter’s eyes widened in surprise and delight.

“You’re not wearing-”

“Didn’t have time to put ‘em on this morning,” Mike replied as he lounged there, completely naked.

“You’ve got a naughty streak,” Tony whispered in his ear as Peter clambered out of his own clothes. “Unexpected.”

Mike shivered at the hot breath ghosting across his skin. “I’m a box of surprises,” he grinned, scooting back towards the headboard as Peter crawled, naked, into his lap.

He had been hard before but now it was turning towards desperation as suddenly there was warm, naked skin everywhere he could touch. Peter settled into his lap, their cocks grinding against each other, and Mike hissed, seizing the opportunity to kiss Peter again, letting his hands roam everywhere he pleased, up and down surprisingly muscular arms, over a broad back, down to a slim, tapered waist, and finally grabbing the flesh of Peter’s ass firmly in his hands. Peter wiggled – he was, apparently, as hard as Mike – and Mike took that as the cue that he should get the lube. But when he went to reach for it, he came up empty-handed.

Suddenly, there was a dip in the mattress as Tony knelt behind Peter, over Mike’s long, long legs.

“I’ve got it,” he announced. “Thought you might need a little help with the prep.”

Mike was honestly grateful, because the mere thought of what they were going to do made him feel all clumsy inside. Tony poured some of the slightly coconut-scented oil on his hands and reached down, slicking up Peter’s entrance and sliding one finger inside. Peter gasped, his muscles suddenly tensing and relaxing, a movement that Mike could feel every bit of. Mike leaned forward, beginning to trace his tongue over Peter’s collarbone and up his bared throat, but was interrupted by Tony.

“I could use a hand with this.”

Wordlessly, he held out of his hands and Tony gave him some of the oil. He slicked it over his hand and, holding his breath for reasons he couldn’t quite name, slid his hand down and slipped his finger into Peter, right next to Tony’s.

Peter moaned loudly at that, back arching with the sensation, and Mike couldn’t blame him. He’d be arching off the bed, too, if he didn’t have the weight of two men pinning him down. Peter’s hips undulated as he and Tony slid their fingers together, in and out, stretching him open. It was one of the most intimate connections Mike had ever experienced.

“Please – please, more,” Peter whispered, rolling his hips to get Mike and Tony’s fingers as deep in him as he could. But, evidently, it wasn’t enough.

“Miiike,” he whined.

Mike chuckled breathlessly. “It’s not up to me, now is it?”

Peter huffed. “Tony?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, voice surprisingly calm and even. “I rather like you like this.”

Mike had to admit, despite his raging hard-on, that he was enjoying teasing Peter too. The feeling of him around his fingers, of using him like he would his bass, was indescribable. And, of course, Tony had a pianist’s hands, long and elegant and very, very talented. Together, they played Peter like a song.

Peter whined again, trembling with need, and Tony grinned. “Well, I suppose so. Mike, if you would?”

Mike shifted his hands to Peter’s hips and helped him sink down slowly onto his cock. He hissed at the sensation, restraining himself from thrusting instinctively up into the tight, wet heat. He let Peter take his time, his body adjusting to Mike’s girth, until he was finally fully sheathed inside the elfin singer.

Mike was still holding on to Peter’s slim hips when Tony’s hands covered his, anchoring them both and helping to set a pace as Peter began to shift his body up and down, pulling himself almost all the way off before sinking back down again, fully impaling himself on Mike’s cock. Peter was surprisingly silent for the moment, making delicious little breathy noises, biting his lower lip. Mike leaned up and kissed him gently, sensuously, nipping a little and enjoying Peter’s whimper.

At Tony’s guidance, Peter began to move faster, and Mike broke their kiss to look over Peter’s shoulder, and there was Tony, right there, pupils blown wide with lust and looking so very beautiful, and dangerous. Peter tilted his head to the side, giving them room, and suddenly Mike was kissing Tony, fast and hard and exactly how he had wanted to for so, so long.

Tony growled in the back of his throat as their tongues slid against one another, as if battling for dominance, although everyone in the room knew who was in charge. Tony’s hands squeezed harder, and so did Mike’s, and Peter was probably going to have bruises in the morning, but none of them cared. Hell, Mike wanted to see bruises on his pale, perfect skin, wanted to see the marks he left, wanted evidence that this wasn’t some fever dream…

“I can’t see you guys from this angle,” Peter huffed, voice strained.

Tony chuckled darkly. “How about on your knees, hmm? Would you be able to see us kissing from that angle?”

Peter moaned wantonly, voicing his approval, and Mike couldn’t help but agree. God, he wanted to do that, to do everything and anything that was possible with the three of them – that is, if the two men would have him. He pressed his lips to the side of Peter’s throat, gently but firmly leaving a mark. Tony, following his lead, did the same to Peter’s other side, the younger man writhing between the two of them. Tony’s grip had loosened, allowing Peter to ride Mike in earnest, as hard and as fast as he wanted. Mike slid a hand around Peter and, after a moment of fumbling, grasped Tony’s cock, which was achingly hard.

“Yes,” Tony gasped, his fingernails digging into Peter’s chest and dragging down as Mike began to jack him to the same rhythm Peter was riding him.

There may have been tension in the room, but it was nothing compared to the tension in Peter’s body, and he came first, shaking all over, seed spattering across Mike’s stomach. He slumped forward for a moment, Mike catching him and holding him close, but a light slap on his ass – courtesy of Tony – got him moving.

“Keep going,” Tony ordered. Peter moaned brokenly, but obeyed, letting Mike pound into his spent body.

“You like this, don’t you?” Mike said, voice low and deep. “You like being fucked, being used, like a slut-”

“Yes,” Peter whispered, face resting in the crook of Mike’s neck.

Tony gasped, an unexpected sound. Mike looked up, locking eyes with Tony, and that was what pushed them both over the edge. They came within seconds of each other – Tony all over and Mike deep inside Peter.

They slumped like that for a moment, Mike supporting the weight of the three of them, letting the aftershocks course through their bodies. Then they began to disentangle themselves, Tony helping Peter slide off of Mike. The singer, utterly worn out, barely moved. Tony began to get off the bed, but Mike stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“No. Let me.”

Tony looked at him with a curious expression on his face – it might have been nervousness, in a different setting. But Mike was firm. He got off the bed and went to the bathroom, wiping Peter’s come off himself before retrieving a warm, damp towel and returning to the bed, gently cleaning up the other two. Peter mumbled appreciatively, and Tony smiled enigmatically.

He was good at taking care of people. He always had been.

“That was bloody fantastic,” Peter sighed, rolling over and smiling sleepily.

“I thought so too,” Tony said, back to his calm self. “What did you think, Mike?”

Mike collapsed on the mattress, suddenly exhausted, his bones humming with the satisfied feeling he normally only got after playing an amazing show. “I think you two have ruined me for girls, is what I think.”

“Well, our fans are sure to be disappointed,” Tony chuckled.

“Leaves more for Phil and Steve,” Peter grinned.

“Ugh, don’t mention them while we’re in bed.”

Mike laughed along and watched as Tony twisted a lock of Peter’s hair around his finger. Something twisted in his chest too, but he ignored it.

genesislash @ 2012-07-14T23:04:00

2012-07-15T03:04:36Z

Title: rainfall means two things
Rating: R
Pairing: Peter/Mike(/Tony)
Summary: A bit of fun in the shower the next morning. (sequel to "watcher of the skies" and "we're waiting for you (come join us now)")
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.

When Mike woke up, he thought – for a split second – that the previous night had been a dream, but then he realized that someone was lying on his hair and there was an elbow digging into his side. Not a dream, then.

He opened his eyes slowly and saw Peter, still nestled against him. He sat up carefully. Tony was gone. Where had-

“He had to go into the studio, some of the equipment got messed up,” Peter yawned, sitting up as well. “He went with Phil and Steve to fix it before our recording session.”

For a moment, Mike forgot that he was lying naked in a bed with Peter and worried about his bass. “Is my-”

“Your bass is fine.”

Mike sighed with relief, and looked at the clock. “Oh, geez, we’ve got to be there in an hour.”

“I guess we better get up then,” Peter said, looking perkier than he really should have. “We should probably have a shower.”

“Good idea,” Mike agreed.

“Although, I mean, we only have an hour. We should probably shower together. You know, to save time.”

Peter’s grey eyes managed to look completely innocent and totally wicked at the same time. He grabbed Mike’s hand and dragged him out of bed, practically skipping to the bathroom.

The shower was barely big enough for the two of them, and the water was icy-cold for a second – almost enough to quench their ardor, but not quite. After a minute, it warmed up, and Mike stood gratefully under the spray, the smell of sex and sweat washing off him.

“Would you soap up my hair?” Peter asked, long hair soaking wet and clinging to his shoulders. He turned around, giving Mike a perfect view of his pert little ass. Mike poured some of the cheap complimentary shampoo onto his hands, massaging it slowly and carefully throughout Peter’s hair. The younger man sighed with pleasure.

Mike couldn’t help but remember last night, when his hands were tangled up in Peter’s hair and his mouth was hotter and slicker than even the spray of the shower. The thought caused him to become uncomfortably aroused, and he was wondering what, exactly, would be done about that, when Peter turned around.

“My turn under the spray,” he said, and the two switched positions, sliding past each other. The feel of Peter caused Mike to shudder with desire, and Peter whimpered just a little, grabbing Mike by the chin and pulling him down for a kiss.

Their tongues entwined slowly, gently, almost lazily, but with an undercurrent of need. Mike’s hands slid up Peter’s chest, leaving a soapy trail. The marks Tony had left on him had faded, and Mike found himself wanting nothing more than to leave his own marks all over Peter’s pale skin, but something – Tony, he thought – stopped him. He wanted to touch Peter everywhere, everywhere, but that would have to wait, because they were on a schedule.

It was almost a sensory overload for Mike, everything warm and slick and skin, and he gasped when Peter’s hand slid between his legs and grasped his cock. His grip was strong and sure and Mike couldn’t help but nip Peter’s lip when he began to stroke. Peter whimpered, a needy sound, and Mike pushed him up against the back wall of the shower, grasping his manhood. Their bodies rubbed together like cats in heat, Peter pulling Mike as close to him as he could, sucking on his tongue wantonly and Mike groaned – Peter’s mouth was fucking magic – his hand that was not being used to pleasure Peter sliding down his back and grabbing a handful of his ass, just for the hell of it.

