Title: I'd Light Myself On Fire For My Art
Word Count: 1236
Disclaimer: <insert the wittiest and most inclusive disclaimer imaginable here>
Summary: Bob is on fire during the filming of "Famous Last Words," and Brian reacts accordingly.
Ignoring shouts from the crew, the band ran, hurrying away from the raging fire that was quickly escaping control.
From his safe position among the crew, Brian immediately noticed Bob's vacant expression as he stumbled beside Ray.
He wasn't the only one, and in the next second, the crew erupted with cries of Bob's name, everyone trying to get his attention and move him to a medic.
Brian pushed through the crowd, not even apologizing to anyone he shoved. He passed half his band sitting together on an extra set piece. Frank was holding Gerard's abused ankle and apologizing while Gerard grinned like a serial killer and told him he didn't care. A few feet away, he passed Ray and Mikey draining water bottles and laughing in relief.
Great, Brian's manager-side thought as he continued his desperate search. Frontman and kid brother—safe. Irreplaceable guitarist and spaz, just fine. Where the fuck is my drummer?
He pushed a few more people out of his way, and finally—finally—was greeted by the sight of Bob Bryar, face unreadable as a medic wrapped gauze around his entire lower leg.
Christ. Brian stared.
"He was on fire," a PA informed him, "for the entire last take."
"You were on fire?" Brian's voice was breathy and cracked.
Bob looked up at him, gave him a small smile. "I'm okay, Bri."
For a long moment, Brian gaped, a war raging in his head. His manager side urged that Bob had done what Brian would've demanded: taken one for the team and their kick ass video. Bob's boyfriend, however, was screaming for him to punch Bob in an area that was not life-threatening and demand he be more careful. He ended up in a compromise. "I'm proud of you, you crazy fucker."
Bob grinned up at him, and Brian couldn't help but smile back.
They ended up at Bob's a few hours later. Brian had lost the argument about taking Bob to the hospital—honestly, what was his aversion to those beautiful life-saving institutions?—but vowed to that he would knock Bob out and drag him there himself if he ever deemed it necessary.
He settled Bob in bed, bringing him bottles of water and painkiller, changing his shirt for him, and cutting up his pants before easing him into a pair of baggy sweats. He barely flinched at destroying Bob's Black Parade pants but made a mental note to pay for the replacements himself. He fluffed Bob's pillows and placed the remote close by, then stepped back, surveying the area nervously. "Anything else you need?"
"You to kiss me," Bob replied straight-faced. When Brian gave him a chaste peck on the lips, Bob rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Mom."
"Fuck you, Bryar."
Bob grinned, then wiggled his fingers at him. "C'mere."
Carefully, more careful than was necessary, Brian curled up against Bob's side, tucking himself into the curve of Bob's arm.
"That's better," Bob remarked with a sigh.
Brian rested his cheek on Bob's chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"When did you get all domestic on me, huh?" Bob murmured, causing Brian to glare at him indignantly.
"Domestic? Fuck that. What do you think I am, your bitch? I take care of my man—that's it."
Bob smiled, which only enraged Brian more.
"Oh, shut up, you fucker. You were on fire, Bob. On fucking fire! So you will just shut up and take what I'm doing for you whether you're grateful or not. On fire, Bob!"
Bob's eyes sparkled. "You're cute when you're all worked up."
Brian's eyes widened farther than Bob had ever seen before. "Cute?!" he sputtered. "Cute?!"
Bob grew serious. "And the sexiest man I've ever seen."
That shut Brian up.
"And I really really wanna fuck you right now, but I don't think I can."
Quietly, Brian said, "I can take care of that."
Brian nodded, crawling off the bed to strip his clothes off. Bob pulled off his shirt but needed Brian to remove the pants he had just put on. After checking to make sure Bob's foot was still elevated, no part of his bandaged leg in contact with anything but air, he settled beside Bob, facing him. "Don't worry, baby. I got this."
Spreading his legs wide so Bob could see everything, he slid two spit slicked fingers straight up his ass, smiling slightly at the burn as his eyes drifted shut. He was a pain slut, so what; being rough had never killed anyone. He felt around for his prostate, moaning when he hit it.
"Jesus, fuck," Bob growled.
Brian smiled, eyes still closed, fingers still moving inside himself. "You like what you see?"
"You know I do." Bob's voice was dark. "You don't have to be such a tease."
"Don't ruin my fun—oh." His back arched as he rubbed over his spot again.
"C'mon, Bri. Hurry up."
"Isn't that usually my line?" He opened his eyes, watched Bob gaze hungrily at the three fingers now disappearing in and out of his body. Feeling eyes on him, Bob looked up, and Brian held his gaze as he moaned again.
"Brian… please." Bob's voice sounded wrecked just from watching.
"Okay," Brian whispered, straddling Bob's hips, hands on his shoulders. "Yours," he whispered as he slid down, holding Bob's eyes even as he bottomed out and the need consumed him. He whimpered a little at the burn, felt Bob grow even harder inside him, and gave a small moan.
"God, you feel so good," Bob muttered, eyes closed. "I fucking love you, Brian Schechter."
"I fucking love you, too." Then he raised up and slammed back down, forcing a shout out of both of them.
Brian set up a steady pace, fast and hard, knowing they wouldn't be able to last long anyway.
"C'mon, Brian," Bob groaned, looking like a god, sweat and slick hair in his eyes. "Fuckin ride me."
Brian slammed down again, burying bob deeper still in his body. "Yours," he gasped out, leaning forward to kiss, bite and suck across Bob's throat and chest, whispering "yours" whenever he could.
Bob grabbed his face in both hands and pulled him up, catching his mouth in a hot kiss full of need and want, thrusting his hips up and tasting the breath as it was forced out of Brian's body and into his own.
"Oh, God," Brian gasped, feeling his orgasm at the edge of his mind. "Bob, Bob, Bob…"
"C'mon, Brian," Bob urged breathlessly. "C'mon. Come."
He came with a cry, painting Bob's chest as he fucked him through it, not stilling until he came deep in his body.
They slumped together in a heated sticky pile of bliss for a long time until Brian was finally present enough to pull off, both men wincing as their oversensitive skin brushed together. Walking funny, something that filled Bob with pride and love, Brian staggered to the bathroom and returned with a washrag, cleaning them both off before crawling under the blankets beside Bob.
Bob pulled Brian against his chest, resting his chin on the top of Brian's head. "Thank you, Brian."
"Don't mention it." Brian's smile faded. "Seriously, Bryar, if you tell the guys about this, I will fucking eat you."
"I'm okay with that."
"You know what I mean."
"I love you."
"Yeah, yeah," Brian grumbled.
Bob waited, smiling triumphantly when Brian sighed.
"I love you, too."
- Current Mood:artistic
- Current Music:Rolling In The Deep (Adele)
Title: Allison's Teenage Dream
Summary: Allison decided to throw a party to experience her missed high school years.
(Part 1, Part 2)
Title: The Blind Date That Opens Your Eyes
Summary: Tommy and Adam are set up on a blind date by their friends and sparks fly.
(Not So Blind Date, Drowing Out Of Water)
Title: Watch As My World Ends
Summary: In the apocalypse of World War III, everything is a trade. Whether it's goods or services, anyone who has something is someone worth knowing, and everyone has their own backstory.
(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)
Title: Turned Something Beautiful Into Something Sick
Summary: Adam and Tommy are kidnapped by a psycho fan who demands an Adommy performance.
Title: Fanfic Fantasy
Summary: Adam and Tommy play out a fanfic for real.
Title: Another Knot In Your String Of Twinks
Summary: There's unrequited love all around but no second album in sight.
Title: In The Same Place At The Same Time
Summary: Kris and Adam are reunited as judges on American Idol Season Sixteen and realize that they're completely different people than they were before.
My Chemical Romance
Title: Everyone Here Is Fucking Everyone Here
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Ray, Ray/Mikey, Gerard/Ray, Gerard/Mikey
Summary: The band takes their relationship to a new level.
(Frank/Gerard, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Ray, Ray/Mikey, Ray/Gerard, Gerard/Mikey, Epilogue)
Title: Inside The Video
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Mikey/Ray, Bob/Brian
Rating: PG-13/R/PG/NC-17/NC-17 (chronologically)
Summary: The band finds themselves inside their videos.
(I'm Not Okay, Ghost Of You, Helena, Black Parade, Desolation Row)
Title: Stupid Teenagers
Summary: Mikey finally confides in Frank, and the unthinkable happens.
(Stupid Girl, Stupid Boy)
Title: It Doesn't Matter If It's Real Or Fake
Summary: Gerard's stage orgasm leads to surprising results.
Pairing: Party Poison/Fun Ghoul
Summary: Party Poison can feel the end coming.
Title: No More Fallouts For This Fall Out Boy
Summary: Pete's marriage falls apart and the past falls back together.
Title: Lie To Me
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Mikey/Ray
Summary: The boys make a bad interview a little better.
Title: Gerard Of My Chemical Romance
Summary: Gerard realizes the difference between himself and 'Gerard of MCR.'
Title: Jet Star And The Kobra Kid
Pairing: Jet Star/Kobra Kid
Summary: Party Poison discovers something going on between Jet Star and Kobra Kid.
Title: I'd Light Myself On Fire For My Art
Summary: Bob is on fire during the filming of "Famous Last Words," and Brian reacts accordingly.
Title: Prove It
Summary: After Brian talks Gerard down from suicide, Mikey sees him as more than just their manager.
Title: This Is Not Some Kind Of Initiation
Pairing: Frank/Tyler Glenn
Summary: Frank hooks up with Tyler Glenn when Neon Trees opens for My Chemical Romance.
Title: You Make The Noise Go Away
Summary: Frank helps Gerard with his withdrawal needs.
Title: Prove It
Summary: After Brian talks Gerard down from suicide, Mikey sees him as more than just their manager.
Title: Not What You Signed Up For
Summary: Bert has messed Gerard up, and Frank helps him get through it.
Title: Shut Up And Blow Me
Summary: Frank owes Gerard after kicking him in the balls on stage.
Panic! At The Disco
Title: Supenova For You
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, Ryan/Pete
Summary: Ryan would do anything for Brendon. Anything
Title: The South Could Be The Death Of Me
Summary: The heat makes everyone a little crazy.
Title: Sometimes A Cherry Popping Is Just A Cherry Popping (Except For When It's Not)
Pairing: Jon/Spencer, Jon/Brendon, Jon/Ryan
Summary: Jon is a master when it comes to taking V-cards, and it just so happens that Spencer, Ryan, and Brendon are looking for just that.
Title: It Takes One To Know One
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, Bob/Brian
Word Count: 2839
Disclaimer: <insert the wittiest and most inclusive disclaimer imaginable here>
Summary: "Desolation Row" could be the sexiest thing they've ever done… except each other, of course.
Author's Note: The final chapter of the "Inside the Video" verse.
Weeks of Gerard going on and on about the honor of covering Dylan, about how difficult it was to cut such brilliant lyrics, how ecstatic he was to put his twist on a legend, and even Frank was ready to punch him. The band was itching to get in the studio and lay down something original, which was exciting enough without getting to shoot a video for the Watchmen soundtrack.
Frank was so excited he could barely move. Up on the stage, decked out in chains and leather, screaming to a fierce crowd that looked more than capable of biting off his balls—this was what he'd been missing since leaving Jersey's punk scene.
Gerard kept grinning at him throughout the shoot, aware of just how much Frank was loving every minute of it. Having Gerard in those pants—pants practically begging Frank to push his fingers in the holes and get Gerard off—certainly wasn't putting a damper on Frank's mood.
Frank wasn't the only one noticing someone looking even more fuckable than usual. Ray couldn't stop looking over at Mikey at hitching his breath every time he did. There was just something about his hair, a fierceness in his eyes, an aggression in his clothing—the animal in Mikey was bringing out the animal in Ray.
Ray couldn't wait to finish this shoot, deal with the aftermath, and get Mikey to a bed. Or a couch. Or a wall. Fuck, he'd take him in the car if he could.
"Good!" the director shouted. "That looks great. Let's take a break, and then we'll shoot you guys in the van… you know what I mean."
Bob was standing off to the side, shaking out his wrists, when Brian pushed through the crew and launched himself at him. His arms went around Bob's neck, his tongue licked into his mouth, and his body arched into his. He moaned into Bob's mouth and moved his lips to Bob's jaw and throat.
"Fuck, Bob," he growled between bites and kisses. "So fucking hot. God, I've missed watching you play. So hot. Fuck."
Bob managed an aroused chuckle. "You'll love this, then. We're getting back in the studio."
"Fuck yeah." Brian fused their mouths together and rolled his hips, creating delicious friction between their covered cocks.
Bob groaned. "Brian. Brian, this isn't going to be a long break."
Brian rolled hi hips again. "We'll just have to be fast then."
For a moment, he thought Bob was going to turn him. Then Bob grinned, took Brian's arm, and pulled him away.
Dragging Brian into a now-abandoned make-up room, Bob shoved him against the door and kissed him hungrily. Brian fumbled behind him for the lock as Bob dry humped him, kissing his throat and jaw as Brian gripped his shoulders tightly. Bob dropped to his knees, fingers immediately undoing Brian's pants.
"But…" Brian gasped, "I wanted… you…"
"You can do me next," Bob muttered and licked along Brian's length, shutting him up immediately.
Wrapping his lips around the head of Brian's cock, Bob slowly sank down, drawing out the feeling of having his mouth and throat filled until Brian's cock was nestled snugly in his mouth. He waited for as long as he could before needing to breathe, then began a quick pace of up, down, repeat, continuing steadily until Brian was whimpering and gasping above him.
He slid a dry finger inside Brian's ass, choking off all sound, holding it steady against Brian's prostate until he was shaking hard. He sucked hard, rubbed his finger harder, and Brian came apart around him, tightening and tensing until he slumped back against the wall, biting his hand to keep from screaming. Bob licked him clean and fixed his pants before coming up for a gentle kiss, all sliding tongue and soft lips.
Brian wasn’t quite sure how this had happened, how he'd managed to get someone as amazing as Bob for his own, how Bob managed to change him from his typical asshole self into someone who begged and needed so much. He didn't really care, just as long as it never stopped or went away.
