the banana king (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} nilyn) wrote,@ 2008-07-19 22:12:00 |
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MCR RPS: Don't Know Where We Belong (Gerard/Mikey, NC-17)
Don't Know Where We Belong
Pairing: Gerard/Mikey (Waycest)
Warnings: Incest, underage sex
Summary: But then, there’s always been something a little wrong with the two of them.
Word Count: 9, 162
A/N: Betaed bymybestexcuse and slashxmistress, thanks to hikarinotabi for persistent cheerleading and mwestbelle for helping me make this as good as possible. Title from The Bravery's "Bad Sun"
It’s hot. Everywhere Mikey shifts to try to find a breeze has the same hot, sticky summer air and he just lies there, staring into the darkness of the room. The only sound is the buzzing of the fan and the faint wheezy snoring from Gerard’s bed. It’s comforting, somehow. He twists in the sheets again, finally just kicking them off the bed, wrinkled and tangled on the floor. He wishes he was naked, that he still felt comfortable enough around his brother to do it. Any other time, or at any other age, sleeping naked with Gerard in the room would have just been a sign of summer, that the air conditioner had broken again, maybe. That the air was sticky and humid and they took turns showering in the cold to find some sort of relief or stood in the kitchen with their faces in the freezer, pressing noses against ice packs and frozen corn and last week’s leftovers until their mother yelled at them to close the freezer door, for god’s sake, before everything in it melts.
At some point, and he can’t even pinpoint when, that changed. Taking turns showering suddenly meant averting his eyes from the naked skin of Gerard’s chest, pretending that seeing it didn’t bother him. It wasn’t even bothering, exactly. Affecting, more like. He can only admit that to himself on some days, that even in some small way thinking about Gerard affects him. It’s not right, it’s not what he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to be going after the neighborhood girls, ogling their short shorts and their tanktops and the way they laugh with each other. He’s never been very good at following those rules, because he’s looking at his brother instead. Gerard’s laugh is better than theirs anyway, more sincere even if it has an undercurrent of awkwardness to it. A I don’t feel like I belong in my own skin.
He doesn’t dare look over. Even in the dark it feels like Gerard can see if he looks. He wonders what Gerard would do if he knew Mikey was looking at him, like that. Mikey tries to think of what would happen and it brings up a lump in his throat. He tries to swallow. His throat is dry and he winces, wets his lips. It’s too hot for this.
Maybe Gerard would freak out. He wouldn’t stop talking, Mikey knows that. He’d pretend nothing had happened and that he’d never found out, but he’d know. If he reciprocated? That’s the kind of thing Mikey only dreams about, because he’s never let himself think it could happen. It’s hardly even a possibility. He sighs and drops his head back onto the pillow more firmly, willing himself to just go to sleep already.
The last thing he remembers before sleep takes him is the fan stuttering to a stop, and then the steady wheeze of Gerard’s breath, in out, in out, and nothing else.
***
When he wakes up, it’s almost noon and it’s so hot that he can barely think. Gerard is gone already, probably showering to cool off, and Mikey just stares at the ceiling, tugging his t-shirt over his head and laying there, sweaty against the sheets. He distantly remembers hearing the fan stop, some time before he fell asleep, and when he finally manages to pick himself up out of bed and go over he sees that it’s broken. He sighs. Runs a hand across his forehead to wipe off the sweat and just lays down, flat on his back on the floor. It’s cooler and he lays spread-eagled, eyes closed, hair pushed up and away from his face.
“Um. Mikey?”
Mikey cracks one eye open and looks up. Gerard is standing above him, towel wrapped precariously around his waist, hair still dripping and leaving trails of water down his chest. He’s blushing, faintly, red across his cheeks. That, or it’s the heat. Mikey has to close his eyes again.
“It’s cooler down here,” he explains, stretching for emphasis. “And the fan’s broken.”
Gerard makes a sound suspiciously like a snort, but before Mikey knows it, there’s a warm body beside him and Gerard’s arm is flung across his bare stomach because there’s not much room for it anywhere else. He opens his eyes, then, looking over with at Gerard’s face inches from his own. Gerard grins and reaches up to brush a bead of sweat from Mikey’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says, wiping off his fingers on the towel. “It is.”
“Wanna see if we can find some popsicles?” Mikey offers after a moment, staring up at the ceiling, making patterns out of the bumps of plaster on the ceiling. A mountain here, a valley there, a crater left by the latest space crash. Gerard came up with the last one, of course, but Mikey can always spot it.
“Yeah, sure.”
They spend an hour laying on their backs on Mikey’s bed, going through half a box of white lemon popsicles, Gerard using his as a pointer to show Mikey the ridges in the ceiling that are an ancient entrance to a cavern, the ones that are the monsters guarding the door. It’s like watching clouds, only they don’t have to suffer through the heat of the sun for it.
That night the sheets still smell like Gerard. Mikey has to force his eyes shut and his hands at his sides, and even then when he closes them, all he can see is the two of them laying on his bed again, Gerard rolling over onto his side and leaning down, one hand braced on either side of Mikey, towel slipping free and Gerard not even noticing, thigh between Mikey’s legs, and—“Fuck,” Mikey says under his breath, opening his eyes to stare at the patterns on the ceiling again.
Valley. Hill. Beginning site of the zombie apocalypse. Cave.
He can keep his mind off of Gerard and what he wants to (shouldn’t want to) do with him if he can just concentrate on this.
Graveyard. Hill. Mountain range. Small crater. Hill.
***
Mikey sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning, waking up nearly every hour only to lie there in the stale heat of the room and wish he could fall back asleep. The first time isn’t so bad. By the third, he has to force himself to keep his eyes shut and his legs on the bed. Part of him wants to just sleep on the floor, where it’s cooler. The other part reminds him of cramped muscles and stiff necks and all the reasons why it’s a bad idea. It only mentions ‘because you’ll be closer to Gerard that way’ as an afterthought, but it’s there.
It’s when he wakes up the fifth time, sprawled out awkwardly on the bed with sheets half-kicked off, that he hears it. A tiny sound, the kind that the fan used to muffle, almost a whimper. Gerard. Mikey freezes.
A moment later he realizes that no, no it’s not that kind of whimper. He squints through the darkness, across the way at Gerard’s bed. Gerard is thrashing in his sleep, making tiny sounds of protest, sleep-indistinct ohgod help , a nightmare again. He’s breathing like he can barely manage it, like in his dream he’s being choked, all shallow gasps and fast breaths.
Mikey doesn’t know what to do. Either he goes over to Gerard, which means talking his body down from responding to the proximity, or he stays and has to listen to it. It’s awful to hear.
It only takes him a moment to decide.
“Gee! Gee, hey. I’m here, okay? It’s okay.” Mikey is curled up beside Gerard in an instant, arms wrapped tight around him, pulled close into Mikey’s smaller frame. Gerard is shaking, quivering even, and Mikey only holds him that much closer, leans forward to murmur against the side of his neck, “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”
“Mikey?” Gerard’s awake.
“You were having a nightmare,” Mikey says, quiet, not loosening his grip on Gerard any. He’s warm and solid and Mikey’s missed this, how reassuring it can be. He doesn’t even think about the position they’re in. Right now, it doesn’t matter. He has more important things to be worried about than his dick’s agenda.
“It was one of those again.” Gerard shudders. “They were holding me down and choking me and I can never wake up from those by myself and—Thanks.” Mikey can’t see Gerard’s smile in the darkness, but he knows it’s there. “That should be your superpower, you know?”
“What should?”
“Waking people up from nightmares. Or cuddling or some shit, I don’t know. You’re pretty good at that too.”
“Yeah, sure.” Mikey snorts just a little and pulls Gerard closer, head tucked into the crook of his neck. “Go back to sleep, okay? I’ll make sure to use my superpower if I need to.”
“I’ll try.”
And they do.
***
When Mikey wakes up they’re still pressed together, a tangle of overheated sweat-slicked limbs and Mikey can’t breathe. Gerard’s leg is hooked over his, arms wrapped tight around the back of his neck, and he’s making funny little snuffling sounds in his sleep, nuzzling the skin of Mikey’s neck and then his cheek. Mikey can’t move. Gerard’s lips are so close (tooclose notcloseenough) and his fucking morning wood is pressing into Mikey’s thigh. Mikey knew sleeping here was a bad idea.
Gerard doesn’t respond as Mikey wriggles free, rearranging limbs and sliding away as carefully as he can so he doesn’t wake Gerard. But when he looks back, Gerard’s eyes are open and he’s just. He’s just looking, expression unreadable. Mikey can’t breathe.
“Sorry,” he says finally, looking down at the sheets so he doesn’t have to meet Gerard’s eyes. “It was too hot.”
“Yeah.”
Mikey frowns. “Yeah what?”
“I’m sorry too.”
“For what? You didn’t do anything.”
Gerard doesn’t say anything and finally Mikey just lets it drop.
***
“Oh God I’m gonna die,” Gerard groans, slumping back against his bed.
It’s four in the afternoon but it’s still almost ninety degrees out and Mikey is about ready to echo the sentiment. Every bit of covered skin is like torture, and the fan is still broken and the air conditioning is too and he seriously cannot take too many more days of this. It has to stop or he’s going to lose his mind.
Sometimes he thinks he’s losing his mind in other ways, too. He looks over at Gerard, and he’s got an expression of picture-perfect long-suffering melodrama, sprawled out across his bed murmuring “too hot, going to die,” every time he thinks Mikey’s listening. And Mikey has to stop and think why am I in love with him again?. Gerard is overly dramatic and his big brother and a total nerd and he’s kind of chubby but in the way that makes Mikey want to bite him all over and—He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, down to the sweat at the back of his neck.
“Gonna die—“ Gerard pipes up again, and Mikey gets up and moves enough to clamp a hand over Gerard’s mouth to just get him to shut up already.
Gerard licks Mikey’s palm.
“Ew, you fucker,” Mikey says, jerking his hand back and wrinkling his nose, trying to ignore the thrill it sends through him.
He runs his fingertips across his palm again and again after that, when he thinks Gerard isn’t looking.
***
Three days later, it finally rains.
The two of them make their way outside like they’ve never seen it before, barefoot and cautious like children taking their first steps. It’s still dark outside, barely five in the morning, and Mikey watches the ground as he walks, trying to avoid scattered bits of gravel from the end of the driveway. Neither of them bother with coats.
Mikey tilts his head back, towards the sky, mouth open to catch the falling drops that are starting to splat against his glasses. His shirt is soaking through, too, clinging to him and he doesn’t care, just closes his eyes and spreads his arms, cool for the first time in days. He doesn’t even feel himself start to tip backwards.
The next thing he knows, he hears “Watch out!” and Gerard’s arms are wrapped tight around his waist, burning against the cool wetness of his shirt. They’re both soaked, now, pressed together, and it isn’t just his breath that’s startstopping irregularly.
“Sorry, you were falling,” Gerard says, and Mikey can’t help but feel a little disappointed at that. But Gerard hasn’t made any move to let go yet, and yeah, it’s barely dawn, but he’s standing in the middle of his driveway in the pouring rain being held by his brother. I feel like I’m in some sappy romance movie, he can’t help but think, and half-smiles. Gerard would be a shitty romance movie hero, and he’s not exactly the picture-perfect heroine either.
But then, there’s always been something a little wrong with the two of them.
“This kinda reminds me of that one thing we watched last week—like. What was it called? Fuck, my brain’s melted, or something.” Gerard sighs and his fingers shift, press lower against the strip of skin between Mikey’s shirt and the waistband of his pants.
