Parker Lewis slash
Parker Lewis was one of my favorite shows growing up.
Granted, they were re-runs and I was about 6 when they originally aired, but still.
Parker and Mikey. Well you see the thing is that I literally have no control over my slashing mechanism.
One day I turned it on too fast and apparently broke the switch.
So, um, here's the result.
Rating: R
Author: leli_008
Fandom: Parker Lewis Can’t Lose
Pairing: Parker/Mikey
Summary: It’s a buds thing.
Feedback: My drug of choice.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never happened. FICTION.
Not a Problem
It’s not a problem.
Right?
It’s not a problem that every time he gets let down by life you want to hold him in your arms and make
it all go away.
It’s a best-buds kind of thing really.
It’s not a problem that you’ve always wanted to tell him that he’s the strong one, the smart one.
It’s not a problem that you’ve always wished that you’d stay friends through college, so that you could drag him to frat parties and the both of you could get very drunk and maybe you’d kiss him.
It’s not a problem that you’ve always thought that maybe, maybe he might kiss you back.
It’s not like you think about it a lot.
Because you love Annie.
You do.
She’s sweet and smart and funny and pretty and soft.
It’s not like sometimes when she’s kissing you; you wonder what Mikey’s lips would feel like.
It’s not like you know that he would taste of cinnamon and Pepsi.
You know that you wouldn’t have to talk, because he’d know and that would be ok.
You think Mikey would crush you up against the wall behind the Atlas and kiss you so hard your lips might bruise but you wouldn’t care because it felt so good.
And Mikey would be heavy and solid against you and he would run his hands down your body like maybe you were some exotic motorcycle, or his guitar.
And his nails would scratch against your skin, you know he has fingernails on his right hand because of aforementioned guitar.
Because Mikey likes to mark what’s his.
You know his hand would already be up your shirt.
Down your pants.
And he just might bite down a little too hard on your neck.
You think maybe you’d like it.
And maybe you would go back to your place, because he doesn’t like being over at his, and he would kiss
you again right in the middle of your dark living room just because he could and you wouldn’t care what
kind of unspeakable blackmail Shelly would put you through for the tape or the photographs or the courtroom sketches.
You think that he’d hold you steady as you fumbled up to your room.
You think he’d nuzzle the back of your neck as you turned around to lock the door.
You know you’d lean your forehead against the door and manage to whisper “Fuck, Mikey, I…” and you
know that he would back off a tiny bit and let you turn around but it would feel like he stepped to the
other side of the room because you wouldn’t feel the delicious heat of his body pressed against you any more.
You know that you would stare at each other for a while, and that he would want to ask if you’re sure because fuck, this will change everything.
Change both of you.
And he would know that you are sure, and that you won’t change, because this is who you’ve always been.
ParkerandMikey, MikeyandParker.
You think that you would be the one who kissed him first this time.
And then you think that maybe no, maybe he would again take the lead because you don’t always have to lead.
And Mikey would know that sometimes you don’t always want to lead.
You think that he would cock his head like he does when he’s pulled off a good prank, grin the grin that
you always wish was for you, pin your arms to the side of your head and kiss you again.
You think that the kiss itself would be gentle, but that the rest wouldn’t be.
You know that he would hold both your wrists above your head with one large hand and unbutton your shirt with the other one, you know that his mouth would muffle your cry as he teased your nipples with calloused fingertips.
You think that he would topple the both of you onto your bed and you think you might pass out from the sheer simple joy of being crushed under all that warm heavy flesh.
Under Mikey.
You know that you would loose your jeans first, because Mikey always unwraps his presents before you do, because patience is not a virtue that he’s familiar with.
You know that you’ll like it.
His clothes would come off eventually too, and it would just be you and him alone in an endless stretch
of time, you know that the second his mouth engulfed you were forever doomed.
And you know that he’d be good, because Mikey’s good at this shit.
You know that he’d keep one hand gripped within yours, release the other so you can tangle it in his dark hair; which he should wash more often.
Your mouth would be dry from breathing that way, from choking back all the things you should by all rights be screaming.
