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A Progression Towards An End That Is To The Common Good; Or, How Mike Kennerty Fell In Love With Chris Gaylor
{All-American Rejects RPS // Mike/Chris, Nick/Tyson // NC-17 // 100% untrue & disclaimed // sequel to And Two Dudes... // thanks to eckerlilas for the research help // for Nelly with apologies for the lateness and tons of ♥s}
Stage One: It’s In His Kiss (That’s Where It Is)The first time Chris kissed him, it was an autumn night and their first date was winding to its inevitable close. The inevitable part, in this case, being that Mike was going to go home with this guy, because he’d insisted on paying for dinner, he’d let Mike pay for the beers (thank God for all-ages clubs with bartenders who’ll slip you a couple drinks on the sly, no matter how shitty your fake ID is) and he’d been making Mike laugh for the past three hours. They’d already missed the start of the movie, so they were headed – though they hadn’t said, so Mike couldn’t be absolutely certain – to Chris’s place.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been kissed by a boy, but Drew Parkerson really didn’t count. They’d been five years old and it was an accident involving kiss-chase and long hair, and both of them rolled their eyes and groaned if any of their friends ever brought it up again. So technically, Mike had been kissed by a boy before, but this was a whole different angle on the subject; the way Chris darted his head in quickly so their mouths met in the middle, the sound Chris made in his throat when Mike tried licking at his lip, the way he was getting hard really fast, the way Chris’s hands in his hair felt simultaneously rough and gentle. Mike pushed their bodies against the nearest wall, Chris’s back to it, forcing himself not to hump Chris’s hip. It was quite a fucking effort. Chris was quite a fucking kisser.
When Chris moaned, “Fuck,” without even breaking the kiss, that was when Mike knew a team of wild horses couldn’t stop him from going home with this dude.
There was no rocking motion, and from that Mike deduced that the van had stopped somewhere. His body woke up slowly, piece by piece – his thigh muscles registered their sleepy complaint again, the skin on his hands hummed to wakefulness, and his nostrils registered the familiar odour of used shirts and dust burning in amp speakers and all the other smells that come with four boys living in a cramped van – and he could hear, just enough out of earshot that he couldn’t pick up any words, Nick’s voice.
He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to open his eyes yet or not. He just lay there, breathing in and out, curled partly around a guitar case. He wondered what time it was, if he could go back to sleep should he decide to try, and why his back felt cold.
There was the sound of the van door opening, and Nick’s voice got marginally louder. Mike picked out the words “– should be back for your –” before the door shut again and muffled out the sound.
Mike could smell coffee. He opened his eyes, clocking the writing on the ceiling, letting them drift over the piled-up equipment boxes, coming to rest eventually on Chris.
“Hey,” he said, holding out a cup. “I got you coffee.” He was sipping his own.
Mike sat up, with due protest from his thigh muscles. “Thanks.” His voice sounded a little scratchy, even to him, and he noticed Chris wince slightly as he handed the cup over. “Don’t sweat it, man,” he smiled as he took a sip of the coffee. It was hot, and good, and he felt himself waking up further.
“If you get a sore throat, I fucking swear,” Chris said, settling back to sit next to him. Their arms brushed, easy.
“Come on, it’s not like you made me deep throat you,” Mike rolled his eyes. He heard a snort coming from the front seat, and Tyson’s head appeared over the back of it.
“I didn’t hear him complaining,” Tyson observed, folding his arms over the seat back and resting his chin on them. He was grinning. “Sounds to me like he was having a good time.”
“I see you’re still sleeping in the front seat,” Mike said, pointedly. Tyson gave an exaggerated wince.
“Ouch,” he said, leaning back to place a hand over his heart. “That hurt, Kennerty. You wound me.”
“Nick still not talking to you?” Chris asked, one arm slinging around Mike’s waist.
“When he gets off the fucking phone, I’m gonna go talk to him.” Tyson dropped his chin onto his folded arms again. “I should’ve remembered how touchy he gets around his folks.” His voice was soft, and he was staring at his elbow. “It’s harder for him, I think.”
Mike glanced at Chris, who was returning his look. Should we give him shit? Mike asked, silent communication.
Chris’s eyes flicked to Tyson and back. Save it for later, came the reply. “Where are we?” Chris asked, out loud.
“Florida,” Tyson answered, producing a map from somewhere. “We’re about forty miles from the place we’re playing tonight, we should get going again in about an hour. Crew’re already there, I think Brian and Shaun switched out and drove all night.”
Mike took another few gulps of his coffee. He felt warmer, and he couldn’t tell if it was the hot drink or Chris’s proximity. Their sides jostled.
Nick’s voice stopped, outside the van, and the door opened. Nick climbed in over pieces of the drum kit. “Hey, you’re up,” he said to Mike.
“Yeah.” Mike held up his coffee cup. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just – called my sister. It’s her birthday a couple days after we hit Oklahoma, so.”
“Right.” Mike nodded, deliberately not looking at the front seat.
Tyson cleared his throat. “Uh Nick, I just – I’m sorry, man.”
Nick didn’t look over. “I am still not talking to you,” he said, hands curling and uncurling around his phone. “I had to talk for like, a half fucking hour just to repair the damage with Mom.”
Tyson was staring at his hands when Mike glanced over. “So,” Chris said, leaning into Mike’s neck, “wanna go get breakfast, Kennerty?”
“Yeah, okay,” Mike nodded, starting the crawl-climb to get to the back door (it was easier, what with everything strewn about everywhere, just to use the back door most times) and as he passed Nick, he whispered, “Make it up, okay? He’s cut up about it.” Nick just gave a tiny nod and the corner of a weak smile, and Mike patted his knee before he closed the door.
“Think they’ll be okay?” Chris asked, as the two of them made their way across the parking lot they were in. Mike looked around; seemed they’d stopped just by a strip mall. He spotted a Subway and headed for it.
“It’s Nick and Ty,” he replied, Chris following his direction. “They’ll be alright.”
“Yeah. I guess Nick kinda does have a hard time with it, with his folks?” It was phrased as a question, and the You’ve known them longer than I have wasn’t voiced, but it was still there.
Mike shrugged. “I don’t think they’d disown him or turn him in or anything, it’s just – dude, Ty practically went down on him while he was on the phone to his parents. I mean, I can see why Nick’s mad, right?”