“Dunno. But yeah.” Yeah, shitty romance movie. “It’s a little off, though.”
“Yeah?”
“We’re not making out,” Mikey points out, shrugging just a little. Gerard tenses and Mikey doesn’t know why. “I mean. That’s the difference.”
Gerard still doesn’t relax but he nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, and you’d have to be in a dress, too.”
“I’m not wearing a dress for you, asshole.”
“I’m not making out with you, either. So we’re even.” Gerard glances up and down the deserted street, more habit than anything else. There’s no one there. Even so—“C’mon, we better get inside before we get mugged or something.”
***
Mikey pulls off his soaked-through t-shirt as soon as they’re inside, over his head to toss into the pile of discarded clothing between his bed and Gerard’s. He grabs another shirt, trying to dry off his hair, letting himself stand in the middle of the room, half-naked, savoring the way the air hits the moisture still clinging to his bare chest.
He looks over at Gerard; he’s staring, out of the corner of his eye in the sort of way that makes Mikey think he’s trying to hide it.
“What are you looking at?” Mikey tries his hardest to keep his voice nonchalant, even, it’s all simple curiosity and the flicking glances at him aren’t making his pulse race and his mind do the same, a stream of whatifwhatif.
“Nothing,” Gerard says, and it’s never been more obvious that he’s lying. There’s this thing he does, eyes looking left, the way he bites his lip as he says it. Every time. Mikey shrugs and looks at him, careful, like he’s trying to see right through him into every secret he has. Maybe he can. Gerard fidgets under the gaze and shrugs again, helpless, before practically darting out of the room.
They used to tell each other everything. When that changed and it became this, Mikey doesn’t know. Yeah, he’s fucked up past the point of all redemption (his brother) but sometimes, just sometimes, in moments like these, he thinks Gerard might be too.
***
“It wasn’t nothing,” Mikey tells Gerard that night. They’re in separate beds still, and he’s staring at the ceiling, not looking over, but he knows Gerard is awake too. By now, they can almost feel it.
There’s nothing but silence for a long moment, amplified by the dark and the way Mikey is barely breathing, too-shallow as he waits. And then, the telltale rustling of the sheets, shiftcreak of the bed, and Gerard is sitting up and looking at him, right at him. He rolls over onto his side so he can look at Gerard face-to-face.
“You don’t want to know.” Gerard’s voice is carefully neutral but Mikey can hear the anxiety underneath.
“Maybe I do,” Mikey counters. “You tell me your thing and… I’ll tell you something?” He’s not sure if he’d be able to outright confess to wanting Gerard. Maybe he can, maybe he can’t. He’ll just have to find out.
Gerard’s breath is shaky and he clenches his hands into fists before he finally grits out, “Maybe I was. Looking.”
“At me?”
A long pause, shallow nod, “Yeah.”
Mikey hesitates too, then, trying to let his mind get used to the idea. Finally, he asks, “You mean like… that?” He doesn’t need to elaborate, Gerard knows. He barely needs to ask it at all.
“Yeah. “ Resigned, and Gerard curls in on himself like he’s trying to disappear, like if he shuts his eyes he won’t have to deal with what he’s saying. “Yeah, like that.” He clenches his hands into fists, tight enough that Mikey’s sure he’s hurting himself.
“Gee, don’t.” Gerard looks up, startled, and Mikey falters. “You want to know mine, right?”
“Of course, yeah.”
“I’ve been looking at you like that for two years.” Mikey turns away, doesn’t want to notice the way Gerard’s eyes widen or his breath catches.
“… Oh.”
“So stop worrying, okay? Go to sleep.”
“I can’t.” Mikey doesn’t know what to do then other than what he does—slides out of bed and walks over. Gerard’s eyes are wide, looking right at him, and Mikey can’t bring himself to feel nervous even if blood is rushing in his ears so loud he can’t even hear himself think.
He leans down, presses a light kiss to Gerard’s lips, chaste. He pulls away, then, turns away and settles back into his own bed. It could be brotherly. They both know it’s not.
“Okay,” Gerard says, a faint smile tugging at his lips even though his eyes are still scared. “You win. G’night.”
***
It happens again the next night, and again the night after that. They don’t make a big deal about it. It can be innocent if they want it to be.
***
“Hey, Mikey.”
Mikey is sitting on the edge of his bed, one leg over the other, eyes focused on a book, and every time he turns the page he licks the tip of his finger, turns it, and then pushes up his glasses. It’s hard to concentrate, and the humidity makes his vision just a little foggy. He only looks up when Gerard settles down on the bed beside him, looks over and as soon as their eyes meet, Mikey realizes how close together they are.
Gerard opens his mouth like he’s intending to say something but nothing comes out, and the next time he speaks it’s to ask, “Is this okay?”
Their lips are inches apart.
Mikey doesn’t even remember leaning in. It’s different like this. It isn’t at night, and there’s no darkness to mask either of them. Like this there is no hiding and he can almost feel the line he’s about to cross, as though it’s physical, and the minute his lips touch Gerard’s again it tears.
He nods anyway. Breathes out, in, and then Gerard’s lips are on his and neither of them make a move to pull away.
They press closer at the same time, Mikey’s hands tangled in Gerard’s hair and Gerard’s hands running restlessly updown Mikey’s sides (still bare, too hot for anything else). Mikey opens his mouth under Gerard’s, runs his tongue along the seam of his lips until Gerard opens for him, and it’s sloppy and wet and deep and Mikey doesn’t want it to stop, not ever.
After a moment Gerard pulls back just a little, whispers against Mikey’s lips, “I feel sort of sick.”
Mikey answers, “Me too,” before he even thinks about it. He is, though, a combination of nerves and the sick twist in his gut of at the thought of I’m kissing my brother. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s thought about it, because now he’s doing it for real.
“Don’t stop,” he says finally, and meets Gerard’s lips again. “It’ll get easier.”
When they finally break apart, they’re both flushed and obviously, uncomfortably hard, and Mikey can’t meet Gerard’s eyes. For a moment, he doesn’t remember why they stopped at all and then he hears it again, loud and clear.
“Boys! Dinner!”
“Shit,” Gerard whispers, grinning sheepishly. They don’t say anything else, just try to get themselves pulled together and make their way to the table.
“What were you two doing? I called you three times,” their mother says, frowning, and Mikey manages to choke out, “Reading,” before she wants any more details.
Gerard is uncharacteristically quiet during dinner and Mikey thinks something is wrong until he looks up and meets Gerard’s eyes.
Mikey’s never seen that look before—like Gerard’s caught between fear and sheer helpless needy want-and the intensity of it makes him forget about everything else. He feels like he’s choking, like there’s no air in the room, and it’s suddenly about a thousand degrees. When he picks up his fork, he notices that his hand is shaking.
He manages a few bites and asks to be excused, making straight for the shower as soon as he’s allowed to leave the table. He strips, stands under the pounding spray and jerks off, and he can’t think of anything but Gerard, across from him at the table, lips swollen from kissing and eyes locked on his.
***
He stays in the shower for another hour and a half, well past the point where the water goes cold, and when he climbs out he’s shivering even though his face is burning hot. He tugs on his clothes before he goes back to the room he shares with Gerard, not wanting the vulnerability nakedness brings him right now.
Gerard is sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for him.
“Hey. Could we—“ He hesitates, biting his lip. “Could we go outside and talk?”
Mikey doesn’t know whether to take that as good or bad.
“Yeah,” he says finally, and Gerard leans over the side of the bed, fumbling around until his hand closes around a pack of Marlboros, opened but with only one missing. Another moment and he’s found a lighter, too, and he comes up with both, triumphant.
They don’t say anything as they make their way through the house, but Gerard takes Mikey’s hand, squeezing. It’s dark. Their parents have gone to bed. No one has to see.
They finally settle down onto the front steps, looking up at the few stars that are visible and haven’t been overpowered by the glow of the city lights, by the streetlamps that line the street. It’s cooler than it’s been in days, and Mikey shivers, taking the cigarette Gerard lights for him gratefully. He sucks in the smoke too fast at first His first drag is too deep too fast and he has to suppress a cough, but it warms him up.
“Did I ever show you how to do smoke rings?” Gerard asks, taking a long drag on his own cigarette, tip glowing red.
Mikey shrugs. “Probably not.”
“Like this.” Gerard demonstrates, exhaling neat little rings, and Mikey smiles. He tries it, but only succeeds in half-choking on the smoke, blowing it out in uneven bursts. Gerard is watching and he laughs, breathy, and Mikey starts laughing too.
“You suck, seriously,” Gerard says, grinning, and tilts his head back towards the sky, blowing rings of smoke into the darkness.
Mikey looks up too, watching the stars. “So,” he says finally, closing his eyes, breathing in smoke and letting it huff out through his nose, “what did you want to talk about?”
“Sometimes I think we’re a bad idea.”
Mikey opens his eyes and looks over. Gerard is still gazing up at the stars, and Mikey can’t read his expression at all. “Yeah?” he asks, cautious.
“Risk of being caught,” Gerard begins, quiet. “We’re already so close it’s unhealthy. You’re my little brother. You’re my best friend. We’d have to hide it from literally everyone. You’re underage. It might fuck you up. We’d probably both get arrested. You can’t tell people that your big brother was your first kiss, because that kind of thing is supposed to be gross.”
“How do you—“
“I just do. But you know what the worst part is?”
“What?” Mikey isn’t sure he even wants to know.
“I don’t even care why it’s wrong.” Gerard fumbles in the dark for the pack of smokes, pulls out another and lights it off the first one, holding the ends together until smoke starts curling from it. “I should, you know.” He throws the butt of the first into the driveway and looks at Mikey. “But I don’t. And I know this is gonna sound crazy, but. I’ve been reading a lot about things like fate lately, you know?”
“Are you serious?” Mikey has to ask. He resists saying meaning you’re reading too many comic books, but it’s a close call.
“Yeah.” Gerard grins, gesturing expansively. “The point is, everything happens because it’s been pre-determined it’s going to. Even us being like this.”
Sometimes Gerard’s special brand of nonlogic makes Mikey’s head hurt.
“You do know that’s fucked up, right?”
“But think about it. How is it fucked up if we were born like this? If we were… it’s not. It can’t be, ‘cause it’s not like we can help it.”
Intellectually, Mikey knows Gerard is just rationalizing. It’s no less wrong either way. He wants to sleep with his brother and there’s no fate that can save him from that or make it any less illegal. It makes no sense whatsoever, actually, and it would never hold up in any court. But Mikey likes it.
He smiles. “Guess you and your fate are stuck with me then.”
They lean their heads together, smoking in companionable silence and watching the stars, and that night, they fall asleep curled together in Mikey’s bed, too tired to separate.
***
It’s past midnight the next day and Mikey can’t sleep, late enough that there’s no sound other than the occasional car going by on the road. He has his eyes closed, trying to keep his breathing steady and even like it’ll lull him into sleep if he does.
“Mikey? You still up?”
He didn’t even notice that he couldn’t hear Gerard snoring.
“Yeah. You okay?”
Gerard shrugs. “Just thinking. C’mere?”
Mikey smiles and slides out of bed, padding over in the dark until he reaches the edge of Gerard’s bed. He settles down beside Gerard, wrapping an arm around his back, a leg between Gerard’s thighs, and curls in. It’s warm and comfortable where he is.
“You know Mom found us yesterday morning, right?” Gerard murmurs against the side of Mikey’s neck.
