kat_lair | Bandom Fic: Cinderella, she seems so easy 2/2

Lalalalalaaa I am going to he-e-e-e-ell, I am going to he-e-e-e-e-ell, lalalalalaa *whistles merrily*

(

oikku and

sadiane , consider this your present, okay? I’m sorry I fail at birthdays.)

Title: Cinderella, she seems so easy 2/2
Author: Mistress Kat /

kat_lair
Fandom: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Pairing/Category: Gerard/Mikey, some others implied, “ordinary people” AU
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~ 9600
Warnings/enticements: ohgodohgodohgod. Uh, so the pairing should tell you this but… here be real person incest. Also cross-dressing. And D/s themes.*listens to the angels weep*
Disclaimer: Not true. In so many ways is this not true.
Summary: The first time is a complete accident. Then again, a lot of good things in Mikey’s life have begun that way – accidentally – so who’s he to knock it.

Author notes: So there’s this manip. There is, however, no salvation for me. *resigned sigh*This is largely

pushkin666’s fault. She encourages all my depraved ideas without conscience, remorse or any compassion for the audience I’m about to inflict this fic on. My kind of girl, really. The story was finished, albeit very, very late, as a part of the awesome

sosodirty challenge. Stellar betas by

trialia (Tequila! Making lesbians enjoy waycest since 2008!) and

bloodrebel333, thank you so much ladies. Title comes from Desolation Row by Bob Dylan/MCR (why yes, I am quite this lame).

Read Part 1/2 first

Cinderella, she seems so easy 2/2

Gerard had not been exaggerating about the number of people eager to celebrate Frank’s birthday or simply to have a good excuse for a party. They have to park two blocks away, because the street outside Frank and Bob’s flat is littered with vehicles in various states of repair. Frank has a lot of friends, but apparently none of them drive anything worth stealing.

Every other person walking past is wearing a fancy costume and Mikey sighs a little in relief. It’s not that he cares what people think, but he’s nervous enough about what’s going on in Gerard’s head and doesn’t need to worry about the potential of being beaten up between the car and the party. He grabs for the door handle, but Gerard reaches over and stops him.

“Wait,” he says.

Mikey blinks, confused. “What is it?”

“Just... Just, wait a minute, okay?” Gerard stares at him for a few more seconds. Then he sort of nods to himself and gets out.

Before Mikey can react, Gerard is on the other side of the car, opening Mikey’s door for him. Gerard holds his hand out expectantly.

It’s Mikey’s turn to stare. Gerard shifts from foot to foot but doesn’t back down, his arm still extended, expression stubborn.

“...It’s still just me, you know,” Mikey says. “You don’t have to—” He waves a hand between them illustratively.

“I know,” Gerard says. “But I want to.”

Well. That’s. Mikey looks up, and finds Gerard’s eyes trained on his face, not his boots or the dress or the several inches of fishnet-covered skin in between, his face.

Mikey takes Gerard’s arm and allows himself to be helped out of the car. They walk down the street side by side, Gerard’s hand a light, steadying presence at the small of Mikey’s back. Around them the Halloween evening deepens into twilight, and somewhere between their old beat-up Ford Escort and Frank’s party, Mikey falls in love with his brother all over again.

***

They climb up three flights of stairs because there’s no way in hell Mikey is willing to risk the ancient lift, high heels or not. The noise is spectacular and the only reason no one has called the cops is because Frank has apparently invited the entire building in addition to his other friends. The party spills out into the hallway, people standing around with drinks and smokes.

Mikey glances at Gerard, concerned. Alcohol usually makes him uneasy and self-conscious, but this time it’s as if Gerard isn’t even seeing the people drinking around them. His hand is still hovering protectively behind Mikey’s back, almost but not quite wrapped around his waist.

“Gee! You made it!” The shout comes from somewhere inside the apartment. There’s a blur of colour (mostly orange and black) and then Frank comes barrelling through the crowd. He launches himself at Gerard, clambering up him like a tiny monkey on acid and making squealing noises to match.

If Mikey didn’t know how completely Bob’s bitch Frank was, he would be jealous. Instead he’s simply amused.

