(no subject)

[turps]

From eledhwenlin

1. genderswap
2. bodyswap
3. drunk!fic
4. huddling for warmth
5. pretending to be married
6. secretly a virgin
7. amnesia
8. cross-dressing
9. forced to share a bed
10. truth or dare
11. historical AU
12. accidental-baby-acquisition
13. apocalypse fic
14. telepathy
15. High School / College AU

Give me a fandom/pairing, and I'll tell you something. Fandoms applicable: bandom

Just to be clear, It's more likely to be notfic in response. But, a meme like this is how Nowhereville happened, so who knows what ideas will take hold.

Comments

[eledhwenlin]

Mikey/Ryan, pretending to be married. :D

[turps]

When Pete throws a huge Decaydance party in Vegas, Mikey decides to attend. I mean, sure, his band's not actually signed by Pete, but Mikey's got an invitation and it's been too long since he's had hangs with some of his FBR friends. A few days kicking back amongst the glitz and glitter while Alicia has fun at the tar pits, he can do that.

So Mikey heads off to Vegas, and spends hours chatting with old friends, swapping industry gossip and grinning at every good natured jibe about being a superstar that's sent his way. He dances with Gabe and hugs Pete a lot and talks comics with Ian who's actually left Panic now but still gets an invitation. The same way Ryan gets an invitation too.

He wasn't going to come at first, but then Spencer called and said how he was looking forward to seeing Ryan, and things are still so newly fixed between them -- the scars of the divorce still barely scabbed over -- that Ryan ended up coming. Something he's regretting now.

It's not that he's not having a good time. It's just. Things are weird. These are people he used to know and see often, while now he's still family, but the kind of family that's the strange uncle who only visits at holidays and not the immediate core.

It feels wrong checking himself from grabbing a hug from Patrick or making polite small talk with Nate when before he'd be giving him shit. So, drink in hand Ryan finds a quiet corner and scrolls through his photos, picking which ones he's going to share with the world.

Which is when Mikey Way appears. Ryan knows him of course, and even though Ryan's a seasoned professional now he still gets that jolt in his stomach as Mikey approaches, drops down in the chair next to Ryan and says, hi.

Cooley, Ryan says hi in response, and they sit in silence a little until Mikey starts laughing at Pete who's holding court standing on a table, a crooked crown on his head as he tells some story. Which prompts Mikey to tell his own story about Pete and soon Ryan's laughing, caught up in memories as they swap tour stories and talk about the outrageous things that they've done in the past.

When Ryan tells about how he had all of twitter in uproar about his supposed marriage, Mikey laughs and says, we can do better than that.

Which is how Mikey ends up grabbing hold of Ryan's hand and pulling him to his feet, holding on as they leave the party and head for the nearest chapel. It's something fuelled by laughter, old stories and them both being caught in the moment as they dismiss the first chapel for being too normal, and keep running, weaving through the crowds until they find the tackiest place that they can.

It's why that night a picture appears on twitter of Mikey and Ryan wearing top hats, both expressionless as they stare at the camera, the caption under the picture saying, just married.

The fans go wild, and Mikey and Ryan laugh over the comments as they head back to the party, clutching a picture that will never get online. One of them both grinning wide and showing off their matching candy rings, props to a marriage that's not legal but makes them both smile.

Back at the party they're greeted by applause and food thrown instead of rice, and Ryan ends up in a different group from Mikey, and never sees his new 'husband' again that night. In fact, he thinks he'll probably never see him again until a few days later he gets a text which simply says, 'I want to meet my husband's husband, come over smtime. Alicia'

Ryan grins and puts the number into his phone.

[ladyfoxxx]

Mikey/Ray secretly a virgin

[turps]

Going on tour for the first time is a time of contrasts for Ray. He loves the music and getting on stage and performing, losing himself in his playing and listening to the sound they're creating together. But it's also a time of hiding and shame.

It shouldn't. Ray knows it's okay to be gay. He's read a self help book and surfed the forums that teach being out is okay. But he can't seem to take that last step and actually say, hi, I like guys.

It's why he eventually stops trying to pick up at all. It's easier that way. If he's in a crowd talking music no one notices how he doesn't want to dance with the girls with their glossy lips and t-shirts cut low or how he craves the touch of the men, his attention constantly pulled toward the ones with tight jeans and dark rimmed eyes.

A few weeks, a few months, and it's easy to push all urges aside. It's hard to jerk off when you're always surrounded and have to sleep surrounded by sweat-soaked clothes and boxes of merch. So Ray doesn't, he doesn't jerk off and he doesn't try to pick anyone up, and he thinks no one has noticed.

Until one day Ray's got an unexpected five minutes alone in the van when Mikey climbs inside, crawling over the bags that are wedged between the seats until he can sit next to Ray.

