turps | A Bandom Kissing Meme.

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bandom kiss meme

A Bandom Kissing Meme.

Yesterday was national kissing day, and I was talking about how it would have been a good excuse for a kiss meme, and how it seemed those kind of themed memes seemed to have died out a little.

Various people suggested I host one myself, and I figured why not? The worst that could happen is no one plays or comments and I end up with an empty post. Therefore....

Now, rules, and if I've missed something you think should be there or have been unclear just let me know.

All previous and current bandom bands and members are welcome.
All pairings are welcome. Threesomes, moresomes, bring them on. Gen is fine too, and if you want to do solo kisses somehow, I'd love to see how.
Any kinds of kisses go, on the hand, on the forehead, making out for hours, brotherly kisses, friendly kisses, the kind in the middle of hot, sweaty sex.

Leave a prompt with the kind of kiss you'd like to see. Either general ( I love kisses in the rain ) or specific ( I'd love to see Frank kiss Gabe and have to stand on a box to do so ) but remember don't get too detailed, try for a middle balance.
You can leave as many prompts as you want, but only one prompt per comment.
If you want to answer your own prompt, go for it. The more kisses the better.
Prompts can be filled more than once with either fic or art.
You can write/draw as little or as much as you like.
If you do write/draw please put a pairing and title in the subject line, that way I can link from the main post.
Please warn if needed.

Other than that, go for it. Prompt kisses, write kisses, draw kisses. *mwah*

(1)Gerard/Mikey -- Spot by

akamine_chan
(2)Mikey/Ryan -- Cooking Class Verse by

eledhwenlin
(3)Frank/Gerard -- First sober kiss by

greedy_dancer
(4)Bob/Mikey -- Last Kiss by

akamine_chan
(5)Dr Death Defying/Show Pony -- lazy morning by

kopperblaze
(6)Frank/Mikey -- Reward by

chalcopyrite
(7)Bob/Mikey -- A Little Patience by

radioaches
(8)It's Never Enough -- Brendon/Spencer by

knight_tracer
(9)Favorite Little Brother -- Mikey&Gerard

akamine_chan
(10)Sub!Verse Late Nights -- Mikey/Ray by

bebunny
(11)Korse/Fun Ghould -- Something gritty by

tuesdaysgone
(12)High school sweethearts -- Brendon/Spencer by

turps33
(13)No Big Deal Frank/Mikey by

dear_monday
(14)With Your Mask On If You Have To Frank/Gerard by

chalcopyrite
(15)Lipstick Kisses -- Frank/Gerard by

lovebashed
(16)Practice Makes Perfect Gerard/Mikey by

ladyfoxxx
(17)Killjoys from the POV of the kid by

kopperblaze
(18)Killjoys Korse/Party Poison, first kiss by

bebunny
(19)Painted Desert Serenade Party Poison/Jet Star by by

chalcopyrite
(20)Playing Like I Know That Game -- Gerard/Patrick by

creepylicious
(21)Mikey/Pete -- Not wanting to let go by

ivesia19
(22)Dallon/Brendon -- dare by

ivesia19
(23)Hello -- Gerard/Patrick by

madambeetroot
(24)Gerard/Grant Morrison - a surprise (or two!) at Comic-Con by

fleurdeliser and

tuesdaysgone
(25)Bob/Mikey killjoys double dog dare by

turps33
(26)Brendon/Frank -- stolen kisses during something actiony by

delphinapterus
(27)Brendon/Ryan -- post split by

ivesia19
(28)Gerard solo -- Sweet by

jedusaur
(29)Frank/Mikey -- kissing in cold weather ( art fill ) by

omens
(30)Ryan/Jon -- saying goodbye is hard to do by

sailorstkwrning
(31)Keep Me Breathing -- Brendon/Gerard by

creepylicious
(32)Gerard -- In the Mirror by

undeny
(33)Faded -- Gerard&Mikey by

romanticalgirl
(34)Like I'm Feeling You Gabe/William by

romanticalgirl
(35)Summer For the Rest Of Us -- Gerard/Patrick by

romanticalgirl
(36)A Better Offer -- Gerard/Frank/Gabe by

romanticalgirl
(37)Hot For Teacher -- Gerard/Mikey by

romanticalgirl
(38)Barter System -- Ray/Mikey by

romanticalgirl
(39)The One Where Mikey Doesn't Kiss and Frank's Been Watching a Long Time -- Mikey/Frank by

greenskribbles
(40)Approximate Sunlight -- Frank/Gerard by

piratesunk
(41)Soundtrack of the Summer Frank/Gerard by

piratesunk
(42)Remaking What Otherwise We Should Have Thrown Away -- Frank/Gerard by

fabu
(43)Gabe/Patrick and Gabe/Pete -- He kissed a boy just to start shit.

jedusaur
(44)This Is a Gift, It Comes With a Price -- Dr D/Show Pony by

creepylicious
(45)Snake Vision -- Kobra Kid/Gabe by

jedusaur
(46)All Ways -- Mikey/Franks by

jedusaur
(47)A Blustery Night -- Brendon/Travie by

dr_jasley
(48)Hazy Lazy Day -- Ray/Mikey by

xoxxblitz7
(49)Welcome Home -- Gerard/Lindsey by

turps33
(50)Love Droplets -- Gerard/Frank by

xoxxblitz7
(51)Up For Air -- Patrick/Pete by

jedusaur and

verbyna
(52)See You -- Mikey/Brendon by

bootson
(53)Staged -- Brendon/Spencer by

bootson
(54)(How bad I want this) scandal; MCR: Frank/Mikey (+Gerard) by

creepylicious
(55)Mikey/Ryan -- in a cage by

slashxmistress
(56)Share Some Skin -- Gerard/Mikey by

creepylicious
(57)Mikey/Gabe -- Projekt Gayhem 1/3 by

jedusaur
(58)Skin -- Mikey/William by

romanticalgirl
(59)Gerard/Lyn-Z - Take You In by

romanticalgirl
(60)Pete/Mikey -- first time by

romanticalgirl
(61)Awake With Sleepy Eyes -- Gerard/Gabe/Brendon by

dr_jasley
(62)Take A Sad Song and Make It Better -- Brendon/Spencer by

fabu
(63)And You're Overdue -- Brendon/Gabe/Gerard by

creepylicious
(64)Gabe/Gerard -- the morning after the night before by

delphinapterus
(65)We Kiss Like Painted Tigers -- Bert/Gerard by

dear_monday
(66)Sink Right In -- Bob/Frank by

desfinado
(67)Dem Dry Bones -- Gerard/Mikey --

desfinado
(68)Wish You Were Here -- Pete/William by

romanticalgirl
(69)Bring 'Em Back Alive -- Kobra Kid/Gabe by

romanticalgirl
(70)Worst Ever -- Mikey/Pete by

desfinado
(71)Some Kind of Wonderful -- Pete/Gabe by

romanticalgirl
(72)Gerard/Mikey, Frank/Ray - Love and Chainsaws by

s0ckpupp3t
(73)Just a Shade of Green -- Frank/Brendon by

dapatty
(74)On The Couch -- Mikey/Frank by

s0ckpupp3t
(75)Brendon/Ryan by

fannyt
(76)Familiarity Breeds Contempt -- Mikey/Pete/Alicia by

romanticalgirl
(77)How They Fit -- MCR GSF -- by

dapatty
(78)Hold On -- Pete/Travie by

romanticalgirl
(79)William/Carden -- Airports by

romanticalgirl
(80)Not Quite Paradise --Gerard/Gabe by

romanticalgirl
(81)Patrick/Bebe -- More in common than just Pete by

romanticalgirl
(82)Welcome to the Band, Dan/The Used -- by

rokittomars
(83)Noises Off -- Mikey/Jepha by

mtminded1
(84)Objects in the Mirror -- Gerard/Jamia by

fabu
(85)Frank/Fun Ghoul by

akamine_chan
(86)Frank/Ray - Late Nights Over Monroeville by

delphinapterus
(87)Will Slowly Fade Away -- Gerard/Mikey by

turps33
(88)In search of all things beautiful 1/2; Crossover - Frank/Gerard, Adam/Tommy by

creepylicious
(89)If Wishes Were Horses -- Pete/Mikey by

romanticalgirl
(90)CS GSF by

rokittomars
(91)Anchored in That Old Time Rock'n'Roll by

delphinapterus
(92)Worth the Wait -- Pete/Mikey by

radioaches
(93)Diversion -- Mikey/Alicia by

romanticalgirl
(94)The Warmth of Spring -- Brendon/Brent by

dr_jasley
(95)This Is Not A Love Song -- Frank/Gerard by

fabu
(96)Pedicone/Frank -- working out by

romanticalgirl
(97)Mikey/Pete -- reunited by

cold_clarity
(98)Luke and Leia -- Gerard/Mikey by

s0ckpupp3t
(99) Mikey/Gabe -- drunken, sloppy make outs by

romanticalgirl
(100) Bob/Ray --in the studio by

syndelar
(101) Not Kissed Brendon/Spencer by

eledhwenlin
(102)Brendon -- bouncy kisses by

brandywine421
(103) Bebe/Gabe -- Gabe wooing by

brandywine421

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Divas

Airport

It's a standing joke whenever they're in an airport. Someone teases him about lyrics and someone else teases him about disappearing and Mike always looks at him with eyes he can't read and reminds him not to have a nervous breakdown. Of course, that was when there were more than three of them, more than just two people to tease him. He thinks about it as Mike drives him to the airport in the rented car, passing most of Nashville in a small Kia Rio.

"It feels weird."

Mike grunts instead of commenting, but William thinks that's probably more because he hasn't had coffee yet, but there's a drive-thru Starbucks up ahead, so the level of intelligent conversation may rise at some point soon.

"I mean, I know it's just a day really, but..." He sighs. He's flown to and from Mike's place in California, literally going from LAX to O'Hare, and the joke has been like a bitter pill on his tongue or stuck in his throat dissolving. He doesn't want things the way they were, and he doesn't want normalcy. He just wishes he knew what he wanted or if what he wants is possible, real. "You should come with me."

"Last minute tickets cost more money than I've got. Besides, I'm going to see the Old 97's, and if you think I like you more than them, you're seriously mistaken."

"You're an asshole."

Mike looks at him like he's grown another head. "Yeah. Is there a reason you sound surprised?"

"No." He crosses his arms over his chest and stares out the window. "You could at least pretend you'll miss me."

"Oh my god, you are such a fucking princess." Mike drives into the parking lot of a Denny's and William's stomach rumbles. No coffee means no breakfast, and right now he'd probably gnaw Mike's arm off if he thought he had something other than bitter gristle under the skin. He'd definitely shank Carden if he tried to get in the way of him and a Moons Over My Hammy. "You want me to swoon or something?"

"What?"

"Because you're fucking pouting."

"I'm not pouting. I'm offended that you like people in another band more than you like your band."

"I don't have to live on a bus with them."

"You don't have to live on a bus with me."

"Jesus Christ." Mike growls under his breath and grabs the t-shirt William's wearing in his fist and jerks him in closer. William smells peppermint from Mike's mouth and wonders briefly if he remembered to brush his teeth, when suddenly Mike's kissing him, his tongue licking along the roof of William's mouth.