“Happy birthday, Frank,” Gerard says, his voice muffled. “Now get down you freaky fucker.”

Frank lets out a high-pitched laugh and slides to his feet. “Like you’re one to talk. This is the first time in months I’ve seen you outside gigs or practice. Won’t hurt you to socialise a little, you know.”

Frank turns to Mikey with an appreciative leer in place. “And yet somehow you’ve managed to find a smoking date. Hello there, let me introduce—” His eyes finally reach Mikey’s face, first narrowing, then widening in genuine shock. “Holy shit! Mikey?”

It’s kind of flattering and a lot funny to watch Frank’s eyes bug out of his head as he takes in Mikey’s outfit.

“That’s...” Frank wolf-whistles, grinning widely. “Always knew you were a hot piece of ass, MikeyWay, but this is something else.”

“Such eloquence.” Mikey bats his eyelashes to soften the sarcasm and Frank laughs gleefully.

“I don’t think he looks that different,” Gerard mutters.

“Ooooooh! Mikey, I think he just insulted your masculinity,” Frank cackles, but Mikey knows that’s not what Gerard meant at all.

***

Frank’s party is kind of insane, yet oddly affable. There are no fights, no drugs (weed doesn’t count, not when you’re friends with Joe and Jon), and no public sex (what happens behind closed doors is another matter entirely, and even though most interesting combinations of people keep periodically disappearing with furtive glances, Mikey is not exactly in any position to judge).

Mikey’s outfit earns him a lot of comments and a few casual pats on the ass he’s happy Gerard doesn’t seem to notice. No one gives him grief about it or looks at him sideways. Mikey figures it’s partly because the people in their social circle are a pretty easy-going lot and partly because his dress-and-boots-combo is hardly the most outrageous outfit there. In one corner, looking like a cross between fey prince and Dickensian gentleman, Ryan Ross is talking to a tall guy with a snake-skin pimp hat. Mikey spies the cobra-headed walking stick, recognising its owner just as Gabe places a decidedly friendly hand on Ryan’s hip.

Mikey nudges Gerard subtly, nodding in their direction. “I just don’t know which one I should try and rescue. It’s like watching a snake and a very sparkly mongoose.”

Gerard sniggers. “There’s probably a pool going on already, in case you want to place bets on who eats whom.”

“...Eeeewww.” Mikey shudders.

They make a strategic retreat to the kitchen.

***

Frank’s kitchen is tiny. In it there are approximately five hundred bottles of soda, beer, spirits and (inexplicably) ketchup, and one depressed-looking Pete Wentz dressed in a furry teddy bear suit.

Gerard takes one look at the scene before turning right around. “All yours,” he says tightly and disappears back into the crowd.

Mikey is conflicted. On one hand, Pete is a friend no matter how annoying and tiring he can be. On the other, Gerard still seems to be working under the assumption that Pete and Mikey’s “office romance” (which, seriously, one summer, three years ago, and so not going there anymore) is not a thing of the past.

A few weeks ago Mikey would have been thrilled by such a blatant display of jealousy but not tonight.

“I’m heartbroken, MikeyWay,” Pete sighs from where he’s slumped over the table. “Heartbroken.”

Mikey rolls his eyes and sits down. “Uh-huh,” he says, as noncommittally as possible.

Pete lifts his head, blinking slowly in Mikey’s direction. “Oh hey,” he says dully. “You look hot.”

“Thanks.” Mikey tries to pull the hem of his dress down over the line of his stockings for a while before he gives up. One, it’s impossible, and two, Pete’s comment lacks all its usual lechery. Mikey is pretty sure that Pete wouldn’t care one way or the other even if he were to strip naked and offer himself up on a silver platter. There can be only one explanation for this.

“Where’s Patrick?” Mikey asks.

Pete’s face crumbles. “He wouldn’t come with me.”

“Why not?”

“I guess he didn’t like the costume I got him.” Pete looks both miserable and puzzled.

Mikey is not sure he actually wants to know but... “And, um, what did you get him?”

“This. He got me... This.”

