When the Road Disappears (1/1) Bandom
TITLE: When the Road Disappears
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Mikey/Pete
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Mikey knows Pete doesn't do cock. Pete's not so sure.
DISCLAIMER: Mikey Way, Pete Wentz and all other members of MCR, FOB and any other bands mentioned are real people and belong only to themselves. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for listedheart for bandomstuffsit. Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta!
He’s been warned by a good chunk of the people on Warped, half of them people he doesn’t know. But nothing’s really private on tour, which is why complete strangers keep coming up to him and telling him in hushed whispers that Pete Wentz just doesn’t do cock.
Mikey’s not sure if they all assume he lives in a vacuum or is a complete idiot or what, but he wants to remind them all that he’s known Pete for a couple of years know, knows him better than almost all of them, and it’s none of their fucking business.
Pete thinks it’s funny, calls Mikey his Don Quixote, tilting at the windmill of Pete’s sexuality. Mikey usually just flips him off and then kisses him, dragging him down on the bunk or the couch and not letting him up until Pete’s cock is hard against Mikey’s and the meaning of ‘below the waist’ changes.
By the time they’re halfway through the tour, Mikey’s managed to give Pete four blowjobs, seventeen hand jobs, and more hickeys than he can remember. Pete’s reciprocated with the three most awkward hand jobs Mikey’s ever received and hours upon hours of the most amazing making out of his life.
He doesn’t have any complaints, and as far as he knows, Pete doesn’t either. At least until they hit the venue in Dallas and Patrick knocks on the door of their bus. Bob opens it and there’s some sort of weird drummer ritual that Mikey’s never going to understand. He turns back to his book, so intent on finding his place again that it takes him a minute to realize Patrick’s talking to him.
“Sorry. What?”
“Pete’s on our bus. Freaking out.”
“Stay as long as you need, dude.”
“No.” Patrick shakes his head. “No. I need you to go calm him down.”
“I thought that was your job. Singer, rhythm guitar, and official Pete wrangler.”
“Strangler, maybe.” Patrick corrects. “He’s freaking out about you.”
“Me?” Mikey glances at the rest of his band who are steadfastly pretending he and Patrick don’t exist. “Why me?”
“Apparently, and I’m quoting here,” Patrick’s voice is dry, but Mikey can detect the hints of both frustration and affection that are reserved just for Pete in it, “because you have a dick.”
Mikey blinks and pushes his glasses up. “That’s not a new development. It’s been there since the beginning. As Pete is well aware.”
Patrick’s face takes on the same pained look that Frank’s gets when Mikey and Gerard discuss their sex lives with each other. “Right. Right. No one’s saying this is new information.”
“Mikey’s got a ninja dick!” Frank giggles into Gerard’s shoulder.
“Unicorn dick,” Bob drawls. “Only appears near a dick virgin.”
“You guys make hating you so easy.” Mikey sighs and stands up. “Let’s go in the back lounge. Maybe without the peanut gallery, you’ll start making sense.”
“Not if it has anything to do with Wentz,” Gerard offers as a parting shot. Mikey flips them all off then leads the way past the bunks to the back lounge. He picks his way over the massive collection of guitars and flops down on a couch identical to the one in the front of the bus. Patrick doesn’t sit and, glancing around, Mikey can’t really blame him.
“Okay. Start again?”
“Pete is on our bus freaking out.”
“About me.”
“About you.”
“Having a dick.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, no. Not making any more sense back here. Is there a reason this is suddenly a problem?”
“I can’t be completely sure, because Pete doesn’t always make sense at the best of times, but I’m reasonably certain it’s because tomorrow night is a hotel night.”
“We’ve already had some of those.”
“And he wants to spend it with you.”
“And we’ve done that, so I’m still not following.”
“And your dick.”
Mikey stops, his mouth open to speak. Patrick just stands there waiting. “But Pete doesn’t…”
“I know.”
