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Mike's not nervous.

Okay, so maybe he's a little nervous. It's a relief that his first show with My Chem isn't going to be an arena show, but it's still a fucking huge gig with a very vocal London crowd. He's still going to be the new guy, the not-Bob, the interloper and this band is still so much bigger than any other he's played for. He really, really can't fuck this up.

The other guys are side-stage, gone to see what Twin Atlantic sound like live, but Mike knows if he goes up there and sees the crowd it'll only make him worse.

So he stays in the dressing room, pacing the floor, twirling his drumsticks absently, until Mikey plants himself right in his way. Mike stops dead, looking up from his own hands to find Mikey watching him with a level gaze through the bleached strands of his hair hanging across his face.

"You don't have to be nervous." Mikey says, in his usual monotone.

"I'm not." Mike says, too quickly.

Mikey just raises an eyebrow, until Mike sighs, rubbing the back of his head and feeling the soft stubble press into his palm. "Okay, so maybe I am a little wound up. Just a little."

"I got something for that."

Before Mike can ask what 'something' is, Mikey settles a hand on Mike's shoulder, his thumb working a circle at the base of Mike's neck. It's nice, it's relaxing, and Mike's arching into the touch like a cat before he realizes it. It's a little weird - the touching - but the Ways are pretty damn weird, and Mike's been friends with them long enough to know he should just go with it.

Then Mikey kisses him.

Mike's still got his eyes closed so he doesn't see it coming, he just feels the press of Mikey's lips over his - soft, wet and a little insistent. His tongue licks at the seam of Mike's mouth until Mike relaxes his lips and lets him in. Then Mikey really gets into it, his hand sliding up to cup the back of Mike's head and his body sliding close until he's got one leg wedged between Mike's thighs. And Mike can feel the hard press of Mikey's whipcord body all up against him. And fuck he's a good kisser.

Mike's body is starting to turn liquid, when finally the rush of alarm he should have felt when Mikey first kissed him decides to kick in. He breaks the kiss with a rough turn of his head. "Mikey, what?"

Mikey just shhhh's at him. His voice low and sounding rough, one warm palm coming up to press against Mike's cheek as he leans in to kiss him again.

Mike knows this is the moment he should pull back again. He should end this now, because it could fuck up the biggest opportunity of his career if he lets himself get involved with another band member, and there's an entire tour lying ahead of them. He should stop this now before it gets worse.

The problem is - he doesn't want to.

He's still hesitating when Mikey's mouth covers his again. Mike's drumsticks fall to the floor as his hands come up to press against Mikey's back, fingers curling into the soft material of the girl's shirt he insists on wearing.

Mikey makes an appreciative noise against Mike's mouth and that's all Mike needs to get into it, to really kiss back. He gives Mikey his tongue and the way Mikey sucks on it has Mike's hands sliding up to grab Mikey's shoulders and hang on. Mikey's shoulders are slight and feel almost fragile under Mike's hands. There's nothing fragile about the way he's kissing Mike though, sucking on his lips, his tongue stroking inside until Mike's making embarrassing noises in the back of his throat.

That's about the time Mike gives up on the idea of fighting it. He lets Mikey take charge, walking them backwards until Mike's back hits the wall, then Mikey's kissing him up against it, hard mouth and insistent tongue, until he turns Mike's knees to water. He's grinding against Mike's leg with a strange kind of awkward grace and Mike can feel how hard he is. Just as hard as Mike is. It's like torture.

Mike's only vaguely aware of Mikey's nimble fingers working at his belt until it gives and his jeans shift, sliding down his hips. Mikey's fingers curl into the waistband of Mike's undershorts and he pulls downwards. Mike shudders as cool air hits his ass, thighs and cock. It feels good, but he's acutely aware that they're in the band dressing room and he's not even sure if the door is closed, let alone locked. He doesn't have time to think about it, to deal with the fallout, because Mikey breaks the kiss with wet noise and starts to kneel.

Mike's glad for the wall at his back because he's pretty sure he'd be horizontal by now if it wasn't there. Mikey's looking up at him from the floor, his eyes intense between bright blond locks, his lips pulled up the tiniest barely-a-smile directed at Mike. He looks like sex.

Mikey's eyes drop from Mike's face to his cock and Mike has to gasp in a breath. It comes out on a moan and it's like Mikey was waiting for that sound, because that's when he leans in, taking Mike into his mouth slowly, so fucking slowly, working his way down Mike's cock until Mike's biting his palm to try to keep quiet. Because fuck. Who knew Mikeyway could deep throat ?

There's a strange calmness to the way Mikey gives head. He works entirely at his own pace, slow and thorough, driving Mike out of his mind one stroke at a time. Mike's fingers flutter down to rest on Mikey's head, not wanting to grab or mess with his rhythm but just needing to touch. That's when Mikey pulls off, wrapping his hands around Mike's cock to replace his mouth.

"It's okay. You don't have to be gentle. I like some hair pulling."

He doesn't wait for Mike to answer before taking Mike's cock back into his mouth, which is fine because Mike doesn't have any actual words for that. He's too busy trying not to white out because - fuck. That's fucking hot. He winds up moaning out a noise that vaguely resembles Mikey's name and Mikey hums in response, the sound vibrating around Mike's dick and it feels incredible.

Mike lets his fingers tense, curling into Mikey's hair and tugging gently. Mikey hums again and it's all the permission Mike needs to scissor his fingers into Mikey's hair and hang on. He doesn't want to rush things but he can't help pushing into Mikey's mouth, guiding his head with firm tugs on his hair and the noises Mikey makes are pure sex. It's like he wants Mike to fuck his mouth. And he does. Slow at first, and getting faster, feeling Mikey moan around him, his long fingers digging into Mike's hip and pulling forward.

When Mikey tilts his head enough to make eye contact, giving Mike a look that would put a porn star to shame, that's it. Mike's gone, bucking into Mikey's mouth, too hard but he can't help it, and Mikey takes it all. Mike shudders under his hands and mouth, moaning and shaking as Mikey pulls his orgasm from him, fingers biting into Mike's hip as he milks his cock to completion, groaning as he swallows. Mike nearly falls down then, the pressure of Mikey's hands on his hips the only thing keeping him upright. He leans heavily against the wall, breathing hard, covered in sweat, his heart beating so hard he can hear it in his ears.

