Pete had a problem. One that he couldn’t actually solve himself. He needed to someone to turn to.
The trouble was, he wasn’t sure who to turn to, exactly, with this problem. He’d tried bringing it up with Patrick, but Patrick hadn’t even let him get through an entire sentence before he clapped his hands over his ears and started singing "la la la la la!" so loudly, Andy had come running to the back of the bus, drumstick in hand, wondering if he needed to get Pete’s dick out of the faucet again.
So, not Patrick. And definitely not Joe or Andy, because, well - because no. He loved his guys, but they weren’t exactly what he’d call "understanding" or particularly discreet, either. Andy would probably have a million and one suggestions on how to stick it to the man, so to speak, but none of it in any way related to Pete’s own man troubles, and Joe would probably go on and on about the need to fill the void with weed, and then Pete would be back where he’d started, only even more frustrated.
This boiled down to him needing to seek council outside of his own band, which left – well, the My Chem boys were pretty fucking discreet and sensitive, he had to give it to them.
The problem there, of course, being that Pete’s troubles began and ended with the My Chem boys, or, well, one boy in particular.
He stopped himself sighing like a girl, picturing Mikey’s gangly arms, sure fingers on the frets, his stupidly adorable non-smile, and those fucking – brilliant eyes, always hiding exactly how brilliant they were behind smudged lenses. But Pete had seen them at their best, though, in secret and in bubbling joy, and he wanted more.
Unfortunately, he just didn’t seem capable of doing more, and therein lay his problem.
So, he couldn’t really talk to Mikey about it. Well, he had tried, kind of, and wound up stumbling over his words and horrible unicorn analogies, while Mikey started texting somebody, and Pete had to shut up quickly and think of a new plan.
Toro seemed like a totally nice dude and all, but straight as a fucking arrow. Shocking, considering the rest of their faggoty band. It was entirely possible that Bob enjoyed the company of other men, but he was always so distant around Pete, it kind of freaked him out. He just couldn’t even imagine talking to Bob about the fucking weather, let alone his – yeah. So, no.
Gerard was, for reasons that didn’t even need explaining, completely out of the question. Which, really, was a shame, because Pete was fairly certain that Gerard Way was the gayest fucking dude Pete had ever come across. He sometimes wondered what his and Mikey’s mother must be feeling, considering she raised two such total fairies. Then again, they were rock star fairies, and also, Pete wasn’t going to start casting stones, or anything.
This left only one person. Pete kind of cringed, and chewed on the inside of his cheek. The bus in front of him now loomed unforgivably, and he made to turn around, then flashed again to Mikey’s frustrated and confused face in his mind, sighed, and shuffled his feet forward. They dragged along the dusty ground. He wondered if he should invest in some smaller shoes, Chucks or something, and then shook his head to clear it.
Come on, Wentz. It was time to man up. He sighed again, then pushed the button under the flap on the side of the bus and the doors hissed open.
Iero was napping on the couch, which wasn’t an unusual circumstance, from what Pete understood. Dude totally wore himself out on stage, any idiot could see that, but Mikey had also explained to Pete the whole "Epstein Barr" thing, which just sounded horrible to Pete, so he had to think twice about waking Iero up. What if he, like, interrupted the dude’s whole flow or something, and caused Mikey’s band to have a horrible performance? What if he ruined their careers, or something, because Iero couldn’t fucking finish the set? What if –
Iero coughed on the couch, and, as Pete watched, popped open one of his eyes. Pete froze in place, not really sure how to explain the fact that he was sort of watching the dude sleep like a first-rate creeper. He decided that the better part of valor was just coming right out with it, so as soon as Iero’s confused head lifted up off the couch cushion, Pete took a breath, and then released it all in one gush, before anything could interrupt him.
"So, I kind of have this sensitive issue – uh, problem – and I sort of really need to just lay it out for someone, and I figured you might be my best bet, and I’m really sorry if me waking you up is going to cause you to collapse on stage, and, so, like, should I go now?"
He tasted blood all of a sudden, and realized that he’d mumbled everything around his hangnail. He swallowed and forced his hand down, wiping the blood away with his thumb. His teeth ached a little.
Iero blinked at him, and Pete saw his expression change from "sleepily confused" to "confused" to "ready to take your questions now, listeners!" in less than five seconds. The pause between Pete’s accidental tirade and Iero’s response, however, seemed to stretch across the entire bus. Finally, Iero blinked a few more times, and croaked, pushing himself up on his arms, "Uh, okay. I was – I was just napping, I’m not sick or anything." He frowned and added. "Sit. You’re freaking me out."
Pete’s knees gave out from sheer relief, and he flopped down into a chair across from the couch, legs sprawled and hands by his sides. It occurred to him that maybe he should ask if there was anybody else on the bus with them, but it looked pretty deserted. Pete trusted Iero not to lead him into a trap of some kind, which was weird, but he also knew that this kid was the closest thing Mikey had to a best friend, so he couldn’t be all that bad, right?
He looked up at Iero sitting up on the couch, slowly arranging his inked limbs into a lounging position, and considered him. Finally Iero lifted his chin in question.
"So, what’s up, dude?"
Pete found his hangnail again and bit down. "I – so, I like this pers – this dude, okay?" Iero’s eyes just squinted at him. "And, like – I really like him, okay? Like. A serious lot. But, here’s the thing. I – I don't really –"
Here Pete kind of choked on his tongue, and had no idea how to untangle his brain for this. How would he even phrase it, and, Jesus, was he seriously about to talk to Frank Iero, of all people, about his dude issues? Well, apparently, he was, because he looked down at Iero in a kind of wild frenzy, hoping to transmit it all with his brain and not have to actually say it out loud. Iero just peered at him questioningly, looking like he wasn’t sure what he’d stepped into. Pete almost gave up and ran away about ten times before Iero finally said, his voice rising in a question. "You don’t really – do dick?"
Pete made an embarrassing squeaking sound in his throat, and if he ever got off this bus, it was possible that he could still pick up the torn shreds of his dignity and self-respect, but he wasn’t sure his reputation would survive the process.
Iero looked like he was torn between running away and laughing at Pete’s entire existence, and all Pete could do was bury his face in his hands and groan.