“Yeah.” Chris pushed the Subway door open. “You want to get one big sandwich and split it?”
“Get extra cheese on my half,” Mike nodded, looking around for napkin dispensers.
They dawdled around when they’d finished eating, heading into Target mostly so Mike could look at the CDs, but when almost an hour had passed, Mike put the case in his hand down and Chris looked at him and said, “Shall we go?”, and they went back to the van.
They approached with caution. The front seat appeared to be empty, which at least meant Tyson was no longer banished to it; Mike opened the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel, Chris settling next to him.
Mike turned around. Nick was pinning Tyson to the floor of the van, attacking his neck with his mouth. Tyson was emitting small whimpering sounds.
“I guess you two made up then?” Chris called over. Nick held one thumb up and then circled his wrist in a Continue without us for a while motion. Mike laughed, turned back to face the windscreen, and fumbled around for the keys.
“Uh – Ty? There aren’t any keys here. You got them?” he called. Tyson wriggled underneath Nick and after a few moments of tangled limbs and what looked like pocket-digging done with a certain amount of difficulty, Tyson threw the keys over. They hit the back of the seat and fell into the foot wells for the (currently folded and pushed to the side) back seats.
“Thanks,” Chris said, twisting and diving to retrieve them. He dropped them into Mike’s outstretched palm, and Mike got the engine going.
Stage Two: I – I – (Swallow, Honey)Mike woke up that first morning in Chris’s bed with a stiff neck and no feeling in one arm. He shifted, yanking it out from under Chris’s chest (he was lying face down, mouth open on the pillow and drooling very slightly; it was not the most attractive thing ever, but Mike still thought it was kinda cute) and pulling it into a position where blood could flow freely to it once more.
He sat up, wincing as his arm decided to wake up all at once and rather forcefully, and looked around for a clock of some kind. Chris’s apartment was basically one room, with a bathroom off it and a kitchen in one corner. There wasn’t a clock on any of the walls. Mike had to pee anyway.
There was, in fact, a clock in the bathroom; a small one set in the wall opposite the sink. He read the time backwards in the mirror as he washed his hands. He would be late for class, but he could make it if he hurried.
He had math first on a Friday. He didn’t particularly want to hurry. He pretended to weigh the options for a second – math or naked Chris, math or naked Chris, math or naked – and that was when he realised that his pants were tangled somewhere on the other side of the room.
Shrugging, he just got back into bed. Chris shifted closer, eyes closed but now lying on his side. “Hey,” he mumbled, sleep-quiet. “Thought you were gone.”
“Nope, just in the bathroom,” Mike murmured. He wondered what the etiquette was with guys you’d fucked the night before; was there cuddling now? Should he kiss him? Should he give him his space? Ask for another date? Chris slung an arm over his waist and curled into his side, so he guessed snuggling was okay in this situation. He nuzzled closer, and risked a kiss to Chris’s forehead. Chris smiled sleepily.
“You’re cute, Kennerty,” he said, and then yawned. “What time is it?”
“Ten after seven,” Mike replied. “Do you have work?”
“I don’t have to be up for a half hour.” His voice sounded more awake now, and his eyes opened. “Man, you’re still hot first thing. How d’you do that?”
Mike laughed. “Says the dude who is naked and way better than going to math class.”
“Oh god,” Chris groaned, covering his face with a hand. His voice came out muffled as he said, “Please do not be reminding me how fucking young you are this early in the morning.”
“Still freaks you out, huh?” Mike smiled, because really, annoying and frustrating as the whole being seventeen thing was, Chris was kind of adorable when he freaked out about it.
“I feel like that chick in that movie, Mrs Robinson,” Chris sighed. Mike just laughed.
“What the fuck, dude, you’re like two years older than me, quit acting like I’m still a kid.”
“I’m not acting like you’re still a kid, jesus.” Chris uncovered his eyes. “If I thought you were still a kid, you would not be here right now, and I really would not be naked. As, in fact, are you, so shush with your accusations. I’m just, y’know. I’m not used to being the old one.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “The older one.”
“Whatever.” Chris flicked him on the elbow.
“Besides, I wasn’t too young to fuck you in the ass last night,” Mike pointed out. He wasn’t even all that smug about it, but Chris still went to all the trouble of lifting his head and grabbing his pillow to hit Mike in the stomach with it. “Hey!”
“Just don’t go telling people at school about it. I don’t want to get arrested or shit,” Chris reminded him.
“I’d get arrested too, you dope.” Mike grabbed the pillow out of his hands and fwapped him on the arm with it. “We’re wasting time, anyway. You have to get up in like, twenty minutes.”
Chris raised an eyebrow. “What, just because we’ve been on a date and had some sex, you think that entitles you to early-morning blowjobs and pancakes afterwards?” Mike’s heart sank for a second, but then Chris continued, “Because you’d be completely right. Except about the pancakes,” he added. “I can do you toast, though.”
Mike laughed, and it sounded a little like a bark somehow. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“You know, I keep hearing that,” Chris said, mock thoughtful, “and I have no idea what gives people that impression.”
Mike just carried on laughing, quieter. “I like you, Christopher Gaylor.”
“Coincidence. I kinda like you too. Lie on your back.”
Mike stopped laughing, though the smile was still there. He settled fully onto his back – he’d been half over on his side, facing Chris – and closed his eyes as Chris’s mouth found his. Chris rolled over on top of him, pressing their bodies flush. He was hard, digging into Mike’s hip before he shifted and their cocks aligned. Mike was almost as hard, and groaned as Chris rocked their hips together. “Fuck,” he breathed, the friction sending shoots of pleasure all through his belly.
Chris moved his mouth, kissing over Mike’s jaw and dipping to lick at his neck. Mike arched it to give him better access, and lifted his hips almost off the bed. Chris whimpered against his skin. “You want me to?” he breathed, tongue flicking out against Mike’s earlobe.
“I,” Mike tried very hard to process the question. “Oh. Um, maybe not – I mean, uh, not yet? I just.”
Chris stilled him with one hand on his chest. “It’s okay,” he said, and he was smiling. “We can take this as slow as you want.”
Mike nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe um, I mean – soon, okay? Just not. Right now.” He tried not to sound too apologetic, but it was just.
