Written for cm for the 2008 xmas_rocks exchange
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This story is a work of fiction and therefore completely untrue. No harm or libel is meant or implied about any of the individuals named within this work and it was written without their involvement or permission. No profit is being made.
I'd just like to thank my good friend Lexie for giving me the initial inspiration for this. Oh, and Mikey is probably seventeen or just barely eighteen here, if you need the timeframe. |
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and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea." - Dylan Thomas A rainbow of color-coated paper spread out across the living room floor. Iridescent and gratuitous. Carmine, and myrtle, and goldenrod and slate. Some had been meticulously folded, quartered and set aside reverently as if they were actually constructed from the precious metals and stones they were made to represent. They would serve some later purpose; find some other use at an artist's hand. They always did. Others were crumpled and torn, ripped apart with the gleeful carelessness of a toddler or pit bull puppy. There were ribbons too: cloth and plastic, matte and gloss. Some wide and intricately designed, crafted into knots and roses and stars. Others were thin, had once been pulled tight around boxes and neatly tied off with a double knot that still left its crinkles on the surface. Or had been tugged across the blade of shears, fashioned into spirals and curly cues to add accent to bags and parcels. He stood before the off-centered tree whose lights had long since been turned off for the season, its branches still drooping heavily from the weight of too many metal bobbles and spheres of painted glass. It even sagged forward slightly; only a few ornaments had not been deemed worthy to grace the front of the evergreen. This was his favorite part, the aftermath. Standing in the wreckage after their parents had gone to bed, ready to wake up with the noonday sun on Christmas day, have a lazy breakfast of toast and pop tarts and microwaved bacon. And coffee. Coffee so thick you could feel it as it sloshed about in your belly. So dark even heavy cream couldn't turn it much lighter than mud. He closed his eyes at the thought, sighing happily at the memories from previous years, at the thought of tomorrow. He heard the door open and close, felt the slight gust of chilled air brush against the back of his neck. He didn't even have time to open his eyes again before icy fingers tickled their way up his back, invading the warmth and privacy of his nightshirt and drawing a shrill yelp from his lips. He spun, cursed, and then his world descended into a sea of chaos and colors. The crunching of paper and the smack of his head against something decidedly less than soft. Pine needles whipped across his cheek and there was the distinct sound of something delicate shattering maybe a foot from him. He blinked rapidly, above him now was a spider web of greens and browns, thick veins that sprouted needle sharp spines, several of which he was certain had ended up tangled in his hair. It took him another moment to realize he was half under the tree, and that there were familiar giggles coming from the general vicinity of his right collarbone. "Jesus, remind me to make sure you're paying attention next year." "Mikey?" A congested snort and some shifting later and his brother was propped up on one arm, resting half on top of him and gazing down at him through skewed glasses. There were needles in his hair too, and a bright pink bow was stuck at an awkward angle near his ear. He tilted his head, gave a little smile and a sniffle. "Who did you think I was? It's three in the morning, who else would be wandering in and trying to warm up their fingers by copping a feel?" Gerard returned the giggle, though softer, the eggnog from earlier having mostly worked its way out of his system. A mild buzz. The tips of his fingers made their way in trickling circles up Mikey's back, his shirt damp and cold, chilling his digits to the bone. His nose scrunched, fingers tangling in the dripping hem. "Did you go for a swim after the party or something?" His brother seemed to realize for the first time that he was wet, and cold, and he shivered against him. A twitch and then a spasm. Another sniff and then a narrow finger came up to push his glasses back up his nose. "I fell into a snow bank, well, it wasn't really a snow bank, it was more of a great mound of slush, and I was running, and you know how well that always goes for me, and I tripped on something and, ah-" Gerard felt Mikey shudder against him again, only this time it was an eyes closed, lips parted, head bowed, back arched shudder that sent a warm feeling right to his stomach. Like their mom's rich eggnog. A warm palm slid over lean cool skin, felt the dips and bumps of spine, the planes of shoulder blades. His hands shook slightly as he tugged at Mikey's shirt, trying to slip the dripping, soiled mess off him. His brother had to lift himself up into the branches before he could manage, and Gerard wondered if he would ever be graceful. "Fucking cold." Mikey's voice was near his ear, carrying with it the smell of hops and smoke and the sound of teeth clicking together. Arms lifted and wrapped, legs tangled, and a cool nose traced a vague circle over a soft, pink cheek. Gerard only had to tilt his head and their lips would meet, he could play it all out in his mind. How his brother kissed when he was trashed. How he tasted. The way he couldn't control his teeth. He'd probably end up with a split lip before it was over. And Mikey would lick at the tiny cut, mumble a giddy apology, and pass out on top of him. "Ma asleep?" A slight nod. A soft exhalation. "Crashed at twelve. Dad too." "Good." It was Mikey that erased the small distance between their mouths, crushed his lips against his brother's with a nasal giggle. Gerard felt the instinct to stiffen, that knee-jerk impulse to pull away. He hated kissing. Hated the way he kissed. Hated that he never knew what to do with his hands or how to breathe through his nose right or how his chest would hurt a little every time. But Mikey's kiss was softer than expected. Sloppy as he parted their lips and mixed eggnog and toothpaste with beer and Cheetos. Teeth clicked together but avoided his chapped skin, did not add copper and salt to the palette. And Gerard's hands found a steady place to rest at the small of his brother's back. The kiss broke abruptly as Mikey pulled back and sneezed. Gerard turned his face just far enough to the side to get the force of it with his ear. His nose scrunched and he smacked the back Mikey's head playfully. "Gross, dude." Mikey sniffed in a way that sounded like he was clearing his entire nasal passage into his lungs. Brought a hand to his face and wiped vaguely with an awkward hand. Mumbled a congested apology between his fingers. Gerard couldn't help the giggle that rose up from his chest and he smoothed Mikey's hair, retrieving the big pink bow and placing it over Mikey's shoulder blade. "Happy Christmas." His brother tried to turn his head like an owl, going cross-eyed and blinking rapidly after. "You're so fucking corny." Gerard's palms smoothed their way over Mikey's back, trying to warm the still-chilled skin. Forgetting that Mikey was always cold. That his bones always felt like ice just beneath the surface, even at the height of summer. His brother hummed softly, eyes slipping closed and head falling to rest under his chin. "We should go to bed." Gerard glanced around, his hands still moving over Mikey. Lulling and soothing. He found the corner of the tree skirt and gave a sharp tug, drawing what he could of it over to cover his brother's back. Lashes fluttered against his neck. A steady rhythm of breaths tickled at his collarbone. Gerard lips found Mikey's damp, sticky hair. "Happy Christmas, Mikey."
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