Scandinavian Hands (3/??)
Title:Scandinavian Hands
Author: i_am_a_werewolf
Rating: PG13 (maybe)
Pairing: Mikey/Bob with a side of Gerard Lyn-Z because not all het sex is gross
POV: MikeyWay 1st person
Summary: Highschool AU in which Bob and Mikey have gym together, Bob is snarky, and speaks Norwegian (It's better than the summary makes it sound)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine. Also, if you googled yourself to get here, I'm thinking you have problems, so I'm not going to tell you to go back, because you brought this upon yourself.
My morning has been hectic. Gee made me go to the hair salon with him at seven o’clock this morning. I didn’t even know that place was open so early. He also tried to convince me that I needed to get a hair cut. Over my dead body. I was not getting a haircut on the day of my movie date with Bob.
Once we got back, two hours later, we had lunch. Now, normally, that would be a simple fifteen minute task. However, I am related to someone who thinks he can cook, but can barely make toast. He managed to burn everything. At least it wasn’t as bad as the time Frank came over and tried to cook. He set off every smoke detector in the house.
Then, we had to do many trivial tasks, like ‘chores’. I don’t really call them chores anymore, because we don’t live with our parents, so it’s not like they make us do them.
Currently, it’s 12:30 P.M. and I have an hour and a half to get ready for my date. I’m sitting on bed staring at my open closet. What should I wear? I am usually quite sufficient at dressing myself, but today, that’s not the case.
Helplessly, I yell, “Gerard!” He walks to my doorway.
“Yes, Fratellino?” He’s playing with his short hair. He looks, oddly, more masculine.
“Help. I don’t know what to wear.” Gee raises his eyebrows (he never did master the arching of just one) as if to say ‘for what?’
I sigh. “I have a date later,” I tell him.
“With Bob?” Damn him. I nod.
My brother scoffs and goes to my closet. I watch him pull out a pair of tight black skinny jeans with a slight rip in one knee, one of my older Anthrax shirts. Then he got into my dresser and throws two black socks at me. He hands the rest of the clothing to me, grabs a checkered sweatband off of my night stand and nudges my black, beat up converse with his foot. The sweatband is then flung at me as he leaves my room.
“Get dressed,” he says on his way out. “Then, meet me in the bathroom.”
I dress wordlessly, then venture out to the hall. Before I can make it to the bathroom, Gee is pulling me along. I have a feeling he is really excited to do my make up.
As he pats the counter, signaling me to sit on it, I say, “Only eyeliner. I’m not a queen.”
I can hear him mutter ‘yet’, and I can see him pouting in the mirror. He picks up a kohl pencil from the counter, takes off my glasses and tells me to close my eyes. I’m not too worried that he’ll poke me in the eye because he does his own make up without injury, and I do my own; I’m considerable more clumsy than him.
The pressure on my eyes only last a couple seconds, then Gee says, “Open.” I open my eyes and look up as he does the bottom lids. He does this quickly too and sets the pencil back on the counter. He rubs his index finger expertly across my lids, smudging the black liner. That’s when he picks up the flat iron.
“Don’t burn me!” I don’t know how crafty he is with a hot straight piece of metal. I rarely straighten my own hair, I just stick on a hat.
“I won’t Fratellino. Trust me.” And I guess I do. I close my eyes again and let him work his magic.
I hear the flat iron click off, and the heat is soon contrasted by the coldness of his hands covered in what I assume to be gel, running through the back of my hair.
“Okay, I’m done.” I open my eyes and slide on my glasses. I really don’t look that bad.
“No, no, no, no.” Before I can respond, Gee snatches my glasses off of my face. I blink rapidly. I don’t try moving; I’m clumsy when I can see, but without vision I’m disastrous. I’m almost legally blind.
After about a minute, Gee is back, handing me a pair of glasses. I can’t really tell if they’re the same ones or not. I slide the new ones on and look in the mirror again. These are definitely not the same pair.
My new pair has thicker frames, half black and half white. Not to be conceited, but these make me look way better.
I jump when the doorbell rings. In the hall, I check the clock, it’s only 1:30. I hurry down the stairs anyway. I trip over the last step and stumble into the door with a loud stud. It takes a second, but I’m steady and I pull open the door.
“Are you okay?” It’s Bob. Blond hair and shiny blue eyes. I nod and tell him, “I do that about every other day.” I step aside and let him come in. “You’re a half hour early,” I add.
“I know. I was kinda quick about getting over here.” Bob shoots me a small smile. “I wanted to get away from my father.”
“Well, then how about we waste time by me kicking your ass at Guitar Hero?” I smirk and he agrees. I lead him up the stairs, where I almost fall on my face again. Luckily, I catch myself with my hands.
