fic: few have ever seen a ghost
May. 21st, 2008 06:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mwestbellefew have ever seen a ghost
gerard/mikey, r, ~1600 words
"True love is like a psychic experience. Everyone tells ghost stories, but few have ever seen a ghost"
In which the Ways are underage and psychic.
Gerard remembers Mikey's first wet dream. The way they ached together, burned together to the feel of shadowed hands playing along Mikey'sthatwerealsoGerard's ribs, gentle fingertips sliding in the little hollows under each one that are hidden by soft on Gerard's body, and hot moist breath on Mikey'sthatwasalsoGerard's dick. They twitched together, hips so much slimmer than Gerard can ever remember having. He remembers the soft whimpers that echoed in his mind, that might have been his and might not have been, though it didn't really matter. He felt desperation that he hadn't felt for years, mixed with that delicious bite of new even though it hasn't been new to him in what felt like a long while, a formless wanting that he hadn't felt since he was Mikey's age. When they both woke up sticky, neither of them was embarrassed--it was nothing to be ashamed of, it was them and that could never be wrong--Gerard just pulled Mikey close, let the soft haze of confusion and satisfaction settle through both of them and helped Mikey strip out of his too-tight and too-sticky shirt and clean himself up. He felt the hum of maybe from Mikey, and pressed a kiss to his temple, knowing that it was late, Mikey was tired and stimulated and lost. He didn't think anything of that little maybe, just tucked Mikey in under his arm, so Mikey could press his nose into Gerard's neck like he always manages to do anyway, and falls asleep.
But the hum is still there when Gerard wakes up. True, it's buried on the everyday clatter of school and walking and comicbooks, the buzz of What the hell, Mom? and the constant undertone of hungryhungryhungry, but he recognizes it. It doesn't concern him. That night though, instead of the usual patter of tiredtireddreams?sleephungryboredhungrytired there's anxiety. Gerard wrinkles his nose, and when Mikey crawls into bed with him, he pulls him tight, squeezes him close. He doesn't have to say anything, he knows Mikey can feel whatwhywhatMikeyMikeywhy. Mikey just ducks his head, pulling himself in closer to Gerard's chest. ScaredwhyGerardscaredstrange. Gerard reaches up to rub his shoulder, kisses the top of his head, soft strands of fairlynewlywashed hair ticking his nose. He remembers what it was like growing up, he knows Mikey felt it before when he went through it but it's different when it's your own body and Mikey was too young to really understand it at the time, what the strange feelings and brief flights of fancy meant.
Mikey dreams again, this time heandGerard are being held down, a tongue dragging tortuously across their collarbone, down the smooth cut lines of Mikey'sbutalsoGerard's chest to nip at their hipbones. It's a low broil in the pit of their stomach, and they whine, high and piteous and needy and it sounds too much like Gerard's own voice--he wakes up, jerking Mikey along with him, yanking him out of his subconscious and into wakefulness. Mikey makes a desperate heaving sound, and Gerard wraps his arms around him. Sorrysorrysorrysorry. Mikey presses closer, his mind a veritable whirl of confused and hurt and whyno, shuddering against Gerard's chest. He's hard against the curve of Gerard's thigh, but Gerard just keeps stroking gentle fingers down his spine, knobby through cotton.
Mikey makes a soft sound and hitches his hips closer, pressing himself into Gerard compulsively. Gerard tries to let a calm haze settle over the two of them, but he's distracted by his little brother's dick digging into his leg, and he just rubs little circles where Mikey's shirt is riding up at the small of his back. Mikey is still racing along, NonoGerardpleasenowhyGerardGerardGerard, and Gerard cradles him close, thinks HushMikeycalmcalmhushlovelovelove until Mikey's breathing slows and his thoughts settle back into their usual humming undercurrent. Gerard doesn't let him go, though, just keeps him warm against him, doesn't deny the ???!! that keeps flicking through his mind, because trying to suppress it would be like lying and he and Mikey don't lie to each other. Anyway, he knows from experience--trying not to let Mikey find out what he'd gotten him for his birthday, of all things--that trying to hide your thoughts only makes them all the more obvious. It's like cranking up static to maximum, directly into your brain, and since so far they only share with each other, it's not as though there's any doubt where that static is coming from.
