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fic: Five Times Pete Wentz Shouldn’t Have Asked and Mikey Way Shouldn’t Have Said Yes
mood: 
contemplative
contemplativeTitle: Five Times Pete Wentz Shouldn’t Have Asked and Mikey Way Shouldn’t Have Said Yes
Word Count: 5,864
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Disclaimer: Despite all the stories surrounding the Summer of Like, this is nothing more than fiction.
Summary: Summer of Like fic, as previously stated. Mikey and Pete are falling for one another, but a summer can only last so long.
Notes: Summer of Like stuff makes me sad beyond belief. Yet, here I am writing it, because I think Mikey and Pete together are so pure and gorgeous that...how could I not?
Five Times Pete Wentz Shouldn’t Have Asked and Mikey Way Shouldn’t Have Said Yes
I.
The first time, Mikey only vaguely knew Pete. They’d met before, at Warped Tour ‘04, and they’d known of each other from earlier than that, even. Still, it was more of an acquaintance than anything else.
Apparently someone hadn’t given that memo to Pete. Mikey and the rest of his band happened to be in Florida at the right time to go and see the Fueled By Ramen show going on at Orlando’s House of Blues, and Mikey had fully expected to go watch, have a good time, and then immediately head back to the bus to not drink, since it still hadn’t even been a year since his brother had gotten clean.
A few hours before the show, Mikey was quietly sipping coffee, sitting on a bench somewhere near the venue. Once in awhile he liked having time to himself, and with a whole day to do nothing but wait to watch a decent band performing, Mikey was taking full advantage of the opportunity. He’d managed to find a Starbucks (Brian rolled his eyes and said that both Mikey and Gerard had homing instincts with a ten mile radius when it came to coffee), and he clutched the paper cup between both hands.
“Hey!”
Initially, Mikey didn’t think that the call from somewhere off to his left was intended for him, but when it came again, he looked up. The sun was coming from that direction, and as a result, even squinting he couldn’t tell who was approaching him. Dark hair and dark jeans, with a jacket that was so white that backlit by the bright sun, it hurt his eyes. Mikey pushed his glasses up a little, face still scrunched as he tried to figure it out, and the guy spoke again.
“Mikey Way. How have you been?” he asked, and Mikey realized with some surprise that it was Pete Wentz. Now that he was close enough, Mikey could make out the familiar features that were starting to be splashed across magazine covers and online communities, grinning at Mikey. “Hey,” he replied, smiling a little back.
Pete was digging the toe of one of his shoes into the dirt surrounding the bench, but when Mikey smiled, he looked relieved, as if he had previously been afraid that Mikey was going to tell him to go away. “Mind if I join you for awhile?” he asked, gesturing to the bench beside Mikey.
Scooting over to make room, Mikey answered, “No, go for it.” Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Pete had dropped down next to him.
“So, MikeyWay,” he said, slurring the two names together comfortably, as familiarly as if they talked all the time, “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you guys were going to show up.”
With a shrug, Mikey told him, “We were around, so we decided there were worse ways to kill time.” Setting the now-empty coffee cup on the bench between himself and Pete, he wrapped his arms around himself. For April in Florida, it was turning out to be a chilly evening, and he hadn’t thought to bring a hoodie from the bus, which meant he was going to have to go get one before he went to watch the concert or else shiver through the whole thing.
Without the cup to wrap his hands around, he felt awkward. At first he tried to fold them in his lap, and that was worse, so he reached into his jeans and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it so he’d have something to do with his hands while Pete was there.
Pete reached down and delicately picked up the cup, dropping it in the trash can at the end of the bench and scooting incrementally closer. Mikey wasn’t sure if it was purposeful or not, but he didn’t really mind either way. “Well, I’m honored to be deemed worthy of the attentions of My Chemical Romance’s very own Mikey Way. I’d make some awful joke about worse Ways to kill time, but…” Pete grinned cheesily, and then raised his eyebrows. “You cold? Want my jacket?”
Even though he was already squirming out of it, trying to press the white denim into Mikey’s hands, Mikey hesitated. “Won’t you be cold?” he asked, brandishing his cigarette before him so that Pete couldn’t make him take it.
