Fic: and it's playing just right (Waycest, PG-13)
Title: and it's playing just right
Summary: Just boys and monsters and the darkness and the light.
Characters: Gerard/Mikey (nonexplicit)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1518
AN: For thelemic’s request here.
When Mikey was little, he got scared easily.
He’d always creep out of his own bed and through the dark labyrinth of their house to Gerard’s room, terrified of everything he was sure he could see in the darkness but knowing that he would be safe as soon as he found his brother.
Gerard would grumble and roll his eyes and scoot over and let Mikey clutch onto his favorite faded stuffed monkey. He would tell scary stories even though Mikey was already scared, but with Gerard making goofy faces and sticking out his tongue and yelling about zombies fighting cannibals while vampires lurked in the shadows, the darkness didn’t feel so impenetrable.
Their mother never said a word when she found them curled up together sharing Gerard’s pillow.
Mikey was glad; he didn’t want to tell her he was a scaredycat.
*
When they were teenagers, Gerard moved down to the basement. Their mother wanted to give him privacy, and their dad agreed that he was old enough for some freedom.
Gerard got a fullsize bed, which Mikey told him was overly optimistic. Gerard threw a dirty sock at him.
More nights than not, Mikey ended up falling asleep on Gerard’s bed watching b-movies and reading comics and talking about music. He woke up sprawled across the foot of the bed with Gerard’s feet in his back or curled up along the pillows with a mouthful of Gerard’s greasy hair or snuggled up against his brother, who was soft and cozy in all the ways Mikey wasn’t.
Gerard was older, but he never treated Mikey like he was, except when he was trying to lord something over his head. Mikey didn’t mind so much.
The first time he ever got drunk was in Gerard’s basement room. A small cache of beer stolen from the fridge upstairs disappeared between the two of them, with Gerard laughing when Mikey sputtered and stuttered and stumbled into him.
He woke up the next morning with an aching head and his dry mouth pressed up against Gerard’s bare shoulder blade.
Their mother had an unreadable look when she barged in, clanging stuff around and talking in a loud cheerful voice, but she never said anything.
For his part, Mikey never did either.
*
There wasn’t room in the van for personal space.
Mikey spent practically every moment of his day on top of his bandmates, sharing space and food and clothes and his life, basically, and he loved it. There was an excitement, some undercurrent to everything they did, that Mikey knew meant that something special was going to happen.
He almost didn’t dare hope that the kids would love his brother, his band as much as he did.
Still, he kind of missed his brother. They were together all the time, sure, but so were the rest of the guys, and it wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t the same at all.
*
“Mikey, Mikey,” Gerard said, falling into Mikey’s side and pressing a loud smacking kiss to his cheek. “Mikey Way, you’re my favorite. You’re my brother.”
“Come on, it’s just a little bit farther,” Mikey said, trying to help Gerard balance enough to walk in something resembling a straight line. “Just up ahead.”
The tour bus was huge and hulking and Mikey wasn’t sure he could manhandle Gerard up the steps to the lounge.
“Mikey, I miss you,” Gerard mumbled into his neck. His breath was hot and raised the hairs on the back of Mikey’s neck. “Stay with me.”
“If you make it up the steps,” Mikey said, opening the bus door. “It’s not very far. Steady.” He held out a hand, making sure he was there in case Gerard stumbled.
“Safe as houses,” Gerard mumbled, making his way slowly up the steps like it was a fucking mountain. “Mikey Way, keeping me sane. Safe, I mean.”
Mikey helped him onto the couch in the lounge, and began to pry off Gerard’s shoes. He didn’t bother with any of the clothes; it wasn’t like they had any clean ones stashed away anywhere. He wasn’t about to try to cram Gerard into his bunk, either. That was a recipe for disaster.
“You promised,” Gerard said when Mikey began to stumble to the bunks for a blanket.
“I did,” Mikey agreed, and grabbed the blanket and joined his brother on the couch.
He folded himself in next to Gerard, trying to keep his knees out of sensitive areas and wrestling the pillow out from under Gerard’s shoulder to share. They finally ended up halfway on top of each other.
