Fic: Show Me

[ladyfoxxx]

Fandom: My Chemical Romance & Fall Out Boy
Title: Show Me
Pairing: Pete/Mikey
Rating: R/NC-17.
Length: 3.5 k
Warnings: Sex. Voyeurism.
Disclaimer: All of my own invention.
Summary: Pete has a fresh obsession. Now he wants to watch Mikey.

Follows on from The Blue Room though it can be read as a standalone

Author’s Notes: Blame b_dsaint . It's all her fault. This is my first Pete/Mikey, a pairing that scares the bajeesus out of me cause I never imagined I could pull them off. Hope I did.

Pete keeps looking at Gerard.

It's not obvious to anyone but Mikey. Pete doesn't do it openly. Mikey only notices because after weeks of The Sweet Little Dudes being joined at the hip he's got all Pete's patterns down, and this new behaviour doesn't fit.

It's like Pete is Mikey's bass and it's just slightly out of tune. Mikey's caressing the strings, turning the tension knobs, looking for that out of key string. But Pete's not coming back in tune.

Mikey's not jealous. Pete only ever looks at Gerard, which is in all ways harmless. It's not like he stops looking at Mikey, his attention is just a little bit divided. Particularly when Frank is within Gerard's range, onstage or offstage.

No Mikey's not jealous, just curious. He wants to know what caused the change. Like he knows why Pete started wearing a lot of white denim, or why he started drinking low carb beer. All the little details catalogued away in his brain.

In the end, Mikey doesn't even have to ask. Pete brings it up first.

They're curled up on Pete's bunk, sharing a set of earbuds and passing a bottle of pilsner back and forth when Pete asks out of the blue.

"What's with your brother and Frank? Are they, like, a thing?"

Mikey rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand. His glasses slip further down his nose and he doesn't bother to push them back up.

"Sometimes." He says truthfully. He doesn't know precisely. It's not like he and Gerard talk about it, but he knows his brother well enough, has seen enough little clues to know it's not just limited to what happens onstage.

"I figured." Pete breathes. He's looking up at the slats over their heads, the side of his mouth twitching up like he's fighting a smile. Mikey reaches over and places two fingers gently on the side of Pete's quirking mouth. Pete looks up at him.

Mikey wants to ask how Pete figured. He doesn't, just waits. Pete will say it anyway.

"I saw them once."

Mikey doesn't say anything. He's not sure what to say. He wants to know what Pete means by "saw", but at the same time he doesn't really want to know.

Pete sits up a little, rolling to his side to see Mikey's face better. There's excitement in the way he moves, like he's been bottling this information up and he's finally got someone to talk to.

Mikey's not sure if he wants to be that someone.

"Remember our last hotel night?" Pete doesn't even wait for Mikey to answer, it's all bubbling out now. "They went at it, right in the middle of the living room."

Pete's eyes are sparkling dangerously. It's on the tip of Mikey's tongue to just say shut up. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to hear any more.

But Pete's not stopping and the words don't make it out of Mikey's mouth.

"It was insane. I mean, I didn't mean to look at first, I just wanted to see who it was but, jesus, Mikey it was so hot."

"Pete." Pete looks up at Mikey's voice, he's got one hand hovering in front of Pete's face like some kind of vague traffic cop. "Stop."

Mikey's heard enough. It's not so much that it's Gerard that Pete's talking about that's making Mikey's insides swirl, it's just hearing Pete get so hot, so excited about someone who's not Mikey. He's not a fool. This thing they have, whatever it is, they never said it was exclusive, they've never even talked about what it is but... that doesn't mean Mikey wants it rubbed in his face.

"Yeah I'm gonna go." Mikey's not sure where, he just wants the conversation to end. He starts to roll out of the bunk, but Pete catches his wrist, pulls him back in. Mikey lets himself be pulled. He didn't know where he was going anyway.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Pete's words come out in a rush. "I'm fucking this up. It wasn't like that."

"Wasn't like what?" Mikey's trying real hard not to look at Pete, because if he does he's just going to go with it, whatever he says and Mikey's just got this really strong feeling that it's important for him to hold out right now, not give in too quick.

"Not whatever you thought. Whatever made you wanna leave." Pete's quick, he's grabbed Mikey's hands in his, twining their fingers together. Mikey's little bit of defiant will gives out and he looks up at Pete's best puppy face.

"I just watched." Pete says it so matter of factly. Mikey cringes to hear it. Pete doesn't even look embarrassed about it.

Mikey's got an empathetic blush crawling up his neck at the very thought.

"God, they didn't catch you did they?" and even just asking the question is giving in. Letting the conversation continue.

