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Entry tags:
- fic,
- fob,
- mcr,
- pete/mikey
Fic: The Spark (Pete/Mikey, post FOB split shenanigans)
Fandom: My Chemical Romance & Fall Out Boy
Pairing: Pete/Mikey
Rating: NC-17
Length: 3 469 words
Warnings: Sex and references to Twitter
Summary: Mikey comforts Pete after the shenanigans of the 1st Feb (Pete's doom spiral blog update/twitter-fest)
Author's Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
b_dsaint because she needs good things and all my Pete/Mikey are belong to her anyway.
The Spark
When Pete opens the door the last person he expects to see on the other side is Mikeyfuckingway.
But expectations or not, there he is. Hair all scraped back off his face, a grocery bag balancing awkwardly on his shoulder, not smiling but not not-smiling either. And fuck if he isn't a fucking sight for sore eyes.
"What are you doing here?" As usual, the words are out of his mouth before checking with his brain first.
"Nice to see you too, asshole." Mikey retorts, but he's smiling when he pushes past Pete, heading straight into his apartment like he owns the place.
Pete turns, watching him stalk across his living room on those long, lanky legs, still in a state of shock.
"No seriously, Mikey - fuck aren't you on tour?" Pete lets the door close itself, shuffling across the carpet literally scratching his head. He still can't quite fathom that Mikey is here, here in his fucking living room.
"Not anymore." Mikey mutters, settling on Pete's giant leather couch like he owns the place. Pete's eyebrows shoot skyward but Mikey waves a hand dismissively. "Long story. I'll tell you later. But it's fine and it's getting sorted." He pats the couch beside him, reminding Pete that he's still standing in the middle of the room like he needs directions or a map.
Still feeling like he's been bodyslammed sideways, Pete follows the invitation and drops to the couch beside Mikey. "Seriously though Mikey - why are you here? Don't get me wrong it's great to see you, fucking awesome but-" Mikey waves a silencing hand at Pete, breaking him off.
"Dude. The internet. Your blog. Twitter." Pete's stomach drops even as his brain clicks everything into place. Of course. He can't just fall apart privately like a normal person can he? So Mikey knows. Everything.
Mikey's long fingers are twisting together on his knees. He looks up at Pete, tension around his eyebrows communicating a distress not many people would pick up on. But Pete does. It took him a long time to to learn Mikey's face and it's nice to know he hasn't lost the knack. "I figured you needed a friend." Mikey finishes, leaning forward and sorting through the grocery bag.
He pulls out two beers, handing one to Pete in a way that says he has no option but to take it. Pete does, recognising with a twinge that it's the brand he used to drink years ago. With Mikey.
"I've got beer, chips and about two pounds of candy. And roughly nine hours of gore." Mikey throws a pile of DVDs on the coffee table. "Oh, you didn't have any plans did you?" The question is more of an afterthought and Pete has to choke back a bitter laugh. Plans? Hardly. Aside from some hard-core moping and twitter-baiting he's got nothing. Ashlee's shooting, she's always fucking shooting and of course Bronx is where she is. He's not shitty about it, no way, it's how they work. He's just not very good on his own. Never has been.
"No." He admits, leaning slowly back into the couch as he twists off the screwcap, the hiss of the beer opening bringing with it a kind of relief. "I'm all yours."
"Good." A smile twitches Mikey's lips up at the sides and Pete can't fight the answering grin that curves his mouth. There's an ache in his chest, but it's a good ache. One he hasn't felt in a while.
"Where's the remote?" Mikey asks, cracking open the case on a DVD that looks bloody.
"Don't worry, I've got it." Pete snatches up the remote and starts hitting buttons. "You'll never figure it out. It's very complicated." Mikey flips him the bird in reply and it doesn't even register. The old Pete is starting to creep back in and it feels fucking good indeed.
***
Two blood-spattered hours later Pete is slightly tipsy and definitely sugar-high. He's got sticky-sweet stuck in his teeth and he's having trouble keeping still. Mikey's slumped down on the couch beside him, face pinched in concentration at the schlock on the television. Pete's using his shoulder as a slightly lumpy pillow and he's feeling so much closer to normal than he has in days.
"Mikey?" Pete asks, as a heart explodes on the screen. Mikey hmphs in reply, he's got a blow-pop hanging out the side of his mouth and the sight should be way more hilarious than it is. When Pete doesn't continue straight away Mikey glances sideways at him, reflections of the television dancing in his eyes. For a moment Pete's transported back five years to a shared beer on a shared bunk. He longs to be there again, to be in Mikey's life like that, the way they were once, far too briefly.