“But he wants…”
“That’s my educated guess, yes.”
“But I have a dick.”
Patrick sighs. “And now we’ve come full circle.”
“So Pete wants to…” Mikey leans back against the couch cushions, the corner of his mouth tweaking upward. “Huh.”
“So could you go talk to him? Calm him down or something? Because we’ve got sound check in less than an hour, and I need him at least semi-functional.”
“Right. Right.” Mikey shakes his head and focuses. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” He takes out his phone and types in a message to Pete.
don’t worry bb. My dick is always a mutual decision
Patrick sighs. “That’s it? You’re…texting him?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you miss the whole freaking out and sexual identity crisis part of the conversation?”
“No.”
Patrick has a look on his face that Mikey is fairly certain is the one Pete’s told him about. The one that ends up in fistfights and broken things.
“You don’t want me to go see him.”
“I do, actually. That was sort of the whole point of me…”
“Because calming him down would mean showing him he didn’t have anything to fear from me or my dick, and if you’ve got sound check, well…it’s gonna take more than an hour.”
“What is?”
“Pete’s first time.”
“His…Oh.” The shade of red Patrick’s skin takes on doesn’t go well with his hat at all. Mikey glances at his Sidekick when it beeps and turns it around for Patrick to see.
tell my singer 2 get outta ur pants & onto stage
“I’m not in your pants.”
Mikey just shrugs, his attention completely on his phone as another message comes through. Patrick stands there for another minute then stomps back toward the front of the bas. Mikey really can’t help it if the whole thing makes him smile.
**
After Warped 2004, Mikey had a pretty good idea of Pete’s hotel rituals - there are certain things you can’t help but talk about on tour - and having spent a few hotel nights together this tour, he knows that when he gets to the hotel, he’s going to find a freshly showered Pete lying on the bed in his boxers with his eyes closed, arms and legs spread out as far as they can go. Two things you don’t take for granted when you have them are space and privacy, so Mikey knows that Pete’s going to have already jerked off at least once, possibly more.
When he comes inside, he tosses his bag to the side and heads straight for the shower, stripping off his clothes as he goes. He leaves a trail behind him and turns the shower to hot, letting steam build up before he steps inside. He’s torn between a hiss and a groan as the water pounds against his skin, stinging it pink. He settles for a moaned “Oh, holy fuck” and lets it wash all over him, sluicing away dirt and grime and booze and sweat and everything else. He gets his hand around his dick before too long, light-headed as he strokes himself in the heat.
He shudders trough his orgasm, one hand braced on the slick shower wall, then climbs out, drying off with the last towel. He leaves his hair in a damp, feathery rat’s nest and stretches, feeling a few things pop in his spine.
Pete hasn’t moved by the time he walks back into the room, though his cock is visible in his boxer-briefs, firm against the cotton. Mikey likes that Pete listened to him, just another sign that he’s not as removed from all this as he tells himself he is.
Moving to the end of the bed, Mikey looks Pete over. He’s all tanned skin and dark ink, the edges of one of the tattoos still a fading red. Pete opens his eyes and smiles at Mikey, trying to hide his nervousness with a too-wide grin.
Mikey nods at Pete’s waist. “Off.”
Pete shivers and Mikey watches it spasm through his body. He waits Pete out, letting him get himself under control and ease his underwear off in his own time. His dick’s harder now, curved slightly and stiffening under Mikey’s gaze.
“Relax,” Mikey says softly. “This is supposed to be fun.”
“I’m nervous as shit.” Pete laughs breathlessly. “Be gentle with me, Mikeyway?”
Mikey snorts. “Says the biter.”
“You were tickling.”
“That doesn’t make biting okay. Didn’t they teach you anything in kindergarten?”
“Timmy Plimpkin taught me that I shouldn’t eat Jell-O because it wasn’t dead.”