It's easy to surrender to this, because he fights Mike on everything else. He settles his hand on Mike's shoulder and squeezes, letting Mike control the kiss, take what he wants from William's mouth until he pulls away, both of them breathless, mouths swollen. "So you will miss me a little?"

Carden rolls his eyes and puts the car in gear. "You won't be gone long enough to miss you. Drama queen."

"But you will."

"Yeah," Mike mutters gruffly, grudgingly. "I will."

Of course he will. He just has his own way of showing that.

I really like the dialogue in this one.

They are such boooooooooooooooyfriends. Ridiculous, stupid, floppy haired boyfriends. ♥ ♥ ♥

This is absolutely charming - I love the banter, and Mike winding William up. . .

Mike enjoys pissing Beckett off. It's, like, his goal in life. It's what he LIVES for.

Ahhhhhhhhh, I love them SO MUCH. SO MUCH. ♥!

(heeee, Denny's.)

Two-seat Moped! ♥

I really like the constrast between Mike's silence and William's talkativeness at the beginning.

Thank you so much! Mike enjoys pissing William off a lot. Thankfully it's easy enough to do, even when he hasn't had his coffee.

Reunited

man, so this only took me...three days. oy.

anyway--this is like vaguely referencing that time that Pete tweeted Mikey earlier this year (although I'm pretty sure I'm off about it having been in the winter, but whatever). the kiss is slow in coming, but it happens.

I hope you enjoy!

-----

It’s not like Pete tagged Mikey in that tweet because he expected something to come of it. They live in the same fucking city for shit's sake. It’s no marvel that they’re in the same city, ever—even if, in this case, the city they’re in happens to be on the other side of the country.

But whatever. It's whatever.

That's what Pete tells himself as he pushes through the door of the Starbucks, out of the blustering chill of a winter afternoon, to find Mikey already there, already at a table, nursing a coffee, his cheeks still pink from the sting of winter. For a moment, Pete can’t move—can barely breathe for the sudden onset of paralytic fear (fear of what?—a different question altogether). And so he stares. Watches Mikey tap his foot (an idle motion) to whatever fucking elevator jazz bullshit they’ve got droning out over the invisible sound system—all while something tightens up, vicious and splintering, right behind Pete’s sternum—

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

Mikey looks up before Pete can stumble back out the door, walk right back into the grey fold of the New York City winter (before he can start coming up with excuses--I wasn’t feeling well, Headed home early, I’m an idiot, I fell asleep) and his stomach bottoms out all while a quiet voice berates him for never having outgrown the tenth grade. He waves. A jerky, clumsy gesture, maybe, but it receives a wave in return—

and in response, electric sparks flickerflashsnap through Pete’s chest again, and god he’s still not quite used to Mikey without glasses (still can't quite reconcile here and now with that summer when...)

—he’s walking to the table all of a sudden and Mikey stands, abruptly, and somehow they’re crowding each other without having meant to. A stumble back and a rushed Sorry, sorry interrupted by No—No, I—

(No, I what? Do go on.)

But Mikey’s stuffing his hands into his pockets like he’s suddenly not sure why he stood up in the first place and there’s a beat of awkward silence before Pete barks out a laugh (even though absolutely nothing is funny, not now, not at all). It does something, though. Cracks the tension, maybe. Mikey invites him to sit, asks how he is while they settle in. Says it’s been awhile like that’s not the understatement of the decade.

Pete pulls off his coat. “Yeah, it has.” Settles into the free seat. “I’m not bad—You?”

“Same. Our record dropped.”

Like Pete missed that, somehow.

“I heard. Gay desert cowboys, right?”

“Something like that.”

“Someone really needs to rein Gerard in.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

Mikey’s smiling, now—or at least smiling as much as Mikey ever smiles. A subtle upturn of his mouth, the corners of his eyes creasing oh-so-slightly, his eyes themselves all the more visible, now, his brow somehow sharper without the once-familiar black frames in front of it.

Pete looks away.

There’s an awkward lull that follows and the acidic sting of panic bubbles up in his gut while he casts around for something to say, something to share, to prove—

“What about your stuff?”

Mikey’s voice startles him.

“Sorry—what?” Pete looks at him.

“Your new thing. How’s it going?”

“Oh. Not bad. Still working out the kinks—you know.”

“Yeah…”

There’s something hanging on the end of that yeah—a hint towards a different subject. And it’s funny how time changes people, how Pete studies Mikey’s face and discerns absolutely nothing (and tries to remember if he could discern anything, ever, when it came to Mikey, if that boy he knew once had ever been so easily read or easily understood, or if it had always been like this and if that means nothing has changed at all).

Mikey meets his eyes. “Send me a demo sometime? I’d like to hear it.”

“Yeah—I. Sure. Yeah.”

Mikey presses his palms around his mug of coffee, that odd not-quite-smile returning to his face. Pete exhales and tells himself to relax. Reaches for another topic; something mundane. You’ve gotten used to LA? and Do you ever miss Jersey?—and he knows the answers to both, but he asks anyway.

He smiles when Mikey says fuck yes he misses Jersey. When he says that LA is nice (No, really, the weather is great—not that I have to tell you…), but it’s not really ‘home’.

And somehow they pass through an hour, two hours, and the tight-coiled tension in Pete’s gut starts to unwind.

“Hey—um. I should go, though,” Mikey says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Checking the time. “We’re heading out in a few hours.”

“Yeah, no. Me too.” Pete gets to his feet.

They walk to the door together, shrugging into jackets and bracing themselves for the cold. Outside, it’s getting dark, and the castoff light of a streetlamp catches on Mikey’s bleachbright hair, making it look almost white against the ashen fall of twilight.

Pete stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Where’re you headed?”

Mikey nods north. “Midtown. You?”

“Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn?”

“Long story.”

Mikey shakes his head. “Okay.”

“Well—” Pete looks off to the passing flow of traffic in the street. “I guess I’ll catch you soon?”

“Yeah. Just text me or something.”

“Sure. Um. Later.”

“Yeah.”

Pete starts to turn, starts to walk away, moving against the unforgiving chill of the wind when—

“Hey.” Mikey catches the elbow of his coat. Pulls Pete’s hand free of its pocket.

He twists around—and once again, they’re standing too close. Crowding. Mikey’s hand brushing his. Breath misting between them, a thin and transient screen.

“Yeah?” There’s a weird, erratic flutter beating against the inside of Pete’s chest.

“I’m glad you didn’t quit, you know.”

“Quit?”

“With the music thing. I’m glad you’re still doing it.”

“I—yeah. Me too.”

Mikey’s fingertips are warm—weirdly so, in contrast with the cold. Pete’s ears are stinging.

A beat.

Another.

And neither one of them backs away.

Fuck this.

He twines his fingers through Mikey’s. Pulls him in. The kiss is haphazard—almost a miss—and Mikey sucks in a breath against Pete’s mouth. The wind picks up, whistling in Pete’s ears. Mikey grips Pete’s hand. Presses closer. Pete feels teeth and bites back. Licks at the line of Mikey’s lower lip, chasing the taste of him.

And then it’s over.

Mikey pulls back, breathing heavy. The skin below his lower lip is pinkish, even in the washed out glow of the streetlamp. His fingers still interwoven with Pete’s and—oh. Pete wonders when his heart started beating so fast.

“Um,” Mikey says. “I really have to—”

“I know. Me too.”

Mikey squeezes his hand, gentle and quick, and extricates himself. Pete stands quiet and still, watching him go, the long stripe of blond hair twisting this way and that in the pull of the winter wind.

Oh, lovely! Sweet little duuuuuuuudes. ♥ ♥

:D I'm glad you liked it!

Oh. I liked that so much, how awkward they were at first but how that spark was still there.

I like to think they keep meeting up and be sweet little dudes always.

:D thanks!

it was so hard for me to condense this down to one scene, so I'm glad it read well.

OH. I love the stream-of-consciousness of this, and how deeply embedded it is into Pete's internal narrative. So many beautiful lines and images in such a compact piece -- really gorgeous!

wow, this is incredibly flattering. it's great to hear that the stream of consciousness read well, and that it makes sense in terms of Pete's mental process.

thank you thank you.

Oh, this is painful and perfect.

thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed.

Oh man, your Pete voice. You've got him down so well. I loved the tenth grade crush feel to the whole thing. Such an atmosphere to one little scene.

oh man thank. you. it's really flattering to hear that the voice was fitting.

I loved the tenth grade crush feel to the whole thing
yeah, I imagine Pete, at least, is still a little nervous around Mikey--sure, he's grown up and what have you, but it doesn't erase the basic crush feeling.

thanks so much for reading!

Mikey/Pete making out, both of them wanting more but not doing it.

It's too hot, even at night with the two of them together in a bunk barely big enough for one, even before Pete rolls over on his back and pulls Mikey on top of him, heat growing around them each time their mouths come together. Mikey could make out with Pete for hours like this. Mikey has made out with Pete for hours this summer, tucked away from the rest of the tour together, wasting away the time between venues, between sound checks, the best way he knows how.

Pete kisses with his whole body in a way that Mikey doesn't think anyone else he's ever been with before manages to. His lips are soft but a little chapped from the sun, and his hands are dry but warm as they slide up over Mikey's back under his t-shirt; there's not one part of him that's staying still, his foot hooked around Mikey's ankle, his hips shifting minutely against Mikey's, his breath heavy and unsteady every time they break apart. He's been spending most of the summer shirtless so far, something Mikey's had no complaints about, but it's more than just a good view of tan skin and dark tattoos when Pete pulls his shirt over his head and drops it over the side of his bunk. Mikey can drag his fingers over the bumps of Pete's ribs, trace patterns of ink he can see without looking by now. He can touch Pete's nipples, press his thumbs hard enough for Pete to bite down on his lip and whisper roughly, “Fuck.”

Everything sounds louder, amplified in the small space around them, Pete's noises, the rise and fall of both of them breathing. Mikey kisses Pete again just to keep him quiet; he's aware of the rest of the guys just the other side of the curtain and feels more conscious of it than he ever used to, even back when he was trying to hook up in the van – he feels like that, like a teenager sneaking around, with Pete more than he can remember in a long time.

“Do you,” Pete says, a buzz against his lips, and kisses him again before carrying on. “Do you wanna – you know.”

He doesn't finish the question, and it's not one of those sentences Mikey can automatically finish for him, like coffee orders and favourite ice creams. It doesn't matter too much how it ends, though - the answer is going to be yes, whatever it is, because that's the way it's been all summer so far. Mikey always wants to with Pete, no matter how bad the idea might be. They've done this, though, the making out, touching everywhere but hands always above the waist, but there's no space in the bunk, and Mikey knows – Pete's told Mikey, whispers through the darkness – that Pete hasn't done more than this with guys before, and there's a hotel night soon, a couple of nights away. Pete keeps mentioning it, and so Mikey's been keeping track more sharply than usual.

“You know I do,” he says, and bites his own bottom lip, tilting his head back, gaze flicking up to the ceiling as Pete curls a warm hand around the back of his neck and drags his lips over Mikey's throat. “What do you wanna do?” he asks, which isn't what he meant to say, but he wants to hear it from Pete anyway.

