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Gerard likes to think that he's keeping it together reasonably well. He's been through a lot recently--witnessing a national tragedy, starting a band, becoming an accessory to first degree murder--it was all very stressful. A slight hint of alcoholism is really the least harmful coping mechanism he could think of. He’s not gone out with Mikey again after that night, but sometimes when he sleeps he still sees her there.
They never learned her name, but she'd told them that her friends called her Kat (or maybe Cat.) Gerard never knew whether that was short for Caitlyn (Kaitlyn?) or Catherine or Carrie or if maybe it was altogether unrelated to her birth name. Maybe she was one of those MySpace famous people who had a screen name like xXKittyCat74Xx or something. It doesn’t matter now. The last thing anyone will remember of her is the image of her corpse lying broken and used on blood soaked, grey sheets. She was gorgeous, and Gerard wishes he could forget her.
He thinks that straight vodka is a decent way to deal with this problem. It’s not like he’s going to see a therapist about this. So, he drinks. He writes and he drinks. When they tour, he sings and he drinks; he comes off stage; he drinks. He throws up, violently; he drinks some more. He wakes up with bruises on him and cuts and scrapes that he doesn't remember getting. He drinks.
Mikey holds his drink and his hair back for him when he's sick. Murmurs something about learning his own limits. Gerard thinks about Mikey’s fingers reaching inside the open wound on Kat’s neck and pulling it open. He thinks about how much he liked it, how he couldn't figure out if the envy in his chest was a wish to be the fingers or the neck. He drinks.
___
Gerard’s head hits the grimy tile with what would’ve been a painful crack if he were a little more sober. Mikey bites at his neck, and Gerard’s head tilts listlessly to the side when his hair is pulled, exposing more of his pale neck to his brother. He paws at Mikey, uncoordinated but not unwilling, though he doesn't manage to get much of anything done. Mikey gets Gerard’s pants open, slides a hand into his brother's boxers, and is met with Gerard’s completely soft cock. “Fucking hell, Gee,” Mikey curses, and Mikey standing in a disgusting bathroom with a handful of Gerard’s soft dick is hilarious; so Gerard starts giggling. He stops abruptly when Mikey slaps him across the face. He follows it up with,“Turn around, you drunk fuck.”
Gerard finds his face pressed none too gently into the same grimy tile. His pants are pulled down around his thighs, and Mikey's clothed cock presses up against his ass. "At least you're still standing," Mikey says, mostly to himself. Gerard hears the clinking of a belt, the shhk of a zipper, and Mikey's cock is pressed, skin to skin, against Gerard's thighs. "Can still keep you useful." Mikey spits in his hand and slicks up his cock before sliding it between Gerard's thighs. Gerard whines when Mikey's cock presses up against his balls, wishing for all the world that he were hard right now.
"So pretty like this, Gee," Mikey says, wiping a sweaty lock of hair off Gerard's forehead. He tucks his chin up against Gerard's clothed shoulder while he pumps his cock between Gerard's bare thighs. "Need to lay off it for a few days, though, yeah?" Gerard moans something unintelligible. Mikey's hand is splayed against his hip, pulling him back into every thrust. The motion is turning his stomach.
"Thinking about going out again," Mikey murmurs. "Saw this girl--" Whatever Mikey was going to say is lost on Gerard. The roiling in his stomach has reached its peak. With a pained moan, he tilts his head sideways and pukes down the wall. It's all liquid, mostly whiskey tonight. A fair amount of it lands in the urinal to his right, but a nearly equal amount ends up on him. "You're disgusting," Mikey says fondly. He grabs a fistful of Gerard's hair and pulls his head back. Gerard coughs and spits to keep from choking on his own bile. Mikey starts moving faster, thrusting harder.
"One of these days I'm gonna find you--fuck--find you lying in a pool of your--" Mikey whines, his movements becoming more erratic. His grip tightens on Gerard's hip and in his hair. "Gonna find you dead in a pool of your own fucking puke, and I'm gonna be so fucking angry I didn't get to--get to--fuck." He bites into the meat of Gerard's shoulder,and Gerard briefly sees what Mikey’s imagining, sees himself lying on this bathroom floor. If Mikey found him like that, found his warm body offered up like a sacrifice, he wouldn’t be able to resist.