“Never trust boys named Timmy.” Mikey kneels on the foot of the bed, fingers brushing Pete’s ankle. “They’re bad people.”
Pete shivers again at his touch, cock twitching. “I’ll remember that.”
“If it’s too much, say stop, and I will.”
“I trust you.”
“Because my name’s not Timmy.” Mikey runs his pointer finger along the top of Pete’s foot to his ankle, slow and deliberate. “You’re a quick learner.”
Pete raises up on his elbows, watching Mikey touch him. His gaze is as tactile as the press of fingers, and Mikey relishes it, taking his time to trace ink and veins over Pete’s skin. Mikey guides Pete’s legs further apart, pushing gently until the soles of his feet are on the bed, knees bent and splayed. Mikey touches and leans in, a day’s worth of stubble grazing the inside of Pete’s knee.
“Oh,” Pete moans softly, his hips moving in reaction. Mikey could get lost staring at him like this, open and inviting and unaware of how he looks, how he is. Instead he presses another kiss to Pete’s skin, just above his knee.
Pete laughs softly, breathlessly. “T-tickles.”
Mikey nuzzles the spot, feeling Pete squirm. It’s the right kind of reaction, his thighs falling farther apart, his cock flushed and hard. Mikey’s own cock is stirring, and he thrusts against the air, his mouth on Pete’s skin again. He nips lightly and Pete chokes out a gasped “No biting” as Mikey moves to Pete’s other leg, offering it the same attention.
By the time he’s midway up Pete’s thigh, Pete’s hips are in constant motion, the sheets rasping beneath him. Mikey can see the glint of pre-come at the tip of Pete’s cock, can feel the pull on the sheets where Pete’s hands are fisted in them.
“Okay?” Mikey breaths against Pete’s skin, drunk on the heady scent of sweat and want and soap from the join of Pete’s thigh, the taste of musk and salt as he tongues the crease.
“Fuck.” Pete’s hips jerk hard and he hisses, too-sensitive skin scraping against stubble. “Fuck. Fuck. Okay. Yes. Okay. Fuck.”
Mikey laughs softly, letting his chin graze Pete’s balls as he flicks his tongue against Pete’s other thigh. “Sure?”
“Fuck. Fuck. Yes, I’m fucking sure, asshole.”
Mikey had spied the lube and condoms on the bedside table when he’d come out of the bathroom. He hadn’t let himself think about them then, but now they’re all that’s on his mind. “Turn over.”
He doesn’t sound like himself to his own ears, but Pete’s moving, shifting and turning until he’s on his knees and elbows, arms tangled around a pillow. Mikey reaches for the items on the table, opening one of the condoms for later. The click of the cap is loud in the room as he opens the lube, slicking up one finger from palm to tip. He traces the line from the top of Pete’s ass to his opening, leaving a slick trail on his skin. Pete gasps softly and Mikey can see his muscles tensing.
“Relax. Got all the time in the world.” Mikey keeps drawing on Pete’s skin, down to his balls and then back up, letting Pete get comfortable with his touch. He feels Pete’s muscles loosening with every slow, casual brush of his finger, though he still tenses whenever Mikey traces his opening. Mikey kisses the back of Pete’s thigh, nuzzling, his breath fanning over Pete’s skin. “Easy. It’s okay.”
Pete nods, pressing his lips together as he breathes into the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”
“Sure?” He whispers the word on a kiss, sliding his hand down and rubbing the pad of his finger over Pete’s opening. He rubs until Pete nods and rolls his hips, gasping softly as Mikey thrusts his finger slowly, pushing past the tight muscle. “So tight,” he murmurs, working his finger deeper with short, shallow thrusts. “So fucking tight, Pete.”
“T-th-that’s…that’s g-good…right?”
“Yeah.” Mikey kisses the curve of Pete’s ass, increasing the length of his thrust. “Good place to start.”
“Right. Need…need…need to not…not be tight.”
