Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I need someone to make out with me right now."

Pete’s admission into the tour bus is met with less than enthusiastic responses from his bandmates.

Surprisingly, Andy speaks up first, noting that he’s, “Not doing frivolous sex, but would otherwise be down.”

Joe claims Pete’s, “Not my type.”

Patrick doesn't say anything. He just looks at Pete over the top of his glasses and then puts his headphones back on, which — rude.

“Please Joe,” Pete whines. He figures Joe’s the easiest target. “This is totally platonic. I know you're like, super single.”

Joe accepts Pete ramming into his chest with the top of his head, giving Pete sad little pats on his unwashed hair. “I'm saving myself for a nice Jewish girl.”

Pete eyes him, because he knows for a fact that is a huge lie. Joe was flirting with the quiet girl who managed that one band who only played in Idaho… What was their band’s name? They were pretty good. Pete should look them up.

Either way, Joe is a fat ass liar. And Pete calls him such.

“Well, I’m waiting for a girl in general,” Joe replies with a, super bummer bro face.

“Come on!” Pete’s not above begging. He’s not above a lot of things, and that includes making out with his bandmates totally sober because it’s been weeks since he’s been able to like, get the logistics of hooking with anyone to work — and it's starting to drive him a little nuts.

Well, more nuts than he usually feels.

The first girl he tried to cozy up to ended up being the girlfriend of some drummer and Pete was not about to get in between that. Then there were a couple of girls who knew way too many facts about him, which, creepy. After that, most of the women he’s been around have either been 1) techs who don’t give a fuck whether he lives or dies as long as he doesn’t spill Monster on his mic pack or 2) drunk.

Now, he’s too busy trying to make a record label, run a clothing company, and figure out what their next album is going to be about so they don’t all starve, to go to parties. The free time that he does have at night is spent trying not to have panic attacks in public bathrooms.

Pete bets if he had someone to make out with he could distract himself and not spend his evenings dry heaving surrounded by communal urine.

It’s later that same day he finds himself tucked away behind the LX truck. It's a secluded spot that only the veteran techs visit, which makes it a nice place just to get away from it all.

Today however, he’s joined by Mikey Way. Pete had been standing here when the other bassist turned the corner and froze — clearly not expecting to see another person. He managed to shake off being startled with ease and joined Pete leaning against the trailer with a shrug and a quiet, “Hey, Pete.”

And that was that.

Mikey’s cool. He lets Pete talk enough for the both of them. Plus, when Pete gets weird in the brain, Mikey doesn’t judge him. He just starts detailing the plot of old sci-fi movies he watched as a kid. Mostly, he just allows Pete to have a minute where he doesn’t have to be Pete Wentz™.

It's refreshing to have someone not give a shit if you’re cool or not.

They’re both taking refuge in the small bit of beautiful shade the truck provides from the scorching heat. Pete’s brain is still churning over his issue of essentially being a Warped Tour virgin loser when everyone, even Mikey’s weird brother, seems to be having no issues getting laid.

“Mikey,” he says, trying not to sound too whiny, “No one will make out with me. I even said it could be platonic! I just need to get it out, you know?”

Mikey nods, clicking away on his phone.

“I don’t think I’m asking for much,” Pete continues, hitting his head against the hot metal of the truck with a soft thud. “I’m considerate. I brush my teeth.” He ticks these things off on his fingers as he goes, “I won’t shove my hand down your jeans without asking. Why won’t anyone kiss me?”

“I can kiss you if you want.” Mikey mutters, sliding his phone closed and sticking it into the back pocket of his jeans.

That is… that is not what he was expecting. His head whips to Mikey to see if he’s kidding, but Mikey looks totally serious. Okay, he can’t look too eager but holy shit. Mikey is supremely out of his league. Mikey’s silent, and mysterious, and cool in an effortless way that involves being seriously weird as a kid.

“I don't like taking my glasses off though,” Mikey continues and Pete really needs to say something.

“That's fine with me,” Pete responds, totally chill and cool and not at all staring at Mikey’s lips.

Mikey’s brown eyes flick over Pete’s body and he hopes Mikey just thinks the pink on his cheeks is from the heat. Mikey nods and takes a step forward, hands coming up to hold Pete’s face between his warm palms.

Then Mikey’s mouth is on his.

It starts out slow, just Mikey’s lips pressed against his. They’re softer then Pete thought they would be, considering the blazing heat around them, and it makes Pete wonder if his own are chapped and uncomfortable. He goes to ask, but when his lips part, Mikey takes that as a sign to slide further into his mouth. Mikey's tongue presses against his own in slow, almost shy movements. Suddenly, Pete feels like he’s just got on a rollercoaster and he’s under the height requirement.

Kissing a guy is new. He's had a few pecks before, but nothing like this — where Mikey's tongue is introducing itself to his teeth. It's still warm and wet, but Mikey’s hands are a lot more demanding. Mikey’s taller then him, but most girls are too. Plus he's not so much taller that Pete’s neck gets uncomfortable. Mikey’s also really nice to hold. He's got good hips, and shoulders, and his neck is long and the hair at the nape of his neck is fun to play with.

There's so many things to learn about him too. How the inside of his mouth tastes like strawberry jelly, or how he lets out these soft breaths through his nose Pete can feel against his cheek. Or how Mikey takes the wheel on the movement of their lips slotting together, his long spindly fingers holding Pete in place to just be consumed.

His glasses kind of poke into Pete’s cheek, and Pete is thinking about making a comment about it, but then Mikey's teeth pull Pete’s bottom lip in to suck on it gently, and anything outside of the feeling of weightlessness that brings gets thrown out the window.

Slowly and methodically, Mikey opens him one wet gasp at a time.

From there it's just Pete trying not to let his knees give out as he tries to give Mikey just as good as he's getting. But he's not really sure what to do with his hands now that Mikey’s taking charge. Should he try to fight it? Play coy? What are the dynamics here?

There’s some voice in his head that sounds like Andy talking about gender roles and Pete really doesn't want to think about Andy right now. He wants to focus on how warm Mikey is making his insides feel. How the buzzing in his brain is finally turning into liquid euthanasia.

He doesn’t think about breathing, about the next album cycle, about anything further than Mikey Way’s lips moving against his. It’s actually kind of peaceful… if he could just figure out where to put his hands.

Mikey pulls away and Pete has to stop himself from whining.

“You're really bad at this,” Mikey says, a splash of laughter garnishing his words.

Pete wipes spit off his chin. He thinks whatever he’s doing is pretty great, judging by how his heart feels like he’s on amphetamines.

“What do I do with my hands?” he asks, “You don’t have boobs.”

Mikey’s laugh breaks through then, “You gotta-”, he grabs Pete's wrists and deliberately places Pete's hands on his ass. He’s looking at Pete the entire time, like he’s waiting for Pete to say something, or back out, but Pete is down with some ass touching. What a lovely ass Mikey has to get acquainted with.

He says as much and Mikey smirks. Then he twists his own fingers through Pete's hair and pulls Pete's mouth back up to his.

Mikey doesn’t start with the training wheels shit anymore. He pulls Pete’s lip between his teeth again, letting it fall back with a slight sound before running his tongue over the teeth marks. It's languid and slow, just like how the heat melts away all Pete’s thoughts on a hot day, Mikey kisses away every brain cell Pete has.

There’s nothing in his brain to rub together, just the raw feeling that he needs more of whatever this is. His hands pull Mikey closer with what little flesh there is on his bony ass, trying to get him closer. Pete repeats the gesture to Mikey, letting his teeth pull at Mikey's lips and loves how flushed he can make them. After a while, Mikey presses in harder, letting his tongue slide across the seam of Pete's lips.

Pete gasps and feels Mikey tongue slide past his lips. It runs along his own, slow and heavy and then Pete realizes he can taste Mikey's tongue — feel the taste buds that run across his and he lets out a very distinguished, totally masculine, moan.

He keeps licking and pulling at Mikey, losing himself in the wet hot kisses, not even the sweat dripping down between them could stop him. Everything there ever was, or ever will be, is located in the way Mikey’s spit feels sliding across his lips. His brain suddenly realizes he's letting out these little noises. High, lofty whines as he pulls Mikey in, like he wants to melt them together. He doesn't want to stop for anything.

“Fuck, Mikey,” he gasps, finally stopping to take a breath.

“See,” Mikey says, taking a couple of deep breaths, “Hands can go wherever.”

Pete nods and then wraps his fists into Mikey’s Stones Roses t-shirt to pull him back in. He doesn’t care about his hands anymore. All he desperately wants is the taste of Mikey back in his mouth. Mikey and his soft lips and little grunts and his saintly fucking patience. Mikey fulfills on every front, and suddenly Pete feels like he’s been doing this forever, letting the push and pull of them moving together go and go and go.

They go until Pete's lips are tired and bruised. They break apart, both of them panting, and Mikey wipes Pete's spit away from his chin.

Pete can still feel the ghost of Mikey’s lips pressed against his, a tingling feeling that feels like a heartbeat.

“Was that good?” Pete asks. He’s going to go drown himself in a portapotty if Mikey says no because wow. Maybe it’s the fact he hasn’t gotten much action lately, but… wow. Yeah, that’s all his brain can supply at this time, wow.

They’re still pressed chest to chest, and Pete can feel Mikey’s chest push against his as he breathes. Neither of them back away though. Mikey looks down at him with his black eyes, mouth red and swollen. He sways forward, and Pete thinks for a second he's going to get kissed again.

There’s a guitar riff from somewhere far away, and the moment breaks. Mikey takes a step back and fixes his glasses. Pete’s hands fall away from his shirt and he feels like he doesn’t know what to do with them again. There’s some weird feeling in his gut, like he got what he asked for but not what he wanted.

“Let's go play GTA on Frank's PlayStation.” Mikey says quickly before turning around and heading towards his bus. He doesn't even wait to see if Pete is following him. Just him and his lovely ass stiffly power walking away.

Pete wipes his mouth with the back of his sweatshirt — and follows.

Inside the MCR bus, Pete flops down next to Mikey who hands him a controller. It isn't five minutes before Pete is laying into Mikey about how dog shit he is at shooting and Mikey sticks his foot in Pete's face.

Pete was right, this is so easy.

·

When bus call comes and Pete is forced to return to his own home on wheels, he bounds through the door and lets it slam shut behind him. Joe and Patrick are sitting at the tiny kitchen booth looking at something on Patrick’s laptop.

Patrick glances up and his face immediately contorts into concern. “Where have you been all day?”

“And why do you look like a mail order bride?” Joe follows up with, looking more confused than Patrick, whose expression is now boarding on disgusted.

Pete knows he probably looks debauched, but he just had one of the best afternoons of his life and if he can’t brag about it, he’s at least not going to be ashamed of it.

“Mikey understands,” He says, “Unlike you losers.”

The good news is Patrick no longer looks disgusted. The bad news is he looks at Pete for a long time and then just shakes his head. “Pete…” He mutters it in the tone Pete knows is his i-am-concerned-but-for-reasons-I-will-gatekeep tone.

Pete doesn’t care though. Patrick can be concerned all his little five foot five body wants. Pete just made out with one of the coolest guys ever and then played video games while eating leftover Chinese food. That’s almost better than any date he could come up with, and it wasn’t even a date.

Pete lays in his bunk that night, the road moving under him rhythmically, trying to find some sleep. Now that enough time has passed for all the happy chemicals in his brain to leave, there’s this warm anxious feeling crawling up his body making him question if he made the right choice. He hopes things aren't going to be awkward between him and Mikey now. Mikey’s a seriously amazing guy. He's funny and sincere, and a huge nerd at heart just like Pete. They can talk for hours and Pete doesn’t even notice. And he cares about people. You don't find that in a lot of people on tours like this.

Pete would be really bummed out if some light kissing meant they couldn’t hang out and be friends anymore.

He doesn’t want Mikey to think that he’s using him or anything like that. Pete’s never been a groupie guy. He hates the whole… love em’ and leave em’ thing so many dudes have going on around here, but he also doesn’t want Mikey to think that he’s, like, gay or anything.

Pete makes the resolution to talk to Mikey the next time he sees him about this whole thing.

·

The next time turns out to be early the following morning. Pete’s found some kind of sick enjoyment in waking up with the sun and getting to watch it bloom across whatever asphalt they’re on top of.

“Hey! Mikey!” He can’t help the smile that forms on his face as he sees Mikey come into view.

Mikey walks towards him, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair still wet from what was probably a kitchen sink shower. He stands next to Pete and knocks their shoulders together slightly as they stare out across the black top and watch the sun climb over the mountains.

“Is anyone around?” Mikey asks.

“No, I just came out here to… I don’t know,” Pete kicks at a rock, “Take in the sights, I guess.”

Mikey nods. He removes his hands from his pockets, rubbing his palms across his slowly greying jeans. Pete’s about to ask Mikey if everything is cool between them, when suddenly Mikey grabs his neck and kisses him.

It takes him a second to realize what's happening. Mikey’s mouth is still soft and this time tastes like toothpaste. His body catches up faster then his brain, instinctively opening up under Mikey with a contented sigh. The noise of delight seems to ease something in Mikey, because for a second Pete can feel a smile press against his lips.

It’s the fact that Mikey seemed to be a little unsure if Pete wanted this which makes him kiss back so hard. This is the kind of kissing you lay awake at night in your childhood bed and dream of when you’re a horny teenager. He needs Mikey to know this is the good shit. For now, he wraps his arms around Mikey’s neck and holds him steady as their mouths slide together slowly under the morning Utah sun.

When Mikey's seemingly had enough, he pulls away and looks down at his beaten Converse while Pete runs a hand through his already messed up hair, pulling himself back down to Earth.

“Gerard rented this god awful horror movie,” Mikey says, still staring at the dusty Chucks. “Do you wanna make fun of it with me?”

Pete looks at his watch. He doesn’t have load-in until four.

“Lead the way.”

They can talk about the whole what are we later. Plus, it’s not like this is going to keep happening… probably.

·

It keeps happening.

The thing is, continuing to make out with Mikey is waaaaay easier than trying to get with some girl who may or may not sell all of his personal information to TMZ, or detail out to some D-list website about how fucked up he is. Gone are the days of hooking up with some chick in a back corner of whoever’s bus and then having to see them sell merch for the next several days.

And he knows that Mikey isn’t a fan who could secretly be a stalker. Mikey isn’t even really a Fall Out Boy fan. Mikey tells him his playing is shit on the daily.

Plus, bringing people back to the bus feels sleezy, okay. He can’t get over the fact it feels gross.

He loves that people know him and care about his music and his lyrics and scream them back every day. He wants to be famous forever, heard across the world, but Mikey also gets how lonely it is up onstage — how dark it is when the stage lights come off. There’s a certain… something in knowing that Mikey’s going through the same shit. So yeah. It keeps happening because honestly, this is such a good idea and really Pete is full of good ideas and this might be second best one to giving Patrick’s shitty demos another chance.

They don't think about it too hard. It's not like him and Mikey are dating, which honestly makes it double easier. There’s no expectation. Pete doesn't have to worry about being a ‘good boyfriend’. He just gets to hangout with Mikey, fucking around doing whatever they want, just like always. They get off at rest stops together, play video games, eat bad barbeque from the mess tent, walk around random cities, and watch each other play. There's just now the added benefit of getting to make out with him until Pete feels like his bones are liquid. It's like a buy one get one sale. It's easy.

Plus, Mikey's unnaturally good at kissing. It's insane. Really, he can't believe no one was taking advantage (with totally enthusiastic consent) of Mikey's lips. He might not say much, but Mikey’s mouth is nothing less than black belt skilled when it's working against Pete's own, pushing and biting until he's light headed.

Pete always thought when people said that shit, it was because kissing was so good, but now he's wondering if it isn't oxygen deprivation — because when Mikey kisses him? He KISSES him — full force and possessive.

With Mikey's holding him, Pete doesn't get to think, or do, anything else but kiss and be kissed; laid out on a couch or against a Loveland gas station wall. He is torn apart by Mikey’s lips and left gasping as the other man disappears back onto his bus with a nod, leaving Pete there feeling like an addict or maybe like he just completed a decathlon. He wouldn’t really know. He’s never done a decathlon. But he bets it’s just as breathtaking as kissing Mikey Way is.

It’s... relaxing, to have fallen in with someone just as intense as he is. There is a part of Mikey that Pete is slowly unwrapping, learning more and more about through the moments after their spit gets exchanged, where Mikey will tell him about his favorite comics, or opinions on baseball, or thoughts about what he wants his future to look like. It's a part that's all Pete's, hidden away from the public.

There's this weird feeling that shows up in Pete's chest. Maybe he caught the flu that Dashboard Confessional has last week, but his chest feels really tight, and he has trouble breathing. It happens right when Pete watches Mikey eating his stale cereal, milk dripping down his chin as he argues with Gerard, and the thought occurs to him he could kiss the white droplet away. He could press his lips to Mikey's chin and no one would say shit. It also happens right before My Chemical Romance is about to go on stage, which is weird. Maybe it's the heat or something. But it shows up right after Mikey turns away and hits the first notes of Venom. Unrelated, Pete doesn't know when he started kissing Mikey good luck before he goes onstage.

One day Frank asks him where Mikey is. (He was hiding in Pete's bunk, specifically to get away from Frank) Pete walks away wondering when Mikey shifted into something that could be categorized as Pete's to take care of.

Mikey's not his.

That would be crazy.

Chapter Text

The thing about kissing, and one might forget this fact if they haven’t been kissed in a while — is it doesn't have to just be on the lips.

They're making out again. Shocker.

Pete’s pressed into the side of a 7/11 that their buses stopped at for a snack. The two of them are half hidden behind a giant ice machine, or at least he hopes they are otherwise he has a lot of explaining to do. His hands are fisted in Mikey's jacket, and his tongue linked with Mikey's, and he's so focused on trying to stay quiet, he doesn't notice Mikey's mouth traveling until he feels the other’s teeth scrape against his jaw.

It feels perfect, the light pressure over his pulse point, so he doesn't say anything because why would he want to freak Mikey out? But below the jaw is the neck, and actually Mikey’s teeth scraping against the soft area feels really fucking good too. Pretty soon Mikey’s mouth is a litany of soft bites across the tendons in Pete’s neck, pulling at the skin before licking over his work.

Just soft nips at the skin. It’s like Mikey is trying to tease him, the fucker. He lets out a breathless little gasp, just because he’s caught off guard, not because this is making him feel like he’s gonna pass out behind a 7/11.

Mikey’s deep brown eyes dart up to Pete’s, and he’s blinking like a doe with none of the innocence. Pete, who's been studying hard on how to read Mikey, gets that he's asking for permission.

He threads his fingers up under Mikey's beanie and holds him to his own pulse point.

"Well,” Pete says a thousand Hail Mary’s to keep his voice steady, “Isn’t the rumor you guys are vampires? Show me what you got Mikey Way.”

And then Mikey is sucking on Pete’s jugular until Pete's toes curl up inside of his Vans.

Pete gets back on his bus feeling like his skin is separated from his body and his heart is a NASCAR engine.

So, there are hickies now, which — hickies are totally in. Bruises come from all kinds of things when you’re jumping off stages and diving into crowds. It isn’t weird to wake up with mysterious blue and black splotches littered across your body. What’s new and raw, is the feeling of walking around feeling like Pete has a secret — something that’s just his and Mikey’s.

When that asshole from New Found Glory presses his thumb into Pete’s neck and cackles when Pete flinches, Pete gets the last laugh because those are his Mikey Bruises. And no one else has those.

He actually wants to ask if maybe Mikey would bite along his bartskull, kiss dark purple bruises along his pelvis, because that’d look so fucking cool on stage.

Looking back on it, Pete feels a bit like he's a character in that If You Give a Mouse a Cookie book. He's a dumbass mouse asking for a cookie and now whoops a dick’s in my ass!

He can see it now:

If you make out with Mikey Way, he’ll ask to bite your neck.

When you let him bite your neck, you're going to get a raging boner.

·

It’s hard not to get a semi, especially when Mikey's mouth is saying really hot words such as, “Want to watch Terminator 2?” and Pete wants to know how such hot, sexy ideas taste inside his mouth.

So, they're watching his favorite movie of all time and Mikey has his hands shoved under Pete’s shirt, holding and stroking his skin in this adorable gentle way. His lips are slowly making a trail of kisses along the underside of Pete’s jaw — it’s all just so warm and languid. Mikey’s attentive and tender and stupid fucking hot, Pete just needs a little bit more. He tilts his crotch so there's a little bit of pressure on his dick from Mikey’s sharp hip. It’s not like he’s frotting against him or anything. He’s keeping it simple. Just a little pressure.

Nothing over the top.

Thirty minutes later, right when the T900 gets his face melted off, Pete’s straddling Mikey, grinding pathetically down against Mikey’s firm leg while he tries to moan quieter than the noise coming from the TV. Holy fuck, the friction feels so good.

Mikey thrusts back up into Pete, his grip on Pete’s hips biting as he pulls Pete down in an unorganized needy fashion, grinding their bodies together as they each try to find relief. Pete has one hand gripping the back of the couch for support while the other turns up the volume, getting the audio to drown out his moans. He also wants to watch John Connor crush a Terminator in the dark reflection of the window over Mikey's shoulder.

"Fucking love this part," he groans, mouth open and gasping. Fuck, he’s so close.

"Did you know it's all practical effects?" Mikey pants out.

Pete comes in his pants like a teenager at the fact Mikey knows that.

·

If you get a boner from Mikey Way,

He’s going to offer to take care of it .

·

Right, so then grinding against each other becomes the new normal. Nothing wrong with some dry humping. Lord of the Rings is a long movie. You can get a lot of orgasms in during The Battle of Hornburg if you line your dicks up just right.

(Yes, Pete knows he broke his foot kicking the helmet, but Oh my god, tell it to me again Mikey. Let me hear all of your nerd facts, please, fuck, right there.)

It’s good. It’s fine. So good in fact, Patrick starts asking Pete why he seems so much happier despite the fact their AC is broken. Pete isn’t quite ready to share Mikey with anyone yet, so he spews some half formed bullshit about finding inner peace before checking to see if he has enough time before load-in to get some quality PlayStation time with Mikey. He just got Resident Evil 4 and Pete wants to watch him die over and over again.

Late at night, when Pete's brain wants to eat itself, he decides that orgasms are orgasms. There is no need to freak over any of this. This is just an unexpected perk in his amazing, wonderful, no flaws plan to get laid with as little headache as possible. Mikey’s fucking fantastic and what’s the difference between kissing and some tasteful frottage between friends?

It’s not like he’s getting up close and personal with Mikey’s dick or anything.

Well, that is until it's really hot one day, like, worse than all the other really hot days. It’s miserable weather where Pete can’t think about anything beside how hot he is.

And how good Mikey’s slick skin feels against him.

They’re stripped down to their underwear and skin just doesn't have the same friction as jeans. Mikey and him are both covered in sweat, their chests sliding together so it's impossible to get a good grip to grind down onto anything. Pete's trying to get some relief by kissing Mikey, but he gets distracted licking the sweat droplets that run across Mikey’s collarbone with the flat of his tongue. He can taste a hint of Mikey’s soap under the salty tang of the sweat and Pete feels totally honored Mikey showered for him.

They’re crammed into Pete’s bunk — believe it or not it’s cleaner than Mikey’s. Mikey’s glasses are fogging up from the sauna the curtain creates, but Pete can still see Mikey’s concentrated little pout as he tries to unrhythmically rub one out against Pete’s hip. He’s got this frustrated crease in his forehead and is letting out frustrated moans which Pete thinks is strangely hot.
Mikey's bangs are sticking to Pete's forehead and he can feel how painfully hard Mikey is against his thigh. It’s like his dick has a pulse, beating against Pete’s skin begging him to do something. Pete’s never had a dick speak to him like this before. It’s like it’s calling out to him like some dick of Christmas future saying, touch me, touch me, touch me with every beat. He wants to go feral.