Which is weird because the prime front passenger seat is empty, but Mikey's paying it no heed. Instead he's staring at Ray, and says simply, "You never pick anyone up."

Ray forces a smile as he tries to think what to say, and finally says, "I've seen no one I want to pick up."

It should be the end, because this isn't something they talk about. Sex something that happens but doesn't get discussed in the van, except, Mikey's not moving, just keeps staring and then says, "No, it's not that."

And Ray would try and distract Mikey's attention with comic book talk or opinions on music but Mikey's suddenly moving, one hand on Ray's hip for balance as Mikey leans in for a kiss.

It's not the first kiss that Ray's had. He's kissed his mom and his aunts and his pillow back when he first went to high school. He's briefly kissed girls when he's been out for the night, maintaining the show for a few seconds only and guys in dark hallways before losing his nerve. This kiss is nothing like those at all.

It feels like Ray's body has gone numb, the only thing that registers -- that matters -- the feel of Mikey's mouth, and then Mikey's tongue as he slides it into Ray's mouth.

His heart racing, Ray grabs for Mikey's arm, clenching his fingers as Mikey deepens the kiss, and then pulls back, staring at Ray as he says, "This is okay?"

Ray nods, actual words beyond him as Mikey presses kisses over Ray's mouth, gentle as he works his way down to his neck, mouth working in conjunction with his hand as Mikey bites at Ray's neck, impatiently pushing back hair as he digs in his teeth and then licks over the mark.

It's a maddening combination of soothed pain, and Ray's in unfamiliar territory, his breathing harsh as Mikey keeps biting while working at the buckle of Ray's belt.

"You don't..." Ray breaks off, his words gone in a gasp as Mikey unfastens the belt and then button of Ray's pants, his every move confident and sure as he wiggles into place, Mikey's t-shirt riding up and exposing his back as he slowly pulls at Ray's pants.

Taking the hint, Ray pushes up, and knows he's not going to last long. There's no way that he can when he can feel sticky vinyl against his bare ass, his pants tight around his thighs as he looks down and sees Mikey, wet-mouthed and hair falling into his face, his glasses slipping to the end of his nose as he delicately licks over Ray's dick.

It's only the tiniest of touches, but to Ray it feels like already he's pulling apart. Wanting to thrust up, to fuck Mikey's mouth, to do anything but sit here and just take it, Ray grabs hold of the back of the seat, fingers aching as Mikey looks up, mouth slightly open and the head of Ray's dick nestled between his lips.

It's like the porn Ray used to look at back in the day. Except this porn is Mikey, with his dark eyes and flushes cheeks and small smile when Ray manages to gasp out. "I won't last."

"I know," Mikey says, and then, "It's okay," as in one sure, fast move, he swallows Ray down.

[glitteryv]

Frank/Mikeyway, bodyswap. :D?

[turps]

I was tempted to copy/paste the F/M body swap section from my holiday fic from last year. But will be good and do something new.

The first time it happens Frank's just joined the band. It feels right -- it feels good -- like something has slipped into place, which is why Mikey can never understand why he's always so afraid to step onto the stage.

He loves playing and hearing the kids sing their songs, but every time he uses his bass as a shield as he freezes in place, and spends half the time with his back to the crowd.

It's why, amongst the hand claps and congratulations, he always feels disappointed in himself, failure at the back of his mind as Mikey necks down beer with vodka chasers, laughing with his band while hiding how his hands would still shake if he lets them.

That's the first time that they swap. The weight Mikey secretly carries suddenly replaced by exhilaration as he staggers and looks up, finding himself crushed in a hug next to Ray.

That night the swap lasts all of a few minutes, and ends with Mikey back in his own body and Frank taking hold of Mikey's hand and saying, we need to talk.

The second time doesn't happen until they're roomies. And it's not like Frank is actually sad. Not in the bad way that he's watched consume Gerard at times. Just, he's tired and missing his mom and as much as he loves this life, sometimes living in a shitty, freezing cold apartment sucks, especially when Frank gets sick yet again. His chest aching as he bundles up on the couch and tries to pretend that everything is fine.

But of course it isn't. With no money for meds Frank battles it out, coughing up gunk when Mikey isn't watching and drinking endless cups of tepid water that don't hurt his throat.

All he wants is to feel warm and to be able to breathe without rasping, or his mom to sit by his side and say that things will be fine.

That doesn't happen. But what does is suddenly Frank feels 100% okay. It happens from one breath to the next, Frank dizzy for all of a moment before straightening up and seeing himself lying flat out on the couch.

Which is weird, really fucking weird, but Frank remembers that time back in the day when he experienced what Mikey was hiding.

"Next time we talk about this shit," Mikey --- Frank --- Mikey rasps, sitting up slowly and looking like death warmed over. "Write down what meds you need."

Frank props himself up against the nearest wall, his whole body feeling off-balance as he says, "I've got no money."