“It’s okay. Like I said, got all the time in the world.” He kisses the line of Pete’s thigh, just beneath his ass. Pete’s relaxing around his finger slowly and Mikey can see his cock flushed and thick as he moves with Mikey’s thrusts. He adds more lube, letting it slide over Pete’s skin before he coats another finger, working it in slowly.
“Oh…oh, God.” Pete shudders and clenches around Mikey’s fingers, keeping Mikey from thrusting. He waits it out, rubbing his hand up and down Pete’s spine until he can feel the resistance give just a little, then he spreads his fingers apart just a bit, thrusting them both in, slow but steady. Pete’s breathing falters, ebbing and then quickening as Mikey moves his fingers inside him, waiting for Pete to crest each wave before he pushes deeper, before he guides another finger in.
Pete’s gasping that he’s ready before Mikey thinks he is, so he keeps moving his fingers, spreading and scissoring them until Pete’s cock is leaking and the room feels like it’s vibrating with the low keen coming from Pete’s throat. “Gonna move, Pete. Just a little. Nice and easy. It’s okay.” He keeps the words flowing, touching and kissing Pete’s skin as he eases his fingers free. Pete cries out, but Mikey keeps talking him through it, steady and light as he rolls the condom on as quickly as he can and presses against Pete once more, holding himself in check as he pushes in slowly.
Any sound Pete makes is lost somewhere in the pillow he’s got shoved against his mouth or in the rush of blood pounding in Mikey’s ears. He wants to thrust, bury himself deep inside Pete until they’re all that exists, but he takes his time, working his way in just as carefully as he had with his fingers. Pete’s tight around him, tighter than a fist, tighter than anything and he has to curl his fingers against Pete’s hips to keep still until the moment when Pete finally pushes back.
Mikey groans, everything in the sound as he starts moving, still slow, but deeper. He reaches around to take Pete’s dick in his hand, wrapping his hand around the semi-rigid shaft and working it in time with his thrusts until Pete’s fully hard again, pain obliterated by pressure and need and want. Pete’s voice is muffled by the pillow, but Mikey can still hear his name, can still hear the pleases and the yeses and the don’t stops. It’s like a drug, better than a drug, and they move together until Pete shudders and stills and Mikey thrusts hard inside him, coming as Pete’s orgasm makes him clench around him.
**
Mikey doesn’t measure the time it takes before he can think again, before his vision isn’t blurred beyond the norm when he’s not wearing his glasses. All he knows is that when it’s time, his brain clears a little and he stops seeing everything through a fog of lust. He kisses Pete’s shoulder and the shallow bumps of his spine and then grabs his hips. “Gonna pull out. You’re gonna feel it.”
It’s not much of a warning, but he doesn’t know how to tell Pete that this part hurts too, but he’ll forget about it and want it again. Or Mikey hopes he will. He disposes of the condom and puts away the rest of the pack as well as the lube before he touches Pete again, sliding a hand down the sweat cooling on Pete’s back.
“Okay?”
“No bones.” Pete turns his head so his voice isn’t buried in the pillow. “Got no bones, Mikeyway.”
“That’s good, right?”
“No bones.”
Mikey has to smile, kissing Pete’s shoulder. They’re so careful not to touch in public, that when he has the chance, he can’t help but do it. “That means you’re sleeping in a wet spot.”
“Not gonna carry me to the other bed?” Pete manages to roll over, looking up at Mikey with pleading brown eyes. “I give you my most precious gift and you’re just going to leave me in the wet spot?”
“Your most precious…what. Jesus.” Mikey laughs and shakes his head, still squinting even as he puts his glasses on. “And, fuck yeah, if it means I get the whole bed to myself..”
“Thought you were a sweet little dude, Mikeyway.”
He takes Pete’s hand and tugs, pulling him off the mattress and over onto the other bed. It’s cool from the air conditioning, but he’s warm from Pete. “Better?”
