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schmericabegan and ended with ellipsis
by Pearl-o
NC-17, Pete/Mikey, 2000 words. Summer of Like first-time blowjobs, written for the kink bingo 'facials' square. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bexless and lordessrenegade! ♥
Summary: Mikey's spent the last two weeks assuring Gerard that there's nothing going on, and it's been true and not-true at the same time. But this is definitely something.
*****
Mikey has spent the last two weeks assuring Gerard that there's nothing going on, and even though it's been true, he hasn't been able to fault Gerard's raised eyebrow or doubtful mouth. It's been true, but it's been not true at the same time.
Whatever else, it's not nothing any more. This is definitely something. And part of Mikey's not entirely sure how he feels about that, because he's been liking it, this dreamy in-between stage, where they hold hands and maybe they sleep in the same bunk and they watch each other on stage every day but it's still nothing that needs a name, nothing that needs a label, it's just the two of them.
(Five days ago, together on the blacktop, just far enough from the partying that they can't see anybody, just hear the roar of all the laughter and the music. Pete on his back lying on the ground, his feet with his big clunky sneakers resting in Mikey's lap. Telling each other not-quite-whispers, not-quite-secrets about their sex lives. Mikey has done stuff with guys before, and he likes it, but most of the time he likes girls more. Pete's made out with dudes, but that's it; he's had guys willing before, had guys offer to suck his cock even though they know he's straight, he's not going to do it back -- but "I may be a dick," Pete said, "but I'm not that kind of dick, you know?" And it made perfect sense to Mikey.)
They're in lounge of Fall Out Boy's bus and everyone else is asleep. Everyone in the world, probably, is asleep but the two of them. It feels like it could be true. It's been something like two days since Mikey slept, but he's not tired at all, too much energy running through him like a drug. The last five hours they've been in Pete's bunk, curled up together, too small a space but still nice, still almost comfortable. Pete slept long enough for Mikey to listen through OK Computer twice on his iPod: a good night for him.
Pete sleeps naked, and that's another thing that should be weird, but hasn't been, not to mention another reason why Mikey gets why Gerard didn't believe him. But it hasn't been weird, it's felt normal, Mikey in his underwear and maybe a t-shirt, Pete naked, curled around each other. Nothing came from it.
Not until tonight, but this isn't weird either, though only God knows why.
Pete's bartskull tattoo is directly in his eye line; from this distance, this angle, Mikey thinks it might be the hottest thing he's ever seen. He can't resist leaning forward, just enough to lick the edges. He can feel Pete's sudden movement, and he makes himself stop, sit back on his heels and take a deep breath. Not touching Pete anywhere, not yet.
He looks up and meets Pete's eyes, wide and dark.
"You're sure about this?" Mikey says, swallowing. "Fuck, Pete, I don't-- You don't--"
"Shut the fuck up, Mikey Way," Pete says breathlessly. "Don't say another word, just. I want you. Just do it. Please."
Pete's hands are gentle on Mikey's head, brushing lightly through his hair and around his ears as he removes the glasses frames from Mikey's face, folding them carefully and setting them down on the couch.
Mikey puts his hands on Pete's skin, smooth skin and hard bone and his thumb fits perfectly into the notch of his hipbone before he moves his hands around the back, cupping Pete's ass, which is round and firm and fucking glorious, if Mikey's being completely honest, nicer than any of the guys and most of the girls he's ever been with. It might be Pete's best feature.
He leaves his hands on Pete's ass and pulls him in closer. The bartskull's blurry now, but he licks it again anyway, rubs his cheek and jaw against Pete's flat belly. Pete's hard dick is pressing, straining against him, and Mikey doesn't want to wait anymore. He lowers his head and opens his mouth to let Pete in.
It's been a while since he did this, even longer since it was something more meaningful than a hook-up at a party or after a show. Mikey might not know what this means, between him and Pete, but it definitely means something. Pete's dick is heavy on his tongue, and it's all taste and smell, both better than he remembered, his mouth watering so hard he could choke on it. He backs off slowly, lets the head of Pete's cock fall slowly from his lips like it doesn't quite want to leave. He spits all that excess saliva onto his own hand and strokes Pete's dick slow and careful, watching it from just a few inches away. Hard, red, shiny, wet.
