Oh what a twisted child
yes. i wrote waycest. Don't worry, it's mild.
Frank was pacing. Again. “Fucking hell Frank, can’t you sit down for, like, a minute?” The four of us were stretched out sloppily, overlapping in a pleasant fug of warmth and steaming up the tiny van, but Frank refused to be still in our post-gig afterglow, and insisted on being annoying buzz in the background, like the tiny slice of light that forces its way up through the bottom of the door.
“I don’t know how you guys can do it. We fucking stink! Me not even as much as some I could mention”
“Awww chill out dude” Ray yawned, running his fingers through his hair “There aint gonna be a shower out here, so you might as well sit down.” His hands were clasped behind his head, propping him up on the narrow windowsill set into the ‘living space’ of the cramped little van, the sofa, having been pulled out into a double bed (following the comment from Gerard: ‘We won’t all fit in the bunks, they’re fucking tiny’) was crammed with gangling limbs, Ray taking up the entire length and his legs overlapping with Bob’s. I was crammed into the corner with my legs crossed and my shoulders bowed under a cabinet, with Gerard’s head lolling in my lap. In all it was not the most comfortable arrangement.
Frank started rummaging around in the massive pile of junk that we’d tipped into the ‘kitchen area’ pulling on something, with his feet braced against the bottom of the crap mountain until his target came free, flinging him backwards, rocking the van on its wheels, and sending a magnificent shower of rubbish over us. “Oh man you’re not gonna…”
“Uhuh” holding up a bottle of water and some soap
Bob chuckled “You’re gonna freeze your ass off out there, good luck.” Frank slammed his way outside shaking the van again, finally rousing my lethargic brother.
“Who’s that desperate to be clean?” he muttered sleepily, turning his head to look straight at me.
“I dunno Bro, you do stink pretty bad.” It wasn’t a lie either. He smelt pungently of something that was so… so Gerard. It was disgusting, don’t get me wrong, but earthy and comforting in its Gerard-ness, a smell that takes me back to long summers trying to keep cool, and stuffy nights curled against him, warding off the nightmares. I picked up a greasy black strand, clinging to his forehead. “When was the last time you actually showered?”
He just smiled “I was thinking of cutting it short for the next tour. Maybe dyeing it blonde, you can never tell with short hair.”
“Alternatively, you could just wash it, you minger” Bob slid off the makeshift bed and stood up, stretching. “I call the bunk at the end, I’m fucking exhausted”
“Whatever,” Ray yawned again “I need some air”
“Oh our air not good enough for ya?” Bob called from the far end, but Ray had already gone. I looked down and my head snapped back in shock, thwacking off the cupboard. Gerard was still staring at me, disconcerting hazel boring in to my face.
“Do you mind Gee? You know I hate it when you stare.” He didn’t take his eyes away.
“What would you do if I actually had a stroke one day?” I think my mouth possibly flopped open in shock. What, was he asking permission? To… Stroke me? “You know,” He elaborated “all you can do is sit and stare if you want something, coz ya can’t talk y’know?”
“Oh ummm yeah, well I’d tape your fuckin eyes shut” Oh shit, he meant a stroke stroke, I really wasn’t thinking straight today. Worst of all, the fucker was still staring, and he seemed to have noticed my discomfort. He just lay there grinning at me.
“I do have a right to stare; you basically belong to me if you think about it.” My mouth was open again. What kind of a ridiculous assumption is that?
“Howdya work that one out shit-for-brains?” But I was visibly floundering. It’s not like in my moments of low self-confidence it hadn’t already crossed my mind. The older brother, the artistic one, the sexy front-man. It often feels like I’ve been dragged out on tour as an afterthought- ‘Don’t forget to take Mikey out to play with you’
“Oh come on, everyone thinks you’re my little bitch” The cheek!
“I wonder why that is? Possibly because you can’t stop licking my nipples on stage? Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, what the fuck is it all about?”