“It’s not like we were doing anything,” Mikey points out. “She knows about your nightmares, that’s probably all she thought it was.” He doesn’t know where Gerard is going with this and he’s not sure he wants to.
“But what if she didn’t? Think about it. What would you do if you thought your kids were fucking? I mean. You wouldn’t turn them both in, because you wouldn’t want your children to be in jail, right? So—“
Mikey frowns, and the only thing he can manage is, “We’re not fucking.”
Gerard pulls away enough to be able to look Mikey in the eye. “You think it’s going to stay that way?” Mikey isn’t stupid. He knew the answer to that before Gerard even said it. He can feel it in the air between them, sometimes, like it’s charged and all Mikey has to do is touch and he’ll be shocked by it.
“… no.” And then, softer, more hesitant, “Does that change your mind?” he asks. “About this being okay?”
Gerard shakes his head. “It should? But, no.”
“Shit, we’re the worst kids ever,” Mikey half-laughs, snuggling in again. Gerard is warm and solid and it doesn’t matter that it’s too hot with the shared body heat, he likes where he is.
“No,” Gerard corrects, “the worst kids ever would be fucking and then make their mom wash their sheets afterwards.”
Mikey grins, and then the room falls silent for a long moment, still except for the sounds of the two of them breathing and the creaks in the bed when they move, shifting to find a more comfortable position. He wants to say something but he can’t manage it, just swallows hard and licks his lips like it will make the words come easier. Finally, he works up the courage to ask, “So do you want to?” It comes out barely above a whisper.
“What? Make Mom wash our sheets, or—oh. Oh.” Gerard goes still. Just like that, the room seems hotter, air thick with anticipation, and Mikey’s hyperaware of every passing second that Gerard doesn’t say anything, that he just stares wide-eyed at Mikey, of the way his own heart is pounding.
Gerard takes a deep breath and looks up, into Mikey’s eyes. “You mean right now?”
Mikey swallows and nods, looking away.
“I.” Gerard shifts, presses closer to Mikey until there’s no space left between them. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, you know that.”
And just like that, they’re kissing again, breathing harshly through their noses because they don’t want to break apart for air, Gerard’s tongue dipping into Mikey’s mouth. Mikey responds in kind, pulls back and catches Gerard’s lower lip between his teeth and tugs, and it startles a tiny, needy sound out of Gerard. They’re close, close, closer, until Mikey finally has to break the kiss to breathe and realizes he’s on his back with Gerard above him. He doesn’t remember moving at all.
It’s barely even a conscious decision to pull Gerard closer, but it happens, hand curled around the back of his neck and the other hand at the small of his back. He spreads his legs wider, grinding up against Gerard desperately. They’ve crossed one line but this is another one, and Mikey can’t even make himself stop to really consider what he’s doing, not now.
Gerard rocks down and Mikey arches up, gasping into Gerard’s mouth as he grips him tighter. Gerard breaks the kiss long enough to ask, “Is this okay?” and Mikey just laughs, rocks up against him, hard, and says, “I was the one who asked, come on, go.” Gerard’s hands are fumbling with his sleep pants, pushing them down, and then his boxers too and shitshitshit, Gerard’s got his hand around Mikey’s dick. It’s only then that Mikey feels his stomach lurch at the thought, but it’s like the kissing was at first—he just has to ride it out until his body overrides his mind. It gets easier.
He pushes up into Gerard’s grip helplessly, hand over his own mouth to make sure no one hears them, praying he doesn’t come in the next five seconds. He’s making no guarantees to himself, though, the sheer physical overload of this overwhelming him, and there’s no way Gerard hasn’t watched him do this at least once, because it’s just like he likes it when he’s doing it to himself, Gerard’s hand sliding over him tight and fast enough that it makes his breath come short.
Gerard replaces Mikey’s hand with his mouth, kissing him hard, hand still moving steadily, and Mikey chokes out an “unh--” and fumbles at the waistband of Gerard’s own pajamas.
As soon as he does, Gerard stops moving. Mikey whimpers desperately, pushes his hips up into Gerard’s hand again, but Gerard still doesn’t move, and he pulls his hand away.
He wants to ask why Gerard stopped, why he pulled away, but Gerard just whispers, “Not—you don’t have to take them off,” and Mikey gets it. If it was anyone else, Mikey would be confused, would wonder why they didn’t want him to see. But this is Gerard. Gerard, who goes around in t-shirts unless it’s either a hundred degrees out or he’s just gotten out of the shower, who sits on the edge of his bed, prodding at himself when he thinks Mikey isn’t watching him, who glares at his reflection in the mirror and it’s not just to look tough.
“You think I’m gonna be grossed out?” Mikey asks gently, and Gerard looks away. “I won’t, I promise. I like you how you are.”
Gerard just shakes his head. “Next time, okay?” and leans in to catch Mikey’s lips.
Mikey nods and pulls Gerard close to him again, mouth open under his. There’s no point in pushing Gerard. They know their own limits and they know enough to trust in each other’s, and the next time isn’t just Gerard saying that. It’s a promise.
It’s hard to slide his hand down past fabric and into Gerard’s pants like this, but he can manage, and the twinge in his wrist at the awkward angle only serves to remind him that he’s not dreaming or lost in his own head, that this is actually happening. Gerard makes a funny high-pitched sound and pushes forward and Mikey grins, tries to concentrate on keeping the movement of his hand steady and the motion smooth even with the distraction of Gerard panting shallowly above him, Gerard’s hand on his dick, stroking over him in a way that should probably be illegal, it feels so good. Well. Is illegal.
He comes first even though he tries not to, biting his lip to stifle a moan he knows will be too loud, eyes squeezed shut. When he opens them again, Gerard is staring down at him. All Mikey can do is jerk him faster, watching the way Gerard’s expression changes, the lost, dazed look in his eyes, the way his mouth hangs open just a little. Gerard is making tiny, helpless little noises, even though he shouldn’t, like he can’t even help himself anymore, and when he comes, Mikey is frozen in place from just watching.
Gerard lets out a ragged breath and then smiles, picking up his top sheet from where it’s lying in a sad heap on the floor to wipe them both off with it, and Mikey just lets him, lying there passively, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of Gerard rustling around for a cleaner pair of pajama pants.
“You know, we just had sex,” Gerard says offhandedly, still hanging off the side of the bed.
“No we didn’t.”
He picks himself up enough to be able to turn and look at Mikey. “What?”
“It doesn’t count,” Mikey explains sagely. “It only counts if both people are naked.”
Gerard snorts. “That’s a bullshit rule, who says?”
“I do. I just made it up.”
Gerard sighs and rolls himself back onto the bed in one jerky movement, a new pair of pajama pants clutched in his fist. “Trust me, you don’t want to see me naked.”
“Except I really kind of do,” Mikey says, shrugging, and Gerard raises his eyebrows. “Fine, don’t believe me. Go change.”
He’d go into detail, but it’s explicit and it’s probably best to save it for another time.
***
“It needs a little more gore,” Mikey says thoughtfully, looking over Gerard’s shoulder as Gerard pencils out the details in a new comic of his. Mikey’s already finished looking through the previous page, pointing out any inconsistencies, and at the very least, Gerard doesn’t seem to mind the running commentary.
“You think?” Gerard looks down at the panel, gnawing at the end of his pencil.
“Yeah, man. Zombie invasion? It pretty much begs for it.” To be honest, Mikey doesn’t understand what’s even going on in the comic, but he’s holding out for a big reveal that will make everything make more sense.
When he looks closer, he sees another picture, mostly hidden under the one Gerard’s working on. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” Gerard makes a move to reach for it but Mikey gets there first, gets a good look, and—
“Shit, dude,” he says faintly, staring at it. “Is this. Is that us?”
It’s stylized enough that it’s hard to distinguish facial features, but Mikey’s seen himself drawn in Gerard’s style before and he knows that’s what he’s looking at. It’s shaded to look like a dark room, light only coming in through the overly-angular windows, but he can see what’s supposed to be the shape of his glasses and the more he looks at it, the more the rest of the details fill themselves in.
They’re naked. Both of them.
“Daydreaming again?” Mikey asks, grinning wide. He knows he’s been thinking about it, about what it would be like to do that for real, and from the way they’re clinging together in the picture, Mikey’s hands gripping at Gerard’s back, knuckles over-exaggerated and head thrown back, apparently Gerard has too. In some detail.
“It’s easier to remember things I’ve thought about if I draw them,” Gerard explains, carefully nonchalant as he adds more blood spatters to what he’s working on. “When’s the next time we get the house to ourselves?”
It’s not just simple curiosity. Gerard is very deliberately concentrating on his drawing, and Mikey is pretty sure Gerard has a mental list of what he wants to do as soon as they’re not in any immediate danger of being caught.
(They almost were, the other day, tangled together on Gerard’s bed, half-naked, kissing slow and wet, when there was a knock on their bedroom door. Mikey went stumbling for his own bed as quickly as he could, not even making it.
It was their dad, of course, asking if either of them wanted anything because he was going to the store. Gerard just shook his head, praying he wouldn’t ask why Mikey was half under his own bed. But of course, he did.
“I’m cleaning out some of the crap from under here,” Mikey called, relieved to have a good excuse.
When they were alone again, Mikey looked up. Gerard’s eyes were scared, and he swallowed hard, whispering, “Not during the day, okay? Unless we’re the only ones here.”
That became the rule. Only at night, unless it was just the two of them. It was safer that way.)
“Next Tuesday, I think,” Mikey says, frowning. “They’re visiting one of Mom’s friends, right?”
The details don’t matter. It’s the date that’s important.
“Five days,” Gerard says, and smiles.
“We’re fucked up,” Mikey reminds him, like he does pretty much every day. “Hand me that page. I want to see if it makes more sense than the last one.”
“Can’t help it. And fuck you, my comic makes plenty of sense.” Gerard hands it over anyway, and Mikey settles down on the edge of the bed to look it over.
“Much better,” he says finally, looking up.
Gerard rolls his eyes and starts in on another page.
***
“We’ll be back tonight unless that big storm hits. Don’t burn the house down or get yourselves arrested or get drunk—and we will find out--and no funny business.” Their mother gives them a Look and steps out the door. Mikey tries to contain his grin.
When he can hear the car pulling out of the driveway he turns to Gerard. “So, what do you think would be funny business?”
Gerard looks over from behind the freezer door, raising an eyebrow, Popsicle in hand. “Well, sex might be,” he says, after a pause. “But only because we’re both going to be laughably bad.”
Neither of them is quite sure what to do for a moment. Alone with nobody to interrupt and it’s not even quite ten, but the sun is streaming in bright through the windows and it makes everything hazy, even their minds. Mikey knew it was worth the effort of getting out of bed early today.
“Let’s just. Go hang out in our room?” Gerard says finally, breaking the still morning silence.
“We could take a shower,” Mikey suggests, and goes pink when Gerard pauses and then starts laughing.
“Together? Sorry, kid, there is no way we’re gonna both fit in that thing.”
“Don’t call me kid,” Mikey grumps automatically, scowling. He wishes he wasn’t so lost like this. He doesn’t know what to suggest or what Gerard will go for and it’s an uncertain, drifting kind of place that reminds him of before he knew it went both ways, when he thought he was the only one staring up at the ceiling trying to sleep, the only one trying not to think those kinds of thoughts about his brother.
But Gerard gets it, because he always gets Mikey. “What do you want to do?” he asks gently.
“I don’t know,” Mikey admits. “A lot.”
“Everything?”