"Oh, come on!" he heard Iero exclaim, like Pete had personally injured the guy. "I just – I don’t get that, man, that’s all." He reached over to grab a bottle of water off the table and took a sip. "I love dick."
Pete was actually shocked into abandoning his hands in favor of staring at Iero like he was a crazy person.
"Really?" he asked, not at all sounding like a five year old girl. "But –" Here he hesitated, uncertain as to how tactful he should be. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and abandoned whatever small amount of tact he’d ever had in favor of sheer curiosity. "Why?"
Iero really did laugh this time, and Pete forced his shoulders to relax back into the chair, still biting his hangnail and worrying it along with his lip. It was a disgusting habit, he knew that from Patrick’s constant nagging, but he couldn’t quit now. His neck felt hot, and it prickled under his t-shirt. He scratched it.
"Fuck, man, I don’t know," Iero answered. "Born that way? Because dick is awesome?" He shrugged, still kind of giggling to himself, but then he seemed to really notice Pete, and the smile slowly fell off his cheeky face. "Okay, we’re apparently having a serious conversation here. Sorry. Uh." He coughed, then looked away, staring at a wall opposite like it held the answers to all the questions in the universe.
"I just –" Iero furrowed his bizarrely manicured-looking eyebrows, like he was really thinking deep thoughts about dick, and paused. Pete watched as he sat back on the couch, moved his ass this way and that, and Pete suddenly realized that Iero was fucking blushing.
Which. There was only room in this conversation for one uncomfortable dude and he, as the dude who’d brought said conversation into being, called dibs. He rolled his eyes and expressed this very thought. "Dude, I just told you that I have no idea how to suck cock. Just – come on. Tell me why you like it."
That seemed to kind of take some of the uneasiness out of Iero’s posture, and Pete watched the smile return to his face, one tug at a time. Iero shrugged again, and began picking at the threads at his torn knees. "I – it feels awesome. It feels awesome to do, and it feels awesome for the other guy. It’s just – sex, you know? Doesn’t matter who it’s with, whether it’s pussy or dick, sex is fun. Or, like, it should be, you know?"
Pete just said, "Huh," and kept scratching at this neck, playing with his hair in the back. It was kind of soothing, and he desperately needed to do something with his hands. He thought about what Iero had said, and asked, "But, like, what if – is it possible to just not be wired that way? I mean, okay, duh, it’s possible, straight people, gay people, whatever, but what if you’re – you’re –"
"Kind of in between?" Frank supplied, tilting his head to one side.
Pete nodded, scrunching up his nose. He didn’t even really know he was an in-between guy. He didn’t really know what he was at all, except kind of crazy about Mikey fucking Way. He figured it was a start, though.
Frank shrugged, and bit his lip. "The way I see it, is this. Like…I didn’t choose to like anything in particular, I just kind of – do. And yeah, I, uh, I totally love dick, like, I really do, and, by the way?" Pete watched Iero squint at him and grow a little hard around the edges, "If this conversation ever leaves the bus, you know you’re fucking dead, right?"
Pete felt his eyes widened and he nodded very, very quickly and, he hoped, in a very reassuring manner.
"Good," Iero nodded, and relaxed once again. It was funny how he could just change personalities like that, looking like the dude who’ll fuck you up in a dark alley with no regard to his own insubstantial size one minute, and then like the cutest and cuddliest pussycat in the world who just wants to curl up at your feet and lick you the next. "So, like, yeah, I get being confused, ‘cause it’s almost…liking the person first, and then their whatevers second. Right?"
Pete blew out a breath, and nodded again. He was starting to get a crick in his neck. "Yeah. I mean, Mikey –" Shit fuck motherfucker, he hadn’t actually meant to come out and say that, at all, but when he shot Iero a sharp glance, no surprise registered in his expression. He must have known all along. Pete found it to be a relief of many sorts. He forced himself to go on.
"With Mikey, I just – he’s so awesome, you know? And I – I like hanging out with him. And – doing stuff with him." Pete shifted a bit in his seat, and wondered when both he and Iero had transformed into fourteen year old girls at a sleepover. On a tour bus that smelled like unwashed ass. Then he realized he didn’t care. "I just – fuck, Iero, I like him, you know?"
Iero’s face split into a pretty fond grin. "Yeah, man. I know. He’s the best, right?"
Pete nodded, his own grin answering Frank’s without his permission. "But, like, he’s all – okay with…you know…"
"The dick stuff," Frank helped him out again generously.
"…Right. And I’m – not sure." That was probably the closest approximation to the truth he could actually say out loud. He wasn’t good with dick at all, but it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be. He was, if he was totally honest with himself, completely shitting himself, totally out of his mind, freaked out by dick, and he had no idea why.
He looked to Iero for more guidance, trying – and probably failing – to get the pleading off of his face.
"Look, man, this is what I know, okay?" Frank sat up and put his hands on his knees, Buddha-style. Pete concentrated on watching his knuckles, the "H" and "LL" and "E" and the small cuts in between shifting over Iero’s skin as he drummed his fingers on the surfaces of his jeans. "I know that it can be, like, intimidating, doing something you haven’t done before. And you’re not fourteen anymore, so you kind of don’t have the excuse of being young for not knowing what you’re doing, either. ‘M I right?"
Pete grunted in response. His thumb was getting a serious beating here, and it was going to pay later, when he had to play a whole fucking set with it.
"So, uh. Fuck, I cannot believe I’m even fucking saying this, but – okay, fuck it, it’s for Mikey." Frank cleared his throat, looked anywhere but at Pete, and practically battered his kneecaps with his fingers. "Look, I’ll tell you the easiest ways to get a guy off and maybe you’ll, like, actually try it and like it, all right? Just – don’t fucking tell Mikey, man, it’s creepy enough as it is already."
Pete could not ever remember loving a dude more than Frank Iero at that very moment. Because yeah, he was totally and entirely intimidated by the idea of doing anything to another guy’s dick, but he’d also kissed Mikey behind his tour bus just last night, and he still remembered the shudder that had gone through his entire spine at the tentative touch of Mikey’s tongue to his, and with his eyes closed, it didn’t feel like kissing a guy. It felt like kissing Mikey.
He didn’t even answer, just leaned forward, and propped his arms on his knees, waiting. He kind of wished he’d brought his notebook with him, or something.
