Title: Captured in These Lines of Ink
Pairing: Danny Jones/Gerard Way (McFly/Bandom crossover)
Warnings: Unfinished, unedited.
Author's Notes: 1,720 words. I think the idea for this originally came from something figletofvenice said - as many of my ideas do - regarding both McFly and My Chem, and a fascination on my part for Danny's freckles. There was originally going to be some sort of story arc (I have the notes to prove it!), making random, weird pairings between the McFly boys and the My Chem boys (I somehow decided Tom Fletcher and Brian Schechter should be slashed, don't ask why). It was a whole big thing. But this was the only one that got written, and I'm still not sure it makes sense on its own. Whatever. WIP Amnesty and all. Also, I maybe stole part of figletofvenice's tattoo plans. :D?
Sunlight filters through the slats in the blinds, making strange patterns across the floor of the hotel room, slanting over the beds – one still perfectly made – and lighting up the hairs and freckles on Danny’s outstretched arm, from the tips of his fingers up over his elbow and stopping just short of his shoulder. Danny breathes carefully, trying to move as little as possible, and watches the light creep oh-so-slowly farther up his arm as the sun rises outside.
Gerard hums softly, almost as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it – and, Danny thinks, maybe he doesn’t. He’s clearly caught up in his work, one hand pressed lightly against Danny’s ribs as the other drives his Sharpie smoothly across Danny’s skin.
Danny closes his eyes, soaking in the warmth of the sun and Gerard’s palm, loving the feel of the confidence with which Gerard moves his pen. His blood buzzes in his veins at the teasing contact, and he has to force himself to stay loose, relaxed, not to flip over and drag Gerard down to meet him. He tries to focus on the movements of the pen enough to figure out what Gerard is drawing, but he can’t place the design, if it’s even something he ought to recognize. He wonders if Gerard will let him see it in a mirror when he’s done, and if he’ll be able to hide it from the rest of his band until the marks fade from sweat and shirts and showers. He can’t help not wanting to share it, but. He kind of hopes the ink wears off quickly. He kind of hopes it lasts forever.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t like Tom said, ‘So, we’re staying in the same complex as My Chem while we’re recording in the States, so don’t be complete idiots,’ and Danny instantly thought, ‘That’s great, I’ve always wanted to shag Gerard Way into the mattress.’ He hadn’t really though about Gerard much at all, until they’d started hanging out together during their time off. Which was pretty random, anyway, because it’s not like they have all that much in common – of them all, Tom seems to get along the best with the other band, but that might be because he’d met them and their manager before, when he’d been working with… someone or other out in LA. Danny can’t remember who now, not that it really matters. The point is, Danny hadn’t really given even the possibility of any of this much thought at all. And then last night. Well. It just sort of happened.
Danny hadn’t been drinking – it would have been incredibly rude of him to down half a dozen beers while in the presence of a sober alcoholic, and he’s cut back a lot since he started spending time with Gerard for just that reason – but his head was spinning anyway, and he’s pretty sure that, even drunk, he hasn’t been that easy in a long time. Or maybe he wasn’t the easy one. He’s pretty sure he made the first actual move, though the flirtatious dance leading up to any kind of definite ‘first move’ had been more complicated than Danny is used to, so he may have missed things. But, given the fallout, he’s pretty sure he’s okay with that. Even if Gerard currently seems determined to drive Danny mad and pretend he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.
Danny twitches, and tries to hide his laugh – more of a giggle, he’s man enough to admit it – in his pillow at the tickling strokes of Sharpie across a particularly sensitive spot on his back.
“Stop moving,” Gerard says, but he follows his words with a brush of his fingers against Danny’s side, which only serves to make Danny squirm even more.
“Tickles,” Danny tells him unnecessarily, voice muffled by his pillow.
The mattress shifts with Gerard’s weight, and lips press softly against the back of Danny’s neck, completely in contrast with the rough – almost desperate – kisses and bites of the night before. “I’m almost done,” Gerard murmurs, mouth still close enough that his breath stirs the hairs along Danny’s nape, making Danny shiver.
“Mm,” Danny hums into the pillow, and tries to hold still as Gerard goes back to work.
“What are you drawing?” Danny asks some time later, when the sun has forced him to turn his head the other way to keep from being blinded, and Gerard has moved from sitting next to Danny on the bed to straddling his thighs, Sharpie still tracing lines between Danny’s shoulder blades. Gerard’s weight pinning Danny down is more comforting than Danny would have thought, and almost exciting at the same time. Danny kind of wants to know what Gerard would do in that position were he not intent on using Danny’s skin as a canvas.
“I’ll show you when I’m done,” Gerard tells him, and doesn’t even lift the tip of the pen from Danny’s skin.