Eyes crinkling, Pete shook his head. “Nah, man, I’m going to be up onstage pretty soon, and there’s no way I’ll be cold.” Mikey could believe it. He’d seen the fervor that overtook Pete onstage. It wasn’t quite as frightening and destructive as, say, Frank, but it was still pretty impressive. “Come on,” Pete continued, wheedling, “I’m fine. Do you want it?”
He looked so earnest and concerned that Mikey finally nodded. “Alright, fine, yes. Yes, I’m cold, sure.” Immediately Pete reached around him, draping the jacket over his shoulders and fussing with it until it hung in such a way that it wasn’t about to slide off.
“There. Better,” he decreed, and Mikey said, “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Pete told him, and stood, brushing off the back of his pants. “Hey, I have to get going…pretty myself up before the show. I’ll see you after though, okay? We’ll hang out.”
Before Mikey could say anything else, Pete was already walking away. As the sun slipped further down in the sky, he turned and brushed his fingers over the rough denim, burying his nose in it to inhale Pete’s smell. It was a…comfortable smell, and Mikey breathed it without thinking about what he was doing.
It wasn’t until he’d stood up, pulling the jacket on correctly and snuggling into it, that he thought to wonder if he should be worried about Pete Wentz.
II.
Once Warped Tour began, Pete became a much more permanent fixture in Mikey’s life. He wasn’t exactly sure what made him such a draw for Pete, because he was generally quiet and uncertain about what to say around someone so dynamic and outwardly confident. They didn’t actually hang out a whole lot, although Pete had told him several times that they were going to. Mikey thought that he was alright with things how they were, though, because Pete intimidated him a little bit.
Despite that, he’d started to hang around when Fall Out Boy was playing and he didn’t have any other obligations. It was unintentional—he just started to gravitate over that way seemingly of his own accord.
One of those times, he ended up hanging around longer than he’d planned, and when he turned to head back to his own bus, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Oh my god, MIKEY???” he heard, in an obnoxiously chipper voice, “Is it really YOU?”
Rolling his eyes, he tipped his head back and, without thinking, said, “Shut the fuck up.” It was the response that he used when Frank got into moods like that, and the words slipped out before he could censor them. As soon as he’d said it, his mouth snapped shut, and he started to apologize, embarrassed.
Pete practically brayed with laughter, tipping his head back, covering up the sorries that Mikey had started to offer. He slung an arm around Mikey’s neck, standing on his toes because Mikey was taller than him, and asked delightedly, “MikeyWay, were you watching me?”
With Pete’s arm warm on his shoulders, it didn’t seem like a hardship to respond honestly, so he said simply, “Yes.”
That got Pete laughing again, but not as if he was making fun of Mikey. Instead, it sounded like he was legitimately pleased with the response. That was the feeling that Mikey always got from Pete: he was ridiculously genuine about everything that he did. “You are a sweet little dude,” Pete said, turning his face so that his words tickled against Mikey’s neck, and Mikey shivered.
“Little?” he shot back, pulling away so that he could look down at Pete, “who’s little?”
“Us,” Pete replied, grabbing Mikey’s hand and giving it a tug, “We’re like a…a fucking gang. The Sweet Little Dudes, you know? Everyone else knows about it.” He had started to lead Mikey along, and Mikey went willingly. He was aware that he should probably let go of Pete at some point, but when Pete looked back over his shoulder to smile and squeeze his hand a little, Mikey decided not to.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
Halting behind the merch tent, Pete looked him over contemplatively. “Places,” he said seriously, “We’re going places big time. Headlines and flash photography, both of us. We’re going places.”
It wasn’t the answer to the question that Mikey had asked, but he nodded, accepting it, because that was Pete. “Why are we here?” he queried, looking around at the scrubby dry grass and canvas “wall” making up the merchandise tent.
“Because you’re supposed to be with me for it,” Pete replied, and then jumped subjects so fast that Mikey didn’t have time to think about what the words might mean. “Hey, there’s a water park we’re stopping near tomorrow. We should go.”
Pete’s excitement over that was contagious, and Mikey found himself grinning. “I haven’t been to one of those since I was a kid.”
