BRBB FIC: Undertow (1/1) Bandom
Title: Undertow
Bands (and/or pairings): MCR, Gerard/Mikey
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5,576
Warnings: Discussion of mental illness, sibling incest
Summary: The making of “Na Na Na” is more than it seems
Author notes: Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta and to soundslikej for amazing are that you can see here I love the textures and colors and highlights and the roughness that represents the desert. Seriously. So great.
Mikey’s in on the planning from the beginning.
It’s not that Frank and Ray aren’t fully on board, it’s just that Mikey has that comic book aesthetic in his head the same way that Gerard does. When it comes to sitting down and planning out costumes and colors and the actual meat of things, Mikey understands where Gerard’s coming from and where he’s going.
Gerard sketches and Mikey outlines and they make a loose storyline that involves color and heat and LARPing and they both spend most of the time laughing their asses off, because all they can think about is how everyone is going to react. Mikey pretends to interview Gerard while they’re making mock-ups to show the rest of the band, and they both have to sit down, exhausted from laughing, when Mikey asks him if this is in reaction to the bleakness of Black Parade, and Gerard pretends not to know what he means with, for him, the straightest of faces.
He doesn’t say anything when Gerard presents it to the band; he just watches their faces as the idea takes hold in full Technicolor and Ray and Frank start smiling wider and wider. They both suggest changes, and Mikey knows it’s going to be even better than he thought when they get it, and it gets better and better with every idea they come up with. It’s Mikey who tells Ray and Frank what Gerard really wants though, and they look at him and tell him to just call Grant already.
“Jesus, fuck.” Frank giggles. “This is going to be fun.”
Mikey nods. “Can you tell us, Frank? Is this in reaction to the bleakness of the Black Parade?”
Frank raises an eyebrow and does a pitch-perfect imitation of Gerard. “You think the Black Parade was bleak? Really?”
Gerard flips them off from the corner where he’s talking on the phone to Grant, making noises that probably only dogs can hear in his excitement. Ray is looking through the comic sketches Gerard drew. “I get to ride a motorcycle?”
Mikey grins. “Yup.”
“You and Gerard are now my favorite people.”
Frank opens his mouth in fake distress. “Hey! What about me?”
“Gerard’ll convince Christa it’s absolutely necessary.” Mikey shoulders Frank back out of the way. “Can’t make the video any other way. Creativity. Vision. Art. She’ll agree just to shut him up.”
Frank grabs Mikey around the waist and pulls him away from Ray and they both go down in an heap on the sofa, spluttering with laughter. Frank tries to shove Mikey off of him. “You’re squishing me.”
“Your pregnant wife rides you like a stallion and she weighs more than I do right now.”
“Yeah, but I like her on top of me.” Frank shoves him off finally and Mikey slides to the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. Gerard hangs up the phone and hurries back over to them, tackling Frank down onto the couch all over again.
“Grant’s gonna do it. This is going to be so fucking awesome.” His enthusiasm is contagious, not than any of them need much to push them over the edge. “Man, this is the best fucking job.”
**
It comes together way more easily than it should, but Mikey’s convinced that’s Gerard’s super-power. He’s kind of like Rumor, altering reality, only it’s with pure conviction rather than lies. It’s all in his head, tumbling out in drawings and art design and spray paint and sheer will, and pretty soon they’re in the middle of the desert driving around in Gerard’s Trans Am with dirt and wind and dust in their hair and eyes, scouting out locations while Gerard talks about paint and day-glo colors and roller skates.
They plan dates for filming and everything’s ready to go. As far as Mikey knows, everything is set in stone and makes perfect, logical sense.
Then Gerard shows up at Mikey’s door one Saturday morning dressed in black cut-off sweats and a black tank top, both stained with paint. His hair is peeking out in little tufts from under his baseball hat, and it’s clear to see that it is a color not normally found in nature.
“I dyed my hair red,” Gerard says.
“I see that.”
“And I had an idea.”
Mikey nods and glances back into the house where Piglet is eyeing him suspiciously, like he might have some sort of snack. “You want to come in?”
“I can’t. The idea requires that you come with me.”
“If I want to live?”
Gerard beams. “Exactly.”
Mikey shrugs on his hoodie and zips it up, telling the animals to be good before locking the door behind him. Gerard drives them into some swanky part of LA where the Trans Am sticks out just as much as they do. Mikey looks around, trying to figure out where they might be going when Gerard pulls up in front of a building that’s even fancier than the rest. Mikey wishes he had a camera to catch the valet’s expression.
“C’mon, Mikes.” Gerard gets out and hands the keys off to the valet, who has mastered his facial expression back to blandness. His eyes look a little wild, though, as he takes in Gerard’s outfit. Mikey follows him, feeling almost fashionable in worn jeans and a grey hoodie with orange and yellow stripes.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” Gerard’s tennis shoes are loud, and his bare legs are almost as white as the tiled floor. Mikey grins to himself as other people look at them and then look away, like they can’t possibly be seeing what they’re seeing. It makes Mikey wonder briefly if Gerard’s wearing anything beneath his sweat-shorts. He cycles through the options - Yes. No. Probably not. It wouldn’t be the first time. Being in publice doesn’t mean jack shit. Mikey opts for everything but first option.
Gerard stops and Mikey looks at the window in front of him. It’s got some word in French, written in swirly letters, and a name in tiny print that he figures is supposed to impress him. “A salon?”
“They’re going to do your hair.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because your hair needs things.”
“It does?” Mikey tilts his head, looking at his wavy reflection in the tinted glass. “What does it need?”
“You’ll see. I have plans.”
“A vision?”
Gerard’s smile is incandescent, and Mikey grins back at him. There really is nowhere Gerard will go that Mikey won’t follow. “Exactly.”
“But here? Why can’t I just do it at home like you did?”
“Because, Mikes.” Gerard shakes his head and reaches over, squeezing his hand. “You have to look perfect. Your hair’s your thing. It matters to you. Mine’s just color and statement. Yours is…you spend hours on it. It matters to you. So it matters to me. So Jean-Claude.”
“His name is Jean-Claude?”
“He doesn’t do any martial arts. It’s really sad. He didn’t even know what Muay Thai was when I started talking about it.” Gerard stops and blinks. “Sorry.”
Mikey nods and blows out a breath. “Okay. So let’s do this, huh?”
Gerard grins. “You’re going to look amazing, Mikes. Fucking amazing.”
**
Mikey keeps looking in the mirror on the back of the sun visor, squinting at himself from behind his sunglasses. He looks…different. Weird. “You don’t think I look like I’m in a boy band?”
“You’re way too cool to be in a boy band. Not that boy bands don’t have a really important place in our society and culture, because they do.” Gerard takes a drag from his cigarette and blows out a long stream of smoke. “But you’re not, like, Lance Bass or anything.”
“How is it you know Lance Bass’s name, but you forget that you know William Beckett and toured with him?” Mikey smiles at his brother, shaking his head. The long, blond strands fall in his face, light against his dark glasses. It’s strange.
“Lance Bass is way more famous than William Beckett.”
“Yes, but you actually know him.”
“I was still kind of fucked up. Besides, he mostly hung with you and Pete doing…” Gerard waves his hand around and Mikey’s careful to stay out of range of the cigarette. “Whatever it is you did. And if you did it with the three of you, I don’t want to know that, although it’d be really pretty, but like, a significant height issue with Pete in there.”
“Stop talking about that, Gerard. You know the rules.”
“Right. Right.” He drives for a while and then smiles widely. “This is going to be so fucking cool, Mikes.”
“It really is.” Mikey leans back against the seat and closes his eyes. “It’s nice, you know? To have fun with it.”
“I want it to be fun. I don’t ever want it to be like it was before. I mean, I know it’s something we had to go through, and shit was there and would have had to have been dealt with one way or the other, but…I’m not going to feel bad for being fucking happy, you know?”
“Yeah.” He reaches over and squeezes Gerard’s knee lightly. “I know.”
“Of course you know. I know you know. Because you’re happy too. Fucking…demons driven back deep.”
“No. Let out. Let…Faced. So they can’t control me because I know what they look like.” He shrugs. It’s still strange to talk about this, because they see it in different ways, and Mikey knows he’ll never be able to make Gerard understand how it was, how it is. Maybe that’s for the best. It’s okay that there are some things they don’t share.
“You’re happy.” It’s not a question, but it’s not a statement either. It’s a weird halfway house of insecurity where Gerard’s afraid he’s missed signs somewhere and he might lose his grip on Mikey somehow. Again.
“Yeah. I am. I even like my hair.”
“That’s because your hair is awesome. You’re going to have the best hair in the zones.”
Mikey laughs and keeps his eyes closed, letting the breeze blow in through the window and tease at the short hairs along the nape of his neck. “Yours is bright fucking red and Grant is bald. I don’t have a lot of competition.”
“Shut up. My hair is amazing.” Gerard tugs off the baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. His hands are still stained red from the dye as it is, so they blend in until they appear, fingers like alien creatures on some distant landscape. “I mixed a bunch of shit to get this color.”
“It is amazing, Gee.” Mikey squeezes Gerard’s thigh again and leaves his hand resting there, feeling the warmth of skin beneath his palm. He turns his head to the side and opens his eyes, watching Gerard as he finger-combs his hair, as if any effort will control it.
This is one of the dangerous times. Mikey can feel them when they come, where rhyme and reason desert him and everything gets narrowed down to feelings. The world fades away to somewhere else, and it’s just him and Gerard, like always.
Gerard’s skin is warm and Mikey can tell he shaved his legs recently, because there’s the light hint of stubble that grates at the palm of Mikey’s hand. He’s careful not to squeeze any more, not to push against the fragile boundary, as thin as a spider’s web. He can feel the slight crawl of tension under Gerard’s skin and he knows he’s thinking about it too, knows how close they are to the line.
“Did I tell you they delivered the costumes yesterday?” Gerard asks. His voice is strained, uneasy despite the undercurrent of heat in it.
And just like that the line is gone and they’re back in the car with air and inches between them. Mikey pats Gerard’s knee and pulls his hand back. “No, man. Are they sweet?”
“So sweet. Fucking just like I drew them. We are going to be the most badass motherfuckers there are. Like, fucking leather and denim and you’re going to know karate. Did I mention that?”
“I am?” This is better. Safer. Safer is better.
“Yeah. I’ve got it all mapped out. I redid some of the storyboard. You’re going to fucking flip. It’s going to be so…” He stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray and waves his hand around. “And you set up all the Twitter accounts, right? It’s just…man. You told Pete, right? He was fucking jealous, wasn’t he?”
Mikey laughs. “He said the student had become the master.”
“Damn right. It’s going to be like a blitzkrieg, only without the, you know, Nazi associations.”
“Maybe let’s not call it that, just to be safe?”
“Good idea.”
Mikey shakes his head and grins, closing his eyes again and turning his face toward the sun streaming in his window. He taps his foot on the floorboards, realizing that the car is silent. Gerard seems to have the same realization because when Mikey opens his eyes, Gerard is turning on the stereo, and suddenly Na Na Na is blasting out of the speakers. He gives Mikey the biggest fucking grin and Mikey can tell his own matches from the way it stretches his face. “This is going to fucking rock.”
**
The day starts before dawn, Frank and Ray behind them in Ray’s car, following the dusty trail of Gerard’s Trans Am and the film crew into the desert. The sun’s starting to peek over the horizon when they get to the diner, and the day passes in a blur of spray paint, music, ray guns, and sweltering heat. Mikey is sweaty and hot and covered in dust, but he’s having a great time. They all are, even if Ray’s threatening to gouge out his eyes if Gerard keeps running around in his short-shorts.
Grant and Gerard spend a lot of time talking and making hand gestures, and Mikey sits on the hood of the car watching them. He wonders if this is how it feels for people like Ray and Frank when they watch him and Gerard together - that sense of in-jokes and not quite belonging. Not that Frank and Ray aren’t family, but he and Gerard are more.
Watching Gerard and Grant, Mikey thinks maybe they are too. Some inherent level of understanding. Mikey gets the comic book aspect of it, but Grant understands the creative side in a way that Mikey’s never been able to quite manage.
“You look upset.” Frank sits next to Mikey and rakes his fingers through his hair. Mikey can see the beads of sweat at his hairline before Frank uses his bandanna to wipe them away. “Worried your lily-white skin might tan?”
“I’m wearing SPF-1000.”
Frank snorts and opens his bottle of water, draining half of it before handing it to Mikey. “He still loves you most of all, Scarecrow.”
“That has a whole new meaning now, you know.” Mikey scratches one of the patches of dried dirt on his jeans. “And I’m fine, asshole.”
“You hate video shoots.”
“But this isn’t like a video shoot. This is like making a fucking movie. I’m not some guy in a band.” Mikey shrugs. “I’m fine. You’re doing that weird thing again.”
“You understand why the weird thing is happening though, right?”
Mikey sighs and nods. They all worry about him, even though he’s better. Stable. He can’t blame them. Not after the night in the studio when they were on the eighteenth take of Destroya and he lost control, when they realized they’d been working for about thirty-six hours straight and he hadn’t taken his meds in two days and the shadows had started crawling toward him, calling him. That was a special kind of rock bottom. One he thought he’d gotten past years ago. “Yes, Mom.”
“Dad, now. D. A. D. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.” He giggles and then covers his mouth with his hands. “Holy fuck, man. I’m a dad.”
“Bet you can’t fucking wait to get home.”
“I really can’t. I mean, I love you guys and this and shit, but man, they smell so much better than you. Even the baby shit smells better than you. Even that dark black shit that smells like death.”
Mikey huffs a laugh and lays back against the windshield. “Man, I had to change one of Bandit’s diapers like that? I thought she’d been eating napalm or something. I had to ask Linds what she was eating that the baby was shitting stuff like that.”
“It comes out of nowhere, right? Fucking hideous. Like ‘The Blob’ or something.” Frank shudders and then tugs his jacket closer around him. He’s the only guy Mikey knows that can be freezing and sweating at the same time, like he’s got a perpetual flu. “I miss them so goddamned much.”