Pete inhales sharply against Mikey's shoulder, his hips twisting up. “I want – fucking everything, Mikey, you have no idea.” Mikey laughs softly, because he does have an idea, and with the way they're pressed together like this, he knows Pete must be able to feel that. “I don't even know,” Pete says, and when Mikey looks back at him, his eyes are dark and serious.

“Tuesday,” Mikey says. When he smiles, his lips feel swollen.

Pete laughs this time. “Fucking buses, man, fucking hate them. You gonna make it worth the wait, Way?”

Mikey raises his eyebrows, but he can't keep his face straight. “Wait and see,” he says, and he leans back down, kissing Pete again before either of them laughs too loudly, kissing the rest of the night away.

I like how you keep the tension built up in this piece.

God, I've missed your writing. You have such a light hand - so few words, such a fluid pace and rhythm from movement and into dialogue. UGH. I could picture this so well:

His lips are soft but a little chapped from the sun, and his hands are dry but warm as they slide up over Mikey's back under his t-shirt; there's not one part of him that's staying still, his foot hooked around Mikey's ankle, his hips shifting minutely against Mikey's, his breath heavy and unsteady every time they break apart.

And I love the excitement of just TALKING about more, what that does to them. BOYS ♥

Edited 2011-07-14 07:25 (UTC)

The interaction between them is gorgeous. I love how it builds up and how there's only a curtain separating them from being seen.

I'm sure Mikey will make it well worth the wait >:)

Oh, gorgeous. All that want and tension and need and just making it worse with waiting and kissing, but unable to stop.

Mmmm. . .I love the delicious tension in this!

Love love love. ♥

♥_____♥

Sorry, I was out of town when you responded to my prompt and am just now beating back the brambles of my inbox. This is lovely, thank you! I really like Mikey always wants to with Pete, no matter how bad the idea might be.

The sounds of a serious party filter in through the open windows, but they’re drowned out by Pete’s pulse, by the rush of blood in his head. Even those are secondary to the wet slide of Mikey’s tongue on his, the low moan that fills his bunk, even though he’s not sure which of them is making the noise, or if it’s both of them, just the sound of this, of them.

Mikey’s hands are fisted in the pillow next to Pete’s head. He’s braced over Pete, knees between Pete’s spread legs and there’s a heavy heat in the hair, hanging in the space between them. Pete wants to rock up, wants to wrap his arms and legs around Mikey, wants to slide their bodies together and take this further, deeper, but he’s petrified, scared to take that step. Scared of rejection. Scared of acceptance.

He never promised to make sense, not even to himself.

“Fuck,” Mikey breathes, mouth swollen and wet from kisses that haven’t stopped in the hours since they’ve both been off the stage. Pete reaches up, tracing the red flesh. Mikey presses a kiss to the tip of Pete’s finger then sucks it into his mouth.

Pete moans and thrusts his head back against the pillow, tightening every muscle so that he doesn’t give in to the need to grind into Mikey. “Jesus. Jesus, Mikey. Fuck.” He turns his head and sinks his teeth into his bicep to try to keep quiet.

Mikey gasps loudly, releasing Pete’s finger, and then moves in, kissing Pete’s jaw, his neck. It’s frantic and desperate and Pete turns his head, finding his mouth again and surrendering to the thrust of Mikey’s tongue. He can feel the heat of Mikey’s body, and he wants. Mikey presses closer, lowering himself to his elbows, body sliding along Pete’s.

Pete arches up, his body bowed, muscles taut and shuddering. “Ohgodohgodohgod.”

Mikey breaks the kiss and shifts away, just enough so that Pete feels alone in his own skin again, like there’s distance between them instead of him being overwhelmed by Mikey, taken over, taken in. Mikey’s breath fans hot against Pete’s skin, his forehead on his shoulder. “I should…”

Pete nods, not sure he’ll ever breathe properly again. “I want…”

“I know.” Mikey kisses Pete’s shoulder, his jaw, his forehead. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Mikey kisses his lips this time, soft and sweet. “Don’t ever be sorry for kissing me.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

He pulls away, easing out of the bunk. His hard-on is obvious, pressing against the tight denim, bulging against it. He leans in, pressing a kiss to Pete’s shoulder again, nodding down to Pete’s own erection. “Think about me, okay?”

“Never going to think about anything else.”

Pete wants to rock up, wants to wrap his arms and legs around Mikey, wants to slide their bodies together and take this further, deeper, but he’s petrified, scared to take that step. Scared of rejection. Scared of acceptance.

Gah! Pete.

He has to battle so hard with his issues, wanting so much and yet always that little bit afraid.

I love them so.

Pete's always afraid of what he wants, afraid of getting what he wants, because then what happens? THEM. Ugh.

Wow - this is super intense and it makes my heart ache for Pete. . .

Thank you so much! Pete just waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaants, but he's so afraid to get what he wants. I love his face.

Scared of rejection. Scared of acceptance.

Oh, that's so PETE. Thank you!

I maybe have overidentification issues with Pete. I just...ugh. He needs so much, and wants and just...ugh UGH. I love him a lot.

Gerard/Lindsey body worship, Gerard kissing Lindsey everywhere but the lips.

Gabe/Brendon, body shots.

shotgunning pot.

smeared makeup.

Gerard is falling-down drunk, laughing-drunk, flying-drunk, warm and pliant, and Bert is only a few drinks behind. Together, they stagger away from the noise and the lights of the main stage, stumbling to a halt on the grass in the shadow of the MCR bus. Gerard sways slightly, his smile guileless and liquid in the dark. He's still wearing his stage makeup, deathly pale with a thick, dramatic band of black across his eyes. It looks like a superhero's mask, or maybe a bandit's, the ends disappearing into his tangled mess of dark hair. The edges are still sharp and crisp and perfect, like he's only just finished painting it on.

Bert frowns. There's something wrong, he thinks blearily, with Gerard looking so – so clean when he's this fucked up. Gerard dodges interventions and gets away with murder because he's pretty, because he cleans up so nicely, and that's always struck Bert as deeply unfair. If you're a mess, you should look it. Without thinking, Bert reaches out and runs his finger through the sticky black facepaint, dragging a long streak of it down over Gerard's bright white cheekbone. It looks a little like a tear track.

"So we fucking match," he says. It's true and it isn't. It's – symbolic. Of something. Probably. He doesn't know. It's three a.m. and he's drunk and the cut-grass-gasoline smell of the air is making him dizzy.

Gerard has gone very still, lips parted, eyes big and dark. He doesn't look away. Instead, he swipes a finger along just under his eye, and draws a slightly unsteady stripe on Bert's cheek, biting down slightly on his lip in concentration.

"S'like war paint," he explains solemnly. "Now we match."

Bert has a sudden moment of clarity and wants to laugh; god, look at them, they're fucking ridiculous. As messes go, they're a disaster.

Gerard's forehead creases up with puzzlement. "What?" he says, and Bert realizes he was laughing out loud.

"Nothing, nothing," he says. "Just – us. Fuck." It shouldn't be funny. Maybe it's not.

Gerard still looks confused, like he wants so badly to understand it and doesn't know why he can't. He looks surreal in the dark, like an escaped character from a Tim Burton movie, pale and unearthly and just that little bit unsettling, that little bit off. There's a still, suspended moment, and Bert wants to touch him, wants to kiss him, wants to taste the smoke and the cheap beer on his tongue and the sweat and paint on his skin just to reassure himself that Gerard is flesh and blood.

He doesn't do it.

The thing is, Bert isn't stupid or deaf, both of which he'd have to be to avoid hearing what everyone's saying about them: that they're fucking, that if they're not then they're doing everything short of that. I wish, he thinks, bitter-plaintive, every time he hears it. They aren't, they don't, they haven't. Not even when Gerard is so wasted his feet aren't even touching the ground anymore, not even when he's got more booze-powder-pills singing in his veins than Bert and Gerard's warm and willing, all shy-sly-sloppy smiles and splayed limbs and Bert knows it'd be so easy. He knows exactly what Gerard's brother and their little psycho guitarist think of him (although it doesn't take a genius to work out what said psycho guitarist's problem is; really, those big starry eyes are so painfully obvious), and it kind of hurts. Sure, he knows he's loud and obnoxious and kind of a douchebag sometimes, but he's not that guy, never will be.

Gerard makes a low, blurred noise of annoyance, practically pouting, Jesus. "'R thinking about kissing me again," he says. "'Kin' – fuckin' do it, if you're gonna."

Fuck it, Bert thinks. He's been resisting for too long, he's fucking sick of it. He's so tired and Gerard looks so good like this and it's just a fucking kiss, right?

So he does, and his movements are as slurred as his words and he only gets the corner of Gerard's mouth at first, but then Gerard lets out a breathy little laugh, warm against his skin, and pulls him in. It's messy and a little desperate, Gerard whining softly and pressing up against Bert, Bert licking hungrily into Gerard's mouth, his hands curling around the back of Gerard's neck and working their way into his unwashed hair. Gerard's skin tastes strange – painted – salt-sweat and something harsh and chemical and cloying-sweet. Bert is acutely aware of everywhere his own skin is touching Gerard's; he's burning with a sick, shivery heat and he tells himself it's just the booze.

When Gerard pulls back, his lips are slick and swollen and his eyes are dark, pupils blown. His smile is thin and wan. "Don't worry," he says quietly. "S'not like I'm gonna remember anyway."

I hope you do, Bert thinks before he can stop himself. He runs a finger through Gerard's makeup again, only this time he smears it untidily across Gerard's lips so he'll will see it, taste it when he wakes up. I hope you do.

I really like this take on Bert. It's nice to see him shown in such a good light, and that they really are as fucked up as each other.

Haha, I haven't really written Bert before, so that's good to hear :) Thanks so much!

Oh, i LOVE them. They just remind me so much of my friends. Thanks a ton for writing this for me.

Ugh, thank YOU for leaving such a gorgeous prompt! ♥

I love you and your ideas and your phrasings and your characterization and your FACE.

(posting with this journal instead of jedusaur because Safari is giving me shit for some reason. y I have an entire browser dedicated to fandom activity what of it >.>)

The love is entirely mutual, bb ♥ ty!

(I see absolutely nothing wrong with this >.>)

This is really lovely. It's nice to see Bert as not a villian and the way you write his thoughts feels right.

He knows exactly what Gerard's brother and their little psycho guitarist think of him (although it doesn't take a genius to work out what said psycho guitarist's problem is; really, those big starry eyes are so painfully obvious), and it kind of hurts. Sure, he knows he's loud and obnoxious and kind of a douchebag sometimes, but he's not that guy, never will be.

I'd quote the whole thing back at you really but this part especially really stood out for me. It's pretty much my favorite bit.

Thanks so much! Yeah, I seem to be incapable of writing him as the bad guy; I just feel really guilty /o\ Anyway, glad you enjoyed it! :D

This is absolutely lovely!! Wonderful Bert characterisation and fantastic writing. So bittersweet and hurty.

Thank you! That means a lot, he's still kind of new to me :) Glad you liked it! ♥

Oh Bert... :( Poor little love

Bert doesn't get enough love, trufax. Thanks! ♥

Oh my HEART. That was so well done. &them;

Thanks so much! Glad you enjoyed it :D :D :D

aftercare kissing after a scene.

