Gerard spins in the mirror, watching the way the green fabric swishes around their hips. Mikey hums approvingly from behind them and Gerard almost startles. They didn’t forget their brother was there, after all he was the one who helped pick the dress out, just got a little bit caught up admiring it.

Initially Mikey picked it up and showed it to them as a joke. Just a little “Oh, look at this! Isn’t this what they wore in that episode of Sabrina The Tee-”, cut off by Gerard pulling it out of his hands. They held it up to their waist and glanced around to find the nearest mirror.

“Do you think it would fit?”

“There’s fitting rooms.”

They had to beckon Mikey over into help with the zipper, but got the dress on without any other hitches.

Mikey speaks up, “It looks good on you. And I know it’s just a cheap little costume but-”

Gerard nods, “It means a lot.”

He was there for Hesitant Alien. He knew about Gerard pouring their heart out to Laura. He knew about Gerard trying on their mom’s makeup and he didn’t understand what it meant to them back then- maybe he still doesn’t today. But he knows how important it is.

“Imagine if I wore this onstage back in the 2000s. All the piss and bottles and- whatever other sticky shit. I don’t think I could’ve done it, but not for the same reasons, y’know?”

“You’ve come to terms with it better.”

Mikey remembers Gerard laying on his couch, telling him about how masculinity was never right and their struggle with identity. Mentioned doing a Q&A on Reddit and talking about how they’d’ve gone to a gender specialist if they’d known it was an option. How much they liked they/them pronouns. How they didn’t want to put a label on it, just wanted to be able to exist.

It wasn’t like there was a reason he had to be- but Mikey was a dude and he was cool with that. It wasn’t dysphoric. Like Gerard knowing they didn’t fit in. But it wasn't euphoric either. Like Gerard currently standing with their back to them, beaming at Mikey through the mirror. Mikey just kinda liked to exist how he was and it was fine.

He smiles back and meets Gerard eyes as they twirl and the skirt flares out.

“Mikey?”

Mikey looks up, expecting to see Gerard’s face. He heaves himself up once he realizes they’re in the bathroom and not coming to him. He knocks gently on the door and Gerard swings it open, quickly ushering him in.

The first thing Mikey notices is Gerard’s legs, scratched up and half shaved.

“You’ve shaved your legs before right? I- uh- I need a little bit of help I think.” Gerard asks.

Mikey nods, “Well, you probably shouldn’t be using the same razor you use for your face. They make ones for your legs, so it’s easier to get behind your knees and stuff.”

No response from Gerard's end.

“Oh did you-” Mikey blinks and scratches his neck, “did you want me to do it for you?”

“Yeah, only if you want, but it’d be easier.”

Gerard sits down on the toilet, watching Mikey briefly leave the room and come back with a bag. He digs around in it, pulling out a pink razor and shaving cream.

Mikey settles onto the floor between their legs, just staring at them for a moment, “You have to be careful shaving on bonier bits so they don’t get cut up. Hope you don’t mind if I clean your knees up, but I carry hydrogen peroxide so I might as well.”

Shaking their leg anxiously, Gerard nods. They don’t know why Mikey knows how to shave, just that he does it sometimes. Maybe he just likes the feel of it? His legs always looked smooth after he shaved but Gerard had never bothered asking to touch.

My Chemical Romance is set to be out onstage in a few hours; Gerard knows the amount of trans fans they have. The cheerleader dress is laid out in the dressing room. They know what it’ll mean to all of them. Their role model out onstage, visibly gender nonconforming. But they’re still scared.

Gerard’s brought back to real life by feeling a stinging sensation on their legs; Mikey apologetically meets their eyes when they flinch. “You alright?”

“I’m good, just-”

“Gerard. You’re gonna rock it. You always do.”

Gerard breathes out and lets Mikey run his hands up their legs. He sprays shaving cream onto his hands and begins to lather onto the back of their legs. The cold hands are a little uncomfortable at first but Gerard relaxes into it, especially as Mikey’s hands inch higher and higher up their thighs.

And then he stops.

It’s not like there was any more skin to cover, but Gerard still scoffs unhappily as Mikey gets up to fetch the razor. He glances back at them, pondering, “It’ll be easier if you stand up since you did a pretty good job on the front of your legs.

Gerard grins at the comment, grabbing onto the sink for balance and pulling themself up. They’re facing the other way but they can still hear Mikey and tell what he’s doing. Rummaging around. Walking towards them. Kneeling on the tiles.

His breath is warm but not unpleasant on Gerard’s skin, and he starts to drag the razor down the back of their legs. “Aren’t you meant to go up?” Gerard asks, and Mikey shrugs, even if Gerard can’t see it, “Up is closer to your actual skin, easier to end up hurting you. Down isn’t as bad. Trust me, irritated skin after you shave is the worst.

Gerard closes their eyes. Thinking about the concert to come and letting Mikey’s presence calm them. They barely even register when they start to hum- You Are My Sunshine. They had sung it at the last show, right before launching into Famous Last Words. The song they had written for Mikey.

Mikey finishes shaving the last of their thighs and gets off the floor, “Do you need help rinsing?”

“I can do it myself, but thank you for this.” Mikey nuzzles up against Gerard’s neck, “You mean a lot to me; you mean a lot to them. They’re gonna love your outfit onstage and if they don’t- well those few assholes can stay pissed off. I don’t want them here.”

Gerard gently scratches Mikey’s head, “I love you so much. This show’s for you as well.”

Frank tapped his feet against the vinyl floor impatiently. They pester him for weeks with phone calls reminding him to get a checkup done and then once he’s there the doctor is always fucking late.

He was really debating just leaving to get coffee when the nurse called his name. He looked up- immediately turning his face away again right after he did.

What the fuck.

He wasn’t complaining- not at all. But he’d never seen a nurse actually wear a dress before. And also be the hottest dude he’s ever seen. Frank was saddened by the lack of skin showing, it’s not like he’d expected to see a nurse in a dress at all- ever, but it wasn’t like what all the sexy nurse Halloween costumes and fetish art showed.

Not that he looked at medical fetish art or anything.

“Um.. Frank Iero? Is there a Frank Iero in here?”

Frank blinked for a second before abruptly standing up and blushing. “Shit sorry hi- that’s me!”

“Alright sir, follow me.”

The nurse turned around and Frank awkwardly walked after them, trying not to stare. He opened his mouth to speak, “So uh- what happened to the usual people here? Like- I haven’t seen you around I mean- Not complaining or anything-”

Obviously trying to hold back a laugh, the nurse looked at him. So Frank loses all of his social skills when he sees someone pretty, so what! It’s not like he really minded seeing them smiling all cutely anyway. “I graduated pretty recently actually so yeah. I’m Gerard, newish here, ha.”

Gerard let Frank into a small room and sat down. Frank hesitated for a second before going on his tiptoes and heaving himself onto the table.

“So you’re just here for your annual checkup, right?” Gerard started and Frank nodded, focusing very hard on the wall. They droned on with the regular questions and Frank answered them all. But then-

“It is part of my routine to ask about sexual health, including sexual functioning and pleasure, as part of your visit.”

Frank blushed and shifted in his seat. He swore that never was a thing last time he was here.

“Have you been sexually active in the last year?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright well, what types of sex do you have?”

“Um. Anal?”

“Giving or receiving?”

“Are you sure this is part of the appointment or are you just trying to find out what I like in bed,” Frank half joked.

Gerard smiled, “It is part of your visit, but you can skip any of them if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want you to feel unsafe.”

Fidgeting awkwardly and kicking his legs, Frank made up his mind, “Receiving usually.”

Frank could almost swear he saw Gerard smile wider. They continued talking, “What do you do to protect yourself from STIs?”

“Uh…?”

“Like, making sure that you always use a condom, know people before having sex, y’know?”

Frank did neither of those things. “I mean- no neither, but I don’t pick up prostitutes off the street I go to actual parties and stuff for um- this- kind of thing. The heavier stuff. I’m pretty sure you’re required to be clean for them.”

Not that Frank could tell; Gerard noted this down on a separate sticky note with a reminder to look into BDSM events nearly.

Gerard finally finished up with all their questions and physical exams. “Alright, your doctor will be with you shortly.”

Frank fucking forgot that doctors existed. He didn’t really get the point of them anyway since they showed up for like 15 minutes at the end of your appointment to tell you just about nothing important. He was mostly just upset that Gerard was leaving.

“Thank you,” Frank forced out.

The doctor was done soon, just suggesting a few tests for small things that Frank forgot what were the second he got into the elevator. He was about to head towards his car but stopped. He saw Gerard leaning against the brick wall near it, scribbling in a notebook. ’God, they’re hot’ Frank thought, before trying to walk towards it in the most normal manner possible.

Gerard looked up and slid their pen into their pocket, “Oh! Hey Frank, did your appointment go well?”

“Until you left, yeah,” Frank joked. He wasn’t really joking but it didn’t matter as long as the nurse couldn’t tell.

“Aw, that’s sweet. It’s nice to know I’m doing my job well.”

“But were- all the sex questions really part of it? You needed me to tell you that I bottom?”

“Yeah? Why so worked up over it, hm? I’m a professional, Frankie..”

Frank was going to die from embarrassment. So the nurse knew he was into them. Great.

But Gerard continued their sentence, “But if you wanted, I’m about to head to Starbucks and get myself a coffee if you want to tag along.”

Frank sputtered, “Is this like a date?”

Gerard raised their hands, “Only if you want it to be. But you’re pretty cute and you only actually show up here once a year anyway so..”

Mikey stumbled out of the small venue, very drunk and hoping to wave down a cab. He'd just seen his favourite band, Midtown, and was still a little giddy, humming Just Rock And Roll under his breath. He leaned back against the rough bricks, taking a second to regain his balance.

Just then, the door opened. Gabe stepped out, grinning ear to ear and fumbling with a pack of cigarettes. Mikey gaped. A super hot dude who's also the vocalist and bassist of his... second favourite band standing right there?!

Gabe seemed to notice him first though, walking up to Mikey and leaning on the wall, "I've been charmed by your weird little girly emo twink swag..."

Mikey blushed.

"Do you want to have gay sex?"

Mikey dug his spindly fingers into Gabe's hips, awkwardly pawing at the other man's belt buckle. Gabe giggled and reached down to do it himself, eventually succeeding but probably not any quicker than Mikey could’ve done it.

"Wait," Gabe paused, "Mikey, I'm a snake."

Blinking slowly at him, Mikey made a sound of confusion.

