Yesterday was national kissing day, and I was talking about how it would have been a good excuse for a kiss meme, and how it seemed those kind of themed memes seemed to have died out a little
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Gerard/Mikey, Frank/Ray - Love and Chainsaws (1/2)s0ckpupp3tJuly 11 2011, 20:12:56 UTC
[Early days fic. Unbetaed. Incest. Hope you like! *bites nails*]
"Mikey..." Gerard's voice was a warning, a guilty protest, and Mikey silenced it by pushing his brother unceremoniously back on his Star Wars sheets and crawling up over his body.
"Nobody upstairs," Mikey replied, his eyebrow quirking above the line of his glasses. It was practically a shout of victory, coming from Mikey, and Gerard felt his pulse speed up. Or maybe it had something to do with the way Mikey was pushing Gerard's wrists into the mattress and leaning over him. Gerard lifted his head, trying to get closer, and Mikey grinned for a teasing moment before giving him the kiss he was straining for.
Their lips touched, and Gerard slumped back onto his pillow. Mikey let go of Gerard's wrists and followed him down, hands drifting up to cradle Gerard's jaw and tangle in his hair.
"Jesus, Mikes, it's been--"
"--forever," Mikey breathed back in between kisses. And two weeks of bad timing had definitely seemed like forever. It was great, being in a band, and it was even better that people wanted to pay them to play. But being next to his brother, sweating and screaming and flailing and beer-doused under bright lights sometimes made Mikey wish he'd said no a few months ago, because it was fucking torture not being able to touch that.
"I can't play bass," he'd protested, only to be steamrollered over by a tirade of how he could, Gerard knew he could, and Gerard NEEDED him, okay, and this was about LIFE and SAYING SOMETHING and then Gerard had kissed Mikey, and whoa. That was something they'd only done when Gerard was totally trashed and Mikey could wheedle him into it, or just push him against a wall and not have him argue, and count on him not remembering come the morning. Gerard had tried to pull away and apologize, and Mikey had yanked him back into the kiss by his hair, and that was the end of that argument and the beginning of Mikey playing bass. Officially. For a band. And he was screwing the lead singer. Maybe not screwing, exactly, but something. Several somethings, whenever they got a minute alone. Why Gerard couldn't have come around to this notion before the whole band thing, Mikey didn't know. Then they maybe could have gotten laid occasionally. Properly laid, over a matter of hours. No, days.
Anyway, the last two weeks had been a flurry of gigs and when they finally got back home for more than forty-five minutes, there was a lot of parents and laundry and seeing local shows. Getting Frank out of Pencey meant more rehearsals, and someone was just always home lately. But not right now. Not for at least two hours, when Frank and Ray were coming over to not rehearse. Not rehearse at all. Just Evil Dead, and if Matt couldn't stand claymation that was fine. But none of that mattered right now. What mattered was Gerard rutting against Mikey like they were both in fucking heat. What mattered was Mikey's tongue in Gerard's mouth. What mattered was Gerard pulling away and tugging off Mikey's hoodie like his life depended on it.
"Mikey..." Gerard's voice was a warning, a guilty protest, and Mikey silenced it by pushing his brother unceremoniously back on his Star Wars sheets and crawling up over his body.
"Nobody upstairs," Mikey replied, his eyebrow quirking above the line of his glasses. It was practically a shout of victory, coming from Mikey, and Gerard felt his pulse speed up. Or maybe it had something to do with the way Mikey was pushing Gerard's wrists into the mattress and leaning over him. Gerard lifted his head, trying to get closer, and Mikey grinned for a teasing moment before giving him the kiss he was straining for.
Their lips touched, and Gerard slumped back onto his pillow. Mikey let go of Gerard's wrists and followed him down, hands drifting up to cradle Gerard's jaw and tangle in his hair.
"Jesus, Mikes, it's been--"
"--forever," Mikey breathed back in between kisses. And two weeks of bad timing had definitely seemed like forever. It was great, being in a band, and it was even better that people wanted to pay them to play. But being next to his brother, sweating and screaming and flailing and beer-doused under bright lights sometimes made Mikey wish he'd said no a few months ago, because it was fucking torture not being able to touch that.
"I can't play bass," he'd protested, only to be steamrollered over by a tirade of how he could, Gerard knew he could, and Gerard NEEDED him, okay, and this was about LIFE and SAYING SOMETHING and then Gerard had kissed Mikey, and whoa. That was something they'd only done when Gerard was totally trashed and Mikey could wheedle him into it, or just push him against a wall and not have him argue, and count on him not remembering come the morning. Gerard had tried to pull away and apologize, and Mikey had yanked him back into the kiss by his hair, and that was the end of that argument and the beginning of Mikey playing bass. Officially. For a band. And he was screwing the lead singer. Maybe not screwing, exactly, but something. Several somethings, whenever they got a minute alone. Why Gerard couldn't have come around to this notion before the whole band thing, Mikey didn't know. Then they maybe could have gotten laid occasionally. Properly laid, over a matter of hours. No, days.
Anyway, the last two weeks had been a flurry of gigs and when they finally got back home for more than forty-five minutes, there was a lot of parents and laundry and seeing local shows. Getting Frank out of Pencey meant more rehearsals, and someone was just always home lately. But not right now. Not for at least two hours, when Frank and Ray were coming over to not rehearse. Not rehearse at all. Just Evil Dead, and if Matt couldn't stand claymation that was fine. But none of that mattered right now. What mattered was Gerard rutting against Mikey like they were both in fucking heat. What mattered was Mikey's tongue in Gerard's mouth. What mattered was Gerard pulling away and tugging off Mikey's hoodie like his life depended on it.
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