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Close Quarters

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Patrick knows the code to the My Chem bus, but he knocks anyway like he always does. It's Frank who answers, shirtless with his jeans half-hanging off his ass.

"Dude, use the code already," he tells Patrick in lieu of greeting, but follows it with a friendly shoulder smack that erases any sting. He heads back into the bus and Patrick follows, dodging filthy clothes, trash and various detritus on the way.

"Sorry man, it just feels rude," he tells Frank for the millionth time.

"It's more rude to make me got off my ass to open the fucking door," Frank complains, flopping onto the couch. "Ray's in the back."

Patrick continues through the well-trodden path to the back of the bus, wincing when Frank yells, "Ray! Your boyfriend's here!" at his back. Ray doesn't call back any response and when Patrick pushes the door to the back studio open he can see why. Ray's bent over his laptop, headphones over his unruly curls. Whenever Patrick comes to see Ray in the back studio it's equally possible he'll walk away with weird bruises from being bent over the mixer or that he and Ray will just end up talking music, trading drum loops, experimenting with reverb. Looks like today is option B. It's in no way a disappointment.

Ray notices Patrick in the door way and smiles up at him, wide and heart-stopping. "You should hear this." He whips off the headphones and offers them to Patrick, upside-down so Patrick won't have to take off his hat.

Patrick pushes the door shut behind him and puts them on, Ray watching on expectantly as the layers of guitar, bass and drums crash over Patrick's ears and down his spine. It's fucking amazing. It always is. He waits for the music to pause and tells Ray exactly that, enjoying the flush of colour in his cheeks and his shy smile in return.

"Now you have to show me how you did it," Patrick adds, sliding onto the couch next to Ray and grabbing for the mouse, already scanning the waveforms on ProTools. Ray immediately starts talking about compression and reverb, his hands flailing with enthusiasm that Patrick still hasn't gotten used to.

Working on music with Pete always feels like an argument - it's almost like a song can't be worth hearing if they didn't go to hell and back to write it. In total contrast, Ray enjoys every step in the process - he revels in it. It's a refreshing experience. Music has always been as essential to Patrick as breathing. Doing it with Ray is the first time in his life it's also been fun.

He's maybe a little jealous of Ray's band for that. They get this all the time. They probably have no idea what it's like working with someone like Pete.

Hours pass as they fiddle with tracks and effects, passing the headphones back and forth and making adjustments. Today is definitely all about the music. Patrick's cool with that.

Except the next time Ray takes off his headphones he doesn't hand them to Patrick, he puts them down next to his laptop and grabs Patrick by the chin, turning his head for a kiss. He goes in hard straight off the bat, licking into Patrick's mouth, already reaching for Patrick's belt.

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Patrick murmurs between kisses, already shoving his hands down the back of Ray's too-tight jeans.

"You gotta stop doing that thing with your mouth," Ray says, pressing closer and swallowing Patrick's gasp as he gets one big hand inside and wraps his fingers around Patrick's dick.

"What thing?" Patrick chokes out as Ray starts to jerk him off, just rough enough to be perfect.

"Anything," Ray says with a wry smile, then drops to his knees, tugging Patrick's jeans down on the way. He ducks his head to lick at Patrick's cock and Patrick melts back into the couch and tries to swallow his groan - the door is pretty thin. He slips a hand into Ray's soft curls, watching Ray's lips around his dick and thinks - this. He's got this. So what if Ray's band get to make music with him all the time? They don't get this part of him. This is just for Patrick.

Mikey could probably have this - if he bothered to see what was right under his nose. Patrick's seen the way Ray looks at him. He squashes the thought down with practiced ease and lets Ray take him apart.

Ray gives head like he does everything - with confidence and ease. He's got wide soft lips, and he uses his tongue a lot. He also has perfect rhythm. It's takes an embarrassingly short period of time before Patrick's a shaking mess, choking back moans that would give them both away. When he comes, Ray takes it all - which is so good, and not just because it saves them any cleanup.

Sex always loosens Patrick's tongue. Somehow it wipes out the part of his brain that filters the stupid shit before it gets to his mouth. If he had the brain capacity to think about it, he'd probably notice it makes him more like Pete.

So it shouldn't surprise him when he curls up beside Ray, sweaty and spent, the taste of spunk on his tongue and his jeans digging into his thighs because he never managed to get them all the way off, and the first sentence out of his mouth is "Is it weird that sometimes I'm jealous of Mikey Way?"

Ray chuckles, and Patrick feels the reverberation everywhere their bodies touch. Ray rolls onto his side, nearly spilling Patrick off the couch in the process, but he wraps one of his strong arms, (with those big hands) around Patrick to keep him anchored.

"It's only weird that you said sometimes. Most people are jealous of Mikey all the time."

Patrick wriggles around, angling his head to see Ray's face, "Are you?" he asks. "Jealous, I mean. Of Mikey?"

Ray chews his lip thoughtfully. His colour is still high, his face shiny and the curls along his hairline are dark and tight with sweat. He looks gorgeous.

"Honestly? I'm probably more jealous of Pete right now."

"Because he's got Mikey?"

"Because he's got you and Mikey." Ray admits, tracing his fingers through Patrick's sweaty hair.

"He doesn't have me," Patrick says, even though it feels like a lie.

"He does, though." Ray's eyes go serious and soft, his fingers settling to cup Patrick's cheek, "He does, he just doesn't know it yet."

There's a crease between Ray's eyebrows when he says it, and Patrick reaches up and smooths it away, before leaning in to kiss the words off Ray's lips.


They never make any promises. Not past the summer, anyway. Anything goes, until the weather cools.

Where Pete and Mikey are practically flamboyant - inseparable and the talk of the tour - Ray and Patrick are more low key. They only ever kiss behind closed doors - on the buses, in venue bathrooms, in a disabled stall at a rest stop on the road. They don't avoid each other, but to anyone looking from the outside they're just friends.

Not that they haven't been fucking at any and all opportunity. Patrick never thought he had a thing for big guys, but Ray is either a revelation or a previously undiscovered size kink. He loves that he has to push up on tiptoe to kiss him when they're both standing. How big Ray's hands look splayed on Patrick's body. The weight of him over and above Patrick when they fuck. Sometimes, right after Ray comes, his whole body will relax and for the briefest moment Patrick gets to feel his full weight on top of him. Ray always comes around in a heartbeat and supports his weight on his arms, leaving Patrick to wonder how long he could last under a full Ray blanket. It's never long enough.

They share one last kiss in the studio before Patrick slips away, knowing if he doesn't get back to his own bus he won't sleep at all.

When he gets back, the bus is dark. It's not surprising, he knows Joe and Andy are off hanging with some of the road crew, and Pete's probably somewhere with Mikey. Patrick flicks the lights on and starts rummaging through the kitchenette for something to eat. He pauses when he hears something that sounds suspiciously like a giggle coming from the bunks. Or rather, two of them.

Guess Pete didn't go somewhere with Mikey after all. Patrick sighs and slams a few cupboard doors, hoping he doesn't have to remind Pete verbally about the no sex in the bunks rule. Again.

He pretends he can't hear the muffled whispers that follow and concentrates far too hard on toasting some Pop Tarts instead. Eventually Mikey emerges from the bunks, looking rumpled and flushed, his glasses a little skewed and his skinny jeans not hiding the bulge at his groin.

Patrick pretends not to notice him until Mikey throws a "Hey Trick" to Patrick as he brushes by.

"Hey Mikey," Patrick says, feeling like all the awkward in this situation has landed squarely on him. Mikey looks calm and not at all embarrassed, even if he is walking a little funny. Patrick watches his retreating back as he exits the bus, in his super-tight t-shirt that Patrick probably couldn't even get over his head and his ridiculously skinny jeans, and thinks that yeah, maybe he's a little jealous of Mikeyway.

"Lunchbox!" Pete emerges from the bunks looking even more dishevelled than Mikey. He's shirtless, which is saying nothing these days - with the heat it's like he's allergic to shirts. His jeans aren't buttoned all the way, riding low so his underwear peeks over the top. Patrick's breath catches in his throat when he sees him. It's not just that Pete's mostly naked, it's that he's still clearly aroused. It's not even the bulge in his jeans that gives him away, it's the shine of sweat on his skin, the darkness off his eyes, something about the way he moves - all loose-limbed and predatory.

