Fic: "down in jungleland" (bandom)
Pete/Gabe/Mikey, "Desolation Row" video 'verse, pretty much just porn. Some d/s. Title from Springsteen. Ummmm. Yeah, I have nothing else to add.
By the time Mikey's paperwork gets processed and he's out on the street again, it's raining, a cold and steady drizzle that slides down the back of his neck and soaks through his t-shirt and his jacket. He keeps his head down and jogs down the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to look unremarkable. It would be just his luck to get picked back up when he's only been out for fifteen minutes.
They could only swing enough bail for one of them, and he won out for no good reason, just general consensus. It always seems to go that way. And now he's out, running down the street in the rain and trying to think of where he can go to try to get together bail money for the rest of them. Can't leave them sitting in jail for too long or they'll get themselves in even more trouble. He's known them all too long to think any differently.
His feet know where to go before his brain catches up. By the time he brushes the rain-slick hair out of his face and looks up, he's halfway to Pete's place, jogging down the broken-up sidewalks that lead through the old hotel district, past the decaying remains of what used to be where the rich and famous spent their time. The old glamor and decadence is still visible through the rot, but Mikey doesn't pay it any attention anymore. It's as familiar as the warehouse district where he and the guys live, broken down in a different way but one that means home. Here, he's just a visitor.
He finds Pete's building and picks his way down to the basement, holding on to the metal frame that bolts the staircase to the wall. One of these days it's all going to give way and crash down, and he doesn't know what Pete's going to do then, and whoever else he has down there with him when it goes. Tunnel their way out to freedom or invent spontaneous human levitation, probably, unless Pete's weird sixth sense for luck both good and bad tips him off and he's gone the day before it all crumbles away.
Mikey bangs on the door to Pete's apartment and waits, rocking back and forth on his heels. His boots are breaking down around the edges, and he can feel the rainwater seeping in. He'll have to dig through Pete's collection of random castoffs and garbage and see what he can find. There's almost always a gem or two in there.
He hits the door again and it finally opens, Pete leaning against the frame and peering out into the hallway like he's not sure what he's seeing. "Mikey Way," he says after a minute, his face slowly stretching into a smile. "It's been fuckin' forever."
"You know how it goes." Mikey rakes his fingers through his hair again, combing it back off his face. The water and the remains of gel and hairspray are enough to hold it there. "Can I come in?"
"Always," Pete says, stepping back and gesturing expansively. Mikey steps past him into the apartment and somehow the gesture reverses itself, Pete's hand swinging back and sliding up Mikey's arm. Mikey leans into it reflexively and Pete smiles. It's easy to make him happy, and Mikey likes to oblige.
"I take it it's not the cops," comes a voice from the next room, the bedroom, and Mikey smirks a little, stepping forward and letting Pete's hand slide away. "Not enough yelling for cops. Who is it, then?"
"Just me," Mikey calls before Pete can answer. He crosses over and looks in the bedroom door while Pete locks up again, not that locks mean shit in this dump. "What's the word on the street, man?"
Gabe is stretched out on Pete's bed like he's not planning to move until somewhere between "no time soon" and "never." He turns his head enough to smile at Mikey, his eyes dark and sharp, assessing. "Lies, rumor, and speculation, as always. Heard you guys got busted last night."
"That's not a lie."
"Rumor and speculation proven true. Sweet." Gabe sits up and stretches, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the bedside table. "What brings you over this way?"
"What's with the third degree?" Pete asks, sitting down on the foot of the bed. Gabe drops the cigarettes again and reaches out, hooking his fingers in the back of Pete's belt and dragging him back toward him. Pete goes easily, shooting Mikey a sheepish smile.
"I like knowing things," Gabe says once he has Pete where he wants him. He slides his hand up Pete's back and curves his hand around the base of his neck, rubbing his thumb over the vertebrae. "It brightens my day."
"Was in the neighborhood," Mikey says, leaning against the doorframe and fixing his eyes on the far wall, deliberately not watching Pete squirm as Gabe's hand tightens. Gabe's so goddamn possessive, marking his territory.
"The neighborhood," Gabe snorts. "Precinct's a good ten blocks away."
"If you know everything, why do you bother asking?"
"He's bored," Pete says. "I guess I'm not entertaining."
Mikey glances over just in time to see Gabe kiss the back of Pete's head. "We all know that isn't true."
"I need bail money for the rest of the guys," Mikey says. Cutting through the bullshit seems like the best idea right now. "Thought maybe you two could help me out."
