Last of the drabble-meme!
And I didn't manage to keep a single damn one of them within actual 'drabble' range. Whoops.
Frank/Mikey for the very patient mugsyface, 425 words.
“Work with me here,” Frank says, shoving his mouth against the side of Mikey’s neck as his guitar bangs painfully against the backs of Mikey’s thighs.
“Stoppit,” Mikey hisses, dropping his shoulder to dislodge Frank’s chin and edging away from him, keeping his eyes on the neck of his bass. The tricky part’s coming up, that stupid transition at the very end that always throws him, and he needs to concentrate. He’s fucked it up the last two times and even though Gerard says that he can’t hear it, Mikey knows he’s lying. He’ll nail it tonight, if he can just stay focused and not look at the audience. He’s got to.
The venue is a fucking nightmare, too small for the crowd it holds so that the audience is pressed loud and writhing right up to the edge of the area they’ve taped off as the ‘stage’. Ray keeps having to dodge wayward moshers, and every time that Gerard gets too close to the front, all these arms shoot out of the mob to grab at his clothes, his hair. (Throw in a couple tentacles and Mikey’s pretty sure he’s had a nightmare just like this once.)
Mikey’s not like Ray, who can carry on a normal conversation while his fingers stroll through ‘Hells Bells’ like he’s not even conscious of it, easy as breathing. And Mikey’s hands are already shaking as it is. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t drink so much…
“Come on, Mikeyway,” Frank presses, sneaking up on him again and biting him without warning, freaky-sharp teeth snapping closed on the skin just above the collar of Mikey’s soaked tee-shirt. And Mikey’s reaction to the sudden hot sting is Gee’s fault, it is, because nobody could be expected to sit through that many rambling discussions about the awesomeness of vampires without developing at least a tiny bit of a kink.
So, yeah. When his gasp isn’t exactly one of pain and he shoots Frank a look of such blatant heat that he startles himself with it? It’s his weirdo brother’s fault. Totally.
“Nice,” Frank grins, shaking sweaty dreads out of his face and flinging himself in a kamikaze twirl towards Ray. Which is when Mikey belatedly realizes that his fingers have found G all on their own, just like they’re supposed to. It’s, like… magical. Frank’s got magical teeth.
(Trusting his hands long enough to glance over and see what Frank’s doing now, Mikey wonders if he can maybe get Frank alone sometime long enough to see what other magic tricks he knows.)
Frank/Mikey for the very patient mugsyface, 425 words.
“Work with me here,” Frank says, shoving his mouth against the side of Mikey’s neck as his guitar bangs painfully against the backs of Mikey’s thighs.
“Stoppit,” Mikey hisses, dropping his shoulder to dislodge Frank’s chin and edging away from him, keeping his eyes on the neck of his bass. The tricky part’s coming up, that stupid transition at the very end that always throws him, and he needs to concentrate. He’s fucked it up the last two times and even though Gerard says that he can’t hear it, Mikey knows he’s lying. He’ll nail it tonight, if he can just stay focused and not look at the audience. He’s got to.
The venue is a fucking nightmare, too small for the crowd it holds so that the audience is pressed loud and writhing right up to the edge of the area they’ve taped off as the ‘stage’. Ray keeps having to dodge wayward moshers, and every time that Gerard gets too close to the front, all these arms shoot out of the mob to grab at his clothes, his hair. (Throw in a couple tentacles and Mikey’s pretty sure he’s had a nightmare just like this once.)
Mikey’s not like Ray, who can carry on a normal conversation while his fingers stroll through ‘Hells Bells’ like he’s not even conscious of it, easy as breathing. And Mikey’s hands are already shaking as it is. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t drink so much…
“Come on, Mikeyway,” Frank presses, sneaking up on him again and biting him without warning, freaky-sharp teeth snapping closed on the skin just above the collar of Mikey’s soaked tee-shirt. And Mikey’s reaction to the sudden hot sting is Gee’s fault, it is, because nobody could be expected to sit through that many rambling discussions about the awesomeness of vampires without developing at least a tiny bit of a kink.
So, yeah. When his gasp isn’t exactly one of pain and he shoots Frank a look of such blatant heat that he startles himself with it? It’s his weirdo brother’s fault. Totally.
“Nice,” Frank grins, shaking sweaty dreads out of his face and flinging himself in a kamikaze twirl towards Ray. Which is when Mikey belatedly realizes that his fingers have found G all on their own, just like they’re supposed to. It’s, like… magical. Frank’s got magical teeth.
(Trusting his hands long enough to glance over and see what Frank’s doing now, Mikey wonders if he can maybe get Frank alone sometime long enough to see what other magic tricks he knows.)