mwestbelle | commentfic again

Michael pulls back a little, looking at Gerard concernedly. "Gerard," he says, frowning. "What's wrong? I want to be able to help you, but I can't if I don't know. Please."

Gerard can't tell Michael. He can't. He wants to pull away, hide under the covers until the urge to pin Michael down and bite him goes away. He shudders again, clenching his teeth. He can fight this.

"You can't, Michael, please." Gerard keeps his eyes shut, but it doesn't matter because he can still smell it--heady and sharp and sweet--and though he can't quite convince his body to move away, every muscle he has is stiff and tense. "Please, just go. Leave me. I can't..."

Reluctantly, Michael loosens his grip, allows Gerard to sink back down into the bed. He chews at his lower lip--it's a nasty habit, says Mother, one that he will have to break if he ever wants to find a proper wife--and tucks some of Gerard's hair behind his ear. "All right. I'll tell Mother that you've awakened, and that you want your rest." He's so very worried. Gerard has never pushed him away before now, not once that he can recall. Something is seriously wrong with his brother.

Michael doesn't want to leave Gerard like this, not when he knows there's something wrong, but Gerard wants (needs) him to go. He pulls away, slipping off the bed and toward the door. His heart is pounding and he doesn't know why, and it takes him several deep breaths before he can even start down the stairs to find their mother.

Gerard lays back, eyes still closed, and his traitorous body is still not calm, even with Michael gone. He can see it behind his eyelids now, pinning Michael down and biting through the skin on his neck, hard, his body pressed against his brother's. Oh God, he thinks, faint. I--oh God.

Gerard gathers handfuls of the clean white sheets in his hand and can't help the unhappy sound that comes from the back of his throat. He just needs to wait. If he can just lie here and close his eyes and think about anything besides Mikey's sharp little hips digging against him, licking a long needy stripe up his brother's neck and the blood, the blood...

He would never allow the filthy, horrible words to pass his lips, but this is not the first time he has found himself pulled taut as a bowstring with Michael's face seared into his consciousness. But never like this, never this strong or desperate or wrong. It's a ridiculous thing to say, that one carnal urge for his brother (fourteen years old and still as fresh as dawn) is worse than another, but next to the heat in his guts he can feel something...new. Something that doesn't belong.

There's a hunger, deep in his gut, so strong that it's almost a physical pain. Just the thought of the blood makes it all that much stronger.

He bites his lip, trying to make pain distract himself from the scene behind his eyes--in his mind, he's drinking the blood, swallowing greedy mouthfuls, and Michael's hips move frantically against him, bucking into his own, whimpering. He can't think like this. He can't even breathe.

He fists his hands tighter in the sheets, because all he wants to do is slip his hand down, palm over himself and relieve some of this pressure. But he can't--he won't. If thinking about his brother like this is wrong, it's doubly so to acknowledge what it does to him. God.

Eventually, after what feels like excrutiating hours, his body returns to normal. He is thankful for that small blessing (and that his mother didn't try to visit him during that horrible span of time) but it is to be one of few. In the following days, Michael spends hour after hour at his bedside, combing his hair and reading to him and setting his pastels and sketching paper next to the bed (just in case).

And Gerard spends all those times with a vicious burning inside, oftentimes feigning sleep so as to have an excuse not to sit up or lie on his back and expose his shame to all the world (or to Michael, at least, but Michael is his world), thankful that at least his propensity to blush brilliantly scarlet seems to have left him in his sickness. But the heat never leaves, and no matter how often the maids come to change them, the covers on the bed still smell like Michael, and he has awoken more than once to his hips working shamefully of their own device.

Three days later, Gerard hits his breaking point. Michael comes in again, and he keeps leaning forward to ask Gerard if he's okay, if he needs anything, and he wraps his arms around Gerard as best as he can can as Gerard lies on his stomach. "Please get better," Michael murmurs into his ear, hand running through his hair gently.

Gerard lifts his head and his arm winds around the back of Michael's neck, pulling him closer before he can even realise what he's doing. He can't help it--he's so hungry and he lets his teeth graze the side of Michael's neck, mouth open. He wants to bite down so badly it's almost painful.

"Gerard," Michael whispers, afraid to move. He's shuddering, frightened of this complete change in his brother--he's never seen Gerard so pale or so cold or so unhappy and no one knows why he won't let the physician in or let anyone open the curtains. Gerard's unhappy, and even though he's had his dark moods in the past, it was never like this. Gerard's grip on him tightens, and Michael gasps out a little noise. "Gerard, please. What's wrong? I'm afraid."

But Gerard's lost in the smell, the almost-taste, and talking is just making the muscles in Michael's neck tense and move against Gerard's teeth. He stutters out a harsh breath, and can only make a harsh whine with the ragged remnants of his voice. I'm sorry, Mikey, I'm so sorry.

And finally, he manages to choke out a breathy "I'm sorry" before he can't take it anymore and his grip tightens, sinking his teeth into Michael's neck with a harsh sound. Michael's whole body goes taut, and he lets out a whimper. "Gerard, what are you doing?" he manages, and he can't seem to get enough air. His head is swimming and he clutches at his brother's shirt desperately, trying to fight Gerard off or pull him closer--he can't tell which one he wants.

Gerard can't hear him, lost in the taste of his blood, warm in his mouth, and he presses closer, urging his teeth deeper into the side of Michael's neck. He couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to.

The blood starts to flow more readily, and Gerard makes a hungry slurping sound as he sucks hard and needy, swallowing mouthfuls of salty copper. Somewhere inside his head he knows that this is wrong, so so very wrong, but it's amazing, it's everything he's been longing for, needing. He can feel the blood warming him already, flowing through the flesh that's been so achingly cold, filling him. His body finds readiness more than quickly, and he shifts against the pleasantly angular flesh conveniently below him, unknowing of movement, unknowing of what it is, unaware of anything but hot and good.

Michael cries out, too soft for anyone to hear. It hurts, because his brother is tearing into his throat, drinking his blood, oh god. And now he feels Gerard, firm and ready against him, rutting like a beast. The tears slide down his neck to mingle with the blood and he wonders in a moment of light-headed detachment if Gerard can taste the difference.

Before he knows it, Michael is flat on his back, Gerard above him, pinning him to the bed. Gerard is still drinking from him, sucking hard on his neck. He's distantly aware that there are tears coming from Michael's eyes, he can feel them against his cheeks, but he's too far gone to be able to pull away.

He grinds down, hard, intensifying the feeling, and barely notices when Michael hisses out a breath in response.

Michael grips Gerard's back, tears still running down his face, but at the same time it feels good and the feeling of both at once frightens him. He bucks up into Gerard's body, letting out a tiny groan at the feeling. What are we doing?

Michael wants to cry, even though he already is, but his heart is seized up and stuttering in a way that can't be promising. He can feel himself drifting in and out, a kind of broken haziness and then back into sharp, hot relief. He is so ashamed at the way his body jerks back in response to Gerard's, the desperate hardening in his breeches for his brother, his ill, widower (though only barely) brother. His heart falters again, going weak.

Gerard is still sucking greedily at Michael's neck, groaning around the the hot mouthfuls. As the blood spreads through him, calming the urge that's been haunting him, he starts to feel a little more himself. A little back to his own mind and...oh god. He jerks back, sitting up suddenly, and stares horrified down at the bleeding, flushed and wanton body of his little brother, whose hips pump weak and helpless towards him, neck a bloody wreck. "Mikey. No, god, Mikey, what have I done?"

Michael makes a weak noise in return, mouth opening, trying and failing to form any words. His cheeks are a bright cherry red, hips moving against air to try and find relief. "Gee--" he manages after a long moment, arms gripping Gerard's tightly. He feels on the verge of passing out and the world is swimming.

Gerard leans back down, this time clutching Michael close and hugging him tightly. "Mikey, god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I--" he babbles, and he can't look at Michael's neck without the passing thought of wanting to bite in again, can't be this close without his hips twitching minutely against Michael's. "I'm so sorry."

He doesn't know what to do. God, Michael has always trusted him and now...he's killed him. He's killed his baby brother and engaged in shameful carnality with him. He doesn't want Michael to die, Michael can't die, but he just doesn't know, he doesn't--

Blood. The answer is so obvious in Gerard's mind he wonders that it took so long to occur to him. Michael needs blood. Gerard stole it from him, but he can give it back. He doesn't pause for a moment before lifting his hand and clawing at the side of his own neck--the flesh gives under his hand and he somehow knows it will be fine. He rolls a little off of Michael, then gathers him up in his arms, pulling him flush on top of him, and using a hand to cradle Michael's head, guiding it down to the place where the blood is flowing from his own throat. "Drink, Mikey. Please. I need you."

Michael makes a weak, confused noise, and there is a long, terrifying second when Gerard thinks he's already lost him, but then he leans forward, sucking tentatively at Gerard's throat.

A moment passes and he pulls off, taking a breath before attacking Gerard's throat, gripping his neck with surprising strength and latching on with his teeth, sucking hard. Gerard lets out a surprised noise through clenched teeth, letting Michael pin him down and drink from the wound. You're going to be okay, he thinks, with no small amount of relief. You're going to be okay.

Michael is hardly aware of anything now, just that he needs to drink now, that this is all he needs and if he doesn't have it there will be nothing left. He's vaguely aware of Gerard's hand on the back of his head, combing through his hair. He pulls off of Gerard's throat with another wet slurp, mouth still open and blood dribbling down his chin. He gasps a few times, wracked by some kind of convulsions, before his body goes perfectly still.

He stares down at Gerard through eyes that suddenly see clearer than they ever have, mouth still half open in an animalistic snarl.

"Mikey," Gerard says, eyes wide at the look on his brother's face. "Mikey, say something. Please." He has no idea what has just happened to his brother and he doesn't know why, but he's afraid.

Michael looks at Gerard almost without recognition for a moment before murmuring, "I'm fine, Gee. Fine." He still has blood on his mouth and down his chin.

It takes him a moment, because everything is so new. The world is sharper, and he has to trace his thumbs along Gerard's jawline just to check that it really is how it looks to him now. He feels different and god, is this how Gerard has been feeling since the night Liana died? There's something fundmentally shifted inside.

Gerard has blood (his blood, Michael thought with a shiver) starting to dry all around his mouth. Michael brushes a flake away with one of his thumbs, then surges forward, kissing his brother, hungry and harsh, for the first time.

Gerard freezes for only a second before pulling Michael closer, further on top of him, and kissing him back, hand coming up to cup the back of his head. God, what are we doing? he thinks, faintly, opening his mouth under Michael's.

Michael presses his body against Gerard's, and he can't even help the way his hips jerk against his brother's, the way he groans into Gerard's mouth. He doesn't understand exactly what he's doing (he's never done this before, any of this), nothing past that it feels good.

Gerard mewls high and wanting, lapping at Michael's teeth, at the blood still stained around his lips. He's known only the relief of his own hand--and very seldomly, for he tries his best to abide by the scriptures--and this is so much better, so far beyond that, he can't begin to describe it.

Michael has to shut his eyes to the sensations, so painfully new, but his hip just slide and roll, seemingly of their own accord without any real input from him. It's sloppy--he doesn't know enough to know it's sloppy--but it's the best thing he's ever felt.

Gerard groans, clutching Michael tighter, bucking up into his body with a high, needy sound. "Oh God," he says, faint, but he can barely hear himself over the chaos in his head.

Michael breaks the kiss and leans down, latching onto Gerard's neck as his hips move, sinking his teeth in with a low groan. He has to squeeze his eyes shut again, overwhelmed with the taste of Gerard's blood in his mouth and his hips pressing into his brother's.

The combined sensation of Mikey suckling at his neck and their hips locked and rocking together is too much for Gerard, after all these hours smelling Michael and longing for this, even though he didn't know it. He comes with a strangled shout and brings a hand up to clasp the back of Michael's head, fingers digging into his skull to push him down harder.

Michael whines and sucks hard, and for the first time, his entire body stutters and goes stiff before jerking to his completion, still inside his neatly pressed breeches.

Gerard takes a deep, shaky breath, pulling Michael close to lay against his chest. He's starting to feel the guilt of what they've done seep in--because Michael is different now, because of him, in a way he's not sure even he understands. They both are; he hesitates to even think it, but he doesn't feel human.

Michael looks up at him, teeth sliding out of his neck with a wet sound, and Gerard is startled to see the difference in them--the canines are long and sharp-looking, like an animal's. He wonders, distantly, if his are the same.

"Are you--" Gerard swallows hard and reaches up to rest his fingertips on Michael's lips, not quite brave enough to thumb over his newly sharp teeth the way he really wants to. "--are you all right?" It's such an idiotic question, because obviously Michael isn't all right. Gerard bit him and then...then did that to him. He almost wants to laugh at the whole situation--he who was so afraid and uneasy about consumating his marriage didn't hesitate a moment before taking pleasure from his young brother.

Michael sighs, hot breath against Gerard's fingers, and he darts his tongue out to lick at them. Gerard inhales sharply, pulling them away a fraction, and Michael smiles. It looks wrong with the teeth, almost frightening. "I'm fine," he says, after a pause. "I--" and he breaks off, sounding confused. "I can see. Everything. Everything's clear and I--"

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