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Nov. 1st, 2011 11:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesTitle: Up And Down, Back And Forth
Pairings: Mikey/Pete, background Gerard/Bob
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1691
Summary: Five times Mikey had a toothache. A continuation of Something Churning in which My Chemical Romance is a queercore band.
Prompt used: toothache for hc_bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
1)
Mikey hasn’t slept in three days. It’s kind of awesome, actually. Besides having actually finished all his homework, instead of just doing first period’s, and doing each subsequent period in the class before, he’s had time for all the fun stuff. He can play whatever video games he wants, go through the phone phreakers guide Adam lent him and try some of the numbers, watch every bootleg video he and Gerard have amassed. But he doesn’t let anything bog him down. He watches or reads or talks or writes or whatever for five minutes and then he moves on. You can get more things done when multitasking.
And he’s jerked off about a dozen times. He’s not even coming white anymore.
Best of all, he can run to the sev that’s two blocks away. Every hour Mikey gets thirsty, and every hour he gets up, sneaks upstairs, and runs as fast as he can to Seven Eleven. He’s had seven of the eight available flavours tonight. Unless lemon lime sells out he’ll have that again after he gets a bingo with Dr Pepper.
It doesn’t matter that each suck hurts because his teeth are temperature sensitive, the flavour is too filling to stop. It makes up for not eating. He’s not hungry, he just misses the taste of things. The sugar boost is unneeded. He doesn’t need more energy, he’s got the energy of the entire world channelling through him. He might never sleep again.
2)
Mikey likes being in the bathroom. It’s easier to tell if there are spirits behind him when he’s looking into a mirror. He’s not sure how they’re not a safety hazard for those that want to kill themselves, but he doesn’t really care about them. With so many spirits, he can only afford to care about himself. The mirror keeps him safe and that’s all that matters.
The problem is he needs a reason to be escorted to the bathroom, and the spirits are better spotted there, otherwise I can only see them in my periphery won’t be good enough for them. Instead he says he needs to brush his teeth. With the frequency and duration they probably think he has OCD, not newly diagnosed bipolar. But it’s better that way, even if his gums are starting to bleed from over-brushing.
The water is lukewarm. They don’t approve of patients scalding themselves. But the toothpaste gel is always a shock when it’s smeared over his molars, working towards the front. He doesn’t get how it can be fridge temperature when the room is normal. He shudders and waits for his cheeks to warm it, and then brushes slowly, blinking as little as he can. Even when a man with an arm sleeve of tattoos joins him at the next sink and points out the foam he’s spitting out is pink, Mikey keeps brushing. Until the psychologist teaches him how to make them go away, he’ll have to put up with the pain.
3)
It’s a cruel thing, working at the Rocky Mountain stand in the mall when his teeth are sensitive to sweets. His first day the boss encouraged him to try some of the selection, so he would have actual opinions, and recommendations to give when the more indecisive customers asked. Each bite hurt. But it is a good job, in other ways.
For one, it’s close to his therapist. Currently he’s got once a week sessions, though she says he’ll be able to cut down in the future, when he gains more control of himself and can recognise warning signs better. He’s had to cut costs to pay for the sessions and his medication. His apartment was the first to go, his car the second. Not having a vehicle makes being able to walk to a session all the more important.
For another, the job requirements are low. All he has to do is sell candy and count the til, his boss doesn’t give a shit about anything else as long as the stand cashes out within a dollar. Including who he is as a person. Not that there’s such a thing as an insanity check, but she probably wouldn’t bother to run it, just like she didn’t run a criminal record check or a child abuse registry check, even though Rocky Mountain sells primarily to families. Mikey likes to think that being occasionally insane is better than stabbing someone or beating a child, but not everyone is so sure.
Being able to wear whatever he wants is a nice touch. Most of his past jobs have required uniforms. Mikey likes his green hoodie, it would suck to take it off for eight hours a day. When he left Eventide Pete gave it to him. He’ll give it back when Pete gets out. At least they don’t have to rely on letters. Mikey can call every lunch break, which is conveniently set during Pete’s free evening.
