My Chemical Romance Fanfiction

Mind Over Matter

Petekey, Petekey+Gerard, Smut, 3,362 words
By: willgrahamchops

The famous Way telepathy: a sort of in-joke on tour, the way Gerard and Mikey always seemed to know where to find the other. It was funny, really, because they still got lost all the fucking time, but they only got lost together. If Mikey was sitting on the couch and Gerard hadn’t made bus call, Gerard wasn’t lost, just late.

“He’s smoking on the roof,” Mikey would say. “You know, being all deep and shit.” Gerard always showed up a few minutes later, wind-swept and breathless.

It was their fault for letting it perpetuate, really, but they didn’t see what harm it could do. Maybe by playing along they were throwing the rest of the tour off the scent. It wasn’t like it was hard to hide the really weird aspects of it, either. They still talked to each other out loud even when they were alone, out of habit.

Two albums and still going strong. It wasn’t hiding things from the band that was the problem. It was hiding things from each other. Or in Mikey’s case, not.

Gerard had known about his little fling with Pete since they first made heart-eyes at each other. He’d been there when they first kissed. Pete had cornered Mikey after a show and taken advantage of the stage-high by shoving his tongue down Mikey’s throat, and Mikey didn’t realize who it was until he pulled away. He’d been there for their first date, when Pete took Mikey to Circle K because catering burnt the coffee again, and they sat out back with their drinks while Mikey meticulously sorted the contents of three bags of skittles by color and fed the green ones to Pete (because the green ones were gross.)

He was really happy for the two of them. Really. He wasn’t particularly attracted to Pete, but Mikey was, and Pete was a really good kisser and it kind of gave them butterflies when he lent Mikey his hoodie and everything smelled like him for three days.

Mikey and Pete had a very active sex life. That wasn’t the problem either -- Gerard was getting to that. No, the sex was awesome in a rushed, sweaty, Pete’s-deodorant-smells-like-a-sleazy-bar sort of way. The problem was that Pete thought he was only fucking Mikey. Gerard had some serious moral quandaries about that, and worse, he seemed to be the only one.

It happened pretty spontaneously, because they took what alone time they could get in the sea of curfews and deadlines and faulty equipment. Once, Gerard was in the bus studio with Ray, recording a goddamn demo, when he suddenly had his cock up Pete’s ass. He had been so wrapped up in not fucking up the harmony that he’d missed the foreplay entirely, but when it hit him he actually groaned into the mic. It had been a fucking good take, too.

“Woah, man, you okay?” Ray asked, quickly pausing the recording. He might have written it off as Gerard’s standard sex-noises-while-singing thing, except he was halfway through a goddamn line and it was way out of key.

“Fine, shit,” Gerard choked. “Feeling sick. Be right back.”

He proceeded to lock himself in the bathroom until they were done, not daring to touch himself because, unlike the studio, the bathroom was most definitely not soundproofed, and he didn’t think Ray would appreciate him dropping out mid-song to jerk off.
Most of the time, though, it was when they both had free time, and Gerard usually had ample warning. Like, if Mikey was hanging out with Pete in the first place, that was warning. It didn’t bother him when he could prepare -- grab a coke and settle down in his bunk in the empty bus, lazily palming himself through his jeans.

Sometimes he fucked with Mikey, just because he could. He’d take a big swig of Coke right when they leaned in to kiss, and Mikey would kind of mentally roll his eyes likecome on, I’m busy here. He really wanted to know if Pete could taste it too. Probably not. But how cool would it be if he could?