SuRGe BSB (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
http://users.livejournal.com/_mydecember_/) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2009-11-25 10:41 pm
http://users.livejournal.com/_mydecember_/) wrote in crack_van2009-11-25 10:41 pm
play and record, held down together by onneonlights (NC-17)
Fandom: BANDOM
Pairing: Pete/Mikey
Length: 54051 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
onneonlights
Author Website: Fic journal
Why this must be read:
Wonderful high school AU. Realistically captures the feeling of being in high school and in a fumbling, awkward-yet-sweet relationship.
“Sorry,” Pete says, without sounding sorry in the slightest. “I dunno, I just thought of you. I was gonna text you, but man, my fingers are fucked. I could hardly even type your fucking name. Hey, maybe I just asso-- you know, associate you with like, being drunk.”
“Wow. That's great,” Mikey mutters dryly. He's actually not that bothered about it.
“No, just like, because I was drunk the first time I really talked to you. It'd make sense. But. Hey. Dude. I am so sorry about crashing in that bed, by the way. Like, seriously, that was so dickish.”
Mikey shrugs, even though Pete can't see him. “It's alright,” he says, because it was. Sleeping with Pete turned out to be more comfortable than he'd have expected, in the end, so he didn't really mind. “It was still better than the floor.”
“Fuck yeah,” Pete says. He laughs as well, as though something about that amuses him more than it should. He adds, “Hey,” when the laughter trails off. Mikey waits again. It was clearly an opening, but Pete doesn't carry on with anything else for a while. Mikey's about to interrupt (although he's not sure it even counts as interrupting when the person you're talking to has probably gone and forgotten whatever it was they were going to say) or maybe even just mumble some sort of excuse and then hang up, but Pete starts talking again eventually. “Wanna know something weird?”
“That you're calling me sitting on the toilet?” Mikey asks. That's pretty weird. It would be an appropriate answer, albeit a pointlessly obvious one too.
“No.” Pete falls silent again, for even longer. Then he blurts out, all in one go and speaking too fast, “I wanted to kiss you that night. I woke up randomly in the night and I rolled over and you were lying there and it was so, like, it was just weird, I totally wanted to make out with you or something even though you were asleep.” He pauses briefly. “Shit.”
Mikey's stomach twists weirdly the second he hears Pete say the word 'kiss' and doesn't let up all the while Pete's talking and even after he's done. He doesn't really know what to make of it or even whether to believe Pete – it would be a fucked up way of messing with someone, but Mikey's seen movies, heard stories, and people do shit like that – and he doesn't know how he feels about it, if it is true. He's surprised as fuck, but he doesn't feel like – he's not exactly freaked out, not like Pete sounds.
He takes a deep breath, as though he's about to say something important or insightful or something, but all he comes out with is, “That would be the shittiest kiss ever, if I was asleep. What the fuck?” and before that all he'd been able to hear was quiet, the distant sound of Pete's breathing and the soft static across the phone line, but after he breaks the silence Pete laughs, lower than usual but undeniably, obviously grateful.
“I know, right? It's not like I fucking have a sleeping fetish or something, that I get interested in people the second they pass out.” Pete laughs again, for a long time, and Mikey just sits on the couch and listens without a word as it starts to sound forced. “I'm fucking drunk,” Pete adds, and he sounds a little bit regretful, but mostly as though he's offering up an excuse.
“You're fucking weird,” Mikey counters, keeping his voice as flat as possible, and Pete laughs even more. Mikey can see what's funny this time. It's kind of a pot calling the kettle black thing there.
“I am,” Pete says. “I don't. I don't know why I told you that. It's not like--” but Mikey's apparently never going to know what it's not like, because Pete's voice suddenly gets even louder in his ear as he shouts, “I'm taking a fucking leak, man! Stop banging or I'll piss all over your mom's towels!”
Mikey's arm jerks, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Ow,” he mutters, and it might just be because he's tired, but it feels as though the sound shoots straight through his ear and jabs into his brain to set off the start of a headache. He hears a distant voice shout something about Pete and something about drinking.
“Dude, you know I'd do it!” Pete yells in response, and then drops his voice lower, almost sounding like he's whispering about some conspiracy now. “I'm not really pissing right now,” he's saying as Mikey brings his cell back to his ear. “I just had to – I couldn't say I was on the phone to you, obviously, in the bathroom, that's just weird, which, yeah. It is, but I've gotta go, so I'll just – bye.”
Mikey opens his mouth, but he doesn't get another word out before Pete hangs up and he's left with the dial tone in his ear. His mouth's still open, so he mutters, “Huh,” to himself anyway.
He figures he might as well take advantage of being halfway awake now to relocate from the couch to his bed, so he does, and while he moves and kicks off his jeans and then gets straight into bed, he thinks about the phone call. It was fucking weird; fucking out of nowhere. He hardly knows Pete, and Pete doesn't seem like the sort of dude who is into dudes. He especially doesn't seem like the sort of guy who might be into a dude like Mikey, because Mikey's not an idiot. He knows he's too thin and lanky and that his hair, no matter how good it looks to him, just translates across to everyone else as weird; he only ever gets attention from scene girls, usually, who eye him up at shows from behind too much eyeliner. He doesn't even know if he's ever attracted any guys to him before, fucking around at parties aside. He's never fucking noticed.
Maybe Pete just does think that sort of thing about everyone he winds up sharing a bed with, Mikey thinks. Maybe he's used to falling asleep next to girls, and that was the only kind of association he had going on.
Maybe he's just giving it too much thought. Pete was drunk. Pete probably didn't really know what he was saying, and Mikey's tired, so whatever. It takes a lot of effort, but he pushes it to the back of his mind as best he can and eventually gets back to sleep.
play and record, held down together
Pairing: Pete/Mikey
Length: 54051 words
Author on LJ:
onneonlightsAuthor Website: Fic journal
Why this must be read:
Wonderful high school AU. Realistically captures the feeling of being in high school and in a fumbling, awkward-yet-sweet relationship.
“Sorry,” Pete says, without sounding sorry in the slightest. “I dunno, I just thought of you. I was gonna text you, but man, my fingers are fucked. I could hardly even type your fucking name. Hey, maybe I just asso-- you know, associate you with like, being drunk.”
“Wow. That's great,” Mikey mutters dryly. He's actually not that bothered about it.
“No, just like, because I was drunk the first time I really talked to you. It'd make sense. But. Hey. Dude. I am so sorry about crashing in that bed, by the way. Like, seriously, that was so dickish.”
Mikey shrugs, even though Pete can't see him. “It's alright,” he says, because it was. Sleeping with Pete turned out to be more comfortable than he'd have expected, in the end, so he didn't really mind. “It was still better than the floor.”
“Fuck yeah,” Pete says. He laughs as well, as though something about that amuses him more than it should. He adds, “Hey,” when the laughter trails off. Mikey waits again. It was clearly an opening, but Pete doesn't carry on with anything else for a while. Mikey's about to interrupt (although he's not sure it even counts as interrupting when the person you're talking to has probably gone and forgotten whatever it was they were going to say) or maybe even just mumble some sort of excuse and then hang up, but Pete starts talking again eventually. “Wanna know something weird?”
“That you're calling me sitting on the toilet?” Mikey asks. That's pretty weird. It would be an appropriate answer, albeit a pointlessly obvious one too.
“No.” Pete falls silent again, for even longer. Then he blurts out, all in one go and speaking too fast, “I wanted to kiss you that night. I woke up randomly in the night and I rolled over and you were lying there and it was so, like, it was just weird, I totally wanted to make out with you or something even though you were asleep.” He pauses briefly. “Shit.”
Mikey's stomach twists weirdly the second he hears Pete say the word 'kiss' and doesn't let up all the while Pete's talking and even after he's done. He doesn't really know what to make of it or even whether to believe Pete – it would be a fucked up way of messing with someone, but Mikey's seen movies, heard stories, and people do shit like that – and he doesn't know how he feels about it, if it is true. He's surprised as fuck, but he doesn't feel like – he's not exactly freaked out, not like Pete sounds.
He takes a deep breath, as though he's about to say something important or insightful or something, but all he comes out with is, “That would be the shittiest kiss ever, if I was asleep. What the fuck?” and before that all he'd been able to hear was quiet, the distant sound of Pete's breathing and the soft static across the phone line, but after he breaks the silence Pete laughs, lower than usual but undeniably, obviously grateful.
“I know, right? It's not like I fucking have a sleeping fetish or something, that I get interested in people the second they pass out.” Pete laughs again, for a long time, and Mikey just sits on the couch and listens without a word as it starts to sound forced. “I'm fucking drunk,” Pete adds, and he sounds a little bit regretful, but mostly as though he's offering up an excuse.
“You're fucking weird,” Mikey counters, keeping his voice as flat as possible, and Pete laughs even more. Mikey can see what's funny this time. It's kind of a pot calling the kettle black thing there.
“I am,” Pete says. “I don't. I don't know why I told you that. It's not like--” but Mikey's apparently never going to know what it's not like, because Pete's voice suddenly gets even louder in his ear as he shouts, “I'm taking a fucking leak, man! Stop banging or I'll piss all over your mom's towels!”
Mikey's arm jerks, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Ow,” he mutters, and it might just be because he's tired, but it feels as though the sound shoots straight through his ear and jabs into his brain to set off the start of a headache. He hears a distant voice shout something about Pete and something about drinking.
“Dude, you know I'd do it!” Pete yells in response, and then drops his voice lower, almost sounding like he's whispering about some conspiracy now. “I'm not really pissing right now,” he's saying as Mikey brings his cell back to his ear. “I just had to – I couldn't say I was on the phone to you, obviously, in the bathroom, that's just weird, which, yeah. It is, but I've gotta go, so I'll just – bye.”
Mikey opens his mouth, but he doesn't get another word out before Pete hangs up and he's left with the dial tone in his ear. His mouth's still open, so he mutters, “Huh,” to himself anyway.
He figures he might as well take advantage of being halfway awake now to relocate from the couch to his bed, so he does, and while he moves and kicks off his jeans and then gets straight into bed, he thinks about the phone call. It was fucking weird; fucking out of nowhere. He hardly knows Pete, and Pete doesn't seem like the sort of dude who is into dudes. He especially doesn't seem like the sort of guy who might be into a dude like Mikey, because Mikey's not an idiot. He knows he's too thin and lanky and that his hair, no matter how good it looks to him, just translates across to everyone else as weird; he only ever gets attention from scene girls, usually, who eye him up at shows from behind too much eyeliner. He doesn't even know if he's ever attracted any guys to him before, fucking around at parties aside. He's never fucking noticed.
Maybe Pete just does think that sort of thing about everyone he winds up sharing a bed with, Mikey thinks. Maybe he's used to falling asleep next to girls, and that was the only kind of association he had going on.
Maybe he's just giving it too much thought. Pete was drunk. Pete probably didn't really know what he was saying, and Mikey's tired, so whatever. It takes a lot of effort, but he pushes it to the back of his mind as best he can and eventually gets back to sleep.
play and record, held down together