Fic: "Hermit" Mikey Way/Quinn Allman.
Mikey Way/Quinn Allman.
For this prompt over at anon_lovefest . "Mikey Way/Quinn Allman, make up sex."
Quinn realizes what he’s done wrong, three days and three shows later. He’s not ignorant of the repercussions of his actions, he just can’t fucking remember the actions in the first place.
The first clue that something is wrong, is when he sees Frank Iero running away from their van. Quinn goes inside only to find his guitar completely without strings. Surprisingly vindictive for Frank.
Second thing that clues him in, is when Mikey starts disappearing. Not like Chris Angel shit, but Quinn can’t find the fucker anywhere. Quinn can’t put together the pieces. First Frank messing with his shit, now his boyfriend is avoiding him.
--
“You fucked up.” Is Bert’s only comment, the stupid dick.
Quinn returns an hour later with a bottle of Smirnoff, and gets: “You called his brother a slobby drunken basement hermit.”
From Bert’s giggles, Quinn realizes that he’s not pissed that his guitarist insulted his part time-boyfriend.
“But Gerard is a slobby drunken basement hermit.” Quinn says desperately. Bert, all knowing and ever sage master of advice, just cracks the top of the Smirnoff, embellishes his wisdom between slurps and winces. That’s what he gets for screaming every night, and combining it with alcoholism. Douche.
Jepha refuses to comment. He’s probably the smartest of them all, honestly, and Quinn feels a bit lost that Jepha isn’t even taking the opportunity to point of his margins of error.
--
“Raymond Fucking Toro.”
To give him credit, Ray doesn’t even stagger under the sudden weight of Quinn. He must be Frank’s climbing pole of choice.
“Raymond Fucking Toro,” Quinn continues, winding his hands in Ray’s hair, fascinated when it springs back into place. Fucking afro’s. “You have to get Mikey to talk to me again.”
Ray dumps him on his ass, and looks down with hands on his hips. He’s about as intimidating as a housewife. “And why would I do that?”
“Because he’s not talking to me?” Ray remains unamused. “Because you like me?” That gets a small rise out of Toro.
“Because you like me.” Quinn says, although his voice is more pleading than he intended. “Why did he get so fucking hurt by that comment anyway?”
Ray sits him down and imparts wisdom he could probably only contain in hair of his size. “Mikey doesn’t like people knocking things that are his. How do you like it when people point out that Bert is drunk more than he is sober?”
Quinn laughs darkly, remembering the vodka before it was even breakfast time. “But Bert is drunk more than sober.”
“But Gerard has been trying to get clean.” Ray says. “Be less of a slobby drunken basement hermit.”
He can see how rumors flying about Gerard’s hermitness might hit just a bit close to home, especially to a band who is doing their best to hold onto Gerard with the little scraps he gives them.
Ray’s a good man. Quinn doesn’t punch him on the arm as hard as he normally would.
--
Stage-side, post show.
Quinn twists his shirt in his hands, strips it off to press it to his face and wipe his sweat away. His muscles ache and protest in the good, post-adrenaline rush way. There’s nothing wrong with bribery, right? He’d sent Jepha over this morning with the small unicorn necklace he’d bought for Mikey.
Jepha had only gone over to the My Chem bus after he’d found Quinn [half asleep on the bus couch at six in the morning, being lulled to sleep by the glow from his laptop screen] when he’d gone to piss. Jepha had rubbed a hand over his face, and Quinn took advantage of him in his sleepy stupor.
The events had brought him here. Here was side stage watching My Chemical Douchewhores finish up their set. Quinn couldn’t complain though, because Mikey with his tight hoodie, jeans, dark smudged eyeliner and sweat streaked glasses, deft and thin fingers, looked like the scene boy tempter from hell.
The different reactions of My Chem to seeing the asshole that insulted everyone’s favorite baby brother side stage, are amusing to say the least.
