Fic: The Boys of Summer
Previous
How to Unpunch Someone Conversationally
Gerard could admit that he felt a little out of sorts. Mikey would call it a disturbance in the Force. But really, Gerard was having trouble putting it into words. Like, he’d noticed that something was going on with Dewees and Ray, if all the jamming was anything to take into account. So, he did what he always liked to do when he wanted to think or just be idle.
Gerard went out for a smoke break. The venue had an alley, quiet and out of view. The street noise was soothing. He lit up, leaned against the bricks, texted Lyns hi. The door squeaked open and Ray walked out, smiling when he saw Gerard.
“Hey.”
Gerard grinned back.
“Everything looks good.” Ray leaned against the bricks near him, pulled out his phone, thumbed through some texts. It was a companionable silence. Comfortable, easy. Gerard was gonna fuck it up. They had a hotel night tonight, a long one. Gerard and Ray were rooming together, and for some reason, Gerard wanted to do this first. Clear the air, or something.
“So...” he trailed off awkwardly.
“So?” Ray put his phone in his pocket, looking expectant.
“What’s going on with you and Dewees, anyway?” He finally managed. Gerard was proud of how he sounded. Light, but not uncaring, and he didn’t throw up at all, not even a little bit, despite the heavy churning in the pit of his stomach.
Ray looked guilty, and Gerard catapulted straight from faintly icky to a cold-sweat-gonna-barf feeling in no time at all. Oh, god. Ray looked guilty. Ray never looked guilty. They were fucking, and they didn’t tell him. Oh god. Why couldn’t they trust him? Because of the way he might freak out. Like he was doing right the fuck now. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god. A line of horrible thoughts began to shoot through Gerard’s brain. He wasn’t good enough. Everyone knew he’d freak out. Flashes of Ray and James fucking, then laughing at Gerard afterward. Some tiny part of his brain shouted that all of this was ridiculous, but it was an awfully small part, and got stampeded over by cold horrible certainty.
Ray’s expression dialed back to confused and he said, “I don’t know!” His voice squeaked a little, and Gerard felt better for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Ray went on. “We’ve been jamming, right, and I think maybe it’s going somewhere but I don’t know, okay, and then Christa calls the other day and was all encouraging and I wanted to talk to you and Frank said things would be cool but I didn’t even know where to start except ‘hey I think maybe James and I have been playing sex music’ and that sounds incredibly lame out loud.”
“You...” Gerard swallowed. He felt like he’d just been punched a couple of times, in the face and the gut, and then abruptly un-punched somehow. He braced his ass on the brick and put his head between his knees, which actually helped a little. Ray’s hand, comfortingly large and warm, splayed over Gerard’s back.
“Whoa, Gee, you okay? The fuck?”
Gerard laughed a little, and stopped before it got all hysterical. “Yeah. I just thought, for a second there, that you were fucking and hadn’t told me.” The hand pulled away from his back. Gerard felt cold without it.
“What the hell, man?” Ray’s voice was dangerously quiet.
Gerard took a second to realize that he’d just admitted to almost accusing his lead guitarist of having an affair with his keyboardist, like they were in some sort of incredibly twisted daytime television-soap-opera-band... thing. Fuck. Gerard was a moron. He lifted his head and tried to look apologetic, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. “Shit, I’m sorry. I knew something had to be going on, and I didn’t know what, and I felt fucking stupid for not knowing.”
Ray raised an eyebrow at him. “As if I wouldn’t fucking tell you? As if you wouldn’t know?” He put his hand back, and a tiny quirk crossed his lips. “You were jealous.”
Gerard moved a little closer, so that Ray warmed up his whole side, too. “Maybe,” he allowed, a trace of humor returning to his voice.
“I can’t wait to tell Christa.” Ray laughed, throwing his arm around Gerard. “The great Gerard Way, jealous of my musical affections.”
Gerard suddenly wanted to explain more, wanted to seem at least slightly rational in the way that he was acting like a stupid dick. “Look, I’ve known where I stand with Mikey and Frank for a really long time, and you. And it’s kinda fucking freaky, okay, and...” Gerard let out a plume of smoke, looked at Ray apologetically again, because he knew this was going to sound like a low blow. “And I’ve been afraid that maybe I’m not a good judge of things. People.” He qualified. Pedicone. He didn’t say it.
“Fuck you, no.” Ray said, then softened. “You know exactly where you stand with me, the same place you’ve always stood for ten years, and if you’re a bad judge of things, we’re all a bad judge of things. People. Whatever.” He didn’t say it either.
Gerard leaned against him, took a long drag, blew it out. “Okay.”
Ray ruffled a hand through Gerard’s hair. “Okay what?”
Gerard looked up. “Okay, you’re right, I shouldn’t doubt you, or me, or our... collective judgment. And okay, I think you should talk to James. You’ll.” He stopped. “You’ll tell me, though, right?”
“Tell you when we talk? Tell you what happens? Yeah.”