Mikey goes down again, swallowing as far as he can. Pete makes a desperate noise and Mikey can feel it all through Pete's body, his chest and the tremble of his thigh. Mikey's own dick jerks suddenly without anyone touching it.
Pete's pretty quiet but that just makes his breath seem louder, heavy and rough. It's all Mikey can hear above the wet sounds of his own mouth, the slick slap of skin every time he moves on Pete.
He digs his fingers into the flesh of Pete's ass; it makes Pete grunt, thrusting forward, starting to lose his rhythm.
"Mikey, Jesus, Mikey--" Pete's fingers in his hair again, pulling him back. Mikey's eyes are still closed, and he can't help straining forward again without thinking about it -- but Pete's thumbs are gentle but firm on his temples, tilting his head back, and Pete lets out a low groan and a "Yes" just as the warm sticky jizz hits his cheek, his jaw, his half-open mouth.
Mikey opens his eyes, blinking, feeling a little stunned, and Pete is staring down at him with a ridiculous grin, showing all his stupid teeth. "Holy shit, Mikey Way, that was so fucking hot."
Pete's down on his knees before Mikey's even caught up with what's happening, pressing himself close against Mikey's chest and kissing him hard and eager. "Holy shit," Pete says again, muttering it against Mikey's lips, and he licks a line through the come on Mikey's chin.
"I can't believe you just did that," Mikey says, still feeling a little sluggish. "What the fuck, Pete?"
"Hmm?" Pete says, kissing him again. "What? You didn't like it?"
Mikey shakes his head, but he's not saying no. He did like it -- he liked it a lot, actually, that's the weird part, more than he ever would have guessed. He can still feel Pete on his face, drying sticky, like Elmer's glue on his fingers. His dick still hasn't been touched but he's close already, fucking close, it wouldn't take hardly anything at all. His underwear is still on and that's ... that's not right, Mikey thinks, and he's squirming, trying to get them off as fast as he can without ever letting go of Pete.
He kicks them off, finally, and pushes his dick hard against Pete's thigh, sighing into Pete's mouth with relief.
And Pete jerks back, so suddenly Mikey almost loses his balance, and has to lean back and catch himself on his arm.
Pete looks almost as surprised as Mikey feels.
"Are you kidding me?" Mikey says.
"No," Pete says, eyebrows furrowing together. "No, just--"
"You just came on my face," Mikey says. "I just let--"
"I know," Pete says, sounding frustrated. "Shut up for just a second, okay, Jesus." Mikey bites his lip and watches Pete take a deep breath, in and out. He kind of wants to fold his own arms over his chest, but he's resisting the urge.
"Okay," Pete says, after a second. He leans in and presses a kiss, light on Mikey's lips. "Okay, just ... sit on the couch, all right."
Mikey sits down on the cushion. Pete is still on his knees, pushing Mikey's legs apart, settling himself between. He's staring at Mikey's cock like it's something he's never seen before.
Mikey hisses in a breath between his teeth and closes his eyes. "Look, Pete, it's -- whatever. I can get myself off, you know. You don't have to do me any favors here." He doesn't mean for it to come out sounding quite that bitchy, but he can't keep it out.
"I want to," Pete says, and he looks up and meets Mikey's eyes for just a second before he goes back to staring at his dick. "Fuck, Mikey, I really want to. You just have to give me a minute here."
It's ridiculous, in a way, and if it was anyone else Mikey thinks he might stand up right now, grab his shorts and leave. If it was anyone else, he's not sure his erection would have lasted through this. But it isn't anyone else, it's Pete, and there's a part of Mikey that knows exactly how hard Pete is trying here. That he wouldn't be trying, for anyone else.
And Pete's mouth is really, really close to Mikey's dick right now. Like, every-exhale-is-making-Mikey-shiver close.