“Mmmm,” Pete nods, burrowing against him. “The best.”
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Mikey/Pete
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Mikey knows Pete doesn't do cock. Pete's not so sure.
DISCLAIMER: Mikey Way, Pete Wentz and all other members of MCR, FOB and any other bands mentioned are real people and belong only to themselves. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for listedheart for bandomstuffsit. Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta!
He’s been warned by a good chunk of the people on Warped, half of them people he doesn’t know. But nothing’s really private on tour, which is why complete strangers keep coming up to him and telling him in hushed whispers that Pete Wentz just doesn’t do cock.
Mikey’s not sure if they all assume he lives in a vacuum or is a complete idiot or what, but he wants to remind them all that he’s known Pete for a couple of years know, knows him better than almost all of them, and it’s none of their fucking business.
Pete thinks it’s funny, calls Mikey his Don Quixote, tilting at the windmill of Pete’s sexuality. Mikey usually just flips him off and then kisses him, dragging him down on the bunk or the couch and not letting him up until Pete’s cock is hard against Mikey’s and the meaning of ‘below the waist’ changes.
By the time they’re halfway through the tour, Mikey’s managed to give Pete four blowjobs, seventeen hand jobs, and more hickeys than he can remember. Pete’s reciprocated with the three most awkward hand jobs Mikey’s ever received and hours upon hours of the most amazing making out of his life.
He doesn’t have any complaints, and as far as he knows, Pete doesn’t either. At least until they hit the venue in Dallas and Patrick knocks on the door of their bus. Bob opens it and there’s some sort of weird drummer ritual that Mikey’s never going to understand. He turns back to his book, so intent on finding his place again that it takes him a minute to realize Patrick’s talking to him.
“Sorry. What?”
“Pete’s on our bus. Freaking out.”
“Stay as long as you need, dude.”
“No.” Patrick shakes his head. “No. I need you to go calm him down.”
“I thought that was your job. Singer, rhythm guitar, and official Pete wrangler.”
“Strangler, maybe.” Patrick corrects. “He’s freaking out about you.”
“Me?” Mikey glances at the rest of his band who are steadfastly pretending he and Patrick don’t exist. “Why me?”
“Apparently, and I’m quoting here,” Patrick’s voice is dry, but Mikey can detect the hints of both frustration and affection that are reserved just for Pete in it, “because you have a dick.”
Mikey blinks and pushes his glasses up. “That’s not a new development. It’s been there since the beginning. As Pete is well aware.”
Patrick’s face takes on the same pained look that Frank’s gets when Mikey and Gerard discuss their sex lives with each other. “Right. Right. No one’s saying this is new information.”
“Mikey’s got a ninja dick!” Frank giggles into Gerard’s shoulder.
“Unicorn dick,” Bob drawls. “Only appears near a dick virgin.”
“You guys make hating you so easy.” Mikey sighs and stands up. “Let’s go in the back lounge. Maybe without the peanut gallery, you’ll start making sense.”
“Not if it has anything to do with Wentz,” Gerard offers as a parting shot. Mikey flips them all off then leads the way past the bunks to the back lounge. He picks his way over the massive collection of guitars and flops down on a couch identical to the one in the front of the bus. Patrick doesn’t sit and, glancing around, Mikey can’t really blame him.
“Okay. Start again?”
“Pete is on our bus freaking out.”
“About me.”
“About you.”
“Having a dick.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, no. Not making any more sense back here. Is there a reason this is suddenly a problem?”
“I can’t be completely sure, because Pete doesn’t always make sense at the best of times, but I’m reasonably certain it’s because tomorrow night is a hotel night.”
“We’ve already had some of those.”
“And he wants to spend it with you.”
“And we’ve done that, so I’m still not following.”
“And your dick.”
Mikey stops, his mouth open to speak. Patrick just stands there waiting. “But Pete doesn’t…”
“I know.”
“But he wants…”
“That’s my educated guess, yes.”