He can't remember what he was going to say. Mikey's still looking at him, waiting. He plucks the candy out of his mouth, licking his lips and Pete's staring, stuck in a memory, the press of those lips, the taste of cola, the sound of nasal breathing. Suddenly he's warm and aching, watching Mikey's face, looking for a hint, a sign, anything.
Mikey quirks an eyebrow at him, shifting slightly, rolling incrementally more towards Pete. The movement ends with Mikey's hand on Pete's leg, lightly resting on the denim and Pete can feel the heat of Mikey's palm right through his jeans. Somehow without him noticing it, it got hard to breathe. Pete's reading Mikey’s face and this is clearly an invitation.
Heart beating loud in his ears, Pete reaches down and covers Mikey's hand with his own. A tiny smile creeps onto Mikey's face and he seems to curl closer without actually moving.
Pete has to ask. "Alicia?"
Mikey just smiles, head shaking slightly. "Tour rules apply. I checked." He states, with a sureness. Pete wants to tease him about being forward but he's too busy forcing himself to breathe and just feel.
He squeezes Mikey's hand, feeling those long fingers under his, before snatching his own away to reach for his sidekick. "Just hang on a minute." His voice sounds rough. He's not sure what he's doing but he ploughs ahead anyway, flicking his sidekick into camera mode and holding it at arm's length above their heads. Mikey tilts his head towards Pete as he takes the photo and when Pete reviews it, Mikey's wearing that same expression he has in every photo of him taken in the last five years, a kind of enigmatic stare that makes his eyes look huge. Pete, meanwhile, looks vaguely goofy with his mouth half open.
Mikey peers over his shoulder as he forwards the snap to Ashlee with a message i want to use my celebrity exception.
He holds his breath when he presses send, Mikey chuckling softly into his shoulder and it’s strangely intimate. What follows is the longest ten minutes of his life. Mikey doesn't push, thankfully, just rolls his head back to face the screen and tunes back into the splatterfest. His hand stays on Pete's leg. A warm, heavy reminder of what he could have.
Pete practically leaps off the couch when his sidekick vibrates. Mikey stays conspicuously still, not even looking when Pete checks the reply. Pete's breath rushes out as he stares at the pixels on the screen.
sure thing baby. enjoy yrself. tell mikey i said hi
Pete barely manages to put the sidekick safely aside before rolling on top of Mikey, finding his mouth immediately in a desperate kiss. Mikey doesn't miss a beat, he latches his fingers in Pete's hair and kisses back, tongue stroking Pete's and god how could Pete have forgotten? Mikey can fucking kiss. He tastes like beer and strawberry-sugar. Pete's breathing him in, devouring him, falling down on top of him.
Mikey holds him up, long fingers stroking up his back and Pete arches into it, breath hissing out through his nose. He's straddling Mikey's sharp hips, shamelessly rubbing up on him and Mikey's humping back, fingers biting into Pete's hip as he holds on. Pete grabs at Mikey's shirt, wanting it off, all off, sooner is better. Luckily Mikey helps, sitting up to drag the fabric over his head, mussing his hair. Pete strokes a wayward tuft back down, losing his place when he meets Mikey's eyes because they're hazy and full of heat. It makes Pete want to melt. He focuses on Mikey's wet lips, pink and swollen and swoops down on them, licking, biting until Mikey makes a small noise in the back of his throat. A good noise.
Pete can't really think beyond what he's feeling, the sensation of Mikey's kiss, hard body under his, hands rubbing heat all over him. Mikey yanks Pete's shirt over his head and Pete laughs when the motion takes him by surprise, momentarily blinding him. When he can see again his vision is full of Mikey and he grabs him by the face with both hands, claiming another kiss.
They slide further and further down on the couch, until their legs tangle and Pete can feel the press of Mikey's hard-on on his thigh. Mikey fits a hand between them and starts working the buttons on Pete's fly open, one by one. The anticipation is intense so when Mikey finally gains access, sliding a hand inside to shape him Pete's already groaning and cursing. Mikey's fingers are long and nimble, tips callused from playing bass like Pete's, so much it's almost like he’s touching himself except infinitely better. Because it's Mikey. Mikey's kissing him and jerking him off and Pete’s losing himself in it, barely able breathe, making noises even he can't decipher.
"Mikey... Mikey, fuck." He barely gets the words out between pants and Mikey's just looking at him, eyes hot, mouth half open and Pete's struggling to find words. "Mikey... I'm gonna..." Because he is. He's so close, so soon it's fucking embarrassing.