“God, yes,” Peter gasped, muscles straining as his orgasm rippled through him. The sight of Peter, soaking wet and arching off the tile, set off Mike, who came as well, resting his forehead against Peter’s. They stayed like that for a minute, catching their breath, when the water started to get cooler and they realized simultaneously that they had been in there for awhile and needed to get out pretty quickly.

“Good thing we were in the shower,” Mike commented, using a washcloth to clean off himself and Peter.

“Well, I don’t mind getting a bit dirty,” Peter grinned and winked, turning off the shower. “Come on, let’s get dressed. I promise I won’t grope you too much.”

True to his word, Peter only slapped his ass a few times while they toweled each other off. Mike was in the middle of picking up his pants when he realized they were the same ones he had worn yesterday. Ah, shit, he thought.

“Gotta run back to my room to get some clean clothes,” he said.

“Meet you in the hallway, then,” Peter replied, hunting around in the closet. Mike wrapped a towel around his waist – not that it covered much, him being as tall as he was and all – and hustled down the hall as quickly as he could, hoping that Phil and Steve weren’t in the room he was supposed to be sharing with them.

They weren’t, thank goodness, and showed no signs of having been there since the previous night. Mike got dressed as quickly as he could and stepped into the hallway, where Peter was waiting.

They had just made it out of the hotel when a thought struck Mike.

“Hey, what we did in the uh, in the shower, was that, like – ok?” Does Tony know? Does he need to know? Is it ok? Should we have waited for him?

Peter nodded. “Yeah, he told me before he left that we could have fun but he wants to be there when you fuck me.”

Mike felt a bit dizzy all of a sudden. “Oh. Is that, uh, is that a thing that is going to – happen?”

“Mmm,” Peter said cryptically, smiling and letting himself bump up against Mike as they walked.

whoops, wrote some more

2012-07-01T18:48:48Z

Title: we're waiting for you (come and join us now)
Rating: R
Pairing: Tony/Peter (/Mike)
Summary: Mike doesn't know how he fits here, but he's here, and that counts. (sequel to "watcher of the skies")
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.

There was a chair next to the bed, and Mike slid into it without asking, watching as Tony all but threw Peter onto the bed. Peter wriggled out of his shirt immediately, while Tony took his time unbuttoning his, teasing – well, teasing everyone in the room, really.

“Tony,” Peter groaned, frustrated.

“Patience, patience,” Tony counseled, and rolled his eyes at Mike, who grinned back automatically, as if they were in the studio and faced with a broken string. Peter wasn’t at all good with delays.

Finally, Tony’s shirt was gone too, and he leaned over Peter, supporting himself on surprisingly muscular arms as he brought their lips together once again. Peter made a happy little noise and Mike couldn’t help the dopey smile that came to his face. Sometimes his friends were just too damn cute.

Sexy as hell, too, he thought, observing the contrast between long, sinewy Peter and smaller, more muscular Tony – all those years of lugging heavy instruments had clearly paid off.

After Tony had settled one of his legs between Peter’s thighs – causing him to grind up against him eagerly – Tony backed off for a moment.

“What are you-” Peter began, but his words ended in a choked gasp as Tony ran his nails none-too-gently down from the side of Peter’s neck all the way down his chest, stopping only at the waistline of his very tight pants. Mike watched in fascination as five slightly raised lines appeared on his milky skin.

Tony looked damn pleased with himself, and it was no wonder. With his lips swollen, skin marked, and hair splayed out over the pillow, Peter looked every inch debauched, although the real debauching had yet to occur.

“Very pretty,” Tony whispered, bending over to examine his handiwork and letting his long hair trail up the welts he himself had put there. Peter gasped, hips automatically lifting, but he was still pinned in place by Tony. “Eager boy.” He unzipped the trousers and pulled them off slowly and wow, no wonder they were so tight, Peter wasn’t wearing anything under them.

“Why don’t you show Mike how you get yourself ready, hmm?” Tony suggested in a voice that implied it wasn’t a suggestion. Peter obeyed, reaching under the pillow for a small bottle of lube – god, they kept it under the pillow? How often were they going at it? – and poured a liberal amount over his fingers, lifting his hips and slowly beginning to finger himself open.

By this point, Tony was standing on the other side of the bed, divesting himself of the rest of his clothing. “He’s had quite a bit of practice,” Tony grinned, wiggling his long, tapering fingers that played the keyboard so well and hmm, Mike was wondering what else they did so well, but his attention was turned back to Peter when Tony simply said, “another.” Mike watched, looking Peter in the eye as he added a second finger, neither of them breaking the eye contact even as Peter whimpered with need, sliding his fingers in and out. The implication was clear – look how tight I am, it was as if Peter was whispering in his ear come find out – and maybe, just maybe, Mike would, someday. Maybe he would be allowed to touch.

For now, however, he was quite happy to simply watch as Tony climbed back onto the bed, looking for all the world like some great jungle cat, all sleek strength and power.

“Hands off,” he ordered, and Peter obeyed instantly, in a way that Mike had never seen the stubborn man do before. “Mike, if you’d be so kind as to pass me that tie?”

