commentfic again

[mwestbelle]

I claim this entry for Frank/Gerard/Mikey VAMPIRE PORNOGRAPHY IN THE COMMENTS.

Please sit back and enjoy as thelemic and I astound and amaze you with our insane love/lust for commentficcing.

Comments

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

It's too much for both of them, spent from the change in the sickbed, their subsequent release at the tailor's and the feeding. It's more sensation than either have ever felt in their lives, and after they both come, they curl in around each other in the bed, arms and legs entwined, sharing the precious little warmth they have. Not sleeping--they don't seem to need it any longer--but still and quiet.

The sun returns quickly, and Mikey scowls when it touches his back. It doesn't burn, exactly, but it makes the space behind his eyes ache. He grumbles, but rises, because today they leave. The world lies out there, and he and his brother will finally see it.

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

Gerard yawns and stretches, looking up at Mikey with bright eyes. "Good morning, I think," he says, leaning over the edge of the bed to see if he can find his breeches, finally snagging one leg of them and pulling them up to himself. "We should get going soon."

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

"Yes." Once he's dressed, shirt tucked in and breeches laced up tight, Mikey allows himself to lean over Gerard, burying his nose in his hair and closing his eyes. He's not ashamed of what they've done, what they are, but he knows all eyes will be on them when they leave, and here in the daylight, he's not sure how well he'll be able to restrain the vicious jealousy that seems to have taken hold of him. A scene in the middle of the cantina would be disastrous--they need to be as unobtrusive as possible if they want to be on the next ship from the harbor. "Tell me you're mine, Gee."

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

Gerard leans against Mikey, body pressed against his brother's side. "When have I ever been anyone else's?" he asks, as though it's obvious. "Of course I'm yours." He reaches out and rubs the small of Mikey's back, moving his hand in comforting circles.

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

"I don't--" Mikey clenches his fist a little bit, exhaling heavily while he forces himself to speak. The movement of Gerard's hand is nice, but it can't unknot the tension curled heavy and unsettling in his gut. "I don't want them to look at you. I don't want any of them to see you and think that they could have you. I can't handle that." He doesn't know where the urge comes from, but it's there, hot and definite in every muscle. Gerard is his.

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

"Hey." Gerard's hand stops its motion and he turns, looking at Mikey. "Mikey, look at me. Hey." He pauses, trying to gather his thoughts before saying, "They will not have me. They cannot have me. You can. Look at them and know that." He's afraid of the kind of jealousy he sees, afraid of what Mikey could do to all of those people if it gets overwhelming.

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

"I need." He bites his lip, still a little unsure about asking, what his boundaries are in the harsh light of the sun. "I want to touch you. While we go out there. So I know." He knows it's a terrible thing to ask of Gerard, that all the hateful smirking eyes will turn on him, the dark names and gossip will be about the handsy dark-haired man, not the wide-eyed young thing (what a shame, what a shame, filthy the perversions his type get up to).

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

"Touch me? You mean, like--how?" Gerard can barely think back to the last time he asked such a thing without his head spinning. Do you mean like that? Is that really something that it's okay to do in public? He blushes faintly at the thought, half-wondering if maybe he's just reading the situation wrong and Mikey means something else entirely (an arm around his waist, maybe)

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

"I don't care." Mikey presses against Gerard, molding himself against the line of his body. He doesn't know how long it will be before he can do this, and more, do what he really wants to. He frowns, hand fiddling absently with the back of Gerard's breeches. "I just need to feel you."

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

Gerard shifts toward Mikey, pressed against him, and takes a deep, shaky breath before nodding. "Okay, I. We can do that." He takes Mikey's hand, winding it around his waist so they're pressed side to side. "Is like this good?"

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

Mikey flexes his hand a little, digging his fingers a little into the softness at Gerard's side. He nods, slow. It will have to do. He craves something more drastic, an inescapable sign that Gerard is no one else's, but it's not practical. Dressed and ready to face the world, they leave the room and start down the stairs.

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

As they descend the stairs, they can practically feel all of the eyes on them--hushed whispers among the men and women at the tables, furtive glances in their direction, and the cantina is abuzz with noise. Gerard keeps his eyes trained to Mikey instead, not wanting to see the disapproving looks and the gossips looking for scandal.

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

Mikey refuses to look around, because he'd only snarl at the whisperers (sinful, horror, filthy, boy-lover) and that would get them nowhere. The tale will be bandied all throughout town by noontide, he's sure, and he can only pray that most of the patrons here (low class, working class) don't recognize them--excited as he is to get away, he would like to spare Mother that one last indignity. He leads them out and into the bright light--it's almost too much, and his hand turns to a claw in Gerard's side, as he winces at the heat of the sun on his face.

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

Gerard winces as well, sharp pain going through him at the brightness of it, and he covers Mikey's hand on his waist with his own, squeezing. "We need to get inside soon," he says, urgent. "I don't think this can kill us but it hurts." Fortunately, they're close enough to the bank that it won't take them long to get there. "Hurry."

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

Mikey nods, and the walk to the bank is quick but painful. The sun makes him feel like the inside of his head is coming apart, but as soon as they're into the cooler shadows of the bank, he feels calmer and better. He waits near the entrance while Gerard goes to retrieve their funds--both of them together could be suspicious, especially if Mother has sent servants asking after them.

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

Gerard strides up to a familiar worker, confident. He doubts that Mother has sent anyone yet, it's still early in the morning and they only left the previous night, so he's not surprised when his request for money is met with no opposition and a single nod.

Five minutes later, he walks back to Mikey, grinning, holding a bulging bag of coins. "We'll be fine," he says, bright, and then, a little lower, "Let's go find a ship and get on, before they start leaving." He doesn't want to give any information that others can hear, assuming (and rightly so) that they'll be asked about, and soon.

