A FEW MONTHS LATER

"You should show me that bucket list of yours." I insisted, grabbing towards the list he was adding to with a thick black marker pen.

I'd been eager to see this thing forever now, and he was sat here working on it barely a metre away from me and he wouldn't let me see it. That was unfair, surely. Well Pete certainly didn't think so at the very least, especially judging by the disgruntled expression upon his face.

"Why?" He pulled the notebook closer to his chest, almost taken aback by my hardly horrific 'invasion of privacy'. If he wanted that goddamn thing to be private, then maybe he should work on it, you know, in private and not in his living room right under my curious gaze - a gaze that yearned to fucking wander.

"Maybe I want to see how many of them are about me." I grinned at him watching his bemused expression as my smirk did nothing but widen and nothing but piss him off in the process, which really wasn't all that surprising, but it certainly was amusing at the very least.

"Why would they be about you?" He matched my smirk, wondering if he could make me regret challenging Pete Wentz; of course he couldn't because he was a big fucking softie who just helpfully happened to be in love with me.

"Because you love me and all that shit." Yeah, I was pretty shit when it came to reasons, but I was hardly in the mood to care. I just wanted to see that damn fucking list of his, and give myself some priceless gloating and possibly blackmailing material, because Pete was getting far too arrogant lately.

"I do?" He winked at me, his eyes widening in mock shock just to piss me off like the lovely little bastard he is. I do hate Pete, I do, but then again there's also the matter of being in love with him and that makes my head spin like fucking crazy.

"You do." I grinned at him, watching his expression morph through almost a colour wheel of several others.

"Hmm..." He sighed, I guessed he was considering the possibility by the look upon his face or that was what I hoped at the very least. "I guess I could show you, but only if you promise not to laugh."

I met his gaze, ruining it all within an instant by and out of place and guilty giggle. Fuck. "Stop." He blushed a deep shade of red, and it was kind of cute actually... in a weird way, I guess.

"I'm sorry." I matched his blush. That probably made him a little more comfortable but I honestly didn't know - it seemed to work though. "Show me?" i pulled my face up into a grin to meet his. His eyes met me with nothing short of skepticality.

"Now?" he raised his eyebrows, still entirely unamused with the concept. "Not a fucking chance, Way - not a fucking chance."

"I hate you." It was more than obvious that I was lying, especially for someone that knew me as unfortunately as well as Pete Wentz did.

He looked at me in silence for a few seconds, Pete Wentz puppy dog eyes in action, the puppy dog eyes carrying out the uncharacteristic motion of scrutinising me, or well something that vaguely resembled scrutiny anyway. "You don't."

"Okay," I sighed, biting down on the inside of my lip and reminding myself of just how damn annoying Pete Wentz could be at the best of times. And when that annoying characteristic was paired with that goddamn adorable one, I didn't know how I managed at all.

"Maybe I don't." I admitted after a few moments, gaining what could possibly described as the world's most smug smirk from Pete; I was close to punching him - but I was kind of weak and I doubted that my efforts would really get me very far.

"Make me a sandwich." He winked at me, gesturing towards his kitchen. His smirk increased, pulling dimples into the cheeks of his face.... not his ass... not that I was checking. He was sat down, leaving me in probably the worst position to consider checking his ass out - admittedly, I did want to. There wasn't a chance I was going to tell him that though.

"Fuck off, Wentz - Fuck off." I groaned at him, ignoring his request and the possibly that it may be anything but sarcastic entirely. Because if there was a chance that I'd even consider actually getting him a sandwich, there was a chance I'd like to impale myself with a fucking nettle branch.

"Language, Way. Language." He mimicked my tone in quite possibly the world's most irritating manner. As if Pete Wentz could say something about my language, my behaviour - and here he was: the world's biggest hypocrite, but my favourite hypocrite of course.

"You can take my language and shove it up your asshole." I rolled my eyes, knowing that the moment the words left my mouth, Pete would do nothing but take them entirely the wrong way. This was nothing more than a complication I had to get used when being around Pete for extended periods of time.

"I'd rather you do it." He winked at me, his smirk increasing by the second in nothing short of a typical Pete Wentz manner.

"I can provide lube and stuff but I'd prefer your fingers you know." And this is how Pete Wentz had managed to get from asking me to make him a sandwich to asking me to finger him; neither of which I was going to do, in case you hadn't quite figured that out yet.

"Dream on, Wentz." I got up, making my way to the kitchen. I didn't specifically intend to end up in Pete Wentz's kitchen, I was just letting my legs take me wherever was away from Pete, and they really didn't do a very good job. They did a shit job if you considered the fact that Pete followed me without a moment's thought or hesitation.

"Making me a sandwich like a good boy now, are we Way?" He winked at me, leaning against his kitchen counter in the most explicit pose he could muster. Which was rather erotic actually and for that kind of behaviour within the kitchen, I began to wonder if my boyfriend was actually Delia Smith... somehow... in some way - not that I particularly wanted to think about the aforementioned at all.

"No." I raised my eyebrows, watching his pose for far too long altogether, and I really could be doing but spurring him on, which really was this opposite of my intentions. "Stop that - you look ridiculous." I broke out of my ogling trace with a haphazard insult thrown in vaguely his direction for quite possibly just the sake of it.

He chuckled, coming up behind me and placing his lips against my ear. "I'm sorry... was I distracting you?" His breath was hot against my ear and I was finding it ridiculously difficult to breathe right now - a fact he more than knew and was doing nothing less than his best to take advantage of, because well... Pete was nothing short of an asshole, but he did have an asshole which I liked awfully far too much.

"No, Pete... it's fine." I finally managed to choke out, much to his utter and awfully sadistic amusement. He liked being in control far too much; I think it was just the fact that he was overly competitive, but with someone with a personality like Pete's, you just couldn't be sure.

"Mmm..." He ran his tongue over my ear lobe, just to see how much he could really push me over the edge, because Pete loved to toy with me just so much. "You sure?" Goddamn, I wasn't sure now and I really wasn't fucking sure in the first place.

"Fuck..." I pushed back against him in what he could only boast about as pleasure. And surely, being Pete Wentz, he would do nothing but boast about it, in fact it'd probably be the only thing to pass his lips for the duration of the next few days or possibly even a week.

"Nah, I get what you really mean now." He whispered, grabbing me by the hand, entwining our fingers and giving me a quick squeeze as I remained unresponsive and almost entirely paralysed, probably out of shock, but Pete would most definitely reckon it was out of sheer arousal. I very much doubted the latter though.

"What?" I raised my eyebrows, confused as to Pete’s possible intentions with this, because he was Pete and they could be anything, and of course they would be, but from that eyebrow waggle and the next few words to leave his mouth, he made it awfully clear.

"We're going upstairs." And that was the only confirmation I needed - Pete was a sex addicted little brat, and I was stupid to ever fall in love with him, despite the fact it was something I'd never even fathom changing.

"I came over to help you with fucking tax forms that your little brain can't manage yourself and possibly even sweet talk your ego into showing me that bucket list of yours, but now you want to have sex?"

I rolled my eyes at my pathetic yet adorable excuse for a boyfriend as I found myself doing the unspeakable - considering his possibility. Even considering it was something I had reckoned would ever take place and here I was glancing back and forth between the stairs and Pete, as I reminded myself of just how nice his bed feels, how nice he feels and just how nice he could make me feel.

He chuckled, because this was simply nothing short of totally normal for him, because well Pete was nothing short of totally messed up. "What's wrong with that?" He winked at me before pulling on the most innocent smile he could muster - it didn't work.

"This was not my intention within coming here- your taxes will never get done, and you'll go into debt and have to live in a cardboard box outside Walmart!" I still wasn't at all happy with the cardboard box outside Walmart idea and not even the idea of getting into bed with Pete could change my mind, because really we did that far too often - not that Walmart thing, the sex thing. 

"Honey, I don't care about my taxes." He whispered against my ear lobe and I reckoned that was probably the most sexual way anyone has said the word 'taxes', unless there was some kind of weird accountant porno or something else that I’d really rather i didn't think about.

"That's not exactly the best attitude, is it, Pete?" I eyed him from behind my glasses, pulling my gaze back to focus on that killer smirk of his more clearly. It was cute - I did admit that, but whether or not it would actually work on me was a different matter entirely, and let me just tell you now that if you reckoned it would - you're wrong.

Very wrong, or at least my ego likes to think so, I'm not sure about my head, because I really don't think anything's functioning up there anymore simply from the fact that Pete had winked at me like two minutes ago - I have pathetic written all over me.

"Your attitude towards sex with your boyfriend is actually the definition of appalling." He tutted, rolling his eyes at me as if this was something to be scolded, and knowing Pete, he probably considered it to be that way, or at least something of the like.

Pete was kind of just awfully persuasive on the whole sex front, especially when he'd managed to get me in his own house; the fact that I was here and that his bedroom was mere feet away seemed to do nothing but encourage him greatly - not that the places we had sex were in anyway limited to the bedroom - Pete made sure of that.

"Like I said, I didn't come over to fuck you, Pete." I remained strong willed within my responses, knowing far too well than Pete could spin me around within seconds if he wanted to enough, and maybe this time, just this time I wasn't going to let him - or at least I thought so, remaining increasingly persistent with that fact, possibly just to counteract the fact that Pete was horribly and almost toxically persuasive.

This was probably not one of his best qualities, especially through my eyes, but in his books, I guessed it was nothing short of number one. Pete had a kind of messed up sense of reality, or maybe his eyes got infected with come, forcing him to see something in an incredibly sexual perspective, but I think that was something MTV made up and that things like that didn't actually happen.

"No one's allowed in my house without at least a quickie - but you're special... the two of us will go on for hours, I promise." I wasn't sure how that was in anyway a positive, but then again, this was Pete Wentz and these were words coming from Pete Wentz's lips having been processed by nothing over than Pete Wentz's terrible excuse for sanity.

"I disagree." I winked at him, remaining terribly stubborn until of course the very end, because Pete's stubbornness had clearly forced me to step up my game. I too was awfully competitive and I wouldn't have him out stubborning me, would I?

"Then let me prove myself right." He insisted, pressing me up against the wall, leaving me squirming under his grip an unable to even protest, and to be honest, Pete was too damn irrestible for me to even consider doing so.

Here goes that stubbornness, I guess.

Goddamn Pete Wentz.

-

"Pete..." I groaned out, his lips pushing me down against the mattress, and not at regretting the decisions that had led me to be here, despite what me from twenty minutes ago may have thought, because as soon as I actually got into bed with Pete, I was reminded just how good Pete was in bed and wondered why I ever put up such a fuss in the first place.

It was kind of hypnotic and probably hella fucking creepy when you thought about it excessively, but luckily for both of us, Pete had really made sure that I was entirely preoccupied with just what he was doing to me to even consider letting my mind wander at all astray.

"You can't get my name off your lips, can you, huh?" He smirked into the desperate friction between our lips, his body grinding against mine as he dominated me against the mattress of his bed. Domination seemed to be something Pete was far too good at for me likely, but unfortunately he was just so damn good I didn't even have a chance when it came down to doing something about it, and this was probably all just Pete's plan from the get go when I thought about it to be honest.

"Not a chance." My words came out as a sigh, audible barely more than a whisper as he pulled his nails down my chest, wandering dangerously down my exposed and naked body. Being naked for Pete had been nothing short of compulsory and of course the first thing on our agenda as Pete first got me into his bedroom, pulling my shirt over my head as we went, leaving me in nothing but my boxer shorts before my head even hit his pillow.

"Thought so." He pushed his words into my skin between kisses.

I treasured the feeling of his hot breath against my skin, relishing in the feeling that Pete was mine and only mine. The idea of Pete and I being exclusive really just turned me on, especially when you considered Pete's nature because he wasn't the type to be exclusive at all, leaving me with nothing but the fact that knowing I was special to Pete, and really that was more important than anything.

He ran his cold fingertips down me, reaching my slit and just letting his index finger linger there for entirely far too long to avoid the first trail of pre come leaking out onto the tip of his fingers. He grinned up at me as he felt it seep out onto his fingers, the smug expression on his face leaving me with nothing but the knowledge that Pete was a fucking tease.

"Fucker!" I moaned out, my words coming out as a barely comprehendible mess of rushed syllables, as my pre come only seemed to urge him on, causing him to apply yet more pressure to my most sensitive spot, which of course Pete had practically figured out pretty much the day he met me, and well, what a fucking day that was.

"Yeah, that's what I'm going to do - fuck ya." By now, six months into our rather dysfunctional relationship, we'd established that Pete was definitely a top, leaving my ego only slightly bruised. Pete was just damn good and not even I could bring myself to deny that.

"I'm not quite sure that's exactly what I said." I blushed a little, because it was true that Pete was fucking with me words but the fact that I had said something pretty much to that intent still stands strong and there wasn't the slightest chance that Pete would even consider letting that go easily, or ever, or even at all when I thought about it. Damn my boyfriend was a strong little shit.

"Oh but honey," he whispered, finally moving his fingers down my thigh, finding my most sensitive spots and kneading his touch into them, because he knew it make me desperate and needy; leaving me begging for more, begging for him and he loved that - he fucking loved that. "That's what I heard."

"I suggest you get that hearing of yours checked out then." I managed to push my words out haphazardly between ragged and taken aback grasps of breath, eyeing my boyfriend warily as I attempted to predict and prepare myself for his next moves, but of course this was Pete and the aforementioned was really nothing short of downright impossible.

"Oh, do you?" He raised his eyebrows, seemingly unconvinced by my attempts to convince him otherwise, as he would be. Because Pete can tell when I'm lying far too fucking easily, and it's doing nothing short of bringing me the fuck down. But he likes that, of course he does.

"Yeah, I do." I tried my best to flirt back, but in a situation as constraining and just so damn well fucking hot as this one, my efforts were nothing but well, useless, to put it politely.

"Sure thing, honey." He chuckled to himself, kneading his palms into my butt cheeks, and generally just knowing that he was in control here, and he was Pete Wentz of course he fucking loved that, knowing it sensing it from me entirely; he liked owning me and he liked teasing me more than that of course.

"Fuck..." He was going to fuck me one way or another, so I just lay back and let his stubborn ego make it happen. Not that I was really complaining of course, because fuck, Pete did know how to make me feel good - there wasn't a doubt about that at all.

"Flip over for me would you darling?" His use of pet names just melted me from the inside but when I really thought about just what he was going to do, I barely knew quite how to react, readying myself for the inevitability, for feeling him inside me, and remembering, relishing in the past memories of just how damn fucking good it was.

"Huh?" We'd never done things like this before; without him looking me in the eye and telling me just how much he loved me before - this was different, and less personal, but somehow entirely more intimate, because it was the fact that I trusted him - I trusted him with everything.

 I trusted him with my exposed and weak body without even watching over him... and really trusting Pete Wentz was nothing short of a bad decision, yet it somehow ended up being the best decision I had damn well ever made.

"I want to fuck you right into this mattress, honey." He said to me as if it was the most casual request for me to pass him the salt or something of the like. It was an unexpected request yet one I would do nothing more than comply with without a doubt; I would put up a little fight though at the start, maybe just for entertainment purposes, or maybe because I wanted to kid myself that I wasn't a total whore, but these last few months without my virginity had left me very closely acquainted with sex and of course the ins and outs of Pete's body.

"You- You do?" I stammered out, almost choking on my words, which didn't fail to make him chuckle at all, and of course imagine me choking on something else entirely. This whole situation was more than amusing him in fact, because it was a far too well known fact that making little, dorky, not quite virgin bitches uncomfortable was a Pete Wentz speciality.

"Yeah, honey." He winked at me, eyeing my exposed chest once again, taking it in with one deep gasp of air that didn't at all fail to render me more than slightly uncomfortable. "You'll get what you signed up for."

"I came over for taxes." I reminded him, because damn in a state like this who didn't need reminding of the domestic necessities they were ignoring and constantly pushing to the back of their minds in a shitty failed attempt to somehow get out of doing them entirely?

"And you're staying for sex, yes." He reminded me, not that I really needed reminding, Pete making the aforementioned fact more than obvious with the way he was pinning me down against his mattress, and raking his fingers down every inch of my body.

"Remind me that I hate you." I grumbled as his hands moved downwards, presumably starting work on a project I would not be opposed to at all. Pete was just really fucking good at this shit and I was kind of both jealous and grateful of that fact, because damn I wanted to be able to fucking dominate him like that, but he was my fucking boyfriend and this was a gift, a bonus - something I wouldn't dare pass up for anything.

"Not a chance." He chuckled, the corners of his mouth twisting up into that nothing short of typical, Pete Wentz smirk. Goddamn, this guy shouldn't be allowed to be anywhere near this fucking attractive.

I giggled, sighing and readjusting myself, my front pressed into Pete’s mattress, and my face practically buried into his pillow as he requested, because I was a good little bitch sometimes, when I was far too turned on to even consider protesting, and Pete Wentz sure knew how to get me into a position like that - seriously, he had a fucking PhD in the matter.

"Comfortable?" He asked, running two fingers down the joining between my upper thigh and butt cheek. I shivered into his touch, causing him to only press on harder, increasing the stretch and speed of the looped journey, all too piss me off into a state of utter submission, and soon he had me biting back a whimper, but of course I would never even fathom of admitting this to him any time soon, or well at all.

"Not really." I grumbled at him for nothing other than the sake of being a little bitch. I think I liked being a little bitch, maybe because it pissed him off, and he got really fucking hot when he was pissed off and he would not hesitate to push me down against that mattress and fuck me until I screamed. Which was something I was far too keen on for my own sanity's sake and this again would be something Pete would never be told, leaving me to drop not quite so subtle hints for him to figure it out himself.

"Tough shit, honey." He grinned at me, like the little bitch he was. Because we two little bitches fitted together far too perfectly, and two little bitches made a stubborn and badly working, frustrating team, that had good sex so the latter really made up for everything else, almost causing the former not to matter at all... and then again there was the fact that I was in love with him... yeah – that kind of made my head hurt.

"Don't call me honey." I groaned at him, arching my hips into his touch in a way that did nothing in my favour when it came to the smirk across his face. Not that I was complaining that much, because fuck this was good, and I say that much because well, what's my life without the odd bit of bitch whining? Yes, rational, and we don't like that at all.

"Princess." He corrected himself in quite possibly the worst manner, almost as if he'd set this up entirely to piss me off or do nothing short of that anyway. Princess was seemingly the worst nickname he could ever come up with for me, and of course both his favourite, as things always seemed to work out that way with someone like Pete Wentz.

He was cute, but princess was a fucking annoying name goddamn, and it was simply pissing me off that I had nothing equally as annoying to counteract him with. I'd have to work on that for sure.

"That is in no way better." I reminded him, rolling my eyes as my stupid excuse for a boyfriend practically pressed his member up against mine.

"I know." He reminded me, not as if I needed reminding though. I was pretty well acquainted with the fact that Pete loved to piss me off, and he loved to expect the fact that I just wouldn't fucking care - unfortunately for him, I did.

"Princess." The name rolled off his tongue, seconds after, interrupting my thoughts and leaving me to glare into those sparkling brown eyes, that I'd grown to both fucking love and despise in an awful and cluttered mix of messed up emotions that I'd rather not to even prod with a ten foot pole.

I sighed, just shoving my face back down into the pillow as his fingers ran up closer, ready to push me apart.

It was certain perplexing as to how we'd transitioned steadily from taxes, to sandwich making, to fingering, to weird sex talk, bitchy insults, and now this - the part the makes it all worth it: Pete showing me just how much he loves me, and not by words of course. Pete isn't quite the man of words - he prefers to use other methods to get his meaning across, but it's all good, because Pete's awfully experienced when it comes to those 'other' methods, as I know very much by now.

"I think you're addicted to sex, Pete." I admitted against the brush of lube and one finger inside of me, searching for that one spot that was going to accomplish nothing short of making me scream, especially when Pete hit it right, which he had developed an awfully perfect habit of doing so.

"I think I am, Mikes." He grinned to himself, continuing to move that finger around inside me, as I adjusted to the awkwardness of one single finger, but it wasn't so bad anymore as Pete insisted upon this happening far too often, but I guess practice had it pay offs at the very least.

"I should probably take you into a sex rehab or something." I mused aloud, finding it perfect how we were just having another dumb conversation as if he wasn't sliding his second finger into me right now. We must certain didn't have the most conventional of relationships to say the least, but there was no other way I’d rather have it.

The second finger was a little painful at first, but Pete was getting there now, nearly hitting my prostate, so the pain would be replaced with pleasure shortly, especially when he was inside me himself. That was the best part and i wasn't going to lie when I said I was looking forward to that part just a little more than I should.

"I don’t think there's such a thing as sex rehab, Mikes." He chuckled ta me, which was certainly a weird thing considering he was going to be deep and hard inside me within what I hoped would be seconds, but with someone Pete enjoyed teasing people so much, you could just really never be sure. "You made that shit up for sure-"

"Fuck!" His words were cut off as finally both his fingers pushed against that spot. That spot. And fuck it was really worth it, as it was of course, every time.

"I guess I found it then." He chuckled aloud, pulling both fingers out and lining himself up, all too eager for this, but I couldn't complain, because if he was eager, I was desperate.

"Damn just hurry the fuck up and get inside me." I snapped, whining against the emptiness inside of me.

I hated the painful moments that Pete managed to prolong as physically possibly when he'd just pulled his fingers out of me and had decided that he'd done quite enough prep and was now ready to leave me hanging as he just hovered himself at my entrance, all in favour of nothing more than pissing me off to the biggest extent he could possibly manage.

"Well if someone isn't a little whore today." He mumbled under his breath in probably the most affectionate tone those words could be spoken in - it kind of amazed me actually, but then again this was Pete Wentz and it was exactly this kind of shit that was this guy's forte. This didn’t concern me quite as much as it should if I’m honest.

"Fuck off." I looked up at him, just to check that he wasn't genuinely offended, not that he would be, because well he's Pete Wentz and he doesn't make a particular habit of caring, but I wanted to make sure at the very least.

"Calm down, I'm nearly ready." He muttered in my directions, dragging his thighs down mine more than it was entirely necessary, creating just enough friction to get me frustrated enough to start biting back a moan as I laid face first into his pillow.

The silence; the waiting - it was far too long entirely, and far too long for Pete to be anything but toying with me. I mumbled something inaudible even to myself into Pete's pillow as I finally felt his tip brush against me.

"You ready, honey- princess- damn, whatever?" He stumbled out and I was glad to see that this was at least affecting him in the slightest and that this porn star demeanour of his did tear down sometimes.

"As if I'm not." I snapped at him, my body begging for him inside me, pushing against that spot again and again. He would of course comply within mere seconds (if he didn't, I would fucking make him) and then this wait would all be fucking over and the emptiness would be replaced by him hard and deep inside of me - something I'd been more than longing for.

"Don't get cocky, because I can stop and just leave you here whenever I want, honey." He winked at me, toying with me or at least I very much hoped so because if he wasn't, I was fucking close to slapping him right across the face, because for that pissy bitch attitude of his he damn well deserved it, and maybe for my similar attitude, I deserved a slap too, but I didn't care as long as he finally ended this the way I wanted.

"Not that you would though." I pushed my words out cautiously on the slim off chance that he was in fact not playing with me, and was actually nothing short of an actual class A bastard.

"What makes you so sure?" He smirked, running his fingers down my back, dragging his fingernails into my skin as he got half way down, releasing a series of moans from my lips; moans neither of us would ever like to forget, and in my case, the actions that caused them, even less so.

I chuckled to myself at the mass of reasons. "A - You love me. B - You're a sex addict, especially lately - you don't stop-"

"Whatever." He sighed out, pushing halfway into me as I let out a groan against the stretching, because even excessive late night Breaking Bad sessions lately hadn’t gotten me entirely accustomed to odd sensation of having Pete push into me.

It was a fucking good sensation though, especially once things had gotten started - everything was worth it in the end, especially when someone like Pete Wentz was involved and let me tell you, in this case, he was more than involved.

"I said I was going to fuck you into this mattress and believe me, Mikes - I don't disappoint." He chuckled at me, revelling in the situation and I almost began to wonder if Pete actually got high off of sex, before I realised that that was a subject I'd really rather not think about.

"I will make you scream, and in fact, we're not stopping until I do, so I'd keep that whore mouth of yours open wide- or not, depending on how much you want me." Shit. Fuck... Why had I picked this one - him out of all the illegible dating criteria, why had my affections fallen upon Pete Wentz? Ah, yes, that comic store - Gerard was of course to blame, as usual. I was a ‘great’ brother, and he was a worse one, if that were even possible.

"Fuck." I moaned at simply the thought of it; the thought of Pete Wentz slamming into me, fucking me against the mattress and releasing so many precious little moans from those lips of mine.

"I'm going to go in hard now, so tell me if you want me to stop." He met my eyes with the end of his sentence.

I nodded. "I will."

"You trust me?"

"I trust you. You love me?"

"Of course I do."

And with that he pushed fully in, hitting right on my prostate and before I could let out a moan, he had pulled himself back out again only to thrust back down onto that spot, emitting a noise of a similar nature.

"Fuck, you're beautiful." He moaned, his fingers gripping into my hipbones as he pushed himself back in, continuously picking up pace as we went along.

"Fuck- Fuck-" was all I could muster between my lips before he occupied them with a moan, as he hit that spot once again, doing terrible things to my erection, which was surely leaking a little against his mattress by now. Not that either of us seemed to mind - well I certainly didn't: this was Pete's mattress and therefore his mess to clean up, so I wouldn't even have to think about this leakage after tonight.

"Look at you all helpless, and all mine." He licked a strip down my spine, causing me to jolt backwards into him, my hips curving up allowing him to get at me with a better and much deeper angle. Fuck.

"Ah fuck-" I choked out between moans, barely able to keep my cool with Pete at me quite like this. "Like that yes, like that!" i exclaimed, pushing my hips up so I was almost on all fours for him - the idea of that surely entertaining his imagination more than suitably.

"Fuck." He moaned, slamming into me with all his might. "I am going to come, Mikes-"

"fuck-" He couldn't warn me, before I came against his heels with one final thrust. "God..." I looked down at the sticky mess I'd created. It was a thing of beauty; a thing of passion, a thing of love, our love - it was us... somehow this sticky mess on Pete's sheets was everything the two of us are. Somehow, somehow it fitted, somehow it worked, somehow it was beautiful, but mostly it was just a come stain I was thankful that I didn't have to clean up.

"Fuck, fuck, you beautiful little whore, fuck." He panted out between deep breaths, pulling himself out of me and pushing me down onto my knees. "You want to sort out my little problem... Breaking Bad style?" Goddamn this cheesy fucking motherfucker I'd somehow managed to fall in love with- well with a smile like that it wasn't a particularly hard feat to accomplish.

I didn't need any further incentive than simply the feeling of my lips around him, pulling his tip into my mouth and sucking until it felt like my cheeks couldn't fit more perfectly around him. I love him: I really fucking do. I just hadn't quite found the best way to show him that yet, but believe me, I was more than working on it.

"Nnnh...” He choked out as I ran my teeth down him, "Mikes- Fuck-" I readied myself as he let himself go inside my mouth, leaving me with little choice but to swallow him all up, before falling back down onto his mattress with a heavy sigh and a grin from Pete.

"Damn, that was good." I sighed, pushing my head into the crook of his neck, simply enjoying his presence and the steady and reassuring rise and fall of his chest as he let in great breaths of air.

"Yeah." Pete's mouth turned up into a small smile. "You want me to make you a sandwich now?"

I raised my eyebrows, wondering whether that was some obscure euphemism for something, because with Pete, things tended to be. "I didn't think I deserved one."

"With a mouth like that, I think you deserve everything."

-

"We... should stop." Pete said into nothingness, his words coming out like a ghost in the room.

"What?" My eyes widened, pulling him closer into me on the sofa where we lay, sipping coffee and spooning and not doing Pete’s taxes. He glanced at his taxes every so often, willing them to magically do themselves. I probably should have been motivating him, but I was tired out from earlier, so really it was his fault.

"We need to stop." He repeated, but still bringing the words no further meaning, which did very little in the subject of clarifying the situation yet by some god forsaken look in his eyes he seemed to think this sufficed.

"I- I- don't understand..." I choked out, almost spilling my coffee everywhere, which probably wasn't for the best, as I'd already stained Pete's furnishings once tonight.

"We 'us' needs to stop." He clarified, his eyes never quite meeting mine for reasons I could probably suspect. Guilt, quite possibly. Pete was never good with guilt, or suppressing pathetic emotions for that matter, or sexual desires - he wasn't good at that either, which was quite blindingly obvious.

"Why?" We sat in silence before I could finally push one scared pathetic little word out.

"Because it hurts to do this to you."

"To do what?" My mind ran to thousands of possibilities all at once. "Are you cheating on me... again?" Again. That shouldn't be a word that belonged it a sentence like that, but it did because Pete and I didn't have the most conventional of relationships, and Patrick Stump was an event from the past now, so maybe it didn't just matter all that much.

"No... Mikes... I wouldn't do that... again." He sighed out, leaning back into me, leaving me to suspect nothing but this could be far worse.

"I feel guilty." He confessed into nothingness, and my stomach did somersaults over my little superstition regarding just how badly confessions seemed to go for me in the past, and I just felt like this could be nothing more than a simply drastic one, especially considering Pete's grave tone of voice. I wasn't even aware that someone like him could sound quite so solemn.

"Why? Come on, Pete, just tell me what you've done - we can fix this and I promise you that it isn't as bad as you think it is." Or at least I hoped things would be so, but considering the fact that this was Pete, I didn't have a clue as to how bad what he'd possibly done could be. In fact, my mind couldn't even begin to imagine the array of possibilities that breached my mind.

He chuckled at that, flaring his nostrils a little subconsciously, "but it is, bad, Mikes. It’s worse than you could possibly imagine - whatever you're thinking of right now it's at least ten times worse than that-"

"Alright, who have you killed? Gerard can help us hide the body." I grinned at him, and unfortunately I probably wasn't joking as much as I should be when it came to the last part. Gerard was kind of messed up, okay.

He chuckled at that, which was certainly fucking good as Pete hadn't chuckled in at least five minutes and I was getting seriously concerned and was considering ringing the police or identity fraud or someone or something or Gerard- yeah, probably just Gerard.

"None, although I'd very much like to kill Ryan Ross, and I'm very sure your scarily expertised in body hiding brother would have nothing but the utmost joy in helping me, but things aren't like that."

I let out a sigh, almost frustrated with him now, "Pete please just tell me, I can't help you and we can't figure this out until I know what's going on." Pete certainly did win pissiest bitch of the year award without a single doubt.

"You can't help me, though." And then he started crying and the seriousness of the situation really hit me then, because Pete wasn't kidding or being overdramatic with anything that left his lips.

Pete and tears was an experience I was inexperienced with and one I most certain did not like, because Pete was the guy that was strong and full of jokes even if they were more than inappropriate at times and to see him cry surely meant the whole world was imploding - fuck was the whole world imploding? I doubted the fact, but really I wasn't sure, Pete looked like the kind to have all kinds of messed up acquaintances, so surely this wasn't quite that impossible at all.

"Why? Why not... why can't I help you, because even if you're certain of that, even if everyone in this damn world is certain of that, there's nothing that's going to stop me from trying." I promised him, pressing my words firmly into reality as I emphasised them in a piss poor attempt to get Pete's ego to look past them and for one single damn word that left my lips to matter.

"Why?"

"It's called being in love, dumbass."

He chuckled at that, almost sadistically, his head lolling back and his eyes averting mine, making way for his next few words to tumble out. "You should stop being in love with me."

"I don't think I can, because if I could, believe me, Wentz, I would have been running as fast as I can from the moment I met you." I grinned at him to show that I really did love him and had zero intentions of actually doing the aforementioned.

"That sounds awfully cliché." He pointed out, his eyebrows stuck in a permanent kind of half raised position which I had to admit was kind of cute.

"What and you crying into my arms while I tell you I love you, isn't?" I teased, maybe just to lighten the mood - it didn't entirely work, but then again, I never entirely expected it to - my task being a failure from the very start.

He shrugged, clearly just as unamused as I had predicted, which was both awfully disheartening and terribly predictable, so really, I should've seen that shit coming to be honest.

"Mikes..." He trailed out my name, his eyes meeting mine with a certain shades hidden amongst the shades of brown little tiny little sailboats lost out at sea.

"Yeah?" My response came out fragile; a breath upon air, soon to be ignored upon the surface tension that was almost tight enough to slice my neck.

"I'm... I'm going to die."

"What?" I spat the words out like a dodgy grape, not quite able to comprehend the words that had just hit my ears, leaving me to gawp at Pete in a kind of off-putting manner for what felt like several minutes.

"Hey Mikes," he intertwined our fingers, his voice chancing from a hoarse raspy whisper and into something calm and soothing as if I was the one in trouble. "Did I ever tell you about how I had leukaemia as a kid?" I nodded, sensing the direction this was going in and not liking it at all, and then doing my best to an a complete 180 degree turn around in the opposite direction for any other possible possibility.

"Yeah, I remember that - you're strong for overcoming it, you know." I met his eyes, our gazes linking for one moment too many for this to be anything easy.

"Obviously not strong enough." His words came out all at once, knocking my heart right out my chest; his words a baseball bat and my heart made of glass.

"What?"

"It's back."

"Shit."

"I have a brain tumour, Mikes."

"Shit."

"I'm going to die, Mikes."

"Shit."

"Will you say something other than that?" He finally snapped, clearly not satisfied with my inability to even breathe anymore. Which he really couldn't blame me for because he's my fucking boyfriend and he's got a fucking brain tumour. Fuck.

"Shi- sorry." I buried my face into his shoulder, "I just fuck- what are we supposed to do."

He's going to die. 

He’s going to die.

I shuddered as it began to sink in, enough oxygen finally getting into my brain for his words to begin to mean something; something i didn't want to think about or even remind myself of the existence of but it was a something nonetheless and it was a damn fucking real something - a something even I couldn't avoid.

"I don't know, Mikes. I don't know," he began playing with my hair, twirling the light brown locks around his fingers in a stupidly soothing manner, relaxing me far too much considering the matter at hand - the matter that he was going to die and there was nothing I could even try to do, because this was out of my control - this was brain cells gone to shit and I wasn't a doctor let alone a brain surgeon. I knew jack shit about this and in fact the only thing I knew was that Pete was going to die.