4)
Whatever Pete’s fantasies are, Mikey’s going to try them. Short of snuff, scat, and bestiality, Mikey’s up for anything. Even if their medication was perfect, they’d still be horny guys in their mid-twenties. As it is they both get upswings that involve intense sex, and promises to not break up if promiscuous sex occurs while they’re too headfucked to realise why it’s a bad idea. Arousal is a nightly if not hourly occurrence in their apartment.
Pete’s really into the idea, Mikey can tell as soon as he brings up that he was watching this stuff called ‘splosh’. Mikey hasn’t heard of it. It’s probably specialty porn that you have to actively look for. Unless you’re Pete, he seems to stumble over Brazilian farting porn like it’s as common as someone using your for you’re. According to Pete, he wasn’t as into the messy drippiness of it, he just wanted to smear food on him, then eat it off him. Thinking about it got him off. Mikey’s cool with that.
Instead of going to bed they lay on a tarp on the floor so they don’t have to worry about liquids soaking through. There’s a fair bit of room. When they were apartment searching they worried first about proximity to their jobs, second about a big bedroom, third about if the building was animal friendly. They haven’t gotten a dog yet, but they will, they can walk to work, and Pete can fuck Mikey on the floor when they want rough sex. It’s a good apartment.
The first round of butterscotch is good. Licking away the ice cream topping doesn’t lick away all the stickiness, but he can always shower later. Pete’s smiling with sugar smeared lips, it’s good enough for him. Then he stands and heads to the kitchen for something else. Mikey’s imagining something Pete can fuck him with, but that’s not what he brings back. He’s got a bad feeling when he spots popsicle, but he doesn’t say anything. He can try this for Pete instead of just shooting it down just in case. It starts off fine; Pete just draws on him, lines of cold making him shudder and twitch. Pete traces his lips, and Mikey lets him, though it’s not sexy, just anxiety provoking. When he accidentally scrapes his front teeth trying to push the whole dessert in his mouth, Mikey nearly pukes. Pete knows to stop, even though he doesn’t know why. It’s good, having sex with someone that watches your every move.
5)
Mikey appreciates Ray’s existence for a number of reasons, not the least of which is because he supported the band idea before Gee or Bob did. He’s a considerate man, a great person to have backstage. The atmosphere is much different than at a Fruit Brute concert. Ray’s calm enthusiasm helps temper Gerard’s terror and Frank’s stage sickness. It nearly makes up for the lack of pre-playing handjobs.
The best shows are the ones that Pete can make it out to. For a while after Fruit Brute collapsed Pete didn’t attend any shows. It probably wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but it was one that didn’t involve self medicating with either more or less pills than dosage, so it was good enough for Mikey. The depression hung around for a while, but the avoidance only a few weeks. The first he came to hurt, Mikey could tell. But he came anyway, because he cares. And hopefully also because their music is awesome. Mikey never asks, he just waits to hear if Pete’s got any comment.
The only problem is sometimes Ray’s help is menacing, or misguided. Getting Frank stoned before they went on one time did help his nausea, but it also made Frank play over half the songs laying on his back. Gerard didn’t pitch a fit, he’s not really the jealous type, but Ray really could have stopped at getting Bob heating cream for his wrists, he didn’t have to rub it in for him.
Mikey’s new found issue comes when summer rolls around. It’s hot on stage, even when they play indoors, and then they get booked for a few hours a day at a week long outdoor theatre festival. Ray gets it in his head that the only way to avoid heat exhaustion is to freeze the water bottles so they’re chilly the whole time they’re on stage. If Mikey complains Ray will just be overprotective and ask about his dental regime, like he hasn’t ever considered that it might be cavities and had it checked out.
Thankfully Frank complains before he’s forced to. Apparently when the water unfreezes in a trickle he can’t pocket big gulps in his cheeks and spit them at the crowd. Bob warns him against spitting at him if he wants to survive the week, Gerard talks about having respect for the fans, and Ray muses about having soaked handkerchiefs when he was camping as a kid, and maybe they can find some, which derails Gerard into going on about their aesthetic, to which Frank spitefully picks a few more white danging threads from the ripped knees of his jeans. Mikey loves his band.