“But,” says Danny, and stops when Gerard laughs. Gerard has a pretty wonderful laugh.
“I’m drawing your freckles,” Gerard says, amusement still clear in his voice.
“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Danny complains. He’s not sure if he really wants an answer, or if he just wants Gerard to keep talking, his bizarre accent flowing as smoothly over his tongue as his Sharpie over Danny’s skin.
Gerard laughs again. “I get that a lot,” he says.
It’s on the tip of Danny’s tongue to say either, ‘yeah, me, too,’ or, conversely, ‘I usually don’t get things,’ but he bites back both. It’s not that he thinks Gerard is going to call him an idiot, or even think it. Because Gerard Way is one of the craziest people Danny has ever met – which is really saying something (Danny’s lived with Dougie for long enough that before Gerard, he’d thought he was immune to insanity) – and is more likely to take Danny’s idiocy for zaniness. But even so.
The tip of the Sharpie leaves Danny’s back, and Danny hears the click of it being capped, before Gerard says, “There, that’s it,” and lightly skims his fingers along Danny’s spine.
This time, Danny doesn’t bother to suppress the shudder that runs through him. “Do I get to see it?” he asks, and is a little surprised by the husky sound of his own voice.
“Mm,” Gerard seems to be considering, but when his weight shifts, it’s forward, covering Danny’s back with his own body, rather than sliding off to the side. Danny shivers again at the skin to skin contact.
“You’ll ruin it,” Danny tries to tell him, but it turns into a low moan when Gerard’s mouth presses again to the back of Danny’s neck, less gentle than before, tongue and a hint of teeth, making Danny’s skin jump.
A moment later Gerard pulls back and rolls away, off the bed, and pads in the direction of the toilet, bare feet almost silent on the carpeted floor. Danny turns onto his side – careful not to turn far enough that his back might come into contact with the bedclothes before the ink has a chance to finish drying properly – and waits.
When Gerard returns, he’s holding a small hand-mirror. Danny’s eyes slide down to watch the sway of Gerard’s hips – his sweatpants are loose and almost obscenely low – not that Danny’s complaining – and when he looks back up at Gerard’s face Gerard is smirking at him. Danny laughs, and reaches out for the mirror, but Gerard shakes his head.
“Up,” he commands. “You have to stand in front of the full-length. This is useless on its own.”
Danny can feel himself flush as he obeys, because he should have known that. But still. Gerard can be very distracting, even when he’s hardly trying.
Danny lets Gerard position him in front of the full-length mirror in the closet door, then reaches again for the small mirror, but Gerard shakes his head again. “Let me,” he says, and holds it up, just over Danny’s shoulder, and Danny gets his first look at Gerard’s work. He can’t stop the tiny gasp that escapes him, and, without thinking, he covers Gerard’s hands on the hand-mirror, guiding them to move slightly so he can see his whole back.
Gerard has drawn an entire landscape over the planes of Danny’s back. Skeletal trees just above the waistline of Danny’s sweats flow upwards into crows circling telephone poles and perching on the wires. Across Danny’s shoulder blades Gerard has drawn what looks like half the solar system, complete with comets and shooting stars, some of the stars falling far enough to mingle with the birds. All of it is stark black against the paleness of Danny’s skin, and, after a moment, Danny realizes that Gerard was telling the truth about the freckles. Each of the sharp-edged figures seems to have been made using the freckles that are scattered far too liberally across Danny’s back. Some of the designs have been made by connecting the pale brown dots, others seem to revolve around them.
For a moment, Danny can’t breathe, then, “You drew my freckles,” he says. He lowers the mirror, tugging Gerard’s hands down with it, and meets Gerard’s eyes. “I hate my freckles,” he whispers. “And you drew them.”
Gerard suddenly looks very uncomfortable. “I didn’t know you –” he starts, but Danny cuts him off, putting his hand over Gerard’s mouth, covering the entire bottom half of his face.
“I like it,” he says, then, lowering his hand, “I really, really like it.”
“Really?” Gerard asks, and there’s something like hope in his eyes.
“Really, really,” Danny repeats, and he can feel his mouth curving into a grin.
Gerard beams at him. “Good,” he says. “I like your freckles. I want you to like them, too.”
Danny laughs at him, then, and reaches out to tangle his fingers in Gerard’s hair, pulling him in until their foreheads meet. “That might take a little more convincing,” he says softly. “Think you’re up for it?”
Gerard blinks slowly, lashes fanning close to Danny’s skin. “We’ve both got the whole day off,” he says, voice even softer than Danny’s. “And another couple weeks of recording. I think I can manage.”
Danny laughs again, more breath than sound, and pulls Gerard the rest of the way in.