“Oh, we are so going. Every time we find one. We’ll call up one of those stupid yellow checkered cabs and wear sunglasses so no one knows who we are and sing in the backseat all the fucking way there,” Pete told him, twirling without letting go of Mikey’s hand, so that Mikey ended up stumbling in a circle. Pete held out a hand to steady him, and Mikey let himself fall against it, shaking his head and laughing anyway.
III.
Pete asked permission before kissing Mikey, and if Mikey hadn’t already been falling in love with him, he would’ve right then.
They were on a bridge in New Mexico somewhere, just leaning against each other. Mikey had stopped jumping whenever Pete got close to him, and Pete had stopped even pretending to respect any personal space boundaries between them. He couldn’t explain what it was about Pete—Gerard had asked once, quietly, drawing him aside, and Mikey had just shrugged apologetically and said, “I don’t know. There’s just…something there.”
He wasn’t sure when it had started, either, but he hadn’t done anything to stop it. When Pete showed up at the door of his bus to grab him and drag him off, he never resisted. He never wanted to.
Now the sun was setting in front of them, and Pete had his laptop out, clicking away on it. Mikey leaned in, hooking his chin over Pete’s shoulder to see what he was writing. It was a journal entry, that much was obvious, and he scanned it, catching his name in the first line. Pete had written, with a varying amount of capitals and correct punctuation, Amazing new mexico sunset. I’m hanging on a bridge with my friend mikey way from my chem. Its all orange and pink above us. We went to another waterpark again. I love high fives again. Saw the most amazing movie… I think its called spirited away. Watch it.
Peterpan
Slowly, Pete turned until he could meet Mikey’s eyes. “Stop reading over my shoulder,” he ordered, so Mikey scooted closer and, hesitantly, wrapped his hands around Pete’s waist in order to see better.
“Or that,” Pete said, sounding a little breathy. He trailed his fingers over Mikey’s briefly before positioning them on the keyboard again. For a moment he just tapped them lightly, not actually writing anything, as if he was uncertain. Then he clicked back through the words to add a sentence, just after the one about high fives. Totally it began, and then, back. Pete stopped once more, and Mikey’s breath caught.
“Look at the time whenever we’re together,” Pete whispered, “because every second is a new memory that we won’t every want to forget.”
Slowly, each key stroke deliberate and soft, he finished the sentence: Totally back in love.
Mikey’s eyes flickered to the clock in the bottom corner of Pete’s screen. 7:48 PM. He watched Pete’s hands drift from the keyboard up, curling around the sides of the computer and moving it off his lap to set it to one side after quickly posting the entry. Mikey was still draped around him, and Pete shut his eyes and slumped slightly, leaning his head against Mikey’s chest.
“Your heart is beating hard,” he remarked, sounding much calmer than Mikey felt.
Swallowing hard, he said, “Maybe. Yeah. You…do that to me.”
Dark eyes flickered back open, and Pete twisted in Mikey’s grasp, fitting his small frame into Mikey’s lap and putting his hands on either side of Mikey’s face. They were dizzyingly close together, and Mikey started to count Pete’s eyelashes as something to do so that he could keep breathing.
“Mikey,” Pete said, “I know that it’s totally the most clichéd thing in the world to do this for the first time under a sunset, but I’m hoping we can ignore that.”
Now Mikey’s heart was absolutely hammering in his chest, blood pounding in his ears, the backs of his hands, his stomach. Pete Wentz was going to kiss him. He knew it. He’d been waiting for this for the last couple months, even though he hadn’t initiated anything. The rest of the tour already thought they were messing around, but so far it had been all shy smiles and holding hands, splashing water at each other at water parks or from hoses, coffee in the mornings and texting late into the night. Slowing it down seemed to make it all last longer.
Taking a deep breath, Pete starting tracing a figure eight on Mikey’s jawbone, and Mikey’s lips parted slightly at the feeling of the rough pad on his skin. “Can I kiss you?” Pete asked, finally, sounding so guileless and innocent, and Mikey thought he might be more turned on than ever before in his life when he replied, “Yes.”
Then Pete was leaning in, their mouths fitting together. His lips were less chapped than Mikey’s, and all Mikey could think was, There’s no way this counts as a cliché.
