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firmament2012-06-18 09:45 pm
gorgeousnerd) wrote in firmament2012-06-18 09:45 pm
your team sux - Bandom (MCR/Panic), NC-17, Mikey/Ryan.
Title: your team sux
Fandom: Bandom (MCR and Panic)
Rating: NC-17.
Length: About 1700 words.
Characters/Pairings: Mikey/Ryan, Alicia, Pete.
Disclaimer: So super fictional.
Summary: Mikey stumbles into Ryan at the Stanley Cup game. Literally.
Notes: Written for this prompt atbandom_meme. Also on AO3 and LJ.
Edit: (10/1/12) Now with a podfic by xojemmaxo!
your team sux
It's hard making one's way out of a packed stadium, particularly when that stadium's crammed with extremely happy Kings fans and you're not cheering the home team. And it's really hard when you're Mikey Way, and you've got Frank Iero in a Devils shirt in tow, grinning like he's looking for a fight.
Mikey doesn't really think he's going to start anything. Probably. But it's best to pay attention. Which is why he trips over a step in the nosebleeds and practically falls into the lap of a guy in a black Kings shirt.
"Sorry," Mikey says, scrambling to his feet. "I just..."
The guy's staring back. And Mikey knows him from somewhere. Like Pete-related somewhere.
"Nice to see you again," the guy says dryly, which pretty much confirms it.
"Yeah, uh, you too." It shouldn't be this hard to remember a name. "Ryan, right?"
Ryan nods - thank god - and raises an eyebrow. It's not exactly a friendly look, but it's not hostile either. Until his gaze falls on Frank's shirt. Then he outright smirks, and Mikey's stomach swoops.
That's, of course, when Alicia slides his arm in hers and saves the day. "Hey. The car's waiting. We should go if we want to beat traffic."
Mikey nods at her. Then he nods at Ryan, who nods back, and they're on their way.
"Shut up," Mikey says quietly as Alicia lays a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
"I didn't say anything," she replies brightly.
Further talking's made impossible by the crush of the crowd and Ray running by with Frank yelling on his back. At least they're not too disappointed by the loss.
-
Two days later, Alicia holds Mikey's phone in front of his face. "Okay, I'm saying something."
Mikey blinks up at her from his X-Men trade. "About?"
"Ryan Ross and your pining for him." She shakes the phone. "Go get laid. There's no reason for you to mope around the house about it."
"Uh. Who says he even wants to?"
Alicia rolls her eyes. She's only ever seen Mikey the rock star, so she's always convinced he can get laid whenever he wants. "Do we have go over this again?"
Mikey sighs dramatically, puts down the book, and takes his phone. He says, "I don't even have his number," but he knows he's lost.
"That's why you're calling Pete first." She blows him a kiss. "I'm off for the day. If you get laid before five, I'll bring you both dinner."
"You're seriously overestimating my seduction skills."
Alicia only waggles her fingers and walks out the door. Mikey's already dialing Pete before he hears her car pull out of the driveway, and it only takes three rings for someone to pick up.
"Mikeyway!" There's a loud crash in the background, almost tinny, like someone's stomping on a cymbal.
"Uh," Mikey says. "This a bad time?"
"Nope!" Pete's voice goes distant and muffled for a second, and then he's back, voice clearer as the racket dims. "Patrick's in town for an acting job. He figured Bronxasaurus might want some drum lessons."
Mikey can only imagine how much noise something with half of Pete's genetics could make. "Mind if I ask you a favor?"
"Shoot."
"You still have Ryan Ross's number?" He knows what a potential minefield it is to ask. Possibly because he spent the entirety of the night after the game Googling Ryan's name.
Pete snorts. "You're kidding, right?"
"Sorry. I just thought--"
"Of course I have it. I text that asshole furry porn every couple weeks."
Mikey laughs. "I didn't know you saw that as a punishment."
"It is for other people. But he sends me back song snippets that would've put my grandparents to sleep, so it's only fair." Pete pauses. "Why do you want it?"
"I, uh, ran into him the other night."
"Oh, really."
"Shut up," Mikey says. "If you don't have it, I'll have to try to track down someone else, and I doubt you want me to call the other guys about this. And I'll tell them it's your fault."
"Ouch. What did I do to you?"
Mikey knows better than to answer. It's hard to joke when it's related to Pete's self-esteem. "Can you just text it to me?"
"Sure, whatever." Pete clears his throat. "You'll send me pictures, right?"
"Pete."
"Even if I promise to keep them to myself?"
"Goodbye, Pete."
A few seconds after Pete hangs up, Mikey's phone buzzes with a text. It contains a phone number and "nudez or it didnt happen". Of course.
