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or whatever. this was written for the [ profile] no_tags challenge, and now that we've gone through with the reveal post, I figured I'd just put this up on my own journal for archival purposes or sommat.

the prompt was: Mikey/Gerard: current day, first time, secretive. and of course I took to it like...I don't even know what the correct analogy is here.

Never Look Back
Pairing: Mikey/Gerard
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Warnings: angst, language, light description of sexual situations, implied (consensual) incest
Notes: about ten-thousand thanks to [ profile] subcutis for reading, beta-ing, encouraging, and putting up with all my anxiety. also, thanks to [ profile] airgiodslv for hosting the challenge in the first place.

Mikey knows that, for brothers, he and Gerard have always been kind of weird. When they were in school, some kids used tease them about it, and other people’s parents always used to remark on how close they were especially for siblings (like they were being fucking clever or something). He’s over it, now, because this is how they’ve always been, always touching and glancing and laughing and nudging—a language of existence that only they understand. And Mikey knows that, in reality, it adds up to something else (to which neither one of them has ever admitted, but of which both of them are acutely aware), but it’s irrelevant—or at least that’s what he tells himself. He has no intention of pining for something more or something else because there can’t be anything else.

Except now they’re in a park, on a bench, sipping coffee—and skirting around the fact that three nights ago they were in New York and Gerard was pressing open-mouthed kisses to Mikey’s neck on the cab ride back to their hotel. They watch people wander past and they talk about nothing in particular (even though Mikey’s full to brimming with the memory of Gerard’s fingers threading through his hair, and the feel of Gerard’s breath, and the way his own stomach clenched up tight, just before winter-cracked lips touched his skin, because he knew what was coming and he didn’t want it to stop). So while they talk, Mikey bumps Gerard’s knuckles with his own, and smiles at the sound of his laughter—and they when fall into a rhythm (a blessedly familiar back-and-forth) Mikey almost almost convinces himself that everything’s okay.

An hour winds away. Then two. Their shadows grow long at their feet and the park begins to empty—but neither one of them move. And when their conversation lulls, Gerard’s fingers lace through his and oh—Mikey knows what’s coming (or knew from the start, he supposes, because this is Gerard and how could he not know?). Time slows down and his stomach bottoms out, like the ground (or the stability of earth’s gravity) has been yanked out from beneath him.

“Hey. Come with me?” Gerard says quietly.

And it couldn’t be clearer, even though it isn’t said outright. He looks at Gerard, finding himself faced with an ugly truth: if he isn’t careful, something’s going to break. His mouth, abruptly, has gone dry. He drops his gaze and his hand twitches (a split second want to pull away and touch his neck, to feel for the marks that aren't there but must exist).

No, we can’t— he thinks, even as he nods a wordless yes.


They take Gerard’s car and Mikey watches the horizon turn to a bright and liquid red as the sun sinks lower and lower, beyond the city limits. They’re flying down some highway (except “down” sounds like the wrong word, because they’re winding up a hill, speeding through the mountain ridgeline, climbing higher than the city could ever hope to reach) and he has the ludicrous thought that Gerard should be careful, or they won’t be able to stop moving—they’ll just speed off into some weightless world where the air is too thin and the light dissolves everyone from the inside out.

When they come to a halt, he can’t see the city anymore (he can’t see anything except the highlands and their valleys awash in fading sunlight and blackening shadows). We’re alone he thinks, inanely, and tries not to let his breath escape in a shaking shatter. Tries not to make any desperate, disbelieving sound (even though this is all so strange, so very like some weird cliché).

Gerard’s looking at him, he realizes. Speaking to him. Asking, however belatedly:

“You’re okay?”

The words (or the sound of Gerard’s voice, he isn’t sure) tear through him like a shredding wind. He doesn’t have an answer—can’t even think of how he’s meant to answer—so he tries to remember to inhale and exhale (because everything, now, is balanced on a razor edge and no matter which way he steps, he knows he’s bound to fall).


It is with a rush of motion that Mikey undoes his seatbelt and closes the distance between his body and Gerard’s, kissing him to shut him up.


