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There’s blood in Gerard’s mouth and he’s not sure if it’s his own. He runs the tip of his tongue over his aching front teeth and turns around to see if whoever headbutted him got away unscathed. He definitely felt his teeth slice through… something, which is kind of worrying since they are freakishly small and that means that he had a mouthful of some stranger which is… all a little unsanitary, isn’t it? A guy with a bloody nose bumps into him and Gerard gets a face full of Eau de Sweaty Armpit. He chokes a little and ducks and shoves – his go-to move in the pit – to keep Tall and Sweaty at a safe distance and then brushes his greasy hair out of his face. He’s standing at the edge of the mosh pit at Warped, probably too close to the speakers given his bad ear, but right now he does not care even in the slightest. He can feel each beat of the kick drum resonating in his bones and his heart is racing along with the music as the song crescendos and comes to a crashing, slightly off-key end. He will definitely have to incorporate something like that into their next record, he thinks.

“The next song is called ‘A Box Full Of Sharp Objects’.” Announces Bert McCracken. He looks good today, Gerard thinks. Really good. Sure, he’s just as sweaty as Gerard is, but the way his wet tangled hair looks with the red makeup smudges on his cheek and the manic glint in his eyes… Gerard gulps. Perhaps he does have a thing for boys who look like they would beat him up without hesitating and make out with him afterwards.

“Marry me!” Tall and Sweaty hollers next to him with the fervor and timbre of a frat bro after his sixth bear of the night. Gerard winces. Yeah, his hearing is definitely not going to improve anytime soon. Maybe he should start wearing the second in ear monitor too; he thinks he might be developing a tinnitus.

“Who, me?” Bert asks with wide eyes and an even wider grin on his face. He presses a hand to his chest in mock-surprise. Gerard’s not entirely sure but he thinks Bert’s wearing white nail polish on the left and black on the right hand. He wonders if it’s a Queen reference.

“Fuck yeah!” Tall and Sweaty yells. Gerard twitches. How did that guy even manage to keep his baseball cap in the pit? He’s pretty sure that he himself lost one or two pins and maybe his belt to the crowd.

Bert wags his eyebrows. “We’ll see about that later.” He turns to his bassist and giggles in that weird high pitched way of his. “Looks like I’ve got a date tonight, Jepha.”

Fuck. Fucking fuck. Why can’t Gerard be a sweaty frat bro? Sure, his Gran always told him to worry less and just ask for things because really, what could happen besides him getting rejected? But somehow he didn’t think that her advice would be applicable in this situation and yet… Oh god, she’d be laughing so hard if she could see him right now, thrashing wildly with the crowd at a The Used show mere hours before he had to be on stage himself just because he thought the singer was kind of cute and wanted to check him out live. The band launches into the next song, kicking Gerard back into action. He shakes his head a little and allows himself a small smile. So what if he has a tiny man-crush on another singer, he can still have a good time. He looks around quickly to check for people who look like they wouldn’t appreciate him throwing himself in their midst and when he doesn’t find any, he dives straight back into the pit.

God, he loves this so fucking much. The hot press of bodies around him, the elbows connecting with his ribs, even the feeling of sweaty skin sticking and unsticking from his. For a while he loses himself in the push and pull of it, careful to keep his head down so he doesn’t get hit in the face. Somehow he seems to be just the right height for that, not big enough to really stand his ground and not quite small enough to weave through the crowd like Frank does either. He feels someone pulling on the white stage shirt he’s wearing because it was the only semi-clean thing in his wardrobe after touring for a while. Somehow his stage clothes are always taken care of while his normal t shirts decompose in a smelly pile in a corner of their bus. Right now though, his last good shirt is dotted with small red blood splatters and he briefly worries about the state of his face which seems to be one big dull ache right now. He really hopes that the blood isn’t his; having to sing with a broken nose would suck balls.

His gaze connects with a short-ish dude with a bloody bitemark on his jaw and a bright grin. For a split second Gerard recognizes him as the person whose face he hit his teeth on but then he’s being hoisted up and carried on top of the crowd. He takes in a gasping breath and blinks up at the almost cartoonishly blue sky for a few moments. Sure, he’s crowdsurfed before, but usually inside smaller clubs and never at Warped where the audience looks like a boiling kettle full of rage and drunk scene kids. Maybe he should reconsider though, he thinks idly as he’s being carried away from the pit. Someone’s jewelry catches on his hair and the buttons of his shirt and he tries to keep his feet still so he doesn’t kick anyone in the head and there’s sky around him and the wavelike movement of the crowd under him, and he thinks maybe this is what it feels like to drift in the ocean during a storm, and then he’s being hoisted on stage.

‘Oh fuck’ He thinks. “Oh fuck.” He says. While no one’s technically going to kick him out for it he is technically also not supposed to be here and it’s taken him too long already; he should be jumping back right now; he’s seen other people do it and they always got away with it as long as they didn’t disturb the set, and he turns around and then someone grabs his throat and slams him to the ground and. Holy Shit.

He’s on his back again and this time he’s not looking at the sky; he’s looking right into the surprisingly blue eyes of Bert McCracken who just chokeslammed him into the ground and is now standing above him with his feet planted left and right of Gerard’s hips.

Actually, maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. He’s feeling a little faint right now. Bert’s hand is still around his throat. Gerard tries to swallow and chokes on his spit. He feels his pulse beating away frantically, even faster than the music now, and he wonders if Bert can feel it. The moment seems to stretch like the string of a bow being pulled back and Gerard worries that if he makes one wrong move he’s going to make it snap and hit him in the face.

Fucking hell. He’s going to die here. Above him Bert grins with all of his teeth and mouths along to the final chorus as the crowd goes wild. He locks eyes with Gerard and winks and then he. He licks his hand, from palm to fingertips, and wipes it on Gerard’s face and suddenly he’s painfully hard in his jeans. There’s sweat dripping down from Bert’s hair and his teeth still ache and he still can’t breathe properly and he thinks he just fell in love. He’s dying but man, what a way to go.

Bert, who doesn’t seem to have picked up on Gerard’s epiphany, gets up from his crouch and gets back to performing and after a second Gerard picks himself back up and leaps into the crowd before one of the security guys can usher him down and he still feels like he’s floating.

He doesn’t get back up on stage; it’s not like he could ask Bert for his number in the middle of a concert, right? Right. They’re either going to meet backstage or maybe they’re going to collab or, or, maybe they will never see each other again (‘Shut the fuck up Gerard you’re literally touring together’ His logical side tells him) but even if that’s the case, so what? It’s not like he just met the love of his life or anything. Ha.

He might be panicking a little.

Later that day, before he had time to change out of his blood splattered clothes (He thinks he might just keep them for the show, the red adds a certain element to the whole look…), he’s just wandering around when he comes across one of the billboards showing messages from fans and really just anyone who submits something via text message.

‘MCR rox my soxx’ He reads and smiles. Next up is a longer message. ‘Bleeding dude uknowho I choked meet me @10 bhind mainstg luv bert’.

It felt a little strange being here again, at the side of a stage. He hadn’t been here in years and, he had to admit, part of him missed the rush of being onstage. He missed the adrenaline that flooded his veins, the roar of the crowd, playing with his best friends. Maybe one day they would do it again. He knew the fans would love it and that it seemed every few months there was a new rumour about a reunion, but he knew everyone was good doing their own thing for now.

Today he wasn’t making an appearance on the stage himself. He kept to the shadows, behind one of the large speakers so that he wouldn’t be seen by the crowd. He wouldn’t want anyone to see him and to get the wrong idea. It was a bit of a pain though as it meant he didn’t have the best view of the stage, but what he saw was good enough.

His gaze tracked the movements of the singer onstage, watching as he sang and screamed out his lyrics to a cheering crowd. It might just be a festival appearance, with a shorter set than a proper gig, but he owned the stage. It made Gerard feel proud for him.

Bert looked so different than he did when he first new him. He had more tattoos on his skin, his hair was shorter and dyed blonde. He looked happy and healthier than he used to be. Gerard couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, how he’d grin and occasionally glance his way.  It made him feel like there were butterflies in his stomach, like it had in the old days, back when things were wild and new.

Back when they’d be hanging out, smoking and drinking and getting high before kissing each other until they were breathless. He couldn’t remember half of what he did back then, but he could remember Bert and how he made him feel.

He wished things had gone differently, that they hadn’t fallen out with one another. They’d lost so much time, so many years... but he was glad that had changed, that they had made things right.

“We’ve been The Used, you guys have been awesome! Have a great weekend!” Bert grinned out at the crowd, before stalking over to Gerard. “So did enjoy the show?”

“Of course babe.” Gerard smiled and leaned in to kiss him. Doing it at the side of the stage, out of sight, made him think of old times again. It was a brief kiss and Bert grinned wildly as they parted.

“Come on, our room should be empty for awhile.” Bert took ahold of Gerard’s hand, flashing him the same filthy look he used to wear before tugging him away. Gerard had to laugh as he shook his head, following him towards The Used’s dressing room.

It was pretty small, being a festival and all that, but at least it was fairly private. The rooms either side seemed unoccupied and Gerard figured whoever they were they were enjoying the atmosphere. Not that he actually cared that much once he was inside and pressed up against the wall, Bert’s lips on his in a fierce kiss. It made him groan, the sound swallowed by his lover as his hands roamed over his body.

“Mmm what if the others come in?” Gerard panted when Bert away, the pair of them gasping for air.

“They won’t, they know to be occupied elsewhere.” Bert smirked, his soft wet tongue sliding over his lips. “Besides, it’s not as if they’ve not seen me like this before.”

“You mean I’m not the only boy you’ve bought back to your dressing room? I’m hurt.” Gerard put on a mock hurt expression, trying to appear surprised even though he wasn’t in the least.

“Oh yeah baby, but none of those guys were half as good as you.” Gerard felt himself blush at compliment, not sure if he was being honest or just saying it to get in his pants. He quickly decided that the most likely answer was both. “Now come on babe, let me see you.” His fingers ran down Gerard’s body, over the t-shirt that cling to his body and down towards his pants.

“What do you have in mind?” Gerard asked as Bert’s nimble fingers worked to undo the zipper of his fly. Bert flashed him another filthy smirk, kissing him again as he pushed his pants down. Gerard didn’t mind in the slightest, relaxing into the kiss and parting his lips to admit Bert’s eager tongue. Bert was always an enthusiastic kisser, messy and sloppy but somehow they made Gerard ache with desire.

Gerard mumbled a groan against his tongue when he felt Bert’s fingers, circling his dick. He’d gotten so lost in the kiss he’d not realised his underwear had been pulled down as well. Sneaky bastard. Bert jerked back, grinning wildly as he looked back down. “Mmm someone’s eager.”

Gerard made a point to glance at Bert’s noticeable bulge before responding. “And your cock looks like it’s trying to burst out of your ridiculous shorts, what’s your point?”

“No point.” Bert licked his lips, pressing himself against Gerard’s leg as he lazily strokes his cock. “You’ve got such a nice cock.” Gerard opened his mouth to respond, but all he let out was a groan as Bert licked along the curve of his neck, his nose brushing his long hair away. He felt his dick twitch in the singer’s skilled hand and a low moan escaped his lips. Fuck, how was Bert so good with his hands?

All too soon, though, he let go over him and Gerard had to bite his lip to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape them. “Turn around.” Bert whispered, his voice slightly husky in his ear. He stepped back from him, giving him the space to do as he ask and Gerard shuffled around on his feet, placing his hands on the wall to brace himself.

Behind him he heard Bert fall to his knees, no doubt as graceless as ever and the singer’s hands found his soft cheeks. “Mmm you have such a nice ass.” Gerard shivered, hearing him lick his lips as he spread him open with both hands. “Such a pretty little hole.” Bert’s breath was hot against his cleft as he whispered the words, before he leaned in and dragged his soft, wet tongue between his cheeks. Gerard gasped, his fingers flexing against the wall as Bert’s tongue circled around his opening, the soft muscle pressing into him. Bert’s tongue was eager, wiggling it’s way into him and twisting around, making him groan in pleasure.

“Fuck Bert...” Gerard whispered, pressing his forehead against the wall, his thighs trembling slightly from Bert’s attention. Before getting back with Bert it had been awhile since anyone had done this to him and no one did it like he did. Bert eat him out like he was starving for it, his tongue darting in and out of him, twisting around whenever it was inside him. Sometimes the movements of his tongue was slow circling, while other times it felt almost like he was kissing him. Every few moments Bert would shift back, swiping his tongue along his crack and taking a quick breath before sinking his tongue back into him.

Gerard felt like he was going crazy from the way Bert’s tongue felt inside him, his eyes slipping shut from the pleasure. “Fuck Bert, has anyone told you that your mouth is wasted singing?”

Bert shifted back again, chuckling as he rested his head on his left cheek. “Several times. I know that’s not the first time you’ve made such a comment.” Gerard could picture the grin he was no doubt flashing him, planting a few kisses against the curve of his ass. “I could say the same about this ass of yours, it’s so soft and plush, it’d be perfect for porn.” Gerard felt his cheeks heat at his words, hearing a rustle of clothing from behind him, then a tube being popped open. “Mmm wanna fuck you so bad. Is that ok?”

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Gerard nodded, gasping as he felt a slick finger press against his opening. “Fuck, did you have lube out there on stage?”

“It pays to be prepared.” Bert replied, his middle finger easily sliding into Gerard’s ass. “You never know when you might find yourself with a sexy rock star that needs a good fucking.”

“I hardly count as a rock star anymore.” Gerard let out a groan, his eyes squeezing shut again as Bert drew his finger back, easing a second into him alongside it. “Comic writer yes, rock star no.”

“Oh really?” Bert’s tone was surprisingly conversational as he fingered Gerard’s ass, rocking them in and out of him. “If I had grabbed you from where you were hiding and dragged you on stage I think the crowd would have cheered louder for you than for me.” Bert spread his fingers, an action that killed any response Gerard could have made. “In fact I think if Gerard Way made an appearance on stage not only would the crowd go more wild than they would for anyone else on the bill but you would be all anyone would talk about.” The two fingers shifted so that only the tips were inside him and then he thrust them back with a third. “They’d go even crazier if I made out with you on stage, they’d be talking about it for weeks.” All Gerard could do was groan, his hole fluttering around the digits that were stretching him open. He supposed Bert was right about that. It still amazed him how, after all these years interest in the My Chemical Romance was still so high. He had to admit, it made him feel proud that people still listened to them enough to ensure that articles and rumours about them were relevant.

Gerard was disturbed from his thoughts by Bert sliding his fingers out of him. “There, all ready for me.” Bert kissed the small of his back gently, rising to his feet. Gerard kept his face forward, so he couldn’t see what Bert was doing but he could guess from the sounds. His fly was undone, his shorts pushed down (no underwear, because it was Bert) and there was the sound of lube opening and being spread along his cock. His hands found their way back to Gerard’s ass cheeks, gripping them and holding them apart. Bert’s cock slotted perfectly between them, sliding the head of his cock along his cleft before pressing it against his hole.

Gerard let out a low groan as Bert pushed into him, his cock filling him in one thrust. His lips found Gerard’s neck again, kissing along his skin as he started to move. While Gerard was at a loss for words, only managing to groan, Bert was his usual talkative self. “Oh yeah, I love your ass.” Bert dragged his tongue along his neck, stopping to whisper in his ear. “It tastes so amazing, feels so good around my fingers and cock. You have the best fucking ass.” Bert moaned, rocking in and out of him, his pace erratic. That was one of Bert’s key traits, that he was wild and erratic. In the old days that played a part in him partying, doing all the drugs and crazy shit that they did together. During sex it showed itself as being completely unpredictable, in a way that made Gerard’s cock ache with need.

“I love this too.” Bert purred in his ear, letting go of his ass and snaking it around his waist, wrapping his fingers around his cock.”Love your dick so much. Love how it feels it in my hand, how it tastes on my tongue, how it feels when you’re balls deep up my ass.” His hand pumped Gerard’s cock, alternating between slow and fast strokes as he fucked into him. “We’ll have to do that tonight yeah? I’ll bend over the bed for you and you can fuck me so good.”

“Shit Bert...” Gerard gasped against the wall, the thought of having Bert all laid out for him making his dick ache in his hand. He knew he wasn’t going to last, between Bert’s words and his hand and his dick, which was now slamming right against his spot, making him cry out every time he thrust into him.

“Yeah, that’s it babe. Wanna feel you cum, paint the walls with it. It’ll look so hot.” Bert purred out the words against his ear, his voice sounding breathless and he trailed kisses along his neck. Gerard let out a yelp as Bert bit down into his skin, right where his neck bet his shoulder and a shiver went through his whole body. It took just one more hard thrust from Bert to tip him over the edge, his cum splattering against the wall.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s it, just like that.” Bert panted against him, thrusting   Oh hard into him as Gerard’s ass fluttered around him, clenching from his orgasm. “You’re beautiful Gerard, so sexy and hot and...” Bert lost his train of thought, moaning right in his ear. Gerard knew that meant Bert had came, spilling deep inside him.

“Bert you’re so...” Gerard whispered, panting softly as he tried to catch his breath. He wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to finish that sentence, so instead he let something else slip. “I love you Bert.”

“You love me?” Bert replied, stepping back as he eased his cock out of him. He turned Gerard around, looking him in the eyes as he stroked his hand along his face. Gerard nodded, leaning into his touch and Bert grinned, even wider than before. “It’s just, that’s the first time you’ve said it you know?”

“Oh.” Gerard felt his cheeks flush and he turned slightly, kissing Bert’s palm. “Well I mean it. I love you.”

“I love you too!” Bert leaned in and kissed him, wrapping him arms around his waist, holding him close. “We should celebrate our deceleration of love! I know the bar has non-alcoholic stuff.” He took a hold of Gerard’s hand, turning from him to tuck him towards the door.

“Err, Bert?”

“Hmm?” Bert turned back to face him, a broad smile on his face.

Gerard looked down with his eyes, then when Bert still looked confused he rolled them. “I’m all for us heading to the bar, just maybe not with our pants down.” He gestured down at their legs as he spoke.

Bert’s eyes widened and he looked down, laughing as he realised Gerard was right. “Shit yeah! What would I do without you?” He let go of Gerard’s hand, reaching down to tug his shorts back up and leaned down to do the same.

As long as Bert’s been fucking people, he’s always been interested in their exceptions list. He wants to know who the girls he’s been with would go dyke for, the guys he’s been with would go straight for. He wants to know what famous person they’d sneak behind their girlfriend or boyfriend’s back for, and he wants to know if they’ve ever wanted nothing more than to fuck their best friend. It never pisses him off to find out that he would be dropped in a split second for Ashton Kutcher, it would be retarded to ask and get mad at an answer.

Still, there’s different ways of going about it. Some people he’s been with feel guilty as shit when it turns out they would hook up with a celebrity no questions asked. So Bert has to ask them after they’ve fucked, that blissful few minutes after a orgasm. Others are better asked in a relationship twenty questions sort of thing, ‘who else would you screw?’ sandwiched between ‘sci fi or fantasy?’ and ‘top five best CDs ever created?’. With some people it’s easiest to just ask them when they’re fucked up, pot or alcohol or E making them pliant.

Gerard’s one of the last. Bert’s noticed he can get Gerard to do anything if they’re both drunk, a fact which he’s used mostly to lure him away from stupid card games and towards more sex. The day that Gerard picks elves and mana over an orgasm is the day Bert considers both his cock and rum a failure, and that day is probably the day he offs himself. If both sex and intoxicants don’t work anymore, all he’s got left is music, and he’s not sure that’ll be enough.

Gerard is laying with his head half in the bushes when Bert asks. He wisely has his head on Gerard’s stomach, not so much to avoid the twigs poking his scalp as to not breathe in Gerard’s burps. “So, you have an alternates list? People you’d fuck if you weren’t fucking me?”

He can’t really hear what Gerard tells the leaves, so he adds “Mikey’s on mine. Hope that doesn’t piss you off.” No need to tell him he and Mikey have hooked up a few times, it’ll only make things fucked up if Gerard doesn’t already know. Mikey sort of sleeps with everyone, but it’s not uncommon trait in musicians. Still, doesn’t mean Gerard knows, he’s probably got brother-blinders on.

“No’mm. He’s on mine too.”

That gets Bert’s attention. Seriously, aside from Quinn and Jepha, Gerard’s one of the best people he’s had drunk conversations with. Interesting shit always comes up. “What?”

“We got really smashed and jerked each other off in the van once. I don’t think he remembers though. Mikey always forgets shit. The first time he got drunk he forgot to wear his shoes home.” Bert is skeptical. Almost-sex with your brother, it’s not the kind of thing you forget. It’s fucking hot though.

“You think if we got him drunk he’d do it again?”

Even pissed out of his mind, Gerard’s got morals. He snorts, “yeah and let’s slip him a roofie too, right. That way he can’t say no. Brilliant, totally brilliant. Like, super shinypants brilliant.”

“Shut up doucheface. Alcohol reduces shame right? Fucking your brother has a fuck ton of shame attached, right? So if you get him drunk you can take that away. It’s not like he can’t say no, you’re just making it easier to say yes. Which is what he wants to say anyway. Probably.” Bert belated tags onto the end.

“It’d take alotta booze. I don’t think palm trees are trees. Do you? Because they don’t look like trees, trees have branches.”

Bert takes the subject change with the ease of a plastered man. He wants it though, he wants it and he wants to fucking watch. Or even better, be a part of it. Since he knows that Gerard’s down for it, he just has to convince Mikey. Gerard’s partially right, the alcohol is  gonna help. But Bert knows a few things about Mikey that Gerard doesn’t. Primarily that Mikey is a kinky fucker, and totally capitalistic about it. He’ll do pretty much anything someone requests as long as there’s a pay off for him.

It’s really not surprising at all what happens when he gets Mikey alone. He asks something along the lines of do you want to have a threesome?, Mikey’s first response is something like and what do I get? instead of the more common with who or fuck off. Bert doesn’t remember it perfectly, he was a bit fucked on random pharmaceuticals. But he knows that after he agreed to let Mikey blindfold him next time Mikey seemed cool with it. He’s not sure he really gets the sexiness of it, but each motherfucker to their own. Why the fuck not let Mikey tie a scarf on his face, especially considering the Way brothers extravaganza he’s about to get?

A day or three later -it’s all sort of a blur, really- he and Quinn and Mikey and Gerard are sitting, drinking beer like water. Bert recognises the potential for a good afternoon, and tells Quinn to fuck off. Quinn pretends to be pissed, but Bert knows he knows the about to get shit done tone for what it is. He fucks off without making the kind of protest he could make if he meant it.

Even if Bert would have felt guilty for exiling him, which is unlikely, he doesn’t have the time for it. Only a minute or two passes before Gerard rolls onto his side -Bert can practically hear the slosh of alcohol in his stomach- to look at Mikey. It’s a fucking mess of a come on; not all that slurred, but completely nonsensical, with added rhyming words. Normally Bert would just listen and laugh but this time he decides to clarify.

“Threesome,” he announces loudly to the sky he’s staring at.

Either Bert’s method of attack was right and Mikey remembers the deal, or Gerard’s was and Mikey’s drunk enough to not care. Really, Bert couldn’t give less of a shit. He only cares that Mikey’s rising to his feet like a drunk baby gazelle and heading off in the direction of Bert’s bus. Which is probably a good idea, as far as location goes. Jepha and Brandon won’t be on it, and if Quinn is Bert can repeat the same tone and Quinn’ll fuck off somewhere else. Frank and Otter and Ray wouldn’t be nearly as helpful. He gets up and helps Gerard, who’s got shitty ass balance when he’s drunk.

Bert likes to do things that others don’t do. And he does those things because he likes to tell stories and nothing is better than a story met by a gasp or a retch. So when he finds himself actually in a threesome with both Way brothers he knows he wants to be able to tell Jepha and Quinn and Brandon I ate Mikey’s ass as Gerard fucked mine. It was great fun for the whole family and then snicker because not only did he get to dirty a innocent saying it’s actually legitimately true. What he’s about to do slash will have done is fun for all members of the Way clan currently on tour. Jepha probably won’t be fazed, the kinky fucker, and Quinn will think he’s bullshitting. Brandon though, he’ll wince and shudder, and that’s exactly what Bert’s looking for.

So yeah, he’s got a plan for the future. But he’s aware enough of the present to put it on hold when Gerard staggers close enough to Mikey that he can kiss him. Watching Mikey and Gerard make out is retardedly hot. Bert is unusually thankful to be the most sober in the room. His vision is clear rather than blurry and doubled, he can see every time Mikey’s adam’s apple quivers in his throat, see the way Gerard’s fingers are clenching Mikey’s ass. Bert isn’t gonna interrupt to get his own. He’s made out with both of them before, will make out with both of them again. Now is about shit he can’t get normally.

Still though, he’s not a fucking saint, he doesn’t have a ridiculous amount of patience. His threshold for waiting is normally low. It gets lower still when Gerard’s somehow capable hands unzip Mikey’s jeans. They’re tight as fuck, even after wearing them a week straight they hardly sag at all. They start rutting against each other as they kiss and all Bert can think is what a fucking waste it would be if that’s all that happened. He has no choice but to break between them. He grabs Mikey by his hips, thin and sharp as razors, and pulls them as he drops to his knees. Mikey more or less falls on him, but it’s fine; it puts Mikey enough off balance that Bert can shove him backward until he’s awkwardly laying more on his shoulders than back. His jeans and permanently tied shoes come off in one swoop, pushed carelessly to the side so they don’t get in the way. Bert plans on dirtying up as much of the lounge floor as he can.

He doesn’t see Gerard come over, he’s too busy sucking Mikey’s perfect cock into his mouth. But Gerard presses his entire body against Bert’s back, breathing heavily tainted breath into his neck. Between the alcohol and the flush of horniness and the actual heat of whatever the fuck city they’re in, Gerard is boiling hot through Bert’s thrift store scavenged shirt. He can’t help but press himself back so the bulge of Gerard’s dick is against his ass. He’s about to take his hands off Mikey’s bucking hips for a second -he can handle choking on Mikey as long as he gets his cock out- when Gerard’s hands go for his belt. Everything that he lacks in gross motor is still pretty decent in fine motor, and Bert will be grateful for that until the end of tour.

Bert slides his mouth off Mikey around the same time that Gerard pushes a finger into his ass. He’s mildly impressed that Gerard remembers he carries those trial packets of lube that sex stores hand out with toy purchases in the pockets of every pair of jeans he has. Although, to not give credit where credit isn’t due, there’s probably not a single guy on tour that doesn’t have a few condoms in his pocket, just in case.

“Roll over, fuck,” he explains when Mikey doesn’t take the movement of his head as the obvious clue it is. Mikey follows the suggestion, crawling a foot or two forward so he doesn’t headbutt Bert with his ass. Bert grabs him by the hips again, wondering if he’s going to bruise, wondering if Mikey will even notice or if he’s used to having finger shaped bruises.

It’s fun, biting kisses onto Mikey’s ass as Gerard starts to fuck him. Mikey’s not trying to get away from the roughness. Sure there are little jerks when Bert bites, but nothing that means he’s actually trying to move away. Bert’s thankful for relative stillness. Each time Gerard drives deeper into him it makes him topple forward a bit, but he only falls into Mikey, who’s incredibly stable considering the situation.

Bert knows himself. He’s a man of habits. Some people might think his habits are fucked up and wrong, but there’s no denying that he has them. One is crashing after an orgasm. Pre-show sex has never worked for him. As soon as he comes he’s going to be out, faster than if someone hit him in the face with a lamp. If he wants to get Mikey off, it needs to be now.

He lets go of Mikey’s hips. Bert stabilises himself with one hand against the bus floor as the other goes to Mikey’s ass. For a second he’s, well- Nervous isn’t the right word. It’s just, it’s fucking Warped. God only knows the last time MCR found a fan with a house nearby to con a shower from. He sees Frank using a hose almost every day to wash off, but Mikey usually isn’t with him. Portapotties are not exactly bidets.

Still, the look on Brandon’s face will be worth it. He curls his fingers around the curve of Mikey’s ass cheek and pulls as wide as he can with one hand. It’s not as bad he thought it could be. His ass isn’t magically delicious marshmallows and sugar, it’s still sweaty skin. But it’s not horrible. There’s no dingleberries. Bert thinks that’s about the most he can fairly ask for.

It’s a blow to the ego when Mikey calls out Gerard’s name when he comes. Gerard’s not even touching him. But that makes it hotter somehow. Bert barely cares he’s clearly second fiddle, not when Mikey and Gerard are so nasty and fucked up. It’s great. It’s seriously great that Gerard is coming because Mikey screamed for him. He’s gonna jerk off about this for the rest of his life.

His band has an established clean up your own crap rule. It’s what makes their bus such a dank pit, everyone would rather bitch about everyone else’s filth than fix their own. To that end, if Bert shoots off on the floor Jepha’s gonna demand he wipe it up. He can get out of doing Mikey’s load because it’s Mikey’s, but if he doesn’t do his own everyone is going to give him shit for it. Better he come on Mikey’s back. Better for him at least. And Mikey’s Mikey, he probably won’t notice if it cakes on.

“So, like, don’t tell anyone about this, right?” They both stand at the same time, and Bert doesn’t watch their faces, so he’s not sure who mutters it. Probably Mikey, Gerard slurs more.

It all starts as a dumb joke, all the guys on tour gathered around a tour bus after a show talking about sex stuff because apparently that’s what Cool Rock Dudes do, and Frank just mentions it offhandedly, what Bert had said that night to a crowd of thousands of people. “This song is about how sweet and tasty Gerard’s asshole is,” he’d said, and Frank repeats it, seeming to think, along with all the other guys, that it’s hilarious.

“What’s that like, Gee? Being eaten out by Bert Fucking Mccracken. I bet you got a lot of beard burn on your ass, huh?” Frank says, because Frank doesn’t know basic social cues like when someone—Gerard—is uncomfortable and when he needs to shut the fuck up because of it.

“He doesn’t—I don’t—we’ve never done that, asshole, shut the fuck up,” Gerard says, face bright red. Everyone keeps laughing because apparently everyone is an asshole, except for Bert, who’s sitting next to him, and who’s got this look on his face that’s all dark and kinda weird but also kinda sexy and, whatever it is, it’s making Gerard shiver.

Bert leans backs and laughs, booming and loud, and wiggles his eyebrows before saying, “You want me to do that, baby? Want me to eat your pretty ass out? I’ll make it real good for you, sweetheart; take it nice and slow. I’ll be gentle, I promise.” Everyone laughs at this except for Mikey, who looks disgusted, and Gerard, who kind of wants to curl up and die because he’s totally getting hard from this what the hell—

Anyway, it starts like that, but Gerard’s not really sure how it progresses to this; him, on his knees on a hotel bed, face pressed against a pillow, ass in the air like some sort of… Gerard doesn’t even know, some sort of something, while Bert kneels behind him, saying he’s gonna rock Gerard’s world and pop his goddamn rimming cherry, but not really actually doing much of anything except just playing with Gerard’s ass cheeks like an asshole.

“What the fuck are you doing, asshole? Do something, I’m getting fucking cold!” Gerard’s not really getting cold, but he is getting pretty embarrassed by being in this position, basically presenting himself for Bert like some sort of cat in heat, only to have Bert do nothing but slap his ass so he can laugh to himself when it jiggles. He’d asked Bert if he was sure he wanted to do this, like, a million times, and he’d figured after the millionth time Bert would just go for it, but he’s basically just fucking around, and has been for what feels like six hundred hours. Gerard feels the flush from anticipation and slight fear from his head all the way down to his damn dick.

“Chill, Bill,” Bert says, and then laughs at his own joke. Gerard is seriously about to call it quits and sit up when Bert just goes for it, separating Gerard’s cheeks and licking a long stripe from just below Gerard’s balls to the base of his spine. Gerard fucking squeaks.

He’s expecting it to be kind of rough and fast since Bert starts out like that, but after the first lick it’s all gentle, soft, barely there kitten licks. Bert keeps giving him these sweet little kisses that would totally be considered chaste if it weren’t for the fact that they’re being pressed against Gerard’s asshole. Bert rubs his thumb gently against Gerard’s hole before closing his lips around it and sucking gently, pressing into it with his tongue, just enough to apply pressure but not enough for it to dip inside. Gerard wonders if this is what dying feels like.

Bert moans, and Gerard moans back at him. He wonders what they must look like, Gerard all spread open with his face in a pillow, eyes clenched shut and mouth open obscenely with Bert’s face in his ass, what the fuck.

Bert laves Gerard’s taint, presses hard with his tongue and Gerard feels his cock jump. He somehow finds the energy to stop biting the damn pillow and look down to see his own cock, red and swollen, tip glistening with leaked precome, pressing insistenly into his stomach. It fucking hurts, and he moans harder.

He wants to reach down and touch, wrap his hand around his cock and feel that much needed pressure, rub the head with his thumb. He wants to come, he’s so desperate he’s aching for it, but—he thinks about it, about how good it would feel to finally get a hand on himself, how satisfying. He thinks about that, and then he thinks about coming totally untouched with nothing but Bert’s mouth on his ass. It would take longer, it would hurt not getting any sort of relief from his aching cock, it would be embarrassing. What would people say if they knew Gerard Way came untouched, nothing but another man’s mouth on his ass, licking and sucking and fucking him with his tongue, they’d think he was… was easy. Bert might laugh. As though he can hear Gerard’s thoughts, Bert takes a break for a moment to say, “You can touch yourself if you want, Babe.” Gerard thinks about it for a moment, really thinks about it.

He clutches the pillow tighter.

Bert’s going harder now, gripping Gerard’s cheeks in his hands tightly, wrapping his mouth around the rim and sucking like before, except this time when he pushes with his tongue, he dips it inside some, fucking into Gerard with his tongue over and over. He moves his head down for a moment and scrapes his teeth across Gerard’s taint, and Gerard knows he’s gonna come soon, can feel it building in him. Bert sucks hard on the rim for a moment before pulling away and rasping out, “You’re doing so good Baby, so wet for me, such a good boy,” and that’s all it takes for Gerard to come.

It hits Gerard like a freight train, and suddenly he’s gone from a puddle of arousal, eyes clenched tight, mouth open, drooling on the pillow, so blissed out he can hardly move, to springing into action. He fucking shouts as his hips thrust forward of their own accord, and suddenly he’s humping the bed, moaning like a pornstar, hips jerking forward erratically. He’s coming so hard it almost hurts, and there’s come all over himself and the sheets. He suddenly feels Bert’s hand pressing down between his shoulderblades, holding him down against the bed so he can’t do anything but thrust his hips and sob through his orgasm, and it just makes him come even harder.

It takes a good few minutes for him to come down from everything, and when he does he looks up at Bert tiredly. Bert just grins at him like a smug motherfucker and says, “How was it, Baby, real good? You like that?” Gerard just sighs and closes his eyes, feeling like he’s gonna fall asleep at any moment.

***

It’s not till about a day later that Gerard starts feeling the burn on the insides of his thighs and between his goddamned ass cheeks, and he thinks back to what Frank had said when teasing him—something about beard burn—and then about Bert’s scruffy fucking face.

He’s limping for a bit afterwards because of it, and he’s sure that everyone just knows what they did, just from looking at him. It certainly seems like it, with the way they all seem to be staring and laughing at him, but Bert’s looking too, and he just looks smug as hell, as if he’s done something fucking grand.

“You alright there, Gee?” Frank asks, loudly, because he’s an asshole. “What’d you do to him, Bert? I hope you didn’t break him, we kinda need him in one piece for our shows.”

Mikey gets home after the third time and says, "Alicia, I think Pete is living in the park. He's there every time I go, and always wearing the same clothes, and there are leaves in his hair."

And Alicia rolls her eyes, gets the car keys, and drives to the park without a word.

Pete's sitting on his bench, kicking at leaves, just listening to the wind.

Alicia asks him, "Are you living in the park?" without any preliminaries.

"Yeah," Pete says. "I thought it was time for a change. And I like it here. It's quiet."

"Did you get tired of showering?" Pete kind of smells.

"Well, there aren't any showers here, that was a trade-off I had to make."

Of course. "There's a shower at my house," says Alicia. "We're going to go there now."

"It's okay. It's cool. I like it here." He kicks at the leaves some more. "The hot dog guy gives me his leftover stuff at the end of the day. He's cool."

"You're going to get food poisoning and die, Pete. Seriously, get the fuck in my car."

"You're going to put me in a headlock if I keep arguing, huh?"

"I'd just grab you by the scruff and toss you into the car. Get in." Maybe she should call Mikey to order food, but she doesn't need Pete to freak out about Mikey right now.

He gets up and follows her to the car, climbing into the passenger seat and obediently putting on his seatbelt when she glares. "I feel like I'm having a lot of clarity."

"From watching the leaves?" Alicia asks, flooring it.

"Yeah. The leaves and the clouds and the rain and the hot dog guy."

"Pete... are you okay? Did something happen?" In theory, Alicia is in favor of Pete having clarity, but in practice, she's dubious.

"I needed to change my life. Stop with the pills and the Internet and the lies."

"Uh-huh." This sounds promising. "What've you been lying about?"

"I don't know. What haven't I been lying about?" He chews on the string of his hoodie. "Meagan broke up with me. Ashlee took Bronx to New York. I don't know. It just seemed like a good time to walk away."

"You can't walk away from your life to a fucking park, Pete. You work on that shit." Alicia pulls into the driveway and pauses before unlocking the door. "Promise you won't walk away from dinner? It's just dinner."

"I'm really tired of working on shit." Pete looks really small and, well, tired. "I'll stay for dinner."

"Good." She reaches out on impulse and puts her arms around him. "Piglet will be happy to see you. Mikey said she liked you when she saw you in the park."

"Piglet's a sweetie. Good for hugs."

"She is. Now get your ass into the house."

Pete goes inside and carefully takes his shoes off in the entryway. He kneels down to hug Piglet and rumple her ears. "Your house is awesome, Licia."

Alicia grins. Pete always looks cute next to animals. "Thanks. Want to check out the shower while we order food?" She wonders where Mikey is, if he's hiding.

"Okay. I don't have any clean clothes, though. I left them all behind."

"I'll find you something to wear." She walks him to the guest shower and thrusts a towel into his arms. "I'll leave you clothes outside. Use whatever stuff is in there."

"Okay." It's kind of nice, doing what he's told. Not as nice as just sitting in the park, but if that's not allowed, this works.

Mikey's in the bedroom with Bunny lying on his chest. "Did you find him?"

Alicia drops down next to Mikey and pets Bunny's ears. "Yeah. He was exactly where you said. But now he's in the shower."

"Are we going to keep him for a while?"

"That's sort of up to you, baby. But I don't want him to go back to the park. He's going to get mugged at some point."

"Why is it up to me?"

Alicia shrugs. "I always got the feeling you two were still weird about each other."

"So shouldn't that make it up to you?"

"I guess that I don't mind that."

"I'll go talk to him if you take Bun."

"Okay. And call the Chinese place." Alicia grabs Bunny and puts her on her boobs. "She's all warm."

"She's in full-on cuddle mode. You'll be here for an hour."

"That's perfect, because I am too. Call me downstairs when the food gets here."

"Got it." Mikey goes to the kitchen and calls in the food order, then makes his way to the bathroom and knocks. "Pete? Can I come in?"

Pete's just tying the towel around his waist. "Uh, yeah," he calls through the door, trying not to sound awkward. "Did Alicia find anything for me to wear or should I just put my stuff on?"

"Yeah, there are clothes here." Mikey's t-shirt and boxers, Alicia's sweatpants. That's about right for Pete's size and shape. "Coming in."

"Okay." Pete takes a step back and waits for the door to swing open. Being in this bathroom and smelling like Mikey's shampoo and Alicia's lotion is making his mind race.

Mikey comes in and hands over the clothes, then boosts himself up to sit on the counter. "Do you want to shave?"

"What, you don't like my casually chic scruff?" asks Pete. "Can you close your eyes? I want to put the clothes on."

Mikey closes his eyes and swings his legs, kicking at the cabinets under the sink. "You off your meds, dude?" He doesn't say it accusingly. It's just a question.

"Kind of. I left them in my house with the rest of my stuff." Pete pulls on a pair of old boxers he knows can't be the ones he remembers, and Alicia's jeans that smell like her, and a t-shirt he definitely does recognize.

"Maybe later I can go over and get them for you? And some of your clothes?"

"I'm not sure they were working that well. I was taking them and everything went to shit anyway."

"Yeah, I get that. Maybe we can call your doctor tomorrow."

Pete sighs. It's good to let Mikey suggest things and to just say yes. "Could you get my wallet too when you're at my house? My insurance card is in it."

"Sure. Clothes, wallet. Do you want your phone?"

Pete's heart starts to thump in his chest when Mikey mentions the phone. "I don't know."

"Okay. You don't want it, I won't get it. That's cool. Can I text, like, Gabe and Ashlee and some of the guys at Atlantic and Crush and let them know you're here so none of them call the cops?"

"Sure." Ashlee won't give a shit, and Pete doesn't think that Gabe will be too reassured to know that Pete came over for dinner and left. But whatever.

"Ash needs to know how to reach you in case anything happens with Bronx, Pete." Mikey can be very patient. "And if you haven't been answering your phone for days, Gabe and the suits probably think you're dead."

"Oh. That makes sense. I don't want Bronx or Gabe to worry." Pete stares at himself in the mirror. "I think I'll shave after all, if you think I should. You should also get my phone. Just, like... don't give it to me or tell me you have it, okay?"

"Sounds good. It will be Schrodinger's phone. You want a hug?"

"I really want a hug." Pete steps sideways towards Mikey and there's more of that shampoo smell.

Mikey slides off the counter and wraps his arms around Pete nice and tight and warm. "Don't live in the park, Pete."

"Two days ago I woke up and there was a bird sleeping in my hair," Pete confesses.

"That's kind of cool but also pretty scary and kind of gross."

"I think it got tangled up in it and couldn't get out. I should probably get a haircut."

The doorbell rings and Pete shudders. "Did I crash a dinner party?"

"Nope. That's Chinese food delivery. You hang out up here, I'll go pay and set the table. It's okay. Just the three of us tonight."

"Okay." Pete can handle that. He sits down on the bathroom rug and waits.

Mikey pays for the food, sets up the table, and goes to get Alicia. "He's cleaned up, he's off his meds, he's having a major episode of something, and he hasn't checked his phone in ages so a bunch of people probably think he's dead in a ditch somewhere."

Alicia loves Mikey for always sounding calm. "It could be worse, right?"

"He could actually be dead in a ditch somewhere."

"I love it when you look on the bright side. Let's go feed him?"

"Yeah. Then I'll go to his house and pick up stuff for him. Can you get him out of the bathroom and get him started? I'm going to call Gabe, who is probably, like, burning shit."

"Tell him that if he breaks down our door, I'm making him pay for it."

Alicia gives Mikey a kiss and goes to find Pete. He's still sitting on the rug. She's choosing to ignore that. "Hey. Hungry?"

"Pretty hungry, yeah. Mikey said there was going to be Chinese delivery and no other people?"

"There is Chinese delivery and absolutely no one downstairs except for some pets." She sticks her hand out. "Help you up?"

Pete lets her pull him up and tries not to fall into her, but he's clumsy and a little bit dizzy, so he kind of flops into her boobs anyway.

Alicia catches him and squeezes him close. She wants to kiss his hair. "Hey. Let me give you some eggrolls and whatever else Mikey randomly picked off the menu, okay?"

"Sure. No hot dogs, okay? I guess I'm kind of sick of hot dogs."

"I would be too," Alicia says and guides him downstairs. Mikey set out Avengers glasses and there's over a dozen delivery containers piled in the center of the table. "Where do you want to sit?"

"On the floor."

Okay, she didn't expect that. "Um, like next to the table? Or like a picnic in the living room? I'm down with a picnic."

Pete blushes and ducks his head. "Sorry. I'm being weird. I can sit at the table."

She pictures Pete sitting on the floor between her legs and Mikey's and it makes her feel warm inside. She brushes it aside. "I'll get you a pillow for the floor, okay?"

Pete nods and pets Piglet. Piglet's great. Maybe later they won't mind if he just lies on the floor with the dogs for a while before he leaves.

Alicia gets him a pillow and then puts a little of everything onto Pete's plate and sets it in front of him on the floor. "Don't feed Piglet. She's already stealing eggrolls."

Mikey comes in with a slightly wide-eyed, startled expression and steps carefully around Pete. "Okay, that's taken care of with a lot of confusing shouting, but we're good."

"Our front door is safe?" Alicia asks. She has to step around Pete too to get to her chair, and her hand automatically drops to his hair.

"Yep. I convinced him to wait a week. You can do a lot of meditating in a week. Find your Zen."

"Of all your friends, he's the strangest." She lets her hand stay on top of Pete's head, because he's pushing up into it a bit. She'll deal with how weird that is later, after they eat and she convinces Pete to stay in the guest bedroom.

"He's a good guy," Mikey says with a shrug. "Pass me the rangoons? Pete, do you want a rangoon?"

Pete nods and Alicia reluctantly takes her hand out of Pete's hair to grab the container. Mikey hands one to Pete with his fingers. He figures Pete won't mind.

"I think I'll tell Gerard I'm gonna sit out tomorrow," Mikey says casually. "They can work on guitar lines without me."

"I think that's a good idea. I have to go to the tar pits in the morning, but we'll hang out in the afternoon. Is that okay, Pete?"

Pete looks up, startled. "Um. I thought I was leaving after dinner?"

"We can't eat all this Chinese food by ourselves, dude," says Mikey. "You have to help us with the leftovers tomorrow."

"Oh." Pete eats his rangoon and thinks about that. His park bench is going to be all unattended. But Mikey doesn't sound like it's a big problem to have Pete around. "Okay, I guess. If you need my help."

"You can also help me walk the dogs in the morning. If you want. If you just want to chill out in the bedroom, that's cool too."

"Bedroom?" Pete puts his fork down.

"You're not sleeping under the table," Alicia says. "I'm putting my foot down. We have a perfectly fine guest room."

"Oh. Guest room." Pete blushes again and looks down. He's so stupid. "Right, yeah, guest room, okay. If you're sure."

Alicia looks at Pete and then looks at Mikey, raising her eyebrow. Mikey's the one who translates from Pete-ese. She's out of practice.

"It's totally fine," Mikey says. "You want to watch a movie after dinner or lie down for a while?"

Pete thinks about it. He's kind of tired, but lying down means a dark empty room, and if they watch a movie, maybe he can sit between them. Or at least next to one of them. "I'm not tired. Movie? If that's really okay."

"It's totally fine." Mikey goes back to eating, not looking directly at Pete but keeping his leg close enough that Pete can lean on it if he wants to.

Pete leans his head against Mikey's leg and picks at his tofu, turning the impending movie-viewing over in his head. "Can I sit between you?" he asks suddenly. "When we're watching, I mean."

"Sure." Mikey glances at Alicia. "Piglet likes to be on the couch, too, so you might have her in your lap."

Piglet comes trotting up at the sound of her name and noses into Pete's hands. "I like Piglet," says Pete. "The park was, like, full of raccoons and squirrels. I miss normal animals."

