Fic: Committing to Heart and Hospital 1/1 (My Chemical Romance/Fall Out Boy, NC-17, Mikey/Pete)
Title: Committing to Heart and Hospital
Status: Complete
Fandom: My Chemical Romance/Fall Out Boy
Series: Slideverse
Word Count: roughly 8,400 words
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in or related to My Chemical Romance or Fall Out Boy. Real people are real and not mine.
Pairing: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Rating: NC-17
Beta and helper thanks: allyndra, turps33 and guest_age for handholding and justabi for the quick beta.
Authors Notes: Inspired by how freaking happy Pete and Mikey look in these pictures from that last show in Northampton I wanted to write a shippy version of that day. Also, there was a request for a timestamp showing the end of the summer in So Why Don't You Slide. This story takes place in the same verse but you don't have to read it to read this.
Warning: Sex, happy endings, near-canon AU
Summary: Pete makes a bold move to keep what he's found with Mikey during the last days of Warped 05.
The last leg of the tour creeps up on Pete between trips to water parks and shows and stolen kisses when he’s not paying attention. One second he’s got a whole summer to figure Mikey out; the next he knows Mikey inside out and wants to learn more, only there’s just five fucking shows left on the tour. Five. He can’t wrap his head around that, around walking away from Warped and he especially can’t deal with letting go of this thing with Mikey.
It’s real. That’s the thing. It’s real like so very few things in Pete’s life have ever been. What he feels for Mikey Way is real like…like his deep drive to make music or his friendship with Patrick. It’s gone from being an ephemeral hope and buzz to something that is a universal fucking truth, at least for the Pete Wentz universe.
“Like Velveteen Rabbit real?” Gerard asks when Pete corners him to talk about it. “Or like documentary real?”
“Velveteen Rabbit,” Pete says without hesitation. “Only more because I would never fuck a stuffed rabbit.” That said, he isn’t sure the idea of Mikey in Playboy bunny ears is a bad one.
“You promised you wouldn’t use that word when we’re talking about my brother,” Gerard says in a tone that’s sharp but not unkind. “Or any sex related words. I’m pretending you two just snuggle a lot.”
“Okay so, I don’t want to stop, uh, snuggling him. But when we pull out of Boston, we’ve got the New York and New Jersey shows and then-"
“Back to Massachusetts for the last show and then we’re off to Europe,” Gerard says with a nod. “It’s a problem.”
“Right. And that just- You can’t just leave and take him with you.”
“He was ours first, Pete. I hate to break it to you.”
“I know that but I want him to be mine last.” Pete says. He’s been getting progressively more possessive of Mikey since that day at the water park, digging in with fingers, teeth and heart behind a waterfall. It’s weirdly intoxicating to say it out loud, though.
Gerard’s whole face kind of lights up with a smile the way that it does sometimes. Pete’s only seen it a couple of times since he met the guy, and never directed at him. It’s a little overwhelming and makes him feel almost embarrassed.
“What?”
“You should say that.” Gerard says, nodding. “And you should think about that. Yeah, the answer’s in there.” He waves a hand, thin and dexterous a lot like Mikey’s, through the air in Pete’s direction. “Somewhere.”
“It’s kinda melodramatic, Way,” Pete says, like that has ever fucking stopped him from doing anything before. It’s just that he hasn’t really dragged out the melodrama with Mikey. The funny, the intimate, the random, the juvenile, the secret and the broken but not the melodrama. There hasn’t been any need for it.
Gerard tilts his head to the side, his shaggy hair flopping to the side with the motion. “Is it true?”
Pete feels shy again, which is fucking weird. He doesn’t fucking do shy. But he lets himself nod and say, “Yeah.”
“Well, then it’s not melodramatic. It’s fact. You good now?”
No, he’s not good. He’s not really any closer to a solution when they pull out of New Jersey or into New York. It doesn’t hit him until he sees a kid in an HRC shirt in the crowd at the Englishtown Raceway. The yellow equal sign on the blue shirt makes his brain go click, click, boom and the answer is suddenly fucking obvious and perfect because they’re going to be back in Massachusetts for the last show tomorrow. That’s a sign, he’s sure of it and he’s a little bit overenthusiastic for the rest of the set.
Most of My Chem is watching them from off of stage right, because they’ve already played and there’s not much else to do, and Pete can feel Mikey’s eyes on him. It makes him hot and nervous at the same time but it also kind of decides things for him. When they leave the stage, before they go back for the encore, Pete drops down front of Mikey, his knees hitting the stage a little hard and he winces. Mikey just grins down at him.
“You okay, spazz?” He asks, offering a hand down to help Pete up.
Pete catches Mikey’s hand in both of his and holds it. Pete knows that a few people down in the audience can see, but they can’t hear and honestly he doesn’t fucking care. He wants Mikey to be his last and he’s figured out how to make that happen. “Marry me.”
Mikey rolls his eyes and laughs. “Yeah, sure.”
“I’m totally fucking serious.” Pete frowns and tugs on his hand, suddenly aware that everyone that matters - his band, Mikey’s, most of the sound crew and tour staff - are all watching him. That should make him more nervous but it doesn’t because most of his fears are busy with the possibility that Mikey could say no. “We’re going to be in Massachusetts tomorrow where it’ll be legal so we should get married. Because, you know, I’m completely fucking in love with you.”
Mikey’s eyes are huge behind his glasses now, but they’re not rolling around at him anymore, thank fuck. “You’re also nuts.”
“Yeah, but you knew that going in. So?” Pete asks, trying not to choke on hope. He almost does, though, when Gerard gives him a thumbs up and a huge grin from behind Mikey’s back.
“Pete, I- This is fucking crazy. It’s insane. What you’re asking is fucking insane.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Mikey wraps his fingers around one of Pete’s hands and tugs. “Get up.”
“Not until you answer.”
Mikey frowns and that’s not what Pete was going for. Not at all. “This isn’t funny, Pete,” he says in a soft voice. “Marriage isn’t a joke.”
“I know that. I’m not joking. I’m not kidding. I want you to stay with me, Mikey, for keeps.” He runs his thumbs over Mikey’s knuckles. Pete makes himself keep his eyes on Mikey’s face and not the hand he’s holding a little too tightly with both of his. “I don’t want this to end tomorrow when we go our separate ways. I want our ways to be together. Wentz-Ways. It’s got a nice ring to it, right?”
He gives Mikey what he hopes is a winning smile. But Mikey is still frowning and the smile feels fragile. Fuck, he feels fragile, like he could be shattered into a million pieces and he doesn’t want to be in pieces. Not again. He’s gotten used to being whole.
“Pete,” Mikey begins, but Pete can’t let him finish that. Whatever it is, he can tell from the way Mikey is still half holding his breath that its not what Pete wants to hear.
“Marry me, Mikey Way,” Pete says. He lets go of Mikey with his right hand so that he can reach up to his neck and pull his bartskull necklace off. He wraps the chain around Mikey’s fingers and says, “I’m not joking and I don’t think it’s funny. I just love you.”
Mikey’s entire face changes, lifts and falls at the same and Pete feels his fist close tightly over the necklace. Mikey swallows so hard that Pete can see his throat work and hear it and then he nods. Mikey nods like a bobble head doll and when he pulls Pete up this time, Pete goes, letting Mikey wrap his arms around him, kissing him briefly before shoving him away, his eyes bright.
“You’ve got an encore, moron,” Mikey says with a smile that’s bigger than any Pete’s ever seen on him fucking ever and he did that. He wants to do it again, more, forever.
“That’s a yes, though, right?” Joe asks, and Pete remembers, right, they’ve got an audience. More than one. And he has to go out and play a few more songs, like right now. He forgot there were other people on the planet there for a second.
Mikey laughs and thumbs over the heart part of the charm. “Yeah. Yeah it is.” He quirks a brow at Pete and Pete wants to kiss him because it’s a yes. It’s a yes and he gets to have and be had by Mikey Way forever. It’s kind of a lot to deal with and he’s not sure he can actually play right now.
“I’m going to be kissing the hell out of you later,” Pete says, pointing a finger at Mikey. “Among other things. So brace yourself.”
Mikey laughs as Gerard tackles him, babbling about how they can’t actually see each other the night before the wedding and bad luck. Pete misses the end of it because Patrick catches him by the collar and drags him back out on stage.
He plays in a daze, grinning like an idiot and he only stops because Patrick stays at his side and elbows him on and off. His fingers are numb and he forgets to sing back up in places, but it doesn’t matter. Every time he looks off to the right, Mikey’s there, the necklace wrapped around his hand like a love rosary or something, the bartskull pressed to his lower lip. Pete can’t think of much beyond the way that looks and the fact that he’s getting freaking married tomorrow.
“You’re going to be my best man, right?” Pete asks, slinging an arm around Patrick’s shoulder when they’re finally done and can put their instruments down. Patrick heaves a heavy sigh that moves Pete’s whole body and jabs him in the side with his elbow a little.
“You know I am,” Patrick mutters before prying Pete off him and shoving him in the direction of Mikey, who has drifted down the stairs and out of the sight of the milling show-goers. That’s fine by Pete. There’s nowhere he’d rather go. Unfortunately, Gerard catches him before he can reach his- fuck. His fiancé.
“Wedding night,” Gerard says, transformed from supportive guy into stern, superstitious guy. “One kiss and then I’m taking him back to our bus. Last thing you need is to jinx it.”
“But-“
Gerard holds up his index finger. “One.”
Pete huffs but he knows better than to fuck with Gerard’s resolve face. He’s seen Iero, Bryar and Schechter all go against it and lose and all of them are fucking formidable. He doesn’t have to be happy about it, though. “You’re the devil.”
“You can call me Lucifer,” Gerard quips and steps out of the way.
A lot of the jitters are still there, under Pete’s skin, and the intensity, but it’s like he got a harness on it when he was glaring down Gerard. Now he’s got the patience to take Mikey’s face in his hands and pull him down into a kiss that’s slow and hot and full of promises he intends to keep. Mikey’s hand grabs the back of his neck, pressing warm skin and cool metal against him as they smile into each other’s mouths and lick at teeth and lips.
“You’re seriously insane,” Mikey says when they finally break apart to whistles and the scattered clapping of the people who can see them from where they’re standing. Their faces are pressed together and Mikey’s bent down so that their noses rub against each other.
“I know. You love it, though.”
“Love you,” Mikey breathes against the skin of Pete’s cheek and Pete’s heart stops. It hasn’t fucking occurred to him before that moment that Mikey said yes without every actually saying I love you.