Mikey tugs him down and hugs him close, holding onto him until someone tells them they’re ready for the next shot.
The shoot actually moves quickly, even with Gerard behind the camera a good half of the time and special breaks for reimagining the entire video before the assistant director talks him down. Steve and Jimmy take turns pissing in the desert when Grace is off out of sight and hearing distance, and there’s a wind whipping tiny dust devils all around them.
It’s dark when they finally call cut and they get everything packed away. The crew takes care of the major stuff, but they break down their handiwork, stuffing it into Steve’s van.
Gerard’s wound up and manic, full of coffee and ideas. Frank looks from Gerard to Mikey and shakes his head. “Man, I’m crashing with Ray tonight. You handle your brother.”
“Gee and I have the keys to the rooms. How are you going to get in?” Frank reaches into Mikey’s jeans pocket without any hesitation and digs the key out, jabbing Mikey in the hip in the process. “Ow. Fuck. You’re such a fucker.”
“You love me.” Frank waves the key at Ray in a message of triumph and runs over, jumping up on Ray’s back and nearly sending them both into the dirt.
Mikey sighs and looks around, leaning against a gas pump as he waits for Gerard to finish talking about the post-production schedule. He shivers in the cold and rubs his bare arms, his Kobra Kid jacket in the costume box buried in the van. It seems like all the heat of the day has been leached away now that the sun’s down, and the night has brought a disproportionate cold with it.
“Hey.”
He looks up as Gerard comes over, then shivers, unable to suppress the shudder of cold. “Hey.”
“You cold? Huh. I guess it’s getting cold, huh?” He shrugs off the Party Poison jacket he never bothered to return to the costume box and drapes it across Mikey’s shoulders. “There you go.”
“Gee, you’re wearing a tank top.”
“Yeah, but I’m not cold.” He squeezes Mikey’s shoulders through the leather and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You can wait in the car if you want.”
“Nah. It’s nice out here. Peaceful.”
Gerard grins. “Except for the Dracs and evil corporate overlords trying to capture or kill us.”
“Well, yeah.” Mikey leans into him for a moment and then shrugs his hands off so Gerard can go back to work. “Except for all that.”
**
Mikey’s half asleep, curled up in the passenger seat of the Trans Am, when Gerard finally climbs in and starts the car. “Time’s it?”
“Late. Early.” Gerard lights a cigarette and takes a long draw on it, holding the smoke in his lungs long enough that Mikey counts the seconds in his head until Gerard exhales, tension escaping him along with the smoke. “Sorry.”
“’s okay.” Mikey turns a little in his seat, watching Gerard in the light of his cigarette. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Tired. Buzzing.” He takes another hit and the cherry flares brighter. “It’s kind of like drugs, you know? I mean, you know. All this energy, but you’re exhausted and you know you need to come down and sleep, but there’s too much shit around you, in your head.”
“You okay?” Mikey frowns.
“Yeah. Yeah. I said I was. I’m just…” He shrugs and stubs out the cigarette and exhales, smoke filling the car. Even in the dark Mikey can see the tendrils of it, settling all around them, on them. “You know.”
There’s something in his voice, something Mikey recognizes and knows. It spreads heat through the car, in the air just like the smoke. It’s another one of those moments, where Mikey has to figure out what happens next. Gerard isn’t quite looking at him, but he’s waiting.
Time stops. Air stops. It’s frozen and delicate like early morning frost.
Swallowing hard, Mikey reaches out, tracing the curve of Gerard’s jaw with one finger. He can feel the tension of Gerard’s clenched teeth, and then he can feel him relax as Mikey just follows the line from his chin to his ear.
“We’re alone in the desert.” Mikey whispers it, because it seems right, because anything louder might shatter something.
The corner of Gerard’s mouth quirks up. “Party Poison and Kobra Kid?”
Mikey doesn’t sigh, even though he can feel the air trapped in his chest. “Does that make it easier?”
“What?” Gerard turns and Mikey jerks his hand back, surprised by the sudden movement.
“Nothing.” Mikey straightens and rubs his hand against his thigh, like he might be able to wipe off the way Gerard’s skin felt. “Should get back.”
“Mikey…” Gerard starts and stops. Whatever was there is gone now, and it doesn’t work deliberately. It never has. Mikey pulls his seatbelt on as Gerard does the same, neither of them talking as Gerard starts driving. Mikey puts his sunglasses on, watching the stars filter into streetlights and then the neon glow of store signs before it fades back to the yellow haze of streetlights as they near their hotel on the other side of town.
Gerard parks the car in one of the dark areas of the lot, but neither of them moves. The air is heavy, and Mikey is worried he’ll forget how to breathe. Gerard has the key to the room, and this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to crash with Frank and Ray was supposed to stay with Gerard. Instead there’s this, and it’s wrong and it feels wrong. Like they took a step out of time somewhere and he’s off his pace.
“Mikey.” Gerard’s voice is soft and he reaches out, tracing his fingers over the back of Mikey’s hand.
“It’s fine, Gee.”
“No. It’s not. It’s not fine when you can’t look at me.” He rests his fingers on top of Mikey’s, then moves them just enough that he can rest his in the spaces between Mikey’s. “That’s not how I meant it.”
Mikey nods, but still doesn’t look his way. “I know.”
Gerard exhales and thumps his head back against the headrest. “Sometimes I have to make light of it. So it doesn’t consume me.”
They’re unfair words, because Mikey knows about being consumed, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. He also know that Gerard doesn’t mean it like Mikey’s head does, but it still aches deeper than anything else touches him. “We should get some sleep.”
“Yeah.” Gerard gets out of the car and waits for Mikey before locking the doors. They walk to the room in silence until they get to the door. Gerard unlocks it with a click, the keys rattling against the metal knob. “I’m going to have another cigarette.”
“Okay.” Mikey moves into the dark room. His stuff’s still next door in Frank’s room, so he has to move Ray’s bags off the second bed. He drops Gerard’s Party Poison jacket on top of the covers of Gerard’s bed and then sits down to pull off his boots. He should shower and wash off the paint and sand and dust, but it all feels like too much right now. He just wants to sink into the bed, into sleep, and let tomorrow come and wash over him.
Gerard comes into the room quietly, smelling of wind and smoke. Mikey takes a deep breath and holds it, counting silently to himself, visualizing Gerard’s routine in the dark. Mikey hears the thump of Gerard’s boots hitting the floor and opens his eyes, staring at the pale expanse of Gerard’s back. Gerard’s not moving, just sitting in the dark. “Do you remember the first time?”
It’s a stupid question. It would hurt if he didn’t know that Gerard is looking for something specific with it. Like he wants Mikey to get to where he is, because somewhere along the way, one of them missed a turn, misread a signal. “Yeah.”
It had been at the Paramour. Tensions were high before they ever stepped foot in the place - Gerard still struggling with sobriety, Mikey taking more pills than ever to compensate for all the things he couldn’t get out of his head, Gerard manifesting the bleakness of The Patient and demanding devotion and obsession, Mikey trying to find his footing with Pete and Alicia and himself and failing miserably.
