fic: a heart on fire (pete/mikey)
a heart on fire
pete/mikey, summer of like
R
thanks to fallsaddles for letting me spam her with parts of this, and patchworkwounds for the beta.
~2500 words
Pete uses the code that Mikey gave him to open the door, and then he sticks his head into the MCR bus and yells, “Water park fieldtrip, motherfuckers!”
It’s later that day that he kisses Mikey Way for the first time, for real: just the two of them left in the changing rooms after a day of cold splashes and long queues and dunking Patrick under water so he loses his hat, and Pete is happy; he doesn’t think twice about it before leaning into Mikey and kissing him against cool tiles. Mikey’s eyes are wide and surprised behind his glasses when Pete pulls back, but Pete has no explanation to offer him, not as such. They’re both here, and Pete is in a good mood; Pete’s been in a good mood more and more these days, thanks to Mikey, and it makes sense in the way impulses in the middle of summer always do.
Mikey’s eyes are surprised but not angry, and he’s smiling as well, and so Pete grins back. He spends the short car journey back to the buses counting the goosebumps that jump up on Mikey’s arms as they slowly dry off in the sun coming in through the windows.
-
Pete goes from spending a lot of his time with Mikey to nearly all of it. They separate for sound checks and shows but even then they’re still close, because Pete likes to watch My Chemical Romance play a lot, and Mikey hangs out side stage when Fall Out Boy is on too. It makes Pete feel like a teenager again, having someone he’s looking out for while he performs, but not in the way he usually feels. It’s not an out of control or desperate for change feeling; it’s just holding hands being made to feel exciting again and an exhilarating hunt for somewhere to be alone, trying not to get caught. It’s not jumping straight in too deep with sex and complicating things before they really start, which is something he hasn’t experienced in too long now.
Sometimes, Pete feels a little bad about that. Once or twice they’ve managed to steal enough time alone together to make sex a plausible possibility, but Pete just - he thinks that he thinks too much. This has always been his problem, but it’s never been like this before. This time he’s just thinking about how Mikey is a guy, how the only type of sex they could be having would be something that’s never appealed to him before and how weird this makes him, wanting someone so much but not being able to even imaging himself with them like that.
Mikey says he doesn’t mind, when Pete says, “Dude, I’m just - I’m sorry, for probably giving you the most fucking epic case of blue balls. I just. I don’t know.”
“I know,” Mikey says. He even grins a little and adds, “Still more than I ever expected,” but Pete still feels bad, when they make out until Pete feels Mikey’s dick hard through his jeans and stops, goes back to his own bus, and jerks off to the memory of Mikey’s hips under his hands and the hot taste of his mouth.
-
Pete can’t remember the weather ever being this hot before, which is what he thinks about every summer tour they do. The days are too hot to do anything more than declare super soaker wars and try to hide out in the shade. Nights are too hot to sleep even when he thinks he might be able to; nights are for curling in as close to Mikey as he can in the hot, cramped space of his bunk, trading kisses and whispers until one of them dozes off for a while. It’s the best kind of not sleeping Pete knows, staring up at the ceiling while Mikey’s fingers trace lazily over his tattoos.
Time passes too fast, kind of crazily so. Pete feels almost like he’s living show to show, night to night. Everything else is a blur of waiting around wasting time, sunsets on bridges and going to late night parties that go on for too long into the night. Pete likes the parties, though, because at least they go on until the night is a little cooler again, and because they ensure that everyone is generally pretty occupied. It makes it easier, then, for he and Mikey to sneak off somewhere and know they’ll be alone for more than five minutes at once.
Tonight, they get away by Mikey pretending he has to go get something from Gerard on his bus. Instead, they go back to the Fall Out Boy bus, and Pete locks them inside and backs Mikey up against a cupboard and kisses him until Mikey mumbles something about a handle digging into his spine.
They move to the couch then, navigating their way through the piles of DVDs scattered all over the floor; Pete didn’t bother turning the lights on and they’re both a little bit drunk, just a little, so it takes some effort. Being a little drunk, though, it makes it easier, once they’re on the couch, for Pete to rest all his weight on Mikey and not freak out when he finds himself rocking down against him. There’s no direct contact, nothing skin on skin, so it’s not as though it’s too much all at once. It’s fucking worth it: even the twist of nerves in the pit of his stomach disappears pretty readily, dropping down into a low, steady burn from the friction, the way Mikey tilts his head back and bares his throat as he moans quietly.
Pete feels like a teenager all over again, as he presses his face into Mikey’s neck, lips sliding against his collarbone, and comes without even getting his pants off.
