Archive of Our Own

The first time is by accident, which is kind of how he figures these things go. He’s always wondered how you get from point A to point B, much less to point Z, and no one’s been able to adequately explain it to him.

He tried asking Carden once, and that had resulted in one of those vaguely horrifying stares that Mike specializes in, a week of awkward conversation, and an obviously stolen copy of Consensual Spanking on his bed one afternoon when he gets home from work.

He reads it, not because he has any real interest in spanking as far as sex goes, but because he’s curious. Nothing really answers how you go from a slap on the ass to whips and chains and being tied to crosses, but he figures you just keep going until you stop. Sort of the ‘not fun anymore’ principle that his sister employed when they were kids. Which makes him think he needs to never think about kids, his sister, and spanking in the same sentence, and he puts the book away and doesn’t think about it again until the night it happens.

Not spanking. He’s still not into that.

But he’s singing and the crowd is wild and alive and people are starting to know their songs and he gets excited and turned around and caught up and before he knows it, his microphone cord is wrapped around his neck. Tight. Tighter.

Tighter.

He untangles himself quickly, aware that he’s at least half hard in his too-tight jeans and his too-small t-shirt doesn’t cover anything up. Still, he keeps moving through the song and leaning on Mike and bumping into Sisky and it all carries him through until the set’s over and he can clear off the stage, sweaty and hot and needing water and air.

His brain is electrified, sparking with heat and want and things he doesn’t have names for as he sucks down the muggy night in lungful after lungful, feeling his chest expand with every deep breath. Even now, with just the memory of it, everything feels more alive that it ever has, even when he first discovered music.

“Yo, Beckett. Get your diva ass in here and help us break this shit down, you fucking princess!”

He bites back a smile, because his band never changes, and goes inside. He watches his hands as he wraps the microphone cord in tighter and tighter circles, sensations surging through his body as his breath catches with every twist.

He jerks out of his thoughts when Sisky taps him on the shoulder. “You okay?”

”Yeah.” William nods and smiles, reassuring. It’s not hard to remember that Adam’s young, since William’s not much older, but also because Adam’s got that oddly innocent face, even when he’s telling William dirty shit that he shouldn’t be old enough to know. Adam kicks William’s protective streak into high gear, and seeing his face makes it easy to forget the euphoria that was right outside his grasp when the cord was around his neck. “You want to go grab some food?”

“Waffles?”

William smiles. “Yeah.”

**

He knows he’s going to try it again; he’s just not sure of the where or the how. Any searches he does on the library’s free computer bring up death in headline after headline, and he’d rather not actually achieve fame by duplicating Michael Hutchence’s suicide. He clears the cache before he leaves the computer even though he didn’t get much further than Google and no one actually gives a fuck what he’s researching, but it makes him feel better.

The problem with being different is that, even if there’s nothing wrong with it, everyone makes you think there is. He’s seen both ends of the spectrum – from teasing about his stutter since before he started school up to worry from counselors and baseball coaches urging him to get help when his bones started showing prominently, to taunting from the other kids, calling him a ghoul as his skin pulled tighter and tighter across his cheekbones and jaw.

He’s learned to accept his stutter and use it, learning new words that fit his mouth better and make him smarter, make the scathing put-downs poetic in their virulence. He hasn’t gotten much better about eating – or, well, that’s not true. He eats better and more often, but he burns it off almost faster than he can eat it. At any rate he’s not skeletal anymore. Being in a band has enough cache that he doesn’t have to worry about taking shit for it, but adding another thing to the list of ‘things people think are wrong with Bill Beckett’ isn’t actually something he wants to do.

Still, downtown Chicago is just a train ride away and the night there is teeming with life. He drifts through the crowds, hearing snatches of music and offers, ignoring most and trying not to laugh at some of the others. He has a high sense of the absurd, which has helped, knowing some of the people he knows, and so walking into the sex shop isn’t all that difficult. Managing not to laugh once inside is a little harder, but between Sisky and Pete, he’s learned how to keep a straight face.

He bypasses the dildos and strap-ons and vibrators and videos and DVDs. He skips the lingerie and shoes with heels high enough to probably give someone vertigo. He ignores the lubes and oils and copies of the Kama Sutra and moves to the fetish products, fingers grazing over leather masks and ball gags, whips and riding crops. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, not even sure he’ll know it if he sees it, but something about all of this feels right. And a brown paper bag is a hell of a lot easier to explain to Carden than some package delivered to their door with “Stan’s House of Sex Toys” emblazoned on the return address.

He stops before the selection of collars, reaching up to feel one after the other. Most are leather or fake leather. Some are simple and others elaborate. He finds one he likes – thin and black and slightly rounded at the edges, the silver buckle the right size for it, but on the bigger side. He closes his eyes and wraps it around his neck without fastening it, swallowing against the pressure. Heat thrills through him and he fumbles it off, embarrassed at all the sensations swimming through him. Fuck. His hands tremble as he bends down to pick it up off the floor where it fell, and he glances at the price. It’s going to cost him half his food for the month, but he’s fairly certain it’s going to be worth it. He carries it to the counter and does his best to ignore the guy manning the register, though he can feel the guy looking him over.

“You know.” The voice comes from behind him and William does his best not to jump at the sound. He glances back at the guy behind him, looking him over while the guy obviously does the same to him. “You’re not supposed to buy it for yourself, kid. Supposed to have it bought for you.”

“My money’s as good as anyone else’s, isn’t it?” The other thing William excels in is defiance. Everyone assumes he’ll bend over or give in because he looks like a strong wind can knock him down, but he’s got enough anger and spite and strength to keep him standing. He glances at the sales clerk again, waiting for him to say something. “Because if you agree with this guy and don’t think it is, I’d be happy to spend it elsewhere.”

The clerk smiles as he rings the collar up, and William wants to tell them both to fuck themselves and just leave, but he can practically feel the weight of the leather on his throat and he wants it. Wants the pressure against his Adam’s apple, cool metal cutting into his skin just enough to sting. He hands over his cash and takes the bag, the feel of it in his hand seeming to balance out the lightness of his wallet. One of the nice things about rooming with Carden (and it’s an incredibly short list, so maybe it’s the one nice thing about rooming with Carden) is that he doesn’t give a shit what Bill does with the rest of his life as long as he shows up for practice. So if William spends the rest of the month eating peanut butter sandwiches, he’s not going to say a word or ask why.

The other good thing – so, okay, there are two – is that when he’s not working, Mike spends most of his time at shows or at the house of whatever girl he’s seeing so that it boils down to the fact that there are nights that William has the apartment to himself for hours at a time. But it’s nearly two weeks before it happens this time, only because he’s waiting for it.

He stows his bike when he gets home, nearly tripping over the pedal in his haste to get out of the entryway and into his room. He calls out Carden’s name at least a dozen times before he shuts himself behind the bedroom door and tries to remember to breathe.

The irony of that makes him laugh, and he slumps against the door with it in a strange, shaky release of tension. After a minute, he forces himself upright and fills his lungs as full as he can, closing his eyes until everything comes down to the press of air in his chest.

Stretching out on his bed, he pulls the box from beneath it, looking down at his collection of embarrassing items. Mike laughs at him for thinking he needs to hide them – he’s reminded on a nearly daily basis that, “this is a bachelor pad, even for girly shits like you, Beckett” – but it’s a hold over from living at home, a way to pretend that maybe the insults don’t matter simply because they’re true. Besides, things can be tenuous with Mike sometimes, so flaunting his collection of gay porn seems dubious, just in case. Not that he thinks three magazines counts as a collection.

Well, three magazines and a collar.

He fingers the leather slowly, rubbing from one end to the other, smoothing away any fingerprints until the buckle is the same flat sheen all over. He’s already getting hard, just from touching it, and this is as far as he’s gotten since he bought it. Touching it and imagining the tightness around his neck, the flood of sound and the tunnel vision as he pulls.

He just needs to think about it and he can get himself off easily. He puts the leather down and gets up, undressing quickly before lying back down on the mattress naked. He feels exposed and raw so he sits up, grabbing the collar and moving over to the full-length mirror the previous tenants left on the inside of the closet door.

His skin is pale and all he can focus on is his flaws – too thin, the slight unevenness of his chin with one side fuller than the other, the knobs of his collarbone jutting against his skin, the width of his nose compared to the thinness of everything else about him. He sees his parts rather than the sum, and only the ones he counts as personal liabilities. Putting the collar against his skin seems to change things though, alter his focus so that all he sees is black against white as he threads the leather through the buckle and pulls it tight against his throat.

He leaves it loose for a moment, reveling in the anticipation before pulling it tighter, until the leather presses against his Adam’s apple. His cock jerks, filling out as he fastens the buckle with clumsy fingers. Heat coils down his spine, and he tilts his head back, swallowing hard just to feel it.

He stumbles back to the bed and sinks onto the mattress, his hands clenched around the edge, not wanting to touch, not yet. It's like a head rush, only instead of pain and weightlessness it's clarity and quiet, the sound of his own blood and his own heart and nothing else.

He wraps a fist around his dick finally, working himself slowly. He feels the pressure of every inhalation, but he can still breathe. Closing his eyes increases the sensation and he almost doesn't recognize the sound he makes - low and desperate and wanting and yes.

His other hand fumbles with the buckle of the collar and he almost loses it, almost lets the strap slip free, but he catches it, jerking it tighter. He whimpers, the attempt at a gasp cut off as he keeps tugging at the leather until he can't feel his dick or his hand or anything at all.

He jerks on instinct, releasing the collar and flooding his deprived system with oxygen. It feels like his head explodes, pain and distortion feeding back through his ears and lungs and throat. Part of it is washed away by the thick heat of his orgasm, sticky on his hand with his first desperate breath. The rest of it keeps pulsing, dying away slowly until his chest is no longer heaving and after a shuddering breath it all goes back to normal.

He doesn't clean himself up, doesn't clean anything up, just buries himself under his covers, the collar clenched tightly in his fist.

**

It becomes a habit to let the mic cord wrap around his neck, though he takes heat from the band and the fans that it's a fetish. It's more than that though, more than just a kink, more than a shortcut to turning him on. It clears his head and sharpens everything when he feels the weight of the cord on his throat, even without the pressure of it tightening. It's instinct, done unconsciously or subconsciously, his fingers twisting in the leather band he's started wearing, the cord weaving around him like a snake, the black mamba of his want, slithering through his hands, along his spine, across his throat. He's obvious about it, like he's obvious about all the things that control him, pretending that it doesn't matter just enough that he's almost convinced it's true. This is a different kind of joke than the sneers and looks that come with the other epithets. This one is like a badge of honor or something, a quirk of attention or sexy nervous habit. To him it's more, it's become more, but, just like the other things that matter, no one has to know.

Like the cord, the collar loosens something inside, and he’s taken to wearing it at home. At first it’s just in his room, the breath restriction seeming to free his head up, letting the words spill out instead.

One night, in a burst of new lyrics, he scrambles out to Mike, demanding they figure it out. It takes almost ten minutes to realize that Mike isn’t listening, he’s staring. William’s hand goes to his neck, pressing against the leather just enough for reassurance.

Mike finally speaks. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a collar. Can we talk about the song…”

“A collar.” Mike’s voice takes on the strange higher pitch that means he’s uncomfortable and, in typical Carden fashion, going to react by being an ass. “I can see it’s a motherfucking collar, Bill. What the fuck?”

“It helps me think.”

“Oh, fuck. Tell me this isn’t some weird ass kinky sex game between you and Sisky, because I swear to Christ I will throw the fuck up.”

“What the fuck? Me and Sisky?”

“I don’t know. You’re wearing a fucking collar in our living room.”

“It’s not something between me and Sisky or me and anybody, It’s just…It’s just me.” He doesn’t realize until that moment that he needs Mike to understand or at least to accept this. Mike’s his best friend, and while the taunts and teasing of other people doesn’t matter, Mike does. “It’s…just…” He looks at him, feeling helpless as Mike gets more and more irate. “Just calm down and I can…”

“Calm down?” Mike’s nervous laugh is a horror movie level evil-clown giggle that creeps William out. “Calm down? You’re wearing a fucking collar, Bill. Like a…a dog. Or a…a…” He waves his hand around, looking for a word.

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s not.” He nods, his mouth pulled into a pinched line. “I am an open-minded dude, but you are freaking me the fuck out here.”

“Then shut the fuck up and listen.” William can feel his head getting lighter, his breathing shallower as anger and irritation struggle against constriction. “Just…just…” He sinks down onto the ratty beanbag they’d bought at Goodwill for two dollars, then spent twice as much for the roll of duct tape required for repairs. “Just lis…listen.”

Mike’s expression doesn’t change, but his shoulders relax slightly. His silence is the closest he’s going to get to telling William that he’s listening, that he might actually hear him.

“You know how I get sometimes.” The words are hard, and he has to concentrate to make them come fluidly, forcing himself to breathe like he does when he sings. “My head’s too full, too loud.” He watches Mike’s mouth twist slightly, not quite a smile though he’s the one who constantly tells William to stop thinking so goddamned loud when Mike’s trying to watch the Bulls game. “This…this is like a…a f-f-focal point. Something to c-c-c…” He stops and takes a deep breath, cursing himself in his head. “Concentrate on. A r-release valve.”

“So it’s not about sex.”

“N-no…no, not…um…” William can feel the blush heating up his skin. “This is…I mean…It’s…about that. Too. I mean. I think. I…” This is not a conversation he wanted to have with Mike. Ever. It ranks right up there with the spanking conversation that started this whole thing. “Can you…n-not ask that question?”

Mike frowns and picks at the knee of his jeans, the fabric worn down to the soft white strings. “It helps you be less of an overdramatic, neurotic diva?”

The laugh escapes before he can stop it and he has to bite it back before he loses control completely. “Less of one, yes.”

“But it won’t stop it altogether. Since, you know, that’s just you.”

“Absolutely.” He relaxes slightly as Carden nods, signaling he may not understand anything, but he’s okay with it. William stretches his legs out in front of him. “Besides, if I wasn’t an overdramatic, neurotic diva, you’d have to come up with new insults.” He smiles a little bit, ducking his head to try and catch Carden’s eye. “So, can we work on this song?”

“Yeah.” Mike kicks at the sole of William’s shoe. “Just don’t get your freakish kinky cooties on me.”

“Just for that, you know now I have to wear it all the time.”

“Ha. Like you weren’t just looking for an excuse to be even weirder, Beckett.” Mike’s grin is mocking, but that’s normal, and William can breathe again, breathe better now. “If you get out of line, do I get to put you on a leash?”

William blinks rapidly and then laughs as Mike realizes what he’s just said. “Don’t worry, Mike. I have every intention of still being a bitch, but no intention of being yours.”

**

William’s had sex three times. Once with a girl in his Physics class and twice with a girl who works at the Metro. He’s done his fair share of grinding up against guys on the dance floor and he’s even gone so far as to give a hand job to one of the guys in Midtown – not Gabe Saporta, he’d never have the guts for that, but Heath or Rob or maybe the other guy. They were both drunk, he’s not sure it matters who it was really – but nothing that’s involved any kind of extended naked contact when it comes to the same sex.

So it makes some sort of sense in his head that, when he thinks about actually incorporating the collar or breath restriction into sex, that he should start with a girl. It’s probably not his best plan ever, since he’s even more awkward around girls than he is around guys, but girls are marginally easier to score after a set, easier to entice backstage, especially when everyone else is doing the same.

He doesn’t ask her name, doesn’t really care. He should feel bad, because he’s using her, but she’s using him just as much. Maybe more. He’s a step up the ladder to the bigger names, the bigger acts that they open for, and he’ll do for now.

They drink too much and he knows he should stop, but the beer is cheap and easy, lubrication for his mind and his courage as he leads her to his bedroom. It’s messy, but she’s drunk enough not to care. Probably wouldn’t care if she were sober.

They left the band at the bar, so he knows they’re alone as he guides her to the bed, catching her wrists in his hands as he walks backward, feeling the mattress against his calves. He lets himself tumble back, pulling her with him, feeling her shriek as she lands on top of him. It turns into a laugh and she wriggles against him, moving up to straddle him. Her jeans pull tight across her thighs and he can see her sweat-smudged eyeliner even in the dim light.

“I can be on top.” She demonstrates by taking her shirt off, dropping the faded fabric onto the floor and shedding her bra just as quickly. Her breasts are the perfection of the late teenage years, pert and full and would fit easily in his hands if he wanted to feel them, hard nipples against his palms. Instead he holds her hips as she moves over him, rocking side to side slowly, his cock filling beneath her. He finally lets his hands slide upward, curving along her sides before cupping her breasts, his breath catching in his throat. She moans softly and presses down against him before pulling away, standing up unsteadily on the mattress and stripping off the rest of her clothes.

“You too.”

He does as he’s told, taking off clothes that are still slightly damp from their set, so he has to work to get out of his jeans. She giggles as he moves on the bed, unbalancing her further so she sinks to her knees again and tugs his pants off the rest of the way. She makes an appreciative noise and kisses the inside of his thigh, moving up until her mouth is pressed hot and wet against his cock.

“No,” he gasps as her tongue traces the head. “No. Want…” He pulls her up and kisses her, tasting the salty hint of himself on her tongue.

She pulls back, bracing herself over him, and smiles. “Tell me what you want.”

He reaches out and opens the nightstand drawer without even looking, digging desperately for a box of condoms. She laughs again and settles on his stomach, the sticky heat of her arousal trapped tight against him. She pulls out a condom and opens it, leaving the rough scratch of the wrapper on his chest as she moves back to slide it on him, sheathing him with it before sliding down on him in easy, practiced moves.

It’s like a jolt, hot and wet and tight, and it’s been so fucking long since he’s had this, had anything other than his hand, that he has to concentrate not to lose control. His hands fist in the rumpled sheets beneath him, hanging on until she finds her rhythm and then he reaches up, tangling their fingers together, supporting her as she rides him. It’s good, so good, but there’s a steady pulse in the back of his head, a heavy drum of want that he can’t quite reach.

He brings her hands up to his mouth, licking at her fingertips. She leans into him, altering the angle as she presses back, grinding against his pelvis, the sticky tangle of dark hairs pulling with every thrust. He shifts his grip, moving her hands to his shoulders, letting her nails sink into his skin as he strokes up her arms to her back. He touches her, listening to the soft noises she makes every time she sinks back onto him. Swallowing hard, he arches his back, his neck, feeling her thumbs as they rest against his sternum. Her breathing is rough, unsteady, and he knows she’s getting close, but it all feels just out of reach. He grabs her hands, curling his fingers around her wrists and bringing her fingers to his neck, squeezing at her pulse point until they curl slightly, putting pressure on his throat.

She doesn’t squeeze, but it’s enough. He knows he won’t see her again, and she’ll probably tell all her friends that he really is that much of a freak, but for right now, her weight is centered on his throat, and it’s enough.

**

The first thing William learns about doing business with Pete Wentz is that Pete will talk for hours on end without pausing for breath. The strange thing is that despite that, Pete seems to know William’s entire life story, even though William’s sure he hasn’t said a word. There are levels of secrecy and lies that William keeps layered over his life – how much stuff cuts to the quick and how much just glances off the surface - but Pete seems to know everything and understand it all, even the things William’s convinced he hides.

It’s possible that Pete just sees too much, watching from the floor and the wings and backstage. Some of it William knows he’s been through, but some of it is more. He doesn’t realize how much more until they sign their contract, page after page for every layer from Atlantic down to Pete. Short, energetic, manic, dangerous Pete who, after the champagne and celebration, pulls William aside into the dark hallway. There are a million things to expect, none of which are new on the scene, but William’s slightly surprised by it coming from Pete, especially now that he’s his de facto boss.

“On your knees.”

William bites back a comment about Pete having the order wrong – the blowjobs are supposed to come before the contract is signed – because something in the glint of Pete’s eye keeps him silent. There’s also the fact that Pete’s notorious for keeping his dick in his pants as far as guys go.

“Nice.” There’s a sharpness in Pete’s gaze and tone that makes William shiver, almost as much as the slow slide of Pete’s fingers down the side of William’s throat and across the front of it, the faintest of pressure as he swallows. “You know what this means, don’t you, William?”

Another sharp retort bites at his tongue, but he stays quiet. Pete’s thumb settles on William’s throat in the notch above his sternum and pushes, his other fingers curved over William’s shoulder. William swallows against the pressure and tries to suck in a breath.

“Don’t you?”

William shudders and his head falls back, his cock hardening in his jeans. Pete laughs, low and soft, obviously pleased as he pulls his hand away. William still can’t quite breathe, sensation overriding even instinct. He keeps his throat bared as Pete touches him again, fasting the leather strap of a bartskull choker around William’s neck. William gasps as the clasp closes, feeling another shudder, another jolt of want, of need.

“That’s right,” Pete assures him, danger emanating from his wide smile. “As of now, you belong to me.”

Belonging to Pete doesn’t mean what William thought it might, or what Pete made it sound like. Pete’s good at drama, but less so at follow-through, so all it really means is that William is in Pete’s strange inner circle of friends, and that his phone rings at three in the morning on a semi-regular basis. It also means that, when they all gather wherever Pete is, William often finds himself beside Pete or sitting on the floor at his feet, where Pete’s nails can scrape the back of William’s neck as he curls his fingers around the leather cord.

Sometimes it’s enough, and William can spend hours off in his own head, just leaning into the bite of the leather against his throat. He stays in conversations at a cursory level if there are people other than himself and Pete there, but if not, Pete seems content to let him drift. Pete talks or reads or watches movies, seeming not to notice William much at all, an extension of himself, an accessory to his midnight breakdowns or those too-familiar hours when it feels like everything is about to fall apart.

**

Once they’re signed everything happens in a huge rush and before he knows it, they’re booked on a plane to Florida to record their first record. He’s been packing all morning between pacing, tugging on the collar to no avail. Nothing seems to work and the panic is boiling under his skin by the time he heads to Pete’s house, more than a little desperate. It’s the first time William actually comes to Pete from his own need. Pete opens his door and frowns and William doesn’t know how to ask, so he simply sinks to his knees there on Pete’s doorstep.

“Shit. Shit. Don’t do that. Come in.” Pete steps back quickly and reaches out, helping William to his feet. William can feel him watching; feel his eyes looking for cracks and fissures. As far as William can tell, that’s all he’s made of. “Shit.” Pete’s wide-eyed and William’s hand goes to his throat, to the dark red mark from wearing the collar almost painfully tight for hours. It burns hotter with Pete’s gaze. “Shit, Bill.”

“Please, Pete.” He chokes the words out, falling down to his knees again, head tilted back. “Please.”

Pete frowns, his face wrinkling up with concern. Pete’s rarely out of his depth, but it’s clear from his expression that William’s knocked him somewhere he doesn’t understand or know how to deal with. “Please what?”

William laughs, a rough, raw sound, and reaches out for Pete’s hand, guiding it to his throat. “Please.”

Pete’s hand is shaking by the time it touches him, the barest brush of his fingertips along the red mark from William’s collar. “Who did this to you?”

“I did.” It’s not quite a whimper, and it hurts to force it out. Pete’s fingers stop moving and William leans into them, seeking out the pressure. Pete tries to jerk his hand back, but William’s fingers are curled tight around his wrist, holding him still. William’s always stronger than anyone gives him credit for, and, in this, Pete’s no different than the rest of the people who think William can’t hold his own. “Please.”

“I don’t…fuck, William. I don’t know what to do.” Pete’s voice breaks on the words and he sinks down onto his knees in front of William. “I don’t…this is…” Blowing out a frustrated breath, he rubs his thumb up onto William’s Adam’s apple, tracing the curve of it. “What do you need?”

William mouths the ‘thank you’ before he does anything else, moving his hand up to cup over Pete’s, to guide it so that William’s throat is caught in the web between Pete’s thumb and forefinger. “Squeeze.”

“Like this? Like…kneeling?” They’re still in the foyer, the throw rugs that Pete probably got from his mother underneath William’s knees. “Or we could…somewhere…go. Um. Else.”

“You’ll still…you won’t stop?” Pete flexes his hand then tightens it and William can feel the jolt along every nerve ending. This. Yes. Fuck. He groans, unable to stop the sound. “Pete.”

“Let’s…yeah.” Pete pulls his hand away and gets to his feet, leaving William to do the same. William can see the hints of red on Pete’s wrist and knows he left them there with his desperate grip. He follows Pete into the living room and waits while Pete turns off the TV and then glances around the room. There’s a game system sprawled on the floor and several DVD and game cases open, shining in the track lighting like a constellation of stars. “Okay. So.” Pete moves the coffee table and leaves a space between it and the couch, easily big enough for both of them. He grabs a beer off the table and takes two swallows, both probably technically considered gulps, and then looks at William. “Lie down.”

It lacks command, but William does it anyway, happy to surrender to Pete’s shaky voice. He stretches out on his back, blinking up at Pete as the fall of his hair shadows his face. William’s hard in his jeans, aching, and the inability to see Pete’s features makes it worse, makes it foreign and different. This isn’t his own hand, not even his own collar. This isn’t someone he’s guiding to his throat in the vain hope that they’ll understand. This is someone else, willfully and deliberately, pressing down on his throat until he can’t breathe. Just the thought is enough to threaten the pulse of his orgasm, but he holds himself back, waiting.

Pete straddles William mid-abdomen, his ass resting on William’s lower stomach. He slides his hands up William’s arms tentatively, and William squeezes his thighs together, muscles flexing. He watches Pete swallow and catches his breath, holding it as Pete’s fingers splay over his shoulders. William expects Pete’s grip, but instead, Pete leans forward, mouth brushing William’s. Exhaling the breath he’s been holding, William opens his mouth to Pete’s kiss.

Pete knows how to kiss, and William shudders hard, lifting his head off the carpet for better leverage, harder contact. This hasn’t ever really been their forte. This is reserved for the likes of Patrick and the cameras, but William wouldn’t argue, even if he could, too busy losing himself in the slow, thick thrust of Pete’s tongue.

He grasps Pete’s hips, holding him steady as William gives in to the search for friction, his own hips rolling upward. Pete tilts William’s head, the tip of his tongue skating across the roof of William’s mouth. William moans, his hands moving up, skimming Pete’s sides, palms flattening against his back. He’s lost, breathless in another way. He breaks the kiss to swallow and it burns going down.

“You…” Pete licks his lips, his eyes intent on William’s face. “You want…”

His hips thrust up and he can feel Pete tense at the insistent pressure of William’s dick against his ass. William hisses a low ‘yes’ and tilts his head back, baring his throat again. He’s shaking now, trembling with need, and he jerks hard when Pete’s hand settles lightly on his throat. Pete loses his balance, falling forward, instinctively trying to break his fall, the heel of his hand centered over William’s throat.

William comes with a low grunt of air, another jerk wracking his body. Pete stays on top of him, though his hands move to William’s shoulders almost immediately. They both stay there, motionless, until Pete eases back, not quite able to meet William’s eyes.

Aftershocks dance through William’s body and he just lies there, closing his eyes and feeling them. His lungs cycle slowly, not quite in sync given the rasp on every inhale. Pete moves off of him, easing down against the couch. William’s afraid to look at him, afraid of what he might see in Pete’s eyes.

“You okay?” Pete asks softly.

William nods and manages a strangled, “You?”

“Me?” Pete’s laugh isn’t even close to amused. Instead it’s rough and shaky. “Am I okay? No. No. No, not okay.”

William nods again and turns his face away. “Give…g-give me…” He swallows, every word and motion like razors in his throat. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll g-go.”

“Go.” Pete echoes the word and then William feels the warm pressure of Pete’s hand on his chest. “You don’t have to go.”

“I think I s-s-sh-should.” He tries to sit up, but Pete’s putting weight behind his hand, holding William down. He can’t quite suppress the shudder than runs through him, but he’s too overloaded to have any restraint. “Pete.”

“First of all, you’re not in any shape to go anywhere. I have some serious doubts on your ability to stand, much less drive.”

“I’m f-fine.”

“Plus, what kind of selfish asshole am I if I blow you off when you’re going through shit? I mean, how many times have you listened to me freak out?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Bullshit. I mean, maybe the degree is different, but it all boils down to the same shit.” Pete’s thumb begins rubbing a slow arc on William’s chest. “You needed someone to be there for you.”

“And you were.”

“And I may not know much about kinky shit-” Pete pauses for a second, like he expects William to argue, then goes on when he doesn’t. “But I know you’re shaking and that tells me you still need someone to be here for you.” When William doesn’t answer, Pete huffs a small laugh, causing William to turn his head and look at him. “You hate that I’m right.”

“You’re not…” William sighs and fights the smile he can feel threatening. “Fine.”

“So, let’s get you out of those gross clothes and huddle together on the couch and watch a movie.”

“You do mean they’re gross because they’re dirty, right?” His eyebrow lifts as Pete grins. “Because I’m not wearing Clan shit.”

“C’mon. I think I’ve got a pair of sweats that’ll fit you.”

“If fitting means they reach my knees.”

Pete stands and holds out a hand to help William up. “Hey, if you’re going to get pissy about clothing choices, pack a bag when you’re coming over for kinky stuff.”

William’s eyebrows both shoot up and Pete turns an interesting shade of red. “And is…is that likely?”

Despite the blush, Pete looks defiant. “You tell me.”

They stare at each other for long minutes, then William shakes his head. “No. No. I…Not you. It’s not you. I ju-just need it to be…”

“Mutual?”

William closes his eyes and nods. “Yeah. I…I need that. More than I th-thought.”

“Don’t worry. My feelings aren’t hurt. I’ll only cry into my pillow for, like, a week.”

William smacks him on the ass as they head toward the stairs to Pete’s bedroom and closets of clothes. “Asshole.”

“Hey! I’m your boss.” Pete turns and grins at him. “Show a little respect. It’s Mister Asshole.”

**

Travie’s a regular feature at Pete’s, and he and William get along, spending half their time in dark rooms discussing poetry and taking the rainbow of pills Travie always has to share. William’s well acquainted with getting drunk, but the pills are a new experience, reducing everything to a slow blur. Which is why it takes him a while to realize it’s not his imagination, he and Travis always end up together, that ever since the night with Pete, Pete’s events and parties and schedules seem to include Gym Class Heroes whenever The Academy’s involved.

It’s not really all that strange. Pete and Travie are like brothers, bound by their own levels of being fucked up, but that doesn’t explain why Travis and William always end up paired off, tucked into rooms and corners with everyone else off somewhere, closer to the heart of the party. So it’s no surprise that it’s that way tonight, curled up on the couch in front of a dark TV, drunk and high and happy.

“You shouldn’t do that shit when you’ve got a gig.” Travie breaks the long comfortable silence, his voice rough and warm.

William’s not sure what all ‘that shit’ entails, given that he’s had drinks from four separate bottles, taken three different colored pills and had at least a few bites of the food laid out in the other room.

“And you need to lay down some rules.” Travie’s fingers reach out, brushing against William’s throat. “Not supposed to look like you’ve been throttled.”

William jerks back, away from Travie’s touch. “Don’t do that.”

“Yeah?” Travie doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t move away. “Something tells me you want someone to do that. You want it bad enough that you’re letting somebody do a shitty job of it.”

His voice feels as tight as his throat. “It’s none of your business.”

“No. It’s not.” Travie shrugs, though he still doesn’t move back. “But you want to be a singer. So you don’t do that shit when you’ve got a gig.”

“It got a little out of hand.”

“No shit, baby boy.” Travie says it lightly, relaxing back onto the sofa finally. “You need to tell him to take it easy.”

“He wasn’t anybody I plan on seeing again.” William shrugs and leans forward, snagging one of the joints from the table and digging a lighter out of his pocket, arching off the sofa to free it from his tight jeans. He lights the joint, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs and holding it.

Travie watches him, his eyes shadowed, the lamp in the corner of the room mostly just a suggestion of light. He reaches over and frees the joint from William’s fingers, taking his own hit. William smiles, relaxing, letting the buzz settle over him again. There are more pills – Travie always has more pills – and more booze, but for now this is just enough.

The silence builds again, slow and thick like the smoke and, by the time they kill the joint, Travie’s fingers are threading through William’s hair, his mouth on William’s jaw. “It can be so good, baby boy.” The words rumble against William’s skin, felt more than heard. “You want it to be good?”

William doesn’t quite manage to suppress the shiver that runs through him, and Travie’s fingers spread, cupping the back of William’s head. The air is suddenly too thick to breathe, and William can feel the gasp at the base of his throat.

“So good, Bilvy.” Travie’s mouth is warm, moving slowly. No one who knows Pete isn’t intimately familiar with hours of kissing, slow and exploratory with no ulterior motive beyond feeling good. This is different. This is intention and purpose. Travie is learning William’s reactions, seeing where he’ll bend and acquiesce.

The answer feels like ‘everywhere and in every way’ as he turns toward Travie, finding the heat of Travie’s mouth with his own. They move, Travie settling over him, against him, fitting easily between his spread legs. It’s just kissing, bodies pressed together, but it’s more than that. Travie murmurs soft words into William’s mouth – approval, encouragement, want. Want different than the people William has picked up in bars, desperate enough for friction that he’ll take what little pressure he can get on his neck or the clumsy dangerous choking, chancing pain and bruises and the rasp in his throat.

“Tell me what you want,” Travie whispers in William’s ear. “Say it.”

“Want…” His voice breaks and he shivers again. “Want your hands. On…o-on my throat.”