Frank and Ray and Bob had felt it too, but Mikey and Gerard were at odds, what happened in Japan and the aftermath making it impossible to clear the air. Still, they’d started working and then the house started working against them and Mikey’s drugs weren’t doing what they were supposed to, and everything fell apart. Mikey fell apart.
He’d gone into Gerard’s room one night and stood at the end of his bed, shaking and needing something he didn’t have the words to ask for. Gerard had sat up and looked at him and opened his arms and whispered the one word Mikey desperately needed to hear.
Gerard turns on the bed and looks at Mikey for a long moment before stretching out on the covers, his faded gray jeans bright in the darkness. Mikey looks him up and down before meeting his eyes. Gerard holds out a hand and whispers again, the same word.
“Please?”
Mikey moves off his bed and into Gerard’s, finding Gerard’s mouth with his own before Gerard has even had a chance to turn and settle onto the mattress. Mikey can taste the smoke now, and a faint hint of cinnamon. Gerard slides his leg between both of Mikey’s and presses close, his chest hot against Mikey’s even through his t-shirt. Mikey breaks the kiss to breathe and then moves in again, his tongue sliding against Gerard’s, both of them curving around each other, sucking deeper.
Gerard moans roughly and pushes Mikey back onto the mattress, pinning him there. He pulls back for a moment, looking at Mikey, eyes glittering in the light slanting in through the drawn blinds. Mikey arches up as Gerard kisses him again, biting Mikey’s lower lip and sucking on it until it feels swollen and throbbing. His hips jerk roughly and he thrusts upward, needing friction, needing Gerard against him.
“Been so long, Mikey. Feel so good.” Gerard’s voice doesn’t stop, just a low rumble of need and desperation as he kisses Mikey again and again. Sometimes it’s too quick, not enough, but then he follows those kisses with deeper ones, his weight holding Mikey down and grounding him.
Mikey’s hands move up and down Gerard’s back, feeling the goose bumps rise on his skin as Mikey’s fingers trace bones and sinew through it. Gerard’s breathing is a shaky crescendo of shudders that fall against Mikey’s mouth and jaw, his teeth scraping skin as he works his way to Mikey’s ear, biting the lobe and sucking on it.
Gasping roughly, Mikey arches up again and turns his head, desperate for Gerard’s mouth. He wraps a leg over the back of Gerard’s and grinds into him. Gerard moans into Mikey’s mouth, working a hand between them to undo his jeans. “God, shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. Can’t.”
“I know,” Mikey agrees, biting the meaty flesh at the join of Gerard’s shoulder and neck. “Stop. Gotta stop.”
Gerard’s hand is on Mikey’s jeans despite the words, working his fly open as he tries to kiss Mikey and shimmy his jeans down his legs all at once. Mikey helps, shoving at Gerard’s jeans, tugging at them with his bare feet so that all he can feel is skin when Gerard finally gets Mikey’s jeans undone and pushed out of the way, their cocks together and burning up, skin on skin like a flame.
“Oh god. Oh god.” Mikey’s whole body jerks at the contact and he gets his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around them both. Gerard opens his mouth, but no noise comes out. He thrusts instinctively, sliding against Mikey’s cock and his fingers. Mikey tightens his grip and starts stroking them both, moving in concert with the thrusts of their hips, their bodies finding an instinctive rhythm.
Time alters when they do this, goes on forever and is too short all at once. Even in privacy, there’s always the fear of being found out, there’s always the knowledge that what they’re doing is wrong by society’s standards and a sin in the eyes of people who matter to them. It makes every movement seem exaggerated, like seconds take hours and it’ll go on forever and there’s no chance they won’t get caught.
At the same time it’s over too soon, and Mikey can feel his orgasm threatening at the base of his cock, just the feeling of Gerard trapped between his hand and his dick enough to make him lose control.
Mikey squeezes and Gerard groans and comes, slick and wet and hot. Mikey chokes on a breath and comes as well, still stroking until Gerard whimpers roughly and pulls off, rolling onto his back on the bed.
Mikey rests his hand on his stomach, his fingers damp from their mingled orgasms. He’s suddenly exhausted, like the day has finally caught up with him and he needs to sleep for a week.
Gerard reaches over and takes Mikey’s other hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. “Love you, Mikes.”
Like this, afterward, it’s like the need was never there and nothing is different between them. They’re brothers. Nothing more. Nothing less. But being brothers is everything.
Mikey yawns and turns on his side, pressing his face against Gerard’s shoulder. “Love you too, Gee.”
“’m gonna need a lot of coffee later.”
Mikey nods and closes his eyes, reaching back and grabbing the comforter off his bed and pulling it over them both. “Mmm. Me too.”
**
The lyrics video is Ray’s idea and they decide to release it before the full one for Na Na Na, even though it’s ready to go. It feeds into Gerard’s sense of theatrics and it inspires a lecture to them all on how the fans are just as important. Ray, Frank and Mikey just nod along, because they’re already in wholehearted agreement, and sometimes Gerard just needs to hear himself talk.
They watch it through and slap Ray on the back while Gerard sets up the actual video, growling under his breath at his computer. He gets it ready and comes back to sit next to Mikey on the couch, grabbing his hand tightly before pushing play.
Mikey feels the thrum of heat in his blood as he squeezes back. With Ray and Frank there, it’s a low pulse, nothing that will push through. It’s always there, but, like the monsters in Mikey’s head, it’s sated now, content with what it has.
Grant rumbles out his rough, “Keep running,” and the screen goes black. No one moves. Mikey thinks maybe none of them breathe. And then Frank turns his wide, manic smile on Gerard.
“Holy fucking shit, man. That was…fuck.” He looks past Gerard to Mikey and Ray. “Right? I mean, am I right? Fucking awesome, right? Just…Steve and Jimmy and fucking Grant and us. Man, we fucking…shit.” He flops back into his chair. “Fuck.”
Mikey purses his lips, giving Gerard a look. “Man, I’m sorry Frank didn’t like it.”
Gerard giggles and then they’re all laughing, tension draining from the room. This is strange and different for all of them, being better, being happy and seeing it reflected in something they’re about to unleash upon the world.
“Group hug. Fuck. Group hug.” Frank gets up and tugs on Ray’s hand, pulling him until they’re all piled together on the couch, pretty much on top of each other. This is his family, warm and laughing around him. They watch it again, squished on the couch together, then Gerard sends Frank for drinks, and Ray follows along, because that’s how it works with them. They all just know.
Mikey and Gerard are alone again. The hum in his blood doesn’t change, and he rests his head on Gerard’s shoulder. The lines are firmly in place and the ground beneath his feet doesn’t tremble at all.
Gerard grins at him, wide open smile and that light in his eyes that he saves for Mikey. “I told you it was going to fucking rock, Mikeyway.”
“You did.” Mikey can’t help grinning back at Gerard. “My hair’s the best part.”
“Well, yeah.” Gerard rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh. “But then again, isn’t it always?”