"And what made you think that?" Gabe asks mildly, still nuzzling at Pete's hair.
"You like it when people owe you things. And Pete's just a nice guy."
"You don't sugar-coat shit, Mikey Way. I like that about you." Gabe grins at him over Pete's head. "That doesn't mean I'm going to loan you any money, though."
Pete rolls his eyes, pulling away from Gabe a little. "Yeah, you are. We both are, so quit being a dick."
"He can't fight his true nature," Mikey murmurs, and Gabe laughs, flopping down against the pillows again.
"Fine, yeah, we can help you out. But I can't get you anything until tomorrow."
Pete looks over his shoulder at him. "What happens tomorrow?"
"You know. The thing." Gabe makes an elaborate gesture that makes absolutely no sense to Mikey, but must mean something, because Pete's eyes get all wide before he nods.
"Right, the thing." He looks at Mikey again. "Okay, so, tomorrow."
Mikey rubs the back of his neck, mentally shuffling things around, calculating. Yeah, the guys can last a day in jail without getting themselves beaten senseless or shot. Probably. "Okay."
"And the interest rate's going to be fuckin' gorgeous." Gabe hooks one of his arms around Pete's waist, pulling him down against him. "Just so you know."
"I figured." Mikey watches Gabe haul Pete around like a doll, pulling his t-shirt off him and tossing it down to the foot of the bed. "So I'll just go, then, and come back tomorrow."
"Or you could come over here," Pete says, voice hitching just a little as Gabe starts nibbling on his neck.
"I don't think I can save you from him. It's too late for that."
"You know what they say," Gabe mumbles. "Can't beat 'em, join 'em."
Mikey moves a few steps into the room, not quite within reach. "Does this affect my interest rate at all?"
"Maybe."
"How good of a maybe?"
"For fuck's sake." Gabe lifts his head away from Pete’s neck to glare at Mikey, and Pete makes a sound of protest that ends in a squeak as Gabe slaps him on the stomach. "Just get over here, Way."
Mikey crosses the rest of the way over and kneels on the edge of the mattress, raising his eyebrows as the bedframe creaks in protest. "Dangerous."
"The risk is half the fun." Gabe grins at him over Pete's shoulder and then bites down, hard enough that Pete squeaks and jerks forward, closing his eyes. Mikey reaches out without thinking and pushes him back against Gabe's chest. Gabe laughs again, lower, and hooks his arms through Pete's, easily holding Pete against him and nodding slightly at Mikey.
Mikey takes his jacket off first, and then his t-shirt, because they're both soaked through and God knows they'd be coming off soon enough anyway. Pete tries to reach for him and Gabe holds him back, easily, whispering something in his ear that Mikey can't quite hear. Whatever it is, it makes Pete exhale roughly, his lips parting, and Mikey leans in to kiss him slow and deep.
Gabe keeps whispering, saying things that make Pete shudder and his teeth slip against Mikey's lips and tongue. Mikey moves in closer, letting his knee settle between Pete's legs, pressed hard against his crotch, and rests one hand against Pete's chest, holding him back against Gabe.
Kissing Pete is easy, familiar. Mikey shifts his weight, letting Pete grind against his knee and sliding his hand from Pete’s chest down to his jeans, tracing over sweat-warm skin and ink.
"Bite him," Gabe says, and Mikey can hear the smirk in his voice. "He likes it."
"Am I doing this, or are you?" Mikey asks, but he does scrape his teeth over Pete’s collarbone, not quite biting down. Just enough pressure to make Pete make that noise again, mingled protest and demand that cuts through Mikey like electricity.
"I’ll get my turn. Don’t worry." Gabe moves under Pete, pushing him up against Mikey, and Mikey doesn’t really bother wondering what it is he’s doing because he can feel the hard press of Pete’s dick straining against his jeans. Playing with Pete and making him wait until he’s begging for it is Gabe’s game, and that’s all well and good. It’s not Mikey’s thing, and feeling how ready Pete is makes him realize how much he wants, now, fuck teasing.
He lifts his head and kisses Pete again, and Pete just surrenders, his mouth open and warm and easy. It’s always so easy to fall into Pete, and Gabe, which is why when Mikey’s being smart he stays away. Nothing any of them do is going to last forever, but Pete and Gabe always seem bound and determined to go up in the brightest flames of all.
Then again, they’re not the ones who ended up in jail today, so maybe he’s been wrong all along.