Mike tore his eyes away from the sight in front of him to the night table, where there was, in fact, a silky red tie lying in wait. He handed it to Tony, who took it and ran his fingers over Mike’s wrist as well – a teasing touch that may well have been a promise for the future. “Thank you.”

“Hands above your head,” he ordered, and wow, with that tone of voice, Mike could see why Peter was being so cooperative. Hell, he’d be willing to do anything Tony said if it was spoken like that. Of course, he’d probably do anything Tony asked anyway…

Tony wound the tie around Peter’s slim wrists, tying them together with one end and attaching the other end to the headboard skillfully enough that it was clear he had done this many times before. Once he had finished, Peter gave the binds a tug, testing their strength. They held fast.

“Very nice,” Mike found himself commenting.

Tony turned to him, smiling. “Thanks! I’ll teach you sometime, if-”

“Would someone just bloody bugger me already?!” Peter howled suddenly – not an unwarranted outburst, as he was hard and, quite literally, quivering with need – but Tony’s eyes turned playfully dark and his attention went back to the trussed-up man on the bed.

“Be polite, we have a guest,” Tony reprimanded, hauling Peter’s legs up around his waist and giving his arse a smack.

Peter’s eyes flicked to the chair by the bed. “Oh, sorry, Mike, I promise I’m-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence because at that moment, Tony, having slicked himself up a little extra, plunged into him, harshly and unexpectedly and exactly what Peter needed. He groaned, long and loud, his head falling back against the pillow as Tony began fucking him, swiftly and surely, each thrust angled to hit the sweet spot deep inside him.

It was the most beautiful thing Mike had ever seen, actually, and he couldn’t not help but lean forward a bit, hands clutching at the armrest, looking for something to anchor him down before he was swept into their whirlwind.

Peter, normally so articulate and well-spoken, with an impressive vocabulary, seemed to be unable to babble anything other than various combinations of “yes” “fuck” “more” and “please,” his arms straining against the knots and his legs wrapped around Tony’s waist.

Tony was, on the surface, more controlled, but Mike could clearly see where his fingernails were digging into Peter’s hips as he gripped desperately for an anchor. There would be bruises, after, and maybe even a little blood, but Peter either couldn’t feel it or he liked it – Mike was inclined to believe the latter, watching as Peter strained and shook and finally came apart, his orgasm ripping through him and leaving him a shaking mess. Tony came a moment later, biting fiercely into Peter’s shoulder, leaving a clear mark.

After a moment of heavy breathing, they slowly began to disentangle themselves, and Tony untied Peter before padding to the bathroom for a wet cloth to clean them up with, which he did, touching Peter so gently that if it hadn’t been for the marks, Mike might not have believed that Tony could have been capable of such dominance.

But Peter, though sated, was not sleepy yet. He turned towards Mike, eyes glittering mischievously, and suddenly Mike – who until then had been so completely focused on the two of them and their actions – realized that he was hard. Harder than he could ever remember being in his life, and, wow, he needed to come up with some excuse to get out of there and take care of that because surely –

“Tony?” Peter asked, almost managing to sound innocent. “Tony, someone needs to take care of our guest.”

Tony grinned. “An excellent point, Peter. Thank you for mentioning it. Would you?”

Peter nodded happily, sliding off the bed as elegantly as he could and landing at Mike’s feet, looking up at him like – like – oh hell, Mike couldn’t exactly think of an appropriate metaphor when Peter was unzipping his trousers.

“Oh, very nice,” Peter breathed, and Mike felt a smirk of masculine pride. “You’ve gotta give me a ride sometime.”

Mike was pretty sure he could do that. With Tony’s permission, of course.

His eyes flicked to the man in question, who was lounging on the bed, when suddenly he was engulfed in warm, wet heat. He gasped, hands automatically settling in Peter’s hair and tugging, which made Peter moan happily around him which oh god.

“He’s very well trained,” Tony commented as casually as if they were at a garden party.

Mike made some sort of unholy choked-off noise, but Tony took that as an agreement.

What with Tony smirking at him from the bed, and Peter on his knees with his pretty lips wrapped around his cock, Mike came in record time. Peter, to his everlasting credit, and impressively, swallowed everything, leaning back on his heels and grinning, wiping the edge of his mouth.

Now he looked properly debauched, and Tony looked like sin itself.

Mike wasn’t exactly sure what was supposed to happen next, and he started to think about worrying, or making some sort of incredibly awkward and transparent excuse to leave, when Peter hopped back on the bed and scooted over, patting the space next to him.

“Cuddles!” he announced.

Mike tilted his head to the side, slightly confused and still a bit woozy from the orgasm.

“You will join us for the cuddles, won’t you, Mike?” Tony asked, humor in his voice and a hint of shyness in his eyes. Because clearly, epic sex was one thing, but cuddles were altogether more complicated.

Deciding to put a little carpe in his diem, and feeling way too tired to make the walk back to his own room, Mike quickly shucked off the rest of his clothes – he didn’t want to be the only clothed person, awkward – and slid next to Peter, who made a happy little noise and yanked both Mike and Tony’s arms over him. Tony chuckled at the grabbiness, and so did Mike, their fingers twining effortlessly together with Peter tucked in between them.