“Mmm. Oh, yeah, baby boy.” Travie’s mouth moves down, his tongue tracing the dark red marks on William’s neck. “Want ‘em tight? Pressure and the air tight in your lungs?”

William whimpers. “Yes. Y-yes. Please, Travie.”

“Rules first.” He shifts back, looking William in the eye, his thumb still stroking William’s throat. “And after you’re healed up.”

“W-what…After? B-b-but…” William blinks, trying to focus on Travie as he pulls away, leaving William chilled.

“Gonna show you how to do it right. But not now. Not like this.” He stands up, ridiculously tall. “When you’re healed. Come find me."

**

He finds him in New York, looking as out of place as possible in the club Travie’s working. He’s the wrong color and wearing the wrong clothes and, if he weren’t with Pete, he’d be on the other side of the door getting laughed at by the bouncer. Instead, he’s being led through the crowd to the platform, keeping Pete in sight as he dodges and avoids what might be enthusiastic crowds or might actually be deliberate attacks.

When they get to the DJ booth at the front of the room, Travie hauls them both up on the dais, an elaborate handshake for Pete and a quick one-armed hug for William. Pete puts on a set of headphones and he and Travie focus on the crowd and the music. William boosts himself up on the barstool behind them, watching them move with and around each other, their own dance to music they haven’t played yet.

He stays out of their way, watching them and the crowd and feeling more and more out of place until they cast looks over at him, and then he feels like he belongs. There’s a low heat in Pete’s eyes that draws him in, even though he knows Pete doesn’t want him like that. Pete wants and loves to excessive degrees, everything turned up to eleven or higher and William feels it in every glance. Travie’s eyes are different, bright and sharp and sparkling with mischief and the want there is definitely different than Pete’s. All the promise of the night at Pete’s house echoes in every look and William’s skin feels alive with it.

Travie’s turn at the booth ends and someone else takes over after lots of handshakes and fistbumps and hugs. The music doesn’t really change – all club music sounds the same after a while – but everything else seems to when Pete’s hand brushes the back of William’s neck and Travie takes his hand, tugging him off the stool. They work their way through the VIP section and down the stairs into the club itself and the music is louder, everything multiplied as Travie pulls him away from Pete and out onto the floor.

William doesn’t dance. He’s long and gangly and more likely to put someone’s eye out than find anything resembling a rhythm, but with Travie, he doesn’t need to move at all. Travie fits their hips together and starts moving, sliding and thrusting and grinding and William just digs his fingers into Travie’s shoulder and hangs on. It’s almost painful, the spikes of want that shoot through him, but the kind of pain that comes from a too-tight collar. His cock fills, pressing hard against Travie’s, every movement sliding it against Travie’s own.

“C’mon,” Travie murmurs and tugs William off the floor to a different set of stairs. The tables at the top are dark and probably cost more than William’s ever made in his life, but Pete’s sitting at one like it’s pocket change. Hell, for all William knows, it is. Travie sits him down and nods toward the bar and Pete goes with him, casting a knowing grin at William. He feels awkward and uncomfortable, like a piece of property, but then he reaches up and feels the collar heavy on his throat, pushing it into his skin. Tonight, in a lot of ways, that’s what he is. Pete’s property. Possibly Travie’s. He watches them, sees them looking at him and the discomfort becomes a sort of thrill.

Pete nods and grins at William, turning back to the bar. Travie walks over and hooks a finger in William’s collar and tugs him to his feet. “Let’s go, baby boy.”

“W-where?”

“Need a little privacy.”

The cab ride seems to take forever, and Travie pays little to no attention to him. William keeps watching him out of the corner of his eye, but all he sees is the movement of his fingers as Travie texts, smiling to himself. William clasps his hands in his lap, rubbing the back of his thumb, focusing on the pressure in an attempt to keep his hands from fidgeting too much, from reaching for the collar. Travie laughs softly and leans over, his voice warm and soft against William’s skin, moving his hair.

“Driving you crazy, isn’t it?”

He nods rapidly and turns his head, so close to Travie he can see the glints of gold in the brown of his eyes. “Yes.”

“Want to touch.”

He nods rapidly. “Yes.”

“Good.” He laughs softly and William closes his eyes, basking in the heat of it. “Want you to want it so bad.”

“I do.” William laughs just as softly, though he can hear the desperate edge in it. “Trust me, I do.”

“Yeah? Gonna want it worse by the time I let you have it.” The cab pulls up to the curb and he leans across to open William’s door, his body a warm pressure against him. William stumbles out while Travie pays the cab and then joins him on the curb. “Gonna be begging.”

William shudders out a breath as Travie guides him down an alleyway. His place isn’t anything like William expects. He was anticipating a cheap walk-up, but instead it’s a little house tucked into the back of a lot. Buildings tower around it, and William can’t help but feel like they’re being watched. He thinks about the look Pete gave him while Travie negotiated with him and shivers.

“What were you and Pete talking about?”

A smile curves Travie’s mouth as he settles his palm firmly against the small of William’s back. It radiates heat, and William can’t help shivering again. “What do you think?”

“M-me.” He clears his throat and moves closer. “You were talking about me.”

“That’s right.” There’s a roughness to Travie’s voice and William’s cock jerks in response. “His collar around your neck. Means you belong to him.”

“But…but that’s not how…you know that’s not how we are.”

“Baby boy, you’ve got his fingerprints all over you like a brand. Even if he’s not fucking you, you’re still his.”

“Are you…are you going to? To f-fuck me?”

“Dunno.” Travie smiles again, and there’s no humor in it. It’s predatory and William swallows hard against the collar. “Maybe.”

“Did…does…did Pete say you could?”

“You asking if I have permission?” Travie turns William so they’re looking at each other and then walks forward, backing William against the side of the house. “Let’s just say I have permission to ask permission.”

William arches up against Travie, eyes closed and mouth open. “Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Per…perm-mission….permission g-granted.”

Travie laughs, low and throaty as his mouth finds the back curve of William’s jaw and then moves down to his neck, teeth scraping along the top of the collar. He moves his mouth back up, nipping at William’s earlobe. “Go inside and take the collar off. You’re my boy tonight.”

William ducks into the house as soon as Travie unlocks the door, stopping a few feet inside. It’s dark and unfamiliar, which has nothing to do with why his hands are shaking as he unbuckles the collar and takes it off, holding it tight against his palm. The room gets darker when Travie shuts the front door, and William can only see the outline of him. “What do…”

“What’s your word?”

“O-oh.” He swallows hard then rakes his teeth across his lower lip. He’s still fully clothed, but he feels stripped bare. “Chicago.”

Travie laughs, honestly amused. “Nice.” The laughter settles into the darkness and Travie takes a few steps, leaning in and seeming to tower over William even though he’s not that much taller. He catches William’s chin and makes him look at him. “Tagging.”

“What?” He thinks maybe he’s missed something, though he’s not sure how since he hasn’t been able to look away since they started.

“My word. If I say ‘tagging’, that means I’m backing out of the scene.”

“Oh.” William blinks and then realization sets in. “Oh. Tagging. Okay. Yes.” He swallows and nods. “T-thank…thank you?”

Travie shakes his head and traces William’s jaw. “All right, baby boy. Undress. Right here.”

“I…”

Travie’s voice drops to a whisper, full of command. “Now.” William sheds his clothes quickly, dropping them to the floor at his feet. Travie’s watching him, close enough that William can make out his features despite the lack of light. “Where’s your collar?”

“I…I put it with my…”

“Pick it up. You drop it again, it works as good as your word, understood?”

“Yes. Yes.” He nods rapidly. “I-I understand.”

“Now go to the bedroom.”

“But I don’t know…”

“You’re a smart boy, Beckett. I have faith in you.” He reaches out and curves his hand around William’s throat and presses his thumb lightly against the Adam’s apple. “Lots of stuff around though. Gonna need to feel your way. Probably gonna have to crawl.”

It’s probably for the best, since William’s not sure his legs will support him. He sinks down to his knees and tightens his grip on the collar, feeling his way along the floor. His cock is aching, hard enough that the damp tip keeps brushing his stomach, and every time he thinks about Travie watching him, he feels like it hardens further.

There are only a couple of doors, and there’s a little bit of light deeper back in the house and so making it to the bedroom isn’t that difficult. He stops at the end of the bed and waits, still on his knees.

“Pete said you were a good boy.” Travie comes into the room and sits on the bed, his knee pressed against William’s arm. “What does he do for you?”

“D-do?” He looks up at Travie and swallows hard. “He…we mostly just w-watch TV?” He can’t help but laugh, but it’s breathless, caught up with how much he wants. “He plays with the c-collar. Tugs on it, but…he’s not…he doesn’t…”

“Fuck you?”

His breath shudders out of him, making his body shake. “No.”

“Tells you something, doesn’t it? That a man who doesn’t even like boys wants to own you.” Travie leans in, and William can taste the sweetness of alcohol on his breath. “But I like boys. I like you.” His finger traces William’s jaw and tilts his head up. “You ever been fucked, baby boy?”

“Y-yes.” William nods, leaning in toward Travie. “Yeah.”

“Forget what you know. I ain’t like nothing you’ve had before.”

Travie kisses him then and William presses forward, mouth opening to his tongue. Travie’s hands slip to William’s sides and he hauls him onto the bed, falling back with William on top of him in a tangle of long limbs. William knows it’s just an illusion, but it seems like he can feel the ink beneath Travie’s skin, telling stories and moving with the beat of his heart.

He ends up on his back on the bed, Travie looking down at him. He straddles William and the moonlight sparks in his eyes. His long fingers trace up the underside of William’s arms, pinning his wrists to the bed. William shivers again, sensations firing along his nerve endings. William arches up at the pressure as Travie uses William’s wrists to brace himself as he leans in and kisses him. William sucks at his tongue, trying to keep him close, but Travie pulls away, laughing huskily.

“Hungry.” He growls low at William and leans in to kiss him again. William doesn’t protest the description or the action, just lets Travie take over his mouth. “Gonna have to keep you in check somehow.” He pulls away and moves up William’s body, knees pressing against William’s biceps and holding him to the bed as he searches through the nightstand drawer. William flinches when Travie curses and snaps on the bedside light until he blinks and sees Travie, naked and right there and hard for him, and then he sees a long strap of leather fall from Travie’s hand and the thick round leather cuff lands solidly on William’s chest.

“O-oh.” William gasps softly and his hips cant upward to the rhythm of Travie’s laugher.

“You like that, huh?” Travie eases back off of William’s arms and reaches for his left wrist, wrapping the cuff around it securely and buckling it tight. William watches the movements of his fingers, Travie’s skin dark against his own. The leather’s even darker, contrasting with William’s pale wrists and the blue veins beneath. He moves William’s hand to his chest, letting it rest heavily there as he fastens the other before guiding his arm up, resting the cuff against the headboard, holding it there as he threads the chain between the slats then reaches for William’s other wrist. “Look at you.”

It’s hard to breathe, the weight of Travie’s stare holding him still as securely as the cuffs. He runs his hands back down William’s arms to his chest, tracing intricate patterns on his skin.

“Blank fucking canvas, baby boy.” He moves down, fingers still touching, drawing on William’s skin. “Make me want to mark you up.”

William’s breath hitches in his chest, catching in his throat. He manages a nod and Travie laughs again, soft humor lightening the mood for a moment before he slips off William’s legs to lie between them, his fingers finding new skin to trace as he follows the curve of William’s cock down to the base. William arches up, heels digging into the mattress and the metal clasp connecting the cuffs rattling against the wooden slats.

“Should I start here?”

Any answer William might have planned melts into a groan as Travie’s mouth closes around him. Everything narrows down to sensations – tight, hot, wet – and demands – want, need, now. He can feel the stretch of his neck as he watches, riding the sensations as Travie’s soft curls brush against the base of his cock, clinging to the wetness there as Travie takes him deeper. He manages another groan, rough and primal, and he pulls against the cuffs on instinct, wanting to reach down and touch.

Travie makes a noise, most likely a laugh at William’s expense, that travels along William’s dick to his spine, shuddering through his body. He’s close. So close he can feel it, almost taste it and his hips rock upward, desperate for more to send him crashing over the edge.

“Not so fast, baby boy.” Travie’s voice sounds like right after a concert, when he’s been on stage for a good hour talking almost non-stop. William groans at the lack of sensation and his head falls back, his muscles tensed with need. “Don’t want the fun to be over before we even start.”

“We started. Hours ago. C’mon, Travie. Please.” His own voice is weak and desperate. “Please.”

“Impatient. Guess I need to have a talk with Pete about teaching you how to behave.” He sits back on his heels watching William, and William tries not to squirm. His cock is hard and wet and aching and all he wants is Travie to touch him.

“Please. A-asking nicely.” He can’t breathe, everything tight in his chest as Travie’s eyes roam over him. It’s different than the collar, not quite the same, not quite as good, but still good, so good, especially when he hears the familiar rip of a condom package and the soft snap of a plastic cap. He braces his heels on the bed, arching upward to grant him more room. “Oh, yes. Please, Tr-Travie. Please.”

“So fucking eager.” Travie laughs again and leans in, kissing William hard. “So fucking gorgeous. Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t manage to protest, even though he wants to, because he’s too busy gasping at the firm push of Travie’s finger inside him. His muscles clench in response, but Travie takes his time, working him over slow and steady. He can feel the stretch and burn of it, and it’s nothing like when he does it to himself because then he knows what to expect, but with Travie, there’s the air of unpredictability. His breath keeps coming in shaky exhales and his lungs are tight, growing tighter the more Travie loosens him up. Travie pushes in a second finger and William’s entire body jerks, tugging hard at the cuffs before falling back onto the bed.

Travie’s voice is a low, warm drawl. “You okay, baby?”

He nods rapidly, desperately as his cock fills with blood again, harder than before. Travie’s fingers spread and stretch and curl and twist and William’s not even aware he’s begging until he hears a voice like his own echoing in his ears. “Yes. Please. Please. Travie. Fuck. Yes. Yes. Please.”

“Not sure you’re ready.”

“Yes. Please. Oh fuck, please. Fuck me. Please.” He arches up and it’s all instinct. Travie laughs again and eases his fingers free, eliciting a gasp that William can’t hold back. Before he can do more though, Travie’s above him, against him, and finally inside him. “Oh. O-oh, fuck yes.”

Travie braced around him is a study of brown and blue and color and William loses himself in it, sweat and ink and skin and the hard, driving thrust of Travie’s hips, his cock buried inside him. “Fuck, baby boy. So fucking tight for me. So gorgeous. Fuck yes.”

He’s not sure when he comes, what it is that pushes him over the edge. Everything’s a blur, wet and sticky and warm on his stomach and in his head and inside him as Travie shifts back and grabs his hips, pushing deeper until he comes as well. William shudders, the movement causing the cuffs to rattle again and then slumps back to the bed, everything a white haze of ache except for the sharp red spikes in his shoulders. “Can just stay here forever,” he murmurs into Travie’s smile as he leans in to kiss him. “Jus’ like this.”

“Pretty sure Pete isn’t giving you up that easy. Sharing, maybe, but he ain’t about to fuckin’ let me have you. You and your band’re gonna be his money makers.”

“Tax write-off.”

Travie laughs and eases out of him. “Whatever. You still belong to him.”

“Not for tonight though.”

His dark eyes are thoughtful as they look over William, assessing maybe, but definitely appreciating. “No. Not for tonight.”

**

Things with Pete don’t change after that as far as he can tell, too caught up in everything else that’s going on – finishing the album and hearing it, touring in their van to all the cities they can reach where people will listen. It’s only when he hears the whispers that he realizes maybe he’s wrong.

He finds out at a show, scene kids talking in the lines and afterward, things that could be rumors or lies or, just as likely, truth. For as big as the scene is, it’s equally as small.

He uses most of his minutes calling around and trying to find someone who knows something. He’s almost willing to settle for finding anyone when he finally gets an answer at Pete’s parents’ house and it’s actually Pete. He exhales in relief. “Pete.”

“Hey.” Pete sounds flat, not his usual self, and William moves into a semi-quiet corner of some roadside convenience store just to hear him. “People already have a name for it. The Best Buy Incident. You think I’m gonna get sued?”

He knows to ignore the protective layer of banter, he’s just not sure if he should. It might be the only thing holding Pete together. “You never know. They might be able to spin it. “Come to Best Buy where all the emo kids shop.”

“And live to tell the tale?”

“Yeah.” William curls the leather cord around his finger, feeling the bite of the metal bartskull against his neck. His voice is softer than he means it to be, unable to sustain the joke. “Thankfully.”

Pete’s quiet on the other end of the line for a long time. “The band’s in Europe. Touring the UK without me.”

He closes his eyes. No one who isn’t in a band gets what that means, what Pete’s sacrificing. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.” Pete laughs a little. “It really does.”

It takes William a moment to realize he hasn’t said anything, that he’s not sure he can with the leather twisted as tightly as he’s wound it. He lets it go and sighs shakily. “Can I be a selfish dick for a minute?”

