Being a slut's best friend has to have some benefits. Right? GABEKEY. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
Some people call me a slut.
I prefer the term “hopeless romantic”. They mean the same thing, but one is like the garish party dress my mom wore to her prom and the other is like the classy black dress she wears to her cocktail parties now. You know that they both hold the same person, but you know which one you’d rather do. Normally I don’t sugar coat shit to pass it off as candy, but little white lies never hurt anyone when it comes to love. Besides, most of Jersey knows about my reputation by now; I just like to retain a little personal dignity for my own sanity’s sake.
I’m not a slut though. Not really. I just fall in love way too easily and then fall out of it again twice as quick. Hence the fact that I’ve done over half of NJ’s teenage population, girl or boy I don’t particularly care. Just as long as they convince me that I love them.
Or if I’m just horny.
Okay, so maybe I am a slut. But only a little bit. And it’s not like I can help it. It’s not my fault if I’m a hopeless romantic.
My thoughts are shattered by the cheery voice of my best friend, a lanky kid who’s stuck to me like glue since I rescued him from the pounding of a lifetime two years ago. I only did it because it I thought it was the only decent thing to do. I may be something of a slut, but I do have a moral compass, be it slightly unbalanced. Apparently I’m either a fucking saint (ha ha) or there’s not a single decent person in Belleville High because, after years of bullying throughout his entire education, I was the first person to step in. The good-willed sophomore looking out for the geeky emo kid in the grade below.
At first I tried to shake him off, the clingy kid acting like my shadow and completely killing my image. But then something changed; he stopped following me and I wanted him back. So, the day I noticed his distinct lack of presence, I went looking for him without questioning my reasons. I found him in the boys’ restroom, crying to himself in a cubicle about how nobody likes him and how everyone would just be happier if he jumped in front of a bus. I busted his stall door open, rampant guilt flaring in me for making a lonely kid even more alone, and told him that I liked him. That I was his friend. Slowly that came true, me getting to know how bright he can shine when someone lends him the light of their kindness and him learning about all of my little quirks.
For example, I learnt that he likes watching horror films because that gives him an excuse to cuddle up to something. He, in return, learnt that I like cuddling things tight enough to make said thing’s ribs creak. And thus a friendship was born. It took time for him to come out of his shell with me and it took me time to learn to be patient with his shyness, but we made it work.
And now we’re best friends.
“Mary!” I shout back, the both of us using nicknames that are only alright when we use them.
Slutporta spawned from combining my reputation with my name; Gabe Saporta. Mary born from him being a virgin and his real name being something similar; Mikey. Mikey Way.
By the time I’ve looked up from my cell, where I was texting three cute kids at once, Mikey’s slumped next to me on the bench, a small grin on his face. It’s the most anyone, even his big brother, ever gets out of him by the way of happiness. It doesn’t mean that he’s any less happy than the next person though, he just doesn’t see the need for beaming like an idiot at the silliest little things and he never needs to charm someone with a smile because he’s just too shy to. I’ve tried setting him up with both girls and boys but he never accepts, saying that he’s capable of choosing his own first kiss without my help. He is, I know he is, but he’s just too introverted to.
I do worry about that kid; he’s just too innocent and shy for his own good. I’m a senior now, meaning that next year Mikey will be all on his own at school with nobody to either protect him from the bullies like my handiness does or anyone to just be his friend. Of course he knows that I’m only ever a text away, but I can’t babysit him forever. The kid, as cute as he maybe, needs to learn to stand on his own two feet.
But damn, do I like lending him mine for support.
“Hey, Gabe?” He breaks the silence, that semi-nervous note that’s always present in his speech infecting his words more than it normally does and earning him my full attention. “Can you, um, can you teach me to be cool?”
Now that, that right there, is fucking cute.