"I have," Mikey says, and glares, a Mikey glare that looks wrong on Frank's face. "Meds. Now."

"Going," Frank says, reaching for a pencil and wincing in sympathy at the sound of harsh coughing.

The third time.... the third time is the worst.

Hunched up in the bathroom, Mikey pushes his clenched fists against his eyes and tries not to cry. Downstairs he can hear the others, practising yet again and filling the whole house with music. It seeps into Mikey's skin, choking him as he tries to take a deep breath and push back the fear.

But it doesn't go. It never does and Mikey's about done. So tired he can barely stand upright and his whole body frozen.

Eyes closed, he feels tears slip through his fingers, and then nothing, looks up and sees the bathroom is gone, replaced by the practice room and Frank's guitar in his hands. Mikey clutches on tight, and for the first time in weeks doesn't feel like he's drowning, for the first time in weeks he can say, "I need help."

"Mikey?" Gerard says, and while Gerard knows about the swaps this is the first time he's seen them, and all Mikey can do is stand still as Gerard pulls him close and says, "We'll fix this."

Mikey nods, clinging onto Gerard for these few precious moments when finally, his thoughts run clear.

The fourth time is the last.

Bottle of pills in his hand, Frank takes his morning meds, and tries not to look in the mirror. That way he doesn't have to see his own body. His face puffy and tattoos stretched out. And it's not like Frank's vein -- he's not -- it's just, he has this view of himself and this isn't it.

Usually Frank can run the stage without wanting to die, can roll and spin and jump to his feet. Now his whole body is turning against him. Fat on his stomach and wobbling under his chin, made worse by the pictures online, and the comments that are always attached.

He used to be hot.

What the fuck has happened to Frank?

Frank should be immune, except this is something out of his control, and Frank hates it. He hates not fitting into his clothes and bulging over his belts. He hates the bed creaking when he climbs in and how he pants for breath climbing stairs.

He hates it all, and still does when the dizziness hits, and suddenly he's not in the bathroom at all.

"Frank." A pause, and then Mikey's walking into the bedroom, steps awkward and slow in Frank's body. "Frank, look at me." Frank doesn't want to look up and see himself lumbering forward, but he does, and keeps looking as Mikey says, "Look but feel what I'm feeling."

It's a sentence that shouldn't make sense, but Frank gets what Mikey is saying. Relaxing, he settles into Mikey's body, feeling the emotions that cling on. The resignation that Mikey has to get up, the confusion at finding himself in swapped bodies yet again, but mostly the love. So powerful that there's no way Frank can deny it as Frank looks at himself through Mikey's eyes, and realises that, no matter his own fears, Mikey loves him. Deep and true and lasting.

And looks mean nothing. They never have.

[annemari]

Mikey/Gerard, amnesia!

[turps]

The problem is, when you keep something hidden it's easier for it to get lost.

And it's not like the others didn't know. It was impossible not to when Gerard's every emotion shows on his face and he loved Mikey with all his heart.

Loves Mikey with all of his heart. That hasn't changed, even if Mikey himself has.

Even now, weeks later, Gerard holds onto hope that one day Mikey will wake up and remember. That he'll open his eyes, look over to Gerard and instead of surprise, will show recognition. That one day Mikey will wake up and be fine.

But not today. Not this morning.

Mikey's eyelids flutter, his eyelashes dark spikes and gummed with tears. Before, Gerard used to ask why, what dreams caused Mikey to shout out and cry; but not now. Mikey never remembers, will lie in bed with a frown as he looks at Gerard and places him back in his life. It's not fair to add dreams into that, and Gerard wipes away wet tracks with his thumb, waiting to find out what Mikey remembers today.

"You're Gerard," Mikey says. Pushing himself up he sits and looks around the room and then back to Gerard. "You're my brother. We're in our house in the forest."

"Yeah. Yeah that's right," Gerard says, his smile forced as he sits on the side of the bed and pulls back the bandage that's wraps Mikey's palm, exposing the scratch underneath. It's darker today, tendrils of poison trailing out further and Gerard's chest is tight as he asks, "What else do you remember?"

Mikey pulls up his legs, arms wrapped around his knees as he thinks and eventually, haltingly says, "We live here with other people. Two I think," and more than anything Gerard wants to fill in the answers, but he knows that he can't. Instead he stays silent, biting into his cheek as Mikey tries to remember, and eventually admits. "I can't see their faces."

"It's okay," Gerard says and turns on the bed, his hand on Mikey's, trying to comfort through touch. "We'll find the antidote, your memories will come back."

Mikey turns his hand, links his fingers with Gerard's. "You're my brother."

"Yes I am," Gerard says, and doesn't add that he's more. That he's been more for almost all of their lives. "I'm your brother and I love you."