“Why stop at a minute. I’m apparently a selfish dick all the time. By my reckoning, I shouldn’t even notice.”

William huffs something that might be construed as a laugh then clears his throat. “Did I…I mean…”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish my question.”

“Don’t have to. It’s what people ask, what they do. They figure they have to be to blame, so they blame themselves. They just assume they have enough power over your life that they can make you do stupid shit.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” He layers the sarcasm thickly and smiles to himself when he hears Pete laugh.

“Besides this isn’t what you think it is, what they’re making it out to be. I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I didn’t want to die. It was just too much for a while. Too loud. You know what I mean.” Most people would make it a question, but they both know it’s not. “And you know, we’re becoming successful. Am I even allowed to still be a whiny emo brat when that happens?”

“Are you capable of being anything else?”

“Asshole.” Pete laughs again, almost sounding like himself. “How are you doing?”

“Really? You just overdosed and we’re talking about me.”

“Hey, about two minutes ago, you tried to make it all about you, remember?”

“Oh, fine.” William smiles through a pout. “I’m doing okay.”

“Travie’s been taking care of you?”

“I haven’t seen him that much, but yeah. When we hook up, we have fun.”

“But?”

“There’s no but.”

“There’s totally a but.”

William rubs his eyes. He needs to put his glasses on to ward off the impending headache, drink some caffeine to definitely keep it out of migraine territory. “It’s not what I…thought it would be.”

“How do you mean?”

Tom points to the van and William waves, gathering a couple of bottles of soda and some candy bars as he heads to the front counter. The phone is wedged tight between his shoulder and ear as he walks. “It’s good. I mean, really good.” He smiles at the clerk and offers her a beer-soaked five in payment. “I just thought…” He stops and glances up at the clerk again, turning around for a probably false sense of privacy. “I thought he’d do the thing.”

“Do you know how many things ‘the thing’ could be?”

“Which thing do you think it is?” He turns back to take his change and his bag, offering another smile before heading out the door. “You know which thing.”

“He doesn’t do that?”

“Not really. I mean, some. A little. But not what I thought he’d do. What was implied.”

“You want me to talk to him?”

“No!” William glances around to make sure no one overheard his outburst. “No. God, no. Please.”

“Because I totally will.”

“No. I know. It’s okay.” He climbs in the passenger seat of the van and ignores the irritated glower Mike gives him as he starts the van. “It’s good.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am. Yeah.” They hit the freeway, lost in the pitch black for a moment. “Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

There’s a pause and, when Pete speaks again, he almost sounds surprised. “Yeah, Beckett. Me too.”

**
He and Mike have a game they’ve played for as long as William can remember. It some sort of twisted cousin of “Name That Tune” that started when they were drunker than they should have been, lying sideways across the twin bed in their shared room.

Mike always starts with Eddie Van Halen and William brings up Robert Plant, and then they go through half of rock history before Mike jabs William in the chest and informs him in a slurred, knowing tone, completely mocking in every way, that the only rock star William would ever want to be is Gabe Saporta. And then, before William can ask Mike what’s wrong with wanting to be Gabe Saporta, Mike starts correcting himself, laughing that he meant doing not being.

The problem is, no matter how many times he punches Mike and calls him an asshole, he’s not actually wrong. Because it is, after all, Gabe Saporta: taller than William, part of Midtown and all attitude. The thing is that because he's those things, that means that Gabe is like one of the things way out of your price range in a store window - it's not that you don't want it, it's just that you know there's no point in wanting.

When he gets the call from Pete that they're all touring together - TAI, Fall Out Boy and Gym Class Heroes, William is already excited in more ways than one. The thought of buses and dark corners and hotel nights with Pete and Travie are like heat in his veins, collars and ownership in places where no one knows them. And then Pete drops the bombshell that Midtown's coming along too. William knows he does a shit job of hiding his sharp inhale just from the sound of Pete's laugh. "Don't jerk off thinking about it, William." His tone is more amused than commanding, but it still makes William shudder. "In fact, don't jerk off until I tell you that you can."

"You're fucking evil, Wentz." He laughs, his cock already hard.

"That's why you love me, duder." Pete hangs up and William has to take a cold shower before he can even think about telling his band the news. Carden punches him in the arm and tells him to stop lying like a fucking whore, so William tells him to call Pete, after which the serious fanboy activities begin.

They cycle through all of Midtown's records, arguing over songs and lyrics and giggling like complete idiots. The rest of the band shows up, even Tom and Butcher, and they spend the entire night with the CDs on repeat.

After everyone else crashes, sprawled across their crowded living room floor, William disappears into the bedroom and puts his collar on, calling Pete.

"Surprised you waited this long, Bilvy." Pete's voice is rough and tired, which means he's not sleeping again, and William waits a beat to see if he invites him over. Pete's good about knowing how much he can give and how much William needs, though, so he stays silent and William stretches out and closes his eyes.

"Had to wait for the rest of the guys to pass out. Don't want to let them know you love me most of all, scarecrow."

"I have a soft spot for tall guys with inferiority complexes, what can I say?"

"I don't have an inferiority complex, asshole." William laughs and runs his hand down his stomach, letting it rest just above the open fly of his jeans. "You just have the most out of control superiority complex. You make us all look bad in comparison."

"Hmmm. I like that." Pete laughs and William listens to the low scratch of his voice. "So am I going to see you on this tour, or is Travie going to monopolize you?"

"Belong to you," William reminds him softly. "So that's up to you."

"Travie takes better care of you. Gives you what you want."

"Mmm." William shrugs even though he knows Pete can't see him. "You both give me different things I want."

"Sweet-talker, Beckett." Pete yawns and William can hear him stretch. "So you're all by your lonesome and calling me, huh?"

"Well, I'd let you talk dirty to me and get me off in front of the band, but that might be a little embarrassing." He laughs again and shoves his jeans off completely, kicking them to the end of the bed. He rubs himself through his boxer-briefs and makes a low noise. "Of course, given our profession, it's also possible we're exhibitionists and maybe it'd be just fine."

"Dirty," Pete murmurs and William can hear him shift on the bed. "I like it. Though if I got you off in front of the whole band, I'm pretty sure they'd know that I liked you best."

"True. True." William bites his lower lip, harder until the pressure fans out down his jaw. He tilts his head back and feels the pull of the collar against his Adam's apple. "We-wearing my collar for you."

"I'll pretend to be surprised." Pete laughs and it's still rough and low, but there's heat in it now. Pete doesn't touch him, not really, not beyond tugging on the collar, but he's gotten very good at talking William through anything, voice rumbling along William's nerves and flaring bright and hot in his groin. "Your band tease you about your hard-on for Saporta?"

"Fuck you," William laughs breathlessly.

"Mmm. We're talking about you right now. Been a while since you've had someone inside you, hasn't it? Haven't seen Travie for ages." William closes his eyes and rubs a little more firmly before sliding his hand up his chest and then to his neck. "Not something though, right? Probably have your fingers buried in there already, don't you?"

"F-fuck," William breathes and adjusts the buckle of the collar, pulling it tighter. "N-no. Y-you know I don't. Not...not without permission."

"And what if I don't give it to you?" He hears rustling and he knows Pete's jerking off, can hear the telltale slide of skin on skin and the stutter in Pete's breath. "What if I make you wait until the tour? Until...until I can watch you?"

He releases the collar, his breath locked tight in his chest. "P-Pete. Fuck."

"Oh. Oh." Pete laughs, and it's hot and gasping. William can picture him on his bed, all skin and sweat and tattoos and he can't help but grab his dick, arching up off the bed as he strokes with one hand and wraps the other hard and tight around the base. "You gonna beg, Bilvy?"

"You're fu-fucking evil," William turns his head to the side, holding the phone in place with the pillow as he strokes, listening to the echo of Pete doing the same. "I'm beginning to think you don't have anything against dick, W-Wentz. This is just more...more..." He shudders hard as Pete's laugh cuts him off and then dissolves into a groan.

"Fuck, Beckett." Pete manages after a minute, and William's entire body is tense, coiled with need. He whimpers, not sure he can get much more out between the hard arch of his body and the tightness of the collar. Pete waits and William can't help but whimper again, muscles aching. "You want it? You want me to let you?"

He shudders hard, so close to the edge and desperate to fall off. Pete keeps waiting until William breaks, whimpering again. "Oh, god, please."

This time Pete's laugh frays William's last bit of control and he's coming almost before Pete gives him the okay to do so. He shakes through the orgasm and collapses against his pillow, gasping roughly. "Just imagine how it's going to be when you're around Gabe Saporta all day."

"I hate you," William murmurs, voice thick. "A lot."

"Liar."

"Yeah. You're the best boss ever." He hangs up on Pete's laugh and tugs the comforter over himself, curling his fingers under the collar before falling asleep.

**

There's a clamor for bunks that William ignores in favor of heading for the lounge, thinking the big feet and long legs he can see belong to Travie. "I hope you don't think I'm so easy that I'm going to let you nail me on the bus before we even get moving."

"Well, I hadn't considered it, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to." William feels the blush flood his entire body as he sees Gabe on the low, beat-up sofa, his legs splayed in front of him. "You must be Beckett."

"Yes...I...yes. Beckett. Me. William."

Gabe smiles and stands up, holding out his hand. "Gabe. Good to meet you."

"Meet. Yes." He laughs nervously, rubbing his neck with his palm. "God. I promise I'm not a complete imbecile, no matter what you might think from this spectacular first impression. I just, you know, don't tend to proposition complete strangers."

"Pity." Gabe smiles, and William swallows hard. "Besides, I've seen you guys live, so we're just mostly strangers. And if it's any consolation, you don't strike me as the imbecilic type." He glances around the lounge, an excellent reflection of the ancient exterior of the bus. "We're having a party on our bus tonight. Kick this off right. You guys'll be there?"

It's phrased as a question, but William's pretty sure it's nothing of the kind. "Yeah. Of course."

"Offer you can't refuse, right? We're big on those in Jersey." Gabe ruffles William's hair and then slaps his ass as he walks past. William starts and turns, unable to keep from smiling, especially when Gabe weaves his way through William's band members as they stand outside the bunks. Carden turns to William, eyes wide, as Gabe disappears in the rectangle of sunlight to the outside world.

"Dude. That was Gabe fucking Saporta."

Will feels his grin stretching. "Yeah. I know."

"What the fuck was he doing on our bus?"

"He wanted to meet me." William takes Sisky's duffel bag off one of the bunks and tosses it onto another one. "See if the truth was as amazing as the rumor."

"So he was disappointed, then?" Sisky grabs his duffel and throws it back onto the bunk.

"Bullshit," Carden informs him. "He was probably wondering who he pissed off to get stuck with you for an opening act."

"Us, Carden." William reminds him, unable to stop smiling. "Careful with those insults."

"Calling you a pussy doesn't make me one, dude." Mike peeks out the window at the gathered buses. "Fucking Midtown, man."

"Oh, and by the way, they're having a kick off party tonight."

"And we're invited?" Sisky's just as awed as Carden. "All of us?"

"Yep." William hops onto the bunk and tosses Sisky's bag onto the floor, swinging his long legs. "And if you don't embarrass me, I'll claim you as my band. Hell, I might even let you stay."

"If anyone's going to embarrass themselves, it's going to be you, Princess." Carden picks up Sisky's bag and throws it at William. "How are you going to fawn over Pete and Travie if you're spending all your time fawning over Saporta?"

"Fuck you." William kicks at Carden, then hops off the bunk to follow the rest of the band outside. Just because they've finally scored a rundown bus and driver doesn't mean they don't still have to do everything else themselves. Carden shakes his head and laughs.

"Fucking Midtown, Bilvy. We're gonna be fucking rock stars."

William wraps his arm around Carden's shoulders. "Damn right."

**

It's not so much a party as a bar on wheels, and William hangs back a little at first. Most of the people there are friends or more, but the fact that they're all hanging around with Midtown and William's allowed to be there - viewed as an equal - kind of blows his mind. Travie sees him and grins, waving from where he's talking to Rob and Gabe. William waves back, flushing when Gabe turns his head and flashes a smile that's sharp and knowing and full of something that makes William's stomach bottom out.

Travie laughs and turns Gabe back around, saying something William can't hear, but that makes him blush more all the same. He moves away from them toward Pete and the rest of Fall Out Boy, resting his elbows on Patrick's shoulders.

"Hey." Patrick looks up, smacking William in the face with his ball cap. "Welcome to the big leagues."

"Triple A, maybe." William informs him. "Not quite the majors."

"Sports metaphors. Only you, Beckett." Patrick grins and ducks out of the way, and only quick reflexes keep William standing instead of in a heap at Pete's feet.

"You're a complete fucker, Stump."

"Patrick is an angel of all things good and amazing," Pete states, matter-of-factly. "Don't call him names and make me have to hurt you, duder."

"You're not tall enough to hurt me."

Pete smiles, his eyebrows raised, his gaze traveling down William's body to his groin. "Seems to me I'm exactly the right height to hurt you."

Everyone laughs, and William relaxes, sticking close enough to Pete that his outgoing personality overshadows William's nervousness.

"I don't bite, you know."

William starts and turns, finding himself face to face with Gabe. "That's not what I've heard."

"Scurrilous lies and rumors. Unless you're into that, in which case I can only say that I like to give people what they want."

“So you’re flexible. Good to know.”

Gabe’s eyebrow rises slowly and his smile seems hooked to it, corners curving upward as well. “I think you and I are going to get along famously, Beckett.”

“You do, huh?”

“Oh yes.” Gabe nods and wraps an arm around William’s shoulder, leading him toward the booze. “I do indeed.”

**

Touring with big name bands is both better and worse than touring with bands that are about their same level. Better means bigger crowds, better venues, potential new fans and help from real live techs when it comes to hauling shit. Worse means people suffering through you or chanting for Midtown or Fall Out Boy and smart-ass comments about how they got where they are. Better means more booze and people to bullshit with and a bus and worse means that everyone’s real all of a sudden and the guys you’ve hero-worshiped turn out to be people.

“That is not a word.”

William looks up from his new tiles at Gabe. “Pardon?”

“That is not a word.”

Of course, sometimes they’re real people, and that’s better than you expected. “It is so.”

“Real words don’t have that many vowels in them.”

“You’re aware we’re playing real Scrabble and not the dirty words version, aren’t you?”

“Obviously.” Gabe takes a drink of his vodka. “Otherwise the board would be full of four letter words instead of…twelve letter non-words.”

They’re the only ones awake on the long stretch through the Mojave desert, even insomniac Pete sleeping on the couch. Sleeping or passed out, William’s not completely sure, but it’s the same end result. “We can look it up in the dictionary…” There’s a long silence, a heavy silence, and William looks up at Gabe again. “What?”

“You’re on tour for three months and one of the essentials for your limited amount of space is a dictionary.”

“Well, yes. But, I mean, it’s a pocket one, not the OED.”

“Right. Right. Of course. Makes all the difference.” Gabe’s barely hiding a smile. “You do realize that only three people on this tour actually know what the OED is, right?”

“You’re not one of them, are you?” William grins widely. “You’re sitting there right now, trying to figure it out.”

“Oh, fuck you, Beckett.”

“No. No. I can see the gears turning. Is it the O throwing you or the E? You seem to take issue with vowels.”

Gabe smirks. “You know what the problem with smart people is?”

“Oh, no. Pray tell.”

Gabe lays down his tiles, earning twice as many points as William’s contested word. “They all think they’re the smartest.”

William stares at the word and then starts laughing. “This is why I shouldn’t play with philosophy majors.”

“I don’t know.” Gabe takes another drink, his eyes moving over William in a way William both is and isn’t used to. “They can be fun to play with.”

The air heats up with Gabe’s stare, and William shifts in his seat. This is what it’s like every night on stage, Gabe’s eyes burning as he watches from the wings. William throws himself into every performance to dissipate some of the heat, half of the time missing Gym Class’s performance because he has to lock himself in a bathroom backstage to jerk off to deal with the residual. Gabe always tells him good show, and sometimes he offers a suggestion or a tip, and it takes all of William’s concentration to look him in the eye instead of sinking down to his knees.

Pete and Travie have noticed and teased him about it, dropping off as the tour goes on and he and Gabe become friends. Pete teases him about that, telling William it’s one thing to trade up for sex, but something else altogether when he’s looking for more important friends. William reminds Pete that he was the one who had to see Gabe’s dick before they actually became friends.

“So, I can’t quite figure you out.”

William blinks and focuses back on Gabe’s face. “Why would you want to?”

“I think it might be beneficial to understand the inner workings of one William Eugene Beckett.”

“My dad’s not very interesting, to be honest. And neither am I.”

“That is a bald-faced lie.”

“I’m not,” William laughs. “I went to school, got a job at The Gap, formed a rock band.”