Chris was still smiling, and he kissed him. “Don’t worry,” he murmured into his mouth, “I won’t fuck you until you’re okay for me to.” Mike was intensely grateful he hadn’t said until you want me to, because holy fuck did he ever want him to. Just, not yet. “Now,” Chris kept murmuring, in between kisses, “how about that blowjob?”
“Go out with me again,” Mike blurted out, and instantly cursed himself for sounding exactly like he was a high school kid. But Chris just chuckled, and nodded.
“Count on it,” he said, and slithered down Mike’s body until his head was level with Mike’s hips. “Now then. Blowjob?”
“Fuck,” Mike whispered, and tangled his hands in Chris’s hair.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Chris grinned, but before Mike could say anything else, he closed his mouth over Mike’s cock and started sucking.
“I was thinking,” Tyson said as he and Shaun hefted guitar cases from the van and lined them up in the parking lot, “we should all get a tattoo.”
Nick raised his eyebrows. “What like, all of us just get ourselves a tattoo, or all get the same one?”
“Same one,” Tyson said as they passed, bumping hips deliberately. Nick gave him one of those little smiles nobody else was really meant to see. Mike thunked an amp on top of the rest. “You know, like a band thing. We could get the logo, AAR.”
“Seems kind of,” Chris spoke up from behind a couple of cymbals, “permanent, don’t you think?”
“This is kind of permanent,” Tyson pointed out, and Mike thought, yeah – for Tyson and Nick, they’ve pretty much never done anything else. He’d have a hard time imagining them without The All-American Rejects in their life. “And I know,” Tyson continued, and either he could read Mike’s mind or there was some weird connectiveness going on, because he said, “I know this is like, all me and Nick have ever – I mean, Nick gave up college for this.”
“Well, that was just ’cos I missed you,” Nick murmured, and Tyson stopped for a second. Their eyes did that thing where they’d meet and the whole world would shrink; Mike recognised that look, and he did what he always did when they got it – looked away. Usually at Chris, who was at that point looking thoughtful.
He inclined his head towards the inside of the van, and Mike followed him in. There was no equipment left to unload, so they just sat with their backs against the front seat and Chris said, voice a quiet murmur, “I know this is.” He stopped. “Mike, I’ve been in this band for two months. That’s it, and I know we’re really, y’know, we’ve got this good thing going on, and I like what it is and where it’s –”
“Hey.” Mike splayed his hand on Chris’s chest, stuttering his voice to a stop. “They want you. Okay? You were included in Ty’s tattoo idea. Which, actually, yeah. I like the sound of that. Maybe when like, the record starts selling and we know for sure –”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Tyson spoke up from the doorway. Mike looked up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to – look.” He crawled in and over to them. “Chris, you’re a part of this band. For good, as far as I’m concerned. I’m not saying you have to get a tattoo for it, that’s just an idea, I just thought it’d be nice. Kind of like a, a brotherhood thing.” He rested a palm on Chris’s knee. “You’re our brother, Gaylor. But in a,” he amended, “more in like, a sexy way than a brother way. None of us are like, brothers brothers. ’Cept maybe Shaun.”
Mike just looked at Chris. “Welcome to the Rejects.” He leaned closer and stage whispered, “I told you.”
“Where would this tattoo be, anyway?” Chris asked, and now he was grinning.
“I am not getting my penis done,” Nick called from somewhere outside.
“Do you have hearing like a fucking bat or something?” Mike yelled back. In answer, Nick slid the nearest door open and waved. “Oh. So Ty, since this is your idea, where were you thinking?”
“Right over our hearts,” Tyson beamed. “’Cos you guys,” he beckoned Nick up and into the van, and then reached around to gather all their necks together and pull them towards his chest, “you are in my heart.”
“You’re such a doofus,” Nick rolled his eyes, face pressed against Mike’s shoulder.
“I love you too, sugar.” Tyson planted a loud and sloppy kiss on Nick’s forehead.
“Are we getting any sleep tonight?” Mike hissed at Chris.
“Probably not,” Chris sighed. Nick punched Tyson in the arm, albeit gently, and the enforced group hug came to an end as Tyson retaliated by letting go of Mike and Chris and launching his entire body at Nick. Nick yelped, and they ended up pushed against the van wall, a tangle of limbs from which could be heard the sound of Nick laughing and Tyson whispering in between giggles. Chris looked at Mike. “Yeah, definitely not.”
Mike just leaned against him. “Well, since we’ll already be up.” He grinned. “Dude, we could never be in any other band. I mean, how often does this kind of shit happen?” He waved a hand to include the whole of the van, the writing on the ceiling, but mostly Nick and Tyson.
“Damn straight,” Tyson said, a hand emerging from the tangle to point at them. “That’s what I’m saying. You’re our boys now.”
“Hell yeah we are,” Chris grinned, and crawled out of the van. He nudged the tangle with his foot as he passed. “Come on, we’ve got sound check.”
Stage Three: In Some Places It Comes In Thirty-Two Flavours (But You Wouldn’t Tell No One Your Favourite)Their first date was on a Thursday. When Mike finally showed up at school the next day, wearing the same clothes, Tom whistled and Ricky just slapped him on the back and asked when they’d get to meet her. Mike punched him on the arm and told him to fuck off, but he did it with a grin and people often told Ricky (affectionately, and otherwise) to fuck off, so Ricky just laughed. Mike knew he’d keep asking; he also knew he’d keep evading and using no pronouns whatsoever. If they figured it out on their own, well. He’d deal with that if it ever came up, is all.
When he’d left Chris’s apartment, Chris had said, “So I’ll see you again soon, right?” and Mike had nodded and they’d had one last kiss, the kind where they just sort of licked at the corners of each other’s mouths and Mike was left tingling all over for at least an hour afterward. It was hard to concentrate in class, so he and Joey sat at the back playing hangman quietly. Joey spelled out the word a-s-s-f-u-c-k-i-n-g and Mike wondered if he knew somehow, or if the world just hated him that much. After staring out the window and seeing two birds fluttering around each other, switching which one was behind the other and obviously doing things when he was six he thought they’d need a bee for, he figured even the fucking birds must be gay and, in fact, the world just hated him that much.
“Did you see those gay birds?” Susie asked him at lunch, picking the crusts off her sandwich.
