Fic: Wear Me Like a Locket 1/1 (Slideverse, My Chemical Romance/Fall Out Boy, NC-17, Mikey/Pete)
Title: Wear Me Like a Locket
Status: Complete
Fandom: My Chemical Romance/Fall Out Boy
Series: Slideverse
Word Count: roughly 5,800 words
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in or related to My Chemical Romance or Fall Out Boy. Real people are real and not mine.
Pairing: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Rating: NC-17
Beta and helper thanks: ladyfoxxx and anonknewmoose for the quick betas.
Authors Notes: b_dsaint and I were having bad weeks. So when she asked for Slideverse to pick us up I couldnt say no. Title is from It's Hard To Say "I Do" When I Don't.
Warnings: Sex, near-canon AU, established relationship
Summary: Mikey's going to get a wedding night with Pete if it kills him. Direct sequel to Committing to Heart and Hospital
“I’m contemplating a change of address,” Pete breathes into Mikey’s mouth as he works the fly on his jeans down. Mikey doesn’t get why he’s talking. They’re like two steps from the bed. A real bed, the first one they’re not going to be leaving at ass o’clock in the morning in months. It’s a king size and has like a million thread count sheets and a plastic bag full of lube and condoms from Duane Reed on it. Clearly the time for talking was on the two and a half hour drive down from Massachusetts before their band mates got them checked into a thousand dollar a night hotel room last fucking minute.
“We got you a wedding present,” Frank had declared, practically giddy as they’d all prepared to go their separate ways. Both camps were clustered between the buses. This was the space where they got married, Mikey remembered thinking, still a little dazed. Right here.
Pete’s bags were already on the My Chem bus and that air of finality that always accompanied the last show of festival tours hung heavy in the air. It felt less like a goodbye than it normally did but Mikey might have clung a little tighter to Pete’s belt loops anyway as he waited for their collective bandmates to stop grinning at them like cats with dead birds in their mouths.
“Can we see it? Can I have it? What is it? Is it shiny?” Pete made grabby hands, his attention whorishness getting the better of him once again. Mikey kept his middle and index finger hooked in the belt loop as Pete leaned forward. And like he knew Mikey would hold on, Pete let his weight fall into an almost impossible angle. It made his hoodie ride up so that Mikey’s hand brushed skin, though, so he couldn’t complain.
“You married that,” Ray mused, shaking his head.
Mikey tugged Pete back and he came, fitting against Mikey’s chest, solid but small enough that he could rub Pete’s ear with his chin. “I think Gee finally found me a unicorn.”
“If he did you’ll let me ride it right?” Pete laughed. “What’s mine’s yours.”
“Fuck no.”
Pete tipped his head back, reading Mikey’s face like the written word. Only Gerard’s ever been able to read him like Pete does and it’s kind of amazing how much of him Pete can see. Mikey waited for him to smile before he ducked in for a kiss. Because he’s married. He can do that whenever he wants. He’s got state sanction and everything. Sometimes, Pete’s crazy is less crazy and more genius.
Pete made a noise in the back of his throat, the one he makes right before he asks for something. It’s usually head, sometimes to be fucked if they’ve got time and/or a bed. It’s a sign that things are getting good so of course it’s when Gerard (it has to be, Mikey recognizes the you’re my baby brother, for the love of God please stop it cough) interrupted them.
“So you don’t wanna know what we got you then?” Gerard asked. Of course they did but Mikey would rather just stab him. With a spork. Gerard would dig the randomness and Mikey’d enjoy the handing out some retribution for keeping him from getting properly laid on his wedding day. Sex on the floor of the bus only half counts.
No, he really didn’t care that since it was after midnight it’s technically the next day. He’s counting this one as his wedding day until he goes to sleep. And he is going to fuck his husband (husband, husband, God how did he become that guy, he was never that guy only maybe he was) before it’s over if it kills him. Which at this rate it just might. Seriously, if this is even half as frustrating as a real wedding reception then he definitely did the right thing agreeing to the whole backstage ceremony.
“You only get married once. Hopefully,” Patrick had said holding out a piece of copy paper. Pete grabbed for it and Patrick had jerked it back, grinning. “So we all pitched in and got you guys a hotel until you leave for Europe.”
“Married sex in Mom and Dad’s house is just creepy.” Gerard felt compelled to add. “You can’t have sex in our old bedroom married. There are laws.”
“You are not the sex police, Gee.” Mikey punctuated this fact by biting Pete’s earlobe. It made Pete gasp and Gerard turn green. A win on so many counts.
“It’s the St. Regis in Manhattan,” Frank cut in. “You’re close enough to your mom’s that that you can go home and have creepy sex if you really feel compelled. I double checked.”
“The St. Regis is nice, guys.” Mikey walked by it once, when he got on the wrong subway train to go visit Gerard at art school. He remembers seeing a limo with diplomatic plates parked in front of it.
They’re doing a hell of a lot better ever since I’m Not Okay and Helena started to get serious airtime. If things keep going like they’re going none of them is ever going to have to worry about money for the rest of their lives. But this is still kind of much because most of that isn’t liquid ninety percent of the time.
“It’s not gonna be nice in Europe.” Ray pointed out. He glanced at Bob, who has his camcorder clutched in one hand, and Gerard who both nodded. Mikey’s going to steal that tape. It’s his next mission, right after getting so seriously laid. “It’s gonna be freaking single beds on hotel nights if we’re really lucky. What’s up with that anyway?” That question seemed to be directed at Bob, who just shrugged.
“Take it or I’ll use it,” Joe threatened. He was trying to shove one last bag into the Fall Out Boy bus so he came out sounding levels of frustrated that were nowhere near normal for him. “Seriously, if you two aren’t fucking in it, someone should.”
“Who are you fucking Trohman?” Pete demanded; apparently the idea of Trohman fucking in their hotel room was enough to bring him back to the conversation. Mikey didn’t know where he went. Somewhere that had involved him rubbing his nose against the underside of Mikey’s jaw and mouth at his neck at the same time. He’d like Pete to go back there, thanks.
Joe smirked. “Hillary.”
“I swear to god, I will kill you.”
“Your sister’s seriously hot, Pete. What can I say?”
“No. No killing. We’re getting on the bus and we’re going to make out on the bus and then we’re going to fuck in a five star hotel.”
Gerard’s expression was pained. “Mikey.”
“Wedding night,” Mikey gritted out. “I want it.” He didn’t realize how badly he did until all this crap got in the way. He went from not even knowing he wanted to be married to Pete to white-knuckling over it.
“Say thank you.” Patrick prompted, holding the paper with the confirmation on it back and away from Pete. Pete tackled Patrick and snatched the paper from his hands. He opened it, making a victorious noise and then Mikey was the one being climbed.
After that, Mikey thinks, would’ve been the time to talk about changes of address. Or anything really. Instead they’d napped most of the drive, pressed tight together in Mikey’s bunk and woken only when they were crossing the Triborough Bridge into Manhattan. Then a drug store run before they checked in to a hotel that had an actual fucking butler on call at 2am in the morning.
“Can you change it while you’re fucking me?” Mikey demands pulling at Pete’s hoodie. He wants to get at Pete’s skin. He’s never had time to go over all his tattoos with his tongue. He wants to. He wants to see how they all taste now, still road dirty and then taste them again after they shower.