“Right. Right. Your everyday suburban tale.”

“We can’t all be Uruguayan immigrants.”

“Thank goodness, or I’d have to come up with some new shtick.”

“Shtick.” William nods, eyebrow arched. “Right.”

Gabe glances up sharply then seems to relax. He rubs the back of his neck then finishes his vodka. “Fucking buses. Slept like a baby in the van. Can’t sleep on the bus. Drivers fucking hate me.”

“Does that mean we’re playing Scrabble again?”

“Is that what you want to do?”

William recognizes the tone of voice. It’s the same slow promise as when Travie calls him ‘baby boy’ or when Pete’s fingers graze the back of his neck before curving around the leather cord. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, and he watches as Gabe wets his lips.

“I have Boggle if you’d prefer.”

He feels the flash of disappointment in Gabe’s eyes to match the sinking sensation in his own stomach. It boils there with the worry that turning him down might ruin something else beyond the sexual tension.

“Oh, bring it, Beckett.” Gabe taunts him, and William’s sour stomach coats with relief. “I’m kicking your ass at Boggle.”

**

Mike settles into the bunk with William, curling up in the curve of William’s body. It’s hard enough fitting one to a bunk, and two’s nearly impossible, especially when you add in the fact that William’s tall, skinny and made of bones and angles. Still, it’s obvious that William wants company since he scoots back against the wall of the bus without comment.

“You okay?”

“Are you asking me about my feelings?” William snuffles a laugh into Mike’s neck and Mike punches him on the curve of his hip. “Admit it, Carden, you’re a complete giiiiiiiiirl.”

“Fuck you.” He starts to pull away, but William tugs him back, arm circling Mike’s waist. Mike relaxes and William closes his eyes for a minute, breathing in the raw, unwashed smell of Mike’s hair. He hears the breath rumble in Mike’s chest before he speaks and presses his hand against Mike’s chest, feeling it move. “So are you? Okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you know.” Mike shrugs. “You’ve got the weird thing with Pete and Travie.”

“It’s not weird. It’s different, and I don’t need your judgmental, heteronormative…”

“Hey. Hey. Remember the rule? No big words.” He shifts onto his back and looks up at William. “You know I don’t give a shit about who you’re with. I just want you to be happy and shit.”

“Why would you think I’m not happy?” He frowns and sits up a little bit, as much as the bunk will allow. “I’m happy.”

“Yeah. I mean, you are. I get that.” Mike frowns, his mouth wrinkling in confusion. “It’s just…I mean…it makes you happy?”

“Which part?” He sits up the rest of the way, but hunched over, careful to keep his distance from Mike now. “The fact that I fuck guys or the fact that I…”

“Stop it.” Mike sits up as well and glares at him. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me, Beckett. You know that I don’t fucking judge you on any of that shit. I judge you on stuff like your taste in music and the fact that you eat vegetables on a regular basis.”

“So what the hell?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “I know you better than anyone else. Better than Pete and Travie, no matter what they do with you, and something’s wrong, so you need to tell me what it is, or I’m just going to assume the worst and bust some asses of some of our very good friends, got it?”

“Got it.” William sighs and rubs his knees with his palms. “It’s…”

“Now’s not the time to quote Monty Python, dude.”

William starts to say something then stops, laughing softly. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” He shifts back, lying down on the bunk. “Here’s the thing. I like Pete. I like Travie. I like…everything.”

“But?” Carden stretches out again too, kicking William’s ankle lightly. “C’mon. I’m a big boy. I can take it. Unless you say you need me, in which case I will have to remove your balls and stuff them in your nostrils.”

“I love it when you talk dirty. Seriously.”

“You are a freak of nature, Beckett, and I’m not talking about your sexual proclivities.”

“Ooooh, a big word, Carden. You’re turning me on again.” He turns on his side and rests his head on his bicep, his upper arm bend over his shaggy hair. He’s quiet for a long moment, and Mike waits him out, just like he always does. “It’s not like I thought it would be.”

“What isn’t?”

“All of it? This?” He motions around the bunk, encompassing the bus and the tour and more, fairly certain that Mike gets it. “The problem is that I don’t know how I thought it would be.”

“Just that this isn’t it.” It’s not really a question, and maybe Mike feels the same. The bus is great, but it’s not the van, and they’re something real now, not just a bunch of guys trying to make it, and it’s not the guys they though they were trying to make it with. William loves Butcher and Tom, but they’re Butcher and Tom, not AJ and Little Mike. “It’s good though, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes. Of course. This is…this is it, you know? This is what we’ve wanted forever and it’s good, but…”

“Is it this?” Mike imitates William’s gesture, waving his hand. “Or is it the other stuff? You thought maybe it’d be perfect when this got added in and it’s not?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t laugh.”

“It’s…Gabe.”

“Gabe.”

“Yeah. Gabe. Saporta.”

“Yeah. I got that you meant that Gabe.” Mike blows out a long breath and then he tries very hard to press his lips together to keep them from curling up into a smile. “You’ve got a thing for Gabe.”

“You’re laughing.”

“I’m not laughing. If I were laughing, I would…” He gives up and starts laughing, burying his face in William’s thin pillow. “I…I…” It’s muffled, and William narrows his eyes and places his foot solidly against Mike’s thigh and shoves him out of the bunk. He flails wildly in the air for what seems like forever before he lands on his ass on the walkway. “Ouch, you fucker.”

“I hate you.” He pulls the curtain shut, but Mike gets up and looks in on him. “You’ve got a thing for Gabe.”

“Oh, like you aren’t slobbering at his feet, Carden. You’ve got as big a hard on for Midtown as anyone.”

“All this angst is because you’ve got the hots for Saporta.”

“Fuck you.” William kicks at him again, but Mike avoids it this time.

“I’m sorry, dude, I just don’t get it. You’ve been horny for him since you were, like, thirteen and first discovered what horny was. And now you’re near him all the time. What did you expect?”

“Well, I can’t be horny for him.”

“Why not?” Mike frowns and then barks out a laugh. “Because of Travie and Pete? You’re kidding, right? Dude, being involved with people doesn’t mean you don’t get to be horny for other people. Being horny for people is what life’s all about.”

“But I want…”

“You want to do something about it, but you’re with the other two.”

“Yes.”

“Well. They share you with each other. Maybe they’ll share you with Gabe.”

“Yeah.” William sighs and looks at Mike seriously. “Do you really think Saporta’s the type to share?”

**

He’s been careful until now, not wearing his collar for anything other than the few hours he’s spent in hotel rooms with Travie when they’ve managed to bed down for a night. But after today’s show, Gabe cornered him in the dressing room and looked at him like he had something to say. William’s heart had caught in his chest, forgetting how to beat for a few moments before taking off rapidly, loud enough he was sure Gabe could hear it. Gabe didn’t actually say anything at all as his fingers grazed William’s collarbone lightly, leaving a hot trail behind on William’s skin. Finally, he looked at William and smiled and said, ‘Good show’. William hadn’t given him more than that, ducking away from the wall and putting space between them.

And now he’s looking for more as they crowd into the club where Gabe’s DJing. Travie gives William a sidelong glance and slides his hand to the base of William’s spine, as if sensing his nervousness.

Gabe’s eyes are invisible in the darkness, but William can feel them like a brand. He reaches instinctively, touching the black leather collar Travie put on him. It feels tighter than normal, choking him already. Travis’s hand is firm and settled in the small of William’s back. He’s fairly certain he’s doing this in self-defense, knowing what little distance he’s built and kept between him and Gabe keeps getting smaller with every time they hang out after a show, playing games, staying up late, drinking so much that taking a chance, seeing if he’s reading the signals right starts to look like a good idea.

“Gabanti’s looking at you like you’re on the menu, baby boy.” Travie’s voice is light and playful. Despite the fact that he buckled the collar around William’s neck, Travis fails at being jealous or possessive. “Like a dog with a bone.”

“Boner!” Pete pipes in, ducking under Travie’s other arm. “Should go up and tell him you’re taken.”

“No.” William doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t mean to say anything. Club scenes are the most challenging for him – Travie gives him restrictions and William adds his own, trying to see how deep he can sink into his headspace with all the outside distractions and the need to navigate Travie’s rules.

“Don’t worry, Billiam,” Pete assures him. “We’ll pretend we don’t even know you if Gabey-baby makes a move.”

He gives Pete a look and there’s a reason Travie doesn’t bother with voice restrictions for William – “You tell me shit without words already, Beckett. Master of the pissed off bitch face, baby.” – so he doesn’t bother to say anything at all, though he does press closer to Travie, letting him tug him in against him. Pete just grins then rushes forward and tackles Gabe, nearly sending them both onto their asses. Gabe laughs and the moment’s gone, his smile back to normal and his eyes lightened with laughter. William stays near Travis, keeping distance between himself and Gabe. Gabe keeps smiling at him, something dangerously like promise in it. He touches William’s shoulder a couple of times, and the touch makes William shiver. Gabe never reacts, which gets to William even more, sending him deeper into Travis’s personal space. Gabe backs off and William finds he can breathe, which almost makes him laugh.

“You all right, baby boy?” Travie asks lightly as the music and crowd blare around them. His hand settles against William’s back, solid and sure, and William leans into the touch. Travie’s frowning, his dark eyes concerned.

“Yeah.” William nods, but he can tell Travie doesn’t believe him at all. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. You’re wound up tight, nervous as fuck. What’s going on, Bilvy?”

He takes a sip of his drink, watching as Pete and Gabe flip each other shit in the DJ booth. “I’m not. I’m relaxed.”

“This isn’t relaxed. I’ve seen you relaxed. This is jumpy and edgy and possibly in need of some serious sedation, which I happen to have. So you need to tell me if I need to break out some stash and lighten you up. Or maybe I just need to go have a talk with Gabanti.”

“Gabe?”

“You and he are like best fucking buddies normally, but as soon as you heard he was going to be here tonight, you started wigging the fuck out. First you say you don’t wanna come, then you want to come but you want the collar on. Now I’m more than happy to play along, but I do like to know what the game is.”

“There isn’t any game.”

“You and Gabe aren’t playing at anything?” He cocks an eyebrow, ratcheting it up with his obvious disbelief.

“Gabe might be, but I’m not.” He looks at Travie, hoping he comes across as convincing, because he’s honestly not sure if he’s telling the truth. What’s happening with Gabe, whatever it is, doesn’t feel like a game, but he doesn’t know what else it might be.

Travie doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t say it loudly, so William just turns his attention to his drink. After a while of silence, Travie moves out onto the dance floor, getting lost in the crowd. William watches for a moment then sets his glass on someone’s table, heading for the bathroom. The collar is choking him now, constrictive and restrictive in a way that’s making his skin itch and crawl.

The hallway is badly lit, but the bathroom light assaults his eyes with white brightness. He blinks against it and moves to the sinks, looking at himself in the grainy mirror. He looks tired from weeks on tour and flushed from booze. The collar is dark against his skin and he tries to swallow against it, but instead he coughs and chokes.

“You okay?”

He jerks his head and sees Gabe leaning against the wall next to the door. The door has closed behind him, so the words echo slightly in the acoustics.

“Yeah.” He nods, not sure he can force any more out. Gabe’s eyebrow lifts slightly and he pushes off the wall. William swallows hard, feeling the pressure, nearly choking again. “I…I…I’m…”

Gabe’s hand curves along William’s jaw, the tips of his fingers molding to the line of it as his thumb swipes slowly across William’s lower lip. “You shouldn’t be wearing this collar.”

“I…I l-like it.” His knees buckle slightly and he catches himself on the sink as Gabe tilts William’s head back, his other hand moving up to unbuckle the leather. “D-don’t. I l-like it.”

“I know.” Gabe agrees softly, his voice low and rough, promising. “Didn’t say you shouldn’t wear a collar.” He slides the leather off William’s neck, and William looses a shuddering breath he can’t help. He feels like he’s floating, falling, like something he was holding onto just gave way. He knows without a doubt that he’s given himself away to Gabe with that one breath, but he can’t hold it back without the collar restraining him. Gabe replaces the collar with the touch of his fingers, and when Gabe talks again, his voice sounds like possibility. “I said you shouldn’t be wearing this collar.”

“It’s…it’s my collar.” He knows it’s a feeble protest, a token because he’s achingly hard in his jeans and he’s completely breathless.

“Maybe I want you wearing my collar.”

He sways forward, so willing. Gabe’s eyes are dark even in the bright light, and he doesn’t look away, doesn’t move, making William come to him.

The moment shatters when the door opens and the sound of the club floods in, two guys stumbling into the bathroom. Gabe steps back and heads out into the club, giving William a smile as he disappears into the melee. William splashes water on his face again and looks at his reflection. He’s still flushed, though he knows it’s arousal now and not the alcohol. His throat is bare and he rubs it with his hand, feeling the slight depression in his skin where the collar was. He squeezes, just enough to feel the pressure then stops, heading out into the club.

It’s easy to spot Travie and Gabe, since they tower over almost everyone in the club, and Pete’s usually like the Tasmanian devil, a whirl of energy and commotion. He finds Pete first and moves in close. Pete excels at contact, so it’s easily to get caught up in him, in his touch.

“Hey, Bilvy!”

He nods and doesn’t move away, spending the rest of the night caught in Pete’s periphery and ignoring Travie’s curious glances at his throat. Gabe watches him, not looking away when William catches him looking, but his eyes seem more curious than hot. William’s not sure if that means he’s done something wrong or something right, though he thinks that’s largely because he’s not sure what would qualify as which.

**

They all meet back up and ride to the buses together, though Gabe makes them stop at a Denny’s, ordering two plates of fries. He wolfs his food down and then steals everyone else’s fries until Travie nearly stabs him with his fork.

“Fuck off, Gabanti,” he laughs. “Buy your own damn fries.”

“I did.”

“Buy more, fucker.” He curves a protective hand around his plate, shielding it from Gabe. William reaches over, slathers on of Travie’s fries in catsup and then holds it out to Gabe before Travie realizes what he’s doing and squawks a protest. “Betrayal, Beckett. Bald-ass betrayal.”

Gabe licks salt and catsup from his lips. “Your boys are turning on you, Travie. Already looking for the next big thing.”

Travie’s laugh fills the whole dining room. “You’re the big thing already, Gabanti, baby. You ain’t the next nothin’.”

“True enough.” Gabe laughs, though when he looks at William, there’s no trace of a smile.

**

They play Phoenix and it’s hot as fuck, all of them soaked in sweat before they even take the stage and by the time their set is done, William’s t-shirt is clinging like a second skin and he’s half afraid it might actually be melted to him. The merch and signing tents are in the middle of some sort of hell vortex, so none of it dissipates by the time he’s autographed more t-shirts, CDs, jeans, arms, tickets, magazines and, in Butcher’s case, some scary grizzled guy’s chest.

“Better than sex, huh?”

He starts at the feel of Gabe’s hand on his shoulder, almost hot enough already to be annoyed at the surge of heat it brings to his veins. Several of the fans notice him and start asking for autographs. Gabe laughs and raises his hand.

“We’ll be out later. Just cutting in line here to have Thrilliam and the boys sign my copy.”

William snorts and opens the CD, scrawling his name across the back of the booklet. Carden draws a dick and then William can’t see anything else as it passes down the line. “Go away, Saporta, before they all remember that they came here to see you.”

Gabe grabs the CD from Sisky and gives William an infectious grin. “Don’t go stealing all my fans, Beckett, or I’ll be lonely.”

“Bill’ll keep you company,” Carden smirks, at least until William kicks his ankle hard.

“Yeah, but we’re running out of board games, Carden.”

“Nonsense.” William tries to suppress his grin as he keeps signing. “We have Trivial Pursuit and Mille Bournes and an unlimited supply of cards you stole from that casino in Vegas.”

Gabe leans down, his breath stirring William’s hair. “You up for some fun and games tonight?”

William licks his lips, his brain stopping in the middle of his signature and he has to think to restart it. Tonight’s a hotel night, which means beds instead of bunks and locking doors and something resembling privacy. “Have plans, I’m afraid.”

Gabe nods and steps back, his smile somewhat dimmed. “Well, I’ll catch you later then.”

Carden glances at William as Gabe leaves and rolls his eyes eloquently. He can’t actually say anything, given that they’re surrounded, but he doesn’t have to. They finish signing halfway through Gym Class’s set and head back toward the stage and buses. Mike waits until the venue security has them out of sight of the fans before he slugs William hard on the arm.

“Ow. Fucker.”

“Look, I put up with all your shit all the time, and I don’t ever complain…”

“You always complain.”

“I do not complain. But I’m putting my foot down.”

“You’re aware I have absolutely zero idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Saporta offered you what you want, and you turned him down.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“Because I have eyes.”

“Well, looks can be deceiving.”

“Yeah, you don’t look like a complete fucking idiot, but you obviously are” Mike takes another swing, but William steps just out of reach. “You’re hot for Gabe. He’s obviously mental, because he appears to be hot for you. He took your collar from you.”

