fic: Just hear this and then I'll go
Just hear this and then I'll go by Beezus
Pete/Mikey | explicit | 1,000+ words
Been sitting on this sucker for awhile now, but I think this is it. Not a prequel or a sequel, but set in the same universe as Like all things, fades. It seems I have only one small story to tell about these two, so pardon the repetition.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
They had run into each other the second, third day of the tour, and something clicked on for Mikey. Like hands in gloves and keys in locks, things that fit together, he and Pete just worked out. He doesn't know how to explain that to Frank, though. He says as much.
"Well that's great," Frank says, voice both angry and defeated, like a sad song. "You better fucking figure it out, before someone else tries to figure it out for you."
"What does that mean?"
Frank narrows his eyes. "It means that you can't go around letting shit happen to you. You have to actually participate in your own life, Mikes."
"Whatever. You don't even know." Mikey thinks back to the night before. When Pete had tapped Mikey lightly on the temple.
What's going on in there, huh? Am I that boring?" Pete couldn't quite cover the patches of insecurity, the ones that peeked past the fake smile he hung on his face to let Mikey know it was a joke.
"I don't think anything about you is boring." Mikey had said, because it was true.
He clears his throat and forces out sticky words that cling stubbornly to his throat. "You don't know one thing about him, or what's between him and me, so don't act like you have any idea--"
"Do you even want to have sex with him?"
Mikey is thrown by the question and by Frank's change of tone. His voice is open, curious. Like he wants to know the answer. "I--" He huffs out a frustrated breath, tries to get his words together. Frank sits patiently, watching him. "I wish I had a perfect answer for you, okay? I-I wish I could tell you what it is you want to hear. I don't think it's that simple, though." Frank raises his eyebrows in disbelief, and suddenly Mikey is furious, because fuck Frank. Fuck everyone who thinks that Mikey's just the kid-brother, that he doesn't know what he wants. "Fuck you too, Frankie. Seriously. Fuck you. I'm sick of you and Gerard acting like you know what's best for me."
"Maybe we know more than you think," Frank says stubbornly.
"Maybe. Or Maybe Gee is so hopped up on his own self-righteous indignation that he feels the need to tell everyone else how to live their lives. You guys can't--" he pauses to take a deep breath, calm down. He needs to calm down, or Frank won't listen to what he's saying. "You can't protect me from everything. Especially not myself." Mikey really needs Frank to understand.
Frank looks like he wants to haul off and punch someone, fists clenching and unclenching uselessly at his sides. "You can't tell me not to care," he says finally, staring down at his knees.
"I don't expect that. I just need you to back off a little."
Frank nods tersely, getting off the couch. Mikey thinks that he's just going to leave, but Frank pauses in front of him, pressing a dry kiss to Mikey's forehead.
"Be careful, babe."
Mikey bats at him ineffectually, but Frank is already off, down the hallway to his bunks.
Mikey actually has no fucking idea what he's doing.
They're at a water park in Ohio when Pete follows him into a change room stall. Mikey has all but a second to splutter, "Wha-" before Pete is cutting him off with his lips, pushing Mikey up against the concrete wall. Mikey is shocked by the near-frantic nature of Pete's kisses. Pete has been so careful the few times they've done this before; kissing Mikey gently like he'll startle at the smallest sign of aggression. Now Pete is kissing him raw, teeth and tongue, rubbing his small, hard body up against Mikey, making him gasp.
Everything feels hazy and far away. Mikey's vision is blurry, and Pete is his only focus. His glasses are stashed with his clothes at Pete's suggestion, "Don't worry, Mikeyway. I won't let you drown," and Pete ended up dragging him around the park all day, hand gripped tightly in his own, with their matching guitar callouses rubbing pleasantly together, friction sending warm shivers down Mikey's spine.