You think that you might try to warn him but he’ll swallow it anyway.
You know that you’ll never have come so hard, so good.
You know that he’ll kiss you again, because he wants you to taste this, to taste youonhim. To taste what he does to you than Annie never could,
You think you should be grossed out but you know that you won’t be.
Just like you know that he’ll suddenly become shy when you reach down with clever fingers to return the favor.
You know that just as he likes to lead he likes to be led.
You know that you’ll think that it’s time to remind him just who’s in charge of the buds.
You think that it won’t be all that different from when you do this to yourself but then you think that it is because you don’t get to look at the way Mikey’s eyes glaze over when you’re alone.
You don’t get to hear the audible gasps and the raspy whispered “Jesus, Park…”, you don’t get to rest your lips on his, so that you’re tasting the words instead of hearing them. You don’t get to feel aforementioned fingernails dig into your shoulder or feel his prized body arch into your own when he comes in your hand.
You’ll wipe your hand on the old t-shirt that you keep between the mattresses and you’ll wonder briefly if your mom will know because the whole room smells of it.
Of youandhim.
You think you’ll kind of like it.
You’ll like feeling messy and damp and sticky like that.
You know he’ll stay the night without you asking.
Under the covers you’ll be too terrified to look at him, still trembling and flushed from something too long in the making.
Under the covers he’ll kiss you again and call you beautiful and even though you won’t believe him your heart will skip a beat or two.
But just one or two.
You’re still Parker Lewis after all.
You think that maybe the next morning Jerry will silently observe that you have stubble rash because Mikey should shave more often and you wish that you needed to shave more often. You think that Jerry would be coolness about it, because he just would be.
But that’s as far as you’ve gone really because who thinks about these things anyways and besides, Annie’s coming over for a movie tonight and there’s still that cold shower to be had.
Sighing you stuff the old t-shirt back between the mattresses and tug at your sheets so that they’re presentable again.
Make that an extra cold shower.
p.s. Happy respective holidays everyone!
sorry if I don't respond to comments, army all week you know...
Granted, they were re-runs and I was about 6 when they originally aired, but still.
Parker and Mikey. Well you see the thing is that I literally have no control over my slashing mechanism.
One day I turned it on too fast and apparently broke the switch.
So, um, here's the result.
Rating: R
Author: leli_008
Fandom: Parker Lewis Can’t Lose
Pairing: Parker/Mikey
Summary: It’s a buds thing.
Feedback: My drug of choice.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never happened. FICTION.
Not a Problem
It’s not a problem.
Right?
It’s not a problem that every time he gets let down by life you want to hold him in your arms and make
it all go away.
It’s a best-buds kind of thing really.
It’s not a problem that you’ve always wanted to tell him that he’s the strong one, the smart one.
It’s not a problem that you’ve always wished that you’d stay friends through college, so that you could drag him to frat parties and the both of you could get very drunk and maybe you’d kiss him.
It’s not a problem that you’ve always thought that maybe, maybe he might kiss you back.
It’s not like you think about it a lot.
Because you love Annie.
You do.
She’s sweet and smart and funny and pretty and soft.
It’s not like sometimes when she’s kissing you; you wonder what Mikey’s lips would feel like.
It’s not like you know that he would taste of cinnamon and Pepsi.
You know that you wouldn’t have to talk, because he’d know and that would be ok.
You think Mikey would crush you up against the wall behind the Atlas and kiss you so hard your lips might bruise but you wouldn’t care because it felt so good.
And Mikey would be heavy and solid against you and he would run his hands down your body like maybe you were some exotic motorcycle, or his guitar.
And his nails would scratch against your skin, you know he has fingernails on his right hand because of aforementioned guitar.
Because Mikey likes to mark what’s his.
You know his hand would already be up your shirt.
Down your pants.
And he just might bite down a little too hard on your neck.
You think maybe you’d like it.
And maybe you would go back to your place, because he doesn’t like being over at his, and he would kiss
you again right in the middle of your dark living room just because he could and you wouldn’t care what
kind of unspeakable blackmail Shelly would put you through for the tape or the photographs or the courtroom sketches.
