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There's something magical about the feeling of a good bassline in your chest, Michael muses one night, sprawled out in a starfish position on his bedroom floor. It's probably good for anyone, but when it's something he doesn't need to be able to hear, just feel- well, that's special. He can sense it moving its fingers along him, dipping into his chest, radiating from the stereo like the warmth of a lyrical sun.
The band that's currently blaring from the speakers is one called Christian Death, which, surprisingly, Michael hadn't heard of until about an hour prior. Jeremy had shown up unexpectedly in his room (after 12 years, he's got a spare key to the Mell household), clutching a CD case still in its shrink wrap. “I found this band on the Internet,” he'd said, “and, like, I listened to it, and I sorta hated it, but it had a really good bassline in a lot of its songs.”
“Gimme,” Michael had said, and, with a thankful smile at Jeremy, ripped open the shrink wrap- which was harder than it sounds- and took the CD out of the case. After replacing the old CD- Charmer from Tigers Jaw- he pressed play and laid down on the ground, and wound up here, fingers brushing against Jeremy's.
“This is perfect,” Michael says, turning his head so he can grin at Jeremy. “Seriously. Thanks for introducing them to me.” A pause. “...And also for putting up with them.”
“Hey, anything for my best bruhddy,” Jeremy replies with a grin of his own. “I mean, they're not that bad. Just… not my thing. I like 80s pop, not 80s goth. ”
“Yeah, I know. Philly C can be good sometimes.” Michael's fingertips still linger there, touching Jeremy's only the slightest bit, and there's nowhere he'd rather be.
There's silence for a few long minutes; the song ends, then the next. Midway through the song after that, Jeremy asks, “So, what's it like?”
“Hm?”
“The bass in your chest.”
Michael ponders the question for a few moments. “I mean… I guess it's probably similar to what you feel, just more… intense, y'know? Like, almost overstimulating, but not quite.” He closes his eyes, allowing himself to take in the beat of the music even further. “It's like it's all I can feel, even if I can't hear the music perfectly.”
Jeremy hums in acknowledgement, and, to Michael's disbelief, edges closer, taking his hand in his own. “So, you can't feel this?” he asks.
Okay, well, that's a development. Since when does Jeremy have the nuts to do that? Not that Michael doesn't absolutely love it, because he's balls to the wall in love with him, but him making the first move is not what he expected. “No, uh, I can feel that,” he answers, huffing out a laugh. “Loud and clear.”
“That's for things you hear, isn't it?” Jeremy's mouth quirks up into a bashful yet amused smile.
“In case you haven't noticed, I can't hear,” Michael jokes, though there's no hint of bitterness in it. There's no room for bitterness tonight, not with this music, not with this boy.
They lie there, hand in hand, for a few long minutes- perhaps an eternity- before Michael sits up with a small grunt and says, “You wanna dance?”
Jeremy snorts. “What, to this? It's not exactly waltz material.”
Michael tugs on Jeremy's hand until he shifts into a sitting position and says, “You're no fun sometimes, Jer Bear. Come on, it'll be nice.”
“Well… doesn't it feel better when you're lying on the ground?” Jeremy asks as a blush begins to spread across his face.
Michael's no idiot. When Jeremy makes up excuses and blushes, it means his inhibitions are acting up again, as they so often do. “It's okay,” he says, voice soft and barely audible above the music. “Nobody's here to watch us. My moms aren't even around.” He puts on his best, most charming smile and adds, “Now, how about it?”
Jeremy looks down at the floor, then back up at Michael. “Alright, fine,” he says, and the smile returns.
Michael grins and stands up, pulling Jeremy up along with him. “Put your hand on my hip,” he instructs, guiding his hand; something in his heart sparks, pounds out a new rhythm as Jeremy's hand presses there, gripping gently.
“I have to lead?” Jeremy chuckles nervously. “Why not you?”
Michael shrugs. “Because I said so, and it's my house, and my CD.” He pauses. “That was a gift, right?”
“Uh, yeah, dude.”
“Okay, just making sure. Anyway…” Michael clasps Jeremy's free hand in his own, threading his fingers through the spaces between his. “You're doing fine.” The words are warm in his chest, warm around his heart, warm in the way they separate his lips. Man, he loves this boy.
“Okay. Cool.” Jeremy takes a deep breath in, then out. “So we…”
“Sorta sway side to side,” Michael finishes for him. The music doesn't fit in the slightest, but he doesn't care; he finds the rhythm and guides Jeremy to it, eventually taking the lead despite the hand on his hip.
The song ends. The next begins and ends, and the next, and the next- no words between the two of them, just gentle touch.
“If I were to rest my head on your shoulder,” Michael says finally, “would you promise not to bump my hearing aids?”
Jeremy swallows, eyes widening infinitesimally, and nods. “Go ahead,” he says, and Michael does, resting his chin on the soft fabric of Jeremy's hoodie.
He takes a deep breath in, then out. All he can smell is Jeremy's cologne; all he can hear is the music, slightly muffled but still there; all he can feel is the pulse of the bass in his chest and the places where his skin touches Jeremy's. This is a dream come true. This cannot be real life- he must've fallen asleep listening to Tigers Jaw and this is just an extremely vivid dream sequence.
But the lips on his neck are startlingly real.
Michael breaks away and laughs, touching the skin that Jeremy's lips had been pressed to just moments before. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “Jeremy-”
Jeremy takes a step backwards, stumbling into the bed and falling onto it with a creak of the old springs. “I am so sorry, I- I don't know what came over me-”
“No, oh my God, no,” Michael says, rushing over to his side, “That was amazing. Do it again?”
“...Can I do it on your lips this time?” Jeremy asks, voice small and tentative. “That’d be, um… that’d be cool. If we could do that.”
Michael laughs openly at that and runs a hand through Jeremy’s hair, tender in every move he makes. “You seriously have no idea how much I want that,” he says, and he’s shocked to find that his hands are trembling. Around Jeremy, he’s always so cool and collected (well… excitable and dancey, but not nervous nonetheless), but here he is, shaking like a leaf.
“Are you okay?” Jeremy asks, wide-eyed and unblinking, and Michael nods.
“I’m fine. Just… kiss me, okay?”
Michael would love to say that Jeremy’s lips are sweet as honey, but they’re not really. They just sort of taste like lips. Regardless, the kiss is transcendent, and he places a shivering hand on the back of Jeremy’s neck to pull him closer before- “Ah, your glasses…”
“Oh. Whoops.” Jeremy takes off the offending spectacles and tosses them back onto the bed- into oblivion- where they’re forgotten within moments.
“C’mere,” Michael says, and pulls him in for another kiss. This one lasts a bit longer, and Michael’s heart pounds alongside Jeremy’s and the bassline, nearly driving him out of his mind in the best way possible. He could stay like this forever, truly; just him, Jeremy, and the music, no gaps between any of them, all strung together, inseparable.
Michael soon realizes that the two of them are too disabled to be good kissers. Jeremy places a hand on Michael’s face, but, in his awkward movement, the tips of his fingers hit his hearing aid, knocking it slightly askew. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Jeremy says, “Um…”
“No worries,” Michael says, and readjusts the aids. “This is sorta ridiculous, huh?”
“We’re sorta ridiculous,” Jeremy points out, and Michael laughs, nodding before he goes in for another kiss.
The two of them finally find a rhythm, moving around the hearing aids, all soft touch and hands in the hair, never breaking apart for more than a few moments. All that matters is here and now and them and this, this meeting, this music. And the music, it moves through Michael like some holy pilgrimage, swirling in his chest and beating with his heart.
Jeremy mumbles something against Michael’s lips, and Michael regretfully separates himself. “Huh?” he asks. “Was I supposed to hear that?”
Jeremy laughs softly, barely audible, and says, “Um, I said I like you.”
Michael is silent for a couple seconds. Then- “Uh, yeah, I sure hope so.” His face cracks into a smile, then a grin, and he leans in to kiss the corner of Jeremy’s mouth. “I mean, I sort of assumed after we made out for, um…” He checks his watch. “Like, ten minutes.”
“Well, I just wanted to make sure you knew,” Jeremy says. “‘Cuz I don’t want this to be an FWB thing. This is real.” He runs a hand through Michael’s thick, dark hair, gingerly, tenderly. “Is that okay?”
“Of course it’s okay,” Michael answers, and, while he wishes he could hear Jeremy’s words just a bit better, he wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.