#4 (please be gentle!)coq_au_laitAugust 16 2007, 18:13:57 UTC
“Shh, it’s okay.” Even though Gerard isn’t saying anything, the look is clear in his eyes: trepidation, fear, want, and all Mikey wants to do is reassure him. Make him know that he’s safe with his brother, as he wraps a length of rope around his wrists once, twice, thrice, tying them up between his shoulderblades, hands clasped together in prayer.
Bless me, for I have sinned. I have had covetous thoughts. I have held desires for another man. I am in love with my brother.
Watching Gerard’s skin bloom from Vendella to Celestial, pressing up behind him to kiss fingertips that twitch against his lips, and only when they’re thorn-pricked-red does Mikey stand, resting his hands on Gerard’s shoulders, pressing the hard arch of himself against those fingers, red like blood, like roses. Like desire. And says softly to the back of his brother’s head, hair like night, shattered, “Now you know you’re mine. Now you know what I can do.”
Circling around to face Gerard, Mikey smiles, small and wistful and sweet, and brushes his hair back, tucking it behind his ears. All the years of watching from the background, of seeing Gerard flourish Black Baccara, mean nothing now. It’s been Mikey that’s tended this garden so well, cutting here and tying there, scars and bruises that have dotted Gerard’s body for so long. Mikey’s garden. “I love you.” And he tips Gerard’s chin up, just a little, just enough to see the green-hazel of his eyes; just enough to ghost the tip of himself against the seam of Gerard’s lips. “Suck.”
Bless me, for I have sinned. I have had covetous thoughts. I have held desires for another man. I am in love with my brother.
Watching Gerard’s skin bloom from Vendella to Celestial, pressing up behind him to kiss fingertips that twitch against his lips, and only when they’re thorn-pricked-red does Mikey stand, resting his hands on Gerard’s shoulders, pressing the hard arch of himself against those fingers, red like blood, like roses. Like desire. And says softly to the back of his brother’s head, hair like night, shattered, “Now you know you’re mine. Now you know what I can do.”
Circling around to face Gerard, Mikey smiles, small and wistful and sweet, and brushes his hair back, tucking it behind his ears. All the years of watching from the background, of seeing Gerard flourish Black Baccara, mean nothing now. It’s been Mikey that’s tended this garden so well, cutting here and tying there, scars and bruises that have dotted Gerard’s body for so long. Mikey’s garden. “I love you.” And he tips Gerard’s chin up, just a little, just enough to see the green-hazel of his eyes; just enough to ghost the tip of himself against the seam of Gerard’s lips. “Suck.”
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Well done! Thank you for tackling that prompt; I'm sure who ever requested it is going to be thrilled. :)
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