Mikey had thought that, surely (at least once) Pete would have given in to the temptation of crashing Mikey into something--drown him in a kiddie pool--but Pete seemed content to spend the day holding his hand. Pete would occasionally lever himself up on his tip-toes to whisper in Mikey's ear about the old couple sharing kisses in line for the hot-dog stand, or the little girl running around without a swimsuit. He considered telling Pete that just because he couldn't see, didn't make him deaf, but he liked Pete's hushed tone, the way he made everything sound like a fabulous secret that was their's to keep.
Mikey is vaguely aware of the screaming children, the splashes of the wave pool right outside the door, but Pete's body is insistent against his own. Mikey glances down at their grinding bodies, they way he's pushing his hard cock desperately back against Pete's, separated by two layers of damp, scratchy swimsuit. The skin on Pete's shoulder tastes like chlorine and Mikey's thoughts flicker like a radio, fade to static, before he snaps back when Pete starts talking, panting, "Let me. Let me, I want to. Oh, please I want--"
Mikey can't help the mild alarm that washes over him when Pete drops to his knees. Mikey grabs Pete by his head, hauling him back up to kiss his stupid, needy mouth.
Pete's making these whimpering noises against his lips and Mikey does his best to calm him. "Pete, not now. Pete. Come on, shhh," Mikey's voice equally pleading. But, while the rational part of his brain knows he needs to talk Pete out of sex in a public change stall (sex he's still not sure that either of them are ready for), Mikey can't help arching his back because Pete's still humping the hell out of him, grinding him into the wall, and Mikey knows it's going to leave marks.
Mikey figures it's a metaphor for this whole fucking summer, though. This thing between them, whatever it is. It's not going to come away easy, and at this point Mikey doesn't expect it to. How could it? Pete bites Mikey's shoulder when he comes. He doesn't break the skin, but it's a near miss.
Usually when Mikey's performing his mind blanks out--call it self preservation--allowing him to play in a lucid haze. But the next day during the show, Mikey's bass strap digs into the purpling skin of his shoulder. Reminding him with every note of Pete, who will be waiting for Mikey, standing in the wings when he leaves the stage.
Pete/Mikey | explicit | 1,000+ words
Been sitting on this sucker for awhile now, but I think this is it. Not a prequel or a sequel, but set in the same universe as Like all things, fades. It seems I have only one small story to tell about these two, so pardon the repetition.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
They had run into each other the second, third day of the tour, and something clicked on for Mikey. Like hands in gloves and keys in locks, things that fit together, he and Pete just worked out. He doesn't know how to explain that to Frank, though. He says as much.
"Well that's great," Frank says, voice both angry and defeated, like a sad song. "You better fucking figure it out, before someone else tries to figure it out for you."
"What does that mean?"
Frank narrows his eyes. "It means that you can't go around letting shit happen to you. You have to actually participate in your own life, Mikes."
"Whatever. You don't even know." Mikey thinks back to the night before. When Pete had tapped Mikey lightly on the temple.
What's going on in there, huh? Am I that boring?" Pete couldn't quite cover the patches of insecurity, the ones that peeked past the fake smile he hung on his face to let Mikey know it was a joke.
"I don't think anything about you is boring." Mikey had said, because it was true.
He clears his throat and forces out sticky words that cling stubbornly to his throat. "You don't know one thing about him, or what's between him and me, so don't act like you have any idea--"
"Do you even want to have sex with him?"
Mikey is thrown by the question and by Frank's change of tone. His voice is open, curious. Like he wants to know the answer. "I--" He huffs out a frustrated breath, tries to get his words together. Frank sits patiently, watching him. "I wish I had a perfect answer for you, okay? I-I wish I could tell you what it is you want to hear. I don't think it's that simple, though." Frank raises his eyebrows in disbelief, and suddenly Mikey is furious, because fuck Frank. Fuck everyone who thinks that Mikey's just the kid-brother, that he doesn't know what he wants. "Fuck you too, Frankie. Seriously. Fuck you. I'm sick of you and Gerard acting like you know what's best for me."