Giggling even more, Gabe nodded, "I'm like- I'm half snake, dude. But I can be human. But like, if you're into it, I can have two penises."

"Woah," Mikey declared, "the more penis the better."

"Rad, okay, um," Gabe awkwardly waved his hands, "look away!"

Mikey shut his eyes, putting his hands over his face for good measure. 

After a few awkward moments of shuffling noises, Gabe quietly confessed, "Can't get the button on my jeans undone."

"Here, I'll help you."

Mikey peeked through his fingers, then took his hands away from his face and popped the button open with surprising ease. He closed his eyes again, once again humming. 

Gabe gently nudged his shoulder once his transformation was done and Mikey cracked his eyes open, instantly in awe. He was  huge.  The tail, but Mikey could confirm his dick- dicks, plural- were as well. 

The scales of his thick tail, brown with blotches of a darker colour, blended nicely into his skin. The markings faded into white on his underside and Mikey was mostly just shocked. 

It was sexy as  fuck .

"So, this is my left cock," Gabe said, gesturing to the one on his right. Maybe left, actually? It was on Mikey's left though. "And here's the right one, and this is my ovipositor."

Mikey nodded solemnly.

"It's for laying eggs!"

Confused, Mikey nodded again. 

Gabe continued speaking, "So, I have eggs right. And I fertilize them and stuff. But I don't have anywhere for the eggs to like develop because I've got dicks, so it's just kinda annoying."

"That's crazy; you should totally lay eggs in me."

Gabe gazed into the distance pensively for a few seconds, before shrugging, "Yeah sure, why not."

Mikey shed his clothing quickly, just like a molt, being able to wiggle his skinny hips out of his pants with ease. Gabe wrapped his tail around Mikey's thighs, the cold scales making the smaller man squirm uncomfortably.

"Are you already prepped?" Gabe asked, half incredulously but also kinda glad it would be easier.

Mikey snorted. Obviously, because he's a slut and it's convenient.

Pulled in closely to Gabe's sweaty chest, Mikey gasped softly as one of Gabe's dicks slowly pressed into his asshole. He made little breathy noises as Gabe started shallowly thrusting, bouncing Mikey up and down. Mikey tipped his head up to look at Gabe and he flicked his tongue out in response. 

Mikey already felt so stretched with just the dick so he was excited to see how the eggs would feel. After a little more of Gabe fucking into him, he eventually pulled out of Mikey's ass, grinding against his lower back until he was coming. 

He slightly loosened his hold on Mikey, giving room for his ovipositor to fully extend before pushing the tube into Mikey. Gasping in response, Mikey leaned back into Gabe's arms. It didn't hurt, it was just strange and uncomfortable. 

Gabe cradled Mikey close to his chest as he slowly pushed out the first egg, the back half coming out easier than the first. Mikey held his hands against his tummy, watching in awe as more eggs slowly got deposited. He could feel his belly swelling and rubbed gently. 

The eggs were each about the size of a pool ball, hard shelled but going in easily enough by being wet just from coming out of Gabe. Mikey lost count very quickly, brain already hazy from getting fucked. Gabe never bothered to tell him that he could lay up to 100 eggs, and wasn't really planning on it either. They were barely ten eggs in and Mikey's skinny stomach was already bulging so much. 

Gabe kept one of his hands on Mikey's chest, letting the other one travel down to rub Mikey's tummy. The first few eggs were the hardest to lay so it should be smooth sailing, but Mikey was so small and while Gabe didn't doubt he could keep his eggs all nicely safe and warm, he wasn't sure if Mikey could handle all of them. Fuck around, find out?

Gabe had lost count too, but Mikey looked like he was nine months pregnant, so he guessed that there had to be a lot of eggs. Mikey's hips ached so badly, and his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He tried to rub the tears out of his eyes as he realized they were starting to pool, to no avail. He shoved his glasses up his nose and just let it happen, even if being this full of Gabe's clutch was starting to verge into being too much. 

By the time Gabe had laid his last egg, Mikey was full on crying. He wasn't really sure how to comfort him, just gently stroking his swollen belly and kissing his neck. Gabe just felt lucky that his clutch seemed to have fewer eggs than sometimes happened. 

His ovipositor retracted, and the brown coils of Gabe's tail tightened around Mikey, calming the smaller man down. Mikey had stopped sobbing but was still breathing hard. 

Gabe hesitantly brought his other dick to the rim of Mikey's hole and was pleasantly surprised when Mikey pushed down on it himself. All full to the brim of eggs and still wanting more inside him. Gabe was significantly less rough this time, only gently pumping his dick in. He knew Mikey was going to be really sensitive and he didn't want to endanger any of his eggs either. 

Gabe didn't pull out this time when he felt his orgasm approaching. He instead let himself fill Mikey up with his warm seed, knowing it would keep his eggs all comfortably heated in there. Mikey whined. Gabe stopped caressing his belly, looking to instead finish him off with a handjob. Mikey's dick was soft though and Gabe realized that he'd already come. Untouched.

Gabe slithered to what he assumed was Mikey's bed, setting him down but not untangling himself. He awkwardly pulled the blanket over the two of them, and let his eyes flutter shut as he fell into sleep. 

Mikey talks about getting mugged like it wasn’t one of the most traumatizing things that happened to him. There are also details that he conveniently leaves out and others he likes to exaggerate.

Frank always reminds him that it was at gunpoint. Mikey hasn’t forgotten even though he pretends each time that he has, he couldn’t in a million years, but he doesn’t like to talk about it.

He just brushes over it, skipping to the part about Brian. Mikey lies about the story each time and it’s not like it isn’t obvious, but he has a reason. He has to say that their manager pulled out a switchblade and a baseball bat and a machine gun and a bazooka so he can stop thinking about how his muggers had a gun down his throat.

And he enjoyed it. Yeah.

He can still feel every moment perfectly. Blurting out that he didn’t have any money like a moron, even though it wasn’t true. They took his cellphone and then one of the men told him to open his mouth. Of course, he obeyed. He could suck cock if it meant he wouldn’t get shot, he was pretty good at it, in fact.

And then the gun was in his mouth, which was significantly worse for a multitude of reasons.

He was just trying to pretend it was another cock, those he was used to. But it was fucking terrifying. He was completely at the gang’s mercy; they could blow his brains out any second.

His glasses were falling off but he was too scared to move his arms even an inch. A large hand was pulling on his chestnut hair, shoving the barrel further down his throat.

Mikey shut his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the strangers jeering at him and tried to pretend he wasn’t getting off on it. Even if just a little. He didn’t even realize he was humping the air until a voice pointed it out. It was too much and he could feel the tears welling up.

And then came the part he actually couldn’t recall. His memory was fuzzy, but Brian showed up and somehow rescued him, holding Mikey as he shook. It took a while on the bus before Mikey could handle being alone to get himself cleaned up.

He'd be choosing to forget the cumstain in his boxers as well.

Gerard has no clue where or when Bert got the tiara he's performing with (probably a fan or dollar store) but he can't pretend he's not into it. 

Before he knows it, The Used are offstage and he's free to drag Bert into a stuffy supply closet. Bert falls onto Gerard, the space definitely not large enough for the two of them. Gerard holds Bert up, not that he has much choice. Bert grabs Gerard's ass. 

"Hi," he greets, grinning. 

"Hi, Gerard echoes, nudging Bert until he  gets the hint and falls to his knees. His shirt catches on the doorknob on the way down and the concrete is rough, but he doesn't mind. Somehow the plastic tiara is still solidly perched on his head. Gerard fumbles with his belt while Bert unzips his jeans and his cock gets out eventually. 

Bert giggles, "Have you been hard this whole time?" 

Gerard groans, because yes, obviously. 

"Start sucking, princess," He says. Bert splutters, flushing crimson, but quickly gets to work licking. He bobs his head, slowly taking Gerard's dick deeper until his nose is touching his abdomen. Bert looks up, meeting Gerard's eyes through his curtain of greasy black hair. Gerard whines around where he's biting his fist at the sight. 

Bert pulls off, drooling and panting. He's sweaty and out of it. He goes back down on it, putting pressure on the underside of Gerard's cock, just near the head, with his tongue. Gerard gasps. He bucks forward into Bert's mouth; the younger man takes it well. 

"Good fucking girl," Gerard praises, "Should I pull out? Come all over your face? Make sure everyone knows what a slut you are?" Bert, perhaps against his best judgment, makes a muffled sound of affirmation paired with puppy eyes. 

Gerard pulls away from Bert's swollen lips and frantically tugs at his dick. His muscles clench and warm jizz splatters over Bert's hair, subsequently covering the cheap tiara. Bert's mouth drops open but Gerard isn't that kind, letting it get pretty much everywhere else. Gerard rocks back on his heels, breathing out sharply. Bert awkwardly blinks his eyes open, one by one. He moves to wipe cum off of his eyelid and Gerard tuts. Bert stops himself, realizing he'll have to go out through the halls of the venue and to his bandmates on the bus, hair sticky with Gerard's cum. 

"Have fun," Gerard says, apparently a mind reader now, as he zips his pants up and leaves Bert alone in the small closet.

Bert knows Gerard’s onstage in only about half an hour, but it’s never stopped the two of them before. 

He's not super sure where to look for him, instead just wandering around in hopes they'd show up.

He sees Mikey chatting with Quinn and strolls over, trying to look neither rushed or desperate. “Mikey, hi, uh- you seen Gerard around or?” 

Quinn barks a laugh and Bert turns his head to glare.

“Yeah, last I’ve seen he’s in our green room but well- you can go find him for yourself actually,” Mikey answers, obviously leaving something out. 

Quinn smiles crookedly, “Make sure you can walk for our set.”

Bert raises his middle finger as he walks away.

-

He finds the door with a paper reading ‘MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE’ taped to it quickly, not at all bothering to knock. He opens the door and walks in, freezing in his tracks when he actually sees and takes in what’s happening.

Gerard, as he expected, is leaning back into the cushions of the couch. Adam is between his legs. 

Bert slams the door, calling all the attention in the room to himself. 

Adam’s stopped bobbing his head and pulls his mouth off of Gerard’s cock, turning to look at Bert. Guiltily, Gerard glances up to meet his eyes too. Adam doesn’t look half as sheepish as Gerard does, must be hard to when he’s busy looking so fucking wrecked . Drool is dripping down his chin from his reddened lips and his hair is an absolute mess.

He’s tall and lanky and awkward, not quite Bert’s type, but he can’t deny how hot he looks between Gerard’s thighs. 

The awkward silence is thick in the air and it’s pretty much unbearable. None of them really want to move and as easy as it would be, Bert doesn’t really want to turn back towards the door handle.