Pelliser looks unamused, as per usual. Ray smiles. Gerard ignores him completely. Quinn doesn’t have time to see Frank’s expression before he’s slammed him to a discarded amp stack. Mikey just watches impassively. 600+ days of dating Mikey Way have taught Quinn that the less emotion his face possesses, the more he’s effected. Right now he’s bouncing between blank slate, and a wall.
Quinn gets his hands near Frank’s side, and pinches evilly. Frank’s yelps are his indicators to let go, or he’s probably going to end up with a broken nose. It wouldn’t be the first time, either.
“Hey.” Quinn offers, looking up at Mikey. He struggles against Frank for a moment, finally going still when Frank settles a heavy boot over his crotch.
Mikey’s eyes are wide in his face, helping him be an overly dramatic ass. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you play.” Quinn says slowly, talking like he might to someone who’s been concussed. He knows he should be apologizing, asking for forgiveness, even making amends with Frank to help his cause, but he can’t help it. Like Mikey says, they bring out each other’s inner asshole. Quinn’s is lying closer to the top at all times, but he understands the metaphor. He’s the guitarist for The Used.
Mikey jerks his head to the side, and Frank releases Quinn. He doesn’t do anything cliche, like glare as he slips back into the shadows, or narrow his eyes as he walks away. He’s Frank Iero after all, so he just raises a middle finger and walks away.
Quinn scrambles to his feet. He reaches for Mikey, fingers stopping just short of his glasses, intending to push them up off Mikey’s nose like always, but he doesn’t know where he stands. Mikey presses up into the touch, and he snaps.
It’s animalistic, and everything he’s fucking wanted this past week. Mikey’s lips are hot on his own, and Quinn’s thigh parts Mikey’s awkward legs. He slams Mikey against the wall of the venue, rolling up against him, gasping when Mikey’s erection crushes against his own.
Mikey’s tongue fucks against his, quick and dirty. A perfect contrast to the slow roll of his dick against Quinn’s. Quinn bucks up against him, and their teeth clack, sudden and painful. He swallows up Mikey’s groan, hands tightening on his bony hips.
“Asshole, asshole, asshole.” Mikey pants against his neck, sinking his teeth into the flesh where it meets his shoulder blade. Mikey tastes like sweat and cologne, Quinn thinks, drawing his tongue up over the ridge of Mikey’s jaw, tearing his shirt down to dig his fingers into his collarbone.
Mikey ruts against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, and he’s making these little noises, choked off like he wants to keep them in but just quite can’t. Quinn’s hand that isn’t keeping Mikey pressed to the wall comes up and grabs hold of his jaw, forces him to meet his eyes. Mikey’s mouth drops open, breath coming in the slick sounds of panting, and his eyes meet Quinn’s lazily, half-lidded and dark.
“You stupid fuck,” Quinn says, voice harsh and cutting through the sounds of their breathing as he presses into Mikey. “I don’t really think your brother is a hermit.”
Mikey’s laughter is strained, winding out of his throat brokenly from the angle that Quinn’s holding his head back. “I know.”
Quinn stops his moving entirely, ignores Mikey’s desperately pleading sounds. “You are such a fucking girl Mikeyway.”
Mikey grinds up against him, and Quinn’s eyes drop shut. Mikey does it again, and gives a shit-eating grin when his eyes snap open, a silent moan tipping his head back. Quinn presses his thumb over Mikey’s pulse, and bites at his lips.
He lets Mikey control the pace then, and focuses on trying to get him to fuck up, lose his control and make noises again. He wants the entire tech crew to be able to hear him, even if they can’t see him. Mikey smacks at his chest, and wrenches his mouth away with an obscene pop, eyes shutting as he comes in his pants.
Quinn gives him the span of three thrusts to recover. Mikey slumps against the wall and lets Quinn rub off on him. When Quinn’s knees give out and they slump to the floor, Mikey’s glasses knock against his temple.
“Dick.” Quinn bitches.
“Fucker.” Mikey retorts, though between trying to catch his breath.
“Slut.”
Mikey’s grin bursts forward, full and unedited. “You love it.” He traces over a bite mark left on Quinn’s neck.
Quinn smooths his hand over Mikey, and laughs until the techs come to shoo them away.