He catches Pete’s lower lip between his teeth as he pulls back, scraping it lightly, and then moves down, undoing Pete’s jeans and pushing them out of the way enough to get his hand in and guide Pete’s dick up and out. He glances up and meets Pete’s eyes--dark and hazy with lust, smudged around the edges with old liner and raw exhaustion--and takes him in his mouth.
Fingers tangle in his hair--he doesn't know whose, it doesn't matter--and tug him forward roughly, making him take Pete as deep as he can. He closes his eyes and goes with it, tasting salt and sour heat, digging his fingers into Pete's thigh to steady himself as he relaxes and finds the rhythm. It must be Gabe's hand in his hair, because after a minute it slides down to his neck, fingers hooking easily in the collar he's still wearing from the show. The pressure makes him choke a little and Pete groans frantically, hips rising up.
"Yeah," Gabe says, his voice thick. "C'mon, baby. Fuck, he's pretty sucking you off." Pete makes another noise, this one breaking off in a gasp, and if Mikey had to make a guess it would be that Gabe bit him again. That's why Pete doesn't get a collar; it would actually cover up Gabe's marks of ownership.
Pete comes and Mikey swallows him down, closing his eyes tight and jerking his head to the side to get Gabe to let go of him so he can sit up and clear his throat. He's sweaty and feels as hot and wrecked as Pete looks, slumped back against Gabe with marks coming up on his neck and shoulders. Gabe is resting his head against Pete's, looking at Mikey with eyes dark and blown-out and challenging. It's more than Mikey can take. He can't stop himself from leaning in and kissing Gabe over Pete's shoulder.
"Squishing me," Pete protests, though not with any real heat, and when they ignore him, instead of trying to get away he runs his hand down Mikey's chest to fumble with his jeans. Mikey bats his hand away blindly, taking care of the belt buckle and zipper himself, fighting Gabe for control of the kiss that's pretty much turning into a wet, messy free-for-all. One that Mikey's doomed to lose as soon as he gets his jeans out of the way and Pete gets his hand inside.
Gabe laughs against his mouth and brings his hand up to Mikey's neck again, curving his fingers around the base of his skull instead of catching the collar again. "Life sucks and then you die, Mikey Way," he says, and licks Mikey's lips. "But doesn't this kind of shit make it worth it while it lasts?"
"You're such a romantic," Mikey gasps, resting his forehead against Gabe's and letting his hips rock into the pressure of Pete's hand. "Should...should write a book."
"What makes you think I'm not?" Gabe laughs again and kisses him again and Mikey finally just closes his eyes and lets the world spin out of his control, sensation and blood pounding in his veins and heat gathering in his stomach until he's coming all over Pete's fingers. He pulls back and flops down on the bed, still spinning, too many adrenaline spikes and crashes in one day for either his brain or his body to handle. He loses a few minutes, breathing in the dirty sheets until his heart slows down.
When he looks up again Gabe has Pete on his hands and knees, head pushed down against the mattress. Mikey reaches out and runs his fingers through Pete's hair, combing it away from where it's stuck to his forehead with sweat. Pete's gasping, shallow and rough and in rhythm with Gabe's thrusts, and when Mikey lets the back of his fingers brush across Pete's cheek he turns his head to kiss and suck at them blindly. Mikey lets him for a minute, then moves his hand again, settling it between Pete's shoulder blades to hold him down, steady him and hold him still, not because he needs it but because he knows Pete likes it, likes as much contact and possession as he can get.
He can feel Pete's heart pounding, hear Gabe's ragged breaths, and Gabe's words echo in his head again. Doesn't this kind of shit make it worth it while it lasts? Blood and sweat, sex and heat, pure physical feeling. Anarchy in its own way. Worth it while it lasts.
They all end up sprawled together, legs tangled up and skin threatening to stick together as the sweat dries. "So we'll have your money tomorrow," Pete says sleepily, resting his head on Mikey's chest. His chin digs in hard enough to make Mikey wince, but he doesn't say anything, just strokes Pete's hair and nods.
Gabe kisses his shoulder lightly. "Assuming the show sells out before the riot squad gets there."
Mikey turns his head enough to squint at him. "The show?"
"Hell yeah." Gabe grins, slow and wide. "How did you think we were going to get the money?"
"You want to come?" Pete asks.
Mikey starts to smile as well, pulse quickening again as he imagines the music and the crowd rising up to a roar together. Fuck, he's never going to learn any better. Never going to get tired of this. "Nowhere else I'd be."
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By the time Mikey's paperwork gets processed and he's out on the street again, it's raining, a cold and steady drizzle that slides down the back of his neck and soaks through his t-shirt and his jacket. He keeps his head down and jogs down the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to look unremarkable. It would be just his luck to get picked back up when he's only been out for fifteen minutes.
They could only swing enough bail for one of them, and he won out for no good reason, just general consensus. It always seems to go that way. And now he's out, running down the street in the rain and trying to think of where he can go to try to get together bail money for the rest of them. Can't leave them sitting in jail for too long or they'll get themselves in even more trouble. He's known them all too long to think any differently.
His feet know where to go before his brain catches up. By the time he brushes the rain-slick hair out of his face and looks up, he's halfway to Pete's place, jogging down the broken-up sidewalks that lead through the old hotel district, past the decaying remains of what used to be where the rich and famous spent their time. The old glamor and decadence is still visible through the rot, but Mikey doesn't pay it any attention anymore. It's as familiar as the warehouse district where he and the guys live, broken down in a different way but one that means home. Here, he's just a visitor.
He finds Pete's building and picks his way down to the basement, holding on to the metal frame that bolts the staircase to the wall. One of these days it's all going to give way and crash down, and he doesn't know what Pete's going to do then, and whoever else he has down there with him when it goes. Tunnel their way out to freedom or invent spontaneous human levitation, probably, unless Pete's weird sixth sense for luck both good and bad tips him off and he's gone the day before it all crumbles away.
Mikey bangs on the door to Pete's apartment and waits, rocking back and forth on his heels. His boots are breaking down around the edges, and he can feel the rainwater seeping in. He'll have to dig through Pete's collection of random castoffs and garbage and see what he can find. There's almost always a gem or two in there.
He hits the door again and it finally opens, Pete leaning against the frame and peering out into the hallway like he's not sure what he's seeing. "Mikey Way," he says after a minute, his face slowly stretching into a smile. "It's been fuckin' forever."
"You know how it goes." Mikey rakes his fingers through his hair again, combing it back off his face. The water and the remains of gel and hairspray are enough to hold it there. "Can I come in?"
"Always," Pete says, stepping back and gesturing expansively. Mikey steps past him into the apartment and somehow the gesture reverses itself, Pete's hand swinging back and sliding up Mikey's arm. Mikey leans into it reflexively and Pete smiles. It's easy to make him happy, and Mikey likes to oblige.
"I take it it's not the cops," comes a voice from the next room, the bedroom, and Mikey smirks a little, stepping forward and letting Pete's hand slide away. "Not enough yelling for cops. Who is it, then?"
"Just me," Mikey calls before Pete can answer. He crosses over and looks in the bedroom door while Pete locks up again, not that locks mean shit in this dump. "What's the word on the street, man?"
Gabe is stretched out on Pete's bed like he's not planning to move until somewhere between "no time soon" and "never." He turns his head enough to smile at Mikey, his eyes dark and sharp, assessing. "Lies, rumor, and speculation, as always. Heard you guys got busted last night."
"That's not a lie."
"Rumor and speculation proven true. Sweet." Gabe sits up and stretches, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the bedside table. "What brings you over this way?"
"What's with the third degree?" Pete asks, sitting down on the foot of the bed. Gabe drops the cigarettes again and reaches out, hooking his fingers in the back of Pete's belt and dragging him back toward him. Pete goes easily, shooting Mikey a sheepish smile.
"I like knowing things," Gabe says once he has Pete where he wants him. He slides his hand up Pete's back and curves his hand around the base of his neck, rubbing his thumb over the vertebrae. "It brightens my day."
"Was in the neighborhood," Mikey says, leaning against the doorframe and fixing his eyes on the far wall, deliberately not watching Pete squirm as Gabe's hand tightens. Gabe's so goddamn possessive, marking his territory.
"The neighborhood," Gabe snorts. "Precinct's a good ten blocks away."
"If you know everything, why do you bother asking?"
"He's bored," Pete says. "I guess I'm not entertaining."
Mikey glances over just in time to see Gabe kiss the back of Pete's head. "We all know that isn't true."
"I need bail money for the rest of the guys," Mikey says. Cutting through the bullshit seems like the best idea right now. "Thought maybe you two could help me out."
"And what made you think that?" Gabe asks mildly, still nuzzling at Pete's hair.