“Fuck, Mikey. It's too damn hot,” he whines.

Mikey, stuck in some kind of humid haze, moves his lips lazily across Pete's mouth, sliding his tongue across the sweat on Pete's neck to lick at the dip in his throat.

“Mikey. Jesus fuck. Oh my god.”

It’s like he's trying to jerk off into an oven. His dick is so hard it’s throbbing and they only have fifteen minutes until he really does need to wipe down his body and go talk to the people from Kerrang! Mikey’s fingers are pinning Pete's hips against the bed, and his pathetic little thrusts are nothing compared to Mikey who’s fucking their erections together. He wishes his back could stick to the sheets a little harder so they could find some kind of relief.

Mikey bites down on his neck to stifle his whine and if Pete doesn't come right now he's going to explode.

“That's it. Fuck this shit,” he mutters pulling his boxers down. It’s just enough to get his dick out, but his vision almost whites out from getting a hand on his dick.

He’s not fucking evil, so he yanks Mikey’s boxers down to free him as well. Mikey lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a whine when Pete’s thumb flicks over the slit, wiping precum across his fingers.

Together they're a little big for his fist, but Pete's determined to make it work. He jerks them off fast and rough with one hand, the other grabbing the back of Mikey’s sweat soaked hair and kissing him senseless. The feeling of Mikey's dick next to his is blazing hot and the dry tug from his palm is refreshingly familiar.

Pete is too horny and desperate to really freak out about the fact Mikey’s dick is currently sharing a sleeping bag, if you will, with Pete’s dick. The fact that he’s dealing with another guy’s dick doesn’t even really cross his mind in fact. To Pete, he’s jerking himself off and Mikey (hard, thick, precum-coated Mikey) just also happens to be there. Pete feels a little bad; he's not even really thinking about what Mikey feels. He just needs to cum like, right now.

Mikey’s letting out these soft whimpers into his ear and his hands are fisted in the sheets above Pete’s head, arms shaking as he holds himself above Pete. He's a breath away from collapsing and it just makes Pete jerk them off faster.

“Pete. Please, fuck. Faster.” Mikey’s voice doesn’t sound like himself. It’s like some horny pornstar version of Mikey was uploaded and is now moaning out Pete’s name as he jerks them off together.

Some part of Pete is also turned on by the taboo of it, that's another guy's dick rubbing on your dick Pete, hehehehe. It makes him a little high. Who is this guy? This isn't depressed, sad Pete. This is Pete who is cool and gets laid.

They come almost exactly together, Pete spilling out first with a cry and Mikey following, his face scrunching in that way which really shouldn't be so adorable for a grown man coming his brains out.

Mikey does collapse on top of him when it’s over. Their chests stick together with sweat and an amount of spunk Pete doesn’t want to think about. For being such a skinny guy, Mikey post orgasm feels like a million pounds.

“Mikey, it's too hot, off, off.” Pete gasps. Mikey doesn’t make any signs of moving, just mutters something unintelligible into Pete’s collarbone.

He shoves at Mikey, and he swears it was friendly, but he seems to misjudge just how small the bunk is and Pete gets to see the second of panic cross Mikey’s face as he becomes unbalanced, reaching to grab the curtain to save him but ripping it off the tracks as he falls to the floor.

Pete laughs at him until Mikey pulls him down on top of him.

After that, hand jobs become a thing that they do! Pretty regularly!

Which is a great development. It’s just like jerking yourself off and honestly, Mikey’s got a nice dick! He didn’t think about it much the first time, but now that he's taken a long hard look, Pete's man enough to admit it's nice! It's normal shaped. It fits well in his hand. When Pete touches it, Mikey lets out these small huffs and licks his lips until they’re shiny. Most importantly the tip is kinda this beautiful pink color and Pete sometimes wonders what it would be like to put his lips on it.

But that's kinda weird to suggest, because neither of them are like… into guys, so they stick with their hands and Pete will get Mikey off basically anywhere he can. He’s come to kind of really love the way Mikey bites his lip and scrunches up when Pete swipes his thumb over the tip. It's cute. Mikey’s got a cute orgasm face.

He feels accomplished that he can make a guy with as few facial expressions as Mikey show fifteen new ones. It's whatever!

Mikey and him will sometimes walk home from ‘a large gathering of people drinking’, (they are discouraged from calling them parties because Warped doesn't want it to seem like there is a drinking problem). They'll walk home early because Pete likes to watch the sun rise over the asphalt in the morning and is kind of on this kick of trying to take better care of himself. He's tried all the drugs so he might as well give going sober a shot.

Mikey, who always Irish goodbyes with him, will lead Pete through the maze of buses and vans and cars, until they find a spot where you can almost see the stars. Pete never knows what to say then — a laconic mood infecting him. Mikey will say some shit like, “Did you know those stars are probably all burnt out now? We're looking at dead stars," and then Pete will attack Mikey’s face with his face because fucking hell, he's perfect.

They're doing the kissing under the stars thing until Mikey slides to his knees one night and says, “Let me do this,” and then is licking a stripe on the underside of Pete's dick.

Pete comes on Mikey's face under all those dead stars.

Obviously, he has to blow Mikey after that because you can't come on a guy's eyelashes and then leave him with blue balls. Pete's never had a dick in his mouth but it's okay; it's just Mikey, and it's dark, and Pete's a little buzzed.

Mikey’s cum is hot on his cheek. He thinks next time he could totally swallow.

It’s neither dark, nor is he buzzed, when he's on his knees in front of the couch on the MCR bus sucking Mikey off the next week. But they do have some weird black and white sci-fi movie on in the background, so Pete can't even really hear the slurping and choking noises coming out of him.

Plus, Mikey’s fingers feel really good scratching his scalp. He's getting used to smelling a dude's pubic hair, like by the seventh time it's kind of just… there. Also, Mikey swallowed earlier so Pete’s boxers aren't uncomfortably stiff. He's pretty fucking content down here.

His jaw sort of aches after, but the way Mikey looks at him when their pants are zipped up is absolutely worth it. Mikey’s cheeks are slightly flushed and his eyes are just a little bit crinkled. In true Mikey fashion he doesn't say much, but he gives Pete a kiss, one with zero tongue and Pete has learned to read it as Mikey's thank you.

·

If you start getting Mikey Way off,

You're going to want to know what else he can do .

·

On Warped there's nothing to do but be sweaty, do work, and fool around — and they've both finished their sets for the day, so check and check for work and sweat. They've also already snuck out behind the road cases and messed around, so now they're on the couch with The Matrix on in the background, killing time until the next day arrives. Pete’s laying in Mikey's lap with no real purpose other than to be close, but strangely, the itch to get off is still there.

The blowjobs are nice and the kissing is great, like, the kissing is really great. Mikey’s always so fucking kind whenever Pete’s feeling a little more, well, typical Pete Wentz and isn’t in the mood. He never looks put off and just brings Ray’s laptop over to watch movies. Pete doesn’t think Ray knows that, so he definitely doesn’t do any funny business with Toro's laptop in the bunk. He respects that man too much, no matter how great the kissing is.

And the kissing is really great. Pete can not stress how much he loves kissing Mikey.

He thinks about it while he watches Neo slow-mo dodge bullets, he loves doing a lot of things with Mikey. He loves debating which Slim-Jim flavor is the best with Mikey just as much as he loves when Mikey times himself to get Pete off in under five minutes.

If he wants to get really real with himself, he’s also having a hard time falling asleep unless he can listen to Mikey’s breathing which is kind off concerning the longer he thinks about it, because Mikey is going to Europe so like, he’s going to have to spend a lot of money on long distance phone calls.

There’s also the fact that Pete wants to have sex. Like, fuck someone with no clothes on, kind of sex. It haunts him like a ghost from a dollar rental psychotronic movie. It’s terrible but he can not stop thinking about it.

And like, he’s not about to have sex with anyone who isn’t Mikey. So, yeah. He’s gotta' pitch this to Mikey. Pete, sweaty and maybe a like sex drunk from all the orgasming earlier, clears his throat to make his announcement.

“Okay, Mikey. I need you to pop my cherry.”

“What?” Mikey mumbles. He’s still staring at the screen shoving Wheat Thins into his mouth by the handful.

Pete sits up, twisting his body to stare at Mikey,. “Let’s face it, we just need to get it over with. I'm so fucking horny. I need to have sex, and I need to have it with you because you're cool.”

Mikey crunches on his Wheat Thins, not breaking eye contact from where Neo is being a badass on screen.

“Okay, yeah. I can do that,” he says, mouth full.

“Come on- wait, what?” Pete’s brain stalls. “You’re down?”

“Well,” Mikey takes a glance over at him, “Are you gonna be weird about it and freak out?

“No Mikey, come on. That was one time okay, I swear.” God you freeze up jerking a guy off in a handicap porta-potty one time.

“Does not instill confidence,” Mikey says, “I rescind my acceptance.” His tone is flat but Pete can see the slight twitch of his nose to cover the fact he wants to smile.

Pete decides if Mikey’s playing with him, two can play that game. “No Mikey! Please,” he jumps forward to nose into Mikey’s neck, “I need to get laid and you're the best person for the job. Mikey Way help! You're my only hope!”

“Don't bring Star Wars into this.” Mikey says, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. Pete feels his hand as it slides around Pete’s waist to keep him from falling off Mikey’s lap. A good sign.

Pete looks him dead in the eye. He’s so fucking serious about this and Mikey needs to know how serious he is. “See, that's why I wanna do this with you. Get laid, have fun,” he starts ticking things off on his fingers, “Watch Star Wars, then fall asleep with no pants on! You won't have to worry about whether she is enjoying herself, because she is a he, and he is me. It will be like hanging out! But also with sex.”

Mikey looks at him with a vague sense of confusion but his hands are rubbing absentmindedly across Pete's shoulder blades right now. Guy is not as uninterested as he seems.

“Tell me you don't want to get laid and I'll drop it,” Pete tells him, “I only want to do it if you want to.”

“Okay,” Mikey says, squeezing Pete’s bicep, “That actually sounds like a good idea, which is dangerous because you never have good ideas.”

“My ideas are awesome,” Pete says, affronted, “It was my idea to kiss you.”

“That's what you think,” Mikey says. It’s followed by giving Pete a small kiss. He tastes like salt and herb flavoring.

Pete tries to chase Mikey for another kiss and Mikey lets him. Haha, loser.

“You won't regret this. I am great at sex,” Pete thinks about that for a second, “Well, I mean like, I assume I’m just as good at guy sex as I am at girl sex. It can’t be that different.”

Something appears in Mikey Pete hasn't seen before during this whole friends-who-make-out-and-cuddle-thing. Mikey seems a little hesitant.

“You've never…” He pauses looking at Pete carefully, running his words over his tongue, “Done anything before?”

“No?” Pete doesn’t know how many hours Mikey thinks are in a day but between playing sets, cooking at the mess tent, and having lets smash our bodies together time with Mikey, Pete’s day is booked and blessed.

“You've never done anything with a guy? I'm the first?” Mikey sounds astonished at this. It’s like this is a big new fact and not totally obvious. Pete told Mikey he was the first… didn’t he? He’s pretty sure it came up.

“I mean I'm not like...” Pete doesn’t really know what to say, “Gay like that?” He finishes lamely.

Mikey’s eyes narrow. “Are we or are we not about to have sex?”

“Yeah but this is like, different,” Pete doesn’t want to over analyze this. All he knows is that he wants to have sex, and that it has to be with Mikey. He will probably start spiraling later, but right now, with Mikey’s arms wrapped around him, and his weird little Jersey accent filling his ears up, Pete’s totally happy. It’s Mikey. Mikey makes him feel like he doesn't have to be nervous. He’s not like any guy (or girl really) that Pete’s met.