“You were that bored too, huh?” Mike sighed, staring despondently at his place of unidentified meat and limp salad. At least the potatoes looked good.
“I had chem,” Susie said, by way of explanation, and Mike nodded. Also, the potatoes were not as good as they looked. At least they didn’t taste like rubber. (He still had no idea where the school cafeteria had located lettuce that actually tasted like rubber. That such a thing existed was something he would never have believed if he hadn’t tried it himself.)
He stopped by Sylvia and Plethy’s on the way home after school, and he kind of hoped Chris would be visiting his buddies in the apartment upstairs, but the place was silent so he figured not. Sylvia was five months pregnant and starting to show, which Mike thought was still intensely weird; she was only three years older than him. The fact, she said, that he was actually still coming round to see them meant she was more of a brother than Steven ever could be. Mike insisted that Steve was an okay kind of a guy, he’d had English with him sixth period. Sylvia just shook her head and asked why the hell Steve wasn’t here too, and that was the point at which Mike held up his hands and said he was staying as far out of their family problems as he could. “I’m just here to deliver ice cream goodness,” he nodded in the direction of the four tubs of Ben & Jerry’s he’d stacked in the freezer.
“For which,” Plethy clapped him on the shoulder, “we are so grateful we’ll probably ask you to be godfather.” He leaned closer. “She’s insufferable if she doesn’t get her chocolate fix,” he whispered loudly. Sylvia rolled her eyes.
Mike got home just in time for dinner, which at least saved him from a lecture on staying out all night and making them wait so the food went cold and as long as he hadn’t missed any school maybe he could get off with a warning; he got the condensed version when his mother just said, “Michael, are you going out tonight?” and eyed him warily.
“Mom, I’ve got work,” he reminded her. He kissed her cheek on the way out. “Goodnight, I’ll be back late. See you tomorrow.”
“I never see you,” she called back, though her voice held laughter. “You come in, you eat dinner, you go out –”
“I gotta work, Ma,” he called, front door open and half a foot on the other side. “Love you.”
“You too,” she called back, and he pulled the door shut behind him.
He was half way through his shift at Taco Bell when a bunch of people walked in. He was looking at the clock and didn’t notice them at first, figuring he could ask for his break about now, but then he heard a familiar voice.
“Hey,” Chris said, “I didn’t know you worked here.”
Mike’s head snapped away from the clock and he blinked. “Chris? What are you doing here?”
Chris pointed to the group of people sliding into a booth. “We came for food. Since this is what you do here, we figured it’d be the best place to go.”
Mike laughed. “I told you I work at Taco Bell, dumbass. What can I get you?”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say which one. And I will have four large Pepsis, three chalupa nacho cheeses and a steak quesadilla.”
“You want chicken or steak in the chalupas, or just beef?” He punched in the codes.
“Just beef, please.” Mike called the order to the kitchens behind, and selected four large cups to place under the Pepsi nozzle of the drinks dispenser. Chris leaned on the counter. “So … are you working tomorrow night?”
Mike swallowed. “Actually, it’s my night off.” He switched out the cups, filling all four and arranging them on the tray in front of Chris’s elbows.
“Wanna see a show? A friend of mine’s band are playing this club, I said I’d show. Some fairly decent music, some okay beers – wanna come?”
“I’d like that.” Mike turned around to collect the food and pressed a few buttons on the cash register.
Chris counted out dollar bills and change. “Think I got that right,” he said, brow furrowed. Mike did a quick re-count and nodded. “So I’ll see you tomorrow then? Why don’t you come by mine around eight, it’ll be easier than me trying to give directions.” He was grinning, and Mike’s heart was doing an elaborate rain dance against his ribs.
“Yeah, okay. See you then.” He watched Chris take the tray and walk to the table and put it down, unable to shake the words I fucked that ass romping across his synapses. Then his next customer demanded his attention and he didn’t ask for his break until the group over in the booth left, Chris waving at him on the way out the door.
Mike’s Saturday was a pretty normal one, for most of it. He woke up, he watched cartoons while eating cereal, he made conversation with his dad before both his parents did their usual weekend thing of going out to the garden; his dad to work in the outhouse, his mom to sit on the porch and read. Tom and Steve came over to see if he wanted to hang out, Mike gave Steve shit for not seeing his sister, Steve gave Mike shit for being a better brother to her, Tom mediated and suggested they go to the mall. Mike ended up eating lunch in the food court and heading to work from there. He worked the one-to-six shift he’d signed up for, and then left as Debbie clocked on. He tossed her his hat in the change-over and she caught it with a smile.
When he got home, he still smelled like tacos, which was never an unpleasant side-effect of his job, but he decided he should shower anyway. He had a small but significant (at the time) crisis over which shirt to wear before remembering that it was just Chris, they were just going to some club to see some band, so it didn’t really matter what shirt he wore because he looked fine in all of them. (But, a voice at the back of his head protested, it was Chris and he wanted to look so insanely hot the guy could barely talk. But then, it added, quieter, Chris was of the opinion that Mike looked hot first thing in the morning, so his choice of shirt maybe wasn’t high on the list of Reasons Mike Is So Hot I Can Barely Speak, By Chris Gaylor and also, he looked better in black than he did in red, so go with the black one. Mike wondered if maybe that voice was his inner gayness, but had to concede that he definitely did look better in the black shirt, so whether it was gay or not didn’t change the fact that it was right.)
He got to Chris’s place a little early, but really, he had nothing else to do, so it wasn’t like he was over-eager or some lame shit. He just, happened to be there at forty after seven. Mostly because he’d already been ready for nearly an hour and it only took so long to get there.
When Chris opened the door, Mike had to admit that choice of shirt notwithstanding (yellow was really more Chris’s colour than brown, and god that voice at the back of his head was really kind of gay) Chris looked pretty amazingly hot. He swallowed, and noticed Chris’s eyes flicking all over his body, up and down, and unless the lighting was shit in this hallway, Chris’s pupils dilated as Mike stepped closer and shit but that was hot. “Hi,” Mike said, voice sounding raspier than he’d expected. He cleared his throat.
“Jesus, Mike,” Chris blinked, “give a guy a break, okay? You can’t be this hot all the time, it’s just not fair play.”
Mike laughed, instantly relaxing. “Hey, you’ve seen me in my work uniform and you still think I’m way hot? You should get your eyes tested, man.”