"I feel guilty because I can't just- we can't just being knowing that one day I will die, one day soon and then it'll just be you." He sighed into nothingness. "There'll just be no us - you'll wake up and I won't and then there won't be an ‘us’ anymore. I can't imagine that - I don't want you to. Get away whilst it hurts the least; hate me if you have to, I just don't want you to hurt at all, Mikes."

"Fuck, that... fuck..." I sighed against his arm, pulling every part of him against me as if he might suddenly disappear, which had now become a far too plausible possibility. "I need you now the most, Pete."

"Me too, Mikes. Me too." He assured me, his voice raspy and strained - probably from the crying. That hurt to think about. So I didn’t.

"How long have you known?" I asked, my brain wandering into spaces it shouldn't, but really I just couldn't help myself at all.

"When I fell down the stairs... they did a brain scan to check for concussion, and they uhh… found something else entirely-."

"That long?" I exclaimed, astounded that he hadn’t fucking told me - not that I wanted to know, because fuck this really proved that I didn't. Well, I was glad I knew at the very least, but that was at face value - at face value you couldn't see all the different parts of my brain slowly exploding at different set intervals.

"Yeah." He breathed out in a heart-burstingly sad manner.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I couldn't - you didn't need to worry about this, okay?" He met with those stupidly soft Pete Wentz eyes that melted me from the inside out within seconds.

"I suspected something was up already, Pete." I admitted, drawing out far too much breath all at once. "What are the chances of... survival?" The last word was barely audible because maybe I didn't want it to be real and somehow letting it out as nothing more than a mere whisper pushed it back into the dimension of pretend.

"I don't know exactly- but, it isn't looking good... fuck, I'm getting bald, Mikey. I look all ugly." He gestured to the beanie a top his head and I pulled my lips into a small smile because all of that was superficial to me, because I was in love with him and despite the fact it was probably the worst thing considering our situation, it was the only thing that really seemed to matter.

"You look beautiful no matter what." I assured him, pushing back the tears as I snuggled up into my boyfriend who I just wasn't going to let die. I was far too stubborn - I'd snatch him out of deaths grip if I damn well had to.

"I'm going to die, Mikes-"

"I won't let you goddamn- I'm going to pray for you every night and you are not going to die, you hear me?" I met his eyes, looking at him sternly as if this was somehow within his control, and dear god I wished it was, because if things were so, we could simply wash all this shit away, but we couldn't - things didn't work like that.

He chuckled, his voice barely audible and light like a whisper. "Are you going to sing hallelujah for me too?"

"I can’t sing for the life of me, but I would if I could." I promised him.

"Hum then, hum hallelujah." He grinned at me.

"I will. Badly." I grinned back at him, our noses breaching the gap between our tear stained faces. I needed to get close to him, just to remind myself that he was there, he was still alive right now and that mattered more than anything ever had before.

"Just off the key of reason."

"Yeah, I like that." 

He chuckled, a tear rolling down his cheek only to be wiped away by my thumb; maybe more in an attempt just to hold him as opposed to genuinely wipe away his tears... "I like you."

And then his lips were on mine.

"I'll hum hallelujah, just off the key of reason." I whispered to him as we finally pulled apart, and Pete buried his head in my shoulder.

"Don't leave me tonight."

"I won't - not ever." I promised him, and it was a promise I'd keep.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

 -

"Mikes are you okay?" Gerard waltzed into the kitchen, noticing my figure curled up on the sofa in a foetal position between several cushions and an old blanket.

"Mmm..." I let out a heavy sigh, watching as Gerard switched on the kettle, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips - he was thinking about Frank - he had to be. I envied just how happy he was, just how perfectly happy he was in his life right now, because to him it didn't even matter that Bert McCracken was back in town, because he has his Frank... always.

I wouldn't have my Pete for much longer.

My Pete? Since when has he been 'mine'? That just sounds kind of obsessive and awfully creepy if I'm honest.

"You're not are you?" I shook my head, hoping he wouldn’t notice or turn around, but with my luck, of course he did.

"Don’t even try to lie to me now, Mikes." He raised his eyebrows. "I saw that."

I shrugged, "I'm just upset, I guess." There we go - understatement of the year, but I didn't want to heap this all on Gerard - he shouldn't take this all at once, and it wasn't his problem to worry about at all. Helena, our grandmother's death had affected him far too much for my liking and I didn't want to go through another cancer death again, but most importantly, I didn't want Gerard to.

"What's he done now?" Gerard said with a sigh, raising his eyebrows as me with a sigh.

"What? Who?"

"Pete... duh." He passed me a perplexed expression as he grabbed his mug of coffee and curled up beside me.

"Aren't you supposed to be with Frank today?" My words ended up sounding far more rude and uninviting than I'd ever intended, but if there was one this Gerard could get offended with, it wouldn't be this - he's put up with me for two decades, so surely he's heard worse than this coming from my lips.

"Trying to get rid of me, Mikes?" he winked at me, thankfully, his tone entirely jokey.

"No, I'm just asking - politely, as you do, you know." I sighed, desperately trying to force the subject away from the cause of my sadness, because those were some thoughts I really didn't want hanging around in Gerard’s head.

"You're changing the subject." Damn my fucking smart brother! For the world's most anti-social person, Gerard sure did know how to read someone's emotions right off their face- or was I just being obvious? I, too being an anti-social human, I found it hard to tell.

"Am I?" I played innocent, despite the fact that I very much knew it would hardly work on Gerard at all. I pulled it for the sake of trying, or maybe just pissing him off enough in order for him to drop the subject entirely - I didn't know by this point.

"Yeah, Mikes, you are." He winked at me, pulling himself and that hot mug of coffee dangerously closer to me. "Just tell me what's wrong, goddammit!" He chuckled, looking up at me with those big hazel eyes.

