mwestbelle | commentfic 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?"

And of course Gerard isn't going to say no, and Mikey is not about to let him follow the little nymphet off into the night alone (especially with swimming involved) so the three of them end up on the beach. Mikey makes a place for himself just at the edge of the sand, a book on his lap--he's really not comfortable in the water, despite how much time he's spent sailing it, and he's certainly not interested in stripping.

Frank, unsurprisingly, is out of his clothes in a flash, all his pale, round flesh on display--for all the energy he expends, there's still testament to his babyfat in the way his tummy pokes out, rounded and soft. He's clearly comfortable, and still full of energy. He scurries over to Gerard and pushes the hem of his shirt up, impatient. "C'mon, c'mon."

Gerard blushes a little, faint rose across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, but he follows Frank's lead, slipping his shirt over his head and unlacing his breeches, quick. He's trying not to stare at Frank as he does so, thinking deliberately of the least pleasant things he can, because, well. Frank is standing right in front of him, naked. And so is he and until he gets into the water, the kind of thoughts in his head at Frank are going to be obvious.

"Come on in," Frank says brightly, dashing to the water's edge and turning around, waiting for Gerard to follow. Gerard shoots one last apologetic glance over his shoulder at Mikey--not that it would patch up anything, because they're still not even at a truce, but it's the principle--before making his way into the water.

Mikey scowls and flips to a random page in his book--it lies open and unread in his lap while he watches Frank splashing and giggling, and Gerard watching. It's lucky that Frank is hardly more than a child, because there's naked lust in Gerard's gaze that any adult would see immediately.

Frank ducks under the water, then comes up, shaking his hair like a dog. Droplets of water bead and shine in the moonlight on his skin, and he grins unabashedly at Gerard, still loitering closer to the shore. "Come on, it's not even cold."

Gerard dips one careful toe in and then another, finally wading out to where Frank is. The water is cold, and while his body is already colder than any normal human's should be, right now it's downright icy.

"See, I told you." Frank informs him, grinning, and he grabs Gerard's arms, trying to pull him under and dunk him. Gerard goes easily, and he's almost tempted to stay under and freak Frank out since he doesn't need to breathe. He decides against it a moment later, popping up right next to Frank, and their bodies are decidedly too close together for comfort.

Frank just giggles and shakes his hair again, splattering Gerard. He bumps his hip against Gerard's thigh playfully, totally oblivious to the way waterslick skin-on-skin contact is affecting his swimming parner.

Mikey keeps watching them, hands curled practically into claws on his book. It's only through iron self-control (and a little fear of the dark water) that he's not out there right now and Frank still has a head.

But in the distance, Frank and Gerard are running after each other, water splashing in every direction. They look happy, and even if Gerard feels a stab of guilt every time he looks at Mikey, he's still laughing with Frank.

Mikey has to stare, a little. They're gorgeous together like this and he gives up all pretense of reading his book, eyes glued to the two figures in the distance.

Mikey can't seem to look away. Both of them pale and dark, a little rounded around the edges, and so beautiful. It's. It's nice. More than nice. He rubs absentmindedly at his knee, watching them laughing, eyes dark and serious. He hadn't really considered it, angry as he was with Gerard's wandering eye, but he thinks he'd rather like to keep them. Both of them.

Frank glances back at the shore and wrinkles his nose in a smile. He grabs for Gerard's hand. "I think Mikey's sad he didn't come swimming too."

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