Patrick immediately switches his focus back to the toaster, needing to look away from all that skin, all that charged up sexiness. Patrick's not blind: Pete's hot. Patrick's known that since the day they met. He's taught himself not to notice it, but it's hard to ignore when it's all up in his face, when Pete's all switched up and turned on.

Patrick plays with the dial on the toaster and reminds himself that Pete looks like that for Mikey, not for him. Reminds himself that he doesn't care.

There's no escaping Pete, though. He wraps himself around Patrick, hugging him from behind. He rests his chin on Patrick's shoulder and asks "What you making?"

Patrick tries not to stiffen up as Pete wriggles closer, pressed all up against his back.

"Ugh, I can feel your boner," he blurts out, trying to move away but Pete just clings.

"That's all for you baby," Pete jokes lightly, hanging on tighter because he never knows when to quit.

"Sure it is," Patrick shrugs him off a little more violently than necessary, grabs his Pop Tarts and heads for the lounge.

It doesn't work, of course, Pete just follows him and curls up beside him on the couch, rummages around on the couch for the remote. He wriggles around until he's using Patrick's leg as a pillow. "You okay?"

Patrick mumbles something unintelligible around a mouthful of Pop Tart. He glances down to see Pete looking up at him, eyes wide and fond behind his floppy bangs. Patrick licks the crumbs from his lips and says, "Fine."

A flicker crosses Pete's face, then he wields the remote, pushing it into Patrick's hands. "You choose," he insists, "I don't mind what we watch."

Patrick lets out a breath and takes the remote. It's obviously a peace offering. He'll take it.


By the time Joe and Andy are back, Pete and Patrick have seen at least three episodes of Law and Order and Patrick's leg is starting to feel a bit numb under Pete's weight. He doesn't mind.

"Heeeeey," Joe greets them, the extra syllables mean he's obviously baked. He flops down to the floor in front of the couch and leans back, looking at Patrick upside-down. "Wait, where's your My Chem boyfriends?"

Patrick flips him off in lieu of a reply. Pete smirks, "You're just jealous because Bob won't return your calls,"

Joe flips him off right back. "I'm saving myself for Iero."

"He's married, you know?" Pete points out.

"Oh they all say that when they haven't had the Trohman." Joe gestures towards his crotch and Patrick has to avert his eyes.

"Dude, this stopped being funny like, weeks ago," Patrick points out from behind his hand.

"You should do Gerard next!" Joe laughs, "You could have the whole band between the two of you."

Before Patrick can throw something suitably cutting back at Joe, Pete jumps in, "Nah, not GWay. Patrick only fucks musical geniuses. They have to be able to play at least three instruments, right Trick?"

Pete flips over onto his back, looking up at Patrick from his lap. "It's why I've never had a shot. I can barely play bass. Our love is doomed." He reaches up a dramatic hand to touch Patrick's face.

Patrick bats Pete's hand away, "Don't be a dick."

"Truth hurts, Lunchbox," Pete says with a smile that doesn't quite stick. Patrick frowns down at him, unsure if Pete's spinning shit or if it's one of those times he really believes it. He hates it when Pete does this.

Fuck it, he can't deal with this right now. He shoves Pete off his lap, "I'm going to bed."

"Enjoy your wet dreams about Toro!" Joe yells after him.

Patrick climbs into his bunk and buries his face in his arms. He needs better bandmates.


Patrick's arms are sore, singing with ache every time he crashes his sticks down onto the skins. Bob's kit is not a good fit for him, but fucked if that's going to stop him trying to hit those fills. He's overheated, skin prickled with sweat, stinging his eyes. One song drumming for My Chem, why the hell did he have to pick such a fast one? He can't regret it though, not with this view. It's so strange to be up the back of the stage instead of down the front, seeing the sea of kids screaming, Gerard pacing back and forth in front of them, Frank throwing himself all over the stage.

Patrick slams through another fill, arms screaming at him and glances stage left, blinking sweat from his eyes. Ray's fro is a blur as he headbangs his way through the solo. Patrick can't see his fingers on the strings from this angle, but he already knows what they look like - a blur of motion flying over the frets. His eyes linger on Ray's ass in his sinfully tight jeans instead. Ray's in his element up here on stage, his body nothing but a conduit for the music. A fucking gorgeous one too.

It's over way too fast, Patrick slams out the last beats and looks up from the kit, his face cracking into a wide smile as Gerard gives him a shout out and the kids go nuts. Ray turns around, his guitar slung low, his smile wide and golden and beaming right at Patrick. Something stutters under Patrick ribcage and he stands up, raising his sticks and giving the crowd a wave. He can still feel Ray's eyes on him like a weight, but he can't let himself look, not yet.

He stands there for a long moment, trying to memorise every second of the experience, then Bob's beside him, giving him a companionable shoulder-bump to shift him out of the way. Patrick gives him a nod and heads for side stage, pausing to give another wave and grin at the resulting cheer. He risks a glance at Ray just as he steps off stage and finds Ray still smiling back at him. He doesn't look away until Bob taps them into the next song.

Pete's side stage as well - of course, he and Mikey are practically married now. He grins at Patrick, all teeth and glee, and grabs him around the shoulders in a sweaty half-hug. He spends the rest of the set tucked up against Patrick's side, despite the heat, his eyes stuck on Mikey on the stage. Patrick would roll his eyes at Pete being so obvious, but he's having trouble tearing his own gaze from Ray so there's no point.

When the My Chem guys barrel off the stage, sweaty and high, Pete pounces on Mikey, all but making out with him behind a road case. Part of Patrick wishes he could be so bold, but that's not how he and Ray roll. Ray meets Patrick's gaze, his face flushed and shiny with sweat, promises in his eyes Patrick knows he'll deliver on. It's enough.


The rest of Warped passes in a blaze of hot nights, broken strings and stolen kisses. The last night of tour finds Patrick, Ray, Pete and Mikey the last guys standing after a long, lazy night of partying. It makes a weird kind of sense that it would be the four of them, Patrick figures. Two couples nearing their use-by date, trading sleep to wring every last moment from the summer.

They've nested in an abandoned merch tent, flopped out on a trashed blanket and leaning on sagging tentpoles. Some of the techs were hotboxing this tent earlier in the night and Patrick's pretty sure he's getting a contact high. He and Ray pass a battered acoustic back and forth while Pete treats them like a jukebox. As the hours stretch on and the requests slip further apart, Patrick watches Ray noodle around on the guitar. He wouldn't say it out loud, but there's something devastating about how Ray moves his hands: quick, knowing, instinctive. Patrick's brain makes the leap from the way Ray's hands know a guitar to the way they know Patrick's body and he's suddenly, inconveniently turned on.

He doesn't say or do anything about it, he can't, not with Pete and Mikey right there.

When Patrick tears his eyes from Ray long enough to check on Pete and Mikey they're already making out, slow and lazy, Pete's hand trailing up under the front of Mikey's worn t-shirt. Patrick's mouth screws to the side, not sure if he's annoyed or relieved by this turn of events. Either way he mutters, "fuck it," under his breath and pries the guitar from Ray's hands.

Ray makes a soft questioning noise, and Patrick inclines his head towards Pete and Mikey. Ray hadn't noticed them either, not until now. He meets Patrick's gaze again and Patrick can see the smirk tugging at Ray's generous mouth.

"Should we go?" Ray whispers, and Patrick considers it. The chances of he and Ray finding somewhere private at this point in the night are crap at best, and if Pete and Mikey have no shame, he doesn't see why he and Ray should.

"Fuck that," Patrick whispers back, "We were here first." He grabs a handful of Ray's shirt and pulls him in, kissing him soundly.

Ray goes with it, thank fuck, his mouth sliding open under Patrick's, their tongues meeting. Ray's hands come up to frame Patrick's face, his thumbs grazing the hollows of Patrick's cheeks as they kiss. Too soon it's not enough. They're sitting awkwardly, Patrick leaning up to meet Ray's mouth, their bodies hardly touching. Patrick kneels up and crawls into Ray's lap, loving the growl that vibrates over Ray's lips when their crotches line up. Ray's hands slip to Patrick's waist, his warm fingers brushing the strip of bare skin between the top of his jeans and the bottom of his shirt.

