(no subject)
So, one of my Pete/Gabe/Mikey fics for kink_bingo was a post apocalypse fic. This bears no resemblance to Killjoys apocalypse, and it's not meant to.
Title: ... And I Feel Fine.
Pairing: Mikey/Pete/Gabe
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1210
Summary: In many ways, the end of the world is more aggravating than horrific.
Warnings: Pete, Mikey, and Gabe are the last people alive. So, mass other character death.
prompt used: costumes
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
If Mikey has to listen to Gabe say I told you so, or whatever ‘clever’ variant he’s come up with one more time, he’s going to kick him in the face. He doesn’t care that Gabe is taller than him. He will scale his body like climbing a tree, except instead of going for a ripe apple he’ll go for his cheekbones.
The fucking hell of it is Gabe had. He’d told fucking everyone, and everyone had thought he was stupid, or insane, or it was a gimmick. Gabe stuck by his story, and everyone had ignored him. And now everyone is dead.
Well, almost everyone. It would be easier if it was everyone-everyone. Like, if Mikey had died too. He’s sure he’d be far more satisfied dead than he is right now. Possibly mainly because he wouldn’t be able to feel any emotion at all. Which would be very fucking nice, because it’s not like he has the capability of sharing with either of the two dipsticks he’s with.
Pete misses everyone. Patrick, most of all, but Andy and Joe and Ashlee too. Some of the crew they’ve had around forever, all the baby bands he created. But instead of saying anything about it, he just writes in his notebook.
Gabe misses everyone. Ryland and Alex, Victoria and Nate, William and Travis. Gabe misses his fans, people that flash fangs up when he would walk by. But instead of talking about it, he just carries around cans of spray paint and writes ‘Cobras Rule’ on something every five minutes.
Mikey’s sure they can’t miss theirs as much as he misses his. They never had a Frank to bake themed cookies, or a Bob that would accept arm massages if he was in the right mood, or a Ray that would watch horrible movies at three in the morning with him. They never had a Gerard. But Mikey doesn’t talk about it, he just pops something from the hundreds of prescription bottles they’ve looted every time he feels down. He spends a lot of the time quiet, a lot of the time high.
That being said, if Gabe says he was right one more time, Mikey is going to shove the bottle down his throat until he chokes on it. He doesn’t need to be sober to hate them.
For the longest time -the descriptor being subjective, of course, the world they’re living in now, every minute feels like the longest time ever- Mikey doesn’t really consider screwing them. It's fucking bad enough that they're the last men on earth, Mikey's not turning this shit into more of a cliche. Of course, just like everything else about the end of the world, there's a good sense of irony in the phrase wouldn’t do you if you were the last man on earth, considering that when they weren’t, when there were plenty of men, he'd had sex with both Gabe and Pete. It's only when he doesn’t have a choice that he gets picky.
It’s not like Mikey has the same opportunities he used to anyway. There will never be another chance to be on tour with Gabe, drunk while Gerard rocks a bear suit, drunk enough that falling to his knees to suck Gabe’s cock is the only thing that makes sense. There will never be another chance to be curled up platonically on a bunk with Pete, waking up in the muggy evening heat both hard and hazy-headed.
Mikey can’t remember the last time he got to curl against someone in his sleep. It’s probably against the survival rulebook, but it’s not that. It’s just a line that crosses them back into the old world, and there’s not enough stolen lorazepam in universe for that to not crack Mikey. Instead he sleeps when they mutually decide to try to sleep, often in different made up beds in Sears, where Pete doesn’t have to freak out about sleeping on a dried and crusty bloody soaked mattress.
They don't sleep in shifts. They could, probably should, but they don't. There's nothing really to attack them. Besides, if nobody's sentry there's nobody to try to stop them from bleeding out like everyone else did. Mikey will never forget that image, waking up to the feel of damp sticky sheets beside him only to look over and see all the veins in Alicia's body torn open. His first response had been to call Gerard, then Lyn-Z to get Gerard, then Frank, Jamia, Ray, Bob, Brian, Momma, Dad. No one had answered. It was the first clue something was wrong, and Alicia hadn't just inexplicably committed suicide. If whatever it was happens again, and they're all sleeping, there's nobody to frantically grab at sheets to torn into tourniquets. They’re not going to kill themselves, but none are adverse to dying.
