rivers_bend

Title: If This Gets Weird
Fandom/Pairing: Bandom (MCR) Gerard/Mikey (Waycest)
Rating: NC17
Words: 4500
The Obvious: I do not know anyone whose names are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply it ever happened.
Content Notes: Figging, on-the-fly-negotiated kink, accidental sex
Summary: It doesn’t occur to him to ask what helping would entail until Mikey gives him a sideways look. “Don’t think it’s the kind of help you should ask your brother for,” he says. “But thanks.”

Gerard tries to think of something he wouldn’t help Mikey do, but there’s nothing. He’d drive a getaway car, bury a body, even give him bone marrow, and he’s seen the needles they use to get at that shit. “There’s no such thing,” he says.

Mikey shrugs, picks up an ad for lipstick and starts tearing around the edge of the logo. “It’s kind of a sex thing,” he mumbles.


When Gerard wakes up, the house is strangely quiet. No footsteps over his head, no TV droning from the living room or tinny music coming from the radio on top of the refrigerator. There’s no fresh smoke from this mother’s cigarettes to overlay the stale-smoke smell of his room. He wonders for a minute if some sort of Night-of-the-Comet thing happened and somehow his basement protected him, and the sense of loss is like being stabbed—even when he remembers that the girl in the movie found her sister, even when he remembers that it’s fiction—but then he wakes up the rest of the way and realizes it’s Friday, and Mikey’s at school, and everyone else is somewhere in Pennsylvania at a funeral. Someone his grandparents knew years ago that Gerard’s never met. They’ll be gone all weekend, and he’s supposed to remind Mikey to eat while they’re away.

He rolls out of bed and pads upstairs. While the coffee’s brewing, he smokes two cigarettes, then he pours himself the biggest mug he can find, and goes back downstairs. Maybe Mikey was supposed to remind Gerard to eat. Whatever. There was definitely some conversation about food when Mom told them they’d be gone three days, but Gerard’s not hungry. He has a project he’s supposed to be working on, but he stayed up later than he planned working on it last night, so he crawls back under the covers. Just for a little while.

The second time he wakes up, the tinny kitchen radio is playing pop-metal and there’s a screech of chair legs on linoleum like Mikey’s accidentally kicking furniture. He seems to have lost track of his limbs with his latest growth spurt. Gerard hasn’t gotten any taller since he was sixteen, but Mikey’s a senior now and hasn’t stopped yet. He called Gerard ‘little brother’ once when he first outstripped him, but that was too fucking weird for both of them, so it’s been left unspoken since that Gerard’s baby brother is now taller than him.

He’s also really not a baby anymore, and they do talk about that, usually over vodka mixed with flat coke, Mikey whispering in the dim gloom of Gerard’s bedroom about hookups in bar bathrooms, on dance floors, at parties, in the backs of cars. He asks sometimes what Gerard’s done, but he doesn’t push for specifics when Gerard hedges around the details. It’s not that Gerard feels weird about Mikey knowing what Gerard’s doing and with whom, but he’d rather hear about how a guitar player blew Mikey in his van while Mikey made out with the guy’s girlfriend, than talk about how much it ruins the moment when a girl’s roommate comes home wasted and pukes on the bed you’re trying to have sex in.

Somehow Gerard slept through the afternoon, and the scrap of sky he can see out the window is already navy with dusk, so he gets up, pisses, and takes the cold dregs of his coffee upstairs to see if Mikey’s made fresh. Maybe Mikey remembers what they’re supposed to say to each other about eating.

When he walks into the kitchen, the last thing Gerard expects to see is Mikey cooking. But there he is, standing over the sink, peeling a potato. Except it’s a pretty fucked-up looking potato and it smells like Chinese food.

“What are you doing?” Gerard asks, voice raised to be heard over Def Leppard asking for some sugar.

Mikey jumps, and the potato and peeler go thump-clattering into the sink. “Jesus fucking heart attack,” he says, whirling around. “Don’t you have class today?”

