This place you created, doesn't belong only to you
Title: This place you created, doesn't belong only to you
Author: creepylicious/alles_luege
Pairing: Mikey/Gerard
Rating: R
Summary: Gerard creates things and spaces and he always shares with Mikey.
Sometimes Gerard would brush his fingertips against Mikey's shoulder briefly, even if all he wanted to do was running his fingers over the curve of it gently, aimlessly in random patterns for hours or longer.
Warning(s): incest, mentions of sex, also kind of weird
Author’s Notes: based on this picture prompt: http://i585.photobucket.com/albums/ss295/Nevikrose/bandom/illuminateparkinsonsorg-1.jpg
Word Count: 1.787
Beta: stones_at_moons
Disclaimer: Don’t know, don’t own, not real
Gerard was dreaming and he knew he was dreaming - sometimes he didn't, but this was just one of those dreams he felt wide awake in. He's been here before. Not the wide awake and yet dreaming part - but frankly that too - but the dream itself. He knew the landscape, if nothing else. Though it was true every forest looked kind of the same to him: trees and grass and stuff and things, but this was his forest. Parts of it lived in his sketchbook.
Unconsciously remembered during day hours.
He looked down on himself: sometimes he wore shoes, but not this time. He was wearing pyjamas however. Not his, not any he's ever seen when he was awake. There were tiny unicorns on them. Tiny, white unicorns.
Of course, Gerard thought, my brain would come up with something Mikey-related. It might have been an afterthought of his brain, but it was there. He felt safer just looking at his sleeve. The leaves rustled over his head. He could only see a big, dark mess. Moving restlessly around. This way and that. It got darker. When he was wearing shoes he had also a lamp. An old petroleum thing that would probably set the whole forest on fire if he ever dropped it to the ground. Shattered glass at his feet, fire spreading. He didn't have a lamp now. Not even a torch or his lighter. His mind sucked like that sometimes.
He sighed and dug his toes into the soft, cool earth. It smelled damp and he wondered for a brief moment if all kinds of worms and insects lived in it like they did back home. Probably, if he was thinking about it - on the other hand: he still didn't have a lamp, matches or a lighter.
Gerard sat down on the damp grass and waited. He had no idea what for, because what the fuck? He was alone in his forest and there was nothing here to do and it didn't seem like the scenery was going to change any time soon. He remembered from the movies that when you were lost you best just waited where you were so people could find you. Thing was, he wasn't even sure he was lost. Dreams had a purpose, right? What the heck was it? He leaned against the tree closest by and closed his eyes. Maybe he would fall asleep and wake up home.
~+~
“You always forget your lamp. And it's always in the same place,” Mikey said and Gerard opened his eyes. Mikey was sitting cross-legged in front of him. They were wearing matching pyjamas. Gerard rubbed his eyes.
“Not always. Sometimes I just have it.” He reached out and took the glass lamp in hand. He couldn't feel any heat, but the flame was bright.
“You never just have it,” Mikey answered with a soft sigh. “You just don't remember how you got it,” he added after Gerard gave him a questioning look.
“I assumed my brain supplied it. This is my dream after all,” Gerard said. He looked at Mikey and Mikey let him. Was accustomed to Gerard always looking at the lines of his face and curves and angles of his body. Sometimes Gerard would brush his fingertips against Mikey's shoulder briefly, even if all he wanted to do was running his fingers over the curve of it gently, aimlessly in random patterns for hours or longer. Mikey was looking at the sky above, or maybe the leaves, branches, the darkness piling up. He was glad he had the lamp now.
“Why aren't you wearing any shoes?” Mikey asked, he still wasn't looking at Gerard and Gerard was mentally tracing Mikey's neckline, because Mikey sitting like that was fucking distracting.
“I have no idea. I didn't have any. It doesn't matter. I was waiting anyway.”
“For what?” Mikey asked and he did turn then, looking at Gerard with big eyes that didn't look anything like Gerard's own, except maybe for the colour. Gerard nearly reached out and run his fingers over Mikey's brow. It would've been fine, he guessed, this wasn't his Mikey. This wasn't even real. This was a rabbit hole. And maybe Gerard had fallen head first and gotten a concussion.
“For someone to find me,” Gerard answered, he was holding the petroleum lamp far too tightly. It wasn't true, he realised. “And you did,” he added hastily before Mikey could call bullshit on it. Dream Mikey was probably like real life Mikey that way.
“I-” Mikey said and then stopped like he was mentally retracing his steps or something, “You would've done the same for me.”
But he didn't, Gerard realised. He could have, but he didn't.
“I'm a shitty brother,” Gerard whispered.