There’s vomit running down the side of Gerard’s chin, and the thought of his baby brother using his corpse like a fleshlight is what's finally getting him hard. Mikey notices. He laughs against Gerard’s shoulder as his hand moves from Gerard’s hip to ghost over his cock. “There she is,” he says, giving a quick stroke to Gerard’s half hard dick. “Just needed to get some of it out of you.” He leans further forward and kisses the back of Gerard’s neck.
“Mikes,”Gerard rasps. He coughs, spits on the ground to clear out his mouth. “Mikey, please.”
“What, Gee? Please what?”
“Tell me. Tell me why you’d be mad.” Mikey’s grip tightens on Gerard’s cock. The hand in his hair eases up, grips the back of his neck instead. “Tell me what you wanna do.”
“Fuck, Gee,” Mikey swears. He’s losing it, his thrusts becoming short and erratic. “Would be so pissed to find you like that, to miss it. It’s not what you deserve. Deserve someone who’d appreciate it.” The hand on Gerard’s neck lowers, scratches down his back and lands on his hip. Without the support, Gerard has to scrabble at the disgusting, wet wall to keep himself standing. “I’d appreciate it, Gee. You’re so fucking gorgeous. I know you’re so pretty on the inside.” He pumps Gerard’s cock once, and his fingers dance over the thick lines of scars on Gerard’s upper thigh. Mikey always tells him he’s prettiest when he’s covered in his own blood.
“I wanna see it again,” Gerard says. Mikey’s hand on his cock is speeding up, losing rhythm. His thrusts are pounding Gerard against the wall. “I wanna see you do it again.”
Mikey absolutely keens. He bites into Gerard’s shoulder and stills, come landing down the front of Gerard's thighs and dripping down to mix into the puddle of sick beneath them. Gerard fucks forward a handful of times into Mikey’s fist before his own orgasm is spilling out on the floor, too.
Mikey’s cleaned himself off and buckled his pants back up before Gerard's even managed to push himself up off the wall. Mikey grabs a wad of paper towels and thrusts them at his brother. Gerard grabs them and holds them weakly. "Clean yourself up," Mikey says, a hint of affection present in his voice. Gerard manages to get his pants back up, doesn't bother cleaning the cum off his thighs, and wipes a wet paper towel over his face. He needs another drink.
___
"How do you forget what time rush hour is every time you fucking drive?" Ray asks Frank. Frank is busy messing with the radio dials and shushes him.
"Shut up, dude. I'm trying to find the traffic."
"I can tell you the traffic; it's fucking stopped." Ray is talking with his hands, and Frank swats at him. Frank finally settles on what seems to be the local news station. Gerard's head perks up from Mikey's lap when he starts to piece together what the newscaster is talking about.
"--found dead last night with her chest cut open. Officials say they have no leads at this time, but the body was, quote,' The worst thing this town has seen in years.'"
Frankie whistles low. "One night we're in town and some psycho's on the loose, eh?" Ray snorts and rolls his eyes.
"There's psychos on the loose every day, Frankie."
Gerard glances at Mikey who glances at Gerard. Later Mikey mouths at him. Gerard is hit with a cocktail of emotions he's not prepared to handle, angry, anxiety, paranoia, to name a few. Mikey never goes out when they're on tour without telling Gerard. Mikey never goes out, period, without telling Gerard. He wants to yell at him, but he can't, not in this cramped van with three other people. "Later," Mikey actually murmurs this time.He goes back to carding his fingers through Gerard's hair, and the traffic report starts playing on the radio. Gerard settles his head back against Mikey's thigh. It's gonna be a long drive.
___
"What the fuck was that?" Gerard's lighting a cigarette with shaking hands when he asks the question. They're somewhere in Virginia, at a gas station whose patrons look ready to hate crime each and every one of them for a different reason, and Gerard is still pissed that Mikey went out without telling him.