-
Mikey putters around the house for an hour after that, trying to think of the perfect text. "hi its mikey ur hot" is total high school - if texting had existed back then - but direct. "seeing ne1" is kind of pathetic.
It's only when he's staring at the blank text box and lightly banging his head on his refrigerator door that it comes to him. He punches it in quickly.
"your team sux"
Mikey grins at his phone and hits the send button.
He doesn't know what he's expecting back, but he doesn't expect it soon; it's only about ten in the morning, a time when most reasonable rock stars on break are still in bed. Which is why he stares when it only takes five minutes before his phone buzzes. And not just a couple times. Like someone's actually calling.
"Right," he mutters to himself. He picks up. "Hello?"
"This who I think it is?" Ryan's voice sounds bored and maybe thick with sleep.
"Uh. Who do you think it is?"
"Mikey." Ryan yawns. "You had to pick a fight with me before noon?"
Mikey swallows. "Your fault for not turning off your phone while you're asleep."
"Whatever. My team has the Stanley Cup, and I'm betting you don't give a shit about hockey."
Mikey doesn't answer, which pretty much proves Ryan right.
Finally, Ryan sighs and says, "Bring me coffee. I'll text you the address."
-
Ryan's looks about as rumpled as he sounded on the phone: no shirt, thin pajama pants, barefoot, hair all over the place. A little flush warms Mikey's face, but Ryan's too busy looking unimpressed at Mikey's bag to notice. "You can't tell me you brought coffee in that."
"I made some at my French press at home. Can I come in or not?"
"You can't go to Starbucks like normal people?"
"I live on Starbucks on tour," Mikey says.
Ryan rolls his eyes, but he steps away from the door, and Mikey heads straight to the kitchen. "Where are your mugs?"
"Top shelf." Ryan's scratching his stomach as he sits on a bar stool. "You know this is a done deal, right?"
Mikey shrugs and pulls out his Thermos. The coffee steams as he pours it out. "Tell me this isn't worth it."
Ryan takes the proffered mug and takes a sip. Then his eyes flutter shut and he makes an obscene moaning noise, and Mikey has to shift in place to keep from grabbing his hardening dick.
"Okay, yeah," Ryan says when he's done drinking. "Your bad taste in hockey teams is forgiven. I'll suck you off now."
"Huh?"
But Ryan's pressing Mikey against his pantry door and mouthing his way down Mikey's t-shirt and down to the crouch of his jeans, and Mikey might jump, but he gets the idea before long.
"Used to think about this," Ryan mutters, rubbing Mikey through his jeans with a hand. Mikey, unsure what to do with his hands, puts them on his hair. "I'd listen to your music and jerk off thinking about you and those glasses."
"Got..." Mikey takes a breath as Ryan unzips his pants and reaches in. "Got Lasik."
Ryan doesn't say anything else. He just closes his eyes and goes for it, and of course he's an expert cocksucker. There's just something about him that says "I know what I'm doing". He doesn't waste any time; he bobs his mouth over Mikey's dick and goes a little further down each time, gently dragging his tongue underneath. He even makes it all the way down, which has never happened to Mikey in his entire history of blowjobs. Fuck, it feels amazing, too.
And then Ryan works back up and starts over again.
Mikey's not eighteen anymore, and he's pretty good with stamina. Still, it's all he can do to watch Ryan smile around his cock, humming happily as he works, and not to shoot his load right away.
Since he's not eighteen, he manages to give Ryan a few minutes before he taps his head. Ryan rolls his eyes and just goes deeper, and when Mikey comes apart under his mouth, Ryan works him through it and goes delicately to spit in the sink when it's over.
"Didn't want your jizz on my tiles," Ryan says when he comes back to where Mikey's slid down to the floor. "Nothing personal."
"No, uh. Totally fine."
"Good. Because now I think I want to fuck you in bed before I go back to sleep for a couple hours." Ryan turns, then pauses. "You can take a big cock up your ass, right? You look like you can."
Mikey chokes. Ryan nods, and it's all Mikey can do to get to his feet to follow.
-
Sure enough, at around six, Alicia's waiting at Ryan's front door, a bag of food from their favorite Italian place in her hand.
"Told you," she says brightly, holding out the bag.
Mikey just gapes. Ryan basically fucked him into the ground, and then they both passed out, and then they went for another round. The fact that he's walking straight is a miracle; words are a little too complex right now.
Alicia must get it because she picks up his hand, transfers the bag, and curls his fingers around it.
"When did you get Ryan's address?" Mikey finally asks.
"Oh, he texted me a couple hours ago from your phone. Wanted to make sure you two could have a sleepover." Alicia kisses Mikey's cheek. "Have fun!"
"Uh. Of course, yeah."
