"Loving him is like religion." Short GABEKEY one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
My mom doesn’t like him. Not at all.
Then again, his mom doesn’t like me either. Neither does his dad. Nor his big brother. All of them think I ‘corrupted’ the sweet little fifteen-year-old when all I did was figure out how to unlock his wild side. The wild side that makes him act like my own personal whore, apart from without the involvement of cash. But of course his big brother looked into my reputation when he heard that I was dating his baby brother and, well, the name ‘Gabe Saporta’ seems to be synonymous with many things. Slut, heartbreaker and walking STD being but three of this things.
Yeah. I’m exactly the type of guy you’d want your son or kid brother to date. A regular Prince Charming. Well, for Mikes I am. Fuck, I even hold doors open for him and do that old-fashioned thing of pulling his chair out for him when he comes to the table for dinner. Other than that though, I guess I’m hardly the perfect gentleman; it’s not like I make any secret of my insatiable lust for my porcelain prince’s bare skin and searing touch. It’s like Mikey’s some sort of drug and I’m hopelessly addicted, unable to stand the times between getting my next fix.
No, it’s much more special than that. Loving him is like religion and to not worship makes me worse than any satanic sinner. In summary, Mikey Way is my religion. My church of hot addiction.
Hence the fact that he’s currently asleep in my arms, thumb stuck halfway into his love-bruised lips and looking a million times more innocent than he ever could be awake, even before I made him about as innocent as a highly-skilled prostitute. The poor kid’s absolutely exhausted for two perfectly valid reasons at two very different ends of the spectrum. The first being that I wore him out to help take his mind off of the second. The second being that he got beaten up today at school.
I wish I went to his high school, and then those bastards would know exactly how dangerous it is to mess with my boyfriend. I’ve lost count of the amount of times my Baby Boy has stumbled in through my apartment’s front door, blood splashed on his face like cheap whisky on an alcoholic, and just sobbed himself to sleep in my arms, the one place where he’s always welcome no matter what happens. He just fits there so brilliantly; like a teddy is made for a kid, he’s made for me. To be the boy who finally tamed Gabe Saporta. He really has because, in all honesty, he’s the first boyfriend I’ve had where cheating has never even crossed my mind as a possibility. Not to mention that he’s my most lasting boyfriend to date; four whole months compared to my old record of nine and half days.
Maybe it’s because I’m nineteen now (another reason why the Ways don’t approve of me in the slightest) or maybe it’s for some other reasonable explanation, but I just can’t imagine ever not being with my Mikey. My explanation? True love. The kind that I thought was a complete load of bullshit until I found Mikey Way crying at a bus stop because some fucker had smashed his glasses against his preciously pretty little face, making it impossible for the poor thing to see where he was going and the shock making him too fretfully shaky to realise he’d missed the last bus home. So I took him back to my place, cleaned him up a little and made him laugh with some stupide joke or another. The rest, as clichéd as it may sound, is history.
Steamy, smutty history that would give any history teacher a hard-on trying to teach it to his class.
But it’s not all been like that; it took me time to work my way to where I am now and it took me even longer to gain his complete trust. To begin with, back when it was just innocent little meet-ups at my favourite diner, he wouldn’t even tell me where all of his bruises came from. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know, at least then I wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of knowing that there’s absolutely nothing I can do to help him. Other than help him forget it all by worshiping at my very own Church of Hot Addiction in my special way that makes my baby moan and scream and scratch and grab.
But even that doesn’t make him happy for long because he’ll wake up in the morning, still encased in my arms like a shell in a bullet wound, and know that he has to face it all from the beginning again.
He is getting better though, so much better than when I found him at that bus stop in the pouring rain. He used to be so hopeless, so without motivation to carry on and keep going with a life that didn’t want him to hang on. Now, though, it’s like he’s found purpose in me; like waking up in my arms most mornings, he practically lives with me now, is reason enough to wake up at all.
Like I really mean the world to him, just like he means the world to me.
More than the world; any world with him in is a heaven. It has to be.
The heaven for followers of the Church of Hot Addiction, anyway.
A/N: Here, have some pointless Gabekey crap. Enjoy! Or not. ;P