Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Rope Burn


by harleyanne 1 review

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: R - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Characters: Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Published: 2010-11-17 - Updated: 2010-11-17 - 2134 words

It was there or thereabouts half nine when Mikey blinked himself awake. He lifted his head slightly off the pillow to clear it and scrunched his eyes up, opening them and looking around with an instinctive wince at the light glowing through the curtains. He was in his room, which was a good start, and he appeared to be naked, which was... a start.

As he turned his head to the left, he saw that Gerard's head was nestled in the crook of his arm, bare shoulders above the blanket and hair mussed up on the pillow, eyeliner smudged into grey around his closed eyes, long black lashes fanning out softly on his cheeks. Quiet breaths were slowly passing through his lips, formed in a relaxed pout that looked so waiting-to-be-kissed, and tickled Mikey's bare bicep. His body was curled intimately towards Mikey, legs brushing his brother's and an arm hooked around his waist, head nuzzled in his elbow - a picture of contentment.

He could have stared at Gerard until time ran out, he did until he remembered time existed and cleared his throat to relieve his dry mouth and lay his head back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling helplessly. He let out a sigh and lifted his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. His mind was blank, and it ached slightly at the prospect of the thoughts that were soon going to come and fill his head like a cancer to the brain. Defeatedly, Mikey let his head fall to the left again and dragged his eyes over Gerard once more, trying to take him all in.

Gerard always looks beautiful in the mornings, he's one of those rare people who's an unimaginably pretty sleeper, and he doesn't snore, drool or kick out in the nights - he's perfect. The only thing he ever does in his sleep is occasionally breathe out an unshaped word that sounds something like 'i-ey', or snuggle subconsciously closer into his little brother with fluttering little quiet moans in his throat.

Mikey drank the sight in, because he'd never seen anything quite so exquisite, and because he knew it was his only chance until next time. His eyes were sad as they settled back on Gerard's face. After studying him for a few seconds, Mikey realised he had to end the moment, Gerard would wake up soon and have no recollection of how he got in Mikey's bed. So pushing a section of soft hair off Gerard's cheek and behind his ear and pressing a dainty firm kiss to his unconscious temple, Mikey unwound himself and slid out of the covers, feet dropping to the carpet. He pushed himself up and padded down the corridor to the bathroom in the late morning sunlight illuminating the hall.

Shutting the door behind him, Mikey turned around and caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wall. His hair was the definition of 'sex hair'; tousled and sticking up at the back thanks to dried sweat, his eyes looked content, weary and unawake, and his skin was a mix between having a post-sex glow and an alcohol-dehydrated dullness.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and reached over to turn the shower on, feeling instantly more human just hearing the running water. Obviously he didn't have any clothes to remove, so when there was enough steam on the shower curtain to deem the water hot enough, Mikey stepped straight in and made a beeline for the cascade of water. It burned slightly on first contact, and Mikey drew in a sharp breath between his teeth, but stood firm and soon adjusted to the temperature, a faint smile drawing itself on his lips. Surrounded in warmth, he let his head hang back, closing his eyes, and bringing his hands up, open in front of his chest in a begging sort of gesture, surrendering himself to the pure pleasure and contentment of the hot water hugging him and cleansing him of his problems. He physically felt the water washing away the dirt covering him, and if he'd opened his eyes, he was sure he'd have seen it swirling around and down the drain, gone forever into the sewage system where it belonged.

After washing himself and feeling completely clean, Mikey turned off the water and stepped out, drying himself and stepping into a clean pair of boxers. He checked his reflection again, and noticed that he seemed a lot more serene and his eyes were brighter, more alive. He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it in loosely the shape he wanted it to dry in and walked back into his bedroom to fetch some clothes.

He noticed that Gerard was still asleep, but knowing his brother like he did, he knew he'd be awake soon, so Mikey just blindly picked up his favourite jeans off his chair and pulled a v-neck out of his clean laundry basket, putting them on quickly and silently before retreating out of the room.

It was only when he was downstairs beginning to clean up his mess from last night that Mikey's mind, inevitably, drifted to Gerard. He didn't want to have to face today, because he knew what to expect and he didn't like it. No matter how many times the night before happens, the morning after always follows. And it's never a cuddle and breakfast in bed, that's for sure.

He kinda hates himself for it, but Mikey is a romantic. He wouldn't admit to it, and it's not like he's into Jane Austen, Love Actually and heart shaped chocolates, but he believes in relationships, he believes in love, and he believes in respect and monogamy. Mikey likes being surprised with pointless loving kisses, he likes staying in bed on Saturday mornings and holding hands, just talking, and he likes tender eye contact and giddy smiles over coffee. And the clincher: Mikey finds it hard to separate sex from attachment.

Life would be a whole lot easier if he could fuck anyone and not attach emotion to it, not need that extra dimension to it, that deeper meaning. But he couldn't. He'd never had casual sex with a girl he'd just met or wasn't that fond of, for him, it was always an expression of adoration and strong attraction and, more often than not, love.