"I need to suck you off," Brian whispered, the throaty desperation making Bob shiver.
"I'm not going to stop you," he managed to whisper in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner but was fairly transparent.
Then Brian pulled his pants down, fisted his dick and sucked hard on the head, and nothing mattered anymore.
If anyone asked, Brian would adamantly deny and tell the person to fuck off, but he loved sucking cock, loved the feeling of Bob filling his mouth, loved it when Bob pulled his hair and fucked his face. He knew he would be in trouble if he kept Bob too long, but he had to risk it for just a few more moments of licking and sucking. Then he grabbed Bob's hands, threaded them into his hair, and braced himself on the door behind Bob.
That was all the invitation Bob needed to thrust his hips, taking what he wanted, what he needed, from Brian's mouth, taking everything Brian offered and giving everything he had in return. He came hard and fast, choking Brian, who couldn't have been happier.
He returned the favor, tucking Bob back into his pants, and rested against his chest, Bob's cheek resting against his hair. Bob was just so strong, his chest and shoulder muscles so firm… Brian wasn't quite sure when it had happened, when everything Bob was had become everything he ever wanted, but he knew it was true.
"I love you," he whispered against Bob's throat, felt Bob's smile before a gentle kiss was pressed to the top of his head.
"I love you, too."
Bob crawled loosely into the van, leaned against the wall, and let his entire body sag into a general blissed out feeling.
The guys eyed him as they climbed in and settled around him.
"What the fuck, Bob?" Frank teased. "Marathon fuck tire you out?"
"We have the best manager ever."
Being in front of a crowd that looked like they could bite your balls off and one that actually would were completely different, Frank realized as soon as he found himself on stage in the video.
And the second crowd was totally fucking awesome.
Gerard freaked out at first, when he saw the set list taped to the monitor in front of him. Misfits, Morrissey, Smith, Depeche Mode, Queen, Black Sabbath. Nothing he'd sung before, outside his shower. And the way the band played them, like the new arrangements were built into them, was unlike anything Gerard had ever heard.
And they sounded totally fucking awesome.
Gerard worked the crowd, screaming at them, cursing the government, insulting the weak- and closed-minded. Ray was shredding with a new intensity, and even Mikey couldn't keep from headbanging and jumping with the crowd. Frank occasionally went into water-fountain-mode, filling his mouth with enough water to spit sky high before chucking the mostly full bottle at the crowd.
Before long, they were bowed off stage as the second band they were headlining with took over. They were fucking intimidating, Gerard realized as they passed, four guys and a girl who all looked more than capable of kicking his ass. Tattoos, piercings, spikes, leather, fierce hair. Gerard could see nipple rings pushing against the shredded material of the girl's lowcut top, and he was pretty sure the frontman's eyes were bleeding.
The guys collapsed in their dressing room, wiping down the sweat from their bodies, none of them relishing the upcoming battle to remove their skin-tight, and now sweat-soaked, clothing.
Gerard was startled by the hoarse and rasping sound of Frank's destroyed voice and looked over to see him staring with eyes so lust blown they were black. He had never seen Frank filled with so much need, his face and body tight and screaming with it.
Gerard slowly walked across the room, hips swaying purposely, not stopping until he was directly in front of Frank. Not moving in his chair, Frank was eye-level with Gerard's barely covered cock, and Gerard could hear his ragged inhale, see him lick his lips with want. Before he could move, Gerard grabbed Frank's head with both hands, bent at the waist, and crashed their mouths together fiercely, teeth clicking, mouths open and wet with spit, as they sucked and licked at each other.
Frank whimpered when Gerard finally pulled back, but Gerard just gave him a smoldering look before taking his hand and leading him to the next unused dressing room.
The roar of the crowd bounced off the walls and filled the room; the drums and bass reverberated through the floor. Everything making Frank high was magnified: the crowd, the music, Gerard.
He whimpered again, and wrapped his arms around Gerard, sealing their mouths together.
Quickly, he dropped to his knees, his breathing hot on the bare skins between the shreds of material over Gerard's thighs, and Gerard couldn't help but fall back against the wall, needing the support. Frank licked at the bare skin, his tongue slick and wet, the feeling disappearing occasionally as he ran into a strip of material. His fingers crept into the holes to massage Gerard's cock, teasing and stroking him.
Gerard slammed his head against the wall repeatedly, but nothing he did could lessen the pleasure coursing through him.
Frank stopped suddenly, his hand warm and unmoving on Gerard's thigh, his forehead and shallow breathing coming against Gerard's leg.
"Frank? What is it?"
Frank looked up at him, eyes wide, face completely open. "I need to fuck you. Now."
Gerard swallowed, hard, then nodded furiously. "Yes, please, Frankie, yes."
Manhandling Gerard in a way that turned him on even more, Frank pushed Gerard against the makeup counter, bending him over and kicking his legs apart. For a moment, he rutted against Gerard's ass, listening as Gerard's breathing came in short burst mixed with high whining sounds.
"I could come, just from this," Frank choked out. "Oh, God, Gee!"
"C'mon, Frankie, please. Fuck me. Please."
Resting his forehead against Gerard's back, Frank's fingers made quick work of Gerard's belt, button, and zipper before roughly tugging the pants as far down Gerard's thighs as he could get them.
Gerard gasped and then moaned as the cool air moved over his overheated skin, then reached back and began fingering himself with spit slicked fingers.
Frank stepped back for a moment, needing to get a little distance from the sight before him, getting his cock out and running a hand over it. "I don't… I don't have anything."
"Doesn't matter," Gerard gasped, his fingers moving faster and more furiously inside his hole. "I need you inside me. Now."
Quickly, Frank slapped his hand away, causing Gerard to moan from the loss of friction, and, with one hand guiding his cock and the other resting on Gerard's hip, he slid inside.
Gerard screamed; Frank's entire body was practically vibrating with energy as he filled him fully. "Oh, God; oh, God. Frankie… Frank… fuck."
Frank grunted, then swore, as he pulled out almost all the way and then slammed back in, setting up a brutal pace as he worked himself in and out of Gerard's tight body.
Gerard's fingers scrambled against the countertop, searching aimlessly for a lip or a ridge to grab onto, just to have something to hold onto, as his body rocked hard back and forth.
"Frankie, I'm so close, I'm so close," he gasped out, sweat running in his eyes and sticking his hair to his face.
Frank already knew that, could feel the way Gerard's body was tightening around him. Both hands were tightly gripping Gerard's hips, feeling the bones beneath, and he was gasping for air that he couldn't get.
"Don't," he choked out when Gerard made to reach for his cock. "Just from me. I want you to come… just from me."
Gerard whimpered but obeyed, lifting his hips as much as he could from the countertop as Frank pressed down on him.
A few more solid thrusts straight across Gerard's prostate, and Gerard was coming hard, screaming out Frank's name and a slew of curses.
Frank was still pounding into him even after he had finished coming down, unable to come but needing it so desperately. Even though Frank was rubbing him raw, Gerard just winced, gritted his teeth for a moment, then moaned. "C'mon, Frankie. Come inside me. Come, now."
And Frank did, releasing deep inside Gerard's body as he shuddered, hips stuttering in their rhythm as he collapsed on Gerard's back.
With Frank still inside him, Gerard reached for Frank's hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed over his tattoos.
"God, I love you, Frank."
"Yeah," Frank gasped. "I love you, too. So fucking much, Gee. So fucking much."
It wasn't too long after Gerard and Frank had both stumbled back to the band's makeup room and slumped on opposite chairs, trying to cool down, that the promoter came in and told them the crowd was screaming for them.
"They won't leave without an encore from you guys, and you don't want to mess with them."
Mikey couldn't help but agree.
Back out on the stage, Gerard looking feral, Frank looking blissed, Bob looking intense, Mikey only had eyes for Ray. For the way Ray's hands moved over the guitar strings, the way his thigh muscles flexed when he moved, the way his face focused in concentration, the way his hair moved. Everything about his entranced Mikey.
It wasn't long at all before fights broke out in the crowd, as the cops pushed through. They took down Bob first, easily from his seated position, as they stormed the stage. Ray fought them down, beating them with his guitar. Mikey had thought Ray would eat his firstborn before he let any risk of damage near his guitar, but he was clearly wrong. For a moment, he forgot to play, forgot what the hell was happening, other than Ray Toro was beating a blockade with his guitar.
It was mere moments, really, before they were all roughed up and forced outside, shoved into the back of the van, and then the door slammed shut—
And they were back in the real world.
Frank and Mikey were grinning at each other like idiots; Bob immediately went in search of Brian.
When Ray turned, he saw Mikey staring with wide hungry eyes and a deep longing written on every plane of his face.
"Mikey?" Ray stepped closer, concerned. "Are you okay?"
"I need you to fuck me," Mikey rasped out, and Ray was immediately hard. He wrapped his fingers through Mikey's, his palm warm and large against Mikey's slender hands and led him away.
"Ray…" Mikey's voice was almost a whine. Almost.
"In a bed, Mikey."
And Mikey had to be content with that.
Ray got him to a bed, much fast than the speed limit allotted for, and stripped out of his clothes while Mikey did the same.
They lay down together, kissing, tangling their limbs together in a sweat slicked mess than only made everything more slippery and wonderful.
"So hot," Mikey gasped out as Ray bit across his throat, roughing the skin with his teeth and sucking on it. "You were so fucking hot, beating up that blockade. Fuck, Ray. Fuck!"
"Is that a formal invitation?" Ray muttered, working at Mikey's collarbone.
Mikey bobbed his head furiously. "Yes. Please, Ray. Fuck me."
Ray spread lube across his fingers—Ray always had lube, carried it with him like a fucking boy scout—and when he buried those fingers inside Mikey's hole, Mikey didn't have a negative thought about it. Ray was careful, yes; he made sure he always had lube so he wouldn't hurt Mikey. But he didn't treat him like he was fragile, made of glass; he slicked up and thrust inside.
"Oh, God, Ray!" Mikey breathed, his voice high and breathy, gripping tightly to Ray's broad shoulders, feeling the muscles roll and clench beneath his fingers.
"Mikey," Ray whispered, his hair falling against Mikey's face as he bent down and kissed him, lips soft and warm as they moved against Mikey's, gentle for barely a moment before becoming aggressive and demanding.
Mikey moaned. "Yes, Ray. Yes."
It was fast, deep, hard, everything Mikey had loved seeing in Ray in the video. Ray controlled him, dominated him, owned him mind, body, and soul.
Mikey had no problem telling him that as he came, calling out Ray's name and telling him the he belonged to him.
Hearing Mikey say that, hearing, "I'm yours, Ray. I'm yours," made Ray come, hard, deep inside Mikey's body.
They held each other through the aftershocks, spooning together after.
"I love you so much, Mikey. So much," Ray whispered in his ear. "You know that, right?"
Mikey smiled. "Yeah, Ray. I know." He turned in Ray's arms, kissed him gently. "I love you, too. Forever."
Ray smiled, too. "Forever."
- Current Mood: cheerful
- Current Music:Warwick Avenue (Duffy)
Title: So Long And Goodnight
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey
Word Count: 1786
Disclaimer: I don't own MCR or claim that this is true. (You know the drill.)
Summary: Gerard is forced to relive Helena's death, even after the video wraps.
Part 1: "I'm Not Okay"
The "Helena" shoot took place over two cold rainy LA days. The mood was a bipolar combination of excitement (the fans' enthusiasm that they were near the band, the band's hopefulness about shooting their defining video) and depression (the boys' sorrow and hurt as they remembered the passing of Mikey's and Gerard's grandma).
"It's like reliving a really bad day," Gerard told the camera crew, essentially summing up the emotions of everyone involved.
There was a general feeling of loss and sorrow surrounding the boys in the band. The song was a tribute to Mikey and Gerard's late grandmother; the video paid her homage. This was the woman who had taught Gerard to sing, who had inspired the brothers' musical talents, who had bought the band their first tour van. While Mikey and Gerard mourned their grandma, the remaining members mourned the loss of a mentor who had gotten them to the amazing point they were at in their lives.
The boys were troopers, bound and determined to make the video a testament to Helena's memory, and they kept it together through the end of the shoot.
It was a collective sigh of relief to be standing before the MTV crew, signing off their video.
As was his nature, Frank was determined to lighten the mood and proceeded to crawl into the casket.
He was successful, at breaking up some of the tension, if not at getting into the casket. Ray sputtered nonsense, grabbed Frank around the waist, and pulled him back as Frank continued to struggle towards the casket. They finished off their goodbyes quickly and in laughter.
Laughing, Frank struggled out of Ray's grip, turned, and…
No crew, no cameras, no fans—just an empty church ready for a funeral.
"Oh, God," Gerard whispered.
"You guys were…" Bob breathed. "I thought you were all messed up; I thought I was joining the nuthouse when you told me…"
"That our videos come to life?" Mikey said dryly. "No joke, man."
"I see that."
Ray rubbed his face. "I was so hoping that was a one-time thing."
"No shit," Frank said. "Cool as it was…"
"I just relived her funeral as a video for two days, when I could walk away and cry in a car or a closet or stare at unopened beer bottles while I smoked enough cigarettes to smoke out a houseful of termites," Gerard whispered. "I can't… When it's real… How am I supposed to walk away when this is too much?"
Mikey came up behind Gerard, resting his forehead against the side his brother's. "It's okay, Gee. We'll get through this. All of us."
Gerard numbly, wanting to believe Mikey but not really able to.
"Excuse me?" The pink haired girl from the video walked up to them, just a little bit too forward but trying to be gentle. "They're ready to start, if you are."
Gerard wouldn't meet Ray's eyes when he tried to gauge his readiness, so Ray held his arm out to the girl and led her out of the church.
Frank put a hand on Bob's arm. "C'mon, Bob. Let's pop your 'the video is now real' cherry." He quickly kissed Gerard's cheek, then walked with Bob to the church doors.
For a moment, Mikey and Gerard stood in silence. Then Mikey took a deep breath and wrapped an arm around Gerard's waist. "Come on. Let's not stand at the front of the church; let's get out of sight for as long as we can."
Gerard just nodded and let Mikey lead him away.
For a while, things progressed just like a drawn out version of the video. Ray walked the pink-haired girl to her seat; Bob and Frank handed out 'Helena' cards. Then Frank paid his respects to Helena and sat with Ray and Bob in the front row.
After giving his brother one last hug, Mikey set off down the aisle.
Gerard stumbled after him, every foot feeling like a mile. He could feel eyes on him, sympathetic and appraising, all wondering, How is he?
I'm not okay, he though bitterly, ignoring the irony, and then he was at the pulpit, looking out at the congregation. He could feel their piercing eyes, examining him as if under a microscope.
His throat felt thick, like there wasn't enough room for air to pass through; his mouth felt swollen, like he couldn't form words. His entire body burned with a wet heat that threatened to consume him at any moment.
"Helena," he began in a small voice, hearing his voice crack, and that knowledge only breaking him down further. "She was my grandmother, first and foremost. She was…"
Listening to his brother say just who Helena was to all the people in her life, Mikey could feel his throat burning like he was on fire. He had thought this was over. As difficult as shooting the video had been, it had been nothing compared to Helena's actual funeral, and Mikey had thought that this burning agony was over. Clearly, he had been wrong.
As he listened to Gerard ramble through childhood memories, stories of Helena making Gerard's Peter Pan costume, teaching him to sing, buying the band their van, Bob was filled with a longing he hadn't known before, a desire to meet Helena and a regret at never having the chance.
On and on Gerard spoke, not really sure what he was saying, just knowing that he had a million memories of his grandmother, and he needed to share them so that she wouldn't be forgotten. These people hadn't known her, not really, and he needed them to, he needed them to know just how special and beautiful and perfect she had been.
Behind all his words, guilt wormed inside him. Helena had been so disappointed when he'd turned to alcohol, to pills, to drugs; he had let her down, been such a disappointment to her. He was clean now, if only for a little while, but he had failed her while she was alive. Her final months had known him as a pathetic boy who couldn't hold it together, who was flailing to keep up and turning to alternative methods to create an image.
She would never know just what he was capable of without those nasty things in his system; she would never see him sing and be proud of the beautiful voice he had. He had failed her once, and he swore never to do so again.
So he continued his endless stories, babbling on and on about all his childhood memories of this beautiful person, vowing that she would not be forgotten.
Finally, finally, the feeling of running down a steep hill, out of control, began to fade, and he felt like he could finally catch his breath.
Turning away, Gerard stumbled to the casket. Looking inside at that beautiful girl was so different from staring down at his grandmother's body, but strangely, it was exactly the same. This girl was his grandmother, in spirit, leaving him forever. No more music lessons, no more late night phone calls. Helena was never going to see him take on the world, never going to come see him on tour, never see all she had made him…
He sagged against the casket, tears streaming down his face, and then his body gave out, sending him crashing to the floor. On his knees, hunched over helplessly, he sobbed.
Frank watched Gerard shake uncontrollably, heard the broken sounds he made, and his heart broke. Silent tears slid down his face.
Beside him, Mikey watched his brother break down and was grateful for Ray's arm around him. He buried his face in Ray's shoulder, feeling the pain of losing Helena himself. She was never going to hold him again, never tell him that everything was going to be okay even when he was scared or alone or so self-deprecating that he felt like his world was ending. Never again.
Taking pity, a girl Bob recognized as one of the dancers helped Gerard to his feet and led him to his seat. Frank wrapped his arms around him, pulling Gerard tight to his chest, and Gerard clung to him.
The dancers performed in Helena's memory, giving Gerard time to hiccup himself back into control.
And then it happened.
Helena sat up and turned to the congregation with wide all-knowing eyes. With all the grace of a ballerina, she climbed from the casket and approached Mikey as if she were floating weightlessly.
Mikey felt her cold fingertips graze his jaw as she smiled at him, Helena's voice in his head. I love you, Mikey, and I'm so happy for you.
She spun away, moving with alien grace into Gerard's personal space, her large eyes barely inches away from his own.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, breaking again. "I'm so sorry."
If possible, the girl's eyes widened further. I'm so proud of you.
Dancing away, she tossed her head towards the boys one last time. Take care of each other. And then she danced her way through the congregation, before falling back into her casket.
The rain poured down as the band carried Helena's casket down the church steps. The dancers continued their wailing movements, and Gerard felt that he had never carried anything heavier in his life.
It struck him again, the insane misery and sadness and terror and guilt that he couldn't control, and he broke again, tears falling heavier than the rain, body shaking so hard that Ray had to work doubly hard to keep Helena's casket from plummeting.
They pushed the casket into the hearse, and Gerard pressed his hand to the glass for one final goodbye.
Ray stood beside Bob, his arms wrapped around a numb and broken Mikey. Gerard clung to Frank like he was the only person left in the world.
And then the sounds of bustling crews, fans, and equipment roared around them, back in the real world.
Frank held Gerard tightly, letting him know that he was there and wasn't going anywhere. "It's going to be all right, Gerard, I promise."
The rest of the band surrounded them. When Mikey stepped forward, Frank backed away, relinquishing Gerard to his brother's care.
"I know how proud she is of you," Mikey said gently, his eyes bright with tears, "how proud we all are."
Gerard threw his arms around his brother, the two little boys who had lost their grandma clinging to the other, the only other person in the world who truly understood their love and grief.
For a second, Gerard could hear Helena's distant and beautiful voice singing for the last time.
So long and goodnight; so long and goodnight.
Part 3: "The Ghost Of You"
- Current Mood: tired
- Current Music:Ready To Go (Panic! At The Disco)
Title: The World Will Never Take My Heart
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, Bob/Brian
Word Count: 3412
mcr_bingo prompt: AU—Apocalypse
Disclaimer: I don't own MCR or claim that this is true. (You know the drill.)
Summary: Mikey doesn't want to do the video for "Black Parade."
"I don't want to do the video."
All eyes turned to Mikey as he dropped the bomb. The band was sitting in the living room of the rented house, discussing the singles and videos for the new album. Brian was sitting casually between Bob's spread legs, leaning back against his chest with Bob's arms wrapped around him, listening to the world Gerard was depicting. Gerard was sitting on the edge of the couch, almost falling off in his excitement as he talked about the Black Parade he saw in his head. Frank sat next to him, watching intently, the small smile on his face a mixture of infatuation and amusement at Gerard's excitement. Ray sat casually on the opposite couch, and beside him, Mikey grew more and more tense as Gerard went into further detail.
"I don't want to do it."
"Mikey…" Gerard didn't know what to say. This was Mikey, his kid brother, his band mate. He was supposed to want to follow him into hell if that's where inspiration led.
"Why?" Brian asked, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.
"It scares me shitless," Mikey said flatly, ignoring the blush creeping along his jaw. "I don't mind shooting the video… it's the after that's the problem."
Brian nodded, having been filled in by the band on what happened after a video shoot wrapped.
"It's just a performance," Frank said. "Just us standing on a float. We don’t even get off it."
"Thank God." Mikey shuddered. "But it doesn't matter. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl and my heart race, and I feel like I need to take a shitload of pills before I have a heart attack."
"Why?" Frank asked the question on everyone's mind.
"I don't know, okay?" Mikey pushed a hand through his hair. "If I could explain it to you, maybe it would be okay. But all I know is that every time I think of this place, it sets me on edge, makes me itch and shake like nobody's business and I can't stop the waves of fucking terror."
Ray put an arm around him comfortingly, but Mikey remained stiff and immobile.
Gerard talked about the video some more, explained the world in even further depth, trying to make Mikey see the art he saw in his head.
Mikey saw the art; that wasn't the problem. It was having to live the art, live in that dark, horrible, terrifying world Gerard had created that scared him beyond belief.
It was late by the time Brian called an end to the talks. No progress had been made; Mikey remained as immovable as before.
"Just think about it, okay?" Brian asked Mikey.
Mikey nodded to appease him, knowing his mind was already made up and no more amount of thinking would change it.
Gerard held Ray back for a moment. "Do what you can, Ray. Please?"
Mikey lay in bed, waiting for Ray to crawl in with him. He was fully naked when he did, lying down beside Mikey without a word, mouth immediately fixing to his, hand resting on Mikey's cock. They kissed wordlessly for a few minutes, Ray rubbing and palming Mikey until Mikey was whimpering and moaning into his mouth.
Mikey was being rubbed raw as Ray continued touching him, stroking him, pushing him toward the edge, until he came in his hand.
Mikey gasped raggedly as he came down, swallowing hard when Ray licked Mikey's come from his fingers with deliberate slides of his tongue.
"Fuck, Ray," he managed to choke out.
"I know you're scared," Ray whispered, watching him carefully, "but it's better when you're with me, isn't it?"
Mikey nodded hesitantly.
"I'll be right there with you, right beside you, the whole time. You know that."
Mikey sighed. "It doesn't matter, Ray. It doesn't change anything."
Ray eased over so he was half draped over Mikey, his hard cock rubbing against the inside of Mikey's hip, making him gasp. He dragged his fingers down Mikey's body, over his softened cock, past his balls, rubbing at this hole until Mikey was making little sounds and bucking up into him, trying to move his fingers further.
"C'mon, Ray," Mikey breathed. "C'mon."
Ray slid his fingers in, teasing and tormenting, sliding in and out of Mikey but not giving him enough friction, teasing around his prostate without giving in, stretching him wide but not filling him.
"God, Ray," Mikey whimpered. "Ray, please. Please."
Ray couldn't believe he was about to do this, but he pushed aside his conscience and did it anyway. He pulled his fingers out, resting them gently outside of Mikey's body.
Mikey gasped, hard. "Ray?"
"Do the video, Mikey?"
Mikey looked up at him, eyes hurt and betrayed. "What?"
"I'll finish you off so good if you do," Ray continued, unable to meet his eyes. "The best sex of your life, for as long as it takes. Whenever you want, wherever you want, whatever you want. If you do this video, I'll be your sex slave."
Mikey pulled away. "Ray…"
Mikey shook his head. "You know I'm not like that."
"Then why did you do it? Why did you do this, Ray?"
Suddenly Gerard's voice came from down the hallway. "Less talking, more fucking!"
"Fuck off, Gerard!" Mikey shouted and was rewarded when a door slammed.
He focused on Ray. "Why, Ray?"
"So you do the video," Ray mumbled.
"You're gonna hold back sex if I don't do the video, but if I do, you'll fuck me the best of my life?"
Ray looked away. "No."
"No?" Mikey repeated, incredulously. "No?"
"No. I was being stupid. I wouldn't do that. I'm sorry, Mikey." He finally met Mikey's eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry."
Mikey nodded, still hurt. "Okay."
"Do you… Do you want me to finish you? Or do you not want me to touch you right now?"
Mikey gave a small smile. "I'll always want you, Ray."
"That's not the same thing."
"You think I don't want you to fuck me cuz you were a dick to me?"
"Uhh…yeah." He ducked his head and whispered again, "I'm sorry."
"Make it up to me," Mikey ordered, rocking his hips against Ray's fingers.
Ray pressed his lips to Mikey's as he slid inside him, finally.
The new day brought another day of band meetings. This was supposed to be the compromise meeting, where Gerard made concessions so that Mikey was comfortable with the video. However, Gerard was attempting bribery instead. He was so sure of the vision in his head, so set, that he was determined to create it by any means necessary.
"You can fuck Frankie."
Gerard blurted out the suggestion, catching most members of the room by surprise. Frank, however, seemed nonplussed; perhaps they had discussed this the night before. Perhaps Frank was so set on Gerard having his way that there were no limits to what he would do to make Gerard happy.
"If you'll do this for me, I'll let you fuck Frankie."
"I don't want to fuck Frankie." Mikey's tone was flat.
Bob laughed. "Not quite the catch you thought you were, huh, Frank?"
"Fuck you," Frank retorted good-naturedly.
"He didn't say no to that."
"Anything you want, Mikey. Name it, and it's yours," Gerard pressed, desperation creeping into his voice. "Do you want to fuck me? I'll totally let you, anywhere, any way you want."
"God, man, come on…"
"Right now?" Gerard stood up, one hand going to the hem of his shirt the other reaching for his belt.
Gerard stopped, hands immobile at his waist. "When?"
"Never!" Mikey's voice was part incredulous, part horrified. "I'm not fucking you in exchange for the video! Stop trying to throw people at me. I'm not fifteen; you can't use sex to get me to do what you want."
Gerard slumped back onto the couch, out of ideas.
For a moment, no one said anything. Perhaps this was it. Maybe Mikey had won and Gerard was finally going to admit defeat, concede to Mikey and change the video to suit his needs.
"Mikey, this is going to be the greatest thing any of us has ever done. Please. Please do this. For us."
Mikey looked around. He could see agreement Bob and Brian's faces. Frank's held a desperate pleading edge. When he looked to Ray, however, Ray turned away, not wanting to sway Mikey's decision.
Mikey took a deep breath. He couldn't explain just what about this concept put him on edge, terrified him, made him hate this project so intensely, but it was there, eating away at him even now. But this wasn't about him. This was about the band. This was about the five guys surrounding him, waiting for him, begging him. They needed him to do this.
He let the breath go. "Fine."
Ray kissed him gently in bed, running a warm hand over his chest, stopping when Mikey shivered. "What is it?"
"I'm scared, Ray," Mikey whispered. "I don’t know why, but I am. And nothing makes it go away."
The fear and helplessness in Mikey's voice struck Ray hard, and he leaned back in, pausing just long enough to say, "Stop me if you don't want this."
And then he kissed him, hard, lips fervent and almost rough against his, tongue slick and warm as it slid into his mouth and curled around his own. Ray's hand rubbed at his chest some more, pinching and rolling his nipple until Mikey was gasping hard, having to pull away from the kiss to be able to breath. Ray just moved on, pressed hot open-mouthed kisses to his neck, biting and sucking on his throat, tugging his nipples with his teeth.
He continued down Mikey's body, giving no warning and not stopping before he wrapped his lips around Mikey's cock, sliding down until his nose was pressed to Mikey's belly, and swallowing as hard as he could.