Gerard thinks about it. It’s only the second week of the semester, so he might, but he can’t imagine he would have signed up for a Friday afternoon class. “No?” he says. “Maybe. But I don’t think so.” Mikey’s got his hand pressed to his chest like he really did almost have a heart attack. Which, yeah cooking is a little out of the ordinary, but it’s not like Gerard walked in on him doing something actually weird. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just thought I was alone. Last Friday you were at school.”

And that’s right. He was. A couple of his friends were doing a poetry slam and then there was beer, and he spent the night on Lauren’s couch. “Sorry,” he says. “Are you making mashed potatoes? Is there any gravy?” He starts to head for the cupboard where they keep packets of shit like that, but Mikey jumps in front of him.

“I’m not making potatoes. I’m not— It’s an art project. For school. Carving, um, and then, pictures. Photography assignment. Food.”

Mikey is almost never visibly awkward. And he’s absolutely never verbally awkward. If he doesn’t know what to say, he just keeps quiet. He’s also, as far as Gerard knows, never lied to his brother before. Gerard takes another step toward the sink, then two more when Mikey mostly lets him, and the smell gets stronger, letting Gerard’s brain connect the dots. Not a potato; Mikey’s peeling ginger.

“It’s not an art project,” Gerard says. “What are you really doing?”

“Nothing,” Mikey says again. “Nothing bad. Wanna get a pizza and watch a movie? Dad left money for groceries.” Without waiting for an answer, Mikey reaches past him to haul open the drawer where any take-out menus that come in the mail get stuffed. Gerard lets him.

They get extra meat and extra cheese, and sprawl on Gerard’s bed and watch Jaws. Even though he slept the day away, Gerard falls asleep half-way through whatever made-for-TV movie comes on after they finish the DVD. When he wakes up to crawl under the covers in the night, Mikey’s gone.


The next morning, Mikey has an early shift at work, and Gerard drives him so he can stop at the art store on the way home. He gets new blades for his X-Acto knife, a replacement for the grey-green marker he stepped on last week and for the red one that’s running out, but manages not to give in to the siren call of the paper room. There is paper at school, and he’s not doing anything with collage this semester, and he shouldn’t spend the money.

Which of course means when he gets home all he wants to do is fuck around with paper. When Mikey comes back from work, the kitchen is covered in ripped-up magazines and Mod Podge.

“Fine,” Mikey says, like they’re already in the middle of a conversation and it hasn’t been six hours since they saw each other. “I wasn’t doing an art project with the ginger.” He flops onto the chair across the table from Gerard and pushes at the drift of paper scraps closest to him.

“What were you doing?” Gerard asks. He hadn’t forgotten about the ginger, but he’d forgotten he was going to try to get Mikey to tell him about it.

“It was just an experiment,” Mikey says. “It didn’t go very well. I think I need help.”

“I can help,” Gerard says.

It doesn’t occur to him to ask what helping would entail until Mikey gives him a sideways look. “Don’t think it’s the kind of help you should ask your brother for,” he says. “But thanks.”

Gerard tries to think of something he wouldn’t help Mikey do, but there’s nothing. He’d drive a getaway car, bury a body, even give him bone marrow, and he’s seen the needles they use to get at that shit. “There’s no such thing,” he says.

Mikey shrugs, picks up an ad for lipstick and starts tearing around the edge of the logo. “It’s kind of a sex thing,” he mumbles.

Gerard thinks about that. He’d been the one to explain wet dreams to his brother when Mikey thought Gerard had pissed the bed, and they’ve jerked off in the same room pretending the other one wasn’t there, and they’ve done it not really pretending very well at all, and they’ve taken showers together, even after they’d both gone through puberty, and Gerard got pretty up close and personal with his brother’s junk when he took care of the wicked painful zit in Mikey’s ass crack last summer. Kind of a sex thing isn’t an automatic no.

“What kind of a sex thing?” Gerard asks. He’s never heard of sex with ginger and wonders if it’s anything like sex with whipped cream. He would definitely have no problem licking whipped cream off Mikey’s chest.

“Never mind,” Mikey says. “It doesn’t matter. Phil’s having a party tonight. I wasn’t gonna go, but we can if you want.”