"Mikey, Jesus. Mikey. Fuck. What was? Why?" He can barely get the words out between panting breaths and he's pretty sure his brain is about to melt out his ear.

He looks down just in time to see Mikey wipe the back of his hand across his mouth. He smiles a tiny smile up at Mike as he pulls his underwear and jeans back up, buttoning Mike messily back into them and doing his belt up on the wrong hole.

"Mikey?" Mike tries again, but Mikey just folds his legs under himself and gets up, leaning into Mike's space and kissing him softly, tasting bitter. It should be gross, but it's not. Mike's disappointed when Mikey pulls back.

"Come on." Mikey says without inflection. "We've got a show to play." He gives Mike's shoulder a final squeeze and starts to head towards the dressing room door. Which Mike can see now was open the whole time - great.

Mike takes a few shuffling steps after him, completely confused now.

"But don't you want-?" Mike flaps a hand at Mikey's crotch, where the tight pants he's wearing are doing nothing to hide his aroused state.

Mikey grins and shrugs. "I can use it." He says, reaching down to adjust himself in a really obvious and totally unashamed way. Then he's loping out of the room before Mike can even think of a response to that. And Mike has no idea what the fuck happened. No fucking idea.

But hey, he can use that.


The show is amazing. Completely fucking amazing. Mike beats the shit out of his drums, sweats everywhere and loses himself in the music. He even makes it through "Welcome To The Black Parade" without vomiting or being lynched by the crowd.

Gerard prowls the stage, shaking his leather-clad ass, swearing and winding up the masses. Frank writhes all over the floor and head bangs until Mike is sure his neck's gonna snap. Ray plays the fuck out of his guitar, a smile on his face every time he turns in Mike's direction. James is solid as a rock, his hair falling over his face as he plays hard, music pouring from his fingers. Mikey struts like a model, shaking his blonde hair back and forth and holding his guitar tight to his body.

The encore comes and goes and they wind up backstage, sweaty and pumped with adrenaline. Mike waits for the awkwardness to kick in. It doesn't. Everyone's on a post-gig high, Gerard can't shut up, Ray keeps piping in with remembered moments from the set and Frank is bouncing all over the room and the furniture. Mikey grins into his glass of soda and quietly watches his bandmates, looking amused. When Mike catches his eye he raises his glass slightly, tilting his head. It's the closest thing to acknowledgement of what happened pre-show that Mike gets, and he's really starting to wonder if he imagined it all.

The guys are about to get dragged off to a VIP after show when Mike decides to hit the showers. He's pretty certain his presence won't be missed at the shindig straight away, and he'll do better mingling if he's clean. The venue bathroom is quiet, and blessedly not disgusting, so he dumps his clothes on a dry bench, strips off and steps into the hot spray.

The pounding water is a relief. He leans his hands on the wall and sticks his head under the spray, rolling his head side to side and feeling the droplets massage his scalp. He's still got adrenaline buzzing through his veins. He probably won't shake this over-jazzed vibe until well into the early hours, but the water helps to relax him. He can't help thinking about what happened before the show, turning his face into the warm spray and remembering Mikey's hands, Mikey's mouth, the way he looked on his knees with his lips stretched around Mike's cock. It's still confusing as fuck but that doesn't make it any less hot.

Mike rubs his hand over his head, stopping at the back of his neck. Thoughts of Mikey are still sizzling in his memory and between that and the blood still racing through him it doesn't take much before his cock starts to take notice. Mike's hand skates down his chest, chasing over slick tattoos on the way down his belly, hovering at his hip, over the same spot Mikey's fingers had dug in.

He's daring himself to do it, to take himself in hand, remembering Mikey's swollen lips and porn star eyes, when there's a door thump, some splashy footsteps and a body bumps him from behind. His first thought is that it's Mikey, and his name is on Mike's lips as he turns... and gets an eyeful of bright red hair .

Mike startles, feet nearly slipping out from under him on the slick tiles. His brain takes a second to catch up, because Gerard has joined him in the shower. Still clothed. He's grinning at Mike through the spray, teeth white and eyes pinched, his crazy red hair already getting wet, pink droplets streaking down his cheeks. The black sleeveless shirt with the mysterious stains he's wearing is getting wetter by the second, starting to stick to his chest and water is beading and running in rivulets down his black leather pants. At least he took his boots off.

"Gerard, what? There are other showers, dude." Mike tries to shake it off. Maybe this is all some conspiracy by the Ways to drive him crazy.

"I know." Gerard says, smirking. "But this one's got you in it."

His gaze drifts down over Mike's chest, belly, hips, to where Mike can't hide his semi-aroused state. If Mike weren't already flushed from the hot water he'd be blushing. Not that he's afraid of being naked, but there's something hungry in the way Gerard's looking at him, and it's not like Gerard is naked too.

"You should just never wear clothes," Gerard says, his voice carrying over the pound of the spray. Gerard finally drags his gaze back up to meet Mike's eyes. "Ever."

"Gerard, what's going on?"

Mike tries to keep his voice level. He doesn't move to cover himself because what would be the point now anyway? Besides, it feels like it would be some kind of admission of weakness.

"This is kind of..." Mike shifts, suddenly the water feels too hot, his heart's pounding too hard, he feels dizzy and turned on and Gerard's looking at him like he's a meal. "This is kind of weird." Mike finally admits, not really willing to push more than that.

"Nothing wrong with weird," Gerard smiles again and shrugs.

That's all the warning Mike gets before Gerard invades his space, his wet shirt slapping against Mike's chest and his hands coming up to cup the back of Mike's head, pulling him in for a kiss. It's a weird kind of déjà vu that Mike has then, and he can't help wondering if the Ways really are in cahoots and they've decided they don't want him on the tour after all and this is their way of trying to scare him off.