"Pete," Mikey says finally, "I need to--"
He reaches out to wrap his hand around his dick and start jerking off, but Pete actually swats his hand away with a scowl.
Mikey bites his lip so hard he can taste blood. "Oh my god, Pete, I don't even care, just do something. Anything. Pete."
Pete reaches up to kiss him again, sweet and heavy like a promise, but Mikey barely has a chance to kiss back before it's gone, and Pete's tongue is on his cock.
It's awkward and a little uncertain and it's messy and sincere and Mikey catches just the glimpse of Pete's head bent over his crotch before he has to look away, bite his lip and stare up at the ceiling, because otherwise he's not going to make it.
"I'm gonna come," he says to the ceiling, but it doesn't answer and neither does Pete: he just makes a soft rumbling noise around Mikey's dick and he's still sucking and then Mikey's shaking through his orgasm, coming in Pete's mouth, fuck, his mouth, and it's so good.
Mikey collapses against the back of the couch, out of breath, out of energy, out of everything and watches Pete grab some shirt off the floor and spit into it before he gets slowly up off his knees and stretches his arms wide above his head in victory.
He's wearing a shit-eating grin. He says, "I am the king of blowjobs."
Mikey doesn't smile back. Instead he tilts his head sideways, like he's giving the matter serious thought, and then he offers, "I wouldn't say that. I mean, you weren't bad or anything, I'll give you that. But practice makes perfect, you know."
"Whatever," Pete says, "you can't fool me. I just sucked your dick and you loved it."
Mikey rolls his eyes and Pete lets out a loud, honking laugh and climbs onto the couch beside him, throwing his legs over Mikey's lap and wrapping his arms around his shoulders.
Pete's bandmates are going to be pissed when they wake up, Mikey thinks, but it's not like Pete cares, or like he does, either. And it's not like they haven't all been expecting this. Even the two of them have been expecting this, one way or another. Just ... not this good.
He kisses Pete again and thinks: this is something.
by Pearl-o
NC-17, Pete/Mikey, 2000 words. Summer of Like first-time blowjobs, written for the kink bingo 'facials' square. Thanks to
bexless and lordessrenegade! ♥Summary: Mikey's spent the last two weeks assuring Gerard that there's nothing going on, and it's been true and not-true at the same time. But this is definitely something.
*****
Mikey has spent the last two weeks assuring Gerard that there's nothing going on, and even though it's been true, he hasn't been able to fault Gerard's raised eyebrow or doubtful mouth. It's been true, but it's been not true at the same time.
Whatever else, it's not nothing any more. This is definitely something. And part of Mikey's not entirely sure how he feels about that, because he's been liking it, this dreamy in-between stage, where they hold hands and maybe they sleep in the same bunk and they watch each other on stage every day but it's still nothing that needs a name, nothing that needs a label, it's just the two of them.
(Five days ago, together on the blacktop, just far enough from the partying that they can't see anybody, just hear the roar of all the laughter and the music. Pete on his back lying on the ground, his feet with his big clunky sneakers resting in Mikey's lap. Telling each other not-quite-whispers, not-quite-secrets about their sex lives. Mikey has done stuff with guys before, and he likes it, but most of the time he likes girls more. Pete's made out with dudes, but that's it; he's had guys willing before, had guys offer to suck his cock even though they know he's straight, he's not going to do it back -- but "I may be a dick," Pete said, "but I'm not that kind of dick, you know?" And it made perfect sense to Mikey.)
They're in lounge of Fall Out Boy's bus and everyone else is asleep. Everyone in the world, probably, is asleep but the two of them. It feels like it could be true. It's been something like two days since Mikey slept, but he's not tired at all, too much energy running through him like a drug. The last five hours they've been in Pete's bunk, curled up together, too small a space but still nice, still almost comfortable. Pete slept long enough for Mikey to listen through OK Computer twice on his iPod: a good night for him.
