FIC
It’s like, the first time it happened Bob couldn’t stop laughing and feeling kind of like a Bad Man, because it’s Mikey, you know? Mikey Way sitting on his lap drinking a virgin screwdriver (“So you’re drinking orange juice.” “Shuttup, it sounds cooler this way.”) and laughing at fucking… something. Bob has no idea, because Mikey’s got one hand on the back of Bob’s neck and his thumb is stroking absently, tickling the tiny hairs and sending chills racing across Bob’s skin. And fucking Mikey isn’t even looking at him, he’s too busy chatting to Gerard or Frank or who-the-fuck-ever, but pretty soon he’s gonna have to start paying attention because Bob’s just popped a hard-on like an iron bar and what the fuck’s wrong with him?
He stands up so quickly Mikey goes tumbling to the floor, sloshing juice over his hand. “Hey, what’s up?” Gerard asks, and Mikey’s just looking up at him with big eyes, and absently licking the juice from his wrist.
“Gotta piss,” Bob mutters, and makes his escape, stumbling to the bathroom like he’s just run a marathon. When he gets there he just looks at himself in the mirror and cracks up. “Mikey Way? Are you serious?”
So that’s how it starts.
Except Bob thinks that’s bullshit, because you don’t just randomly get hard for people you’ve known for years, not out of the blue. There must have been something there, right? He spends days going back in his head, trying to figure it out. There was the time he dreamt that Mikey was Snow White and he was the Prince, except that dream had just been fucked up all-round, with Frank and Gerard as two of the dwarves and Brian Schechter as the evil queen. He’s always tried not to read too much into that one. But there’re other things, he guesses. Little hints that he shoulda picked up on. So he’s, like, been falling for his bassist for a couple years now and not noticed? Yeah, gold star, Bryar.
Once he figures it out, it’s all over. He can’t look at Mikey without finding something else that makes him grin like an idiot. At least it’s not angsty love, he figures; he’s not moping around all lovelorn, he just can’t get the grin off his face whenever Mikey’s around. But he fucking tries, which just makes him seem grumpy.
Like tonight, Mikey forgets he’s wearing earphones? and walks through the bus singing at the top of his lungs, dragging his iPod on the floor behind him like a sad little puppy. Bob has to sink into his hoodie and pretend to be surly so no one fucking sees how gleeful that makes him.
“Oh my god,” Gerard sighs, and picks up the iPod and tucks it into Mikey’s back pocket without Mikey even noticing. Gerard sits down next to Bob and peers into his hood. “Having fun?” Busted.
“It’s like TV, but more entertaining,” Bob says, giving up the act because he can’t fight the grin. “How is he even still alive, man?”
“He’s got an awesome big brother.” Gerard shakes his head. “But even so…” And they sit for a while, and watch, and Bob’s feeling pretty good.
Until.
The next time it happens.
They’re in Jersey, at a party for someone’s cousin, and Bob doesn’t like to drink much around Gerard, but okay, he’s had like, three beers. And Mikey’s on his lap again with a cup of punch from the kid’s bowl, and he’s pretty much ignoring Bob again except for how he’s snuggled against Bob’s chest like he’s in an armchair. And Bob isn’t breathing so well, because whenever he does he can smell Mikey’s hair and Mikey’s cologne and Mikey’s fucking non-alcoholic drink, and Jesus, he’s getting hard again.
"Mikey, get off of me, I need to go to the bathroom,” he says, strained, pushing weakly at Mikey’s arm.
Mikey twists around on his lap and looks up at him. “You’ve got a bladder like a sieve, man. I was comfortable.”
“Yeah, well, get comfortable on someone else’s lap.” Bob pushes Mikey to his feet before standing himself, his hands for one awesome moment cupping Mikey’s skinny hips. He tries to make another escape but Mikey’s following him, still sipping his stupid punch, and Bob can’t find an appropriate moment to adjust his pants.
"Dude, what are you doing?”
Mikey does the wide-eyed thing again. “What, I can’t go to the bathroom? You the bathroom king now, Bryar? What?”
Bob can’t help it, he cracks up again, and watches Mikey smile, like even he doesn’t know what he just said, and then they’re at the door and somehow Mikey’s stepped in after him.