They’ve done things backwards and inside out, but Pete’s pretty sure the important thing is doing it at all. He presses another fast kiss to Mikey’s lips, before Gerard or anyone else can say anything and pulls back smiling. “I’m going to see you tomorrow.”
“And then some,” Mikey agrees, wrinkling his nose in an attempt to readjust his glasses from how the kiss has skewed them.
But he doesn’t let go of Pete to do it. Pete does it for him with careful fingers. He smooths his thumb over Mikey’s cheek briefly before he untangles himself. “Tomorrow,” he says again, giddy.
“How did you do that?” Mikey asks, a little stunned, but his wet lips are curling upwards. “How the fuck did you get me to say yes?”
“The Force. Also, I’m not good at letting go of things that are mine. I’m kind of a greedy fucker that way.”
“It works on you,” Mikey murmurs. “And it goes both ways.”
They kiss again, another brief replica of hundreds of others snuck on dozens of other venues just like this one and then Gerard clears his throat. “That’s way more than one,” Gerard says in a voice that’s torn between annoyance and the same kind of noise that Iero makes when confronted with a puppy.
It helps. Pete stands back and watches as Gerard drags Mikey back to the My Chem bus and then takes off for his own bus to see if anyone’s gotten internet hooked up on this stupid parking lot. There's a shit ton of stuff to do and pretty much no time to do it.
Andy’s got internet from somewhere - Pete’s afraid to ask to be perfectly honest, because his laptop’s getting nothing and there are a lot of wires involved. But Andy’s is working, so they cluster around it. The big problem Google presents him is the three day waiting period thing. That Pete wasn’t expecting, but there’s got to be a way around that, right?
“There has to be a judge somewhere in the state of Massachusetts with a son or daughter who’s a fan of at least one band on this tour, doesn’t there?” Pete asks, because that seems reasonable. Even judges have kids with authority issues and misunderstood pain.
“Yeah, of course,” Patrick agrees. “The thing is, you’re doing this last minute. So we don’t have time to find one. And if you’d thought about it, we wouldn’t have to.”
“At least it’s not a weekend,” Joe adds. “Chances are if we can cover enough ground before sound check, we can find someone.”
“It’s like helping a drug addict score,” Patrick mutters, shaking his head. But instead of walking away, like he does when he’s genuinely annoyed, he hip checks Pete away from the laptop and starts searching courts in the Northampton area.
“You just need to get the license,” Andy says, clearly aiming for reassuring. “Cause you know, Dewees is ordained and he could totally do it, if it took awhile to get the paperwork and shit squared away.“
Pete blinks at him. “Fucking Dewees is ordained? Are you kidding me?”
“No, dude. I think he got it done on the internet, but it’s totally legit.”
“Dewees,” Pete laughs. “My mother’s going to kill me.”
Patrick makes a choked noise and adjusts his hat on his head. No doubt it's just giving his hands something to do to keep him from strangling Pete where he sits. “You’re six months out of nearly killing yourself and you’re getting married to a guy you’ve been dating for two months who is then going to leave the fucking country. And what you’re worried about is your mom hearing about you getting married by a keyboardist?”
Pete gets this. He does. He’s dragged them all through the shit, no one more than Patrick, and Patrick has picked him up after it all. He can understand Patrick not wanting to do it again. The thing is, Pete’s positive, deep down in whatever he’s got that passes for a soul, that Patrick’s not going to have to this time. Not about this, not over Mikey.
“Dewees officiating is the only thing I’m not sure about,” Pete says, staring Patrick down. “I’ll have to talk to Mikey about it. But the specifics don’t matter, because I can’t picture my life ten, twenty, fifty years down the road if he’s not in it. Before him, the only person I could say that about was you. ”
Patrick sighs and Pete holds his breath because Patrick is like his brother and he can’t get married if his brother’s not standing next to him. Well, he can but he really doesn’t want to.
“You’re sure?” Patrick asks, folding his arms over his chest and pushing back from the computer a little. He twists his head so that he can look Pete directly in the eye as he waits for the answer.
Pete can’t help but grin when he gives it. “Yeah. I’m fucking sure.”
“Okay then.”
Things go pretty fast from there. There’s a list of judges and courthouses and paperwork. Joe runs the list over to the My Chem bus because Pete’s not allowed over, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need the manpower. Those guys have a scary ability to get shit done and Pete’s glad to have them in his corner. Then there’s the drive from Jersey back up to Massachusetts.
It takes awkward phone calls with five judges in two counties to find a one who is willing to talk to them about a waiver. Turns out there’s a district judge right in Northampton with a teenage son whose love for the Offspring overrides pretty much all other mitigating factors in the kid’s life. A pair of backstage passes and a promise from Mikey and Pete that really, honestly, truly they are seriously in true fucking love later and they’ve got a waiver waiting for them.
“That was too easy,” Mikey mutters when the gopher arrives with the paperwork from the courthouse. He’s got Pete’s necklace wound around his middle finger and is swinging it around his hand, clockwise then counterclockwise in a nervous gesture that makes Pete grin like a fucking idiot. “This shouldn’t have been this easy.”
“It’s not easy. It’s fated.”
Mikey huffs at him a little, but doesn’t argue. He’s too busy staring at his socks and abusing Pete’s necklace. Pete catches his hand and stops the swing mid rotation. He grabs the front of that Stone Roses t-shirt he’s come to love and pulls Mikey into his arms.
“Hey, if you don’t want to-“
“No, I do. It’s just…I’m not used to good things being easy.”
Pete laughs and smiles at Mikey. “Give it a little while. It’ll stop being easy pretty quick. I’m a pretty difficult guy.”
“I want to marry you anyway.”
“I think that’s why it’s okay that this is going easy,” Pete says, tugging again, asking Mikey to kiss him without words. Mikey’s head dips down, but before they can, there’s a banging noise.
“No kissing!” Gerard declares. “You can’t wait half an hour?”
“No.” Mikey groans, shutting his eyes and pressing his temple to Pete’s. “Go away, Gee.”
“Mikey, come on,” Gerard whines. “We’re just trying to get everybody together and then we’ll be good to go. You guys don’t even have rings so just, give me this okay?”
“I seriously hate you,” Mikey mutters and Pete laughs, a little delirious with how fucking happy he is right now. “I’m going to revoke best man privileges. You don’t deserve them.”
“I just came over to say that you’ve got to call Mom before we do this. And you can’t take my privileges, because I called ahead and took the first round of screaming for you. You’re welcome, happy wedding. But if you guys do this without calling her back, she is going to kill you and then Pete’ll be a widower before you’re even married.”
“Go.” Pete says, releasing Mikey to Gerard’s insistent tugging, grateful that his family isn’t that tangled up in each other. Of course it occurs to him just about the same time that Gerard drags Mikey around a corner and out of sight that the Ways are going to be his family in about thirty minutes, and that he’s throwing himself into the knot. It’s a little bit scary actually.
“There you are,” Patrick says, appearing out of nowhere to pull Pete out of his thoughts. He’s sweating in the August sun and looks frustrated. That’s nothing new, though. In fact, it’s something of a comforting constant.
Pete rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands into the pockets of his black hoody. It’s a little too warm for the weather, but nothing so trivial as sunshine and heat can touch him today. “Here I am.”
“They parked our bus next to the My Chem one so that we can do the ceremony over there. Bob’s charging his camera, and Dewees pretty much got the legal shit memorized if he can remember that Massachusetts is technically a commonwealth, not a state.”
Pete has excellent taste in friends and lovers. Really, it’s a wonder he ever doubted himself, because Patrick’s the best best man ever. So he tells him so. “You’re the best best man ever.”
“You’re going to owe me forever.”
“I don’t already?”
“Okay, then you owe me double,” Patrick concedes. “Did you guys figure out what to do about rings?”
Pete frowns because no, he hadn't thought about that. He hadn’t thought about, well, lots of things. Mostly his thought process was: Mikey. Mine. The end. Everything beyond that was just extra and he didn’t usually consider the extras when proceeding with a plan. “Uh, no?”
“Why am I not surprised?” Patrick sighs, beginning to walk, and because Pete is pretty sure there’s an invisible string that tethers him to Patrick, he follows. “I’ve been thinking about it though.”
“Good thing someone is,” Pete agrees amicably.
“Yes,” Patrick says on another sigh. “You think you could get your bartskull back from Mikey?”
“I don’t want it back. It’s his. That’s kinda the point.”
“Right. But you don’t really wear rings and you already gave it to him once and he’s got the brass knuckle necklace. You could trade that instead of rings,” Patrick says with a shrug. “Just an idea.”
Pete freezes for a second, staring at Patrick, and wondering if his face is going to break from smiling. Worse ways to lose his looks. “You’re best best man of all time. You really are. I have insanely good taste.”
“Of course this is about you.”
Pete winks. “Today? Yes, yes it is. And Mikey. August 15th is officially Me and Mikey Day from now on. It’s a national holiday. I’m declaring it right now.”
“You can’t do that if you’re not president.”
“I could be president. Reagan was an actor.”
“I wouldn’t vote for you,” Patrick says as he comes to a stop at a row of buses that looks like any other row of the bus city.
Except this row has Joe and Andy and Dirty and the non-Way faction of My Chem, all of Senses Fail and a couple of the Offspring guys who insisted on an “invite” in exchange for playing nice with the judge’s kid. Bryar’s fucking around with a camcorder and Dewees leaned against the side of the Fall Out Boy bus texting. For some reason, all these people gathered together makes it all way more real and he just wants Mikey to get back here already so they can figure this shit out and move on to the good part.
“This just got really weird,” Pete whispers to Patrick who doesn’t make any indication that he’s annoyed with Pete. He claps him on the shoulder instead and squeezes once.
“It’s been weird the whole time, Pete.”
Pete makes an executive decision to fucking ignore that. He casts around for the only person who really matters right now. “Gerard’s bringing Mikey back soon though, right?”
Patrick glances down at his watch, then sighs. “Stay here. Don’t get into trouble. Joe, Ray, don’t let him get into trouble.”
“Does that mean I’m an usher?” Joe asks and Pete grins at him, because see, Joe’s in the spirit of things. That’s why Joe is his favorite, after Mikey and Patrick and also, he kind of is tied with Andy because well, it’s fucking Andy.
“I’m pretty sure it qualifies us,” Toro says with a laugh and Patrick shoves him at them and is gone before he can register that Iero is frowning.
