Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Heaven
I could be out drinking with Wentz like I should be; getting wasted beyond recognition and get my dick sucked by some of New Jersey’s finest. I could be dancing up on tables, crowds clawing at me and dying to take a bite of my infection. I could be doing anyone, anywhere, anything.
And yet I chose to be here, in a small bedroom the size of my wardrobe with a boy who is about as sexually aware as a pancake. With a boy who’s currently got a fever of a hundred-and-three and nobody else around to look after him. The crazy thing is, he didn’t even ask me to come around to babysit him; I did that all on my own when with anyone else I would normally let the suffer in favour of going out to live my own life instead of getting stuck in theirs. But with Mikey Way, my bestest friend forever since I was eight, it would have felt sinful not to help the poor little angel.
His parents are out getting drunk at separate bars like they always are on a Friday night and his big brother is at his boyfriend’s house in a last-ditch attempt to get away from the broken home that’s so desperately trying to pretend to be glued firmly together. Leaving Mikey home alone. And sick. So very sick, my poor little Mikeymouse. If I didn’t know to not expect any better from the Ways, I’d be absolutely livid that they could leave Mikes alone like this; shivering like a diamond in a hurricane, whiter than a rotten corpse, barely able to function without me to guide him. He was worse when I got here after school, he’d been off due to illness and I decided to see if he was alright. When I got here he was laying on the bathroom floor, hand reaching up to the toilet from where he had failed to make it there in time and a small trickle of vomit dribbling down his perfectly defined little jaw.
He’s fourteen, for fuck’s sake!
He needs parents who can look after him when he gets sick, not just piss off like Mikey being poorly is an inconvenience to them. His parents; I hate them with everything I have. Gerard and I have told them about Mikey getting bullied, the two of us joining forces for the good of our younger best friend, but they never seem to care no matter how we put it. Hell, the poor kid even came home with a broken wrist once and they didn’t even ask him what was wrong; in fact, his dad told him to “man-up”. I think that hurt Mikeymouse more than the shove that snapped his bone before I could rescue him did.
And that’s why he’s so shy. So unwilling to ask for help. So desperately deserving of someone who can look after him properly. Which is where I, Gabe Saporta, will nobly step up to the job. I’m his best friend, not to mention older than him enough to have protective feelings towards the kid; I’d never forgive myself if I ignored his pain.
“Ga-Gabby?” He whimpers from where his head is resting delicately in my lap, making my head instantly snap down, the action razor-quick with concern. “Whya here?”
I wish I could just let myself be ignorant to the fact that he didn’t just ask that question because his fever is making him delirious; that this isn’t his normal kind of thought process. It is though, as scary as it might sound to believe that a kid can think like this, think that nobody cares enough to actually want to spend time with him when he’s really too sick to be left alone. It stings me to know that he truly does think like that, but it’s the kind of sting that sparks a new kind of determination within me. Determination to make him see that he’s worth more than any drunken night out getting ass from some nameless hot mess.
Determination that is impossible to deny.
So I fix him with a gaze, not a stare, that bores straight into his mind; drilling through the layers of self-hate and all of the horrid little lies everyone tells him in order to get deep down into him where only I can ever get.
We’re on his bed, me sat upright against the bedstead and him laid out in front of me with his head in my lap, blankets pulled up as tight as possible. He might have a fever, but that won’t stop me from holding him like I always do whenever he gets hurt or sad or just wants a hug. He’s a very touchy-feely kid, is Mikes; I think it’s because he’s normally starved of affection, so he tries to stock up whilst he’s got in abundance. Which he always will do as long as I’m his friend.
“Aw, c’mon, Mikeymouse. You’re my best friend and you’re sick; of course I’m gonna be here!” I try my best to make it sound nonchalant, like the tone of happy jokiness isn’t false, but I can tell that I fail from the way his eyes wince shut. “I care about you, Mikeymouse, and you need to be cared about right now.” This time my voice is strict, like a parent, and I feel my heart race at the small smile it paints onto his angelic little face. “Besides, you’re way cuter than any bar-side-babe.”
It may have been meant as a friendly comment to brighten his softly sullen mood, but even as I say it I realise that there’s something I can’t deny; it’s true. He really is too fucking cute to be a normal boy. What with his deer-in-the-headlights eyes and feathery down of sandy hair, I don’t think he could look any cuter if he was putting effort into it. And then there are his mannerisms, so full of childlike innocence and naivety. He’s genuinely kind too, something that makes the fact he gets treated the way he does even more agonizing for me to think about.