Mikey and Pete whip their heads around in unison. Patrick is standing in the doorway wearing the most hideous bunny costume in existence and an expression torn somewhere between murder and helpless love.

“Look what I found.” Gerard’s head bobs up behind Patrick’s shoulder. He looks very pleased with himself and Mikey feels his face stretch into an unaccustomed grin.

“Patrick!” Pete gasps, getting to his feet. “You came! And you’re wearing the costume.”

“Well yeah.” Patrick shuffles his giant rabbit feet and awkwardly puts the headpiece onto the floor. “It seemed important to you.”

“You look... I... Patrick.” Pete stomps over, the teddy bear suit making every movement clumsy and exaggerated. He still has the paw mittens on when he grasps Patrick by the shoulders, his intentions clear as a day.

Gerard is making frantic get out, get out while you can! motions behind them and Mikey obeys hastily, slipping out of the kitchen just as the delicately pink bunny chest bumps against the brown fur of Pete’s costume. Mikey loves the guy, he really does, but he sure as fuck doesn’t want to witness the consummation of his furrie fantasies.

***

Something changes after that, after Gerard pulls Mikey out of the kitchen and further into the apartment. Mikey lets himself be led, his wrist caught in the tight circle of Gerard’s fingers. Gerard doesn’t let go until they’re safely tucked in the corner of the living room.

“People are looking at you,” Gerard says. His voice is oddly flat.

“What?” Mikey is confused, the uncomplicated amusement from just moments ago dissolving into something darker. He can’t see much of the room behind Gerard’s back, he can’t even see Gerard properly, his face angled away.

“People are looking. At you,” Gerard repeats, finally turning around. “I don’t like it.” His eyes are hard and hungry, pinning Mikey to the wall as effectively as if Gerard had actually pushed him against it.

Mikey inhales sharply, the full meaning of Gerard’s confession making his knees buckle.

The tension between them – levelled out to a background hum during the general hubbub of the party – ratchets back up. The look on Gerard’s face is the same it was when Mikey walked out of his room earlier this evening, the same one he had that first time Mikey came home wearing a girl’s shirt and candy pink lipstick.

“We could go,” Mikey suggests, his voice cracking, mouth suddenly very dry. “Back home, I mean. No one looking there, just you.”

They lock eyes, caught in the moment for long seconds, time stretching like taffy, the noise of the party fading away. This is it, Mikey knows, the precipice before the fall, the last chance to back down, the fucking crossroads.

In the end, it’s Gerard who takes the final step for both of them.

“Let’s go,” he says.

They walk out, the night air chilly against Mikey’s heated skin, Gerard’s hand like an iron band around his arm.

***

The drive home is silent. The roads are still busy and Gerard is hunched over the wheel in single-minded concentration. Mikey doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything, sitting on his hands just to keep still.

They get back just as the numbers on the car clock flick to zero. New day, Mikey thinks. How fitting. He knows now to remain seated and wait for Gerard to round the car and open the door for him.

Inside, the house is quiet and full of memories. For lack of any other instruction, Mikey walks into the kitchen out of habit. He’s unsure of what’ll happen next, though he knows that something will.

The room is dark, the only light coming from the hallway and the streetlamp peeking through the window blinds. Gerard’s face is painted with shadows, his eyes black, hands gripping the doorway, blocking the only exit. There is something predatory in the angles of his body, contained violence kept carefully in check and Mikey has never seen his brother like this, not off-stage. He always assumed Gerard’s stage-persona was just that – something fake and temporary that Gerard would put on and take off like a costume – but there is nothing artificial about this.

It’s as real, as much a part of Gerard as Mikey’s dress and fuck-me boots are a part of him.

Mikey takes a deep, shaky breath, standing ramrod-straight in the middle of the room. He feels trapped, vulnerable, heart tripping frantically in his chest. He takes a step toward Gerard, then another, heels clipping sharply on the cheap linoleum, until he’s right in front of him.

“Mikey,” Gerard says and it’s a warning. He’s holding himself very still, fingers curled tight around the edges of the doorway like he’s afraid of what happens if he lets go.

Mikey is not afraid. He thinks maybe he should be.