Seriously. Look at this great picture:
Bands (and/or pairings): MCR, Gerard/Mikey
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5,576
Warnings: Discussion of mental illness, sibling incest
Summary: The making of “Na Na Na” is more than it seems
Author notes: Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta and to soundslikej for amazing are that you can see here I love the textures and colors and highlights and the roughness that represents the desert. Seriously. So great.
Mikey’s in on the planning from the beginning.
It’s not that Frank and Ray aren’t fully on board, it’s just that Mikey has that comic book aesthetic in his head the same way that Gerard does. When it comes to sitting down and planning out costumes and colors and the actual meat of things, Mikey understands where Gerard’s coming from and where he’s going.
Gerard sketches and Mikey outlines and they make a loose storyline that involves color and heat and LARPing and they both spend most of the time laughing their asses off, because all they can think about is how everyone is going to react. Mikey pretends to interview Gerard while they’re making mock-ups to show the rest of the band, and they both have to sit down, exhausted from laughing, when Mikey asks him if this is in reaction to the bleakness of Black Parade, and Gerard pretends not to know what he means with, for him, the straightest of faces.
He doesn’t say anything when Gerard presents it to the band; he just watches their faces as the idea takes hold in full Technicolor and Ray and Frank start smiling wider and wider. They both suggest changes, and Mikey knows it’s going to be even better than he thought when they get it, and it gets better and better with every idea they come up with. It’s Mikey who tells Ray and Frank what Gerard really wants though, and they look at him and tell him to just call Grant already.
“Jesus, fuck.” Frank giggles. “This is going to be fun.”
Mikey nods. “Can you tell us, Frank? Is this in reaction to the bleakness of the Black Parade?”
Frank raises an eyebrow and does a pitch-perfect imitation of Gerard. “You think the Black Parade was bleak? Really?”
Gerard flips them off from the corner where he’s talking on the phone to Grant, making noises that probably only dogs can hear in his excitement. Ray is looking through the comic sketches Gerard drew. “I get to ride a motorcycle?”
Mikey grins. “Yup.”
“You and Gerard are now my favorite people.”
Frank opens his mouth in fake distress. “Hey! What about me?”
“Gerard’ll convince Christa it’s absolutely necessary.” Mikey shoulders Frank back out of the way. “Can’t make the video any other way. Creativity. Vision. Art. She’ll agree just to shut him up.”
Frank grabs Mikey around the waist and pulls him away from Ray and they both go down in an heap on the sofa, spluttering with laughter. Frank tries to shove Mikey off of him. “You’re squishing me.”
“Your pregnant wife rides you like a stallion and she weighs more than I do right now.”
“Yeah, but I like her on top of me.” Frank shoves him off finally and Mikey slides to the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. Gerard hangs up the phone and hurries back over to them, tackling Frank down onto the couch all over again.
“Grant’s gonna do it. This is going to be so fucking awesome.” His enthusiasm is contagious, not than any of them need much to push them over the edge. “Man, this is the best fucking job.”
**
It comes together way more easily than it should, but Mikey’s convinced that’s Gerard’s super-power. He’s kind of like Rumor, altering reality, only it’s with pure conviction rather than lies. It’s all in his head, tumbling out in drawings and art design and spray paint and sheer will, and pretty soon they’re in the middle of the desert driving around in Gerard’s Trans Am with dirt and wind and dust in their hair and eyes, scouting out locations while Gerard talks about paint and day-glo colors and roller skates.
They plan dates for filming and everything’s ready to go. As far as Mikey knows, everything is set in stone and makes perfect, logical sense.
Then Gerard shows up at Mikey’s door one Saturday morning dressed in black cut-off sweats and a black tank top, both stained with paint. His hair is peeking out in little tufts from under his baseball hat, and it’s clear to see that it is a color not normally found in nature.
“I dyed my hair red,” Gerard says.
“I see that.”
“And I had an idea.”
Mikey nods and glances back into the house where Piglet is eyeing him suspiciously, like he might have some sort of snack. “You want to come in?”
“I can’t. The idea requires that you come with me.”
“If I want to live?”
Gerard beams. “Exactly.”
Mikey shrugs on his hoodie and zips it up, telling the animals to be good before locking the door behind him. Gerard drives them into some swanky part of LA where the Trans Am sticks out just as much as they do. Mikey looks around, trying to figure out where they might be going when Gerard pulls up in front of a building that’s even fancier than the rest. Mikey wishes he had a camera to catch the valet’s expression.
“C’mon, Mikes.” Gerard gets out and hands the keys off to the valet, who has mastered his facial expression back to blandness. His eyes look a little wild, though, as he takes in Gerard’s outfit. Mikey follows him, feeling almost fashionable in worn jeans and a grey hoodie with orange and yellow stripes.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” Gerard’s tennis shoes are loud, and his bare legs are almost as white as the tiled floor. Mikey grins to himself as other people look at them and then look away, like they can’t possibly be seeing what they’re seeing. It makes Mikey wonder briefly if Gerard’s wearing anything beneath his sweat-shorts. He cycles through the options - Yes. No. Probably not. It wouldn’t be the first time. Being in publice doesn’t mean jack shit. Mikey opts for everything but first option.
Gerard stops and Mikey looks at the window in front of him. It’s got some word in French, written in swirly letters, and a name in tiny print that he figures is supposed to impress him. “A salon?”
“They’re going to do your hair.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because your hair needs things.”
“It does?” Mikey tilts his head, looking at his wavy reflection in the tinted glass. “What does it need?”
“You’ll see. I have plans.”
“A vision?”
Gerard’s smile is incandescent, and Mikey grins back at him. There really is nowhere Gerard will go that Mikey won’t follow. “Exactly.”
“But here? Why can’t I just do it at home like you did?”
“Because, Mikes.” Gerard shakes his head and reaches over, squeezing his hand. “You have to look perfect. Your hair’s your thing. It matters to you. Mine’s just color and statement. Yours is…you spend hours on it. It matters to you. So it matters to me. So Jean-Claude.”
“His name is Jean-Claude?”
“He doesn’t do any martial arts. It’s really sad. He didn’t even know what Muay Thai was when I started talking about it.” Gerard stops and blinks. “Sorry.”
Mikey nods and blows out a breath. “Okay. So let’s do this, huh?”
Gerard grins. “You’re going to look amazing, Mikes. Fucking amazing.”
**
Mikey keeps looking in the mirror on the back of the sun visor, squinting at himself from behind his sunglasses. He looks…different. Weird. “You don’t think I look like I’m in a boy band?”
“You’re way too cool to be in a boy band. Not that boy bands don’t have a really important place in our society and culture, because they do.” Gerard takes a drag from his cigarette and blows out a long stream of smoke. “But you’re not, like, Lance Bass or anything.”
“How is it you know Lance Bass’s name, but you forget that you know William Beckett and toured with him?” Mikey smiles at his brother, shaking his head. The long, blond strands fall in his face, light against his dark glasses. It’s strange.
“Lance Bass is way more famous than William Beckett.”
“Yes, but you actually know him.”