"What was what?" Mikey asks casually, kicking a loose piece of asphalt across the parking lot.
"You know what," Gerard hisses. "That fucking newscast. Was that you? If it was, they found it next fucking day. You're getting sloppy." Gerard takes a drag just to give his hands something to do, and the smoke pours out of his mouth as he keeps talking. "We--we had an agreement, Mikes. God, you know I love you, but--"
Mikey grabs Gerard's shaking hand, and Gerard finally looks up. "It wasn't me," Mikey says simply, and Gerard's stomach does all forms of somersaults. He was so sure, though. From what he heard, from what he knows of Mikey's MO, it all seemed to point toward one thing--toward Mikey going out without permission, toward Mikey spiraling out of control, toward their carefully kept balance tilting and their whole world crashing down around them. "Hey, hey," Mikey grabs Gerard's chin, tilts him so their eyes meet," look at me. That was not me." He glances around quickly before he leans forward and kisses Gerard, barely a brush of their lips before pulling away.
Gerard believes him. Mikey has trusted him with this for years. Mikey is Mikey, Gerard's Mikey. Of course he believes him. Something like relief settles the pit of his stomach. It might be the nicotine, though. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Okay. I’m sorry. I just assumed--”
“Wait til we get home,” Mikey says, fingers brushing against Gerard’s. They don’t hold hands, not really, but they do this a lot--one’s fingers tracing the ridges of the other’s. It’s almost more intimate. Sometimes, Gerard can’t believe that the hands that gently trace the bend of his own fingers are the same ones he saw that night; then Mikey will trace the point of a knife across his stomach, and it’ll all click into place for a moment. That look that he gets, like he's somewhere else entirely, like he can see straight through Gerard's skin to the pulsing, bleeding meat underneath. Gerard barely recognizes him like that.
“I’ve got something planned for you,” Mikey says, with a small smile. Gerard doesn’t know what to say to that. The spark of panicked anticipation that lights up in him doesn’t uncomplicate matters. He knows about Mikey’s plans. They usually end with Gerard halfway out of his mind from either desperation or overstimulation. Mikey’s good to him like that, his Mikey.
There’s a sore spot on the back of Gerard’s head. He woke up with it a few days ago and doesn’t remember where it came from, but Mikey knew to avoid it, knew not to rake his fingers along that part of Gerard’s scalp. He figures he fell down at some point, tripped over his own drunk feet. He’s surprised that he doesn’t have a concussion.
Frank returns to the van, then. Saving Gerard from having to come up with a response. Mikey’s hand quickly falls away from Gerard’s own. The touch lingers in Gerard’s mind. When was the last time they were alone together? When was the last time he kissed Mikey, really kissed him? He doesn’t know. He can’t remember. They’ve been on the road for two weeks. Gerard doesn't remember more than a handful of nights after the show. Mikey’s been taking care of him. He usually wakes up in the van with a bottle of water and a beer can within arms reach and no more puke on his person than he started with. He suddenly feels bad for Mikey. He’s been babysitting his older brother this whole fucking tour. Gerard resolves to repay him tenfold when they get home, do as many loads of laundry as he needs to, play wingman as much as Mikey wants.
Frank starts talking to Mikey about how it’s totally the end of Frank’s driving shift, and Gerard stubs his cigarette out against the side of the van. He wanders off before Frank can drag him into the debate, dipping into the convenience store portion of the gas station to piss and find a drink. He’s reaching for a Gatorade when he sees her. She’s not the right height, too short. Flip flops instead of platform boots put her firmly under Gerard’s chin. Her bright red hair is loose, cascading around her and obscuring her face in a way that only chemically damaged hair can. She’s looking at the juices. Gerard sees her laid out on grey sheets, her hair haloed around her. He sees her burning body plummeting to the ground from ten stories up. He sees her cut down the middle, her insides wrapped warm and tight around Mikey’s cock.
