Work Header

It's Not A Thing (except for when it is)

Work Text:

The first time it happens, it's an accident. It's also totally Mikey's fault.

Ray's got Mikey laid out under him, his legs hot and sticky-wet where they're hooked over Ray's shoulders. Ray's fucking him, deep and steady, revelling in the breathy grunts that escape Mikey's lips every time he bottoms out. Mikey's head is tilted at an odd angle, his head pressed against the upholstery and they barely fit together like this in the sweaty, stinky van. In fact, every time Ray pulls back, his bare ass hits a box of merch, but that doesn't interfere with his rhythm at all.

At least they don't have to be quiet. The parking lot is a ways from the hotel room where the rest of the guys ares sleeping, piled up like puppies in the two single beds. None of them even stirred when Mikey and Ray slipped away to rendezvous in the van.

It's been days since they've had any semblance of privacy and Ray and Mikey didn't even manage to get their clothes all the way off before they found more important things to do with their hands. So every time Ray's hips shove forwards, his belt jingles in his jeans where they hang loosely around his thighs and Mikey's jeans slide against his back where they dangle from the ankle of his left leg, hooked over Ray's shoulder.

Mikey's messy hair, stiff with product, slides across his forehead and Ray pushes it back. He needs to see Mikey's face, already barely visible in the dim light filtering in from a street lamp. Mikey's getting close, he can tell from the noises he's making, the tightness of his hands on Ray's waist as he pushes back on every thrust; Ray doesn't want to miss it. He pushes his hands through Mikey's sticky, sweaty hair, the movement fast and hurried. That's better, he can see Mikey's eyes now, dark and hot, locked to his own.

He goes to pull his hand back, needing to steady himself so he doesn't lose the precarious balance he has, half kneeling on a box of merch beside the seat; but his fingers are trapped in the tangle of Mikey's hair. He somehow manages to keep his rhythm - he can't lose pace with Mikey so close - but he tugs too hard, yanking on Mikey's hair strongly enough to wrench his head to the side.

Mikey yelps, stiffens and comes.


Afterwards, when they're dressed again, the skin of Ray's belly stiff under his t-shirt with a smear of drying come; Ray apologises.

"I'm sorry," he says gently, brushing his fingers lightly through Mikey's hair, over the spot where his hand got stuck earlier - trying to soothe away the pain.

Mikey looks up from tying his shoes, a furrow in his brow, "for what?"

"For this," he circles his fingers gently, "I was hurting you."

"Oh," Mikey's face goes forcibly blank, then he looks back down at his shoes, seeming to take a long time to tie them, "it's cool, I don't mind."

"Well I mind," Ray says, somehow not able to let it go. He presses two fingers under Mikey's chin until his head tilts up, "I don't want to hurt you."

Mikey blinks a couple of times, not meeting Ray's eyes. Ray can feel Mikey's skin warming underneath his fingertips.

"No, I mean..." Mikey takes a breath, his eyes skittering up to meet Ray's then darting away again, "I liked it."


Ray doesn't gasp, but he's suddenly very aware of his own breathing, and how loud it sounds in the quiet of the van. Mikey only waits a moment before turning back to his shoes, finishing off tying the laces and tugging the van door open. The night air is cool and fresh compared to the sweaty, hot van air and Ray has to scramble to catch Mikey up.

He snares Mikey's arm and waits until Mikey turns to meet his eyes before asking, "you liked it?"

Mikey shrugs, his eyes darting downwards and sideways before settling on Ray's face. "Yeah. It just felt-" Mikey takes a breath, his mouth pulling to the side while he searches for words, "good. Intense."

"Huh." The word drops from Ray's mouth unbidden. This is news to him. Not for the first time since he and Mikey started hooking up, he has to fight down that icky feeling of doubt. The annoying voice in his head wondering if Mikey needs more. What if Ray's fucking this up? "I just," the words stumble out of Ray's mouth, "I didn't know you liked that, um, kind of thing."

Mikey shrugs again, this time it's less yeah, whatever and more don't worry about it. "Sometimes it's good. You know. It's not like, a thing." Ray quickly decodes the explanation and reads the exact opposite.

"So, what, like just hair pulling, or do you-" Ray doesn't manage the rest, the do you like other things too? part of the sentence.

Mikey busies himself with sliding the van door closed, testing to make sure it locks before he finally turns back to Ray with a carefully blank expression. "I like lots of things. A little pain gives it an edge sometimes. It's not a thing."

Mikey starts to head back to the shitty hotel, his shoes slapping lightly on the blacktop.

Ray follows, trying to slow the thoughts spinning through his brain. He needs at least a sliver of a chance at getting some sleep tonight.

The problem is, the more Mikey insists it's not a thing, the more Ray is positive that it's totally a thing.


The next time Ray and Mikey manage to sneak off together, it's half an hour 'til sound check and the van is not an option because Otter is napping in it. Mikey shouts something across the parking lot at Gerard about a search for twizzlers and they wind up in a seedy bar across the road from the venue, with tiny bathroom stalls. (They've got a rule about not using the actual venue bathrooms for hookups because it's way too risky and half the time they double as the band's dressing room anyway.)

There's only a handful of greying punters in the bar, who all seemed more interested in the dog races on the television than a couple of kids weaving their way through bar stools towards the bathrooms. They have to be quick and quiet, so it's no surprise when Mikey goes to his knees the moment they get the stall door closed, his hands already on the buckle of Ray's belt.