“Uh, no. Hey, wait. Here.” Pete jerks back and pulls the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath it off over his head. His skin looks about the same color as a caramel latte and about a thousand times more satisfying.
Mikey doesn’t even bother to get his own shirt off before pushing Pete onto the comforter. He lands on the mattress with a forced exhale and a chuckle as Mikey crawls over him, kissing his way into Pete’s mouth harder than he maybe needs to. He’s pretty sure he could dig into Pete forever and not get deep enough.
A wave of desperation crashes over Mikey, ugly in its familiarity. He licks at the slightly stale Pete taste as he tries to push away that near-miss panic. This almost didn’t happen. He almost wasn’t here. He could’ve have said no. Pete could never have asked. Where would they be then?
His fingers are digging so hard into Pete’s hips that Pete whimpers into his mouth. It’s not a particularly sexy sound because Mikey didn’t mean to. He wasn’t trying. He didn’t think. He was just trying to get a better hold on this. He finds himself taking a deep breath and making himself let go and push up with his arms.
Pete looks up at him and lifts a hand to push his bangs off his forehead. Mikey doesn’t bat his hand away like he usually does when people try to touch his hair and Pete smiles up at him. “Hey, Mr. Wentz-Way.”
There’s no way Mikey can help smiling back. It’s impossible not to when Pete looks that fucking happy. He did that. “Hey.”
Pete pushes his glasses up from where they had slid down his nose. “Where’d you go?”
Mikey lets out a long breath and presses his face into the side of Pete’s neck. The world makes far more sense there, he’s found. “I was back on the shoulder.”
“The metaphoric one?” Pete asks, his hand sliding around to rub the back of Mikey’s neck.
“Yeah.”
“Get the fuck off the shoulder and come back over here.” Pete squeezes his neck to stress this point before sliding his hand up to pull at the hair at his nape. “The shoulder is all thinking about what didn’t happen. There’s nothing but suck over there. Over here we have sex.”
Pete’s skin muffles Mikey’s laughter. It’s so easy to laugh at Pete, with Pete. It’s never been this easy before. It’d scare the shit out of him if he didn’t love it so much. “I love you.”
“Hey,” Pete tugs his hair until he lifts his face. Pete’s brown eyes are dark and serious in the lamplight. “I don’t know what to do with the way I love you, Mikeyway. It’s kind of insane.” Then he flashes teeth in a hungry grin. “But I think you should definitely start with fucking me. I’ve been wanting you inside me all goddamn day.”
Mikey’s not a strong enough man to say no to that. He pulls back to yank off his t-shirt and kick out of his jeans while Pete does the same. It’s not the most romantic strip in the world but it’s fast and efficient and Pete even manages to get the tube of KY out of the box before Mikey’s got his socks off. He stops dead when Pete pops the cap with his thumb and squeezes a liberal amount onto his fingers.
“You’re not seriously going to do that,” Mikey says, his mouth suddenly dry. He’s a mess, boxers still on, his black jeans tangled around his right ankle, one striped sock and a shoe still on his right foot. Pete is not going to fingerfuck himself in front of him when he’s like this.
He just got married. He’s used his quota of good karma today already. He’s not that lucky. No one is.
“I totally am,” Pete laughs, flopping down on his back on the bed and drawing his knees up. He slides his slick hand down his stomach, over his tattoo to stroke his dick a few times before asking, “You wanna watch?”
Mikey has no words. It’s…new. There’s a lot they haven’t had time or space to do yet but this wasn’t even on his register, despite abortive phone sex between buses where they talked about this very fucking thing. He just nods like an idiot and tries to get his sock off as Pete’s wet hand slides further down.
Pete starts slow. They haven’t had time or space or lube to fuck all that often and the press of just one finger inside makes Pete’s whole body tighten up. Mikey’s shaking everywhere as Pete’s middle finger disappears inside him to the knuckle, his eyes fixed on Mikey’s face as he works himself open. A second finger joins the first what feels like days later and Pete lets out that little noise in the back of his throat, the asking noise.
Mikey has to lick his lips and swallow twice before his mouth is wet enough for him to speak. Pete is too beautiful to fucking bear and Mikey hasn’t even touched him yet. “What do you want?”
Pete’s got a filthy smile on his mouth as he twists his fingers in and out of himself. He doesn’t slow down the thrust of his fingers, taking time with his words instead. “You, Mikey,” he says on short pants. “Mikey. Mikey, fuck me.”
He finally touches Pete then, his open palm sliding up Pete’s tensed thigh towards the knee. Pete lets out a frustrated noise and grabs blind for the lube and misses. “Goddamnit,” Pete groans, reaching out again but Mikey leans over him and grabs it before he can do something stupid like try to do too much at once.
He moves between Pete’s spread legs and presses a kiss to the inside of Pete’s knee. “Let me,” Mikey murmurs into the warm skin. He slowly works his shoulder under Pete’s leg, bending it up and towards his chest and mouthing farther up his thigh. “I got it, let me.”
Pete stills and his arm goes a little limp but he doesn’t move. He just breathes and lets Mikey take control of the motion of Pete’s hand. Mikey adds more lube the mess, pulling Pete’s fingers out and replacing them with three of his own. His fingers are longer than Pete’s, his angle is better and it doesn’t take long for Mikey to have him arching off the bed.
Mikey likes the noises his makes, which are totally different from the choked breaths he gasps out when he’s getting blown or the grunts he makes when he’s the one doing the fucking. They’re moans mixed up in sighs that sound like they’re being pushed out of his chest by every thrust of Mikey’s fingers.
It’s easy to keep his eyes fixed on Pete’s face, his lips resting against the side of Pete’s knee as he works. Pete’s fucking gorgeous, eyes squeezed shut, head tipped back to expose his neck. Pete fists his hands in the too nice for them to be doing this comforter next to his head, and twists every so often when Mikey’s fingers hit just right.
Given the chance, Mikey could fuck Pete like this for hours, with just his fingers. He could bring him off just like this. Maybe Mikey could see how far Pete wanted to go, see if he couldn’t get four fingers then his thumb inside and turn him out with the more that Pete’s always asking for.
It’s the kind of fantasy they’ve whispered to each other when they didn’t have time or space to do more than jack each other off quick and dirty. So maybe when it’s not five in the morning and they still haven’t had a shower in three days, he will. When it’s not their wedding night and Mikey isn’t dying to be inside him, it’ll totally go on the table.
Today, tonight, this morning, whatever time now is, Mikey’s pretty much done with being able to wait. Pete makes a plaintive, deeply annoyed sound when Mikey pulls his fingers out pull out. “Give it back,” he whines like Mikey just stole his phone or something.
Mikey smiles a little against Pete’s hairy skin as he leans forward for the bag with the condoms. It’s just out of his reach without getting out from under Pete’s leg. “Just hang on a second. So impatient, Jesus.”
“Shut up,” Pete laughs, breathless. He grabs the bag and tosses it onto his stomach. Their hands bump against each other as they tear at the cardboard box. In a move that surprises Mikey not at fucking all, Pete gets a packet first and rips it open with his teeth before shoving it into Mikey’s hand and muttering, “Hurry.”
“I’m hurrying.” Mikey rolls his eyes as he covers himself. He has to use both hands and take a second because if the universe is going to get cosmic payback for how awesome this exact moment is, it’ll come in the form of him accidently breaking the condom by rushing it or something crazy like that.