Mikey lifts a hand and Gerard tenses further. But Mikey is not reaching for Gerard. Instead he brings his hand up to his own waist, lets it rest there, palm flat and heavy against his stomach.

Gerard’s eyes drop instantly, following the movement. He doesn’t say anything and Mikey doesn’t either. The silence is thick and charged, iron-sweet electricity buzzing at the base of his spine, the back of his teeth.

Mikey tilts his hips into his own touch, boots scratching against the floor as he’s forced to widen his stance. His hand eases downwards, thumbnail following the pattern of the fabric. The dress is short enough for his fingers to skim the edges, brushing over the sheer material of his stockings. There’s delicate black lace just out of sight and Mikey lets his forefinger dip under the hem, sighing audibly at the sensation.

“Mikey,” Gerard says again, his voice gruff. There’s no mistaking the look on his face, the intense burn of his eyes.

Mikey feels his erection shift against the silk of his panties and can’t help the little gasp and involuntary stutter of his hips. He’s been half-hard since Gerard grabbed his arm at the party and manhandled him into the car, probably earlier.

“I wore these for you,” he says, pulling the dress up just enough to reveal the barest glimpse of skin and stocking holders. His hand travels slowly upwards, over the slim line of his thigh, sharp jut of hip, waist, chest, fingers deliberately dragging over the nipple.

“The dress too, Gerard. Do you like it? Do you want—?” His wandering fingers reach his own face, fluttering like moths over the powdered cheeks, past the waxy thickness of lipstick. Mikey doesn’t think or hesitate, just pushes two of his fingers right into his mouth, all the way up to the second knuckle, and sucks, moaning obscenely around them.

Gerard snaps, uncoiling from the doorway with a speed that’s startling. “Fuck! You fucking little tease.” He fists Mikey’s hair, yanking his head close until he can feel Gerard’s breath, hot against his skin.

Mikey stumbles, eyes watering from the sudden sting. His hands reach out automatically, curling around Gerard’s arms and holding on, trying to find his balance.

But Gerard doesn’t give him the opportunity. He pushes Mikey backwards, crowding him against the kitchen table until the hard edge is pressing into the back of his thighs. Mikey goes with it, hitching himself up while Gerard shoves his legs apart and presses between them, one hand still in Mikey’s hair, the other gripping his knee.

“I’m done,” he says, teeth grazing Mikey’s earlobe. “You’re going to have to stop this, because I won’t. Not anymore.”

Mikey moans in response. “Gee, Gee, I want to. I want.” He turns his head, lips dragging wetly over his brother’s jawline. “Please,” he begs, legs wrapping around Gerard’s waist, pulling them flush against each other. “Please.”

Gerard swears, nails digging painfully into Mikey’s scalp as he brings their mouths together.

The kiss is sharp like broken glass and it cuts deep, bringing blood forth in a hot rush of desire. Mikey groans into his brother’s mouth, clutching at his jacket for support. Despite being as sure as he can, despite all the bravado, there’s still a part of him that expects the world to come crashing down around them just from the sheer enormity of what they’re doing.

Nothing happens. Over the thumping of his own heart Mikey can hear the kitchen clock ticking steadily; time moving forward at an uninterrupted pace.

Then Gerard’s teeth nip the soft inside of his lip and Mikey jerks like he’s been shot, fingers scrabbling for purchase across Gerard’s shoulders. The sounds he’s making are animal-high and needy.

“Pushy, aren’t you?” Gerard asks, straightening up. He wipes a sleeve across his face, looking at Mikey in the eye.

For a while Mikey thinks it’s blood smeared black around his brother’s mouth and the idea makes the bottom of his stomach drop clean away. But no, it’s just lipstick. At least this time.

“Fuck, stay still,” Gerard says, voice harsh.

Mikey freezes, elbows digging into the unyielding wood of the table.

Gerard’s eyes are travelling up and down his prone form; from the slutty boots to the dress riding high on his hips, to the smudged mascara and the feathered tips of his hair.

Mikey feels exposed yes, but more than anything he feels pretty – something that hasn’t happened too often during his life; years of awkward adolescence morphing into awkward adulthood, the angles of his body never filling out like he hoped they would.

