Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Treasure and Chest
1 review"It might be wrong, but that doesn’t stop it from being right." Short WAYCEST one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! ;P
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Treasure and Chest
It’s always been there; a constant to cushion to shield me from the daggers of life every time I need it to. Ever since I was a baby and Gee was a pudgy little toddler trying to figure out what the new wrinkly alien in his arms actually meant. Even when I didn’t want it to be there, when I all I thought I wanted was to cry alone to escape the shame of my big brother seeing, I was pulled up close against it until I realised that it was all I needed to make me want to not cry at all.
I am, of course, referring to my big brother’s chest. To that magical music box that holds the soft and rhythmic beating of his black-gold heart. A heart that he says belongs to me; for always and forever.
Okay, so some people might think that it’s wrong for a fifteen-year-old to be in love with their older brother. I do too, I agree with them completely and I know that Gerard does as well. I mean, it’s incest. It’s wrong. It’s sinful. It’s motherfucking illegal and we could get into serious trouble if anyone ever suspected that our hand-holding is so much more than just Gerard being an overprotective big brother. We both know that what we’re doing is disgusting and that we shouldn’t be doing it all because it means that we’ll never actually get to have a public relationship without losing everything.
We both know it, but we both also know that nothing can stop Us. In his basement bedroom nobody can watch him curl around me on his bed like a shell around a pearl, hear him make me moan as though I’ve never felt love before; see us being Us as we are meant to be.
It might be wrong, but that doesn’t stop it from being right.
Especially when I’m cradled into his chest and he’s calling me his baby. It’s always his chest that I think of first whenever someone talks about Gee; it’s lush warmness, the way I can hear his heartbeat if I listen hard enough, how it’s always there to catch me when I fall.
When he first told me that he loves me I was resting against his chest, my cheek pressed against it as we both lay out on his bed after a particularly rough day at school. I was crying about how everyone hates me, which they in all honesty do, and how everyone had a date to prom apart from me. I felt unlovable and the fact that I’d gotten beaten up twice that day for forgetting some big bastard’s homework was definitely not helping things at all. I came in, bloody nose and a broken finger; unaware that Gee would be sat in the living room after skipping school in favour of drawing his own comic book. If I’d have known he was going to be there, I probably would have gone in the back way to avoid confrontation. But then again, I’m so fucking glad I didn’t. Because if he hadn’t made me tell him what was wrong then I wouldn’t have told him that I was unlovable. And then he wouldn’t have felt the need to kiss me, cradle me; tell me that he loves me more than anyone can ever hate me.
When I have a nightmare it’s his chest that soothes me back to sleep with the lullaby of his vital organs working, telling me that I’m not alone. If I do have a nightmare nowadays I just crawl into bed with him and he opens his arms up to me, pulls me right in close. We’ve always done that though, ever since I was a little kid getting creeped out by own shadow after watching Fright Night. It just kinda evolved as we grew up into something romantic; into something that makes all dreams seem inadequate because nothing can ever be better than a reality where Gerard loves me like I matter.
When he found out that I was cutting myself, his first port of call was to bury my face in his chest and rock me gently against him. He asked me why I’d torn myself to shreds on the bathroom floor and right there, in his chest, I honestly couldn’t think of a decent reason why. Addiction, I guess. I started doing it long before Gee and I became more than brothers; I had learnt to depend on it in order to see me through my day. It’s not like I hadn’t tried to stop, it was just too hard and, in all honesty, I didn’t really want to. It made me feel different from everyone else, like I was special because I could hurt myself more than they could. Hell, I had the power to kill myself before their words could if I wanted to. But, in Gerard’s chest, it just felt stupid; all of the reasons I did it became irrelevant purely because the comfort of his chest made me different, made all of the hurt stop. So that’s where I turn to now whenever I feel the need to slice my skin open. Not to the razor or scissors or pin badge, but to his chest. Where he makes me feel too loved to ever feel hurt.
When I got the flu this winter just gone, I found my best medicine in his chest. The deep, steady breathing of my omnipotent older brother making my own relax a lot more than any kind of menthol could. When the fever struck me down and I was too delirious to do anything, he leant me against his chest and let me sleep there; fed me soup there; sang lullabies to me there until it passed.
Whenever I’m happy, that’s where I end up. Because his chest is the only place where I can truly be happy. Even if we both know this can’t last forever, not really.
It’ll end up killing us, but at least I’ll be the one driving the stake through his chest.