“So?”

“So I accidentally touched it once – and you can bet your ass it was an accident, because I don’t need to touch any of your weird sex shit-”

“Because you have your own?”

This time the punch connects and William winces. “Because, dickhead, I’m your best friend, but that’s it.”

“You’re also my guitarist.”

“Okay, I’m also going to be your fucking murderer if you don’t shut up. My point is…fuck. What was my point?”

“The only one I can discern from this conversation is that you’re possibly considering homicide, and I should mail one of those ‘if you’re reading this, I’m already dead’ letters to Pete so he knows you did it.”

“The collar!” Mike looks around as he realizes how loud he spoke, but fortunately, Travie’s launching into Cupid’s Chokehold, so there’s no chance he was overheard. “I touched that thing and you freaked out and that was before Pete and Travie were around. Gabe fucking stole it, and you’re perfectly calm.”

William’s honestly not sure how Mike’s derived calm from any of his actions lately, but he’ll take it and hope everyone else is seeing the same as Carden. “He’ll give it back.”

“Yo. Earth to Bill. I’m pretty sure that’s what he was inviting you over for tonight. You really think he’s hoping for an exciting round of go-fucking-fish?”

“I’m rooming with you and Butcher, Mike. Exactly what else do you think Gabe and I would get up to?”

“I’m pretty sure if we thought it would put us out of your misery? We’d fucking sleep in the hall.”

“What misery?” William punches Carden, catching him hard in the shoulder blade. Mike whirls around and they end up on the ground, wrestling and punching and, when Mike jabs William in the side with his elbow, William retaliates by tickling him.

“You complete and utter fuck.” Mike’s trying not to laugh or give in, but William has honed this to an art over the years of knowing and living with him. “Shit. Shit.” He loses the fight, dissolving into helpless, manic laughter. “Fucking…shit. Stop. Stop. Shit.”

“Should we leave you two alone?”

William looks up at Pete, Patrick, Gabe and Rob. They’re all smiling, looking down on him where he’s straddling his guitarist, knees digging into Mike’s side. He can feel the flush starting to spread when Mike shoves him, sending William sprawling at Patrick’s feet.

“Nah.” Mike’s breathless and flushed too, and William realizes they’re both still soaked to the skin. “We’re good.”

“Oh, we can see that,” Pete assures them with a leer. “Put that in your show, and you’ll be all the rage.”

“Ignore Pete,” Patrick sighs. “He just gets tired of being the only one whose band-mates give him a boner.”

“Nah,” Rob drawls. “Gabe gives me those all the time…oh, no. Wait. Those are blowjobs.”

“You’re the one who keeps saying ‘suck my dick’.” Gabe holds out a hand to William and helps him up. “Not my fault you can’t score groupies and need a sympathy hummer.”

“You’re a giver,” Pete agrees..

“Yeah,” Rob smirks. “He’ll give you herpes, crabs, VD…” He dodges Gabe’s fist, laughing. “What else you got, Gabanti?”

“Twice the dick you do.”

“The silly putty you stuff in your jock don’t count,” Rob informs him as one of the techs comes up, tapping Gabe and Rob. “Saved by the bell. Now I have to be nice, the girls don’t like it when I’m mean to Gabe.”

“The girls don’t like you regardless of how you are, Roberto.” Gabe laughs as Rob flips him off and heads over to the wings. Patrick, Pete and Mike are talking to the tech, their attention caught by something newer and more exciting than Rob and Gabe’s familiar shtick. William follows his gaze then starts when he realizes Gabe’s turned to look at him.

“What?” His voice quavers slightly, but he knows Gabe’s due on stage soon, so he can’t say or do much.

“Stick around.”

“Aww. Are you worried that we really did steal all your fans away while we were outside?”

“No. Not really.” Gabe smiles at him, and there’s something in the sharp curve of it that makes William want to take a step back and put some distance between them, almost as much as it makes him want to move closer. “Just stick around.”

William nods. “I will.”

Gabe doesn’t look over at Pete or toward the stage at Travie as he trails a finger down the column of William’s throat. William vaguely hears Rob giving Gabe shit about hurrying the fuck up, and he can see the blur of the Gym Class guys coming off the stage, but it all fades as Gabe’s finger moves to the side of William’s throat and his thumb presses against the hollow. “Good.”

He pulls away and sound and motion rush back, William getting pushed aside by Matt, two techs and a drum kit. Gabe’s in a huddle with Rob and Heath and Tyler for their pre-show ritual and then they take the stage, the crowd going wild. William stands there and watches from the wings, his heart still pounding well into the third song.

**

It’s a hotel night, so by the time Midtown come off the stage, the only band members left are William and Fall Out Boy, all of them anxious to go on and be done. Their signings and meet and greets were earlier and more organized than TAI’s, so getting through the show means showers and beds. Parties in between, William knows, but the other two things are most important. He waves as Rob, Heath and Tyler take the van to the hotel, shifting over to make space for Gabe. No matter when he goes on, Gabe always sticks around for all the bands to do their show. William asked him why once and Gabe had told him that there’d always be women and booze, but music was the moment, and he didn’t want to miss one.

Gabe stands too close to William, and he can smell the sweat and adrenaline of him. William has the urge to bury his face against Gabe’s chest, inhale him until he fills William’s senses. Just the thought sends a wave of heat through William and he shifts his stance to adjust for his threatened arousal. Gabe downs a bottle of water then rubs the still-damp plastic against his forehead. “Good show, huh?”

“Great show.” He smiles, even though he knows Gabe will blow off the compliment. “Pete and the guys owe you for getting them all psyched up.”

“Wasn’t just us.” Gabe wraps his arm around William’s shoulder and the sweaty smell of him is like a wave. “Got us all laying the groundwork. They just swan around and reap the benefits.”

“Yeah. Don’t have to do any of the work.” William lets himself lean into Gabe, not resisting the slight pull as he curves his hand around William’s shoulder. “If I didn’t think everyone would leave before we even got our gear on stage, I’d demand that we go last at the next show.”

“Stop putting yourself down or I’m going to lock you in the luggage compartment with Sisky after he eats tacos.”

“You’re a cruel man.” He turns his head slightly, the side of his face pressed against Gabe’s shoulder, the salty sweat soaking through his shirt and cool against William’s face.

“Just a little cruel. If I was really cruel it would be Heath and the hummus.”

William smiles and turns his head a little bit more, pressing it to the curve of Gabe’s collarbone. He can feel Gabe’s breath hitch just slightly and he looks down at William. His hand moves up from William’s shoulder to the back of his neck, combing through his tangled hair. “Your mercy is unmatched.”

“Damn straight. Just don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my bad-ass rep.” His fingers catch on a snag in William’s hair and William tilts his head back, looking up at Gabe. He can feel his pulse pounding in his throat as Gabe’s eyes drop to his and then to his neck. “You sure you’ve got other plans tonight, Bilvy? Don’t want to play a game with me?”

William can’t look away, isn’t sure he wants to. Whatever this is with Gabe, it’s coming to a head soon if not now. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to play.”

“Allowed.” Gabe nods and glances at the stage. Fall Out Boy is almost done, and William knows he has to make a decision before Pete comes off the stage. “Allowed implies somebody else gets to tell you what you get to do.”

“I…”

“Which is cool. A pity, but cool.”

“A pity?”

“Yeah,” Gabe nods. “Because I’ll ask you, but I won’t ask permission.”

William glances at Pete again and then up at Gabe. “W-what would we play?”

“Hmmm. Charades? Twister? Tag?” He smiles at William and shrugs. “Maybe we’ll just hang out.”

“Hang out.” The promise is still in Gabe’s voice, but he’s backed off enough to offer William an out. He knows he wants to go farther, but he’s not sure he’s not going to take the out anyway. He’s not sure how to tell the high school yearbook superlative committee that he’s apparently gone from ‘most changed’ to ‘most likely to cocktease the lead singer of Midtown’. Of course, he never expected to go from the baseball team to this either. “I think…I think I’d like that. Hanging out.”

“Do you need permission for that?”

William looks back at Pete. He’s pressed against Patrick’s side, leaning into him. The crowd is going wild and whatever Pete’s going to want tonight, it’s not going to be William kneeling at his feet. He swallows hard and then shakes his head. “No. I don’t need permission.”

**

They get caught outside the venue and end up spending an hour greeting fans, taking pictures, shaking hands and giving hugs. Gabe honestly loves this part of it all, especially after a good show. William can practically feel the energy coming off of him in waves, tension and excitement and the pure joy of all of it. It’s almost enough to make him think that Gabe’s forgotten about the charged promise of being alone together, except for the looks Gabe keeps shooting his way.

When they finally manage to get away and to the hotel – Gabe laughs that Pete’s actually good for something when the fans spot him and Joe and swarm toward them – Gabe leads him to a room on the second floor. It’s a dodgy chain that’s still almost above their price range, but after the last hotel, a couple people put their foot down about sharing beds with bugs the size of squirrels. Gabe unlocks the door with a key card and stands back, waving William in before him. The lamps beside the beds are both on, but there’s a distinct lack of tour detritus – no duffel bags, no booze. He walks the length of the room, his fingers grazing over the top of the dresser. One of the drawers is slightly open, and William catches it with his finger. Gabe’s clothes are folded neatly in the drawer in perfectly aligned stacks filling up the space.

“My boss at The Gap would have loved you.”

“It’s a trade-off,” Gabe assures him, sitting lightly on the end of one of the beds. “I fold clothes well, but I’m kind of an asshole.”

“They usually frown on that sort of thing, yeah.” There’s a table by the window and he touches that too, lifting the notepad and pen and sliding them into his pocket.

“You look nervous. Or possibly like you’re casing the joint.”

“I’ve been in your van. You guys don’t have anything worth stealing.” William looks over at Gabe and meets his steady gaze. “Is this really your room?”

“No. Someone else copied my wardrobe and OCD habits.”

“Who are you rooming with?” Even with Gabe’s near-obsessive cleaning tendencies, there’s no way someone else is camped out here. Not yet. Normally they squeezes three to four to a room if they can, showering off the stench of the road and each other before sleeping dreamlessly on rented beds and starting the cycle over again. Gabe’s just watching him, and William cocks an eyebrow. “Well?”

“You.”

He knows for a fact from Tony’s room assignments that he’s sharing a room with his entire band, Sisky on the rollaway cot. “Unless there’s room for four more, I don’t think so.”

“It’s not a tour room,” Gabe informs him. “It’s my room.”

It’s a cheap motel on the crappy side of town, but it’s a room all to himself. William shakes his head. “So why am I here?”

Gabe gets to his feet and moves closer to William. William doesn’t move, barely breathes. A room to themselves. He knows why he’s here. Gabe reaches out, almost touching Williams hip before turning his hand and grabbing clean clothes from the still-open drawer. “I think you know.”

“I have s-suspicions.” He swallows hard, blinking in confusion as Gabe turns on his heel and heads for the bathroom.

“Just remember, curiosity killed the cat.”

“I don’t think either of us are confused that you’re here for my pussy.”

“Ha.” He glances back at William. “I’m going to take a shower. Your bag’s in the closet if you want to do the same.”

“Are you inviting me to take a shower with you?”

“Fuck no. Shower’s all mine. Just thought you might want the lukewarm water that’s left over.”

“You’re a giver.”

“I’m a saint among men.” Gabe agrees, deadpan. “And don’t bitch, because if you were in your band’s room, you’d be lucky if you had cold water left.”

“Oh, no. My band prefers filth.”

“Yeah, right.” Gabe disappears through the door and William waits for the shower to start before digging his stuff out of the closet. The bag he packed on the bus is on the luggage rack, but it’s open and his leather collar is resting on top of his t-shirts. His breath catches and he leans against the closet door, reaching for the collar and running the leather through his fingers. His throat feels constricted just looking at it.

He’s still standing there, trying to breathe when Gabe comes out of the bathroom, boxer-briefs low on his hips and a towel around his neck, his hair dripping down onto his shoulders.

“D-do…do you want me to wear this?”

“Do you want to?” There’s nothing in Gabe’s voice, no clue as to what the right answer is.

“I…” He stops, uncertain of the answer and, more importantly, the question. Instead of completing his thought, he grabs his bag. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay.” Gabe stretches out on one of the beds and reaches for the remote. William watches the play of skin and muscle for a moment then shuts himself in the bathroom. His chest feels tight, and he realizes he still has the collar in his hand.

He sets the collar down and strips out of his clothes, moving into the shower and turning the water as hot as he can. It pounds down on him, too hot until his skin is used to it, and he can feel the blood pricking beneath his skin. He takes it for as long as he can then turns the water to cold before slapping it off. He dries off quickly and tugs on loose sweats and a t-shirt. He can’t help staring at the collar, but he doesn’t put it on, shoving it into his bag instead and moving back out into the room. His hair is damp, and he runs his fingers through it as he tosses his bag into the closet.

Gabe’s still stretched out on the bed, watching something with the sound off. William expects porn, but sees it’s some nature documentary as he sits beside Gabe. The other bed is empty, and he knows he should probably sit there, but near Gabe feels right. “You’re not really asking me about the collar.”

“No.” Gabe turns off the TV and sits up, back against the pillows. He doesn’t take his eyes off William. “Not really.”

“Do you want to…know things?”

“Do you want me to know them?”

William can tell that Gabe’s tense, nervous or agitated. That somewhere between William leaving the room and now, something changed. “I like wearing it. I like feeling it against my throat when I swallow.”

“Pete puts it on you?” It’s phrased as a question, but William isn’t sure that it is.

“Pete has. And Travie has. But I bought it for myself. I like the feel of it. I want to feel it pressing on my throat. I want to pull on the strap until the buckle digs into my skin. Sometimes they help. Most of the time, it’s just me.”

“You said you had to ask permission.” Gabe’s position relents slightly, his hand reaching out and brushing William’s hair off his forehead. William closes his eyes at the touch and leans into it.

“And you said you wouldn’t ask.”

Gabe nods as if deciding something and curves his hand around to the back of William’s neck. He pulls him in and William doesn’t have time to breathe before Gabe is kissing him, mouth hot and hungry against William’s. He’s not aware of how long he’s been waiting for this until it comes, until he lets Gabe pull him against his chest and can feel him breathing through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. There have been late nights of games and talks and no sleep, and other nights of exhausted and desperate sleep after thinking about this, wanting this, sure it was out of reach.

William shifts over Gabe as he slides down onto the bed, letting William settle between his legs. William groans softly into his mouth as they press together, his cock hard against Gabe’s through the thin layers of cloth. It’s not like anything else, and it’s not at all like he imagined it would be. Everything – all his thoughts and fantasies – pales in comparison to the real thing, the heat and movement of Gabe’s body.

Gabe’s hand is still on the back of William’s neck, holding him close. William struggles just slightly, just to feel the resistance. He can’t help the quick gasp as Gabe tightens his grip, pulling him closer. He goes too easily, wanting too much. This has been beneath the surface, both of them pretending it didn’t exist. “Gabe,” he murmurs against Gabe’s mouth as Gabe’s finger dig into the back of his neck. “God, yes.”

“What do you like, Bilvy?” Gabe’s voice is low and rough and William can feel it all the way through him. “What do you want?”

“You,” William manages, knowing it’s not the answer Gabe’s looking for, but afraid to let the words that are threatening spill out.

“Me.” Gabe laughs and tightens his grip even further, then rolls them over, shifting up to straddle William’s thighs. “You want me.”

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

“Mmm. Pete and Travie aren’t enough, huh?”

“Not fair.” William shakes his head, his hair catching damply on the pillow.

“No? You’ve got every front man on the tour wrapped around your little finger.” Gabe glances down at William’s body between his legs then runs his fingers lightly over the bulge straining against William’s sweats. “And I’m not being fair?”

William shakes his head again. “It’s not like that.”

“Pete tells you what to do when you’re foundering.” Gabe’s fingers move up to William’s hips, thumbs rubbing just above his waistband. “And Travie likes to hold you down.” He grabs William’s wrists and guides his arms up over his head, bracing himself over him. “Hmm?”

The knowledge that Gabe knows, that he’s noticed, sends a jolt to William’s cock. He shudders just a little with Gabe’s tightening grip. “Y-yes.”

“Both of them give you something you want.” Gabe releases him and shifts back, letting his fingers skim along the underside of William’s arms. “But not what you need.”

“What I…” William swallows hard, closing his eyes as Gabe keeps moving his hands, grazing his touch along William’s collarbone. “What I need.”

“Yeah, Bilvy.” The room is hot and anticipation is boiling in William’s body, coupling with the ache of want. “What you need.”

“Need…I need you.”

“You need something.” Gabe grins and it’s all teeth, all William can focus on until he feels Gabe’s hands moving again, one settling on each side of his throat. “You have a word?”