The heat in Mikey's gaze intensifies and he flips Pete onto his back in a messy motion. Before Pete can even reorient Mikey's dragging Pete's jeans down his thighs and fuckohjesusfuck Mikey's going down on him. His tongue probes Pete's slit before he sinks his whole mouth down and all Pete can do is slide his fingers into Mikey's hair and just fucking hang on. When Mikey draws his mouth up, right to the tip, then pushes down again all Pete can see is the ceiling and the inside of his head because fuck it feels amazing. Hot and wet and perfect and Mikey's using the tiniest brush of teeth and a whole lot of suction.
Pete forces his eyes to focus, to look down and when he sees Mikey's mouth moving on him he almost loses it. It's so fucking pornographic and gorgeous. Strands of hair are falling across Mikey's forehead, his eyes are closed like he's just drowning in the experience. He's leaning on his hands so he can push his head down, and up and a little bit around in a way that makes Pete's balls draw up with every stroke.
Pete's already groaning, shifting his hips and clinging on, feeling the rush of completion approaching when Mikey looks up. His eyes fix on Pete and it's the same look Pete's seen on multiple porn videos except it's Mikeyfuckingway and he's looking at Pete with a heat that could burn him alive. When he swallows Pete's cock this time, it's over, it's done. Pete's fingers tightening in Mikey's hair is the only warning he gets out before he's groaning, hips bucking up and Mikey's swallowing it all down, wringing him out.
He feels knocked sideways, sweating and fucked out. Mikey crawls up to flop beside him, panting hotly. Pete hugs him close, not able to speak yet, just pressing his face into Mikey's neck, pushing all his gratitude and love into the motion, hoping that Mikey receives it. Mikey's fingers bite into Pete's shoulder as he hugs back, their breaths mingling and Mikey smells like sex. When Pete has breath he dives back in, covering Mikey's mouth, tasting himself there and not even caring.
Mikey arches up to him, clinging on and pressing his body into Pete's. He's hard, so hard and still wearing his jeans which twinges at Pete's conscience. Pete reaches down and fumbles with belt, button and zip, his mind racing ahead, shaking off his post-orgasm stupor and forming a plan. Once he has Mikey naked he drags him off the couch. It's a chore to separate himself from all that lean flesh but he has purpose now, a destination.
Mikey is surprisingly malleable, allowing Pete to pull him along. They startle Hemmingway and Rigby enroute to the bedroom and Pete has to laugh at the image they make, dogs racing past as he and Mikey streak down the hallway. Mikey's hair is completely fucked up now, he's looking lankier than ever in his nude state, cock standing out hard from his body. It should be ridiculous, but it's really fucking hot and Pete yanks harder on Mikey's arm, impatient to get to the next stage.
They reach the bedroom and Pete wastes no time, pressing Mikey down into the soft mattress, climbing on top of him and grinding, kissing, stroking, licking. Mikey makes impatient noises between kisses and Pete fumbles one-handed in the bedside drawer for condoms and lube. Because he knows what he wants. Something he's never had before. He wants Mikey to fuck him.
He presses a condom into Mikey's hand as he fumbles with the bottle of lube. Mikey tears it open one-handed and reaches for Pete, who's already mostly hard again but Pete elbows him away.
"No. For you. Put it on." He whispers hotly and Mikey's eyes grow wider as the meaning sinks in.
"Are you sure? We never..." Pete silences him with a kiss, sloppy and wanting.
"I want to. Please." Pete's voice is needy and raw. It sends Mikey's gaze molten and he bites his lip, grabbing his cock by the base and breathing deep, like he's so fucking close he could come from just the idea of it. Pete’s fingers fall still on the bottle of lube, stuck staring as he watches Mikey roll on the condom. There's the briefest flicker of fear deep in the pit of his stomach, but it's quickly pressed down by a surging tide of want as Mikey pushes him onto his back, commandeering the lube.
Mikey gets the bottle open expertly where Pete was fumbling. Pete watches wide-eyed as Mikey lubes up his cock and his fingers, those long slender fingers. Those fingers find Pete's dick and his asshole at the same time, skillfully stroking him back to fully erect with one hand while fingertips of the other hand press softly at Pete's ass. Pete sucks in a breath, a hiss, and Mikey's leaning forwards, kissing him deep, sucking his tongue as one fingertip finds its way inside. He swallows Pete's gasp, leaving the finger there, not pushing for more, just letting him get used to it.
Pete more than gets used to it. He fucking loves it. He starts moving on it, twitching his ass up to feel the slide of Mikey's finger in and out and Mikey's grinning against his mouth. Pete reaches down, finding Mikey's sheathed cock and stroking it. Mikey hisses in a breath, hands stilling momentarily, then he's back, moving again. Another finger finds its way into Pete's ass.