Gerard nodded instead of saying, ‘Actually I meant I hope you’ll tell me if you’re not interested in me anymore and want to leave the band because it sucks and I’m having some random pathetic crisis of self-esteem.’ Ray gave him an eyebrow-and-stern-gaze combo worthy of Mikey, and Gerard felt the tightness across his own forehead ease.
“You know, this doesn’t have to be a, a thing. It’s all proto-... Pre-...” Ray shook his head, hair falling in his face, pushed it back, tried something different. “I have the best job and the best friends in the world. I don’t wanna mess with that.”
Gerard snorted, then laughed, stubbing out his cigarette, suddenly feeling a lot clearer. “You’re not gonna mess up anything. And if you do, we’ll fucking fix it, the same we have any time anybody’s messed up, including me.”
Ray fixed him with a weird look. “You sounded just like my wife there.”
Gerard shrugged, grinning. “I think you just attract smart people. With excellent taste.”
Ray huffed a laugh. “Sounds right.”
As if on cue, the metal door banged open and Dewees looked into the alleyway. “Holy shit, it’s the other half of my band, and they’re not making out.”
“I guess we know what Frank and Mikey are up to,” Gerard said dryly.
“Not that I’d blame you,” Dewees added, and it wasn’t until he continued his sentence before Gerard actually took his meaning. “Italian or Indian for dinner?”
“Indian,” Ray piped up.
“We can get Frank and Mikey takeout,” Gerard agreed, pulling out his phone. “Is it far?”
“It’s right there. Like, if we went back in the building it would take longer to get to the front door of the venue.”
“Awesome.” Gerard followed Ray and James, texting Mikey. if u 2 want anything other than palak paneer n veg biryani let me know. It was a testament to his lifestyle that not only did Gerard know all of his bandmates’ standing orders at any given restaurant, but his phone also knew how to spell them.
The restaurant was possibly Gerard’s favorite this tour. Everything smelled great, tasted perfect, there were only four tables in the place and the other three were empty. Best of all, they had hot chai on a self-serve tap. Gerard must have had five mugs of it.
Mostly, they just ate, not talking about anything in particular. Press, schedule, the versatility of mushrooms.
“...not to mention their role in the Mario universe,” Ray cut in.
“You mean the --” Gerard started, then finished in unison with James, “Mushroom Kingdom.”
Ray cracked up. “I sit corrected.”
Their waiter brought over a bag with three styrofoam boxes just as Gerard’s pocket buzzed with a text from Mikey. sounds good, thx.
“Perfect timing,” he said with satisfaction. “I think that’s the all-clear.”
“Awesome,” Ray affirmed, and picked up the bag.
Dewees took it from him. “I’ll do the delivery.”
“Thanks. Hey, you know, I was wondering...” Gerard trailed off. He was thinking about the way he and Frank jammed sometimes, the unwritten rule they had that anything that came out of it was more of a private thing. It wasn’t hard-and-fast, and more than one MCR song had gotten its start in those sessions over the years, but the seeming privacy and safety of it gave them room to think, and be.
James looked back as they headed out the door, waving to the restaurant staff. “Yeah?”
“When you guys were jamming the other day, I wrote some stuff. Lyrics. To it, maybe. That cool?” Gerard bit his lip, but relaxed when Ray’s face lit up. They walked the fifteen whole steps back to the back door of the venue.
“Well, yeah,” Dewees said, only making it sound a little bit like Gerard was a moron for asking. “And you know, you can sit in, or just sit or write or whatever, anytime. Anybody can.”
Gerard nodded at both of them, heading inside. “We jam less when we tour, but I think we should do it more often. Or try.” He grinned wryly. “Even if I’m not much of an instrumentalist.”
Ray split off to pick up his bag, and James looked at Gerard for a moment, then laughed.
“What?” He grinned back, waiting for the joke.
“The whole voice-is-an-instrument thing aside, you know you are one, right? James raised an eyebrow, knocking on the door of the room Frank and Mikey had appropriated. Gerard was still grinning, if a little more bemused. James gave a low, filthy chuckle. “An instrument. One of Ray’s favorites.” And with that, he ducked into the room, handing out styrofoam boxes and plasticware.
Gerard just stood in the hallway for a second, blushing as a few facts made themselves clear in his mind: It was a hotel night. He and Ray were rooming together. They’d already had dinner. Everything was done at the venue. Dewees was seeing to Frank and Mikey. Who had already had some... quality time.
Right. He stepped in their green room, picked up his jacket, caught a wink (no shit, an actual wink) from Frank, and stepped back out the door.
“Gee,” Ray called from backstage. Gerard followed. “Cab’s waiting,” Ray said offhandedly. Gerard blinked, followed, got in. Ray gave the name of their hotel, and Gerard raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?” Ray asked.
“I’m just trying to figure out how much I’ve been objectified and manipulated in the last five minutes, and whether or not I like it.” Gerard tried to sound huffy, but he honestly wasn’t sure, on either count.
To his surprise, Ray just nodded. “You like it,” like he was talking about the weather or something.
Gerard raised both his eyebrows, and waited.