But now... Now Mikey wants to preen, to arch his body under the slow heat of his brother’s gaze, to twist and writhe and show him all the imperfect parts, all the broken pieces hiding under the clothes and the make-up. Because Mikey knows Gerard has already seen him at his worst and loves him anyway.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Gerard says, his hand skimming over the long line of Mikey’s body.

And Mikey does move then, even though Gerard told him not to, even though his arms protest and his boots kick clumsily against the table legs, but it’s okay because Gerard is already there, pulling him up, fingers tight around his hips.

The second kiss is no less dirty than the first. Their hips press together, the rough denim of Gerard’s jeans scraping against the bare skin of Mikey’s inner thighs. They’re both hard. Mikey can feel the cold metal of buttons through the silk and he hisses, then moans like a cheap slut, shameless and wanton.

The sound makes Gerard growl. His hand cups Mikey’s neck, thumb pushing under the choker, unerringly coming to rest over his pulse point. The feel of it makes Mikey’s mouth go slack and pliant. He pants around the light pressure, can feel himself starting to drool a little.

“Fuck, Mikey.” Gerard swipes a thumb over Mikey’s lips, his eyes black. “Do you have any idea what seeing you like this makes me want to do?”

“Tell me,” Mikey says. “Please. I want to—”

“Your mouth,” Gerard interrupts. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about how it would look wrapped around my dick. You on your knees with your pretty painted eyes looking up at me and those whore red lips stretched wide and I—”

He doesn’t get any farther than that before Mikey flicks his tongue over Gerard’s thumb, licking down and around all the way to the fleshy inside of his palm.

Gerard curses sharply and then he pushes three fingers into Mikey’s mouth all at once. They slide in between his lips, rough and a little mean, trapping his tongue and making him gag. Mikey tips his head back, letting Gerard fuck his mouth as he pleases.

“Good girl,” Gerard says. “Good girl.”

Mikey moans louder.

Gerard pulls out, wiping his fingers all over Mikey’s face and neck, smearing spit and lipstick everywhere.

Mikey’s mouth feels empty and used. He opens his eyes just in time to see Gerard drop to his knees. His hand pushes Mikey’s dress rest of the way up, revealing stockings and garter belt, the black lace stark against pale skin.

“God, look at you.” Gerard shoves Mikey’s legs apart, nails digging painfully into the soft flesh of his thighs.

Mikey looks. His fishnets are ripped where Gerard’s fingers grip him hard, the dress pooling around his waist, discarded like good intentions. His cock is trapped inside flimsy girl panties, straining against the damp silk obscenely.

He looks wrecked, needy, slutty. He looks exactly like he feels.

Mikey hooks his knees over his brother’s shoulders and for moment Gerard just rubs his cheek against the slick material of the boot, his mouth open and eyes at half-mast. Before Mikey has a chance to process the implications of that, Gerard sinks his teeth into the vulnerable inside of Mikey’s thigh.

The pain is red hot and sharp and it doesn’t let go. Mikey keens and thrashes against the table, riding it out. Gerard bites deep and hard, tongue flicking over the forming bruise. It’s like a wave that builds and builds and by the time Gerard eases off Mikey is sobbing.

“Shh, shh,” Gerard whispers, his mouth trailing up Mikey’s thigh, along the edge of his stockings. His hands bracket Mikey’s hips like a vice, breath hot against the damp cloth of his panties. “Don’t come yet,” he says, mouthing the length of Mikey’s erection through them.

Mikey doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. He bucks and writhes, futilely trying to lift his hips off the table, to get closer to the wet heat of Gerard’s mouth.

“Please, please. God, please, let me.” Mikey doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, his mouth making promises he wants Gerard to force him to keep.

“Fuck, Mikey.” Gerard is climbing to his feet unsteadily, one hand still wrapped around Mikey’s hip, the other thumbing open the buttons of his own jeans.

Fuck. Yes. Mikey wants that, to feel Gerard inside him, to be face-down on the bed, table, floor, Gerard behind him, spreading him open.

“Next time, little brother. Next time.”