“Always a fucking bridesmaid,” Iero mutters and Pete laughs, a little hysterically. He hopes to fuck that Mikey does not come back in a wedding dress. Because he’s open minded (he’s got this idea for a nun costume he really wants to use in a music video one day) and he’s pretty sure that Mikey would look good in anything, but that sort of shit isn’t really his speed. It seems like the kind of thing the Ross kid might like, though.
“I think you’re technically a groomsman,” Joe says and Iero brightens a little at that.
“I still can’t believe Mikey said yes,” Toro says, tilting his chin down a little so that he can meet Pete’s gaze. “Does this mean you’re coming with us to the Netherlands when we leave next week?”
Pete actually hadn’t thought that far ahead. There’s a string of shows between now and when My Chemical Romance gets back from Europe next month and he should be at them. He should, after all he’s technically the front man. But he’s not Patrick. He’s not the voice and if there was someone else playing bass, it won’t be quite the same but it would still work. He could probably miss a few shows right? For fucks sake, how many chances to be newlywed do you get anyway? “I don’t know yet.”
“Somebody better call Brian when you do decide you’re coming,” Iero says, chuckling a little and picking at his fingernails. “You know, about tour details. Because you are, you know, coming along. Twu wuv and all that shit.”
“Not it,” Bryar says quickly from behind his camera. “ Seriously, not fucking it.”
“Me either,” Toro agrees. “I think that’s a best man duty, anyway.”
Iero laughs and flashes that big shark grin. “Totally.”
Gerard reappears then, like he’s been summoned, which makes Pete wonder for just a split second if maybe he actually is the Morning Star, but he’s got Mikey in tow, looking just like he did before they split up, intensely fuckable, but totally normal except for the fact that his necklace is gone. Patrick’s got his hands in his pockets and is trying to push down a self-satisfied expression that means he won an argument with someone, probably Gerard. Pete grins at him across the asphalt and Patrick smiles back.
At the sight of the Brothers Way, Dewees pushes off the side of the bus and stows his phone in his pocket. “So are we ready to do this kids? I’m pretty sure the Fall Out Boy tech guys are going to be done in like fifteen minutes.”
There’s a collective murmur of agreement and somehow, he and Mikey end up standing shoulder to shoulder next to each other in between their buses in front of their friends and Bob Bryar’s video camera and an internet ordained keyboardist who at one point managed to get Gerard Way into a fur suit. Pete knows, Mikey showed him the pictures. It’s all kind of surreal, but less so when the fingers of Mikey’s right hand reach out and tangle in his left. Then it’s fucking Velveteen Rabbit, Pinocchio, happy fucking ending, you make yourself real and it’s the best kind of real Pete’s ever felt.
“So,” Dewees says, clearing his throat and wiggling his eyebrows, “This is my first same-sex marriage so I didn’t prepare anything, but you know, we’ve all watched you guys and you seem to know what you’re doing. Kind of. At least you seem happy together and that’s enough for everyone who’s managed to show up for this. So, Mikey, you want to marry him right? Because you know that shit’s for life.”
Mikey laughs and squeezes his hand. “Yeah. I do.”
“Good,” Dewees sighs, looking genuinely relieved. “Cause this could’ve gotten really awkward. Wentz, you love him and you’re not going to fuck with him or screw this up and you want to marry him too, right?”
Pete considers protesting that and Mikey squeezes his hand again. He squeezes back and nods. “I absolutely fucking do.”
“Remember you said that because if you break it I’ll break you,” Dewees warns. “Just so we’re clear before we move on to the fun part.”
“Crystal.”
“Awesome. Okay. So, by the power vested in me by the internet and God and also the license issued by the state of Massachusetts-”
“Commonwealth,” Pete cuts in because no fucking way is this going to get screwed up on a technicality. “Massachusetts is a commonwealth.”
“How is that different from a state?” Iero asks, leaning closer to whisper the question. But everyone can totally hear him because apart from the distant sounds of the crowd milling about in front of the Bishop Stage and the techs fucking with their instruments, it's pretty quiet.
“There’s none here but technically a commonwealth’s an autonomous, self-governing - “ Andy begins but Patrick’s and Joe’s hands slams over his mouth at the same time. Pete appreciates usher/best man cooperation.
“As you were,” Joe says cheerfully.
“Okay, where were we? Oh, yeah, love, blah blah, you both do, blah blah,” Dewees waves his hand. “And with the okay of God, the internet and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I pronounce you, Michael Way, and you, Peter Wentz, lawfully married. You can exchange…someone’s got rings or something, right?”
“Or something, “Gerard says, stepping forward.
He gives Mikey a lopsided hug that doesn’t require Mikey to let go of Pete and drops the necklace into Mikey’s left hand. On Pete’s right, Patrick pulls his hand off Andy’s mouth, rubbing it on his palm on his pants briefly and grimacing before pulling the bartskull necklace out of his pocket and handing it to Pete.
Then they’re facing each other, like this was anything like traditional and Mikey’s smiling at him from over the tops of his RayBan glasses in his Stone Roses shirt. “You wanna go first?” Pete asks.
“You proposed, you can go first. You’re not good with waiting anyway,” Mikey says and god, shit like that is why he loves him. Because Mikey just gets him.
Pete’s hands shake a little as he unhooks the clasp on the chain and moves to put it around Mikey’s neck. It’s simple and ridiculous but it feels fucking special and it takes him what feels like forever to get the damn thing closed again. But when he does, he drags his fingers down the length of the chain to rest on the charm, his palm on Mikey’s chest, for just a brief moment before he pulls away so that Mikey can have his turn.
He gets this weird tunnel vision when Mikey’s hands slide behind his neck that he wasn’t expecting. After all, this whole thing, it’s so last second and desperate that it’s all been sort of a big blur. But the moment seems to slow down to sharp and minute detail. Mikey’s arms are heavy on his shoulders. His features are more defined than Pete’s ever seen them and he can hear them both breathing. When the small silvery replica of brass knuckles finally rests on his chest all by themselves, only to be covered an instant later by Mikey’s hand, Pete feels like he’s too big for his body.
“Wow, Jesus,” Dewees says, cutting through the moment but not breaking. “Okay, fuck. I pronounced you spouse and spouse so you guys need to kiss already. You’re fucking killing us here.”
Mikey catches the back of Pete’s head in both his hands and pulls him up on his toes a little to meet him in the first kiss. There’s a lot more tongue and definitely more teeth than Pete would’ve put into a first married kiss if he were in a church or a courthouse and there’s way more whooping and noise and catcalls than there was for the proposal kiss yesterday. It’s also possibly the best kiss in Pete’s life, because it tastes like the beginning and forever at the same time.
It ends too soon because they’re already ten minutes later than they should be for their set. The thing is, Pete and Mikey have come to this unspoken agreement about not letting each other out of their sight. He’s pretty sure how the entirety of both Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance end up migrating to the Bishop Stage as one unit. It’s also how Mikey ends up off the back wall with Gerard and on stage with Pete’s bass in his hands.
It’s the next best thing to a reception, all things considered. Pete gets to sit on an amp and watch his (Jesus fucking Christ on the cross) husband play. That’s kind of amazing all on its own, him being married. Pete never saw that for himself, especially not at twenty-six but it works. With Mikey it makes nothing but sense and he feels fucking high watching him play. Hell, right now he feels high looking at Mikey period. He only half registers when Toro takes over guitar so Joe can go talk to Gerard and Pete wants to save this moment, wants to have it forever.
One show and two encores later, Pete finally drops his bass into the hands of a bass tech. He’s sweaty and slick from the heat and the work of playing and the anticipation of getting his hands on Mikey. Who he’s married to. Fuck.
Patrick catches Pete by the arm before he can reach him, though. Pete opens his mouth to protest because, seriously what the fuck, when Patrick mumbles that no one will be back on the Fall Out Boy bus until much later tonight. And since Mikey has a solid hour and a half before My Chemical Romance has to be on stage, it seems only logical that they take advantage of the privacy. This just confirms what Pete’s been saying all day. Patrick is seriously the best best man of all time.
Mikey’s waiting for him, saying nothing, his mouth a thin line that quirks at the corners and Pete’s the only one who gets to taste the place where they meet. For the rest of fucking ever. Pete slides his fingers into the space between Mikey’s belt and jeans and pulls him close. “You got some time?” Pete asks, already knowing the answer.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got an opening in my schedule.”
“Wanna grab a quickie before the reception?’
“What reception?” Mikey laughs, nodding. It’s an invitation for Pete to guide him by the belt back to the Fall Out Boy bus. Pete is not sure how they manage to get the bus door closed before their tearing at each other’s clothes but they manage somehow. They both should get fucking awards for that though. Oscars, maybe, or Nobel Prizes.
The floor of the bus isn’t the best but trying to fuck in the bunks is like trying to fuck in a coffin and at least on the floor he and Mikey can stretch out, next to and on top of each other. Mikey’s cursing and tugging at the zipper on his hoody and Pete is shoving up on Mikey’s t-shirt. Mikey is still tan under the shirt, paler on his chest than his arms and face but tanner than it would’ve been if Pete hadn’t been dragging him into the water all summer, but still there. The skin Pete can reach tastes like fresh sweat and old cigarette smoke and Mikey. He drags his teeth over a nipple and Mikey’s back arches off the floor.
“Wanna fuck you right here,” Pete says, as he nips his way down Mikey’s chest to his navel. He pulls back a little and grins up at Mikey. “Maybe when there’s more time.”
“You’re fucking evil,” Mikey shoots back, his hands burying Pete’s hair. “Lucky I love you anyway,” Mikey says on a groan as Pete bites at the spot just above the top of his jeans. It makes Mikey pull his hair every time and Pete knows just where to apply pressure with lips and teeth to start pushing Mikey towards that non-verbal place before he ever gets his pants off.
“You don’t have time for the not evil me,” Pete points out as he undoes Mikey’s belt. Moments like this always make him question his wardrobe and the choices of everyone around him because tight pants and complicated belts are just not easy to get into. “You have to get back out there and be fucking brilliant.”
“Fuck not having time,” Mikey counters, pulling on his hair again, hard enough to hurt and not in the fun way until Pete stops resisting and comes up to be face to face. Mikey kisses him, fast and almost painful when he bites Pete’s lower lip, and when he pulls back, he says it again. “Fuck not having time. We’re supposed to have all of it now. That was the whole point right?”
Pete didn’t have any doubts before. Really he didn’t. But if he had had any left, they’d’ve been gone when Mikey said that. He pulls Mikey’s glasses off and tosses them onto the couch above them so that he doesn’t have to worry about breaking them when he kisses Mikey again, taking hold his face with both hands. “It’s one of the points,” Pete murmurs, his lips bumping Mikey’s in something that’s not quite a kiss. “It’s one of the big ones.”
