I'm Going HomeAuthor:
Gerard Way/Mikey WayFandom:
My Chemical RomanceTheme:
#20, the road home (10/30)Rating:
PG-13 (for incest, kissing, implied sex) Disclaimer:
I only own the plot. And this has never happened...this is all fiction, people.
Mikey’s mouth was attached to his, wet and warm and open. His hand felt the same on Gerard’s erection, stroking, tugging, caressing. But Gerard figured Mikey felt the same by the way Mikey’s breath caught and hitched, low whimpers choking the slim throat. Gerard leaned down to kiss that throat, making more whimpers collect and flow, making that fluttery breath hitch even more.
He skimmed his fingers over the slice of pale skin between the waistband of tight jeans and the hem of a threadbare tee-shirt. Mikey arched forward, body asking for more, more, more
Scratching gently at the prominent hipbones, Gerard remembered the sweet taste there. Mikey’s pale delicious skin…God, he was so young. Almost fourteen. The thought made Gerard grimace slightly in self-hate. It was so wrong…but then Mikey squeezed, fingers curling and those thoughts fled from his mind.
Gerard touched again, fingers finding the spaces between each individual vertebra, each nook between the tiny pearls strung out on a bone thread.
It was then the door opened and Donna Way, their mother, walked in. Mikey and Gerard shot away from each other. But the damage was already done. Angry words were said and tears were shed. It wasn’t until their father came home that the yelling started. In the end though, Mikey and Gerard were separated. Mikey still in Jersey with their father and Gerard with their mother in New York.
And the therapy started. From the first day, Gerard protested what the psychiatrist said about the brothers’ relationship. They tried to brainwash him into thinking that he fucked up Mikey by doing that, that he was wrong. And they succeeded. Gerard started to act out. An ache filled him- from being away from Mikey, from thinking that he had screwed up Mikey’s mind forever- and he tried to get rid of it any way he could.
Boys, girls, alcohol, and eventually, drugs. That ache might have lessened, weakened a bit, while he was drunk or high, but whenever he was back to being sober, the pain was back, and usually ten-fold. He cut most of his classes and the only grade that didn’t drop down to a D or F was his for art class.
He tried to get back to New Jersey (many times) but he was always dragged back home (no, not home without his sweet Mikey) by the police. (Let it be said that Mikey tried the same, but he, like his brother, never got past the state border.)
By the time he hit the age of nineteen, Gerard was a shell of the person he used to be. After months (years!) of having his mind whittled away by a psychiatrist, he believed everything that had been told to him. He had fucked up Mikey’s mind permanently, what he had done was morally and legally wrong, everything was better if he went to girls his own age, not boys and certainly not his brother…
And then his psychiatrist got together with Mikey’s psychiatrist (which startled Gerard at first, but then he realized what he had done had probably traumatized little, young Mikey) and they decided to have the brothers have a supervised meeting.
The day that happened, Gerard was nervous. He palms were clammy and his hands were shaking. His thoughts were swirling around in a whirlpool. He was a bit of a wreck. But then Mikey came into the small room and oh. He was taller than before, skinnier, hair longer but still honey brown, hazel eyes still behind glasses too big for his thin, fey-like face…Gerard’s breath caught and stuck in his lungs, chest suddenly aching with a clenching pain.
And Mikey looked up and smiled
. A pretty, lopsided smile that made Gerard’s breath rush out. That aching, clenching pain went with it because Mikey was there and it wasn’t anger and hate in those eyes but happiness and relief.
Mikey sat down across from him and then their psychiatrists leaned towards them together like a pair of Siamese cats and started asking questions. Mikey’s voice was still soft, still gentle, still a bit stuttery, and still so Mikey. And Gerard smiled at the warm glow that filled that empty spot that ache usually resided in.
It went on like that for about an hour and Mikey was whisked back to Jersey with their father and Gerard was ushered out, ushered back to the place that was supposed to be home, but wasn’t without Mikey…
Five months. Five months of that before they were both deemed cured of their previous ‘sickness’ and they were allowed to be together without someone peering over their shoulder. Five months of one hour sessions in a stuffy room with nosey shrinks. Five months of seeing Mikey shoot him that pleading look of Is what we had still there? Or have you been ‘cured’? Please tell me, Gee, please please please…
Nobody else noticed, but then again, he had always been the one who had been able to read Mikey the best.