"Raccoons are pretty rad. But, you know. Wild. None of them bit you, right? That would suck."

"They mostly hung out next to the hot dog guy." Pete gives Piglet a bite of tofu. "Oh, sorry. I wasn't supposed to do that, right?"

"In theory, but none of us can actually resist her."

Pete grins. "She's a connoisseur of international cuisine, huh?"

"She's a vacuum cleaner," Alicia says affectionately. "She'll eat anything."

"That's a useful trait in a dog." Pete puts his empty plate onto the table and thinks about what to do next. Should he get up? Help clean up? In the end he presses his forehead to Alicia's leg.

Alicia pets his hair gently. "Go get comfortable in the living room with Piglet. Mikey and I will put all this away and come join you."

Pete nods and stands up. His legs are half-asleep and Piglet isn't helping, weaving around them as he makes his way to the living room. There are blankets on the couch, lots of them. When he burrows in, Piglet sits on his lap as promised.

Bunny chirps at him from the back of the couch, putting her paw on his head to tell him to hold still.  Pete is really warm and reaching some kind of unfamiliar contentedness. "Maybe I'll go to therapy soon," he tells Piglet. Piglet wags at him.

Mikey puts the leftovers in the refrigerator. "Movie first, then I'll go get his stuff? He wants people with him, so I probably shouldn't go now."

Alicia wipes the table and puts her arms around Mikey. "Yeah, go after he goes to bed. I'll stay here to make sure he's okay."

"He's dissociating really hard. But I think the pets help. And having us around but not pressuring him."

"I kind of want to keep him in bed with us. But maybe the pets will keep him company there too."

"I think being in bed with us would be too overwhelming right now. Low-pressure is really important. Gabe's handling calling Ashlee and Crush and everything."

"Yeah. If we offer that, he'll be gone in the morning. And then death by raccoon." Alicia frowns at the coffee maker on the counter. "Should we make some or is that just going to keep him from falling asleep?"

"No coffee. He drinks sleepytime tea. Do we have that? What IS that?"

"It sounds horrifying," says Alicia. "Maybe milk. And cookies."

"Milk and cookies are always a good answer. Milk, cookies, and a Shar Pei all up in his junk."

"She's so excited about new junk," Alicia nods. "Okay, Way. Let's go cuddle the shit out of him."

"Cuddle team powers activate." Mikey offers his hand for a fist-bump.

Alicia knocks her fist against his and kisses him on the lips. "It's on."

Pete allows cuddling and eats his cookies and is visibly yawning when the movie is over. "That was a good one. You have good taste, Mikes."

"Alicia picked that one," Mikey says and lets himself pet Pete's leg. "Do you want to stay up a bit more or go to bed?"

Pete's face twists. "I... I could stay up. If you guys are staying up."

"How about I stay with you until you fall asleep?" Alicia asks. "You look really tired, honey."

"Do, um. Do your pets ever sleep in the guest room?"

"I think I can pretty much guarantee that. They'll edge you out of the bed if you let them." Alicia strokes Pete's head and pulls him off the couch, and Piglet and Bunny's ears come up in excitement. "See?"

"Piglet's a good blanket. I wouldn't mind her sleeping in there with me." He more than wouldn't mind, he'd feel really safe. "Okay. Show me where it is?"

Alicia leads him upstairs to the guest bedroom. Mikey trails behind them. "You're right across from us, so knock or yell if you need anything. I'll go get you some pajamas."

"It's really nice of you to let me stay."

"We like having you here," Alicia says. She'd do anything to get that sad look out of Pete's eyes. "We missed you."

"Yeah? For real? I mean, I've missed you guys, too, a lot."

Alicia nudges him towards the bed and makes eyes at Mikey, who's hovering in the doorway, to stay with Pete. "For real," Mikey says. "I'm sorry I kind of lost touch with you."

"You were busy. You had stuff. And I was kind of a major downer for a long time, there."

Mikey shrugs. "Me too. That's not really an excuse."

Alicia comes in with the pajamas. "I hope these fit."

"Thank you." Pete takes them and sets them carefully on the bed. "For dinner, too. And all of it. I think maybe I'm not really doing okay right now."

Alicia steps a little closer and wraps her arms around him. "We'll help you work on it if you let us. Right, Mikey?"

"Definitely." Mikey puts his arms around both of them. "I'll get your wallet and stuff right now, and tomorrow we can call and make appointments. We'll go with you to all of them. Cool?"

Pete thinks about it. "If you go with me, I'll be able to go. It got really hard doing it on my own lately, you know?"

"I know." Mikey squeezes Pete's arm. "Sometimes Alicia takes me and we get doughnuts after."

"If we get doughnuts after, I'll definitely go." Pete yawns in Alicia's face. "Wow, I'm more tired than I thought."

"Hop in bed. Pig will crash out with you."

Pete takes his pants off, not even caring that the two of them are watching him, and crawls into the bed. As promised, Piglet jumps up and stretches out along Pete's body. She's warm and smells like clean dog. "Good dog," Pete whispers.

Mikey goes to find his keys. And his phone, so he can text Gerard that he's bailing on recording tomorrow for reasons. He's going to have to tell Gerard not to come visit either. He'll have a lot of explaining to do. He can just say there's something he and Alicia need to do, maybe. Gerard usually respects that.

He sends his texts and drives over to Pete's, letting himself in and frowning at the mess inside. Pete must have cancelled his cleaners at some point. He makes a mental note to set up the cleaning service again before they let Pete go back home and starts to check logical places for the wallet, phone, and meds. They're all set carefully in a row on the kitchen counter, not forgotten but deliberately left behind.

Mikey kind of wants to punch Pete. But only kind of; the rest of him gets it. It's scary and overwhelming sometimes, and Pete doesn't have an Alicia and a Gerard to lean on. They're going to help Pete fix it and keep an eye on him this time, so it doesn't get this bad again.

The phone is dead. Mikey goes on a hunt for the charger. It's still plugged in in the bedroom and there are clothes and a duffel bag on the bed, like Pete thought about taking clothes with him and decided against it.

Mikey puts the clothes and everything else in the duffel bag, along with a picture of Bronx from the top of Pete's dresser. That's probably the most important things. They can always come back for other stuff later.

When he gets back to the house, Alicia's peering into Pete's bedroom through the cracked door and jumps guiltily aside when Mikey taps her on the shoulder.

"Is he asleep?" Mikey whispers.

Alicia pulls the door shut. "I think so. He was petting Piglet for a while and talking to her, but he's not moving now. Did you find his things?"

"Yeah. They were all lined up on the counter, clothes and bag on the bed. He definitely had a kind of a plan in mind."

They go into the bedroom and Alicia lies back on the bed. "Is it better or worse that he thought about leaving instead of just walking out the door, even if it was terrible and dumb?"

"I'm not sure. It's really good that we found him, though. He could've... been hurt."

Alicia squeezes her eyes shut. Fucking Pete. "Him not getting assaulted or catching something is a plus. You wanna plug that phone in and see how many people we have to call?"

"Gabe covered some of them. But yeah. I'll plug it in in a minute." First he needs to wrap his arms around her and breathe in the smell of her hair.

Alicia snuggles up to him and strokes his back. "I really want him to be okay."

"He will be. We'll take care of him."

"I really love you, Mikey."

"I really love you, too, Licia."

* * *

Alicia wakes up first in the morning and she's cold, which means that the animals have been with Pete all night. That's good.

She goes downstairs to start the coffee maker and finds Pete and the animals standing at the pantry door, staring at the bags of pet food. "One at a time," Pete says. "One at a time. I only have two hands, dudes."

"Hey," she says sleepily. Pete looks wide awake but also rested, not quite ten times better than the day before, but close. "Bunny steals Pig's food unless you feed her first."

"The cat steals the dog food? That's different. Pig, sit. Sit. Good girl."

Both Piglet and Bunny sit. "She likes to pretend she's a dog," says Alicia and starts the coffee. "Coffee for you or do you want something else?"

"Coffee's good. Thank you." Pete measures out food into the bowls. "I slept really well. Your guest room is nice and Piglet's a great blanket."

"If she slobbered all over you in the night, you're welcome to have another shower. Actually, you can have a shower or nap or anything you like whenever you want, okay?"

"Maybe." Pete sets the bowls out and watches the animals go at them. "I think I should maybe call my doctor."

"I think that's a good idea." Alicia looks at the contents of the fridge critically. "Do you eat meat right now? Should I make bacon?"

"I'm on meat right now, yeah. Though the hot dogs might put me back off it. But bacon would be good."

"Mikey brought your meds and wallet over last night," says Alicia carefully after starting breakfast. "Do you want to take your meds now? Or wait for what the doctor says?"

"He's going to be really annoyed with me."

"You don't need him to love you. You have other people for that."

"It's going to be all, Peter, we've talked about noncompliance." He makes a face. "But I tried."

Alicia hides a smile behind her hand at 'Peter.' "I'm sure you're not his first person with med problems. Sit down, breakfast is ready. I'll go get Mikey."

Pete sits down obediently. Alicia and Mikey are so good at making their requests and expectations clear. There aren't any mind games or tricks. It's really nice.

Alicia puts a fork in Pete's hand and that's when Mikey walks in. His hair's sticking up in every single direction.

"That looks good," Pete says. "It reminds me of Warped."

Mikey knows Pete means it, too, so he doesn't try to fix it. "That was a good summer."

"Yeah." Pete opens his mouth like he's going to say something else, then shuts it and looks down at his plate.

Alicia exchanges looks with Mikey. This isn't the right time to be bringing any of it up, but she wants to. "I have to go to work," she says instead. "You two can handle the doctor stuff, right? And we can talk tonight."

"You want me to stay another night?"

"Definitely," she says. "If you liked staying here last night."

"It was nice. Really nice. I slept." He rubs the back of his neck, still looking down at the table. "But I don't want to be in the way."

"You're not in the way. We like having you here and so do the pets." Alicia pours Pete more coffee. "I know it's probably hard for you to ask for what you need, but you officially can, by the way."

"I need..." Pete takes a shaky breath and still doesn't look at either of them. "I need to not be all alone with nothing but my brain."

"We can do that." Mikey inches his chair a little closer to Pete's. He's been on both sides of needing that. "That's, like, the easiest request you could make."

"I know you need to go to the studio and stuff. Maybe I can stay with the pets while you do that?"

Mikey shrugs. "Maybe tomorrow. I took today off."

"That's right. You said that." Pete nods. "I guess I should call my doctor, then."

Mikey pats him on the shoulder. "Want me to stay with you while you do that?"

"Yeah. Please. He's going to get all... and then I'll get all..." Hand gestures accompany the gaps.

"Even if it's painful, it'll be quick," Alicia says and grabs her handbag. "I have to run. Call me if you need me."

Pete swings his feet and watches her go. "She's so great."

"Yeah, she is. Did she wrestle you into the car yesterday?"

"No, but I could tell that if I kept arguing she was going to." Pete glances at him. "I'm not, like, going to hit on your wife, Mikey. I'm not going to be a jerk and ruin everything. I'm really trying to cut back on the 'ruining everything' hobby."

Mikey blinks at him slowly. "I wasn't worried about that. Do you want to hit on her?"

"No. She's your wife. I'm not an asshole. Cheating sucks."

"You're not an asshole," Mikey agrees. "I don't think Alicia worries that you'll hit on me either, so we're all good here."

"Okay. So we're good?"

"We're good." Mikey slides his own phone towards Pete. "Call your doctor."

Pete takes a breath, looks at his insurance card, and dials. This is going to suck. But Mikey's got his back.

Mikey watches him and drinks his coffee. The comments about hitting on Alicia are interesting, but the personal shit is being shelved until further notice. "You can put it on speakerphone if you want."

Pete nods and hits the speakerphone button, then makes his way through the maze of receptionists to get directly to his psychiatrist. He reaches across the table and hooks his finger in Mikey's sweatshirt.

Pete's hand is almost imperceptibly shaking, so Mikey takes it and presses it. "It's okay."

The doctor picks up and Pete closes his eyes and holds on to Mikey's hand tightly while he explains what happened and how long he's been off his meds. The doctor sighs and lectures and gives him numbers about how to step back onto them. Pete doesn't write them down, just keeps his eyes closed and nods and mumbles "okay" every so often.

Mikey reaches over for a pad of paper by the landline and a pen. "Hi," he interjects. "I'm Pete's friend. Could you repeat that so I can write it down?" The doctor rattles off the information again irritably and transfers Pete to reception, where Mikey makes him an appointment for next week.

"All done," Mikey says when they hang up and hands Pete his pills and a glass of water.

"Thanks." Pete squeezes Mikey's hand. "I should call my therapist, too. For an appointment. He's really nice, though, he won't yell."

"Let's do it right now. And then you can take your meds and we'll hang out."

Pete takes a deep breath and dials. This time he just has to talk to the receptionist and make an appointment. That's better.

The appointment is for the next day, so Mikey writes that down, too. He might have to take off from recording again if Alicia has work. "Come on," Mikey tells Pete. "Your choices are ice cream, nap, or cartoons. What do you want to do?"

Pete laughs. "Is that the same list of options you have for your niece?"

"She likes it," Mikey says defensively.

"I wasn't complaining, just... laughing at myself for being a toddler."

"Toddlers are awesome," says Mikey. "You'd like her, I think. Bronx would too."

"Toddlers are great." Pete brightens visibly thinking about Bronx. "I would love to let them play."

"When you're ready, you should call and talk to him. I bet he misses you."

"Yeah. Maybe... maybe this afternoon. He's in New York, it's so far away."

Mikey walks around the table and gives Pete a hug. "He won't be there forever."

"Thanks, Mikey. I couldn't do this without you."

Mikey squeezes Pete more tightly. "You're welcome. Oh, hey. I forgot another option. We could go walk Piglet."  

"Let's do that first. She'll like it."

"Pig!" Mikey yells. "We're going for a walk." She comes galloping up. "Do you want to check on your friend the hot dog guy or go to a different park?"

"Different park." Pete ducks his head. "It'd be awkward to go back there right now."

"I agree," Mikey says. "There's a playground the next block over, with swings. We'll go there."

Pete gets Piglet's leash from the door and lets her drag him out the door. She is on a mission.

Mikey has to jog to catch up with them. Pete turns around and laughs when he's half a block ahead of Mikey and twisted up in the leash. Piglet knows exactly where she's going.

"Pig loves the park," Mikey says once he's caught up. "Lots of things to sniff and pee on and sometimes kids who will give her snacks."

"That's what I like about the park too," says Pete. "Except they frown on peeing and talking to strange kids."

"So you like sniffing things."

Pete waggles his eyebrows and cracks up. "You know it."

Mikey grins and bumps his hip against Pete's. Pete is definitely doing better. This is going to be okay.

The playground is completely deserted so they let Piglet off the leash. Pete's as restless as she is for a while, hanging on the monkey bars while Pig jumps below, but then he seems to settle down and makes his way to the swing where Mikey's checking his phone.

"They're putting out a patch for my Star Wars game. That's awesome. I'm gonna level up so hard." Mikey glances up at Pete through his hair. "How're you doing, dude?"

Pete walks the swing back until he's up on tiptoes and lets go. "I feel like I'm doing something. That's better than hiding."

"Yeah, I hear you." Mikey watches Piglet sniff around at the base of a tree. "You want to help me paint the fence tomorrow?"

"Totally." Pete looks down at his sneakers and gives himself another push. "Can we watch another movie tonight? You know, on the couch like last night?"

"Yeah. We can have popcorn, too. Pig loves popcorn."

"Sweet. I'll feed her. Does Bunny eat popcorn?"

"Bunny licks the salt off and then bats it around. It's really cute." Mikey tucks his phone away and smiles at Pete. "This is cool. I like hanging out."

"I like hanging out with you too," Pete says quietly. There are butterflies in his stomach. "With just you and with you and Alicia. I thought it would be weird for me to be in your house but it's not."

"I'm glad. I want you to feel comfortable there."

"Just promise me if I'm outstaying my welcome, okay? Or being too clingy? I promise not to go back to the park." Pete doesn't want to go back to the park anymore, not really. Sleeping on an actual mattress felt too great.

"Where would you go instead?"

Pete shrugs and kicks at the sawdust under his feet. It gets into his sneakers and he wrinkles his nose. "I'd go back to my house. Pretend the backyard is a park if I really need to, I guess."

"I'm glad you would go home instead of finding another park. But you can stay with us for as long as you want."

"I want to for a while." Pete looks at Mikey out of the corner of his eye. "Cuddling with you two is nice."

"It's awesome. Between the three of us I bet we have a PhD in cuddling."

"Maybe even two PhDs, if you count the animals." Piglet runs around them in circles, nosing at their legs and yipping.

"What do you want, Pig? You want to play? You want to wrestle?"

Piglet barks and puts her legs on Pete's knees. Pete laughs. "I think she wants to wrestle," he says and launches himself at her.

Pete needed to roll around with a dog. He's flushed and breathing hard and it makes Mikey remember Pete the way he was on his best days, when he smiled so wide that Mikey forgot all the shitty parts of his life.

"I miss having a dog," Pete says, looking up at him from the ground. "I didn't even realize how much I missed it."

"You can play with Piglet any time you want. Standing offer." Right now, Mikey would even let Pete take Piglet home for a night. Just one night, though. And Pete would have to bring her back in time for breakfast.

"She's a good girl. Doesn't get mouthy at all."

"She plays nice." Mikey thinks about helping Pete up, but he looks so happy lying down in the sawdust with Pig's paws all over him, so he sits down next to Pete instead.

"Maybe I'll get another dog. When I go home."

"That would be pretty cool. You could take it on playdates with Pig."

"Yeah. Maybe a really big dog. A mastiff."

"Those are really great to cuddle with. It would be, like, your size." Mikey drums his fingers on his jeans. "Do you want to go get coffee?"

"Yeah. And maybe, like, some muffins."

"I will totally find you a coffee and a muffin, Pete Wentz. And you, Piglet."

"Does she get her own muffin?"

"She isn't really supposed to have anything with sugar in it," says Mikey, clipping the leash to Pig's collar and starting to walk towards the house. "But if I don't get her one she'll get all up in my face until I cave and we like to circumvent that kind of thing while I'm driving. Alicia insists."

"We could get her a gluten-free muffin."

"I don't think gluten-free is the same as sugar-free," Mikey says thoughtfully. "But maybe she would like one of those better. Usually I get her carrot cake because it's with vegetables."

"But it has frosting, right?"

"I scrape it off and eat it myself." They come up to the car and Mikey clicks it open. "No, Pig, you do not get shotgun. Pete gets shotgun."

Piglet hops into the seat before Pete can and gives Mikey a woeful look.

Pete's watching them both with big eyes. "You can't guilt-trip me, Pig," says Mikey. "Pete, haul her out and get in."

"I can ride in the back if she really wants it."

"You're going to spoil her," says Mikey but relents. "Okay. Sit in the back and let's roll. I need a venti."

Pete climbs into the backseat and rests his chin on the back of Piglet's seat. "She's the co-pilot."

"She takes on the role when Alicia's not here. She knows exactly how to get to Starbucks, too."

"Like, if you take a wrong turn she'll bark at you?"

"Yeah. She also yips at me if I take my phone out when I'm driving." Mikey fishes it out of his pocket and Piglet yips right on cue. "I don't know how we ended up with these weirdo smart pets."

"She's looking out for you. That's awesome."

"I'm pretty lucky."

The Starbucks isn't far at all, and there's an open spot right in front of the door.

"I can go in and order and you stay with her?"

Pete nods. He's not ready to see any people other than Mikey and Alicia, and part of him is petrified that one or, worse, both of them will be recognized. "Can you get me a medium? Black?"

"Yeah. I'm on it. And what kind of muffin?"

"Chocolate, please." Pete pets Piglet and puts his hood up. "Fuck, there are all these people around."

"Stay in the back. I'll be quick. Promise."

Pete nods and makes himself small in the middle of the backseat. "Hey Pig, want to come here and cuddle?"

Piglet hops over the divider and climbs into Pete's lap like he’s a chair. He nuzzles into Piglet's face until Mikey comes back with coffee and a bag of muffins and Piglet jumps back into the front seat to sniff and pant at the bag. "I see how I rate," Pete says, but he's relieved Mikey is back.

"Hold these so she doesn't eat them? You're a pig, Pig."

Pete grabs the bag and finds Pig's muffin. It's carrot cake covered in frosting, just like Mikey said. "Can I eat her frosting?" he asks.

"Stealing my sugar fix, Wentz. But yeah, go ahead, or she'll wrestle you to the floor for it."

Pete scrapes the frosting off with his finger and licks it, holding the muffin in the air away from Piglet. "It's really good," he says quietly, mumbling around his finger. Mikey's watching him in the rearview. "Eyes on the road."

"Right." Mikey drops his eyes to the road. "I got you a chocolate one, like you asked."

"Thanks." Pete licks the rest of the frosting off and wonders if Mikey's has frosting too. Piglet is whining for her muffin now, poking her wet nose into Pete's face, so he gives it to her and she scarfs it up. "Can we go home now, please?"

"Right." Mikey eases the car back into traffic. He doesn't know why he's so agitated all of a sudden. "You feeling okay?"

Pete feels kind of warm and his stomach is kind of fluttering in a way he's learned to associate with wanting to lie down and close his eyes forever, but he doesn't really want to do either of those things right now. "I'm okay. Just tired. And I kind of miss your house. Is that weird?"

"I don't think so. It's a good house. Hang in there, okay?"

Pete closes his eyes and pinches a bit off his muffin. "Yeah. I'm sorry I'm so messed up."

"You don't have to apologize to me, Pete."

"Thanks." It's nice not to have to apologize. It's an instinct Pete has by now, though.

"Alicia and I talked last night and we both totally agree we want you to stay as long as you want to."

Pete nods. "I really appreciate it. I--" He thinks about what he was going to say, and yeah. "I don't want to leave right now. I want to stay with you."

"Cool." Mikey smiles at him in the rearview mirror. "Then it's settled."

Bunny is really glad to see them. She ignores the muffins but rubs against Pete's ankles and sniffs at his sawdust-covered clothes.

"Can we sit in the living room with the coffee?" asks Pete. Maybe he can get an extra cuddle.

"Yeah." Mikey leads the way and flops down on the couch. "Ow. Bunny. Not on my crotch, dude."

Bunny walks all over Mikey, on his crotch and up his abs and chest, and Pete wants to get in on that. Bunny walking on him, not Pete walking on Mikey. He sits down too. The cushions are so soft he ends up leaning into Mikey's side.

"So later I'm supposed to log on to Call of Duty with Suarez," Mikey says around a mouthful of muffin. "You can hang in here or if you don't like the game, the pets will keep you company while you nap or read or whatever. You can grab any book you want. Alicia's on a sci-fi kick."

Mikey offering him a few choices again is so exactly what Pete needs. "I'll hang around." Pete wants to stay near Mikey even though the thought of Suarez makes him a little nervous. He's not nervous enough to ask Mikey not to tell him that Pete's there, anyway.

"Cool. Alicia will get home sometime after that and I think she wanted to go grocery shopping later. You can go with her if you want to, or I'll go with her and you can keep the pets company."

Pete shrugs. "Maybe. That's people again, but I guess I gotta get back on that horse sometime, right?"

"There are a lot more days for sometime. You don't have to do it yet if you don't want to. Tomorrow's your therapy appointment, that might be enough to focus on."

"Shit." Pete forgot about that. "Will one of you come with me?"

"Yeah. Or both of us, if you want. And doughnuts after."

Pete carefully leans into Mikey's side. "I'm glad you found me in the park."

"I'm glad, too. You know, when things get bad and scary in your head, you can call me. Any time. Or Gabe. Or Patrick. Or, like, the Maddens, even. Any of us would come help you."

Pete nods. "I know that. I don't know why I didn't this time."

"It's hard. I know it's hard." Mikey puts his arm around Pete's shoulders. "I have an unfair advantage, which is even if Alicia wasn't around, my brother can't go more than twenty-four hours without being all up in my business. I've never been alone."

Pete turns his face into Mikey's side. He smells like the Mikey Pete remembers, just slightly more washed and shampooed, which is weird because now he's all, like, wise and shit. "Speaking of your brother, it's been about twenty-four hours since you found me. Is he going to come around?"

"I texted him last night. Didn't tell him you were here, just that I was helping a friend and would be a little out of pocket for a couple days."

Pete nods. "How is he?"

"He's good. He's great, really. He's got the world in the palm of his hand."

"Good for him. I never felt like that."

"You and Gerard are different people. Just like me and him are different."

"How's the album going? I'm distracting you from recording, aren't I?" Pete chews on his knuckle.

"Nah, we needed a break. It's going okay, but we need a creative refresh. Gerard's gonna write a comic book, see if that makes his brain shift gears."

"It'd be cool if you showed me your studio. I miss recording, sometimes."

"Totally. You can fool around with my basses, if you want."

Pete chokes on an innuendo. "Sure, yeah. That would be awesome."

"No joke? Not even a little one?"

"Yours is the only bass I ever wanted to fool around with, Mikeyway," Pete says, and it comes out way too fucking truthful.

"Gabe put down the bass years ago, I guess."

"And he'd never offer."

"He loves you."

"Yeah," Pete says warmly. "He does. He doesn't love me like that, though, and I'm okay with that, I think."

"As long as you know he'd take a bullet for you. I think. Well, unless the bullet would fuck up his jacket or his hair."

Pete punches Mikey in the side. "It depends on what jacket."

"I'm teasing you, man. Gabe would do anything for you."

"I know. I shouldn't have disappeared without letting him know. That was shitty. I texted him to say I'd be offline, but he freaked out anyway, didn't he?"

"Yeah, kinda. He was really upset. But he knows Alicia and I are taking care of you now, and he sends his love. So does Travis."

"Okay." Pete swallows the lump in his throat. He owes each of them a vegan cake and, like, puppy toys. "I love them too, you can tell them that if they call. Can you call Patrick later and tell him too?"

"Yeah. I can definitely do that. They're not mad at you. They're glad you're okay."

Pete gathers Bunny to his chest and pets her ears. "Is it okay if I just nap on the couch while you're gaming? I don't want to be in the room alone, but I'm kind of tired."

"Yeah, that's fine. You'll probably have pets on top of you."

"I was counting on it."

Pete slides down sideways onto the couch and pulls his legs up, pressing them into Mikey's thigh. "I can do some chores after. Just tell me what to do."

"You don't have to. But if you want to help me vacuum later, that'd be cool."

"Cool. I'm good at picking stuff up. It comes with being a dad." Pete yawns. "Shit, I'm wiped."

"Lie down. I'll grab you a blanket."

Pete presses himself further into the cushions and sticks a pillow under his head. Bunny curls up in front of his face and Piglet lies down where Mikey was sitting.

Mikey drapes a blanket over Pete and Piglet. "Sleep well, dude."

Pete looks up at Mikey before closing his eyes. He looks completely normal, none of that painful, careful kindness that's so hard for Pete to handle sometimes. "Thanks."

Mikey sits down on the floor and texts Suarez that he's about to sign on. He shoots a quick text to Gabe, Travie, and Patrick, too, saying "pete loves u & has therp appt 2mrrw. going back on meds. still off phone/net. ive got this."

The phone starts buzzing with reply texts and Mikey sets it to silent. Gaming time is quiet time, and it would suck to wake Pete up. He's already breathing evenly.

* * *

Alicia gets home a few hours later. "Babe?" she calls from the entryway. "Hey, Mikes? You home?"

Pete stirs on the couch and Mikey trails a hand over his hair on complete autopilot as he goes to meet Alicia at the door. "Hey, Licia. How was work?"

"Pretty good. We got a lot done. Is he still here?"

Mikey takes Alicia's hand and walks with her to the living room. Pete's still half-asleep but starting to move. "He said he wanted to stay for a while. And he promised not to go back to the park."

Alicia smiles. "Good. Now we don't have to chain him to the wall in the laundry room."

"Kinky," says Mikey.

"What's kinky?" Pete asks in a bleary voice.

"Alicia is," Mikey says. "You hungry?"

"Yeah," Pete says, getting off the couch and dislodging the animals. "I was promised Chinese leftovers?"

"All of the Chinese leftovers in the world. Come on."

Alicia notices Pete looking wistfully at the floor, but he sits at the table this time. "How is Chinese even better reheated?"

"Magic." Mikey moves around the kitchen, getting everything out and heated up. "We went to the park with Pig. It was pretty rad."

"We wrestled," Pete nods. "We're very well-matched."

"You and Mikey wrestled, or you and Piglet?"

"Uh. Me and Piglet." Pete looks at Alicia nervously.

"It's hard to tell sometimes. They both love wrestling so much." Alicia rolls her eyes at Mikey, but she's grinning.

"I wouldn't wrestle with Mikey without your permission."

"Don't let him body-slam you. He almost broke my brother's neck."

"That was one time," says Mikey. "And I apologized."

"Doesn't Gerard have scars from your overly enthusiastic wrestling as a child?"

"That is badass, Mikeyway," says Pete.

"I hit him with a folding chair," Mikey says with mixed pride and embarrassment. "Right across the back."

"Brutal," says Pete, impressed. "You've got style."

"He fell off the porch. Blood everywhere. It was a thing."

"I will never be misled by your joined-at-the-hip front again," says Pete, eating the last eggroll. "Are there fortune cookies?"

"We ate them all last night. We have Oreos, though."

"Double-stuffed?"

"Fuck yes." Mikey goes to the pantry and Alicia stares at Pete.

Pete feels his cheeks get red and looks down at the table to avoid Alicia's eyes. He wishes he had more hair to hide behind. "So, uh. How are the tar pits? I haven't been there since I was still a new kid in town."

"They're good. Full of fossils. You're feeling better. There's, like, an actual person behind your eyes instead of just numbness."

Pete rubs his eyes and looks back up at Alicia. "The TLC helped. Thank you."

"I'm glad. I don't like seeing you all numb and sad."

"I don't like seeing me like that either. I keep trying to not make that my default state."

"Good." She smiles. "What do you want to do tonight?"

"Mikey said you had to go to the grocery store."

"Yeah. Stock up on all the goodies."

"I could help. I have good taste in goodies." He still feels a little nervous about going out in public, but it's less scary with Alicia.

"Yeah? Awesome. Maybe you get less distracted by cheese products than Mikey does."

"Cheese is an important part of the food pyramid," says Mikey.

"It's not the entire pyramid, though."

"There are also crackers," says Pete. "According to my son."

"Dude." Mikey points at him. "What are Bronx's thoughts on fruit snacks?"

"He'd wrap himself up in fruit roll-ups like a mummy if he could." Pete's voice catches. "I should call him now before it's too late in New York."

Alicia nods and reaches out to squeeze Pete's arm. "Totally. You want to use one of our phones, or yours?"

"Ashlee's number is in my phone," says Pete. "I have to use it, but can you put it away after I'm done?"

"Absolutely." She squeezes again. "Do you want us to be in the room, or should we go in the living room?"

"Living room, please. I don't... let's just say me crying isn't my most attractive look."

"Okay. We'll be right there." Alicia kisses his cheek and takes Mikey's hand, tugging him along to the living room.

The phone is upstairs and it only takes Mikey a couple of minutes to bring it down to Pete, and then he sits down on the couch next to Alicia. "Hope that goes well."

"Hopefully he'll just talk to Bronx. Have kiddo time."

Mikey runs his fingers over Alicia's knee. "Maybe this weekend we could go over to Gee and Lindsey's. Play with Bandit."

"Yeah, maybe." Alicia leans on his shoulder. "You holding up okay, babe?"

"Yeah, it's not too bad. I like being around him. It's kind of hard to see him like this but I try not to think about it."

"It's not messing up your routine too much?"

Mikey shrugs. "It's okay right now. At some point I'm going to have to go back to the studio. Maybe I can take Pete with me."

"Okay. Let me know if it gets rough, okay? Promise?"

"Promise." He links his fingers with hers. "Look, maybe this isn't the right time, but for full disclosure purposes, you know that I still have, like, feelings for him, right? Not like I have feelings for you, obviously."

"I'm not blind, Mikey."

Mikey smiles. "Just checking. You don't have to worry about me."

"I dated him too, remember?"

"Yeah. But he promised me he wouldn't hit on you. I am not sure why he said that. It was kind of weird."

"He said he won't hit on me?" Alicia frowns and thinks about it for a minute. "Maybe he still has feelings too."

"Huh. You think so?"

"How can we test this?"

"He's going to think we're playing mind games if we try to test him. Maybe you can ask him at the store."

"Right. No mind games. I'll bribe him with candy."

"He'll go for that." Mikey listens to Pete's voice in the kitchen. It's too quiet to make out individual words, but it sounds pretty calm. "I kind of want to make out with you right now."

"Well, if you insist."

Mikey laughs and pulls her into his lap. "Hi."

"Hi. You being loving and taking care of people and all strong and wise really turns me on."

"It's totally mutual," Mikey says and kisses her. "We should do something tonight. After we go to bed."

"Something of the sex variety?"

"No, I was thinking we could do the New York Times crossword in bed," says Mikey and gasps when Alicia squeezes his dick.

"You think you're so clever, Mr. Way."

"I can stop that if you want."

"I don't think you can."

Pete's voice in the kitchen goes quiet. "Oops," says Mikey and kisses Alicia for the last time.

"We'll pick this up later, don't worry." Alicia eases off his lap. "Pete?"

Pete walks into the living room gingerly holding the phone. He doesn't look like he's been crying, but he doesn't look deliriously happy either. "Hey. I miss my kid."

"Sorry, man." Mikey holds his arms out. "Is he having fun in New York?"

Pete awkwardly leans in for a hug. "Yeah. He likes spending time with his mom. I guess I can't be mad at that."

Alicia takes Pete's phone and switches it off. "Grocery store, or you need a few minutes?"

"We can go to the store. I'm okay." Pete finally looks at them properly. "Um, your t-shirt, Alicia, it's kind of riding up."

"Boobs, stop trying to escape." She tugs her shirt back into place. "They're incorrigible. Like puppies."

"Chest puppies." Mikey grins. "We should make that a thing."

Pete stares. "Like, stick little googly eyes and whiskers on them?"

"No, no, we should just make the term a thing. Chest puppies." Mikey laughs, his stupid honking giggle. "Chest puppies."

"You are twelve years old, Mikey, and I'm rethinking your earlier request to do something," says Alicia. "Please don't tweet that."

"I'm just gonna text it to Frank, he'll be into it."

"You do that." Alicia pats his knee and gets off the couch. "Pete and I are going to the store. You want to take anything with you, Pete? Piglet is not allowed."

"Just a hoodie, I guess." Pete grabs the one he'd worn to the park earlier. "Is this store, like, crowded usually?"

Alicia herds him out the door. "It's not too bad. But if it is and you don't like it, you can wait for me in the car and I'll try to be quick, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you." He flips his hood up in the car and watches the traffic go by. "Bronx said he misses me."

"Of course he misses you, Pete. You're his dad."

"I guess I didn't even think about that when I went to the park. That he would miss me. I kind of assumed he'd forget about me."

"You're kind of unforgettable."

"I don't know, I could give you a list of people who haven't had that problem."

"Fuck them," Alicia says viciously. "The point is, your kid isn't going to forget you."

"He's such a good kid. So smart."

"I'd like to meet him sometime." She pulls into the parking lot and sees with relief that it's not full at all.

"Yeah? It wouldn't be too... I don't know. Crossing streams?"

"You're going to have to translate that one for me."

Pete shrugs and follows her into the store. "Getting too much reality in the friendship."

Alicia wrinkles her nose and puts a bag of apples into the cart. "Do you think this friendship isn't real? We're only just picking it up, I know, but Mikey and I care about you for real."

"I know it's real. I phrased that wrong. I guess it's a question of... depth? Like, casual friends or I can cry all over you and puke on your floor friends. Which. I guess I'm living in your guest room, so... that question's kind of moot, huh?"

Alicia squeezes his shoulder. "Yeah, dumbass. If you have to puke on the floor, though, just try to do it on tile."

"Got it. Does Mikey need cheese?"

"Mikey always needs cheese." She steers the cart to the deli section. "If we can limit the selection to four different kinds of cheese things, that would be awesome."

"Does it all need to be for-real cheese, or does cheese from a can count? Cheez with a Z."

"It can be cheez with a Z. He eats it with Gerard when he comes over for gaming. There's always an empty can on the floor the next morning." She purses her lips at the cheese selection and throws a few things into the cart. "That's done."

"What do you like? Your cheese equivalent."

She grins at him. He's smiling back and he looks almost happy. "Cookies."

"Chocolate chip?"

"Yeah. And thumbprint ones with jam."

"I'm on it. I'll be right back."

Alicia leans on the cart and watches as Pete disappears into the cookie aisle. She's starting to feel nervous.

He comes back with bags of cookies and a big smile that fades when he sees her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Just thinking. I'll tell you if you tell me your cheese equivalent."

"Doritos. No, wait, guacamole."

"We'll get both," Alicia says decisively and rolls the cart on. She takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to ask you something."

"Okay. Shoot."

Alicia bites her lip and says, "Mikey and I were talking about feelings earlier. Feelings that might still be there."

Pete hugs the cookies to his chest. "Oh?"

"We still have them for you. You and I can pretend I didn't say anything if it makes you uncomfortable, though. Which flavor Doritos do you want?"

"Both of you do?"

Alicia nods and looks at Pete out of the corner of her eye. He's standing stock-still, studying the Doritos like they're the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

"Even... even after everything," he says.

"I guess it never went away. I didn't realize until I saw you yesterday."

"So... so you want me to leave so I won't fuck you guys up. Okay. Yeah. I... yeah, of course, definitely."

Alicia whips around. "That's not what I said at all."

"But you guys are having feelings about me. I don't want to mess up your marriage."

"You couldn't mess up our marriage if you tried, Wentz. I just wanted you to know because if there are any feelings you still have, too, I thought we could do something about them. Something that involves you staying, not leaving."

Pete's mouth falls open and he stares at her.

"Obviously you can stay with us even if you don't want to be with us. We'll still be your friends, always. Maybe you can think about that in the car?" Being brave is exhausting. "Pick your chips first."

Pete blindly reaches out and grabs a bag of chips. "Wait. Alicia. You. For real?"

"I wouldn't joke about this," Alicia says forcefully.

"Be with both of you. Like. At once?"

Alicia shivers. "Yeah. That would be nice."

"Wow. I didn't think that was... an option."

Alicia rolls the cart back to produce, glancing back at Pete. She'll make Pete guac from scratch. That'll be good. "Mikey and I have never tried it."

"Neither have I."

"Are you okay with trying it with us? I can't promise it'll work, but I can promise that we'll try and that we'll never deliberately hurt you."

"I know you guys wouldn't. And, just, like, for the record, I've had opportunities for threesomes. I just. Never."

Alicia hides her smile in her shoulder. "Well, I'm honored. Any reason you're changing your stance on threesomes now?"

"Like you said. You and Mikey won't hurt me."

"Damn straight." She picks out some avocados and limes. "Ready to check out? Anything else you want?"

"Can I get treats for Bunny and Piglet?"

Alicia reaches out then and touches him on the cheek because she can't not anymore. "Yeah. I'll meet you here in a few minutes? I just thought of something else we'll need."

Pete nods and hurries off to the pet supply aisle. Treats and toys. Bunny and Piglet need to live it up. He's glad he took his wallet. Now he can really spoil the pets. The way he hasn't given them any treats yet is appalling.

Alicia has to pick up condoms and lube. She and Mikey are so unprepared for threesomes, it's embarrassing.

She texts Mikey, too, so he's not totally blindsided when they get back. "pete on board. change sheets on bed." It gives her a thrill to type that, those mundane words implying so much.

"do we even have other sheets???"

"mikey i dont care find other sheets"

"i dont even know where they would be. where do we keep sheets?"

"i am going to draw up blueprints of the house for you. try linen closet next to bthroom"

Pete comes back with treats and toys. "I wasn't sure if Bunny liked fish or chicken better."

"She likes both," Alicia says. She's got a box of condoms in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other.

"Oh. You were getting supplies."

"I thought we should have them." She feels kind of embarrassed now. "Pete? Okay?"

"Yeah. That's okay. Safety first. Uh, I'm flattered that you went with Magnums, but..."

She starts to smile again. "Maybe those are for Mikey."

"Ouch. Zinged."

Alicia laughs. "Or maybe they're for me. We should go home and find out."

"Okay. Let me pay, cool?"

"It's just some snacks. But if you really want to, okay."

Pete pays and they drive home quietly, Pete staring out the window and Alicia hoping they're doing the right thing.

"We'll watch a movie like we planned, okay?" Alicia says quietly when she parks in the driveway. "Get comfortable."

"I'm comfortable. I'm totally comfortable."

"I'm kind of nervous," she says with a laugh. "Full disclosure."

"Oh, thank god. Me too."

Pete's not hiding it that well. "It'll be really good," Alicia promises. "Let's go find Mikey."

Pete carries the grocery bags in, weaving around the pets to get to the kitchen. "Yeah, hey, guys, hey, I have treats for you, can you smell them?"

Bunny and Piglet sprint towards Pete and paw at him, begging, and Mikey comes downstairs to investigate. "You're going to make them love you more than anyone, Wentz."

Pete kneels down to distribute treats and toys and belly-rubs. "Animals are easy like that."

Mikey gets on his knees next to Pete and strokes Piglet's side. "You're good with them."

"They don't expect anything but you being nice to them."

"Yeah. I know what you mean." Mikey's not sure if Pete would believe any promises about mind games, but he can at least cuddle him. "You ready to watch that movie?"

"Yeah." Pete ruffles Piglet's ears and stands up, shooting Mikey an awkward smile. "I'm making it weird, huh?"

Mikey bumps Pete's shoulder with his. "We're pretty good with weird. Lots of practice."

"We should have popcorn. With the movie."

"Right." Mikey rifles through the snack cupboard. "We have caramel and plain. Let's do plain, so Bunny and Pig can have some?"

"Yeah. Awesome. Microwave or stovetop?"

"Microwave all the way." Mikey throws the bag into the microwave and punches the popcorn setting. "I burn things."

"Dude, me too. But Bronx loves the noise stovetop popping makes, so I'm trying to get better at it."

"I'm totally with your kid on that." Piglet whines when Mikey pries the first bag open. "You should give her some right away or she won't let us leave the kitchen."

Pete takes a handful and tosses the pieces at Piglet one at a time, making her jump for them.

"Now we make a break for it," Mikey whispers and tugs Pete out of the kitchen by the hand.

Alicia's already set up on the couch with the remote in her hand and Bunny on her lap. "Were you guys tormenting Piglet?"

"Pete was, as per my instructions," says Mikey. Pete looks at the couch and Mikey uncertainly.

"Come sit down, Pete," Alicia says, patting the cushion next to her. "I want the popcorn bowl in the middle."

Mikey nudges Pete a little and sits down on his other side. "I can't promise I won't try to touch your hand when we both reach for the popcorn."

"Dude, I'm not, like, afraid of you."

Alicia laughs. "Smooth moves, Mikey."

"I'm not making fun, either!" Pete blushes furiously. "I'm making this so weird."

"We both really like weird," says Mikey and takes Pete's hand. "I told you."

Pete squeezes Mikey's hand tightly. "I like weird too."

Alicia's not paying attention to the movie at all. She cuddles up to Pete's side instead, feeling him breathe and Bunny purr.

Pete carefully rests his head on Mikey's shoulder. He's ready to pull back if Mikey shifts or frowns, but Mikey just keeps eating popcorn and watching the movie. Pete's kind of sandwiched between the two of them now. It feels...nice. Really nice.

Mikey starts rubbing little circles on Pete's hand with his thumb and that feels more than nice. "You can keep doing that," Pete says, even though he feels the furthest from assertive.

Mikey smiles and rests his head against Pete's. "You're all tense. I can feel it."

"I'm waiting for one of you to make a move," Pete says honestly.

"We don't have to do anything but this tonight, Pete." Alicia rubs her cheek against Pete's arm. "Seriously. We're not crazed nymphomaniacs."

"Uh." Pete laughs nervously and touches her hair. "Maybe it's too soon for sex. But a little kissing could be nice. I just don't know what you want."

"I can't speak for Mikey, but I want to cuddle like this and maybe kiss."

"That works for me," Mikey says and puts his head on Pete's shoulder. "I'll kiss you when the next scene is over, okay? There's about to be a big fight. It's kick-ass."

"I like that you have priorities, man." Pete glances at Alicia. He can't kiss her without dislodging Mikey. Maybe after Mikey kisses him, though, then he can.

"We're big on priorities," Alicia nods. "The scene is pretty short, though, don't worry."

"Stop talking," Mikey says. "This is seriously the best part."

Pete pokes his fingers into Mikey's side but goes quiet. It helps to know that he's not going to be ambushed by kissing. Someone's going to be punched out, and then he'll be kissed. It's great.

Mikey has seen this movie five million times. He doesn't really need to watch even the best part. But he knows Pete needs some time to prepare before he's kissed.

When the movie cuts away from the last explosion, Alicia sits up and looks at the two of them with a smirk. "I want my turn after."

"Bossy, bossy." Mikey turns and cups Pete's chin in his hands. "Ignore her, dude. I got this."

Pete closes his eyes and leans up, kissing Mikey before Mikey kisses him, because he thinks he should show some initiative.

Mikey smiles against his mouth. "Hey."

Pete really missed Mikey's lips pressed to his and his smile, too. "Hey. Kiss me, I'm not going to break."

"Promise?"

"I fucking promise," Pete says and threads his fingers through Mikey's hair, pulling him close. "Come on."

Mikey grins and kisses Pete properly, hard and deep, letting his tongue push into Pete's mouth and taste him. God, it's been a long time.

Pete reaches back to clasp Alicia's hand, hanging onto her as he takes Mikey's kiss and returns it as best as he can. Second first kisses are better than a first kiss could ever be.

Alicia kisses the back of Pete's neck, smiling over his shoulder at Mikey. Kissing is one of Mikey's top five talents.

Pete shivers, because that's two people who might even almost LOVE him kissing him. Mikey's so GOOD at it, and he can't wait to kiss Alicia's mouth too as soon as Mikey lets him go.

"My turn," Alicia says, reaching out to tug Mikey's hair. "My turn, Way, let him go."

"If you insist," says Mikey, putting his hands on Pete's back and gently turning him around to face Alicia, and hooks his chin over Pete's shoulder to watch.

Alicia threads her fingers in Pete's hair and holds him still, taking charge of the kiss. She wants Pete to know that he is hers, as far as she's concerned.

Pete whines into her mouth, completely involuntarily. He forgot what being with her was like, how it felt like being owned. And with both of them here, it's twice as intense, because Mikey's pressed up to Pete's back and ass with his hand on Pete's thigh.

"Share," Mikey says, tapping at Alicia's wrist. "My turn."

Pete shivers and turns back to Mikey, tilting his face up. "There could be some under the clothes touching."

"Of you? Or of us? Because if you want to touch Alicia's boobs, I totally get it."

Pete moans as Mikey kisses his neck. "Well, I was thinking of me, but the other thing is really tempting."

"My boobs are great," Alicia agrees, slipping her hands under Pete's t-shirt. "But they'll still be there tomorrow."