“Tested,” Pete says, his voice thin from how he’s been panting, pushing the pharmacy bag off of him and onto the bed. He wraps his other leg around Mikey’s back as he speaks, pulling him in to exactly where he wants to be. “Remember that okay?”
Mikey honestly isn’t paying that close attention because he’s sliding inside and fuck, Pete’s slick and tight but open and his. Pete’s his. Pete’s his husband and they’re married and he’s inside him and Mikey just - he needs this moment burned into his brain. It’s important.
But Pete is still talking. And it takes Mikey a second to calm down his screaming brain and body enough to hear him. When he does he comes back to Pete saying “We need to get tested, Mikey, okay? I’ll forget so you need to remember so we don’t have to do this anymore. Need you to remember for me. Want to feel you, so you have to remember.”
He leans forward and rolls his hips, pushing Pete’s knee towards the necklace of thorns, and leveraging himself deeper inside. He presses a kiss to skin he can reach, unmarked brown right beside the metal of the actual necklace Mikey slid around his neck earlier this evening. (Or was it yesterday? It doesn’t matter. It’s there.) “I will,” he promises the skin of Pete’s shoulder. “Remind me to remember.”
“Kay. Mikey. Mikey, fuck, more.” Pete reaches up for Mikey’s shoulders and neck with hungry hands and digs in with his heels and fingernails. He's got him right in the kidney and it kind of hurts but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but getting deeper into Pete, fucking him harder until this separate feeling goes away and he can almost crawl under the skin.
They’re disgusting, grimy and sweaty and seven different kinds of gross. He’s still got a thin, flaking layer of come on his stomach from where they got off on the floor of the Fall Out Boy bus. It’s hard to care about that because every time he bottoms out it feels so good Mikey feels like he’s dying and Pete makes this noise like all the air’s been pushed out of his lungs. When Mikey manages to rebalance himself sitting back on his heels so that he can fuck Pete and get a hand around his dick at the same time, he gets to watch Pete’s eyes roll back in his head, literally.
It’s weird. He’s never seen someone who wasn’t high do that before. This is so much better than that because on Pete it’s not a scary sign that someone needs to call an ambulance. It’s a prelude to Pete coming and it comes with more of those strangled desperate sounds.
It gets Mikey close, so fucking close but not all the way which is good because he gets to watch and feel without his brain shorting all the way out. He gets to see Pete’s body come off the bed, sliding his leg off Mikey’s shoulder and hauling himself up, wrapping his arms around Mikey’s neck to get leverage. He pulls himself up so that he’s almost sitting up in Mikey’s lap and grinds down hard, trying to get at something Mikey doesn’t know how to give him.
It’s okay though because Pete finds it and comes, wet and hot, adding to the mess. Pete shouts his name, choked and harsh like a curse. His arms are still twined around Mikey’s neck but his fingers somehow still managed to scrape across his shoulders. The feel of Pete’s body writhing and spasming on and around him sets Mikey off seconds later.
He lets go of Pete’s cock, grabs his hips and thrusts up as best he can as Pete slumps against his shoulder, limp and panting and heavy. Mikey groans and drops his head forward, his mouth pressing against warm skin and when another wave of pleasure spikes through him, he bites without thinking. With his fingers digging into Pete already, it’s the only way he can manage to hold on. Pete whimpers in his ear, low and long and that’s it. He’s fucking done.
Exhaustion and a lack of willpower send him flopping backwards. Pete’s still got him around the neck so he falls with him, a heavy dead weight pressing the breath out of Mikey’s lungs. It’s a testament to how fucking ridiculously huge the bed is that they don’t fall off.
They can’t lay like this for long though because Mikey’s knees are bent under him and his stomach is beyond tour gross and into I need a shower or I will kill something territory that usually takes ten days on the road to achieve. He shoves at Pete’s shoulder. “Off.”
“Fuck you,” Pete mutters and burrows his face into the space between his arms and the side of Mikey’s face.
“No, I’m disgusting and you’re killing me. Do you want me to die?”
Pete groans and moves, more careful than he normally would, up and off and then flopping onto his side. He lies there, boneless and sprawled and Mikey has to turn his head to the side and just watch him for a second. Then he pushes himself up and slides of the bed.
Pete catches him by the wrist before he can get more than two feet away though. “Where you going?” he asks, all big eyes and bitten lips.
“I need a shower.” Understatement of the year. He tugs gently, not trying to get free. “If you can move you should come with me.”
Pete looks like he’s thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons of passing out exactly where he is. Then he heaves what is supposed to be a long suffering sigh but comes out more as a huff and sits up, slow like he’s 85 and his bones are creaking.
He doesn’t let go of Mikey’s wrist though. Which is fine, Mikey uses it to drag Pete across the plush carpet to the bathroom. He stops short when he gets there because the fucking room is bigger than the bedroom he grew up in and it has a shower with three jets set into the wall and a bath that’s less of a tub and more of small pool.
“I think you may have actually killed me. I’m dead and this is actually heaven.”
Pete leans heavily on his shoulder, letting go of his wrist to wrap his arm around Mikey’s waist. He’s half asleep standing up. “Huh?”
Mikey takes advantage of his confusion to throw away the condom and lead Pete across the room to the tub. He can count the number of baths he’s taken in the last year on one hand and still have fingers left over. Fuck if he’s missing out on this.
It’s built for more than one person with room for legs to stretch all the way out. Mikey turns the faucets to a bone melting heat and watches the water pour out for a second, hypnotized. There are three taps which is kind of ridiculous and they owe the guys like a fruit basket or something because this is too awesome. Then he steps in, hot water sloshing around his ankles as Pete follows him in.
“Dibs on the little spoon,” Pete declares, sinking down with a sigh.
Mikey shakes his head and follows him, moving to sit behind him. He grabs for the paper-wrapped bar of soap and gets to work before Pete can lean back against his chest. “You just want to sleep.”
“Duh,” Pete grins at him, tired but smiling wide and happy. It’s really happy too, not the kind that Pete pulls out when he’s trying to hide something. “You can wash my hair too if you want to.”
Mikey shakes his head and soaps over his chest, down his stomach as the water rises, covering his hips now. “My husband, the giver.” It’s out of his mouth without thinking, bar of soap slipping in his fingers. It’s so weird, saying it out loud. It’s amazing and it’s everything he never knew he always wanted but it’s strange too.
Pete seems to see it because his face falls, suddenly serious. “I’m gonna try. I really am, Mikey, I swear to fuck. This is going to work.”
“I know. Hey.” He reaches out and tugs Pete back, turning him so that his back is pressed tight to Mikey’s soapy front. “I know.”
Pete swallows and sags back against him. “I’m not going to fuck this up.”
“Me either. But if we do, we’ll figure it out.”
“Right.”
Mikey wraps his arms around Pete’s chest. He likes that Pete’s smaller than he is. His chin fits on his shoulder really nicely like this. He squeezes then sinks down. The water is already covering the tattoo on Pete’s stomach and rising. In a few more minutes, they’re going to need to turn it off. But not yet.
“Just let it be good for now, Pete, okay?” He presses a kiss to the rapidly purpling bruise he left with his teeth. Pete shivers a little and grips Mikey’s arms with fingers that press a little too tight. “It’s good.”