“Ch-ch-chicago.”

“Doesn’t matter.” There’s nothing dismissive and no disrespect in Gabe’s tone, and William knows that, despite the words, Gabe won’t forget it. “If you need me to stop, knock on the headboard.”

“Wh-why?”

“Because you’re not going to be able to talk,” Gabe drawls slowly, his hands tightening, his thumbs stroking the front of William’s neck. “You’re not going to be able to breathe.”

William sucks in air in the instant before he can’t breathe anymore, Gabe’s fingers digging into his throat, hard pressure on his Adam’s apple. He watches Gabe intently, curling his hands into fists above his head in defiance of the instinct to safety out of the moment.

“Look at you.” Gabe’s voice is rough, sounding breathless as well as he shifts his weight. “Fuck.”

William feels out of proportion, his face hot and swollen. Sensation is warped, off-kilter. Lights pinprick behind his eyes, black shot with points of searing white that melts into color – red and orange and then blue, tingeing purple as his body starts to rebel. He bucks upward to throw Gabe off, but Gabe locks his knees on William’s hips and doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent. William can’t see now, vision blacked out, and he grabs Gabe’s wrist in a death grip, choking, feeling his survival instinct come to the fore, desperate for breath. Gabe’s rubbing against him, cock hard against William’s until it’s too much – too much pressure, too much sensation – until it’s nothing at all, Gabe’s hands gone and heavy, rich air flooding his lungs.

He can’t feel anything, though it seems like he’s being bombarded, his blood pulsing through his body like heady wine. Gabe is still heavy against him, rocking his hips. The fact that Gabe’s still hard comes simultaneously with the realization that he’s not. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Shh,” Gabe whispers, his own voice raw as he presses closer. He shakes as he comes against William, damp fabric and skin, burying it all in a kiss, stealing William’s breath again. They lie together when Gabe finally breaks away, both of them breathing hard.

“F-f-f-fuck.” He can barely whisper the word, and it takes a huge breath to even manage that. “H-holy…”

“Shh,” Gabe urges him again. “Let’s get you something to drink.” He gets to his feet, shedding his wet boxers. William turns his head to watch, feeling the pull on his skin. Gabe fishes a water out of the mini-bar and brings it over, helping William sit up. The change in position sends a rush of blood to his head, and he sways slightly. Gabe’s there to support him, letting William lean in. “Drink.”

He nods and holds the bottle with both hands to keep it steady. It’s almost too much, burning like alcohol. He finally stops, leaving the bottle half-empty. He swallows air instead and exhales with a shudder. “G-god. M-my god.”

Gabe shifts back against the headboard again, tugging at William’s arm and pulling him back between his legs. William slips out of his sweats, letting them fall to the floor before moving against Gabe, his back to Gabe’s chest.

“So good,” Gabe murmurs, his voice a rumbling whisper, his Uruguayan accent slightly more pronounced than his usual Jersey. “Amazing. So perfect, Bilvy.”

“F-feel…feel shaky. Good, b-but sh-shaky.”

“Yeah.” Gabe nods, placing a kiss on William’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist. “You’re okay.”

“My wh-whole body feels like it’s on fire. Alive.”

“Oxygen deprivation tends to have that effect.” He laughs softly and pulls William closer. “Have you done that before?”

“Yes and no. Never with someone…not like that.” He shakes his head, not sure how to explain that even though he’s had someone else’s hands on his throat squeezing like Gabe had, it wasn’t anything close to the same. “Not with…It was different.”

Gabe nods, just enough that William can feel the slight movement. “Tired?”

“Mm.”

“C’mon. Bed.”

“We’re in bed.” He realizes he’s still whispering and ducks his head. “I feel like…” Gabe doesn’t say anything, waiting. “Quiet.”

“Is that good?”

He turns, shifting so he can look at Gabe. “It’s perfect.”

**

When he wakes up, Gabe’s still asleep, inexplicably sprawled across the bottom half of the bed. William draws his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them. Gabe looks even younger when he sleeps, even wearing the exhaustion across his features in dark bruise-like marks beneath his eyes and furrows in his brow.

Sliding off the bed carefully, William grabs the bottle of water and heads to the bathroom. He goes to take a drink and feels the ache, a slight burn as he swallows. It feels both good and bad, to the point where he wants it again, wants more.

He turns on the bathroom light and leans in, tilting his neck so the too-bright glow can shine on the slightly darker indentations in his skin, the rosy outline of Gabe’s hands on either side of his throat. He whispers softly, fitting his own fingers to the marks. “Fuck.” He presses on them, swallowing against the pressure. His eyes close halfway and he feels heat suffuse through him, his cock jerking in response.

“Okay?” Gabe asks softly from the doorway.

“Y-yeah.” He has to lean on the counter, his knees weak. “Okay vaguely describes it.”

Gabe laughs, rubbing his hand across his jaw, the stubble rasping against his palm. “Marks should fade before the next show.”

“Oh.” He feels a sting of disappointment, even though he knows it’s for the best. “Yeah. I suppose they will.”

“Don’t worry. We can always make more.”

William bites back his smile. “You want to? Make more?”

Gabe shifts, his gaze closed off, his expression unrevealing. “This is all about trust. Maybe more than anything else you do.”

“I trust you.” William turns, boosting himself up onto the counter. “Obviously.”

Gabe nods. “The real question is if Pete and Travie trust me.”

“What do they have to do with us?”

“Nothing. But they have a lot to do with you. And those,” he says with a gesture toward William’s neck, “if we make more, those are different than bruises on your wrist.” He comes over and curves his hand around William’s neck, his thumb stroking his jaw. “One wrong move, one slip…”

“I trust you, Gabe.”

“Pete has a vested business interest in you being able to sing, not to mention, you know, being alive and not a vegetable.”

“Is this your subtle way of reprimanding me for getting involved with my boss?”

“It’s not my business who else you’re involved with. What is my concern is that Pete and Travie are going to take exception to me choking you.”

“I want it.”

“Let’s pretend they don’t give a shit about that. Let’s pretend that even though they know or suspect that’s what you want, neither of them do it for you, so it’s either out of their comfort zone or they have a problem with it. Which, in situations like this, tends to translate into a problem with me.”

William frowns, tilting his head to lean into Gabe’s touch. “So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to do whatever you want.”

“But you think I should tell them.”

“I think they’re going to notice.” He fits his hand lower on William’s throat again, the promise of pressure inherent in the touch. He smiles as William lifts his chin, exposing his throat before fitting his hand next to Gabe’s, rubbing thing skin around his fingers. “Don’t you?”

William shivers hard and nods. “I want…I want it to be noticeable.”

Gabe leans in and kisses him. “Me too.”

**

He plans to tell them both, best intentions caught up in the word spreading about their album, the rush of press and people start coming to the shows singing along with his words. He gravitates toward Gabe without deliberation, their late night game sessions now spent in the back lounge, huddled together talking and touching, especially now that Gabe’s figured out he can beat William at chess, and that’s all he wants to play. Pete and Travie just seem to step back without much comment, though he overhears Travie mentioning a private property sign, and it’s clear the remark is aimed in William’s direction.

He catches up with Travie at the next show, following him back to the dressing room after Gym Class Heroes set. He doesn’t say anything to the rest of the band, but they seem to sense something nonetheless, veering off to be elsewhere. Shutting the door behind him makes Travie turn around and his eyebrows lift up in question. “Bilvy-boy.”

“Hey.” He’s not sure why he’s nervous or even what he wants to say, but he hates the tension in the room. “You have a minute?”

“I have all the time in the world for you. But are you sure you’ve got it to spare?” He tugs his shirt over his head, dragging it over his chest, neck and armpits to wipe away sweat.

“I’m not anybody’s property.” It comes out strongly, vehement, and takes him by surprise, almost as much as it does Travie.

“I don’t recall laying claim to you.”

“Not just yours. I’m not anybody’s property.”

“Did I say you were?”

“No,” he admits. “Not to me.” He shakes his head when Travie starts to speak. “I know I’ve been spending a lot of time with Gabe, and I know I’ve been…neglecting you and Pete, but it’s not like that, not what you think.”

“What you think I think, you mean.” He pulls on a clean shirt then rakes his fingers through his hair to comb it back enough to shove it all under his hat.

“Extrapolated from your comments and attitude, y-yes.”

“I thought extrapolated was when the girl wore a dick and fucked you.”

It takes William a beat, but then his shoulders relax slightly and he laughs. “What did I tell you about ever believing Mike and Sisky?”

Travie’s mouth curves up slightly. “But dude, they sounded so sure.”

“They’re also sure that Elvis is still alive.”

“Wait. Shit, what? He’s not?” He shakes his head. “Man, Beckett, you’re fuckin’ destroying my world view here.”

William takes a step forward, tilting his head in question. Travie nods slightly and tugs him in, tucking him in against his chest. William closes his eyes, feeling the strength and solidity of him. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, baby. You know that.”

“It’s not like I don’t need you. Or don’t want you. I do.” He’s tempted to pull away, just to see Travie’s reaction, to make sure he’s not humoring him, but Travie seems to sense it, holding William closer and bringing his free hand up to brush William’s hair back off his forehead.

Travie looks him in the eye, staring for a long moment before he lets his gaze drop to William’s neck. “You and Gabanti…”

William stiffens slightly then nods. “Yeah.”

Travie exhales slowly. “You take good care, baby boy. Both ways. You know it’s both ways, right?”

He can practically see the itch in Travie’s skin, the need to tamp all this emotion down after the high of the show. Still, he doesn’t reach for his pills or for a bottle, facing William sober. “What do you mean?”

“You trust him to stop. You trust him to know when to stop.”

“Yes. I know that, Travie.”

“But he’s got to trust you too. That you’ll stop if you need to.” He frowns and shakes his head. “Will you? Will you stop it if you need to? Or do you want it that much?”

“I don’t have a death wish.” He swallows hard at the lump in his throat. “It clears my head. Let’s me hear things that I can’t hear over all the other screaming voices. It lets me focus and find the lyrics, find the song. It lets me…be. Other stuff does too – the stuff I do with you, the stuff I do with Pete, but nothing works the way that does, nothing…and with him…with someone else, it’s even better. It’s freedom. When I do it alone, I have to think about when I need to stop, how to keep from going too far, but with him, I could just let go and be. It’s the safest I’ve ever felt, Travie.”

“All right. All right. But if he hurts you, I’m going to dissect his skinny ass with a rusty scalpel and a spoon, got it?”

“Got it.”

“And, you know, stop by and say hi from time to time. Maybe remind old Travie that you love him.”

“Yes, oh, ancient one.”

He kisses William’s temple and holds him, breathing there for a moment. “Wish I could be everything you needed.”

“I’m glad you’re not.” He looks up and grins, feeling impish. “Because I’m greedy, and this way I get all three of you.”

**

There’s a balance.

It takes a while to realize that and even longer to get close to finding it, though it’s never quite right. Instead he feels like he’s constantly juggling chainsaws and someone is standing off in the wings, waiting to lob a watermelon into the mix. After their talk, he and Travie are better, and Pete seems to take everything in stride, though he’s still likely to come into the room and grab William by the arm, no matter who he’s with, and drag him into the front lounge to talk for hours. His fingers still find the leather band on William’s neck, but now he just touches, never tugs.

It’s not until right before the House of Blues in Ohio that Pete pulls him aside and stands there, unsure of what to do or say, moving from foot to foot nervously. “There’s only three more shows.”

“We’re halfway through the tour, Pete. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“With Midtown. Once the Delaware show is over, we part ways.”

He’s known. They’ve all known from the beginning, and he’s known just in the strange urgency that seems to lie under every interaction with Gabe now. Even talking seems more charged, more meaningful. It’s been two weeks, and they’ve barely had a chance to be alone, and now it’s almost over. “Of course I know that.”

“Okay. Okay. So…I just wanted to make sure.” Pete touches his own neck and then reaches out and touches William’s, curling his fingers over the leather cord for a moment before letting go. “Okay then.” He smiles weakly and takes a step back and then hurries off, trying to look like he’s doing anything but running away.

William gets corralled by Mike before he can do anything else, set down to do interviews before the show with a couple of bloggers. They’re all questions he’s answered before, but he answers again anyway, trying to act like it’s the first time. Mike’s helps keep him focused, and he almost lets a few things slip right off the bat, talking about Midtown, though the look Mike gives him keeps him from mentioning Gabe by name. He’s back on solid ground by the end of the interview, and Mike only rolls his eyes at him and punches him in the arm when they finish.

The show has an amazing energy, and everyone is on. There’s speculation that it’s just because they’ve finally hit their stride, or maybe because they all know it’s near the end. He doesn’t like to think of it either way, just lives in the moment when the sound of the crowd buffets them back, an endless wave of feedback that sings in his head. It keeps flooding through them as they head toward Illinois, most of them hit with the longing of home. He doesn’t miss it, but he has less to miss than some of them, and this feels more like home to him now, the bus, the road, these people.

He’s sitting next to Gabe when they cross the state line, leaning on his shoulder. There’s a cheer that goes up from a couple of the guys and Gabe grins. “Not happy to be almost home?”

“Are you looking forward to going back to New Jersey?”

“Yeah, man. Home cooked meals. Showers every day. Not waking up with Heath’s smelly-ass feet in my face and Travie’s ass sticking out in the hallway. Fucking paradise.”

For the first time William feels younger than he is, whines about the unfairness of it all thick in his throat, but he keeps silent. Gabe’s fingers slip under William’s shirt at his waist, grazing against his skin. “I’ll miss you though.”

“I know.”

Gabe starts to say something and stops, turning his head to look at William before he laughs. “Cocky little shit.”

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

“And flaunt it you do, Bilvy,” Pete hollers from the kitchen, his mouth half-full of cookie. “You know there are laws against concealed weapons.”

“Shut up, Wentz.” Mike tosses one of the mangled and near-dead throw pillows at Pete’s head. “Don’t give him a reason to take it out.”

William buries his laugh against Gabe’s chest. “You’re all just jealous.”

“Fuck that, man,” Matt calls out from back in the bunks. “That thing comes out, we fear for our lives.”

“That’s because y’all are just pussies,” Gabe replies, tugging William closer. William hides his smile as Gabe flips the rest of them off, planting a possessive kiss on the top of William’s head.

**

There’s a party – there’s always a party – but this one is special. They’re in Delaware in the middle of April and Pete says they’re throwing a wake tonight for the last Midtown show. Rob tells Pete to quit talking like they’re disappearing off the face of the Earth until someone reminds him that wakes involve a shitload of booze. After that, no one seems to care why they’re partying.

Travie and Gym Class go on first and William bounces on his heels, running through his vocal exercises as he waits for their turn. He can feel it all burning up inside him, and his stomach is twisted, wanting to confront Gabe, push him to the wall and beg him to tell him what’s next, what he’s supposed to do. Instead he just leans against Tom, going over songs and chord changes. Tom stands solid and doesn’t comment on the fact that William’s twitchy and manic, his eyes constantly darting toward the door.

They go on and William basks in the explosion of the audience, the sound of his words coming back on him like a wave. People are swarming and dancing and the air’s electric. Every note lasts longer, every jump goes higher, and the music never actually stops at all. When they finish with Checkmarks, his indrawn breath echoes in the suddenly silent club before the lights go up and the applause and shouts ring out.

He watches all of Midtown’s set, leaning against the backstage wall. There’s a moment of disconnect, watching them from the floor and wanting to be them to this, now when the crowds are here to see him as well. They’re still the same Midtown songs, still the same words, but they resonate differently. He tugs at the leather strap around his neck, pulling it tight as he listens. Gabe’s bass and Rob’s drums make the world vibrate around him, and he can’t believe that anything this good is really going to end.

 

They finish with Give It Up and everyone from Gym Class and TAI help them break it down and pack up the van they’d rented earlier in the day. It’s strange to see the tight-packed space and think about cramming in with gear and merch and everyone, even though none of them are so far removed from it. Fall Out Boy is well into their set by the time they slam the van’s back door closed, and William realizes Gabe’s still standing there.

“What are you doing? You never miss a performance.”

“I think the guys would have kicked my ass if I hadn’t helped.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Jesus Christ, Beckett.” Carden rolls his eyes as he turns to head back into the club. “Are you seriously this stupid, or are we just lucky enough to see you inspired to new levels of idiocy. He wants to be with you.”

“Wow,” Gabe laughs. “Somebody’s cranky. What’s the matter, Carden? Have you not gotten laid at all this tour?”

William smiles, bumping Gabe’s shoulder with his own. “Be nice. Mike is sensitive. He has feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings.”

“Yeah. I feel like I’m gonna kick you in the junk so hard, you’ll be singing our next set in an entirely different key.”

“Quit flirting.” Gabe slides his hand into William’s back pocket. “I’m gonna get all jealous.”

“Assholes,” Mike murmurs under his breath, but he holds the backstage door open for them.