“You're not,” Mikey said, grabbing his hand so they both were holding the lamp, or maybe he was nearly crushing the glass while Mikey was holding his hand. Mikey's skin on his felt warm. Gerard nodded, but he knew better. The lamp broke under the pressure and he cursed. There was glass everywhere and blood, but he didn't feel any pain. Mikey flinched and Gerard realised that Mikey was the only one who was bleeding. All the blood dropping onto the ground and running down Gerard's skin, that wasn't Gerard's. “It's okay,” Mikey said.
“Let me see.”
“You just want to kiss it better,” Mikey joked.
Gerard did. Would it be that bad? Here where nothing was real? “Let me see,” he repeated.
Mikey looked at him and then uncurled his fingers. Gerard couldn't see any glass or a wound, but there was still blood pooling in Mikey's palm and running down between his fingers. Gerard took his brother's hand gently between his own pale fingers and bend down to kiss Mikey's palm. Mikey made a soft noise, but didn't pull away. Gerard could feel him shiver or tremble. The blood tasted sweet like jam - not like real blood at all. Like I knew he would taste, Gerard thought.
“Take the lamp,” Mikey said. His voice trembled at the last word. Gerard looked up at him. “We need to get you home.”
Gerard nodded, but really wasn't sure he wanted to go home or even knew where it was.
~+~
Gerard was smoking outside because Mikey was trying to quit again and Gerard was nothing if not fucking considerate. When he finished he rung the bell.
The first thing he noticed was the bandage.
“You've been smoking,” Mikey said, he was leaning closer as if he wanted to inhale the smell.
“Outside, because you're being crazy again and trying to quit,” Gerard answered, stepping inside, he nodded to the bandage. “What happened?”
“I cut myself,” Mikey shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. It probably wasn't.
Still, something at the back of Gerard's mind was trying to claw it's way free. He grabbed Mikey's wrist and took his hand between his fingers carefully.
Right there in the hall. He kicked the door shut still staring at the bandage.
“You used to kiss it better all the time when we were younger,” Mikey said. It sounded casual to anyone who wasn't Gerard. Gerard was fluent in Mikey: indication, pitch and theme - also variations.
Gerard could nearly taste something sweet on his tongue. “Blood red jam,” he whispered.
Mikey pulled his hand away. “Yeah,” he answered. It seemed to Gerard like he was waiting for something. Gerard had just no clue what he was waiting for. He was feeling a headache coming.
“Coffee?” he asked. His voice sounded pitiful to his own ears.
Mikey smiled. “In the kitchen. I'll get it and you can set up the game.”
Gerard nodded: he could do that. He's been in Mikey's living room a million times, but the old fashioned petroleum lamp never caught his attention until now. There was an empty place where something else, roughly the same size - no, he thought, exactly the same size - had been before. He could make out the outline in the dust. He was still staring at the empty place when Mikey came in with coffee and snacks.
“That's what you cut your hand on,” Gerard said without turning away from that damn spot. He was sure somewhere in one of his sketchbooks was a picture of that old lamp. Maybe even more than one.
“Yeah.”
“And it had been always here,” Gerard went on.
“Yes,” Mikey answered. Gerard could hear him putting the coffee down on the table.
“Mikey-”
“One time,” Mikey interrupted harshly like he couldn't hold it in anymore, “you kissed me in that forest. Against the remains of a fence. One time you dragged me down onto that moos, soft and a bit damp and we rutted like teenagers against each other - we were teenagers, so whatever. One time I pressed your back against that ancient chestnut and dropped to my knees for you and-”
“Stop,” Gerard said desperately. It flooded back then, one piece at a time like leaves on a branch or blossom pedals of a flower coming alive. Sketches shamefully hidden or ripped up, waking up spent and sticky with Mikey's name on his lips, or bitten back.
“Isn't it why you're here? Because you found me?”
“It wasn't you. It was my warped version of what I wanted you to be,” Gerard admitted, because there was no reason to lie about it now.
“Everything you create you share with me,” Mikey said and Gerard really couldn't argue with that.
“I'm sorry,” Gerard answered instead.
“What for?” There was genuine curiosity in his brother's voice.
“For making you do all these things.” He still wasn't able to look away from that empty spot.
“Stupid,” Mikey said softly and Gerard didn't flinch as he felt Mikey approached. He didn't flinch as Mikey leaned against him. “You didn't create me. You just invented that place and invited me to explore it with you. I think it was after that first time you kissed my hand better-”
Gerard couldn't recall the specifics of the injury, maybe Mikey had cut himself, maybe he only bumped into something painfully, it didn't matter. “Your hands were covered in jam and you were four,” Gerard interrupted.
“Yeah.”
“I broke your lamp,” he said after a while of comfortable silence.