“You wouldn’t have come along if you didn’t. Or you’d be in the middle of a six-point lecture. Either way, you like it, so I’m tying you down and doing unspeakable things to you for hours on end.” He said it lightly, but with a sidelong glance. Gerard shifted in his seat, trying to adjust his pants, which suddenly didn’t fit right at all. He swallowed.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
*****
Sometimes Home is Hug a Thousand Miles From Home
Mikey ended up in a van with Jarrod, Frank, and Dewees, all of whom were arguing about the coolest Transformers on the way back to the hotel. Mikey shot off what he considered to be a helpful text to Gerard and a rather suggestive one to Ray to kill time between traffic lights. He’d managed to exchange a few replies with Alicia when Pete texted him.
better half. r u here yet? Pete’s text said.
define here Mikey texted back. For all Mikey knew, Pete could be in a philosophical mood. A mood in which he missed everyone and trolled his nearest and dearest in vague text message form until either Patrick, Mikey, Bebe, Gabe, or Alicia called him.
zen dude. @ hotel. have bden 4 iero. Pete replied.
Mikey blinked at his phone. Pete was waiting for him at the hotel. Pete. Who had brought Brendon Urie with him because of the betting pool. Pete, who was now apparently using the losing bets of others as reason to travel.
since when do u need an excuse 2 c me? Mikey texted back, smirking to himself, and pocketing his phone.
“Why so smiley, Mikeyway?” Frank asked, draping himself over Mikey’s lap and then promptly snuggling in. “Do you want to give me another blowjob?”
“Actually, no,” Mikey answered.
Frank promptly pouted and declared to Dewees, “James, Mikey’s being mean to me.” James only laughed at him while Jarrod quietly shook his head.
“But I know a certain Brendon Urie who’s waiting for you at the hotel that would be willing,” Mikey explained.
Frank sat up like he’d been shocked. “You’re shitting me. Mikeyway, don’t shit me about this.” His eyes were pleading and disbelieving all at once. Frank had only been pining a lot over the kid. Mikey knew that things had been getting kind of serious between them. Jamia even liked Brendon and Sarah.
“I shit you not,” Mikey fixed Frank with a look, which caused Frank to beam at him and promptly throw his arms around Mikey with a grateful hug.
“Really?!” Frank started bouncing impatiently.
Dewees was laughing and Jarrod looked just this side of politely disinterested as the van pulled up to the hotel. They scrambled out and Frank launched himself at Pete Wentz, grabbing him for a hug and declaring fervently, “You bring me the best presents, Wentzy!”
“Get off me, teacup octopus,” Pete chided, groping Frank a little excessively.
Frank complied reluctantly, then remembered what he was excited about. “Key! Key, key, key, key-key-key-key,” Frank made grabby hands and Pete placed a keycard in Frank’s hand. Frank gave Pete a peck on the cheek, hugged Mikey again, grabbed his bag and made a beeline for the elevator, all to the laughter of everyone else. Frank flipped them off as the elevator doors closed. Dewees and Jarrod grabbed their bags and wandered off, talking about Super Mario 3 and chutney.
Mikey shouldered his backpack and took a moment to just look at Pete. Pete looked tired, a little worn and pinched around the edges, but some of that melted when he smiled at Mikey. Mikey couldn’t help but smile back. That smile was part of the infectious, charming nature of Pete mixed up with this current version that seemed to be wound tightly and a little bruised, even nervous.
“Hi,” Pete said, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket, like the seams were suddenly very interesting.
“Hi,” Mikey said back, smiling. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Pete, squeezing his shoulders.
“Hi,” Pete said, softer and a little relieved, melting into the hug and squeezing back like suddenly something was alright again.
“Idiot,” Mikey chided, hugging a little tighter.
“Well, you know,” Pete explained uselessly, tucking his nose into the crook of Mikey’s neck.
“Yeah,” Mikey nodded, pulling back enough to kiss Pete. Pete was here. Just his presence settled Mikey; it was like realizing he was in a familiar part of town after not recognizing some street names. Pete tilted his head so that they fit perfectly, opening his mouth to let Mikey taste. Mikey caught a hint of spearmint and a sweetness that almost tasted like summer.
“Hi,” Pete said, goofily, pulling back from the kiss.
“So, you got a room, right?” Mikey asked and let Pete drag him toward the elevators.
“Fuck yes, I got a room,” Pete answered. “What sort of idiot do you think I actually am? Okay, don’t answer that. But it was only twice. And we did at least get to sleep in a vehicle both times.”
“Ah, old times,” Mikey giggled as Pete led them out of the elevator and down a hall, then asked, “Seriously... I don’t actually think you’re an idiot, you know?”
“Yeah,” Pete answered, smiling crookedly. “Evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.”
“No, we were young and stupid then,” Mikey said. “And at least able to figure out each others’ hints. You are not a subtle flirt, Wentz. Not in the least.”
“Of course not. I made my intentions toward you very clear, dude. And if by ‘hints’ you are referring to Ray and Dewees?” Pete asked, opening the room door. “I have heard about the music sex all the way back in Cali. Bebe has heard about the music sex. It’s flirting that apparently can be seen from space.”