Iero sank a little deeper into the couch, like he maybe wanted to disappear for a bit, but he cleared his throat again, winced, and began.
"Okay, so, like. Imagine it’s you on the other side of it, all right? You’re already starting out on the right foot, or whatever, ‘cause you know what feels good. Not, like, I don’t know, hair-pulling or something, but, like, seriously. You’ve gotten blowjobs before – what feels best? You just have to channel that, or - yeah." Iero scratched up and down his arm, and Pete noticed that as he talked, Frank looked more and more mesmerized, like he was turning inward.
"Don’t, like, go for deep-throating or anything like that at first, just –" Iero’s knee jiggled up and down. "Just - hold it in your hand and then go down as far as you can, but comfortably, so you don’t gag. Make it wet, too, and, like – I don’t know." He blew out a gusty sigh and ran a hand through his hair. It flopped back over his forehead. "I like messy. Messy and fast, and that is kind of a guaranteed orgasm right there. Uh, by the way, if I were you?" His gaze skittered over Pete, then away again. "I’d probably just start with a handjob, to be honest."
Pete’s throat was dry and these images kept popping up into his head – him on his knees in front of Mikey, hands over Mikey’s bony hips, mouth over Mikey’s –
Hovering over Mikey in Pete’s bunk, hand around Mikey’s –
But the images were incomplete, like his brain refused to finish the scene, as if – as if it knew that Pete didn’t have the imagination for that. But he wanted to, he wanted so much to complete the scene, find out what Mikey’s face looked like when he came, how rumpled and awful Pete could make his hair look afterwards. How Mikey would look at him the moment after Pete made him lose all control.
"Are, uh, handjobs easier?" he asked, and then mentally rolled his eyes at himself, ‘cause duh. Frank didn’t laugh at him, though, just nodded, all serious and sincere.
"Yeah, dude, and awesome, too. You can, I don’t know…look at the other person." He paused, eyes cast down. "Just, uh, you know, with the – lube and shit, if you got any, might make it easier, maybe."
Pete said, "Huh," and chewed on his lip. They fell silent, and his ears rang a bit with the after-sounds. He wondered what Iero was picturing as he was telling Pete these things. How many guys had he been with, anyway? Had it been relationships or quick hook-ups? How many guys on this tour had he sucked off, one or a hundred? Pete couldn’t help seeing Frank with a new eye, for some reason, like, he’s totally sucked cock! And loved it! I wonder if he’s any good at it? Does he spit or –
"Oh, shit," he breathed, and then clamped his hand over his mouth, because he wasn’t so sure he wanted to even go there.
Frank furrowed his eyebrows. "What now, dude?"
"Uh, well –" Pete watched his own hands wringing each other, the push and pull of his fingers, familiar and grounding. What the hell. "If one were to, say, you know – start off not so easy – the, uh – uh –" He’d basically poured his entire confused soul to this dude, but he couldn’t even ask him a simple question about jizz. Pete was hopeless. Luckily, Iero seemed to have been channeling his brain, or something, because he once again fished Pete out of murky waters.
"The big finish?" The only sign of his amusement was a slightly quirked eyebrow, and Pete was pretty fucking grateful. He suddenly wondered what he would have done had somebody come to him with a problem like that. Frank Iero was a seriously nice dude for not throwing Pete out on his ass twenty minutes ago.
"Yeah, I definitely recommend you don’t try the really big finish," Frank said, quickly licking his lips. "Pull off, dude. Though it’s messier if you do." Now he grinned and looked so totally smug, Pete wanted to throw a pillow at his head. Unfortunately, none were available, so instead he just flipped him the bird and grinned back.
"Listen, uh – thanks. I think I can – I think I got it. I’m good." He hadn’t known he was going to say it until he did and found it to be true. Maybe he really could do this. Maybe – yeah. Yeah.
He had a sudden and absolutely ridiculous need just to see Mikey, never mind the rest of it. Maybe make him giggle like he had the night before. And then - kiss him; touch him; get him crazy.
Pete’s mind had no trouble supplying the image of Mikey with his eyes closed, intent on Pete and his mouth and – yeah, Pete definitely had to go and find Mikeyway, like, yesterday. He was so more than ready.
He got up quickly, wobbled a little on his feet, and looked down at Iero. Pete’s neck felt itchy again, and he scratched at it a little. He fell back into awkwardness, not really knowing the words to thank Iero for being so kind of amazingly awesome. "Listen, man, thanks. Seriously. I swear to God, not a word, all right?"
Iero grinned at him with his stupid self-satisfied smile, and kicked Pete in the shin. "No worries, man. Have, uh, fun. And once it’s done, or whatever, I totally don’t wanna hear about it, capisce? Like. Ever."
Pete grinned, and kicked him lightly in the knee in answer. "I can live with that."
He was halfway to the tents when he turned around and saw Frank jogging after someone. Pete stopped, a bit mesmerized, and watched as Iero’s quick hands darted out and grabbed the guy’s jacket – Gerard’s, Pete realized, he’d caught up with Gerard – and then, after a moment’s worth of negotiation, they were both gone behind one of the busses. He grinned and shook his head. He knew that Iero wasn’t there to tell on Pete.
Now he just had to go and locate his Way.
His Way, it turned out, was hanging out in the middle of a crowd, which really kind of cracked Pete’s shit up. The dude was so weird – he’d be totally aloof and camera-shy and skittish when you first saw him, and then you blinked, and he was the life of the party. Pete had a whole theory going on how Mikeyway’s personality ran in direct proportion to the number of cameras pointed at him. It was no wonder he looked a bit like the prettiest zombie in zombie land when on stage.
Pete noticed a few people he knew, a few he didn’t, and for just a moment, he had no idea how to extricate Mikey. Then he remembered that he’d harnessed a rep of being a weirdo for a fucking reason, and shook his head to clear it before heading off and putting on his most winning smile.
"Mikeyway!" His felt his smile grow a little wider when Mikey noticed him and waved, phone in hand. "Coming to that thing with me?" He really hoped that Mikey would go with it, and not ask him what thing he was talking about, because, quite frankly, Pete’s one idea ended there.