Bit by bit, Pete’s hands slipped off Mikey’s shoulders, rubbing their way down his back in circles, and he spread his knees so that he was straddling Mikey. Mikey gasped against Pete’s mouth and fisted his hands in the back of the thin T-shirt covering Pete’s back, trying to get the most of him that he could. Pete obviously had the same idea, because he was busy trying to meld himself into a part of Mikey, or so it seemed.
“Oh god,” Pete finally gasped, still so close that their lips brushed as he spoke. One hand slid along Mikey’s side to grasp his arm, pulling his hand up to his mouth. Mikey let Pete control his hand, bringing it up in front of his face and carefully spreading Mikey’s fingers. Then he proceeded to kiss the tip of each one, saying in between, “You. Are. So. Amazing.”
“Why me?” Mikey asked softly, thinking that if anyone was amazing it was Pete, who could have had nearly anyone, but somehow wanted this skinny, awkward kid with glasses and a lot of uncertainties.
Pete stared as if he were hearing things. “Why…oh, Mikey Way,” he breathed, shaking his head, and then set his palm against Mikey’s chest to push him down on his back. He went willingly, trusting Pete in a way that he rarely trusted anyone.
“Because,” Pete enumerated, “Because when I close my eyes at night I see you. Because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever found. Because you don’t judge me for my hair or clothes, or push me off when I climb all over you. Because I am Peter Pan and you are Michael Darling, and we’re both Lost Boys, but we somehow found each other. Because of the way I can talk in metaphors and you don’t look confused. Because we share clothes. Because you look at me like that. Because you believe in unicorns. Because this is our summer, and there will never be another like it. Or another like you.”
Chest tight, finally understanding why people said their hearts felt full enough to burst, Mikey stretched up and pulled Pete against him, and they curled up together. He was pretty sure that nothing had ever been this right, and he’d never been this much in love.
IV.
On occasion, Pete would come to Mikey and give him this pleading look and tell him, “I don’t think I can play if you aren’t playing with me today.” Mikey knew it was ridiculous, but he still gave in, every time, playing the bass parts that he’d heard enough times that they’d gotten familiar. It was exhilarating, because Pete would grin at him so hard that Mikey thought his face probably hurt like a bitch, and then he’d strip off his bass to go crowd diving while the rest of his band and Mikey watched in fond amusement and a touch of alarm.
After one of those shows, as Mikey put his bass away, Pete came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Mikey’s neck securely. Mikey leaned into the touch, saying, “Hi,” and smiling stupidly at his instrument.
“Hi,” Pete told his spine, face buried against it, “Hotel night. Let’s have a sleepover.”
“Okay,” Mikey agreed, snapping his case shut and standing up. Pete hung on, and even though Mikey stumbled and swore, he ended up with Pete clinging to him, lifted off the ground and laughing like a maniac. They were both sweaty from playing, and Mikey had all kinds of performance based exhilaration flowing through his veins as he headed towards Pete’s bus.
Once he got there, dropping Pete at the steps, Pete told him, “I’ll see you in like an hour, at the hotel. Meet me in the lobby.” Then he leaned over the rail, glancing around to make sure there was no one who shouldn’t know watching, and brushed their lips together quickly before bouncing in the door of his bus, singing loudly.
Touching his lips, Mikey wandered back to his own bus. Halfway there the sound of feet pounding the asphalt behind him caught his attention and he turned to see Pete. “I didn’t want to miss any time with you. I’m gonna ride with you,” he announced, eyes looking mistily longing. Mikey just smiled, slipping an arm around him. “Okay,” he said, “No one will mind.”
It also meant that when key cards to the hotel were being given out, everyone exchanged looks and then unanimously insisted that Mikey could have his own room even though it technically wasn’t his turn, no problem, that would be just fine. Feeling triumphant, Mikey waited in the lobby with Pete until the rest of Fall Out Boy arrived and Pete could grab his stuff, dragging it up the stairs and into Mikey’s room.
They were hardly in the door when Pete’s last remnants of control snapped, and Mikey was suddenly caught in the onslaught of Pete surging forward, slamming him back against the wall and yanking his beanie off, tossing it across the room.