And Gerard will, as day by day, Mikey's memories are stripped back further, until eventually, he won't know Gerard at all.

But that's okay. When that happens Gerard will love him enough for them both.

[turlough]

Gabe/Gerard, huddling for warmth!

[turps]

It's weird being Mikey Way's brother.

Not in a bad way, it's just, when Gerard goes out with Mikey it feels like everyone stares. Whispering as they look their way and judge what they're seeing. Of course Mikey says it's not true, that Gerard's being paranoid, but he's not. Gerard sees their quick looks, how they weigh him up and find him lacking even as they call Mikey's name.

Not that Gerard ever mentions when he sees in their eyes. There's no point, it just is how it is, Mikey the sun and Gerard the shadow as he heads for the bar and the refuge of drink.

Shitty beer with vodka chasers and Gerard doesn't give a damn what they think. He sits for hours, marinating in his own sweat, hair clinging to his neck and t-shirt wet through as he takes in second hand air, breathing in smoke and fumes and the perfume of the girl standing close, her back pointedly toward Gerard.

A sloppy salute with his bottle, and Gerard slips off of the bar stool, staggering a little as the floor sways beneath him, trying to trip Gerard up. Steady at last, Gerard looks over at Mikey, who as always, is surrounded by people, none of whom look Gerard's way as he makes his way to the door.

Five minutes and he'll go back. Five minutes and he'll be cooled down enough to lose himself in the burn of cheap vodka, embracing the haze of the unnoticed.

A hand stamp later and Gerard steps outside, sweat cold on his body as he shivers and hunches inside of his coat.

"Gerard Way, and without your other half."

Despite the use of his name, it takes Gerard a moment to realise who's talking, and that Gabe's actually talking to Gerard. Not that he'll be staying for long. Gabe's Mikey's friend, and Gerard takes a step closer to the wall, seeking the scant shelter. "Mikey's inside."

"I'll see him later," Gabe says, but makes no attempt to move, just keeps standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking over at Gerard. "You're going to freeze out here."

Gerard cups his hands and blows on his fingers, says, "I'm not staying out long. Just clearing my head."

"You couldn't do that wearing a hat or gloves?" Gabe asks, and then adds, "Fucking Ways, you've all got a death wish."

"There's only two of us," Gerard points out, "Unless you've met our parents."

"I've met your mom in my dreams," Gabe says, exaggeratedly leering as he takes a step closer. "I'm going to save your life."

"Okay." It's all Gerard can think of to say, unsure what Gabe's doing or actually means, because things like this don't happen to Gerard. He goes to school and talks to the friends he's known forever and then comes home to hide and recharge. He doesn't stand on a freezing cold sidewalk with Gabe Saporta, who's folding himself around Gerard, hugging him close and using his body as a windbreak as he pulls his coat around them both. "You're hugging me."

"I'm saving your life," Gabe corrects, and tightens his hold. "You're in my clutches now. You're not getting away."

Truthfully, as strange as this is, Gerard got no desire to do so, staying wrapped in Gabe's arms even as he turns his head and says, "You know I'm not Mikey."

Gabe stares, mouth twisted up into a smile. "I'm not blind."

Which okay, Gerard can give him that, but even so. "So what, you go around hugging strangers on the street."

Gabe starts to reply, then shuts his mouth, his smile widening before saying, "I was going to say no, but truthfully, yeah. But you're not a stranger. You're Gerard."

"Who you've never actually talked to before," Gerard says, warmer now, but still confused about what's going on.

"We're talking now," Gabe says, and then, "You're still cold. There's a diner at the end of the block. They serve good coffee."

"You want me to go for coffee with you?" Gerard asks, sure that's what Gabe means, but needing to make sure. "You know who I am?"

"Again. Not blind," Gabe says, no hint of a smile this time as he looks down at Gerard. "Gerard Way. Do you want to go and get coffee?"

"I'll have to tell Mikey I'm going," Gerard says, already reaching down for his phone. "But yes."

And maybe this is unexpected, and maybe Gerard still isn't sure exactly what's going on. But it feels good, it feels right, and for the first time in a long time, Gerard realises he actually has been seen.

[themoononastick]

I was going to say Mikey/Ryan, accidental baby acquisition, but then I remembered that you're Queen of evil hurt and I feared the horror that would most likely have been the cause of said acquisition.

so, Mikey/Ryan, telepathy.

[kopperblaze]

.....we still haven't fully pulled you over to the H side....oh pout

[turps]

No angst and woe in sight, see!



Ryan knows he's not first.

He's not the second or third or the tenth either.

Truthfully, if you include the first few disasters, Ryan's up in the late teens. Which is fine, it doesn't matter what number he is, it just matters he's the last. The newest. The best.

Until he isn't the newest at all.

After months with Pete being happy, Ryan feels sick when he pushes open the lab door and sees the new test-tube, the contents already bubbling inside.