It’s hard to remember that the kid’s sixteen when he’s acting like this, like the most adorable thing on the fucking planet. And that’s why I’ve never screwed him; he’s too innocent for me to defile him with my reputation. You see, the most of the people I get with end up keeping it a secret and those who don’t end up being known as one of “those kids that Gabe Slutporta fucked”. I don’t want that for Mikey, he’s already teased enough as it is. Otherwise, I think I probably would. But I won’t, because he’s the only constant friend I’ve ever had.
Something that I like too much to lose.
“Whatcha talking about? You are cool, Kid.” I smile, trying my best to put all my drama skills behind my selfless lie; the last thing Mikey needs is me, the only kid who’ll even look at him in a friendly way, telling him that he’s below the filth on the locker-room floor when it comes to the social scale. “Look, if this is about what that dickhead said last week, it was only because he found me with his girlfriend the night before.”
I wince at the memory, the punch still fresh in my mind even though the bruise has long since faded from Mikey’s face. You see, my fondness of the kid is hardly the world’s best kept secret. You see, there are quite a few people who don’t like what I do and do like a little thing called sweet revenge. There’s not a lot they can do to me that would actually make me bat an eyelash, especially seeing as I can outrun the majority of the school track-team, but poor Mikey can’t. Making him fair game for my enemies. Even more so than when he was just the lonely boy who got his ass handed to him daily just for being there.
I do try my hardest to protect him, just like on that first day, but a lot of the time it’s a case of me having to wait it out and help him stumble back to my house afterwards because if I got involved then we’d both end up hurt. And then who’d clean up his bloody noses? Or give him cuddles? Or make him laugh and smile and act all cute?
Last week though, it wasn’t just a punch and that was it. It was words too; cruel words that very nearly made me beat the bastard unconscious for making my best friend cry like he was back then. He told Mikey that he was going to be all alone as soon as I’m gone, that as soon as I don’t have to be by his side I’ll leave him all alone. Something that I’d never do to the kid. I care about him too much for that.
“No, it’s, no. Nothing to do with that.” He stutters, fiddling with the hem of his too-big Taking Back Sunday top, making me take the conversation to a whole new level of seriousness; I can tell from his tone that something’s really bothering him. And not in the same way as when I got my dog to hump his unicorn plushy. “It… It doesn’t matter. Sorry.”
“Hey, Kid, look at me.” When he makes no move to do as told, I tilt his chin up with my fingers to see that there are tears welling in his moon-wide eyes. “Oh, Mikey. What’s up? Did someone say something to you again? Who was it? I’ll fucking kill ‘em!”
I don’t mean to get so wound up in front of him, but it just pisses me off so much that they think Mikey’s just there to have every aspect of the true him stamped out because they think it’s wrong to be different. Bastards. They’re the reason that Mikey’s so shy; he just automatically thinks that anything he says will be either disregarded or torn apart because that’s what the bullies do. Not me, though. I always listen.
Most of the time, anyway.
My white-hot fury is broken when I notice that he’s letting out tiny, baby-bunny whimpers. The fury mutates into sympathy and before I can catch myself I’ve got an arm wrapped tightly around his shuddering shoulders, pulling him close to the chest that his tears are making ache in sorrow for best friend. For the poor kid who’ll be all alone once I’ve graduated in a few months’ time.
“Gabe, what am I gonna do when you’re gone?” He mewls, nestling his face into my chest and making my heart explode like a buried mine. “They’re gonna kill me.” He pauses, my hand stroking his back as it convulses in an attempt to hold in a sob, and my mind melts at the sight of his acidic tears; he’s too nice to be crying like this. “Please, please, teach me to be cool. Then they might like me.”
At that I let the lesser-spotted caring side of me emerge, a side I didn’t even realise I had until I saw Mikey getting beaten up two years ago, and pull him into a full-on sideways hug, gently rocking him as I feel his hot tears drain through my purposefully too-tight top. He’s clinging now, just holding on as though he’s never going to see me again, and I can honestly say that I don’t really mind. In fact, if anything, I like it that he’s burying himself in me. What I don’t like, however, is that he’s crying over something that I know I can’t fix for him. Sure, I could teach him a few tricks of the trade, but I know that they won’t ever make them like him. They’ve already made up their closed-minds about Mikey and they’re far too blind to see what they are most definitely missing.
