Rating: R (sexuality & language)
Pairing(s): Gerard/Bert, Frank/Gerard[mild], and Gerard/Mikey[unrequited]
Mikey Way never liked Bert McCracken. Even from their initial meeting, Bert had been very friendly though. Grinning crookedly and hugging them all as if they were family, ordering a round of shots for everybody. Gerard and him had clicked immediately, sneaking smiles at each other and Mikey could instantly recognize the infatuation developing, more so on Gerard's part. He always fell in love too easily, and always fell for the wrong people.
Bert McCracken wasn't an exception to the rule.
He just begrudgingly watched from the sidelines, hopeless to do anything but watch his brother dwell further in his problems with drug and alcohol addiction. Now it was much greater now that he had a 'drinking' buddy. It hurt, too, just a bit. Gerard never asked him to accompany him to bars or clubs, probably feeling taking your little brother to a bar wasn't exactly what an older brother should do.
But he always tried, though, drinking with the rest of the band, one time taking more than he should and ended up puking before they went on stage. Gerard had scolded him, lecturing him for being so stupid.
Nevermind that he'd usually pass out cold from drinking that same night after their concerts.
Soon the entire Used band and My Chemical Romance would join together, drinking and smoking. Just sitting in the tour bus, passing a joint and playing idiotic drinking games. It was fun and amusing and they always had a good time together. Mikey liked their band, minus Bert.
He fucked hated Bert with a passion. He hated listening to his older brother's sobs, hearing him retch in the restroom. He hated always having to be the one to pick up the pieces Bert would break. Over and over. He hated how Bert would treat his brother, purposely calling him inappropriate names and fucking him in the dressing rooms before they performed, not taking the decency to keep quiet, and he noticed the ugly hickeys and bruises appear on his pale skin as his brother strutted on stage. Hated to see Bert bring his brother further down his spiraling path of destruction. He was killing him; it was just another form of murder in Mikey's mind. And he fucking hated his brother for allowing it, allowing someone to demean him in such a way.
But he couldn't resist breaking his hard exterior whenever Gerard would come to him, sobbing and heartbroken every time Bert had hurt him, emotionally or physically. It was usually both. But that particular night, Bert had crossed a line and Mikey was done with dealing with this...parasite controlling his brother's life.
"I'm sorry Mikey, for being such a bad brother," Gerard wheezed, squeezing him, his breathing shallow against the back of his neck. He could feel the tears wetting the nape of his neck and Gerard sniveling behind him. "I'm such an awful fuck. You really deserve better. I wish I was a better brother. Don't be like me, promise? D-don't end up like me. Promise me, Mikey."
"Just promise me you'll stay the fuck away from him from now on," Mikey answered firmly, turning around and looking into his brother's tear-filled gaze. "No more drugs or drinking. No more Bert. We're done with the fucking Used. After tonight, after that shit he pulled, we're done, ok? We're never have to see them again after this tour."
Gerard nodded, cupping his brother's cheek and stroking it, kissing him chastely on the corner of the mouth. They were always close like this and nobody questioned it. Nobody ever dared question why Gerard would sneak into his brother's bunk in the middle of the night, or vice versa.
"I promise," Gerard breathed, kissing him again, but it was longer and Mikey opened his mouth willingly, feeling the tip of his brother's tongue touch his. He had nearly forgotten what his brother tasted like; they had stopped doing this years ago. When they both realized it could never work out, their love was doomed. Mikey realized why he was insanely jealous. He never locked those un-brotherly feelings away. He never wanted to, but for his brother's sake, he pretended.
He selfishly hoped with this feud between the bands; Gerard would miraculously come back to him, realizing the error of his ways and realize what he had in fucking front of him all along.
He just never suspected Gerard would move on so fast, and onto his best friend at that.
Chapter 1: Possession
"Truth or dare!" Gerard announced loudly, staggering as he made his entrance. He had only had five shots. But Bert knew he must've taken something else because Gerard had too much of an high tolerance for alcohol to get wasted that fast with just five shots.
"You're such a dork," Bert laughed, tugging at the older vocalist's belt, causing the older man to nearly topple over him, "sit down with me, pretty."
Gerard giggled, plopping himself in the younger man's lap, kissing him lewdly. Nobody really paid any mind to them; it was a normal occurrence when they drank. Bert and Gerard make out, Bert and Gerard usually sneaking off to the bunk area, and a second later the familiar sounds of the bed squeaking, followed by an occasional grunt or moan.
"This isn't a fucking voyeuristic party! Take that shit else where, man," Jepha hollered across the bus, standing up and pointing an accusing finger at his friend, "and it better not fucking be in my bunk!"
Bert pushed Gerard away, disconnecting their lips for a moment, but Gerard continued to assault his neck drunkenly. "Whatever, I cleaned the sheets, didn't I?"