As they kissed, Pete panted, “I have been waiting all day for this. Fuck, I haven’t kissed you in hours,” and Mikey shivered at the heat in his words.
It spurred him into motion, and he pushed at Pete until they stumbled backwards towards the large bed in the center of the room. When they hit the edge of the bed, Pete buckled gracefully, as if he was used to it, crashing on top of the covers and yanking Mikey down with him. Mikey kissed him hungrily, jumping from lips to ear to collar, and then, slipping his hands under the edges of Pete’s shirt and glancing up for approval, which was swift, Pete’s stomach.
They hadn’t gone past fumbling touches outside clothes before, except the times that Pete would slide one hand under the hem of Mikey’s T-shirt to rub circles on his back, so having Pete sprawled shirtless below him was something new. Mikey wanted to kiss all the ink covering Pete’s skin, run his tongue over it, and he told Pete that. In response, Pete groaned and said, “Mikey, Mikey, I need to touch you right now.”
Then Pete was pulling Mikey’s own shirt off, staring as though he’d won something especially precious, and scrabbled at Mikey’s tight jeans as well. In moments he had them undone, reaching inside and wrapping his hand around Mikey’s cock, moaning pornographically. “No,” he muttered, almost to himself, “No, I need to see this. You’re too good to miss, especially the first time.”
Mikey let himself be flipped onto his back, Pete tugging at his jeans until they were clear of his legs and crumpled on the floor. His boxers were next, leaving him completely naked underneath Pete, who put a knee on either side of his hips and sat up, not touching him at all, downcast eyes roving over his body..
It was such a long time that Pete just stared that Mikey finally started to blush, because what if Pete didn’t want this anymore? “Hey, Pete?” he questioned softly.
“Oh!” Pete sounded startled, and he looked back up at Mikey, pupils completely blown. “Sorry, I just…I think I could get off just looking at you.”
That only made Mikey blush harder, and he shifted a little in embarrassment. Where Pete was tanned skin crossed by patches of glistening ink, Mikey was pale skin and lanky limbs. “I’m not that great. You’re perfect,” he muttered, and Pete shook his head.
“You’re fantastic,” he assured Mikey, and then took one of his hands. “Look, look, feel. So imperfect,” he said, bringing Mikey’s hand to his back and rubbing it over what felt like scar tissue. Intrigued, Mikey let his fingers linger there, lightly touching the bumpy skin.
“What’s it from?” he finally asked, because Pete had gone back to examining him.
With a rueful smile, Pete told him, “It’s the first tattoo I got. I was fifteen, didn’t know what I was doing. Illegal job, you know. The kind of thing kids do.”
So, not perfect, then. Mikey didn’t care. Actually, he thought he might like it better that way, because it was such a real thing, like Pete’s goofy smile, or the way his hair didn’t always do what he wanted it to, even when he bared his teeth at the mirror, snarling and swearing. It was Pete.
When Pete looked up again, he was breathing hard, and he scooted back on his heels, licking his lips. “Hey,” he said, “Could I…I really want to, uh...” He gestured to Mikey’s cock, pulling Mikey into a sitting position at the edge of the bed as he slid onto the floor, onto his knees. Mikey’s breathing got shallower as Pete looked up and asked, “Can I blow you?”
Already so hard that it was painful, Mikey nodded, nodded. “Yes,” he finally got out, “Please.”
That was all it took before Pete ducked his head and licked all the way up Mikey’s cock, his hips snapping a little in surprise. “Uhhhnn,” he groaned, and then Pete had sucked the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around, and all vocal capacities left Mikey far behind.
Occasionally Pete would glance up through his eyelashes, lips stretched and cheeks smoothly curved, and he pulled off only once, to whisper, “Touch me. Fuck my mouth.”
Mikey could feel his eyes roll back in his head as he tangled his fingers into Pete’s hair, and all it took was one more hard suck before he was coming, lower body jerking through the orgasm. Pete took it, swallowing, and when he climbed up beside Mikey, he looked positively smug.
“I’ve never done that before,” he admitted, and Mikey stared at him, wondering if he’d heard wrong.
