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Aug. 19th, 2010 02:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsAt one time I used to start one story and just keep going until it was done. Now I have actual WIPs. Granted, not as many as most people, but I'm not used to this.
Just in bandom I have the story where Bob is a pre-school teacher and ends up hooking up with Mikey. I've got so much done on that, I really need to get the damn thing finished. The one where Panic are runaways, and Ryan is saved by the Ways, in that Ryan has been knocked down and lying down on the road for a while now, he's probably bled to death by now. The Mikey/Gabe bodyswap that comes complete with an added dose of mixed up waycest, a canon based Frank/Mikey dealing with hook ups on tour and the beginning of gritty hooker fic which is so damn clichéd that if I actually had shame I'd be feeling it right now. A few thousand words in and already people are hungry and cold and fighting and bruised and just. Story of my heart, let me gaze upon you with love and affection. Though admittedly that story doesn't have an actual plot yet, but it will, I'm just indulging myself right now.
I'll just wait a moment for all you people with 2827028 wip lists to laugh at me now. Done? Okay.
I wrote cheer-up comment fic forshinetheway who's been feeling a bit poorly. She gave me prompts and I picked Frank having a broken femur and Mikey cheering him up with bad jokes. Which this is, also with added Jamia/Frank/Bob fantasy sex. I don't know what happened, okay? It just did. I blame Shine personally. I keep looking at her other prompts and having to look away before they morph into something like Mikey/Pete/Ashlee/Andy/Rubber duck.
Jamia opens the door before Mikey even gets the chance to knock. She’s already wearing her coat and pulls on a pink woollen hat as Mikey kicks his boots against the step, knocking off the snow.
“He’s already eaten,” Jamia says, wrapping a pink and black striped scarf around her neck. “He needs to take his meds in an hour, don’t let him say he doesn’t need them.”
“Okay.” Mikey comes inside, standing on the skull-print welcome mat as Jamia pulls on mittens and grabs her purse.
“I shouldn’t be long, it’s just...” She trails off and rubs a mittened hand against her face. “I love him but he’s driving me insane.”
“You should have doped him with something,” Mikey says, and smiles when Jamia laughs, her cheeks rounding under the layers of scarf.
“I considered it.” She looks toward the stairs then moves forward, stretching up and pressing a kiss against Mikey’s cheek. “Thanks.”
Mikey smiles again and starts to take off his coat. “Go, we’ll be fine.”
Jamia steps outside and snowflakes settle on her shoulders and hat, glistening as she looks at Mikey. “I’m sure you will be. I’ll knock when I come back.” She grins then, adds, “Or maybe I won’t.”
Coat fully off, Mikey hangs it on the stand, looking over his shoulder at Jamia. “It’s your house, no knocking.”
It should be impossible, but Jamia’s grin widens even further, her eyes bright under the woollen line of her hat. “Shameless.”
Mikey shrugs, hiding his own smile. “He’s in the master bedroom?”
“It was that or the basement,” Jamia says, taking out her car keys. “But yeah.”
“I’d better go up.” Mikey wiggles his fingers at Jamia and starts to close the door, then stops at a series of rhythmic thumps from upstairs. “Is that....”
“Yeah,” Jamia says, opening her car door. She looks back at Mikey. “Good luck.”
~~~~
Mikey finds Frank in the master bedroom. He’s lying on his side, pillows scattered at the bottom of the bed, looking amused as he bangs one of his crutches against the floor. When he sees Mikey Frank’s mouth turns down as he scowls and uses his crutch to point. “You left me alone. I could have rolled off the bed and broken my other leg.”
“You’ve been alone for five minutes,” Mikey points out, walking into the room. He settles on the side of the bed away from Frank’s purple casted leg. “And you’re not an invalid, you’re allowed to walk with your crutches.”
Frank flops onto his back, sighing and looking pathetic. “Jamia made me stay here.”
Mikey raises an eyebrow and stares at Frank. “Why?”
Mouth twitching at one corner, Frank says, “Because she’s mean and doesn’t understand the depths of my pain.”
“Really?” Mikey asks. “It’s not because you were playing baseball with your crutch and Mama’s ball?”
Frank sighs again, long and tragic. “It’s no fun if she tells you everything, and I only broke one vase.”
Mikey tries to be stern, reminding himself that Frank’s got a broken leg and shouldn’t be running around playing baseball indoors, but the facts are, crutch baseball sounds fucking cool. Going for a halfway measure he adopts ‘press pictures expression one’ TM Gerard , asks, “Did you get a home run?”
Frank shakes his head. “I tripped over Peppers, it’s how I broke the vase.”
“Tragic,” Mikey says, and doesn’t even laugh when Frank gives him a suspicious look.