Bob’s hard-on isn’t going anywhere, but he can’t bring himself to be anything but amused. Mikey fucking Way.
“You wanna hold it for me or something, Mike?” He leans against the sink and crosses his legs, hoping that nothing is too obvious. For his part, Mikey doesn’t look sure why he’s even in the bathroom.
“Uh…” He hops from one foot to the other. “Hey. You want some punch?” He holds out the cup, and Bob’s laughing again, reaching for it, because he’s totally hot for an idiot. Mikey laughs too. “Man, why am I giving you my punch?”
“I dunno,” Bob mutters, and his fingers are touching Mikey’s, which are cold, and Bob wants to warm them up. “Hey.”
Mikey takes his cup back and sort of backs towards the door. “Well, I’ll let you, uh…” He gestures to Bob’s crotch, which sets Bob off again, because how is this shit even happening? Also, his tolerance to beer is shot now that he’s not drinking so much and he’s maybe a little buzzed. Maybe definitely. He watches Mikey leave, and collapses on the toilet seat. It’s totally sleazy to jerk off over your band mate in some random person’s bathroom, he tells himself, but does it anyway, touching his fingers to his lips because they taste like punch, like Mikey.
After that it’s like the universe sets out to make Bob feel as disgusted with himself as possible. He watches Mikey stumble around the bus in his pajama pants and anthrax t-shirt and has to go jerk off. He watches Mikey lie on the couch with his bare feet on Bob’s thigh and has to go jerk off. He watches Mikey eat a popsicle like he a fourth grader, completely unselfconscious, and has to go jerk off so hard he almost knocks himself out.
The worst part is that Mikey is completely clueless about the whole thing. Bob could swear Gerard has been giving him funny looks, he’s almost positive Frank busted him jerking off in his bunk after Mikey spent ten minutes absently playing with Bob’s hair and even Ray’s torn himself away from his Atari long enough to notice something’s up. But Mikey himself? Is just the same as always, absent, vague, cheerfully worried Mikey. And every day Bob falls a little bit harder, has a little more trouble keeping it to himself. Mikey is like a Bob-magnet, they’re together all the time, except that for Mikey it’s innocent and for Bob it’s making him feel like he should be in jail. Jesus Christ.
But then the third time happens.
It isn’t at a party this time, just the bus in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, with Mikey leaning against him as they watch a movie, Frank fast asleep on Bob’s other side and Gerard and Toro already in their bunks. Mikey’s head is resting on Bob’s shoulder, and Bob doesn’t know what to do with his arm and his chest is sort of painfully constricted, like his heart has grown too big for it or something, and he’s starting to lose his cool.
“I love this bit,” Mikey mutters, elbowing Bob in the side, but Bob isn’t really paying attention to the screen. Frank lets out a soft snore, and Mikey giggles, his whole body shaking. Bob leans his head on the backrest of the couch, staring at the roof of the bus. God just doesn’t like him.
“You okay?” Mikey reaches up and tugs his face back down, looking at him quizzically. “Hey. Bob?”
“I’m good, Mike,” Bob sighs. He pulls Mikey’s hand away but somehow doesn’t let go, and Mikey doesn’t let go, and then they’re holding hands in front of The Sixth Sense with Frank curled up next to them and the bus speeding through the night.
Bob bites his lip, chewing on his lip ring. Mikey’s unusually still next to him, holding himself a little stiff, and finally Bob’s had enough.
“Hey, Mikey? Don’t fucking… don’t hate me for this.”
“What?” Mikey looks up, his faces inches from Bob’s. “S’matter, dude?”
Bob squeezes his fingers and closes his eyes and drops through the last distance between them. For the first time in months he feels like he’s in control, pressing his mouth against Mikey’s like he owns it, like he’s wanted to for he doesn’t even know how long. He pulls Mikey’s bottom lip in between his own and holds it there for a second, one perfect second, and then lets go, pulls away, his face burning and his heart pounding. “So,” he says softly, because Frankie’s sleeping. “Oh shit. I just kissed you.”