Mikey shakes his head. “I think we’d freak ourselves out. And we don’t have anything anyway. But I want to see you this time.”
Gerard sighs. “Mikey—“
“I know you don’t think I do, but I do.”
Mikey can tell Gerard still doesn’t believe him, can tell from the awkward, self-conscious way he holds himself as soon as Mikey says it. He moves close, until he’s pressed against Gerard’s side and can murmur against his ear, “Do you really want me to go into details?”
Gerard smiles a little, leans against him. “If you’re offering.”
“It involves not thinking you’re gross-looking at all.” Mikey tries to say the rest but his mouth is dry and it takes a few tries for the words to come out. He doesn’t know why, because he’s sure he’s said worse before. “And wanting to bite you all over.”
“Fucking cannibal,” Gerard says without missing a beat. “Hey, that’d be a cool thing to do, one about a cannibal?”
“Like. Guy who thinks he turned into a zombie only he didn’t or deranged psycho?” Mikey wants to point out that Gerard just changed the subject but, to be fair, it is a really cool thought.
“Deranged psycho is way more badass. So…”
***
That’s how they end up where they are three hours later: sitting cross-legged on the floor in their room, Cokes half-drunk beside them, Gerard with a sketchbook in hand and a pencil he’s waving around so much Mikey’s afraid it’s going to end up poking his eye out. All plans of what to do while their parents are out are gone.
Mostly.
“So that’s the guy’s trigger.” Gerard stares down at the page, doodling idly. “Who does he go after?” He barely manages to suppress a yawn, shifting in place.
“His girlfriend. It’s classic.” Mikey reaches down into his glass, cubes chinking together as he finally closes his fingers around one and pulls it out, sliding it into his mouth to suck on it.
“Yeah, okay,” Gerard murmurs, distracted. “Motherfuck it’s hot.”
It is, it’s almost unbearable, the sticky, buzzing kind of heat before a storm, and Mikey knows that their parents won’t be coming home that night. “Unless the storm hits,” they’d said. It’s going to. He can feel it.
He tucks his ice cube into his cheek and smiles. “Hey.”
Gerard looks up, is about to ask what until Mikey leans forward, hands braced on either side of Gerard, and kisses him.
Gerard makes a surprised noise but he kisses back anyway, mouth hot under Mikey’s. He grins into it when he realizes what Mikey’s doing, curls his tongue around the ice cube to suck it into his own mouth and share it. They stay like that, making out lazily for long moments, passing the ice between them, slick. When even the smallest sliver is gone, Mikey pulls back, breathing raggedly.
He has to take a moment to focus, to see the way Gerard just looks at him, half-dazed, shifting uncomfortably, and it’s only because Mikey knows why he’s like that—is beginning to be able to recognize it on his brother’s face—and knows that he caused it that gives him the courage to say, “Hey, we could—“ and gesture towards his bed.
Gerard’s breath catches and he nods, standing up too-fast and Mikey has to steady him.
Mikey tugs his shirt over his head without hesitation, shoves down his shorts and his boxers, half-trips on them as he tries to step out of them. He feels like he’s racing himself, and the sooner he can get naked the better, but that catches up with him as he stumbles and pitches forward, landing naked on the bed.
He rolls over, tugs Gerard close, and Gerard goes, falling beside him. It doesn’t take much convincing before his shirt is coming off. He hesitates when he gets to his pants but Mikey’s hands are on his button, on the zipper, and his hands cover Mikey’s as Mikey pulls them down and off. He looks scared, out of his element, but he doesn’t tell Mikey to stop and he moves forward, lips meeting Mikey’s again. Mikey knows it’s so he can distract himself, but he doesn’t mind.
Mikey rolls them in one fluid movement, pins Gerard under him, pulling back so he can get a good look. He’s never seen Gerard like this, flushed and naked and vulnerable, soft in a way Mikey has never been, from the curve of his stomach to the soft give of his thighs. He revels in the difference.
He’s staring and he knows it, has to distract himself by leaning down, brushing his lips against Gerard’s neck, still pinning him with his body.
“Don’t leave any marks where they can see,” Gerard reminds him softly, and Mikey wishes he could, wishes he could leave red ones up and down Gerard’s neck, so every time he looked he would know.
He settles for grazing his teeth against the side of Gerard’s neck to make him shiver, runs his tongue along the shell of Gerard’s ear and sucks the lobe into his mouth. Gerard moans faintly, presses up hard against Mikey’s body, but Mikey wants to draw this out.
He wants to make it infinitely clear that he likes Gerard like this, likes every part of him, and he dips down, sucks at Gerard’s collarbone until he leaves a mark there, biting down on it. Gerard makes a sharp sound at that and his hips jerk up hard, a little desperate, eyes only widening further when Mikey slides down his body.
“Are you—“ Gerard begins, and Mikey looks up, grinning, eyes dark, and doesn’t answer. Gerard swallows hard and doesn’t finish.
Mikey takes in the smooth expanse of skin in front of him, head lowering so he can lick at Gerard’s stomach, tongue dipping into his navel and teeth nipping at the extra flesh there, sucking a trail of half-bitten marks down his hipbones. He hears Gerard saying something distantly, something along the lines of a “Christ, Mikey, stop teasing,” and stops to consider. His head is right there, it would be so easy, but he shakes his head, leaning down to lick a line from Gerard’s hipbone to the inside of his thigh. Gerard shivers and shudders, legs falling open wider, and Mikey sinks his teeth into the soft flesh there.
The noise Gerard makes is mangled and sharp, a “nngh,” teeth gritted, and Mikey grins, pulling back to lick at the mark he’s just made. “See? Told you I wanted to do it all over.”
“Not all over,” Gerard says shakily. “But I think using teeth is supposed to be bad manners.” He reaches down, slides a hand into Mikey’s hair.
Mikey wants to push him, in that moment, wants to make him ask for it just to see if Gerard will really go that far to get it, but he knows he’s vulnerable right now. He’s barely comfortable being naked around Mikey, and Mikey isn’t about to ask more of him than he already has. He bites back the “you should ask me for it” he wants to say and just waits.
“Have you—do you know how to do this?” he asks finally, breathing out hot against Gerard, not embarrassed to be lost so much as just uncertain.
“Nope,” Gerard shudder-laughs. “No fucking clue. Do your worst, little brother.”
Mikey frowns faintly and pulls back so he can lower down and just look for a second. He’s never done this, but he can do this, and he closes his eyes as he hesitantly wraps his lips around the head of Gerard’s dick and sucks. It’s nothing he’s familiar with, it’s strange, it should be gross (but it’s not, something about it makes him all too aware of how little Gerard has touched him, how much more he wants) but it’s Gerard and he wants to make it good.
He slides down slickly, as far as he can, and the garbled noise Gerard makes when he does is distant, like he’s listening to it from far off. He’s focused on how it feels, eyes closed, breathing in shallowly through his nose so he doesn’t have to pull off or stop. There’s a moment when he doesn’t think he can take it, when Gerard’s hips jerk up just a little, out of his control, and he can’t breathe, he can’t do it for one second, and it makes his stomach lurch, but he just opens his eyes and tries to convey a don’t do that again with his eyes. He doesn’t stop.
Some part of him knows he’s going to be able to feel it later, what he’s doing now. Some part of him likes that.
Gerard’s hand slips down, fingers brushing against his cheek gently, and Mikey’s thought about doing this, thought about what Gerard might do, what he could do, and the Gerard in his mind is so, so much pushier than what Gerard is being, just stroking careful fingers along his cheek, his jaw, petting at his hair, and Mikey wants to smile as much as he wants to get off by now.
“Fuck,” Gerard manages faintly, eyes wide, and when his eyes meet Mikey’s his whole body shudders. Mikey can feel it.
Mikey doesn’t need to be told to keep going, because by now he wants to, falling into a rhythm, wrapping his hand around what his mouth can’t reach because it seems like the thing to do, trying to make it good. Gerard makes tiny little sounds every time Mikey moves, breathless whimpering gasps and Mikey’s never heard his name sound better when Gerard chokes out a “Mikey,” not ever. He sounds wrecked.
Mikey pulls off long enough to ask “is this good?” and Gerard nods breathlessly, face flushed and gaze unfocused, almost dazed, and Mikey can’t help but grin at that.
He lets himself concentrate on just this, the tentative movements of his tongue, Gerard’s hand on his head, the way Gerard is shaking with the effort of holding his hips still, with trying to hold back, and his own hips jerk against the bed without conscious input from him. He hears Gerard tell him to pull off, he’s going to come, but it’s distant like the sounds before and he can’t process the words until the taste of Gerard floods his mouth and then that’s all he can think about as he pulls back, struggles to swallow. The thought of I made my brother do that but also of and I can taste it.
“Are you okay?” Gerard asks, eyes wide. “I mean. What if—fuck, did you fuck up your voice? Mom and Dad are either coming home tonight or tomorrow, there’s no way they won’t—“
“I don’t even care, I’ll just not talk to them,” Mikey says, and his voice is a little rough but it’s only because he knows what he did, only because he was expecting that that he can even hear it in the first place. He takes a shuddery breath, hips jerking against the bed, hard, biting his lip to stifle the noise he wants to make. “Just do something.” He just needs something, anything. Anything Gerard will give him.
Gerard grins, nods and Mikey slides back up until they’re eye to eye again, level with each other. “You liked it that much, huh?” Gerard murmurs, lips brushing Mikey’s ear, fingers sliding down to brush against Mikey’s dick, too light to be anything but a tease. “That’s—from doing that to me?”
Mikey shivers, grins sheepishly. “I’m pretty freaky.”
“Yeah,” Gerard says, wraps his hand around Mikey’s dick, other hand at the small of his back, keeping him close. “You are, and I like it.”
Mikey wraps his hand around Gerard’s, fingers intertwined as they bring him off together, all shallow pants and rocking hips and Mikey’s soft, nasal little noises. Gerard grips him tight when he comes, jerks him through it, and Mikey’s never felt closer to him, as sappy as it sounds.
When he can remember how to breathe again, he grins. “Okay. That one counted.”
“Finally,” Gerard says, doing his best long-suffering sigh. “So we... yeah.” He wipes his hand on the sheet and pulls Mikey closer, wrapping his arm around Mikey’s back. Mikey’s eyelids are starting to droop and he lets it happen, wrapped up in Gerard.
***
When he opens his eyes, Gerard is gone, and it’s storming.
The lights are flickering unevenly and he can hear the rain pounding on the roof even from his bed, the thunderclaps that shake the whole house and rattle the windows. It’s close. He pads through the room and up to the kitchen, still naked, shivering at the cooling breeze.
When he gets to the kitchen, Gerard is already there, naked too, hanging up the phone. He smiles softly when he sees Mikey.
“That was Mom and Dad,” he explains. “The storm’s a lot worse where they are and they’re not sure it’s safe to drive back. They’ll be home tomorrow around three, I guess?”
Mikey smiles too. “Come back to bed?” he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The lights flicker again.
“Okay. But only if it’s in my bed, yours is gross now.”
“Sure, whatever.”
The lights flicker once more and die and the room goes abruptly dark. Mikey grabs Gerard’s hand tight, squeezing it reassuringly, and leads him back to their room with careful steps. They curl together on the sheets of Gerard’s bed, naked and chilly but keeping each other warm, and they listen to the thunder and the rain until they fall asleep.
Gerard dreams and shakes and chokes for air, and Mikey wakes him, whispers “I’m here,” and holds him tighter until the shaking stops. The house shakes from the thunder and the lightning flashes and the rain pours down.
