“I’m sick, Petey.” Short PIKEY one-shot. Fluff. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
I hear heaved, agonized retching from the en suite of my oversized bedroom, thus waking me up and jet-propelling me from the marshmallowy cushioning of my bed. A bed that I fell asleep in next to my sweet little Mikey, the fourteen-year-old sleeping over like he always does on a Friday, yet have woken up in alone. Horribly alone without the warmth of my baby boyfriend to keep my heart at the right temperature to function.
What makes it even more horrible is the fact that moans and groans are drifting through the swung-open door leading to my own private bathroom, followed by the sound of an empty coughing and near-silent whimpers. All jumbled together in a cocktail of everything that my sixteen years on this planet has taught me to hate; the sound of someone in pain. Not just any someone, my someone. As in the someone I vowed to look after and keep safe amidst all of the threats that life poses towards his meek, shy little self. The cute little ball of metaphorical fluff that is my gorgeous boyfriend.
So, naturally, I’m on my feet and in my bathroom in mere milliseconds. It doesn’t matter that I was sleeping soundly just minutes ago, the only thing that matters is that my Mikey is sick and I’m the only one around to help him. Even if I wasn’t, I still would be the one fixing him up. It’s just the way it’s always been. Always will be. Whether it’s a black eye or bloody nose, fractured ego or bruised soul, I will always be the one here to make it all better. I have to be; I’m his boyfriend. And the only one with the decency to. Other than Gerard, of course, but he spends more time with that Frank Iero kid now than he does with his own baby brother. Hence the reason that Mikes spends most of his life in my bedroom, having blood dabbed off of the precious bone china of his face or having a smile painted onto his lips with the delicate paintbrush of my own.
I always know how to make him smile. No matter how rough it gets, good ol’ Pete can make it better. Always make his lips flick upwards like a rose petal in an updraft into the most adorable little smile ever to grace my unworthy eyes.
“Smiler?” I call out to him the second he’s in my line of sight, using his affectionate nickname to make the whole thing a lot less stressful for the poor sweetheart. “Oh, Smiler.”
He’s clinging desperately to the loo, on his knees in front of the bowl and looking even more deathly pale than normal. When he sees me his eyes light up that tiny little bit more than anyone else’s does when they see my tanned body and he goes to smile, as he always does at my pet name for him. Apart from the slight movement of his mouth seems to trigger something in his guts and forces him to lean over the bowl again.
I instantly fall to my knees next to him, worry haring through my veins even though I know it’s just that stupid stomach bug that’s been going around school lately. If I could, I’d punch the bug right in it’s ugly, cruel face. Nobody hurts my Mikey, my sweet Smiler, and God help who or whatever dares to. Even if it is some horrible little microorganism, I can still pretend that I’m hurting it twice as bad as it’s hurting my baby. At least that way I can find some way to deal with seeing Mikes sick without exploding in helplessness over not being able to just take it all away with a gentle joke or cheeky flirtation like I always do.
When he’s done, exhaustion rife in his honey eyes, he falls back, panting and gasping as my arms reflexively tighten around him. The second skin touches skin I want to pull away to escape from the burning heat of his feverish skin, but I refuse to do something so cold to my Smiler.
He lets out a staggered groan, head rolling against my shoulder as my hands react by rubbing smooth circles onto his treacherous tummy.
“There we go, Smiler. All gone now, all better.” I whisper down to him, knowing how much he loves the caring nature of the baby-talk that I constantly spoon-feed him with. Says it makes him feel loved. “You okay?”
“I’m sick, Petey.” He murmurs against me, eyes already sticking shut, making my heart melt from the radiating heat of his pure cuteness. “Tummy hurts.”
He might be fourteen, but he’s still a little baby at heart. My little baby boyfriend and Gerard’s baby brother, a clashing of titles that has earned me many a scar but is ultimately well worth it for getting to give Mikes that title in the first place. I blame the bullies for making him so introverted, like a baby dependant on whoever else is around to make everything all better. But now it’s become so much a part of him that I can’t help but love it. Especially when it makes him mewl up to me like a new-born kitten looking for cream.
I’d much rather he wasn’t right now though, because that sweet little mewl equates to my poor Smiler being sick.
“I know, Smiler, I know. It’ll get better soon.” I coo, leaning my head over his to press my lips onto his nose in that special way that always makes him blush. “Just relax and it’ll all go away twice as quick.”
A few seconds of silence pass, filled with nothing but the sound my hand rubbing on his bare stomach and the occasional whimper from him, and I start humming a gentle melody out. It’s one that I’ve been thinking about for a while, my own little composition to go along with a poem I was writing. For Mikes, actually. To remind him that I love him more than simple words can say.
“Song’s that?” He mumbles sleepily, breathing heavy with exhaustion. “Sing it?”
Well, I was going to save it for his birthday, but I think that he needs it now. Music always makes me feel better, anyway.
“It’s for you, Smiler. Just for you.” I explain, tone full of solid, unmoving love.
Just like it always is when addressing my sweet Smiler. So far I’ve only got the chorus done to perfection, but I think he’ll like it anyway. I hope he does; I poured my heart into it for him. And he deserves nothing less than happy perfection.
”Drop a heart,
Break a name,
We’re always sleeping in and sleeping for the wrong team.
We’re going down, down in an earlier round,
And, Smiler, we’re going down swinging.
I’ll be your number one with the bullet,
A loaded God complex,
Cock it and pull it.”
It’s only a few little lines strung together over a basic melody, but I can’t help the feeling of pride that raids my chest at hearing it string into place so wonderfully.
And that feeling of pride only increases a millionfold when I see that it’s sung my Smiler to sleep, his trademark soft smile right where it belongs.
On his pretty little face.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading and I hope that this was alright! I know that the lyrics actually go “Sugar, we’re going down”, but I tweaked it for the purpose of this story, sorry. I just had the sudden urge, as I often do, to write a piece of pointless Pikey fluff. Anyways, I hope you like it and please let me know what you think! :)