Mikey blinks at him and Pete gives into impulse and presses a kiss to Mikey’s eyelids. He doesn’t usually have access because of the glasses but he thinks he should today. They got married like an hour and a half ago so it’s only fair that he should get to touch all of Mikey now. It’s poetic, kind of.
Mikey makes a little noise in the back of his throat at the gesture and rolls them in the narrow space so that Pete’s on the bottom. Pete sometimes forgets that Mikey’s a little bigger than he is because he’s so fucking angular and sharp in his build. But he is and he’s a strong fucker too and he’s got Pete on his back. That’s awesome though, because he doesn’t have to hold himself up while he’s finishing the job of Mikey’s pants.
The logistics of getting clothes off in a bus is slightly more complicated than getting them off in a hotel, but way less difficult than a public bathroom. They just have to pull apart for a few seconds to do it and that part sucks. The coming back together with nothing but skin between them part is fucking amazing though, more than worth the stutter in the flow.
Pete hooks a leg over Mikey’s hip and wishes they had time for a slow fuck. They’ve only had time and energy to do it a few times but Pete remembers it being so good he’d nearly passed out and right now, he wants Mikey inside him so bad he can almost feel it. But they can’t for lots of reasons ranging from when Mikey needs to get back out there to the fact that he has actually managed to run out of lube sometime in the last three days, so Pete doesn’t say anything. Mikey wouldn’t find it sexy right now, he’d find it frustrating and upsetting and Pete’s enjoying the feel of him smiling into his neck too much for that.
So right now Pete’s good with tracing over the older finger-shaped bruises and bite marks on Mikey’s chest and shoulders as they grind together like kids in the backseat of a parent’s car. Pete wishes he had time to go over them all, renew them like a freaking library book. He wishes for a lot of things, but he has Mikey, he has him, forever, and thinking of that makes everything else seem so much less important.
“Almost- We almost-,” Mikey pants, his voice ragged and desperate. He’s pushed himself up with his elbows braced on the floor of the bus, bracketing Pete on either side. Mikey’s head is hanging down, his eyes are shut tight, and the necklace sways a little with every roll and shudder of his body. “Pete. Fuck, Pete.”
“I got you,” Pete says, surprised to find that he really does. He wraps his left arm around Mikey’s shoulders, anchoring him and his right slides between them. He’s rewarded with the tension holding Mikey up on his elbows dissolving and the full weight of Mikey’s body falling on him. It presses on his ribs and shoulders and the hard metal under the carpet digs at him, but he so doesn’t fucking care.
Mikey comes quietly, with a choking noise. One hand is tangled in Pete’s hair, holding Pete’s head steady so that Mikey can press his face against his. Pete feels it and hears it more than he can see it with Mikey’s nose smooshed against his cheek, but it’s still an intense thing to witness.
It’s a messy kind of intimacy that’s a little scary. It’s the kind of moment that he’d have gone screaming from with anyone else. With Mikey, Pete’s just so fucking turned on he’s blindly thrusting against whatever Mikey-skin he can press against trying to get enough friction to follow.
It’s inefficient and not enough. It’s also fucking time consuming and with Mikey mostly dead weight on top of him, hard fucking work. Pete bites the curve Mikey’s shoulder hard and Mikey hisses and laughs in the same tired breath and manages to push himself up enough return the favor.
“Thank you, God,” Pete groans, slamming his head against the floor so hard it hurts when Mikey gets a good rhythm going.
“That’s not my name, bitch,” Mikey says in complete deadpan and Pete cracks up. He hits his head a few more times, torn between the amazing feeling of fucking up into Mikey’s fist while being pushed down into the floor and the spasms of laughter.
When Pete comes, he’s still giggling a little. It’s an easy orgasm that rolls over him like a deep sea wave instead of a storm surge, and when its over he feels boneless and content. Like actually content. The kind he can’t remember feeling before where he doesn’t feel the drive to be doing anything else beyond be right where he is.
Mikey rolls off of him to lie pressed tight against him in the cramped space and their ring and little fingers thread together. This feels nothing like what he was expecting, but in a good way.
When he turns his neck to go from staring up at the ceiling of the bus to Mikey, Mikey’s already facing him. Pete frowns when he’s confront with the thin line of Mikey’s mouth instead of at least the hint of a smile.
He tries to scoot closer and finds that there isn’t really a closer to go. So he settles for offering Mikey a small grin. “Hey.”
Mikey doesn’t smile back. “We almost walked away.”
Oh. Is that what Mikey was saying? That’s way less sexy that what Pete had thought he was trying to say. He’s really glad he didn’t finish the thought ten minutes ago. “No, we didn’t.”
“Yes, we did. We’d have gone out there today, we’d’ve played and then that would’ve been it. I’d go east, you’d go west and we’d still be friends but…” Mikey shifts his hand so that all of their fingers are locked together. When Mikey squeezes, it’s a little harder than strictly necessary. “I almost walked away from you. “
“You didn’t though,” Pete feels compelled to point out. “I mean, shit, Mikey, we’re married now, you know? It removes the walk away option.”
“I know that,” Mikey sighs, running his thumb over the back of Pete’s index finger. “But it’s like right after you almost wreck your car, but don’t. You’re fine until you realize how close it came, then you have to pull onto the shoulder and breathe for awhile because that fucking semi almost hit you.”
Pete blinks. “Are we on a metaphoric shoulder right now?”
“I am. I think you got off the shoulder and back on the road yesterday.”
“No, its cool. I can wait here with you.”
“I want to stay,” Mikey says and rolls onto his side so that he’s facing him. Without his glasses he looks older but incredibly vulnerable at the same time. Pete rolls towards him and slings his free arm over Mikey’s waist.
“Well,” Pete says slowly, taking the moment to think. He doesn’t usually think before he talks, but he does this time because one, he doesn’t usually talk this much right after sex, not even with Mikey, so who knows what his brain might pull out if he’s not careful, and two, they are not just talking about the metaphoric shoulder anymore. “The thing about the whole married thing is, as far as I’m aware, you get to come back. You’re a Way-Wentz now so you always get to come back.”
“You were right about Wentz-Way. It’s got a better ring to it.”
“Not alphabetical though.”
“No,” Mikey agrees. “Are you coming with us?”
“I don’t know, Mikey. That’s the problem with the whole quickie marriage thing. There’s still shit to figure out.” And that’s his bad. He knows that, but that doesn’t change the facts.
“I want you to come,” Mikey says. “I’ll get it if you can’t and I’m pretty sure I can get Cortez to cover for me in Europe but-“
“Wait. You’d stay with me?”
Mikey looks at him with the same fond expression Pete has gotten from everyone he loves at least once. “You only get one honeymoon, Pete. I just figured that on a bus in Europe was still, you know, Europe. But yeah, I’ll stay if you can’t. I want to.”
There’s a bang on the door that jerks them both out of the moment and reminds them that, right, they’ve just fucked on the floor of a bus that Pete is going to have to share with the rest of his band. “They need Mikey back now,” a voice calls and Pete’s pretty sure its Andy.
“Keep your pants on,” Pete calls fumbling for his shirt. He uses it to wipe the drying come off his stomach and then tosses it to Mikey. Pete grabs his boxers off the floor and tugs on his hoody over his bare skin, only pausing long enough to watch Mikey’s ass disappear under his own underwear.
“You didn’t!” Andy calls back. Pete can hear the lock on the bus jiggling but by the time the door opens, they’re both presentable enough. Read: there’s no semen readily visible.
Pete’s pretty sure that the cursory swipe with his t-shirt didn’t get it all off Mikey's skin though. Yes, okay, it’s totally disgusting, but Pete also really fucking likes the idea of sending Mikey out to play in front of thousands of people with Pete’s necklace around his neck and their come drying underneath his t-shirt. It’s dirty and gross and hot and just fucking awesome.
“Your guys are waiting for you,” Andy says looking at Mikey. “They said you’ve got two minutes before they call Schechter. They said to tell you that if they have to call him, that,” Andy pauses and looks down at his hand where he’s written something. “Gee is going let your mom start calling the rest of the family,” Andy reads and by the time he’s gotten to the end Mikey’s scrambling into his shoes.
He pauses long enough to give Pete a brief, hard kiss. “Talk to them,” Mikey says and Pete nods. That seems to be enough for Mikey because he’s tripping over himself to get down the steps of the bus and out. Pete leans over and he can watch Mikey running across the parking lot towards the stage for a little while.
“So you going with to Europe, yeah?” Andy asks, jarring Pete. He hadn’t realized they were talking about that.
“Maybe.”
“I overheard Patrick and Iero talking to Cortez. He’s no you, but he can probably cover you and they’re willing to lend him to us so there’s space for you on the bus.”
“I…They were? He can?”
“We’re not idiots, man, all evidence to the contrary. It’s less than a month. We’ll manage. Plus, fucking Schechter’ll have you working anyway.”
Pete hasn’t done tech work since before they graduated from the van to the bus, but he thinks he can remember… some of it. Whatever. He’ll figure it out in fucking Europe because his band and Mikey’s band are both made of goddamn awesome. “You guys are fucking amazing you know that?”
“Fuck yeah, we are,” Andy says with a nod. He wrinkles his nose at the lump of Pete’s soiled shirt on the floor by his feet. He pushes it away with a toe like its toxic, which is fucking hilarious to Pete considering the company Andy keeps off tour. “Now put on a real shirt like a real man and go thank everyone who pulled shit together for you. Starting with me.”
“Thank you, Andy,” Pete singsongs like a kid to teacher. “I was going to watch the show though.”
“The Jersey guys are going home tonight. You can eyefuck Mr. Way-Wentz without defiling my bus later. Besides, Patrick, Joe and Cortez were all by the stage last I saw anyway.”
“Wentz-Way,” Pete corrects and his face hurts from the kissing and the smiling all fucking day. But he can’t help it. “We decided on Wentz-Way.”
“Pete and Mikey Wentz-Way.” Andy considers that as Pete pulls on a fresh-ish shirt that he won’t feel disgusting hugging Patrick and Joe in and shoves his feet into his shoes. “It’s got a nice ring to it, actually.”
“Yeah,” Pete agrees and pulls open the door of the bus. He’s hit by a wall of noise coming from screaming fans and the thundering sound of My Chemical Romance on stage. He grins and takes the rest of the stairs in a jump so that he can turn and face Andy as he steps out. “Yeah. It really does.”