(co-written by me and

verbyna)

Pete wanted to stop talking, and Patrick decided the best way to accomplish this was deepthroating. Pete really only ever stops talking when he can't breathe, but that's all right. Patrick knows Pete's limits better than Pete does. So he fucked Pete's throat with one hand tight in his hair and the other gentle on his cheek, and now Pete is on the floor gasping.

Patrick takes a moment to bring his own lungs under control before he tugs his pants up and kneels next to Pete, pushing his sweaty hair back. Pete makes a sound in his throat, raspy and a little painful to hear, and Patrick pets Pete's neck to quiet him down. "Don't talk," he says softly. Pete pushes into Patrick's hand, but he doesn't try to talk again. This is the part that Patrick still can't believe he's allowed to do: look at Pete like he's been doing for so long, and actually use what he sees to make Pete feel better.

Pete isn't hard. When it gets this bad, it's not a turn-on for him. He's too busy wrestling his head into submission to focus on his dick. Patrick used to care about that, but he's slowly realized over the years that sex doesn't have to be about sex. It's a strange thought, and a strange reality, but it makes as much sense as Pete ever does.

He looks at Pete's stark, wide-open eyes and realizes that the scene is over. He sits down and waits for Pete to remember that he can move closer without being told now that Patrick is dressed and done pushing. It takes a minute. Patrick counts his breaths to stop himself from hurrying things along. He tried that once, when they started figuring themselves out, and Pete broke down and started begging. It's not something Patrick ever, ever wants to see again, unless he's given permission and made it safe.

He's painfully aware that right now, he's the whole sane part of the equation.

Finally, Pete moves those extra inches back into Patrick's space and moves to take his hand. His fingers are shaking a little. Patrick holds still, being solid for Pete, letting him know that solids still exist. When Pete's breathing smoothes out and he's not going to startle, Patrick wraps an arm around him and pulls him into his lap. Pete rests his head against Patrick's shoulder and Patrick holds him, tightly enough to keep him grounded, not tightly enough to send him back into the headspace he doesn't need anymore.

It's a fine line, bringing Pete back to the surface without letting himself slip out of the hyperaware state in which he's useful. Against his shoulder, Pete shakes his head at nothing in particular (or maybe at what's inside his head, but that's obviously not something either of them wants to revisit). Patrick gives him another minute to swallow around the soreness in his throat before he turns a little, careful not to dislodge Pete, and meets his eyes. It's almost a physical pain, seeing the trust in Pete's face right now, because Patrick knows that trust isn't just for him. It's for anyone who can hurt Pete in just the right way, whether it's his mom poking at an emotional sore spot or a stranger in a bar fight slamming a fist into his sternum. Patrick's just the only one who deserves it.

He tilts Pete's chin up with his fingers easily and touches their lips together. Pete sighs into it, nestles himself into Patrick's lap and opens his mouth to Patrick's. Pete hasn't so much as wiped his mouth after blowing Patrick, so he can taste himself on Pete's tongue. It's not so much a kiss as another point of contact, a way to communicate so that Pete understands without overthinking. Patrick licks Pete's lower lip slowly, asking for a little time, and Pete shivers, but acquiesces.

That there was a hint of resistance there is encouraging, Patrick thinks. He allows himself to enjoy this, the way Pete feels against him when he doesn't feel the need to struggle or crawl under Patrick's skin. Soon enough, the moment will pass, and Pete will start itching again; subtly at first, then more blatantly, until he's wrecking shit left and right. And Patrick will be there when he does, ready to give him what he needs.

(

jedusaur: title?

verbyna: do you really want me to pull up iTunes?

jedusaur: do you really want me to come up with some awful pun >.>

jedusaur: the ficlet I wrote where Frank crawls into the wrong bed and kisses Mikey instead of Gerard? I named it "All Ways." Seriously.

verbyna: ahahahaha

jedusaur: like. if you let me title this? I will call it Afterblow. Not even kidding.

verbyna: HAHAHAHAHA

jedusaur: I'm like thiiiiisclose to just doing that and posting the comment.

verbyna: wait, um. Maybe we should brainstorm.)

*grins* I would still have read it if you'd titled it Afterblow.

I really liked the line of Pete trusting everyone, and Patrick being the only one that deserves it. And of course I just like the whole scene, Pete just screams sub to me.

For more of jedusaur & verbyna's Adventures With Titles, there's this: http://jedusaur.livejournal.com/20135.html

Glad you enjoyed! :D

I laughed FOREVER when I read that the first time, it's just as funny now. I actually had this conversation last night. Well, sort of.
WHY WON'T MY FIC BE TITLED.
friend: dunno.
WHHHHY
friend: have you opened itunes? *snicker*
YES. ALL THE SONGS ABOUT WRISTS ARE ABOUT SLITTING THEM.
friend: well i guess you're fucked then.
WAIT I CAN USE QUOTES *GOOGLES*
friend: how'd that turn out?
FUCK THEY'RE ALL ABOUT SLITTING AND SLASHING TOO. MY FIC HATES ME.

My life. It is sooooo hard. *FLAIL*

That conversation was resumed when I wrote the Bareback To The Future fic. I ended up calling it Traveling Light (J's suggestion, of course, I am USELESS at titles). She beta'd it, since, you know. Her fault. I used to go for quotes from the stuff I'd read, but these days it's all kinky porn and Central European philosophers. Not helpful, self. /o\

Life. So hard, indeed. *sadface*

Yeah? Name one thing you've written, ever, that could not be appropriately titled with a quote relating to either kinky porn or Central European philosophy. Name one.

One day, J. One day I will write something that can't be appropriately titled thus. (And then I won't like it and I'll delete it and you'll be right anyway, dammit.)

Afterblow is a fucking brilliant title. V is just a spoilsport. Glad you liked!

I love those two together so much.

They work together so well.

It's not so much a kiss as another point of contact, a way to communicate so that Pete understands without overthinking.

Just lovely.

Thanks!

Holy cow, that's incredibly hot and yet, so sweet. . .

Thank you, glad you enjoyed it!

Oh, this is so great. The trust and the knowledge of each other and the fact that the trust isn't always deserved and how much Pete needs and...oh. Just lovely.

Thanks so much!

The way you got into both of their heads was really, just. Wow.

♥_________________________________________♥

Glad you enjoyed it! :D

Pete’s on his tiptoes, his fingers curved around the rope above his head so tight he can feel it digging into his palms. His head is a fuzzy slate, no edges, nothing sharp or painful. He shifts his weight back, trying to lower his heels to the ground and pain flares explode along his nerve endings. He rises back up on his toes, trying to get higher, trying to find the point where it stops.

"Easy." He barely hears the word, like he's under water, but he feels the relief when strong hands lift him, when the pressure and tension is relieved. He stays on his toes when he's set on the ground again, conditioned for a little while not to trust having his own balance. Eventually he settles back, and nothing happens. That's right about when his knees give way.

Strong hands again, picking him up and carrying him, settling him on a bed. Something soft. He thinks it's a bed. Might be his bed. It smells good, familiar, but the pictures in his head aren't lining up with words, and he can't think. It's like a kind of amnesia, willfully undertaken, emptying out everything so it can fill back up again.

"Perfect." That word is clearer, as is the painful spike of circulation that hits his wrists, the ropes slowly unwound from his arms. He opens his mouth to make a sound, but nothing comes out, all the words gone. The small foam ball he'd had clenched between his teeth falls out, wet with spit as it lands on his chest.

"So beautiful, baby boy." Pete recognizes the voice now, and with the voice comes the smell and the vision and he can see it all clearly formed in his head. He lifts his hand, the be free immediately matched with a young hearts. "I got you."

He doesn't try to talk again. He doesn't need to now. Instead he closes his eyes and turns his head up, seeking out the warmth of Travie's mouth, the soft burn of smoke on his tongue. They kiss for what feels like hours or maybe days, until Travie pulls back, kissing Pete's nose. "I got you now." He whispers as sleep drags at Pete. "You're safe."

You know, while this is hot to think about, what I like most is that Pete has someone there to help him clear his head and give him those moments of peace.

He lifts his hand, the be free immediately matched with a young hearts. "I got you."

So lovely.

When I think of Pete in a D/s kind of situation, it's very rarely sex-based. There might be sex or sexual-type situations involved, but it's more about shutting off his brain, shutting up the constant stream of words and noises and demands and just floating, being.

It's also possible that I have an intense need for Pete to be taken care of, and that comes through in stuff like this. Hee.

This is very very hot, and also very sweet - the ending is perfect. . .

Thank you so much. I love the thought of someone caretaking Pete. Ugh. I want his bros to be there for him always.

Oh Travis. I love you. You keep him safe <3

BROS. ♥

"It's, like, manager appreciation day!"

+1 x a billionty

kisses in cages

Mikey reached up above his head and grabbed the bars of his cage, rolling his hips as he did. He moved in a long, slow undulation that the customers always loved, easily keeping time to the pulsing beat of the stereotypical dance music of every club in this shit town. It kept them mesmerized while he gazed into the cage across the club, observing the timid new kid across the floor. What was his name? Ray? No....Ryan. Ryan Ross.

To say the least of things Ryan was having a hard time. He wasn’t gathering much of a crowd, and he’d been working for near an hour. So far only he only got hecklers that jeered at the nervous, awkward motions of his hips.

The kid was mostly angles, and he danced...Okay, he didn’t really dance. He more...moved like the music he heard was from another planet. Kinda....no. That was pretty much it. Mikey wondered why he was even working as a go-go dancer with those kinda moves.

But if he looked past the stiffness, and the only half-hidden terror in his eyes he could see there was something…he had a kind of beauty and ethereal prettiness that would have the patrons eating out of his hands if he could just loosen up.

Finally Mikey just couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed out of his cage and slid to the floor, stepping carefully to avoid the more -- ahem -- enthusiastic customers. Stalking over to Ryan’s cage, Mikey hoisted himself up over the top and dropped down in front of him. Ryan startled as it rocked a little from the added weight and flinched back like he expected Mikey to hit him. And, jesus, Mikey didn’t want to know what had taught him to react like that.

“Uhmm ...this is my cage. Bob said so...” The kid spoke with such a monotone that Mikey might have thought he was calm, but his eye’s were wide and frantic as they had been the entire time he’d been here. He kinda hoped that he hadn’t been this nervous when he first started.

“I know, I know, but you looked like you needed a little help over here.” Ryan looked pretty impressed by Mikey’s legendary monotone -- just as deadpan as his own.

“I..I...what?” Ryan fumbled out, blushing. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve got to relax. Loosen up,” he encouraged. He put his hands on Ryan’s waist and tugged them around to the rhythm of the pulsing music, matching them with his own so they were swaying into a sultry kind of grind. “You’ve got the look, you know? A pretty boy like you could be a star around here. But these jackals can smell blood in the water.” Mikey paused and gave a spare glance to the hungry eyes that had turned towards them in the past few minutes. “You can’t let them know you’re afraid. It’s the first thing you’ve gotta learn.”