“Are you okay?” The blond asks, trying to sound concerned, but I can hear the laughter in his voice. I push myself up and straighten my shirt. I keep walking to my room. I can feel him staring at me. Even thought I can’t see him, I blush, realizing that when I fell, I accidentally pushed my ass up in the air, toward Bob.
At my door, I do my special opening technique. Turn the handle to the left, then to the right, back to the left, hold the knob and kick the bottom. With that, I push it open and explain, “It sticks.”
As Bob sits on my bed, I click on my TV, before pulling the controllers out of my closet. I hand him one, and I sit next to him.
“Ready to get your ass handed to you?” I ask. Bob just smirks and chooses the song.
***
My fingers move rapidly over the buttons. The clacking is almost louder than the song. Suddenly, the order reverses itself. I’ve been lefty-ed.
“Asshole,” I say, tipping my guitar and breaking on of Bob’s ‘strings’.
“You would’ve done it to me,” Bob says over the song. He hits me with an amp overload, followed by a double notes and a difficulty up. I can’t help the string of curses that spill from my mouth. I manage to hit a few more notes before I lose.
“I hate you. We need to play again. I’m just getting warmed up,” I say to Bob as the screen flashes ‘Player Two Rocks!’
“We’ve played like eight songs and the walls are melting. Are you still warming up?” Bob rubs his eyes and stares at the walls.
“Yes.” He can’t protest because I’ve already chosen the next song. He blinks rapidly during the quick intro before getting right back into it.
***
“So much for me getting my ass handed to me, yeah?” Bob smirks and pulls off the controller.
“Have I made it clear that I hate you?” I stand to put the guitars up, but stumble and sit back down. The walls are moving.
“What time is it?” I ask, trying to read my alarm clock. The numbers are too wobbly. After a few seconds, Bob answers with 2:15.
“Damn it,” I swear. “We already missed the beginning of the movie.”
“So? We could watch shitty horror films and make jokes about them,” Bob suggests. I agree and stand up, now that the walls are finally still. I put the controllers away and head back downstairs.
We reach the couch downstairs, and find Lyn-Z sitting on it, painting her nails. She sees us and smiles.
“How cute, I’ll leave you two be.” She grabs her polish and wanders off to the kitchen. I don’t mind. Lyn-Z practically lives here, anyway.
We both sit on the couch, and I flip through the horror movies On Demand. Bob insists I chose Midnight Meat Train, insisting that it isn’t a porno. As the beginning credits start to roll, I remember I’m terrified of horror movies in all shapes and forms. Well, fuck.
Author: i_am_a_werewolf
Rating: PG13 (maybe)
Pairing: Mikey/Bob with a side of Gerard Lyn-Z because not all het sex is gross
POV: MikeyWay 1st person
Summary: Highschool AU in which Bob and Mikey have gym together, Bob is snarky, and speaks Norwegian (It's better than the summary makes it sound)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine. Also, if you googled yourself to get here, I'm thinking you have problems, so I'm not going to tell you to go back, because you brought this upon yourself.
My morning has been hectic. Gee made me go to the hair salon with him at seven o’clock this morning. I didn’t even know that place was open so early. He also tried to convince me that I needed to get a hair cut. Over my dead body. I was not getting a haircut on the day of my movie date with Bob.
Once we got back, two hours later, we had lunch. Now, normally, that would be a simple fifteen minute task. However, I am related to someone who thinks he can cook, but can barely make toast. He managed to burn everything. At least it wasn’t as bad as the time Frank came over and tried to cook. He set off every smoke detector in the house.
Then, we had to do many trivial tasks, like ‘chores’. I don’t really call them chores anymore, because we don’t live with our parents, so it’s not like they make us do them.
Currently, it’s 12:30 P.M. and I have an hour and a half to get ready for my date. I’m sitting on bed staring at my open closet. What should I wear? I am usually quite sufficient at dressing myself, but today, that’s not the case.
Helplessly, I yell, “Gerard!” He walks to my doorway.
“Yes, Fratellino?” He’s playing with his short hair. He looks, oddly, more masculine.
“Help. I don’t know what to wear.” Gee raises his eyebrows (he never did master the arching of just one) as if to say ‘for what?’
I sigh. “I have a date later,” I tell him.
“With Bob?” Damn him. I nod.
My brother scoffs and goes to my closet. I watch him pull out a pair of tight black skinny jeans with a slight rip in one knee, one of my older Anthrax shirts. Then he got into my dresser and throws two black socks at me. He hands the rest of the clothing to me, grabs a checkered sweatband off of my night stand and nudges my black, beat up converse with his foot. The sweatband is then flung at me as he leaves my room.
“Get dressed,” he says on his way out. “Then, meet me in the bathroom.”
I dress wordlessly, then venture out to the hall. Before I can make it to the bathroom, Gee is pulling me along. I have a feeling he is really excited to do my make up.