"You like it when people owe you things. And Pete's just a nice guy."
"You don't sugar-coat shit, Mikey Way. I like that about you." Gabe grins at him over Pete's head. "That doesn't mean I'm going to loan you any money, though."
Pete rolls his eyes, pulling away from Gabe a little. "Yeah, you are. We both are, so quit being a dick."
"He can't fight his true nature," Mikey murmurs, and Gabe laughs, flopping down against the pillows again.
"Fine, yeah, we can help you out. But I can't get you anything until tomorrow."
Pete looks over his shoulder at him. "What happens tomorrow?"
"You know. The thing." Gabe makes an elaborate gesture that makes absolutely no sense to Mikey, but must mean something, because Pete's eyes get all wide before he nods.
"Right, the thing." He looks at Mikey again. "Okay, so, tomorrow."
Mikey rubs the back of his neck, mentally shuffling things around, calculating. Yeah, the guys can last a day in jail without getting themselves beaten senseless or shot. Probably. "Okay."
"And the interest rate's going to be fuckin' gorgeous." Gabe hooks one of his arms around Pete's waist, pulling him down against him. "Just so you know."
"I figured." Mikey watches Gabe haul Pete around like a doll, pulling his t-shirt off him and tossing it down to the foot of the bed. "So I'll just go, then, and come back tomorrow."
"Or you could come over here," Pete says, voice hitching just a little as Gabe starts nibbling on his neck.
"I don't think I can save you from him. It's too late for that."
"You know what they say," Gabe mumbles. "Can't beat 'em, join 'em."
Mikey moves a few steps into the room, not quite within reach. "Does this affect my interest rate at all?"
"Maybe."
"How good of a maybe?"
"For fuck's sake." Gabe lifts his head away from Pete’s neck to glare at Mikey, and Pete makes a sound of protest that ends in a squeak as Gabe slaps him on the stomach. "Just get over here, Way."
Mikey crosses the rest of the way over and kneels on the edge of the mattress, raising his eyebrows as the bedframe creaks in protest. "Dangerous."
"The risk is half the fun." Gabe grins at him over Pete's shoulder and then bites down, hard enough that Pete squeaks and jerks forward, closing his eyes. Mikey reaches out without thinking and pushes him back against Gabe's chest. Gabe laughs again, lower, and hooks his arms through Pete's, easily holding Pete against him and nodding slightly at Mikey.
Mikey takes his jacket off first, and then his t-shirt, because they're both soaked through and God knows they'd be coming off soon enough anyway. Pete tries to reach for him and Gabe holds him back, easily, whispering something in his ear that Mikey can't quite hear. Whatever it is, it makes Pete exhale roughly, his lips parting, and Mikey leans in to kiss him slow and deep.
Gabe keeps whispering, saying things that make Pete shudder and his teeth slip against Mikey's lips and tongue. Mikey moves in closer, letting his knee settle between Pete's legs, pressed hard against his crotch, and rests one hand against Pete's chest, holding him back against Gabe.
Kissing Pete is easy, familiar. Mikey shifts his weight, letting Pete grind against his knee and sliding his hand from Pete’s chest down to his jeans, tracing over sweat-warm skin and ink.
"Bite him," Gabe says, and Mikey can hear the smirk in his voice. "He likes it."
"Am I doing this, or are you?" Mikey asks, but he does scrape his teeth over Pete’s collarbone, not quite biting down. Just enough pressure to make Pete make that noise again, mingled protest and demand that cuts through Mikey like electricity.
"I’ll get my turn. Don’t worry." Gabe moves under Pete, pushing him up against Mikey, and Mikey doesn’t really bother wondering what it is he’s doing because he can feel the hard press of Pete’s dick straining against his jeans. Playing with Pete and making him wait until he’s begging for it is Gabe’s game, and that’s all well and good. It’s not Mikey’s thing, and feeling how ready Pete is makes him realize how much he wants, now, fuck teasing.
He lifts his head and kisses Pete again, and Pete just surrenders, his mouth open and warm and easy. It’s always so easy to fall into Pete, and Gabe, which is why when Mikey’s being smart he stays away. Nothing any of them do is going to last forever, but Pete and Gabe always seem bound and determined to go up in the brightest flames of all.
Then again, they’re not the ones who ended up in jail today, so maybe he’s been wrong all along.