They sleep, more peaceful than they ever would alone.
Don't Know Where We Belong
Pairing: Gerard/Mikey (Waycest)
Warnings: Incest, underage sex
Summary: But then, there’s always been something a little wrong with the two of them.
Word Count: 9, 162
A/N: Betaed by
mybestexcuse and slashxmistress, thanks to hikarinotabi for persistent cheerleading and mwestbelle for helping me make this as good as possible. Title from The Bravery's "Bad Sun"It’s hot. Everywhere Mikey shifts to try to find a breeze has the same hot, sticky summer air and he just lies there, staring into the darkness of the room. The only sound is the buzzing of the fan and the faint wheezy snoring from Gerard’s bed. It’s comforting, somehow. He twists in the sheets again, finally just kicking them off the bed, wrinkled and tangled on the floor. He wishes he was naked, that he still felt comfortable enough around his brother to do it. Any other time, or at any other age, sleeping naked with Gerard in the room would have just been a sign of summer, that the air conditioner had broken again, maybe. That the air was sticky and humid and they took turns showering in the cold to find some sort of relief or stood in the kitchen with their faces in the freezer, pressing noses against ice packs and frozen corn and last week’s leftovers until their mother yelled at them to close the freezer door, for god’s sake, before everything in it melts.
At some point, and he can’t even pinpoint when, that changed. Taking turns showering suddenly meant averting his eyes from the naked skin of Gerard’s chest, pretending that seeing it didn’t bother him. It wasn’t even bothering, exactly. Affecting, more like. He can only admit that to himself on some days, that even in some small way thinking about Gerard affects him. It’s not right, it’s not what he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to be going after the neighborhood girls, ogling their short shorts and their tanktops and the way they laugh with each other. He’s never been very good at following those rules, because he’s looking at his brother instead. Gerard’s laugh is better than theirs anyway, more sincere even if it has an undercurrent of awkwardness to it. A I don’t feel like I belong in my own skin.
He doesn’t dare look over. Even in the dark it feels like Gerard can see if he looks. He wonders what Gerard would do if he knew Mikey was looking at him, like that. Mikey tries to think of what would happen and it brings up a lump in his throat. He tries to swallow. His throat is dry and he winces, wets his lips. It’s too hot for this.
Maybe Gerard would freak out. He wouldn’t stop talking, Mikey knows that. He’d pretend nothing had happened and that he’d never found out, but he’d know. If he reciprocated? That’s the kind of thing Mikey only dreams about, because he’s never let himself think it could happen. It’s hardly even a possibility. He sighs and drops his head back onto the pillow more firmly, willing himself to just go to sleep already.
The last thing he remembers before sleep takes him is the fan stuttering to a stop, and then the steady wheeze of Gerard’s breath, in out, in out, and nothing else.
***
When he wakes up, it’s almost noon and it’s so hot that he can barely think. Gerard is gone already, probably showering to cool off, and Mikey just stares at the ceiling, tugging his t-shirt over his head and laying there, sweaty against the sheets. He distantly remembers hearing the fan stop, some time before he fell asleep, and when he finally manages to pick himself up out of bed and go over he sees that it’s broken. He sighs. Runs a hand across his forehead to wipe off the sweat and just lays down, flat on his back on the floor. It’s cooler and he lays spread-eagled, eyes closed, hair pushed up and away from his face.
“Um. Mikey?”
Mikey cracks one eye open and looks up. Gerard is standing above him, towel wrapped precariously around his waist, hair still dripping and leaving trails of water down his chest. He’s blushing, faintly, red across his cheeks. That, or it’s the heat. Mikey has to close his eyes again.
“It’s cooler down here,” he explains, stretching for emphasis. “And the fan’s broken.”
Gerard makes a sound suspiciously like a snort, but before Mikey knows it, there’s a warm body beside him and Gerard’s arm is flung across his bare stomach because there’s not much room for it anywhere else. He opens his eyes, then, looking over with at Gerard’s face inches from his own. Gerard grins and reaches up to brush a bead of sweat from Mikey’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says, wiping off his fingers on the towel. “It is.”
“Wanna see if we can find some popsicles?” Mikey offers after a moment, staring up at the ceiling, making patterns out of the bumps of plaster on the ceiling. A mountain here, a valley there, a crater left by the latest space crash. Gerard came up with the last one, of course, but Mikey can always spot it.
“Yeah, sure.”
They spend an hour laying on their backs on Mikey’s bed, going through half a box of white lemon popsicles, Gerard using his as a pointer to show Mikey the ridges in the ceiling that are an ancient entrance to a cavern, the ones that are the monsters guarding the door. It’s like watching clouds, only they don’t have to suffer through the heat of the sun for it.
That night the sheets still smell like Gerard. Mikey has to force his eyes shut and his hands at his sides, and even then when he closes them, all he can see is the two of them laying on his bed again, Gerard rolling over onto his side and leaning down, one hand braced on either side of Mikey, towel slipping free and Gerard not even noticing, thigh between Mikey’s legs, and—“Fuck,” Mikey says under his breath, opening his eyes to stare at the patterns on the ceiling again.
Valley. Hill. Beginning site of the zombie apocalypse. Cave.
He can keep his mind off of Gerard and what he wants to (shouldn’t want to) do with him if he can just concentrate on this.
Graveyard. Hill. Mountain range. Small crater. Hill.
***
Mikey sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning, waking up nearly every hour only to lie there in the stale heat of the room and wish he could fall back asleep. The first time isn’t so bad. By the third, he has to force himself to keep his eyes shut and his legs on the bed. Part of him wants to just sleep on the floor, where it’s cooler. The other part reminds him of cramped muscles and stiff necks and all the reasons why it’s a bad idea. It only mentions ‘because you’ll be closer to Gerard that way’ as an afterthought, but it’s there.
It’s when he wakes up the fifth time, sprawled out awkwardly on the bed with sheets half-kicked off, that he hears it. A tiny sound, the kind that the fan used to muffle, almost a whimper. Gerard. Mikey freezes.
A moment later he realizes that no, no it’s not that kind of whimper. He squints through the darkness, across the way at Gerard’s bed. Gerard is thrashing in his sleep, making tiny sounds of protest, sleep-indistinct ohgod help , a nightmare again. He’s breathing like he can barely manage it, like in his dream he’s being choked, all shallow gasps and fast breaths.
Mikey doesn’t know what to do. Either he goes over to Gerard, which means talking his body down from responding to the proximity, or he stays and has to listen to it. It’s awful to hear.
It only takes him a moment to decide.
“Gee! Gee, hey. I’m here, okay? It’s okay.” Mikey is curled up beside Gerard in an instant, arms wrapped tight around him, pulled close into Mikey’s smaller frame. Gerard is shaking, quivering even, and Mikey only holds him that much closer, leans forward to murmur against the side of his neck, “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”
“Mikey?” Gerard’s awake.
“You were having a nightmare,” Mikey says, quiet, not loosening his grip on Gerard any. He’s warm and solid and Mikey’s missed this, how reassuring it can be. He doesn’t even think about the position they’re in. Right now, it doesn’t matter. He has more important things to be worried about than his dick’s agenda.
“It was one of those again.” Gerard shudders. “They were holding me down and choking me and I can never wake up from those by myself and—Thanks.” Mikey can’t see Gerard’s smile in the darkness, but he knows it’s there. “That should be your superpower, you know?”
“What should?”
“Waking people up from nightmares. Or cuddling or some shit, I don’t know. You’re pretty good at that too.”
“Yeah, sure.” Mikey snorts just a little and pulls Gerard closer, head tucked into the crook of his neck. “Go back to sleep, okay? I’ll make sure to use my superpower if I need to.”
“I’ll try.”
And they do.
***
When Mikey wakes up they’re still pressed together, a tangle of overheated sweat-slicked limbs and Mikey can’t breathe. Gerard’s leg is hooked over his, arms wrapped tight around the back of his neck, and he’s making funny little snuffling sounds in his sleep, nuzzling the skin of Mikey’s neck and then his cheek. Mikey can’t move. Gerard’s lips are so close (tooclose notcloseenough) and his fucking morning wood is pressing into Mikey’s thigh. Mikey knew sleeping here was a bad idea.
Gerard doesn’t respond as Mikey wriggles free, rearranging limbs and sliding away as carefully as he can so he doesn’t wake Gerard. But when he looks back, Gerard’s eyes are open and he’s just. He’s just looking, expression unreadable. Mikey can’t breathe.
“Sorry,” he says finally, looking down at the sheets so he doesn’t have to meet Gerard’s eyes. “It was too hot.”
“Yeah.”
Mikey frowns. “Yeah what?”
“I’m sorry too.”
“For what? You didn’t do anything.”
Gerard doesn’t say anything and finally Mikey just lets it drop.
***
“Oh God I’m gonna die,” Gerard groans, slumping back against his bed.
It’s four in the afternoon but it’s still almost ninety degrees out and Mikey is about ready to echo the sentiment. Every bit of covered skin is like torture, and the fan is still broken and the air conditioning is too and he seriously cannot take too many more days of this. It has to stop or he’s going to lose his mind.
Sometimes he thinks he’s losing his mind in other ways, too. He looks over at Gerard, and he’s got an expression of picture-perfect long-suffering melodrama, sprawled out across his bed murmuring “too hot, going to die,” every time he thinks Mikey’s listening. And Mikey has to stop and think why am I in love with him again?. Gerard is overly dramatic and his big brother and a total nerd and he’s kind of chubby but in the way that makes Mikey want to bite him all over and—He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, down to the sweat at the back of his neck.
“Gonna die—“ Gerard pipes up again, and Mikey gets up and moves enough to clamp a hand over Gerard’s mouth to just get him to shut up already.
Gerard licks Mikey’s palm.
“Ew, you fucker,” Mikey says, jerking his hand back and wrinkling his nose, trying to ignore the thrill it sends through him.
He runs his fingertips across his palm again and again after that, when he thinks Gerard isn’t looking.
***
Three days later, it finally rains.
The two of them make their way outside like they’ve never seen it before, barefoot and cautious like children taking their first steps. It’s still dark outside, barely five in the morning, and Mikey watches the ground as he walks, trying to avoid scattered bits of gravel from the end of the driveway. Neither of them bother with coats.
Mikey tilts his head back, towards the sky, mouth open to catch the falling drops that are starting to splat against his glasses. His shirt is soaking through, too, clinging to him and he doesn’t care, just closes his eyes and spreads his arms, cool for the first time in days. He doesn’t even feel himself start to tip backwards.
The next thing he knows, he hears “Watch out!” and Gerard’s arms are wrapped tight around his waist, burning against the cool wetness of his shirt. They’re both soaked, now, pressed together, and it isn’t just his breath that’s startstopping irregularly.
“Sorry, you were falling,” Gerard says, and Mikey can’t help but feel a little disappointed at that. But Gerard hasn’t made any move to let go yet, and yeah, it’s barely dawn, but he’s standing in the middle of his driveway in the pouring rain being held by his brother. I feel like I’m in some sappy romance movie, he can’t help but think, and half-smiles. Gerard would be a shitty romance movie hero, and he’s not exactly the picture-perfect heroine either.
But then, there’s always been something a little wrong with the two of them.
“This kinda reminds me of that one thing we watched last week—like. What was it called? Fuck, my brain’s melted, or something.” Gerard sighs and his fingers shift, press lower against the strip of skin between Mikey’s shirt and the waistband of his pants.