Just like he will be mine.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading and I hope that it was alright. It’s definitely not my best, so sorry about that. Based around the prompt word “chest” (surprise, surprise). Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
It’s always been there; a constant to cushion to shield me from the daggers of life every time I need it to. Ever since I was a baby and Gee was a pudgy little toddler trying to figure out what the new wrinkly alien in his arms actually meant. Even when I didn’t want it to be there, when I all I thought I wanted was to cry alone to escape the shame of my big brother seeing, I was pulled up close against it until I realised that it was all I needed to make me want to not cry at all.
I am, of course, referring to my big brother’s chest. To that magical music box that holds the soft and rhythmic beating of his black-gold heart. A heart that he says belongs to me; for always and forever.
Okay, so some people might think that it’s wrong for a fifteen-year-old to be in love with their older brother. I do too, I agree with them completely and I know that Gerard does as well. I mean, it’s incest. It’s wrong. It’s sinful. It’s motherfucking illegal and we could get into serious trouble if anyone ever suspected that our hand-holding is so much more than just Gerard being an overprotective big brother. We both know that what we’re doing is disgusting and that we shouldn’t be doing it all because it means that we’ll never actually get to have a public relationship without losing everything.
We both know it, but we both also know that nothing can stop Us. In his basement bedroom nobody can watch him curl around me on his bed like a shell around a pearl, hear him make me moan as though I’ve never felt love before; see us being Us as we are meant to be.
It might be wrong, but that doesn’t stop it from being right.
Especially when I’m cradled into his chest and he’s calling me his baby. It’s always his chest that I think of first whenever someone talks about Gee; it’s lush warmness, the way I can hear his heartbeat if I listen hard enough, how it’s always there to catch me when I fall.
When he first told me that he loves me I was resting against his chest, my cheek pressed against it as we both lay out on his bed after a particularly rough day at school. I was crying about how everyone hates me, which they in all honesty do, and how everyone had a date to prom apart from me. I felt unlovable and the fact that I’d gotten beaten up twice that day for forgetting some big bastard’s homework was definitely not helping things at all. I came in, bloody nose and a broken finger; unaware that Gee would be sat in the living room after skipping school in favour of drawing his own comic book. If I’d have known he was going to be there, I probably would have gone in the back way to avoid confrontation. But then again, I’m so fucking glad I didn’t. Because if he hadn’t made me tell him what was wrong then I wouldn’t have told him that I was unlovable. And then he wouldn’t have felt the need to kiss me, cradle me; tell me that he loves me more than anyone can ever hate me.
When I have a nightmare it’s his chest that soothes me back to sleep with the lullaby of his vital organs working, telling me that I’m not alone. If I do have a nightmare nowadays I just crawl into bed with him and he opens his arms up to me, pulls me right in close. We’ve always done that though, ever since I was a little kid getting creeped out by own shadow after watching Fright Night. It just kinda evolved as we grew up into something romantic; into something that makes all dreams seem inadequate because nothing can ever be better than a reality where Gerard loves me like I matter.
When he found out that I was cutting myself, his first port of call was to bury my face in his chest and rock me gently against him. He asked me why I’d torn myself to shreds on the bathroom floor and right there, in his chest, I honestly couldn’t think of a decent reason why. Addiction, I guess. I started doing it long before Gee and I became more than brothers; I had learnt to depend on it in order to see me through my day. It’s not like I hadn’t tried to stop, it was just too hard and, in all honesty, I didn’t really want to. It made me feel different from everyone else, like I was special because I could hurt myself more than they could. Hell, I had the power to kill myself before their words could if I wanted to. But, in Gerard’s chest, it just felt stupid; all of the reasons I did it became irrelevant purely because the comfort of his chest made me different, made all of the hurt stop. So that’s where I turn to now whenever I feel the need to slice my skin open. Not to the razor or scissors or pin badge, but to his chest. Where he makes me feel too loved to ever feel hurt.
When I got the flu this winter just gone, I found my best medicine in his chest. The deep, steady breathing of my omnipotent older brother making my own relax a lot more than any kind of menthol could. When the fever struck me down and I was too delirious to do anything, he leant me against his chest and let me sleep there; fed me soup there; sang lullabies to me there until it passed.
Whenever I’m happy, that’s where I end up. Because his chest is the only place where I can truly be happy. Even if we both know this can’t last forever, not really.
It’ll end up killing us, but at least I’ll be the one driving the stake through his chest.
Just like he will be mine.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading and I hope that it was alright. It’s definitely not my best, so sorry about that. Based around the prompt word “chest” (surprise, surprise). Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
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