Fic: This Is How It Could Have Happened (Pete/Mikey Summer Of Like snippet)
Because it's annemaris and Mikeyway's birthdays (in some parts of the world still), here is a little snippet I woke up with in my brain.
Not beta'ed, PG, about 500 words.
It's so hot Mikey's pretty sure he can hear the grass wilting. Every few minutes he has to shift sideways, chasing shadow across the ground, dirt and stones digging into his shoulder blades.
They're not playing for another couple of hours, and Fall Out Boy aren't on for a couple more after that. Mikey should probably head back to his bus soon, face Gerard's dark look and Frank's ribbing, but not yet.
He feels stoned, limbs heavy, skin warm. Pete's talking - has been talking steadily for forever - and it's not like Mikey isn't listening. It's just, with Pete sometimes it's easier if Mikey doesn't always listen to the words. He listen's to Pete's rhythm instead. The rise and fall of dialogue, ideas chasing ideas, the cadence of his breathing. It's good. Constant.
Until it stops. Mikey peels his eyes open, squinting sideways at Pete, who says, "Don't you think, Mikes?"
Mikey didn't catch the question, but he nods anyway, sure he'd agree on whatever it is. Pete's shirtless, as usual - distractingly so - leaves and bits of dead grass sticking to his shoulder where he's rolled onto his side. His hair is all sweaty and sideways and his grin is too big for his face, like someone's been fucking around with a picture of him in Photobooth.
"I knew you'd get it," Pete says, then rolls closer, one hand bracing clumsily on Mikey's chest as he dips his head and presses his mouth messily to Mikey's.
Now that's unexpected.
Mikey's mouth opens up under Pete's on instinct, then Pete's tongue is in Mikey's mouth. Pete kisses like he talks, just puts it all out there, like he has to convince Mikey of something even though they're usually on the same page. Mikey wasn't expecting Pete to turn this page.
Mikey sucks on Pete's lower lip, plump and soft just like he knew it would be. Pete tastes like cigarettes and sweat and cherry candy. Mikey presses a hesitant hand to Pete's shoulder, pushing just a little, until their mouths separate with a wet sound. "You don't - I mean-" Pete blinks at him and Mikey continues, his tongue thick in his mouth, "I mean, you don't have to. We can just hang."
Frank once said Mikey can't do platonic relationships. Frank is an annoying little fuck.
Pete sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he leans down and kisses Mikey again, cupping his hand over Mikey's cheek and sliding his fingers up into Mikey's hair, holding him to it as he licks into his mouth.
Fuck it, Mikey decides, and kisses back, finding Pete's tongue. He curls stiff fingers around Pete's shoulder, his skin sweat-hot under Mikey's hand. Pete's curled over Mikey awkwardly, his hips canted away even though their chests are so close Pete's sweating through Mikey's t-shirt. Mikey wraps his arm around Pete's back, keeping it high up, and keeps kissing him.
It's enough.
Not beta'ed, PG, about 500 words.
It's so hot Mikey's pretty sure he can hear the grass wilting. Every few minutes he has to shift sideways, chasing shadow across the ground, dirt and stones digging into his shoulder blades.
They're not playing for another couple of hours, and Fall Out Boy aren't on for a couple more after that. Mikey should probably head back to his bus soon, face Gerard's dark look and Frank's ribbing, but not yet.
He feels stoned, limbs heavy, skin warm. Pete's talking - has been talking steadily for forever - and it's not like Mikey isn't listening. It's just, with Pete sometimes it's easier if Mikey doesn't always listen to the words. He listen's to Pete's rhythm instead. The rise and fall of dialogue, ideas chasing ideas, the cadence of his breathing. It's good. Constant.
Until it stops. Mikey peels his eyes open, squinting sideways at Pete, who says, "Don't you think, Mikes?"
Mikey didn't catch the question, but he nods anyway, sure he'd agree on whatever it is. Pete's shirtless, as usual - distractingly so - leaves and bits of dead grass sticking to his shoulder where he's rolled onto his side. His hair is all sweaty and sideways and his grin is too big for his face, like someone's been fucking around with a picture of him in Photobooth.
"I knew you'd get it," Pete says, then rolls closer, one hand bracing clumsily on Mikey's chest as he dips his head and presses his mouth messily to Mikey's.
Now that's unexpected.
Mikey's mouth opens up under Pete's on instinct, then Pete's tongue is in Mikey's mouth. Pete kisses like he talks, just puts it all out there, like he has to convince Mikey of something even though they're usually on the same page. Mikey wasn't expecting Pete to turn this page.
Mikey sucks on Pete's lower lip, plump and soft just like he knew it would be. Pete tastes like cigarettes and sweat and cherry candy. Mikey presses a hesitant hand to Pete's shoulder, pushing just a little, until their mouths separate with a wet sound. "You don't - I mean-" Pete blinks at him and Mikey continues, his tongue thick in his mouth, "I mean, you don't have to. We can just hang."
Frank once said Mikey can't do platonic relationships. Frank is an annoying little fuck.
Pete sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he leans down and kisses Mikey again, cupping his hand over Mikey's cheek and sliding his fingers up into Mikey's hair, holding him to it as he licks into his mouth.
Fuck it, Mikey decides, and kisses back, finding Pete's tongue. He curls stiff fingers around Pete's shoulder, his skin sweat-hot under Mikey's hand. Pete's curled over Mikey awkwardly, his hips canted away even though their chests are so close Pete's sweating through Mikey's t-shirt. Mikey wraps his arm around Pete's back, keeping it high up, and keeps kissing him.
It's enough.