“I was still kind of fucked up. Besides, he mostly hung with you and Pete doing…” Gerard waves his hand around and Mikey’s careful to stay out of range of the cigarette. “Whatever it is you did. And if you did it with the three of you, I don’t want to know that, although it’d be really pretty, but like, a significant height issue with Pete in there.”
“Stop talking about that, Gerard. You know the rules.”
“Right. Right.” He drives for a while and then smiles widely. “This is going to be so fucking cool, Mikes.”
“It really is.” Mikey leans back against the seat and closes his eyes. “It’s nice, you know? To have fun with it.”
“I want it to be fun. I don’t ever want it to be like it was before. I mean, I know it’s something we had to go through, and shit was there and would have had to have been dealt with one way or the other, but…I’m not going to feel bad for being fucking happy, you know?”
“Yeah.” He reaches over and squeezes Gerard’s knee lightly. “I know.”
“Of course you know. I know you know. Because you’re happy too. Fucking…demons driven back deep.”
“No. Let out. Let…Faced. So they can’t control me because I know what they look like.” He shrugs. It’s still strange to talk about this, because they see it in different ways, and Mikey knows he’ll never be able to make Gerard understand how it was, how it is. Maybe that’s for the best. It’s okay that there are some things they don’t share.
“You’re happy.” It’s not a question, but it’s not a statement either. It’s a weird halfway house of insecurity where Gerard’s afraid he’s missed signs somewhere and he might lose his grip on Mikey somehow. Again.
“Yeah. I am. I even like my hair.”
“That’s because your hair is awesome. You’re going to have the best hair in the zones.”
Mikey laughs and keeps his eyes closed, letting the breeze blow in through the window and tease at the short hairs along the nape of his neck. “Yours is bright fucking red and Grant is bald. I don’t have a lot of competition.”
“Shut up. My hair is amazing.” Gerard tugs off the baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. His hands are still stained red from the dye as it is, so they blend in until they appear, fingers like alien creatures on some distant landscape. “I mixed a bunch of shit to get this color.”
“It is amazing, Gee.” Mikey squeezes Gerard’s thigh again and leaves his hand resting there, feeling the warmth of skin beneath his palm. He turns his head to the side and opens his eyes, watching Gerard as he finger-combs his hair, as if any effort will control it.
This is one of the dangerous times. Mikey can feel them when they come, where rhyme and reason desert him and everything gets narrowed down to feelings. The world fades away to somewhere else, and it’s just him and Gerard, like always.
Gerard’s skin is warm and Mikey can tell he shaved his legs recently, because there’s the light hint of stubble that grates at the palm of Mikey’s hand. He’s careful not to squeeze any more, not to push against the fragile boundary, as thin as a spider’s web. He can feel the slight crawl of tension under Gerard’s skin and he knows he’s thinking about it too, knows how close they are to the line.
“Did I tell you they delivered the costumes yesterday?” Gerard asks. His voice is strained, uneasy despite the undercurrent of heat in it.
And just like that the line is gone and they’re back in the car with air and inches between them. Mikey pats Gerard’s knee and pulls his hand back. “No, man. Are they sweet?”
“So sweet. Fucking just like I drew them. We are going to be the most badass motherfuckers there are. Like, fucking leather and denim and you’re going to know karate. Did I mention that?”
“I am?” This is better. Safer. Safer is better.
“Yeah. I’ve got it all mapped out. I redid some of the storyboard. You’re going to fucking flip. It’s going to be so…” He stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray and waves his hand around. “And you set up all the Twitter accounts, right? It’s just…man. You told Pete, right? He was fucking jealous, wasn’t he?”
Mikey laughs. “He said the student had become the master.”
“Damn right. It’s going to be like a blitzkrieg, only without the, you know, Nazi associations.”
“Maybe let’s not call it that, just to be safe?”
“Good idea.”
Mikey shakes his head and grins, closing his eyes again and turning his face toward the sun streaming in his window. He taps his foot on the floorboards, realizing that the car is silent. Gerard seems to have the same realization because when Mikey opens his eyes, Gerard is turning on the stereo, and suddenly Na Na Na is blasting out of the speakers. He gives Mikey the biggest fucking grin and Mikey can tell his own matches from the way it stretches his face. “This is going to fucking rock.”
**
The day starts before dawn, Frank and Ray behind them in Ray’s car, following the dusty trail of Gerard’s Trans Am and the film crew into the desert. The sun’s starting to peek over the horizon when they get to the diner, and the day passes in a blur of spray paint, music, ray guns, and sweltering heat. Mikey is sweaty and hot and covered in dust, but he’s having a great time. They all are, even if Ray’s threatening to gouge out his eyes if Gerard keeps running around in his short-shorts.
Grant and Gerard spend a lot of time talking and making hand gestures, and Mikey sits on the hood of the car watching them. He wonders if this is how it feels for people like Ray and Frank when they watch him and Gerard together - that sense of in-jokes and not quite belonging. Not that Frank and Ray aren’t family, but he and Gerard are more.
Watching Gerard and Grant, Mikey thinks maybe they are too. Some inherent level of understanding. Mikey gets the comic book aspect of it, but Grant understands the creative side in a way that Mikey’s never been able to quite manage.
“You look upset.” Frank sits next to Mikey and rakes his fingers through his hair. Mikey can see the beads of sweat at his hairline before Frank uses his bandanna to wipe them away. “Worried your lily-white skin might tan?”
“I’m wearing SPF-1000.”
Frank snorts and opens his bottle of water, draining half of it before handing it to Mikey. “He still loves you most of all, Scarecrow.”
“That has a whole new meaning now, you know.” Mikey scratches one of the patches of dried dirt on his jeans. “And I’m fine, asshole.”
“You hate video shoots.”
“But this isn’t like a video shoot. This is like making a fucking movie. I’m not some guy in a band.” Mikey shrugs. “I’m fine. You’re doing that weird thing again.”
“You understand why the weird thing is happening though, right?”
Mikey sighs and nods. They all worry about him, even though he’s better. Stable. He can’t blame them. Not after the night in the studio when they were on the eighteenth take of Destroya and he lost control, when they realized they’d been working for about thirty-six hours straight and he hadn’t taken his meds in two days and the shadows had started crawling toward him, calling him. That was a special kind of rock bottom. One he thought he’d gotten past years ago. “Yes, Mom.”
“Dad, now. D. A. D. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.” He giggles and then covers his mouth with his hands. “Holy fuck, man. I’m a dad.”
“Bet you can’t fucking wait to get home.”
“I really can’t. I mean, I love you guys and this and shit, but man, they smell so much better than you. Even the baby shit smells better than you. Even that dark black shit that smells like death.”
Mikey huffs a laugh and lays back against the windshield. “Man, I had to change one of Bandit’s diapers like that? I thought she’d been eating napalm or something. I had to ask Linds what she was eating that the baby was shitting stuff like that.”
“It comes out of nowhere, right? Fucking hideous. Like ‘The Blob’ or something.” Frank shudders and then tugs his jacket closer around him. He’s the only guy Mikey knows that can be freezing and sweating at the same time, like he’s got a perpetual flu. “I miss them so goddamned much.”
