(no subject)
A light that waits for tired ships
Pete/Mikey, PG
513 words
pearl_o is a bad influence. title bastardized from bright eyes, "how many lights do you see."
It's almost dark, a half-step far enough away from the bonfire and the headlights that he can see stars if he closes his eyes, and almost comfortable with a tree root nudging insistently at his left ankle and most of his right leg and nothing but a Midtown hoodie between his head and Mikey's ribcage. But the tree leg has to be trying to wrap around Mikey, too, the way their legs are tangled together. It's like the tree is saying come down here with me where it's warm and dark and safe and there are always stars behind your eyelids and in the palms of your hands come down here both of you forever i will wrap my roots around you like arms and cover you in leaves and it's then that a leaf does drift down from the tree about them and lands on Mikey's nose and mouth, and Mikey brushes it away and sneezes and Pete laughs.
"I'll defend you from the leaves," Pete says, "if you want me to." He grabs Mikey's hand and traces a broad kindergarten leaf in the palm with his blunt fingertips, covers it with a star, covers it with a quick dry kiss. "I don't think I need to, though. I think the leaves just want to love you, Mikeyway." He flips Mikey's hand over and traces the lines of all his fingers before threading them with his own.
"Yo-" Mikey laughs, stutters, squeezes Pete's fingers tighter between his own. "Your mom just wants to love me."
"It's true," Pete says simply. "She does."
He nestles back into Mikey's chest, listens to the sped-up rattattatrattattat that beats up from under Mikey's ribs, the sound and the movement he knows means Mikey's heart wants to push its way up and out and into their joined hands, knows it because his heart does the same thing even when he's not with Mikey, even when he's in his bunk on the edge of sleep which is as close as he gets, even when he's up on stage and the sun is in his eyes and he can't hear his own bassline over the sound of the screaming, can't hear the screaming over the sound of the rattattat of his heart. But his heart isn't beating like that now, it's beating slow and steady like the roots under the ground, like the leaves rustling in the breeze overhead, like the charcoal burning in the parking lot not so far away. Beating like the ocean or like the turning of the earth, like something distant he can only feel deep down inside himself, with his brain and his bones but not with his fingertips, and he thinks that maybe his heart is so distant and Mikey's heart is so fast because his heart is already in Mikey's chest.
He doesn't mind the thought that he'll never get it back.
Pete/Mikey, PG
513 words
pearl_o is a bad influence. title bastardized from bright eyes, "how many lights do you see."
It's almost dark, a half-step far enough away from the bonfire and the headlights that he can see stars if he closes his eyes, and almost comfortable with a tree root nudging insistently at his left ankle and most of his right leg and nothing but a Midtown hoodie between his head and Mikey's ribcage. But the tree leg has to be trying to wrap around Mikey, too, the way their legs are tangled together. It's like the tree is saying come down here with me where it's warm and dark and safe and there are always stars behind your eyelids and in the palms of your hands come down here both of you forever i will wrap my roots around you like arms and cover you in leaves and it's then that a leaf does drift down from the tree about them and lands on Mikey's nose and mouth, and Mikey brushes it away and sneezes and Pete laughs.
"I'll defend you from the leaves," Pete says, "if you want me to." He grabs Mikey's hand and traces a broad kindergarten leaf in the palm with his blunt fingertips, covers it with a star, covers it with a quick dry kiss. "I don't think I need to, though. I think the leaves just want to love you, Mikeyway." He flips Mikey's hand over and traces the lines of all his fingers before threading them with his own.
"Yo-" Mikey laughs, stutters, squeezes Pete's fingers tighter between his own. "Your mom just wants to love me."
"It's true," Pete says simply. "She does."
He nestles back into Mikey's chest, listens to the sped-up rattattatrattattat that beats up from under Mikey's ribs, the sound and the movement he knows means Mikey's heart wants to push its way up and out and into their joined hands, knows it because his heart does the same thing even when he's not with Mikey, even when he's in his bunk on the edge of sleep which is as close as he gets, even when he's up on stage and the sun is in his eyes and he can't hear his own bassline over the sound of the screaming, can't hear the screaming over the sound of the rattattat of his heart. But his heart isn't beating like that now, it's beating slow and steady like the roots under the ground, like the leaves rustling in the breeze overhead, like the charcoal burning in the parking lot not so far away. Beating like the ocean or like the turning of the earth, like something distant he can only feel deep down inside himself, with his brain and his bones but not with his fingertips, and he thinks that maybe his heart is so distant and Mikey's heart is so fast because his heart is already in Mikey's chest.
He doesn't mind the thought that he'll never get it back.