Schmoopy fic, anyone?
Title: Our Love is Like a White Steed Equipped With An Ivory Penis Symbol Atop Its Head
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Rating: PG-13? Man, that's a little sad.
Summary: Highly self-indulgent High School AU. In which Frank and Mikey are best friends who secretly want to tattoo each other's names on their butts and adopt Cambodian kittens, but none of them know the feeling is mutual until Frank's fashion choices hit Mikey's “awwww” button. Um. Fuck off, it's my brain. I can get as cute as I want. *hides*
Disclaimer: Don't google yourself, and if you do, please don't sue. HEY THAT RHYMED.
A/N: impertinence owns my soul for the betaing. Seriously. &hearts x infinity.
It was laundry day, okay, and maybe Frank had a little fit of rage the other day when his guitar string broke while he was tuning it and pinged him just beneath his eyebrow so hard it bled a little, and his mother refused to get him a new one because she'd already given him his allowance in advance and gotten him that t-shirt with a really creepy clown on that he'd wanted so badly it made his eyes water, and then he'd sort of accidentally on purpose grabbed a big pile of clothes from his closet and thrown them out the window. You know, as you do. And this is why, on the third day back in school after summer, when there's still that slight possibility of reinventing yourself, that need to look really cool (so that Mikeyway will finally look at him in that way), Frank is wearing the white unicorn print t-shirt his cousin Anna left in the bottom of his drawer last summer when she stayed over in his room. Fuck.
Mikey looks really cool in his Smashing Pumpkins tee and his tight black jeans. He always does. The seat beside him is empty, and he's staring absently out the window. The giant headphones sort of make him look like an alien, but a really cool alien, with the most awesome hair ever and a shirt that doesn't have a unicorn.
Frank hates him, a little bit, because his lips are sending alien freak waves to Frank's groin, and also he isn't wearing a fucking unicorn on his chest. Jesus fucking christ. Frank tugs a little at the hem of the fucking shirt, and decides that he can be fucking cool in a fucking unicorn shirt if he fucking wants to. He stomps over and sits down next to Mikey. It's fine. This'll totally be fine.
Mikey glances over, and then his gaze travels down to Frankie's chest. His eyebrows do that amazing quirk thing that Frank can never get quite right no matter how much time he spends in front of the mirror practicing, and a little smile tugs on the corners of Mikey's mouth. Fuck. It's totally not fine. Oh god.
“Dude,” Mikey says, “that's a really...”
“Shut up.” Frank mutters, and it's unfair that Mikey's eyes are sort of twinkling or something behind his glasses.
“I didn't know you were into unicorns.”
Frank dumps his head on the table and wishes this day would be over already, so that he can go home and kill himself with fire.
“No, it's...I like it.” Mikey says softly, and Frank turns his face up just in time to see him ducking his head and swiping at his fringe shyly. There are dwarves in Frank's tummy doing a victory dance. It feels kind of funny.
He really wants to kiss Mikey. He turns his head to listen to the dinosaur teacher lecture on The Scarlet Letter, gripping the chair so hard his knuckles turn white.
They go home to Mikey's after school, because he's stolen the new issue of X-men from Gerard, and Frank should totally read it, it's pretty cool. It's still a summer day, in a windy kind of way, and Frank feels like his body is buzzing with a sort of low-key excitement. They're not walking slowly, but not exactly at a brisk pace either, and their hands keep brushing up against each other. Frank feels like there are fireworks going off in his fingers every time. He needs to stop being a virgin, seriously. This is getting ridiculous.
Frank ends up sprawling on Mikey's bed with the comic raised above his face. He'd somehow misjudged gravity in his nervousness getting on the bed, and he feels stupid trying to sit up again. He feels stupid breathing. He's wearing a unicorn shirt, and his hands are shaking just a little, and Mikeyway is shifting closer, the bed dipping a little so that their bodies are leaning into each other.
Frank stops breathing. Mystique is staring down at him from the page, the blues of her skin and yellows of her eyes quivering slightly.
Mikey's hand lands feather light and tentative on Frank's thigh.
He drops the comic and turns his face towards Mikey. There's something amazingly intimate about seeing Mikey's face this close; Frank can see the little dimple things in his nose, every slash of colour in his iris, the smudge on his glasses. He can see the little hairs in Mikey's nose, and he actually doesn't find it gross. It's kind of embarrassing, the way every aspect of Mikey's face is so beautiful it aches a little.
He arches up to press his lips against Mikey's, and it it the best fucking thing ever, ohgod. It's a little awkward, yeah, because Frank has never really done this before, not really, but. But those are Mikey's lips, warm against his own, his hand splayed over Mikey's chest, and he's so turned on his eyes are crossing. He presses his unoccupied hand into Mikey's hair, cups it over the place where head meets neck, slides his hand forward and down a little bit until he's caressing Mikey's jaw. These are things he's only dreamed of doing before, but now he's doing them, and it feels better than he'd ever imagined. Blessed be his TV, and that one romance novel he definitely never ever read.
“I really like your shirt,” Mikey mumbles against Frank's mouth, a little breathless. Frank can feel his every breath in soft wet puffs over his lips. “Take it off.”
“You've got to be kidding me,” Frank pants, aiming to rest his forehead against Mikey's but ending up smushing his glasses instead. “There's a unicorn on my shirt.”
Mikey smiles happily. “I know, dude. They're my favourite.”
“Oh.” Frank beams. This is the best shirt ever.
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Rating: PG-13? Man, that's a little sad.
Summary: Highly self-indulgent High School AU. In which Frank and Mikey are best friends who secretly want to tattoo each other's names on their butts and adopt Cambodian kittens, but none of them know the feeling is mutual until Frank's fashion choices hit Mikey's “awwww” button. Um. Fuck off, it's my brain. I can get as cute as I want. *hides*
Disclaimer: Don't google yourself, and if you do, please don't sue. HEY THAT RHYMED.
A/N: impertinence owns my soul for the betaing. Seriously. &hearts x infinity.
It was laundry day, okay, and maybe Frank had a little fit of rage the other day when his guitar string broke while he was tuning it and pinged him just beneath his eyebrow so hard it bled a little, and his mother refused to get him a new one because she'd already given him his allowance in advance and gotten him that t-shirt with a really creepy clown on that he'd wanted so badly it made his eyes water, and then he'd sort of accidentally on purpose grabbed a big pile of clothes from his closet and thrown them out the window. You know, as you do. And this is why, on the third day back in school after summer, when there's still that slight possibility of reinventing yourself, that need to look really cool (so that Mikeyway will finally look at him in that way), Frank is wearing the white unicorn print t-shirt his cousin Anna left in the bottom of his drawer last summer when she stayed over in his room. Fuck.
Mikey looks really cool in his Smashing Pumpkins tee and his tight black jeans. He always does. The seat beside him is empty, and he's staring absently out the window. The giant headphones sort of make him look like an alien, but a really cool alien, with the most awesome hair ever and a shirt that doesn't have a unicorn.
Frank hates him, a little bit, because his lips are sending alien freak waves to Frank's groin, and also he isn't wearing a fucking unicorn on his chest. Jesus fucking christ. Frank tugs a little at the hem of the fucking shirt, and decides that he can be fucking cool in a fucking unicorn shirt if he fucking wants to. He stomps over and sits down next to Mikey. It's fine. This'll totally be fine.
Mikey glances over, and then his gaze travels down to Frankie's chest. His eyebrows do that amazing quirk thing that Frank can never get quite right no matter how much time he spends in front of the mirror practicing, and a little smile tugs on the corners of Mikey's mouth. Fuck. It's totally not fine. Oh god.
“Dude,” Mikey says, “that's a really...”
“Shut up.” Frank mutters, and it's unfair that Mikey's eyes are sort of twinkling or something behind his glasses.
“I didn't know you were into unicorns.”
Frank dumps his head on the table and wishes this day would be over already, so that he can go home and kill himself with fire.
“No, it's...I like it.” Mikey says softly, and Frank turns his face up just in time to see him ducking his head and swiping at his fringe shyly. There are dwarves in Frank's tummy doing a victory dance. It feels kind of funny.
He really wants to kiss Mikey. He turns his head to listen to the dinosaur teacher lecture on The Scarlet Letter, gripping the chair so hard his knuckles turn white.
They go home to Mikey's after school, because he's stolen the new issue of X-men from Gerard, and Frank should totally read it, it's pretty cool. It's still a summer day, in a windy kind of way, and Frank feels like his body is buzzing with a sort of low-key excitement. They're not walking slowly, but not exactly at a brisk pace either, and their hands keep brushing up against each other. Frank feels like there are fireworks going off in his fingers every time. He needs to stop being a virgin, seriously. This is getting ridiculous.
Frank ends up sprawling on Mikey's bed with the comic raised above his face. He'd somehow misjudged gravity in his nervousness getting on the bed, and he feels stupid trying to sit up again. He feels stupid breathing. He's wearing a unicorn shirt, and his hands are shaking just a little, and Mikeyway is shifting closer, the bed dipping a little so that their bodies are leaning into each other.
Frank stops breathing. Mystique is staring down at him from the page, the blues of her skin and yellows of her eyes quivering slightly.
Mikey's hand lands feather light and tentative on Frank's thigh.
He drops the comic and turns his face towards Mikey. There's something amazingly intimate about seeing Mikey's face this close; Frank can see the little dimple things in his nose, every slash of colour in his iris, the smudge on his glasses. He can see the little hairs in Mikey's nose, and he actually doesn't find it gross. It's kind of embarrassing, the way every aspect of Mikey's face is so beautiful it aches a little.
He arches up to press his lips against Mikey's, and it it the best fucking thing ever, ohgod. It's a little awkward, yeah, because Frank has never really done this before, not really, but. But those are Mikey's lips, warm against his own, his hand splayed over Mikey's chest, and he's so turned on his eyes are crossing. He presses his unoccupied hand into Mikey's hair, cups it over the place where head meets neck, slides his hand forward and down a little bit until he's caressing Mikey's jaw. These are things he's only dreamed of doing before, but now he's doing them, and it feels better than he'd ever imagined. Blessed be his TV, and that one romance novel he definitely never ever read.
“I really like your shirt,” Mikey mumbles against Frank's mouth, a little breathless. Frank can feel his every breath in soft wet puffs over his lips. “Take it off.”
“You've got to be kidding me,” Frank pants, aiming to rest his forehead against Mikey's but ending up smushing his glasses instead. “There's a unicorn on my shirt.”
Mikey smiles happily. “I know, dude. They're my favourite.”
“Oh.” Frank beams. This is the best shirt ever.