“Fucking traitor, I know you’re laughing inside.”
Mikey looks levelly at Frank. “Wrong, I’m weeping inside. You just can’t see it.”
“Ray wouldn’t laugh at me,” Frank says, and attempts to kick at Mikey, his bare toes impacting against Mikey’s thigh. “Fuck.”
“Idiot,” Mikey says, and starts gathering the scattered pillows, heaping them in a long pile. “Put your leg there and lie still.”
Frank does, hissing in a breath as he curls his hands into fists. “Entertain me.”
Mikey takes in how Frank’s gone pale, how his eyes are screwed shut, and knows it’s a real request, one made in a need for a distraction and not any amusement value. It’s why Mikey says, “A man walked into a house. Ouch.”
Frank opens one eye. “That’s it?”
“Fucking demanding,” Mikey says, but remembers something he’d read the night before. “Three drunks are standing on top of the Empire State Building. The first one says to the other two, it's a funny thing about these wind currents. You could jump off of this building right now and not hit the ground; the wind would carry you right back up. The second drunk says, You're nuts. The first drunk says, I'm serious. Watch. So the first drunk jumps off of the fucking building, and the wind carries him right back up to the top.The second drunk says, let me try and leaps off the building and falls to the sidewalk, internal organs splattering everywhere, blood gushing like a fountain. The first drunk laughs and the third drunk looks at him and says, you know, Superman, you can be a real bastard when you're drunk."
“Better,” Frank says, relaxing slightly, both of his eyes open as he looks at Mikey. “Tell me another, but down here.”
“I don’t know any more,” Mikey says, folding forward so he can unlace his boots. “That’s it.”
Frank snorts dismissively. “Bob would know more jokes.”
Which is probably true, but all Mikey does is pull off his boots, letting them thud to the floor, then lies alongside Frank, sharing his pillow. He stares, taking in the lines at the corner of Frank’s eyes, the dark shadows and how Frank’s bottom lip is bitten and dry. Upping his distraction technique, Mikey says, “Would Bob do this?”
Mikey rests his hand on the front of Frank’s pajama bottoms, palm over his dick. He doesn’t move his hand, just remains still as Frank swallows and uses his good leg to thrust up the tiniest amount, as if unable to help himself as he says, “He might.”
“Yeah?” Mikey says, and curls his fingers over the waistband of the pajamas, his fingertips brushing against skin. “Bob would jerk you off? Wrap his hand around your dick, his strong, calloused drummer’s hands?”
“Yes,” Frank gasps out, obviously turned on.
“Stay still,” Mikey commands, directly in Frank’s ear. Pressing the heel of his palm against Frank’s dick, Mikey nips at his earlobe. “So you’re telling me that Bob would come here, lie on your bed and touch you like this?” Again, Frank thrusts up but Mikey doesn’t move his hand, trapping Frank against the bed. “I said, still.”
Punctuating that with another nip at Frank’s earlobe, Mikey keeps talking. “Or do you want him to do more, Frankie? Do you want him to fuck you with his fingers and tongue? For him to hold your legs apart as he licks until you’re slick and sloppy, spit soaked so he can add fingers, maybe his thumbs.”
Frank whimpers low in his throat and his eyes flutter closed, colour staining his pale cheeks. Mikey presses the advantage, keeping Frank still while breaking him apart with words.
“Or do you want to wait until you can wrap your legs around his back? Cling on as he fucks you so hard that all you can do is lie there and take it. You want that don’t you? Bob fucking you, making you hold onto the headboard and try to bite back your screams.”
Frank tries to arch his back, his head pushed into the pillow and mouth open, his voice rough when he says, “Mikey, please.”
Mikey delivers his killer blow, licks along Frank’s jawline and then says, “You want him to fuck you with Jamia watching, for her to be there as you scream into her mouth, for her to be there when Bob pulls out, joining her hand with his, pushing their fingers into you when you’re slick and fucked open.”
Frank moans, gasps, “Jesus, fuck,” and the crotch of his pajama’s darkening under Mikey’s fingers. Breathing hard, Frank opens his eyes and turns his head, looking at Mikey. “Bastard.”
“I was entertaining you,” Mikey says simply, and kisses Frank on the mouth. “And for my encore you get to watch.”
Hands going to his belt, Mikey lies on his back.
Just in bandom I have the story where Bob is a pre-school teacher and ends up hooking up with Mikey. I've got so much done on that, I really need to get the damn thing finished. The one where Panic are runaways, and Ryan is saved by the Ways, in that Ryan has been knocked down and lying down on the road for a while now, he's probably bled to death by now. The Mikey/Gabe bodyswap that comes complete with an added dose of mixed up waycest, a canon based Frank/Mikey dealing with hook ups on tour and the beginning of gritty hooker fic which is so damn clichéd that if I actually had shame I'd be feeling it right now. A few thousand words in and already people are hungry and cold and fighting and bruised and just. Story of my heart, let me gaze upon you with love and affection. Though admittedly that story doesn't have an actual plot yet, but it will, I'm just indulging myself right now.
I'll just wait a moment for all you people with 2827028 wip lists to laugh at me now. Done? Okay.
I wrote cheer-up comment fic for
shinetheway who's been feeling a bit poorly. She gave me prompts and I picked Frank having a broken femur and Mikey cheering him up with bad jokes. Which this is, also with added Jamia/Frank/Bob fantasy sex. I don't know what happened, okay? It just did. I blame Shine personally. I keep looking at her other prompts and having to look away before they morph into something like Mikey/Pete/Ashlee/Andy/Rubber duck.Jamia opens the door before Mikey even gets the chance to knock. She’s already wearing her coat and pulls on a pink woollen hat as Mikey kicks his boots against the step, knocking off the snow.
“He’s already eaten,” Jamia says, wrapping a pink and black striped scarf around her neck. “He needs to take his meds in an hour, don’t let him say he doesn’t need them.”
“Okay.” Mikey comes inside, standing on the skull-print welcome mat as Jamia pulls on mittens and grabs her purse.
“I shouldn’t be long, it’s just...” She trails off and rubs a mittened hand against her face. “I love him but he’s driving me insane.”
“You should have doped him with something,” Mikey says, and smiles when Jamia laughs, her cheeks rounding under the layers of scarf.
“I considered it.” She looks toward the stairs then moves forward, stretching up and pressing a kiss against Mikey’s cheek. “Thanks.”
Mikey smiles again and starts to take off his coat. “Go, we’ll be fine.”
Jamia steps outside and snowflakes settle on her shoulders and hat, glistening as she looks at Mikey. “I’m sure you will be. I’ll knock when I come back.” She grins then, adds, “Or maybe I won’t.”
Coat fully off, Mikey hangs it on the stand, looking over his shoulder at Jamia. “It’s your house, no knocking.”
It should be impossible, but Jamia’s grin widens even further, her eyes bright under the woollen line of her hat. “Shameless.”
Mikey shrugs, hiding his own smile. “He’s in the master bedroom?”
“It was that or the basement,” Jamia says, taking out her car keys. “But yeah.”
“I’d better go up.” Mikey wiggles his fingers at Jamia and starts to close the door, then stops at a series of rhythmic thumps from upstairs. “Is that....”
“Yeah,” Jamia says, opening her car door. She looks back at Mikey. “Good luck.”
~~~~
Mikey finds Frank in the master bedroom. He’s lying on his side, pillows scattered at the bottom of the bed, looking amused as he bangs one of his crutches against the floor. When he sees Mikey Frank’s mouth turns down as he scowls and uses his crutch to point. “You left me alone. I could have rolled off the bed and broken my other leg.”
“You’ve been alone for five minutes,” Mikey points out, walking into the room. He settles on the side of the bed away from Frank’s purple casted leg. “And you’re not an invalid, you’re allowed to walk with your crutches.”
Frank flops onto his back, sighing and looking pathetic. “Jamia made me stay here.”
Mikey raises an eyebrow and stares at Frank. “Why?”
Mouth twitching at one corner, Frank says, “Because she’s mean and doesn’t understand the depths of my pain.”
“Really?” Mikey asks. “It’s not because you were playing baseball with your crutch and Mama’s ball?”
Frank sighs again, long and tragic. “It’s no fun if she tells you everything, and I only broke one vase.”
Mikey tries to be stern, reminding himself that Frank’s got a broken leg and shouldn’t be running around playing baseball indoors, but the facts are, crutch baseball sounds fucking cool. Going for a halfway measure he adopts ‘press pictures expression one’ TM Gerard , asks, “Did you get a home run?”
Frank shakes his head. “I tripped over Peppers, it’s how I broke the vase.”
“Tragic,” Mikey says, and doesn’t even laugh when Frank gives him a suspicious look.
“Fucking traitor, I know you’re laughing inside.”
Mikey looks levelly at Frank. “Wrong, I’m weeping inside. You just can’t see it.”
“Ray wouldn’t laugh at me,” Frank says, and attempts to kick at Mikey, his bare toes impacting against Mikey’s thigh. “Fuck.”
“Idiot,” Mikey says, and starts gathering the scattered pillows, heaping them in a long pile. “Put your leg there and lie still.”
Frank does, hissing in a breath as he curls his hands into fists. “Entertain me.”