Gerard doesn't forget in the morning. He wakes up to find Mikey sitting cross-legged and fully dressed on their bed, staring intently at him, and he immediately flashes back to the night, to the dream, YesgoodnowrongwhyMikeyMikey. Mikey nods Gerardyeahwantweirdwantwant then leans in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Gerard's mouth before scampering off the bed, thoughts a racing and flushed Pleasepleasepleasewantplease. Gone to school, though not without hearing Gerard's answering murmur of Ohyeswant.
He spends the entire day on edge, and when Mikey gets home and plops himself down at the kitchen table to do his homework (a rule instigated after his last progress report came home) it gets a thousand times worse. Because while Mikey is occasionally considering the life of John Brown or trigonometry, it's far from the first thing on his mind. There are times that he and Mikey seem closer than ever, when their thoughts are so fervent that it's hard to separate them even in his own mind. It happens during particularly good movies, or when they're laughing so hard they can't breathe, and usually Gerard loves the feeling of extra closeness. But now he can't separate which of them thought Wantyoutosuckmycock and which of them was imagining Gerard shyly spreading his thighs wide (wider than Gerard knows is possible in reality, he's not that flexible), who wants to lickyouallovertasteyouneverforgetyoursweatonmytongue and who thinks of Mikey biting down hard on Gerard's neck to muffle his scream when he comes. Takeitjusttakeitfeelyouinthebackofmythroatfordays and dark marks from mouths and fingers that would twinge with every movement--a reminder. It's a cacophony of yes and now and you, and even though Mikey is upstairs in the kitchen and he's down in the basement trying to paint, he can feel how badly Mikey wants it.
Yesohyesnowpleasescarednowplease. Mikey comes down the stairs, eyes alight and as hopeful as his thoughts, flush already bleeding into his cheeks and down his neck. He doesn't have to ask, doesn't have to think anything, because it seems like Gerard has been hard since last night. He certainly is now, hard and aching, just like Mikey and when Mikey dumps himself into Gerard's lap, hands scrabbling and greedy, mouth running over jaw and cheeks and chin and nose searching, the lines between them blur. They aren't thinking really anymore, just that throbbing pulse of us. It's a kiss, lips parted and tongues desperate for that elusive taste, just catching the barest traces and always chasing it, a kiss but it's made of different parts.
Mikey is curled up in Gerard's lap, hands roaming, through his hair and down his back and over his belly and under the baggy unwashed denim to fit against the heat of his hip, like he doesn't think it will last, doesn't know if Gerard will still be here if he isn't touching him. Gerard goes for a different approach, pressing his palm flat against the small of Mikey's back where his shirt has half-ridden up and holding him close. Gerard feels Mikey's hand, the buzzing of his skin under Mikey's, and he feels the prickling in Mikey's skin over his own, sensation at its best. Mikey's solid weight directly on top of his erection is near painful--he can feel the slight scratch of denim against his inner thighs and knows Mikey can too, because he feels Mikey thrill to it, feel Mikey's blood racing, getting off on it even though nothing is touching him directly.
They come like that, with desperate whines that intermingle, as they twist together like cats rubbing against each other and entwining their tails, just from a kiss and touch. Gerard getting off on Mikey's weight and touch and Mikey getting off on Gerard's touch and Gerard getting off on Mikey's getting off and Mikey getting off on Gerard's getting off. Mikey pants against Gerard's neck, hips still working half-needy as he comes down. Gerard knows his eyes are closed because he can feel his eyelashes fluttering against the sensitive skin below his ear, and even though Mikey is still except for heaving breaths, he's deafening. WhatgodyesgoodgoodnowhygoodGerardGerardnowhyhelpgodyes.
Goodyesgood. Gerard pets a hand over Mikey's sweaty hair, tilting his head to bump his cheek against Mikey's forehead. MikeyMikeyMikeyMikeyMikeyMikey He straightens, reaches down carefully to undo Mikey's jeans. Mikey groans softly, tilts his hips up wantonly even though he's spent, lets Gerard slide him out of his lap and then out of his jeans, hissing when the denim comes away from his skin, sticky with sweat and come, leaving him bare to the air that buzzed with their sensation, still seems to be sparking a bit. Gerard shucks his own jeans, throwing both pairs off the edge of the bed before climbing back into bed to wrap his arms around Mikey's waist, pull him in so that their thighs slip together and all he can smell is Mikey--Mikey's breath, Mikey's sweat, Mikey's deodorant. MikeyMikeyMikeyMikeyMikey Mikey mewls, soft, more outwardly vulnerable than he has been for a long while, and his arm twitches before he exhales against Gerard's mouth. GerardGerardGerard. They fall asleep. Tonight, Gerard dreams.
gerard/mikey, r, ~1600 words
"True love is like a psychic experience. Everyone tells ghost stories, but few have ever seen a ghost"
In which the Ways are underage and psychic.