Pete moans, pressing up into Mikey's hand and Mikey starts stroking him again, a more lazy pace than what Pete's doing to him and Pete's hoping he gets the hint and speeds up because fuck he wants more. Now.
Mikey leans in, his face close to Pete's.
"Breathe in." He instructs and Pete does, sucking air into his chest. "Breathe out." Mikey says and Pete does, and fuck fuck three fingers now and he feels so full he can barely breathe. It's intense, not painful just fucking intense. Mikey's still stroking his dick, Pete's staring up into his face and just barely able focus. Mikey's so fucking beautiful, all flushed and mussed and focused. He's not moving his fingers, just letting them sit, hot and tight in Pete's ass, letting him get used to it. Pete loves him for it, but he's so fucking impatient he starts moving himself, shifting on Mikey's hand, keening out vague needy noises.
"Pete." Mikey's panting. Not a question. Not a statement. Pete's still stroking him erratically whenever he can force his brain synapses to obey.
"Now. Mikey. Please." It's an effort to get the words out. He tries directing Mikey's cock with his hand, pointing it toward his ass. Mikey let's out a strangled noise, letting go of Pete's cock to grasp his own tightly. When he slides his fingers out of Pete's ass, Pete moans at the loss, feeling open, stretched, empty.
"Ready?" Mikey asks. His face is damp with sweat, hair sticking to it and Pete nods mutely, not trusting himself to speak. Mikey leans forward on his elbow, pushing Pete's legs back, lowering his body onto Pete's.
"Breathe in." He says softly, Pete can feel him lining up, the blunt head of his cock at Pete's ass. Pete knows what's coming. Mikey says "Breathe out" and when Pete does, Mikey pushes in, slow, so slow.
"Fuck." The word comes out on breath and Pete barely realises he's spoken. He's so fucking full. It takes a long moment to even process everything he's feeling. It's like he's hitting overload. Like he might white out. Mikey isn't moving, he's just there, perched over him, waiting, watching. His eyes are burning into Pete and Pete's staring back, barely breathing, bathing in sensation.
Fuck, Mikey's amazing, fucking amazing. Pete reaches up and grabs his head, pulling him down for a kiss. Mikey's tongue finds his and it's messy and wet and desperate and Pete's arching up under Mikey, searching for movement and that's all the go-ahead Mikey needs. He starts to move, slow and sure and Pete has to cling onto his back and just hold on because fuck, he can't, it's too much.
"Mikey, jesus." He breaks the kiss to pant into Mikey's shoulder and Mikey's moving on his own, their hands clasp together, fingers entwining as Mikey fucks him so slow and hot that Pete can barely take it.
"Touch yourself." Mikey pants out, something wicked flickering across his face as he does and Pete's hand flies down to his cock immediately. He pulls himself off slowly, in time with Mikey's rhythm and it's overwhelming and amazing and he can't help choking out "Faster. Please. More."
Mikey does.
He picks up speed, pumping into Pete faster and Pete matches pace with the strokes on his cock. Mikey falls forward onto his elbows, devouring Pete's mouth as his hips start to stutter. The angle change brings with it a new level of pleasure on every stroke and Pete's groaning pretty much non stop now, feeling stretched and full and plundered. He arches up off the mattress, rubbing on Mikey as he tugs himself off and he can feel it, building, ready to explode.
Mikey loses it first. He tears his mouth from Pete, and Pete sees the exquisite grimace on his face as he breaks, hips shoving forward one last time and Pete feels the pulse inside him as Mikey releases. It's intimate and intense and it pushes Pete to stroke that much faster until he finds his own orgasm, Mikey still thrusting inside him, panting into his shoulder.
Mikey's gone floppy on Pete's chest and Pete strokes down his slick, bony back as they lie there, breathing harshly. Their bodies are hot and wet everywhere skin touches skin and Pete feels exhausted and blissful. He presses a kiss absently to Mikey's forehead and Mikey curls in tighter on Pete, making a small content noise. Pete absently strokes his slightly sticky hair.
When they can find the strength, Mikey pulls out and ditches the condom. They fold into each other, snuggling comfortably, Mikey's head tucked into Pete's neck. Warm breath feathers over Pete's collarbone and he knows the moment Mikey's breathing slows, falling into sleep.
Pete doesn't sleep, just lies there content, thoughts racing around in his head. His band. His friends. His life.
Somehow it doesn't seem so bad now. It's not his fucked-out brain that's making it that way either.
Because Mikey's back in his arms, five years after that one summer. Five years after it was over. And no, it's not the same. But it's not worse. And they never stopped being friends.
It gives him hope, for his band, for his friends. For everything.
Sometimes things end. But that doesn't mean they're over.