“Yes,” Mikey confirmed, dropping his backpack on the desk and unlacing his boots. “I love them. But they’re so dumb. Ray especially is dumb at flirting.”
“You mean how he doesn’t even realize that he is flirting and that someone is flirting back at him and then somebody tells him and even his hair looks surprised?” Pete asked, toeing out of his shoes and shucking off his jacket.
“Yes,” Mikey answered, taking off his shirt. “That.”
“How are Ray and Dewees not fucking yet? “ Pete asked, taking off his shirt and unzipping his jeans. “Have they seen each other? I honestly thought that shit was old news. I laughed when Jamia told me there were odds on when those two were finally hooking up. Laughed, Mikeyway. Laughed until I was crying.”
“I know, right?” Mikey asked, needlessly, sliding out of his jeans. “Like, Dewees has the patience of a saint. And far more subtlety than is called for.”
“Seriously,” Pete agreed. “That fucker is amazing. Why is your lead guitarist a moron? A sexy moron,” Pete amended.
“I don’t know. It might have something to do with my brother,” Mikey’s eyebrows furrowed in a frowny sort of way. “Anyway, sometimes you just have to take off somebody’s pants before they’ll get the idea.” There was a smile back in his voice as he reached for Pete’s jeans.
“Um. Mikey.” Pete’s voice was hushed. “Fucking. Fucking shit.” It was like he’d just realized where he was, like he’d just realized he could have something he wanted. And that was when he crushed Mikey up against the door, all hands and knees and ravenous eyes.
“Pete,” Mikey panted, willing him to get it from just that.
He got a hand on Mikey’s dick, making a soft noise. “Mikey,” Pete murmured, almost a question. He needed to hear it.
Mikey sighed, but it sounded like a gasp. “Pete,” he tsked, grabbed him by the hair, and pushed himself back against the door so he could slam Pete into the wall. He got his lips on Pete’s neck, his teeth into his shoulder like he could emboss his intentions into Pete’s skin, whispering between bites. “Missed you, always fucking miss you when you’re gone, idiot, you should fucking know by now,” and he’d gotten Pete’s clothes off, got his hands around both of them, loosely fisting their cocks together against Pete’s belly, still talking with Pete’s hands on him, hungry, encouraging. “Not going anywhere, want you, always fucking want you.”
Pete clawed down Mikey’s back, got a hand in his hair, pulled him in for a messy kiss. Their teeth bumped and Pete’s head hit the wall and it was perfect. Pete broke away, looking a little wild, panting. “I can’t,” he said, sounding desperate.
“Me neither,” Mikey gasped, and let go with one hand to grab Pete’s nipple, twisting tightly the way he knew Pete liked. “I’ll be here in the morning, c’mon, fucking--” Mikey broke off, let his head fall against Pete’s shoulder, both of them sweating, Mikey’s fingers relentless, the hardness of them pressed together beneath his always-moving hand.
“Mikey--” Pete managed before grabbing him tight and coming hard, his eyes rolling up before they squeezed shut, and Mikey knew he’d done it right. He let go and finished himself off, slick with Pete’s come, and the thought of it, the feeling on his fingers, left him biting Pete’s shoulder as he came, messing them both up and collapsing onto Pete and the wall. Pete made a happy little whimper noise and rubbed his face against Mikey’s shoulder.
“So, that was just as good as I remembered it,” Pete said conversationally even as Mikey smeared come across his belly. “Nice,” he said, starting to wipe it off, then just smiling wryly.
“Idiot,” Mikey said, completely fond and smirking.
“Love you too, sweet little dude,” Pete smiled and kissed Mikey’s cheek.
Mikey turned his head and kissed Pete on the mouth, slow, lazy and warm.
“So,” Pete rested his cheek against Mikey’s, “if we clean up a little, can we like cuddle and shit and do some proper fucking later?”
“Since when do you even have to ask?” Mikey chided.
“Since apparently it’s a side-effect of divorce and hanging out with Brendon Urie,” Pete shrugged.
“Yeah, we’re so snuggling after one of us gets a wash rag,” Mikey agreed.
“Not it,” Pete tagged Mikey’s side.
“Why am I only attracted to nine-year-olds?” Mikey asked.
“You’re on top of me,” Pete reasoned.
“You say that a lot too,” Mikey smirked.
“Well yeah, I like you there,” Pete agreed, smiling back.
Later, maybe even tomorrow morning, they’d get to that whole topping business, but first Mikey would hold Pete until he remembered he was important and valued. That was, if Mikey could make his legs work. Apparently a really good orgasm after a pretty good orgasm an hour earlier was a lot to recover from today.
“Maybe you’re getting old,” Pete suggested.
“Well, since I must have said that out loud,” Mikey frowned.
“It’s not your fault that Iero is really horny,” Pete assured.
“Clearly, it’s Brendon Urie’s,” Mikey agreed.
Pete raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, I’m not the only one who forgets my own worth,” Pete kissed his cheek and backed Mikey toward the bed.
