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It's not impossible to talk with Gerard's fingers in his mouth, but it'd be an ugly little sound, garbled with the saliva that's pooling under his tongue, and Gerard is looking at him with a naked reverence that makes his guts feel like they're simmering on the surface of boiling water, so he stays silent.
"What were you going to say?" Gerard asks, distracted but not absent. His ears might as well have perked like a puppy's for as attuned as he is to Mikey, able to hear the spaces where words would form just as clearly as if they were spoken aloud. He keeps his fingers where they are, so Mikey thinks, I was going to suck you off, very hard in Gerard's direction.
"This is better," Gerard answers. "Your canines are really sexy, Mikey. They're like vampire fangs." He runs the pad of his thumb over the tip of one, his eyes swallowed by the thick seep of subsumption. A plane could make a crash landing on their roof right now and Mikey sincerely doubts that Gerard would take notice.
They're not telepathic - things would be so much easier if they were, though Mikey doesn't want to surrender those last few places inside himself that Gerard hasn't yet touched - but this is a full conversation occurring half-spoken, and Gerard seems content to keep it that way, so this time Mikey thinks, You have a vampire kink, loudly, then, It scares me how much you love me, quietly.
"It's not a kink," Gerard says. "I just think they're neat."
Not telepathic, then. What a relief, though it doesn't feel as soothing as it probably (definitely) should. He reaches a hand toward Gerard's throat, stroking his fingers over his thrumming pulse, and Gerard makes this unconsciously soft sound, not quite a moan but not quite a sigh, that might as well be gossamer thread through the eye of a needle for how sharply it sends arousal shooting through him.
Are you sure about that? is thought unnecessarily - the smile that curls across his face says enough, though it is admittedly difficult to maintain for more than a few seconds. It pushes the fattest part of his bottom lip up into Gerard's knuckle, which makes Gerard bite his own lip in response. "Can you bite me?" he asks, and Mikey gently closes his teeth around Gerard's finger, which makes him giggle.
"Not my finger," he clarifies. "My neck."
Mikey starts to think, You'll have to take your fingers out of my mouth first, but Gerard is already drawing away. Maybe it's not a matter of telepathy - maybe Gerard is clairvoyant. Maybe he can see what Mikey is thinking before he ever thinks it. Maybe that's why he seems so self-assured and unbothered about this.
"Please," Gerard adds. He sounds nearly solemn with it, as if he's begging Mikey to spare his life. It's a little wiggy, but this is the closest they've gotten to fucking so far today, so he's not going to let it ruin the mood. It's not like he's never given Gerard a hickey before, anyway. Unlike the impromptu dental exam, this is more familiar territory.
He cups the back of Gerard's head, twining his fingers through his hair. It feels abruptly important to have a point of contact with him that doesn't involve his teeth. Gerard seems to like it, too, not melting but certainly softening, going a bit liquid at the edges. If anyone outside fiction swoons, it's Gerard.
"Please," he repeats, sounding a lot less solemn and a lot more broken, fine china slivers smashed against kitchen tile. With his face pressed into Gerard's skin, he can't smell much besides body heat and a bit of sebum, but it's not bad. It's not good, but it's not bad. Mikey's not sure what it is, exactly. He parts his lips, which makes Gerard gasp a little.
"Mikey," he says emphatically, like Mikey's the fucking mind reader or fortune teller or whatever, and Mikey bites down hard in irritation. Even when Gerard is being painfully obvious, he's still frustratingly enigmatic.
Gerard makes a low, pitted noise and grasps at Mikey's side. He's ticklish and Gerard knows that and it doesn't matter whether or not he forgot in the heat of the moment because Mikey stays at that fillet of meat, worrying his teeth deeper into it, like he's trying to snap a tendon. He can't see Gerard's eyes like this, dark and sticky like oil, and it helps, and he hates that it helps, and Gerard's hair feels like the branching arms of Fighting Trees keeping his fingers caught at the wrist like Dorothy, and he's going to take a chunk of his throat with him when he tears his teeth out, and -
Gerard wriggles his hand under Mikey's shirt and pets his stomach like he's a cat, just the way Mikey likes. It feels nice. It makes Mikey's jaw unclench. He feels skittish and spooked, and pretty embarrassed. It's just Gerard. He knows Gerard. Gerard's his brother.
Gerard's his brother.
"I don't feel good," Mikey says. Voice muffled, it comes out, I own he-goo, which Mikey is immature enough to find funny but upset enough to not laugh at, and Gerard's hand freezes against his navel. "Please," he says again, sounding lost, and Mikey tiredly presses his lips against the severe grooves that his bite has left in a facsimile of a kiss.
"I just wanted to blow you," he says, turning his face to rest his cheek against Gerard's pulse. "Why can't we ever do it how I want to do it?"
"You don't have to - " Gerard stops. Mikey gives him an incredibly generous thirty seconds, but the end of the sentence never materializes.
"I don't have to," Mikey agrees placidly. "I want to. You make me want to less when you treat me like porcelain. Can't I just want to put your dick in my mouth? Why does it have to be this whole thing with you?"
"It is a whole thing." The color has returned to Gerard's eyes. It's not as comforting as it should be. The tender inscription of hunger across his features is obscured by sudden shadow. "I can't just...it's you."
"Make sense." It's more of a command than a plea. Sometimes Gerard gets too in his own head about shit and needs to be led back out by hand.
"It's you," he repeats. "I can't just...I don't know. It's wrong."
"We passed that exit a long time ago, Gee." It's at least a little funny, in a cosmic sort of way, and there's a thin sheen of laughter over his words, but Gerard flinches like he'd just been pinched, or maybe slapped.
"I know it's wrong," he says. "That's the fucking problem."
"The only problem is you," Mikey snaps, and he realizes a beat too late how that sounds. Gerard's face folds into itself like collapsing origami. "I didn't mean - what I meant is you're the one making it weird." It's not a lie, but it's too incomplete to be the truth.
"I want you so much," Gerard says, voice like a wounded animal dragging itself into the shade to die.
"Cool," Mikey says. "If you want me, then can you please let me want you back? This is hard enough. You don't have to make it harder. I'd really prefer you didn't."
Gerard seems lightly stunned, so Mikey takes advantage of his brief flicker of stillness to kiss him for real.