strappin' on her fightin' boobs (mwestbelle) wrote in kinkninjas,
strappin' on her fightin' boobs

i wish you could love the sun again (gerard/mikey(+frank), nc-17)(3/?)

I Wish You Could Love The Sun Again (3/?)
Gerard/Mikey(+Frank), NC-17, 7,846
(Eventual Gerard/Mikey/Frank)
By escherzo and mwestbelle
Part 1
Part 2

Warning: graphic blood/knife/waxplay, D/s themes

It's more than a little mystifying, how Frank's family even knew how to find them, but turning down a formal invitation would be beyond rude and they still are aristocrats at heart, even though Mikey is vaguely concerned that he might

It's more than a little mystifying, how Frank's family even knew how to find them, but turning down a formal invitation would be beyond rude and they still are aristocrats at heart, even though Mikey is vaguely concerned that he might tear out a few aristocratic hearts if the prickling burn in his stomach is any indication. Dressed properly for such an occasion, with crisp and clean clothing, they arrive on the Iero's stoop promptly after sunset.

Gerard smiles back warily, looking at Mikey out of the corner of his eye cautiously. It's bright inside the Iero home, roomy and inviting, and Frank leads them inside. Gerard manages to find out in short order that the Ieros are bankers-- they're more than impressed that two aristocrats have befriended their sickly son.

At this, Gerard looks down at Frank questioningly. Frank doesn't say anything, but he nods a little, biting his lip. Mrs. Iero is still going on, about how it's so nice that Gerard talks to Frank about his travels, since with the way his cough won't go away, he can't travel on his own no matter how much he wants to.

And Gerard thinks, for a split second--and Mikey would hate him for it, but--that he could make Frank better. He could change him, and maybe then Frank could stay with them? But Mikey wouldn't even consider it, he knows.

Mikey can't quite help but feel a vicious bite of pleasure when Mrs. Iero mentions Frank's mysterious and unending illness. Now that the sun is down and he looks closely, he can see that even though there's a child's fullness to Frank's face, there's darkness under his eyes and when he swallows, it's an effort. He runs his index finger in a slow circle around the rim of his wineglass (they're nice glasses, doubtless the nicest the Ieros own, lovingly brought out to fit the standards of their guests).

"It must be wonderful to have a big brother to take you with him." Mrs. Iero beams at him, and Mikey has to remember to tone himself back a bit (though he seldom acted fourteen even when he really was the age he appears to be).

"Oh yes, it's so exciting." He smiles, and no one but Gerard could ever guess it was less than genuine. "I don't even get seasick anymore, and the world is just so fascinating." He notes the pained face Frank pulls. At least someone else gets to be jealous for a change.

Gerard just laughs, nodding at Mrs. Iero. "It's fine, we don't--" I don't "--mind." He lets Frank lead them out to the garden, relaxed in the soft moonlight. He can tell Mikey is still angry, but he's coming around--he might not love Frank, but Gerard doesn't think Mikey is planning on snapping his neck anytime soon. (Even if, alone in the garden, the thought is tempting)

"Anything else you want to hear about?" Gerard asks, sitting down on one of the two granite benches in the garden. He motions for Mikey to sit down beside him, trying to reassure his brother a little even in this. Frank makes no move to sit down, practically bouncing as he stands in his excitement.

Mikey accepts the seat Gerard offers, but he's perched at the edge of the bench, obviously uncomfortable and ready to fly off at any moment. He watches Frank as he moves, eyes narrowed behind spectacles, predatory.

Frank doesn't notice. He's obviously completely enchanted by Gerard, and he rocks back on his heels. He speaks rapidly, youthful enthusiasm lighting his face. "You went to Spain, right? Were there swordfights? Where are you from anyway? How old are you? Have you ever seen a sea monster?"

"Hey, slow down," Gerard says, reaching out an arm to steady Frank. "We've gone to Spain, yes. And we've seen a couple of swordfights in our day, I guess. Um. There was this one--" He goes off on a bit of a tangent, explaining all about the epic swordfight they were caught in the middle of (even though they were actually just watching from a distance) with expressive hand gestures.

"And we're--" He hesitates, glancing at Mikey. "I'm eighteen and he's fourteen."

"Wow." Frank blinks at him, almost as impressed with this revelation as he has been with the tales of their adventures. He counts on his fingers. "That's. You were six when I was born." He sounds completely amazed, and there are practically hearts in his eyes when he stares up at Gerard.

"Yes, and he'll be married before you're even thinking about courting." Mikey sounds snappish even to his own ears but he can't help it, not with Frank looking at Gerard like he spun the world himself. Even though he knows Frank isn't old enough to be lusting after Gerard, Mikey's instincts are reacting like he is.

"But I couldn't court him anyway, he's a guy," Frank says, looking confusedly at Mikey. "Unless--in the world, somewhere, can people do that?" It's little more than childish curiosity, but Gerard isn't exactly sure how to answer, face pinking.

