Fic: schmoop_bingo Amnesty: MCR, AAR, Skippyfic
Title: Reverie
Fandom: Skippy (Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas, TAI.../JoBros)
Rating: G
Warnings: None, though brief mentions of sex
Word Count: 1079
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with any of the people written about here, and none of this is true. And if you are one of the people written about here, for your own sanity, leave now.
Summary: Mike’s arm is wrapped around his waist, his face buried in the crook of Kevin’s shoulder, and Kevin feels an uncontrollable wave of fondness for him, tenderness, almost, if Mike was the kind of guy who inspired tenderness. He isn’t, but Kevin is definitely the sort of guy who feels it, so Mike will just have to deal with it.
AN: Written for schmoop_bingo, for the prompt 'spooning'. Beta-read by xrysomou and cheerled by the delicious lullula.
It’s early enough that the light still looks new and the world outside their window is very quiet. By all rights, Kevin shouldn’t even be awake right now - he doesn’t have to be up for another hour or so - but he kind of likes not wasting what little time they have together sleeping.
Mike’s arm is wrapped around his waist, his face buried in the crook of Kevin’s shoulder, and Kevin feels an uncontrollable wave of fondness for him, tenderness, almost, if Mike was the kind of guy who inspired tenderness. He isn’t, but Kevin is definitely the sort of guy who feels it, so Mike will just have to deal with it. (Kevin suspects Mike will be absolutely fine with it.)
Kevin lets his hand fit over Mike’s, threading their fingers together carefully so as not to wake him. Mike sleeps like the dead, but The Academy leaves on tour tomorrow, and although Kevin wants to wake Mike and make the most of what little time they had together, he knows sleep is going to be a commodity on their tour bus. Best for Mike to sleep in while he can.
It’s comfortable anyway, just lying there, Mike wrapped round him, staring out at what markets itself as their back garden, though to be strictly accurate it’s just a slab of concrete with some half-dead plants in pots. Kevin’s been meaning to do something with it for months, but he’s never gotten round to it. (He probably never will.) Mike is warm at his back, relaxed in sleep, and Kevin smiles to himself - this is perfect. This is why he’ll never regret the shit-storm it took to get them here.
When he left the Jonas Brothers officially, leaving the band (such as it was) and quitting JONAS, everyone acted like it was the end of the world; his parents, Disney, their manager, even Nick. It was like being bombarded on all sides by every last reason why it was a bad idea. What was he going to do with his life, was he going to do anything with his life, how could he leave his brothers in the lurch like this, didn’t he know what this would do to them as a family, to Nick’s career, to Joe’s career, to his own... the list went on and on and on, and it never seemed to stop.
It was Joe who rang Mike, Kevin’s impromptu boyfriend of maybe a month, handed Kevin the phone, and went off to continue the fight with their parents in Kevin’s absence.
Kevin had been a mess, and to his credit, Mike hadn’t so much as hesitated. “Is it what you want?” he’d asked, and Kevin had nodded before realising Mike couldn’t see it.
“I - yes. I mean, I can’t - I’m always going to be Kevin Jonas, in shitty magazines and whatever. But I’m twenty three, I can’t - I mean, at least this way, I don’t have to dress up in a school uniform every day and I can just fade away gracefully and not - not become some mess in the public eye all the time.” He took a deep breath. He had never put it all out there quite like that before. Not without endless interruptions and arguments.
Mike hummed down the phone. “You’re sure it’s not just ‘cos you’re scared?” he’d asked carefully. “You’re not gonna regret it further down the line?”
“Maybe,” Kevin had said, and it had been the first time he’d let himself be honest about it. “But I don’t enjoy it anymore. I know it’s - ungrateful, or something, to be whining about what’s pretty much the best job in the world, but I just don’t enjoy it.”
Mike makes another agreeing noise down the phone. “Don’t burn any bridges then,” he said sensibly. “But if you gotta get out before you burn out, fine.”
“Yeah,” Kevin whispered. ‘Burn out’ - that was exactly it.
“Hey, it’s OK, you know that, right? I mean, I guess no one’s exactly falling over themselves to tell you that, but it’s OK. It happens. And you couldn’t keep dressing up as a school kid forever, that shit was gonna get creepy after a while.”