But there was a reason Pete was kind of crazy about this guy, because Mikey Way not only didn’t question Pete, but also mouthed a relieved "Thank you!" at him once he’d passed all the scene kids. He looked really good, too. He was wearing a grey beanie cap, and a faded black t-shirt, with skinny-ass grey jeans tucked haphazardly around his sneakers. His arms were tanned from being outside so much. Pete found himself noticing the veins crowding around Mikey’s hands and spidering up his arms, just another sign of the summer heat.
Pete didn’t say anything when Mikey jogged up to him and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He just smiled at him, and led him away. He didn’t hold his hand or anything, but he made sure to brush their fingers together, an acknowledgement, or maybe a promise.
Up until then, he hadn’t really thought about where they could go, but now the need for privacy hit him in the gut. He didn’t want this to be a rushed, one-off kind of deal. He wanted to take his time. Partly because he wanted to kiss Mikey for as long as was humanly possible, and partly to give himself room to fuck up and then make it better again.
When they were sufficiently far away from the swell of the crowds, Pete chanced to take Mikey’s long fingers in his and squeeze. "Hey," he said, looking up at Mikey, hiding a bit behind his bangs.
"Hey yourself," Mikey told him back, smiling a secretive smile.
Pete huffed a laugh and ducked his head. "So, uh – listen. I wanted to – uh –"
Pete frowned and broke off when he saw a large figure lumbering across the parking lot over Mikey’s shoulder, and seriously, he couldn’t even believe his luck. He raised his eyes back to Mikey’s and said, all in a rush, "Stay here, and I will be right back – like, literally, give me two seconds, okay?" He squeezed his fingers one more time, and ran off to tackle Bout.
Bout was the coolest roadie around, and Pete had wormed his way into Bout’s heart a few months ago, when he hooked him up with a pink-haired scene chick who loved burly guys. Now, Bout would pretty much do anything for Pete, which was really fucking handy, because Bout owned a van, and he also asked no questions.
"Bout, my maaaan!" Pete yelled in his ear and jumped up high enough to hook his feet around Bout’s middle, and his arms around the back of his neck. Bout wobbled a little unsteadily for a second, then dug his feet into the ground and wrapped his hands around Pete’s ankles.
"Wentz, Jesus, gotta warn a guy, or something." Smoke curled up towards Pete’s face and he scrunched up his nose in pretend disgust.
"Those’ll kill you, you know," he said, poking Bout in the cheek.
"So will you, if you don’t fucking get off me, man," Bout grunted back.
Pete giggled and allowed himself to be gently set back down. "So, I need a favor, man," he announced, once his feet were safely on the ground.
Bout turned to face him and gave him a good-natured smirk, ashing on the asphalt. "What a surprise. What is it this time? I got no weed for the Troh, but I could probably score some off of Carly."
Pete made a face, and jiggled his leg around a little bit. "Not that kind of favor." He turned back to look at Mikey. He was still standing there, looking like a droopy marionette, right arm hooked behind the left elbow, texting with his thumb, and not looking at Pete.
"Okay, here’s what I need. I need your van," Pete explained once he turned back to Bout. "And also, like, keep it quiet, all right, man?"
Bout squinted at him, then shrugged and reached for the clip at his belt. "Fourth row back, five spots over by the curb, F35 0RM, New York plates. You get any crap on it, you clean it up."
Pete had so many awesome people in his life. "I love you, Boutsminster!" he crowed and jumped up in a vain attempt to give Bout a noogie. Bout held him off with one hand, and laughed at him from above.
"All right, little man, you just remember what I said." He threw the keys in Pete’s general direction, and he was still chuckling when they bounced off Pete’s stomach and Pete scrambled to the ground to get them. By the time Pete ran back to Mikey, he was thrumming with his entire body in anticipation.
"Okay, so, as I was saying, I wanted to –"
Here he paused. He had no idea, now that he had a place and a time, how to introduce the subject to Mikey at all. They were a little too close to everybody else to really do anything out here, and Pete had always found it easier to show, rather than tell. He wished so much he could just reach out and kiss Mikey, put their lips and tongues together, get close. His face felt like it was glowing, and he could no longer tell if it was from the heat of the sun or his thoughts.
"You wanted to –" Mikey looked confused or something. It was hard to tell, obviously, because dude had the best unintentional poker face in the land, but his eyes got squintier somehow. Pete reached out without thinking and touched his elbow. If he could have an entire conversation about sucking cock with Frank motherfucking Iero, he could damn well say this. He breathed in very deeply.
"I wanted to – take you someplace. Just – just the two of us."
Understanding flashed across Mikey’s face and unthawed it. Suddenly, a small smile peeked out across his cheeks, and Pete answered the smile with one of his own.
"You wanna?" He nodded towards the parking lot, and barely waited for Mikey’s quiet, "Yeah, I wanna," to drag him away.
Mikey razzed him only a little over the fact that they were headed out towards the vast sea of cars, but by the time they reached the back of the lot, and Pete spotted the tricked out black-and-spangled Astro by the curb, Mikey’s expression changed to something harder to read. Pete just held onto his hand until he fumbled with the key, then slid it into the back door, and creaked it open.
It was dusty on the inside, but there were no seats to get in the way, ‘cause Bout used the van for drum kits and stuff like that. The windows had been painted over with a coat of white, which left the dust motes to float in airy anonymous light, highlighted against the thin industrial carpet that covered the entire floor. It was fucking perfect.
Pete climbed in first, then turned to Mikey, who was looking only a bit dubious. "This where you bring all your dates, Wentz?" he asked, but got in once Pete had extended his hands to him.
"You bet," Pete answered, shuffling across the floor, and then clamped his mouth shut, because a sudden wave of nausea hit him like a bullet and he had to swallow in order to not vomit.
This was it. He’d known that this was where it’d been headed, but before, this whole thing had been mostly inside his own head, and a lot of things happened inside Pete’s head that never materialized into reality. But Mikey was with him now, and he knew it, too – he knew exactly what Pete had planned for him, for them both, and there was no way to unwind it now, except to wind it forward.
Pete turned away from Mikey for just a moment, to give himself time to breathe and take it in. He pretended to look for a pillow or a blanket or something, which, shockingly enough, he found – a quilt tucked in between the passenger’s seat and the door. Dusty and smelling like the van concentrated to the nines, but softer than the floor, anyway. He crab-walked over to get it, then turned to crab-walk back when soft hands encircled his waist and pulled him back around. He was face to face with Mikey now, shins planted on the floor, and they were so close, he could see the first traces of Mikey’s sweat pooling at his collar.
