FicWad

Title: Didn't Your Mother Ever Teach You...
Author's Note: Here there be: vague waycest, crack, MPreg(not explicit), crack, hilarity, major disregard for timeline, did I say crack?, and language. So. I was joking around with a friend about Gerard and just had to make a picture to match the conversation. Cue hilarity. And random plot attacks. If you want to call this a plot. I had to write it. It's not terribly long, but it makes me snicker. A lot. So, read, comment and enjoy! (This is totally a crackfic. You've been warned)



“Gerard!”

He knew that tone. Nothing good could come of it. Gerard was in the back lounge, the voice coming from the front and granted, there weren’t a lot of places to hide on a bus, or like any at all, but maybe if he could just-

“Gerard!”

Ray’s voice raised an octave, getting dangerously close to squeaking. Shit.

“Yeah?” Gerard wandered out of the lounge and down the short hallway between the bunks, poking his head warily out. Ray’s hair was looking… kind of distressed.

Ray eyed Gerard venomously, uncrossing his arms enough to wave his hand in an emphatic ‘Would you care to fucking explain this?’ gesture. It was actually something he’d expect from Brian, Gerard thought absently.

Gerard looked over to the source of Ray’s current freak-out. To find- Mikey. He blinked a little, brows furrowing a little as he looked over his brother.

Mikey was standing on the other side of the little space that served as their front lounge/dining room. His knees were together, toes pointed in slightly, giving his skinny legs an awkward, gangly sort of look that Gerard was well familiar with, the effect only highlighted by his tight black jeans. They were low cut, as per usual and the almost-too-small baby-doll tee he wore, light blue today, rode up a bit with Mikey’s arms crossed, baring a couple inches of pale, smooth skin.

Gerard glanced up, confused before doing a double take, eyes flying back down to that bit of exposed belly. It would be barely noticeable any other time, too early yet, but the jut of Mikey’s hips accentuated it, the sharp bones peeking over the waist of his jeans calling attention to the space between. A bump. A gentle curving where Mikey’s flat stomach should be. Oh.

“Oh.” He said intelligently. “Well… fuck.”

Ray threw his hands up. “’Fuck’? That’s all you have to say? Gerard!” His name was heavily accented with Ray’s exasperation.

Mikey’s face was schooled into its default setting of blank disinterest, but there was a vague sense of resigned irritation hovering about him. Possibly in the arrangement of his eyebrows, Gerard reflected. He stepped fully into the room, turning to face Ray.

“Um…”

“It’s a band rule, Gerard. We wrote it down! We put the paper on the wall! How fucking hard is it to follow one rule? Jesus! And during tour!” Ray was not having this.

Now it was Gerard’s turn for exasperation. “It’s not like I do it on purpose! And I’ve gotten better!” His hands were starting to flail. “It’s just, you know, sometimes I get caught up in the moment, and everything is so intense-“

“I don’t care how intense it gets! We talked about this-“

Frank and Bob came crashing back onto the bus, effectively cutting Ray off. Well, Frank was crashing. Bob was dodging flying limbs. They both stopped to stare at the tableau before them.

Ray glaring, hands on his hips now, hair wild and outraged. Gerard standing sheepish yet defiant. And Mikey-

“Ooooooh!” Frank crowed, a beaming grin all but splitting his face. He ran over to plaster himself to Mikey’s side, arms thrown around Mikey’s middle, more gently than he normally would, hands pushing the thin t-shirt up enough to get his hands on the bump there without so much as a by-your-leave. Mikey sighed, long suffering, but uncrossed his arms finally to loop them around Frank’s shoulders.

“You,” Frank announced with glee, “are knocked up, Mikeyway.”

“Yeah, we’ve established this.” Mikey shot a look at Gerard, his expression softening just a little, allowing just the tiniest bit of fondness to slip in. Gerard lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck but he couldn’t help a half smile, chin dipped down, looking at Mikey through his lashes.

Bob rolled his eyes expressively, moving to sit on the couch. “I thought we were following the no pointing rule.”

“See how well that’s working?” Ray asked shrilly.

“Hey!” Gerard scowled, instantly focused back on Ray. “I told you I didn’t fucking do it on purpose!” It’s just that Gerard got passionate, okay? Up on stage, in front of all the screaming kids, singing and screaming right back, lecturing, goading, performing, commanding. Some people called it his stage persona, but that was only partially right. He was intensely focused in those moments, connected. And sometimes, one of his band mates would slide into his peripheral and they were a part of this, a part of a wild, thrumming, life changing force and he loved them all so intensely and this time it was Mikey, his brother. And Gerard hadn’t thought, fuck, he’d just reacted, alight with everything and his hand had snapped out, pointing, pointing squarely at Mikey because everyone should know how fucking awesome Mikey is-

Gerard sighed, deflating slightly, vaguely aware that he’d been ranting. It was hard sometimes, to remember what had happened on stage. It was all just so much at once. But looking back, really thinking about it, he could picture it all. It had been one of the first shows of this tour and the crowd that night, as well as the energy in the packed venue, had been electric. Figures.

Ray sighed too, but wasn’t ready to relent. “You have to be more careful, Gerard. We have a couple more months of touring to go. What are we supposed to do about this? Mikey doesn’t even own any baggy clothes! How are we going to hide it?”

Gerard didn’t answer, just slipped guiltily over to press against Mikey’s free side.

“I can wear my pea coat.” Mikey offered, shifting an arm from Frank, who was cooing at the tiny bump, to wrap it around his brother, holding him close. He never stayed annoyed at Gerard for long, despite the glares and icy blankness he usually directed at him the first day or so after finding out.

Frank paused in his attention lavishing, pressing closer to Gerard, looking at him with shining eyes. “Hey, Gee.”

Gerard flicked his eyes over.

Frank grinned. “You should point at me next.”

“What?!” Ray’s hands flew to his hair, tugging in distress. “No Frank, no! We can barely handle it when one of you is pregnant! Two of you would kill us!”

Gerard hid his smirk again Mikey’s shoulder as Frank half turned to pout at Ray, eyes big and pleading. “But Ray! I like being pregnant! And we always find them good homes!” Frank did like being pregnant, Gerard knew. He was an amazing sort of content the entire time, happy and cuddly and fucking glowing with joy and new life.

“They’re not puppies!”

Frank scowled darkly, turning back to slide his fingertips over Mikey’s belly, the gentle attention earning him a happy little noise. “You’re just mad because you were alone in Mikey’s apartment last time when he got crazy horny and pinned you down and used you like a dildo until you cried.”

Ray collapsed onto the couch next to Bob, hands still tangled in his hair, rocking back and forth with wide, panicked eyes. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod…” Gerard hooked his chin over Mikey’s shoulder, and wondered idly if Frank had finally broken him.

Bob simply drew a folded piece of paper from his wallet, cell phone in one hand, seemingly unaffected by the chaos next to and in front of him. The paper had ‘Adoption List’ scrawled across the top in pink marker, little stars in blue, yellow and green drawn all around it.

“I’ll call the Petersons.” Bob said, and flipped open his phone.