Pairing: Pete/Mikey
Rating: NC-17
Length: 3 469 words
Warnings: Sex and references to Twitter
Summary: Mikey comforts Pete after the shenanigans of the 1st Feb (Pete's doom spiral blog update/twitter-fest)
Author's Notes: For
b_dsaint because she needs good things and all my Pete/Mikey are belong to her anyway.The Spark
When Pete opens the door the last person he expects to see on the other side is Mikeyfuckingway.
But expectations or not, there he is. Hair all scraped back off his face, a grocery bag balancing awkwardly on his shoulder, not smiling but not not-smiling either. And fuck if he isn't a fucking sight for sore eyes.
"What are you doing here?" As usual, the words are out of his mouth before checking with his brain first.
"Nice to see you too, asshole." Mikey retorts, but he's smiling when he pushes past Pete, heading straight into his apartment like he owns the place.
Pete turns, watching him stalk across his living room on those long, lanky legs, still in a state of shock.
"No seriously, Mikey - fuck aren't you on tour?" Pete lets the door close itself, shuffling across the carpet literally scratching his head. He still can't quite fathom that Mikey is here, here in his fucking living room.
"Not anymore." Mikey mutters, settling on Pete's giant leather couch like he owns the place. Pete's eyebrows shoot skyward but Mikey waves a hand dismissively. "Long story. I'll tell you later. But it's fine and it's getting sorted." He pats the couch beside him, reminding Pete that he's still standing in the middle of the room like he needs directions or a map.
Still feeling like he's been bodyslammed sideways, Pete follows the invitation and drops to the couch beside Mikey. "Seriously though Mikey - why are you here? Don't get me wrong it's great to see you, fucking awesome but-" Mikey waves a silencing hand at Pete, breaking him off.
"Dude. The internet. Your blog. Twitter." Pete's stomach drops even as his brain clicks everything into place. Of course. He can't just fall apart privately like a normal person can he? So Mikey knows. Everything.
Mikey's long fingers are twisting together on his knees. He looks up at Pete, tension around his eyebrows communicating a distress not many people would pick up on. But Pete does. It took him a long time to to learn Mikey's face and it's nice to know he hasn't lost the knack. "I figured you needed a friend." Mikey finishes, leaning forward and sorting through the grocery bag.
He pulls out two beers, handing one to Pete in a way that says he has no option but to take it. Pete does, recognising with a twinge that it's the brand he used to drink years ago. With Mikey.
"I've got beer, chips and about two pounds of candy. And roughly nine hours of gore." Mikey throws a pile of DVDs on the coffee table. "Oh, you didn't have any plans did you?" The question is more of an afterthought and Pete has to choke back a bitter laugh. Plans? Hardly. Aside from some hard-core moping and twitter-baiting he's got nothing. Ashlee's shooting, she's always fucking shooting and of course Bronx is where she is. He's not shitty about it, no way, it's how they work. He's just not very good on his own. Never has been.
"No." He admits, leaning slowly back into the couch as he twists off the screwcap, the hiss of the beer opening bringing with it a kind of relief. "I'm all yours."
"Good." A smile twitches Mikey's lips up at the sides and Pete can't fight the answering grin that curves his mouth. There's an ache in his chest, but it's a good ache. One he hasn't felt in a while.
"Where's the remote?" Mikey asks, cracking open the case on a DVD that looks bloody.
"Don't worry, I've got it." Pete snatches up the remote and starts hitting buttons. "You'll never figure it out. It's very complicated." Mikey flips him the bird in reply and it doesn't even register. The old Pete is starting to creep back in and it feels fucking good indeed.
***
Two blood-spattered hours later Pete is slightly tipsy and definitely sugar-high. He's got sticky-sweet stuck in his teeth and he's having trouble keeping still. Mikey's slumped down on the couch beside him, face pinched in concentration at the schlock on the television. Pete's using his shoulder as a slightly lumpy pillow and he's feeling so much closer to normal than he has in days.
"Mikey?" Pete asks, as a heart explodes on the screen. Mikey hmphs in reply, he's got a blow-pop hanging out the side of his mouth and the sight should be way more hilarious than it is. When Pete doesn't continue straight away Mikey glances sideways at him, reflections of the television dancing in his eyes. For a moment Pete's transported back five years to a shared beer on a shared bunk. He longs to be there again, to be in Mikey's life like that, the way they were once, far too briefly.
He can't remember what he was going to say. Mikey's still looking at him, waiting. He plucks the candy out of his mouth, licking his lips and Pete's staring, stuck in a memory, the press of those lips, the taste of cola, the sound of nasal breathing. Suddenly he's warm and aching, watching Mikey's face, looking for a hint, a sign, anything.