“I know, all right, I do. I just have this really crazy propensity to fuck up and so instead of being on the shoulder I’m like, looking at an oncoming cross town bus.”
“Well we’re not there yet.”
“We’ll get there though.”
Probably. Pete’s one of the most unstable people Mikey’s ever met and Mikey’s been quietly making do with his issues on his own for ages. It’s not a good combination. But it’s not a problem right now and he’s a big fan of the present. The present has hot water and a naked Pete and a bed with clean sheets (and a filthy comforter) waiting for them.
He doesn’t say that. Instead Mikey just gives him a squeeze and asks, “You still want me to wash your hair?”
Pete twists, sloshing water around him. “Seriously? I was kidding.”
Mikey just shrugs and Pete nods. Even a hotel this nice has shampoo and conditioner in tiny bottles. They smell like extra expensive flowers and shit but they work just the same and Pete purrs like a cat as Mikey’s fingers massage bubbles into his scalp. It reminds him that his own hair is still full of product and sweat but it’s warm and lazy and the tension leeches out of Pete, bringing him back to the lax state he was earlier.
“Turn off the water,” Mikey says, pulling his hands out of the foam that now covers Pete’s head.
“Hm?”
“We’re going to drown if you don’t,” Mikey says, hating to push him away but unable to reach.
“Oh. Shit. Okay.”
Pete scoots forward and fiddles with the faucet. As he does, Mikey ducks his head and takes care of his own hair in what is possibly world record time. He’s coming up from a second dunk when Pete maneuvers back, smiling at him sleepily.
“You’re always more pliant in water. Plus, you look really good wet.”
“Shut up.”
“Nope. It totally worked.” He declares, snuggling back against Mikey’s chest.
“What worked?”
Pete doesn’t say anything, just slides forward until his head is underwater. He stays for about forty-five seconds then comes up for air with dripping, clean hair and a little gasp before dropping his back onto Mikey’s shoulder.
Mikey pokes him in the side with a finger. “What worked?”
“My plan to make you fall in love with me.” Pete tips his head back and grins, all teeth. “Just add water. You’re like cake mix.”
He laughs. He can’t help it. “You’re insane.”
“Fine line. And besides, it totally worked.” Pete takes his hand under the water and bringing to his mouth. “I’ve got you, don’t I?” he asks, his lips brushing their tangled, dripping fingers with every move.
“Yeah. It did.”
“We need rings,” Pete says, twisting their joined hands in front of his face. “I’ll do the rings. I asked so I’ll do that.” He tilts his head farther down Mikey’s shoulder, his ear almost touching the water. “I think I can do it overseas though. The change of address thing has to be done here.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Well, I need to do it. I technically still live with my parents. I want to do the name-change paper work too but I’m pretty sure I’d have to go back to Chicago to do that if I don’t do the change of address thing first.”
Mikey blinks. “Weren’t you ready to pass out like fifteen minutes ago?”
“It’s called a second wind.”
“It’s like a seventeenth wind.”
Pete just shrugs. “You know I don’t really sleep that well.” He drags his other hand over the surface of the water. “This is good though. Relaxing.”
“Yeah. We're going to fix that. It’s on my list.” His list is clearly less complicated than Pete’s. But then, he prefers to take on one thing at a time.
“Good luck with that,” Pete snorts, tense. It’s a sore spot, his inability to sleep like normal people.
Mikey understands. Really he does. He grew up with a brother who functioned on a different wavelength than the rest of the world so he’s got some experience with people he loves feeling like they're off kilter. That doesn’t mean he likes it.
“Just be here, Pete. Stop thinking.”
That’s easier said than done and Pete doesn’t really let go of it. There’s a mild tense set to his shoulders when they climb out of the bath. Not even climbing between clean sheets with heat loosened limbs makes it go away completely.
The air is cool and Mikey hits the light switch by the bed and sends them into near-darkness. The sun’s starting to come up outside but the windows have thick curtains that block out most of it.
Their clothes are beyond dirty. Everything but the ones they were wearing they off at the hotel front desk, unable to resist the offer of complementary laundry services. There are big fluffy bathrobes that Pete will probably want to steal when they leave but for now they forgo them in favor of staying naked. They tangle together, all warmth and bare skin that’s still a little damp is pressed tight against him everywhere. Pete curls himself around Mikey, throwing a leg over his hip and burying his face in his neck. It should be perfect.
Only Pete’s clinging like he’s afraid he’s going to fall into a fucking abyss if he lets go. He should be limp like a cooked noodle and while he’s not as wired as he was he’s definitely not relaxed.
Mikey turns his head on the pillow and comes face to face with Pete’s eyes, huge in the dark. He sighs and rolls onto his side to face him. “You should close your eyes, Pete.”
He blinks at Mikey and smiles in the dark but doesn’t do it. Mikey sighs and, on impulse, lifts his hand and drapes it over Pete’s eyes.
“Mikey-“
“Close your eyes,” he whispers, scooting closer so that he’s speaking directly into Pete’s ear, his nose rubbing against Pete’s damp hair. “It’s okay. Just close them. Whatever it is you think you need to be doing right now, you don’t.”
It doesn’t happen all at once. But tangled up together like this he can feel Pete’s body unlock. He feels Pete’s eyelashes flutter under his palm and fingers and wishes he could get into Pete’s head and find out what he’d gotten stuck on this time.
As if hearing him, Pete blurts. “I’m afraid if I sleep this’ll disappear.”
“What?”
“You. This room. Us getting married.” Pete swallows with a clicking noise. “I’m going to wake up back on the bus on my way back to Chicago if I go to sleep. And I can’t, Mikey, okay? I can’t lose this.”
It’s an effort of will not to sigh “Oh Pete” and turn on the light. They could dig into this sort of thing, talk for hours and get nowhere. So he takes deep breath and goes a different way. “Do you trust me?”
“It’s not about that.”
“Simple question. Do you trust me? Check yes or no.”
“I married you didn’t I?” Pete says. When Mikey doesn’t respond to that Pete nods against his hand. “Yes. Fuck, of course I do.”
“Okay, then listen to me when I tell you that this is real. You can trust me when I say you won’t wake up on the bus if you sleep. You’ll wake up with me, right here. You’re safe, Pete.” He rubs his thumb over Pete’s dark eyebrow. “You can rest now.”
Pete shudders, Mikey can feel it and he curls tighter into him. “Fuck, Mikey.” He lets out a shaking breath. “Fuck.”
Mikey would worry but he sounds so relieved. He feels the moment Pete gives in to it and closes his eyes. He presses a kiss to the shell of Pete’s ear. “In the morning. It’s totally your turn. So just rest. I’ve got you.”
Pete lifts his hand and wraps it around Mikey’s wrist. He squeezes once then loosens his grip, relaxed but there. “I’ve got you too.”
Mikey drifts like that, holding and held by Pete. It feels more real than anything Mikey’s ever done. He lies there, thinking about the future, about name-change paperwork, meeting Pete’s parents and siblings, figuring out how they’ll split Christmases and all the little boring things that are going to come with being married.
They’ve got two days before the flight leaves for Europe. It’s not really enough time; there never is shifting from the end of a tour to a new one. But like Patrick said, you only get married once. So Mikey’s giving himself permission to not worry about it. He focuses on listening to Pete’s breathing as it evens out and he falls asleep beside him instead. They can be selfish, at least for a little while.
Status: Complete
Fandom: My Chemical Romance/Fall Out Boy
Series: Slideverse
Word Count: roughly 5,800 words
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in or related to My Chemical Romance or Fall Out Boy. Real people are real and not mine.
Pairing: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Rating: NC-17
Beta and helper thanks: ladyfoxxx and anonknewmoose for the quick betas.
Authors Notes: b_dsaint and I were having bad weeks. So when she asked for Slideverse to pick us up I couldnt say no. Title is from It's Hard To Say "I Do" When I Don't.
Warnings: Sex, near-canon AU, established relationship
Summary: Mikey's going to get a wedding night with Pete if it kills him. Direct sequel to Committing to Heart and Hospital
“I’m contemplating a change of address,” Pete breathes into Mikey’s mouth as he works the fly on his jeans down. Mikey doesn’t get why he’s talking. They’re like two steps from the bed. A real bed, the first one they’re not going to be leaving at ass o’clock in the morning in months. It’s a king size and has like a million thread count sheets and a plastic bag full of lube and condoms from Duane Reed on it. Clearly the time for talking was on the two and a half hour drive down from Massachusetts before their band mates got them checked into a thousand dollar a night hotel room last fucking minute.
“We got you a wedding present,” Frank had declared, practically giddy as they’d all prepared to go their separate ways. Both camps were clustered between the buses. This was the space where they got married, Mikey remembered thinking, still a little dazed. Right here.
Pete’s bags were already on the My Chem bus and that air of finality that always accompanied the last show of festival tours hung heavy in the air. It felt less like a goodbye than it normally did but Mikey might have clung a little tighter to Pete’s belt loops anyway as he waited for their collective bandmates to stop grinning at them like cats with dead birds in their mouths.
“Can we see it? Can I have it? What is it? Is it shiny?” Pete made grabby hands, his attention whorishness getting the better of him once again. Mikey kept his middle and index finger hooked in the belt loop as Pete leaned forward. And like he knew Mikey would hold on, Pete let his weight fall into an almost impossible angle. It made his hoodie ride up so that Mikey’s hand brushed skin, though, so he couldn’t complain.
“You married that,” Ray mused, shaking his head.
Mikey tugged Pete back and he came, fitting against Mikey’s chest, solid but small enough that he could rub Pete’s ear with his chin. “I think Gee finally found me a unicorn.”
“If he did you’ll let me ride it right?” Pete laughed. “What’s mine’s yours.”
“Fuck no.”
Pete tipped his head back, reading Mikey’s face like the written word. Only Gerard’s ever been able to read him like Pete does and it’s kind of amazing how much of him Pete can see. Mikey waited for him to smile before he ducked in for a kiss. Because he’s married. He can do that whenever he wants. He’s got state sanction and everything. Sometimes, Pete’s crazy is less crazy and more genius.
Pete made a noise in the back of his throat, the one he makes right before he asks for something. It’s usually head, sometimes to be fucked if they’ve got time and/or a bed. It’s a sign that things are getting good so of course it’s when Gerard (it has to be, Mikey recognizes the you’re my baby brother, for the love of God please stop it cough) interrupted them.
“So you don’t wanna know what we got you then?” Gerard asked. Of course they did but Mikey would rather just stab him. With a spork. Gerard would dig the randomness and Mikey’d enjoy the handing out some retribution for keeping him from getting properly laid on his wedding day. Sex on the floor of the bus only half counts.
No, he really didn’t care that since it was after midnight it’s technically the next day. He’s counting this one as his wedding day until he goes to sleep. And he is going to fuck his husband (husband, husband, God how did he become that guy, he was never that guy only maybe he was) before it’s over if it kills him. Which at this rate it just might. Seriously, if this is even half as frustrating as a real wedding reception then he definitely did the right thing agreeing to the whole backstage ceremony.
“You only get married once. Hopefully,” Patrick had said holding out a piece of copy paper. Pete grabbed for it and Patrick had jerked it back, grinning. “So we all pitched in and got you guys a hotel until you leave for Europe.”
“Married sex in Mom and Dad’s house is just creepy.” Gerard felt compelled to add. “You can’t have sex in our old bedroom married. There are laws.”
“You are not the sex police, Gee.” Mikey punctuated this fact by biting Pete’s earlobe. It made Pete gasp and Gerard turn green. A win on so many counts.
“It’s the St. Regis in Manhattan,” Frank cut in. “You’re close enough to your mom’s that that you can go home and have creepy sex if you really feel compelled. I double checked.”
“The St. Regis is nice, guys.” Mikey walked by it once, when he got on the wrong subway train to go visit Gerard at art school. He remembers seeing a limo with diplomatic plates parked in front of it.
They’re doing a hell of a lot better ever since I’m Not Okay and Helena started to get serious airtime. If things keep going like they’re going none of them is ever going to have to worry about money for the rest of their lives. But this is still kind of much because most of that isn’t liquid ninety percent of the time.
“It’s not gonna be nice in Europe.” Ray pointed out. He glanced at Bob, who has his camcorder clutched in one hand, and Gerard who both nodded. Mikey’s going to steal that tape. It’s his next mission, right after getting so seriously laid. “It’s gonna be freaking single beds on hotel nights if we’re really lucky. What’s up with that anyway?” That question seemed to be directed at Bob, who just shrugged.
“Take it or I’ll use it,” Joe threatened. He was trying to shove one last bag into the Fall Out Boy bus so he came out sounding levels of frustrated that were nowhere near normal for him. “Seriously, if you two aren’t fucking in it, someone should.”
“Who are you fucking Trohman?” Pete demanded; apparently the idea of Trohman fucking in their hotel room was enough to bring him back to the conversation. Mikey didn’t know where he went. Somewhere that had involved him rubbing his nose against the underside of Mikey’s jaw and mouth at his neck at the same time. He’d like Pete to go back there, thanks.
Joe smirked. “Hillary.”
“I swear to god, I will kill you.”
“Your sister’s seriously hot, Pete. What can I say?”
“No. No killing. We’re getting on the bus and we’re going to make out on the bus and then we’re going to fuck in a five star hotel.”
Gerard’s expression was pained. “Mikey.”
“Wedding night,” Mikey gritted out. “I want it.” He didn’t realize how badly he did until all this crap got in the way. He went from not even knowing he wanted to be married to Pete to white-knuckling over it.
“Say thank you.” Patrick prompted, holding the paper with the confirmation on it back and away from Pete. Pete tackled Patrick and snatched the paper from his hands. He opened it, making a victorious noise and then Mikey was the one being climbed.
After that, Mikey thinks, would’ve been the time to talk about changes of address. Or anything really. Instead they’d napped most of the drive, pressed tight together in Mikey’s bunk and woken only when they were crossing the Triborough Bridge into Manhattan. Then a drug store run before they checked in to a hotel that had an actual fucking butler on call at 2am in the morning.
“Can you change it while you’re fucking me?” Mikey demands pulling at Pete’s hoodie. He wants to get at Pete’s skin. He’s never had time to go over all his tattoos with his tongue. He wants to. He wants to see how they all taste now, still road dirty and then taste them again after they shower.
“Uh, no. Hey, wait. Here.” Pete jerks back and pulls the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath it off over his head. His skin looks about the same color as a caramel latte and about a thousand times more satisfying.