“We don't need two anymore anyway,” Mikey answered.
End
Author: creepylicious/alles_luege
Pairing: Mikey/Gerard
Rating: R
Summary: Gerard creates things and spaces and he always shares with Mikey.
Sometimes Gerard would brush his fingertips against Mikey's shoulder briefly, even if all he wanted to do was running his fingers over the curve of it gently, aimlessly in random patterns for hours or longer.
Warning(s): incest, mentions of sex, also kind of weird
Author’s Notes: based on this picture prompt: http://i585.photobucket.com/albums/ss295/Nevikrose/bandom/illuminateparkinsonsorg-1.jpg
Word Count: 1.787
Beta: stones_at_moons
Disclaimer: Don’t know, don’t own, not real
Gerard was dreaming and he knew he was dreaming - sometimes he didn't, but this was just one of those dreams he felt wide awake in. He's been here before. Not the wide awake and yet dreaming part - but frankly that too - but the dream itself. He knew the landscape, if nothing else. Though it was true every forest looked kind of the same to him: trees and grass and stuff and things, but this was his forest. Parts of it lived in his sketchbook.
Unconsciously remembered during day hours.
He looked down on himself: sometimes he wore shoes, but not this time. He was wearing pyjamas however. Not his, not any he's ever seen when he was awake. There were tiny unicorns on them. Tiny, white unicorns.
Of course, Gerard thought, my brain would come up with something Mikey-related. It might have been an afterthought of his brain, but it was there. He felt safer just looking at his sleeve. The leaves rustled over his head. He could only see a big, dark mess. Moving restlessly around. This way and that. It got darker. When he was wearing shoes he had also a lamp. An old petroleum thing that would probably set the whole forest on fire if he ever dropped it to the ground. Shattered glass at his feet, fire spreading. He didn't have a lamp now. Not even a torch or his lighter. His mind sucked like that sometimes.
He sighed and dug his toes into the soft, cool earth. It smelled damp and he wondered for a brief moment if all kinds of worms and insects lived in it like they did back home. Probably, if he was thinking about it - on the other hand: he still didn't have a lamp, matches or a lighter.
Gerard sat down on the damp grass and waited. He had no idea what for, because what the fuck? He was alone in his forest and there was nothing here to do and it didn't seem like the scenery was going to change any time soon. He remembered from the movies that when you were lost you best just waited where you were so people could find you. Thing was, he wasn't even sure he was lost. Dreams had a purpose, right? What the heck was it? He leaned against the tree closest by and closed his eyes. Maybe he would fall asleep and wake up home.
~+~
“You always forget your lamp. And it's always in the same place,” Mikey said and Gerard opened his eyes. Mikey was sitting cross-legged in front of him. They were wearing matching pyjamas. Gerard rubbed his eyes.
“Not always. Sometimes I just have it.” He reached out and took the glass lamp in hand. He couldn't feel any heat, but the flame was bright.
“You never just have it,” Mikey answered with a soft sigh. “You just don't remember how you got it,” he added after Gerard gave him a questioning look.
“I assumed my brain supplied it. This is my dream after all,” Gerard said. He looked at Mikey and Mikey let him. Was accustomed to Gerard always looking at the lines of his face and curves and angles of his body. Sometimes Gerard would brush his fingertips against Mikey's shoulder briefly, even if all he wanted to do was running his fingers over the curve of it gently, aimlessly in random patterns for hours or longer. Mikey was looking at the sky above, or maybe the leaves, branches, the darkness piling up. He was glad he had the lamp now.
“Why aren't you wearing any shoes?” Mikey asked, he still wasn't looking at Gerard and Gerard was mentally tracing Mikey's neckline, because Mikey sitting like that was fucking distracting.
“I have no idea. I didn't have any. It doesn't matter. I was waiting anyway.”
“For what?” Mikey asked and he did turn then, looking at Gerard with big eyes that didn't look anything like Gerard's own, except maybe for the colour. Gerard nearly reached out and run his fingers over Mikey's brow. It would've been fine, he guessed, this wasn't his Mikey. This wasn't even real. This was a rabbit hole. And maybe Gerard had fallen head first and gotten a concussion.
“For someone to find me,” Gerard answered, he was holding the petroleum lamp far too tightly. It wasn't true, he realised. “And you did,” he added hastily before Mikey could call bullshit on it. Dream Mikey was probably like real life Mikey that way.
“I-” Mikey said and then stopped like he was mentally retracing his steps or something, “You would've done the same for me.”
But he didn't, Gerard realised. He could have, but he didn't.
“I'm a shitty brother,” Gerard whispered.
