Fic: Peach Fuzz
Title: Peach Fuzz
Author: vinvy
Rating: PG-13 (barely)
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Word Count: 559
Summary: Mikey had too much time to think after waking up in the hospital.
Warnings: historical inaccuracies forever, some angst, some fluff, random (ish) title, un beta'd
Disclaimer: Alack what be these fallacies she speaks? Believe them not, ye hearties.
A/N: Inaccurate as fuck shooshyness that were written for my platonic girlfriend because she wanted Frikey and Ghost of You. She got the Frikey, at least.
Mikey had too much time to think after waking up in the hospital, far away from Normandy and his brothers- they were all his brothers by the time he got shot, just not blood brothers like Gerard. Underneath his shame for having been stupid enough to get shot, he spent all of his time missing them. Gerard indulging Gabe and his womanizing with bawdy songs that got worse on the nights they could find some wine. Ray’s insistence about getting on stage for every USO event, even when music wasn’t needed. The secret little locket that Bob kept, his girlfriend’s photograph in one side and her cat in the other. Frank and his... everything.
Frank had been Mikey’s foxhole buddy. Their platoon leader wouldn’t let Mikey and Gerard stick together, the tough old bastard. He didn’t want the fact that they were siblings to cloud their judgement so Gerard had gotten Ray- the medic, oh hello irony- and Mikey had gotten Frank, the good Catholic from Jersey. Mikey didn’t have a problem with Catholics, per say, but it got a little annoying when the kid (the Army was snatchin’ ‘em up younger and younger- one of Frank’s nicknames was “peach fuzz” for Christ’s sake) would start up with his rosary on quiet nights to help him sleep. It didn’t work and Mikey didn’t sleep either.
When they weren’t too tired to move and there wasn’t much shooting going on they whispered back and forth, tucked close enough to get really comfortable with the stench of soldier. As it turned out Frank wasn’t too big on religion either.
“Sayin’ the rosary- it’s just, like, soothing, y’know? Balm for broken sinews,” he’d said, suddenly poetic and close enough to high school to remember enough Shakespeare to quote him.
Mikey had nodded in the dark, breathing in starlight and moist dirt. That’s when Frank had leaned in and kissed Mikey, so fast he didn’t realize it’d happened until Frank was stumbling over his reasons.
“I’m sorry it’s just- I know it’s wrong- but I might die tomorrow, y’know and- look- I- if you-”
Frank was getting progressively louder and Mikey clamped a hand over the kid’s mouth. He could barely make out Frank’s eyes, wide and scared in the dim. His breathing was panicked and Mikey sincerely hoped that the kid had a paper bag on him or something because he was not equipped to deal with an asthma attack. That was Ray’s job.
“It’s okay,” Mikey whispered, his mouth right over his own hand as if Frank could understand that he meant it from how close they were. “I- it’s okay, Frankie. Breathe.”
At his quiet command Frank drew a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a second then breathing back out in a mint-scented rush in MIkey’s face. The kid took the Army’s instructions on dental hygiene very seriously. He got a ton of shit for it. Mikey thought it was charming.
“I’m gonna move my hand and you’re gonna be quiet and try to sleep. We’re okay, Frank. Don’t waste your adrenaline on this.”
Frank nodded and Mikey brought his hand back down to his side. He waited a few seconds for Frank to collect himself then pulled the kid into a hug. “You’re not gonna die tomorrow,” he told him and they both knew it was true.
Author: vinvy
Rating: PG-13 (barely)
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Word Count: 559
Summary: Mikey had too much time to think after waking up in the hospital.
Warnings: historical inaccuracies forever, some angst, some fluff, random (ish) title, un beta'd
Disclaimer: Alack what be these fallacies she speaks? Believe them not, ye hearties.
A/N: Inaccurate as fuck shooshyness that were written for my platonic girlfriend because she wanted Frikey and Ghost of You. She got the Frikey, at least.
Mikey had too much time to think after waking up in the hospital, far away from Normandy and his brothers- they were all his brothers by the time he got shot, just not blood brothers like Gerard. Underneath his shame for having been stupid enough to get shot, he spent all of his time missing them. Gerard indulging Gabe and his womanizing with bawdy songs that got worse on the nights they could find some wine. Ray’s insistence about getting on stage for every USO event, even when music wasn’t needed. The secret little locket that Bob kept, his girlfriend’s photograph in one side and her cat in the other. Frank and his... everything.
Frank had been Mikey’s foxhole buddy. Their platoon leader wouldn’t let Mikey and Gerard stick together, the tough old bastard. He didn’t want the fact that they were siblings to cloud their judgement so Gerard had gotten Ray- the medic, oh hello irony- and Mikey had gotten Frank, the good Catholic from Jersey. Mikey didn’t have a problem with Catholics, per say, but it got a little annoying when the kid (the Army was snatchin’ ‘em up younger and younger- one of Frank’s nicknames was “peach fuzz” for Christ’s sake) would start up with his rosary on quiet nights to help him sleep. It didn’t work and Mikey didn’t sleep either.
When they weren’t too tired to move and there wasn’t much shooting going on they whispered back and forth, tucked close enough to get really comfortable with the stench of soldier. As it turned out Frank wasn’t too big on religion either.
“Sayin’ the rosary- it’s just, like, soothing, y’know? Balm for broken sinews,” he’d said, suddenly poetic and close enough to high school to remember enough Shakespeare to quote him.
Mikey had nodded in the dark, breathing in starlight and moist dirt. That’s when Frank had leaned in and kissed Mikey, so fast he didn’t realize it’d happened until Frank was stumbling over his reasons.
“I’m sorry it’s just- I know it’s wrong- but I might die tomorrow, y’know and- look- I- if you-”
Frank was getting progressively louder and Mikey clamped a hand over the kid’s mouth. He could barely make out Frank’s eyes, wide and scared in the dim. His breathing was panicked and Mikey sincerely hoped that the kid had a paper bag on him or something because he was not equipped to deal with an asthma attack. That was Ray’s job.
“It’s okay,” Mikey whispered, his mouth right over his own hand as if Frank could understand that he meant it from how close they were. “I- it’s okay, Frankie. Breathe.”
At his quiet command Frank drew a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a second then breathing back out in a mint-scented rush in MIkey’s face. The kid took the Army’s instructions on dental hygiene very seriously. He got a ton of shit for it. Mikey thought it was charming.
“I’m gonna move my hand and you’re gonna be quiet and try to sleep. We’re okay, Frank. Don’t waste your adrenaline on this.”
Frank nodded and Mikey brought his hand back down to his side. He waited a few seconds for Frank to collect himself then pulled the kid into a hug. “You’re not gonna die tomorrow,” he told him and they both knew it was true.