Patrick shifts, rocking down on Ray a little, until Ray's fingers bite into his skin. He can feel Ray getting hard underneath him. Fuck, he'll never get sick of that, ever. They make out slow and dirty, Patrick twining his arms around Ray's neck, his fingers sliding up into Ray's curls. They're soft under Patrick's hands, while the rest of Ray is all hard and firm and fuck, this is either the best idea Patrick's ever had, or the worst. He wants more already, wants more skin, more contact, but he's hotly aware that they're not alone. Pete and Mikey are right there, wet noises testifying they're not going anywhere anytime soon.

Patrick breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Ray's and trying to slow his breathing. He's so fucking hard. He's having trouble coming up with reasons why it would be a bad idea to tug Ray's shirt off, to open his jeans and get his dick out. This could be his last chance to do this. Why the fuck can't they be alone?

He turns a glare towards Pete and Mikey but it fades to a look of shock as he focuses on their shifting forms. Jesus fuck, Pete and Mikey definitely don't give a shit about the lack of privacy. Mikey's jeans are open, Pete's hand buried inside them. Patrick gets stuck staring, unable to process what he's seeing. Pete's shirt is off, his tattoos dark against his skin, beautiful. Mikey's shirt has ridden up and Patrick eyes trace the line of hair that runs from his belly button down into his jeans. Patrick can't see that well, but he knows Pete's fisting Mikey's dick, jerking him with deliberate motions, their mouths locked.

Patrick knows the moment Ray turns to look, can feel it in the shudder that goes through his body. Patrick can't turn his head away, stuck on their sliding mouths, the glimpse of tongue he gets when they move.

"Jesus," Patrick whispers, suddenly a million times hotter than he was a moment ago. His fingers tighten on Ray's body. He doesn't know what to do. He should turn away - tour etiquette demands it. When there's no privacy to be had you can at least pretend. But fuck, it's Pete, half-naked, sexual and dangerous and Patrick's not sure if he can.

Ray shifts underneath Patrick and that does it. Patrick finally manages to tear his eyes from the scene that spears his body with hot want. He opens his mouth to apologise to Ray and is silenced by a kiss. Ray kisses him hard, hot and Patrick has to swallow a groan, grind down against him, try not to overheat. Ray fucks his tongue into Patrick's mouth, strokes his hands over Patrick's skin, big and firm, holding him in place the way he knows Patrick likes it. Patrick gives up on thinking right about then, buries his hands in Ray's hair and hangs on, kissing back with everything he's got.

Ray's the one to break it, and Patrick gets stuck looking at him, wet-lipped and panting in the grainy light as they both struggle to catch a breath. The side of Ray's mouth tugs up in a smile and Patrick can't help the answering grin on his own lips. He feels young, dumb and stupid… but so fucking good. So fucking hot.

He trails his fingers down Ray's chest, tracing the familiar curve of his pecs, down over his belly, watching the way Ray's eyelids flutter has his hand hovers near his belt. He takes a breath, head swimming with heat as he lets his fingertips trail lower. He reminds himself that they might have an audience but the thought has no sting. Quite the opposite. He closes his hand over Ray's crotch, feeling him hard and warm through the denim. He squeezes gently, watching Ray's eyelids flutter as Ray's hips push up under his hand.

"Yeah?" Patrick whispers, dropping his hand a little lower, massaging Ray's dick and fuck, he's so hard. So big. Ray doesn't manage a verbal answer, just lifts his hand and flicks his belt and button open and Patrick doesn't hesitate, just slides his hand inside and shapes his dick through the damp cotton. Ray lets out a strangled noise and Patrick catches it on his tongue with a desperate kiss. He gets his hand inside Ray's underwear and has to break it, gasping as he gets his fist around Ray's cock. The material of Ray's boxers gets in the way, slowing his strokes and Patrick pushes it down, releasing it to the air.

"Jesus," Patrick doesn't say it this time, and neither does Ray. It's definitely Pete's voice, throaty and awed and Patrick's face burns as he turns his head to see.

The bottom drops out of his stomach at the sight before him. Pete and Mikey both face Ray and Patrick, watching. Mikey's in front, Pete wrapped around his back, lazily palming Mikey's dick. Mikey's eyes are lidded, spots of colour in his cheeks, his hair a mess and his glasses crooked. He looks beautiful and undone. Patrick forces his gaze to shift to Pete, his breathing quickening as he takes in his wide eyes and rumpled hair, his unabashed stare.

Patrick has to look away. His hand stills on Ray's dick and his first instinct is to cover up, to hide.

"Please don't." Pete says, like he can read Patrick's mind (he can, sometimes). Before he can talk himself out of it, Patrick meets Pete's eyes again, his cheeks burning. "Please don't stop. We can. I mean we'll-"

He doesn't finish, or if he does, Patrick doesn't hear because Ray fits a hand to the back of Patrick's head and pulls him in for a fierce kiss. Patrick falls into it and just… stops thinking. Sets his focus back on Ray, on the warmth under his hands, on firm muscle and hard cock. He slips his hand down to cup Ray's balls before sliding it back up to rub over the tip of his leaking dick. Ray moans into the kiss and Patrick shifts closer, so hard his jeans are hurting him.

Patrick tugs at the hem of Ray's shirt and Ray pulls it off one-handed. Patrick slips his free hand up to trace over Ray's chest, the light scattering of hair tickling his palm. Fuck, he loves touching Ray. Ray presses into Patrick's hands and kisses him again, wrapping his arms around Patrick and lifting him up into it. It's good but it's not enough. Patrick wants everything. He wants to fuck, but he's painfully aware they're not alone.

"Ray," he chokes out, but doesn't manage to find the rest of the sentence. Ray meets Patrick's eyes, an eyebrow curved in query, his lips wet and shiny. Fuck, he's beautiful.

"You okay?" Ray asks, barely a whisper.

"Yeah," Patrick's surprised to find it's true. "I just, I want…" he trails off, mind racing through options, trying to find one that doesn't make him want to run screaming. "Can I blow you?"

Ray sucks in sharp breath, his eyes fluttering closed, "Fuck, like you even have to ask." He opens his eyes and grins at Patrick - that wide heart-stopping smile. Patrick smiles back and tugs at Ray's jeans. Ray lifts his hips and wiggles enough to get them down to mid-thigh and that's enough for Patrick. He flashes one more smile at Ray and ducks down, wrapping a hand around the base of Ray's dick and trying to meet it with his lips.

"Fuck," Pete curses, loud enough for Patrick to hear. Patrick's face floods with warmth, but he doesn't stop moving and he doesn't turn to look. He licks around the head of Ray's cock, tasting salt, before swallowing it down as far as he can.

"Jesus. Mikey, I have to -" Pete's ramblings drop to whispers Patrick can't make out, but the slide of fabric and jangle of a belt are telling enough.

Patrick closes his eyes and works his mouth over Ray's dick, slick and hard and perfect. His own dick is so hard he might bust a seam, the tingle along his back telling him he's being watched turns every sensation up to eleven. He doesn't make a show of the blow job, but he doesn't try to cover his movements either. It's easier not to think about who's watching and just concentrate on what Ray likes, the gentle pressure of Ray's hands on his scalp. He swirls his tongue and rolls Ray's balls around in his hand.

When he dares to open his eyes and glance up, Ray is a sight. There's a sheen of sweat on his skin and the curls around his face are tight and damp. He's biting hard on his lower lip, his eyes lidded and dark. Patrick can't help but skim a hand up Ray's torso, press his thumb to the side of Ray's mouth until he turns his head and nips at it. Fuck, his mouth is like porn.

Patrick has to pull off and take a breath, jacking Ray slow and easy with his hand. Ray releases Patrick's thumb with a wet noise and sends him a tiny, devastating smile. A giggle bubbles from Patrick's lips and he presses it into Ray's hip with a kiss, feeling slightly insane and a little hysterical. He still can't believe they're doing this - here, now. He closes his eyes and wraps his lips around Ray's dick again, focusing on the blow job because there isn't room in his head for all the other stuff right now.

He can't keep pretending Pete and Mikey aren't right there, especially now that their whispering is getting louder and more animated. Loud enough that Patrick can hear Pete tell Mikey, "Yes, dickhead, hurry up and go for it" his tone a mixture of affection and exasperation.

Patrick hears the movement of someone coming closer and when he opens his eyes Mikey's right there, kneeling beside Ray, pants buttoned messily and the waistband of his underwear poking out above his jeans. He reaches an unsteady hand forward, hovering near Ray's face but not going close enough to touch.

"Can I?" Mikey asks in a small voice, glancing between Ray and Patrick.

Ray's cock gets impossibly harder against Patrick's lips. "Trick?" he asks, his voice unsteady, his body trembling under Patrick's arm.

Patrick wants to roll his eyes. He and Ray have never talked about Ray's thing for Mikey, not in so many words, but that doesn't mean Patrick isn't well aware of it. His eyes bounce between the two of them, a twist of jealousy in his stomach at the idea that Mikey and Ray have a shot at something that could actually outlast the summer. It isn't enough for him to say no, not when he knows how much Ray wants it. The three of them are impossibly still and Patrick can feel the tension in Ray's body, knowing he'll pull back if Patrick tells him to.

Patrick doesn't bother taking his mouth off Ray's cock, just raises his hand from Ray's balls to give Mikey a thumbs-up. The face-cracking smile Mikey gives him is so worth it. Ray grabs Mikey by the back of the head and pulls him in for a kiss, heated and desperate. Patrick renews his efforts on Ray's cock, sucking him harder and working the base with his hand, fuck Ray's so hard. Patrick watches them kiss as he sucks Ray off even though it's a strain to his eyes so high. They're so gorgeous together, all Mikey's fine angles pressing up against Ray's bulk. If Patrick had a free hand he'd reach down and squeeze himself.

Instead, he gropes up for Mikey's hand, links their fingers and drags them down over Ray's torso. He pulls off, glancing up to send a small smile up at Ray, who just watches, shocked and panting as Patrick fits Mikey's fingers into a grip around the base of Ray's dick.

"Fuck, Patrick," Ray breathes, his hips jerking under their hands. He's so gone, so gorgeous like this. He can't have much left now.

Mikey gives Ray's dick an experimental squeeze and Ray lets out a a breath that ends on a moan. Mikey sends Patrick a tiny, satisfied smile before turning back to take Ray's mouth again. They kiss wet and messy, Patrick getting glimpses of their sliding tongues when they shift and sway. It's fucking hot. Patrick lets Mikey take the lead, and they slowly jack Ray's cock together.

Patrick looks around for Pete, and finds him a few steps away, seemingly unmoved from where he and Mikey were from the start. He's rumpled, shirtless, his jeans undone and underwear pulled down. He's hard, his cock jutting up against his belly, untouched. His hands are fists at his sides, his intense stare fixed on Patrick. Just Patrick, not on Mikey and Ray.

Patrick swallows, a shock of arousal shuddering down through his body. Pete's gaze doesn't waver from Patrick and fuck - this is a side of Pete that Patrick has only ever glimpsed in magazine spreads. It's never been directed at him before. It's quite possible that he might burst into flames now it is.

He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything, just lowers himself back down, his eyes not leaving Pete's as he opens his mouth over the head of Ray's cock, licking wetly. Pete visibly shudders and Patrick keeps going, keeps fucking his mouth around Ray's cock until his lips meet Mikey's fingers, tangled with his own. It gets hard to keep watching Pete - the angle is painful, and he can't keep his eyes open - but the next time Patrick manages to focus on Pete's form, his hand is on his dick. The satisfaction Patrick gets from the sight burns warm in his chest.

"Trick," Ray's voice is shot. Patrick pulls off and looks up to find both Ray and Mikey are watching him. Mikey's lips are red and bitten, his hair all crazy. Ray's no better, sweaty and mussed with a tension around his eyes that betrays his slipping control.

Patrick locks eyes with Mikey and just says, "okay." He tugs his hand free and presses Mikey's into a grip around Ray's dick. Then he places his hands on Ray's hips and lowers his mouth back onto his cock, taking him as deep as he can, until his lips touch Mikey's fingers.

"Fuck, fuck," Ray mutters as Patrick starts to bounce his head. Mikey gets with the program a moment later, jerking his hand in perfect synch with Patrick's mouth. (Bass players.) Patrick can feel Ray swell and throb under his lips at their combined effort. His hips jerk under Patrick's hands, but Patrick holds him down, all focus on keeping his rhythm. Everything narrows to the dick in his mouth, taste of salt, scent of sweat, Ray's muttered moans and aborted movements. Fuck, Patrick wants him to come. Wants to feel it, taste it.

He's nearly there - his hands pushing down hard to keep Ray still, his lips and Mikey's fingers moving in perfect synch, wet noises of Mikey and Ray kissing desperately - when he feels a warm pressure low on his back. A hand. Pete's hand, it must be - just resting there, palm touching skin-to-skin where Patrick's t-shirt has ridden up, his fingers hot points of pressure through the fabric. Pete just rests it there, hot and warm, leaving Patrick hyperaware of it, even when Ray starts to stiffen and moan, when Patrick moves his head faster, sucks harder, until he can feel the pulse of Ray's orgasm under his lips.

Ray moans and jerks up under Patrick's hands, flooding his mouth with bitter warmth and Patrick swallows what he can, feeling a hot dribble slide from his mouth as he pulls off to gasp in a breath. Mikey keeps jerking Ray through it, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, a look of intense concentration on his face. Patrick watches Ray shudder through the last of his orgasm as Mikey milks it from him, sweaty, beautiful and undone. Fuck, he's going to miss this.

When he's spent, Ray sighs out a breath, blowing it upward in a way that makes a few curls fly around, "Jesus."

"Fuck," Mikey says, glancing down at Patrick, his eyes locking to the corner of his mouth. He leans down, cupping Patrick's chin in his hand. Patrick lifts his head to give Mikey better access as he bends down to lick Patrick's chin clean of Ray's come. He wants to laugh at how porno it all is, but then Mikey turns his head enough to meet Patrick's lips and Christ is he a good kisser. Patrick forgets the weirdness of the situation for a few long moments as Mikey licks into his mouth. Somehow knowing that he's tasting Ray from Patrick's lips only makes it hotter.

When they break the kiss, Mikey shares a tiny smile with Patrick. "Thanks," he says, in a small voice that's far from the unaffected uber-popular Mikeyway that Patrick's used to.

Patrick finds himself smiling back, "Anytime." He shares a look with Ray, who gives him a grateful smile. Patrick stumbles the word out, still hyper aware of the warm spot on his back where Pete's hand still rests. Mikey glances over Patrick's shoulder, worry creeping into his expression as he says, "Pete?"

Patrick can't put it off any longer. He turns around, awkwardly on his knees, Pete's hand falling away as he does, and Patrick can feel it there like it's printed on him. Pete's a sight - his whole body is tense. He's still hard, still mostly undressed but his expression is pure agony. He reaches for Patrick, but aborts the move before it's finished, hands fisting by his sides. He kneels there, his face a storm of emotion and Patrick's heart squeezes up.

"Pete?" he asks, question in his voice, his brow furrowed.

"I just-" Pete breaks off, his voice rough. He takes a breath and reaches up again, hands hovering over Patrick's shoulders like he's afraid to touch. Pete's never been afraid to touch Patrick before, the guy's a total pest under the best of circumstances, but right now, it's like they're magnets turned the wrong way and Pete can't breach the last distance.

"What?" Patrick asks, his voice coming out softer than he means it to,

"Just, please," Pete finally meets Patrick's gaze, his eyes huge and imploring, "please don't say no."

Patrick blinks back at him in confusion, "Why would I say no?"

That's apparently the right thing to say, because the next thing Patrick knows he's on his back, Pete on top of him like a human blanket, kissing him desperately. It's… fuck, Patrick can barely think. He grasps helplessly at Pete's back and kisses back, because he never thought, not ever, not in any combination of circumstances that this was something Pete wanted from him.