Gerard’s pretty sure that’s the worst distraction technique anyone has ever tried to use, given Gerard doesn’t really like to go to parties with semi-strangers at the best of times, and Phil has a bad habit of calling in sick at the last minute so Mikey has to work doubles, and he has terrible taste in everything. “No,” Gerard says. “But I’ll help you with your thing. What do you need me to do?”

Mikey makes the chair screech on the linoleum again as he shoves away from the table, and the condiment bottles rattle as he yanks open the fridge door so he can stare into its depths as he says, “I need you to hold me down while I have a piece of ginger up my ass so I can’t pull it out too soon.”

That… is not at all what Gerard thought Mikey was going to say.

“I told you it’s too weird,” Mikey says.

“No,” Gerard answers. “I mean, it’s not whipped cream, but I can do that.”

Mikey pulls his head out of the fridge. “Whipped cream?”

“That’s the only food I’ve ever used during sex, I think,” Gerard says. “Maybe some chocolate sauce.”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, shutting the fridge door and leaning his hip on the counter. “No. This is different.”

“So, like, did you want to do it now?” Gerard asks.

Mikey looks at him. “Are you really okay with this? I can just— I can wait til there’s someone who wants—“

“I want to help you,” Gerard reassures him. “You were gonna jerk me off that time we thought I broke my wrist.”

“But I didn’t do it,” Mikey says.

“Well, yeah, ‘cause it wasn’t even a sprain, and I didn’t need you to. You said you need this.”

When Mikey turns his back, Gerard thinks it means Mikey’s changed his mind, but he’s just going into the fridge to pull out a chunk of unpeeled ginger in a plastic bag. “In like an hour?” Mikey says. “If you still want to in an hour. I’ll come downstairs.”

Gerard takes that as his cue to leave.


Gerard still isn’t sure what to expect when Mikey does come downstairs, but “kind of a sex thing” plus holding him down sounds like a scenario that might go better if his bed wasn’t covered with a pile of dirty clothes, half the contents of his backpack, and a pizza box. It occurs to him as he’s relocating his art supplies to his desk that maybe Mikey’s right and this is too weird. But then is it? Lots of people think half the stuff Gerard does is too weird. He’d die for his brother in a heartbeat, and no matter how sexed up this gets, it’s gotta be less fucked up than dying.

“Who makes the rules anyway?” Gerard mutters, shoving the pizza box under the wastepaper basket that’s been waiting since the middle of last semester to go upstairs to get emptied. He looks at the clock. Cleaning up took about three minutes. If he has to wait an hour, he might as well do some work on his project.


It’s more like an hour and a half before Mikey comes down, but Gerard hadn’t had a chance to worry, because he forgot to keep track of the time.

“Did you change your mind?” Mikey asks. He has a bowl in one hand and a towel around his bare shoulders like he just took a shower and only pulled his jeans back on.

“No.” Gerard looks at his hands. They’re covered in charcoal. Mikey probably doesn’t want that on him. “Let me wash my hands though.”

Mikey looks at the cleaned-off bed and the overcrowded bedside table. “Okay,” he says, sounding maybe nervous, but not like he’s gonna bolt.

When Gerard comes back, Mikey’s found room for his bowl next to the bed, and is fiddling with the button on his jeans.

“Seen you naked before, Mikes,” Gerard says, trying to sound reassuring. “You pointed your dick at me and threatened to piss on my face like two days ago.”

“That’s different,” Mikey says, but he undoes his fly.

“Not really,” Gerard answers. “Would it be better if I got mine off too?”

“Maybe your shirt,” Mikey says, as he shoves his jeans down his thighs. He’s not wearing anything underneath.

Gerard pulls off his hoodie and t-shirt both at once. “How do you want to be?” he asks.

“On my knees, I think,” Mikey says. “And you can maybe sit next to me and hold my hands down?”

Gerard can’t quite picture what Mikey means, but figures it’ll become clear once they start. “Okay,” he says.