Mikey doesn’t even bother to get his own shirt off before pushing Pete onto the comforter. He lands on the mattress with a forced exhale and a chuckle as Mikey crawls over him, kissing his way into Pete’s mouth harder than he maybe needs to. He’s pretty sure he could dig into Pete forever and not get deep enough.
A wave of desperation crashes over Mikey, ugly in its familiarity. He licks at the slightly stale Pete taste as he tries to push away that near-miss panic. This almost didn’t happen. He almost wasn’t here. He could’ve have said no. Pete could never have asked. Where would they be then?
His fingers are digging so hard into Pete’s hips that Pete whimpers into his mouth. It’s not a particularly sexy sound because Mikey didn’t mean to. He wasn’t trying. He didn’t think. He was just trying to get a better hold on this. He finds himself taking a deep breath and making himself let go and push up with his arms.
Pete looks up at him and lifts a hand to push his bangs off his forehead. Mikey doesn’t bat his hand away like he usually does when people try to touch his hair and Pete smiles up at him. “Hey, Mr. Wentz-Way.”
There’s no way Mikey can help smiling back. It’s impossible not to when Pete looks that fucking happy. He did that. “Hey.”
Pete pushes his glasses up from where they had slid down his nose. “Where’d you go?”
Mikey lets out a long breath and presses his face into the side of Pete’s neck. The world makes far more sense there, he’s found. “I was back on the shoulder.”
“The metaphoric one?” Pete asks, his hand sliding around to rub the back of Mikey’s neck.
“Yeah.”
“Get the fuck off the shoulder and come back over here.” Pete squeezes his neck to stress this point before sliding his hand up to pull at the hair at his nape. “The shoulder is all thinking about what didn’t happen. There’s nothing but suck over there. Over here we have sex.”
Pete’s skin muffles Mikey’s laughter. It’s so easy to laugh at Pete, with Pete. It’s never been this easy before. It’d scare the shit out of him if he didn’t love it so much. “I love you.”
“Hey,” Pete tugs his hair until he lifts his face. Pete’s brown eyes are dark and serious in the lamplight. “I don’t know what to do with the way I love you, Mikeyway. It’s kind of insane.” Then he flashes teeth in a hungry grin. “But I think you should definitely start with fucking me. I’ve been wanting you inside me all goddamn day.”
Mikey’s not a strong enough man to say no to that. He pulls back to yank off his t-shirt and kick out of his jeans while Pete does the same. It’s not the most romantic strip in the world but it’s fast and efficient and Pete even manages to get the tube of KY out of the box before Mikey’s got his socks off. He stops dead when Pete pops the cap with his thumb and squeezes a liberal amount onto his fingers.
“You’re not seriously going to do that,” Mikey says, his mouth suddenly dry. He’s a mess, boxers still on, his black jeans tangled around his right ankle, one striped sock and a shoe still on his right foot. Pete is not going to fingerfuck himself in front of him when he’s like this.
He just got married. He’s used his quota of good karma today already. He’s not that lucky. No one is.
“I totally am,” Pete laughs, flopping down on his back on the bed and drawing his knees up. He slides his slick hand down his stomach, over his tattoo to stroke his dick a few times before asking, “You wanna watch?”
Mikey has no words. It’s…new. There’s a lot they haven’t had time or space to do yet but this wasn’t even on his register, despite abortive phone sex between buses where they talked about this very fucking thing. He just nods like an idiot and tries to get his sock off as Pete’s wet hand slides further down.
Pete starts slow. They haven’t had time or space or lube to fuck all that often and the press of just one finger inside makes Pete’s whole body tighten up. Mikey’s shaking everywhere as Pete’s middle finger disappears inside him to the knuckle, his eyes fixed on Mikey’s face as he works himself open. A second finger joins the first what feels like days later and Pete lets out that little noise in the back of his throat, the asking noise.
Mikey has to lick his lips and swallow twice before his mouth is wet enough for him to speak. Pete is too beautiful to fucking bear and Mikey hasn’t even touched him yet. “What do you want?”
Pete’s got a filthy smile on his mouth as he twists his fingers in and out of himself. He doesn’t slow down the thrust of his fingers, taking time with his words instead. “You, Mikey,” he says on short pants. “Mikey. Mikey, fuck me.”
He finally touches Pete then, his open palm sliding up Pete’s tensed thigh towards the knee. Pete lets out a frustrated noise and grabs blind for the lube and misses. “Goddamnit,” Pete groans, reaching out again but Mikey leans over him and grabs it before he can do something stupid like try to do too much at once.
He moves between Pete’s spread legs and presses a kiss to the inside of Pete’s knee. “Let me,” Mikey murmurs into the warm skin. He slowly works his shoulder under Pete’s leg, bending it up and towards his chest and mouthing farther up his thigh. “I got it, let me.”
Pete stills and his arm goes a little limp but he doesn’t move. He just breathes and lets Mikey take control of the motion of Pete’s hand. Mikey adds more lube the mess, pulling Pete’s fingers out and replacing them with three of his own. His fingers are longer than Pete’s, his angle is better and it doesn’t take long for Mikey to have him arching off the bed.
Mikey likes the noises his makes, which are totally different from the choked breaths he gasps out when he’s getting blown or the grunts he makes when he’s the one doing the fucking. They’re moans mixed up in sighs that sound like they’re being pushed out of his chest by every thrust of Mikey’s fingers.
It’s easy to keep his eyes fixed on Pete’s face, his lips resting against the side of Pete’s knee as he works. Pete’s fucking gorgeous, eyes squeezed shut, head tipped back to expose his neck. Pete fists his hands in the too nice for them to be doing this comforter next to his head, and twists every so often when Mikey’s fingers hit just right.
Given the chance, Mikey could fuck Pete like this for hours, with just his fingers. He could bring him off just like this. Maybe Mikey could see how far Pete wanted to go, see if he couldn’t get four fingers then his thumb inside and turn him out with the more that Pete’s always asking for.
It’s the kind of fantasy they’ve whispered to each other when they didn’t have time or space to do more than jack each other off quick and dirty. So maybe when it’s not five in the morning and they still haven’t had a shower in three days, he will. When it’s not their wedding night and Mikey isn’t dying to be inside him, it’ll totally go on the table.
Today, tonight, this morning, whatever time now is, Mikey’s pretty much done with being able to wait. Pete makes a plaintive, deeply annoyed sound when Mikey pulls his fingers out pull out. “Give it back,” he whines like Mikey just stole his phone or something.
Mikey smiles a little against Pete’s hairy skin as he leans forward for the bag with the condoms. It’s just out of his reach without getting out from under Pete’s leg. “Just hang on a second. So impatient, Jesus.”
“Shut up,” Pete laughs, breathless. He grabs the bag and tosses it onto his stomach. Their hands bump against each other as they tear at the cardboard box. In a move that surprises Mikey not at fucking all, Pete gets a packet first and rips it open with his teeth before shoving it into Mikey’s hand and muttering, “Hurry.”
“I’m hurrying.” Mikey rolls his eyes as he covers himself. He has to use both hands and take a second because if the universe is going to get cosmic payback for how awesome this exact moment is, it’ll come in the form of him accidently breaking the condom by rushing it or something crazy like that.