Next
How to Unpunch Someone Conversationally
Gerard could admit that he felt a little out of sorts. Mikey would call it a disturbance in the Force. But really, Gerard was having trouble putting it into words. Like, he’d noticed that something was going on with Dewees and Ray, if all the jamming was anything to take into account. So, he did what he always liked to do when he wanted to think or just be idle.
Gerard went out for a smoke break. The venue had an alley, quiet and out of view. The street noise was soothing. He lit up, leaned against the bricks, texted Lyns hi. The door squeaked open and Ray walked out, smiling when he saw Gerard.
“Hey.”
Gerard grinned back.
“Everything looks good.” Ray leaned against the bricks near him, pulled out his phone, thumbed through some texts. It was a companionable silence. Comfortable, easy. Gerard was gonna fuck it up. They had a hotel night tonight, a long one. Gerard and Ray were rooming together, and for some reason, Gerard wanted to do this first. Clear the air, or something.
“So...” he trailed off awkwardly.
“So?” Ray put his phone in his pocket, looking expectant.
“What’s going on with you and Dewees, anyway?” He finally managed. Gerard was proud of how he sounded. Light, but not uncaring, and he didn’t throw up at all, not even a little bit, despite the heavy churning in the pit of his stomach.
Ray looked guilty, and Gerard catapulted straight from faintly icky to a cold-sweat-gonna-barf feeling in no time at all. Oh, god. Ray looked guilty. Ray never looked guilty. They were fucking, and they didn’t tell him. Oh god. Why couldn’t they trust him? Because of the way he might freak out. Like he was doing right the fuck now. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god. A line of horrible thoughts began to shoot through Gerard’s brain. He wasn’t good enough. Everyone knew he’d freak out. Flashes of Ray and James fucking, then laughing at Gerard afterward. Some tiny part of his brain shouted that all of this was ridiculous, but it was an awfully small part, and got stampeded over by cold horrible certainty.
Ray’s expression dialed back to confused and he said, “I don’t know!” His voice squeaked a little, and Gerard felt better for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Ray went on. “We’ve been jamming, right, and I think maybe it’s going somewhere but I don’t know, okay, and then Christa calls the other day and was all encouraging and I wanted to talk to you and Frank said things would be cool but I didn’t even know where to start except ‘hey I think maybe James and I have been playing sex music’ and that sounds incredibly lame out loud.”
“You...” Gerard swallowed. He felt like he’d just been punched a couple of times, in the face and the gut, and then abruptly un-punched somehow. He braced his ass on the brick and put his head between his knees, which actually helped a little. Ray’s hand, comfortingly large and warm, splayed over Gerard’s back.
“Whoa, Gee, you okay? The fuck?”
Gerard laughed a little, and stopped before it got all hysterical. “Yeah. I just thought, for a second there, that you were fucking and hadn’t told me.” The hand pulled away from his back. Gerard felt cold without it.
“What the hell, man?” Ray’s voice was dangerously quiet.
Gerard took a second to realize that he’d just admitted to almost accusing his lead guitarist of having an affair with his keyboardist, like they were in some sort of incredibly twisted daytime television-soap-opera-band... thing. Fuck. Gerard was a moron. He lifted his head and tried to look apologetic, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. “Shit, I’m sorry. I knew something had to be going on, and I didn’t know what, and I felt fucking stupid for not knowing.”
Ray raised an eyebrow at him. “As if I wouldn’t fucking tell you? As if you wouldn’t know?” He put his hand back, and a tiny quirk crossed his lips. “You were jealous.”
Gerard moved a little closer, so that Ray warmed up his whole side, too. “Maybe,” he allowed, a trace of humor returning to his voice.
“I can’t wait to tell Christa.” Ray laughed, throwing his arm around Gerard. “The great Gerard Way, jealous of my musical affections.”
Gerard suddenly wanted to explain more, wanted to seem at least slightly rational in the way that he was acting like a stupid dick. “Look, I’ve known where I stand with Mikey and Frank for a really long time, and you. And it’s kinda fucking freaky, okay, and...” Gerard let out a plume of smoke, looked at Ray apologetically again, because he knew this was going to sound like a low blow. “And I’ve been afraid that maybe I’m not a good judge of things. People.” He qualified. Pedicone. He didn’t say it.
“Fuck you, no.” Ray said, then softened. “You know exactly where you stand with me, the same place you’ve always stood for ten years, and if you’re a bad judge of things, we’re all a bad judge of things. People. Whatever.” He didn’t say it either.
Gerard leaned against him, took a long drag, blew it out. “Okay.”
Ray ruffled a hand through Gerard’s hair. “Okay what?”
Gerard looked up. “Okay, you’re right, I shouldn’t doubt you, or me, or our... collective judgment. And okay, I think you should talk to James. You’ll.” He stopped. “You’ll tell me, though, right?”
“Tell you when we talk? Tell you what happens? Yeah.”