Pete can feel them pressed up to his side. "Can't wait, Licia. Fuck, I missed you. I missed both of you."

"We missed you too, baby."

"This is, like, the most human contact I've had in weeks."

"You're going to sleep with us tonight."

Pete turns his head to kiss Alicia. "Can we start now? Cuddle in bed?"

"Definitely." She kisses him slowly. "We definitely can do that."

Mikey kisses Pete again too. "I'll dump the rest of this popcorn out into Pig's bowl and catch up with you upstairs. I changed the sheets, by the way."

"I'm so proud," Alicia says, sticking her tongue out at him. "Where did you find them?"

Mikey shrugs. "Where you said."

"You changed the sheets for me?" Pete asks.

"We have manners." Alicia stands up and offers Pete her hands. "C'mon."

Pete looks at Mikey but follows Alicia upstairs, letting her kiss him every other step.

"Welcome to where the magic happens," she says, switching on the bedroom light. "Sorry about the mess."

"I don't care about the mess," says Pete, staring at the bed.

"You want to borrow some of my sweatpants to sleep in?"

"Can I sleep in my boxers?"

"Yes." She kisses his nose and tugs her t-shirt off over her head.

Pete's eyes go round. "You're not wearing a bra."

"I took it off while you guys were making popcorn. Underwires suck."

"You're so gorgeous." Pete wants to touch, but Mikey's not there. He doesn't know if he's allowed.

She smiles at him and grabs a tank top from the stack of laundry on top of the dresser. "Thank you."

Pete sits on the edge of the bed, watching her. "This is definitely the best non-sex I've ever had."

"I should be flattered, right?"

Pete nods. "It's a good thing."

Mikey walks in the room and starts taking off his clothes as soon as he gets through the door. "Hey. Animals love us even more now. Popcorn is effective."

"So we have a whole five minutes before they're up here begging for their piece of the bed?"

Mikey nods. "Let's batten the hatches. Pete, you're in the middle. We want to cuddle."

"On it." Pete climbs into the bed, feeling awkward at having his ass up in the air and the two of them looking at him hungrily.

"Shit," Mikey says under his breath. "Pete."

"What?"

Mikey shakes his head and climbs into the bed next to Pete. "Nothing. I just can't really believe this is happening."

"You can't believe you took me in from living on a park bench? Yeah, me either."

Alicia presses all along Pete's other side and kisses his shoulder. "Nope. The change in the number of hot dudes in this bed. It's really exciting."

Pete's pretty sure that if he makes another self-deprecating comment, Alicia will smack him in a not-fun way. "I'm glad to be here."

Mikey kisses the corner of Pete's mouth and slides his hand under Pete's t-shirt. "We're glad too."

"I'll try not to kick during the night."

"That makes one of you," Alicia mutters and wraps her arms around Pete. "Sleep now."

* * *

Pete wakes up first, and for a minute he almost panics, because he's pinned in on both sides and there's a weight across his legs. He twists around, trying to figure out what's trapping him, and throws an elbow into Mikey's ribs before he realizes that is Mikey. And on the other side, that's Alicia. And the thing on his legs is Piglet. He tries to figure out where Bunny is for a few moments and then relaxes back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. He made out with Mikey and Alicia last night.

Piglet snorfles at him and paws at his legs. "Do you need to go outside?" Pete asks her softly, and she wags frantically. "You are totally making me get up, dog."

Pete slides out carefully from between Mikey and Alicia and they roll towards each other into the spot where he was. He pulls on his jeans, trying not to let Piglet push him over.

Piglet leads him to the back door and woofs unhappily until he lets her out. The air outside is cool and clear and morning-ish. he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares up at the sky, thinking about Mikey's hands and Alicia's face. And her breasts, too. Those kind of sneak in there.

He has therapy later, and for once that doesn't make him want to go back to bed forever. Except... Mikey and Alicia are there. "Hurry up, Pig," he whispers. "It's too early for walks."

Piglet ignores him. It takes as long as it takes to finish the morning sniff routine.

"Bad dog," Pete laughs quietly. "Don't look at me like that. I was kidding."

Piglet wags and rushes past him back to the door. Now it is time for breakfast and coffee and toast and sharing toast with her.

Pete follows her into the kitchen. The house is still very quiet. He throws a look at the staircase and strains his hearing for any signs of Mikey and Alicia waking up, but Pig herds him into the kitchen, where Bunny is already expectantly sitting next to her bowl.  "Okay, okay, I can take a hint."

Mikey's floating in the vague gray space between asleep and awake. he hears noises downstairs, but he doesn't smell coffee. Therefore, it cannot actually be morning.

It takes several minutes of distressed-sounding clanging for Alicia to realize that Pete must be trying to work the coffeemaker and failing. She makes her way blearily downstairs. Pete's standing in front of the coffeemaker, looking very close to defeated.

"What even IS this thing? It's like HAL."

"Mikey's on a quest to conquer every coffee maker on the planet." Alicia wraps her arms around Pete from behind and nuzzles into his neck. "Hi."

"But how do you make it make coffee?" He leans back into her. "Hi."

"Oh, you just press-- hold on." She pushes Mikey's favorite preprogrammed sequence. "He and Gerard have some kind of coffee one-upmanship going, the more complicated the better."

"Do they ever just literally compare dicks or is it all through proxies?"

"I can't promise that's never happened. But enough about Gerard's dick." Alicia tips Pete's chin up and kisses him sleepily. "You escaped from bed too early."

"Piglet needed to go out. She was very insistent."

"You're her favorite now." Alicia kisses him again, slowly, pushing him back into the counter. "Was last night good for you?"

"It was really good. Really, really good."

"Good." She smoothes Pete's hair down and smiles. "I want to do more with you."

"Do you have specifics in mind?" He rests his hands on her waist. It feels...daring. Scary. But good.

"Hmm. I have some ideas. I want to boss you around a little. I want to ride you and watch you with Mikey. That's just a shortlist."

"Watch me do what with Mikey? Be specific."

"I want him to fuck you," she says challengingly. "That specific enough?"

Pete's eyes widen. "Um."

"Hey. It's okay. Obviously we're only going to do stuff you like."

"I'm just not sure I can jump right into that."

"Fuck, Pete, I'm sorry. I'd be happy just watching you touch. You're so fucking gorgeous together."

Pete rubs his face and looks at Alicia. "Kiss me."

Alicia kisses him the way he kissed her last night, slow and gentle. "It's okay. You can decide everything."

"I definitely want to start with kissing. Both of you."

"I like kissing." Alicia kisses him again. "Mikey better wake up soon. I love it when you kiss him."

"Kissing would be a good distraction before therapy."

Alicia hugs him. "Take your meds now and we can make out until we have to leave."

Pete nods and counts his meds out, then takes them standing at the sink, washing them down with handfuls of water. He's scared shitless, but he can't tell her that.

Alicia comes up behind him and wraps her arms about his waist. "Mikey and I like you so much."

"I like you guys, too. You're part of me."

"You're part of us too." Alicia prods the coffeemaker. "I can smell the coffee, but he's not coming down."

"I could go get him?"

"Let's bring him coffee and hang out in bed. You got up too early to get the cuddling I wanted."

"I'm just really wound up. I'm sorry."

Alicia holds his hand for a few moments before she gets the mugs out of the cupboard. "That's okay."

"I'm really mad at myself for falling apart, you know? Dropping the ball."

Alicia shrugs and pours the coffee. "It's not like you wanted to do it. It wasn't your fault."

"It was, though. If I stay in charge of myself and on top of things it doesn't get so bad."

"I know how hard it is to always have to be the one who takes care of yourself. Cut yourself some slack." She gives him two of the full mugs and kisses him. "You're trying."

"Yeah. I'm back to trying now."

"We're not going to let you stop trying."

"And you're not going to let me go back to the park." He tries to smile and doesn't quite make it.

"The park is out of the question. You can go there under strict supervision only."

"Can I ask you something kind of... harsh?"

Alicia raises an eyebrow. "Okay."

"What made you decide to bring me home instead of checking me into the psych ward?"

"We weren't really deciding between those two things, Pete."

"I'm just asking. A lot of people would have. Probably my doctor would have, if he found me. Or, like. The guys from Crush."

Alicia smiles a little. "I guess we wanted to take you home. The other thing didn't even occur to us."

"I appreciate that."

"Can I ask you something in return? Answer for an answer."

"That's fair. Yeah."

"Mikey and I were shit about keeping up a friendship with you. How come you aren't mad at us?"

He smiles at her a little. "I don't blame anyone for not wanting to be friends with me, Licia."

Alicia can't keep a cheerful face up anymore. "Pete."

"I'm hard to love. I know that. I wear people out. I'm trying to get better about that, too."

"Well. There are two of us for one of you, so I think we have a chance."

"I hurt you guys a lot. Back then. With the songs, and with how I acted, and just... I sucked."

Alicia sets the mugs down on the counter, splashing coffee everywhere, and clings to Pete. "That's in the past now, okay? Blank slate. Forgiven?"

Pete leans into her, hiding his face against her shoulder. She smells so good, like sleep and sweat and herself. "Nothing to forgive. I'm just glad you got me."

"I'm so glad too. So, so glad."

He just wants to stay there being held by her forever.

"Come on, baby," Alicia whispers into his ear. "Let's go upstairs. Let me kiss you in bed."

"Okay." He nods against her, not pulling back. "Okay."

Alicia kisses Pete's neck and reluctantly pulls away. "Coffee. Mikey will be really confused if we don't bring him any."

"Don't want to confuse Mikeyway. He'll put a curse on us."

"He'll make a hilarious face."

"You wake him up. I want to see the face."

"Yes, good idea." They walk upstairs quietly. There are animals on the bed on either side of Mikey.

Pete takes the coffee from Alicia and steps back so she can wake Mikey up. They're so beautiful together it makes his heart ache.

Alicia climbs on the bed, covering Mikey's body with hers. "Hey, sunshine, it's morning."

"Nnngghhhh." Mikey tries to burrow deeper into the blankets, but he can't escape.

Alicia grins at Pete and waves him closer. "Wake uuuuuuuuup."

"Why? Go 'way."

Alicia patiently pulls back layers of blankets until there is skin she can tickle. "You're being a bad host. Pete's here and he wants to make out."

"Make out?" Mikey pokes his head up. "Now?"

"That's the hilarious face, Pete," says Alicia, tickling Mikey only a little bit. "Come here."

Pete comes over to the side of the bed. "I have coffee."

"Oh god, thank you," says Mikey, stretching out his hands. "Give me that."

Pete hands it over and leans on Alicia. "You look good with bedhead, Mikes."

Mikey blinks sleep out of his eyes and chugs half the coffee in one go. "Wow, so do you. Both of you look awesome."

"You're just saying that so we'll kiss you."

"I'm not just saying that! But I WAS promised making out."

"Who do you want first?"

"Alicia said you wanted to make out, so come here." Alicia takes the mug away from him and sets it on the bedside table. They learned that the hard way.

Pete climbs on the bed and crawls up to Mikey. "Good morning."

Mikey tangles his fingers in Pete's hair. "Good morning. Kiss me."

Pete closes his eyes and does. He will never get tired of kissing Mikey. Never ever.

"I get to kiss you again," Mikey says into Pete's mouth. "I won the lottery."

"Kissing you is amazing, Mikey."

Bunny walks over onto the pillow by Pete and Mikey's heads and observes. Alicia laughs softly and takes her t-shirt off. "If I don't get this started you two will just sit there and smile at each other all day."

"We're also smiling at Bunny," Pete protests, and then goes quiet, because Alicia's boobs are right there.

"Take your shirt off, Pete."

"Yeah," says Pete, and gets tangled in the t-shirt. Behind him, Mikey laughs and helps him drag his t-shirt off. His fingers are warm and callused and just like Pete remembered.

"Way, you'd better be naked under that sheet."

"Uh, not yet," laughs Mikey. "Give me a second." He performs some complex manipulations under the sheet and reaches for Pete again. "Hi. Are we just rolling around this morning or having sex?"

"I hate myself for saying this," Pete says, "but it's therapy day. That has to be taken into account."

Alicia snuggles up behind Pete on his other side and wow, she's only got panties on and her breasts are pressing into his back. "Just rolling around is good. Or clothes can come back on."

"Does rolling around include cuddling?"

"As much cuddling as you like," Alicia says and rubs her face against his back. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah. It's... really okay. I can feel your boobs."

"I love that," says Mikey and wraps his arms around Pete's waist. "Can I move closer to you?"

"Yeah. Please." Pete closes his eyes and just concentrates on how their skin feels. They both are really soft, and warm. Well, some parts of Mikey are hard and/or bony. But his skin is soft everywhere. And Alicia's boobs are really squishy.

Mikey wiggles closer to him and slips his thigh between Pete's. "Okay? You feel really good."

"So do you. Both of you guys. Fuck. I really love you guys a lot."

Mikey's breath hitches. Pete can feel it because they're so close. "We love you a lot too," Alicia says in Pete's ear.

Pete leans forward and kisses Mikey, soft and slow.

Mikey kisses back the same way, following Pete's lead, and Alicia kisses Pete's shoulders. "I want my turn," she whispers.

Pete laughs and turns his head as far as he can. "Can't quite reach. Meet me halfway?"

Alicia sits up and cups Pete's upturned face in her hands. "I like it when you laugh."

"I like it, too." He closes his eyes and waits for her to kiss him. He just wants to spend the day like this, going back and forth between them. "Let's forget therapy and stay here all day."

Alicia shakes her head. Her hair's falling over Pete's face, keeping the light out. "Nope." Her smile makes it okay.

"You can be my therapy."

"We're your supplement," Alicia says and leans down to kiss him deeply.

Mikey loves watching Alicia kiss. And Pete takes it so pretty, just surrendering to her.

He tucks Alicia's hair aside and listens to Pete's quiet sighs and whimpers. "You guys are amazing."

"You could help." Alicia smiles at him over Pete's shoulder. "Touch him."

Mikey grins back and slips his hands into Pete's hair, tugging him towards him for a quick kiss. Then he gives Pete back to Alicia and slides his hands lower over Pete's shoulders and down to his chest.

Pete feels warm and safe and content. He didn't think it would be like this, not... easy. Alicia's murmuring to him between kisses and her breasts are lightly brushing his chest and it's just... nice. Not frantic, not scary. No hidden expectations. He's hard, but it's not a frantic, need-to-fuck-now thing. He's happy to just kind of stay like this. Enjoy it.

"This is the best morning ever," says Mikey burrowing his face into Pete's shoulder. His hand is kind of... roaming around Pete's chest and dipping towards his belly.

Pete pushes his body back against Mikey's. "I can tell you're happy, Mikey."

Mikey makes a pleased noise and pushes back. His dick's poking Pete high up on his thigh. "I can't help it that you're so hot."

"Maybe... maybe you two could have sex and I could watch."

"Fuck." Mikey looks at Alicia with wide eyes and she laughs. "I'm in, Licia."

"Well, you're not in yet."

Pete laughs loudly and covers his mouth with his hands. "Sorry."

"I'm just saying. I am sadly un-fucked as of right now, boys."

"Come here." Mikey reaches for Alicia. "Let's fix that."

Pete pulls back, moving down to the foot of the bed so he has a good view. Mikey and Alicia move together so easily. They fit.

"Do you have a position on positions?" Alicia asks Pete over her shoulder.

"Can, um. Can he take you from behind? I kind of have a... a thing. Which I guess you both know. Um."

Alicia grins and crawls over to Pete to give him a kiss. "Yeah. Let's do it. Way, come here and fuck me."

Mikey crawls up behind her and kisses the small of her back, slipping his fingers between her legs to make sure she's wet and ready. "Condom or no, babe?"

Alicia gasps and lowers her head on the mattress. "No condom. Come on, just do it, I'm ready."

Pete reaches out and pets her neck and the back of her head, watching as Mikey pushes inside her. "Fuck, Licia. Look at you."

Alicia feels so hot. "I love you watching me. Touch me."

"Where? Your boobs? Your... girl-ness?"

Mikey giggles and his rhythm stutters. "Girl-ness."

"Technical term, dude."

"Touch my clit, Pete," Alicia demands. "Joking later, orgasms now."

Pete moves closer and reaches underneath her, brushing his fingers over her breasts and stomach before he gets to the patch of hair between her thighs and then lower, sliding his finger against the wet lips of her vulva.

"Yeah," she gasps. "That's good. Mikey, come on, harder."

"Be patient, baby."

Pete watches Alicia's face as Mikey drives into her and strokes her cheek. "You're so fucking pretty." If he slips his other hand lower, he'll touch Mikey's cock. Pete can already feel it, sort of, as Alicia bucks back into him.

"Mm." Alicia catches his fingers in her mouth and sucks at them, looking at him through her lashes.

"Oh my god." Pete's going to die, maybe. Instead he pushes his fingers in further. "Licia, fuck."

She uses her teeth a little bit, scraping them over his knuckles. If she remembers right, he has a thing for that, too.

Pete's eyes slide shut when she does it. Later, much later, he'll ask them to work him over with bites.

Mikey is trying to watch them and thrust at the same time. Mikey is so close watching them. He got so worked up having Pete's body next to him. "Kiss her."

Pete eases his fingers free and leans in, nuzzling Alicia's lips before he kisses her.

Alicia cries out into Pete's mouth on a hard thrust. "Get your hand back down there, Pete, I need to come."

Pete kisses her more and does as he's told, finding her clit and pressing against it hard, then rubbing in fast circles.

"Like that. That's so good." Alicia kisses him back and drops her head between her shoulders. Pete slides his other hand on her back and it's slick with sweat.

Mikey leans down and bites her shoulder, scraping his teeth over the slick skin. "C'mon, baby. C'mon."

Alicia grabs Pete's hand and presses it to her clit hard, rocking into it, and it's only a few seconds until she shudders with it.

Mikey groans deep in his throat when she pulses around him. "Thank you, baby, thank you." He thrusts into it, twice, three times, then comes as well.

Pete brushes Alicia's hair off her face and looks at Mikey. He feels stunned and like his whole body is buzzing. "Holy shit."

"Kiss," Alicia says, her voice rough and thick. "Kiss me, Pete. And touch yourself."

Mikey eases Alicia up so she leans back against his chest and Pete knee-walks over to kiss her mouth. It's red and swollen and tastes so good.

"Touch yourself," Alicia reminds him. "I want you to get off, too, Wentz."

Pete presses his face into Alicia's neck and wraps his hand around his dick. He's got smears of come all over his stomach already and his dick hurts from how hard he is. "Mikey, kiss me too, I want you to kiss me."

Mikey leans over Alicia and kisses him, biting playfully at his mouth. "C'mon, Pete. Not fair to be the only one here not sticky."

Pete strokes himself faster. "Wanted to get sticky with you two forever."

"You're part of us. Always."

Pete squeezes his eyes shut and jerks himself off thinking about Mikey's come sliding out of Alicia, how wet she was down there. "I'm yours."

Mikey eases out of the bed and grabs a towel from the hamper to clean them all up. "Can we do this every morning?"

Alicia holds Pete up while Pete comes down. "I vote yes."

Pete rests his head on Alicia's shoulder. "What do you guys usually do in the morning?"

Mikey pushes them over gently and wraps his arms around both of them. "Walk the dog. Play video games. Or go over to Gerard's house."

That's something Pete hadn't thought about until just now. "I've been here for days and you haven't seen your brother once."

Mikey nuzzles Pete's neck. "Believe it or not, we've gone longer without seeing each other."

"So you've been talking on the phone, then."

"We've been texting." Mikey strokes Pete's waist. "Are you freaking out?"

"No. Surprisingly."

Alicia smiles into Pete's shoulder. "Good. I think we can fend Gerard off for another day, but he'll probably come over eventually. Is that okay?"

"Will he be mad at me?"

"I'll protect you," says Alicia at the same time that Mikey indignantly says "No!"

"Because if he's mad I can just stay in here and hang out. I don't mind."

"He's not going to be mad." Mikey is very sure of that. "And you have to meet him eventually. You're with us now. You gotta at least meet our family."

Pete has to smile. "I've met him, Mikey."

"Like a million years ago."

"I guess he's different now, yeah. He's a dad. That changes everything."

Mikey kisses Pete's shoulder. "He's different. You'll like him. I'll tell him about us ahead of time so he doesn't freak out in front of you."

"Okay." Pete takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay. Cool. I'd offer to let you meet Gabe, but..."

Alicia hmms. "He's going to be really protective of you. I like that."

"He's been like my brother the last couple of years. Always got my back. Even when he was, like, losing his mind, he was there for me."

"Everyone needs someone like that." Mikey kisses Pete's neck. "I'm glad you have him."

"I should call and talk to him. He's probably pretty pissed."

"He shouted a lot when I talked to him. I think he'd appreciate a call. Do you think you'd want to call him before your appointment, or later?"

"Well, now I need to call him now, I'll be upset all day if I think he's mad at me."

"Sorry," says Alicia. "One step at a time, right, baby?"

"Yeah. One shitty step at a time."

Alicia presses a kiss into Pete's hair. "He loves you. He'll be relieved to hear from you."

Pete leans into her. "Mikey, may I have my phone, please?"

"Sure." Mikey digs it out of the bedside table. "Do you want us here?"

"Yeah. Please." Pete takes a deep breath, turns the phone on, and closes out all of the texts and missed-call alerts to get to his contacts. Gabe is #2, right after Hilary.

Gabe picks up right away. "Pete, fucking finally."

"Hey, man. How's it going?"

"Just fine, aside from the heart attack you gave me." There's a deep calming breath over the phone line. "Pete. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I mean, I am now. I wasn't, for a while. But now I am."

"Mikey and Alicia are taking care of you?" Gabe doesn't really sound mad, but Pete's not sure.

"Yeah. They're really amazing. They're going to take me to therapy today, and we'll get doughnuts after. Wow, I sound like a toddler. Sorry."

"You're sometimes a toddler. Don't apologize, doughnuts are awesome."

Pete takes a deep breath. "Are you angry?"

"I was pretty mad for a while that you didn't call me. But I'm not mad anymore. I'm glad you're okay."

"I didn't want to worry anybody. I just wanted to go away."

"But do you see the flaw in that chain of logic now?"

"Yeah. I wasn't really thinking in logic at the time, though, I just wanted everything to stop."

There's rustling and the sound of Gabe typing. "I'm flying out there this weekend to give you a fucking hug, Pete."

"Yeah? For real?" He presses closer to Alicia and smiles a little. He could have Mikey, Gabe, and Alicia all in the same place. All he needs is Bronx, Patrick, and Travie and his life would be complete.

"For real. Are you still staying with Mikey and Alicia? Should I get a hotel close to them?"  

"Yeah, I'm still with them. They're taking really good care of me. Not letting me get away with bullshit."

Mikey smiles happily at him and links their hands together.

"I'm glad," Gabe says, still typing. "And I'm glad you're letting them."

"We're kind of, um," Pete starts and looks at Mikey. He's not sure whether to tell Gabe now or in person later.

"Kind of what, Wentzy?"

Mikey nods a little and Alicia hums encouragingly behind him. Pete squeezes his eyes shut. "Kind of starting a... relationship."

There's a long silence. "I'll see you this weekend and you can tell me about it in person."

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, Pete."

"You sound kind of mad."

"Not mad. Concerned, a little. Jumping right from a rough time into a relationship, you know?"

"Yeah," Pete says quietly. "But I've always wanted to, with them."

"Both of them? Together?"

"I don't know. I didn't really think that far."

"I'll see you this weekend, okay? I love you, brother."

"I love you too." Pete kind of wants Gabe to stay on the line with him forever, but Gabe's probably busy. "See you soon."

Mikey takes the phone and puts it back in the drawer. "You okay?"

Pete nods. "I think so. Can both of you hug me?"

Alicia wraps her arms around his waist so Mikey can put his around Pete's shoulders. "Do we need to kick Gabe's ass?"

Pete closes his eyes and presses close to Mikey's chest. "No. He wasn't mad at me. He's coming to visit."

"Rad. He can sleep on the couch with Pig."

Pete laughs and pulls Alicia's arm higher so it covers his heart. "I think he was booking a hotel."

"What, our house isn't good enough for him?" Mikey kisses Pete's hair again. "He can have the guest room, since you'll be in here with us."

Pete grins. "I'll tell him. Is that really okay?"

"Of course. He's our friend, too. Well. My friend. Alicia still reserves the right to hate him."

"I am not going to hate Pete's best friend," Alicia protests.

"Last time you saw him you got drunk and told him he wasn't funny or cute, babe."

"Well, he was being a dick."

"He's better about that now." Pete looks over Mikey's arm at the clock. "I should shower."

Alicia shifts. "We should all shower. I feel gross."

"Hey," Mikey protests. "I'm not gross."

"No," Alicia agrees and reaches over Pete and gives Mikey a deep kiss. "But you try getting fucked bare."

"I have tried but you won't let me." He sticks his tongue out at her.

Alicia pinches Mikey' tongue and jumps out of bed. "First shower."

Pete watches her go and glances at Mikey. "You guys really are pretty perfect, huh?"

"We're really happy." Mikey hugs Pete closer to his chest. They're still sticky. "Even happier with you."

"But, like, do you want to be yourselves with me on the side? Like, I'll still live at my house and just come over when you want me? Or..."

Mikey frowns and thinks about it. "You'd have to drive over here every day. Wouldn't that get annoying for you? I don't know, Alicia is better at logistics stuff."

"No, Mikes, I mean, are you guys a pair with me as your boyfriend, or is it more like... all three of us?"

"Oh. I guess you're our boyfriend now? Like, a serious boyfriend? I'm not sure what the difference is."

"I don't know either. I don't want to, like, try to take more than I'm allowed."

Mikey strokes Pete's cheek. "There's no hidden rulebook. We just love you and want you here."

Pete kisses Mikey's fingers and closes his eyes. "I want to be here."

Mikey traces Pete's collarbones and the thorns there. "I really missed you naked."

"I don't look like I did then. Neither do you, though, I guess."

"You still look hot. Hotter, really."

"You turned into a supermodel sex god when nobody was looking."

Mikey bites back a smile. "I'm stealthy."

"I kind of miss the dark hair, though." Pete touches Mikey's face. "And the glasses."

Mikey makes a face. "The glasses were a pain in the ass."

"Dude." Pete makes a face at him. "Now you wear sunglasses all the time."

Mikey rolls him over and kisses him. "That's different."

Pete closes his eyes and gives in to the kissing. This is so much better than going to therapy.

Mikey loves how Pete's pliant and willing under him and how soft his mouth is. He's definitely ready for round two, but then Alicia coughs from the doorway.

"Pete," she says, hitching her towel up higher around herself. "You need to get ready. You will not distract us with sex."

Pete groans and kisses Mikey one last time. "You're like a steel trap."

"Mikey has spent years trying to use that trick on me."

Mikey sits up. "I guess I should set an example. Licia, show Pete our shower while I get dressed?"

"I can find it." Pete gets out of the bed. "You guys have couple time."

"Don't be silly, Pete." Alicia gets him a towel and takes him into the bathroom. "Don't take too long, okay? If we're on time, that means it'll end sooner."

"Right. Quick scrub, wash my face and my balls, good to go."

Alicia grins at him. "It's like you were made for us."

Pete blushes and gets in the shower. Oh, god, he's falling so hard. He can't help it.

Alicia goes back into the bedroom. "I'd say I was shocked you weren't taking the chance to shower too, but I've met you before."

"You can't smell sex on someone once they get dressed. Science."

"You've tested this hypothesis multiple times and every time you were wrong, Mikeyway."

"Nobody's going to be sniffing me today."

Alicia pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "We'll just come back home after and cuddle. Maybe walk Pig. She's probably tired of being downstairs all morning."

"Yeah, she needs some exercise." Mikey glances over at her. "You doing okay? I'm checking in."

Alicia can't help smiling wide. "I'm really happy. Is that weird? He's not really doing that well, and I feel happy."

"It's not weird unless you're happy because he's not doing well."

"That's not why." Alicia sits down next to Mikey on the bed and puts her head on his shoulder. "Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah. I like this."

"I like it too. What did you guys talk about when I was in the shower? You looked serious."

"He wanted to know if, like, you and I were a relationship and he was an add-on, or what the status was."

"What did you say?"

"That I didn't know."

"But he's our boyfriend, right?"

"I figured I should check with you before I said so."

"I think he should be our boyfriend. For real. I want serious with him, you want it too."

"Should he still live at his house and commute back and forth?"

"I want to say no, but maybe it's a good idea for us to take it slow? Do you know what he wants?"

"He's being hard to read about it. Maybe he'll talk about it with the therapist."

"I hope so." Alicia holds Mikey's hand. "We should talk to him later too."

"After we have sex, right?"

"Totally. That was awesome. I want to do it again. With full Pete-participation, if he's into it."

"I really want to go down on him."

Alicia nods vigorously. "Yeah. Me too."

"We're not, just, like, playing with him like a new toy, right?"

Alicia wrinkles her nose. "We're not just playing with him like a new toy. I want to kiss him and watch movies with him and, like, other non-sex stuff with him too. Right?"

"Yeah. Totally. But I also want to bite him on the ass."

"Biting him is great," Alicia agrees. "We're going to be late if he doesn't come out of there right now."

"I'll go get him." Mikey kisses her forehead and goes to knock on the bathroom door. "Pants on, dude."

Pete has been drying himself very thoroughly, both as a procrastination tactic and because he wants to hold on to the images of Mikey and Alicia naked together. "I'll be right out."

"It'll be okay."

"Yeah." Pete ties the towel around his waist and comes out of the bathroom. Alicia hands him his clothes. "You'll be with me."

"Yep. Right outside."

Pete nods and pulls his jeans on. "Let's go, I guess. The only way out is through."

Alicia and Mikey sit in the waiting room like parents, both of them bent over their phones the whole ninety minutes of Pete's super-sized appointment. Gerard texted Mikey six times while Mikey was busy that morning, and once Mikey texts him back, Gerard pounces.

"Where are you?" Gerard texts. "You've been off-radar all day."

"pete emergency"

"???"

"pete was having a hard time and licia and i adopted him"

"Like legally?"

"no. hes staying with us. also were dating him now."

"Wow you've been busy the last three days."

"We had sex this morning sort of."

"Which we?"

"it was a threesome Geezy keep up"

"wow a REALLY busy 3 days"

"are you pissed?"

"Its fine I just had no idea you were dating & sexing & adopting"

"i wasn't sure what was happening for a while. he was homeless in the park."

"Wait what?"

The recap of the last three days takes most of the ninety minutes, and by the end of it Mikey's battery is at 5%.

Pete comes out of the office with his hood up and his hands shoved in his pockets, but he smiles when he sees them. "Doughnuts now. A whole box of them."

Mikey and Alicia smile back at him and hold hands with him all the way to the car. "What's your chain of choice?"

"Anywhere. I don't care. I just want doughnuts and then, like, a nap, I think."

Alicia squeezes his hand and gets in the driver's seat. "We can do that."

"He says I need to go slow and be honest with myself."

"Be honest with us too if you can, okay? If something's not working for you or if you're worried about something."

"I'll try. Going slow is hard, though. I want the good times while I can get them."

"We're not going to drop you just like that." Alicia stays in the car while Mikey goes in to order the doughnuts. "Mikey and I really want to make this work out."

"I'm trying. I really am. I'm just...I'm a little gun-shy, I guess."

Alicia twists around to look at him. "Are we going too fast for you? We haven't really been helping with slow. At all. I guess we were kind of selfish."

"It's made me feel really wanted. So I don't get the slow part. If we go slow then I'll have time to think about how I'll fuck it up."

"We do really want you. A lot."

"So maybe I can do the be honest with myself part and skip the go slow part."

"Replace it with being honest with us if you can." Alicia unbuckles her seat belt and reaches over to kiss Pete. "We'll figure the relationship stuff out. Mikey and I have practice."

"You've had bonus people before?"

Alicia shakes her head. "No threesomes before, remember? We've just been married a long time."

"Oh. Right. I wasn't great at that part."

Mikey returns with a dozen doughnuts. "I thought about getting two dozen but then I remembered they might go stale."

"Not if you leave them down where Piglet can get them."

"I'm not cleaning up that much vomit again," says Mikey. "You guys look serious. Are we making major decisions?"

Pete shrugs and reaches for the box of doughnuts. "Talking about it. I really need a nap, though. Or at least somewhere quiet I can sit for a while and, like, process." Mikey hands Pete the box. "Let's go home."

Pete eats two doughnuts and closes his eyes, trying to internalize the thrum of the engine. It's okay. He's okay. His therapist didn't kick him out and call him a horrible person. Alicia and Mikey waited for him.

* * *

Alicia and Mikey help him out of the car and take him upstairs. Alicia even quickly changes the sheets before tucking Pete in. He feels kind of like a child again, but it makes him feel better anyway.

"What are you guys going to do?" he asks, burrowing down under the blankets.

"We'll play with Pig and Bunny outside and then just hang out downstairs, I guess," says Mikey. "Come find us when you're ready."

"Okay." Fuck, he feels like a tool, but he's supposed to be being honest. "If Pig or Bunny wants to stay inside, though that would... that would be okay, too."

Alicia runs a hand through Pete's hair. "I think Pig needs a walk. But I can find Bunny and bring her here. Would you like that?"

"Yeah. That'd be nice. She's good at cuddling."

Alicia finds Bunny curled up on Pete's pillow in the guest room. "He doesn't live here anymore, Bun." Bunny squeaks at her and allows herself to be picked up. Alicia scritches her under the chin and deposits her next to Pete's head, where she curls up, purring loudly.

"We're going to go downstairs now," says Mikey. "Just yell if you need anything."

Pete nods and rests his hand on Bunny's paws. "Thank you."

Bunny breathes wetly into Pete's face. It tickles. Her purring and soft fur are just what Pete needs to drift off and he doesn't even hear the door close.

Mikey takes Piglet into the back yard and throws her Frisbee for her for a while.

Alicia eats a doughnut and watches them play. Piglet is wagging her tail happily. She obviously felt a bit ignored.

"Who's my good girl? Who's my good baby pig?" Piglet wuffs and slobbers all over Mikey and steals the Frisbee.

"Now you definitely have to shower before we have sex again," says Alicia.

"She's not germy. She's a baby pig."

"Dogs totally have germs in their mouths, genius."

"Not Piglet. She's special. Hypoallergenic."

"You still have to shower." Alicia picks dirt out from under her nails. "We should feed him lunch when he wakes up."

"I'll make grilled cheeses."

"Awesome." Alicia steals the Frisbee from Mikey and tosses it to Pig. "I hope he's okay."

"Therapy is really tiring."

"I know." Alicia pets Piglet's muzzle and ears. "Is there anything different I should do with him than I did with you, do you think?"

"Remember he doesn't have the same backup. I always had Gerard and my band right there. He doesn't have that."

Alicia nods. "Okay. Love you."

"I love you too. You're rad."

"You are super extra rad, Mikey Way." Alicia kisses him despite the dog slobber.

"I love you almost as much as I love my bass."

Alicia shoves him. "I love you almost as much as I love fossils."

"Shit. We're both doing pretty good."

"Yeah, I think this relationship might work out."

He kisses her on the nose. "The dog needs our attention now. Look at how patient she's being."

Piglet is sitting on the ground in front of them and wagging her tail. "Who’s a good dog?" Alicia asks. "Maybe I should take her for a run."

"She'd like that. I'll stay here and do manly things."

"Can you sneak in some laundry into your manly things, baby?" Alicia suspects they might run out of clean sheets.

"Yeah, I can schedule in a load between lifting heavy objects and scratching my balls."

"Sweet. Please don't scratch your balls off. I need those." Alicia ruffles his hair. "Piggy, want to go for a run?"

Piglet barks and runs in a circle. Mikey salutes them both and goes into the house to gather up the laundry.

He loves his home. The house feels a little empty without Alicia and Piglet there, but knowing Pete is in their bed is exciting. He gets the washer going and goes upstairs to peek in on Pete. He and Bunny are both asleep. It's fucking cute, so he digs his phone out and takes a picture. He almost texts it to Gerard, but decides against it. That probably shouldn't be his first image of Mikey and Alicia's new relationship.

He also thinks about Tweeting it, just to really give the Internet something to talk about, but that would be really upsetting really fast. Gabe and Gerard knowing is enough for now. This new thing feels fragile.

Pete sighs in his sleep and curls up smaller around Bunny. Mikey really wants to lie down next to Pete and wrap his arms around him, but Pete wanted alone time. So Mikey pulls the door shut and goes downstairs.

* * *

Pete wakes up a few hours later and lies still for a few minutes, sorting out the facts from the grogginess in his head. He's in Mikey and Alicia's bed. Bunny is asleep on his arm. The sun through the window is definitely in the afternoon part of the sky. He's really hungry and he has to pee. All systems normal, then.

The peeing comes first, after the arm-from-Bunny extraction. Then Pete brushes his teeth, because his mouth feels gross and he thinks maybe it would be nice to kiss someone soon.

Mikey is sitting on the living room floor with a stack of comic books when he comes downstairs. "Hey, dude. Good nap?"

Mikey looks unbelievably good. Pete's not sure if he should come over and just get to the kissing part now. "Yeah. Your cat's a nap charmer."

"She's so good at napping. Olympic gold medalist in naps."

Pete sits down next to Mikey. "Sorry I bailed on you and Licia. There was... a lot, today. Where is she, by the way?"

"Running with the Pigster. They've been gone long enough now that I assume they stopped at Sarah's, though."

"Cool." Pete picks up a comic book and leafs through it without reading or retaining anything. "Can we have lunch?"

"Yes! I was going to make grilled cheese. Is that cool?"

"That's awesome." Pete looks a little below Mikey's eyes to avoid eye contact and then leans in for a kiss anyway.

Mikey makes a pleased noise and kisses him back. "I was hoping for that."

That makes a warm feeling rush through Pete. "I've been thinking about it since I woke up. Kiss me again?"

"Yup." Mikey kisses him long and thorough. "Feel any better?"

Pete runs his hand through Mikey's hair and keeps his lips pressed to Mikey's cheek. "Much. Lunch now?"

"In one second." Mikey turns his head fast and kisses Pete again. "You need to talk about anything?"

The nice buzz from kissing Mikey dies down a little bit. "In the car, I told Alicia that I don't want to go slow with you two."

Mikey nuzzles him. "That's cool."

"Really?" Pete tilts his neck so Mikey knows to kiss him there. "If you guys want me here, I want to be here. Not at my place."

"Okay." Mikey kisses along Pete's neck as directed. "We'll fix up the guest room so you have your own space when you want it, or as an office or whatever. Will you bring the little dude here or not explain this to him yet?"

"Really, you'd be okay with him hanging out here sometimes?" Nothing is that simple, in Pete's experience.

"I like kids if I don't have to parent them. But I don't want to get you in shit with the lawyers, man."

"This is probably why my therapist told me to go slow." Pete rubs his face. "Being with you is easy. Everything else is so fucking hard."

"We don't have to figure every detail out now. We can figure things out as they come up. One day at a time or whatever."

Pete leans heavily on Mikey. "Ashlee still has Bronx for another month. I guess that part can wait."

"Okay." Mikey kisses the top of his head. "Food now. Post-therapy protein boost."

Pete follows Mikey into the kitchen and sits at the counter, swinging his legs. "I want to see that cheese I picked out in action."

"This is some powerhouse cheese, I have to say."

"Watching you cook is pretty sexy, Mway."

"Oh yeah. Me and my frying pan. All greased up."

"Smells really good, too." And Mikey's arms look good in his t-shirt. "I think I feel better already."

"Good." Mikey starts making the sandwiches. "So I'm thinking later maybe I'll blow you."

Pete almost falls off the stool. "Yes. Please."

"I think Alicia maybe wants to do that, too, if that's cool. We can take turns."

Mikey hands him a grilled cheese sandwich like they're not talking about sex at all. "That's...more than cool," Pete says faintly.

"Good. And you don't have to touch us at all if you don't want to, but if you do want to, we'd be really happy."

Pete takes a bite of the sandwich. It's really good. Perfect, really. "I think I'm done with slow here, too. I wanted to touch you this morning."

"Yeah? Awesome. I can't wait to get naked with you when Alicia gets back."

Mikey's mouth is all shiny from the sandwich. "Maybe you could text her," Pete says.

Mikey nods and chews, digging his phone out of his pocket and punching in a message.

Pete looks at the phone and waits for it to buzz with a return text. "Does Sarah live far away?"

"Nope, only like half an hour jogging. Quicker if Alicia has her drive them back."

"Cool." Pete feels jittery all of a sudden. "How does this work? Is it okay for me to make out with one of you when the other isn't here? Obviously sex is off the table." There are so many questions. Pete's therapist was smart.

"I think so? We'll make sure she's on board when she gets back."

"Okay." Pete twiddles his thumbs. "Thanks for cooking for me. You take good care of me. Both of you do."

"We love you."

Pete smiles at Mikey. "I feel it. Can I help you wash up?"

"Yeah. And then we can read comics together till she gets back."

"Okay."

The washing up goes quickly and Mikey watches him the whole time and points out where things should go. Mikey puts his arm around Pete's waist when they're done. "Is this cool? Casual touching?"

Pete turns into it and presses close to Mikey. "It's good. Living in a park makes you miss being touched."

Mikey wraps both arms around him and holds tight. "Now you live in a house."

"Your house." He's never going to get over this.

"Piglet's house, really. We just rent."

Pete laughs. "Does she do all the repairs?"

"No, no, that's what she keeps us around for."

"Oh good." Pete takes one last deep breath and disentangles himself from Mikey so only their hands are touching. "You said something about comics?"

"Yeah. C'mon." Mikey takes his hand and squeezes it.

Pete holds Mikey's hand during comics-reading and listens to Mikey tell him all about the current plotlines. Mostly he just likes listening to Mikey talk. It's impossible to follow what Grant Morrison's done on Batman, anyway, so just letting Mikey's voice wash around him is better anyway.

Pete feels a little sleepy again, but also excited. If Mikey wasn't holding his hand, he'd be tapping out a rhythm waiting for Alicia to get back.

The front door opens and Piglet comes stampeding through like a herd of buffalo. She gallops directly at Pete and launches herself at him, licking all over his face. "Slobber everywhere," says Alicia.

"Do we both have to shower before bed now?" Mikey asks.

"Ideally. Unless you convince me otherwise."

"You are totally delaying hot threesome sex times, Licia." He wraps his arms around her legs and hugs her. "How's Sarah?"

"Good. We caught up." Alicia hugs Mikey back. "Hey, Pete. You're up."

"Yeah. We had lunch, too."

Alicia gets on her knees next to Pete and hugs him. "How are you?"

"Good. Pretty good. Mikey said something about blowjobs."

"Oh. Yes." Alicia looks up at Mikey. "The hot threesome sex you mentioned was, like, a for real right now kind of thing?"

"Yeah. We talked it out. We're ready to go. The bro code is bro'd."

"Okay!" Alicia jumps up. "Operation: blowjob underway. To the bedroom!"

"She doesn't waste any time," Mikey tells Pete. "And she's totally forgotten about making us shower, so, high-five for that."

"I heard that," Alicia yells from the stairs, but Pete high-fives Mikey anyway. And then he goes upstairs quickly, because he's ready.

Alicia's in the bedroom pulling her t-shirt off. "You want to be on the bed or standing up?"

"Bed, please," Pete says, and Mikey pushes him there, already reaching for his jeans.

Alicia steps out of her shorts and panties, then climbs up the bed to kneel between Pete's legs. "Hi. Nice to see you here again."

"Hi," Pete says weakly. She's so pretty and Pete kind of wants to apologize for being a loser, but he keeps his mouth shut. Mikey reaches inside Pete's jeans and palms his dick and Pete gasps.

"Be gentle, Mikey. Not everybody has one that's ready to go on a hair trigger like yours."

"Oh, mine's ready," Pete gasps when Mikey eases his boxers down. "Alicia."

"Take your pants off, Pete."

Pete squirms out of his pants like Alicia said with great effort, because Mikey's rucking his t-shirt up and tonguing the skin over his ribs. "That's not conducive to hand-eye coordination, Mikey."

"Mikey's a troublemaker. But just ignore him for now." Alicia leans in and licks up the length of Pete's cock. "Focus on me."

Pete tries hard to keep his eyes open and his hips still because she's so good. "Fuck, Alicia, you're amazing."

"I haven't even started yet."

Alicia breathes over the head of Pete's cock and sinks down, sucking gently. Pete cries out and Mikey kisses his neck. "Take it easy. This is going to last."

"She feels so good."

Alicia pulls off and bites the jut of Pete's hipbone. "Gonna make it even better."

"Don't tease, Licia." Mikey sticks his tongue out at her.

"That's like telling me not to breathe." Alicia bites Pete harder, until he cries out and fists a hand in her hair.

"Please, Licia."

"Be nice to him," Mikey says. Do I have to come down there and take over?"

Alicia hums and licks at the tip of Pete's cock. "Give me a minute." She sucks him into her mouth again and moves up and down, setting a rhythm.

Pete's whole body shudders. God, this is so good, so good. He can't believe he gets to have this.

"Stay still," says Mikey and sucks on Pete's nipple. "Don't come until I've had a turn."

"Kiss me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Mikey tilts Pete's head and kisses him deep, pushing his tongue into Pete's mouth. He's going to take every bit of Pete he can. Pete presses up against Mikey's kiss, then falls back against the pillow and rocks his hips up toward Alicia.

Alicia rolls with it, sucking around him and pinching Pete's side. "Mikey, your turn now, I think. And my turn to kiss Pete."

They crawl all over him to switch positions. It's like he's part of the bedding. But instead of being upsetting, it's nice.

Alicia trails her hand along Pete's side and chest and Mikey runs his hands up and down Pete's thighs. He's kneeling between Pete's legs and his mouth is wet from Pete's mouth, and Alicia's mouth is all swollen from Pete's dick. "This is happening," Pete tells himself and the ceiling.

Mikey takes Pete deep right away. Alicia curves her hand around Pete's jaw and kisses him before he can cry out, swallowing the noises he makes.

Pete lets Alicia control the kiss and buries his hand in Mikey's hair and lets them take him and pull him apart.

"You can be loud," Mikey says when he pulls off to breathe, pressing a kiss to Pete's thigh. "You can yell all you want."

Pete cries out like it was an order and Alicia smiles against his mouth. "I'm going to help Mikey out."

"I'm going to die," Pete says hoarsely.

Alicia pets his cheek and slides down next to Mikey. They both look up at Pete with matching dark eyes and he bites his lip. "Please, please."

They take turns sucking him, pulling off slow and wet to kiss his thighs. He can't keep his hips from jerking or his thighs from shaking. It's so much sensation, too much, overwhelming. Pete knows he's being loud, but he can't help that either, and Mikey and Alicia urge him on with quiet firm voices until he shakes and falls apart, coming into Mikey's mouth while Alicia watches them hotly.

Alicia crawls up his body and kisses him. "Fingers. C'mon, Pete. Touch me."

Even her thighs are wet with how turned on she is. Pete sinks his fingers deep into her and rubs her clit with his thumb. Alicia arches up and her breasts brush Pete's face.

