Gerard/Mikey, NC-17, ~13,800
By escherzo and mwestbelle
Gerard wraps one arm around Michael, the other still clenched in the sheets, and Michael's neck is right there. He can hear the blood flowing and he wants more than anything to just bite down and drink and
The sun reflects off the sea, sending shimmering light up to the windows of the house. The Way family's summer manor is really quite beautiful, with smooth pale walls. Michael sits on one of the short walls surrounding the courtyard, waistcoat forgotten somewhere inside, sleeves rolled to his elbows and collar undone--quite a shocking sight, and the maids would gossip about it, giggling behind platters for weeks. But he is content to sit here, looking down at the small dark shapes on the beach that is his brother and an easel. He can just barely make out the outline of Gerard against the brightness of the water--his eyes have never been very good anyway--but he smiles and raises his hand in acknowledgement when he sees Gerard waving enthusiastically at him.
In just a few moments, Gerard is next to him, easel and paints abandoned in the sand, grinning, hair a horrid mess and the bridge of his nose burnt raw. "Morning, brother."
Michael grins back, ruffling Gerard's hair fondly, and they sit contentedly on the wall, staring out at the ocean. It's silent except for the sounds of birds flying overhead, obscured by the bright sun, and the chatter of the maids indoors.
"I can't believe you're getting married tomorrow," Michael says, after a pause. He can barely picture Gerard with anything other than his paint and easels (himself included), much less a wife.
Gerard grins even harder, slightly crooked but brilliant. "I know. But Liana is lovely, isn't she? I'm glad father picked her."
He leans a little back against Michael, enjoying the solidity of his brother, even though he's so much lankier in stature and many years younger. "Do you think mother has anyone in mind for you?"
Michael scoffs, accepting Gerard's weight and balancing it with some of his own. "Please, Gee, be sensible. I'm only fourteen, and ridiculously scrawny. Mother could go to Roma before finding a lady with an interest in me."
Gerard looks up at him, eyes bright. "I am being sensible," he says, head tipping against Michael's shoulder. "Give it a year and ladies will be lining up to have a chance with you." He hasn't thought about it yet, exactly, what it's really going to entail.
He sighs, staring out at the beach, the birds that have started to peck curiously at his paints, abandoned in the sand. "Hang on--" and he slides off the wall easily, sliding down the sandy hill to the beach.
He shoos the birds with a wave of his hand and gathers his things. Looking back at Michael--head tipped back, sun shining on his face--Gerard wishes he didn't have to be married, that he could stay here with his brother forever. Liana is a very lovely girl--hair dark like his and laughing eyes, wealthy, very talented with instruments and watercolors--but he's never been particularly interested in girls. He prefers painting, and sunsets, and poetry.
But he wouldn't mention that to Michael, because if he had the slightest thought that Gerard wasn't happy, he would sulk and cause such a fuss. And Michael is already in trouble after that unfortunate incident with the bath and Grandfather's compass; the last thing Gerard wants is to cause trouble. He sets his supplies as gently as possible on the wall before sliding back next to Michael.
Michael leans back against him, head on Gerard's shoulder, trying to ignore the tugging at his chest at the thought of Gerard leaving.
The next day is the wedding, and Gerard sees nothing of Michael through the flurry of activity going on around him. He sits in the midst of chaos as his mother scurries around, ordering the maids in every direction. They have a feast to finish, he knows that, so he just stays out of the way as much as possible and watches the platters pass.
He doesn't realize how much he's distracted himself until he's standing at the altar, Liana's hand in his. She's smiling blissfully, brown eyes shining, oblivious to his inattention.
The first time he sees Michael all day is when he hugs his brother as a married man.
"Gerard." Michael buries his nose in his brother's hair. It smells too nice--Mother wasn't about to let her eldest boy be wed without having his hair washed, but it's not how Gerard's hair is supposed to smell--but he inhales deeply anyway, clings closer than is strictly polite amongst this crowd, but everyone is fawning over Liana. No one pays any attention to the brothers.