“You haven’t?”
“No,” Pete replied, “Only you, Mikey. Only you.”
That was something that he would remember later, reading articles about Pete (Gay above the waist. “I’m not a real big fan of penises.”), but for now, it was just a line that made Mikey shiver regardless. “Well, I think you could practice anytime,” he breathed, and Pete laughed a little.
Once Mikey had recovered enough, he rolled onto his side, locking eyes with Pete as he fumbled with Pete’s jeans. His fingers kept slipping, but finally he got the button and zipper undone, Pete helping to shuck them and his underwear all at once. Mikey suddenly understood why Pete had had to stop and stare, and he was speechless as he ran his hands wonderingly over the taut stomach, slender and hard with muscle.
Then the tattoos caught his attention again, and he took Pete’s wrist, pressing his mouth to the first inked patch. “I’m going to count them all, taste them all,” he said, and was rewarded with Pete’s breath hitching as he worked his way up Pete’s arms, licking at the thorns circling his neck, and then down to the bartskull cradled between his hips. He was pleasantly pliable when Mikey flipped him onto his stomach, mouth running over the raised skin of the globe tattoo, and then onto his back again.
Pete was breathing harder than ever, practically gasping, and Mikey wrapped a hand around Pete’s cock, watching as he went tight as a bowstring, back arching fully off the bed. “Mikey,” he babbled, “Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, don’t stop, don’t stop. Harder.” He was pushy, because he was Pete, but Mikey just did as he was told, curling his fingers and jacking Pete more rapidly.
Pete was still going on, “Oh god, you, Mikey, you get me so…get me out of my mind, I can’t even….best thing I’ve ever…Mikey, oh, gonna come…”
He did, pulsing into Mikey’s hand and across his chest, since he was hovering just over Pete. When Pete had come down sufficiently, Mikey watching with soft eyes at the slack look of wonder written all over the other’s face, he pulled Mikey down against his side, mindless of the mess all over them both.
“We are real,” Pete whispered, and the words sunk right into Mikey like a premonition.
V.
The last time wasn’t as dramatic and momentous as Mikey would have expected, considering that it was Pete Wentz. Tour would be over in under a week, but summer wasn’t really over yet. It was still sticky-hot days, and comfortably warm nights. The leaves weren’t changing colour yet, it didn’t pour rain—there were no grand gestures on the part of the surrounding world to signify the importance of the moment. It was just Mikey and Pete, not quite fitting into the small space of Mikey’s bunk.
When Pete crawled in next to him, eyes bright behind the smudged eyeliner, Mikey automatically checked the time, just like he always did, now. 2:27. Mikey wasn’t really awake yet, but it was enough for him to remember the red numbers of his tiny clock later, when they swirled behind his eyes: 2:27, 2-2-7, 2722777222272722, until they were a meaningless parade of lines and curves.
“Hey,” Mikey whispered, tucking his arms around Pete’s waist as Pete handed over Mikey’s glasses. They were so close together already that it barely made a difference, but Mikey slid them on anyway. Pete wriggled closer, hips digging into Mikey’s stomach imperfectly as Pete nuzzled his neck and murmured, “Hey.”
Brain still muzzy from sleep, although Pete’s warm breath on his neck was doing a great deal to wake him, Mikey asked, “What’s up?” It wasn’t unusual for Pete to show up like this—Mikey had clandestinely given him the bus code awhile back, and Pete was half nocturnal.
Instead of answering, Pete tilted his face up and mouthed at his jaw. Already Mikey could tell what kind of night it would be. Sometimes they fucked desperately, passionately hard, fingers curling into hair until it almost hurt too much, bruises blooming on their hips and sometimes backs, if one of them was up against a wall. Frank had given Mikey hell more than once for the red skin along his collarbone, raw lines of toothmarks that meant he’d have to wear his peacoat again, even at the hottest venues.
This wasn’t going to be one of those nights. This would be a night where they fucked slowly, with just as much passion because that’s just how it was between them. Pete had said, once, under the flashing Fourth of July fireworks, “We fit best as lovers. We’re too much together to ever just be friends. You and me, Mikey, we’re like exes, only it’s ex-friends. I’m gonna write you a whole fucking album one day, because you fill me all the way up.” Mikey couldn’t have ever put it that way, but he basically agreed.