Except Mike refuses to get scared off. If this is some kind of Way brother's head fuck or whatever, so be it, but he's not going anywhere. He relaxes his mouth and kisses back, letting Gerard take the lead.

Which isn't hard to do, because Gerard is just as good a kisser as his brother. Different, but still good. Where Mikey was a little rough, hard sucking and nipping, Gerard's soft, his mouth sliding and rubbing over Mike's lips. He's no less demanding, the way his fingers grip Mike's head and hold him to it. The way he presses closer, one leather-clad leg pressing between Mike's and Mike can't contain the groan that leaks out of him when he finally gets some pressure on his dick.

Gerard breaks the kiss, and Mike feels rather than sees the smile his mouth pulls into.

"You like that don't you?"

He grinds against Mike again, the wet t-shirt material rubbing against the sensitive head of Mike's cock and Mike groans again. It come out louder this time, without Gerard's lips muffling it and Gerard giggles - actually giggles - before he starts kissing him again, deeper than before and with a lot more tongue.

Soon Mike is clutching Gerard's shoulders for dear life and groaning into his mouth as he writhes against him. The contact is maddening, not enough to get him off, but enough to have him panting into Gerard's mouth, ready to beg, so fucking ready to get off. Gerard separates their lips again, his breath bouncing off Mike's mouth, water droplets hitting their lips. He snakes a hand down Mike's chest, his fingers tracing over his abs, down, down, until he's resting his hand lightly - way too fucking lightly - over the jut of Mike's dick.

He's still got one hand on the back of Mike's neck, his fingers stroking the skin there, the sensation mixing deliciously with the spray of the shower. All of Mike's skin feels super sensitized, and Gerard tightens his fingers around the head of Mike's cock, finding a firm grip, his thumb stroking lightly on the spot just under the head and that makes Mike's knees want to buckle. He bites down on his lip and concentrates on trying to stay upright.

Gerard starts to work his hand over Mike's cock, the water from the shower lending slide, his movements slow and deliberate. He bites lightly at the base of Mike's neck and Mike's hanging on to Gerard's shoulders for dear life now. Gerard's moving his hand just right, hitting Mike's sweet spot on every upstroke, moving maddeningly slowly. Mike's breath hitches out in a strangled noise and Gerard lick's a stripe up his neck, his breath hot in Mike's ear as he starts talking, his voice low and sounding like pure pornography.

"Fuck, I wish I could go down on you. I'd fucking love to suck you off. I bet you taste amazing."

Gerard's fingers tighten and he does this wrist-flick thing that has Mike's legs nearly sliding out from under him. His mind crowds with images of Gerard on his knees and he has to clench his eyes shut, gasp in a breath, try hard not to come right this second.

Gerard continues like he doesn't even notice how much Mike's falling apart.

"Fuck, I'd love to but we've got the fucking tour and my voice, you know? I can't so I just, I've gotta..."

He trails off for a moment, changes his grip and suddenly he's using two hands. One keeps working Mike's shaft, firm and tight, while he rolls his palm over the head of Mike's cock with the other. The combination feels fucking amazing. Mike's hips start twitching forward rhythmically, there's no way he's gonna last long. Gerard's still talking, voice still rough and throaty, but Mike can't follow all the words now, something about how Mike looks when he's playing, how nice his cock is, how much Gerard would like to feel it, in his mouth, in his ass.

"Fuck. Gee." Mike doesn't know what's worse, what Gerard's doing with his hands, or the stream of sin pouring from his mouth. His hips buck forward into Gerard's hands and he captures Gerard's mouth under his, silencing him. Gerard starts kissing him immediately, his mouth warm and wet from the steam, crowding Mike back against the too-cold tiles, his hands moving faster, faster.

Mike's groaning into Gerard's mouth, thrusting into his hands. Gerard breaks the kiss, panting into Mike's ear, his hands still taking Mike apart.

"Come on, Mike. Come for me. Want to see you. Fucking let go."

It's enough. It's too much. Mike's eyes clamp shut and he groans, too loud, feet slipping under him as his cock pulses in Gerard's grip, shooting streaks of white over his wet pants and sodden shirt. His eyelids quiver open, his heart beat staccato and there is Gerard, grinning at Mike and looking far too smug as he milks him through the last jolts, his hands slow and knowing, stopping a moment before Mike's ready to pull away, because he's just too sensitive now. His whole body is zinging from orgasm and all the blood in his head is frying his brain. He can't think.

"Gee, what was..? What's going on?" Mike voice is weak. Now that the urgency of his orgasm isn't blocking his brain function he's back to being confused. Really, really confused. "Gerard?"

Gerard just grins at him. His cheeks are flushed from the steam and his hair is wet, dripping pink water all over his neck. He looks so much younger than Mike knows he is, and so mischievous Mike wants to scream.

Well, the least he can do is give something back. He reaches for Gerard's belt, but Gerard pulls back, tsking at him.

"Nah-uh. That's not how it works."

He's still grinning wickedly and Mike's trying to hang on to that post-orgasm bliss because otherwise he's going to get seriously frustrated.

"Then can you tell me how it works?" There's a shameful amount of whine in his voice.

"Nope!" Gerard retorts gleefully, leaning in to steal a kiss that's too brief to be satisfying before twirling around and padding out of the shower, his dripping clothes leaving wet footprints across the floor as Mike stares after him, out of breath, still fuzzily zinging with orgasm and completely puzzled.

This makes absolutely no sense, whatsoever.

That's it. He needs answers. He needs to talk to someone about this. Someone sensible.

He needs to go find Ray.


Mike has to sit on his pile of unanswered questions for another twelve hours. There just isn't a good time until then. First, the guys are at the after show, surrounded by VIPS and industry suits, and then they're out signing autographs with the insane fans who waited out on the freezing cold and basically it's situation after situation where it would be completely inappropriate for Mike to talk about things that involve his cock.

The first opportunity Mike gets to talk to Ray alone isn't until the following morning. They're on the tour bus, en route to Manchester, and Gerard, Mikey and Frank have ensconced themselves in the front lounge with pop tarts and splattery movies. Ray being Ray, he's in the back lounge, hunched over his computer listening back to last night's recordings and no doubt picking over them and thinking wise thoughts.

