(parenthetical) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
parenthetical) wrote2008-06-13 02:34 pm
parenthetical) wrote2008-06-13 02:34 pm
[untitled; gabe saporta and mikey way gen, 675 words]
Title: Untitled
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blindmadness
Word Count: 675
Pairing: None intended, but could have very vague slight implied Gabe Saporta/Mikey Way. If you squint.
Rating: PGish?
Fandom/'Verse: Bandom
Summary: Fortoswimand_live's birthday; she requested Mikey and Gabe in the early Jersey scene days. I have to apologize profusely, because I do not like this fic at all; I don't quite hate it, but I feel much more negatively about it than I do almost any of my writing. It's also really short, so seriously, Steph, feel more than free to request something else and I'll eventually get it written because I ended up not liking this at all. I'm sorry. ;____;
"Well, well. Who's this charming and attractive young man?"
Mikey takes a moment to look around for the young man the tall man in front of him is talking to. It's so unexpected that it takes him a few minutes to glance up, meeting his eyes. "Who -- me?"
The man in question laughs, all but throwing his head back with it; it's a little mocking, maybe, but it's also genuinely amused, and Mikey doesn't know too many people who laugh like that, like they really mean it. "Yeah, you," he finally says, grinning in the same way he laughs -- like maybe he's amused by a joke Mikey didn't hear, but like that emtion's genuine anyway. "Who'd you think I meant?"
"Never mind," Mikey mumbles, shaking his head a little before holding a hand out, almost automatically. "He's Mikey. Mikey Way. My brother's around here somewhere -- "
"Yeah, I've seen him," says the other dismissively, shaking his hand firmly. Mikey feels a little odd, a little awkward, but unable to look away -- it's not that this guy's even done anything, anything but keep grinning widely and naturally, but he's a little overwhelmed by that alone. "Not you, though. Having fun tonight, Mikey?"
Mikey wonders if this is an honest question to pose to someone sitting to the side, watching people dance, nearly-empty plastic cup in hand. "Sort of," he answers anyway, and it's more or less true. This isn't necessarily the time of his life, but it's not like he's bored or lonely or wishing he never showed up. He doesn't mind watching people.
"Not before now you weren't," comes the other man's firm assertion; before Mikey can even blink, a hand is wrapping firmly around his own again and tugging him to his feet. "We're gonna dance, Mikey Way, so get your skinny little ass over here."
Mikey's pretty sure that he's not allowed to say no or protest in any way, and he's glad he doesn't really want to, because he has the feeling that even if he was allowed, doing so would be awkward because of the sheer force of personality of the guy leading him onto the dance floor, and he's stubborn as hell when he wants to be but he knows he's not big enough to counter someone with that sort of charisma. But the dancing doesn't look so bad and he doesn't mind being dragged away from (relative) solitude at all, so when that grin gets turned onto him again, he returns it (a few watts less bright) and throws himself into the beat of the music.
Later, Mikey'll plead the darkness of the bar and the irregularity of the lights as excuses for his not recognizing the face of Gabe Saporta, a true staple of the scene they're trying to break into; really, he'll think that the true reason his memory failed is because he would have expected to recognize Gabe by his features, and his personality was so strong that it eclipsed realization of insignificant things like facial features. He'll kick himself a little for not appreciating Gabe's presence properly, maybe, and he might regret not taking in everything about the encounter he could as much as he could.
For now, though, all he knows is that the music is loud, the beat is strong, his hand is still in that warm, almost overly familiar clasp, he's getting grinned at again, almost purposefully, and he's on the dance floor with someone who knows exactly what he's doing. He's being pulled closer, he's without warning being ground against, sharp hipbones digging into his own, an almost intimate act turned into a simple expression of excitement and enjoyment. He feels a wider grin spreading across his face as he lets his hips grind forward as well, body close to his partner's, blinding grin right next to his face, and when they step away from one another, Mikey raises his arms and closes his eyes and honestly feels like he can't have possibly had a better night.
Author:
blindmadnessWord Count: 675
Pairing: None intended, but could have very vague slight implied Gabe Saporta/Mikey Way. If you squint.
Rating: PGish?
Fandom/'Verse: Bandom
Summary: For
toswimand_live's birthday; she requested Mikey and Gabe in the early Jersey scene days. I have to apologize profusely, because I do not like this fic at all; I don't quite hate it, but I feel much more negatively about it than I do almost any of my writing. It's also really short, so seriously, Steph, feel more than free to request something else and I'll eventually get it written because I ended up not liking this at all. I'm sorry. ;____;"Well, well. Who's this charming and attractive young man?"
Mikey takes a moment to look around for the young man the tall man in front of him is talking to. It's so unexpected that it takes him a few minutes to glance up, meeting his eyes. "Who -- me?"
The man in question laughs, all but throwing his head back with it; it's a little mocking, maybe, but it's also genuinely amused, and Mikey doesn't know too many people who laugh like that, like they really mean it. "Yeah, you," he finally says, grinning in the same way he laughs -- like maybe he's amused by a joke Mikey didn't hear, but like that emtion's genuine anyway. "Who'd you think I meant?"
"Never mind," Mikey mumbles, shaking his head a little before holding a hand out, almost automatically. "He's Mikey. Mikey Way. My brother's around here somewhere -- "
"Yeah, I've seen him," says the other dismissively, shaking his hand firmly. Mikey feels a little odd, a little awkward, but unable to look away -- it's not that this guy's even done anything, anything but keep grinning widely and naturally, but he's a little overwhelmed by that alone. "Not you, though. Having fun tonight, Mikey?"
Mikey wonders if this is an honest question to pose to someone sitting to the side, watching people dance, nearly-empty plastic cup in hand. "Sort of," he answers anyway, and it's more or less true. This isn't necessarily the time of his life, but it's not like he's bored or lonely or wishing he never showed up. He doesn't mind watching people.
"Not before now you weren't," comes the other man's firm assertion; before Mikey can even blink, a hand is wrapping firmly around his own again and tugging him to his feet. "We're gonna dance, Mikey Way, so get your skinny little ass over here."
Mikey's pretty sure that he's not allowed to say no or protest in any way, and he's glad he doesn't really want to, because he has the feeling that even if he was allowed, doing so would be awkward because of the sheer force of personality of the guy leading him onto the dance floor, and he's stubborn as hell when he wants to be but he knows he's not big enough to counter someone with that sort of charisma. But the dancing doesn't look so bad and he doesn't mind being dragged away from (relative) solitude at all, so when that grin gets turned onto him again, he returns it (a few watts less bright) and throws himself into the beat of the music.
Later, Mikey'll plead the darkness of the bar and the irregularity of the lights as excuses for his not recognizing the face of Gabe Saporta, a true staple of the scene they're trying to break into; really, he'll think that the true reason his memory failed is because he would have expected to recognize Gabe by his features, and his personality was so strong that it eclipsed realization of insignificant things like facial features. He'll kick himself a little for not appreciating Gabe's presence properly, maybe, and he might regret not taking in everything about the encounter he could as much as he could.
For now, though, all he knows is that the music is loud, the beat is strong, his hand is still in that warm, almost overly familiar clasp, he's getting grinned at again, almost purposefully, and he's on the dance floor with someone who knows exactly what he's doing. He's being pulled closer, he's without warning being ground against, sharp hipbones digging into his own, an almost intimate act turned into a simple expression of excitement and enjoyment. He feels a wider grin spreading across his face as he lets his hips grind forward as well, body close to his partner's, blinding grin right next to his face, and when they step away from one another, Mikey raises his arms and closes his eyes and honestly feels like he can't have possibly had a better night.