Although the revelation doesn’t come as an all too huge shock, it does surprise me that’s taken me this long to realise it. I mean, I always thought that he was pretty in his own little candyfloss way, but I’ve never really thought of him like I am right now. Then again, that should have been a tell-tale sign from the off; if I’m not immediately attracted to someone or at least feel a little bit of a lust to get into their pants, then there’s something seriously strange going on. I’ve never wanted in on Mikey. Ever.
Until now, with his head in my lap and soft whimpers parading out of his parted pink lips.
Apart from I don’t want in on him like I do everyone else; I want to make him see that he’s worth being loved, that I can be that person who always cares about him. In more than just a best friend way. In the way where he’s mine forever and ever, my cute little toy to sew up and snuggle with.
He burns blood-scarlet, even more so than his fever was already making him, and a small smile seeps onto his face. There’s something special about when Mikey Way smiles, like everything else just stops because it’s the most heart-melting sight in the history of ever. It makes me feel fulfilled to know that I caused it because, as you can well imagine, getting Mikey Way to smile is something of a challenge. Unless, of course, your name is Gabe Saporta. In which case you’re the luckiest son of a bitch on Earth because you know how to make him happy.
Something that I take huge amounts of pride in doing.
“C-cute?” He stutters up to me, eyes aglow with disbelieving enchantment. “Me?”
“You betcha, Mikeymouse.” I run a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, taking even more delight in it when Mikey nuzzles into my chest even further; desperate to get to the person who he knows cares the most. “Too cute for me to not want to be over here.” He blinks up at me, sleep making the blinks heavy and even more adorable than my swelling heart can take. “How about you get some sleep, yeah?”
It’s not what I want, I want to talk to him all night and make him blush some more, but it’s what’s best for him. And right now, that’s all I care about.
Because I think that I, Gabriel Saporta, local man-whore, might just be in love. With the cutest little fourteen-year-old around.
“Leavin’?” He asks, eyes suddenly wide and tone full of panic; in a world where he thinks he’s forgotten, it’s no wonder that he’s so reluctant to think I’ll stay. “Don’t. Please don’t leave me, Gabby.”
“I won’t, Mikeymouse. I’ll be right here when you wake up, don’t you worry about that any.”
And it’s true. Because I could be anywhere right now, out with Pete Wentz or hitting a party or getting sucked-off in the restroom of some sleazy club. But I’d much rather be here.
With my little angel in a perfect heaven.
A/N: Some Gabekey fluff for you; I hope you like it! :)
I could be out drinking with Wentz like I should be; getting wasted beyond recognition and get my dick sucked by some of New Jersey’s finest. I could be dancing up on tables, crowds clawing at me and dying to take a bite of my infection. I could be doing anyone, anywhere, anything.
And yet I chose to be here, in a small bedroom the size of my wardrobe with a boy who is about as sexually aware as a pancake. With a boy who’s currently got a fever of a hundred-and-three and nobody else around to look after him. The crazy thing is, he didn’t even ask me to come around to babysit him; I did that all on my own when with anyone else I would normally let the suffer in favour of going out to live my own life instead of getting stuck in theirs. But with Mikey Way, my bestest friend forever since I was eight, it would have felt sinful not to help the poor little angel.
His parents are out getting drunk at separate bars like they always are on a Friday night and his big brother is at his boyfriend’s house in a last-ditch attempt to get away from the broken home that’s so desperately trying to pretend to be glued firmly together. Leaving Mikey home alone. And sick. So very sick, my poor little Mikeymouse. If I didn’t know to not expect any better from the Ways, I’d be absolutely livid that they could leave Mikes alone like this; shivering like a diamond in a hurricane, whiter than a rotten corpse, barely able to function without me to guide him. He was worse when I got here after school, he’d been off due to illness and I decided to see if he was alright. When I got here he was laying on the bathroom floor, hand reaching up to the toilet from where he had failed to make it there in time and a small trickle of vomit dribbling down his perfectly defined little jaw.
He’s fourteen, for fuck’s sake!
He needs parents who can look after him when he gets sick, not just piss off like Mikey being poorly is an inconvenience to them. His parents; I hate them with everything I have. Gerard and I have told them about Mikey getting bullied, the two of us joining forces for the good of our younger best friend, but they never seem to care no matter how we put it. Hell, the poor kid even came home with a broken wrist once and they didn’t even ask him what was wrong; in fact, his dad told him to “man-up”. I think that hurt Mikeymouse more than the shove that snapped his bone before I could rescue him did.
And that’s why he’s so shy. So unwilling to ask for help. So desperately deserving of someone who can look after him properly. Which is where I, Gabe Saporta, will nobly step up to the job. I’m his best friend, not to mention older than him enough to have protective feelings towards the kid; I’d never forgive myself if I ignored his pain.