They’d only been together a month - in the most desultory way possible, too, since Mike was busy and Kevin was terrified of anyone ever finding out about them - but Kevin had never wanted someone there so strongly as he suddenly wanted Mike. “Yeah,” he manages again, and oh god, he’s totally gonna cry in a minute. “Yeah, no - I know, that’s...that’s kind of it.”
“It really is OK, Kev,” Mike had assured him, and there had been something in his voice which had all-but brought a lump to Kevin’s throat. “I’ve talked Bill off enough ledges, this is nothing - I mean, I know it’s not nothing for you, but if it’s the right thing for you to do, then you’ve just gotta get past the shitty bit and wait for the good stuff.”
Sound advice, it turned out, and two years later, Kevin can’t bring himself to regret it. Nick’s making music still, and Joe is starring in a succession of movies, each worse than the last (and Joe knows it, which just makes it better). Kevin has a record label. It’s slow going, and it’s taken a fair chunk of his JoBro’s capital, but it’s working with music and working with musicians and he loves it. He loves it in a way he never loved JONAS or being a Jonas Brother (capital B - he loves his brothers something fierce). He loves the way he goes into a store now and gets a quick ‘hang on, that’s - oh, well, whatever’ glance, rather than screaming girls all over him. He loves being able set his own hours in a way he never could before and he loves being able to see Mike whenever and not have anyone freak out over whether or not the readers of CosmoGirl will have a collective aneurism if they see him with a guy.
And he loves Mike, too. Two years, plenty of fights, plenty of make-up sex and plenty of good times, and he loves him. He’ll miss him tomorrow when he’s gone, but for the moment he’s here, and life is excellent.
Kevin squeezes his hand again gently, and feels Mike wake up, stretching against Kevin’s back and pressing an absent kiss to his shoulder.
“Good morning,” Kevin tells him, and it is.
**
Title: Serenade
Fandom: The All-American Rejects
Rating: G
Warnings: None, though brief mentions of sex
Word Count: 957
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with any of the people written about here, and none of this is true. And if you are one of the people written about here, for your own sanity, leave now.
Summary: Tyson has a cunning plan to win Nick over, though unfortunately, it looks quite a lot like their normal interactions, and Nick is not racing to get with the program.
AN: Written for schmoop_bingo, for the prompt 'serenade' (see what I did there?). Once again beta-read by xrysomou and cheerled by lullula.
Nick and Tyson had had an arrangement - a strictly on tour arrangement - for years. On tour, before they had girlfriends (and even a little while after, since Robyn was strictly of the ‘if you must, you must’ mindset), they would fuck sometimes as a kind of stress relief. The arrangement had tailed off, when Nick got really serious about Robyn and when Tyson had thought he and Kim were really serious, but it had been in the back of Tyson’s mind for a while, ever since, in fact, he and Kim broke up.
He hadn’t made a move. Nick had Robyn, and was happy with her, and Tyson wasn’t going to get in the way of that. Even when they split up, Tyson kept quiet, because it would be a totally dick move to spring that on his friend when he was clearly majorly cut up about his break-up. And Tyson hadn’t really had Nick for over two years, so he figured what he no longer had, he couldn’t miss. (Even if he kind of did.)
It wasn’t like he had some super secret plan for winning Nick’s heart, or like he was working to some kind of schedule. However long Nick needed was just fine. Way Tyson saw it, he’d been waiting for fucking years, and he could wait a bit longer.
He’d always sung to his band on stage - not all the time, obviously, that would be ridiculous, but sometimes - and he’d always sung at Nick, so it wasn’t weird for him to keep doing it, even if it was maybe a little more frequent than normal. The fans loved it, Nick seemed to enjoy it, Tyson got Nick’s full attention on him and a grin, and Mike and Chris rolled their eyes in unison and waited for the pair of them to stop being idiots - both onstage and off. It was a win/win.
When Tyson sang almost the entirety of When The World Comes Down to Nick, though, Chris stepped in.
“He’s not gonna get it, y’know,” he told him, and Tyson glanced at him.
“Who’s not gonna get what?” he asked with a blinding smile. Tyson didn’t often play dumb, but when he did, he did it spectacularly.
“Nick. He’s not gonna get that you’re serenading him with hearts in your eyes. Or,” Chris amended fairly, “he’s going to realise it, but he’s not going to know you’re for serious this time.”
Tyson dropped his book - he hadn’t been enjoying it anyway - and gave Chris all of his attention. “Whatcha mean, ‘for serious this time’?”
“Ty, you’ve been singing shit to Nick with a big soppy look on your face since you were, what, fifteen?” Chris’ voice and expression were disinterested, but he kept a careful eye on Tyson’s reaction. “Cut the guy a bit of slack. How’s he supposed to know it’s different this time?”
He had a point. “You have a point,” Tyson admitted unwillingly. “So-”
“Do not ask me what you do next,” Chris stood. “I’m not giving out free couple’s therapy here. I’m just telling you it’s time for Plan B, because plan A isn’t working anymore.” He considered it for a moment. “If it ever did.”
Tyson thought this over when Chris had gone. If Nick wasn’t going to buy a clue, then Tyson would have to help him with it by being really obvious. More obvious than normal, even.
He kept things light for as long as possible, and waited for the next time they played When The World Comes Down. Then, spurred on by adrenaline and high hopes, he dropped to his knees in front of Nick and sang the entire song to him.
The crowd seemed to love it, and Nick seemed down with it for the first verse-and-chorus segment - but when Tyson didn’t move after that, he stared at him, clearly confused. Tyson kept eye-contact for as long as possible - until it became weird and awkward - trying to communicate his meaning with his eyes, or whatever. Nick mostly seemed bemused by the entire thing, and that wasn’t what Tyson had been going for, but it was better than some of the potential reactions, so he went with it.
“That’s our song, mine and Nicky’s,” he told the audience, when it was over. Nick seemed to need the help deciphering what had just happened. Behind him, Mike had wandered over to Nick, and was whispering something to him, but Tyson had a show to put on, and he’d taken enough time out of it already. “Our Mona fuckin’ Lisa. It’s our song for anyone who’s ever been in love. How many of you have ever been in love?”
Over the answering swell of noise from the crowd, he glanced at Nick. He had his hand up, but he was looking at Tyson, and Tyson grinned back at him, wide and a little wild.
**
Backstage, Nick cornered him after handing off his instrument, frowning darkly. “What was that out there?”
For one stupid moment, Tyson wanted to say ‘whatever you want it to be’, but that was just silly, so he didn’t. “It was - I mean, if you want it to be - it was - an offer?”
“An offer,” Nick repeated quietly, and Tyson nodded hopefully. “An offer of what, Ty?”
“Gaylor said you wouldn’t get it,” Tyson muttered. “It’s an offer of - I mean, it’s. Oh, c’mon, isn’t it obvious?”
Nick paused, blinked, then leant up and kissed him. “I really hope it was what I thought it was,” he muttered when he pulled back.
Tyson was absolutely not ready for the kissing to be over. “It was totally what you thought it was,” he assured him, and pulled him back in for another kiss.
**
Title: Rough Edges
Fandom: My Chemical Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1103
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with any of the people written about here, and none of this is true. And if you are one of the people written about here, for your own sanity, leave now.
Summary: Party Poison gets sunburn and Frank volunteers to deal with the after-effects.
AN: Written for schmoop_bingo, for the prompt 'sunburn'. Also beta-read by xrysomou and cheerled by lullula.
“Fucking ow,” Party spat as Kobra poked at the back of his neck with insistent fingers. “Leave me alone!”
“You should put something on that,” Kobra said, without so much as a twitch of acknowledgement for Party’s attitude.
“Yeah, I’ll get right onto that,” Party snapped. “I’m sure Jet’s got us all stocked up on aloe and aftersun and - it’s just some fucking sunburn, it’ll be alright!”
“If it was Motorbaby-”
“If it was Motorbaby - which it isn’t - we’d find something for her, because she’s eight,” Party retorted, and Kobra shrugged.
“Whatever,” he said and turned back to his magazine. “Just didn’t want our fearless leader getting blisters on his fucking neck, is all.”
It wasn’t all - with Party and Kobra, Ghoul knew, it was never all. But he wasn’t about to get in the middle of a brother’s fight, not when he could sit quietly in the back and pretend like he couldn’t hear them. Even if he did happen to know that Jet Star did have stuff for sunburn in stock - they lived in the fucking desert, it would be mad not to - there was no reason to say it. Kobra knew it and Party knew it, and they were mostly just fighting to pass the time.
After all, Kobra normally knew better to tackle Party right now. It would have been much better to wait until they got back to the diner, and Gerard took a step back from the Party Poison persona he used when they were running the zones - the one he used, ironically, as a bit of shade from the glare. They were the motherfucking Killjoys and there was a lot of attention on them, friendly, unfriendly, neutral and mortal. The personas helped keep it all a little at bay. (Jet Star’s was the most complete; Party’s was the most vicious. Not many people really got to know Kobra Kid at all, whether he was Kobra or Mikey, so he maybe had it easiest, and as for Fun Ghoul, he was always inside his own head, so he couldn’t judge what it was like looking at himself.)
Party took his persona most seriously, anyway, and he wasn’t going to drop it for a bit of sunburn, even in the safety of the Trans Am as it took them back to the diner. It was fucking unreasonable of him, but Gerard could be like that sometimes, Party Poison or not.
The minute they got back to the diner, Ghoul peeled off and headed back up to his room, letting Kobra and Party greet Motorbaby and Jet Star, giving himself some space. He needed it after they’d been zone-running, when not even Grace could pull him out of himself for a little while.
At one point his room had been a kind of office, if the carpet tiles were anything to go by. (Frank liked to document these things over again when they got back, count off the squares and check the number of screws sticking out of the broken down desk, check through the rubble of what had been a computer before it was stripped down for parts.) He’d give it twenty minutes, then he’d go and see how Gerard felt about putting on some of the goop Ray had created for sunburn back when the Killjoys first started running in the zones, before Frank joined them.
He let the adrenaline settle out of his system, stepping back and away from his Fun Ghoul mask before he stood to go find Ray for his salve-stuff. Gerard knocked on the door before he was even half-way up.
“Heya,” Gerard said, a little wary, clearly unsure as to whether he was talking to Frank or Fun Ghoul. Fun Ghoul was who Frank let himself be when he was hopped up on adrenaline and fear, and all of them liked to make sure they kept a little distance from those personas - both their own and each others - when they were on their de-facto down-time. Party Poison was who Gerard became in the same circumstances (though Party Poison was driven by sweeping notions of right and wrong and loss which Frank had given up trying to emulate, even when he was Fun Ghoul), but it was definitely Gerard, not Party, who gave Frank a hangdog look and said, “’ was wondering if you’d put some of this on my sunburn.”
Frank grinned, sudden. “Was just coming to offer,” he said, and Gerard eased fully into the room, his posture relaxing a little. He perched on the remains of the desk which had been shoved off to one side, and Frank stood behind, taking the little pot of goop (really, Frank didn’t want to know what the hell Ray put in these things) from him and opening the lid. A pungent smell of cactus juice and tea-tree made his eyes sting a little, but it smelt cool - like it would be a relief for the red, angry skin on the back of Gerard’s neck, the only uncovered place the sun could possibly have found to burn him.
Instinctively, Frank pressed a kiss to the skin, feeling it burn-hot against his chapped lips, and Gerard sighed a little. “’M an idiot,” he said regretfully, and Frank hummed, scooping out a little of the goop and slathering it onto Gerard’s neck.
“One who’s going to need to apologise to Mikey,” he agreed and winced as Gerard nodded, pulling the skin on his neck.
“I know. I’m an idiot when I’m like that.”
“We’re all idiots when we’re like that,” Frank didn’t so much correct as assuage. “S’why we do the things we do. That’s how we do ’em.”
Even through the stuff Frank was soothing on, Gerard’s skin felt hot and angry, and Frank added more of the gel than was really necessary in an attempt to get it to cool a little. Gerard was quiet, whether enjoying the impromptu massage or thinking about what Frank had just said, Frank had no idea.
Finally, he re-capped the pot, unwilling to use up too much of it. “I’d say you’re done,” he said, allowing himself to smooth his fingers over the back of Gerard’s neck one last time.
“Yeah. Thanks, Frankie,” Gerard hopped down off the desk and offered him a blinding smile. “You’re a motherfucking star.”
“Hell yeah I am,” Frank agreed, helpless not to smile back. Gerard rolled his eyes at him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
“You’re my best,” he said, and Frank’s smile became a grin.
“Flatterer,” he accused.
“Always for you,” Gerard agreed and turned to go.
**
FIN
And, we're done!
Fandom: Skippy (Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas, TAI.../JoBros)
Rating: G
Warnings: None, though brief mentions of sex
Word Count: 1079
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with any of the people written about here, and none of this is true. And if you are one of the people written about here, for your own sanity, leave now.
Summary: Mike’s arm is wrapped around his waist, his face buried in the crook of Kevin’s shoulder, and Kevin feels an uncontrollable wave of fondness for him, tenderness, almost, if Mike was the kind of guy who inspired tenderness. He isn’t, but Kevin is definitely the sort of guy who feels it, so Mike will just have to deal with it.
AN: Written for schmoop_bingo, for the prompt 'spooning'. Beta-read by xrysomou and cheerled by the delicious lullula.
It’s early enough that the light still looks new and the world outside their window is very quiet. By all rights, Kevin shouldn’t even be awake right now - he doesn’t have to be up for another hour or so - but he kind of likes not wasting what little time they have together sleeping.
Mike’s arm is wrapped around his waist, his face buried in the crook of Kevin’s shoulder, and Kevin feels an uncontrollable wave of fondness for him, tenderness, almost, if Mike was the kind of guy who inspired tenderness. He isn’t, but Kevin is definitely the sort of guy who feels it, so Mike will just have to deal with it. (Kevin suspects Mike will be absolutely fine with it.)
Kevin lets his hand fit over Mike’s, threading their fingers together carefully so as not to wake him. Mike sleeps like the dead, but The Academy leaves on tour tomorrow, and although Kevin wants to wake Mike and make the most of what little time they had together, he knows sleep is going to be a commodity on their tour bus. Best for Mike to sleep in while he can.
It’s comfortable anyway, just lying there, Mike wrapped round him, staring out at what markets itself as their back garden, though to be strictly accurate it’s just a slab of concrete with some half-dead plants in pots. Kevin’s been meaning to do something with it for months, but he’s never gotten round to it. (He probably never will.) Mike is warm at his back, relaxed in sleep, and Kevin smiles to himself - this is perfect. This is why he’ll never regret the shit-storm it took to get them here.
When he left the Jonas Brothers officially, leaving the band (such as it was) and quitting JONAS, everyone acted like it was the end of the world; his parents, Disney, their manager, even Nick. It was like being bombarded on all sides by every last reason why it was a bad idea. What was he going to do with his life, was he going to do anything with his life, how could he leave his brothers in the lurch like this, didn’t he know what this would do to them as a family, to Nick’s career, to Joe’s career, to his own... the list went on and on and on, and it never seemed to stop.
It was Joe who rang Mike, Kevin’s impromptu boyfriend of maybe a month, handed Kevin the phone, and went off to continue the fight with their parents in Kevin’s absence.
Kevin had been a mess, and to his credit, Mike hadn’t so much as hesitated. “Is it what you want?” he’d asked, and Kevin had nodded before realising Mike couldn’t see it.
“I - yes. I mean, I can’t - I’m always going to be Kevin Jonas, in shitty magazines and whatever. But I’m twenty three, I can’t - I mean, at least this way, I don’t have to dress up in a school uniform every day and I can just fade away gracefully and not - not become some mess in the public eye all the time.” He took a deep breath. He had never put it all out there quite like that before. Not without endless interruptions and arguments.
Mike hummed down the phone. “You’re sure it’s not just ‘cos you’re scared?” he’d asked carefully. “You’re not gonna regret it further down the line?”
“Maybe,” Kevin had said, and it had been the first time he’d let himself be honest about it. “But I don’t enjoy it anymore. I know it’s - ungrateful, or something, to be whining about what’s pretty much the best job in the world, but I just don’t enjoy it.”
Mike makes another agreeing noise down the phone. “Don’t burn any bridges then,” he said sensibly. “But if you gotta get out before you burn out, fine.”
“Yeah,” Kevin whispered. ‘Burn out’ - that was exactly it.
“Hey, it’s OK, you know that, right? I mean, I guess no one’s exactly falling over themselves to tell you that, but it’s OK. It happens. And you couldn’t keep dressing up as a school kid forever, that shit was gonna get creepy after a while.”
They’d only been together a month - in the most desultory way possible, too, since Mike was busy and Kevin was terrified of anyone ever finding out about them - but Kevin had never wanted someone there so strongly as he suddenly wanted Mike. “Yeah,” he manages again, and oh god, he’s totally gonna cry in a minute. “Yeah, no - I know, that’s...that’s kind of it.”
“It really is OK, Kev,” Mike had assured him, and there had been something in his voice which had all-but brought a lump to Kevin’s throat. “I’ve talked Bill off enough ledges, this is nothing - I mean, I know it’s not nothing for you, but if it’s the right thing for you to do, then you’ve just gotta get past the shitty bit and wait for the good stuff.”
Sound advice, it turned out, and two years later, Kevin can’t bring himself to regret it. Nick’s making music still, and Joe is starring in a succession of movies, each worse than the last (and Joe knows it, which just makes it better). Kevin has a record label. It’s slow going, and it’s taken a fair chunk of his JoBro’s capital, but it’s working with music and working with musicians and he loves it. He loves it in a way he never loved JONAS or being a Jonas Brother (capital B - he loves his brothers something fierce). He loves the way he goes into a store now and gets a quick ‘hang on, that’s - oh, well, whatever’ glance, rather than screaming girls all over him. He loves being able set his own hours in a way he never could before and he loves being able to see Mike whenever and not have anyone freak out over whether or not the readers of CosmoGirl will have a collective aneurism if they see him with a guy.
And he loves Mike, too. Two years, plenty of fights, plenty of make-up sex and plenty of good times, and he loves him. He’ll miss him tomorrow when he’s gone, but for the moment he’s here, and life is excellent.
Kevin squeezes his hand again gently, and feels Mike wake up, stretching against Kevin’s back and pressing an absent kiss to his shoulder.
“Good morning,” Kevin tells him, and it is.
**
Title: Serenade
Fandom: The All-American Rejects
Rating: G
Warnings: None, though brief mentions of sex
Word Count: 957
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with any of the people written about here, and none of this is true. And if you are one of the people written about here, for your own sanity, leave now.
Summary: Tyson has a cunning plan to win Nick over, though unfortunately, it looks quite a lot like their normal interactions, and Nick is not racing to get with the program.
AN: Written for schmoop_bingo, for the prompt 'serenade' (see what I did there?). Once again beta-read by xrysomou and cheerled by lullula.
Nick and Tyson had had an arrangement - a strictly on tour arrangement - for years. On tour, before they had girlfriends (and even a little while after, since Robyn was strictly of the ‘if you must, you must’ mindset), they would fuck sometimes as a kind of stress relief. The arrangement had tailed off, when Nick got really serious about Robyn and when Tyson had thought he and Kim were really serious, but it had been in the back of Tyson’s mind for a while, ever since, in fact, he and Kim broke up.
He hadn’t made a move. Nick had Robyn, and was happy with her, and Tyson wasn’t going to get in the way of that. Even when they split up, Tyson kept quiet, because it would be a totally dick move to spring that on his friend when he was clearly majorly cut up about his break-up. And Tyson hadn’t really had Nick for over two years, so he figured what he no longer had, he couldn’t miss. (Even if he kind of did.)
It wasn’t like he had some super secret plan for winning Nick’s heart, or like he was working to some kind of schedule. However long Nick needed was just fine. Way Tyson saw it, he’d been waiting for fucking years, and he could wait a bit longer.
He’d always sung to his band on stage - not all the time, obviously, that would be ridiculous, but sometimes - and he’d always sung at Nick, so it wasn’t weird for him to keep doing it, even if it was maybe a little more frequent than normal. The fans loved it, Nick seemed to enjoy it, Tyson got Nick’s full attention on him and a grin, and Mike and Chris rolled their eyes in unison and waited for the pair of them to stop being idiots - both onstage and off. It was a win/win.
When Tyson sang almost the entirety of When The World Comes Down to Nick, though, Chris stepped in.
“He’s not gonna get it, y’know,” he told him, and Tyson glanced at him.
“Who’s not gonna get what?” he asked with a blinding smile. Tyson didn’t often play dumb, but when he did, he did it spectacularly.
“Nick. He’s not gonna get that you’re serenading him with hearts in your eyes. Or,” Chris amended fairly, “he’s going to realise it, but he’s not going to know you’re for serious this time.”
Tyson dropped his book - he hadn’t been enjoying it anyway - and gave Chris all of his attention. “Whatcha mean, ‘for serious this time’?”
“Ty, you’ve been singing shit to Nick with a big soppy look on your face since you were, what, fifteen?” Chris’ voice and expression were disinterested, but he kept a careful eye on Tyson’s reaction. “Cut the guy a bit of slack. How’s he supposed to know it’s different this time?”
He had a point. “You have a point,” Tyson admitted unwillingly. “So-”
“Do not ask me what you do next,” Chris stood. “I’m not giving out free couple’s therapy here. I’m just telling you it’s time for Plan B, because plan A isn’t working anymore.” He considered it for a moment. “If it ever did.”
Tyson thought this over when Chris had gone. If Nick wasn’t going to buy a clue, then Tyson would have to help him with it by being really obvious. More obvious than normal, even.
He kept things light for as long as possible, and waited for the next time they played When The World Comes Down. Then, spurred on by adrenaline and high hopes, he dropped to his knees in front of Nick and sang the entire song to him.
The crowd seemed to love it, and Nick seemed down with it for the first verse-and-chorus segment - but when Tyson didn’t move after that, he stared at him, clearly confused. Tyson kept eye-contact for as long as possible - until it became weird and awkward - trying to communicate his meaning with his eyes, or whatever. Nick mostly seemed bemused by the entire thing, and that wasn’t what Tyson had been going for, but it was better than some of the potential reactions, so he went with it.
“That’s our song, mine and Nicky’s,” he told the audience, when it was over. Nick seemed to need the help deciphering what had just happened. Behind him, Mike had wandered over to Nick, and was whispering something to him, but Tyson had a show to put on, and he’d taken enough time out of it already. “Our Mona fuckin’ Lisa. It’s our song for anyone who’s ever been in love. How many of you have ever been in love?”
Over the answering swell of noise from the crowd, he glanced at Nick. He had his hand up, but he was looking at Tyson, and Tyson grinned back at him, wide and a little wild.
**
Backstage, Nick cornered him after handing off his instrument, frowning darkly. “What was that out there?”
For one stupid moment, Tyson wanted to say ‘whatever you want it to be’, but that was just silly, so he didn’t. “It was - I mean, if you want it to be - it was - an offer?”
“An offer,” Nick repeated quietly, and Tyson nodded hopefully. “An offer of what, Ty?”
“Gaylor said you wouldn’t get it,” Tyson muttered. “It’s an offer of - I mean, it’s. Oh, c’mon, isn’t it obvious?”
Nick paused, blinked, then leant up and kissed him. “I really hope it was what I thought it was,” he muttered when he pulled back.
Tyson was absolutely not ready for the kissing to be over. “It was totally what you thought it was,” he assured him, and pulled him back in for another kiss.
**
Title: Rough Edges
Fandom: My Chemical Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1103
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with any of the people written about here, and none of this is true. And if you are one of the people written about here, for your own sanity, leave now.
Summary: Party Poison gets sunburn and Frank volunteers to deal with the after-effects.
AN: Written for schmoop_bingo, for the prompt 'sunburn'. Also beta-read by xrysomou and cheerled by lullula.
“Fucking ow,” Party spat as Kobra poked at the back of his neck with insistent fingers. “Leave me alone!”
“You should put something on that,” Kobra said, without so much as a twitch of acknowledgement for Party’s attitude.
“Yeah, I’ll get right onto that,” Party snapped. “I’m sure Jet’s got us all stocked up on aloe and aftersun and - it’s just some fucking sunburn, it’ll be alright!”
“If it was Motorbaby-”
“If it was Motorbaby - which it isn’t - we’d find something for her, because she’s eight,” Party retorted, and Kobra shrugged.
“Whatever,” he said and turned back to his magazine. “Just didn’t want our fearless leader getting blisters on his fucking neck, is all.”
It wasn’t all - with Party and Kobra, Ghoul knew, it was never all. But he wasn’t about to get in the middle of a brother’s fight, not when he could sit quietly in the back and pretend like he couldn’t hear them. Even if he did happen to know that Jet Star did have stuff for sunburn in stock - they lived in the fucking desert, it would be mad not to - there was no reason to say it. Kobra knew it and Party knew it, and they were mostly just fighting to pass the time.
After all, Kobra normally knew better to tackle Party right now. It would have been much better to wait until they got back to the diner, and Gerard took a step back from the Party Poison persona he used when they were running the zones - the one he used, ironically, as a bit of shade from the glare. They were the motherfucking Killjoys and there was a lot of attention on them, friendly, unfriendly, neutral and mortal. The personas helped keep it all a little at bay. (Jet Star’s was the most complete; Party’s was the most vicious. Not many people really got to know Kobra Kid at all, whether he was Kobra or Mikey, so he maybe had it easiest, and as for Fun Ghoul, he was always inside his own head, so he couldn’t judge what it was like looking at himself.)
Party took his persona most seriously, anyway, and he wasn’t going to drop it for a bit of sunburn, even in the safety of the Trans Am as it took them back to the diner. It was fucking unreasonable of him, but Gerard could be like that sometimes, Party Poison or not.
The minute they got back to the diner, Ghoul peeled off and headed back up to his room, letting Kobra and Party greet Motorbaby and Jet Star, giving himself some space. He needed it after they’d been zone-running, when not even Grace could pull him out of himself for a little while.
At one point his room had been a kind of office, if the carpet tiles were anything to go by. (Frank liked to document these things over again when they got back, count off the squares and check the number of screws sticking out of the broken down desk, check through the rubble of what had been a computer before it was stripped down for parts.) He’d give it twenty minutes, then he’d go and see how Gerard felt about putting on some of the goop Ray had created for sunburn back when the Killjoys first started running in the zones, before Frank joined them.
He let the adrenaline settle out of his system, stepping back and away from his Fun Ghoul mask before he stood to go find Ray for his salve-stuff. Gerard knocked on the door before he was even half-way up.
“Heya,” Gerard said, a little wary, clearly unsure as to whether he was talking to Frank or Fun Ghoul. Fun Ghoul was who Frank let himself be when he was hopped up on adrenaline and fear, and all of them liked to make sure they kept a little distance from those personas - both their own and each others - when they were on their de-facto down-time. Party Poison was who Gerard became in the same circumstances (though Party Poison was driven by sweeping notions of right and wrong and loss which Frank had given up trying to emulate, even when he was Fun Ghoul), but it was definitely Gerard, not Party, who gave Frank a hangdog look and said, “’ was wondering if you’d put some of this on my sunburn.”
Frank grinned, sudden. “Was just coming to offer,” he said, and Gerard eased fully into the room, his posture relaxing a little. He perched on the remains of the desk which had been shoved off to one side, and Frank stood behind, taking the little pot of goop (really, Frank didn’t want to know what the hell Ray put in these things) from him and opening the lid. A pungent smell of cactus juice and tea-tree made his eyes sting a little, but it smelt cool - like it would be a relief for the red, angry skin on the back of Gerard’s neck, the only uncovered place the sun could possibly have found to burn him.
Instinctively, Frank pressed a kiss to the skin, feeling it burn-hot against his chapped lips, and Gerard sighed a little. “’M an idiot,” he said regretfully, and Frank hummed, scooping out a little of the goop and slathering it onto Gerard’s neck.
“One who’s going to need to apologise to Mikey,” he agreed and winced as Gerard nodded, pulling the skin on his neck.
“I know. I’m an idiot when I’m like that.”
“We’re all idiots when we’re like that,” Frank didn’t so much correct as assuage. “S’why we do the things we do. That’s how we do ’em.”
Even through the stuff Frank was soothing on, Gerard’s skin felt hot and angry, and Frank added more of the gel than was really necessary in an attempt to get it to cool a little. Gerard was quiet, whether enjoying the impromptu massage or thinking about what Frank had just said, Frank had no idea.
Finally, he re-capped the pot, unwilling to use up too much of it. “I’d say you’re done,” he said, allowing himself to smooth his fingers over the back of Gerard’s neck one last time.
“Yeah. Thanks, Frankie,” Gerard hopped down off the desk and offered him a blinding smile. “You’re a motherfucking star.”
“Hell yeah I am,” Frank agreed, helpless not to smile back. Gerard rolled his eyes at him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
“You’re my best,” he said, and Frank’s smile became a grin.
“Flatterer,” he accused.
“Always for you,” Gerard agreed and turned to go.
**
FIN
And, we're done!