“Dunno. But yeah.” Yeah, shitty romance movie. “It’s a little off, though.”
“Yeah?”
“We’re not making out,” Mikey points out, shrugging just a little. Gerard tenses and Mikey doesn’t know why. “I mean. That’s the difference.”
Gerard still doesn’t relax but he nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, and you’d have to be in a dress, too.”
“I’m not wearing a dress for you, asshole.”
“I’m not making out with you, either. So we’re even.” Gerard glances up and down the deserted street, more habit than anything else. There’s no one there. Even so—“C’mon, we better get inside before we get mugged or something.”
***
Mikey pulls off his soaked-through t-shirt as soon as they’re inside, over his head to toss into the pile of discarded clothing between his bed and Gerard’s. He grabs another shirt, trying to dry off his hair, letting himself stand in the middle of the room, half-naked, savoring the way the air hits the moisture still clinging to his bare chest.
He looks over at Gerard; he’s staring, out of the corner of his eye in the sort of way that makes Mikey think he’s trying to hide it.
“What are you looking at?” Mikey tries his hardest to keep his voice nonchalant, even, it’s all simple curiosity and the flicking glances at him aren’t making his pulse race and his mind do the same, a stream of whatifwhatif.
“Nothing,” Gerard says, and it’s never been more obvious that he’s lying. There’s this thing he does, eyes looking left, the way he bites his lip as he says it. Every time. Mikey shrugs and looks at him, careful, like he’s trying to see right through him into every secret he has. Maybe he can. Gerard fidgets under the gaze and shrugs again, helpless, before practically darting out of the room.
They used to tell each other everything. When that changed and it became this, Mikey doesn’t know. Yeah, he’s fucked up past the point of all redemption (his brother) but sometimes, just sometimes, in moments like these, he thinks Gerard might be too.
***
“It wasn’t nothing,” Mikey tells Gerard that night. They’re in separate beds still, and he’s staring at the ceiling, not looking over, but he knows Gerard is awake too. By now, they can almost feel it.
There’s nothing but silence for a long moment, amplified by the dark and the way Mikey is barely breathing, too-shallow as he waits. And then, the telltale rustling of the sheets, shiftcreak of the bed, and Gerard is sitting up and looking at him, right at him. He rolls over onto his side so he can look at Gerard face-to-face.
“You don’t want to know.” Gerard’s voice is carefully neutral but Mikey can hear the anxiety underneath.
“Maybe I do,” Mikey counters. “You tell me your thing and… I’ll tell you something?” He’s not sure if he’d be able to outright confess to wanting Gerard. Maybe he can, maybe he can’t. He’ll just have to find out.
Gerard’s breath is shaky and he clenches his hands into fists before he finally grits out, “Maybe I was. Looking.”
“At me?”
A long pause, shallow nod, “Yeah.”
Mikey hesitates too, then, trying to let his mind get used to the idea. Finally, he asks, “You mean like… that?” He doesn’t need to elaborate, Gerard knows. He barely needs to ask it at all.
“Yeah. “ Resigned, and Gerard curls in on himself like he’s trying to disappear, like if he shuts his eyes he won’t have to deal with what he’s saying. “Yeah, like that.” He clenches his hands into fists, tight enough that Mikey’s sure he’s hurting himself.
“Gee, don’t.” Gerard looks up, startled, and Mikey falters. “You want to know mine, right?”
“Of course, yeah.”
“I’ve been looking at you like that for two years.” Mikey turns away, doesn’t want to notice the way Gerard’s eyes widen or his breath catches.
“… Oh.”
“So stop worrying, okay? Go to sleep.”
“I can’t.” Mikey doesn’t know what to do then other than what he does—slides out of bed and walks over. Gerard’s eyes are wide, looking right at him, and Mikey can’t bring himself to feel nervous even if blood is rushing in his ears so loud he can’t even hear himself think.
He leans down, presses a light kiss to Gerard’s lips, chaste. He pulls away, then, turns away and settles back into his own bed. It could be brotherly. They both know it’s not.
“Okay,” Gerard says, a faint smile tugging at his lips even though his eyes are still scared. “You win. G’night.”
***
It happens again the next night, and again the night after that. They don’t make a big deal about it. It can be innocent if they want it to be.
***
“Hey, Mikey.”
Mikey is sitting on the edge of his bed, one leg over the other, eyes focused on a book, and every time he turns the page he licks the tip of his finger, turns it, and then pushes up his glasses. It’s hard to concentrate, and the humidity makes his vision just a little foggy. He only looks up when Gerard settles down on the bed beside him, looks over and as soon as their eyes meet, Mikey realizes how close together they are.
Gerard opens his mouth like he’s intending to say something but nothing comes out, and the next time he speaks it’s to ask, “Is this okay?”
Their lips are inches apart.
Mikey doesn’t even remember leaning in. It’s different like this. It isn’t at night, and there’s no darkness to mask either of them. Like this there is no hiding and he can almost feel the line he’s about to cross, as though it’s physical, and the minute his lips touch Gerard’s again it tears.
He nods anyway. Breathes out, in, and then Gerard’s lips are on his and neither of them make a move to pull away.
They press closer at the same time, Mikey’s hands tangled in Gerard’s hair and Gerard’s hands running restlessly updown Mikey’s sides (still bare, too hot for anything else). Mikey opens his mouth under Gerard’s, runs his tongue along the seam of his lips until Gerard opens for him, and it’s sloppy and wet and deep and Mikey doesn’t want it to stop, not ever.
After a moment Gerard pulls back just a little, whispers against Mikey’s lips, “I feel sort of sick.”
Mikey answers, “Me too,” before he even thinks about it. He is, though, a combination of nerves and the sick twist in his gut of at the thought of I’m kissing my brother. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s thought about it, because now he’s doing it for real.
“Don’t stop,” he says finally, and meets Gerard’s lips again. “It’ll get easier.”
When they finally break apart, they’re both flushed and obviously, uncomfortably hard, and Mikey can’t meet Gerard’s eyes. For a moment, he doesn’t remember why they stopped at all and then he hears it again, loud and clear.
“Boys! Dinner!”
“Shit,” Gerard whispers, grinning sheepishly. They don’t say anything else, just try to get themselves pulled together and make their way to the table.
“What were you two doing? I called you three times,” their mother says, frowning, and Mikey manages to choke out, “Reading,” before she wants any more details.
Gerard is uncharacteristically quiet during dinner and Mikey thinks something is wrong until he looks up and meets Gerard’s eyes.
Mikey’s never seen that look before—like Gerard’s caught between fear and sheer helpless needy want-and the intensity of it makes him forget about everything else. He feels like he’s choking, like there’s no air in the room, and it’s suddenly about a thousand degrees. When he picks up his fork, he notices that his hand is shaking.
He manages a few bites and asks to be excused, making straight for the shower as soon as he’s allowed to leave the table. He strips, stands under the pounding spray and jerks off, and he can’t think of anything but Gerard, across from him at the table, lips swollen from kissing and eyes locked on his.
***
He stays in the shower for another hour and a half, well past the point where the water goes cold, and when he climbs out he’s shivering even though his face is burning hot. He tugs on his clothes before he goes back to the room he shares with Gerard, not wanting the vulnerability nakedness brings him right now.
Gerard is sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for him.
“Hey. Could we—“ He hesitates, biting his lip. “Could we go outside and talk?”
Mikey doesn’t know whether to take that as good or bad.
“Yeah,” he says finally, and Gerard leans over the side of the bed, fumbling around until his hand closes around a pack of Marlboros, opened but with only one missing. Another moment and he’s found a lighter, too, and he comes up with both, triumphant.
They don’t say anything as they make their way through the house, but Gerard takes Mikey’s hand, squeezing. It’s dark. Their parents have gone to bed. No one has to see.
They finally settle down onto the front steps, looking up at the few stars that are visible and haven’t been overpowered by the glow of the city lights, by the streetlamps that line the street. It’s cooler than it’s been in days, and Mikey shivers, taking the cigarette Gerard lights for him gratefully. He sucks in the smoke too fast at first His first drag is too deep too fast and he has to suppress a cough, but it warms him up.
“Did I ever show you how to do smoke rings?” Gerard asks, taking a long drag on his own cigarette, tip glowing red.
Mikey shrugs. “Probably not.”
“Like this.” Gerard demonstrates, exhaling neat little rings, and Mikey smiles. He tries it, but only succeeds in half-choking on the smoke, blowing it out in uneven bursts. Gerard is watching and he laughs, breathy, and Mikey starts laughing too.
“You suck, seriously,” Gerard says, grinning, and tilts his head back towards the sky, blowing rings of smoke into the darkness.
Mikey looks up too, watching the stars. “So,” he says finally, closing his eyes, breathing in smoke and letting it huff out through his nose, “what did you want to talk about?”
“Sometimes I think we’re a bad idea.”
Mikey opens his eyes and looks over. Gerard is still gazing up at the stars, and Mikey can’t read his expression at all. “Yeah?” he asks, cautious.
“Risk of being caught,” Gerard begins, quiet. “We’re already so close it’s unhealthy. You’re my little brother. You’re my best friend. We’d have to hide it from literally everyone. You’re underage. It might fuck you up. We’d probably both get arrested. You can’t tell people that your big brother was your first kiss, because that kind of thing is supposed to be gross.”
“How do you—“
“I just do. But you know what the worst part is?”
“What?” Mikey isn’t sure he even wants to know.
“I don’t even care why it’s wrong.” Gerard fumbles in the dark for the pack of smokes, pulls out another and lights it off the first one, holding the ends together until smoke starts curling from it. “I should, you know.” He throws the butt of the first into the driveway and looks at Mikey. “But I don’t. And I know this is gonna sound crazy, but. I’ve been reading a lot about things like fate lately, you know?”
“Are you serious?” Mikey has to ask. He resists saying meaning you’re reading too many comic books, but it’s a close call.
“Yeah.” Gerard grins, gesturing expansively. “The point is, everything happens because it’s been pre-determined it’s going to. Even us being like this.”
Sometimes Gerard’s special brand of nonlogic makes Mikey’s head hurt.
“You do know that’s fucked up, right?”
“But think about it. How is it fucked up if we were born like this? If we were… it’s not. It can’t be, ‘cause it’s not like we can help it.”
Intellectually, Mikey knows Gerard is just rationalizing. It’s no less wrong either way. He wants to sleep with his brother and there’s no fate that can save him from that or make it any less illegal. It makes no sense whatsoever, actually, and it would never hold up in any court. But Mikey likes it.
He smiles. “Guess you and your fate are stuck with me then.”
They lean their heads together, smoking in companionable silence and watching the stars, and that night, they fall asleep curled together in Mikey’s bed, too tired to separate.
***
It’s past midnight the next day and Mikey can’t sleep, late enough that there’s no sound other than the occasional car going by on the road. He has his eyes closed, trying to keep his breathing steady and even like it’ll lull him into sleep if he does.
“Mikey? You still up?”
He didn’t even notice that he couldn’t hear Gerard snoring.
“Yeah. You okay?”
Gerard shrugs. “Just thinking. C’mere?”
Mikey smiles and slides out of bed, padding over in the dark until he reaches the edge of Gerard’s bed. He settles down beside Gerard, wrapping an arm around his back, a leg between Gerard’s thighs, and curls in. It’s warm and comfortable where he is.
“You know Mom found us yesterday morning, right?” Gerard murmurs against the side of Mikey’s neck.
“It’s not like we were doing anything,” Mikey points out. “She knows about your nightmares, that’s probably all she thought it was.” He doesn’t know where Gerard is going with this and he’s not sure he wants to.