Mikey’s vow changes the day they stop at the Halloween shop. Roads aren't available anymore, they've all been covered in dead cars so they just spend most days walking. They could pretend they are looking for survivors, or making sure their supplies don't deplete but both would be lies. They're just not the kind that can stop moving. Sometimes they just walk until they're tired, eating food crammed in their backpacks. The time of unrotten produce is long gone, but they're rockstars, they know how to live on bags of chips. Sometimes they stop in stores or golf courses or waterparks where they take a few minutes to clear the corpses before having fun.
Gabe suggests it, and they follow him in. There’s no reason not to. Mikey walks through the store, looking for something that fits him. He settles for a Jack Skellington pinstripe suit, but doesn’t bother to put the mask on. It doesn’t look very well made, the plastic is more likely to cut the sides of his face than it is to make him actually look like the Pumpkin King.
Once he’s dressed he goes to find his mates. Pete is dressed like a clown, Gabe as Tarzan. Both have gone all out compared to him. Gabe’s got a fake vine tied around his forehead like a headband, and Pete’s got on a pair of size thirty shoes that flap like flippers.
He’s not sure what it is about the new looks that change everything. He doesn’t consciously decide that since they’re no longer pre-or-post apocalypse Gabe and Pete he can do this without crawling into memories that won’t let him go, or opening himself fully to the ache of the new world. He just surges forward, grabs Pete by his padded shoulders and kisses him frantically.
When he pulls away, the red outside drawn an inch from Pete’s mouth is smudged. Mikey’s sure it must be all over his face but he doesn’t care. He just wants to spread the taste of Pete to Gabe. For just a few minutes he wants to have this without having to associate anything with anything else. He doesn’t think it’s too much to ask.
Title: ... And I Feel Fine.
Pairing: Mikey/Pete/Gabe
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1210
Summary: In many ways, the end of the world is more aggravating than horrific.
Warnings: Pete, Mikey, and Gabe are the last people alive. So, mass other character death.
prompt used: costumes
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
If Mikey has to listen to Gabe say I told you so, or whatever ‘clever’ variant he’s come up with one more time, he’s going to kick him in the face. He doesn’t care that Gabe is taller than him. He will scale his body like climbing a tree, except instead of going for a ripe apple he’ll go for his cheekbones.
The fucking hell of it is Gabe had. He’d told fucking everyone, and everyone had thought he was stupid, or insane, or it was a gimmick. Gabe stuck by his story, and everyone had ignored him. And now everyone is dead.
Well, almost everyone. It would be easier if it was everyone-everyone. Like, if Mikey had died too. He’s sure he’d be far more satisfied dead than he is right now. Possibly mainly because he wouldn’t be able to feel any emotion at all. Which would be very fucking nice, because it’s not like he has the capability of sharing with either of the two dipsticks he’s with.
Pete misses everyone. Patrick, most of all, but Andy and Joe and Ashlee too. Some of the crew they’ve had around forever, all the baby bands he created. But instead of saying anything about it, he just writes in his notebook.
Gabe misses everyone. Ryland and Alex, Victoria and Nate, William and Travis. Gabe misses his fans, people that flash fangs up when he would walk by. But instead of talking about it, he just carries around cans of spray paint and writes ‘Cobras Rule’ on something every five minutes.
Mikey’s sure they can’t miss theirs as much as he misses his. They never had a Frank to bake themed cookies, or a Bob that would accept arm massages if he was in the right mood, or a Ray that would watch horrible movies at three in the morning with him. They never had a Gerard. But Mikey doesn’t talk about it, he just pops something from the hundreds of prescription bottles they’ve looted every time he feels down. He spends a lot of the time quiet, a lot of the time high.