Mikey quirks an eyebrow at him, shifting slightly, rolling incrementally more towards Pete. The movement ends with Mikey's hand on Pete's leg, lightly resting on the denim and Pete can feel the heat of Mikey's palm right through his jeans. Somehow without him noticing it, it got hard to breathe. Pete's reading Mikey’s face and this is clearly an invitation.
Heart beating loud in his ears, Pete reaches down and covers Mikey's hand with his own. A tiny smile creeps onto Mikey's face and he seems to curl closer without actually moving.
Pete has to ask. "Alicia?"
Mikey just smiles, head shaking slightly. "Tour rules apply. I checked." He states, with a sureness. Pete wants to tease him about being forward but he's too busy forcing himself to breathe and just feel.
He squeezes Mikey's hand, feeling those long fingers under his, before snatching his own away to reach for his sidekick. "Just hang on a minute." His voice sounds rough. He's not sure what he's doing but he ploughs ahead anyway, flicking his sidekick into camera mode and holding it at arm's length above their heads. Mikey tilts his head towards Pete as he takes the photo and when Pete reviews it, Mikey's wearing that same expression he has in every photo of him taken in the last five years, a kind of enigmatic stare that makes his eyes look huge. Pete, meanwhile, looks vaguely goofy with his mouth half open.
Mikey peers over his shoulder as he forwards the snap to Ashlee with a message i want to use my celebrity exception.
He holds his breath when he presses send, Mikey chuckling softly into his shoulder and it’s strangely intimate. What follows is the longest ten minutes of his life. Mikey doesn't push, thankfully, just rolls his head back to face the screen and tunes back into the splatterfest. His hand stays on Pete's leg. A warm, heavy reminder of what he could have.
Pete practically leaps off the couch when his sidekick vibrates. Mikey stays conspicuously still, not even looking when Pete checks the reply. Pete's breath rushes out as he stares at the pixels on the screen.
sure thing baby. enjoy yrself. tell mikey i said hi
Pete barely manages to put the sidekick safely aside before rolling on top of Mikey, finding his mouth immediately in a desperate kiss. Mikey doesn't miss a beat, he latches his fingers in Pete's hair and kisses back, tongue stroking Pete's and god how could Pete have forgotten? Mikey can fucking kiss. He tastes like beer and strawberry-sugar. Pete's breathing him in, devouring him, falling down on top of him.
Mikey holds him up, long fingers stroking up his back and Pete arches into it, breath hissing out through his nose. He's straddling Mikey's sharp hips, shamelessly rubbing up on him and Mikey's humping back, fingers biting into Pete's hip as he holds on. Pete grabs at Mikey's shirt, wanting it off, all off, sooner is better. Luckily Mikey helps, sitting up to drag the fabric over his head, mussing his hair. Pete strokes a wayward tuft back down, losing his place when he meets Mikey's eyes because they're hazy and full of heat. It makes Pete want to melt. He focuses on Mikey's wet lips, pink and swollen and swoops down on them, licking, biting until Mikey makes a small noise in the back of his throat. A good noise.
Pete can't really think beyond what he's feeling, the sensation of Mikey's kiss, hard body under his, hands rubbing heat all over him. Mikey yanks Pete's shirt over his head and Pete laughs when the motion takes him by surprise, momentarily blinding him. When he can see again his vision is full of Mikey and he grabs him by the face with both hands, claiming another kiss.
They slide further and further down on the couch, until their legs tangle and Pete can feel the press of Mikey's hard-on on his thigh. Mikey fits a hand between them and starts working the buttons on Pete's fly open, one by one. The anticipation is intense so when Mikey finally gains access, sliding a hand inside to shape him Pete's already groaning and cursing. Mikey's fingers are long and nimble, tips callused from playing bass like Pete's, so much it's almost like he’s touching himself except infinitely better. Because it's Mikey. Mikey's kissing him and jerking him off and Pete’s losing himself in it, barely able breathe, making noises even he can't decipher.
"Mikey... Mikey, fuck." He barely gets the words out between pants and Mikey's just looking at him, eyes hot, mouth half open and Pete's struggling to find words. "Mikey... I'm gonna..." Because he is. He's so close, so soon it's fucking embarrassing.
The heat in Mikey's gaze intensifies and he flips Pete onto his back in a messy motion. Before Pete can even reorient Mikey's dragging Pete's jeans down his thighs and fuckohjesusfuck Mikey's going down on him. His tongue probes Pete's slit before he sinks his whole mouth down and all Pete can do is slide his fingers into Mikey's hair and just fucking hang on. When Mikey draws his mouth up, right to the tip, then pushes down again all Pete can see is the ceiling and the inside of his head because fuck it feels amazing. Hot and wet and perfect and Mikey's using the tiniest brush of teeth and a whole lot of suction.