-
Pete expects things to be different after that, because it’s a line they hadn’t crossed before, but they carry on in much the same manner as they have been, drifting through lazy days together. Pete’s taken to kissing Mikey in obnoxiously public places, away from the general public but in plain view of anyone in either of their bands, and he’s found that this means people generally give them a pretty wide berth. It’s handy, especially times like now, when even the light breeze outside is hot and the most desirable thing in the world is to turn the air con of the bus up as high as it will go and sprawl across the floor with Mikey lying next to him.
“I don’t understand how you’re still wearing clothes,” he mutters lazily. He lost his shirt somewhere earlier that day, and he’s wearing kind of ridiculous shorts that he hopes no one has got a picture of, but Mikey’s still in jeans and a t-shirt. A black t-shirt. Pete can’t understand it. From his side, Mikey laughs. Pete shakes his head slowly, then adds, “Dude, at least lose the shirt. Just looking at you is making me feel hot again.”
He glances across at Mikey, the way his shirt is kind of tight but still drapes across his ribs, and tries to pretend he doesn’t have ulterior motives. Mikey’s smirking a little bit, though, so he probably knows what Pete is thinking and how it has a lot more to do with wanting to see Mikey shirtless than it does with wanting to make Mikey cooler and more comfortable.
It’s not as though Pete is so far gone that even the sight of Mikey’s bare chest is enough to get him going, not really. Mikey doesn’t have anything that Pete doesn’t see almost daily this summer, because a lot of guys are going down the shorts/no shirts route in the heat, but Pete’s warm and content and already a little bit turned on, and there’s something about how pale Mikey is and the bumps of his ribs that gets Pete interested anyway. He watches as Mikey sits up to pull his shirt over his head, and grins at him as he lies back down again.
“Better, right,” he says, maybe sort of smug, and Mikey murmurs something in agreement. His eyes are shut behind his glasses, and Pete thinks that he looks almost like he’s asleep, except for the tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He probably knows that Pete is kind of blatantly staring, even without opening his eyes. “Exactly,” Pete adds, as though Mikey gave him a real answer.
Mikey has a mark on his neck, red blooming into purple in the shape of Pete’s mouth. It was hard to see when he had his shirt on, but it stands out now and Pete can remember making it, the two of them hiding out in the shade around the back of a venue a few days ago and jumping apart a few minutes later when Gerard and Bob came out of the backdoor to smoke. Gerard had made a mildly horrified noise, and Mikey had given Pete a look that clearly said later, even through the colour rising high across his cheekbones.
Pete is thinking about that, as he slides the hand he already has idly resting on his own stomach downwards. He’s thinking about everything he and Mikey have been doing, running it all through his mind as he keeps his touch light and stops as his fingers reach the waistband of his shorts. They make look him stupid, but he thinks they’re pretty convenient, because the waistband is elastic and there’s no button or zipper that he’ll have to contend with later on.
“Mikey,” he says, and keeps looking at him deliberately as he slowly rubs his palm over his crotch, above his shorts for now. Mikey looks across at him, and Pete sees his eyes widen in surprise, just like they did the first time Pete kissed him. He doesn’t smile this time as well, but he does tilt his head so he can see better. Pete lifts his hips so he can rub up against his hand, and adds, “Mikey, you too, will you…” because he wants to see, because it’s Mikey he’s with. He pretty much gets why Mikey looks surprised, because this is kind of out of nowhere - they’ve not even been leading up to it with kissing and touching or anything - but it kind of. It makes sense, again, in that crazy summer way.
Mikey doesn’t say anything, just moves his hand to his waistband and pops the button on his jeans.
Pete waits until Mikey’s tugged his jeans just far enough down his thighs to get to his cock before he touches himself, just rubbing up against his hand through his boxers and shorts until he’s hard, not actually touching his cock until he sees Mikey’s hand disappear into his boxers. He shoves his shorts and boxers down in one go, then kicks them off, and he almost wishes Mikey would do the same so he could watch better, but there’s still something kind of obscenely hot about the way he can see Mikey’s hand moving inside his boxers, see the muscles on his arm flexing as he moves his hand up and down on his dick. He rocks his hips up slowly into his own fist, and says, “Fuck,” in a voice that’s low and rough and barely recognisable as his own for a moment.