“Uh huh.” Mikey looks a little dazed, but he has the ghost of a smile on his face, and Bob sighs and goes in again, because he might as well make the fucking most of it. This time it lasts a little longer, he tilts his head to a better angle and does it properly, lets his thumb stroke over Mikey’s knuckles and opens his mouth just a little. He’s on the verge of hysterical laughter, because it all seems too fucking insane, but he’s doing it, he’s kissing Mikey Way and… and…
Mikey Way is kissing him back.
Bob lets out a little moan, only a little one because Frank’s gonna wake up at any moment and bounce through the bus screaming that Bob and Mikey are making out. Mikey shifts a little, getting up on his knees so he’s pressed harder against Bob’s side, and Bob’s arm moves by itself, snaking around Mikey’s waist and it’s like, he’s going to hell after all but at least Mikey’s going with him. Mikey, whose lips are open against his, and whose tongue is flicking against Bob’s lip ring, and whose hand is on the back of Bob’s neck like it was the first time.
Bob breaks away. “Shit, Mikey…”
“Don’t stop,” Mikey whispers, “Don’t you stop. I’ve been… I’ve wanted this forever.”
Bob blinks. “What? Dude. What?”
“You’re an idiot. Or maybe, I don’t think I’m very good at flirting, because I was trying, I thought I was…” Mikey breaks off for a second to kiss the corner of Bob’s mouth, breathing hard. “I knew you were fucking jerking off, man. I was hoping it was ‘cause of me, but I wasn’t sure.”
By this point, Bob is really fucking hard, which is wrong in so many ways because Frank is still snoring right there. “Yeah it was,” he mutters, head spinning. “Every time, man. Shit. That was all on purpose? You’re a fucking evil man, Mikey Way.”
Mikey grins a little self-consciously. “Yeah, no, I just wanted you to… I dunno. Fuck. This is so dumb.”
Bob rubs his hands over Mikey’s waist, feeling the softness of his t-shirt, the warmth of smooth skin underneath. “I know. But. I want…” He breaks off and goes red, because, okay, he’s feeling pretty stupid.
“Yeah,” Mikey agrees happily. “Let’s go… let’s go to my bunk. Okay? Frank’s freaking me out a little.”
Bob laughs. Just tosses his head back and laughs gleefully. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and pulls Mikey to his feet. Mikey, he notices, has his slippers on the wrong fucking feet. Bob feels happier than he’s ever felt in his fucking life. “Okay. Let’s go.”
And he laughs all the way there.
He stands up so quickly Mikey goes tumbling to the floor, sloshing juice over his hand. “Hey, what’s up?” Gerard asks, and Mikey’s just looking up at him with big eyes, and absently licking the juice from his wrist.
“Gotta piss,” Bob mutters, and makes his escape, stumbling to the bathroom like he’s just run a marathon. When he gets there he just looks at himself in the mirror and cracks up. “Mikey Way? Are you serious?”
So that’s how it starts.
Except Bob thinks that’s bullshit, because you don’t just randomly get hard for people you’ve known for years, not out of the blue. There must have been something there, right? He spends days going back in his head, trying to figure it out. There was the time he dreamt that Mikey was Snow White and he was the Prince, except that dream had just been fucked up all-round, with Frank and Gerard as two of the dwarves and Brian Schechter as the evil queen. He’s always tried not to read too much into that one. But there’re other things, he guesses. Little hints that he shoulda picked up on. So he’s, like, been falling for his bassist for a couple years now and not noticed? Yeah, gold star, Bryar.
Once he figures it out, it’s all over. He can’t look at Mikey without finding something else that makes him grin like an idiot. At least it’s not angsty love, he figures; he’s not moping around all lovelorn, he just can’t get the grin off his face whenever Mikey’s around. But he fucking tries, which just makes him seem grumpy.
Like tonight, Mikey forgets he’s wearing earphones? and walks through the bus singing at the top of his lungs, dragging his iPod on the floor behind him like a sad little puppy. Bob has to sink into his hoodie and pretend to be surly so no one fucking sees how gleeful that makes him.
“Oh my god,” Gerard sighs, and picks up the iPod and tucks it into Mikey’s back pocket without Mikey even noticing. Gerard sits down next to Bob and peers into his hood. “Having fun?” Busted.
