Bandom Ficlet: Dependence
So, most of my stuff has been moved, except for the furniture that won't go until next Saturday. Soon-to-be-ex Housemate of Awesome has brought pizza. Also, I wrote some angsty fic. Result?
***
For redsnake05
Dependence - Bandom - Bob/Mikey - PG-13 - 418 words - warnings: angst, bdsm, references to caning and corporal punishment
Prompt: Colourful.
Bob wakes up to the soft rustle of covers being pulled aside as Mikey gets out of the bed. He keeps his eyes shut until he’s sure Mikey is across the room, and then opens them to narrow slits. He stays still, breathing deep and steady while Mikey picks up his clothes and gets dressed.
The mornings after the nights Mikey stays over are always the same. Mikey slips out, pretending nothing happened when it did, and Bob lies there and lets him, pretending he’s asleep when he’s not.
Bob watches as Mikey bends down and struggles with his boots. His feet are bare, because he couldn’t find his socks again. They’re tangled in the sheets; Bob can feel the balled up fabric against his own shins. For a while he considers just handing them to Mikey, all casual like, but, as usual, the thought never makes it into action.
The dawn filters through the curtains, casting light over Mikey’s back as he straightens up. His skin is mottled purple and yellow, fresh bruises layered on top of the old ones. A neat row of cane marks lies across his shoulders, adding angry red to the mix. There are matching sets on his thighs and buttocks, covered by jeans now, but Bob doesn’t need to see to know.
After all, he’s the one who put them there.
Mikey pulls a t-shirt over his head. It’s inside out; he must be in a hurry. Bob grits his teeth around the familiar taste of disappointment and tries not to hear the sound the door makes when it closes behind Mikey.
They’ll see each other again in a few hours. It’s easy to fake normalcy in the studio surrounded by the rest of the band. They’ll laugh and joke and make music together, and if Mikey grimaces slightly every time the guitar strap digs into his back, it’s something neither of them will mention.
And at the end of the day Mikey will seek him out, his lips bitten and eyes downcast. He will touch the inside of Bob’s wrist reverently, with two fingers, and he will say ‘please, please, I need it’.
Every night Bob thinks he should say ‘no’. He should say ‘I can’t do this anymore’ or ‘find someone else’, and he should shut the door in Mikey’s face and stop pretending he doesn’t care, like this isn’t slowly breaking his heart.
He never does though. Bob always lets Mikey in.
And in the morning, Mikey always leaves.
***
For redsnake05
Dependence - Bandom - Bob/Mikey - PG-13 - 418 words - warnings: angst, bdsm, references to caning and corporal punishment
Prompt: Colourful.
Bob wakes up to the soft rustle of covers being pulled aside as Mikey gets out of the bed. He keeps his eyes shut until he’s sure Mikey is across the room, and then opens them to narrow slits. He stays still, breathing deep and steady while Mikey picks up his clothes and gets dressed.
The mornings after the nights Mikey stays over are always the same. Mikey slips out, pretending nothing happened when it did, and Bob lies there and lets him, pretending he’s asleep when he’s not.
Bob watches as Mikey bends down and struggles with his boots. His feet are bare, because he couldn’t find his socks again. They’re tangled in the sheets; Bob can feel the balled up fabric against his own shins. For a while he considers just handing them to Mikey, all casual like, but, as usual, the thought never makes it into action.
The dawn filters through the curtains, casting light over Mikey’s back as he straightens up. His skin is mottled purple and yellow, fresh bruises layered on top of the old ones. A neat row of cane marks lies across his shoulders, adding angry red to the mix. There are matching sets on his thighs and buttocks, covered by jeans now, but Bob doesn’t need to see to know.
After all, he’s the one who put them there.
Mikey pulls a t-shirt over his head. It’s inside out; he must be in a hurry. Bob grits his teeth around the familiar taste of disappointment and tries not to hear the sound the door makes when it closes behind Mikey.
They’ll see each other again in a few hours. It’s easy to fake normalcy in the studio surrounded by the rest of the band. They’ll laugh and joke and make music together, and if Mikey grimaces slightly every time the guitar strap digs into his back, it’s something neither of them will mention.
And at the end of the day Mikey will seek him out, his lips bitten and eyes downcast. He will touch the inside of Bob’s wrist reverently, with two fingers, and he will say ‘please, please, I need it’.
Every night Bob thinks he should say ‘no’. He should say ‘I can’t do this anymore’ or ‘find someone else’, and he should shut the door in Mikey’s face and stop pretending he doesn’t care, like this isn’t slowly breaking his heart.
He never does though. Bob always lets Mikey in.
And in the morning, Mikey always leaves.