"You can suck them," she gasps. "Lick or bite or-- or whatever. C'mon. Harder."

Pete cups one of them with his free hand and licks and sucks the other, feeling her clench around him. "Next time I want to go down on you. Mikey too. Fuck."

"Okay." She tilts her head back and reaches for Mikey. "Get up here and kiss me."

Mikey kneels up next to her and kisses her hard. Pete gets distracted looking at Mikey's cock, red and curving up and leaking against his belly, until Alicia grabs his hand and presses it harder against her vulva. "Pete, pay attention."

"Sorry. Sorry. Just, his dick is... you should jerk him off."

Alicia smirks and wraps her hand around Mikey's cock. "His dick is what?"

"It needs attention."

Mikey's eyes flutter shut when Alicia moves her hand. "Did you mean that about going down?"

"Yes." Pete works his fingers harder against Alicia. "Absolutely."

Pete catches every change in Alicia's expression as her orgasm builds and her rhythm on Mikey's dick falters. "So fucking gorgeous, Licia, come for me. Come on."

Mikey kisses along her shoulders, then bites, and she jerks her head forward, coming hot and tight around Pete's fingers. "F-fuck."

"Fuck me," Pete says, catching her mouth in a kiss. Alicia slumps forward, still shivering jerkily, and lets go of Mikey's cock. "Finish him off, Pete."

Mikey crawls up to Pete, his dick flushed so dark now, his breathing rough and desperate. "Please."

Pete knows how to do this, he does. He jerks Mikey off with the same hand that was in Alicia and watches Mikey's face. Mikey never looks away from Pete even as he moans louder and louder.

"Come on me," Pete whispers. "Come on my chest, Mikey."

Mikey cries out and shudders, jerking his hips forward into Pete's hand and coming in hot splashes on Pete's skin.

Alicia flops down on the bed next to Pete. "Fuck."

"Fuck," Pete agrees. There's come on his chest. Mikey's come.

Mikey lies down on Pete's other side and buries his face in the pillow. "Wow."

"We totally had sex," says Pete. "Actual sex."

"We did." Alicia holds her hand up. "High-fives all around."

Pete and Mikey slap it. "What happens how?" Pete asks.

"We take a nap and later we order pizza for dinner," Mikey says. "Piglet doesn't get any because she's a chunk on legs."

"I might not be able to resist if she begs for crusts." Pete runs a finger along the curve of Alicia's breast. "But I meant more like existentially."

"That's what happens existentially, too." Alicia smiles at him. "Sometimes it's that simple." Pete kisses her smile and then turns around to kiss Mikey too. "I like that about you two."

"Me, too." Mikey kisses him back and then pulls a pillow over his head. "Now I need a post-orgasm nap. Go downstairs if you want to keep talking about existentialism."

"Veto," says Alicia and cuddles up close so Pete is firmly sandwiched between them, no room to move even if he wanted to. "We're all staying here."

Kris would give him hell, but she always made him stay off the Barbelith boards unsupervised, too. He can’t help himself. It’s part genuine pleasure in seeing what readers make of his work, part morbid curiosity.

Right now, he’s spoiling for a fight, which is never a good way to go into this. The times he’s found it the most enjoyable were when he didn’t give a fuck, when he could let the vile shit people said slide right off his back. Right now, he cares entirely too much about everything.

It’s too easy to find the thread he’d been following last week. Too easy to notice all the new replies. And if he’d been really serious about swearing off this board, he’d have made sure he was logged out. And he’s not.

The thread’s instigator is the kind of bloke that Grant occasionally comes across at signings or conventions; highly opinionated, sure of himself, and a complete and utter arse. Grant always wonders where these people find the time to pay so much attention to something they hate. But at the moment, he’s being no better. The guy is a frequent poster. Most of the other posters clearly want to kiss his arse. Grant starts grinding his teeth after about the third inane reply.

Grant doesn’t give a shit about people disliking his work; everyone’s entitled to their own opinion. But there’s something uniquely irritating about the way this uppity fucker is deliberately misinterpreting, and denouncing, his last book. IMHO, the post starts. Grant snorts. This guy is anything but humble about his opinions. He’s already composing his belligerent reply in his head as he scrolls down the page, then lets go of his mouse.

The most recent post in the thread is from a user who goes by DannyTheStreet–clearly a fan of Doom Patrol, at least. There’s a little star beside the username, indicating that this person is one of the forum’s moderators. He’s interested that Danny chose to respond at length with his own argument rather than simply wield modly power. Danny is fucking sharp, too; Grant is selfishly pleased that he (Grant assumes) seems to really grasp what Grant had been doing with the story that this so-called “_DrManhattan” is being horrible about.

Danny seems to have softened his ire, so he goes downstairs to put the kettle on and hopes that by the time he gets back up, there will be a response.

*

Most of them must be Americans, he realizes when he wakes to a new flurry of replies. Including Danny, his defender even though he doesn’t know it. Danny’s responses to the other posters continue to be both well-reasoned and hilariously scathing. Grant finds himself laughing aloud more than once. Now, all thoughts of leaving for good are gone. He wants to see more of Danny’s conversations.

He types the username into the search bar, previous annoyance at the jackass commenter nearly forgotten. Danny, it appears, is not a frequent poster. But the posts he does make are more of the same: smart, funny, and oftentimes a bit snarky. Grant goes back to the original thread and starts a post. He almost wants to play devil’s advocate, just to see how Danny would react. But he doesn’t.

 DannyTheStreet has the right idea. Morrison has made it clear in dozens of interviews that he believes the exact opposite, and it definitely shows up in all the books Danny mentioned. Can’t think of anything else to add.

He sits back and laughs at himself, a bit ruefully. As a writer, he supposes he could have considerably worse habits than trolling his own message boards. And he can’t deny the pleasure he takes in discovering fans who truly seem to understand his work.

A few minutes later, there’s a response. Thank you, TheOldFox! It drives me crazy when people are deliberately obtuse for no fucking reason.

Grant chuckles and opens a private message. Nice of you to assume it was deliberate.

He gets a reply about twenty minutes later. I figure that when you pick that many fights, you’ve gotta be a deliberate asshole, you know? I’d love to just ban him, but I don’t want to be That Mod. Thanks for the backup, though.

Any time, Grant replies. He was starting to get on my last nerve. You were a ray of light in the darkness.

That sounds a bit daft, and Grant regrets it about five seconds after sending, but Danny replies promptly with a cheerfully punctuated

 Any time!!! :)

Grant laughs and clicks away from that window. He has tea, and he’s in an infinitely better mood than he had been. Now to start those revisions. He keeps checking back, though. At least once or twice an hour. Just to see.

**

Gerard hums under his breath as he shuts his laptop. He’s been online for…well. Longer than he should have been. He scrubs a hand through his hair and looks at the clock. Fuck, he’d meant to be in bed an a hour ago. But he’d gotten into a discussion with TheOldFox about Britpop and he can never fucking stop when someone gets him started about fucking Morrissey or Blur.

When he’d offered to mod for The City of Whispers, he’d been sure it couldn’t be any worse than wrangling a pit full of hormonal teenagers. He’d been both right and so, so wrong. But he’d never taken into account that maybe he’d make some friends. And maybe it’s stupid, but… he likes the anonymity. He’s a normal person on here; one who was never in a world-famous band that decided to call it quits after their most popular album.

Well. That’s not exactly true. He is those things all the time, but the people he’s talking to don’t know that. And it’s nice sometimes. He just gets to talk about comics. And religion, and politics, and art, and sometimes, well, Britpop. But TheOldFox started that.

Gerard grins as he gets up and herds himself towards the bathroom. He’s been trading messages back and forth with TheOldFox for a while now. The guy seems to be on Gerard’s wavelength in a way that a lot of other people aren’t. He’d checked him out out of curiosity when Fox had first messaged him, and found that he’s a longtime but sporadic poster. Gerard hopes he sticks around.

He finishes brushing his teeth, double-checks his stuff for tomorrow morning’s meeting with Scott, and gets in bed. He can’t stop thinking about Fox, though. He hasn’t had that much fun talking to someone in a long time. Not someone he didn’t already know. At least the asshole in that thread seems to have moved on to greener pastures.

The next morning, Gerard inhales a cup of coffee, pours himself a second cup to savor, and checks his email. There’s a new private message notification from the board. Gerard grins and clicks the link.

Thought you might like this if you haven’t seen it, it says, along with a link to a recent Morrison interview with some foreign blog.

Gerard saves the link and clicks ‘reply’. Awesome, thanks! I never would have found this, can’t wait to read it. Gonna save it as a reward for making it through this morning’s meeting with my boss.

Hope the boss doesn’t give you too hard a time, comes the reply. Any way to butter them up? ;)

Not being perpetually late with things would be a start,Gerard types back.

Funny how bosses seem to frown on that, Fox returns.

Seriously. And if I’m late, that messes with other people’s work and it’s all a mess. I’m getting better, but deadlines are killer, Gerard replies.

Good luck, Fox messages back.

Gerard glances at the clock, sighs, and downs the rest of his coffee. He packs everything in his bag and drives to Milwaukie. He has to parallel park on the street behind Dark Horse, which is never a good time, but he manages. He’s totally going to reward himself with a trip to TFAW for it, though.

Scott and Sierra are nice about his scripts being late, which makes him feel worse about it. “Make it up to me by coming to dinner Thursday,” Scott tells him. Scott and his wife are part of a network of people in Portland who have decided that Gerard needs looking after. It’s baffling, but it’s nice. And Elisabeth is a fucking amazing cook, so Gerard would be particularly stupid to say no.

“Okay,” he says. He should probably alternate playing Warhammer Quest and arguing with people on message boards with socializing, anyway.

Scott rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “Aren’t you glad you let us talk you into moving up here?” Scott asks.

“I like it here. It’s not too hot, and no one cares who I am. Was.” It’s not totally true, but things haven’t been too bad.

“The benefit of living in a city filled with hipsters,” Sierra laughs.

Gerard smiles. “That and the coffee. Pizza’s shit, though.”

“Cry me a river. What else do you have going at the moment, Gerard?” Scott asks, refilling his water glass and sitting back in his chair.

“The usual. Comics,” Gerard shrugs.

Scott lifts the script Gerard handed in and points out some words in the margin, something Gerard jotted down absentmindedly at one point. “Sure you’re not writing lyrics again?” he asks with a smile.

“Maybe a few,” Gerard replies. “Got some melodies stuck in my head. Or maybe they’re poetry. Dunno.”

“A Renaissance man,” Sierra says dryly.

Gerard shrugs. “I guess I can do both. Got nothing but time.”

“If you have time, maybe finish those scripts on time more often,” Scott needles with a fond smile.

Gerard fakes a sigh. “I’ll do better, I promise. I just get distracted real easy.”

“We know,” Sierra smiles. “Which is why we keep inviting you in here.”

“Well, it works. I get a guilt trip and new comics,” Gerard says with a grin.

“Everybody wins,” Scott agrees.

“Sadist,” Gerard says. “All right, I’ll get out of your hair now, guys.”

“See you at dinner, Gerard,” Scott says. “I’ll call you an hour before to remind you.”

When Gerard gets home, he makes himself another cup of coffee and settles at his computer, opening the interview Fox had linked him to. He’s smiling almost instantly. Fuck, Morrison is funny. This is a good one.

Gerard opens the message board and clicks the link to the private messages. That article was amazing. Haven’t laughed that hard in a while. Meeting went well. I even got an invite to dinner with the boss and his wife.

There’s no reply, but that makes sense; Gerard is pretty sure Fox is in Europe somewhere. He clicks over to another tab instead and tweets a quick “Good afternoon.” He answers a few questions from kids and gets to work.

**

If you’d told Grant that he would ever be a person who looked forward to checking his email- well. All possible universes, and all that. But he still has to laugh at himself a little. He has plenty of friends, there’s no denying that. But he tends to hermit himself away when he’s at his country house and it’s an extra little thrill after sitting at his computer all day, to have a nice conversation.

He thinks he’s finally discovered what it is that people love about the internet. Fifteen years late. It’s very sad how misguided you are, he types, grinning at his keyboard.

He doesn’t get angry at people on The City of Whispers anymore. He has a partner in crime. As a team, they shut down the stupid assholes and it’s fun. He suspects that this isn’t the kind of trouble people had warned him against, back when he’d first discovered the message boards dedicated to his work.

There’d been Barbelith, back in the day, and Warren had always had the WEF. Warren managed to meet some truly amazing people through that. Grant had never had quite the same success.

Now, he pulls up the PM thread that he and Danny have going and types, Nicely done. By the way, you were right about that band you linked me. Brilliant stuff.

Music is my thing, Danny replies. Well. When comics aren’t my thing. Or like. Obscure eighties cartoons.

Grant laughs aloud. And when art isn’t your thing? he sends back.

One of my supervisors called me a Renaissance man the other day, comes the quick reply. I feel like I need a costume for that, though.

Renaissance Man would be an interesting superhero, perhaps, Grant returns. Just mind the tights, they pinch.

Believe me, I know, is the reply. I was Peter Pan in a school play when I was a kid. I also dressed in drag in art school.

Grant almost starts typing the story of his own foray into drag, but pauses; that’s a story that he’s told in interviews before, and Danny will probably be familiar with it. Not the best strategy for maintaining his anonymity.

 Ah, art school. I never went, myself. You are quite the well-rounded chap, Danny.

 I try to be. Gotta admit, I fail when it comes to math any more advanced than basic algebra.

We all have our blind spots, Grant agrees. I’m quite terrible with technology, myself.

You’re on a computer, right? Danny asks. Not doing some mystic ritual or something?

Grant laughs. Would that I were. Perhaps I could more easily get other things done while chatting with you.

 So multitasking is also a blind spot?

 Like it isn’t for you?

Don’t make me give up all my weaknesses. That’s a total supervillain thing to do, Fox.

Grant laughs and rubs a hand over his head. If he only knew. Supervillainy is overrated. And I enjoy vices in my friends. Makes them more interesting.

I’ve got my share of vices, but I’m still pretty boring, writes Danny.

I doubt that. Grant realizes he’d be flirting if this was in person. That’s…he doesn’t know how to feel about that. People meet and flirt on the Internet all the time. He just never figured it would happen to him.

He laughs at the absurdity of the whole thing. At least Danny doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Anonymous flirting on the Internet is infinitely better than the alternative, he thinks.

*

A week later, he and Danny are in the middle of a heated back-and-forth about the X-Men when Grant’s mobile rings. He searches underneath a stack of notebooks until he finds it. “Hello?”

“Hi, Grant,” Janelle sounds apologetic, which is never a good sign. He takes a breath.

“Word from on high?” he asks, tone as light as possible.

“I’m afraid so. It’s not as bad as last time, at least?” Janelle offers, and Grant scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“I’m not going to put you in the middle of this,” Grant tells her.

“And for that, I thank you,” Janelle replies. She proceeds to outline the changes they want. Janelle is right, they’re not that bad, not really. But it’s the principle of the thing.

As they talk about the best way to edit the script, Grant erases the sentence about Magneto he’d started and writes, Apropos of a work call I am currently on: sometimes I don’t know why I bother.

He switches away from his browser window to make some notes. When he finally ends the call with Janelle, he’s a bit lost in his own head, but not so lost that he doesn’t click back, just to check in.

Tell your boss to shove it. Or at least imagine it in great detail, Danny has replied.

Grant smiles. I do. Frequently. They day I can actually tell him to shove it will be a banner day.

He turns his attention to the script, reading through it and deciding how best to effect the changes that DC wants and occasionally swearing under his breath. He doesn’t check his notifications for hours, but when he does, Danny has sent him a macro of Darth Vader force choking some unfortunate that says, “Good Luck.” Grant laughs and laughs, then saves it to his desktop so he can look at it whenever he’s feeling grumpy. And if he’s imagining Dan DiDio in the place of Vader’s victim– well. Probably best to keep that to himself. Grant has learned a bit about discretion over the years. Mostly when he did something dumb and Kristan rolled her eyes at him.

He smiles fondly. He misses her, misses her help, but it’s better this way. In the end. If she were here, she’d tell him to stop fucking working and get a bite to eat, so he pushes away from his desk and goes down to the kitchen.

**

Gerard pushes back from his computer and sighs, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to try and stop his vision swimming. This is becoming a habit. Especially the past month or so. He’s going to end up wearing glasses at this rate.

The problem is, Fox gets up for the day while Gerard is still awake and they end up exchanging messages into what are the wee hours for Gerard. At least he sets his own schedule. Mostly. Except on days where he has meetings, or Skype calls with his collaborators.

He’s been finding it difficult to sleep much lately. His brain is very busy.

His therapist seems to find his friendship with Fox interesting and seems to think it’s generally good for him, though. So that’s something. Gerard happens to agree–though, he maybe hasn’t been completely honest with his therapist as to exactly why. But she’s not dumb, and she knows all about Kat and Eliza and Bert and Lindsey - and Frank - so he really has no reason to think she doesn’t have ideas about his reason.

He’s always been really good at self-sabotage and he’s really fucking determined that it’s not going to happen this time. Even if it is an anonymous cross-continental friendship. And it’s a fucking good friendship, anonymity and distance be damned. He doesn’t ask Fox super personal questions, because he wouldn’t feel right not being able to answer the same questions. So they talk mostly about other things - ideas, feelings, stuff going on in the world - and it’s nice, really. Despite the lack of personal details, it feels really fucking intimate. Like he’s never shared this much of himself with anyone before. Not really.

It’s even different than what he had with the guys in the band. They’re his brothers–always will be. And they’d known him at his worst, and at his best. With Fox, though, Gerard feels like he doesn’t have to live up to either of those things. He can just be Gerard. Or, well. Danny.

He likes being Danny pretty well. Danny can email Fox about politics in the morning and about Blade Runner in the evening and get a great discussion about either. Fox just gets him. He never has to explain himself to Fox like he does with others. Or well, he tries to explain himself and they misinterpret that too.

“The aftermath is secondary,” he mutters to himself.

He looks around. His apartment looks like the scene of a particularly colorful explosion. There are sketches, notes, random paintings that he’d done at odd hours of the morning when the inspiration struck. And every time he closes his eyes, he sees the story lit up in technicolor.

He texts “the aftermath is secondary” to Shaun before he forgets it and makes sure his laptop is plugged in before going upstairs to get ready for bed. He sets about ten alarms so he definitely gets up on time tomorrow and falls face-first into bed.

*

When he logs on to Skype at eleven AM Portland time, Shaun’s already online, and the first thing he does when the call connects is burst out laughing.

Gerard frowns at him. “What, dude?”

“Your hair. Also, you have ink on your face.”

Gerard wrinkles his nose. “As if you haven’t seen it all before.”

Shaun grins at him. “You’re a special kid, Geeway.”

“Shut up, Simon,” Gerard says. “Where were we with the outline?”

“We are…halfway through issue four,” Shaun replies. “What was that text from last night about?”

“Just something I thought of last night, I don’t know.”

“I know you, it’s either lyrics or dialogue. Hope you have a notebook handy,” Shaun grins.

“I think it’s…a slogan, maybe? For BLI? Maybe the Killjoys adopt it and subvert it too. I dunno,” Gerard says.

“I like it,” Shaun agrees. “Shit, yeah. That totally sounds like something BLI would try to spin.”

“We need like. A whole ad campaign, slogans like that that can go either way. I was reading this book that a friend of mine recommended to me the other day, about the Invisibles, you know? ‘Our sentence is up?’ That kind of stuff.”

“Totally,” Shaun enthuses. “Damn, this is going to be so fucking amazing.”

Gerard couldn’t hold in his grin if he tried. “Fuck yeah, it is. I’m going to start a file just for this, okay? Loop Jon and Becky in. Maybe we can make some cool viral shit.”

“Twitter accounts and a fucking badass website, maybe,” Shaun suggests.

“BLI merch,” Gerard suggests, laughing. “Fucking coffee mugs and shit. Gabriel and Fabio will want one, anyway. They love the Umbrella stuff.”

Shaun is grinning wide and Gerard grins back. He’s so fucking excited about this project. Even with the pain of deadlines and shit. Later, he writes to Fox. Meetings aren’t always horrible. I always forget how fucking fun it is, when a new project starts coming together. And I get to work with an old friend, which is going to be fucking awesome. Not for the first time, he wishes he could give Fox the specifics.

He can’t. He’s dropped enough specifics in the press that a bored Google will probably turn them up. It’s a shame. Maybe he can tell him something anyway. He’s not sure what, though. He’ll think on it. Maybe they can just discuss dystopias and corporate culture and shit.

There’s no response, which isn’t a surprise–it’s ass o’clock in the morning over in the UK. He comments on a couple public threads on the boards, instead. No truly interesting discussion going on, but Gerard hangs around for a bit anyway. Fox will wake up in a few hours. For now, Gerard closes out his browser window and pulls up his scripts.

Interviewers like to make hay out of him saying Black Parade was the last thing he had to say through My Chem. It makes the fans gnash their teeth, too. But this new stuff…it’s not that subtle of a middle finger, really. But he loves it. He loves it a lot. Working with Shaun makes him miss the band a little, but he calls them whenever that happens and they talk about everything under the sun. He gets stories about video games and producing, stories about D&D groups, stories about toddlers and demos played over the phone. He loves it. Loves them.

*

“Is it stupid that I wish I could tell him?” Gerard asks later, tapping his fingers against his phone case.

Frank laughs at him from three thousand miles away. “It’s not stupid. It’s just… you, Gee. All your alter egos turn into you eventually. Hey, you said he was an older dude, right? Maybe he’s never even heard of My Chem.”

Gerard has to laugh. Frank loves to deflate his ego. “Why do I even talk to you?” Gerard asks.

“You love me,” Frank replies. “And my diaper stories.”

“I do,” Gerard agrees, because there’s not really any point in denying it. “My love to Jamia and the girls too, okay? I should probably get back to work.”

Frank says goodbye and hangs up. Gerard smiles at the ceiling for a moment, with a little sigh. He’s lucky Frank loves him back, after everything. Learning how to be friends without the band to bring them all together had been hard for Gerard at first, but he eventually got the hang of it. And he’s really fucking glad of that.

Later that evening, Gerard’s clicking around the boards–there’s a user who’s been known to stir up trouble hanging around in a couple of the threads, and Gerard’s keeping an eye on it–when he sees that somebody’s posted a link to a new Morrison interview.

Typically, the next few comments are all jokes about not understanding a word he says. Gerard rolls his eyes and listens to the podcast carefully. It’s fucking fascinating. He fucking loves the way Morrison’s mind works. He’s always wanted to meet him, but has never quite been able to swing it. “Maybe next year,” he always says to himself after each Comic-Con where his schedule is too crazy or Morrison isn’t in attendance or…something.

Maybe this will finally be the year the stars align. He needs to bug Neil for an introduction or something.

“Rock star perks,” he mutters to himself. He ignores the voice that tells him he hasn’t been a rock star for two years. He’s still writing music, mixed in with everything else. It’s just..his, now. Maybe he’ll book some studio time when he and Shaun are done. Or something. He misses making music. Scott was right, those were totally lyrics.

He needed time. A lot of it, actually. His therapist spends a lot of time helping him to be okay with that. Mostly he is now. Sometimes he feels like he failed his guys, failed the kids, by not continuing, but they said what they needed to say.  

In the meantime, he pushes back from his desk and goes back over to his art table where he has a couple mock-ups in progress. He fiddles with one for a few minutes until he hears the ding of his phone indicating he has a new email. He sits back down at his desk and checks.

Can’t sleep, hello, Fox writes.

Hi! Gerard replies. I’m sorry you can’t sleep. I’m knocking around my house kind of aimlessly this evening.

 Not going out? Isn’t it Friday?

Gerard laughs and starts typing. I don’t drink anymore and my Magic group couldn’t meet this week.

I’m happy to keep you company, Fox replies, until or unless I fall asleep again, mind.

 I won’t begrudge you falling asleep, I guess. Any particular reason for the sleeplessness?

 Overwork, as counterintuitive as that seems. And too much tea.

I have trouble with insomnia. My therapist tells me I need to cut back on coffee, but since I quit drinking and I managed to quit smoking, I just can’t bring myself to.

I did a lot better when there was someone around to monitor my sleep schedule. I’m shit at it on my own, sadly, Fox writes back.

The confirmation that Fox doesn’t have anyone makes Gerard’s stomach flop over. This is really stupid. Gerard is still staring at the computer like it is going to tell him something else. He takes a deep breath and starts typing. I know how that goes. I have a cleaning lady, a therapist, and a boss who’s more like a big brother to me and I still suck at basic shit.

And friends, Fox replies. Gerard’s not sure if it’s meant to be a question.

 And friends. Great friends. I moved away from a lot of them a couple of years ago. It was the best decision for me, but I wish I could see them more.

I’ve lived mostly in the country since my divorce, Fox writes back. It’s quiet, and I like that, but I understand.

Gerard takes a breath. You have one up on me. If I lived in the country I would die and my home would be invaded by a pack of wild dogs that would eat my remains.

That would be appropriately dramatic, Fox writes back. I’ve just scared a cat with my laughter, by the way.

Gerard grins. Sorry, cat. I used to think the only way I could possibly go out would be dramatically. I like to think it’s a sign I’ve grown as a person that I think I could just as easily have a boring death.

 You’re a morbid little bastard, aren’t you, my friend?

I like to think it’s part of my charm. If nothing else, I’ve kind of built my career on it, in a way. A part of him hopes that Fox will ask him to be more specific.

The rest of him knows that he’s being stupid, and is relieved when Fox’s next message reads, I understand finding your niche in places that others don’t necessarily like to look. It’s certainly served me well, though it can be difficult at times.

I’ve had a lot of difficult, Gerard writes back. and once I crossed the bridge of ‘alive past thirty’ I sort of had to look around to see where the bar was set.

The next message takes a couple of minutes to arrive, but when it does, it makes Gerard’s breath catch. I’m very glad you did cross that bridge.

Gerard considers, and discards, a dozen different replies before he finally settles on, Me, too. After a moment, he sends another message. I actually love my life, but I can’t get through a day without knowing I’m disappointing people. It’s easier to be anonymous guy on the internet, but.

I understand completely, is the reply. Gerard believes him.

The conversation turns to other things, and they end up in a discussion about the mythological functions of Lord of the Rings. Fox has a lot to say about mythology in fiction. He says he never went to college, but he’s clearly well-read.

For the first time in a long time, Gerard wants to talk about Parade and everything he was trying to do with it. Maybe someday, he thinks. Someday, he’ll be able to tell Fox everything. Maybe Frank’s right, maybe Fox has never heard of MCR. But he thinks of all their conversations about music and thinks he’s just fooling himself.

He’s working on another message, struggling to say something like what he really wants to say when another note pops up. Finally winding down enough to sleep, I think. Good night, my friend.

Gerard breathes out, not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. Sleep well, Fox, he sends back.

Be good to yourself, is Fox’s reply. Gerard smiles and takes a deep breath. Maybe he needs to zone out in front of Fellowship of the Ring.

**

It isn’t as though Grant hadn’t known that he was being a bit ridiculous about the whole thing. But when he finds himself contemplating buying a smartphone–something he’s avoided for years–just so he can more easily check his email while he’s in London next week, he has to laugh. It’s not like he can’t afford it, after all. Or figure out how it works. He’s not got one foot in the grave quite yet.

The more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea, which is even more ridiculous. His instincts say to go buy one now. He forces himself to think about it for a few days. Finally, a few days before he’s set to leave for London, he gives in.

He sends Danny a message that same night. Going out of town for a week or so. Sure to be tedious at times. Here is my email address if you’d like to keep writing. He includes his shiny new gmail address and hits send.

The next message he gets is from [email protected].

Grant grins. Perhaps this will be faster than going through the private message system on the board.

Possibly less distracting, Danny agrees. Where are you off to?

London for some meetings and to see some friends, Grant replies.

I fucking love London, Danny says. One of my favorite cities.

Grant grins broadly, pleased to discover something else they have in common. It happens frequently even without sharing specifics about themselves, which they’ve managed to do despite having been talking for a few months now.

He climbs into bed with his new mobile and starts a new reply. You never told me why Danny the Street, you know. Out of all Morrison’s characters, and well, a lot of other ones.

 I love everything about Danny. Honestly, Danny might be one of my favorite characters ever.

Grant knows it’s foolish, but he still feels a burst of pride in his chest. Not just the crossdressing thing, then? He holds his breath as he sends it, but Danny replies immediately.

 I told you my only crossdressing story already, Fox. There were some ladies’ jeans in my past, too, but these days it’s just jeans and plaid. Sorry if that’s a letdown ;)

Not in the least, Grant sends back. My own crossdressing days are behind me and I seem to confine myself to wearing sharp suits to special occasions these days. This is flirting, he’s almost sure. This is- there isn’t anything else this could be called.

Any special occasions in London? Danny asks after a nail-biting pause.

A party or two, Grant replies. One will be dull. The other may actually be entertaining.

 Let me guess–the first party is for work?

 I’d hate to speak ill of my employers. Actually, no. I enjoy my British team, it’s the American wing I find trying. No offense.

 None taken. I’m not even surprised. How about the other party?

Old friends, Grant replies. This party is the thing he’s most excited about during this visit. The chance of debauchery is high.

 Oh really? That good of friends? ;)

It will be an interesting night, Grant replies. No Magic: The Gathering, but I think you’d enjoy yourself as well.

 You’d be there. Pretty sure that would be guaranteed.

And oh, Grant feels that in the pit of his stomach. He’d do a lot to make it happen. Too bad he can never admit to Danny who he really is. Not that Danny has been particularly forthcoming with his own identity, but he could very likely be taking cues from Grant in that regard. Grant sighs.

He’s tempted to let Danny’s last email go unanswered– it wouldn’t be the first time that one of them had fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation. Wish you could be, he writes back after a long pause.

Danny doesn’t send a reply after that. Grant supposes one isn’t necessary.

He does fall asleep after a while, and he wakes up to a new email from Danny on a completely unrelated subject. Grant supposes that’s a pretty clear signal. He forces himself to get up, eat breakfast, and pack his luggage before answering. It’s the start of a long discussion, Grant can feel it. He’s suddenly even more glad he gave in to his flight of fancy and got himself a smartphone. He’ll be able to keep up on the train down to London.

A few hours later, he’s in his seat on the train, fiddling with his sketchbook in between answering emails. He’s just sent off a rather long one to Danny, answering a question he’d asked about dystopias, and somehow types in Kristan’s address instead. I joined the modern world.

I can see that from your “Sent from my iPhone” signature. comes her reply a good ten minutes later. Finally realize it’s necessary since I’m not there to carry a mobile for you?

He knows Kris and he knows she’s just taking the piss. He smiles. Something like that. I admit, it’s certainly making the train journey to London more interesting.

 You’re a menace, Grant. How are you doing?

I’m doing well. Working non-stop, as usual. He wants to tell her about Danny, but he’s not sure how.

A reply from Danny arrives in his inbox a moment later. Is it strange to be friends with one’s ex-wife? he writes to Danny before picking up the thread of their previous discussion.

I don’t think it’s strange. It’d probably be strange for me because I have a tendency to burn bridges, but I don’t think it’s strange in general. Who could possibly know you better? While Grant is still trying to process this, Danny sends him another message. Sometimes things end, but that doesn’t mean that the people who were part of them aren’t still important to you. Spoken like someone who’s spent a lot of time in therapy, right? Haha, another email adds, Everything okay, Fox?

Grant smiles softly at his phone. Yes, I think so. Just…contemplating the unexpected turns my life has taken.

He gets another email from Kris, then; a bit about her job and a play she and a friend had gone to see the week before. The kind of thing they would have talked about over morning tea, once. Grant is fiercely, selfishly glad that he still has her in his life, even though they’re both happier like this. Keep me posted on your life with 21st century technology, she closes.

Of course, he replies. I’d never deprive you of the opportunity to mock my failures with it. He sends the email, and sees that there’s a response from Danny in his inbox–more thoughts on dystopias, with a side-helping of post-apocalypse.

He’s so fucking smart. Grant smiles helplessly at his phone.

Grant manages to reply and then forces himself to put down the phone and pick up the book he brought for research. It’s amazing how quickly the train journey seems to go by.

Next station is mine, he tells Danny. Thank you for the conversation.

Any time, Danny responds. Talking to you is the best part of my day sometimes.

Mine, too. The train coasts to a stop, and Grant tucks his phone carefully away and gathers up his things. He’s reminded rather uncomfortably of something Kristan had said before their divorce, about how there were multiple ways to be in love. The giddy joy of of seeing an email from Danny in his inbox certainly reminds him strongly of what being in love feels like for him.

It’s ridiculous–has to be. He’s being ridiculous. He has no idea who Danny really is, where he lives, or what he does, or even his fucking name. He’s rather shit at this anonymity thing, it looks like. He shakes his head. It’s not worth thinking about, he decides. He’s certainly not going to stop and until Danny reveals himself, Grant will keep quiet. It’s all he can do.

The next few days are long, filled with interminable meetings. They’re necessary, and productive, but that doesn’t make Grant loathe them any less. He whines at Danny, who takes to sending him a series of photographs of random things around his neighborhood. His tennies, his coffee cup. A flower. Weird graffiti. Each one makes Grant smile. For all they’re strange and random, they’re weirdly compelling.

In return, he works out how to use the camera on his new phone and takes photographs around London. Danny replies with emails like, I like Selfridges better ;) or My favorite club in the city is down that street. He’s clearly spent a fairly good amount of time in London. Grant determined early on that he was on the west coast of the US, and then Danny kept talking about rain, so Grant decided he was probably in the Pacific Northwest somewhere. Grant wonders what brought him to London. He doesn’t ask.

He checks his email a lot, and tries to weather the teasing about his new enthusiasm for technology with grace. Danny helps him survive his work party with three hours’ worth of constant quips. It’s…above and beyond. There is no denying that. Grant adores him for it. When he’s finally back in his hotel room, he sends his thanks. You saved the evening. Thank you. If I can ever do similar for you, let me know.

That would most likely be in the middle of the night for you, Danny replies.

It doesn’t matter; I’d do it gladly.

You’re a good friend, Danny tells him.

As are you, Grant responds. If you ever need me, just tell me. I shall stand by with interesting conversation and whatever ridiculousness you desire.

*

Grant has spent much of his afternoon winding Danny up about the party he’ll be attending tonight, spinning tales of an orgy of debauchery the likes of which haven’t been seen since the Romans. His meeting this morning was irritating, and he’s dealing by trying to provoke Danny into some sort of equally provocative response.

What he gets makes Grant feel like an ass. My days of drunken debauchery are over, so you’ll have to party for me.

I’m sorry, Grant replies. I didn’t think.

Danny’s response is immediate. No apology necessary. I knew you were teasing. No amount of teasing can goad me into a relapse. It happened once and it was all me. All my own stupid choices.

There are a dozen things Grant wants to say in reply. I’m still sorry, he repeats.

You act like drunkenness is required for debauchery, Danny replies. Last I checked…

Grant grins at his phone. It’s true. Sober debauchery is highly encouraged at all times.

Well, maybe not all times, Danny returns. Although it certainly would have livened up those those meetings you’ve been stuck in.

I don’t think I’ll be trying to pull any of my colleagues any time soon, Grant replies with a laugh.

 Probably a good thing? I mean, having fallen for one of the people I worked closely with before, I can’t say I recommend that. Dunno about just hooking up, though. THAT, I have never attempted.

Either proposition would be a horrible idea, given some of the people I work with, and my own disposition, Grant replies.

He doesn’t get a return email for so long that he almost gives up on one. Then Danny writes back, What about tonight?

Tonight…tonight will be predominantly people I genuinely like and some I find rather attractive, but none I am particularly interested in beyond lively conversation. And it would be lively, especially if Kieron and Jamie were both there; no one had quite the same the talent for winding Warren up.

 The debauchery is a lie, Fox? I feel so betrayed.

Debauchery involving ME is unlikely. One never does know what sorts of debauchery will be witnessed, however.

At least there’s that, Danny agrees, and Grant tucks his phone away and goes downstairs.

Within an hour of his arrival at the party, he’s well on his way to drunk. He’s having an excellent time, truly. The company is infinitely better than the last party, the food is good, the alcohol is top notch. It’s Warren’s party, after all. He can’t help but wish he had someone here with him, though.

After the second drink, he’d moved his phone firmly into an interior coat pocket, difficult to reach. He’s lost track of the number of conversational gambits he’s made that have started with “I was talking to a friend of mine,” though.

He forces himself to pay attention to the party for now. Particularly when Warren and Jamie start taking the piss out of each other. Everyone is practically rolling on the floor at that point. He’d been right, Grant thinks. Danny would enjoy this. He wishes he could turn and share a smile with him, introduce him to the lads.

He can’t, so he might as well get drunk instead. It’d be a shame to let Warren have all the good whiskey, after all.

**

The problem with time zones is that, when Fox goes to bed, Gerard still has quite a bit of day still to go. Today that’s more of a problem than usual. He’s honestly not mad. Or upset. What he is, is - oh, such a problem. He’s jealous of everyone at Fox’s party, for one.

He wants to sip a Diet Coke while he listens to Fox talk to his friends. Wants to just…be in the same room with him. Their digital friendship has been fucking amazing. Unlike anything Gerard has ever really experienced. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. He just wishes it could be non-digital as well.

He wishes a lot of things.

It’s not late, and the Oemings probably won’t have put Ethan to bed yet, so he calls Michael. “Cup of coffee?”

“Sure!” Michael replies. “Meet at the usual place?”

The usual place is a little coffeehouse tucked away in a corner of a converted industrial building near the river.

“Hey, man,” Michael says when he walks in and sees Gerard sitting at a corner table. “Emerging from your lair?”

Gerard smiles. “I was feeling pretty restless, so I was like, hey, I can do something about this.”

Michael laughs, sliding into the seat on the other side of the table. “Naturally, your answer was coffee.”

“Wild and crazy, I know. Thanks for meeting me.”

“No problem. Anything specific making you restless, or is it generalized discontent? Or boredom?” Michael asks.

Gerard sighs and looks into his coffee cup. “Nah. Just… my head, you know?”

“Giving you grief?”

“In a weird way. It’s a long story,” Gerard replies.

Michael nods solemnly. “Sounds like I’ll need one of the big coffees, then.”

Gerard waits while he orders one, folding a napkin into squares. When Michael slides back into his seat, Gerard grimaces and says, “This is sort of a poor-me story. Fair warning.”

Michael chuckles. “Lay it on me.”

Gerard tells the whole fucking thing. His brother and the guys know, but this is the first non-family type person he’s told about this. “It’s stupid,” he concludes, head in his hands. “I don’t even know his fucking name. He could be a serial killer. I just…”

“If he’s a serial killer he’s playing a pretty long game,” Michael laughs. “If you’ve been talking as much as you say, you ought to be able to decide if you trust him and if you do, just…lay it out there.”  

Gerard nods. “The thing is, not having the baggage of who I actually am to be a factor has been really nice. I don’t want to scare him off now. What if he’s one of those assholes who hates my band for no real reason?”

“Ah, I see. You want to make sure he’s sufficiently wooed by your stunning personality and intellect.”

“I warned you this was a poor-me story,” Gerard says witheringly.

Michael is still laughing. “Way, take it from someone who met the rockstar and is having coffee with him on a Saturday night. You live up to the hype in lots of ways, but you’re the same kind of weirdo as the rest of us in this biz. He’s not going to judge you for your adventures in eyeliner.”

“Maybe not,” Gerard concedes. “But like. He hasn’t said anything about who he is either. I know he lives in the UK, but not London. That’s it. Maybe we’re just fated to be anonymous friends for all time.”

“Maybe he’s a spy,” Michael offers, thoughtfully. “Maybe he kills people for a living, and you’re the one connection he has left to his humanity.”

“Oh my god, I’m pen pals with Jason Bourne,” Gerard exclaims.

Michael snickers. “There, did I make you feel better?”

Gerard sighs dramatically and then grins. “Yeah. Thanks, dude.”

“Any time,” Michael says. “Are you good? Can we talk about comics now?”

Gerard throws a napkin at him. “Yes.”

Michael grins and launches into a story about a hilarious miscommunication between him and the colorist on the book he’s working on. After that, they talk about the good shit that came out on Wednesday. “You’re reading Joe the Barbarian, right?” Michael asks.

“As if I would miss it. Sean Murphy is hitting it out of the park, isn’t he?”

“He really fucking is. And the writing is great too. Though, can we talk about how even Morrison’s failures are more interesting than a lot of the stuff out there?” Michael says. Gerard has a moment of total defensiveness and he has to laugh at himself a little.

Michael grins, and Gerard squints at him accusingly. “You totally just did that to wind me up.”

“You’re just such a fanboy,” Michael smirks. “Spending all your time on Morrison message boards.”

“I’m a mod,” Gerard huffs.

“That doesn’t make you sound like less of a fanboy, dude,” Michael grins.

“Fuck off,” Gerard says, but there’s no heat in it. “You said it yourself, man, he’s got fucking fascinating ideas.”

“That he does. Anything else on your radar this week?”

“Been obsessed with this band called Sleigh Bells lately,” Gerard says. “Can’t stop listening to their album.”

“Cool. Send me a link later, you always find the good stuff.”

“This one might have been Frank, I can’t really remember,” Gerard admits.

Michael shrugs and says, “You surround yourself with people of excellent taste, I guess.”

Gerard laughs. “I assume you’re including yourself I that?”

“Duh,” Michael replies.

“Frank is extra good at finding new music I’ll like. I dunno how a kid with such a punk, do-it-yourself attitude about music, who has been through what we did with the band, manages to stay so fucking pure-hearted and enthusiastic about music,” Gerard says.

“You find good people,” Michael replies. He raises an eyebrow and Gerard knows what he’s trying to say.

They talk for a while longer, until Michael says he needs to get home for dinner. They say goodbye, and Gerard heads back to his apartment feeling a lot lighter than he’d felt when he’d left it. It’s good. And he managed to not check his phone the entire time he was out. He does now, though.

The bottle of whiskey had a hole in it, Fox writes. There was but one thing to do.

Gerard grins at his phone. Water, he types back. Lots of water. And painkillers, and maybe a banana.

I called room service for a banana. I’m fairly certain the young gentleman who brought it was laughing at me.

Poor Fox, all alone in your hotel room with your room service banana. Gerard is going to fall off his fucking couch laughing.

What a filthy mind, Fox replies. Perhaps my only consolation is that the other partygoers were just as done-in as I was.

That’s good. Being hammered alone is never fun. Are you drinking water? after a beat he adds, Also, are you actually surprised I have a dirty mind?

Absolutely not, Fox replies.And yes. No, reverse those. I must sleep, Danny.

Goodnight, Fox. Keep a glass of water by the bed, just in case. A few minutes later, Gerard gets a reply: a blurry photo of what is clearly a hotel room bedside table, and the glass of water sitting atop it.

Gerard smiles wide and settles onto his couch with his sketchbook. Strange that he’s taking care of someone from thousands of miles away. Or maybe not strange at all.

He doesn’t hear from Fox again before he finishes for the night and puts himself to bed, but that’s not too surprising, considering how late it was UK-time when Fox had fallen asleep.

The next morning, the first thing he does is check his phone. The message from Fox makes him laugh. My feelings upon waking can be best summed thusly: uuuuuggggh. But I believe it would be much, much worse had you not intervened. Thank you, friend.

Thank you for listening to me, Gerard writes back.

Fox sends him another picture message about ten minutes later: a white diner plate with a proper English fry-up, minus the meat. Hangover food. Proud of me? Fox asks.

Absolutely. And now I’m hungry, he replies. Maybe I’ll go out for brunch. Pretty sure I’m even out of pancake mix.

Tragedy, Fox writes back. Are we keeping one another company at restaurants now?

Gerard feels that same pang in the pit of his stomach, and he thinks about his talks with Frank, and Michael. They’d both seemed to think that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Fox figured out who he was. He doesn’t let himself think too much about it, just replies, Come to Portland sometime, and I’ll take you out for brunch like you’ve never had before.

 Portland. Home of Dark Horse Comics. I feel as if I should have known that. I have heard rumors that Portlanders like their brunch.

 It’s a religion. And a comics-friendly town. Good place to make a name for yourself if you can.

There. It’s not exactly admitting what he does, but Gerard is pretty sure Fox is smart enough to infer. Gerard feels weirdly giddy.

Someday, you’ll have to show me. What made you choose Portland when you moved?

I’ve always loved it. The atmosphere is great, the people I knew through Dark Horse are great, the coffee’s great… He stops typing, unsure of how much further to go. Maybe he’s revealed enough for today.

Coffee is important, Fox replies. I’m glad you’re living somewhere that can provide as much as you need, as often as you need.

Gerard laughs. That’s what it will say on my tombstone, Coffee Is Important.

He is hungry, so he starts getting ready to venture out to find breakfast. There’s a nice little cafe a few blocks away. They have wifi and free refills on drip coffee. Maybe he’ll take his laptop and do some work.

**

Grant figures he’s about as recovered as he can be from the Hangover from Hades when the bottom of his coffee cup stops looking like the most fascinating place in the universe. He’s incredibly thankful for the fact he’s finished with his damned DC meetings, and that he’s not taking the train home until tomorrow morning. He’s also thankful for Danny, and his intercontinental mother-henning.

He’s thankful for Danny full stop. And absurdly pleased that Danny told him a fact or two about his actual life. He’s involved in the comics industry somehow, clearly. Reason enough to withhold them, Grant supposes. Until now.

He contemplates his sketchbook thoughtfully. Why now, though? He supposes their conversations have become more deeply personal of late. Perhaps it’s inevitable. He certainly wants it to be.

Things are. Different if Danny is in the business, he thinks. Maybe he won’t be…maybe…. He sighs, frustrated, because he has no idea what Danny’s reaction would be to discovering who he is.

But…perhaps he can share a few details too. He doesn’t want Danny to think he doesn’t appreciate his disclosures.

 It was raining when I left home. It’s raining here, and it will likely be raining when I get back. I have the unique bad luck to travel most during the spring and summer, when Scotland is at its best.

He deliberates, but decides to leave it at that for now.

 It took me a long time to get used to the grey and the rain of Portland, but I kind of like it now. Honestly, I like the excuse to stay in my apartment.

Hermits, both of us, Grant replies. And if the lines he’s doodling in his sketchbook are shaping into a grey city skyline, rainclouds bursting– well. He smiles. It pleases him in a strange way that they both enjoy the rain.

 I can’t believe you never told me you were Scottish, by the way! I’m half-Scottish. I tell everyone I’m half-Scottish. I mean, fuck, it’s just cool.

Grant laughs aloud, and wavers before just making the obvious joke. Which half is which?

I’m rolling my eyes at you. Just so you know. The half that’s not Italian.

Ach, the fact that you like to talk so much becomes entirely clear.

You know what they say about people in glass houses, Fox, Danny replies.

My house is made of stone, thank you very much, Grant returns. Also I believe what they say is “…are the most shameless exhibitionists.”

That saying must be different in the UK, Danny responds a few minutes later.

Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

A minute later, he gets a message with a picture attached. This is the front of my condo. Judge for yourself if I live in a glass house. Grant has to laugh. It’s basically one huge window overlooking a small park.

