Halfway through Pennsylvania, Pete and Mikey left the Weekes. They used the excuse that they had to make a stop in the city they were in, and that they didn't want to hold up to family. Dallon's daughter gave them each a handful of Cheerios as a parting gift.

Mikey dug around in his jeans pocket, trying to find an extra nickel, and he cradled the pay phone between his face and shoulder as he spoke. "What's the situation over there, Gee?" He asked and sighed, extracting his hand from his pocket.

"William is very unhappy," Gerard said. "About ten minutes after you were supposed to talk, he stormed away and left the poor mortal on our steps. Lindsey took pity on him and has him in the den."

"Okay," Mikey said and turned to Pete, who was leaning against the side of the building a few feet away. "Patrick's safe," Mikey said and Pete stood up a bit straighter. "They've got him in the den; Lin's taking care of him."

"Ask Peter who Saint Laszlo is," Gerard said suddenly. "Because Patrick is mumbling something about someone named Saint Laszlo, and he will say Peter's name every so often."

"Hey, Petey?" Mikey asked, making Pete blush red at the nickname. "Who's Saint Laszlo?"

Pete took a sudden interest to the bright blue sky, and slowly and carefully said: "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Mikey knew that Pete was lying, but he couldn't bring himself to ask him why. "He says he doesn't know," Mikey said, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Okay," Gerard said softly. "I should be letting you two leave. Please stay safe."

"We will."

"Call me every time you stop."

"We will."

"Wash behind your ears."

"Gerard, now's not the time."

"Sorry," Gerard said, his smile practically audible through the phone. "I love you, Michael."

"Love you too, Gee," Mikey said and Gerard hung up, leaving a flat dial tone in his place.

"Petey," Mikey said carefully, edging closer to Pete. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Pete said unconvincingly.

"No, you're not," Mikey told him. "Tell me what's wrong. Please?"

Pete looked around at their surroundings: a Wawa gas station, in the middle of nowhere, with nobody around for at least a mile. "It's about that person you mentioned just now, Saint Laszlo. I'm not gonna get into it here; I'll do that tonight. Maybe I'll get some nice pity sex out of it." He laughed weakly and took Mikey's hand, squeezing tightly.

"You were saying something about blowing me?" Mikey asked, changing topics.

"When was this?" Pete asked, giving Mikey a skeptical look. He was thankful for the topic change, though; that name was dredging up unpleasant memories.

"In Jersey, when you were complaining about your pretty little ass," Mikey said and Pete bit his bottom lip, blushing profusely. Mikey enjoyed seeing Pete flustered, and he pressed on. "You'd look so pretty with your mouth around my cock. Or I could blow you. You look so fuckn' yummy, Petey; I wonder if you taste the same way."

"Mikey, wha—" Pete started but quickly stopped when Mikey started rubbing him through his jeans. Hell, nobody's around to witness it, so why not? Mikey thought as Pete let out a small moan.

"I want you so bad, Pete," Mikey said softly, removing his hand from Pete's covered hardness to press his body against Pete's, trapping him inbetween the wall and himself. Mikey pressed his lips to the two healing scars on Pete's neck and bit the skin softly, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"F-fuck," Pete breathed. "Don't s-stop."

"I won't," Mikey said, moving his mouth to the other side of Pete's neck. He kept biting and sucking and licking, feeling pleased when Pete squirmed underneath him and whined, craning his neck to give Mikey better access.

His hand slowly crept up Pete's thigh, letting his fingertips graze the bulge in Pete's jeans and Pete cried out, locking his fingers in Mikey's hair. Mikey slowly removed his mouth from Pete's neck, impressed at the amount of red marks blooming on his skin.

He quickly connected their lips, roughly pushing his tongue into Pete's mouth, earning him a surprised squeak and a low moan. Encouraged by the sounds coming from Pete, Mikey ground his hips against Pete's, making Pete yell out his name.