“But what if she didn’t? Think about it. What would you do if you thought your kids were fucking? I mean. You wouldn’t turn them both in, because you wouldn’t want your children to be in jail, right? So—“
Mikey frowns, and the only thing he can manage is, “We’re not fucking.”
Gerard pulls away enough to be able to look Mikey in the eye. “You think it’s going to stay that way?” Mikey isn’t stupid. He knew the answer to that before Gerard even said it. He can feel it in the air between them, sometimes, like it’s charged and all Mikey has to do is touch and he’ll be shocked by it.
“… no.” And then, softer, more hesitant, “Does that change your mind?” he asks. “About this being okay?”
Gerard shakes his head. “It should? But, no.”
“Shit, we’re the worst kids ever,” Mikey half-laughs, snuggling in again. Gerard is warm and solid and it doesn’t matter that it’s too hot with the shared body heat, he likes where he is.
“No,” Gerard corrects, “the worst kids ever would be fucking and then make their mom wash their sheets afterwards.”
Mikey grins, and then the room falls silent for a long moment, still except for the sounds of the two of them breathing and the creaks in the bed when they move, shifting to find a more comfortable position. He wants to say something but he can’t manage it, just swallows hard and licks his lips like it will make the words come easier. Finally, he works up the courage to ask, “So do you want to?” It comes out barely above a whisper.
“What? Make Mom wash our sheets, or—oh. Oh.” Gerard goes still. Just like that, the room seems hotter, air thick with anticipation, and Mikey’s hyperaware of every passing second that Gerard doesn’t say anything, that he just stares wide-eyed at Mikey, of the way his own heart is pounding.
Gerard takes a deep breath and looks up, into Mikey’s eyes. “You mean right now?”
Mikey swallows and nods, looking away.
“I.” Gerard shifts, presses closer to Mikey until there’s no space left between them. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, you know that.”
And just like that, they’re kissing again, breathing harshly through their noses because they don’t want to break apart for air, Gerard’s tongue dipping into Mikey’s mouth. Mikey responds in kind, pulls back and catches Gerard’s lower lip between his teeth and tugs, and it startles a tiny, needy sound out of Gerard. They’re close, close, closer, until Mikey finally has to break the kiss to breathe and realizes he’s on his back with Gerard above him. He doesn’t remember moving at all.
It’s barely even a conscious decision to pull Gerard closer, but it happens, hand curled around the back of his neck and the other hand at the small of his back. He spreads his legs wider, grinding up against Gerard desperately. They’ve crossed one line but this is another one, and Mikey can’t even make himself stop to really consider what he’s doing, not now.
Gerard rocks down and Mikey arches up, gasping into Gerard’s mouth as he grips him tighter. Gerard breaks the kiss long enough to ask, “Is this okay?” and Mikey just laughs, rocks up against him, hard, and says, “I was the one who asked, come on, go.” Gerard’s hands are fumbling with his sleep pants, pushing them down, and then his boxers too and shitshitshit, Gerard’s got his hand around Mikey’s dick. It’s only then that Mikey feels his stomach lurch at the thought, but it’s like the kissing was at first—he just has to ride it out until his body overrides his mind. It gets easier.
He pushes up into Gerard’s grip helplessly, hand over his own mouth to make sure no one hears them, praying he doesn’t come in the next five seconds. He’s making no guarantees to himself, though, the sheer physical overload of this overwhelming him, and there’s no way Gerard hasn’t watched him do this at least once, because it’s just like he likes it when he’s doing it to himself, Gerard’s hand sliding over him tight and fast enough that it makes his breath come short.
Gerard replaces Mikey’s hand with his mouth, kissing him hard, hand still moving steadily, and Mikey chokes out an “unh--” and fumbles at the waistband of Gerard’s own pajamas.
As soon as he does, Gerard stops moving. Mikey whimpers desperately, pushes his hips up into Gerard’s hand again, but Gerard still doesn’t move, and he pulls his hand away.
He wants to ask why Gerard stopped, why he pulled away, but Gerard just whispers, “Not—you don’t have to take them off,” and Mikey gets it. If it was anyone else, Mikey would be confused, would wonder why they didn’t want him to see. But this is Gerard. Gerard, who goes around in t-shirts unless it’s either a hundred degrees out or he’s just gotten out of the shower, who sits on the edge of his bed, prodding at himself when he thinks Mikey isn’t watching him, who glares at his reflection in the mirror and it’s not just to look tough.
“You think I’m gonna be grossed out?” Mikey asks gently, and Gerard looks away. “I won’t, I promise. I like you how you are.”
Gerard just shakes his head. “Next time, okay?” and leans in to catch Mikey’s lips.
Mikey nods and pulls Gerard close to him again, mouth open under his. There’s no point in pushing Gerard. They know their own limits and they know enough to trust in each other’s, and the next time isn’t just Gerard saying that. It’s a promise.
It’s hard to slide his hand down past fabric and into Gerard’s pants like this, but he can manage, and the twinge in his wrist at the awkward angle only serves to remind him that he’s not dreaming or lost in his own head, that this is actually happening. Gerard makes a funny high-pitched sound and pushes forward and Mikey grins, tries to concentrate on keeping the movement of his hand steady and the motion smooth even with the distraction of Gerard panting shallowly above him, Gerard’s hand on his dick, stroking over him in a way that should probably be illegal, it feels so good. Well. Is illegal.
He comes first even though he tries not to, biting his lip to stifle a moan he knows will be too loud, eyes squeezed shut. When he opens them again, Gerard is staring down at him. All Mikey can do is jerk him faster, watching the way Gerard’s expression changes, the lost, dazed look in his eyes, the way his mouth hangs open just a little. Gerard is making tiny, helpless little noises, even though he shouldn’t, like he can’t even help himself anymore, and when he comes, Mikey is frozen in place from just watching.
Gerard lets out a ragged breath and then smiles, picking up his top sheet from where it’s lying in a sad heap on the floor to wipe them both off with it, and Mikey just lets him, lying there passively, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of Gerard rustling around for a cleaner pair of pajama pants.
“You know, we just had sex,” Gerard says offhandedly, still hanging off the side of the bed.
“No we didn’t.”
He picks himself up enough to be able to turn and look at Mikey. “What?”
“It doesn’t count,” Mikey explains sagely. “It only counts if both people are naked.”
Gerard snorts. “That’s a bullshit rule, who says?”
“I do. I just made it up.”
Gerard sighs and rolls himself back onto the bed in one jerky movement, a new pair of pajama pants clutched in his fist. “Trust me, you don’t want to see me naked.”
“Except I really kind of do,” Mikey says, shrugging, and Gerard raises his eyebrows. “Fine, don’t believe me. Go change.”
He’d go into detail, but it’s explicit and it’s probably best to save it for another time.
***
“It needs a little more gore,” Mikey says thoughtfully, looking over Gerard’s shoulder as Gerard pencils out the details in a new comic of his. Mikey’s already finished looking through the previous page, pointing out any inconsistencies, and at the very least, Gerard doesn’t seem to mind the running commentary.
“You think?” Gerard looks down at the panel, gnawing at the end of his pencil.
“Yeah, man. Zombie invasion? It pretty much begs for it.” To be honest, Mikey doesn’t understand what’s even going on in the comic, but he’s holding out for a big reveal that will make everything make more sense.
When he looks closer, he sees another picture, mostly hidden under the one Gerard’s working on. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” Gerard makes a move to reach for it but Mikey gets there first, gets a good look, and—
“Shit, dude,” he says faintly, staring at it. “Is this. Is that us?”
It’s stylized enough that it’s hard to distinguish facial features, but Mikey’s seen himself drawn in Gerard’s style before and he knows that’s what he’s looking at. It’s shaded to look like a dark room, light only coming in through the overly-angular windows, but he can see what’s supposed to be the shape of his glasses and the more he looks at it, the more the rest of the details fill themselves in.
They’re naked. Both of them.
“Daydreaming again?” Mikey asks, grinning wide. He knows he’s been thinking about it, about what it would be like to do that for real, and from the way they’re clinging together in the picture, Mikey’s hands gripping at Gerard’s back, knuckles over-exaggerated and head thrown back, apparently Gerard has too. In some detail.
“It’s easier to remember things I’ve thought about if I draw them,” Gerard explains, carefully nonchalant as he adds more blood spatters to what he’s working on. “When’s the next time we get the house to ourselves?”
It’s not just simple curiosity. Gerard is very deliberately concentrating on his drawing, and Mikey is pretty sure Gerard has a mental list of what he wants to do as soon as they’re not in any immediate danger of being caught.
(They almost were, the other day, tangled together on Gerard’s bed, half-naked, kissing slow and wet, when there was a knock on their bedroom door. Mikey went stumbling for his own bed as quickly as he could, not even making it.
It was their dad, of course, asking if either of them wanted anything because he was going to the store. Gerard just shook his head, praying he wouldn’t ask why Mikey was half under his own bed. But of course, he did.
“I’m cleaning out some of the crap from under here,” Mikey called, relieved to have a good excuse.
When they were alone again, Mikey looked up. Gerard’s eyes were scared, and he swallowed hard, whispering, “Not during the day, okay? Unless we’re the only ones here.”
That became the rule. Only at night, unless it was just the two of them. It was safer that way.)
“Next Tuesday, I think,” Mikey says, frowning. “They’re visiting one of Mom’s friends, right?”
The details don’t matter. It’s the date that’s important.
“Five days,” Gerard says, and smiles.
“We’re fucked up,” Mikey reminds him, like he does pretty much every day. “Hand me that page. I want to see if it makes more sense than the last one.”
“Can’t help it. And fuck you, my comic makes plenty of sense.” Gerard hands it over anyway, and Mikey settles down on the edge of the bed to look it over.
“Much better,” he says finally, looking up.
Gerard rolls his eyes and starts in on another page.
***
“We’ll be back tonight unless that big storm hits. Don’t burn the house down or get yourselves arrested or get drunk—and we will find out--and no funny business.” Their mother gives them a Look and steps out the door. Mikey tries to contain his grin.
When he can hear the car pulling out of the driveway he turns to Gerard. “So, what do you think would be funny business?”
Gerard looks over from behind the freezer door, raising an eyebrow, Popsicle in hand. “Well, sex might be,” he says, after a pause. “But only because we’re both going to be laughably bad.”
Neither of them is quite sure what to do for a moment. Alone with nobody to interrupt and it’s not even quite ten, but the sun is streaming in bright through the windows and it makes everything hazy, even their minds. Mikey knew it was worth the effort of getting out of bed early today.
“Let’s just. Go hang out in our room?” Gerard says finally, breaking the still morning silence.
“We could take a shower,” Mikey suggests, and goes pink when Gerard pauses and then starts laughing.
“Together? Sorry, kid, there is no way we’re gonna both fit in that thing.”
“Don’t call me kid,” Mikey grumps automatically, scowling. He wishes he wasn’t so lost like this. He doesn’t know what to suggest or what Gerard will go for and it’s an uncertain, drifting kind of place that reminds him of before he knew it went both ways, when he thought he was the only one staring up at the ceiling trying to sleep, the only one trying not to think those kinds of thoughts about his brother.
But Gerard gets it, because he always gets Mikey. “What do you want to do?” he asks gently.
“I don’t know,” Mikey admits. “A lot.”
“Everything?”
Mikey shakes his head. “I think we’d freak ourselves out. And we don’t have anything anyway. But I want to see you this time.”
Gerard sighs. “Mikey—“
“I know you don’t think I do, but I do.”
Mikey can tell Gerard still doesn’t believe him, can tell from the awkward, self-conscious way he holds himself as soon as Mikey says it. He moves close, until he’s pressed against Gerard’s side and can murmur against his ear, “Do you really want me to go into details?”
Gerard smiles a little, leans against him. “If you’re offering.”
“It involves not thinking you’re gross-looking at all.” Mikey tries to say the rest but his mouth is dry and it takes a few tries for the words to come out. He doesn’t know why, because he’s sure he’s said worse before. “And wanting to bite you all over.”
“Fucking cannibal,” Gerard says without missing a beat. “Hey, that’d be a cool thing to do, one about a cannibal?”
“Like. Guy who thinks he turned into a zombie only he didn’t or deranged psycho?” Mikey wants to point out that Gerard just changed the subject but, to be fair, it is a really cool thought.
“Deranged psycho is way more badass. So…”
***
That’s how they end up where they are three hours later: sitting cross-legged on the floor in their room, Cokes half-drunk beside them, Gerard with a sketchbook in hand and a pencil he’s waving around so much Mikey’s afraid it’s going to end up poking his eye out. All plans of what to do while their parents are out are gone.
Mostly.
“So that’s the guy’s trigger.” Gerard stares down at the page, doodling idly. “Who does he go after?” He barely manages to suppress a yawn, shifting in place.
“His girlfriend. It’s classic.” Mikey reaches down into his glass, cubes chinking together as he finally closes his fingers around one and pulls it out, sliding it into his mouth to suck on it.
“Yeah, okay,” Gerard murmurs, distracted. “Motherfuck it’s hot.”
It is, it’s almost unbearable, the sticky, buzzing kind of heat before a storm, and Mikey knows that their parents won’t be coming home that night. “Unless the storm hits,” they’d said. It’s going to. He can feel it.
He tucks his ice cube into his cheek and smiles. “Hey.”
Gerard looks up, is about to ask what until Mikey leans forward, hands braced on either side of Gerard, and kisses him.
Gerard makes a surprised noise but he kisses back anyway, mouth hot under Mikey’s. He grins into it when he realizes what Mikey’s doing, curls his tongue around the ice cube to suck it into his own mouth and share it. They stay like that, making out lazily for long moments, passing the ice between them, slick. When even the smallest sliver is gone, Mikey pulls back, breathing raggedly.
He has to take a moment to focus, to see the way Gerard just looks at him, half-dazed, shifting uncomfortably, and it’s only because Mikey knows why he’s like that—is beginning to be able to recognize it on his brother’s face—and knows that he caused it that gives him the courage to say, “Hey, we could—“ and gesture towards his bed.
Gerard’s breath catches and he nods, standing up too-fast and Mikey has to steady him.
Mikey tugs his shirt over his head without hesitation, shoves down his shorts and his boxers, half-trips on them as he tries to step out of them. He feels like he’s racing himself, and the sooner he can get naked the better, but that catches up with him as he stumbles and pitches forward, landing naked on the bed.
He rolls over, tugs Gerard close, and Gerard goes, falling beside him. It doesn’t take much convincing before his shirt is coming off. He hesitates when he gets to his pants but Mikey’s hands are on his button, on the zipper, and his hands cover Mikey’s as Mikey pulls them down and off. He looks scared, out of his element, but he doesn’t tell Mikey to stop and he moves forward, lips meeting Mikey’s again. Mikey knows it’s so he can distract himself, but he doesn’t mind.
Mikey rolls them in one fluid movement, pins Gerard under him, pulling back so he can get a good look. He’s never seen Gerard like this, flushed and naked and vulnerable, soft in a way Mikey has never been, from the curve of his stomach to the soft give of his thighs. He revels in the difference.
He’s staring and he knows it, has to distract himself by leaning down, brushing his lips against Gerard’s neck, still pinning him with his body.
“Don’t leave any marks where they can see,” Gerard reminds him softly, and Mikey wishes he could, wishes he could leave red ones up and down Gerard’s neck, so every time he looked he would know.
He settles for grazing his teeth against the side of Gerard’s neck to make him shiver, runs his tongue along the shell of Gerard’s ear and sucks the lobe into his mouth. Gerard moans faintly, presses up hard against Mikey’s body, but Mikey wants to draw this out.
He wants to make it infinitely clear that he likes Gerard like this, likes every part of him, and he dips down, sucks at Gerard’s collarbone until he leaves a mark there, biting down on it. Gerard makes a sharp sound at that and his hips jerk up hard, a little desperate, eyes only widening further when Mikey slides down his body.
“Are you—“ Gerard begins, and Mikey looks up, grinning, eyes dark, and doesn’t answer. Gerard swallows hard and doesn’t finish.
Mikey takes in the smooth expanse of skin in front of him, head lowering so he can lick at Gerard’s stomach, tongue dipping into his navel and teeth nipping at the extra flesh there, sucking a trail of half-bitten marks down his hipbones. He hears Gerard saying something distantly, something along the lines of a “Christ, Mikey, stop teasing,” and stops to consider. His head is right there, it would be so easy, but he shakes his head, leaning down to lick a line from Gerard’s hipbone to the inside of his thigh. Gerard shivers and shudders, legs falling open wider, and Mikey sinks his teeth into the soft flesh there.
The noise Gerard makes is mangled and sharp, a “nngh,” teeth gritted, and Mikey grins, pulling back to lick at the mark he’s just made. “See? Told you I wanted to do it all over.”
“Not all over,” Gerard says shakily. “But I think using teeth is supposed to be bad manners.” He reaches down, slides a hand into Mikey’s hair.
Mikey wants to push him, in that moment, wants to make him ask for it just to see if Gerard will really go that far to get it, but he knows he’s vulnerable right now. He’s barely comfortable being naked around Mikey, and Mikey isn’t about to ask more of him than he already has. He bites back the “you should ask me for it” he wants to say and just waits.
“Have you—do you know how to do this?” he asks finally, breathing out hot against Gerard, not embarrassed to be lost so much as just uncertain.
“Nope,” Gerard shudder-laughs. “No fucking clue. Do your worst, little brother.”
Mikey frowns faintly and pulls back so he can lower down and just look for a second. He’s never done this, but he can do this, and he closes his eyes as he hesitantly wraps his lips around the head of Gerard’s dick and sucks. It’s nothing he’s familiar with, it’s strange, it should be gross (but it’s not, something about it makes him all too aware of how little Gerard has touched him, how much more he wants) but it’s Gerard and he wants to make it good.
He slides down slickly, as far as he can, and the garbled noise Gerard makes when he does is distant, like he’s listening to it from far off. He’s focused on how it feels, eyes closed, breathing in shallowly through his nose so he doesn’t have to pull off or stop. There’s a moment when he doesn’t think he can take it, when Gerard’s hips jerk up just a little, out of his control, and he can’t breathe, he can’t do it for one second, and it makes his stomach lurch, but he just opens his eyes and tries to convey a don’t do that again with his eyes. He doesn’t stop.
Some part of him knows he’s going to be able to feel it later, what he’s doing now. Some part of him likes that.
Gerard’s hand slips down, fingers brushing against his cheek gently, and Mikey’s thought about doing this, thought about what Gerard might do, what he could do, and the Gerard in his mind is so, so much pushier than what Gerard is being, just stroking careful fingers along his cheek, his jaw, petting at his hair, and Mikey wants to smile as much as he wants to get off by now.
“Fuck,” Gerard manages faintly, eyes wide, and when his eyes meet Mikey’s his whole body shudders. Mikey can feel it.
Mikey doesn’t need to be told to keep going, because by now he wants to, falling into a rhythm, wrapping his hand around what his mouth can’t reach because it seems like the thing to do, trying to make it good. Gerard makes tiny little sounds every time Mikey moves, breathless whimpering gasps and Mikey’s never heard his name sound better when Gerard chokes out a “Mikey,” not ever. He sounds wrecked.
Mikey pulls off long enough to ask “is this good?” and Gerard nods breathlessly, face flushed and gaze unfocused, almost dazed, and Mikey can’t help but grin at that.
He lets himself concentrate on just this, the tentative movements of his tongue, Gerard’s hand on his head, the way Gerard is shaking with the effort of holding his hips still, with trying to hold back, and his own hips jerk against the bed without conscious input from him. He hears Gerard tell him to pull off, he’s going to come, but it’s distant like the sounds before and he can’t process the words until the taste of Gerard floods his mouth and then that’s all he can think about as he pulls back, struggles to swallow. The thought of I made my brother do that but also of and I can taste it.
“Are you okay?” Gerard asks, eyes wide. “I mean. What if—fuck, did you fuck up your voice? Mom and Dad are either coming home tonight or tomorrow, there’s no way they won’t—“
“I don’t even care, I’ll just not talk to them,” Mikey says, and his voice is a little rough but it’s only because he knows what he did, only because he was expecting that that he can even hear it in the first place. He takes a shuddery breath, hips jerking against the bed, hard, biting his lip to stifle the noise he wants to make. “Just do something.” He just needs something, anything. Anything Gerard will give him.
Gerard grins, nods and Mikey slides back up until they’re eye to eye again, level with each other. “You liked it that much, huh?” Gerard murmurs, lips brushing Mikey’s ear, fingers sliding down to brush against Mikey’s dick, too light to be anything but a tease. “That’s—from doing that to me?”
Mikey shivers, grins sheepishly. “I’m pretty freaky.”
“Yeah,” Gerard says, wraps his hand around Mikey’s dick, other hand at the small of his back, keeping him close. “You are, and I like it.”
Mikey wraps his hand around Gerard’s, fingers intertwined as they bring him off together, all shallow pants and rocking hips and Mikey’s soft, nasal little noises. Gerard grips him tight when he comes, jerks him through it, and Mikey’s never felt closer to him, as sappy as it sounds.
When he can remember how to breathe again, he grins. “Okay. That one counted.”
“Finally,” Gerard says, doing his best long-suffering sigh. “So we... yeah.” He wipes his hand on the sheet and pulls Mikey closer, wrapping his arm around Mikey’s back. Mikey’s eyelids are starting to droop and he lets it happen, wrapped up in Gerard.
***
When he opens his eyes, Gerard is gone, and it’s storming.
The lights are flickering unevenly and he can hear the rain pounding on the roof even from his bed, the thunderclaps that shake the whole house and rattle the windows. It’s close. He pads through the room and up to the kitchen, still naked, shivering at the cooling breeze.
When he gets to the kitchen, Gerard is already there, naked too, hanging up the phone. He smiles softly when he sees Mikey.
“That was Mom and Dad,” he explains. “The storm’s a lot worse where they are and they’re not sure it’s safe to drive back. They’ll be home tomorrow around three, I guess?”
Mikey smiles too. “Come back to bed?” he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The lights flicker again.
“Okay. But only if it’s in my bed, yours is gross now.”
“Sure, whatever.”
The lights flicker once more and die and the room goes abruptly dark. Mikey grabs Gerard’s hand tight, squeezing it reassuringly, and leads him back to their room with careful steps. They curl together on the sheets of Gerard’s bed, naked and chilly but keeping each other warm, and they listen to the thunder and the rain until they fall asleep.
Gerard dreams and shakes and chokes for air, and Mikey wakes him, whispers “I’m here,” and holds him tighter until the shaking stops. The house shakes from the thunder and the lightning flashes and the rain pours down.
They sleep, more peaceful than they ever would alone.