“Um,” He says instead, “Should I leave you two to it or-”

“Stay,” Adam blurts out, surprising literally everyone present. It’s apparent that Gerard agrees though, patting the empty side of the couch as Adam takes his half softened dick back into his mouth. Bert steps back to lock the door before awkwardly walking towards the two of them and seating himself.

He’s recovering from the boner killing uncomfortableness, sitting back and letting himself enjoy the show. Adam’s playing it up for Bert, letting strings of spit fall down his shirt and making eye contact with him as Gereard pulls him in by the hair.

He’s gagging but Gerard doesn’t ease up.

Bert’s seen Adam performing though; how he tangles the mic cord around his throat for the majority of Taking Back Sunday’s set. The way he pulls on it and tips his head back, mouth falling open pornographically.

Suddenly, there’s loud aggressive banging on the door. Before Bert could even get his hand on his dick either, well fuck him.

“Gerard! If you’re in there, you need to get onstage now!” A voice angrily calls from the other side of the door. 

“Shit,” Gerard mutters under his breath, “I’ll find you both a little later.” 

He zips his pants back up and storms out.

“Um,” Adam says, now that they’re alone. He pulls a sticky note out of his pocket and scribbles something on it. He puts it gingerly in Bert’s hand and backs off towards the door. Bert inspects the paper, scoffing at the hotel room number written down and slipping it into his jeans.

-

Bert knocks on the door, checking that the hotel room he’s standing in front of is the right one after knocking. Luckily, he was correct and Gerard ushers him in soon. Bert wiggles his shoes off and peeks around the wall. He can see a sliver of Adam already kneeling on the carpet. He can’t stare for long though, as pretty as Adam is. He’s stark naked except for Gerard’s striped tie wrapped loosely around his neck. Gerard whispers to Bert to strip the second the door shuts. He nods but doesn’t move. In a warning tone, Gerard firmly says “ Bert.” 

Bert doesn’t have enough energy to commit to being a bitch today. And he doesn’t want to fuck up his first time with Adam- he’s glad to push Gerard a little though. He shimmies his clothes off, tossing them in a pile next to Adam's. The brunette’s are folded tidily. Gerard stares at him pointedly and Bert stares back. It’s fine, Gerard wasn’t really expecting him to fold it up anyway. 

"Okay," Gerard whispers, "You'd be okay with subbing? And bottoming, as well. Adam's a sub too, kinda obvious but- yeah."

Bert nods.

"Wasn't sure about Dom/sub play for your guys' first time having sex but you both can opt out any time so- we good?"

"Mhmm." Bert agrees.

He feels awkward next to Gerard, who’s fully dressed, but follows them into the room without complaint. Gerard drops into a crouch next to Adam and strokes his hair. Bert hears him whisper a small “good boy”. Adam lights up, even at just the smallest bit of praise. 

Bert can’t judge, not when he blushes every time someone makes a mean remark to him. Speaking of his degradation kink, he's wondering if Gerard will exploit it in front of Adam. He almost hopes so.

Gerard stands back up and settles on the bed, waiting for Bert to fall to his knees. He does. 

“Okay, good,” Gerard mutters, mostly to themself. 

“Adam.” He calls sharply, “Up here, boy.” 

Adam gets up clumsily but clambers onto the bed, looking expectantly at Gerard. They exchange some more words Bert can’t quite hear. He’s not really paying attention either. He just sort of ended up spacing out instead. He’s brought back by Gerard calling his name.

“Bert! C’mere pup,” They beckon. Bert crawls to the bed, even though he probably would’ve been fine to walk. He’s fading into the headspace and walking would take him out. Gerard pats the bed and Bert manages to get up with… well it’s probably a lot of grace for being on his knees.

Bert lets Adam manhandle him onto his back with a jolt of surprise. There’s no issue, he’s just not expecting Adam to be rough like that. Bert lifts his hips just enough for Adam to wedge a pillow beneath them. 

Gerard cards their fingers through his hair, leaning in to whisper to Bert, "Look at you, dumb little mutt for me. You're gonna let Adam fuck your ass?"

"Mhm-" Bert manages, trying to avoid bucking his hips into the air, wishing Gerard would just tell Adam to get started. Gerard smiles, "Bark for me, princess? Stick your tongue out and drool?"

Bert flushes and looks up at Adam who's sitting back on his heels, not looking at all bothered by the hold up. Bert shuffles awkwardly and meets Gerard's eyes, pleading.

The dom shakes their head, "Do it. If you want Adam's cock at all. If not, he'll just get to fuck me instead. He’s a sweet obedient puppy, not just a stupid fucktoy like you."

Squeezing his thighs together, Bert lets out a small yip, just getting comfortable with it.  He does it a few more times, tongue hanging out between barks. Spit is slowly making its way down his chin. He whimpers and arches his back.

A hum of approval later, Gerard is gesturing to Adam and pulling a condom out of their pocket. He presumably gets it on, and Bert's hips involuntarily buck up as the tip of Adam's cock rubs against his hole. 

Adam doesn’t take his time pushing in and doesn’t give Bert much time to adjust either. Gerard barks an order that Bert can’t focus on enough to hear properly- which is fine, because it wasn't for him anyway. 

Adam begins rocking his hips into Bert, close enough to him that even with the small thrusts their skin slaps against each other with each movement. 

A thumb, Gerard's, hooks into the side of Bert’s mouth and he widens his lips to accommodate it. He sucks on it sloppily, letting his teeth squeeze down every time Adam pushes especially deep. "Such a perfect pup, Bert. Taking my stud's cock so well."

Humming, Bert blinks up at Gerard vacantly. The older man laughs quietly, "Is anything I'm saying even registering in your little head? Or are you too much of a dumb mutt?"

Bert's hips buck.

Prodding deeper into Bert's warm mouth with his thumb, Gerard continues, "It's okay, sugar, you love it."

Adam's thrusts have been building in both speed and intensity, probably subconsciously. Neither he or Bert seem to have consciously noticed it.

Gerard has though.

"Adam, stop." They command and while Adam obeys, he doesn’t look very happy about it, "Good dog. Pull out."

He does, of course, and Bert whimpers sadly around Gerard's thumb as his legs collapse onto the bed. 

Gerard reaches forward and takes Adam's dick- firm and wet, rosy pink at the tip and curved up onto the hair of his stomach- into their hands. He jacks Adam off, hands frantic as someone whose bus is leaving in a few minutes that just woke up. Biting his lips, Adam keens, his head tipping back. 

His cum splatters all over Bert's abdomen, warm and sticky. 

"You took this so well. Fucked Bert so well. You're so amazing for me, so beautiful," Gerard coos to Adam under his breath. Adam sighs. Finally, Gerard stops stroking Adam's cock once it's started to soften, "You gonna suck Bert off, Adam? Hm?" 

"Yes," Adam whispers mostly under his breath. He scoots back and shifts his weight onto his arms, holding him up over Bert's leaking cock.

He ducks down and laps at the head. He moves his mouth off Bert's dick to lick up some of his own come, spitting it back out again on Bert’s dick as lube. 

Suddenly, Adam's head is being shoved down and he's gagging on the feeling of tears welling up in his eyes and his air being cut off. Gerard doesn't let their hand up for a few seconds, not until Adam meets their eyes, desperate and pleading . 

It doesn't take much for Bert to orgasm, thigh muscles clenching and hips rocking upwards into Adam's wet mouth. Adam swallows, even though it doesn't taste very good.

Bert's all blissed out yet so Adam is the one who asks, "Gee? Can I get you off?"

Gerard shakes their head and answers, "Don't worry. I prefer to watch anyway. I'm gonna run a shower for the two of you- three if I can manage to squeeze in- though. You guys are filthy."

"Like you're one to talk," Bert mumbles, still panting in an attempt to catch his breath. 

Gerard rolls his eyes, but grins anyway. 

The worst possible way to find out that nobody in your whole band packed suppressants has to be one heat triggering everyone else’s. 

Bert’s came first; Quinn and Jepha’s soon followed. Bert, however, had an alpha to go and crawl to when he needed a knot. Quinn and Jepha weren’t that lucky.

They were curled together on the couch, towel beneath both of them soaked all the way through with slick. They're not gonna let Bert complain about it when he abandoned them to go sit on Gerard’s big fat alpha cock. 

Not that they’re jealous (lie)... but it’s okay! They have the powers of friendship and fingering each other. It’s kinda working; sates them for the minute (and that’s a generous estimate) after orgasming. 

Jepha just finished for probably the 50th time today when the door opened and Bert came in, Gerard trailing behind him. The scent of alpha filled the lounge. Jepha and Quinn shot up as soon as they detect it, both deflating upon realizing who it is.

“Hi,” Bert said, “Brought you guys an alpha.”

Gerard waved.

Quinn started, “To-?”

Jepha cut in, “You’ll share?”

Bert nodded and Gerard’s hands dropped to undo his belt buckle.

"Gabe, hey," Mikey greets, glad he's finally found Gabe not surrounded by his friends, just digging around in his locker. The taller boy glances up and nods at Mikey, "What's up?"

"Just wondering if you were going to the dance? I was kinda just planning to hang around wherever Gerard goes but you know how he is-"

"Oh yeah dude! Do you want to go with me?"

Mikey's heart flutters in his throat, even though he's aware that Gabe likely doesn't mean it in a romantic way and is probably just going to dance and help cover for Travie and Joe spiking the punch. It's not a date. But it's something! And he's going to take any time he can spend with Gabe happily.

The dance is today. Mikey's been counting down to it, hoping that Gabe hasn't forgotten about his existence. Gerard begrudgingly agreed to drop Mikey off after a lot of pleading and convincing and maybe a blowjob. If it works it works.

"Is my makeup alright?" Mikey asked, looking over his carefully smudged eyeliner in the car's filthy visor mirror.

Gerard already wants to leave, "Yes. It's fine, Mikey. Shut up and go inside, you look great."

Meeting Gerard's eyes, Mikey tilts his head.

"I'm sure, Mikes. He'll love it." Gerard promises.

Mikey finally builds up the courage to go inside. He finds Gabe quickly, as he... towers is a bit of an exaggeration but he is rather tall. Gabe seems to notice Mikey soon after he spots him, despite the crowd around him and makes his way to the other boy.

They just hang out for a bit, and Mikey awkwardly chats with whoever Gabe sees entering and drags him along to have a conversation with. He has a steady supply of... whatever it is that made its way into the punch though, and that's good enough for him to deal with it.