Gerard remembers Mikey's first wet dream. The way they ached together, burned together to the feel of shadowed hands playing along Mikey'sthatwerealsoGerard's ribs, gentle fingertips sliding in the little hollows under each one that are hidden by soft on Gerard's body, and hot moist breath on Mikey'sthatwasalsoGerard's dick. They twitched together, hips so much slimmer than Gerard can ever remember having. He remembers the soft whimpers that echoed in his mind, that might have been his and might not have been, though it didn't really matter. He felt desperation that he hadn't felt for years, mixed with that delicious bite of new even though it hasn't been new to him in what felt like a long while, a formless wanting that he hadn't felt since he was Mikey's age. When they both woke up sticky, neither of them was embarrassed--it was nothing to be ashamed of, it was them and that could never be wrong--Gerard just pulled Mikey close, let the soft haze of confusion and satisfaction settle through both of them and helped Mikey strip out of his too-tight and too-sticky shirt and clean himself up. He felt the hum of maybe from Mikey, and pressed a kiss to his temple, knowing that it was late, Mikey was tired and stimulated and lost. He didn't think anything of that little maybe, just tucked Mikey in under his arm, so Mikey could press his nose into Gerard's neck like he always manages to do anyway, and falls asleep.
But the hum is still there when Gerard wakes up. True, it's buried on the everyday clatter of school and walking and comicbooks, the buzz of What the hell, Mom? and the constant undertone of hungryhungryhungry, but he recognizes it. It doesn't concern him. That night though, instead of the usual patter of tiredtireddreams?sleephungryboredhungrytired there's anxiety. Gerard wrinkles his nose, and when Mikey crawls into bed with him, he pulls him tight, squeezes him close. He doesn't have to say anything, he knows Mikey can feel whatwhywhatMikeyMikeywhy. Mikey just ducks his head, pulling himself in closer to Gerard's chest. ScaredwhyGerardscaredstrange. Gerard reaches up to rub his shoulder, kisses the top of his head, soft strands of fairlynewlywashed hair ticking his nose. He remembers what it was like growing up, he knows Mikey felt it before when he went through it but it's different when it's your own body and Mikey was too young to really understand it at the time, what the strange feelings and brief flights of fancy meant.
Mikey dreams again, this time heandGerard are being held down, a tongue dragging tortuously across their collarbone, down the smooth cut lines of Mikey'sbutalsoGerard's chest to nip at their hipbones. It's a low broil in the pit of their stomach, and they whine, high and piteous and needy and it sounds too much like Gerard's own voice--he wakes up, jerking Mikey along with him, yanking him out of his subconscious and into wakefulness. Mikey makes a desperate heaving sound, and Gerard wraps his arms around him. Sorrysorrysorrysorry. Mikey presses closer, his mind a veritable whirl of confused and hurt and whyno, shuddering against Gerard's chest. He's hard against the curve of Gerard's thigh, but Gerard just keeps stroking gentle fingers down his spine, knobby through cotton.
Mikey makes a soft sound and hitches his hips closer, pressing himself into Gerard compulsively. Gerard tries to let a calm haze settle over the two of them, but he's distracted by his little brother's dick digging into his leg, and he just rubs little circles where Mikey's shirt is riding up at the small of his back. Mikey is still racing along, NonoGerardpleasenowhyGerardGerardGerard, and Gerard cradles him close, thinks HushMikeycalmcalmhushlovelovelove until Mikey's breathing slows and his thoughts settle back into their usual humming undercurrent. Gerard doesn't let him go, though, just keeps him warm against him, doesn't deny the ???!! that keeps flicking through his mind, because trying to suppress it would be like lying and he and Mikey don't lie to each other. Anyway, he knows from experience--trying not to let Mikey find out what he'd gotten him for his birthday, of all things--that trying to hide your thoughts only makes them all the more obvious. It's like cranking up static to maximum, directly into your brain, and since so far they only share with each other, it's not as though there's any doubt where that static is coming from.
Gerard doesn't forget in the morning. He wakes up to find Mikey sitting cross-legged and fully dressed on their bed, staring intently at him, and he immediately flashes back to the night, to the dream, YesgoodnowrongwhyMikeyMikey. Mikey nods Gerardyeahwantweirdwantwant then leans in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Gerard's mouth before scampering off the bed, thoughts a racing and flushed Pleasepleasepleasewantplease. Gone to school, though not without hearing Gerard's answering murmur of Ohyeswant.