Mike hovers in the doorway. He has to clear his throat three times before Ray notices him and looks up. "Hey, you got a second?"

"Sure dude, what's up?" Ray grins, sweeping his fro away from his face and Mike immediately feels guilty for throwing this at him. It's not Ray's fault the Ways are weird.

"Actually, you know what? I can probably figure this out." Mike flaps a hand at him. "Sorry, I shouldn’t bother you."

He starts to back out of the room, thinking he's going to have to go hide in his bunk because he can't face the thought of having to go and act normal around Mikey and Gerard. Not that Mikey and Gerard have been having any trouble at all acting normal around him. It's like nothing even happened, let alone twice in one day. It's driving Mike insane.

"No, hey!" Ray interjects, the insistence in his voice keeping Mike in the room. "Tell me anyway, I want to help."

Ray waves at the couch and Mike sits down, digging through his head for a believable lie to tell because fuck, Ray's too fucking nice. He can't lay this on him.

Then Ray scoots forward, leans on his knees and waits, considering Mike. His eyebrows are furrowed in thought and his eyes look huge and far too puppy-like. There's no way Mike can lie to him. Fuck.

"Okay, this is... Shit Ray, this is going to be way too much information and I'm sorry about that."

"Right so, I should get comfortable because his is going to take a while?"

Mike sighs. He rubs his hand over his face and finds he can't move his palm from his eyes. He leaves it there, telling Ray, "No, I mean TMI. You're gonna wanna wash your brain after this, probably."

"Sounds interesting."

Mike still hasn't removed his hand from his eyes but he can hear Ray smiling. Damn him.

"So, you going to spill, or should I re-cue this track and give you some time to compose yourself?"

"It's about Mikey and Gerard." Mike spits the words out, thinking if he talks faster it will be over sooner.

"Right." Ray says. There's a pause and Mike can't bring himself to fill it. "Do you want to elaborate on that, Mike?"

"Yeah, right, sorry." Mike finally drags his hand off his eyes, but he still can't look at Ray. He watches his own fingers twist in his lap instead. "Um. They, ahh. They've been..." He tries to think of a neutral word. "Weird."

Ray laughs. Mike looks up, finally, and tries not to hate Ray for enjoying this.

"Sorry dude." Ray shakes his head, his curls bouncing. "But you say that like you didn't already know they were weird. You've known them for years."

Mike tries to return Ray's smile but he can't quite pull it off. "You're right, sorry. Weird is not the right word. Um." He bites his lip. Fuck it. He should just come out with it. There's no subtle way to do this.

"So last night Mikey gave me head before the show and Gerard gave me a hand job in the shower after the show. And they're acting like it didn't even happen. And I still don't know why it happened, and don’t get me wrong - I had fun and all, but I'm really fucking confused now."

Mike has to physically stop himself from talking more. There's a long moment of silence in the room while he waits for Ray to process what he just said, the only sound being the distant screams of whatever horror film the guys are watching down the front of the bus.

"So both Gerard and Mikey have..." Now it's Ray's turn to search for a euphemism. Fuck it, Mike jumps in,

"Gotten me off?"

"Right." Ray shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds like work fast, guys but Mike's not sure.

Then Ray glances at the doorway, and back at Mike, one side of his generous mouth pulling up in a grin. Mike thinks maybe he sees something wicked in his eyes and it makes his chest constrict, but before he has a chance to try and figure out what it is, it's gone and Ray's wearing an expression so earnest it would give Gerard a run for his money.

"But you weren't like, offended, right? I mean, they didn't scare you or anything?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I love you guys, you're all awesome and I'm so fucking thankful to be on this tour but, fuck Ray, I'm so fucking confused. I can't figure out what it means. What I'm supposed to do." Mike immediately regrets laying it all on Ray like this, but it's too late. He forces himself to meet Ray's eyes and is surprised to find he's still smiling.

"Huh." Ray says, thoughtfully.

"Huh, what?" Mike says, blinking at Ray, a little mesmerized by the way Ray's watching him.

"You know, Mike," Ray slides closer on the couch, until his leg is pressed warm up against Mike's and there's a proximity alarm going off in the back of Mike's head because Ray's whole demeanor just changed and he's suddenly lost any respect for Mike's personal space. "You think too much."

Mike opens his mouth to argue, but the words get smushed against Ray's lips because - holy shit - now he's getting kissed by Ray fucking Toro.

Ray's lips are even softer than Mike would have expected. Not that he's thought about it or anything. Okay, maybe a little. But hey, hang on - Ray is supposed to be the sensible one. This is a conspiracy. Mike turns his head to break the kiss, though probably not as soon as he should, because - Ray's lips, fuck.

"Et tu, Ray? Et tu?" He tries to keep his voice light, but it comes out a little rough.

Ray just laughs, putting up his hands. "I can stop, if you like." The way he says it, he looks pretty confident Mike doesn't want him to stop. Of course, he's right about that.

"Can you tell me why?"

"No, that'd be breaking the rules."

"There are rules?" Mike winces at how high pitched the words come out.

Ray arches an eyebrow at him.

"Do you want the blow job or not? Because I got tracks I could be listening to."

He makes a move to get up but Mike catches him by the hand. Fuck, Ray has big hands.

Mike can feel his face heating up before he even says the words. "I want it."

When he can bring himself to look at Ray, Ray's grinning, the wide, beaming grin he gets on stage when he's really enjoying himself. It takes the edge off when he says, "Shut the fuck up then," and leans in to cover Mike's mouth with his own.

Mike leans into it, sucking on Ray's lips, the rasp of Ray's light stubble against his chin. Mike slides his fingers into Ray's hair. It's softer than it looks, the curls rubbing at his skin. He cups the back of Ray's head and opens up for him, letting Ray lick into his mouth, finding his tongue and stroking it with his own. Mike honestly didn't think Ray would swing this way, but he's kissing Mike like he's born to it, shifting closer on the couch until their chests press together, warm through two layers of thin t-shirt material.