Pete sleeps naked, and that's another thing that should be weird, but hasn't been, not to mention another reason why Mikey gets why Gerard didn't believe him. But it hasn't been weird, it's felt normal, Mikey in his underwear and maybe a t-shirt, Pete naked, curled around each other. Nothing came from it.
Not until tonight, but this isn't weird either, though only God knows why.
Pete's bartskull tattoo is directly in his eye line; from this distance, this angle, Mikey thinks it might be the hottest thing he's ever seen. He can't resist leaning forward, just enough to lick the edges. He can feel Pete's sudden movement, and he makes himself stop, sit back on his heels and take a deep breath. Not touching Pete anywhere, not yet.
He looks up and meets Pete's eyes, wide and dark.
"You're sure about this?" Mikey says, swallowing. "Fuck, Pete, I don't-- You don't--"
"Shut the fuck up, Mikey Way," Pete says breathlessly. "Don't say another word, just. I want you. Just do it. Please."
Pete's hands are gentle on Mikey's head, brushing lightly through his hair and around his ears as he removes the glasses frames from Mikey's face, folding them carefully and setting them down on the couch.
Mikey puts his hands on Pete's skin, smooth skin and hard bone and his thumb fits perfectly into the notch of his hipbone before he moves his hands around the back, cupping Pete's ass, which is round and firm and fucking glorious, if Mikey's being completely honest, nicer than any of the guys and most of the girls he's ever been with. It might be Pete's best feature.
He leaves his hands on Pete's ass and pulls him in closer. The bartskull's blurry now, but he licks it again anyway, rubs his cheek and jaw against Pete's flat belly. Pete's hard dick is pressing, straining against him, and Mikey doesn't want to wait anymore. He lowers his head and opens his mouth to let Pete in.
It's been a while since he did this, even longer since it was something more meaningful than a hook-up at a party or after a show. Mikey might not know what this means, between him and Pete, but it definitely means something. Pete's dick is heavy on his tongue, and it's all taste and smell, both better than he remembered, his mouth watering so hard he could choke on it. He backs off slowly, lets the head of Pete's cock fall slowly from his lips like it doesn't quite want to leave. He spits all that excess saliva onto his own hand and strokes Pete's dick slow and careful, watching it from just a few inches away. Hard, red, shiny, wet.
Mikey goes down again, swallowing as far as he can. Pete makes a desperate noise and Mikey can feel it all through Pete's body, his chest and the tremble of his thigh. Mikey's own dick jerks suddenly without anyone touching it.
Pete's pretty quiet but that just makes his breath seem louder, heavy and rough. It's all Mikey can hear above the wet sounds of his own mouth, the slick slap of skin every time he moves on Pete.
He digs his fingers into the flesh of Pete's ass; it makes Pete grunt, thrusting forward, starting to lose his rhythm.
"Mikey, Jesus, Mikey--" Pete's fingers in his hair again, pulling him back. Mikey's eyes are still closed, and he can't help straining forward again without thinking about it -- but Pete's thumbs are gentle but firm on his temples, tilting his head back, and Pete lets out a low groan and a "Yes" just as the warm sticky jizz hits his cheek, his jaw, his half-open mouth.
Mikey opens his eyes, blinking, feeling a little stunned, and Pete is staring down at him with a ridiculous grin, showing all his stupid teeth. "Holy shit, Mikey Way, that was so fucking hot."
Pete's down on his knees before Mikey's even caught up with what's happening, pressing himself close against Mikey's chest and kissing him hard and eager. "Holy shit," Pete says again, muttering it against Mikey's lips, and he licks a line through the come on Mikey's chin.
"I can't believe you just did that," Mikey says, still feeling a little sluggish. "What the fuck, Pete?"
"Hmm?" Pete says, kissing him again. "What? You didn't like it?"
Mikey shakes his head, but he's not saying no. He did like it -- he liked it a lot, actually, that's the weird part, more than he ever would have guessed. He can still feel Pete on his face, drying sticky, like Elmer's glue on his fingers. His dick still hasn't been touched but he's close already, fucking close, it wouldn't take hardly anything at all. His underwear is still on and that's ... that's not right, Mikey thinks, and he's squirming, trying to get them off as fast as he can without ever letting go of Pete.