“You're not,” Mikey said, grabbing his hand so they both were holding the lamp, or maybe he was nearly crushing the glass while Mikey was holding his hand. Mikey's skin on his felt warm. Gerard nodded, but he knew better. The lamp broke under the pressure and he cursed. There was glass everywhere and blood, but he didn't feel any pain. Mikey flinched and Gerard realised that Mikey was the only one who was bleeding. All the blood dropping onto the ground and running down Gerard's skin, that wasn't Gerard's. “It's okay,” Mikey said.
“Let me see.”
“You just want to kiss it better,” Mikey joked.
Gerard did. Would it be that bad? Here where nothing was real? “Let me see,” he repeated.
Mikey looked at him and then uncurled his fingers. Gerard couldn't see any glass or a wound, but there was still blood pooling in Mikey's palm and running down between his fingers. Gerard took his brother's hand gently between his own pale fingers and bend down to kiss Mikey's palm. Mikey made a soft noise, but didn't pull away. Gerard could feel him shiver or tremble. The blood tasted sweet like jam - not like real blood at all. Like I knew he would taste, Gerard thought.
“Take the lamp,” Mikey said. His voice trembled at the last word. Gerard looked up at him. “We need to get you home.”
Gerard nodded, but really wasn't sure he wanted to go home or even knew where it was.
~+~
Gerard was smoking outside because Mikey was trying to quit again and Gerard was nothing if not fucking considerate. When he finished he rung the bell.
The first thing he noticed was the bandage.
“You've been smoking,” Mikey said, he was leaning closer as if he wanted to inhale the smell.
“Outside, because you're being crazy again and trying to quit,” Gerard answered, stepping inside, he nodded to the bandage. “What happened?”
“I cut myself,” Mikey shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. It probably wasn't.
Still, something at the back of Gerard's mind was trying to claw it's way free. He grabbed Mikey's wrist and took his hand between his fingers carefully.
Right there in the hall. He kicked the door shut still staring at the bandage.
“You used to kiss it better all the time when we were younger,” Mikey said. It sounded casual to anyone who wasn't Gerard. Gerard was fluent in Mikey: indication, pitch and theme - also variations.
Gerard could nearly taste something sweet on his tongue. “Blood red jam,” he whispered.
Mikey pulled his hand away. “Yeah,” he answered. It seemed to Gerard like he was waiting for something. Gerard had just no clue what he was waiting for. He was feeling a headache coming.
“Coffee?” he asked. His voice sounded pitiful to his own ears.
Mikey smiled. “In the kitchen. I'll get it and you can set up the game.”
Gerard nodded: he could do that. He's been in Mikey's living room a million times, but the old fashioned petroleum lamp never caught his attention until now. There was an empty place where something else, roughly the same size - no, he thought, exactly the same size - had been before. He could make out the outline in the dust. He was still staring at the empty place when Mikey came in with coffee and snacks.
“That's what you cut your hand on,” Gerard said without turning away from that damn spot. He was sure somewhere in one of his sketchbooks was a picture of that old lamp. Maybe even more than one.
“Yeah.”
“And it had been always here,” Gerard went on.
“Yes,” Mikey answered. Gerard could hear him putting the coffee down on the table.
“Mikey-”
“One time,” Mikey interrupted harshly like he couldn't hold it in anymore, “you kissed me in that forest. Against the remains of a fence. One time you dragged me down onto that moos, soft and a bit damp and we rutted like teenagers against each other - we were teenagers, so whatever. One time I pressed your back against that ancient chestnut and dropped to my knees for you and-”
“Stop,” Gerard said desperately. It flooded back then, one piece at a time like leaves on a branch or blossom pedals of a flower coming alive. Sketches shamefully hidden or ripped up, waking up spent and sticky with Mikey's name on his lips, or bitten back.
“Isn't it why you're here? Because you found me?”
“It wasn't you. It was my warped version of what I wanted you to be,” Gerard admitted, because there was no reason to lie about it now.
“Everything you create you share with me,” Mikey said and Gerard really couldn't argue with that.
“I'm sorry,” Gerard answered instead.
“What for?” There was genuine curiosity in his brother's voice.
“For making you do all these things.” He still wasn't able to look away from that empty spot.
“Stupid,” Mikey said softly and Gerard didn't flinch as he felt Mikey approached. He didn't flinch as Mikey leaned against him. “You didn't create me. You just invented that place and invited me to explore it with you. I think it was after that first time you kissed my hand better-”
Gerard couldn't recall the specifics of the injury, maybe Mikey had cut himself, maybe he only bumped into something painfully, it didn't matter. “Your hands were covered in jam and you were four,” Gerard interrupted.
“Yeah.”
“I broke your lamp,” he said after a while of comfortable silence.
“We don't need two anymore anyway,” Mikey answered.
End