Status: Complete
Fandom: My Chemical Romance/Fall Out Boy
Series: Slideverse
Word Count: roughly 8,400 words
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in or related to My Chemical Romance or Fall Out Boy. Real people are real and not mine.
Pairing: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Rating: NC-17
Beta and helper thanks: allyndra, turps33 and guest_age for handholding and justabi for the quick beta.
Authors Notes: Inspired by how freaking happy Pete and Mikey look in these pictures from that last show in Northampton I wanted to write a shippy version of that day. Also, there was a request for a timestamp showing the end of the summer in So Why Don't You Slide. This story takes place in the same verse but you don't have to read it to read this.
Warning: Sex, happy endings, near-canon AU
Summary: Pete makes a bold move to keep what he's found with Mikey during the last days of Warped 05.
The last leg of the tour creeps up on Pete between trips to water parks and shows and stolen kisses when he’s not paying attention. One second he’s got a whole summer to figure Mikey out; the next he knows Mikey inside out and wants to learn more, only there’s just five fucking shows left on the tour. Five. He can’t wrap his head around that, around walking away from Warped and he especially can’t deal with letting go of this thing with Mikey.
It’s real. That’s the thing. It’s real like so very few things in Pete’s life have ever been. What he feels for Mikey Way is real like…like his deep drive to make music or his friendship with Patrick. It’s gone from being an ephemeral hope and buzz to something that is a universal fucking truth, at least for the Pete Wentz universe.
“Like Velveteen Rabbit real?” Gerard asks when Pete corners him to talk about it. “Or like documentary real?”
“Velveteen Rabbit,” Pete says without hesitation. “Only more because I would never fuck a stuffed rabbit.” That said, he isn’t sure the idea of Mikey in Playboy bunny ears is a bad one.
“You promised you wouldn’t use that word when we’re talking about my brother,” Gerard says in a tone that’s sharp but not unkind. “Or any sex related words. I’m pretending you two just snuggle a lot.”
“Okay so, I don’t want to stop, uh, snuggling him. But when we pull out of Boston, we’ve got the New York and New Jersey shows and then-"
“Back to Massachusetts for the last show and then we’re off to Europe,” Gerard says with a nod. “It’s a problem.”
“Right. And that just- You can’t just leave and take him with you.”
“He was ours first, Pete. I hate to break it to you.”
“I know that but I want him to be mine last.” Pete says. He’s been getting progressively more possessive of Mikey since that day at the water park, digging in with fingers, teeth and heart behind a waterfall. It’s weirdly intoxicating to say it out loud, though.
Gerard’s whole face kind of lights up with a smile the way that it does sometimes. Pete’s only seen it a couple of times since he met the guy, and never directed at him. It’s a little overwhelming and makes him feel almost embarrassed.
“What?”
“You should say that.” Gerard says, nodding. “And you should think about that. Yeah, the answer’s in there.” He waves a hand, thin and dexterous a lot like Mikey’s, through the air in Pete’s direction. “Somewhere.”
“It’s kinda melodramatic, Way,” Pete says, like that has ever fucking stopped him from doing anything before. It’s just that he hasn’t really dragged out the melodrama with Mikey. The funny, the intimate, the random, the juvenile, the secret and the broken but not the melodrama. There hasn’t been any need for it.
Gerard tilts his head to the side, his shaggy hair flopping to the side with the motion. “Is it true?”
Pete feels shy again, which is fucking weird. He doesn’t fucking do shy. But he lets himself nod and say, “Yeah.”
“Well, then it’s not melodramatic. It’s fact. You good now?”
No, he’s not good. He’s not really any closer to a solution when they pull out of New Jersey or into New York. It doesn’t hit him until he sees a kid in an HRC shirt in the crowd at the Englishtown Raceway. The yellow equal sign on the blue shirt makes his brain go click, click, boom and the answer is suddenly fucking obvious and perfect because they’re going to be back in Massachusetts for the last show tomorrow. That’s a sign, he’s sure of it and he’s a little bit overenthusiastic for the rest of the set.
Most of My Chem is watching them from off of stage right, because they’ve already played and there’s not much else to do, and Pete can feel Mikey’s eyes on him. It makes him hot and nervous at the same time but it also kind of decides things for him. When they leave the stage, before they go back for the encore, Pete drops down front of Mikey, his knees hitting the stage a little hard and he winces. Mikey just grins down at him.
“You okay, spazz?” He asks, offering a hand down to help Pete up.
Pete catches Mikey’s hand in both of his and holds it. Pete knows that a few people down in the audience can see, but they can’t hear and honestly he doesn’t fucking care. He wants Mikey to be his last and he’s figured out how to make that happen. “Marry me.”
Mikey rolls his eyes and laughs. “Yeah, sure.”
“I’m totally fucking serious.” Pete frowns and tugs on his hand, suddenly aware that everyone that matters - his band, Mikey’s, most of the sound crew and tour staff - are all watching him. That should make him more nervous but it doesn’t because most of his fears are busy with the possibility that Mikey could say no. “We’re going to be in Massachusetts tomorrow where it’ll be legal so we should get married. Because, you know, I’m completely fucking in love with you.”
Mikey’s eyes are huge behind his glasses now, but they’re not rolling around at him anymore, thank fuck. “You’re also nuts.”
“Yeah, but you knew that going in. So?” Pete asks, trying not to choke on hope. He almost does, though, when Gerard gives him a thumbs up and a huge grin from behind Mikey’s back.
“Pete, I- This is fucking crazy. It’s insane. What you’re asking is fucking insane.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Mikey wraps his fingers around one of Pete’s hands and tugs. “Get up.”
“Not until you answer.”
Mikey frowns and that’s not what Pete was going for. Not at all. “This isn’t funny, Pete,” he says in a soft voice. “Marriage isn’t a joke.”
“I know that. I’m not joking. I’m not kidding. I want you to stay with me, Mikey, for keeps.” He runs his thumbs over Mikey’s knuckles. Pete makes himself keep his eyes on Mikey’s face and not the hand he’s holding a little too tightly with both of his. “I don’t want this to end tomorrow when we go our separate ways. I want our ways to be together. Wentz-Ways. It’s got a nice ring to it, right?”
He gives Mikey what he hopes is a winning smile. But Mikey is still frowning and the smile feels fragile. Fuck, he feels fragile, like he could be shattered into a million pieces and he doesn’t want to be in pieces. Not again. He’s gotten used to being whole.
“Pete,” Mikey begins, but Pete can’t let him finish that. Whatever it is, he can tell from the way Mikey is still half holding his breath that its not what Pete wants to hear.
“Marry me, Mikey Way,” Pete says. He lets go of Mikey with his right hand so that he can reach up to his neck and pull his bartskull necklace off. He wraps the chain around Mikey’s fingers and says, “I’m not joking and I don’t think it’s funny. I just love you.”
Mikey’s entire face changes, lifts and falls at the same and Pete feels his fist close tightly over the necklace. Mikey swallows so hard that Pete can see his throat work and hear it and then he nods. Mikey nods like a bobble head doll and when he pulls Pete up this time, Pete goes, letting Mikey wrap his arms around him, kissing him briefly before shoving him away, his eyes bright.
“You’ve got an encore, moron,” Mikey says with a smile that’s bigger than any Pete’s ever seen on him fucking ever and he did that. He wants to do it again, more, forever.
“That’s a yes, though, right?” Joe asks, and Pete remembers, right, they’ve got an audience. More than one. And he has to go out and play a few more songs, like right now. He forgot there were other people on the planet there for a second.
Mikey laughs and thumbs over the heart part of the charm. “Yeah. Yeah it is.” He quirks a brow at Pete and Pete wants to kiss him because it’s a yes. It’s a yes and he gets to have and be had by Mikey Way forever. It’s kind of a lot to deal with and he’s not sure he can actually play right now.
“I’m going to be kissing the hell out of you later,” Pete says, pointing a finger at Mikey. “Among other things. So brace yourself.”
Mikey laughs as Gerard tackles him, babbling about how they can’t actually see each other the night before the wedding and bad luck. Pete misses the end of it because Patrick catches him by the collar and drags him back out on stage.
He plays in a daze, grinning like an idiot and he only stops because Patrick stays at his side and elbows him on and off. His fingers are numb and he forgets to sing back up in places, but it doesn’t matter. Every time he looks off to the right, Mikey’s there, the necklace wrapped around his hand like a love rosary or something, the bartskull pressed to his lower lip. Pete can’t think of much beyond the way that looks and the fact that he’s getting freaking married tomorrow.
“You’re going to be my best man, right?” Pete asks, slinging an arm around Patrick’s shoulder when they’re finally done and can put their instruments down. Patrick heaves a heavy sigh that moves Pete’s whole body and jabs him in the side with his elbow a little.
“You know I am,” Patrick mutters before prying Pete off him and shoving him in the direction of Mikey, who has drifted down the stairs and out of the sight of the milling show-goers. That’s fine by Pete. There’s nowhere he’d rather go. Unfortunately, Gerard catches him before he can reach his- fuck. His fiancé.
“Wedding night,” Gerard says, transformed from supportive guy into stern, superstitious guy. “One kiss and then I’m taking him back to our bus. Last thing you need is to jinx it.”
“But-“
Gerard holds up his index finger. “One.”
Pete huffs but he knows better than to fuck with Gerard’s resolve face. He’s seen Iero, Bryar and Schechter all go against it and lose and all of them are fucking formidable. He doesn’t have to be happy about it, though. “You’re the devil.”
“You can call me Lucifer,” Gerard quips and steps out of the way.
A lot of the jitters are still there, under Pete’s skin, and the intensity, but it’s like he got a harness on it when he was glaring down Gerard. Now he’s got the patience to take Mikey’s face in his hands and pull him down into a kiss that’s slow and hot and full of promises he intends to keep. Mikey’s hand grabs the back of his neck, pressing warm skin and cool metal against him as they smile into each other’s mouths and lick at teeth and lips.
“You’re seriously insane,” Mikey says when they finally break apart to whistles and the scattered clapping of the people who can see them from where they’re standing. Their faces are pressed together and Mikey’s bent down so that their noses rub against each other.
“I know. You love it, though.”
“Love you,” Mikey breathes against the skin of Pete’s cheek and Pete’s heart stops. It hasn’t fucking occurred to him before that moment that Mikey said yes without every actually saying I love you.