"Well, we've never seen anywhere that two men can marry."

"But?" Frank prompts, surprised.

"There are men that--stay together, like they are."

And Frank's little bow of a mouth is practically hanging open in amazement, and Mikey can't believe he even brought this up. It's ridiculous and he can't even believe Gerard wants this little snip of a thing. He's tiny, and so young (never mind that he's only a year younger than Mikey was) and now that he's stripped off his little waistcoat (and left it hanging off a shrub, the savage) Mikey can glimpse the little-boy roundness of his stomach under his shirt when it stretches tight against his body. And if Gerard wants that--small and soft and innocent--how could he still want Mikey?

Gerard can see how tense Mikey's shoulders are getting, how he's starting to curl into himself more, and he rests his hand on Mikey's, gently, not caring if Frank sees. Frank, after all, is an only child and doesn't know quite how normal siblings act around each other, and so he doesn't get that Gerard and Mikey are past that.

"We should probably go soon," Gerard says, trying to keep the worry out of his tone. Don't be angry with me, Mikey. Don't.

Mikey nods stiffly, and allows Gerard to touch him--the contact is already helping him a little bit, soothing his nerves even though he's still feeling jagged inside. But Frank whines in disappointment.

"Can't you stay, please? I just...I want to know everything." He looks away, and there's clearly real sadness on his face when he looks back, more depth than expected from a child of his age. "Since I can't see anything."

Gerard's hand tightens around Mikey's for a brief moment. "We can come back," he says, praying that Mikey doesn't blow up at him for it. "Later, I mean. We're staying here in Milan for a while, anyway."

Frank beams, and he starts to say something but it dissolves into a racking cough. "I--I should get inside," he manages, practically wheezing. "It's not good for me to be out like this."

They take Frank back inside, Gerard obviously more concerned about the boy than Mikey is. The Ieros are very gracious in their farewells, impressed as they are with the brothers (the Way name still holds sway, although neither Gerard nor Mikey could name a current member of the family), assuring them that they're welcome to return whenever is convenient. Mrs. Iero rubs fondly, if more than a little worriedly, at Frank's back while he continues to cough.

Mikey is quick to move towards the door after exchanging the polite goodbyes. When he turns to wait for Gerard to follow, he's just in time to see Frank throw his arms around Gerard's waist in an exuberant embrace. Mikey can't help it, he growls.

Frank's eyes widen and he lets go of Gerard's waist almost immediately, scuttling back into the house. "Sorry," he calls after him.

Gerard and Mikey leave, closing the door behind them with a snap, and Gerard turns to Mikey. "I know you don't like it, but--you kind of scared him, there." He sighs, leaning against one of the beams on the porch. "Do you want to go find someone and get a decent meal?"

"He should be scared," Mikey says mildly, picking an imaginary thread from his cuffs. It's true--Gerard is utterly and irrevocably his, and though he may feel bad killing an oblivious child for threatening his territory, it doesn't mean he won't do it. In a blink. He straightens his waistcoat then turns to Gerard with a cool smile, willing to make an effort but not yet willing to forgive. "Yes, please. I'm starved."

"Good, come on."

It doesn't take them long to find a place, the kind of seedy neighborhood that is their primary hunting ground. In places like these, people going missing is par for the course and finding the occasional dead body without its blood doesn't raise scandal. The blood doesn't always taste as good, with diseases running rampant and too many chemicals in some systems, but they make do.

It's pitch black, but there's a small shape moving, on its way home--appropriately enough, it's a small boy of maybe thirteen. Gerard offers him to Mikey first with a motion of his hand. Go ahead, it'll make up for not feeding off Frank. The resemblance is good, anyway.

Mikey considers being offended for a moment, that Gerard is pawning some little jade off on him like it will make anything better. But he's hungry, and he knows it's a sincere apology, even if it feels like another insult. Mikey stalks down the alley, quick as a shadow, and grabs the boy by the shoulder. He whips around, thinner and rougher-hewn than Frank is, but the resemblance is enough.

"What? You want something?" The boy sneers. "You ain't no older that I am, don't you be pushing me around. Unless you're willing to pay--"

Mikey cuts him off with a hand to his throat, close under the chin, effectively immobilizing his vocal cords. He squeezes a little, just enough to make the boy struggle and gasp, imagines Frank's delicate little neck in the place of this boy's dirty one. Just close enough, until the boy's eyes are rolling back, then he drops his hand.

Gasping, the boy manages to hiss "Hell do you think you're--" before Mikey snaps in a blink. It's not a neat bite like usual, it's savage and after several long messy swallows, sounds guttural and obscene, he pulls back with blood dribbling down his chin and eyes half-lidded. "Take the rest. There's not much in him anyway."

