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Ray likes to tease. You wouldn't know it talking to him, or hanging out with him; he's normally the chillest of chill.
But if you're fucking him? Ray Toro is a fucking tease.
Mikey knew this. He knew it from years of listening to Ray hook up through shitty hotel room walls (or, twice, pretending to be asleep in the next bed). He knew it just like he knew he fucking hated being teased. Mikey Way was, and always has been, a wham bam thank you ma'am kind of guy. It's why he and Gabe got along so well.
This was before Ray introduced Mikey to his prostate.
Mikey's been fucked up the ass before. It's fine, sometimes great; he'd rather get sucked off or make out, usually, but Pete really liked it, so Mikey's no stranger to the concept.
Which is why he's rather surprised when Ray honestly gasps aloud in palpable horror when Mikey doesn't drink for Frank's "Never have I ever had a finger up my butt." Mikey doesn't drink, because he hasn't, and he blinks at Ray's Victorian maiden vapors.
"Dude. What?" Mikey says. Frank and Gerard are rolling around arguing about whether dude or chick fingers count for more drinks; they won't hear a thing. Besides, Gerard knows everything about Mikey's sex life anyway.
"I thought you and Pete had fucked!" Ray says, then frowns at himself. "I mean, Pete had fucked you. I distinctly remember--"
Mikey waves a hand and cuts him off before he can bring up whatever scarring memory he's thinking of and says, "Yeah. So?"
"He never fingered you?" Ray says. His nose is actually wrinkled. Bizarre; Mikey hasn't seen him this appalled since the LOTMS crew videotaped his porno mags.
"No," Mikey says, and takes a sip of his Jack and Coke. It's strong and it burns and if he can get away from his band's high school drinking games, maybe he'll find someone to make him feel all hot on the outside, too.
"That's. That's just unacceptable," Ray says--no, splutters. And then he drags Mikey off, grabbing Frank's room key and his own overstuffed duffel as he goes.
Well. That'll do.
Ray launches into full lecture mode as soon as their door shuts. Mikey is used to that, and used to ignoring it when he wants to, but this time it's lecture mode with lube and condoms and gloves on the bed, so Mikey attends.
"Look, Mikes, maybe you're a natural or Wentz just has a tiny dick, I don't know," Ray says, and strips off his shirt. His belly's soft and he's got a farmer's tan from running. It's kind of hot, in a butch way, but Mikey is obliged to protect the honor of Pete's dick, which Ray just waves off. "No, it's beside the point, I mean. You've never been fingered! What the fuck, Mikey, fingering's awesome."
"You sound like a girl," Mikey says, but he watches Ray's fingers popping open his button fly.
"Yeah, well, there's a reason girls like to be fingered, dumbass," Ray says. He snorts, kicks off his sneakers, does a shimmy he must've stolen from Gerard, and steps out of his jeans. Mikey glares, but it rolls off Ray's back like everything does, and he just drags his fingers up the back of Mikey's hand and over his wrist. "It feels good."
Mikey shivers and takes a step back, but he doesn't get far; Ray's blunt, callused fingertips are skipping over his shoulders and ribs as he pulls off Mikey's hoodie and t-shirt. Mikey fixes his glasses and licks his lips, shaking his head to get his hair to fall right. He looks up, licking his lips, just as Ray's big palms cup his face and Ray's big eyes look at him earnestly.
"Mikey," Ray says. Fuck, Mikey'd never quite realized how...plush Ray's lips were. "Mikeyway, you need to get fingered."
"Oh," Mikey says. The whiskey warmth is moving south. He shifts his weight, presses his face into Ray's palm. "Okay, sure."
"Yeah?" Ray asks. His teeth are big and white and Mikey nods just to see more of them. Ray's tongue, it turns out, tastes like beer and cigarettes, which by now Mikey has a damn near Pavlovian conditioning to. Ray, fortunately, is sturdier than most of the people Mikey hooks up with; he catches Mikey's thigh when Mikey climbs him and turns them so Mikey's back hits the bed.
Mikey blinks, he'd swear in court that's all he does, and he's naked and Ray's hovering over with him with a big easy grin. "Fuckin' awesome, Mikes, you'll see."
"So show me," Mikey says, and Ray's grin manages to get bigger. He nods and starts kissing down Mikey's chest, licking flat lazy strokes over his nipples.
"It's all about foreplay, y'know?" Ray mumbles. Christ, still lecturing. Mikey makes a noncommittal noise and focuses on the pull of Ray's mouth sucking at him. He knows foreplay; he loves foreplay, loves to kiss and bite and suck until you can't help grinding, until you're dry humping like teenagers.
Ray won't let him grind. Fucking tease.
At least he's a tease that doesn't mind hair pulling, because Mikey has to do something as Ray goes down on him. Though, going down on him isn't quite the right phrase; Ray doesn't even touch his cock. He touches his nipples and thighs, his belly and hips and calves; he touches his god damn feet, sucking at his toes, but he doesn't touch his cock.
"Motherfucker," Mikey says. He lets go of Ray's hair and spits in his hand to jerk himself off, but Ray knocks his hand away with accompanying rolled eyes.
"Foreplay, Mikey," Ray says. He tsks and explains, while slowly sucking each of his fingers, "you know if you touch your dick that's all you're going to want."
"So?" Mikey says, trying to shove his dick at Ray's face.