Pete’s loud, sometimes, and he knows this; years and years of sharing a bus with three other guys and the looks he gets most mornings after he tries to jerk off quietly at night has told him this much. But Mikey’s quiet (Pete knows this already, as well) and it’s more of an incentive than Pete’s ever had before, to bite his bottom lip and try to keep quiet so he can catch each tiny noise Mikey makes. Pete’s sliding his fingers through the beads of precome already gathering at the head of his cock to make his hand slide more smoothly, but as he watches, Mikey pulls his hand out of his boxers and licks it before going back to touching himself, slow and steady. If Pete’s quiet enough and concentrates hard enough, he can even hear the wet sound of Mikey’s hand moving underneath his soft noises and the hitches in his breathing.
Pete’s trying, but that doesn’t mean he can quite rein in everything, and he gasps in a shaky breath so he can say, “Mikey.” He stumbles from one syllable to the other as it catches on a moan he can’t keep in either, but Mikey’s name still gets out, because it’s all about Mikey. This whole summer is all about Mikey, and Pete kind of wishes that Mikey was doing this to him. He kind of wishes that he was doing this to Mikey, and that’s - it’s weird, but not so much so now as it would have been a few weeks ago, because apparently his whole aversion to dick is pretty sketchy where Mikey is concerned now anyway.
He doesn’t know what it is, but he doesn’t care, either, just keeps moving his hand and his hips, dragging his other hand across his chest and trying to hold out until Mikey comes. He’s close, he’s really fucking close, he can tell from the burning in the pit of his stomach and way he can’t seem to catch a single breath, but he wants to hear Mikey come first, doesn’t want to miss it in the blissed out haze that always follows straight after he comes.
He doesn’t think he’s going to manage it, but then Mikey’s head tilts right back and his hips jerk up sharply with the arch of his spine and he exhales, a long and breathy sound with Pete’s name mixed up in it somewhere before he slumps back down onto the floor. Pete comes roughly a second or two after that, all over his hand and across his stomach, and for a few moments he thinks he’s never going to manage to breathe right again, let alone think anything that’s even remotely coherent.
He manages to stretch his arm sideways and grab hold of Mikey’s shirt after a while, though, to wipe off his hand and his stomach, because it’s not like Mikey needs it today, and Mikey must have come just about as hard as Pete did, because he doesn’t even call Pete out on it. Pete half rolls and half shifts closer to him then, until he can fling his arm over Mikey’s stomach and kiss his shoulder, despite the still almost unbearable heat and the way his skin slips against Mikey’s.
And it’s the heat, maybe, or the fact he always gets sleepy after he comes, but Pete dozes off right there just like that, and dreams about a summer that stretches on forever.
pete/mikey, summer of like
R
thanks to fallsaddles for letting me spam her with parts of this, and patchworkwounds for the beta.
~2500 words
Pete uses the code that Mikey gave him to open the door, and then he sticks his head into the MCR bus and yells, “Water park fieldtrip, motherfuckers!”
It’s later that day that he kisses Mikey Way for the first time, for real: just the two of them left in the changing rooms after a day of cold splashes and long queues and dunking Patrick under water so he loses his hat, and Pete is happy; he doesn’t think twice about it before leaning into Mikey and kissing him against cool tiles. Mikey’s eyes are wide and surprised behind his glasses when Pete pulls back, but Pete has no explanation to offer him, not as such. They’re both here, and Pete is in a good mood; Pete’s been in a good mood more and more these days, thanks to Mikey, and it makes sense in the way impulses in the middle of summer always do.
Mikey’s eyes are surprised but not angry, and he’s smiling as well, and so Pete grins back. He spends the short car journey back to the buses counting the goosebumps that jump up on Mikey’s arms as they slowly dry off in the sun coming in through the windows.
-
Pete goes from spending a lot of his time with Mikey to nearly all of it. They separate for sound checks and shows but even then they’re still close, because Pete likes to watch My Chemical Romance play a lot, and Mikey hangs out side stage when Fall Out Boy is on too. It makes Pete feel like a teenager again, having someone he’s looking out for while he performs, but not in the way he usually feels. It’s not an out of control or desperate for change feeling; it’s just holding hands being made to feel exciting again and an exhilarating hunt for somewhere to be alone, trying not to get caught. It’s not jumping straight in too deep with sex and complicating things before they really start, which is something he hasn’t experienced in too long now.
Sometimes, Pete feels a little bad about that. Once or twice they’ve managed to steal enough time alone together to make sex a plausible possibility, but Pete just - he thinks that he thinks too much. This has always been his problem, but it’s never been like this before. This time he’s just thinking about how Mikey is a guy, how the only type of sex they could be having would be something that’s never appealed to him before and how weird this makes him, wanting someone so much but not being able to even imaging himself with them like that.
Mikey says he doesn’t mind, when Pete says, “Dude, I’m just - I’m sorry, for probably giving you the most fucking epic case of blue balls. I just. I don’t know.”