So every time Gerard had had something to drink and felt like expressing his love for Mikey, Mikey returned it with the honesty and ferventness of a love-sick fool. You can imagine that the following day, after a monumental and ecstasy-filled emotional display, having the object of your affection wake up and frown at their surroundings, then ask you why you're in a bed with them, is pretty damn heartbreaking.

Mikey's a fragile little thing, you can just as easily snap his arm as you can his heart.

But he's something of a masochist, he must be, for if you were scared of pain, would you put yourself through a life of constant emotional yo-yoing, having everything you ever wanted one moment and less than nothing the next? It's almost cruel. It's worse than having nothing at all, because once you've had something, once you've tasted the apple, you know just how sweet it is and to go back to starving, with the memory of the sweet, sweet flesh ingrained in your senses, is worse than not knowing what you're missing. And emotionally speaking, this is one of the worst things someone can do to you. Because when you fall off that cliff, you're gonna need a parachute or a broomstick or something, 'cause having the arms that told you to jump taken away, that fall's gonna break more than your pretty little skull. So to endure that daily, and allow yourself to, you have to suspect that on some level, you enjoy the pain. What other explanation is there?

When Mikey threw the last empty bottle in the bin, it was with a force stronger than necessary. He heard it smash quietly at the bottom, and it made him feel more satisfied than anything, venting an amount of his frustration. He walked around the kitchen, wiping his hands on his jeans, and pulled out a filter for the coffee machine.

Electronics were never Mikey's strong point, and he found himself frowning as making coffee proved harder than expected. Attention focussed on poking bits of plastic with a fork and pushing buttons, Mikey didn't hear his brother come downstairs.

"What are you doing?" Gerard yawned, stood in the doorway, eyes squinted in the light.

Mikey jumped and hit his head on the open cupboard door above him. "Shit!" He frowned deeper and rubbed his head, standing up and looking around at Gerard. "I was just, uh," He pointed at the coffee machine, currently in kit format, and Gerard nodded knowingly, a little smirk on his face.

"Every time Mikey, every time." he tutted, padding over and in a smooth movement, reassembled the appliance and turned it on. He leant back on the counter with an accomplished look on his sleepy face.

"I don't even know how you do that, seriously." Mikey muttered, pushing his hair back, his eyes vaguely on the floor to keep from staring at Gerard, having just noticed he was wearing a sweatshirt that reached halfway down his thighs and not much else, hair soft, tousled and wavy to the point of almost irritability. Mikey turned back to the counter and opened another cupboard, busying himself by finding mugs.

"Talent." Gerard winked, then furrowed his brow curiously. "Hey Mikes, how come I was in your bed this morning when I woke up?"

Mikey froze, his heart dropped to his pelvis and he felt a small piece of it disappear, sending a sudden dull pain through his nervous system. He put the mugs down on the counter and fixed his eyes on it.

Expecting something does not lessen its impact.

"You got back last night and you were in a kinda bad state, so I wanted to keep an eye on you."

Practise makes you good at things, lying included.

Gerard stared at Mikey's back, an adoring smile playing around his lips that Mikey didn't see. "Awwh, thank you bro, I love you." he said, squeezing an arm around Mikey's shoulders and kissing his forehead.

Mikey's skin tingled and fizzed with warm delight. Gerard has the best lips known to mankind.

Gerard ruffled his hair slightly, running his fingers through the long blonde quiff, then let his hand fall to his side and he walked through to the lounge. "I swear, just one drink and my memory's just straight out the fucking window." he called through. "I'm sure that's not normal. It'd be nice for once to actually remember a night out, y'know?" he laughed lightly, and in the kitchen Mikey was leaning his hands against the counter, elbows straight, and his head hung, squinting and grimacing, wishing that Gerard would just stop talking. If there was any chance Gerard knew what happened between them on those nights out, he wouldn't so casually bring it up. And the finality of the prospect of Gerard really not knowing, was something too huge for Mikey to be able to deal with. It was too soul destroying, and right now he didn't have that much left to give.

The coffee machine beeped monotonously, and Mikey blinked wearily up at it, setting his mind on pouring the drinks, pushing everything else aside. "Yeah." he laughed once in response to Gerard, feigning empathy and humour. "You're a lucky fucker y'know," he said, carrying both mugs into the lounge, passing one to Gerard and sitting opposite him in the armchair. "You never remember anything and you never have a headache, how do you do it?"

Gerard laughed, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. "I really don't know! It's kinda annoying though," he said, pouting and chewing on the corner of his mouth, looking at Mikey. "I wish I could just sometimes remember what I'd done, y'know? Like, if I've had a good night, I wanna know, and if I've met someone I wanna know."

Mikey smiled hollowly and sipped at his coffee.

Gerard let his head fall back to normal and narrowed his eyes slightly, watching Mikey stare vacantly into his mug. "Y'alright Mikes?" he asked sceptically.

Mikey looked up at him, studying his eyes for a moment before smiling meekly and nodding. "Yeah course, just a bit tired." He gave another weak smile, hoping it was convincing.

Gerard looked hardly convinced, but he nodded back, dropping the subject.

Mikey then stood up, muttering some sort of excuse that even he didn't recall, and took his coffee upstairs, leaving Gerard before he could leave him.
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