"Mikey!" Pete cried, his voice breathy and whiny. "Damn, I'm gonna cum if you don't—"

"Your mouth is too pretty to be speaking, darling," Mikey told Pete and leaned forward, darkening a mark on Pete's neck. "There are much better things to say, anyway."

"Like?" Pete asked, his breaths coming short and heavy.

"Like my name," Mikey said. "'Oh, God'. 'Fuck', or the variation 'fuck me'. So many other things to say."

"Goddamn it, Way," Pete gasped. "Wait until we get to the hotel. People could see us."

Realizing that this was a battle he couldn't fight, Mikey pulled off of Pete, placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "How is it that, even after almost four months, I can still make you moan and whine like a teenager?" He asked, hugging Pete tenderly. He decided the ignore the tightness of his pants, and he tried to do the same to sizely bulge in Pete's pants.

"You make me feel young," Pete said simply. "Just the way you are, you make me feel like a teenager. It also helps that you're 112 years older than me."

"Don't remind me," Mikey sighed, feigning sadness, but perked up when Pete kissed his shoulder, covered by layers of clothing.

"So, what about a hotel?" Mikey asked.

"Oh, I've got a way to get us a free hotel room tonight," Pete said. A glimmer in his eyes alerted Mikey to possibly criminal activity Pete had in mind.

Bu the time they got to a city with a decent hotel, it was dark outside. Mikey, using his Aristotle-like star-reading skills, estimated the time to be 10:28 when they walked into the lobby.

Suddenly, surrounded by people, Pete became aware of just how beautiful Mikey was at that moment. He wore his usual formal outfit, his purple lovebites visible through the white material, and a black leather jacket. His black jeans clung to his legs and his feet seemed frozen cold in his leather boots. His eyes shined a warm amber behind his glasses and the end of his nose and his cheeks were red with the October chill, his hair was tousled just so from the autumn night breeze.

Suddenly, Pete grabbed Mikey's hand nervously, biting his bottom lip in thought. It seemed obvious that, whatever Pete's original plan was, it wasn't going to work.They hung back a bit from the front desk and Mikey examined everyone in the room, searching for a familiar face.

Finally, his face lit up and he pulled Pete to the front desk. "Hello," Mikey said to the man behind the desk. A name tag tacked the color of his shirt read "Oli" and he seemed to glow when he saw Mikey. "We have a reservation under Way," Mikey said, hoping that Oliver Sykes would help him. Mikey knew that Oli was aware of who he was; everyone knew who the Way brothers were now. He just hoped Oli knew him for right reasons.

Oli pretended to check the computer and said in a slightly accented voice: "Alright, Michael Way. You'll be in room 306 and..." He pulled out two keycards, sliding them across the counter before asking quietly: "This is the mortal?"

Relieved, Mikey answered: "Yes, it is."

"He's a right looker, Michael," Oli said. "Keep him safe."

"I plan on it," Mikey said, handing one of the keycards to Pete and pocketing the other. "Have a nice night, Oliver."

It it was finally in the elevator that Pete asked: "How were you so sure that the front desk guy would help you?"

"I know him," Mikey said. "He's like Gerard and me. He was born in England, moved here some fifty years ago, and stayed in Jersey for about a month before coming here. We're on good terms with each other, and he rejects William's beliefs."

"Wow," Pete said quietly.

He had become aware that Mikey almost never referred to his kind as what he was— he would always use an equivalent like 'people like me' or sometimes 'hellion' or, Mikey's favorite, 'monster'. It had been a while since Pete heard Mikey outright say the word 'vampire'. Pete wondered why that was, but he didn't ask.

The room was comfortable— a single bed, a couch, TV, a small desk, with a connected bathroom. It certainly wasn't the best hotel ever, but it was only for one night and it was free.

As soon as the door closed and their bags dropped to the floor, Mikey was making quick work of undressing Pete, letting his clothes stay where they fell onto the carpet.

"We've got all night, baby," Pete said, smiling at Mikey's shaking fingers. "Take as long as you need."