Alicia beams and waves, practically skipping back to her car.
Mikey shakes his head and goes back inside. It looks like he has a busy night ahead of him.
Fandom: Bandom (MCR and Panic)
Rating: NC-17.
Length: About 1700 words.
Characters/Pairings: Mikey/Ryan, Alicia, Pete.
Disclaimer: So super fictional.
Summary: Mikey stumbles into Ryan at the Stanley Cup game. Literally.
Notes: Written for this prompt at
bandom_meme. Also on AO3 and LJ.Edit: (10/1/12) Now with a podfic by xojemmaxo!
It's hard making one's way out of a packed stadium, particularly when that stadium's crammed with extremely happy Kings fans and you're not cheering the home team. And it's really hard when you're Mikey Way, and you've got Frank Iero in a Devils shirt in tow, grinning like he's looking for a fight.
Mikey doesn't really think he's going to start anything. Probably. But it's best to pay attention. Which is why he trips over a step in the nosebleeds and practically falls into the lap of a guy in a black Kings shirt.
"Sorry," Mikey says, scrambling to his feet. "I just..."
The guy's staring back. And Mikey knows him from somewhere. Like Pete-related somewhere.
"Nice to see you again," the guy says dryly, which pretty much confirms it.
"Yeah, uh, you too." It shouldn't be this hard to remember a name. "Ryan, right?"
Ryan nods - thank god - and raises an eyebrow. It's not exactly a friendly look, but it's not hostile either. Until his gaze falls on Frank's shirt. Then he outright smirks, and Mikey's stomach swoops.
That's, of course, when Alicia slides his arm in hers and saves the day. "Hey. The car's waiting. We should go if we want to beat traffic."
Mikey nods at her. Then he nods at Ryan, who nods back, and they're on their way.
"Shut up," Mikey says quietly as Alicia lays a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
"I didn't say anything," she replies brightly.
Further talking's made impossible by the crush of the crowd and Ray running by with Frank yelling on his back. At least they're not too disappointed by the loss.
-
Two days later, Alicia holds Mikey's phone in front of his face. "Okay, I'm saying something."
Mikey blinks up at her from his X-Men trade. "About?"
"Ryan Ross and your pining for him." She shakes the phone. "Go get laid. There's no reason for you to mope around the house about it."
"Uh. Who says he even wants to?"
Alicia rolls her eyes. She's only ever seen Mikey the rock star, so she's always convinced he can get laid whenever he wants. "Do we have go over this again?"
Mikey sighs dramatically, puts down the book, and takes his phone. He says, "I don't even have his number," but he knows he's lost.
"That's why you're calling Pete first." She blows him a kiss. "I'm off for the day. If you get laid before five, I'll bring you both dinner."
"You're seriously overestimating my seduction skills."
Alicia only waggles her fingers and walks out the door. Mikey's already dialing Pete before he hears her car pull out of the driveway, and it only takes three rings for someone to pick up.
"Mikeyway!" There's a loud crash in the background, almost tinny, like someone's stomping on a cymbal.
"Uh," Mikey says. "This a bad time?"
"Nope!" Pete's voice goes distant and muffled for a second, and then he's back, voice clearer as the racket dims. "Patrick's in town for an acting job. He figured Bronxasaurus might want some drum lessons."
Mikey can only imagine how much noise something with half of Pete's genetics could make. "Mind if I ask you a favor?"
"Shoot."
"You still have Ryan Ross's number?" He knows what a potential minefield it is to ask. Possibly because he spent the entirety of the night after the game Googling Ryan's name.
Pete snorts. "You're kidding, right?"
"Sorry. I just thought--"
"Of course I have it. I text that asshole furry porn every couple weeks."
Mikey laughs. "I didn't know you saw that as a punishment."
"It is for other people. But he sends me back song snippets that would've put my grandparents to sleep, so it's only fair." Pete pauses. "Why do you want it?"
"I, uh, ran into him the other night."
"Oh, really."
"Shut up," Mikey says. "If you don't have it, I'll have to try to track down someone else, and I doubt you want me to call the other guys about this. And I'll tell them it's your fault."
"Ouch. What did I do to you?"
Mikey knows better than to answer. It's hard to joke when it's related to Pete's self-esteem. "Can you just text it to me?"
"Sure, whatever." Pete clears his throat. "You'll send me pictures, right?"
"Pete."
"Even if I promise to keep them to myself?"
"Goodbye, Pete."
A few seconds after Pete hangs up, Mikey's phone buzzes with a text. It contains a phone number and "nudez or it didnt happen". Of course.
-
Mikey putters around the house for an hour after that, trying to think of the perfect text. "hi its mikey ur hot" is total high school - if texting had existed back then - but direct. "seeing ne1" is kind of pathetic.