Mikey hadn’t realised he’d said it out loud but the promise of a next time is enough to make him reach for Gerard’s face.

The kiss is sloppy and frantic. Between their bodies Gerard’s hands are busily undoing his jeans, the sudden heat of his naked cock against Mikey’s own is shocking.

Gerard pulls back just enough to see. “Fuck, you’re a dirty little girl, aren’t you?” he asks, voice rough. “Gonna come in your little girl panties for me, Mikes?” He drags his cock along the wet silk, slow and deliberate, the friction just on the right side of painful.

“Gonna...” Gerard pants against the side of Mikey’s mouth, rubbing himself against the crease of his thigh, “...gonna make a mess?”

Mikey’s hips snap clean off the table, his back arching like a bow and his mouth stretched wide. The pleasure is almost too much to bear. He comes in sharp bursts, inside his panties like a cheap slut, just like Gerard said he would.

“Fuck, fuck.” Gerard stands up, eyes flickering between Mikey’s face and the ruined front of his underwear. Two strokes of his own fist and Gerard comes too, all over Mikey; his dress, his fishnets, his already wet panties. Mikey opens his mouth, hoping to catch some of it, and thinks next time again.

***

It takes a while for his senses to return to normal functioning, but after a minute or two, Mikey can hear the quiet tick-tick of the clock, soft under the thumping of his own heart and the combined sound of their harsh breathing.

Gerard is a dead weight, slumped over him bonelessly. It feels good but Mikey would also like to regain the use of his lower extremities sometime this century.

“Get off.” He pokes Gerard on the shoulder. “You’re heavy, get off.”

“Ithoahsdid,” Gerard mumbles, face buried against the crook of Mikey’s neck.

“What?”

“I thought I just did,” he says, finally moving enough to allow Mikey to sit up.

“Oh haha, very funny.” Mikey busies himself with getting to his feet, carefully avoiding his brother’s face. For all his planning and hoping, he never thought about after, what would happen once the haze of sex cleared and the make-up and pretty clothes came off.

“Hey. Mikey, hey. Look at me. Please?” Gerard’s hand wraps around his wrist, tugging him closer. “I meant what I said.”

Mikey leans against him, body too conditioned to seek comfort in his brother’s arms even though his mind is still anxiously turning around in circles. “I don’t know, Gee. You said a lot of things there, not many that bear repeating in polite company...” Mikey is pretty sure his attempt of a joke is falling flat but it’s the best he can do at the moment.

“Well I meant all of them,” Gerard huffs irritably. His fingers nudge Mikey’s head up until he’s forced to look Gerard in the eye. “But especially the part about you being... uh, beautiful.”

Mikey gets the impression that Gerard would duck his head then if he wasn’t too busy proving a point.

“This,” Gerard makes a sweeping gesture at Mikey’s outfit, “the dress or the lipstick or whatever the hell else you’re wearing – is not what this is about.”

“But...” Mikey says, even though the voice inside his head is screaming at him to shut the fuck up and take what is given.

“But what?” Gerard asks.

“But you never before...” Mikey doesn’t quite know how to finish that sentence so he just nods toward the table.

“I did. Or wanted to.” Gerard runs a hand through his hair, then grimaces with disgust when he realises it’s now smeared with come.

Mikey sniggers a little despite himself.

“Believe me. I just didn’t know if... But then you. With the. And I couldn’t...”

Mikey feels a slow smile starting to spread across his face. “Are you saying you couldn’t resist my feminine wiles?” he asks? “Were you powerless against my girlish charm?”

“Shut up, God!” Gerard looks embarrassed but he’s also grinning from ear to ear, his arm snaking around Mikey’s waist. “See how you like it when I wear a dress.”

“Ooooh, kinky!” Mikey laughs and if his voice comes out more breathless than mocking then Gerard doesn’t seem to mind.

“You bet,” he says and pulls Mikey in for a kiss.

Fin.

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Posted by

pushkin666.livejournal.com

*sniggers*. You're totally going to hell. Have I told you recently how much I love this fic. It's just soooooooo filthy :D

Posted by

Bandom Fic: Cinderella, she seems so easy 2/2

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