They stare at each other for a few more seconds, and then Mikey crawls onto the mattress, facing the wall at the head of the bed, leaving room for Gerard on his right side. His torso and thighs are milky pale the same way Gerard’s are, but he’s starting to get lanky. Gerard would bet anything that none of Mikey’s hookups, no matter how stoned, have poked his ass and giggled like the Pillsbury doughboy. “Tell me when,” Gerard says. He figures something has to happen with the ginger first, but maybe he’s supposed to help with that, too.

“Yeah,” Mikey says. He pulls the towel from around his neck and lays it in front of his knees before reaching for the bowl. Gerard’s not sure what he was expecting, and if he’d really thought about it, he probably should have been expecting just what he sees, but he wasn’t. The piece of ginger is peeled smooth except for a knob at one end, and about as long as Mikey’s middle finger, a little wider than the end of Gerard’s thumb, narrowing to a rounded point. It looks like a sex toy made out of food.

“Huh,” Gerard says, leaning in a little to get a closer look.

“Still not too weird?” Mikey’s looking at the piece of ginger, turning it a little.

“There’s a toy store a few blocks from my subway stop,” Gerard says. “If you want a butt plug I can buy you one.”

Mikey uses the corner of the towel to wipe the edge of his hand, and Gerard realizes that the ginger was in a bowl of water, and it’s dripping a little. “I have one,” Mikey says, and why didn’t Gerard know this?

“Why didn’t I know this?”

“Brothers don’t have to tell each other everything,” Mikey says.

Gerard harrumphs. He tells Mikey everything. Mostly. Kind of. Everything interesting anyway. “So what do you need the ginger for?” he asks, because now is not the time to get into an argument.

“It’s not about the penetration. It’s about what the ginger does.” Mikey shuffles his knees farther apart. “Come on. Get up here. I don’t want you staring at my ass while I put it in.”

“I wouldn’t stare,” Gerard complains, but he’s curious, and he does want to watch, and if he were bareass naked on his knees, someone standing behind him watching would feel a lot like staring, so he climbs up next to Mikey, leaning against the wall and looking at his face instead.

“Okay,” Mikey says. “Ready? Once it’s in I’ll put my hands up. Just hold onto my wrists.”

Gerard doesn’t get why having his hands in the air is gonna help with whatever Mikey’s doing, but he gets his knees under him so he’s ready. He hopes whatever the ginger does it does is quickly so he doesn’t get tired. “Okay,” he says. “Go.”

“It’s not a fucking race,” Mikey retorts, but he’s got a little smile playing at his mouth.

Trying to find a balance between gazing in fascination and making Mikey uncomfortable, and looking away as though what Mikey’s doing is something to be ashamed of, Gerard ends up mostly watching Mikey’s chest as he reaches around with both hands to get the ginger into his ass. He doesn’t use any lube, but the ginger in takeout is always pretty slimy, so maybe that’s what the water was for. When he sees the look of concentration on Mikey’s face, Gerard decides not to ask, even though he wants to.

It takes longer than he expected for Mikey to get it in, and Gerard’s gaze drops a few times to where his brother’s hips are shifting, little side-to-side motions as well as pushing back onto the ginger plug. “Is it too weird if I ask what it feels like?” Gerard finally asks when he can bite his tongue no longer.

“Yes,” Mikey says through clenched teeth. “No talking.”

He never said no talking when he asked Gerard to help. He knows how Gerard feels about no talking when there’s stuff to talk about. But Gerard can do it that way if that’s what Mikey needs him to do. “Okay,” he says, mostly not all that skeptically.

With a last twitch of his hips, Mikey’s done, and his hands drop to his side. Gerard gets up on his knees in anticipation, but Mikey folds forward, lies on his belly on the towel and slides his hands up to the head of the bed. “Hold my hands,” Mikey says, craning his head to look up at Gerard who is now looming over him. “It’s gonna start burning soon.”

“Burning?” Gerard says, shocked. “What do you mean burning?”

“Just get down here,” Mikey growls. He’s clutching the edge of the mattress.

No talking, and Mikey’s asking him to stop him getting away from something that’s going to hurt him. Gerard has got to learn to ask more questions before he offers his assistance, clearly. But he gets down on knees and elbows and circles Mikey’s wrists with hesitant fingers.