It's only when he's staring at the blank text box and lightly banging his head on his refrigerator door that it comes to him. He punches it in quickly.
"your team sux"
Mikey grins at his phone and hits the send button.
He doesn't know what he's expecting back, but he doesn't expect it soon; it's only about ten in the morning, a time when most reasonable rock stars on break are still in bed. Which is why he stares when it only takes five minutes before his phone buzzes. And not just a couple times. Like someone's actually calling.
"Right," he mutters to himself. He picks up. "Hello?"
"This who I think it is?" Ryan's voice sounds bored and maybe thick with sleep.
"Uh. Who do you think it is?"
"Mikey." Ryan yawns. "You had to pick a fight with me before noon?"
Mikey swallows. "Your fault for not turning off your phone while you're asleep."
"Whatever. My team has the Stanley Cup, and I'm betting you don't give a shit about hockey."
Mikey doesn't answer, which pretty much proves Ryan right.
Finally, Ryan sighs and says, "Bring me coffee. I'll text you the address."
-
Ryan's looks about as rumpled as he sounded on the phone: no shirt, thin pajama pants, barefoot, hair all over the place. A little flush warms Mikey's face, but Ryan's too busy looking unimpressed at Mikey's bag to notice. "You can't tell me you brought coffee in that."
"I made some at my French press at home. Can I come in or not?"
"You can't go to Starbucks like normal people?"
"I live on Starbucks on tour," Mikey says.
Ryan rolls his eyes, but he steps away from the door, and Mikey heads straight to the kitchen. "Where are your mugs?"
"Top shelf." Ryan's scratching his stomach as he sits on a bar stool. "You know this is a done deal, right?"
Mikey shrugs and pulls out his Thermos. The coffee steams as he pours it out. "Tell me this isn't worth it."
Ryan takes the proffered mug and takes a sip. Then his eyes flutter shut and he makes an obscene moaning noise, and Mikey has to shift in place to keep from grabbing his hardening dick.
"Okay, yeah," Ryan says when he's done drinking. "Your bad taste in hockey teams is forgiven. I'll suck you off now."
"Huh?"
But Ryan's pressing Mikey against his pantry door and mouthing his way down Mikey's t-shirt and down to the crouch of his jeans, and Mikey might jump, but he gets the idea before long.
"Used to think about this," Ryan mutters, rubbing Mikey through his jeans with a hand. Mikey, unsure what to do with his hands, puts them on his hair. "I'd listen to your music and jerk off thinking about you and those glasses."
"Got..." Mikey takes a breath as Ryan unzips his pants and reaches in. "Got Lasik."
Ryan doesn't say anything else. He just closes his eyes and goes for it, and of course he's an expert cocksucker. There's just something about him that says "I know what I'm doing". He doesn't waste any time; he bobs his mouth over Mikey's dick and goes a little further down each time, gently dragging his tongue underneath. He even makes it all the way down, which has never happened to Mikey in his entire history of blowjobs. Fuck, it feels amazing, too.
And then Ryan works back up and starts over again.
Mikey's not eighteen anymore, and he's pretty good with stamina. Still, it's all he can do to watch Ryan smile around his cock, humming happily as he works, and not to shoot his load right away.
Since he's not eighteen, he manages to give Ryan a few minutes before he taps his head. Ryan rolls his eyes and just goes deeper, and when Mikey comes apart under his mouth, Ryan works him through it and goes delicately to spit in the sink when it's over.
"Didn't want your jizz on my tiles," Ryan says when he comes back to where Mikey's slid down to the floor. "Nothing personal."
"No, uh. Totally fine."
"Good. Because now I think I want to fuck you in bed before I go back to sleep for a couple hours." Ryan turns, then pauses. "You can take a big cock up your ass, right? You look like you can."
Mikey chokes. Ryan nods, and it's all Mikey can do to get to his feet to follow.
-
Sure enough, at around six, Alicia's waiting at Ryan's front door, a bag of food from their favorite Italian place in her hand.
"Told you," she says brightly, holding out the bag.
Mikey just gapes. Ryan basically fucked him into the ground, and then they both passed out, and then they went for another round. The fact that he's walking straight is a miracle; words are a little too complex right now.
Alicia must get it because she picks up his hand, transfers the bag, and curls his fingers around it.
"When did you get Ryan's address?" Mikey finally asks.
"Oh, he texted me a couple hours ago from your phone. Wanted to make sure you two could have a sleepover." Alicia kisses Mikey's cheek. "Have fun!"
"Uh. Of course, yeah."
Alicia beams and waves, practically skipping back to her car.
Mikey shakes his head and goes back inside. It looks like he has a busy night ahead of him.