Eventually, Mikey ends up being pulled to the bathroom because Gabe needs company while he pukes apparently. 

It isn't a bullshit excuse like Mikey was hoping and Gabe does in fact want Mikey to stay with him as he retches into the toilet bowl.

"You’re so cute, Mikeyway," Gabe coos as Mikey wipes a drop of vomit off his chin. "Like, for real. Just always been so scared to say anything to you."

Mikey flushes, trying not to pass out on the spot.

Gabe has not gotten less drunk since confessing his feelings for Mikey, being mostly held up by the shorter boy as he stumbles over himself. 

Joe's shooting the pair of them- well, probably only Gabe- looks of concern from across the crowded room. Eventually, he weasels his way through the clumps of people and reaches them. He grips Gabe's wrist and leans in to whisper something Mikey can't make out over the shitty pop music into Gabe's ear.

"I'm going to drive him home," Joe yells just loud enough for Mikey to hear over the speakers. Mikey nods and shifts so Joe is supporting most of Gabe's weight instead.

"I uh- bye Gabe. I love you," Mikey calls, hopefully loud enough that Gabe can hear him. If he does, he doesn't respond. 

He isn’t sure which option is worse. 

Swallowing thickly, Mikey watches Joe usher Gabe out the door, and ducks into the bathroom to send a message to Gerard. 

By the time his pocket is vibrating to let him know Gerard has texted to say they're parked out front, Mikey's managed to mostly fix up his appearance. He wipes the tears from his eyes before they get a chance to escape at all. It's stupid because there are so many reasons for Gabe to not respond- who's to say he even heard Mikey?- but it hurts nonetheless. 

Mikey picks out Gerard’s gloomy and run down looking vehicle easily and lets himself into the passenger seat.

"Hey," Mikey greets, under his breath. He's afraid if he tried to be any less quiet his voice would sound too rough or crack. It would work on anyone else, but Gerard sees through his facade.

They furrow their eyebrows and try to make eye contact with Mikey, but he's resting his forehead against the glass of the window he's looking out. He’ll figure out what went wrong at the dance when they get home, one way or another. 

For now, they just start the car and fiddle with the station that the radio’s tuned to.

“Hey, wait,” Gerard says before Mikey manages to inevitably lock himself in the bathroom for an hour. They grasp his arm as gently as they can but Mikey still lets out a small gasp as he turns his head. He groans, “ What? ”

Gerard rubs his thumb in small circles over Mikey’s hand, “Talk to me, sugar.”

“Fuck I-, mmffh, it’s dumb, Gerard.”

“Not if you’re upset by it,” Gerard doesn’t quite know where the line between making Mikey know they’re not letting it go, but not making him feel worse is. Mikey’s like a skittish prey animal, maybe a deer. You have to be cautious approaching him so he doesn’t flee.

Hesitantly, Mikey decides maybe he’ll talk, eyes still darting to the bathroom door every few seconds. 

“I just- Gabe told me he liked me- for real. Seriously- and then he-” Mikey hiccups over a sob, “he was really drunk so Joe was gonna drive him home and I told him I loved him and he ignored me.”

Gerard frowns and pulls Mikey into a hug.

“I’m sorry, Mikes,” They pull away and continue talking,” I- uh- well, you can try talking to him tomorrow? You’ll both be at school if neither of you are too hungover.”

Mikey nods, once again not trusting his voice enough to speak. He forces out a few words, “Um. I’m going to-”

He warily steps towards the bathroom and Gerard looks at him with pity, but doesn’t do anything as the door loudly slams. 

Mikey finds Gabe well before their first class starts and hesitantly approaches him.

“Hey man! What’s up?” Gabe grins at Mikey. That’s a good sign, at least it means Gabe doesn’t hate his guts. 

Mikey fidgets with his sleeves. Maybe it’d be best if he decided to leave it. “I um- just wanted to talk to you about last night- in- in the bathroom.”

Gabe looks at Mikey blankly, letting out a small “huh?”.

Mikey isn’t sure if Gabe actually forgot or if he’s just pretending. But he was drunk and really- why would he? 

“It’s- nevermind,” He mutters, speed walking away.

Gabe watches Mikey leave, mouth still open to try to speak.

Mikey tucks himself into the only bathroom stall that doesn’t make him want to fucking puke. You’d think that’s a low bar.

Digging around in his pocket, he eventually manages to dig out a small metal pencil sharpener and the screwdriver that’s meant to be for his glasses. He makes quick work of getting the blade out. He shoves the screw back into the hole so as to not lose it.

He gently runs the pad of his thumb over the sharp corner of the metal, unbuckling his belt with the other hand. He shoves his pants down just low enough down his thighs for a little bit of scabbed over skin to be exposed.

Nowhere from his hips to his knees is completely empty of angry red lines anymore, so he settles for slicing over the older cuts instead. 

He takes a deep breath before dragging the blade over his skin, not extremely deep but it’s enough that droplets of blood are already beading up. The tingling urge under his skin doesn’t cease and he repeats the quick motion.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And so on. 

The crimson blood is smeared all over Mikey's legs by the time his shaking hands lose their grasp on the blade. He watches it drip detachedly, barely registering it as his own. He yanks a few pieces of toilet paper off the roll and dabs at what blood isn't already crusty and dry.

Wincing at the burn, Mikey pulls his jeans back up, very much regretting the choice to wear denim that rubs painfully against his cuts. It's fine. He deserves it anyway.

Hands too shaky to get the blade back into the shell of the sharpener, Mikey instead settles on just tucking it all into his pocket. He washes his hands for longer than necessary, scrubbing at his palms until it stings.

He looks at himself over his glasses in the dirty mirror, not recognizing himself.

Gabe sees Mikey multiple times over the course of the day, but the other boy is always either gone or too busy by the time he tries to talk to him. 

Mikey's pretty sure Gabe doesn't know what he did wrong. He tries not to let the stickiness of the guilt cling to him but it's hard when Gabe looks so hurt each time Mikey makes eye contact with him. 

The door to his house creakily swings open and Mikey makes a beeline for the stairs. Once he gets to the bottom he finds Gerard, not unexpectedly, at their desk with watercolours.

"Hi Gee," Mikey says as he tosses his backpack on the carpet and flops onto the couch.

"Hey yourself," His brother greets, not looking up from his work, "How did your day go?"

Mikey hums, subconsciously running his fingers over where he knew there were still painfully fresh cuts marring his stick thin legs.

Gerard continues, "Your talk with Gabe go well...?"

Breath catching in his throat, Mikey freezes up. He was hoping Gerard would've forgotten. He answers awkwardly, "Um. Fine, yeah, went well. Can we not talk about- what are you painting right now?"

Frowning, Gerard spins in his chair. Mikey makes himself small in the corner of the couch, half hiding behind a cushion.

"Okay, okay," Mikey says, "I talked to him but it uh- I've kinda been avoiding him all day since. I just- It's a lot."

Gerard seems unsatisfied with the answer but nods anyway, fiddling with his brush, "Well. Let me know about anything, I guess."

Mikey nods, nails digging into his thighs.

The slam of the door and thumps of Gerard putting her polished black boots on the rack rung through the large hotel room. Adam was vaguely aware of it. She wasn’t properly processing it however, head fuzzy and filled with dizzying nausea; so sweaty her shirt was completely soaked through. 

Gerard locked the door and carried their oversized bag over to their bed, dropping it there and then going to check up on Adam. The other vocalist was swaddled in rumpled blankets, seemingly haven gotten even more than what were originally on her bed. She lightly shook her.

“Grrnhgbhf,” Adam greeted eloquently.

Adam was sweaty, Gerard noted. It’s not completely unusual, but it was an abnormal amount. Especially since she almost certainly had time to shower after her set.

“Hey, hey. You look really ill. You okay, Adam?” Gerard asked.

The younger woman whined, “Gerard, Gerard, please I- fuck, can you get me… water or something?”

Gerard nodded and rushed off, filled with concern for the other vocalist. She returned with a tall glass soon, shocked to see Adam with her hand down the front of her pants, clearly stroking her cock. 

She sheepishly met their eyes, hand freezing in place, “Gee, please. I need you to fuck me, just like we used to, c’mon, please, please… shit-”

Gerard was taken aback. And that was an understatement. They were both married! They hadn’t done anything at all sexual in over 15 years. 

“Adam, we can’t,” Gerard helplessly tried to argue. Adam pleaded more, just broken little gasps and whimpers of “please”.

Gerard reassessed the situation, the crazed look in her eyes and her endless pleading. Gerard ran their hands through their brown hair, “Fuck, I just don’t know if you’re in the right mind to consent, Adam. I don’t know what happened to you! You’re too fucked up for sex though, I- there’s just so many reasons we can’t.”

“C’mon I- please. I think I’ll feel better, really. Trust me, please.”

Gerard took another second to make up their mind, before sighing and unbuttoning their navy blue dress. She shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the carpeted floor. 

She got onto the bed, pushing away the heap of plush blankets. Adam reaches up and pulls them down for a kiss. They go down willingly, extremely aware of Adam's clothed boner against them as they make out, wet and sloppy. Gerard pulls away and spits into Adam's open mouth.

Gerard sat back, trying not to put too much weight on Adam's legs as they unbuttoned her pants and tugged down her underwear. Her dick sprung out, curved against her happy trail and red and dripping at the tip. Gerard slowly kissed down Adam's torso and she whined.

"Shh," Gerard whispers. She can tell that Adam's not in her right mind especially because of how out of line she is. It's not the same obedient little puppy Adam they used to be so used to.

Adam bit her lip.

Mikey heaves his backpack up onto his shoulder and pats his pocket to make sure his key is still there. His bag takes a lot more effort to lift; he's noticed how much weaker he's gotten since the school year started. It's fine. It means he's doing something right.

All of a sudden, just as Mikey's swinging the door open to leave, Gerard comes rushing up the stairs. 

"Mikes!" They call, "You forgot your lunch! I made it for you since I think you forgot that as well."

Internally, Mikey curses. On the outside he plasters a stiff smile onto his face and curtly mutters a "thanks" as he grabs the bag.

Gerard surveys Mikey and purses his lips, but the door is slamming in their face and his baby brother is gone before they even have a chance to comment on Mikey's reaction. 

A homeless man begs for money for a meal at the bus stop Mikey gets off at. 

He feels bad for getting rid of something Gerard made for him, but overall it's the best thing to do. For everyone involved. 

Gerard doesn’t need to find out about it; they have no reason to worry about Mikey.