You think that he’d hold you steady as you fumbled up to your room.
You think he’d nuzzle the back of your neck as you turned around to lock the door.
You know you’d lean your forehead against the door and manage to whisper “Fuck, Mikey, I…” and you
know that he would back off a tiny bit and let you turn around but it would feel like he stepped to the
other side of the room because you wouldn’t feel the delicious heat of his body pressed against you any more.
You know that you would stare at each other for a while, and that he would want to ask if you’re sure because fuck, this will change everything.
Change both of you.
And he would know that you are sure, and that you won’t change, because this is who you’ve always been.
ParkerandMikey, MikeyandParker.
You think that you would be the one who kissed him first this time.
And then you think that maybe no, maybe he would again take the lead because you don’t always have to lead.
And Mikey would know that sometimes you don’t always want to lead.
You think that he would cock his head like he does when he’s pulled off a good prank, grin the grin that
you always wish was for you, pin your arms to the side of your head and kiss you again.
You think that the kiss itself would be gentle, but that the rest wouldn’t be.
You know that he would hold both your wrists above your head with one large hand and unbutton your shirt with the other one, you know that his mouth would muffle your cry as he teased your nipples with calloused fingertips.
You think that he would topple the both of you onto your bed and you think you might pass out from the sheer simple joy of being crushed under all that warm heavy flesh.
Under Mikey.
You know that you would loose your jeans first, because Mikey always unwraps his presents before you do, because patience is not a virtue that he’s familiar with.
You know that you’ll like it.
His clothes would come off eventually too, and it would just be you and him alone in an endless stretch
of time, you know that the second his mouth engulfed you were forever doomed.
And you know that he’d be good, because Mikey’s good at this shit.
You know that he’d keep one hand gripped within yours, release the other so you can tangle it in his dark hair; which he should wash more often.
Your mouth would be dry from breathing that way, from choking back all the things you should by all rights be screaming.
You think that you might try to warn him but he’ll swallow it anyway.
You know that you’ll never have come so hard, so good.
You know that he’ll kiss you again, because he wants you to taste this, to taste youonhim. To taste what he does to you than Annie never could,
You think you should be grossed out but you know that you won’t be.
Just like you know that he’ll suddenly become shy when you reach down with clever fingers to return the favor.
You know that just as he likes to lead he likes to be led.
You know that you’ll think that it’s time to remind him just who’s in charge of the buds.
You think that it won’t be all that different from when you do this to yourself but then you think that it is because you don’t get to look at the way Mikey’s eyes glaze over when you’re alone.
You don’t get to hear the audible gasps and the raspy whispered “Jesus, Park…”, you don’t get to rest your lips on his, so that you’re tasting the words instead of hearing them. You don’t get to feel aforementioned fingernails dig into your shoulder or feel his prized body arch into your own when he comes in your hand.
You’ll wipe your hand on the old t-shirt that you keep between the mattresses and you’ll wonder briefly if your mom will know because the whole room smells of it.
Of youandhim.
You think you’ll kind of like it.
You’ll like feeling messy and damp and sticky like that.
You know he’ll stay the night without you asking.
Under the covers you’ll be too terrified to look at him, still trembling and flushed from something too long in the making.
Under the covers he’ll kiss you again and call you beautiful and even though you won’t believe him your heart will skip a beat or two.
But just one or two.
You’re still Parker Lewis after all.
You think that maybe the next morning Jerry will silently observe that you have stubble rash because Mikey should shave more often and you wish that you needed to shave more often. You think that Jerry would be coolness about it, because he just would be.
But that’s as far as you’ve gone really because who thinks about these things anyways and besides, Annie’s coming over for a movie tonight and there’s still that cold shower to be had.
Sighing you stuff the old t-shirt back between the mattresses and tug at your sheets so that they’re presentable again.
Make that an extra cold shower.
p.s. Happy respective holidays everyone!
sorry if I don't respond to comments, army all week you know...