A/N: Aaaaaugh. Okay, this is not my fault. It's crazybutsound's fault, for making this. And greedy_dancer's fault for encouraging her. Maybe it's Patrick Stump's fault for writing the song. My point: NOT MY FAULT, DON'T BLAME ME.
EDIT: aaaaand now there's a podfic. >.<
"I like your bass," says the creepiest fan who has ever managed to get Mikey alone. "It sparkles like danger."
All Mikey wanted was a fucking cigarette, okay. He can't smoke in the venue and he's been stressed out all day, and he finally snapped at Worm that he really didn't think he was going to get assassinated in downtown Seattle, and if he didn't get some nicotine in his body soon, his bandmates would be the ones assassinating him.
And now he's being stalked by the stalkeriest stalker that ever fucking stalked.
"You want an autograph?" he tries. Sometimes that gets them to leave him alone. "What's your name?"
The fan shakes his head. "My name is Edward," he says quietly, in a voice like Charlie Sheen in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, "and what I want from you is too much to take."
Oh. That makes a little more sense. Mikey looks him over again, with a more critical eye. The hair is truly unfortunate, and he's still as eerie as a one-eyed baby doll, but he's definitely hot enough for a backstage fuck. "Yeah, okay, come on then," Mikey says, stubbing out his cigarette against the brick wall. He flashes his pass at the security guy by the back entrance and leads Edward through the maze of dim hallways until he finds an unused green room with a couch. Score.
He turns to Edward, wrapping his arms around his neck. Edward is about four inches taller, seven counting the hair. Mikey kisses him, pressing his hips forward. He's not due on stage this instant, but he doesn't have too much time. He wants to get things moving.
Edward kisses back passionately for a few seconds with weirdly cold lips, then tears himself away and stumbles back. "No," he whispers. With his pupils blown like that, he looks even more like a junkie. "If I touch, I won't be able to resist."
Mikey rolls his eyes. "Not resisting is kind of the point."
"I'll lose control," says Edward.
"I'm hearing a lot of talk and not seeing any walk."
Edward shakes his head, like Mikey doesn't understand, like Edward is on some higher plane of existence alongside the Buddha and Dumbledore, all wisely shaking their heads at the mortals. "I'm strong. I'll hurt you."
"Right," says Mikey dryly. "I grew up on the scene in Jersey, dude. I've tapped my foot through pit brawls that would beat you up and make you cry. Are we gonna fuck or not?"
Edward's eyes flicker down to Mikey's crotch. Mikey sits down on the couch and stretches out, dipping a hand into his skinny jeans. If the groupie bails, at least he can rub one out before the show.
He doesn't bail. When Mikey is hard enough that the tip of his cock peeks above his waistline, Edward pounces on top of him, grabbing his hands away from his dick and pinning them above his head. "You don't know what you're asking for," he snarls into Mikey's ear.
"I'm asking you to fucking fuck me already," Mikey bitches.
Edward takes this as a challenge. He wasn't lying about being strong. It's the roughest sex Mikey has ever had. Edward tosses him around like a tissue, effortlessly positioning him where he wants him and holding him down tightly enough that Mikey can't move a millimeter. Not that he wants to. It's fantastic. He kind of wants to get the guy's number so they can have disturbingly awesome hookups every time My Chem tours through Washington.
When Edward comes, he bites Mikey's shoulder. It fucking hurts. Mikey's senses must be heightened from the fucking, because there's no way his teeth can be as sharp as they feel. He likes pain, though, and it makes him come all over the ancient threadbare couch.
As soon as Edward moves off him, Mikey sits up, pulling up his jeans. "Damn," he says. "I take it back. You totally walk the fucking walk."
Edward's eyes are fixed on his shoulder. "You're bleeding," he says.
Mikey shrugs. "Whatever. I think this shirt has bloodstains on it already from that one time with the fork, it's fine."
Edward is completely silent as Mikey ushers him out. At the back door, he looms awkwardly. Mikey offers him a fistbump. "You're a pretty good time," he says politely.
Edward tries to shake Mikey's hand, resulting in a hilarious rock-paper-scissors-style interaction. "You're delicious," he says.
"Aw, thanks," says Mikey, because there's really no good way to respond to that. "Oh hey, you said you liked my bass. Want to get a close-up look at it before you go?"
"No," says Edward. "It looks like you dragged my sister into the sunshine and skinned her. But I appreciate the offer."
"I hope you have a pleasant evening," says the spookiest motherfucker ever to get his freaky fucking paws in Mikey's pants, and just to top off the experience, he fades into the shadows and disappears.