Are you an exhibitionist then, Danny? Grant writes with a chuckle.

I’m a bit of a performer, comes the reply, and oh, isn’t that interesting?

Grant blows up the picture and studies the bits of Danny’s condo that he can see. He can see the edge of a dining table on one end of the photo and one wall appears to be all bookcase. There’s a comfortable looking leather chair next to the bookcase, angled toward the view. Despite all the glass, it looks cozy. Cozy, but expensive. Grant would love to see the inside.

Biting his lip to keep himself grounded, to remind himself to move slowly, Grant decides that a change of subject may be in both their best interests at the moment. Speaking of performers, he begins, and goes on to tell Danny about a performance he’d seen at the Fringe Festival the previous year.

Danny returns with a story about seeing Bon Jovi in New Jersey one time. I’m sure they put in a decent show in other places, but there’s nothing like a Jersey crowd for a hometown band.

Everyone from New Jersey talks about it the same way, Grant replies. It reminds me of home.

They trade stories back and forth. Grant does his best to avoid anything that he’s talked about in interviews, but that leaves a surprising wealth of material. He talks ancient family history, ridiculous childhood stories, nearly anything that pops to mind. He shares the bad days with Danny, and Danny does the same.

*

One day, Danny is particularly quiet. Grant tries to draw him out with little success. Before he goes to bed, he sends one last message. I’m getting the sense that, for whatever reason, today is a hard one for you. Be good to yourself, friend.

When he wakes up the next morning, there’s a reply waiting. He’s oddly nervous about opening it.

 Two years ago, I was standing somewhere I never thought I’d be. Like, an actual dream come true. And I walked away. I’m not sorry about it, but I can’t help remembering how it felt. Sorry if I was an ass. It was…nice. To have someone to listen to.

Like many of the pieces of information about their lives they share with one another, it’s vague enough that Danny could be talking about anything. And yet, Fox gets the feeling this is one of the most personal things that Danny has told him. Any time, and I mean that, Grant types back.

Thank you, Danny replies. You helped more than I can say. You and the pint of ice cream I picked up from the store.

Well, now I’m a bit upset. I didn’t have any ice cream.

I’d offer to share, but aside from the obvious issue of distance, I may have polished it off last night while watching Labyrinth for the millionth time.

Grant smiles. David Bowie’s outfits being a main draw, I presume?

Maybe now, Danny answers. Then his email turns serious. In high school I was a chubby art kid with lots of Iron Maiden tee shirts. My survival strategy was being invisible. But I had girlfriends, even in art school. I didn’t fall for a guy for real until I was twenty-four.

Grant takes a deep breath and stares at the screen. That’s… personal. It’s probably too much to hope that it’s also pointed, but fuck if Grant doesn’t want to read it that way.

My younger years were full of experimentation. I’d do anything with anyone, just to say I’d done it. I didn’t fall in love with a man, really fall in love, until ten or so years ago. But he was married and then I met the woman I would marry and well. The love I felt for him faded away for a variety of reasons. I hate him now, he admits. I don’t hate her, in fact, I still very much love her. Relationships are…complex.

The answer, when it comes, is equally revealing. The guy I fell for was a good friend; still is. So is his wife. But there are other exes I’d be totally happy to never see again, so I know what you mean. Nothing is ever as simple as it is on paper, is it?

No, it never is, Grant replies. We can only learn from it, I suppose. Though, the lessons can be unimaginably painful.

I hope you haven’t had too much pain, Fox, Danny replies.

Grant thinks about it for a long moment. Then he types, I’ve had my share, but it was worth it to be where I am today.

I’m really glad, is Danny’s reply. I feel the same way about my own life. I don’t really have time for regret. Too many other things to think about and do.

What’s the most exciting thing you’re doing right now? Grant asks.

It takes a while for the answer to come. I’ve been working on a project with a couple of friends of mine, Danny answers. It’s pretty different than the work I’ve done before, but I’m really fucking excited about it. It launches in November, and I can’t fucking wait.

That…was telling. Given all the other things he knows about Danny, he’s pretty sure he can figure out who he is from that. He’s not actually sure if he wants to or not. He supposes he doesn’t have to decide right this second. Instead, he emails Danny back. There’s very little more satisfying than collaborating with people you like and work well together with.

 Oh, I definitely know all about that.

Grant thinks about the script currently waiting on his own computer. Speaking of which, I’m afraid I need to focus in on a project of my own, otherwise my collaborators may come after me with creative implements of torture.

I suppose I can let you get to it, then ;), Danny replies. Good luck!

To you too, Grant replies, setting his phone aside. He’s not going to be able to work on his script. He can’t concentrate on anything but Danny.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, and then another. He goes for a walk instead and leaves his phone on his desk. He’s the one who’s maybe said too much now. If Danny knew who he was, he’d know exactly who it is that Grant hates so much. No one knows that story in its entirety except for Kristan. “Trust,” he mutters to himself.

Mark hadn’t been deserving of his trust. But even with all the reasons that it’s absurd, he thinks that Danny is. He takes a breath. He doesn’t need to borrow trouble. The days are getting warmer and it’s nice to walk when the sun is out.

*

He doesn’t look. Weeks go by and he doesn’t make the searches, pull the strings he knows will get him answers. He just keeps talking to Danny, idle and meaningful and irreverent and sweet in turn. Then he gets an email from his publicist. Mentions of him in the press, mostly pre-San Diego press stuff, most of it interviews he at least vaguely remembers giving; but lost in the forest of links is “Rocker Gerard Way’s Colorful Future” and Grant - stops.

Something vaguely remembered is teasing at the back of his mind. He clicks the link. It’s an article from the Oregonian and the subtitle makes everything suddenly clear. Portland resident Gerard Way talks about life since the breakup of his massively successful band and how going back to his comic book roots has helped him ground himself.

He scans the article for where his publicist has highlighted his name. The ostensible villain of the series is an assassin named Korse, who Way admits is drawn to resemble comic-book scribe Grant Morrison as a kind of homage to his biggest influence.

Grant lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Then, he scrolls back up to the top of the article, and reads it from the beginning.

The quotes from Gerard Way are what really give the game away. This is his Danny. Their words are the same. And the comic sounds like everything he would have expected Danny to write. The thing is, Grant knows this band. He listened to their last album for hours on end when he first started writing Batman. He even remembers when he’d read about their breakup, right after a - massive gig at Madison Square Garden, two years ago. His stomach feels strangely untethered, his insides twisting like snakes.

The pieces of Danny’s life that he’s gathered over the last several months, previously free-floating, slot neatly into place. His reluctance to share personal details makes sudden, perfect sense. His reasons have been the same as Grant’s.  

Well. Grant has the added embarrassment of trolling his own fan board, cannot forget that wee detail.

“Gerard,” he murmurs, trying it out. Before he can talk himself out of it, he does an image search. The majority of the photos are of Gerard Way, frontman; standing on stages all over the world, feet planted, arms raised. He remembers something that Danny had said once, about being invisible, and he can’t help but laugh. He laughs more when he remembers Danny–Gerard–calling himself “a bit of a performer.”

“Only a bit, eh?” Grant asks the man in the picture, the man so clearly in command of his audience. Grant is fascinated. As if he wasn’t before. He clicks over to a new tab and pulls up the video that had been his first introduction to the band.

He watches it again with the knowledge that the man with the white hair is also the man he’s spent the last few months talking to as often as possible. It’s a heady feeling. Danny finally has a face.

And fuck, why not; Grant does another image search, looking for something more recent. He finds photos from late in the previous year of Gerard Way at a signing, hair dyed back to black, smiling at the kid across the table. Grant’s breath catches in his chest. He’s fucking beautiful and his smile makes Grant feel all lit up inside. He can’t imagine what it will be like when it’s actually directed at him.

It doesn’t occur to him until later that if Danny - Gerard - meets Grant Morrison, he’ll have to lose Fox. Grant doesn’t know what to do. Should he come clean, and tell Gerard that he’s put the pieces together?

After a while, he gets so busy, he forgets to think about it and his days seem to revolve around work, preparing for travel, and talking to Danny. To Gerard.

**

Gerard feels like he spends most of the month of June prepping for Comic-Con. Scott wants Killjoys front and center in his fall lineup - not that Gerard blames him, and the third series of Umbrella Academy just gets pushed farther and farther back as Gabriel is more and more in demand - and that means all hands on deck. Meetings at the Dark Horse offices, Skype calls with Shaun and Becky, polishing what they’ve got until it fucking gleams. Gerard’s got permanent butterflies in his stomach.

He’s excited, though. He fucking loves Comic-Con. Loves that it’s a thing he can do every year, now. Loves that he meets new, awesome people every year.

Fox has been busy too, but a few weeks before the con, Gerard emails him. Do you ever go to Comic-Con?

I assume you mean the yearly madhouse in San Diego? Fox writes back. Yes. I’ve been many times.

Are you going this year? Gerard asks. I’ll be there. Maybe we could meet up? Have coffee or something?

I would love that, Fox replies. Before Gerard can reply, a second email comes on the heels of the first. I would, however, understand if you were too busy, or needed to keep a low profile.

My schedule is pretty fucking packed, Gerard replies. But if we can swing it, I’d like to meet.

Then he reads the email again. “Low profile”… does Fox know who he is? His heart kicks at the possibility. He’s dropped enough hints–fuck, this is what he’d wanted.

He can’t quite bring himself to ask. He doesn’t know why. He’s not ashamed of his past as an international rock star. But Fox is important to him in ways he can’t even define at this point. He realizes that this is something he’d rather talk about in person.

Maybe play it by ear? Fox writes back.

Definitely, Gerard replies, relieved. He’s got plenty of other shit to sort out before he leaves for San Diego. But he can’t deny that the butterflies just got a little bit bigger. He takes a deep breath and goes back to what he was doing. An hour later, Fox sends him a news article and they spend the rest of the time Fox is up and awake chatting about it.

Gerard is willing to put it all on the back burner, if only because he’s so fucking nervous about the promo. And Fox seems - not distant, exactly, but distracted. A few days before the con, Gerard writes to him again. Here’s my cell phone number, probably the best way to get in touch with me for the next week. Text anytime.

*

On Tuesday, Gerard’s phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. Flying is hell.

Always, Gerard answers. Hi, Fox.

Hello. Sorry for the lack of introduction, I had to get that out.

Gerard grins. Understandable. I have done more than my fair share of flying and I hate it basically every time. Time zones, also. Time zones are horrible.

Also jet lag, although I can’t even say I’ve even reached that point, Fox replies. Time to find my hotel and collapse.

I fly in tomorrow. Can’t tell you how glad I am it’s a fairly short flight. For once in my life, Gerard replies.

The next morning he wakes to a brief message from Fox, wishing him a safe flight. You’re up already? Gerard teases.

The meetings have already started, Fox responds. There isn’t enough caffeine in the fucking world.

Gerard frowns. Meetings? He supposes it wouldn’t be surprising if Fox worked in the industry. Scotland is almost as saturated with comics people as Portland. And it would be a good reason for him to want to keep his own anonymity.

I’ll think of you fondly as I drink my in-flight beverage, Gerard writes back.

May the shitty airplane coffee be marginally less shitty, Fox returns.

Gerard forces himself up, gathers his bags together, and goes downstairs to meet the car service he ordered to take him to the airport. His stomach is still full of butterflies and he’s pretty sure they’re just not going to go away.

When he touches down in San Diego, he turns his phone on as soon as they’ll let him. There aren’t any texts waiting, so he sends one. Friendly skies, flown. Can’t decide if my first stop is hotel, coffee, or tacos.

I’m sure there’s a place you can procure both tacos and coffee, Fox replies as Gerard waits for his bag.

"Thank fuck for San Diego, Gerard types, grinning at his phone.

There’s a reason they pay me the big bucks, Fox replies.

 For having the brains to remind your flight-addled friends they have options? Absolutely worth at least a few big bucks.

He does find burritos and coffee, and he sends Fox a triumphant picture. Fox sends him back a picture of a tea service set up in his hotel room, but nothing else for hours.

Gerard checks into his hotel room and texts five million people to see where they are. Scott replies first, so Gerard makes sure he has his all his con stuff together and heads down to the convention center. The floor is already bustling with people getting ready for preview night. Gerard finds Scott at the Dark Horse booth.

“Gerard!” Scott says, sounding pleased. “Come look at the graphic, it’s amazing. How was your flight?” He leads Gerard around the side of the booth to where an entire panel is taken up with Becky’s art.

“It was good. Way better than say, Portland to Japan,” Gerard says. “Or Portland to the UK. And anything is better than the flight to Australia.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “You realize there are only a few people in the world who have been all the places you have, right?”

Gerard grins sheepishly, and Scott claps him on the shoulder, laughing.

“What do you think of your big debut?” he asks, pointing at the poster.

“Shit, it’s gorgeous,” Gerard replies. “Has Becky seen it yet?”

“She and Shaun were in here earlier, and they both freaked out,” Scott confirms.

Gerard takes a picture of it with his phone. He’ll tweet it later if Shaun or Becky haven’t.

“What are your plans tonight?” Scott asks him.

“Nothing? Thought I’d get here and then find out where everyone is hanging out,” Gerard replies.

Scott laughs. “Well, I want to sit down with the three of you and go over some stuff before the madness begins tomorrow. And then maybe take you all out for dinner.”

“Hey, big spender,” Gerard teases, and Scott grins at him.

“Says the guy who can walk into any party he wants,” Scott says, and Gerard snorts.

“No, I can’t. But maybe…” He should call Jim and see if he can get an invite to the DC party.

Scott just laughs at him. “You really can. If you decided you wanted it, you totally could. I know you’ve never been that guy, but you could do it.”

Gerard makes a face at him. Before he can respond, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket instantly, but it’s Shaun. Where you at?

Dark Horse booth with Scott.

 Don’t move. We’ll be right there.

“Shaun and Becky incoming,” Gerard reports.

Scott nods, but one of his people calls him over so Gerard goes back to poking at his phone. I like seeing all the booths in disarray, he texts Fox. Makes how everything looks all set up more interesting.

He doesn’t get a response right away, which isn’t surprising given Fox’s radio silence over the past hour or so; he’s probably in another meeting. Gerard deliberates for a moment, and then he’s pulling up Jim’s name in his contacts.

Already busy working the con? he texts.

Feel like I’ve been in meetings for a year already, Jim replies. And they continue all day. You should come to the DC party so I can actually see you.

I guess I’m not doing anything else tonight, Gerard types back, grinning at his phone.

“What are you plotting?” Becky asks from beside him, making him jump.

He grins. “Got an invite from Jim to the DC party tonight.”

Becky laughs at him. “You dog! You’ll give me all the dirt, right?”

“Of course I will, what kind of friend do you think I am?”

She beams at him and pulls him in for a hug. “The best sort, usually.”

“Missed you too,” he mutters against the top of her head. “New York is a fucking long way away.”

“I barely see Shaun, and he’s just across the river,” she replies with a wink at Shaun.

Shaun grins and scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’m all work and no play unless it’s with my kids,” he says.

Gerard smiles and gives Shaun a hug. “It’s good to see you guys. I’ve missed you.”

“You’ll be sick of us by Sunday,” Becky predicts.

“I wasn’t sick of Frank after seven years,” Gerard points out. They both laugh.

“So. Discuss shit now, or wait and do some wandering while we still have the chance?” Becky asks.

It’s Scott who answers. “I still have some things to finish up here, but come back in an hour and we’ll talk.”

Gerard exchanges a look with Shaun and Becky. “Where to?”

“Coffee,” they say in unison.

Scott laughs at them and they go off to find the nearest Starbucks kiosk. This is why he fucking loves Comic-Con. So many things to see and do, friends to hang out with, new friends to meet. As he waits for Becky and Shaun to order, someone taps on his shoulder and shyly asks for an autograph. Gerard smiles wide and scrawls his usual “xoxo g” on the woman’s badge.

They wander around, watching the setup and stopping frequently when they run into people they know. Gerard knows it’s his last chance to wander around without a security person nearby. It’s kind of nice to feel like a normal person for an hour. At least Mehdi still comes out with him for this shit.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he fishes it out. Oh fuck, save me from this goddam meeting.

Gerard can’t help but beam. I would, except I don’t want you to get in any hot water with higher-ups.

I’m rapidly reaching the point of not giving a fuck, Fox replies.

Think happy thoughts? Gerard offers.

Haha, Fox replies. I’m forcing myself through today, but tomorrow, I want to play hooky and have coffee with you.

Gerard grins stupidly at his phone and replies, YES. Which is, of course, when Becky catches him.

“What’s got you so attached to that thing, anyway?” She prods his side where he’s ticklish.

He squawks and moves away from her. “I. Um. Have an internet friend,” Gerard admits. “We’re planning on meeting tomorrow.”

“An internet friend, huh?” Becky asks, raising an eyebrow at him. Gerard tries, and fails, to school his face into something less giddy.

“Frankie told me about this,” Shaun says, folding his arms over his chest with a matching eyebrow. Gerard’s friends are terrible. “I think that means I’m supposed to threaten this guy Jersey-style.”

Gerard laughs and rubs his cheek with his palm. “Frankie has a big mouth. And if he told you, that’s probably exactly what he intends. But like. We’re just friends. It’s not–” Except that for Gerard, it’s exactly like that.

“Mmm hmm,” says Becky, clearly not buying it.

“If coffee goes well tomorrow, I’ll maybe bring him to the panel,” Gerard says finally.

“And then I can go all Jersey on his ass?” Shaun asks hopefully. “I need the practice for my kids.”

“I’ll help!” says Becky, and she and Shaun high-five.  Gerard buries his face in his hands.

The next time they get distracted, he texts Fox. My friends are giving me a hard time.

In my experience, that’s what friends are for, Fox replies.

 That’s what they tell me. Anyway. I have a meeting and a dinner and then I have to go to a very fancy party and hope I don’t embarrass myself. So if I don’t talk to you again, have a good night!

You as well, Fox replies. We’ll hammer out coffee details tomorrow.

Definitely, Gerard agrees. Tomorrow. He can’t fucking wait.

The meeting and dinner with Scott - for which he manages to also collect Eric and some of the other Dark Horse people, which is cool - goes as well as Gerard could hope for, and when they’re done, Shaun walks back to the hotel with him and they catch up in person for a little while longer. It’s really great to see him. And Becky. He needs to get back east again soon. He misses a lot of people.

When Shaun leaves to go back to his own hotel room and call his wife, Gerard starts rifling through his suitcase. He comes up with a white button-down, a black waistcoat, and dark jeans. Totally fancy, at least for a party of comics people.

He texts Jim, Hope I’m on the list! and goes downstairs before he can get too nervous.

He finds the party easily enough and Jim is standing near the entrance, which makes Gerard’s life easier. “Gerard Way!” Jim waves, and the attendant at the door waves Gerard through.

“Jim!” Gerard beams. “I hope you weren’t waiting for me?”

“Only a little,” Jim replies. “I’ve got some people I want to introduce you to.”

Gerard frowns at him. “I thought you wanted to hang out with me! I see how it is.”

Jim just laughs. “Let’s get you something to drink and see who’s hanging around the bar.” He weaves through the crowd and Gerard follows. “I’d like a Diet Coke and a Jack and Coke,” Jim orders. He hands Gerard the Diet Coke and suddenly Jim waves his hand. “Grant!” he calls.

Gerard’s eyes go a little wide. Because that’s… That’s Grant Morrison, holy fuck. He struggles to keep his inner fanboy from freaking out.

“You two haven’t met, have you?”

“N-no,” Gerard answers automatically. Morrison comes over immediately, eyes sweeping over Gerard, face wreathed with a smile.

“Grant Morrison, Gerard Way. If you two have never met, it’s a crime.”

Gerard smiles and reaches out to shake Morrison’s hand. “Hi. I’ve been a big fan of your work for a long time.”

Morrison shakes back and his smile widens. He really is a fucking attractive man, even more so close up. And his suit is as fabulous as advertised. “I listened to The Black Parade for hours on repeat as I wrote Batman,” Morrison says. “And I fucking love The Umbrella Academy.”

“Your Doom Patrol was a huge inspiration,” Gerard admits. “I’ve always wanted to talk to you about -” He catches himself. “Jim, this was mean, I’m going to totally embarrass myself here and monopolize Mr. Morrison.”

Morrison leans in a bit, conspiratorially. “It’d be a favor to me,” he says, shooting a dark look across the room to a knot of people in suits. “And please, call me Grant.”

Gerard bites the inside of his cheek and grins. “Well, Grant, in that case, I have been reliably informed that I’ll talk someone’s ear off if given half a fucking chance. The Suits will never get the opportunity.”

Grant crosses his arms over his chest. “Do your worst, Gerard Way.”

“I knew you two would get along,” Jim says brightly.

“So did I,” Grant says. Gerard grins wider.

Gerard is pretty sure he talks Grant’s ear off for at least an hour. A couple of times he traces the outline of his phone in his pocket, but there’s no way he’s interrupting this conversation for anything. And Grant gives back as good as he gets. Gerard can’t quite tamp down the giddy thrill in the pit of his stomach, because not only is he talking with one of his heroes, but Grant is familiar with both the band and Gerard’s comics, and has plenty of questions of his own.

They literally spend the entire party talking. Gerard never wants it to end. Jim leaves them to it after a while, and Gerard never does find out who exactly Jim wanted him to meet. Their conversation isn’t without other interruptions either, but Gerard barely notices. He’s just delighted to have made such a connection with one of his heroes.

Fifteen-year-old him is breathing into a paper bag right now. Hell, thirty-three-year-old him is trying desperately to keep his eyes from going too wide. When someone with a camera comes around, Grant wraps an arm around his shoulders for the photo and Gerard tries not to squeak.

Grant grins at him. “I look forward to seeing that all over the Internet tomorrow: ‘international rock star Gerard Way with some bald guy,’” he says with audible air quotes.

Gerard rolls his eyes, though he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. “Yeah, right. ‘Comics superstar Grant Morrison with some emo dude’ is way more likely.”

Grant smiles. “A friendly wager? Perhaps the loser buys the winner coffee?” Gerard opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “No?” Grant asks quietly.

Gerard lifts his chin automatically. “Sure.”

The grin that splits Grant’s face is– fuck. “Tomorrow afternoon? Everyone needs a mid-afternoon pick-me-up,” Grant says.

Gerard smiles back. “Absolutely.” He’ll just arrange for the morning with Fox.

He realizes that if anyone is going to have to end this conversation, it seems it will have to be him. “I should probably call it a night soon,” he says, regretfully. “But it was, fuck, so amazing to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Grant replies with a grin. “I’ve felt as if we were ships passing in the night for several years now. It’s been a pleasure to finally meet you. Let’s meet at that coffee shop down the road at three, yeah?”

“Prepare to buy me a very fancy coffee,” Gerard says dramatically, and Grant laughs.

“We’ll see.” He offers a hand and Gerard shakes it.

He’s pretty sure he grins the whole way back to his hotel room.

**

Grant watches Gerard, Danny, walk away and grins wide. He’s charming and just as articulate in person as he is in his emails. About five minutes later, his pocket buzzes. You know how they say not to meet your idols because you’ll always be disappointed? So not true.

Sometimes not true, Grant corrects. I take it you had an enjoyable evening?

 I had a fucking amazing evening. What about you?

I also had a fucking amazing evening, Grant replies. Good food, good drinks, better company. But I’m looking forward to coffee tomorrow more than I can say.

Coffee twice, Grant thinks with a smirk. As long as he doesn’t fuck up the first.

He’d been idly wondering if he’d run into Gerard this evening, after Danny’s comment about going to a “fancy party.” But he couldn’t have hoped that things would have worked out as perfectly as they had. He slips out of the party and makes his way back to his hotel. Yes, it was the perfect evening. He won’t spoil the rest of the night by staying.

His mobile is lit up when he gets out of the bath after his nighttime routine. What time tomorrow?

 I’ll be able to escape my meetings by mid-morning. Would eleven suit?

That would be perfect, Gerard replies. Near the ATMs by the escalators?

Which ones? Grant texts back with a chuckle.

…Fair, Gerard replies, and texts again a moment later with a specific location, far enough off of the main drag that Grant isn’t terribly worried about being interrupted. Grant is betting he’ll have security with him if he has any sense whatsoever, at any rate. Grant hopes he has security with him, else he’ll start worrying about Gerard’s self-preservation skills.

Perfect, he replies. Sleep well.

You too, Fox, Gerard replies. I really, really can’t wait for tomorrow.

Neither can I, Grant replies and puts his phone down for the night.

He sleeps relatively well and dresses in his grey pinstripe suit for the day. He goes down for a couple of short meetings, chats with fans and fellow creators, but he can’t stop thinking about how in a very short time, all will be revealed.

He’s nervous as fuck, actually. He doesn’t think his worst-case scenario will happen, but it doesn’t stop him picturing it. If this goes badly, he’ll lose someone who’s managed to become one of his very closest friends. Someone, Grant thinks, who could very easily be much more than merely a friend.

When it’s nearly eleven, he takes a fortifying breath and makes his way toward where they agreed to meet. He catches sight of Gerard’s neon hair right away. He’s got a big guy in a black polo standing next to him who he’s chatting animatedly to, but no one seems to have spotted him yet, or else the red hair just blends into the sea of cosplay.

Grant sees the moment Gerard spots him by the way his eyes widen. Grant smiles and walks up to them. “Hello, Danny,” he says. Gerard’s mouth drops open.

“No,” he breathes. The big guy next to him shifts and Gerard lifts a hand, palm out, and says, “It’s fine, Mehdi, just - ” His eyes dart around the lobby and Medhi points.

“Maintenance corridor.”

Grant deems it wise to keep his mouth shut until they get the privacy Gerard is clearly looking for.

“…Fox?” Gerard asks, when there’s a door between them and the bustle of the con. “But- Grant? I don’t-”

“I was having a bad day and lurking the message board, because of course that’s a good idea when you’re having a bad day. And there you were talking as if you had a window into my head, and I couldn’t not talk to you,” Grant explains quietly. “I always wanted to talk to you, and after a while all I wanted was to tell you, especially after I figured you out -” Gerard twitches slightly, though he’d had to have known his own cover was blown for a while - “but best case is, I look like a self-obsessed twat, and worst case you hate me for lying, so -” he shrugs expressively.

“So you wanted to do it in person,” Gerard says, slowly. “I get that. I… had a feeling that you knew who I was, but I didn’t want to ask you about it until we met.” He’s still looking a bit wide around the eyes. “I- you’re Grant Morrison.”

“I am,” Grant replies with a smile. “And you are one of my dearest friends, and I’d dearly like that to continue.”

“We have a date later,” Gerard says. “Um. Or. Not a date, but.”

“Guess we do. If you’ll forgive me for…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Gerard blurts. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t do, I mean, shit, I’m a mod on your board, I -” He’s turning as red as his hair.

“Gerard,” Grant says, testing out the feel of the name in his mouth. He finds one of Gerard’s hands and takes it in his own. “Everything I said last night, about how the things you inspire me? All of that was true.”

Grant sees Gerard swallow. “I…that means so fucking much to me. You mean a lot to me. As Grant Morrison the creator and Fox, my friend from the Internet.”

“Let’s edit that down to ‘my friend Grant,’” he suggests gently.

“Okay,” Gerard says softly. They’re staring at each other. Grant realizes that he’s still holding Gerard’s hand, maybe a little bit too tightly, but he can’t make himself let go. A grin stretches across Gerard’s face. “You’re Fox. Fuck. That’s amazing.”

“Amazing is better than any of the words I expected,” Grant says wryly. He can’t take his eyes off of Gerard. His fucking face…he’s beautiful, especially when he smiles.

“How could it be anything else?” Gerard asks.

“I was mentally prepared for any number of reactions and fully prepared to woo you with the promise of more coffee and maybe a script or two that no one has seen. Also begging, if need be,” Grant replies.

“Maybe I’ll hold out for the scripts,” Gerard said, chin going up in that same gesture from last night. Grant doesn’t think he’s imagining him leaning closer, though.

“Only if you show me this character based on your ‘biggest influence,’” he murmurs.

“Oh my god,” Gerard moans, scrubbing his free hand over his face, cheeks going even redder. “I knew that was going to come back to bite me.”

“I love it,” Grant replies with a big grin. Gerard hasn’t let go of his hand yet. “I seem to recall promising you coffee.”

“I seem to recall promising my friends that if coffee went well, I’d bring you to my panel this afternoon,” Gerard admits.

Grant thinks about his schedule for the afternoon, pleased when he realizes that he’s not got any meetings or panels of his own. “My panel is at five,” Grant says. “So I can accommodate that.”

Gerard beams at him. “Awesome.”

“Assuming coffee goes well,” Grant murmurs.

“Call me optimistic, but, uh. I’m pretty sure it’s going to,” Gerard says. He squeezes their joined hands.

Grant smiles wider. “That was my feeling as well. And don’t forget, we have a bet to settle.”

“I’m thinking of asking for higher stakes,” Gerard says.

“Oh?” Grant asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe dinner and coffee?” Gerard asks hopefully. Grant hopes he’s not imagining the breathlessness.

“Acceptable,” he nods with a small smirk he can’t quite contain. “Now, is your friend in the black polo out there cracking his knuckles or anything like that? It’s been -” Grant feels like it’s been forever, because he hasn’t taken his eyes off of Gerard’s face since he hit the lobby.

Gerard grins. “Nah, it’s fine. He’s been giving me shit all morning because I couldn’t shut up about meeting Grant Morrison last night, or about meeting my internet pen-pal today.”

“I take it the two of you have a history?” Grant asks.

Gerard nods. “He was one of our security guys for several tours. He still comes to help me out when he can.” This is one of the reasons Grant is sure one Gerard Way will be buying him dinner tonight. Needing - and being used to - security guys trailing you everywhere is not in Grant’s playbook.

They should go back out. And, much as Grant is loathe to admit it, they likely shouldn’t be holding hands when they do. He laces their fingers together briefly and forces himself to pull his hand away. “Come on, Gerard Way. Let’s go get some coffee and find somewhere we can continue our conversation.”

“VIP lounge?” Gerard suggests, with the faintest twist of a smirk.

“Glass houses,” Grant replies, watching the smirk blossom and knowing they’re on the exact same page. He opens the door for Gerard and waves him through.

After the quiet of the hallway, stepping back out into the noise of the lobby is a bit of a shock. The man in the black polo, standing next to the door with his arms crossed, gives Gerard an exasperated look.

“Sorry!” Gerard says. The man rolls his eyes as if this is an oft-repeated exchange. “Mehdi, this is Grant Morrison. Who also happens to be Fox.”

“Convenient,” Mehdi says, offering a hand to Grant.

“I think so,” Grant says evenly, because he’s pretty sure Mehdi’s bicep is the size of Grant’s thigh, but he really does think so.

“Me too,” Gerard agrees, beaming. “Now. Coffee?” He sounds so hopeful that Grant has to laugh.

“Coffee,” Grant confirms. “Upstairs.” They walk toward the escalator and Mehdi follows a couple of feet behind. When a group of teenagers approaches Gerard, he steps in to keep them from mobbing him and produces a Sharpie for Gerard to sign with from the depths of his cargo shorts.

Grant stands to the side and watches until someone actually notices him. He poses contentedly for a photo and signs a Batman print someone pulls out of one of those giant bags, and Mehdi sighs and extends his efforts to keeping both of them moving. Gerard looks beyond amused.

“You’re the best,” Gerard tells Mehdi once they’ve made it into the VIP lounge. “I’m buying you the biggest coffee ever.”

“Damn right you are,” Mehdi replies. They go up to the small Starbucks kiosk and order.

Gerard hands Mehdi his coffee and Mehdi points at a chair near one of the doors. “I’ll be over there.”

Grant and Gerard just stare at each other over the tops of their coffee cups for a moment once they sit down. Grant can feel his lips twitching, and Gerard huffs out a laugh. “How long have you known it was me?” Gerard asks him.

“Since I came across your interview with The Oregonian in an pre-con email from my agent. I could have figured it out much sooner,” Grant replies.

“But you didn’t,” Gerard says.

“I…in so many ways, it didn’t matter,” Grant says. “Until it did.”

“I wanted you to figure it out,” Gerard admits. “I mean, not at first? But then talking to you was so good, and I felt like it would maybe be okay.”

Grant smiles. “I never really believed I could find a friend like you on the Internet. I’d seen too many like the arse who posted the thread where we met. I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong.”

“And the embarrassment -”

“I’ve made an arse of myself more times than I can count,” Grant says. “Risk versus reward.” He reaches across the tabletop and nudges Gerard’s fingers with his. Gerard taps Grant’s fingertips with his own once, twice, three times, grinning up at Grant through his eyelashes. Fuck. Seeing photographs hadn’t anywhere near prepared Grant for how stupidly attractive Gerard is.

Gerard takes a deep breath. “I keep thinking about how it was you all along and it’s blowing my fucking mind.”

Grant takes a sip of coffee and does not say anything dirty. What he does say is, “It’s a bit strange, to feel like you know someone before you ever find out their name. But… that made it easier, sometimes. To tell the truth.”

Gerard nods. “It totally did. I can just be…me. With you. I felt like that last night, too.”

“And I liked it. Like it.” Grant looks him over.

“Me, too,” Gerard says softly.

Grant wishes Gerard were closer, that they had a little more privacy. He settles for reaching out to squeeze Gerard’s hand again. “You’ll have to fill in some of the details of some of your stories for me at some point,” Grant says.

“Of course,” Gerard says. “You too, you know. I just want to - listening to you is -” he gets a little pink again.

Grant decides to change the subject, because otherwise they’ll both be blushing. He makes a mental note, though. This is absolutely a discussion they could come back to. He asks about Gerard’s panel instead. Which is the correct choice. Gerard even gets out his iPad and shows Grant a folder full of sketches and concept art. The character based on Grant is immediately apparent. Grant rubs a hand over his own head and grins.

“I also storyboarded a music video for ‘Mama’ in which I wanted you to play the devil,” Gerard says. “It would have cost too much money.”

“I would have said yes in an instant,” Grant says with a grin.

“Yes, that is the perfect expression right there,” Gerard tells him. His eyes are climbing all over Grant and he’s not bothering to hide it. All of the nervousness Grant had been feeling this morning has been completely replaced by warmth low in his belly. He can’t help but beam at Gerard. He can’t quite believe his luck. “What are you thinking?” Gerard asks him.

“I’m thinking about how stupidly fortunate I’ve been, that this is my life,” Grant says, truthfully.

Gerard smiles wide. “Good thing to think about.”

“Particularly,” Grant adds, “Because you are now part of it.”

“I was before too, Fox,” Gerard says with a twinkle in his eye.

“Ah, but now I get all of you.” Grant only barely even attempts to keep the suggestiveness out of his tone. Gerard turns red regardless, which is entirely gratifying. He wonders how much of the remainder of the weekend he can get away with spending with Gerard. He won’t lie; he’s hoping for all of it. He’ll settle for a few meals.

They finish their coffees and keep talking for several minutes, until Gerard makes a face and fishes his phone out of his pocket. It’s buzzing somewhat angrily. He rolls his eyes. “Becky,” he says and answers. There’s a bit of a cacophony on the other end and Gerard laughs. “No, I’m not fucking dead in an alley. Yes, I’m having a good time. The twins? Lunch? Hold on.” He pulls his phone away from his mouth. “Wanna go to lunch with me and my friends?”

“Of course I do,” Grant tells him.

Gerard reports this back to his friend and glances slyly at Grant once he’s hung up. “They’re going to shit themselves.”

Grant grins back. “Well then, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Gerard smiles and stands. He reaches out a hand to help Grant up. He doesn’t let go as he walks toward Mehdi. “Going to lunch,” he says.

Mehdi nods. “Cab or walking?”

Gerard laughs. “Cab, if only so you don’t have an aneurysm.”

Mehdi still walks them to the cab stand, which Grant finds amusing. Gerard seems to expect it, and he waves his phone as they get in and promises, “I’ll call when I’m on my way back for the panel, but I’ll be with Becky and Shaun so…”

“So you’ll be even more likely to wander off chasing a fucking butterfly,” Mehdi tells him darkly. “I’ve met you, Way.”

Gerard laughs. “Fine, fine. I’ll call no matter what.”

“I’ll pretend to be his surly, bald bodyguard should the need arise. I’m nobody away from the convention center,” Grant offers.

Mehdi eyes him. “Scrawny, but it might work.”

“I’m from Glasgow, scrawny is a technicality,” Grant replies with a smirk. Mehdi favors him with the hint of a smile.

“We’ll be fine,” Gerard insists, as he climbs into a waiting cab.

“I’ll believe it when I’m shutting you in a hotel room for the night,” Mehdi says.

A hotel room, huh, Grant thinks.

“He doesn’t really,” Gerard says when they’re on their way, cheeks stained pink. “I don’t get locked in. I’m an adult.”

“I certainly hope so,” Grant drawls.

Gerard looks straight at him, lips parted a little bit. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks determined. “You flirting with me, Fox?”

“I am absolutely flirting with you. Tell me to fuck off and I will,” Grant replies. He is almost certain Gerard will do nothing of the sort.

“That would be really dumb of me,” Gerard smiles, “since it’s all I’ve wanted to hear for months.”

Grant’s grin gets broader. “Me fucking too,” he murmurs, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Gerard squeezes back. The rest of the ride through the Gaslamp District is short and the cab pulls up in front of a small Mexican restaurant tucked between a chemist and a clothing store. There’s a noticeable lack of costumes, which makes Grant assume it’s enough of a hole-in-the-wall to escape heavy convention business. Also, it’s not the weekend yet. But a large round table in the corner is filled with people who immediately wave at Gerard - then start staring.

Gerard tugs Grant over, muttering, “Sorry in advance.”

Grant laughs. “They don’t scare me.”

“Good. Just…I’m pretty sure Shaun swore an oath to Frank that he’d give you a Jersey-style talking to, so. Watch out for that,” Gerard warns.

Grant laughs. “I’ve given a Glasgow-style talking to, I expect they’re much the same.”

Gerard grins. “Probably.” They keep walking. Gerard doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Well, this is unexpected,” says the redhead Grant assumes is Becky Cloonan.

“Everyone, this is Grant,” Gerard says cheerfully. “Grant, this is everybody.”

“Oh my god, Gerard,” Becky says and laughs. She holds out her hand and introduces herself and the rest follow suit.

“I hope I don’t need to introduce myself,” says a familiar voice behind them.

“Jill,” Grant turns and beams.

“Hullo, Grant,” Jill says, wrapping him in a one-armed hug.

“I’ve missed you, beautiful,” he tells her.

“Always the flatterer,” she replies with a grin and turns to Gerard. “You look like you tripped and fell into an anime. Looks good on you, Gerard.”

“Gerard decided to turn himself into a character from our comic for inspiration or something,” the guy who’d introduced himself as Shaun says. Grant snorts.

“You can’t talk,” Jill warns.  

“I can laugh precisely because I’ve done it,” Grant replies with a grin and runs a hand over his bald head. Everyone laughs, but Grant turns the conversation to Korse and Becky and Gerard are only too happy to go on about him for a while.

“Also, wait until you see Gabriel’s variant cover for him,” Becky says, gesturing at one of the twins.

“I’m familiar with your work,” Grant tells Gabriel. “I’m sure it’s stunning.”

“We’ll have to get you a print,” Gerard says with a grin.

“I would love that,” Grant replies.

No one actually brings up the elephant in the room - or on the message board - other than in sidelong looks and a few jokes, which makes Gerard seem to relax a lot. It’s nice to see him with his friends, but it’s nice to be a part of the conversation too.

Unsurprisingly, Gerard’s friends are a delightful, whip-smart group. He’s fairly certain he’s going to be spending a good amount of time with them over the course of the weekend, and it won’t be a hardship.

They split up after lunch, the twins and Jill choosing to walk back while Gerard, Grant, Shaun and Becky catch a cab as Gerard promised.

In the cab, Shaun turns a stern eye on Grant and says, “So. What are your intentions towards our Gerard?”

Grant laughs, utterly delighted. “To be an excellent friend and companion to him for as long as he’ll let me.”

He can actually see Shaun bite down on an additional question. “You realize that you’re never going to live this down,” Becky says, cheerfully bumping Gerard’s shoulder with her own.

“I’m okay with it,” Gerard replies. “Who else gets to say Grant Morrison was their pen pal?”

“Was?” Grant questions mildly.

Gerard takes his hand and looks up at him meaningfully. “I don’t think it’s still pen-pals if you’ve, like, met,” Gerard tells him.

“As long as you still write me, I don’t care what we call it,” Grant says.

He’s fairly sure the repeatedly clasped hands mean it’s something else entirely, but he’s being a gentleman. Such a gentleman. It’s…difficult. Dinner. Gerard has promised him dinner. What happens after that, well. They’ll see. Grant laces their fingers together again anyway.

“Shaun,” Becky whispers loudly. “They’re being gross.”

“I’m texting Frank. I’m out of ideas for threats, I suck at this,” Shaun mumbles from the middle seat.

“Does Frank know that Gerard is being gross with Grant Morrison?” Becky asks curiously.

Shaun grins at her. “Not yet. I’m trying to decide how to do it. Picture, you think? Or something else?”

“I know where you live,” Gerard tells him, but there’s no bite behind it.

Grant feels his lips twitch and can’t quite control it. “You could let me talk to him,” he suggests smoothly.

Becky and Shaun share matching expressions of unholy glee. Gerard laughs helplessly beside him. “Do it. Troll the fuck out of him.”

Grant doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone place a phone call so fast in his entire life. Then again, he hasn’t had a mobile for his entire adult life like these three. Gerard thrusts the phone at Grant, and he puts it to his ear just in time to hear a voice with a Jersey accent even thicker than Shaun’s. “Gee?” the voice asks. “I figured you’d be so deep in Comic-Con shit that you’d forget the rest of us exist.”

“He’s in the trenches,” Grant replies. “Fighting the good fight and all that shit. Frank, is it?”

“Who’s asking?” Frank replies.

“Grant Morrison.” Frank’s initial response is a scoff. “Also known as Fox,” he adds.

“Okay, now you’re really fucking with me. Did you lose a bet? Poker game? Gerard’s poker face is nonexistent, can’t be that. And who are you really? A Shrek cosplayer? Come on, you can tell me, I’m a nice boy.”

“I’m quite serious,” Grant says, solemnly. The other three are grinning at him.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“I’m going to have my friend Mr. Simon here send you a picture,” Grant tells Frank and slings an arm around Gerard’s shaking shoulders, squeezing him tight and blowing a kiss at Shaun’s phone.

A moment later, Grant hears, “Holy fucking fuck.”

Grant laughs and the rest of the cab does too. “I did tell you,” he says.

“How in the fuck was he writing to you for months and didn’t have a clue?” Grant looks at Gerard, and tries to think of something witty to say about his own intelligence, but Frank just keeps talking. “Never mind, it’s Gerard, of course he didn’t have a clue. You -” he hauls in a breath like he’s lighting a cigarette or something - “You be good to him,” he says, soft and far less intimidating that Grant had expected.

“I will,” Grant says, equally soft. Sure.

“Good,” Frank replies. “If not, I will fucking come all the way to Scotland or wherever it is you live and make your life hell.”

Grant smiles into the phone. “I have no doubt.”

“Now that that’s over with,” Frank says, “We3 is one of my favorite comics ever.”

“Mine as well,” Grant tells him. “Thank you.”

“Also, you made me like Superman, for which I will never, ever forgive you.” Frank sounds hilariously put out.

Grant laughs. “If it helps, it took me a bit to wrap my head around him and what he stood for.”

“But you did,” Frank says. “You understand - a lot of complicated people.”

“I try,” Grant replies. Gerard taps him on the arm, and Grant looks up to see that they’re approaching the convention center. “We’re about to get back to business. I’ll give you to Gerard,” Grant says. “It was nice to talk to you, Frank.”

“You too,” Frank says automatically, though he does sound a bit stunned.

Gerard takes the phone back. “Hey, Frankie,” he says, and then, “I know! I know, I know. Only me. Okay, I gotta go. I’ll call soon, promise. Love you too. Bye.” Becky and Shaun are still smirking, but Gerard looks different now. More - in command, like the man with the microphone in front of thousands. He smiles at Grant, serene. “Time to go work.”

Mehdi meets them at the cab stand and ushers all four of them briskly through the crowds. It’s rather novel. Not that Grant has never had security with him for anything, but it never feels quite this natural to him.

Scott Allie gives him a double-take when he walks into the staging area for Gerard’s panel, which is sort of gratifying. Gerard, Shaun, and Becky are standing in a tight knot, heads bent close together. Grant smiles and looks out at the crowd. The portion of young women in the audience is certainly higher than most of the other panels he’s been part of. It’s refreshing. He’s very much looking forward to talking with Gerard about his experiences, now that their secrets are revealed.

Gerard in front of a crowd is… incandescent. His smile lights up the entire room. He has the room in the palm of his hand. He makes them cry, makes them laugh, all while making sure Becky and Shaun say their piece as well.

“He’s so good at this,” one of the Dark Horse staffers murmurs.

“A born performer,” Grant agrees softly.

“Suppose it makes sense,” the staffer goes on. “He’s a great writer too. Some people get all the talent.”

She shoots a look at Grant after she says it and he snickers and shrugs.

He can’t take his eyes of off Gerard for the rest of the panel. Fuck, he wants– wants to tangle a hand in Gerard’s hair and pull him close. Wants to mouth at the skin of his throat. Wants to take him back to Grant’s hotel room and do wicked things to him. He smiles to himself. He’s fairly certain Gerard will let him. But one thing at a time.

His mouth twitches with a smile a few times during the Q&A when something out of Gerard’s mouth is particularly…Danny. And he can help his laugh at Gerard’s expression when somebody asks, “Does Grant Morrison know you’ve based a character on him?”

Gerard sneaks a look over at him with a wide grin. “I don’t know, does he?” Then he refocuses on the fan asking the question. “He probably does if he reads the papers.”

“I’m sure he’s thrilled,” Shaun adds, dryly.

Grant can’t help it. He walks up behind Gerard and leans toward the mic. “He is, thank you.” The whole crowd laughs and cheers. Grant waves and goes back to where he was standing. Becky takes over the mic and starts talking about character design, and Grant’s phone buzzes a second later.

 Exhibitionist.

He huffs out a laugh and responds, Glass houses.

Gerard gives no indication that he’s doing anything other than listening attentively to Becky. Grant fucking adores him.

The Q&A ends after two more questions. Grant watches as the kids come up to talk to the three of them. They stand there signing autographs and answering questions until a con staffer speaks to Mehdi and he moves in to get them. Becky breaks off from the rest of them to go back to her booth, but Mehdi deposits Shaun and Gerard, along with Grant, in the closest VIP green room.

“That was fucking amazing,” Gerard says. Shaun goes in for a high five, and then the two of them hug.

“From an outsider’s perspective, I thought you were all wonderful,” Grant tells them. “The first thing I noticed about the room was how diverse the crowd was, and they loved you.”

“I can’t fucking wait for November,” Shaun says, grin splitting his face.

“It’s gonna be great,” Gerard says confidently.

“I am more than certain that it will,” Grant says. “And I can’t wait to see the finished product.”

“You don’t have to wait,” Gerard says. “You’ve got an in.” He pours himself a cup of coffee from the bar in the corner. “So your panel is next.”

“It is,” Grant agrees. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. “I have some time. You’ll come?” Grant asks. He doesn’t want to let Gerard out of his sight. Not yet.

“We both will,” Shaun says, “if that’s okay?”

“Absolutely,” Grant says firmly.

Gerard beams at him and reaches over to take his hand again. “And then we have a bet to settle.”

Gerard smirks. “You mean you have a bet to lose.”

“We’ll see,” Grant tells him, smirking back.

Gerard leans close and holds out his phone to take a picture. “Selfie Friday,” he explains with a smile.

Grant laughs. “Twitter is too much pressure for me.”

“You gotta make it work for you,” Gerard tells him sagely, tapping at his phone. “I can say that because it took me a long time to actually use it. Finally I just said ‘fuck it’ and jumped in.” He looks up and smiles. “There.” He holds up his phone so Grant can see the picture.

“Gerard Way, International Rock Star, and some comics bloke,” Grant jokes.

“Whatever,” Gerard says, smiling down at his phone.

Grant rather desperately wants to kiss him. “You don’t believe me?” Grant pulls out his own phone and opens up his Twitter app. Gerard makes a show of tapping his fingers and checking the time as Grant navigates through the process of retweeting the photo, and Grant has to try hard to keep a straight face. “You have ten times the followers I do, mind, but we shall see.”

“You’re on,” Gerard agrees.

Shaun just laughs. “You’re both ridiculous. Though, for the record, my money is on Grant.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Shaun, but you’re not invited to dinner,” Gerard says.

Shaun pats Gerard’s cheek companionably. “I think I’ll survive.”

Gerard rolls his eyes, but his cheeks have gone pink. It only makes Grant want to kiss him more.

“I have a meeting to get to,” he says sadly after a moment. “You’ll come to my panel?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Gerard promises.

Grant stands and squeezes Gerard’s shoulder. “See you later, love.”

Shaun starts laughing before he’s even out of the room. Grant suppresses a smile.

**

Gerard watches Grant leave, aware that he’s probably smiling like an idiot but unable to muster up any ability to care. Shaun is laughing at him and he doesn’t really care about that, either, but he kicks Shaun in the shin anyway.

“Ow,” Shaun complains. “You gotta admit it’s a little funny, though.”

Gerard concedes the point, because, well. “This is kind of the greatest day,” he says, slinging an arm across Shaun’s shoulder.

Shaun grins and squeezes back. “I’m pretty fucking stoked on my life and I’m a little jealous of yours. Only you, Gerard Way. Only you.”

Gerard ducks his head and scrubs a hand through his hair. He’s really, really looking forward to seeing Grant’s panel. And to dinner. And… whatever comes next.

“So. Is this, like, serious?” Shaun asks.

“I don’t know,” Gerard replies. “It feels like it might be? But I don’t know for sure.”

“Guess you can take your time,” Shaun says, but he sounds dubious. Gerard can play a long game, but he’s really not all that good at being patient. In this case, he’s pretty sure he’s not going to have to be. Grant had been pretty forward, back in the cab.

“Guess so. He’s already my best friend, though. So like. I don’t know. We’ll talk and shit. Maybe even tonight,” Gerard says.

Shaun is still shaking his head. “Only you.”

“You love me,” Gerard says, laughing.

“I do, my friend. But ridiculous, amazing things happen to you,” Shaun replied.

“Call me crazy, but I’m okay with that,” Gerard tells him.

Scott tracks them down eventually, and they debrief about the panel a little bit. Then Scott gives Gerard shit for surprising him with “Grant fucking Morrison, Way, warn a guy next time, especially if he’s going to be a special guest.”

“In my defense,” Gerard says, “I had no idea that would happen until eleven this morning.”

Scott stares. “Eleven was your coffee meeting with your online pal.”

“Yes, it was,” Gerard murmurs. And waits.

“You are fucking kidding me,” Scott says, flatly.

“He’s not,” Shaun says. “His life is exactly that charmed and absurd.”

Scott tugs at his fringe. “Of course it is. Oh, Gerard.” Gerard just grins, aware that he’s probably blushing. Again. Dammit. Scott laughs and squeezes his shoulder. “Well, I’m glad it clearly went well.”

“Me too,” Gerard says fervently. So fucking glad he hardly knows what to do with himself. Gerard checks his watch. “I’ve got a panel to catch,” he says with a grin.

“Me too,” Shaun reminds him. “Let’s go.”

Predictably, the room for Grant’s panel is completely packed. Gerard peers out from the staging area in awe. It’s a much bigger room than the one Gerard’s panel had been in. There’s a higher percentage of dudes, but a not-insignificant number of women too. They all look as thrilled to be here as Gerard is. Well, maybe not quite.

Grant is standing at the other side of the staging area, head bent together with someone Gerard doesn’t recognize. Gerard stands back and watches him. He’s amazed at how familiar Grant feels to him. Having a conversation, yeah, that makes sense. But Grant’s physical presence feels normal to him as well.

Actually, most of the time it feels fucking distracting. He’d felt it last night, even when he hadn’t known that Grant was Fox. Now, it’s ten times more intense. He likes it, though. Likes it a lot. He wonders if Grant feels it too.

Okay, he doesn’t really have to wonder about that.

Across the room, Grant straightens up and turns. He lights up when he sees Gerard, and Gerard’s breath catches. Grant comes over to them immediately. “So glad you’re here.” He smooths a thumb over Gerard’s cheekbone. “Enjoy.”

Gerard catches Grant’s hand before he can pull away and squeezes their fingers together. Grant smiles at him. “Break a leg,” Gerard says.

Grant nods and stands there for a few more moments while he’s introduced. Then he takes a deep breath and bounds up onto the stage. The crowd fucking screams.

Gerard beams and spends the next hour listening to Grant talk, listening to every amazing thing that comes out of his mouth. Sometimes it’s touching and sometimes the entire room roars with laughter. Once or twice Gerard is pretty sure Grant is talking about him.

It strikes him all over again as he watches; Grant is Fox. The intelligent, hilarious, insightful man who’s become one of his very closest friends over the course of the last several months… is one of Gerard’s heroes. It’s a heady and incredible feeling. All Gerard can do is stand back and feel so fucking proud of and amazed by his friend.  

“Your face is really dumb right now,” Shaun tells him. “Like, in a sweet way. I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Shut up,” Gerard says, but his heart’s not really in it.

Grant answers audience questions and when the moderator indicates the end of the panel, he signs things and answers questions for several minutes. He glances offstage at them several times, and Gerard just grins and chats with Shaun.

Finally, Grant makes his way off the stage and back into the staging area. He doesn’t come over right away; there are people back here waiting to talk to him, too. Gerard tries to be patient. He can tell he’s failing when Shaun elbows him in the ribs. “You’re staring.”

“Do you blame me?” Gerard says.

“Nah, guess not,” Shaun laughs.

Finally, Grant takes his leave of everyone talking to him and comes their way. Gerard beams at him.

“Thanks for waiting,” Grant says. “That was a bit mental at the end. Nothing like yours,” he laughs.

“Whatever, big shot,” Gerard teases. “You were fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Grant says, running his hand over his head. It’s not quite a nervous gesture, but it’s in the same family and Gerard finds it completely endearing.

“What next?” Gerard smiles.

“I told Becky I would go bother her at her booth,” Shaun says. He holds out his hand for Grant to shake. “Great panel, man. Thanks for the invite.”

Grant smiles and shakes his hand. “I’m sure I’ll see you again over the course of the weekend.”

“Bet you will.” Shaun chuckles and squeezes Gerard’s shoulder and leaves the two of them alone. Well, not alone; there are still at least a dozen people milling around the staging area. But fuck if the way Grant is looking at him doesn’t make Gerard feel like he and Grant are the only two people here.

“So,” Grant says. “I’m mostly free the rest of the evening.”

“When’s the not-free part?” Gerard asks.

“I should put in an appearance at the Image Gala tonight,” Grant replies. “But other than that…”

“I could go with you?” Gerard offers, then adds, “Or you could skip it. We could just. Hang out.”

“I’d probably enjoy it, but I think I’d enjoy being with you more,” Grant says.

Gerard takes a deep breath, trying to settle the butterflies in his belly. “Then… We should see who’s buying who dinner.”

“What’s the best way to do that, do you think?” Grant asks.

“Retweets? Google ourselves for the last twenty-four hours and see whose name pops up in the search for the other more?” Gerard suggests. “Also see what the photo services have to say. Pretty sure that was a pro, not some random DC staffer.”

“Sounds like a lot of work. Coffee?”

“Always coffee,” Gerard agrees.

They make their way to the nearest VIP room and while Grant gets them coffee, Gerard pulls out his iPad and starts checking. And starts making more and more dismayed faces at his screen. “What the fuck.”

Grant leans over to put a cup of coffee in front of him and stays there. “You’re losing, aren’t you? You young, pretty thing, how shocking,” he murmurs in Gerard’s ear.

“But - you’re Grant fucking Morrison!” Gerard is aware that he sounds kind of petulant, but.

“But you are Gerard Way. Far more people in this world know your face, love,” Grant says with a smile.

“Well, I can afford to buy you dinner, anyway,” Gerard concedes.

Grant reaches over to pat his shoulder consolingly; Gerard catches Grant’s hand in his own. “It won’t be a hardship,” Gerard admits. “Even if I do think you should be way the fuck more famous than me.”

Grant just smiles at him. He seems perfectly happy with the outcome. To be honest, Gerard is, too.

“So. Where are we going?” Gerard asks. “I’m into anything.”

“Let’s go up to Old Town, find someplace quiet, yeah?” Grant murmurs.

“Yeah,” Gerard agrees. He feels like the air between them is crackling, charged. He almost wants to skip dinner, go straight to one of their rooms. But they have a bet to settle and he is getting hungry again.

“D’you need to let your Mehdi know you’re leaving? Or anyone else?”

“I’ll call him,” Gerard says, tucking away his tablet and pulling out his phone. He makes the call and Mehdi doesn’t even harass him that much. Gerard knows he’ll get it later, though. “Let’s find someone to get us a cab,” Gerard says.

It’s not quite as easy as that- they get stopped a few times on their way out, mostly by people they know. But soon enough they’re in a cab, and Grant is directing the driver towards Old Town. It’s a fucking gorgeous evening. But then, it’s San Diego. That’s not really a surprise.

They’re still not alone, but Grant’s warm fingers cover his. It’s good.

“I’m still having a hard time fucking believing this,” Gerard murmurs, as they watch San Diego going past the cab windows.

“Magic is like that,” Grant replies seriously. Gerard fucking believes him. “It’s easier to just believe. It’s fucking punk to believe. Everyone expects the terrible things. I choose to accept the great ones.”

Gerard really, really wants to lean in and press their lips together. It would be so fucking easy, and he knows, knows that Grant would kiss him back. He wants, but he knows if he starts, he won’t want to stop for a long fucking time. So he squeezes Grant’s hand in his.

“What does your weekend look like?” he asks.

Grant huffs. “Busier than I would like. Today was the eye of the storm, relatively speaking.”

“We’ll work around it,” Gerard says. “I have a signing tomorrow. And another the next day. And I promised to help man the booth for a while.”

“I have plenty to do myself,” Grant chuckles. “But we ought to compare schedules.”

The cab lets them off in Old Town, and they wander around for a few minutes before deciding on a little Mexican restaurant tucked out of the way in a corner. There’s a candle on the table and the whole thing is terribly romantic. Gerard grins at Grant over the table.   “Hope this is an acceptable prize,” he says.

“More than,” Grant agrees. “This is- it’s perfect, Gerard.”

Gerard smiles broadly at him and reaches across the table to take his hand. “What I really want to know is if a bet payment can count as a first date.”

Grant laughs, interlacing their fingers. “As long as it’s the first of many, I think.”

“That’s pretty much guaranteed,” Gerard replies.

Grant smiles. “Do you mind if I have a drink, love?”

“Not at all,” Gerard says, because it’s true. He trusts himself, and he trusts Grant, too.

Grant gets a Mexican beer and Gerard orders a Diet Coke. They keep holding hands. They keep talking, too, some about friends they share or friends they think they ought to share. Some about San Diego. And some conversations that they’d started months ago, back as Danny and Fox, and have been carrying on periodically ever since. It’s different but so fucking amazing to not have to wait for a response, to see Grant sitting across from him as they talk.

Gerard is pretty sure Grant is right. Magic is the only thing that can explain this. He loves the sound of Grant’s voice, the way he talks with his hands, the way he smiles.

When the food arrives, Gerard finds himself very unhappy about having to let go of Grant’s hand.

Grant laughs at him. “Tacos, Gerard. You want to eat them.”

“I do.” Gerard looks at them sadly, then at Grant.

“I’ll be here,” Grant promises.

Gerard laughs a little because he’s being ridiculous and he knows it, and lifts his taco to his mouth to take a bite. They enjoy their food silently for a few moments and then start talking again. Gerard is pretty sure they’re never going to run out of things to say to each other.

They eat. Grant has another beer, Gerard a spicy and amazing cup of coffee. Grant notes the time, but shows no regret at missing the night’s party. They linger over coffee and dessert for a long time, until Grant finally says, “Well, I am prepared to consider this bet more than satisfactorily settled. And… I think we should go back to the hotel now.”

The way he says it makes Gerard shiver. He takes a deep breath, nods, and gestures for the check. As he’s writing out the tip and signing his name on the credit card slip, Grant squeezes his thigh. He jumps. This isn’t the innocent hand-holding from before.

“Too much?” Grant asks quietly.

“Fuck, no,” Gerard says vehemently. “This is- I’ve been waiting for months.”

Grant smiles softly at him. “As have I. Let’s go.”

Gerard pulls out his phone and calls for a cab. As they wait near the entrance to the restaurant, Grant pulls Gerard into his arms.  

“Is this where you kiss me?” Gerard breathes.

“Is that all right?” Grant asks. Gerard sees him dart a look out into the night, the people walking past.

Gerard nods. “Well, I might explode if you don’t.”

Grant laughs softly. “In that case…” He cups Gerard’s cheek in his hand and leans down to kiss him softly. Gerard sighs and lets his eyes slip closed, reaching up to rest his hand on the back of Grant’s head. It starts slow and soft and Grant’s fingers slip under the hem of his shirt to stroke the skin of his back. Everything about it is gentle, but in a way that promises later won’t be.

Grant’s hand finds the small of Gerard’s back and rests there. Gerard gasps into Grant’s mouth. “Where’s that damn cab?” Gerard murmurs against Grant’s lips.

“Don’t much care,” Grant replies.

“I want to be touching you,” Gerard says. “The kind of touching I can’t do right here because of public indecency laws.”

Grant laughs. “I understand. Soon.”

“Months, Fox,” Gerard says. “Months.”

“I know. You aren’t the only one who’s been counting.” Grant pulls back and swipes his thumb against Gerard’s palm. “Did you think about me?”

“So much,” Gerard admits. “And not just… I wanted you to be where I was, you know?” Grant smiles and pulls him closer until their hips are together. Gerard gasps.

“I do know.”

The cab arrives. Gerard is about ready to kiss the driver, but he settles for curling against Grant instead. Grant wraps an arm around Gerard’s waist and presses a kiss to his temple. Gerard leans into him. The ride back to the hotel is both the longest and shortest of his life. “Schrödinger’s cab ride,” he mutters to himself.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” Grant laughs.

“Whatever,” Gerard huffs. “You know what I fucking mean, Mr. Quantum Mechanics.”

Grant smiles and kisses his cheek as they pull up in front of the hotel. “I know precisely what you mean.” He settles the cab fare then follows Gerard into the hotel and into the elevator.

Of course, because it’s Comic Con, there are already six people in the elevator. One man’s eyes go wide when he sees Grant, but he doesn’t approach them. Gerard can see the hints of a smile around the corners of Grant’s mouth, but they play it cool and just get off the elevator on Gerard’s floor.

Gerard is good; he only fumbles his key card once. And then they’re through the door, and it’s closed behind him, and that is fucking it. He pushes Grant against the wall and kisses him like he’s been wanting to, with tongue and teeth on his bottom lip and hands under his suit jacket.

Grant gasps and pulls him in, letting Gerard press against him, push a knee between his thighs. “Fuck,” Grant moans, hands coming up to cup Gerard’s ass.

Gerard rolls his hips against Grant’s and tugs his shirt out of his trousers. He kisses him hard, like he’s never going to stop. (He might never stop.) Grant tries to get Gerard’s jacket off of him but they’re both all fumbling hands, so eventually they pull apart. “Fuck,” Gerard gasps, panting into the hollow of Grant’s throat.

“My thoughts exactly,” Grant murmurs. “Gerard, let me undress you.”

“I get to return the favor,” Gerard says, firmly.

“Of course,” Grant replies.

Gerard reaches up to slide Grant’s suit jacket off his shoulders. “You always look so good in these,” he murmurs. “I always thought so.”

“Always?” Grant asks softly.

“I’ve been attracted to you since the first time I saw you,” Gerard says.

“When was that?” Grant asks, helping Gerard with his cuff links.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Gerard murmurs. “Long time. First time I saw you in person was while you were writing The Invisibles. I was an intern at DC and you came in wearing the full King Mob deal. It was fucking amazing,” Gerard explains.

Grant’s cheeks go pink. “That was so long ago.”

“Didn’t matter. Doesn’t. You’re fucking gorgeous, Grant.”

“I liked going into the offices feeling like I was king of the world,” Grant confesses with a smile. Gerard starts working on the buttons of his dress shirt.

“I’m pretty sure you still are,” Gerard murmurs. He leans in to kiss Grant’s chest as it’s exposed.

“You make me feel like it,” Grant says softly.

Gerard lifts his face to smile at Grant. Grant puts his hands in Gerard’s hair and leans in to kiss him again. Less frantic this time, but soft and fucking intense. When he breaks it off, he tries again and this time Gerard stands docilely while Grant strips off his jacket and shirt. He makes a little involuntary noise when Grant continues on to his jeans.

“Soon, love,” Grant promises, slowly drawing down the zip. Grant pushes his jeans down his thighs and crouches down to take off his shoes and socks and pull his jeans the rest of the way off. He kisses Gerard’s thigh, and Gerard whimpers a bit and tugs at his shoulders.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Gerard murmurs.

Grant slides his hands over Gerard’s shoulders and down his chest. “You are so fucking beautiful,” Grant murmurs.

“I, I -”

“You know you are,” Grant adds softly. “You’re used to people looking at you.”

“Not when they’re you,” Gerard gasps.

“I intend to give you plenty of time to get used to it,” Grant promises.

Gerard smiles. He feels weirdly shy and he fucking knows he’s blushing. He takes a breath and tugs Grant back until they get to the bed. He sits and puts his hands to Grant’s button and zip. Finally.

Grant bends down to bite at Gerard’s ear, gently. Gerard gasps. He takes a breath and pulls Grant’s pants down. Grant toes his shoes off and steps out of them. He sits on the bed next to Gerard and peels off his socks. He’s completely unhurried about it all, and Gerard is so nervous he can feel his pulse in his throat.

“Hey,” Grant murmurs, tugging Gerard up towards the pillows. “Come here, love.” Gerard settles into his arms. His skin is warm and he’s looking at Gerard in a way that makes him swallow hard. “I’m nervous too,” Grant tells him. “I’d never even thought to imagine this.”

“I’m so fucking glad we’re here,” Gerard says, hiding the words in the skin of Grant’s throat. Grant strokes Gerard’s hair behind his ear and slides his hand down to cup his shoulder. Gerard presses his lips to the underside of Grant’s jaw.

Grant hums and slides his hand up and down Gerard’s arm, then pulls Gerard on top of himself. Their cocks line up, and both of them moan. Gerard wants their briefs off right the fuck now, but he doesn’t want to move. He settles for rolling his hips against Grant’s and sucking at the base of his neck, just below his collar line.

“You ought to make it higher,” Grant rumbles. “So I can walk around knowing everyone is wondering who’s been giving me lovebites.”

“Exhibitionist,” Gerard murmurs.

“Glass-” Grant begins, but Gerard bites him a little harder and he trails off on a moan. Gerard would smile if he weren’t so busy sucking a hickey into Grant’s neck. Well above the collar line. He can’t deny he likes the thought of people wondering who marked Grant like that.

Grant settles his hands onto Gerard’s ass and urges him to keep moving. Not that Gerard needs much in the way of urging.

They move together for a minute and then Gerard pulls himself away. He gets rid of his briefs and reaches for Grant’s. Grant lifts his hips and Gerard slides them down his legs. He can’t help fucking staring, once he gets them down. “Jesus fuck.”

Grant props himself up on his elbows and smirks. “Is this where I ask if you see something you like, love?”

Gerard laughs. “I see many things I like a whole fucking lot.”

“How would you like them?” Grant asks, oh so politely.

“Hmmm,” Gerard murmurs, ducking his head down to mouth along Grant’s chest.

Grant puts his hands in Gerard’s hair. “That’s not an answer, but I’ll take it.”

Gerard gets his lips wrapped around a nipple and sets out to make Grant moan. It doesn’t take long. Grant is gratifyingly vocal, and he twists his fingers lightly in Gerard’s hair to hold him where he is. Gerard keeps licking and sucking. Grant only gives him enough leeway to switch to his other nipple. Gerard is fine with that. He can feel Grant’s cock against his belly. He’s as hard as Gerard is, now. Fuck if Gerard isn’t drooling.

“Have you decided what you want, love?” Grant rasps.

“I wanna suck you,” Gerard replies immediately. He shoots a look up at Grant, who’s smiling. The fingers in Gerard’s hair tighten, then release.

“Whatever you like, love,” Grant says.

“I fucking like,” Gerard replies and moves down Grant’s body. He kisses Grant’s soft stomach and the jut of his hipbone, shifting to take the head of his cock in his mouth.

Grant gasps, head falling back against the pillows. Gerard feels really fucking smug for a moment before taking more of Grant into his mouth. He tastes good and he’s stretching Gerard’s lips just right. This is one thing Gerard knows he’s fucking good at. It’s more gratifying to do this for Grant than it usually is; Grant is gorgeous, flushed, fingertips catching on the sheets.

Gerard brings his hand up to wrap around the base of Grant’s cock. He shifts his hips against the mattress just for a little bit of friction. He could get off on this, easy. He goes down further, taking Grant in until his lips meet his fist.

“Fuck,” Grant moans. “Oh, fuck me, you’re really fucking good at this.”

Gerard presses his tongue against the base of Grant’s cock and squeezes his hip with his free hand. He drops down to mouth gently at his balls, too, then noses back up his shaft to lick along the underside, being deliberately teasing this time. He loves everything about this: the smell, the taste, the feeling of Grant underneath him.

Gerard takes Grant’s cock in his mouth again. This time, he goes down as far as he can, until he’s swallowing around the head of Grant’s cock. He still doesn’t have Grant all the way in. Clearly he’ll have to practice. Gerard is okay with practicing. Repeatedly. He moans quietly, happily, and starts to bob his head.

Grant keeps up a steady stream of encouragement, moaning and swearing and running his hands over Gerard’s hair. Gerard pulls off giggling hoarsely a few moments later. Grant gives him a look that’s half amused, half impatient. “Sorry,” Gerard gasps. “Just. In the comments of one of my interviews, someone asked, ‘Could he be sucking Morrison’s cock more?’”

“At the moment?” Grant drawls. “Yes. With an option on fucking now and getting back to the cocksucking later.”

Gerard licks his lips. “You wanna fuck me, Grant?”

“Fuck, yes. Get the fuck up here,” Grant growls. Gerard grins and takes his time about it, feeling wicked. He wraps his hand around Grant’s cock and strokes. He moves up slowly, kissing his belly, his scar, his chest. When he finally gets to Grant’s mouth, Grant’s eyes are practically black.

Gerard dips his head down to claim a kiss, light and teasing, biting at Grant’s lips until Grant growls again, fisting his hands in Gerard’s hair and pulling him down properly.

Gerard moans against his mouth. “Grant,” he gasps.

“Do you have condoms?” Grant asks.

“I…yes,” Gerard says, turning red. “I brought some.”

Grant chuckles against Gerard’s throat, voice husky when he says, “You were hoping for this, hm? I was, too. So fucking much.”

“I didn’t even know if we’d be attracted to each other or if we’d get along in person. But fuck, I hoped. So much,” Gerard replies.

“Do you date much?” Grant asks, running fingers through Gerard’s hair, rubbing gently at the shaved sides.

“Not for a while,” Gerard admits. His eyes slip shut at the feeling of Grant’s fingers carding through his hair, and he practically has to bite back a croon. Grant clearly notices, because he chuckles again. “For a long while,” Gerard adds. “Meeting people is complicated for me.”

“I understand,” Grant murmurs and leans in for a kiss. “Get me the stuff,” he whispers against Gerard’s lips.

“You’ll have to let me go first,” Gerard reminds him, teasingly.

“I suppose,” Grant replies and gives him another kiss before releasing him. Gerard gets up and grabs the stuff from his suitcase.

Gerard stretches out on his side next to Grant and balances the lube and a condom on Grant’s stomach.

“Oi,” Grant says, frowning down at him.

“What?” Gerard asks innocently.

“Some audience participation, if you please,” Grant replies. Gerard smiles and grabs the condom. He tears open the wrapper and leans up on his elbow to slowly roll it down Grant’s cock. The little noise Grant makes when he does it makes his stomach flip. Gerard grins and presses the lube into Grant’s hand. “Get me ready?”

Grant smiles back and leans down to kiss him. “It would be my pleasure.” He moves down the bed and settles between Gerard’s spread legs. He goes quickly, sinking one slick finger in to the second knuckle and thrusting it at an even pace.

Gerard moans. It feels fucking incredible; “Grant,” he pants.

Grant kisses the top of his thigh and slides a second finger in next to the first. It’s maybe a little fast, but Gerard wants Grant in him.

“Is this-” Grant begins, and Gerard gasps “yes” and rocks back against Grant’s fingers, just in case he’s getting any ideas about stopping or slowing down.

Grant wraps his free hand loosely around Gerard’s cock and crooks his fingers to drag over Gerard’s prostate as he thrusts them.

Gerard moans. “Fuckin’ - more.”

“Whatever you like,” Grant murmurs, and he teases at Gerard’s hole with a third finger. Gerard gasps and writhes, hands clenching in the sheets. “Impatient,” Grant chides, laughing softly as he slides the third finger in beside the first two.

“You have no fucking idea,” Gerard moans. “Fuck. Please.”

Grant moves fast, when he finally decides to move - withdrawing his fingers and pushing Gerard’s thighs apart, only pausing when the head of his cock is snugly pressed against Gerard’s ass.

“Now,” Gerard gasps, grabbing for Grant’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Grant’s other hand finds Gerard’s hip, and Gerard moans loud and long as Grant presses inside of him.

“Gerard,” Grant gasps in his ear. “Oh, fuck.” He sounds undone, but he keeps his hips steady and slow.

“Please, Fox,” Gerard whispers. He feels electric, needy, shaken, as undone as Grant sounds, but there’s one person who can give him what he needs.

Grant chants a low, steady stream of filth into Gerard’s ear, fucking into him over and over again. Gerard arches and writhes and gasps. He’s probably making too much noise, but fuck, he doesn’t give a shit, it feels too good. He wraps his arms around Grant, grips his shoulders instead of the sheets.

“My Danny,” Grant whispers in his ear.

“Yes,” Gerard moans. “Fuck, touch me.”

Grant doesn’t waste a second, hand sliding down from Gerard’s hip to wrap around his cock. Gerard moans and thrusts his hips up into Grant’s hands and then back against his cock.

“That’s it,” Grant rasps, “More. Again. Come for me.”

“Almost there,” Gerard tells him, eyes closing against the wave he can feel building in the pit of his belly. They keep moving. Gerard pulls Grant’s head down for a desperate kiss just as he starts to come. He moans into Grant’s mouth, fingers tightening, and Grant speeds up his thrusts, sloppy and desperate.

Gerard doesn’t have any more words; he just moans, over and over, riding the aftershocks of his own orgasm and panting against Grant’s lips. Grant thrusts hard one last time and comes, moans muffled against Gerard’s mouth.

Gerard chases his tongue, kisses him until neither of them can breathe, until Grant is slumped heavily over him.

“Darling,” Grant murmurs in his ear, tightening his arms around Gerard’s waist. Gerard swallows and tightens one arm around Grant and slides a hand up to cup the back of Grant’s head. His body is humming, spent. In awe of what just happened.

They lie together for long moments. Gerard takes a deep breath, and then another. He turns his head and presses his lips to Grant’s cheek. “God,” he mumbles.

“Not last time I checked,” Grant jokes.

Gerard huffs out a laugh against Grant’s shoulder. This is Fox in his arms. Grant. It’s blowing his mind a little bit.

“This would have to happen the busiest weekend of the year,” he sighs.

Grant is quiet for a moment. Then he says, a bit hesitantly, “I… had been thinking. About perhaps not returning immediately to Scotland, after the convention.”

“Wanna come back to Portland with me?” Gerard asks. “I bet you’d like it.”

“I’d love to. Want to come to LA with me first? Just to visit a few people I rarely see.”

“Definitely,” Gerard says, pressing a kiss to the nearest bit of Grant he can reach. “You get to tell Scott, though.”

Grant laughs. “I can do that. I feel like he won’t find me particularly intimidating, though. Unless you’re using me as a shield?”

“No, I just like to render him speechless as often as possible,” Gerard laughs, then gasps as Grant shifts and pulls out. He retreats to the bathroom and comes back in a moment with a damp washcloth.

Gerard hums, pleased at the attention, but it’s nothing compared to how good it feels when Grant climbs back into bed and wraps Gerard in his arms again. “I feel really fucking lucky right now,” Gerard tells him.

“So do I,” Grant replies.

Gerard grins, and Grant bends down to press a kiss against his lips, and they kiss and kiss until Gerard’s eyes are drooping closed. He falls asleep warm and comfortable, with Grant’s lips pressed against his cheek.

**

Grant wakes to the immensely irritating sound of his alarm and is groggily confused to find someone in bed with him. Having stolen all the covers, no less. He fumbles for the telephone and turns off the alarm. When he looks over at the pile of blankets at the other side of the bed, he finds a pair of sleep-bleary eyes blinking at him.

“You stole all the blankets,” Grant says. “I have a vision of my future and it includes a lot of me waking up freezing.”

Gerard makes a grumbly noise, but rolls toward Grant with his arm up, blankets in hand. Grant meets him in the middle and Gerard wraps the blankets over his shoulders and snuggles against his chest. “Sorry,” he breathes against Grant’s skin.

“I’m just pleased to wake up with you,” Grant tells him.

“Me fucking too,” Gerard says, smiling at him. Grant feels warm in a way that has very little to do with the blankets. Grant wraps his arms around Gerard and kisses his temple. He thinks waking up cold because Gerard has stolen the covers might be the best possible future. “What time is it anyway?” Gerard mutters.

“Earlier than either of us are given to rising,” Grant tells him. “But the press never sleep, it seems. I’ve an interview in an hour.”

“Ugh,” Gerard mutters.

“It was as late as I could book it, too,” Grant says with a sigh. “You can go back to sleep if you like.”

“No, I have to get to the convention center too.” Gerard stretches and drapes himself more fully over Grant.

Grant laughs. “This isn’t terribly conducive to me getting up, love.”

Gerard sighs heavily. “Ugh,” he repeats.

“I promise to make it up to you,” Grant murmurs.

“I like the sound of that,” Gerard tells his neck.

They lie there together for a few minutes more, just breathing. “It’s fucking weird not to be checking my phone right now,” Gerard laughs.

Grant laughs. “Did I tell you I bought a smartphone for you? I didn’t have a mobile at all until just before I went to London.”

“For me?” Gerard repeats.

“Because I couldn’t stand the thought of missing any of your messages,” Grant confirms.

Gerard beams at him. “I was horrible. Scott threatened to confiscate my phone every time I was at Dark Horse for meetings, because he could always tell I was itching to check my texts.”

Grant laughs. “The lads in London gave me so much shit. Especially since they knew I didn’t have a mobile previously. Kristan, too.”

Gerard looks at him curiously for a moment, before comprehension dawns. “Your ex. The good one.”

He nods. “She used to handle everything that could possibly require a mobile. I resisted getting one myself for a very long time.” “What happened with her?”

Grant is quiet for a moment, thinking. “I…was too much of a workaholic for her, I think. When it came down to it. We had other problems, but if I’d been able to pull away from work more often, I think those other things would have been bearable for her,” Grant explains. “Sadly, not much has changed.” Grant frowns a bit.

“Hey,” Gerard says, wriggling so they’re face to face. “You talked to me pretty much all day every day for months,” Gerard reminds him. Grant smiles and kisses the tip of his nose. “You’re right,” he whispers. He has no idea what this thing that he and Gerard have been building together is going to become, but it already feels so fucking strong. Like maybe they’ll be able to sort it out, between the two of them. He leans up to kiss Gerard. He forces himself to keep it brief, but it’s difficult. “I’ve got to shower and dress and get moving.”

Gerard takes a deep breath, fingertips gentle against the back of Grant’s skull, pulling their foreheads together. “If we have any matching free time, we should meet in the VIP lounge,” Gerard suggests.

“I’ll text you whenever I do,” Grant promises, giving him a kiss he intends to be quick. Naturally, it doesn’t work out that way. Both of them groan when they finally pull apart. Grant forces himself to pull away and get out of bed. He wants to do anything but. He pulls on his clothes and checks his pockets to make sure he has everything. “Talk to you later,” he murmurs.

“Definitely,” Gerard says. He presses his finger to the mark he’d left on Grant’s neck the night before, grinning when Grant hisses a little bit. “Get out of here,” Gerard tells him. “Knock ’em dead at the interview.”

Grant smiles. “I shall do my best.” He heads back to his own room to change with a spring in his step. He needs a Red Bull and something to eat, but he feels shockingly good.

He has to laugh when he gets a glimpse of himself in the mirror in his own room. Gerard hadn’t been at all subtle. He’s not going to have time to shave, but that’s all right. Kissing Gerard was entirely more important. He showers quickly and dresses. Nice suit, stubbly face, that’s just what people get today. He’s going to get plenty of shit from the people who know him, and that’s fine. He’ll take it gladly, knowing what he’s getting in exchange.

And really, gloating to his friends about his hot young boyfriend is not outside the realm of possibility. Boyfriend. Fuck, that’s amazing. He grabs his phone and types out, Can’t stop fucking grinning.

It takes a minute for Gerard to respond. I’m gonna look like an idiot all day. I don’t even care.

Same, but. The idiot who has you has the last laugh, Grant replies.

He arrives at the interview green room with ten minutes to spare, and sends up a prayer of thanks to whatever gods watch over the comics industry that someone’s thought to provide energy drinks. He guzzles one down and cracks open another for sipping and sits where he’s meant to sit.

“You’re early,” the interviewer, an old friend, says when he arrives. “Kudos, Grant.”

Grant raises his energy drink in salute. He sits down and they start. Grant’s happy, so his answers tend to reflect his mood. He walks through everything he has going on right now - his comics, the documentary, writing his book - and the last question is, “What are you most looking forward to this weekend?”

Grant laughs. “Honestly? Spending time with friends.”

His friend’s eyes light on the hickey and he lifts an eyebrow. “Friends, eh?”

“Good friends. Amazing friends. It’s been too long.”

“Enjoy,” the interviewer concludes with a laugh.

“I shall,” Grant says, grinning privately to himself. They shake hands and Grant gets up. He checks his schedule. He has another interview soon and a meeting a little after that.

He has enough time to grab a breakfast sandwich and text Gerard. Suspect I smiled like an idiot for the whole of that little chat. Good thing it’s a print interview.

Haha. Had a breakfast meeting with Gabriel. He gave me so much fucking shit.

 I’ll be in the building at eleven.

Dammit, I’ve got an interview at eleven, Gerard replies.

Grant has to laugh. And I have a panel at noon. And a signing at two.

I’ll come to the end of your signing and bring coffee, Gerard offers.

Sounds perfect, Grant replies. I shall see you then. He tucks away his phone, grinning to himself. Because fuck, he will. He’s spent months wishing that he could meet Danny face to face, and now… now he gets Gerard.

He’s never fucking going to stop grinning about that. Not ever. Gerard is worth every giddy grin.

His second interview goes well–the interviewer is a sweet kid, clearly a bit starstruck and too worried about being professional to make any comments about Grant’s appearance. He gets a coffee before heading to his panel. It’s a fun time and there are lots of good questions in the Q&A portion.

Dan DiDio is waiting in the wings when he finishes. “Grant,” says Dan, holding out his hand. “Caught the end of your panel; good stuff. You’re getting them excited.”

Grant smiles and hopes Dan can’t tell how very little Grant wants to talk to him. “All in a day’s work,” he says.

“I’d like to steal you before your signing,” Dan says.

Grant winces internally; he’d been hoping to avoid such a fate. But he’s not stupid, so he says, “I have some time,” and allows Dan to lead him off. He thinks of Gerard who will be waiting for him later and squares his shoulders.

Trapped in meeting with boss, help, he texts.

Weirdly, now that I know you mean Dan DiDio, that’s even more terrifying, Gerard sends back.

Sigh. Grant replies and turns his attention to Dan. This would be so much easier with caffeine. Thankfully, he’s able to charm a runner outside the meeting room that Dan leads him to into bringing him a Red Bull.

The meeting isn’t as bad as Grant fears, but it’s still a meeting with Dan. Luckily he has a good excuse to escape, and signings are something he truly enjoys.

He always loses track of time during signings, so it’s a surprise when he looks up to see Gerard smiling softly at him, holding two Starbucks cups. Mehdi is standing, arms crossed, a couple of feet back. A few people seem to recognize that Gerard is someone, but most of the ten or so people left in his line don’t notice him.

He waves Gerard over, but Gerard shakes his head and stays back, going over to mutter something to Mehdi. The next person in line steps up, and Grant gets caught up in talking with her.

The last person in line is a sweet girl who talks about how much she loves Doom Patrol. She keeps glancing over Grant’s shoulder.

“Are you an MCR fan?” Grant asks her.

“I- yeah,” she admits, blushing a little.

“Oi,” Grant calls over his shoulder. “Get your arse over here.” Gerard grins at him, hands off the coffee to Mehdi, and walks toward them. “I think this young lady wants to say hello to you, love,” he says. “And she’s waited all this time -” he nods to the guy running his line, who moves the stanchions to close the queue, “so.”

“It’s fine,” Gerard says. “Hi.”

The young woman looks more than a little bit starstruck. “Hi,” she replies shyly. Gerard sticks out his hand to shake hers. She glances between him and Grant. “I. Um. I read Doom Patrol because you said in an interview a few years ago that it was a big influence.” Gerard grins and Grant knows his face looks similar.

“Look at you, getting me new readers before we ever met.”

“Which you deserve,” Gerard replies. “It’s great to meet you. Did you -”

She blushes and rummages in her bag. “I didn’t get a ticket for your signing. Maybe you can sign this?” She flips open a sketch book to a page of characters Grant recognizes from Umbrella Academy.

Gerard’s face lights up. “Fuck, these are awesome!  Did you do these?” Her blush deepens and she nods. “Damn, they’re amazing,” Gerard gushes. They are, Grant thinks. He’s fairly certain Gerard would be genuinely enthusiastic no matter what, though.

Gerard scrawls a little note and his signature, giving the girl an encouraging smile. She squeaks her thanks and lets a staffer escort her out of the booth. Grant turns to Gerard. “Well, then.” Mehdi walks over with the promised coffee, which Grant accepts gratefully.

“So, how long do we have?” Gerard asks and bites his lip. Grant takes a sip of coffee, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and opens the calendar app.

“Hour and a half?” Grant hazards.

“I’ll take it,” Gerard announces.

Grant grins at him. “Have you eaten anything? We could have lunch somewhere.”

“Yes, that’s…perfect.” Gerard beams at him like he’s the best thing in the world, and Grant feels a great deal of sympathy for the girl from before. He’s feeling a bit starstruck, himself. He only just stops himself from taking Gerard’s hand right there in the middle of the DC booth.

“Let’s go, then. Tacos again?” he asks with a wink.  

“We are in SoCal,” Gerard comments. “Mehdi?”

“I’ll let you two have your alone time,” Mehdi says, dryly.

Gerard rolls his eyes. “So basically your answer is, ‘Take a fucking cab and text me on your way back?’”

“Also, don’t fall in the harbor,” Mehdi says. “Does that cover it?” He leads them to the cab stand. Before he tucks them away in one of the waiting cabs, Gerard hugs him, and he laughs and pats Gerard on the shoulder. “I love you too, Way. Remember what I said about the harbor.”

“I’ll keep him from the water,” Grant promises with a grin.

Gerard’s hand finds his as soon as the cab starts moving. “Kidnapped by the boss, huh?” Gerard asks, a grin in his voice.

“Yes,” Grant replies with a sigh. “It wasn’t actually bad. Partly because he just wanted to re-hash some things I already knew.”

“How exciting.” Gerard runs a hand through his hair. “Am I glad I never followed through with my Batman pitch?”

“Batman pitch?” Grant asks, curiously. Gerard blushes a little, and that’s their conversation for the rest of the cab ride sorted out.

“I want to fucking see everything you’ve got,” Grant says.

“When we get to Portland,” Gerard promises.

“I’ll remember,” Grant tells him.

Grant has to kiss him, then, though he keeps it light in deference to their cab driver. He squeezes Gerard’s hand as he pulls away. He can’t remember a time he felt this happy. Happy down in his bones. Happy to steal this ninety minutes out of a busy day.

They find yet another Mexican restaurant. “Do you have dinner plans?” Gerard asks, as they look over the menus. “A bunch of friends are getting together, if you want to join.”

“I’d like that,” Grant replies with a smile. He wants to meet all of Gerard’s friends. “And I have another party invite after, if you -”

“I think I’d probably enjoy it, as long as you’d be there,” Gerard says, thoughtfully. “And… as long as we didn’t have to stay too long.” The look he gives Grant over the top of his menu sends a flare of heat straight to Grant’s belly.

“I’ll be there and we can leave early,” Grant tells him. He even manages to keep his voice steady.

“Deal, then,” Gerard says with a grin.

Really, it’s probably for the best that they only have a limited amount of time for lunch. If Grant had his way, he’d be taking Gerard straight back to one of their rooms.

Grant busies himself with the chips and salsa for a moment to distract himself from his thoughts. Then Gerard nudges his foot under the table. “Your face right now…”

Grant grins ruefully. “Can you blame me, love?”

Gerard giggles his slightly croaky smoker’s giggle. “Not really.”

“Tease,” Grant says.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Gerard says, voice pitched low. “I promise I’m good for it.”

Grant swallows. “Thank the gods for that.”

“I still think I am the lucky one,” Gerard adds.

“I think we can share the title,” Grant says, reaching across the table to lace their fingers together. Gerard smiles at him and it takes Grant’s breath away. The moment is interrupted by their waiter, but that’s probably a good thing.

They get to talking about electronic music over lunch, which is sufficiently distracting. All too soon, it’s time to start heading back. Gerard calls a cab as Grant takes care of the bill.

As they ride back, Gerard leans against his side. “I’m glad we could do this. It’s like a little island of sanity in the middle of everything.”

“You’ve always been that to me,” Grant tells him. “Since that first day, on the message board. My light in the darkness.” Grant laughs a little, remembering. He tightens his arm around Gerard’s shoulder and kisses his temple.

“I’m glad,” Gerard says. “You’ve helped me too. So fucking much.” He tips his head against Grant’s shoulder. Grant lets his eyes close, just for a moment. Just to savor this feeling.

*

Gerard meets him in the lobby for the party looking every inch the rock star he is, from the leather jacket right down to the combat-style boots. Grant is no stranger to tight jeans, but Gerard puts him to shame. And is clearly enjoying Grant’s once-over.

“Ready?” asks Gerard, grinning and bouncing on his toes. Against the all-black background of his clothing, his hair stands out even more.

Grant laughs and takes Gerard’s hand. “As I’ll ever be. Let’s go.”

Dinner with Gerard’s friends had been pleasant. Low-key after a long day. Gerard hadn’t been at all subtle about their relationship, this time, and they’d received their share of good-natured teasing. Grant enjoyed every moment, if he’s being honest. He had Gerard, after all. And he’s going to enjoy showing up to this party with Gerard on his arm as well, even though the gossipmongers will be out in force. He doesn’t much care what the internet thinks about this. Gerard clearly doesn’t either, which is gratifying, even if Gerard refuses to believe he’s a bigger celebrity than Grant will ever be.

There’s actually a red carpet at this one, which Grant finds hilarious since he’s still unshaven and sporting a massive hickey. As they approach, he can feel the shift in the way Gerard is carrying himself. His shoulders move back, his chin lifts. There’s an air of defiance about him. It’s still his Gerard, just…amplified.

It’s really fascinating. Grant regrets never seeing him perform live.

Grant leans over to press his lips against Gerard’s ear. “After this, I’m going to take you back to my hotel room and suck you off until you beg.”

He can hear Gerard swallow. Gerard’s stride transforms into a cocky swagger after that. Grant watches him pose for the obligatory photo op with appreciation. Tonight is going to be an exercise in patience. He’s grateful he already promised Gerard they could leave early.

Gerard is watching him back with a very similar look on his face. It’s almost a relief when he hears, “Grant! Oh, and Gerard, too!” and turns to see Phil and Jim waving them over.

Grant grins. He always loves seeing Phil. The look Phil gives him when he spots his and Gerard’s linked hands is pretty great too.

“Look at you,” Phil murmurs. Grant squeezes Gerard’s hand and grins. “I’m not crazy thinking this is pretty new, right?” Phil asks.

“This is the first time we’ve met in person,” Grant says, quirking an eyebrow at Gerard, “but we’ve been friends for a while.”

Jim looks confused. “I thought– last night, you said you hadn’t met him before. You were so embarrassed!” he says, pointing an accusing finger at Gerard.

Gerard grins. “We hadn’t. We, uh, just found out it was each other we’d been talking to this whole time. It’s pretty wild.”

“Oh my god,” Phil says. “That is fucking adorable.”

“Not a word, Philip,” Grant says. “Or you, Lee.”

“Technically, I’m your boss, you know,” Jim points out.

Grant scowls, but he’s having a hard time summoning up very much irritation. Gerard is laughing in Grant’s ear, tucked against his side like the spot was made for him. Phil just grins at him. “I’m happy for you, Grant. You deserve it.”

“So does Mr. Rockstar,” Jim adds with a smile. Gerard huffs, but he’s clearly pleased.

Jim wanders off and Phil sidles up closer. “No, but seriously. Tell me how this happened.”

Grant laughs. “Like Gerard said.”

Phil gapes at them, and Gerard laughs again, hiding his giggles in Grant’s shoulder. “We are never going to live this down,” he says.

“Seriously, it was…we met in a comics forum because I was in an awful mood and wanted somewhere to direct my anger,” Grant explains. He has a feeling he’ll be explaining this a lot as time goes on. Phil shakes his head and tsks. “I know! And Gerard being brilliant saved me from looking like an arse - more like an arse - and he’s been brilliant ever since.”

“And Grant was fucking smart, and he got into arguments with me about Britpop at three in the morning,” Gerard picks up.

Phil grins. “His three or your three?” They all laugh.

“Both, sometimes,” Gerard replies. “Grant thinks it was fate,” he adds matter-of-factly.

“He would,” Phil replies, eyes twinkling. Grant just inclines his head, because, well. Fate might not be exactly the right word, but it’ll do. And anyway, he’s pretty sure Gerard agrees, so that’ll do too.

“What else? Tell me all the dirt,” Phil says.

“No dirt,” Grant insists.

“None,” Gerard agrees, his best angelic expression firmly in place. Phil raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t believe them for a second.

He doesn’t have to look at Gerard to know he has a smirk on his face.

“Fine, you two can be the mystery power couple,” Phil sighs.

They get into a discussion about the con, and eventually a few other people Grant knows join up with them. It’s a good party; Grant is enjoying himself. The last party he’d attended had been Warren’s, and he’d desperately wanted Gerard to be with him. Now Gerard is and it’s exactly as wonderful as Grant expected it would be.

At ten o’clock, Grant’s phone tinkles with its annoying little alarm. Grant looks at Gerard. “Is this your doing, love?” Gerard grins at him slyly. It’s one of the most appealing things that Grant has ever seen. “Time to make our excuses, then,” he murmurs.

It’s easy enough to escape; everyone is either drunk or tired or both. This time, there’s no one in the elevator. Gerard doesn’t waste any time; he pins Grant to the wall and kisses the fuck out of him.

Grant wraps his arms around Gerard’s shoulders and kisses him back.

“You should be illegal, with the suits and the hands and the accent and the jokes,” Gerard pants against his lips.

“You should talk,” Grant growls. “Your fucking jacket, your fucking hair, your fucking hips, I could hardly fucking take my eyes off of you.”

Gerard smirks. “That was the point.”

The elevator dings and Grant steers him out the door, hands tight on his fucking hips. He leads them down the hallway and to the door to his room. He has to let go of Gerard to fumble for his key card. It takes three tries to get the door open. When they get in and the door closes behind them, Grant presses Gerard back against the door.

“This is so much better,” he murmurs against Gerard’s neck.

“Grant,” Gerard gasps. He tilts his head up, so Grant has more skin to work with.

Grant slides his hands under Gerard’s shirt and sucks just under his jaw. “Did you spend the day thinking about this? I did,” he says.

“Fuck, yes,” Gerard pants.

Grant sucks a little harder, just to hear the breathy little moans that Gerard can’t quite bite back. He moves one hand to the warm skin on the small of Gerard’s back and one up into his hair. “I don’t know if I have the patience to get us to the bed,” Grant admits.

“Fine by me.” Gerard curves a hand around the back of Grant’s skull and pulls him in for another kiss.

Grant blindly reaches for the button of his jeans and manages to get them undone. He reaches into Gerard’s fly immediately, finding tight cotton and the hot ridge of Gerard’s cock.

Gerard gasps into his mouth. “You gonna- ah- you gonna make good on your big promises, Fox? Gonna suck me?”

“Absolutely,” Grant replies with a smile and sinks to his knees at Gerard’s feet. Gerard’s fingers are hot and gentle on his head. Grant bends down and mouths at the shape of Gerard’s cock through his briefs.

“Fuck,” Gerard whispers. Grant tugs Gerard’s briefs down and pulls his cock out. He looks up. Gerard’s watching him with an expression of astonishment and hunger together. Grant wraps his hand around the base and slides his tongue over the head. “Fuck,” Gerard moans, low, filthy, sliding down Grant’s spine. “Oh fuck.”

Grant would answer if he could. But Gerard has voice enough for both of them.

He laves his tongue up and down all around Gerard’s cock and strokes the shaft a few times as he sucks on the head. Gerard is gratifyingly forward about telling Grant what he wants, and Grant is more than happy to comply. He’s good at following direction, even if he’s normally the one scripting.

Gerard wants more of his mouth and Grant gives it to him, taking his hand away and sinking further down, until the head of Gerard’s cock nudges the back of his throat. Grant feels Gerard’s hips twitch, and he can feel Gerard trembling, holding himself back. He rubs with his thumbs along the cut of Gerard’s hips. He looks up at Gerard and starts moving his mouth back and forth, pulling Gerard’s hips toward him every time until Gerard gets the idea and starts thrusting.  

“Oh my fucking fuck,” Gerard moans.

Grant keeps rubbing his hipbones and lets his mouth go soft. Gerard finally lets go completely and starts fucking his mouth. Grant moans around him.

Even now, though, Gerard hasn’t lost his words. He’s panting, swearing, murmuring praise and instruction and nonsense alike. Through it all, he keeps his fingers gentle on the curve of Grant’s skull. It’s the sweetest fucking thing Grant has ever felt. He’s slumped back against the door, barely holding himself up. Grant closes his eyes, focuses on his lips and tongue, on the noises Gerard is making. On the way Gerard is gasping his name like it’s a fucking prayer. He tastes and feels like he’s close, so close.

Grant keeps sucking, keeps swallowing around Gerard’s cock. He moans again.

“Please, please, please,” Gerard gasps. “Just- I’m so fucking close- Grant, please, fuck-”

Grant leans as close as he can, tugs and strokes the skin behind his bollocks. Gerard shudders and moans loud. His hips stutter and he starts to come. Grant pulls off just far enough to swallow, letting Gerard completely overwhelm his senses.

He leans his forehead against Gerard’s stomach. Gerard’s fingers gently slide to his cheek and he tips Grant’s face up. The expression on Gerard’s face… if Grant’s breath wasn’t already coming in quick gasps, that expression would do it. Its a dangerous business being someone’s idol. But this is more than that. For them both.

They’re friends. Amazing fucking friends, first and foremost. He turns his head to kiss Gerard’s palm.

“Grant,” Gerard murmurs, softly. “Come up here.”

“You might need to give me a hand up,” Grant laughs softly.

Gerard smiles and holds out his hands. Grant puts his in Gerard’s and stands with a bit of assistance from Gerard, who tugs Grant into his arms.

Grant tips their foreheads together. “How are you so fucking perfect?” he asks.

“You ought to turn that question on yourself,” Gerard tells him breathlessly. Grant smiles and kisses him. Gerard wraps a hand around the back of his neck. “What can I do for you?” he whispers.

“I think I want those clever hands of yours,” Grant tells him.

“Do you want the bed first?” Gerard asks.

Grant laughs. “Probably best for my old knees.”

Gerard huffs at him, rolling his eyes. “Fuck you, old.”

“Sufficiently,” Grant answers.

“Whatever,” Gerard says. Grant laughs, kisses him, and then starts shedding clothing. Gerard follows suit, shrugging off his jacket and bending down to kick off his boots. Grant finds himself distracted enough by the sight that he pauses in the middle of unfastening a cuff link.

“No, go on,” he murmurs when Gerard notices.

Gerard smiles and keeps going, pulling his shirt over his head and moves to get rid of his jeans completely. He has to shimmy a little to get them down his thighs, even after several hours of wear. Grant wants to lick the red marks on his belly and thighs.

He’s fucking gorgeous, flushed and radiant. Grant wants to get him on the bed and then never let him leave it. And he’s staring at Grant, looking challenging and making a little hurry-up gesture. Grant smirks and continues taking off his shirt, then his trousers. He gets rid of his shoes and then he’s standing in front of Gerard in just his briefs, his hard cock an obvious shape against the cotton.

“Enough?” he asks.

“Just about,” Gerard says, gesturing him to the bed. Gerard is close behind him and rubs a hand over the front of his briefs. Grant moans. Gerard tugs the elastic down over his cock. He hums appreciatively, wrapping his fingers around Grant’s cock and giving it a few leisurely strokes.

“Impatient,” Grant manages, though fuck, it feels good.

“You’ve been very patient, I think,” Gerard tells him. Grant moans and Gerard rubs his thumb over the head of Grant’s cock and kisses his shoulder. “Bed,” he murmurs. “C’mon. Gonna put my hands all over you, baby.”

“So glad you can,” Grant tells him, shoving his briefs off and tossing the covers to the foot. Gerard crawls onto the bed after him and leans in to kiss him as he wraps his hand around Grant’s cock again.

Grant tangles one hand in Gerard’s ridiculous hair and kisses back. He closes his eyes and arches into Gerard’s hand. He loves the feel. Loves that Gerard keeps his hand firm, even if he’s going torturously slow. Loves the way Gerard kisses him like Grant is the only thing there is.

Gerard is the best thing there is. This he knows.

Gerard kisses down his neck, sucks the mark he made, and then down Grant’s chest to suck on his nipple. Grant hums, arching up into Gerard’s mouth. His eyelids are heavy, his skin humming. Gerard keeps stroking his cock. He’s speeding up by increments and Grant is torn between begging him to speed up more and not wanting it to end.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, all spread out for me like this,” Gerard murmurs. “Everybody gets to see you in those perfect fucking suits, but I get you like this. I’m the luckiest motherfucker on the planet.”

“Are you?” Grant murmurs, running his fingers through Gerard’s hair.

“Yeah, I fucking am,” Gerard replies. “So fucking lucky.”

Grant bites his lip and squeezes his eyes closed against the look in Gerard’s eyes, trying to to hold out a little while longer against the feeling gathering in the pit of his belly. He’s breathing hard, and Gerard kisses lightly along his shoulder.

“Gerard,” he breathes. “Oh fuck.” He thrusts up into Gerard’s head.

“That’s it,” Gerard murmurs, scraping his teeth against the hollow of Grant’s throat. “C’mon. Come for me.”

Grant rasps in a breath and calls Gerard’s name. He comes with a final thrust into Gerard’s hand. Gerard kisses him, and keeps on jacking him until Grant is completely spent.

Grant lets himself slump into the mattress and kisses back. He can hardly breathe but he doesn’t want to stop kissing Gerard.

“You are- the very best thing,” Gerard murmurs, between kisses. He’s breathless, too. He’s so beautiful. Grant slides his fingers into Gerard’s hair and pulls his forehead to Grant’s.

“Gerard,” Grant breathes. There are a hundred things he wants to say, but his ability to form words is… somewhere else, at the moment. So he just says, “Gerard,” again, hoping that his voice conveys what he means.

Gerard curls up against him and kisses his cheek. They lie there together for a long while. Grant thinks he could probably spend the rest of his life exactly like this.

“Danny,” he says contentedly.

“Fox,” Gerard returns, a smile in his eyes. His lips twitch, and finally he can’t quite hold back any longer and starts giggling.

“What?” Grant asks, when Gerard buries his laughter in Grant’s chest. Grant smiles at the top of Gerard’s head and strokes his shoulders as he laughs. Finally Gerard sighs and kisses Grant’s sternum.

“Just,” he manages, “I can’t fucking believe this, you know? That- that I met you on a fucking message board. You should be a serial killer.”

He smiles and slides his hand up to cup Gerard’s cheek. “And you should be sixteen with spots. And yet here we are in this magical world where neither of those things is true.”

“I like it here,” Gerard says with a contented grin.

“So do I,” Grant agrees, leaning in to kiss Gerard again. They trade sweet, sleepy kisses until Grant can feel himself falling asleep. “We should clean up a bit,” he murmurs.

Gerard murmurs assent and rolls out of bed. He takes care of them both quickly and insinuates himself back into Grant’s arms. Grant doesn’t resist for a moment. Tomorrow is another ridiculously busy day at Comic Con. There will be interviews, and meetings, and one last panel– a signing, and plenty of chances to talk with people who’ve connected with his work. Connecting with old friends. The Eisners. And he’s looking forward to it all, despite the fact that a large part of him would rather stay right here in this bed with Gerard all day.  

They’ll have time for that later, he supposes. There will be LA and then Portland after that. Then who knows where the winds will take them.

He’s already hoping it will be somewhere together. Maybe it’s a bit mad, but then, nothing about this whole thing has been anything else. It’s worked out anyway. Grant has a good feeling that the rest is going to sort itself out.

He’s looking forward to seeing exactly how it does sort itself out.

**

 Six Months Later

“Wake up, love,” Gerard hears, then a kiss lands just below his ear. Gerard hums in appreciation, but doesn’t open his eyes just yet.

A moment later, he hears Grant’s soft laugh. He runs a hand over Gerard’s chest and tangles their legs together. Gerard smiles and turns his face back for a kiss, but he still doesn’t open his eyes.

“Are we doing the thing where you think you can ignore that it’s morning if you don’t open your eyes?” Grant murmurs in his ear.

“Are we doing the thing where you’re a freakish morning person?” Gerard mumbles, reaching up to cup Grant’s cheek.

“Time zones, love,” Grant says; the same excuse he’s been using since he arrived back in Portland three days ago.

“Whatever,” Gerard mutters and turns in Grant’s arms. Grant cups his cheeks and leans in to kiss him.

“I missed you so much,” Grant tells him.

“Missed you more.” Gerard finally opens his eyes. “There you are.” Grant kisses him again, soft and sweet. Gerard sinks into it, wrapping an arm over Grant’s waist. “It was lonely,” he says eventually. “And wet. And I ate my body weight in donuts.”

Grant laughs into the skin of his throat. “Scotland was just as lonely. And, I think, equally wet, and I had no donuts to comfort me. Next time I go back, you’re coming with me. I’m kidnapping you if I must. Scott will have to understand.”

Gerard smiles. “I think Scott mostly wants to make sure I’m being looked after by someone.”

“I will always volunteer,” Grant says, nuzzling him.

“I like the sound of that,” Gerard replies, grinning. He pulls Grant in for another series of slow, warm kisses.

Grant kisses back happily, slides his hands down to cup Gerard’s bare ass. Gerard wriggles closer and their hips press together. Grant was fucking delighted when he moved in to find out how often Gerard sleeps naked. It works out pretty well for both of them, though. “Good morning, Mister Morrison,” Gerard says, laughing into Grant’s mouth and thrusting against his thigh. Grant laughs too, rolls Gerard over onto his back, and slides on top of him. Gerard wraps his arms around Grant’s neck. “When are you going to be sick of waking me up to have your way with me?” Gerard asks him.

“Never,” Grant says, licking a long stripe up Gerard’s chest. “Never, never.”

“Works for me,” Gerard gasps. He rolls his hips up against Grant’s and kisses his neck. Grant hums and tips his chin up. He’s stubbly - they’ve had much better things to do than shave the past three days. Gerard fucking loves the feel of it. He fucking loves Grant.

Grant puts his hands into Gerard’s hair and kisses him briefly, then pulls back to look in his eyes. Gerard takes the time to look back. Just look. Dark eyes, the curves of his skull, the little scar on his cheek. There have been a lot of times, these last six months, that Gerard has been sideswiped all over again by how fucking lucky he is. This is one of them.

“Grant.”

“Yes, love?” Grant murmurs and leans in to kiss him again.

“Nothing, I just - love you. And all that sappy shit.” He closes his eyes as Grant strokes his hair.

“I love you, too,” Grant tells him. His fingers scratch lightly at Gerard’s scalp, and he pushes into the touch like a cat. Fuck, Gerard is glad Grant is back. For a lot of reasons, but the fact that he’s here to touch Gerard like this is a fucking massive plus. “We have brunch with Scott at eleven,” Gerard murmurs. “What do you want to do until then?”

“Hmmm,” Grant rumbles, kissing Gerard’s chest. “I think… I think I want to fuck you again.”

Gerard stretches and smiles. “I could be convinced.”

“Always putting me to work,” Grant sighs, kissing across and up to Gerard’s collarbone. Gerard cups his hand around the back of Grant’s skull and arches up hopefully; Grant laughs and obligingly closes his mouth around one of Gerard’s nipples.

Gerard moans and hooks his ankles over Grant’s legs. Grant moves his hips against Gerard’s.

“How do you want it?” Grant asks him. “Anything you want.”

It’s not a difficult decision, really; Gerard fucking loves lazy morning sex. So he tugs at Grant and rearranges them until they’re on their sides, with Grant spooned up against his back. Grant reaches for the lube and strokes a hand down Gerard’s side. He slicks himself up and rubs his fingers over Gerard’s hole.

“Do you need anything, love?”

“No,” Gerard moans. “Just you.”

“That you can have,” Grant tells him, lining up and pressing in with one slow slide. Gerard sighs in pleasure, moving his hips a little so Grant can slide deeper. Grant presses his hand to the center of Gerard’s chest and Gerard covers Grant’s hand with his.

“Gorgeous,” Grant tells him. He keeps his thrusts short, pulling out and then pushing back in again in a slow, steady rhythm. Gerard moans, because he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over how fucking good Grant is at this.

Grant’s lips slide against the back of his neck. “So fucking good,” Gerard moans.

“Missed this,” Grant tells him, rocking his hips. He’s so warm against Gerard’s back.

“Missed you,” Gerard gasps. Grant shifts, and it changes the angle of his thrusts just enough to send sparks up Gerard’s spine.

Gerard moans Grant’s name. Grant slides his hand down to Gerard’s hip and grips it tight. Gerard feels constantly smug that he’s the one who gets the benefits of Grant’s fucking incredible cock.

“Good, love?” Grant murmurs, kissing the skin behind Gerard’s ear. “What else do you need? What can I give you?”

“Always good,” Gerard replies. “Just keep going exactly like you are. I’ll…” He trails off and reaches down to take hold of his cock.

Grant makes a little disappointed noise, followed by a gasp as Gerard rolls his hips back hard.

“I’m sure you can- ah- think of other places to touch me,” Gerard teases, breathlessly.

He runs his hand over Gerard’s chest, twists his nipple, then moves it down to Gerard’s hip. All the while he keeps rocking in that same infuriating rhythm.

“I fucking love you,” Gerard says, twisting back to kiss whatever bit of Grant he can reach.

“Love you too,” Grant gasps. “So much.” He kisses back and starts thrusting harder.

Gerard groans and starts jacking himself faster. He can feel his orgasm building, barreling towards him. He squeezes his eyes and lets it wash over him.

Grant moans in his ear and keeps thrusting into him. His fingers dig hard into Gerard’s hip. His lips fasten on the side of Gerard’s neck.

“Grant,” Gerard manages. Now that he’s come, every thrust is sending little sparks of almost-too-much up his spine. “C’mon, c’mon.”

Grant moans again and Gerard feels him come. He grabs Grant’s hand and holds it tight. “Fuck,” he mutters several times against Gerard’s ear.

“Mmmmmm,” Gerard agrees, twisting to find Grant’s lips so he can kiss him. Their fingers lace together and Gerard smiles against Grant’s lips. He fucking loves waking up like this.

Grant pulls out and leans over Gerard, pushes Gerard’s hair out of his face. “Stay here and I’ll go get us coffees.”

“I love you,” Gerard tells him, leaning up for one more kiss before settling happily back against the sheets. He smiles broadly up at his ceiling, then looks at the clock and laughs. Eight fucking AM. “It had better be a big cup of coffee, Mr. Jet Lag,” he calls out to the kitchen.

Grant’s laughter is his only response.

Gerard doesn’t have to wait long for Grant to come back with two huge, steaming mugs of coffee. “At your service, love,” he says, presenting one. Gerard takes it gratefully and sips while Grant slides back beneath the covers, pressing up against Gerard’s side and kissing his temple.

He almost missed this part more than the sex. Missed the coziness, the love. They way they can just be together.

“Sorry it’s so early,” Grant says ruefully.

“S’okay,” Gerard promises, leaning his head against Grant’s shoulder. “I’ll get you back on Portland time soon enough.”

“Very likely. And you have to admit, eight is a rather substantial improvement on five,” Grant says.

“I like to think it’s just because I wore you out last night,” Gerard says matter-of-factly.

“That may have had something to do with it,” Grant allows.

Gerard grins smugly into his coffee. “Good. I worked really fucking hard at it.”

“I could tell,” Grant says, kissing Gerard’s temple.

Since it’s still three hours before they’re set to meet Scott, they linger in bed for a long while. Gerard enjoys every moment. They trade kisses and talk about anything that pops to mind. They still talk all day when they’re apart, but being face to face is so much better.

In a lot of cases, it’s the same conversations they started having over a year ago as Danny and Fox. They just keep thinking of more things to say. And when he calls Grant, Fox, he gets one of Gerard’s very favorite smiles. They’re all favorites, though.

And now he has Grant in his apartment, in his bed. Grant’s spent four out of the past six months in Portland, and they’re working on figuring out the best way for Gerard to come and live with Grant in Scotland for part of the year. Sure, it’s difficult sometimes, because they’re both workaholics who can get lost in their own heads a little too easily. But in spite of that, Gerard is so happy he sometimes feels like he’s going to explode.

“I love you,” he murmurs against Grant’s newly smooth cheek as they get ready to leave for brunch. Grant turns his head and they share a minty kiss. Gerard plucks the keys to his Mini off the hall table and ignores Grant’s fondly mocking look. “Can’t keep Scott waiting, let’s go.”

There’s a line for brunch, because there’s always a line for brunch, but since moving to Portland Gerard has learned to appreciate this as a feature, rather than a bug. He just hunches down in his jacket and leans against Grant, who wraps an arm around him as they talk to Scott. Grant plays with his hair - freshly dyed neon red but not really getting him any more double-takes than anyone else in the crowd - and Gerard practically purrs.

They talk a bit about Killjoys, which is doing better than any of them had ever expected that it would. Shaun and Gerard are already talking about plans for a second series. Scott and Grant have been throwing around ideas for a series with Dark Horse. Gerard loves listening to them.

Scott smiles at them both when they finally get to a table. “You two,” he shakes his head.

“What?” Gerard asks, trying for innocence. He’s not trying particularly hard, though. Scott rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on,” Gerard says. “Like you and Elisabeth are any better.”

“Elisabeth knows how to bake,” Grant says thoughtfully.

“Morrison makes an excellent point,” Scott declares. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m complaining, Gee. It’s good to see you stupidly happy.”

Gerard beams at him. “It’s pretty great, I have to admit.”

Grant clinks their coffee mugs together. “The greatest.”

“And the message boards haven’t rioted?” Scott asks, with his own attempt at an innocent look.

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Technically, I’m still a mod. I do try to do my duty every once in a while. No rioting seen yet.”

“What about the other boards?”

Gerard knows he means the music boards, but he just shakes his head. “I don’t read those.” They haven’t tried to keep their relationship a secret, but for the most part, the kids have been really sweet about it. And the ones who haven’t, well. He doesn’t give them the time of day. They’re good for a laugh on the phone with Frank sometimes, though. Gerard laughs more than Frank. Frank is a little too fierce on Gerard’s behalf to find it that funny. It’s sweet.

“Earth to Gerard,” Scott teases, tapping Gerard’s water glass with his spoon.

Gerard grins and takes a sip of his water. “Gerard reporting in.”

“Repeat after me: I will stop mooning over my boyfriend and pay attention to my boss.”

Gerard laughs and takes Grant’s hand under the table. “Not a chance.” Grant tangles their fingers together and squeezes, giving Gerard a gorgeous smile. Gerard can’t help but smile back.

“Well, at least I’m not trying to compete with your fucking iPhone anymore,” Scott says philosophically.

Both Grant and Gerard burst out laughing and just then, the waiter brings their food.

“Nope, I’ve got something better in my pocket now,” Gerard jokes. Scott makes a face at his omelette. Grant leans in for a kiss right there at the table.

After they’ve cleaned their plates, Grant excuses himself to go to the restroom. Gerard and Scott continue their conversation about Hellboy, but a minute later, Gerard’s phone buzzes. It’s a text message from a number that’s still programmed in under “Fox”.

 There’s a new print outside the bathroom you’ll like. Also, I love you and if we hadn’t promised to treat Scott to lunch, I’d have you come back here and I’d blow you.

Gerard smiles at Scott and taps back, Write down the artist’s name, and I’ll get the check. We can be home in fifteen minutes.

I like the sound of that, Grant texts back.

Anyone who has ever been in a class, has usually met that one guy.

'That one guy' is the guy who, without fail, doesn't arrive a second before he has to. And after a week or so of finding the barely-in-time arrival annoying, you just get used to it, and stop paying it attention altogether.

Therefore, no student really cared when one infamous James T. Kirk deftly slid into the auditorium to the beep of an attendance card and the hiss of the doors sealing shut behind him. This was also why his best friend, Leonard "Bones" McCoy, didn't have to follow his eye roll up with any kind of comment; as Interspecies Ethics 241 approached its end, any snide comments he could come up with had all been said once or twice before.

Neither he, nor Spock - a vulcan exchange student that decided to stay behind on Earth after his semester was up, and also the only of Jim's bedroom encounters with aliens that stayed tangled in the sheets - started when blonde hair and a cheerful grin climbed not as much as leaned over the two back rows of the auditorium and shoved them apart, to press an out-of-breath kiss to green-tinged lips.

"C'mon, Bones, move over."

Bones let out a snort. "If you wanna sit with the cool kids, you gotta be on time." Jim opened his mouth to complain, but was cut off with a sharp, "it's full, Jim! Go sit in the back."

Respect and discipline was two values which Starfleet Academy held highly, so when the guest lecturer started speaking, Jim merely gave his friend an ugly look and struggled himself into the back row, splitting up a couple of friends.

He hadn't unpacked his bag or sunk into his not-nearly-cushioned-enough-but-apparently-ergonomic seat before the lecturer announced the theme of his lecture, and in the same breath, captured Jim's attention like no teacher could ever hope to do.

Big, black holographic letters before a plain white wall. A name seared into his memory like a fresh burn scar that itched, stung and roared when touched, followed by the most bullshitty question he had ever heard, in neat, 20 % transparent letters:

TARSUS IV - Were Kodos' actions defendable?

He stood, and gestured for the girl next to him to stand. When she didn't react, merely cast a look at him that asked him how stupid he was or what he was on, he grit his teeth and shoved past her, probably painfully crashing into knees and stepping on toes and backpacks on the way, but with a numbing anger, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Affronted, their teacher rose from her seat next to the controls to the holo, hissing an accusing "Cadet!" as the door next to her opened with the internal override.

Not turning away from the lecturer, who busily continued as if nothing had happened, Bones scoffed at the vague shape in the corner of his eye of a fellow student flipping the bird on their way out. Some people just had to make a scene.

When the class ended, Bones turned to see that Jim had run ahead of them, which, though uncharacteristic of him, wasn't surprising. Bones knew better than to expect Jim to act a certain way; the guy always ended up doing the exact opposite. Whether it was because he liked to fuck with people's heads, or it was just in his nature to be unpredictable, Bones had yet to find out.

Spock didn't talk a lot unless prompted to do so by Jim, so the walk to the absolutely packed cantina was a silent one. Traveling through Monday morning hallways was a game of pinball with not-quite-awake latecomers and last minute crammers reading up on whatever subject their test would be on, which meant that securing a table was a privilege of the students quick to exit class. Neither Spock nor Bones rushed needlessly, so the discovery that Jim had secured a table for the three of them was a welcome one.

How Jim had already acquired lunch as well, though, was a bit of a mystery. That Bones got an avoidance rather than an answer when he asked as much was even more of one.

"Sorry. Just had to run ahead," he answered, attempting to fit half a sandwich in his mouth and not chewing thoroughly before gulping the chunk down in a manner similar to a bird of prey in a hurry. "I skipped breakfast this morning, so I was— I'm—" Jim cut himself off with an odd expression in favor of shoving more food into his oral cavity.

Bones stared expectantly. "Starving, Jim. You can say it if you try hard enough," he teased. Spock, as per usual, misunderstood him, and saw his chance to demonstrate his knowledge to his inferior human companions.

"Indeed, it is not a word considered 'taboo' amongst humans, especially since a famine has not occurred since late 21st century, due to advanced—"

"The fuck it hasn't. Just because Vulcan and Earth has a limitless food supply, it doesn't mean that the rest of the universe is as lucky."

Spock didn't appear offended, but something about his face made it clear that he didn't appreciate much being interrupted and belittled in the same sentence. Leonard assumed that his own face was just as expressive.

"'The hell, Jim? We're talking about Earth, not the rest of the universe. What crawled up your ass and died?" He would probably be amused that Jim had managed to eat half his lunch with an impressive three bites, but was a bit too busy feeling secondhand offense from Spock when all Jim saw fit to answer with was a scoff. "Don't get all touchy over Tarsus IV. 'S only a week long subject."

Spock suppressed an instinctual wince as James' metal chair scraped over the stone floor, creating a noise that cut painfully into his ears.

"I forgot my PADD in the classroom," he stated, abandoning his lunch as he collected his jacket and bag, throwing over his shoulder as he went: "See you in Nonverbal Communication."

Spock had, and suspected McCoy had as well, seen his beloved store away his PADD in his bag as they were approaching his acquired table, and therefore immediately revealed the statement to be invalid. What reason Jim would have to make the untruthful statement, however, Spock didn't know. He decided to voice as much. "I am struggling to understand the human tendency of 'lying white.'"

"White lies, Spock. It's 'white lies.'" Bones was torn between wanting to laugh at the vulcan, and buy him an educational book on FSE expressions, but thoughts of Jim distracted him. He sighed. "Yeah, me neither."

The day after, Jim was wholly absent from class. Spock would easily admit that he did not understand this sudden behavior of James'. While his 'boyfriend' might certainly not be the most logical of humans, he could always be trusted to do his very best in every situation, and always 'come out on top.' While often absentminded, always listening. While perpetually late, never did he skip class. Unless he was not feeling well?

Jim had taken up the habit of always calling Spock sometime between 23:48 and 00.07 every evening, which meant they had half an hour for talking before Spock begun his meditation. Their nightly conversations were illogical, as they rarely had anything of importance to discuss that could not be discussed at another more favorable time, but most nights, they provided Spock with a sense of calm, which aided him in his meditation later, and he felt himself growing fond of them in a way that surely was not vulcan.

There had been no such call the previous night, and as Jim always was the one to start the conversations, Spock had taken this as a need for privacy, and refrained from calling Jim himself.

Now that the classroom doors sealed shut, preventing latecomers from disturbing the rest of the class, Spock was left unsettled. McCoy, beside him in the same seats as the previous day, looked around the room, restlessly.

Seeming not to find what he was searching for, he settled down with notes from the previous lesson in front of him. "Probably slept in," he mumbled, as the lecturer started speaking.

Unsure of how to put words to his 'gut feelings,' Spock kept quiet.

Tarsus IV was an uncomfortable topic, and also one of the reasons that Bones wasn't all that fond of the big, black, star spangled silence up there. After all, Earth was a very safe place to live, with everything you needed at least somewhere nearby, and a lot of safety nets if something should go wrong. Serving on a star ship, or at a base somewhere on a barren planet several lightyears away from civilization, you had no safety nets. Limited supplies and death in all directions.

And still, the only place he truly belonged.

Even if Tarsus IV reminded him just where he was going and how bad an idea it really was, he kept a straight face and his fingers steady when they broke up in groups for discussions, listened to witness descriptions and took notes during the lengthy lecture on theories and controversies on and around the still touchy subject. The lecturer treated the whole topic tastefully, theorizing rather then concluding, which was a rare find, as most people seeking to comment on the incident either were theorists who painted it as a cruel massacre and wholeheartedly believed Starfleet to be behind the whole thing and Kodos still alive, or professors who had found proof that everything had gone to plan, and no innocent life had been stolen.

Bones did find the guest lecturer interesting, but not half as much as Spock, it seemed. He had attempted to mock the vulcan for it, but black eyes had turned to him sharply, and merely stated that "the conflict between logic and ethics is extremely fascinating, and Dr. Durmeg seems to have conducted thorough research, with valuable findings that may be the most relevant information pertaining to the discussion of Tarsus IV ethics." Sometimes Bones wondered why he bothered.

The walk towards the lunch hall was less obstructed on a late tuesday, and for once, Spock elected to talk during the whole walk. Bones didn't know if the vulcan brain allowed vulcans to process more information at one time than the human brain did, or if it was just Spock, but the young man had come up with some 'extremely fascinating' theories that had Bones wondering if he shouldn't be right up there beside the lecturer.

He wasn't done talking when he reached the table that Jim - mysteriously - had captured a second day in a row. Gracefully sliding down into the chair opposite his boyfriend, Spock busied himself with his brought, vegetarian, lunch.

"It is most unfortunate that you missed this class," he said as he released the smell of a vulcan salad from its container. It seemed to smell pleasing to him, but Bones felt mildly nauseated by the odor. Unaware of his friend's discomfort, Spock elaborated: "The Dr. Durmeg expressed interesting and valuable viewpoints on the Tarsus IV crisis."

Jim's vague hum seemed to confirm the statement, and discourage rather than encourage an elaboration, but the tone was either lost on or ignored by Spock.

"Indeed, he made some quite convincing arguments that Kodos' action were entirely justifiable—"

"Nothing about Kodos is justifiable."

Spock seemed to consider the statement for a second, tilting his head. "Had you attended class—"

"We're through."

"I beg your pardon?"

Jim stood, locking his PADD and putting it away. "We're over, Spock."

And in the next second, Jim was gone.

Spock tried, futilely, to grab onto a sensible thought that would explain these actions. He turned to McCoy.

"I am not entirely sure that I understand the full meaning of this particular human—"

"He…" Bones narrowed his eyes at the hallway where Jim had disappeared. "He just broke up with you."

He hadn’t slept for days, hunger gnawing at his insides as if his body could eat itself inside out and survive that way, dull teeth scraping at his nerve endings as he felt as if he had a black hole inside of him that was pulling at him, rendering him immobile and whimpering.

Tara had fallen to her death, slipped somewhere she should’ve been safe but wasn’t because she was sluggish and blinded by the gnawing, and Yvonne had fallen asleep, but not woken up the next morning or the one after, and now they were down to ten, ten almost- and just-barely teenagers, nine who should’ve been safe in their beds maybe even with their parents by their sides if they were lucky and hadn’t decided to throw away the fact that they were so blessed as to be chosen for the sake of saving one single blind passenger, save him for nothing because now they were all going to die, all alone and hopeless, now that the darkness came and stole him away, as he passed out because he was too hungry and too cold and too hurting to fall asleep but his body couldn’t take anymore and—

Jim didn’t awake with screams and moans anymore, mainly because the nightmares didn’t plague him any longer, but also because they weren’t as much nightmares as bad memories, and if there was one thing Jim didn’t do, it was linger on the past. However, the experiences left him shaking, cold and with a wave of nausea washing over him as he stretched out under the sheets, just to feel the soft cotton all around him, just to forget the sensation of wet, dirty, sandy clothes clinging to his body.

The room was completely dark, but the window let in a slight shimmer of blue light that caressed his desk, the spines of the books in the book shelf, the night stand and the empty right side of the bed. With a shaking breath, he reached for his cell phone, ignoring the glaring numbers of the display in favor of thumbing through his programmed contacts, not trusting his voice to carry the voice commands correctly.

It wasn’t until his thumb rested over the name so dear to him, that he realized what he had actually done not too many hours previous.

Releasing the device with a sigh, he curled back up under the cold sheets, staring at the insides of his eyelids. Spock wouldn’t be mad, Spock would probably understand and brush it away as emotional human behavior, and act as if nothing had happened, but the sudden realization that he had broken up with Spock left him inexplicably shaken, to the core, and feeling alone and very small and like he didn’t belong.

If he didn’t cry himself to sleep, it wasn’t because the black hole in his chest didn’t hurt.

"I don’t think I’ve seen you worried before."

The observation wasn't anything but that: An observation. Interestingly enough, seeing as almost every reference McCoy made to his behavior came in the form of an insulting attempt to, presumably, elicit an emotional response.

In the same fashion, Spock voiced his observations on Jim's behavior, and the questions it had raised within him.

" I don't delude myself as to think I have gotten him pinned down, but as I've for a while studied Jim's behavioral nature, this sudden 'breaking up' seems to me unmotivated and uncharacteristically not thought through. Additionally, I have come to the conclusion that this could be related to the current lecture subject and our discussions of it, which leaves me 'puzzled.'"

Leonard cringed visibly from the strange, if not audibly painful mixture of informal and formal federation standard english. "Keep working on your colloquial english, Spock. Anyway, would've thought vulcans didn't worry."

Spock opened his mouth, to answer one remark or the other, Bones assumed, but was interrupted by the lecturer's arrival. He thought he might've caught a glimmer of disappointment in those expressionless eyes as Spock sat down next to him, swiftly entering vulcan notes into his PADD ("quite logically, seeing as the experience would not only ensure easier and more correct recalling of the lesson, while simultaneously provide exercise in FSE to GV translation.")

The belated beep of the attendance card distracted him, though, and he turned in his seat to face his romantic partner - his boyfriend - who again had arrived barely on time, his appearance speaking of an insufficient amount of sleep. Beautiful blue eyes sought his, and Jim sent him a tight smile.

When Spock returned his smile (or what he hoped came across as one) with a slight nod and warm eyes, Jim could finally breathe out, and try a happier expression. He sunk into an end seat in the back, and drew out his PADD.

He didn't particularly want to be there, but then again, he didn't particularly want to be single any longer than he had to, (although he was pretty sure Spock had no idea what "we're through" meant anyways.) So he tuned out everything else, and started drafting up an explanation that wouldn't set off Spock's internal lie-detector, or leave anything for his vulcan curiosity to latch onto.

An hour passed by without making itself known as Jim debated family problems, insomnia, existential crisis, hell, even male PMS, and he had a good thousand words worth of half-assed stories when he became aware of the silence. Not break-silence with co-student chattering, not lecture-silence with the lecturer mumbling to himself during stops in his presentation, not note-taking silence with tap-tap-tapping on PADDs. Just silence.

Worrying that he might have been asked a question he wouldn't have the faintest idea of an answer to, he drew a breath, and looked up.

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't the gazes of a hundred and fifty six students, one guest lecturer and one teacher simultaneously directed at him.

He sent a look at Spock and Bones, fully intending to have them explain what was going on via eye contact, but the sad, pitying? look on Bones' face, and Spock's suddenly calculating eyes made him wary.

Turning his eyes to the front of the auditorium, his mouth went dry, and the black hole returned.

Spock returned his eyes to the hologram that had put a stop to the lesson.

Younger, thinner, paler, more haunted, hair dirtied by dust or dirt and with barely discernible tear tracks burrowing their way down a blank face, stood his boyfriend by a rescue shuttle, the Platon, the first shuttle to touch down on Tarsus IV after the Kodos incident.

The hologram was highly pixelated and taken from a low angle, and this, along with the folds of clothing that obscured the motive, suggested that a compact device had been used in secrecy, to obtain the picture. Had anyone seen it be taken, the photographer would likely be reprimanded, and the picture deleted. It should have been deleted, even if it was not discovered while it was being shot. Wouldn't there be witness protection? Wouldn't someone be hired to ensure that any picture of such nature was deleted from—

Opening classroom doors spurred him from his somewhat hysterical inner debate, and before he really was aware of his actions, he had packed up and went out the door, chasing Jim's hastily retreating back.

Leonard, on the other hand, was rooted by the sudden revelation, and didn't retrieve control of his limbs until the doors swished shut behind Spock.

Swearing under his breath, he, too, rose from his seat. Every step he made towards the door and every number on the override code felt incredibly awkward and loud in the silent room, but awkwardness wasn't really what was on his mind at the moment.

Sinking down into a corner of the fire evacuation staircase, Jim didn't really feel much. There was the insane, pressing pain in his chest and burning in his eyes, and maybe he twisted his ankle on the way here, but it felt as if his mind was just a floating mass, incapable of holding a thought, resulting in a buzz, like a wrongly configured communicator. He became aware of an arm snaking around his shoulders, uncharacteristic of Spock, and a warm hand massaging his shoulder, very characteristic of Bones, and maybe it relieved the pain a bit, or maybe it didn't.

He let out a puff of laughter. "I drafted like…" He did a headcount. "Fourteen different lies to tell you."

Spock needed no further explanation. He cocked his head "I think the appropriate expression is: 'Truth will out.'"

Jim neither corrected or laughed at the erroneous use of the saying, and instead snorted out a quick "maybe."

Leonard ground his teeth, rubbing his best friend's shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing manner, while he tried to sort out his thoughts before his mouth could spew something that went unchecked by his brain. 'I'm sorry' were the most pressing words, but they were lame, and Jim would probably appreciate them as much as he appreciated a fucking hologram that confirmed him as one of the nine Tarsus IV survivors being stretched out over the holoscreen in front of a whole class of starfleet cadets.

It wasn't very surprising that Jim was the first one to speak, because there wasn't a whole lot to say. The words surprised all of them though. Including Jim himself.

"I wasn't supposed to be on Tarsus IV," he confessed, grabbing a random thought out of his head and pulling it out of his mouth. And when he started talking, everything else came detached, easily:

"I snuck onto a ship to get over there. I was just so sick of Frank and Winona and Iowa that I figured I'd go somewhere they couldn't get to me. Somewhere they couldn't just… Go act all worried in front of the police and get them to haul my ass back into the house when I wanted to be alone."

He blinked repeatedly to clear his vision again, and dared a glance up at the two best people in the world. They radiated endless patience and comfort, and something that the black hole didn't take, blossomed in his chest.

"Uh… I was in eight or ninth grade, and there was this summer camp, or school, I guess, over at Tarsus IV. An advanced academical course for kids and language courses for parents and guardians, and everyone would live in really cramped houses. I was bored out of my mind with regular school, so I really wanted to go, but Winona wouldn't take me, and hell would freeze over before I took Frank, and I obviously couldn't go alone, so I snuck aboard the ship."

The three of them were all sitting down now, and even if he leaned a little heavily into the arm that was still slung awkwardly around his shoulders (he appreciated the gesture too much to shake it off, even if it felt strange,) it felt like they were just hanging out, talking about whatever crossed their mind. Even now that there was only really one thing on their minds.

"I hid in the room of my classmates on the ship over, and hacked into their databases while they were still unprotected to put my name into the class. I still had to hide in Thomas' closet when we got to Tarsus, though, because I couldn't figure out a way to assign myself some sort of housing, but you know. It just became a kid's game. Hiding from the parents, unless I wanted to be sent back home. Class was challenging, but that's what I went there for, so I had a really great time.

"I guess you know what happened next." He shrugged. "Food went bad, communication lines went down and Kodos decided it was time to play god. Fuck, he had like, a screen to relay public announcements on, and at first, we thought it was really funny in a very pretentious way, but…"

Jim didn't realize he was crying until a salty tear ran down into his mouth, and when the taste hit his tongue, his throat started tightening up. "Just, seeing a huge face of some guy who you really, really trusted before, because he was the fucking governor of the colony, saying that you and you and you have to kindly go die…

"This guy in my class, Kevin Riley, his parents were on the dead list. What kind of monster kills the parents of a kid, and expects the kid to go on fine?

"…When they rounded up the people who were going to die because their 'existence represented a threat to the well-being of society,' it was kind of obvious that he favored kids over adults. I have no idea what he was trying to do. Build his own society, I guess. I think he just wanted to see what he could make us do.

"Anyway, they made all the people on the dead-list gather together, and people were holding onto each other and kids were trying to get through the energy field when they managed to separate all of them. And then, in one second, they were all there, and in the next, everybody had just disappeared. Not a trace there'd been anyone there. I guess we were all in shock, because no one started screaming or anything, and I was just thinking that I was really lucky that I wasn't on the living-list, because it meant I'd sure as hell not be put on the death-list."

Jim chucked darkly. "God, I'd just thought the thought, and the moment after, the peace keeping forces, peace keeping, yeah right, they point their phaser rifles at us, and Kodos isn't looking nice anymore, and he just says that 'there are some blind passenger on Tarsus IV,' and my blood just froze. I was sure they knew who I was and where I was, and I had no idea what to do. He started saying something about how even one more person alive would mean 'slow death to the more valued members of society,' and we kids just panicked. I don't know how many of us there were, but someone pulled me along, and half my class started running for anywhere else. I can't even remember where we hid, I just remember trying so hard not to get caught.

"We had to hide away for one and a half weeks. They fed the 'valued members of society' in a closed area, and no one got to bring any food out, so we tried to find food elsewhere, but it just wasn't ever enough, and god, I thought a day without food was bad, but that was just hell. Freddie from our class gave up after a while and ran to Kodos' soldiers to get some food, but I don't know what Kodos told them, that they had to obey him or something unless he'd kill them, maybe, but they just took him somewhere, and he never came back.

"We hid around the housing area for another half week and I thought we were going to die that one day, but suddenly, someone got the communication back up working, and they signaled starfleet to come and rescue us, and I guess Kodos heard about that, because the soldiers just started firing away at everybody, so we just, we ran away as far as possible from any building we could see, so we hid in some unfinished buildings, and Tara fell off the top of the building and died, and Yvonne and Mark just stopped waking up after a couple of days of hiding."

Suddenly, his words came like a rush, as if he couldn't get them away from him, out of him, fast enough. They tasted like poison on his tongue.

"They found us, two soldiers, or three I guess, and they fired at random into the building, so we found some crates to hide in and under and behind, but Linn wasn't fast enough and she disappeared, and Thomas was just barely, by a hair fast enough to only get half his face blown away when we ducked. We hid away for three hours just holding our breath and not making noises, and then we had to take off our t-shirts to press them against Thomas' face so he wouldn't bleed to death. I have no idea why we didn't just let him bleed out, because it was just naïve and stupid to think that anyone would come to our rescue after all that time, but they did, they did, and…"

He doubled over with a choked sob, and both Spock and Bones were there to catch him, embrace him, rub at him and warm up his shaking, inexplicably cold body.

"I don't know why I'm crying," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I'm over this. I left it behind. It's so, so long ago."

"Bullshit," mumbled Bones right back. "You'd have to be made outta titanium to just leave behind something like this."

"Sharing worries and 'venting emotions' seem to be an effective way of dealing with such problems, Jim. There is no shame in attempting to relieve your pain."

He shook his head. "Four people died because of me. Possibly five."

Warm lips pressed to his temple. "And I grieve with thee, Jim, but--"

The warmth in his chest was back, and the black hole felt as if it had lost it's strength. Even as he untangled himself from the unbelievably emotional display, he felt comforted. He smiled, mainly to himself. "No one's ever told me that before."

"'Bout time we did, then." Bones stood, and offered a hand, which Jim took.

"Let's get to lunch," he said, patting his friends' backs decisively. "Let's count the stares I get when we get to the cafeteria."

Bones thought Spock looked vaguely amused, and saved the visual for future reference. However: "Your face is all red and puffed, by the way."

Jim started rubbing furiously at his face, which probably wouldn't help at all. "Shut up, Bones. Your face is red and puffy. What happened to 'you did a great job, Jim?'"

"I'm a doctor, not a psychologist. I've dashed out enough comfort today," he snorted. "Time to get you to act more like Jim always-arriving-late Kirk and less like a wuss."

"Hey, I don't always arrive late."

"Yeah, you really do, actually. You're gonna be late for your own funeral, someday."

"You're like the worst friend ever. Spock, tell Bones that he's the worst friend ever."

"As I have not yet befriended every person 'ever,' as you say, I cannot ascertain that he is the worst friend ever."

"Spock, you're the worst boyfriend ever."

It was Vicky's turn to babysit Gabe, keep him occupied and out of trouble until soundcheck. The tour management had been so very unamused by Gabe's antics and the label refused to bail him out of jail again. She and the band were doing the best they could to distract Gabe, because the suits were pissed. Pete had flown out to walk around the venue and talk in hushed whispers to Gabe. It was serious.

So they were stuck on the bus and they were bored.

Their bus had the world's rattiest couch in the lounge and they sprawled across it, Vicky shoved into the corner to accommodate Gabe's unreasonably lanky body. His head was cradled in her lap and she combed her fingers through his curly hair, petting him.

They'd played Truth or Dare for a while, but Gabe called it a draw because Vicky refused to be either shocked or amused by his Truths. (She knew better than to take his Dares. That's how Ryland had ended up with that weird shaped scar on his arm.) They switched over to Marry, Fuck, or Kill, but it was only mildly entertaining because again, Vicky made a point of not being surprised by any of Gabe's choices.

"How about Sub, Dom, or Switch?"

Vicky sighed, a sound that she tried to infuse with all the ennui in the universe. "Fine."

"Disashi, Travie, and Matt."

That one was easy. "Dom, switch, sub."

"Skiba, Dan, and Derek."

A little harder, but still. "Dom, sub, switch."

Gabe peered at her. "Yeah?"

He was such an idiot. "Yeah."

"Okay," he shrugged. "Greta, Hayley, and LynZ."

"Switch, sub, dom." She had a crush on LynZ, her pale skin, dark hair, bright red lipstick. Vicky had always wanted to find out what LynZ was wearing under those short, short skirts. . .

"Beckett, Carden, Siska?" Gabe's voice pulled her out of her reverie. She examined her nails. "Switch, dom, sub."

"Spencer, Brendon, Ryan?"

"Dom, sub, switch."

"Gerard, Mikeyway, Frank." "Switch, dom, sub."

"I call shenanigans, Vicky-T." He looked up at her, brown eyes curious. "There is no way that Frank Iero would sub for anyone. That dude is totally hardcore."

"Gabe, Gabe, Gabe." She shook her head. "You're so stuck on appearances—"

"I can't help it if I'm shallow." He grinned at her. "But that still doesn't make Iero subby."

She raised an eyebrow. "Willing to bet on it?" Vicky already knew the answer, because Gabe couldn't resist a stupid bet to save his life. And this one was like shooting fish in a barrel; she'd seen Frank's tells. The way he stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, the shift of his weight to his heels when someone stood too close, the angle of his jaw when someone looked him over.

Gabe took the bait, of course he did. "What're the stakes, Vicky-T?" He rubbed his hands together and tried for an evil chuckle. She just rolled her eyes at him. She loved Gabe like a brother, but God, he was ridiculous.

She had to be careful about what she wished for, though, because Gabe could be a twisty fucker. If she made him do her laundry, he'd ruin all of her nice clothes. If she demanded breakfast in bed he'd wake her at four in the morning.

The main problem was that he was almost impossible to embarrass. He had no shame. So it couldn't be about Gabe; it was going to be about her and—oh. She grinned and Gabe shifted in her lap a little nervously. "If I win, I want you to dress in drag for the next week of shows. Seven days. The whole deal, Gabe: dress, boobs, makeup. None of your half-assed, deliberately ugly attempts, either."

Gabe tilted his head and closed his eyes in thought, "Sure, why not, baby. I'm not gonna lose, so —" He shrugged, bony and awkward. "And if I win—"

Vicky waited patiently. He wanted her to squirm, but she wasn't going to lose, so she wasn't worried about the stakes.

"—if I win, you'll wear a French maid costume and call me 'sir' for a week."

"Way to be degrading, Gabe." She tapped her finger against her lip, pretending to think about it. Under other circumstances, she'd be dumping Gabe out of her lap and calling him an idiot. But she had this, so she could afford to be nice to him, for once. "Okay."

He grinned at her. "Okay, Vicky-T. Shake on it." He held his fist up so she could bump it with hers.

He was utterly absurd and she loved his stupid face.

Vicky spent some time debating what to wear. Normally, she'd go for the total domme look, short short dress, tall boots and a sneer. But she had a feeling that Frank wasn't into the outward trappings of the scene as much as some, so she stuck with comfortable jeans, bare feet and a old plaid shirt she'd stolen from Gabe a while ago.

They sat on the couch, waiting, Gabe fidgeting because he was incapable of sitting still for any length of time. She smacked his leg. "Stop it. You're worse than a kid."

"I just can't wait for Iero to smack you down, is all. Plus—" he waggled his eyebrows at her, "— I'm so looking forward to you in the maid's outfit."

"Fucker," she said. There was a loud knock on their door. "Come in," she yelled, as Gabe arranged himself artfully across the couch. She stuck out her feet and wiggled her toes a little, trying to ignore the excitement that was starting to coil in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't had a chance to play for a while. . .

Frank bounded up the stairs and came into the lounge. "Hey, what's up?" His movements were jittery, like his body couldn't contain the energy that he generated. She had to wonder when the last time was that someone made him let go and relax.

Vicky pushed Gabe's legs off of her lap and stood up slowly. Frank just watched, eyebrow raised, as she walked closer, circling him, looking him over from his ball cap to his battered Chucks. She had a thing for tattoos, and the ink that decorated him, peeking out from the edges of his clothing,

was beautiful. She wanted to see more.

Reaching out, Vicky almost touched his arm, but let her hand drift upwards, so close to his skin that she could feel his warmth, but not actually making contact. She stopped directly in front of him after a final circuit. He tilted his head back a little to meet her eyes. "You're very pretty," she murmured. "You want to play?"

His mouth quirked upwards.

"Thought so." She touched her thumb to his bottom lip. "On your knees."

He shifted a little and clasped his hands behind him, outwardly the perfect little sub. But he lifted his chin in a dare.

"Brat," she whispered. "On your knees or you can leave."

He dropped instantly, thumping hard onto the carpeted floor. The thrumming energy that usually surrounded Frank was abruptly gone, like a switch had been flipped.

"Good boy." She pulled his hat off and set it on a shelf, running her hand over his soft hair, smoothing it down. Vicky turned back to Gabe, who sat on the couch, mouth hanging open in utter shock. "Go find Ryland. He's expecting you." When Gabe didn't move, she put a touch of command in her voice. "Go." He scrambled to his feet and went, letting the door slam behind him.

Vicky smiled down at Frank. "Tell me what you need. What you want."

"I like being topped, hard. Pushed, shoved, slapped. Tied up and held down. Spanked—" His voice wavered a little on the word and Vicky filed that information away. "Pain is okay, I can take a lot, but I like being touched and talked to. No gags, no permanent marks, nothing damaging."

She touched his mouth with her thumb. "You like being able to talk." He nodded.

"You want me to make you beg?"

Frank inhaled sharply. "Yeah."

She touched his hair again, amazed at how silky it felt. He leaned into the touch like a cat. "How far do you want to go?"

Closing his eyes, he gave it some thought. "Sex is nice, but it isn't what I need right now." He shrugged and met her eyes. "Can we play it by ear?"

"Sure, baby. I just wanted to know if it was off the table or not." She could feel herself responding to him, nipples pulling tight, the wetness growing between her legs. "What's your safeword?"

Grinning sheepishly, he said, "Pansy."

"Your old guitar." At his raised eyebrow, she shook her head. "I don't live under a rock." Googling

Frank got you tattoos, his guitar Pansy, and how ridiculously young he's looked for years. "Didn't think you did."

"Say your safeword for me again." She didn't want to make any mistakes.

"Pansy."

It was kinda sweet, really.

She slapped him, the sound loud and shocking, an afterimage of her hand appearing on his cheek. "Ma'am."

Frank just looked at her, so she slapped him again, a little harder.

"Ma'am," he conceded.

"Better. I can tell you want to be a good boy, Frank, but you just can't help yourself, can you?" She lifted her leg up and planted her foot in the middle of his chest, pressing him down. She'd seen him like this on stage, flat on the floor with his legs under him, playing his guitar and lost in the music. "Keep your hands clasped behind your back." She pushed until his head touched the floor, his hands trapped under him, a flat-to-the-floor backbend. Vicky knew she couldn't keep him like this for a long time, but she could have a little fun with him.

She stood over him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest under her foot. His face was a little red with exertion. "Yeah, you can't help yourself, can you?" When he just kept looking at her, she moved her foot down to his crotch and used her bare heel to prod at him. "Answer me when I speak to you, Frank."

He was hard under her foot and she wanted to smile, but didn't want to encourage him in the wrong ways. He bit his lip and she shifted, bearing down. "Yes, ma'am," he finally replied, gasping. "It's like there's a bad part of me that takes over, when I wanna be good."

"Hmmmm." She sat on him, letting some of her weight rest against his stomach, trapping him. "Maybe I'll just put you in the corner until you learn how to behave."

Frank shuddered under her. "No, ma'am, please."

"No?" She laughed. "You don't get to say 'no' anymore." She pushed his shirt up as far as she could, flipping it over to cover his face, an impromptu blindfold. "Oh! How pretty," she said, looking at all the tattoos that covered his chest. She traced over the ink with a finger, following the curves. She wanted to taste his skin, to see if the tattoos tasted any different, but this wasn't the time for that. Maybe later.

Frank wasn't skinny like Gabe, all bone and sinew; he had a layer of flesh that she could pinch between her fingers and twist, making him pant and squirm under her. She left behind red marks that faded too quickly, and the sounds Frank made were delicious. Vicky wanted more.

Leaning back, she made quick work of thumbing the button on his jeans open. She could feel his cock under her hand as she pulled the zipper down but took care not to touch even as he pushed up a little in search of friction. She slapped his side, quick and hard. "No. You don't get to rub yourself off until I say you can. Understand me?"

He inhaled and nodded under the thin material of the shirt.

"I can't hear you," she said, grabbing at the hair that grew low on his belly and pulling.

Inhaling sharply, he said, "Sorry, ma'am, I'm sorry—I understand, ma'am." Vicky wasn't sure if it was the pain or the words that was turning him on so much, but with his jeans partly open, she could see how much he was enjoying this.

She twitched the shirt off of his face and waited for him to open his eyes and look at her. He raised his chin up in clear challenge.

"You really are a bad boy," she murmured. She let the rest of her weight drop down, pinning him completely, arms stuck under the small of his back. "You think you can manipulate me with your petty little defiances." She tsked at him. "I've been playing this game for a long time, Frank. . ."

She scratched him, ran her nails hard across his belly, above his sparrows. It wouldn't do to ruin such lovely art with the streaks she left behind, slowly turning from white to pink to red. She did it again, hearing the catch in Frank's breathing. "Say 'thank you.'"

He bit his lip and shook his head.

"Oh?" She smacked his ribs again. "Didn't your mom raise you to be polite? To say 'thank you' and 'please'?"

"Yeah, she did." The expression on his face made it clear that he thought Vicky didn't deserve that politeness.

Vicky shook her head sadly. "Frank, you're disappointing me." Before he had a chance to react, she moved off of him and pushed him over, grabbing a handful of hair at the back of his head to keep him under control. Frank struggled, trying to pull away, but she had a good grip on him, holding tight. He was strong; he kept trying to lever himself up on his arms and knock her off. Vicky worried that he was going to lose a handful of silky hair if he didn't stop, so she put her back into it and pushed his face down onto the carpet.

"Ow, fuck, ow, ow—"

"Shut up," she hissed. She was obviously being too careful with Frank; he needed a firmer hand. Looking around, she spotted Gabe's hairbrush on a shelf, the really expensive one with the special bristles. Vicky had used it a couple of times and yeah, it had made her hair look nice, but what had intrigued her the most was the weight and heft of it. It'd fit her hand perfectly.

Gabe would kill her for using his fancy brush as a paddle, but really, if she damaged it, she'd buy him a new one. And it was close enough for her to reach it without letting Frank up. Perfect. "Such a bad boy," she cooed, grinding his cheek into the musty carpeting. "I'm just going to have to teach you how to behave yourself."

"No, ma'am, I'll stop, I promise, ma'am, please—"

"Too late," she whispered in his ear, giving the lobe a nip. "You should be glad I don't have any of my toys here with me. I'd really make you regret your behavior."

He bucked against the floor, trying to break free of her grip.

"I'm just going to have to improvise, but I'm very good at that," she soothed.

The softest whimper escaped from him and when she looked, his eyes were clenched tightly shut.

Vicky brushed a kiss against his temple. "So pretty." She put her knee against the small of his back to keep him pinned and leaned to get the brush, setting it where he could easily see it.

Frank squirmed and she shifted her weight to keep him down, crushing him against the floor. "I have this collar and leash," she told him dreamily, "that would look gorgeous on you. White fake- leather with black stitching; no animals harmed in the making of it. Take you out for walks, show

everyone who you belonged to. . ." She pushed his jeans and boxers out of the way, making a pleased little sound. She'd been worried about how flat his ass had looked in the baggy jeans; he needed to have some padding to take a good spanking. And he did.

Picking up the brush, she gave him an experimental smack, trying to gauge how hard she could hit, how hard she should hit. He said he could take a lot of pain, but that wasn't the point. She hit him again, a little harder, and the sound echoed loudly in the lounge. There were two perfect red oval- shapes on his ass from the brush.

Flipping the brush over, she lightly ran the bristles across his ass, surprised when Frank cried out and bucked under her. "Feel good, baby?"

"Fu—fuck," Frank stuttered. "Motherfuck, that's—"

Vicky didn't wait for him to finish, just started spanking him in earnest, alternating sides until both cheeks were rosy and tender. When she thought he settled too comfortably into the pain, she used the bristles to wake him back up, listening to his breathing grow ragged and clogged. He was panting, a whine threading through every sound he made as he writhed under her weight.

She stopped and touched his ear with her lips. "You ready to behave yourself for me, Frank?"

He moaned and nodded, his face wet with sweat and tears. "Yes, ma'am, please, I'm sorry, I promise I'll be good, I swear, so good for you, ma'am—"

"On your hands and knees," she said, letting him up. His arms were shaking; he wasn't going to last much longer. "Good boy," she sighed. She reached out and cupped his cock, feeling how hard and hot he was. "You ready to come for me, Frank?"

He made a sound, half groan, half whimper and nodded, licking his lips.

"I'm going to paddle you until you think you're going to scream, and then you're going to come for me. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he responded, breathless.

"You are learning," she said. "I'm proud of you." And she was. In spite of his brattiness, he suffered perfectly for her.

Vicky went back to spanking him, switching from a steady rhythm to something a little more erratic to keep him from relaxing into it. He let his head hang down between his arms and he shuddered with each strike. When he was gasping desperately for air and crying out with each hit, she stopped and grasped his cock, stroking him steadily. "Come for me, Frank."

His back arched and he pushed forward, whimpering as he came in her hand and on the carpet. His arms gave way and he collapsed onto the floor, shivering in reaction.

"Good boy," she crooned, brushing his hair back off his face with her fingers. "So good for me." She petted him for a few minutes before getting up to get a warm washcloth from the bathroom, wiping the sweat and come away. "Can you stand for me?"

He nodded, eyes still closed. He seemed to have lost his words.

She got him to his feet, helping him step out of his jeans and underwear, pulling his shirt over his head. Vicky led him to her bunk and made him put on a pair of spare sweats before coaxing him to slide into her bunk. She quickly undressed and joined him, pulling him close and cuddling him,

kissing him softly. He tasted sweet. "So good," she murmured.

They have an understanding.

Travie, Gabe, and Bill have been together for a couple years now, and they’ve mostly got the kinks worked out. Kinks, of course, is meant literally. It started with orgasm denial and handcuffs, which was easy shit. They figured out fast that they were into a lot more than that, and slowly but surely came safewords and ball gags and, one memorable occasion, a flogger. Most of the time, they stick with orders and bondage.

Travie is a protector, a carer, a “you’ll take what I give you and thank me for it” kind of guy. That’s not a bad thing, because no one takes care of Gabe and Will the way Travie does. They both need it sometimes, even if between them Bill is the only real sub. Gabe is kind of dominant, but more neutral – he enjoys the games but not the lifestyle, whereas Travie sticks to his guns in all situations. It’s not that Gabe doesn’t want to do it more often, but it makes him itch a little, for all that he insists on loving it. He’s still a dom.

Bill is a little more complicated. He subs, sure, and really enjoys doing it. He also likes to push people, to play with them and find out what makes them tick. Domination is good for that, but Gabe won’t sub and Travie doesn’t enjoy it much, so he pushes from a submissive position and that’s just as good. Bill can do either, and he doesn’t mind just doing one most of the time.

It’s worked itself out. Travie and Gabe dom Bill, and Bill subs for Travie and Gabe, and every now and again they try to convince Gabe to try subbing, because he’s the only one of them who hasn’t. He’s just not wired that way – he’s not as dominant as Travie, sure, but he’s a dom, through and through. Subbing freaks him out. It’s not that he thinks it’s below him, but it involves a lot of trust and vulnerability and while Gabe trusts them with his life, he doesn’t do vulnerability well. It’s okay. Travie and Bill love Gabe, and Gabe loves them both so much, so it works.

They have an understanding, and it works.

Gabe is a dom, and he’s a good one at that. He likes to be in control, and really he’s so bossy it’s no surprise. It suits him to dom Bill and to fool around with Travie. Travie doesn’t mind bottoming, and they have fun together. He knows that Travie would prefer to top him, but letting Travie top him makes him feel like he’s subbing, and then he just panics. Travie assures him that he likes it the way they do it, even if it’s not what he usually goes for.

There’s always a little cajoling, because Gabe has never actually let Travie dom him. Or Bill, for that matter, because he can be just as dominant if he’s in the mindspace for it. It’s not that Gabe doesn’t understand the appeal. He’s watched Bill go under, and Bill is really beautiful in subspace. He’s really beautiful when he’s letting Travie take care of him. It’s not about hating subs, or thinking it beneath him. Gabe’s just not a sub.

“You’d like it, you know,” Bill says absently, head laying in Travie’s lap, letting him pet his hair one handed.

“If you’d just let go and let us try it...” Travie adds, pretending he’s mostly paying attention to his book.

But Gabe isn’t a sub. He’s cocky and in charge and makes his own rules. That’s how he likes it, how he’s always done it, and he won’t be convinced otherwise. He’s not the kind of dom to do it 24/7, but he likes dominating. He’s good at it. Their relationship seems a little uneven to the outsider, but BDSM is not the entirety of their interactions, and so it’s not a big deal.

It’s fine.

It’s fine, until it’s not.

Travie is the kind of dom to get his own release and frustration from being in charge of a situation

for a little bit. When he’s had a bad day, it helps him to release a little of the day’s stress in a controlled situation. Usually, he spanks Bill. Bill really likes it, and Travie never makes it a punishment. It’s just something he likes that helps him relax.

Naturally, one day, Travie comes home from a meeting with the record label nearly vibrating with frustration and Bill is having a late writing session at Carden’s.

Gabe hates watching Travie like this. He’s got a permanent crease in his forehead, a permanent frown, permanent tension in his shoulders. He looks like he needs a 3-day nap, which he won’t take, or a good session with Bill’s ass, which won’t happen until Bill gets back in several hours.

Gabe has never been spanked – not since he was very young, and that was his parents. He knows the situation isn’t actually life-or-death, but for a moment he feels vulnerable and lacking because what kind of boyfriend is he if he can’t do this for Travie? Even if it’s not his thing – which he doesn’t know, but it most likely won’t be, and it won’t have the same effect it does for Bill – he can put up with it for Travie.

Travie is lounging on the couch, eyes shut, one hand massaging his temple. Gabe stands in front of him, hands on his hips, a little grumpy but mostly determined.

“I want you to spank me,” he says. Travie, to his credit, doesn’t startle or anything, but he does look a little dubious. “No, hey. I mean. I want to do this for you.” It’s honest, but Gabe’s still internally cringing a little.

“You don’t like subbing,” Travie says. The unspoken not that you’ve ever tried it is ignored.

“I’m just not a sub,” Gabe tells him, rolling his eyes. “But I am a good boyfriend, and I know what you need to chill out. Come beat my ass for a bit, it’ll be great. It’s a good ass. You can even fuck it when you’re done, if you want.” It’s been awhile since he let Travie fuck him, and he thinks it’ll be good. Get the subbing shit out the way so when Travie fucks him, he’ll just be able to enjoy the good sex.

“You sure about this?” Travie asks, but he’s already sitting up, eyes a little brighter. Hopeful. He’s still tense, but Gabe knows how to fix that.

He makes sure Travie watches him roll his eyes for the second time. “Yes, dude. Do you need an engraved invitation?”

“Could engrave something,” Travie mutters, and it doesn’t make much sense but Gabe gets the spirit of it. Gabe leads him to the bedroom smugly, and sits on the edge of their bed. He pats the space next to him, but when Travie sits down he raises an eyebrow at Gabe, who sighs and stands up. Right. He’s playing sub.

“How do you want me?” he asks, a little impatient to get it over with so he’ll stop feeling slightly uncomfortable and uncertain.

Travie examines his expression for a minute, and then appraises his clothing. Gabe’s wearing a pair of gym shorts and that’s it. Travie apparently has no complaints, because finally he just says, “I want you to lay over my lap, on the bed.” He scoots back so there will be room, and when Gabe gets into position, he rests his hips on Travie’s right leg, stomach propped up on his left, and rests his head in his arms.

“This feels kind of ridiculous,” he mutters, already a little less enthusiastic to help, but he doesn’t pull away. This really is the first time he’s ever let himself get close to subbing, and it feels weird.

Mostly, he feels bored.

“You’ll get over it,” Travie tells him patiently, and already he sounds a little calmer.

Then, Travie hits him for the first time. It’s soft, just a warm up, and Gabe debates yawning dramatically. He didn’t suggest this just so he could be a dick, though, and doesn’t.

“Still okay?” Travie asks. Gabe snorts in response.

“Kind of tickles,” he says, just a hint of challenge in his voice. Mostly, he’s just rolling his eyes some more. It was barely a tap; how easily did he think Gabe spooked?

Travie hums innocently, and then his hand comes down again, harder - not too much so, but enough that it feels different, that something settles in Gabe’s chest differently. He frowns, finally shutting up. “I’m going to go with twenty, for now,” Travie tells him. “Then we can reassess if you feel okay with this.” He usually starts with at least thirty for Bill, Gabe thinks, disgruntled.

Travie smacks him again before he can respond, and he scratches at his arm a little absently. He feels weird, and doesn’t know if he wants to continue, but he also doesn’t want to back down. Travie needs it, he tells himself, and settles again. Three down, seventeen to go.

Travie hits him again, harder, and Gabe bites his lip. His ass stings a little. He realises his hands are beginning to tremble a little bit. It’s weird, to just lay here and take it. He squirms just a little bit. Sometimes, Travie tells Bill to count, and Gabe thinks that would be okay - it would give him something to do other than lay there. He doesn’t say anything though, just wets his lips a little. When Travie hits him again, he mouths “five,” into their bedspread.

“What was that?” Travie asks before he spanks him again, and Gabe runs his tongue over his lower lip. Apparently he was a little louder than he thought he was.

“I was counting,” he says clearly, taking care to enunciate, because he’s feeling a little weird and his mouth is a little slow. After a pause - too long of one - he adds, “Better than lyin’ here bored.”

Travie snorts a little, but it sounds like laughter. “Sure, Gabey. Count all you want. If I’da known you wanted to, I would have told you to in the first place.” Something about that seems off to Gabe, but he doesn’t bother to turn his suspicious look on Travie. He just glares at the wall, hating feeling like he’s the butt of a joke.

It doesn’t stop him from saying six when Travie finally lays another blow to his ass, a little harder than the others. His breath hitches with it.

Seven, eight, and nine come through in quick order, and by the end of it Gabe’s unsure of how he’s feeling. The weirdness is still there, but it makes him loose and pliant, his head quiet. He’d tried to think of some snarky thing to say to ease the mood, and hadn’t been able to.

Ten takes him by surprise, because it actually jolts him a bit. “ Ten ,” he manages, and he can tell that ten had Travie’s full strength behind it. Surprisingly, he doesn’t actually want to get away from it.

“ Eleven .” The next one is also hard, and he startles even himself by instinctively pushing his ass back into Travie’s hand, the warmth of his probably red ass covered by Travie’s touch. He’s distantly aware that he’s hard, that he’d been kind of hard at the beginning but that’d just been because of the closeness. He likes being close to Travie, he thinks to himself.

Twelve makes him cry out, rubbing his cheek into their comforter. He’d shifted slightly between

eleven and twelve, stretching his arms out to grip at the side of the bed with one hand and the end of it with the other.

“Number, baby,” Travie tells him, and Gabe wants to snap at him for the cooing voice - the one he uses on Bill when Bill’s soft and out of it.

Instead, he just says, “twelve,” in a distracted tone.

“Good,” Travie says lowly, and follows it immediately with thirteen.

One of the two makes Gabe feel some kind of way, but he can only whine a little and say “thirteen.” He’s breathless, and his hips twitch slightly. His cock rubs against Travie’s thigh, and he gasps and does it again.

Smack . “Fourteen,” he says. His voice is weirdly high, like he can’t get enough air.

“Keep your hips still, babyboy,” Travie warns him. “You ain’t coming yet.” He knows, vaguely, that the whining sound is him, but he ignores it and focuses on keeping his hips still like Travie told him to. Travie gives him fifteen, and then the second Gabe calls it, gives him sixteen right away. He hears the sound of a door opening, but doesn’t look away from the comforter. It feels kind of wet, but he doesn’t stop rubbing his face against it. It’s still soft.

There’s a voice that Gabe doesn’t pay attention to, and then Travie says, “We thought you’d be out late, so Gabe took one for the team. See?”

Then he hits Gabe again, and Gabe whimpers seventeen without thought. Somebody runs a hand through his messy curls, and then slides a hand between his cheek and the comforter to turn his head. He meets Bill’s eyes.

“Pretty boy,” Bill whispers, and Gabe makes a little sound against his will. “Look at you.”

Travie hits him. “Eighteen,” he says, voice far away, directly into Bill’s face. He gets a little peck on the cheek for his efforts. His ass is stinging - it hurts so badly. He wants nineteen. He wants Bill to kiss him again.

“Can I count for him?” Bill asks Travie. Gabe doesn’t know what it means. “You have a better idea for his mouth?”

Bill must say something in the affirmative, because when Gabe gasps at the sharp feeling of the next blow, Bill says “nineteen” for him, and slides two fingers over his lips, presses them over his tongue.

He hadn’t made the active decision that this was good, but it gets better somehow with Bill’s fingers in his mouth. He sucks on them, gently, and makes little gasping sounds around them as Travie rubs over his ass with his hand.

He’s still rubbing, Gabe relaxed and melted over his lap, when out of nowhere his hand whips away and lays the last blow. He shrieks - he hadn’t believed Travie could hit him harder, but he could, and Gabe can’t stop himself from pressing his cock into Travie’s thigh, from wanting.

“Twenty,” Bill murmurs, and Travie must give some indication that he’s done because Bill says, “That’s it? He can take more.” He looks back at Gabe, who’s letting Bill hold his mouth open with fingers pressing down on his tongue. He’s drooling a little, he thinks. He’s definitely crying. He has been for the past five blows.

“He promised me a lil something else,” Travie says, and Bill slowly grins at Gabe.

“Oh, you were gonna be so good for Travie today, weren’t you?” Bill said softly. His wording makes Gabe’s chest feel a little tight, but he’s still floating . He can’t ground himself enough to figure out why Bill’s tone, why his words, are familiar and different. The way he’s talking to Gabe is weird, he thinks, but it also makes him that much more desperate for someone to just touch him. He’s got to be leaking through his shorts. “Gonna take care of him.” He takes his fingers out of Gabe’s mouth. “Weren’t you, Gabey?”

They don’t usually call him Gabey. He doesn’t comment on it. “Had a bad’ay,” Gabe mumbled, mouth not working properly. “Wanna ‘elp.”

“Yeah,” Travie rumbled lowly. “You’re helping, babyboy.” He rubs his cock against Travie’s thigh again, and gurgles when Travie slaps his ass lightly again. “What did I say?”

He whines, but Bill just chuckles a little. “Travie,” he says plaintively. Instead of responding, Travie pulls him up, until he’s sitting back on his ass. His heels dig in and he feels like he’s on fire. He can barely sit up by himself, which might have something do with why Bill went with him, why Bill is holding him up. Travie slides off the bed, and Gabe watches him, slumped against Bill. Travie strips, taking his shirt off and sliding his jeans down his legs. He drops his briefs, too, and Gabe thinks for a second about how gorgeous Travie is.

“Help me get his shorts off, yeah, Bilvy boy?” Travie asks, and Gabe somehow winds up lying on his back on the bed. His shorts are stripped off, making him arch when the waistband slides over his cock.

“Face down,” Travie says to Bill, which apparently makes sense to him, because he rolls Gabe over. Gabe returns to rubbing his face against the comforter, aware of Travie’s large hands spreading his thighs but unable to comprehend why.

Bill gets off the bed for a second, and when he comes back he hands something to Travie. He hears a cap, acknowledges it as lube, and still doesn’t connect the goings on until two of Travie’s long, large fingers are rubbing over his hole.

He gasps against the comforter and presses his ass backwards again, enjoying the friction against his cock. He remembers offering a fuck, and for the life of him he can’t remember why he wouldn’t always want that. Having Travie behind him, between his legs, is a revelation. He’s had this before, he knows, but he doesn’t remember being quite so gone on it.

Travie has no problem sinking two fingers into his ass, and Gabe groans at the feeling, pushing back.

“Gabey, if you can’t stay still, I’ll make Bill hold you down so you can’t move,” Travie warns him. He’s suddenly aware of Bill at his side, petting his hair and running a hand down his smooth, slightly sweaty back. Gabe suddenly misses Bill’s fingers in his mouth with a vengeance. Half of him wants that, likes the idea of Bill holding him down, but instead of saying that, he just turns his head so he can look at Bill and opens his mouth pitifully, kissing messily at his fingers when they brush over his cheek and mouth. He catches one, sucks the tip of it, and Bill’s mouth curves into a mischievous, pleased smile.

Travie’s fingers twist, pressing particularly hard against his prostate, and he has to fight to keep his hips from rolling. He wants to come so badly, and yet at the same time he can’t quite focus on it. The need is there, but less important. He’s been distracted by Bill’s fingers.

Travie is not gentle about fingerfucking him, and frankly he doesn’t need to be. Gabe doesn’t like bottoming for Travie for reasons he can’t remember now, but he’s bottomed for Bill plenty, just without BDSM play. Bill’s not exactly small, and Gabe likes fingering anyway. No one does it quite like Travie, though - he just goes for it, plunging his fingers in and out, pressing and twisting and fucking owning Gabe. Travie takes pleasure in the prep, really loves doing it. He’s been known to do this, just this, to Bill until he ruined him.

Travie takes his time, but he does move on with a third finger that makes Gabe glad he’s lying down because his thighs are trembling. He wouldn’t be able to keep himself upright on his legs the way they are now.

Finally, finally , Travie pulls his fingers out. The moment of emptiness makes Gabe uncomfortable, makes him desperate and hollow and suddenly lost, but it doesn’t last for long.

The three of them stopped using condoms a long time ago; they’ve been together so long it was just a waste. Besides, Travie likes getting them messy; easy clean up ruins that.

Gabe listens to the wet, slippery sounds of Travie wrapping a lubed hand around his dick, and after what seems like an age, Travie finally presses inside of him, so slowly, he actually cries more. It’s overwhelming is what it is, and Gabe has never been happier to be out of his depth.

“That good, babyboy?” Travie hums, leaning over his body so he’s close to Gabe’s ear. Travie has called him babyboy since they’d met, and yet it makes him shiver. Travie makes a pleased sound, and pulls out just far enough to slam back in. Gabe rocks forward, yelping, not quite able to control the sounds he’s making. “You always pretend you don’t like this, but I see through you. You like it too much, huh?”

Gabe whimpers, and part of him wants to choke the sound back down. He’d been flushed with arousal for a while, but now the pink in his cheeks is from embarrassment. It would be a lie to say it doesn’t get him even more desperate. “Travie,” he manages to say, but he doesn’t really have anything to say. He doesn’t know how to reply.

All of these emotions - the embarrassment, the confusion, the need - are distant. His body is like a cloud, the pleasure filtering through every time Travie grinds against his prostate. It’s good, so good, and the clearest he’s ever felt. It’s like he’s being purified. He can’t think properly, can’t really move. He just lies there, moaning and whimpering and shaking.

Being fucked has never felt like this. Maybe it’s him, because he doesn’t remember ever being so into it, ever being unable to control the roll of his hips with every thrust. It’s like all the messy shit in his head has filtered out and all he can feel is Travie and Bill. Having their hands on him is like being blessed.

There’s a joke in there somewhere about The Church of Hot Addiction, but he can’t think straight enough to parse it out.

“I knew you’d be so good if you let yourself,” Bill tells him, calm and cool while he watches Travie take him apart. He looks sly, calculating. “You’re so good, Gabe. You’re doing so well.” It’s the first direct compliment, and something inside of him recognizes it as what it is. It’s praise. Travie uses that kind of language with Bill all the time, tells him how well he’s doing, how good he’s being. Gabe has always thought it was kind of silly; Bill’s not a little kid. He doesn’t need to be talked to like that.

He’s wrong. He needs it, he gets it - his ahhh is just that much louder on Travie’s next thrust, his cheeks hot with it. He’s so hard, and Bill says he’s doing good so he’s got to be doing good. He

was good for Travie, and that’s all he wanted in the first place, wasn’t it?

“My good little bottom boy,” Travie says in a tone the same kind of sly as Bill’s expression, and Gabe’s cock jerks. He buries his head back in the comforter, completely hides his face, and pretends that he can’t be seen. This is so much, too much for him. “You wanna do this all the time, Gabey? Take me all the time, just like this. You can. You can have me inside you all you want.”

There’s an amused sound when Gabe clenches down on Travie’s cock, when his stomach turns hot and tight. He’s so close.

“Plug you up when I’m not there,” Travie adds, and Gabe can hear Bill’s breathing. Now that he’s tuned into it, he can hear the sound of Bill fisting his cock. God. Gabe licks his lips, and the comforter by extension since he’s still pressing his face into it.

“What’cha want, Gabey?” Travie asks him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. He turns his head to the side, sucks in a huge gulp of air.

He answers without thinking. “I wan’ you,” he gasps, and as if that’s the right answer, Travie rolls his hips, presses his cock into Gabe’s prostate, and reaches around to stroke him just once.

Gabe has never come so hard before in his life.

Travie finishes in a handful of thrusts, pressing messy kisses to his shoulder and back, and when they’re done Bill makes a soft sound and comes himself, aiming for Gabe’s face. He can’t even react except to close his eyes and lick his lips. Bill’s come is probably in his hair. Instead of thinking about cleanup, he lays there in a daze and lets Travie get him water while Bill runs his fingers through Gabe’s hair, smearing in the come.

It’s not until Bill and Travie bring him back up with soft touches and assurances of how well he did that he realizes what has happened.

Gabe doesn’t let Travie touch him for a week, until his ass has stopped aching every time he sits down, until he can look at him without feeling longing so strong it steals his breath.

He thinks to himself that there’s a reason he never subbed. It was a fluke, and not his thing, and now he feels embarrassed and confused. He doesn’t push Travie away entirely - he kisses him before he leaves the house and says “I love you” before he hangs up the phone. He just won’t let Travie cuddle him during films, or spoon him in bed. He lays with Bill between them and presses his dick against Bill’s ass with no real intention to do anything like that’ll make up for the sincerely mind blowing dicking he whined through days before.

Eventually, he calms down, and while he’s still a little uncomfortable, he doesn’t like staying away from Travie. He still frowns every time he lets Travie hold him and he starts getting that feeling of complacency, like he doesn’t have to do anything except listen to Travie and relax. It’s not normal relaxation - he wants to completely melt, to let Travie carry him places (which is ridiculous, because they’re both insanely tall and their appartment isn’t that big. He wants Bill to hold him down, to tell him he’s good. He wants Bill to pet his hair, and he wants to let them both do whatever they want with him.

Whatever. It’s not happening again.

Gabe won’t bottom for either of them, because it’s just one step closer to the night he let Travie spank him. Instead, he fucks Bill and makes out with Travie but keeps his hands firmly above the belt.

Bill knows that Gabe is having a hard time accepting what he wants. He’s so cocky, and he likes to think he’s in charge of things. He’s always been the man with the plan, who ropes other people into his shenanigans. Bill gets why it’s weird for Gabe to realize that he wants to sub for them.

The thing is, Bill also wants to dom Gabe. He always has, a little bit - it’s always the overconfident ones that make the prettiest subs, really, and Gabe is so gorgeous. It’s more than that, though, because he also wants Gabe to feel good. Watching him cry from pleasure under Travie’s hand had been the hottest and most fulfilling things Bill had ever seen. He knew that feeling intimately and wanted Gabe to feel it, too, especially when he clearly loved it. It had been good for him; he’d been weird afterwards but he moved easier through the world, less desperate to act out for attention.

A couple weeks later, however, and Gabe’s back to normal. Well, not normal. He’s being a little ass, is what he’s doing, like he’s begging for someone to punish him, to force him back to what he keeps calling a fluke. Bill has a thought about telling him flatly that they’re not going to punish him until they actually have a good little talk about what’s going on now.

They don’t talk about it, because Gabe is still firmly denying that it was anything other than a one- off, like he wasn’t begging to be taken down again. Still, he relaxes around them enough that Bill doesn’t feel weird about telling Gabe he wants to fuck one day when Travie’s out of the house.

Gabe is clearly into the idea and eager enough that he doesn’t complain about Bill being a bossy little shit in bed. Bill isn’t always bossy when they fuck, but Gabe seems into it and it’s kind of fun. He manhandles Bill onto the bed, making him laugh when he raspberries his stomach, and by the time he’s balls-deep in Bill’s ass both Gabe and Bill are feeling good. Bill rolls his hips up with every thrust Gabe makes, an active participant, and Gabe grins at him every time he groans.

“Mm,” Bill hums happily. “That’s good. Do that again, Gabe - that angle, right there.” He does as he’s asked, thankfully not being willful at the moment, and Bill rewards him with a soft whine he knows does things to Gabe. As if in response, Gabe circles his hips a little. Bill wiggles, a little too freely, and without thinking he adds, “Hold my wrists. C’mon, hold me down, babe.”

Gabe huffs a laugh. “Is it one of those times?” he asks, reaching for Bill’s wrists and pressing them into the mattress. Though Bill didn’t ask him to, he shifts so he more or less blankets Bill’s body. It’s not really one of “those times” - he doesn’t want Gabe to dom him, really. He just wants to be held down a little, and so what if he’s maybe getting a little pleasure out of seeing Gabe do as he says. He’s not going to tell Gabe that, so it’s fine.

“Harder,” he says instead, and feels a little thrill when Gabe rolls his eyes but does so. He’s glorious in the throes, Bill thinks, sun-kissed skin and dark eyes and muscles flexing with every thrust. Bill watches the way his pleasure flits across his expression before pulling one hand out of Gabe’s to cup his cheek and kiss him. He keeps it pressed to Gabe’s cheek even after they’ve broken the kiss to stare into each other’s eyes.

It’s purely by accident that his thumb slips into the corner of Gabe’s mouth, but to his surprise Gabe doesn’t flinch away. He doesn’t even look totally aware of it as he closes his lips around it and suckles at the pad of his finger.

The sight makes Bill groan, and he squeezes his inner muscles to make Gabe groan too, around his

thumb.

“Slow down now,” Bill tells him breathlessly, and finds it interesting when Gabe’s hips immediately stutter down to a slower pace. Bill fights down a grin and kisses Gabe again, around his own thumb. Gabe’s tongue comes out to tease at his mouth, ignoring his finger, and it’s possibly the hottest thing Bill’s seen recently. “Let go of my other wrist, Gabe,” he adds, and when Gabe does he reaches down to pull at his own cock, hopelessly turned on.

“Fuck,” Gabe says when he does, looking down with hungry eyes. “You’re so gorgeous, babe, fuck.” He sounds a little faint.

Bill laughs a little, lightheaded with how much he’s enjoying himself. “Yeah, I’m fucking pretty. So are you, Gabey.” It’s just a tease, and Gabe doesn’t seem to be upset by it, so Bill stays relaxed, casually throwing out instructions whenever Gabe does something particularly good. He’s feeling up for a little edging, and several times he murmurs for Gabe to stop so they can catch their breath.

“Fuckin’ with me,” Gabe grumbles, but he does as he’s told even though he’s flushed with how needy he is. He sits up, slides his hand over Bill’s leg, and pushes it up so he can squeeze and admire the play of muscle. Gabe’s always had a thing for Bill’s legs.

“I just want to feel good for - ah - a long time,” he denies, though he’s clearly having too much fun for that to be the truth. Gabe doesn’t even roll his eyes; he just watches hungrily. “Move again, Gabe. Slowly, then work up.”

It’s so good - one of the best lately. They’ve had a lot of spectacular sex, and this is still so good .

“Touch me,” he forces out after Gabe’s brushed over his prostate for the tenth time. There’s a hand around his cock right away and his breath hitches with how good it is. “Alright,” he gasps a minute later. “Stop again, Gabe. Now, stop now .” He’s going to come if Gabe doesn’t, and he doesn’t want to. Not yet.

The strangest thing happens, however, and Bill shakes with the realization. Gabe whines , even as his hips twitch to a stop, belly heaving, and his hand leaves Bill’s cock.

Gabe is so gorgeous, Bill thinks wildly - his cheeks flushed, mouth open. But his eyes - fuck, his eyes . That’s what gets Bill, because they’re all glazed and distant, watching Bill without actively watching. He’s biting his lower lip, and his hips thrust a little without any apparent intention to.

Travie is going to lose his shit, Bill thinks.

“Pull out,” he says firmly but gently, and Gabe does without thinking about it, reacting to Bill’s orders without question. Beautiful. “Good boy,” he tacks on smoothly, and Gabe’s hips roll a little into thin air between Bill’s legs. He’s just propped up on his elbows, watching Gabe wait for him, sitting between Bill’s thighs like a good. boy .

“C’mon,” he breathes out, finally, a little shaky himself from the repeated lack of release. He guides Gabe onto his back next to him, and part of Bill just wants to lay down with him and stroke Gabe and have Gabe stroke him. It’d be hot, if simple - but Bill’s all open and wanting. He slides a leg over Gabe’s hips, brushing his cock and making him gasp a little. When he’s settled in Gabe’s lap, he smiles down at him, feeling impossibly tender.

“M’gonna ride you,” he tells him, because communication is important especially with Gabe so out of it. “You can just lie down and hold onto my hips if you want, but I’m gonna do all the work.” It’s easier said than done, because his legs are basically jelly, but he takes Gabe’s cock in hand and

strokes just a little before sinking down onto it. His eyes close with how good it is, the angle near perfect, and when he rolls his hips Gabe thrusts up a little like he can’t help it.

He’s not Travie; Gabe doesn’t need to be still. “Good boy,” he tells him and feels a flush of heat when Gabe’s mouth gapes open, lips swollen from the biting he’d been doing. “That’s so good, Gabe,” he adds, voice rising in pitch. “Yeah, just like that, babe. Fuck .”

Gabe doesn’t hold onto him, so Bill leans forward so he can clasp his hands with Gabe’s and push them into the mattress. Gabe’s hips thrust up when he does, and he remembers how much Gabe had liked the idea of Bill holding him down while Travie had fucked him those two or three weeks before.

It doesn’t last too much longer after that. They’ve been at it for close to half an hour, and they’ve done longer but it’s clearly not their average session either. It’s been good, but Gabe is trembling and whining and out of it. It’s beautiful, but Bill isn’t going to draw it out. When Gabe finally comes, Bill lets go as well, jerking himself until he left white ropes of come on Gabe’s belly. He lifts up, just enough for Gabe to slip free and for come to slide down his thigh, and flops down onto his side next to Gabe.

They have to do laundry, Bill acknowledges hazily, but he’s more focused on petting Gabe’s chest lightly and pressing kisses to his cheek. He doesn’t like leaving someone in subspace, even just to get food and water, but thankfully there’s a granola bar on the nightstand and a water bottle on on the desk. He presses his smile into Gabe’s shoulder.

Travie joins them once Gabe’s finally come out of it for the most part, still pliant but glaring at the wall like he doesn’t want to admit what happened. Travie takes one look at them, raises an eyebrow, and leans in to steal a kiss from Gabe’s resisting lips, pressing until Gabe sighs and finally kisses him back.

“It was a -”

Last time, they’d humored him when he said it was a fluke.

“Shut up,” Bill says calmly, unimpressed. “Quit acting like it’s the end of the world. Everyone here likes it, so you’re allowed to let go every now and again.” He doesn’t mention that submission seems a lot more genuine on Gabe than domination does, because people are allowed to like both. He does. It just seems like Gabe enjoys one a lot more than the other. Bill’s done this with a few people - not a lot, but enough - and he’s never seen someone go down as easily as Gabe does.

“I’m not,” Gabe tries, but he swallows the sentence down before he can finish and instead he just shakes a little, looking uncomfortable and desperately in need of comfort. Travie climbs in behind him and wraps his arm around Gabe’s waist. Gabe flushes when Travie fits his hips to Gabe’s ass and tries to squirm away, but Travie holds fast, and Bill presses himself to Gabe’s front so he doesn’t escape.

“Love you, Gabey,” Travie says, simple as that, and Gabe stills before slowly relaxing, breathing out.

“Love you, Gabey,” Bill whispers against his mouth, so he knows, and Gabe nods jerkily in response to both of them.

“Love you, too,” he says back. “I’m just... I don’t know. It’s weird.” Bill understands - really, he

does. In a word focused with hypermasculinity it’s easy to forget that men can surrender sometimes. He’d had his own troubles with it when he’d first realized he liked to be held down and fucked, when he realized he got off on being told what to do, on being used by someone bigger and stronger who told him that he was good every now and again.

Gabe, on the other hand, seems to enjoy being taken care of more than he does being used, and Bill has no problem giving that to him. Travie is smirking into Gabe’s neck, and judging by that he doesn’t mind either.

“Would it be less weird if I fucked you right now?” Travie says pleasantly, and Gabe starts a little, eyes wide. “Because I’ve had this little daydream about using you to fuck Bill, like a train. It’d be hot. Whatcha say?”

Bill tries not to laugh, because Travie isn’t joking. It’s a daydream he’s had for a long time, and he likes to talk to Bill about it when Gabe is asleep between them.

Gabe flushes, and Travie reaches down to fondle his cock like that’s an answer.

Gabe’s not a sub - not entirely. It just suits him to sub most of the time. He’s doing it for Bill, really - Bill loves to dom as much as he loves to sub, so it’s only fair to give him the opportunity when he wants to. And Travie really is a spectacular dom, so it’s only fair to let him do what he’s best at, even if it means Gabe has to suck it up and receive some mind-blowing orgasms and take some orders.