“Like, I'll have sex with you because it's you, not because you're a guy.” Other men gross Pete out, and the idea of having to flirt with someone who doesn’t want to talk about Marvel Comics sounds exhausting.

“Have you done stuff?” Pete suddenly feels kind of sick. Mikey’s free to do whatever he wants in his own personal MikeyWay time, but there's this scary feeling in Pete's stomach right now and he doesn't know why.

Mikey shakes his head. “No. I mean, nothing more than some over the clothes stuff. And nothing since… well, since you.” There's a blush that appears just faintly across his cheeks, though Pete's not sure what Mikey has to be embarrassed for.

The gross weird feeling leaves just as fast as it arrived.

“So, what do you say then Mikey?” Pete asks, “Want to go all the way with me?” He tries to say it with as much cheese as he can, but he gets the impression it comes out a little too sincere.

Mikey rubs Pete’s back slowly, and he must decide what he was worrying about wasn't worth it. Which is good, because Pete stresses when Mikey’s anxious. He needs to remember to ask the really nice lighting girls to pick up some peppermint tea when they go to Publix. He read that it's supposed to help anxiety.

“Yes, Pete.” Mikey talks to him like he’s half of an old married couple, which makes his heart go all pitter-patter despite the fact that him and Mikey aren’t even dating. “Are you going to get the stuff or do I?”

“I can absolutely get the stuff.” Pete has never been so confident about his shopping abilities.

The stuff in question is condoms and KYJelly from a Walgreens in the middle of Ohio. As he sets it on the counter for the cashier to scan, he does have a quick panic that he's going to be arrested for sodomy laws. Are sodomy laws still a thing? Damn, he should have looked that up. He doesn’t want to get Mikey arrested.

He tries to look as heterosexual as possible, which includes calling the cashier, “My dude," and using a plastic bag instead of a paper bag.

It’s when he’s returned to his bus after a 15 minute walk trying not to look like he just bought condoms, Pete realizes he has no fucking idea what to do with the condoms and lube he just spent his last ten bucks on. It's not like you can give gay sex the old college try. He wants to protect the integrity of his asshole. Going with the flow isn't going to work. They are going to have sex — sex which they need to learn how to have.

How the hell is he going to figure out how to fuck Mikey?

·

If you buy Mikey Way some condoms,

You're going to want to know how to use them.

·

“Have you ever fucked a dude?” Pete asks, shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand.

Gabe chokes on the gas station soda he was drinking, some of it dribbling down his chin and onto the obnoxious lime green tank top he’s currently wearing. They’re near enough to Jersey on the tour route that Gabe Saporta of Midtown fame has graced them with his presence.

He recovers quickly, shooting Pete some wiggly eyebrows, “Have I ever fucked a dude? Why, you asking for a little something?”

“Fuck off. I'm serious,” Pete counters. He’s supposed to be meeting with the guys from FriendsOrEnemies in fifteen, and he needs to get this done before then.

“Come on Wentz,” Gabe croons. “Let's have some private time.”

Pete rolls his eyes and pushes down the feeling to strangle Gabe with his stupid tight pants. He’s doing this for Mikey. For Mikey and all the amazing sex they could be having. “I need to learn how to fuck a guy.”

The soda gets coughed up onto Gabe’s hideous tank top again. Some of it sprays out of Gabe’s nose causing him to make a series of noises that sound like a horse braying.

“What?” Gabe’s eyes are watering and he’s still coughing, “I thought you didn't do that?”

Pete doesn't want to explain the whole thing. First, because no one fucking gets him, and second, he’s not quite sure where Mikey and him stand on the ‘letting other people know about what we do’.

“It’s easier this way. Trust me. I’ve been winging it so far, but now I've got no clue what to do.” Pete whines. Why can’t Gabe just tell him how to be great at gay sex!

“Are you even into dudes?” Gabe asks him. And, what is this? A job interview?

Yes, and why do you want to have sex with Michael? Please give specific examples.

Pete doesn’t want to be answering these kinds of questions because every time he does, his stomach gets this uncomfortable wobbly feeling. Not at the thought of being into dudes, but maybe at the thought of not not being into them. He doesn’t want to think about that. He wants to think about Mikey and him doing the horizontal tango.

“Just because I've decided I'm going to sleep with a guy, doesn't mean I'm into dudes.” Pete argues. Gabe does not look impressed. “I mean the other party is very willing, if that's what you’re worried about.”

“You don’t just have sex with a guy for fun, Pete.” Gabe tells him slowly. One could say he was even condescending.

“Seriously,” he now only has like, six minutes to unlock the secrets of gay sex which Gabe is gatekeeping, what the fuck. “Why are you being homophobic right now dude? It's just one guy! I can have sex with him if I want! And I want!”

“I'm not trying to,” Gabe says, voice getting louder than Pete would rather have, “I’m just trying to understand what you mean when you say you're gonna fuck guys now!”

Pete runs a hand down his face. He’s hot and tired and thought that Gabe would help a brother out, but clearly there is some pre-screening test Gabe thinks he has to pass. “All you need to understand is I need to figure out how to fuck guys, or one guy in particular, so I can finally get fucking laid. It’s not that big of a deal. People do this all the time!”

There’s a long uncomfortable pause that flows between them. Gabe Saporta and Pete Wentz are two people who are not supposed to be silent for long.

Gabe speaks first. “Do you think that everyone would fuck anyone if they had the chance? Would you be okay sleeping with anyone?”

Pete pauses. He’s not really sure what that has to do with anything, but he thinks about it for a second.

“Well, not married people obviously...” He mulls it over some more, “Or Vicky. That would be weird.”

Gabe puts his head in his hands and takes a long breath. Pete doesn’t have time for this shit.

“Are you going to help me or not?” He asks.

“I can not help you out here Pete.”

It suddenly occurs to Pete to ask Gabe outright, “Have you even had sex with a guy?” It sounds like an accusation and he can’t help a little bit of disdain drip into his voice.

Gabe looks up at him, and there's something in his eyes that’s begging Pete to ask a different question, “No, Pete. I have not fucked a dude. I’m not into dudes.”

Jesus Christ. “Fucking wasting my time,” he huffs.

Pete looks at his watch. Great. Now he has to go be in front of a camera for two hours and he’s no closer to solving his problem. He walks away, leaving a speechless Gabe behind.

Gabe takes a long sip from his straw until he hits ice.

“Does he know he's bisexual?” Gabe asks.

Andy, who decided that whatever was happening in front of him was not a conversation he wanted to contribute to, continues reading from his shady spot on the dry grass.

“I think he’s actually pansexual,” Andy replies softly. He feels for Pete. Working on yourself is hard, especially when there’s so many people scrutinizing you.

Gabe stares at Pete’s retreating form. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Nah. He’ll figure it out,” He turns the page of his book, “Eventually.”

·

If your friends are unhelpful,

You're going to just have to widen the search.

·

That night Pete lays awake staring at the ceiling, aka the sheet of plywood that separates his face from Patrick’s ass, and tries to figure out what he’s going to do now. It crosses his mind to ask Patrick for help, but Patrick gets zero action and needs to be protected at all costs. Also, Pete isn’t sure he could explain what he and Mikey are without getting the look. Pete hates the look.

Andy seems like a guy who has been around the kind of people who know how to throw down with another dude. Pete knows Andy has had multiple conversations about heteronormativity. Plus he wouldn’t judge Pete for having sex with a guy. Or would he? Fuck, Pete forgot about the straight edge notion of not having frivolous sex. This is NOT frivolous. This is probably the most important sex of his life because it's Mikey fuckin’ Way and there is a little part of Pete that wants this to be good, like, really good.

But if he asks Andy, he’ll definitely chide Pete on getting into a relationship in the first place, not that him and Mikey are in a relationship at all, but Andy will want to know how Pete feels and thinking about his emotions makes Pete want to vomit.

There’s still one person, or say, persons he could ask.

He sneaks out of his bunk, grabbing Patrick’s laptop that he insists is for music production only and absconds to the front lounge.

As it turns out, there’s just as much gay porn as there is straight porn on the internet.

Pete’s not really sure what category he and Mikey are classified as, and without his hormone-raddled teenage brain to point and click on whatever looks good, he ends up just going with the first video that pops up.

That is how he finds himself sitting frozen, watching two unnecessarily ripped white guys absolutely tear each other apart on the screen in front of him. They’re going at it like they’re in a National Geographic documentary about wolves. Pete does not think these two men even like each other. One guy shoves the other down and brutally starts fucking into him. They don’t even kiss. Pete feels like there should be kissing. The guy getting railed sounds like he’s in pain and now Pete’s starting to freak out because is this what gay sex is? Pete does not think his asshole does that.

Why is his brain making him bottom in this situation anyway! He could totally top Mikey if he wanted too! Mikey has very pin-able wrists!

The guy being fucked lets out a cry of agony that sounds so painful, Pete closes the whole tab to escape it. In a fit of panic, he types romantic gay porn into the search bar; which results in nothing.

He backspaces and tries guys fucking while holding hands which makes him reevaluate if he is not the world's biggest loser, but a single video comes up in the results.

It’s black and white and not even in English, but Pete waits for it to load on the absolutely trash internet they’re stealing from the college they’re parked at. After a couple minutes, he’s delighted to see that this one does not start off with a close up on a ten inch dick. These men have emotions. Desires even. There’s artistry.

Suddenly, there’s the creak of the door opening and Pete scrambles to shut the laptop, slamming it closed just as Joe emerges from the darkness. Joe stands in the doorway, in his clothes from the day before and looks at the suspiciously closed laptop.

“Whatcha watching?” he asks.

“Uh,” Pete’s mind freezes. “Porn.”

Joe blinks at Pete. He peers around and stares at Pete’s fully clothed body.

“Really?” He sounds unconvinced.

“It’s in Italian,” Pete explains. “There’s a plot… I think.”

Joe slides down onto the bench next to Pete, stretching his arms with a slight pop. He rubs his eyes and motions to the laptop. “Sure. I don’t have anything better to do.”

Well… Pete’s done weirder things with Joe than watch Italian gay porn.

He opens the laptop and Joe, the angel he is, doesn’t even blink when he sees it’s two guys. He just nods and asks Pete to start it over on account of how, ‘he doesn’t want to miss any of the plot’.

They sit together in silence, sharing the shitty headphones and watching as what Pete realizes is a 1970s softcore porn film, plays out.

It’s actually a really touching movie. The sex scene is a lot less literal — mostly it consists of close up shots of their mouths, their intertwined fingers, their eyes as they look at each other. It has the feeling of sex, the thoughts laid into the screen, devoid of the physicality.

It's really kinda beautiful.

“I wish I could have sex like that.” Pete doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but it comes out anyway.

Joe nods. He gives Pete the privacy of not looking at him right now. “What’s stopping you?”

“What if I'm bad at it? Like, what if I fuck everything up?”

Joe’s quiet for a moment and Pete thinks he should say something else to get rid of the weirdness he created.

“But what if you're good at it?” Joe asks instead, “What if it changes your life?” He turns to look at Pete and Joe doesn’t look so much like a fifteen year old kid anymore. “What’s the chance you guys are both bad at sex? That would be a 100% chance, which also means it's a 0% chance. Whatever happens you’ll be doing it together, and that's what sex is.”

Pete didn’t think about it like that. At least, he thinks he gets what Joe’s saying.

He puts his head down on Joe’s shoulder. “Thanks, Joe.”

“Anytime.”

·

If you watch gay porn,

You might begin to wonder how it works.

·

Pete meets Mikey behind the Taking Back Sunday merch tent the next day. Adam is doing some kind of passionate speech about performance art, so everyone is distracted by that spectacle, giving them a moment of privacy.

“I got the stuff,” Pete says in lieu of a greeting, “And I tried to ask Gabe what to do with it, but he was no fucking help. So, we are going to have to figure it out ourselves.”

Mikey nods solemnly, his brows furrowed together, “Okay. That’s okay.”

Pete is not sure he agrees with the use of the word okay in that sentence. This whole situation makes him start to think really hard about taking some deep breaths.