“Please,” Chris pffted, beckoning him inside. “Have you seen you lately?”
Mike ducked his head, grinning. “Keep talking like that my ego’ll be the size of Texas.”
“Yeah, no, you’re right,” Chris deadpanned. “I’m not wearing my glasses – oh, here,” and he mimed putting glasses on and stepping back in horror. There was a cracking sound that, Mike realised after a second, Chris had made with his mouth. He took the mime glasses off and examined them. “Yeah, they broke. You ugly.”
“Shut up,” Mike said, voice cracking with laughter. “We need to be at the show yet?”
“Not for an hour, at least,” Chris replied. He was looking mischievous. “And I didn’t so much say I’d show as say I’d maybe show.”
“Gaylor, was this all just some plot to get me here?” Mike asked, eyes narrowing and jaw tilting in mock accusation. He added a pointing finger for emphasis. “Are you kidnapping me?”
When Chris moved, it was quick, and he had Mike in a headlock. “I’m not gonna give you up until the ransom comes, so get comfy.”
Mike sort of broke the game by laughing and wriggling out of Chris’s grip. “What if the ransom don’t get paid?”
“Then I get to keep you.” This time, the movements were slower, and Chris just pulled him closer by the belt loops on his pants. Mike settled his thighs against Chris’s, snug. He slung his arms over Chris’s shoulders, one by one.
“We gonna get to that club?” he murmured, leaning in to tug at Chris’s ear with his teeth. Chris drew in a breath.
“Keep going like that, it’ll become a question,” he exhaled, as Mike moved his mouth to just under Chris’s earlobe. He hummed appreciatively against the skin and mentally checked his pockets for condoms. He’d brought three, he remembered now. Just in case.
“Since we’ve got a couple hours,” he murmured, flicking his tongue out to catch the edge of Chris’s ear, following the curve of it up until he shivered, “I can think of something you can do to pass the time.” He slid one knee, carefully, between Chris’s thighs.
Chris’s eyes rolled up. “Yeah?” he breathed, gripping onto Mike’s arms above the elbow, steadying.
Mike licked another swipe up the curve of Chris’s ear and murmured into it, “You know how I was saying soon, for fucking me?”
Chris nodded. His breathing was increasingly irregular.
“Well,” Mike murmured, edging his thigh upwards until it connected with Chris’s crotch – he was definitely, definitely hard. That makes two of us. “Now’s soon.”
“Now is pretty soon,” Chris agreed. His hands were shaking. “You want me to,” he grunted, softly, as Mike’s thigh rocked a little, “fuck, Mike.”
“Yes,” Mike smiled, mouth back on Chris’s neck. “That’s pretty much exactly what I want.”
“Okay. Bed.” Chris exhaled. “Before my brain dies, okay?”
“You’ve got lube, right?” Mike asked, walking him backwards. Chris nodded. “Good. I’ve got condoms.”
“You’re a good guy, Mike Kennerty,” Chris said, breath hitching as Mike fumbled with the button and zip on his pants. “A really good guy,” he added, Mike’s hand reaching inside and wrapping around his cock. Chris bucked up into the touch. “Lube’s in the – top drawer, over –” He waved an arm, vaguely in the direction of the bedside cabinet. Mike leaned over, not breaking the contact, and located the bottle.
Chris kissed him, a desperate press of mouths, tongues and lips and a little teeth when he nibbled. Mike made an involuntary soft noise in his throat, and Chris turned them over and moved them up and got them basically settled. Mike felt a pillow under his head, and shifted when Chris’s hands starting skating over his clothes, undoing buttons, unzipping zips. There was a confused few minutes as both tried simultaneously to rid the other of clothing while they were still kissing, but eventually they were both naked and keeping as much skin contact as possible.
“Are you absolutely sure,” Chris said as he was rolling a condom on, “that you’re ready for this?”
“For fuck’s sake, just fuck me already,” was Mike’s answer. Chris took a deep and shaky breath and splayed one hand over Mike’s chest.
“No, I mean.” He’d gone still. “We don’t have to, you know – even now, I mean. It’s never too late to tell me to stop, okay?”
“Chris,” Mike said, looking him squarely in the eye, strangling the urge to throw his hands up in frustration, “if I wanted you to stop, I’d tell you to fucking stop. Okay?”
“I,” Chris swallowed, squeezing lube onto his fingers. “I’m getting that. I just, you know. Wanted that out there.”
“It’s out there,” Mike said, pointedly, “so can we –”
Chris gently but abruptly wiggled one finger into Mike’s ass, and the resulting sensations made him arch his hips off the bed. “That okay?” Chris asked, watching his face.
“Fuck,” Mike exhaled. “Fuck, yes, that’s okay.”
“Good.” He slowly eased that one finger out, and then back in, and then out again, and Mike spread his legs further. Chris slid two fingers in that time, and it felt – still good, but he was pushing them apart and Mike was starting to feel himself stretch. It sort of burned.
Chris added another finger after a few more strokes, and that felt more – it was definitely approaching hurting, but it was still on the good side of that; until Chris separated his fingers and stretched more and Mike didn’t realise he was scrunching his face up and biting his lip until Chris murmured, “Hey,” and he untwisted to open his eyes.
“Sorry. Just, kinda burns? And uh.”
Chris leaned down and kissed him, one of the more gentle type of kisses. “I know. It gets worse, but then it gets better, so.”
“I’m ready,” Mike nodded, and it took Chris a second to realise what he meant; he pulled his fingers out, slathered more lube onto his cock, and positioned their hips.
“Relax,” he breathed against Mike’s temple, and began pushing in.
Mike was pretty relaxed to start with, and as Chris buried himself deeper and deeper, inch by inch, Mike kept catching himself tensing a little and made his muscles go slack again. By the time he felt Chris’s balls touch his skin, he was boneless. Tiny shockwaves of sharp pain shot from his ass, ricocheting around his body like a pinball machine, and forced their way out via winces.
“You okay there?” Chris asked, quiet. Mike nodded. “Okay.”