“Why? Does it make ya nervous MikeyWay?” I realised we had lowered our tones to a hushed whisper. So slowly, I could almost tell it was happening , he grabbed onto the front of my shirt and pulled himself inches from my face “You’ve got a lot to learn little bro.” A few moments, and our lips were touching, very slightly, sharing whispered breaths. His other hand went to the back of my hair, twisting his fingers into it and paralysing me with shock. His giggle vibrated into my head. “Whatya gonna do now then eh?”
I pulled him closer for just a few seconds, savouring the feeling of his warmth pressed against my own, the sweat on his forehead, salt on his lips, musty smell of unwashed hair and ripe, festering Gerard heat. “Fuck off now Gee, I’m sleeping here tonight” Gerard had loosened his grip, so it was just me holding on to him, and I let go suddenly, letting his head bounce onto the thin mattress.
“Fair play” He grinned. Geez does that man ever knock that smug smirk off his face? “Night Mikes”
“Yeah, whatever. G’night” I watched him go and lay down, without taking my clothes off. A long buried scene drifted unbidden into my mind, and I could feel the darkness, the fusty half-light. The sounds of adult affairs hummed up the stairs and I could feel myself biting down, hard, on a hand, possibly my own but maybe not. My sweaty cheek against his knee, sprawled out on his bedroom floor, thrusting my hips into my hand.
“Fuck Mikey!” I could feel similar movements somewhere close to my head, and I shuddered, long and hard, going limp against his side.
“Oh Gee” A quiet whimper escaped my lips, and he pulled me on onto the bed where he was sitting, his hair spread out onto the head board.
“You ok now Mikes?”
“So much better. Love you Gee”
“Forever, you know that. Night Mikes” But I’d fallen asleep against him, breathing in the sluggish smell of my big brother feeling content, not confused and terrified. The world had been a simpler place; love had no lines, no stern definition.
A while later Frank came in, shivering and clutching a bundle of clothes. He flopped down on the bed next to me, smelling damp and clean, burning slightly at my nostrils. Something else floated lazily into my mind. Lyrics, scribbled down hastily in a bar, and thrust into our faces the next day.
And you can't touch my brother and you can't keep my friends
and we're not working out, we're not working out
This time I mean it, never mind the times I've seen it
That had been a good party. Not for Gerard clearly.
Frank was pacing. Again. “Fucking hell Frank, can’t you sit down for, like, a minute?” The four of us were stretched out sloppily, overlapping in a pleasant fug of warmth and steaming up the tiny van, but Frank refused to be still in our post-gig afterglow, and insisted on being annoying buzz in the background, like the tiny slice of light that forces its way up through the bottom of the door.
“I don’t know how you guys can do it. We fucking stink! Me not even as much as some I could mention”
“Awww chill out dude” Ray yawned, running his fingers through his hair “There aint gonna be a shower out here, so you might as well sit down.” His hands were clasped behind his head, propping him up on the narrow windowsill set into the ‘living space’ of the cramped little van, the sofa, having been pulled out into a double bed (following the comment from Gerard: ‘We won’t all fit in the bunks, they’re fucking tiny’) was crammed with gangling limbs, Ray taking up the entire length and his legs overlapping with Bob’s. I was crammed into the corner with my legs crossed and my shoulders bowed under a cabinet, with Gerard’s head lolling in my lap. In all it was not the most comfortable arrangement.
Frank started rummaging around in the massive pile of junk that we’d tipped into the ‘kitchen area’ pulling on something, with his feet braced against the bottom of the crap mountain until his target came free, flinging him backwards, rocking the van on its wheels, and sending a magnificent shower of rubbish over us. “Oh man you’re not gonna…”
“Uhuh” holding up a bottle of water and some soap
Bob chuckled “You’re gonna freeze your ass off out there, good luck.” Frank slammed his way outside shaking the van again, finally rousing my lethargic brother.
“Who’s that desperate to be clean?” he muttered sleepily, turning his head to look straight at me.
“I dunno Bro, you do stink pretty bad.” It wasn’t a lie either. He smelt pungently of something that was so… so Gerard. It was disgusting, don’t get me wrong, but earthy and comforting in its Gerard-ness, a smell that takes me back to long summers trying to keep cool, and stuffy nights curled against him, warding off the nightmares. I picked up a greasy black strand, clinging to his forehead. “When was the last time you actually showered?”