“It’s like TV, but more entertaining,” Bob says, giving up the act because he can’t fight the grin. “How is he even still alive, man?”
“He’s got an awesome big brother.” Gerard shakes his head. “But even so…” And they sit for a while, and watch, and Bob’s feeling pretty good.
Until.
The next time it happens.
They’re in Jersey, at a party for someone’s cousin, and Bob doesn’t like to drink much around Gerard, but okay, he’s had like, three beers. And Mikey’s on his lap again with a cup of punch from the kid’s bowl, and he’s pretty much ignoring Bob again except for how he’s snuggled against Bob’s chest like he’s in an armchair. And Bob isn’t breathing so well, because whenever he does he can smell Mikey’s hair and Mikey’s cologne and Mikey’s fucking non-alcoholic drink, and Jesus, he’s getting hard again.
"Mikey, get off of me, I need to go to the bathroom,” he says, strained, pushing weakly at Mikey’s arm.
Mikey twists around on his lap and looks up at him. “You’ve got a bladder like a sieve, man. I was comfortable.”
“Yeah, well, get comfortable on someone else’s lap.” Bob pushes Mikey to his feet before standing himself, his hands for one awesome moment cupping Mikey’s skinny hips. He tries to make another escape but Mikey’s following him, still sipping his stupid punch, and Bob can’t find an appropriate moment to adjust his pants.
"Dude, what are you doing?”
Mikey does the wide-eyed thing again. “What, I can’t go to the bathroom? You the bathroom king now, Bryar? What?”
Bob can’t help it, he cracks up again, and watches Mikey smile, like even he doesn’t know what he just said, and then they’re at the door and somehow Mikey’s stepped in after him.
Bob’s hard-on isn’t going anywhere, but he can’t bring himself to be anything but amused. Mikey fucking Way.
“You wanna hold it for me or something, Mike?” He leans against the sink and crosses his legs, hoping that nothing is too obvious. For his part, Mikey doesn’t look sure why he’s even in the bathroom.
“Uh…” He hops from one foot to the other. “Hey. You want some punch?” He holds out the cup, and Bob’s laughing again, reaching for it, because he’s totally hot for an idiot. Mikey laughs too. “Man, why am I giving you my punch?”
“I dunno,” Bob mutters, and his fingers are touching Mikey’s, which are cold, and Bob wants to warm them up. “Hey.”
Mikey takes his cup back and sort of backs towards the door. “Well, I’ll let you, uh…” He gestures to Bob’s crotch, which sets Bob off again, because how is this shit even happening? Also, his tolerance to beer is shot now that he’s not drinking so much and he’s maybe a little buzzed. Maybe definitely. He watches Mikey leave, and collapses on the toilet seat. It’s totally sleazy to jerk off over your band mate in some random person’s bathroom, he tells himself, but does it anyway, touching his fingers to his lips because they taste like punch, like Mikey.
After that it’s like the universe sets out to make Bob feel as disgusted with himself as possible. He watches Mikey stumble around the bus in his pajama pants and anthrax t-shirt and has to go jerk off. He watches Mikey lie on the couch with his bare feet on Bob’s thigh and has to go jerk off. He watches Mikey eat a popsicle like he a fourth grader, completely unselfconscious, and has to go jerk off so hard he almost knocks himself out.
The worst part is that Mikey is completely clueless about the whole thing. Bob could swear Gerard has been giving him funny looks, he’s almost positive Frank busted him jerking off in his bunk after Mikey spent ten minutes absently playing with Bob’s hair and even Ray’s torn himself away from his Atari long enough to notice something’s up. But Mikey himself? Is just the same as always, absent, vague, cheerfully worried Mikey. And every day Bob falls a little bit harder, has a little more trouble keeping it to himself. Mikey is like a Bob-magnet, they’re together all the time, except that for Mikey it’s innocent and for Bob it’s making him feel like he should be in jail. Jesus Christ.
But then the third time happens.