“Tested,” Pete says, his voice thin from how he’s been panting, pushing the pharmacy bag off of him and onto the bed. He wraps his other leg around Mikey’s back as he speaks, pulling him in to exactly where he wants to be. “Remember that okay?”
Mikey honestly isn’t paying that close attention because he’s sliding inside and fuck, Pete’s slick and tight but open and his. Pete’s his. Pete’s his husband and they’re married and he’s inside him and Mikey just - he needs this moment burned into his brain. It’s important.
But Pete is still talking. And it takes Mikey a second to calm down his screaming brain and body enough to hear him. When he does he comes back to Pete saying “We need to get tested, Mikey, okay? I’ll forget so you need to remember so we don’t have to do this anymore. Need you to remember for me. Want to feel you, so you have to remember.”
He leans forward and rolls his hips, pushing Pete’s knee towards the necklace of thorns, and leveraging himself deeper inside. He presses a kiss to skin he can reach, unmarked brown right beside the metal of the actual necklace Mikey slid around his neck earlier this evening. (Or was it yesterday? It doesn’t matter. It’s there.) “I will,” he promises the skin of Pete’s shoulder. “Remind me to remember.”
“Kay. Mikey. Mikey, fuck, more.” Pete reaches up for Mikey’s shoulders and neck with hungry hands and digs in with his heels and fingernails. He's got him right in the kidney and it kind of hurts but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but getting deeper into Pete, fucking him harder until this separate feeling goes away and he can almost crawl under the skin.
They’re disgusting, grimy and sweaty and seven different kinds of gross. He’s still got a thin, flaking layer of come on his stomach from where they got off on the floor of the Fall Out Boy bus. It’s hard to care about that because every time he bottoms out it feels so good Mikey feels like he’s dying and Pete makes this noise like all the air’s been pushed out of his lungs. When Mikey manages to rebalance himself sitting back on his heels so that he can fuck Pete and get a hand around his dick at the same time, he gets to watch Pete’s eyes roll back in his head, literally.
It’s weird. He’s never seen someone who wasn’t high do that before. This is so much better than that because on Pete it’s not a scary sign that someone needs to call an ambulance. It’s a prelude to Pete coming and it comes with more of those strangled desperate sounds.
It gets Mikey close, so fucking close but not all the way which is good because he gets to watch and feel without his brain shorting all the way out. He gets to see Pete’s body come off the bed, sliding his leg off Mikey’s shoulder and hauling himself up, wrapping his arms around Mikey’s neck to get leverage. He pulls himself up so that he’s almost sitting up in Mikey’s lap and grinds down hard, trying to get at something Mikey doesn’t know how to give him.
It’s okay though because Pete finds it and comes, wet and hot, adding to the mess. Pete shouts his name, choked and harsh like a curse. His arms are still twined around Mikey’s neck but his fingers somehow still managed to scrape across his shoulders. The feel of Pete’s body writhing and spasming on and around him sets Mikey off seconds later.
He lets go of Pete’s cock, grabs his hips and thrusts up as best he can as Pete slumps against his shoulder, limp and panting and heavy. Mikey groans and drops his head forward, his mouth pressing against warm skin and when another wave of pleasure spikes through him, he bites without thinking. With his fingers digging into Pete already, it’s the only way he can manage to hold on. Pete whimpers in his ear, low and long and that’s it. He’s fucking done.
Exhaustion and a lack of willpower send him flopping backwards. Pete’s still got him around the neck so he falls with him, a heavy dead weight pressing the breath out of Mikey’s lungs. It’s a testament to how fucking ridiculously huge the bed is that they don’t fall off.
They can’t lay like this for long though because Mikey’s knees are bent under him and his stomach is beyond tour gross and into I need a shower or I will kill something territory that usually takes ten days on the road to achieve. He shoves at Pete’s shoulder. “Off.”
“Fuck you,” Pete mutters and burrows his face into the space between his arms and the side of Mikey’s face.
“No, I’m disgusting and you’re killing me. Do you want me to die?”
Pete groans and moves, more careful than he normally would, up and off and then flopping onto his side. He lies there, boneless and sprawled and Mikey has to turn his head to the side and just watch him for a second. Then he pushes himself up and slides of the bed.
Pete catches him by the wrist before he can get more than two feet away though. “Where you going?” he asks, all big eyes and bitten lips.
“I need a shower.” Understatement of the year. He tugs gently, not trying to get free. “If you can move you should come with me.”
Pete looks like he’s thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons of passing out exactly where he is. Then he heaves what is supposed to be a long suffering sigh but comes out more as a huff and sits up, slow like he’s 85 and his bones are creaking.
He doesn’t let go of Mikey’s wrist though. Which is fine, Mikey uses it to drag Pete across the plush carpet to the bathroom. He stops short when he gets there because the fucking room is bigger than the bedroom he grew up in and it has a shower with three jets set into the wall and a bath that’s less of a tub and more of small pool.
“I think you may have actually killed me. I’m dead and this is actually heaven.”
Pete leans heavily on his shoulder, letting go of his wrist to wrap his arm around Mikey’s waist. He’s half asleep standing up. “Huh?”
Mikey takes advantage of his confusion to throw away the condom and lead Pete across the room to the tub. He can count the number of baths he’s taken in the last year on one hand and still have fingers left over. Fuck if he’s missing out on this.
It’s built for more than one person with room for legs to stretch all the way out. Mikey turns the faucets to a bone melting heat and watches the water pour out for a second, hypnotized. There are three taps which is kind of ridiculous and they owe the guys like a fruit basket or something because this is too awesome. Then he steps in, hot water sloshing around his ankles as Pete follows him in.
“Dibs on the little spoon,” Pete declares, sinking down with a sigh.
Mikey shakes his head and follows him, moving to sit behind him. He grabs for the paper-wrapped bar of soap and gets to work before Pete can lean back against his chest. “You just want to sleep.”
“Duh,” Pete grins at him, tired but smiling wide and happy. It’s really happy too, not the kind that Pete pulls out when he’s trying to hide something. “You can wash my hair too if you want to.”
Mikey shakes his head and soaps over his chest, down his stomach as the water rises, covering his hips now. “My husband, the giver.” It’s out of his mouth without thinking, bar of soap slipping in his fingers. It’s so weird, saying it out loud. It’s amazing and it’s everything he never knew he always wanted but it’s strange too.
Pete seems to see it because his face falls, suddenly serious. “I’m gonna try. I really am, Mikey, I swear to fuck. This is going to work.”
“I know. Hey.” He reaches out and tugs Pete back, turning him so that his back is pressed tight to Mikey’s soapy front. “I know.”
Pete swallows and sags back against him. “I’m not going to fuck this up.”
“Me either. But if we do, we’ll figure it out.”
“Right.”
Mikey wraps his arms around Pete’s chest. He likes that Pete’s smaller than he is. His chin fits on his shoulder really nicely like this. He squeezes then sinks down. The water is already covering the tattoo on Pete’s stomach and rising. In a few more minutes, they’re going to need to turn it off. But not yet.
“Just let it be good for now, Pete, okay?” He presses a kiss to the rapidly purpling bruise he left with his teeth. Pete shivers a little and grips Mikey’s arms with fingers that press a little too tight. “It’s good.”