They’ve done things backwards and inside out, but Pete’s pretty sure the important thing is doing it at all. He presses another fast kiss to Mikey’s lips, before Gerard or anyone else can say anything and pulls back smiling. “I’m going to see you tomorrow.”
“And then some,” Mikey agrees, wrinkling his nose in an attempt to readjust his glasses from how the kiss has skewed them.
But he doesn’t let go of Pete to do it. Pete does it for him with careful fingers. He smooths his thumb over Mikey’s cheek briefly before he untangles himself. “Tomorrow,” he says again, giddy.
“How did you do that?” Mikey asks, a little stunned, but his wet lips are curling upwards. “How the fuck did you get me to say yes?”
“The Force. Also, I’m not good at letting go of things that are mine. I’m kind of a greedy fucker that way.”
“It works on you,” Mikey murmurs. “And it goes both ways.”
They kiss again, another brief replica of hundreds of others snuck on dozens of other venues just like this one and then Gerard clears his throat. “That’s way more than one,” Gerard says in a voice that’s torn between annoyance and the same kind of noise that Iero makes when confronted with a puppy.
It helps. Pete stands back and watches as Gerard drags Mikey back to the My Chem bus and then takes off for his own bus to see if anyone’s gotten internet hooked up on this stupid parking lot. There's a shit ton of stuff to do and pretty much no time to do it.
Andy’s got internet from somewhere - Pete’s afraid to ask to be perfectly honest, because his laptop’s getting nothing and there are a lot of wires involved. But Andy’s is working, so they cluster around it. The big problem Google presents him is the three day waiting period thing. That Pete wasn’t expecting, but there’s got to be a way around that, right?
“There has to be a judge somewhere in the state of Massachusetts with a son or daughter who’s a fan of at least one band on this tour, doesn’t there?” Pete asks, because that seems reasonable. Even judges have kids with authority issues and misunderstood pain.
“Yeah, of course,” Patrick agrees. “The thing is, you’re doing this last minute. So we don’t have time to find one. And if you’d thought about it, we wouldn’t have to.”
“At least it’s not a weekend,” Joe adds. “Chances are if we can cover enough ground before sound check, we can find someone.”
“It’s like helping a drug addict score,” Patrick mutters, shaking his head. But instead of walking away, like he does when he’s genuinely annoyed, he hip checks Pete away from the laptop and starts searching courts in the Northampton area.
“You just need to get the license,” Andy says, clearly aiming for reassuring. “Cause you know, Dewees is ordained and he could totally do it, if it took awhile to get the paperwork and shit squared away.“
Pete blinks at him. “Fucking Dewees is ordained? Are you kidding me?”
“No, dude. I think he got it done on the internet, but it’s totally legit.”
“Dewees,” Pete laughs. “My mother’s going to kill me.”
Patrick makes a choked noise and adjusts his hat on his head. No doubt it's just giving his hands something to do to keep him from strangling Pete where he sits. “You’re six months out of nearly killing yourself and you’re getting married to a guy you’ve been dating for two months who is then going to leave the fucking country. And what you’re worried about is your mom hearing about you getting married by a keyboardist?”
Pete gets this. He does. He’s dragged them all through the shit, no one more than Patrick, and Patrick has picked him up after it all. He can understand Patrick not wanting to do it again. The thing is, Pete’s positive, deep down in whatever he’s got that passes for a soul, that Patrick’s not going to have to this time. Not about this, not over Mikey.
“Dewees officiating is the only thing I’m not sure about,” Pete says, staring Patrick down. “I’ll have to talk to Mikey about it. But the specifics don’t matter, because I can’t picture my life ten, twenty, fifty years down the road if he’s not in it. Before him, the only person I could say that about was you. ”
Patrick sighs and Pete holds his breath because Patrick is like his brother and he can’t get married if his brother’s not standing next to him. Well, he can but he really doesn’t want to.
“You’re sure?” Patrick asks, folding his arms over his chest and pushing back from the computer a little. He twists his head so that he can look Pete directly in the eye as he waits for the answer.
Pete can’t help but grin when he gives it. “Yeah. I’m fucking sure.”
“Okay then.”
Things go pretty fast from there. There’s a list of judges and courthouses and paperwork. Joe runs the list over to the My Chem bus because Pete’s not allowed over, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need the manpower. Those guys have a scary ability to get shit done and Pete’s glad to have them in his corner. Then there’s the drive from Jersey back up to Massachusetts.
It takes awkward phone calls with five judges in two counties to find a one who is willing to talk to them about a waiver. Turns out there’s a district judge right in Northampton with a teenage son whose love for the Offspring overrides pretty much all other mitigating factors in the kid’s life. A pair of backstage passes and a promise from Mikey and Pete that really, honestly, truly they are seriously in true fucking love later and they’ve got a waiver waiting for them.
“That was too easy,” Mikey mutters when the gopher arrives with the paperwork from the courthouse. He’s got Pete’s necklace wound around his middle finger and is swinging it around his hand, clockwise then counterclockwise in a nervous gesture that makes Pete grin like a fucking idiot. “This shouldn’t have been this easy.”
“It’s not easy. It’s fated.”
Mikey huffs at him a little, but doesn’t argue. He’s too busy staring at his socks and abusing Pete’s necklace. Pete catches his hand and stops the swing mid rotation. He grabs the front of that Stone Roses t-shirt he’s come to love and pulls Mikey into his arms.
“Hey, if you don’t want to-“
“No, I do. It’s just…I’m not used to good things being easy.”
Pete laughs and smiles at Mikey. “Give it a little while. It’ll stop being easy pretty quick. I’m a pretty difficult guy.”
“I want to marry you anyway.”
“I think that’s why it’s okay that this is going easy,” Pete says, tugging again, asking Mikey to kiss him without words. Mikey’s head dips down, but before they can, there’s a banging noise.
“No kissing!” Gerard declares. “You can’t wait half an hour?”
“No.” Mikey groans, shutting his eyes and pressing his temple to Pete’s. “Go away, Gee.”
“Mikey, come on,” Gerard whines. “We’re just trying to get everybody together and then we’ll be good to go. You guys don’t even have rings so just, give me this okay?”
“I seriously hate you,” Mikey mutters and Pete laughs, a little delirious with how fucking happy he is right now. “I’m going to revoke best man privileges. You don’t deserve them.”
“I just came over to say that you’ve got to call Mom before we do this. And you can’t take my privileges, because I called ahead and took the first round of screaming for you. You’re welcome, happy wedding. But if you guys do this without calling her back, she is going to kill you and then Pete’ll be a widower before you’re even married.”
“Go.” Pete says, releasing Mikey to Gerard’s insistent tugging, grateful that his family isn’t that tangled up in each other. Of course it occurs to him just about the same time that Gerard drags Mikey around a corner and out of sight that the Ways are going to be his family in about thirty minutes, and that he’s throwing himself into the knot. It’s a little bit scary actually.
“There you are,” Patrick says, appearing out of nowhere to pull Pete out of his thoughts. He’s sweating in the August sun and looks frustrated. That’s nothing new, though. In fact, it’s something of a comforting constant.
Pete rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands into the pockets of his black hoody. It’s a little too warm for the weather, but nothing so trivial as sunshine and heat can touch him today. “Here I am.”
“They parked our bus next to the My Chem one so that we can do the ceremony over there. Bob’s charging his camera, and Dewees pretty much got the legal shit memorized if he can remember that Massachusetts is technically a commonwealth, not a state.”
Pete has excellent taste in friends and lovers. Really, it’s a wonder he ever doubted himself, because Patrick’s the best best man ever. So he tells him so. “You’re the best best man ever.”
“You’re going to owe me forever.”
“I don’t already?”
“Okay, then you owe me double,” Patrick concedes. “Did you guys figure out what to do about rings?”
Pete frowns because no, he hadn't thought about that. He hadn’t thought about, well, lots of things. Mostly his thought process was: Mikey. Mine. The end. Everything beyond that was just extra and he didn’t usually consider the extras when proceeding with a plan. “Uh, no?”
“Why am I not surprised?” Patrick sighs, beginning to walk, and because Pete is pretty sure there’s an invisible string that tethers him to Patrick, he follows. “I’ve been thinking about it though.”
“Good thing someone is,” Pete agrees amicably.
“Yes,” Patrick says on another sigh. “You think you could get your bartskull back from Mikey?”
“I don’t want it back. It’s his. That’s kinda the point.”
“Right. But you don’t really wear rings and you already gave it to him once and he’s got the brass knuckle necklace. You could trade that instead of rings,” Patrick says with a shrug. “Just an idea.”
Pete freezes for a second, staring at Patrick, and wondering if his face is going to break from smiling. Worse ways to lose his looks. “You’re best best man of all time. You really are. I have insanely good taste.”
“Of course this is about you.”
Pete winks. “Today? Yes, yes it is. And Mikey. August 15th is officially Me and Mikey Day from now on. It’s a national holiday. I’m declaring it right now.”
“You can’t do that if you’re not president.”
“I could be president. Reagan was an actor.”
“I wouldn’t vote for you,” Patrick says as he comes to a stop at a row of buses that looks like any other row of the bus city.
Except this row has Joe and Andy and Dirty and the non-Way faction of My Chem, all of Senses Fail and a couple of the Offspring guys who insisted on an “invite” in exchange for playing nice with the judge’s kid. Bryar’s fucking around with a camcorder and Dewees leaned against the side of the Fall Out Boy bus texting. For some reason, all these people gathered together makes it all way more real and he just wants Mikey to get back here already so they can figure this shit out and move on to the good part.
“This just got really weird,” Pete whispers to Patrick who doesn’t make any indication that he’s annoyed with Pete. He claps him on the shoulder instead and squeezes once.
“It’s been weird the whole time, Pete.”
Pete makes an executive decision to fucking ignore that. He casts around for the only person who really matters right now. “Gerard’s bringing Mikey back soon though, right?”
Patrick glances down at his watch, then sighs. “Stay here. Don’t get into trouble. Joe, Ray, don’t let him get into trouble.”
“Does that mean I’m an usher?” Joe asks and Pete grins at him, because see, Joe’s in the spirit of things. That’s why Joe is his favorite, after Mikey and Patrick and also, he kind of is tied with Andy because well, it’s fucking Andy.
“I’m pretty sure it qualifies us,” Toro says with a laugh and Patrick shoves him at them and is gone before he can register that Iero is frowning.