That being said, if Gabe says he was right one more time, Mikey is going to shove the bottle down his throat until he chokes on it. He doesn’t need to be sober to hate them.
For the longest time -the descriptor being subjective, of course, the world they’re living in now, every minute feels like the longest time ever- Mikey doesn’t really consider screwing them. It's fucking bad enough that they're the last men on earth, Mikey's not turning this shit into more of a cliche. Of course, just like everything else about the end of the world, there's a good sense of irony in the phrase wouldn’t do you if you were the last man on earth, considering that when they weren’t, when there were plenty of men, he'd had sex with both Gabe and Pete. It's only when he doesn’t have a choice that he gets picky.
It’s not like Mikey has the same opportunities he used to anyway. There will never be another chance to be on tour with Gabe, drunk while Gerard rocks a bear suit, drunk enough that falling to his knees to suck Gabe’s cock is the only thing that makes sense. There will never be another chance to be curled up platonically on a bunk with Pete, waking up in the muggy evening heat both hard and hazy-headed.
Mikey can’t remember the last time he got to curl against someone in his sleep. It’s probably against the survival rulebook, but it’s not that. It’s just a line that crosses them back into the old world, and there’s not enough stolen lorazepam in universe for that to not crack Mikey. Instead he sleeps when they mutually decide to try to sleep, often in different made up beds in Sears, where Pete doesn’t have to freak out about sleeping on a dried and crusty bloody soaked mattress.
They don't sleep in shifts. They could, probably should, but they don't. There's nothing really to attack them. Besides, if nobody's sentry there's nobody to try to stop them from bleeding out like everyone else did. Mikey will never forget that image, waking up to the feel of damp sticky sheets beside him only to look over and see all the veins in Alicia's body torn open. His first response had been to call Gerard, then Lyn-Z to get Gerard, then Frank, Jamia, Ray, Bob, Brian, Momma, Dad. No one had answered. It was the first clue something was wrong, and Alicia hadn't just inexplicably committed suicide. If whatever it was happens again, and they're all sleeping, there's nobody to frantically grab at sheets to torn into tourniquets. They’re not going to kill themselves, but none are adverse to dying.
Mikey’s vow changes the day they stop at the Halloween shop. Roads aren't available anymore, they've all been covered in dead cars so they just spend most days walking. They could pretend they are looking for survivors, or making sure their supplies don't deplete but both would be lies. They're just not the kind that can stop moving. Sometimes they just walk until they're tired, eating food crammed in their backpacks. The time of unrotten produce is long gone, but they're rockstars, they know how to live on bags of chips. Sometimes they stop in stores or golf courses or waterparks where they take a few minutes to clear the corpses before having fun.
Gabe suggests it, and they follow him in. There’s no reason not to. Mikey walks through the store, looking for something that fits him. He settles for a Jack Skellington pinstripe suit, but doesn’t bother to put the mask on. It doesn’t look very well made, the plastic is more likely to cut the sides of his face than it is to make him actually look like the Pumpkin King.
Once he’s dressed he goes to find his mates. Pete is dressed like a clown, Gabe as Tarzan. Both have gone all out compared to him. Gabe’s got a fake vine tied around his forehead like a headband, and Pete’s got on a pair of size thirty shoes that flap like flippers.
He’s not sure what it is about the new looks that change everything. He doesn’t consciously decide that since they’re no longer pre-or-post apocalypse Gabe and Pete he can do this without crawling into memories that won’t let him go, or opening himself fully to the ache of the new world. He just surges forward, grabs Pete by his padded shoulders and kisses him frantically.
When he pulls away, the red outside drawn an inch from Pete’s mouth is smudged. Mikey’s sure it must be all over his face but he doesn’t care. He just wants to spread the taste of Pete to Gabe. For just a few minutes he wants to have this without having to associate anything with anything else. He doesn’t think it’s too much to ask.