**

Everyone gravitates to Fall Out Boy’s dressing room, even before they’re done on stage, passing around beer and bottles, determined to end this leg of the tour with drunken slurs, dirty dancing and a game of truth or dare William’s not likely to forget. Assuming he can remember it at all, though the image of Gabe sinking to his knees in front of William is something he thinks might stay with him.

By then, Joe and Butcher and Travie are lacing the room with the sweet-hot smell of pot, and everyone’s happy enough and drunk enough not to notice Gabe tugging William toward the door. The hallway’s lit with a single golden bulb and the neon green of the exit sign. Gabe puts his hand on the wall beside William’s head and leans in, his hair framed with a halo’s glow. William moves into the kiss, opening his mouth to the firm push of Gabe’s tongue.

“Come on.” Gabe grabs his hand gain, slipping out of the club and into the shadows. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Gabe avoid fans, but he doesn’t have a chance to ask why until they’re blocks away in another alley.

“What are we doing?”

Gabe slips away without answering and looks over the cars parked on the street. William frowns and then raises his eyebrows when Gabe picks one and pops the lock, climbing in and leaning over to open the passenger door. “Get in.”

“This is a Honda Civic, Gabe. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but given our respective heights…”

“We’re not going to fuck in it, Beckett.”

“Then what are we doing?”

The engine roars to life and Gabe grins up at him from where he’s twisting wires together. “We’re going to Jersey.”

**

He watches Gabe as they make their way through the dark back roads, avoiding as many tolls as possible. Gabe’s intent, hopped up on Red Bulls and booze from the party. The other headlights bring out the dark circles under his eyes, washing the rest of his complexion out to pale. After the initial panic – ‘We’re stealing a car!’ ‘Borrowing.’ “We’re crossing state lines!’ “Only one.’ – they’d settled into silence, William leaning back against his seat, letting the steady hum of the road settle the jangling of his nerves.

“Why are we going to New Jersey?”

“We need a reason?”

“Well, I didn’t think anyone actually went there voluntarily.”

“Oh, you fucker.” Gabe jabs William in the ribs, laughing. “Don’t fucking disrespect Jersey.”

“I suppose it doesn’t need my help.” He grins and pulls away from Gabe’s next jab of retaliation. “Okay. Okay. I’m sure Jersey’s amazing and wonderful and like Disneyland. But I still don’t know why we’re going there.”

“So we can be alone.”

“We can only be alone in Jersey?”

“We can be more alone in Jersey. Everyone else will be two hours away.”

“There are hotels. Before Jersey.”

Gabe blows out an exasperated breath. “Look, I want to…I just want to take you home, okay?”

“Oh.” He can feel the heat suffuse his face. “Yeah. Yeah. That’s…that’s okay.”

“Thank you. Fuck. You’re worse than a girl. Is your dad going to show up and ask me if my intentions are honorable?”

“My dad wouldn’t give a fuck about your intentions. Also, fuck you.” He laughs. “Does this mean we’re going steady?”

“No, asshole. It means I’m going to take you down to my room in my parents’ basement and I’m going to wrap my belt around your neck.”

“O-oh.”

“But you can call it going steady if you want.” William opens his mouth to respond, but he can’t quite make words come out. Gabe turns his head slightly, glancing over at William. “You okay there, Bilvy?”

“Y-yeah.” He clears his throat and manages a nod. “I’m fine. Good. I’m good.”

“That’s all right with you?”

“The…with your…um. Yeah. Yeah. Just fine. Fine. Yes.”

“Good.” Gabe turns on the radio, flipping through stations until he settles on one he likes, the slight hint of static fading into a clearer signal as they get closer to wherever they’re going. He realizes he doesn’t know where Gabe really lives beyond ‘New Jersey,’ doesn’t really know all that much at all. On tour the real stuff doesn’t seem real, doesn’t seem to matter.

“Are you parents going to be there?”

“Dad will probably. He and Mom are divorced. Ricky might be, unless he’s gone out to a show or over to one of his girlfriend’s houses.”

“Ricky’s your…”

“Little brother.”

“Oh.”

“Spend a couple months in a van or a bus with people and you can learn a lot of shit, but not everything, huh?”

“It’s just…” He shrugs and laughs. “It’s kind of incongruous that I learned you were willing to choke me to the point of orgasm before I knew you had a younger brother.”

“Well, one’s not likely to come up in the same conversation as the other. Besides, nothing against Ricky, but isn’t it better to know the important shit?”

“I…yeah. I guess so.” He shakes his head, shifting back against the seat. “You’ve done this kind of thing before, right? I mean, before me.”

“Once or twice. Yeah.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“I’ll tell everyone I don’t know you.”

“We’ve been on tour together for months. We’ve been photographed together.”

“So we’ll just have to make sure nothing goes wrong.” The road blurs and hums around them for a while before Gabe speaks again. “What are you trying to find?”

“Quiet. Quiet enough that I can hear myself think, that I can hear the words and the melodies more than anything else, without everything else getting in the way. When I’m like that, even for a moment, released. When I’m like that everything falls away. Even when I do it by myself with the collar or the mic cord or a necklace, the freedom of it lets me let go.”

“What about the other stuff? With Pete and Travie?”

“Somewhat.”

Gabe nods and turns his attention back to the road. Rain starts to fall and the slap-squeak of the Civic’s wiper blades beat in time with the radio. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, or even feeling tired, but he wakes up at Gabe’s gentle touch.

“C’mon. We’ve got to walk a little bit.”

“H’come?”

“I’m not about to show up at my dad’s house in a borrowed car.” He climbs out and stretches, long body arching slightly, shirt riding up above his waistband. “C’mon. It’s not too far. Besides, you need to be wide awake for this, huh?”

They walk a couple of blocks, Gabe leading him through people’s yards and driveways. His hand is tight in William’s, catching him when William can’t help stumbling sleepily, leaning against Gabe. The air is sharp and cool, waking him up most of the way by the time Gabe stops at a house. It’s gray in the darkness, but the motion sensor light bathes the door a dark blue. “This is it?” William asks, leaning against the doorjamb as Gabe unlocks the door. “Where the magic happens?”

“The magic happens wherever I am, Bilvy.” He opens the door and steps inside, closing it behind William. He takes William’s hand and leads him through another door and down a short flight of steps. A digital clock is the only light, glowing white in the distance, numbers morphing as it rolls into a new hour.

“Promise me you don’t have New Kids on the Block posters on the wall or anything.”

“New Kids? Oh, fuck you, dude.” Gabe laughs softly and tugs him further into the room. “N’sync, maybe. Give me some credit.” Shapes take form, becoming a bed and a dresser and a strange monolith that he realizes is a collection of bass guitars.

“Jesus. How many of those do you have?”

“Seven. Plus the two on the road.” He sits on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs and fitting William between them. “You can have a grand tour later. Right now I want you to kiss me.”

“Bossy.”

“Damn right.” He pulls at William’s hands, until he goes down, kneeling on the floor. Gabe’s eyes are dark and shadowed, his hand curving along William’s jaw, tilting it so he can lick open William’s mouth, kissing him firmly. William parts his lips easily, swaying forward until his body is solid against Gabe’s. His voice is rough and thick when he pulls back, looking William in the eye. “Trust me?”

“Absolutely.” His own voice sounds breathless, wanting

“Same signal as last time.” He kisses him again, harder. “Now, shut up.” He stands up and moves around William, patting the bed. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow and undoes his belt, letting it slither through the denim belt loops. “Really? Because I’m about to put a leash on you.”

William licks his lips and tilts his head back, baring his throat. Gabe wraps the belt around his neck and through the buckle, pulling it tight so the leather rests heavily on William’s skin. He can see the black tail of it in Gabe’s hand, wrapped in his fist. William takes a shaky breath as he looks up at Gabe. It’s still too dark to see much more than impressions, at least until Gabe tugs hard enough that William has no choice but to get to his feet. He doesn’t expect the kiss, but he melts into it, surrendering further to Gabe.

“Gorgeous,” Gabe murmurs, close enough that William can see the difference between the darkness of the room and the darkness of Gabe’s eyes. Gabe releases the belt, letting it hang loosely as he tugs William’s shirt free from his jeans, pulling back long enough to guide it over his head. He leans in, bending his head to trace the edge of the belt with his tongue, outlining it on William’s skin.

William shivers, a mixture of hot blood pulsing in his veins and the chill of the room. Gabe’s mouth keeps moving, tasting him, as his hands skim down William’s arms.

“So many things.” The flat of Gabe’s tongue licks a broad stroke over William’s nipple. “So many things I want to do to you.”

“With.” It’s half whisper and half moan, and he’s not actually aware he says it until he realizes Gabe is looking at him, the sly hint of a smile curving his lips.

“You’re right,” he agrees as he flicks his tongue over William’s nipple again. “With you.” He runs his hands down to William’s hips, tracing his low waistband over to the fly. He makes short work of it and pushes William’s jeans down, a noise of approval as he just encounters naked skin.

“L-lau-laundry day’s…”

“Knees.” Gabe grabs the belt and jerks on it. William can feel the hard metal square of the buckle dig into his skin as he sinks down to the floor, his jeans caught around his shins. Gabe’s looking down at him, still dressed, and it’s pure impulse that makes William lean in and breathes against his groin, feeling Gabe’s dick respond.

“Oh no,” Gabe whispers, tugging on the belt so that William’s head moves back. “That’s not what we’re doing.” He wraps the belt around his hand again several times until William loses focus on anything but that. It’s different than the collar – bigger, thicker, wider, less give – and he has to close his eyes again and feel.

He swallows against the pressure and feels it catch at the base of his throat. It’s like a band of heat, and the touch of Gabe’s breath on his skin makes it burn hotter. Heat melts into color, red and orange and flickering black. Sharp yellow sparks flare up as Gabe tugs at the belt, exploding into bright light as the long fingers of Gabe’s free hand curve around William’s cock.

He can’t actually gasp, and his head falls back instinctively. The buckle digs into the base of his skull and pain glows blue in the colors behind his eyes. Gabe’s hand is callused from playing bass, the ball of his thumb slightly rough and hard against William’s shaft. Every stroke is another color shattering behind his eyes, sparking out from the hot band of the belt.

Gabe wraps the belt around his fist again, pulling it even tighter on William’s neck. He opens his mouth, desperate against the pleasure, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of nothing. Gabe surges in, tugging William closer and kissing him, tongue thrusting deep. William can’t make a noise to whimper, and all he can hear is his pulse pounding. His mind is black, swimming with hot white strobes, echoes of color in their wake. He can’t ever feel Gabe’s hand anymore, can’t feel anything but the wash of nothingness in his head.

He shudders all over and then he’s overwhelmed by the thick heavy rush of oxygen as the belt goes slack. His vision grays out and he stares sightlessly until everything comes back slowly, and he realizes his thighs and stomach are sticky with come. He tries to speak then swallows, still feeling the weight of the belt as he does. Gabe’s pressed close, nuzzling at William’s hot cheeks, whispering words he can’t quite decipher.

They start to come through in bits and pieces until they form whole words, Gabe’s voice hushed and almost reverent as it cuts through the white noise of William’s blood and breathing. “So gorgeous. Fuck, William.”

He turns his head, searching blindly for Gabe’s mouth, kissing him roughly, his lips tingling as feeling spikes to the pressure of Gabe’s. “Want.”

Gabe laughs low into his mouth. “Want what?”

“Want.” He edges into Gabe, urging him onto the ground. It takes a few tries for his hands to work properly, but he manages to open Gabe’s jeans and work them down his thighs. The belt falls between Gabe’s legs as William leans in, the leather dark against Gabe’s skin. “Want.”

“Fuck,” Gabe huffs, anything else cut off as William takes him in his mouth. He pulls Gabe deep, fighting the instinct to choke as his throat constricts. He braces a hand on Gabe’s hip and sets the other on the belt on the floor, restricting his own movements. Gabe muffles his thick noises with a finger, blanched white between his teeth. William takes him deeper, watching, tightening his mouth as Gabe’s head falls back, his mouth falling open on a moan as he comes.

He swallows Gabe down, pulling off with a thick cough. He rests his head on Gabe’s thigh, moving into Gabe’s touch as he combs his fingers through William’s hair. He’s still breathing hard, his chest and throat too small for the air he needs.

“Okay?” Gabe asks softly, his fingers carding down to loosen the belt. William inhales a shaky breath then lets it out with a slow shudder.

“Y-yeah.” His voice sounds ragged, raw in the same way a performance leaves him, too dry and raspy.

“Sure?”

“Mmm.” He closes his eyes, just concentrating on the slow rhythm of inhale and exhale. Every breath is laced with the smell of Gabe’s skin. “Yeah.”

“C’mon.” Gabe’s free hand cups William’s chin and tilts his head up. “Bed. Sleep.”

“Mmm. Sleep. In a bed. Best night ever.”

“I’ll pretend my presence contributes to that at least as much as my clean sheets and extra pillows.”

William gets to his knees, leaning on the mattress for support. “Whatever you need to believe.”

**

William wakes up and stretches, his hand instinctively going to his throat. He can feel residual heat and he presses on either side of his neck, squeezing just enough that a spark of pain flares along his spine. He glances at Gabe, surprised to find him awake and watching him. “Hey.” His voice croaks and he manages a small laugh. “Sound bad.”

“Don’t have to sing tonight.” Gabe shifts, half lying on top of William, his hand skimming William’s side, just light enough that it doesn’t tickle. “Recovery time.”

“Parts of me are already recovered.”

“That’s because you’re still a teenager.”

“Right,” he whispers with a laugh. “Old man.”

“Watch it,” Gabe growls, kissing William softly. “Can still kick your ass, boy.”

“Promises, promises.” His laugh is cut off as Gabe wraps a hand around William’s cock, stroking slowly. “G-gabe.”

“Going to have to send you back out on the road.” He spreads the words out with kisses, warm and lazy. William closes his eyes and loses himself, a different kind of sensation buffeting him. “Gonna miss kicking your ass at chess.”

“Let…” He bites his lower lip to keep from moaning. “Let you w-win.”

“Mmm.” Gabe murmurs against the stubble of William’s jaw. “Let me, my ass.”

William laughs and urges Gabe up to kiss him again. “I like your ass.”

“Of course you do. My ass is awesome.”

“And your modesty. I like that. Overwhelming really. Very sexy.”

“You keep up with this, and ‘m gonna stop.”

“Don’t stop.” William slides his tongue against Gabe’s, teasing the roof of his mouth. “Want more.”

“Demanding.” Gabe laughs and deepens the kiss, shifting between William’s legs. They move together, mouths and tongues, hips and cocks sliding, slick and hot.

William cants his hips upward, moving as close as he can, wrapping one leg around the back of Gabe’s thighs. They take their time, rocking slowly until they can’t anymore, William’s hands gripping Gabe’s thighs, gasping into each other’s mouths. William’s not sure who comes first, only knows that Gabe shudders out a sigh along with him.

“Okay. So.” William slides his hand along Gabe’s back, feeling the bumps and furrows of his spine. “Do I have to steal a car to get back to the tour?”

“I didn’t steal it.”

“Borrow.”

“Right. Borrow. But no. We’ll bum Ricky’s car and I’ll drive you back.” He rests his weight on his elbows, pressed close, looking seriously at William. “So.”

William can’t help but grin. “So.”

“You know you’re going to be okay, right?”

He looks up at Gabe, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Just…this.” He shrugs, eyes darting down to William’s throat. “There’s nothing wrong with it if you take care.”

“I know.” His frown morphs into a smile and he shakes his head. “I wasn’t actually worried about if it was okay. I want this, you know. I’m okay with wanting it.”

“Pete and Travie will take good care of you on the rest of the tour.”

“No.” Gabe leans back, easing off of him. He watches William carefully, and William hurries to explain. “I mean, I know they’re there if I need them. I just don’t think I need them. Not like that. Not anymore.”

Gabe nods, looking down at William and tracing his finger over William’s lower lip. “But if you do.”

“They’re there. And I’ll ask. Not just want. And I’ll ask them. People I trust. Not just random hot people in clubs.”

“Random people at all. Whether they’re hot or not.”

“You think I’d pick up non-hot people?”

Gabe smiles and pokes him in the ribs. “You’ve got good stuff in your head. Don’t make it quiet all the time.”

“I won’t.” He sits up as well, leaning against the headboard next to Gabe. “We’re still friends.”

Gabe’s eyebrow goes up. “I sure as fuck hope so. Is there a reason we wouldn’t be?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure. I mean, if it’s an either/or, I’d want us to be friends.”

“We are. Whether there’s other stuff or not.” Gabe lays his head on William’s shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, Beckett.”

“Yeah.” William smiles, more to himself than at Gabe. His head is almost quiet, only the distant hum of a tune he might want to follow. “Yeah. I will. In fact, I think maybe I already am.”