Ray finally has, well, as close as he could possibly get to privacy in a tour bus. His bandmates know not to bother him anyway. He digs the rope out of his bag, nothing special, black cotton that he picked up at Hobby Lobby. 

He’d asked to stop and Frank had mocked him mercilessly before Mikey informed him “there’s nothing wrong with arts and crafts” and he was giggling too much to continue. 

If only that’s what he was getting. He’d scurried out with it tucked into his backpack, telling them all that he didn’t find anything. Ray assumed nobody was paying enough attention to see through the lie. 

He loops the stretch of rope around his neck, deeply exhaling. It's surprisingly soft. His fingers fumble but he manages to tie knots where he needs to. He splits the rope into two ends and loops it through one of the gaps, pulling tightly. 

He bites his lip in a feeble attempt of muffling his whimper. He doesn't work quickly, mind getting foggier every time the rope loops under a different bit, watching as his skin bulges out from between the cotton in each little section.

The rope eventually falls onto the blankets under him. Ray can't think about anything except the feeling of being restrained, not much in the state to actually finish the harness. 

He's not sure how long he just sits there blankly. Eventually the door is slowly creaking open and a voice cautiously asks, "Ray?"

He struggles for a second to match up a person with the voice, until his brain supplies Gerard. That's good- he's probably the one Ray's most comfortable being this vulnerable in front of.

Gerard's weight settles on the couch next to Ray and they reach out, awkwardly running their fingertips over the patterns of the rope. Ray shakily lets out a breath he didn’t know was caught in his throat. "I don't really have experience," Gerard says, "But do you mind if I…" They awkwardly gesture to the rope. 

"Please."

"Okay, okay," Ray's not really sure what Gerard is doing, other than making up a pattern on the spot, but it's a lot easier to not think about it. He can just sit back, relax, and let it happen. Then his arms are being nudged behind his back and the rope is tightening around them. 

Ray moves his arms, just a little, to test the rope. It's tight, not enough to cut off circulation, but too much for him to be able to move and he hums happily, eyes fluttering shut. Softly cooing at him, Gerard cards a hand through his hair. They admire their handiwork, which was mostly guessing. It looks fine and functional so really, it's close enough.

Ray scoots further into the warmth of Gerard's body, resting his weight against them. Gerard presses a kiss to his forehead. Neither of them are going anywhere.

Gerard knocks on the door of The Used's bus, awkwardly chipping off his black nail polish as he waits. Jepha is the one who slides it open, a cup of tea in his hand. He's not quite scowling but it's close. Still messing with his nails, Gerard asks, "Is uh- is Bert available?"

"He's still mad that you called him a-"

"Listen, I came to apologize to him." It's not true. They will end up saying sorry, they don't doubt it, just not necessarily for that.  

A slow sip of tea later, Jepha shrugs, stepping back from the door. Distrust is apparent on his face but Gerard's okay with that, it's deserved. Gerard steps onto the bus, looking around at the familiar sight of the cluttered interior. 

They hesitantly nod and wave at Quinn on the couch, who obviously sees them, but doesn't respond to it. Once again, that's fine. He isn't here for Quinn. However, they can hear muffled music playing from somewhere in the back. 

Jepha speaks up from the doorway, "He's in the lounge area, I think. But I'm warning you, he's still pretty pissed at you."

Gerard nods, taking a deep breath as he makes his way towards the rear end of the bus. He can feel his heart beating faster in his chest, nervous about what he's about to do. He knows there won't be any coming back from this. They’re not as sure about the choice as would probably be ideal.

As he slides the creaky door open, he sees Bert sitting on the couch with his back to him. Bert doesn't turn around but Gerard can see the tension in his shoulders. They clear their throat and greet, "Hey, Bert."

There's a tense- it's not silence, Bert doesn't seem to be willing to pause his music for this- for a moment before Bert finally speaks up, his voice cold. "What do you need?"

"I, uh," Jepha is still awkwardly hovering behind Gerard, watching, "I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have said what I did. I was out of line."

Bert still doesn't turn around but his voice softens slightly. "Yeah, I know. Do you even know how much shit I got after that interview?"

Gerard winces, feeling guilty. They shoot Jepha a look and then shut the door again, praying he isn't eavesdropping. "I think we need to talk about something else too though" 

Bert purses his lips. He hopes he’s wrong about what’s coming; that it’s just his stupid brain jumping straight to the worst conclusion.

 "Not to sound all cliché but I just don't think we're right for each other anymore," Gerard says, "I'm sorry, Bert."

Bert had previously said that love wasn’t like anything, especially a fucking knife. He’s mentally taking it back now that he can pretty much feel one twisting in his guts. It’s puncturing his internal organs and leaving him bleeding out on the floor. 

He wants to fall to his knees and beg, but where would it get either of them?

He just looks away from Gerard instead, unable to meet his gaze. He wants to scream and lash out and make them feel as hurt as him. But he doesn’t move and he doesn’t look at them.

"I'll um, leave?” Gerard asks, even though it isn’t a question, “I think you need some time.”

Bert doesn't respond, still staring ahead with his jaw clenched. Gerard takes it as their cue to leave, slowly closing the door behind them as they step out of the bus. Jepha is still standing there, looking at them expectantly. 

“Do I want to know?” He asks, surveying Gerard’s face and posture.

“You will soon, I’m sure.” Gerard bitterly mutters. Then they’re storming out, no further explanation. 

And so he does. Because for a while Bert is all robotic motions and dissociating in his bunk and refusing to speak to his bandmates, but that fades. Jepha’s not quite sure fading would describe it actually, because the distant behaviour morphs into anger . Bert yanking clumps of hair out and shattering their plates and bowls against the wall and screaming about Gerard isn’t less intense.

Jepha tried to comfort him and have a conversation once. Once was enough. He wants to be mad at Gerard but he’s too tired to do anything more than take care of Bert.

And then with the anger comes the recklessness. 

Bert wouldn’t quite call it that actually. Because, sure, he’s being pinned to the wall by his ex boyfriend who he’s not in the least over’s little brother but… He doesn't actually have a defense. 

Especially when he keeps looking up at Mikey and noticing how their noses are the same, their cheeks, their lips. The kisses being pressed to his neck allow him to feel something other than rage, even if just for now. 

Bert almost wants to push Mikey away. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want any of it. But at the same time, he can't deny the rush of sensation coursing through his body. He's so starved for physical contact that he can't help but lean into the kisses, his fingers gripping onto the fabric of the younger brother's shirt.

Suddenly, Mikey’s dropping to his knees. And how could he protest this either?

His dick is out with astonishing speed and Mikey doesn’t waste time stretching his mouth around it either. He laps at the tip for a second before going further down. He looks up and meet’s Bert’s gaze, lashes batting. 

Bert doesn’t want to break off the eye contact. The brothers both have the same fucking eyes, a lustrous hazel. He bucks his hips forwards, moaning, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Mikey- Gerard, fuck-”

Mikey freezes as soon as his brother’s name slips out. It takes Bert a second or two more to notice the mistake. Awkwardly, Mikey pulls off, a line of drool stretching between his glistening lips and Bert’s cock. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” Bert is rambling, “I just- I didn’t-”

Pursing his lips, Mikey shrugs, “Do you… want me to continue? I guess.”

“Jesus, this is embarrassing. Uh. If you want.”

“Okay,” Mikey replies, voice barely above a whisper. He goes back to sucking. It’s warm and tight and it’s good , really, but Bert just can’t do it. Mikey can tell too, by his softening dick. 

“Sorry,” Bert says, “Sorry. Just can’t- not right now.”

Nodding, Mikey heaves himself up off the ground as he dusts the gravel off his jeans. The shame flooding Bert is almost tangible. He pulls his pants back up and sighs dejectedly, watching Mikey leave.

Mikey watched as Gerard sat criss cross applesauce on the floor with his sketchbook was laid out in front of him. Their hand was moving swiftly across the paper. The lines and shapes seemed to form effortlessly under his pencil, and his eyes were focused, completely lost in the process.

Early on, Mikey had figured out that when Gerard was in this state of flow, absolutely nothing could distract him. It might be minutes or it might be hours. But Mikey knew not to interrupt them either way.

Eventually, Gerard looked up and tugged at his little brother's sleeve. They didn't speak, just holding up the sketchbook with a satisfied glint in their eyes.

It was a contrast of messy and sharp. Sort of abstract but easily recognisable by the lanky figure and glasses. Mikey's eyes widened as he saw the portrait of himself. Sometimes it was scary how accurately Gerard could capture his likeness with so few marks on a page. The mix of chaotic energy and careful attention to detail in the drawing reflected in his personality too.

"Can I keep it?" Mikey asked quietly. Gerard nodded and tore out the paper, gingerly placing it into Mikey's hands.

Alicia wakes up groggy and tired, almost rolling off the couch before catching herself. There's a note on the coffee table, the rushed scrawl pretty clearly Gerard's. She briefly skims over it, something about Mikey going to walk Piglet and him going to buy them milk.

One glance at the shoe rack by the entryway tells her that while Mikey's still out, his brother has returned. He's probably dozed off again though.

She manages to untangle herself enough to stand up and walk to Gerard's room. She peeks in. As expected, he's swaddled up in the sheets, eyes shut. His skeleton onesie is draped clumsily over his chair. She mulls over waking him up but decides against it, instead grabbing the onesie for herself and wiggling it on.

Sitting down on Gerard's bed, she squirms her way under the covers with him, just waiting for him to wake up. She doesn't know how long it takes until he's turning over and blinking up at her, hair disheveled and a drop of drool trailing down his cheek. He groans before mumbling out, "You stole my onesie! 'S spring now, isn't it too warm for it?"

Alicia grins at him, "It's never too warm to steal it, Gee. It's cozy." She leans in to give him a kiss on the forehead. Gerard murmurs something completely unintelligible in response and wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Alicia rests her head on his chest as he starts fully wake up. They lay there in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Gerard finally speaks up, "What time is it?"

Alicia glances at the clock on his nightstand, "Noon, wanna get up?"

He shakes his head and she giggles, "Gonna have to make up for all the cuddles Mikey's missing out on."

"Do you know Blind Melon?" Bert asked suddenly, fidgeting with his gloves. The bus they were settled in was shockingly silent for housing a band of rarely sober emo dudes.

"Not really. I think Mikey bought their self-titled album but I only really know that uhh-" Gerard paused for a second, before awkwardly breaking into song, "I don't understand why I sleep all dayyyy."

"Hm. You should listen to Mouthful Of Cavities when you get the chance. Reminds me of you."

Gerard raised an eyebrow at Bert's comment, "How so?"