Mikey cried out, his back arching up off the bed, his fingers burying in Ray's hair. "Oh, God, God, Ray… Ray… Ray…"
Ray held on for as long as he could until the lack of air was just too much before he pulled back. He gasped for air quickly, then went down on Mikey again, licking and sucking him with a single-minded determination.
When Mikey was gasping and writhing beneath him, Ray pulled off again, pushing Mikey's knees up and apart, exposing him fully, then ducked his head again, kissing Mikey's hole before licking at the puckered skin.
Above him, Mikey was shaking and crying out, almost in tears at the intensity of Ray's actions.
But Ray didn't stop or slow; he licked his way inside Mikey's body, sliding his tongue around and pushing his fingers in, one by one, to rub against him.
Mikey whimpered again and again, gasping Ray's name and rocking his hips, his eyes squeezed tight. Ray could feel him tightening around his tongue and fingers, knew he was close, and thrust his tongue in as far as it would go, rubbing his fingers hard against Mikey's prostate.
Mikey screamed, his body arching off the bed as he came, crashing down and gasping for air.
Ray continued licking inside him during the aftershocks but didn't stop when Mikey was done. Mikey started to whimper again, over-sensitized, and Ray pulled his tongue away, fingering Mikey as he went down on him again.
Mikey cried out at the first feel of Ray's tongue lapping the come from his cock. It hurt, but it felt so good. He wanted him to stop, but he didn't want it to ever end.
Ray stretched out on top of him, finally kissing him again, feeling Mikey gasp and moan and whimper into his mouth. He slid inside, feeling Mikey buck up against him, hard again, every nerve inside him alive and moving. Ray set up a steady pace, fast and hard, thrusting in and out of Mikey, rubbing hard against his spot.
When he felt Ray spill inside him, Mikey threw back his head and screamed through his orgasm.
Pulling out, Ray wrapped his arms around Mikey, holding him tight as he fell into a dreamless sleep.
Weeks later, they were finally on the set, and the guys were giddy with excitement as they toured. As Ray snapped pictures and Gerard practically hummed with enthusiasm, Mikey couldn't help but feel a little bit better about this entire situation. Maybe this would all be okay after all.
"Thank you!" Gerard threw himself at his kid brother, wrapping his arms around him, breath hot on his neck. "Thank you so much for doing this."
With all the smiles going around, Mikey was inclined to agree: this was going to be okay.
Bob was kind enough to stick to Mikey's side during interviews, deflecting what questions he could whenever he thought Mikey needed it.
When asked about the video plot, Mikey gave a short laugh for the MTV crew, glancing over his shoulder at the monstrous set filling the area, the desolation that stretched as far as the eye could see. "If this is what death looks like, I'm going to be really scared."
The crew laughed and moved on to interview Gerard some more, and Bob wrapped an around Mikey's waist for a moment, hugging him tight. "You're doing great, Mikes."
Mikey gave a weak smile. "So far."
Pulling on his uniform felt comfortable, everything tailor fitted by the most amazing seamstress they could find. That was good, Mikey supposed, as he was going to be wearing it every night for the entire tour.
Seeing everyone dressed, feeling the excitement coming off them, Mikey felt… good, surprisingly. Confident. Nervous, but almost in an excited way, like playing on a new stage or playing new material.
The video shoot wasn't too taxing on their part, just hours and hours of playing while standing on a float. Nothing scary, nothing mind-blowing, just a band playing their music.
And then the shoot was over.
Mikey felt his nerves return full force, almost throwing up when the director called out the wrap of the video.
His hands shook as he set aside his guitar and joined the band for the final interview. Brian walked past him on his way to Bob and managed to spare a small smile for Mikey even in his own nervousness; this was the first video he knew that the boys were about to head off into a strange adventure he couldn't help them with.
Mikey kept shaking and rocking, clutching his hands into fists, squeezing his eyes shut, swallowing against the nausea threatening to consume him.
Before he could prepare himself, the camera crews were gone, and they were the Black Parade.
If Mikey thought that the terror, the nausea, the anger, all the emotions battling inside him, were bad enough before, being in the parade made them suddenly a thousand time worse.
He threw himself into Ray's arms, sure he was going to be ripped apart, sure that the terror was going to make him go insane. He needed Ray, he needed anxiety meds, he needed the inhaler he didn't really need.
"Mikey, Mikey, Mikey," Ray soothed, wrapping his arms around him and clutching him tightly, trying to pour strength and comfort into the man trembling in his arms. Seeing Mikey this terrified, holding him through it and attempting to comfort him… this was almost as bad as "Ghost of You" all over again.
Gerard barely noticed, so wrapped up in the awe of seeing the world in his head become real. He couldn't stop looking, turning in circles again and again, squinting to see farther, trying to take everything in.
The boys looked up as the clouds rumbled, their colors shifting in sick green and purple hues as the voice of Mother War rang out like the voice of God. "You know the rules. You made the agreement, to parade souls for eternity instead of spending it alone in purgatory. Don't make me back out on my end of the agreement."
Gerard's eyes widened in awe and understanding; that's why the Black Parade existed here! He had never known before, not really, but it fit so perfectly he couldn't believe he hadn't realized it before.
As the song began and the float lurched forward, Mikey dared to look around at the other parade members. There were hundreds of them, all with hard sharp eyes and slow steady movement. This was routine for them; he could see it in their unfaltering motions. They had done this for time out of mind, and they would, presumably, continue for all eternity.
Oh, God. The shaking hit him again. All eternity, in this place.
He swallowed down his fear, remembering Mother War's words. It was this, or eternity alone in purgatory. An eternity without Ray? Gerard? The band? It was unthinkable, and even more terrifying than his current situation.
So he played.
For hours and hours they played, the parade marching on through the barren wasteland. The other parade members were stony faced and solemn, none of their faces showing the terror Mikey felt, only strength and anger and bitterness.
Every so often, the terror would get to be too much and Mikey would begin to freak out, going into a panic so fierce he couldn't stand without shaking, much less play. When this happened, Ray would hold him tightly, whispering soothing things to him as the band played on, covering up the temporary loss of their bass player and guitarist. The comfort was allowed for a few moments before the clouds overhead would shift in color and the booming voice of Mother War cried, "Play! Now!" Mikey would scramble back to his position, and the parade continued.
Finally, finally, the parade came to a stop as Gerard presented the medal to the Patient. The Patient turned back to look at them, and the guilt and fear welled up so overwhelmingly that Mikey couldn't stop the apologies that began to spill out of him.
"I’m sorry, so sorry, I had no idea… I never…"
The Patient gave Mikey a smile, warm and genuine, no trace of fear or anger or any of the other emotions tearing Mikey apart. "Thank you."
Then the Patient walked away, disappearing into the city.
Stumbling slightly, the band reappeared in the real world. The cameras and crew members were all busy dismantling sets and moving out, and no one noticed their short time of awkward reorientation.
Brian was there, of course, having waited beside Bob since the wrap, waiting for the inevitable disappearance and reappearance. Brian wrapped his arms around Bob, holding him tightly, running his fingers over his body to be sure that his man was all in one piece.
"I'm okay, Brian," Bob reassured, guessing what Brian was up to.
Brian smiled at him. "I just needed to be sure."
Bob kissed him then, lips warm and soft, beard scratching Brian's face pleasantly, the burn on sensitive skin making him tingle and arch closer.
Mikey stood numbly, not looking at anyone or anything specifically, just there.
Gerard noticed and was suddenly struck by intense guilt. He had chosen his art over his brother, his brother, his Mikey.
Gerard came up to Mikey, resting his hand gently on the side of his brother face's to get him to look at him. "Mikes? Are you okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you. You said you couldn't do it; I should have listened. I'm sorry."
Mikey shook his head. "You were right. I could do it, and I did. He thanked me." There was awe and wonder in his eyes and voice.
Gerard gave him a small smile.
"We really are helping people."
Gerard's smile grew into a toothy grin. "I told you that one day being freaks would make people love us."
Gerard was tugged away then by an excited Frank, and Mikey felt a strong arm wrap around his waist. Ray's warmth immediately filled him as he rested against Ray's chest. They didn't say anything, didn't need to.
Eventually, they separated enough to go get some rest.
They had another video to shoot the next day, after all.
Part 5: "Desolation Row"
- Current Mood: anxious
- Current Music:Broken (Seether, ft Amy Lee)
Title: All The Things That You Never Ever Told Me
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, Bob/Brian
Word Count: 2167
mcr_bingo prompt: AU—Ghost
Disclaimer: I don't own MCR or claim that this is true. (You know the drill.)
Summary: Ray is strongly affected by "The Ghost Of You."
The video for "The Ghost Of You" was going to be World War II. It was Gerard's idea, one of those crazy ideas that spewed out of his mouth and just happened to also be brilliant. It was going to be unexpected; it was going to make a statement. Mark was going to direct it, and after the utter awesomeness of "I'm Not Okay" and "Helena," the world might have been unable to handle just how phenomenal "The Ghost Of You" was bound to turn out. VFW halls, beach storming, machine guns, army clothes—it was going to be the biggest and most amazing thing they had ever created.
And then Mark had the brilliant idea to kill Mikey in the video. In any other situation, they guys would have agreed to it immediately; it was a brilliant idea. What better way to make the war more real than to kill one of their own? What better way to strike the fans than to kill of their beloved Mikey?
Except the band knew that if they pretended to kill Mikey for the video, they were going to have to face the consequences when they were sucked into the video world after shooting wrapped. And who knew if Mikey would actually survive?
In the end, Mikey had the final say; it was his life. He had agreed to do it, and everyone supported him.
Shooting was a bit emotional. Everyone put on a good face, laughing it off to keep it from affecting them too much. After the wrap, as they all slung their guns over their shoulders and headed for the hotel room, they found themselves tossing and turning on a boat heading for the beach.
"Go, go, go!"
And then they were off the boat and running up the beach, clinging tightly to guns they weren't really sure how to use, the only thought in their minds: "Get to the trench. Get to the trench!"
Gerard collapsed on the beach, partially protected from the machine guns by a shipwrecker, and looked around for the others. Seeing them all nearby, he searched the area, waiting for the brief pause that meant a gun was reloading.
"Go! Let's go!"
He took off, Bob and Frank hot on his heels, and dove into a trench. Moments later, he felt the soft impact as a body crashed on either side of his. Praying that it was Bob and Frank, he peered over the bank, watching Mikey panic behind his own shipwrecker. All he could do was hope that this world didn't have the same ending as the video, that Mikey would escape it.
Mikey sucked in deep lungfuls of air, feeling himself begin to hyperventilate. Part of him hoped that he would escape the machine guns; part of him was afraid of what would happen if he did. Either way, he couldn't sit here forever; he had to run and end this, no matter how it ended.
High on the beach, a machine gun stopped, seemingly to reload, and Mikey ran. However, just as he took off, the gun unjammed and began sweeping across the beach.
Fire, ice, and steel ripped across his chest, and Mikey collapsed amid the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. Moments that seemed like hours later, he felt Ray drop to his knees beside him, felt Ray begin pressing on his chest, but he was barely conscious. The pain and fire was all consuming, swallowing his entire world, drowning him in a roar. He barely knew where he was, barely knew anything but the pain encompassing him.
Twenty feet away, Gerard screamed, a sound so piercing that Bob truly understood what the term "bloodcurdling" meant. He made to run, but Frank and Bob each grabbed an arm to restrain him.
"You can't do anything!" Bob shouted, holding tightly as Gerard tried to pull away.
"Ray's got him!" Bob shouted again.
Tears streamed down Frank's face as Gerard's pleading screams became the soundtrack for the scene playing out before him, the scene of Mikey's death.
There was no coming back from this; they all knew it. The bullets had turned Mikey's chest into a shredded mass, puncturing every major organ in his body. From their position in the trench, they could see every muscle in Mikey's face, watch as he screamed and cried out.
"Stay with me!" Ray shouted, pressing down hard, hoping to stop some of the bleeding even though he knew it would do nothing. "Stay with me!"
Mikey gasped, his world becoming tunnel vision in which everything became a painfully sharp blur and every feeling, the pain in his chest, the pressure of Ray's hands, even the grit of sand on his skin, intensified.
Then everything went black.
One last thought crossed his mind. "So this is dying."
With a gasp, Mikey's eyes flashed open, and he drew up short, gasping for air. It was just as well because the moment the band realized they were back in the real world, they spun around and threw themselves around Mikey, all needing to touch him and know that he was real and alive.
"Oh, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey." Gerard smoothed his kid brother's hair away from his face as he held him. "I love you so much, baby brother, so much."
There were several long minutes of rocking and hugging as passerby gave them odd glances, wondering just what was going on with the boys of My Chemical Romance that they had somehow missed.
Finally, they pulled apart, just as Brian was approaching them. "The car's here. Guys, what's—"
The rest of his question was cut off as Bob took his face in both hands and kissed him full on the mouth.
They pulled apart, and Brian gasped. "But… Bob…There are people."
Bob shook his head. "I don't care if the entire world knows this is how it is. Let them think I only joined the band cuz of you. Let them think I'm fucking my manager to get favors. I don't care. I want the entire world to know I'm yours, Brian Schechter."
For a moment, Brian just gazed at him in wonder, and then his face broke into the most beautiful smile Bob had ever seen. He reached up to wrap his arms around Bob's neck, arching into him as they kissed again.
They loaded into the car, Bob and Brian still holding hands and grinning at each other like idiots. In the backseat, Frank kept his arm around Gerard, whispering to him and stroking his face. To MTV, Gerard had laughed about his brother dying, making faces and crude gestures; Frank had casually referred to the video as "Mikey getting blown away." In reality, watching his brother peppered with gunfire and then lay dying on a beach had struck Gerard to the core, and Frank was comforting him as best he could.
Ray was the first to speak of the video. "I don't care if we win a fucking Grammy for that video; I am never working with that director again."
"He didn't know, Ray," Gerard spoke up tiredly from the backseat, surprised that Ray's discomfort with what had happened had turned into rage.
"I could have said no," Mikey said, speaking for the first time. "I knew what was going to happen, what was probably going to happen, and I said yes anyway."
Ray's face flushed, and his jaw tightened. For the rest of the drive, he fumed in silence.
Struck by the gravity of death, at what could happen to any of them at any time, Gerard wrapped his arms around Frankie, who met him for a messy kiss. It was fast and brutal, teeth clicking and nipping, tongues swirling and swiping, mouths wet and gasping. Tugging Gerard's seatbelt open, Frank pulled him onto his lap, holding tight to the back of Gerard's splayed thighs as he hoisted him closer. Gerard buried one hand in Frank's hair and shoved the other up his shirt to play with his nipples. Frank groaned loudly before Gerard fused their mouths together, swallowing the sounds. They rocked against each other, rough and hard, desperately needing to know the other was there.
Mikey had grown used to the sounds of Frank and Gerard making out, and it didn't bother him anymore. Privacy was minimal on a bus, and they all knew all of each other's sounds by now. Regardless, Gerard and Frank weren't trying to be exhibitionists or anything, and Mikey certainly didn't hold it against them if they couldn't wait til the hotel, given the current situation.
He had expecting, or perhaps hoping for, a similar reaction from Ray. However, it seemed that Ray was angry with him, and Mikey couldn't repress the sting of disappointment. Ray wasn't speaking to him, wasn't looking at him, wasn't touching him. His death, however temporary, had moved them all monumentally: Gerard and Frank to use all the time they had, Bob and Brian to stop hiding. It seemed that Ray had been moved as well, and Mikey was terrified that Ray was moving away from him, forever.
When the car stopped, the boys all scrambled out of the car, barely conscious of the fact that the driver refused to meet their eyes. He sped away, probably heading home to take a cold shower and then either call his girlfriend or find some quality porn to try to erase the sounds from his mind.
Gerard and Frank stumbled up to their room, making every effort to keep their hands off each other in the public eye and succeeding in varying degrees. Bob and Brian held hands, possibly for the first time in public. Ray kept his distance from Mikey like he thought touching him would strike him with an incurable plague.
In their hotel room, Mikey watched as Ray shut on and locked the door, still furious.
"Ray…" Mikey began slowly, softly. "Please don't be angry with me. I'm sorry for whatever I did. Just please don't be angry with me, not now."
Ray shook his head, softening slightly. "I'm not mad at you, Mikey."
Eager to get his Ray back, Mikey stepped closer. "I'm okay, Ray. Really, I am."
Ray pushed past him. "Well, I'm not."
Ray turned quickly to face him, his face pained. "You're not the one who had to hold you, watch as you died in my arms, and know there was nothing I could do about it. I watched the light go out of your eyes, Mikey; I felt the life go out of your body. Do you know what that's like?"
"I have an idea," Mikey murmured, reminding Ray just what he had experienced as well.
Ray quickly wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. "There's so many things I never told you, Mikey. I love you. Do you know that?"
Mikey nodded. "Of course I do. You tell me every day; you never do anything that could make me doubt it for a second. How could you think I wouldn't know that?"
Ray pulled back. "I think you're beautiful. I think you're sexy and beautiful and pretty and so perfect that I can hardly stand it. Sometimes… sometimes I can't even look at you, that's how wonderful you are, so intimidating with just how perfect you are. You're the best thing in my life, the best thing that ever happened to me, ever, in my entire life. And I could have lost that."
But Ray couldn't talk anymore. He kissed Mikey then, easing his warm lips over his, sucking on his bottom lip until Mikey opened up to him and then sliding his tongue inside. Mikey whimpered, and Ray pulled him toward the bed, stripping them of their clothing.
Ray looked deep into Mikey's eyes as he slid in and out of him, whispering just how beautiful and perfect he was with every thrust. By the time they had both come, Ray still hadn't finished his list of things he loved about Mikey.
Mikey rested his head on Ray's chest, listening to his heartbeat as Ray held him tightly.
"You were the only thing I could see," Mikey whispered suddenly, breaking the silence. "When I was dying, all I could see was you. Even when I was freaking out, even when I had my eyes closed, even when I thought I was dead. It was all you."
Ray pulled him closer, resting his chin on the top of Mikey's head, and Mikey could feel a tear run down Ray's face and drip onto his own cheek.
"I love you so much, Ray Toro. I can't… I wish there were words for it, I wish I could tell you exactly how I feel, how much you mean to me, how much I can't imagine being without you. But I can't."
"You don't have to," Ray whispered. "I know."
"Ray Toro, I will love you until the day I die."
Part 4: "Black Parade"
- Current Mood:accomplished
- Current Music:F.T.W.W.W. (My Chemical Romance)
Title: It's Not The Life It Seems
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey
Word Count: 3602
mcr_bingo prompt: AU—Gay Pride
Disclaimer: I don't own MCR or claim that this is true. (You know the drill.)
Summary: The guys find themselves in the "I'm Not Okay" world.
Exhausted but excited at having finished their first "real" video shoot, the boys of My Chemical Romance tried to hold it together in front of the cameras, more than happy to let Frank do the last of the talking.
"This is our finished video. We just finished it; it's done. I hope you like it. They're gonna play it right now, I think."
The light of the camera flashed as it shut off, and the boys all sagged, ready for bed.
Frank flinched as something slapped him in the face and looked down to see a sandwich in his lap.
Why was he sitting? Why was he back in his uniform?
He heard laughter coming from the jocks who had thrown the sandwich and looked back at Gerard, who shrugged. Mikey and Ray looked just as confused.
Not knowing what else to do, they abandoned their lunches and ran, the sound of laughter at their backs.
They ended up behind the school, away from curious eyes.
"What the hell is going on?" Frank demanded. "One minute we're getting ready to home, and the next we're… Where are we?"
There was a moment of silence where the guys just stared at each other, waiting for something but no one knew what.
"Guys," Mikey finally said, "I think we're in the video."
"We're what?" Gerard choked out.
"You're insane, Mikey Way," Frank retorted.
"I think Mikey's right," Ray said quietly, drawing all eyes to him. "I mean, it certainly looks like it."
Gerard stared at Ray, blinked once or twice. "Yeah, alright, okay. There's just one problem. The video isn't real. We can't be somewhere that doesn't exist."
"Maybe it does exist," Mikey pointed out.
"Maybe we made it real, by making the video. Maybe we made the place real, the story real, too."
The pitying look on Gerard's face said that he clearly wanted to lock Mikey up somewhere. "Mikey…"
"I agree with Mikey."
Three pairs of eyes turned to Frank, surprised.
"You do?" Mikey's eyes were wide.
"Yeah. Why not? This is all too fucked up to be anything else."
Gerard's pitying look turned toward Frank, but Frank held up a hand to hold him off.
"C'mon, Gerard. Look around. We're clearly part of the video. But do you see any cameras? Any crew? Any set walls? Because there aren't any. We're in the video."
Now Ray was nodding, too. Was Gerard—Gerard—the sane one here?
"Three to one, big brother. You're outnumbered."
Gerard shook his head. "Okay. Fine. Suppose, just suppose, you loonies aren't completely off your nut. What the hell do we do?"
"Haven't you spent the past twenty-some years watching sci fi?" Ray scoffed. "You live it until you get out."
"The story, moron."
Gerard turned to Frank, ignoring the jibe. "Are you serious, Frank?" he asked softly. "You really believe this?"
Frank nodded firmly. "I really do, Gee."
Gerard nodded then. "All right. Time to go to class?"
Having found a schedule in his pocket and proceeded to the back desk in the math room, Frank turned around and saw a blonde cheerleader in the desk to his left leaning toward him.
"I just wanted to say that I totally understand why you never wanted to kiss me," she said softly and earnestly, her eyes kind. "I don't blame you at all; I'm sure this has been hard for you. I want you to know that I think you're really nice and sweet and funny, and I don't think there's anything wrong with you."
She smiled at him, but before Frank could ask what the hell she was talking about, the math teacher walked in and the cheerleader gave him her full attention.
About halfway through class, a note found its way onto the corner of his desk. Maybe we can have a girls' night in at my house on Friday?
He looked up to see the girl smiling hopefully. Still not quite sure what was happening, he gave her what he thought to be a friendly but not too promising smile, which just made her grin from ear to ear.
A funny feeling tingling the pit of his stomach, Frank turned away and pretended to read his math book.
"Which one of you video writers made me into some kind of transvestite and forgot to tell me?"
The guys looked up from their chairs in the library as Frank stormed in, all perplexed. The feeling was becoming a permanent state of being for the group.
"We all wrote this video together, Frank," Gerard replied slowly, unsure.
"Yeah, whatever." Frank threw himself down in a chair. "Then in which one of your sick minds did you see my character as a girl?"
"You're a what?" Ray asked, eyes wide.
"No!" Frank contradicted quickly, horrified. "No! I'm a man; I am all man, just ask Gerard!"
Gerard grinned when Ray looked at him.
"TMI," Mikey muttered, and his brother laughed.
"What's going on, Frank?" Ray asked.
Frank heaved a sigh. "That cheerleader, the one I'm with in the video? The one who wants to kiss me in the locker room?"
"She just told me she understands why I never kissed her and asked if I wanted to have a girls' night in with her. What the hell, man?"
Ray snorted, and Mikey started to giggle.
"It's not funny!"
"Yeah, it is," Mikey contradicted.
"You just wait til people think you're a girl," Frank said darkly. "You'll be singing a different tune, Mikey fuckin Way."
"You'll be singing higher than Toro," Gerard teased.
"Hey!" Ray's high pitched protest did little to help his argument.
"Guys! Back to the real problem here."
Gerard rolled his eyes. "I don't think whether or not you have a dick—"
"—is the biggest problem here."
"I bet you know all about his dick, fag."
They turned suddenly to see a group of jocks standing outside their ring of chairs, all led by a blonde with a future-car-salesman smile. Right now, that smile was smug and tinged with disgust.
"What did you call me?"
"You heard me. Fag."
Gerard glared, debating whether or not to rush over and punch him in his smirking face.
"We all saw that little performance you and your—" His eyes flicked over to Frank. "—boyfriend put on with your band the other day. The tape's in the media center if you want to watch it again."
"You son of a—"
"Hey!" The jock put up his hands. "You know what they say about sex tapes."
"We didn't make a sex tape!"
"If you don't want people to see it, don't tape it."
"I'm pretty sure your little kiss was just a precursor, fag and faggette."
He smirked, fairly pleased with himself for coming up with a female version of fag. It felt even more demeaning, in his mind.
"Get out of here, asshole," Mikey spoke up, shooting the harasser a look.
He laughed. "Or what? Your brother will put glitter in my hair?"
Gerard slowly licked up one of his fingers before sucking on the tip. "That's not the only place I can put things."
The guy's eyes widened. "You dirty little fa—"
"What's going on over here?" the librarian said as she approached, eyes narrowing.
"Just correcting the dirty talk we heard from this group," the jerk said smoothly.
The librarian turned her eyes on the band. "None of that! I hear anything else, and it'll be detention, for all of you." Her gaze widened to include the jocks. "Disperse. Now."
As the jocks and librarian left with Gerard's glare burning into their backs, Ray said, "You'd think they could come up with something more offense than 'fag.'"
"Faggette was new," Mikey remarked. "Kind of makes me sound like a bread, though."
"Or a pasta."
"They got one thing right, though." Gerard smirked, finally distracted from the jocks. "A faggette is definitely good for eating."
Sitting in his last class of the day, just trying to get through it in hopes that this would all be over soon, Ray couldn't help but notice a gorgeous brunette that kept glaring at him. All hour. He glanced over every couple seconds to see if she had given up yet, or spontaneously combusted from the strain, but she kept her glare focused on him.
When the bell rang, he couldn't escape class fast enough.
Apparently, he wasn't fast enough.
The brunette rushed up to him in the hallway and slapped him across the face.
Ray stumbled back, pressing a hand to his face as he blinked at her with wide-eyes. "What the…"
"You're creepy!" she shouted at him. "You stay away from me! I've seen the way you look at me, the words you mouth at me… You freak me out. Stay away from me!" She stormed away, and Ray just stared.
"Dude, what happened to your face?"
"Shut up, Frank." Ray was still shielding his face as he met the guys on the croquet field.
Mikey came up to him, gently moving his hand out of the way and tracing the shape of the handprint with warm fingertips. "Ray?"
"No one told me the girl I flirt with in the video thinks I'm a creeper!"
Frank burst, doubling over with laughter.
"Hey! At least Ray's girl still thinks he's a man."
That shut Frank up pretty fast, and he glared at Mikey. "Low blow, man. Low."
Mikey returned his attention to Ray, softly saying, "Are you okay?"
Ray nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."
Mikey kept his fingers on Ray's face longer than necessary, holding his eyes, and Ray shrugged away. Mikey stepped away.
"How much longer is this going to take?" Frank asked the group at large.
"No, Mikey. This." He gestured to the area around them. "I wanna get out of here. Like, now."
"You think we don't?"
"Fuck, Mikey, I didn't say that."
"I don't know, okay? I didn't exactly write the rules for parallel universes or whatever."
"Chill out, okay? I didn't mean—"
"Chill out? You chill the fuck out, Frank!"
"Stay away from me, Ray." Mikey stepped back again when Ray moved toward him.
"Guys, c'mon, don't—ugh!"
The guys turned in time to watch Gerard crash to the ground, the harassing jock on top of him.
"What the fuck, man?" Mikey snarled.
The jock ignored him, focusing solely on Gerard, knowing the croquet freaks wouldn't dare make a move on him with his entire lacrosse team standing only a few yards away.
When Gerard tried to squirm away, the guy ground down on Gerard's crotch, rolling his hips. "You like that, fag? Me begin on top of you getting you all hot?"
Gerard narrowed his eyes for a moment, then reached to grab the jerk's junk with his hand. "I think the question is, is being on top of me getting you hard?"
Without warning, the guy flipped Gerard over, roughly grinding his face into the dirt. Gerard struggled, but the guy just pushed down harder.
Suddenly, a whistle blew, and the jocks' coach shouted, "Lacrosse team! Field! Now!"
And then the jocks were gone.
Mikey helped his brother up, brushing the dirt from his face as Gerard coughed. "You okay?"
Gerard nodded. "Guess this is what high school is like for kids like us nowadays."
Frank walked up to him, swearing. "That guy's an asshole."
Gerard gave him a look. "Hey! I don't want to think about him the next time I'm getting off. Keep the talk of assholes to a sexy degree, thank you."
Frank grinned. "Sure thing, babe."
They spent the night sleeping under the bleachers because they hadn't written families into the video and no one could remember seeing the address of the garage they performed in.
Mikey sat up, arms wrapped around his knees, unable to sleep. Frank and Gerard were sleeping a few feet away, wrapped around each other. For a moment, Mikey allowed himself to imagine that he was in Gerard's place, but instead of Frank spooning behind him, Ray took his place.
He glanced over at Ray, sleeping farther away, out cold and partially lying on his belly. There was no room and no invitation for Mikey to join him.
Lying down with a sigh, Mikey hunched around himself, curling into a fairly fetal position as he tried to fall asleep.
How the schedule had put him in the same study hall as Ray and the jocks, Mikey didn't know.
For twenty minutes, Mikey had put up with their shit. Put up with their snickers and whispers, put up the spitballs, wads of paper, and obscene drawings sent flying at his head in the form of paper airplanes.
Ray sat across from him at the table, and every time Mikey would shake with rage, crumpling another paper in his hand, Ray would just shake his head and mutter, "Let it go, Mikey."
After a particularly dirty drawing of his brother and Frank landed in his lap, the jocks taunted, "Maybe if your brother and his fag actually kissed the cheerleaders they hung out with instead of doing their hair, they wouldn't be gay."
Mikey snapped. Without a thought, without warning, he pulled Ray to his feet, wrapped his arms around him, and kissed him hard, tongue plunging into his mouth and swirling around as he arched his body, connecting them from chest to knee. On and on the kiss went, mindless, his brain not even comprehending that his tongue was in Ray's fucking mouth.
Finally, he broke away with a wet pop and glared at the jocks. "Can your cheerleaders kiss like that?"
Then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
He braced himself when he heard footsteps running after him down the hallway.
He stopped, turned, waited for Ray to catch up with him, face breaking into a relieved smile. "Shit. I thought you were those losers coming to punch my face in."
The look on Ray's face made his smile melt.
"What the fuck, Mikey? You can't do that."
"You can't just kiss me, Mikey."
"Why… I… I was just putting the jocks in their place, Ray. I wasn't raping you."
"You know how I feel about this, Mikey."
Mikey gaped at him, his stomach feeling like a lead weight had been dropped into it. "I—"
"I don't want you like that, Mikey," Ray said firmly. "I'm sorry. But that's the way I feel, and you have to respect that."
Mikey gaped some more, then looked away, blinking furiously against the burning behind his eyes. "Fine. Whatever, Ray."
"Are you okay?"
Mikey looked up into the kind blue eyes of the girl standing beside him. He could feel the tightness in his chest constricting his lungs, could feel the wheeze with every breath he took.
"Yeah, fine, thanks."
He focused on breathing, trying not to think about what Ray had done, what Ray had said, what Ray made him feel… Ray in general, really.
"Are you having an asthma attack?"
"I don't have asthma."
She dug in his bag, pulling out his inhaler and handing it to him. "You don't have to be ashamed of it, Mikey. It's okay. There's nothing bad about it."
Suddenly, he could breathe, and the tightness in his chest loosened to a manageable level, his heart the only thing being constricted.
"Thanks." He gave her a small smile and watched her face light up.
"What's going on back there?" The teacher had noticed them talking but had, of course, failed to notice Mikey's inability to breathe.
"Mikey had an attack. I think I should take him to the nurse."
With a wave of her hand, the teacher dismissed them and returned her attention to the class. Wow, Mikey thought, that was incredibly helpful. I'm so glad she cares.
"C'mon." The girl took Mikey's hand and led him out of the classroom.
She pushed open a bathroom door, pulled him inside, and locked it again, checking to be sure the stalls were empty.
She dropped to her knees, pushing him back against the door, and reached for his zipper. "It's okay, Mikey. Let me make you feel better."
Who was Mikey to argue with that?
When he was able to keep his eyes open, he studied her and decided she actually was very pretty, though currently dedicated to a very obscene task. Her hair was a soft brown that fell around her face, and her eyes were very bright and beautiful. She had a beautiful smile, not that he could see it right now.
He moaned loudly, and his mind went blank.
The group met behind the bleachers for lunch, instead of being harassed on the steps.
Mikey slumped against the support beams, a grin on his face, his entire body loose and relaxed.
Gerard noticed him right away. "Mikey…"
"Who rocked your world?" Frank pried curiously.
Mikey's grin widened. "You guys never told me the guy who gets blown in the bathroom is me."
Gerard stared at him, dumbfounded. "You just got… in the bathroom?"
"Way to go, Mikey Way!" Frank rushed over for a high five.
"Are you serious?" Ray spoke for the first time, and Mikey glanced over at him.
"Yeah. Cute girl. I had an asthma attack after… Well, she helped me out and then said she wanted to make me feel better."
"I bet she did."
Mikey and Frank shared a grin.
"Gerard, what happened to your face?"
Gerard looked away from Ray, letting his hair fall in his eyes. Frank took hold of his face, pushing the hair behind one ear, revealing a bruise along his jaw. Gerard pulled away.
"I guess those guys are bigger homophobes than we thought," Gerard muttered, meeting Frank's eyes defiantly.
"What did he— Gerard, I swear to God—"
Gerard shrugged. "They roughed me up in the locker room a little, that's all."
"Gerard, they didn't—" Mikey began, his post-coital high fading quickly. "After school yesterday, he— He didn't—"
"No! God, no." Gerard shuddered. "They got all up in my space, roughed me up, my clothes on."
Frank looked visibly relieved. "Thank God."
"We're not taking anymore of this shit," Ray announced, getting everyone's attention.
"What do you mean?"
"In the video, at the end, we go after them. Well, I say we do it. I can't just sit around and watch them harass the shit out of us."
Frank immediately nodded in agreement. "I'm with Toro. I say we kick their asses."
"You don't know that we win," Mikey pointed out. "All we did was go after them; we never saw an outcome."
"I don't care." Ray's voice was hard. "I can't stay here anymore. I won't put up with this anymore."
Gerard nodded. "After school, we meet outside the gym lockers. Armed and ready to go." He grinned at them and, taking Frank's hand, headed to class.
Mikey started to follow after them, but Ray took his arm. "Mikey, wait."
Mikey stopped but refused to meet his eyes. "I’m sorry, okay? It won't happen again."
"I… I want it to happen again."
That got Mikey's attention, real fast, and his head whipped up, eyes searching Ray's. "What?" Was Ray playing with him? He couldn't see any game in Ray's warm eyes, though.
"I was an idiot before. I didn't realize… I don't want you getting blowjobs from random girls. Or guys. Or anyone that isn't me."
"But you said…"
"I was wrong."
Then, finally, Ray kissed him, lips warm and soft and gentle as they moved against his, caressing his skin. Mikey couldn't help but bring his arms up, wrap them around Ray's neck, and tangle his fingers in Ray's curls as he pulled him closer.
When the kiss ended, Mikey rested his forehead against Ray's, fingers gentle on the sides of his neck. He was gasping for breath; his heart, which was pounding in his chest, felt so full it could burst.
"I…" For a moment, he wished he was Gerard, wished he knew a thousand ways to say exactly what he was feeling. He just couldn't find the words for it.
Then Ray kissed him again, and everything was all right.
"Are you ready to do this?" Gerard asked, looking around at the group.
They were all armed with their croquet mallets, and Frank looked absolutely deadly. Mikey felt a little stupid, to be honest, but Frank and Gerard looked like they could kill someone if pushed to it.
There were nods of consent, and the group pushed through the doors, beginning their strut down the hallway.
Mikey could see the jocks approaching from the other end, and suddenly the hallway seemed a lot shorter than ever before. Before he knew it, they were running, mallets raised, crashing into the jocks—
"Thanks, guys." The MTV crew smiled at them and headed away.
The guys looked down, looked around, looked at each other. It was as if the past two days hadn't happened.
Ray shook his head. "I don't even want to know, Frank. Let's just go home."
Gerard nodded in agreement and took Frank's hand as they walked away.
Mikey hesitated for a moment.
"That means us, too," Ray murmured, lacing his large warm fingers around Mikey's slender ones, pulling him close as he led him away from the set. Leaning over, Ray gently brushed his lips to Mikey's temple. "Remember what I said about blowjobs?"
Mikey definitely remembered.
Part 2: "Helena"
- Current Mood: rejuvenated
- Current Music:The World Is Ugly (My Chemical Romance)
Title: Jet Star and the Kobra Kid
Pairing: Jet Star/Kobra Kid
Word Count: 1614
mcr_bingo prompt: Killjoys—Party Poison/Jet Star
Disclaimer: I don't own MCR or claim that this is true. (You know the drill.)
Summary: Party Poison discovers something going on between Jet Star and Kobra Kid.
Party Poison was taking a leak behind the diner when the unfamiliar sound drifted to him across the desert. He paused, silently tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping them up, listening carefully as the clear laughter came again.
True laughter, particularly pure laughter like this, ware rare out in the desert. A person could go months, getting by on bitter irony and dark snickers. Poison surely had.
His eyes widened as he was struck by just what was so remarkable about this occurrence, and he made his way around the diner, needing to be sure.
He drew up short and just stared.
It was Jet Star and Kobra Kid. Kobra's back was to a lone half dead tree with Jet pressed up against him, the fingers of his right hand laced with Kobra's, the fingers of his left toying with strands of Kobra's bleached fringe. Kobra gazed up at Jet, eyes filled with love, not lust, smiling as he stretched up to kiss Jet's waiting mouth.
Poison stared, knowing he couldn't stay but unable to leave until he heard that sound one more time.
The pair broke apart, and Kobra laughed again, his forehead pressed to Jet's strong shoulder.
Poison hadn't heard Kobra laugh since they were kids, and here Jet was, making him laugh effortlessly.
He couldn't explain the jealousy he desperately tried to suppress as he headed back into the diner.
Poison was sour and moody for the next several days, silently brooding in the diner booth, mindlessly shooting targets out back. No one knew just what was eating at him, putting him in the funk, and no amount of Fun Ghoul's crude jokes could bring him out of it.
And so they waited, trying not to get in Poison's way until after he exploded.
The pin was pulled late one night, four days after the day he heard Kobra laugh.
Poison couldn't sleep. It was no surprise, really, not when he spent all his time brooding. He couldn't even explain just what he was brooding about. He could guess that it had something to do with Jet and his brother, but he didn't know what.
Frustrated, he pushed back his sleeping back, rolled out, and shoved a hand through his candy apple hair as he stumbled out of his room.
He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, a glass of water, maybe, or a trip outside, but none of that mattered when muffled sounds reached his ears, sounds coming from Jet Star's bedroom.
He paused by the door, no longer able to just ignore the sounds when he realized Jet wasn't alone.
"Yes…" That was his kid brother making those breathy sounds. "Right there. Jet, Jet, yes."
He didn't mean to spy. Well, maybe he did. It didn't matter anyway because he wasn't stopping.
Jet's door was partially open; Ghoul had busted it a week back and hadn't found a replacement part yet.
The room was half-lit; someone had carefully arranged a black t-shirt over the light to dim it. The heavy breathing was getting louder, and that was when Poison finally dragged his eyes to Jet's sleeping area.
Jet Star was buried balls deep in his brother's ass, and from the angle of the doorway, he could see everything. The way Kobra's legs were wrapped around Jet's waist. The way Jet's biceps flexed as he braced himself while pushing in and pulling out. The way Kobra's arms came up to wrap around Jet's neck and pull him down to kiss like the world was ending.
Poison made a choked sound before he could stop himself, and the room went silent as Jet and Kobra stared wide-eyed at the man in the doorway.
No one said anything. Poison was at a loss for words, too many things clamoring around his brain for him to make sense of any of them. Kobra wasn't going to apologize, and there was no way Jet was going to pull out with Poison watching.
Kobra began to tremble, the intense pressure of having Jet buried immobile inside him tearing him apart.
This was private. This was just for him and Jet, and he didn't want to share this with his brother. Jet wasn't going to move with Poison watching, but Kobra was going to come at any second if he didn't.
"Please," he gasped out, eyes begging with his brother before clenching shut in a desperate attempt to hold back his orgasm.
Mercifully, Poison didn't want any part of what was about to happen and fled, trying to block out his brother's, "Now, Jet, please, move. Oh, God. Jet… Jet… Oh!"
Poison couldn't sleep again, but this time, he knew exactly why.
The next morning, Poison was livid when he storming into the eating area of the diner.
"Jet. Outside. Now."
Ghoul's eyebrows shot up as he looked from Jet to Poison, no idea what had caused it but sure that this was the explosion they had been waiting for.
Kobra started to say something, but Jet silenced him with a murmured sentiment and a hand on his thigh.
Poison marched out of the diner, waiting for Jet to follow.
As soon as the door shut, Poison punched Jet in the face, just reared back and punched him. Jet was expecting this and rolled his jaw, causing minimal pain to both himself and Poison but still giving him the satisfaction of the hit.
Poison glared, his eyes as wild as his hair. "I may be a hell of a lot smaller than you, but I swear to whoever's making this joke, if you hurt him, I will kill you."
"No!" Poison held up a hand. "Let me say this. I don’t know what this is, if you're serious or in it for fun or whatever. It doesn't matter. If you hurt him, if you get him sick… You use a condom when you're with him, you hear me? I don’t care if you have to sell you kidneys to get them out here, you get them and you use them. Lube, too. That's just the physical shit, and I will do horrible things to you if they happen. If you hurt him, I will cut your balls off and feed them to you, then drag you by your dick behind the Trans Am. You got me?"
Jet shuddered reflexively at the mental picture and nodded. "Yeah. And there's something you should know. I wouldn't… I can't hurt Kobra. It would kill me to hurt him. You wouldn't have to do anything."