They're sprawled awkwardly across Ray's legs and it's not entirely comfortable. Patrick's vaguely aware of Mikey laughing at them but he can't stop kissing Pete long enough to look up. Pete's onslaught is nearly too much. His hands are up underneath Patrick's shirt, callused fingers and rough fingernails catching on Patrick's skin, making him gasp into their joined mouths. Pete takes like beer and spearmint gum and he's licking into Patrick's mouth like he can't taste him enough. It's fucking hot, and Patrick was already pretty wound up to start with.

It's not until he feels Ray's legs shift underneath his back that he realises he didn't hear Ray laughing too. With some effort he pries his mouth from Pete's, tilting his head backwards to lay eyes on Ray who's kind of upside-down at this angle. "Ray?" he asks, and damn his voice is wrecked, "S'okay?"

Mikey laughs again, turning his head to press his giggle into Ray's neck, "Oh god they're as stupid as each other."

Ray just smiles, clearly cool with the current proceedings and when Patrick's gaze slips down his arm to where Ray's hand is inside Mikey's jeans he can understand why.

"This okay?" Ray asks, inclining his head to Mikey. He does something with his hand that makes Mikey gasp and Patrick can't help grinning. "Oh yeah."

A moment later it's Patrick's turn to gasp, Pete's hand finding it's way into his boxers and he keens, loud and musical. "Pete, fuck,"

Pete crawls up his body, leaning over Patrick and fucking leering. "Oh, I think you like that," Pete leans in closer and drops his voice lower, "you like that, Trick? You like my hand on your dick? Fuck, you're so hard-"

"Oh god, don't talk," Patrick says, because Pete talking dirty swings wildly between being both the hottest and the worst thing he's ever heard. He arches up to capture Pete's mouth, effectively silencing him with another kiss that immediately gets dirty and messy.

"Yeah, Pete's kind of a talker," Patrick's hazily aware of Mikey telling Ray somewhere behind them.

"I know," Ray replies, "What? Your bunk is right below mine."

"We were quiet!" Mikey hisses.

"Not quiet enough," Ray laughs.

"Shut up, it's totally hot."

Patrick loses track of the conversation after that point when Pete starts jerking him off in earnest. He has to break the kiss to pant into Pete's neck, trying to pretend the desperate noises he's making aren't happening. Pete's a little rougher than Patrick would be, but it's good, so fucking good. Pete pushes up a little higher, filling Patrick's field of vision with his wide smile, so smug, so turned on. He's gorgeous - it's not news, Patrick's always known that - it's just, he never thought he'd be the one to get to see him like this.

"Hey Trick, can I have my legs back?" Ray asks, sounding amused and wow, Patrick totally forgot he and Pete were lying all over them.

A smile pulls at his lips as he flips Pete onto his back with a loud "oof" onto the grass, freeing Ray's legs, getting a "thanks" from Ray that ends on a sigh.

The smile fades when Patrick looks down, seeing Pete spread out under him, mostly undressed and so fucking gorgeous. At his mercy. He leans down to kiss Pete again, fast and rough, sliding his mouth to trail over Pete's cheek, down his neck, over his chest. Pete shudders and twitches under him, reaching up, but Patrick grabs his hand and holds it, pressing it down to the ground beside him. He doesn't want any distractions, not now, he just wants to map Pete's body with his mouth and hands, to memorise every line of it.

It still hasn't clicked in his brain that this is really happening. Or maybe it is, but only because of this perfect alignment of circumstance - last night of Warped, last night with Mikey, last chance. Patrick can't stop to analyse it, he just knows he needs to take what he can, right now, while it's on offer, before Pete changes his mind. He slides lower, until he's kneeling between Pete's knees. He already knows what he wants, and a glance up at Pete, wide-eyed and open-mouthed tells him he can have it. His mouth is a breath away from Pete's dick and fuck, he's so hard, straining up from his pushed-down underwear and Patrick wants. He wraps his hand around the base of Pete's dick and lowers his mouth to lick gently at the tip. He's rewarded with a full body shiver from Pete and a strangled noise that might have been Patrick's name.

It's a pretty clear go-ahead, so Patrick opens his mouth over Pete's cock, sliding down until his lips meet his fingers. He takes a breath through his nose and starts to move, up and down, Pete hard and hot and filling his mouth. That sets Pete off again, starting with a litany of "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick"'s and working his way up to a full Wentzian babble. Patrick's too busy giving the blowjob of his life to get it all, but he definitely catches "Fuck Patrick, your mouth is made for this, knew you would be," and "Perfect, so fucking perfect".

He has to reach down and squeeze his cock through his jeans. God, he never thought he'd have this, not ever. Pete beneath his hands, in his mouth, moaning his name. He works his mouth over Pete's dick, moaning into it, feeling Pete shiver and shake, wanting to make him come apart. He's so into it he doesn't notice Mikey's moved until he's pressed up behind him, his breath ghosting hot against Patrick's ear.

"Want to know what he likes?" he whispers, already reaching for Patrick's hand, tangling their fingers.

Patrick pulls off, breathing heavily and just nods. Mikey tugs Patrick's hand up and sucks two of Patrick's fingers into his mouth. Mikey's tongue sliding around Patrick's fingers is obscene to witness.

"Oh fuck, Mikey," Pete pants, watching them both wide-eyed.

A hot flush creeps up Patrick's neck, he can feel Pete and Ray's eyes on him, hungry, and he doesn't want to stop. Eventually Mikey pulls off, licking at the tips of Patrick's fingers. He looks dazed, heavy-lidded and so pretty. He keeps his fingers wrapped around Patrick's wrist, guiding Patrick's hand back down between Pete's legs.

"Mikey. Mikey, oh shit," Pete groans. Patrick's pretty sure he already knows what Mikey's getting at and he goes with it, leaning back down to take Pete back in his mouth as Mikey guides his wet fingers to Pete's ass. It leaves Mikey pressed all up against Patrick's back and it feels pretty fucking great to be honest. Patrick leans down, taking as much of Pete's dick as he can, letting Mikey guide his fingers to press at Pete's hole. Pete shakes and pushes down against Patrick's hand, a stream of curses spilling from his lips and fuck, Mikey was right, he loves this.

"Yeah, like that," Mikey whispers, guiding Patrick's hand into rhythm with his mouth. He's writhing against Patrick too, hard against Patrick's ass and it should be too much, Mikey all over him, Pete shaking and pushing down under him, but it's not, it's just so fucking good. Pete groans and shoves down against Patrick and when Patrick glances up Ray's holding him in place, one of those big hands across Pete's chest, the other locked in Pete's hair and Patrick wants to commit it to memory it's so beautiful.

Mikey increases the pressure on Patrick's hand until one fingertip pushes inside Pete's ass and oh god, the way Pete arches and pushes down into it, the moan he makes, fuck he loves this. Patrick takes him as deep into his mouth as he can, moving his head and finger in time. Pete groans and babbles at him, wriggling and bucking enough to really fuck with Patrick's rhythm. Patrick's hand is squashed under Pete's ass and his jaw is starting to ache from overuse and he's pretty sure he's never been more turned on in his life

"Give him another one," Mikey says, his voice loud in Patrick's ear. He's already tugging at Patrick's wrist and Patrick pulls out, crossing two fingers and letting Mikey guide him back in.

"Fuck, Patrick, Mikey, fuck," Pete squirms against them, and Patrick could swear his dick gets bigger, harder in Patrick's mouth.

"Yeah," Mikey hisses, guiding Patrick's fingers to fuck into Pete, his whole body moving in the same rhythm, shoving against Patrick.

It's awkward, too many bodies, all moving out of rhythm, but it's so hot. Patrick concentrates on sucking Pete, getting him off, fuck he wants to make him come - hard. He forces his eyes upwards, locking onto Pete. Pete's face is a grimace, his skin shiny with sweat, his hair all fucked up. He's watching Patrick with a shocked kind of arousal, like he can't believe this is happening. Ray still has one arm wrapped around Pete's chest, his head bent low, his eyes dancing between Patrick and Mikey through damp curls. His expression is intense, and he's shifting with Pete, like he's catching an echo of what Pete's experiencing through the contact.