The Saturday after being deemed cured, they went out to eat, both of them talking together and laughing. They stayed at the little diner until the sun had set and the stars were scattered on the velvet sky. It was just like times before everything was ruined. And it seriously felt like he was back at home, sitting across the kitchen table from Mikey, dipping crumbling cookies until cold milk and giggling. The ache was gone and that warm glow was back, and he basked in it.
But Mikey had to go back home sometime. When he did, that coldness settled back in, feeling like somebody cut open his chest and slid thousands of ice cubes into the cavity before sewing it back up. It hurt. So he tried to get rid of that ache, short of going back to Mikey. Gerard fell onto his old rituals of trying to rid of that pain. Boys (no more girls for him, no siree) lay in his bed, alcohol bottles were emptied, and drugs were downed and inhaled.
Some weeks later, he went to go pick up Mikey. It was the first time Gerard would be picking Mikey up in his car and he was happy. Their parents were more comfortable with them being together so his mother actually let him take his car this time instead of paying for some sort of public transportation or walking. He had woken up late that morning so the car was still a mess, littered with alcohol bottles, but he thought nothing of it. Alcohol bottles had come to be such a part of his immediate surroundings that he barely even noticed it.
Mikey slid into the car, eyed the bottles with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing.
They were halfway to the restaurant when Mikey started to shiver. Gerard pointed the jacket in the back seat and said, “Use that.” Mikey slid it on, his thin body drowning in the large leather jacket. He thought nothing of sliding his freezing hands into the warm pockets.
Several seconds later, Gerard saw Mikey staring at a small packet of white powder. Gerard nearly crashed into the car in front of them with the shock.
“Uh, shit, Mikey, that isn’t-.”
Mikey cut him off quietly. “Why the hell are you doing this?” He glared at the bottles on the floor. “Drinking and drugs?”
Gerard tried to redeem himself. “Uh, no. It’s not…” He stopped when he saw the dark look Mikey graced him with. “I couldn’t help myself,” he whispered.
Mikey let out a tired sigh. “Stop it.” It was a soft-spoken whisper, barely reaching Gerard’s ears. But it did and Gerard looked away from Mikey, ashamed.
And he did. Over the next few months, he didn’t touch any alcohol or drugs. He stopped fucking any willing male. And that stupid ache came back and this time there was nothing to push it away with but the exception of seeing Mikey smile at hearing that his older brother was still clean and sober.
Mikey turned eighteen. He graduated high school and had only a faint of wanted to do so he hadn’t applied to any colleges. Gerard offered to let Mikey live with him, in his loft downtown. And, surprisingly, their parents relented. Why wouldn’t they though? They thought Mikey and Gerard weren’t ‘sick’ anymore. What they didn’t realize was that love wasn’t a sickness and, even if it was, it couldn’t be cured.
Mikey moved into the loft once Gerard turned twenty. With this, that ache was pretty much gone, only a sharp pain left whenever he saw Mikey give him that
look. The look that asked if what they had was truly gone. And the loft turned into something like a home. The place seemed warmer and happier. Gerard was back to being Gerard, not drunk or high, drawing again, trying to keep a job so he could support them.
Their relationship was easy. Casual touches were exchanged. But there was still that thread of heat beneath it all. Mikey still gave him those pleading looks. Finally, it became too much. Just like it had originally started, Gerard pinned Mikey to the nearest vertical surface and ravished him.
Things fell into place like they did before the therapy. The only thing was that they didn’t need to sneak around and worry about somebody walking into them. The horrible aching pain disappeared totally and the loft truly felt like home. Curled next to Mikey in bed one night, Gerard realized that wasn’t the loft that felt like home but Mikey.
Mikey was what made everything feel like home. Mikey was
home. And Gerard finally found his way home, the loving warmth making him smile and glow.