Another Innocent Face

Title: Another Innocent Face: New Toys

Author: Normal Human Being

Rating: PG-13, I guess. Maybe R if you squint and use your imagination.

Summary: “People say that I’m the quiet one. The nice one. The responsible one. And I say no, I’m just a better actor than he is.”

Disclaimer: I do not own My Chemical Romance. I’d ask them not to sue me for doing this without permission, but we all know I’d just run round screeching “Guess who’s suing me! It’s so cooool!” before turning up at court with an autograph book, more fangirls and several rolls of film. I am that pathetic. All this is fictional, obviously, and I never suggested it was anything but.

AN: This is for everyone who is getting sick of all those Mikey-is-so-sweet-and-vulnerable fics. Quiet people are sinister – that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Oh, and since I’d struggle to find New Jersey on a map, this all takes place in some alternate version of Cotmanhay where everybody has an American accent, a basement and taste in music. Enjoy.
“I never knew there were so many straight queers,” he quipped, after I’d gone up to my room with my boy the sixth time in a row. “Teenage faggots are so boring.” But really he was just bitter because I’d found a loophole and was gleefully fucking him through it.

See, we used to be fairly equally matched: Gerard was dark and dirty and mysterious, charming in that slightly dangerous way that suggested you were about to enjoy the best and last night of your life; I had that gangly, youthful prettiness that attracted the cocksure ones, the arrogant ones, the ones who wanted a kid to corrupt. He tended to end up with the boys that I brought back, tended to take them down into the basement where they’d sit in quiet agitation, nervous and excited and confused as poured drinks and set out lines and purred filth into their ears before fucking them through the mattress. I had more friends at that art school than he did. And I know that for a fact, because we kept a very close eye on the score.

That’s all it was, after all – good old sibling rivalry. Only in this case we weren’t trying to run fastest or piss highest or hold our breaths for longest in the river where we weren’t supposed to go, we were trying to fuck as many of each other’s partners as possible. And I was cheating. See, it was all going fine until Gerard decided to go and get pretty (which I still think he only did out of spite). Once he was a dirty, pretty thing they were queuing up to suck his cock much the same way bugs hover round a zapper, and I was back to being Mikey – the quiet one slowly suffocating in the corner. Then I had a brainwave.

Most people will tell you that I’m quiet. That I’m nice. That I’m responsible and reliable and a whole host of other un-Gerardish adjectives. Actually, I’m just more calculating than he is. And what I calculated was that there were plenty of boys out there who wouldn’t like the dark shuffle down to the basement. Who would shudder as cheap whisky and paint stripper wine burned down their throats. Who would stare in glassy-eyed horror as Gee washed down Xanax with vodka and declared cocaine “more of a breakfast drug.” And after a few minutes alone with him they’d come running up to my room, into my open arms, where’d I’d peel off their smoke-scented clothes and suck and scratch at the pale skin beneath. I always marked them, my boys, so that he knew where I’d been. I liked to think that, as he talked them back down and slid inside their warm, willing flesh, he grimaced at the thought that I’d been there first. That he hadn’t won.

Some took longer than others. There was Alex – all dark hair and bedroom eyes and the kind of ass that should only exist on premium-rate porn sites. Gerard actually stopped playing when Alex showed up and, while I was surprised at the time, I suppose he knew that there was no way I could beat him then. He’d hit the jackpot and God, how I wanted to steal it from him. I wanted to know what Alex felt like clenched tight around me, what he tasted like, how he sounded when he lay moaning and bucking beneath me. Just like when we were kids, I wanted to play with Gerard’s toys. And, just like when we were kids, I put on my most innocent face and stole them.