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

Mikey nods briefly and they're off again--the walk down to the harbor is harder. It's a longer distance, and though they try to stick to the shadows of buildings as much as possible, there are still long painful patches of sunlight. But still, passing the houses and shops they've seen every summer growing up, the reality that they'll be leaving it all behind is both thrilling and strange.

It's not difficult to tell which ship is leaving--it's abuzz with sailors, scurrying around on ropes and rolling barrels. Mikey lets Gerard lead him aboard--after all, he's still fourteen, no matter how old he suddenly feels, and no one is about to take him seriously.

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

Gerard taps one of the sailors on the arm as he sits down to catch his breath, and the man looks up at him with a dubious expression. "Where is this ship going?" Gerard asks him, and he leans back, resting his head against the edge of the boat before answering, slow and drawling, "France, why, ya wanna get on tha boat? Go 'head, just give 'im--" and he waves his arm in the direction of a man standing at the wheel (the captain, he presumes) " 'bout twenty florens should do the job."

"Thank you," Gerard says, under his breath, and leads Mikey to the captain. "Excuse me, sir."

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

"Aye?" The captain is far cleaner cut than the sailors, with a neatly trimmed beard, but he's still a far cry from the aristocratic circles the Ways travel in.

"I was told twenty florens would obtain passage for my brother and I aboard this vessel," Gerard reverts back to his more florid of speech when he's nervous in front of people, and Mikey briefly touches his wrist, trying to steady him a little.

The captain nods. "Right. We'll be casting off in an hour or two, if you gentlemen would care to have your things brought to your cabin." He whistles and gestures to one of the sailors. "Help these two get settled."

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

The sailor takes their bags and they're soon settled into the cabin, for what they quickly find will be about two weeks of travel, even without storms. Gerard is glad, at least, though, to find that the seasickness he got the few times he sailed before has no effect on him now. It seems to be the same for Mikey, for the little traveling he has done.

The two weeks pass sluggishly, long days and long nights without even the relief of sleep to pass the time. Gerard and Mikey spend all of it with each other, still taking care to muffle any sounds they make for fear of being trapped on a boat at sea with those that disapprove.

Finally, after what seems like an age, the boat docks, and a sailor comes to find them and tell them that they've landed--they're finally in France.

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

They've gotten fairly well-acquainted with several of the sailors, so it's not too much of a shock when they follow the men to the rather seedy looking bar on the wharf. Gerard would flush to admit it, but they hope to learn more about...about pleasure, from these men, obviously far more worldly and experienced than he and Mikey could ever hope to be.

The Ways (and more importantly, their bag of coins) are more than welcome, especially when round after round are slammed in front of the sailor's grizzled and laughing faces, making their minds foggy and their tongues loose.

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

"So this wench--yannow--she just goes down, and--" Several men erupt into laughter at the look on the sailor's face and his slightly more than obscene gestures; he's probably the youngest there, and definitely not the most experienced. "I thought, I." He hiccups and takes another drink. "Shit, I though' I was gonna die it felt so good, y'know?"

The other men grin at him and Gerard stares, wide-eyed. "Wait, so her mouth--what?" An older, grizzled sailor chuckles, slapping him on the back. "We need ta find ya somebody, lad, show ya a good time. God, ta have some pretty lady's mouth on ya like that--" Mikey's hand tightens almost painfully around Gerard's, and Gerard gives him a reassuring look. It's okay.

The more time they spend, the more drink the sailors down, until they start talking about anything at all. "But--y'know, on the ship, s'bad luck to have ladies," one explains to another, bleary-eyed. "We gotta make do with who we got." Gerard leans forward a tad, listening intently. "But this one, he likes it, when th'others put their fingers up--" and makes a complicated gesture that makes Gerard blush to think about.

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

The sailors' tales are fascinating to Mikey, though he's far from pleased with the liberties they start to take with Gerard's person as they become unsteady and affectionate. Clapping his shoulder and laughing--one who had become suspiciously effusive about a certain cabin boy even touched his hair.

"She jus', jus'--" one of the sailors is swaying a little even though he's seated. "--jus' sucks." Gerard is blushing pink, but none of the sailor's noticed--all of them are more than flushed with drink, and haven't noticed that he hasn't touched his tankard. Mikey's more than frustrated--he can't ask any of things he's wondering, because they'd only laugh him off as a curious child--and all these men are touching Gerard. Making sure that the table covers his actions, Mikey slips a hand down to rub at Gerard's thigh.

[thelemic.livejournal.com]

Gerard's eyes dart around at the men sitting by them, panicked, but it's obvious a split second later that no one can see what Mikey is doing. Grateful that their company is too drunk to pay much attention, he says, low, "Mikey, they're not--they're being friendly and... they don't mean anything by it."

He would be more than happy to stay and see what other information they could pry out of the sailors, but Mikey seems unhappy and Gerard is willing to sacrifice a little research for his brother. "Do you want to leave? Find a room?" The sailors, after all, are staying for another day before sailing off again, and so they have more than one chance to learn what they can.

[mwestbelle.livejournal.com]

Research is important--this is how they're supposed to learn how to touch, how to bring each other to greater heights.He shakes his head silently, fingers rubbing small circles on Gerard's inner thigh. If he can keep touching him, he should be all right. But Mikey flinches when one of the sailors knocks his knee against Gerard's on the other side, laughing raucously.

He should be able to manage this, he knows the sailors have no designs on Gerard. Except a few of them, lazy and expansive with drink, seem to be giving him more than speculative looks, taking in his aristocratically long hair and pale skin.