“I-I’m not...” Ryan’s eyes went cold -- no, defiant -- and he stiffened in Mikey’s arms, trying to pull back. “Just go back to your own cage,” he whispered petulantly. “Leave me alone.”

“Yeah, you are kid,” Mikey said softly, looking right into Ryan’s eyes. He saw fear there, but he also saw strength. And...maybe something more. Something he’d like to learn more about at a later time. “I could see it from across the club, but you don’t need to be. You’re gonna be okay.”

“What are you even talking about?” Ryan looked back into his eyes then -- deeply -- like he was searching for something. “How do you know?”

“Because all you gotta do is relax and sink into your body. Let your mind go. And I -- I can help with that.” Mikey smirked and then leaned in to claim his lips before he had a chance to protest. Ryan gasped and Mikey took the opening, sliding his tongue in to taste the roof of his mouth and suck Ryan’s breath into himself.

For several moments Ryan just stood still, shocked as Mikey assaulted his mouth, and then his brain seemingly unfroze. He kissed back tentatively but only at first. Ryan tasted of something sweet and cool -- like peppermint and honey, maybe. And his tongue was doing scandalous things to Mikey’s own now that he was getting into it. He initially thought that Ryan would stop this, that he would think he shouldn’t allow this...a stranger to touch him so intimately. Apparently his body must not have been listening to that, because his every cell seemed to be screaming, ‘Yes! Yes, please don’t ever stop.’

When Mikey broke the kiss he smiled at the dazed look in Ryan’s eyes, so much larger and beautiful up close. “See?” he whispered in his ear, squeezing one of Ryan’s gently swaying hips before running his hand up Ryan’s now loose, relaxed body. “You’re gonna be okay.”

\o/ ♥

♥ !

!!!!!!!!!

It's not even my prompt but I'm going to lavish you with love because Mikey and Ryan as cage dancers. YES! And all the extras in there too, the flinching and Mikey going to help and just, everything!

You're the best ever.

omg tysm! It's kind of your fault as I saw the prompt in your last post :P and when you said you deleted yours I was all 'well we can't have that' >:D

Also I may have already written out a whole outline from Ryan's POV where Ryan is an abused kid/runaway who get's pickd up on the road and raped by some guy who plans to pimp him out and he escapes from him only to wind up starving on the streets and turning to hustling anyway- until Bob finds him ( Ryan maybe propositions him - and he looks so pathetic) and gives him a place to live and a job dancing at his club but tells him not to tell - he NEVER hires hustlers and there will be none of that in his club- there are very strict no touching policies.- but Bob trusts his instincts about Ryan - he reminds him of this other kid at his club (Mikey) who had had a hard time of things once too.

Mine was heading toward being horribly depressing, which is fine when I can pad it out in an actual story, not so much a ficlet *g*

You are pushing all my buttons with that story. ALL OF THEM!

OMG this is awesome. I love awkward, scared-but-defiant Ryan and observant, calm Mikey. NNNGH at basically everything in pt. 2, seriously.

♥ __ ♥

Thank you sosososososo much. It was totally better than what I had in my head, but when I did write the prompt I was thinking about cage dancers a little bit, so I would've been happy no matter what, but this is beyond perfect because it's MIKEY and RYAN and they're CAGE DANCERS. And it's beautiful and lovely and I want to hug them both and it's just so good!

kissing in the rain

Brendon is wearing a ridiculous shirt (baddest baby) even for Brendon, Gerard thinks. He is sure Gabe will like it, not that Gerard is admitting to listening to Gabe's band. Not that Gerard thinks he's too cool for that, you like what you like, but well...Gabe could get ideas. And Gabe is so full of himself already.

“I'm surprised you even wear anything except underwear these days,” Gerard says.

“That? Oh, you know the underwear is for the stage only,” Brendon answers grinning, but Gerard knows him, there is uncertainty under that grin. Brendon's still pretending.
Gerard wants to sigh, but he lights a cigarette instead – it is a copping mechanism. He takes a deep drag and catches Brendon staring at his lips. This would be such a bad idea, but Gerard won't lie to himself, he was thinking about it, he knows Gabe was thinking about it too. “So...where's Gabe anyway?”

“The hell I know. He's late because he thinks everyone can wait for him.”

“He thinks everyone will wait for him.”

“Yeah, that too,” Gerard answers, exhaling slowly. He is a sadist deep at heart. Brendon glances away from his lips as they hear the footsteps. “You're late.”

“I knew you would wait, Way.”

Gerard huffs. “Fucker.”

“I like your shirt,” Gabe grins at Brendon, ignoring him.
Brendon grins back. Such a bad idea, Gerard thinks.

~+~
It's the seventh not-date they're having – because, you know three guys getting together for dinner, movies and karaoke at every opportunity isn't dating. In what world that possibly could be true Gerard has no idea, but well, he is good at pretending.

“This is all your fault,” Gabe says, his hair a mess and it doesn't get better when he runs a hand through it to get it away from his eyes.
Gerard is pushing his sketchbook under his hoodie. Thank god he wears hoodies in summer too.
Brendon is shivering in his thin t-shirt, that Gerard is pretty pleased about. (Kiss me you animal).

“I didn't know it would rain like that!” Gerard gives back, pushing closer to the tree they're hiding under.
Gabe glares at him, but it looks ridiculous too. Gerard grins.

“What?” Gabe snaps.

“You look ridiculous and water is supposed to make people look hot,” Gerard sniggers.

“Your face looks ridiculous,” Gabe gives back with a grin. “And I don't need cheesy rain-water to make me look hot,” he adds. And that confidence is pretty sexy, Gerard has to admit. He bites his lip and Gabe zooms in on that.
Gerard is pretty sure Gabe's going to do something stupid that will end their not-dating, but in that moment Brendon snuggles into Gerard's side. His wet hair a shock to Gerard's system as it touches his skin.

“Sorry, sorry...I'm just freezing to death while you two are eye-fucking each other,” he mumbles into Gerard's shoulder.

“We're not-”

“Yeah, we so are,” Gabe interrupts him.

Gerard looks up at him and feels Brendon do the same. “It's kind of stupid,” Brendon says softly.

“What?” Gerard asks.

“Taking me with you so that you don't have to deal with the attraction...” Brendon mumbles.
Gabe laughs out loud.

“Gabe!” Gerard says sharply.

“What? Could he get it more wrong? Is he stupid?” Gabe gives back with a grin.

Gerard sighs. “Not helping!”

“Well, let me do this so everybody gets what I mean,” Gabe answers, grabbing Gerard by his hoodie and kissing him hard and messy. There is a strand of Gerard's hair in his mouth that tastes like rain-water and chemicals because he just re-dyed it two days ago. It's like Gerard would've imagined it if he would've imagined it happening at an old graveyard somewhere in the middle of a summer-storm.
He realises he is clutching at Gabe and that Brendon is breathing heavy beside him when Gabe grins and pushes Gerard away carefully.

“Your shirt isn't subtle,” Gabe says, leaning in and kissing Brendon. Gerard watches the rain run down Gabe's face and onto Brendon's lip. Licks his own lips like he could taste them that way.

“Okay...” Brendon breathes awed. “Okay...so, can I kiss Gerard now?” he asks.

“I'm declaring this a date and hell yeah!” Gabe answers.

~end~

I'm so sold on that threesome.

“Sorry, sorry...I'm just freezing to death while you two are eye-fucking each other,” he mumbles into Gerard's shoulder.

Oh Brendon. You're part of that too.

As the kissing so nicely showed.

It's a threesome, it involves Gerard Way - I am not blaming you.
Totally, but he is young and Ryan messed him up.
Thank you.
Also: this meme is awesome and I'm having a lot of fun.

DUDE, DUDE, DUDE!!!! SOOO SUPER SHINY. Someone else writing G/G/B, this makes me so damn happy, so damn happy seriously <3<3<3<3

Also it's cute and awws and the rain, yeah I am once again reduced to blabbering

*spin hugs*

It's the first time for me writing them, but it's a threesome and there is Gerard in it...so, yeah, I had to try.
Thank you and glad you like it!
<3

That's really nice! Such interesting character dynamics.

Thank you.
I really like the odd/unusual pairings/threesomes.

So awesome to see this threesome getting written more. Great dialogue.

This is an interesting threesome!
Thank you.

aww, these three :-)
Poor Brendon thinking he's excluded, good thing Gabe sets him straight :-P
Really lovely!!

They are adorable.
He's just too young and Gabe is being Gabe - which is not helping.
Thank you.

Frank fights to defend Gerard's honor. Gerard kisses him to make it all better.

I approve of this prompt.

Frank/Brendon, kissing each other to piss someone off.

warnings/enticements: Frank is a hot ass, Ryan Ross has a potty mouth, Brendon is flaily and Spencer is giggly. Beta'd by

s0ckpupp3t because she loves me.

Brendon couldn’t believe it had actually gone this far. Like seriously. How was this his life? Who has paltry arguments about the merits of rhythm guitarists making out together and that it would be more awesome?

“It would be more awesome,” Frank had insisted. Looking completely and totally serious and staring at Brendon’s lips more than a lot.

Apparently, the answer to the original question dealt with Ryan Ross being an impossible ornery shit and starting the whole debate. And maybe to do with his scarves. Or paisley in general. And Spencer was not helping. At all. Spencer was just giggling. This was absolutely the last time he let Spencer get giggly drunk without him at an afterparty where My Chem showed up. Spencer was fired.

“You are ridiculous, Frank Iero,” Ryan said, formally.

“Your face,” Frank chirped, causing Brendon to snicker.

“Well, if it’s so true, prove it,” Ross challenged.

“Prove what?” Brendon asked, his brain temporarily derailing because it sound like Ryan just dared Frank Iero to kiss him. On his face and everything. Brendon doesn’t know what to do with himself all of a sudden. Because he wasn’t anywhere close to the cheeky confidence that Frank seemed to embody. Like at all. Not this inert sexiness that Frank just wore like a second skin. Brendon had to work at shit like that. He had to put it on like a costume before he walked on stage every night. He was okay with being a total dork, could not believe the darkened look that Frank had for Brendon and his mouth. Seriously.

Frank grinned like he could see and hear all of Brendon’s thoughts and simply stepped closer.

“Seriously?” Brendon asked, breathlessly, because Frank was right there. So close. Brendon just needed to tip his head down and they would touch.

“Yeah,” Frank said, licking his lips.

Brendon answered by closing the distance, his lips touching onto Frank’s chapped ones, wet from where his tongue had been. Brendon opened his mouth, encouraging and Frank sucked on his tongue, then tasted Brendon’s mouth. Brendon tasted beer and some sort of lingering cinnamon that could have been gum or maybe just the way Frank tasted. Shit, was Brendon moaning? He should maybe stop that.

Frank giggled and broke the kiss. He smiled at Brendon like he was amazing and a treasure he didn’t know he’d get.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ryan stormed off, much to no one’s surprise.

“Huh,” Brendon managed, knowing that he was, indeed, grinning like an idiot and feeling his face blush.

“Damn,” Spencer breathed.

“Yeah,” Frank said, a little breathlessly and then kissed him again. Easier, deeper, this time, and with Brendon maybe grinding against Frank’s thigh a little.