Ray's hands slide up Mike's sides and down his arms, wrapping firm around Mike's wrists and pressing them down into the couch. Then Ray's moving, kneeling up and turning, pressing Mike down onto his back on the leather cushions.

Ray's movements aren't rushed or forceful, but he's totally in charge in the same casual, matter-of-fact way he is at sound checks. Gently arranging things the way he wants them with no fanfare. Arranging Mike the way he wants him on the couch, stretched out and prone, his hands pinned to his sides.

Ray's strong enough to hold him down, but he doesn't. His grip on Mike's wrists is loose, and he's not resting his full weight on him. But he could.

The thought of it is kind of hot and has Mike arching up off the couch, his hips seeking more pressure, his mouth still locked to Ray's. He can feel the pull of a smile on Ray's mouth a moment before Ray releases one of his wrists, sliding one warm, large hand over Mike's hip to rest over the fly of his jeans. Mike's already hard, and he knows Ray can feel it through the denim. Ray presses his hand down and Mike pushes up into the pressure. It's nowhere near enough.

Mike makes a soft noise, aware of just how short the distance is from here to the front room where the guys are. Ray keeps kissing him, slow and deliberate and Mike can't stop sucking on his lips. They feel so good on his mouth, so... suckable. Without the weight of Ray's hand holding his wrist down, he snakes his free hand between their bodies, searching for Ray's cock, wanting to tease him back.

Ray doesn't let him. He catches Mike by the wrist again, and gently places Mike's hand back down on the couch. Mike can't contain the little whine of frustration that slips out of his mouth. He breaks the kiss.

"Why not? Is that against the rules too?"

"Stop asking questions." Ray silences him with a kiss, harder and more forceful this time and Mike likes it so much he forgets what the question was. Or why he asked it. Ray's hand lets go of his wrist again, moving to tug at the button on Mike's jeans, and this time Mike leaves his hand where it lies. He'll never admit it but there's something kind of hot about Ray putting him in place and, for now, he's happy to stay there.

He's even happier to stay put once Ray gets his jeans open, his briefs tenting as his cock finds room to spring up. Ray breaks the kiss, grinning down at Mike for a moment - his generous lips all wet and shiny - before he shimmies down Mike's body until Mike can feel his breath feathering through the thin material of his undershorts.

Ray doesn't go straight for it the way Mikey did. He leans his face into Mike's crotch, nosing at his dick through the warm and slightly damp material. Mike looks down, but all he can really see is Ray's hair, which is a sight in itself. He forgets his resolve to stay where Ray put him, reaching up to bury his fingers in Ray's soft curls.

Ray either doesn't notice, or doesn't mind that Mike's using his hands again. He curls his fingers into the waistband of Mike's shorts and pulls them down slowly, the elastic bumping as it passes over Mike's cock, making it pop up once the shorts are out of the way. Ray tugs them down to mid-thigh and Mike has to draw a deep shaky breath when Ray leans down, hot breath feathering over his dick. Fuck, he never picked Ray for a tease, but that's what he's doing. He licks lightly at Mike's cock, brief slurps of his tongue over the tip, the shaft, the base, until Mike lets out a soft groan - a "come on" kind of noise.

"Fucking impatient." Ray mutters, fitting his wide hands to Mike's hips and holding him down, then bending his head to wrap his lips around Mike's dick.

"Shit. Shit." It feels fucking amazing. Mike can't help squirming a little as Ray's mouth slips further and further down. He consciously does not tighten his fingers in Ray's hair, and does not groan loudly, even though he wants to, because even though he can still hear the music from the horror film leaking down the hall at a solid volume, he doesn't want to advertise what's going on. It's bad bus etiquette.

Ray starts to work his mouth up and down Mike's dick and fuck, fuck. His mouth is made for this. His lips are wrapped tight around Mike's cock and they're so soft, and he's using just enough suction to drive Mike out of his mind. Mike's still trying so, so hard to hold still, the weight of Ray's hands on him helps, but soon his hips are nudging upwards pretty much of their own volition. Ray's fingers tighten on Mike's hips then, holding him down more solidly and Ray glances up, somehow managing to stare Mike out even with his cheeks hollowed around a mouthful of cock.

Is strikes Mike that his life is completely surreal a moment before he loses any ability to think at all. His entire existence narrows to Ray's mouth, Ray's hands. He's a sweating, panting mess under the tuition of Ray Toro's body and he gives himself up to it, reveling in warm hands and perfect suction.

Ray plays him like an instrument, drawing his orgasm out with careful movements, licks and swirls, until Mike's shaking - literally shaking - under him. He's so close, so fucking close. It's when anyone else would speed up, but Ray fucking slows down, his head moving incrementally on Mike's dick, peering up at him through his curls as the whine grows at the back of Mike's throat, getting dangerously loud.

"Fuck. Please. Fuck, Ray, please." Mike attempts a whisper but he has no idea how loud it comes out. He doesn't care either, he just wants to fucking come already, and he can't even push up into Ray's mouth because Ray's hands are immoveable, pressing Mike down into the couch - but that forced immobility just heightens everything that much further.

Mike struggles to breath, looking down at Ray with pleading eyes to find Ray watching him right back, his eyes dark and wicked as he slides his mouth up Mike's dick, until his plump lips are resting at the tip. He swirls his tongue around the head, slowly, eyes never leaving Mike's, steady as a rock like he knows exactly what he's doing and fuck, Mike can't even breathe right, he's trembling like a leaf, a moment away from grabbing his own dick and pumping because he's that fucking desperate now.

Ray slides his tongue over the tip of Mike's cock one more time, looking like porn and making it tremble and jesusfuck, so fucking close. Mike whines, panting, trying to draw Ray's head back down with his hands. Ray doesn't ease to the movement; keeping his head where it is, tormenting Mike with his tongue until Mike's certain he's going to have an aneurism.