He kicks them off, finally, and pushes his dick hard against Pete's thigh, sighing into Pete's mouth with relief.
And Pete jerks back, so suddenly Mikey almost loses his balance, and has to lean back and catch himself on his arm.
Pete looks almost as surprised as Mikey feels.
"Are you kidding me?" Mikey says.
"No," Pete says, eyebrows furrowing together. "No, just--"
"You just came on my face," Mikey says. "I just let--"
"I know," Pete says, sounding frustrated. "Shut up for just a second, okay, Jesus." Mikey bites his lip and watches Pete take a deep breath, in and out. He kind of wants to fold his own arms over his chest, but he's resisting the urge.
"Okay," Pete says, after a second. He leans in and presses a kiss, light on Mikey's lips. "Okay, just ... sit on the couch, all right."
Mikey sits down on the cushion. Pete is still on his knees, pushing Mikey's legs apart, settling himself between. He's staring at Mikey's cock like it's something he's never seen before.
Mikey hisses in a breath between his teeth and closes his eyes. "Look, Pete, it's -- whatever. I can get myself off, you know. You don't have to do me any favors here." He doesn't mean for it to come out sounding quite that bitchy, but he can't keep it out.
"I want to," Pete says, and he looks up and meets Mikey's eyes for just a second before he goes back to staring at his dick. "Fuck, Mikey, I really want to. You just have to give me a minute here."
It's ridiculous, in a way, and if it was anyone else Mikey thinks he might stand up right now, grab his shorts and leave. If it was anyone else, he's not sure his erection would have lasted through this. But it isn't anyone else, it's Pete, and there's a part of Mikey that knows exactly how hard Pete is trying here. That he wouldn't be trying, for anyone else.
And Pete's mouth is really, really close to Mikey's dick right now. Like, every-exhale-is-making-Mikey-shiver close.
"Pete," Mikey says finally, "I need to--"
He reaches out to wrap his hand around his dick and start jerking off, but Pete actually swats his hand away with a scowl.
Mikey bites his lip so hard he can taste blood. "Oh my god, Pete, I don't even care, just do something. Anything. Pete."
Pete reaches up to kiss him again, sweet and heavy like a promise, but Mikey barely has a chance to kiss back before it's gone, and Pete's tongue is on his cock.
It's awkward and a little uncertain and it's messy and sincere and Mikey catches just the glimpse of Pete's head bent over his crotch before he has to look away, bite his lip and stare up at the ceiling, because otherwise he's not going to make it.
"I'm gonna come," he says to the ceiling, but it doesn't answer and neither does Pete: he just makes a soft rumbling noise around Mikey's dick and he's still sucking and then Mikey's shaking through his orgasm, coming in Pete's mouth, fuck, his mouth, and it's so good.
Mikey collapses against the back of the couch, out of breath, out of energy, out of everything and watches Pete grab some shirt off the floor and spit into it before he gets slowly up off his knees and stretches his arms wide above his head in victory.
He's wearing a shit-eating grin. He says, "I am the king of blowjobs."
Mikey doesn't smile back. Instead he tilts his head sideways, like he's giving the matter serious thought, and then he offers, "I wouldn't say that. I mean, you weren't bad or anything, I'll give you that. But practice makes perfect, you know."
"Whatever," Pete says, "you can't fool me. I just sucked your dick and you loved it."
Mikey rolls his eyes and Pete lets out a loud, honking laugh and climbs onto the couch beside him, throwing his legs over Mikey's lap and wrapping his arms around his shoulders.
Pete's bandmates are going to be pissed when they wake up, Mikey thinks, but it's not like Pete cares, or like he does, either. And it's not like they haven't all been expecting this. Even the two of them have been expecting this, one way or another. Just ... not this good.
He kisses Pete again and thinks: this is something.
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23/6/10 14:08 (UTC)