Mikey tugs him down and hugs him close, holding onto him until someone tells them they’re ready for the next shot.
The shoot actually moves quickly, even with Gerard behind the camera a good half of the time and special breaks for reimagining the entire video before the assistant director talks him down. Steve and Jimmy take turns pissing in the desert when Grace is off out of sight and hearing distance, and there’s a wind whipping tiny dust devils all around them.
It’s dark when they finally call cut and they get everything packed away. The crew takes care of the major stuff, but they break down their handiwork, stuffing it into Steve’s van.
Gerard’s wound up and manic, full of coffee and ideas. Frank looks from Gerard to Mikey and shakes his head. “Man, I’m crashing with Ray tonight. You handle your brother.”
“Gee and I have the keys to the rooms. How are you going to get in?” Frank reaches into Mikey’s jeans pocket without any hesitation and digs the key out, jabbing Mikey in the hip in the process. “Ow. Fuck. You’re such a fucker.”
“You love me.” Frank waves the key at Ray in a message of triumph and runs over, jumping up on Ray’s back and nearly sending them both into the dirt.
Mikey sighs and looks around, leaning against a gas pump as he waits for Gerard to finish talking about the post-production schedule. He shivers in the cold and rubs his bare arms, his Kobra Kid jacket in the costume box buried in the van. It seems like all the heat of the day has been leached away now that the sun’s down, and the night has brought a disproportionate cold with it.
“Hey.”
He looks up as Gerard comes over, then shivers, unable to suppress the shudder of cold. “Hey.”
“You cold? Huh. I guess it’s getting cold, huh?” He shrugs off the Party Poison jacket he never bothered to return to the costume box and drapes it across Mikey’s shoulders. “There you go.”
“Gee, you’re wearing a tank top.”
“Yeah, but I’m not cold.” He squeezes Mikey’s shoulders through the leather and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You can wait in the car if you want.”
“Nah. It’s nice out here. Peaceful.”
Gerard grins. “Except for the Dracs and evil corporate overlords trying to capture or kill us.”
“Well, yeah.” Mikey leans into him for a moment and then shrugs his hands off so Gerard can go back to work. “Except for all that.”
**
Mikey’s half asleep, curled up in the passenger seat of the Trans Am, when Gerard finally climbs in and starts the car. “Time’s it?”
“Late. Early.” Gerard lights a cigarette and takes a long draw on it, holding the smoke in his lungs long enough that Mikey counts the seconds in his head until Gerard exhales, tension escaping him along with the smoke. “Sorry.”
“’s okay.” Mikey turns a little in his seat, watching Gerard in the light of his cigarette. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Tired. Buzzing.” He takes another hit and the cherry flares brighter. “It’s kind of like drugs, you know? I mean, you know. All this energy, but you’re exhausted and you know you need to come down and sleep, but there’s too much shit around you, in your head.”
“You okay?” Mikey frowns.
“Yeah. Yeah. I said I was. I’m just…” He shrugs and stubs out the cigarette and exhales, smoke filling the car. Even in the dark Mikey can see the tendrils of it, settling all around them, on them. “You know.”
There’s something in his voice, something Mikey recognizes and knows. It spreads heat through the car, in the air just like the smoke. It’s another one of those moments, where Mikey has to figure out what happens next. Gerard isn’t quite looking at him, but he’s waiting.
Time stops. Air stops. It’s frozen and delicate like early morning frost.
Swallowing hard, Mikey reaches out, tracing the curve of Gerard’s jaw with one finger. He can feel the tension of Gerard’s clenched teeth, and then he can feel him relax as Mikey just follows the line from his chin to his ear.
“We’re alone in the desert.” Mikey whispers it, because it seems right, because anything louder might shatter something.
The corner of Gerard’s mouth quirks up. “Party Poison and Kobra Kid?”
Mikey doesn’t sigh, even though he can feel the air trapped in his chest. “Does that make it easier?”
“What?” Gerard turns and Mikey jerks his hand back, surprised by the sudden movement.
“Nothing.” Mikey straightens and rubs his hand against his thigh, like he might be able to wipe off the way Gerard’s skin felt. “Should get back.”
“Mikey…” Gerard starts and stops. Whatever was there is gone now, and it doesn’t work deliberately. It never has. Mikey pulls his seatbelt on as Gerard does the same, neither of them talking as Gerard starts driving. Mikey puts his sunglasses on, watching the stars filter into streetlights and then the neon glow of store signs before it fades back to the yellow haze of streetlights as they near their hotel on the other side of town.
Gerard parks the car in one of the dark areas of the lot, but neither of them moves. The air is heavy, and Mikey is worried he’ll forget how to breathe. Gerard has the key to the room, and this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to crash with Frank and Ray was supposed to stay with Gerard. Instead there’s this, and it’s wrong and it feels wrong. Like they took a step out of time somewhere and he’s off his pace.
“Mikey.” Gerard’s voice is soft and he reaches out, tracing his fingers over the back of Mikey’s hand.
“It’s fine, Gee.”
“No. It’s not. It’s not fine when you can’t look at me.” He rests his fingers on top of Mikey’s, then moves them just enough that he can rest his in the spaces between Mikey’s. “That’s not how I meant it.”
Mikey nods, but still doesn’t look his way. “I know.”
Gerard exhales and thumps his head back against the headrest. “Sometimes I have to make light of it. So it doesn’t consume me.”
They’re unfair words, because Mikey knows about being consumed, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. He also know that Gerard doesn’t mean it like Mikey’s head does, but it still aches deeper than anything else touches him. “We should get some sleep.”
“Yeah.” Gerard gets out of the car and waits for Mikey before locking the doors. They walk to the room in silence until they get to the door. Gerard unlocks it with a click, the keys rattling against the metal knob. “I’m going to have another cigarette.”
“Okay.” Mikey moves into the dark room. His stuff’s still next door in Frank’s room, so he has to move Ray’s bags off the second bed. He drops Gerard’s Party Poison jacket on top of the covers of Gerard’s bed and then sits down to pull off his boots. He should shower and wash off the paint and sand and dust, but it all feels like too much right now. He just wants to sink into the bed, into sleep, and let tomorrow come and wash over him.
Gerard comes into the room quietly, smelling of wind and smoke. Mikey takes a deep breath and holds it, counting silently to himself, visualizing Gerard’s routine in the dark. Mikey hears the thump of Gerard’s boots hitting the floor and opens his eyes, staring at the pale expanse of Gerard’s back. Gerard’s not moving, just sitting in the dark. “Do you remember the first time?”
It’s a stupid question. It would hurt if he didn’t know that Gerard is looking for something specific with it. Like he wants Mikey to get to where he is, because somewhere along the way, one of them missed a turn, misread a signal. “Yeah.”
It had been at the Paramour. Tensions were high before they ever stepped foot in the place - Gerard still struggling with sobriety, Mikey taking more pills than ever to compensate for all the things he couldn’t get out of his head, Gerard manifesting the bleakness of The Patient and demanding devotion and obsession, Mikey trying to find his footing with Pete and Alicia and himself and failing miserably.