He makes a pathetic, needy noise and suddenly Ray moves, shifting his hand to grab Mike's cock - low and firm - and strokes it, quick and a little rough. The move is unexpected but so exactly what Mike needs his own orgasm surprises him after only two strokes. His hips leap up and he makes a strangled noise as his dick pulses, release thrilling through him and spilling out of him, striping Ray's cheek and getting some in his hair.

Afterward, Mike can't move. His entire body feels liquefied. He can only stare dazedly as Ray wipes his cheek off, licking his fingers clean. Watching his wide fingers disappear into his mouth is an image Mike thinks dazedly that he should memorise for later study.

"Jesus Ray, you fucking wiped me." He says, noticing that his voice is totally shot now.

Ray just shrugs, one side of his mouth lifting in a grin.

"I like to be thorough," he says like he's talking about a musical arrangement or something. It's the same kind of confidence he has with his music and in Mike's opinion it's fucking well earned.

The couch creaks as Ray pushes himself upright, slumping back on the cushions. The way he's sitting makes his sizeable erection totally obvious and Mike finds himself staring openly.

"You're not going to let me take care of that, are you?" And fuck, right now Mike really, really wants to.

Ray shakes his head and Mike takes a tiny piece of satisfaction that Ray looks as unimpressed about it as he does.

Mike shakes his head, letting his arms flop down on the couch. "Fuck this band is fucking weird."

"It's not like we claim to be anything else." Ray says, and for a moment he sounds resigned, but he smiles that wide grin at Mike and Mike knows he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Put your dick away. It's bad bus etiquette." He smacks Mike's leg and reaches for his laptop again.

By the time Mike's put his clothes back to rights he's lost Ray to the pull of the Macbook again. Mike fights that niggling awkwardness and sits up next to him on the couch, nudging his leg. "We're alright, aren't we?" He asks, sounding more unsure than he means to.

"Yeah, we are." Ray glances up from the screen to look at Mike with meaning. "We all are."

"Right." Mike says, knowing Ray means Mikey and Gerard and himself too. He shoots Ray a smile and gets up, figuring he'll go and join the guys in their horrorfest. He's got an appetite now - he could totally go for some poptarts.

One more thought has him hesitating at the doorway.

"Ray, am I going to have to watch out for Frank now? Is he going to... you know?"

Ray raises an eyebrow at him over the screen, looking like he's fighting a smile. "You and your fucking questions."

Mike sighs, shaking his head a little. "You're not going to answer that one either, are you?"

"Nope." Ray smiles cheerfully and turns back to his laptop.


Things with Gerard and Mikey are weirdly, inexplicably normal. Same with Ray, though somehow he manages to be less on the weird side and more on the normal side. As usual. No one's talking about what happened - three times - and Mike sure isn't going to be the one to bring it up. It's a head fuck for sure, but now that Mike's shaken off his share of the awkwardness, there isn't any more to be had. It's just business as usual. The business of touring and playing and sleeping and eating. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Mike does watch out for Frank. It's not so much a conscious thing as niggling thoughts that bounce into his head when Frank's in proximity.

It could be his imagination, but it seems like Frank plays on it. Like, he'll brush past Mike in a hallway too close, the back of his hand a careless caress across the front of Mike's pants. He'll suck on his lips a little too loudly after taking drink from his water bottle at sound check, wiggling his eyebrows at Mike. His leg will brush Mike's under the table at catering. Occasionally, Mike will glance over at Frank only to find Frank averting his eyes, like he's been caught watching. It's mildly infuriating.

If something's coming, then Mike just wants it to happen already. He's had enough screwing around. It's time for some actual screwing around.

When their first hotel night finally rolls around and Mike walks into the room he's supposed to be sharing with Ray, only to find Frank stretched out on one of the beds, he figures this is it. It's tonight. Because somewhere along the way he came to the conclusion that this isn't going to be a trifecta - it's going to be a superfecta.

He kicks the door closed with his foot and shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it onto the bed. He throws his arms out to the sides, palms forwards and grins. "Have at thee, Frank."

"What?" Frank doesn't look over; all his attention is fixed on the television as he clicks through channels at an alarming rate.

"I know what's going on, Frank. It's cool. I'm fine with it. Can we just get it going though? The suspense is fucking killing me."

"I know, I know, okay?" Frank still doesn't look over. He just keeps clicking through the channels. "I don't know where it is in this fucking country. What the fuck?"

This is the moment where it dawns on Mike - with more than a twinge of disappointment - that there is a strong possibility that they're talking about completely different things. And only one of those things involves Mike's dick. And that's not the one Frank's talking about.

"What are you talking about?" He may as well be direct.

"Dude, fucking Iron Chef! What fucking channel is - aha! I'm a genius!"

Frank stops clicking channels and bounces on the bed victoriously. Mike casts a glance at the TV to see that yes - that is, in fact, Iron Chef and Frank is definitely wedging his ass into the mattress in preparation for some serious viewing. He pats the empty space on the mattress beside him and casts puppy eyes in Mike's direction. "You gonna watch with me or are you gonna be lame?"

Mike could think of things he'd rather do. Things that involve his dick. But there's no point being a jackass about it. He stomps down his disappointment and kicks off his shoes. Iron Chef isn't a bad show, and it's particularly entertaining with Frank's rambling commentary. He climbs on the bed beside Frank and settles in. The opening title music is still playing when Frank glances sideways at him and grins, looking as excited as a five year old on a lot of sugar. Or just Frank Iero on a normal day. Mike returns the smile before turning his attention back to the flashing knives on the screen.

It's a pretty exciting episode. It's semi-finals and the challenge ingredient is taro. Mike doesn't even know what taro is, and Frank has to explain it to him with a lot of wild hand gesticulation.

By the time the end credits are flashing by and the announcer is talking about the next must-watch episode, Mike's pretty much forgotten what was on his mind when he first stepped into the hotel room. He's happily relaxed and considering trying to talk Frank into channel surfing to try and find a rerun of Ladette to Lady when there's a flurry of motion on the bed and he suddenly finds himself with a lapful of Frank.

He's halfway through stammering out a "what the fuck" when Frank fits his hands firmly to the back of Mike's head, muttering "this would be so much easier if you had hair" before pulling his head forward and kissing him. Hard.

