He opens his eyes and tries his best to glare. “Frank quit it. When r’we stoppin’ the bus? S’making me dizzy.” Frank lets out a high pitched giggle. “Dude, Mikey, we’re at the venue already.” Okay, Mikey is really drunk. “Huh” he says.
Frank giggles some more and crawls onto the couch next to him. Mikey closes his eyes again. Franks are probably like bees. If you ignore them they’ll go away. He curls tighter in on himself and determinedly pretends that Frank is a bee.
“Mikeyway!” Mikey doesn’t answer; he’s asleep. “Mikeyway.” Someone is really really close to him. And shouting. And has a hand on his thigh. Which means. “Hey Pete.” His voice sounds like leaves rasping along the sidewalk.He grimaces and blinks.
Pete is perched on the arm of the couch grinning hugely at him. His teeth are far too bright when they are this close and Mikey is this hungover. He gives Pete a half-hearted shove. “Get off. M’sleepy.” “You wound me!” Pete says. “Good” Mikey says.
He rolls his head back and surveys the ceiling. The bus is pretty new though so there aren’t any cool cracks to count. Pete picks up his hand and starts to play with his fingers, not quite interlocking them.
Mikey keeps his gaze fixed upwards. “Mikey, hey.” Pete maneuvers himself carefully over so that he’s straddling Mikey’s lap. Mikey stays very still.
He’s not sure what he wants right now. He’s kind of tired and dizzy and he and Pete have been getting pretty close the past couple weeks but never like-
Pete reaches out the hand that’s not holding Mikey’s and touches his face, just sort of brushes his fingers against his jaw and then pulls back again. “I’m uh. You’re awesome Mikeyway.” His voice is a lot more hesitant than Mikey’s ever heard it.
Mikey looks up at Pete, finally. Pete isn’t smiling anymore. He looks nervous. Mikey makes a quick decision and crowds closer to Pete, pulling him down and angling his head. Their mouths brush and it’s- okay. Pete’s lips are chapped and Mikey probably tastes like stale vodka and the way Pete is sitting on him isn’t actually very comfortable.
Before Pete can say or do anything, Mikey has shifted Pete on his lap and crushed their mouths back together and this time it’s good. Really good.
He licks at Pete’s lips and bites down a little and Pete makes a noise in the back of his throat and presses even closer, wrapping his arms around Mikey’s waist. Mikey has never been particularly handsy at times like these, preferring to just sprawl out like a rag doll and be kissed.
Pete pets at his neck a little with clammy fingers and Mikey tells himself he should fight the overwhelming urge to stick his tongue in Pete’s mouth. He does it anyway. Pete moves with Mikey, tasting him, feeling as much as he can. Mikey's chest seems to be full of light and heat. He breaks them apart to look at Pete. Pete is panting. “Oh” he says, dazedly, eyes shining. “Oh Mikeyway you’re the one for me.”
Mikey’s smile is quick and brilliant. He grabs the collar of Pete’s shirt and yanks him back down for more.
“C’mere” Mikey says, and tugs Pete an inch or two closer and sticks his hands in Pete’s hoodie pockets. Pete quirks an eyebrow at him. “My hands are cold,” Mikey explains. Pete tries to pout.
“What if my hands are cold Mikeyway? Now they have nowhere to go.” “I can think of a few places,” Mikey says dryly. Pete laughs and pokes him in the side.
“Shut up,” Mikey says and kisses him once, twice, three times. Pete sticks out his tongue at him. Mikey kisses the tip of that too, then moves his head to rest of Pete's chest.
He feels Pete shiver against him and then whisper so low that Mikey almost doesn’t catch the words. “You’re my summer, Mikeyway.” Mikey feels a wave contentedness wash over him and he looks up at Pete in a smile. “I love you too.”