“Always a fucking bridesmaid,” Iero mutters and Pete laughs, a little hysterically. He hopes to fuck that Mikey does not come back in a wedding dress. Because he’s open minded (he’s got this idea for a nun costume he really wants to use in a music video one day) and he’s pretty sure that Mikey would look good in anything, but that sort of shit isn’t really his speed. It seems like the kind of thing the Ross kid might like, though.
“I think you’re technically a groomsman,” Joe says and Iero brightens a little at that.
“I still can’t believe Mikey said yes,” Toro says, tilting his chin down a little so that he can meet Pete’s gaze. “Does this mean you’re coming with us to the Netherlands when we leave next week?”
Pete actually hadn’t thought that far ahead. There’s a string of shows between now and when My Chemical Romance gets back from Europe next month and he should be at them. He should, after all he’s technically the front man. But he’s not Patrick. He’s not the voice and if there was someone else playing bass, it won’t be quite the same but it would still work. He could probably miss a few shows right? For fucks sake, how many chances to be newlywed do you get anyway? “I don’t know yet.”
“Somebody better call Brian when you do decide you’re coming,” Iero says, chuckling a little and picking at his fingernails. “You know, about tour details. Because you are, you know, coming along. Twu wuv and all that shit.”
“Not it,” Bryar says quickly from behind his camera. “ Seriously, not fucking it.”
“Me either,” Toro agrees. “I think that’s a best man duty, anyway.”
Iero laughs and flashes that big shark grin. “Totally.”
Gerard reappears then, like he’s been summoned, which makes Pete wonder for just a split second if maybe he actually is the Morning Star, but he’s got Mikey in tow, looking just like he did before they split up, intensely fuckable, but totally normal except for the fact that his necklace is gone. Patrick’s got his hands in his pockets and is trying to push down a self-satisfied expression that means he won an argument with someone, probably Gerard. Pete grins at him across the asphalt and Patrick smiles back.
At the sight of the Brothers Way, Dewees pushes off the side of the bus and stows his phone in his pocket. “So are we ready to do this kids? I’m pretty sure the Fall Out Boy tech guys are going to be done in like fifteen minutes.”
There’s a collective murmur of agreement and somehow, he and Mikey end up standing shoulder to shoulder next to each other in between their buses in front of their friends and Bob Bryar’s video camera and an internet ordained keyboardist who at one point managed to get Gerard Way into a fur suit. Pete knows, Mikey showed him the pictures. It’s all kind of surreal, but less so when the fingers of Mikey’s right hand reach out and tangle in his left. Then it’s fucking Velveteen Rabbit, Pinocchio, happy fucking ending, you make yourself real and it’s the best kind of real Pete’s ever felt.
“So,” Dewees says, clearing his throat and wiggling his eyebrows, “This is my first same-sex marriage so I didn’t prepare anything, but you know, we’ve all watched you guys and you seem to know what you’re doing. Kind of. At least you seem happy together and that’s enough for everyone who’s managed to show up for this. So, Mikey, you want to marry him right? Because you know that shit’s for life.”
Mikey laughs and squeezes his hand. “Yeah. I do.”
“Good,” Dewees sighs, looking genuinely relieved. “Cause this could’ve gotten really awkward. Wentz, you love him and you’re not going to fuck with him or screw this up and you want to marry him too, right?”
Pete considers protesting that and Mikey squeezes his hand again. He squeezes back and nods. “I absolutely fucking do.”
“Remember you said that because if you break it I’ll break you,” Dewees warns. “Just so we’re clear before we move on to the fun part.”
“Crystal.”
“Awesome. Okay. So, by the power vested in me by the internet and God and also the license issued by the state of Massachusetts-”
“Commonwealth,” Pete cuts in because no fucking way is this going to get screwed up on a technicality. “Massachusetts is a commonwealth.”
“How is that different from a state?” Iero asks, leaning closer to whisper the question. But everyone can totally hear him because apart from the distant sounds of the crowd milling about in front of the Bishop Stage and the techs fucking with their instruments, it's pretty quiet.
“There’s none here but technically a commonwealth’s an autonomous, self-governing - “ Andy begins but Patrick’s and Joe’s hands slams over his mouth at the same time. Pete appreciates usher/best man cooperation.
“As you were,” Joe says cheerfully.
“Okay, where were we? Oh, yeah, love, blah blah, you both do, blah blah,” Dewees waves his hand. “And with the okay of God, the internet and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I pronounce you, Michael Way, and you, Peter Wentz, lawfully married. You can exchange…someone’s got rings or something, right?”
“Or something, “Gerard says, stepping forward.
He gives Mikey a lopsided hug that doesn’t require Mikey to let go of Pete and drops the necklace into Mikey’s left hand. On Pete’s right, Patrick pulls his hand off Andy’s mouth, rubbing it on his palm on his pants briefly and grimacing before pulling the bartskull necklace out of his pocket and handing it to Pete.
Then they’re facing each other, like this was anything like traditional and Mikey’s smiling at him from over the tops of his RayBan glasses in his Stone Roses shirt. “You wanna go first?” Pete asks.
“You proposed, you can go first. You’re not good with waiting anyway,” Mikey says and god, shit like that is why he loves him. Because Mikey just gets him.
Pete’s hands shake a little as he unhooks the clasp on the chain and moves to put it around Mikey’s neck. It’s simple and ridiculous but it feels fucking special and it takes him what feels like forever to get the damn thing closed again. But when he does, he drags his fingers down the length of the chain to rest on the charm, his palm on Mikey’s chest, for just a brief moment before he pulls away so that Mikey can have his turn.
He gets this weird tunnel vision when Mikey’s hands slide behind his neck that he wasn’t expecting. After all, this whole thing, it’s so last second and desperate that it’s all been sort of a big blur. But the moment seems to slow down to sharp and minute detail. Mikey’s arms are heavy on his shoulders. His features are more defined than Pete’s ever seen them and he can hear them both breathing. When the small silvery replica of brass knuckles finally rests on his chest all by themselves, only to be covered an instant later by Mikey’s hand, Pete feels like he’s too big for his body.
“Wow, Jesus,” Dewees says, cutting through the moment but not breaking. “Okay, fuck. I pronounced you spouse and spouse so you guys need to kiss already. You’re fucking killing us here.”
Mikey catches the back of Pete’s head in both his hands and pulls him up on his toes a little to meet him in the first kiss. There’s a lot more tongue and definitely more teeth than Pete would’ve put into a first married kiss if he were in a church or a courthouse and there’s way more whooping and noise and catcalls than there was for the proposal kiss yesterday. It’s also possibly the best kiss in Pete’s life, because it tastes like the beginning and forever at the same time.
It ends too soon because they’re already ten minutes later than they should be for their set. The thing is, Pete and Mikey have come to this unspoken agreement about not letting each other out of their sight. He’s pretty sure how the entirety of both Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance end up migrating to the Bishop Stage as one unit. It’s also how Mikey ends up off the back wall with Gerard and on stage with Pete’s bass in his hands.
It’s the next best thing to a reception, all things considered. Pete gets to sit on an amp and watch his (Jesus fucking Christ on the cross) husband play. That’s kind of amazing all on its own, him being married. Pete never saw that for himself, especially not at twenty-six but it works. With Mikey it makes nothing but sense and he feels fucking high watching him play. Hell, right now he feels high looking at Mikey period. He only half registers when Toro takes over guitar so Joe can go talk to Gerard and Pete wants to save this moment, wants to have it forever.
One show and two encores later, Pete finally drops his bass into the hands of a bass tech. He’s sweaty and slick from the heat and the work of playing and the anticipation of getting his hands on Mikey. Who he’s married to. Fuck.
Patrick catches Pete by the arm before he can reach him, though. Pete opens his mouth to protest because, seriously what the fuck, when Patrick mumbles that no one will be back on the Fall Out Boy bus until much later tonight. And since Mikey has a solid hour and a half before My Chemical Romance has to be on stage, it seems only logical that they take advantage of the privacy. This just confirms what Pete’s been saying all day. Patrick is seriously the best best man of all time.
Mikey’s waiting for him, saying nothing, his mouth a thin line that quirks at the corners and Pete’s the only one who gets to taste the place where they meet. For the rest of fucking ever. Pete slides his fingers into the space between Mikey’s belt and jeans and pulls him close. “You got some time?” Pete asks, already knowing the answer.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got an opening in my schedule.”
“Wanna grab a quickie before the reception?’
“What reception?” Mikey laughs, nodding. It’s an invitation for Pete to guide him by the belt back to the Fall Out Boy bus. Pete is not sure how they manage to get the bus door closed before their tearing at each other’s clothes but they manage somehow. They both should get fucking awards for that though. Oscars, maybe, or Nobel Prizes.
The floor of the bus isn’t the best but trying to fuck in the bunks is like trying to fuck in a coffin and at least on the floor he and Mikey can stretch out, next to and on top of each other. Mikey’s cursing and tugging at the zipper on his hoody and Pete is shoving up on Mikey’s t-shirt. Mikey is still tan under the shirt, paler on his chest than his arms and face but tanner than it would’ve been if Pete hadn’t been dragging him into the water all summer, but still there. The skin Pete can reach tastes like fresh sweat and old cigarette smoke and Mikey. He drags his teeth over a nipple and Mikey’s back arches off the floor.
“Wanna fuck you right here,” Pete says, as he nips his way down Mikey’s chest to his navel. He pulls back a little and grins up at Mikey. “Maybe when there’s more time.”
“You’re fucking evil,” Mikey shoots back, his hands burying Pete’s hair. “Lucky I love you anyway,” Mikey says on a groan as Pete bites at the spot just above the top of his jeans. It makes Mikey pull his hair every time and Pete knows just where to apply pressure with lips and teeth to start pushing Mikey towards that non-verbal place before he ever gets his pants off.
“You don’t have time for the not evil me,” Pete points out as he undoes Mikey’s belt. Moments like this always make him question his wardrobe and the choices of everyone around him because tight pants and complicated belts are just not easy to get into. “You have to get back out there and be fucking brilliant.”
“Fuck not having time,” Mikey counters, pulling on his hair again, hard enough to hurt and not in the fun way until Pete stops resisting and comes up to be face to face. Mikey kisses him, fast and almost painful when he bites Pete’s lower lip, and when he pulls back, he says it again. “Fuck not having time. We’re supposed to have all of it now. That was the whole point right?”
Pete didn’t have any doubts before. Really he didn’t. But if he had had any left, they’d’ve been gone when Mikey said that. He pulls Mikey’s glasses off and tosses them onto the couch above them so that he doesn’t have to worry about breaking them when he kisses Mikey again, taking hold his face with both hands. “It’s one of the points,” Pete murmurs, his lips bumping Mikey’s in something that’s not quite a kiss. “It’s one of the big ones.”