“Frank, stop molesting the Panic kids,” Ray chided from across the room.

Frank broke the kiss to yell, “Maybe he was molesting me and I like it!” He gave Brendon a lewd wink and Brendon started laughing. Seriously. His life!

Heee! Still loving this.

Squee!

This is all kinds of adorable!

Frank/Brendon works so well :D

Thanks!

It was super fun and grin inducing to write. XD

dude, SHINY

*fist pumps* I really wish there was more of this pairing out there.

XD

I wish too! Maybe I'll have to write it. It was super fun.

They've become my stealth otp so it makes me Beam to know others are finding them shiny. Fun is always a good thing :)

This was really fun *g*

Thanks a million! It was a romp to write because seriously, those two!

Brendon/Travie, kissing on the stairs

It's chilly outside when Brendon ducks out the open window. He tugs on the zipper of his hoodie to maybe conserve some heat. Winter's soon approaching and he never expected to live anywhere where he might need to learn how to properly layer so he won’t freeze to death.

Travis is sitting on one of the lower steps of the fire escape, not too low down because the neighbors below them like to complain about the smell if Travis smokes too close to their window. Brendon drops down on the second step from the top of the landing and shoves his hands into the fleece lined pockets of his hoodie.

The cold seeps into his jeans from the metal of the step and Brendon shudders only a little. He's slowly getting used to the end of fall equaling actual cold weather, and not just seventy degrees with a chance of maybe a mild breeze. To distract himself, he hums a random tune that pops into his head and his right foot slightly nudges against Travis' shoulder when he sways his feet to his humming. Travis turns his head and smiles around his cigarette when he sees Brendon.

Cool fingers wrap around his ankle -one day he's going to remember that cuff socks are not the best decision to make when the wind likes to flick at the laces of his purple oxford converses almost daily during the cold months- and Brendon bites back the yelp that tries to slip from his lips. Travis tosses the burned out cigarette butt over the fire escape railing with one hand while the other tugs Brendon closer by his ankle. There's this playful smirk on his face and Brendon goes with the motion.

Kissing Travis is fun, and always a little bit thrilling. It's easy to forget they're outside during the middle of a late fall night. After several minutes, Brendon shivers and Travis laughs into his neck. The moment broken, Travis stands from where he was sitting. He offers Brendon a hand up and Brendon has to straighten a little from his hunched position before he can reach Travis' hand properly.

Once they've both crawled back through the open window, Brendon shuts the window and latches it. Inside the warmth of the heater curls around him like a cat weaving between his legs, it's comfortable. Travis wraps him up in a hug and kisses the top of his head. Maybe Brendon never expected to end up where he is now, but for once he's actually glad that things haven’t turned out how they were planned. He likes this outcome better than any of the alternatives.

This whole thing makes me happy. They seem so comfortable together, and I like the contrast of cold and warmth. Also, Travis pulling Brendon closer by the ankle :)

who would have thought it's not ANGST *hugs*.

<3

I love the detail in this - the description of the wind and the socks and shoes. This is a very pensive piece that really makes you think :-)

I'm a sucker for detail. Thankies :) *hugs*

CUTEST. EVER! Seriously, bb, this is my very favorite ever! It's so absolutely sweet! Travis kissing the top of Brendon's head! Fire escape! <333 Thank you, darling!

*spin cling hugs*. I might have a fascination with fire escapes :P

<3<3<3<3<3 I'm just glad you loved it :D:D:D:D:D

I really like how it's so obvious that they're really comfortable with each other and the little details about the temperature.

you know how I love detail :) also people being comfortable with each other is something I adore :)

*hugs*

Cuddling

Spin the Bottle

Gabe/William breaking up/making up

something in common

Ray's spent the entire morning bitching about how someone had taken the last of his special, just for Ray, DO NOT TOUCH strawberry pop-tarts. So when Jamia finds Gerard napping on the couch in the lounge, incriminating pink-ish crumbs around his mouth and down the front of his New York Dolls t-shirt, she can’t resist leaning down and sing-songing, “I know a secret. . .”

He was sleeping lightly (if at all), because he jerks up immediately, knocking a stack of comics to the floor. The panicked look on his face is entirely disproportionate to the crime of petty pop-tart thievery. After a few awkward beats, he says, “Oh, hey, Jamia,” too casually.

Now this, this is way more interesting than pop-tarts. Jamia doesn’t say anything, just puts on her mom’s “I’m not mad, I’m just hurt” face and waits.

Gerard runs his hands through his hair and starts babbling earnestly about homophobia and boundary policing and the importance of showing the kids that love is bigger than heteronormative expectations. None of which is new or in any way surprising to Jamia, or, for that matter, a reason for Gerard to feel guilty. Then he veers into a long ramble about his immense respect for Jamia as a person, and suddenly it all starts to make sense.

Gerard has been different since he got clean, like the drugs and the booze had dulled some essential part of him that’s finally able to shine through. Offstage he’s all coiled potential, quietly watching, pulled into himself, but hyper-aware. Onstage he’s more deliberate and more consistent, all that charisma and passion controlled and focused instead of fading in and out like it used to.

And whatever it is between him and Frank -- the partially buried possibility that Jamia has always chosen to ignore -- now it’s right up on the surface, impossible to dismiss. When Gerard grabs Frank during their shows, when Frank presses against Gerard, pliant and so fucking eager, it flares all around them. Offstage, they’re tuned into one another, joined at the hip, body language and expressions matching so often it’s become a running gag.

She knows Frank, and there’s no way he could hide it from her if anything had happened offstage. So, it hasn’t happened yet. But Gerard wants it, maybe was daydreaming about it just now, drifting on the edge of sleep.

While she’s been working this out, Jamia's lost the thread of Gerard’s rant, and when he stops suddenly, she’s caught off-guard, wondering if she’s supposed to respond now. The silence stretches out and Gerard abruptly adds, “So, you know, I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend?” the end lilting up uncertainly into a question.

“Maybe. . .” Jamia licks her lips, thinks about Frank’s hands in Gerard’s hair, about Gerard’s mouth on Frank. “Maybe I want you to steal my boyfriend. Or. . .I don’t know -- borrow him?” Jeez, now she’s doing it, her voice lilting up exactly like Gerard’s had, her challenging grin echoed on Gerard’s face as they lean into each other.

His fingers land on her wrist and he’s tugging her in closer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She intends it to be daring and bold, but it comes out husky and breathless.

Gerard’s lips brush against her ear. “You too?” His voice is hopeful, and just a little tentative.

And yeah, of course her too. Fuck, all of them together, and isn’t that an inspiring thought?

Gerard’s barely touching her, but it feels far too intimate for the lounge in broad daylight. She nods, gripping his wrist hard to keep herself upright. He kisses the corner of her mouth, almost chastely, and then nips at her bottom lip before pushing her away gently.

“You should--”

“--talk to Frank,” she agrees. “When he wakes up, I’ll--”

There’s a wicked glint in Gerard’s eye. “Hotel night tonight. . .”

And that’s all the incentive Jamia needs.

This "feels" very right for them. I really like how Jamia is so good at making Gerard talk.

Thank you! I suspect Jamia knows how to manage the guys. . . :)

Then he veers into a long ramble about his immense respect for Jamia as a person, and suddenly it all starts to make sense.

Ahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, of course it does! How fun!

::grin:: Thanks, hon!

I really like Jamia and I like this take on her.

Loved Gerard's ramble too, and am having a lot of fun thinking about that meeting in the hotel room :D

I like what I know about her, but I struggled with finding a voice for her, since I couldn't find interview footage or anything that would give me a sense of what she might sound like. Lots of extrapolation later. . . ::grin::

I'm glad you liked this one -- it was a super fun prompt.

I LOVE this. Can we please have more of this? Like right now?
Gerard's rambling is just so right and adorable and her being inspired by Gerard trying not to steal her boyfriend! <3
This is a wonderful beginning to something that could be really awesome and hot.

::grin:: When you ask so nicely. . . I would definitely like to expand this further (I'm personally *very* inspired by the thought of all of them together!). I'm delighted that you liked this and I really appreciate the feedback. . .

Omg. I'm inspired, just so you know. DEEPLY INSPIRED.

This was awesome. And if you happen to, um, find your own incentive to tell us about that hotel night... that would also be awesome. ♥____♥

Hee! So glad you found it inspirational. . .

I've been noodling around with the idea of expanding this - I have a *very* sketchy bit of Frank and Gerard on stage the night after this scene and vague notions of what comes after. . .Thanks for the encouragement!

Ugh, love this!

And yeah, of course her too. Fuck, all of them together, and isn’t that an inspiring thought?

Indeed!!

Thank you!

shotgunning just like old times

reunion

never on the lips

They never talked about it and Mikey isn't sure if it was because they didn't need to or didn't want to or possibly didn't know how to.
It doesn't matter now anyway anymore.

Gerard's lips are soft and wet from the water he had a few seconds ago. They feel cool on the skin of Mikey's shoulder. Running a path only seen by Gerard that makes Mikey shiver with anticipation. It's never the same path. Mikey never knows where Gerard will start or end kissing him.
The only thing he knows is that it won't be on his lips. Never.
Gerard counts the knobs that are Mikey's spine under his breath, it feels amazing, a lick, a kiss, a soft bite, cool air when Gerard blows on a wet patch he just marked with his mouth.
Sometimes Mikey is still surprised at the creativity Gerard displays after all these years. Mikey presses harder into the mattress as Gerard's mouth wanders lower. You can never be sure what Gerard will do and that is part of it. (Once Gerard kissed, licked and played with the soft skin at the hollow of Mikey's knee, simultaneously stroking his cock in a maddening slow rhythm for what felt like hours). Mikey bites his lip as Gerard's mouth brushes the curve of his ass. Gerard's tongue stroking a wet path down to where it meets leg and then inward. Mikey spreads his legs without prompting.
(In the beginning Gerard used to ask in soft whispers if it was okay, whatever he wanted to try at the moment and Mikey always said yes, because he trusted Gerard, trusts Gerard, will always trust Gerard with his skin and all the tender parts that are hidden beneath it).
Gerard spends what feels like hours kissing; soft brushes of lips on skin that don't go anywhere, that are so tender they wouldn't disturb a sleeping person, but that make Mikey burn inside with desire and the need for more and now.
When Gerard's tongue pushes inside Mikey comes suddenly, unexpected and so hard it hurts. He pants against the pillow, catching his breath while Gerard kisses his way back up to his shoulder, his neck and then turns Mikey so he can look at him.
Mikey takes a deep breath, drags his hand up to his own mouth, presses his lips against it and then reaches out to press his hand against Gerard's swollen, shiny lips. He can feel Gerard smile against his palm.

~end~

Waycest rimming. Be still my heart.

You paint such lovely images with your words, and I love that Gerard is so tender with Mikey, and yet there's always that background note of discontent of him not kissing on the lips.

It's so beautiful achy.

I don't even know. It just happened.
Thank you so much.
They are easy and comfortable and complicated.
And sorry for spamming your kissing meme...all the Gerard-pairings are hard to resist. /o\

No, spam away! I've been enjoying everything you post ♥

Oh well, in that case...<3

*happy sigh* I loved the slow, tense intimacy between them in this. Thank you so much :)

Thank you. Glad you like it.

That's nice! So lazy and sensual.

Thank you so much.

Oooh, this was so languid and drawn-out and HOT. I could just FEEL what it must be like for Mikey. UNF!

Thank you!
I really, really like this prompt, also as you're commenting I am sure you wrote something too and am going to search for it. <3

"The tibula," Mikey reads, fingers tracing the page, "connects the ankle to the..." his breath hitches and he shifts against the pillows he's got propped up against the wall, "the knee. It's joined by the, uh -" warm hands circle his calf and he feels dry lips press to his skin, right in the centre of his shin, then two more kisses up to his knee. The blankets shift and Mikey doesn't let himself look up from his textbook to the shape underneath them, even though he can feel warm breath ghosting across his skin.

"The patella," Mikey continues, "protects the knee joint." A kiss on his right knee, then the left. "Also known as the knee cap or kneepan, it connects to the femur, which joins to the hip."

Mikey bites his lip and his fingers tighten on either side of his textbook, losing his place, as a warm tongue darts out to wet lips that are now dragging up the inside of his thigh, the soft skin there. "The femur is the largest bone in the human body and - ah," Mikey gasps, thighs twitching together, feeling the wet trail left behind on his leg, mouth breathing warm and heavy at the soft, thin skin of his inner thigh. "I can't -" he tries to school his voice, to whisper, because it's late and their parents are downstairs.

"Shh, Mikey," Gerard says into the warm skin of Mikey's thigh. "Keep going. Gotta study."

Mikey's chest is rising and falling and he feels way too naked under the blanket that's up around his armpits, textbook digging into his stomach.

"The head of the femur connects with the... the hip joint," Mikey says, licking his lips, feeling his brother's mouth close over the sharp point of his hip bone. "The hip joint connects to the pelvic, uh, girdle. Which includes the greater, or false pelvis - shit, Gerard," Mikey hisses as Gerard's palm sweeps across the hollow of Mikey's belly to fold over his other hip. God, if his forearm was just a little lower, he'd feel how hard Mikey is. "Fuck. Which includes the greater, or false pelvis, and the lesser, or true pelvis," Mikey says in a rush.

He pauses and breathes with his eyes closed for a second, skin hot and nerves tingling everywhere that Gerard is touching him - lips and hands bracketing Mikey's hips, holding him gently to the mattress, the warmth of Gerard's elbows against Mikey's thighs, Gerard's own hips between Mikey's legs. Mikey can hear Gerard breathing, knows it must be hot under the blankets, but his brother waits. Mikey swallows and turns the page.

"The spine," he starts, "is made up of thirty-three vertebrae." Gerard lifts up to brace his elbows on the bed on either side of Mikey's torso as he slides his hands under the small of his back. "They're separated into three sections: the, uh cervical, thoracic, and lumbar spine." The words are awkward on Mikey's tongue but Gerard's fingers walk up the ridges of his spine anyway. Gerard doesn't try to kiss him there, just presses his lips into Mikey's belly.

"The rib cage protects the chest cavity," Mikey says, and shifts the textbook to the side so Gerard can lower his mouth and press his lips to each of Mikey's ribs. "Humans have twenty-four ribs each, separated by muscles, nerves and arteries. They - fuck." Mikey swears and drops back against the pillow as Gerard shifts forward to kiss Mikey's upper ribs and his soft stomach presses up against Mikey's hard-on. "I can't, I can't," he whines, voice breaking on the last word as he covers his face with his hands, "Gerard."

"Shhh," Gerard whispers into his sternum. Mikey can't handle the delicate way Gerard lifts Mikey up from below with fingertips slotted between his vertebrae and presses him back down with kisses between his ribs, like Mikey is something careful and precious. His dick is hard and leaking into the front of his brother's t-shirt. "Come on, Mikes. I know you can do this."

Gerard pauses there, and Mikey peeks out between his fingers, face burning red, to watch the blankets shift as Gerard kisses carefully around Mikey's nipples. "The clavicle," Mikey groans, remembering seeing it next on the diagram. "The clavicle is next."

"Mmm?" Gerard hums. When Mikey doesn't continue, he pushes his head out from under the blanket, hair dark and messy across his flushed forehead. "What's after that?" He raises his eyebrows, eyes huge and dark as he continues to slide his hands up Mikey's back to curve around his shoulder blades while he drops a kiss to Mikey's collarbone.

"Asshole," Mikey groans, and gropes for the textbook, holding it up over both of their heads so Gerard can keep kissing around his throat while he reads. "The clavicle and scapula make up the pectoral girdle," Mikey says unsteadily as Gerard kisses the delicate bones at the base of Mikey's throat, the ones that Mikey sometimes ask him to press down on - harder, because he likes how it makes him feel breakable. "It connects to the cranium and to the humerus, or upper arm - oh."

Gerard lifts himself up so he's braced on his hands on the mattress, and Mikey holds his breath, arms trembling with holding the textbook up. He tries not to push his hips up as Gerard kisses Mikey's left bicep, then his right. Mikey studies his face, the red of his cheeks, the sweat making his hair stick to his cheekbones, the dark of his eyelashes on his face.

"The, uh," Mikey has to lift the book and squint to see around Gerard's head, "the lower arm is made up of the radius and ulna. The ulna contributes primarily to the elbow joint," a kiss at Mikey's elbow, "while the radius connects to the wrist joint." Mikey watches, breathing heavily, as Gerard pushes up onto his fingertips so he can press warm lips to Mikey's wrists, the narrow bones there that Gerard's broad hands fit so perfectly over. It shifts his body weight to his hips and Mikey groans at the pressure, looking pleadingly at his brother. Gerard smiles back at him, smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes, but he doesn't say anything.

Mikey decides that he is reading way too slowly.

"The hand is made up of carpals, metacarpals, and phalanges," he says. "The main role of the carpus is to facilitate effective positioning of the hand and powerful use of the extensors and flexors of the forearm," he says all in a rush, and drops back against the pillow as his arms give out and he dumps the book over the side. "The end."

"The end?" Gerard repeats, laughing softly while he kisses at the knuckles of the hand that Mikey has draped over his own forehead. "If you fail that test, mom's gonna give me shit for not helping you study."

"Fuck off," Mikey groans. He bucks his hips up impatiently, the head of his dick rucking up Gerard's t-shirt and skidding against the sparse hair of his belly.

"I promised to help," Gerard breathes against Mikey's wrist. He smells like sweat and deodorant, crowding Mikey against the pillows that line the headboard. "Maybe I should quiz you just to check."

"Whatever," Mikey says, frustrated, and lets his knees fall open, digging his heels into the backs of Gerard's legs to try and drag him closer. "Just do something."

"If you can name a bone," Gerard murmurs, and leans his weight just a little more heavily on Mikey's body. Mikey gasps and writhes against him. Why is Gerard wearing so many clothes? "If you can name a bone, I'll use it to touch you," Gerard finally says.

Mikey snorts a laugh, because there's a joke about boners here somewhere but he can't figure it out. "Your, uh, pelvis?" he tries.

"Nuh-uh," Gerard says, leaning over and pretending to scrutinize the textbook on the floor, which Mikey knows for a fact fell open to a page about the circulatory system.

"Fuck you, you know what I mean, Gee. Your pelvic fucking girdle, okay?"

Gerard pulls back to grin down at Mikey, big and bright and proud, while he grinds his hips down.

"Oh god, oh god," Mikey moans, and Gerard slaps a hand over his mouth, still smiling, to keep him quiet. "Oh god," Mikey moans even louder into Gerard's palm, even though it comes out as an unintelligible noise. He can feel Gerard's cock in the crease of his hip and thigh, hard and hot through his pajama pants, and his eyes are rolling back in his head.

Edited 2011-07-11 06:28 (UTC)

"Now what?" Gerard asks. "I gotta make sure you remember them, come on." He's whispering but his breathing sounds harsh in the quiet of their room. He doesn't take his hand off Mikey's mouth but separates his fingers so that Mikey can speak through them.

"What, like, your ribs? I don't get how -" Mikey starts, but Gerard slides down him, shirt riding up to his armpits. Mikey watches, mouth hanging open, as Gerard rubs his chest around on Mikey's cock. "Shit," Mikey whispers, fisting the bedsheets in his hands as he watches. He really, really doesn't want to Gerard to stop. "Your clavicle," Mikey says, and doesn't care if he's forgotten some bones. The way Gerard moans and slides even further down, Mikey doesn't think he's paying that close attention.

Mikey has to close his eyes and let his head drop back when he sees the dark pink head of his own cock trapped between his pale stomach and Gerard's chest when Gerard pulls his shirt over his head and rubs up and down against him. "Oh god. Your - your hands, Gerard. Please... fuck, please, your hands, I don't remember the fucking bones okay? Just -" Mikey gasps and shuts up when Gerard leans onto his side in the cradle of Mikey's legs and wraps his fingers around Mikey's dick.

Mikey purses his lips and tries not to make noise, breathing hard through his nose, but it feels so good after waiting so long, that he can't help arching his back and tilting his hips into Gerard's hand.

"Good," Gerard whispers, breath ghosting across Mikey's belly, jerking him off slowly. Mikey wants to say cranium, wants to see his brother's head between his thighs, that warm, wet mouth on him, but Gerard will kiss Mikey everywhere except for two places: Mikey's mouth and Mikey's cock.

Mikey breathes heavily and wriggles around on the bed, frowning and pushing up into his brother's hand. "Do I pass?" Mikey asks when he's close to coming, trying to whisper even though his chest is rising and falling so quickly.

"Mmm," Gerard hums, and drops a kiss to Mikey's hipbone. Mikey opens his eyes, looking down the line of his own chest, pale and too-skinny, to where Gerard's watching him intently, pressing his own hips into the mattress while his hand works Mikey's dick, dry and tight.

"Please," Mikey whispers to the ceiling, throwing his head back on the pillows and spreading his arms out to clutch at the bed sheets. He feels hot and sweaty all over, heels digging into Gerard's legs, hips pushing into his brother's hand.

"God, Mikes, you just -" Gerard's voice catches, and he gasps into Mikey's hip, breath hot and heavy and so close to Mikey's dick. But Mikey won't ask, won't ever ask. The mattress is shaking from Gerard shoving his hips down into it hard and fast, burying his face in Mikey's hot skin.

"Yes, yes, yes," Mikey chants, voice pitching high before he can't talk anymore, can only breathe hard and fast, hands gripping the pillow under his head as it builds in his spine, so close.

Gerard moans into Mikey's side, squeezes even tighter with the ring of his thumb and forefinger on Mikey's dick, and Mikey gasps, toes curling and back arched as he drags the pillow over his face so he can moan loud and desperate as he comes, hot stripes across his belly.

"Mikes, oh my god, Mikes," Gerard moans into Mikey's hip, muffled into the skin there, and takes his hand from Mikey's dick. Mikey breathes hot and humid into the pillow as he comes back to himself, bed shaking from what is clearly Gerard bringing himself off in his pajama pants, spilling groans into the cradle of Mikey's pelvis.