"While that's nice to know, I would rather have you naked for me as soon as possible," Mikey said, pulling Pete's black thermal shirt over his head. He let it flutter to the ground but, before the shirt could hit the carpet, Pete's jeans fell with a slight clink from the belt buckle.

Mikey pushed Pete roughly against the wall and dropped to his knees, grabbing Pete's hips tightly. He kissed the tattoo on his stomach before moving lower, capturing the fabric of Pete's boxers in his teeth and pulling them down his legs. "Fuck, Mikes," Pete breathed, tangling his fingers in Mikey's hair.

The extraction of Pete's boxers freed his hard member, already leaking pre-cum just from Mikey's gentle touch. With almost no warning, Mikey took Pete into his mouth, and Pete had to choke back a scream-like moan.

Mikey's mouth was warm and wet, which seemed to be heaven for Pete, making him squirm and resist the urge to buck his hips forward, which would force Mikey to take him in all the way.

That didn't seem like a bad idea at the current moment and, when Mikey's tongue prodded Pete's slit, Pete gasped and pushed his hips forward. He expected Mikey to pull away but, instead, he moved his hands to grip Pete's ass and let out a moan that sent little shivers up his dick and into his spine.

Suddenly, Mikey pulled away, looking up at Pete with a lust-filled gaze. He seemed expectant, which spurred Pete on to release one of the moans he was holding in. "That was..." Pete started. "Fuck. That was amazing, Mikes."

"That's not all, babe," Mikey said, his voice low from the pre-cum. "Lay down on the bed for me; just on your back."

Pete followed Mikey's instructions, and, once he was comfortable, Mikey knelt down next to the side of the bed, placing his hands on Pete's ass once more. "So pretty, Petey," he moaned, pulling Pete's legs over his shoulders and pulling him closer. "And you're all mine."

He pushed his tongue into Pete's hole, making Pete cry out and grasp at the bed sheets. It wasn't unpleasant— quite the contrary— but it was just different. His tongue started dipping in and out, slow at first, but gaining speed as Pete writhed, moans easily spilling out of his mouth. He reached down and locked his fingers in Mikey's hair once more, digging his fingernails into his scalp.

Mikey loved the sounds coming out of Pete's mouth, some moans higher pitched than others, and some breathier, more desperate. He pulled his tongue out and ran his hand down the side of Pete's body, pressing a kiss to Pete's hole. "So yummy," he whispered. "Such a good little slut, Petey."

"Mikey," Pete whined in the breathy voice that Mikey adored. He didn't even have to ask anymore; he knew that Mikey would, no matter how much he begged or whined. His hands were shaking in Mikey's hair and both knew that it wouldn't take much to send him under.

"I love you, Pete," Mikey whispered. "God, you're so fucking amazing. You're beautiful and you taste heavenly, sweetheart. You fit with me so well, it's like we were tailor-made for each other." He pulled Pete's legs off of his shoulders and Pete removed his hands from Mikey's hair. Mikey stood up and started to undress, doing with his clothes what he had done to Pete. He talked as he undressed. "You're smart, beautiful, sinful, gorgeous, you're everything. Did I mention you look like a god? 'Cause you do. You're everything anyone could ever hope for. You're my everything, Pete."

"Mikey," Pete said once more, this time with more urgency in his moan.

Mikey knew that Pete required no more prepping, and he asked: "Hard or soft?"

"Hard," Pete choked out.

Mikey nodded and slowly pushed in, hearing a sound like a moan of pleasure mixed with a groan of pain. "You okay?" Mikey asked, looking down at Pete.

Pete nodded and said in a clipped voice: "Stings."

"I'm sorry, baby," Mikey said.

"I never said stop."

Mikey smirked down at his lover below him and pulled out almost all the way, thrusting back in roughly and making Pete scream his name. Pete threw his head back, his hands twisted in the bedsheets, his face pulled into the look he had when he was at the peak.