“Harder,” Mikey says, a little breathless now. “Like you’re trying to stop me tickling you.”

Movement catches Gerard’s eye, and he finds himself watching Mikey’s ass clench and release, clench and release as he tightens his hold.

“Oh, fuck,” Mikey gasps, and Gerard lets go, sure he’s somehow hurt him. “No! Hold me,” Mikey snaps, knuckles white where he’s gripping the mattress so tightly. Gerard grabs on again.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll— fuck. It’ll— Just don’t fucking let go, even if I beg you to.”

Gerard doesn’t think he can do that. Mikey doesn’t beg. He doesn’t ever need to. Gerard’s always done what he asked.

“Please,” Mikey says. “Please.” His right leg twitches, kicks out a little.

“I—“ Gerard says. He can try. But if Mikey asks him to let him go, he’s probably going to let him go. Gerard chews his lip, wanting to give in, but not wanting to say he’ll do something he can’t do.

Clearly reading his brother as easily as he always can, Mikey gives a little exasperated sigh. “Unless I say, ‘Gerard Arthur Way let me go,’ then just keep holding me,” he says. His legs snap together then spread in a wide V.

“I don’t want you to get burned, Mikes,” Gerard says.

“It’s just like—“ Mikey drags in a deep breath. “—spicy food. Doesn’t hurt for long.”

Almost nothing about what’s going on here makes any sense to Gerard, but Mikey flashes him a smile, and he feels a lot better knowing that if Mikey really wants to be let up he can say, so he nods, says, “You can just say ‘Arthur’ if you want.” Mikey’s already having trouble talking. He doesn’t want him to get stuck on ‘Gerard’, not be able to get to the important part.

“O—“ Mikey gasps, his toes kneading the bed like a cat’s. “Kay. Fuck, Gee, it’s like, fuck.”

Gerard isn’t going to last up on his elbows and knees like this. Keeping hold of Mikey’s wrists, he drops to his belly, trying to stay out of the way of Mikey’s restless legs. Mikey’s arms are rigid, his cheek pressed hard to the bed so Gerard can just see one eye peering over his biceps, but the rest of him can’t seem to keep still.

“Like good fuck?” Gerard asks, because he has to know.

“Fucking like, fucking, getting so hard,” Mikey breathes.

Five minutes ago, Gerard couldn’t have thought of very many things he wanted less than a burning asshole, but he’s starting to think he might want to try this. “Jesus,” he says, sounding a little breathless himself.

The overhead’s still on, like it usually is when Gerard’s working with charcoal, and in the harsh light he can see the flush spreading down Mikey’s back as he rocks and shifts and twitches on the bed. He’s panting, starting to sweat like he’s been in the pit at a crowded show, and Gerard wishes Mikey were more of a talker, that he was giving a commentary on what was happening, words to supplement the changes in his body. After a few more minutes, he starts to pull at Gerard’s hold. Remembering his promise, Gerard tightens his grip a little, pins Mikey’s forearms with his left one, finds himself murmuring, “Shh, got you.”

“Burns,” Mikey whimpers. “Want it out, wanna fuck.”

“I can—” Gerard says, not at all sure what he can do. Mikey didn’t say his middle name, and he made Gerard swear not to let go.

“Just let me,” Mikey says. “Burns so much. So fucking good. Helps if I can tell you.”

“Yeah,” Gerard says. “Yeah. Tell me. Want you to tell me.”

Mikey makes a broken sound, not quite a sob, not quite not, and words start flooding from his mouth. Hot, and burns, and so good, ass and cock, and make it stop and never stop, mixed with gasps and grunts and moaning.

Hardly noticing he’s doing it, Gerard edges closer, needing to soothe, help more, do something, though he’s not sure what, and he ends up with his thigh pressed to Mikey’s hip, feeling every thrust as he humps the bed.

“Need,” Mikey says. “Need, Gee.”

“What, baby. What do you need?”