“We also need to decide who’s gonna…” Pete makes a gesture with his hands that he hopes Mikey interprets as ‘delightfully receiving’ rather than ‘taking it up the ass’.

Given by the way Mikey starts nodding, it seems he gets the message, and given by the way he starts staring at Pete’s hips, it seems he’s already imagining it. Pete’s stupid traitor heart start to beat louder in his chest at the idea that Mikey does really want to wrap his hands around Pete's waist and fuck him through the mattress.

Pete looks at Mikey’s belt and can’t say that he’s any different. God, what would it feel like? What would Mikey sound like all spread out beneath him with Pete opening him up like-

“How about rock paper scissors?” Mikey pitches.

The comment pulls Pete from his fantasy where he’s the best lay Mikey’s ever had. “Are you serious?” He asks, skeptical.

“It will be fair,” Mikey says pushing his glasses up his nose, “Plus the- the person who doesn't…” he tries to copy Pete’s artistic hand gesture, “Can just go next time? How about that?”

“Next time?” Pete asks. They haven’t even started round one and Mikey is already penciling in another go? The confidence makes Pete’s brain ease up on the apocalyptic thoughts. “Yeah, okay.” He agrees, rolling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and holding out his fist.

“On three?” Mikey instructs, fist in his own palm. Pete nods. This is fine. This is low stakes. Nothing to be worried about.

“Rock. Paper. Scissors.”

Pete forgets how to move his body. His fist doesn’t move from being a rock. Mikey throws down paper and for seven thousand years they just stare at each other's hands before Mikey slowly moves his to cover Pete’s.

He wraps his palm around Pete’s fist and Pete does like how familiar Mikey’s hands are, but the more he looks at them, the more he thinks about those fingers pinning him down and not being able to move. He doesn’t want to be like that guy in the porn, screaming in pain.

“Mikey I'll lay down under you, but I can't watch any more gay porn, okay?” Pete starts to spill out around the seams, “I know I promised not to freak out, but I am freaking out here. I don’t know what I'm doing and-”

“I'll make sure it's okay. I'll handle everything.” Mikey sounds confident, but his voice is still soft and light. He steps closer to Pete and worms his fingers in-between Pete's, linking their hands tightly together.

God, Mikey’s such a fucking natural at this. Pete can’t stop feeling like he should be better at this. This was supposed to be easy and right now? This shit does not feel easy.

He can see the gears turning in Mikey’s brain as he thinks. Pete figures the thought of having to ask someone about gay sex makes him want to die from embarrassment, but Pete can barely comprehend the fact he's going to have sex with a man, let alone plan it.

“If you figure out what to do I'll- I'll just show up okay, and you can show me what to do on- on myself,” Pete says rushed and unthinking, “But you gotta' be like so fucking cool Mikey.” He stares down Mikey so he knows this is for real. “I'm serious. I'm going to freak out, and you have to be nice to me anyway.”

Mikey doesn’t say anything mean about how Pete’s kind of acting like a demanding girlfriend right now. He just nods seriously and solemnly answers, “Okay.”

“Pinky swear,” Pete sticks out his pinky. Pete half expects Mikey to laugh at him, but Mikey wraps his around Pete’s without hesitation.

“Pete. Hey,” Mikey says quietly. He lightly shakes Pete’s hand with their linked pinkies, “I've got you.” Mikey smiles, just a small one, and Pete feels his stomach untangle a little bit. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen.”

Mikey glances around, over his shoulder and around the tent to see if they are truly alone. When Adam Lazarra doesn’t randomly pop out of the grass he presses a kiss to Pete’s cheek, lightning fast.

“Don’t let yourself spiral,” He says, finally dropping Pete’s hand with one last squeeze, “I’ve got this.”

Pete nods.

“When?” He clears his throat, “When do you want to…”

“Next Wednesday we have a double show,” Mikey answers. He pulls out his phone and seems to be writing something down, maybe penciling Pete into his calendar. A tasteful ‘have relations with Mr. Wentz’ or something, “I'll get us a hotel room.”

Pete just nods even though Mikey’s looking at his phone.

“I have to go meet up with Gee but I’ll come over tonight and we can watch a movie.” He sticks his phone back into his jeans, turning all of his attention to bear down upon Pete. “Don’t spiral, okay?”

“Okay,” Pete repeats. Mikey smiles at him and, without looking around, he presses another kiss to Pete’s cheek.

Pete can still feel the heat from Mikey’s lips on his cheek as Mikey walks away.

·

If you figure out how to have sex with a guy,

Well…you're going to have sex with a guy.

Chapter Text

Wednesday comes too fast.

The hotel that the taxi-cab pulls up in front of is way nicer than Pete expected. It’s missing the usual mystery stains on the walls and the bedspread looks thick and soft instead of prison issued. It’s definitely an upgrade from what he’s used to dealing with, and Mikey must have paid a good amount for it.

When he mentions paying Mikey back for half, he just gets a blank stare and a curt, “Absolutely not.”

So Pete figures this is almost something like Mikey wooing him. Oh my god, is Mikey Way trying to woo him right now?

Oh my God. That’s what Pete’s brain keeps saying on repeat. Mikey toes off his shoes and it’s oh my god and then he smiles at Pete and it’s OH MY GOD.

Instead of dissecting why his stomach feels like boiling water looking at Mikey in the slowly fading sunlight, Pete turns around to deadbolt the door and take a deep centering breath like Patrick has to do before going on stage.

Mikey brushes past him to move into the bathroom, but as he passes his hand trails along Pete’s lower back, greeting him in friendly little taps. There goes the centering breath. Oh my god.

Pete only brought a backpack of stuff with him, which he now feels like wasn’t enough. He hasn’t ever gone to a hotel to hookup before. It feels very official. Somewhere in the books of this hotel there is a line with his and Mikey’s name next to each other – a breath of proof that they did this. Together.

Pete drops the backpack on the foot of the bed and begins to dig out The Goods™. He sets the condoms and lube down next to him, lining them up like surgical tools. He can sense Mikey emerging from the bathroom before he even sees him, the other man sliding out of the door and coming to stand next to him. Their bodies press together at the sides as they look at the two damning items on the way-too-nice-for-this comforter. Mikey adds a towel from the bathroom, which – yeah, that's probably smart.

“Why did you get condoms?” Mikey asks, incredulously looking at the box. He seems personally offended by it, affronted by the $6.99 plus tax purchase.

“You need condoms.” Pete knows enough that you should always use condoms unless like, you’re not sleeping with anyone else. Which he isn’t. But still, he just feels like they’re supposed to use them. Condoms and sex are a staple. It’s like peanut butter and jelly.

“Why would we need them? I can't get you pregnant.” Mikey asks, side eyeing Pete.

“I already had to-” Pete grits his teeth, “I had to do some stuff down there. Sorry I don't want to clean your cum out of my ass.”

“I would help,” Mikey sounds kind of offended that Pete would think otherwise, but his cheeks turn a pretty pink color that’s very noticeable under the white glasses. “You are kind of a drama queen.”

“Yeah, but you knew that when we started.” Pete retorts. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and then dumps the rest of his backpack on the one random chair in the corner.

“I suppose yeah,” Mikey mutters to himself, “Okay, makes sense.” Mikey is looking at the condoms very studiously, like he's a condom inspector or something. They haven’t really made eye contact since entering and it’s setting Pete off in a weird way. This is getting so awkward and they haven’t even taken a single article of clothing off. “It will be easier on the clean up, yeah.” Mikey finishes quietly.

Jesus Christ. Next time they can forget the condoms if it means that much to Mikey. Pete doesn’t care. He’s not sleeping around. Wait. Does this mean Mikey isn’t seeing anyone else? Should he ask? Would that be tacky?

They decide to turn the main light off, but keep the lamp on. The sun hasn’t quite set and through the linen curtain, it washes a yellow orange glow over the room. Mikey’s eyes turn electric when the sun hits them, like there is real gold around his pupil.

Mikey seems to be a lot calmer about this whole situation than Pete is. Though, to be real, he is generally just calmer about life than Pete. It seems like life happens to Mikey, but life sneaks up on Pete like a jumpscare.

The distinctive zip of Mikey’s jeans as he peels them off rings around the room, and suddenly Mikey is standing there naked, showered like a wet dream in fading daylight, each freckle and mole a beauty mark noticeable against his white skin.

And Pete still has his shoes on.

It's so rare that Pete gets to take in Mikey’s full body, to take in all of him. He wants to appreciate the small dents and contours of Mikey’s body – where the slopes meet together. They’re always in a rush to get to the next thing, he so rarely sees him with all his clothes off, on display to be adored like a painting.

By the way Mikey’s chest is flushing red, Pete’s pretty sure Mikey can feel his eyes sliding over his body. Fuck. Mikey’s so good to look at though. Pete’s dick is very interested in Mikey. His dick is like, “Holy fuck! Is that Mikey Way! No worries captain! Full mast!”

Everything about Mikey, from his frame and the way his muscles flex on his legs and arms, is so specifically sexy to Pete. He wants to run his mouth over Mikey’s stomach, bite into the dips in his hips and then lower-

Mikey crosses his arms and Pete realizes he’s been staring at Mikey naked for a probably really socially unacceptable amount of time.

“Well,” Mikey says, and he’s defensive, Pete can hear it in his voice. “Aren’t you going to…” He gestures to Pete’s fully clothed body.

Pete snaps out of it, the spell broken. “Right,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

Shirt. Take your shirt off Peter. Then the pants. No, wait. The shoes first, then the pants. Pete starts stripping off his clothes on autopilot. He’s been naked in front of lots of people before. He’s not shy about his body, but with Mikey’s eyes on him, it makes it feel like the thermostat was just turned up.

Pete finally kicks his underwear off, and then it’s just him and Mikey standing naked in front of each other. It’s weird to know someone so intimately, but have never seen them naked beyond the view of what little light can crawl its way into a tour bus bunk. It feels like before this moment, Mikey’s calves were a secret to Pete, and now he's unlocked all of Mikey; inside and out.

A wave of adrenaline crashes over him, goosebumps running up his skin in an electric shock at the thrill of holding who Mikey is in his calloused dirty palms.

Mikey’s skinny arms drop to his sides and Pete can see where the bones in his chest push against his skin as his lungs inflate. He reaches out slowly with his fingers; his fingerprints grazing against Mikey’s hip bone and as he digs his thumb into the flesh, Mikey’s breath catches.

“Okay, well,” Mikey’s fingers trace up Pete’s arm, “Maybe, lay down?”

Pete nods and lets Mikey guide him until the back of his knees hit the bed. Their eyes are soldered together, brown on brown and each of them refuses to look away. It seems improper to look at Mikey’s dick right now, even though he’s like, swallowed that thing whole before. This is about more than Mikey’s dick right now.

Mikey follows Pete, crawling up the bed and coming to stop in front of his legs. Pete’s eyes drop down just for a quick second, he swears, he just wants to get a lay of the land in terms of how appealing Mikey is finding any of this. On a scale from totally flaccid to raging boner, Mikey seems to be at a, hot guy in front of me naked level of interest, which elevates some of the tension from his shoulders.

Pete doesn’t really know if Mikey pushes his legs open, or if they just naturally do that when Mikey’s in the vicinity, but his knees fall apart for Mikey to kneel between. The angle is a little weird for him reaching, you know, Pete’s ass and about four second later, Mikey seems to also realize this. Instead of communicating like a normal person, he takes Pete’s right leg and lifts it up like it should go over his shoulder.

“Dude I don’t think I can get both of them up there for that long.” Pete pipes up. He’s strong but he’s not that strong. His abs aren’t going to hold him up while Mikey goes presumably fucktron3000 on his ass. He’s been eating a lot of bread lately and not working out.

Mikey squints at Pete’s leg like it confuses him. “Where do you want them then?” he asks.

Fucking hell. Pete doesn’t fucking know! Mikey was supposed to figure all of this out! For a moment Pete wishes he was a girl so they could already be fucking by now. God, being a guy makes everything so complicated. He just wants to have amazing mind blowing sex with Mikey Way on the first try! Is that too much to ask!