“I know,” Mikey says. He even grins a little and adds, “Still more than I ever expected,” but Pete still feels bad, when they make out until Pete feels Mikey’s dick hard through his jeans and stops, goes back to his own bus, and jerks off to the memory of Mikey’s hips under his hands and the hot taste of his mouth.
-
Pete can’t remember the weather ever being this hot before, which is what he thinks about every summer tour they do. The days are too hot to do anything more than declare super soaker wars and try to hide out in the shade. Nights are too hot to sleep even when he thinks he might be able to; nights are for curling in as close to Mikey as he can in the hot, cramped space of his bunk, trading kisses and whispers until one of them dozes off for a while. It’s the best kind of not sleeping Pete knows, staring up at the ceiling while Mikey’s fingers trace lazily over his tattoos.
Time passes too fast, kind of crazily so. Pete feels almost like he’s living show to show, night to night. Everything else is a blur of waiting around wasting time, sunsets on bridges and going to late night parties that go on for too long into the night. Pete likes the parties, though, because at least they go on until the night is a little cooler again, and because they ensure that everyone is generally pretty occupied. It makes it easier, then, for he and Mikey to sneak off somewhere and know they’ll be alone for more than five minutes at once.
Tonight, they get away by Mikey pretending he has to go get something from Gerard on his bus. Instead, they go back to the Fall Out Boy bus, and Pete locks them inside and backs Mikey up against a cupboard and kisses him until Mikey mumbles something about a handle digging into his spine.
They move to the couch then, navigating their way through the piles of DVDs scattered all over the floor; Pete didn’t bother turning the lights on and they’re both a little bit drunk, just a little, so it takes some effort. Being a little drunk, though, it makes it easier, once they’re on the couch, for Pete to rest all his weight on Mikey and not freak out when he finds himself rocking down against him. There’s no direct contact, nothing skin on skin, so it’s not as though it’s too much all at once. It’s fucking worth it: even the twist of nerves in the pit of his stomach disappears pretty readily, dropping down into a low, steady burn from the friction, the way Mikey tilts his head back and bares his throat as he moans quietly.
Pete feels like a teenager all over again, as he presses his face into Mikey’s neck, lips sliding against his collarbone, and comes without even getting his pants off.
-
Pete expects things to be different after that, because it’s a line they hadn’t crossed before, but they carry on in much the same manner as they have been, drifting through lazy days together. Pete’s taken to kissing Mikey in obnoxiously public places, away from the general public but in plain view of anyone in either of their bands, and he’s found that this means people generally give them a pretty wide berth. It’s handy, especially times like now, when even the light breeze outside is hot and the most desirable thing in the world is to turn the air con of the bus up as high as it will go and sprawl across the floor with Mikey lying next to him.
“I don’t understand how you’re still wearing clothes,” he mutters lazily. He lost his shirt somewhere earlier that day, and he’s wearing kind of ridiculous shorts that he hopes no one has got a picture of, but Mikey’s still in jeans and a t-shirt. A black t-shirt. Pete can’t understand it. From his side, Mikey laughs. Pete shakes his head slowly, then adds, “Dude, at least lose the shirt. Just looking at you is making me feel hot again.”
He glances across at Mikey, the way his shirt is kind of tight but still drapes across his ribs, and tries to pretend he doesn’t have ulterior motives. Mikey’s smirking a little bit, though, so he probably knows what Pete is thinking and how it has a lot more to do with wanting to see Mikey shirtless than it does with wanting to make Mikey cooler and more comfortable.
It’s not as though Pete is so far gone that even the sight of Mikey’s bare chest is enough to get him going, not really. Mikey doesn’t have anything that Pete doesn’t see almost daily this summer, because a lot of guys are going down the shorts/no shirts route in the heat, but Pete’s warm and content and already a little bit turned on, and there’s something about how pale Mikey is and the bumps of his ribs that gets Pete interested anyway. He watches as Mikey sits up to pull his shirt over his head, and grins at him as he lies back down again.
“Better, right,” he says, maybe sort of smug, and Mikey murmurs something in agreement. His eyes are shut behind his glasses, and Pete thinks that he looks almost like he’s asleep, except for the tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He probably knows that Pete is kind of blatantly staring, even without opening his eyes. “Exactly,” Pete adds, as though Mikey gave him a real answer.
Mikey has a mark on his neck, red blooming into purple in the shape of Pete’s mouth. It was hard to see when he had his shirt on, but it stands out now and Pete can remember making it, the two of them hiding out in the shade around the back of a venue a few days ago and jumping apart a few minutes later when Gerard and Bob came out of the backdoor to smoke. Gerard had made a mildly horrified noise, and Mikey had given Pete a look that clearly said later, even through the colour rising high across his cheekbones.
Pete is thinking about that, as he slides the hand he already has idly resting on his own stomach downwards. He’s thinking about everything he and Mikey have been doing, running it all through his mind as he keeps his touch light and stops as his fingers reach the waistband of his shorts. They make look him stupid, but he thinks they’re pretty convenient, because the waistband is elastic and there’s no button or zipper that he’ll have to contend with later on.
“Mikey,” he says, and keeps looking at him deliberately as he slowly rubs his palm over his crotch, above his shorts for now. Mikey looks across at him, and Pete sees his eyes widen in surprise, just like they did the first time Pete kissed him. He doesn’t smile this time as well, but he does tilt his head so he can see better. Pete lifts his hips so he can rub up against his hand, and adds, “Mikey, you too, will you…” because he wants to see, because it’s Mikey he’s with. He pretty much gets why Mikey looks surprised, because this is kind of out of nowhere - they’ve not even been leading up to it with kissing and touching or anything - but it kind of. It makes sense, again, in that crazy summer way.
Mikey doesn’t say anything, just moves his hand to his waistband and pops the button on his jeans.
Pete waits until Mikey’s tugged his jeans just far enough down his thighs to get to his cock before he touches himself, just rubbing up against his hand through his boxers and shorts until he’s hard, not actually touching his cock until he sees Mikey’s hand disappear into his boxers. He shoves his shorts and boxers down in one go, then kicks them off, and he almost wishes Mikey would do the same so he could watch better, but there’s still something kind of obscenely hot about the way he can see Mikey’s hand moving inside his boxers, see the muscles on his arm flexing as he moves his hand up and down on his dick. He rocks his hips up slowly into his own fist, and says, “Fuck,” in a voice that’s low and rough and barely recognisable as his own for a moment.
Pete’s loud, sometimes, and he knows this; years and years of sharing a bus with three other guys and the looks he gets most mornings after he tries to jerk off quietly at night has told him this much. But Mikey’s quiet (Pete knows this already, as well) and it’s more of an incentive than Pete’s ever had before, to bite his bottom lip and try to keep quiet so he can catch each tiny noise Mikey makes. Pete’s sliding his fingers through the beads of precome already gathering at the head of his cock to make his hand slide more smoothly, but as he watches, Mikey pulls his hand out of his boxers and licks it before going back to touching himself, slow and steady. If Pete’s quiet enough and concentrates hard enough, he can even hear the wet sound of Mikey’s hand moving underneath his soft noises and the hitches in his breathing.
Pete’s trying, but that doesn’t mean he can quite rein in everything, and he gasps in a shaky breath so he can say, “Mikey.” He stumbles from one syllable to the other as it catches on a moan he can’t keep in either, but Mikey’s name still gets out, because it’s all about Mikey. This whole summer is all about Mikey, and Pete kind of wishes that Mikey was doing this to him. He kind of wishes that he was doing this to Mikey, and that’s - it’s weird, but not so much so now as it would have been a few weeks ago, because apparently his whole aversion to dick is pretty sketchy where Mikey is concerned now anyway.
He doesn’t know what it is, but he doesn’t care, either, just keeps moving his hand and his hips, dragging his other hand across his chest and trying to hold out until Mikey comes. He’s close, he’s really fucking close, he can tell from the burning in the pit of his stomach and way he can’t seem to catch a single breath, but he wants to hear Mikey come first, doesn’t want to miss it in the blissed out haze that always follows straight after he comes.
He doesn’t think he’s going to manage it, but then Mikey’s head tilts right back and his hips jerk up sharply with the arch of his spine and he exhales, a long and breathy sound with Pete’s name mixed up in it somewhere before he slumps back down onto the floor. Pete comes roughly a second or two after that, all over his hand and across his stomach, and for a few moments he thinks he’s never going to manage to breathe right again, let alone think anything that’s even remotely coherent.
He manages to stretch his arm sideways and grab hold of Mikey’s shirt after a while, though, to wipe off his hand and his stomach, because it’s not like Mikey needs it today, and Mikey must have come just about as hard as Pete did, because he doesn’t even call Pete out on it. Pete half rolls and half shifts closer to him then, until he can fling his arm over Mikey’s stomach and kiss his shoulder, despite the still almost unbearable heat and the way his skin slips against Mikey’s.
And it’s the heat, maybe, or the fact he always gets sleepy after he comes, but Pete dozes off right there just like that, and dreams about a summer that stretches on forever.