“Gee, please. Please.” Mikey wipes his face on his arm, tears now to go with the sweat. “Pin me everywhere. Please.”

Gerard doesn’t even think before clambering up onto Mikey’s back.

Mikey cries out, bucks hard, almost tipping Gerard off, and then starts humping with determination, fucking against the mattress, grinding his ass on Gerard’s crotch, ugh ugh ughing with every thrust.

Caught up in what was happening to his brother, Gerard hadn’t noticed getting hard himself, but he’s fucking noticing now and it’s all he can do to not thrust back, to just ride Mikey’s rhythm. Mikey’s cries are getting higher, his hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets, and Gerard can feel his legs shaking where he’s got his feet hooked over Mikey’s calves.

“You gonna come?” he asks, face pressed to Mikey’s sweaty neck. “Gonna, Mikey?”

Mikey grunts an answer that could be yes or no, and Gerard asks again, can’t help himself. “Gonna? Gonna?” He’s grinding now, cock trapped behind cotton and denim, but slotting right into his brother’s ass crack, the knob of ginger a perfect irritant right above the base.

Mikey grunts again, cries out, his whole body going rigid, then shaking, shuddering hard enough to distract Gerard from his own impending orgasm. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, Mikey, you okay?”

“Gnnah,” Mikey groans and goes limp. He pulls a little with his left arm.

Gerard makes a valiant effort not to grind against his ass and fails.

“Gerard Arthur Way, get the fuck off me,” Mikey says.

Gerard is going to need the longest cold shower ever, but he gets the fuck off him.


Mikey looks like he can barely move his arms, but he twists around to pull the ginger out of his ass and drop it back in the bowl of water before collapsing back on his face, arms limp at his sides.

“You okay?” Gerard asks again, brushing hair back from Mikey’s cheek, only half because he needs something that isn’t madly jerking off to do with his hands.

“Ugh,” Mikey says. “Mugh.” He waves a finger. “S’okay if you take care’a that.”

Fingers scrabbling at his fly, Gerard groans in relief.

Once he gets a hand on his dick, it doesn’t take long at all to get back to as worked up as he was with Mikey writhing under him, and not much longer than that before he’s coming into his cupped fist. He’s just gonna wipe it on his sheets, but Mikey holds out a corner of his towel. That’s when Gerard connects to the fact his brother was looking at him the whole time.

“Thought you said staring was weird,” he mutters, tugging at the towel so he’s not wiping his jizz right next to Mikey’s chin.

“Think we’ve shot past weird,” Mikey says, small smile on his face as he brings his left arm up and pillows his cheek on his elbow. “Just came while you held me down and humped a piece of ginger root into my ass. We can probably stop pretending I don’t watch you jerk off.”

Gerard lets that sink in, and then does his pants up and lets it sink in some more. “Was—“ he says. “Did you—?” Everything he can think of to say sounds pretty indignant, like if Mikey planned this whole thing as some kind of seduction, Gerard minds. But he actually doesn’t mind. He tries again. “I watch you too,” he says. Not that he’d been willing to admit it, even to himself, but Mikey’s right. They’ve pretty much shot past weird. Warp drives engaged.

Mikey’s smile gets bigger. “Does that mean I can kiss you?” he asks.

Gerard looks at him, sprawled naked on a crumpled towel and dirty sheets, sex flush already faded from his skin, but still looking fucked out. He definitely looks kissable. “Yeah?” Gerard says, but that’s not at all convincing.

He lies down again, mirroring his brother, cheek pillowed on one arm, face turned so he can look Mikey in the eye. “Yeah,” he repeats. “Yeah. You can kiss me.”

“C’mere,” Mikey says, rolling onto his side, flattening his right hand on the small of Gerard’s back and pulling. “Like having you on top of me.”

“Okay,” Gerard says, scooting closer, helping Mikey roll onto his back, going easily when Mikey pulls them chest to chest, tangles his fingers in Gerard’s hair.

“Still with me?” Mikey asks softly, looking up into Gerard’s eyes.

“I’ll let you know if it gets weird,” Gerard answers, and leans in to his brother’s kiss.


fin~

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