“Love you,” Gerard whispered, and tilted his head and brushed his lips against Mikey’s.
It only lasted a moment.
“Love you too,” Mikey replied, pressing his head back into the couch cushion, trying to read Gerard’s expression.
He couldn’t. It was disconcerting; he could always tell what Gee was thinking.
A soft cough came from the entrance, and Mikey looked over to see Frank standing in the walkway, brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry--” Frank said, looking awkward and confused, and Mikey didn’t know why.
“What-?” he began to ask, but then realized he could taste his brother on his lips, could feel the hot line of his brother’s body against his own, and could suddenly see in his own mind what Frank saw.
It didn’t...
It was Gerard, it wasn’t strange at all.
In the morning, Frank didn’t say anything. Mikey didn’t bother trying to come up with words to explain it.
*
“Just let me...” Mikey burrowed into Gerard’s bed, scooting through the cool expanse of generic hotel sheets that smell like nothing at all to find warmth and comfort.
Gerard was sober, but Mikey was far from it.
“Are you okay?” Gerard asked, wrapping an arm around Mikey and pulling him close as a lover.
“Yes,” Mikey lied. Gerard’s fingers were splayed across his side, fingertips brushing against his hip and hand warm over the bare strip of skin where his shirt was riding up. Mikey let out a slow exhale. “Tell me a story?”
He hadn’t asked in years.
Gerard kind of laughed, a movement sharp enough to send Mikey’s head bobbling against his side. He wasn’t as comfortable as he used to be, Mikey thought, and belatedly realized he’d said so aloud.
“I try,” Gerard said wryly. He tightened his grip. “See how strong I am?”
His thumb slid across Mikey’s hip, and Mikey couldn’t stop the sharp exhale of breath and bucking his hips slightly, closer into Gerard’s side. Gerard froze, and for the first time in his life Mikey thought something he was ashamed to admit to his brother.
Mikey raised his head and pressed his lips to Gerard’s neck in something resembling a kiss.
Something resembling desperation.
“I--” Gerard began, and Mikey felt the rumble of words through his lips.
“Don’t,” Mikey said. “I know. I...” He didn’t know what he was doing. “I miss you sometimes.”
Gerard’s hand was slowly moving against his side, tiny slow circles that felt like torture and ecstacy all at once. It was excruciating.
“I miss you too,” Gerard said. “Especially when you’re right beside me.”
Things had always been safer for them in their own heads. Out in the open, in reality where the shadows slid away to reveal that things were just dull and ordinary...
Mikey didn’t want this to be dull and ordinary. He pulled slightly away, enough that Gerard’s fingers could no longer skim his hip.
Gerard didn’t ask him to go, because that would be acknowledging that something strange was happening.
Mikey didn’t leave because of the same reason.
In the light of day, the uncomfortable silence would seem ridiculous. At least, Mikey hoped so.
*
It was months later, when Mikey was so fucked up he couldn’t keep reality and dreams separate in the cold lonely bedroom he’d been assigned, that he remembered Gerard had never told him a story.
He scurried to Gerard’s room, seeing shapes in the shadows and remembering similar journeys during his childhood, and was relieved when he shut the door behind him and concentrated on keeping his breathing steady and slow.
“Hey,” he whispered to Gerard, shaking his shoulder lightly and climbing into the bed. “Hey, Gee.”
Gerard grumbled, swatted at his hand and then cracked open an eye. “What?”
“Tell me a story?” Mikey’s voice sounded tiny and pathetic even to himself.
Gerard groaned and rolled onto his back, halfway sitting up. “Now?”
“No, in the fucking morning,” Mikey said. “Please just... I need a story.”
“Fine,” Gerard said, tugging at his blankets to let Mikey in. Mikey felt as gangly as a teenager as he tried to get underneath them and elbowed Gerard in the nose.
“Sorry,” Mikey mumbled. Gerard made a face at him.
It was the closest to being home Mikey had felt in a long while, and he pressed in close, breathing it in.
Gerard began to tell him a story in a halting voice, something that made little sense and had no fully realized characters, just boys and monsters and the darkness and the light.
Mikey never wanted to leave.
Summary: Just boys and monsters and the darkness and the light.
Characters: Gerard/Mikey (nonexplicit)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1518
AN: For thelemic’s request here.
When Mikey was little, he got scared easily.
He’d always creep out of his own bed and through the dark labyrinth of their house to Gerard’s room, terrified of everything he was sure he could see in the darkness but knowing that he would be safe as soon as he found his brother.
Gerard would grumble and roll his eyes and scoot over and let Mikey clutch onto his favorite faded stuffed monkey. He would tell scary stories even though Mikey was already scared, but with Gerard making goofy faces and sticking out his tongue and yelling about zombies fighting cannibals while vampires lurked in the shadows, the darkness didn’t feel so impenetrable.
Their mother never said a word when she found them curled up together sharing Gerard’s pillow.
Mikey was glad; he didn’t want to tell her he was a scaredycat.
*
When they were teenagers, Gerard moved down to the basement. Their mother wanted to give him privacy, and their dad agreed that he was old enough for some freedom.
Gerard got a fullsize bed, which Mikey told him was overly optimistic. Gerard threw a dirty sock at him.
More nights than not, Mikey ended up falling asleep on Gerard’s bed watching b-movies and reading comics and talking about music. He woke up sprawled across the foot of the bed with Gerard’s feet in his back or curled up along the pillows with a mouthful of Gerard’s greasy hair or snuggled up against his brother, who was soft and cozy in all the ways Mikey wasn’t.
Gerard was older, but he never treated Mikey like he was, except when he was trying to lord something over his head. Mikey didn’t mind so much.
The first time he ever got drunk was in Gerard’s basement room. A small cache of beer stolen from the fridge upstairs disappeared between the two of them, with Gerard laughing when Mikey sputtered and stuttered and stumbled into him.
He woke up the next morning with an aching head and his dry mouth pressed up against Gerard’s bare shoulder blade.
Their mother had an unreadable look when she barged in, clanging stuff around and talking in a loud cheerful voice, but she never said anything.
For his part, Mikey never did either.
*
There wasn’t room in the van for personal space.
Mikey spent practically every moment of his day on top of his bandmates, sharing space and food and clothes and his life, basically, and he loved it. There was an excitement, some undercurrent to everything they did, that Mikey knew meant that something special was going to happen.
He almost didn’t dare hope that the kids would love his brother, his band as much as he did.
Still, he kind of missed his brother. They were together all the time, sure, but so were the rest of the guys, and it wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t the same at all.
*
“Mikey, Mikey,” Gerard said, falling into Mikey’s side and pressing a loud smacking kiss to his cheek. “Mikey Way, you’re my favorite. You’re my brother.”
“Come on, it’s just a little bit farther,” Mikey said, trying to help Gerard balance enough to walk in something resembling a straight line. “Just up ahead.”
The tour bus was huge and hulking and Mikey wasn’t sure he could manhandle Gerard up the steps to the lounge.
“Mikey, I miss you,” Gerard mumbled into his neck. His breath was hot and raised the hairs on the back of Mikey’s neck. “Stay with me.”
“If you make it up the steps,” Mikey said, opening the bus door. “It’s not very far. Steady.” He held out a hand, making sure he was there in case Gerard stumbled.
“Safe as houses,” Gerard mumbled, making his way slowly up the steps like it was a fucking mountain. “Mikey Way, keeping me sane. Safe, I mean.”
Mikey helped him onto the couch in the lounge, and began to pry off Gerard’s shoes. He didn’t bother with any of the clothes; it wasn’t like they had any clean ones stashed away anywhere. He wasn’t about to try to cram Gerard into his bunk, either. That was a recipe for disaster.
“You promised,” Gerard said when Mikey began to stumble to the bunks for a blanket.
“I did,” Mikey agreed, and grabbed the blanket and joined his brother on the couch.
He folded himself in next to Gerard, trying to keep his knees out of sensitive areas and wrestling the pillow out from under Gerard’s shoulder to share. They finally ended up halfway on top of each other.