Damn it. Mike totally should have seen that coming.

Mike can't believe Frank caught him off guard like this. Still, he can't bring himself to complain. Frank is a damn enthusiastic kisser and the way he's licking and biting at Mike's lips has got Mike's heart thumping and his dick taking notice immediately.

He kisses back, sucking on Frank's lower lip and letting his teeth get involved. That earns a growly appreciative noise from Frank, setting him wiggling in Mike's lap.

Mike breaks the kiss to catch his breath. "I fucking knew you were fronting. You totally planned this."

"Planned what? What are you talking about?" Frank plays dumb, grinning at Mike with lips that are shiny and wet from kissing, before diving in to kiss Mike again.

Mike lets him, melting into it and grabbing a handful of Frank's hair. He devours Frank's lips thoroughly for a few more long moments, before tugging lightly at Frank's hair and pulling their mouths apart, his breath coming fast. Frank can't stay still, he's shifting in Mike's lap and the motions are really fucking distracting. Mike has to think hard to find his words.

"Mikey, Gerard, Ray and now you. What the fuck is this, Frank? Some kind of extreme hazing? An initiation? What?"

Frank doesn't answer. He purses his lips slightly, watching Mike like he's studying him. When he finally speaks he just says, "Ray said you were gonna ask questions," then leans in and kisses Mike again, hard, like that's his final word on the subject.

It almost is, because Mike is so close to just dropping it and taking what's being offered, and fuck Frank's good with his tongue, Jesus. But Mike didn't make it this long in the music industry without learning to be tenacious so he takes one more gentle bite of Frank's lower lip before breaking the kiss again. "Frank?"

"Dude, you're not getting answers. Now you really need to stop looking the gift horse in the mouth, and pay attention to his dick."

"You did not just talk to me about a horse's dick while we're making out."

"Hey, I'm not the one with the metaphors." Frank shrugs, then grabs Mike by the shoulders and tries to push him onto his back. Mike pushes back, not willing to go down easy and they end up wrestling on the bed. Frank doesn't have weight on his side, but he's quick and he fights dirty, not afraid to pinch and bite. Mike's stronger though, so when he manages to get a decent grip on Frank's arms he flips them over, trapping Frank underneath him with his body.

Frank doesn't stop wriggling, even though he doesn't have anywhere to go - Mike's got his arms by the wrists, up over his head, and Frank's legs are trapped between Mike's. Of course that means every time Frank moves his body rubs up on Mike's and Mike's not made of stone, okay?

"Stop pretending you're not getting off on this." Frank says. He's out of breath and his voice is rough, making it sound deeper.

"Stop pretending you're not." Mike shoots back, taking more weight off his arms so his body crushes down on Frank's. Frank writhes up against him, grinding his dick into Mike's hip and fuck. Mike likes that. He rolls his body down against Frank's, knowing Frank can feel the press of his hard-on and not caring - maybe even getting off on it.

Frank arches up off the bed, catching Mike's mouth in a kiss so hard their teeth clash at first, then he's biting, sucking, nipping at Mike's mouth and Mike's kissing back, feeling barely able to keep up. His hands loosen on Frank's arms and Frank pulls his hands free, grabbing Mike's shoulders and pushing and wriggling until he flips them over again in a scramble, nearly tipping them off the bed and onto the floor.

Mike has a moment of vertigo as he almost falls, ripping his mouth free of Frank's to gasp, and then laugh, because suddenly it's all so ridiculous. Frank starts laughing too, pressing his face into Mike's neck so Mike can feel his warm breath bouncing under his t-shirt, his chest vibrating with it where they're pressed together.

It's only a short respite. Mike's barely caught his breath when Frank starts mouthing his neck, teeth catching in a way that gets Mike twitching underneath him. Frank works his way lower, grabbing the hem of Mike's shirt and pulling it up to his armpits, a rush of cool air hitting Mike's overheated skin. Mike gets a glimpse of Frank's wicked grin before he tosses his head and ducks, setting to work tracing his tongue over the lines of ink stretched across Mike's torso.

At first all Mike can do is catch Frank's head in his hands, because his brain hasn't caught up with the rest of his body and Frank's mouth, just - Frank's mouth. He hears himself making an embarrassing noise as Frank's teeth graze his nipple, glancing down to find Frank's eyes on him, a manic grin pressed into Mike's chest. Mike returns the smile shakily, and Frank slides his tongue across the valley between Mike's pecs to nip at his other nipple. It's an edge of pain and it zings straight to Mike's cock. He sucks in a breath, his hips pushing up off the bed. Frank does it again, alternating between biting and bathing Mike's nipple with his tongue. It's good. Really good. But it's not enough.

Mike grinds up on Frank, unable to stop himself. Frank keeps working his mouth on Mike's skin, sliding a hand down the front of Mike's pants, straight into his underwear. Mike nearly chokes on his own breath when Frank's hand gets him in a messy grip, stroking him awkwardly in the confined space. Then Frank's kissing him again and it's an onslaught - all tongue, teeth and lips as his hand moves, and fuck it's artless, uncontrolled and a little painful, but it's so fucking hot. Mike kisses back, rushed and wanting, catching a hand in Frank's hair and pushing his hips into Frank's hand. They continue like that, the desperate scramble of wanting more, but not being able to get closer, until Frank loses patience. He breaks the kiss, muttering, "fuck this", sliding his hand free of Mike's cargoes to rip at his belt.

Mike sits up a little. His t-shirt feels like it's choking him so he wrenches it over his head as Frank makes short work of his belt, pulling roughly at the button and zip of Mike's fly until his pants are open, then wrenching them down to mid thigh and just diving down.

And it's not like the entire experience hasn't been going at the speed of a runaway train and Mike already can't catch his breath, but going from a rushed groping to Frank's mouth on his cock is a little mind-blowing. Mike can't actually see for a moment, his eyes are fluttering so hard. He opens his mouth, letting out a long, agonized noise and Frank just sucks, right to the back of his throat. It's all hot wet heat and suction and Mike can't remember how to breathe. His limbs turn liquid and he falls back on the bed, giving himself over to Frank, and Frank takes him, pushing one of Mike's legs upward and shoving his shoulder underneath and just going for it.