I can’t say that to him though. It’d break his little heart.
“No, Mikey. I’m not gonna teach you to be like me; I’m no good, Kid. I’m bad fucking news, you know that’s what they say. You’re too good for that.” I stop, inhaling heavily as he lets out a strangled sob. “You’re too good for them, Kid. Way too good. You don’t wanna get in with them, they’re not cool. Is it ‘cool’ that they rely on cigarettes and alcohol and making other kids miserable to get them through their day?”
He shakes his head, daring to look up at me from his nest in my chest. He looks so vulnerable, like a baby fox waiting for it’s mom to come home and feed him some sort of substance to see him through the cold, dark night.
“But they don’t get beaten up or shouted at, Gabe.” His tiny grumble is almost inaudible, but it still stings me like a barb of electricity; Mikey’s never questioned me before, always just taken my word as gospel. Never has he taken an almost venomous tone with me. “It’s alright for you; you’re not the one getting hurt here.”
“You have no idea how much they hurt me, Mikey Way, so don’t act like you do.” My voice comes out as a sharp snap, making Mikey flinch against me and making my heart twinge with guilt. But I’ve got to let this out; it’s the best shot I have at making him smile. “It fucking kills me every time I see them picking on you, Kid.”
“I fucking said it fucking kills me, okay?” It’s not a shout and it’s not as angry as it should be either, simply a frustrated whisper that leaves Mikey smiling up at me in disbelief. The kind of disbelief that makes me want to cry because I thought I was a better friend than letting him ever think otherwise. “Don’t ever think that I don’t care about you, Mikey. I do. A hell of a lot.” I run a hand through my hair, giving Mikey enough room to manoeuvre himself to be level with me as opposed to hiding in me. “I know I don’t always show it but, fuck it. Kid, I love you.”
Everything stops; my breathing, my heartbeat, my mind, the whole of time itself. Apart from Mikey’s rapid blinks, those thick black eyelashes flapping like the butterflies in my stomach. That’s new, the butterflies, I mean. I’ve said those three little words plenty of times before and I’ve never had them with any of those other times. I guess I just didn’t mean it like I do now. Because this isn’t the slutty hopeless romantic in me talking, this is a boy in love with his hurt best friend finally telling him when he needs to feel loved the most.
Mikey’s gawping, looking very much like I’ve just told him that his mom sucked me off last night, and it’s just too fucking cute for me to be able to stop myself.
I kiss him.
Full on the lips, face cradled in my soft hands and his own paws limply by his sides in shock. I press my lips hungrily to his, their velvety smoothness almost knocking me out upon contact, and he immediately kisses back. It’s obviously his first kiss, what with the adorable way that he’s trying desperately to keep up with the pace of my mouth and mirror how my tongue slips into his mouth with practiced expertise. I slide my hands from his face to his waist, resting on his belt and journeying around the rim of his jeans, blazing a trail around the skin under the tops of his boxers.
Making him moan.
Especially when my hands have done a full circle, meeting at the zipper and teasing it up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. I can feel it through the fabric, the way that the motion is making him ever so slightly excited and nothing’s ever made me happier.
Because he deserves to feel loved. Wanted. Happy. Not alone.
“G-gabe?” He lets out in a high-pitched whimper, making me smirk against his lips.
“Yeah, Baby Boy?” As I pronounce the last word I curve my tongue, tickling it along the roof of his mouth and making him giggle like a schoolgirl.
“We’re on a-a,” he lets out a star-hot gasp as I finally release his zipper, moving onto the button at the top, “park be-ench.”
“Hey, you wanted a lesson, Baby Boy. Never said where you wanted it.”
A/N: Thanks for reading and I really hope that this was alright! Sorry for the sucky ending, I know it wasn’t all that good. Gabekey is one of my new favourite pairings, so I’m trying to get to grips with writing it at the moment and this is my second attempt at it. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)