“Love you,” Gerard whispered, and tilted his head and brushed his lips against Mikey’s.
It only lasted a moment.
“Love you too,” Mikey replied, pressing his head back into the couch cushion, trying to read Gerard’s expression.
He couldn’t. It was disconcerting; he could always tell what Gee was thinking.
A soft cough came from the entrance, and Mikey looked over to see Frank standing in the walkway, brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry--” Frank said, looking awkward and confused, and Mikey didn’t know why.
“What-?” he began to ask, but then realized he could taste his brother on his lips, could feel the hot line of his brother’s body against his own, and could suddenly see in his own mind what Frank saw.
It didn’t...
It was Gerard, it wasn’t strange at all.
In the morning, Frank didn’t say anything. Mikey didn’t bother trying to come up with words to explain it.
*
“Just let me...” Mikey burrowed into Gerard’s bed, scooting through the cool expanse of generic hotel sheets that smell like nothing at all to find warmth and comfort.
Gerard was sober, but Mikey was far from it.
“Are you okay?” Gerard asked, wrapping an arm around Mikey and pulling him close as a lover.
“Yes,” Mikey lied. Gerard’s fingers were splayed across his side, fingertips brushing against his hip and hand warm over the bare strip of skin where his shirt was riding up. Mikey let out a slow exhale. “Tell me a story?”
He hadn’t asked in years.
Gerard kind of laughed, a movement sharp enough to send Mikey’s head bobbling against his side. He wasn’t as comfortable as he used to be, Mikey thought, and belatedly realized he’d said so aloud.
“I try,” Gerard said wryly. He tightened his grip. “See how strong I am?”
His thumb slid across Mikey’s hip, and Mikey couldn’t stop the sharp exhale of breath and bucking his hips slightly, closer into Gerard’s side. Gerard froze, and for the first time in his life Mikey thought something he was ashamed to admit to his brother.
Mikey raised his head and pressed his lips to Gerard’s neck in something resembling a kiss.
Something resembling desperation.
“I--” Gerard began, and Mikey felt the rumble of words through his lips.
“Don’t,” Mikey said. “I know. I...” He didn’t know what he was doing. “I miss you sometimes.”
Gerard’s hand was slowly moving against his side, tiny slow circles that felt like torture and ecstacy all at once. It was excruciating.
“I miss you too,” Gerard said. “Especially when you’re right beside me.”
Things had always been safer for them in their own heads. Out in the open, in reality where the shadows slid away to reveal that things were just dull and ordinary...
Mikey didn’t want this to be dull and ordinary. He pulled slightly away, enough that Gerard’s fingers could no longer skim his hip.
Gerard didn’t ask him to go, because that would be acknowledging that something strange was happening.
Mikey didn’t leave because of the same reason.
In the light of day, the uncomfortable silence would seem ridiculous. At least, Mikey hoped so.
*
It was months later, when Mikey was so fucked up he couldn’t keep reality and dreams separate in the cold lonely bedroom he’d been assigned, that he remembered Gerard had never told him a story.
He scurried to Gerard’s room, seeing shapes in the shadows and remembering similar journeys during his childhood, and was relieved when he shut the door behind him and concentrated on keeping his breathing steady and slow.
“Hey,” he whispered to Gerard, shaking his shoulder lightly and climbing into the bed. “Hey, Gee.”
Gerard grumbled, swatted at his hand and then cracked open an eye. “What?”
“Tell me a story?” Mikey’s voice sounded tiny and pathetic even to himself.
Gerard groaned and rolled onto his back, halfway sitting up. “Now?”
“No, in the fucking morning,” Mikey said. “Please just... I need a story.”
“Fine,” Gerard said, tugging at his blankets to let Mikey in. Mikey felt as gangly as a teenager as he tried to get underneath them and elbowed Gerard in the nose.
“Sorry,” Mikey mumbled. Gerard made a face at him.
It was the closest to being home Mikey had felt in a long while, and he pressed in close, breathing it in.
Gerard began to tell him a story in a halting voice, something that made little sense and had no fully realized characters, just boys and monsters and the darkness and the light.
Mikey never wanted to leave.