A few more thrusts brought Pete to cum, spilling on his stomach. "Fuck! Fuck!" Pete gasped, his breathing hitching when he felt Mikey not stopping; he helped Pete ride out his high, the thundering of skin on skin slamming through the room.

It wasn't long until Mikey came as well, Pete moaning once more at feeling of Mikey's hot juices filling him up and running down his leg.

"Thank you for that," Pete said as Mikey pulled out and laid down next to Pete. He gently held Pete to his chest, setting small kisses on the top of his sweaty hair.

"You're welcome, darling," Mikey said. Then, he remembered something from earlier that day and added: "That was supposed to be pity sex."

"Excuse me?"

"Who's Saint Laszlo?" Mikey asked.

Pete sat up immediately, finding Mikey's shirt next to the bed and pulling it on. He now had marks showing through the fabric as well and he pulled nervously on the tails of the shirt. "Saint Laszlo, he's umm..." Pete started, his hands shaking. "Okay, let me start at the beginning."

"A few months before I moved to Belleville, I identified as bi, and I had a girlfriend," Pete started once more. "Since then, I've decided to identify as gay, but that's not that important to the story. Her name was Meagan and she was amazing. She was the reason I woke up in the morning. She was with me when I was writing Gray, which is one of the darkest times of my entire life, including the whole 'getting hunted by vampires' thing. She, along with Patrick, convinced me not to kill myself, not to let little worries get to me, thins like that. She meant so much to me.

"And, about a week before I moved, she..." Pete swallowed hard, his eyes filling with tears. "She took my hand and placed it on her stomach. After a few seconds, I felt it: a kick. She told me she was two months and I... I was happy for her. I wasn't happy, though. I mean, sure, I was happy that I was going to be a father, but I didn't— and still don't— want to be a father. I always like the concept but it scared the hell out me when I felt that kick inside of Meg.

"We named him two days before I left. Meg was having horrible morning sickness and, one day, she said 'if I can live through this, this kid'll be a saint' and... Yeah. I picked Laszlo as his middle name 'cause I just liked how it sounded.

"The morning I left, I woke up early and packed up all my shit as quick as I could. I had my friends, Andy and Joe, helped load all my stuff into the back of a U-Haul, and Patrick, while he was pretty upset about my decision to just up and leave Meg, told me that he wouldn't tell anyone why I left. It's one secret that nobody, not even the press, knows about.

"So, what I'm saying is, Saint Laszlo is my son."

Mikey could only watch Pete. He could tell that Pete didn't want to say, but it seemed like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders when he did. "Oh, God, Pete," Mikey said quietly.

"It's fine," Pete said flippantly.

"Does Meagan live in Chicago?" Mikey asked and Pete nodded. "Would you... Like to see her? And Saint?"

Pete smiled through his tears. "I would love that," he whispered and hugged Mikey tightly. "I love you."

"I love you too."

---

Pete was awoken the next morning by shooting pains at the base of his spine. He whined and groped the bed for Mikey but he found nothing. He wrenched his eyes opens an found a piece of the hotel stationary on Mikey's pillow, covered in Mikey's scrawl.

Went to get breakfast. Stay here. I love you. xoM

Pete smiled sleepily and buried his face in his pillow, hoping to fall asleep again.

That wasn't what happened. Almost the second Pete closed his eyes, the door to the room burst open and Mikey rushed in, clutching a tabloid magazine to his chest. "Shit, shit, shit," he mumbled and added: "Petey, darling, I need you to wake up. We're in trouble."

Pete opened his eyes and Mikey thrust the paper at him, spouting off every cuss word he knew. Right on the front page was a picture of two men, the taller pressing the shorter a the brick wall of a building and his mouth on the shorter's neck. The face of the neck-sucker wasn't visible, but the one of the second was. Even if it wasn't, it was hard to miss the red print across the top.

Peter Wentz: Missing?

"Oh fuck."

Notes

Y'all, this chapter took so fucking long to write, you don't even understand.