“Um, maybe just-” Pete reaches behind him, grabbing a pillow to put under his hips, sort of lifting them up. He places his feet on either side of Mikey, boxing him in between his knees, “Then when we like, get going… I can like,” he brings one of his knees up towards his chin, “Do that sort of thing, maybe?”

God this is so unsexy. Jesus Christ. Why is he being this awkward? And why is his dick hard! There is nothing about this that should be making him this hard! Except for Mikey. Mikey who is currently running his hands along Pete’s legs and adjusting the pillow underneath him. Mikey who still has his glasses on and is nervously pushing them up his nose and that's so cute oh my god.

“Okay, I'm going to-” Mikey organizes everything up on the bed next to him, very carefully with surgical precision. Lube? Check. Condom? Check. Pete’s guy-virginity? Check. All ready to be used and discarded.

Mikey runs his hands down Pete’s calf and it sends a shiver up his spine. He gently pushes Pete's legs a little further apart, stretching them, “Your stance has to be wider,” he comments.

“How do you know?” Pete does as he’s told though, widening his stance. Why is Mikey now suddenly the gay sex guru?

“I just do,” Mikey responds, breathless but not exasperated and Pete can feel it in his bones that Mikey wants to roll his eyes at Pete.

“Hold on,” Pete says suddenly wanting to close his legs, “Have you done this before?”

If Pete thought Mikey wanted to roll his eyes before, now he gets the feeling Mikey wishes he could shoot lasers out of them. He glares like Pete accused him of hating the new Jason Todd comic arc or thinking The Search for Spock was normal for having horny teenage Spock, “What part of being new to all this stuff did you think I was lying about?”

Pete shrugs aggressively. He wishes they were not having this conversation with his erection between them. “I thought you just might have been saying that to make me feel better. You're really confident about this!”

“I have been hanging out with you this whole summer,” Mikey glares harder at him, and now Pete is starting to feel really bad, “When would I be having sex?”

“I don't know!”

“Also,” Mikey leans forward, pushing Pete’s legs even further apart as he gets into Pete’s space, “Do you think I'm a cheater?”

Pete shrinks back into this Very Nice Middle-Range American Hotel Chain pillow, “I don't think you're a cheater.” Pete did not know they were exclusive but yeah, it makes sense. Pete’s not seeing anyone either. Does this make Mikey his boyfriend? What does being a boyfriend mean? This is all shit he is going to have to think about later.

“You just assumed I was sleeping around. I'm not a slut.” Mikey manages to look very put out for someone about to have hotel room sex.

“I don't think you're a slut,” Pete tells him sincerely.

Mikey’s glare softens and Pete can see him accept Pete's non-apology. “Okay, good.”

“You're very hot and super monogamous,” Pete adds because he very truly did not mean to hurt Mikey’s feelings.

“Thank you,” Mikey says, looking very pleased.

Pete has to admit after the amount of, whatever this is they’re doing, he doesn't feel very turned on anymore. Maybe because of the nerves, maybe because everything is happening a little too fast. He needs something he’s familiar with in order to soothe his panicking brain.

Said brain boots up and helpfully supplies him with the image from the porn of the man being pinned down and fucked to the brink of death.

“Hey can we like, kiss maybe?” As soon as the words leave Pete’s mouth he realizes how stupid he sounds.

“Oh yeah,” Mikey lights up a little, his eyes brightening, “Sorry.” Mikey follows the request with the ease of water going down stream, gently leaning down and kissing Pete softly.

There he is. There's Mikey. Pete knows this, the feeling of Mikey against his lips is one he would know blind. It’s slowly growing to be one of the most comforting things Pete knows.

He pushes back a little harder, a little deeper, and Mikey understands him perfectly. He kisses Pete with his hands and his heart and his chest; their bodies pressing together and rubbing skin to skin. Mikey’s chest is smooth and soft and slightly cool from the air conditioned air. He has no hesitation about grabbing Pete’s neck and holding him tight as his tongue opens Pete’s lips and licks across his mouth.

Pete takes the second Mikey pulls back as an opportunity to get a breath in. His head is spinning and he’s lost in a cloudy daze. Mikey knows exactly how Pete’s body functions. He’s a skilled technician, able to push all of the right buttons to get Pete sighing into his mouth. And he does it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like Pete isn’t an enigma, but just a boy who wants to be touched.

Everything he’s feeling, inside and out. It’s building a terrible pressure up inside of his heart. He needs more. He’s got all of Mikey’s warm gorgeous body above him and as much as Pete is embarrassed to admit it, he feels his back bowing upwards, trying to find a part of Mikey to press into. He wants to melt into Mikey, let all their sweat and moans rub together until it's one giant mess of togetherness.

Pete’s legs wrap around Mikey’s waist, his heels digging into his back and he thrusts up to let their dicks grind together. The contact is electric, sending him moaning into Mikey’s mouth as Mikey bites down on Pete’s lips.

“Fuck,” Mikey sounds breathless and his eyes are nothing but pools of inky blackness.

Mikey’s fingers dig into Pete’s waist, a bruising contact that holds him down as Mikey scoots forward in an attempt to press them even closer together. Pete can see how Mikey’s biceps flex as he grips his waist, and can feel the strength behind it.

Mikey. Muscles. Pinning him down.

Mikey leans back in, looking to continue making out when Pete suddenly jerks at the movement, making them bump noses together.

It’s not painful, but holy fuck it makes a hot wave of embarrassment shoot across Pete’s face.

“Sorry, I- I just-” he fucking stammers. Pete swallows his tongue and whatever it was he was going to say. He opts to not say anything, less he incriminates himself further for being a hot mess. “Sorry.”

He tries not to look at Mikey, but there’s not a lot of places he can direct his eye contact because Mikey’s on top of him, and he’s looking down at Pete’s with his eyebrows slightly furrowed and biting his swollen lip, and Pete knows he’s concerned and all of it makes Pete feel like an exhibit at the zoo.

Pete feels the familiar cold wash of fear begin to spread across his body. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember the breathing exercises Patrick does. A man is on top of him and that is okay. He counts to four and then releases his breath slowly. He promised Mikey he would not freak the fuck out. God, can he not relax? He’s the one who wanted this. He wants this so, so bad.

There’s the soft press of lips to his jaw, just under his ear. It’s light, accompanied by a brush of air that rolls over his cheek. One at a time, kisses are placed from the shell of his ear to his chin; then repeated on the opposite side. It feels like butterflies are brushing against him, so delicate it makes Pete blink his eyes lest he starts doing something life ruining like crying before sex.

“You know,” Mikey’s voice is quiet, “If this all goes to shit, we can just try again later.” He’s so casual as he says it, like this is easy and normal. Pete doesn’t know what to say and maybe Mikey can read his mind because he kisses Pete slowly, a firm press that makes his lungs hold their air. Just when Pete feels light headed, Mikey pulls back, “We don’t even have to do this right now.”

And yeah, they could just jerk each other off and watch reality TV while eating room service, but Pete can physically feel the summer slipping away from them like a low tide. There isn’t much time left and he knows somewhere in the back of his mind where he keeps his nightmares in boxes, he isn’t going to do this with anyone else. He’s got to do it now.

“It’s July Mikey,” Pete manages to get the words out without a single one catching in his throat.

“So?” Mikey looks at him with a raised eyebrow from behind his frames, “Are you planning on running away somewhere?”

“Chicago for one.”

“Well, I always wanted to visit the Art Institute.” Mikey slides his hands up along Pete’s body, squeezing over his chest and fuck, he’s feeling too many emotions right now. It’s like his body and brain can’t agree on what to feel.

“Really?” Pete gasps out as Mikey sucks over his nipple sliding down, down, down.

“Yeah,” Mikey answers somewhere from his hip bone.

“It’s not that great,” Pete doesn’t know why he says that but his brain is currently melting down his spine to where he can feel Mikey sucking a bruise over his bartskull tattoo.

“Then we can blow it off and fuck in your childhood bedroom.” Mikey blinks innocently from where he was definitely thinking about biting into Pete's thigh. “All of your soccer trophies can watch us.”

Pete laughs, cackling in an ugly way, “Oh my God, Mikey.”

Mikey smiles into Pete’s thigh, biting his lip like he could somehow be bashful. “I bet your plaid bedspread is really sexy.”

“How do you know what my bedspread looks like?” Pete asks, knocking his knee into Mikey playfully.

“Every teenage boy had the same one, Pete.” Mikey says, rolling his eyes and surging up to kiss him again. “We’re not that original.” He bites Pete’s lower lip before slowly letting go.

Their noses brush again, but this time Mikey rubs his against Pete’s deliberately.

“Are you feeling better?” Mikey’s voice is soft, and Pete can almost feel his eyes with how he’s looking Pete over. Pete did not fool him, but he can’t be all that self conscious because to be seen by Mikey is a gift by itself. There’s a good kind of excitement thrumming through him that makes his body want to explode all over the hotel room.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Pete says and he honestly means it, “We should start.”

He gets a kiss planted on his cheek and a small, “Okay,” as Mikey’s reply, and suddenly it's back to being easy. Easier than any relationship he’s had before.

Mikey tears away the plastic wrapping on the lube and clicks the cap open. He tries to squeeze it out into his open palm but nothing comes out.

“I think you have to-” Pete starts.
“There’s one of those seals, isn’t there?” Mikey says at the same time.

“Yeah, I think so.” Pete answers. He feels embarrassed being cock blocked by the FDA.

Mikey seems to be holding in a sigh as he unscrews the cap of the lube and removes the tiny foil tab. All at once, way more lube than Pete thinks Mikey expected comes bursting out onto his hand and starts sliding down his wrist like some sort of unfortunate waterfall.

“Oh, fucking okay, well,” Mikey mumbles tossing the lube to the side. He hikes one of Pete’s legs up over his shoulder with an ease that Pete was not expecting from someone with the muscle mass that Mikey has.

He runs his fingers over Pete’s asshole and no one has touched him there ever. He can’t help but clench, all his breath freezing in his lungs. It’s kinda cold and the next time they do this he should really ask Mikey to warm it up a little bit before.

“Relax man,” Mikey whispers somewhere into Pete’s knee, “It’s just me. This is going to make everything go better.”

Pete’s nodding. Relax. He can relax. He’s great at not thinking about things. He can think about other things like music, and writing, and Patrick- okay, maybe not Patrick right now.

Mikey’s fingers continue to gently run small circles over his rim. The whole time Mikey is looking at Pete’s face, which is very chivalrous, but also makes Pete lick his lips with nerves. He’s about to have his ass fingered for the first time and doesn’t think he’s going to be making very pretty facial expressions. What facial expressions do you make for a guy while he’s fingering you? Pete should have looked this up.

While his brain is distracted, he almost doesn’t even register as Mikey slides one of his super lubed up fingers into him.

It can’t be that far in but, oh boy, does Pete feel it.

It’s weird. He can't say it feels bad, exactly. But it doesn’t feel great. However, it doesn’t hurt in the slightest. Mikey clearly knows what he’s doing as he slowly slides in and pushes against Pete’s walls.

He’s watching Pete with that same critical gaze, monitoring every single facial expression that crosses Pete's face, eyes flicking around in a studious fashion. He’s probably running some kind of reference chart in his head based on all the other times they hooked up or something equally nerdy like that. Pete gives him a little smile, because really, he’s okay, and Mikey goes a further to somewhere that’s deeper than Pete expects, and an involuntary squeak escapes him.

“Does this feel good?” Mikey asks, eyes getting a little wide.

“It feels like fingers in my ass, Mikey.” Pete answers honestly.

Mikey’s eyes narrow. “Well. Very astute observation,” He responds dryly. “My fingers are in your ass. I need some feedback, Wentz.”

“Um,” Pete tries to move his hips a bit. He digs his heel into Mikey’s back and tilts up to see if that makes it feel better. “Maybe like, another one?” Pete doesn’t really feel anything. Maybe his asshole is just like, predispositioned for gay sex. He’s got chronic open-ass-itis.

Mikey slides out and then two fingers are pushing into him. Pete can feel the difference immediately. He bites down on his lip because he is not about to complain after mouthing off to Mikey. Instead he closes his eyes and breathes in, focusing on how the stretch feels. There’s the new feeling of Mikey massaging the walls inside him and the lining of his body slowly opens up under Mikey’s hand.

Now that he’s thinking about it, it’s just like Mikey’s giving him a massage but in the soft pink flesh of his insides. What makes this any different than when Mikey rubs his back while he’s trying to fall asleep? Or stokes over Pete’s throat when he’s deep throating Mikey in the merch van? It’s totally the same.

A soothing feeling of comfort starts to wash over him as he slowly starts to let go of all the tension in his spine. Mikey’s body is warm where it’s pressed into Pete’s, and his fingers have heated up the lube. Now it’s a warm liquid sliding in and out of him in tandem with Mikey's long fingers.

Mikey's fingers are erotic. Hand porn is totally a thing. Pete loves looking at them as they work across the fretboard of his bass. They’re nimble and Pete feels all that skill as they push into the deeper parts of Pete, sliding in then stretching him open, pushing and rubbing before sliding out to work over his rim.

“I thought this was gonna hurt,” Pete mutters, feeling far away.

Mikey snorts. “Why would I want to hurt you?”

“I watched gay porn and it looked like it hurt.” Pete says and he can feel Mikey’s displeasure in the way his fingers stutter for a second inside of him. He opens his eyes to peak and he was right, Mikey’s looking judgmental right now.

“Porn is unethical and sets unrealistic expectations for sexual relationships,” Mikey says like the nerd he is. Pete rolls his eyes, but it’s totally done with love.

“You sound like your brother,” Pete teases, knocking his knee into Mikey’s shoulder gently.

Mikey looks vaguely disgusted, but he’s still fingering Pete. “Don't talk about my brother with my fingers in your ass,” Mikey mutters, retaliating with a pinch to his hip.

Pete refrains from rolling his eyes again because he’s a good person who listens to his partner during sex. Plus, Mikey has appendages inside his body and you should not piss off someone who is that close to your organs.

“Are you finding this satisfactory?” Mikey asks because apparently he is a 1930’s gentleman who pulls out chairs on dates and probably says shit like ‘madam’. Do normal couples talk this much during sex?

“I’m comfortable.” Pete tells him. “I’m not like- it’s not like when you do that thing with your tongue when we’re making out though, you know?” He’s looking for that tongue moment and it has yet to show up.

Mikey's eyebrows furrow and he looks very serious for someone committing anal fingering right now. He’s inside Pete pushing up against his stomach, moving around slowly. “Hold on. What about-”

And then Pete’s body takes a screenshot.

“Fuck, Mikey.”

His legs must vice grip Mikey in, as they force a soft ‘oof’ from the other man, but Pete’s too busy trying to find purchase in the sheets. Suddenly he's awake. The ooey-gooey sensation is gone, absolutely blown out of the way by a wet hot desire stirring up inside of him. His dick is well and alive and demanding more of whatever that was.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Pete is trying to remember what words are, “Do that again.”

“What?” Mikey says looking like the fucking devil, “This?” He must do the same thing because Pete feels his whole body explode into four thousand million pieces. It's like Mikey is jerking him off from inside his body.

“Fuck,” he needs more of that right fucking now. His body is being pulled out of his eyes and slipping out through his stomach. Maybe this is what girls feel when they’re get fucked. Pete’s being fucked like a girl right now and he doesn’t really care as long as Mikey keeps doing it.

Mikey keeps fingering him and Pete thinks he could come like this; with his mouth slack and open, moaning in a way that is certainly not tasteful, Mikey’s name one short cry away from his lips.

Just like it started, suddenly everything is ripped away from him as Mikey slides his fingers out. Motherfucker. He picks his head up to look at Mikey, because a man can’t just start giving another man what might be the best orgasm of his life and then ghost him like that. That’s not cool.

However, Mikey is kneeling there looking very proud of himself.

“What are you doing?” Pete demands, and yeah, he sounds bossy, because what the fuck? He’s starting to have feelings he doesn’t understand, like the fact he feels empty right now. It’s similar to how he felt after the first time he blew Mikey. They were connected in a way he hadn’t been with anyone else and it was… it was special, okay? Sue him for sounding like a teenage girl.

Mikey looks at him innocently, “Putting on one of your condoms?” He’s trying to open the package with his slippery hands. When take doesn’t work he rips it open with his teeth and holy fuck, Pete is too weak for this.

The condom gets rolled on to Mikey’s dick, which looks painfully hard, curling up and leaking precum into his pubic hair. Pete didn’t think it was that big when they were having blow job time behind the buses, but now? Jesus Christ he has got to be joking.

“You're going to stick that thing inside of me?” Pete means for it to be an inside thought, but it slips between the cracks.

Mikey looks at Pete, sort of like a sad little otter, which makes Pete feel like he just committed an atrocity, but also sad baby otters don’t have intimidatingly large penises.

“Well, I mean-” Mikey blinks rapidly, “Why are you asking me that? Do you want to do this or not? Like, we don’t-” Mikey stutters and fuck, he’s doing that thing where he doesn’t make eye contact.

“I do, I do, I do,” Pete backtracks, trying to get Mikey to look at him again. He doesn’t want to make Mikey uncomfortable. This should be good for Mikey. He wants to be good for Mikey.

Pete looks down at Mikey’s dick again to reevaluate his freaking out.

The positives: It’s still Mikey, and his dick has been very nice to Pete. Mikey's dick could easily crack Pete’s MySpace top eight! He's seen it before! He's had it in his mouth! But thinking now about dick in mouth vs dick in intestinal track is two very different things and Mikey’s been gifted, blessed one might claim, by the ‘large fucking dick’ gods.

“I want you to stick your dick in me,” Pete states.

Mikey scrunches his face at Pete, eyes a little hazy as he looks at him around the slight fog in his glasses. “Okay, but, if you don’t, you can also just say that. I want-”

“Stop stalling otherwise my asshole’s gonna fucking go cold.” Pete puts his hands around Mikey’s cheeks and gives him a squeeze. He loves Mikey’s built in kindness, but now is time for action. “Tell me what to do. I'm over-thinking it here. You know me.”

He tries to take a few stabilizing breaths without Mikey noticing. This is okay. This is fine. He wants this. He needs to stop sabotaging himself.

“Uh, yeah. Okay. You should probably,” Mikey swallows and something changes in his face, morphing his features a little more hardened, determined. “Turn around. Get on your hands.” Mikey says it as conversationally as he can, but the command still makes Pete’s spine lace up and his dick, once again, is just fucking excited to be around Mikey.

Pete flips around to get on all fours which, who invented fucking and why does it have to be like this? He feels so degraded. He can't see what's happening and he knows it’s going to make him panic.

Pete hears rustling behind him and its a starting gun for his heart to start beating erratically. He needs to be cool about this. No more freaking out. He has used up his freaking out quota for the evening.

“What do you need?” Of course Mikey noticed. They've spent the whole summer together, a cascading amount of days where Mikey learned him inside and out. He knows too much about Pete, who probably looks like a skittery rabbit right now, and Mikey is once again having to deal with it.

“Just talk to me,” Pete chokes out into the pillows, “What's going on?”

“Well, you're going to take some deep breaths. I'm getting the lube, and once we've got enough lube, I'm going to-” Mikey pauses and his thumb rubs a small circle on Pete’s hip. “We’re gonna have sex. That's kind of the agenda.”

Okay. Breathing. Lube. Sex. Okay. There's a plan. Mikey has a plan and Mikey’s good at making decisions that don’t end with Pete climbing out of a McDonald’s drive thru window. He takes a breath.

Mikey’s thumb disappears from his skin, leaving a hole in its wake. There’s the sound of what Pete assumes is Mikey pouring more lube onto his hand. Pete dares a peak over his shoulder to watch Mikey run his slick hand over his dick, a squishy squelching noise filling the air. He pulls off to wipe the excess from his hand off on the towel, carefully cleaning each finger. Pete turns his head to bury his face in his forearms and try to block out every single thought he has.

Pete can feel the slightly sticky texture to Mikey’s hand as he grabs the flesh of Pete’s ass and gently spreads his cheeks apart.

“Are you-”

“Mikey, if you don't just stick your dick in me, I'm going to end up on the six o’clock news.”

Pete can almost hear Mikey muttering something under his breath that sounds a lot like, “Consent is important” and then-

Then Mikey is inside of him and he can feel Mikey’s dick inside his body. The feeling is like if suddenly he was introduced to new colors, ones only those weird ass shrimp can see.

Pete remembers Mikey’s directions. He’s supposed to be taking deep breaths so he doesn’t pass out, because that is a good way to make sure Mikey never speaks to him again.

It doesn't hurt, but it's uncomfortable and bigger than Mikey’s fingers and Pete's first reaction is to push Mikey away. Except when he tries to shove him away, the signal gets mixed up and he tries to push with his hips and ends up pushing back, and Mikey slides another inch into him. It’s a splitting sensation like Mikey’s body is going to spill into his.

He’s had Mikey’s dick in him before, just the opposite way. Mikey’s dick has touched his esophagus, and this is just like that, except not at all because he's face down, ass up, and making some very strange noises that can't be sexy at all.

“Is this okay?” Mikey sounds strangled from behind him, “Are you okay?”

Pete just nods his head.

“Okay let me just,” Mikey slides in a little further past the head and, oh yeah. There it is. There's the pain. Pete grits his teeth together. It’s fine. He can do this. This is what sex is.

Pete lets out a little squeak he didn't even know he could make.

“Stop.”

Mikey, saint that he is, freezes with his dick halfway in Pete's ass.

“Hold on.” Pete knows he sounds weak, “just wait one second.”

“Pete-”

“Please Mikey,” he cuts him off. How can they be so good at everything so far and so bad at this? “I just need a second.”

What should he focus on? Breathing? His fucking ass muscles? Mikey who is a fucking saint and Pete’s never had anyone care this much about him during sex. Fuck. His chest feels painfully tight because no one has ever shown this kind of kindness to him before, during, or after sex. Meanwhile, this is probably the worst sex Mikey’s ever had. Mikey has had to have like, a ton of great sexscapades.

“Pete, are you-”

“What's it like?” Pete asks because the pain in his ass has moved to his heart and all he can think about is Mikey comparing him to some chick from Jersey.

“Pete to be honest,” Mikey doesn’t sound like he does when he’s frustrated, but Pete still prepares for the worst. “This is the hottest thing ever. Fuck. You're so tight, it's fucking unreal.”

Hold up. This is going well?

Pete chances a look behind him. Mikey’s face has fallen into a slack jaw expression of downright pleasure, as his chest rises and falls to accommodate him taking in one deep breath after another. Pete does also notice he’s staring with blown out eyes at the point where his dick disappears into Pete’s body. He looks like he's struggling not to just slide all the way into the hilt.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Pete hurries out because things are going good and if Mikey slams into him right now he might throw up. “Just, just a little Mikey. Gotta be gentle with me, please.”

“Yeah, yeah. Not moving,” Mikey is still breathing way too hard but true to his word – he’s frozen in place. “Whatever you need, I’m not gonna do anything-fuck,” he bites down on his lip and lets out a moan that’s truly indecent. “How are you so tight? I stuck like, my whole fucking hand in you.”

Pete's left blinking and trying to figure out what to feel; hot and bothered or plain terrified. But Mikey’s hands are holding him tightly, like Mikey truly doesn’t care if they take a moment. One of them even starts petting him, up and down his ribs and over his spine. He's soft and gentle, which Pete doesn't get a lot, and it's Mikey. There's really nothing to fear if its just them.

And Mikey seems to be into this, into Pete, so… maybe he's doing okay?

“Am I doing good?” He asks quietly.