Pairings: Mikey/Pete, background Gerard/Bob
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1691
Summary: Five times Mikey had a toothache. A continuation of Something Churning in which My Chemical Romance is a queercore band.
Prompt used: toothache for hc_bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
1)
Mikey hasn’t slept in three days. It’s kind of awesome, actually. Besides having actually finished all his homework, instead of just doing first period’s, and doing each subsequent period in the class before, he’s had time for all the fun stuff. He can play whatever video games he wants, go through the phone phreakers guide Adam lent him and try some of the numbers, watch every bootleg video he and Gerard have amassed. But he doesn’t let anything bog him down. He watches or reads or talks or writes or whatever for five minutes and then he moves on. You can get more things done when multitasking.
And he’s jerked off about a dozen times. He’s not even coming white anymore.
Best of all, he can run to the sev that’s two blocks away. Every hour Mikey gets thirsty, and every hour he gets up, sneaks upstairs, and runs as fast as he can to Seven Eleven. He’s had seven of the eight available flavours tonight. Unless lemon lime sells out he’ll have that again after he gets a bingo with Dr Pepper.
It doesn’t matter that each suck hurts because his teeth are temperature sensitive, the flavour is too filling to stop. It makes up for not eating. He’s not hungry, he just misses the taste of things. The sugar boost is unneeded. He doesn’t need more energy, he’s got the energy of the entire world channelling through him. He might never sleep again.
2)
Mikey likes being in the bathroom. It’s easier to tell if there are spirits behind him when he’s looking into a mirror. He’s not sure how they’re not a safety hazard for those that want to kill themselves, but he doesn’t really care about them. With so many spirits, he can only afford to care about himself. The mirror keeps him safe and that’s all that matters.
The problem is he needs a reason to be escorted to the bathroom, and the spirits are better spotted there, otherwise I can only see them in my periphery won’t be good enough for them. Instead he says he needs to brush his teeth. With the frequency and duration they probably think he has OCD, not newly diagnosed bipolar. But it’s better that way, even if his gums are starting to bleed from over-brushing.
The water is lukewarm. They don’t approve of patients scalding themselves. But the toothpaste gel is always a shock when it’s smeared over his molars, working towards the front. He doesn’t get how it can be fridge temperature when the room is normal. He shudders and waits for his cheeks to warm it, and then brushes slowly, blinking as little as he can. Even when a man with an arm sleeve of tattoos joins him at the next sink and points out the foam he’s spitting out is pink, Mikey keeps brushing. Until the psychologist teaches him how to make them go away, he’ll have to put up with the pain.
3)
It’s a cruel thing, working at the Rocky Mountain stand in the mall when his teeth are sensitive to sweets. His first day the boss encouraged him to try some of the selection, so he would have actual opinions, and recommendations to give when the more indecisive customers asked. Each bite hurt. But it is a good job, in other ways.
For one, it’s close to his therapist. Currently he’s got once a week sessions, though she says he’ll be able to cut down in the future, when he gains more control of himself and can recognise warning signs better. He’s had to cut costs to pay for the sessions and his medication. His apartment was the first to go, his car the second. Not having a vehicle makes being able to walk to a session all the more important.
For another, the job requirements are low. All he has to do is sell candy and count the til, his boss doesn’t give a shit about anything else as long as the stand cashes out within a dollar. Including who he is as a person. Not that there’s such a thing as an insanity check, but she probably wouldn’t bother to run it, just like she didn’t run a criminal record check or a child abuse registry check, even though Rocky Mountain sells primarily to families. Mikey likes to think that being occasionally insane is better than stabbing someone or beating a child, but not everyone is so sure.
Being able to wear whatever he wants is a nice touch. Most of his past jobs have required uniforms. Mikey likes his green hoodie, it would suck to take it off for eight hours a day. When he left Eventide Pete gave it to him. He’ll give it back when Pete gets out. At least they don’t have to rely on letters. Mikey can call every lunch break, which is conveniently set during Pete’s free evening.