Jepha rolled his eyes, giving him the finger before sitting back down between Frank and Ray, where they had been playing poker. He looked at the short guitarist to his left, "Tell your singer to not fuck in my bed."
"Don't fuck in Jepha's bed," Frank giggled drunkenly, leaning over and squinting, almost falling off his chair, but Ray grabbed onto the back of his shirt to hold him back, "fuck man, there are two of you!"
Bert smirked. "I wish."
He pushed at Gerard's chest, giving the older man the hint to stand up. He brushed himself off, gripping Gerard's sleeve and pulling him towards the back, once they were away from everybody, he immediately latched onto the man's pale neck, biting and suckling greedily, feeling Gerard shudder in his arms and moan weakly.
"B-Bert..." he stuttered, pushing at his shoulders. "I'm not...sure..."
Bert let his hand trail down his torso, focusing his attention on the hardening bulge in the front of his tight jeans, rubbing vertically. Gerard gasped and bucked up, Bert smirked in triumph. Gerard could never resist him when he was trashed, he could turn him down when he was sober, but Gerard was just too much of a slut when he drunk. It was cute, though.
Bert clenched his hips in his hands, guiding him to the nearest bunk (and if Jepha didn't like it, then he should move his bunk further back), climbing on top of the delirious man, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him hard, enough to draw blood. Gerard moaned prettily underneath him, panting heavily, squirming against him and turning him on in the process.
Oh, and he loved it more when the older man begged too.
He continued to ignore his pleads, biting down hard on the side of his neck. Gerard smelled like sweat and beer, and it was his favorite combination. Especially on Gerard. He pulled away, reaching down and pushing up the older man's shirt impatiently, his hands quickly undoing his jeans and rolling them down. Gerard tried to help him, but his motions were slower and sluggish, his hands fiddling with Bert's zipper than actually pulling it down.
"Damn thing won't..." he murmured in frustration. Bert chuckled, moving his hand out of the way and doing it himself. "You just lay back, love, I'll take care of everything tonight."
Gerard smiled at him fondly, reaching up and kissing him before lying back down, nodding and smiling at him. "Ok."
Bert loved this the most about Gerard; he'll let him do whatever he wanted when he was high and drunk, he even encouraged him and moaned louder when he was drunk. Overall, Gerard was a better fuck when he was drunk and that's why he only fucked him when he was high or drunk. Sober Gerard was an awful fuck and Bert never wasted his time on the older vocalist when he was sober.
"Mm, this is all you were made for," he whispered hauntingly in his ear, although his voice held a hint of seduction in it. He could feel Gerard reach up and grip the back of his shirt, tugging at it.
"Want you, now," he gasped underneath his ministrations, exposing his neck more fully to Bert's liking, "now, now..."
Sometimes, only sometimes, would Gerard become increasingly annoying. Sometimes it just wasn't worth it; it wasn't worth the fucks if he had to put up with the older man. Half the time he felt more like a babysitter than a lover. It was kind of pathetic how this man was five years older than him, and couldn't control his drinking or drug-in take. Bert knew his limits, but he was lucky the drugs only made him drowsy. Gerard could be incorrigible at times like these, wriggling and moving around rapidly, muttering nonsense.
But Gerard was lot more easily persuaded when he was off the walls. He growled, flicking his cigarette in the ashtray, promptly surprising the older man and reaching for his arm, pulling him to him.
"Shut the fuck up and sit down," he ordered, giving him a disgusted look, feeling the vocalist's shirt soaked with cheap beer.
Gerard blushed, ripping his arm from his reach and rubbing his wrist, shoulders slumping. "Sorry. I just...I hate feeling this way."
Bert nodded. "Well, then learn to control it."
"Not that easy, Bert...I think..." Gerard paused, and Bert leaned closer, noticing how pale he looked, unable to feel at least a bit of sympathy for the other man. He placed a hand on his cheek, feeling how clammy and cold his skin was. Gerard wasn't really breathing; he was more like taking wheezing breaths.
"How much you take?" he demanded, realizing what this meant.
Gerard looked confused. "I--I don't k-know."
He rolled his eyes. Typical. This band was a joke, the singer was going to kill himself with the exact same things he promoted not to do. The press would love it: Frontman of My Chemical Romance, the band that will save your pathetic, loser life, dies from an overdose.
It'd be priceless.
But even he wasn't that cold-hearted. He couldn't deny he did care for him; Bert was a sucker for men like Gerard. He was pretty, he was an alcoholic and a drug addict, he was the three things he loved the most. He couldn't lose him. Not to drugs or anybody else.
"C'mon," he said, standing up and pulling the vocalist up to his feet and Gerard had to lean on him for support, unable to keep his equilibrium. "You need to lose some fucking weight, man."
Gerard said nothing, his arms loosely around his neck, his mouth close to his ear. "Thanks, you always take care of me."
Bert guided them to the crapped living area on the bus, depositing him on the couch, making sure he rolled over to his side and Gerard groaned thankfully, closing his eyes, his breathing still unsteady.
The door slammed open, causing Bert to jump and turn around to glare at whoever scared him. Quinn walked in, kicking aimlessly at the empty beer cans loitering the floor. He glanced up, unaffected by his glare.
He looked at the couch.
"Erm, any particular reason why Gerard is passed out the couch?" he asked, his features morphing into concern as he took in Gerard's haggard appearance.
Bert gave a little amused crackle, sitting down beside him, making sure he was still breathing. "He's just hung-over, he'll get over it. Don't worry, he's still breathing."
Quinn stood closer, furrowing his brow. Gerard was starting to gurgle in his sleep, moving slightly to get more comfortable.
"Don't you think we should...err...call someone? What the fuck did you give him?" Quinn's voice ended with an accusation.
"Me? Why the fuck is everybody assuming I'm the reason he's so fucked up? Gerard did this to himself, cocaine whore," he sneered, meeting his friend's stare. "Yeah, call them. And then when they search the bus, guess who's going to jail, huh? Do you want to get fucking arrested?"
Quinn obviously didn't think of that, judging by his off-guard expression of shock. Idiot, Bert thought. He wasn't going to jail because of Gerard's inability to keep his shit together.
"He'll be fucking fine," Bert said flatly, "so don't worry your pretty little head."
Quinn looked torn, biting his lip and looking at the dark-haired singer in pity. "All right, but...fuck. If he stops breathing...I'm calling an ambulance, all right?"
"Yes, mom," he answered cheekily, glancing at the passed out man beside him once more, making sure he could still feel him breathe before standing up and following Quinn into the kitchen area. Quinn still seemed annoyed with him. Bert giggled, wrapping his arms around his friend, giving him a big smooch on the cheek.
"Quinny-poo, you worry too much," he said. Quinn always acted like the responsible one; it was beginning to get exhausting and old. He added the pet name for emphasis because he knew the blond hated it. "I didn't realize I took my mom with me on tour--"
"Fuck you," the blond guitarist snapped, moving out of his grasp. "I'm just sick and tired of you always fucking things up. It's not gonna look good if the singer of MCR dies on our tour bus, you know?"
"We'll just stage a suicide," Bert supplied quickly, "really, technically, it would be. It's not like I forced the shit down his throat--"
"What the fuck?" Bert muttered, "I'm suddenly very popular this evening."
"BERT! I KNOW YOU'RE FUCKING IN THERE!"
Well, someone sounded mad. Bert couldn't help but giggle, knowing immediately who it was. He didn't even bother to go to the front door of the bus, choosing instead to pop open the nearest window, whistling the bassist over.
"Hey! Over here, Milky Way!" he hollered. Mikey swiveled around to the direction of his voice, looking up and noticing him. Bert waved happily. "How can I be of service?"
"Cut the shit, where the fuck is my brother?"
Bert made a thoughtful look. "You mean you don't know? What kind of brother are you? Can't even keep track of your own brother. Tsk, tsk, not good brother skills, Mikey Way."
"I know he's in there with you," Mikey seethed, ignoring his taunts. "You can't keep him there with you forever; we have a show in two hours--"
Damn. "I suggest you cancel or hire a new singer because Gerard's...a bit preoccupied right now." Sucking my dick, he wanted to add, but nah, Mikey looked pissed enough as it was.
Quinn appeared beside him, out of sight from Mikey's view, whispering frantically, "Maybe you should just let him take Gerard. I think it's better he's with him than here. Take the load off of us."
"No," Bert looked at his friend in contempt for suggesting such a thing, "Mikey doesn't know jackshit about treating someone with an overdose. He's better off dead with him. He'll freak out and call 911, and then Gerard's gonna be crying how it's all over the media. I know Gerard, he doesn't want that."
"Stop being a possessive prick!" Quinn hissed, and they both blocked out Mikey's screams from below the bus, "let Gerard get pissed at his brother, better him than us."
"I said NO! Are you fucking deaf now?"
Gerard woke up, his heart pounding and his mouth dry to the sounds of yelling; he opened his eyes, unable to see anything. It was just like his dreams, he was all alone and nobody was there. He couldn't but shiver. "Bert...Bert..." Bert wouldn't leave him; he promised he would never leave him. They were cellmates until the end, right? That's what Bert told him. Cellmates never left each other. Ever. But he still couldn't see anything.
"Bert! Fucking answer me, you fucking--"
Bert stuck his head back again, noticing Mikey looked a bit red now. "Gotta go, sweet cakes. Your brother is calling for me. He doesn't want or need you right now. He's calling my name, so be a good little brother and let the older brother have what he wants, ok? Because it's not your name he's begging for. It's mine."
He swiftly slammed the window back down, locking it and securing the curtains back down.