"Frank. Fuck. Jesus." Mike pants out the words, not even sure what he's trying to say.

Frank pulls his mouth off Mike's dick, replacing it with his hand, stroking Mike off with quick fire fingers, slick with spit.

"Yeah, I know. I'm fucking good at this."

Frank licks a stripe up Mike's cock from the base to the head. "It's okay, you can fuck my mouth. I like it."

Before Mike can even fathom an answer Frank sucks him down again, fast and wet, working the base of Mike's dick with his hand as his mouth works the head and Mike's fucking gone. He sinks his fingers in Frank's hair and lets his hips rock up, pushing in to Frank's mouth in counterpoint to Frank's bouncing head.

Fuck, fuck he's not going to last. Frank's too good at this, too fast, too furious. Mike doesn't stand a chance. He bucks into Frank's mouth and hands, feeling his cock hit the back of Frank's throat and moaning at how good it is.

Frank moans back, humming around his cock, working his lips and tongue and sucking, just sucking. Mike's making noises he doesn't even recognize, fingers flexing in Frank's hair, hips bucking up underneath him. Frank takes it all, not stopping, pushing Mike onto a razor's edge, ready to tip.

"Fuck, Frank. Fuck, I'm gonna- I'm gonna-"

Mike tries to force out a warning but Frank doesn't heed it, he just works his mouth and hands impossibly faster, sucking even harder, then Mike's coming apart. His hips shove upwards and his body stiffens, every muscle taut as he groans and shoots between Frank's lips. Frank just takes it, milking him with his mouth, fingers dug sharp into Mike's hip and hanging on as Mike rides it out, shaking with the force of it. Frank strokes him through it until Mike's done, boneless and panting and totally wiped.

Frank pulls his mouth off with an obnoxious slurping noise. "You all right, princess?"

Mike's better than fucking all right. His skin is sizzling, his heart's pattering and his every atom is buzzing with post orgasmic happy vibes. He's fucking amazing.

"Your mouth should be illegal, dude. You're a fucking danger. To society. And the world at large."

Fuck, his voice is wrecked. He still can't breathe properly.

Frank crawls up to flop beside Mike, leaning on his elbow like a centerfold.

"You say the sweetest things." He cackles his high pitched giggle and shoves Mike in the chest.

Mike lets him do it, he's got no fight in him, his entire body is made of marshmallow right now and he could care less. He stretches out, bare assed and bare chested, his dick hanging out and feeling entirely cool with the world.

"Dude, I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but I like it." Mike tells the ceiling.

"Hey, I had no idea when it happened to me. You just gotta roll with it."

Mike turns his head to look at Frank so fast he nearly snaps his neck.

"When it happened to you?" His mind whirls backwards - of course. Frank wasn't an original member of the band. "So this has happened before. Fuck this is some kind of like..." Mike waves his hand, groping for the right term, "Some kind of hazing or initiation or something."

For a split second the expression on Frank's face is priceless, he knows he's said too much and Mike jumps on it. "That's it, isn't it? That's it."

Frank starts making throat cutting gestures at Mike like that'll shut him up. "Dude, don't. We do not talk about Fight Club."

"Fuck, that is totally it. I am a fucking genius." Mike grins, shoving Frank in the shoulder. "I knew it was a conspiracy. It's like some kind of fucked up secret handshake with you guys."

"If you tell Gerard I said anything I will cut you." Frank prods Mike in the arm, hard enough to bruise.

Mike just laughs and it feels light and bubbly in his chest. "What the fuck am I gonna say? Except thank you?"

Frank just pokes Mike in the shoulder, repeating, "I will. I will cut you. Cut you," in what Mike imagines is supposed to be a threatening voice, except Frank's lips keep breaking into a smile that is no way threatening.

They wind up giggling until the bed is vibrating with it, lazily kicking and slapping at each other in random bursts. Mike's strangely not surprised to find he's okay with it. He's fine with anything right now. That is, until Frank squirms his way off the bed and starts shoving his feet into his shoes. Mike sits up, wriggling back into his pants and underpants so he can move. "Where are you going?"

"Not my room, dude, I was just borrowing it." Frank gets his shoes mostly on and kneels up on the bed, leaning in to cover Mike's mouth in a kiss that's softer and less urgent than his earlier ones. Mike's just starting to melt into it, one hand coming to rest on Frank's hip, when Frank breaks the kiss and wriggles away, leaving Mike alone on the big, big bed.

Mike watches Frank's back as he shrugs into his hoodie.

"You know, the part where you guys can do whatever you want to me and I can't do anything back? I don't like that part. That part sucks."

Frank shrugs, tugging on his hoodie. "Since when has this band been about following rules anyway?"

Good point.

Mike slides off the bed to go after Frank, but Frank moves too fast, shouting "Too slow, Pedicone!" as he bounces out the door, slamming it behind him. Mike stares at the closed door and frowns, but he doesn't go after him. There's plenty of time for him to get his revenge later.

He turns back to the bed, ready to collapse when the door pops open a crack and Frank sticks his head back into the room, grinning at Mike.

"Welcome to touring with My Chem, Mike."



Mike stays later at the Berlin sound check than the rest of the band. There's something funny going on with his snare and he doesn't want to leave it to chance, so he waves the guys off and they head for catering without him. By the time Mike figures out the problem and fixes it, he gets back to an empty dressing room. He changes his sweaty shirt for an almost-clean one, hoping there'll be something worth eating left for him by the time he gets to the catering area.

The dressing room door creaks open. Mike looks up to find James stepping inside, grinning wickedly at Mike behind his floppy hair as he crosses the room with fast strides.

It takes Mike a moment to process just how dangerous James' smile looks. By then he's got his hands on Mike's belt, whispering words that come too late to be a warning.

"You do realize it's the touring band, right Mike?"

Oh. Oh fuck.