They smiled as they drifted off to sleep.

science has no words for what is wrong with my brain

2012-06-18T22:31:11Z

Title: Steve the Straight Guy
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Tony/Mike, Peter/Phil, implied Tony/Peter/Mike
Summary: Sometimes being the only straight guy in the band can be a bit of a trial.
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.

Steve would like to get one thing straight: he is.

No, seriously, he likes girls. Most guys do, and that’s ok. And some guys don’t, and that’s ok too. Less competition.

Steve is pretty sure none of his bandmates like girls all that much, even though a few of them actually look pretty girly. In fact, one time, while drunk as hell, he had wandered into the wrong room and saw what he thought were two weirdly tall chicks kissing (which – wow) but upon closer inspection had proved to be Mike and Tony.

They’d actually been quite nice about it and helped him back to his room, where he proceeded to drink another half-bottle of whiskey because while he liked those guys, he did not need those images burned into his brain. By the time he had gotten over the hangover the next day, he honestly didn’t care that Mike and Tony were like, a thing. Like, together.

And then this one time, he had gone into the room Phil and Peter were sharing because he needed to borrow a pen – he had an idea, man, he needed to write that shit down! – and it had been very quiet, you know, Peter was passed out from the long day and Phil was sitting up doing a crossword puzzle. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Well, except for the fact that they were in the same bed.

So. Phil and Peter. Mike and Tony. That made sense to Steve. He could do the math. (And hey, it meant more girls for him!)

What he doesn’t understand is Peter’s “sleepovers” with Mike and Tony.

They happen often enough for him to notice, which should tell you something about their frequency. And after the third time he sees Peter sneaking into Mike and Tony’s room, he gets a little suspicious, because Phil’s his friend, you know, and he doesn’t want anyone getting hurt. So he keeps an eye on things and notices that Peter doesn’t leave until the morning. And Steve is pretty damn sure that they aren’t just braiding each other’s hair (although, with them, that might be a valid possibility).

He decides to do a little investigating.

As casually as he can, he wanders into Phil’s room, on the pretense of looking for Peter.

“Hey, Phil. Do you know where Peter is?” Right. That sounded totally casual. Man, he was good at this investigating stuff.

“So you finally got up the balls to ask about the sex thing.”

Damn it!

“Uh…so you…know about that?”

Phil rolls his eyes. “I suggested it.”

“What?” What?

“Sometimes Peter has a little too much energy for me. Sometimes Tony and Mike – well, I’m not actually sure what exactly they like, but I’m pretty sure it’s kinda kinky. And sometimes I like to sit back and pop open a beer and watch some cowboy movies without Peter’s hair falling into the nachos. The arrangement works out pretty well.” He shakes the bowl of nachos at Steve. “Wanna join me?”

And that was how Man Cave Night got started. It always happened on Kinky Threeway Night too, and everyone was quite satisfied with the whole arrangement.

The end.

I come bearing fic

2012-06-16T02:42:55Z

So it turns out I got mad bit by the Genesis bug and found words flowing prolifically from my ~~pen~~ word processor. So...enjoy?

Title: watcher of the skies
Rating: hard PG13
Pairing: Tony/Peter (/Mike?)
Summary: Mike has a tendency to see everything. Maybe it's because he's so tall.
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.

Mike watched.

He was good at it, too. Maybe it was because of his height, but he tended to see everything, even when people didn’t realize it. Conversely, sometimes he had to pretend not to see things, just like he had spent the past hour pretending not to see Peter nudging Tony’s leg under the table while they all drank. A long day in the studio, a significantly shorter night at the hotel’s bar, and here he was trying not to watch as his heart was slowly being ripped out of his chest.

Not literally, of course. Peter might have been a bit of a kook, but he wasn’t that bad. And Tony…

Tony was gentle. Tony was kind. Tony would never commit violence against another person, except maybe for the time he and Peter had had that screaming row and ended up throwing things at each other, but since the things in question happened to be pillows, no harm, no foul.

Mike took another sip of his whiskey and pretended not to watch the way Peter’s eyes – almost feminine, truth be told – sparkled in the low light, or the way the barest hint of a smile ghosted around the edges of Tony’s lips. Mike laughed along too, at Phil’s jokes and Steve’s commentary about the bar’s other patrons, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

There had been a jewelry store in the neighborhood, when he was a kid. He used to go stand in front of the window, looking at the glittering necklaces and earrings, the diamonds and the sapphires. Not that he had actually wanted to wear the jewelry, or anything, but – it seems he had not lost his tendency to stare at pretty things he couldn’t touch.

After awhile, Tony and Peter excused themselves and left. Moments after that, Mike said his goodnights, not wanting to stick around and watch Phil and Steve chase skirts. Mike was going to go back to his room – well, technically, he was sharing it with Phil and Steve, but he was pretty damn sure neither of them would be coming back to it tonight – and he was not going to think about his very pretty, very involved bandmates who were just down the hall. Nope. Not thinking about them at all.

Of course, the sight that greeted him when he walked around the corner blew that plan right out of the water.

Tony had Peter pushed up against the door of their room, in full view of anyone who might wander down the hallway, and was kissing him. Not a drunk, giggly, meaningless snog, either. There was passion here, and power, and a sense of familiarity – they had clearly done this before.