"Pete." I let one word tumble out and it was entirely one word too many.

"I guessed that, yeah." He grimaced at me, gesturing for me to continue in an entirely indiscreet manner. "Continue?" He went for a verbal approach when his gestures reaped no rewards.

"He... just is..."

"Yeah, I know you have an English degree but honestly there's no need to be poetic around your idiot of a brother who still lives in the basement so I'd advise you just spit it out already."

"What?" His harsh tone of voice rendered me somewhat taken aback.

"Yes what... did Pete do?"

"It's what not he's done, it's just what happened to him - don't blame him... it’s not his fault at all, not really... it just happened and now we're stuck in this mess..."

"Is that some bollocks excuse he gave you for cheating on you, because if it, tell him seriously needs to step up his game because that shit was pathetic-"

"Gerard, you're not okay either, are you?"

"Why would you say that?" He snapped back, almost horrified with the fact that I'd even dared to ask and considering Gerard’s obsessive need for privacy and insecurity within that little head of his, I guessed I wasn't quite that far off.

"Look at how you’re acting - it's kind of obvious, Gee." I met his gaze and I watched as his head stooped into a momentarily nod.

"Goddamn I was trying so fucking hard to be okay and tell myself that this was nothing and that this didn't affect me at all, but it did because really, I was nothing short of a whole damn lot of hopeless pretending. I just... fuck..." His words cut off in favour of deep heavy breaths, which I wasn't all that opposed to, considering the fact that his need to breathe was kind of necessary. "I saw Bert again today."

"Oh." I let out a heavy sigh similar to Gerard's. "Shit." The last word tumbled out in a funny tone of voice not failing to make Gerard chuckle just a little.

"Yeah..." Gerard sighed.

"He saw me. We made eye contact and he addressed me by name and fuck I panicked because I was in the shop getting coffee and Frank wasn't there with me or anyone and there wasn't even the cashier I vaguely know at work today and it was just us so I fucking ran and he followed me out the shop and as I was about to drive off he got in my fucking car with me and told me not to be scared of me and that he wanted to get to know me again and he put his number in my phone and told me to call him and just fuck- I'm not going to call him not at all, but I feel like I kind of have to... like he's going to be real fucking angry if I don't.... fuck, Mikey, fuck..." He let out far too much air as he finished his explanation.

"God..." I let out a sigh - I could never even fathom letting the weight on my shoulders onto Gerard's now he has this shit to deal with, because Bert should never be something Gerard has to deal with ever again and this is all just unfair, and honestly it'd be even more unfair to let him have to worry about another cancer death close to him. "Does Frank know?"

"No." He shook his head, and apparently his arms too because some hot coffee splashed onto my legs underneath his mug.

"Are you going to?" I asked, my words coming out cautiously as I considered the fact that somehow this might be a touchy topic - I mean the Frank thing. The whole ordeal with Bert was touchy without question.

"I don't know - I just don't want to worry him with it because he's got other shit to think about and I care about him and this isn't his shit to worry about... you know? You don't get it do you?"

"No, Gee. I really do." He raised his eyebrows at that, obviously in skepticality. "That's exactly how I feel about telling you about what's happened with Pete."

"I want to know - I want to care. It's already affecting me just by knowing that something's wrong." He met my eyes. "Tell me, Mikes."

"That's exactly how Frank feels then - tell him about Bert."

"No, he doesn't know anything's wrong so he won't worry or suspect - everything can just be okay, you know?" I shook my head clearly to Gerard's widened eyes.

"I suspected that shit pretty quickly, gee and I don't even know you like Frank does - he'll know something's up before you even speak - just tell him. He'll probably give Bert a nice kick where the sun don't shine as well."

"I don't want Bert to hurt him though, and Bert will, because Bert wants to ruin everything for me... I can just tell by that look in his eyes."

"Frank's your boyfriend - Bert will give him shit regardless of whether or not Frank sorts him the fuck out, and actually if Frank does, Bert might even calm down a little - it's unlikely, but if Frank hits him hard... well..." The corners of my lips twitched up into a smirk.

"Yeah... I'll go call him." Gerard sighed, putting his coffee mug down on the coffee table and not the sofa for one - I felt like getting up and applauding him on the spot, but I realised that would probably freak him out just a little. "Wait-"

"Tell me what's happened with you and Pete."

I let out a sigh because I'd have to tell him.

"It's to do with Pete and only Pete." I kind of eased him into this, wondering if maybe he could just guess and then I wouldn't even have to say it aloud but making Gerard guess something like this could have some awful side effects.

"Continue..." He waved his hand in some probably subconscious hand gesture.

"He... he's ill." I choked out the first part of it.

"Would he like a cup of tea?" Gerard winked.

"A little bit iller than that."

"Oh..." Gerard's face fell. "How ill?"

"He's going to die... Gee..." The words fell out in a scratchy tone that I doubted was barely audible, but Gerard heard me.

"Fuck..."

"He's got- got a brain tumour..." The words continued to fall like word vomit now, and as careful as I was around the subject for Gerard's sake, I knew I was going to do nothing short of bawl my eyes out within a few minutes.

"Oh... fuck…" Helena.

"He told me today." I choked out a sob. "He's going to fucking die, Gee."

"Hey Mikes, I promise you something - I'm not going to let him."

"Huh?" I raised one eyebrow in confusion.

"Even if he's fucking on his last breath I will be fucking pumping oxygen into him, because he isn't going to fucking die, okay?"

"Okay." I breathed out. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because he makes you happy." I met his eyes. "You're my brother and I don't want to ever see you unhappy." His face turned up into a grin. "That's a promise, Mikes."

 Hey guys:) I hope you enjoyed this chapter hehe;) and of course comments and votes are always appreciated^.^ There's one more chapter after this one - don't even complain oh my god this story is 112k words long as it is now:') Love you guys<3