Bert shrugged and half giggled.

“Alright well I'll give it a listen anyway."

Gerard had all but forgotten the whole conversation until he read over the lyrics for Sound Effects and Overdramatics, recognising the “I haven't seen him smile in a while" from the Blind Melon song Bert had brought up. He hummed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me," Bert said, his voice shaking with anger. "I thought we had something special and now you're just throwing it all away."

Gerard tried to remain calm, despite Bert's defensive outburst. "I know this is hard for you, and I'm sorry," he said. "But we both know that things haven't been working out between us for a while now. I think it's best if we go our separate ways."

"Don't talk all- fuck- fuck this. Fuck you. Stop trying to be all sweet when this is your fault."

"I'm sorry that you're hurting right now," Gerard responded, apathetic. He could see that he wasn't getting through to Bert anyway.

The other vocalist's response was to slam his hand on the table and storm away. Gerard peered over at Bert’s iPod, laying discarded on the sheets. Paused was Mouthful Of Cavities by Blind Melon.

"Hey, hey, shh," Gerard whispers panickedly, rubbing small circles into Sonny’s back, "Let it all out, honey. I’ve got you."

Sonny wipes a string of drool off his chin and coughs. It’s far too vulnerable of a position to be in and, really, he’d like to be anywhere else on the planet. He's broken out of the train of thought by bile suddenly rising in his throat. Gerard winces but moves his hands to tug the younger’s hair out of the way.

The vomiting used to be deliberate; now it’s involuntary. He can’t keep food down anymore, no matter how much or little it is. He's past being flummoxed and scared, having moved on to dreading meals, knowing that this would always follow. He's always empty, both literally and figuratively.

Sonny heaves and an uncomfortable chunk of food rises up his throat- and then sinks back down. Although it scratches painfully coming up, it manages to escape. The half-chewed mess splatters on the grass.

Another retch and more is coming up, dribbling down Sonny's chin. He kinda forgets about Gerard until there's a small gagging noise behind him. He forgot how terrible the smell is for anyone who isn't accustomed to it like he is. Heavy and poignant.

He looks back at the other vocalist, who's trying to smile at Sonny, despite the tears prickling in his eyes.

"Sorry," Sonny mutters. Albeit shakily, he manages to stagger off the ground. Gerard reaches out to steady his swaying, "Careful. Do you want to come on my bus? I can get you some water."

Nothing comes out when Sonny tries to speak so he just nods instead.

As the pair walk, Sonny hesitantly trails behind Gerard. The bus is chaos once they arrive, with way too much hollering and jeering for Sonny's weakened state. Nobody seems to pay either of them any attention though.

Gerard leads him into his bunk and gently ruffles his hair before glancing off to the kitchen. He whispers something that Sonny doesn't pick up on before walking away. His return is quick, with a glass of water in his hand. He lifts it to Sonny's mouth and he takes a sip.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Gerard asks as he sits down, as if already anticipating an affirmative answer.

Under his breath, Sonny answers, "Yes, please. Um. Thanks."

Gerard scooches towards Sonny and goes to wrap his arms around the boy. He flinches back and Gerard purses his lips (more in worry than anything else). He settles for just resting his hand on Sonny's knee instead, since that seems to be okay.

Sonny takes a few more sips of water before setting the glass down. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes.

"Do you want to talk?" Gerard asks softly.

Sonny takes a deep breath before speaking, his voice hoarse, "I just… I can tell my voice is getting worse each night. I can't keep doing this."

"I'm sorry," Gerard mumbles.

Frank sat on the couch, relishing a fleeting moment of tranquility in his chaotic life as he savored his breakfast. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the living room and the whole thing was just so pleasant. The kids were still asleep and Jamia might be up soon but he wasn't counting on it for at least another hour. 

However, his nice little moment was interrupted by the tapping of claws on the hardwood floor and then floppy ears popping up. Lois looked up, her eager eyes fixed upon Frank's bagel. With a wagging tail, she bounded over to the couch, her eyes never leaving the plate in her human's lap.

Frank tried his best, really, to ignore Lois's pleading gaze, hoping she would understand that her dog food is for her and not his breakfast. He took another bite of his bagel, trying to focus on the flavour (not remarkable but a little bit burnt at the edges) but Lois remained persistent to her mission. She let out a soft whimper, her eyes wide and irresistible.

Frank sighed. Resistance was futile. He broke a small chunk off of the bagel and tossed it down, where Lois devoured it in record time. 

She then pounced on the couch, wiggling her way into Frank's lap as he giggled. He put his plate off to the side, focusing on giving his little lady all the scritches and pats he could. Her tail wagged furiously as she settled down, nuzzling her head against his chest before tilting her face up to lick at Frank's cheeks. 

With a contented sigh, Frank ran his fingers through Lois's fur, trying his best to ignore the growing bulge in his pants and the guilt that accompanied it. 

The dog shuffled, her body rubbing up against Frank's crotch. She moved back slightly and Frank held his breath. Tentatively, Lois sniffed at her owner's clothed boner, licking over the fabric. Frank gulped, every muscle in his body seeming to lock. Time was slowing down for him, focusing solely on Lois's tongue (and how it could feel if he were wearing two fewer layers). 

He was brought back to reality and nudged Lois off of him temporarily, shimmying both his sweatpants and underwear down his thighs in an awkward motion. He didn't dare move, waiting for his pet to do something first.

And she did- moving almost immediately back to the position she was in just before. Tongue lolling out of her mouth, she put her paws on Frank's skin. Her muzzle dipped back down and she licked at Frank's cock, swollen and dripping. She continued, strokes firm and broad. 

Frank gasped brokenly, his hand moving down to grasp at hair like he would a human before registering that this was his dog and just petting her instead. Lois took a small break to look up, panting, before returning to shuffling at her owner's hips. Her lapping started up again.

Frank was glad for the overwhelming pleasure of a dog's tongue on him- the weight of guilt would surely consume him later. Now, if he wasn't upon the brink of orgasm. 

He shoved Lois away again and his hips thrusted up. His thighs trembled and he reached up to wrap his fingers around his dick. He stroked himself quickly, moaning as he realized Lois was pressing her nose against his hand in an attempt to-

"Fuck!" He gasped, warm seed spilling over his hand and Lois's face. She looked up at him, fur splattered with jizz, and quietly barked.

"Fuck," Frank repeated, with regret already pooling in his gut.

Dirty’s sitting on the couch, lounging on it like he owns the thing. His pants are awkwardly sitting around his ankles and for whatever reason he isn’t wearing boxers either. He should've kept them on for now at least, Pete’s eyes keep drifting to but then trying to ignore his junk.

He really has no clue what either of them are doing here.

Just 20 minutes ago Dirty was joking about branding Pete's name into his ass and now here they are. A coathanger Dirty twisted around to form Pete’s initials is in the fire.

And Pete’s about to burn it into the ass of his merch guy.

Just for fun.

He's not quite sure it'll actually be fun for either of them, even if Dirty's an insane masochist and it was objectively funny to Pete when it was mentioned.

Pete takes the hanger out of the fire with his oven mitts and Dirty takes it as his sign to roll over. It wasn't white hot, not by a lot, but Pete can feel the heat radiating off it. He supposes Dirty can too by the way he flinches back as Pete nears it to his skin.

Taking a deep breath in, Pete pushed the metal forward, watching in awe. It sizzled.

Pete's horrified for a second, with Dirty not reacting except for sucking in a deep breath. He might be crying but Pete's not paying that much attention to it. Then Dirty breathes out, shaky. And starts laughing. Like the fucking freak he is.

Pete's relieved, but still a little disconcerted, especially since he can smell Dirty's burning skin. He pulls the coat hanger away and Dirty sags. This might be the craziest thing Pete's ever done to someone; the letters are indented in his flesh, red and swollen.

Joe woke up to the unmistakable scent of an omega in heat. Well fuck. He did not want to deal with Pete all needy and in tears clinging off of him all day. 

Joe absently wondered if he could give Pete some of his heat suppressants and if they would work after it had already started. Maybe he'd get some from Andy and Patrick's bus. 

The pros and cons of being in an all omega band. 

Joe was trying to go back to sleep, because none of them needed to be anywhere. But soon enough Pete was standing over him, flushed and sweaty and ruining Joe's plans.

"Hrrngbh" Joe greeted, turning over to face the wall. 

"Joe- Joe please- I'm in heat and I- I need a knot or-" Pete pleaded, voice quiet and cracked. 

"I really can't do anything; haven't you been taking suppressants?"

The silence was enough of an answer. Joe flipped over once again and scanned Pete.

 "Alright just stay here, I'll be back in a second." 

Pete nodded.

Punching the code in, Joe let himself into Fall Out Boy's other bus. Patrick was on the couch, huddled up to his laptop. He looked up from what was likely his email at the sound of the door and raised his eyebrows. 

Joe awkwardly asked, "So, Pete's in heat, can he still take suppressants or...?" 

Patrick shook his head frantically "You have to take them before your heat actually starts; it'd actually be dangerous now as well. A drastic change in hormones like that could send him to the ER." 

"Well, what should I do then? Track down an alpha to knot him? Gabe's an alpha isn't he?"

"No, beta actually," Patrick answered, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Do I want to ask how you know?" Joe said, tone of voice teasing. 

"Not important! Anyway so, if you tell a single soul I will kill you but I have a box under my bed and uh- well. Sometimes if you can't get a real knot, silicone is good enough." 

Joe blinked for a second, processing the sentence before scurrying off to find the box. 

He pulled it out and took off the lid. After an expert job at digging through cuffs and buttplugs and and- cat ears?!- that he would be pretending he had never seen, he picked up the dildo. It was a clear glittery pink, but the most striking thing was the size. It was long and so thick he didn't know how anyone would even get it in. 

He returned the box to its place and walked past Patrick. 

He was very aware of how he'd look carrying around the ridiculously large pink dildo and hoped that no fans were creeping around outside. 

"Thanks Patrick," Joe muttered.

Joe got back into his bus and was about to call out for Pete until he focused a little and picked up on the sound of high pitched whines and moans. He followed the noises until he saw- 

"Pete, you had to hump my fucking pillows?!"

 Sheepily glancing up, Pete's hips slowed. Joe stepped forwards and grabbed Pete's clammy hand, squeezing in a way he hoped was a bit reassuring. He slowly extended his other hand, the one the dildo was in. Pete's eyes lit up, "Are you gonna fuck me with that? Please, Joe I'll-" 

"Yes, okay, just uh... flip over."

Pete obeyed and Joe repositioned his pillow, soaked with slick, so Pete's hips were propped up. Joe ran the dildo up and down Pete's asscrack, getting it wet. Pete whimpered and pushed his hips back. That was Joe's signal to put it in, and he did manage to after a bit of struggle.

The toy was so thick and Pete's hole stretched that wide clenched around it was one of the hottest things Joe'd seen. He pushed it in slowly. His plan was to hold it in place until Pete had adjusted but the other omega was eager, trying to fuck himself down on it. Joe pulled the toy out and thrusted back in. Pete moaned, obnoxiously loud. 

They continued like that, each movement making the plastic knot slap against Pete's skin. Pete's t-shirt was drenched with sweat, as Joe could feel when he tried to hold him still. On one particularly rough thrust, the knot finally slipped in. Pete gasped, eyes blown. wide. 

Joe was aware of Pete orgasming, spilling everywhere, but wasn't paying much attention because- what the fuck - he could see the outline of the toy through Pete's abdomen. The bulge was under the bartskull and Joe hesitantly ran his hand over it, smearing cum along Pete's tummy as he did so.

Pete went completely limp, melting into the sheets. Joe gently carded his fingers through Pete's hair as his breathing slowed.

Gabe is the person that taught Pete the idea that life is about service to others. He's gotten on a plane late at night without asking a single question because Pete needed him there. 

Of course, that's the wholesome sappy example. 

It's really a sexual thing most of the time, because they're horny 24/7. 

But Pete didn't even realize how much Gabe prioritized him for a while. Pete's orgasm would always come first to him. Then Gabe would stand up and make him food or get him... whatever, anything. If Pete wanted it, he'd do it in a second.

Patrick's been roaming the world since his husband left him. Place to place, not really fitting in anywhere. That is- until stumbling upon Emo Island. It's perfect. Everyone understands the emotions that he's going through, even if they don't know the exact situation. 

He settles down there eventually, with a lovely little house and lots of friends. 

One day, a band of adventuring musicians find their way to the island. One of them looks scarily like Patrick, but it’s not what he’s focusing on.

Their guitarist is a raccoon! Furry yet bipedal, just like him. He’s never met anyone else like him and he’s ecstatic, even though he’s a rabbit instead.

He smooths down his pearly white fur and heads out to strike up a conversation with them. He introduces himself to the lot of them happily and invites them in. 

The raccoon’s name is Joe and he tells the story of a wizard turning him into his current form over a cup of hot tea. The night progresses and Joe’s friends clear out to explore. He stays however.

Naturally, the two find their way to the bedroom, soon enough.

Flustered, Joe admits, “I- um- I don’t do this much really. Most people are turned off by the whole raccoon thing.”

“Don’t worry,” Patrick answers, “I get it, just do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Joe nods and gets onto the bed that Patrick’s already laying back on. He straddles him, running his paws over the rabbit’s chest. He nuzzles the plush fur and hums, pleased.

“No pressure but like- can you hurry up?” Patrick hesitantly asks. 

Joe blinks, “You know, raccoons have lots of foreplay. The whole thing usually takes over an hour.”

Patrick’s mouth drops open, but he quickly covers it up with raised eyebrows and a scowl, “C’mon, I- c’mon . Please. Rabbits can get the deed done in 20 seconds. I seriously won’t be able to deal with a whole fucking hour of your foreplay .”

Joe rolls his eyes, but still makes an effort to cut to the chase. It isn’t like it’s Patrick’s fault. He brushes the fur away from Patrick’s nether regions, exposing his pussy to the cool air. 

He slowly strokes over the folds, fingers moving lower and lower. Joe inserts two that Patrick easily accommodates and then pushes himself down on. He scissors them and Patrick grunts, whimpering quietly.

“Please,” He begs, “Please, Joe, fuck, need your dick in me now, please, fuck.”

Joe’s really not making him wait on purpose, more just making sure they’re both prepared and in the mood. It isn’t like Joe wasn’t already and with the state Patrick is in- it’s pretty clear the two of them are ready.

“M’kay,” Joe says, and pushes into Patrick, bit by bit. Frowning, Patrick pushes his hips forward so Joe’s entire dick is enveloped in the warmth of Patrick. He pulls out slightly and then thrusts his hips back forward, long and slow.

“Fuck this, okay,” Patrick grumbles under his breath and he wraps his legs around Joe’s waist, pulling him down until their skin is flush against each other, “Here.”

Albeit clumsily, he flips Joe onto his back so he’s the one over him. Joe squeaks indignantly but doesn’t do anything. He gasps as Patrick pushes himself up and then lowers his hips back down. He repeats the motion with astounding speed.

It’s so much at once and it’s really no wonder rabbits don’t last long in bed. However, his body, one of a raccoon, still isn’t quite made for it. Patrick’s arms give out under him and he deals with it with grace, rhythm of his hips not even stuttering.

His torso is limp against Joe’s torso now, warm and soft. Joe runs his paws over Patrick’s back, gentle rubbing sharply contrasting how Patrick moves on his cock. 

Thighs clenching, Joe orgasms, his seed spilling inside of Patrick. He moans brokenly and grabs at the sheets. Patrick slows down but doesn’t get off of Joe until he’s whimpering.

“Um,” Patrick says, “You can stay here if you want, or you can find the rest of your friends?”

Joe nods and wiggles further back into the bed. That’s an answer then.

Gabe startles when his phone suddenly rings. The only person who’d think to call him at four in the morning on a Wednesday would be Bill or Travie. It’s neither of them. He picks the phone up anyway, mumbling a “Hi?”

“This is the Clark Street hospital, is this Patrick Stump? Peter Wentz has been admitted and you’re his emergency contact.”

“Should I come to the hospital?” Gabe asks, even though he doesn’t know this Pete guy. It’s not malicious or a prank; maybe this guy actually needs him- or someone- there for him. 

Gabe drives to the hospital and they let him in to see Pete when he tells the receptionist why he’s there. 

A nurse leads him to the room that Pete’s in and he shuffles in awkwardly, knowing he isn’t meant to be there, especially when this stranger is so vulnerable. 

His hair is raven black and splayed out around his head; his mouth and nose are being covered by the ventilator. Doctors and nurses are rushing in and out and he figures he can’t just stand up and leave. It’s too late for that.

Eventually a nurse sits him down and starts to read things off a clipboard, “He overdosed on a benzodiazepine, likely ativan. He should be in a stable condition by now.”

Eyes wide, Gabe nods. She continues speaking, “As it was a suicide attempt, he won’t be let out until we’ve had a chance to transfer him for a mental health evaluation and then most likely a separate treatment facility. I’d suggest staying with him at least until he wakes up though.”

“Okay,” Gabe whispers under his breath.

The staff clear out, unhooking whatever machines and checking on Pete one last time before leaving. 

Gabe’s not sure if he dozes off or not but by the time he’s fully awake, Pete is stirring. 

The man in the bed blinks groggily and groans out a strangled string of profanities. He zeros in on Gabe and asks, throat raspy, “Who are you?”

“Um,” Gabe mutters, “Your emergency contact? Kinda. Your old one- Patrick something- changed his number, I think.”

Pete winces and gnaws on his chapped lips, “So that’s why he hasn’t been getting back to me… So the hospital called you and you just came anyway?”

Gabe pinches the bridge of his nose and nods, knowing how stupid and weird it is, ”Sorry. Yeah. I uh- they called me and- dunno. Maybe you needed someone.”

Pete hums thoughtfully. There’s an awkward silence for a moment and then Gabe asks, “So who’s Patrick?”

Pete flinches.

It kinda puts Gabe off because he figured aking ‘hey why’d you try to commit suicide?’ would be a worse question to ask than one about who he assumed was family.

“He was um…My best friend. And soulmate. But we haven’t talked in a few months and-” Pete coughs, tear welling up in his eyes.

Gabe stops himself from leaning forward to reach out to Pete, figuring out what would be the least weird thing to do. He ends up scooting back, “Sorry, shouldn’t’ve asked.”

“No I- it’s fine,” Pete replies,” But my world kinda hinges on him and…”

Nodding, Gabe swallows thickly.

“Pete looks up, “You won’t but, do you know if I’m gonna be let out?”

“I- I do actually. Kinda. A nurse said they’re probably going to move you to a different centre for… mental health stuff.”

Lips twisting into a scowl, Pete sighs, “I don’t want to- fuck, this is stupid, I’m just- I want to keep in contact with you.”

“I will,” Gabe promises. 

Safe sex was never quite the first thing on Ryan and Pete’s mind, especially not when they were rushed. They didn’t always have condoms with them and Ryan didn’t at all want to be on the pill. It was fine- Pete always pulled out anyway, so pregnancy just never felt like an actual possibility to Ryan. 

Of course, that was before Ryan’s period didn’t come. By the time it was about a week late, he decided maybe this was something to worry about.

He waited until the rest of his band were either asleep or out at some party with whoever to leave, not needing Brendon to start requesting him buying snacks for everyone, or worse, trying to tag along. 

His feet thump quietly on the gravel as he hops off the bus. Pulling his jacket tightly around his shoulders, Ryan starts walking briskly.

The drugstore is open 24/7, thank god. The neon sign in the window calls to him and he enters. The middle aged cashier’s got purple bags beneath her eyes and scowls at Ryan when he walks in. Despite her demeanor, Ryan wasn’t awfully bothered. 

The store is empty save for the cashier, security guards, and Ryan. He surveys the signs hanging over the aisles one by one, until finding the pharmacy section and ducking down the aisle.

He passes the condoms on the way- too late for that- and looks over the shelves of pregnancy tests. He reads each box over and over, not really taking the words in on any of them. He doesn’t care either, he’s just trying to put off the inevitable, because in the end he just picks the cheapest one off the shelf.

He walks to where the cashier is picking at her nails, placing the small box on the counter. He pays and mutters a “thank you”, before blurting out, “Do you have bathrooms?”

“Employees only, sorry,” She answers.

“Please?” Ryan asks desperately, voice cracking. The cashier looks down at the lonely pregnancy test resting on the counter and then at Ryan with his large hazel deer eyes, apparently pitying him enough to sigh and pull the keys off her belt loops. 

Ryan paces the bathroom. The wait is pure agony. He bends over the test once again and stares at the two rosy pink lines in disbelief.

The walk back is dreadful and feels a lot longer than before. He hasn’t even thought about having a kid before, and he doesn’t think Pete will be able to handle the responsibility yet. He can’t even handle Hemingway’s antics. Ryan isn’t necessarily opposed, just conflicted.