Gerard nodded instead of saying, ‘Actually I meant I hope you’ll tell me if you’re not interested in me anymore and want to leave the band because it sucks and I’m having some random pathetic crisis of self-esteem.’ Ray gave him an eyebrow-and-stern-gaze combo worthy of Mikey, and Gerard felt the tightness across his own forehead ease.
“You know, this doesn’t have to be a, a thing. It’s all proto-... Pre-...” Ray shook his head, hair falling in his face, pushed it back, tried something different. “I have the best job and the best friends in the world. I don’t wanna mess with that.”
Gerard snorted, then laughed, stubbing out his cigarette, suddenly feeling a lot clearer. “You’re not gonna mess up anything. And if you do, we’ll fucking fix it, the same we have any time anybody’s messed up, including me.”
Ray fixed him with a weird look. “You sounded just like my wife there.”
Gerard shrugged, grinning. “I think you just attract smart people. With excellent taste.”
Ray huffed a laugh. “Sounds right.”
As if on cue, the metal door banged open and Dewees looked into the alleyway. “Holy shit, it’s the other half of my band, and they’re not making out.”
“I guess we know what Frank and Mikey are up to,” Gerard said dryly.
“Not that I’d blame you,” Dewees added, and it wasn’t until he continued his sentence before Gerard actually took his meaning. “Italian or Indian for dinner?”
“Indian,” Ray piped up.
“We can get Frank and Mikey takeout,” Gerard agreed, pulling out his phone. “Is it far?”
“It’s right there. Like, if we went back in the building it would take longer to get to the front door of the venue.”
“Awesome.” Gerard followed Ray and James, texting Mikey. if u 2 want anything other than palak paneer n veg biryani let me know. It was a testament to his lifestyle that not only did Gerard know all of his bandmates’ standing orders at any given restaurant, but his phone also knew how to spell them.
The restaurant was possibly Gerard’s favorite this tour. Everything smelled great, tasted perfect, there were only four tables in the place and the other three were empty. Best of all, they had hot chai on a self-serve tap. Gerard must have had five mugs of it.
Mostly, they just ate, not talking about anything in particular. Press, schedule, the versatility of mushrooms.
“...not to mention their role in the Mario universe,” Ray cut in.
“You mean the --” Gerard started, then finished in unison with James, “Mushroom Kingdom.”
Ray cracked up. “I sit corrected.”
Their waiter brought over a bag with three styrofoam boxes just as Gerard’s pocket buzzed with a text from Mikey. sounds good, thx.
“Perfect timing,” he said with satisfaction. “I think that’s the all-clear.”
“Awesome,” Ray affirmed, and picked up the bag.
Dewees took it from him. “I’ll do the delivery.”
“Thanks. Hey, you know, I was wondering...” Gerard trailed off. He was thinking about the way he and Frank jammed sometimes, the unwritten rule they had that anything that came out of it was more of a private thing. It wasn’t hard-and-fast, and more than one MCR song had gotten its start in those sessions over the years, but the seeming privacy and safety of it gave them room to think, and be.
James looked back as they headed out the door, waving to the restaurant staff. “Yeah?”
“When you guys were jamming the other day, I wrote some stuff. Lyrics. To it, maybe. That cool?” Gerard bit his lip, but relaxed when Ray’s face lit up. They walked the fifteen whole steps back to the back door of the venue.
“Well, yeah,” Dewees said, only making it sound a little bit like Gerard was a moron for asking. “And you know, you can sit in, or just sit or write or whatever, anytime. Anybody can.”
Gerard nodded at both of them, heading inside. “We jam less when we tour, but I think we should do it more often. Or try.” He grinned wryly. “Even if I’m not much of an instrumentalist.”
Ray split off to pick up his bag, and James looked at Gerard for a moment, then laughed.
“What?” He grinned back, waiting for the joke.
“The whole voice-is-an-instrument thing aside, you know you are one, right? James raised an eyebrow, knocking on the door of the room Frank and Mikey had appropriated. Gerard was still grinning, if a little more bemused. James gave a low, filthy chuckle. “An instrument. One of Ray’s favorites.” And with that, he ducked into the room, handing out styrofoam boxes and plasticware.
Gerard just stood in the hallway for a second, blushing as a few facts made themselves clear in his mind: It was a hotel night. He and Ray were rooming together. They’d already had dinner. Everything was done at the venue. Dewees was seeing to Frank and Mikey. Who had already had some... quality time.
Right. He stepped in their green room, picked up his jacket, caught a wink (no shit, an actual wink) from Frank, and stepped back out the door.
“Gee,” Ray called from backstage. Gerard followed. “Cab’s waiting,” Ray said offhandedly. Gerard blinked, followed, got in. Ray gave the name of their hotel, and Gerard raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?” Ray asked.
“I’m just trying to figure out how much I’ve been objectified and manipulated in the last five minutes, and whether or not I like it.” Gerard tried to sound huffy, but he honestly wasn’t sure, on either count.
To his surprise, Ray just nodded. “You like it,” like he was talking about the weather or something.
Gerard raised both his eyebrows, and waited.