Mike stood, rooted to the spot, unable to move or even blink as he watched the shifting bodies in front of him. Tony had his hands tangled up in Peter’s long, silky hair, while Peter’s hands clutched at the front of Tony’s shirt. His legs were spread, and he was grinding almost imperceptibly against Tony’s thigh, making needy, high-pitched whimpering noises.

He had to move, Mike realized. It was one thing if one of the hotel’s well-trained employees saw them, but he was their friend, and this – well, this would be awkward. But he could only watch, eyes wide with lust and wonder, frozen in the middle of the hallway.

Tony began kissing his way slowly down Peter’s neck, and Peter gasped, head tilted submissively to the side. He groped blindly behind him and managed to open the door to the room. Suddenly, Tony stopped his movements and grinned.

“Mike,” he said, not looking up, “are you going to join us?”

There was something in Tony’s normally quiet and gentle voice that he had never heard before. Something dark, and lustful, and intoxicating.

“I…uh-” Mike stammered, not exactly sure what was happening.

“We thought you might like to watch,” Tony continued, turning to look Mike in the eye, and didn’t that send a jolt right through his body. His clothes began to feel a little bit tighter. “Didn’t we, Peter?”

“Mmmhmm,” Peter moaned, clearly not feeling up to forming complete sentences, or even complete words, but looking at Mike with a glittering eagerness in his eyes. He kicked the door open, a clear invitation to follow on.

For a split second, he felt like that kid again, staring at the diamonds in the window. Then he made his decision.

“Yes,” he said, and followed them into the room, closing the door behind him.

three years late to the party

2012-06-15T15:37:47Z

Anybody alive out there?

Here, have this:

slashy quotes?

2009-08-08T20:12:09Z

I wish I could write fics like some of the members here who produce wonderful Genesis fics, but I am so bad at writing stories.
So, instead of writing something myself , I will try to inspire you to write some fics!

Ant (from Chapter & Verse):

"Part of my being had gone right into the very fabric of the band because all the twelve-string guitar work that Mike and I had created together was very much a child born both of us, and that child carried on developing even though I was no longer in loco parentis as it were."

OK this may not be quite slashy, but it is cute, isn't it?

Favourite pairing

2009-07-11T05:18:55Z

What is your favourite Genesis pairing?

My favourite is Tony/Peter.

Never noticed before, but Tony&Mike look good together like this too...

...Peter's relationships?

2009-06-04T09:37:57Z

So, I stumbled across something interesting today :'3

http://famous-relationships.topsynergy.com/Peter_Gabriel/

Check it out for yourselves X'D Tony Banks is listed as someone who's been in a relationship with Peter Gabriel!
I do love that they're seeing the subtext, but does anyone know wtf is really going on with this page? X''D

Brace yourselves

2009-05-20T21:32:55Z

I'm back! With a vengeance! Well, nothing personal really, just that I can't resist temptation to put "with a vengeance" following "I'm back". Makes it sound so much more exciting than it is.

Suffering Slimy Slippermen, it's been ages since I kept up with this community I started, and it was so inactive for some time that I was about to declare it dead. I'm so overjoyed and, a bit overwhelmed frankly, that so many have joined this odd little band slash community since I started it not expecting anything to come of it.

Not to say that pairing up the Genesis boys in and of itself is odd, I mean how slashy can Peter and Tony get, honestly! Or strangely enough, Phil and Peter in certain photos. *cough* You know the ones. They inspired me to impulsively write crazy fic that looking back on now I realise was quite poorly written. My writing skills have improved since then, I like to think so. It's just been so busy in my life and I've had ongoing health problems that have interfered with my ability to write. Hopefully I'll be back at it soon, and with all this inspiration coming at me lately for Tony/Peter mainly, I just don't see how I'll be able to keep myself from writing something soon. And yeah, you know me, it'll probably be smutty ~~because it's harder to write full thought out stories than PWPs~~ .

In the meantime, I expect picspams to be impending, and lulzfests of various flavours are highly encouraged (macros, cartoons, whatever you get inspired to do) and inevitable as this is GENESIS after all, a band that can be very silly band with tongues often firmly in cheeks (my, that sounded naughty).

Oh, and er...I'd like to take my silly pr0n down very soon, I'm not proud of the quality of it. I may rewrite them one day, though. Any of you who want copies (can't understand why) of the originals, feel free to do so while you can.

greetings and a question

2009-05-19T20:11:52Z

Hello. Thanks for letting me join this community.
A few months ago, I suddenly got smitten by this weird yet beautiful band called Genesis. and I was so glad to find a community like this.

Anyway, I was reading Tony's biography at MTV.com and it said that Tony and Peter lived together in 1969.
http://www.mtv.com/music/artist/banks_tony/artist.jhtml#bio

But he never gave up the idea of being a musician or keeping Genesis going and, fortunately, he also shared an apartment with his old friend Gabriel during 1969; between the two of them and the lingering interest from Rutherford and Phillips, the group re-formed, without King and with some more precise ideas about what they wanted the band to be.

Does anyone know anything about this?

Tony and Peter, both 19, living together.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. Seems like a good setting for a Tony/Peter fic!

Some new fic!