Gerard smiles, a little shaky, feeling the tiniest bit sick. It's nerves, he tells himself. Most of the other young men have tumbled with chambermaids before their wedding day, but Gerard would rather do a portrait of the giggling upstairs girl than take her to his bed. He's just worried about doing it all properly; he wants ever so to be a source of pride for his family, and to father many strong sons. Except when he doesn't want that at all.
"Gerard," Michael says, stern, making Gerard face him, hand on his shoulder. "You'll be fine." He's always had a sense of what Gerard's feeling, and he can feel the tension from Gerard so strong he almost feels sick himself.
Gerard nods, forcing himself to keep smiling. I can do this, he tells himself, and god, he's pretty sure his friends who got married didn't need encouragement to sleep with their wives. He's not sure what's different with him.
"Now go find your wife," Michael says, fixing Gerard with a fond smile. "Come on."
Gerard obeys, slipping over to stand next to Liana and flushing when the fawning turns to him as well. The entire day passes in too much of a rush, and then he's leaving, leading his bride (oh dear heavens above, his bride) to the villa on the edge of the property where they would live out the summer until moving back to the main estate.
Liana beams at him, blushing a delicate rose as he escorts her through the door. "I'm so pleased I was given to you," she whispers, shy, and Gerard wants to say the same, but he can't seem to find words. Thankfully, she seems to grasp his troubles, and pulls her arm out of his grasp. "I'll...I'll go make myself ready for you."
And she sweeps up the stairs, pausing to give him another smile as she disappears into (oh god oh god) the bedroom. Their bedroom.
Gerard can't think about it--their bedroom, and Liana actually expects something to happen tonight. He's not sure he's not going to just die, instead. He thinks of her face, blushing and hesitant but excited, and god, he doesn't want to be terrible. He has to take a calming breath, think of hugging Mikey to assuage his nerves, before he can even start to climb the stairs.
And then, from the bedroom, he hears a shriek, high and terrified--Liana's voice. He bolts up the stairs, staring at the sight before him.
Liana is...god. There's a man holding her in tight embrace that would be scandalous--except it's not a man, it can't be, not with that horrible gleam in too-golden eyes and blood smeared all around his mouth. Blood. Liana's blood.
Gerard makes a choked sound low in his throat, out of disgust and horror, and the manbeast looks up at him with a devilish glint. It snarls, and Gerard can't think, that's his wife and even though he hasn't more than affection for her (if that), he knows his duty. Grabbing a vase off of the table near the door, he runs at the beast, unsure of what to do but knowing he must do something.
Gerard runs at it but it's faster, and whatever the beast is, it's strong, because it reaches out one hand and wrenches the vase out of Gerard's hand and tosses it aside. It hits with a sickening crunch.
The manbeast lifts itself from Liana, lying limp on the bed. Gerard can't tell but he can't see her chest moving, any sign of life in her limbs.
He has only a moment to think before it lifts itself from her, clambering off the bed with almost sickening grace. It moves toward him, blood on its mouth and down the front of its chest.
Gerard remembers searing pain, worse than anything he could ever imagine in his darkest nightmares, and he cries out when he wakes.
"Gee!" And Michael is leaping nearly atop him, arms spread wide to cover him on top of all his blankets. "Oh god, Gerard, I was so frightened for you." Michael squeezes him, burying his face in Gerard's hair as he has done since he was a child. Although he doesn't remember the soft curve of Michael's neck smelling quite so good before.
Gerard has the sudden urge to lean forward, taste it with his mouth and his teeth, and he has to almost physically shake off the thought.
"What happened to me?" he asks, speech a little indistinct. He can't quite focus his eyes (and it's bright, so bright it stings). "God, Mikey--could you shut the curtains?" He winces, trying to deal with the searing pain that lances through him, sharp just below his neck.
Michael nods, looking concerned, and crawls off the bed. He doesn't mention that the sun has barely started to rise--Gerard has been through a lot. He was so afraid he would never open his eyes again. Curtains securely closed, he returns to his place next to Gerard, reaching down to stroke at his hair.
"What happened, Gerard?" And Gerard has never wanted to suck his brother's fingers into his mouth and bite down, hard, but he has to fist his hands in the bedclothes to keep himself from doing it now.