He just smiled “I was thinking of cutting it short for the next tour. Maybe dyeing it blonde, you can never tell with short hair.”
“Alternatively, you could just wash it, you minger” Bob slid off the makeshift bed and stood up, stretching. “I call the bunk at the end, I’m fucking exhausted”
“Whatever,” Ray yawned again “I need some air”
“Oh our air not good enough for ya?” Bob called from the far end, but Ray had already gone. I looked down and my head snapped back in shock, thwacking off the cupboard. Gerard was still staring at me, disconcerting hazel boring in to my face.
“Do you mind Gee? You know I hate it when you stare.” He didn’t take his eyes away.
“What would you do if I actually had a stroke one day?” I think my mouth possibly flopped open in shock. What, was he asking permission? To… Stroke me? “You know,” He elaborated “all you can do is sit and stare if you want something, coz ya can’t talk y’know?”
“Oh ummm yeah, well I’d tape your fuckin eyes shut” Oh shit, he meant a stroke stroke, I really wasn’t thinking straight today. Worst of all, the fucker was still staring, and he seemed to have noticed my discomfort. He just lay there grinning at me.
“I do have a right to stare; you basically belong to me if you think about it.” My mouth was open again. What kind of a ridiculous assumption is that?
“Howdya work that one out shit-for-brains?” But I was visibly floundering. It’s not like in my moments of low self-confidence it hadn’t already crossed my mind. The older brother, the artistic one, the sexy front-man. It often feels like I’ve been dragged out on tour as an afterthought- ‘Don’t forget to take Mikey out to play with you’
“Oh come on, everyone thinks you’re my little bitch” The cheek!
“I wonder why that is? Possibly because you can’t stop licking my nipples on stage? Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, what the fuck is it all about?”
“Why? Does it make ya nervous MikeyWay?” I realised we had lowered our tones to a hushed whisper. So slowly, I could almost tell it was happening , he grabbed onto the front of my shirt and pulled himself inches from my face “You’ve got a lot to learn little bro.” A few moments, and our lips were touching, very slightly, sharing whispered breaths. His other hand went to the back of my hair, twisting his fingers into it and paralysing me with shock. His giggle vibrated into my head. “Whatya gonna do now then eh?”
I pulled him closer for just a few seconds, savouring the feeling of his warmth pressed against my own, the sweat on his forehead, salt on his lips, musty smell of unwashed hair and ripe, festering Gerard heat. “Fuck off now Gee, I’m sleeping here tonight” Gerard had loosened his grip, so it was just me holding on to him, and I let go suddenly, letting his head bounce onto the thin mattress.
“Fair play” He grinned. Geez does that man ever knock that smug smirk off his face? “Night Mikes”
“Yeah, whatever. G’night” I watched him go and lay down, without taking my clothes off. A long buried scene drifted unbidden into my mind, and I could feel the darkness, the fusty half-light. The sounds of adult affairs hummed up the stairs and I could feel myself biting down, hard, on a hand, possibly my own but maybe not. My sweaty cheek against his knee, sprawled out on his bedroom floor, thrusting my hips into my hand.
“Fuck Mikey!” I could feel similar movements somewhere close to my head, and I shuddered, long and hard, going limp against his side.
“Oh Gee” A quiet whimper escaped my lips, and he pulled me on onto the bed where he was sitting, his hair spread out onto the head board.
“You ok now Mikes?”
“So much better. Love you Gee”
“Forever, you know that. Night Mikes” But I’d fallen asleep against him, breathing in the sluggish smell of my big brother feeling content, not confused and terrified. The world had been a simpler place; love had no lines, no stern definition.
A while later Frank came in, shivering and clutching a bundle of clothes. He flopped down on the bed next to me, smelling damp and clean, burning slightly at my nostrils. Something else floated lazily into my mind. Lyrics, scribbled down hastily in a bar, and thrust into our faces the next day.
And you can't touch my brother and you can't keep my friends
and we're not working out, we're not working out
This time I mean it, never mind the times I've seen it
That had been a good party. Not for Gerard clearly.