He started mixing this morning.

Mikey's close, enough that Ryan can sense emotion as well as his words. Close enough that Ryan's barely had time to stare into the test-tube when Mikey walks into the lab and stands at his side.

He said he was bored.

If Pete was here he'd tell Mikey to use words. As he's not, it's just easier this way, Mikey fitting himself against Ryan, holding on as they both stare at the sludge that's going to become part of their family.

"Are we not...." Am I not good enough. Why does he need more? Am I not enough?

Ryan tries not to think, but as hard as he tries, the questions slip out, Mikey holding on tighter in response.

It's not that. It's Pete. You know how he is.

Which is the thing. Ryan does know. About Pete's quick-silver attention and need to do better. How while he loves hard and true and forever, it's a love that constantly changes. Like it did with Mikey. Like how it's happening with Ryan right now.

This one could be a disaster. Like number twelve.. Mikey rests his head against Ryan's, takes a soft breath and then adds verbally, "You'll be okay."

Ryan nods, and for a moment slumps against Mikey. "I'll be fine, I've got my new outside family."

"And me," Mikey says, and transmits Always. Always have me.

And maybe Ryan isn't the newest now. Maybe he isn't the best. But he knows that he's loved, and that helps. A little.

[melusina]

12 Killjoys. . .

[turps]

Once, Gerard held dreams for the future.

He'd have a good job and his own house and a family that included two kids.

Now, those dreams are nothing but tatters, and all Gerard can do is try to survive.

And he's good at that. He is. He has to be. When you live in the zones it's a case of kill or be killed, never stop running, take each day one at a time.

Until Gerard has no choice but to stop running.

~~~~

"Stop!" Frank yells suddenly, his attention on the laser-blasted car at one side of the track. "You need to stop now."

Gerard slows, but doesn't stop. To do so would be suicide, especially here, when Dracs have obviously been close. It's something Frank knows, and Gerard doesn't get what's so different that Frank's wants to stop now. "There'll be no one left alive."

"I saw something," Frank says, his upper body out of the window as he looks back at the car. "We can't just drive away."

"Yeah, we can," Gerard says, and they should, but already he's turning the car, dust billowing up as he bumps off the track. "A minute then we're gone."

Frank slides back into the car and nods, hand on the door handle so he's outside and running before they've even come to a complete stop.

Gerard doesn't follow. Stopping already is insane, to leave the trans am would only compound that. Instead he studies the horizon, eyes narrowed against the sun and one hand on his gun as he watches for signs of attack.

"Oh hell no."

Gerard looks to the side, trying to see what's got Frank sounding so angry. Which is when he first sees the baby, tiny, wrapped in a blanket and starting to wail as Frank tucks it against his chest, picks up a bag and then runs.

"The fuck? Frank?" Gerard stares for a moment, taking in how carefully Frank's holding the baby, and how he gently wipes dust from its face when they're both safely inside. "You can't bring a baby."

Frank glares, staring Gerard down. "Well we're not leaving it either. The parents are dead, a few hours and she'll be dead too."

"It's a girl?" It's been forever since Gerard's seen something so tiny, so helpless, and he starts to reach out before abruptly pulling back his hand. "We can't take her. It might be better to...."

"Don't you dare," Frank hisses, cutting Gerard off. "Don't even think about it."

Gerard doesn't want to think about it, but the facts are, babies don't travel the zones. They're not made to travel the zones and he says, "We can't keep her. Zone runners don't have babies."

"They don't have families either," Frank says, his hand cupped against the baby's head, as if sheltering her from Gerard's words. "But you're running with Mikey."

"That's different," and it is. Mikey may have been young at the beginning -- far too young -- but he could run and fire a gun. He wasn't helpless, and Gerard says, "Frank. We can't."

For a long time Frank doesn't reply. Just keeps staring at Gerard and then lets out a breath and says softly, "I know. But we're not leaving her here."

"Okay." That's something Gerard can live with, as long as Frank knows she can't stay. No matter how much Gerard aches to hold her and take solace in something innocent and undamaged, if only for a few minutes. "We'll go to the stunt show. Someone will know what to do."

"Hear that, dust doll," Frank says, his face close to the baby's, and right now he looks different, all rough edges softened as, in this moment, his barriers come down. "We're going to find you a home."

Gerard forces himself to look forward, puts his foot down and drives.

[doctor_jasley]

could I get 13 apoc with Mikey/Gerard(possibly Brendon if possible?)

[turps]

They find Brendon at the slave pens.

Not that they knew his name back then.

~~~

"Gentlemen, approach, look, take in your fill." The hawker steps forward, the zap whip on his hip swinging as he sweeps an arc with his arm. "Check out his stats. Level three trained, but strong too."