Patrick curls his fingers, trying to find the right angle and knows he has when Pete lets out a startled noise, rocking down against him with renewed vigour. Patrick locks his free hand around the base of Pete's cock, jerking him off into his mouth, moving his head in time with his hand, in time with his fingers inside Pete. Pete squirms harder, getting louder. Right when Patrick thinks he's gonna break his hand, Pete shrieks, his whole body stiffening and tightening and then he's coming, bitter-hot in Patrick's mouth and Patrick swallows what he can, letting the rest hit his chin as he pulls off, gasping.

He hasn't even caught his breath when Mikey's hand is on his cheek, turning his head for a kiss, wet and messy, licking Patrick's chin clean. It's so filthy, and so fucking good. Patrick can feel the heavy heat of Ray and Pete watching them even with his eyes closed. When Mikey breaks the kiss, he turns to look and sure enough, both Ray and Pete are watching them with promises in their eyes. It sends a thrill up Patrick's spine.

Pete's the first to move, grabbing Patrick by the shoulders and wrenching him close, kissing him hot and deep. It's overwhelming and nowhere near enough. Patrick groans into Pete's mouth, grabbing at his shoulder as he kisses back, desperate, bitter-tinged kisses. Pete's the one to break it, pulling back and grinning at Patrick, wide and wet. His eyes snap to the side, over Patrick's shoulder and he nods and gives Patrick a push sideways. Warm, familiar hands close over Patrick's shoulders, turning him, then Ray takes his mouth in a hot kiss, shoving his tongue into Patrick's mouth. Patrick wonders if Ray can taste Pete on his mouth.

Hands wind up under Patrick's shirt - not Ray's, his are still on Patrick's shoulder. More hands work Patrick's belt open - Pete and Mikey working as a team to strip him. Ray's mouth is so distracting Patrick barely registers it, until Pete tugs them apart just long enough to get Patrick's shirt over his head. Mikey drags his jeans down and Patrick doesn't even have time to consider that he's pretty much naked before Ray pulls him in and keeps kissing him, his hands running down Patrick's back, grabbing a handful of his ass.

"What do you want, Trick?" Pete whispers the words hot against Patrick's ear, his body pressed up against his back, skin to skin and Patrick's torn between pushing back against Pete and pushing forward against Ray.

He breaks the kiss, trying to muddle through all the thoughts in his brain. It's his last night with Ray, he needs to make it count, something to burn into his memory, something to last. He's also painfully aware of Pete, pressed against him, all that undiscovered territory, skin he wants to taste, so many things he wants to do. Fuck, he can't think.

"Ray?" he asks, sliding a hand up into Ray's hair, feeling the curls soft in his fingers, "What do you want?"

"Me?" Ray sputters, looking a little surprised. He slips a hand up to cup Patrick's chin, swiping his thumb over Patrick's lower lip, eyes dark, "I already got what I wanted."

Patrick nearly purrs at Ray's tone. He can still taste Ray on his lips, somewhere mixed up with Pete. Pete, who's still pressed up against Patrick, hands roving up and down his sides, sending shivers all over Patrick's skin. The only item of clothing he's still wearing are his boxers, and they're damp, stuck to his hard dick.

He flicks his tongue out to touch Ray's thumb. "That can't be all," he says, his voice coming out way lower than normal.

He watches as Ray swallows, colour creeping into his cheeks as he leans in until their lips brush, Ray's thumb between them. "Let me watch you," Ray whispers, dipping his head to claim Patrick's mouth in a deep kiss before Patrick can answer. He sucks Patrick's tongue into his mouth as his hand slides to cup the back of Patrick's neck, big and warm. Patrick can't help the moan that he makes into the kiss. Ray pulls back, touching his thumb to Patrick's mouth again, wet and used. "Want to see you," he says, his voice rough and rusty and okay. Patrick can't say he's surprised, they've done this before. Patrick's gotten himself off for Ray, hand around his own dick, fingers in his ass while Ray looked on with eyes hot as embers. It's thing for Ray - one Patrick is totally cool with. If that's what he wants, well…

"Yeah?" he asks, just in case, "With Pete?"

"Yeah." Ray answers, cheeks pink, "and Mikey too, if you-" Ray doesn't finish, leaving the if you want that hanging in the air between them. Patrick hears it anyway.

He can't help the smile that pulls at his lips, then he kisses Ray again, hard, making promises with his lips he intends to follow through on. He eases back, drinking in Ray's face, his thick lips, his eyes dark with want. Yeah, he can give Ray a show. He reaches back for Pete, tucking his hand to the back of Pete's head and turning to meet his mouth in a kiss that's messy and all tongue. It's an awkward angle, but it'll give Ray a fine view. He kisses Pete, dirty and wet, until it's not enough anymore. Until he has to turn to face Pete, press against him knee to chest and fuck. Why haven't they done this before? Pete's skin is hot and sweat-slick, his muscles firm under Patrick's hands. Patrick can't touch enough, swiping his hands over every part of Pete he can reach.

Pete's the one to break it, smiling at Patrick, lazy and a little smug. He got to come already, so the edge is off, where Patrick can barely keep himself from humping Pete's leg. Pete places his hands on Patrick's chest and pushes him down, Ray's arms coming around him from behind, tugging him until he's sprawled between the vee of Ray's legs, his back to Ray's chest. Ray rests one arm across Patrick's chest, the other cradling his head, all spread out for Pete. And Mikey too, if he… if he wants that. Mikey's hanging back behind Pete, watching, hair wrecked and messy, eyes dark, and fuck, he's so pretty.

And yeah. Patrick wants that too.

Pete first though. Patrick's waited too long already. Why is Pete so far away? He beckons Pete with a curled hand, "C'mon," knowing he sounds desperate, not really caring anymore. Pete just smiles, too wide, too smug and too fucking gorgeous. He plants a hand either side of Patrick, and crawls up, keeping his body hovering just above Patrick's, no contact. Patrick wants to touch. He arches up, his hips bumping Pete's, their cocks brushing through the damp material of Patrick's boxers and fuck, it's nowhere near enough.

Patrick groans, needy and desperate, "Pete."

"In a minute," Pete says, and he's smirking, the fucker. He ducks his head to mouth behind Patrick's ear, and fuck, how does he already know that's a spot? Patrick can't help but tilt into it, still trying to push his body up off the ground enough to grind against Pete, but it's too hard, Ray's arm is too heavy on his chest. He glances up at Ray, who's watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. Mikey's watching too, a strange kind of curiosity in his gaze. He reaches a hand down to rest along the line of Patrick's chin, his thumb caressing Patrick's cheek.

Pete slides his mouth from Patrick's neck, to his collarbone, then down his chest, painting a hot trail with his tongue. He's going too slow and Patrick needs more now. He's so fucking hard he's sweating with the effort of just breathing, nearly shaking. Someone needs to touch his dick - right now.

"Pete c'mon. Stop fucking around and-"

"And what?" Pete's mouth leaves Patrick's skin as he looks up at him, resting his chin on Patrick's chest. "What, Trick? What do you want?"

Patrick's ready to writhe out of his fucking skin and Pete's asking stupid questions. Patrick's going to kill him. Later. "Touch me. Suck me. Do something." His voice sounds wrecked. He knows he's begging. He doesn't care.

"Yeah?" Pete asks, his eyes alight with mischief. He trails one hand downward, fingers dancing across Patrick's belly, down, down, to rest heavy and warm over his dick through his underwear. He gives Patrick a squeeze and is rewarded with a broken moan. Pete lets his hand rest there, eyes on Patrick as he bucks up under Pete's hand, trying to initiate some fucking movement already. He wants to reach down, grab Pete's hands, shove them into his underwear, but something about Ray's arm across his chest, Mikey's hand on his face, holds his arms where they are.

Pete's just watching him, something like awe on his face as he shapes Patrick's dick. "Fuck, look at you, you're so…" Pete trails off as Patrick lifts his head, meeting Pete's hot gaze. He doesn't want to think about how desperate he must look right now, sweat-slick and blush-stained, his face a grimace of desperation. He hisses in a shaky breath, knowing if he speaks he's going to beg. His eyes already are.