He takes a deep, shuddery breath, hands clenched in the sheets. Michael is worried, scared out of his mind, because Gerard is in pain (he's clutching the sheets so hard) and he hasn't called Michael Mikey since he was five. No one has.
He leans closer, and Gerard's eyes widen like a frightened animal's at the kind of thoughts going through his head. "I--" he begins, and his hands clench tighter. "I don't know, I. I heard a scream and I came to see what it was and there was this thing--" He breaks off, shuddering at the memory.
"What happened to Liana?" he asks, abruptly, looking up at his brother with wild eyes.
"She--" Gerard squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't have to look into Mik--Michael's open and innocent eyes. "--it, it had bitten her. Just, chewed on her neck." He chances opening his eyes to look at his brother. "Is...is she all right?"
Michael bites his lower lip delicately, trying to think of how he can tell Gerard this even though he's sure Gerard already suspects, and rests a hand on Gerard's knee, soothing as he can. "I'm sorry, Gee. She...they found her. She's dead. They're burying her this afternoon."
Gerard looks down at his knees, biting his lip. It's my fault, he thinks faintly. I could have done something. He keeps replaying it in his mind--the scream, rushing up the stairs, coming after the beast with the vase. He still doesn't remember what actually happened to him but every bit of light makes his head hurt.
Michael squeezes Gerard's knee. "They wanted you to be there, but you were still unconscious... I'm sorry. Are you--what happened to you?" All he knows is that when they found the two, Liana was dead and Gerard was unconscious, slumped against the wall. He was with them and he still shudders at the memory, because Gerard was so pale, like he had had the life sucked right out of him. Even now, he feels cold, like a corpse.
"I don't remember." Gerard lets his head drop back onto his pillow, sinking down a little bit into the plush but not feeling the slightest bit more comfortable. "It's all blank, I, I tried to stop it. To save her. But after that, I don't know."
Michael nods, rubbing a little at Gerard's knee, hoping to give some comfort and maybe warm him up a little. "Gerard, about Liana. They wanted to know--" How could they expect him to ask this, when Gerard was still so weak and the horror still so fresh? He tries to find the gentlest way to ask. "--They want to know what kind of Mass they should say for her." Prayers for a maiden or for a wife. He hopes Gerard, strange and uncomfortable as he seems, is able to understand him still.
Gerard looks away, flushing slightly. "We never--you know. It got to her before anything happened."
Michael nods, grateful to Gerard that he can understand, and he leans forward to pull his brother into a hug. He's glad that he's the only one around, able to do this without disapproval from anyone. And Gerard desperately needs the comfort.
Gerard wraps one arm around Michael, the other still clenched in the sheets, and Michael's neck is right there. He can hear the blood flowing and he wants more than anything to just bite down and drink and oh God what did that beast do to him?
Before he knows what he's doing, he's leaning forward, nuzzling his nose against the graceful curve of Michael's neck, inhaling deeply. He can feel blood rushing past, practically taste it--his mouth is watering.
Michael freezes and tightens his grip on his brother, not for a moment considering pulling away or thinking there could be any need to. "Gerard?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Gerard babbles into his skin, and god, he has to stop this now, what is he doing? "Mik--Michael, please, don't, I--there's something wrong with me, I--"
Michael frowns, looking worried, and he hugs Gerard tighter. "It's going to be alright, Gerard. I know you're still not well. You'll get better." He doesn't know why Gerard is doing this, but he has to get his brother better. Has to.
Something terrible obviously happened there--Michael knows that it must be horrifying to see your wife murdered, but he also knows--or well, he suspects--that Gerard wasn't in love with Liana, not truly. So surely that can't be the only thing making him so horribly pale--the sprinkling of freckles and the faded red across his nose are gone completely, color he saw just days before.
Gerard tries to nod, but it just moves his mouth closer against Michael's skin. And just below the skin...pumping, hot, fresh and good, he needs it, god, and he maybe mouths a little at Michael's neck before he stops himself with a shuddering gasp.
Michael doesn't want to leave Gerard like this, not when he knows there's something wrong, but Gerard wants (needs) him to go. He pulls away, slipping off the bed and toward the door. His heart is pounding and he doesn't know why, and it takes him several deep breaths before he can even start down the stairs to find their mother.
Gerard lays back, eyes still closed, and his traitorous body is still not calm, even with Michael gone. He can see it behind his eyelids now, pinning Michael down and biting through the skin on his neck, hard, his body pressed against his brother's. Oh God, he thinks, faint. I--oh God.
Gerard gathers handfuls of the clean white sheets in his hand and can't help the unhappy sound that comes from the back of his throat. He just needs to wait. If he can just lie here and close his eyes and think about anything besides Mikey's sharp little hips digging against him, licking a long needy stripe up his brother's neck and the blood, the blood...
He would never allow the filthy, horrible words to pass his lips, but this is not the first time he has found himself pulled taut as a bowstring with Michael's face seared into his consciousness. But never like this, never this strong or desperate or wrong. It's a ridiculous thing to say, that one carnal urge for his brother (fourteen years old and still as fresh as dawn) is worse than another, but next to the heat in his guts he can feel something...new. Something that doesn't belong.
There's a hunger, deep in his gut, so strong that it's almost a physical pain. Just the thought of the blood makes it all that much stronger.
He bites his lip, trying to make pain distract himself from the scene behind his eyes--in his mind, he's drinking the blood, swallowing greedy mouthfuls, and Michael's hips move frantically against him, bucking into his own, whimpering. He can't think like this. He can't even breathe.
He fists his hands tighter in the sheets, because all he wants to do is slip his hand down, palm over himself and relieve some of this pressure. But he can't--he won't. If thinking about his brother like this is wrong, it's doubly so to acknowledge what it does to him. God.
Eventually, after what feels like excruciating hours, his body returns to normal. He is thankful for that small blessing (and that his mother didn't try to visit him during that horrible span of time) but it is to be one of few. In the following days, Michael spends hour after hour at his bedside, combing his hair and reading to him and setting his pastels and sketching paper next to the bed (just in case).
And Gerard spends all those times with a vicious burning inside, oftentimes feigning sleep so as to have an excuse not to sit up or lie on his back and expose his shame to all the world (or to Michael, at least, but Michael is his world), thankful that at least his propensity to blush brilliantly scarlet seems to have left him in his sickness. But the heat never leaves, and no matter how often the maids come to change them, the covers on the bed still smell like Michael, and he has awoken more than once to his hips working shamefully of their own device.
Three days later, Gerard hits his breaking point. Michael comes in again, and he keeps leaning forward to ask Gerard if he's , if he needs anything, and he wraps his arms around Gerard as best as he can as Gerard lies on his stomach. "Please get better," Michael murmurs into his ear, hand running through his hair gently.
Gerard lifts his head and his arm winds around the back of Michael's neck, pulling him closer before he can even realize what he's doing. He can't help it--he's so hungry and he lets his teeth graze the side of Michael's neck, mouth open. He wants to bite down so badly it's almost painful.
"Gerard," Michael whispers, afraid to move. He's shuddering, frightened of this complete change in his brother--he's never seen Gerard so pale or so cold or so unhappy and no one knows why he won't let the physician in or let anyone open the curtains. Gerard's unhappy, and even though he's had his dark moods in the past, it was never like this. Gerard's grip on him tightens, and Michael gasps out a little noise. "Gerard, please. What's wrong? I'm afraid."
But Gerard's lost in the smell, the almost-taste, and talking is just making the muscles in Michael's neck tense and move against Gerard's teeth. He stutters out a harsh breath, and can only make a harsh whine with the ragged remnants of his voice. I'm sorry, Mikey, I'm so sorry.
And finally, he manages to choke out a breathy "I'm sorry" before he can't take it anymore and his grip tightens, sinking his teeth into Michael's neck with a harsh sound. Michael's whole body goes taut, and he lets out a whimper. "Gerard, what are you doing?" he manages, and he can't seem to get enough air. His head is swimming and he clutches at his brother's shirt desperately, trying to fight Gerard off or pull him closer--he can't tell which one he wants.
Gerard can't hear him, lost in the taste of his blood, warm in his mouth, and he presses closer, urging his teeth deeper into the side of Michael's neck. He couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to.
The blood starts to flow more readily, and Gerard makes a hungry slurping sound as he sucks hard and needy, swallowing mouthfuls of salty copper. Somewhere inside his head he knows that this is wrong, so so very wrong, but it's amazing, it's everything he's been longing for, needing. He can feel the blood warming him already, flowing through the flesh that's been so achingly cold, filling him. His body finds readiness more than quickly, and he shifts against the pleasantly angular flesh conveniently below him, unknowing of movement, unknowing of what it is, unaware of anything but hot and good.
Michael cries out, too soft for anyone to hear. It hurts, because his brother is tearing into his throat, drinking his blood, oh god. And now he feels Gerard, firm and ready against him, rutting like a beast. The tears slide down his neck to mingle with the blood and he wonders in a moment of light-headed detachment if Gerard can taste the difference.
Before he knows it, Michael is flat on his back, Gerard above him, pinning him to the bed. Gerard is still drinking from him, sucking hard on his neck. He's distantly aware that there are tears coming from Michael's eyes, he can feel them against his cheeks, but he's too far gone to be able to pull away. He grinds down, hard, intensifying the feeling, and barely notices when Michael hisses out a breath in response.
Michael grips Gerard's back, tears still running down his face, but at the same time it feels good and the feeling of both at once frightens him. He bucks up into Gerard's body, letting out a tiny groan at the feeling. What are we doing?
Michael wants to cry, even though he already is, but his heart is seized up and stuttering in a way that can't be promising. He can feel himself drifting in and out, a kind of broken haziness and then back into sharp, hot relief. He is so ashamed at the way his body jerks back in response to Gerard's, the desperate hardening in his breeches for his brother, his ill, widower (though only barely) brother. His heart falters again, going weak.
Gerard is still sucking greedily at Michael's neck, groaning around the hot mouthfuls. As the blood spreads through him, calming the urge that's been haunting him, he starts to feel a little more himself. A little back to his own mind and...oh god. He jerks back, sitting up suddenly, and stares horrified down at the bleeding, flushed and wanton body of his little brother, whose hips pump weak and helpless towards him, neck a bloody wreck. "Mikey. No, god, Mikey, what have I done?"
Michael makes a weak noise in return, mouth opening, trying and failing to form any words. His cheeks are a bright cherry red, hips moving against air to try and find relief. "Gee--" he manages after a long moment, arms gripping Gerard's tightly. He feels on the verge of passing out and the world is swimming.
Gerard leans back down, this time clutching Michael close and hugging him tightly. "Mikey, god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I--" he babbles, and he can't look at Michael's neck without the passing thought of wanting to bite in again, can't be this close without his hips twitching minutely against Michael's. "I'm so sorry."
He doesn't know what to do. God, Michael has always trusted him and now...he's killed him. He's killed his baby brother and engaged in shameful carnality with him. He doesn't want Michael to die, Michael can't die, but he just doesn't know, he doesn't--
Blood. The answer is so obvious in Gerard's mind he wonders that it took so long to occur to him. Michael needs blood. Gerard stole it from him, but he can give it back. He doesn't pause for a moment before lifting his hand and clawing at the side of his own neck--the flesh gives under his hand and he somehow knows it will be fine. He rolls a little off of Michael, then gathers him up in his arms, pulling him flush on top of him, and using a hand to cradle Michael's head, guiding it down to the place where the blood is flowing from his own throat. "Drink, Mikey. Please. I need you."
Michael makes a weak, confused noise, and there is a long, terrifying second when Gerard thinks he's already lost him, but then he leans forward, sucking tentatively at Gerard's throat.
A moment passes and he pulls off, taking a breath before attacking Gerard's throat, gripping his neck with surprising strength and latching on with his teeth, sucking hard. Gerard lets out a surprised noise through clenched teeth, letting Michael pin him down and drink from the wound. You're going to be , he thinks, with no small amount of relief. You're going to be .
Michael is hardly aware of anything now, just that he needs to drink now, that this is all he needs and if he doesn't have it there will be nothing left. He's vaguely aware of Gerard's hand on the back of his head, combing through his hair. He pulls off of Gerard's throat with another wet slurp, mouth still open and blood dribbling down his chin. He gasps a few times, wracked by some kind of convulsions, before his body goes perfectly still.
He stares down at Gerard through eyes that suddenly see clearer than they ever have, mouth still half open in an animalistic snarl.
"Mikey," Gerard says, eyes wide at the look on his brother's face. "Mikey, say something. Please." He has no idea what has just happened to his brother and he doesn't know why, but he's afraid.
Michael looks at Gerard almost without recognition for a moment before murmuring, "I'm fine, Gee. Fine." He still has blood on his mouth and down his chin.
It takes him a moment, because everything is so new. The world is sharper, and he has to trace his thumbs along Gerard's jawline just to check that it really is how it looks to him now. He feels different and god, is this how Gerard has been feeling since the night Liana died? There's something fundamentally shifted inside.
Gerard has blood (his blood, Michael thought with a shiver) starting to dry all around his mouth. Michael brushes a flake away with one of his thumbs, then surges forward, kissing his brother, hungry and harsh, for the first time.
Gerard freezes for only a second before pulling Michael closer, further on top of him, and kissing him back, hand coming up to cup the back of his head. God, what are we doing? he thinks, faintly, opening his mouth under Michael's.
Michael presses his body against Gerard's, and he can't even help the way his hips jerk against his brother's, the way he groans into Gerard's mouth. He doesn't understand exactly what he's doing (he's never done this before, any of this), nothing past that it feels good.
Gerard mewls high and wanting, lapping at Michael's teeth, at the blood still stained around his lips. He's known only the relief of his own hand--and very seldomly, for he tries his best to abide by the scriptures--and this is so much better, so far beyond that, he can't begin to describe it.
Michael has to shut his eyes to the sensations, so painfully new, but his hip just slide and roll, seemingly of their own accord without any real input from him. It's sloppy--he doesn't know enough to know it's sloppy--but it's the best thing he's ever felt.
Gerard groans, clutching Michael tighter, bucking up into his body with a high, needy sound. "Oh God," he says, faint, but he can barely hear himself over the chaos in his head.
Michael breaks the kiss and leans down, latching onto Gerard's neck as his hips move, sinking his teeth in with a low groan. He has to squeeze his eyes shut again, overwhelmed with the taste of Gerard's blood in his mouth and his hips pressing into his brother's.
The combined sensation of Mikey suckling at his neck and their hips locked and rocking together is too much for Gerard, after all these hours smelling Michael and longing for this, even though he didn't know it. He comes with a strangled shout and brings a hand up to clasp the back of Michael's head, fingers digging into his skull to push him down harder.
Michael whines and sucks hard, and for the first time, his entire body stutters and goes stiff before jerking to his completion, still inside his neatly pressed breeches.
Gerard takes a deep, shaky breath, pulling Michael close to lay against his chest. He's starting to feel the guilt of what they've done seep in--because Michael is different now, because of him, in a way he's not sure even he understands. They both are; he hesitates to even think it, but he doesn't feel human.
Michael looks up at him, teeth sliding out of his neck with a wet sound, and Gerard is startled to see the difference in them--the canines are long and sharp-looking, like an animal's. He wonders, distantly, if his are the same.
"Are you--" Gerard swallows hard and reaches up to rest his fingertips on Michael's lips, not quite brave enough to thumb over his newly sharp teeth the way he really wants to. "--are you all right?" It's such an idiotic question, because obviously Michael isn't all right. Gerard bit him and then...then did that to him. He almost wants to laugh at the whole situation--he who was so afraid and uneasy about consummating his marriage didn't hesitate a moment before taking pleasure from his young brother.
Michael sighs, hot breath against Gerard's fingers, and he darts his tongue out to lick at them. Gerard inhales sharply, pulling them away a fraction, and Michael smiles. It looks wrong with the teeth, almost frightening. "I'm fine," he says, after a pause. "I--" and he breaks off, sounding confused. "I can see. Everything. Everything's clear and I--"
"But," Gerard curls his fingers back against his chest, a completely foreign feeling telling him to a pull away, and an equally strange one that insists that is the last thing he should do. He can't move away from Michael, it's not…allowed? Something in him supplies the word, and it's wrong, but somehow he knows it's true. "But how are you?" Because, god, he's fourteen, and with his nose always in his books and no interest in marriage, Gerard isn't positive that he even understands what they just did--which makes the bottom of his stomach just drop away but also sends a vicious little thrill up his spine.
Michael shifts forward, effectively pinning Gerard with his body flat to the bed. "Gee, I'm good. I--" and if he had any color left in his face, he would blush. "I liked it. How it felt, I. I want to do it again sometime." His voice lowers at the last part, no question in the statement, and Gerard can hear the implicit we’re going to do it again. He shivers, lifting his head so his mouth is inches from Micha--Mikey's.
Mikey closes the gap between them, kissing him. His breath catches a little at the taste of his own blood in Gerard's mouth as he slips his tongue out, kittenish and curious. He makes a small startled sound when he licks at Gerard's teeth and finds them more than sharp. Experimentally, he presses his tongue harder against the tip of one canine and is quite pleased when it starts to bleed, flowing directly into Gerard's mouth.
Gerard's eyes widen in surprise as he tastes Mikey's blood in his mouth, and he breaks the kiss a fraction to swallow it before surging forward again, kissing Mikey harder and nicking his own tongue against Mikey's teeth. Mikey's mouth tastes like blood, and Gerard can't tell if it's his own or Gerard's.
Mikey's slight and has no hope of a weight advantage over Gerard, but he presses against him with surprising force, gripping his wrists with long finger just a shade too tight. The blood mingling in their mouths is exhilarating and he moans into Gerard's mouth, not knowing how (or even that he should) stifle the sounds.
Gerard lets out a moan of his own into Mikey's mouth, licking at the blood on his teeth, and the pressure of Mikey's hands around his wrists (the dull pain of it) only intensifies the sensations. He likes it, in a way he can't even explain, the feeling of being pinned like this, helpless to do anything but kiss Mikey again.
Mikey snarls a little bit into the kiss, feeling a strange kind of primal urge that he's never experienced before. He was always contented with books--dry pages and clean bindings--but now he feels the need to hold and tear and force. He squeezes tighter, fingers closing in around Gerard's wrists and leaning more of his newfound strength onto his brother.
So wrapped up in each other, in this strange (wrong, wrong, horribly wrong yet so delicious) experience, they did not consider the sounds they made. Indeed, inexperienced as each brother was with carnality, the thought never crossed their minds that they could be heard. But indeed, they had attracted the attention of a young chambermaid, ordered to make sure the elder Master Way would be aided should his illness worsen in the night.
She pulls the door open to find them entwined, soaked with blood, moving together. The basin of warm water she'd balanced on her hip falls to the ground and shatters. She screams.
Gerard wrenches his mouth away from Mikey's with a ragged gasp, staring at the chambermaid. She stands transfixed in the doorway, hand over her mouth in shock.
The scream is loud enough that they can hear stirring in the other rooms, and as she backs up out of the doorway and runs, leaving her basin behind her. Mikey lifts himself from Gerard and scrambles for his coat, Gerard giving him a frantic look.
"We have to leave," he says, eyes wide, sitting up with his eyes still fixed on the doorway. "I'm sure people heard."
They haven't any time, already they can hear the shrill words of the maid ("In the bed, I swear, wanton as harlots. His own brother, touched in the head, merciful God in heaven.") and definite footsteps coming towards them. If they find them here...it would be simple enough to deny the girl's words, no serving girl would be believed over the heirs. But with blood stained over their skin and the bedclothes, and the evidence of their carnality clear as daybreak, there is no denial.
Mikey shoves Gerard's coat at him and grabs him by the same wrist he had been pinning down only a moment ago and pulls, yanking him out of the window where the sea breeze blows through, salty and cool. It's no difficult thing to climb down the rough side of the house to reach the stone courtyard--they've been doing it since they were children (Mikey, Gerard thinks with a hollow stab to his gut, is still a child).
Mikey grabs Gerard's hand, almost painfully tight, as soon as they're on the ground, leading him across the courtyard into the town. They have to find somewhere to buy unstained clothes.
They are both silent on the way, searching frantically, but Gerard notices that no matter how fast they run, neither of them need to stop. And Mikey's hand is cold. He doesn't know what to think.