Gerard stops walking and looks over at Mikey. Not that he can see his face through his veil, but Gerard can feel how Mikey's squeezing his hand, and knows he's seen too.

"Also wilful," Gerard says, dismissive as he scans the data cards attached outside of the glow field. "It says he attacked his last owner. The price should reflect that."

"Indeed. It does reflect that." Casually, the hawker takes hold of his zap whip and snaps his wrist, white hot streams of electric hitting the slave inside of the glow field. Instantly he drops to his knees, back arched and face to the ground as he rides out the spasms. "As you can see. The wilfulness is being drained from him."

"So I see," Gerard says, and he does. He sees the way the slave is already back on his feet, shoulders square and chin up despite the freshly burned welts on his back. "Five barrels of water and two grain."

The hawker throws up his hands, affecting outrage as he says, "Impossible. Do you see him. Trained in all ways and an asset to all."

Gerard glances over at Mikey, seeing the slight tilt of his head as he tightens his grip. Reassured this is the right thing to do, Gerard approaches the pen and then turns, frowning despite his face being hidden from view. "I see damaged goods. Some of those welts are infected. No doubt he'll be dead by the end of the week."

"He's taken more than a whipping and bounced back," the hawker says, his smile sly as he lewdly rotates his hips. "Seven barrels of water and three grain. You won't regret it."

"Six and two, and that's my final offer," Gerard says, preparing to walk away. "We take him now and you get the goods in the hour."

"Fine. You're robbing me blind, but fine." The hawker spits and runs a reader over Gerard's offered arm. "Take him. If the goods don't arrive I'll hunt you down and kill you."

"I'm sure that you will," Gerard says coolly, his hand feeling cold when Mikey lets go and moves toward Brendon. "Disable the glow field."

"I can sell you a collar," the hawker says, reaching into his robe and pulling out a metallic square attached to a sharp needle. "It's the best in nerve tech. Attach this and he won't run."

Hidden inside of his robe, Gerard clenches his hands, wanting to snatch the collar and smash it under his boot. "No need. He won't run. Drop the glow field, now."

The hawker shrugs and disables the glow field, watching as Mikey steps onto the compacted and bloody sand, and reaches for Brendon.

"Fucking pansy ass owners," the hawker spits out, and Gerard would correct him, but right now he needs to help Mikey, who's got his hand on the slave's arm, gently urging him toward Gerard.

"Hi," Gerard says, and doesn't stop the slave kneeling, image everything when they're all out in public. "Stand, we've a meeting to go to."

The slave nods, standing easily and barely flinching when puss escapes from the scabbed welts on his back.

Gerard holds out his hand, entwining his fingers with Mikey's, their new slave standing close.

"It's time to go home," Mikey says, and then, "We don't know your name."

What the slave should say is, 'I don't have one' but he doesn't. Instead he looks back and says, "Brendon. My name is Brendon."

And yeah. In that instant Gerard knows they've made the right choice.

[nadya]

Mikey/Frank, cross-dressing! =)

[turps]

I hope you know the Britney Spears Hit Me One More Time video or this will make no sense at all.

Also, great choice!


The thing is. Mikey’s insane.

Certifiably, loony-tunes, off-his-head insane, and proves it when he says, “It’s okay if it is. You know, your thing.”

“It’s not,” Frank snaps back, and glares at the bags strewn over the bed. “I told you. It’s a joke. A stupid fucking joke.”

Mikey shrugs, bending forward so he can ease a thick, grey sock over his foot. “A joke that needs me to dress up like Britney Spears?”

Frank swallows, looking away as Mikey rolls up the sock past his knee, the elastic sitting snug around his thigh. “Exactly. We’re tough guy rockers and she’s a pop princess. It’s a contrast joke.”

“Was a pop princess,” Mikey corrects, and looks over at Frank. “And since when have we been tough guy rockers?”

“Okay, fine. Ray’s a tough guy rocker,” Frank says, and for the hundredth time wishes he’d opted for the ghost costumes, even if they had been lame and smelled like piss. “You’re still a pop princess.”

In reply, Mikey grabs the other sock from the bag and starts balling it up. “Where did you even get these things?”

“There’s a private school close-by, I sent out to their uniform supply shop,” Frank says, and tugs at his tie, tightening the knot so it lies perfect against the crisp edge of his shirt collar. “Just so you know. If you ever want to buy your own wrap around school skirt you’re a medium junior miss.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Mikey says. Straightening, he crosses his legs, the split in his skirt widening and exposing almost all of his thigh. “I didn’t think they had school skirts with splits this high.”

“Yeah, I took the scissors to it,” Frank admits, and bites at the inside of his cheek, focussing on the flair of pain and not the way Mikey’s knotting his white shirt, leaving the top buttons unfastened and showing the maroon bra he’s wearing underneath.

“Should I pad them?” Mikey says, and looks down at his chest. “Britney’s a bit bigger than me.”