“You wouldn’t have come along if you didn’t. Or you’d be in the middle of a six-point lecture. Either way, you like it, so I’m tying you down and doing unspeakable things to you for hours on end.” He said it lightly, but with a sidelong glance. Gerard shifted in his seat, trying to adjust his pants, which suddenly didn’t fit right at all. He swallowed.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
*****
Sometimes Home is Hug a Thousand Miles From Home
Mikey ended up in a van with Jarrod, Frank, and Dewees, all of whom were arguing about the coolest Transformers on the way back to the hotel. Mikey shot off what he considered to be a helpful text to Gerard and a rather suggestive one to Ray to kill time between traffic lights. He’d managed to exchange a few replies with Alicia when Pete texted him.
better half. r u here yet? Pete’s text said.
define here Mikey texted back. For all Mikey knew, Pete could be in a philosophical mood. A mood in which he missed everyone and trolled his nearest and dearest in vague text message form until either Patrick, Mikey, Bebe, Gabe, or Alicia called him.
zen dude. @ hotel. have bden 4 iero. Pete replied.
Mikey blinked at his phone. Pete was waiting for him at the hotel. Pete. Who had brought Brendon Urie with him because of the betting pool. Pete, who was now apparently using the losing bets of others as reason to travel.
since when do u need an excuse 2 c me? Mikey texted back, smirking to himself, and pocketing his phone.
“Why so smiley, Mikeyway?” Frank asked, draping himself over Mikey’s lap and then promptly snuggling in. “Do you want to give me another blowjob?”
“Actually, no,” Mikey answered.
Frank promptly pouted and declared to Dewees, “James, Mikey’s being mean to me.” James only laughed at him while Jarrod quietly shook his head.
“But I know a certain Brendon Urie who’s waiting for you at the hotel that would be willing,” Mikey explained.
Frank sat up like he’d been shocked. “You’re shitting me. Mikeyway, don’t shit me about this.” His eyes were pleading and disbelieving all at once. Frank had only been pining a lot over the kid. Mikey knew that things had been getting kind of serious between them. Jamia even liked Brendon and Sarah.
“I shit you not,” Mikey fixed Frank with a look, which caused Frank to beam at him and promptly throw his arms around Mikey with a grateful hug.
“Really?!” Frank started bouncing impatiently.
Dewees was laughing and Jarrod looked just this side of politely disinterested as the van pulled up to the hotel. They scrambled out and Frank launched himself at Pete Wentz, grabbing him for a hug and declaring fervently, “You bring me the best presents, Wentzy!”
“Get off me, teacup octopus,” Pete chided, groping Frank a little excessively.
Frank complied reluctantly, then remembered what he was excited about. “Key! Key, key, key, key-key-key-key,” Frank made grabby hands and Pete placed a keycard in Frank’s hand. Frank gave Pete a peck on the cheek, hugged Mikey again, grabbed his bag and made a beeline for the elevator, all to the laughter of everyone else. Frank flipped them off as the elevator doors closed. Dewees and Jarrod grabbed their bags and wandered off, talking about Super Mario 3 and chutney.
Mikey shouldered his backpack and took a moment to just look at Pete. Pete looked tired, a little worn and pinched around the edges, but some of that melted when he smiled at Mikey. Mikey couldn’t help but smile back. That smile was part of the infectious, charming nature of Pete mixed up with this current version that seemed to be wound tightly and a little bruised, even nervous.
“Hi,” Pete said, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket, like the seams were suddenly very interesting.
“Hi,” Mikey said back, smiling. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Pete, squeezing his shoulders.
“Hi,” Pete said, softer and a little relieved, melting into the hug and squeezing back like suddenly something was alright again.
“Idiot,” Mikey chided, hugging a little tighter.
“Well, you know,” Pete explained uselessly, tucking his nose into the crook of Mikey’s neck.
“Yeah,” Mikey nodded, pulling back enough to kiss Pete. Pete was here. Just his presence settled Mikey; it was like realizing he was in a familiar part of town after not recognizing some street names. Pete tilted his head so that they fit perfectly, opening his mouth to let Mikey taste. Mikey caught a hint of spearmint and a sweetness that almost tasted like summer.
“Hi,” Pete said, goofily, pulling back from the kiss.
“So, you got a room, right?” Mikey asked and let Pete drag him toward the elevators.
“Fuck yes, I got a room,” Pete answered. “What sort of idiot do you think I actually am? Okay, don’t answer that. But it was only twice. And we did at least get to sleep in a vehicle both times.”
“Ah, old times,” Mikey giggled as Pete led them out of the elevator and down a hall, then asked, “Seriously... I don’t actually think you’re an idiot, you know?”
“Yeah,” Pete answered, smiling crookedly. “Evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.”
“No, we were young and stupid then,” Mikey said. “And at least able to figure out each others’ hints. You are not a subtle flirt, Wentz. Not in the least.”
“Of course not. I made my intentions toward you very clear, dude. And if by ‘hints’ you are referring to Ray and Dewees?” Pete asked, opening the room door. “I have heard about the music sex all the way back in Cali. Bebe has heard about the music sex. It’s flirting that apparently can be seen from space.”
