Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance

Love, Disgustingly

by harleyanne 5 reviews

Mikey Way has a secret. He has a secret that is confusing, disgusting, frightening and illegal. [Waycest]

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Romance - Characters: Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Published: 2010-09-15 - Updated: 2010-09-15 - 1602 words

If you're already here, then you know what you're in for. Waycest. If that in some way upsets you, please hit the back button now and take your 'morals' with you. Hope the door doesn't hit you up the arse on your way out.

Darling... Brother... Sugar... Dude... Baby... Fuck. My Beauty,

Today, I realised I hate you. Want to know why?

You like the rain, but you don't like being lonely, so when we walked out of the school gates and the sky was spitting, I said goodbye to Frank in his car and walked home with you. As we chatted and laughed and teased each other, I hated that I noticed the way you pushed your damp, kinking hair out of your face, your smile making even the raindrops on your nose and cheeks gleam. I hated that that smile made
me gleam.

Then we got home and went to get changed, you followed me into my room as we were still talking, so I threw a tshirt at you to borrow. I hated that I couldn't take my eyes off your back as you discarded your old one.

With Mom and Dad out at dinner with friends, we had the TV to ourselves - so commenced a Star Trek marathon. We ordered pizza, opened a few beers, and just hung out. Uneventful as it was, it was a fucking awesome night. Once the table was littered with greasy boxes and empty green glass bottles, and Kirk was unconvincingly beating a group of guys to a pulp, you stretched out and lay down, resting the soles of your feet on the arm of the sofa and your head in my lap, eyes still fixed on the screen. I tensed up as soon as the ends of your hair touched my legs, the contact tickling me beyond belief. At least I blame the electric pinpricks all over my skin and my overactive nervous system on being extremely ticklish. And then when your face was there, turned to the side and your cheekbone, angled beautifully, caught the light from the TV, eyes focussed serenely on the moving images, I tried, believe me I fucking tried, but my hand moved without my say-so and lightly brushed over your hair. I pulled it away from your eyes, running my nails gently over your hairline. You didn't seem to mind, in fact you made a noise that was barely audible - and I wondered if that was purposeful - that sounded something like a short, quiet purr in the back of your throat, and shifted, settling your head more comfortably. It would be a lie to say that I wasn't smothering a squeak at that point, and just praying that your head didn't get close enough to my crotch to feel what was making my face burn. I swallowed, by some strange logic thinking it would thump my heart on the way down and make it beat quieter and slower. It didn't. But you didn't notice, and if you did you didn't question it or say anything, knowing you, probably to stop me from being embarrassed. I continued running my fingers through your hair, now warm and dry, in a trance-like state as we watched the Klingons get their comeuppance. A small smile shaped your face, your eyes wide and innocent like they used to be when we were younger, and God it made me feel even dirtier. It made me hate you more. Because to me, your hair couldn't be softer, your eyes couldn't be more hypnotic, your lips couldn't be a nicer shape, your nose couldn't be cuter, your cheeks couldn't be prettier, your clothes couldn't be cooler, your body couldn't be more perfect, your smile, fuck me, your smile couldn't be brighter, and Goddamnit your heart couldn't beat as Goddamn fucking hard for me as mine does for you.

By the time episode twelve faded and the credits rolled up, I was yawning. I looked down at you and your eyes were closed, your lips pouting and parted and your chest moved slowly. I stopped my hand moving, it resting on the top of your head, and patted you. Your eyes scrunched and the smallest of frowns appeared for only a brief second, before you opened your eyes and glanced around. Again, I would be lying if I said that I hadn't been drinking in every centimetre of you, storing it for a daydream fantasy of waking up next to you. Eyes groggy, you turned your face, looking up at me, and you smiled. I swear you almost killed me. I said something about going to bed, you mumbled something back about being comfortable here, so I made a compromise and stood up, begrudgingly lifting your head out of my lap, and pulled the sofa out into a bed.

When I climbed back on, the notion hit me that we would be sleeping in the same bed and I freaked the fuck out, convinced I would do something weird or wrong. Having scared myself with this in mind, I lay down on the extreme end of the left side, my hand curled around the frame. You'd leant over to the armchair to kill the TV and get the blanket and as you sat back down you laughed at me, you asked if I was afraid. I mumbled 'no', which in answer to what you were referring to, the copious amount of sci-fi, was true. You chuckled under your breath and lay down closer than I was expecting, making my eyes bolt wide open, staring restlessly into the dark. Throwing the sheet over us both, you, again, scared the shit out of me by shuffling up right behind me and wrapping your arms gently around my waist, both hands pressed flat against my stomach in the loveliest way, and you rested your chin on my shoulder, your cheek against my ear. You murmured 'I'll protect you from the monsters', and I could tell from the tautness of your cheek against my skin that you were smiling. Not grinning, not smirking, just smiling softly. I gasped silently, all of my blood flowing to my stomach and my crotch when you pressed a warm, slightly wet kiss to my jaw, whispering a 'sleep well' that was hardly formed, then resting your head back on my shoulder, in my neck, your hair brushing and tangling with mine.

Sleep was not something I was willing to succumb to, I wanted to feel every fucking moment of this. It could not be real. Yet it was. Relaxing and physically melting into you and your touch, my skin felt every inch of yours and with my back to you I could tell when you'd drifted off to sleep. It took a long time for me to get so tired that I would surrender to letting this go, but it eventually came, and I let my eyes close, an insatiable calm over me apart from the one nagging thought of what would happen if I had another of my usual dreams. It wasn't enough to keep me awake.

And when I woke up and my rationality hit me like a next-morning-deadline, I hated the way I enjoyed that night.

And when
you woke up, you just smiled wearily at me and untangled yourself, grumbling something or other as you padded to the kitchen to make some coffee, scratching the back of your head and yawning. I rolled onto my back and looked at the ceiling, sighing. I don't really know what I was expecting, but I felt disappointed. Like it had been a dream, or a momentary lapse of judgement, or just a moment of brotherly closeness, nothing more nothing less. I sniffed, rubbing my nose with the back of my wrist. The last thing I wanted to do was cry with you in the other room. Hearing your footsteps, I blinked twice and swallowed, sniffling again. 'Cold?' you asked as you sat down next to me and held out a mug. Not trusting any answer that would come out of my mouth, I nodded, it was easier. You pressed your palm to my forehead, then as I sat up you handed me my coffee and moved your hand to rub my back, your skin familiarly warm and soft. I almost moaned at the feeling, quickly taking a scolding sip to prevent any noise from leaving my mouth.

I hated that you did this to me. I hated that you did it without even knowing. I hated that you didn't seem to think anything of the night before. And I hated that that bothered me.

So you see, what other conlusion can I draw from this than that I hate

And you know why I hate you Gerard Arthur Way? I hate you because I think I might just fucking love you. See, I have to hate you, because if I don't, there's nothing to stop the other feeling, and if just that is left, I'll start to think it's normal, that it's okay. And it isn't, my God it isn't.

Love, disgustingly,

Mikey. x

Feel like flinging a comment my way? Fire at will. I realised the other day I'd never posted anything on here so I thought I would, so you guys know I'm not just a lurker and could get a taste of my writing. This one's cross-posted from mibba by the way. Oh, and the fuck is with the formatting on here? Apologies for any errors in that department, I'm still learning the ropes.
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