Mikey takes in how Frank’s gone pale, how his eyes are screwed shut, and knows it’s a real request, one made in a need for a distraction and not any amusement value. It’s why Mikey says, “A man walked into a house. Ouch.”
Frank opens one eye. “That’s it?”
“Fucking demanding,” Mikey says, but remembers something he’d read the night before. “Three drunks are standing on top of the Empire State Building. The first one says to the other two, it's a funny thing about these wind currents. You could jump off of this building right now and not hit the ground; the wind would carry you right back up. The second drunk says, You're nuts. The first drunk says, I'm serious. Watch. So the first drunk jumps off of the fucking building, and the wind carries him right back up to the top.The second drunk says, let me try and leaps off the building and falls to the sidewalk, internal organs splattering everywhere, blood gushing like a fountain. The first drunk laughs and the third drunk looks at him and says, you know, Superman, you can be a real bastard when you're drunk."
“Better,” Frank says, relaxing slightly, both of his eyes open as he looks at Mikey. “Tell me another, but down here.”
“I don’t know any more,” Mikey says, folding forward so he can unlace his boots. “That’s it.”
Frank snorts dismissively. “Bob would know more jokes.”
Which is probably true, but all Mikey does is pull off his boots, letting them thud to the floor, then lies alongside Frank, sharing his pillow. He stares, taking in the lines at the corner of Frank’s eyes, the dark shadows and how Frank’s bottom lip is bitten and dry. Upping his distraction technique, Mikey says, “Would Bob do this?”
Mikey rests his hand on the front of Frank’s pajama bottoms, palm over his dick. He doesn’t move his hand, just remains still as Frank swallows and uses his good leg to thrust up the tiniest amount, as if unable to help himself as he says, “He might.”
“Yeah?” Mikey says, and curls his fingers over the waistband of the pajamas, his fingertips brushing against skin. “Bob would jerk you off? Wrap his hand around your dick, his strong, calloused drummer’s hands?”
“Yes,” Frank gasps out, obviously turned on.
“Stay still,” Mikey commands, directly in Frank’s ear. Pressing the heel of his palm against Frank’s dick, Mikey nips at his earlobe. “So you’re telling me that Bob would come here, lie on your bed and touch you like this?” Again, Frank thrusts up but Mikey doesn’t move his hand, trapping Frank against the bed. “I said, still.”
Punctuating that with another nip at Frank’s earlobe, Mikey keeps talking. “Or do you want him to do more, Frankie? Do you want him to fuck you with his fingers and tongue? For him to hold your legs apart as he licks until you’re slick and sloppy, spit soaked so he can add fingers, maybe his thumbs.”
Frank whimpers low in his throat and his eyes flutter closed, colour staining his pale cheeks. Mikey presses the advantage, keeping Frank still while breaking him apart with words.
“Or do you want to wait until you can wrap your legs around his back? Cling on as he fucks you so hard that all you can do is lie there and take it. You want that don’t you? Bob fucking you, making you hold onto the headboard and try to bite back your screams.”
Frank tries to arch his back, his head pushed into the pillow and mouth open, his voice rough when he says, “Mikey, please.”
Mikey delivers his killer blow, licks along Frank’s jawline and then says, “You want him to fuck you with Jamia watching, for her to be there as you scream into her mouth, for her to be there when Bob pulls out, joining her hand with his, pushing their fingers into you when you’re slick and fucked open.”
Frank moans, gasps, “Jesus, fuck,” and the crotch of his pajama’s darkening under Mikey’s fingers. Breathing hard, Frank opens his eyes and turns his head, looking at Mikey. “Bastard.”
“I was entertaining you,” Mikey says simply, and kisses Frank on the mouth. “And for my encore you get to watch.”
Hands going to his belt, Mikey lies on his back.
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no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 10:50 pm (UTC)I'm seriously impressed and intimidated at your 60 plus WIPs. Also looking forward to each one.
Mikey/Pete/Ashlee/Andy would be hot, also kind of strange, but yeah, hot. There would be a lot of hair action going on.
I've been writing gritty hookerfic today. Mikey is a little fucked up so Frank's trying to get him to eat. Which just shows I'm a bad person too.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 04:49 am (UTC)i've got a claiming tables problem. it's an addiction.
i am quite happy to hear you're working on the gritty hooker fic. it makes a girl's heart sing.
the more i think about it, the more i want to read it. it would be sort of weird, but absolutely fascinating. for the colour prompt meme i ended up writing andy/gerard and sort of andy/brendon, andy needs to be having Moar Sex!
no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 07:38 am (UTC)Yeah, I sort of noticed your claiming addiction.
Over at DW I was being comment fed an idea where Bob was staying with at the Fuck City house, Andy was getting sex in that! I say go for it!