“I know, all right, I do. I just have this really crazy propensity to fuck up and so instead of being on the shoulder I’m like, looking at an oncoming cross town bus.”
“Well we’re not there yet.”
“We’ll get there though.”
Probably. Pete’s one of the most unstable people Mikey’s ever met and Mikey’s been quietly making do with his issues on his own for ages. It’s not a good combination. But it’s not a problem right now and he’s a big fan of the present. The present has hot water and a naked Pete and a bed with clean sheets (and a filthy comforter) waiting for them.
He doesn’t say that. Instead Mikey just gives him a squeeze and asks, “You still want me to wash your hair?”
Pete twists, sloshing water around him. “Seriously? I was kidding.”
Mikey just shrugs and Pete nods. Even a hotel this nice has shampoo and conditioner in tiny bottles. They smell like extra expensive flowers and shit but they work just the same and Pete purrs like a cat as Mikey’s fingers massage bubbles into his scalp. It reminds him that his own hair is still full of product and sweat but it’s warm and lazy and the tension leeches out of Pete, bringing him back to the lax state he was earlier.
“Turn off the water,” Mikey says, pulling his hands out of the foam that now covers Pete’s head.
“Hm?”
“We’re going to drown if you don’t,” Mikey says, hating to push him away but unable to reach.
“Oh. Shit. Okay.”
Pete scoots forward and fiddles with the faucet. As he does, Mikey ducks his head and takes care of his own hair in what is possibly world record time. He’s coming up from a second dunk when Pete maneuvers back, smiling at him sleepily.
“You’re always more pliant in water. Plus, you look really good wet.”
“Shut up.”
“Nope. It totally worked.” He declares, snuggling back against Mikey’s chest.
“What worked?”
Pete doesn’t say anything, just slides forward until his head is underwater. He stays for about forty-five seconds then comes up for air with dripping, clean hair and a little gasp before dropping his back onto Mikey’s shoulder.
Mikey pokes him in the side with a finger. “What worked?”
“My plan to make you fall in love with me.” Pete tips his head back and grins, all teeth. “Just add water. You’re like cake mix.”
He laughs. He can’t help it. “You’re insane.”
“Fine line. And besides, it totally worked.” Pete takes his hand under the water and bringing to his mouth. “I’ve got you, don’t I?” he asks, his lips brushing their tangled, dripping fingers with every move.
“Yeah. It did.”
“We need rings,” Pete says, twisting their joined hands in front of his face. “I’ll do the rings. I asked so I’ll do that.” He tilts his head farther down Mikey’s shoulder, his ear almost touching the water. “I think I can do it overseas though. The change of address thing has to be done here.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Well, I need to do it. I technically still live with my parents. I want to do the name-change paper work too but I’m pretty sure I’d have to go back to Chicago to do that if I don’t do the change of address thing first.”
Mikey blinks. “Weren’t you ready to pass out like fifteen minutes ago?”
“It’s called a second wind.”
“It’s like a seventeenth wind.”
Pete just shrugs. “You know I don’t really sleep that well.” He drags his other hand over the surface of the water. “This is good though. Relaxing.”
“Yeah. We're going to fix that. It’s on my list.” His list is clearly less complicated than Pete’s. But then, he prefers to take on one thing at a time.
“Good luck with that,” Pete snorts, tense. It’s a sore spot, his inability to sleep like normal people.
Mikey understands. Really he does. He grew up with a brother who functioned on a different wavelength than the rest of the world so he’s got some experience with people he loves feeling like they're off kilter. That doesn’t mean he likes it.
“Just be here, Pete. Stop thinking.”
That’s easier said than done and Pete doesn’t really let go of it. There’s a mild tense set to his shoulders when they climb out of the bath. Not even climbing between clean sheets with heat loosened limbs makes it go away completely.
The air is cool and Mikey hits the light switch by the bed and sends them into near-darkness. The sun’s starting to come up outside but the windows have thick curtains that block out most of it.
Their clothes are beyond dirty. Everything but the ones they were wearing they off at the hotel front desk, unable to resist the offer of complementary laundry services. There are big fluffy bathrobes that Pete will probably want to steal when they leave but for now they forgo them in favor of staying naked. They tangle together, all warmth and bare skin that’s still a little damp is pressed tight against him everywhere. Pete curls himself around Mikey, throwing a leg over his hip and burying his face in his neck. It should be perfect.
Only Pete’s clinging like he’s afraid he’s going to fall into a fucking abyss if he lets go. He should be limp like a cooked noodle and while he’s not as wired as he was he’s definitely not relaxed.
Mikey turns his head on the pillow and comes face to face with Pete’s eyes, huge in the dark. He sighs and rolls onto his side to face him. “You should close your eyes, Pete.”
He blinks at Mikey and smiles in the dark but doesn’t do it. Mikey sighs and, on impulse, lifts his hand and drapes it over Pete’s eyes.
“Mikey-“
“Close your eyes,” he whispers, scooting closer so that he’s speaking directly into Pete’s ear, his nose rubbing against Pete’s damp hair. “It’s okay. Just close them. Whatever it is you think you need to be doing right now, you don’t.”
It doesn’t happen all at once. But tangled up together like this he can feel Pete’s body unlock. He feels Pete’s eyelashes flutter under his palm and fingers and wishes he could get into Pete’s head and find out what he’d gotten stuck on this time.
As if hearing him, Pete blurts. “I’m afraid if I sleep this’ll disappear.”
“What?”
“You. This room. Us getting married.” Pete swallows with a clicking noise. “I’m going to wake up back on the bus on my way back to Chicago if I go to sleep. And I can’t, Mikey, okay? I can’t lose this.”
It’s an effort of will not to sigh “Oh Pete” and turn on the light. They could dig into this sort of thing, talk for hours and get nowhere. So he takes deep breath and goes a different way. “Do you trust me?”
“It’s not about that.”
“Simple question. Do you trust me? Check yes or no.”
“I married you didn’t I?” Pete says. When Mikey doesn’t respond to that Pete nods against his hand. “Yes. Fuck, of course I do.”
“Okay, then listen to me when I tell you that this is real. You can trust me when I say you won’t wake up on the bus if you sleep. You’ll wake up with me, right here. You’re safe, Pete.” He rubs his thumb over Pete’s dark eyebrow. “You can rest now.”
Pete shudders, Mikey can feel it and he curls tighter into him. “Fuck, Mikey.” He lets out a shaking breath. “Fuck.”
Mikey would worry but he sounds so relieved. He feels the moment Pete gives in to it and closes his eyes. He presses a kiss to the shell of Pete’s ear. “In the morning. It’s totally your turn. So just rest. I’ve got you.”
Pete lifts his hand and wraps it around Mikey’s wrist. He squeezes once then loosens his grip, relaxed but there. “I’ve got you too.”
Mikey drifts like that, holding and held by Pete. It feels more real than anything Mikey’s ever done. He lies there, thinking about the future, about name-change paperwork, meeting Pete’s parents and siblings, figuring out how they’ll split Christmases and all the little boring things that are going to come with being married.
They’ve got two days before the flight leaves for Europe. It’s not really enough time; there never is shifting from the end of a tour to a new one. But like Patrick said, you only get married once. So Mikey’s giving himself permission to not worry about it. He focuses on listening to Pete’s breathing as it evens out and he falls asleep beside him instead. They can be selfish, at least for a little while.