“But I have a dick.”
Patrick sighs. “And now we’ve come full circle.”
“So Pete wants to…” Mikey leans back against the couch cushions, the corner of his mouth tweaking upward. “Huh.”
“So could you go talk to him? Calm him down or something? Because we’ve got sound check in less than an hour, and I need him at least semi-functional.”
“Right. Right.” Mikey shakes his head and focuses. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” He takes out his phone and types in a message to Pete.
don’t worry bb. My dick is always a mutual decision
Patrick sighs. “That’s it? You’re…texting him?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you miss the whole freaking out and sexual identity crisis part of the conversation?”
“No.”
Patrick has a look on his face that Mikey is fairly certain is the one Pete’s told him about. The one that ends up in fistfights and broken things.
“You don’t want me to go see him.”
“I do, actually. That was sort of the whole point of me…”
“Because calming him down would mean showing him he didn’t have anything to fear from me or my dick, and if you’ve got sound check, well…it’s gonna take more than an hour.”
“What is?”
“Pete’s first time.”
“His…Oh.” The shade of red Patrick’s skin takes on doesn’t go well with his hat at all. Mikey glances at his Sidekick when it beeps and turns it around for Patrick to see.
tell my singer 2 get outta ur pants & onto stage
“I’m not in your pants.”
Mikey just shrugs, his attention completely on his phone as another message comes through. Patrick stands there for another minute then stomps back toward the front of the bas. Mikey really can’t help it if the whole thing makes him smile.
**
After Warped 2004, Mikey had a pretty good idea of Pete’s hotel rituals - there are certain things you can’t help but talk about on tour - and having spent a few hotel nights together this tour, he knows that when he gets to the hotel, he’s going to find a freshly showered Pete lying on the bed in his boxers with his eyes closed, arms and legs spread out as far as they can go. Two things you don’t take for granted when you have them are space and privacy, so Mikey knows that Pete’s going to have already jerked off at least once, possibly more.
When he comes inside, he tosses his bag to the side and heads straight for the shower, stripping off his clothes as he goes. He leaves a trail behind him and turns the shower to hot, letting steam build up before he steps inside. He’s torn between a hiss and a groan as the water pounds against his skin, stinging it pink. He settles for a moaned “Oh, holy fuck” and lets it wash all over him, sluicing away dirt and grime and booze and sweat and everything else. He gets his hand around his dick before too long, light-headed as he strokes himself in the heat.
He shudders trough his orgasm, one hand braced on the slick shower wall, then climbs out, drying off with the last towel. He leaves his hair in a damp, feathery rat’s nest and stretches, feeling a few things pop in his spine.
Pete hasn’t moved by the time he walks back into the room, though his cock is visible in his boxer-briefs, firm against the cotton. Mikey likes that Pete listened to him, just another sign that he’s not as removed from all this as he tells himself he is.
Moving to the end of the bed, Mikey looks Pete over. He’s all tanned skin and dark ink, the edges of one of the tattoos still a fading red. Pete opens his eyes and smiles at Mikey, trying to hide his nervousness with a too-wide grin.
Mikey nods at Pete’s waist. “Off.”
Pete shivers and Mikey watches it spasm through his body. He waits Pete out, letting him get himself under control and ease his underwear off in his own time. His dick’s harder now, curved slightly and stiffening under Mikey’s gaze.
“Relax,” Mikey says softly. “This is supposed to be fun.”
“I’m nervous as shit.” Pete laughs breathlessly. “Be gentle with me, Mikeyway?”
Mikey snorts. “Says the biter.”
“You were tickling.”
“That doesn’t make biting okay. Didn’t they teach you anything in kindergarten?”
“Timmy Plimpkin taught me that I shouldn’t eat Jell-O because it wasn’t dead.”
“Never trust boys named Timmy.” Mikey kneels on the foot of the bed, fingers brushing Pete’s ankle. “They’re bad people.”