"Mikey –" Pete breathed against him, and caught his own reflection in Mikey’s glasses. His own eyes looked huge looking back at him. His hands fell uselessly by his sides, but a thrill ran up his spine, a thrill of being held, held up, and held down. He was in between Mikey’s strong hands now, and he had nowhere to run. Put like that, he rejoiced at the choice taken away.
"Pete," Mikey replied, and squeezed Pete’s sides a little bit. "Are you – I mean, is this –" He broke off, looking frustrated, but Pete caught the line where it had fallen.
"Yeah. I’m – I’m gonna – I’m gonna do my best, okay?" He winced a bit at how that might have sounded, so he added quickly, "I want to." It was true, too. He looked up at Mikey’s face, so close to his own, and down at their twin sets of legs, dusty knees facing each other. "I really, really want to try."
Mikey bit his lip, like he was still considering saying no and leaving, and now Pete’s panic rose up once more. Mikey couldn’t leave, he had to stay and say yes, because Pete – because Pete wanted him to.
When Mikey’s lip slid back out, Pete caught it against his own – lightly at first, then crushing himself against it. Mikey gripped him tighter, and they had and they hadn’t come close to this in the snatched moments before, but there had always been the insurance of it ending before unknown territories. Not so much anymore.
Pete opened his mouth, followed Mikey’s tongue with his own, and lost himself in the kiss. Mikey tasted like coffee and his own flavor, lurking in the corners of his lips, the underside of his tongue. Pete chased the taste, scattered his own in his wake. He loved kissing, loved the feeling of satisfaction it gave him, deep down in his belly. He pressed closer to Mikey, and then he felt Mikey’s hard cock push up against his hip.
He waited for the panic to set in, almost held his breath for it, but then Mikey’s hands slid up along Pete’s back, moved up to his shoulder blades and rested there, like quiet possessing. Pete pushed his hips back into Mikey’s, and felt Mikey shudder against him. Felt it everywhere, and where there should have been panic existed only anticipation, and only a little bit of fear.
He wrapped his arms around Mikey’s neck, brought them closer still. His knees dug into the floor enough to make it uncomfortable, and he remembered the blanket he’d abandoned.
"Hang on, I just – hang on." He broke off the kiss, and turned to grab the blanket and wrestle it open on the floor. They had to keep moving their knees out of the way, and after his fourth tugging attempt to get the blanket to occupy the space underneath them, Pete gave up and left it messy and rumpled, tumbling them both onto it. Mikey slumped against his side and over his hip, and Pete could feel his belly trembling, like he was laughing. He turned himself over and found Mikey’s laughing face, trapped it between his hands and kissed the shit out of him.
"Fuck the blanket," he breathed, and giggled a little nervously. He was, if he was totally honest with himself, shitting himself a little bit. He wouldn’t let it show, though, not for anything. "Now, let’s see about you…"
Mikey ceased giggling and Pete saw the change in him, the shift from kittenplay fun to something stronger, more intense, and shivered. He had no idea that he could read subtlety: he was usually pretty bad at picking up other people’s mood changes, but here, he’d felt like the very air around them shifted and crackled. Mikey threw an arm over Pete and propped himself on it, hovering over him, watching him intently. Pete shifted a little and tried not to blink as he reached out a tentative hand and slid Mikey’s glasses off of his face.
They got stuck around one ear, then in his hair, but Mikey just shook them off like a dog and allowed Pete to set them aside under the driver’s seat, away from the dangers of limbs. Mikey was panting a little, like he’d maybe ran a block in the sun with no warm-up, and Pete leaned up and traced the shape of his lips with his tongue.
Mikey blinked, eyes a little unfocused now, and then just – shoved Pete down, no preamble, tongue in his mouth, cock hard against Pete’s hip. Pete moaned, felt it all the way down in his toes and clutched at Mikey’s back. He was – fuck, Mikey felt stronger and heavier than he looked, and a little bit scarier, too. Not in a bad way, just in a way Pete wouldn’t have expected from such an unassuming guy. It was intimidating, and Pete searched for the panic again, like maybe he’d gotten it wrong, after all, but his stomach only fluttered in that familiar anticipatory, "want to see you naked now, please!" kind of way. He went with it.
He gathered strength and rolled them over, not breaking the kiss. That got them closer, somehow, legs intertwined, and that was familiar and hot and he repaid Mikey with his own cock against Mikey’s hip. Mikey gasped into his mouth. "Fuck –"
"I know," Pete murmured and decided that this was his time, now or never, he was going to fucking do it, and at least one of them was going to fucking love it. (He really hoped it wouldn’t just be him.)
He kissed Mikey one more time, licked his lips, and then slid down. His elbow burned along the ground, and his knee popped in a kind of unexpected way, but he barely even noticed. Mikey’s t-shirt was rucked up, and the pale line of his belly stood out, soft and new, and Pete followed the thought with tongue, just light touches that could have been nothing at all. And since he was down there, he – he could just – pop open that one button, let Mikey breathe a little. It sounded like he was struggling for breath up there, and Pete chanced a look up at his face, just a quick, hi, still with me? glance.
Mikey was still with him. He was tracking Pete’s every movement with his unfocused eyes, but he was there, one hundred and ninety percent, Pete knew it. Mikey licked his lips, leaving them shiny and open and fucking wanton. Pete looked back down and slid down the zipper.
Mikey wore boxer-briefs, like Pete, and it was actually entirely possible that they had on the same underwear. That had never happened before, and Pete almost laughed, except that then the opened fly revealed the shape Mikey’s dick through the thin fabric, and oh yeah, okay. Okay.
Right. He was – yeah, okay.
He leaned down and touched it with a tentative fingertip. Mikey hissed and his hips moved a little, like he was trying to hold back but couldn’t. Pete looked back at Mikey’s face and saw that he had tipped his head up, eyes closed. The line of his Adam’s apple dipped and peaked and Pete swallowed hard. Mikey was fucking gorgeous, propped up on his elbows like a painting, or a model, or something. Pete had absolutely no idea how he’d even wound up here, but this wasn’t the time to question it.