Sometimes he wondered if Pete remembered those words, or if it had been a passing moment.
Pete dragged his cock, hard beneath thin pajama pants, against Mikey’s. All his movements were slow and fluid, his body undulating as he hooked his first two fingers of either hand into the waistband of Mikey’s boxers and tossed them down near the foot of the bunk. Eyes dark, he did the same with his shirt and pants, and snaked a hand between their bodies to hold both their cocks together.
Breath hissing through his teeth, Mikey breathed out hard, Pete capturing the sound as he pressed their mouths together carefully. Pete was jacking them off leisurely, taking his time as pre-come slicked them and they throbbed arrhythmically against one another. Pete was a warm weight on top of him, and Mikey could feel himself coming apart beneath him. He still hadn’t gotten over that anyone as small and proportioned and perfect and alive would want to touch him like this, kiss him like it meant something.
It meant everything, and they both knew it.
Mikey arched his back, moaning into Pete’s mouth, swallowing Pete’s own rough breaths and little whimpers that escaped his throat. Both of them were thrusting now, Pete’s thighs clenching tight on either side of Mikey’s in a way that suggested that he was close. Encouraging, Mikey whispered, “Come on,” and Pete tossed his head back, shadows and golden skin alternating as he groaned aloud and came hard, which pushed Mikey over, too.
Gasping, Pete collapsed against Mikey, and Mikey buried his face in Pete’s dark hair, breathing in the pervading smell of dust and Pete that had been filling Mikey’s senses for all of summer. It was the smell of his personal version of Warped Tour. Ignoring the wetness all over their torsos, Mikey ran his hands up and down Pete’s back, to the curve of his ass and then up to his shoulders, reveling in his sinewy skin.
After a few minutes of this, Pete squirmed, raising himself up onto his elbows and looking down at Mikey. Although his eyes were mostly able to focus in the dim light, it was still too dark for him to read the expression on Pete’s face. “What?” he finally asked, quietly.
With a quick jerk of his head, shaking it emphatically, Pete uncurled the first finger of his clean hand from Mikey’s hip and pressed it against his lips. “Shh,” he murmured, “I just want to look at you for a minute, laid out underneath me, and memorize you just as you are. You’re so fucking gorgeous, god.”
This still wasn’t anything unusual. Pete frequently got emotional and poetic with Mikey. Mikey had finally stopped wanting to hide when Pete examined every inch of him—he’d finally stopped being afraid that Pete was going to see some flaw, and just enjoyed the feeling of being admired. One of his favourite things was when they had hotel rooms, and Pete would pull him in front of a full length mirror, naked, and they’d watch while they fucked. Sometimes Pete would run his hands and mouth over Mikey, telling the taller boy all of his favourite parts about him as he did so.
When Pete kissed him again, neither of them closed their eyes, and Mikey saw it in Pete’s face just before they broke apart, but he didn’t say anything. Pete shuffled position restlessly for a moment, and then said in a ragged, broken voice, “Mikes?”
“Yeah?”
When Pete inhaled, it sounded painful, and Mikey could feel him start to shake. “Summer’s almost over,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Mikey replied, and he could feel it, the sinking in his chest and stomach and arms and legs, everywhere.
“We…we’re still going to end this when the tour’s over?”
Pete sounded fucking broken, and Mikey wanted to pet his face, his hair, his everything, and reassure him that of course they wouldn’t, this would be forever. It felt like forever, with just them and the messy sheets, faces less than six inches apart, and desperately Mikey thought that maybe they could stop time instead. He tried to tell himself that he’d been prepared for this, but in truth, he hadn’t. He’d managed to put away the thoughts in the back of his mind.
Now that Pete had asked, though, he couldn’t compartmentalize anymore. Mikey couldn’t deny that the summer was almost over, and what they had could not be forever, with their separate tours and lives. They might fall apart anyway, and at least now they could leave on good terms. Mikey knew Pete Wentz was only a once-in-a-lifetime kind of person, and with those big, dark eyes staring down at him, waiting for an answer, Mikey felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Idly, he wondered if things that were this pure and perfect weren’t supposed to last. They came in concentrated doses, and then they had to crumble, because they couldn’t possibly be supported. Pete, Mikey knew, was always going to be his perfect moment.