Pete shivers again at his touch, cock twitching. “I’ll remember that.”
“If it’s too much, say stop, and I will.”
“I trust you.”
“Because my name’s not Timmy.” Mikey runs his pointer finger along the top of Pete’s foot to his ankle, slow and deliberate. “You’re a quick learner.”
Pete raises up on his elbows, watching Mikey touch him. His gaze is as tactile as the press of fingers, and Mikey relishes it, taking his time to trace ink and veins over Pete’s skin. Mikey guides Pete’s legs further apart, pushing gently until the soles of his feet are on the bed, knees bent and splayed. Mikey touches and leans in, a day’s worth of stubble grazing the inside of Pete’s knee.
“Oh,” Pete moans softly, his hips moving in reaction. Mikey could get lost staring at him like this, open and inviting and unaware of how he looks, how he is. Instead he presses another kiss to Pete’s skin, just above his knee.
Pete laughs softly, breathlessly. “T-tickles.”
Mikey nuzzles the spot, feeling Pete squirm. It’s the right kind of reaction, his thighs falling farther apart, his cock flushed and hard. Mikey’s own cock is stirring, and he thrusts against the air, his mouth on Pete’s skin again. He nips lightly and Pete chokes out a gasped “No biting” as Mikey moves to Pete’s other leg, offering it the same attention.
By the time he’s midway up Pete’s thigh, Pete’s hips are in constant motion, the sheets rasping beneath him. Mikey can see the glint of pre-come at the tip of Pete’s cock, can feel the pull on the sheets where Pete’s hands are fisted in them.
“Okay?” Mikey breaths against Pete’s skin, drunk on the heady scent of sweat and want and soap from the join of Pete’s thigh, the taste of musk and salt as he tongues the crease.
“Fuck.” Pete’s hips jerk hard and he hisses, too-sensitive skin scraping against stubble. “Fuck. Fuck. Okay. Yes. Okay. Fuck.”
Mikey laughs softly, letting his chin graze Pete’s balls as he flicks his tongue against Pete’s other thigh. “Sure?”
“Fuck. Fuck. Yes, I’m fucking sure, asshole.”
Mikey had spied the lube and condoms on the bedside table when he’d come out of the bathroom. He hadn’t let himself think about them then, but now they’re all that’s on his mind. “Turn over.”
He doesn’t sound like himself to his own ears, but Pete’s moving, shifting and turning until he’s on his knees and elbows, arms tangled around a pillow. Mikey reaches for the items on the table, opening one of the condoms for later. The click of the cap is loud in the room as he opens the lube, slicking up one finger from palm to tip. He traces the line from the top of Pete’s ass to his opening, leaving a slick trail on his skin. Pete gasps softly and Mikey can see his muscles tensing.
“Relax. Got all the time in the world.” Mikey keeps drawing on Pete’s skin, down to his balls and then back up, letting Pete get comfortable with his touch. He feels Pete’s muscles loosening with every slow, casual brush of his finger, though he still tenses whenever Mikey traces his opening. Mikey kisses the back of Pete’s thigh, nuzzling, his breath fanning over Pete’s skin. “Easy. It’s okay.”
Pete nods, pressing his lips together as he breathes into the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”
“Sure?” He whispers the word on a kiss, sliding his hand down and rubbing the pad of his finger over Pete’s opening. He rubs until Pete nods and rolls his hips, gasping softly as Mikey thrusts his finger slowly, pushing past the tight muscle. “So tight,” he murmurs, working his finger deeper with short, shallow thrusts. “So fucking tight, Pete.”
“T-th-that’s…that’s g-good…right?”
“Yeah.” Mikey kisses the curve of Pete’s ass, increasing the length of his thrust. “Good place to start.”
“Right. Need…need…need to not…not be tight.”
