FEVERISH [RYDEN] [REPOST]

AFFAIRS AND ETC

The heavy noise reverberated through the apartment, startling the two men apart as they kissed on the couch. As the buzzer's sound trickled through the floorboards, Pete Wentz pulled himself away from the boy underneath him, shifting his legs that were currently wound around his waist.

He had moved out of his temporary flat in Los Angeles and was not back in Las Vegas, as the rental he had there was no longer... needed.

What was definitely not needed though, he thought with distaste, was an interruption, as he was enjoying his place in Mikey Way's lap very much.

This, this was something that no one in his life could see coming. Pete Wentz, in a domestic relationship? Pah! He was the last person in the world that they would expect to cook breakfast for his lover, or to send lovey-dovey phone calls, or, and this was the most surprising, ignore tour rules.

Tour rules were simple. If you did 'em on tour, it doesn't count.

But, when Pete was with Mikey Way, nobody got done on tour, except for the shows that Mikey snuck away for.

When Mikey was on tour, it was slightly different. And now, Mikey was on tour, but Mikey had flown here.

And now, the buzzer was going off.

Four times in a row.

"Who is it?"

Pete shrugged, before leaning in to connect lips and tongues and etcetera, except, now, for the fifth time, the doorbell rang again.

"If that's Gerard, I swear."

Pete pushed himself, rather clumsily, off of Mikey's lap, stumbling over to the door. With a moment of warning to the man stretched out on the couch, he pressed talk.

"Hello? I'm in a meeting right now, who is it?"

"There was a fuck up. Let me up."

"Oh, um, what're you doing he-"

"I said lemme in, boss."

Mikey cocked his head, turning to mouth to Pete.

"What's the kid doing here?"

Pete shrugged.

He pressed unlock.

There was the drilling sound of the lobby door and the mic, before the sound cut out. Pete, who was still standing at the speaker, tilted his head back.

"I'm sorry."

Mikey rolled his eyes before getting off the couch, shifting to stand behind him and grip his hips.

"I thought I said I didn't want kids."

He dipped his head down, touching their lips as he turned Pete around and drove his hands into the tender parts of his skin.

There was a sharp knock on the door.

They pulled apart, and, after a quick glance in each other's eyes and a silent promise, Mikey retreated to the kitchen.

With a slight intake of breath, Pete pulled the door open and set his gaze on the boy in front of him.

His dark hair was still wet from the shower, plastering his fringe to his forehead. The shirt he was wearing was far from his own, and his pants hung low on his hips. Confusion was etched into his skin, running into his bones.

"Hey, kid."

For somebody who was so adamant about coming in, he seemed generally perplexed that he made it this far.