He resettled himself so that he wasn’t getting acquainted with Mikey’s dick nose-first, and then slid his fingers under the briefs. Mikey was completely still underneath him, still and soundless, but so present, Pete’s head spun. In one decisive move, he slid Mikey’s briefs off over his hips, and down his legs, and he was so, so far deep into this, there was absolutely no way to deny any of this in court, if the matter were to ever come up and accuse him.
Mikey was exposed now – the twin jutting lines of his hips, the treasure trail leading down to the pubic hair, and his cock, hard and slender and definitely, definitely male.
Pete didn’t panic, but he did lick his lips a little nervously. He was glad that Mikey wasn’t saying anything, or moving much at all. Which, he realized, must have been costing the guy quite a bit of control. He was just letting Pete do his own thing very generously, and after Pete looked up at Mikey’s face for confirmation that he could really do this, he did.
Remembering what Iero had said, Pete wrapped one hand around the base, which finally threw Mikey into movement, hips coming up to meet Pete’s hand, being, apparently, very happy to do so. Mikey made a noise like an aborted grunt, tightly controlled. Pete’s own dick kind of jumped and reawakened at the sound, and he found himself encouraged.
He leaned down and – what had Frank said? Make it fast and messy? He could probably do that – slid his tongue out to get his first taste, just a little, at the slit. Mikey thrashed a little above him, just enough to show that he was human. Pete grinned and the next time he tasted cock, it was way less tentative, and a lot more dirty.
Yeah, so it was weird, being this up close and personal with somebody else’s dick, but it was kind of – it was a turn-on, too. Even the slightest contact with Pete’s mouth caused Mikey to inhale sharply, or gulp down hard. It was fucking hot.
So, he went for it and stopped thinking. He slid his lips around the head, went down just enough to wrap his mouth around a few inches, and hummed at the taste, which was simply – sex. It tasted like sex – different sex, maybe, with a different smell and a different texture, but it was skin and it was sex and Pete fucking loved sex, so he went down deeper.
Mikey stopped reining himself in. He shook and gasped and swore, and the sounds of his abortive fucks and Gods cranked Pete's handle in the best way. It was seriously intense and Pete tried to concentrate on that instead of how sore his jaw was getting from keeping it open for so long, and how suddenly salty his mouth tasted. It wasn’t a bad taste, exactly, but it was incredibly strong, almost overwhelming. He breathed through his nose as much as he could, but he still didn’t feel like he was getting enough air, which sucked, because he really was enjoying this.
He pulled off real fast just to get more air into his lungs, and then his fist got in on the action, too, and he met it with his lips as much as he could, pumping Mikey in some kind of rhythm. He knew it was disjointed, and probably not the best blowjob Mikey had ever received, not by far, but he hoped to at least get points for enthusiasm.
He listened to Mikey’s broken voice and let it carry him along, allowed himself to speed up when he thought Mikey needed it, to suck harder, to really give it his all. When Mikey actually cried out Pete’s name, softly at first, then stronger and more urgent, Pete pulled off just in time, hand still pumping and stroking, because this part, at least, he definitely knew.
He was so intent on just watching Mikey’s face as he was getting closer and closer, that he forgot to move away. Which turned out to be a mistake, because one second he was watching Mikey’s face go slack and hearing his strangled cry – and Jesus H. Christ on a bike, that was the hottest, most intense thing Pete had ever seen, God, that was Mikey fucking Way he’d done that to – and the next second, he was getting a full load of jizz in his face, right under the left eye.
He spluttered and flailed, because that was fucking disgusting. He immediately dropped Mikey’s dick and went to wipe the crap off of his face, which had been mistake number two, because his hand was also covered in Mikey’s come, and seriously, seriously, Pete was covered in slime, and then, Mikey was actually laughing at him. Giggling like a fucking schoolgirl, in fact, knees digging into Pete’s sides because he’d doubled over, the shitty-ass motherfucker, and just giggled to himself like he had no intention of ever stopping.
"Augh!" Pete yelled and grabbed the bottom of Mikey’s t-shirt, wiping his entire face on it. There, who was laughing now, motherfucker? He didn’t think he’d gotten all of it, but at least he wasn’t completely covered anymore. "Aww, man, fuck you, Mikeyway!" he declared, trying very hard to stay pissed off, but he was only hitting pissy, because he thought he’d been doing well up until that point, dammit, and also, he still hadn’t gotten off, his hard-on having miraculously survived the jizzing-in-face incident.
"I’m sorry, I just –" Mikey was clutching his stomach like it hurt, and wheezing. "I just – the look on your face -" He dissolved into more giggles and Pete rolled his eyes and kicked him in the shin. Mikey hiccupped and raised one floppy hand to wipe away the tears gathered in his eyes. He quieted down and then finally raised himself up on one arm to look at Pete. Pete tried not to look as petulant as he felt. "I’m sorry," Mikey said, quietly, and then leaned in.
For a moment, Pete thought Mikey was going to kiss him, but instead he felt the wet tip of Mikey’s tongue trace up along Pete’s cheek. Pete didn’t – what? – and then it hit him.
"Shit, are you – what’re you – fuck, that’s –" he spluttered, then shut up as Mikey’s tongue licked down along his jaw, hot breath fanning over Pete’s skin and making him shiver. That was fucking dirty. He grinned. "That’s fucking dirty, Mikeyway."
Mikey hummed in response, and flicked his tongue over the shell of Pete’s ear. Fuck. Pete gasped. Mikey did it again, at a different spot, lingering. Pete moaned, and melted into Mikey’s touch. His dick was throbbing. Mikey found Pete’s earlobe and bit down on it lightly, and the next moment, Pete found himself thrown onto his back, with Mikey trapping him between his arms, sucking on Pete’s ear. Déjà fucking vu.
Pete closed his eyes and pawed at Mikey’s arms, his back, his shoulders. He was starting to lose his mind, and he had no idea how he could even still be turned on after what happened to his face, but he realized that he just didn’t even care anymore. His entire body was thrumming with want, and he didn’t really know what he wanted, just that he did. He maybe even wanted another go at Mikey’s dick, more carefully this time, but he also desperately needed to just get off already, throw down and just do it, and Mikey Way was a fucking tease.