"So we're here for something else," Ray says. He sighs dramatically and slides a finger down Mikey's ass crack, just teasing at the sensitive skin.
Mikey's mouth feels dry. "Oh. Right."
Ray grins brightly at him and says, "that doesn't feel so bad, does it?" as he gently curves one finger inside of him.
"Dude," Mikey huffs and throws a leg over Ray's shoulder. "Come on, that's nothing."
Ray gives him a speculative look, then pushes two, firm and hinting at the power in his arm.
"Ungh," Mikey grunts. Ray's forehead wrinkles thoughtfully. His fingers shift, and curl, and rub against something Mikey's felt before but Ray's full on massaging, and Mikey gasps.
"That," Ray says smugly, so fucking smugly, Jesus, "is your prostate."
"I knew that," Mikey mutters. He did; he just tries not to think of sex ed words during sex.
Ray snorts and flexes his wrist, smooth and easy, fingerfucking Mikey's ass just like that. It's good, hot, makes Mikey writhe, but. It's not quite right. Or something.
"I need," Mikey says. He makes a face and squirms, trying to catch his breath and find the angle that'll do it for him. "It's."
"What?" Ray's bicep bulges every stroke. Distracting. Mikey grabs his glasses and tosses them in the general direction of the nightstand so he can focus.
"More," Mikey says. He digs his heels into the bed and bears down. "Just. More."
Ray's eyes go big and the next stroke is a jump, so much more, another finger and faster and harder, and an embarrassing noise comes out of Mikey's throat.
"Fuck. Fuckin' natural, Mikeyway, three fingers like nothing," Ray says. He leans over and bites Mikey's lip. It stings, zings, straight to his cock, answering the upswell of tension created from Ray's body pressing into him, bending him in half and crushing him against the bed.
Mikey tries to remember to breathe. He grabs at the head of the mattress and arches, kicks at Ray's hip when Ray takes the invitation to bite his neck. He's nice and full now, in an almost comfortable way, heat building slow and steady in his gut.
"I could--fuck," Mikey says, biting off a groan into Ray's shoulder when his knuckle rubs particularly hard against his prostate, "I could do this all fucking day, I swear, god damn Toro."
Ray smiles, gratified and proud and devilish, and scritches his scruff against Mikey's ear. "Wanna go for more? You can do it."
"God," Mikey says, swallowing hard. He jacks himself twice, then squeezes the base of his shaft. "Yeah?"
"Fuck yes," Ray says. He twists his wrist and there's a slight but most noticable increase of pressure at Mikey's ass, just enough to make the bottom drop out of Mikey's stomach. Four fingers, it turns out, is nothing at god damn all like a dick. Especially since fingers mean Ray can bend over and finally put his mouth on Mikey's cock, finally flick his tongue over the slit at the same pace most of his hand is pistoning into Mikey.
Mikey can feel Ray's thumb catching, blocking; Ray uses it to press on the delicate skin between, the place Mikey secretly rubs in hard little circles when he needs to get off particularly fast.
"Christ on a fucking cracker, Toro," Mikey says. Ray swallows the head of his cock and makes a humming noise and Mikey keens. "Fuck, Ray, fuck fuck, there, God, I'm gonna--"
Mikey breaks off in a strangled whimper because he's suddenly stretched wider, too intense to even think about coming but somehow desperate to just get off already. He's shaking even though Ray's mouth has popped off his cock and his arm has stopped moving.
"Holy shit, Mikeyway," Ray moans. Mikey pants and nods, rubbing his face against his arm. "You. Fuck. My whole hand, Christ."
Mikey opens his eyes and blinks sweat away. Ray's indistinct and normally Mikey hates that, but it's kind of a trip, now; kind of hot to feel like this is all for him, like seeing Ray's reactions doesn't even matter. He groans and squirms and oh, oh, apparently moving is a really fucking good idea.
"Fuck Mikey, are you really fucking yourself on my hand, Jesus, that's fucking hot," Ray says. Mikey laughs and opens his mouth to say something but Ray gets with the program enough to thrust and Mikey feels like he's falling apart, dizzy and short of breath.
Ray thrusts again, and again, and the blood is roaring in Mikey's ears. His cock is so hard it aches. Ray's constantly pressing on his prostate now. It already feels like coming, and Mikey thinks if this is what girls mean by multiple orgasms then how on earth do any of them do anything else ever.
Then Ray sucks his cock again and it's too much, stomps flat whatever wall's been holding Mikey back. He screams, and grabs Ray's hair, just to hold on, to ground himself so he doesn't fly off into space as he orgasms. His cock pulses--he can actually fucking feel it pulsing against Ray's lips--and he comes and comes until he's pretty sure he's dead. Death by Toro fist.
Crap, he needs to remember not to text it to Gerard like that.
Mikey can't feel his toes, or see anything, and his entire body's still positively quivering. He slumps on the bed and closes his eyes. Dimly, he feels Ray petting his come-slick belly and murmuring, "Bear down, Mikes." Ray's fist slides out of him and Mikey rolls onto his stomach, sprawling in the wet spot, he doesn't fucking care. It's kind of a relief, anyway, cool against his heated skin.
Water runs in the bathroom, then the bed sinks and he rolls against Ray's chest. It's broad and warm and steady, and the last thing he's aware of is Ray's arms wrap around him and thighs tucking in behind him.