He catches Pete’s lower lip between his teeth as he pulls back, scraping it lightly, and then moves down, undoing Pete’s jeans and pushing them out of the way enough to get his hand in and guide Pete’s dick up and out. He glances up and meets Pete’s eyes--dark and hazy with lust, smudged around the edges with old liner and raw exhaustion--and takes him in his mouth.
Fingers tangle in his hair--he doesn't know whose, it doesn't matter--and tug him forward roughly, making him take Pete as deep as he can. He closes his eyes and goes with it, tasting salt and sour heat, digging his fingers into Pete's thigh to steady himself as he relaxes and finds the rhythm. It must be Gabe's hand in his hair, because after a minute it slides down to his neck, fingers hooking easily in the collar he's still wearing from the show. The pressure makes him choke a little and Pete groans frantically, hips rising up.
"Yeah," Gabe says, his voice thick. "C'mon, baby. Fuck, he's pretty sucking you off." Pete makes another noise, this one breaking off in a gasp, and if Mikey had to make a guess it would be that Gabe bit him again. That's why Pete doesn't get a collar; it would actually cover up Gabe's marks of ownership.
Pete comes and Mikey swallows him down, closing his eyes tight and jerking his head to the side to get Gabe to let go of him so he can sit up and clear his throat. He's sweaty and feels as hot and wrecked as Pete looks, slumped back against Gabe with marks coming up on his neck and shoulders. Gabe is resting his head against Pete's, looking at Mikey with eyes dark and blown-out and challenging. It's more than Mikey can take. He can't stop himself from leaning in and kissing Gabe over Pete's shoulder.
"Squishing me," Pete protests, though not with any real heat, and when they ignore him, instead of trying to get away he runs his hand down Mikey's chest to fumble with his jeans. Mikey bats his hand away blindly, taking care of the belt buckle and zipper himself, fighting Gabe for control of the kiss that's pretty much turning into a wet, messy free-for-all. One that Mikey's doomed to lose as soon as he gets his jeans out of the way and Pete gets his hand inside.
Gabe laughs against his mouth and brings his hand up to Mikey's neck again, curving his fingers around the base of his skull instead of catching the collar again. "Life sucks and then you die, Mikey Way," he says, and licks Mikey's lips. "But doesn't this kind of shit make it worth it while it lasts?"
"You're such a romantic," Mikey gasps, resting his forehead against Gabe's and letting his hips rock into the pressure of Pete's hand. "Should...should write a book."
"What makes you think I'm not?" Gabe laughs again and kisses him again and Mikey finally just closes his eyes and lets the world spin out of his control, sensation and blood pounding in his veins and heat gathering in his stomach until he's coming all over Pete's fingers. He pulls back and flops down on the bed, still spinning, too many adrenaline spikes and crashes in one day for either his brain or his body to handle. He loses a few minutes, breathing in the dirty sheets until his heart slows down.
When he looks up again Gabe has Pete on his hands and knees, head pushed down against the mattress. Mikey reaches out and runs his fingers through Pete's hair, combing it away from where it's stuck to his forehead with sweat. Pete's gasping, shallow and rough and in rhythm with Gabe's thrusts, and when Mikey lets the back of his fingers brush across Pete's cheek he turns his head to kiss and suck at them blindly. Mikey lets him for a minute, then moves his hand again, settling it between Pete's shoulder blades to hold him down, steady him and hold him still, not because he needs it but because he knows Pete likes it, likes as much contact and possession as he can get.
He can feel Pete's heart pounding, hear Gabe's ragged breaths, and Gabe's words echo in his head again. Doesn't this kind of shit make it worth it while it lasts? Blood and sweat, sex and heat, pure physical feeling. Anarchy in its own way. Worth it while it lasts.
They all end up sprawled together, legs tangled up and skin threatening to stick together as the sweat dries. "So we'll have your money tomorrow," Pete says sleepily, resting his head on Mikey's chest. His chin digs in hard enough to make Mikey wince, but he doesn't say anything, just strokes Pete's hair and nods.
Gabe kisses his shoulder lightly. "Assuming the show sells out before the riot squad gets there."
Mikey turns his head enough to squint at him. "The show?"
"Hell yeah." Gabe grins, slow and wide. "How did you think we were going to get the money?"
"You want to come?" Pete asks.
Mikey starts to smile as well, pulse quickening again as he imagines the music and the crowd rising up to a roar together. Fuck, he's never going to learn any better. Never going to get tired of this. "Nowhere else I'd be."
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