The rhythm was slow, at first, almost leisurely, like no matter how fast Chris wanted to be going, he also wanted to savour this. His hand wrapped around Mike’s cock and tugged softly, slowly. Mike felt slick, and amazing, and a little like he was dying, and maybe like his ass would never recover from this, because though Chris was going slow it still hurt like absolute fuck. But the sight of Chris, the sounds Chris was making, the tiny whispered “Fuck”s and “Mike, fuck this is”s and his answering “Yeah”s and “Fuck, Chris, holy fuck”s and the pace was fucking delicious and it all made it hard to care about the pain of it. It was just the right side of unbearable and Mike was shaking so hard he hoped the bedsprings wouldn’t collapse. He wondered if it were possible to actually die from sheer sensory overload and the need to go faster and yet never leave this pace because holy awesome fuck it was sort of the best thing he had ever, ever experienced and as soon as his brain started functioning on the higher levels again he was totally going to have to come up with plans and ways and means to make Chris keep on doing this for, like, ever. Or at least a while. Just. Mike bent one knee and Chris’s cock sort of hit this amazing place and first-time sex was not meant to be this good, it just wasn’t, and it hadn’t been before, but maybe first-time gay sex is always good, or maybe just sex with Chris is always good, because Mike was pretty fucking sure Chris was exceptionally amazing in bed, especially when he was hitting that fucking amazing place in Mike’s ass and Mike could feel that tightness in the fizz of his belly and he threw his head back and let out a wordless moan when he came. He felt Chris shudder and heard a small whispered, “Oh holy fuck,” and then he stilled.
Mike winced again when Chris pulled out, and then he was reaching over to dispose of the condom and Mike was just sort of staring at the ceiling and trying to put himself back together. He wanted to sleep.
Chris kissed his jaw. “You okay there?”
“Um.” Mike looked at him. “That was the most painful thing that’s ever happened to me. But.”
Chris nodded. “It hurts less after the first time, I promise,” he said, leaning in to kiss at his jaw again. “That is, you know, if you want to do that again,” he added, a little quickly.
“Oh fuck yes I do,” Mike answered, breathing out in a rush. “I mean, it hurt like fuck, right, but it was also the best thing ever. I – seriously, you have skills. Ass skills.”
The tips of Chris’s ears turned pink, which was so cute Mike couldn’t suppress a fresh grin. “I do?”
“Fuck yeah you do, now stop fishing for compliments. I gotta sleep.”
Chris settled beside him, laughing a little. “What about the show?”
“Can’t keep my eyes open,” Mike said, yawning part way through. “Some dude just fucked me.”
“Oh yeah? I hear he was pretty awesome at it, though.”
Mike’s eyes were already closed. “You’re damn right he was,” he murmured, feeling sleep finally pulling him down as Chris laughed somewhere above him.
The crowd was a little larger than most of the clubs they’d played on this tour. Mike peeked out at them ten minutes before show time and reported back, “Kinda big for us, but should be cool.” Tyson just nodded and plucked a few notes on his bass. Nick was swigging from a beer bottle, and Chris was tapping a rhythm on his thighs. Mike sat next to him. “You okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah.” Chris threw him a tight smile. “I just want to get out there, now.”
“Fuck.” Nick set the bottle down and paced back and forth a little bit. “Fuck.”
“Breathe,” Tyson reminded him.
“Right.” Nick nodded, absent movement, and breathed in and out very deliberately. “Okay.” He slumped against Tyson’s side. “You know, Mom told me I should try yoga. She’s all into it, says it’s calming and shit.”
Tyson risked a kiss to his hair. “Sounds like a good idea.” He paused. “Hey, you’d get bendy if you did that, right? Like.” He raised his eyebrows. “Real bendy.”
Nick poked him in the side and stood up. “Show time. Come on.” As they walked out towards the stage, Mike heard what sounded like Nick muttering, “And yeah, I’d get pretty bendy, I guess,” in Tyson’s direction. Tyson started the show grinning.
Mike let the music wash over him, concentrating on playing his notes and chords right. The having a good time part just always happened, coming right from the getting the notes down bit. He kept looking over at Chris, locking eyes with him sometimes and just beaming. There wasn’t much room to move around, but somehow Mike managed to end up on the other side of the stage without knocking Tyson over. He bumped into Nick as they passed, but Nick just grinned at him and they turned it into a simultaneous spin around a dual orbit, coming to rest facing each other from the pelvis. They played several chords like that, Nick making faces and Mike laughing, until it was time to find his microphone so he could sing the back-up part.
As he moved past, during one of the solos Tyson had pointed out to the audience – as if, without his advance warnings, one of them might miss Nick waling on his guitar, and in Tyson’s mind such an occurrence would be a tragedy – Mike noticed Tyson pressing up full-body to Nick’s back, leaning over his shoulder and presumably making some kind of face. Five months of being in this band still left him wondering if they did this to try and make each other laugh or just because it seemed like the thing to do at the time. (And really, he thought as he passed again, with them, it could be either.) He looked over at Chris, who was shaking his head and smiling kind of fondly at Tyson’s back, sticks flailing about his face. Mike caught his eye and watched his smile expand out. His chest felt sort of light, and he half hopped over to his side of the stage, feeling a little like if he really tried, he could float above the ground like he was weightless.
“That,” Nick was grinning when they came off the stage, “was awesome.” Tyson wrapped both arms over Nick’s waist from behind, smiling just as hard. Mike pulled Chris in by the shoulders, and the four of them headed to the bar, where Shaun was waiting with four beer bottles all lined up. He handed one to each of them – Tyson still had one arm around Nick’s waist, the other raised in a toast – and they all five clinked bottle necks.
“To a fucking good show,” Shaun announced. It was greeted by cheers.
“Drink up, but not too much,” Brian told them. “You’ll have to drive all night, boys, the next show’s two states away and we’ve got sound check tomorrow afternoon.”
“Aw fuck.” Tyson slumped against the bar. “I was looking forward to some hammerment.”
Chris snorted. “Hammerment? What the fuck?”
“Getting hammered,” Tyson explained, all eye roll and suddenly, for half a second, actually looking like an eighteen-year-old. Then he was just Ty again.
Nick held out one hand. “Stop.” He and Tyson chorused, “Hammered time.”
Mike hoped really, really hard that nobody was going to look at him, because he had already almost cracked a rib from trying not to laugh. There were a couple of seconds of silence, and then Brian, Shaun, Mike and Chris simultaneously cracked up in what sounded like a small explosion. Half the bar looked over, but Mike was too busy leaning against Shaun and wheezing to really notice. “You,” he gasped out, “are the biggest fucking,” he laughed harder, “nerds.”
“They’ve been doing that since,” Brian was laughing so hard he could hardly get the words out, “since they were like, sixteen.” He sagged against Mike’s other side, weak from shaking.
“We are childs of the eighties,” Tyson said, decisively. “You have to embrace where you’re from. Embrace it.”
“Hammered,” Chris tried to say, but it was lost in a fresh burst of shoulder heaves.
Nick glanced at Tyson. “We are totally never showing them the dances, dude,” he said, and Mike didn’t even care if he was serious or not, just the thought made him double over.
“Stop, fuck, I can’t breathe.” He waved a hand in front of his face and tried hard to still himself for long enough to at least inhale.
“Dances.” Shaun was half way to the floor, pulling Mike along with him a little.
“You are all,” Tyson drew an invisible line around the four of them, still clutching at each other and trying to get their breath back, “assholes. All of you.”
“Yeah,” Nick added. “Just for that you can drive, Mike.”
Mike, by this point, had regained control of himself enough to speak. “Fine by me.” He hadn’t even sipped his beer yet, so he just slid it across to Chris. “Drink this for me,” he said, batting his eyelashes. “I’m staying awake tonight.”
Chris leered, but covered it by taking a swig from the bottle. “Uh huh.” Mike punched him in the arm.
“So,” Nick said, twenty minutes later when he finally set down Tyson’s beer bottle (Ty had slid it over to him without a word), “we should get going, right?”
“Yes.” Brian sounded almost grateful. “Yes, we should. Come on, Shaun, let’s round up the other guys and get on the road.”
“You are I are driving again, my friend,” Shaun replied, slinging an arm over his shoulders. (They’d both stuck to Cokes. For which Mike had already called them idiots, Dr Pepper was by far Coke’s superior. Shaun would not be budged; Brian had privately disclosed that he did, at least, prefer Diet Dr Pepper to Diet Coke, at which point Mike had expressed due horror at the thought of anyone, let alone a dear and trusted friend, drinking Diet Dr Pepper and the conversation had sort of ended there.)
“We’ve got like,” Tyson muttered to Nick as they opened the back doors of the van, “I don’t know how long, but it won’t like. Hurt, if we pull over somewhere in a half hour, right? I’ll drive us there,” he said over his shoulder, to Mike.
“Okay.” Mike was already pulling Chris closer. Chris was breathing slightly damply against his neck, air flow skating over the skin. Tyson drove as Mike kissed Chris, Nick’s voice a background burr from the front seat, Tyson’s answering laugh breaking through for a second, but the rest of the time all Mike could hear was Chris’s breathing, the way it had quickened, and the tiny sounds Chris made in his throat when Mike pressed his fingers just so, right above his elbows.
Tyson pulled over after a while, and Mike looked up as the van halted. He saw Tyson unbuckle his seatbelt and launch himself at Nick, who was mid-sentence. A muffled “Tnnfmmm!” was followed by a low moan. Chris was looking over, too.
“That’ll get messy,” he called, and Mike thought, oh, right, he’s jacking Nick off. Tyson raised one wrist and wrote ‘SO?’ in the air with a fingertip. It must have looked backwards to him, Mike realised. He was sort of impressed. “So it’s the front seat,” Chris continued. “Someone has to drive tonight.”
Tyson pulled away from Nick’s mouth and threw them a thoughtful look. “You have a point.”
Chris nudged at Mike’s hip, and Mike caught on within a few seconds; they shifted and lay, nose to navel. Mike undid the pants buttons in front of him and heard a zip moving down.
“You have the best ideas,” Tyson called over. Mike couldn’t see the front seat any more, but he heard the distinctive sounds of cloth sliding over skin and another low moan from Nick. “This’ll be much less messy,” Tyson’s voice came, a soft murmur meant for just the guy whose waist his head was level with.
“Oh fuck,” Nick whispered, and just then Mike finally got Chris’s underwear off and closed his mouth over his cock, feeling Chris do the same to him a few moments later, and then he just concentrated on sucking in the right rhythm while trying not to react in any way with his teeth when Chris flicked out with his tongue like that.
Stage Four: Took A Ride (Didn’t Know What I Would Find There)“My sister made muffins,” Mike said, holding up the box. It was the first time he’d just shown up at Chris’s place after school, so he figured an excuse would be a good thing to have, should he need one. Chris just pretty much lit up and invited him in.
“I have coffee,” he added. “Coffee goes good with muffins.”
“That it does.” Mike set the box down on the counter. “You don’t have anywhere you have to be or anything, right?”
Chris did something with a coffee maker, measuring out grains and pouring water, but his back was to Mike so the motions were mostly obscured. “No, I’m pretty much … doing nothing right now.” He flipped a switch on the coffee maker and turned around, leaning against the counter. “A couple friends might come over later, I’ve got some stuff to give them, so. But they shouldn’t stay too long. You can hang out, if you want.”
“Sounds good.” Mike eyed him. “Friends of yours, huh?”
“Yeah, just a couple buddies, is all. I …” Chris swallowed, eyes darting to the corner of the room. “They asked me to get something for them, and I did. So. They’ll be over to pick it up.”
“You’re a drug dealer,” Mike noted. “Okay.”
“Well.” Chris scratched at the back of his neck and didn’t look Mike in the eye. “I guess you could, I mean. I’m not like, I don’t sell to kids and shit, I just know where to get some things my friends want, so I get it for them. For a fee. It’s a business, y’know, just a. Y’know.”
“Chris, it’s totally cool,” Mike said, reaching out to touch his arm. “I don’t, y’know. I don’t use drugs or whatever, but I’m not madly against it, I’m just.” He shrugged. “I do other things.”
“Mostly I just smoke dope,” Chris said, finally looking at him. The coffee maker burbled quietly. “The rest is what I know how to get, that’s it. I don’t take that shit.” He paused, and finished, “Mostly.” The kitchen suddenly got a lot quieter, and it took Mike a second to work out why. Chris grabbed two mugs and poured coffee out into each of them.
Mike shrugged. “Your life. Just don’t accidentally OD on me and we’re fine.” He nodded towards the TV. “You get Fox on there? They’re running a Simpsons marathon today, could be fun. You like the Simpsons?”
