gala_apples

Author's Notes: Okay. So. Once upon a time, Mikeyway wore things like these:

HELLO SEXIEST BOOTS EVER. HOW YOU DOIN'? Which is all fine and good, until I'm innocently searching kink sites and find these: http://www.mr-s-leather.com/images/items/SL022-001.jpg. And then my mind goes BOOTS. STRAPS. LOOKS SO SIMILAR. GUUUH. And then I write the porn, cause that's just how I roll. Oh, and if anyone is curious as to the mask, it's this: http://www.mr-s-leather.com/images/items/HT038-005.jpg Also, I'm glad to finally be posting this, I've had these three pictures opened in tabs on the family computer since I got the idea. Vaguely awkward. Yes, my title is from a Kesha song, I can't help it, it's now Mikey's song in my head.
Title: Somethin' 'Bout Boots And Boys
Pairing: Mostly Mikey/OMCs, a bit of Mikey/Gerard
Rating: nc17
Wordcount: 1847
Summary: There a ton of outside influences to blame, his weak bladder and the dealership that gave Mikey such a shitty car to name just two, but Gerard still blames himself.
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.


Gerard isn’t planning on doing anything more than sitting outside. It’s too far of a drive to go home and come back again, especially when he has no idea when Mikey will be done. Of course, he could have refused the ride, thousands would have. It only seemed like an option for a moment though. Mikey had been incredibly desperate to go out, and with his car dead until the next paycheck came to add to the ‘fix the shitheap again’ pot, it was beg a ride or nothing. There’s a lot of people Gerard can ignore, but his brother is not one of them.

The outside doesn’t look like a club. It looks like a tiny grimy motel, a dozen windows with blackout blinds. But Mikey assures him they’re in the right place, and there are a ton of cars in the tiny parking lot so Gerard figures he can’t be wrong. Besides, before Mikey had his license Gerard drove him to people’s houses with converted basements, broken into drained pools, and one time a library. All in all, imagining a party in a hotel room isn’t high on the list of impossibilities. Mikey slams the car door and strides across the lot, leaving Gerard to wait. Without an ETA Gerard’s stuck, but it’s not so bad. He’s the sort of person that can live out of his car. Pressing the light on the roof of the car shows entertainment for a whole night; scattered over the backseats are what turns out to be an impressive stack of comics. He’s also got his Ipod, a sketch book, and about a dozen red, black, and blue ballpoint pens.

He’d be good for hours, except for two things. About twenty minutes in, six songs on shuffle setting, he starts to get cold. And once he starts shaking he is forced to pay attention to his body, which informs him loudly that he has to pee. Either one in itself would be manageable; he could waste gas by turning on the engine for a bit for a blast of heat, or he could scan for people then piss on the pavement. But when experienced together the only choice is to go inside. Gerard only hopes Mikey doesn’t think he’s trying to horn in on his scene. Mikey should know better, Gerard’s not the type for mingling and claiming to know more than he does about music to impress the people around him, and he’s really not the type for dancing.

It is a motel, albeit with a few modifications. The first is the doors open to a metal detector, which Gerard makes it through once he shows his hoodie zipper is just a zipper, and gives the man five bucks for cover. The second modification is none of the rooms have doors. That change makes it easy enough to find an empty room and duck inside to use the cramped bathroom inside - at least the bathroom has a door.

Gerard isn’t stupid. This isn’t a club as much as it’s a place to hook up, and judging by the few exceedingly loud patrons, it’s an all male place. Which is fine, it’s not like he didn’t know that Mikey was bisexual. For that matter it’s not like his own sexuality isn’t fluid; he’s sort of the stereotypical art kid. It just isn’t the way he wants to have sex. He doesn’t want to lie on a bed hundreds have been on before, waiting for someone to walk past and decide he’ll do. There’s nothing sexy about it to him.

That doesn’t prevent him from stopping to look in each room. There could be something inspiring in the arch of a back, or the stretch of a mouth. He needs something to draw for however long it takes his brother to find what he wants. He pauses the longest in front of what seems to be a themed room. The walls have graphic art instead of the mirrors the rest of the rooms have had. There’s no bed, but there are a few pieces of furniture Gerard can guess the intent of. Hanging from the ceiling are a few different slings, and what almost looks like a coat hanger made of chain. That’s the object that has the room’s attention, all three of the men in the room are using it. One’s a tall, thin red head, real red, not the awesome dye he’s got. The other standing man is more built, though not disturbingly so. Gerard hates the body builder look, complete with protruding veins, shrunken testicles, and the shitty attitude that comes with it. The third is-

It’s Mikey. It’s got to be Mikey. Gerard can’t see much of his face, he’s wearing a leather mask over the top half of his head, but he’d recognise Mikey’s hair anywhere. The more Gerard looks the more sure he is, and then he notices Mikey’s clothes neatly folded on top of one of the fucking frames, with his glasses sitting on top. He’s nude except for the boots he’s wearing; heavy leather, the kind that generally come with steel toes. There are straps curling around his Achilles tendons, more around the rubber bottom of the boot, all serving to attach Mikey to the hanger that’s holding him upside down. The ceiling is abnormally high for a motel room, leaving his hips at eye level.

Gerard’s about to leave, certain he doesn’t want to know the rest of this, when the muscular one speaks. The words hammer him to the spot. “Come on sweetheart, hold yourself up. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Mikey gropes blindly arm swinging out until the redhead puts the chain into his hand. Mikey grabs it and climbs the metal fist over fist like those evil yellow ropes in gym class, stopping once his body is in an L shape.

“You wanna come in?” The redhead asks loudly. Gerard automatically checks behind him, but of course there’s no one else in the hall.

“No, we mean you.” he reassures him.

“That’s right sweetheart, we’re inviting people in. Pretty soon everyone’s going to see what a lovely little slut you are.” Gerard would be offended on Mikey’s behalf, except he groans at the words. Apparently he likes what he’s said. His brother likes dirty talk, just another thing he never thought he needed to know.

He shouldn’t come in, that much is obvious. Purposely entering a room in which your brother is having sex is something one should never do. But it’s not like Mikey seems opposed to the idea of someone watching, and as long as Gerard doesn’t make himself known, what can it hurt? Gerard says fuck off to the voice inside his head telling him how horrible he is and takes a few steps past the door frame.

“Do you want to touch him?” The redhead is smiling as he asks, and Gerard can see Mikey shudder at the idea of a stranger wanting him. Gerard shakes his head no. There are a series of lines, and even though he’s crossed a lot he won’t cross them all.

His entering seems to be a cue for everything to start. The muscled man puts his hands on Mikey’s hips and pulls him back the slightest bit, until Mikey’s ass is at his face. Gerard has never actually seen rimming in porn. It’s not like he’s against it. It’s no more wrong or dirty than a mouth on a dick or a cunt. It’s just, it’s sort of a specialty move and Gerard has never cared enough to go out of his way to download it. That seems like a mistake now, if the noises Mikey are making are any indication. The muscular one is holding Mikey’s cheeks apart so he can lick him, Mikey rocking back and forth in the air as he starts squirming, knuckles white from gripping the chain. And no matter how wrong it is, Gerard can’t look away.

Gerard watches in fascination as Mikey’s arms start to tremble. He’s not the only one that notices. “Can you hold out, sweetheart? Because I gotta say, I’m not sure how interested I’ll be in helping you come if you give in.”

The redhead agrees, touching Mikey’s cheek, a gentle gesture among the rest. “Help us help you.”

Gerard can’t help but feel bad for Mikey. He clearly remembers the feeling of being stranded halfway up the rope, obstacle course and team members demanding you go all the way up, when you’re not even sure if you can climb back down without losing grip and plummeting to the thin mats underneath. But he’s not going to intervene. If Mikey’s doing this, he must want this. Gerard might not understand the appeal, but if Mikey likes the struggle of it, who the fuck is he to try to take that away? Not to mention that the second he speaks to try to get Mikey out of his predicament, Mikey will know it’s him. So he doesn’t say a word, instead just keeps watching the redhead sweetly stroke his face, the muscled man lick him.

Finally Mikey’s body wins over his brain. His arms refuse the weight, they just give out; the upper half of his body falling down. Gerard darts forward, needing to save him from smashing his head open. He’s a few steps too late, the redhead is already there, palm on Mikey’s skull. Even then it doesn’t matter, Mikey comes to a ninety degree angled stop to the floor with a several foot gap between his head and the dirty carpet.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Gerard’s heard hundreds of fake, forced apologies from Mikey over the years, he knows real regret when he hears it.

“It’s okay, you tried.”

Now the redhead’s got him, stroking his cock expertly, arm raised high. It’s not long before Mikey is coming, gravity working with him to spray himself on the floor. The obvious next step is to unlatch Mikey, then it will be over. Before they can start the process, Gerard comes close and drops to his knees. It’s an awkward angle by any definition but he places his hands on Mikey’s cheekbones and kisses him. His cheeks are warm, flushed red with the blood that’s flowing in the wrong direction. His lips are nearly burning hot, but Gerard doesn’t want to stop. Then Mikey’s mouth opens, tongue running the line of Gerard’s lips, searching for a way in.

The feel of Mikey wanting him back breaks Gerard’s spell. It’s so fucking innocent, he just wants a kiss, he has no idea who’s hair is falling on the underside of his chin. Mikey’s innocent, and Gerard is a fucking shit. He rises to his feet and runs out of the room, not stopping until he gets back to the car. He can only hope Redhead and Muscles won’t describe the unknown party to Mikey. He can live with what he did, as long as there are no consequences.