"Mikey," he moaned. "C’mon, Mikey, it’s your turn – I did it for you –"
Pete broke off when Mikey’s palm landed directly on his dick over his jeans. He hissed.
"Impatient and needy, that’s what they say about you," Mikey whispered against Pete’s ear, and Pete gulped, his throat dry. He licked his lips.
"They’re right, whoever the fuck they are," he croaked, and let out a small cry when Mikey ground his hand against Pete’s dick again. "Fuck, at least – shit, the zipper –"
"I’m fucking getting there," Mikey whispered again, and shit, if that alone wasn’t doing Pete in. Everything sounded dirtier when whispered like that.
Pete shut up and bit his lip and waited until Mikey fumbled with his buttons and zipper, and then tugged on Pete’s pants until Pete lifted his hips and wiggled them down to his feet and out of the way. His underwear followed.
He wasn’t shy or anything, but Pete still watched Mikey’s face carefully for a reaction – maybe Pete’s slightly inept blowjob made him less hot somehow? – but all he saw was heat, so much of it, he didn’t know how they hadn’t melted the van yet. He waited, breath suspended, to see what Mikey would do – jerk him off? Blow him? And the seconds stretched for a whole eternity over them, because Mikey just kept – looking. Looking and stroking Pete’s tattoo with a careful finger, over and over and over, hypnotizing his skin into constant shivers. Pete was going to explode. Not a small part of him hoped it would happen all over Mikey’s face.
The larger part just wanted it to happen, though, just – just for something to start, so that when he finally croaked Mikey’s name, it came out almost as a whine. "Mikey, please -"
Mikey jerked a little, like he had hypnotized himself, and then shot Pete a glance so dirty, it was probably illegal in forty states. Pete bit back a moan and waited.
Mikey went down on him. It was smooth and graceful and like a kick to the gut. Pete threw back his head and pounded the floor with his hand when Mikey sucked him in and just – wouldn’t – stop. Pete had so clearly been an amateur at this, because this, right here, was a motherfucking blowjob.
Mikey’s mouth was hot and wet and tight and Pete struggled to sit up and watch him, see the hollowed out cheeks, the fluttering eyelashes, his pink fucking mouth, stretched obscenely over Pete’s dark cock. With his free hand, Mikey was clutching Pete’s hip, fingers digging in hard and tight. Pete had been hard for so long, he had forgotten the intensity with which an orgasm could build once you got going, but all of a sudden, he was ratcheted up to a level he wasn’t sure was even human.
He couldn’t stop himself from crying out, or gasping, or moaning, or swearing – none of it would stay inside, because Mikey was just gaining in speed, still not having let go of Pete’s dick for even a second, and then Pete felt it, the kick in his balls – in his belly – he hadn’t even warned Mikey – and then he was coming, shooting down Mikey’s throat and shaking, shuddering helplessly against the floor and over Mikey’s knees. He wondered, vaguely, if anybody could see the van a’rockin’, and also that wow, maybe he should really try swallowing next time.
"Jesus fucking Christ." Pete ran a shaky hand through his hair, then looked over to his left, where Mikey had collapsed next to him, the blanket scrunched up underneath him. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was – oh, man, a little raised and oh so red, and Pete was going to hell for how hard that was turning him on. He reached out and tried to pet Mikey’s hair, but missed and wound up poking him in the eye, instead.
"Ow," Mikey noted placidly.
"Sorry," Pete giggled. He finally succeeded in flattening down Mikey’s messed-up hair, and then realized he was staring at the dude with, like, fucking stars in his eyes. Oh, he had it so bad. He forced himself to move away before Mikey opened his eyes and found him out.
So, Pete guessed he liked dick now. He chewed the thought over. Maybe he just liked Mikey’s dick. He didn’t think he could have done that for just anybody, anyway, and he was pretty comfortable with that, he realized.
Dick or no dick – either way, they were a total disgusting mess. Mikey’s t-shirt was kind of ruined, and they hadn’t either of them pulled up their pants yet. Pete smiled and reveled in it, because one of the things that was kind of awesome about being with a dude as opposed to a girl was that the other dude didn’t care about cleaning himself up afterwards. Pete stretched and bumped knees with Mikey and felt all his joins pop at once.
He felt fucking good. Accomplished, even, and not a little bit smug, either. Did this make him a bonafide cocksucker now? He rolled this thought over in his head, too, like, cocksucker, you’ve sucked cock, Petey. He grinned and licked his lips.
"Hey," he poked Mikey in his bony side. "Hey, I sucked your cock, Mikeyway."
Mikey snuffled next to him, a quiet laugh. "Yep."
Pete waited for more, but Mikey just lay there quietly, looking kind of boneless and smug, and way too comfortable for a dude whose hips were digging into the hard van floor. "Well?" Pete prodded him.
"Well, what." Mikey opened one eye and looked at him for a second before shutting it again.
"Well, was it awesome or what?" Pete asked, ‘cause, seriously, he needed data, he had to know how to proceed from here. Mikey scrunched up his nose, and Pete just watched him, growing more horrified with each passing moment.
"Yeah," Mikey finally admitted, like he hadn’t wanted to. "Yeah, it was pretty awesome," he finished.
Pete shoved at him. "Pretty awesome? Screw you, man, not bad for a first time, and I let you come on my face," he protested.
Mikey finally opened both his eyes, meeting Pete’s gaze, and Pete just looked back at him and felt warmth spreading through his belly.
"You didn’t let me, I just kind of did," Mikey explained patiently, hooking one finger under Pete’s t-shirt collar.
"Whatever, I could have totally ducked if I’d wanted to," Pete retconned and left it at that, because Mikey’s exploratory finger felt kind of nice. Pete wouldn’t be able to get it up had he wanted to, but it was nice to just lie there and feel good. Satisfied.
"Okay," Mikey agreed, and scooted a bit closer to Pete. Pete smiled and caught him by the back of his neck, bringing their lips together, trading soft kisses in the quiet humid air. He realized that they probably looked ridiculous, with their pants and briefs down around their shins, t-shirts ridden up and crooked and stained. He didn’t really care.
After a while, though, the floor got really fucking uncomfortable, and Pete had to admit that it was probably time for them to head out. They weren’t either of them playing any time soon, but they were possibly due for a sound check. Just as he thought it, he felt his phone vibrate somewhere in the vicinity of his leg and sighed.