“Yes,” Mikey confirmed, dropping his backpack on the desk and unlacing his boots. “I love them. But they’re so dumb. Ray especially is dumb at flirting.”
“You mean how he doesn’t even realize that he is flirting and that someone is flirting back at him and then somebody tells him and even his hair looks surprised?” Pete asked, toeing out of his shoes and shucking off his jacket.
“Yes,” Mikey answered, taking off his shirt. “That.”
“How are Ray and Dewees not fucking yet? “ Pete asked, taking off his shirt and unzipping his jeans. “Have they seen each other? I honestly thought that shit was old news. I laughed when Jamia told me there were odds on when those two were finally hooking up. Laughed, Mikeyway. Laughed until I was crying.”
“I know, right?” Mikey asked, needlessly, sliding out of his jeans. “Like, Dewees has the patience of a saint. And far more subtlety than is called for.”
“Seriously,” Pete agreed. “That fucker is amazing. Why is your lead guitarist a moron? A sexy moron,” Pete amended.
“I don’t know. It might have something to do with my brother,” Mikey’s eyebrows furrowed in a frowny sort of way. “Anyway, sometimes you just have to take off somebody’s pants before they’ll get the idea.” There was a smile back in his voice as he reached for Pete’s jeans.
“Um. Mikey.” Pete’s voice was hushed. “Fucking. Fucking shit.” It was like he’d just realized where he was, like he’d just realized he could have something he wanted. And that was when he crushed Mikey up against the door, all hands and knees and ravenous eyes.
“Pete,” Mikey panted, willing him to get it from just that.
He got a hand on Mikey’s dick, making a soft noise. “Mikey,” Pete murmured, almost a question. He needed to hear it.
Mikey sighed, but it sounded like a gasp. “Pete,” he tsked, grabbed him by the hair, and pushed himself back against the door so he could slam Pete into the wall. He got his lips on Pete’s neck, his teeth into his shoulder like he could emboss his intentions into Pete’s skin, whispering between bites. “Missed you, always fucking miss you when you’re gone, idiot, you should fucking know by now,” and he’d gotten Pete’s clothes off, got his hands around both of them, loosely fisting their cocks together against Pete’s belly, still talking with Pete’s hands on him, hungry, encouraging. “Not going anywhere, want you, always fucking want you.”
Pete clawed down Mikey’s back, got a hand in his hair, pulled him in for a messy kiss. Their teeth bumped and Pete’s head hit the wall and it was perfect. Pete broke away, looking a little wild, panting. “I can’t,” he said, sounding desperate.
“Me neither,” Mikey gasped, and let go with one hand to grab Pete’s nipple, twisting tightly the way he knew Pete liked. “I’ll be here in the morning, c’mon, fucking--” Mikey broke off, let his head fall against Pete’s shoulder, both of them sweating, Mikey’s fingers relentless, the hardness of them pressed together beneath his always-moving hand.
“Mikey--” Pete managed before grabbing him tight and coming hard, his eyes rolling up before they squeezed shut, and Mikey knew he’d done it right. He let go and finished himself off, slick with Pete’s come, and the thought of it, the feeling on his fingers, left him biting Pete’s shoulder as he came, messing them both up and collapsing onto Pete and the wall. Pete made a happy little whimper noise and rubbed his face against Mikey’s shoulder.
“So, that was just as good as I remembered it,” Pete said conversationally even as Mikey smeared come across his belly. “Nice,” he said, starting to wipe it off, then just smiling wryly.
“Idiot,” Mikey said, completely fond and smirking.
“Love you too, sweet little dude,” Pete smiled and kissed Mikey’s cheek.
Mikey turned his head and kissed Pete on the mouth, slow, lazy and warm.
“So,” Pete rested his cheek against Mikey’s, “if we clean up a little, can we like cuddle and shit and do some proper fucking later?”
“Since when do you even have to ask?” Mikey chided.
“Since apparently it’s a side-effect of divorce and hanging out with Brendon Urie,” Pete shrugged.
“Yeah, we’re so snuggling after one of us gets a wash rag,” Mikey agreed.
“Not it,” Pete tagged Mikey’s side.
“Why am I only attracted to nine-year-olds?” Mikey asked.
“You’re on top of me,” Pete reasoned.
“You say that a lot too,” Mikey smirked.
“Well yeah, I like you there,” Pete agreed, smiling back.
Later, maybe even tomorrow morning, they’d get to that whole topping business, but first Mikey would hold Pete until he remembered he was important and valued. That was, if Mikey could make his legs work. Apparently a really good orgasm after a pretty good orgasm an hour earlier was a lot to recover from today.
“Maybe you’re getting old,” Pete suggested.
“Well, since I must have said that out loud,” Mikey frowned.
“It’s not your fault that Iero is really horny,” Pete assured.
“Clearly, it’s Brendon Urie’s,” Mikey agreed.
Pete raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, I’m not the only one who forgets my own worth,” Pete kissed his cheek and backed Mikey toward the bed.
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