He feels a shudder and he can't tell if it's his or Pete's. Then Pete's nodding, fast, saying, "Yeah. Yeah, okay," and sliding down Patrick's body to yank off his underwear none-too-carefully. Patrick opens his mouth to bitch out his mistreatment, but before he can say the words Pete's got his mouth on Patrick's dick, sucking and licking at the head briefly before lowering his mouth to take in as much as he can. Suddenly it's all wet heat around his dick, Pete sucking and moaning into his skin, hot breath hitting Patrick's thighs and Patrick can't - fuck - he can't put it together. Pete is going down on him. Pete - his Pete. He has to look down, watch the way Pete's lips stretch around his dick, the way his eyes flutter shut as his head moves, convince his brain that this is actually happening. It's not exactly a skilled blowjob, Pete's rhythm is all over the place and his teeth catch occasionally - but what he lacks in skill he more than makes up for with enthusiasm. The word "cockslut" flickers through Patrick's brain.

"Oh fuck. Oh shit." Patrick can't help the words that tumble out of his mouth. He shifts, hips hitching up, hands reaching to grip Pete's head, but Ray catches them first. Familiar strong fingers close around Patrick's wrists, holding him down. Patrick tilts his head back to see Ray grinning down at him. He takes both Patrick's wrists in one hand, reaching down with the other to hold Patrick's hips down.

"Don't let him move," Ray tells Pete, "Just make him take it." Pete pauses, blinking up at Ray a moment before his own hand joins Ray's on Patricks hip, holding him down. Patrick whines, struggling against their hold but it's useless. He can't move, can't shake them off, and fuck does he like that. Ray knows he likes it. Ray grins down at Patrick as he struggles and whines, his grip not slipping even a little. He nudges Mikey, who leans down and takes Patrick's mouth again right as Pete redoubles his efforts on Patrick's cock. It's like a choreographed dance designed to drive Patrick completely out of his mind.

Mikey kisses like the devil himself. Pete's still giving Patrick the world's fastest, sloppiest blowjob and all Patrick can do is take it. He kisses Mikey back, writhes under Pete and Ray's hands, breathes through his nose as he sucks at Mikey's mouth. He's moaning in to the kiss, his hips hitching, heat racing all over his skin. He's so hot, so turned on, so ready. He struggles against the strong hands holding him down, reassured when they don't give. Mikey's hair drags sticky-wet against his forehead, Ray's hands all over him, Pete's mouth moves swift and sloppy on his dick.

He's close. So fucking close he can feel it, throbbing deep in his belly, ready to shake loose. He tears his mouth from Mikey's, gasping for breaths that come out on moans - far too loud. "Pete. Pete." It's supposed to be a warning, but it comes out as a desperate cry. Pete pulls off, jacking him fast and wet. He barely gets two strokes in before Patrick stiffens and groans, coming so hard his body shakes. He snaps his eyes to Pete just in time to see the last spurt hit Pete's chin, the soft curve of Pete's smile as he jerks him through it, panting himself, sweat-slick and wet-lipped. Patrick blinks down at him dumbly, at Pete between his legs, covered in spunk, cradling his dick, and wonders how the fuck this happened.

He goes limp, letting his head drop back, his whole body singing with post-orgasmic bliss. Ray wraps his arms around him in a backwards hug, nuzzling his neck. "So fucking hot," Ray whispers and Patrick lets out a weak noise of gratitude, feeling like he couldn't move if his life depended on it. After a few long blinks he opens his eyes to Pete's smile, then Pete's kissing him again, slow, wet and deliberate. Stickiness smears onto Patrick's cheek and between their bodies, but Patrick could care less about being clean right now.

"Hey," Pete says, when they finally come up for air. He's looking at Patrick, eyes warm and fond. It's a familiar expression, one he's seen on Pete's face enough times before - but never while they were both naked and with the taste of Patrick's spunk lingering on their mouths. It's weird, because this should be frightening - risky, band-breaking territory - but it's not. Pete's warm smile is nothing new, the warm clench in Patrick's chest at seeing it isn't either. It's not a new feeling. It doesn't even need a new name. It's always been love, just maybe not the kind he first thought.

Or maybe it's exactly the kind he first thought.

He doesn't notice his own ear-splitting smile until he goes to kiss Pete and their teeth clack together. They giggle into each others' mouths between messy kisses until it's all too hard and they just collapse against one another, foreheads touching, sharing breath. It's only then that Patrick notices his right side is getting squished between Ray and Mikey who are enthusiastically necking. Patrick eases himself out of their way to lean heavily against Pete. They lie bonelessly on top of each other, watching Ray kiss his way down Mikey's chest. They look so good together, Ray so big and broad, Mikey slender and delicate. Patrick prods around for that familiar jealousy of Mikey and can't find it. A smile pulls at his lips and he settles against Pete, sweaty and fucked-out, watching Ray wrap one big hand around both his and Mikey's dicks.

Patrick thinks distantly if there were any way in the world he could get hard again it would be watching Ray jerk himself and Mikey off. Their mouths slide together wetly as they grind against each other, Ray's curls tangling with Mikey's messy birdsnest. Patrick nuzzles his head into Pete's neck, happy enough to just watch. Pete slides a hand to rest hot against the back of Patrick's neck, oozing contentment. He leans in a moment later, pressing a wet kiss to Patrick's lips, light and brief, almost like he's reassuring himself he still can. He can do that as often as he likes, as far as Patrick's concerned.

"Bet Ray comes first," Pete whispers and Patrick snickers.

"That a bet?"

"Fuck yeah it is," Pete looks way too smug, and there's no way Patrick can lose this. Ray has staying power.

"Stakes?" he asks, settling in for the long haul.

"Loser tells Joe and Andy we're fucking."

Patrick snorts out a surprised laugh, even as his heartbeat triples, because telling Joe and Andy means… "So this isn't a one off thing then?" Patrick can feel his cheeks flush at the words.

Pete pins Patrick with an intense stare, his hand warm on Patrick's cheek. "No way I'm giving you up now, Trick." He's totally sincere and fuck there's that clench in Patrick's chest. He can't fight the wide smile that spreads his lips. He can't say who kisses who, just that a breath later they're kissing, deep and clinging. They're so into it they nearly miss when Ray and Mikey start groaning louder.

They break for air just in time to catch Ray and Mikey coming pretty much simultaneously. Patrick gasps in a breath as he watches Ray thrust up into his hand, his mouth open on Mikey's cheek as he groans through it. Mikey's shaking, his fingers curled into Ray's shoulders, his stomach trembling. It's a breathtaking view. Mikey collapses against Ray's chest and Ray wraps an arm around him, holding him close, dropping a kiss on his forehead. He looks up a moment later, catching Patrick's eye and flashing him a sloppy fucked-out smile. Patrick returns it, feeling way too content.

"I'd call that a draw," Patrick tells Pete, because that was a total photo finish.

"I guess we're telling them together, then," Pete says, his mouth quirking up in a small smile. He slides his hand into Patrick's, gripping loosely.

Patrick looks down at Pete's darker fingers twined with pale ones. He glances up, flashing Pete a smile, "Fine by me."


Morning finds them in a sweaty pile in various states of undress. Patrick can't feel his arm, but that's probably because Pete is lying on it. His neck is stiff from sleeping with it at a weird angle, because he's using Ray's arm as a pillow, naturally. When he tries to sit up Pete clings to him and pulls him back down again.

"We've got bus call soon," Patrick's only guessing, he has no idea what time it is.

Pete mumbles something unintelligible and nuzzles Patrick's neck, his weight pressing Patrick into the grass. He smells disgusting, but then so does Patrick - a mix of sex, sweat and stale beer. He's uncomfortably heavy and they're stuck together everywhere their skin touches. It's pretty fucking gross, but right now Patrick doesn't want to move. He curls a hand into Pete's sweaty hair and breathes through his mouth, trying to ignore the ache in his back, the urge to get up and stretch.

He slides his other hand up to find Ray's near his head, slips his fingers between Ray's wide ones and thinks, just a little longer.

He starts to drift, nearly asleep again when something starts beeping. His Ray-shaped pillow shifts and Patrick pries his eyes open to see Ray clicking a few buttons on his phone.

"You set an alarm?" Patrick's voice is rough as hell. Thank god they don't have a show today.

Ray just shoots him a grin over Pete's head, "Dude, it's like you don't know me at all."

Patrick smiles back at him, because of course Ray would set an alarm. Patrick probably would have, if he'd thought of it. "You're a smart guy, Ray Toro."

"More like a control freak," Mikey manages to mumble the words into Ray's chest without seeming to move at all. It's quite a talent.

"I know one of those," Pete adds, giving Patrick's arm a squeeze like it wasn't already obvious who he's talking about.

"Shut your face, Pete." Patrick nudges the top of Pete's head with his chin.

Pete just lifts his head to shoot him a challenging look, "Shut it for me."

It's a clear invitation, and nothing new after last night. It shouldn't make Patrick's heart trip the way it does, but somehow, in the sober light of morning, it does. That doesn't stop him leaning in and taking Pete's mouth though, morning breath and all. There's already something familiar about the way Pete kisses, the way he throws himself into it, all lips and teeth; never easy, never casual.

When they break apart Patrick glances up to see Ray watching them, his expression weirdly unreadable.

"Let me up," Patrick murmurs to Pete. Pete grumbles, but complies and they do literally have to peel themselves apart, skin stuck with sweat and other things that Patrick doesn't want to consider right now.

His back cracks as he gets up, knee-walking to Ray's side and leaning down to kiss him, his shoulder brushing Mikey's messy hair. Ray's kiss is gentle, warm and a little searching. Something knots up in Patrick's chest to think this is probably the last one they'll share in a long time. Emotions he's been pushing down all summer threaten to boil to the surface but he presses them down again, the action as familiar as muscle memory.

It's a long time before Patrick breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Ray's. "I'm going to miss you." It's more than he meant to say, but it's not a lie either.

"I'll miss you, too." Ray's hand is warm and heavy at the back of Patrick's neck. "Who am I gonna talk to about drum loops now?" he adds, his voice light but the smile doesn't quite hit his eyes.

"I don't know, Bob?" Patrick suggests.

Mikey snuffles a laugh into Ray's chest, "Good luck." He gropes behind him to where Pete's kneeling down, tugging at his shirt. "Where's my meaningful goodbye kiss?"

"Come up and get it," Pete responds without skipping a beat. Mikey grumbles and sits up, turning to face Pete, blinking slowly behind his thick, crooked glasses. Pete reaches up to straighten them, petting his hands down Mikey's hair before resting his palms on Mikey's cheeks, the motions gentle. He licks his lips and swallows, hesitating, a flicker of what looks like heartbreak crossing his face a moment before he leans in.

It's hard to watch them kiss. Patrick doesn't visibly flinch, but the way they are with each other - so tender, so familiar - there's a burn of jealousy in Patrick's chest to see it.

"You okay?" Ray whispers softly, his thumb dragging soothingly circles against Patrick's neck. "Yeah," Patrick's voice is a little choked, "It's just-" he looks back at Pete and Mikey and breaks off, not sure if he can really put it into words.

"I know," Ray says, and when Patrick looks back at him, he knows Ray totally gets it. Ray tugs him into a hug, wraps his arms around Patrick and holds on. His breathing is a little shaky, but then, so is Patrick's. Neither of them mention it.


The sun glares down at them as they leave the tent, bright and unforgiving. Patrick feels one hundred times more unwashed and unslept when he squints out to see cleanup crews already out in force, collecting litter, while other workers pack up and bump out stalls and equipment. Fuck, it's really over. He keeps his eyes focused forwards as the four of them amble back towards the buses, not ready to lay eyes on Ray or Pete just yet. He's not ready to think about Mikey and Ray getting on their bus while he and Pete get back on theirs. Goodbyes suck.

He fights the urge to hold Ray's hand and just trudges on. He and Ray make it to the buses before Mikey and Pete, and Patrick's pretty sure that's not an accident. They stand awkwardly in front of the My Chem bus for long moments, Patrick struggling to find the right thing to say.

"You'll stay in touch, right?" It's a relief when Ray says it first.

"Of course," Patrick reaches down to tangle his hand with Ray's. "I'm gonna miss talking music with you."

"Can I send you stuff I'm working on?"

"Only if you promise to screenshot your tracks so I can see how the magic is made." Patrick smiles as Ray's cheek darken. He'll never get over how someone so talented can be so humble. Ray turns his face to smile into his hair and Patrick tries to capture that image in his head, Ray's wide grin and unruly curls, wanting to hang onto it.

Ray glances around quickly and tugs Patrick closer, dipping his head to take Patrick's mouth in a soft kiss. Patrick presses up on his toes, steadying himself with hand on Ray's shoulder as he kisses back, enjoying Ray's plush lips and firm grip.

They break apart, wet-lipped and a little awkward and Patrick struggles to find the right thing to say, fumbling between 'thank you' and 'I'll miss you' but nothing seems quite right. They stand there for a long moment, Patrick's lips still tingling from the kiss, eyes warm on each other.

Ray ends up speaking first, his mouth twitching up in a smile, "Take care of Pete." His thumb rests warm on Patrick's chin and his tone has no burn. He means it, totally earnest.

Patrick returns his smile, "Take care of Mikey."

"Okay," Ray nods, his smile frozen on his lips for a moment before he hauls Patrick into a hug. Patrick wraps his arms around Ray and hangs on, breathes him in for a few long moments. Ray lets him go with a final shoulder squeeze and a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Bye Trick."

"Bye Ray." Patrick watches Ray climb the stairs and disappear into his bus. It takes a while before he can get his legs to move and even then he doesn't go far. He settles in the shade a couple of buses down to wait for Pete, doing his best not to think in Cure lyrics and end-of-summer metaphors. He only half succeeds.

It's actually a relief to see Pete walking towards him, slouched into his hoodie with his hands in his pockets. Patrick stands up, brushing grass from his jeans. "You okay?" he asks.

Pete shakes his head. He's not crying, but he's blinking a lot. "Nope." He slings an arm around Patrick's shoulders and leans into an awkward hug, his lips brushing Patrick's neck as he adds, "But I will be."

Patrick wraps his other arm around Pete, his lips brushing Pete's hair as he hugs him closer. "Yeah, me too."


It takes a week for Pete to bring Patrick the lyrics he already posted on friends or enemies anyway. An interpretation of "bring" which equals leaving a few well-handled pages on Patrick's bed and disappearing. The paper is soft and crinkled in Patrick's hands as he reads words about yellow checkered cars, flickering porch lights and how the waists of jeans feel better at the ankles. He already read them once - the first time Pete posted them - pixels on a screen like a knife in his gut.

Patrick eyes chase Pete's scrawl across the page and this time the words don't hurt. And they're good. Nearly a song already.

He goes searching and finds Pete in the lounge, pacing like a caged animal. He tugs Pete onto the couch, and even sitting down Pete can't be still, twitching with nerves. He eyes the pages in Patrick's grip with with apprehension, like he's waiting for an angry word or a slap.

Patrick places the pages in his lap, laying a careful hand over them. "This is good. I mean," he stumbles a little, "this is a song."

"Yeah?" the hope is Pete's eyes is almost painful, like he thought-

"You thought I'd say no?" the words leave Patrick's mouth before he's even finished thinking them.

Pete shrugs, but his eyes say yes.

Patrick's fingers tighten on the pages the tiniest bit. "I thought we already covered how I can't say no to you. Like, ever."

Pete bites his lip, his gaze flicking down to the pages and back up again. He looks determined when he tells Patrick, "It's about Mikey."

"Did you really think for two seconds I didn't know that?" The words come out a little louder than Patrick means for them to. He swallows back a sigh and reaches for Pete's hand, tangling their fingers. He waits for Pete to meet his eyes and tells him, "I know. It's okay." He leans in and kisses Pete once, soft and lingering. When their lips part, the moment lingers, a soft fragile thing.

Pete's the first to speak. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Patrick nods. Pete's mouth twitches into a smile and he's so fucking beautiful. Beautiful, and his.

He rubs his thumb over the back of Pete's hand. "It's okay, I miss him too."

He's not sure if he's talking about Mikey or Ray. It doesn't matter.