It isn’t at a party this time, just the bus in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, with Mikey leaning against him as they watch a movie, Frank fast asleep on Bob’s other side and Gerard and Toro already in their bunks. Mikey’s head is resting on Bob’s shoulder, and Bob doesn’t know what to do with his arm and his chest is sort of painfully constricted, like his heart has grown too big for it or something, and he’s starting to lose his cool.
“I love this bit,” Mikey mutters, elbowing Bob in the side, but Bob isn’t really paying attention to the screen. Frank lets out a soft snore, and Mikey giggles, his whole body shaking. Bob leans his head on the backrest of the couch, staring at the roof of the bus. God just doesn’t like him.
“You okay?” Mikey reaches up and tugs his face back down, looking at him quizzically. “Hey. Bob?”
“I’m good, Mike,” Bob sighs. He pulls Mikey’s hand away but somehow doesn’t let go, and Mikey doesn’t let go, and then they’re holding hands in front of The Sixth Sense with Frank curled up next to them and the bus speeding through the night.
Bob bites his lip, chewing on his lip ring. Mikey’s unusually still next to him, holding himself a little stiff, and finally Bob’s had enough.
“Hey, Mikey? Don’t fucking… don’t hate me for this.”
“What?” Mikey looks up, his faces inches from Bob’s. “S’matter, dude?”
Bob squeezes his fingers and closes his eyes and drops through the last distance between them. For the first time in months he feels like he’s in control, pressing his mouth against Mikey’s like he owns it, like he’s wanted to for he doesn’t even know how long. He pulls Mikey’s bottom lip in between his own and holds it there for a second, one perfect second, and then lets go, pulls away, his face burning and his heart pounding. “So,” he says softly, because Frankie’s sleeping. “Oh shit. I just kissed you.”
“Uh huh.” Mikey looks a little dazed, but he has the ghost of a smile on his face, and Bob sighs and goes in again, because he might as well make the fucking most of it. This time it lasts a little longer, he tilts his head to a better angle and does it properly, lets his thumb stroke over Mikey’s knuckles and opens his mouth just a little. He’s on the verge of hysterical laughter, because it all seems too fucking insane, but he’s doing it, he’s kissing Mikey Way and… and…
Mikey Way is kissing him back.
Bob lets out a little moan, only a little one because Frank’s gonna wake up at any moment and bounce through the bus screaming that Bob and Mikey are making out. Mikey shifts a little, getting up on his knees so he’s pressed harder against Bob’s side, and Bob’s arm moves by itself, snaking around Mikey’s waist and it’s like, he’s going to hell after all but at least Mikey’s going with him. Mikey, whose lips are open against his, and whose tongue is flicking against Bob’s lip ring, and whose hand is on the back of Bob’s neck like it was the first time.
Bob breaks away. “Shit, Mikey…”
“Don’t stop,” Mikey whispers, “Don’t you stop. I’ve been… I’ve wanted this forever.”
Bob blinks. “What? Dude. What?”
“You’re an idiot. Or maybe, I don’t think I’m very good at flirting, because I was trying, I thought I was…” Mikey breaks off for a second to kiss the corner of Bob’s mouth, breathing hard. “I knew you were fucking jerking off, man. I was hoping it was ‘cause of me, but I wasn’t sure.”
By this point, Bob is really fucking hard, which is wrong in so many ways because Frank is still snoring right there. “Yeah it was,” he mutters, head spinning. “Every time, man. Shit. That was all on purpose? You’re a fucking evil man, Mikey Way.”
Mikey grins a little self-consciously. “Yeah, no, I just wanted you to… I dunno. Fuck. This is so dumb.”
Bob rubs his hands over Mikey’s waist, feeling the softness of his t-shirt, the warmth of smooth skin underneath. “I know. But. I want…” He breaks off and goes red, because, okay, he’s feeling pretty stupid.
“Yeah,” Mikey agrees happily. “Let’s go… let’s go to my bunk. Okay? Frank’s freaking me out a little.”
Bob laughs. Just tosses his head back and laughs gleefully. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and pulls Mikey to his feet. Mikey, he notices, has his slippers on the wrong fucking feet. Bob feels happier than he’s ever felt in his fucking life. “Okay. Let’s go.”
And he laughs all the way there.