Mikey blinks at him and Pete gives into impulse and presses a kiss to Mikey’s eyelids. He doesn’t usually have access because of the glasses but he thinks he should today. They got married like an hour and a half ago so it’s only fair that he should get to touch all of Mikey now. It’s poetic, kind of.
Mikey makes a little noise in the back of his throat at the gesture and rolls them in the narrow space so that Pete’s on the bottom. Pete sometimes forgets that Mikey’s a little bigger than he is because he’s so fucking angular and sharp in his build. But he is and he’s a strong fucker too and he’s got Pete on his back. That’s awesome though, because he doesn’t have to hold himself up while he’s finishing the job of Mikey’s pants.
The logistics of getting clothes off in a bus is slightly more complicated than getting them off in a hotel, but way less difficult than a public bathroom. They just have to pull apart for a few seconds to do it and that part sucks. The coming back together with nothing but skin between them part is fucking amazing though, more than worth the stutter in the flow.
Pete hooks a leg over Mikey’s hip and wishes they had time for a slow fuck. They’ve only had time and energy to do it a few times but Pete remembers it being so good he’d nearly passed out and right now, he wants Mikey inside him so bad he can almost feel it. But they can’t for lots of reasons ranging from when Mikey needs to get back out there to the fact that he has actually managed to run out of lube sometime in the last three days, so Pete doesn’t say anything. Mikey wouldn’t find it sexy right now, he’d find it frustrating and upsetting and Pete’s enjoying the feel of him smiling into his neck too much for that.
So right now Pete’s good with tracing over the older finger-shaped bruises and bite marks on Mikey’s chest and shoulders as they grind together like kids in the backseat of a parent’s car. Pete wishes he had time to go over them all, renew them like a freaking library book. He wishes for a lot of things, but he has Mikey, he has him, forever, and thinking of that makes everything else seem so much less important.
“Almost- We almost-,” Mikey pants, his voice ragged and desperate. He’s pushed himself up with his elbows braced on the floor of the bus, bracketing Pete on either side. Mikey’s head is hanging down, his eyes are shut tight, and the necklace sways a little with every roll and shudder of his body. “Pete. Fuck, Pete.”
“I got you,” Pete says, surprised to find that he really does. He wraps his left arm around Mikey’s shoulders, anchoring him and his right slides between them. He’s rewarded with the tension holding Mikey up on his elbows dissolving and the full weight of Mikey’s body falling on him. It presses on his ribs and shoulders and the hard metal under the carpet digs at him, but he so doesn’t fucking care.
Mikey comes quietly, with a choking noise. One hand is tangled in Pete’s hair, holding Pete’s head steady so that Mikey can press his face against his. Pete feels it and hears it more than he can see it with Mikey’s nose smooshed against his cheek, but it’s still an intense thing to witness.
It’s a messy kind of intimacy that’s a little scary. It’s the kind of moment that he’d have gone screaming from with anyone else. With Mikey, Pete’s just so fucking turned on he’s blindly thrusting against whatever Mikey-skin he can press against trying to get enough friction to follow.
It’s inefficient and not enough. It’s also fucking time consuming and with Mikey mostly dead weight on top of him, hard fucking work. Pete bites the curve Mikey’s shoulder hard and Mikey hisses and laughs in the same tired breath and manages to push himself up enough return the favor.
“Thank you, God,” Pete groans, slamming his head against the floor so hard it hurts when Mikey gets a good rhythm going.
“That’s not my name, bitch,” Mikey says in complete deadpan and Pete cracks up. He hits his head a few more times, torn between the amazing feeling of fucking up into Mikey’s fist while being pushed down into the floor and the spasms of laughter.
When Pete comes, he’s still giggling a little. It’s an easy orgasm that rolls over him like a deep sea wave instead of a storm surge, and when its over he feels boneless and content. Like actually content. The kind he can’t remember feeling before where he doesn’t feel the drive to be doing anything else beyond be right where he is.
Mikey rolls off of him to lie pressed tight against him in the cramped space and their ring and little fingers thread together. This feels nothing like what he was expecting, but in a good way.
When he turns his neck to go from staring up at the ceiling of the bus to Mikey, Mikey’s already facing him. Pete frowns when he’s confront with the thin line of Mikey’s mouth instead of at least the hint of a smile.
He tries to scoot closer and finds that there isn’t really a closer to go. So he settles for offering Mikey a small grin. “Hey.”
Mikey doesn’t smile back. “We almost walked away.”
Oh. Is that what Mikey was saying? That’s way less sexy that what Pete had thought he was trying to say. He’s really glad he didn’t finish the thought ten minutes ago. “No, we didn’t.”
“Yes, we did. We’d have gone out there today, we’d’ve played and then that would’ve been it. I’d go east, you’d go west and we’d still be friends but…” Mikey shifts his hand so that all of their fingers are locked together. When Mikey squeezes, it’s a little harder than strictly necessary. “I almost walked away from you. “
“You didn’t though,” Pete feels compelled to point out. “I mean, shit, Mikey, we’re married now, you know? It removes the walk away option.”
“I know that,” Mikey sighs, running his thumb over the back of Pete’s index finger. “But it’s like right after you almost wreck your car, but don’t. You’re fine until you realize how close it came, then you have to pull onto the shoulder and breathe for awhile because that fucking semi almost hit you.”
Pete blinks. “Are we on a metaphoric shoulder right now?”
“I am. I think you got off the shoulder and back on the road yesterday.”
“No, its cool. I can wait here with you.”
“I want to stay,” Mikey says and rolls onto his side so that he’s facing him. Without his glasses he looks older but incredibly vulnerable at the same time. Pete rolls towards him and slings his free arm over Mikey’s waist.
“Well,” Pete says slowly, taking the moment to think. He doesn’t usually think before he talks, but he does this time because one, he doesn’t usually talk this much right after sex, not even with Mikey, so who knows what his brain might pull out if he’s not careful, and two, they are not just talking about the metaphoric shoulder anymore. “The thing about the whole married thing is, as far as I’m aware, you get to come back. You’re a Way-Wentz now so you always get to come back.”
“You were right about Wentz-Way. It’s got a better ring to it.”
“Not alphabetical though.”
“No,” Mikey agrees. “Are you coming with us?”
“I don’t know, Mikey. That’s the problem with the whole quickie marriage thing. There’s still shit to figure out.” And that’s his bad. He knows that, but that doesn’t change the facts.
“I want you to come,” Mikey says. “I’ll get it if you can’t and I’m pretty sure I can get Cortez to cover for me in Europe but-“
“Wait. You’d stay with me?”
Mikey looks at him with the same fond expression Pete has gotten from everyone he loves at least once. “You only get one honeymoon, Pete. I just figured that on a bus in Europe was still, you know, Europe. But yeah, I’ll stay if you can’t. I want to.”
There’s a bang on the door that jerks them both out of the moment and reminds them that, right, they’ve just fucked on the floor of a bus that Pete is going to have to share with the rest of his band. “They need Mikey back now,” a voice calls and Pete’s pretty sure its Andy.
“Keep your pants on,” Pete calls fumbling for his shirt. He uses it to wipe the drying come off his stomach and then tosses it to Mikey. Pete grabs his boxers off the floor and tugs on his hoody over his bare skin, only pausing long enough to watch Mikey’s ass disappear under his own underwear.
“You didn’t!” Andy calls back. Pete can hear the lock on the bus jiggling but by the time the door opens, they’re both presentable enough. Read: there’s no semen readily visible.
Pete’s pretty sure that the cursory swipe with his t-shirt didn’t get it all off Mikey's skin though. Yes, okay, it’s totally disgusting, but Pete also really fucking likes the idea of sending Mikey out to play in front of thousands of people with Pete’s necklace around his neck and their come drying underneath his t-shirt. It’s dirty and gross and hot and just fucking awesome.
“Your guys are waiting for you,” Andy says looking at Mikey. “They said you’ve got two minutes before they call Schechter. They said to tell you that if they have to call him, that,” Andy pauses and looks down at his hand where he’s written something. “Gee is going let your mom start calling the rest of the family,” Andy reads and by the time he’s gotten to the end Mikey’s scrambling into his shoes.
He pauses long enough to give Pete a brief, hard kiss. “Talk to them,” Mikey says and Pete nods. That seems to be enough for Mikey because he’s tripping over himself to get down the steps of the bus and out. Pete leans over and he can watch Mikey running across the parking lot towards the stage for a little while.
“So you going with to Europe, yeah?” Andy asks, jarring Pete. He hadn’t realized they were talking about that.
“Maybe.”
“I overheard Patrick and Iero talking to Cortez. He’s no you, but he can probably cover you and they’re willing to lend him to us so there’s space for you on the bus.”
“I…They were? He can?”
“We’re not idiots, man, all evidence to the contrary. It’s less than a month. We’ll manage. Plus, fucking Schechter’ll have you working anyway.”
Pete hasn’t done tech work since before they graduated from the van to the bus, but he thinks he can remember… some of it. Whatever. He’ll figure it out in fucking Europe because his band and Mikey’s band are both made of goddamn awesome. “You guys are fucking amazing you know that?”
“Fuck yeah, we are,” Andy says with a nod. He wrinkles his nose at the lump of Pete’s soiled shirt on the floor by his feet. He pushes it away with a toe like its toxic, which is fucking hilarious to Pete considering the company Andy keeps off tour. “Now put on a real shirt like a real man and go thank everyone who pulled shit together for you. Starting with me.”
“Thank you, Andy,” Pete singsongs like a kid to teacher. “I was going to watch the show though.”
“The Jersey guys are going home tonight. You can eyefuck Mr. Way-Wentz without defiling my bus later. Besides, Patrick, Joe and Cortez were all by the stage last I saw anyway.”
“Wentz-Way,” Pete corrects and his face hurts from the kissing and the smiling all fucking day. But he can’t help it. “We decided on Wentz-Way.”
“Pete and Mikey Wentz-Way.” Andy considers that as Pete pulls on a fresh-ish shirt that he won’t feel disgusting hugging Patrick and Joe in and shoves his feet into his shoes. “It’s got a nice ring to it, actually.”
“Yeah,” Pete agrees and pulls open the door of the bus. He’s hit by a wall of noise coming from screaming fans and the thundering sound of My Chemical Romance on stage. He grins and takes the rest of the stairs in a jump so that he can turn and face Andy as he steps out. “Yeah. It really does.”