Title: Power Ballad
Fandom: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Pairing: Pete Wentz/Mikey Way
Rating: R for boy sexing and cursing and agregious use of mustard
Author's Notes: Oh, how the mighty have fallen. They're like My Little Ponies, with accessories. Plus Kassie said, "convince me of the pairing." I don't know if I have. But this is all her fault, mostly, sorta. Anyway, this is my take on the 'Summer of Like' with timelines bent slightly for the sake of story. Thanks to blushandrecover
's excellent Pete/Mikey manifesto
for giving me the trufax and hilarious speculation on the epic love story of Mikey and Pete. No Gerards were harmed in the writing of this.First Verse
“Do you know that cows release more methane gas into the air every year than cars?”
Mikey paused, tongs hovering in the air over the tray of hot dogs. He looked over his shoulder, then down at the hoodie full of bangs trying to ruin his lunch.
The hoodie looked up. “I’m just saying, man. You know what they put in those things?”
“I’d prefer not to,” Mikey replied as he put two on his plate. He moved away from the line, pausing at a cooler to grab a coke. He took a seat at the end of an empty table. The hoodie sat down across from him. He sighed.
“Hey. Sorry, I get a little preachy. Just wanna keep people informed, you know? I’m Pete Wentz,” the hoodie with a name said and stuck his hand out and over Mikey’s plate.
“You should meet my brother,” he replied without thinking.
“Who’s that then?” Pete asked. Eyes intent as he fumbled with a bag of Sun Chips.
“Gerard, I’m Mikey Way, My...”
“MCR! Yeah. You guys rocked my fucking balls
Mikey nodded in thanks, returned Pete’s grin. It was kind of hard not to.
“Warped Tour, can you believe it? Dude. My mom cried
when I told her.”
Mikey laughed. “Mine too.”Refrain
“Come on, Mikey!” Pete yell-whispered through the open window of the bus, careful to let sleeping Ray Toros lie.
A bird’s nest with glasses poked out through the opening. “What? Shit.” A slim-fingered hand ran over the nest and knocked the glasses askew.
“The time of your fucking life
awaits you. Schlitterbahn! Inner tubes! Beer! Come on
. Cab’s waiting.” Pete danced from foot to foot. He jerked the ends of the dayglo-orange beach towel around his neck back and forth with his hands.
“Did you get the sunscreen?” Mikey asked as his head disappeared and clothes rustled. A striped sleeve flopped out of the sill.
“The Goth thing is so ’01, lamer, and yes
.” Second Verse
“It’s like, you know, listening to Flea and wondering what the hell you’re even doing on stage, then the crowd goes nuts and none of it…”
Mikey crushed their mouths together. Urgent sameness compelling him to do stupid things. He nipped at Pete’s tongue. Backed up to gauge reaction. Pete ran a hand over his lips. His eyes darted from Mikey’s mouth to his eyes then away and back again on a loop pedal. Five times, he counted.
“Why Mikey Way, I nevah!” Pete Scarlett O’Hara-ed and batted his lashes. Coy in the voice not making it to his eyes.
“Well maybe you, uh, should,” Mikey quipped poorly.
Pete paused, indecision a lightning flash across his face. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do this.” He pushed Mikey back and went down with him. Third Verse
“And this one?” Mikey asked as he ran his hands down Pete’s flanks, fingertips stopped at the swell of his ass. Scratchy motel sheets dug into his knees as he straddled Pete.
Pete raised his head from the pillow bunched under it. “Fifteen and retarded. I thank God every fucking day that I don’t have Hepatitis.”
Mikey grinned, ran his finger over the welts in the shitty artwork.
Pete flipped over, nearly toppling Mike. His hands on Mikey’s thighs steadied him as they slid slowly upward. “How about you? Ever think about getting something?”
“I dunno, it’s so permanent,” he mused as his hands skated across the obnoxious bat on Pete’s belly and lower, eliciting a shudder. “Everything changes but the ink on your skin and you’re stuck with the moment.”
“Not everything changes, plus some moments are worth remembering forever.”
“Guess I’m waiting for that moment then.” He leaned down and tugged Pete’s lower lip with his teeth while his hands pulled Pete apart.Bridge
“I can’t. There’s stuff, and things…” Gerard puked around the side of the bus, punctuating Mikey’s thoughts. He sighed into his phone.
Pete’s staticky silence loomed on the other end of the line. “Hey, it’s cool.” He recovered breezily. “So, Alicia, huh?”
Mike’s turn to pause. “Yeah, crazy times. We just clicked, you know?”
A cough. “Yeah, I know. Look, I gotta motor. Photo shoot. Everybody wants me.”
“Yeah, Billy Squier. Some advice, one rock star to another?” Mike offered.
“Keep your dick in your pants.”
Pete’s laughter rang in Mikey’s ears. Reprise
“John Paul Jones or John Entwistle?” Pete asked as he stole one of the hot dogs off Mikey’s plate.
“Entwistle,” Mikey replied without hesitation as he watched Pete hum in agreement and grab the mustard bottle off the end of the table and cover the dog with gusto.
“Your turn,” Pete said around a bite of squished yellow madness.
“Lemmy or Cliff Burton, and aren’t you vegetarian or something?” Mikey waved his hand towards the chow line in reference.
“One, Lemmy all the way. Two, not on Tuesdays.” Pete replied.
Pete laughed. “No shit! Well, for the sake of new friends, I’ll bend the rules. Plus, dude, who doesn’t love hot dogs?”
“Communists?” Mike queried.
Pete brayed and slapped his hand on the table. “You’re a funny guy, Mikey Way. We’re gonna be good friends," he declared.
Mike shot him a dubious look. “What’s the name of your band again?”