He scooted up and his bare ass burned against the quilt when he fumbled for the phone. He flipped it open. It was Patrick.
where r u douche snd chck
Pete texted quickly back, ur mom & on my way, and threw the phone down. While he was up there, though, he might as well retrieve Mikey’s glasses for him. He fumbled under the driver’s seat, found a dusty red stress ball, a broken pen and a crumpled receipt before his fingers hooked around the frames.
He blew on them, then squinted through the lenses and breathed on the smudges, wiped them on the bottom of his shirt. "Here," he said, extending his hand in Mikey’s general direction, and then finally struggled to his knees, pulling his underwear and jeans up over his ass.
It took them both a little while to make themselves even halfway presentable. At first they tried helping each other out, but that ended with not a lot of getting presentable getting done, but it did include a lot of kisses, so Pete was all right with it. But then his phone went off again and he had to admit that it was maybe better that they actually get the hell out of the van. The last thing he did was roll the blanket up in a ball and put it back where he’d found it. Lack of evidence, and all that. He was pretty sure there was no come on it, anyway, and didn’t give a shit beyond that.
The mid-day sun hit them at once as they slid out of the van. Pete looked around to see if anyone had noticed them climbing out of the van, and immediately went for three separate cover stories that began with weed and ended with being chased by a herd of wild groupies. He didn't see anyone, though, so he fumbled for his shades and realized that he’d lost them somewhere along the way.
"Fuck," he sighed, and then squinted over at Mikey. His beanie hat was probably killing his head with the heat of it, but it was better than whatever the hell was underneath it right now. Then Pete’s gaze slid down and he snorted. "Oh, man. Dude, you’re – gonna have to change your shirt at some point."
"What?" Mikey frowned, then looked down on himself, hand patting where his skeleton shirt was stuck together with dried come. "Huh." He looked at it for another second and shrugged. "It’s seen worse," he noted, and then threw Pete a quick grin. "It’s Frank’s, I think. He’s gonna fucking hate me."
Oh, Mikey didn’t know the half of it. Pete giggled and took Mikey’s hand in his own, twining their fingers together. "He’ll have to deal," he said, and tugged Mikey along behind him.
Pete walked him almost all the way to the My Chem bus, having dropped Mikey’s hand somewhere between their own space and everybody else’s. Every once in a while, he wondered what they must have looked like to the people around them, felt a tug of paranoia behind his navel. But everybody looked kind of eerily similar – zombie-like and tired and dirty, clutching cups of coffee and cans of Red Bull like their lives depended on them, so he breathed a little easier and ambled along until it was time for the two of them to go their separate ways.
He knew they’d see each other after their shows, maybe even during if he could shake his guys off and just watch My Chem for a while, but still, he didn’t want to let go quite yet. He stopped when he saw the busses looming up ahead, and watched his shoes for a little while, considering what he could do change them up, maybe draw around the bottoms, or something.
He looked up when Mikey cleared his throat and gave Pete a wan smile. It grew a bit when Pete smiled back at him.
"So, uh –" Pete started when Mikey interrupted.
"Listen, I, uh – I know everybody’s going to be, like, out partying over with the Bled, or whatever, afterwards. Wanna meet me back here after our set? We could, I dunno." Mikey paused and shrugged jerkily. "We could hang out." He gave Pete a quick glance, and Pete shivered.
"Yeah. Yeah, totally. Text me when you’re on your way?" He reached out and touched his fingers to Mikey’s hip, quickly snatching his hand back. He felt giddy, like he could float off the dirty ground and up into the air, higher than anyone, just seeing the tops of everybody’s heads. He wanted Mikey to do it with him.
Mikey nodded quickly, and bit his lip again. Pete saw his cheeks color a little, and it was so fucking cute, Pete laughed. Mikey gave him a dirty look, and kicked Pete’s foot a little with his own. "All right, I’m gonna go – clean this shit up," he finally mumbled, and took off, Pete watching his back retreat. He wished he could have kissed him again, but it would just have to wait.
He shook his head a little, turned around, and walked directly into somebody’s chest. He looked up and nearly choked on his own tongue. He’d bumped into Gerard.
"Hey!" he said quickly, stepping back. "Sorry, man! How, uh, how’s it goin?"
Gerard, he noticed, looked like he hadn’t seen Pete up until Pete had actually invaded his personal space. He also looked like he’d been hit over the head with a two by four, all stunned around the eyes, and his hair a total mess, like, worse than usual. But the grin on his face was unmistakably that of the recently fucked. Pete felt his face split into the biggest grin ever. Clearly Iero had wasted absolutely no time at all.
Gerard blinked at him a few times, then scratched his head, and nodded. "I’m good, man, really, uh, really good. How are you?"
I just blew your brother in a van! he thought gleefully, and answered, "I’m awesome, man!"
"Awesome," Gerard echoed, then tilted his head a bit. "Uh, you’ve got some – uh, something right –" He reached out and tugged on Pete’s hair, right over his left ear. Pete blinked, and then the realization hit him. He was full-on Something About Mary-ing it all over fucking Warped, and Mikey hadn’t even fucking said anything. Asshole.
"Uh," he uttered, and then wished that the ground would open up and swallow him whole because Gerard totally reached out and got the rest of Mikey’s jizz off of Pete’s hair and wiped it on his pants. Dude was seriously disturbed, Pete thought in a kind of dumb admiration. "Thanks?"
Gerard flashed him a huge grin. "No problem, man! Well, good show, all right?" He turned on his heel and went off to where Mikey had gone only a minute ago.
Those fucking Ways, Pete thought, and reached for the phone just as it buzzed against his ass.
He flipped it open.
haha o yeah u got jizz in ur hair xoxo mw
Pete couldn’t help it, and snorted.
s alright ur brthr totes got it on his pants xoxo pw, he texted back.
It was maybe ten seconds later when his phone buzzed in his ready hand. i h8 u
Pete laughed and began to walk back towards the tents. see u l8r luvr, he texted, when the phone buzzed in his hand again. He pressed "enter."
srsly if ur not here in 2 secs u r no longer in the bnd >:(.
Pete giggled and hit "reply".