mwestbelle | commentfic again

Gerard hisses, biting his lip hard enough to bleed, watching the cuts on his stomach shift and widen as he breathes and Mikey drags the blade across again, sending sharp pain/notpain through every part of him. He's sure Mikey can feel it, the way he's getting hard again against his brother's body, the tension as he tries not to shift.

Mikey has to be careful, oh so careful, but with a last short cut, his work is done. He sits back on his calves to admire his craft, carved into Gerard's body, mapped out in jagged red lines: "MIKEY." He places the knife carefully between his teeth so he can use both of his hands to trace over the bleeding letters, working his fingernails into the cuts. It will heal by next evening, marks faded until nothing but smooth pale is left, but Gerard will remember. And so will he.

But Gerard can't see what he's carved, past red lines carved into his chest. It's some sort of combination, some word, but at the angle he can barely look down as is and he's never been able to read upside down anyway.

"What does it say?" he murmurs, eyes flicking upwards to meet Mikey's. Mikey still has the knife between his teeth, staining them and his lips a bright red, and Gerard curls his hands into fists when he feels Mikey's fingernails in the wounds. It hurts.

Mikey lifts one hand--fingertips stained and dripping blood--to take the knife from between his teeth. The other hand he rubs across Gerard's belly, smearing the blood and rubbing it in little spiral patterns, but the letters are still stark, violently clear. His voice is raspy, heavy with lust when he speaks, looking at Gerard through lidded and smoldering eyes. "Mikey. So you'll never forget."

Gerard meets his eyes, staring at the heat in them, and the possessiveness in Mikey's tone makes him shiver. "That I'm yours? I know. I'm not going to forget that." Not that I would have before.

"You seem to." He brings his hand to his mouth, sucks speculatively on his fingers while watching Gerard, gaze heated yet serious. "It makes me so angry, when you look away." He shakes his head briefly, then crawls forward over Gerard's body to retrieve the candle. He smiles at Gerard, waving a little with the wavering flame, before he starts to drip wax along the cuts, outlining the "M" in melted wax seeping into the wounds.

Gerard whimpers, trying to twist away. His wrists and ankles are no doubt going to be red and raw when Mikey unbinds him, the way he's moving. "I know," he manages through gritted teeth. "I know, oh God, I won't--" But he can't say it, because he knows it isn't true. He's planning to see Frank again.

Mikey just clucks his tongue and moves on to the "I" and "K." He's no fool--he knows that he can't really keep Gerard from doing what he wants (not in small part because his possessive nature is a double-edged sword, leaving him with a complete inability to let Gerard remain unhappy, especially if he has the power to fix it) but he can do this. He can make sure Gerard knows. "E" "Y" and he's done. He sets the candle back on the nightstand and reaches down to play his fingers over the hardening wax, carefully ignoring Gerard's growing readiness.

And Gerard can't do anything himself, still neatly restrained, but he arches up, into the play of Mikey's fingers across his stomach. "Mikey," he says, voice soft and more than a little pleading. All it would take would be Mikey's fingers dipping lower.

"What do you want, Gerard?" Mikey coos a little, taunting, tracing letters and under them, but never far enough, never where Gerard wants him. Always a tease, always not-quite-enough. He's not going to give Gerard anything until he asks for it. "Would you like me to take you now?"

Gerard is more than accustomed to this, Mikey making him ask, and he nods simply. "Do it, please." If he doesn't have that part, the "please", Mikey sometimes stops--and makes him say it again, and right now all he wants is to get on with it as soon as possible. "Come on."

Mikey swipes his fingers through the blood on Gerard's lower belly and sucks them into mouth, licking at them and getting them slick as possible--Gerard is much more willing and able to take him like this than he is when the roles are reversed. He removes his fingers with a pop, and slips his hand down to slide two into Gerard, knowing he can handle the burn.

Gerard pushes himself down onto Mikey's fingers as best as he can, straps digging into his wrists. It hurts, but it's virtually nothing, compared to the wax or the slow drag of Mikey's knife. It's a good kind of hurt, even though he'll feel it all the next day.

Mikey gives only a cursory nod to three fingers before starting to push in for real--it seems like weeks, even though he just came by Gerard's mouth that evening, and he's not the most patient man. He hisses; almost too rough and too tight, but he loves the harshness of it all. What he does when he takes Gerard, it's nothing at all like the sweetness and care Gerard gives to him, and he would feel guilty if he didn't know how much pleasure Gerard gets from his way.

Gerard gasps, head back and nails digging into his palms. It hurts, it burns, but he gets a twisted sort of pleasure out of the pain of it. He pushes forward as much as he can, urging Mikey on. "Mikey, move. Please."

Mikey's tempted to pinch Gerard's thigh, tell him that he'll go however slowly or quickly he wants, leave a bruise. But, god, he wants and the muscles in his thighs are trembling a little from the strain, so he obeys, snapping his hips harshly until he's in Gerard to the hilt.

Gerard gasps out a breath and then another, trying to let his body get used to the intrusion, to relax a little. He shifts upward as much as the bindings will allow, pressing his body to Mikey's with a harsh sound. Come on.

Mikey leans forward, pressing himself as completely against Gerard as he can--he can feel Gerard's blood, the places where his skin splits, sticky against his own belly. With a small grunt, he draws out, then snaps back in again, quicker than before.

The movement only widens the cuts, new blood springing from the places where wax and skin are beginning to separate. Gerard groans, the sound coming out weak. Sometimes he thinks Mikey knows him too well--after spending a hundred years together like this, Mikey knows exactly what Gerard likes and exactly how far he can take him before he breaks. It's perfect and it hurts.

Mikey's eyes flutter closed, he can't look at how Gerard looks, bleeding and spread under him, for too long because god. He ducks his head to lick under Gerard's collarbone, at the slightly shiny burns from the wax earlier. He knows his tongue must feel rough against the damaged skin, and he jerks his hips a little more harshly at the thought.

Gerard's next breath turns into a choked whimper and he shudders at the feel of Mikey's tongue, dragging slowly across the burns on his chest. He's going to be feeling them for the next day or two, at least. "Mikey, please, I need--"

"Tell me," he rasps against Gerard's chest, fitting a hand between them to palm over the cuts again, the stickiness of blood and brokeness of split skin and the trembling of Gerard's flesh making him feel heady with need. "You have to tell me, Gerard."

Gerard pushes up against Mikey's hand, groaning brokenly. "Just-- touch me. God, please. I need it." He's hardly above begging but if it were anyone but Mikey (Frank but he can't think about that now Frank is practically a baby compared to him) he would be embarrassed to do it.

Mikey moves with reflexes faster than any man's, grabbing Gerard's jaw. "What did you just say?" And Gerard's eyes are wide, and he doesn't respond, but Mikey heard him, that breathy undertone of a whisper. Frank. He pulls away, out of Gerard, crawls off the bed--the mood has left him completely, he can't take this. He hears Gerard's whines, can see him jerking uselessly against the air out of the corner of his eye, but Mikey just scrambles into his nightclothes and curls up with a blanket in the chair, leaving Gerard strapped down and wanting.

Mikey doesn't speak to him at all in the next two days, and certainly has nothing to say to Gerard when Frank drops by (Mikey wonders how his mother ever keeps a hold of him) in the early evening to ask them to accompany him on a walk.

Gerard barely even spares a glance at Mikey when he says yes, knowing Mikey still won't speak to him anyway (and it is his own fault, he reminded himself of that over and over that night as he lay there, twisting helplessly against the straps until Mikey finally undid them, finding his wrists and ankles a bright, raw red, the skin broken along the edges).

"Where are we going?" He leans down so he's eye to eye with Frank, who is nothing if not perky. "I. Um. Do you wanna go swimming? In the ocean? It's pretty late so there'll be nobody else there but it's a full moon so you'll still be able to see and--" Frank takes a deep, gulping breath. "and I really want to go. Please?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject