Chapter Text
Mikey Way is not an idiot.
He sees the way Frank looks at Gerard---wide-eyed, worshipful, like Gerard is the fuckin’ sun---and he sees the way Gerard doesn’t see, and he sees the way that Frank gets upset that Gerard doesn’t see that---well.
Mikey isn’t an idiot, and he isn’t blind, and he isn’t stupid enough to think that that can end in any good way.
Mikey loves his brother, and he likes Frank, too, and really he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to either of them, or to the band in general, because the band is kind of his life right now and if those two fuck it up he is probably going to end up strangling one or both of them, so help him god.
But it’s more the caring-about-them thing than the not-wanting-to-break-up-the-band-if-anything-goes-wrong thing, if he’s going to be honest.
Because Mikey cares a lot---especially about Gerard. Gerard is---well, Gerard is his brother, and that brings a special kind of bond, but also he loves Gerard, as a person, not just because of blood or proximity but because Gerard is just, you know, a person he cares about and enjoys being around, generally.
Mikey cares a lot. That’s how he finds himself in situations like this, sitting beside the toilet and rubbing his brother’s back soothingly as he pukes his goddamn guts out.
Mikey’s kind of buzzed---he drank less than he usually would, once he saw how bad Gerard was getting---drunk enough to feel loopy and kind of out of it, but Gerard is wasted as fuck, to a concerning degree.
“Miiiikey?” somebody calls from the hall, accompanied by a stomping of shoes against floor. “Gerarrrrd?”
Mikey wants to bang his head against the wall. Not the time, Jesus, not the time.
Frank stumbles in a moment later, swaying a little, hanging onto the doorway. “Heyyy,” he says, drawing out the word a little.
“Hey,” Mikey says back, as Gerard lurches forward and retches again.
Frank glances toward him. Mikey doesn’t miss that little glint in his eye, the softening of his gaze. Fuck, how far gone is Frank on him that he still looks at Gerard that fondly as he’s upchucking into the toilet?
“’S he okay?” Frank asks.
“No,” says Mikey.
Gerard pauses for a moment to look up, a little bleary eyed. He smiles at Frank. “’M fine, Frankie, fine,” he murmurs.
Frank smiles back at him, but the expression changes when Gerard’s breath hitches and he whips back around to throw up into the toilet again.
Mikey sighs, rubbing lightly between Gerard’s shoulder blades again. “It’s okay, Gee, just let it out,” he says softly.
Gerard chokes a little in response.
Mikey looks back up towards Frank, who is still in the doorway. “He’ll be alright.”
Frank nods, seeming a bit relieved by that information. “’Kay.” He blinks, appearing slightly disoriented, then says, “G’nna find Ray,” and leaves, swaying on his feet.
Mikey likes Frank. He likes Frank a lot. Frank is his friend, and Mikey wants the best for him, he wants Frank to be happy and whatever, but he just can’t let this happen. This being Frank and Gerard, together.
Just the thought of it makes him feel sick.
Gerard finally sits back on his heels, wiping at his mouth. He looks at Mikey, squinting a little. “T’s bright,” he mutters.
“You think you’re done?” Mikey asks. “Wanna go to bed?”
Gerard closes his eyes and nods. “Mhm.”
Mikey gets Gerard to his feet, leads him out to the sofa, lays him out (on his side, so he doesn’t choke on his vomit if he starts throwing up again) and covers him with a blanket and turns off the lights.
“Good night,” he says, pushing the hair out of Gerard’s face.
“G’night,” Gerard murmurs, opening his eyes to look at his brother, lips quirking up, then closing them again.
Mikey leaves him there, going out to the kitchen to grab some water. He finds Ray passed out in the hallway and wonders why any of them thought it was a good idea to get as fucking shitfaced drunk as they all did.
Before he makes it to the kitchen, Frank comes streaking out, covering his mouth and pushing Mikey out of his way, rushing toward the bathroom.
Mikey finds him kneeling over the toilet, much like Gerard was earlier, and sits down, leaning against the sink cabinet with a sigh.
Once he’s done, Frank pushes himself up enough to reach the handle and flush the toilet, then crawls over to Mikey.
“Feel sick,” he mutters, and pretty much collapses on top of him.
Mikey busies himself with rearranging Frank on top of him so he’s more comfortable, letting his head fall back against the top of his shoulder. “You need to sleep it off.”
Frank mutters something, but leans back against Mikey, squirming a bit before he settles down.
“I didn’t mean here,” Mikey adds, but Frank is already drifting. He’s so fucking pretty as his eyes flutter shut and his lips part slightly as he succumbs to sleep. It’s unfair how fucking pretty he is, after getting wasted and puking his guts out like that.
Mikey sighs, feeling Frank melt into him, and leans his head against the cabinet door, closing his eyes and nodding off, following Frank down.
He wakes up a few hours later, trapped uncomfortably against the cabinet door by a sleeping Frank.
After a few minutes, Mikey manages to get the both of them awake and standing, leading them to the kitchen and instructing Frank to sit down in one of the chairs. He gropes around the dark kitchen (he doesn’t want to turn on the lights, because he knows it’ll be too bright) and manages to get two glasses full of water.
Finally, after both glasses are slowly drained, he drags Frank back toward the living room. They almost trip over Ray, who is passed out in the hallway, on the way there. They leave him to sleep, not wanting to disturb him anymore.
Mikey finds one of the throw blankets on the couch that Gerard is not using. He observes his brother, who looks peaceful and unbothered.
Frank has already dropped to the floor, rolling onto his side and curling into himself. Mikey throws the blanket over him, then moves to lie down beside him, ignoring Frank’s quiet noises of protest as he slips under the blanket with him.
“Go to sleep,” he mutters and yawns.
Frank curls into himself more, moving closer to Mikey for the shared warmth, murmuring something softly that Mikey can’t make out.
“Sleep,” he repeats.
And they do just that.
The thing is, Mikey has been aware of Frank’s…thing for his brother for a while now. He saw from the moment they met, the way Frank looked up at Gerard with wide, greedy eyes and told Mikey, “Man, your brother is so fucking cool.”
Mikey has been aware for a very long time---as has Ray, who has been giving him these knowing, raised-brow looks that say, Yeah, he’s totally into that guy.
Basically the only person who hasn’t been aware is Gerard, who apparently just thinks that’s Frank Iero’s natural state, to practically worship guys like Gerard and the ground they walk upon. Maybe he’s just oblivious or maybe he just doesn’t quite understand Frank.
Mikey understands Frank, at least better than Gerard does, and he thinks about that as Frank presses up against him the next morning. He understands Frank because Frank is his best friend and he knows people better than Gerard seems to, because Gerard is always stuck in his own head, and he’s kind of pissed at him for not noticing.
And he’s kind of pissed at Frank, because Gerard does not need that, with the band and the pills and the booze and everything.
It’s all too goddamn confusing, and it makes his head hurt. Or maybe that’s the hangover.
Frank pushes closer, reaches out, grabbing at Mikey and moaning low in his throat, complaining about how bright the light coming in through the window is.
Mikey lets Frank bury his head in his chest, to block out the light.
Frank is pretty.
Mikey really doesn’t understand why Gerard doesn’t seem to see that. I mean, if Mikey had a pretty guy like that practically wrapped around his finger, he’d do something about it. He’d do a lot of things about it.
But, obviously, Gerard doesn’t do anything about it because. Well, it’s Gerard.
Mikey watches Frank play, gyrate around the stage, press up against Gerard and Ray and Gerard and Gerard, and that kind of makes this white-hot thing rise up in Mikey’s chest. He watches Frank and Gerard, together, and it annoys the fuck out of him. More than that.
He watches Frank---pretty, pretty Frank---and thinks about how he wishes Frank was pressing up against him, not his brother, what he’d give for Frank to be leaning against him, breathing hotly against his neck, and-
Mikey cuts that train of thought off right there because, what the fuck?
Gerard smiles at Frank, widely, and Frank smiles back, stars in his eyes, and Mikey thinks he’s about to hurl over the side of the stage.
He focuses on his bass, trying to ignore the two men in front of him. Trying to ignore all of it.
“If you’re trying to burn a hole through Frank with your eyes, it’s not going to work.”
Mikey looks away from Frank, who is talking excitedly to Gerard by the soda aisle, to see Ray walking up to him, with three bags of chips and multiple cups of instant noodles in his arms.
“Also,” Ray says, dropping some of the noodles and one of the bags into Mikey’s arms, “I think that counts as murder.”
“I’m not trying to burn a hole through Frank,” Mikey tells him. He’s just been standing here, by the check-out counter, watching Frank and Gerard, making sure they don’t do anything stupid. Which involves staring, coincidentally.
“I think you’re jealous,” Ray announces, turning to watch the other two.
Mikey side-eyes him. “What do you think I have to be jealous of?”
Ray glances at him, lips tilting up into a smirk. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“No,” Mikey deadpans. “I actually don’t.”
Ray shakes his head, muttering “He’s hopeless” beneath his breath, then yells for Frank and Gerard to hurry up and drops the food onto the counter.
Gerard adds some cigarettes to the bill, and the four of them scrounge up all of their money but end up having to put back two of the instant noodle cups because they can’t afford them. Life on the road isn’t cheap. Or maybe they’re just broke. Whatever.
They get back out to the van after a few minutes. Frank claims the entire backseat, until Mikey pushes him aside and climbs in.
The life of a rockstar, Mikey has discovered, isn’t exactly glamorous. It kind of just smells bad and always leaves you exhausted and hungry.
Most of all, it’s very boring, and Mikey spends much of it sitting inside this van, staring out the window and wishing he were, well, outside of the van.
He looks over, once, to see Frank watching him. Frank flashes him a quick smile, then leans forward and starts talking to Gerard, who is sitting in the front passenger, trying to navigate the map for Ray.
Mikey’s heart sinks slightly at that. He can’t quite figure out why.
They play that night. Frank and Gerard are all over each other. Mikey feels like he’s going to explode.
This is not good. For anybody. Not for him, not for the band and, most of all, it’s absolutely no fucking good for Frank and Gerard.
He needs to stop this before it gets out of hand. Really.
They go to a bar afterwards. Bad idea. Bad fucking idea.
Frank and Gerard get more all over each other, giggling and talking drunkenly.
Mikey sits a little ways away with Ray, who is watching him with a look of obvious concern, dividing his attention between all of his bandmates, trying to check the damage.
“He’s so fucking stupid,” Mikey mutters, and he’s not quite sure which one he’s talking about, Frank or Gerard. Both of them, probably. Yeah, both of them.
Ray nods supportively. “Yeah. Definitely.”
Mikey takes a pull off his drink as he stares them down, watches Gerard leaning in closer to Frank, and Frank obviously eating up all that attention. He giggles a little, turning uncharacteristically red at something Gerard says. He casts a short glance at Mikey and Ray, then returns all of his attention to Gerard.
Mikey’s practically seething. Do they not see how dangerous this is? Do they not see the issue here?
Gerard says something to Frank, and Frank nods, seeming a little disappointed. He settles into his seat as Gerard gets up and walks away from him, towards the bathroom.
Well, thank god for that moment of separation. Maybe Mikey can walk over before Gerard gets back and try to drive a wedge between the two, before anything gets out of hand. Maybe he can ambush Gerard, pretend to get sick from all the booze so they can leave. Maybe-
He locks eyes with Frank. Evidently, Mikey had been staring at him as he zoned out and plotted ways to get between his brother and his best friend, and Frank had noticed. Now they’re looking at each other, and Frank cocks his head, pursing his lips a bit.
Mikey feels something nudging at his arm, and realizes it’s Ray. “Hey, Mikes?”
“Yeah?” Mikey says, still watching Frank, who seems to be shifting in his seat a little bit, debating.
“Gotta go take a piss,” Ray tells him, already moving to stand up, but he’s also watching Frank, and kind of has this weird look on his face when he says, “Be back in a few.”
Frank’s eyes follow Ray for a moment, then return to Mikey. There’s a dozen or so people between them right now, but even over that distance, Mikey can see something settling in Frank’s gaze, something hot and dark that, for some strange reason, sends a shiver down his spine.
As if deciding on something, Frank pushes out of his seat and shoves his way through the throng toward Mikey.
“Hey,” he says once he’s within earshot, stopping a few feet away.
“Hey,” Mikey says back.
Frank looks him up and down, then says, “You look pissed.”
I am, Mikey wants to say. “Why?”
Frank folds his arms. “You’re moping by the bar, alone, and staring me down.”
“I wasn’t alone ‘til Ray got up to use the shitter.”
Frank raises his eyebrows, lips tilting into a smirk. “Sure.”
“What were you and Gerard talking about?” Mikey asks him.
Frank lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Ehh. All types’a shit.”
Mikey peers at him. He’s not quite sure what qualifies as all types’a shit, but whatever it is can’t be good. “And that is…?”
“Not important,” Frank says dismissively, and steps toward Mikey, close enough that Mikey kind of has to angle his head down to see him, and Frank has to angle his up to see Mikey.
“You seemed very amused about it.”
“We’re funny guys,” Frank tells him.
Mikey’s not quite sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He watches Frank’s face twist and his lip ring flip back and forth, meaning that he must be playing with it with his tongue. Mikey watches that lip ring as Frank steps closer again, closer, breath starting to come in short spurts (both his and Frank’s, he notes distantly) and he starts to rock up onto his toes, closer still. And that lip ring has the funniest ability of making Mikey’s heart stutter momentarily, his breathing stop, an uncanny desire pooling inside him to lean forward and-
Jesus fucking Christ.
Instead of voicing the expletive, Mikey simply emits an odd squeaky sound. There’s not really anything else he can do, because Frank’s lips are pressed against his and he’s pretty sure he’s just gone to heaven or, more likely, hell.
Mikey does not have much of anything poetic or sweet or interesting to see about the actual kiss. It is sudden and it is little more than a mashing of closed mouths than anything else and Frank’s lips, although warm, are chapped and feel starkly different than the cold ring Mikey has become so infatuated with.
But, oddly enough, the entire thing makes something explode in his chest, and his stomach, and his head, something very warm and not unpleasant but probably not safe.
Frank steps back, looks up at Mikey, a little uncertain. Probably realizing Mikey’s bad (or neutral, or not good) reaction. Mikey’s not quite sure what his facial expression is right now, but it definitely doesn’t seem to make Frank feel better.
“Um,” says Mikey as Frank look back over his shoulder, where Gerard has emerged from the bathroom.
Frank turns back to him, appearing to steel himself for something, then steps back in. “Do you want me to stop?”
No. “Uh…”
Frank apparently decides something, because he places both of his hands on Mikey’s shoulders and says, lowly, almost pleading, “Just…just let me. Please.”
It’s different this time---Frank holds onto him, clutches at his shoulders, moves in slowly and presses himself against Mikey and drags his lips languidly and breathes softly through his mouth. He’s lazy and soft and dream-like, and it kind of makes Mikey’s head foggy.
You see, Mikey knows kissing. Mikey is great at kissing, actually, great at kissing women. And this is…well, this is not a woman. And, Mikey is, like totally not against a guy, but, what the hell is he supposed to do here? And also---Mikey has never kissed Frank. Until now.
He’s not quite sure what to do with his hands, or his tongue, or what to do in general, to kiss Frank back or to push away.
However much his brain is working, his body feels like it’s on auto-pilot as he opens up beneath his best friend---his best friend! What the fuck!---and allows Frank to slip his tongue into his mouth, kiss him deeper and slower and push him back, press him into the side of the bar and then flatten himself against Mikey’s front, moving ever closer until it feels like they’re crawling into each other’s skin.
And Mikey? Well, Mikey just can’t help himself as he pulls Frank in by his waist, tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, kisses him back fierce and hungry, like he’s starving for it, even though he didn’t know he could be hungry for this until this very moment, right now.
Frank meets him with the same ferocity, less slow and more desperate, cradling Mikey’s head in his hands to pull him down and further in.
That weird exploding thing is happening inside Mikey again, like fireworks or dynamite, take your pick, and he thinks that at any moment his insides are going to end up splattered all over the walls and Frank but he can’t bring himself to care, just wanting more, more, more than this, dragging Frank closer, if that’s even possible, and letting his lips slide roughly against Frank’s.
They don’t break apart until they hear someone telling them they need to leave, which turns out to be Ray.
“As much as I’m happy for you two,” he says, “we’re stuck in the van tonight and I don’t want to hear you two fucking in the backseat.”
Mikey flushes. “Um.”
Frank flashes him a grin, and steps away from Mikey. “Fine, but I can’t promise anything once we’re outside of the van.”
Ray glances between the two of them, then shrugs as if he can’t be bothered and walks away.
Gerard is behind him, and he’s watching Frank and Mikey with wide eyes.
Frank looks back for a moment, then turns, tugs Mikey down by the collar of his shirt, and kisses him again, softer this time. Just let me, Mikey remembers, and he feels this sinking feeling in his gut as he notices the way Frank looks at Gerard when he moves to follow Ray, triumphant almost.
Mikey glances at his brother for a moment, who looks baffled by the scene he just walked in on and, if possible, that feeling sinks further.
Frank’s trying to make him jealous.
They wake up at the ass crack of dawn, after sleeping uncomfortably wedged together in the van. Well---everybody else slept. Mikey stayed awake, unable to fall asleep because of the thoughts racing incessantly through his head.
He thought about that entire night, that kiss with Frank that made him want to explode. And he thought about other nights, watching Frank and Gerard together, that white-hot anger boiling up inside him. And he thought about that night, sitting with Frank in a bright bathroom and lying beside him in the low lights of early morning, how pretty he was and how inexplicably peaceful and blissed Mikey felt in those quiet hours.
Frank’s driving, and somehow gets Mikey to sit front passenger with him, but gives Ray the map to tell him where to go.
Mikey watches him, eyes half-lidded, leaning his head against the window, exhausted.
He knows what this is. He knows what this is as he feels Gerard’s unsettled presence behind him, sees this pleased look on Frank’s face, feels this discomfort stir in his chest, even though he knows he will do whatever the hell Frank asks him to do.
He hears Ray reading out directions, accompanied by the soft hum of the radio, which Frank has turned low to “let Mikey sleep.” Frank is wholly focused on the road, except for when, every few minutes, he glances over toward Mikey, probably waiting for him to fall asleep so he can drop the charade that the kiss was anything over than a ploy against Gerard.
Mikey understands Frank. He understands what this is. He understands, okay?
Jealousy is one hell of a weapon. Jealousy is something that will get Gerard’s attention. And kissing his brother to get him to notice? It’s a great idea, Mikey cannot lie.
But it leaves him with this sick and disappointed feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.
Because Mikey understands what this is.
Frank is in love with Gerard. Gerard is not in love with Frank. So Frank is using Mikey.
And Mikey, goddammit, might have a thing for the guy in love with his brother.