As he pats the counter, signaling me to sit on it, I say, “Only eyeliner. I’m not a queen.”
I can hear him mutter ‘yet’, and I can see him pouting in the mirror. He picks up a kohl pencil from the counter, takes off my glasses and tells me to close my eyes. I’m not too worried that he’ll poke me in the eye because he does his own make up without injury, and I do my own; I’m considerable more clumsy than him.
The pressure on my eyes only last a couple seconds, then Gee says, “Open.” I open my eyes and look up as he does the bottom lids. He does this quickly too and sets the pencil back on the counter. He rubs his index finger expertly across my lids, smudging the black liner. That’s when he picks up the flat iron.
“Don’t burn me!” I don’t know how crafty he is with a hot straight piece of metal. I rarely straighten my own hair, I just stick on a hat.
“I won’t Fratellino. Trust me.” And I guess I do. I close my eyes again and let him work his magic.
I hear the flat iron click off, and the heat is soon contrasted by the coldness of his hands covered in what I assume to be gel, running through the back of my hair.
“Okay, I’m done.” I open my eyes and slide on my glasses. I really don’t look that bad.
“No, no, no, no.” Before I can respond, Gee snatches my glasses off of my face. I blink rapidly. I don’t try moving; I’m clumsy when I can see, but without vision I’m disastrous. I’m almost legally blind.
After about a minute, Gee is back, handing me a pair of glasses. I can’t really tell if they’re the same ones or not. I slide the new ones on and look in the mirror again. These are definitely not the same pair.
My new pair has thicker frames, half black and half white. Not to be conceited, but these make me look way better.
I jump when the doorbell rings. In the hall, I check the clock, it’s only 1:30. I hurry down the stairs anyway. I trip over the last step and stumble into the door with a loud stud. It takes a second, but I’m steady and I pull open the door.
“Are you okay?” It’s Bob. Blond hair and shiny blue eyes. I nod and tell him, “I do that about every other day.” I step aside and let him come in. “You’re a half hour early,” I add.
“I know. I was kinda quick about getting over here.” Bob shoots me a small smile. “I wanted to get away from my father.”
“Well, then how about we waste time by me kicking your ass at Guitar Hero?” I smirk and he agrees. I lead him up the stairs, where I almost fall on my face again. Luckily, I catch myself with my hands.
“Are you okay?” The blond asks, trying to sound concerned, but I can hear the laughter in his voice. I push myself up and straighten my shirt. I keep walking to my room. I can feel him staring at me. Even thought I can’t see him, I blush, realizing that when I fell, I accidentally pushed my ass up in the air, toward Bob.
At my door, I do my special opening technique. Turn the handle to the left, then to the right, back to the left, hold the knob and kick the bottom. With that, I push it open and explain, “It sticks.”
As Bob sits on my bed, I click on my TV, before pulling the controllers out of my closet. I hand him one, and I sit next to him.
“Ready to get your ass handed to you?” I ask. Bob just smirks and chooses the song.
***
My fingers move rapidly over the buttons. The clacking is almost louder than the song. Suddenly, the order reverses itself. I’ve been lefty-ed.
“Asshole,” I say, tipping my guitar and breaking on of Bob’s ‘strings’.
“You would’ve done it to me,” Bob says over the song. He hits me with an amp overload, followed by a double notes and a difficulty up. I can’t help the string of curses that spill from my mouth. I manage to hit a few more notes before I lose.
“I hate you. We need to play again. I’m just getting warmed up,” I say to Bob as the screen flashes ‘Player Two Rocks!’
“We’ve played like eight songs and the walls are melting. Are you still warming up?” Bob rubs his eyes and stares at the walls.
“Yes.” He can’t protest because I’ve already chosen the next song. He blinks rapidly during the quick intro before getting right back into it.
***
“So much for me getting my ass handed to me, yeah?” Bob smirks and pulls off the controller.
“Have I made it clear that I hate you?” I stand to put the guitars up, but stumble and sit back down. The walls are moving.
“What time is it?” I ask, trying to read my alarm clock. The numbers are too wobbly. After a few seconds, Bob answers with 2:15.
“Damn it,” I swear. “We already missed the beginning of the movie.”
“So? We could watch shitty horror films and make jokes about them,” Bob suggests. I agree and stand up, now that the walls are finally still. I put the controllers away and head back downstairs.
We reach the couch downstairs, and find Lyn-Z sitting on it, painting her nails. She sees us and smiles.
“How cute, I’ll leave you two be.” She grabs her polish and wanders off to the kitchen. I don’t mind. Lyn-Z practically lives here, anyway.
We both sit on the couch, and I flip through the horror movies On Demand. Bob insists I chose Midnight Meat Train, insisting that it isn’t a porno. As the beginning credits start to roll, I remember I’m terrified of horror movies in all shapes and forms. Well, fuck.