“An ironing board’s bigger than you,” Frank says, and that’s the problem, because if Mikey’s supposed to be Britney, he should pad out the bra. But Frank likes Mikey likes this. Hair in greasy pigtails and eyes darkened, the grey cardigan he’s pulling on tight around his shoulders and bunched at his forearms.

It’s Britney but mostly it’s Mikey, comfortable as he pulls at the knot of his shirt and reveals more of his stomach. “So, padding?”

“I think... no.” Frank pushes his hands in his pockets, hating the unforgiving baggy pants yet again. “You look good.”

“For a joke,” Mikey says, sliding his feet into the high-heeled clunky boots Frank bought as part of the costume.

“A joke costume,” Frank says, his mouth dry as he watches Mikey tighten and fasten his laces. “You’re not a joke.”

“No, I’m a pop princess,” Mikey says and stands, the heels pushing his hips forward and his skirt riding low, the too-high split showing more leg as Mikey approaches Frank’s bed and stands close, looking down at Frank. “We should go. They’ll be waiting.”

“They can wait a bit longer.” They’re going to have to in fact as Frank can’t resist reaching out, resting his hands on Mikey’s hips.

“They can,” Mikey agrees, and moves even closer, the material of his skirt pulled tight as he straddles Frank’s lap and then sits, his knees pushed up and out, and precariously balanced as Frank shifts his grip, one hand against Mikey’s back and sliding the other over his leg. Past the elastic of Mikey’s grey socks and then up, over the smooth skin of his inner thigh until Frank can touch already damp cotton.

“Those were a nice touch,” Mikey says, his breath warm as he talks into Frank’s ear. “Matching the panties to the shirt.”

“It’s all about details,” Frank manages to say, biting back a groan when Mikey rocks forward. “Costumes have to be perfect. That’s important.”

“Super important,” and Mikey’s mouth is right there, painted pink and glossy as he says once again. “We should go, show off our costumes.”

“We should.” Frank nods, and already knows that he’s lying, and that yeah, however much he denied it before, this is a thing -- a huge, fucking big thing. “Or we could stay here.”

Mikey rocks forward again, “You want to debauch Britney?”

And that’s one thing Frank does know for sure as he shakes his head and says, “No, I want to debauch you.”

[solarbaby614]

Pete/Patrick #15

[turps]

Pete doesn't like school. Or more truthfully, school doesn't like him.

Which isn't surprising, Pete isn't made for early mornings, rigid rules and a system that leaves him bored and frustrated in turn. It's not that Pete doesn't want to learn, he does, just he wants knowledge on his own terms, and that doesn't include being shut inside and listening to the drone of his teachers.

The monotony makes it easy for Pete to check out, mind skipping at a thousand miles an hour and only half focussing on the lesson being taught. The songs he's been listening to, the blogs he's going to write. The party last week and those coming up, soccer and books and a thousand other things that Pete examines and picks over -- and of course, there's Patrick.

Patrick who's just finished after school practice, and is right now is standing outside of the classroom, hat pulled down low and headphones looped around his neck, the music tinny in the few moments it takes for him to turn of his iPod and say, "You got detention again? Seriously?"

"Mrs Bellamy said I wasn't paying attention." Which isn't true, Pete was, just not in the way that she wanted. "I got an extra day for trying to say that I was."

Patrick frowns and picks up his trombone case while grabbing hold of the strap of Pete's bag, pulling him away from the classroom. "So you've two days? Jesus."

"Three days," Pete says, moving close and matching his step to Patrick's. "She said I was being insolent."

"And were you?" Patrick asks, and Pete would protest at the lack of faith, that Patrick shouldn't have to ask, but the truth is, Patrick knows Pete too well to fall for a distraction based lie.

"All I did was smile at her." Of course it was the smile that Pete's perfected to shore up his shields, the one that's more a snarl than a grin.

Patrick sighs, says, "You're going to be in detention forever."

"I don't care," Pete says, and he doesn't, because detention means a delay going home, but more importantly, means Pete gets to see Patrick.

The journey home stretched out with detours and Pete talking, words tumbling free and thoughts dampened, made manageable until for the first time since waking, Pete doesn't feel like he's about to jump from his skin.

Pete needs that. He needs Patrick, and if that means blotting his record for excuses to stay late. Well, that's just what Pete will keep doing.

[pennyplainknits]

Pete/Ryan, forced to share a bed? Maybe?

[turps]

Truthfully, Ryan was surprised to get the invitation to Pete's party.

Even now, hours after arriving, it feels unreal. Like somehow he's stepped back in time to be surrounded by people who used to be part of his life. Not that they dislike him now. Since arriving Ryan hasn't stopped talking, glass in hand as he circles the rooms and touches base with old friends.