4)
Whatever Pete’s fantasies are, Mikey’s going to try them. Short of snuff, scat, and bestiality, Mikey’s up for anything. Even if their medication was perfect, they’d still be horny guys in their mid-twenties. As it is they both get upswings that involve intense sex, and promises to not break up if promiscuous sex occurs while they’re too headfucked to realise why it’s a bad idea. Arousal is a nightly if not hourly occurrence in their apartment.
Pete’s really into the idea, Mikey can tell as soon as he brings up that he was watching this stuff called ‘splosh’. Mikey hasn’t heard of it. It’s probably specialty porn that you have to actively look for. Unless you’re Pete, he seems to stumble over Brazilian farting porn like it’s as common as someone using your for you’re. According to Pete, he wasn’t as into the messy drippiness of it, he just wanted to smear food on him, then eat it off him. Thinking about it got him off. Mikey’s cool with that.
Instead of going to bed they lay on a tarp on the floor so they don’t have to worry about liquids soaking through. There’s a fair bit of room. When they were apartment searching they worried first about proximity to their jobs, second about a big bedroom, third about if the building was animal friendly. They haven’t gotten a dog yet, but they will, they can walk to work, and Pete can fuck Mikey on the floor when they want rough sex. It’s a good apartment.
The first round of butterscotch is good. Licking away the ice cream topping doesn’t lick away all the stickiness, but he can always shower later. Pete’s smiling with sugar smeared lips, it’s good enough for him. Then he stands and heads to the kitchen for something else. Mikey’s imagining something Pete can fuck him with, but that’s not what he brings back. He’s got a bad feeling when he spots popsicle, but he doesn’t say anything. He can try this for Pete instead of just shooting it down just in case. It starts off fine; Pete just draws on him, lines of cold making him shudder and twitch. Pete traces his lips, and Mikey lets him, though it’s not sexy, just anxiety provoking. When he accidentally scrapes his front teeth trying to push the whole dessert in his mouth, Mikey nearly pukes. Pete knows to stop, even though he doesn’t know why. It’s good, having sex with someone that watches your every move.
5)
Mikey appreciates Ray’s existence for a number of reasons, not the least of which is because he supported the band idea before Gee or Bob did. He’s a considerate man, a great person to have backstage. The atmosphere is much different than at a Fruit Brute concert. Ray’s calm enthusiasm helps temper Gerard’s terror and Frank’s stage sickness. It nearly makes up for the lack of pre-playing handjobs.
The best shows are the ones that Pete can make it out to. For a while after Fruit Brute collapsed Pete didn’t attend any shows. It probably wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but it was one that didn’t involve self medicating with either more or less pills than dosage, so it was good enough for Mikey. The depression hung around for a while, but the avoidance only a few weeks. The first he came to hurt, Mikey could tell. But he came anyway, because he cares. And hopefully also because their music is awesome. Mikey never asks, he just waits to hear if Pete’s got any comment.
The only problem is sometimes Ray’s help is menacing, or misguided. Getting Frank stoned before they went on one time did help his nausea, but it also made Frank play over half the songs laying on his back. Gerard didn’t pitch a fit, he’s not really the jealous type, but Ray really could have stopped at getting Bob heating cream for his wrists, he didn’t have to rub it in for him.
Mikey’s new found issue comes when summer rolls around. It’s hot on stage, even when they play indoors, and then they get booked for a few hours a day at a week long outdoor theatre festival. Ray gets it in his head that the only way to avoid heat exhaustion is to freeze the water bottles so they’re chilly the whole time they’re on stage. If Mikey complains Ray will just be overprotective and ask about his dental regime, like he hasn’t ever considered that it might be cavities and had it checked out.
Thankfully Frank complains before he’s forced to. Apparently when the water unfreezes in a trickle he can’t pocket big gulps in his cheeks and spit them at the crowd. Bob warns him against spitting at him if he wants to survive the week, Gerard talks about having respect for the fans, and Ray muses about having soaked handkerchiefs when he was camping as a kid, and maybe they can find some, which derails Gerard into going on about their aesthetic, to which Frank spitefully picks a few more white danging threads from the ripped knees of his jeans. Mikey loves his band.