She looks up. Maybe she felt Gerard's eyes on her. Maybe she noticed a sale tag. It doesn’t really matter. The eyes are wrong, framed in thick plastic glasses and green instead of brown. He looks away hurriedly, abandoning the gatorade that he’d been reaching for. Someone calls her name. Gerard hears it like he’s underwater “Sierra! Hurry up.” Gerard waits til the group leaves before he steps toward the checkout counter to pay for the bottle of vodka in his hand.
___
Mikey's dragging Gerard to somewhere. Or, no, Mikey's dragging Gerard away from somewhere. He had a drink in his hand, a girl talking to him, maybe. He kinda needs to piss. Did he tell Mikey that? They're outside.
"Driving me crazy," Mikey's telling him. His fingers are wrapped around Gerard's wrist, tugging him forward. "Can't stop thinking about you." They're in the back of the van; Mikey has Gerard pressed facedown into the dirty floor, both his wrists pinned. "You're a fucking wreck all the time," Mikey says, nuzzling against the back of Gerard's head. He starts running his hands across Gerard's body, down his arms, up his back, under his sweat-soaked shirt. The shirt comes off. His nails bite into Gerard's skin, and Gerard arches up into it. "Always taking care of you." He presses a kiss to Gerard's bare skin. "So pretty when you're like this."
Gerard whines, unsure how they got here, but eager to continue. His jeans are loose from wearing them for four days straight, and Mikey drags them and his underwear down his thighs. "Up, up." Mikey drags him up onto his knees, then presses close, plasters himself along Gerard's back. "I should split you open." He presses the bulge of his hard cock up against Gerard's ass, runs the tips of his fingers down the soft flesh of Gerard's stomach.
"Please," Gerard slurs, eager under the film of nausea that follows him everywhere. Mikey's grasping for his bag under the back seat, still wrapped around Gerard, still holding him close with a hand around his stomach. Slick fingers press against Gerard's hole. He whines. Mikey starts with two fingers and moves fast. "Mikey," Gerard whines. It's the last word left that he knows how to say. He chants it like a prayer as Mikey presses his cock into him.
"Yeah," Mikey praises. "Good boy. Let me in." His nails are digging into Gerard's stomach, one arm hooked around his shoulder, dragging him back and upright, pressing him flat against Mikey's chest. He hangs his head limply forward, lacking the energy to keep it up. "Like you were made for it." Mikey's teeth catch the side of his neck, and his head falls to the side, instead, for him. The slick slide of Mikey's cock is sending jolts of pleasure through Gerard’s body, amplifying his queasiness. A near constant low moan is spilling out of his mouth. The hand on his stomach trails up, nails leaving little lines of pain up his chest. Mikey’s fingers, three of them, press into Gerard’s slack mouth, drool sliding down his wrist. Mikey kisses the side of his face.
“Shh, shh,” he whispers. His fingers press down on Gerard’s tongue, touch the back of Gerard’s throat. Gerard gags around them, cutting off the noise momentarily. “Good, so fucking good for me, Gee. Can you stay up?” Gerard whines in answer and drops his head back against Mikey’s shoulder. The hand not in his mouth reaches down to wrap around Gerard’s cock. His hips stutter forward, and he gags again. Mikey’s fingers are moving--in his mouth and around his cock, pushing and squeezing. He’s found just the perfect angle to hit Gerard’s prostate on every stroke. Gerard can’t stop gagging on Mikey’s fingers, feels more than spit coming up each time.
“You’re doing so good, Gee, so good,” Mikey murmurs into his ear. “C’mon, gonna feel so good around me.” His fingers plunge somehow even further into the back of Gerard’s throat, and Gerard can’t stop what comes out of him. He heaves, spit and bile and alcohol forcing their way out of his throat. Mikey's fingers remain, pressing firm against his tongue as his body convulses. He's speaking again, low tones against Gerard's skin, but the noise Gerard himself is making drowns it out. After what feels like ages, Mikey drags his fingers out of Gerard's mouth and brings them to rest on Gerard's chin. Gerard coughs, whole body trembling as he tries to breathe again.