2009-05-06T18:50:52Z

Here's a new fic for you all!
It's Tony/Peter, and the link to my journal is under the cut.

http://vrindavana.livejournal.com/10794.html

Keep in mind that I'm Swedish, so if there are any odd sentences and such in there, feel free to point it out! Enjoy :D

genesislash @ 2009-05-03T16:17:00

2009-05-04T02:10:24Z

Hello everyone! :D

First of all, thanks for approving my membership! I'm not really new here, I used to be Vedavhati, but after ditching that account I sort of forgot about this place! Now I'm back though, and I'm very eager to contribute a bit to this much too small fandom! Honestly, Genesis slash is terribly underrated. All those pretty boys; they're just begging to have fanfiction written about them! I have a fic that I've been working on for a while, and I'll be posting that in the near future ^^ For now I will leave you with a picture. It made me very happy when I found it, hope you'll enjoy it aswell. :')

xx Gwen

Peter/Tony

2008-11-18T21:51:12Z

I was watching the interviews from the new Genesis box set and on the Trespass DVD there's a bit where Peter and Tony talk about how they used to argue a lot. I quote:

Peter: Tony and I were the most-- frequently at odds.
Tony: We argued a lot because we were passionate. Also we were young. Sexually frustrated.

I KNEW IT.

HILARIOUS review of "The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway"

2008-09-21T18:49:42Z

I have piles and piles of old magazine articles on Genesis, and have been using lazy days (like this one) to transcribe them to one handy word file so I don't have to grubby them up any more than necessary! This may not quite be "slashy," but this review of "The Lamb" is HILARIOUS!!! No wonder poor Peter felt misrepresented by the press . . .

*****

ALBUMS – REVIEW OF “THE LAMB LIES DOWN ON BROADWAY” – Chris Welch – Melody Maker – November 23, 1974

I wish that rock musicians would learn the importance of self-editing. A few golden, miraculous notes and some choice, pithy words are worth all the clutter and verbiage in the world. Somehow, when a band has such potential and originality as Genesis, it is all the more disappointing when they fall victim of their own natural desire to explore ever further afield. But they should take heed of the edict that “small is beautiful.” And there is no delight and little satisfaction to be had in the deliberate obscurity evident in much of the lyrics and tale displayed in the gatefold that forms the thread running through all four sides.

The old defense and protest is: “You can read what you like into the lyrics.” There is a case for impressionism and surrealism, but unless there is some attractive substance to the theme, then the whole exercise of interpretation becomes a tedious chore.

There is a theme of sorts. The tale of “Rael,” a Puerto-Rican resident of New York searching for freedom and attempting to establish his identity by spraying his name on walls with an aerosol. He would probably achieve greater satisfaction by forming a voluntary association of citizens devoted to wiping clean the city walls from graffiti, thus rendering them pleasant to behold, and removing some of the oppressive characteristics of big city life.

But no – Rael must have his say, to long and oddly uninspired accompaniment. Reading my own interpretation into the lyrics, the lamb is in fact a wandering British youth, startled to discover such terse instructions as “Walk” and “Please Do Not Stroll Across The Highway Until It Is Safe” signs of his native heath. Faced with the bewildering rush of horseless carriages, he decides to lie down on Broadway, until a kindly patrol man places him in a pick-up truck and dumps him outside the city limits. The music follows his mood of confusion, despair, and ultimate metamorphosis into a fully-fledged sheep, bathing in the rushing waters of some idyllic, pastoral place.

There is a vast amount of music to wade through, with some 24 titles, and only a few themes worthy of such interminable development. The musicianship is all that one would expect from a group of such caliber, and yet it is instrumentally lacking in character, as they tend to plod through the arrangements with little fire or purpose. I like the opening tune, while “Broadway Melody” has affinities with John Lennon’s “Walrus,” and “Counting Out Time” has some neat, clever tricks. Genesis have given us so much, and deserve respect for their efforts. Perhaps we must be patient and wait for the “Lamb” to grown on us. But I have the feeling it is a white elephant.

******

(Not Rael, but I couldn't resist this sexy young man who can't seem to keep his dress on properly! He should go clean up graffiti or something!)

genesislash @ 2008-06-18T21:20:00

2008-06-20T04:22:34Z

Hello, all! Still here? *g*

Research question! I started my Peter/Tony fic ages ago, but got a bit stuck. I felt that I wasn't quite capturing Peter's personality. Can anyone recommend some articles/books/interviews that give some insight into the man himself?

Here's a macro for your troubles.

Let's roll in the hay . . .

2008-04-22T14:55:07Z

. . . with the sexy boys of Genesis, about unleash some friskiness on the bucolic countryside:

Phil stands over them all, creamy and blond as a milkmaid, presenting his harem. He hungrily nibbles his lip in anticipation of a hayride . . .

Gorgeous, snake-hipped Steve, meanwhile, is left to linger his sly blue eyes awhile on the assets of Phil Collins. How tight the ass (really, did anyone know he was ever so thin?), how golden the locks . . . how suddenly tight these belted, high-waisted jeans . . .

Mike would like to remind you that you can move along, nothing to see here (but if there were, it would be postively succulent), hence the catlike smile . . .

Tony, always the pragmatist of the band, would really like us to get to the crux of the issue.
Who is this sly sphinx sprawled afront him, this slinky python Cleopatra blackened with kohl and glistening with gaudy gems? What would he, lanky, serious Tony in the schoolboy sweater, give to quaff of this exotic creature's spicy nectars?

And there is Peter, unwittingly the center of it all, thinking, perhaps, "How dare I be so beautiful?" More likely, he is contemplating the quantum effects of electrostatic interference in magnetic videotape signals transmitted to the planet Xenon, but one cannot deny the intoxication of his recumbent form, offered up for the taking. Leggy and lithe, with a direct gaze from blackened sea-violet eyes, he is undeniably the shining star of our little orgy. What would these boys give to nibble on that plump underlip? To tangle in those limbs? Too bad we can't see what happens next . . .

(I found this picture and couldn't resist. We all need some Tuesday cheer, no? :D)

That catsuit, and those flares, and those hotpants . . .

2008-03-18T21:26:39Z

Having been quite bored yesterday, I spent a good deal of time immennsely enjoying a quite-superannuated but still delightful photothread on this group. I think you'll all QUITE enjoy the reviews of the shows, from my handy Bible of live Genesis: Genesis: Play Me My Song: A Live Guide, 1969-1975 by Paul Russell (who credits himself in the back as "a garden designer, and freelance professor of Progressive Rock" - wtff?? I want to take that class!!!!)

Beginning with the latter show, that thing of tacky graphics and one absolutely lickable silver jumpsuit, T.V. Studios; Paris, France: 2/12/74 (Steve Hackett's 24th birthday, and the day before Peter's!):

Another European TV show which has survived in glorious colour . . . The bright studio lighting and the very seventies background effects somewhat detract from the music, especailly during "Supper's Ready." For the costumes to work properly you need an atmospheric light show with a strobe, and the darkness adding to the scary bits at the end.

Gabriel comes over all camp for "I Know What I Like" sporting what looks like a WW1 German soldier's helmet and some face paint, he plays to the camera and even Collins can't supress a grin as the human lawnmower passes his kit. Hackett, now minus his trademark glasses and looking more like a rock star, is twanging away on the strange-looking sitar guitar, but of course all eyes are on the strangely disturbing lead singer.

It's great to see "Supper's Ready" professionally filmed with lots of nice close-ups; it's not a classic version and the '666' section is nowhere near as effective as the film from Shepperton Studios back in October '73. This is because of the excessive lighting, which ruins the finale and makes the costumes look rather silly.

The film is worth seeing if only for Gabriel's gradually changing appearance, his taste for make-up and a really bizarre haircut.

Next is Bataclan Club; Paris, France: 1/10/73. (Who else loves Steve in his glasses? They suit him quite well . . . ):

This French TV broadcast from the Bataclan Club is a vital document from an important phase in the band's career . . . More importantly, it gives a clear indication as to Gabriel's ideas for the band's visual presentation.

We join "The Musical Box" at the first heavy section, Gabriel furiously attacking a tambourine, wearing a black cat-suitwith a heavily jewelled collar, his long hair and eye make-up give him a strange, somewhat feminine look. The rest of the band looks painfully '70s, although Collins is wearing shorts and is quite animated behind his kit.

The camera pans slowly behind Collins and Banks just as the 'She's a lady' section begins, both providing backing vocals to this sequence. Gabriel, resplendent in red dress and fox's head is now in shot, and the effect is quite stunning; as the band kick in during the 'Touch me's' he performs a strange on the spot dance and his voice breaks with emotion, bringing he song to a chilling climax.

Gabriel stands, arms folded, looking so different from he rest of the band. "Supper's Ready" begins, the camera again pans aruond the group as the trio of acoustic guitars accompany the opening verses. A nice cross-stage shot from behind Banks shows a seated Hackett intent on his playing while the singer lulls the audience. The song progresses nicely until an unfortunate edit takes us from 'The guaranteed eternal...' section to the last few lines, where a raw-voiced Gabriel now looks like he is covered in flour, as he slowly raises the mic stand aloft.

A rampant "Hogweed" also suffers a painful edit, but everyone lets their hair down; Rutherford even stands up for this one. Gabriel, now resplendent in a shiny silver outfit, careers across the stage waving the mic stand over his head during the power chord ending. Genesis rock out, the crowd are on their feet, and Gabriel continues to steal the show.

"The Knife" commences from the dreamy middle eight. Hackett, sporting some mighty flares, is now standing as they work their way to the heavy metal ending. Gabriel pretends his mic stand is a rifle complete with a bayonet, and lunges at the front row. Collins with a whistle in his mouth, and Hackett with those flares, both shine during this frantic climax.

The song ends with Gabriel hurling his makeshift weapon into the backline, and stalking off stage; a few moments later the rest follow, though in a more sedate manner."

intro - and fic

2008-01-18T21:31:23Z

Hi! :) I'm Shiun and I've been a Peter Gabriel-fan for some time now, but just recently discovered the early years of Genesis and have been brought rather forcefully to Genesis-slash by a friend of mine. I couldn't help it, I had to write fic. Fortunately, said friend was nice enough to help me with translating and betaing said fic, so here it is. Hope you enjoy!

Title: Tactics
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Peter/Phil
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).

Millions of thanks to temve, for helping me so much (and untangling my English). I couldn't have done it without her.

Tactics [link to my LJ]