“Pete, I'm taking deep breaths so I don't come my brains out right now,” Mikey whispers. “Whatever you're doing, you're really fucking good at it.” His voice shakes like he's thinking about laughing. “Oh my god, are you good at it Pete. Fuck. It’s like I’m fucking your throat but like, a million times warmer and softer and better.” He laughs as if he's gone insane. His hands run over Pete's sides, light and quick and fun. He squeezes Pete’s ass just a little. “I'm going to be over so embarrassingly quickly.”

Despite his words, despite the fact Pete's ass is apparently the second coming of Christ, Mikey's listening to him. He's not moving at all even though he sounds like he's losing it – so maybe Pete is in charge here? Maybe even on his knees, bent over, spine curved like a bow, he gets to be the boss.

The pain has started to fade and is replaced with new found determination.

“Alright,” Pete pulls in a deep breath and thinks about how he was nervous playing his first gig and look at him now. He's on TRL! “You can keep going.”

“Okay, okay,” Mikey whispers and Pete can tell he’s trying to sound about twenty-five percent less enthusiastic than he probably is. He slides forward slowly inch by thick pulsing inch until Pete feels Mikey’s hips hit against his thighs.

“That's it,” Mikey pants, “Hey that's it. You did it. You did it so easily.” Pete feels a warm kiss pressed into his shoulder as a reward.

The word ‘easily’ is a bit of a massive understatement. There is nothing easy about this. He feels every single inch of Mikey. The stretch, the burn, the fact he can feel Mikey’s pulse inside him as the head of his dick pushes against his stomach or liver or something. Mikey’s dick is fucking touching his other organs. Mikey's dick is touching parts of him that are inside his body. No one has ever been inside him before but, surprisingly, as he catches his breath - it's not a bad feeling. New, strange, and a little daunting, but not bad.

“Try, just- do it again. Slowly, okay?”

“Yeah anything,” There is the slow slide of Mikey pulling out, and Pete has a strange feeling of emptiness before Mikey pushes forward, right back into him. He does it again. Then a couple of times; each slow and methodical.

Pete’s hips start to feel a little weird. He makes the mental note to stretch next time. Get some yoga in before. Seeking some comfort, he wiggles for a second, just to try and casually re-adjust. Right as he does so, it seems he accidently sends Mikey brushing against his gay-g spot or whatever, because he lets out an involuntary moan. Like, a gross pornstar moan.

“Are you okay?” Mikey asks quickly.

“Fuck, Mikey,” Pete swears, “Holy shit. Why does this feel good?”

Pete can tell by the weight in his pause Mikey’s totally lost right now. “What?” he asks.

“I didn't think this would be so fucking good,” Pete tries to find the words to explain, but right now he just needs Mikey to keep going. “Oh my God, move faster.”

“You just said don't move?”

“Well, now move.” Pete commands. More fucking. Less critiquing Pete’s words.

Mikey squeezes his waist and sinks into him again. It kind of reminds Pete of the first time he kissed a girl and accidently got part of her nose in his mouth at one point. Eventually they figured it out, and Mikey’s way smarter than whoever that girl was. Pete bets by the end of this, they are going to be so good at gay sex. Take that Gabe Saporta.

He does have the quick thought to tell Mikey to stop, just to see if he would again. He’s never had that kind of power and it’s… well, it’s thrilling. Pete wants to know if he could call the shots like that, but the burn is going away, leaving behind this feeling of... pride? Pete's taking a dude’s dick right now and he's not half bad. If going by the small grunts and breathless sighs coming out of Mikey, he might even be good at it.

Now that the panic has somewhat been banished to the corner of his mind where Pete puts the stuff he doesn’t want to think about, he can focus on the other sensations that come when getting fucked by a dude. Like the fact when Mikey pushes all the way in, Pete can feel where Mikey’s balls press into his ass.

“Do you feel me?” Mikey asks, sounding a little shaky. Pete’s pretty sure he is not talking about the balls on his ass.

How does one begin to describe the sensation of having a man’s dick in them? He clenches around Mikey, trying to use some of the abs he has to squeeze down. The reaction of him squeezing around Mikey is instantaneous, Mikey freezes above him, grabbing at Pete's hip, fingers pressing bruises into his hips as he chokes out the strangled word, “Don’t”.

Well fuck. That must really do something. Mikey lets out a hiss between his teeth and loosens his grip on Pete’s hips, flexing his fingers over the skin.

“It's over if you do that. And you don’t want that, do you?” Mikey says slowly, a chilling command disguised as a question and it straightens Pete’s spine. They’re going to have to unpack more of that later. For right now, Mikey soothes away the goosebumps and Pete tries to find a better purchase on the pillow he’s clutching.

“Tell me more about how good I am,” He likes Mikey’s words, how they make him feel not so far away.

“Just,” Mikey’s forehead drops to press into into Pete's shoulder blade, “You're seriously so fucking warm. It's like the tightest thing you can imagine all over- but your so fucking soft inside?” Mikey sounds baffled, “And looking at you, Pete, fuck. You're so pretty. And your ass is so hot. Fuck, I want to eat you out.”

He says all of this kneading Pete's ass cheeks with his thumbs and Pete wonders if this is really the same guy who made Pete tell the cashier at Burger King his order was wrong.

“This whole summer,” Mikey continues, because apparently there’s more, “You're so fucking pretty and getting to kiss you is a dream. This is,” the ass kneading continues, “This is better than a dream.”

Pete turns his head to look at Mikey over his shoulder. One of the seven trillion emotions he’s trying to deal with at the moment is the regret at not being able to see Mikey’s face. When he’s like this, just the two of them, his whole guard is down. It’s like when he’s playing and all the fear he keeps locked in his brain finally starts to ease out of him.

There’s so much emotion and beauty in Mikey and Pete wants to see all of his expressions; from his cute little face of joy to how his nose twitches when he’s trying to focus. Another thing Pete is going to have to remember to add to the list for next time; they’re going to have to figure out how to do this face to face because Pete wants to look at Mikey next time they fuck – even if he has to figure out how to look sexy with Mikey fucking into him.

Right now, Mikey is staring down, rapt attention as he watches himself pushing inside Pete, which, okay, maybe he doesn’t have to worry about what his face is doing that much. Mikey starts rambling, barely audible over the frankly pornographic slick sounds coming from Pete’s fucking ass.

“You’re taking all of it Pete. You’re swallowing it up. How the fuck are you doing that?”

“I don’t-” Pete can’t get his words out. They’re not forming right in his head because everything Pete exists as, comes down to the length of Mikey that’s pushing slow and deep inside him. The burning sensation has completely faded to something that's like bliss. Pete feels like he's discovering something about himself.

“Mikey.” he reaches back, fumbling to hold Mikey. He doesn’t know what he needs. Mikey’s too far away. They’ve never been closer but Pete needs to feel it on a spiritual level, like Mikey’s crawling inside of his heart.

Mikey, patron saint of understanding Pete, seems to get the message and presses his chest into Pete’s back, and his heart smiles at skin to skin contact. Pete turns his head so Mikey's lips can meet his in a quick kiss, more smeared against his cheek but it still says, ‘I’m with you’ all the same.

It's just them. Having sex. And fuck, if that isn’t kind of nice. He stops biting his lip and swallowing all of the breathless little moans that want to escape from him for fear of not being masculine enough. He grabs onto the sheets and lets himself want this.

Mikey pushes his hips down and the angle changes and-

“Jesus fuck, Mikey there.” Mikey is hitting that place inside him that God must have designed for cute bassists from New Jersey to hit so you can feel like your brain is coming out of your eyes. Having his ass virginity taken by the quietest dude with a fucking huge dick is number one decision he’s ever made. He needs a medal for this.

Mikey tries to find a rhythm to fuck him, their hips meeting together in mess thrusts as Pete's legs start to twitch. His dick is leaking everywhere - brushing in a cruel frictionless way against the sheets below him. He doesn’t dare move his hands to try and reach down there right now. Pete's gone limp. He's not helping anyway in this situation but he can't bring himself to think about anything other then the slide of Mikey in and out of him.

Pete feels Mikey's legs shaking.

“Pete. Pete I'm-” Mikey's voice shakes the same.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete also feels the explosion ticking in his gut, “Me too, fuck Mikey. Me too.”

He knows when Mikey comes because he can feel it inside of him, hot through the condom. Pete comes then, untouched, and he guesses there is a first time for everything. Mikey rocks through the aftershocks of his orgasm, hips stuttering, and Pete can feel Mikey’s sticky cheek pressing in between his shoulder blades. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Do you need,” Mikey, ever the gentleman, starts to reach towards Pete’s dick.

“No. I'm- I'm good.” Pete says, maybe a little too quickly.

If Mikey touches his dick it might fall off from over sensitivity at this moment. And that is not the way Pete wants to end this night.

“Really?” Mikey asks and motherfucker looks waaaay too pleased with himself. “So I was good then?”

“You were great honey.” Pete replies with a pat on his cheek.

“I’m going to…” Mikey's back to being shy, all flushed cheeks and Pete knows it’s not from their activities. “I don't think this should hurt.”

Mikey pulls out, and he’s right, it doesn’t hurt but the sudden loss of heat is humbling. Also, for how stressed he was about this whole getting fucked thing, his brain immediately starts looking at his calendar to see when they can do this again. Because… it was kind of nice.

Mikey returns from what Pete assumes was disposing of the condom and plops down next to him, leaving a weird gap between them considering their bodies were one two minutes ago. However, Pete's muscles are experiencing technical difficulties which make it impossible to move.

“You know,” Pete mutters to the ceiling, “I think I am laying in my own cum.”

His partner has the audacity to laugh at him, which Mikey should be treating Pete like a princess for offering up his asshole for Mikey’s taking. Mikey sighs and places his hand gently on Pete’s hip and turns Pete’s body towards his. Pete lets himself go, pliant and wet.

He looks at Mikey, sans glasses now, face still a rosy red with small beads of sweat at his temples. Pete uses his pointer finger to trace a path down his nose.

“Mikey, I can't feel my ass,” Pete tells him seriously.

Mikey shows no hint of hearing this, his hand sliding down the cusp of Pete's ass, fingers lightly touching Pete’s sore and swollen hole that, if Pete’s correct, still has lube slowly leaking out of it. Pete smacks his hand away and Mikey doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed. Idiot just smiles a little coy smile that Pete traces with the corner of with his thumb.

“Next time, can I look at your face?” Pete whispers. “Also, you need to warm the lube up. That shit was cold.” He needs to tell Mikey these things because Mikey will remember them. Pete's going to get distracted and forget in about point four seconds.

“Next time?” Mikey asks, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” He doesn't have the energy to make fun of Mikey. Of course there is going to be a next time. “Next time.”

Pete gets to watch Mikey hold back a grin.

“Next time, I will warm up the lube.” Mikey replies with a kiss to Pete’s thumb.

“You also need to remind me to stretch.”

As much as Pete wants to move into this moment and live there forever, just him and Mikey in this post ‘we just had sex’ glow, he is starting to get uncomfortable with the amount of liquids that are exiting him.

He informs Mikey as such, which he delightfully correctly interprets as Pete wanting him to do the clean up work. He takes the towel from where it has fallen off the bed and wipes down Pete’s legs, no funny business this time. He also chucks Pete his shorts from the backpack and throws on a shirt himself, before climbing into bed alongside Pete.

Pete wipes as much of his jizz from the sheets as he can before chucking the towel into the corner. He makes a mental note to hide it in the bathroom and leave a nice tip for housekeeping.

Once they’re both tucked in, Mikey’s arms wrapped around him, cuddling under the way too nice duvet, Mikey turns and asks,

“Do you wanna watch X-files?”

Pete looks at the guy who just fucked the shit out of him. His hair is all over the place, he's wearing Pete's clean t-shirt he was going to wear tomorrow, and his voice is a little higher than normal. He’s squinting because he doesn’t have his glasses on and his thumb is softly rubbing Pete’s arm.

Pete thinks he might be in love.

“Absolutely, I do.”

Mikey smiles, his eyes lighting up.

“Cool.”

Yeah, Pete’s totally in love.