There's vomit everywhere. It's running down his chin, his chest, dripping off Mikey's arm and soaking into the van's carpet, slicking the slide of his fist over Gerard's cock. "Fuck, baby," he says, sounding just as choked as Gerard. "Feel good, feel so fucking good." He's nearly gone, now. One, two, three thrusts more and he's stilling, hips pressed flush against Gerard's ass as he comes inside his big brother. Gerard, chest heaving, can only whine in answer.
"Come on, Gee," Mikey says. "You look so fucking good like this." He runs his hand through the disgusting mess on Gerard's chest. Gerard can feel his orgasm building, feel it coiling in his gut--or maybe that's more puke. "So fucking good. Wish I could cut you open, too, see how good you look in here." His hand squeezes posessively into the soft flesh on Gerard's stomach. "Bet you're so fucking gorgeous, wet and warm just waiting for my cock in your guts." Gerard's nodding, sweaty hair matted to his forehead as he rocks his hips into Mikey's hand. Mikey bites into his shoulder again, and Gerard comes a few seconds later, adding to the mess on the floor. "Good boy," Mikey praises. "Such a good fucking boy."
The next few minutes pass like a dream. Mikey pulls out of Gerard slowly, cleans him off with his own shirt and arranges him leaned up against the back seats while he does his best to get the mess out of the carpet. Gerard might fall asleep, or maybe he just closes his eyes, but either way he opens them to see Mikey's face, dirty glasses reflecting the light from the back of the venue. He's pressing something against Gerard's mouth. Gerard opens obediently, and gets a swig from the vodka bottle that was under the back seat. He coughs a little, and it drips down his chin, but Mikey is murmuring encouragement, and Gerard swallows. He gets a few mouthfuls in, and that seems to satisfy Mikey, who lets him drop Gerard's head back against the seat in peace. He closes his eyes again, hears the van doors open and shut; then he's left alone.
___
Gerard wakes up sprawled across the backseat. The van is moving. He cracks his eyes open and quickly shuts them as the sunlight enters his retinas at the exact right angle to cause the sensation of an ice pick to the brain. He groans in agony, wondering where they are, when he ended up here, and why the hell he's shirtless. His mouth tastes like something died in it. "Hey! Look who's back among the living!" Frank shouts, like an asshole.
Gerard moans and pinches the bridge of his nose, doing his best to alleviate the tension there. Mikey's there almost immediately, reaching over the seat, handing him a water bottle. "Morning, beautiful," he chides.
" 'S my fuckin' shirt?" Gerard asks, gratefully taking the water. He cracks the top off and starts downing it before Mikey answers.
"In a trashcan back in Virginia," Mikey says.
"But we should've burned it!" Frank interjects.
"Shut the fuck up, Frankie," Mikey says, shoving Frank back out of Gerard's view. "We found you covered in puke in the back. Figure you mopped up with it." Makes sense. Gerard remembers stumbling toward the van at least--thinks he does, anyway. "Definitely unsalvageable, dude." Frank mutters something about the van reeking, like that's a new thing. Given that Gerard doesn't even know what shirt he'd been wearing, he figures it was a necessary sacrifice. He manages to sit up without further injury. He needs to piss.
"Where are we?"
"Almost home," Mikey says. Now that Gerard's upright, Mikey seems to take it as his cue to clamber over the middle seat and join him in the back. Gerard welcomes the company. The rest of the band never seems to question their closeness, and he's grateful for that, too. Mikey doesn't stop in the backseat, though, he reaches into the back of the van and digs around for a moment, emerging with a black hoodie that he hands to Gerard.
Gerard puts it on gratefully, then leans up against Mikey when he sits back down. Mikey's arm slips around him comfortably. "Sorry you have to deal with me," Gerard murmurs, eyes slipping closed again. The rumble of the van is soothing, drowning out most of Frank and Ray's bickering further up. "Can go out when we get home. Together, if you want."
Mikey's arm tightens around him. "You're not so bad to deal with," he purrs, sliding his hand slowly down Gerard's arm, petting him like a well-loved animal. He tucks Gerard's head under his chin, and Gerard nuzzles into the crook of his neck. "I'll let you pick this time," he promises.