Poison looked away. He hadn’t been expecting any declarations, much less one so raw and emotional.
"We're not just fooling around, Poison. I don't want him for a quick fuck. I want us to have more than that."
Poison nodded, scratching the back of his head. He hadn't really thought this conversation through to completion and didn't know how to end it.
"Are we okay?" Jet asked, sounding honestly concerned.
Poison looked up. "Yeah. Absolutely. Or, we will be as soon as your door gets fixed. I'm making that top priority."
Color spread across Jet's face, and Poison clapped a hand to his shoulder for a minute.
"Don't worry about it. I think I'm more scarred than you are, and from what I heard, Kobra doesn't have any complaints."
Later that morning, Poison was drawn out of his paperback by a knock on his door.
Kobra poked his head in. "Can we talk?"
"Sure." He tossed the book aside.
Kobra closed the door behind him and sat down beside his brother. They were silent for several minutes before Kobra said, "Jet told me what you said."
Poison glanced over at him. "I meant every word of it, too."
Kobra gave a small smile. "I know." He looked down at his fingers for a moment. "It's different with Jet. He takes care of me and treats me like I'm special."
"You are special, Kobra," Poison whispered.
"I know he'll never let anything happen to me, and he loves all the stupid little things about me, the things no one else notices."
Poison was quiet for a minute as the reason for the past four days' feelings hit him. "Is this because of me?"
"I'm sorry I'm not a better brother. I'm sorry I don’t tell you how special you are or how much I love you. I'm sorry I don't make you laugh."
Kobra's brow furrowed.
"I saw you, the other day," Poison explained, "at the tree."
Kobra looked away, smiling at the memory, unashamed. "I love him, Poison."
"I could tell by the look in your eyes, that day at the tree and…"
"Yeah." Kobra smiled. "It's more than just good sex."
Poison looked down, and Kobra noticed.
"I don't think you've abandoned me, if that's what you're thinking. I don't think you're a shitty brother and went to find a replacement or something like that. You're my brother and my best friend, and you always will be. That's never going to change. Jet… Jet's something else. He's the other half of me.
It sounds shitty to say that he's everything you can't be, but it's true. You can't be my lover, Poison; you can't be my husband. Those are the things that Jet is, that he could be."
Poison nodded, and Kobra reached an arm around his shoulders in a hug.
"I love you," Poison whispered. He couldn't remember the last time he'd said that to his brother, much less anyone else. He felt like a jerk.
"I love you, too."
Poison gave a half smile as Kobra took his arm back, feeling better about this entire situation.
"He's good to me, Poison. He is."
"I know. If he makes you happy, then that's all that matters."
"I swear, if he ever hurts you…"
"Then you can give him that ride behind the Trans Am."
- Current Mood: tired
- Current Music:Secrets (One Republic)
Title: Gerard of My Chemical Romance
Word Count: 709
mcr_bingo prompt: AU—Bullying
Disclaimer: I don't own MCR or claim that this is true. (You know the drill.)
Summary: Gerard is realizing the differences between himself and 'Gerard of My Chemical Romance.'
Gerard sat against a dirty wall, knees drawn up, arms dropped loosely beside him. He stared listlessly at the other wall, not seeing it even though it was only ten feet away. He was backstage after a show in some city he didn't know the name of, wasted, stoned, gone.
People milled around him, cleaning the stage, hauling cords, moving equipment. The rest of the guys were off somewhere—signing, most likely, saying hi to the kids.
No one noticed him, and if they did, they ignored him.
It felt a lot like high school, even if he was twenty-seven.
Everything felt numb, like he was floating. It was one of those out-of-body experiences people always talked about, just without some beautiful epiphany.
There was nothing beautiful about this. He looked disgusting, dirty and sweat soaked, stank of alcohol, cigarettes, sweat, and vomit. He hadn't showered in days, maybe a week, hadn't washed his clothes, maybe ever.
It wasn't his physical appearance that disgusted him.
It was himself.
He was completely and utterly useless, to himself and to everyone around him. The band would be better off without him, but that wasn't possible. He had created this band around a character, and they needed 'Gerard of My Chemical Romance' to be anything.
He had fucked everything up so bad.
He wasn't 'Gerard of My Chemical Romance' and never would be, never wanted to be. Gerard was an ass, a crazy drunk motherfucker who ruled the world. Yeah, he had balls Gee would never have, had tougher skin, a real rock star attitude… but what was so bad abut that? Hundreds of thousands of kids looked up to him, worshipped him, thanked him for saving their lives.
Gee wanted to do that. He wanted to help people, to save their lives. That was why he'd started the band.
The problem started when he created Gerard.
'Gerard of My Chemical Romance,' a don't-give-a-shit mother fucking rock star, who couldn't keep his pants up on stage, much less sing.
This was who he wanted to save the world?
Every night, he got up on stage and told the kids to get their lives together, to give a big "fuck you" to bullies and haters and anyone else in their way.
Why couldn't he take his own advice?
He was bullying himself, standing in his own way, giving 'Gerard of My Chemical Romance' control of everything that mattered to him. He hated it.
It was tearing him apart. He couldn't live like this, giving 'Gerard of My Chemical Romance' free reign to destroy his life, then desperately try to hold the pieces together until he could surrender them back to 'Gerard of My Chemical Romance.'
One of them had to go, but he didn't think he was strong enough to save himself this time.
If only the kids could see him now, see their hero reduced to a mindless pile of worthlessness. Too weak to fight the good fight, too much of a coward to fight for them.
What had he become?
He'd failed, but what was the big surprise there? He'd always been a failure: the college grad who couldn't get a job at a bookstore, the twenty-five year old comic book artist living in his parents' basement, the revolutionary who sold his soul to the corporate cartoon industry.
He didn't care anymore. None of it mattered; he didn't matter—
A hand with tattooed fingers came into his field of vision. Slowly, with effort, he dragged his eyes up to the wrist, then the elbow, then the shoulder until he finally reached Frank's face.
Mikey and Ray stood behind Frank, all three of them watching him.
He should just stay on the floor. It was easy, effortless, so much easier than continuing to fight this losing battle.
That was Ray's voice, drawing him out of himself.
His arm felt heavy, far heavier than flesh, blood, and bone had any right to be, but he forced himself to grab Frank's hand.
He stumbled as Frank pulled him to his feet, and immediately three pairs of hands were on him, steadying him.
"We've got you," Mikey said.
Maybe they did. Maybe they were enough to hold him, to keep him falling, to keep him alive.
After all, this band had saved his life once. Maybe it could do it again.
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- Current Mood: cold
- Current Music:Mona Lisa (Panic! At The Disco)
Title: Lie To Me
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Mikey/Ray
Word Count: 4340
mcr_bingo prompt: Quote—04
Disclaimer: I don't own MCR or claim that this is true. (You know the drill.)
Summary: The boys make a bad interview a little bit better.
It was turning out to be the typical interview. The chick asking the questions, whose name was Kristie or Kandie or something else the guys couldn’t remember, was as much a natural blonde as Ray. It was possible that the excessive bleaching, chemical straightening, and spray tanning had eaten what few brain cells she had.
Or maybe she had been born an ignorant insensitive bimbo. It was difficult to tell.
She clearly had never heard of the band or their music; she had to ask Gerard’s name twice and then repeated it back with a crinkled nose, like it was some funny foreign word.
Topping it all off, she spent the hour asking gossip-rag questions instead of anything about their music.
To amuse themselves, the band began answering her airhead questions with inside jokes and lies about their non-existent rock star ego.
"You’re such rock stars compared to where you were… then," Kandace, as Ray had decided to call her, bubbled. "Every day has got to be filled with the kind of things normal people can’t even dream of. Does it get boring, all the sex, drugs, and fame?"
Mikey blinked at her. Was she deaf? Gerard had just finished telling her about overcoming his drug addiction, and not five minutes before, Frank had told her that My Chem’s message deterred groupies.
"So many people treat you like you’re a kid, so you might as well act like one. You know, throw TVs out of hotel windows and shit."
Mikey and Frank shared a look, remembering the one and only time Gerard had trashed a hotel room.
"Oh my god, turn it up! Turn it up!"
They were sprawled in one of the hotel rooms, coming down from a show, the forgotten radio playing in a corner. Frank and Mikey looked at Gerard with puzzled expressions, but Ray stretched over to turn the dial.
The opening riff of "I’m Not Okay" filled the room, and Gerard shrieked, a childish grin filling his face.
The guys looked at each other. They’d heard their music on the radio dozens of times; this was nothing new.
"We are fucking rock stars!"
"You are fucking drunk," Frank retorted.
Gerard’s only response was to start screaming the chorus.
Frank rolled his eyes, and Ray wrapped an arm around Mikey’s shoulders as he looked away from his brother’s antics.
"Gerard, what are you doing?" Frank asked as Gerard swept his arm across the nightstand, knocking everything to the ground.
Gerard grinned at him, showing all of his tiny teeth. "I’m a fucking rock star, Frankie! I’m gonna fucking act like it!"
He turned the radio up higher and made his way through the room, destroying everything in his path.
"Gerard, I don’t think—"
"You’re not my mother, Frankie. Don’t tell me what to do." He screamed out the final chorus, still acting like a contained cyclone.
Mikey curled against Ray’s chest, refusing to watch. Frank attempted to talk some sense into Gerard but quickly gave up.
It was all over in a matter of minutes: the room was trashed, and Gerard was passed out on the floor.
Ray helped Mikey to his feet, and the pair headed for the door. "You wanna sleep with us, Frank?"
Frank took a moment to look over the state of his room, then nodded. "Yeah. Just let me get Gee into bed, and then I’ll be right there."
Frank turned a mattress over on the floor and flopped Gerard onto it. He tugged off Gerard’s shoes, and, in a moment of inspiration, removed his tie so he wouldn’t choke himself in his sleep. He sat beside him for a moment, brushing the dirty hair out of his face. Lying there like a dead weight, mouth open and drooling, body filthy with sweat and old makeup, stinking horribly of body odor and alcohol, Frank realized just how disgusting Gerard was.
It didn’t make him love him any less.
Gerard woke up the next morning facedown on a bare mattress, covered to the waist with a blanket. Sitting up and trying to clear the fog from his head, Gerard look around to find Frank gone—and the room trashed. The realization cleared his head quickly, though it did nothing for the pounding in his skull. "Shit."
When Frank found him an hour later, Gerard was on his hands and knees picking glass out of the carpet from a broken light bulb.
"Good morning, rock star."
Gerard looked up at him from underneath greasy bangs. "Frankie, I trashed a hotel room."
Frank grinned. "And told us all what a rock star you are while you did it."
Gerard groaned. "I can’t believe I trashed… I feel so bad."
Frank didn’t say anything, just watched Gerard throw away the glass and straighten up the rest of the room.
"I trashed a hotel room," Gerard said again. "What next? Am I gonna encourage the girls to groupie for me?"
Frank rolled his eyes. Leave it to Gerard to get theatrical and blow things out of proportion. "Are you ready to go?"
"No, I am not ‘ready to go!’ I have to find the manager and apologize and pay for…"
Frank rolled his eyes again, letting Gerard ramble as they left the hotel room.
Frank grinned at Mikey. That was the first and last time that had ever happened. Some great room-trashing rock stars they were.
The chick, however, was eating it up. "I completely understand. As a rock star, you can have anything… or, specifically, anyone, you want. What’s your relationship with Frank like? As hot off stage as it is on it?"
"When we’re on stage," Ray said, "we become completely different people."
"Exactly." Gerard took over. "I don’t even know what it’s like to kiss Frank; we’re just so wrapped up in the performance."
That was bullshit, too, if the lusty glance Frank shot Gerard, full of memory, meant anything.
"So fucking hot," Frank hissed as he shoved Gerard against a wall backstage, assaulting his mouth with his tongue. "You’re so fucking hot. I can’t believe you grabbed my ass on stage. Oh, I love you forever."
Gerard grabbed Frank’s head between his hands, shutting him up by filling his mouth with tongue. Frank’s hands slid over his body as he rolled his hips, rocking hard against Gerard.
Show personnel and stage crew bustled around them, but Frank and Gerard didn’t seem to notice. No one really took too much mind of their antics anymore. At first, it had been a bit of an eye opener: Oh, wow, Frank and Gee are making out like horny teenagers. Now, it was old news, and the crew just went about their business.
"C’mon," Gerard whispered against Frank’s neck, hand stilling on his hips. "Let’s get out of here. C’mon."
Frank grinned at him, his beautiful eyes bright and lust blown, his sexy mouth wet and red. Fuck, he was gorgeous.
"We have to sign, Gee."
Gerard buried his face in Frank’s shoulder with a groan. "Can’t we tell them we’re sick? No, wait—just tell them the truth. They’ll forgive us."
Frank kissed him slowly and lazily, then pulled back. "C’mon, Gee. Let’s go say hi to the kids. Then we have all night on the bus."
Gerard kept his distance from Frank while signing, not sure he could keep his hands off him, but it wasn’t long before he got into it. It was hard not to, with all the kids’ excitement and the beautiful things they said. He really did have the best fans in the world.
"C’mon, Gerard," Frank mouthed against his ear, coming up behind him to grab his belt loop and tug him against his chest. "Ray, Mikes, and Bob already said goodbye."
A few more autographs on the way to the bus, and a very drawn out a goodbye, and then they were alone.
Well, more or less. The rest of the band was there, but that was fine. They didn’t mind, as long as Frank and Gerard weren’t too loud of obscene with their vocalizing.
They smiled hello to the guys, still wrapped around each other on their way to the back of the bus. When they finally crawled into Frank’s bunk and pulled the curtain shut, they collapsed together.
Gerard began mouthing and licking at Frank’s neck, running his fingers through his hair. Frank sighed, going limp and letting Gerard play.
Far too soon, Gerard pulled back but only to tug off his shoes and chuck them out of the bunk with only a brief warning to any passerby; he did the same with Frank’s. Frank waited for him, knowing Gerard loved to watch, and stripped his shirt over his head. Gerard watched hungrily as all that brightly colored skin was revealed inch by inch and then pounced, unable to wait for Frank to lie down of his own free will.