This isn't the plan Ray had in mind, but he doesn't fight it. He can't even consider pushing Mikey's hands away when he's looking up at Ray like this, hungry and demanding. He gets Ray's belt and jeans open and tugs them downwards, bending his head to take Ray in his mouth. Ray's only half-hard, but that means Mikey can fit his mouth over Ray's whole cock, which he can't do when Ray is fully erect. Ray chokes in a breath, reaching a steadying hand behind himself to lean on the wall. Mikey's just going for it, sinking down until his nose brushes at Ray's pubic hair, his mouth hot and wet.

It only takes a few sucks before Mikey has to draw back and slip his fingers around the base of Ray's cock to cover the area his mouth can't reach any more. Ray groans, his eyes fluttering, his pulse thundering in his ears. Mikey's so fucking good at this. He glances down and finds Mikey looking up at him, his eyes huge behind skewed glasses and his mouth stretched around Ray's cock. It's pornographic. It's fucking gorgeous.

Mikey swirls his tongue around the head of Ray's dick, making Ray's eyes fall shut. He tips his head back against the wall, unable to concentrate on anything for a few long moments but the feeling of Mikey's mouth, his rhythm as his head moves, his hand following the motion. When he looks down at Mikey again, past his bouncing head he can see Mikey's got his jeans open now, his hand on his own dick as he sucks Ray off. Ray nearly strokes out from how hot that is.

He lowers an unsteady hand to rest on Mikey's head, his fingers carding gently through the mousse-stiff birds nest Mikey calls a hair-do. Mikey meets his eyes and the look he gives him is almost a question - a request. Ray doesn't get it, not until Mikey lets go of his own dick and reaches up to cover Ray's hand with his own, pushing Ray's fingers into his hair.


Ray gets it then, but his movements are still hesitant as he snares the brown snarls between his fingers, gripping tight. When he meets Mikey's eyes again he finds nothing but encouragement. He pulls, not too hard, but enough that Mikey would feel it, and his mouth vibrates around Ray's cock on a low moan in response.

It doesn't feel right, not yet, but Mikey's fingers still cover Ray's, and he presses up, urging Ray on. Ray tugs again, more force behind the movement this time and Mikey groans around his dick, sucking harder, faster, like a reward. He lets go Ray's hand and starts jerking himself off again, faster now, shoving his mouth forward over Ray's dick.

Fuck, he really likes it. The realisation shudders down Ray's body, clenching his hand into a fist. He can't say what comes over him, but the next thing he knows, he's yanking Mikey's head back to fuck his mouth, hips shoving forwards and Mikey just fucking takes it. Which is good, because Ray can't stop now. He pushes in over and over, heat rushing up through him, his orgasm quivering low in his belly. Fuck, it just feels so good.

He shifts his hand to take a new handful of Mikey's hair and yanks, his eyes dancing over Mikey's face, watching the way his eyelids flutter, admiring the curve of his neck and the way the veins stand out as he strains against the pull of Ray's hand.

He looks beautiful and fucking desperate, and completely at Ray's mercy. Somehow it's that thought more than anything Mikey's doing that tightens Ray's grip, his hips bucking forwards before his body stiffens and he comes hard down Mikey's throat with a smothered groan.

Mikey just takes it, swallowing and then sucking gently while Ray comes down. When Ray's breathing slows down enough that it's not deafening him, he can hear the slide and slap of Mikey's hand. He's still jerking himself off and it's not right, it's not the way Ray wants it to go. He fights through his post-orgasm haze enough to grab Mikey by the shoulder and haul him to his feet. It's only partly by design that he's rougher than he would usually be, but the sound of Mikey's needy whimper as his back meets the wall is encouragement enough.

He crowds Mikey against the wall, taking his mouth in a hard kiss, tasting himself bitter on Mikey's tongue as his teeth scrape Mikey's lips. Mikey groans into his mouth, the tip of his dick sliding over Ray's belly, painting his skin with pre-come as his hand keeps moving. Ray breaks the kiss, needing to see Mikey's face. He's as gone as Ray's ever seen him, his eyes hazy, his mouth wet and open, his skinny arm moving fast enough to blur.

Ray wants to see him come. Wants it more than anything in his fucking life. He twists his hand up into Mikey's hair, watching Mikey's face crease up as he pulls hard, yanking Mikey's head to the side.

"Fuck, Ray. Fuck, please," Ray barely hears the whisper, buried under Mikey's panting breaths.

"Yeah?" Ray whispers back, sliding his other hand down to pinch and twist a line down Mikey's chest as he continues to yank at Mikey's hair.

"Yeah," Mikey breathes, and then fuck, he's coming apart. He's not even making sense anymore, just murmuring garbled noises, his breathing pitching higher, his dick leaking on Ray's belly as he jacks his hand faster, faster.

Ray's fingers find Mikey's nipple, pinching and twisting as he yanks at Mikey's hair again and that does it. Mikey whimpers, collapsing against Ray as his body spasms, hot come hitting Ray's belly and dick. Mikey shudders against Ray, his breath bouncing hot off Ray's neck as he comes down. Ray cards a gentle hand through Mikey's damp hair, clutching him close, his brain racing to catch up with what just happened.

After a few long moments where the only sound is their shattered breathing, Mikey stirs. He drops a dry kiss on Ray's collarbone and looks up at Ray through smudged glasses, his mouth twitching up in an almost-smile.

"Okay," he says, his voice shredded, "so maybe it's a thing."

Ray's wide grin takes him by surprise. He tightens his arms around Mikey, hugging him close. "All you had to say."