"Not straight away."

"Oh jesus." Mikey flops onto his back on the bunk. How the fuck does Pete do it? The guy has no fucking shame.

Pete crawls on top of him then, all warm and sinuous and Mikey can feel how much this conversation is turning him on. Pete leans in for a kiss and Mikey lets him, kissing back all soft and lazy because it's easier to kiss Pete than to listen to him spout this crap.

Pete breaks the kiss, petting Mikey's hair. "You know, we should do something like that."

"You want me to fuck Frank?" Mikey's voice pitches up as he asks, hoping this is all a big joke. Pete laughs, throaty and soft.

"No, you idiot." He leans down for another kiss, lightly biting Mikey's lip before he comes up again and Mikey could almost whimper he does it so well. Then Pete finally lays it out for him.

"I want to watch you."

Mikey squirms, the heat in his blush intensifying. He's not ready to look at Pete's face, see all that want so he studies his collarbone instead, focusing on a fading bruise.

"Come on, Mikey. It'd be so hot." Pete's pressing him down into the bunk, forehead against his, their hands still clasped palm to palm. Pete's on fire, skin burning hot where they touch. He's pressing kisses on the sides of Mikey's mouth, down his neck and back up again. Their hips are locked together and the press of Pete's hardness against his own feels way too good.

"I just wanna watch you, see you get off, not being able to touch... oh fuck, Mikey..." Pete just can't shut up about it. He's grinding on Mikey and Mikey's caught the fever now, burning up and humping back up on Pete. He's not sure if he's overheating on Pete's touches or just mortifyingly embarrassed by what he's proposing.

Which he is. He couldn't... He'd never... not even for Pete. He'd fold and shrivel before Pete's eyes, too shy, too much to ask.

Pete licks a stripe up his neck. "Just say you'll do it." Another kiss, hard and firm then Pete's looking down on him, eyes all hot and maniacal. "You don't have to mean it, just pretend. Just say you'll do it for me."

There's a note of desperation in Pete's voice. Mikey doesn't want to lie to him, so he does the best he can.

"I'll think about it."


***

And he does think about it. Way more often than he should, prickling with heat every time. A kind of heady embarrassment tinged with something more, something raw and deep that puts heat in his crotch as well as his cheeks.

Pete starts coming back into tune, losing interest in Gerard and Frank's shenanigans, all attention arrowing back to Mikey. He starts going out of tune in the other direction, staring at Mikey ravenously, making Mikey's toes curl and his heart patter.

He lies in his bunk at night, rubbing one out, quiet as death with a handful of kleenex, trying to assess if he could possibly do this in front of someone else, in front of Pete.

The answer in his mind is always no, but that doesn't stop him thinking about it while he moves his hand. Imagining Pete's greedy eyes watching him and he's hiding his face in his shoulder and coming way too fast.


***

When the next hotel night rolls around Mikey doesn't want to know what kind of blackmail Pete must've pulled to get a room to himself. It's exactly where they end up at some ungodly hour of the morning post-show partied out and still damp and heady from a shared shower.

Pete doesn't let Mikey even try to get his clothes back on, just tackles him down to the bed, and kisses him breathless. Mikey doesn't mind at all. He's got all the skin he can touch and a locked door between them and anyone who might intrude. He's revelling in the slide of their skin, the full body contact, the insistent press of Pete's lips on every part of Mikey he can reach.

It's starting to pitch up to the next level, he can feel the hot throb of Pete's cock on his stomach and his own answering need. They wrestle and roll on the bed, Mikey's fingers clutching in Pete's hair, pressing him down, pulling him in. The incidental contact is not enough for Mikey now, he wants something deliberate. He forces his hand between their bodies, finding Pete's cock warm and firm.

Pete's breath hitches. He mumbles something into Mikey's neck as long fingers shape him. Mikey rolls them onto their sides for better access, his long limbs unfolding, leg's tangling with Pete's. He firms his grip on Pete's cock and strokes, feeling it tighten in his hand. Pete's making choked noises and sucking Mikey's neck, fingers curling to dig into his skin.

Mikey's own cock is upright and leaking and he's getting impatient for Pete to pay it some attention. He swoops down for another kiss, curling his body closer to Pete's so his cock draws patterns in pre-come across Pete's stomach. Does he need to put up a billboard?

"Mikey." Pete's looking up at him, all intense and hazy. He's locking his hand around Mikey's grip on his cock, tangling their fingers and tugging. Another kiss, brief and licking, and Pete's pulling their hands away from his cock, pressing them towards Mikey's crotch.

"Mikey, please." Pete's sounding desperate and needy and it takes Mikey a moment to catch on. Then Pete's fitting Mikey's fingers around his own cock, pressing them closed into a grip and Mikey gets it. Like a neon flashing sign, he fucking gets it. Pete and his stupid obsessions.

"Please Mikey, show me..." The words are peppered between kisses and Pete's not letting Mikey let go. "Mikey please... I just, I wanna see..."

Heat flushes through Mikey and his first thought is to hide. Turn his face into the pillow, roll away. Pete's asking too much.

But the instructions from his brain don't make it to his body. He just lies there, fingers around his cock, skin burning, totally lacking motion. Pete takes his silence as acquiescence and slides his fingers away, pushes his whole body away from Mikey's, robbing Mikey of his warmth. Pete shifts a few feet back on the bed, resting his head on his arm like he's about to watch a favourite movie, eyes all over Mikey, hungry.

Mikey still hasn't moved. He's not sure if he can.

"Pete, I can't-"

"Shhhh... just try okay? Please. Just try for me." Pete's begging with his eyes and Mikey's crumbling, last defences falling.

He slides his free hand beneath his glasses, covering his eyes because he can't look right now. Can't see Pete watching him and do this. Still not sure if he even can do this.

His cock hasn't softened. Not even a little. It's like his mortification is only making him hotter, feeding the fire in his crotch. He tightens his grip on his cock, feels the answering throb and starts to stroke. He can hear Pete's little sigh when he does. He tries not the think about it, tries to pretend he's alone in his bunk and he's gotta be so quiet or someone will hear.

He can still hear Pete. His breathing's rough and he's making wet sounds with his mouth. Mikey wants to know what he's doing, but he's still not ready to look. He polishes the head of his cock with his palm, spreading the little droplets of precome over skin til his hand slides. It feels good and his breath hitches, quietly. He can hear Pete moan a little at that and damn him if he doesn't want to know what Pete's doing now.

He's never felt more naked in his life. More naked than he felt five minutes ago, when he had Pete's skin to warm him and cover him. Now he's completely exposed, feeling like he's all angles and bones and awkward motion. Completely unsexy. Why would Pete want to see this? What could he possibly getting out of this?

"Mikey..." Pete's whispering is completely unnecessary, they're alone in the room, he could just talk. "Mikey, can you... I wanna see your face." There's that desperate begging tone again and it's doing something to Mikey's insides. It's making him, against his better judgement, slide his hand off his eyes and look at Pete.

He's completely unprepared for what he sees. Pete's rabid gaze, the pornography of his mouth, the way he's sucking on two of his own fingers and just eating Mikey up with his eyes. Pete's shifting and twitching, his free hand curled in the sheets and just staring at Mikey.

A thrill of heat at the attention, so intense it's like a physical caress, shoots through Mikey's bloodstream. He's in a new place now. He's centre stage and Pete's in his thrall, hypnotised by movements, his hands, his hips.

Mikey bites his lip and shifts, moving into his own touch, rolling his hips a little in time with his strokes. He's not comfortable with this, not by a long shot, but the way Pete's looking at him... he could take more of that. Definitely.

Holding Pete's gaze is too hard to keep up, like gulping too-hot coffee and burning out his mouth. His eyes slide lower, avoiding the scald, tracing down Pete's tattoos instead, skittering over his nipples, his navel, lower still. Pete's hard and straining, tip of his cock wet and leaking but he's not touching. He's just watching, letting Mikey do the touching and Mikey is.

His hands don't feel like his own. His usual crisp, precise movements are sliding, melting into lingering strokes, sidetracking into little squeezes and light scratches. The earlier urgency of his motions is lost. He's drawing it out now. He wants to see how Pete handles it, how long he can last without touching either of them. Mikey's free hand finds it's way to his mouth and he's mirroring Pete, sucking on his fingers and Pete's practically humping the bed now.

"Mikey, jesus..." Pete's clawing at the sheets so hard they might rip. Mikey just catches a finger between his teeth and arches a little up off the bed. His hips are pressing up on every downstroke, down on every upstroke and the extra effort is worth it for the friction. He lets his hand slide from his mouth, trailing wet fingertips down his jaw, his neck, his chest and he can't pretend there isn't a little show in what he's doing. That the show isn't solely for Pete's benefit.

He can still taste himself on his mouth, the salt and musk of his own skin and precome licked off his fingers. When did he start getting into this?

A wicked thought flits into his mind as his own damp fingers crawl across his belly. But no, he couldn't, could he? His hand slides lower, maybe he could. He's feeling daring, high on his own arousal and the pulse of his cock in his stroking hand is sort of overruling a lot of his usual thought processes. That's what he tells himself anyway when wet fingertips slip between his ass cheeks.

Mikey doesn't let himself look at Pete while he does it. It would be too much. Too distracting, too intense. He just digs his heels into the mattress, bends his legs up for better access. Presses a fingertip into himself. Then it's more than a tip, it's one finger then two and he's moaning openly, head tipping back as his body sinks down, burying his fingers.

It's not until he's set a rhythm, hips rocking lightly, just gently bouncing on his hand in time with the stroking of his cock that he dares to look.

Pete is actually trembling. His eyes are dark pools of pure want, a shocked sort of arousal painted across his face. What Mikey can see of his face, since he's got one hand pressed over half of it, peering through his fingers like he just can't handle what he's seeing with two eyes. He's still got two fingers in his mouth but he's not sucking on them now, mouth slack with desire and shock. The picture as a whole should be supremely comical, but it's not, it's just fucking hot and it's making Mikey impatient for when he gets to touch someone other than himself.

But it's Pete's show and he's still not moving, still not touching though he looks like he might burst soon if he doesn't. Rather like Mikey might, because the combination of what both his hands are doing with the hot caress of Pete's eyes is pushing him closer to the threshold with every stroke.

Fuck it, he thinks. Fuck it. He can't tease anymore. He quickens his hand on his cock, putting a twist in the movement so he's polishing the tip on every upstroke, bouncing faster on his other hand as he does. Yeah, okay that's working. Now he pushes his gaze on Pete, Pete who's staring back like he's starving and Mikey's edible, his eyes jumping around from Mikey's face, to his cock, to his hand, to his ass and back again.

Mikey's panting now, little choked noises coming out, breaking into a sweat. He feels like he's teetering just on the edge and his movements are getting faster and rougher, pushing, tugging, thrusting, clenching. He doesn't want to think about what kind of mad distorted face he's pulling as he's gritting his teeth and concentrating through his lust haze. Pete's still eating it up, all of it, staring and well staring and Mikey can't hold on much longer.

"Mikey, fuck... Mikey please." Pete's voice is croaky and thick with desire. And that's all it takes.

Mikey's bucking into his hand, onto his other hand, thrusting madly and moaning louder than he ever has. It's maybe three strokes before he shoots and it takes everything he's got to keep his eyes open when he does, focusing on Pete, seeing how Pete's watching him and fuck if it's not the most intense thing he's ever seen or felt.

When he collapses onto the bed his stomach is all sticky and he's still got two fingers in his warm ass. Breathing's a chore and any movement beyond it is totally out of the question. He feels like he's burning up, every inch of his skin hot and blotchy with spent desire and severe self consciousness. No, he can't think about this yet, he doesn't have enough working brain yet to deal with the fallout.

Luckily he doesn't have to because Pete's all over him like a blanket, pushing his tongue into Mikey's mouth, hard cock pressing Mikey's belly and sliding in his warm spill. Mikey kisses back lazily, finally finding the energy to move, putting his hands on Pete, stroking his back, clutching his ass.

Pete's just devouring his mouth and bodysliding on him, finally getting some friction and Mikey can feel how desperate he is for it. He's muttering little snatches into Mikey's lips between kisses, wicked things.

"So hot... fuck Mikey, you're so hot... I knew it." Just panting for a while and licking and then. "Fuck I'm so hard, Mikey, jesus, can you-?"

Then Mikey's flipping them over, putting Pete on his back and mashing their mouths together. Reaching down to find Pete's cock slippery with his own come. He doesn't bother teasing, Pete's practically untouched but he's hovering right on the edge. Mikey's fingers grip him firmly and tug him off, sliding fast and furious. He's leaning on his elbow over Pete, looking down at him, watching the manic fits of Pete's expression as he finally gets some real contact.

Mikey pulls faster, staring down at Pete, but Pete's not looking up, he's not really looking anywhere, eyes fluttering, head tossing.

"Look at me." Mikey commands. Pete does and then that's it for him. Mikey gets to watch Pete's orgasm on his face while he feels it spasm into his hand, hear the ragged noise Pete makes as he comes, his whole body shaking under Mikey's.

Mikey wrings him dry before collapsing onto him, their bodies sticky with sweat and mixed come. They share a lazy kiss before Mikey rolls off Pete, flopping onto his back so they are both laid out flat and staring at the ceiling.

Pete finds Mikey's hand without looking, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.

"Thanks." Is all Pete says. That’s okay. Mikey knows the rest.



end