Pete forces his eyes to focus, to look down and when he sees Mikey's mouth moving on him he almost loses it. It's so fucking pornographic and gorgeous. Strands of hair are falling across Mikey's forehead, his eyes are closed like he's just drowning in the experience. He's leaning on his hands so he can push his head down, and up and a little bit around in a way that makes Pete's balls draw up with every stroke.
Pete's already groaning, shifting his hips and clinging on, feeling the rush of completion approaching when Mikey looks up. His eyes fix on Pete and it's the same look Pete's seen on multiple porn videos except it's Mikeyfuckingway and he's looking at Pete with a heat that could burn him alive. When he swallows Pete's cock this time, it's over, it's done. Pete's fingers tightening in Mikey's hair is the only warning he gets out before he's groaning, hips bucking up and Mikey's swallowing it all down, wringing him out.
He feels knocked sideways, sweating and fucked out. Mikey crawls up to flop beside him, panting hotly. Pete hugs him close, not able to speak yet, just pressing his face into Mikey's neck, pushing all his gratitude and love into the motion, hoping that Mikey receives it. Mikey's fingers bite into Pete's shoulder as he hugs back, their breaths mingling and Mikey smells like sex. When Pete has breath he dives back in, covering Mikey's mouth, tasting himself there and not even caring.
Mikey arches up to him, clinging on and pressing his body into Pete's. He's hard, so hard and still wearing his jeans which twinges at Pete's conscience. Pete reaches down and fumbles with belt, button and zip, his mind racing ahead, shaking off his post-orgasm stupor and forming a plan. Once he has Mikey naked he drags him off the couch. It's a chore to separate himself from all that lean flesh but he has purpose now, a destination.
Mikey is surprisingly malleable, allowing Pete to pull him along. They startle Hemmingway and Rigby enroute to the bedroom and Pete has to laugh at the image they make, dogs racing past as he and Mikey streak down the hallway. Mikey's hair is completely fucked up now, he's looking lankier than ever in his nude state, cock standing out hard from his body. It should be ridiculous, but it's really fucking hot and Pete yanks harder on Mikey's arm, impatient to get to the next stage.
They reach the bedroom and Pete wastes no time, pressing Mikey down into the soft mattress, climbing on top of him and grinding, kissing, stroking, licking. Mikey makes impatient noises between kisses and Pete fumbles one-handed in the bedside drawer for condoms and lube. Because he knows what he wants. Something he's never had before. He wants Mikey to fuck him.
He presses a condom into Mikey's hand as he fumbles with the bottle of lube. Mikey tears it open one-handed and reaches for Pete, who's already mostly hard again but Pete elbows him away.
"No. For you. Put it on." He whispers hotly and Mikey's eyes grow wider as the meaning sinks in.
"Are you sure? We never..." Pete silences him with a kiss, sloppy and wanting.
"I want to. Please." Pete's voice is needy and raw. It sends Mikey's gaze molten and he bites his lip, grabbing his cock by the base and breathing deep, like he's so fucking close he could come from just the idea of it. Pete’s fingers fall still on the bottle of lube, stuck staring as he watches Mikey roll on the condom. There's the briefest flicker of fear deep in the pit of his stomach, but it's quickly pressed down by a surging tide of want as Mikey pushes him onto his back, commandeering the lube.
Mikey gets the bottle open expertly where Pete was fumbling. Pete watches wide-eyed as Mikey lubes up his cock and his fingers, those long slender fingers. Those fingers find Pete's dick and his asshole at the same time, skillfully stroking him back to fully erect with one hand while fingertips of the other hand press softly at Pete's ass. Pete sucks in a breath, a hiss, and Mikey's leaning forwards, kissing him deep, sucking his tongue as one fingertip finds its way inside. He swallows Pete's gasp, leaving the finger there, not pushing for more, just letting him get used to it.
Pete more than gets used to it. He fucking loves it. He starts moving on it, twitching his ass up to feel the slide of Mikey's finger in and out and Mikey's grinning against his mouth. Pete reaches down, finding Mikey's sheathed cock and stroking it. Mikey hisses in a breath, hands stilling momentarily, then he's back, moving again. Another finger finds its way into Pete's ass.
Pete moans, pressing up into Mikey's hand and Mikey starts stroking him again, a more lazy pace than what Pete's doing to him and Pete's hoping he gets the hint and speeds up because fuck he wants more. Now.
Mikey leans in, his face close to Pete's.
"Breathe in." He instructs and Pete does, sucking air into his chest. "Breathe out." Mikey says and Pete does, and fuck fuck three fingers now and he feels so full he can barely breathe. It's intense, not painful just fucking intense. Mikey's still stroking his dick, Pete's staring up into his face and just barely able focus. Mikey's so fucking beautiful, all flushed and mussed and focused. He's not moving his fingers, just letting them sit, hot and tight in Pete's ass, letting him get used to it. Pete loves him for it, but he's so fucking impatient he starts moving himself, shifting on Mikey's hand, keening out vague needy noises.
"Pete." Mikey's panting. Not a question. Not a statement. Pete's still stroking him erratically whenever he can force his brain synapses to obey.
"Now. Mikey. Please." It's an effort to get the words out. He tries directing Mikey's cock with his hand, pointing it toward his ass. Mikey let's out a strangled noise, letting go of Pete's cock to grasp his own tightly. When he slides his fingers out of Pete's ass, Pete moans at the loss, feeling open, stretched, empty.
"Ready?" Mikey asks. His face is damp with sweat, hair sticking to it and Pete nods mutely, not trusting himself to speak. Mikey leans forward on his elbow, pushing Pete's legs back, lowering his body onto Pete's.
"Breathe in." He says softly, Pete can feel him lining up, the blunt head of his cock at Pete's ass. Pete knows what's coming. Mikey says "Breathe out" and when Pete does, Mikey pushes in, slow, so slow.
"Fuck." The word comes out on breath and Pete barely realises he's spoken. He's so fucking full. It takes a long moment to even process everything he's feeling. It's like he's hitting overload. Like he might white out. Mikey isn't moving, he's just there, perched over him, waiting, watching. His eyes are burning into Pete and Pete's staring back, barely breathing, bathing in sensation.
Fuck, Mikey's amazing, fucking amazing. Pete reaches up and grabs his head, pulling him down for a kiss. Mikey's tongue finds his and it's messy and wet and desperate and Pete's arching up under Mikey, searching for movement and that's all the go-ahead Mikey needs. He starts to move, slow and sure and Pete has to cling onto his back and just hold on because fuck, he can't, it's too much.
"Mikey, jesus." He breaks the kiss to pant into Mikey's shoulder and Mikey's moving on his own, their hands clasp together, fingers entwining as Mikey fucks him so slow and hot that Pete can barely take it.
"Touch yourself." Mikey pants out, something wicked flickering across his face as he does and Pete's hand flies down to his cock immediately. He pulls himself off slowly, in time with Mikey's rhythm and it's overwhelming and amazing and he can't help choking out "Faster. Please. More."
Mikey does.
He picks up speed, pumping into Pete faster and Pete matches pace with the strokes on his cock. Mikey falls forward onto his elbows, devouring Pete's mouth as his hips start to stutter. The angle change brings with it a new level of pleasure on every stroke and Pete's groaning pretty much non stop now, feeling stretched and full and plundered. He arches up off the mattress, rubbing on Mikey as he tugs himself off and he can feel it, building, ready to explode.
Mikey loses it first. He tears his mouth from Pete, and Pete sees the exquisite grimace on his face as he breaks, hips shoving forward one last time and Pete feels the pulse inside him as Mikey releases. It's intimate and intense and it pushes Pete to stroke that much faster until he finds his own orgasm, Mikey still thrusting inside him, panting into his shoulder.
Mikey's gone floppy on Pete's chest and Pete strokes down his slick, bony back as they lie there, breathing harshly. Their bodies are hot and wet everywhere skin touches skin and Pete feels exhausted and blissful. He presses a kiss absently to Mikey's forehead and Mikey curls in tighter on Pete, making a small content noise. Pete absently strokes his slightly sticky hair.
When they can find the strength, Mikey pulls out and ditches the condom. They fold into each other, snuggling comfortably, Mikey's head tucked into Pete's neck. Warm breath feathers over Pete's collarbone and he knows the moment Mikey's breathing slows, falling into sleep.
Pete doesn't sleep, just lies there content, thoughts racing around in his head. His band. His friends. His life.
Somehow it doesn't seem so bad now. It's not his fucked-out brain that's making it that way either.
Because Mikey's back in his arms, five years after that one summer. Five years after it was over. And no, it's not the same. But it's not worse. And they never stopped being friends.
It gives him hope, for his band, for his friends. For everything.
Sometimes things end. But that doesn't mean they're over.
no subject
beautiful!
it made me so sad what happened to FOB...and everyone said that Pete was guilty for that break up.
Pete must be feeling really bad! But for that's mikeyfuckingway! to make him feel better! ;)
it's great!
can't wait to read other of your fics! :D
Xoxo
no subject
Thanks for the love!