“It’s okay. Like I said, got all the time in the world.” He kisses the line of Pete’s thigh, just beneath his ass. Pete’s relaxing around his finger slowly and Mikey can see his cock flushed and thick as he moves with Mikey’s thrusts. He adds more lube, letting it slide over Pete’s skin before he coats another finger, working it in slowly.
“Oh…oh, God.” Pete shudders and clenches around Mikey’s fingers, keeping Mikey from thrusting. He waits it out, rubbing his hand up and down Pete’s spine until he can feel the resistance give just a little, then he spreads his fingers apart just a bit, thrusting them both in, slow but steady. Pete’s breathing falters, ebbing and then quickening as Mikey moves his fingers inside him, waiting for Pete to crest each wave before he pushes deeper, before he guides another finger in.
Pete’s gasping that he’s ready before Mikey thinks he is, so he keeps moving his fingers, spreading and scissoring them until Pete’s cock is leaking and the room feels like it’s vibrating with the low keen coming from Pete’s throat. “Gonna move, Pete. Just a little. Nice and easy. It’s okay.” He keeps the words flowing, touching and kissing Pete’s skin as he eases his fingers free. Pete cries out, but Mikey keeps talking him through it, steady and light as he rolls the condom on as quickly as he can and presses against Pete once more, holding himself in check as he pushes in slowly.
Any sound Pete makes is lost somewhere in the pillow he’s got shoved against his mouth or in the rush of blood pounding in Mikey’s ears. He wants to thrust, bury himself deep inside Pete until they’re all that exists, but he takes his time, working his way in just as carefully as he had with his fingers. Pete’s tight around him, tighter than a fist, tighter than anything and he has to curl his fingers against Pete’s hips to keep still until the moment when Pete finally pushes back.
Mikey groans, everything in the sound as he starts moving, still slow, but deeper. He reaches around to take Pete’s dick in his hand, wrapping his hand around the semi-rigid shaft and working it in time with his thrusts until Pete’s fully hard again, pain obliterated by pressure and need and want. Pete’s voice is muffled by the pillow, but Mikey can still hear his name, can still hear the pleases and the yeses and the don’t stops. It’s like a drug, better than a drug, and they move together until Pete shudders and stills and Mikey thrusts hard inside him, coming as Pete’s orgasm makes him clench around him.
**
Mikey doesn’t measure the time it takes before he can think again, before his vision isn’t blurred beyond the norm when he’s not wearing his glasses. All he knows is that when it’s time, his brain clears a little and he stops seeing everything through a fog of lust. He kisses Pete’s shoulder and the shallow bumps of his spine and then grabs his hips. “Gonna pull out. You’re gonna feel it.”
It’s not much of a warning, but he doesn’t know how to tell Pete that this part hurts too, but he’ll forget about it and want it again. Or Mikey hopes he will. He disposes of the condom and puts away the rest of the pack as well as the lube before he touches Pete again, sliding a hand down the sweat cooling on Pete’s back.
“Okay?”
“No bones.” Pete turns his head so his voice isn’t buried in the pillow. “Got no bones, Mikeyway.”
“That’s good, right?”
“No bones.”
Mikey has to smile, kissing Pete’s shoulder. They’re so careful not to touch in public, that when he has the chance, he can’t help but do it. “That means you’re sleeping in a wet spot.”
“Not gonna carry me to the other bed?” Pete manages to roll over, looking up at Mikey with pleading brown eyes. “I give you my most precious gift and you’re just going to leave me in the wet spot?”
“Your most precious…what. Jesus.” Mikey laughs and shakes his head, still squinting even as he puts his glasses on. “And, fuck yeah, if it means I get the whole bed to myself..”
“Thought you were a sweet little dude, Mikeyway.”
He takes Pete’s hand and tugs, pulling him off the mattress and over onto the other bed. It’s cool from the air conditioning, but he’s warm from Pete. “Better?”
“Mmmm,” Pete nods, burrowing against him. “The best.”