Frank tugged on his hips so that Gerard was half lying on top of him and then let him do what he wanted.
He wanted what he always wanted: to trace every tattoo on Frank’s body with his lips and fingers.
Frank let his head fall back and his eyes flutter closed. Oh, God, it felt so good. He could stay like this forever, Gerard’s weight pressing down on him, warm tongue and cool fingers brushing against his skin.
"Gee," he whispered. "Gerard." Finally, Gerard dragged his head up, eyes drugged with lust, and Frank had to swallow hard. He forgot what he was going to say, content to just stare at those beautiful eyes, the messy hair, all that pale skin.
"Frankie? Is something wrong?"
"God, Gerard," Frank breathed reverently, "you’re so beautiful. I’m going to love you forever. Forever, Gee." He searched Gerard’s eyes, and Gerard smiled.
Frank pulled Gerard down on top of his chest and wrapped his arms around him, holding them together… forever, if he had any say in the matter.
Gerard smiled at Frank, sharing a moment with him that Kandace completely missed.
She frowned, clearly hoping for some juicy details of forbidden romance. "That’s certainly a shame. I imagine it’s hard enough on stage what with how pretty you both are. And Michael, too." Her gaze expanded to include the rest of the band. "The three of you are very pretty. Is that awkward for you at all, Ray?"
She cocked her head, and Ray blinked at her as Mikey’s mouth actually opened in disbelief.
"Not that you aren’t… attractive, in your own way, of course. I’m sure it’s just different for you than it is for the rest of the guys… at photo shoots, for instance."
Ray hesitated for just the briefest moment, then shrugged. "It doesn’t matter to me. All I care about is the music. If people say shit about my love handles, it doesn’t bother me."
Knowing better, Mikey discreetly slid a hand onto Ray’s knee.
"Fucking bitch," Ray muttered, immediately catching Mikey’s attention with the colorful language he rarely used. He tossed the magazine onto the hotel room floor, and Mikey’s face darkened.
"Stop reading that rag, Ray. It’s a load of shit, and you know it."
Ray didn’t say anything, and Mikey’s eyes widened. "Shit, Ray. You actually believe that, don’t you? That’s why you keep making yourself read it."
Ray turned away, and when Mikey saw his shoulders shake, his heart broke a little.
"Oh, baby." He came around Ray’s bed to kneel in front of him and put a hand on the side of his face. "God, Ray, you’re so beautiful. So beautiful. I love everything about you, every part of you."
Ray shook his head. "No, I’m not. I’m not like you, Mikey. I’m not pretty and beautiful and perfect like you. I’m not. I’m fat and ugly, and that magazine just told the entire world."
Mikey came up to wrap his arms around Ray’s neck. He held him for a long time, whispering to him about how beautiful he was and how much he loved him. "I’m sorry if I don’t tell you enough how beautiful you are, if I let you believe you’re anything less than perfect."
Ray tried to shake his head, but Mikey held his face still in his hands, wiping away his tears with his thumbs.
"I love you, Ray Toro. I love you so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. Do you believe me?"
Ray nodded slowly.
"Do you trust me?"
Another slow nod.
"Let me love you."
Mikey kissed him, gentle but intense, massaging Ray’s scalp with his fingers. He kissed over his jaw, down his neck, into the hollow of his throat. He let his hands slide over Ray’s shoulders and down his chest to hook in the hem of his t-shirt.
Ray shook his head and pulled back. "Don’t, Mikey."
"Do you trust me?"
Ray nodded and let Mikey pull his shirt off. He looked away, embarrassed, and hunched over himself, sucking in his belly.
Mikey noticed, and it fueled him on, furious than any magazine could make such a beautiful person feel ugly.
"God, Ray." He dropped to his knees again, pressing his face against Ray’s belly, ignoring when he flinched and tried to pull back. He took hold of Ray above his hips—his love handles—and kissed his stomach. He licked around Ray’s belly button before pressing his tongue in and wiggling it around.
Ray groaned, and Mikey continued licking at his stomach. "God, Ray, so fucking beautiful. So hot."
He bit down suddenly then licked over the red marks before covering them with his lips and sucking hard.
Ray moaned, deep in his throat, running his hand down the side of Mikey’s face.
This continued for some time, Mikey alternating between sucking hickeys into Ray’s belly and whispering how beautiful he was.
Mikey rested his hand over the bulge in Ray’s jeans, feeling his cock twitch and his hips buck up ever so slightly. He looked up at Ray from beneath the blonde fringe that had fallen over his eyes. "Can I?"
Ray just nodded. Even after all this time, Mikey still asked before he blew Ray, like Ray was doing him some kind of favor.
Mikey fumbled excitedly with Ray's button and zipper before burying his fingers in the waistband of Ray's jeans and underwear and tugging them down. He kissed over the inside of Ray's thighs, then replaced his mouth with his fingers as he buried his face against Ray's stomach. "God… oh God, Ray, I love you. You're so beautiful."
He took Ray into his mouth, gripping his belly with desperate fingers until he came.
Tucking Ray back into his jeans, he kissed his belly again. "God, Ray." He looked up at him. "I love you so much, Ray Toro."
Ray looked away, and Mikey sat next to him on the bed, ready to play his last card. He took Ray's hand and placed it over his aching cock. Ray finally looked at him.
"Do you feel that, Ray?" Mikey asked fiercely. "Do you feel how hard I am? How close I am to coming right now? And do you know why?" Mikey searched Ray's face, needing Ray to believe him. "That's because of you, Ray, because of you and how beautiful you are. You didn't even have to touch me. Just looking at you, being allowed to touch you, got me this fucking hard, Ray Toro. God, I love you so much." He buried his face in Ray's shoulder. "I love you so much, and I think you're so beautiful and so sexy and so perfect. And I need you to know that. I need you to believe me. Please say you believe me."
There was a long silence, too long, and Mikey felt his heart drop. Then Ray slid his warm palm against his cheek, kissed his forehead, and tilted his face up to meet his eyes. "I believe you."
Mikey's face broke into a relieved smile; he was so happy he felt like he could cry. He threw his arms around Ray and held him tight.
Ray kissed Mikey hard, palming him through his jeans so he gasped into Ray's mouth. A moment later, Mikey came in his pants like a teenager, crying Ray's name.
"Oh, God, Ray," he whispered between kisses. "I love you so much. So much."
Ray pulled Mikey onto his lap and against his chest. They'd have to get up eventually to clean Mikey up, but for now, he just needed to hold him close.
"Thank you, Mikey. I love you so much. You're perfect."
"So are you."
Ray didn't argue, just kissed Mikey gently and held him close.
Ray laced his fingers with Mikey's over his knee for a second, squeezing gently.
Kandace nodded, completely oblivious to the horribly offensive and hurtful things she had just said. "You've gotten a lot of attention lately for the suicides you've been connected to."
"How does that affect you? Does it hurt you when people say that you're responsible for these kids dying?"
Gerard shook his head silently, giving himself time to calm down before answering. Once his nonchalant mask was in place, he looked up. "No, it really doesn't hurt us. If anything, I think it affects the kids more than us. We're more concerned about them. We've been doing this for ten years; we've all got pretty tough skin."
Frank gently rested his knuckles against the small of Gerard's back, knowing just how tough Gerard's skin wasn't.
"He's been in his bunk since yesterday afternoon. How long is he gonna stay in there?" Frank asked.
Mikey pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "He skipped our walk this morning."
"Well, he's gotta leave his bunk to pee eventually," Frank decided, settling down to wait in the living area of the bus with Mikey and Ray.
It wasn't much longer before Gerard stumbled out of bed, his dirty colored hair a mess in his face, his eyes red and bloodshot. He headed straight for the coffee, but before he could make it back to his bed to hide, Mikey wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him back against his chest.
"Gerard," he murmured against his brother's cheek, holding him so close that Gerard could feel both their heartbeats in his chest.
He tried to pull away, but Mikey was stronger than his scrawny limbs gave him credit for. Frank ushered them both to the couch, settling Gerard between Mikey and Ray, arranging himself at Gerard's feet.
"Guys, please," Gerard whined, his voice not more than a whisper. "Please, just let me go back to bed."
"No," Ray said firmly, catching Gerard by surprise. "Let you go back to wallowing and blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault? Let you lay more guilt on yourself until you can't take it anymore? I don't think so."
Gerard drank his coffee in silence, and they let him, just needing him to not be alone. Frank took the mug away when he was done, leaving Gerard to pick at the threads of his pajama pants.
"Those kids… those kids are dead. Because we couldn't… I couldn't… we couldn't reach them, they didn't understand what I was saying. How many more are there? How many kids listen to our music and don't understand and… and off themselves because they don't believe that the hope I'm singing about is real for them?" He began rocking back and forth, refusing to look up. "I should have been able to help them. This band saved my fucking life twice, and I couldn't save them once?" He broke down, burying his face in Mikey's neck as he clung to him, crying. "I couldn't save them, Mikey. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
Mikey held him protectively, with a strength and tightness that said he was never going to let him go, as Ray rubbed his back and Frank leaned against his thighs. They let him cry for a long time, deciding it was better for him to cry with them surrounding him than alone in his bunk.
He sniffled repeatedly, wiping at his red eyes, rubbing at his raw nose, until Frank got him some toilet paper to clean up with. "I'm sorry, guys," he whispered, his voice filled with guilt and shame.
"Gerard…" Ray began.
"This is not your fault," Frankie said fiercely, his eyes burning brightly for Gerard's pain. "We couldn't reach those kids. They couldn't save themselves. It's not your fault; it's not our fault. We have to live our own lives, right? Make our own choices? You can't blame yourself for their choices."
"Do you know how many lives we've saved?" Mikey asked him. "Do you see how many kids wear shirts or have signs that say 'MCR Saved My Life?' Don't you hear when they thank you for saving them? You are saving lives, Gerard. You're doing so much, reaching so many more people than we ever dreamed we would reach."
"Every time we get up on that stage," Ray said, "I am so proud to be there with you. I wouldn't be doing this without you. I wouldn't be living this dream. You and this band saved my life. And maybe it wasn't like your story. Maybe I wasn't dying. But I wasn't living the way I am now. You gave me that. You don't think you've done the same for Frank and Mikey? For yourself? For hundreds of thousands of kids? It's not your fault that some people aren't strong enough to make it; it's not your fault some people make the wrong choices. But you're saving lives, Gerard. You're a hero to so many people, including me."
Frank and Mikey made sounds of agreement, and Gerard rubbed at his eyes some more. He nodded and whispered roughly, "Thanks." They sat in silence for a few more minutes as he got himself back on track. "You guys are the best fucking people I know. I love you guys so much."
There was a group hug then, not the cheesy kind from lame movies but the real kind they shared before a show.
With three pairs of arms around him, three hearts beating with his, three men beside him, he knew he would never be alone.
He smiled gently at Frankie, bumping his shoulder in a way that seemed casual but was far from it.
"How about your 'Emo' label?" Kandace asked in a funny voice, like 'Emo' was the funniest word she had ever heard. "How do you feel about that?"
"That's bullshit," Gerard spat. "We're not Emo. We hate Emo. What has Emo become anyway, some clothes and funny hair? Emo used to be…"
Frankie nudged Mikey, who grinned and looked at his lap. Maybe they all didn't hate being called Emo.
"Did you hear this?" Mikey bounced into the hotel room with a magazine in his hand. "They called us Emo!"
Gerard rolled his eyes, continued writing on his arm in Sharpie. "Fucking trash magazine…"
"What?" Mikey turned on him. "This is great!"
"What's so great about being called Emo? They just think we're pretty boys with messy hair and black clothes."
"I don't know about the rest of you," Ray said, "but I love my blue jeans and my fro isn't going anywhere. So don't even think of touching it."
Gerard rolled his eyes. Some people and their love of their natural hair color.
"I don't want to be Emo," Frank said from the other bed where he was painting his nails black. "Punk, yeah. Hardcore metal badass, absolutely. Emo? We sound fragile."
"Some of us are fragile," Mikey retorted.
"I didn't hit you that hard—"
"At least he didn't kick you in the balls," Gerard muttered.
"Whatever. You guys are way too concerned with your clean badass image. Emo kids are fierce. They'll, like… like stab you in your sleep with rusty razor blades if you say shit about them. They get revenge—"
"Yeah, when they're done crying their eyes out—" Frank retorted.
"Dying their hair—" Ray added.
"—and writing poetry," Gerard finished.
Mikey rolled his eyes. "I hate to break this to you guys, but you pretty much described us. Emotions, hair dye, poetry, revenge… We're fucking Emo."
Gerard rolled his eyes. "I will never be okay with that."
"Maybe Punk-Emo. Or Metal-Emo," Frank decided. "Maybe that I could get behind."
Ray just shrugged. "Who cares?"
Mikey sighed, accepting defeat. "Whatever. We're Emo, and I'm fucking proud of it!"
Mikey bumped Frankie back as Gerard's spiel about the horrible atrocity of being called Emo and the deep and utter offense he took at being grouped with a bunch of scrawny, pale, black haired kids obsessed with art, revenge, and poetry.
Kandace's phone timer went off, and a manicured hand reached over to turn off the Britney Spears ringtone. "Well, I guess our hour's up. Thanks, guys." She gave them a bright smile as she weakly took their hands. "Ray. Michael. Frank. Gerri."
The boys rolled their eyes and escaped as quickly as they could.
Outside, Ray stretched his shoulders as they discussed what to do with the rest of the day.
"What do you say we take our fat Emo selves, dope up on as many sleeping pills as we can find, and go trash a room before watching me and Gerard have sex there?" Frank suggested with a straight face and feigned enthusiasm.
"Or we could go get some coffee and veggie burgers and read comics on the bus," Mikey offered with just as much of a straight face but honest enthusiasm.
"Yes!" Gerard actually jumped with excitement, and Ray grinned.
"I don't know if it's safe to walk the street with you guys," Ray warned. "We are the most dangerous band in the world."
The boys laughed as they walked down the street, a typical rock star afternoon of coffee, vegetarian food, and old comic books on their minds.
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- Current Mood: chipper
- Current Music:Sanitarium (Metallica)