When they're cleaned up and Gerard stands on shaky legs to get the light and crawl back into his own bed, Mikey says, "Thanks, Gee."

"Think you'll remember it all?" Gerard asks, and there isn't that teasing heat in his voice anymore.

Mikey hums into the dark, listening to the creak of Gerard's mattress as he settles in his own bed. Mikey runs a hand down his torso. He can still feel all of the places where Gerard marked him, where he pressed kisses to Mikey's skin.

"Yeah," Mikey whispers. "I can't forget."

waughsidufhd sdygsfgyusdgfuysdg fsiudhfusidhf usidhfisuuisdf

you know the drill

I am in sexy sexy awe

the usual

unf

Heeeeee I LOVE IT WHEN YOU ARE IN SEXY SEXY AWE ♥ ♥ ♥

Oh sweet lord, woman, you're KILLING ME.

LIKEWISE. SO MANY HOT FICLETS. THIS MEME, UGH. ♥!

GAHHHHHHHHHHHH *___________________*

*_________* glad you enjoyed, girl!

I am. Speechless. My BODY is like, re-ACTING and I don't even understand WHAT is happening but UNF.

Mikey, Mikey, and fuck, Gerard and the hands and the STUDYING and the NOT KISSING but still treating Mikey like he's precious and OH GOD.

[shakes head to clear]

Uh haksjdhgaklsjgfh

I am really into this idea for some reason! I had a LOT of fun writing this, so I'm super-glad you enjoyed it! ♥

This is just. Wow.

It's blisteringly hot, like, excessively so.

I love how you always get the Ways too, so it's not just about the sex.

Aw, thank you! What a huge compliment. I really do love writing them ♥_______________♥

OMG this is so hot and amazing. Gotta love Gerard's idea of helping his little brother out! And just the way you showed them both wanting it so much by the end, and how they just won't go THERE and *flails*

Also I kept thinking of that skeleton t-shirt (http://pics.livejournal.com/restless_jedi/pic/000w3rrr) they shared all the time years ago! Thank yoooooou <3

Thank you! I really enjoyed writing that break-down in their resolve, too. >:) mmmmmmmm

YES EXACTLY. ♥

AND here it is.
Very hot as always <3.
But Mikey won't ask, won't ever ask. This is my favourite line. I know, I'm strange, but seriously something about it is so heartbreaking beautiful. It shows (at least to me) all the unspoken desperation and rules.

Heh, thanks so much dude! I am SO WITH YOU, I love when they have lines and rules and things that go unspoken... it was kind of strange writing waycest WITHOUT much angst here, actually! But nice too :D Thanks for commenting! ♥

o m g, this was amazing.

Wooo, so glad you thought so! Thanks :D

*fans self* Wow, I am actually hot in the face right now, the mix of pure hotness and doing something so forbidden .... Pfew!

Heh, thank you! I had a lot of fun writing it :D

So wonderfully hot and intense! You write the best Waycest!

Aw, thanks! That means a lot, thanks for commenting ♥ ♥ (I have posted a way better-edited version of this in my journal, BTW /o\ now I feel kinda embarrassed that you had to read this one)

They are so, so perfect like this, omg. Waaaaaays. ♥

SO glad you enjoyed! :D I kinda love them a lot.

balcony scene

Brendon/Gabe/Gerard, New beginnings

*this could loosely be considered more of the Snow White AU I have(Here (http://doctor-jasley.dreamwidth.org/58906.html))*

The room’s warmer than Gerard prefers it to be, the fire stoked into a merry blaze. It’s not uncomfortably hot though, so he should be fine. Plus, Brendon’s asleep leaning against Gabe’s side while the other flips through the pages of a tome, that could bludgeon a charging dragon to death, and Gerard’s not going to disrupt that.

Brendon still gets tired quickly and a chill tends to wake him up more often than not. Gerard feels bad when Brendon blinks sleepy eyes at him and tries to burrow closer for warmth before trying to sleep more. It’ll take time for the magic to settle properly in Brendon’s bones and until then Gerard finds himself tiptoeing around while Gabe continues to make all the noise he’s used to making because he says that they can’t let the magic revert back into it’s enchantment phase or Brendon might fall under the sleeping spell again. That doesn’t mean it stops Gerard from feeling guilty, or makes him quit skulking about like a shadow when he knows Brendon’s nodded off again.

Gabe’s not what Gerard would expect a court magician to be like, he’s vibrant and flashy and everything the king of Beldly isn’t. It had been surprising when Gabe decided to stay. Gerard was sure that Gabe would go back to advising the newly appointed king of Malure in Cardinal City, but instead he had asked to stay in Beldly. Brendon had been happy about that and Gerard had tried his best to shove the vile feeling of jealousy, that was crawling through his veins, down. It was wrong to be possessive of someone who’d been under a curse for years and was finally being freed from the confines of said enchantment.

That was before he realized Brendon didn’t have eyes only for Gabe. After that, things tumbled into this weird mix of the three of them slowly falling together. Gabe would seek out Gerard’s drawing spots, sometimes with Brendon sleepily clinging to his arm and sometimes alone, and Gerard found himself making time to check out the room Gabe usually did spell work in. If Brendon wasn’t with them, he’d smile sleepily at the both of them when he finally stumbled upon their current location before curling up at Gerard’s side if Gabe was busy..

To say that Gerard’s days have changed drastically would be an understatement, but it’s not really a bad thing. He still hangs out with his brother and Frank, who still like to pester him about random things, before occasionally deciding to tag along when Gerard decides to find where Brendon and Gabe might be at that particular hour. It’s different falling asleep in a bed with two other people, but not bad different.

Brendon makes a sleepy sigh of a sound before yawning and moving from his position at Gabe’s side. Gerard’s pulled from his thoughts at the sight because once he let himself watch, really pay attention without feeling like an outsider for doing so, it’s become something he enjoys seeing; Brendon craning up to lightly kiss Gabe and Gabe lazily kissing him back until Brendon blinks at him fuzzily.

His shoes tug off easily enough, and Gerard climbs up on the still made covers of the bed. Gabe moves around and sets the tome on the wooden stand that sits there. Brendon smiles at Gerard and leans forward to place a soft kiss on his lips. Gabe ruffles a hand through Brendon’s hair just to get him to huff at the motion before he gets close enough to kiss Gerard as well. They haven’t moved past kissing yet, and that’s ok. Better to take things at a steady pace instead of pushing things until they fall apart.

Slowly but surely they’re starting a new routine. A new beginning, and while Gerard never foresaw anything remotely like this happening to him, it’s not something he’s against. In fact, it feels right in ways he never thought anything else besides drawing and family ever could.

They're all so comfortable together.

In fact, it feels right in ways he never thought anything else besides drawing and family ever could.

That line makes me happy-sigh.

I love everything about this! Thank you, bb!

The dynamic between them, the WHOLE last paragraph! I love the way you describe the relationship development and the general warm fuzziness. Hearts. In. My. Eyes. SERIOUSLY!

Can I just quote the whole thing back? Seriously, you make me wish this was trio was the OTP of bandom. They fit really well together.

:D <3. Man I wish this wish all the time and then realize how rare it is and then I :(. But I'm trying my best to get other people on my side for this cause. They really do fit so well :)

Mikey/Frank, Frank straddling Mikey.

[first time, drunk!boys, pre-cleanup!Gerard]

Gerard emptied the contents of his stomach a second time, then mumbled, “I’m good, ‘mgood. Check on Mikey.” Frank handed him a glass of water and walked out to the couch, waving a hand in front of Mikey’s glassy eyes.

Didn’t seem to do the trick. Obviously, this called for some more direct action. Frank planted his hand on the back of the couch beside Mikey’s head, and threw a leg over, comfortably straddling Mikey’s lap. “Earth to Mikeyway, this is Houston.”

Mikey blinked, realized who was on his lap, and looked slightly alarmed before managing, “Gee okay?”

“Yeah, all out of his system now, I think.” Frank cocked his head at the distant sound of barfing and winced. “Okay, almost,” he corrected.

“Thank you,” Mikey said out of nowhere.

“Everybody needs a drunk-buddy sometimes,” Frank shrugged.

“No, I meant for being psychic.” Mikey said, flatly and cryptically.

“No problem?” Frank shrugged again, giggling. “Why am I psychic again?”

“You’re on my lap,” Mikey said like that explained everything, but it sounded like a non sequitur.

“Oh, should I move? Sorry, man,” Frank apologized and moved as if to go.

“No.” Mikey said, and stopped him with a hand on Frank’s hip. Frank settled down onto Mikey’s thighs again and laughed. “I wanted you on my lap and then you were on my lap. All...” Mikey gestured at Frank’s legs for a while, then nodded like that was the end of his sentence.

“Oh.” Frank bit his lip ring, trying not to think that that meant what he thought it meant. Then his head hurt from the not thinking.

Mikey’s hand tightened on Frank’s hip, and his other hand drew up to do the same. Frank looked down at Mikey, catching the faint glare of the television on his glasses. Mikey was frowning.

“What?” Frank was definitely right, it wasn’t what he was thinking it meant. Or he was wrong. Something.

“I want that. You keep doing that.” The frown deepened, and Frank would have done anything to fix whatever it was that Mikey was unhappy about. He chewed on his lip, uncomprehending.

“What am I doing? I’ll stop, whatever it is.”

Mikey made a frustrated little noise and jerked his head up, kissing Frank and digging his teeth into Frank’s lower lip. It was messy, and it hurt, and Frank finally got it.

But he pretended not to.

“You want a lip piercing? Mikey, that’d be awesome. I’ll so take you to get yours,” he fake-enthused, until Mikey saw through him and kissed him again.

I am in love with every single word of this. <3

*tips hat and grins*

This has made my morning. *_* Thank you!

Eeeee! So glad you liked it!

Oh. I love this pairing so much and this is just lovely.

I love Frank deliberately not understanding and him straddling Mikey's lap. Oh yes.

Oh, Frank. <3 <3 <3!

Glad you liked! 8D

I really like the way Frank figures out what Mikey wants and how Mikey's first worry is Gerard and then when he's sure Gerard is fine he shifts to what he wants.

I can just imagine drunk!Mikey's thought bubble, like, "I wanted him on my lap and then he was THERE and, wait. Is my brother okay? I shouldn't wish away Gee's hair-holder. That's rude. He's fine? Right, makeouts now with my magic lapFrank plzkthx."

*giggles* Glad you liked!

Oh Frank you little shit! Not so oblivious as you like to pretend to be :p Also, unf Mikey, kiss Frank like that more and always, okay? I love this <3

*giggles at Frank* Can't blame him, if obliviousness is what finally gets Mikey grabbing and lip-biting. Not that I know anybody who likes lip-biting, or anything.

<3

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Page 4 of 5

A Bandom Kissing Meme.

Crossover, Gabe/Bebe

TAI, William/Carden

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Crossover, Pete/Mikey

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Worth the Wait, Mikey/Pete

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Pete/Mikey - Wishes Were Horses

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Frank/Mikey

Bert/Gerard

Bert/Gerard -- we kiss like painted tigers; 1/2

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Pete/anyone

Pete/Patrick -- Up For Air 1/2

Pete/Patrick -- Up For Air 2/2

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