“Now that,” Chris grinned, sitting on the couch, “is a show that is only bearably funny when you’re not high. See, when you’re high it’s like. Dude, those people are yellow. Most of the funny shit goes over your head.” He flung an arm over towards the kitchen. “Bring the muffins, okay?”
It was as Chris was laughing at a line of Ralph’s that Mike looked over at him, just glancing in that joyous, sharing-something-great way, and he noticed three things at once. Firstly, that the light made Chris’s hair shine and it looked really nice on him. Secondly, that he even found the shape of Chris’s nose attractive. And thirdly, that Chris had a muffin crumb at the corner of his mouth.
Mike leaned over, meaning to say something, to wipe it away with a fingertip or maybe a thumb, but he got as far as touching Chris’s jaw and then he just leaned over some more and flicked his tongue out, catching the crumb. Chris stopped mid-laugh, and looked at him.
“You had a crumb,” Mike said, licking his lips. His voice sounded surprisingly breathy, but then, he was feeling sort of breathy, really.
“Oh,” was all Chris said, and then they were kissing. It was slow, and soft, but not too soft, and Mike was vaguely aware of the rest of the episode – one he’d seen six times before and could remember the visuals just from the sound, so really, it was kind of like he was still watching it, only this was way better than just watching it because this way he got to make out with Chris at the same time and he might, Mike decided, have found a new favourite thing to do ever. (Watch The Simpsons on his eyelids while Chris lapped at his lower lip, languid. He saved that one in a sealed bubble, to be returned to in emergencies. Just in case.)
There was some knocking at the door an indeterminable time later (they were still making out, though, and Mike’s lips were starting to feel chapped, so maybe it had been a while but he couldn’t be sure) and Chris got up to answer it, handed some people a small package, was handed a slightly larger package Mike guessed was probably the money, and closed the door after saying something about having company. When he came back to sit on the couch again, Mike noticed just how absolutely thoroughly kissed he was looking, what with his red mouth and his flushed cheeks and his hair awry where Mike’s hands had been playing with it. Chris just smiled at him, slid their bodies into place again and murmured, “Now. Where were we?”
The TV carried on without them.
He didn’t know how it had happened at first, but when he woke up it was dark and he had a crick in his neck. He had vague fuzzy recollections of kissing and kissing and touching and just kissing and then, something, Chris’s mouth going a little slacker, his refusing to keep up the pace, and then. Then, he’d woken up.
He looked around, his neck complaining. He rubbed it, seeing by the glowing numbers on the microwave (which Chris had finally acquired the week before) that it was four ten in the morning. He was still on the couch, limbs curled around Chris’s.
Chris was still asleep, and in the almost-light Mike just watched him for a minute, listening to his breathing. Then he settled more comfortably on his chest, closed his eyes, and drifted off again.
Bathrooms in truck stops are designed to be shitty, Mike decided. There was a little soap in this one, so he washed his hands, feeling like this should earn it three stars in the Michelin guide to truck stop bathrooms. Four, after it had been cleaned, but that hadn’t happened in a little while. He stepped neatly over the piss on the floor and pulled the door open again.
When he got back to the van, Tyson handed him a warm cup. “Got us some stay awake juice,” he said, smiling. Tyson was certainly not the worst company in the middle of the night on a long drive. (That was Shaun.)
“Thanks.” Mike sipped the coffee. It wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted, but it was drinkable and had caffeine in it, which was all he needed. He set it in the cup holder and got the engine started again. “They still asleep back there?”
Tyson twisted around in his seat. “Yeah.” He had that soft smile again, the one he rarely showed. “Nick looks so pretty when he’s sleepin’.”
“You better keep your eyes on the fucking road when it’s your turn to drive,” Mike reminded him, even though he’d glanced twice at Chris in the rear-view mirror already.
“I will.” Tyson twisted back again and just, smiled.
The freeway was relatively quiet this time of night. It had got to the stage where it felt like the street lights and Tyson were his only company, so Mike said, “You should sleep, man, we’ll switch in a couple hours.”
Tyson shrugged. “I’m awake. I got coffee. I’ll make it.”
“You don’t have to.” He’d risk the radio or something, but it’d wake Chris.
“It’s okay, really.” Tyson sipped some more, and Mike followed suit. “You know, when we drove up to New York, Nick used to sleep up here when I was driving. It was kind of hard to watch the road all the time, you know.” He twisted back in his seat to glance into the bulk of the van again. Mike had gone past surprised his neck wasn’t fucked up by that point, since he’d been doing it twice every minute the whole way.
“Do you ever feel like the sight of Nick won’t make you be all,” Mike took a hand off the steering wheel to gesture vaguely.
Tyson just tipped him a sloping smile with half his mouth. “I hope not.”
And it was sort of fucking cute, really, though perhaps it should have been annoying. Mike took another gulp of coffee and discreetly watched the way the streetlights made shadows with Chris’s eyelashes.
“You’re the same way with him, dude,” Tyson jerked a thumb back into the van. Mike watched the road. “Hell, you’ve been together longer than Nick and I have. And you still get all – I’ve seen you, man.”
“Yeah. Well.” Mike shrugged. “It’s Chris. I mean, I.” He stopped, and realised that he was still glancing back at him every opportunity he got; that he knew random shit about Chris no one else did, that he could make a breakfast tailored exactly how Chris liked it, that he could bring him off in three seconds or three hours if he just put his hands and his mouth in all the right places; that he instinctively ordered Chris’s favourite coffee for him without ever being asked, that Chris sometimes passed him something he wanted before he even could open his mouth to say he wanted it; that they’d never exactly officially lived together before, but being in a van with him all the time was as natural as breathing and when they got back to Oklahoma they’d be going back to the Batcave and it was kind of their home now and that just felt like the best thing about life. “It’s like.” He was almost startled at the sound of his own voice, like he’d forgotten he had vocal chords and somebody was listening. “It’s like, you can see your life out in front of you, like – like the road, right?” And it seemed for a second it was pinned to the freeway by the cat’s-eyes in the middle, stretching out as he drove along it. “And I’m looking at it, and there’s nothing there I can see where Chris isn’t there too. Just.” He shrugged. “You know?”
Tyson twisted around again to look at Nick. “Yeah,” he said, and he was smiling that particular smile. “Yeah, I do know.”