“Yes,” he said, arms tightening instinctively as Pete shook harder, but didn’t cry.
For a long time they cuddled there, hanging onto the vestiges of perfection, until Mikey eventually found himself waking up, still naked, bunk empty. His throat was burning, and he started to sit up, reaching for his glasses, which had been taken off and carefully folded, set where he wouldn’t roll on top of them. As he stretched out an arm to grab them, dark ink on his skin caught his eye.
In neat, carefully-printed Sharpie along his bicep, it read, “Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another. –Hemingway.”
In the crook of his elbow, there was a tiny heart, and then, at his wrist, again written perfectly, it said, “I’ll be distinguished because I lived with you. Forever, you and me.”
By the time that Mikey got to the last penned words, his eyes were already prickling with tears.
Across his stomach, next to another heart, it read, “A whole album.”
one ofthe best Summer of Like fic I've ever read. It's just so perfect somehow.Aces!
He had started to lead Mikey along, and Mikey went willingly.
Even though it's a specific action, this line really stood out to me as kind of a summary of the entire relationship. I liked how quiet this was, just softness and moments, very beautiful, very heartbreaking. Nice job ♥
it's the most plausible relationship...thing...in band world
^ But isn't it mildly alarming that there are any at all? I mean, good for us, obviously, but if you think about it...
I love this sentence: Mikey had finally stopped wanting to hide when Pete examined every inch of him—he’d finally stopped being afraid that Pete was going to see some flaw, and just enjoyed the feeling of being admired.
It makes the ending even more bittersweet.
I <3 Pete/Mikey at the best of times but this was just...too much for words =) Loved your work
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it really hit a personal note for me... -sigh-
pete and mikey are poetic, tragic, summerlove.
I was caught up in their love and friendship, which makes the inevitable end so much harder to read.
So very awesome.
“Oh!” Pete sounded startled, and he looked back up at Mikey, pupils completely blown. “Sorry, I just…I think I could get off just looking at you.”
*DIES*
It's beautiful and heartwrenching and obviously the best SOL story. And they are the best pairing, obviously, also.
But yes, you should be flattered! And they are the best pairing ever. Why are there not more fics abotu them???? It's so EASY!
And second, I have to stop reading this every single day. Gah, why are they both married?
But I guess, as heartbreaking as it is, part of what makes it special was that it was that summer.
And this?
“Because,” Pete enumerated, “Because when I close my eyes at night I see you. Because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever found. Because you don’t judge me for my hair or clothes, or push me off when I climb all over you. Because I am Peter Pan and you are Michael Darling, and we’re both Lost Boys, but we somehow found each other. Because of the way I can talk in metaphors and you don’t look confused. Because we share clothes. Because you look at me like that. Because you believe in unicorns. Because this is our summer, and there will never be another like it. Or another like you.”
LOVE.
Thank you so much.
Its so tragic and so romantic. I love the bit about the yellow cabs and I love how you included journey entries and the "back in love" because those are real and got my heart all fluttery and painful but I am a sucker for angst so I actually really loved it ;P
I loved the way you describes Pete's intensity with Mikey and also just the idea of them having sex in front of a mirror *q*
wants=D I love the way you strike a balance between the romance and the more physical aspects of a romance without getting too gritty in detail but still not shying away- but also exploring the more emotional implications.But oh god by the end with the hemmingway quote I was tearing up. ♥!!
It probably didn't help that I was listening to Lovesick by FT Island whom I highly doubt you'll recognize but the singer is ver emotional/soulful and its all about love and loss and the "sins of love"ps. you wouldn't happen to have links to any Summer of Like primers would you =D??? I lost all my links when I left bandom a year ago;~; (only recently got back in)
I do not recognize them, but I'm now going to check them out!And yes, I have an awesome primer saved (not to mention basically every photo of them, or that could possibly relate to them being together, but that's just in my computer docs). http://community.livejournal.com/bandom