He walks past The Academy Is… bus on the way back to his own and is a little surprised to see William perched on a lawn chair out front. He’s cradling a bottle of Jack Daniel’s like a baby (ha) and waves at Ryan as he strolls past. 

“Ryan! Hey!” He calls and Ryan sighs, because he’s not sure how well he can handle a conversation with Bill right now, but turns around anyway.

“Didn’t see you at the party! Smith and Conrad sucked face on a dare and Mike almost murdered your lead vocalist. You kinda need that guy alive.”

“Okay,” Ryan says flatly, “Thanks for keeping me updated.”

William definitely catches on to how much Ryan wants to escape the conversation but keeps talking instead of just letting him go, “Your boyfriend Pete was there too, y’know.”

“Um.” Ryan starts, mulling it over in his mind. Yeah, sure, why the fuck not, William Beckett will be the first person he tells he’s pregnant, “It’s… I’ve kinda got an issue right now. Relating to Pete.”

Bill raises his eyebrows and pats the other lawn chair next to him. Gingerly, Ryan sits. He shakes his head when William offers the whiskey to him and says, “Well um. I’m pregnant, yeah.”

"You- Pete?! Holy shit, Ryan, you can't be pregnant on tour. You're not keeping it are you?”

Ryan doesn’t meet his eyes.

"It's your choice, obviously, but... you understand. And you know Pete won't be able to deal with a kid."

“I know,” Ryan whispers, “I’m not telling him quite yet.”

William shrugs once again.

Gabe seriously considers ignoring Pete’s call at whenever-the-fuck-the-sun-isn’t-up-yet o’clock AM. He knows that Pete wouldn’t call for no reason though and picks it up with a sleepy greeting of a groan followed by, “Hi Pete.”

“Hey,” Pete’s voice crackles from the other side of the phone, quiet enough that he’s either horny or hates himself. Which option it might be is not clarified at all when he asks, “Can you come over? Like, right now.”

“For what? Like- sexy times or-”

“Can you or can you not, Gabe.”

“I’ll be at your place in 15. Depending on the traffic, y’kn-” There’s the click of Pete hanging up. “Oh, okay.”

Pete doesn’t live far and Gabe’s too tired for driving, so he settles on just walking. The trip doesn’t take too long.

Thud thud thud, Gabe’s knuckles go on the door of Pete’s apartment. He doesn’t have to wait long until the door is swinging open and Pete’s fingers are wrapping around his wrist. Unceremoniously, he’s dragged in by the other man’s ragged nails, probably in that condition from chewing.

“Hey,” Pete says. He’s wearing an oversized sweater and Gabe offhandedly thinks it might be stolen from Travie. Fuzzy thigh highs cover the rest of his skin. 

“Hey yourself, um, what do you need?” It’s not quite Gabe to be this blunt but he is not getting his beauty sleep. And Pete knows his face is his money maker. 

Pete rubs at his eyes, “Just need to-” He breaks off, running a hand through his messy dark hair. Gabe doesn’t push; knows Pete just needs a second to be able to ask for things sometimes. “Can you bend me over your lap, Gabey? Just need to hurt a little.”

It’s not new, they’ve messed around with it. But Gabe’s just not sure. Pete can probably see it on his face, because he’s reaching out to stroke his fingers over Gabe’s arm. He whispers, “You don’t have to.”

Gabe kicks his shoes off and shakes his head. He follows Pete to the couch and settles into the soft fabric. Willingly, Pete slides into Gabe’s lap. The sweater gets pushed up, the scratchy fabric no longer covering Pete’s thighs. His bony fingers trail up the skin.

Pete wiggles and the sweater rides up enough to reveal angry red lines on his sides. Gabe’s been pretending he doesn’t notice them for a long time. 

“Safeword?” Gabe prods, not that he thinks it’ll be needed. 

“Clan. Clandestine. Whatever, either one.”

Affirmatively, Gabe nods. The first slap isn’t hard, not that he can tell the extent of it over Pete’s boxers, but some of the tension in Pete’s shoulders loosens anyway. The next few swats are about the same, not quite gentle but nothing hardcore.

The intensity of Gabe’s slaps ramp up. He gets into his own headspace, not really paying attention until- “Pete? Are you crying? I’m not hitting you that hard, am I? I can ease up.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Hey, hey, Pete? Look at me,” Gabe holds onto Pete’s face, tilting his head up. 

The tears are streaming down Pete’s face, not the crying choking gagging kind. They’re just slowly dripping down and he sniffles, “Don’t stop. I just, fuck, I need to hurt. I deserve it, Gabe, I fuck everything up, please don’t stop.”

“Pete-”

“Don’t-”

“Okay okay, new rule,” Gabe exhales heavily, “How about every time I hit you you say something you like about yourself. Because you don’t fucking deserve it because you’re a fuck-up or anything, it’s-”

“I can’t-”

“Pete.”

“I can’t do it Gabe, I- Clan, fuck!”

Grasp on Pete’s chin loosening, Gabe sighs, “Isn’t it a little- I’m not mad Pete, of course I’m not, but… you can handle me slapping the shit out of you but you can’t say one nice thing about yourself? Are you okay?”

“‘S nothing nice in there, Gabey,” Pete mutters in response. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gabe tugs Pete’s stripey sweater back down and awkwardly manhandles him off his lap, “I can’t do this for you if it’s furthering your-” he waves his hand “-self-loathing.”

“I’m gonna fucking hurt myself anyway!” Gagging over his own sobs now, Pete’s curled up into the corner of his couch, “Isn’t it better like this?”

“No! It really-”

Pete tangles his fingers in his hair, tugging at the strands, “Get out, Gabe. Just- out. I can’t do this.”

“I’m not leaving you like this, I don’t trust you to-”

“Out.”

Gabe scowls, rising from the couch and zipping his hoodie back up. He angrily jams his feet into his sneakers. The door slams behind him. 

Pete's sobs echo through his condo, painfully empty. He's right, there's nothing he can't fuck up. His relationship with Gabe is just the newest addition to the list.

The letters in Pete's mailbox from Gabe rack up quickly. Outdated as it is, he understands the appeal. He tears open the newest envelope. The paper is blue and patterned with donuts and cupcakes. It reads:

Pete,

 

Like my stationary? My kid picked it out. He's old enough to do that stuff now, having kids is wild. Tell yours I say hi. Love you always, brother.

 

-Gabe

It's sweet. Pete tucks it back in and makes his way to the overflowing shoebox he's been stuffing them in for a decade.

He'll read through them all again sometime, just to reminisce.

Carden wakes up with a start. It takes a second to comprehend his whole situation, from the silver handcuffs painfully biting into his wrists to the face of Pete fucking Wentz lounging on the couch tapping at a GameBoy. Mike stays silent, because he's good at that.

Pete's too occupied to notice him anyway. Mike thinks back to the last thing he can remember: An alleyway, some pretty boy passing out (from blood loss?), and then Joe with a bottle of holy water in his hands.

He snaps out of his reverie when the door slams. He and Pete both glance up simultaneously. It's Patrick, storming in with a stack of books. After dropping them on the coffee table he comes up to Carden. Patrick crouches in front of him, scowling. He speaks, "Where did Beckett take Andy after you sucked him dry?"

Mike blinks, putting two and two together, "Why would I know?"

"Listen, I just want this to be resolved peacefully-"

"You literally kidnapped me and I'm in extremely painful handcuffs. Is that peace?"

Patrick pinches and rubs the bridge of his nose. Pete mutters, "Just stake him."

"Wait wait, can we compromise?" Carden yelps.

"So you do know where he is!" Pete exclaims.

"We're trying really hard to be pleasant with you, Mike" Patrick cuts in, "All we want is information, and then we'll let you go."

"I can't trust you. I could never see the light of day again."

"You're a vampire, it would be worse if you did see the light of day," Pete says. Groaning, Patrick mumbles a small, "Please shut up."

Both the hunters are staring at Carden now, like they expect him to say something. He doesn't. Why should he if he has nothing to tell them?

"We should just kill him," Pete suggests eventually, "Or torture him? That would be good. You got all those books from the library. See what works."

"We're not trying to break him, we just need Andy back. We can hold off for a little longer, just until Joe gets back. Okay?"

Pete sighs, and he's off on a tangent again.

Carden kinda wishes they'd stake him, just because their bickering is that fucking annoying. He peeks up at the books Patrick slammed down earlier, skimming the spines. All about vampire hunting. Some aren't more specific than that but others mention killing and torture and… other unpleasant things. He needs the Dandies to come find him soon, if he doesn't want to become a guinea pig.

It was 2 a.m., and Pete was sitting in his darkened bedroom, staring at the screen in front of him. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, itching to type, but his mind was blank.

He hesitantly entered Patrick's email, embedded in his memory, before sighing and discarding the draft. He wouldn't want to talk to him.

He opened it again.

Frustration gnawed at him as he tried to come up with something, anything, to say to his… best friend? Were they still even best friends? The cursor on the screen blinked mockingly at him.

He slammed the laptop shut.

Pete paused as he walked into the bathroom. There was crying in the first stall and he was pretty sure whoever it was hadn’t heard him come in. The wise choice here would have been to just turn around and walk out, but he instead found himself nearing the stall, "Hey uh- you okay in there?"

The sniffing briefly ceased and then a meek voice asked, "Who's this?"

Pete sighed, "Uh, Pete. From Fall Out Boy."

"Oh."

After an awkward moment of complete silence the door creaked open, revealing the little emo kid from From First To Last. Tears were still glistening on his face, but Pete imagined that he looked significantly less collected not long ago. Pete took a hesitant step towards him, like he was approaching a skittish prey animal. Sonny didn't move.

The older man scratched at his neck as he suggested, "Do you want to… talk about it? I promise not to be inconsiderate or whatever."

Sonny looked down at his nails.

"I just, um, feel fat, I guess. I'm scared of meals and I can't remember the last time my hands were warm and not constantly shaking and-" He coughed on a sob, "Sorry."

Pete noted how this kid was probably, like, 17 and pursed his lips. He replied, "It's okay, dude, just uh… I don't know. It feels really risky. Also aren't you out there screaming in all your songs?"

"No, uh. Yeah, I know," Sonny answered, eyeing the door behind Pete.

The subtle movement isn't lost on Pete and he frowned, "Sorry, should I go?"

"You're okay. Just really awkward."

Pete nodded understandingly, "Yeah, I get that. Look, I'm not a therapist or anything, but- dunno. Talk to someone about it or something. I'm sure you'll figure it all out."

"Sure," Sonny answered.