Gerard moves forward smoothly, wrapping his hand around the boy's thin neck and biting down with a wet sound, holding him in place. The boy doesn't have much fight left in him, not after losing so much blood, but Gerard doesn't want him to be able to pull away and run for help. He can imagine it's Frank easily, and he finds himself going more slowly, drinking carefully like it is.

In some way, he wants it to be; in his mind's eye Frank's arms are wrapped around his waist and he leans down just far enough to bite into Frank's neck. Frank struggles for a second, eyes wide, and Gerard can imagine the shocked little breathy noise he would make.

Mikey watches, slowly cleaning himself--wiping the blood away with long fingers and sucking contemplatively on them. The slow care that Gerard is using on this filthy urchin is more than obvious; Mikey feels his mood growing darker and darker with each gentle swallow Gerard makes, wonders if Gerard even notices the way his thumb is sliding lovingly over the boy's neck.

He wants to thread his fingers through Gerard's hair and yank it back. Expose his neck and force him to his knees like prey, remind him who he belongs to. He might, if this continues. And he's still hungry.

Gerard finally pulls back, opening his eyes--and then the illusion is broken and he lets the boy slump carelessly to the ground, lifeless. He strides back to Mikey without a second's glance back, wiping the corner of his mouth. "Do you want to find someone else? He was--rather small, after all."

He looks around, into the thick darkness of the street (too smoggy here to even see the moon), trying to find another shape moving in the blackness. Even with the way their vision works at night, it's difficult.

Mikey catches movement at the end of the alley and he nudges Gerard and nods towards it. They move past the dirty stone walls, and as they draw nearer, it's clear that's it's a man, around Gerard's height, but very fat and very, very drunk. Neither of them take care to be quiet in their movement, and he turns to them with the roiling joviality and familiarity of the highly intoxicated.

"Say, you boys din't happen to see a pretty lil' thing jus' down this alley, eh?" He stumbles a bit, and Mikey uses this impaired balance as leverage to force him up against the wall. Unconcerned, he chuckles a little, though it turns into a gurgle when Mikey latches onto his neck, gesturing for Gerard to join him.

Gerard is far from gentle with this one, latching on savagely and nearly tearing the man's neck, hand over his mouth to muffle the howl of pain that rips out of him, surprisingly loud. Gerard isn't keen on drawing any more attention to them right now, not when he's fang-deep in the man's neck and can feel his pulse pounding.

He takes Mikey's hand, squeezing it as he swallows. They like eating together like this, sharing their food like they did when they were children. And right now, Gerard needs to reassure Mikey that things are still like they're supposed to be.

Mikey squeezes back and strokes a little at Gerard's palm with his fingertips, an acceptance of his apology (for now, anyway). Still, he drinks with long, needy pulls--he's not really hungry any more, having taken the edge off with the boy, but he want, needs to feel death on his tongue, no matter if it gives him the uncomfortable over-full feeling that makes his veins and insides heavy and distended.

Gerard pulls out of the man's neck with a slick sound, watching as Mikey finishes, drinking deeply. Eventually, the man starts to slump and Gerard catches him, holding him up so Mikey can keep drinking. "We should get back," Gerard says eventually, stroking Mikey's cheek.

He's keeping a close eye on their surroundings, listening with too-sharp ears for the sounds of someone else around, something other than the quiet slurping sounds from Mikey.

Mikey finally feels the man's heart stop, the blood start to stagnate and cool, and he pulls back wiping delicately at his mouth again. He does feel heavy, eyelids starting to droop, and he presses a hand against his stomach, softer than usual with the glut of blood. "Yes. Yes, before light."

The way back to their rooms is easy, though he feels sluggish and a little hazy, relying on Gerard to lead the way through the alleys and down streets.

Gerard leads Mikey as best as he can, grateful to the unnatural strength he acquired when he changed, because his brother is heavy and leaning on him more than a little. He gets them back to the rooms as quickly as he can, noting the traces of dawn as they reach their room.

"Mikey, are you all right?" Gerard asks, stroking his hand. He knows what it's like to take more blood than he can hold, the way the world is blurred, and he knows Mikey overdid it.

Mikey nods, a little slow because his head just feels a bit too heavy, an effort to move it up and down. He watches Gerard through heavy lidded eyes and smiles, slow, until his fangs start to peek out from behind his lips.

"You weren't very good today, Gerard." His voice is soft, a little slurred, but he's steady when he reaches out to cup the curve of Gerard's jaw in his hand, fingers light. "You upset me."

Gerard leans into the touch, eyes closing for a long moment. "So," he asks, opening them again and looking into Mikey's half-closed eyes. "What should I do, then? To make it up to you." He shifts closer, intent clear.

Mikey accepts his gentle advance with more lazy smiles before he gives in to the impulse that struck him in the alley and fists his hand in Gerard's hair, pushing him down, leaving no room for argument or resistance (not that he thinks Gerard would give him either).

Gerard goes down without hesitation, dropping to his knees with a thunk against the hard wooden floor. His knees hurt, in a distant sort of way, but there are more pressing matters at hand.