Frank and Ray and Bob had felt it too, but Mikey and Gerard were at odds, what happened in Japan and the aftermath making it impossible to clear the air. Still, they’d started working and then the house started working against them and Mikey’s drugs weren’t doing what they were supposed to, and everything fell apart. Mikey fell apart.
He’d gone into Gerard’s room one night and stood at the end of his bed, shaking and needing something he didn’t have the words to ask for. Gerard had sat up and looked at him and opened his arms and whispered the one word Mikey desperately needed to hear.
Gerard turns on the bed and looks at Mikey for a long moment before stretching out on the covers, his faded gray jeans bright in the darkness. Mikey looks him up and down before meeting his eyes. Gerard holds out a hand and whispers again, the same word.
“Please?”
Mikey moves off his bed and into Gerard’s, finding Gerard’s mouth with his own before Gerard has even had a chance to turn and settle onto the mattress. Mikey can taste the smoke now, and a faint hint of cinnamon. Gerard slides his leg between both of Mikey’s and presses close, his chest hot against Mikey’s even through his t-shirt. Mikey breaks the kiss to breathe and then moves in again, his tongue sliding against Gerard’s, both of them curving around each other, sucking deeper.
Gerard moans roughly and pushes Mikey back onto the mattress, pinning him there. He pulls back for a moment, looking at Mikey, eyes glittering in the light slanting in through the drawn blinds. Mikey arches up as Gerard kisses him again, biting Mikey’s lower lip and sucking on it until it feels swollen and throbbing. His hips jerk roughly and he thrusts upward, needing friction, needing Gerard against him.
“Been so long, Mikey. Feel so good.” Gerard’s voice doesn’t stop, just a low rumble of need and desperation as he kisses Mikey again and again. Sometimes it’s too quick, not enough, but then he follows those kisses with deeper ones, his weight holding Mikey down and grounding him.
Mikey’s hands move up and down Gerard’s back, feeling the goose bumps rise on his skin as Mikey’s fingers trace bones and sinew through it. Gerard’s breathing is a shaky crescendo of shudders that fall against Mikey’s mouth and jaw, his teeth scraping skin as he works his way to Mikey’s ear, biting the lobe and sucking on it.
Gasping roughly, Mikey arches up again and turns his head, desperate for Gerard’s mouth. He wraps a leg over the back of Gerard’s and grinds into him. Gerard moans into Mikey’s mouth, working a hand between them to undo his jeans. “God, shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. Can’t.”
“I know,” Mikey agrees, biting the meaty flesh at the join of Gerard’s shoulder and neck. “Stop. Gotta stop.”
Gerard’s hand is on Mikey’s jeans despite the words, working his fly open as he tries to kiss Mikey and shimmy his jeans down his legs all at once. Mikey helps, shoving at Gerard’s jeans, tugging at them with his bare feet so that all he can feel is skin when Gerard finally gets Mikey’s jeans undone and pushed out of the way, their cocks together and burning up, skin on skin like a flame.
“Oh god. Oh god.” Mikey’s whole body jerks at the contact and he gets his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around them both. Gerard opens his mouth, but no noise comes out. He thrusts instinctively, sliding against Mikey’s cock and his fingers. Mikey tightens his grip and starts stroking them both, moving in concert with the thrusts of their hips, their bodies finding an instinctive rhythm.
Time alters when they do this, goes on forever and is too short all at once. Even in privacy, there’s always the fear of being found out, there’s always the knowledge that what they’re doing is wrong by society’s standards and a sin in the eyes of people who matter to them. It makes every movement seem exaggerated, like seconds take hours and it’ll go on forever and there’s no chance they won’t get caught.
At the same time it’s over too soon, and Mikey can feel his orgasm threatening at the base of his cock, just the feeling of Gerard trapped between his hand and his dick enough to make him lose control.
Mikey squeezes and Gerard groans and comes, slick and wet and hot. Mikey chokes on a breath and comes as well, still stroking until Gerard whimpers roughly and pulls off, rolling onto his back on the bed.
Mikey rests his hand on his stomach, his fingers damp from their mingled orgasms. He’s suddenly exhausted, like the day has finally caught up with him and he needs to sleep for a week.
Gerard reaches over and takes Mikey’s other hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. “Love you, Mikes.”
Like this, afterward, it’s like the need was never there and nothing is different between them. They’re brothers. Nothing more. Nothing less. But being brothers is everything.
Mikey yawns and turns on his side, pressing his face against Gerard’s shoulder. “Love you too, Gee.”
“’m gonna need a lot of coffee later.”
Mikey nods and closes his eyes, reaching back and grabbing the comforter off his bed and pulling it over them both. “Mmm. Me too.”
**
The lyrics video is Ray’s idea and they decide to release it before the full one for Na Na Na, even though it’s ready to go. It feeds into Gerard’s sense of theatrics and it inspires a lecture to them all on how the fans are just as important. Ray, Frank and Mikey just nod along, because they’re already in wholehearted agreement, and sometimes Gerard just needs to hear himself talk.
They watch it through and slap Ray on the back while Gerard sets up the actual video, growling under his breath at his computer. He gets it ready and comes back to sit next to Mikey on the couch, grabbing his hand tightly before pushing play.
Mikey feels the thrum of heat in his blood as he squeezes back. With Ray and Frank there, it’s a low pulse, nothing that will push through. It’s always there, but, like the monsters in Mikey’s head, it’s sated now, content with what it has.
Grant rumbles out his rough, “Keep running,” and the screen goes black. No one moves. Mikey thinks maybe none of them breathe. And then Frank turns his wide, manic smile on Gerard.
“Holy fucking shit, man. That was…fuck.” He looks past Gerard to Mikey and Ray. “Right? I mean, am I right? Fucking awesome, right? Just…Steve and Jimmy and fucking Grant and us. Man, we fucking…shit.” He flops back into his chair. “Fuck.”
Mikey purses his lips, giving Gerard a look. “Man, I’m sorry Frank didn’t like it.”
Gerard giggles and then they’re all laughing, tension draining from the room. This is strange and different for all of them, being better, being happy and seeing it reflected in something they’re about to unleash upon the world.
“Group hug. Fuck. Group hug.” Frank gets up and tugs on Ray’s hand, pulling him until they’re all piled together on the couch, pretty much on top of each other. This is his family, warm and laughing around him. They watch it again, squished on the couch together, then Gerard sends Frank for drinks, and Ray follows along, because that’s how it works with them. They all just know.
Mikey and Gerard are alone again. The hum in his blood doesn’t change, and he rests his head on Gerard’s shoulder. The lines are firmly in place and the ground beneath his feet doesn’t tremble at all.
Gerard grins at him, wide open smile and that light in his eyes that he saves for Mikey. “I told you it was going to fucking rock, Mikeyway.”
“You did.” Mikey can’t help grinning back at Gerard. “My hair’s the best part.”
“Well, yeah.” Gerard rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh. “But then again, isn’t it always?”
Seriously. Look at this great picture: