Monsters (for slashfic25 prompt #3, accident)
Gerard/Bert
Standalone
R (swearing)
written September-October 2006.
Notes: References to depression/insomnia, Morrissey and Monty Python.
Gerard can't sleep.
Bert wakes to hear him pacing around the apartment, his sock-clad feet buffing the varnished floor as he shuffles through the darkness. From the bedroom, Bert can hear faint humming and the occasional slurp -- which, to his Gerard-attuned mind, means there are headphones in Gerard's ears and a mug of coffee in his hands. When he realises Gerard is humming the chorus to "Irish Blood, English Heart," Bert feels vindicated. And oddly amused.
Groggily, he lifts his head from the pillow and reaches for the alarm clock on the dresser, pulling it close enough for his eyes to read the glowing red display panel. 5.27am. Fuck, he thinks, pulling a strand of hair out of his mouth and wrinkling his nose. Why isn't he sleeping?
He throws the blankets back and shivers at the sudden cold before standing up and making his way to the living room, arms outstretched and fumbling for familiar pieces of furniture to guide him. Okay, that's the desk, so the door must be somewhere over here--
"Shit!" he groans aloud as his foot collides noisily with a chair leg. This is followed by a heavier thump as the rest of Bert hits the floor.
The shuffling footsteps change direction, growing louder as they approach the bedroom. Gerard flicks on the light and looks down to see Bert curled up on the floor, holding his toe and cursing under his breath. He shakes his head, smiling faintly, and places his coffee cup on the desk.
"You okay?"
"What the fuck do you think? I've broken my fucking foot because of you."
"You haven't broken it," Gerard says, sitting cross-legged on the floor and taking Bert's injured foot into his lap. He inspects it quietly, breaking the silence only to ask when Bert last cut his toenails, while the younger man rolls onto his back, pulling a face, and stares up at the ceiling.
"Move your toes."
"I can't!"
"You haven't even tried," he says, a laugh escaping his throat.
Bert lifts his head and glares. "Fucking asshole broke my fucking foot," he mumbles.
"Will you shut up already? God, this is a scene straight out of Monty Python ... "
Bert giggles and adopts a high-pitched English accent. "He is the Messiah! He has given us a sign! He has given us ... HIS SHOE!"
"You suck. Now wiggle your fucking toes."
"I have a gweat fwiend in Wome called Biggus Dickus ... "
"Move your toes or I'll drop your goddamn foot," is the harsh reply.
"I'm Brian and so's my wife!" Bert announces, then moves his foot for good measure -- to shut Gerard up.
"Hmm. Doesn't hurt?"
"Nah. S'okay now." Bert gets to his feet slowly, then extends a hand to Gerard and pulls him up. "C'mon, I'm sleepy."
"Yeah?" Gerard's gaze drops to the floor and he starts playing with a strand of hair on the nape of his neck. "I'm not."
"Why?"
He looks up, jaw set with sudden anger. "I don't fucking know why, Bert! If I did, I'd fix it, okay?"
"Whoa!" Bert says, taking a step backwards and raising his hands. "I was only asking, man. Just -- "
"Just checking up on me, like you always do." Gerard crosses his arms and starts chewing on his lower lip. "Which is a crock of shit really ... you oughta be looking out for yourself, not worrying about me."
Bert sighs and turns back to the bed. "God, not this again," he murmurs, sliding between the sheets and pulling the covers up over his head. He takes a deep breath and exhales, hoping he can release his frustrations along with the air in his lungs before he speaks again.
It doesn't work.
"You're totally right, Gerard, I shouldn't have got out of bed to see if you were okay," he says sarcastically, voice muffled by the blankets.
There's a pause. "I just -- feel kinda weird, is all," Gerard says, the guilt evident in his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be angry."
Bert sits up, pushing the blankets down and pulling another strand of hair out of his mouth. This is more like it, he thinks. He's talking to me about it. Good sign.
"Okay. You feel weird. Like how?"
"I don't know. It's just, y'know ... weird. I can't -- there aren't any other words for it." Gerard sits on the end of the bed and reaches out to place a hand on Bert's leg.
"C'mere."
Bert throws back the blankets and Gerard climbs in beside him, resting his head on Bert's shoulder and closing his eyes. Bert kisses the top of his head and wills his eyes to stay open.
"I'm sorry. I'm such a crap bo-- "
"Shh. You're great and I fucking love you, so stop with that shit, okay?"
Gerard sighs. "I don't know why you do."
"Do what?"
"Love me. You could do a lot better."
Bert starts to laugh. "Uh ... I'm pretty sure it's the other way around."
"I'm serious. I mean, do you really love me? You don't just think you do? Because I'd totally understand if you did. I wouldn't blame you ... "
"Oh my God, Gerard -- what the fuck?" Bert sits up, wide awake again, and stares at Gerard, shaking his head. He looks remarkably young, vulnerable; green eyes wide and shining, lower lip full and red from being chewed on. Bert takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, knowing he has to tread carefully. "Gee, look at me."
"I am."
Bert lies down again, shrugging until the blankets cover his shoulders, and pulls Gerard into another hug. "Okay, what are we gonna do about this? How can I convince you that I love you? I know; we can make a list." Bert pulls a face, pretending to think, then starts counting the attributes on his fingers. "Hmm, let's start with the obvious -- I live here with you, I think you're hotter than any chick I've ever met, I pretty much want to fuck your brains out all the time, I listen to Morrissey even though I think he's an asshole, I know every single reason why X-Men 3 was crap and why Hugh Jackman was miscast as Wolverine -- "
"You don't have to make fun of me, asshole."
"I'm not. See what I'm doing here? These are all the things I put up with because I love you."
"Kinda like I put up with you being a stinky bastard who won't do laundry?"
"Exactly," Bert says, grinning.
"Oh. That's sweet."
"Well, I'm a pretty sweet guy."
Gerard's mouth twitches. "No you're not."
"Was that a smile?"
A pause. "Maybe."
Inwardly, Bert breathes a sigh of relief. Outwardly, he smiles and kisses Gerard's forehead. "I love it when you smile."
Standalone
R (swearing)
written September-October 2006.
Notes: References to depression/insomnia, Morrissey and Monty Python.
Gerard can't sleep.
Bert wakes to hear him pacing around the apartment, his sock-clad feet buffing the varnished floor as he shuffles through the darkness. From the bedroom, Bert can hear faint humming and the occasional slurp -- which, to his Gerard-attuned mind, means there are headphones in Gerard's ears and a mug of coffee in his hands. When he realises Gerard is humming the chorus to "Irish Blood, English Heart," Bert feels vindicated. And oddly amused.
Groggily, he lifts his head from the pillow and reaches for the alarm clock on the dresser, pulling it close enough for his eyes to read the glowing red display panel. 5.27am. Fuck, he thinks, pulling a strand of hair out of his mouth and wrinkling his nose. Why isn't he sleeping?
He throws the blankets back and shivers at the sudden cold before standing up and making his way to the living room, arms outstretched and fumbling for familiar pieces of furniture to guide him. Okay, that's the desk, so the door must be somewhere over here--
"Shit!" he groans aloud as his foot collides noisily with a chair leg. This is followed by a heavier thump as the rest of Bert hits the floor.
The shuffling footsteps change direction, growing louder as they approach the bedroom. Gerard flicks on the light and looks down to see Bert curled up on the floor, holding his toe and cursing under his breath. He shakes his head, smiling faintly, and places his coffee cup on the desk.
"You okay?"
"What the fuck do you think? I've broken my fucking foot because of you."
"You haven't broken it," Gerard says, sitting cross-legged on the floor and taking Bert's injured foot into his lap. He inspects it quietly, breaking the silence only to ask when Bert last cut his toenails, while the younger man rolls onto his back, pulling a face, and stares up at the ceiling.
"Move your toes."
"I can't!"
"You haven't even tried," he says, a laugh escaping his throat.
Bert lifts his head and glares. "Fucking asshole broke my fucking foot," he mumbles.
"Will you shut up already? God, this is a scene straight out of Monty Python ... "
Bert giggles and adopts a high-pitched English accent. "He is the Messiah! He has given us a sign! He has given us ... HIS SHOE!"
"You suck. Now wiggle your fucking toes."
"I have a gweat fwiend in Wome called Biggus Dickus ... "
"Move your toes or I'll drop your goddamn foot," is the harsh reply.
"I'm Brian and so's my wife!" Bert announces, then moves his foot for good measure -- to shut Gerard up.
"Hmm. Doesn't hurt?"
"Nah. S'okay now." Bert gets to his feet slowly, then extends a hand to Gerard and pulls him up. "C'mon, I'm sleepy."
"Yeah?" Gerard's gaze drops to the floor and he starts playing with a strand of hair on the nape of his neck. "I'm not."
"Why?"
He looks up, jaw set with sudden anger. "I don't fucking know why, Bert! If I did, I'd fix it, okay?"
"Whoa!" Bert says, taking a step backwards and raising his hands. "I was only asking, man. Just -- "
"Just checking up on me, like you always do." Gerard crosses his arms and starts chewing on his lower lip. "Which is a crock of shit really ... you oughta be looking out for yourself, not worrying about me."
Bert sighs and turns back to the bed. "God, not this again," he murmurs, sliding between the sheets and pulling the covers up over his head. He takes a deep breath and exhales, hoping he can release his frustrations along with the air in his lungs before he speaks again.
It doesn't work.
"You're totally right, Gerard, I shouldn't have got out of bed to see if you were okay," he says sarcastically, voice muffled by the blankets.
There's a pause. "I just -- feel kinda weird, is all," Gerard says, the guilt evident in his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be angry."
Bert sits up, pushing the blankets down and pulling another strand of hair out of his mouth. This is more like it, he thinks. He's talking to me about it. Good sign.
"Okay. You feel weird. Like how?"
"I don't know. It's just, y'know ... weird. I can't -- there aren't any other words for it." Gerard sits on the end of the bed and reaches out to place a hand on Bert's leg.
"C'mere."
Bert throws back the blankets and Gerard climbs in beside him, resting his head on Bert's shoulder and closing his eyes. Bert kisses the top of his head and wills his eyes to stay open.
"I'm sorry. I'm such a crap bo-- "
"Shh. You're great and I fucking love you, so stop with that shit, okay?"
Gerard sighs. "I don't know why you do."
"Do what?"
"Love me. You could do a lot better."
Bert starts to laugh. "Uh ... I'm pretty sure it's the other way around."
"I'm serious. I mean, do you really love me? You don't just think you do? Because I'd totally understand if you did. I wouldn't blame you ... "
"Oh my God, Gerard -- what the fuck?" Bert sits up, wide awake again, and stares at Gerard, shaking his head. He looks remarkably young, vulnerable; green eyes wide and shining, lower lip full and red from being chewed on. Bert takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, knowing he has to tread carefully. "Gee, look at me."
"I am."
Bert lies down again, shrugging until the blankets cover his shoulders, and pulls Gerard into another hug. "Okay, what are we gonna do about this? How can I convince you that I love you? I know; we can make a list." Bert pulls a face, pretending to think, then starts counting the attributes on his fingers. "Hmm, let's start with the obvious -- I live here with you, I think you're hotter than any chick I've ever met, I pretty much want to fuck your brains out all the time, I listen to Morrissey even though I think he's an asshole, I know every single reason why X-Men 3 was crap and why Hugh Jackman was miscast as Wolverine -- "
"You don't have to make fun of me, asshole."
"I'm not. See what I'm doing here? These are all the things I put up with because I love you."
"Kinda like I put up with you being a stinky bastard who won't do laundry?"
"Exactly," Bert says, grinning.
"Oh. That's sweet."
"Well, I'm a pretty sweet guy."
Gerard's mouth twitches. "No you're not."
"Was that a smile?"
A pause. "Maybe."
Inwardly, Bert breathes a sigh of relief. Outwardly, he smiles and kisses Gerard's forehead. "I love it when you smile."