"So..." he says, letting his voice trail off. If Mikey wants him to do something, he wants to be told to do it.

Mikey releases his hand in Gerard's hair to run his fingers through, gentle for a moment, but only until he reaches the back of his head. His nails dig in when he pushes Gerard's head forward until his nose is pressed against the soft leather of his breeches. He juts his hips forward, spine curved.

"Undo them." When Gerard starts to reach up, he scrapes his nails against the back of his skull. "No hands."

Gerard nods, nose brushing the front of Mikey's breeches, and he leans in, cautiously trying to untie them. After a long moment, he gets one string undone and pulls it free, and then goes after the other, pulling it with his teeth until they come undone, diving back in to loosen them further.

He looks up, more than a little smug. Now what, little brother?

Mikey lets his hand relax again, stroking through Gerard's hair with a little indulgent smile. "Very good, yes." He reaches down to thumb at the corner of Gerard's mouth, and then over his lower lip, rougher than usually acceptable. "Going to suck like I want you to, aren't you, going to be a good boy, right?"

"Yes," Gerard breathes out, leaning forward to nuzzle against the front of Mikey's undone breeches. "I'll be good." He reaches up, sliding them down slowly, licking at the strip of exposed skin below Mikey's shirt, along one sharp hipbone.

Mikey shudders at Gerard's tongue on his flesh, then takes his cock in hand and nudges at Gerard's lips, "forcing" them open. He can't wait to see them bruised and shining, and he cups his other hand back around the nape of Gerard's neck so he can't pull away (not that he would, but Mikey likes to hold him in place).

Gerard doesn't need any more encouragement than that, and he takes Mikey into his mouth easily, sliding down as far as he can go. He knows Mikey likes him to do this, likes the illusion of forcing him to, and he sucks hard, keeping his hands down at the floor. As much as he'd like to be able to have one to wrap around himself as he does this, Mikey has to tell him (tell him that it's allowed) to before he will.

"Yes," Mikey talks a lot when he's like this, maybe some part of his need for control. Little of it makes sense, just an endless litany under his breath. "Yes, Gerard. God. So good. Harder, god yes, my boy." He uses the hand on Gerard's neck to pull him closer, knowing it will press but not break Gerard's limits, loving the feeling of his own pull combined with the hotwetsuction from his mouth.

Gerard sucks harder, shifting forward with the motion of Mikey's hand on his neck, eyes closed. He likes when Mikey calls him that--he's the older one, but Mikey is the one who has more control in their relationship. He shifts forward on his own, encouraging Mikey to let his hips move forwards, further into Gerard's mouth.

Mikey accepts the invitation, hips thrusting forward into the godwetgood of Gerard's mouth, still holding him steady with one hand--he other hand he brings down, possessive, to press against Gerard's cheek, feeling the slide of himself inside. "Oh--that's my boy, that's my good, good boy," he hisses, twisting his fingers through Gerard's hair.

Gerard groans softly, savoring the feel of Mikey's fingers twisted into his hair, the hand on his cheek. He knows Mikey knows how far to push him, how much he can take, and he relaxes, letting Mikey use his mouth like he did the first night they did this. He sucks harder, determined to make Mikey lose control entirely.

Mikey jerks, not even trying to control the aggressive roll of his hips. He's close, so close, because this kind of mood always brings him right up to the edge in a moment's notice. The slow pull from Gerard fuels the burning in the pit of his stomach, on and on until he can feel it cresting. Gerard's only warning is a tightening of Mikey's hand in his hair, before he's jerked back and Mikey comes hot and slick across his face with a harsh gasp.

Gerard takes a breath, harsh and ragged, wiping Mikey's come off his face with his fingers and sucking them clean contemplatively. When he's done, he looks back up at Mikey, waiting for his brother to say something, another command.

Mikey watches him while he cleans his face, wipes away the clear marking of his ownership, eyes sharp and clearer than they had been. "Stand up." His voice is lower than usual and rough, as though he was the one who just had his mouth violated. "Take off your clothes and go lie down on the bed." He steps out of his own breeches and kicks them to the side.

Gerard nods again, not saying anything, and he picks himself up from the floor, wincing at the protestation in his knees as he does. He unbuttons his shirt as quickly as he can, tossing it aside, and then unlaces his breeches. Once all of his clothes are off, he slides onto the bed, on his side, watching Mikey.

Mikey follows him to the bed, shirt still brushing against the tops of his thighs, watching the movement of Gerard's muscles under bare skin. He stands at the edge, looking down at Gerard looking back up at him. There's no worry or hesitation in his voice, not even anger. Just strict calm, icy in its completeness. "I'm not going to touch you, Gerard. Do you know why?"

Gerard's eyes widen a fraction, and he fights back the urge to say anything about how that isn't fair, looking up at Mikey. He shakes his head. "No, I--I don't. Why?" He wants Mikey to, shifting desperately to try to find some sort of relief.

"You hurt me." His tone is matter-of-fact but his eyes are alight with a vicious kind of fury, the same that he's fought back all through the evening. A small smile curls one side of his mouth. "I don't think you deserve to be touched tonight."

At that, Gerard knows exactly what he's talking about. It's Frank--the way Gerard was acting around Frank, and while he can understand why Mikey was jealous, he wants to get him to stop it already. "Mikey, please," Gerard says faintly, trying to fight the slide of his own hand lower, to give himself some kind of relief. "Please."

Mikey shifts his weight, one hip jutted out, and rubs a little at his still-overfilled stomach, playing bored. "Why should I? Convince me, Gerard, why should I let you come at all?" He catches the slight twitch of Gerard's hand and narrows his eyes. "Don't you dare. Don't touch yourself."

Gerard shifts again, forcing his hand away from his body. "I won't, I. I'll let you do anything you want, make it up to you. Anything at all." He doesn't often put the offer up that open-endedly, but he's so hard it's painful and Mikey is acting like he's not going to do anything and just leave Gerard to suffer.

"Anything?" Mikey drums his fingers contemplatively against his lower belly and traces a few small circles. "That's quite an offer. I'll hold you to that, Gerard." He reaches out and traces just the tip of his middle finger along Gerard's cock and smiles. "Are you sure? You won't tell me you didn't mean it later?"

Gerard shifts forward, pushing against Mikey's finger, and even that little contact is enough to make him let out a breathy whimper, looking up at his brother desperately. "I'm sure, and I meant it. Anything you want to do." He has no idea what Mikey is thinking of, what he wants to do, but it doesn't matter. He trusts Mikey.

"Don't move." Mikey kneels on the edge of the bed, shirt rucking up around his hips, and takes Gerard in his hand. It's too dry, too rough, but he strokes loose (but not loose enough to not feel the burn) until Gerard's body makes the way slicker and easier for him. He spiders his other hand up Gerard's belly and chest to play at a pale nipple.

Gerard tries not to push into Mikey's hand, but his expression is grateful, a rough noise escaping from his (used) throat as Mikey's hands slide up his chest, playing with sensitive flesh. Some part of him wants to know what he's just committed to, agreed to do in exchange for this, but for now he can't gather the thoughts to consider it properly.

Mikey twists his hand on Gerard's cock as he moves down--the way he's learned Gerard likes it, after over a century of touching and teasing and discovering--at the same time as he tweaks hard at the flesh between his fingertips. He leans down so he can whisper in Gerard's ear, breath not hot enough against his skin. "I'm going to bite you while you come, and I'll taste it."

Gerard groans, low and rough, trying to force himself not to move--it's a struggle, and his hips twitch minutely as Mikey's hand moves over him, at the vicious twist of pleasurepain that shoots through him. "Want you to," he gasps out, eyes meeting Mikey's for a brief moment. He knows this isn't what Mikey is asking for, but he can still appreciate it, the way Mikey's fangs are going to sink in, slow, through the delicate flesh in his neck.

Mikey moves his hand faster, still leaning close, waiting for the tell-tale signs, the catch in Gerard's breathing that lets him know the end is near at hand, the groans that signal the final crescendo. He mouths at Gerard's neck just lightly, a bare scrape of fangs against sensitive skin, waiting and ready to slide into soft flesh. He's certainly not hungry--Gerard's blood serves not as nourishment, but as a sharing of power.

Gerard's breath stutters, catching in his throat, and he shifts into Mikey's hand just slightly, arching his neck at the feel of Mikey's teeth scraping over it. He's close--after getting himself this worked up (he still doesn't know why doing that (he still doesn't have a real term for it) to Mikey does it to him, but it does, every time) he feels like he should have come ages ago. "Mikey, Mikey, can I--" and all he needs is one word from Mikey and he'll be there.

Just one hissed "Yes" and Mikey bites down on his neck. Gerard's blood has always tasted different from everyone else’s. All kinds of blood have their own flavors (the sweetness of virgins to the bitterness of the elderly) but Gerard's is different in a way that's, well, different from the others. It's completely unique, and instead of filling his belly it feels like his heart is filling and warming.

All it takes is Mikey's assent and Gerard is coming, gasping and arching his neck to urge Mikey's fangs deeper inside. He loves the feel of it, even the sharp pain as Mikey bites in (even if he doesn't admit it to himself, it's better than the feeling of Mikey sucking on his neck) and Mikey is never gentle with it.

Mikey is happy to oblige, fangs sinking deeper, tearing a little around the edge of the original bitemarks (they'll heal by the next evening, but they'll be sore for the whole day). He drinks from Gerard, hot swallows that heat him in a flash, and pulls off, still gnawing a little at the wound. The combination of the too-much blood filling his belly and the warm boost of Gerard's makes him feel leaden and lazy, but he still presses his stained fingers past Gerard's lips, forcing him to lick away his own release.

Gerard's tongue flicks out obediently, cleaning Mikey's fingers thoroughly, sucking on the tips before pulling away with a smile. He can feel the wound on his neck throbbing, a dull pain that makes him bite his lip, shift against Mikey, even if he certainly isn't ready to go again.

"So--what did you have in mind?" he asks finally, looking up at Mikey. Anything could very well be anything, and while he's not going to kid himself and say they haven't done anything out of the ordinary together (one particular memory of Mikey tying him to the bedpost with strips of sheets, grinning, is particularly vivid) he knows it hasn't been everything.

Mikey chuckles low in his throat and licks a hard swipe against the bite wound, already starting to close and fade though he knows from experience it's still painful, and the definite bump of his teeth against the sensitive flesh must sting.

"Not telling. Hold onto the headboard," he taps almost clinically at the inside of Gerard's thighs. "And spread your legs."

One side of Gerard's mouth quirks up into a smile and he nods again, sliding up to grab hold of the headboard. His body is thrumming with anticipation, with no idea what Mikey's going to do. He stretches, arching his back to get the kinks out before lying back, spreading his legs.

"And now what?" he asks, sly.

"Stay." Mikey crawls back off the bed and returns with the leather straps they've used to anchor their possessions to horses and carriages. Now, though, he wraps one around Gerard's wrist, painfully painstaking, pulling tight until the flesh on either side is red and a little raw without any struggling. He does the other wrist, and then each of Gerard's ankles, pulling his legs wide (almost too wide) apart to strap him against the bedposts at the foot of the bed.

Back to his bag, and then he returns and sets down the knife next to the candle on the nightstand, making it glint silver. He reaches up and starts unbuttoning his shirt slow, one button slipping through at a time. "You know that you haven't been a good boy for me, Gerard."

Gerard shifts, testing the bindings, finding himself totally unable to move except for shifting upwards. Even that makes his wrists and ankles burn, the straps rubbing against soft skin. He sucks in a sharp breath, only able to turn his head far enough to see the glint of something on the bedside table. He trusts Mikey, trusts him absolutely, but he doesn't know what Mikey is planning to do. They can't hurt each other, not permanently anyway, but he knows from experience Mikey can leave marks that sting.

"No," he says softly, watching as Mikey unbuttons his shirt. "I haven't, that's true..."

"I'm afraid I have to punish you for that." He doesn't add I'm sorry or I don't want to because those would both be lies, and they don't lie to each other, not ever. Shirt undone, he unbuttons both of his cuffs before slipping it off his shoulders and tossing it onto the chair. He retrieves the candle from the nightstand first.

"You lusted." He tips his hand, quick and merciless, and the hot melted wax spills into the hollow of Gerard's collar bone.

Gerard hisses in pain, the wax burning on his skin, hotter than anything he can remember feeling. The pain is searing, shooting straight through him, and he strains against the restraints, gritting his teeth--but the initial shock of pain fades, and it feels almost good, a warm throbbing heat against his collarbone.

He doesn't say anything in his defense, waiting for Mikey's next move.

"I think," Mikey says, voice deceptively mild, calm as he drizzles a thin line of wax down Gerard's chest and belly, "you need to remember who you belong to. And since you can't seem to do that on your own--" He pauses to make eye contact, to be sure Gerard is listening before he upends the candle to send scalding wax splashing over Gerard's cock.

Gerard lets out a hoarse shout, body twisting helplessly in the restraints, unable to move away or make it stop stinging. He gasps out a breath and then another, biting his lip and trying to unfocus his mind, let Mikey do what he wants. It's always been clear to him (and to Mikey, always to Mikey) who he belongs to, and the burns will sting every time he thinks about it or--and he supposes this is Mikey's intention--thinks about Frank.

Mikey smiles, just a little secretive smile but there's a world of intent behind it. He sets the candle down carefully, and picks up the knife. Keeping it close to his body so Gerard can't see it, he crawls to kneel between Gerard's thighs, spread so wide. He runs the flat, cool side of the knife along the inside, from knee up to the crease of his hip and leans down. "Maybe I'll use this later, Gerard. Would you like to feel that inside you, would it make it clear to you who owns you?"

Gerard can't see what it is that Mikey has pressed against his thighs, but he can feel it, the edge of the knife ghosting along the length of them, and he whimpers. "Don't, you don't need to, I know--" he manages, taking a deep breath and praying Mikey doesn't actually want to.

The frightening thing is, he's not sure he'd actually refuse if Mikey asked.

"Shhh," Mikey croons, ducking his head to kiss the near-quivering pale flesh inside Gerard's thigh. "If you're good for me now, maybe I won't have to."

He sits back up, back mostly-straight, and traces his fingers along the skin of Gerard's belly. "Subtle, I think, would be a waste of time. We'll have to give you something that won't make it easy for you to forget again."

Gerard tenses almost reflexively at that, because even if Mikey isn't going to do that to him with the knife (for which he is infinitely grateful) his words are definitely ominous. He doesn't dare ask, though, what Mikey wants, not when he has to be good. Has to be.

Mikey leans close again, breath against Gerard's chest. "If you struggle, I will be very displeased." He braces himself with one hand on the bed, and takes up the knife again. The soft of Gerard's belly gives gloriously under the knife so he can feel it pressing in before it breaks the skin. He cuts a line from the bottom of Gerard's ribcage to his hip, perfectly neat and straight.

Gerard forces himself not to move, not to respond other than in the widening of his eyes and the sharp hiss of his breath. He wants to press up, shift into it and Mikey knows what it does to him, how if he had to breathe it would make his breath come faster, the sharp edges of pain that he's used to from fangs biting in. Oh God.

Mikey cuts again, clinical but not quick--no, the slow drag of metal through flesh is so pointed he aches from it, cleaning the blade with long laps of his tongue that only leave him more wanting. A diagonal slice and then another--Gerard jerks a little, body reacting to the pain and trying to flee. Mikey growls, guttural and harsh, doesn't hesitate before tightening his grip on the knife and backhanding Gerard, hard--his cheek is sliced open, blood trailing down the side of his face. "I told you not to struggle."

Gerard groans, weak, looking up at Mikey with big eyes. I'm sorry, I tried-- "I'm sorry." He wants to move, pull away or push himself forward, into Mikey and into his knife, cutting deeper than the fangs ever did. He can see a trail of his blood running down the corner of Mikey's mouth, a drop from the knife that he missed and it makes him want to jerk forward again--he curbs the impulse, but not completely, body still moving upwards.

Mikey presses a hand against Gerard's side, pushing hard on the cuts. He loves when Gerard is good, the easy control, but he loves it so much when Gerard is bad, because then he gets to punish him.

"Hold still," he hisses and drops the knife to run the flat up Gerard's cock, edge just dancing along so-sensitive skin, "or I swear, this will be all that touches you tonight."

Gerard's eyes widen and he holds as still as he can, barely repressing a shiver as the knife grazes over him. He nods, quick, trying to force himself not to respond to any of it, because he doesn't want (wants?) Mikey to hurt him--like that, anyway.

Mikey smiles in response to Gerard's nod and goes back to work on his stomach--his hand is effortlessly steady, cutting in and again so so slowly it's more than a bite, it's a steady burn of sharp. He doesn't lick the blood of off Gerard's skin like he does from the blade--that he leaves to run down over his thighs and all that lies between, coating the lower parts of Gerard with sticky red.

Gerard hisses, biting his lip hard enough to bleed, watching the cuts on his stomach shift and widen as he breathes and Mikey drags the blade across again, sending sharp pain/notpain through every part of him. He's sure Mikey can feel it, the way he's getting hard again against his brother's body, the tension as he tries not to shift.

Mikey has to be careful, oh so careful, but with a last short cut, his work is done. He sits back on his calves to admire his craft, carved into Gerard's body, mapped out in jagged red lines: "MIKEY." He places the knife carefully between his teeth so he can use both of his hands to trace over the bleeding letters, working his fingernails into the cuts. It will heal by next evening, marks faded until nothing but smooth pale is left, but Gerard will remember. And so will he.

But Gerard can't see what he's carved, past red lines carved into his chest. It's some sort of combination, some word, but at the angle he can barely look down as is and he's never been able to read upside down anyway.

"What does it say?" he murmurs, eyes flicking upwards to meet Mikey's. Mikey still has the knife between his teeth, staining them and his lips a bright red, and Gerard curls his hands into fists when he feels Mikey's fingernails in the wounds. It hurts.

Mikey lifts one hand--fingertips stained and dripping blood--to take the knife from between his teeth. The other hand he rubs across Gerard's belly, smearing the blood and rubbing it in little spiral patterns, but the letters are still stark, violently clear. His voice is raspy, heavy with lust when he speaks, looking at Gerard through lidded and smoldering eyes. "Mikey. So you'll never forget."

Gerard meets his eyes, staring at the heat in them, and the possessiveness in Mikey's tone makes him shiver. "That I'm yours? I know. I'm not going to forget that." Not that I would have before.

"You seem to." He brings his hand to his mouth, sucks speculatively on his fingers while watching Gerard, gaze heated yet serious. "It makes me so angry, when you look away." He shakes his head briefly, then crawls forward over Gerard's body to retrieve the candle. He smiles at Gerard, waving a little with the wavering flame, before he starts to drip wax along the cuts, outlining the "M" in melted wax seeping into the wounds.

Gerard whimpers, trying to twist away. His wrists and ankles are no doubt going to be red and raw when Mikey unbinds him, the way he's moving. "I know," he manages through gritted teeth. "I know, oh God, I won't--" But he can't say it, because he knows it isn't true. He's planning to see Frank again.

Mikey just clucks his tongue and moves on to the "I" and "K." He's no fool--he knows that he can't really keep Gerard from doing what he wants (not in small part because his possessive nature is a double-edged sword, leaving him with a complete inability to let Gerard remain unhappy, especially if he has the power to fix it) but he can do this. He can make sure Gerard knows. "E" "Y" and he's done. He sets the candle back on the nightstand and reaches down to play his fingers over the hardening wax, carefully ignoring Gerard's growing readiness.

And Gerard can't do anything himself, still neatly restrained, but he arches up, into the play of Mikey's fingers across his stomach. "Mikey," he says, voice soft and more than a little pleading. All it would take would be Mikey's fingers dipping lower.

"What do you want, Gerard?" Mikey coos a little, taunting, tracing letters and under them, but never far enough, never where Gerard wants him. Always a tease, always not-quite-enough. He's not going to give Gerard anything until he asks for it. "Would you like me to take you now?"

Gerard is more than accustomed to this, Mikey making him ask, and he nods simply. "Do it, please." If he doesn't have that part, the "please", Mikey sometimes stops--and makes him say it again, and right now all he wants is to get on with it as soon as possible. "Come on."

Mikey swipes his fingers through the blood on Gerard's lower belly and sucks them into mouth, licking at them and getting them slick as possible--Gerard is much more willing and able to take him like this than he is when the roles are reversed. He removes his fingers with a pop, and slips his hand down to slide two into Gerard, knowing he can handle the burn.

Gerard pushes himself down onto Mikey's fingers as best as he can, straps digging into his wrists. It hurts, but it's virtually nothing, compared to the wax or the slow drag of Mikey's knife. It's a good kind of hurt, even though he'll feel it all the next day.

Mikey gives only a cursory nod to three fingers before starting to push in for real--it seems like weeks, even though he just came by Gerard's mouth that evening, and he's not the most patient man. He hisses; almost too rough and too tight, but he loves the harshness of it all. What he does when he takes Gerard, it's nothing at all like the sweetness and care Gerard gives to him, and he would feel guilty if he didn't know how much pleasure Gerard gets from his way.

Gerard gasps, head back and nails digging into his palms. It hurts, it burns, but he gets a twisted sort of pleasure out of the pain of it. He pushes forward as much as he can, urging Mikey on. "Mikey, move. Please."

Mikey's tempted to pinch Gerard's thigh, tell him that he'll go however slowly or quickly he wants, leave a bruise. But, god, he wants and the muscles in his thighs are trembling a little from the strain, so he obeys, snapping his hips harshly until he's in Gerard to the hilt.

Gerard gasps out a breath and then another, trying to let his body get used to the intrusion, to relax a little. He shifts upward as much as the bindings will allow, pressing his body to Mikey's with a harsh sound. Come on.

Mikey leans forward, pressing himself as completely against Gerard as he can--he can feel Gerard's blood, the places where his skin splits, sticky against his own belly. With a small grunt, he draws out, then snaps back in again, quicker than before.

The movement only widens the cuts, new blood springing from the places where wax and skin are beginning to separate. Gerard groans, the sound coming out weak. Sometimes he thinks Mikey knows him too well--after spending a hundred years together like this, Mikey knows exactly what Gerard likes and exactly how far he can take him before he breaks. It's perfect and it hurts.

Mikey's eyes flutter closed, he can't look at how Gerard looks, bleeding and spread under him, for too long because god. He ducks his head to lick under Gerard's collarbone, at the slightly shiny burns from the wax earlier. He knows his tongue must feel rough against the damaged skin, and he jerks his hips a little more harshly at the thought.

Gerard's next breath turns into a choked whimper and he shudders at the feel of Mikey's tongue, dragging slowly across the burns on his chest. He's going to be feeling them for the next day or two, at least. "Mikey, please, I need--"

"Tell me," he rasps against Gerard's chest, fitting a hand between them to palm over the cuts again, the stickiness of blood and brokenness of split skin and the trembling of Gerard's flesh making him feel heady with need. "You have to tell me, Gerard."

Gerard pushes up against Mikey's hand, groaning brokenly. "Just-- touch me. God, please. I need it." He's hardly above begging but if it were anyone but Mikey (Frank but he can't think about that now Frank is practically a baby compared to him) he would be embarrassed to do it.

Mikey moves with reflexes faster than any man's, grabbing Gerard's jaw. "What did you just say?" And Gerard's eyes are wide, and he doesn't respond, but Mikey heard him, that breathy undertone of a whisper. Frank. He pulls away, out of Gerard, crawls off the bed--the mood has left him completely, he can't take this. He hears Gerard's whines, can see him jerking uselessly against the air out of the corner of his eye, but Mikey just scrambles into his nightclothes and curls up with a blanket in the chair, leaving Gerard strapped down and wanting.
Tags: gerard/mikey, nc-17, vampverse

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