It's just. Those old friends have changed now, Ryan silent and listening as they talk of unfamiliar situations and people. It's weird and disconcerting and even if Ryan did spend almost an hour crammed onto a sofa with Spencer, the old comfortable stories came along with a reminder that Spencer's changed too.

Of course, it's something that goes two ways. Ryan isn't the person he was back then. He's more settled now, having fun with his new circle of friends and making music in the way that he wants. If asked, Ryan would say he wouldn't change a thing, and he wouldn't, even if his heart does ache at times. Like now, when he stands in a doorway and watches Spencer curl up with Brendon on a couch in the den, Ian and Dallon close by as they watch some movie on TV and the party winds down around them.

"Looks like a good time," Pete says, and moves to stand next to Ryan. He waits a moment and then adds, "That movie sucks."

"Yeah," Ryan says, because that's the whole point, to find a movie so terrible you've no choice but to laugh. "We used to watch it before."

Even now, Ryan's reciting the dialogue inside of his head, a count down to the group laughter that's coming, and when it does, Brendon laughs loudest and longest as always. It's a sound that makes Ryan smile, but still, he's not going to join them, something that Pete obviously knows.

"All the guest rooms are used and I found someone asleep in the tub," Pete says, sounding amused. "The whole house is a disaster."

"It's been a great party," Ryan says, and while it's been years, Ryan's sure that he's reading Pete right, that he's happy, content in the way he gets when he's done good things for his friends. "But I should go, it's late."

"Nearly morning," Pete says, and then, after a beat, "You could stay."

"I could," Ryan agrees, and takes a deep breath, something easing inside at the knowledge Pete wants him to stay. "I'll find a couch, or some floor."

"Or you could sleep in my room," Pete says, and while his words sound casual, they're also loaded. It's just, Ryan doesn't know what with. "I won't be sleeping for a while, and I've got a big bed."

"I've seen the pictures," Ryan says, and looks away from Pete back to the others, all four clustered together and laughing as Spencer heckles the movie. And it's not like they wouldn't make room for Ryan. They would, he knows that, but it wouldn't be the same.

Just as this thing with Pete can't be the same. Ryan's years past being star-struck by Pete, but he still likes him, a lot, no matter how things ended before.

It's why Ryan says, "Just to sleep," needing to clarify before running too fast.

"Just to sleep," Pete agrees, and then says, "I'll show you my notebooks."

And for the first time in forever, Ryan feels like Pete can be part of his future as well as his past.

[kopperblaze]

ooooh so many awesome things for me to read :DDD

and i would very much like

genderswap, either pete/mikey or gerard/mikey?

[turps]

Pete's never wanted to be a girl.

He likes his dick too much to lose it, and sure, he likes boobs as much as the next man -- if that man also likes flat chests and round asses and the million other things Pete finds attractive -- but he's never actually wanted them himself.

Which is why this is so weird now. Pete unable to stop looking, and touching, as he stands in front of the mirror in a puddle of pulled off clothes.

Unable to help himself, Pete runs the flat of his hand over the round of his stomach, his fingertips tracing lines of dark ink. Except, this time, those lines are distorted. They follow the curves of Pete's new body, the differences slight but there as he keeps moving his hand over and down, following the swell of his hip.

It's a touch that feels good, teasing as Pete swallows and takes in the changes. How his features seem softened, his hair longer and curled, how his mouth looks as he pulls in a breath, gasping as he moves his hand between his legs and curls up his fingers.

At first, Pete barely pushes inside, but it's enough to cause a full body shiver. Pete wants more, needs more, but not like this, when the angle is all wrong.

Pete pulls out, and brings his hand to his mouth, sucking at his fingers as he heads for the bedroom, his thighs damp and whole body tight with need.

And sees Mikey, curled up in the middle of the bed, his hair a tangled mess and covers pulled high.

"Pete?" Mikey moves, slow and sluggish, and Pete's frozen in place as he works out what he's seeing. Barely there breasts and a jawline that's been softened, Mikey's mouth slightly open as he sits, looks down his own body and says simply, "I'm a girl."

"A hot girl," Pete says, barely resisting the urge to jump on the bed and yell, 'Mine.'

Mikey blinks and stares over at Pete, his gaze intense and Pete presses his thighs together, needing the pressure as Mikey keeps looking and eventually says, "You're a girl, too."

"I am," Pete agrees, trying for cool, because Pete had time to process his change, so Mikey should have the same too.

Mikey nods and pulls at the blankets, exposing more of his body as he rolls to the side of the bed and says, "You need to come here."

As sentences go it's not a command, but Pete knows Mikey, and that includes knowing how he loves using his mouth. Fingers and tongue used together until the other person wants to scream and beg for release.

Pete's seen -- he's been there -- and the thought of Mikey eating him out, makes Pete weak at the knees.

Without a word, Pete walks forward and gets on the bed.