They’re tangled up in each other in the back of the car, legs between legs and skin against skin. He’s hot all over and sinking down against the seat, pressed between Gerard and the upholstering while the world around them disappears into twilight. Gerard’s mouth is on his neck—again—and this time Mikey clutches him, palms spread against the flat of his back. Dimly, he thinks that one or both of them is going to collapse from the weight of this, from the effort it takes to keep on breathing.

And he squirms a little and mumbles Lower, Gee—lower (somewhere no one’s going to see) and Gerard travels downward and Mikey braces one foot against the door, arching up and gasping. All around him everything unravels, the whole world splitting down invisible seams, and Mikey’s certain that the only rhythm he’s managed to match is Gerard’s.

We’re falling, he thinks, writhing under his brother’s touch--and Gerard licks the skin stretched over his hipbone (and the twilight shadows grow ever darker). We’re falling, we’re falling.

He fists his hands in Gerard’s bright hair, holding on for dear life.


When he was a kid, he went through a phase where, every night, bedtime was a fight unless he was allowed to sleep in Gerard’s room. It got to the point that their mom just started waiting for him to crawl into his brother’s bed before tucking them in and kissing them goodnight.

Mikey recalls it, now, with Gerard pressed against him, their sweat mingling and cooling in the fall of the night, and the memory feels very far away—like it might belong to someone else. He can feel Gerard’s breath against his shoulder, can feel the way his back rises and falls beneath Mikey’s hands. And he remembers curling up against Gerard when their mom turned out the lights, thinks about how the sound of Gerard breathing used to help him fall asleep.

He’s wide awake now, though, and he feels boneless. There are some things that they do—things they’ve always done—that he’s sure no one understands. The touches and the closeness and the glances that communicated any number of things, like quiet messages, coded only for each other. It’s how they were—but Mikey isn’t certain, now, if it’s how they are. There are things that even they can’t do (things that they can never have), and he closes his eyes and wonders if it’s possible to go backwards.

“We should get back,” he murmurs, finally, twisting to sit up a little. “Alicia’s…”

But he can’t say the rest. Gerard only mmm’s in agreement, reaching down to find his clothes.

They drive back in silence and Mikey rolls down the window on the way. Closing his eyes against the breeze, he tries to swallow the mess of words that are lodged like shards of glass in the back of his throat. He’d scream, he thinks, if he could find the energy to do so (although what he’d scream or if it would make any sense is a different issue altogether).

After what feels like a very long time, they reach the place by the park where Mikey left his car some uncounted number of hours ago. Gerard brakes and looks over at him and Mikey looks back, trying to think if there’s something he’s supposed to say. Gerard beats him to it, though:

“I’ll talk to you soon, ‘kay?”

Which, really, sounds so casual it’s absurd. Mikey smiles because he doesn’t know what else to do, and nods.

“Yeah. Sure.”

When he’s in his own car, he tilts back his head and breathes deep, in and out, in and out. And it is with a belated and nauseating lurch of his stomach that he realizes his body aches.

Date: 2011-01-17 08:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
When he was a kid, he went through a phase where, every night, bedtime was a fight unless he was allowed to sleep in Gerard’s room. It got to the point that their mom just started waiting for him to crawl into his brother’s bed before tucking them in and kissing them goodnight.

I don't know why, but I love that little snippet right there in particular. This is a wonderful fic, great job!

Date: 2011-01-17 09:26 pm (UTC)
ext_942477: (brothers)
From: [identity profile]
Yes, it was beautiful. Made me think...
I have a friend and I know I can hug her and she says I'm "her girl" but if I'd try to kiss her, something would break. Like, something invisible - broken. Forever.
Some things should just stay the way they are, this fic reminded me. Thank you.

Date: 2011-01-18 01:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This is beautiful but also thoughtful and makes my heart ache a little.
The emotion in this is perfect <3


Date: 2011-01-18 03:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
amazing, wish i had the ability to say more at the moment

Date: 2011-01-19 11:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This is amazing. I love the realism of it and the metaphor of the world falling down to show how much its messing Mikey up and confusing him. Bittersweet and thoughtful, great job!

Date: 2011-01-24 07:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Really poetic work.

Date: 2011-01-29 06:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
So beautiful and well written. I love how you described Mikey's emotions. I loved every word. Great work.


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