"Maybe we know more than you think," Frank says stubbornly.
"Maybe. Or Maybe Gee is so hopped up on his own self-righteous indignation that he feels the need to tell everyone else how to live their lives. You guys can't--" he pauses to take a deep breath, calm down. He needs to calm down, or Frank won't listen to what he's saying. "You can't protect me from everything. Especially not myself." Mikey really needs Frank to understand.
Frank looks like he wants to haul off and punch someone, fists clenching and unclenching uselessly at his sides. "You can't tell me not to care," he says finally, staring down at his knees.
"I don't expect that. I just need you to back off a little."
Frank nods tersely, getting off the couch. Mikey thinks that he's just going to leave, but Frank pauses in front of him, pressing a dry kiss to Mikey's forehead.
"Be careful, babe."
Mikey bats at him ineffectually, but Frank is already off, down the hallway to his bunks.
Mikey actually has no fucking idea what he's doing.
They're at a water park in Ohio when Pete follows him into a change room stall. Mikey has all but a second to splutter, "Wha-" before Pete is cutting him off with his lips, pushing Mikey up against the concrete wall. Mikey is shocked by the near-frantic nature of Pete's kisses. Pete has been so careful the few times they've done this before; kissing Mikey gently like he'll startle at the smallest sign of aggression. Now Pete is kissing him raw, teeth and tongue, rubbing his small, hard body up against Mikey, making him gasp.
Everything feels hazy and far away. Mikey's vision is blurry, and Pete is his only focus. His glasses are stashed with his clothes at Pete's suggestion, "Don't worry, Mikeyway. I won't let you drown," and Pete ended up dragging him around the park all day, hand gripped tightly in his own, with their matching guitar callouses rubbing pleasantly together, friction sending warm shivers down Mikey's spine.
Mikey had thought that, surely (at least once) Pete would have given in to the temptation of crashing Mikey into something--drown him in a kiddie pool--but Pete seemed content to spend the day holding his hand. Pete would occasionally lever himself up on his tip-toes to whisper in Mikey's ear about the old couple sharing kisses in line for the hot-dog stand, or the little girl running around without a swimsuit. He considered telling Pete that just because he couldn't see, didn't make him deaf, but he liked Pete's hushed tone, the way he made everything sound like a fabulous secret that was their's to keep.
Mikey is vaguely aware of the screaming children, the splashes of the wave pool right outside the door, but Pete's body is insistent against his own. Mikey glances down at their grinding bodies, they way he's pushing his hard cock desperately back against Pete's, separated by two layers of damp, scratchy swimsuit. The skin on Pete's shoulder tastes like chlorine and Mikey's thoughts flicker like a radio, fade to static, before he snaps back when Pete starts talking, panting, "Let me. Let me, I want to. Oh, please I want--"
Mikey can't help the mild alarm that washes over him when Pete drops to his knees. Mikey grabs Pete by his head, hauling him back up to kiss his stupid, needy mouth.
Pete's making these whimpering noises against his lips and Mikey does his best to calm him. "Pete, not now. Pete. Come on, shhh," Mikey's voice equally pleading. But, while the rational part of his brain knows he needs to talk Pete out of sex in a public change stall (sex he's still not sure that either of them are ready for), Mikey can't help arching his back because Pete's still humping the hell out of him, grinding him into the wall, and Mikey knows it's going to leave marks.
Mikey figures it's a metaphor for this whole fucking summer, though. This thing between them, whatever it is. It's not going to come away easy, and at this point Mikey doesn't expect it to. How could it? Pete bites Mikey's shoulder when he comes. He doesn't break the skin, but it's a near miss.
Usually when Mikey's performing his mind blanks out--call it self preservation--allowing him to play in a lucid haze. But the next day during the show, Mikey's bass strap digs into the purpling skin of his shoulder. Reminding him with every note of Pete, who will be waiting for Mikey, standing in the wings when he leaves the stage.