“Ga-Gabby?” He whimpers from where his head is resting delicately in my lap, making my head instantly snap down, the action razor-quick with concern. “Whya here?”
I wish I could just let myself be ignorant to the fact that he didn’t just ask that question because his fever is making him delirious; that this isn’t his normal kind of thought process. It is though, as scary as it might sound to believe that a kid can think like this, think that nobody cares enough to actually want to spend time with him when he’s really too sick to be left alone. It stings me to know that he truly does think like that, but it’s the kind of sting that sparks a new kind of determination within me. Determination to make him see that he’s worth more than any drunken night out getting ass from some nameless hot mess.
Determination that is impossible to deny.
So I fix him with a gaze, not a stare, that bores straight into his mind; drilling through the layers of self-hate and all of the horrid little lies everyone tells him in order to get deep down into him where only I can ever get.
We’re on his bed, me sat upright against the bedstead and him laid out in front of me with his head in my lap, blankets pulled up as tight as possible. He might have a fever, but that won’t stop me from holding him like I always do whenever he gets hurt or sad or just wants a hug. He’s a very touchy-feely kid, is Mikes; I think it’s because he’s normally starved of affection, so he tries to stock up whilst he’s got in abundance. Which he always will do as long as I’m his friend.
“Aw, c’mon, Mikeymouse. You’re my best friend and you’re sick; of course I’m gonna be here!” I try my best to make it sound nonchalant, like the tone of happy jokiness isn’t false, but I can tell that I fail from the way his eyes wince shut. “I care about you, Mikeymouse, and you need to be cared about right now.” This time my voice is strict, like a parent, and I feel my heart race at the small smile it paints onto his angelic little face. “Besides, you’re way cuter than any bar-side-babe.”
It may have been meant as a friendly comment to brighten his softly sullen mood, but even as I say it I realise that there’s something I can’t deny; it’s true. He really is too fucking cute to be a normal boy. What with his deer-in-the-headlights eyes and feathery down of sandy hair, I don’t think he could look any cuter if he was putting effort into it. And then there are his mannerisms, so full of childlike innocence and naivety. He’s genuinely kind too, something that makes the fact he gets treated the way he does even more agonizing for me to think about.
Although the revelation doesn’t come as an all too huge shock, it does surprise me that’s taken me this long to realise it. I mean, I always thought that he was pretty in his own little candyfloss way, but I’ve never really thought of him like I am right now. Then again, that should have been a tell-tale sign from the off; if I’m not immediately attracted to someone or at least feel a little bit of a lust to get into their pants, then there’s something seriously strange going on. I’ve never wanted in on Mikey. Ever.
Until now, with his head in my lap and soft whimpers parading out of his parted pink lips.
Apart from I don’t want in on him like I do everyone else; I want to make him see that he’s worth being loved, that I can be that person who always cares about him. In more than just a best friend way. In the way where he’s mine forever and ever, my cute little toy to sew up and snuggle with.
He burns blood-scarlet, even more so than his fever was already making him, and a small smile seeps onto his face. There’s something special about when Mikey Way smiles, like everything else just stops because it’s the most heart-melting sight in the history of ever. It makes me feel fulfilled to know that I caused it because, as you can well imagine, getting Mikey Way to smile is something of a challenge. Unless, of course, your name is Gabe Saporta. In which case you’re the luckiest son of a bitch on Earth because you know how to make him happy.
Something that I take huge amounts of pride in doing.
“C-cute?” He stutters up to me, eyes aglow with disbelieving enchantment. “Me?”
“You betcha, Mikeymouse.” I run a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, taking even more delight in it when Mikey nuzzles into my chest even further; desperate to get to the person who he knows cares the most. “Too cute for me to not want to be over here.” He blinks up at me, sleep making the blinks heavy and even more adorable than my swelling heart can take. “How about you get some sleep, yeah?”
It’s not what I want, I want to talk to him all night and make him blush some more, but it’s what’s best for him. And right now, that’s all I care about.
Because I think that I, Gabriel Saporta, local man-whore, might just be in love. With the cutest little fourteen-year-old around.
“Leavin’?” He asks, eyes suddenly wide and tone full of panic; in a world where he thinks he’s forgotten, it’s no wonder that he’s so reluctant to think I’ll stay. “Don’t. Please don’t leave me, Gabby.”
“I won’t, Mikeymouse. I’ll be right here when you wake up, don’t you worry about that any.”
And it’s true. Because I could be anywhere right now, out with Pete Wentz or hitting a party or getting sucked-off in the restroom of some sleazy club. But I’d much rather be here.
With my little angel in a perfect heaven.
A/N: Some Gabekey fluff for you; I hope you like it! :)
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