He spends the entire day on edge, and when Mikey gets home and plops himself down at the kitchen table to do his homework (a rule instigated after his last progress report came home) it gets a thousand times worse. Because while Mikey is occasionally considering the life of John Brown or trigonometry, it's far from the first thing on his mind. There are times that he and Mikey seem closer than ever, when their thoughts are so fervent that it's hard to separate them even in his own mind. It happens during particularly good movies, or when they're laughing so hard they can't breathe, and usually Gerard loves the feeling of extra closeness. But now he can't separate which of them thought Wantyoutosuckmycock and which of them was imagining Gerard shyly spreading his thighs wide (wider than Gerard knows is possible in reality, he's not that flexible), who wants to lickyouallovertasteyouneverforgetyoursweatonmytongue and who thinks of Mikey biting down hard on Gerard's neck to muffle his scream when he comes. Takeitjusttakeitfeelyouinthebackofmythroatfordays and dark marks from mouths and fingers that would twinge with every movement--a reminder. It's a cacophony of yes and now and you, and even though Mikey is upstairs in the kitchen and he's down in the basement trying to paint, he can feel how badly Mikey wants it.
Yesohyesnowpleasescarednowplease. Mikey comes down the stairs, eyes alight and as hopeful as his thoughts, flush already bleeding into his cheeks and down his neck. He doesn't have to ask, doesn't have to think anything, because it seems like Gerard has been hard since last night. He certainly is now, hard and aching, just like Mikey and when Mikey dumps himself into Gerard's lap, hands scrabbling and greedy, mouth running over jaw and cheeks and chin and nose searching, the lines between them blur. They aren't thinking really anymore, just that throbbing pulse of us. It's a kiss, lips parted and tongues desperate for that elusive taste, just catching the barest traces and always chasing it, a kiss but it's made of different parts.
Mikey is curled up in Gerard's lap, hands roaming, through his hair and down his back and over his belly and under the baggy unwashed denim to fit against the heat of his hip, like he doesn't think it will last, doesn't know if Gerard will still be here if he isn't touching him. Gerard goes for a different approach, pressing his palm flat against the small of Mikey's back where his shirt has half-ridden up and holding him close. Gerard feels Mikey's hand, the buzzing of his skin under Mikey's, and he feels the prickling in Mikey's skin over his own, sensation at its best. Mikey's solid weight directly on top of his erection is near painful--he can feel the slight scratch of denim against his inner thighs and knows Mikey can too, because he feels Mikey thrill to it, feel Mikey's blood racing, getting off on it even though nothing is touching him directly.
They come like that, with desperate whines that intermingle, as they twist together like cats rubbing against each other and entwining their tails, just from a kiss and touch. Gerard getting off on Mikey's weight and touch and Mikey getting off on Gerard's touch and Gerard getting off on Mikey's getting off and Mikey getting off on Gerard's getting off. Mikey pants against Gerard's neck, hips still working half-needy as he comes down. Gerard knows his eyes are closed because he can feel his eyelashes fluttering against the sensitive skin below his ear, and even though Mikey is still except for heaving breaths, he's deafening. WhatgodyesgoodgoodnowhygoodGerardGerardnowhyhelpgodyes.
Goodyesgood. Gerard pets a hand over Mikey's sweaty hair, tilting his head to bump his cheek against Mikey's forehead. MikeyMikeyMikeyMikeyMikeyMikey He straightens, reaches down carefully to undo Mikey's jeans. Mikey groans softly, tilts his hips up wantonly even though he's spent, lets Gerard slide him out of his lap and then out of his jeans, hissing when the denim comes away from his skin, sticky with sweat and come, leaving him bare to the air that buzzed with their sensation, still seems to be sparking a bit. Gerard shucks his own jeans, throwing both pairs off the edge of the bed before climbing back into bed to wrap his arms around Mikey's waist, pull him in so that their thighs slip together and all he can smell is Mikey--Mikey's breath, Mikey's sweat, Mikey's deodorant. MikeyMikeyMikeyMikeyMikey Mikey mewls, soft, more outwardly vulnerable than he has been for a long while, and his arm twitches before he exhales against Gerard's mouth. GerardGerardGerard. They fall asleep. Tonight, Gerard dreams.
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Date: 2008-05-22 12:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-05-22 12:09 am (UTC)